#and then slowly unleashing baron upon them

[bacchuschucklefuck]

laying here spinning in my head 1/adaine's new gf meets riz for the first time fic or 2/riz and baron fake dating for event thing fic maybe I just wanna think abt future stuff for my guy. just pure thinkin bout him chillin kickin ass

[flgproductions]

Red: "I-I'll keep that in mind, Con-" Dread Baron Chief: " F O C U S - ! ! ! "

' C L R A S H ! '

Dread Baron Chief: " D R R R G H - ! ! "

'KA-CRACK!!'

Finally taking notice of Red and the Chief of the Barons being so close to its central frame, it sends out two tendrils to swat them away. Or better yet: To impale them. But the Chief holds strong, his shield taking the brunt of one attack while smashing away the other by launching out the tip of his spear!

Showing obvious annoyance that these damned dwarves are still standing, it charges up two Tendril-Cannons to unleash a combined stream of boiler-rays down onto the bulkier mass of the duo: Directly into the Chief's shield, which he is forced to hold up with both hands to avoid faltering to this attack!

Then the monster of alien steel showed it had little to no care for the concept of an honorable fight... for as soon as those beams were finished in their attempt at cracking through the shield? It goes for a low blow with a third tendril by smashing into the chief's side to bash him away to the ground.

Dread Baron Chief: " H R H - ? ! B G - O G H ! ! " Dread Baron Soldiers: "CHIEF!?!"

The Chief smashes into the stone flooring, skidding across it for a short distance on his shoulder. Some members of his personal squadron run up to check on him, but he is thankfully already standing up and shaking off that blow.

Dread Baron Chief: " K r - ! T H E R E D O N E ! ! "

But he's less concerned about himself, and more concerned about the miner he was protecting. The lad who was staring up at the horrifying monster that he was now face-to-face with, frozen in shock. Standing in the perfect position to be vaporized instantly as the beast raised its tendrils at him.

Red: " . . . H . . . H a h h . . . "

'wrrriiiIII- C L A C K - ! ! '

Red: "GH- D U G H A A A G H - ! ! "

Thankfully? It didn't seem like vaporization was what it wanted with Red in particular. Nay. For this one? The steel kraken wanted to play with its helpless food, simply bashing the Power Scale's Leader to the floor with a back-hand attack from two of its tendrils. Sending him bouncing and crashing across the ground until he lands down on his face.

Dread Baron Chief: " H n ! ? . . . H m ! M O V E ! S A V E T H A T D W A R F ! ! " Dread Baron Soldiers: "CHIE-"

'BQUIIIIOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!!'

Dread Baron Soldiers: "DAH!!" "OH SH-" "UGHAH!?"

'BQUIIIIOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!!' 'BQUIIIIOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!!' 'BQUIIIIOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!!'

The Assault Caretaker did not take kindly to even the mere mention of any inturruption now. Because it suddenly began to fire off partly-charged boiler rays from all of its tendrils in seemingly random directions.

Magma Chasms were being blasted into existance across every square inch of the cave. Entire islands were being created across the entire cave to separate the dwarves into smaller and smaller groups, especially cutting them off from getting anywhere CLOSE to itself... and to Red.

Blue: "Ugghgh... d-damn... my 'ead..." Yellow: "G-Guhhhgh... hell in a-! Ugh!" Green: "O-Ow... bloody- ugh! Red...!? Red, where-"

The other members of the Power Scales squadron, thankfully, were starting to climb back up to their feet... and because of their current condition? The Assault Caretaker did not seem to pay them any mind. Not even caring to separate them from their leader like it was doing with the Marines. But that only left them with a clear-view of their leader in his dire state.

Green: "Guh-!? RED!!" Blue: "Whuh-?! Aw... shite- Red! NO!" Yellow: "Red?! RED! SIR, GET UP! C'MON!"

Red: "G-Gurrghhg...!"

The Red-Armored Dwarf manages to turn himself over onto his back... staring up at the machine of death that was, now, slowly approaching him with its treads. A plethora of lights from its hundreds of eyes in its spherical head now blaring down upon the Power Scale with furious intent.

. . . And then, the real shocker of this whole escapade.

?????: "[ BASTARD CHILD. OF THE FALSE HERO. ]"

It. SPEAKS!?!?

?????: "[ IT IS HIGH TIME. YOU GET. WHAT YOU. DESERVE. ]"

It readies two of its tendrils, ready to rip the tiny sucker in half!

Green, Yellow, Blue: " R E D ! ! " Dread Baron Chief: " N O ! ! "

Shouting out in defiance, the Chief exerts his super-dwarvian capabilities by furiously lunging over the chasm that separated himself from the Power Scale's Leader! He charges forward, knowing that what he's going to do might be in vain. But he refused to falter in his given mission. Both from his corporate overlords, and from his retired brother of battle.

He desperately hoists up his spear, launching it for the nearest tendril. Expecting for all of its eyes to turn on him instead.

'CRAAACK-!!'

' K A - C R U N C H - ! ! '

The music stops dead as a surprising sound echoed through the cave.

. . . One of the tendrils.

Was completely ruptured by the spear-head piercing through its frame.

It all falls silent. Even from the Caretaker. Who now had its eyes aimed at the ruptured tendril, and the Chief who was now pulling it down like he had become a living anchor.

?????: "[ WHAT. ]"

Red: "Ghehehehehe...!"

Hearing the laughter, all of the Caretaker's eyes now turn its way towards the Red Dwarf on the ground.

...And all that Red does in response is lift up the hacking-pad that was still in his hand for the beast to see.

"HACK COMPLETE"

Red: " . . . Get fucked, ya rusty bucket of vomit. "

(just gonna carry on our story, pretending that mc's vacation never happened in-between. "ahem") . . .

Blue: "Ouuuugggghh... C-Control? ...C-Can ya read? Agh--... Wh-What in the bloody blazes WAS that? Th-Think I hit my head pretty hard from--

. . . What the...?" . . .

Death cratered into the room from above.

In a flash, the ceiling had been smashed through.

. . . In the blink of an eye.

50 Dread Barons had become 42.

8 Marines, crushed into bloody metal paste under a massive black-steel laser-core-infused drill built by the Rival Machines.

A drill that was as wide as 4 drop pods combined, carrying a black-steel box into the depths of this world that was the size of 5. Marked from top-to-bottom in Rival Glpyhs and Patterns…

Any barons that weren't crushed like tomatoes were thrown to the cave floor, dazed. Staring up at the enormous box.

Even the Power Scales and the Chief were floored by the crash-down of the box… rubbing at their visors to get the dust out of their vision.

Red: " . . . What. In. This galaxy?" Yellow: "What is that...? 'S massive!" Green: "The Barons! They were...!" Blue: "Red? Red, what-? What do we...?" Dread Baron Chief: " . . . B r o t h e r s . M Y . B R O T H E R S ! " Seeing the fate of his soldiers, the chief of the Barons began to shake with a believably unfathomable rage. Red: " . . . Control. What... what're your readin's sayin'?"

Management has been alerted. We’re awaiting orders. I’m scrambling another platoon of Marines as exfil, but the odds of them getting there before that… thing… reduces you to a fine red mist are low. I’d also recommend getting away from the Chief- you’ve heard the term seeing red? He personifies it.

Good luck, Miners. Rock and Stone.

[tales-unique]

FAULTS OF THE HEART

Chapter 1

The woods were always a sacred place for you. When you entered their depths you felt a sense of serenity and safety that had no comparison in the civilized world. The sounds of the wind rustling through the leaves, flowing streams, and the sounds of the birds and the rabbits and the deer — all the sounds of Life. So, it felt only natural for you to go to them when running for your life. Even under the light of the full moon, dappled on the ground through dense tree cover, you knew how to navigate the trails in the undergrowth. “She’s heading into the trees!” The call echoes and forces you to push harder, to run faster, so you might live to see the sun rise.

Neither you or the others in your small village knew of the now occupied reach and how the surrounding lands had been claimed until it was too late. They waited until someone unwittingly stumbled onto the land so they could make an example of them in a show of power. He called himself The Baron. He was an asshole. In taking what had been free land for himself he had doomed your village to a slow, painful death of starvation unless they bowed to his will. There was no other alternative for the village, lest they lose everything. It was his brutish thugs that pursued you, all because you strayed too far trying to feed the people you cared for. “I can’t see her! Where’d she go?” “I don’t know! Just keep looking!” You stop, sliding down an embankment to seek cover.  Hunkering down further as you hear your pursuers coming ever closer, you force yourself tighter between the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. Mud and mulch cling to your cloak and soak your back and legs but you know that if you move now you will die. Holding your breath you freeze as one of the men stalks by where you’re hiding, narrowly missing your head when he strays too close to the edge. It feels like hours, lying there in the cold, wet earth, before you hear their voices and their steps recede until there’s only the sounds of the forest left. Even then you wait a moment longer before slowly rising to your feet, brushing yourself down with shaking hands. The Baron won’t stop pursuing you if he knows you’re nearby, so it’s with a heavy heart that you know you can’t return to the village. Your possessions, though meager and few, are lost to you. Your small home left to fall into ruin. The friends you had made will become distant memories. Bitterness settles deep within your stomach and you weep, out of anger, out of sadness, that one mistake was your undoing. It’s difficult to stop the torrent once it’s unleashed, but you know you can’t linger any longer. You should already be running far away from this place. Sniffling, you wipe frantically at your eyes and nose on tattered sleeves, continuing your escape.

The soft, building light of the rising dawn brings with it a sense of melancholic relief. You wander wearily through the trees, their figures no longer familiar now that you’re so far from home, the waking songs of birds sounding triumphantly in the air. They have survived the night, and so have you. Almost. The sharp, searing pain that erupts abruptly in your left shoulder blindsides you and you stop, the world suddenly going still. For the longest moment you forget how to breathe and your mind goes blank. A choked gasp escapes you as all at once the harsh reality of what has happened comes crashing over you like a tidal wave. At first you can’t tell exactly what is lodged in your flesh, your mind a garble rush of adrenaline, only that the pain is pointed in a single location. An apprehensive glance to your shoulder sends a chill down your spine. With a whimper you reach up with your uninjured arm to feel the sharp iron tip poking through ripped flesh, warm, fresh blood coating your fingertips, then behind to gingerly finger a long, slender body of wood. An arrow, lodged so deep in your flesh it came out the other side. Your nose crinkles as the metallic tinge in the air finally hits you, gagging from the rush of dizzying sickness that sends your stomach into freefall. Pain radiates from it, rippling outwards, rending your arm useless. The shrieks of panicked birds in the canopy overhead snaps your attention to the archer hiding among the trees, the rushing footfalls thudding against the ground betraying their path; one small mercy. You force yourself to move, crying out with the effort as you hold your arm still with a firm grip. It’s the only way to limit the damage the arrow can cause while moving, but it does nothing to stop the excruciating pain it leaves in its wake. Blood leaks between your fingers but you don’t stop, can’t stop, or else you will die at the hands of this assassin. Another arrow narrowly misses your head as you veer sharply to the side, towards the sound of running water. If you can make it to the water and lose them you might just make it. That is, if the exhaustion and blood loss don’t take you out first. Several more join the hunting party, to your dismay. You pant, your head spinning and your mind beginning to fog, but at least you don’t fall. The sight of clear water fills your vision and, to your shock, a man. He startles as you rush into view, arm veined with bright scarlet, bringing with you a band of armed men. It looks as though he’s in the middle of fishing, but that’s quickly forgotten when he sees your injury and the company that are after you. “Please!” You plead, falling to your knees before him in the dewy grass, “please don’t let them kill me!” Sharp gold eyes watch you for a moment in shocked silence before he turns to eye each man as they surround you both. They’re all pointing their weapons at him, swords and bows and arrows alike, shouting for him to leave them to their business. One of them separates to train his bow on you, likely the same man who shot you in the first place, as you clutch desperately at your bleeding wound to stem the flow. “We said be on your way, stranger!” Another one snarls to the man, “this bitch is ours.” It all happens in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to comprehend the situation before it’s already over. The man stands before you, a hovering sword at his side, and only then do you realize that he has killed them all in a single sweep without so much as raising a hand. You hazard a look at the carnage around you and instantly regret it; each man dead with his throat cut, shock petrified on their faces. Quickly you look back to the man, watching him with wide eyes as he descends upon you. He speaks not a word as he looks over your shoulder, still bleeding despite your grip on it. “P-please help me,” you beg feebly, your body feeling heavy under its own weight. The blood loss was starting to take its toll on you and, though the feeling felt oddly muted and detached, you were terrified.

The sequence of events that follows next are mostly lost to you, but not for a lack of trying. You remember fragments, haphazardly pieced together. Blurred scenery. White hot pain. The scent of burning flesh. A tightness around your shoulder. Muffled talking. You try to sit up, the edges of your vision tainted black, but a firm yet gentle hand on your chest pushes you back down into soft sheets. “Where—” Your voice quickly dies in your throat as searing pain shoots through your shoulder and down your arm, a sharp cry escaping you. It takes you a moment to recover but when you finally open your eyes you gawk at your surroundings.Your mysterious savior has brought you to a musty room filled with shelves upon shelves of books, a low, crackling fire catching your attention in the dusty fireplace. Looking down at yourself you see that you’ve been set upon an old chaise lounger, a lumpy pillow beneath your head. It smells of dust, as do the sheets, but there’s an odd sense of comfort that they, and the room as a whole, offers. “I removed the arrow,” he finally speaks, golden eyes observing you as you struggle to sit up, “you should rest, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” He moves to stand, collecting up the bloodied rags and tossing them into a bowl filled with water dyed crimson as he walks to the door to leave you in peace. It’s only as he’s leaving that you realize that he’s cleaned and bandaged your wound, no doubt saving you from infection and blood loss and the slow, painful death they would have brought you. “Wait!” You call, voice hoarse. He stops, remaining with his back to you. “I,” you swallow, breathing laboured from the effort of your outburst, “I wanted to thank you, for helping me,” you grind out, an aching throb pulsing from your shoulder down your arm. For a moment he is quiet and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake in speaking to him, but that thought soon vanishes when he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You wait in anticipation for his reply, clutching the sheets weakly. “Get some rest,” he says, softer this time, but he quickly steels himself and leaves the room without any further comment. The door is left slightly ajar so you listen to the sound of his receding footsteps before sinking back slowly into the sheets. The makeshift bed is nothing like your own but it’s more than you could have expected from a stranger so you’re thankful, heaving a sigh of relief. Then you frown, because you don’t even know his name.

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons 8: Kog’Maw

I’ll be honest: when people consider Champions that could use a lore rewrite or update, Kog’Maw is probably far from the top of the list. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was Riot’s thought process as well. Kog’Maw is another case similar to Twitch where his current story isn’t bad per se, but more-so that there isn’t really much there. His bio on universe consists of only two paragraphs, which obviously leaves him feeling a bit neglected compared to other Champions post-reboot…

Except it kind of doesn’t? While significantly shorter than most Champions’ bios, Kog’Maw’s actually more-or-less does what it needs to. See, Kog’Maw is a Voidborn, a monster born from the eldritch realm of all-consuming cosmic horrors who want nothing more than to see Runeterra and all of reality assimilated and wiped out. While champions from the Void have been shown to have capacity for intelligence, they’re all really just monsters at the end of the day with their only driving force being to consume and grow. They enter Runeterra for that express purpose and that will continue to be their only driving motivation until they either die or until the world ends.

Now, every Voidborn is slightly unique in the ways they go about consuming things. Cho’Gath eats stuff just to grow larger, whereas Kha’Zix eats to evolve, adapting the most useful traits and abilities of his prey. Vel’Koz absorbs the knowledge and information from what he disintegrates, while Rek’Sai eats primarily so that she can continue to multiple and spread her brood across Shurima. It is interesting how Riot made a bunch of monsters whose primary goal is literally just eating and gives each of them a unique twist on the act, and though Kog’Maw is little underwhelming in that department. To get what I mean, let’s take a look at his bio.

So Kog’Maw, similar to Vel’Koz, eats primarily to learn and satisfy his endless curiosity about the world. Kog’Maw is a little unique among the Voidborn in that he’s not malicious or apathetic, but rather possesses an almost childlike innocence that drives him to simply learn all he can. Unlike the others, it’s not clear if Kog’Maw really even understands the Void’s mission or purpose to destroy everything, making him arguably the most sympathetic Voidborn by far.

As things stand, Kog’Maw’s current bio says all it really needs to about his character… Well, all but one thing. Since his inception, Kog’Maw has always been somewhat special among the Voidborn, having a direct link of sorts to Malzahar. The only real change from his original bio is removing any mention of the Fields of Justice or the League itself, but the fact remains that Kog’Maw has always been driven to find Malzahar for some unexplained reason. He wasn’t directly summoned by the prophet like his Voidlings are, but rather, it seems like the Watchers sent Kog’Maw to Runeterra to find the prophet...

But that’s all we know. Seriously, even Kog’Maw’s bio literally says that it’s “anyone’s guess” what will happen when the two finally meet, which, knowing how League storylines rarely get to see a conclusion of any kind, will probably be never. What makes Kog’Maw so special? Why does he need to meet up with Malzahar? How does this acid-spitting Void dog pose more of a threat than the likes of Cho’Gath or Baron Nashor?

Today, that’s what I wanted to explore. I suppose you could say that this episode is less of rewrite or retcon, and more an expansion. I want to give Kog’Maw a more significant role in the story, and while we’re at it, continue the trend of giving him a unique reason to consume things that makes him stand out from the others. So, without further ado, let’s build upon the Mouth of the Abyss and finally give an answer to these age-old questions.

For eons, the Void has gnawed at the barrier between itself and reality, aiming to break through it to usher in the end of all things. The unfathomable horrors that rule over the Void have sent countless of their malformed spawn through cracks in the barrier to further their ambitions, and on occasion have even contracted humans desperate enough to become their heralds. The most prevalent of these heralds are the traitorous ice witch Lissandra and the Shuriman seer Malzahar, but none would ever suspect that the true key to oblivion is a lone Voidling simply known as Kog’Maw.

When Malzahar swore himself to the Void in the remnants of Icathia, the broken seer proved oddly compatible with the otherworldly powers of the Watchers. Just as the Void had called to him, the seer unknowingly called out to something in the depths of the Void. As Malzahar left Icathia behind him, a writhing, twisted creature emerged from the cracks in the earth. A strange, caustic substance secreted from this larva as it slowly took shape. Eventually, the creature formed a mouth and eyes, and found itself intrigued and perplexed with the strange new world around it.

For months, the Voidling wandered the wastes of Shurima alone, driven by a deep-rooted desire to find the one that had summoned him to this world. The more he wandered, the more he began to develop a taste for the unusual, fascinating creatures of Runeterra. Even as he sampled everything he could, however, the Voidling continued to search for the one who called for him. It wasn’t long before he encountered other humans, but they were of little help, offering screams rather than any means of finding the one who summoned him. In response, the Voidling simply melted and devoured those who proved otherwise unhelpful. Those who survived such encounters named the beast Kog’Maw: Mouth of the Abyss.

Having no luck with the caravans, Kog’Maw turned his attention to one of the strange human cities to resume his search. As expected, the humans all screamed and ran, but some, to his surprise, lashed out. Sharp objects pierced Kog’Maw’s flesh, leading to him retaliating with globs of acid that burned through the armor of his attackers. Despite the potency of his bile, though, Kog’Maw was outnumbered, and soon found himself surrounded by soldiers who all drove their sharp sticks into the Voidling’s hide.

In that moment, a violent explosion of energy burst forth from Kog’Maw’s body, consuming the soldiers and their weapons and leaving nothing behind. After that, everything was darkness.

Kog’Maw awoke hours later, alone in the desert once again. Though confused and hungrier than ever, Kog’Maw resumed his search with renewed resolve to find the one called Malzahar. He believes that the Void seer is the only one who can satisfy his curiosity and help Kog’Maw to understand the nature of the mysterious power that dwells within him. The more he consumes, the more this power grows… And all-the-while, Malzahar waits for the destined time when Kog’Maw will arrive before him, ready to unleash that power and tear open the veil of reality once and for all.

So, ominous, right? I admit, it’s still a little vague, but I’d like to think that the implications are clear enough without me flat-out saying it. Basically, in my rendition of the lore, Kog’Maw is a bomb.

One of Kog’Maw’s most notable but also most out-of-place abilities in-game is Icathian Surprise. This passive ability basically makes it so that Kog’Maw explodes when he dies, allowing him to deal True Damage to members of the enemy team. This ability is never brought up or referenced at all in the lore, and it’s certainly a strange ability to have for a creature who’s all about melting things down with acid.

So, crazy thought: what if we actually gave Icathian Surprise lore relevance? What if Kog’Maw’s ability to self-destruct is actually his main ability? He melts things down to eat them, and the more he eats, the more the power inside him grows and swells. When he’s killed, Kog’Maw unleashes that power in a violent explosion powerful enough to obliterate everything around him… And if he eats enough, that power could even become so strong as to blow open reality itself.

Yes, Kog’Maw is more than just an acid-spitting Void dog. In my interpretation of the lore, Kog’Maw is a doomsday weapon. His purpose for eating is to build up power, and when he’s consumed enough, Malzahar will bring him to Icathia. where the Void already has a foothold. There, the prophet slays Kog’Maw so that the resulting blast will widen the gap enough for the Void to begin its assault on Shurima once again. This is the prophet’s grand plan, and for now, all he has to do is let Kog’Maw wander and feast…

The one silver lining is that if Kog’Maw dies prematurely, all the power he’s already built up is released and he has to start over from scratch. This, I think, is a much more interesting direction to take the character and gives him a much deeper significance in the Void plot overall. I also really like the idea that, despite seeming like the weakest Void Champion in the game, Kog’Maw is arguably the most dangerous because of his true purpose. I suppose I’m just a sucker for the trope of relatively harmless-looking characters possessing terrifying hidden powers deep down.

But, that’s my take on it. What do you guys think? Does Kog’Maw work as a secret doomsday weapon for the Void, or do you prefer to keep him vague and more comedic? Leave your thoughts below, and I’ll see you all next time.

[emma-nation]

In My Veins (KamilahxMC) - Season 2 - Chapter 1

Summary: Inspired by Lovestruck’s “Havenfall is For Lovers” (Antonio). Amy seems to finally have solved her feelings for Kamilah, but when somebody from her past returns, their relationship will be put to test.

Genre: Romance, Angst

Rating: T

Tag List: @iam-the-fuckin-queen, @annabellewerecorgi, @voltos9, @scorpistraub, @leavemeandmyshipsalone, @jen825, @andreear17, @spacecarrousel, @justejuste727, @aureliaxj, @graceschoices, @sleeping-with-her06, @supersphynxsworld, @gavryllo, @galaxyside-0, @msuhailey, @zoe6111, @ptxgirwaffles, @tigerbryn11, @shanuuh, @riyalovestaylor, @honorablebicycle, @ilovekamilahsayeed, @begging-for-kamilah, @kennaxval, @fal-carrington

Notes: I hope it was worth the wait ;)

"Kamilah!" Amy yelled. "Move! Kamilah..."

She wouldn't listen. Kamilah stood frozen upon the ruthless Feral that came in her direction, ready to shred her into pieces. Her eyes were paralyzed, distant... Unable to breath, Kamilah started to choke, before falling unconscious on the floor.

"No!" Amy threw herself on top of her motionless body, creating a shield between her and the creature. Deep claws cut through the flesh of her back, just as Adrian ripped off the Feral's head.

"Amy, are you okay?" He asked, noticing how deep the wound looked.

The intense pain and blood loss made her unable to answer.

"Kamilah..." was the last thing she muttered before passing out.

----------

3 months later...

The same nightmare still haunted Amy's dreams. That very same traumatic night of the Awakening Ball. They never found the culprit for unleashing the Ferals into the castle. Or who was responsible for poisoning Kamilah’s drink with hemlock, making her unresponsive and vulnerable at the time of the attack.

She rubbed her eyes and looked at the digital watch on the bedside table. 4 AM. After going to the kitchen to get a glass of water, she peeked inside Kamilah's bedroom. No signs of the female vampire. She checked her home office. Empty, as usual.

Amy sighed, getting dressed and ready to go to Ahmanet Financial. She took the keys of one of Kamilah's fancy cars. She never cared about them anyways.

As she expected, Kamilah was still sitting in front of her computer, with a focused look on her face.

"What are you still doing here this late?" Amy asked. "It's not safe."

"Filling some reports," Kamilah calmly answered, closing her laptop. "Indeed. It's not safe for a mortal, with a valuable blood gift, to be walking alone through the streets of New York City at this time of the night."

"Don't lie to me, Kamilah. You were looking into those pictures again."

Amy and Lily had taken a lot of pictures at the Awakening Ball, with the promise they'd be kept in private, only for themselves. The frustration gave the newly-turned vampire the idea of founding a vampire social network, the Fangbook.

Kamilah was obsessed with the content of the pictures, searching for evidence of who could've possibly poisoned her and plotted the attack.

"Amy," she sighed. "I want to catch the culprit and make sure they get properly punished."

"It was Gaius," Amy told. "Obviously. He's seeking for revenge."

"When Gaius decides to kill me, it'll be slow and painful. Such a dirty maneuver couldn't come from anywhere else but..." Kamilah narrowed her eyes. "The Council."

"Let's go home. Please?"

Kamilah relutantly followed her back to the mansion, where together they relaxed in a large bathtub.

"I always dreamed of having one of these," Amy playfully sank her head into the warm water, resurfacing completely covered by foam.

Kamilah shook her head, with a small smile in the corners of her mouth, and took a sip of her glass of wine.

In the last three months she had been more closed than ever. Amy was never able to figure out what kind of relationship they had, or if they had one at all. Kamilah was shutting her off all the time, refusing any kinds of physical contact or displays of affection.

"Here it comes," Amy spoke in a low, dark tone.

"What?" Kamilah finally turned her eyes to her, giving some attention.

"THE FOAM MONSTER!"

Amy jumped on top of her, sinking her into the bathtub too.

"Amy!" Kamilah scowled. "You... You're..."

Amy started laughing, what instantly broke all the icy walls Kamilah was keeping between them.

"You're ridiculous!" She finally smiled.

Kamilah leaned in forward, touching Amy's chin and pulling her for a kiss. She finished by nibbling her lower lip.

"I'm gonna punish you for that, you know."

Her hands traveled down to Amy's chest and belly, resting between her tights.

"Really?" Amy placed another kiss on her lips, before descending to her neck. "But I'm gonna punish you first."

She bit Kamilah's neck, only strong enough to cause pleasure and a little pain.

"Hey!" The female vampire was surprised. "What was that for?"

"For being so absent in the last three months."

"My apolog--!"

Before she could finish, Amy bit her again, near her collar bone. Leaving a purple bruise that started fading seconds later.

"For being so obsessed with your investigation."

"Amy..."

Amy lowered her mouth a little bit lower, biting the soft flesh of Kamilah's chest.

"I don't like this."

"What? Aren't you used to receiving?"

“I’m usually the one who bites.”

Amy continued, biting Kamilah's toned belly, multiple times. She could tell the female vampire was enjoying it more than she showed.

"The things I'm gonna do to you..."

Sinking her head underwater, Amy bit Kamilah's inner tight, raising goosebumps.

"Shhhh," Amy silenced her, brushing her lips on Kamilah's. "Not before the things I'm gonna do to you."

As they kissed hungrily, with tongue and fangs included, her fingers worked between Kamilah's legs. The vampire moved her hips to meet her rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony until she reached the peak of her ecstasy.

The next thing Amy knows is that using her vampire strength and speed, Kamilah drove her to the bed. Without minding if their wet bodies were soaking the mattress and luxurious sheets, her mouth explored hungrily every inch of Amy’s body. The tips of her fangs scratching her skin made Amy arch her back in pure pleasure.

“Kamilah...” she tangled her fingers in Kamilah’s smooth hair.

Kamilah's mouth made contact with the most sensitive part of her body, her tongue moving with perfect skill and experience to give Amy an unforgettable night. About to give herself over to pleasure, Amy squirmed under the vampire’s body.

“Don’t move,” Kamilah ordered, without moving her mouth away from the middle of Amy’s legs.

“B-But... it’s... I’m gonna...”

Kamilah stopped, with a mischievous smirk on her face. Her nails slowly rubbing against the skin of Amy’s belly and tights.

“K-Kamilah, please... just let me...”

“You’re gonna get more, when you deserve it.”

Frustrated, Amy’s hand descended to where Kamilah’s mouth was previously working on, determined to finish what she started.

“What a cheeky little mortal you are!” Kamilah grabbed both of her wrists and handcuffed them to the bedpost.

“This is so mean!”

Kamilah placed soft kisses on Amy’s jawline and neck, while her fingers found her target. Moving slowly and teasingly.

“Is that what you want?” She asked Amy.

The girl could barely mouth a response, but she nodded.

“M-More...” she finally moaned.

“Okay.”

The female vampire started moving faster, deeper... touching just the right spot to drive Amy to the ultimate bliss. The girl collapsed in her arms, feeling completely satisfied after three months of drought.

----------

Kamilah woke up early in the next morning. Only being a vampire gave her that ability of looking that great, even such an intense night and barely any sleep. Amy woke up by the lunch time, observing as she spoke on the phone with several different people.

"Are you..." Amy scratched her head confused by what she was hearing, maybe she was still drowsy, "organizing a party?"

"I have ulterior motives," Kamilah explained. "The Council leaders and their most important clan members will be attending this small gathering. And I'll be getting clues of who might be involved with Gaius and who attempted to assassinate me."

Amy knew it was useless to argue. When Kamilah had something in mind, she wouldn't easily give up.

"Is there anything I could help you with?"

The corners of Kamilah's mouth curled up in a smile. From her private closet, she brought a stunning designer dress.

"I-Is it for me?" Amy asked.

"Of course," Kamilah placed the dress in front of her body, examining how well it'd fit. "I want you to be you, Amy. Dance, chat, laugh... socialize. They may not open up to me, but to you... they could be showing signs."

Later that night, Amy observed from the top of the staircase as Kamilah greeted her guests. That was probably the first and only time a party was hosted in that mansion. Every vampire from the New York elite was there, Adrian, Adam Vega, Priya Lacroix, Lester Castellanos and The Baron, along with some members of their clans. Knowing how bored she’d probably feel, Kamilah allowed her to invite Lily, as long as she kept focused on the mission.

“I envy your life,” her best friend appeared by her side, bringing an expensive bottle of wine and two glasses. “In every aspect.”

“I don’t wanna sound ungrateful, but...” Amy lamented, biting her lower lip. “I have a great job, an excellent paycheck, Kamilah allowed me to live here as she travels all the time. She’s the boss I could ever ask for.”

“The boss?” Lily gave her a confused look. “Boss with benefits, you mean?”

“No more than that. Sometimes we have sex and it’s breathtaking... Lil, I think I’m in love with her.”

“Have you told her that?”

“I may have,” Amy tried to remember. “A little before the incident at the Awakening Ball, actually.”

“Maybe it’s time to confront her, to know how she feels about you too,” Lily suggested. “It has been over three months, for god’s sake!”

“I just don’t wanna pressure her when she has been so...” she glanced at Kamilah, who was speaking to Senator Vega, like if she was trying to collect evidence to her suspicions. “Obsessed. I need some fresh air.”

She placed her empty glass at one of the many corner tables spread around the mansion and walked outside, to Kamilah’s giant and gorgeous swimming pool. What was she thinking when she thought a powerful CEO and vampire, could fall in love with her? A regular mortal, born in a small town in Massachusetts and with tons of student loan debts to pay? In the last few months, she became one of Kamilah’s possessions. An entertainment. Once she found something else to keep her busy, she’d be easily discarded, as she was being now.

“My, my...” a seductive female voice came right from behind her, raising shivers all over the back of her neck. “What do we have here?”

“P-Priya, hi,” she turned around. The cold fingertips of the fashion designer softly touched her cheek, before stroking the fabric of her dress.

“Not one of mine, but... you have quite a taste, Amy.”

“Thanks but, Kamilah picked it for me.”

Her response nearly made Priya choke with her drink.

“What a surprise,” she shook her head and muffled a laugh.

Amy stood in silence, observing the view in front of her. Priya’s presence made her feel intimidated somehow. Maybe because she was one of the most famous designers of the actual days, or her alluring personality and... her hot features. She felt her cheeks burning.

“It’s good Kamilah has managed to find someone like you in her life,” Priya commented.

“R-Really?”

“Hell yeah,” she nodded. “None of us could put up with that shit mood of hers anymore! Can you imagine it? Listening to her lecturing us, acting like a boss, in every fucking Council meeting for a hundred years?”

Amy let out a small laugh.

“I mean it,” Priya rolled her eyes. “Jeez, I needed a lot of alcohol before them. This party... is even decent, coming from Kamilah. You know?”

“Yeah, I’m glad to have guests,” Amy told. “To be honest, it feels lonely living in such a big place like this. Especially when Kamilah is having a long shift at work, or when she’s traveling.”

“Oh. You don’t always have to feel lonely...” She felt Priya’s fingers brushing on hers, “you can always call me, for a party or... anything you want. My door is always open and you know I can treat you just right."

"I-I appreciate the offer," Amy felt she was starting to hyperventilate.

"Well, Amy, it was nice chatting to you. But I must..."

Priya stopped talking. Her eyes went wide and she started coughing.

"Priya!" Amy shouted. "What's wrong?"

"A-Amy... I'm..." she grabbed her throat. "I... can't... breathe..."

"I'm gonna call someone! Just stay here."

"No... there's... no time... the poison... I need blood. Now."

“Oh my god. Of course, Priya. Here...” without thinking twice, Amy brushed off the long blonde hair falling over her shoulders, exposing her neck and offering it to Priya.

Differently from Kamilah, her bite wasn’t soft or delicate. It was rough and deep, causing her an uncomfortable pain. She tried her best to not wince, Priya should be in agony after all. She remembered how bad Kamilah felt after being poisoned at the Awakening Ball. She needed a lot of blood to recover completely.

Blood started dripping from the bite wound in her neck, spilling over her new expensive shoes.

"P-Priya..." Amy gently touched her arm, as a signal for her to stop. However, the vampire intensified the bite. The fabric of her dress began to feel soaked by the hot blood, leaking from her neck.

Her legs started feeling weak and her head, a little bit fuzzy. She could distantly hear Priya's vicious laugh as she continued to feed.

"Stop..." she mumbled, almost inaudible. "You're killing me."

Amy felt she was about to pass out, when a pair of strong arms caught her before she fell. She was carefully placed in a pool chair, just in time to see Kamilah advancing in Priya's direction. She had her daggers in hands and was ready to decapitate the younger vampire.

"How dare you?!" Kamilah yelled. "How dare you to come to my house and attempt to kill my girlfriend?"

"It's not like she didn't consent," Priya smirked, taunting her. "She was even enjoying it."

"Now I know, you tried to kill me! You lured those Ferals into the castle! You're working with him! This is a violation of the Pact. You're over, Priya."

"Kamilah! No!" Adrian rushed from inside the house. He glanced at Amy, who was still bleeding and anguishing.

While he healed her neck, Adam Vega separated Kamilah from Priya, trying to reason with them.

"Ladies, indeed there was a possible violation here but, let's solve the issue in a civil way."

"She attempted to murder Amy, Vega," Adrian scowled. "It was a violation, applicable of the ultimate penalty."

"We must discuss the possibilities first."

"No. I demand a tribunal, tomorrow night."

----------

Later that night, Amy woke up from a long nap she took at Kamilah's lap. The vampire's long brown hair almost touched her face, as she softly stroked her cheeks. Amy yawned and stretched her arms, wishing to stay like that forever.

"Hey you," she smiled at Kamilah, who had a dark expression on her face.

"Amy, you woke up. Are you feeling alright? I fear you've lost a decent amount of blood."

"I'm okay," Amy touched her hand, in an assuring manner. "Adrian said I should recover in a couple of days."

"It makes me so angry, so frustrated at myself!" Kamilah clenched her fists and her eyes went red in anger.

"It wasn't your fault, Kamilah. Priya faked she had been poisoned too and I fell for her trick. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. God, how could I be so naive?”

Kamilah stood up from the bed, pacing nervously around the mastersuite before standing by the window. Amy knew her enough to know it was an habit, when she was feeling distressed. Still a little wobbly, she walked to her, wrapping her arms around Kamilah’s waist.

“Hey, I’m fine. You don’t have to blame yourself for that. You’ve been under enough pressure lately, don’t you think?”

“Amy...” Kamilah sighed deeply, “I failed to protect you. Again. This world has been turning too dangerous for you. We need to find a manner to ensure your safety.”

“Well, Jax has been teaching me some killer moves with his katana,” Amy laughed. “And we can always train at one of those facilities of yours.”

“It’s... it’s not enough, I fear.”

“What do you mean?”

Kamilah turned around, her brown eyes gazing directly inside her soul, making Amy feel a strange sensation. A warmness, a connection...

“If you were like me,” Kamilah took her hand, “that would make you less vulnerable.”

“L-Like you?” Amy furrowed her brows confused. “In which way?”

“A vampire.”

Amy silenced for a moment. Lily was raving all the time about her newfound abilities. Adrian and Kamilah made the life of vampires sound very easy and comfortable. But, was she ready for that? Was she ready to... drink blood from humans or being unable to walk in the sunlight? Was she ready to watch all her loved ones dying, while she never aged?

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” Kamilah told. “I just wanted you to know it’s a possibility. I... I won’t turn you against your will, like...”

“Like he’s done to you,” Amy gently touched her cheek.

“Exactly.”

Amy looked down and bit her lower lip, remembering something she heard in the middle of Kamilah’s altercation with Priya.

“Kamilah?” She asked. “When you were fighting Priya, you called me...”

“My girlfriend?” The female vampire added.

“Were you... faking again this time?”

“No, Amy. This time I really meant it. I mean... we’ve been together for quite a while now. We’re sharing a house, I feel comfortable around you and most of all, I trust you.”

“I just want you to know I feel the same, girlfriend.”

Amy pulled her for a kiss. When their lips barely touched, Kamilah’s phone started ringing inside her pocket.

“I’m ignoring it,” she muttered against Amy’s mouth, that she continued to kiss feverishly.

Whoever was calling wouldn’t stop. Kamilah rolled her eyes and answered. It was a video call, probably from one of her clients. Amy made herself comfortable in bed again, as she knew it’d probably take a long time.

A masculine voice from the other side of the line started speaking words Amy could not understand. He was speaking a different language, it wasn’t French or even Italian. Arabic maybe? She had listened to Kamilah speaking Arabic before, but that sounded completely different. Ancient somehow. There was something wrong in his voice, it was low and crackling, like a cry for help.

Kamilah was pale looking at the screen. She couldn’t pronounce a single word in response, no matter how hard she tried. A single tear ran down across her cheek.

“Kamilah? Are you alright?” Amy approached, curious. “What’s going on?”

The female vampire didn’t answer. Amy looked at the screen. The young male on the display should be around her age. He looked strangely familiar. His eyes, his hair, his facial features... he looked like... Kamilah? The video call was cut, what made Kamilah throw her phone against the wall in rage.

“Who was that, Kamilah? Tell me!”

“A-Amy, t-that was... that was my twin brother, Lysimachus.”

[what-a-wicked-thing]

Arc I: Rising Tides (3/?)

Silken Threads of a Spider’s Web

Reading the Wind/ Casing the Quarters (Part 3)                 < previous|next>

As Spider drudged through his dailies his warning klaxon for Thieves Landing sounded. The sound was meant to carry across great distances, and he heard it echo within the tunnels. A priority message on his datapad only said: One pike rider; shots fired. An update pinged only seconds later. Pike rider killed, no further disturbances. He took the interruption as an opportunity to stretch his four arms above his head. His “chair” creaked as his weight shifted back. Usually such banal alerts had been easily ignored, but after being evicted from his home he was on a razor’s edge. But, razor’s cut both ways. His enemies were getting a taste of his ruthlessness. He hadn’t flexed those particular muscles in a while. None would dare to call him soft, he had only turned to subtle acts of aggression. He rotated his arm joints in perfect synchronicity to pump some ether back into his stiff arms.

 He balled his hands, and realized he had grabbed back onto the Ghost after his guest had left. His upper right hand seemed to be more restless than the others. Ghosts fit his palm perfectly, and sometimes in anger he threw them at his underlings. They were a utile multi-purpose item. Comfort? Distraction? These days the compulsion was done nearly unconsciously.

 He had more important things to dwell one. “That’s the third one this cycle.” He tossed the Ghost casually into the air and caught it with his right hand. “Are they getting closer?” Spider brought up the AV from Avrok in the field. He dispensed with patching in so as not disrupt this delicate reconnaissance mission.

He had no doubts. It had to be the Scorn. Even the new upstarts would exercise caution where his associates were patrolling. If they weren’t cautious: they were dead. Spider was not pulling any punches. Former business partners, old friends, and even relatives were under suspicion. With such a volatile climate one wrong move meant certain death.

Spider squeezed the Ghost as we watched one of his more reliable dreg associates shuffle and creep across rocky terrain. He needed eyes on his enemies around the clock. Hazy silhouettes slowly focused into view.

The Scorned Barons had been a manageable problem before their association with Uldren Sov. He hated to admit it but it seems he had underestimated the Awoken Prince. Feh. Uldren had destroyed the House of Kings from top to bottom. Craask’s vanity was his downfall after all. The last original Kell had finally fallen. Wolves,Winter, Devils, and now Kings. Another lesson for the survivors: patience should not exceed the payoff. All that waiting with nothing to show for it.

Spider’s eyes narrowed as hunched figures shuffled closer.The horrors of war were old hat to him. Torturous body modifications, ether starvation, and daily beatings could turn the strongest into weakened shells.He had heard that Variks had become very creative in his handling of prisoners. But, this was beyond that. These... creatures. They were perverted corpses. His mind immediately compared them with Taken. Consumed by darkness and beholden to Oryx. These were not loyal slaves of the Hive. They followed Fikrul, the Fanatic. However or wherever he had received these powers Spider was committed to wiping it from existence.

“Abominations.”

A new pernicious torment unleashed upon the eliksni. And this time by their own kind.

“Not here. Not on my Shore.” The question remained: how? How do you kill the living dead?

[bloodoflordaeron]

I took some time to explain what’s happening in one of the regions of the Liberty x Undeath universe as of the year 2020.  Who knows if this will lead into any other stories or the like... 

The End of an Empire 02.03.2020

It began at the great gala announcing Prince Michaela’s consolidation of power within New York City.  Having undermined, absorbed, or destroyed all factions that opposed her assent, Prince Michaela held a great meeting at the illustrious van der Veen Center so that those within her domain could finally show public displays of allegiance to the great unifier. 

The list of guests was impressive: princes of nearby regions, the entirety of the Camarilla court within New York the boroughs, and the Anarchs ranging from Little Odessa all the way to New Jersey.  Even the baron, a Russian-born Brujah aged 14, was in attendance to the gathering.  

Immediately after a dance was held, Michaela accepted her gifts and oaths of allegiance from those in attendance.  The baron Brujah, Katushka, presented herself to Michaela and began stating the many ways she appreciated the prince despite all of the wrongs she had done.  As the list became more numerous, those in attendance began to become worried due to Michaela’s notorious temper.  At last Michaela shouted for her to stop and the girl went silent.

But her silence was not obeisant, and she glared bitterly at the Prince who approached her and swore that she would regret her insolence.  No sooner had she closed in upon her though than did Katushka’s mouth suddenly drop open and as Michaela moved to strike her, she was suddenly stricken still.  First one tendril of darkness, and then a second emerged from the girl’s mouth until the prince was suddenly filled with endless blades of shadow.  The nearby kindred rushed to her aid, but as Michaela fell away, bleeding, Katushka fell to her knees and whispered something that none other present could hear.

What followed was an explosion that brought down the building and immediately brought the Camarilla’s presence in New York to its knees.

The Incident 02.10.2020

New York erupted into violence following the collapse of Michaela’s stronghold.  In fact, because one person had so effectively spearheaded unification when she was removed anarchy followed swiftly.  Michaela’s primogens and court officials were either killed or went into hiding after the assassination attempt and the Camarilla, now on the back-foot, was forced to fight against three separate forces: the emergence of the Sabbat, the independence of the Anarchs, and general human fears.  

Michaela had been a greedy prince and her oppression embittered many against the idea of the Camarilla take root in New York once more.  The Sabbat pressed their surprise offensive with brutal efficiency and rapidly purged buroughs of their inhabitants.  The Bronx fell immediately, followed in quick succession by Brooklyn and Queens.  Manhattan’s population held out fighting, but proved incapable of gaining any purchase. Staten Island was ignored for the time being, being seen as a location with little value.  The Sabbat, perhaps believing that they could destroy two enemies, turned their attention to Harlem as quickly as possible and perhaps made their greatest mistake: the Followers of Set pulled into their labyrinthine series of lairs and dens. 

By investing themselves in purging the Followers of Set, rather than finishing off the Camarilla, they both wasted manpower and time that could have secured them a more permanent victory.  The Camarilla, recovering slowly as it was, sent out a call for aid to princes within America.  Several sent in air support, dropping in coteries to fight for purchase in Manhattan proper.  The surprising speed and resourcefulness of the Camarilla recovery denied previous expectations of bickering and in fact, saw the Sabbat immediately placed on the back foot.

At this point, the tide was shifted.

The Reconquering 02.17.2020

Bolstered by reinforcements from out-of-state, the Camarilla that managed to remain in Manhattan began coordinating to initiative their own attacks.  At the same time, the Followers of Set launched their counterattack against the Sabbat, having sacrificed several neighborhoods only to unleash their response with ruthless aggression against the Sabbat war parties and packs that stalked Harlem.  Along with aid from the Anarchs, they managed to push the Sabbat back and when joined with the Camarilla’s reinforcements, split them off into two different regions -- Brooklyn and the Bronx. 

Quite certain that it lacked the manpower to reestablish complete control over New York, the Camarilla negotiated with the others.  A status quo antebellum was unacceptable, so instead was agreed that for their sacrifices and efforts, the Anarchs would be given Brooklyn and the Setites protected in Harlem.  A defense agreement was made between the three forces, allowing any to assist the other in the event of an attack from the Sabbat. Otherwise, they were free to continue to recover land as they wished.

So it stands that the Camarilla has reclaimed Manhattan, Staten Island, and parts of Queens (which is also shared with the other Reconquering forces). Harlem remains firmly in the hands of the Setites, and the Anarchs have taken Brooklyn for themselves, where they continue to fight against the Sabbat.  The Bronx is considered lost for the time being.

Some grievances remain between the Camarilla and the Anarchs, as Katushka is accused of having conspired to assassinate Michaela.  Additionally, there is concern that the Anarchs cannot be trusted to annihilate the Sabbat and that the Camarilla should intervene in the Bronx, though overtures of such have been met with aggression. 

Status Quo Armageddon ??.??.2020

Who knows what’s next?

New princes. New barons. New bishops. New kindred.

Old hatreds.

Good Morning, New York. This is a new day.

[yay855]

But the thing is? Agatha is also this. She went her whole childhood thinking that she was broken inside, that something was genuinely wrong with her, only to find out that her Uncle Barry's final gift to her before he left, her precious locket containing pictures of her mother and father, was poisoning her brain. That it kept her stupid and unable to concentrate even a smidgen, so she'd grow up desperately wanting to prove herself but unable to. And then her locket is stolen, and suddenly she can think- she can sing. All of a sudden the world explodes into color, both metaphorically and visually; everything is bright and fresh and seems amazing. For the first time in her life Agatha feels free in spite of her being a prisoner of the Baron. She meets and falls in love with Gil, who genuinely respects her and her ideas.

And then it all comes crashing down. The Baron is a dangerous man who views her as a tool at best and a test dummy at worst. Gil wants to force their relationship forwards to spite his father, not caring about Agatha's needs or wants. And the few people who genuinely care for her are punished, even killed, just for standing up for her.

But this time, she's all alone save for Krosp, whose only real use is his paranoia. She's stranded in the wilderness; her home is no longer safe, her adoptive parents are dead, and no one is willing to help her simply because she's potentially dangerous, both as a spark and as a fugitive of Wulfenbach.

She gets very lucky to come across Master Payne's Circus, because they teach her a lot of very useful life skills after taking her in- acting, subterfuge, combat, and how the world really works. Agatha's home town was isolated and safe, protected by the Baron, while the rest of the world has to suffer monsters and rogue robots and the would-be conquerors unleashing them. But even so, she can't be honest with them, or else she risks endangering them even worse. The only one who's genuinely there for her is Zeetha, and the two become lifelong friends and companions.

They come to Sturmhalten, and in a whirlwind Agatha is forced away from the circus and brought into a four-way plot between Aaronev, the Geisters, Tarvek, and Anevka, each of them wanting to use her for their own purposes. She learns more of her heritage, that she's not only the child of one of the Heterodyne Boys but of Lucrezia Mongfish, who is in fact the horrific boogeyman she grew up thinking was long gone, but who now is possessing her mind. Once again Agatha's agency is ripped away from her, but this time she's gotten a taste of it, and she's not willing to give it up again. And things go horribly wrong, the Baron is after her and Lucrezia is messing up Agatha's plans, and she barely escapes, the first man she's ever loved sacrificing his life for her while genuinely believing she would never love him because of who he was.

Enough is enough. Agatha needs to get in control of her life, now. And so she finally goes to Mechanicsburg, and she finds her people- people who are there for her, who want her to succeed, who support her without question. And still people are trying to take that from her, some pink bitch trying to steal her legacy and her new home. And in stride Gil and Tarvek, both proclaiming that they're here to help her- Gil genuinely thinks his father isn't that bad, but Tarvek knows better and is trying to latch himself onto Agatha for his own protection. But okay, they're both smart guys who can help, so she puts up with it, and slowly learns that they're not that bad.

Her castle is fixed, and right as she's ready to proclaim herself the new ruler of Mechanicsburg, all hell breaks loose- wave upon wave of people and monsters arrive, each one trying to screw her over in their own way. It's an uphill battle, they're running out of power and weapons, and right as Agatha finally manages to do the impossible and win... in strides Martellus, the first person trying to screw her over politely instead of overtly. And one of Agatha's own betrays her, shipping her through a portal to some unknown location...

Two and a half years passed while she was in the portal, and now Mechanicsburg is frozen in time; Agatha's home base, her people, are stolen away from her, and once more some arrogant jackass is trying to force himself on her so that he can take away everything she has. But Agatha is smart, and competent; Martellus is a pompous windbag, and even if she can't undo what he did to her, she can at least cope with it without him. Krosp and Violetta, an old friend and a new one, come to her rescue, and together they escape only to land in more hot water, this time Gil's roving search parties. But Agatha can't really trust him right now, so she outsmarts him too, and reunites with what's left of her people.

She needs to free Mechanicsburg for her own safety, and to remove her mother's influence from her head. So she heads off, trouble following her wherever she goes. First the Corbetites, then Paris, then England; things just keep going wrong, and Agatha is barely scraping by on her wits and her friends. For everything she manages to get right, two more problems pop up, two more things trying to kill her or enslave her or otherwise stop her from being safe for the first time since she left Beetleburg so long ago.

Every single time Agatha thinks she's got a leg up, every time she thinks she's finally free or at least getting close, something else goes wrong. She's constantly dueling people who want to chain her to them, to steal what's rightfully hers, to take away her agency.

Tarvek: sustained by the idea he’ll one day rule everything Gil: functional only as long as he’s deliberately not thinking about how he’ll one day rule everything

[asmund-scion-of-ice]

To Battle

The pre-dawn chill gripped the assorted soldiers. They smartly marched west, the mountains to their back. Dwarves, humans, and kobolds marched in the light of the failing moon. Their footsteps thundered over the grassy plains, untouched by snow. Ten thousand Rovriddare berserkers and swordsmen marched toward battle, unfazed and undaunted. Five thousand Rovriddare cavalry, the dwarves and humans riding war horses, the kobolds riding cold-hardy deinonychus, rode to each side of the column. Underhall dwarves, fifteen thousand strong marched at the head of the column, pikemen out front with archers in the center. 

Asmund flew overhead, weaving spells and uttering incantations on the wing. He channeled white mana to protect his forces and keep them cohesive on the field. Blue to hide them from the enemy. Red to fill them with rage and battle prowess. This would be a day long remembered.

A kobold scout rode in from the west, his riding leather covered in dust, shouting to the head of the column, “Cavalry spotted! To the northwest! They seek to envelope us! They are two or three thousand strong, pushing eastward!” Asmund flew lower, landing beside the kobold. Its tired mount pant in the cool morning air. Lord Underhall stood, a massive warhammer gripped in his gauntleted hands, looking to the white dragon.

“Lord Underhall, I shall send five hundred of my fastest cavalry to meet them,” Asmund turned to the kobold. Noting its rank, the dragon commanded, “Captain, take five hundred of your best riders. I want them drawn away from the village, and to the west.” The kobold, listening, nodded while reloading his musket.

“Yes, Lord Baron!” The green skinned kobold, dressed in a mismatch of clashing colors and fabrics beneath his leather armor, kicked his mount and raced off to the north, pulling roughly five hundred dinosaurs and their kobold riders to face the enemy. Other horsemen filled the gap the now forward group left behind while Asmund took to the skies, flexing his wings. Spying the oncoming foe, the dragon let out a war cry; clearly, his illusions were not as great as he had hoped.

He felt the savages’ shamans unleash a massive magical blast. Hastily, the dragon let forth a blast of blue mana, suspending the enemy’s spell in time. “Get ready to counter,” cried Asmund; below, a group of three hundred mages and shamans began chanting and preparing spells. The Ajikan spell was massive, the collective effort of their people culminating in a great blast of arcane energy, its heat searing the edges of Asmund’s mind. 

After a few moments, the sound of musket blasts heralded the cavalry engagement to the north; diverting his attention from the enemy spell, the combat was slowly moving eastward as lead and arrows were exchanged. Luckily the deinonychi were faster than the plainsmens’ horses and could pull the enemy back toward their disgusting hovels. As Asmund relished the heat of battle, his spell wore off and the full weight of the Ajikans’ spell slammed into his force. Wizards cried out as their minds seared away, the collective counter spell not quite great enough to stop casualties. Asmund snarled in disgust as he counted twenty of his men dead.

With just under three miles to go now, the two armies marched onward. His mages began casting an offensive spell; Asmund felt the earth being drained of its mana as massive clouds began to form above and in front of his force. Good, a blizzard was necessary here. In the slowly lightening sky, Asmund added his own magic to that of the mages below. Soon, a massive storm developed, hail stones the size of heads slamming down over the enemy village.

One mile to go now, and the enemy foot soldiers began exiting the village and pushing east toward the oncoming force. A second cavalry force, the size of the first enemy force, began to swing around to the south, bound up against the river, just as planned. With a laugh, Asmund watched as Lord Underhall’s dwarves broke off from the Rovriddaren unit. 

As planned, the enemy cavalry force began to charge. As planned, long, straight lines of horses swept over the open fields, trampling the grasses. As planned, Lord Underhall’s force planted itself squarely in the way of the oncoming doom.

Asmund roared triumphantly as, as planned, the ground burst upward in front of the Ajikan cavalry. Men and horses flew into the air as magma erupted from the earth, coating thousands in liquid fire. Horrified screams rose from the village and from the enemy. The dwarves marched forward again, magic encasing them as they pierced through the wall of fire. Screams were silenced one by one as the Ajikan southern cavalry was destroyed. Underhall mages began guiding the lava toward the river. Massive blasts of steam rose to obscure the rising sun, just cracking over the mountaintops to the east.

Turning his attention back to the north, he sent a quick spell to his human cavalry commander, Take to the north, and join the other force. I want that cavalry destroyed. Watching, half of the dragon’s remaining cavalry wheeled away from the column, pushing northward and westward. As the cavalry column broke, so did the main column. Asmund’s forces began to envelop the village in the early morning light. Their shamans were no longer putting up a fight, but their villagers seemed to be hastily digging in.

Asmund lazily wheeled above, watching as the dwarves also began to encircle the village from the south, meeting his cavalry and keeping the enemy at bay. After a few moments, the village was encircled. A few brave souls died upon the axes and swords of the dragon’s forces. Most knelt, awaiting their execution. 

Asmund landed in the center of the village, crushing three Ajikans. With a roar, he tore through five others. Many people began to run. Other played dead. It would not matter. They would perish anyway.

“This,” roared Asmund, his thundering voice shaking the earth, “is what you reap when you hide the foes of Rovriddare! None of you shall live!” Shards of ice flew from the dragon, spearing dozens. His breath froze footmen and civilians alike.

“Not if there’s anything we can say about it!” Asmund angrily turned, gnashing his teeth. A group of five stood before him. Three humans, a tengu, and a half-elf. The traitors. The murderers.

The first barely wore any clothing, was extremely muscular, and carried a great broad sword, his brown hair flowing in the wind. The second was a paladin, wearing the silver of the dragon god, tall but not overly muscular, his chiseled face partially masked by his helm. The third was a wizard, clad only in light blue robes, his black beard clashing with his red hair. The tengu was fourth, a small violin clutched between feathered fingers. Finally, the half-elf stood with his bow drawn.

“Face me, scum! You will pay for what you have done!”Asmund roared, leaping toward them. The tengu began to play a melody, his friends shouting a battle cry. “Die, you filth, you wretched beings! Forces of Rovriddare, slaughter your foes!” With a thundering roar, Asmund’s forces pushed into the village, destroying all. 

The first to die was the barbarian, wildly swinging his word. Bitten in half, his entrails steaming in the cold morning air. Second was the bard, speared by a great shard of ice. Arrows pelt harmlessly off of Asmund’s hide and plate armor. Spells all but ricocheted back at the wizard. The paladin fought briefly as he felt his godly powers taken from him; his patron god, observing the battle, saw him fighting Asmund. The white dragon laughed, biting off the head of the defeated foe. The wizard died next, his head melting as Asmund’s magics tore open his mind. Finally, only the ranger stood. 

The half-elf’s arrows broke upon Asmund’s scales. His measly magics harmlessly dissipate into the chill air. Snow fell around the two combatants. With a roar, the dragon pinned his foe. The half-elf cried out in terror, drawing a knife, somehow managing to stab Asmund’s foot and drawing blood. With a disgusted grunt, Asmund pinned the man to the ground, a claw piercing his stomach. 

“For you,” the dragon hissed, “you will die slowly. You killed my daughter, scum, and you will face the slow, inevitable face of death.” The dragon bit down, tearing away the man’s left arm. The half-elf weakly sobbed, blood pouring to the ground. Asmund tore away his right arm. Then his left leg. Then his right. The dragon froze the stumps.

The half-elf was pale. Shivering. Asmund’s army fought around him, but he paid no heed. This man would feel incredible pain. He opened the man’s mind. Asmund sifted through all of his memories, watching in horror as the ranger poisoned his beloved Fyri in her sleep. In a blind rage, the dragon wiped the man’s mind and filled it with fear. Panicking, the ranger shouted and floundered under Asmund’s claws. Gasping for breath, in horrible pain, the half-elf pleaded for mercy. 

The last thing the ranger saw was Asmund’s teeth.

[primestartes]

The Night Comes

The War of Change has fallen upon the all living things; the Gods’ Chosen Champion marshal all things Chaos with the forsaken Legions as his spearheads. Only for the envious ambitions of the Black Legions to subvert their unified vision - the rebirth of Man’s Empire - under the command of their Warmaster.  However, even with their alliance, the Fallen Legions are given full support to their ambitions. To the east of their former allegiance, the warlords of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Legions set their eyes upon the Unliving. Both have beheld a duty to containing and destroying the imbalance caused by the Great Necromancer from several lifetimes ago. Now, they march upon the magic-twisted bogs and peasant-lands enthralled by the Vampires.

The unrelenting march of the Deathguard takes the front lines of the shrieking dead and their pleas of Final Rest and ease to their unnatural pain, Brother Aleksander - rejoined with Primarch Mortarion’s blessing - is more than happy to oblige his sacred duties. However, the arrogance of the vampires is a shroud used by another.

In the ancient stone-walls of Baron Rati Heilbronn’s fortress, the stalwart ward into the vampires’ realm, the talons of the long-forgotten tear into their memory and reminder of their ultimate failure.

----

A peasant whimpered, his bloodied shiv dropping with a quiet click from the wounded hand. Eyes wide to the sight that he beheld - a man twice his own meek size, clad in such elegant and terrible storm-blue armour that drape of odd tabard that gave the appearance of white wings clinging on rings hanging from spiked pauldron. In the black darkness of the night, he could see only a skull-like face of a beast maned by oil-black hair. The poor soul couldn’t tell if it had eyes in its socket, only by the piercing white pins staring. Only for a heartbeat before they slowly looked upon the inner quarters of the phantom of a well-fortified stronghold. The look of motionless dead staring out to the marshes, the sound of war just outside and the aurora of Nurgle’s pestilence so close.

“A-are you he?” The meek man questioned, quickly gaining the creature’s audience.  Its frame caressed by the fluctuating hole caused by a simple cut of peon blood.

A wicked talon lifted, provoking the peasant to flinch instinctively and almost fell back before a whole hand snatched around his nape and shoulder blades. The pinpoints of those talons pricking into the soft, dirty skin, a thumb stroking under the whimpering mortal’s chin and lips. From the creature’s back, a sudden flare of bat-like fluttering sprang from the daemonic portal with horrid screams of unbridled hatred and murderous desire that even stirred the dead to a heralding cry.

Five flocks of winged creatures similarly armoured, three five-manned terror squads and two flocks borne into a madness from the eternal darkness and damnation of Nostramo the Realm of the Forever Night, becoming the Warp Talons ingrained into the terror of the Material Realm as nightmarish killers who waver in and out of existence through the Thousand Year Exile.

All of them attacking catapults and necromancers who found safety in the bulwark's height and sorcerous towers.

“Behold, Mortal.” The seducer to this treachery coos with a dark, milky voice. Lifting the peon off his feet like a newborn babe with the thumb angling the man’s head off to see the mad swoops and body-flinging takeoffs that his Coven made. “See your freedom come in the destruction of your masters.”

Then his thumb started to puncture into the choking human’s neck, causing more blood to dribble from a pierced artery. More in tribute to the tear into the dimension, necessary to pry it further open. Both watching the full march of the Night Lords. A Battalion strong, the white skulls and winged helms of blood-eager killers with their eyes burning a long detained heat finally unleashed upon the world that discarded them.

And their Lord Macadameus smiled a sinister grin as his wings unfolded and splayed in pride as his hand snapped his sacrifice’s neck like a dry twig.

[licieoic]

Deleted Scenes

I decided to post the deleted scenes from A Marriage of Convenience here! After all, why not, it’s my blog, it’s my story. ^_^ No idea how many people will be interested in reading these, but here they are anyway. :P

The following scenes under the cut - Harold Saxon, Viscount Oakdown, persuades Lady Rose Tyler that he intends to mend his friendship with Baron John Smith, called ‘the Doctor’ by his friends and ‘Theta’ by the Viscount. But his motives are far from friendly. (This is what happened in the three days that the Doctor and Donna were traveling to and from London.)

Warnings - kidnapping, firearms, threats of torture, violence, some blood, non-con touching. Basically lots of whump and angst, all the stuff I just skipped over in the fic. The Master is NOT a fun guy in this story.

It was nearing the dinner hour when Wilf came to Rose, announcing that a caller had arrived to see her. Perplexed as to who could be calling so late, she brushed off her simple green-sprigged day dress to make certain she was presentable and went to the sitting room where the unexpected guest was waiting.

She recognized him immediately. “Viscount Oakdown,” she said in surprise. “Whatever are you doing here?”

He bowed over her hand. “Lady Tyler, I apologize,” he said, the picture of contrition. “For coming here unannounced and uninvited at such a late hour. And also for my rudeness the last time we met. I’m afraid I was not in a right mind, blinded by my grief and anger that I’ve held onto for so long.”

Rose blinked a few times, unsure how to accept his apology when it was the Doctor who should really be hearing it. “Well, I… Your arrival is unexpected, but not unwelcome as long as I may trust you have something of significance to say.”

“Indeed I do.”

She indicated the sofa and sat down in an armchair herself, prepared to hear him out.

He settled himself and leaned forward. “Seeing Theta again unleashed a number of emotions in me,” he confessed. “Most of them lodged in old hurts, but many of them fond. Nostalgic. As he told you, he and I were once like brothers and if he can see fit to forgive my past behavior, perhaps we may find that relationship again. Will you help me plead my case, Lady Tyler? I know he will listen to you.”

Rose smiled, pleased that the Doctor might regain his lost friendship. “I would be more than happy to speak on your behalf, my lord, but I’m afraid it will have to wait. The Doctor just left for London today.”

His forehead creased. “Oh, dear.”

She tilted her head. “What is it?”

“I saw an accident up the road on my way here,” he said. “It looked like a wheel had broken and the carriage had tumbled off the road and halfway into the river. You don’t suppose that could have been Theta?”

Rose’s heart slammed against her ribcage. No. This couldn’t happen. Not so soon after the Doctor had spoken of his love for her. She couldn’t even think about what this meant for Tardis Manor, all she could focus on was the Doctor and Donna, potentially lost to her forever.

She surged to her feet, pulse hammering rapidly in her throat. “You don’t really think so?”

He lifted his brows, indicating he wasn’t sure. “It looked an awful lot like the carriage you took to my estate…”

She was already running for the door. Oakdown quickly followed her, keeping stride at her heels as she ran down the hall for the main foyer.

“Allow me to help you, my lady,” he said. “My carriage is right outside.”

“Yes! Thank you, yes!”

She didn’t even bother stopping to pull on a cloak, she ran right outside to the waiting carriage, completely ignoring Wilf who called out, asking her to wait.

Oakdown followed her into the coach, advising his driver, the same swarthy man that Rose had seen at the viscount’s gatehouse, “Drive on. Fast as you can.”

Once they were clear of Tardis Manor’s grounds, Rose had her face in the window, looking out as far as she could, searching for the accident he’d mentioned. “How far is it?”

He reached into his jacket. “Farther than you think.”

She turned to look at him and her eyes widened as she saw the pistol he was pointing at her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting back in her seat, her eyes never leaving the firearm.

“There was no accident,” he said. “This was all just a ruse to get you to come with me.”

“Yes, I guessed that.” She swallowed, trying to think of a way out that wouldn’t end in her getting shot.

“Don’t bother trying to entreat my coachman for help,” he advised. “He’s paid very well to do whatever I say.”

“I don’t understand, we were both at your estate the other day. Why didn’t you try anything then? Why all the cloak and dagger?”

“Because you ruined my initial plan,” he said. “You were supposed to leave him once you’d heard what he did.” He made it sound like she’d been in on it and hadn’t followed through.

“But why are you doing this now? To make him think I’ve run off?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Oh, no, no. Collecting you was just a means to an end, my dear. The next stage of my plan, if you will.”

“Why not just shoot the Doctor and be done with it?” It was the last thing she wanted, of course, but she had to know his reasons behind kidnapping her.

His gray eyes betrayed a fiendish light. “I don’t just want Theta dead, Lady Tyler. I want him destroyed.”

Rose was suddenly aware that this man was completely mad. To have gone to such extreme lengths to manipulate her, to concoct such a convoluted scheme to enact his revenge, he was utterly around the bend.

He sat back with a little smile. “I really ought to thank you. I’ve been trying to hunt down where Theta disappeared to for years. It wasn’t until I saw your engagement notice that I located him again.”

Oh, God, she thought in horror. This is my fault. If she hadn’t needed the Doctor, he could have remained in obscurity. She took a breath, knowing one had to be very careful around mad people.

“I see.” She knew she wouldn’t be able to predict his behavior, but she thought if she could just maintain a facade of politeness, he wouldn’t feel inclined to get violent with her. “So, the end justifies the means, then, my lord?” she asked, striving to tamp down her inner panic and remain calm.

“Exactly,” he said with a twisted smile, as if happy that she understood him. “I will take everything from him that he loves and skewer him right through the heart.” As he spoke, he leaned forward, pressing the tip of the pistol to Rose’s chest, the gunmetal cold against her breastbone. “It just happens that you are where he keeps it.”

---

Oakdown kept one hand on the pistol and the other on the door handle of the coach the entire way, to ensure Rose wouldn’t jump out. Not that she would. She’d considered it, but even if he managed not to shoot her, the carriage was traveling so fast, she wasn’t certain that she would survive a jump. For the time being, she waited and watched for an opening.

Once they reached the estate, he descended first and reached in to drag her out, holding her arm in a vice-like grip. She attempted to struggle, but stopped once he had the pistol trained on her again. As he pulled her up the steps to the main entrance, she heard the carriage drive off behind them. She twisted her head to watch it go, taking note of the direction in case she managed to get away. There was still a chance that she could escape and just take a horse.

The viscount marched Rose into the manor and through the first door they came to, which happened to be a sitting room. He turned the key in the lock and threw Rose toward a sofa while he pocketed the key. She fell against the red-striped couch and glared at him as she turned to take her seat. With the door locked, that left a single window on the opposite wall as her only potential exit, and it was currently shut.

“Now,” he said, moving across the room to the lit fireplace. “We are going to have a little talk.”

She squirmed uncomfortably as he banked the flames with a pointed poker, stirring them up to a brighter blaze, but he never fully turned his back to her. Leaving the poker in the fire, he grabbed a straight backed chair standing nearby. He dragged it over in front of Rose and sat down so quickly, she shot back in her seat with a gasp, shocked by his sudden nearness.

“You are going to tell me when dear Johnny is returning from London.”

“No, I’m not,” she said immediately. He truly had to be insane if he really thought she would co-operate with him. She would never willingly subject the Doctor to whatever torment his former friend had in mind.

He gave her a condescending smile. “I thought you might say that, but trust me when I say, you really don’t want to make this more difficult for yourself.”

He waited, but Rose still maintained her silence and instead, squared her jaw in defiance. Oakdown heaved a great, put-upon sigh, pushing his chair back as he stood. He ambled back toward the fireplace as though each step was exhausting.

“I had you looked into,” he said. “I studied you.” Leaning down, he picked up the poker he’d left in the flames and looked at the hot tip of it meaningfully. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” He stabbed the poker back in the fire and Rose couldn’t help a flinch. “How interesting to find out what became of your family, but even more so was what came after.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Slowly, she crept toward the edge of her seat, trying to keep her eyes on him and not toward the window.

“Is it really true that you went months before being able to light a single match?” he asked. “Do you remember the heat and smoke? The fear?” He grabbed the poker and brandished it toward her, the pointed end just beginning to glow red. “Let’s find out.”

Rose lunged over the low table in front of her, knocking over the straight-backed chair as she went, hoping to put it in his way. Oakdown leapt over the small hindrance, whipping the poker over his head, he slammed it down on the windowsill a mere moment before she would have touched the sash. The pane of glass gave an angry rattle and the gash he left in the wood smoldered faintly.

She backed away from the hot metal, hardly able to breathe. The edges of her vision were darkening, narrowing her focus to the weapon in his hand. She knocked into an armchair and fell over one of the arms into an awkward position on her back. Oakdown was on her before she could right herself, pinning her down with his hand on her throat, the other hand holding the poker aloft.

“Alright, enough. When is your sweet fiance going to return?” he asked again, his voice roughened from the chase.

For one moment, she held. Hoping she would pass out. When he made a move to stab her with the poker, however, she squeezed her eyes shut and blurted out, “Day after next!”

Smiling, he straightened and went to toss the poker back in the fire. “There. Not so hard.”

He retrieved the pistol from the mantle where he’d left it and returned to her in the time it took for her to catch her breath and sit up. She gasped as he dropped a knee on the chair between her legs and leaned all his weight on her skirt, keeping her in place.

“Thank you for being so accommodating, Lady Tyler,” he said in a mockery of gentility while pressing the nose of the pistol against her jaw. “I think you’ll find I can be quite genial to a lady who co-operates.”

He roughly cupped her breast with his free hand, making her feel the imprint of each finger, even through her corset. She clutched his arm and shook her torso, a minute struggle, trying to push him off and escape his touch, but it was useless while he was effectively standing on her skirt.

“Don’t you touch me,” she growled through gritted teeth.

“Struggle if you like,” he said, squeezing harder, “it might make things more interesting. Can’t promise I won’t shoot you in the leg.”

He observed her trembling and smiled, lifting his hand to touch her face. The tenderness in the gesture made her stomach turn and she hoped she might be sick all over him.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he crooned. I won’t do anything too horrible. Not til Theta arrives anyway. There’s no real point if he’s not here to see it.”

---

Oakdown hadn’t done anything more than paw at her that first night, before locking her in a cellar. It had been so dark, all she’d been able to do was grope her way to the bottom of the stairs, curl up on the floor, and attempt to rest. She thought she’d drifted off a handful of times, but she’d been too cold, too uncomfortable, and too afraid to really sleep.

At dawn, the morning light came through the tiny windows near the ceiling, allowing her to see. The cellar was largely empty, but for a few things. There were two large steel cages at the far end that she eyed warily, wondering what they were for. The trampled straw at the bottom of the cages led her to believe animals had once been kept inside, perhaps a couple of large hunting dogs like she’d seen outside the stable the other day. There was also a large barrel full of rainwater underneath a drainage pipe to the side of the large room, so she was at least able to slake her thirst. It was still up for speculation if he planned to feed her.

It was nearing midday when the door at the top of the cellar opened.

“Sleep well, Lady Tyler?”

She glared up at him from her position on the floor and refused to dignify him with an answer.

“I don’t suppose you’re hungry?” he went on, as if they were having a perfectly normal conversation. “You’ll have to come upstairs.”

He opened the door wide and gestured that she might step past him. It was a trick, a fruitless temptation. He wanted to taunt her with the idea of freedom. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She didn’t want anything from him, despite the fact that she was hungry. She wasn’t foolish enough to trust that this offer was only about food. This was about power. When she turned her head away and maintained her silence, he sighed and closed the door, locking her in once again. Her stomach protested and she drank more water to quiet it down.

With a burning face, even though no one could see her, she relieved herself in a corner of the cellar. She wanted to remove her corset very much; actually, she wanted a bath, a proper bed, and to never see these clothes again. The fear of Oakdown violating her further made her stay fully dressed. Every layer was a piece of armor to hinder him.

When it began to get dark again, the door opened and he tossed half a loaf of bread down the stairs. The hard crust bounced once, then rolled the rest of the way.

“Big day tomorrow,” he said with false enthusiasm. “Can’t have you fainting on me.”

She didn’t move until he’d locked her in again, then fell on the bread loaf and began pulling it apart. He hadn’t been too far from the truth, as she’d been feeling faint for some time. If she was going to find a way to escape, she couldn’t be weak from not eating. Even so, she was glad she hadn’t given in. She’d made him bring the food to her and not the other way round. It felt like a tiny victory.

Before it was completely dark, she’d crawled into a pile of straw in the corner that hadn’t been used, as far as she could tell. It looked dingy from age, but at least it wasn’t soiled. The straw helped to keep her warmer and eventually, exhaustion claimed her.

The following day, however, Oakdown wasn’t content to let Rose remain a stoic prisoner. He came down and fetched her, prodding her forward and upstairs at the end of his pistol.

He led her to a second-story conservatory full of dead plants with lots of filthy windows to allow the thin, overcast light to fill the room. “Here we are!” he declared, forcibly sitting her down in a straight-backed chair.

Rose eyed the numerous windows. Perhaps he thought she wouldn’t attempt to jump out of one of the windows if they were higher up. Though there wasn’t any snow to dampen her fall this time, she held it as an option. She already knew she could survive such a fall if it was her last choice.

Oakdown tied her arms behind her with a length of rope, then sat down before her in an overstuffed armchair, crossing one leg at the knee. He hummed thoughtfully, then reached out and pulled a couple of pieces of straw from her hair, while looking critically at her face. “I think the right side is your best.”

With that bizarre statement, he turned to a small table at his elbow and picked up a charcoal pencil, beginning to sketch on a sheaf of drawing paper.

Rose watched him for a moment, utterly perplexed by his behavior. “What are you doing?” she asked at last.

“I should think that would be obvious,” he said, glancing up at her.

“You’re… drawing me?”

He nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“Why?” She didn’t expect much rationality from a madman, but she was hardly a pretty picture at the moment. Even without a mirror, she knew a lot of her hair had fallen out of her topknot and the rest of it was only loosely coiled in a lopsided bun. It probably looked like an actual bird’s nest and she felt horribly grimy from her stay in the cellar.

“How else am I going to entice Theta to dash to your side?” he asked with a fiendish smile. He frowned down at his drawing. “I really want to capture you faithfully, he needs to be able to tell who it is!” He laughed.

He was going to send her portrait to the Doctor. Her stomach gave a lurch and she tasted bile at the back of her throat. The thought was horrifying because of how calculated it was. Oakdown might have been insane, but he wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t going to send a letter demanding the Doctor’s presence, he was going to send an image of his love in captivity, the better to make him panic. Panic would make an otherwise sensible man make mistakes.

She had to get out. She had to escape. She couldn’t let the Doctor run right into this trap. Rose flexed her hands, twisting her wrists to test the rope he’d bound her with. The knots held firm, absolutely no give.

“Please hold still,” he said, as if she were sitting for a real portrait. “Your nose is not easy to draw, has anyone ever told you that?”

She huffed. He hadn’t tied her feet. She could still run. Both of his hands were occupied with sketching. She eyed the pistol lying across his lap. How fast could she run from the room before he had a chance to pick it up and shoot? Without knowing how good a shot he was, she didn’t know if odds were in her favor that he might miss.

What if she could get him to use the shot? Then she could run while he attempted to reload. Maybe she could charge him and knock over his chair with her bodyweight. It was a big risk and she might fall down or he might grab her. That wouldn’t work.

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. She had to get out of there, but it seemed impossible.

Oakdown sighed at his drawing and looked up at Rose. “Something’s not quite right,” he said. “Could you try to look less angry and more… I don’t know, despairing?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m sure this is just what your sister would have wanted you to make of your life,” she spat.

Slowly, he set down his charcoal. “Be very careful, Lady Tyler,” he said. His hand was shaking.

“Elise would be ashamed,” she shot back.

He was on his feet in a flash, paper scattering everywhere. The firearm clattered to the floor, but didn’t go off. “YOU DON’T SAY HER NAME!” he shouted, backhanding her across the face so hard that the chair toppled.

Rose fell to the floor, landing on her side, her ear ringing, her face an explosion of pain. Blood dripped hot from her nose. Oakdown was on top of her in the next moment, pressing her down, straddling her stomach, her arms pinned underneath her.

“No!” she screamed when he gripped her bodice in both hands and ripped it down to her waist.

When he growled in frustration at the sight of her corset, she knew she’d made the right choice in keeping it on, but he squeezed her breasts cruelly all the same, making sure it hurt, even through her underwear. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes and streaked back into her hair. Even so, she wouldn’t stop fighting.

“This is how you honor her death,” she rasped. “By raping a helpless woman.”

He grabbed her by the throat and Rose feared this might be the end as the edges of her vision began sparking with white lights, but then, as suddenly as this had started, he let go. He was panting heavily and the wild light hadn’t left his eyes, but he stood up, laughing horribly.

“That was clever, Lady Tyler,” he said, stooping to pick up the pistol and a few of the pieces of paper. “But you won’t deprive me of my revenge. There will be plenty of time to punish you later.”

He reset the chair and picked her up in his arms to set her back in it, completely ignoring her struggles. He looked at her chest, her gown gaping open, and grabbed the fabric again, tearing off a large piece. The shoulder on that side fell halfway down her arm, exposing her further.

“Like I said before,” he said, knotting the length of fabric in the middle. “There’s no point in torturing you before Theta arrives.”

He forced the knot into her mouth and tied the fabric behind her head. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a silver watch and checked the time. His smile was terrible as he settled back down with his charcoal and paper.

“This is for real,” he said. “So, let’s make it a good one. Smile.”

Rose closed her eyes on more tears, her cries muffled through the gag. She’d thought if she made him angry, he might have done something foolish, or barring that, at least delay him. She’d tried, but it hadn’t done any good. She sagged in the chair, her scraggly hair sticking to the blood that had dripped from her nose. In her mind’s eye, she saw the Doctor and that special look he’d given her ever since that first day. She could almost hear him breathlessly telling her he loved her. She was so afraid.