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nine-of-words · 3 months

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Out in the Cold (Part Two)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

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Wordcount: 3473

Content Warnings: Emetophobia (Brief Mention of Vomiting)

I’ve been snowed in today, so it seems very fitting to post more of this story now :)

You’re not afraid to admit it; self control has never been your strong suit.

And in a way much reflective of your nature, you’ve completely lost steam. Relaxing as much as you can on the uncomfortable rock you’re sitting on, you fondly think back on the day you came here last winter, while chewing on more of your meager rations than you should. It’s hard not to feel nostalgic, even with the frankly pathetic way you ended up on the settlement’s doorstep.

They still took you in, even when they didn’t have to- and now you have a full year’s worth of memories of the orcs you’ve lived amongst.

…You suppose those memories will always be twinged with a more bittersweet quality, from now on.

You’ll have to learn to live with it…

It’s not like you need them, anyway, you try to convince yourself. It’s gotten harder to do that now- after everything that’s happened- than when you first arrived, that’s for sure.

You're knocked from your thoughts by the reverberating sound of a hunting horn in the distance, carried even over all the ground you've covered because of the thick blanket of snow.

"Dammit-" You curse and scramble from your seat at once, then haphazardly shove your remaining travel provisions back into your pack.

Your daydreaming got out of hand, and now your headstart is spent. The orc hunting party will be on your tail any moment now, with strides much bigger than yours. You take off once again, footsteps nearly silent as you dash through the snowy woods.

Over the next few hours, your inescapable streak of bad luck rears its inevitable head.

That tree looks familiar. And you’re pretty sure you've seen that configuration of rocks recently…

You brush it off as nerves, at first. You’re just getting into your own head. You know where you’re going- after all, you did have the brilliant foresight to pack a map and a compass, to combat your unfortunately lacking sense of direction.

…Until you come across a set of tracks in the snow.

There's no way they caught up already, let alone lapped me!

Taking a closer look, they're definitely from boots. Petite ones.

Not an orc’s, for sure. Who else would be out here? This isn’t good hunting weather… Out of curiosity, you line up your own boot next to one of the tracks.

…It’s a perfect match.

You… have managed to come across your own tracks in the snow.

Oh no. No, no, no- Not again-

You dig in your pack, looking for your compass and map.

…Which are not there.

A pit of despair knots in your stomach. You must’ve left it behind on the rock you were resting on earlier, after the sound of the horn spooked you.

Then it dawns on you - not only are you lost, you haven't even attempted to cover your tracks.

Your palm meets your forehead in irritation with yourself. You let out a long sigh, your fluffy tail swishing violently.

This was supposed to be simple. You planned your exit strategy for weeks.

And yet you’ve already managed to screw it up this bad.

Why is it always like this?

Why are you always so unlucky?

The Spirits must really have it out for you…

LAST WINTER

“Here’s your package, granny.” You say in the most charming voice you can muster as you approach. “You look absolutely radiant today, I might add.”

Since you’re a newcomer to the tribe without skill in an applicable trade, for the last few weeks you’ve been here, you’ve been doing general odd-jobs. Some other orcs do this sort of work as well for various reasons, but it seems to be where everybody starts, outsiders included. You tend to favor the delivery jobs; you’ve always been quick, and they’re hard to mess up too badly.

“Oh stop, you’re such a sweetheart.” The elderly orc stops her work at the loom and stretches her leathery green hands out to take the bundle. She pauses when she sees the label, though, and immediately bursts out in raucous laughter.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, your soft, pointed ears flattening back against your head in dread.

“Hahah- Oh no, little one, that package is for the other Ghorza. Ghorza Gog-Burzog. The one that lives by the mill? It says right here…” She taps the text with her fingertip.

You swear internally as you make your way back across the entire settlement. Though the orcs here speak the universal tongue for the most part, all of their writing is in the Orcish alphabet, and while you’ve started to recognize some of it, you haven’t fully gotten the hang of reading it yet.

At least granny gave you a jar of her winter berry preserves to take home with you for your trouble.

This is not the first time this has happened today. What should’ve been a morning chore has taken you into the late afternoon. By the time the other Ghorza gets her package and you head back to the middle of the settlement, the sun is starting to paint the horizon with streaks of red, mocking you.

Maybe he’ll not be here and I can just… pick a quick, easy task from the board to finish before sundown. That way, I'll still make the job quota for today…

You cringe as you walk into the vestibule leading to the great hall, and are unable to miss Torg’s looming presence sitting in his attached office, the door propped wide open. You attempt to pass unnoticed by the open door, towards the job board posted right beside it, utilizing all of your skill in stealth trained over years of being an accomplished thief, to try to save yourself the misery.

Then he says your name, and you cringe, cursing internally before slinking back into view of the doorway.

It’s not that he’s rude or cruel to you, but he’s just so damn observant. You can barely do a task, it seems like, without him showing up to check on you. Half the time you’re surprised he’s not still watching you like a hawk while you sleep at night in your singles’ dormitory bunk- criticizing your method and ready to give terse advice on how to get better rest.

It’s like he’s just waiting for you to screw up. And when you do, because it is a question of when and not if- he’s right there to witness your incompetence and correct you.

“Where have you been?” Torg says gruffly, not looking up from the papers laid out in front of him. “It’s nearly evening.”

“There were… some complications.” You rub your neck.

“Got lost again, then?” If you didn’t know any better from his weary, disappointed tone, you could swear you see the edge of his lip twitch in amusement around his tusk.

“No!” You let out an exasperated sigh. "Simply a minor mix up. Don't you worry, I came back to take another job before the day's out. I’m not trying to slack."

"No need." He rises out of his chair, tidying up the papers a bit as he does. "I have a job you can help me with instead."

“What would that be?”

“Wort and I had kitchen duty for dinner tonight, but Wort sprained his ankle on a tree root earlier and can’t put weight on it for now. You will be joining me instead, so Cook doesn’t have to work on one of his nights off.”

“Er… I can’t say I have much experience cooking, but I’ll do my best.”

“Great. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

It doesn’t take long before you’ve arrived in the kitchen, washed up and donned aprons.

Yours, of course, hangs halfway down your stomach, because this apron is designed for Orcish proportions.

“Here.” Torg shakes his head with a sigh, motioning for you to come to him. “Turn around. I’ll shorten it.”

You comply and turn your back to him, and you feel his hands start tying the neck strap into a knot at the midpoint.

You barely manage to keep from audibly gulping in fear. This man could squash you like a bug with minimal effort, and you’re showing him the bare nape of your neck, completely defenseless. You would be shuddering in fear, but his fingers are surprisingly gentle against your skin as they work the fabric into a knot.

It’s sickeningly anxiety-inducing and oddly intimate- and then it’s over just like that.

“There you go.” He nods, then ducks into the pantry. He returns in a few moments, coming over with a huge basket of various tubers and leafy greens under his arm.

“Since you said you don’t have much experience, we’re going to keep things simple: Winter Root Stew.” He places the basket down with a soft thump. “How comfortable are you with using a knife?”

“I know my way around one.” Sure, you’re more used to cutting purse strings with them and not vegetables… But he doesn’t need to know that, right?

“Good. You’re going to peel and cut these, and then put them in the cauldron. Greens get washed and then go in later. Easy. I’ll be cooking the game that the hunters brought in earlier, if you need help.”

Work goes surprisingly fast, and your deft hands are soon slinging cut root vegetables into the bubbling bone stock at a snappy pace. In fact, things go so smoothly that you are surprised you've managed to complete the task without any unlucky hiccups.

When you've finished, you're drawn to the other side of the kitchen by the sound of sizzling fat and the scent and browning meat. Torg is there, tending to a large, open oven.

"That smell is heavenly."

Torg grunts in agreement, strong arms working to stoke the burning logs underneath.

The food here has been surprisingly good, especially after having it conditioned into you growing up in a more civilized town that Orcish cuisine surely must all be grey slop. It's definitely heavier than standard faire, but you've found that it has its own rustic charm- with its rich flavors, game meat, and tendency towards rib-sticking density- that's begun to grow on you.

“Venison. A few late winter fowl as well."

"Damn, who doesn't love a man who can cook…?" You sigh.

Torg is oddly silent for a moment before letting out a small chuff of a laugh, then promptly changing the subject.

"Did you season the stew yet?" He brushes off your flattery with a wry smile.

"Ah, no I have not. What should I use?"

"Mostly salt. But some basic herbs and spices will be good enough." He points out the jars on the shelf to use and dictates what quantities, slowly and deliberately, since you can't fully read their labels yet.

"Okay, got it."

You confidently return to the prep area, mentally repeating a mantra of the ingredients and their amounts. You manage to collect most of the bottles just based on your sharp memory, until you come across the last needed ingredient. Two apparently identical versions of the same bottle sit side by side, even the labels looking nearly identical.

Urgh, which one is the ground mustard seed? They look the same…

Maybe there’s two bottles of it?

You chew your lip in thought, looking at the script on the bottle labels. The squiggles might as well be chicken scratch to you.

You peek back at Torg. He’s completely engrossed in basting the meat, with his back turned to you.

You don’t want to bother him. You want to stay on his good side to keep your cover and not get kicked out before you’ve finished your job. But strangely, you also are beginning to harbor a strong desire to prove that you’re competent.

…Wait, it’s definitely this one. I recognize that letter!

You take the cap off and take a whiff. The familiar, pungent, biting scent fills you with confidence.

Yep! That’s mustard alright!

Now, how much did he say again…?

You can’t recall. So, you unceremoniously dump an enormous amount of each seasoning into the cauldron.

The more flavor the better, right? Plus, this is a huge pot…!

When you’re done, you help Torg with a few other easy tasks while everything finishes cooking. By the time the stew has had enough time to boil and meld together for a while, Torg is pulling the meat out to rest before slicing.

He walks over to the cauldron to taste a small spoonful of the liquid.

Why are you suddenly filled with anxiety? It’s just vegetable stew, and you’re not even a real cook… But you find yourself dangling on a ledge waiting for his reaction.

“Hmgh-” He winces slightly, one bottom eyelid twitching, but quickly covers it with a small, tusky smile. “A little over seasoned- but not bad at all.”

“Really?” Your voice perks up.

“Yes. You did a good job.”

“...Thanks.” You can’t stop yourself from beaming.

Why is a bit of simple praise over such a menial task making you feel so happy…? Sure, you don’t exactly get praised that often, but still… You don’t need it…

You’re just here to do a job, you remind yourself. Once you figure out where the artifact you’ve been sent here for is, it’s the simple matter of getting your hands on it and getting out cleanly.

You don’t need to care about approval from any of these brutes in the least…

“Well then, let’s get this stuff out to be served.” Torg grabs the handle of the cauldron with both hands, lifting the heavy wrought iron vessel with barely any exertion besides a rough grunt. You’re nearly caught up contemplating the easy show of raw physical strength, before Torg’s instruction snaps you back to attention. “Grab some of the bread baskets and follow me.”

You comply, and soon you’re set up methodically ladling hot stew out of the cauldron and into the waiting wooden bowls of hungry orcs queued in the grub line.

This is… almost kind of nice?

No one is looking at you with pitying looks as you make another mistake or struggle to complete a task. Just a nod, maybe an appreciative grunt or mono-syllabic expression of approval, before they move on.

You can’t help but feel a pleasant, calm focus, and a boost to your self-esteem as you work through the line, working to the sounds of the lively dining hall.

Unfortunately, the peaceful sense of accomplishment is tragically short lived.

Suddenly, the good cheer of mealtime is disrupted as a loud tremor of havoc winds through the dining hall. Wooden chairs and benches and tables scrape loudly, some overturning and falling to the floor, though that’s barely audible over all of the booming voices yelling.

You’ve not really witnessed any brawling yet, despite being told to expect it; that orcs are violent and dole out black eyes and rip off earlobes with their teeth like it’s nothing, over the smallest of disputes.

This doesn’t seem like a brawl, though.

Torg swiftly leaves the serving line, immediately parting the crowd to get to the heart of the issue. You watch as a few different orcs are dragged outside by others, into the snow.

“Nothing else served!” One of the other orcs on the serving line barks after convening with someone that’s run over to them from closer to the commotion. You let the ladle rest on the edge of the cauldron, a sinking feeling from your throat to the pit of your stomach.

That’s how you find yourself sitting on a stool in the kitchen hours later, your hands bound with scratchy cord and two gruff, irritated looking orc guards watching you closely.

Not long after, the huge, seething Chieftain returns to interrogate you.

“What kind of poison was it?!” He roars as he storms into the room with a bang, the door threatening to explode off the hinges behind him.

“P-Poison?!” You barely squeak out. You shield your face with your hands, if only to dampen the larger man’s thunderous volume.

“Don’t play dumb! Everyone who had a serving of the stew you made fell violently ill within minutes!” He gestures widely towards the door to the dining hall.

“I didn’t poison anyone! I wouldn't- !”

Poison has never been your style…

“Then explain! ” He snarls, nostrils flaring and teeth fully bared in anger. “What did you put in that stew?!”

Despite the yelling, you feel strangely safe. You don’t think this is going to get physical. You’ve never seen Torg get violent with anyone, and if anything, he seems to be struggling to keep his loud, expressive rage reeled back.

Moreover, during the interrogations you’ve endured at the hands of other authority figures in the past… the beating usually would’ve already started a while ago, if it was going to happen.

“N-Nothing, except what you told me to!” You whimper, quickly rattling off the list of spices you memorized like an incantation. “Salt, Pepper, Paprika, Dill, Mustard Seed-“

Torg turns, and his eyes scour the shelves of spices as you list off items. His hand hovers above the bottle of mustard seed, and after a moment of thought, he grabs both it, and the bottle beside it.

He brings them over, presenting both of the bottles to you. You lower your hands slightly to look at them.

“Tell me,” He says your name grimly, and takes a deep breath before asking his next question, voice still dripping with barely restrained rage. “Which of these is mustard seed?”

“That one.” You point to the bottle you used with your bound hands.

His shoulder jerks as if he’s about to fling the bottle to smash against the wall, but he apparently resists the urge, setting the bottle on the counter instead and releasing his white-knuckled grip on the lid.

“This is not mustard seed. It is bellow-seed.” He says through gritted teeth.

“Bellow-seed?”

“A spice made from a plant in the mustard family. Not a poison.” A bit of relief is clear in his voice and body language despite the clear vestiges of rage still burning inside. “But in large quantities, it is a powerful emetic.”

You look at him blankly.

“It makes you empty your stomach.” He speaks slowly, forcefully annunciating each word. “Violently.”

“Oh, I’m… I’m so sorry.” You say weakly. “I- They were just right next to each other and I couldn’t read the label, but it smelled like mustard, so-”

“If you were unsure, you should have asked! I was right there!” He growls, his large palm finds the side of his head in disdain. “I told you to ask for help.”

You don’t have an answer for that, besides your inflated sense of ego and wanting to avoid your own embarrassment. You simply sit there pitifully, soft feline ears swiveled back in shame.

After a few moments of you failing to come up with an answer or excuse, Torg pinches his glabella and lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“...Did you do this on purpose?” He finally asks.

“No.” You look him directly in the eye and say with conviction.

Torg nods, then undoes the ropes holding your wrists together himself in tense silence.

“Is… everyone going to be okay?” You ask tentatively and rub the indentation on your wrist, the guilt of your mistake already eating at your conscience.

“You- go to tell Shaman-” He ignores your question and gives one of the guards orders, then the other. “And you, take him home. He stays there until morning, until his story is confirmed.”

You’re pulled to your feet, then lead back towards the dormitory. As you trudge through the snow, you can’t shake the feeling of guilt. It follows you all the way back to your dormitory, and weighs on your chest as you’re finally in bed for the night, tossing and turning.

What’s your punishment going to be? Surely, nothing good. And sure, your cover didn’t get blown yet, but they still might exile you for putting people in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to finish the job-

What’s your guildmaster going to do when word gets back that you ruined the one chance to do the job? Fritz has never been the most understanding when it comes to failure.

You suppose you could just go on the run if you fail, but… you have a feeling that messing up such a big job will earn you a grudge, and he has a well-earned reputation for not letting those go. You doubt you’d get very far without the past coming back to haunt you.

You heave a sigh.

More importantly… What if you really hurt someone with your seasoning mishap? Usually the only one paying for your mistakes is you…

You don’t sleep well that night.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x reader #orc x reader #orc #male reader #male monster #troll reader #mlm #mxm #male x male #oc: reyr #oc: torg #series: out in the cold #nine of words

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tastesoftamriel · 1 year

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You've mentioned food enjoyed by young children, so let's go the opposite route; what are some foods from across Tamriel that are infamous for being Old People Food?

Ah, of course. There's always that food that inexplicably only old people like. I'm never here to knock anyone's favourite foods though, so here's a showcase of some of Tamriel's dishes most beloved by its aged population.

Altmer

Heron liver pâté is, in my opinion, the least palatable Altmeri food there is. Mushy yet inexplicably chewy, this pâté has a distinctly muddy smell and texture that old Mer seem to love. If you've still got teeth, it's common to dip grissini and crudités into the pâté, but if not, the pet food texture is fine to eat with a spoon.

Argonians

Older Argonians love their papaya! It's good for the health, and...bowels, especially? This mighty fruit is often pounded into a pulp with fresh turmeric root and scuttlebloom nectar, a bit like a very thick juice, and the mixture is happily inhaled by the geriatrics throughout Black Marsh. I love papaya, but not so much when it's served this way.

Bosmer

Timber mammoth milk soup is very much an old Mer dish in Valenwood. Simply put, it's just a bunch of meaty ingredients boiled until they fall apart in a soup base made from salty timber mammoth milk. The dish is definitely an acquired taste, from the slightly slimy yet frothy texture to the practically liquid meat bits.

Bretons

Master confectioners in High Rock are always in the business of pumping out sweets that almost nobody eats, bar the older population. Whether it's violet sweets, liquorice drops, musk sticks, or butter mints, for some reason, every Breton over the age of 60 develops an inexplicable craving for these sweets. I think I'll stick to lemon sherbets, personally.

Dunmer

I know that I talk about saltrice porridge a lot, but saltrice congee infused with ginseng and gingko nuts are right up there in terms of ancient Dunmer food. Add some pulled trama root (boiled until soft), pickled comberries, and ash-cured kwama egg, and you have a strongly herbal-scented meal with the texture of snot.

Imperials

While not as old people-y as most other dishes on this list, classic dishes, like my Emperor's Venison Fricassee, are hardly considered to be exciting food on the Cyrodiilic gastronomy scene. The humble fricassee is a palatable, if slightly boring dish with a stew-like texture, but doesn't contain any particularly strong flavours. Said to be the ultimate old-person dish in Cyrodiil.

Khajiit

Age isn't going to stop any Khajiit from imbibing moon sugar, but the way it's served is slightly different. Peanut soup, which is literally just a hot slurry made from boiled peanuts, is a nutritious dish often served for dessert. However, the taste is, at best, horrifically boring, and the only way to fix that is with lots of moon sugar. The end result is something akin to eating runny peanut butter, to which I can only politely say 'no thanks, Clan Mother'.

Nords

Just because we honour the older members of our communities in Skyrim doesn't mean that we're above making jokes about what they eat. If you think pickled fish is bad, try the trout that's been fermented in a barrel for a few months, then cut into slices and served atop flatbread with beets and sour cream. It sounds worse than it is, but this is the sort of food that makes me flash back to Granny Matilda's cottage when I was a child.

Orcs

The fact of the matter is that many Orcs don't live to see old age as an adversary, but those who do develop some curious dietary habits. Steamed potato pudding with wrathberry raisins is definitely one of them- a pungent dessert that's absolutely nobody's favourite besides probably the stronghold elders. It's basically a regular steamed pudding made from potato flour and densely studded with wrathberry raisins, something like a New Life pudding. Very filling, kind of bland, and perfect for the geriatric Orsimer in your life.

Redguards

A mild Alik'r curry made with snake eggs and okra would be my pick when it comes to describing the favoured food of elderly Redguards. Whole boiled snake eggs and slices of okra float in a thin goat's milk-based curry, which is served with a side of cous cous or rice. It's simple food, but so bland and boring you'd hardly recognise it as Redguard cuisine.

#Asks #Food #Elderly #old people #Tes #the elder scrolls #cooking #food #World building #Worldbuilding

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saturnalmoss · 7 months

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ARM-WRESTLER

Chapter Three

A Rogue By Any Other Name

Master Post

The name of the arm-loser wasn’t listed but there was an address next to the arm’s ID. The address was in Fancy Town - they expected it by this point - in the western Historical Fancy Town district.

The building was unusual.

“It’s an orcish house!” York said, startled. He squinted. “It’s a bad orcish house.”

Grenden tilted her head. “So it was an orcish prosthetic?” York shook his head vigorously.

“Ain’t no self respecting orc.”

The front door creaked opened. An old and very square orc woman stepped out, assisted by a sizable staff. She was smiling at them. “Y’all gonna stay out there staring, or come in?” she said in a heavy northern brogue.

York started forward, Rosé and Grendan jogging after. “We don't mean to intrude.” Grendan said.

“Hardly intrudin’! It’s still business hours, after all.” The orcish woman said. “Y’all can call me Granny Skully.”

“Business hours?” Rosé asked.

“Generally speakin’, about 9 to 5, dearie.” Granny Skully said.

“Are you a business?” Gendan asked “What do you do?”

“Hope it ain’t buildin’ houses,” York muttered.

Granny paused to look at them. “You know, I’m getting the impression y’all ain’t here for a tour.” She looked them up and down, but decided that they weren’t a threat. “Who are you, then?”

York puffed up. “Gyorik Rogdul.” He watched her. She raised an eyebrow, and looked to the next.

“Grendan Highforge. Or Grenda. Grandma’s fine too but it might get confusing.”

“Rosé.” Said Rosé. She did not elaborate.

“I’m interested in the tour, by the way.” Grendan said. Rosé patted York on the arm, who did not seem pleased.

“York’s a prince.” she mentioned. “Of the northern orc tribes.”

Granny huffed to herself. “Don’t dress like any prince I’ve seen.”

“Well your house ain’t no orc house I’ve ever seen..” York said.

Granny laughed. “Careful now! Them’s fightin’ words and I’ve still got some vigor in my bones.” One heavy wrinkled eye glinted. “Don’t suppose you have a proper weapon hidden in those tight little clothes you’ve got, princeling?”

York grinned and flexed. “Don’t need one, Granny.” Rosé glanced at Grendan and grimaced. Grendan shook her head frantically.

“What do we do?!” she mouthed.

Granny and York took a step towards each other. A door slammed somewhere in the house. A stampede of steps followed and a bluish elf skidded around the corner.

“Granny, I heard you!” the elf shouted. “No ax fights in the house!”

The elf was a little shorter than Rosé, a lot shorter than York and Granny, and breathing hard. They wore a long cloak and when they pointed accusingly behind them toward the other end of the house, Rosé thought it hung strangely on their frame.

“Out! If you want to fight, fight in the back!” They paused. “Also sign the waiver stating that we aren’t responsible.”

“Excuse me,” Rosé said sweetly. They looked up. “Are you missing an arm?”

The elf’s name was Crimbilion Pelles, and Granny Skully was their mother-in-law. “Thanks for meeting with us, Mx. Pelles.” Grendan said.

“Leon is fine.” They said warmly. They had calmed down entirely, and were a quite put together looking elf. They stuck out with their modern dress in the traditional old orcish house next to the traditionally dressed old orcish woman.

Granny Skully sat them around a rough hewn and heavy wooden table in the kitchen. The whole building looked out of time and place, candles and lit lanterns illuminating the stone and wood work kitchen. A heavy black iron stove radiated a gentle heat to the room.

“It’s because it’s a sort o’ museum,” Granny told them. “The home was originally build by orcish immigrants from the northern tribes that settled here generations ago. We maintain it now, and welcome visitors to teach ‘em about the old ways.”

York leaned forward. “It don’t look like a proper orc house.” Granny Skully laughed.

“No, no, this is what homes looked like for northern tribe orcs who settled down here!” She patted York’s hand. “Of course there would be differences, little prince. Many things in the north ain’t available, after all. Many things are available in Fancy Town that weren’t up north. We adapt.”

Grendan perched her head on her hands and listened. York seemed curious despite his apprehensions.

Leon placed some hot drinks in front of them and sat. “There’s a bed and breakfast, too, if you want more of this, or other orcish treats.” They gave the detectives a bemused look. “So, you wanted to meet me, but you only knew me by my, uh, lack of arm?”

York shook his curiosity out of his head for the moment. “You’re wanted for littering.” Leon stared and Rosé elbowed him.

“... Am I?”

“No,” Rosé said.

“Probably not,” Grendan said. “Depends!”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “We found an arm, belonging to you,” Rosé said. “How did you lose it?”

The elf lit up suddenly. “You found it!” They laughed. “Well, I didn’t lose it on purpose, I can assure you. Am I cleared on my littering charge?”

York hummed, then nodded. Leon smiled. “I lost it to a mugger of some sort. It was a pretty strange circumstance, actually. Fellow just took my arm.”

Grendan whipped out a notebook. “...mugged for arm... And nothing else was taken at all?” Leon shook their head.

“They could have, too. Gave me a nasty crack on the head.” They rubbed their neck gingerly. Granny shook her head. “I was out for a few minutes, I think.”

“This is why I tell you to carry a weapon, child.” she said. Leon kissed their teeth derisively.

“I don’t want to hit anyone and, to be frank, I don’t want anyone to take my weapon and hit me.” Granny Skully huffed. York huffed.

“Annnd... When did this occur?” Grendan asked.

“Three days ago.”

“Did you report it to anyone? Did you see the person who attacked you?” Leon shook their head.

“I... reported it, but I didn’t see who got me.” they shrugged. “What is this city coming to, et cetera, et cetera.”

“...et cetera et cetera...” Grendan muttered. She looked up at the other two. “Any other questions?”

Leon raised their hand. “I have one. Where should I go to pick my arm up?” They grinned. “Thanks for finding it, by the way. Those are expensive.”

Rosé grinned back, and pulled the arm out of her pocket and laid it on the table. Leon looked at it, then her, and it again. Granny cackled.

“Th-thank you!” They laughed reflexively. “Well! That’s all I had to ask.”

Rosé perched her chin on her hand. “We have one last question for you, if that’s alright?”

“Can we stay in your hotel-y bit a while and find the mugger?” York asked.

Leon and Granny Skully were initially concerned. They only had four rooms in the bed and breakfast section, and the three of them would knock most of their income for the duration of their stay.

“And, no offense, I wasn’t getting the impression you were offering to pay.” Leon said apologetically.

“Course, it would be a different story if you were paying for three rooms.” Granny grinned toothily at them.

“We all would be in the same room.” Rosé told them. “It’s annoying to try to fall asleep without them.”

“York makes you feel very safe.” Grendan said. York nodded.

“Um,” Leon said.

Granny hummed. “Let ‘em stay, then.” Granny said. Leon looked at her, surprised. “I don’t like the idea of someone with a grudge against you running about.” She grinned. “Plus the little prince could stand to learn ‘bout his history.”

York frowned at her. Leon sighed. “I don’t know about someone with a grudge - it seemed like a nasty prank to me.” They looked at the detectives. “But it’s Granny’s business and what she says goes.”

The rooms were up a narrow, old, and wooden, but very sturdy, staircase. They were settled in the largest. It was a very traditional orcish room, with trophies displaying the prowess of the host, raw wood and bone construction, and an area set aside that York said was for making any statements to God to see if she would say anything back.

But there was also a restroom in the hall accessible to all the rooms, and a landline bone on the heavy wooden dresser. York raised an eyebrow at the interior toilet.

“Still, almost makes me homesick. Almost.” York said. “In fact its already gone.”

They settled on the bed and plush cushions to discuss their next course of action.

“We should meet with people who know Leon,” Grendan said. “Like Granny was saying, this seems personal.”

“Should we try to reach Jancy again?” Rosé wondered. “We’re at assault now, not littering or missing stuff.”

“Don’t wanna.” York said. “It’s more impressive if we figure it out than if we just report it to her.”

“Leon also already reported the assault part!” Grendan pointed out. “So I don’t think we are obstructing anything.” The three of them nodded.

“Hmm. It looks like her bone is still on silent anyway.” Rosé muttered. “Eh, whatever. So, do we need to grab anything from home?”

There was a knock at the door.

Grenda opened it and looked up at two orcish girls, dressed as traditionally as Granny Skully, who looked back down at them. “Oh!” said the taller of the two girls. “Good afternoon, sir, madam, or esteemed guest!” she said in a rehearsed tone.

“Hey, guests.” The younger girl said. Grenda thought they were probably sisters by the resemblance. They didn’t quite look like Granny Skully, though, who was a deep forest green-gray. The girls were considerably cooler in tone and their ears surprisingly long-

“Are you Leon’s kids?” Grenda asked, surprised.

The older of the two squeaked, her sister cackled in a familiar impression of Granny. “Yeah, they’re our Narri.”

“We’re um, I’m Jyurogul, this is my sister Hinpirdul. We are um.” Grenda looked on pityingly as she tried to recover the script in her head. Hinpirdul rolled her eyes.

“We’re in charge of the guests.” she said. “So like, dinners at 6pm downstairs in the dining area and breakfast’s at 8 am same place. You can go wherever the signs have a green happy face. Keep out of the red angry face even though some of them were open in business hours.”

Grenda nodded. “Will do!” Hinpirdul nodded pleased.

“Then we’ll get on great. There’s a landline bone in here, it just does inside calls, if something comes up at night.” She cracked her knuckles. “Don’t break any rules and you won’t get any broken bones.” Surprisingly, Jyurogul imitated her, nodding.

Grenda waved them off as they left. They heard, faintly. “What’s wrong with you, today? You’ve been doing this for years!”

“Shh!! N-nothing! Nothing’s wrong!”

They closed the door gently and looked back at Rosé and York.

“Interesting.” Grenda said.

“Interesting.” Rosé nodded.

“I don’ think it was the kids.” York said. “Good kids, though.”

“The older girl looked nervous though!” Rosé said, “What was her name, Jyuro-” She was interrupted by another abrupt knock on the door.

Grenda opened it again to Jyurogul, face glowing, and arms full of clothing. “G-granny s-s-said that you need c-clothes, for some reason, e-e-especially, y-you.” She looked at York, and her face burned even brighter.

York looked irritated. Rosé looked understanding. “I see...” she said. “Well, thats very nice of Granny.”

Grenda and Rosé took the clothes off her and closed the door and Rosé dropped the pile on York. “She’s got a crush on you.”

“That’s been happenin’ to me more, what with the shows.” York said, perturbed. “We didn’t even talk.”

“You can just ignore it.” Grenda said. “It’s not like you have to do anything about other people’s crushes.” They looked down at the pile of cloth. “But, you know, does this mean we shouldn’t stop at home for our stuff?”

“It’s pretty nice of Granny Skully.” Rosé said. “She wouldn’t be bribing us because she took the arm, would she?”

“Granny’s a old fashioned orc.” York said. “She woulda made sure they knew who bonked them.” He looked at the clothes thoughtfully. “Trophies are traditional though.”

Grenda looked startled. “Do you think the perp’s an orc, then?” York shrugged noncommittally.

“Losing the trophy again’s weird.”

Granny met them as the three detectives made their way down to the dining room. “Come, follow me.” She led them through the door with a red angry face hanging from it. “You’ll eat with us, since you’re guests not customers.”

“Oh, thank you!” Grenda said. “Thank you for the change of clothes, too!”

The kids were already present at the table. Leon was setting it, talking to another orc they hadn’t met yet. He didn’t seem to work there, as he dressed in modern clothing.

“It is after hours, though.” Rosé whispered. “Maybe it’s more casual.”

Leon looked up and smiled. “Sit anywhere you like.” They gestured, “This is Ardsley, Ardsley Orcking. He’s an old friend, in town for a few days.”

Hinpirgul waved an angry arm. “What’d I just say about breaking the rules!” Jyurogul slapped a hand over her sister’s mouth and smiled very nervously at them.

“Hahaha, that’s silly, c-clearly Granny um, yes, yeah!” she said. Leon looked over at her, eyebrows drawn together.

“Jyuri, are you feeling okay?” He looked up at the detectives. “These are my daughters, by the way. Jyurogul and Hinpirdul.”

“J-jyuri is fine. Since you’re guests. Well, like, house guests not, not.” She stopped and grinned nervously, but toothily, at them.

Hinpirdul was looking at her sister suspiciously. “You are. So weird.”

They ate together. The meal was big and hot and filling. Rosé and Grenda were curious how close to home the food was for York.

“Da wasn’t that good a cook, and I’m pretty sure Ma made southern human food.” York said. He liked it though. He showed his appreciation by eating thirds.

Leon took a moment to catch his friend Ardsley up on the whole ordeal, with some additions from Granny. “You lost your arm?! Well, again, I suppose. I’m starting to become concerned.” Ardsley said with a playful air.

“Hey! It’s only happened twice - over quite a few years! That’s hardly a pattern.”

Ardsley rubbed his chin in an exaggerated fashion. “Perhaps you disappeared it, playing those ridiculous tricks with your daughter?”

Hinpirdul lit up. “Narri! Can you disappear your ARM?!” Her parent sighed. They looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps... well, I’d rather not.” Hinpirdul’s eyes sparkled.

“I bet you could if you wanted, though.”

Leon smiled. “I wouldn’t have to knock my audience out.” They snapped their fingers in front of their daughter, a coin manifesting. She laughed. Ardsley rolled his eyes.

“Really, Leon. This is hardly becoming for a young orc to be interested in.”

“Mmm, luckily for me, it’s fine for half-elves.”

“Enough of this.” Granny said with finality. She smiled at her guests. “Pay them no mind. Arguments’re the heart of a vigorous household, after all. Tell us instead how y’all gonna find that... prankster.”

“Well if they got a grudge, they’re gonna come back, right?” York said. Leon frowned at this.

“We also figure it’s someone you at least know the name of.” Grenda added. “It’s hard to have a grudge on a stranger.” They paused. “Unless you’re a celebrity. But I haven't heard of you?”

Leon let out a soft laugh. “I’m not.”

“Anyone come to mind with a grudge?” Rosé pressed. “Maybe a dissatisfied guest?” Leon fiddled distractedly with the coin. It glittered as it flickered between their fingers.

“I don’t actually work here - I have helped out, but not often.”

“The museum’s a passion of mine.” Granny Skully explained. “It don’t earn much, though. Leon got themself some sort of office job to help.” She held a touch of disdain, and something else, at the idea of it.

“And what sort of job is it?” Grenda had the little notebook out and was scribbling rapidly. Leon shrugged.

“Logistics, you know, moving stuff around. The place is called KMB Trans.” Grenda looked up.

“Wow, that sounds incredibly boring.” Grenda said. A surprised laugh escaped Leon. The rest cackled openly.

“It’s not running a museum, but it’s not bad.”

“And I suppose no one at your job hates you?” Rosé asked. Leon shook their head. Rosé sighed in disappoint, and nodded.

After dinner ended and everyone said their goodnights, the three settled into the room for the night. Rosé was quiet as they relaxed under the covers of the bed together.

“Something on your mind?” Grendan asked.

“I don’t know how to say this. I don’t even know if it means anything.” Rosé said after a long moment. “I just, I know a rogue when I see one. That enby is a rogue.”

#poscamarkers #drawfee #drawtectives #fanfic #writing #saturnart

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safyresky · 3 months

Text

BUD-A-BOOP-BOP! TWINS!

boy HOWDY have some THURSDAY NIGHT SCRIMBLES! 🥳 Now in magical TECHICOLOUR! It's older Twins! Fino and Fiera!

Design stuff below the cut 🤗🤗

My god I'm having fun with these markers. But the colours are LIMITED as I only have like 2 starter sets and they're FUN but deffs I could use a few more in betweens.

ANYWAY. DESIGNS.

Fino

Doing my boy first bc we already had fun with Older Fiera ages ago lmao

I'd been wanting to share his older design for AGES tbh! Had it in me head around the same time as I shared the older twins and Jacquie scribbles lol. ANYWAY

He is SEMI fancy! Big fan of button downs and vests/waistcoats!

Doesn't ALWAYS wear the vest

His shirts 9/10 times have funky patterns. Like fungi or flowers or just the weirdest fucking designs you EVER did see. His siblings and orc friend (Kenothy) all make it a fun game to find him the most OBNOXIOUSLY WEIRD SHIRTS. His collection is HUGE and VARIED and HURTS THE EYES FIFTY PERCENT OF THE TIME

he is like a walking mullet but the business is on top, the party is below. He is a jeans man through and through and you can pry his converse/kicks off his cold, dead feet tbh. they are ALWAYS red. he probably has like 10 pairs like some kinda cartoon character

belt is pink bc fiera's magic! the inside of his cloak is rainbow, like his twin's fire :D

the cloak also does have a big old hood and covers his whole him so he can look mysteriouse

and then give people whiplash when he whips the cloak back and pulls the hood down and. well. on fire colourful schemey looking young man

everyone's usually like "i didn't expect the freckles. or the fungi shirt"

the fungi shirt is his fave

plz picture a fungi pattern all over his shirt!

when he uses his staff, the flame turns rainbow too and the snowflake glows :3

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Fino's warlock aesthetic is "i live in your local forest and i love my family and i'm making it everyone's problem"

the outside of the cloak is a nice forest green! bc he likes forests (if that wasn't obvious lol)

he's pretty chill but has resting plotting face. generally if he's looking like that he has examined every angle of a situation and is about to make a bigger one. or fix the current one. or both!! and is VERY proud of himself!!!! (as he SHOULD be!)

he and Fiera ARE the same height but I drew Fiera first and started Fino top down as you do but neglected to watch the height lol. so just know. they are BOTH tall and BOTH the same height!!!!

He is the BEST warlock of the current era he is warlocking in. If Uncle Pyros was around he'd be mad jealous. Same with Granny Frost tbh. Grandpa Winter would like, lift him up like Simba like "THAT'S MY GRANDBSON! THE BEST WARLOCK IN THE WHOLE WORLD!"

(if the bio grandparents were around, you bet it would be a big case of "the in-laws don't get along" lmao)

Fiera

pink is her fave colour and the colour of her magic, so her shirt, shoes, AND hair ribbons are all pink, but it's a lil light, innit? like i said, limited colours lol

BUT WE'RE HAVING A GRAND OLD TIME DOWN THIS WAY.

EVEN IF MY NOSE SMELLS LIKE ALCOHOL ALL THE DAMN TIME

RIGHT. FIERA.

HOT PANTS! SHE'S GOT HOT PANTS!!! They're not that dark blue, bit of a lighter wash for her denim (but I don't have a lot of blue options lol)

suspenders are red bc FINO'S MAGIC! one is always hanging off of her, the other is always up. she doesn't do this on purpose it just HAPPENS bc she doesn't actually really need them? it's the FASHION. the STYLE.

sometimes hair ribbons are red too, bc Fino magic :3

ALSO wears converse but the boot like ones, bc I've always wanted a pair of boot converse! They look SOO COOL and SOO INCONVENIENT, AND THEY ARE COLOURFUL! I mean. Fiera's are pink but I'VE SEEN ALL THE COLOURS. AND I WANT.

I mean. why make OCs if not for them to wear the things you can't have/afford/pull off?

huehuehue

she's not THAT buff tho she is pretty strong. i am a writer by trade so my doodles are not to scale (read: scrimbly). anyway, she's probably usually a tank/halter top person??? this doodle just really wanted to be a t-shirt!

both twins have elements of their outfits inspired by the fam, not TOTALLY on purpose but it did make me cackle as I noticed them so TAKE THIS QUICK SYNOPSIS:

Fino:

dress shirt, belt over suspenders: blaise vibes

big ol cloak: winter vibes

comfortable shoes: jacquie vibes

vest: jack vibes

Fiera:

suspenders: jack and blaise vibes (both are known to wear them as an accessory instead of for their intended purpose of keeping pants up)

hot pants and boot like shoes: jacquie vibes

hair buns: winter vibes

man, I love the older twins. the SHENANIGANS they get INTO! they're a dream team, you won't know what hit you by the time they're through with you 🥰🥰🥰🥰

#the SHIT i DO to STAY AWAKE for critical role lmao #tbh tho this particular art has been itching my brain the past month??????#so I am glad I did it! and i didn't fall asleep during cr once >:)#dani speaks #dani doodles #cs posting #crystal springs #fino #fiera #the twins #ocs #my ocs #i want more markers so bad. but they are so expensive here. richard found them V CHEAP when he was in europe a while back #but i need more BLUES #WHY DID I MAKE JACQUELINE'S HAIR WHITE. AHH #also. fiera does NOT have braces. she just has a very toothy smile #and as previously stated. i am a writer by trade. not a draw-er OR dentist tbh #tho i did briefly think about becoming a dentist #for like a whole weekend back in grade 11 #anyway. enjoy the scrimbly twins!#and apologies for the loopy descriptions lol. i wrote it at 2am and then cr ended and i kept going ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#and upon rereading it this afternoon when tagging the post i went 'it's fine! let's keep it'#tho I did catch the spelling errors so that's good!#she says. knowing full well she'll see a fresh one down the road for sure

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miodiodavinci · 8 months

Note

omg i get so excited hearing about dnd!!!! how many campaigns have you been in if u mind answering?

i don't mind at all ! ! ! ! i enjoy talking about dnd ! ! ! ! our group got together in 2020 has run a total of (counts on fingers) 6 campaigns and 5 one shots, with our average campaign length being around 20 to 30 sessions. each person's taken a shot at DM'ing thus far, but the forever DM and i have both run about four of those each w

also, outside of one or two one shots, it's all been exclusively homebrew ! ! ! which is fun because we've all gotten to create our own regions and design overarching lore that connects each campaign to the other ! ! ! (surprisingly, hannus barbarous is usually the connecting factor. we did not plan this but that's just how it is now KJSFLKJH)

and because i love talking about dnd so much i'm taking this opportunity to dump a whole lot of summary of each campaign/one shot in chronological order under the cut w

ON A SCALE of ONE to TWENTY .. campaign

After being shut off from the world for over a hundred years, the region of Celosia finally opens its doors, sending out an open letter to all would-be adventurers asking for help. Our party just so happened to be the fools who decided to answer (and who got lucky enough to not get eaten by wolves on the way there), and have been tasked with taking down the shadowy Emerald Division that has seemingly come to power. They'll get to it as soon as they visit the dump (it's on the way).

Our DM's first homebrew campaign and the result of all of us being stuck inside and realizing we finally had time to play together w. This was the origin of both Hannus Barbarous as a running gag (along the lines of "this is JUST like Thomas and Jeremiah") and the name Scott as a throwaway bit, and also the origin of "The Coolest Emerald Division" title w

Characters

Roachcock the Tiefling Barbarian (played by me) .. bastard at heart, just wants to split heads, get coin, and buy a boat

Babey Möd the Halfling-Tabaxi Cleric (played by @anonprotagging) .. here to eat gravy and spread the good word of Lyra

The Storm the Water Genasi Barbarian .. he's super famous dude just trust me i heard he once fought like thirty turkeys

In'hala the Tiefling Paladin of Pan .. looking for her lost moms and also stealing this guy's boots hahaaa sick

Opus Whitfield the Human Wild Magic Sorcerer .. trying to use this opportunity to set up a new storefront for his family's gem cutting business, is actually using this opportunity to get bullied

note: i don't know if the other players use tumblr so for now they'll just be identified as "Xs player" from here on out w

GRANNY'S COUNTRY APPLE PIE .. one shot

An aging wizard wishes to taste the sweet delight of Granny's Country Apple Pie™ one last time (despite the bakery closing decades ago) and thus tasks our heroes with scoping out the place and seeing if they can find a recipe. Somewhere along the way, things got weird and it turns out Granny was just an immortal 65 year old who was taking a vacation in the outer planes with her wife but she's back now :)

Pre-built one shot that very quickly went off the rails, as to be expected for my very first go at being a DM after being a player for less than 4 months. The first appearance of Hannus as an actual character and not just a running bit.

Characters

Hannus Barbarous the Half-Orc playwright and Bard (played by @anonprotagging) .. he's taking a break from his prestigious play writing career to see the sights and reconnect with the little piece of him that was shattered when his troupe broke apart (but not too much of a break not to sign every autograph he can eyyy)

Sir the Eternal Flame (and sorcerer i guess) (played by Opus's player) .. still frustrated at being locked in human form, this giant immortal moth is off doing busy work until his curse wears off (which apparently includes bakery heists???)

Tehn the Sun Elf Ranger (played by the Celosia campaign DM) .. with their giant bumblebee Spoobin and frankly obscene lack of dietary standards at their side, there's no meal that they can't tackle

THE OSSIFIED GARDENS .. mini campaign

Taking shelter from the rain in an unearthly structure, the gang is snatched away from the physical realm and into a crab bucket-like hotel for the fae. With their most prized possessions taken from them as an entry fee, the gang has to endure arduous tasks to receive the stamps of each of the five Managers in order to receive audience with the minor god who runs the establishment. Whether or not she'll be willing to give their possessions back, however...

My first solo campaign as a DM!! Heavily inspired by Spirited Away and mostly an excuse to put old game dev content to use (including a literal circus of NPCs), but ended up serving as an important event in the Hannus Barbarous lore.

Characters

Hannus Barbarous the Half-Orc playwright and Bard (played by @anonprotagging) .. on the road with Tehn to visit a trinket faire in the next town over, about to experience beginning of a long and scalding beef with a petty minor god

Tehn the Sun Elf Ranger (played by the Celosia campaign DM) .. Hannus and Tehn are best friends now—they're having soft tacos later! :)

Piers the Minotaur Cleric (played by Opus's player) .. he's just along for the ride—maybe there will be cool books! :oooo

Tess the Halfling Rogue (played by In'hala's player) .. laying low until the folks in charge of her latest warrant lose track of her (and by laying low i mean just stealing at waist height instead of top shelves)

ROLL to PHOTOBOMB .. campaign

A seemingly normal winter festival goes astray when our heroes poor fools accidentally soul-bond to an extraplanar device meant to be a birthday present for the renowned sculptor hosting the ball (spoilers: it's a camera). They have four months to take it north to Cobalt City, get the re-calibration redone, and get it back in time for her wife to give it to her for their anniversary. The only problem is, the mountain pass is closed and the only other way there is a several hundred mile road trip by wagon...

Time to take some photos in front of some kitschy roadside attractions, I guess.

Opus's player's first time DM'ing for our group (though they'd DM'd before, and frankly—their experience shows). This campaign was home to some of our most beloved NPCs like Cassidy the subterranean super organism, Barry the extraplanar knife slime, and Sir the Eternal Flame Moth (he got that curse figured out finally!)

Characters

Fafnir of the Boreal North, the human knight Mimic Berserker (played by me) .. they just wanted to leave their dungeon to find a better, damper place to sit and eat and somehow accidentally took part in the funniest case of mistaken identity this side of Alcione

Ranger Rain Rainer the human Ranger (and literal park ranger, played by @anonprotagging) .. originally here to supervise the environmental impacts of the ball on the local landscape, now soul-bound to an extraplanar camera and havin' a good ol' time hangin' with the boys :) y'want some soy sauce with that? i bought a gallon back in brass junction

Kit the Elven Ranger (played by Tehn's player) .. legitimately so traumatized he wraps back around to being the most normal person in this group—just don't mention Celestine Grove

Babu the Hobgoblin Artificer (played by the Storm's player) .. having been separated from his parents and raised by Kobolds, Babu, his steel defender Babu, and his clockwork creation Little Babu are on a long journey to reunite with them in Grand Arbor .. please do not look at him he's sensitive

THE GREAT COCKATRICE RACE .. one shot

It's that time of year—the Great Cockatrice Race is upon us!! But just as our party is soaking in the sights and staking out the perfect spot to watch, they witness a young tiefling have his cockatrice's racing gear shredded by a local gang. Desperate to win so he can help pay to treat his father's worsening eyesight (they're cartographers by trade), he asks the party for help, and they quickly oblige.

Another one shot run by me, based loosely on a one-page campaign document. Not much to say about this one beyond the fact that everyone was ready to kill for Noodles the bantam cockatrice.

Characters

Actias Saturnid the Aasimar Paladin (played by @anonprotagging) .. on a quest to popularize his deity's chosen form of entertainment—tinker vision (TV for short)

Squish the Changeling Bard (played by Tehn's player) .. here to have fun and maybe also look for his friend that went missing have you seen her please tell me i miss her ;_____;

Kai the ??? Swashbuckling Rogue (played by Opus's player) .. it's a big festival, and that means plenty of eyes and plenty of cash! not a half bad time to try negotiating some new patrons for her artist friends

TROUBLE at PORT MANDRET .. one shot

What was originally supposed to be the 58th annual showcase of Umbergate University's horticultural collection is turned sour as an incensed former professor unleashes a powerful awakening spell on the entire town. With only a few hours before the plants release spores that will spread the spell to the entire world, our party has to act fast and cooperate with a local mycologist who seems to know just the fix to this predicament.

Another one shot from me, this time entirely homebrewed! This is also the origin of Scott as a character and not just a throwaway bit, and very much the source of his dynamic with Hannie. They found him tangled up in a bunch of kudzu in a coffee shop and he sent them on a long fetch quest to help him make a cup of coffee using stolen coffee beans.

Characters

Hannus Barbarous the Half-Orc playwright and bard (you know his player by now w) .. you know, he was just trying to lay low after the whole "committing arson" thing, but now he has a gay little mushroom twink to look after and that's (????)

Tehn the Sun Elf Ranger (played by you know who w).. also laying low after helping Hannus commit arson, but mostly here to eat a bunch of plants when no one's looking

Hank the Aarakocra Barbarian (played by Opus's player) .. he's a goose who only says "HANK" and i love that so much about him

Quinn the literal, unawakened, plain old animal tiger and Rogue (played by the Storm's player) .. the reason Hannus and Tehn committed arson after discovering she was being kept in squalid conditions by a wealthy family .. i cannot stress enough that she is a literal, un-enchanted tiger

THE ENIGMA of DAHL CREEK .. campaign

Their boat having sank in a storm, the party washes up on a seemingly once populous island now drowning under webs of unidentifiable blue-green vines and the eerily human-like shapes it creates. Working to unravel the mystery of how the entire town disappeared one August day, they find the past and present blurring together in a strange and haunting way.

The Celosia campaign DM's next big campaign, and frankly the one that haunts me most to this day. I cannot put into words how fucking good this campaign was. Legitimately gave me chills and occupies a region of my brain that cannot be vacated.

Characters

Hannus Barbarous (you know him) .. just trying to recover from the fae thing and the tiger incident and then the Port Mandret fiasco and really doesn't need this right now (but deal he will)

Biscott Cortinarius the human mycologist and Necromancer (played by me) .. putting a little distance between himself and the university due to the ""legal ramifications of interviewing university property without familial consent,"" but mostly sticking with Hannus because he's a bard and... well... bards aren't exactly beefy are they ;)

The Destitution of Mires the Lizardfolk Circle of Spores Druid (played by the Storm's Player) .. to this day i still don't know what their deal was, only that they sensed and so they came, and they left just as easily

Theo the ??? Circle of Dreams Druid (played by Opus's player) .. wanted to get out there and see the world, managed to sneak onto the one and Only boat that shipwrecked that day, now paying for it dearly

TIDECLEFT ISLES .. campaign

When the great Captain Wicke died, he arranged in his will that his treasure was to be given to the pirates of Tidecleft—so long as they could find it. Having arranged a massive, death-defying posthumous treasure hunt, several teams (including our heroes) must now compete to locate Wicke's treasure if they want to claim it all for themselves. What the late captain has in store for them, however, may call the worth of the treasure into question.

The Storm's player's first time DM'ing for our group, but not his first time DM'ing by far (read: he was Tehn's player's forever DM long before he came to our group). This was a grand old romp around a bunch of islands and sea caves that culminated in a frankly off-the-walls batshit final battle.

Characters

Acanthus of the Western Isles, the Mano (shark man) Scholar (played by me) .. a doctor and academic seeking to pay off a massive debt he incurred thanks to the Silver Lampreys and their web of loan sharks .. he doesn't care for jokes... or laughing, or puns, or metaphorical language or

Lemon the Warforged Circle of Stars Druid (played by @anonprotagging) .. realized she's accrued like twenty years in paid time off from working as a docent in an observatory, now taking her first vacation with her best friend Owen Gnome :) (he's a garden gnome she found outside and decided to keep in her pocket) (may or may not be venomous)

Bellamy the ??? ??? (played by Opus's player) .. ever grateful to the squid trawlers that took him in, he's competing in this hunt to earn enough to turn their venture into a franchise .. he is shockingly normal despite the whole "may not be from this plane" thing

Rayin the Tiefling Storm Sorcerer (played by Tehn's player) .. having received that sweet sweet "got hit by a magical explosion on campus" money and gotten magical powers out of it, Rayin is ditching academia to do COOL things like throw lightning bolts and meow at people

these character descriptors are getting long sorry

MIETTE SIMULATOR .. one shot

Somehow, our band of unfortunate souls has wandered into a town caught in a frenzy, raving for the execution of a seemingly normal tiefling man for an unspeakable crime (literally, no one will say what it was). The gang decides to get to the bottom of this, only to discover the very laws of reality are essentially optional in this neck of the woods.

Hannus's player's first time DM'ing as a dry run for his future one shot, and it was a hoot. Also the first time we got to meet Ranger Rainer's brother, Shine Rainer (who is the polar opposite of his brother thanks to all the trauma that comes with being a record keeper).

Characters

Lark the Aasimar Gunslinger (played by me) .. just trying to do as many good deeds as possible to get her dad off her back so she can get a girlfriend without him scaring her off with his whole "incomprehensible being of holy light" thing

Clare the human ??? (played by Tehn's player) .. i don't remember why she was there she just was and she was probably the most okay with everything that was going on

Hank the Aarakocra Barbarian (played by Opus's player) .. he's playing it cool after the Port Mandret thing, except this is not cool this is chaos

MOON TOWN .. one shot

It's Actias! And he needs help! For some reason, they've been disconnected from their god, and they can't figure out why! When our heroes decide to help, they end up getting snatched away to an otherworldly version of the long abandoned Sun Town and need to solve the mystery of a long cold case in order to find their way back home.

Hannus's player's main group DM'ing debut. Full of fun puzzles and good laughs (I'll never forget Actias asking us for help with a puzzle and showing us one of those shapes and holes boxes you give to kids) with plenty of throwbacks to old running gags. Felt like a nice homage to what DnD had been for us thus far.

Characters

Calamund Galbraith the Reborn Echo Fighter (played by me) .. a completely average guy who just so happened to get roped into getting "engaged" to a wraith that now endlessly pursues him .. he just really wants to go home and eat soup with his birds

Squish the Changeling Bard (played by Tehn's player) .. really worried for his good friend Actias :(

Tiel Alleywollow the Halfling Warlock (played by the Storm's player) .. a girl of few words (literally, she only speaks when casting spells) and eternally fond of her fiendish patron, an asshole imp named Dition

In'hala the Tiefling Paladin of Pan (played by the same guy as before w) .. hit her head on a ship and somehow ended up far, far south of Celosia. who knows what happened? certainly not in'hala, but EYYY SHE STILL HAS THE SICK BOOTS YEAAA

Teller Artax the Warforged Gunslinger (played by Opus's player) .. originally out to hunt down his lost creator, but got sidetracked, and then got sidetracked from that sidetrack, and then got sidetracked from that sidetrack's sidetrack, and then

THE CURIOUS CASE of ACTON RIDGE .. campaign

50 years before the events of Dahl Creek, a similar event is taking place—after a shoot out in the canyon, the town of Acton Ridge is also carpeted in strange, blue-green vines and locked in time. Our heroes must unravel the mystery of their pasts and the two intertwined fates of a pair of brilliant inventors who were seemingly on the hunt for something not of this world. Ongoing!

The Celosia DM's latest campaign and prequel to Dahl Creek. A little different vibes from the last one considering most of us apparently lived here before things went to shit, and many of us have tie-ins with the events taking place. Cool, eerie mystery fun ! ! !

Characters

Outis the Warforged Paladin (played by me) .. an archaic tour guide emissary from the Feywilds who's trapped on an endless journey towards an unseen destination .. it's sassy as hell and just the right amount of british to be infuriating

Emeril the Sea Elf chef and Fighter (played by @anonprotagging) .. retired from being a soldier and running from his past to owning a small tavern (and running from his past) .. very blunt (like his cast iron frying pan)

Spinifer the ??? Bard and travel-book writer (played by Opus's player) .. looking for the scoop on the local scene in hopes of bringing more folks over from her homeland .. common isn't her first language and she delights in learning cool new words, like "paranormal" and "clusterfuck"

Phira the Deep Gnome Monster Hunter (played by the Storm's player) .. haunted by her past and now interested in that which is haunted, this little conspiracy theorist is going to get to the bottom of this mystery if it's the last thing she does (but not actually—she'd like to live you know)

#mio answers things #cattywampers #and that's about it ! ! ! ! !#i am soooo normal about dnd #check my brain you won't find sizeable chunks dedicated solely to dnd #for example i obviously spend a normal amount of time summarizing the campaigns i've been involved in #and not 2 solid hours oh god #has it really been that long #jesus ksjhdfkgjhslkjdfg #the coolest emerald division

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talenlee · 7 days

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Story Pile: Lords and Ladies

From time to time I talk about Discworld books, and I will usually say that there’s no reading order. I operate on the assumption that readers have a degree of object permanence, that they are capable of telling if a story happens before or after sometihng and that if you find a story of a character that includes a former drunk in one book, and then find a story of a drunk in another book, you will be able to put the sequence of events in a meaningful order without being overwhelmed by the challenge of the book. The Discworld books are contained stories for dedicated readers capable of managing the complexities of understanding that I could reach when I was twelve years old and in a cult, I do not doubt any adult curious about them will do fine without an authoritive reading list to ensure they do not miss any of the lore.

But.

Ugh I hate that.

But but but but. But! There is a single Discworld Book that I know of (now) which opens with an author’s note that you need to be at least a little bit aware of previous stories in order to appreciate the events of this book. And then it tells you those events.

If I did this more often, I imagine I’d introduce these things by hey, let me tell you about my favourite Discworld book. But let’s do that anyway. Don’t worry, no major spoilers, just a sort of vague gesturing at the plot that’s already covered by the book jacket.

Lords and Ladies is a story of the Discworld, set in the kingdom of Lancre, about the characters of the Witches; Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, and Magrat. Granny is a stern, hawkish woman who has all the makings of a grand and powerful force, a queen in waiting, and too obstinate and selfcentered to ever dare to let that happen. Nanny Ogg is like if that one raunchy grandma stereotype was scrutinised down to the ground, and Magrat is what a lot of people in the 90s really were when they imagined themselves to be ‘wytches.’ This character dynamic, in addition to fulfilling the classic Sonic/Shadow/Tails dialectic, also presents the reader with an opportunity for a rare thing in the Discworld in that it’s a very big story set in a very small place.

Lancre is nowhere. Lancre is a British Midlands vision of a Fantasy Kingdom That’s A Bit Like The British Midlands. It is mountainous and hilly as conceived by a country with literally no mountains on it, so they have the prevalence of a little kid’s drawing of a map. Its castle teeters, its people are all rural workers with probably no flat land to grow crops on and they drink a foul alcohol that is made out of apples.

Well, mostly apples.

Lancre is also ground zero for the invasion of a parasitic universe, a dimension that does not have the ability to ‘properly’ sustain itself, and from which flood its own native dominant species, a predatory humanoid perfectly suited to the consumption of Lancre’s own dominant species. There’s a repeated theme in Pratchett’s work of humans as entities in an ecosystem – it was something he played with in Reaper Man with the Maul. Now, seeing the presence of a multi-layer shopping body that displaced all local businesses in the name of consolidation and rent-seeking as some sort of parasitic creature that needed to be addressed through the presence of a violent, repelleing antibody could be seen as a suggestion of the validity of anticapitalist terrorism,

The story of Lords And Ladies is in the tradition of the Discworld narrative one where the author picks up on an existing idea from another fantasy convention and decides to grapple with it in the specific idiom of the Discworld. This requires a deeply aware consideration of the fantasy genre as a whole and the storytelling tropes that underpin that genre. In Reaper Man the idea of the cosmic meaning of a figure of death was the centerpiece. In Thud there’s a serious consideration of intractable fantasy grudges between dwarves and trolls. In Unseen Academicals, it’s Orcs.

Lords and Ladies is the Discworld take on elves, which at the time I read it, was a real shock to imagine that someone might not like elves. After all, Elves are like humans but cool and exotic, right? Why would an author not use elves as a chance to show something cool and a different, uh, uh, do I have an alternative to exotic, guess I don’t, an exotic other culture!

It’s truly embarrassing to consider with the benefit of hindsight, how much ‘elf culture’ is just ‘what white guys think even whiter guys would be like.’

I don’t really get paganism. Not properly. I like paganism; I like the invocation of a time before Christianity, a reminder that cultures do not die, they are killed, and that before my identity was wallpapered over by three layers of colonial dictation, there is a line that reaches from who I am back to people who would make up stories about horse skulls that sing cruel poems, and that that is more real to me than the political conveniences of a Roman emperor. I find it in the edges of things; of characters who evoke reminders that there were things before Christ’s God, and that there were things better than America’s Christ.

Lords and Ladies is some fantastically pagan stuff.

If you’ve not read the book (and I recommend it, I like it a lot), the cover sometimes gives away one major event of the book, showing a character standing before a slumbering, slouched, enormous humanoid form with antlers. In the ending of Narnia books, I remembered a description of a giant, of something enormous, standing over the waters before finally settling down into sleeping, that when the great book of Narnia closed, it closed on a frozen sea with someone sleeping inside it. It stands to reason in my mind that there is a shape of something giant in the historical memory. That there is something that we know, at the end of days, there will be there, standing on the horizon, as we watch our last days end.

I don’t think there will be but I think it’s real cool to use it as a visual metaphor for your time is over. Something about the wrongness of the scale, of looking up at the sun and seeing it blink, that kind of thing.

In Lords and Ladies, the witches explore these things. Why are there standing stones. What are they for. How do they work. Why should they work that way? Do you need to understand what it is to work for them to work? Are old practices inherently wrong? Are they weaker for us trying to understand them?

All told in the confrontation between a thing that sleeps, until it doesn’t have to any more.

I think Lords and Ladies has one of my favourite examples of weaponised pronouns in a story. Every elf in the narrative outside the King and Queen are referred to not as he or she or they, but instead as it. The Elves are not people with personhood as we understand it and they would not see you or me as people with personhood either. They do not consider us as entities and do not see our individuality as a thing to explain or explore – just as much as they do not consider their own individuality as meaningful to us.

There is no misgendering an elf, because an elf is not a thing that has gender or a social identity. Elves are stories. Elves are cruel and dark stories, stories about things that are Just So and rituals performed out of fear of consequences that are made up until they are very much very real.

Lords and Ladies is one of my favourite Discworld books because of how much of it is about righteous violence agianst a relentless, abusive invader. There is no ‘ah, but we have won, so we need to be the bigger and more morally appropriate people’ here. This is a story where an invading queen gets punched in the face and axed in the gut. In a very pure way, this is a story about what happens when a dehumanising colonial force arrives to consume your past and future for its own individual enrichment and what it’s worth doing to protect yourself from it, about what violence in even the meekest it incurs.

Even the blind and meek and voiceless have gods.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Discworld #Media #Story Pile

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afranse · 15 days

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Кремль входит во вкус на кровавой пирушке,

Спешит он к тюремной скамье.

Десятые сутки всплывают старушки.

Но в сторону смотрят в кремле.

Что ж, оркам нет дела, что тонут все в Орске.

На дно ушли? Не повезло.

И здравого смысла последние горстки

Раздроблены были в СИЗО.

Россию долбят, как боксёрскую грушу,

Кремлёвские кулаки.

Десятые сутки всплывают старушки,

Но это кремлю - пустяки.

#######################

The kremlin feels constant a bloody feast urge.

It rules on the prison bench way.

Tenth day in a row grannies in flooding waters emerge.

But kremlin beasts look other way.

Well, orcs don’t care that Orsk folks have drown.

No concerns, it’s not a big matter.

The last handfuls of common sense is gone.

It destroyed in a pre-trial detention center.

Russia gets pummeled like a punching bag,

By the vicious kremlin fists.

Tenth day in a row grannies from the flooding waters are back.

But no regrets feel the kremlin beasts.

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see-arcane · 10 months

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My first Little Guy (in this case, Granny) commission! The request was a half-orc assassin hanging from the ceiling--who just also happened to be a grandmother. Nana does love her hobbies.

And sharing them with company:

My Ko-Fi info is here!

#now onto a more grisly one in the queue 👀#art commisions #my art

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lol-a-k · 6 months

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#Multifantober2023 Day 20 Power, A Blood hungry granny orc.

#art #digital art #artwork #digital illustration #oc #multifantober 2023 #tesinktober2023 #multifantober2023 #d&d orc #orc #d&d oc #d&d character

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saurons-pr-department · 2 years

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Fun game time! Either reblog or send an ask and tell me your favourite Orcs-as-an-actual-people-and-not-just-embodiment-of-evil head canons.

I'll go first:

Orc grannies make the best spicy stews.

And stop asking her what the meat is. That's none of your business. Now get out of her kitchen before she beats you with the wooden spoon or broom.

#orcs #silmarillion #lotr

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cutegayorc · 1 year

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Adopted by a Werewolf Chapter 4

I'm really sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. It turns out writing scenes involving a character having a panic attackc and then lead to you yourself having a panic attack. Fun! Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I've already finished chapter 5, I've just got to finish editing. Also I've been picking up some editing tips from random parts of the internet so if my editing changes from chapter to chapter, that's not random. Apologies for those who like consitency. I'm a bit of a messy bitch that way.

Editor Credits Perky: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/perk0/ Lan the Orc: https://lantheorc.sofurry.com/ ------

Druid’s Falls was far smaller than Bright Rock. Bright Rock felt like three small cities pushed together. The slums, old town and new town. But Druid’s Falls was a small village with one winding road. The small cabins were built up against the nearby woods and a logging camp stood at the end of the road where the majority of the village worked. Parts of the woods had been cleared leaving only stumps. Other parts, there were holes where stumps used to be. Lastly there were areas where the holes left by the stumps had been filled and new baby trees had been planted. Rodrig and Jeremiah passed by all of this. The people waved as they passed. Jeremiah always waved back with a big smile. Rodrig tried to do the same, but it felt awkward. He worried people were judging him for riding on the cart. Even if he did have a legitimate reason to be doing so. Once they had passed the last cabin, they made a left turn from the main road into the forest. Rodrig wondered why they didn’t stop at the inn he saw before. Especially since the place they did eventually stop was far out of the way.

Four buildings sat by each other. Two cottages, one large and one small, sat by each other and behind them was a barn which currently housed a small horse. Lastly was a circular stone building with a large wood stove next to it, large pipes connecting into the side of the building.

They stopped in front of the large cottage but before Jeremiah could approach and knock, a tiny olive skinned woman popped out the door and onto the porch. Her face was wrinkled in that way where you know she was the type to always smile and oh when she smiled at seeing their arrival. All of those creases on her face falling into place as she irradiated an energy like the sun.

“Big wolf!” She called. Her accent was heavy, Over-pronouncing the o in wolf.

“Granny!” Jeremiah called back and opened his arms. She jumped from the porch and landed in his arms giving him tiny kisses all over his face. He laughed and they swung around in a circle.

“You are back so quick.” She said as Jeremiah set her down. She barely reached past his waist.

“There were some complications,” Jeremiah began to explain. “Quick extraction was necessary. Have you heard from the Watcher of Bright Rock?”

“I have heard nothing,” She said. “That man is an asshole. He wouldn’t talk to me unless it was for business.”

Jeremiah's normal happy confident mask fell for just a moment as he showed genuine worry for something. What, Rodric couldn’t know. He was still processing everything that had been revealed. But Jeremiah quickly slipped the mask back on and was back to being a confident and fearless statue.

As Rodric finally hobbled over, the small woman took notice.

“Is this the boy you were sent to retrieve? What happened? Why is he limping?”

“Yes and I’ll explain everything in a minute.” Jeremiah said, leading the woman over to where Rodrig was standing.

“Rodrig,” Jeremiah said, “This is Lama Gajudo. She’s what we call a Watcher.”

“What does she watch?” Jeremiah asked, looking around for anything of interest.

“My job is not to watch the forest. It won’t be here much longer with all the logging.” Lama said. She sneered at the mention of the logging.

“She watches for possible Sensitives or Adepts.” Jeremiah said. “She’s also a healer. I was hoping she could give you an examination to make sure your leg is okay.”

Rodrig nodded but didn’t say anything. He just felt agitated for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp. Especially now that all eyes were on him.

“Until I know the damage, I don’t want you walking on that leg.” Lama said. “Woolfy, you carry him to my exam room.”

“I don’t need somebody to carry me.” Rodrig grumbled to himself.

“It’s okay.” Jeremiah said. “It’s no bother. I can handle your weight no problem.”

Rodrig wasn’t worried about Jeremiah being able to support his weight. He just didn’t like the idea of being carried. When Jeremiah walked over to him, Rodrig tensed up. He was about to try and beat the man away with the makeshift walking stick. Before he could make his move however, Jeremiah scooped him up into his arms. Rodrig dropped the walking stick by mistake. His weapon now gone, Rodrig was forced to be carried like a bride over the veil. He felt his entire face heat up as a deep blush covered his face. He covered himself so that no one could see him turn red. A deep rumble came from Jeremiah’s chest that vibrated against Rodrig. There was a sense of satisfaction in that rumbling growl. Rodrig’s face burned brighter. So did the unexplainable exasperation that was forming in his chest. It spread to his arms and made them tingle.

Jeremiah carried Rodrig up the steps to the porch and through the door into the cabin. The room was astonishingly tidy. Everything seemed to have its place. There was a small living area with a table with four coasters ready to place a glass on in case company wanted to have a drink of coffee while they sat and chat. In the back was a kitchen kept pristine and a dining table with 4 chairs. Towards their right were two doors. They took the one closer to them and were in another overly well kept room. In one corner was a small desk with and a bookshelf covered in books. In the middle of the room was a flat table with cushioning on it. An examination table like they had at the academy. Nearby was a stool which Lama sat in. Jeremiah carefully lowered Rodrig onto the end of the exam table before stepping back and standing in the corner.

“Can you put your leg on the table for me dear?” Lama asked. “I need it level to examine it.”

Rodrig did as he was told, letting her move his ankle back and forth, gauging his reaction as she did.

“How did you hurt it?” Lama asked.

“Someone stomped on it.” Rodrig said after a moment's pause. He didn’t want to relive how he got the injury so he kept it brief.

“Been doing much walking on it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“So polite.” She smiled. “I remember the first time I met another young man, he was far less polite.” She gave an over the top stink eye towards Jeremiah. The type where you could tell it was in jest.

“You wound me.” Jeremiah said back. He clutched his chest and made a dramatic grunting sound.

“Hush you!” she said back holding back a laugh.

Rodrig watched, feeling awkward. Any time he had tried to have a friendly conversation like that, it usually ended with him being ridiculed for trying to join in. So he kept his mouth shut. It was safer that way.

Lama turned back towards Rodrig. Her smile was still there. She kept it on even when she noticed Rodrig wasn’t smiling back.

“It’s nothing bad. Just a sprain. Stay off it for a bit and keep it elevated. Now let's take a look at what’s under that bandage on your face. Lay down so I can get a better look.” Rodrig did as he was instructed, scooching himself further up the examination table so he could lay flat. The ends of his feet still dangled off the edge but beyond that it was pretty comfy. She removed the bandage. Her smile went away.

“How did you get this?” She asked.

Rodrig tried to answer but found that no sound was coming out. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times. Was he going to have to go over everything? Right as it was about to be too much, right when his eyes started to burn with the feeling of tears starting to form, Jeremiah came to his rescue.

“It was a knife wound.” Jeremiah said. “He also has one on his back. Although that one is from a rapier. It’s not as deep but goes over a wider area. I can go over the how later if need be.”

Lama didn’t say anything right away, processing the information. She kept her face blank. A strange thought crossed Rodrig’s mind through the depression and the anguish. He thought that she would have made a great poker player. The funny little thought brought a little bit of levity. His own little private joke. It helped to calm him down a little bit.

“These stitches, were they you Big Wolf?” Lama asked.

“Yes.” Jeremiah said.

“You have improved since I last tutored you. It seems to be healing well. But I would like to get some salve on it, to speed the process along.”

She hopped off her stool and went to a nearby cabinet. She pulled out a small handheld jar and came back.

“This is my own personal healing salve,” Lama said as she popped the top off the jar. Rodrig could smell an earthy scent fill the air. It reminded him of the smell of vines that he once had to pull out of his mothers garden. “A little bit along the cut and then we replace the bandage.”

She placed her finger in the jar and it came out covered in what looked like mud. As she spread it across the wound, the smell of vegetation grew. It was cold. Once she was done applying the goop, she applied a new bandage.

“Okay, now let’s see the one on the back.” Lama said. “Shirt off and on your belly.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Rodrig said. “It feels fine.”

“It’s not.” Jeremiah said. “I didn’t want to alarm you but it smells infected.”

Rodrig grew pale. Lama cleared her throat.

“Shirt off or I make the wolf rip it off.” Lama threatened.

Rodrig did as he was told, stripping his shirt off and turned himself over. He re-used his shirt as a pillow for his head while he waited for the old woman to do her work. She had to stand on her stool to see the whole thing. She tisked a few times before prescribing more plant goop. Again she slathered the goop against his skin. This time it stung as she applied it. But then a cooling feeling started to cover his back. She then applied a bandage, replacing the wraps that had covered the cut from before.

“You’re going to need to keep applying the salve until it heals. I’ll make sure to send some with you.” Lama said before stepping down. Rodrig pushed himself up and put his shirt back on. “Now, why don’t you come and have a pot of tea with me.”

----

Jeremiah sipped at his tea. It was strong. Lama always made it that way. He watched as Rodrig took a sip and then immediately scrunched up his face. The young man was quick to return his face to a neutral look. Jeremiah had noticed that Rodrig liked to put on a neutral face like a mask. It didn’t do much to hide from Jeremiah since he could hear his heartbeat and smell the changes in his body chemistry. Plus there were the tiny twitches and quirks of body language. But in front of normal humans, it would have been perfect. The next time Rodrig took a sip, the mask stayed on. But there was a twitch along his brow indicating he didn’t like the taste.

“Thank you for the tea.” Rodrig said.

“It’s my pleasure.” Lama said to Rodrig before turning to Jeremiah. “I’m assuming you will be staying tonight?”

“Yes Granny.” Jeremiah said. “If it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping we could use your bath too.”

“I was going to insist.” Lama said. “We need to get the dirt and sweat off your young ward’s wounds. Do you remember how to turn it on?”

“Yes. I’ll help Rodrig with-” Jeremiah began to say.

“Don’t pick me up!” Rodrig interrupted, tensing up.

“Okay.” Jeremiah said. He was trying not to laugh at the sudden outburst. Jeremiah made a mental note that embarrassment made Rodrig drop his mask. Probably not the best way to get him to drop his guard so he would have to keep looking for other ways to get him to open up. “But we can’t have you walking on that foot. Let me at least be your crutch. Deal?”

Rodrig didn’t answer right away. But he finally nodded.

“I’ll have some food waiting in the guest cabin for when you are done bathing.” Lama said. “I’ll also need you to reapply more of the salve once you’re done. I’ll leave the jar with the food. Try not to mix up the food and the salve. Don’t get my wrong, the salve is technically edible. But it probably won’t taste too good. Even if you spread it on bread.”

Jeremiah had no doubt that she had tried the salve on bread once just to see. She was eccentric like that. He chuckled and headed over to Rodrig, offering his hand to help the young lad up. Rodrig eyed the hand then looked up and met Rodrig’s gaze. Rodrig quickly looked away, a small amount of red tinging his cheeks. Jeremiah didn’t comment, instead hanging him his makeshift walking stick.

They slowly made their way out the door. They made their way over to the small circular building made of brick. There was a small stove to the side.

“You can head inside and start getting undressed.” Jeremiah said. “I’ll load the stove with wood.”

“How does it work?” Rodrig asked.

“The pipes here are connected to an underground stream.” Jeremiah began to explain. “When you turn this lever, the water flows up and goes into this reservoir. The stove heats up the water and then you turn a nob in there to let the water out of the reservoir.”

“Won’t it take a while for the water in the reservoir to heat up?”

“Not as long as you would think. Now go on, there should be some towels in there already.”

Rodrig did as he was told. When he opened it, he stopped.

“It’s really dark in there.” Rodrig said.

“There should be candles inside. There is a match box on a shelf right by the door.”

Rodrig stepped inside. Jeremiah heard the sound of a match lighting and then a sudden gasp. Rodrig must have seen the huge stone tub. It had surprised Jeremiah the first time he saw it too. Jeremiah got to work filling the reservoir with water before starting the work on filling the stove with wood. He then lit the flames with flint and steel, sparking a small flame which quickly consumed the wood and became an inferno. Jeremiah closed the stove before heading towards the entrance to the stone cylinder.

Inside and slightly sunken into the floor was a large stone tub shaped like a bowl with a drain at the bottom. Rodrig stood there still dressed. He had just got done lighting the candles tucked away in the sconces on the walls. He waved the match in his hands to put it out before tossing it in a nearby rubbish bin.

“Why does she have something like this out in the middle of the forest?” Rodrig said motioning towards the tub. “I would expect something like this in some rich man’s mansion.”

“Well I wouldn’t call her rich but Granny is pretty wealthy.” Jeremiah said. “She’s a famous healer. That salve she gave you is the same stuff used by some royals.” Rodrig had pulled his shirt off half way before he stopped. He looked mortified.

“You let her use that on me?” Rodrig said. “B-b-but I’m just me!”

“So?” Jeremiah said, enjoying Rodrig’s reaction a bit too much. “Believe it or not, the bodies of kings and queens are exactly the same as yours.”

“But if they use it, it must be expensive.” Rodrig said in a whisper. “I can’t even afford to pay you back for everything you’ve done so far. How am I supposed to pay her for world famous healing goop?”

“It’s fine.” Jeremiah said as he stripped off his shirt. “It’s part of her job to help heal those with supernatural abilities we rescue. It’s all paid for by our organization.”

“Nothing is free.” Rodrig said. “Somebody is going to want the money for that junk and when I can’t pay, it’s going to be taken out of my hide. I’ve seen what is done to people who can’t pay back their debt. I’m not using that stuff again. No way.”

Rodrig’s heart rate had become like a war drum. Loud and fast. It almost hurt Jeremiah’s sensitive ears. He tried to think of ways to distract him. Then an evil thought entered his head.

Jeremiah dropped his pants.

---

Rodrig was about to give another really good reason why using healing salve was a terrible idea. Images of men who owed money to those more powerful being beaten in the street in front of their own children came to mine. Then for the briefest of moments, his eyes caught sight of Jeremiah’s rather large cock and balls. He immediately turned around, his entire body humming as blood suddenly rushed to his face. There was definitely no denying his worst fears. He was attracted to a man who could turn into a beast. It also meant that bathing together was out of the question.

“Maybe I should go.” Rodrig said. But he didn’t move, because Jeremiah was standing in the way of the only door out. There wouldn’t be enough room for him to pass by him towards the door. Not without pressing up against the big, hairy, muscly, handsome...Rodrig thought to himself that he was completely and utterly fucked.

“Nonsense.” Jeremiah said. Rodrig heard the sound of the tap being turned and the sound of water running. The room suddenly jumped in temperature as the warm water began to fill the room with steam. “If we take turns, there won’t be enough hot water. Besides, the tub is more than big enough for both of us. Now get undressed.”

Rodrig stood still.

“You’ve got thirty seconds before I come over there and rip those clothes off myself” Jeremiah said.

“Then turn around, you big perv!” Rodrig said making eye contact and making sure to keep his eye line above the waist.

“Okay. But if i don’t hear the sound of you hitting the water in the next minute, I'm coming for you.” Jeremiah turned around. Rodrig tried really hard not to take a peak at Jeremiah’s ass. He failed. It was big and had a thin layer of fuzz on it. Rodrig’s mouth went dry.

“Time’s half up.” Jeremiah said, snapping Rodrig out of his daze. Rodrig quickly stripped his shirt off before tossing it to the floor. He dropped his pants next before kneeling down. Getting in the tub with one ankle was an interesting maneuver but he figured it out.

“HOT, HOT, HOT!” Rodrig screamed as he realized the mistake of just plopping himself down into the water.

“There, was that so bad?” Jeremiah said.

Rodrig heard the sound of Jeremiah also lowering himself into the water. Meanwhile, Rodrig was busy taking deep steady breaths, his eyes clenched shut as he waited for his body to get used to the water. Eventually the searing pain subsided and the water just felt warm and comforting. He sighed in relief.

“Hand out. I’m passing you a bar of soap.” Jeremiah said.

Rodrig did as he was told, keeping his eyes averted so as not to see his tub-mate. The bar of soap was placed in his hand with a washcloth. Rodrig got right to work scrubbing his arms.

“I don’t want you to worry about the cost of all this.” Jeremiah said.

“But I-” Rodrig began to say back.

“Let me finish saying this first.” Jeremiah interrupted. There was a sharp authority to his voice that made Rodrig shut his mouth. A feeling of needing to obey swept over him. It was familiar. Like that first night when they met at the bar. A part of him wanted to tell Jeremiah to shut up. To leave him alone. But he held it back and pushed those emotions in a little box in the back of his head like he always did. Nothing but pain ever came from confronting people.

“I’m part of a rather large group of supernatural beings.” Jeremiah said. “We don’t have an official name or anything like that. Originally it was formed out of a need for survival. Different leaders of packs and covens would mee to share information and resources. Help each other to stay safe and prosper in a world where we were hunted. But then, one of our own saved a prince. It was an accident really. The witch didn’t know the person he was saving was royalty. He just saw that someone was in trouble. That random act of kindness spurred a partnership that still exists today.

“The Prince vouched for the supernatural community to his mother, the then Queen. Said that the majority of supernatural beings were just like them, people trying to survive. The Queen, wise beyond her years, saw an opportunity for a partnership. She would offer certain supernatural groups that weren’t a threat protection and land. In exchange they would offer services to the people and the crown.

“My coming to retrieve you is one of those services. Now this next part I don’t say to scare you but to make you understand the why. People like you, Sensitives, if left alone are more often than not taken in by dark elements. Sensitives, because of the nature of their soul, are malleable. They can become hosts to many dark things. Often against their will. Then they become a danger to everyone around them.

“So yes, there is a cost to all of this. The travel. The food. The medicine. But it’s a price that the crown gladly pays to keep the peace.”

Rodrig thought over all this information. The soap and cloth were forgotten as he sat there processing all this new information. He looked up and saw Jeremiah on the opposite end of the tub. He was sitting watching him. His hair wet and plastered against his body. He smiled at Rodrig, giving him a chance to process the information. A dark thought crossed his mind and it came out before he could stop himself. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just kill me?”

Jeremiah’s smile dropped. The look of sorrow and pity made Rodrig need to turn away.

“I don’t believe you would say something so vile because you have a cruel heart.” Jeremiah said. “I believe you said it because you’re hurting so much that death feels like it would be a release. But hear me now. I would never entertain something so cruel as to murder someone for something they have no control over. So no Rodrig. I won’t kill you. I will not come for you expecting payment for services rendered. What I do, I don’t do so expecting payment. I do these things because I believe in our cause.”

“But what sort of life will I be able to lead if I’m a danger?” Rodrig said. He felt bitter. Some of the anger he had bottled up pushed through.

Jeremiah sighed. A moment passed before he spoke again.

“I used to be a Sensitive too.” Jeremiah said.

“You what?” Rodrig said. All the thoughts in his head came crashing to a halt as he focused completely on the man opposite him.

“The hole in your spirit that I mentioned the other day, it can also be inhabited by benevolent beings.” Jeremiah said. “When we save a Sensitive, we don’t just keep them in a dungeon away from society. You’re given a choice. Some choose to remain as they are. For those, we have places where they can stay that are warded against evil beings. Some though, like myself, choose to open their soul up for residency to a spirit to form a symbiotic relationship.”

Rodrig sat there stunned. He slowly sank into the water until it covered everything but the top of his head, breathing through his nose as the water covered his mouth. Jeremiah began to lather up his body while Rodrig processed things. This reminded Rodrig he too needed to start scrubbing himself and grabbed the soap from the edge of the tub and got to work himself.

“You said you were a Sensitive. Are you not anymore?”

Jeremiah’s smile returned.

“Senstives in the supernatural community are kind of like caterpillars. They are just the start of what could be. Just like how a butterfly is no longer a caterpillar after it cocoons itself, once a Sensitive takes on a spirit and creates a permanent bond, they turn into something else. For example, when I chose to accept the gift of the werewolf, my soul became one with a wolf spirit.”

“Oh.” Rodrig said. He was suddenly very curious about all the different types of being out there. Then he realized he had washed all he could that wasn’t submerged in the water. “I need to wash my...lower half. Could you look away for a second.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, but he did as was asked. Rodrig stood up and started washing his legs.

“How were you turned?” Rodrig asked while lathering up his legs.

“I was bitten while under the full moon.” Jeremiah said.

“Did it hurt?” Rodrig asked. He briefly wondered if these questions were becoming too personal.

“A little,” Jeremiah said. “I still remember it to this day. I was scared but excited at the same time. The bite hurt like hell, but right after it happened, my body grew limp and suddenly I wasn’t there anymore. I was somewhere else. Not physically. The witches call it spirit walking, when your senses temporarily leave your body. My soul was taken to a forest and I was surrounded by wolves. The man who bit me was also there. We walked through the forest with the wolves and one at a time I was introduced to the spirits until I found one that my soul resonated with. It was like meeting someone for the first time and knowing this, this, this. This right here is my best friend. My literal soulmate. And then we merged.”

The way Jeremiah talked about the event filled Rodrig with awe. He sounded so happy. Rodrig couldn’t think of a single memory that filled him with that much joy.

“I still have the scar. If you would like to see.” Jeremiah said.

“Really?” Rodrig asked. He then scolded himself for sounding so excited.

“Sure, it’s here on my right shoulder.” Jeremiah said. He came a little closer before turning around, moving his long black hair to his left shoulder so that Rodrig could easily see the bite mark. It was scarred over, multiple little dots on his skin where the teeth would have pierced his flesh.

For a moment, Rodrig imagined Jeremiah placing his mouth along Rodrig’s neck. He then froze and slowly backed away. He scolded himself for letting such a perverted thought enter his mind. He sank back into the water as nonchalantly as he could. “Thank you for showing me.” Rodrig mumbled.

“No problem.” Jeremiah said. He stood up without warning, giving Rodrig a sudden very close and personal view of Jeremiah’s ass.

“Welp, I'm getting all pruny. I think I'm done washing up.” Jeremiah said. He stepped out of the tub. Rodrig told himself he should look away but couldn’t bring himself to. He wanted to touch that butt. Those arms. That chest. Jeremiah began to towel off, not worrying about the fact his nudity was on full display. Finally Jeremiah wrapped the towel around his waist and started walking towards him before offering his hand.

“Here, let me help you out. Don’t worry, I won’t look.” Jeremiah said.

-----

Jeremiah lied. He did in fact look. In his defense though, the human half of him felt really bad about it. The wolf half did not give a shit and was a lecherous asshole. Or at least that’s what Jeremiah told himself after watching Rodrig get dressed out of the corner of his eye. Rodrig was a bit skinny for his height. Something that Jeremiah had noticed before. Jeremiah wondered if maybe before joining the guard academy, he was malnourished. Rodrig also appeared to have a few scars on his ass and back. They were old scars, having faded a bit. Given that Rodrig was just barely an adult, he would have had to have received them during childhood. A lot of his mannerisms started to make sense. They were defense mechanisms learned from a hard childhood.

Beyond that though, he seemed overall healthy. Minimal body hair though. Well except for the bush around his balls. They hung low and swung around while Rodrig pulled his underwear back on. Jeremiah couldn’t help but notice the small hard on he had to. A dark part of his mind got enjoyment from knowing that it was his body that had aroused Rodrig. The other part of his mind chastised him for thinking such things at such a time.

When Rodrig turned around to grab his shirt, Jeremiah quickly looked away and played the part of the innocent wolfman who was not secretly a Peeping Tom.

“Why do I feel so exhausted?” Rodrig said more to himself than to Jeremiah. “I’ve been sitting in a cart all day. Why do I just want to pass out.”

“You’ve had a long couple of days.” Jeremiah said. “Your body is still recovering from the physical and emotional stress.”

Rodrig sighed but didn’t say anything more. The two left the bath to find a pair of crutches waiting for Rodrig.

“Guess you won’t need me to carry you around anymore.” Jeremiah said in a joking manner.

“That must be a relief for you. Don’t have to lug me around anymore.” Rodrig said completely serious.

It was in fact not a relief. Jeremiah’s wolf practically purred any time their bodies touched. Just like it had done with his three sons before he bit them. The wolf sensed Rodrig’s compatibility. It wanted to make the man pack. But that wasn’t how this worked. So he held back.

“You aren’t as heavy as you think you are.” Jeremiah said before giving a well practiced fake laugh. Rodrig grunted.

Jeremiah kicked himself a little for trying too hard. Rodrig was clearly at the end of his emotional rope. His movements were slow. His shoulders were slumped and he had a look of someone who was about ready to pass out.

“Come on, the guest cabin is this way.” Jeremiah said, leading Rodrig to the smaller of the two cabins.

The guest cabin didn’t have a porch like the bigger one so there was no need to worry about navigating stairs to make it through the front door. The room had two rather large beds against the opposite wall, freshly made and ready for an occupant. In between the space left between the two beds was a small table with two chairs. On said table were two bowls of steaming hot soup, a large loaf of bread, butter and a jar of what Jeremiah assumed was the healing salve Lama said she would leave for them.

A grumbling sound came from both Rodrig and Jeremiah’s stomach at the same time.

“I think our bodies are telling us they are sick of travel rations.” Jeremiah said. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

---

Rodrig belched. Everything was delicious. Except the healing salve. They did not eat the healing salve. After dinner, Jeremiah grabbed the salve and popped the top off the jar.

“Shirt off. Back to me.” Jeremiah said.

Rodrig grunted but did as he was told. Jeremiah applied the goop to the cut on his back before retying the wrap holding a fresh cloth over the cut.

“Anything else?” Rodrig said, sounding a little more grumpy then he meant to.

“Just your face. Do you want me to do it for you?”

“No, I can do it myself.” Rodrig grabbed the jar and peeled the bandage off his face before applying some of the salve on his cheek. Jeremiah handed him a new bandage which Rodrig applied to his face a little less gracefully than normal.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Jeremiah said, looking like he was trying not to laugh. Rodrig gave him a death stare but didn’t argue. Instead he went over to the bed and got under the sheets. He didn’t even notice falling asleep.

Not until he woke up and the room was suddenly darker. The only light came from a candle on the nearby table. He was under the sheets. He didn’t remember getting under the sheets. Jeremiah must have tucked him in. The realization made Rodrig feel like trash. He shouldn’t have needed someone to take care of him like that. He should have taken care of himself. This feeling of helplessness was driving him crazy. He told himself he needed to apologize for Jeremiah having to take care of him like a kid. He looked around the room for Jeremiah, but he wasn’t there. There was a note next to the candle though. Rodrig stretched out his back and legs before grabbing the crutches and hobbling his way over to the table.

“Went on a midnight run. If you hear howling, don’t worry. That’s just me.” The note read.

Rodrig sat down next to the note. He wondered if Jeremiah was talking about a regular run or if Jeremiah had shifted. Then he saw Jeremiah’s pants and shirt by the door and realized it was probably a wolf run. Unless Jeremiah liked to run around the forest naked. That brought images from earlier in the day popping up in his head. Rodrig had to pinch himself to get his mind off of a naked Jeremiah running through the woods naked.

“No. Not happening.” Rodrig told himself. “Not one bit. Get that out of your head right now.”

A scratching sound came at the door. Rodrig jumped as the sudden noise startled him. He knocked the table with his leg and the candle began to fall. Rodrig grabbed it at the last minute, putting it back in place. He yelped in pain as a second later his brain registered that he now had burning hot candle wax smeared on his hand. He waved it back and forth to try and get the wax off.

The scratching came again. Rodrig stood up, holding his crutch above his head ready to strike as he looked towards the door. Then he heard a low canine whine. The first thought that came to Rodrig’s head was that Jeremiah was outside the door. He became worried. Should he open the door? Would Jeremiah be the monster that chased him through the woods? Or would he be full wolf? Was he about to see Jeremiah transform? The idea was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

He was distracted by the sound of loud popping and guttural growls that slowly morphed into groans. As the groans slowly morphed from beastly to human, Rodrig began to realize that voice didn’t belong to Jeremiah. There was a werewolf on the other side of the door. One he didn’t know and in a few seconds, it would have the ability to open the door.

He quickly hobbled over to the door, his crutch forgotten. He slammed into the door and quickly pushed the deadbolt in place. He then slid down to the floor, suddenly finding it hard to stay standing. He sat with his back to the door, covering his mouth and nose to try and calm his breathing.

The popping and grunting stopped and a second later, a fist pounded on the other end of the door.

“Jeremiah.” an unknown voice said. The accent sounded like it came from one of the countries from the west. “Open the door. It’s Alfonse.”

The doorknob turned and whoever was on the other end tried to push the door open. The door jiggled with more force than he thought. Then there was silence. And then a low growl.

“I can hear your heart beating on the other side of this door.” The voice said. A low snarl followed. “Tell me where Jeremiah is or I will rip this door off its hinges.”

Rodrig turned around and started pushing himself away from the door. His arms had goosebumps and his chest felt like it had a weight in it. His forehead was wet with sweat.

“What do you want?” Rodrig finally was able to call out.

“I want to know where my father is!” The man’s voice roared through the door. “I can smell his scent! He was here! What did you do with him!”

The door started to shake as the hinges groaned. Rodrig found himself hiding under the table, holding onto one of the legs for dear life. The hinges slowly were ripped from their hinges. The sound of splintering and cracking wood roared through the cabin. The door fell inward and crashed to the ground, shaking the floor. Standing in the doorway was a naked man, but his body wasn’t normal. Large patches of light brown fur covered his arms, chest and legs. His hands were tipped with large black claws. His mouth hung open as it panted for air. His teeth were long and sharp. His eyes glowed a deep crimson red. Rodrig briefly met the man beast’s eyes. The mystery man took one step forward. Rodrig was frozen, his entire body tensed up. There were no coherent thoughts going on in his mind at that time. Just the emotion of pure terror.

“Alfonse?” Jeremiah's voice said.

The wolf man stopped in his tracks and turned around. Standing behind the stranger was Jeremiah, also nude. He was looking at Alfonse. Then Rodrig. Then Alfonse again.

“Jeremiah?” the stranger said. The fur and claws began to shrink away as the man returned to a normal human. He ran out of the cabin and jumped into Jeremiah’s arms.

“What are you doing here?” Jeremiah asked.

The stranger said something Rodrig couldn’t hear, his face buried in Jeremiah’s shoulder. Rodrig’s body was moving on its own at that point. He crawled to a door he hadn’t opened yet. He fumbled with the doorknob before flinging it open. It was an empty closet. He threw himself in and closed the door before curling into a ball in the dark closet and trembling as he started sobbing.

---

“What are you doing here?” Jeremiah asked his first son.

“We got the report that Bright Rock had attacked their watcher.” Alfonse mumbled into his shoulder. “They have declared all supernaturals to be enemies to be killed on sight. Nobody knew if you were safe or not. I ran after you as soon as I heard the news.” His youngest son’s voice was moving quickly and was filled with breathy sobs. He hugged the man, patting him on the head.

Alfonse was about as tall as Jeremiah. He wasn’t quite as muscle bound as he was but still quite large compared to most men. His bright red hair was cut short, otherwise it began to curl into a mop. He had a small amount of stubble on his chin. It prickled against Jeremiah’s neck as Alfonse rubbed his head against him.

The sound of a slam pulled both of them out of the moment. Alfonse let go of Jeremiah and they both looked around. Rodrig was no longer under the table. Jeremiah took a step into the cabin, looking around. He could hear the soft sounds of sobbing and a heartbeat that was beating like a drum at the summer festival. It was coming from the closet.

“Damn it.” Jeremiah said.

“What is going on?” Lama called out. She was peering out the window from her cabin and was wearing a matching nightgown and nightcap. “Why are you naked? What is Angry Wolf doing here? AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE DOOR?”

“It was...I just–” Alfonse stammered back.

While Lama proceeded to scream at Alfonse, Jeremiah began to approach the closet door. Rodrig’s breathing was uneven, he was hyperventilating.

“Rodrig?” Jeremiah called through the door. “It’s okay. It was just a misunderstanding. I promise. You’re safe.”

Jeremiah grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open as he slowly started to open the door. It suddenly was pulled close.

“Get away from me!” Rodrig screamed through the door.

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay.” Jeremiah said, pushing a bit of the Wild into his voice. Trying to push calming energy into the words.

“Stop it! Stop using your fucking magic on me!” Rodrig screamed. The Wild being repelled back at him. It was laced with pure panic.

“Rodrig, I-”

“Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up! Get out of my head! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! JUST GO!” Rodrig’s voice tore from the closet. There was a pounding sound on the door, like Rodrig was slamming his fist against it.

“I’ll be outside if you need me.” Jeremiah said as softly as he could while still being loud enough that Rodrig would hear before backing away and heading outside.

“Granny, I’ll fix it. I swear.” Alfonse said. He now wore a pair of pants. Alfonse must have brought his wolf pack, a special backpack that could fit on the back of a wolf and carry some clothes and money. It was usually only used when a wolf had to head somewhere quick. Alfonse must have run straight here from their territory. Jeremiah grabbed his own pants and slipped them on before stepping outside.

“You’re damn right you will fix my door. You’re going to be doing a lot more than that to make up for the fact that you scared me half to death.” Lama was waving a fluffy pink slipper in her hand. If Alfonse was closer, Jeremiah had no doubt that she would be beating the young man with it.

“Alfonse.” Jeremiah said. “What did you do?”

Alfonse looked over to his father. He took a step back after seeing the death glare Jeremiah was pointing his way. Alfonse scrunched himself up trying to make himself look smaller. “After we got the report, we were all afraid you were in danger.” Alfonse began to explain. “I told the others I would follow after you. To make sure you were safe. I stopped by the watcher 's posts along the way to see if I could scent you. When I got here, I caught your scent and figured you were in the guest cabin. So I started knocking. And then there was this unknown scent. I started calling you but got no answer. I panicked and thought that they had hurt you.”

“Why?” Jeremiah said. He was angry. Angry that his son would do something so stupid. Especially when he was more level headed then this. Then it dawned on him. The Watcher was only attacked 2 days ago. The pack territory was still 5 days walk from here. There was only one way that he could have gotten here so quickly.

“Alfonse. No. Please tell me you didn’t use an enhancement potion.” Jeremiah said.

Alfonse did not answer.

“Granny, do you have an oral tranquilizer? ” Jeremiah asked. “My son has been traveling nonstop on performance enhancing drugs and probably hasn’t slept for at least a day.”

“Father, I-” Alfonse began to say.

“Not now Alfonse.” Jeremiah said. “You have no idea what damage you’ve done. On top of that, you’re hyped up on a cocktail meant to keep soldiers on the front lines of battle ready to kill for days on end. Now you almost attacked the Sensitive I’ve been charged with protecting. On top of that, you just re-traumatized him after he was bound, gagged and stabbed less than half a week ago.”

Alfonse did not have a response to that. Lama told the young werewolf to come inside. Jeremiah headed back to the guest cabin. Rodrig had not left the closet. The hyperventilating had eased into a sobbing fit. When Jeremiah’s foot made the wooden floor creak, Rodrig gasped and started to make a sort of whimpering sound.

“Hi.” Jeremiah said. “I won’t try to open the closet again. But it can’t be comfortable in there. Can I get you a blanket and pillow? I’ll leave it by the door so you can grab it when you’re ready.”

No answer.

“Tap once for no, twice for yes.”

No answer. Then two knocks on the door.

Jeremiah pulled a pillow and the comforter from the bed. He folded the comforter up and placed it by the door and set the pillow on top.

“I’m stepping away from the door.” Jeremiah said, making sure to make plenty of noise so that Rodrig could hear him step away. A couple of minutes passed but eventually the closet door opened just a creek. A hand slipped out and grabbed the blanket and pillow before pulling them in and closing the door. Jeremiah sat on the opposite side of the room, watching the door.

“Where is the boy?” Lama asked as she stepped in the cabin. She was still wearing her nightgown but had her leather boots on.

Jeremiah pointed towards the closet.

“He panicked.” Jeremiah said. “And now he won’t leave the closet.”

“I don’t blame him.” Lama said. “Someone just ripped off a door to attack him.” “I’m so sorry Granny. I’ll pay for all the repairs.” “The door is not what I’m worried about right now.” She said, “I need to make sure he’s not injured.”

Jeremiah got up and both he and Lama approached the door.

“Rodrig.” Jeremiah said. “We need to make sure you aren't injured. May we open the door?”

No answer. Then the sound of shuffling and some grunting. And then the door opened. Rodrig had the comforter wrapped around his upper body. His eyes and nose poked through a small hole at the top of the wrap he had made of himself. His eyes were bloodshot from crying and his body was shaking. Lama offered her hand. Rodrig reached out and took it but his eyes never left Jeremiah’s. Rodrig was terrified. Whatever trust they had built, Alfonse had destroyed in a matter of seconds.

#gay werewolf #gay #romance #creative writing

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