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leechonspeeddial · 3 years

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Midnight Shift: The Serpent at Burger King - A Seduction of Kevins Summary: The Devil comes disguised as everything you want, Alice Cullen comes with fondue fountains and Bugattis. wc: 1.7k Read on ao3

There was one simple lesson I learned from a young age and quickly internalized while living as a Cullen.

Never play chess with a psychic.

You think a mind reader is a problem? No, you just have to add on geographical distance and then you're back on an equal playing field; as long as you keep apart, you can use your best strategies and winning is still possible. A psychic though, there is no distance you can go to be hidden from their sight. Once they get their teeth in you, your odds at winning are – for a lack of a better word – shit. So, as I held Alice's gaze at our local Burger King, I reminded myself this one very important rule.

Never play chess with a psychic.

Too late.

If you did find yourself playing chess with a psychic, the best course of action would be to become irrational and flip the board. You might not win, but neither would they and you'd save yourself the effort. I took a deep breath and assessed the situation. There were currently five humans with ten pairs of working human eyes at the restaurant; flipping the board would be disastrous, either people would die or they'd bear witness to vampiric activity. So that's out of the question, next strat.

Though Alice had gotten used to reading around the blind spots caused by me, she hadn't totally mastered it yet. My best choice was to act without thinking and take over the conversation as much as possible. That, well, that I could manage no problem.

"Well, well, well. What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Assistant Manager?" I addressed Gay Kevin, hoping to also neutralize Jasper. Mr. Emotional Roofie was another obstacle here, trying to goad my coworkers so that they emotionally overwhelm him was my best shot. "Showing up two hours late to your shift with no warning?"

Gay Kevin looked exhausted.

"Please, not in front of the customers," he sounded embarrassed. Not Kevin snorted and took the interruption as an opportunity to make Milkshake boy his drink and get away from Alice. Meanwhile, Straight Kevin hopped over the counter and directly headed towards the old fries – if we didn't do our duty to eat them, they would be thrown out.

I also took notice of the guy that came in with the Kevins; he was shorter than Gay Kevin but slightly taller than Straight Kevin, he had thick black hair, but more importantly, he carried a video camera with him. He observed us, brown eyes full of amusement, and I sincerely hoped he was a vlogger.

"They aren't customers," I chirped with a predatory smile.

"I am a one though," Milkshake boy frowned. I waved him off.

"You're Not Kevin adjacent. You don't count," Gay Kevin looked increasingly irritated despite Jasper's attempt at giving chill vibes. He crossed his arms.

"So, what's this? You decide to throw a party while I was gone?"

I was about to retort when Alice interrupted me. I glared.

"There IS a party involved, but not here and not right now. Alice Cullen, nice to meet you, I'm –"

"Resentment's sister," Alice scrunched up her nose but nodded.

"Yup! And I came here to personally invite you, other Kevin, and Not Kevin to Nessie's party"

"You said you were born on 9/11," Straight Kevin's said accusingly with a mouth full of fries.

"It's not a birthday party," Alice tried to clarify, only to be drowned out by Not Kevin.

"You were born on 9/11?" I turned to address him and realized he was making Milkshake boy a chocolate shake, ruining all the hard work I put into my performance. Today was definitely not my day.

"I mean, yeah, but not like 9/11 9/11. I'm only 16," Not Kevin nodded but then his eyes widened as a realization seemed to hit him.

"Oh fuck. I forgot that was 20 years ago…"

"I wasn't even born 20 years ago," Straight Kevin added and it seemed to act as a punch to Not Kevin's gut.

"God, you guys are babies. I remember my parents picking me up from kindergarten early and being glued to the news for the rest of the day," Gay Kevin's statement also appeared to have a negative effect on Not Kevin, making him look even more miserable. Camera man looked like there was no place he rather be. Alice, well, she looked endlessly irritated.

"I feel so old" Not Kevin whispered, shell-shocked.

"You are old. What are you, like 50?" Not Kevin glared at me.

"What's 9/11?"

I blinked. Everyone went quiet and stared at Milkshake boy, who looked very confused. No one spoke for a full beat.

"Jack's 19 and, uh, Canadian," Not Kevin shrugged helplessly and said as if that explained everything. He handed the kid his milkshake.

"Hey, I thought there weren't any Oreos –"

"ANYWAY," Alice said loudly and we all looked at her, "it's not a birthday party. It's more like a celebration of Nessie's first job. Our family would love to have all of you for dinner"

"She means that we'd love to have you at the event. Not that we want to eat you for dinner," Jasper added unnecessarily and made me want to face palm. So, I did.

"I wasn't worried about possible cannibalism when she said it, but now I am," Straight Kevin took a wary step away from Jasper. Alice rolled her eyes.

"There will be plenty of free food and you can take as many leftovers as you want with you," Straight Kevin seemed to seriously consider this.

"I'm in," Alice handed him a pink envelope and smiled. Fuck.

Improvise.

"Speaking of customers. We have one right now," I pointed at Camera man, "so we can't deal with you right now," I tried to push Alice out the store but she held her ground.

"I'm also not a customer," he shrugged, "I came for the rats"

Shit.

"Tài…don't do this" Gay Kevin pleaded.

"My hands are tied. I promised my audience," so he was some sort of vlogger. This was admittedly the only good thing that has happened today.

"See, he's not a customer. I can stay," I groaned at Alice's smug tone.

"Technically, you're both loitering. So, neither of you should stay"

"I agree with the Assistant Manager"

Alice and I stared down at each other while Camera man and Gay Kevin had a silent conversation with their eyes. For the next while, the only sounds that could be heard in the restaurant were Straight Kevin loudly chewing, Milkshake boy slurping, and Olivia Rodrigo's drivers license playing on the speakers.

Suddenly, Not Kevin snapped his fingers, drawing our attention to him.

"You know, it occurs to me that since both Kevins are finally here, I can take my break. Come on Jack, I'm taking you home," he quickly made his way around the counter and grabbed Milkshake boy. "I'll make sure to call if I'm somehow two hours late," I smirked at Alice as her eyes narrowed. I greatly encouraged any action that made her look like that.

Milkshake boy tilted his head and didn't let himself be dragged out of the joint. I had half a mind to help Not Kevin.

"But dad said to –"

"Your dad will be ok with this as long as you don't set the house on fire. Again" Milkshake boy frowned.

"It happened once. I said I was sorry"

"Yeah, yeah. Come on bud, time's ticking"

Finally, that seemed to get Milkshake boy moving and heading to the door.

"Don't forget your invite!" Alice called out.

"We're good," Not Kevin responded with a hand on the door and the other pulling the teen along.

"Did I mention there will be a fondue fountain?"

Not Kevin hesitated by the door and I could only feel horror as my stomach dropped. Not Kevin was weak for cheese and cheese related by-products.

"Chocolate or cheese?"

"Both," I held my breath. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fucking fair.

"Shame, I'm on a diet"

"You aren't –"

And they were both gone before Milkshake boy could finish calling out Not Kevin's blatant lie. I fist bumped the air and stuck my tongue out at Alice, fully intending to gloat over this minor victory.

That is, until I saw Alice smiling.

Fucking psychics.

"What's got you so smug," I snarked, hoping to get a hint of whatever vision she just had. She smirked and I could tell she could see right through me. So much for not playing chess with psychic.

"I had a sudden revelation that everything will be alright," her eyes twinkled with mischief and, not for the first time, I was very jealous of Edward. Why the fuck did he get the mind reading powers? Tactile thought projection was so stupid and useless the majority of the time.

"You're so fucking annoying"

"I prefer the term persistent," I'd prefer if she was set on fire. "Which reminds me, hey boys"

Camera man and Gay Kevin stopped doing whatever the hell they were doing and paid attention to Alice, who was holding up one her dumb little pink envelopes.

"What do you say, a chance to eat fancy rich people food and see some fancy rich people cars," Camera man turned to Gay Kevin.

"Babe"

"Is this like, appropriate. Professionally speaking," Gay Kevin scrunched up his nose trying to figure out the etiquette of this weird ass situation.

"I'm more than happy to take you guys on a spin in my brand-new Bugatti"

"Babe"

"Why does this feel like bribery?" Gay Kevin narrowed his eyes at Alice, he seemed incredibly suspicious.

"Because it is," I growled and attempted to set Alice on fire with my stare.

"And I fully admit it. I just want to throw a good party, and guest are a very important part," she stretched out her hand towards Camera man, "think about it, that's all I ask"

Camera man and Gay Kevin shared a look, and Camera man grabbed the envelope. Ugh.

"Wonderful! Remember to R.S.V.P., we'll leave you to it," she waved and grabbed Confederate hubby.

They walked away and I could hear Alice speak, her voice far too low for human ears, but just the right volume for me.

"There's been a change of plans, we're meeting up Esme"

I scowled. I knew it was bait, I knew Alice wanted me to hear her, and it was driving me insane. Why would they need to see Esme? Why would Alice want me to know this?

I fucking hated my life.

#midnight shift #twilight fanfiction #resentment cullen #twilight #alice cullen

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shannaraisles · 6 years

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A Rose By Any Name - Chapter 2

In which the princess of Antiva arrives in Denerim, and learns exactly why she’s there. Banner created by the fabulous @kagetsukai!

[Read on AO3] or [From the beginning]

Chapter 2

"If you would just step this way, your highness ..."

Princess Felicita Amelia Braulia Salome of Antiva ignored the seneschal trying to usher her out of the courtyard, taking a moment to lower her hood and look around the gray walls of the royal palace of Denerim.

It was not what she had been told to expect; indeed, it far surpassed her father's dubious descriptions. He had painted Ferelden as a miserable, cold sort of place, where there was little joy to be found and less color. As the eighth daughter of his line - and four more still to be found a place for, if they didn’t kill each other vying for the succession - he could not afford to be picky, and the plutocracy of the merchants had agreed that placing an Antivan princess on the throne of Ferelden might do very nicely, for all its shortcomings. They, too, had warned her that the southern country was a drab place, lacking in the refinements she was accustomed to; some had even gone so far as to suggest Ferelden was lacking in basic good manners.

Yet this description did not mesh with the country as she had seen it thus far. Amaranthine had certainly been a sallow sort of place, but justifiably so - they were still rebuilding after the catastrophic darkspawn attack after the end of the Blight. Even so, the people there had been smiling about their work, eager to take a look at the nobles who disembarked. Word had reached them well in advance that these ladies of Antiva, Nevarra, and the Free Marches were prospective queens, and the welcome they had given was warm, indeed. As for a land that lacked color, well ... Felicita had seen green fields beneath snow, blue skies, bright clothing. She had seen dried flowers in red and white and deep purple, familiar and unfamiliar to her Antivan eyes, and in some places, fresh growing by the side of the road, even here at the waning end of winter. Far from misery, she had witnessed cheerful good nature at the inns and noble homes opened for herself and her party to stay at on their journey from the port city. These people were fiercely proud of their land and heritage, possessed of a deep love for their king, whose history as both a bastard and a hero were points they elucidated on with equal pleasure. Indeed, as soon they identified that she was from Antiva, not Orlais, the people she had met had gone out of their way to sell their King Alistair's finer points to her.

Admittedly, she had not known until her ship had docked at Amaranthine that this was to be a competition of sorts. It had been a surprise to note that her traveling companions to Denerim were Ladies Callista Damaris of Nevarra, Ceridwyn Ardvale of Kirkwall, Leona Charing of Starkhaven, and Amandine Orrick of Tantervale, all of whom had also been invited by Arl Eamon Guerrin to attend upon King Alistair of Ferelden for a full month in the hope of being asked to become his queen. Felicita could foresee all sorts of problems in the days ahead, especially given the gossip that had been filtering through to them. They five were not the only ladies invited to Denerim for this bride-finding event, it seemed; they were simply the five who necessity dictated should arrive at the same port at the same time. There were, apparently, five others to contend with, also.

Of the ladies she traveled with, however, Felicita saw only two as potential problems - Callista was of the numerous Pentaghast clan, but her lack of that name made her all the more ambitious to snag a crown of her own if she possibly could; and Amandine was a picture perfect proposition for the king ahead of them, hiding her own ambitions behind sweet manners and an easy wit. Ceridwyn clearly already had her cap set toward the Teryn of Highever, who had met them in the port city to escort the group to Denerim, and despite himself, he was clearly flattered to be the beneficiary of the vivacious redhead's attentions. As for Leona, well ... that girl would be happier in a Chantry, anyone could see that. She said and did all the right things, but her fervor for Andraste's teachings were a little too much for anyone who wasn't expecting the zeal to erupt from such a pretty face. Felicita herself was not entirely sure she wanted to be a part of this rather demeaning display of women squabbling over an eligible man, however high his rank, but her father had spoken well of King Alistair. She was prepared to wait, and use her own judgment as to how closely she would fight this battle.

But here she was, in this gray country that was looking forward to the first flush of spring, and despite everything she had been told, she found she rather liked it. It was wholly different to Antiva City, but no lesser for that difference. Her soft amberite eyes scanned the thick glass windows above her, hesitating for a moment on the sight of someone male looking down at her.

"Your highness?"

Blinking out of her contemplation of that indecipherable face high above, Felicita turned her attention back to the seneschal, finally accepting his invitation to enter the palace as she laid her hand over his own.

"Thank you, my lord."

She smiled warmly as he escorted her into a drafty vestibule hung with heraldic tapestries depicting the dual mabari of both Ferelden itself and the royal house, crimson against gold. The floor was gray stone but clean, a sturdy reed mat laid out for visitors to scrape the mud from their boots before advancing further into the castle itself. The seneschal lead her into the next room, a wide antechamber dominated by a large double door, and two flights of steps leading upward on either side of it. The space was bustling with servants and nobles, deep in preparation for the feast that evening; a feast that was as much to welcome the arrival of the various ladies as it was to mark Wintersend. Again, the walls were hung with bright tapestries, this time an array of heraldic devices, most notably those of Highever and the Couslands, and of Amaranthine and Denerim and, perhaps surprisingly, the Grey Wardens. Though the gray stone of the walls lent a chill to the air, the effect was warmed by the thick rugs that covered the floor and the steps leading upward. Felicita felt no hesitation in removing her gloves as the seneschal left her side, her eyes turning to the rotund gentleman in bright purple hose and deep green doublet who approached her.

"Ah, Don Carmello?" she asked, recognising him from her father's description. White beard, black eyebrows, deceptively friendly smile. That was definitely him.

The Antivan ambassador bowed low, his gaze sparkling cheerfully as he let forth his greeting in the familiar rolling syllables of the language they both shared, kissing her hand more as though she were a favored grandchild than a princess of his country.

"In Common, if you please, ambassador," Felicita interrupted him gently. "We should not be so rude as to conceal our thoughts from the ears of those who are here to watch over us. We are guests, not enemies."

The ambassador frowned, glancing at the bustle of humans and elves all around them. "Ah, your highness," he said in a wary tone, careful to choose his words now he was under orders to speak in a language everyone here understood. "Your father, the king, was most concerned that you should have some means to communicate without fear of being overheard."

"And why is that?" Felicita asked in an innocent tone. "I have no secrets. My father's inability to tell me that my invitation was to take part in a competition, however, would suggest that he has a few secrets of his own."

"Nonetheless, princesa, my orders ..."

Felicita turned to face him fully, uncaring that others could hear plainly. "Ambassador, if you insist upon speaking in Antivan, you must become accustomed to hearing me state in Common every word you say," she informed him. "We are guests in this land, not spies, and not enemies. I will not be so rude to my hosts, nor will I allow you to do the same."

Carmello stuttered for a moment, but Felicita was used to the Antivan way. Women were theoretically to be seen and not heard, pieces of mobile beauty to be pampered and sweetened and considered uneducated. The reality was that many Antivan women were highly educated, and often doing the work of their entire household. But still the pretty ideal persisted, especially in those men who had been away from home for a while. She held his gaze steadily, sweetening her expression with a small smile. And he gave in, sighing and muttering in Antivan about spoiled princesses.

Felicita laughed politely as he gestured for her to accompany him up the left-hand flight of stairs. "Ambassador, I still understand Antivan," she reminded him in amusement. "I did not suddenly become Ferelden by virtue of extending a simple courtesy to these people."

"Ah, forgive me, your highness." Carmello cleared his throat, apparently changing his preferred approach. He'd been away from Antiva too long. "You are to be quartered among the other ladies. This palace is laid out unusually - there is an entire floor dedicated to the comfort of guests, above the royal quarters."

"I see." She nodded as they walked. "What can you tell me of this arrangement, ambassador? I know only what little my father told me, and scant detail from the other ladies I found myself traveling with."

"Your highness, this is an unusual occasion," Carmello explained as they mounted the stairs, steering the way to the next flight upward that would take them to the guest quarters. "The nobility of Ferelden have lost patience with their King. As a Grey Warden, there is a risk that he will never produce a child at all, yet the longer he waits to wed, the greater that risk becomes. The Landsmeet - the gathering of banns and arls - have set his wedding date already. King Alistair will wed on Summerday."

"If they have set his date, why have they not also chosen his bride?" Felicita asked, more curious than offended. It seemed reasonable enough to put this kind of pressure on a King who had already had ten years to secure his line and had done nothing to prevent civil war upon his death.

"King Alistair is a very popular man among the common people," the ambassador explained to her. "He is one of their heroes, one of the Grey Wardens who ended the Blight; a man who bears the stigma of illegitimacy, and yet became their king. He has a bad habit of looking them in the eye when he speaks to them, as well. If it were to become known that he was being forced into a marriage, the people would rise to prevent it, most are certain. As it is, he has agreed to this arrangement - that he will choose, by the first day of Drakonis, which lady of birth he will wed."

"And if he does not choose?" the princess asked, glancing at the man beside her sharply.

Carmello winced. "The Landsmeet will choose for him," he sighed. It was a good arrangement, but he'd met the king on more than one occasion. It wasn't a fair arrangement for that man. "With a civil war only ten years in the past, the issue of succession is a hotly debated point."

"I see." Felicita nodded thoughtfully as they came to a halt. "Then Mama's cryptic comments about seeing me soon were not her attempt to cheer me into embarking upon the journey with a light heart."

The ambassador had the decency to look discomforted. "Alas, no, your highness," he admitted. "The invitations for the wedding have already been sent. The, ah, the name of the bride will, of course, be announced on the first day of Drakonis."

Felicita felt her usually warm expression settle into something that was decidedly put out. This was not the situation she had been allowed to believe she was walking into. A bride-finding competition, where the groom was not entirely willing, and the wedding date already set ... this was a small nightmare in the making.

"This ... contest," she said carefully. "Would I be right in thinking it is not the king's idea?"

"Sí, princesa," he agreed, seemingly more comfortable to admit to this than to the rest of it. "Arl Eamon Guerrin is the king's chief advisor. He has been pressing for a marriage for quite some years now, and it is known that he favors Orlais."

Felicita snorted, hastily turning the unladylike sound into a delicate cough. "Even I know, Don Carmello, that Ferelden will never stomach an Orlesian queen," she pointed out, surprised and a little pleased to note the smile that blossomed suddenly on the face of the elven servant stepping past them as she spoke. "Come, show me where I am to be quartered, and tell me about this ridiculous situation in greater detail."

"Of course, your highness."

The ambassador lead her from the staircase through an imposing door, into a wide corridor from which other doors lead. The rug runner on the floor was a deep shade of crimson, bordered in gold thread that glittered in the light of the torches illuminating the dark space. Some kind of incense was burning to fragrance the passageway, no doubt as a fop to those of the ladies who objected to the smell of honest sweat and the vague hint of musky mabari that clung to everything in this city. Felicita could hear voices behind some of those doors, yet there was a louder collection of feminine voices where the passageway opened far ahead. She glanced curiously at the ambassador.

"A common area, your highness," he explained, drawing to a halt beside a door that had been hung with the Antivan royal crest, no doubt to make it easier for her to find her resting place while she was here. "I believe it was thought that the princesses and ladies of rank would like a place where they might engage in traditionally feminine pastimes in relative privacy, and to build social ties with one another."

Felicita raised her brow, biting down on her smile as she passed through the door beside him. "A man made that decision, yes?" she asked, raising her hands to undo the clasp of her cloak.

Carmello chuckled lightly, knowing exactly what she was thinking. "Indeed. Arl Eamon does not appear to understand people so very much."

With the door closed behind him, Felicita finally laughed at the prospect of being expected to make nice with nine other women for an entire month, while all of them were vying for the matrimonial advantage of being Queen of Ferelden. It was utterly ridiculous. This arl was a fool if he thought there would be no unpleasantness simply because they were all women of rank. Noblewomen could be vicious when cornered. It would actually be easier to handle if they could draw knives and fight it out like men, but sadly the noble ranks didn't like to encourage their ladies to learn useful skills. Well, most countries' noble ranks did not. She could name at least two other women in this little contest who could likely draw a blade with confidence.

Still, perhaps the arl had thought that the noble ladies invited would prefer not to go to bed at ridiculous hours if they were not at the king's beck and call. The room Carmello had brought her to was spacious, certainly, but it was definitely a bedchamber. A wide hearth dominated one wall, the fire crackling in the grate more than welcome in the chill of the winter. The warm cast of firelight complimented the weaker spill of winter sunlight through the thick glass that filled the window between leads, illuminating the arm chairs that had been placed about the hearth. The bed, of course, dominated the room. Not a four-posted monstrosity, nor a dark-wooded maw; it was carved of pleasant oak, sturdy and simple, laid with soft linens and thick blankets, a bright quilt turned back to reveal the Theirin crest on the uppermost blanket. Felicita bit her lip as she fought to hide her smile, imagining the reaction of certain of her traveling companions at the thought of sleeping underneath the family crest of the man they hoped to marry. Scandalous.

"Oh ... please be seated, ambassador," she said belatedly, gesturing toward the armchairs by the fire as she removed her cloak, laying it over the folded quilt at the end of the bed. Her own chest had already been brought in, and judging by the sounds coming from beyond the door set the wall opposite the hearth, a maid was busily hanging her gowns and preparing to order a bath.

Carmello waited politely until she took a seat herself before easing himself down into one of the armchairs comfortably, letting out a low sigh of relief. "I, myself, am not quartered in the palace proper," he told her, "but should you need me at any hour, do not hesitate to send a message. My purpose here is to ease your way, your highness."

Settling her skirts comfortably, Felicita leaned back in her chair. "Tell me what I am to expect from these weeks ahead of me, ambassador," she answered, her momentary levity set aside in favor of thoughtful discussion. "How, exactly, the king is expected to woo ten women in the course of a single month."

Carmello sighed, shaking his head. He, too, thought it was an ambitious plan of the arl's, but it was clear that Arl Eamon believed he could sway his king toward a wife perhaps already chosen.

"In truth, your highness, I am uncertain quite how he is to make such a choice," he admitted. "The full detail of the month has not yet been decided. I believe the king has insisted upon being allowed to make his own decisions for some few days as to the entertainments and so on, but has yet to confirm those decisions."

That was encouraging, at least. It appeared that King Alistair was not the weak king some suspected he was, though Felicita had not truly believed him weak to begin with. He had killed an archdemon before taking the crown; he had resisted marriage for a full decade, and drawn his people slowly out of the depression left over them by the Blight. Even the eruption of the mage-templar conflict within his borders had not overwhelmed him. She tapped her fingertip against her lower lip as Carmello went on.

"There is, of course, the Wintersend feast this evening," the ambassador told her. "I am told there will be dancing, though it will undoubtedly depend upon the arl's whim. There are days set aside throughout the month for the king to spend with each lady - the names were drawn by lot, to prevent rank or partiality on the part of the arl from weighting the dice, so to speak."

"That does make sense," the princess mused, glancing up as an elven servant-girl slipped from the chamber briefly, took one look at them sat together, and abruptly skipped straight back into what she assumed was the dressing chamber. She smiled faintly, making a mental note to reassure the girl that she had not been intruding. "In that case, I should imagine I will have at least a week, if not longer, to observe the king and come to my own conclusions?"

"Certainly, your highness," Carmello assured her warmly. "The day set aside for your accompanying the king is the thirteenth. Of course, before then, you will have ample opportunity to at least form your own opinion of him. A theater troupe has been invited to perform at the palace; there is an evening planned to celebrate the different cultures of the ladies attending the ..." He groped for the right word.

"Meat market," Felicita provided in a wry tone. She was definitely not impressed with the fact that she had been sent to partake in a competition for the hand of a man who apparently didn't want to get married in the first place.

"I would not say that, princesa," Carmello said, attempting to placate her.

"Ambassador, these ladies are here seeking a crown," she pointed out to him in a weary tone. "Were it only the crown as the prize, perhaps I would choose to engage in such sport. But the crown is worn by a man who has shown no interest in marrying for ten years, and does so now only because his noble ranks will rebel against him otherwise. This is a troubled land, and I feel sure it has a troubled king. What they want is a queen; what he needs is a wife. And I will not engage in deceptions simply to be named queen. I will do my duty, I will play my role, but I will not actively seek to become Queen of Ferelden unless I see more in the man than his troubles and his crown."

Don Carmello stared at her for a long moment, his mouth working silently as he made a valiant effort to draw this display of spirit together with the picture King Fulgeno had painted of an obedient daughter who showed no inclination to fight for her right to rule and would be better suited to a life away from the political machinations of Antiva.

"Then, your highness, I will hope that the man behind the crown earns your interest and your respect," he said finally. "King Alistair is a good man. A little impulsive, perhaps; certainly not as well bred as many of his court, but his manners do not suffer for that. He is a little overwhelmed by his duties, I would venture to say, yet he expresses himself well, and his people are very fond of him. Still, the life of a lone monarch is an isolated one. If I may be so bold ... he would be lucky to have you as his wife. And Ferelden would be blessed to have you for their queen."

Felicita smiled her public smile, her fingertip pressing into her lower lip as she eyed the ambassador. "I think you are attempting to both humor and encourage me, Don Carmello," she accused in a gentle tone, "but I thank you for it. It promises to be a long month."

"And soon to begin," Carmello agreed, rising to his feet to bow to her. "I will leave you to your preparations, your highness. Please, allow me to welcome you to Ferelden once again."

"Thank you, ambassador. I will see you this evening."

"Princesa."

The ambassador bowed once again, letting himself out through the door. Felicita sighed at the sound of a particularly strident voice in the corridor outside, broad Orlesian tones expressing displeasure at a volume that was quickly shut out as the door drew closed in his wake. A full month living in close proximity with nine other women, all of whom were eager for a crown. She was going to have to check her belongings daily.

"Just like home," she mused, rolling her eyes as she rose to her feet, moving to look out through the window at the gray winter sky. There was the possibility, of course, that no one here was going to be actively trying to kill her, but even so ... Hands folded at her waist, she turned her head toward the dressing chamber. "You may come out now."

A pinched face came into view, worry dominant in the slanted eyes that looked over at her as the elven servant bobbed several curtsies in the doorway between the bedchamber and dressing room.

"Begging your pardon, my lad- ... your highness, I mean," she apologized. "I meant no offense."

Felicita smiled at the girl. "And you gave none," she assured her. "Are you to be my assistant while I am here?"

The elf nodded, a half smile of her own flickering proudly on her face. "Aye, mil- ma'am. Marta said to make sure you know that if you don't want an elf, she can send someone else in my place."

"Nonsense," the princess said easily. After all, though elves were still second-class citizens in Antiva, they seemed to hold higher respect simply for existing there than they did in other lands. Her smile gentled as she spoke again. "What is your name?"

"Andra, your highness." Another curtsy, this time with her hands thrust firmly at her back. Clearly Marta - who must be in charge of the ladies-maids - was formidable enough to have drilled them ruthlessly.

"Well then, Andra, it is a pleasure to meet you." Felicita felt almost embarrassed by the grateful smile on the girl's face as she bobbed yet another curtsy. What was life like for elves here if a simple polite greeting could be taken with such warmth? "It has been a very long journey. Would it be possible to take a bath before I must dress to impress the king and his guests, do you suppose?"

Andra nodded quickly. "Oh, yes, mi- your highness," she said, stumbling over the high rank of the lady she had been assigned to. "I'll order the water in, and fetch everything you'll need. Will you be wanting to wash your hair?"

"Do you think we can dry it in time?" Felicita heard herself ask, trying not to show her amusement at the eagerness the girl showed her.

"Oh, certainly, your highness," Andra insisted, evidently confident of her skills, even if this Marta was not. "We'll use hot combs and warm towels. You'll be dry in no time, I promise you."

"Then I should very much like to wash my hair," Felicita told her, unable to keep the relief from her voice. A chance to wash all the filth of travel from every part of herself was the best means she could think of for preparing herself for what was coming.

"Very good, your highness."

As Andra curtsied yet again and slipped from the room to organize a bath for the princess of Antiva, Felicita turned back to the window with another low sigh, wincing at the shriek from the chamber opposite her own as the inhabitant made some discovery not to her liking. Yes, the month ahead promised to be long, indeed. She felt a pang of sympathy for King Alistair, being set up as little more than a crown and a prize for the most suitable lady invited to this rather humiliating display. Still, she was here, and for her father's sake she would behave as a princess should. For her own sake, however, she would bide her time and come to her own decision. Andraste's blood, there must be something in this king, this man, that would welcome a companion for his years. Perhaps she would find an appropriate wife for him among these other ladies; coach her into a position of success.

Perhaps this month of being on display would not be so bad, after all.

#a rose by any name #denerim palace #slow romance #eventual alistair/ofc #princess fabs #don carmello #andra #finding out what she's been let in for #chapter 2 #and still just the set up for the story

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shanedakotamuir · 4 years

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How Watchmen’s giant squid attack changes everything

Looking Glass in Watchmen | HBO

Watchmen’s fifth episode is about gods, monsters, and a psychic squid.

The fifth episode of Watchmen takes us back to the ’80s — the age of hairspray, leather jackets, Howard Jones’s hit “Things Can Only Get Better,” the Cold War, and, in this universe, a psychic squid attack.

The 1980s-era of the Watchmen world is seen through the eyes of Looking Glass, the stalwart police officer with a mirrorball face and the uncanny ability to tell when people are lying. We meet him as a teen trying to promote the good word of Doomsday, how the end is near, and how God has pandas in heaven. To Looking Glass’s chagrin, the apparent apocalypse comes sooner rather than later, and he plays witness to mass death, destruction, and disorder in the form of a genocidal squid storming his local fair.

Though the squid attack is indeed bizarre (director Zack Snyder nixed the cephalopod assault from his 2009 cinematic adaptation, for example), it’s part of the most important question in writer Alan Moore and artist Dave Gibbons’s graphic novel: Who holds accountable the most powerful people, and what decisions will they make when they’re left unchecked?

Looking Glass finds out the answers to these questions first-hand. He watches a recording of the space-bound billionaire Adrian Veidt, a.k.a. Ozymandias, a.k.a. the villain of the Watchmen graphic novel, who explains that the squid was a fake attack for the better of the nation. Veidt claims responsibility for the scarring event, and Looking Glass learns that Americans are just statistics and disposable figures to the very powerful, including Veidt and the government. And through his revelation, the viewer learns that the ultra-violent squid attack in Watchmen, like everything in Watchmen, means so much more than what it originally seems.

The squid attack is about theology, morality, and choosing between one evil or another

The Watchmen graphic novel encompasses a variety of strange elements, ranging from an omnipotent blue man who prefers to be naked all the time to the power politics at play in the United States and Great Britain in the 1980s (which we’ve come to associate with Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher). But the most challenging bit comes at the end of the novel, forcing us to examine our own ideas about morality and humanity — and that would be the squid attack.

Gibbons/DC

Watchmen

In the final chapter of the comic, Adrian Veidt, a.k.a. Ozymandias, unleashes a colossal alien squid upon New York City. He sees it as the only way to keep the world’s superpowers from killing each other in a nuclear war. Ozymandias’s plan wasn’t without its supporters, either. Moore writes the story in a way that gives Ozymandias intellectual authority, and as such, other heroes (like Doctor Manhattan) go along with him.

The squid, with a brain cloned from a human psychic, releases a shockwave that instantly kills millions. Those who survive the shockwave go mad and are driven to violence by the sensory overload. In the novel, World War III: Nuclear Party Time is inevitable, and Ozymandias’s plan works. Countries around the world, including Russia, see the terror in New York City and offer support to the United States, burying any simmering political hostilities until the horrors are stopped.

Gibbons/DC

Ozymandias celebrating his plan in Watchmen

With the plan and the people executed — and the story’s heroes unable to undo what Ozymandias has wrought — everyone who had learned about the plan beforehand is faced with a moral dilemma: Tell people about the mass murder Ozymandias committed and inevitably trigger nuclear war, or remain quiet about the fact that the genocide was man-made. Only Rorschach, the most obstinate of the heroes, doesn’t go along with the cover-up.

Though Rorschach sticking to his morals is noble — lying to people about millions of deaths is unconscionable — the situation is positioned in such a way that if he spills the truth, it will inevitably wreck the fragile peace Ozymandias achieved. In order to prevent that from happening, Doctor Manhattan obliterates Rorschach in the name of the greater good.

The result is two unappealing choices for who is right: the unapologetic, objectivist moralist who risks armageddon based on what he believes to be “good,” or the clinical amorality of a genius utilitarian who kills millions of people to achieve harmony. There’s no simple nor tidy answer, especially with the stakes heightened to the point where Rorschach’s noble deed seems detrimental and Ozymandias’s “saving” the world seems moot. And perhaps the greatest lesson here is not that these are the only two choices, but rather that people should be wary of relinquishing personal responsibility to those in power.

HBO’s Watchmen asks how the squid attack preserves the status quo of government power

At the end of the comic, world peace has been restored. But The New Frontiersman newspaper (which has been referenced in the HBO adaptation) obtains Rorschach’s journal, and it’s implied it will publish Rorschach’s thoughts and observations of his investigation into Ozymandias’s scheme. What we don’t see fleshed out in the original graphic novel is the aftermath of how the attack changes the lives of everyday people, the ones who aren’t privy to the knowledge that the attack perpetrated on them was a hoax.

HBO’s adaptation examines, through Looking Glass’s story, at least one perspective of that. Unlike the heroes in the graphic novel, Looking Glass witnesses the attack firsthand in Hoboken. It shakes him to his core, and today he lives with a type of PTSD and fears the potential for another attack, hence the emergency alarm system and drills in which he’s invested. For Looking Glass, each day is spent revisiting the attack and dreading that it may happen again — a stark allegory for Americans who still remember 9/11 and its immediate aftershocks.

But episode five is not the first to reveal the lingering effects of the giant squid attack.

In the first episode of the series, Angela’s son Topher’s classroom displays a poster touting squid anatomy alongside one depicting America’s presidents, indicating that squids are still very important in this world, and all across the country at that. In the same episode, Angela and Topher drive home from school and pull over when they hear an alarm. Out of nowhere, several dead squid suddenly fall from the sky — or possibly from another dimension. This appears to be another connection to the squid attack of 1985, perhaps a direct result of it.

Topher sees the “squid falls” as little more than a gross nuisance. We haven’t yet seen Looking Glass’s reaction to the event, but judging from how serious he is about the alarms and how worried he is about another attack, I doubt that he’s able to just brush those squids off.

youtube

Knowing the backstory of the fake squid attack changes the complexion of the squid falls. We know the squid assault was fake, so presumably the squid falls are fake, too. So what’s their purpose? Who’s orchestrating the squid falls? And what benefit is there to arranging said squid falls?

I’m guessing the squid falls are a government act, as it’s difficult to imagine someone being able to pull off that kind of scheme. I could also see it being Lady Trieu, since she has the resources and money to accomplish such a grand feat.

Regardless of who is orchestrating the squid falls, they manage to keep the ’80s squid attack on people’s minds. The squid falls send the message that there’s danger looming, that the government and military could be the only things standing between you and another attack — which is, essentially, Ozymandias’s end goal in the graphic novel.

And if the squid attacks are used to get people to trust authority figures in this world, it doesn’t seem like much of a stretch to believe that the people in Tulsa, Oklahoma, should be wary of any authority figure’s power.

What’s a little less clear is how Sen. Joe Keene factors into the big reveal, when Looking Glass learns the attack was a hoax courtesy of Ozymandias. Keene’s planning something, but at this point, his endgame is still a bunch of moving pieces — a teleportation device, Ozymandias’s recording, framing Angela.

What we do know is that this revelation destroys everything Looking Glass thought he knew about the attack that changed his entire life. Finding out it was a hoax, that his whole life has revolved around this fake attack, is shattering. Just like the end of the graphic novel, Looking Glass is now in Rorschach’s position of keeping a secret that could change the world for the worse. The question becomes what he will — or won’t — do with this knowledge.

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corneliusreignallen · 4 years

Text

How Watchmen’s giant squid attack changes everything

Looking Glass in Watchmen | HBO

Watchmen’s fifth episode is about gods, monsters, and a psychic squid.

The squid attack is about theology, morality, and choosing between one evil or another

Gibbons/DC

Watchmen

Gibbons/DC

Ozymandias celebrating his plan in Watchmen

HBO’s Watchmen asks how the squid attack preserves the status quo of government power

But episode five is not the first to reveal the lingering effects of the giant squid attack.

youtube

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/32YDhsy

#Vox - All

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timalexanderdollery · 4 years

Text

How Watchmen’s giant squid attack changes everything

Looking Glass in Watchmen | HBO

Watchmen’s fifth episode is about gods, monsters, and a psychic squid.

The squid attack is about theology, morality, and choosing between one evil or another

Gibbons/DC

Watchmen

Gibbons/DC

Ozymandias celebrating his plan in Watchmen

HBO’s Watchmen asks how the squid attack preserves the status quo of government power

But episode five is not the first to reveal the lingering effects of the giant squid attack.

youtube

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/32YDhsy

#Vox - All

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gracieyvonnehunter · 4 years

Text

How Watchmen’s giant squid attack changes everything

Looking Glass in Watchmen | HBO

Watchmen’s fifth episode is about gods, monsters, and a psychic squid.

The squid attack is about theology, morality, and choosing between one evil or another

Gibbons/DC

Watchmen

Gibbons/DC

Ozymandias celebrating his plan in Watchmen

HBO’s Watchmen asks how the squid attack preserves the status quo of government power

But episode five is not the first to reveal the lingering effects of the giant squid attack.

youtube

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/32YDhsy

#Vox - All

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qarajhcreations · 7 years

Text

Friday Night Lights, Khodrin’s Journal, part three

This is the story of the Friday Night Lights campaign, as told through the eyes of the Mountain Dwarf Fighter, Khodrin Emberhelm. This also means that if Khodrin doesn’t see (or hear, sense, smell) something happening, he doesn’t “experience” it.

After the ordeal at the lake, which, according to the others, were a horde of undead walking along the bottom of the lake, we began heading up the mountains, finally. Ah, what a wonderful place. if only my companions could see the beauty in the rocks the way I do. I felt invigorated by the fresh mountain air, and the narrow path felt like stepping on known land to me. To the east we could see another murky, dark-green area, another mire, no doubt.

For once the weather seemed to favor our group, clear skies with almost no wind. There was an aura of hope and relief on many of my travel mates, the knowledge of us getting closer to the monastery, appeared to be enough to lift our spirits up. That Tiefling seemed jumpy, but from the days I’ve spent in his company, that felt like par for the course, and no-one really seemed to care much about it. When the opportunity arises, I shall thank him for pulling me out of the mud, back in the mire, not a huge favor perhaps, but where a “thank you” is in order, it is only right that it gets to the appropriate target. Especially if said target is a flimsy, and not on side with luck, as coming events would soon tell.

The path started to become more winding, the next part of the path always on our left and always several feet above our heads. I saw several of the others looking down the way we came up, on multiple occassions. If you’re not used to faring through rocky and mountainous areas, that is how you get yourself a fear of heights and of falling. Of course, a fall would certainly be lethal, but if you know what you’re doing, and keep your wits about, you should be just fine. Granted, I hadn’t been in mountains myself for some twenty years or so, back when the caravan visited an isolated human village, but certain things just sticks with you. Mountain Dwarves are at home both in and on mountains, as the name suggests.

Suddenly a rumbling boom, echoed from above us, that’s a sound you do not want to hear, while heading up a mountain. I reckon it was the fear of falling that kept some of the others agazed on the path below, rather than on what was above them, but they didn’t seem to notice. The very next second, a large mass of rocks and boulders fell on our party, I looked to see if the others were alright, most of them dodged in against the mountain side. Large rocks hit Liri and Mariah, though the damage didn’t seem too bad. As I looked away, trying to get my shield up in time, I realised my mistake, but it was too late: A rock about half my own size, smacked me right in the middle of my face. Stung like hell it did. We looked up, but saw no trace of what could have caused the rockfall, it didn’t seem natural, but with no evidence otherwise, we pressed on, now wary of both sky and ground. A small alcove provided a much needed rest for some of us.

After the rest we moved further, everyone a bit more on edge. That Tiefling took front, which I deemed wierd, considering his less-than damage resitant frame, but I shrugged it off; perhaps nothing wierd would appear on the narrow path, that could damage him. My thoughts may have been provoking some hidden Tiefling God or Goddess of Luck, as something seemed to be dealing damage to the Tiefling. I could see him trying to fend himself against something coming from above, but the distance was too great for me to see what attacked him. It wouldn’t be unlike him to step in a beehive, but I’d never heard of bees this high up in the mountains. As anothing thing, a rock about half the size of a Human’s fist, struck him, right in his horned head, he began running back towards the rest of us. And then we saw it; from behind a rockface on the path above us, several green and yellow scaled creatures with long pointy ears could be seen. One of them stood up, swirling a leather strap with a loaded rock, and hurled it towards us. We had halted our climb on an overhang, above us rose the path, ever winding upwards. Far below, we saw the river as a narrow, dark-blue line, cutting through the mountains, with the path only barely visible. To our right was nothing... well a very deep fall towards the side of the mountain, I couldn’t exactly tell the distance, but unless you could sprout wings, that fall spelled death for anyone unlucky enough to test their fate. In the blink of an eye, more scaled creatures appeared; Kobolds. I could count nearly twenty of them. Some were climbing from rock-caves below, some readied their slings from above, and a good handful was blocking the path by the next bend. I pondered for a bit, Kobold’s normally prefer darkness, a nuisance down in the deeper mines, but not per say a danger. Twenty of them though, that’s concerning, or rather, when faced with twenty of them on a narrow mountain path, with lethal heights in place, that’s a problem.

Well, problems are there to be solved, and if these Kobolds wanted a piece of Dwarf, they’d had to come and get it. I readied my shield and warhammer, as the Half-Orc rushed forward, battle-axe swinging towards the first target on the path. As she reached the front Kobold, who was about to brandish what looked like a crude, make-shift knife, a single swing from her battle-axe left the Kobold no longer hungry, as it’s hard to eat without a head. The Half-Orc’s speed was concerning; I could not catch her, and if the Kobold’s all went down that easily, there’d be none for me to deal with. I was about to call out to the Paladin, to leave some for me, when I heard Mariah the Blue utter some strange words behind me. In a moment a neatly-sized rock flew up in a pretty arch hitting the mountain way above. For a second nothing happened, but then, another rumble shook the path, and a massive rockfall took several Kobold’s with it, only one of those in it’s way, managed to dodge. The rocks also hit the Paladin, but she didn’t seem to take notice.

Having lost the moment of surprise, a few of the Kobolds started moving towards the advancing Half-Orc. Shaking my head, I knew that unless the Kobolds somehow managed to over-power the Paladin, I wouldn’t even manage to get close to whack one. Reluctantly, I put my shield on my back and my warhammer back in it’s holster on my belt. One of these days, I’ll get a bigger crossbow, one that can pack a real punch. Probably also should get some target practice in with it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Paladin’s battle-axe chop through yet another Kobold. There were a lot of targets that way, but the Kobolds there appeared to fall as soon as the Half-Orc’s brutal swings brought them to peace. Turning around, looking for targets, I saw two Kobolds readying their slings on the path below Liri and the Tiefling, as so many times before, I saw the Halfling ready to lunge herself into combat, though this time, she’d probably do just fine. Just to be sure, I called out to her, “Oi, Halfling, think ya can handle those two?” I didn’t get other answer than a leather-clad Halfling with brandished daggers, darting towards the first Kobold. A gurgled screech was heard from below, as I kept seeking a target. The Tiefling looked bruised, but was concentrating himself for action, in the next second a green splash of some ichor covered one of the Kobolds up high, melting the creature. His attack made me focus on the area above. As I readied my crossbow, Mariah had once again cast her magic; a powerful and very bright beam smack right in the middle of the narrow path, disintegrating three Kobolds in one fell swoop.

The mountain side appeared as a grey mass of rocks, rocks and more rocks. And the Kobold’s had now caught on that this prey was dangerous, also at range. I could see two figures, far up on the mountain side, from time to time, they’d peak their ugly heads out, taking view of the situation. It was a matter of timing here... There was a rythm to the bopping. I counted inside of myself and pulled the release on my crossbow. I looked for the bolt’s flight, but it was too fast. I heard the impact; a dry and satisfying thump. I could barely make out the shape of one of the creatures, slumped to the ground beside the rock cropping it had used for cover. I knew by myself that it not only was a hit, but also a kill, as I began reloading the crossbow anew. There was still one more Kobold above us, another one had taken flight, surprisingly nimble, across the mountain side. The Paladin saw no reason to pursue, and it was well out of range of anyone else. I am not sure exactly how Kobold tribes work, if that escapee would tell others to warn them, or to gather more of his mates for backup. I partly wanted the latter to be true, wouldn’t want my hammer-arm getting flabby. I was about to take aim at the last Kobold, when the Tiefling acted. I can’t really describe it to it’s full, and I do not claim to completely understand it, even now. But, I suppose, he cast some kind of magic at the Kobold, causing it to, quite literally, pop. Instead of celebrating, he just went stiff as a rock wall, staring out into... nothing. Suddenly he began to turn around on himself, eventually stopping, and started to walk, with a blank expression. His direction was straight towards Liri, who had dealt with the Kobolds below. With the Tiefling being almost double the Halfling’s height, I’m not certain Liri could have held the Tiefling up. Instead, she stepped to the side, letting the Tiefling continue out over the edge. A god of luck must have smiled on him, as he ony feel some fifteen feet or so, down on the path we had just climbed up. After regaining his awareness, he tried to insist that Liri had tried to trip him. Liri, obviously, denied this, and from what I could see, it did not seem like it was the case.

As the battle cleared over, the two knights, badly bruised, rejoined us. The elven messenger was no longer with them. As they explained it, a rockfall had started shortly after the first sounds of combat, and the elf was carried of the side of the mountain. Along with his backpack. Mariah mourned the loss of the documents (not so much the loss of the carrier). From what the knights told, the messenger was dead before being tossed off the mountain; the rocks had cracked his skull. At least it was a quick death.

No-one, including myself, cared to loot the Kobold remains, so instead we just climbed further up. As the mountain began to flatten itself out, we could see that we still weren’t anywhere near the peak. The fresh mountain air did me good, and my spirits was higher than normal, only thing lacking was maybe a cup of ale or mead, and perhaps a roast piglet. Perhaps it was due to the air that I was the only one who discovered a man, Human, sitting in a greyish cape around him. His cape almost blended with mountain side. I could see no weapons on the man, whom I’d presume to be around his late forties, but when getting a closer look, I saw his muscled frame beneath the cape. This man was a warrior or a soldier, one who had seen his share of war and combat. I called out to him, and he looked up at us. At first he seemed, almost, reluctant to get to know us, but eventually we ensured him that we meant him no harm. He then presented himself as “Rowan”, a man who had been living in these mountains for the past four to five years, according to himself. He invited us to join him in his cave for the night, and after a short walk, we came upon an barely visible wooden door in the rockside. Inside was not exactly spaceous, but Rowan had a decent setup. A working table of some sort, a fireplace with a cooking spit, and plenty of room further in. He’d been making a stew, and was not overjoyed, but not negative either about sharing. The stew was good, though none of us seemed able to decipher what meat he’d used. After dining, Rowan asked about our business. The ordeal with the mystery meat seemed to make some of us suspecious, but feeling coming off of him, seemed to suggest that he was just curious for his own reasons, and not one of spying for some master or group.

Just before we tucked in for the night, he asked if he could improve on some our gear, I could see a crude set of tools on the side of a forge. A good part of the group handed both armour and weaponry to him. I refused in a friendly matter, saying that as a Dwarf, and as a smith myself, I’d rather keep my gear up to scale myself. I had dealt with swindlers claiming to be blacksmiths, only to actually make the equipment worse, in order for them, with friends or not, to ambush the person later on. I watched the man as he began working, I didn’t try to hide that I was looking, and it didn’t seem to bother Rowan. Considering the crude level of equipment and tools, he was actually a pretty good smith. Making sure the others were asleep, I nodded in respect to him, and went to sleep myself. I could most likely have done better, even with this gear, but it’s a Dwarven thing to not praise the craft of others (especially not within fields of work, where many Dwarves lay their hides, so stonework, smithing and engineering). The next morning I pretended to inspect the weapons and armour, which was improved from it’s original form. “Aye, that’s not bad... for a human.” I had eye contact with Rowan as I said this, I think he understood that I didn’t mean it to mock his work. We greeted him farewell, and headed towards this monastery. After a day or two of eventless trudging, we finally saw the monastery, resting atop a smaller plateau. The high walls and red roofs standing solemn in the grey mass of mountains. The stairs up towards the main door seemed in disrepair, fromwhat I could tell, we didn’t really have time to stop. When we finally reached the large wooden doors, we saw that both were ajaw; something or someone had broken into the monastery.

#Friday Night Lights #DnD 5e #Mountain Dwarf #first person narrative #Dwarf fighter #Kobolds

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