#chain mail still works right?

[abutterflyobsession]

I pull out so many random facts about the making of Lord of the Rings that people usually respond with, 'how do you even know that?!'

oh, friend.

my brother, a most pretentious lotr fan, snatched up the extended edition hot off the shelf and for weeks it was the only thing on the tv all day long. I've seen every commentary, every special feature . . . twice. maybe more. I didn't have a choice.

[thoughtportal]

Opinion Here’s how to get free Paxlovid as many times as you need it

When the public health emergency around covid-19 ended, vaccines and treatments became commercial products, meaning companies could charge for them as they do other pharmaceuticals. Paxlovid, the highly effective antiviral pill that can prevent covid from becoming severe, now has a list price of nearly $1,400 for a five-day treatment course.

Thanks to an innovative agreement between the Biden administration and the drug’s manufacturer, Pfizer, Americans can still access the medication free or at very low cost through a program called Paxcess. The problem is that too few people — including pharmacists — are aware of it.

I learned of Paxcess only after readers wrote that pharmacies were charging them hundreds of dollars — or even the full list price — to fill their Paxlovid prescription. This shouldn’t be happening. A representative from Pfizer, which runs the program, explained to me that patients on Medicare and Medicaid or who are uninsured should get free Paxlovid. They need to sign up by going to paxlovid.iassist.com or by calling 877-219-7225. “We wanted to make enrollment as easy and as quick as possible,” the representative said.

Indeed, the process is straightforward. I clicked through the web form myself, and there are only three sets of information required. Patients first enter their name, date of birth and address. They then input their prescriber’s name and address and select their insurance type.

All this should take less than five minutes and can be done at home or at the pharmacy. A physician or pharmacist can fill it out on behalf of the patient, too. Importantly, this form does not ask for medical history, proof of a positive coronavirus test, income verification, citizenship status or other potentially sensitive and time-consuming information.

But there is one key requirement people need to be aware of: Patients must have a prescription for Paxlovid to start the enrollment process. It is not possible to pre-enroll. (Though, in a sense, people on Medicare or Medicaid are already pre-enrolled.)

Once the questionnaire is complete, the website generates a voucher within seconds. People can print it or email it themselves, and then they can exchange it for a free course of Paxlovid at most pharmacies.

Pfizer’s representative tells me that more than 57,000 pharmacies are contracted to participate in this program, including major chain drugstores such as CVS and Walgreens and large retail chains such as Walmart, Kroger and Costco. For those unable to go in person, a mail-order option is available, too.

The program works a little differently for patients with commercial insurance. Some insurance plans already cover Paxlovid without a co-pay. Anyone who is told there will be a charge should sign up for Paxcess, which would further bring down their co-pay and might even cover the entire cost.

Several readers have attested that Paxcess’s process was fast and seamless. I was also glad to learn that there is basically no limit to the number of times someone could use it. A person who contracts the coronavirus three times in a year could access Paxlovid free or at low cost each time.

Unfortunately, readers informed me of one major glitch: Though the Paxcess voucher is honored when presented, some pharmacies are not offering the program proactively. As a result, many patients are still being charged high co-pays even if they could have gotten the medication at no cost.

This is incredibly frustrating. However, after interviewing multiple people involved in the process, including representatives of major pharmacy chains and Biden administration officials, I believe everyone is sincere in trying to make things right. As we saw in the early days of the coronavirus vaccine rollout, it’s hard to get a new program off the ground. Policies that look good on paper run into multiple barriers during implementation.

Those involved are actively identifying and addressing these problems. For instance, a Walgreens representative explained to me that in addition to educating pharmacists and pharmacy techs about the program, the company learned it also had to make system changes to account for a different workflow. Normally, when pharmacists process a prescription, they inform patients of the co-pay and dispense the medication. But with Paxlovid, the system needs to stop them if there is a co-pay, so they can prompt patients to sign up for Paxcess.

Here is where patients and consumers must take a proactive role. That might not feel fair; after all, if someone is ill, people expect that the system will work to help them. But that’s not our reality. While pharmacies work to fix their system glitches, patients need to be their own best advocates. That means signing up for Paxcess as soon as they receive a Paxlovid prescription and helping spread the word so that others can get the antiviral at little or no cost, too.

{source}

[yanderenightmare]

part one

TW: nsfw, dubcon, blackmail

fem reader

As promised, you receive the pictures in the mail while the payment is forwarded almost emmidiatly. You don’t know which makes you gawk more, the photos of you or the numbers.

You also get an email—an invitation. The photographer is asking you to dinner. Or, asking is putting it nicely—which he most certainly didn’t. It’s phrased like a notice from your boss—matter-of-factly, he’s picking you up at eight, wear something nice.

You think about declining, but then you think about your friend again and how you don’t want to cause her any trouble. A free dinner isn’t really all that bad, is it?

It’s worse, actually.

“You should have told me you didn’t have anything to wear. I would have lent you something,” is the first thing he says when you get in his car. He hadn’t opened the door for you or anything, just sat in the driver’s seat waiting.

And though your cheeks burn with embarrassment, you think you’re foolish for it. You hadn't really dressed to impress him, after all—something you might as well tell him, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dressing up. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression last time we met, so I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

He scoffs with a grin—face turned towards the road as he starts driving. “You have a lot more bite without your friend.”

“She has too much respect for you.” You cross your arms and look out the window. 

“That’s for sure.” You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t offer any more of a response. You’re glad to spend the rest of the drive in silence.

You feel underdressed at the restaurant. You hadn’t thought he’d take you somewhere so nice. Most of the other couples there are dressed as if for a gala, while you’re dressed as if you’re going to an office party.

He hasn’t tried too hard himself. But still, he fits in—fat watch on his wrist, kempt hair, neat shoes, dress trousers, and a silk shirt with one too many buttons undone—a nauseating skinny chain beneath the collar as well as the hint of a chest tattoo. You bet it’s one of those dumb tribal inks, probably with some mundane Japanese characters he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Is this where you undermine all the models desperate for your recognition?” you sigh as you sit down.

“We haven't even gotten our menus, and you’re already causing a scene?” 

He’s the one who was rude the moment you got in the car. In fact, he was rude the minute you met him. “Might as well speed this along.”

He chuckles—his smile genuinely amused instead of angered the way you’d imagined—the way you’d remembered from last time when he sent girls crying. “You know, for a face like that, you have one hell of a tongue.”

He orders wine by the name with ease and swiftness before returning to what he was saying.

“I like that. Most models are dull, but not you.”

“I don’t agree. And I’m a model,” you snip, showing no interest in his flirting.

 “No? Didn’t you see the pictures?” Your attitude doesn’t seem to deter him—rather, it only seems to egg him further on. “I have them all mounted on my walls at home—you should come see.”

This makes you falter. Looking at him from across the table with rounded eyes. “On your walls?”

“Framed.” He smiles, finally having broken through—he only intends to take it further. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true. “I just couldn’t help myself. I consider it my best work.” 

The look on your face is something between disgusted and uncertain—speechless in a sense.

It makes him laugh again. “Does anything flatter you?”

The wine comes. He’s poured a glass for testing.

“Not when spoken by men like you.”

His grin grows as he swirls the liquid around, smelling it like a phony.

“That’s a shame,” he says before taking a sip. He nods to the waiter, and you’re poured a similar glass. Meanwhile, he looks at you. “I’d like to flatter you—I’d like to spoil you even. You seem like you deserve it.”

You sip your glass. “No need.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You currently work at a diner, right?”

You gaze at him from atop your glass, brows furrowing. “How do you—”

“I didn’t.” It’s a lie, of course, he’d searched you up and gone over every little detail he could find. “It’s clear from the looks of you—”

“Fuck you,” you snap, putting your glass down a bit too harshly, enough to make a little wine slip and spill.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, I want you to,” he says instead. “After I pay for dinner and drive you back. We can fuck right under my favorite portrait of you.”

You’re stunted by his crude words, but only for a second. “How about we skip dinner, and you go fuck yourself.” 

His smile doesn’t drop, even as you get up to leave. “Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Make me, jackass.” 

You’re on your way to go, but his next words have you halting. 

“Either you humor me, or I make sure your friend never models in the country again.”

You turn around to look at him. You don’t really know why you’re so surprised. The card he just pulled is the very reason you agreed to the dinner in the first place. But an incentive is very different from outright blackmail, and suppose you just hadn’t really believed he’d take it that far.

“It’s my impression you don’t want that,” he continues.

You sit back down. He tops your glass off.

“I could make her big, you know?” he offers while pouring for himself as well. “Really speed her career along—set her up for life. I’ll do the same for you, too, of course.” 

He swirls his wine, lifting it as if to make a toast.

“And all you gotta do is come back home with me.”

You don’t have the words.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises. “I’m good at it.” As if that’s your concern. “You’ll never want to fuck anyone else again.”

You hate how right he is. 

You’ve never cum sooner or harder before in your life, not with anyone else or on your own. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—so good, you’re screaming—moaning out in echoes throughout his giant penthouse, bouncing off the marble floors into all unlocked rooms, creating a cacophony of your undeniable pleasure.

He’s on his knees beneath you as you lean with your back against the window overlooking the city, barely able to stand as he buries his face between your soft thighs, canting his chin up while lapping hard at your slit and clit. His hard stare set on your face and the way you throw your head back while cumming in his mouth—your hand tussled in his hair, yanking on it hard enough to make him growl.

Your legs and feet give you little support. It's his hands that keep you up as you slide further and further down the floor-to-ceiling window until you’re almost about ready to drop your weight completely.

But he’s made you come undone three times by then, and just can’t wait any longer. 

He’s spun you around before you know it, making you face the pretty lights of the city skyline—his mouth hot on the shell of your ear, “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Your breath fogs the glass with your panting—knees wobbly, only standing thanks to the thick arms he’s got supporting you, each with a tit in their hand, giving them rough squeezes as he starts pounding away at your womb—hard enough to make the city lights blend in with the stars. 

“You won’t wanna fuck anyone else again.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[stupidphototricks]

Dwarf tradition, in The Truth. Long quote but there is so much to unpack here.

"A dwarf needs gold to get married." "What… like a dowry? But I thought dwarfs didn't differentiate between--" "No, no, the two dwarfs getting married each buy the other dwarf off their parents." "Buy?" said William. "How can you buy people?" "See? Cultural misunderstanding once again, lad. It costs a lot of money to raise a young dwarf to marriageable age. Food, clothes, chain mail… it all adds up over the years. It needs repaying. After all, the other dwarf is getting a valuable commodity. And it has to be paid for in gold. That's traditional. Or gems. They're fine, too. You must've heard our saying 'worth his weight in gold'? Of course, if a dwarf's been working for his parents, that gets taken into account on the other side of the ledger. Why, a dwarf who's left off marrying till late in life is probably owed quite a tidy sum in wages—You're still looking at me in that funny way…" "It's just that we don't do it like that…" mumbled William. Goodmountain gave him a sharp look. "Don't you, now?" he said. "Really? What do you use instead, then?" "Er… gratitude, I suppose," said William. He wanted this conversation to stop, right now. It was heading out over thin ice. "And how's that calculated?" "Well… it isn't, as such…" "Doesn't that cause problems?" "Sometimes." "Ah. Well, we know about gratitude, too. But our way means the couple start their new lives in a state of… g'daraka… er, free, unencumbered, new dwarfs. Then their parents might well give them a huge wedding present, much bigger than the dowry. But it is between dwarf and dwarf, out of love and respect, not between debtor and creditor… though I have to say these human words are not really the best was of describing it. It works for us. It has worked for a thousand years." "I suppose to a human it sounds a bit… chilly," said William. Goodmountain gave him another studied look. "You mean by comparison to the warm and wonderful ways humans conduct their affairs?" he said. "You don't have to answer that one. Anyway, me and Boddony want to open up a mine together, and we're expensive dwarfs. We know how to work lead, so we thought a year or two of this would see us right." "You're getting married?" "We want to," said Goodmountain. "Oh… well, congratulations," said William. He knew enough not to comment on the fact that both dwarfs looked like small barbarian warriors with long beards. All traditional dwarfs looked like that.* *Most dwarfs were still referred to as "he" as well, even when they were getting married. It was generally assumed that somewhere under all that chain mail one of them was female and that both of them knew which one this was. But the whole subject of sex was one that traditionally minded dwarfs did not discuss, perhaps out of modesty, possibly because it didn't interest them very much, and certainly because they took the view that what two dwarfs decided to do together was entirely their own business. — Terry Pratchett, The Truth

I super love the footnote, of course, but unexpectedly now I kind of want this version of a dowry to be a thing. I mean, the dowries of the bad old days where the man basically bought the woman from her parents, that's not okay. But this.

I'm a parent, and in no way do I feel like my kid owes me for their upbringing, education, or even (I'm anticipating) a few years of post-college living at home. Not at all. I can't imagine not taking care of them or attaching any strings to that care.

But that's not what this is. Really, ideally, it's a way for parents and children to give each other the gift of the child's independence, their autonomy, their adulthood. To officially and tangibly say that their relationship from this point on is no longer parent/child, but something more on an equal level.

For that matter, I imagine the child is free not to have a relationship with their parents any more at all, if they want. No obligation, no guilt. If parents want to be in their kids' lives when they're adults, they'll need to make sure their kids actually like them as people.

Well. I know that our world of humans doesn't work like this. Even if we put a monetary value on what we owed our parents and paid it, we'd still feel obligated to them, at least a little. Even if our kids paid us back, we'd still feel like we had the right to control them, at least a little.

But man. That g'daraka thing sounds wonderful.

[lastflowerofyourhouse]

i wanna talk about mercymorn the first. let's talk about mercymorn the first.

mercymorn, the ex cryogenicist turned master anatomist, the know-it-all flesh magician who memorized the entire human body by rote, the scientist, the skeptic, the heretic. mercymorn, who founded...the eighth house???

the eighth house. the eighth house? the spotless-white-and-delicate-chain-mail spirit magicians? the religious fanatics who carry around giant portraits of the emperor undying when they travel? the guys who explicitly model themselves after the knights templar? little miss "thou shalt not take cristabel's name in vain" founded the soul siphoner house?? the one that produced glorified human battery colum asht??

i'm not the only one who sees something strange in this, right? none of the others are this mismatched. augustine's fingerprints are still all over the fifth. we know very little about cyrus, but from what we do know, i completely buy that he founded the third. g1deon and/or pyrrha make perfect sense as the founders of the second. same goes for casseopeia, anastasia, and ulysses. where the information exists, it adds up. except in the case of mercymorn and the eighth.

but, of course, there's an obvious answer here. who do we know who was resurrected in the first wave, who worked very closely with mercymorn, who had a notable interest in the soul, who was fanatically religious, who probably wouldn't have minded the idea of a cavalier being used for anything, no matter how painful or demeaning? who do we know who could easily have been the first to suggest soul siphoning, who could have thought up eight for salvation no matter the cost in the same sitting as one flesh, one end?

personally, i can't believe it's not just commonly understood that cristabel oct is the true founder of the eighth house.

[askew-d]

i want a modern wangxian au where the story doesn’t finish when they get together. i want chapters and chapters of their dynamics while in a relationship.

i want to see wangxian going in a cinema date and wei wuxian kissing his boyfriend to the point of leaning down to his pants until lan wangji has to forcefully stop him because there are people nearby. i want them discussing over to eat at a fast food chain or at a healthy restaurant friday evening and lan wangji folding when wei wuxian pouts, so they end up with a veggie hamburger, a big mac and a mcflurry on their table (the mcflurry belongs to lan wangji).

i want them giving goodnight kisses to their bunnies before going to sleep. i bet lan wangji likes his showers cold, wei wuxian likes them burning hot, and they always hug each other from behind after it just to annoy the other because of their body temperature.

i want to see lan wangji glaring at jiang cheng from the other side of the dinner table and only showing a nice demeanor when it's jiang yanli who directs her words to him and that infuriates jiang cheng so much that he calls out for memories of when lan wangji used to reject wei wuxian's advances just to be petty. lan wangji hates when they remember how he used to ignore his wei ying.

i want wei wuxian burning their kitchen with a recipe and lan wangji running back home worried wei wuxian got hurt (he just got a slight burn, but he's all pouting about it anyway, and lan wangji showers him in love and care even though their stove definitely got the worst of it and they'll need another one urgently).

i want wei wuxian pranking the juniors he got at work. i want lan wangji or wei wuxian unintentially going viral regarding something stupid. i want lan xichen being the one who takes candid pictures and who appears by surprise in the apartment during moments they're not ready for it.

i want wei wuxian to have ongoing fights with every neighbour: a competition with the upstairs woman who thinks her sex's life is better than theirs, the university student who thinks he can pull a rock song louder than wei wuxian's favorite ones, the left-door hag who thinks she can still hide a dog even if there are explicit rules in the building forbidding it (wei wuxian specifically chose that building because of this rule and he will not let her get away with it), the right-door lady who thinks she can flirt with wei wuxian's man without consequences (nothing that some disappearances of some of her mail can't solve though), and the neighbour at the front door who's definitely into some drug scheme (wei wuxian helps the police out with that).

these are just stupid ideas, but you get me. i want everything about this couple. i need especially this. i need it like the air i breathe. like the sun. like food.

[ponder-the-orb]

Moonlit Quiet

Pairing: Dame Aylin x Isobel Thorm

Tags: Hurt/Comfort/Fluff, Spoilers for Act 2

Word count: 3K

Summary:

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch.

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss.

What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness? 

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again. 

AKA: Aylin and Isobel take some time to themselves following Ketheric's death.

Read on AO3 or below

***

It’s been over a century since Isobel has seen Moonrise Towers bathed in the light of its namesake. Longer still since she’s set foot in this bedroom – her bedroom.

It’s not a space she ever imagined seeing again, but she’d found her hand on the doorknob before she’d realised she'd climbed to the top of the tower. An old instinct she’d presumed. Either that or she’d just been desperate for some – any – form of home comfort in the aftermath of such a battle. 

She chooses not to dwell on how it remains just as she left it: sheets rumpled, hearth warmed, her own cleric robes pressed and hanging on the back of the wardrobe- just as any other evening. 

Kicking off her boots by the window, she can almost pretend it is just any other evening. Her father could be working below, stern but happy in his way, and she could retire from her daily rituals ready for an altogether different sort of ritual atop her sheets.

She smiles as she hears the old but familiar thump of someone landing against her mattress.

Her darling. Her angel. 

It’s almost dizzying how normal a sight it is. The Dame Aylin on her bed, battle-mussed and resplendent in her full armoured regalia. She glows a gentler silver now, like Isobel’s own slice of moonlight waiting against her pillows.

For once, she’s silent, but the blazing promise in her eyes speaks volumes. 

Want. Need. Impatience. So much that even decades of death can’t stop the way Isobel’s knees weaken at the sight.

She hurriedly shutters every window until the room is solely lit by Aylin’s glow. Under any other circumstances, she’d leave them wide open. She’d always like to sleep under the watchful light of Selûne and for the first time in years she can feel her Lady’s caress reaching across the land. It’s another old familiarity, one she loves– but tonight requires privacy. 

She undresses Aylin with practised care. The sword finds a new home against the carpet, sheathed and quiet for now. She’ll need it again, no doubt sooner than Isobel would want, but it need not sing at this moment. Their battle is won. Plans for the rest of this war can wait.

There’s a quiet relief on Aylin’s breath as Isobel unlaces her armour. Piece by piece the silvered soldier falls to the bed, Isobel’s hands slow as they find the strength waiting underneath. She pauses as she brushes above the collar of her mail, her thumb meeting the ivory line of her throat. 

She’s rooted, awed, as she feels each long breath– so real, so alive against her touch.

That first lightning bolt of shock and elation at seeing her here had fallen along with Aylin’s breastplate against the sheets. She can’t quite place where in her head she is right now, somewhere between a shaky sense of regularity and the colder fear that she’ll close her eyes too long and awaken back at Last Light. Alone, hiding and still mourning the losses she can’t tell another living soul.

Aylin’s look softens as she continues to work. They both know she could dissipate the armour with but a thought, she had so enough times when the heat between them called for it. She stays still for now, letting Isobel ground herself in the ritual, the feel of the metal, of her angel’s fingers against her. Her worship belongs to Selûne, but true devotion– that will forever be for Aylin. It’s a thought that borders on blasphemy, but it would taste a lie to deny it. There’s no careful composure or rehearsed words needed. It’s something aching, intimate– pleasure and want so desperately pressed into each other with shaking hands and parted lips.

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch. 

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss. What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness ? 

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again. 

“Yes, we do,” is what she says aloud, dipping down so their lips can finally meet.

She knows it’s the calm before the hurricane, one moment of pure unfiltered serenity before Aylin’s composure snaps. Her mouth opens, gasp hot as she pulls Isobel into her lap.

“Oh my darling, my fearless Isobel,” she whispers against her mouth, tugging her close with a strong arm around Isobel’s waist. “ Please let me adore you now.” 

Isobel groans. She’d almost forgotten how perfect her name sounds in Aylin’s voice– the strength of a battle cry; more delicate than a prayer.

She shifts under Isobel and her lips are everywhere, her chin, her ear, her throat. Pieces of her own armour clatter to the floor as impatient hands roam over her, seeking lost skin.

It’s a task unto itself not to press her down onto the bed right now and ravish her until they’re both sweetly exhausted and sore. Gods-knows she wants to. It would be so easy to lose herself in Aylin until dawn dared intrude on them.

She squeezes the curve of Isobel’s thigh and lights burst behind her eyes.

It’s everything. It’s too much.

“ Aylin - wait.” She catches her face, slowly guiding it back to hers.

Aylin’s hands immediately still. “Does something trouble you?” Her voice is thick– those moon-bright eyes blown wide as an eclipse.

Isobel smiles. That’s a sight she remembers all too well. Her Aylin. Her perfectly besotted love.

“It is as you said. We have time,” she breathes, gathering the spill of Aylin’s hair and letting it slip between her fingers. “So please, could you let me do this?” What exactly she’s asking for she isn’t quite sure. There’s a century still hanging between them, so many moments to make up for, far far too many.

Perhaps too many for the years she has left with her.

She swallows and brushes the down of Aylin's cheek, marble to flesh.

For now, she needs to be slow. Deliberate. Relearn her love inch by beautiful inch.

She knows that Aylin will forever be Aylin: the Moonmaiden’s justice, her unwavering paladin– as regal and proud as the heavens themselves. It’s her duty to stand as such until her immortal service is finally complete, perhaps when the last vestige of Selûne's light fades into that final night. But for now, she’s battled enough. It’s finally Aylin’s time to be savoured – and Isobel knows she’s more ready to take on that duty.

She brushes the peach curve of her lips, then those new golden scars fractured across her face. She pauses against the darker flecks on her jaw: blood from their new allies, from illithids, her father-

She tucks the thought away. It’s a feeling too messy for her to fully fathom right now, raw and tender as a new bruise. She quietly makes a vow to process it fully in her own time. Much much later. 

He’s at rest, his poison gone and Isobel would rather throw herself into the fetid pit under this tower than let him snatch the joy from this night as well. 

She can’t hide her gasp as she pulls Aylin’s undershirt from her body. Wider, deeper scars splinter over the firm muscles of her torso and finish in a jagged patch over her heart. 

Once, such marks were almost a comfort to Isobel, a shining reminder of every battle won and every chip she’d taken to come home to her. She’d never imagined it like this, the evidence of every sword and dagger and javelin plunged through her. 

She cups her hand to Aylin’s breast, the gold fully eclipsing each finger. 

“Does it hurt?” she whispers.

Aylin’s expression doesn’t falter as she covers Isobel’s hand with her own. “Not anymore. Such cowardly attempts would hardly be enough to break me.” 

They’re strong words, proud as every gallant decree that the world expects of an emissary such as her. And Isobel knows they’re a lie.

She can see it, beyond her stone-hard smile there are cracks, invisible and silent but no less present than those golden tracks left by battle and brutality.

Death for Isobel had been timeless, easy even. Nothing but the dreamless dark. Being ripped back into life, that had been a harder weight to bear. She’d awoken to her home now twisted with perverse Sharran magic, Selûne’slight snuffed out by the haunted visage of her own father. ‘ For love. For our family,’ he’d said, flat and chilled as a wall. And in the same breath, he’d revealed the worst of it: Aylin too was gone. Nothing mortal or immortal to ever bring her back.

It her own spear through the heart, but what was that in comparison a century caged, a century alone and shadowed, broken again and again and again until the might and wrath of a goddess was belittled down to naught but a tool.

Isobel’s vision pools with red.

She tries to ground herself in the drum of Aylin’s heart, forever steady as the rocking tide, but she sees her own trembling fingers betray her. 

Aylin tips her chin up with her thumb. “There is something else. Tell me.”

Isobel refuses to meet her eye.

“All this time- all this time you were so close,” she whispers shakily. “I should have known. I could have found you.”

Aylin shakes her head and strokes the length of her back. “None of that.”

The touch does nothing to quell her anger. “I’m a fighter too. I may not be any sort of divine Paladin, but I could have done something instead of hiding at Last Light.” She drops her head to Aylin’s shoulder as if she could muffle the guilt of her words in the broad muscle. “If it were me down there, you would have razed that vile temple to the ground, brick by brick, until you freed me. I was not even there when your cage was broken.” 

There’s a long moment of quiet before the hand at Isobel’s back slides up to cradle her neck. 

“You are indeed most ferocious,” Aylin says, her voice soft with fondness. “Before, I’d never laid eyes on anyone so in tune with my Mother’s power. It was the most remarkable sight to behold. And from what I understand, you were doing precisely what was needed of you at that Inn. You protected our allies, strengthened them so they could destroy this tower’s forces and the powers so wicked that laid beneath. Without you, they would have all been destroyed by the shadows that ruined this land.” She tilts Isobel’s head slightly, letting each word brush against the point of her ear. “ That is why I am free.”

Isobel shifts into the touch, lets the soft rain of her lover’s words unravel the tension inside her. 

She’s free, Aylin is here and she’s free.  

She focuses on the thought. How it happened and who found her are facts she’ll need to let go of one day. She’s with her, solid and soft and oh so strong against her palms and that is the only thing that could possibly matter.

Aylin guides her face back with warm hands. Her intention is clear as she drops her eyes to Isobel’s mouth, the conversation probably over in her view.

She halts Aylin’s kiss with a finger to her lips. 

There’s something else, one last weight she must unburden from herself before they can finally take that first step in moving forward.

She touches her own chest, rubbing the spot over her heart. “A hundred years, Aylin. It’s a lifetime to most, even to me. I may scarcely remember being dead, but I know I came back changed. Wrong.” From the moment she’d jerked awake in her tomb, she’d felt it– something bitter and cold resting inside her. 

Aylin pulls back, eyes wide. “Did that foul necromancer hurt you?”

“No, no, my love,” she answers, running her hands across Aylin’s shoulders until the fire in her gaze quietens a little. “Whatever brought me back and healed my body was unnatural to say the least. I think some part of me knows I shouldn’t be here.” Even now she knows it. Under the joy and shock and wonder there’s still a seed planted deep in her chest, rotting. 

A large part of her wishes that was the only thing changed in her.

She takes another breath. “That’s not all. After I ran from my Father, I had to fight, to harden against it all, become a warrior against people I’d once held dear. If… if I’m completely truthful, I think the person you truly knew remains in the crypt I was pulled from.”

Aylin tilts her head, an eyebrow raised. “And you believe that will eventually turn my heart from you? Or do you think that my time caged has changed my own feelings?”

Isobel bites her lip, fighting the urge to look away. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I do.” Aylin’s hands trail down Isobel’s body, her eyes following. “To many an immortal, a century seems so little. It’s nothing but the blink of an eye in the face of eternal life. For me however– it was the first instance where I truly understood the weight of time. Every second that I felt Ketheric’s wicked connection or looked up at generation after generation of craven Sharrans was its own eternity in that cage. Yet, as is my duty, I swore to never show my cracks.” 

Her hands continue their gentle path as she speaks, slipping under Isobel’s shirt and pausing at the dip of her waist. “I am my Mother’s sword, her glory– but it was not her power that kept me steady in the Shadowfell. It was my memories of you, my love.”

Warmth blooms like a blush under Aylin’s hands, her thumb caressing just under Isobel’s naval. She strokes her neck, waiting for those pale eyes to meet hers. “Even though you thought me dead?” she whispers.

Aylin’s smile softens. “Even then.”

Her thumb moves slightly lower, dipping just under the loose band of Isobel’s trousers. It’s a promise and a reassurance.

I’ve got you. I want you.

Aylin kisses her chin as she continues. “And yes, you are changed just as I am, but did you think I would not recognise that voice, that love in your eyes as clear as our Lady’s light the moment I saw you again?”

Isobel’s answering smile threatens to split her cheeks, the last of her doubts disappearing into the fading curse just beyond. She kisses her forehead. Their noses brush. “Perhaps I just wanted to hear you say it,” she murmurs, shifting up so she can unlace the final armoured pieces on Aylin’s legs. She rises to help her, her fingers never leaving her bare skin as she works. It’s the only protection she’ll need for now.

“Then I will say it as many times as you need. Until the stars burn out, until this tower crumbles to dust around us– let it be the last thing I ever utter in the light of this world.” She presses her words across Isobel’s face, gentle as moonlight, steadfast as an oath as she finally lands on her lips. “My love most high. My Isobel.”

“Aylin,” she gasps against her mouth. It’s the only words her kiss-drunk mind can find as she pulls her impossibly closer, the world blurring in gold and pink around her.

It’s such a simple truth: loving Aylin will forever be the easiest thing she’ll do. Easier than loving herself, than her purpose, than her goddess. A century passed and that want hasn’t quietened, not even slightly. She’d wept, cursed, grieved for Aylin and a single kiss had her falling again, more desperate for her touch than her next breath.

“For the world to see, Dame Aylin shall forever be indomitable,” Aylin hums, slowing their kiss to lace their fingers together, “but so too is this.”

She presses one last, achingly gentle kiss to Isobel’s lips before ripping her shirt over her head. Her breath catches in her throat as Aylin twists them, pushing her into the mattress and caging her there with her torso. She swallows Isobel’s gasp as her lips drop to her chest, the heel of Aylin’s hand grinding between her legs with a warm familiar rhythm.

“Now, time enough has been wasted,” she mouths over her breast, the words rippling down to her beating heart. “It is as I said, I have a darling to adore.”

Everything else melts away after that.

It’s an ungraceful mess of hands and hearts. Words of love and gratitude spill against scars and skin as they finally find themselves within each other again.

Come morning, they will have to face the future. There are allies to bury, secrets to share, the road to Baldur’s Gate twisting and dark in front of them– but for now, between these silver-bathed walls, their world is nothing but the two of them. 

As close to heaven as either of them will ever need.

***

These two have taken up waaaay too much brain space over the last couple of weeks so have something soft.

[plnkdemon]

mammon never takes when it comes to you. it’s always the other way around, much to the surprise of his brothers.

mammon x gn!mc (jus a lil drabble)

cw/tw: suggestive content below the cut (18+, MDNI)

his heart constricts almost painfully with how much joy fills him when you admire his new ring. he damn near goes into cardiac arrest when you steal it to slip it onto your own finger and hold your hand up to see how it glitters and gleams under the overhead lights.

despite what others may think, mammon isn’t selfish when it comes to you — only when it comes to you — because he feels so much more satisfied seeing his human so greedy for all the special and shiny things in his loot. nowadays, he’s much more excited to get goldie back because it means getting to run to you and sweep you off to the streets to go window shopping, and when your eye catches on the new Devogue coat, he gets to flash the pretty card. he wants to fuel your greed, see you showered in all of the most ridiculously priced luxury fashion and only the brightest, flashiest jewels known to demonkind.

now, when lucifer receives that dreaded bill in the mail that used to be pages and pages of mammon’s splurges, it’s much shorter (although still unrealistic). you reign him in significantly, able to reason with your demon that you don’t need ten puyairs of sneakers and yes, you love the color but if you don’t get to wear them, then there’s no good in buying them.

mammon definitely gets pouty when you manage to tug him out of a store without any bags or a receipt as long as he is tall. it’s easy enough to fix if you just swipe his sunglasses to wear them for yourself before leaning in close to tell him there’s other things he has to offer that interest you more right now.

all of that isn’t to say that he doesn’t still obsess over money and riches, he absolutely does. and he’s physically incapable of stopping the cooing and chirping that escapes from his throat whenever you present him with a prettily wrapped gift hiding the fancy watch he’s been wanting all month. but it makes him just as pleased as settling into your bed at night and seeing the shelves lined with all the shiny and glittery trinkets, rocks, bottles, do-dads, and so on that you proudly display, each and every one a gift from him or his crows. he contently combs through your hair, massages any facial oils that asmo introduced to your nightly routine, and then ensures that you’re properly tucked into bed, meticulously taking care of you until you’re asleep.

mammon loves to give, but more than that, he loves for you to take. when you tell him to sit down and be a good boy for you until you’re satiated is plenty to get him riled up, rearing with excitement. when you have him spread out across his expensive duvet so that his entire being is yours for the taking, he feels higher than the celestial realm. when you finally, finally, finally take your place on top of him, stubbornly forcing him into the impossibly tight and warm spot that you need to feel him, he worries he might genuinely pass away and not get to experience what comes next.

what comes next, that’s his favorite. he gets to watch you with hearts in his half-lidded eyes as you use his body to please yourself. sometimes, even ordering him to do the work, to make you scream, but he’s known to get carried away when it comes to you. he gets to grope and bite all the doughy, soft parts of you to hear your sweet noises, affirmations that you want him. he flourishes underneath you when you fall apart again and again, all because it means that you’re greedy for him.

all these years, he’d never considered what it might feel like for someone to be greedy and selfish all for him. he never imagined what it would be like to be the treasure sought after and possessively held onto rather than the person seeking said treasure. when you reach around his neck to clasp the pretty little chain that advertises how he is your property, mammon is little more than mush in your hands, only imagining you pulling his face closer with the necklace or your hands expertly squeezing his throat and pressing the cool gold into his skin at the same time. he feels priceless, like the crown jewels or the mona lisa or… he can’t even think right now. his sweet human makes him feel loved in a way he can understand, greed and protectiveness, from the way you immediately seek him out in a crowd to how you’re willing to fight to protect what’s yours (him).

he feels irreplaceable for the first time in his life because you’re just as careful and particular when you’re washing the shampoo from his hair, touching up his nail polish, and walking him home from his modeling gigs. when he gets anxious and overwhelmed or insecure and guarded, you use only the softest of touches to coax him into letting you back in. there’s a special smile and voice that you reserve for mammon and no one else, because no matter how many times you need to save him from drowning in his negative thoughts, you will always make sure he knows how very precious he is to you and how loved and safe he makes you feel.

[heartfullofleeches]

delivery person reader always delivering pin from one new owner to another

really weird how this doll keeps getting given away all the time, makes you wond-ah! i have a new delivery due aaa! *forgets about it*

"Y/n, hold up."

Foot hanging on the steel step of your truck, you shift your attention to your superior as they near the back of the vehicle. Parking a trolley as they open the back, they thumb through a list on their phone. Something in you predicts the next chain of events.

"Got a last minute addition to your route. I'll load it in then you can head out."

You could buy a lottery ticket with your luck - if it hadn't been so poor. The box is worn and cardboard taped at various ends, but you knew it, and its contents well. You packed the doll in it when it was returned to the office on its own two feet. Which shipment was that - the third or tenth? While putting a date to that specific instance was hard, what you did remember was that your little friend had been with you for some time. Location to location; following you pass a personal move to a new residence and job placement. You felt bad for the not-so little guy; the doll reaching the ceiling of your office when it wasn't crammed in a box.

"Alright. Let me know when you're done." You wait in the driver seat for your co-worker to finish up. You can see the box getting shoved in the corner out the overhead mirror. They round to your side following the slamming of the back door.

"Before you leave, you left all the updated info for your address in the breakroom like I asked right, right?"

"Yeah. Left it on a posted note under a salt shaker like you asked."

"Cool, just thought it'd be easier since I'm heading out early today, and wanted to get the prize from that raffle sent out soon. See you tommorow."

"See ya." You roll the door shut and start the truck's engine; speeding off to make up for those few seconds you lost. The day goes as smoothly as possible for someone worrying about their inanimate tag along could. Throughout your shift you have to arrange the box around due to movement during the drive. After a while, it just sits in the little nook behind your chair no matter the bump or slide.

Your time together ends the same as your shift. As the last stop on the roster, you march up the darkened driveway up to the front porch. It's a little rough around the edges, but you managed to find equal ground for the box to stand on. Saying goodbye to a piece of mail is the last thing you existed to mark off your list, but it feels right in this situation. You pray its the final one and that its found its loving home, but it's almost a bittersweet farewell.

"Hope things work out for you this time."

You load into your truck and drive off with only the occasional glance in your side view mirror.

-

"What the hell did you order, Y/n?"

Halfway through swallowing, you choke out a reply. "What- do you mean?"

Your coworker shrugs, making a rectangle with their hands to get their point across. "Well, not that I was being nosy, but I saw the note with your address and noticed it matched one I delivered to with this huge ass box.

"That's... concerning on its own, but I haven't ordered anything recently. Doubt something that big is from a raffle. I'll check it out when I get home."

Your break ends shortly after. The conversation with your coworker lingers in your head the remainder of the day. It couldn't be - right? As per usual, your shift is over long after the street lamps turn on. You take your time getting home; preparing yourself for what your instincts told you was there. From door in view - you can see it there.

A torn, cardboard box with various addresses covered by a new label; yours the newest addition. The tape on the seams is bunched up and peeling from lack of adhesive. You calmly enter your house, still unable to face it. Your face lands in a wall of plush.

Welcome home, Y/n.... I had so much fun hanging out with you, but I think we should play a new game now. House is so much more fun.... especially since we can do so much more together now.

[silverskye13]

"You're bleeding."

It's an obvious statement, one Tanguish feels a little foolish for. Of course Helsknight is bleeding. He just won his match. It's amazing how strong these Colosseum fighters are, how much damage they can do to each other, especially when they're matched up well. And Helsknight is the Champion of Hels -- if for no other reason than the popularity with the crowd, every one of his matches is a good match. It has to be. Anything less and it's not the Champion, is it?

Helsknight looks dazed. It's a familiar look. After a particularly rough fight. It's like the knight can't believe the fight has stopped. It takes a few minutes for his heart to stop sprinting. So he goes through the gate, dragging his sword up to the nearby wall and plants himself on the bench, and he stares into the middle distance, breathing, bleeding, waiting. It's a familiar look. Today he's spattered up to the elbow in blood, and it runs between the links of his chain mail in thin calligraphy lines. It gathers in the bends in his pauldrons, makes more stark the dent in his chest plate. If it's not cleaned and polished off in the next few hours, it'll settle in those places and poison them with rust, and the next time Helsknight fights, he'll be more vulnerable. Blood is such an insidious thing sometimes, the way it weakens when it flows.

Tanguish moves to the knight, a bowl of water in one hand, a healing kit in the other. He takes the knight apart like he's a machine, slipping delicate fingers across the gauntleted hand, undoing straps and buckles to show the bruised knuckles beneath the armor. Metal and leather can only do so much. Bodies break surprisingly well, when they're testing their limits. Helsknight sighs as Tanguish massages his hand, searching for broken bones. The knight is almost feverishly hot to his frost-laden touch, and Tanguish watches the swollen skin start to pale as the cold soothes it.

"You don't have to do that," Helsknight says, his voice a thin and distant rasp, still lost somewhere in the adrenaline crash. "Just... give me a minute to rest."

"I am," Tanguish answers him gently and keeps working, unclasping the buckles on the chest plate and pulling it free. He lays it gently on the ground, and takes pride in how Helsknight breathes easier. The knight rests, eyes fluttering half-closed and sighing as Tanguish works. Cold hands trace over blooded armor and fevered skin, setting right the wrongs. He dabs at cuts, eliciting hisses of pain that he immediately soothes. He puts ice to bruises, and water to sweat and blood, and Helsknight revives, slowly. His breathing lengthens and deepens. The flushed skin cools. The muscles relax.

"How did the fight go?" Tanguish asks when Helsknight's eyes flutter open again.

"I won."

"You can say it better than that."

Helsknight smirks, his vitality slowly returning. He sniffs and runs a tongue across his teeth, making room for the words where there once was blood. Tanguish doesn't know how the knight stands the taste, but then again, Helsknight has been in a great many fights. Maybe blood loses its flavor after so long.

"You watched the fight."

"And so did they," Tanguish looks up to the ceiling, where the cheering of the crowd still sometimes surges and roars. "But none of us can tell the story the way you can."

"Blood is memory without language."

"See, that's what I mean."

"Weaving bard's tales already?" someone asks, another fighter sitting on another bench, cleaning a bloodied sword. "You haven't even rested yet."

"He's resting now," Tanguish says, running the damp cloth over a gash in Helsknight's arm. That one will need stitches, or a health potion. Helsknight's hand shakes when Tanguish cleans it, and there's color in the cut that means its too deep, gruesomeness he doesn't want to put names to, for fear it'll make him sick. Helsknight spares the wound a glance before pointedly fixing his gaze away from it. It always strikes Tanguish as funny, that the knight can't look at his own wounds. He can inflict them, he can tend them in others, he can ignore them, but admitting he's wounded is a mountain he struggles to climb.

Helsknight closes his eyes again, but the eyelids keep moving, like a man dreaming or searching for words.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"When they opened the cage."

Helsknight nods. He sits in silence for a long moment. In a few days, when all wounds are healed and all aches soothed, Helsknight will write in a little book he keeps under his pillow:

Blood is memory without language The wounded creature screams And though the sand drinks life away We lay linked by crimson streams

Brothers you and I, creature Kin on parched and bitter sand Though mine is spilt for glory Yours is spilt by crowd's command

What place is this, what hell endured That brings us to this yield But happenstance and hubris And hungry crowd's bone field

What beast are you to me, creature What creature I to you You are a footnote in a story And I the death of you

Again repeat what we both know Whilst life, for now, entwine That we are linked in blood my love Shared memory divine

[ruvi-muffin]

C3e95 "lore" notes

Interrogating Astrid: (that's It tbh i got Distracted)

The Cerberus Assembly

• TCA have been relocating resources to foreign factions in secret

• The older CA members have been converting the younger members

• Many CA members are working with the vanguard

• TCA are all trying to undermine each other (ye we been knew)

Aeor:

• Absolute Empire control over Eiselcross

• Shadow war in eisselcross for the past seven years

• Ludnus spent 5 years in the genesis ward and beyond

• Asociate let "Ocoltus Thalamus" slip. (Possibly a location in the genesis ward).

Ludinus:

• Trent was the closest asociate to Ludinus before he was put in prison

• Ludinus has a weird itch at the back if his neck and it scared him that Astrid saw. Astrid has theories about it.

Astrid:

• Astrid is not working with Ludinus

• Lidinus never tried to convert Astrid

• Astrid threw a Coup ???

• Astrid would not "bend the knee" due to "an old friend"

• Astrid asessed who the hells were and who they look like (oh boy) and now Knows they work for Keyleth (oops)

• Astrid is wearing a clasp on her robes, leather armour, detailed, small chain mail, two rings on her left hand (weding bands ??!!), and on her right pinkie and index

• (Astrid is in marketing) (lol)

• Astrid does Not wanna go to eisselcross (valid)

• Astrid has a white fluffy cat (!!!)

• Astrid's cat's name is Prudence (!!!)

• Astrid is reading the Gale and the Raven, she thinks it's "trite" and she doesn't have a favourite book yet. She is fun at parties still.

Essek:

• Caleb!Liam jokes that essek is "super short" when he's not floating

• Essek has not been actively pursuing the assembly in the way caleb and beau has

• A terrible flaming bird of black and purple fire flew over the city before being stoped

• Essek is helping the hells as a "favour"

???:

These are proof read like Once but !! I tried, i just wanted to type it all out tbh

WTF IS UP W THE BIRD TRAVIS ???? WHAT DO YOU KNOW

[azucar-skull]

Tips on how to get cheap food:

As someone who has to steal, ration, and coupon my way through a family crisis, here are some tips to help you out too.

1) Stealing

Yes, stealing is unlawful but not unethical if you play your cards right. Don't go for local markets, attack big chain corporations do to some real damage.

3 things are required to pull this off successfully. 1, keep items to a minimum. 2, use self-checkout. 3, shop during the rush hour.

In my case, there's a chain supermarket nearby a high-school. When the students are out for lunch, most head to the store and the place gets waaaay too packed for staff to supervise self-checkout. I use a basket and grab what I need and then go to self checkout and scan only 1 item (usually a $0.50 sauce cup). I save roughly $20 during each visit.

2) Coupons

Ever received coupons in the mail? Hold onto them. Remember the expirations. And map out your orders wisely.

For me, I use Fetch Awards to earn gift cards from time to time. Idgaf if it's a ploy to seller consumer information for advertising, that shit fucking works and honestly I just need food ffs.

I currently have a $10 gift card for Panera where I'm going to buy me a big baguette sandwich and Mac n cheese. A $24 order for the price of $14 and it'll last me 5 meals when rationed.

3) Too Good To Go

TGTG is an app that helps prevent good waste. Local businesses that have "sell-by-date" foods, would make a surprise goodie bag of whatever leftovers they have and sell them for like $5 instead of $20. You get cheap dinner for the night and help prevent food waste. A win-win for everyone.

4) Rationing

You know how GEM Casey had to ration? Yeah. Guess who he got his skills from...

Know your limits and what you can handle. For my disabled folk, this one will be very hard. But still possible.

For me, I can't eat a lot in one sitting and I use this to my advantage. I meant it when I said my usual Panera order would last me 5 meals, my stomach is tiny lmfao. If I space my meal time correctly, I can get by on 1 or 2 meals a day.

*This is borderline ARFID eating disorder. If anyone has seen my tiktoks from pre-pandemic you could see a major difference in my shape. That was because I used to ration 1 meal a day and a "meal" would be microwave popcorn. Please be careful when rationing or else you will slip into ARFID just like me and GEM Casey. Only resort to this method when it's your only option left.

Bonus:

It helps if you dress somewhat decent. Unfortunately, those in poor clothing are almost immediately kicked out or kept a close suspicious eye on because they look homeless and have no money and will probably steal. In a world with every person for themselves, if you are able to, dress decent enough so that you don't stand out. It'll lower suspicion.

.

Those are my tips on eating cheap. Good for college students lmfao. Also dw about me, I'm okay. Yes, supplies are low again, but like I said I'm gonna steal from the store today and go to Panera. So I'll have..*does math* 25 meals for the price of $14.60--

Damn! Ikr? I'll be fine, dw. 😎👍

[sky-blaze]

I'm sure there's some WH40K fans about the place. I'm looking for some help. A friend is running a Dark Heresy comapgin. Wants me to join.

My basic concept is a Sister of Battle based on Patriarch Bergsten from The Elenium book series.

For those not familiar, Bergsten is a priest who used to be a Church Knight. He still wears chain mail and carries a massive battle axe, but will hear you confess your sins and help you work towards redemption. He believes that suffering (in moderation) will help cleanse a troubled soul. Am I going the right direction with what is basically a female version of him?

[psycho-slytherin]

The Syndicate

Jungkook doesn't understand why you've chosen to train him as a rogue. He's never been a good liar. Now, as your second-in-command at Bangtan Thieves' Syndicate, he's worried about you... with good reason.

Pairing: Rogue!Jungkook x Rogue!Reader

WC: 3.8k

A/N: That's right, folks, we're coming back with a BTS D&D AU! Enjoy~

“Um… Seokjin?”

The druid turned away from what looked like a bowl of chopped mango. Juice dripped from his chin, his fingers, and somehow down the wall. “Oh, Jungkook. What’s up?”

Jungkook fidgeted with the sleeve of his new blue cloak. You had asked him to wear Bangtan Thieves’ Syndicate colors to increase the fledgling guild’s notoriety, but he didn’t understand how he could increase the notoriety of anything. “I was wondering, can you please go ask Y/n to get some sleep? I haven’t seen her Trance in…” Jungkook began counting on his fingers, but promptly gave up. “A while now. Elves still need to rest, Seokjin! And after what happened to Yoongi, I think she’s kind of, maybe, avoiding everyone? But she’d probably see you.”

Seokjin raised a curious brow. “Clearly, she’d see you too. Why don’t you tell her yourself?”

“Oh, well, I mean, it’s Y/n,” Jungkook chuckled nervously. You’re more stubborn than a mule on the best of days, and it was not the best of days. “I don’t think she’ll listen to me.”

Seokjin raised a brow. His current male form gave him a full head of height over the young elf, who swallowed nervously. “Jungkook, have you actually tried?”

Jungkook looked down at his feet. He’s never been the confrontational type, and even at seventy-five, he was young for an elf. You, twenty years his senior, tended not to take him seriously. “Er…Kind of? I’ve sighed in exasperation at her.”

“Okay, look. Go talk to her, see if she’ll take a break. If that doesn’t work, come get me. If that doesn’t work, well, she’s a big girl, Jungkook. She can take care of-” Seokjin paused. “She can make her own choices.” With that, Seokjin turned back to his mango. The changeling rarely took on a human form; Jungkook guessed the mess of fruit juice on Seokjin’s face was a result of eating with unpracticed lips and omnivorous teeth.

“Um, yeah, okay!”Jungkook retreated past the gates of the party’s current home, a mansion that had once belonged to Seokjin’s father, and began the long walk back to the seedier side of town. He hadn’t walked all this way just for the request, of course; You had sent him to scout out new safehouses which the Bangtan Thieves’ Syndicate could acquire in case something went wrong uptown –– for example, if anyone became suspicious that the wealthy Lord Kim was nowhere to be found and came knocking. Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure what to look for in a safehouse, and when he’d asked you, you’d waved your hand and blearily mumbled a “You’ll know.” 

Well, Jungkook didn’t know. He was barely a rogue to begin with. You’ve grown up in this life, from the little he’d managed to glean of your childhood. Jungkook was nothing more than a village ranger before the party scooped him up. 

As he walked, Jungkook’s thoughts turned to the first time he’d met you. You had terrified him at first, dressed as you were in all black and so heavily armed that you could have twisted chain mail out of your daggers. All that, and you’d still managed to sneak up on him while Jungkook was out tracking down a goblin hideout. 

He crept through the woods, navigating with landmarks invisible but to expert eyes. A tree knot here, a beehive there, and the smell in the air… he was closing in. His footsteps felt lighter than feathers on the mossy forest floor. 

Then something… happened. A brush of wind in the wrong direction, the sharp scent of metal where there’d been none. He spun to find himself face-to-face with the point of a rapier borne by a hooded figure. Jungkook froze; was he going to die? He had nothing on him to entice a mugger. There had been a spate of thefts in the past weeks –– it was why he was tracking the goblin hoard. 

“Where’s the entrance to the dungeon?” The figure barked, a shining green eye all he could see of your face. Jungkook was quaking in his boots when three men approached. 

“Y/n, we talked about this,” a broad-shouldered man said, hand on the hilt of his greatsword. 

“I told you to stop giving my name out to strangers, Taehyung,” the figure hissed. 

The tallest of the group, a spellcaster of some kind, waved down your weapon as he stared closely at Jungkook, who gulped. “Why would he know anything? He’s a kid. Honestly, Y/n, he near about pissed himself. He’s not getting close to the Souls’ Map Dungeon.”

“H-Hey!” Jungkook squeaked, finally finding his voice. He was not about to piss himself. “I’m not a kid. You’re the ones that can’t find a silly dungeon, and now with all that noise you’ve let the whole forest know you’re here.” 

“He’s right,” the firbolg druid in the back chirped. “I can sense evil. Maybe we should-” 

Branches exploded above Jungkook’s head as the giant spiders dropped.

The elf shuddered at the memory. Six months ago, he never could have imagined he’d belong to an adventuring party like the ones of legend, the kind he’d only read about. And when he’d met you and learned of the horrors you’d endured… he could hardly imagine he’d find himself in the very city from which you’d fled.

He soon returned to the new headquarters of Bangtan Thieves’ Syndicate. The rest of the party tolerated your legally questionable profession and helped out where it benefited them, but they also kept their distance. Meanwhile, either you’d taken a liking to Jungkook or considered him especially disposable –– Jungkook had yet to learn which –– and you preferred to keep him around. 

Jungkook found you exactly where he had left you that morning, glued to your desk and scribbling wildly, your quill rapidly shifting between sheets of code and blueprints, letters and lists. 

“Y/n, I-”

“Next time, be quieter coming up the stairs,” the rogue replied without looking up. “The fourth step is loose, you should know that by now.”

Jungkook shrunk into the corner, pressing his lips together. “Sorry.”

“S’fine. You’re getting better. What did you need?” 

“Well, I was thinking-”

“Oh, could you send this with one of our runners?” You interrupted, throwing what looked like a rock at Jungkook’s head. He yelped in surprise, and then felt even more surprised when he actually caught the thing. It was lighter than it looked. “It’s hollow,” you continued without drawing breath, almost slurring your words together, and Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how pale you looked. “A message for the leader of Kreta’s Port. And-” 

“Y/n, slow down.”

“Let me finish. Those newcomers need training before they can start pickpocketing or we’ll lose them before we’ve finished recruiting. Right, and I need to run an errand, want to come?” “Yes- I mean, wait- I mean, Y/n!” The name came out much louder than intended, and Jungkook could feel his cheeks flush as you finally lowered the quill and looked up at him. Your green eyes never faltered in intensity, and Jungkook swallowed. “Y-You’ve been working nonstop. You need to rest. Just for a short while. I’m really worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” You stood from your desk and Jungkook’s sharp ears picked out the sound of your sore joints popping. He took a step back as your tone shifted to exasperation. “By the Nine Hells, Jungkook, the last thing I need is someone else worrying about me.”

At this, Jungkook grit his teeth, his nerve returning to him. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Your eyes flashed dangerously. For just a moment, the shadows at your feet seemed to darken. “What?” 

Oh, he was gonna die, wasn’t he? But Jungkook could hardly back down now –– he needed you to understand. “You haven’t slept,” he continued, working to keep the squeak out of his tone. “I’ve barely seen you eat. You’re the one who told me that a tired rogue is a dead rogue, and if that’s true, you’re only alive in spite of yourself. Maybe if you t-took better care of yourself, we wouldn’t have to worry about you! Maybe if you had actually slept this week, you would have had better control! Maybe you wouldn’t have-'' No. Jungkook cut himself off, blinking hard. He wouldn’t go there. Yoongi had recovered.

Unfortunately, it seemed it was too late. You were quiet, far too quiet as you crossed the room and walked right up to him. For a brief moment, Jungkook thought you might attack him. When you at last raised your hand, he flinched, only to see that you weren’t holding a knife. You were… pointing.

At the door.

“Get out,” You said quietly. 

Jungkook’s heart dropped. “Y/n, I’m sor-”

“Didn’t you hear me, Jeong?” your voice was louder now, unwavering. “I think I told you to leave.”

The pause which followed felt more like a dare. Would he stay? Would you let him?

Clenching his fist, Jungkook finally broke from your gaze to see your knees trembling slightly. Exhaustion? Anger? He could never tell with you. 

“...Fine. I’ll go.” He waited for a beat, hoping you’d call him back, but instead you simply stood there. The silence was eerie, and your expression… Jungkook shivered as he left the room, closing the heavy door behind him. What could he do for you? How could he make you see that you’d fall apart at that rate? Why didn’t-

Thump. It was a muffled sound, barely audible even to Jungkook’s keen senses. It sounded far too much like a type of thump he was quite familiar with –– that of a body hitting the floor –– and it was coming from the room he’d just left.

“Y/n?” He called out before slapping his hand over his mouth –– idiot, you were going by an alias here. You were the sister of the most thief king in the city, Jung Hoseok, and you refused to associate your guild with his. Here, you weren’t Y/n L/n. You were Ava Echosong, queen of Bangtan Thieves’ Syndicate. “I mean- are you alright?”

Silence. You could be ignoring him, or… A pit began to form in Jungkook’s stomach. Surely, you wouldn’t be so malicious as to trick him. You’d understand the severity of that thump. Jungkook approached the door, knocking lightly. “Just say something, okay? I’ll-” he swallowed. “I’ll leave you alone, but tell me you’re alright.”

The following silence was the same as it had been, but to Jungkook’s rising anxiety it seemed much more nefarious now. He tested the handle –– you had yet to lock the door.

“I’m… I’m coming in,” Jungkook announced with a touch of desperation in his tone. You couldn’t fault him, right? Any decent rogue would check on their thief king. 

Actually, you’d probably say something like the best rogues kill their kings. But he was far from a good rogue.

Except when he pushed on the door, it didn’t move. What? The door wasn’t locked, that was for certain, yet… he pushed harder, this time feeling it shift, and he was able to peek through the new gap in the doorway. His field of vision was limited, but all he needed to see was right before his eyes: Your hand, resting limply on the floor.

Jungkook’s heart dropped. “Oh, gods…”

He angled his shoulder against the door and shoved. Luckily, your lithe frame wasn’t too heavy or muscular, and he was able to push the door open without much resistance from your body. As soon as he wriggled through the gap in the door, Jungkook fell to his knees in front of the older rogue.

Your normally warm olive skin tone had been drained of blood. Your jaw, usually tightly clenched, hung slightly slack, and your shadow seemed to be leaking a particularly nefarious darkness. 

“Gods… okay. Okay, okay.” With one hand, Jungkook swung the heavy door shut again. It would do you no good for any of your new recruits to see you in a weakened state. The other hand was feeling for your carotid, searching for a pulse. Your skin was hot to the touch, and yet dry. Your pulse was faint, but Jungkook didn’t care, because at least it was there. At least it was something.

Still, you were much too warm. Jungkook hesitated for a second before unclasping the raven-feather cloak clipped around your neck, and pulling the cowl off your head. As the cloak fell away, You were left in your usual black shirt and pants. Your jet-black hair had grown down to your ears and was streaked with blood and soot. When had you last washed it? In spending half his time in a mansion in the Kim Mansion and the other half with you in the slums, Jungkook realized as he reached into his bag for a waterskin, he was in the unique position to note that both manners of living were intolerable. 

Careful to support your neck, Jungkook held your head up as he placed the waterskin to your barely open lips. He cursed on seeing the water he tipped out dribble down your chin, with hardly any entering your mouth. He didn’t want you to choke, but you needed hydration. With a firm hand pulling down on your mandible, Jungkook opened your mouth, poured in some water, and massaged your throat to help you swallow. To Jungkook’s building dread, while you did swallow down the water, you didn’t awaken. He laid your head down on his lap to keep it elevated before burying his face in his hands, heart racing. What else could he do? A healing potion? He had one left. But it wasn’t like you were injured, and if she had collapsed from fatigue, as Jungkook suspected and feared, he wasn’t certain the potion could do anything to help. It might even hinder your recovery to be forced awake. What if, though, you were ill? Then you’d need a healer, or magic, some sort of purging spell. Jungkook had nothing on hand, not even a sending stone to send for Seokjin, or Taehyung’s strength, Namjoon’s smarts –– Jungkook couldn’t do anything right, not even walk quietly, useless, useless ––

You’re spiraling again, your voice echoed in his head, so suddenly his eyes flitted to your face on the assumption you’d woken up. But no, you stayed limp on his lap, so still Jungkook could scarcely sense your heartbeat. Deep breath. What’s the first step?

The young elf swallowed. He had checked that your heart was beating, and confirmed you were still breathing. First step done.

You were clearly dehydrated. You’d gotten some water, so that was the second step. But you needed more. And a cold compress to combat that fever. Step three. 

“Y/n,” Jungkook murmured, carefully lifting the rogue’s head off his legs. “I need you to stay here- not that you can go anywhere, that is, I just meant- I’ll be right back, okay?” Jungkook was on the verge of standing when he heard a voice that made him jump.

“Need something?”

“Gah!” Jungkook whipped around, instinctively reaching for his sword. For the first time, he saw a man standing in the corner of your office. Jungkook was sure he’d never seen the human before, but at the same time he looked vaguely familiar, his features too generic to place. “Who are you?” Jungkook asked, shifting into a protective stance before your body. “How did you get in?”

“Don. Donathan?” The man shrugged. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

The whole- so when you fell unconscious, this stranger was in the room with her? What had he done?

Jungkook was nervous. But you were laying at his feet, which didn’t make him less nervous, as much as it did raise the stakes tremendously. You already know how. You’ve done it before. Jungkook worked to mold his features, let his face relax into the cold stare he often saw on your face and those of the killers you’d confronted, and with his thumb flicked his rapier barely loose of its sheath. “It’d be in your best interests to explain what exactly you’re doing here.”

The man, Donathan, didn’t move or change his neutral expression. “I was delivering a message to Echosong. Or… Y/n, I guess? Wait, Y/n, like the kid sister Jung Hoseok? She’s back?”

“Who sent you? Another guild?”

Donathan released a long-suffering sigh. “Echosong did. Jungkook, we’ve met. I’m in Bangtan.”

Jungkook’s brow’s furrowed. “I’d have remembered you. I was part of the recruitment team.”

The human then nodded at the desk, and Jungkook followed the movement. On your desk was a full roster of new BTS members and approved messengers. Fourth on the list of recruits, written in the Thieves’ Cant you’ve only just taught Jungkook to read –– Donathan Joe. Brown hair and eyes, tan skin. Nondescript. Start him as messenger - potential as spy. 

The description fit the man to a tee. “I - fine. Okay. Don’t tell anyone what’s happened here, alright?” Jungkook said tightly. Your reputation was on the line.

Donathan shrugged. “Aight. Want more water for Echosong? So you don’t have to leave?”

Jungkook paused. You had clearly thought you could at least somewhat trust the man. “Fine.” 

As Donathan left, Jungkook slid back down to the floor to sit beside you. Your cheeks were still hot to the touch, though cooler than before. And you were no closer to waking. If this wasn’t Donathan’s nefarious doing, then you must’ve collapsed from exhaustion.

“Gods and devils, Y/n,” Jungkook muttered at the elder rogue. “What are we going to do with you, hm? The one time since I’ve met you that we can relax, ‘cause for once no one’s trying to kill us, and you’re working harder than ever? You don’t have to push yourself like this, you know. Don’t you know we’re all-” he paused. “Some of us are worried about you?” He was talking quickly now, staring at his hands, his high elf ancestry making his skin far paler than your wood elf tone. “If you’re worried about spending your Trance with a bunch of thieves, I’m here. I can keep watch over you, if you’d trust me. Which… I dunno. Maybe you don’t. But your work, it’s not that much if we split it up. You’ve built this guild for a reason, right, Y/n? To be together, to have a group, to be stronger. Part of something. We can help, if you ask us. I wish you’d ask us. I’d help you. I know, I’m a mess at all the paperwork, and-” Here, Jungkook broke off and chuckled- “I really don’t understand the important facets of syndicate safe houses, but I can learn. You’re a good teacher, if a scary one. Really scary, sometimes. Anyways. Y/n, you know you’re not alone, right? I get it if, after everything, you might feel that way. But we don’t. And we need you. So, uh, wake up, okay? If you’re going to pass out, beds are way more comfortable.” With a tentative hand, Jungkook reached out and shook your shoulder gently. “C’mon, wake up.”

Nothing. It had been about ten minutes since you had lost consciousness now, and that was a dangerously long time for Jungkook’s comfort. You were still breathing, but for how much longer? He shook a bit harder, his tone lapsing into its old nervous squeak as his anxiety heightened and desperation rose in kind. Elves didn’t pass out like you had unless something was wrong - an injury, fatigue, or poison of some kind. Jungkook raised his voice. 

“Y/n, please wake up, I still have to beat you in a duel. I’ll even aim like you taught me. Seriously, please…”

And then came a voice, as raspy as he’d ever heard it, and yet it was music to his pointed ears.

“Won’ help.” 

“Y- oh, Y/n!” Jungkook almost swept the wood elf up into a hug before stopping himself. “You’re okay!” 

You blinked, your eyes not quite focused. Though you were awake, your head didn’t move from the floor. More worryingly for Jungkook, your pupils were dilated unevenly. “Mmno. Ev’rthin’s wiggly. And you look like Jungkook.”

“I am Jungkook.”

“Oh. hi.”

“Hi.” Try as he might, Jungkook couldn’t contain his un-roguelike grin. “I was really worried about you.”

“M’sorry.” You blinked hard to clear your eyes or mind, but Jungkook could see you were still having trouble. “Didn’t mean t’worry you.’

“Please, don’t apologize.” Jungkook could feel his humor returning as his lungs inflated with relief. “Apologize for working yourself half into the grave, if anything.”

“Mm.”

“That doesn’t count as a sorry.”

“Jungkook?”

“Yes, Y/n?”

“I think I could use a nap.”

Oh, thank the gods. “You have a cot in here, right?”

“S’folded by my desk. Never use it.”

Jungkook rose, located the cot, and quickly unfolded it, patting out the pillow for you. “Can you walk?”

He could see your muscles strain for a moment, almost feel you try to rise out of sheer willpower, before you collapsed back onto the old oak planks. “No. M’sorry. S’real dumb.”

“Hey, don’t-don’t worry about it.” Jungkook stooped and with one arm under your legs and the other supporting your neck, carried you ten feet to the thin cot. He could see your eyes start to flutter closed the minute your body touched the scratchy wool cover. Still, he could tell you were fighting to stay conscious. “Y/n.”

“Mm?”

“You’ve earned your rest. I’ll keep watch. I promise.”

There was a long pause, so long he thought you’d lost consciousness again, before he barely heard your quiet voice. “Okay.”

Within minutes, the room was silent save for the breathing of two elves. Jungkook’s own vague meditation as he watched you fall into a Trance was broken by a knock at the door. When he swung it open, there stood Donathan. It took a conscious effort on Jungkook’s part to remember why he was there and who the man was. Everything about this human was terrifyingly neutral. Donathan wordlessly passed an icy compress and fresh waterskin to Jungkook before nodding a goodbye. It was as if the moment he faded from view, he turned fuzzy in Jungkook’s memories. Strange man.

Back at your side, Jungkook gently wiped your face with the icy cloth. As he leaned over to daub water on your burning cheeks, he heard a whisper that made his own face flush, so faint he might well have imagined it.

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

[tallbluelady]

Melody!

It was strange to Thancred how quickly life returned to routine after the events of the Praetorium. It didn't even take that long for him to recover from his ordeal, at least physically. Mentally, he had enough work to do that he didn't have time to dwell on anything, which is how he preferred it. For the moment, he was reviewing the various reports on the Amalj'aa from the Immortal Flames over breakfast. He sighed and shook his head. Routine, he recalled, included strife, and it would seem he would have to call upon Rowan and her friends to ensure that the Lord of the Inferno wouldn't start to wreak havoc upon the land.

Thancred found Thorsthal and Khaliun talking over some chain mail that the large Au'ri woman needed mended, and both received the news with a grim nod. A'quexta was gathering a few plates for herself and her comrades and was humming a familiar tune.

"Is that Tam Lin that you're humming?" Thancred asked before getting to the news that she needed to fight another Primal.

"Oh, is that the song? Rowan must have been humming it and it rubbed off on me," A'quexta said. "D'ya need to talk to her?"

After relaying the news to the conjurer, Thancred started through the Waking Sands to find the elusive bard. He smiled as he heard the melody of the ballad through the hall and into the common room. He couldn't help but smile as he heard it bounce around in various voices and even in whistling.

Eventually he found Rowan in the library, humming the song to herself while wandering through the shelves. She found a book on the top shelf and picked it out with only a stretch. She jumped when she turned and saw Thancred.

"Oh, I didn't see you there," she said, holding the book to her chest. "Is there aught you need to tell me?"

"Two things - Ifrit's likely to be summoned again soon, if the Immortal Flames are to be believed," he said.

She gave a worried hum. "What's the other thing?"

"Only that you've infected the entire building with your melody, dear bard. I didn't realize you had a such talent for song." Thancred gave a rakish grin, hoping to win a blush from Rowan.

She did, in fact, give him one. "I, uh... oh, goodness, truly?"

Thancred laughed. "Tis a compliment, sweet lady. And any sort of levity is welcome these days, I'd say."

"Ah, I suppose... do A'quexta, Thorsthal, and Khaliun know about Ifrit?"

"They do. If you haven't broken your fast, I'd say do it now before you head over."

She nodded, then turned to wave at Urianger in the corner before leaving. Thancred saw him grace her with a smile before he returned to his work. After pulling up a chair and resting his chin on his hands, Thancred sighed.

"I know they're up to the task but... I still feel so much trepidation sending our heroes out to slay gods. Especially when they could be filling our halls with melodies instead," Thancred said.

Urianger gave an affirmative ehm-hm without looking up from his papers. "Would that a less noble spirit be able to take up the mantle of the Warrior of Light. Alas, we may yet surmise that tis from her gentle and kind nature that Rowan developed such abilities as to protect us all."

Funny, I hadn't singled her out in my statement. Thancred smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder before leaving to fulfill his other tasks. "I suppose you're right. So, in her absence, I shall carry her song through our halls."

Despite his goggles and cowl, Thancred could tell that Urianger rolled his eyes, but Thancred started to sing regardless.

"I forbid ye maidens all..."

*   *   *

Urianger gave a small contented chuckle to himself. Thancred was healing. It had been moons since he heard the man sing, even before he had been possessed by the Ascian. I pray that he may yet have more cause to sing in the coming days.

He found himself humming the melody again as he worked. Urianger hadn't intended for Rowan to catch the tune, but he enjoyed her rendition nevertheless, even if it did come back to himself.

[kalianos]

Context: So ages ago I ran a game in one of my custom worlds. It was a False Hydra game. Kept the players in the dark about it. Along the way I had kept some light notes pointing out bits here and there I felt were important. These eventually made it to the scene I am going to describe below.

As you walk along the town, the ropes tied around your waist. However everyone alive hear and feel the rope snap and sounds of heavy slapping. Along with the distinct chink of something small bouncing on the cobblestones.

Party starts to immediately asking who died, who they don't remember anymore. I calmly tell them that they are fine. Except the druid. I hear an exasperated groan from the player thinking he died since he was at the end of the rope. I tell him no, his character is still alive and as he looks back. He see's another length of rope behind him that wasn't there before. Leading to a mess of half-eaten green skin, bright armor and a book covered in blood on the ground.

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

Upon looking at the journal. They found this in the book. It's a bit lengthy.

1994 DR, 14th of Midwinter’s Torment

The adventurer’s guild has tasked us again. We are holding out a campaign against some rogue goblin elements outside of town. I have my doubts about the job. Acanthes is a chill human at least. He still smells like the swamp though. Somehow got saddled with a warrior from Chaton. Chaton! How the feth did he make it over the many fathoms?

Must have paid an orc ship all his coin to be taking work with the adventurers’ guild.

1994, 16th of Midwinter’s Torment

We made camp at the edge of the their base. It took a two days and a night to get here. By Moradin, The rogue we brought along has cheese. I suspect she is part of the “cheese makers” in more ways than one. She can be useful. Kai is a decent sort. Got too sharp of a tongue. Sharp dagger as well thankfully. In hindsight it was funny how well she threw a dagger into that goblin scouts skull. The tabaxi is being quiet.

1994DR, 17th of Midwinter’s Torment

We managed to break into the first barricades. The guards have been taken down. The patrols are aware of us now unfortunately. I have only a few vestiges of my power left. By Moradin I wish I was stronger to channel his divine will. Time. Time is all we need. They are banging on the doors.

1995DR, 4th of Summer Song

We have gone on for so long. We only had a few days rest from taking down the halfling raids to the north along the steppes. Those plains scare me. We passed by a few ghost towns. Ravaged by the halfling mongrels, taken down by Gnoll war bands. Or worse. Being consumed by the false hydras.

Since we have earned bronze rank over the last several months. We were warned that our jobs are now going to be “real” jobs. True monsters and terrors can now be assigned to us. It can’t be all bad right? I heard in the officer lounge while being debriefed that a blue dragon is potentially going to recruit some of us to acquire a rare gem for a courtship ritual. Apparently we would be guests of honor at the wedding if it goes well. I like weddings. Though I don’t think anyone knows how dwarves wed themselves. Buying themselves from their significant other’s parents, crushing gems under their iron boots. Growing up as a half-orc in the tunnels was interesting. Strangely did get a few interested lookers.

1995 DR, 11th of Summer’s rest

I am fuming now. I had slight hope we would get the deadly mission to help out the blue dragon, I could have worn a pretty formal chain-mail shirt or maybe plate armor. I had even looked into our major library to learn how blue dragons interacted and proper protocol.

All for nothing. Ackerson had come down pale and shaking after the letter flew in and he handed me the pack. I noticed it was much thicker than usual. Usually a manifest was just, “Supplies, guild resources rented, gold reward, gold reward deductions, and a small line for our major injury expenses to be compensated.” All on a single sheet of paper, then the outline written by a desk jockey with no legs. This was a full blown book in size. When I asked what it was about Ackerson just leaned up and whispered into my ear the one thing I didn’t want to hear ever in my existence.

“There is a report of a false hydra by guild watchdogs up in Ohmsford. Your team is the only one capable at the moment to handle it. We have taken measures and given you major bonuses to increase your chances of success. We need you to do this, and…I’m sorry. In case any of you fail, the stone of false hydra adventurers has already been carved upon so we will at least know you all in name and what your designations were in the grand library.”

I’m scared, no I’m terrified. Reading this book made by two wizards accounts is the most terrifying thing ever. These monsters are born from lies in folklore but we have no idea how they spring up? The drawings and the life-cycles of these things are downright horrific.

This is the most I’ve written in this thing in a long while but I can help but think; that I am sending us to the worst kind of death imaginable.

I took precautions just in case. I sent my adoptive father a memory stone explaining everything. Remarking that if he forgets his emerald treasure that its because she died fighting one of the most horrifying monsters of this world for their safety.

I’m going to tell the rest of the party later. Right now they are just going to be aware that its being caused by some cultists at the moment.

1995 DR 12th of Summer’s rest

We are having a last blow out party in the town. Drank myself silly. Kai brought in some amazing cheese. Had a fondue fountain and everything. We were only a little miffed when we found Acanthus floating a maple leaf boat through it. Claimed it would help give it more depth of flavor. I think he’s just being dumb. It does taste mapely though. Lucky bastard that I like maple syrup.

1995 DR, `13th of Summers Rest

Fucking potatoes, cabbage, farm lands and wheat for miles. I don’t want to eat ever again for as long as I live. Well except for pork. Never can give that up. Met some weird farmer named Perry. Claimed he had a scarecrow problem. Exorised it easily enough though Weevil got a small cut. After that a Slaad had erupted from the ground. How the hell this farmer survived with a Slaad on his land I will file into “most definitely an agent of chaos” column. Dispatched it well enough. Had to cast a spell of some power to cure Kai though. She got hit with the chaos disease. Was not interested in having to mercy kill my own party member at the start of the adventure.

We decided to make our way as fast as we could through the evening to the mountains. I knew a place that would give us a good deal on room.

Turns out I was right. The dwarf still remembers me from the good old days down in the caves. Got my friends set up in their own suite while I spent extra for my own private one.

I’ve never enjoyed a bath like this in so long. I’ll have to ask Harriet for a crystal. She finally perfected in making light crystals for the caves and it looks beautiful. I’m sure dad would like one. Who knows, if I managed to send it in time it’ll be a good marker for my memorial on the memory stone.

1995 Dr, 14th Summers rest

Bloody chilly, hellish sky whale. And those two idiots nearly drowned themselves trying to get light crystals when I told them that they were buyable. Claimed it was for the adventure of it and effort. I think they were just being stubborn.

Going into town, everything seemed off. We parked our mule and cart in the stables next to an inn. Ordered drinks as our Tabaxi went upstairs to do his ritual armor cleaning. The rogue managed to convince our druid to steal from an old man who looked like a banker. Greedy morons. Didn’t they see all the guards on high alert everywhere? They were caught by of all things another thief. Chatting with the bartender illuminated a lot. Whatever this is, it started in the northern-western area of town. I asked what the local authority here is. He could only shrug and tell me that it was the Captain of the Guard, Wilma; who runs things as usual. In a weird way it made sense. But it doesn’t make sense. I know there is a big mayoral estate here for a local authority.

1995 DR, 15th of Summers Rest

Dealt with a tailor who had been attacked. The halfling that sits in front of her shop is a creepy old hag of a woman. While here the tabaxi had claw daggers from the slaad start being made. On top of that I managed to convince them to make a nice maul in the old style but big enough for me. The dwarf was amenable when I spoke to him in the tongue of our fathers.

We talked with Leah for a bit. Our rogue tried to do some weird mind trickery that seemed to do something. It appears that not all memories can be completely erased I guess even by magic. The mind is a funny thing. While searching around, I found the picture of her husband and two children. It was hidden in the nightstand drawer. I think she didn’t know what to make of it and it disturbed her.

We met the local cheesemaker by accident. He had been ransacking the town since perfectly fine magic shops and alchemists were just there. Seeing as how the people who run them probably don’t exist anymore to the world. I am letting it slide. Moradin forgive me. Habbakuk and Zeboim as well to appease my sea orc ancestors.

We fought a troll. I burned so many spells and kept a wall between the troll and the everyone else. I got banged up pretty hard. Still that troll got a few lucky swipes on the druid and samurai. They’ve never seen a troll before and I hope they get to remember what happens. Felt prudent to spend most of my spells on healing. There is still a Troll colony here and they are completely feral apparently. I asked about trolls to the Town Captain who apparently has “always ran this town.”

She claims that Trolls are a very rare minor problem that only happened recently. This resort town can kiss my green ass.

Was told to investigate the retirement village for adventurers on the other side of this box canyon. I acquiesced to this request since we being paid. Paid to go and ask questions in that will help our initial investiagion no less. I love when the stars align to throw us a bone.

Met Gloria. She seemed nice. She had a love of ale that rivals some of the heavy drinkers back in the caves.

Acanthes got knocked out something fierce from a quarter shot. He came too and told me he had a weird dream. I suggested he follow his heart which he determined to mean go and meditate to the green father. What he told me afterwards is a puzzle of itself.

A shimmering pillar above the city? The singing I belive is from the false hydra. But this shimmering pillar? What does it mean?

We dealt with an Alemental. Talked to the Destroyers. A nice couple. Maybe I can find a strong man someday. Heh, will it be a man of the earth or a man of the sea like my ancestry wants?

The witch has a crazy love obsession with purple. Quisayle is a strange one to be honest. She seemed more fascinated than concerned about the false hydra.

Mentioned that there is an old tower to the northwest ohmsford that probably held a wizard of some report. She only mentions it because she has no memory of anyone living yet it’s a very nice tower. She is scary good at putting two and two together apparently.

1995 DR.

Had a nightmare. I was back at the inn room with some lady. A giant pale white face came in through the open window and gorged itself on her. As I tried to help another face and long neck came through and tried to eat me. I’m too strong and punched it back.

Woke up in a cold sweat over it. I’m writing this in the morning due to the oddness of this dream.

I clutch my holy symbol of Moradin. The warm glow of his forge comforts me through it. I run my finger over the engraving. If I am going to disappear this will be the one thing I will make sure to survive. It holds the needed identifier for the memory stone and for the guilds false hydra stone. Actually, I should keep this journal out and keep writing in it!

As long as I can see the thing in the moment, I can write about it! By the hammer fall! I can trust myself to keep a good record. I should share this with the group. I also devised that we can use a length of rope to keep us together slightly. This way we know if we have been attacked at least.

Itsafterusanditstryingtoeatmeohmoradinthisis bad. Its tailing us. Dropping its song to attack us!

Oh this is bad. I don’t know what do. If I had a decent mace on me I could beat the hell out of this thing. SHIT TH~

This journal is covered in blood. Inside is a portrait of a Large Half-Orc proudly displaying a Silver rank medal towering over the rest of you looking happy showing off your bronze medals.

A caption below it reads, “ The Squad”

So throughout the campaign they had encountered random weird oddities. Helpful people offering healing, random potions just...inside wolves. All explained away as just some weird quirk of a world they hadn't seen yet. When actually it was their Half-Orc Cleric they never knew they had. I had shamelessly stolen the idea from a D&D community when they were brainstorming about how to bring out a false hydra to be fair. But I think the execution was alright.