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court-0f-dreamers · 7 years

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ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

CHAPTER 3

He was livid. Rage pulsed off him in lashes of warm night. Idiot girl. Stupid, unthinking, impulsive girl. He continued pacing across the floor of his private study.

“She wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so scared, Rhysand,” Cassian snapped, from his seat in the comfortable brown leather chairs, “You should have given her more of a reception.”

“She jumped out of the window!”, Rhysand said through clenched teeth, unable to stop himself gesticulating wildly.

“She abseiled out of the window.” Cassian couldn’t help the small smile across his face as he corrected Rhys, “Using your priceless curtains.

“And you know, you could make her feel more welcome. Find out what she likes. Be less...this”, Cassian continued, pointing to all of Rhys.

And then he leaned back and put his dirty boots on the ebony coffee table.

Azriel sighed from his spot on the mantelpiece, “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, please do it after we eat.”

“I can’t just go into her mind and find out what she likes, Cassian”, Rhys continued. He moved in between Cassian and the table and tossed his feet back down onto the carpet. “The curse doesn’t allow me to just delve into her mind. If not, don’t you think I would have just made her fall madly in love with this!” He pointed at himself, repeating Cassian’s gesture.

Cassian pushed on, “Now that we’ve found her, can’t you just do your daemati business and make her like you-”.

“You know I can’t, Cassian”, Rhys responded with equal snap. But Cassian’s words had found their mark.

He turned hitting his palm on the coffee table with an uncharacteristic unchecked rage, “Dammit! If I could enter minds so thoroughly, I’d have fed Kier and his subjects out there pillaging my city to the damn Attors!” His expression was fierce as his anger grew, and a dark shadow of his wings appeared behind him. “And then I would mist them all while they were still being devoured.”

He locked eyes with his brothers. His brothers knew him so well that they hardly blinked at the Highlord mask he wore. They had unshakable faith in the man underneath. Faith that he would uphold his duty to his land, his people, and most of all to his family. Looking at them reminded him of what he had to do here - and all that he couldn’t do.

He sighed and sat down next to Cassian. “Amarantha’s spell was so cunning. So slippery and yet so pervasive. The more I try to delve into its magic, the more it evades me. Now that Feyre is here, it’s starting to change, starting to become...more oppressive.”

He put his head in his hands. “I can feel it inching towards the core of my power.”, he softly whispered.

He could see Cassian schooling his features to hide his surprise.

Some nights were harder than others, but for them, for his people, Rhysand would never give up. “I am trying. With Feyre, I will try better-”

Azriel coughed. Rhysand could hear hesitant steps down the hallway.

They all fell silent and waited for the door to slowly open.

When they brought her home, she was in no state to talk to anyone. The girl, Rita, who was with her was equally shaken, but Az made sure she was returned to her family, while Cassian flew Feyre back to the House of Wind. On arriving, the always courteous Cassian pointed out the closest bathroom, and asked her to meet them in Rhys’ study when she was done hauling her guts out.

Feyre slowly stepped in, shoulders hunched, head held low but unharmed. Rhys didn’t let himself imagine what would she would look like if his brothers hadn’t happened to be flying so close to the Rainbow.

Almost unharmed. Rhys’ eyes immediately went to the backs of her hands. The cuts there were relatively shallow, but dirty. He had spent enough time during the war with humans to know how quickly those simple wounds could become life-threatening infection.

She met his eyes, and straightened her spine defiantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. So you think you were right to come up with that ridiculous escape plan?, he thought.

The fire in her stormy blue eyes clearly answered the unspoken question.

He peaked his fingertips together and lifted them to his lips. His hold on his emotions tonight was taut, like a tightly pulled string. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Azriel coughed again.

He sighed, anger deflating.

He was actually at a loss. How am I meant to treat you?, he thought, grappling for words. He was five hundred years old. He had ruled over two very different courts for most of that time. He used to command legions of Illyrians and Fae alike. And he didn’t know what to say to a 19-year old human girl. Not just any human girl.

He looked into her small, proud face, holding her gaze. Feyre Archeron, you could save us all.

“Sooooooo...” Cassian came and stood between Rhys and Feyre, breaking their intense stare, “you seem to have some battle scars there.”, he gestured to her hands.

She quickly tucked them behind her back.

Azriel looked pointedly at Rhysand.

Rhys broke his silence. “The Attors have their own poison. To prevent those from getting worse they should be cleaned. There are those I trust, in fact I can have Velaris’ best healer-”

Azriel coughed a third time. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at him, I should punch him in the throat, give him something to cough about. The stoic shadowslinger barely moved a muscle, but the small gleam of light in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Ok Rhys, big smile, he thought and forced a smile of his face, “Well, how about I’ll heal them myself. Please sit down, Feyre”.

*** *** ***

Cassian and Azriel subtly stepped out of the room.

Feyre had been terrified that whole walk into the study.

After their initial interaction, the highlord suddenly excused himself, remembering something important he had to tell the two males outside the room.

Feyre was left alone in the surprisingly personalised and homely study. Unlike the rest of the palace, the usually bald red walls were covered with rich tapestries and abstract artwork, with the most surprising being a wall-high landscape vista painted directly onto the stone face.

Amazing. She had never seen art like this.

The painting showed a beautiful waterside city, teeming with life. There were vibrant buildings, giant cargo-filled boats, lush trees and pockets of wildlife scattered throughout. And there were people - well, Fae. Fae from all different origins; High fae that looked like the highlord, and faeries that looked like those in the dockyard.

That was when she noticed how familiar the broadwalk looked, how if the light was different, the dark looming mountains that shadowed her flight here could be like the open and inviting peaks of the painting. And the city, the colourful, alive city, could have been like Velaris. She turned towards the window where a wretched dying mirror image of the painting looked back at her. Why did he have this here, only to create the world outside?

Wait, what are you doing you idiot!, Feyre started, You’re alone in his study. Stop examining the art and find something that will help you.

She began looking around. There were rows of books stacked neatly, a few choice artifacts on the low table between the couches, and in the far corner a desk with-

A desk! Feyre quickly moved to the desk hoping she would gleam any information that might help her.

She was ecstatic to find a map. She had never learned to read, she family too consumed by their own poverty to realise that she only knew her alphabet and nothing more, but she could understand a map.

Or so she thought.

There was neat scrolling writing throughout, possibly labelling cities, rivers and mountains. There were also lines all through it, making paths through various points on the continent. None of it makes sense, the script didn’t look like she expected. She squinted in the dim firelight, her eyes frantically trying to find the human settlements beneath the wall.

“Interesting technique. Not one I’ve seen before”, a cool voice said behind her.

Shit! Feyre said, jerking and dropping the map. Before it could hit the floor, he bent down snatching it up.

The Highlord of the Night Court. She dared to look him up and down properly for the first time since she returned - if only to see if he had any weapons on him. Instead, all she saw was his all-black fitted suit jacket and tapered pants, this one with violet embroidery on the edges. Even after midnight he looked pristine. Did he sleep in that? Feyre thought, despite knowing that she really had more emergent things to worry about that his sleep attire.

Just distraction as a coping mechanism. She knew being caught rummaging in his desk was only going to make her night worse.

“Maps,” he said, a self-satisfied tone to his voice, “are usually read with the inked side facing the reader, and the right way up.” He spun the map around.

Oh. She couldn’t stop the shame from blooming on her face.

His looked at her again, head cocked to the side.

She just stood there silently, holding her head low in a fake gesture of subservience. Try not to piss him off any more, Feyre, she told herself.

He rolled his eyes, not buying it, “Alright, fine. I’ll ignore your invasion of my privacy. Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”, she tried to not let the very real fear show on her face as she whispered, “...Magic?”

She almost thought she saw a shadow of a smile, “Not today. Just antiseptic and bandages.”

He waved his hand and a metal table with various sized pieces of cloth and brown glass bottles appeared next to her. He carefully picked up her hands.

Silence descended over them as he methodically cleaned each scratch. He seemed content not speaking, which suited Feyre perfectly.

Her mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. It was hard to rationalise this male next to her. Here, in what had to be his personal study, there were personal touches and an inherent warmth that did not fit in with the dangerous and destitute city below and the dark highlord who ruled it.

Not to mention, he surely has more important things to do that tend to his latest prisoner’s minor wounds.

She was surprised by how gently he picked swabbed the fragile skin before applying a cool cream. She noticed he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. And she very much noticed that when his warm hands did lightly brush her skin, she didn’t want to jerk away.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned how thoroughly her escape plans had failed.

As if by thinking it, she had jinxed herself, he said “Unlike your cartography skills, I hope your survival instincts are sharp enough that I don’t need to elaborate just how insanely stupid your plan was tonight.”

And just like that every kind thought she may have had about him was gone; he is such a arrogant, self-absorbed…

“Not only was it stupid, but I would have lost something valuable to me,” he continued while tying off the clean bandage on her hand.

...entitled, egotistic... wait, what?

He looked up at her as he finished the clipping the gauze in place, “My beautiful curtains.”

...PRICK!

She snatched her hands back, huffing out a breath.

He stood up, nodding towards the door.

Feyre was sick of him having the last word; “Well the only thing truly beautiful in your disgusting city is that painting!” she blurted, pointing to the painted wall.

He didn’t say anything as he rearranged the bottles and gauze pads on the table. His head down, it was as if he didn’t even hear her.

She felt stupid standing there, after being so clearly dismissed by the highlord.

However, as soon as she stepped outside she could have sworn she heard him whisper; “I know.”

*** *** ***

She wasn’t sure how she managed to fall asleep that night, but at some point during her uninterrupted mental stream of swear words to describe Rhysand, she had drifted off into dreamless sleep.

She was awoken the next morning by gentle sunlight as Cerriwden pulled back the curtains. She could not recall the last time she had slept in after dawn, and it looked terrifying like midmorning already.

“The highlord requests your presence on the grounds this morning.”, she informed Feyre softly, while subtly ushering her out of bed and in the direction of the bath. Feyre’s eye caught on the tray Cerridwen had brought up, laden with breakfast food.

Food. She skipped the bath and immediately sat down devouring the fresh pastry and brightly coloured fruits.

Halfway through, a thought struck her and her eyes jerked up at Cerridwen, “Oh! Can I eat this? I mean, is this safe for...humans?”. Cerridwen looked at her with a small smile, “Yes Miss. I would never serve you otherwise. You are safe here.”

Safe. She held back a snort, Cerridwen sounded like a parrot for her prick of a highlord.

Although - she had been treated with nothing but kindness by her, Feyre wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could truly trust anyone in this world - she thought, as she relished a second serving of fluffy flourcakes and spiced milky tea.

“Sorry Miss Feyre, I’ll make sure that there is lunch waiting for you when you return, but the Highlord insists on your presence now”.

Feyre may have been dragging out her breakfast, particularly as as she doled out the last of a large bowl - which had likely contained a serving size for at least four people - of cream and strawberries onto her plate. She knew the highlord was waiting, she somehow sensed his…impatience.

“Miss Feyre--”, Cerridwen’s voice held a strong warning now.

Before she could shovel the plump strawberry with the perfect ratio of cream into her mouth, it vanished.

In the next heartbeat, the whole breakfast tray vanished!

And then, before she could voice her outrage, her table and chair vanished - landing her smack on her bottom on carpeted floor.

Fae prick! She narrowed her eyes. She had seen him perform his vanishing trick before.

Fine, I’m on my way.

*** *** ***

Rhysand squinted in the distance, fiddling with the coins in his pockets. The training ring on top of the House of Wind almost had a pleasant view, if you overlooked his ruined, sprawling city. He looked away and started rearranging the knives.

“We have company” Azriel mumbled.

A moment later, Feyre walked into their training room, her duelling emotions of surprise and agitation clear in her expression. It’s the tilt of your eyebrows, I can tell exactly what you are thinking, little darling, Rhysand thought.

He knew his little magic would have made her angrier with him. He was willing to pay what it may cost him - it was infinitely preferable than her being scared of him again.

He turned around reaching for her bow. Azriel had found it when he returned to make sure all the Attors were taken care of. Rhys had fixed it himself this morning with a bowstring that wouldn’t fail her again.

“Good morning, Prick,” she said.

Rhysand’s head snapped up in surprise. Oh!

“Good morning, Fiery”, he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. He could almost hear Az rolling his eyes. His brothers had made it very clear later last night that his skills with the ladies had truly suffered in the last few decades, and he wasn’t doing a great job at proving them wrong.

“Well ‘Highlord’ seems to be pronounced ‘arsehole’ so why not?” she retorted.

“His name is Rhysand,” called Azriel, the nosiest shadowslinger he had ever met, from his spot near the grass.

Feyre pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying it.

“Oh. “No shove it up your arse” for Azriel here? He is saved from your loving nicknames, even though I am the one who made sure you had a delicious breakfast waiting this morning.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?”, she snapped, with none of the confused reticence she had last night.

She turned gesturing around her. “Since you seem to have so quickly forgotten. I am a prisoner here. I’m your prisoner, entirely at your mercy. My whole life and my family’s life is in your hands, and- and” she voice shoke, all her bravado stripped away, “And you expect me to be grateful?”

Her words hit him hard. He had sworn her safety to her family and to her. He had made sure her rooms were fittest with the most luxurious trappings, and even had Cerridwen, one of his most trusted employees watch out for her, and yet his city, his palace remained a prison. He shouldn’t have been surprised, its destitute walls were a cell for people who called it home, let alone a human he had forcibly brought here.

He suddenly wanted to do anything in his waning, fading power to help her. He would at the very least help her.

“Let me make you a bargain.” he said quickly, “In my lands, you will be safe, you will not be harmed by anyone’s hand, not even my own. And I promise that while you are here your family will not want for anything.”

It was intricate, difficult magic but he could do it. He understood more than a little of that magic now, and Cauldron-damn him it was the very least he could do for this girl that he had taken everything from.

“And what do ask from me in return?”, she asked cautiously.

Smart girl. “Your time. No more escapes. No more climbing out windows. No ripping up my curtains.” he replied, holding all emotion out of his voice.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the uncertainty on her face.

“Oh and - let’s throw in learning to read there too.” Rhysand said, picking invisible lint off his suit.

Her face became flushed and her eyes narrowed. He could see her weighing up lying versus admitting her vulnerability. He noticed how she misread the map, it was clear she didn’t understand what was written on it. Plus, he knew how cruel human societies could be towards their females, it wasn’t unheard of that she wouldn’t be given her right to education.

Come on, take my offer, he urged her.

“Okay”, she whispered, looking at Azriel, rather than Rhysand.

“What did you say?” Rhys pushed.

“I said Okay!”, Feyre growled at him.

With a half-smile, Rhys dug in deep, deep into the recesses of his power, and starting winding out the bargain magic. In response, he felt a twinge between his shoulder blades, just as he could see the tattoo forming on Feyre’s forearm. He couldn’t help but detail in night court-black ink, his beloved illyrian whorls, sprinkled dots shaped like Velaris’ unique starlight, and the leaves and blooms of jasmine, the flower of his court and his mother’s favourite.

He was surprised at the twinge of joy he felt looking at her arm.

And she looked appalled. “I didn’t agree to this. What is this?”

The unbridled consternation on her face took him the closest he’d been to laughing in half a century. His face remained impassive as he decided to add something to the already-completed tattoo.

A devious cat-eyed pupil winked up at from the middle of Feyre’s palm.

Her jaw could have hit the floor, and this time, Rhysand couldn’t hold back his smile.

*** *** ***

Eight hours later, Rhysand found Feyre where he had left her at her desk in her room. She knew her letters but she needed to practice her penmanship and progress to words if she was going to learn to read in the next few weeks.

Azriel had checked on her earlier in the day, and the shadowslinger had decided to stay in her rooms finishing off his own work and keeping her company.

Rhys was quite sure she didn’t wanted to talk to him, and he was happy taunting her from a distance. He had given her some provocative lines to copy, that she detested. Plus she was no doubt staring at that eye thinking he could somehow see her through it.

Strangely fun. He had had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like when he finally found the human, but fun was not what he expected. It was not an emotion he thought he could feel anymore; perhaps it wasn’t an emotion he deserved to feel anymore.

Despite his guilt, he found himself looking forward to seeing her progress.

He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, “Ahem,” he said, crossing his arms in emphasis.

The shadowslinger nodded his hello from the couch across the room, but Feyre continued to ignore him. He didn’t expect any less. It was odd, he hadn’t known her for very long but he felt like he knew her responses exactly. Not that she was predictable, but rather, somehow, she was familiar.

“You know if you don’t speak, I can just hear what you are thinking,” he said.

Her head snapped up, shock in her eyes.

“Just joking.” Rhys said, using her distraction as a reason to jump up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

She smelled...nice. She smelled like citrus and a fresh cool breeze. And her hands, most of them were covered in his dressings, but he could see her long delicate fingers poking out of them. Her hands were poised gracefully, like an artist’s.

“Are you happy, Highlord?” she looked up at him.

He paused, lost in those stormy eyes. He took in a breath, that was the first time she didn’t look at him with fear, or anger, or feigned disinterest. She was looking at him with laughter.

He snapped back, quickly looking down remembering he was meant to be checking her progress.

In already surprisingly neat script she had 100 lines of Rhysand is the most pompous Highlord. Rhysand is the most conceited Highlord. Rhysand is the most FLATULENT Highlord.

Feyre sniggered. Cerridwen, making up Feyre’s bedroom, giggled. And he could have swore he heard quiet laughter from Azriel’s newly-vacated chair, where now only wisps of smoke remained.

Unable to stop himself, and even Rhysand let out a small but very real laugh.

*** *** ***

Nesta pushed through a bramble of thornbushes, and came upon a tree with dark peeling bark and sprawling roots - a very familiar, tree with dark bark and lots of roots.

“The fire of all the hells!”, Nesta swore aloud, likely realising this was the third time she had come upon this same tree in an hour, from three entirely different directions.

Cassian stepped out from where he was hidden from her eyes.

“Why are you here?”, he asked frankly and with authority.

She straightened herself, trying to hide the shock from her face. “None of your business. Leave me alone.” Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route.

Stupidly, she pulled out a kitchen knife, which she held with clear ineptitude.

He was tempted to roll his eyes.

He had been monitoring the Archerons. Rhysand had made sure they were cared for, the day he brought Feyre home. He had seen the poverty they lived in, and he knew Feyre had kept them alive. Cassian was there to make sure that everything went to plan, that they had everything that humans desired. He was on his way in when he scented the older Archeron sister in the woods. He scoffed, he could have just as well heard her. Not only did she swear every five minutes, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her position in the woods a secret.

In a few hours, her dress was already ripped, her shoes were falling apart, and her face covered in mud. But her eyes were clear as they looked up at him, instead of fear, he was fierce determination thinly veiling crushing despair.

Cassian didn’t want to feel sorry for this girl.

Damn myself! He thought - because he did feel sorry for her. Rhysand had shown him all of what happened that day in the cottage. This girl standing before him with squared off shoulders had let her little sister get taken away by a stranger, had not fought back one bit to keep her, had not used her last moments to bid her goodbye.

He understood what it was like to have family that rejected an innocent. Despite that, the girl was standing in front of him with her head held high.

“You are Fae. Show me how to get through the Wall.”, she demanded.

“Why?”, he demanded back.

“None of your business.” she retorted.

Cassian’s temper was uncharacteristically short. He wanted this girl back in her home. He didn’t want to have his Highlord or Feyre troubled by her insignificant family anymore.

He became the Commander of the armies of Night Court, the Lord of Bloodshed, and he held it all over this girl. Standing to his full height, letting his wings flare out.

Her eyes widened as she took in the wings he knew she hadn’t seen yet. Instead of cowering, she stood her ground, even widened her stance. And unblinkingly locked her stormy grey eyes with his hazel ones. That was not something even most battle-hardened soldiers could do.

“Tell me where the hole in the Wall is.” she said, this time slowly, vehemently.

“No,” he said, trying not to be impressed. “Go home.”

“You know her?”, her wall of ice chipped, there was some hope in voice.

“Yes.”

Despite the set of her shoulders, her eyes betrayed relief, and he could see the toll of physical exhaustion hitting her.

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “She is safe. She will not be harmed. And honestly, she is better off without you.”, he said, knowing his last words would find a mark. He needed her to stop looking for Feyre, and he needed to know.

“Now GO HOME. If not I can promise you the next time you run into a Fae in the woods, they won’t hesitate ripping you into little shreds.” he said. He pointed behind her. “Go that way, in about twenty minutes you will be on the border of your town. Now.”

She didn’t look like she was going to go anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stared him down. But finally, something in her snapped. Her shoulders sagged as she sensed the truth in his words. She turned around and started walking away, but not before imperiously glancing over her shoulder with one last word: “Bastard.”

How she knew he was from Rhysand’s court, he didn’t know. How she knew he wasn’t there to hurt and harm humans like some of the other Fae that made it over the wall, he had no idea. How she knew that that he could be trusted, that he would eventually give her the information she so desperately wanted, he didn’t know.

But he thought about it the whole way home.

*** *** ***

The Highlord watched Cassian fly back into the city borders. It was a common sight, the silhouette of the Highlord looking out of the watchtower above the heavy city gates. Most knew, and those who didn’t, suspected the truth; that the curse trapped the Highlord in Velaris. As payback for keeping this city a secret from Amarantha, he was sentenced to watch it fall. He could leave sometimes, when the terms of the curse allowed him to, but he could not leave of his own free will. They watched his harsh, cruel expression as he stood unmoving as a statue above the city dying around him.

No one noticed the hooded figure walking straight through the small service door in the iron fence. No one could truly see him, their brains filling in his image as a just another guard or part of a shadow. No one saw as he finally did what he had been planning for the last 49 years, the plans that caused him to stretch him magic further than he ever had before, the plans her arrival had solidified. He was going to save Prythian.

And as Rhysand, Highlord of the night court, winnowed away, no one would know.

#thank you krissy (rhysand-vs-rowan) for compiling all of Azriel's lines - it made me decide to use his first words!#acotar:restrung #acotar: restrung #acotar restrung #chapter 3 #my writing #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acowar #rhysand #feyre #feysand #azriel #cassian #nesta #nessian

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Resident Evil Village Easter Eggs and References Explained

https://ift.tt/33mKVQj

This article contains RESIDENT EVIL VILLAGE spoilers.

Resident Evil Village may be one of the year’s biggest and scariest games, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t have a little fun from time to time. In fact, Village is packed with easter eggs and references that keep things light, even as you’re running away from the giant vampire ladies of its world.

While you’d expect the eighth major installment in the Resident Evil series to include a few nods to the previous games in the franchise, one of the most surprising things about Resident Evil Village is how it not only references some of the older games in the series (as well as a couple of horror movies) but how some of those callbacks have deeper meanings that expand this game’s lore and even set up future installments.

From the village’s familiar merchant to a brand of beer that shouldn’t be there, here are the easter eggs and references that we’ve found in Resident Evil Village so far.:

Joseph Kendo’s Self Defense Book (Likely a Gift From Chris)

Ethan and Mia’s house contains a few notable easter eggs, but one of the more interesting ones that’s easy to miss is a self-defense book found on the upstairs bookshelf written by someone named Joseph Kendo.

Does that name sound familiar? That’s probably because Joseph Kendo is the brother of Robert Kendo: the gun shop owner from Resident Evil 2. Joseph Kendo is also a former S.T.A.R.S. weapon instructor who made the pistol that Leon uses at the start of Resident Evil 4. It seems Ethan went to the best.

Covered Mirrors in Ethan and Mia’s House

Take a walk through Ethan and Mia’s house, and you may notice that most of the mirrors seem to be covered by sheets and blankets. The only mirror that isn’t covered (the bathroom mirror) appears to be fogged up. What’s the deal?

The game doesn’t outright explain this design choice, but it’s either part of an effort to prevent you from seeing Ethan’s face, who remains a faceless protagonist in his second outing, or it’s something Mother Miranda did when she assumed Mia’s form. Mirrors sometimes reveal true identities in horror fiction, such as in vampire stories, and it’s possible that Miranda covered them to prevent anyone from seeing the real her. That, or she didn’t want to look at her new face.

Ethan Winters’ Bobblehead Collection

Head upstairs in Ethan and Mia’s home and you’ll find a stack of boxes near the office area in the back. At the top of one of those boxes is a football player bobblehead that Ethan says he really should get rid of.

Considering that it’s the same kind of bobblehead found throughout the Baker house in Resident Evil 7, it’s not hard to see why the toy bothers him so much. It certainly seems like a strange keepsake from a dark time.

Ethan’s Hand Can’t Catch a Break

This one is less of an easter egg and more of a running joke, but it’s not long into Resident Evil Village before Ethan’s left hand is mutilated by a wolf. A little later on, one of his hands is even chopped off.

This is callback to Resident Evil 7 where Ethan loses his hand early on only to have it reattached later. For whatever reason, Ethan’s hands just can’t catch a break in these games. Like in the last installment, our hero also pours first aid med on his hand to heal.

Resident Evil 4’s Opening Sequence

You may have spotted this reference in some of Village‘s trailers and demos, but an early scene in Resident Evil Village’s…umm…village sees Ethan fight off a small army of werewolves and other unnamed horrors. From the way Ethan blocks doors to the staging of specific sections, this whole area feels like an elaborate callback to Resident Evil 4’s famous early scene in which Leon must evade waves of crazed villagers in a similar fashion.

Salvatore Moreau Turns into a Very Familiar Giant Fish

The battle against the otherwise timid Salvatore Moreau takes a dangerous turn when the lord of his house jumps into the water and transforms into a massive fish. This shocking moment will be a little less surprising to Resident Evil 4 fans who remember doing battle with a very similar giant fish in that game. The designs aren’t exactly the same, but given how many RE4 references are spread throughout Village, there’s no doubt this was an intentional callback.

Games

Resident Evil DASH: Canceled Sequel or Urban Legend?

By Matthew Byrd

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Resident Evil: The Many Ways the PlayStation Game Was Changed

By Matthew Byrd

The Duke References Resident Evil 4’s Merchant

Linger for a little while on the Duke’s shopping screen, and you might hear him say “What are you buying?” He’ll then laugh and mention that it’s just something an old friend of his used to say.

This is obviously a nod to Resident Evil 4. The friend that the Duke references is none other than Resi 4’s legendary merchant. It’s not entirely clear how those two characters know each other, but we suppose that it’s not unreasonable to suggest they could have met at the annual merchant trade show.

The P.T. Hallway and Giant Baby Monster in Donna Beneviento’s House

Dollmaker Donna Bneviento’s house is one of the scariest locations in Resident Evil Village. Then again, it should be scary considering that it’s clearly designed to resemble the house in one of the scariest games of all-time, P.T.

The house’s main hallway is nearly a 1:1 replica of the P.T. hallway. There’s even a phone in the corner of the hall that rings when you’re least expecting it. Incredibly, this area also features a clear nod to P.T.’s “baby in the sink,” although Village ups the ante in that regard with a giant baby monster that will truly haunt you.

Umbrella Symbols and Oswell E. Spencer

Some fans noticed early on that Village’s trailers featured a strange symbol that resembled the Umbrella logo. Well, that logo actually appears several times throughout the main game and even has a starring role in some of the story’s most important cutscenes.

As we discussed elsewhere, it turns out that the logo’s appearances are much more than a nod to the original RE games. In fact, a letter we find towards the end of Village reveals that Umbrella’s founder, Oswell E. Spencer, spent quite a bit of time with Mother Miranda and used that ancient design as the basis for his company’s logo.

Dulvey Beer From Resident Evil 7

One of the villagers in Village is drinking heavily from a bottle that’s kind of hard to see. If you zoom in on it, though, you’ll discover that it’s actually a bottle of Dulvey Beer: the Louisiana craft beer seen throughout Resident Evil 7.

How did this bottle of craft beer make it all the way to a small village in Europe? Given that this is likely just a cute nod to the previous game, it’s best not to ask those kinds of questions.

The Black Goat from The Witch

The Witch is one of the best horror movies of the last 10 years and among the genre’s most influential recent films as well. The Witch may have even influenced the design of Village in ways both big and small.

One of the animals you’ll find in Village is a large black goat that seems to boast a more distinct look than some of the other killable creatures you encounter. That may be because this black goat appears to be a clear reference to Black Phillip from The Witch. Their designs are incredibly similar, and considering how Village‘s vibe and themes are generally reminiscent of The Witch, it’s likely that Capcom decided to include a more obvious wink to that movie as well.

The Shining Scarecrows

Resident Evil Village’s title screen, and a couple of sections of the game’s actual village area, prominently feature creepy-looking scarecrows who seem to be frozen. Take a closer look at the scarecrow and you’ll discover that they might actually be dead villagers whose bodies were repurposed.

More importantly, the design of these scarecrows appears to be a subtle nod to the end of The Shining. At the very least, their upward-looking dead eyes and mischievous grins recall the look that Jack Torrance had on his face when he was frozen in the snow at the end of Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 film.

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Eveline Returns

The main villain of Resident Evil 7 reappears in Village, this time as a figment of Ethan’s imagination who needs to remind him of his true nature. We also learn that Mother Miranda provided the mold and Eva’s DNA to The Connections, the bio-terrorist group behind the events of the last game, who created Eveline.

Chris Redfield and the BSAA

Chris Redfield plays a major role in Village, effectively becoming the second protagonist of the story towards the final act of the game. In an installment that basically tells the origin story of the Umbrella Corporation, it makes sense that the series’ original hero is back, too. And just in time for the franchise’s 25th anniversary!

Meanwhile, the counter-terrorism organization Chris works for in the later games, the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, also returns, but this time to muck things up for Chris and his team towards the end of the game.

Mother Miranda’s Name

The neopagan cult leader main villain of the game is Mother Miranda. While there’s a very literal reason why she’s referred to as “mother” in Village, this may also be a reference to Italian filmmaker Dario Argento’s Three Mothers Trilogy of witchcraft movies. In that cycle of interconnected horror stories, each witch is named “Mother”: Mother Suspiriorum (Mother of Sighs), Mother Tenebrarum (Mother of Darkness), and Mother Lachrymarum (Mother of Tears).

Like those witches, Mother Miranda’s name also has a translation in Latin: “Mother to Admire,” which is very fitting considering she is worshipped by those she rules over. The way she could fit into that trio may also be why Village seems to be obsessed with the number four.

Cadou and Las Plagas

Mother Miranda uses a parasite called Cadou on the villagers in her search for a vessel for Eva. All Cadou seems to do to her unfortunate subjects is turn them into lycans, though.

While the early Resident Evil games focuse on the highly contagious viruses created by the Umbrella Corporation, Resident Evil 4 introduced the idea that a parasite could infect people and turn them into bloodthirsty killers, too. In that game’s case, the parasite was called Plagas.

Ada Wong Cameo?

As revealed by IGN, the Trauma Pack DLC features some behind-the-scenes artwork that reveals Capcom considered including fan-favorite spy Ada Wong in the game.

“Early plans had a mysterious masked person that saves Ethan,” reads the caption for the concept art. “This was going to be Ada Wong investigating the village, but this was cut due to a number of conflicting scenarios…An early plot point was to have Ada, disguising herself with a mask, help Ethan escape from his trial.”

Interestingly, Ada’s proposed costume in the game would not have been unlike Jill Valentine’s plague doctor-inspired costume in Resident Evil 5.

Did we miss anything? Let us know in the comments!

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