#enjoy my horrible multiple clause sentences

[bocceclub]

Ariahd backstory part 1

First we need a lexicon because hooo boy I did not realize how many made up words there are in this thing. Also before that I should probably explain that Ariahd is a character from my Mediterranean-analog high fantasy setting. He’s one of my oldest ocs (and probably the one I’m most attached to), having come into being when I was going through my Earthsea/Dragonriders of Pern/Inkheart Trilogy phase in middle school. Wow I just dated myself. Anyway here’s the lexicon.

Issadai: The planet where all this shit takes place. Its name means “everything that is”

Mysska: Largest continent on Issadai, has a large sea in the middle of it called the Mysskaean Sea.

Mysskaean: Region of Mysska surrounding the Mysskaean Sea. Roughly equivalent to earth’s Mediterranean region in regards to climate and cultures that inhabit it.

Dymaexei: A large, mountainous peninsula that juts out into the Mysskaean Sea. Home to a dozen or more city-states, split into east and west by the Razka Mountains.

Dymae: The people of Dymaexei, also used as an adjective to describe anything originating in Dymaexei

Yianlai Empire: A vast empire that encompasses most of the Mysskaean. It was founded by the Yianlai, a culture of horsemen from the deserts of southeastern Mysska.

Eshtar-Neph: A loose alliance of maritime cities along the eastern coast of the Mysskaean Sea, all that remains of the late Eshtari Empire. Made up of three distinct cultural groups: the Eshtari, the Nephiri, and the Ossuans

Mages: Magic-users who draw power only from their own life-force. Most people of Issadai can work magecraft to some degree.

Sorcerers: Magic-users who draw power from their surroundings. It takes training and dedication to become an accomplished sorcerer. The Yianlai consider sorcery blasphemous, as it is believed to invite possession by evil spirits.

Warlocks: A culturally specific type of sorcerer; they served as priests and mystics in the ancient religion of the north, which incorporated dragon-worship.

Walking One: A chimera produced by the fusion of a human and dragon soul--essentially a dragon in a human body. Revered as living gods in the ancient northern cultures.

Okay now that you’re up to speed here’s Ariahd’s backstory

The Yianlai believe dragons are the offspring of the god of choas, their goddess Valena's greatest enemy. When the Yianlai Empire invaded and conquered the north, their dragon-hunters began killing off the high dragons, until there was only one small population left in the Razka Mountains of Dymaexei. A warlock from the city-state of Leknos stumbled upon an orphaned clutch of high dragon eggs in the high mountains. The mother had been killed by dragon-hunters while defending her nest. Although luckily the eggs had remained hidden from the hunters, they had gone without being warmed by the mother for so long that, despite the warlocks’ attempts to save them, all but one of the developing dragonets died in their eggs. Ariahd, the only one of his broodmates to survive, was carefully nurtured to hatching by the warlocks. He formed a fast connection with Enos, the young daughter of the head warlock, who helped her father care for him after he hatched. As he grew they became close friends, communicating by writing, since as a dragon Ariahd had no ability to form human-like speech. He and Enos altered the Dymae alphabet into cruder forms that would be easier for him to scratch into the dirt with his claws, and even invented pictograms, creating their own shorthand script.

The imperial occupation of Dymaexei meant that Ariahd’s existence had to be kept a secret. Because of this, he grew up very sheltered, unable to venture beyond the high walls of the monastery, his only knowledge of the outside world coming from stories told by the warlocks, and the travelers’ accounts that Enos found in the library and read aloud to him. The two would occasionally sneak out to fly in the mountains surrounding the city, careful to stay under cover of darkness.

While his earlier years were happy enough, as he grew older he began to become aware of the fact that he was likely one of the last of his kind, which effected him deeply. Over the years, as Enos joined the order’s ranks as a novitiate and then as a fully fledged warlock, Ariahd also came to envy her freedom and the ease with which her human form allowed her to move through the world. The warlocks began teaching her how to create the intricate murals they used as meditation guides, and she often practiced drawing the forms when she and Ariahd were together. Whenever she wasn’t around he would try over and over to draw like she did, but no matter how much he practiced, with his beast’s forelegs he could only manage crude scratches. As she grew older and learned magic of increasing difficulty and complexity, her formidable skill with sorcery was also a source of jealousy for him. He knew he had it in him to be just as powerful, but his dragon’s form was ill-suited to working the complex rituals of human sorcery.

Years passed, and as Ariahd neared thirty years old--still a child in dragon years--he became increasingly restless; as Enos’ duties within the order kept her occupied, he took to wandering the mountains alone, straying further and further from the monastery each time. On one such flight, unbeknownst to him he was spotted by imperial troops. Soon imperial inquisitors were dispatched to Leknos, with orders to dispose of Ariahd and execute the warlocks both for practicing sorcery, a heresy, and for sheltering a dragon. The monastery was attacked, and in an act of rash bravery Ariahd flew out to try to confront the attackers directly. He managed to kill a number of imperial troops but was mortally wounded himself; the distraction he provided allowed a large number of the order, including Enos, to escape into the mountains with the preserved dragon souls. 

The remaining warlocks dragged the dying Ariahd back behind the safety of the monastery walls. Desperate, in agony, and afraid, he begged them to preserve his soul in a vessel to keep him from truly dying. The warlocks agreed. After performing the ritual, they hid Ariahd’s soul vessel in the relic vault, which was located deep in the maze of catacombs carved into the massive rock bluff the monastery sat on. They resealed the relic vault, then committed ritual suicide rather than be tortured and executed by the inquisitors.

Ariahd's soul laid dormant, trapped in its vessel in the vault as the years went by. Fifty years later, it was discovered by a Nephiri sorcerer, Yupal. On the run from inquisitors, she had fled across the Mysskaean Sea to Dymaexei and settled in Leknos thirteen years before, where she took up a new identity, married a Leknosian man, and had a daughter, Lys. When Lys was thirteen, the Great Plague struck the Mysskaean. After ravaging coastal Dymaexei, it reached Leknos, carried by those fleeing the ports, whose streets were littered with the dead and dying. In no time it began running its way through the city; Yupal and her family fell ill, and her husband succumbed to the Plague, leaving her and their daughter alone and close to death. Desperate to save Lys’ life, she broke into the relic vault in the monastery, hoping she'd be able to find something there to heal her. She sensed the strong magic emanating from Ariahd's soul vessel, and stole it. By the time she had returned home, Lys had died. In desperation she attempted to use necromancy to channel Ariahd's life force to resurrect her child, but accidentally opened a conduit that allowed his soul to enter the girl’s body and fuse with her soul, creating the last Walking One.

 Ariahd was taken to the monastery’s infirmary, where the monks were doing their best to heal the gravely ill. For days he lay in a deep sleep, as the two souls within his body fused into one, and the monks caring for him feared he would die. Finally, he awoke. Unable to speak or write with his new hands, he had no way of telling the monks who he was or what had happened. At a loss, the monks asked Phare, a senior monk and accomplished healer, to attend to him. She had been a novitiate before the inquisitors’ attack on the monastery and the warlocks’ extermination, and when she used magic to examine Ariahd’s soul she realized immediately what he was. Phare informed the monks, and they made the decision to take him in (along with countless other children orphaned by the Plague), and began teaching him to be human.

[the-pontiac-bandit]

hear the choir bells sing

so i’ll thank erica (@startofamoment) one more time for this absolutely amazing list of prompts, and anonymous, who requested that i do this one. (title from marry you, by bruno mars)

25. It’s only half an hour into this stakeout, but to Jake it feels like it’s been an eternity. There’s a ring box burning a hole in his pocket, and a jumbled mess of ideas in his head. He knows Amy wouldn’t want him turning to anyone for approval, but the longer they sit in this car, the more inclined he is to ask Holt for advice.

Something is bothering Detective Jake Peralta. Raymond Holt isn’t sure what quite yet, but Peralta has only spoken three times since they parked the car half an hour ago, and, perhaps even more concerning, Peralta let Holt choose the music. Brahm dances through the still air of the car, but Raymond can’t even bring himself to enjoy it.

That’s a lie. He’s enjoying it a little.

At minute thirty eight of what is possibly the least interesting stakeout in history, Peralta, who has been eerily still, begins to fidget. By minute forty seven, he has maintained 247 consecutive seconds of movement, and Raymond is beginning to wonder if he should say something to the boy, who is now sitting cross-legged and drumming along to the beat of the classical music he claims to hate.

At minute forty eight, Ray Holt has convinced himself that he should break the silence. For all his talk of hating conversation, he secretly enjoys the constant stream of consciousness that flows out of Peralta’s mouth - an excellent source of white noise (at the thought, his lips twitch into what he considers a broad grin as he remembers his first stakeout at the Nine Nine, years earlier, when Santiago told him he should view Peralta’s constant monologue as just that. She was right - she almost always is.)

He decides he should be careful in how he inquires about Detective Peralta’s mental wellbeing - after all, he has no desire to make him uncomfortable or step over the line of appropriate workplace small talk. Currently, his two top ideas for ways to broach the silence are commenting on the weather and inquiring about the store at which Peralta purchased his leather jacket. Before he can settle on the appropriate course of action, however, Peralta has cleared his throat and (finally) settled again in his seat, his twitchy hands stilling and his legs unfolding and moving back to the floor of the car.

“Sir, how did you and Kevin get engaged?”

“I don’t think this is much of a proposal story, Peralta. We heard gay marriage had been legalized and then headed straight for City Hall.”

Jake looks a little disappointed. “That’s it, really? Nothing else? How did you tell Kev you wanted to get married?”

“…Kev?” Raymond knows exactly to whom Peralta is referring, of course, but he does love to, as Jake puts it, “pull his leg”. He sits still, waiting for clarification, enjoying Peralta’s increasing frustration immensely (even more so because it is such a remarkably quick return to normalcy from the silent stress of a few minutes before).

Finally, Jake relents. “Dr. Kevin Middle-Name Cozner. You knew exactly whom I was talking about!” He turns to his captain with a broad, self-satisfied grin. “Aren’t you super-duper proud of my use of whom? Since I was the subject of the clause, you use whom! Amy’s been teaching me grammar, and I am hella killin’ it.”

Raymond represses a chuckle with great difficulty. “Still incorrect, Detective. It would be ‘about whom I was speaking.’ It seems as though Santiago has more work to do, especially since you used the phrase ‘hella killin’ it’ as part of a legitimate sentence.”

“Still an improvement!” Jake retorts cheerfully. Then, a pause, and when he speaks again, Raymond can detect the slightest note of apprehension in his words. “So, could you answer the question?”

Raymond sighs, digging through his memories as the music goes to commercial. “Damn these Spoe-tie-fee ads,” he mutters as he tries to recall a casual conversation from what feels like a century ago when he was a young hot-shot detective with - he believed at the time - the world’s biggest crush on an idealistic classics professor.

“You know it’s Spotify, Captain.”

“I did not.” Raymond retorts. Then, he takes a deep breath and continues. “Do you know the story of Orpheus?”

“Sir, of course I don’t.”

“Right. Well, Orpheus was a musician in Greek mythology, a truly gifted one, and when his wife died, he played his harp through hell to save her. When he found Eurydice, his music softened the god of death’s heart enough that he allowed her to return to the mortal realm, on the condition that Orpheus not once look back to make sure his wife followed him on the way out. As he approached the mortal realm, however, Orpheus made the fatal error of glancing behind himself. When he did, his wife vanished forever.”

“Well, that was horribly depressing!” Jake replies cheerfully. “In what world does this turn into a heartwarming proposal story?”

“I never called it a proposal story. In any case, a new version of the myth resurfaced shortly after Kevin and I moved in together. He was invited to contribute to the translation process - a huge opportunity - and when he told me, we got to discussing the myth itself. Finally, Kevin commented entirely offhand, ‘I wonder if partners have visiting rights in hell, or if it’s only spouses,’ to which I replied that I was fully prepared to say whatever words necessary to improve my chances of recovering him from the underworld. It’s all unrealistic sentimental drivel, of course, but it was effective, and three years later, we found ourselves at City Hall, no questions asked.”

Peralta’s mouth is hanging open a little bit. “Captain! That was shockingly sweet! You’re a secret romantic!”

Holt pinches his lips. “I most certainly am not.” Then, he remembers why he told this story in the first place. “Why did you need to know?”

Peralta is silent for a few seconds. His fingers are tapping frantically against his jeans, outlining a vaguely orange stain that Raymond is certain Detective Santiago has tried to remove on multiple occasions to no avail. The boy’s propensity for permanent stains is truly unique.

Then, Peralta is speaking, his words tripping over each other in their haste to escape his mouth. “So, I love Amy. Like, love love her. Like super-romantic-stylez. And I love living with her and being with her and the thought of not doing those things with her forever is awful so I got to thinking maybe I should tell her I was thinking about forever because I know she’s always planning and she’d want to factor that in and then I got this ring and it cost more than a massage chair which is insane and who spends that much on a ring except I somehow did and it’s been burning a hole in my pocket for two weeks and I want to ask her but I don’t know what to say or how to say it and I’m trying not to panic but it’s scary and what if she says no and marriage isn’t on the life calendar above the bed so I don’t know when it fits in her plan and is it even a good idea and whatdoIdoIfiguredyou’dknow?”

Finished, Jake sits back, panting a little as he regains his breath after a monologue truly worthy of Shakespeare - in length, at least, if not in eloquence.

Holt sits still for nearly a minute, processing the veritable deluge of words that had just hit him. Finally, slowly and carefully (he feels keenly the importance of his next words), he states, “So, you’re thinking of marrying Amy.”

“Yeah, I guess, but I’m a mess and she’s perfect and it sounds insane and she trusts you and I trust you - ew, being serious is the worst - and I figured you’d know what to do because she thinks you do everything perfect and I don’t even know any Greek myths, much less ones about Elephant or Orphiman or whoever and I almost rented a lion cub for this last week and I know that’s wrong and–”

Raymond raises his hand slightly, and Jake falls silent instantly. He pauses for a moment, then decides on his course of action. “Jake, first, I want to congratulate you on this remarkable step. I never would have believed when Sergeant Jeffords first introduced you to me that I would see such maturity from you. Second, my only useful advice for you - aside from the fact that you should avoid any violently carnivorous species, no matter how endearing they are on the website - is to be honest, to be true to yourself and to Amy. You don’t need to know Greek mythology, or even the identities of Will Shortz or Andy Borowitz, because she is choosing to be with you, Jacob Peralta, and that is far more important than your ability to emulate her love of classics or mathematics.”

“How did math end up in this?” Jake looks horrified at the thought.

“It…it didn’t. Just be honest with her like you were with me - although maybe practice with some pauses for breath so you don’t lose consciousness before the end of your proposal.”

“So…you think it sounds like a good idea? To marry Amy? You think she’d like that?” The boy sounds almost painfully hopeful, and it makes Raymond’s heart twinge - he sounds so remarkably similar to a dangerously optimistic college professor who bought a car on impulse for the love of his life.

Raymond thinks about the question for a second, though he already knows his answer. He thinks of the way that Jake has always looked at Amy - an expression Gina described appropriately as “Peralta heart-eyes” during one of their dish sessions. He thinks of their ridiculous bet, and the sight of the pair dancing in used costumes at a ballroom dancing competition. He thinks of how ragged Santiago looked when Jake was undercover, long before they were dating, and how devastated she was when he was in jail. He finds humor in the memory of Jake and Amy killing their captain and the image of Amy failing to burn Jake’s sole towel, and feels the pain of watching Jake eat a soaking wet burrito alone in Florida and seeing the air rush out of Amy’s lungs at the word guilty.

He remembers a conversation with Kevin once, when he was still relatively new to the precinct. It was late and they were in bed, Cheddar curled happily between them. Holt had just finished telling Kevin about Peralta’s decision to punch Jimmy Brogan, and about the admiration that saturated Santiago’s voice as she relayed the events.

“Detectives Santiago and Peralta seem…fond of each other,” Kevin had observed, doing his best to be nonchalant in his veiled inquiry.

“They certainly are.”

“Are they…anything other than partners?”

“Not yet, but I think that one day, they might be. They’re very well-matched.”

And then Jake clears his throat, looking a little terrified, and Holt remembers that there’s a question he’s supposed to answer.

“I think it’s an excellent idea, Jake. I think Amy loves you more than you know, and I truly hope that you will find a lifetime of happiness with each other. So when the time is right, find this honesty again and just ask.”

The tension that has been holding Jake unnaturally upright since they began this stakeout nearly an hour before floods out of his body immediately at Raymond’s words. A smile breaks large and wide and relaxed across the younger man’s face and at the sight Raymond becomes aware that the expression is mirrored on his own face, where it feels like the corners of his mouth must just be touching his ears. He must look ridiculous, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“You totally approve of us,” Peralta whispers, sounding more than a little shocked.

Clearing his throat, suddenly wishing a little bit that they could step back across the line into a comfortable area of workplace proximity associateship (this has been more than enough emotion for the month), his captain replies, “Yes - I suppose I do.”

An hour later, they’ve stopped the drug deal that originally sent them away from the precinct that morning and successfully confiscated more than 20 kilos of heroin.

As they hand off their perps to the beat cops on duty outside the precinct to be put in the holding cell while Jake and Holt log evidence, Raymond catches sight of a small box-shaped lump in Jake’s back pocket.

“Jake,” he says, catching his detective’s attention. He’s not sure what his intentions are himself until he realizes that he has wrapped his arms around Jake in what must be one of the first hugs he’s given to someone other than Kevin in years. Jake stills for a second in shock before enthusiastically returning the hug.

“I’m proud of you, and I wish both you and Amy the best, son,” he says quietly.

Jake’s only response is to squeeze him a bit tighter for a second before releasing him and turning to walk into the precinct.

“You’re a surprisingly great hugger, by the way! Can’t wait to tell Amy!”

And then the door is closing behind him and Raymond allows himself one small smile before he returns to his office.

And a week later, when Amy shakes hands with her left hand instead of her right - nothing short of a shocking breach of protocol, according to Section 10, page 237 of Mentorship Binder 2 - to subtly display the small diamond glinting on her ring finger, his heart feels like it might burst.