#canis forge

[sassenach77yle]

7x13 “HELLO, GOODBYE”

Suddenly they were into a scrim of trees—the low, wind-crabbed grove they’d lurked in earlier. But the dogs were on their track, barking eagerly, and they didn’t linger but fought their way through the brush and out again, up a steep hill turfed with heather. Roger’s foot sank through the spongy growth into a puddle, soaking him to the ankle, and he nearly lost his balance. Jerry set his feet and yanked Roger upright, then lost his own balance when his knee gave way; they clung together, wobbling precariously for an instant, then Roger lurched forward again and they were out of it. He thought his lungs would burst, but they kept going—not running any longer; you couldn’t run up a hill like this—slogging, planting one foot after another, after another . . . Roger began to see bursts of light at the edges of his vision; he tripped, staggered, and fell, and was hauled to his feet by Jerry. They were all three half sopping and smeared head to foot with mud and heather scratchings when they lurched at last to the crest of the hill and stopped for a moment, swaying and gasping for air.

“Where . . . are we going?” Jerry wheezed, using the end of his scarf to wipe his face. Roger shook his head, still short of breath—but then caught the faint gleam of water.

“We’re taking you . . . back. To the stones by the lake. Where . . . you came through. Come on!”

They pelted down the far side of the hill, headlong, almost falling, now exhilarated by the speed and the thought of a goal.

“How . . . did you find me?” Jerry gasped, when at last they hit bottom and stopped for breath. “Found your tags,” Buck said, almost brusque. “Followed their trail back.” Roger put a hand to his pocket, about to offer them back—but didn’t. It had struck him, like a stone to the middle of his chest, that, having found Jerry MacKenzie against substantial odds, he was about to part from him, likely forever. And that was only if things went well. . . .

His father. Dad? He couldn’t think of this young man, white-faced and lame, nearly twenty years his junior, as his father—not the father he’d imagined all his life. “Come on.” Buck took Jerry’s arm now, nearly holding him up, and they began to forge their way across the dark fields, losing their way and finding it again, guided by the light of Orion overhead. Orion, Lepus. Canis major. He found a measure of comfort in the stars, blazing in the cold black sky. Those didn’t change; they’d shine forever—or as close as made no difference—on him and on this man, no matter where each one might end up. End up. The cold air burned in his lungs. Bree . . .

And then he could see them: squatty pillars, no more than blotches on the night, visible only because they showed dark and immobile against the sheet of moving water stirred by the wind. “Right,” he said hoarsely, and, swallowing, wiped his face on his sleeve. “This is where we leave you.” “Ye do?” Jerry panted. “But—but you—” “When ye came . . . through. Did ye have anything on you? A gemstone, any jewelry?” “Aye,” Jerry said, bewildered. “I had a raw sapphire in my pocket. But it’s gone. It’s like it—” “Like it burnt up,” Buck finished for him, grim-voiced. “Aye. Well, so?” This last was clearly addressed to Roger, who hesitated. Bree . . . No more than an instant, though—he stuck a hand into the leather pouch at his waist, pulled out the tiny oilcloth package, fumbled it open, and pressed the garnet pendant into Jerry’s hand. It was faintly warm from his body, and Jerry’s cold hand closed over it in reflex. “Take this; it’s a good one. When ye go through,” Roger said, and leaned toward him, trying to impress him with the importance of his instructions, “think about your wife, about Marjorie. Think hard; see her in your mind’s eye, and walk straight through. Whatever the hell ye do, though, don’t think about your son. Just your wife.” “What?” Jerry was gobsmacked. “How the bloody hell do you know my wife’s name? And where’ve ye heard about my son?” “It doesn’t matter,” Roger said, and turned his head to look back over his shoulder.

“Damn,” said Buck softly. “They’re still coming. There’s a light.”

There was: a single light, bobbing evenly over the ground, as it would if someone carried it. But look as he might, Roger could see no one behind it, and a violent shiver ran over him.

“Thaibhse,” said Buck, under his breath. Roger knew that word well enough—spirit, it meant. And usually an ill-disposed one. A haunt.

“Aye, maybe.” He was beginning to catch his breath. “And maybe not.”

He turned again to Jerry. “Either way, ye need to go, man, and now. Remember, think of your wife.” Jerry swallowed, his hand closing tight around the stone. “Aye. Aye . . . right. Thanks, then,” he added awkwardly.

Roger couldn’t speak, could give him nothing more than the breath of a smile. Then Buck was beside him, plucking urgently at his sleeve and gesturing at the bobbing light, and they set off, awkward and lumbering after the brief cooldown.

Bree . . .

He swallowed, fists clenched. He’d got a stone once, he could do it again. . . . But the greater part of his mind was still with the man they had just left by the lake. He looked over his shoulder and saw Jerry beginning to walk, limping badly but resolute, thin shoulders squared under his pale khaki shirt and the end of his scarf fluttering in the rising wind.

Then it all rose up in him. Seized by an urgency greater than any he’d ever known, he turned and ran. Ran heedless of footing, of dark, of Buck’s startled cry behind him. Jerry heard his footsteps on the grass and whirled round, startled himself.

Roger grabbed him by both hands, squeezed them hard enough to make Jerry gasp, and said fiercely, “I love you!”

That was all there was time for—and all he could possibly say. He let go and turned away fast, his boots making a shoof-shoof noise in the dry lake grass. He glanced up the hill, but the light had vanished. Likely it had been someone from the farmhouse, satisfied now that the intruders were gone.

Buck was waiting, shrouded in his cloak and holding Roger’s; he must have dropped it coming down the hill. Buck shook it out and folded it round Roger’s shoulders; Roger’s fingers shook, trying to fasten the brooch.

“Why did ye tell him a daft thing like that?” Buck asked, doing it for him. Buck’s head was bent, not looking at him.

Roger swallowed “Because he isn’t going to make it back. It’s the only chance I’ll ever have. Come on.”

101 Just one chance ~ Written in my own Heart's Blood

[sweet-star-sketches]

WIPs from September 21st, 2023 Alright so I almost never show stuff at this stage because I'm usually too embarrassed to post something this messy, but shaking that off is precisely what this blog is for so here you go! If you've ever wanted to know what I consider a "thumbnail" for my own work then this is it lol

Especially for covers and comic page planning, I usually end up at the greyscale shading stage within the thumbnail stage before I actually commit to a composition, as I can't properly gauge if it's going in the right direction otherwise. That said though, I really like how these are turning out so far! I tend to get decision paralysis with cover ideas, goodness knows that I continue to struggle with the main cover for this series, so having these go relatively smoothly tells me I'm getting better at it (hopefully!)

I have a lot of interconnected stories within Starglass Zodiac that I want to make dedicated side comics for, so any time I have an idea for a title and/or cover for one, I'll "jot it down" like this so I don't lose it. I've had the file for The Paladin's Shadow for a while, but Curse of the Hunted is a new addition from today (well, the story idea itself isn't new but the title/cover idea is)

The Paladin's Shadow is Aries's backstory, focusing on his struggle to live up to the reputation of the prior incarnations of his constellation, cementing them as a lineage of powerful and upstanding paladins. Aries has to wrestle with both his small stature and standoffish temperament by comparison, meaning he is constantly in the shadow of his own lineage and has to somehow forge his own path despite that. Curse of the Hunted is Orion's backstory as a once infamous name on the Astral Plane prior to his adoption as Taurus's zodiac companion. True to his namesake, he was once a skilled yet relentless hunter, and had his dogs (Canis Major and Minor) at his side. Though Orion could tame them to obey his own command, he is warned by Rangifer (the reindeer), that should his dogs ever turn on him, it will turn them to stone. Orion initially dismisses this by claiming they have complete loyalty to him, and as punishment for his hubris, Orion is cursed by Rangifer and given his half-deer appearance that is seen in the main story. This makes him the "prey" for once, and thus both Canis Major and Minor chase after him, turning them both to stone as promised. The guilt from their loss and the fear caused by being the hunted rather than the hunter does much to humble Orion, and he begins his journey to redemption afterwards. I don't have finished designs for most of the characters featured here but I like where their placeholders are for now. Oh and if you're wondering about the font, it's one I'm developing for this project specifically! :D It's called SGZ Display, and is based on the lettering I did for the main logo. I'm testing it out here to see if it reads well at smaller sizes, but it still needs work all around. It'll be a long while before these or the stories they're connected to are finished, but I hope you enjoy this little sneak peek anyway :]

[altcvnningham]

guysss 300 notes!!! from the bottom to the very tippy top of my heart- thank you thank you thank you!!!!! <3

sappy rant below

wahhhh getting sappy and personal here but i wanted to keep it on my blog regardless if anyone reads it because of how much canis major in particular means to me and what she represents. i wish i had the time and the braincells to write the words i actually want to say so i'll attempt here

in the grand scheme 300 notes might not seem much at all- back in my old fic writing days i had a longfic for another fandom that hit 800k reads, and yeeears'worth of comments and messages daily- but canis major, adlerbell, and the introduction to the cod (cw/bo) fandom in particular is something so special to me that idc if i had 5 notes or 5000 notes. i'm just touched that it's canis major in particular that has gained the attention and enjoyment of lovely lovely people!!

she's the first piece of writing i posted for the first time in years on the internet, but most important to me personally is that she's the first major piece of writing i successfully finished after about a year long 'hiatus' from writing; and i use quotation marks because it wasn't a deliberate hiatus. getting personal here so tw// abuse mention

that 'hiatus' was actually a whole year and a half where i was in an abusive relationship with a narcissist. writing has been my main hobby and my joy since i learned how to pick up a pencil, and yet it was the hateful and insipid treatment of an insecure man that managed to suck the joy out of it for me. he made living a gruelling experience and i felt i couldn't even run to the refuge of writing because apart from the constant stress i was under, if i did end up writing anything, it would only ever be about him and the agony he was putting me through. so i stopped, because even writing had become a torture that he seemingly had control over. a part of myself so intimate that i previously believed he could never take away from me, was.

i left him for good in february of this year, and have grieved and healed a thousand times over- i'm not only a different person entirely but i feel like i've forged a whole new life that he has no claim over. but even then when i wrote, it was either processing that grief and trauma, or they were scattershot ideas that remained unfinished.

then in about october (after i'd filed a police report over his ongoing harassment and abuse lol) i found the cod games and begrudgingly fell in love w a series i had always swore to hate. and then i fell in love with adler and bell and wrote canis major.

after years of leaving every scrap of writing unfinished, i sat and worked through this vague idea as a labour of love- a labour nonetheless, and sometimes i fucking hated it, but i really did put so much heart and care into those measly 2000 words. when i posted it on here i really only thought i'd get like 12 notes at most, and stay in my quiet corner of the fandom lurking on 'better' and bigger bloggers. but i was blessed to have it seen and enjoyed by so many wonderful people, and all of yall who have just been the kindest and most welcoming of any fandom i've ever been in. i can't believe that some vague, hazily executed drabble i wrote could be liked at all let alone loved by some. and as much as i love my other fics too, it always hits harder when people express their enjoyment of canis major in particular, because of what she means to me- she really is my baby lol.

canis major to me isn't just my debut into posting online again, nor do i think she's particularly all that good- but it's proof that i can reclaim the joy i felt my abuser took from me, from my love of writing, as my first piece i finally completed after i left him. i suppose to the average reader these things don't seem connected at all, but to me, after all the pain i experienced, after how many deaths of self i have grieved over and over again this year, and how much i've changed, all i really wanted was to fall back in love with writing again. and canis major is something i'm immensely proud of- not because i believe it's all that good, because, well, i've seen the absolute insane amount of talent this fandom has to offer and i barely hold a candle to any of them- but i'm proud because of what she represents to me; finally putting the stars back in the sky i felt he stole from.

i remember some nights i used to point out the big dipper to him and he would belittle me, one time even pushing me over when i looked up to admire the constellation unaware. canis major, my small little labour of love, is the constellation i can admire at all times of the day, that i put there, that he can never take from me. that is wholly my own.

yeah i'm a total sap and i'm cringe and it's just a stupid cod fanfic but idgaf she is my baby and nobody knows what an achievement she is for me >.<

my goal this year after i left and worked through my healing was only just to write again- i never imagined i'd post anything, gain any sort of recognition whatsoever, and certainly never thought i could hit anywhere near to this many notes on something i wrote as an expression of love and ghosts and delayed grief.

tldr; from the bottom of my heart- thank you!!!

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

[mmysteriousmuse]

The Enchanting Dance of the Canis Cosmica** In a galaxy not so far away, the wondrous Canis Cosmica graces the cosmos with its otherworldly dance. Picture this ethereal wolf, a creature of boundless majesty, dazzling against a tapestry of swirling nebulae and shimmering stars. Its magnificent mane flows like rivers of stardust, a cosmic cascade that mesmerizes all who gaze upon it. As it strides across an astral landscape of icy peaks and ethereal skies, the boundary between dreams and reality dissolves. Here, amidst the vastness of space, magic feels as tangible as the beating of your own heart. Its eyes, aglow with the radiant light of a thousand suns, are beacons for the bold and the curious. They guide the way to a portal of celestial wonders, inviting adventurers to step into a universe where whimsy and discovery forge an eternal bond. Who knew space could possess such flair? Gather your courage, dear stargazers, and join the Canis Cosmica on this extraordinary journey. Reblog if you wish to share this cosmic tale, or leave a comment about your own celestial dreams. #CanisCosmica #CosmicWolf #StardustDreams #CelestialJourney #AstralAdventure #GalacticMagic

[coin-goofball]

Within an ancient rearing keep of the Starwings, and old male dragon convenes with an even older female.

"It is done, mother." The voice of the younger Starwing had a tone of someone who had finished a chore, not a massacre brought on by a millenia old blood feud. "Scutis Guillotine has been reclaimed, and more Icewings were killed than Starwings." Scorpii, the elder clan matriarch rose from her makeshift seat, her movements slow as to accommodate her aged form. "Very good my son." There was an odd glee to the voice of the old dragon.

She approached the axe-bladed greathelm with a mild bit of reverence. "There is good bit of history right here in our talons." Aldebaran listened, he had been told this story many times ever since he was a young dragonette, and had repeated the story to his daughter, and then his grandaughter years later. "Long ago, in the earliest years of the Starwings, and the ways we carried our traditions, Antares, the first of the great mothers brought forth three greathelms for her three mighty daughters. For Canis, the strongest of will, a mighty lance. for Subaru, the strongest in wisdom, a piercer of hearts, and for Scuti, the strongest of heart, and of body, a breaker of mountains."

Scorpii paused for a moment, trying to remember how the story went, as Aldebaran waited patiently, his mothers memory always came through, it just took a bit. "Ah, yes, and when an Icewing prince eloped with one of our 'cousins', this ignited a war. four of our clans were ambushed and killed, from the eldest matriarch, to the youngest dragonette, and with their cruel deaths, Scutis Guillotine was lost to the foul Icewings." A smile spread across the old dragons face. "But that is old history, my son, but today, you've claimed your place among it! in time, the name Aldebaran, and the clan name Scorpio will be spoken with the same awe and reverence as Subaru, Scuti, and Canis. You have done good, my son."

The two were quiet for but a moment, before Aldebaran broke the silence. "So, what becomes of Scutis Guillotine now? who's gonna carry this thing?" The son gestured towards the massive heavy animus forged helmet propped up against the cave wall. The matriarch let out laugh. "why you, of course, my son!" Aldebaran shot his mother a skeptical look. "really? me?"

The elder sat back down on her seat. "how does that old dragonette addage go? 'finders keepers'? in all seriousness, it was you who formulated the plan, it was you who lead the charge, and it was you who found it. if there is any rightful claim to it, it must be you. besides, on a more practical point, you're the only dragon in the clan who can wear that big blade, and still fly with a modicum of accuracy. wear it with pride my son. if not for yourself, then for clan Scorpio."

[broadwaytheanimatedseries]

The idea I had was what if the magic school and the system... wait for it... wasn't corrupt? What if things were actually just good?

Not utopian by any means but the problems weren't like "conform or die" like they usually are in shit like this.

I also hate when magic is labeled internetly bad and my favorite trope is "Yeah it's called dark magic because it's pitch black not because it's evil. This is literally an aesthetic. Calm down."

The dimensions are potentially endless, like there's no telling how many there actually are because they can't be seen or fully accessed physically, it's just their magic leaking into the world and their creatures popping in to visit through the rifts, although these visits are rather short.

That's because those creatures are inherently magical unlike the people of the nexus world so they don't use magic they just are magic, and as such, being away from their kind of magic, their dimension, can be draining.

They're made from the same stuff as their dimension is, it's kinda like being away from air when there's only a pocket of it somewhere in the direction you came from and then bursts of it all over the place from other people. But breathing in spell energy isn't really the same as being surrounded by the atmosphere of your home dimension.

So this is why some of these creatures will turn to the people of the nexus planet to forge bonds, because by giving the person access to their magic they're letting them tap into just a small area of the larger dimension the creature is from, creating this bubble of magical energy around the person that's like Sandy's dome in the middle of Bikini Bottom.

So now the Lil guys can hang out indefinitely, if they want! Surely this will cause no mischief chaos or stress whatsoever!

There's also summoning involved that Canis students learn to do but it's mostly understood to be for emergencies as it's rude to just summon your lil guy without warning, everyone knows these creatures have their own lives back in their dimensions and to just pull them out of the blue away from it isn't very nice to your familiar.

And if you're not treating your familiar like you would any other precious relationship in your life, that bond could easily break.

PLease tell me more about your magic system, i know we don't even follow each other but i took the quiz and now need to know more please pls pls

Okay but like can i just say you asking for the lore is so Delphinus of you? Lol.

So basically there's like this world right? A lot like our own, very basic, very normal, nothing out of the ordinary going on there. Except! One day in its history these cracks, dimensional rifts start appearing and leaking all sorts of magic into this world. At first no one knows wtf is going on other than there's magic now ig?? But they soon learn that their world is a nexus point to all these dimensions, it just so happens to be at the center of everything and when it sprung into existence in the middle of the multiverse it kinda sent a shockwave. Because the magical dimensions were all stronger tho it took them longer for their cracks to become true rips in the fabric of their reality but they did eventually.

Now the magic is not like limited to any particular type of magic, like the first decade AT LEAST is dedicated to experimentation and an attempt to catalouge magic into types. Eventually this calms down and the focus shifts not to what magic is used, as it's deduced that all magic is just neutral power and that how you use it determines the amount of harm or good it can do, so instead the focus is now on how to use it. Quite literally, the method of casting becomes the new thing to fight over. And orders are built around different methods that are alreday practiced and some orders become bigger and more looked up to than others. This doesn't mean any other method is banned or anything, even when the orders come together to form the school and these methods become the known and accepted ones, there are still people who practice magic differently, their orders are just smaller and their ways sometimes less concretely defined.

Of course there are those who practice magic in ways that are not, if you'll excuse me borrowing language about something else, safe sane or consensual, and those people get the 20 years dungeon treatment.

Again I have no idea if any of this is intelligible or coherent but yeah, that's my magic school and world and system.

There's room to say more this just got really long, so, let me know if you still care after this mess 😅

[erikagskerzz]

Wulfram.

Our artbattle transcends to traditional art 😆 💖 for @reddokkaebe

[prismatica-the-strange]

This is Smut! 18+! Minors go away!

Currently thinking about: Eddie and Mika at the 4th of July carnival, boning behind the bathrooms.

Warnings: slight voyeurism, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk

Forged in Hellfire (Can be read as x fem!reader, name is only mentioned once)

Reblogs > Likes

"F-fuck," Eddie groans, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. His chain jingles as his hips snap into hers.

"Eddie!- aghmmm!" He shoves his fingers in Mika's mouth to silence her sudden whine. She can feel his cock filling her and slamming into her g-spot with every desperate stroke, making her nails scratch and dig into the weathered wood.

"Gotta stay quiet Songbird," His free arm wraps around her neck, pulling her back against him and murmuring in her ear, "Don't wanna let everyone here know how much of a whore you are, do you?"

She drools and chokes around his fingers, making him chuckle, "That's my girl... Take it. Take it! Just like that."

She starts clawing at his arm when she feels her orgasm quickly approaching and he pulls his fingers from her mouth.

"Eddie! Eddie I'm gonna fucking-!" She gasps when he shoves his spit soaked fingers down the front of her pants and starts feverishly rubbing her clit, "O-oh my god!"

"That's right sweetheart, cum on my cock, cum on my fucking cock," he growls. His hair sticks to both their sweaty skin as he ruts into her cunt, "Need it- need you to cum on my cock princess- Fuck- please. Please. Cum for me, cum for me, cum for me- FUCK YES!"

He sinks his teeth into her shoulder when her pussy clenches around his dick, her own teeth biting into his arm to hold back a scream.

Her legs give out as he fills her with cum, whimpering his name.

"Shhh, I've got you," he holds her up, using her to ride out their highs, "Almost done sweetheart, feel so fuckin good."

"Fuuck," he moans as he pulls out, "Such a pretty mess we just made."

She whines when he tugs her panties up against her sensitive pussy.

He presses his mouth to hers, hungry and loving, "Are you okay?"

"Mhm," she kisses him again. When he pulls away she looks completely fucked out.

"You wanna go home?"

"Mm, no." She grins up at him, "I wanna go ride the ferris wheel."

"Oh really?" He snickers, adjusting his pants and bucking his belt, "Maybe I can slip the guy a fiver to stop us at the top and I can finger my cum back into you."

"You're disgusting," she laughs as she takes his hand, "But If you buy me a candy apple... I might just let you do that."

He groans and lets her lead him towards the food, "You are gonna be the death of me girlie."

°•°•°•°

Forged in Hellfire taglist: @pointlesslygay

Eddie Munson Taglist: @ofherscarlettwitchways @canis-da-fanboy @buckymydarlingangel

[five-rivers]

Would you expand Nuclear God?

Regarding this. Not really a direct expansion, but...

.

Stars.

They seem peaceful, from far away. Benevolent. Small. Harmless. Incapable of affecting life on Earth, with its grand and ever-changing rhythms and cycles.

Even the closest, the Sun, which is relied upon, needed, and sometimes cursed for its persistence and burning rays, did not seem violent, did not seem dangerous in and of itself. It was something that nurtured, that helped, that illuminated. It was the origin of light, of life.

The Sun is a natural nuclear reactor that produces 3.8x10^26 joules of energy per second, or 3.8x10^26 Watts.

The 'Little Boy' bomb that exploded over Hiroshima produced approximately 6.3x10^13 joules. Once.

The surface of the Sun is not quiet. Sun spots, solar flares, filaments, coronal mass ejections-- The worst conflagration of the Earth is as nothing. Nothing. The Sun is destruction and ruin and violence wearing a crown of light.

In 1895 a coronal mass ejection caused a geomagnetic storm, the most intense in recorded history. It washed the sky in green light from the poles to the equator, and set telegraph wires on fire. Our world is covered in wires, now. All of them so fragile. We live at the mercy of the Sun.

Beyond the veil of the Earth, beyond the atmosphere, those who dare step into the fuller glory of the Sun face also a greater portion of its fury. One hundred times the radiation faced by those still living quietly on the Earth.

The Sun is 2x10^30 kilograms in mass. It is an average star. Sirius, also called Alpha Canis Majoris, the brightest visible star is about 2 solar masses. UY Scuti, the largest observed star in terms of radius, is between 7 and 10 solar masses. Betelgeuse, also called Alpha Orionis, another bright star, is estimated to have at least 16 solar masses. The star Westerhout 49-2 is believed to have about 250 solar masses, although there is a great deal of uncertainty regarding that estimate, and some think it has only 90 solar masses.

These stars are not considered particularly unusual.

In the heart of a city, one might be able to pick out half a dozen of the very brightest stars. Likely less. Far from any cities, a person might be able to pick out 5000 over the course of the year as the Earth marched through its cycle. 2500 in any given night. There are approximately 100 billion stars in the Milky Way Galaxy.

The Milky Way is one of billions of galaxies.

It is a comfort, then, that even the beloved Sun is 150 million kilometers away.

And, so, you begin to the the mistake, the error, the crushing, overwhelming hubris committed by the GIW. That they should not only seek to bind death - for death, in the end, is of the living, for no thing dies that has not lived - but to contain one who could call on the stars themselves, the forges of worlds, the things from whose dust they were made--

They thought the stars peaceful. They thought the child violent.

They thought.

A race of people made of thought and emotion and passion and desire and all the things they love called to them out of time out of space and they thought--

The child wanted this: The safety of his people, their joy, their peace. He pledged himself to fight for this.

The child wanted this: The stars and the worlds they shepherded through the bleak vastness of space. He satisfied himself with longing.

They thought one desire more dangerous than the other. They pushed him to choose one, to choose their choice.

And, so.

And so.

Standing above what could not even be called ruins is the child, the merest touch of stellar lighting that could be held in fragile dust dancing at his fingertips. He burns, he burns.

And he is no longer safe.

[cog5]

March - The Gatehouse, Area 1A

#dungeon23

3.1. Kennels

A wooden door, locked. On the lower-half of the door, a smaller door, about knee-height, unlocked.

Inside, a peculiar conveyor belt runs towards the back of the narrow room. On the west wall, a sealed hatch. On the east wall, a simple control panel, featuring three prominent, unlabeled buttons.

If the conveyor is activated, the hatch will open and begin churning out Mech-Canis units. 1D10 quadrupedal mechanoids will be produced, one every minute, before it runs out of components. The Mech-Canis are programmed to relentlessly attack any intruder.

E: Exits to The Keep, South

3.2. Smithy

A wooden door, ajar. Inside, the room smells of soot and steel. A large workbench rests prominently in the middle of the room. A mounted anvil is placed nearby. Barrels and crates filled with the remnants of coal and water are placed around the perimeter of the room.

In the southwest corner of the room, a simple desk, covered with blacksmithing tools. Tacked to the wall, the remnants of drawings, only their scrap corners remain.

On the north side of the room, a large forge covers the wall. It’s been cold for a long time.

3.3. Stables

Five stalls line the west wall. The floor is well trampled, made up of compacted earth and hay. Embedded into the floor, the bones of a horse, scattered across several stalls.

The Recla-Mare: The phantom of a deceased horse haunts this area. An incorporeal form of grey mist, followed by a flowing, silver mane. Passing through the mist chills you to your core, exposing you to heartless thoughts of betrayal for 1D3 hours. The mare has no love for humankind, not any more.

3.4. Tack Room

A wooden door to the east, unlocked. A wide opening to the north.

Filled with equipment used for horse riding. Hanging from the walls are an assortment of bridles and stirrups. A well-used saddle is propped up in one corner. On the workbench, spanning the west wall, hammers, nails, and horseshoes can be found, along with other tools for hoof maintenance.

3.5. Shed

A simple shed, unlocked. Inside, a broom, bucket, shovel, and pitchfork.

3.6. Armoury

A wooden door, unlocked. Inside, weapon racks line the walls, though there are no weapons in them. A small collection of crates and barrels fill one corner of the room, they too, are empty.

A partial suit of armour sits propped up in the southwest corner of the room, tethered to a display pole. The suit is antiquated, but could offer some basic protection at the cost of mobility and stealth. It clatters loudly if worn.

—-

What’s up with Tumblr not adding images sometimes?

-

[succubus-interactivefiction]

Canis Iron (IMS Lore Drop)

Cold-forged iron shaped under the light of the moon and treated in a mix of wolves blood, wolfsbane, and holy oil, Canis Iron has unique magical properties which only take shape in the hands of a werewolf. When in the hands of any other creature it appears to be nothing more than regular iron and so for most is an inferior choice when compared to metals such as steel or aurumite.

Most often shaped to fit over the wielder’s hands in the form of claws, or as a helmet, Canis Iron is capable of some amazing feats when used by a werewolf. Any magical item inset in the Canis Iron can be used by the wielder despite magic typically having a negative reaction to werewolves. The most common magical additions are gems enchanted to do anything from increasing speed or strength to launching fireballs but sometimes other items can be in-set such as wands or scrolls.

In addition to allowing werewolves the option to add magical abilities to their repertoire Canis Iron truly shines when a werewolf shifts into their primal form. Any of the metal they have on their person will meld with their bodies and become a part of them. Depending on the original form this change can be anything from having metallic paws and claws for a gauntlet to an iron jaw and fangs for a helmet. Some items will even take on unique forms like an iron tail with a bladed tip if the item is a sword or spear in its unshifted state.

Very few modern smiths are capable of forging Canis Iron correctly and so most families make sure to pass them down through the generations. Such items are very well cared for by their owners and are treated with great reverence, their wielders treating the item as though it were a member of their family believing that each user leaves a tiny part of their soul ingrained in the item which will eventually take on a new life of its own. The oldest Canis Iron creations are said to have a will of their own, making their wishes known through feelings sent to the wielder. Some are even said to speak telepathically with the one who cares for them.

Unfortunately because Canis Iron only reacts to werewolves it is speculated that there are many of the items still in existence which are hanging over mantles, in the hands of bandits, or being handed down through non-werewolf families. Every few years there are rumors of a forgotten Canis Iron object being discovered by some lucky werewolf, but these are usually just stories told to impressionable young wolves by parents trying to keep their pups entertained.

[princediavolos]

every clue in endless summer, explained

technically the title is kinda misleading because some clues simply have no explanation, they just are. still, there’s a lot of pieces to be put together over the three books, and there are clues found in the first book that aren’t explained till the last one. (if you’re confused about the clues, here’s the fandom wiki for book 1, book 2 & book 3.)

before i dive in, here’s some clarifications:

i’ve used mc’s default name, taylor, and neutral pronouns wherever i’ve referred to them. the endless is also referred to by neutral pronouns.

acts 1, 2 & 3 fall under book 1

acts 4, 5 & 6 fall under book 2

acts 7 & 8 fall under book 3

each act has one bonus scene, so if i’m referring to bonus scene 5, it implies to the scene shown after act 5.

ok so unnecessarily long exposition under the cut!

ACT 1

i. tranquilizer dart: found by taylor and diego upon landing on the airstrip. presumably used on the sabretooth, t'kal, to keep it docile. likely done by rourke or his henchmen, but it is also highly possible the endless tranquilized t'kal in order to keep it from killing everyone.

ii. strange creature: a colourful flying seahorse, found by quinn and taylor along the beach in a premium scene. as shown in bonus scene 1, rourke knows of the creature, as he examines it with interest through his binoculars.

iii. weird lights: lights resembling the auroras displayed at the control tower, found by taylor and jake. it is later explained in book 2 chapter 10 by grace, that the lights are caused by the doppler effect, due to the dilation and contraction of time around la huerta. the vaanti call it the lights of vaanu, said to bring them good luck.

iv. vintage wine: if taylor goes to the ballroom with zahra, quinn notes that every bottle in the room predates 1924. as revealed in book 3 chapter 7, the wedding in the ballroom was that of flora and arthur, and group arrived there due to the time anomalies of the island.

v. sharp tooth: found by grace by the pool, near the fence. according to her, the bars were all twisted. presumably belongs to t'kal the sabretooth.

vi. old note: a note found by taylor and diego in one of the upgraded honeymoon/rainforest suites. it was written by flora sullivan to eugene rosencraft, before her wedding to arthur barnaby. it also references neptune cove, where the second half of the island's heart is found in book 3.

vii. pirate coin/wolf symbol: can be obtained either by going to the waterfall with quinn, or by hiking the cliff with jake. the doubloon is probably a remnant of malatesta and yvonne's loot, while the wolf symbol could have been left behind by the endless. the symbol also matches the stamp on jake's dossier.

viii. shoe prints: a set of muddy shoeprints were found by the celestial's shelter. no solid explanation or implication towards who these belong to.

ix. gas mask: found by taylor underwater in the cavern. it looks very old, and as noted by diego, probably from the world war times. it would have probably belonged to kele, a world war ii soldier who paddled his way into la huerta while escaping from the germans.

x. padlock: the unbroken padlock to the burning hangar, which implies that the hangar was unlocked and jake's plane sabotaged. in one of the memories taylor receives from the endless, lila is shown to deliberately sabotage the plane in order to keep everyone on the island, implying she may have done it in this timeline, too.

ACT 2

i. cufflink: lila is discovered pocketing the cufflink in rourke's office, which she probably did to discover his whereabouts later on. in bonus scene 2, rourke is shown to remove all his clothing, including his cufflinks, before he steps into the containment pod. the cufflink can also be used in book 1 chapter 10, where rourke's dna on it reveals a footage video of him complaining about strange occurrences on the island.

ii. dossiers: files containing data on sean, grace, raj and estela are found in the paper shredder, intact. each of them is stamped with symbols of the constellations aquila, cygnus, centaurus and draco respectively. the symbols are left behind by the endless.

iii. whiskey notes: a note discarded by rourke in the vip lounge, referencing the satellite uplink at the la huerta observatory. this is also shown in bonus scene 2.

iv. frying pan: a frying pan embossed with the centaurus symbol on it, which raj says he feels very drawn to. this was also left behind by the endless. he also uses this pan to deflect a sedative dart aimed at taylor in book 1 chapter 16.

v. arrowhead: an amber arrowhead is found lodged inside the king crab's shell, as found by taylor and estela. as the vaanti have been shown to use amber weaponry (as well as in other ways, such as the catalyst idols), it is implied that one of them may have attacked the guardian with an arrow.

vi. dossiers: files containing data on jake, zahra and diego found in the room inside the observatory. they are stamped with the symbols of the constellations lupus, corvus and canis. symbols left behind by the endless.

vii. strange gun: a futuristic gun found by either estela or jake. in book 1 chapter 16, it is revealed to be a tachyon accelerator, used to move objects forward in time. in bonus scene 5, lila refers to the gun as a temporal perforator.

viii. star map: a holographic display of constellations, as seen by taylor and sean as they go up the pod. sean points out that the stars in the sky over la huerta don't have the usual constellations, and that the stars have not looked like this for a million years. this is confirmed in the book 1 epilogue, when aleister notes that atropo's eruption has caused la huerta to go back to the hadean eon.

ACT 3

i. dossiers: files containing data on quinn, michelle and craig found by taylor and diego by the marina. they are stamped with the symbols of the constellations delphinus, pavo and ursa. symbols left behind by the endless.

ii. rourke's ship: if taylor and lila venture into a familiar-looking boat, they will discover it is rourke's ship, the daedalus. he was seen on the ship in bonus scene 1, and he presumably destroyed it along with the other boats on the marina immediately afterwards.

iii. plastic explosive: the semtex explosive is found by taylor in the back of the boat. it's what was used to blow up the other ships in the marina, but this one malfunctioned.

iv. strange shell: a blue-purple coloured shell that repeats the speaker's words over and over. in one of the memories taylor receives from the endless, varyyn is seen tearfully listening to the shell echoing diego's voice, saying 'i'll always love you, varyyn' over and over again as it gradually fades away.

v. telepathic vision: varyyn telepathically communicates with taylor, showing them what would happen if the catalysts didn't go with the vaanti. it is later revealed to be a depiction of atropo erupting, setting the whole world on fire and destroying it.

vi. numbers: in the wine cellar, 1908 refers to a lever to the underground tunnel, disguised as a vintage wine bottle, as well as the cheat code to rourke's arcade game, most wanted 2. rourke also uses an override program on iris called the directive 1908, explained in book 3 chapter 9, which makes iris prioritise the goal she was created for -- to utilise imogen rourke's knowledge on cloning to provide an heir to rourke. another program, directive 8091, forces estela into the omega mech cockpit in book 3 chapter 10, as she is rourke's 'true' heir.

vii. dossiers: files on taylor and aleister are found inside the security centre, both stamped by the endless with symbols of constellations andromeda and serpens. aleister's dossier is newer, printed recently by iris upon discovering that he was aboard the plane to la huerta.

viii. healing plant: leaves of the plant, when wrapped around aleister's bleeding palm, heal it with unnatural speed without a trace. grace and aleister theorize this may be due to some cellular reconstructive properties the leaves may contain.

ix. necklace: worn by varyyn in book 1, the necklace is seen to have time travelling properties, as it brings back jake/estela/sean/quinn/diego back from the dead. it is unknown if the endless facilitated its use or it is associated with rourke.

x. pirate cutlass: the cutlass was forged by malatesta and was stolen from him by admiral higgenbotham, who was presumably killed alongside malatesta's crew in the flashback taylor experiences, by the vaanti. yvonne then stole the cutlass from higgenbotham's corpse, naming it chouchou. it is unclear as to how the cutlass ended up on a display case at the celestial.

ACT 4

i. hydra caduceus: a staff found in rourke's library, which when placed in the statue's hand in the atrium, turns it into a sundial. iris says that the caduceus is the only item in the library she cannot find the origin of.

ii. crimson glove: a futuristic, yet battered metal glove put on display in rourke's underground museum; taylor realises that the person's arm was probably cut off. the glove belongs to the endless, who tells taylor that they learnt very soon that 'the laws of time can be very unforgiving' with reference to their loss of limb.

iii. shotgun shell: michelle and taylor find the 12-gauge armor-piercing shell casing, as identified by jake, during the time loop. he notes that whoever shot this meant business. the shell probably came from one of the arachnids who were on the island searching for jake.

iv. snowy hills: taylor, with either jake or estela, finds snow on the hills and by the lake on a hot and sunny day, indicating time is in disarray throughout different parts of the island, much like the northern and southern parts of the island.

v. wedding ring: a wedding ring is found on the hand of a statue of a masked bride, in the valley of tombs by jake and taylor. the statue is of flora sullivan, and the ring was given to her by eugene rosencraft which she had turned down. it was after this she wrote him the note found in act 1.

vi. tattoo: uqzhaal has a back tattoo of the legend of the threshold. it is the place where yvonne finds the endless in bonus scene 5, and where yvonne, taylor and uqzhaal meet the endless after collecting all the catalyst idols and solving the puzzle.

vii. words on the wind: the voices at the singing cliffs tell taylor that something is coming across the sea, destroying everything in its path. this could either be an immediate reference to yvonne's arrival the next morning, or a vague prediction about the omega mech used by rourke in book 3.

viii. musket ball: yvonne concedes the gold musket ball at sharktooth isle in exchange for their services to find her 'treasure.'

ix. antique compass: yvonne's said treasure turns out to be an antique compass which she tries to conceal; malatesta made her walk the plank for stealing this compass, which she did in order to find the fountain of youth. the compass also leads her to the threshold in bonus scene 5.

x: oath blade: seraxa's gift to taylor for saving taari, saying that debts must be repaid in accordance with vaanti culture. she is shown to threaten the catalysts with this blade in book 2 chapter 4.

ACT 5

i. silver sap: the sap that drips from elyy'stel's tree aids the catalysts to walk in between dimensions. it is the consumption of this sap by eugene and flora that gradually turned them feral and eventually into the vaanti.

ii. deep fissure: if taylor keeps rewinding until they can't go any further, right up to the ancient sea, the catalysts witness the forming of a fissure in the ocean bed. this fissure was caused by vaanu crash-landing on the earth, and it eventually becomes mount atropo, and forms the bubble surrounding la huerta.

iii. the island's heart: one half of the island's heart, which was formed right in the crux of the volcano, found by the catalysts in the base of elyy'stel's tree.

iv. the mask maker: the masks worn by the vaanti bear the name of their maker, rosencraft & sons, 1921. this explains the masks worn by guests at flora and arthur's wedding, which also took place in the rosencraft manor. the rosencrafts were said to be bankrupt, and that the estate belonged to the banks.

v. burning shard: a burning crystal shard that glows green and reacts the same way that quinn did while possessed by the island's heart. it is one of many crystal shards scattered across the island, originating from the crux of the volcano.

vi. mansingh crater: a crater found near the chasm bears the name of mansingh transglobal tech, the company run by grace's mother, blaire hall. it is suspicious to both taylor and grace, as it implies blaire hall was somehow involved with rourke. no further explanation has been made about the crater.

vii. newspaper clipping: a scrap of an article is found by taylor in the elysian lodge, detailing the deaths of arjun and subhanu sethi due to a car accident, also killing their son and putting their daughter in a critical condition. this daughter is lila, and this article implies that rourke (or someone else) was doing a background research on lila.

viii. rourke's note: an old note written by rourke to look into the new junior researcher, as they look familiar. this is most likely a reference to olivia montoya, although it is not known where he recognises her from.

ACT 6

i. rourke's plan: out of agitation, lila blurts out rourke's plan to save the world through a machine at the masada facility. this machine turns out to be the omega mech, and rourke's plan happens to be controlling the world and its people's existence on his whims.

ii. tracking device: a tracking device is found by taylor, attached to the yeti's fur. this was placed there by the arachnid. this tracking device relays location details back to them, as seen in the military humvee by michelle, jake and taylor, where the code name for the yeti is arktos.

iii. garbled message: a distorted voice reveals the date and coordinates of jake's location, received by the arachnid through an anonymous transmission, which is how they came upon la huerta in the first place. this voice belongs to jake himself, who did so using a 'time-phone' in order to merge realities and help them escape through a helicopter from the masada facility.

iv. crashed satellite: varyyn, while talking about shooting stars, says a satellite once crashed to the ground from the skies. it is probably a stray satellite that got caught in the la huerta time bubble, or it belonged to rourke.

v. omega mech: olivia montoya demonstrates rourke's plans for the omega specimen, aka the endless, through a vr headset. she urges the viewer to understand the destruction the specimen, and rourke, are capable of.

vi. missing guests: rourke claimed that the guests at the celestial were evacuated in time at the beginning of the book, but it is shown that he had them put in containment pods. as seen in bonus scene 4, lundgren and the other arachnids were a part of these guests, but were released by rourke upon striking a deal with him to capture jake.

vii. charred skeletons: skeletons of people are found in the flames and ashes at hartfeld, proving that people did not escape the eruption.

viii. havana cigar: lundgren's cigar at the masada facility implies that he was snooping around where he shouldn't, and that he didn't trust rourke. this distrust is confirmed in bonus scene 6.

ACT 7

i. temple/ancient map: if taylor, yvonne and uqzhaal find the endless, they will give the whereabouts of no'ox naj temple to yvonne, where the fountain of youth exists. if they don't find the endless, taylor and yvonne find a carving of the la huerta map on the walls at the threshold, also hinting towards the temple. the whole group meets the endless for the first time in this temple in book 3 chapter 4.

ii. scout: a mechanical spider with a spy camera is found by taylor while they go windsurfing to win malatesta's bet. like the tracker on the yeti, this was also placed by the arachnid to track down their locations.

iii. padlock: a weathered padlock bearing the inscription, 'no land, no sea, no one will keep us apart. flora & eugene, 1920,' found by taylor in a coral reef. after turning down eugene's proposal (the ring clue, book 2), she tried to make it up to him with this padlock and by asking him to show up at neptune cove (the note clue, book 1). when he failed to show up, flora gave up on him and somehow ended up in a forced marriage to arthur barnaby a year later.

iv. pen: a tarnished silver pen bearing grace's name is found in the shrine at no'ox naj temple. it is implausible that she was at the temple, as she was under rourke's custody the whole time. it is also the same pen seen in grace's catalyst idol, returned to her by aleister and ultimately found near professor diaz's car which she had smashed up.

v. silver sap: one of the drinks served at the anachronists' party at quarr'tel is the silver sap from elyys'tel's tree. the creation of the vaanti myth, which is said to have started at a masquerade theme wedding, is that of flora and arthur's, where the former gets shot after confessing her love for eugene at the wedding. in an attempt to save her, eugene gives her some of this sap. this consumption eventually turns them into the feral vaanti.

vi. spirit's identity: the anachronist, clockmaker, refers to the faceless spirit as vaanu. in reality, vaanu is simply an alien being from another planet (the prism dimension) who crash landed on earth when its planet was destroyed. upon communing with vaanu, taylor discovers they are vaanu's creation, made for the purpose of returning la huerta to its normal state, allowing vaanu's departure.

vii. aleister's note: aleister writes a note to grace, apologising to her, and how he feels genuine remorse over his betrayal. he mentions that he hopes to redeem himself in her eyes.

ACT 8:

i. painting: at the rosencraft manor, there's a painting titled 'depiction of the divine' portraying rourke writing the ten commandments dressed in roman attire. the attire probably matches the statue of himself in the atrium, which opens up the sundial to his museum.

ii. communicator: the anachronists provide sean, raj and michelle with antique communicators which lets them coordinate the attack on cetus.

iii. path to the core: vaanu shows quinn the way to the core of the volcano, where the island's heart belongs. this core is the place where vaanu landed on earth.

iv. molten crystals: a crystal orb with claw markings in it, made by the oryctoraptor that dwells inside the volcano. referred to by varyyn as the deep guardian, it is the most reclusive of the four. it is also responsible for the orb found in the cavern in book 1 chapter 5, and possibly the orb that causes the time loop in book 2 chapter 2.

v. the endless' musings: zahra finds a diary belonging to the endless at the base of the volcano, in which they speak of how the sentience of the crystals probably drew the four guardians (cetus, king crab, yeti, oryctoraptor) to establish order on the island, but they were driven mad. the endless also believes it is possible the crystal created the creatures. this is possible, as it would explain the existence of the colourful seahorse, t'kal and furball (although they have not been affected like the guardians have.)

vi. closing words: the closing words spoken by seraxa during the handfasting ceremony, which is customary as 'it was for the first bride and her beloved.' they are the same words that were engraved in the padlock that flora made for eugene.

[calciumcryptid]

I must know about the Floret continent

I am so glad you asked!

{ Floretverse Continent }

The Floretverse is the name for my original superhero universe; however, it does not follow the usual lines of taking place in an alternate dimension of the world as we know it. Instead, it takes place on a made up continent shaped like a flower.

The continent has seven petals, with the center serving as the central hub. Each petal serves as its own country, but must answer to the central hub's council. For easy identification, each petal has its own signature color following the colors of the rainbow.

{ Carnis Petal }

The Canis Petal serves as one big police state, due to the fact is essentially one huge prison where major villains are sent to and corralled in. It's signature color is red.

The Canis Petal is home to Carnis Academy, a hero academy based on remedial education for children of the villains banished there.

Number One Hero: Blood Rose

{ Bladis Petal }

The Bladis Petal serves as a time capsule as the architecture is inspired by medieval times in the modern world. It's signature color is orange.

The Bladis Petal is home to Bladis Academy, a hero academy based on fighting with both weapons and genes. One is able to attend the school if they receive a nomination from the Pantheon, the top heroes in the area. The Pantheon members can only nominate two students each year which keeps a steady flow of graduating heroes.

Number One Hero: Pantheon Representative (Randomly Chosen)

{ Mythis Petal }

The Mythis Petal serves as one of the most normal petals, with barely anything notable. It's signature color is yellow.

The Mythis Petal is home to Mythis Academy, a hero academy with a written and practical exam to get in. It is also the home to the first ever idol hero, and hosts the idol hero training camp each year.

Number One Hero: Energetic Heroine Vixenfire

{ Legacis Petal }

The Legacis Petal serves as one of the most normal petals, with barely anything notable besides having the most long-standing agencies. It's signature color is green.

The Legacis Petal is home to the Legacis Academy, the only academy to be both a heroics school and a normal high school. One gets in on basic exams, as they believe that everyone should get the chance to forge their own legacy.

Number One Hero: Silverstar

{ Staris Petal }

The Staris Petal are one of the most normal petals, with barely anything notable besides having the most long-standing agencies. It's signature color is blue.

The Staris Petal is home to Staris Academy, a hero academy in which potential students must pass a series of trials in order to attend. The trials are designed to test their Will, Courage, and Intellect.

Number One Hero: Military Heroine Osprey

{ Powis Petal }

The Powis Petal serves as the most mystical of all the petals, and is home to some of the most powerful families within the Floret Continent. It's signature color is indigo.

The Powis Petal is home to Powis Academy, a hero academy based on infusing weapons with ones genes. One can attend if they are from a powerful and influential family or if they are nominated by one of said powerful and influential families.

Number One Hero: Captain Cockatoo

{ Univis Petal }

The Univis Petal serves as the most dystopian of all the petals, with a rigid gene bias that separates the peninsula separating those with Mimcry and Elemental genes from those with Enhancement, Mutant, and Manipulative genes. It's signature color is violet.

The Univis Petal is home to Univis Academy, a hero academy that is dedicated to upholding the sacred (warped) law of Galaxias. Univis Academy graduates have a big head, and tend to leave those with Enhancement, Mutant, and Manipulative genes to die in a warped sense of gene superiority.

Number One Hero: Silent Water

[unveiled-if]

Dossier: Werecreatures. ( Wolf )

Notes by: Theodeous Ferein

Summary: As the most common and overlooked of the werecreatures, wolves have gained a reputation of being let off easy with their Veil. With only their eyes to be hidden during human appearance, without worries of horns or wings sprouting during their inattention, they seem to have it easy with their lives. Many do not know how much pain these people go through during transformation, like many werecreatures. Yet, their Fables carry further back than many other, and perhaps that is why they're targeted as the minority in this group of "supernatural".

The Shift is excruciating to werecreatures, no matter what their genus type. Tis only a fact.

Their Shifts can be controlled, and contrary to many popular beliefs, even Canidae Shifts aren't determined by the position of the moon; It's only that during the full moon, the pull towards animal is more prominent than most times. Man has never extensively studied the scientific, or Veil-woven, reason behind this, but most blame it on the Fables from long ago. Even interviewing these Canidae werecreatures has yielded no answers, due to their lack of knowledge why the full moon drives them to Shifting, or howling altogether. Perhaps these creatures (Wolves) are still enslaved to their Fabled origins, since rarely do true animal Canis Lupus howl at the moon in any other context than a, say, rallying cry or a territorial expression. I have witnessed this howl more often during the passing of a fire truck than the lunar event.

I am forced to believe that the dynamics of these creatures lie heavily in their roots, and the traditions forged by the Fables written by humans. An unintentional instinct, if you will.

Notes: As I've proclaimed before, the Canidae are not forced to shift during the full moon, yet it is more common than not. I have noted that many younger generations have a difficult time with this lunar event. I have spoken to the "alpha" of the local pack (Earc Sullivan, must interview young son, Beau, later) and he has informed me that the Shift is something that not many “young’uns” survive. I must assume this means children, as my studies have yielded that many werewolf children that are forced/have initiated the Shift at an age too young have perished at the transformation.

Which I do understand, after witnessing the alpha transformation. Note that this creature, man, werewolf, was well over thirty years old where his bones had time to acclimate to The Shift (see footnotes of werewolf x-rays).

I have never heard such sickening noises from these creatures, as the case has been with many werecreature. As if every ligament, every join, every muscle torn out of its place. My later questioning has strengthened my knowledge; Every part of the human body they inhabit will break and tear when the Wolf is allowed space. As we might assume, Canidae have more joints in their bodies than man ever could, and werecreature bodies will make way for these fresh additions. In the worst cases, I've heard, the bones that make space in these bodies break through skin and be fatal to those too young to handle the pain. Thus, many werekin children are subjected to rigorous physical training that most might call abuse. When entering a den, it is no rarity to see bloodies children with bruises and broken limbs, and myself, I could not remain in the premises too long before being overcome by nausea. Yet these children seem happy and excited about their first "true shift". More investigation needed.

What interests me still, is that these creatures never completely shift to their animal form. I have conducted an interview with Earc Sullivan, and I have linked the interview below. Here are the points made that aroused my interest;

Theodeous: I must ask, why is it you rarely shift entirely to your Canidae form? Earc: When the wolf is allowed full control, it takes much willpower to bring the Human in us back. Theodeous: Do you care to elaborate? Earc: It's like a lucid dream. You know you are in a body that doesn't belong to you, and you know you are there, but you can't control it. The Wolf is a part of us, and we have to keep a leash on it. Like a dog. Otherwise it will run wild. Theodeous: And if this Wolf gets free? Earc: This city would be buried in blood and guts. The Wolf doesn't enjoy this place. It doesn't want to be chained under this magic. It wants to roam free, act as it would in the wild, with those wolves who aren't chained together with a human soul. Theodeous: So it wishes to massacre, to draw blood? Earc: No. It only wishes to live free, to care for its family, to teach its pups, to protect the pack. But the magic that the Veil is, it prevents this, and it makes the Wolf anxious. Even if I am not scared nor anxious, the Wolf is, and it lashes out in whatever way it sees fit. Imagine a caged lion in the circus; are we any different? Theodeous: So if you let the Wolf take control of your body entirely, say, you entirely transform to Canis Lupus and not the bipedal alternative, you couldn't get yourself, as Earc Sullivan, back? Earc: I could, but it takes immense willpower. Have you ever been blackout drunk, Ferein? It's a bit like that. When you occasionally wake to reality and know you should sober up, but you can't. The world is a blur and you can only follow the whim of the Wolf, without having a say in what it does. Yet you're awoken to take responsibility if the Wolf allows you to return. Theodeous: I'm not sure I understand. Earc: I wouldn't expect you to. It's confusing, frightening even, when you know your limbs, but they don't listen to what you tell them to do. When your memories are only blinks in the consciousness of something that is you, but not entirely. Theodeous: I... See.

--

Theodeous: Now, I must ask; The mortality of young werewolf children. How come that is? Earc: If you're asking me if we beat our children to death, you're wrong. We care deeply for our children, and only wish for them to grow past adolescence. Theodeous: Then why is it that so many of the Veiled that, let's say, perish, are those of werecreature kin? Earc: As I've told before, and you've witnessed, our human bodies cannot accommodate the Wolf like this. When The Shift comes, our bones break into theirs, as do our muscles, sinews, blood vessels. Sometimes these Shifts are initiated or forced too early, and the children... They cannot take it. Theodeous: Care to elaborate? Earc: Have you ever witnessed a bone tear through skin, lungs, vital organs, scholar? Theoudeous: I cannot say that I have. Earc: Then I hope you never will, especially when it comes to your children.

-- In conclusion: I have witnessed even the strongest of "alpha" werecreatures, lupine in genus, shift from fully human to wolf, and his struggle to recall his human nature. I expressed interest in interviewing his mate as well, but since my very human body was nearly thrown off the Sullivan hotel window, I will no longer attempt to question her. I inquired the "alpha" of this aggression, but he claimed it had nothing to do with his lupine self, but the fact that he did not want to subject his mate to the pain of reliving the loss of her children to early shifts.

I will spend more time with this group of werecreatures, as they are the most abundant in Voit City, but I must seek other creatures of this same Fable to compare their experiences.

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, ALLI! You’ve been accepted for the role of SEVEN OF SWORDS with the faceclaim of CILLIAN MURPHY. Canis is certainly a fucking concept, whom I adore to no end. He’s got a tenacious and willful sort of attitude about him, the kind of incredulous charm and wit that lends itself to an air of villainy and danger, and I think that he fits into the Seven of Swords like one fits into a well-made boot or glove. In spite of remaining leashed like a dog, he’s got no small amount of fire in him, and I’m eager to see what (or who!) he sinks his teeth into during gameplay. You’ve brought me a real gift, dropped it on my doorstep, and I am grateful.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

— APPLICATION

OOC

NAME:    alli PRONOUNS:    she / her AGE:    twenty - one TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL:    cst /  i  am  currently  on  summer  break  and  have  the  ability  to  be  really  active ,  but  sometimes  things  do  come  up !  i  definitely  have  plenty  of  time  to  be  on  the  dash  with  several  posts  within  activity  limit  and  when  my  muse  is  high  ( i’ll  be  honest  i’m  a  hoe  for  high  fantasy )  my  activity  is  also  super  up ! ANYTHING ELSE?:    what’s the mead sis…….. the wenches are squabbling …….

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON:    seven  of  swords NAME:   efferus  aubenet   /   “canis”  &  “the  dog”   efferus  -  of  latin  meaning ,  “wild ,  savage ,  cruel ,  barbarous” .  a  name  canis  has  long  since  abandoned ,  preferring  even  the  subtle  jab  of  “the  dog”  given  to  him  by  opponents  of  his  crew  and  the  highborn  that  look  down  on  him .  he  finds  it  just  about  as  cutting  as  a  bread knife .  no  one  except  those  closest  to  him  ( ie .  the  pack )  even  know  this  name  exists . canis  -  latin  for  “ dog ” ,  though also  the  scientific  genus  for  all  canines ,  including  wolves  and  coyotes .  meant  to  symbolize  canis  as   the  leader  of  his  pack  of  wild  dogs ,  and  a  sign  of  respect ,  a  nickname  earned  on  the  streets  and  not  given  to  him  in  tyrholm . the  dog  -  a  nickname  received  while  working  under  king  septimus ,  by  those  that  see  the  second  fangs  as  dirty ,  unruly ,  savages .  also  by  revolters  who  see canis  as  a  dog  blindly  following  the  orders  of  a  tyrannical  king.  in  any  case ,  he  still  prefers  this  to  efferus .  sometimes  he  even  barks  in  response . FACECLAIM:    cillian  murphy ,  michiel  huisman   ( he / him  pronouns ,  cis  male ) AGE:    thirty - nine  ,  born  on  the  twenty - seventh  day  of  the  twelfth  month

DETAILS:   i  always  find  myself  drawn  to  underdog  characters ,  muses  that  have  overcome  more  than  most  others  could  even  imagine  to  find  themselves  in  their  present  position .  i  believe  there  is  so  much  depth  to  backgrounds  like  canis’s .  no family  so  he  created  his  own ,  nothing  to  his  name  so  he  created  his  own  legacy .  a  moral  compass that  tries  it’s  best  to  always  point  north .  that  fails ,  because  the  muse  is  so  painfully  human .  the  irony  of  a  sellsword  who  wants  more  for  himself ?  incredible .  when  i  was  skimming  the  skeletons ,  it  was  his  that  startled  practically  writing  itself ,  this  street  urchin  turned  warrior  figure ,  so  i  spent  a  lot  of  time  picking  apart  the  biography  until  i  was  left  with  canis . i  did  a  bit  of  research  on  the  seventh  of  swords  tarot  card ,  but  let  me  tell  you  ..  i  was  so  pleasantly  surprised  and  intrigued  when  i  did .  on  one  hand ,  when  upright ,  seven  of  swords  means  scheming ,  resourcefulness ,  cunning ,  and  lies ,  all  traits  that  have  gotten  canis  to  where  he  is  today ,  however  negative ,  the  legacy  he’s  forged  for  himself  and  all  deeply  tied  to  his  work .  however ,  when  reversed ,  the  seven  of  swords  can  mean  confession ,  conscience ,  regret ,  and  maliciousness ,  which  i  think  lend  beautifully  to  this  character’s  private  struggles .  there  is  a  very  heavy  mix  of  negative  and  positive  attributes  leant  towards  seven  of  sword’s  core  character ,  someone  who  wants  to  do  right  by  themselves  at  great  cost .  when  interpreting  the  tarot  as  canis ,  i  was  drawn  to  the  maliciousness  and  the  regret  ( in  sometimes  equal  measure )  of  the  reversed  card .  i  believe  there  is  so  much  more  to  this  character  than  just  his  web  of  scheming  and  lies ,  that  canis’s  true  self  comes  from  somewhere  within ,  and  i’m  really  excited  to  explore  his  inner  conflicts.  this  man  has  so  many  issues  that  he’s  buried  and  i  think  the  possibility  of  him  becoming  a  part  of  the  revolution?  impeccable.  my  muse  for  this  skeleton ?  through  the  roof .

BACKGROUND  

I .  O’ ROMULUS  AND  REMUS ,  CASTOR  AND  POLLUX ,  WHAT  IS  ONE  WITHOUT  THE  OTHER ?   a  twin ,  you  were  told ,  though  it  feels  like  something  you  should  never  be  permitted  to  forget.  you’ve  never  felt  him there ,  not  like  a  phantom  limb  or  a  guiding  whisper.  just  a  story ,  when  you’re  feeling  ungrateful  for  your  lot  in  this  realm ,  that  there  is  only  one  where  there  once  was  two.  born  in  the  dead  of  winter  --  the  one  that  bit  at  the  napes  of  even  the  most  fur  cloaked  nobility  of  markholm ,  that  anyone  unlucky  enough  to  live  through  it  can  still  recall  as  “ceaseless”   --   and  childbirth  takes  your  mother  as  it  goes.  two  children ,  born  sickly ,  cold.  so  you  are  dubbed  efferus ,  a  savage  beast  who  can  claw  his  way  into  life ,  barely  holding  onto  breath ,  already  having  taken  a  life.   it  takes  a  village  to  raise  motherless  boys.  sometimes  it  takes  more  than  that.  your  brother  doesn’t  make  it  past  the  winter ,  but  you  keep  growing ,  getting  stronger  by  the  day ,  and  finally  spring  flowers  bloom  forth  from  hard  soil.  the  goat  farmer  next  door  tells  your  father  you  are  a  resilient  one ,  that  the  undying  smiled  upon  him.  another  miracle ,  that  your  life  could  be  a  blessing  and  not  a  curse.   as  long  as  you  knew  him ,  your  father  kept  steadfast  in  deep  religion ,  devout ,  praying  over  the  crops.  the  cattle.  the  harvest.  even  your  birth ,  a  story  he  recants  so  mystically  it’s  hard  to  imagine  you  were  there.  “we  all  bled  fer  you ,”  he  always  starts ,  like  it’s  your  fault ,  “my  son ,  my  son.  let  all  else  be  damned  fer  ‘im.”  two  lives  for  the  price  of  one ,  he  reminds  you ,  and  you’re  just  a  boy ,  but  you  still  find  it  all  absurd.  there’s  never  been a rhyme  or  reason  to  suffering.  “you  make  a  deal  with  the  undying  and  you  get  what  you  paid  fer.”  sometimes  it  seems  a  compliment.  others ..  you  aren’t  so  sure.   your  father  hath  no  mercy  for  the  weak  or  spineless ,  though  he  wasn’t  an  inherently  evil  man  either ,  at  least  not  in  the  figments  you  can  conjure  of  him.  you  plow  the  fields ,  with  hands  so  rough  with  calluses  you  can’t  feel  the  hilt  of  the  axe  you  use  to  cut  the  firewood.  you  milk  the  cows ,  so  gentle  with  great  beasts  you  start  to  forget  your  name.  you’re  skin  and  bone  and  beating  heart  ,  not  much  to  look  at ,  but  just  the  blessing  your  father  asked  for  all  the  same.  a  good  boy ,  in  that  you  were  capable  and  healthy  and  strong.  a  bad  seed ,  in  that  you  cared  for  little  and  didn’t  always  do  as  you  were  told.   it’s  your  tenth  winter  when  frostbitten  tendrils  take  first  your  farm ,  and  then  your  father.  you  make  a  deal  with  the  undying  and  you  get  what  you  paid  for ,  you  remember ,  and  it  almost  makes  you  laugh.  perhaps  it’s  not  so  funny  that  you  mourn  very  little  the  life  you  lost.  perhaps  still  it  is  a  testament  to  your  strength ,  a  boy  of  only  ten  who  shoulders  already  a  lifetime  of  death  and  decay.  who  makes  it  look  a  load  easy  to  bear.  who  are  you ,  efferus  aubenet?  and  who  will  you  become?

II .  A  MIRRORED  MIDAS  ,  IF  EVERYTHING  HE  HAD  TOUCHED  TURNED  TO  DEATH  AND  ROT .   a  street  urchin  with  no  farm ,  no  family ,  and  most  prominently  no  coin.  winters  slip  away  like  sand  through  an  hourglass ,  and  it’s  all  you  can  do  to  keep  track  of  the  time  that  folds  beneath  you.  one  year ,  and  you’re  frail  and  quiet  and  know  only  to  keep  to  yourself.  three  years  and  you’ve  developed  a  taste  for  fighting ,  scrappy  as  you  are.  it’s  just  a  game ,  in  the  beginning ,  one  the  other  coinless  children  keep  telling  you  you’re  too  good  at ,  “it’s  no  fun  fighting  a  hungry  dog.”  five  years  and  you’re  taller ,  more  meat  to  your  bones.  you’re  better  at  sneaking  things  out  of   the  market ,  extra  to  feed  your  friends.  you  learned  the  hard  way  what  happens  if  you  don’t  bring  back  enough ,  if  you  turn  a  blind  eye  to  people  who  call  out  your  name.  you  hear  it  when  you  dream ,  half  awake  in  chilled  darkness.   “i’m  so  hungry,  efferus.  i’m  so  hungry.”   you  start  going  by  canis.  it  makes  it  easier  to  sleep.   six ,  seven  years  and  you’re  so  good  at  fighting  that  your  pockets  start  to  feel  heavy.  cobbled  streets  whisper  canis  when  you  cross.  bruised  fists  and  a  bloody  conscience ,  not  all soldiers  make  it  out  of  battle  alive.  it  dawns  on  you ,  slowly  but  with  all  the  force  of  a  crack  of  lightning ,  why  the  others  like  to  call  you  dog.  maybe  it’s  because  you  were  born  from  death ,  or  because  you  know  loss  so  well  it  colors  your  eyelids  when  you  blink ,  but  it  seems  all  you’re  good  for.  you  discover  a  rage  within  you ,  one  which  you’re  sure  ( you  hope ,  foolish  as  it  is )  any  man  is  capable  of ,  if  pushed  too  far.  but  it’s  directionless ,  vile  in  the  way  it  sits  inside  your  chambered  heart.  there  is  nothing  more  universal  than  pain.  nothing  more  isolating  than  anger.  a  boy  with  a  taste  for  blood.  so  blind  to  the  way  you  snap ,  like  branch  under  boot ,  when  you  push  too  hard.  what  place  is  there  for  you  in  an  unforgiving  world ,  wracked  with  hardship?  at  whose  table  do  you  dine?   you  knew  love  once ,  it  felt  like  sharing  bread  and  blankets  and  tales  of  woe.  like  years  on  the  streets  relying  only  on  wit  and  steadfast  determination  to  survive.  like  knowing  a  person  fully ,  inside  and  out ,  as  you’d  always  known  yourself.  that  too  would  be  taken  from  you ,  like  everything  else.  for  the  price  of  just  a  single  coin ,  you  watched  your  love  take  their  last  breath ,  watched  the  thief  make  off  with  their  blood  money ,  felt  truly  and  terribly  powerless.  worse  than  losing  your  father  to  deep  winter  chill  you  lost  your  first  love  to  a  blade.  and  in  the  end ,  it  meant  nothing.     the  sons  of  argos  could  not  undo  what  you’d  done ,  what  had  been  done  to  you ,  but  maybe  you  could  give  back  tenfold.  it  starts  small ,  at  a  table  in  your  favorite  tavern ,  as  all  great  plots  tended  to  do.  an  invitation  to  join  a  company  you’d  heard  about  only  in  whispers.  you  saw  espace ,  penance  where  others  saw  a  home ,  but  that  would  always  be  enough  for  you.  it  was  intended  to  be  permanent ,  a  family  you  couldn’t  lose ,  under  a  friend  who  would  lay  down  their  life  for  the  men ,  women ,  and  children  under  their  protection.  a  life  of  adventure  to  call  your  own  and  you  didn’t  need  to  suffer  anymore.  you  had  but  one  skill ,  it  seemed ,  beyond  tending  to  the  herd  and  trimming  too  tall  crops ,  and  your  father  once  taught  you  that  skill  fed  fortune  ( though  the  money ,  you’d  find ,  would  come  later ) .  you  don’t  think  the  sons  is  quite  what  your  dearly  departed  had  in  mind ,  and  this  makes  your  smile  widen.  you’ve  always  found  humor  in  odd  places.     what  follows  is  a  career  far  short  of  extravagant ,  fighting  crime  like  a  bunch  of  vigilanties ,  tied  to  a  city  state  that  knows  little  of  its  own  streets.  you  hunger  for  travel ,  to  sink  your  teeth  into  shores  unseen ,  land  untended.  to  make  a  real  name  for  yourself  and  anyone  who  followed  suit.  “mind  your  place ,  mutt,”  you  hear  more  than  once ,  and  you  want  to  swat  the  others  away  like  flies  buzzing  in  swelling  ears.  but  there’s  something  sharp ,  too ,  like  a  cut  that  just  won’t  heal.  your  voice  is  too  loud  amongst  the  rest ,  your  name  --  the  name  you  paid  for  in  blood  --  nothing  next  to  strength’s.  the  captain  you  were  meant  to  worship  turned  to  dust  in  your  heavy  fist ,  the  family  you  forged  alongside  them  never  yours  to  call  your  own.  you  tell  yourself  they  betrayed  you ,  like  everything  else  in  this  life  they  gave  you  nothing  to  hold  onto  save  for  the  back  of  their  coattails ,  but  in  truth  you  were  never  meant  to  stay.  minding  your  place  felt  a  lot  like  digging  six  feet  down  to  lay  rest.   it’s  like  waking  from  a  dream ,  one  you  push  down  when  it  returns  to  you  in  the  night ,  leaving  the  sons  for  good.  four  winters  you  slept  under  their  tents ,  ate  at  their  table ,  and  still  you  feel  nothing  when  you  pack  what’s  yours  ( and  maybe  some  of  what  isn’t ,  but  who  would  dare  come  looking  for  it? )  and  go.  no  one  follows ,  no  one  even  pleads  your  case ,  and  when  you  see  them  playing  knights  on  the  docks  the  fire  in  you  swells.  it’s  all  rot  now.

III .  WHERE  WOULD  ICARUS  BE  NOW ,  IF  SOMEONE  WISE  HAD  CLIPPED  CURSED  WINGS?      iriebury  is  the  stank  of  unwashed  flesh ,  the  heat  of  southern  sun ,  something  to  conquer.  the  citizens  are  mean  and  the  crime  meaner.  it  makes  tyrholm  look  a  lot  like  playing  pretend ,  the  sons  seem  like  a  group  of  toy  soldiers.  to  survive  in  iriebury  you  need  your  bark ,  you  need  your  bite.  naturally , you  thrive.   it  takes  just  one  winter ,  one  warm  southern  winter ,  before  you  have  something  to  call  a  crew  of  your  very  own.  the  second  fangs ,  a  handful  of  beaten  down ,  nearly  finished  off  mutts  that  think  you  look  like  a  future.  you’ll  find  one  day ,  when  you’ve  turned  to  face  the  wrong  end  of  a  sword ,  these  dogs’  loyalty  knows  no  bounds.  and  maybe  you  do  have  a  family  after  all.  they  don’t  look  like  warriors  born  for  battle ,  but  they’re  sharp  on  every  edge  and  speak  of  you  like  you  hung  the  moon.  like  a  prophecy  spun  from  the  undying  herself.  the  queen  of  iriebury’s  no  different ,  when  you  flash  her  a  smile  and  run  a  sword  through  her  guard.  this  is  your  destiny.   with  work  and  full  bellies ,  the  second  fangs  grow ,  picking  up  more  men  and  women  the  rest  of  markholm  cast  aside ,  giving  them  all  purpose.  leadership  becomes  you ,  you’re  kind  in  places  other  captains  breathe  fire.  your  men  adore  you ,  and  maybe  this  is  why  it’s  easy  to  lose  yourself  a  bit.  you’ve  always  been  looking  for  him ,  that  voice  inside  of  you  that  has  guided  every  confident  step ,  and  you  really  start  to  believe  you’ve  found  him  at  the  end  of  a blade.     what  you  do  isn’t  pretty like  life  in  a  castle ,  it  isn’t  gentle  like  the  farm  or  humble  like  a  temple ,  but  it  suits  you.  you  find  company  at  the  bottom  of  a  bottle ,  family  inside  the  taverns  and  brothels ,  atop  dirty  cobblestone.  it  all  feels  a  lot  like  honor ,  like  duty.  you’re  known  for  your  loyalty  and  cunning  among  burdened  skill.  work  lends  to  virtue  or  some  mirrored  image  of  the  sort.  the  second  fangs  take  the  jobs  you  approve ,  not  the  ones  the  queen  hands  you ,  nails  stained  with  blood ,  and   who  knew  a  mercenary  crew  with  such  an  eye  for  morality?  bastards  that  comb  the  streets  but  speak  with  love  fresh  on  their  lips.  you’re  a  heathen  with  heart ,  of  that  not  even  the  fiercest  opponents  can  dispute.  maybe  there  is  a  place  in  this  world  for  nameless ,  coinless  men  with  a  hunger  for  something  more.  you  give  back  to  your  beloved  pack  what  they  give  to  you ;  everything ,  everything  and  then  some.  a  life  that  means  more  than  scraping  the  bottom  of  the  barrel.   you  can’t  carry  on  like  this  forever  and  survive ,  and  it’s  only  a  matter  of  time  before  real  gold  starts  knocking.  a  steady  job ,  you’re  promised.  a  lifetime  of  stability ,  peace.  you  know  more  of  the  king  of  tyrholm than  you  let  on ,  and  maybe  you  are  naive  to  trust  the  word  of  a  woman  who  did  not  raise  herself ,  but  when  you  look  at  your  company’s  worn  faces  and  tired  smiles ,  weathered  from  southern  strife ,  it’s  never  been   easier  to  bend  a  knee.     some  odd  winters ,  some  odd  springs ,  lived  with  modest  lavesty.  septimus  is  an  arse  of  a  man  that  whispers  corroded  bidding  into  your  graceless  ear.  no  one  but  the  second  fangs  knows  how  much  you  shake ,  when  the  job  is  done  and  you’re  safe  at  home.  how  much  weight  you  shoulder ,  for  yourself ,  for  your  men ,  for  the  lives  you’ve  taken.  the  lives  you  will  take.  your  crew  was  never  meant  to  become  a  rebellion.  the  glory  feels  lost ,  you’re  a  knight  without  chivalry ,  a  wolf  without  teeth.  you  hear  dog  more  than  your  own  name  and  you  bite  back  bile  when  you  look  in  a  mirror ,  but  still ,  you  think ,  you  would  do  it  all  over  again.     the  second  fangs  are  a  happy  crew ,  well  fed  and  housed  and  nothing  like  the  orphans  you  sheltered  so  many  moons  ago.  when  it  starts  to  feel  like  you  have  your  own  sons  of  argos  you  shelf  the  thought.  your  pack  looks  at  you ,  strong  and  fit  and  still  just  a  bit  withered ,  and  laugh  and  cheer.  “yer  getting  old,  canis,”  they  jest ,  when  you  stumble  into  bed.  “hunch - backed  from  all  that  gold  in  yer  pockets.”  you’ve  always  been  wiser  than  most  of  them ,  something  raw  in  your  heart  that  keeps  it  beating  steadfast.  better  you  than  them ,  you  know.  most  men  would  crack  at  what  you’d  seen.  what  you  know.     there’s  good  to  be  found ,  once  you  learn  how  to  look ,  like  the  devotion  of  judgement  ,  a  beauty  in  worship  that  reminds  you  of  all  your  father’s  useless  praying.  peaceful  in  all  it’s  absurdity.  there’s  friendship  in  odd  places ,  with  the  empress  you  serve.  you  find  it  hard  to  trust  in  tyrholm ,  unaccustomed  to  the  politics  of  a  ruling  class ,  the  society  that  never  once  smiled  down  on  a  farm  boy  and  his  widowed  father.  you  want  to  be  wise  and  cunning ,  still  sometimes  you  feel  inadequate  next  to  those  raised  in  education ,  but  the  queen  saw  your  potential  before  anyone  else  in  the  whole  retched  kingdom ,  and  that  has  to  mean  something.  there’s  the  fool ,  a  real  dog  you  sometimes  think ,  who  mirrors  your  old  captain  so  much  it  makes  your  skin  crawl.  they  aren’t  so  bad ,  but  it’s  hard  for  you  to  look  up  at  someone  who  serves  at  the  hand  of  the  king.  you  wonder  if  others  think  the  same  of  you.  fools ,  the  whole  lot  of  them.   you  know  what  the  queen  expects  of  you ,  your  word  is  your  livelihood ,  but  these  things  take  time.  for  now ,  you’re  comfortable ;  your  cup  is  full.  there’s  always  been  something  about  wars  to  come  that  feels  like  home ,  ragged  and  battle  scarred  thing  that  you  are.  and  besides ,  it’s  easier  to  put  out  a  fire  that  burns  inside  your  ribs  than  one  that  swallows  an  entire  kingdom ,  of  this  you  are  certain.

PLOT IDEAS

STRENGTH:   oh  boy  oh  man.  canis  can’t  hold  his  tongue  with  distaste  even  if  he  tried ,  and  he  definitely  doesn’t  try  with  them.  his  anger  often  gets  the  better  of  him  and  i  believe  he  would  try  to  confront  strength  every  chance  he  gets.  he  sees  this  skeleton  as  nothing  more  than  the  king’s  right  hand  ( literally  so  exciting  to  me  that  strength  is  also  a  revolter  and  i’m  sure  neither  of  them  know  they’re  destined  to  work  on  the  same  side  again?? )   and  i  think  he  reflects  a  lot  of  his  own  inadequacies  onto  this  skeleton ,  a  lot  of  his  failure.  with  such  a  tension  relationship  i’d  like  to  see  fights  break  out ..  maybe  even  between  their  own  respective  men  that  they’d  have  to  quell.  far  down  the  line  even  settling  their  differences  and  working  together  as  the  military  leaders  of  a  revolution  because  who  is  better  suited  for  the  job  than  them?  but  it  would  take  a  big  blow  to  canis’s  pride  to  share  such  a  job ,  to  ever  work  alongside  this  skeleton  instead  of  against  them  like  he  always  has.  so  all  around?  here  for  it  all. NINE OF WANDS:   canis  looks  at  them  and  sees  passion  he  once  was  sure  he  felt ,  the  sharp  thing  in  his  gut  that  once  spurred  him  to  forge  his  own  path  in  a  world  that  never  once  showed  him  kindness.  his  scars  are  internal ,  but  they  wear  their  scar  like  a  badge  of  honor ,  at  least  that’s  how  canis  sees  it.  he’d  love  to  not  have  to  kill  the  king  himself ,  even  if  he  would  never  admit  it.  it  means  a  safer  life  for  his  men ,  it  means  being  done  with  tyrholm  and  a  life  of  ease  and  travel ,  everything  he’s  always  wanted  and  never  seemed  to  be  able  to  grasp.  i  wonder  if  them  growing  closer  through  sparring  and  their  ability  to  provide  him  the  best  weapons  he’s  ever  seen  could  change  his  opinion  on  wanting  them  to  kill  the  king  in  a  fit  of  rage??  i  could  see  canis  wanted  to  strategize  with  them ,  in  the  end ,  once  he’s  done  poking  the  bear.  love  this  gift  of  a  connection  a  lot !!!! THE EMPRESS:   definite  ass  kissing  going  on  here.  canis  is  more  than  grateful  he  was  hired  by  her  and  not  the  king ,  though  i  do  think  he  might  resent  them  a  little  for  the  work  the  king  makes  his  company  do.  he  prefers  to  take  jobs  from  them ,  when  ordered ,  though  i  feel  their  relationship  at  this  point  goes  beyond  just  work  like  it  does  with  septimus.  he  trusts  them  and  it  does  help  him  to  sleep  at  night  thinking  he  could  be  serving  their  hand  and  not  septimus’s.  also  entirely  possibly  they  call  him  the  dog  but  with  them  it  doesn’t  feel  like  malice.  he  would  never  dare  disrespect  the  queen ,  especially  one  he  sees  goodness in ,  sees  his  entire  future  in.  would  be  really  interesting  if  canis  even  is  a  little  too  friendly  with  them ,  giving  them  a  hard  time  where  maybe  no  one  else  would  dare  to  do ,  an  annoying  prick  in  her  side  that  she  NEEDS  to  get  what  she  wants. THE HERMIT:   i  think  he  has  a  lot  of  respect  for  the  hermit.  in  ways  that  his  pride  keeps  him  from  seeing  his  similarities  with  strength ,  he  sees  so  much  of  who  he  once  was  in  them.  young ,  making  their  own  way ,  maybe  even  some  of  the  same  rage ,  though  canis  has  no  place  to  put  his  own.  i  feel  like  if  the  respect  was  mutual  they  could  have  a  friendly  relationship ,  canis  even  pushing  advice  onto  them  they  might  not  want  or  need.  if  a  revolution  came  he  would  back  them.  somewhere ,  he  probably  even  sees  them  as  something  of  a  good  king.  canis  doesn’t  trust  them  fully ,  but  he  could  drink  with  them ,  knows  the  second  fangs  would  treat  them  kindly  as  well. THE HIGH PRIESTESS:   canis  is  scared  of  little ,  but  he’s  scared  shitless  of  them.  he  avoids  them  at  all  costs ,  looks  the  other  way  when  they’re  brought  to  the  same  space.  he  doesn’t  talk  kindly  of  necromancers ,  though  maybe  there  is  some  envy  there  he  needs  to  address.  he’s  sure  this  doesn’t  go  unnoticed ,  not  with  all  their  years  of  wisdom.  i  think  it  could  be  really  interesting  though  if  one  of  his  closest  friends  is  killed  on  a  job  and  they  bring  them  back  as  he  watches ,  sees  this  power  first  hand ,  feels  even  a  debt  is  owed  though  none  of  the  fear  is  gone.  a  lot  of  possibilities ,  i  could  see  the  second  fangs  might  be  dying  a  lot  more  often  pretty  soon ... JUSTICE:   the  world  calls  canis  the  dog  because  they  see  him  as  filth ,  as  something  mangey  that  feeds  from  table  scraps  of  the  king ,  but  canis  sees  that  justice  is  the  real  dog.  and  he  pities  him  for  it.  there’s  little  glory  in  the  work  of  a  bodyguard ,  and  maybe  canis  wonders  how  justice  would  fair  in  his  own  company.  never  the  less ,  i  think  they  could  butt  heads  just  as  easily  as  they  could  share  a  pint.  maybe  they’ve  even  fought  in  some  of  the  same  battles ,  know  each  other  from  war  torn  lives  and  have  a  bond  because  of  this.  lots  of  potential  for  both  malice  and  comradery ,  no  matter  what  line  of  the  revolution  they  tread. THE LOVERS:   canis  sees  himself  and  more  in  them.  he  doesn’t  pity  easily ,  has  an  ability  to  find  the  strength  in  even  the  smallest  mouse ,  but  he  pities  the  lovers.  in  some  ways ,  i  think  he  wants  what  they  have ,  longs  for  something  as  fulfilling  as  love ,  and  doesn’t  want  to  see  this  squashed.  every  day  he  gets  closer  to  telling  them  of  the  war  to  come.  i  really  wonder  how  long  he  can  go  without  letting  anything  slip ,  especially  if  they  look  at  him  with  gentleness  or  show  him  great  kindness.  he  feels  they  need  to  prepare ,  like  he  is ,  for  a  future  of  destruction.   THE MOON:   okay okay ..  i  have  two  different  paths  that  i  think  might  be  interesting  with  this  skeleton  depending  on  what  gets  plotted  out.  BUT ..  i could imagine  canis  stumbles  into  their  office  after  being  badly  injured  on  the  job ,  probably  requesting  some  random  herb  because  it  HURTS  and  he’s  WEAK  and  he  needs  it  to  be  DONE  WITH.  one  path  would  lead  to  the  moon  healing  canis ,  and  once  he  discovers  this  ability  he  probably  begs  and  bribes  ( heavily.  the  man  is  too  wealthy  for  his  own  good  now ,  and  what  else  is  he  going  to  buy?  new  boots?  his  work  just  fine. )  them  to  start  visiting  the  second  fangs  around  the  city  to  heal  them  in  secret.  he’ll  do  anything  for  their  ensured  safety.  the  other  path  works  quite  the  same ,  only  with  no  healing ,  just  plants ,  and  he’d  be  very  dependent  on  this  muse  either  way  because  of  the  miracles  they’re  able  to  work  with  his  men.  really  really excited  for  the  possibilities  of  plots  with  this  skeleton. THE TOWER:   a  backstory  plot  for  these  muses  is  calling  my  name??  like  maybe  the  tower  and  canis  had  a  deal  where  the  second  fangs  would  assist  them  and  their  men  on  voyages  and  pillages  for  a  cut  of  the  treasure  when  all  was  said  and  done ,  back  when  the  second  fangs  were  fresher  and  poorer  and  in  desperate  need  of  work.  and  maybe  one  of  the  two  betrayed  the  other  on  one  of  these  trips ,  with  greed  for  treasure  or  something of the like?  things  could  be  tense  between  them  now ,  at  each  other’s  throats.  OR  there  could  have  never  been  a  betrayal  and  they’re  actually  quite  good  friends  who  know  a  little  too  much  about  each  other’s  pasts ,  and  canis  offers  the  tower  company  amongst  the  pack  knowing  he’s  lived  through  canis’s  own  worst  nightmare.  the  terrifying  ordeal  of  being  known.  canis  could  definitely  trust  them  more  than  he  should.  this  one  has  me  really  excited  i  won’t  lie.

CHARACTER DEATH:    canis  would  quite  literally  volunteer  for  this  so  that’s  a  big  yes  from me.

WRITING SAMPLE

THE SELF PARA:  the tent is warm and the burn of the lamplight casts shadows across familiar faces. the second fangs. his pack, he always calls them, like they’re puppies and not vicious mercenaries. canis is most comfortable here, at ease, his usually pin straight posture relaxed despite the job he knows lays ahead of them. it’s not one he’s entirely comfortable with, an uprising in a poor village. always messy, always felt a bit like putting down a weakened calf at the farm. so they drink, to forget the day that lies ahead, the uncountable days behind. the faces. faces. faces, that echo like screams.   he can’t recall who speaks first, but it was likely canis himself, always a little too bold when his body buzzed with liquid courage. “that’s not what i’m asking,” one of his men corrects with a nudge of canis’s shoulder, always aggressive with each other, a pack of wolves nipping at each other’s heels. “the death’s on your hands. but it’s meant to be a good one. worth while.” and the captain’s own eyes twinkle uncharacteristically, perhaps because his inner conscious knows what his mouth does not. that the answer lies waiting at the tip of his tongue, a snarling beast of a target.     “and how much coin are we gonna get fer it?” ajax jests, but canis can see the gold flashing in front of his face, even from across the table. canis barks out a laugh, and they all bang their goblets on the table.   “aye,” in unison. they know each other inside and out, they speak a language strange and foreign. a family with many moons in their pockets. how many knights can say that?   “no coin,” canis finally adds. “no glory. no private dance at the brothel,” eying ren, and there’s another chorus of easy laughter, more aye’s.   “one of the nobles,” lawren grunts, and at first there’s just ringing silence. a paranoia that winds it’s way through the small group. they trust each other with their lives but this .. it’s like blasphemy. it’s revolution uncurling within them, more than just a job, it’s a force awakening. lawren speaks again, gentler, louder. “undying knows they’re all pricks.” and it’s easy again, more aye’s, cups overflowing with wine and ale.   but in between the laughter, he feels the wrench in his gut, the rage that threatens to flare. an allegiance of blood and blind faith  --  it reminds him so much of religion that he squirms. maybe his answer lies in a job, with wicked tendrils wrapped around his neck like a leash. the dog. how wrong would it be to bite the hand that feeds you? “i’d cut off my ring fingers and swear to celibacy to be rid of the fuck all king already,” canis growls, his knuckles white where he grips tight on his cup. and it’s quiet again. when he speaks they listen, they all listen, even the highborn in the castle, like he’s a wave crashing on shore. commanding attention. demanding it.   “you’re spending too much time with the clerics,” ren groans, with a face like a fox, her hair hanging limply in her face. he can’t tell if she’s smiling or frowning, but they’re nodding in agreement. all of them.    “what good’s that sack of shit king, anyway?” lawren chimes in, and then it’s deafening chatter. all canis can do is listen, absorb the pain of his men, the frustration, see himself reflected in their woes. say what any outsider will about his crew, maybe they are all mutts. one mind, one body, one restless spirit. tired of being used, of being chained to a cause that tries to fill deep chasms in bleeding hearts with gold. what is the price of true freedom?   “maybe the end is closer than you think, canis,” a small voice that rises above the others. a girl, mary, raised in the pack, only nearing her seventeenth summer. and she’s a legacy of everything canis has created, the family he wove with bruised and boney fingers. “we haven’t lost a battle, yet.” and she’s right, of course she’s right, whip smart and flea bitten. if there is to be a revolution, aid of the pack would be an immense advantage. it isn’t arrogance with which his men speak. it’s truth.   he has to chew on the suggestion, sharp glass in his mouth with every bite, impossible to digest, but maybe with the backing of his crew .. canis has trouble seeing the future beyond a sack of coins and a full bottle of ale. he knows little of politics, even after all his withered years serving as something of a king himself. it’s overwhelming, and he thinks his whole arm shakes when he raises his goblet. “nasty fuckers,” but his teeth shine in the lamplight, like fangs. like canines. “trying to get your own captain killed.” but when they clink glasses, it feels like a deal has been made, like he owes this death to more than just the queen, like the undying herself is watching.

EXTRAS

VOICE :   canis  has  an  eclectic  sort  of  accent ,  a  combination  of  all  of  the  people  he  met  while  living  on  the  street ,  his  father ,  the  lands  he’s  traveled  and  settled  into  with  his  companies .  he  constantly  sticks  out  as  an  outsider ,  no  matter  where  he  is .  he  doesn’t  mind  this  sense  of  otherness  because  whenever  canis  goes ,  his  family  is  never  far . canis’s  mockblog  can  be  found  HERE his  pinterest  can  be  found  HERE   ( blood  tw )

[aboutnorsemythology]

Once upon a time... Lokabrenna

The winters were once so cold on earth that the oceans froze and the farmers died simply for lack of crops. We do not know what kind of serious offense humans committed against the gods, but apparently, Odin decreed a time of divine punishment and forbade the gods to help men.

One year, when the winter was so cold that it froze the fire in the hall, people desperately asked for help from Loki,

They asked for an imperishable flame that could warm them from the sky so that they could survive the winter.

Thus, Loki agreed, no one knows why, perhaps because he never liked to follow orders from anyone, perhaps because he wanted to earn some appreciation from humans, maybe chew on the gods ...But most likely, he really wanted to protect men.

The fact is that he started thinking from where he was going to draw a star that warmed the cold Midgard from the sky.

They say that he decided to go down to Surt's forge to ask for an ember from his great oven ... but he refused, said that the gods had closed the great gate of the forge, and that they had buried the key under a mountain, so not even the great fire giant could open the door of his own workshop ... but it is said that this was not done back to the ingenious god of tricks, and he said "if I bring the key, will I be able to take what I need? "

The great giant said that yes, he thought that even the mighty god Loki could not move that great mountain, even Thor would be almost impossible ... but Loki had another idea ... he became a mole (others say that snake) and excavated under the mountain in all directions, until after long days of hard work, finally surfaced on the triumphant surface with the key in the mouth ....

So Surt was no choice but to allow Loki take with a pair of tongs a bright ember of the great forge, and link it with a solid chain around ...

After, after transforming into a powerful eagle, I take the flight loading after Yes, the bright star of the sky.

Therefore in this way Loki put a torch in the sky, and since then and according to the men narrate, the earth was heated enough to make the winter habitable. However Loki discovered that the star was moving and did not keep harmony with the stars, and six months later, towards the end of summer, it happened that it was next to the sun (as it could be visibly noticed each dawn), and in this way the tizon began to warm the warm days.

The chain attached to Lokabrenna was melted by its heat and thus broke the anchor that kept it immobile in the sky, since it stopped being subject to a large ice mountain in Jotumheim and it happened that, while the winter nights were warming , its influence was good, since it used to let people live without feeling the cold weather and the harvests prosper, but because there was no anchorage with which Loki could remove the star once this season passed, it did not stop heating, only in the cold seasons, but it also heats the summer days and this excess of heat returns to the irascible and unpredictable people.

And taking the idea of ​​my friend @annievvv7 I wanted to represent The Dog Star, α Canis Majoris (Alpha Canis Majoris) with the image of our beloved Fenrir, the ancestor of the dog was the wolf therefore it makes a lot of sense to believe that this place belonged to him always to a wolf.