#he has a very cool weapon and unfortunately I cannot draw cool weapons without being carried away like that

[shrews-art]

He's the only man ever actually

[nerdythebard]

#13: Doctor Strange [Marvel]

By the Eternal Vishanti, I welcome you back!

Today we're making the Sorcerer Supreme of the Marvel Universe-616, Doctor Strange. This spell-slinging master of the mystic arts has been my favourite superhero for quite some time now, and I'm always excited whenever we get something related to him. Now, just a quick note – this build is going to be based on the comic book version of Strange, not the MCU one. We're having real spells and incantations, not some thinly-veiled Clarke's Third Law. #LetMagicBeMagic.

Next Time: The Gods call for us again. The Dragon King blesses us with his presence.

Now then, let's examine what we need to become the mightiest mystic of the Multiverse:

Arcane Artillery: Doctor Strange holds enough mystic knowledge to give Mind Flayers an indigestion. What he doesn't know, he can look up in his Sanctum Sanctorum's library. We need to be prepared to have a spell for almost any situation.

Mystic Fists of Fury: Before opening his Third Eye fully, Strange spent some time in Kamar-Taj under the tutelage of the Ancient One, practising his combat skills in case he was ever in a situation where magic would fail him.

The Old Favourites: Whatever incarnation of the character we encounter, Doctor Strange is almost always certain to have the following items on him: the Eye of Agamotto, the Cloak of Levitation, and occasionally the Book of the Vishanti. After the Last Days of Magic event, Strange found a likeness for weapons like shortswords, staffs, and axes.

---

Stephen Strange was an ordinary human, but due to the years of exposure to otherworldly mystic forces, his biology changed to not accept regular human food anymore. This sounds like a good excuse to make him Variant Human. We get a +1 to two abilities of our choice (Intelligence and Constitution), we know how to speak Common and one other language of our choice, we get to pick one skill to be proficient in (Investigation), and we get to pick a feat. The Medic feat gives us a +1 to Wisdom, proficiency with the Medicine skill, and the ability to tend to our party members' wounds on short rests (Medicine check [DC 15], if successful - the player can use the maximum value of their Hit Dice to regain Hit Points).

Although he started as a simple physician, the turning point of Strange's life was his training in Kamar-Taj. He gained skills and knowledge, vast enough to call himself a Sage. From this background, we gain proficiency in Arcana and History, we learn two more languages, and we gain the Researcher feature; when we're to recall a piece of lore, and we don't know it, we usually can figure out where to find the information (be it a library, a temple, or somebody's private collection).

ABILITY SCORES

Intelligence is our primary stat, serving as our casting ability and our pride. Next is Constitution, all casters need to keep it high. We follow that up with Wisdom, lessons of the Ancient One granted us both humility and broadened our horizons.

Dexterity is a little low, but we'll take care of that later. Charisma is next, even after his training was complete Stephen can be a bit of a jerk and refusing to hear anyone but himself. Finally, we'll dump Strength.

CLASS

Assigning a D&D class to Doctor Strange was a very (and I mean very) difficult task. Starting off, I had to disregard his Sorcerer Supreme title, because in D&D sorcerers are born with the ability to wield magic. Strange had to study and practice to get his powers, so that makes him a Wizard. Kamar-Taj is also dedicated to studying the teachings of the Vishanti, a trinity of god-like beings who give the Sorcerer Supreme their powers, so that would make Strange a Cleric. Finally, he also draws powers from deals he made with otherworldly entities (such as Cyttorak, the Faltine, Munnopor, Watoomb, sometimes even Dormammu himself), which screams 'Warlock', except there's no way to incorporate multiple patrons without homebrewing. It wasn't easy, but I am satisfied with what I've created. Hopefully, you'll be, too.

Level 1 - Monk: We start just as Strange started, by honing our body first. Monks get the d8 Hit Dice, [8 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiencies with simple weapons and shortswords, and proficiency in one set of artisan's tools or a musical instrument (I'd go with alchemist's supplies). Our saving throws are Strength and Dexterity, and we get to pick two class skills (Insight and Religion).

Monks start with Unarmoured Defence. When we're not wearing armour, or holding a shield, our AC equals [10 + our Dexterity modifier + our Wisdom modifier]. We also get Martial Arts, which gives our unarmed strikes some more power. We can now use Dexterity instead of Strength for our unarmed strikes attack and damage rolls, we replace our Strength modifier with a d4 for damage of our unarmed strikes, and if we use the unarmed strike (or a monk weapon) on our turn as an Attack, we can use a bonus action to make an extra unarmed strike.

Level 2 - Monk: We get more mobile with Unarmoured Movement. Our ground speed increases by 10 feet if we're not wearing armour or holding a shield.

We also get access to the Monk's signature feature, the Ki energy. We start with 2 Ki Points, which we can spend on the following abilities:

Flurry of Blows: Spending 1 Ki Point after making an attack, lets us make two unarmed strikes as a bonus action;

Patient Defence: Spending 1 Ki Point lets us take a Dodge action as a bonus action on our turn;

Step of the Wind: Spending 1 Ki Point doubles our jump distance for the turn, and we can take the Dash or Disengage actions as a bonus action.

Level 3 - Wizard: We finally begin our study of spells and arcane arts.

Unfortunately, multiclassing into Wizard does not give us any additional benefits. We do, however, get Arcane Recovery. Once per day, during a short rest, we can choose a number of expended spell slots and refill them. The number must be equal to half of our Wizard level (rounded up), and the recovered spell slots cannot be 6th-level or higher.

Wizards also start with Spellcasting at their 1st level, and they know both cantrips and ritual spells. Our spellcasting ability is Intelligence, but unlike many other casting classes we do not get a full access to our spell list. Instead, we start with six spells in our spellbook and get two more each time we level up. Then, we can only prepare and use [Our Intelligence modifier + our Wizard level] spells at once. Describing all of those spells we pick would make this post over a mile long, and I've made that mistake with Sypha. To not make this a chore for you guys, I decided that from now on whenever I make a Wizard (or, a build where Wizard is a majority), I will simply list the spells we pick without descriptions. Let's be honest, if not here, you'll certainly find those in a different build. Alright, let's begin! First, we get to pick three cantrips:

Fire Bolt

Mage Hand

Minor Illusion

When it comes to our starting spells, let's take these six. Remember, we can only prepare a certain number, and we start with only two 1st-level spell slots.

Alarm

Detect Magic

Fog Cloud (to represent the Mists of Munnopor from the comics)

Shield (of the Seraphim)

Magic Missile (as a stand-in for the Daggers of Daveroth)

Sleep

Level 4 - Wizard: We get to pick our subclass, our Arcane Tradition. For Strange, who can be any combination of Wizard, Cleric, and Warlock, the best choice is to pick Theurgy from 2017 Unearthed Arcana. Theurgists are religious magic-users, who focus more on the arcane research rather than prayer and worship.

With Divine Inspiration, we get to select a Cleric Domain and a deity we wish to follow. Ask your DM if it's possible for you to worship three gods as a collective, a magical triumvirate. For your own Vishanti I suggest Mystra, Mother of All Magic, Azuth, the Lord of Spells, and Savras, the All-Seeing. For a Wizard, I'd say there's no better choice than Knowledge Domain.

We also get Arcane Initiate, which lets us replace spells we learn as we level up with the cleric spells of our chosen domain. What's cool about that feature is, other wizards cannot copy those spells from our spellbook. If we get all of our chosen domain's spells, we can keep replacing spells we learn with spells from the Cleric spell list.

Finally, we gain the Cleric's unique skill - Channel Divinity - except in our case it becomes Channel Arcana. We start with two effects: Divine Arcana and the effect granted by the chosen domain. Unlike Clerics, we can use the Channel Arcana once per short or long rest.

Divine Arcana lets us use a bonus action to control the flow of magic in the area. The next spell we cast gets a +2 to its attack roll or saving throw DC.

Knowledge of the Ages grants us quick insight into a skill we're not familiar with. For the next 10 minutes, we're proficient with one tool set of our choice or proficient in one skill we choose.

We gain one more 1st-level spell slot, and for this level's two spells let's get Feather Fall, and Command from the domain list.

Level 5 - Wizard: At this level we unlock 2nd-level spell slots, and we can access 2nd-level spells. Let's get Hold Person (for Strange's famous Crimson Bands of Cyttorak) and Icingdeath's Frost from 2021 Unearthed Arcana: Draconic Options (for the Icy Tendrils of Ikthalon).

Level 6 - Wizard: Time for our first Ability Score Improvement! As is the rule of thumb with all Wizards, boosting our Intelligence is a priority. That's what we shall put the 2 points into.

For this level's spells, we get another cantrip (Light), and let's take Locate Object and Mirror Image (to represent the Images of Ikonn).

Level 7 - Wizard: We unlock 3rd-level spell slots. Let's get Dispel Magic, and we can get Fly to finally get a representation for our Cloak of Levitation.

Level 8 - Wizard: We get our first subclass upgrade. Arcane Acolyte grants us the 1st-level benefits of our chosen domain. For Knowledge domain, it's Blessings of Knowledge; we learn two languages of our choice and get proficiency in two skills... which we pretty much are proficient in already. To not waste a feature, ask your DM if you can double your proficiency bonus for those two skills instead. If you get a 'yes', pick Arcana and Insight.

For this level's spells, let's get Counterspell and Magic Circle.

Level 9 - Wizard: From here, we get access to 4th-level spell slots. Banishment and Dimension Door seems like exactly what we need to keep enemies at bay and have fun with portals.

Level 10 - Wizard: Halfway through the build, and we get an ASI. Let's cap our Intelligence at 20, with those two points.

For this level's spells, let's grab Arcane Eye and turn back a little and get Speak with Dead from our domain list, as it is one of few spells not available to Wizards.

Level 11 - Wizard: We get access to 5th-level spells. With Contact Other Plane and Legend Lore, we become an even bigger magical know-it-all to aid our party.

Level 12 - Wizard: For our subclass upgrade, we get Arcane Priest, which grants us the Knowledge Domain's 6th-level benefit - Channel Divinity: Read Thoughts. One creature within 60 feet of us must make a Wisdom saving throw, or grant us access to its surface thoughts (emotions and active thoughts, no deep secrets or hidden motives) for 1 minute. During that time, we can also use our action to cast the Suggestion spell on the target; they fail their saving throw automatically.

We also get our final cantrip for this build (Sword Burst), and we get two more 5th-level spells: Planar Binding and Wall of Force.

Level 13 - Wizard: We unlock 6th-level spells. With Globe of Invulnerability and True Seeing, we upgrade our Shield of the Seraphim and give our Eye of Agamotto even more mystic abilities (as it should have had!)

Level 14 - Wizard: Time for another ASI! Let's put one point into Constitution for better HP chance, and one into Dexterity.

Arcane Gate finally gives us a proper yellow sparkly portal thingy, and let's get Chain Lightning for some much needed offensive capabilities.

Level 15 - Wizard: We're getting into 7th-level spells at this level. Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion allows us to recreate our very own Sanctum Sanctorum, and with Project Image we can get Strange's Astral Projection.

Level 16 - Wizard: At this level, we get our final subclass upgrade (and we cross the 100 HP mark, yay!). Arcane High Priest grants us the Knowledge Domain's 17th-level benefits. Visions of the Past lets us spend at least 1 minute of meditation to receive information about a specific object we're holding, or our immediate surroundings:

Object Reading - we learn of the object's previous owner. We know how the person came into contact with the object, how they lost it, and a significant even in their life tied to the object.

Area Reading - we see the events that transpired in the specific location (up to 50-foot cube), going back a number of days equal to our Wisdom modifier.

For this level's spells, let's get Plane Shift and Teleport to double-down on Strange's interdimensional travels.

Level 17 - Wizard: Time for 8th-level spells.

Illusory Dragon is a nice nod to the great "Doctor Strange and the Sorcerers Supreme" series (go check it out, it's awesome!), and Maze is another good banishment-type spell to have. Just don't use it on minotaurs.

Level 18 - Wizard: For our final ASI, let's put two points into Dexterity, leaving us unfortunately with an odd number (hopefully, you'll manage to find some ability-increasing item or benefit in your adventure).

For this level's spells, let's grab Power Word: Stun and Demiplane is a good combo to immobilize a foe and send it to the Shadow Realm Mirror Dimension.

Level 19 - Wizard: We unlock the pinnacle of D&D arcane, the 9th-level spells... that is, unless your DM introduces High Magic, which is... whew, a league of its own.

Time Stop and Foresight give us those Time Stone abilities (for all you MCU degenerates. Yes, I know what I said, but Strange was given the Time Stone in his new run, so I did not lie!)

Level 20 - Wizard: Our capstone is Wizard 18, which gives us the Spell Mastery feature. We get to choose one 1st-level spell and one 2nd-level spell from our spellbook and make them our signature moves; we can now cast them at will, without expending a spell slot. Shield and Hold Person seems like a good choice here.

For our final spells of this build, we cannot go without Astral Projection, and let's get Imprisonment a chance.

---

And there we go! Doctor Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts. Let's see what we've created:

First of all, we're the epitome of Wizard, we're a great utility caster and a pretty good support, with Internet-like capability of finding information. We're don't have a lot of damage-dealing abilities, like Sypha did, but remember - Wizards also get spell by finding them in the world and copying them in their spellbook. This here is only what we get automatically. Go and roam the world in search for that Fireball!

We have AC of 14, but with Shield (and later making it pretty much permanent) it can get up to 19, and we have 130 Hit Points on average. Our speed is also a little better, with 40 feet of movement (plus flying thanks to the Fly spell).

Unfortunately, our Charisma and Wisdom are not great, so those saving throws might be difficult. Our Strength is also not the greatest, so we're pretty much forced to fight with magic.

---

And that is it! Next time, we return to SMITE for a few builds, as I absorbs information about Fire Emblem: Three Heroes. Also, the game devs just released a teaser for Morgana le Fay, and my first reaction was 'Hexblade Warlock'. Do you agree?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and your day is going great. I'll see you next time!

- Nerdy out!

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

family baking time

summary: can you do a reddie x daughter where she has a dream about eddie dying and then they comfort her? like basically how we would want them to comfort us about how our souls were crushed from watching CH2 lmao

The sheets stick to Luna’s body as she desperately tries to escape them, kicking her legs out, the same way a toddler experiencing a tantrum does, dislodging the sheets in the process. The remnants of the nightmare cling to the back of her mind, like clouds obstructing the view of her normal brain, clouding her judgment.

She escapes the muffed room and trades it for the living room, can’t stand to be alone any longer without any conformation that her dad is in fact not dead, but alive and kicking. The hallway is brightened by the distorted images on the television, the volume so low it’s nothing more but a murmuring setting taken advantages off by Richie to focus on his writing process.

Luna can hear the ticking sound his keyboard makes, furious and fast paced, the way he goes when a new idea pops in his head and he has to write it down in that very moment. Under normal circumstances, Luna would find something else to do or wait to interrupt him, finding it difficult and off putting for disrupting his lively hood. Not that Richie minds her intercepting his new materiel, in fact, some material only came to be after Luna gave her input, but she does mind. But the nightmare douses her in an unhealthy amount of adrenaline, and she has to get shake it off, to prove to herself and her traitorous mind, that her dad and pops are fine, and she’s just making things up.

‘Pops’, she whimpers, blocking his sight of the tv, not that he was looking in the first place. Richie peeks up at her, and freezes mid-tap, shoving the laptop off his lap and floundering over to his daughter. He fosters her with his arms, rocking them back and forth. Luna bawls harder, digging the heels of her palms in her eye sockets to will herself to stop.

‘Kiddo, what’s going on?’ Richie asks her panickily, mentally checking over any possible sort of information. She didn’t go to bed upset, and as far as he knew, he’s pretty confident his daughter tells him everything, she didn’t argue or fight with her friend either.

‘Talk to me Lu.’

Luna weeps in hurdle of sobs, shaking her head when it’s obvious she can’t explain with the way she’s acting at the moment. Richie, frightened of the whole ordeal, understands that he cannot do any of this by himself.

‘Eds’, Richie yells at Eddie, sleeping soundly and heedless to the drama unfolding, the name sounds shaky and breathy at first, not nearly loud enough to stir Eddie from his rem stages of sleep, and then Richie bites back his bile and calls out louder. ‘Eddie.’

‘Richie’, Eddie answers, instantly alert even with the bouts of sleep, something he does because he’s not fully sated with the idea that Pennywise will never come back. He scrams in the living room, weaponizing a vase, but leaves it behind when he sees the reason Richie howled at him was because of their daughter.

‘Luna what’s going sweetheart?’

Eddie’s fight or flight is instantly shifted in gear, hands fluttering all over Luna’s body to detect any visible injuries. When he can’t find any, he grabs her a tissue and hands it over to her, so Luna can dab her tears away.

‘Settle down, it’s okay.’ Eddie calms, shooing both Richie and Luna over to sit on the overweening soft carpet. The carpet was Richie’s pick, who specifically searched for something so Luna as a child could amuse herself without having to do it on the unrelenting hard floor. Now a days, it’s mostly used during her sleepovers, or while watching a movie.

 There’s goosebumps all over Luna’s body, and they have nothing to do with the chill that comes sweeping in alongside a cool spring night.

‘Did you have a nightmare, Luns?’ Richie inquires gently, all too familiar with those himself. He recognizes the signs of one in Luna, but unfortunately clueless on how to fix it. Richie’s coping mechanisms are not ones he wants to pass on his daughter.

‘Yeah’, she sobs out, sagging backwards on the carpet so she’s laying flat down, staring up at the ceiling. After a beat of hesitations her dads mirror her position.

‘Oh fuck’, Richie complains mere seconds after upholding the stance, rolling his shoulders to work out the cricks developing in his upper back. ‘I’m too old for this shit.’

‘Since when are you suddenly too old? Yesterday you swore to us you could run a marathon in your sleep.’

Luna giggles, her dad and pops bickering like everything is normal and no one is hurt eases her mind off the edge of a breakdown.

‘I’m glad to understand that my suffering is funny to you young lady’, Richie utters, smiling himself.

‘It’s not’, Luna confesses, because even though Richie was joking, the mere visions of her dad being impaled is vividly being replayed and repeated in front of her very eyes. She blinks against the onslaught of tears and picks at the soft cotton under her to refrain from whipping her eyes again. They’re already burning, and the more she rubs, the more she’ll have trouble with it later.

‘Luna’, Eddie says miserably, taking her hand and holding it between his own, ‘We’re here.’

‘I had a nightmare. And you died dad’, Luna cries, flipping over so she cry in her dad’s t-shirt. ‘I’m sorry. Pops and me came home and the house was so empty because you were never coming back. I looked for you everywhere and expected you to be behind me at every turn but you never were.’

‘Listen to me’, Eddie explains firmly, sitting up and planting his hand on his hips to make himself as fierce as he could, ‘I am never, ever leaving you or your pops alone. Ever’, he says the last word slowly, drawing it out to allow it to sink in Luna’s head. ‘I will always come back to the two of you. Always.’

‘You big ol’ sap,’ Richie waves off, but his voice is slightly trembling despite his best efforts.

The family of three compile in a bear hug, staying there until Richie’s muscles begin protesting and he has no choice but to move positions, leaving the dog pile with a kiss to Eddie’s lips and one on Luna’s temple.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Her pops asks, shimmying his shoulders, coking his head towards the kitchen.

‘Pops I’m never thinking what you’re thinking. Your mind is a weird place.’

‘Well first off all fuck you, second of all you’re right, and third I’m talking about  midnight baking,’ he swings his arms in the air and bows through his knees, like a child on Christmas.

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ Eddie agrees, struggling to get himself off the carpet and on both feet again.

‘The two of you are really getting old,’ Luna mocks, ‘But yes, midnight baking sounds amazing.’

The apple strudels are slightly burned, and Eddie mutters under his breath that he’s going to have to extend his visit to the gym the whole time, but Luna loves the family space, and is immensely grateful that her dad is still breathing to spend it with them.

[huilian]

for @lulaypp

Jason wakes up to a cacophony of noises coming from all around him. He doesn’t open his eyes, all the training for not letting them know he’s up kicking in, and lets the voices wash over him, trying to figure out what is going on.

“What do you mean-,” someone says, only to be interrupted by another person.

“-violate the conservation of energy-”

“-instantaneously? Without-”

Jason resists the urge to frown. What are they talking about? The chatter is a very different one than the usual criminal-trying-to-kidnap-Red-Hood chatter. They never talk about membrane potential, or conservation of energy, or chemical reactions.

Well, okay. Some of them, particularly Scarecrow’s or Ivy’s people, might talk about chemical reactions, but never like this.

Before he can piece out what is going one, a voice calls out. “Ah, Mister Todd. Good. You’re awake,” someone above him says. “We can proceed with all the halted experiments.”

The voices stop for a while, before erupting in a thousand different ways.

“Can I-”

“-the effects on-”

“-no! My array requires him-”

What? Experiments?

Jason opens his eyes. No use in pretending to be asleep, now that they (he decides to call the person announcing his wakefulness person-number-one) have announced that he’s awake. He is greeted with the sight of googled eyes, masked faces, gloved hands, and, more importantly, white lab coats.

Shit.

What are they doing to him?

He tries lifting his arms, only to find that it’s strapped to the bed. A cursory look downwards tells him that there are straps around his chest, abdomen, and around his legs too. He looks up, and finds himself making eye contact with one of the researchers? Lab tech? Mad scientist? She holds the eye contact, unfearing of him.

And why should she? He’s stripped and strapped to the bed, unable to move, all his weapons gone. He doesn’t even know why he’s here.

“A change in eye color, Doctor,” she says, still looking into his eyes. “I believe the procedure causes his stroma to change, making the reflection appear green.”

“Yes, Mitchell,” person-number-one says. It seems that Jason is right. He is the leader of this group? Pack? Companion? What does one call a collection of scientists? “That has been recorded from the preliminary tests. Step your game up.”

The woman, Mitchell, although that’s probably her last name, considering the group holding him right now, grumbles, but doesn’t say anything outright. She grabs a syringe next to her, and jabs them precisely, but not gently, on Jason’s bare arms.

What are they doing? What do they want from him?

“What the fuck is going on?” Jason growls, frustrated. He sees a few of the scientists? Lab tech?-He still doesn’t know precisely who they are- flinch, but for the most part, they ignored him.

Weird. He is sure he went out as the Red Hood tonight, and the Red Hood doesn’t really have a reputation for being harmless. Even they should know that, if they’re operating in Gotham.

Shit. Is he still in Gotham?

Wait. They called him Mister Todd. He’s unmasked, though that alone shouldn’t tell them anything. Jason Todd doesn’t really have photos, or any presence, legal or otherwise, whatsoever.

Who is he dealing with? How do they know about him?

“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” Jason growls again, “or I swear-”

“Now, Mister Todd, no need for threats,” person-number-one says. “I assure you I went through the proper channels to acquire you. All is above board.” He gives Jason a small smile, the kind you give to misbehaving children that you find amusing but cannot afford to let continue.

“Proper channels?” Jason asks, stalling for time. When person-number-one is talking, the rest of the scientists?-what are they?- stops what they are doing, so Jason is trying to get him to talk as long as he can. The straps are, unfortunately, made of good quality. He’s been spoiled with Gotham’s cesspit of underpaid and poorly supplied criminals.

“Oh yes, proper channels. I am a researcher, after all, and we do things the right way in my lab. Unfortunately for you, being legally dead means that you do not have the power to sign a consent form,” he smiles again, less like humoring misbehaving children and more like a shark that has smelled blood, “and thus we do not need to obtain your consent.”

A second pass. And then two, while Jason is mulling over what he said. But before the full implication of it can hit him, person-number-one claps his hands and says, “Alright, enough dithering! I want that data on my desk by lunch, Bilakopic, and Kim! Don’t forget to run the gel analysis!”

“Yes, Professor,” a woman, Bilakopic, going by her features, mutters. Another man, whom Jason guesses is Kim, nods tersely.

“Do not worry, Mister Todd,” person-number-one, whom Jason still hasn’t caught the name of, says. “Your contributions will be highly valued by the scientific community. Of course, you won’t be named,” a tilt of his head, “but I will know.”

Jason opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but before he can say anything, a man puts a swab of cotton inside his mouth and scrapes what feels like the inside of his throat. He watches as person-number-one saunters off the room, and looks around to the collection of dead-faced scientists around him.

His hands are still not free. The straps hold throughout his attempts at escape.

Shit.

***

The… experiments, if Jason can call it that, goes on and on for hours. One of them would come with one type of test tube or another in their hands and draw various things from his body. Ranging from blood to skin to hair to urine, all the way to cerebrospinal fluid from his spine. It hurts, but not excessively so. Person-number-one, whom Jason still hasn’t caught the name of, was right.

They are professionals.

Normally, that would make Jason be a bit calmer. There is nothing worse than getting kidnapped by an amateur, especially a desperate amateur. Amateurs are more likely to either mess up or hurt him accidentally. A professional hit, even though that might sound terrifying to people not used to their line of work, is really one of the better things that can happen to them.

But this time? This time it terrifies Jason.

Because professional means that they won’t think of you as a person. Professional means that there is no way for Jason to persuade one of them, or to make them lower their guard so that he can escape.

Professional means that there is nothing for him to exploit.

So he lies there, watching as they run their experiments on him. Not literally, of course. They come to gather their samples and then leave immediately, presumably to run it somewhere else. Jason watches as they pull blood from him with meticulous, efficient moves;  as they open his mouth without any fanfare to swab his throat; as they measure his heartbeat, his breathing, his oxygen levels, and everything and anything you can monitor in a body.

It went on for hours. Jason is just lying there, unable to move and unwilling to talk, because he knows that nothing that is coming out of his mouth will convince them.

They are professionals.

Slowly, the number of people coming back for more samples dwindles. Do mad-scientists work normal hours? What time is it?

Hell, what day is it? From the expression on person-number-one’s face when he woke up, Jason can tell that they have been doing this for a while now.

How long have they had him?

“Asif, no!” Jason hears someone shouts from somewhere outside his room. What now?

“He’s not going to let us go before that data hits his table and you know it, Kris!”

“You can’t be serious! I’m not going in there with just the two of us!”

Are they… talking about him? Huh. Okay. Jason can work with this.

But before he can think about what he is going to say to them, they come in, face as expressionless as everyone's been throughout the day (Jason decides to call the time he’s been awake until now a day. He doesn’t have any other method of determining time, not with this closed up room and his fucked internal clock.). They go directly to the table full of equipment and wastes no time nor movement in getting what they want.

Efficient. Meticulous. Exact.

Professionals.

All traces of humanity, glimpsed from that snippet of conversation outside the room, is gone. In its place is the cool, detached mask of a scientist observing their object of study.

Jason closes his open mouth, swallowing down all the words he wanted to say, and then he closes his eyes. What’s the point in resisting? They don’t even see him as human.

It’s not that bad anyway. Just a couple of pricks from the needle, and the uncomfortable feeling of a cotton swab being put into his throat. It’s nothing worse than being in the Cave, getting patched up by Alfred, or even the check-ups with Leslie back when Bruce still cared enough for him to get him to do check-ups.

Does Bruce still care enough for him to search for him? Or are they going to just brush off his disappearance, relieved that this particular burden is gone?

Jason breathes out as the cotton swab is being pulled out of his mouth. It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad.

***

He was wrong. It is that bad.

He spent a few more sessions being poked and prodded and taken samples of, nothing worse than the things they did to him in the first session. But then, one day, person-number-one, whom Jason hadn’t seen in his room from that first session, comes in, with several of his scientists in tow.

“Doctor, you can’t be serious,” the one walking in right behind person-number-one says. “We can still make do with what we have.”

“Make do?” person-number-one says. “We don’t make do in the Greber Lab, Segal. We excel.” Person-number-one, whose name is probably Greber, considering everything, takes a scalpel from the table full of equipment and hands it over to Segal. “Now do it, or I am going to reject all of your proposals. It’s clear that you do not have what it takes to succeed in this field.”

A hush comes and engulfs the room. The rest of the scientists, everyone except for Greber and Segal, are standing close to the door, posture all ready to bolt. Jason tenses. This is not good.

He sees Segal gulps, looking down to the scalpel in Greber’s hands. She doesn’t raise her hand to take it.

Greber scoffs. “I see. You are always welcome to leave my team, Segal,” he says, before walking towards Jason with the scalpel in tow.

Oh, this is not good. This is not good at all.

Greber presses down on Jason’s chest, the scalpel still in his hands. Jason has never felt the lack of clothing on his chest as acutely as he does now, looking at the scalpel glinting under the fluorescent light.

But before Greber can do anything, Segal shouts, “I’ll do it!”

The scalpel stops in its descent. Jason lets out a small breath of relief, only to stop again when he realizes what she was saying.

She’ll do it. What is she going to do to him?

Another blood-smelling shark smile blooms on Greber’s face. “Good,” he says. “I always know you could do it, Segal.” He flips the scalpel in his hands and offers it to Segal, handle first. “After you.”

“At least give him anesthetics, Doctor,” someone calls out from the crowd near the door.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. What are they going to do to him that requires anesthetics?

Or, perhaps even more worryingly, what are they going to do to him that should require anesthetics, but they won’t give it to him?

“No,” Greber answers promptly. “All of our anesthetics are going to interact with his receptor proteins, distorting the result we are looking for. No anesthetics.”

Shit. This is going to hurt, isn’t it?

Jason breathes out, trying to get to the meditation mindset both Bruce and Talia tried to teach him. In, and out, calm your heart rate, get your mind somewhere else.

Jason sees Segal take the scalpel. He sees Greber move back, out of reach. He sees the hesitation, the pity on Segal’s face, before it is quickly removed underneath the detached mask all of them always wear around him.

Jason closes his eyes, trying to will his mind to bring him to other places. Happier places. Training with Bruce. Cooking with Alfred. The small, pleased smile on Talia’s face when he completed a hard training.

Flying on the rooftops of Gotham. Feeling the fluter of his cape behind him. Feeling the weight of Bruce’s cape all around him.

It doesn’t work.

He still screams as the scalpel makes its way around him, on top of him, and finally, inside of him. He screams until the group of scientists near the door put their hands on their ears; he screams until Segal, who is still holding the scalpel, asks for someone to help her restrain him; he screams until his throat constricts and his lungs collapse.

But still, the scalpel moves on, cutting pieces of him with surgeon-like precision, uncaring of the amount of pain it gives him.

***

Jason doesn’t even twitch as he hears someone thundering into the room. What’s the point? It’s going to happen either way.

“I don’t care why you haven’t done it,” he hears Greber’s voice, the first time since a few days ago, when the man told his subordinates to cut him open and then watched. They have done worse things than just cutting him open since then, but never with Greber present.

They have cut out a piece of bone from his leg, stuck a needle in to take a sample of the marrow, and then breaks the leg, and Jason is more nervous now with Greber in front of him than he was on that day.

His leg is splinted now, probably in another experiment to see how long it would take him to heal a broken bone. These people do not do anything to him without a hypothesis and a list of ingredients and methods.

“I want it done. Now,” Greber finishes, looming in front of Jason, a power saw in his hand.

What else are they going to do to him? They have cut him open, taken pieces of skin and muscle, taken samples of various liquids from his abdomen, and broken his bone and took the marrow underneath. What else can they do to him?

“Doctor,” a woman Jason distantly recognizes says, “this procedure is too risky. Especially if you insist on not using anesthesia.”

“Oh, do shut up, Bilakopic.” Ah. That’s her name. But then, what difference would knowing her name give for Jason? It’s not like they see him as human.

It’s not like he can see them as human, after all they had done to him.

“We haven’t had any progress with any of his other cells, so obviously what causes him to spontaneously resurrect is not that. That leaves his central nervous system, the only place we haven’t taken a sample of yet,” Greber says.

“Doctor,” Bilakopic says, “have you considered that it’s going to give permanent damage to the subject?”

“Who do you think I am?” Greber snaps, for once showing something other than amusement or irritation. He’s desperate, and Jason can feel it.

It scares Jason even more. Desperate is not good. Desperate means they’re going to be careless, and careless, in a situation like this, can very well spell death for him.

Jason doesn’t want to die yet. Again. He has stared death in the face many, many times before, has even died, but never like this. Never strapped down, feeling his body getting weaker and weaker as they took more and more pieces from him, and unable to do anything.

Where is Bruce? He’s going to come, right? But it’s been, at the very least, weeks since they have him, and still, no one has come to rescue him.

Are they searching for him? They are, right? They keep saying about how family don’t leave anyone behind.

But is Jason still part of the family?

Maybe not. Maybe they see that he is gone and is congratulating each other, a thorn in their side finally removed.

No. They’re going to come get him. They will. Bruce promised, didn’t he?

“Get the headrest,” Greber barks out. A clanging noise from somewhere behind Jason tells him that one of the scientists always following in Greber’s wake is doing just that.

Wait. Headrest. Power saw. Central nervous system.

Jason feels all of his breath come out of his lungs in one fell swoop. Are they going to operate on his brain?

No. No. Nonononono. They can’t do that to him. They can’t do that.

Jason starts to pull on his restraints, doing so for the first time in days. He has to get out. Whatever he does, he has to get out.

He can feel the atmosphere in the room tensing. Greber, however, is not concerned. “Get more restraints, while you’re at it,” he says, clicking his tongue.

No. No. They can’t do that. They can’t do that.

They can, however. Hands hold him down, manhandling him to a sitting position. The first time in weeks that Jason is sitting up, and he can’t even savour it.

He can’t get out of their grip. They’re careful, always tying a new strap to hold him in place before removing another one. Besides, he hasn’t eaten in days--they had him on an IV drip-- and he can feel that he’s not even at half strength.

Soon enough, Jason is sitting up, head tied in place on top of an aluminium headrest, the rest of his body tied down either to the bed or the bars just above his bed.

This is happening.

This can’t be happening.

This is happening.

“Gloved, masked, and gowned, everyone?” Jason hears someone ask, and then he hears the chorus of agreements afterwards. He hears the thrum of a power tool being turned on, and it hits him, right then and there.

This is happening. This is really happening. He can’t get out.

He closes his eyes, swearing to himself that he is not going to scream this time.

The resolve lasts only until the saw makes contact with his head.

***

Jason swears he can feel the piece of skull moving. It shouldn’t. It was sutured close, and he felt every single one of those sutures coming in and out of his skull. It shouldn’t move.

But he feels it moving.

His head is elevated now, and wrapped with sterilized gauze. Say what you want about these people, and Jason can say a lot after weeks of being here, but they know how to properly do brain surgery.

Even though they did it to him without anesthesia.

Jason hadn’t bothered being cognizant since then. It’s better this way. They can do what they want to him, and he doesn’t have to be aware about them doing it.

It’s better this way.

Days, if he can even call it that, blur together. They keep coming back for more samples, though thankfully never reopening the hole in his skull.

He has a hole in his skull. The thought makes him want to laugh, because the other alternative is to cry.

And he refuses to cry here. They have taken his blood, they have taken his organs, they have even taken brain matter from him, but they would not have his tears. He refuses to give them his tears.

People keep coming and going and coming again, faces morphing together into a single, amorphous and emotionless face. He doesn’t bother trying to keep track of who is who.

White coats. Blue gloves. Green mask.

Black cowl.

Wait.

Black cowl?

No. It’s just a fragment of his imagination. It’s his abused brain, dreaming up of scenarios in which he gets to get out of here.

But he hears voices. Panicked voices. Voices that don't sound like a tape recorder, saying everything in a monotone.

“Jay?” the voice says. “Jaylad, can you open your eyes?”

No, dad. He doesn’t want to.

“Jay, I know it’s painful, but I need you to open your eyes for me,” the voice says again, deeper and warmer than anything he has heard here. It’s most likely a hallucination. Bruce has given up on him, that he knows. But still, he wants to bury himself in the voice that reminds him so much of home.

Home. He just wants to go home, dad. Please.

“Can you do that?” the voice asks, rumbling all around Jason’s ears. It reminds him of late-night patrols, of being bundled up in the cape, of being safe.

Jason opens his eyes, and is greeted by a sight as familiar to him as his own name. Bruce’s face in a cowl.

“Good job, Jay,” Bruce murmurs, still maintaining that soft voice. “Now, I need you to stay awake for me, yeah? We’re going to get you out of here,”- Bruce raises his hand, moving towards Jason’s exposed face, but then drops them back down again. Jason strangely misses the touch. - “but I need you to stay awake, okay?”

Jason wants to say something, wants to nod his acquiesce, but the only thing that came out of him is a whine.

Bruce understands anyway.

“Good lad,” he says, brushing his hand to Jason’s own. Jason leans to the touch, feeling sad that the one from before, the one headed to his face, didn’t make contact.

It is a blur, then. He’s pretty sure the rest of the family was there. There was a flash of blue, a hint of green, and flickers of red, yellow, and purple. But throughout it all, he keeps his eyes on the black in front of him, the black that never left his side.

It stayed with him, up until they were out, until they hooked up various machines to him, and until the voice says again, “You can go to sleep, now.”

And with that voice, and that warmth right beside him, and that hand softly drawing patterns on his hand, Jason… sleeps.

[triple-a-enderdragon]

Meet the Locals!

Hermits, in this AU, come in three different flavors; avatars, those who were given magic, and those who have magic of their own. 

Avatars: Hermits who have had the (mis)fortune of being chosen by an Element, beings who represent different aspects of the world (more on these guys later). Avatars can channel the power of their Element and have certain related abilities. This is elaborated in each individual avatar’s infodump.

Given: Hermits who have obtained magic via other superpowered beings other than the Elements. Their powers and abilities vary greatly.

Personally Obtained: Hermits who were either born with their magic or obtained it without the intervention of any superpowered being. Again, their powers and abilities vary greatly.

Hermits! In (kinda) alphabetical order!

Bdubs: Flavor 3; can manipulate space and distance, but in small areas. He can make these changes “permanent”, most prominently in his builds; or temporary. He mainly uses it as a way to travel more quickly and safely between locations. The larger the area, the longer the time held, and the more dramatic the change, the faster he tires out. However, the small area of his builds and the subtlety of the magic used makes these permanently sustainable.

Biffa: Secret flavor 4; but he’s the only one. He has no “real” magic, but his stubbornness to not die is magical on its own. Biffa originally came from an...interesting world. It was a hardcore world, meaning perma-death. This world had a gladiator-style arena that he never left (until he left that world). He was thrown into fights constantly, which led to the almost total (violent) removal and replacement of his fleshy bits. He is about 90% cybernetic and can become a bloodthirsty little monster. That’s why he’s on the Strike Team! Known as the Berserker, he is the frontal assault in most confrontations, drawing the attention away from the flankers, Iskall and Python. His fighting style may seem random and haphazard, but it is well structured and takes full advantage of his metal body. As an ST member, he has special weapons, two axes and a greatsword.

Cub: Flavor 2; Bestowed with Vex magic alongside Scar and is an OP. Cub, besides having handy mechanic-exploiting knowledge, has some control over the elusive magic of the Vexes. He knows not of the true nature of how he and Scar came about it. Cub’s speciality is utility magic and he mostly uses it to test the limits of the world around him. Because the magic can be volatile, he (and Scar) must use a focus or risk great damage to himself. Cub’s focus is a fairly small sphere of translucent quartz that, over time, has grown small cracks of a suspiciously light blue material.

Docm: Flavor 1; Avatar of Redstone, whether she knows it or not. Frankly, whether he knows it or not, either. ~Once upon a time~, Doc was a regular researcher, doing regular researcher things. Until one day. An explosion rips through the facility, fusing several things together. Two of those things being Doc and a creeper. Also, he lost some body bits as well. This explosion drew the attention of Redstone (an Element!), who had been watching him closer than she normally would (read: at all), took pity on him and replaced his lost body bits with some snazzy redstone bits. Needless to say she didn’t expect that would make him her avatar. She then went back to minding her own business. Or, at least, trying to. Something about Doc is just...captivating. Can’t be this avatar business. Oh no. ANYWAY. Doc can manipulate redstone. Fun! He can also feel the circuits and how they work, allowing him to make incredibly accurate diagnoses of other hermits’ redstone circuits. He also has a weird and exceptional way with a channeling trident...

Evil Xisuma: Flavor 1; Avatar of Void, kind of an accident. EX came into being when Void made a very bad mistake. Void saw all these Elements with their avatars and decided they wanted one. (bad reason, but oh well.) Xisuma just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would have gone smoothly (if X consented. He probably would have), but someone else didn’t. The world guardian smacked Void back into their place, but not before they took a bit of X with them. The piece of X’s soul that Void stole became EX, kind of an avatar, kinda not. EX lives in the void of the End, between the death layer and Oblivion. He catches (and sometimes collects) whatever falls in. If hermits ask nicely, then he may return some items they have lost, but he rarely does this as most of their things aren’t collection-worthy. His favorite collection is of souls, those that somehow ended up below the death layer.

False: Flavor 3; Has powers over enchantments. False is the champ of PVP; the only other hermits that can hold their own against her is Iskall and Biffa. Her preferred weapon is the bow, in which she is unparalleled. Some time ago, between world 4 and 5, she (and Iskall) were pulled to The UHC to compete. False won (no surprise), but she was forced to stay behind to watch Iskall fight through (and win) the next round. During the upset of his “win”, she slipped away to the 5th world. False hasn’t told him what she saw in that 2nd UHC. Switching gears, False is Commander of the Strike Team, and so that is her alias. While very capable at PVP, she is the only member who can strategize on the fly; such that she takes her super special bow to high ground and controls the field as a chessboard. If things get really dire, she can supercharge the enchantments of one (or all) of the boys and essentially make them unstoppable for a short period of time. She cannot do this for very long and is completely vulnerable the entire time. That’s why Wels is there!

GTWScar: Flavor 2; Bestowed with Vex magic alongside Cub. Scar is the one to bring Vex magic down on him and Cub. He knows it is not a gift, but a pact. In order to gain the protection of the Vex, he had to essentially pledge himself to them. His relation to them is very Avatar-like in nature. Most of the time he can do his own thing, but occasionally the Vex will guide him to do something, as stated in the pact. Where Cub has the less intrusive utility magic, Scar has the more intense evocation magic. 

Grian: Flavor 1; Avatar of Air. Has wings! Now, I know what you’re thinking. ~Evo~, right? Well, I grant you but a taste and nothing else. Grian lived in Evo for a while, went through all that, became a baby watcher and everything, then vanished. A certain something has found the crown jewel to its collection. A trade, it proposed. You can come and join me. No unnecessary restrictions will be upon you. No benchmarks. No goals, other than your own. In return, you will be a blank slate. I will not tolerate a being tainted by Them. I guess it was a bit taken aback by how enthusiastically Grian agreed. He remembers nothing of Evo (except that something happened), or of the deal. He is the brand new avatar of Air, as he had shown exceptional flying skills and no fear of heights. Without the need for rockets to stay airborne and an inherently curious personality, Grian has very quickly become the air equivalent to Iskall’s ground scouting. 

iJevin: Flavor 3; Has various slimy powers. Slime has alchemical properties. Jevin is a slime. Full stop. Okay, not full stop. But he is a slime, just a really weird, blue, potentially one-of-a-kind one. He wasn’t created in a lab, but he was found and dumped in one to “be studied”. Unfortunately for the researchers, Jevin was also very sentient. And sentient slimes don’t like to be “researched”. So he left. He managed to (very poorly) disguise himself as human and waltz out the door. Whilst exploring worlds, he discovered some very interesting properties of his slime. When used in potion-making, it can enhance the properties of the potions significantly. To the annoyance of the other hermits, he prefers to make poisons and other negative-effect potions. They have to coerce him to make more beneficial ones. The other hermits don’t know their drinking Jevin-juice. Shh, don’t tell them.

Impulse: Flavor 2 & 3; Is an OP and has mob wrangling powers. More useful than it sounds. Impulse seems to just have a way with mobs. Unlike Ren or Cleo, he can’t control or talk to them; which makes this even more mysterious. Mobs just...behave differently around him. There’s a reason he always has a trading hall within days of getting to a new world.

Iskall: Flavor 1; Avatar of Diamond. A bit unhappy about it. (jus’ a bit). Iskall’s early days hail from hardcore worlds, where he had to hone his PVP and tracking skills to survive. Between worlds 4 and 5, he (along with False) were pulled into The UHC. He and False had two very different experiences. Long story short, in a battle against another skilled PVPer, Iskall lost his left eye. Upon winning, he became MIA for several hours before following a trail, left by False, to the hermits’ fifth world, now sporting a shiny new eye. This shiny new eye gives him control over all things diamond. If it’s gear he made, full control. If it’s gear someone else made, partial control. He can detect other people if they’re wearing diamond gear. He can also detect diamond ore in a 5 chunk radius around himself, 16 if he’s concentrating. All these cool abilities come with a downside; if his eye is removed, he will not survive long without it. Iskall is a member of the Strike team, dubbed the Hunter, due to his unmatched tracking skills. Along with Python, he is a flanker. Iskall’s preferred weapon is the glave, because polearms are awesome. Also, how can he thrive in such cold biomes? This man’s a walking furnace I tell ya. The downside is that he can’t stay in the Nether too long or he’ll start to overheat.

Joe: Flavor 3; Can cast Suggestion at will and always succeeds. Basically, Joe can subtly influence peoples’ emotions, always in the interest of safety and diplomacy. Okay, that’s not entirely true; he also does it to confuse and befuddle. He’s very good at that. Another thing he’s good at is healing. Joe is the resident medic. While other hermits, (Iskall and Wels), have rudimentary medical knowledge, it’s mostly field dressing. Joe has a more extensive knowledge of long-term treatments. He is the one wrangling Jevin to produce beneficial potions.

Keralis: Flavor 3; Hypnosis. Look into my eyes. Nothing but my eyes. Keralis can captivate one person at a time with his gaze, but once captured, he cannot look away without breaking his hold.

Mumbo: Flavor 3; Can alter reality, but doesn’t know it. Whatever he believes will happen (or not), will happen. Mumbo may possibly be the most powerful hermit; he can unknowingly alter the outcome of whatever he’s thinking about just by believing in his new reality. The catch? He can’t do it at will. Thus, he can never know about it. The only person who knows about it is Xisuma, and only after some intense investigation over several worlds. Aside from that Mumbo is well-versed in redstone, and is better at it than he thinks. His problem? What he thinks becomes reality.

Python: Flavor 3; If he doesn’t want to be seen, he won’t. No matter what. Not invisibility, I swear. Camouflage!! Python was apart of someone’s attempt to make attack creepers; an unsuccessful venture. You’d think he’d be more chameleon or something with how well he can blend in with his surroundings, but no. Python is a member of the Strike Team. While he’s not as good as Iskall at tracking, Python is (predictably) better in the stealth department, earning him the alias Assassin. He moves much like a viper, striking with his twin daggers before his target has time to react. He works exceedingly well with his fellow flanker, Iskall, to take down all sorts of enemies.

Ren: Flavor 1; Avatar of Life. Can speak with animals and can turn into a massive grey wolf. ‘S pretty cool. Ren came to be an avatar out of desperation, and Life was the only one who could help him. It’s not quite what he expected, but it’s pretty cool all the same. He can communicate with animals and can even, at the right moment, become one. His favorite shape to take it that of a grey wolf. 

Stress: Flavor 1 & 3; Lucky girl! Or is she? Avatar of Water and a certain magenta surprise later on. Stress became Water’s avatar almost as a second thought. There’s a reason she’s known as the Ice Queen and not the Water Queen; Water neglected to give Stress full access to her powers, as the Element is much like Redstone; keeping to herself. Not that this hinders Stress in anyway, she is still a force to be reckoned with. She doesn’t feel the cold and experiences no ill effects from prolonged exposure.

Tango: Flavor 1; Avatar of Fire. He ain’t too happy about it either. Tango became and avatar in a similar fashion to Ren, except he turned down Fire’s proposition, saying he’d rather die. To which Fire replied, “You are in the Nether. You die here, you are mine irregardless.” Needless to say Tango’s still a bit salty about that whole ordeal. At least he can spend more time in his favorite dimension, the Nether! Impulse and Zedaph often find him taking a dip in lava or sleeping in a bed of his own flames. On the heat scale, if Iskall is a furnace, then Tango is a miniature sun.

TFC: Flavor 1; Avatar of Earth; but at this point, they’ve pretty much become one. Tfc is the wrangler of the other Elements as Earth is the oldest one around. At this point TFC and Earth have bonded to the point where they are almost indistinguishable from each other. Of course, hermits can still tell if it’s TFC or Earth talking. Usually it’s TFC; Earth only comes out when absolutely necessary. Since they are bonded together so completely, TFC can bring out the pure, raw power that Earth has to offer, something that no other avatar can claim.

Wels: Flavor 2; Made a pact with an entity eons ago. He can never be defeated as long as he is protecting someone. Well, not so much a pact as a promise. Wels gave his word to this entity that he would always protect those who need it most, and in return the entity’s power would shield him from death for as long as he protects someone. Even with this protection, he has to be careful; once the conditions have passed, he will succumb to any fatal wounds he sustained over the fight. To counter this, Wels has gotten incredibly skilled at defensive battle. He may not be an attacker like the rest of the Strike Team, but his sword and board tactics have come in handy more times than one can count, earning him the alias Bastion. False owes him her life several times, when he protected her as she unleashed her magic.

Xisuma: Flavor 2; Admin! Admin powers are granted as host of each world’s resident guardian. Xisuma handles all of the behind the scenes, keeping an eye out for anomalies, sending Iskall to investigate “visitors”, generally making sure everything is running as smoothly as possible. A while ago, X had a runin with Void. Long story short, EX came into existence and left X missing a piece of himself. Because of this, he often finds himself forgetting simple things, like conversations or bits of projects. He has also had to enhance his helmet to help his breathing, as he now finds the overworld and Nether atmospheres to be too oppressive.

Zedaph: Flavor 3; No magic can affect him. That’s it. Even Mumbos’ reality-changing ability can’t touch him. Zed is the much-needed keystone in the midst of all the magic running around this world. Even he doesn’t know the full extent of his magic-negating ability, except that it hasn’t truly been tested yet.

ZCleo: Flavor 3; Due to a glitch years ago, Cleo is now a zombie. She can talk sense into undead mobs. Cleo was once a normal person. Well, as normal as she gets. What I’m saying is she wasn’t a zombie yet. But a glitch happened years ago at the exact moment when she (and other people in different worlds) died and respawned, trapping her between life and undeath. She took this very well, immediately trolling any hermit she could find. Cleo has expressed a preference to being undead, as the only mobs she has to worry about now are creepers and spiders. Occasionally a limb will fall off, but she takes it in stride.

[z-wonderland]

Pride, Love, Hunters and Vampires/2

Fanfiction 

Part 2

Elijah Mikaelson x Elena Gilbert

ft. Kennett

a/n: this is my tvd/to version of Pride, Prejudice and Zombies.Yeah, Elijah Mikaelson is sort of Mr Darcy. LOL

Thanks for reading. xoxo

________

Valerie and Stefan returned to the house a while later, finding Elena packing.

"What has happened? The maid said that you had a visit. That - Elijah Mikaelson came to the house" the witch said and now saw Elena's case open, already half filled with her clothes. It meant that she was ready to leave-

"Please, don't tell me that you are leaving?" Stefan, the witch’s husband said.

"What has he done? Has he hurt you in some way?"

"He has done nothing." Elena replied."I - need to leave. I had some news from Caroline that there was trouble in Baton Rouge and I have to go."- the huntress pointed to the letter on the table. But Stefan knew Elena too well, and knew that this was not the reason she was in a hurry to get away.

"I somehow doubt that Caroline would send a word that she needed help. That is not in her nature."

Elena looked at the man, knowing that it would be in vain to continue hiding the truth behind her sudden wish to leave.

"Count Mikaelson and I had a disagreement. I just don't wish to see him if I can help it. And there is no avoiding the dinner with the Fells." Elena said.

"Please, don't go." Valerie said in an almost pleading voice."Whatever happened we will make sure to keep you away from the Mikaelsons."

Elena sighed and reluctantly agreed to stay, knowing how important it was for her friends to have her there.

¤¤¤

Elsewhere

Still feverish from Elena's rejection, Elijah rode for hours to calm his injured heart.

As he finally got back to the Mikaelson Mansion, he entered it like thousand devils were chasing after him. He passed his hat, gloves and coat to the footman in a brisk manner. He then ran up the steps, now followed by his  sister Rebekah who had emerged from the side room as she heard the footman greeting the vampire. Elijah look shattered like he came out of carnage. The blondesped fast after her brother, imploring him to tell her what was the caused him to be so distressed.

"My dear sister, not now. I wish to be alone." Elijah said as he came up to his room. 

"You are in such dreadful state of delirium, dear brother. I have not seen you like this since our brother Finn had been cut down by the witch-huntress. Please tell me that nothing happened to Niklaus. I could not bear to lose another brother." Rebekah begged, on the verge of tears.

Elijah turned to his sister, looking at her in a very serene manner. "Niklaus is fine. It is nothing like dreadful like that. I have - I have had an unpleasant accounter, that is all. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over. It trully is nothing that cannot be dealt with."

Him giving her a little smile, reassured the blonde and she  now nodded a little, her heart calming.

"I have some correspondance to deal with and I must get on with it. When I finish, I will have tea with you in the drawing room." Elijah said.

Rebekah nodded pleased about the prospect that her favourite brother will spend some time with and then exited his room, closing it behind her.

Elijah drew a long deep breath, and undoing his tie he slang it on the bed. The delirium seemed to return the moment Elena's words shot back in his head-

"You are mistaken, Mr Mikaelson, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

“Gentlemanlike manner” the vampire sifted and splashed his face with some water to try and cool down. But his pierced heart now burned like it was hit by a myriad of hellish suns and he now wiping his face,sat down at the table and got a piece of paper and started writing a letter.

Some half an hour later he rang for the servant and he asked him to take it to the Salvatore house and hand it to Elena personally.

And as the man delivered the letter, Elena went to the small parlour and opening it, read the following- 

"Dear Lady Gilbert, 

I am not writing to renew the setiments which were so disgusting to you, but to address the offences you accuse me of. 

I did not intentionally wound your friend. It was the most unfortunate consequence in protecting my dearest brother. Kol's feelings for Miss Bonnie Bennett were beyond any I have witnessed in him, or indeed thought him capable of. 

The evening of the dance in Mystic Falls, after overhearing the elder coven talk of how there was nothing better than to place a witch in the nest of the most eligible vampire bachelors, and in one family in particular, it being us, the Mikaelsons.

 I persuaded Kol of the unfitness of the match, despite the obvious belief that a witch and vampire could not marry, as there is one truth my family had kept hidden for centuries and that is the fact that my mother and my father came from both sides. If I wounded Miss Bennett's feelings it was unknowinlgy done. 

As to your other accusations of having injured the DeMartel siblings and Lucian Castle- no sooner than my father had written his last Will and Testament, as he loved them as if they were his own children, leaving two estates to them in case of his death as we fought the LaRue witch coven at the time, my father, my mother and my brother Finn were struck down. I have acted upon my father's Will.

 They squandered it, whereupon they demanded more. I refused and he severed all his ties with us. Last summer, Lucien Castel started a relationship with my fifteen year old sister, convincing her to elope.  As you know, we, my brother Niklaus and myself were battling the wolves and the the dark vampires in the north of the country, we were unaware of their

liaison, until a letter had arrived from my sister that she was about to get married. Lucien's prime target was her inheritance and the Mikaelson blood, which he intened to use selling it to the Bayou witches, revenging himself on us was his additional target. 

Fortunately, we were able to stop them. I hope this helps explain and perhaps mitigate my behaviour in your eyes.                

All I have done was to protect the one thing I value the most, my family. In all my life  I have learned this -

of all the weapons in the world I know now LOVE to be the most dangerous one, for I have suffered a mortal wound. When did I fall so deeply under your spell Lady Gilbert, I cannot fix the hour or the spot, or the look or the words that have laid the foundation. I was in the middle before I began. What a proud fool I was. 

I have faced the harsh truth that I can never hope to win your love in this life. I will find solace battling the hybrids in the most northern part of the country.

I wish you all the happiness of this world,

with sincerests of thoughts,

Always and Forever,

Elijah.

Elena now got up taking her coat and ran out of the house. Stefan followed her asking what had happened. But Elena just shook her head without giving the man and answer. As she got to the stables, she asked the servant to prepare her horse. The servant went and she now turned to her friend. But she said nothing.

"Tell me what is the matter?" Stefan was not letting it go-”It’s Elijah Mikaelson, right?”

Elena nodded, but still said nothing.

“Something is going on between you and him. He and his whole family are nothing but misery.”

"Please Stefan, not now. I will tell you later. I have to go. I’ m sorry" the huntress  then mounted the horse, the servant brought to her and rode off in a haste.

Valerie, who came from the garden, now asked her husband why Elena went off like a fury.

"I don't know, my love, but it is nothing good." Stefan replied.

"There has always been trouble with the Mikaelson family. I just hope it is nothing deadly." Valerie remarked.

"I hope so, too. For Elena's sake." Stefan said and now took the basket from the witch.

The man and the woman then walked back to the house holding eachother under the arm.

¤¤¤

Elena rode with her heart bursting out of her chest, hoping that she would find Elijah at the Mikaelson Mansion. Arriving there, she rushed in the house, forgetting her manners, demanding to see Elijah.

"The Count Mikaelson is away." the footman, who opened the door said to her. 

“What do you mean - away? When? He couldn’t have,” Elena said agitated,”he probably has told you that he does not wish to see me. But, I need to speak to him. Urgently”

Klaus, having arrived not long before Elena, having heard the commotion, now appeared from upstairs and telling the footman that he would now speak to the lady, asked the huntress why she was so eager to see his brother.

"I need to speak to him. It's a matter of utmost urgency." Elena said in a great huff.

Klaus looked at the brunette inviting her now into the Parlour and said-

"Whatever it is you can say it to me and I will be happy to pass on the message."

"I wish to speak to him - alone. In private, if you don't mind." Elena said.

"Whatever it is, it will have to wait as Elijah has left for business to the North." Klaus said.

"Business?" Elena let out perplexed.

"Yes. Why would that be such an unusual notion?"

"Because- his letter stated something completely different." Elena now said.

"His letter?" Klaus looked surprised that his brother would have any kind of correspondence with her.

"Yes. An hour or so ago, I had received a letter from him-" Elena replied and then stopped for a second, now tearing up- guilt rising in her chest. She turned away for a moment, drying the eyes off with a finger.

"I did not know that you and my brother share correspondence?" Klaus said somewhat worried now.

"We don't, but- it is - what it is," the huntress shook her head."Anyway- in the letter he states that he is travelling up North to fight the hybrids."

Klaus could not believe what he was hearing, as well as the fact that Elena knew about the hybrids.

"I am not who- I pretend to be." Elena now said to the vampire. "I am a huntress."

"You are - what?" Klaus looked at the brunette wide-eyed.

"Yes. But now, this is the least of the problem.You have to go and stop him. I would do it myself, but I can't travel North till the spell is cast on me." Elena said-"and if he dies, I don't wish to be accountable for it."

"Why would you be accountable for it?"

Elena now told Klaus about Elijah's proposal and her refusal, which obviously brought on the decision to go North.

"Oh, no!" Klaus now said knowing his brother being capable of doing such a mad thing. He now stormed out of the parlour.

___________

Klaus spared not a second to ride after Elijah and stop him from going to the most Northern part of Louisiana.

Elena left the Mikaelson house immediately after Klaus had left the Parlour. There was nothing more she could do at the present moment but to hope that his brother would catch up with him and persuade him to return.

As she arrived back at her friends' house, she was met by her brother Jeremy, who had no good knews from Mystic Falls.

"The Martin witches are dead, as well as Sheila Bennett." Jeremy informed his sister.

"What? How? When did this happen?" Elena was beside herself as she knew how much Bonnie loved her grandmother, but she was equally sad for her friends,Luka and his father Jonas.

"We can't establish what magic it was, and if it was the dark magic the vampire-witches used. They were slaughtered in their own house. Sheila Bennett was with them." Jeremy explained. "Bonnie had a vision and we fear that the Dark vampires are on the rise again. They are preparing an attack on Mystic Falls. I need you. I can't do this on my own."

"Yes. We have to leave immediately." Elena said. She now turned to Valerie asking her if she could send her clothes off to Mystic Falls on.

"I am going with you." Stefan then said.

"No, Stefan. You have to stay." Elena said and the man, who was once a hunter himself, disagreed.

"You can't come with us. You have to look after Valerie, especially now that-"- Elena stopped there as it was not her place to tell the man that his wife was expecting a baby. Having glanced at Valerie, the witch now told her husband what she had shared with her friend that very morning.

"I suspect that I am pregnant." Valerie said. "I have yet to confirm it by a doctor, but I am quite sure of it. I hope you are not cross with me as I have shared it with Elena first, before you."

"How could I be cross? This is the most wonderful knews ever." Stefan said now warmly embracing his wife. 

Jeremy congratulated them on the news and then looking at his sister, urged her to get ready to leave as soon as possible.

And so, not long after they were away to Mystic Falls, that lay in the heart of Louisianna.

¤¤¤

Sometime in the night, Klaus managed to find Elijah in one of the Inns just before the Northern border. As the Inn keeper showed him where Elijah took up the room, he went straight up to his room, entering it without knocking.

Elijah shot out of his bed taking his sword and pointing straight at his brother. Seeing that it was Klaus, he put the sword down and asked astonished to see him there. "How on Earth did you know where to find me?"

"Miss Gilbert told me of your silly intention." Klaus said.

"Elena? I mean - Miss Gilbert talked to you?" Elijah was astounded to hear it.  

"She has also told me about your proposal of marriage. I must say that this has come as a great shock I must say. What were you thinking? Do you know what she is?"

"I do. I know very well who and what she is." Elijah said.

"Someone must have worked some strange spell on you to act in this manner! I cannot comprehend that her refusal hit you to make such a mad decision to abandon everything, especially your family?!"

"I was - I was overcome with emotions" Elijah said gulping and his brother now saw that this cut the vampire deep.

"You are truly in love!" Klaus stated.

"You have no idea how profoundly I feel for her." Elijah said now falling on the chair.

Klaus knew how reserved his brother was and that he would never give into his feelings if they were not genuine.

"But to do this! This is suicide. This is wrong, no matter how much your heart is suffering."- Klaus said and sat down on the neighbouring chair-"at least she had some sense to come over to the house to alarm us."

"She came to the house?" Elijah  now asked.

"She did indeed." Klaus confirmed. "She is not completely heartless. I must say she was very - distressed. A tear had escaped her eyes."

"What are you saying?" Elijah could scarcely believe what his brother was saying.

"Whatever you wrote in that letter to her, it had moved her intensely." Klaus said.

Elijah now got up, hope striking his heart again.

"Maybe she had a change of heart." Klaus said.

"Maybe." Elijah said.

"Come brother. Let's leave. Let's go home and - well, try and win your Lady back." Klaus said.

Elijah nodded in agreement, and the brothers left the Inn soon after.

¤¤¤¤

Week or so later, in the North-western border

Elena walked in the house which her fellow Hunteress, Hayley Marshall-Kenner was occupying.

"I have put some tea on. It was a rough night." Hayley said to Elena, who had blood all over her.

"Thank you. I will take a bath and soon will meet you down. How are you?"

"I am - I don't know what I am. I miss- Jackson. I hate that I have no word of him still. It has been days now- and -"

"You fear the worst" Elena concluded.

The Huntress nodded and added "You are lucky that you are not attached. Because - the pain - the pain of not seeing him - maybe ever again- is unbearable."

"Yes, I guess- it is somewhat - easier. But, I have a brother, who is keeping watch on the eastern western border and - I know how it feels."

"I am sorry, I completely forgot about your brother." Hayley said.

"It is fine. You have a lot on your plate." Elena said and then excused herself and went to the bathroom. Her mind now wondered away, but not to her brother, but to the vampire that crawled up in her heart. Elijah Mikaelson. His letter was wedged in her heart and his words would rise up out of nowhere all the time

'I was in the middle before I began.'

Was she also in the middle before she began feeling for him too. She could not tell. As their first meeting was not a good one. His face miserable, disinterested, bored by the company he was surrounded with, even though he was polite and entirely civil. And yet, somehow, after they have been introduced, they seemed to have always end up in each other's company.

Flashback

Josephine LaRue, a dear friend of the Mikaelsons now seeing Elena approaching, said-

"My dear Count Elijah Mikaelson you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when somuch beauty is before you." She took Elena's hand and presented it to Elijah, who was not unwilling to receive it. But Elena instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to the old witch-

"Dear Lady LaRue, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner."

Elijah, with grave propriety, requested the honour of her hand, but in vain. Elena was determined. She looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured her with Elijah, for he was thinking of her with some complacency, and Elena knew that already having overheard him talk with his brother, who had already urged him to dance with her earlier.

"She maybe a beauty, but underneath this sweet facade there is nothing that could tempt me. I do not have time for idle girls."

How she resented him saying these words. It was a wretched beginning. And now her heart was the opposite. Now, her heart thought of him warmly, wondering if his brother had managed to persuade him to return and not go to the battle field. Deep inside she prayed that he was well and that nothing dire happened to him.

As she finished bathing, she got dressed and went to take tea with her friend.

"I have put the fire on." Hayley said. "Please help yourself with some tea. I have to talk to my steward for a second."

Elena nodded a little and poured some tea for herself, taking a sandwich as well. As she had a sip and a bite she sat down on the bench in front of the fire. The warm, cosy feel made her feel relaxed. She looked at the gleaming light and the play of the flames, drifting away -

"Elena"- Elijah said as he appeared at the door -"I can't stop- I can't stop loving you and came all the way here to tell you- that you are my all."

And then she opened her eyes snapping out of her daydream, looking at the fire. 

"Elena, are you all right?" Hayley said as she sat down next to the the Huntress.

"Yes." Elena replied shortly. Her heart restless from the dream she had for a second there. She then turned now asking the woman what she was holding in her hands.

"This is a list of the dead hybrid witches. I have so hoped that it was a note from Jackson."                 

"He will be fine." Elena reassured her fellow huntress,so to speak.

"Have you not - got someone?" Hayley now asked.

"Me? Ahm- no, not really." Elena replied with a sigh.

"But you are in love, are you not?" Hayley asked.

"I - I think I am. Yes, I am, but we - can't be."

"I am sorry," Hayley said and added,"Oh, how I miss Jackson. I really hope is all right. I would not able to continue living if something happened to him. I should not have let him go."

Elena now comforted Hayley, her own thoughts with Elijah.

¤

New Orleans, days after

Elijah said goodbye to his sister Rebekah, who went shopping with her dear friend Camille. Klaus entered the house and went with Elijah to the Parlour.

"Any news?" Klaus asked.

"None." Elijah replied."Nothing comes or goes beyond Mystic Falls. The Army has cut all the correspondence and they are not letting anyone through still. Especially our kind."

"I know. They are afraid that we could get infected," Klaus said,"the imposed Quarantine is for a good reason."

"I just hope she is fine." Elijah said worried.

"Well, one thing is for sure, she is one woman that can look after herself."- Klaus said.

"That I do not doubt." Elijah said and looked through the window longinly, drifting away in his own daydream.

"How could I ever make amends for my behaviour?"

"Elijah, please-"

"My dear Elena, you coming to the house has taught me to hope as I scarcely allowed myself before. My affections are not changed, but one word from you would silence me on this subject forever. If however, your feelings have changed-"

Gif by mindxheart                 

"My feelings- oh, my feelings - they are - changed. They are very changed."

A footman now knocked at the door, walking in with a notice for the Mikaelson siblings.

Klaus took the note and as he read it, his face changing into a very grim one.

"What?" Elijah said.

Klaus passed the note to his brother and as Elijah read it, his heart stopped a beat. "No, dear Gods,no!"

"Dear Count Mikaelson,

 it grieves me to have to write this note to you. All the North-eastern front has been overtaken by the Hybrid Witches and the Hybrid Clans. I am sad to tell you that my dear friend Elena has perished with all the other Hunters. 

Sincerely, Valerie Salvatore." __________

[withthecherrytrees]

Guardian Ch. 3

Meetings by the Hearth

Merciful Lord, you are never weary

of speaking to my poor heart.

Grant me grace that, if today I hear your voice,

my heart may not be hardened.

It all seemed to happen very quickly after that. Balin, whose eyes had momentarily widened, before his face resumed its usual inscrutable look, gave some sort of a signal, and the guard retreated from the room.  

“You are she, then,” he said to Imya. “The Woman from the Battle.”

Imya gave a tight nod, the indignity of their unwelcome still smarting.

Balin shook his head. “Mahal, I hadn’t believed him.” He regarded her, his eyes keen and searching. They traveled over her, her face, her cloak, alighting on the weapons she had stashed in various places. Imya, used to Shadow and those quiet Dark places, had the rare and uncomfortable sensation of being truly seen.

“May I ask, Lady, why you are back?” he said.

I do not know.

I could not tell you if I wished.

I sense a danger which I cannot name.

Her voice cool, Imya said, “I will discuss that with the King.”

Balin seemed to consider this a moment, before nodding slightly. “Very well, I’ll be taking you to him, then,” he said. He stepped aside, and made a small, inviting gesture.

Imya stepped forward, but as she neared the door, Balin reached and grabbed the handle, blocking her way.

He said, “If you don’t mind, Lady, try not to draw attention to yourself when we walk through Erebor. It would make my job a lot easier if not many Dwarves saw you.”

Imya gave him her first, albeit small, smile. “Fear not, Master Balin. I am rarely noticed when I do not want to be.”

He regarded Imya a moment, eyes a little narrower than kind, before he smiled and opened the door for her, motioning her along.

Walking along, Balin’s unhurried pace and calm demeanor, and Imya’s ability to fade into the background indeed kept questioning eyes from falling upon them, and they soon reached an unassuming study on an upper level. It was not a King’s study, nor that of a simple worker, yet it was warm and inviting and had the distinct sensation of a place where good work is done and enjoyed. Imya liked it immediately.

Balin shut the door behind her, and motioned for her to sit in one of the leather armchairs, by the fireplace. He stoked the coals a bit to revive them as she sat down, her back tense and her mind uneasy.

This is not the welcome I was promised.

She wondered if perhaps she had committed some offense against these Dwarves, a misstep too foreign to her for notice, but grave enough that her presence caused a danger. Whether the danger was to her, or to another, remained to be seen.

“Tea?” Her thoughts were interrupted by Balin’s offer.

“Yes, thank you,” she said.

He poured a cup, and handed it to her, before opening the door very slightly. He motioned to someone, and spoke softly to them, before shutting the door and turning back to Imya.

“Apologies, Lady, for the delay. The King will be coming soon. He appears to be rather occupied at the moment.”

After a moment, Imya said, “Have I offended the Dwarves of Erebor in some way?” Imya had decided to ask this Dwarf directly. In her experience, a misstep was best cleared honestly and without pretense.

“Of course not, Lady, whatever gave you that idea?” Balin said, glancing up sharply.

“My presence displeases you. Or, it displeases others, whom you wish not to offend.”

Balin eyed her a moment, contemplating his words. He said, “Your presence… does not offend us, Lady. It does present some obstacles, however. But let’s wait until the King arrives. We’d do best to discuss it then.”

They drank their tea in silence, until a knock rang at the door. Balin stood to open it, and in stepped Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain.

“Balin.” he said, his voice a deep gravel. “And you. Imya. The Guardian.”

“Yes, my lord King,” Imya said, and nodded once. “You once offered me a welcome and a place to rest my head. I have returned, and would take you up on your offer. It seems, however, my presence is not so welcome as was promised.”

As she spoke, the Dwarf King’s brows drew closer and closer together, the scowl on his face deepening. He spoke, “Forgive me, and forgive Erebor, for offending you so. Indeed, I am grateful to you for the service you have done, and all of Erebor should be as well.”

Imya bowed her head, an acknowledgement of the forgiveness sought and given.

Thorin continued. “It is unfortunate, but the Dwarves of Erebor, beyond the Company whom you met, are not aware of your existence.”

Imya looked up sharply. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.” The King’s discomfort began to seep through the walls of his scowl. He glanced at Balin, an almost imperceptible move.

The older Dwarf spoke, then. “Lady, your presence, and the news of who had sent you, well, we chosen to keep it secret after the battle. You’d disappeared, see, and no one had really seen you or saw what you did, besides Thorin. Fíli and Kíli only said they’d seen you ride away from Ravenhill. We, well we thought it’d be best to keep it quiet, lest anyone ask questions.”

“Questions?” Imya did not understand.

Proud. And stubborn are these Dwarves. Taking issue with a Woman coming to their aid.

Peace, Imya.

“Madness.” The Dwarf King spoke again. “My line, and I, have history of it. I feared the tale of your deeds would fuel those who doubt I overcame the Illness I suffered. We agreed that calling myself Blessed by the Maker could make me look uncertain of my rule.”

Imya’s ire began to fade. “I understand, my lord King. A strange Woman rescuing you on the field of Battle, and Aüle’s Sigil on her arm. A strange and fantastic tale indeed.”

“Ah yes,” said Balin. “The Sigil. I was wondering, if I might see it.” He nodded towards her arm, where her leather vambraces covered the Hammer of Aüle.

Glancing at the King, Imya slowly removed the vambrace, until the Sigil shone brightly in the dim light of the study. The King’s eyes immediately shut, as the power of his Maker Thrummed into him.

Balin, however, seemed unaffected, even glancing curiously at Thorin, considering the King’s reaction.

“Strange,” the old Dwarf said. “I don’t seem to feel what you described, Thorin.” His eyes regarded Imya, a strange and wary look in them.

“Truly?” The King asked, uncertainty clouding his voice. “I feel the Power in the Sigil, the same that pervades the Stone of Erebor. You do not feel it?”

Balin shook his head, his bushy white eyebrows so furrowed the hairs nearly touched.

Imya decided to slowly retie the laces of her vambrace, feeling uneasy at the thought of the Sigil remaining visible for longer.

“Are you one of those, then, who would call the King mad,” she asked, her voice light but her hands tense.

Balin eyed her. “Never,” he said. “I am merely curious as to the workings of this magic Sigil.”

Imya said, “The Work of the Valar may not be for us to understand, Master Balin.”

He smiled then, but it did not quite smooth the furrow between his heavy brows. “Quite right, Lady, but it never hurts to try, now does it?”

Imya paused. “I suppose not,” she said. Turning to the Dwarf King, she said, “My lord King, regardless of the Sigil and its effects, I would speak with you of why I have returned to the Mountain.”

He nodded for her to go on.

“I saved you once. I knew of the Danger that would befall you and your Sister Sons, and I followed Aüle’s call to save you. The sense of Danger has not left me since the Battle. I fear you face a threat of whose shape I am not certain. Aüle has not given me Guidance, but I trust He would not let me fall astray.”

The King regarded her. “You believe I am in danger? Yet no proof?”

Imya held his gaze. “Aüle would not have me save you only to have you fall shortly after. I believe I was wrong to leave after the Battle. My Task to protect the Line of Durin feels unfulfilled, and I fear for you and yours should I leave now.”

Thorin motioned to Balin, who joined him towards the back of the study. They spoke in quiet voices, in the guttural language of the Dwarves. Finally, the King rested his hand on the old Dwarf’s shoulder, and said a final few words Imya could not understand. They returned to Imya, and Thorin said, “I thank you, Guardian, for your return. The Line of Durin is fortunate to have your protection. If you believe there is a Danger in the Mountain, let us find it. Erebor would be grateful to have you stay and unravel this mystery.”

Imya placed her arm, the still covered Sigil facing the King, across her chest, and nodded once, the motion bordering on a bow. “I serve Aüle, and His Will is that I guard the Line of Durin. I accept.”

“The proceedings will not be public, however. You will be an honored guest of the Lady Dís, the King’s sister, and mother to Fíli and Kíli. You will be a noble-woman whom Her Ladyship befriended while traveling,” Balin said. “The truth of your presence will stay between myself, the royal family, and Dwalin, the Captain of the Guard. Anymore would compromise our efforts.”

“You suspect a citizen of Erebor could be the source of the Danger I sense?” Imya was surprised. She had not considered the threat might be within the Mountain, rather than sent by the Shadow in the East.

“We must be prepared for any possibility, and the more that word is spread, the harder the danger will be to sniff out.” Thorin spoke with finality.

“Exactly,” Balin said. ���Now, how about we catch ourselves a rat?”

Notes

The opening lines are a prayer by Cardinal Rafael Merry de Val y Zulueta, a Roman Catholic. The prayer asks for grace and guidance from the Lord.

[fantroll-purgatory]

Capraa ??????

@persephoneanmystery

(I know we discussed this troll over IM but I am still filled with misery thinking about him. Get ready for some sadtroll times.)

 I was prepared for him, I have already read him, and yet reading him again has filled me with new DESPAIR….

Universe: Beforus!

Name: Capraa ??????

“Capraa” is just “Capra” with an A tacked on. The goat, Capra aegagrus, was one of the first domesticated animals, linking to the Bronze affinity with animals and also his… unfortunate association with them. [Also a very… very minor reference to Dark Soul’s Capra Demon, of which I based a little visual inspiration off of] When asked for a surname he gives “Castan”, but that’s because he can no longer remember his own.

Age: Roughly 7 Sweeps

Theme/Story: Capraa is a troll who’s in so over his head that he’s drowned and floated back to the surface. Originally a bright, intelligent troll, and a master of animal behavior and study, his talents were taken advantage of by his superior, whom he blindly followed. She took all of his connections and spun them into something that played by her rules. She took his name, his memory, and any way of contacting the outside world.  Now, he’s some kind of lusus-troll hybrid, and he can’t seem to tear himself away.

Strife Specibus: Clawkind, Hoofkind

Capraa was never much of a fighter in the first place, but after his transformations, he can’t really wield conventional weapons anyways, so he uses his new natural weapons to defend himself from training drones and angry mobs alike.

Don’t forget hornkind. That’s one of the main tools of the goat, after all. 

Fetch Modus: Lycanthropy

Capraa originally had some other kind of Modus, but he doesn’t remember what it was. In fact, he has a hard time remember ANYTHING about what he had before having this one. His superior designed it and gave it to him as a gift. Each item has a lunar phase it starts in, and he can only pull them out when they’ve turned on the Full Moon. Too early or too late and, nothing.

Blood color: Bronze

Capraa is the definition of a Bronzeblood who craves stability. He craves it to the point where he’ll settle for a ground filled with glass as long as it doesn’t move. Back before everything fell atop of him, he was very much a classic Bronzeblood- he keeps little trinkets of his previous life all around him, but he cannot remember anymore what they mean, only that he must protect them with his life.

God… him surrounded by all these literal connections to the past that he quite literally is being Forced to deny because he can’t remember them… what a page of blood.

Symbol and meaning: Absolutely Ironic,

TAURCER, THE CHERISHED

Trolltag: [TT] tacitTherianthrope

“Tacit” is a word meaning “implied or unspoken” but is most often used in the phrase “tacit approval”, an ironic adjective for someone who’s been experimented on past the point of humanity. Perhaps obviously, “Therianthrope” is “someone who turns into an animal”, a catchall for all animal based shapeshifters. The connection is obvious. Crypha knew what she was doing.

Quirk: hrrrrrrrrrrrr…. It’s hard for Capra to communicate without vocalizing some kind of grrrr…. Growls or howls into his speech. When he gets ANGRY, he’ll BARK certain WORDS almost at random GRRRRRRR

This is so good… and I want to help him.

Special Abilities (if any): As the premier (and only surviving) experiment of Crypha’s into the nature of Lusus/Troll bonding, Capraa’s entire limbs have been replaced with those of his lusus. He possesses the claws and hooves of his former mammalian custodian. In addition, she took the horns from his lusus and grafted them onto his head, giving him two pairs of horns that weight down his head.

Capraa used to have a Bronze-related power to soothe even the most savage beasts, which he could channel through his voice. Now, even being in the same room as an animal or lusus causes them to go absolutely berserk, threatening to tear him to shreds if he draws closer. He hasn’t tried to weaponize this, mostly because it terrifies him,

In dubious terms of “ability”, Capraa’s been fitted with more of Crypha’s control spores than anyone else. Who even knows what they’re programmed to do, but will most likely kill him shortly after activating them.

Goddd I want to help him!! I want to make him happy. 

Lusus: A odd wolf-goat hybrid that Capraa lovingly called “his favorite shepherd”, his lusus was murdered and experimented on, before being welded into and onto him in various horrific ways. Sometimes he thinks he can hear its voice in his pulse, warning him to run, run, run! The wolves have all fled this blasted land!

 Listen to your lusus, Capraa. I love the idea that he gets a kind of Dream Jadequerelsprite protectiveness… Lesser, obviously, since the lusus is just a tiny little voice, but still… precedent!

Interests: Veterinary Science and Medicine, Animal Psychology, The Coevolution of Lusii and Trolls, Not Being A Disappointment, Really Rare Meat, New and Exciting Forms of Compartmentalization

Appearance: Capraa’s seen better days. His eyes are starting to turn into… something else. He doesn’t have a mirror to check, but he can feel them start to be uncomfortable in his skull. His hair has been shaved, giving his dead, faraway eyes some context. The four horns on his head affect his posture, causing him to lower his head at all times. He hides the limbs that are now his own but should not be beneath a giant, white hospital gown that is his uniform. The Sign of the Cherished -a symbol he cannot remember- hangs painted on a piece of wood hung loosely around his neck, as much a punishment as it is a identity.

Since he’s got some lusus in him and the capra demon has a white head, I might put some patches of white starting to form on him as well… We’ll see. He’s going to be great fun to sprite.

Personality: Capraa’s never been the type to deal with other people well. He makes awkward jokes, he doesn’t remember birthdays, he’s a hellspawn created by mad science. Even before all the trauma, Capraa had always preferred animals to people. He desperately wants friends, but animals always seemed to respond better to him. Less fiddly bits to get in the way of his raw friendliness. He’s always been a bit of a space-case, able to put disparate thoughts together in ways that didn’t make sense at first but suddenly jump out as obvious once he voices them. A genuine prodigy in his field, he’s always found it hard to communicate what he understands in ways that other people find reasonable or manageable. He’s always worked on what feels right as opposed to what is good protocol or what is legal and safe, so while he was good at what he did, nobody ever wanted to rely on him for it. Now, nobody can rely on him now.

He has a bad habit of being timid to a fault, and he doesn’t like loud noises or people getting angry, so he’s always apologizing for something. He tends to gravitate towards people with stronger personalities than him, subconsciously seeking a kind of confidence he doesn’t have. All this ever gets him is another set of insecurities.

My boy you were so set up for pain and you got the Worst imaginable dose of it.

Title: Page of Blood

Active Classes That Remain: Maid, Witch, Thief,

Passive Classes That Remain: Sylph, Page   

Capraa’s a long suffering Blood player who’s had all the energy he had to make bonds absolutely obliterated. He clings to the rules presented to him under the delusion that this will make the people above him happy, and therefore will make them like him, and be his friend and equal. This will not happen. Capraa’s the kind of person to overburden himself in order to take the burden off of others- even if that burden he believes he is taking is imaginary, a kind of Breath inversion.

As a Page, Capraa just kind of… sucks at all of this. He’s unreliable, he doesn’t understand social cues very well, and he ends up having people with related Aspects go on and exploit his right out from under him! Pages end up often being the playthings of people they think are their friends, and Capraa is no exception. [In fact, he’s quite like another Bronze Page with a Cerulean troll above him….]

Perhaps some time in the future he could grow a backbone, learn some social skills, and actually use that animal magnetism for something productive for once. That, of course, would involve him being able to not scare anyone and anything just by existing, but… details.

I’m sure once he gets grounded in his session he can get himself better established and create a better web of connections… I like the idea of him advancing and developing as a page and when he finally god tiers just. Fucking Crypha up. I know we’ve discussed it, but… him exploiting his bond with Crypha in order to fool her. She’s so used to him being submissive that he just has to act the part and then take a stab at her. But also him forging new friendships with others and then passively using those bonds to give himself confidence to stand up for himself and take back control of his life…

Land: The Land of Rose Quartz and Mazes

Capraa’s hooves click as they land on a land of bleached stone. At the surface, there is nothing but the baking sun. Before him lies a crack in the rock that leads further down into darkness. He looks around, but there is nobody to tell him to move on. The sun beating down on him eventually becomes unbearable and he reluctantly moves, hoof in front of the other, down into the cool darkness of the earth.

Capraa’s land is one gigantic, planet sized maze. Dead ends hold cities filled with disparate factions, all looking to discover the secrets held at the maze’s center:The Denizen and its horde. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s going to take every ounce of diplomacy he can squeeze out of his personality to make it there, but he thinks -just maybe- he could do it.

The eyes of a beast were made for the dark, after all.

 Your planets are always so gooood. 

Dream Planet: Prospit

Capraa is a quintessential Prospit dreamer- he was energetic, emotional, and perceptive, and knew how to conform and adapt to conflicting rulesets without missing a beat. It was these traits that led him to being taken advantage of, but they are also the traits that have kept him alive. He is the perfect Igor, the perfect Henchman. If Master wills it to be so, Capraa can contort himself into whatever they demand.

Design: 

Oh man, I had to play some troll anatomy jenga here. I lowered the head to emphasize the arch of the back just enough to make things look uncomfortable and slouched while also extending the body to make up for the lost length… Hope it worked, haha. 

Horns: Obviously I based them on his sign and then on the wild goat’s horns. 

Eyes: I tilted them and made them sharp like wolf eyes, but gave the eyes goat-like pupils. I also had the white areas I mentioned extend upwards to the head, trying to just vaguely reference the headshape of the capra demon. 

Mouth: I gave him both some underbite teeth and some overbite teeth, because I wanted both wolf and goat elements in there. 

Outfit: I just wanted his outfit to be relatively plain and simple, so I kept the design elements to a minimum, but I Did put some vague wood hints on the sign. 

Legs: I’ve gotta admit, I referenced Aurthour here. 

GOD I love this poor, unfortunate man… 

-CD