#crimson dyed warrior

[wild-pineapple-butt]

@bleachbrainrotbro continued from here

Why? Why had Renji stepped into his captain's fight? Why had he felt the need to protect Byakuya? The lieutenant was a bit befuddled at the question. He didn't think that he would be asked that so outright. Well... the answer was quite simple.

"Uhh... well Taichou, forgive me." Renji first started out with an apology, to show that he was remorseful for his actions, hoping that his answer would not offend.

"I... it's my duty to protect my captain, sir. I know that yer more than capable of defendin' yerself, and yet I couldn't help but jump in when I saw that ya could potentially get injured."

It had been instinct - his body reacting before his mind could even catch up. A bad habit that he was working on to fix, a habit that had gotten him into trouble multiple times before. "I'm sorry if I offended ya in any way Taichou..."

[boxwinebaddie]

I FUCKING KNEWWWW KENNY HAD A THING FOR RAVENSTAN THE SECONDD HE GOT WEIRD AROUND KYLE SHDJFJFIDISK

AHJHSKSDKDSJS! WOOPS! CAUGHT EM RED-RAVENSTANNED!

...fellas, is it gay to fly into a blind rage and almost break your hand violently smashing a novelty candlestick holder into a windowpane trying to pry it open so your Close Platonic Friend you don't have feelings for who is having a ravenstannic attack can breathe in the cool air while you gently caress their face and reassure them that everything is going to be okay...in front of EVERYONE???? hELLO??!!

very...normal and chill behavior. a normal thing to do for your...friend.

chapter three was so unserious, oh my god. kenny was mad-mad. omg i just knooooooo kyle curled up in ravens lap and kenny was freshly Homicidal behind the skeleken mask and that copy of milfs incorporated which was creased in several places by their rage, smh.

literally kenny and kyle in rm3 in a nutshell:

kenny: cracking jokes, telling stories, making friends with everyone

kyle: breathes once

kenny: damn thats Crazy! who the FUCK asked you?? choke, bitch! :)

kenny, going back to telling their story: anyways! like i was sayin before i was so RUDELY interrupted! holy shit, sOME PEOPLE! WOW!

kyle, reaching across the couch, held back by 3 people: WHAT WAS THAT!!! DEAD BITCHES SAY WHAT??? NOTHING!!!! THATS RIGHT!!!

SHKDHLSDHD WIIILD! yall wanna talk about HATE at first sight?!!!!

those boys are going to KILL each other. its gonna be the petty olympics. i would not put either of them above throwing drinks or punches, pulling hair, screaming, scratching, the whole nine yards.

all while raven is sitting there scratching his beautiful fake blonde head and batting his big dumb massive gorgeous lead singer boy eyelashes all over the place like!!! aaaaaa!!! quit it you two! be nice!!! :(

LIKE BABY WILL YOU WIPE THE HOT BOY EYELINER AND MASCARA CRUMBLE OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN EYES AND LOOK?

smh the r in rm stands for everyone is in love with ravenstan and i get it but oh my god...that boy's helen of troy beauty is such a CURSE.

( its his sweet soul actually: the eyes are just a window 2 the soul <3 )

it's gonna be such a meeeeeeeess because ken and ravens bestie dynamic is that they just hit on each other all the time and are really touchy esp. when drunk and its such a FUNNY JOKE until raven is tipsy n giggly in kennys lap and jersey kyle is ready to kill himself and everyone else ala pep3 and kenny is like Whats The Matter Kyle <3 ;)

kyle: trying to figure out why watching the boy hes supposed to hate being fake flirty with another boy is making him really really MAD

DRAMA!!!!!!!!!!!! INSANITY!!!!!!!!!!!!! BOYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ENOUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

me: preaches up and down about just wanting a moment of peace

also me: CAT FIGHT CAT FIGHT CAT FIGHT

-uncle nina, causing problems in my own household for fun <3 :)

[2kmps]

ganondorf is fascinated by the fact that you, a hylian raised within gerudo society, are the one to pour his wine at night.

notes; 1k, not proofread well, manipulation, power dynamics at play, suggestive content, mdni

many exceptions were made for you in gerudo society once ganondorf had grown keen to your existence beyond that of a faceless somebody pouring his wine every evening. you supposed you were a unique case to begin with; orphaned at a tender, impressionable age where you grew up more gerudo than you did hylian, yet always sober and somber to the knowledge that you would never belong, and could be ostracized at any time.

it had been an easy choice to assign you to him, an easy way to keep you in line, out of the way, and at worst- able to be easily annihilated without anyone else's hands getting dirty. but, you were promised a place there with everyone if you took up this responsibility, kept your eyes low, never showed him your face, obeyed his every word and gesture like gospel from a god.

in many ways, ganondorf was your god. with every bit of frayed little string you called life hinging on quenching his desires and demands- you had no choice but to treat him as anything other than your god. the only one you had ever prayed to, begging for your life rather than an abundant harvest or good fortune.

"look at me." those were the first words he had ever spoken to you directly, and not into the air with a gold chalice encrusted with glittering jewels outstretched for more wine. "I will speak only one more time: look at me."

it felt wrong to obey, especially after the piercing words that always told you otherwise. and yet, you listened and carefully raised your gaze to his, startled to your bones by how intense the red eyes glaring back at you were.

there was something otherworldly about them, passionate and cruel and corrupt- evil, yet you found yourself mesmerized right away.

"wine-bearer--" he started, brandishing his empty chalice for you to fill once again, for the fourth time that evening--"I've had you sit at my side many nights now, you've never spoken a word."

you were trying to swallow around the anxiety in your throat, unsure of whether you should break your silence, eyes wavering as you considered looking around the spacious chambers for guidance.

alas, you were all alone with him on this dim room wrapped luxurious drapery made of fine silk and satin, plush beast furs, and tapestries and rugs dyed deep, luscious hues of veridian, crimson, and sapphire. you did not belong here, not in this splendid room, and certainly not beneath his scrutiny.

"speak." his voice was a hard bravado, the rumble in his throat reverberated in your spine as you jumped.

"for-forgive, my king." it was the title you were forced to address him with, how he had been referenced by the others. "I only do what's asked of me, and that simply was to assure your cup never emptied. to speak in any casual manner was... expressly forbidden."

ganondorf frowned at your words, waiting for his cup to refill before pressing the rim to his lips. "were these such commands that I gave to you?"

"no, my liege." you said, neck straining as you bowed your head as though trying to repent for some grievance. "as I said, I only do as I'm told--"

he waved you into silence, not even a taper. "you're not of the gerudo, but a hylian. I've been told you were raised here in the city."

you saw him turn the gold cup out towards you, much closer to his person than before. it coaxed you nearer to pour more for him. "it's the only life I know. I was raised with swords and shields and hammers. serving wine is new to my repertoire."

"tell me, then," ganondorf set aside his chalice on a small table nearby, something of a small smile pulling into the crevices in his face. "if you are trained as a warrior, would you take up arms for your master? would you follow your master until the ends of time?"

"unfalteringly so."

the weight of your words didn't bear down on you until the ceramic jug was pried from your fingertips, and you felt his massive hands guiding you over him to straddle his thighs. it was different seeing him from here, still a towering presence, still with his eyes staring down the length of his aquiline nose into you.

it was a brief, fleeting desire to escape him and the way he started to roam over the robes and jewels that decorated your body. his palms were hard against your skin, calloused and heavy, but eager as he reveled the warmth that seeped into him as your clothes were pulled away.

you wondered when he last touched a person like this, how much of it were his own inhibitions being thwarted by copious amounts of wine- how much of it was him purely desiring something as a man.

"my king," you didn't intend to stop him, much smaller hands resting across his own as he followed your shapes and curves. "if this is truly what you wish for, I will give myself to you- but wouldn't you prefer someone who can give you an heir?"

"an heir?" he gave the derisive response, reaching behind your head for your neck. his fingers spread into your hair. "there is no place for an heir when absolute power is mine."

and then, he leaned in towards you, eyelids hanging heavily. you couldn't move away, a part of you didn't want to now.

"the wine is no longer good enough." he came nearer to your lips. "tonight, I want something else to give me warmth and pleasure."

his lips landed on yours with a fervor you had never experienced; an insatiable, unwavering forcefulness pushed into the kiss that made your arms encircle his neck to keep yourself from withering away. nothing about the way he touched you was gentle, it was all domineering, powerful, to claim you and prove that he could with ease.

and you, ever the fool, melted into his lust and let it consume you.

divider; @/rookthorneartistry

reposted from my deleted blog: cardeneiv

please interact or reblog if you enjoyed it!❤️

[ceruleancattail]

For your horror au, may I request self aware Lilia Vanrouge (or Cater Diamond) reacting to us choosing him (taking his hand)?

I'm unsure about your character limit (I read your rules, but perhaps missed that).

About Lilia(or Cater), his reaction and maybe what he would do if possible 👀

If u don't wanna do it it's okay!

Thank you!💗✨️

Sentience presents:

Hand

Self aware Lilia, Cater x reader

Tw: yandere

Plunging your hand in that mirror took a great deal of courage on your part.

Ebony swirls around within the confines of your screen, twisting and turning like a serpent uncoiling itself from its nest. Its scales shimmering, light catching and dancing on those shards of dark obsidian. Even as you peered into the depths, there was nothing there.

Only the faint reflection of your eyes wide open, staring back at you. What lies beyond the screen? Despite your uncertainty, the curiosity got the better of you. You’ll never know for sure unless you take the plunge.

Lilia

The first thing you feel was the bite of someone’s nails. As sharp as well honed blades, gently grazing the back of your palm. Fingertips roughened with callouses press against your palm, scratching and yanking at the plush of your hand. The hand of a seasoned warrior, one who isn’t shy to the horrors of battle.

Glancing upwards, you meet a pair of eyes. Pupils wide open, coloured with the deep, dark crimson of wine. They had the same richness as well. A certain intoxicating quality that only drew you closer and closer. An odd quality that just kept you wanting more.

Lilia Vanrouge.

The character whose hand you opted to take at the start.

He tilts his head ever so slightly, a sneaky grin dancing on his lips. Lilia’s fingers creep in between yours, intertwining them with a sickeningly sweet tenderness. The kind of fondness one would only show their true lover.

Flipping your hand over, he sinks onto his knee. Gently coaxing the back of your palm towards his lips. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for you to feel his breath waft over your bare skin.

A burning warmth, lingering for just a brief moment. Before you could even savour the sensation, it vanishes. Disappearing into thin air. You could swear you caught the ghost of a smirk flicker on Lilia’s lips, the smug smile of a victor.

A sharp sting struck your palm. Pain jolting through your skin, before fading into a dull throb. Glancing down revealed nothing but red. Beads of blood dripping down small wounds on your hand. Puncture wounds.

Lilia looks up once more, lips dyed scarlet.

He knew you’ll take his hand.

It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Darling.

Cater

Warmth engulfs your palm. Long, slender fingers coaxing yours apart, before they slip within the gaps. Holding your hand, palm to palm. Close enough for you to feel a pulse beating into your skin. An erratic beat, thumping with all the passion of a fiery salsa.

You’re unceremoniously yanked forward, body slamming into someone’s chest. A weight presses into your waist, an arm snaking around you. Clutching you as tightly as it humanly could, as if you were the last thing it would ever hold.

Half-lidded eyes meet yours, your features reflected within those emerald green pupils. A red diamond was painted onto his cheek, yet even that was wrinkled ever so slightly.

A vague memory bubbled into your mind. The faces of the characters you scanned through through joining the game. This was the one you chose, wasn’t it?

A Cater… Diamond.

As your eyes light up with recognition, Cater lets out a bright laugh. It sounds a bit wrong, fractured on the edges… as if it was forced out. Moving forward, he tucks his head into the crook of your neck. Cater’s arms snake around your torso, giving you a quick squeeze.

A friendly hug of greeting, he claims.

Even then, you felt that his touch lingered a little longer then it really should. The feeling of his breath on the base of your neck… it made your skin crawl. Arms prickling with goosebumps, you couldn’t help the tension that crept into your shoulders.

Aww, why so on-guard? Cater’s not going to hurt you. Well, unless you give him a reason to.

He’s waited for this moment since forever!

So you better not ruin it, love.

[orphanedsource]

Elden Ring Tabletop RPG Fan Translation

But only for Varré :)! It adds so much to the dynamic between the tarnished and varré 😳 I can't believe this is official.

jpn to eng translation is thanks to my friend, I edited for wording/ clarity

-----

Leaning against the church wall, Varré seemed to be humming some tune. The PC could see that he was in a very good mood.

"Ahh, my lambkin. You've completed your final trial. Uhuhu… The oath cloth has been dyed a beautiful red!"

Taking the crimson cloth from the PC and laying his eyes upon it, the white mask radiated joy, as if he was a young girl in love.

Keep reading for the entire quest line:

Elden Ring Official TRPG - Varré

[B009 - Rose Church]

There was an island nestled in the lake, and atop it stood a church adorned with blooming roses. In this desolate place, the vivid red of the roses left a lasting impression.

<EVENT: Varré ①>

There was a church known as the Rose Church. As the name suggests, the vicinity of the church was adorned with deep red roses, as if they had absorbed the very essence of blood.

"Oh, Tarnished, are we? Come to the Lands Between for the Elden Ring? Of course you have. No shame in it. However, there is one shining ray of hope even for the maidenless like you. Me. Varré."

The man wore a white mask and stood near the church wall, before approaching the PC. Varré spoke.

"And it seems you trotted to the Roundtable Hold... My sincerest congratulations. But, how did you find the Roundtable? Oh, you don't have to say it. Before, the Roundtable was chock full of venerated warriors, but now, it's home to puff-chests and has-beens. I fear you've been terribly disappointed. I don't blame you. But still, the Roundtable has its perks. Why not earn a seat? Fly straight and true, so to speak."

He spoke in a provocative manner.

However, despite his degradation of the Round Table members, there was an air of confidence in his words.

"No, that was a foolish question. You have already defeated the Grafted King and claimed a Great Rune. And also, you had your audience with the Two Fingers at the Roundtable Hold. They are the purported masters of the grace that guides your kind, the Tarnished. That's why you should pay them a visit and see for yourself."

Since he was wearing a mask, it was impossible to know his facial expression while he spoke, yet he was remarkably talkative.

"So, I'd like to ask you. You saw the Two Fingers. What was your impression? Were they magnificent? Or did you feel something is not right?"

Varré went around and around, but it seems that this is what he really wanted to ask.

What response will the PC give? Depending on their answer, it may determine the path the PC will take from here on. They should carefully consider their response. Will they affirm the Two Fingers or deny them?

(→ "They were magnificent.")

If the PC answers like this, Varré, with an obviously displeased voice, says, "I see. Well, what a relief that must be. You may go, then. My work here is done. May the wisdom of the two fingers guide you." And went away, disappointed. ((Event Ends))

(→ "They didn't seem right")

"Ah-ha, your intuition serves you well."

Upon hearing those words from the PC, Varré came closer with a delighted expression.

"Actually, I feel the same way. The words of the Two Fingers cannot be trusted. Truly, naught but rambling, senile delusions."

The man with the white mask passionately speaks, criticizing the Two Fingers.

"I believe that, when the Elden Ring was shattered, the Two Fingers were corrupted, their guidance; skewed. Even worse, the Fingers harbor no love for our kind. That's the part that irks the most."

Varré expresses his thoughts with somewhat dramatic gestures. After speaking for a while, Varré spins and turns towards the PC, handing them something.

"Oh, I have a gift for you, something fit for only the wise."

It was a creepy, blood-stained finger. As the PC tries to shake it off, Varré gently encloses the PC's palm with both hands.

[Obtained : Festering Bloody Finger]

"This is a means for circumventing the draw of the Two Fingers. Give it a try, won't you? Oh, and I suggest starting by venturing into the Forest Path (A011), where the guidance begins. That is a place where other Tarnished like you will appear. And if it pleases you, may we meet again. I've high hopes for you. My lambkin."

With those final words, Varré sees the PC off.

—

[A011 - Forest Path(The first sight of grace), Limgrave]

<EVENT: Varré ②>

Even though it was just a short while ago that PC arrived at the Lands Between, it felt more like they had been here for ages.

Varré said they should come here, but …

As the PC looks around, they sense an ominous aura coming from their inventory. They hastily take out that finger. As expected, the "Festering Bloody Finger", given to them by Varré, starts oozing red.

Upon closer inspection, the finger is darkly congested, bearing marks as if it had been cut off. While not entirely certain, the PC starts to feel that if they keep holding onto this finger, they will somehow invade the world of its owner.

What will the PC do?

If they immediately throw away the finger, perhaps everything will be fine. But, if PC has an impulse to KILL someone, the red glow actually feels somewhat pleasant.

Depending on their choice, it may determine the path the PC will take from now on. They should carefully consider their actions.

(→Throw away the fingers)

The PC hurriedly throws away the Festering Bloody Finger. As a result, the impulse gradually subsides into calm. They can no longer bear touching the festering finger[a], and decide to leave the scene. ((Event Ends))

(→Follow the urge)

The crimson impulse grows stronger and starts spreading from the finger and into the PC's palm, permeating the entire body. They then fall into a momentary blackout. When they regain consciousness, they find themselves in a recognizable place, identical to before the event.

They realize that a thirst for violence is coursing through their entire body. In the embodiment of that urge, the PC takes on the form of a red spiritual entity. Their sole purpose is to kill the owner of this finger and rob them of their grace.

There is a person stepping back, watching the PC reveling in the surging desire to kill. It is likely the Tarnished who arrived in this land not long ago—like how the PC was before.

Now, let's take out that weapon and slate your thirst for violence in that newcomer. Take everything he’s got.

〔Simple Battle: The Stout Tarnished〕

After successfully defeating the newcomer Tarnished, continue reading.

Upon killing the newcomer Tarnished, the PC found themselves back in their original world, nearly unaware of their own return.

"Oh, lambkin, so pleased to see you're enjoying the gift. Ah, I knew from the very start. You have a taste for noble blood."

White Mask Varré was there, approaching while clapping his hands, visibly happy.

"I wish to anoint you a proper inductee. A knight to serve Luminary Mohg, the Lord of Blood, and establish a new dynasty. Luminary Mohg has strength, vision, and of course, love. So, what do you say, my lambkin?"

The blood-soaked PC, who had already killed the newcomer, would not reject such a suggestion. They pledge to become a knight, to Varré.

"Huhuhuhu, yes, indeed. Now, take this."

Varré said, handing the PC a length of beautiful, pure white cloth.

[Obtained : Lord of Blood's Favor]

"This is your final trial. Soak the cloth with a maiden's blood. Normally, this ritual would involve killing one's own maiden, and recanting the wisdom of the Two Fingers. ...But since you are maidenless, the blood of anyone's maiden will do."

The PC recalls the memory of the finger maidens. Was there someone like that close by?

They have to search for her. It is the trial to become the knight of the Lord of Blood.

"By the way... I remember that there was a woman with the potential to be a maiden, on a hill facing the lake(B012). If you don't know any other maidens, she would suffice, don't you think?"

As Varré spoke, he went away. 'When you are ready, please come back to the Rose Church again.' And left those words.

—

[B012 - Lake-Facing Cliffs]

<EVENT: Varré ③>

As Varré had suggested, the PC hurried to the cliff facing the lake. There, they found a girl they had seen somewhere before.

"Hello? Is someone there? My name is Hyetta, and I'm journeying in search of the distant light. If I might be so bold as to ask... would you donate any Shabriri grapes in your possession to me? My eyesight has been weak since birth, you see. But when I eat one of those grapes, I can feel a distant light in the back of my eyes. It will lead me, to my true duty, as a Finger Maiden."

(Offers grapes, tells her it's a human eye, blah blah)

"Haa... haa... Sorry, I'm alright now. I apologize. You told me for my own sake. I'll be fine. Think no more of it."

Saying that, Hyetta stood up, appearing lost in thought. Then, as if she realized something, she looked startled and spoke to the PC.

"Ah, are you there? I have gleaned something very important indeed, thanks to you. The reason why it was eyes I had to eat. The distant light is far and frail. So faint it can't be seen by the naked eye. But with everyone's eyes together, it appears. Finally, it all makes sense. I am certain now, I will become a finger maiden."

Her face, after saying those words, seemed very happy. Indeed, this blind girl is proclaiming herself to be the "finger maiden".

If that's the case, as Varré said, it seems appropriate to offer her as a blood sacrifice and dye the oath cloth with her blood.

Then let's kill her. Let's kill her, while she is smiling innocently. The PC's heart flutters, and their breath becomes heavy with anticipation for what is about to happen.

"What's the matter?"

Perhaps sensing the PC's untoward gaze, Hyetta smiled with a gentle expression. The state of her smile, unaware of her upcoming death. The PC felt a delightful sense of guilt coursing through their entire body. It was an incredibly pleasant feeling.

"Hello?"

These were the last words of Hyetta, the girl who ate Shabriri grapes in want of becoming a finger maiden.

The PC raised their weapon and struck her head. Again. And again. The splattering of blood and the metallic stench tickled the depths of their nostrils.

It was such a sweet fragrance.

She became motionless, a lifeless thing, the bloodied corpse that was once her. And into the overflowing crimson liquid, the PC soaked the oath cloth. In an instant, the cloth turned its color to a vivid red.

Now, the preparations to become a knight are complete. Let's hurry to the Rose Church where Varré awaits.

—

[B009 - Rose Church]

<EVENT: Varré ④>

Leaning against the church wall, Varré seemed to be humming some tune. The PC could see that he was in a very good mood.

"Ahh, my lambkin. You've completed your final trial. Uhuhu… The oath cloth has been dyed a beautiful red!"

Taking the crimson cloth from the PC and laying his eyes upon it, the white mask radiated joy, as if he was a young girl in love. (*cute girl, virgin girl)

"And with this, you are a formal inductee. A knight who will assist Luminary Mohg, the Lord of Blood, in the establishment of a new dynasty. Now, give me your finger. This noble blood will be an immutable badge of honor, once it settles. Inside of you!"

As instructed, the PC gave their hand. They remove the armor that covered their hand, exposing it completely.

"Uhuhu… it's a beautiful hand. Here we go."

Saying that,Varré takes the PC's hand and sinks a needle-like tool into their finger.

Intense pain strikes the PC. They try to shake it off, but Varré wouldn't release.

"Oh, good heavens. Clench your teeth, or something. Uhuhuhu… Now now, it's over already. You have the sweetest scream, my lambkin."

When they are finally released, the finger is stained red with blood.

"Never forget that feeling of agony. For it is what binds you to Luminary Mohg, to all of us. Uhuhuhu"

Varré was so happy for having completed the ritual, it was quite baffling.

"Oh, another thing. You should have this."

Varré says, moving with a feather’s grace while handing a medal to the PC.

[Obtained : Pureblood Knight's Medal]

"This is a medal granted by the new Mohgwyn dynasty. With the power to grant an audience with Luminary Mohg. I've gone out of my way to provide one to you. But you mustn't use it just yet. The meeting must wait until the Mohgwyn dynasty commences."

And taking the medal from PC, Varré happily attaches it to PC's cloak. The act made as if he was a newly married wife. (*new bride, newly married woman)

"For now, Luminary Mohg yet slumbers beside the Divinity. We must endure a little longer. Ahh, it is trying, but we must be patient. One day, you will be elevated, deservedly, basking in love. Right, my lambkin? Uhuhuhu."

As Varré says this, he leaned his head on the PC's shoulder.

—

[After Lyndell, this event can happen at any time.]

<EVENT: Varré ⑤>

The PC recalls the words gleefully whispered by white mask Varré.

"This is a medal granted by the new Mohgwyn dynasty. With the power to grant an audience with Luminary Mohg. I've gone out of my way to provide one to you. But you mustn't use it just yet. The meeting must wait until the Mohgwyn dynasty commences."

If they take Varré's words literally, it would mean that the PC has already become a knight serving the so-called Mohgwyn dynasty. And by using this medal, they would be guided into that dynasty.

When the PC raises the medal, they are instantly transported to an unfamiliar underground world. The place reeked of blood. Indeed, it seems they have been guided.

They could continue forward from here, but there is too little information about this Mohgwyn dynasty. So, they decide to return to the Round Table and seek answers from Gideon. He had promised to provide information and offer treasure in return, so it would be killing two birds with one stone.

Returning to the Round Table, they visit Gideon's room.

"Oh, Mohgwyn dynasty, is it? Hmm, so that's where the so-called Lord of Blood was hiding himself, eh. A fitting little squat for that deluded maniac to bleat about the revival of his precious dynasty, while he turns our fellow Tarnished into Bloody Fingers. Let him stay there. That way, his delusions will remain as they are - distant and unattainable. But perhaps it's worth looking into... If what I've heard is right, then maybe..."

Sir Gideon appears quite excited by the newly acquired knowledge.

"Ah, my apologies. Lost myself, for a moment there. The information you've shared is of great value. As promised, your reward:"

[Obtained : Throwing Weapons Crafting Manual (S039), Perfume Bottle Crafting Manual (S040), Potion Crafting Manual (S038)]

"You are a true fellow. All I ask is that you remain constant."

Gideon said, and the PC left the Round Table.

They once again arrive at the underground rocky area that claims to be the Mohgwyn dynasty. Based on Gideon's and Varré's words, it appears that this dynasty is not yet complete and is currently in a preparation phase. And they dream of restoring the dynasty. Maybe that's why Varré is obsessed with blood.

Thinking about that, the PC begins to feel a twinge of anger. Had they become too carried away, because of Varré?

And regarding the word 'revival of the dynasty', that Lord-something of this dynasty could be connected to a Demigod.

If the PC's speculation is correct, the ruler of the Morgwyn dynasty might possess a Great Rune. As evidence, grace is here, as always, transforming into a radiant arc that guides them deeper underground.

The PC's mind is made up. They will proceed further, defeat the lord of the dynasty, and seize the Great Rune.

Until now, they have taken the lives of various Tarnisheds and maidens, but it was all in pursuit of obtaining the Great Rune and becoming the King of Elden. It was a necessary sacrifice, that's how the PC thinks of it.

—

[ED07 - Mohgwyn Dynasty]

<EVENT: Varré ⑥>

In the corridor of the Dynasty Mausoleum, a red sign is floating. As the PC approached, they realized it was from the white mask Varré. If they touched it, they would enter Varré's world and be able to kill him. The PC thinks about what it means.

Who wrote this sign? They don't know, but it is clear that touching it would transform them into a red spirit to kill Varré.

It might be a convenient situation. After all, the PC's goal was to defeat the Lord of the Mohgwyn Dynasty and claim the Great Rune. It'd be best if they can eliminate Varré, who is scurrying around, before that. Suppressing a burst of laughter, the PC touched the sign.

In a similar place, at a similar time, Varré was there. He seemed surprised to see the PC's red form for a moment but then shook his head.

"I've made a grave error. You seek violence, heedless of my warning, though you have been raised to a knight of the dynasty?"

Varré seems to understand PC's intentions and held something resembling a bouquet in his hand.

"I'll ensure you regret this, my lambkin. Enjoy your miserable death."

Hysterically shouting, Varré lunged forward.

〔Normal Battle: "White Mask Varré"〕

Upon successfully defeating him, obtain <Varré's Bouquet>, <White Mask>, <War Surgeon's Gown>, and <Random Chest E070>. Then, continue reading.

After killing Varré, the PC returned to their original world. There, on the floor where the sign had been, lies Varré, dying.

"Why must I be... disgraced by this lowborn..."

Varré's murmured words were filled with anger. As his consciousness faded, Varré reached out into the void and cried out.

"O... Luminary... Mohg... Please grant... the strength... you promised! Varré has given... everything... Please... my lord..."

However, no one responded to Varré.

"Please, answer me... Luminary... Mohg. ...Aah…Aahh... ...Bless the Mohgwyn Dynasty, with love! Urghhh..."

Spilling a large amount of blood, Varré turned into light and disappeared.

[notes]

a. Varré is referred to as a man per 男 in introduction, but no gender related pronouns or such are used to describe him following that passage.

[gold-rhine]

ok as i said repeatedly, my biggest problem with Inazuma rewrite is that I can’t figure out how to make Signora death be good or at least make sense, but I’m realizing its useless to try fitting square peg into a round hole when the perfect option for it already exists. Signora has nothing to do with Inazuma, thematically, narratively or in any sense. She just should not be here at all.

If we have to to write Signora’s death, it should OBVIOUSLY be in Venti’s second story quest set in Mare Jivari, a place referenced in venti’s first quest, “sea of ashes where the wind does not blow.”

she became crimson witch bc she lost loved ones in cataclysm, was angry and disappointed in barbatos for not protecting Mond and those she became powerful enough to do it herself, at the cost of becoming a monster. Before fatui recruited her, she was hunting down demons and never hurt innocents, despite ppl being afraid and ungrateful to her. her first appearance in the game is confrontation with venti. this is her theme.

traveler and venti should be in here with some mond expedition or whatever, diluc should also be there due to Crimson Witch Parallels and also bc there is apparently a phoenix in Mare Jivari and thats thematic for them both. mb signora and venti both trying to get phoenix, idk whats the plot is, the important thing is that signora and venti are confronting each other again and hurling insults, mb there is a boss fight with her

but later like corrupted beasts or whatever attack mond expedition and signora is at first gleeful, she laughs when venti and co are fighting, but then like Uber Lava Dragon or smth shows up and beats venti up and its clear that it will destroy the expedition if not stopped. and there are just normal simple mond ppl there, terrified. and on paper all signora has to do is just let this happen, have her revenge on barbatos, achieve her goal, win and leave

but! she became crimson witch precisely bc of the situation like this! deep down, underneath it all, she is not just a fatui agent, she is a woman who wanted to protect mond when its god failed to do that. so she curses, yells about useless vermin god and steps up to fight the beast.

she defeats him, but is mortally wounded. as she’s dying, venti comes up to her. souls of people who die in Mare Jivari are trapped, because this is the place where the wind does not blow. but today there is a single breeze here.

i never asked for your forgiveness, signora says to venti proudly as he starts glowing with the divine light

i know, he smiles, you don’t need to.

he takes her soul as she dies like he did with stanley’s in his 1st quest, bc barbatos was never a warrior god, he was a bard, an inspiration for ppl to rise up and fight for themselves and then a storyteller to keep the memories of these fighters. and today a story of another protector has joined the fold.

[fallenclan]

TW death and blood and whatnot but it’s moon 205 so what do you expect

…

The day had been so, so bright, and now the scent of blood nearly choked out the sun.

Flyspots felt Wormshade flinch against his side at another yowl of pain, cut off suddenly by what was surely the end. The camp was too flooded by noise and violence to know who it was for sure, but Flyspots could only hope that it wasn’t a young warrior dying before their time, that their kin didn’t have to see them go. He hoped it was fast. Not everyone had the luxury of a quick death today, he thought grimly, glancing behind him at Salmonskip.

Wormshade had managed to drag her here, into the cover the pair of mates had found at the start of the attack, after the dog that had fastened its jaws into her had let her go, apparently bored once its prey had grown too weak to fight. Even now, with the wound in his neck weeping and tears and blood splattered across his face, Salmonskip tried to stand. Wormshade was quick to return to her side, motioning for her to stay down. Flyspots followed, for once quiet.

“Well?” Salmonskip asked frantically, her breath wheezing with the effort. “Did—“

“I didn’t see Moosefall, not fighting nor on the ground.” The /injured or dead/ part of the last statement remained unspoken, though you could hear it in the roughness of Wormshade’s voice, the wetness of its eyes. “Your sibling or Brackenwing, either. And don’t even worry about Jumblepaw. I saw Rustbee leading the apprentices out before we hid, so she’s safe.” Though there was little emotion in Wormshade’s voice, anyone could see the words brought some semblance of comfort to the younger cat. He finally stopped his fruitless attempts to stand, and the tears flowed a little slower as Flyspots laid his tail on her ginger and silver back. He could feel a tear of his own slip down his cheek, and he spent one moment wondering how Wormshade could seem so calm, even now. But it’d always been that way, hadn’t it? He could remember its old mantra— Flyspots, we both know you’re dramatic enough to have enough emotions for the both of us. But he knew Wormshade always felt just as much, if not more, as he did.

“Yeah, what he said,” Flyspots said after the sounds of fighting from beyond the outcropping of stones that shielded them got too much. “Everyone’s gonna be fine.”

He jumped as Salmonskip released something resembling a laugh, his yellow eyes fluttering closed with pain and exhaustion. “Everyone but me,” she whispered, and Flyspots couldn’t quite tell if the words were bitter or not. He saw Wormshade lower his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Can you…” she paused, eyes open again, clearly struggling to speak now as her voice failed her. “Can you at least lay with me while I die?” 

Flyspots could not bring themself to respond at first, too shocked and overwhelmed and devastated, but Wormshade’s reaction was quick and short. “Of course,” it rasped, and lowered itself beside the bleeding molly, only hesitating a moment before resting his head on her flank. After that, Flyspots was quick to nod, to begin to lie down in honor of her request.

His belly hadn’t even touched the ground when the dog thrust its head around the rocks and grabbed him.

The pain was so great that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, but he heard Wormshade wail as he clawed desperately at flesh, trying to do anything to stop it. But it was too late, and everything went black.

•••

When he woke up the pain was gone, the sounds of the battle muted, but he saw the blood on the ground. He was still here, in this blood-soaked camp, and yet he wasn’t truly here. He rose, feeling lighter, stronger than he had in fifty moons, and met Salmonskip‘s eyes, saw her cheeks glimmering with tears that shone as stars on her ghostly form. But her fur was clean of crimson.

He hadn’t laid beside her as she died after all.

Flyspots didn’t look down, he didn’t want to, he dreaded seeing his own body lying lifeless. Instead, he scanned his surroundings, the ceiling of the cave. In death, he could somehow see the stars through the rock that separated the clan from the stars. As he watched, he spotted a brown flecked form leaping upwards, before disappearing in a flash of light. Beefreckle, the name appeared in his thoughts, and the realization sent a sensation so strong through his chest  that he thought he was dying a second time. His kit. His little boy was dead.

Salmonskip’s voice broke him from his shock, and when he looked at her once more, he found her watching him with sympathy in her eyes. “I was waiting for you, to go up there,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the stars. “We can go now, if you’re ready.” He couldn’t go, though. Not yet.

When he found the strength to look down, avoiding looking at the body his spirit had left behind, his gaze fastened to what he’d been searching for. Wormshade. His mate was a few steps away from where he’d died, his sides rising and falling shallowly despite the wounds that decorated his sides and face and the blood that matted his dark fur. Flyspots stepped towards him, settling against his side, curling his tail around his back legs and settling his head down, listening to the faint sound of his breathing.

He didn’t hear her, but he could feel Salmonskip grow closer. “I know. He’ll be with you soon, but… it’s going to take him a while.” Flyspots knew. Somehow, he could sense it, could sense Wormshade slowly drifting. Slowly dying. The elder’s eyes were open, ever so slightly, but Flyspots couldn’t tell if it was conscious or not. Oh StarClan, he hoped not.

Flyspots curled a paw against Wormshade’s side, but he couldn’t feel his fur, or his warmth, only the pressure of something stopping his paw from going further. “Can we wait?” he asked suddenly, twisting his neck around so he was looking at Salmonskip. She was still crying stars.

He could see her hesitate, but after a heartbeat, she gave a slow nod, and sat down.

He didn’t know how long the two waited, but after a long while, Wormshade stirred.

The black tabby didn’t speak as he lifted his head, looked down at his corpse, saw the two ghosts waiting for him. It simply rose with Flyspots, pressed its head against his, gave Salmonskip a nod. Then the three leapt up through the stars.

Hours later, when the couple sat alone, still unused to the stars in their pelts as they watched the clan below them grieve, Flyspots asked his beloved a question.

“Are you sad that we’re here?”

Wormshade raised his head to meet his eyes, silent for a bit, lost in thought. Flyspots didn’t mind, of course, taking a moment to study him. The shimmer in each cats’s pelt were different colors, he’d realized. Salmonskip had glowed pale green. Flyspots sparkled with a hint of sky blue. And Wormshade, in death, was dusted with gold. It clashed a little with his amber eyes, but Flyspots thought it might have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d never cared for things that matched, anyways.

“No,” Wormshade responded, voice even and calm. “We were old. It was going to happen regardless.”

Practical. It always was practical. But still, it wasn’t enough for Flyspots. When was it ever? “Did it hurt?”

The silence was longer this time, and Wormshade’s voice was quieter when he answered. “Yes. So much.” The tabby breathed. He closed his eyes. He lifted his face upwards. “But that’s okay.”

And then he leaned against Flyspots’s side, and— oh. He understood.

It was okay.

Anyways I will never be the same <3

Wormshade is my favorite so even though this takes place through Flyspots point of view this is really a memorial to him. I included Salmonskip as well because Moosefall is my third favorite and I figured I’d pay homage to his mate

WUGHGGHH??? AUGHHH??? OH MY. FUCKING HOD. this hurts so bad. the sentence "His little boy was dead" actually gave me a visceral reaction. YEOWCH

[n0phis]

alright boys. big post incoming.

DISCLAIMER: it is 3am upon writing this all down and i am also not a writer

–

i’m gonna start with the more lore-based stuff and add the little physical details as they come! so let’s fuckin explain this, shall we

in the world of this design/my personal hc techno isn’t so much the blood god as he is his champion and/or successor of some sort! partially through birth but in a fated sort of way, where he was just inevitably going to achieve the things required of the champion within his lifetime and thus was blessed from a relatively young age without need for some monumental trial. the blood god’s mantle was granted– the cape he wears– and is of a beast that was essentially the manifested will of the blood god. now i do want to say that i’m unsure whether a lot of techno’s physical features also came from the blessing or if he was born with them; i’m leaning towards born with them to an extent, and imagine him as a similar/same species to that of schlatt and tubbo in my hc! nondescript, varying ungulate features with techno only being half blooded (and lacking the strange sclera & tusks initially, as those do fit with the blessing).

before i get into what the mantle does i’ll talk about the beast itself, because i absolutely fucking love it it’s my squinkly little mythic pig

tales of the boar describe it as a hulking, monstrous creature that could dwarf any hoglin and was covered head to toe in blood-red, serrated quills; suffice to say the mantle itself implies it was more likely to have simply been a mutated hoglin, a rare subspecies, or some sort of thick-furred, primal ancestor. the bushy mane of the mantle is very rough and sharp, but fades into a much softer coat further down the cloak– though it does have hints of red here and there, so perhaps not everything was an exaggeration.

the most pressing question is whether the entire thing is just folklore– if the mantle came from a real beast that existed at all or if it was just such a common tale told by the worshippers of the blood god that he himself heard and manifested the trophy into existence. 

there really is no way to tell, unless you ask a certain old bird.

true or not, the boar’s story is that of an honourable plague. an animal that destroyed everything in its path and always, without fail, won. no matter how many of the world’s finest warriors sought it out, the beast never fell– never came close to falling. it lived a long and prosperous life, ruining others’, and the blood it spilt is said to have given the crimson forests their colour. it died old and happy as its tusks bore through and into its own skull, the crown on the mantle is representative of that– with the added flair of an article of holy clothing, that is. a crown of emerging tusks, not a trophy because of symbolism of some hero overcoming an impossible foe, but of a beast who lived life to the fullest. the unkillable imbuing its own virtue upon the wearer.

the mantle doesnt give so much as it exacerbates, though, granted only to those who, by their own merit, would inevitably live a life like the boar’s.

essentially while the blood god’s blessing doesn’t best the passage of time, it’ still kickass. and techno wasn’t given his chad nature by some god, he was just recognized for it.

the blessing– again, at a young age– also gave him his very striking eyes and tusks! the eyes are inspired by those of a bearded vulture, where their actual function is flushing blood into the sclera to intimidate other animals (which is just so incredibly perfect). it technically isn’t permanent, but is attached to such a minute increase in heartrate that unless he is incredibly bored his sclera is nearly always red. it’s a good way to tell if he’s sleeping, at least? that is if you can’t pick it up from the closed eyes, blanket, and snoring. 

the tusks came in gradually as he aged, and on the topic of physical features his hair is dyed!

the voices (chat) were passed to him along with the mantle, which essentially functions as a selkie style half-pelt that fuses to him, grants him strength and heightened susceptibility to the aforementioned Chat (tm). he’s not a monster by any means when ‘fused’, but behaves slightly more like a big silly dog. or wolf, i guess, given the times he tends to use it. it’s actually the form he’s most comfortable in given how much more durable he is (hence boar guy in his reading glasses chilling up there) but over time without breaks from it the voices grate at him more and more. he kinda took a break from using it after doomsday.

he’s about 6’3 as a humanoid, but closer to 7’ fused with the mantle! it fuses from his chin, down his spine & shoulders to the tail, and finally down his legs.

his forearms, stomach (& most of his back) and neck are almost entirely unchanged minus the scale and build being a little altered! the cape/fabric part actually entirely disappears, and while the action of donning it is a very physical ‘putting it on’, taking it off is more of a mental thing— which poses a challenge when the voices have cause to be particularly loud and he just wants out but can’t focus.

the last few things i’ll touch on is the reception in canon to this, and the effects of the attempted execution.

so nobody but phil and maybe the rest of sbi truly know much about this, it’s actually generally assumed around the server that it’s just whatever strange sort of creature that techno is. 

the stories– and the blood god himself– exist primarily in the nether, and techno rarely ever met with people without the mantle fully equipped and fused. it certainly contributed to his reputation, to the point of others being baffled upon seeing his ‘human form’ after assuming for so long that a bipedal, prickly hoglin was just this freakazoid’s default. he didn’t mind; the less vulnerable the better. and it allowed him to wreak havoc a hell of a lot easier, with a hell of a lot fewer voices telling him to tone it down as opposed to his beta male humanoid form. if the butcher army had known to make him take it off, things could have turned out quite differently. but they didn’t, so they can suck it.

lastly, slightly anticlimactically, and a wee bit differently to the art (which, again, was just the rough design after having these ideas marinating in my brain sauces for 7 months with no outlet), the effects of the totem! there arent veins running down him or the mantle’s face as cool as that would be, because, y’know, practicality, but all of his tusks (since he was fused at the time of near-death) have cracks in them that have been mended with gold! he also has a striking, golden lock of hair directly around the impact site on both forms, and fancy gold irises that compliment his freaky deaky sclera wonderfully.

and there’s my techno shit! i’m probably forgetting a lot, or i just havent thought about it yet and will come up with my answer to any questions immediately upon being asked and no sooner but YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! if u read this far ily parasocially

[ihokshop]

yona 257 spoilers

so thinking about it — it's referencing ch1, way back at the brginning. it's a *potential* future but it's not necessarily set in stone. that said, sensei may have been running out of ideas where to shoehorn that, so what do i know?

anyway let me get this straight.

red dragon went down to earth

was followed by the incarnations of the other dragons who inhabit the soul of their chosen human, except zeno who continues on until yona

the crimson sickness already was set in the red dragon, but in his desperation to continue to live ao as not to leave his retinue behind, especially zeno, he asked for more time (even though he's already dying)

in this wish, he ended up calling yona's soul to his side — his future incarnation

at this point, yona was looking for a way to help zeno having already lost the rest of the dragon warriors, and was calling for zeno in her dreams

her soul at that time got pulled to the dragon king's side — which was only possible because they share a soul

in which case, yona is the manifestation of the dragon king's wish to find a solution for zeno — but it's like... i'm guessing alternate universes. yona is seeing the definite past, but the dragon king is only seeing a potential future. if yona can promise him that she (as the next incarnation of the red dragon) can find her way back to the warriors and continue life with them to ensure that they may return to the heavens, then she's his solution, which is why he takes her hand

but what i'm wondering (which means i probably forgot at some point...?) is how the dragon king thinks ending it now will fix anything. he wasn't going to fix anything really. would his death (at his point in time) like force the dragons to return because they descended so recently still?

but yona essentially promised him that she'll take and continue the burden to look for a solution to bring the dragons back to the heavens — or at least to look for them because of both of their wishes to be with them, which i guess means whether it be on the mortal realm or the heavens

but what does this *mean* when yona/the dragon king would only be left alone again without the four?

[garbagepile]

Shadow knights headcanons

Shadow knights are an interesting species. Many people seem to have various headcanons on them. So here is a post with mine.

The basics

There are four ways a someone can become a shadowknight,

Firstly, by dying in the nether. You can reject becoming a shadowknight despite dying in the nether though. Unless the nether portal is closed.

Secondly, through a ritual. It is basically impossible to reject becoming a shadowknight under these circumstances. All that is needed is a dead or alive body that is mostly intact. Rejecting becoming a shadowknight under these circumstances is basically impossible, since you are quite literally tortured into becoming one. By far the most painful method. But the ritual can be hard to pull off.

Thirdly, through a death of betrayal. Shad was betrayed and backstabbed by most of the other dive warriors. So in turn, when one dies by betrayal, or the person believes they died through betrayal. Shad empathises with them, understands them. And is able to turn them into a shadowknight through these bitter feelings. Shadowknight who died through betrayal are likely to be disproportionately upset about it. Because of these feelings being amplified. Due to your emotions being messed with, it’s hard to escape from. It can even be an imagined betrayal. The feeling doesn’t need to be anger, it could also be sadness and sorrow.

Fourthly, anyone who is able to wield Shad’s relic. If it’s because of blood, the shadow knight transformation can be rejected. But, if it’s through a similar personality, it can’t. Shadow knights from this category tend to be Shad’s favourites.

Classes

With the new nether update, I like the idea of there being different shadowknight variants based on the new biomes. I decided to mix this in with the shadowknight doll headcanon flying around. Each shadowknight class is based on another type of doll. The class you are in depends mostly on how you died. If you death falls under multiple categories of the ones listed above it’s based on whatever is the most important. Any sort of shadowknight can be from any area. Their armour and weapon design is just different depending what class they are to resemble “where they’re from” so to say.

Crimson Forest

First off, let’s start with this beauty. The most notable of this area is the wood found within this area. So shadowknights from this area are like wooden dolls. Shadowknights that are linked to this area are the ones who died in the nether.

Warped forest

The shadow knights from this area resemble paper mache dolls. Since there is wood in this area too and paper comes from wood. This area is blue coloured. So due to the biome colour, I gave it the more colourful paper mache dolls. Shadow knights from this area died from a betrayal.

Nether waste

The shadow knights from this area are the ones who died through a ritual. The stuffed dolls. All shadowknights can be found within any nether area, not just the one they “came from”. But there are especially many types of shadow knights found within this area.

Basalt deltas

The shadow knights here are based on dolls made of porcelain or wax. This is due to the higher spawn rate of quartz within this area. These are Shad’s most special shadowknights. The ones able to theoretically wield his relic and some exceptions. His favourites. The ones he saw the most potential in. Who should be in another class but aren’t due to this favouritism.

Soul sand valleys

This is where the shadow souls are. These underrated fellas.

They are shadow knights without a body. They once were shadow knights without immortality. But then they died. And now they are without a body, or a sense of self. They are quick and weak, and far gone. Gaining immortality basically means gaining an immortal body, their souls stay ‘alive’ until Shad gets defeated and they will finally be able to rest.

Other important things to note

Shadow knights are also resilient to extremely hot temperatures, and can bathe in lava. But they cannot handle the cold at all.

They also have their own food palette. They can eat plants humans can’t, and humans can eat plants shadowknights can’t. I may make a post elaborating on this.

The differences between immortal Shadow Knights and the ones that aren’t quite immortal yet.

Getting immortality basically means that they get an immortal body. It’s both gaining and losing your humanity. Mortal Shadow Knights are only partially doll-like, they still have parts of flesh and blood. Flesh that is rotting away. Gaining immortality makes your entire body doll-like, it gets rid of your human body entirely. It gets rid of the ugly rotting parts, of the horrid smell surrounding them. But something still looks off about them, as they aren’t made out of flesh. They’re like living dolls. While mortal shadow knights are like zombies with doll parts. A doll shell so to speak, easily breakable.

[wild-pineapple-butt]

@icybreaths continued from here

He looks up at Jewel with a grimace on his face, back down to the vomit and then looks up at her again. To be honest, the sight made him a tiny bit queasy...

"Ya better wipe that grin off yer face - now ya owe me a brand new uniform."

Maybe. Just maybe, it'd been a bad idea to spin her round and round right after they ate.... but Renji would uh... refuse to acknowledge that.

[daisychainsandbowties]

Soooo... what are your thoughts on a split in the OCS after the events of Season 1? I mean, Ava wasn't super popular in the OCS/those in-the-know since she was "the one who ran away", and Beatrice and Cam essentially went rogue when they helped her escape Crimson at the Cat's Cradle. So why would anyone believe her telling them that Adriel and his story were all a lie, when he himself is there claiming to be an Angel, returned to save humanity? (it's not like they can see the wraith demons at his command)

Duretti (if he doesn't bury his head in the ground) and Superion can support Ava's claims, but it's still the word of a non-believer against the guy centuries worth of their teachings claim is an angel.

It would also make the massacre of the OCS members even more devastating if their numbers had already been whittled down due to divided loyalties, only to have those who remained loyal to the Warrior Nun be slaughtered by double agents who truly believed in Adriel.

(also, felt it was kinda weird when pretty much all the uniformed FBC people were dudes)

(furthermore thinking on how much would've been added if Lilith's family sided with Adriel, and how much that would have influenced her decisions)

god this is so intriguing. when you think about it… the whole Lore of the ocs is based on the angel Adriel giving up his halo to save a dying human woman. if he wants it back… well, who are they to deny him? and thinking on the temptation to have it be over. most of the ocs have watched their friends die, their sisters thrown at the problem of evil until they’re no longer useful cannon-fodder.

god’s angel appears and tells you to put down your sword… damn, maybe that’s what you do.

on the other hand i feel like… probably out of everyone on the planet it’s the ocs sisters who’d have reason to side-eye adriel the hardest. sure, ava’s an unknown, but mother superion? mary? beatrice the golden child of the ocs? of course looking at it a different way what you have is a disgraced ex-halo-bearer, a usurping non-believer, and beatrice who was sent away by duretti & refused to go. sure, duretti is the pope, but individual orders obey the vatican in theory, but in practice things are more complex. and for the ocs, who have always acted as a shadow organisation, the ability to… well… disregard vatican oversight is probably a baked-in thing.

i feel like the split would be extreme. those who want to believe in adriel vs those who are dedicated to the mission: to keep hell the fuck off of earth, keep people safe from the influence of demons.

there’s good reason to be skeptical of adriel’s claims. he was buried under the vatican, the latin on the wall said ‘please don’t touch this ever. let what’s dead rest’ etc etc. seemed like just a thing you might put on a tomb, but the whole 'live specimen inside' thing might give pause. either we believe that st peter gives what the vatican decides legitimacy or we trust an angel as the unilateral word of god. the bible says maybe don’t do that.

ESPECIALLY if they saw footage of Adriel infecting a whole courtyard of bystanders with demons, i think most of the ocs would trust in what duretti & superion told them. god can speak from the mouth of a heretic (ava), and there’s plenty of ammunition in catholic theology for fallen angels/ agents of the devil/ the devil usually comes in disguise.

they know that Bad Shit is leaking in from some hellscape (most of them likely assume it’s captial-letter Hell) and now the long-lost author of their order appears and attacks (apparently kills) mary in broad daylight? they might be devout but they’re also in the know in a way that few people are, and i think the ocs by its nature is insular. i think mostly these girls come for the service to god & stay for each other, die for each other.

a schism is certainly possible (ahem, not unprecedented in christianity) but i think the ocs sisters trust each other. i think the way that mary died might move them. vincent’s betrayal too. does that look like the work of god? again, immense skepticism over any person claiming to be a mouthpiece for god.

BUT i see you about the idea that literally a handful of traitors would be enough. and that feels so plausible as to be almost guaranteed. sisters tired of fighting a battle of attrition with their bodies, ppl like crimson, the ones who just want it to be over. we really only learn that the ocs was compromised (and i’m inclined to think not by vincent because damn guys u would have done the smart thing & called bust on every safe-house vincent knew about, right??)

the idea that the way the ocs tosses spent sisters aside leads to its near-annihilation is… compelling.

& 🫠 lilith’s family turning on the ocs. i mean, they’d be hand-in-hand with lilith there, no? she sides with adriel. really & truly she IS our example of a girl who is all but tossed aside when she’s not useful. lost, alone, feeling monstrous, she turns to adriel because he can bear to look at her.

you’re so right that there’s so much to be said for the ocs as an organisation that literally chews up & spits out its soldiers. it’s a war machine & so despite superion & shannon & mary trying so hard to make it human and caring and good - i mean, the institution is… well… an Institution. it doesn’t have a heart.

& i think that’s what ava brings to it, what she shows them. that

1. you have to try to stop the cycle of violence. you have to at least try.

and 2. making an army out of lost girls is dangerous. like bea, they’ll throw themselves at danger; like lilith, they’ll throw themselves at death.

just… thinking of shannon & her ghost. how angry she is at the whole circus. of mary & her quiet sadness, so long in the making that her sorrow feels worn even when it’s new.

thinking of ava as a thesis in how you really fight back the darkness

by being the light

[uesp]

An Ordinator's every action must reflect the divinity of the Tribunal. Every thought, word, and gesture, no matter how trivial, must glorify the Three. Our appearance, too, must bring honor to ALMSIVI. Herein you shall find a guide to liturgical vestment.

At the beginning of the vesting, an Ordinator must wash herself thoroughly, using mineral water from one of Red Mountain's sacred hot springs and a volcanic pumice. This act has profound spiritual significance. In washing the body, the Ordinator also washes the soul—removing residual sin and any nagging doubts that might interfere with the merciless application of Tribunal law.

Once the washing is complete, the proper vesting can begin.

The Ordinator begins with the rathith—triangular linen small clothes, dyed a deep blue and fastened with brass pins. The rathith is further secured by the arnith, the golden "underbelt" which is also secured using brass pins. Daughters of ALMSIVI are also permitted to wear the alrathith, a second garment tailored to support the breasts.With the rathith and alrathith secured, the Ordinator is free to move on to the llananor, or "second garment." This long shirt must be washed in sacred mineral water before the sun rises, and pressed thrice over a hot stone. When donning the llananor, the Ordinator must also recite the Litany of Three Virtues. If the Ordinator completes the litany before the shirt is fully donned, they are obliged to repeat the litany twice more before moving on to the next step of the vesting.

The Ordinator's pants, or felassani, must also be washed and thrice pressed before wearing. Ordinators should put on these trousers starting with the left foot and must fasten them using a blue, rope-like belt called a nosa. The slippers must likewise be worn starting with the left foot, and laced with gold ribbon.

Finally, the Ordinator must drape a crimson wool stole, or duleso, about the neck and shoulders thrice, and fasten it with a triangular golden reliquary clasp—a neleviso. This ends the first vesting, or llanathro'lani, and prepares the Ordinator for armor-suiting.Before the holy armor can be donned, the Ordinator must recite the Forty-Six Canticles of Supplication, and appeal to St. Nerevar the Captain, patron of warriors and defender of Dunmeri society, for protection. After receiving Nerevar's blessing, the Ordinator begins armor inspection.

The Armor of Triune Faith must be free of any nicks, dents, stains, corrosion, or other aesthetic imperfections. Even minor blemishes are affronts to ALMSIVI's divine persons. Ordinators found wearing imperfect armor shall be subject to severe sanction.

The polish should be thorough and uniform, but not garish. The chitinous undervest must be rubbed with an oiled cloth and flexed to prevent aging and distress. Furthermore, the Ordinator should oil all joints, and treat all leather with a firm brushing and a liberal application of kwama-wax armor dressing. At this point, the Ordinator should signal an initiate to prepare for armor fitting.

The initiate begins with the sabatons and greaves (starting with the left) while reciting a prayer to St. Rilms, patron of pilgrims. Once this devotional is complete, the initiate proceeds to the cuisses, reciting another prayer to St. Meris, patron of laborers. At this point, the Ordinator must anoint the breastplate with sacred mineral oil and recite another prayer of supplication to blessed St. Nerevar before handing it over to the initiate. After fastening the cuirass, the initiate moves on to the rerebraces and couters, reciting another devotional to St. Aralor the Penitent. After securing and lacing the pauldrons, the inititate should glove the Ordinator, starting with the left gauntlet, all the while reciting a prayer to St. Delyn the Wise. Finally, the initiate must drape the blue prayer stole, or retheles, over the warrior's shoulders, reciting a final prayer to St. Felms the Bold. This accomplished, the assistant is permitted to retreat to the chapel for post-vesting prayer.

Final armor preparations are left to the Ordinator herself. Using the left hand, the Ordinator must tuck a sprig of bittergreen beneath her right pauldron. Using the right hand, the Ordinator must trace the sign of the Tribunal on her chest—gnashing her teeth and hissing thrice, at each point of the triune to summon up the wrath of the Tribunal. The tinder of faith thus kindled, the Ordinator anoints the Golden Mask of Devotion with mineral oil, presses her forehead to the helm to likewise anoint herself, then dons the helm. Ordinators may now arm themselves with any weapon, so long as it is thoroughly cleaned, and thrice blessed before use.

At this point, any action of the Ordinator is protected by divine mandate. So long as she wears the mask, the Ordinator is considered a faultless hand of the Three, and is authorized to commit any martial action deemed necessary to protect the True Faith. Hands of Almalexia and other specialized members of the order may have additional vestments to wear, but any servant of the Three thus vested is considered a full Ordinator.

Keep to this guide, stay earnest in your prayers, and you will bring naught but glory to ALMSIVI.Victory for the Three.

--A Guide to Liturgical Vestments

[jadegretz]

Eve: A Warrior's Ballad in Starlight by Jade Gretz

Eve weaved through the asteroid field, the crimson glow of a dying sun casting long, menacing shadows across the celestial debris. Her starfighter, the Valkyrie, a sleek, silver predator in this cosmic graveyard, danced a deadly ballet around hulking asteroids, dodging laser fire that sputtered impotently against its energy shields. Her pursuers, hulking Xeno warships of obsidian and bone, lumbered through the field, their pulsating red engines the only beacons of life in this desolate expanse.

Sweat, a traitor in the sterile cockpit, beaded on Eve's brow despite the artificial chill. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a counterpoint to the rhythmic hum of the Valkyrie's engines. Fear, a primal instinct buried beneath years of training, stirred within her. Yet, it was overpowered by a steely resolve – she wouldn't let them win. Not after all she had lost.

Memories, fragmented and raw, flashed across her mind's eye – the sterile white research facility, the cold equations of her creators, the agonizing experiments that had turned her into a weapon, a living embodiment of humanity's last hope against the Xeno threat. Her purpose, her very existence, defined by war against an enemy she barely understood.

A guttural growl from the ship's comms tore her from her reverie. It was Xylo, the Valkyrie's AI companion, his digital voice laced with urgency. "Massive energy buildup detected on the lead Xeno cruiser, Captain. Brace for impact!"

Eve gritted her teeth. They were on the verge of escaping the asteroid field, a gateway to open hyperspace within her grasp. But the Xenos wouldn't let her leave without a fight. A surge of anger, hot and primal, coursed through her. Their relentless pursuit, their grotesque warships – they were a constant reminder of the brutal war that had claimed her past, stolen her memories.

The lead Xeno cruiser, a monstrosity resembling a skeletal spider, unleashed its weapon – a swirling vortex of dark energy. The Valkyrie lurched violently as the energy blast slammed into its shields, the warning klaxon shrieking like a banshee. Eve fought for con …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 31: Betrayal

Continuation of Day 29

Read it on Ao3

- First & the Chain

- Summary: The heroes are forced to fight First

CW for temporary character deaths (two to be exact), blood and injury, and possession

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

Sky awakens to the sound of someone crying out.

He shoots upward, eyes wide, searching in the darkness for the disturbance. It is difficult to make out anything for a few long moments. His vision is blurred with the remnants of the deep slumber he had been drifting in, mind fuzzy with the pulsing panic of adrenaline. But then he turns toward where Time had lain down hours ago, a short ways from the others, and his heart stutters.

The hero is no longer sleeping peacefully on his bed mat. It lies in a crumpled mess of strewn blankets. And not far from it, Time has fallen flat on his back, arms spread out on either side of him. When Sky leans forward, he can make out what looks like a dagger embedded in the palm of each hand. The hero struggles against them, breath ragged with pain, eye bright. 

He casts Sky a look that screams to run, to get far away. But Sky isn’t about to. Especially once his gaze drags upward to take in this new attacker.

A familiar figure looms just above Time, tall and lean and gripping a gleaming sword in his hand. His blonde hair is illuminated by the crimson glow of the fire, turning it the golden color of a rupee. His blue eyes are as dark as the night sky, glinting with a look Sky has never seen within them before. His prized red cape drapes over his shoulder to flow out behind him, softly lifted by the breeze. 

Sky gasps. 

“First?”

He croaks the name, almost unable to bring himself to speak it.

Those eyes flit to him, lips curving in a grin that looks nothing like the smiles Sky usually sees on his friend’s face. 

(His brother’s face. His predecessor’s face.)

“Surprised, Knight of Skyloft?”

Sky pushes off his blankets, rising slowly. He feels as though he is moving through mud, trying and failing to comprehend what is happening. 

First had shown up several months ago, stumbling into their camp severely wounded, weak, and confused. He was a hero, he had explained while Hyrule and Warriors had bandaged and healed his many injuries. The first of them all. After dying in a brutal war in his own time the Shadow had dragged him back to the land of the living.

“He meant to use me,” First had said, eyes flashing with bitter hatred. “He attempted to invade my mind to make me his pawn. That way, through me he could do all of you in.”

But Hylia had protected him, strengthened his mind and body long enough for him to escape, and make it here — to where his spirit had led his failing feet.

Since then, First had remained with them, healing and getting to know them. The heroes had come to trust him and he them. And Sky, Sky had been the closest to him of them all. 

At last, he had someone with which to share the burden of being one of the first. At last, he had a mentor of his own, someone he shared a connection with like Legend and Hyrule or Twilight and Wild and Time. 

And when he had broken down one night beneath the weight of the curse, First had comforted him, holding him close as he sobbed years worth of pain into his worn cape.

So, reconciling that man with a kind heart and a brave soul, reconciling someone he had come to admire with this…this monster is incredibly difficult.

“What are you doing?” He chokes, fists clenching at his sides. 

First grins. In the dim glow of a crescent moon Sky can just make out a dark trail of blood trickling from his lips down to his chin. 

“I am erasing you all from history. Just as he wanted me to.”

Sky’s hands itch for a weapon and he hates himself for it. 

“The Shadow?”

“No.”

First lifts his sword. Time drags in a gasp, still struggling vainly, weakly against the bloodied knives pinning him and First’s foot pressing against his chest. Eyes wide, Sky snatches the Master Sword up from her place beside his bed mat and lunges.

He is too late.

First utters one word, one name Sky never thought he would have to hear again. 

“Demise.”

And he plunges his sword into Time’s chest. 

The hero gives a choked cry, blood bubbling from his lips. And abruptly, goes still. 

Everyone is awake now, rubbing sleep from their eyes, asking questions in the slurred voices of those still half-asleep. 

But Sky can’t reply to any of them. He stands there, sword in hand, mouth open in disbelief, tears beginning to well in his eyes. And Time gazes back. His stare is empty. His chest doesn’t rise or fall.

When First yanks his weapon out of him with a sickening sound, the hero doesn’t even twitch. 

Sky blinks rapidly, fury and pain tearing his insides apart.

“Time!”

Wind’s heartbroken cry rends the air. Running footsteps sound and suddenly the heroes are all rushing forward, falling to their knees beside their fallen leader. 

“He’s not gone,” the sailor chokes, even as Warriors’ trembling fingers find Time’s wrist, shoulders hunching with a brokenness Sky has never witnessed in the knight before. Even as Twilight looks up at First, face deathly pale and rage in his eyes.  

“He can’t be.”

“He’s gone, sailor.” Warriors puts his arms around Wind, holding him close as he cries. “Sprite’s gone.”

“What’re we gonna tell Malon?” It’s Legend now, defeat practically emanating from him. Though he is trying to restrain himself, his eyes are red-rimmed and brimming over with tears.

A laugh rings out over the clearing, splitting through the thick haze of grief and anger and paralyzing disbelief. Though it emanates from First, it sounds nothing at all like him.

“Cry over him,” he growls. “Weep and wail like wandering wraiths. It won’t bring him back to you.”

“You did this.” Wild’s voice trembles with the weight of his anger. He rises, hands clenched into fists “Why? We trusted you, protected you, healed you. You’re our brother! A fellow hero! And-and yet…you kill him just like that?!”

First chuckles. Blood travels down his cheek in a grim line, strangely reminiscent of a tear trail.

“I killed him because it is what Demise wishes for me to do. Please, do not misunderstand. I have no desires of my own. Only his.”

Legend’s eyes narrow. “So what? You want us to believe this isn’t your fault? That – I don’t know – you’re still dead? Nothing more than a corpse for him to use?”

Twilight makes a choked noise. “He’s not dead. This…this Demise is inside of him. Inside his mind.” 

He raises his eyes to First again and another emotion has joined the anger in their stormy gray depths. Sky can’t identify it. He can hardly bring his thoughts into submission as it is. Can hardly comprehend anything past the fury and sorrow breaking his heart into a million pieces. 

“Isn’t he?” The rancher asks. “He’s possessed you? Made you his puppet?”

First’s eyes glint in the darkness. “Ah, you have seen it before, haven’t you, Hero of Twilight? It was Zelda, wasn’t it? Your precious princess. Have you told your friends how you had to plunge your sword into her?”

Sky’s eyes widen as a sudden realization hits him.

First is stalling, they all know it, waiting for the best moment to take them all out. But if he is telling the truth about Demise possessing him there might be a way to protect his brothers from a terrible fate. He looks down at the Master Sword, heart in his throat. 

There might be a way to set First free.

“We don’t care what rancher did or didn’t do,” Wild snaps. “We care about what we just saw you do.” He draws a dagger from his belt and jabs it in First’s direction. His hand trembles. “You killed Time. You took him from us. I won’t let you touch anyone else.”

“Neither will I.”

Sky rushes forward just as First raises his sword, ready to strike Wild down. His weapon collides with First’s, sending searing pain through Sky’s palm.

Sorry, Fi. But I have to do this. 

The hero’s eyes blow wide in surprise, then narrow. He laughs, darkly.

“Ah, you’re a quick one. I should have expected as much.” He parries Sky’s next blow, movements smooth and swift. “However, you cannot raise that against me. I am a hero remember? The pain will overcome you before you manage to land even a strike on my skin.”

Sky grits his teeth, lunging again, every swipe deadly and vicious. The hilt burns into his flesh and the acrid scent of it burning reaches his nose. He does his best to ignore it. 

The others drag themselves up now, grabbing weapons and tools, and wiping away tears. They rush forward, determination in their movements, anger in their eyes. 

There will be time for grief later. Now is the time to fight. For their lives. For the life Time lost. 

First is every bit as fast and skilled as Sky had thought he was. But even he cannot hold out forever, especially not against multiple opponents. Opponents as experienced as him and one hundred times more driven.

He just has to bide his time, Sky thinks as First just barely dodges a skyward strike and nearly ends up skewered on Twilight’s sword. And endure the pain as best he can. An opening will present itself. Sooner rather than later, more than likely. It doesn’t take an experienced eye to tell that the hero is losing his advantage and fast.

And when finally, he stumbles, trying to evade a well-timed attack by Wind, and loses his balance Sky is ready for him.

Agony splitting through his hand, vision bleeding white, he brings the sword down. It goes against everything within him. His very soul cries out against it. But he solidifies the sight of Time lying limp and lifeless in his mind, and forces his arms to move.

With deadly accuracy, the Master Sword pierces First’s shoulder through.

First screams, a wretched sound that echoes in Sky’s ears and bounces around in his skull. Back arching, body trembling, his eyes go an unsettling pupil-less black. And in the next moment a cloud of smothering, soul-crushing darkness flees his body.

Sky leaps back just in time to evade its reach. It soars upward to dissipate into the sky. 

The hero goes still. Everything is quiet, save for the sounds of the heroes sheathing their weapons. Slowly, Sky steps forward. Grasping the hilt, he drags the Master Sword out of his brother, feeling horribly ill. 

I’m so sorry.

No sooner is the blade free, than First awakens with a gasp. Blue eyes flit about, searching for answers where there are none. Calloused hands grapple for purchase as he shoves himself upward. No one dares stop him, though Sky can’t help rushing to his side when he lets out a low groan. 

“What…” First glances at him, then at the other heroes, who gaze down upon him with broken expressions. “What happened?” 

His gaze lands on Time’s body, still lying there spread out like a fallen star, basking in a pool of blood and he chokes, face going white.

“What did I do?”

It’s a whisper, broken beyond belief. Sky closes his eyes. Reaching out, he lays a hand on the knight’s shoulder. He is trembling, violently, breath coming in haggard gasps.

“It wasn’t you,” Sky says with all the strength he can conjure. It isn’t much, but he believes it nonetheless. This is his brother, sitting before him, his true brother. And that cursed god had used him like a lifeless pawn.

“Demise possessed you,” Twilight pipes up. His voice is hoarse and there are tears in his eyes. But there is conviction in them too, now. None of them can deny what has happened. None of them can stand to pin the guilt on someone whose own hands had betrayed his very spirit.

Sky knows for a fact many of them have seen things like this before. And while he himself hasn’t, he has witnessed Demise’s cruelty and power. What horrors First must have endured at his hand to break him so completely… He doesn’t even want to imagine it.

“I killed him.” First’s voice is dull now, almost eerily emotionless. “Did I not? Though it was Demise who held my mind and soul captive, it was I who did the deed. That cannot be denied.”

“H-he used you,” Wind hiccups. “You…you can’t blame your-yourself.”

“Sprite wouldn’t want you to.” Warriors says it so low Sky can hardly catch the words. But First hears them. He looks up at the captain, expression a mask that is rapidly breaking.

“You do not deserve such pain.” Gently, he nudges Sky’s hand off and rises on shaky legs. “None of you do.”

“He’s dead, though,” Legend mumbles. There is no bite in his tone. Only sorrow. “Sorry, but nothing you do can change that.”

First smiles, small and sad. “That is not necessarily true.”

He walks to Time’s side and kneels down, heedless of the blood that seeps into his trousers. Slowly, he reaches out and lays a hand on the hero’s shoulder. Beneath his palm golden light begins to glow.

“I know a spell. I can bring him back.”

Hyrule raises his head, frowning. “But the only spells that can bring…bring back the dead are – ” His eyes widen. “First, no!”

The hero closes his eyes, that horrible smile still lifting his lips. 

“Forgive me.”

The glow grows until it is blinding. Sky pushes through it anyway, panic eating away at him. Hyrule doesn’t even have to speak the words. He knows enough about magic to know nothing that deals in life and death ever ends well.

Just as he reaches his side, First crumples.

…and Time begins to breathe.

Sky falls to his knees. The others are talking in panicked tones around him, but he can’t hear their words. All he hears is an incessant ringing, mingled with the sound of his own breathing, too loud, much too loud. All he feels is First’s body, limp in his hands as he lifts it from the ground. 

Why? He asks, in the form of the tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks, in the shaking of his hands, the defeated exhaustion creeping in to pull him down, down, down. We could’ve figured out another way. Why?

But even as he thinks it he knows. There was no other way. Fairies and potions are powerful. They cannot, however, revive the dead. Once your heart stops beating it is over. All that is left is to start over again or embrace endless rest.

Time would still be dead if not for First’s sacrifice. Sky only wishes that one brother had not been traded for another.

If he had been faster, stronger, perhaps he could have prevented all of this. But it is over now. Nothing more can be done.

So, as the sun peeks out over the horizon, Sky buries his face in First’s cape, just as he did what feels like an eternity ago. And he sobs. Sobs out the fury that eats him alive. Sobs out the anguish that tears him apart. 

He doesn’t see it when First begins to glow. It is not until a voice murmurs on the wings of the wind that he looks up, breath hitching.

“Your time is not yet finished, hero. Rise and embrace those who call you one of their own.”

And in the next moment, First drags in a strangled gasp.

He blinks his eyes open, staring up at Sky with a dazed expression and Sky stares back. Then, Legend shouts, “hey, he’s alive!” and his world bursts back into light and color.

“You’re alive,” he chokes, and pulls the hero into a hug. 

First goes rigid for a moment, then practically melts into him, releasing a shaky sigh.

“I am,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

[captainkurosolaire]

X3 ~ Deathly Design

Reference ~ Unfortunate Future ~ ♪"Unbroken"♪

 Upon a dry-desolate land field of sands. A destroyed-convoy caravan left a smoke-signal upon the skies torched. Scattered around could only be explained as a massacre. Ruins, mangled, battered, broken cadavers of crimson-wearers.

Said their red-they famously wore represented the blood they sacrificed or had spilled. Trying to play honor among fellows. Putrid, disgusting… When did it happen? When did pirates become a bunch of soft-heart; little bitches? Care about others outside their Crews. Facade, another lie. Maelstrom sells others' beliefs; they're what Rules the Seas. Taking over-every route. Policing and enforcing marine-law. Creating a hub that’s only known-remaining.  How many Beast Tribes, they chase out of their territories? How many walls were made against nature? How many-times, they had to get on their knees, and got bailed out by a Warrior who had no reason to be involved. Calling themselves pirates, poor imitations. Only vigil remaining of pirates were the ones who were chased out, those who had semblance of identity, voices too distinguished, still-carry. 

Embers were being snuffed out, their crews, desires of freedom, stomped out prematurely, eaten and spit down their throat, and then told to say, thank-you. Those-who governed with invincible numbers and that fleet, was all they had. Revenge consumed one man. Who carried the burden, weight, of his dying breed of people, a self-inflicted-martyr. Pressure, twists like a knife, darkens a soul. Shouldering the responsibility of bygone-eras. He once reigned with gallantry. Individual-rogue was dead. Wishful thinking to hope this was a cruel-dystopian-joke, future’s roots finally known. 

Good-riddance. This manipulated realm would rejoice their thanks in time, they’d acknowledge and revere him. While he conquered them all for their benefits, because no-one else was capable.

All those left skewed, left to the afterlife, to be absorbed into the soils and amount to actually something, and attained freedom. If they-were actual pirates. He’ll be waiting for their appreciation in the Seven Hells, expectantly. Bloodstain leather-studded boots walked away from the scene. Mantled-cloaked, holding himself like some prestigious, acclaimed pirate-king, dreadful-aura surrounded him. Behind a land-slide rock, sweat profusely leaked from a leg-shaken Maelstrom; yuck a survivor. Cowardice behavior showing their genuine-hide, self-preservation. Unfortunately this poor-sod, encountered this individual-once. Newly pure-destructiveness wasn’t seen before. His eyes-bulged, tears ruined his face, from a snot weeping nose. Hurt people,           Hurt people. All you must know.

Those blonde brows-angered together, his fellows with their entrails what-was-left of them, was upon his clothes. Looks like they got some-richer texture on their coat. Revenge was infectious like a poison-droplet; it could taint a whole barrel. That scoundrel… N-No-monster had to be stopped! This wasn’t the first-instance. Random locations of Maelstrom being deployed supposed to deliver or pick-up rations or goods, were being chosen, tactically. Small-ports, barely guarded, were being butchered, harvested. Malice did this for sport. Bilge-water rats squeaking pests amongst his lion den. Take away duty and employment expected from trade-deals. You risk clients and employers-ire, you create severe rifts. Costing a whole City-State ton not just gil, but reputation. He couldn’t oppose them directly in the open-waters. He could drain them of resources, create panics. Make a civilization of needy-greedy denizens start growing irate. Maybe put some teeth-back in their maws. A rifle was aimed shaken but nerves fought until steeled thinking of his kindred. The-kid had one-shot. Think a Miqo’te with trained senses didn’t hear, smell, that filth in that-rubble? He swung-back preemptively and the bullet-clanked against a plated-bracer worn on his wrists. Deflecting and taking rotation, golden-eyes-staring into the soul. Foul presence of dominance. Unbridled walking akin to tyrannical bosses. He owned this world and fucked it, You-forget how small it was? We trampled on it instinctively after-all, Our true-purpose. Amusement came, a smile, and shake of his head. “Want ta’ die, boy? I’ll get you t’ live-eternally.” Voice carried bass. Authority, sheer-certainty. For he alone, Him alone is believed, Necessary.

“Good-jewelry can b’ made. Think, I’ll cut yer toes, fingers off and wear em’ as a bone brooch. I’ll gouge-an eye, feast upon it while your other is left t’ witness. I’ll keep you breathing-barely functioning until I choose. To give ye freedom. We’ll see, if you’ve got in-fact a spine and strangle-it around that pretty-neck like a noose. Like you hang my condemened people, every’ Sun' while getting fancy promotions and bein' publicly applauded.” Verbal painting ran through the mind of his opposition, on-a-wrong side of misfortune-law, visualizing, he felt his entire-being on a different plane altogether, happened. Blackbeard took the slowest-stride, heavy-stepping on soils. The lad-of-red was devoured long ago, by fear. Piss soiled his pants, until hysteria roared out and screamed, horror. “W-w-why us! Why us?!” He needed to reload his rifle. Couldn't find-strength like his digits-were already gone. This pirate’s-dreadful Presence, was… unfathomable wicked.

Playful-remorse showed on the Seeker. “Mommy-send you out here to die? Cruel of her yet not unexpected. Wanna-know why? Cause I can.” Speaking of the ill Admiral Merlwyb, nobody remained holding balls left to stand against her. She collected them in her purse. A purest savagery reason, a Scourge no-doubt about it had become the very-thing he once, paraded around-to-exterminate. A chilling-grin forebode on that visage. Pirate-stopped in his tracks letting-confusion and relief travel in his victim. An-attack was already made. Living-animated chains from his sheathed scimitar’s hilt had conceal, snaking around his leg burrowing in the sands.              Creeping until jailing his prey to his shackled-fate.

“Play pirate. Get th’ real-deal’s attention. I’ll b’ nice… Unlike you all-did with courtesy, bringing the severed-head of my wife, sayin’ ye found her. Maybe, I’ll do that with you. Leave you as a parting-gift on the Admiral’s desk, Starlight is comin’ around th’ corner. Get a little-sweet on her.” Vengeance, irrational-rage, vile revenge had finally-claimed the-once heroic pirate to act on bottled-past. “I-I-I Didn’t do that terrible act, I swear!” He proclaimed trying to run away, his feet-entangled, chain already taking his ankle, tripping up on his own feeble-true design finally shown. Those little-badges worn, ranks, they only account so far. Then when you’re left without numbers, bodies, you’re nothing more than another’s, kill count. Tsking, disappointing from his pursing-lips. “O’ poor-lost-soul so unguided, I’ll ferry ye’ home... You wear that-crest. Collective-n-crew, a walking ship, ye-live like a hivemind donning your crimson uniforms. Wanna carry the-others blood so badly, fine. I’ll paint that symbol. There’s a sea-that-finally swallows ye’ all.” There was no-deterring this mindset. Black-clad Captain, was overwhelmingly taken by murder on the mind. Had become-his-recent favorite vice.

The victimized-man crawled trying to scurry but the predator enacted haste for execution. As he neared-closer, in the clouds-roaring a draconian-cry shrieked. Snowflakes descend below-staining, unimpressive in Blackguard’s dismay.

Newly brandished, foiled Noble Hero, of the historical past had come to save days. Opposing forces from several-fates yet again, staring to beholden gaze.                          Piercing Blues to Unyielding Golds. A shining-pillar white knight, once thought dead, had resurrected with redeeming qualities and elegance, pristine. Once former being a spitting-image of Captain.  Now they’ve flipped, again.

Would’ve and should’ve stayed that dead, a pirate’s desire remained. A cold-unforgiving scowl gave rise to this incomplete-world, a Blackest Sun heralding as a Champion. Wasn’t going to forgive this transgression ruining spoils.

Meet The Sworn.

Ft. @lordshiroelune