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chayacat · 3 years

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Devil’s Sweet Star (29)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

Having a good growing reputation in Roseville is a good thing. When you arrived here to open your café, you didn't expect to attract people in such a short time. And yet that's what happened. But who would have thought that one day you would be in the mayor's office? You pinch yourself mentally to wake up. Because honestly you don't believe it. Just as you still do not believe that Mayor Tallis came to your café, drank and eat in your café and is personally invited to come and see him in his office at the town hall a few days before. No, it's impossible.

And yet you are there. In the town hall. Waiting for the mayor to bring you in. According to his secretary, he had to make an important call before he received you. You didn't dare to believe it. And yet, it's coming. You don't know what he wants from you but one thing is certain; You are not likely to forget that day. You play nervously with your fingers, occasionally taking your phone to watch the time or go on social media. The more time passed, more the stress rose. After about ten minutes, the door of the mayor's office opened and the mayor came out, with a big smile on his face.

Marius Tallis has been caring for Roseville for 30 years. If at first there were few shops and inhabitants, he quickly changes things and made this dear little village more attractive. Despite his past sixties, He stood straight, his short gray hair, his thin face and his hazel eyes made him a man in full health and always as radiant with vitality. If only we could all be as fit at that age...

“Ah! Miss (y/n)! Please come in! Please excuse me for the delay but I had to make an important call and it lasted much longer than I had anticipated.” He said before letting you in, inviting you to take a seat.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Mayor, I understand perfectly. Being mayor involves a heavy responsibility and sometimes it’s better to take the time to discuss things and others than to rush.” you respond with a smile.

“This is even more the case when you have been running a small town for 30 years. I have seen and evolved Roseville, and today it’s as I dreamed of it. I don't want to make it a metropolis or anything else, but just a small town that is welcoming to everyone. You must surely be wondering why I invited you to meet me in my office.”

“I must admit that this is quite a... surprising situation. In general, we are the ones who ask to see you when there is a problem, and not the opposite.”

He pressed the intercom button and asked his secretary to bring two coffees. After a few minutes she arrived with the tray in hand that she placed on the mayor's desk. The latter thanked her warmly and asked her a couple of things before letting her go back to work quietly. He handed you a cup that you accept, thanking him, and then sat down at his desk, taking his cup in hand to drink a sip of coffee.

“Miss (y/n), if I asked you to come to my office... it’s because I have a proposal to make to you. Since you came here, and opened your business, I have only heard positive reviews and compliments about you. Know that you have gained a flourishing reputation in a short time and this is quite rare in your field.” He said before gets up and to go to an old photo of the city hanging on the wall. “Since I've been running Roseville... I organize every year its... birthday if I can put it like that. Every year I celebrate the efforts I have managed to make as well as those of the inhabitants, to make Roseville the city as we know it and see it today. It’s an event that all the inhabitants want and so do I. My request is simple: I would like you to be the one who will take care of this year's pastries. You will have the field free as to which pastries you want to add to it. It's like... a huge banquet to which you bring sweetness and sugar. I know that what I am asking of you is important and that an event of this magnitude is new to you. You don't have to answer me right away, the festival is only for in 2 weeks. But I would be very honoured if you would agree.”

“Well, Mr. Mayor, I... I am very honored that you offer me to participate fully in this event... it's true that it's brand new for me... but you are not afraid that... that the Ghostface manifests itself? I suspect that it will be done during the day but... it's going to last very late I guess, and we all know that Ghostface is a man of the night.” you ask worried. This is the kind of event that Ghostface could easily blend into the crowd to spot his next victim... or come and see you.

“Don't worry about this, Inspector Wilhelm and his men will take care of the security of the event. Because unfortunately because of this... Ghostface, we forget the young delinquents who take advantage of it to spoil everything and aggress people. As for Ghostface, I place all my trust in our police to arrest him. No criminal is perfect miss (y/n), sooner or later the rider will fall from his horse. And the fool will be locked up.” he replied with a sincere smile.

You nod, then the mayor escorts you to the entrance of the town hall, greeting you warmly. You, participate in the event of the city? While you have only been living there for a short time? It was unthinkable. And yet that's what's happening to you right now. But you have to think about it, that's why the mayor gives you time before giving an answer. The first thing you do is send a message to Jed. You have to warn someone of all this!

He replied that he was happy to hear the news, the Roseville Gazette would cover the event with other local newspapers. He does not assure that it will be him and his group who will take care of writing the article but he will come to see you. You can be sure of that. Jed is really adorable... even while working he finds a way to take time for you.

You go back to the café to discuss it with Amy and Corey. How will they react? they have just started their work that they find themselves with a great event on their shoulders. It would be a little selfish of you to impose that on them. We might as well discuss it with them. You will then decide.

“It's... it's serious??? The mayor himself asked you???” said Corey, shocked.

“I can't believe it... I don't know what to say... I am speechless!” said Amy.

“I haven't given an answer yet... but I know it's going to be a lot of work and...as you just started, I don't want to put you that much work and pressure right now.” you replied with a little smile.

“You're kidding! On the contrary, we are ready! You realize, the mayor in person asks that it’s us, or rather you who takes care of the pastries for the Roseville Festival of this year! It is an honour and an unexpected opportunity!” said Corey excited.

“Are you sure? It's going to be a lot of work! It's not a dozen people that we will serve but the whole city! or even more! We will have to redouble our efforts! understood?”

“Yes Madam!” said Amy and Corey at the same time.

You're still talking a little bit to see what you could prepare for the festival. There are so many pastries that you could prepare, plus you have no limits according to the mayor! what to choose? what to do? So much possibility! it must please everyone! you are going to propose several of them, but which ones is the question. You call the mayor to inform him that you accept his proposal. He was delighted to know that you will participate fully in the festival and informed you again that the event will be held in 2 weeks. This gives you plenty of time to prepare everything and think about what you are going to do. But the idea that Ghostface could be there, not knowing who he actually is scares you. And the worst thing is that it can really be anyone and he won't come and tell you it's him easily. He will pretend not to know you, will smile at you like a normal person.

Your whole body began to shiver thinking that you are going to talk to the one who has been harassing you since your arrival without even recognizing him. You, Amy and Corey give yourself an afternoon of rest. since you had an appointment with the mayor around 2pm, it’s not necessary to reopen for the afternoon. Fortunately, you had already informed the usual clientele via a sign that you would exceptionally close this afternoon. But at the income level, you have not lost your afternoon, given all the people you have had this morning, you can even tell yourself that you have made a profit.

You return home after performing your daily ritual at the shop, fear in your stomach. But you don't show it, you don't want to worry Jed... and you don't prefer to see him angry. Fortunately, this has never happened yet. The latter stood in front of your door, his angelic smile on his lips. But despite all your efforts, he noticed that something was wrong. He took you in his arms, hugging you while placing a kiss on your cheek and then on your lips.

“What's going on? Did you have a problem at work today?” he asks, passing his hand on your cheek.

“No, not at all on the contrary, we had a lot of people and we even made profits. I'm just a little tired that's all.” you simply answer.

“If there was a contest of the worst lie, you would win without problem. Tell me what’s wrong. Is it in relation to the mayor's proposal?”

“... Yes. I'm a little afraid that I'm not up to the task. You realize, I've only been here for a short time, he has more competent pastry chefs than me, and yet it is I who the mayor has chosen to participate in this year's festival. I have never participated in something so important, imagine that I miss everything? I'm going to pass for a fool in front of the whole city.” You replied. Of course, you’re lying, that's not what scares you, but you really don't want to worry Jed. Or make him angry.

“Hey, if the mayor asked you, it's for a good reason. Even though there are pastry chefs who have been here longer than you, it’s your pastries that people want to eat. And I'm one of them. So, you don't have to care about it, I know you're going to make it. And then you're not alone, you have your employees and... if need be, I would come and give you a helping hand.”

“Oh? would the great Jed Olsen be a fine pastry chef in addition to be a great journalist?” You replied with a laugh.

“Hey you took pie twice the last time we had dinner together. So, you can say that I am... a god?” he responds with an innocent look.

“Very funny mr. god of pastry, we will see it on the ground with REAL equipment. In the meantime, I'm going to go rest a little and think about what cakes I'm going to do. How about you?”

“Well for once I'm going to go and rest too. with everything that's going on right now... I need to be fit. I know, "Jed Olsen taking care of him for once, it's a miracle," but it happens to me from time to time to think about myself.”

“I hope so. Good night Jed... I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night...” he says, heading to his apartment before he stops. “Oh, I almost forgot! You remember when we thought... that we had to move in together? Well, the apartment on the top floor is free and... it’s the size of our apartments combined so... I thought maybe we could take it? I talked to Mr. Lawson about it and told him that I would see with you.”

“I'll think about it. Thank you, Jed.”

You go home, without seeing the sneaky smile that was looming on Jed's face. You don't know what you're getting into... oh no, you don't know. You put your things down before going to your room, take clean clothes, and then you head to the bathroom to take a good shower. After that, you land in your sofa, a pencil and a notebook in hand, a recipe book placed on the coffee table. For 2 hours, you try to see what you could do, the pages of the notebooks darkening as you write, scratch, erase. But nothing suits you. Absolutely nothing.

“I don't see why you're looking for inspiration in these ridiculous books. I think for once... you could improvise, do something that bears your signature.”

You jump off the couch, pointing the pencil like a weapon at Ghostface. He sneered and approached you, with this approach of his own. This nonchalance that he possesses says a lot about him... just like his gestures.

“Oh my god...how scared I am, honey. Are you really going to hurt me with this weapon of mass destruction? Is this pencil as sharp as my knife?” he said ironically.

“Shut your Mouth ! I'm tired of all the men in this city trying to charm me and take me for a weak ! Just like that damn server !” you said angry.

You put a hand on your mouth realizing what you have just said. You just said, in front of Ghostface, that someone seduces you. What did you do?

“ There’s someone in this city that will taste my blade, if I find him. Thank you very much my angel, thanks to you, I have just found one more victim.”

“Don’t you dare...”

“Or what? Are you going to report me to the police? For wanting to protect you, or even save you from a potential dangerous predator? remember : I fall, you fall too.” Ghostface said, gently touching your cheek with his gloved hand before taking your face into his hands.

“ You know, I've already lost someone because of a bastard who had nothing to f**k about life, I won't let it happen again. You can count on that. I'm already nice enough to let Jed take care of you while waiting for you to drop him for me.”

He released you before heading with an assured step towards the window. He looked at you, and even if you couldn't see his face, you could imagine the anger and madness that was looming over his face.

“I had planned to spend time with you tonight but... in itself you just gave me a job. I'll find him... and when I know who he is... he will bitterly regret it.”

He disappeared out the window before you could say or do anything. You sit heavily on your couch, taking your face in your hands. What have you done? You have just offered Ghostface a new victim! even if he is just an idiot who tries and who already regrets his actions, he deserves more than death.

You have just signed the death warrant of a man.

And the worst... It's that deep down of your heart, you want it.

***

(In three days, I will be 23 years old. Time passes too quickly I didn't even see the year pass! Enjoy your youth as much as you can because given everything that happens, we do not see the time passing at a crazy speed. Once again, I would like to thank you for following the little potato that I am! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the others ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya!)

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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meta-squash · 3 years

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Brick Club 1.4.1 “One Mother Meets Another”

This Book title really gets me. “To Trust Is Sometimes To Surrender.” Which, I don’t know, feels really helpless. And helpless in a way that could be prevented, too, if there had just been more questions asked or something, maybe. Probably not. But poor Fantine, and poor Cosette, being forced into trusting people who take advantage of everyone they see.

The first thing that we see of the Thenardiers is nothing at all to do with Fantine’s storyline, but everything to do with Marius’. The Sergeant Of Waterloo sign, with its bad painting (I love Hugo’s sassy “on which something was painted”).

But it’s not the sign that makes Fantine stop, but a huge cart with an enormous chain. The Robb biography says that the cart visual was something Hugo saw as a child while he was crossing the border at Saint-Jean-de-Luz while returning to France from Spain. The cart and its chain are symbolism of both an obstacle and a veiled threat. It “might have been mistaken for a giant gun-carriage” and is “crushing” and “hideous.” The way Hugo describes the mud coating the lower half of this cart makes it sound like it’s slowly being covered by a yellow disease. Also, this is the second instance of chain imagery in as many chapters. We also get more imagery of obstruction a few paragraphs later.

Hugo makes it really obvious that this cart is here as an obstruction, literally and figuratively. The figurative is twofold. It is metaphor for the obstruction that the Thenardiers become for Fantine, taking all of her money and lying about Cosette in order to do it, making it impossible for her to stay afloat at Montreuil-sur-Mer. He also uses it to critique the “old social order.”

“Why was this vehicle in this place on the street? First to obstruct the lane, and then to complete its work of rusting. In the old social order we find a host of institutions like this across our path in the full light of day, with no reasons for being there.” Hugo’s critique of the “old social order,” which I’m assuming is the empire.

There’s so much symbolism in the young Eponine and Azelma swinging on the chain. They are swung back and forth by their mother, a symbolism of their own future, akin to the image of Fantine as the horse. They’ll be tied to Mme Thenardier and used by her in the future. Not only that, but the chain is huge enough to be reminiscent of the chains of the bagne; prison is a constant threat to them once they reach Paris. “Above and around the delicate heads, steeped in joy and bathed in light, the gigantic hulk, black with rust and almost frightful with its tangled curves and sharp angles, curved like the mouth of a cave.” What intense symbolism for the darkness and struggle that awaits them in Paris in the future.

“A mother, seeing this frightful chain, had said, ‘Now there’s a toy for my children!’“ First of all this feels like a sassy critique of Mme Thenardier’s parenting decisions. But it’s also a hint at their poverty and debt despite the nice clothing. Instead of tying a rope to a branch or something, the decision to turn a huge hulking terrifying chain into a swing for two tiny children...it’s just a lot.

God, the drastic difference between Cosette’s description and Fantine’s description. Cosette is all beauty and light. She’s “charmingly rosy” She’s dressed in linen and lace. Fantine’s description begins with a question mark. “She was young--pretty?” In 1.3.3, Hugo specifically points out Fantine’s “fine teeth” and her long, blonde hair as points of her beauty. Here, she has her hair wrapped up in a tight cap fastened under her chin, and she never smiles. She looks upset and ill and hard-worked. Lines are forming on her face and her skin is calloused. From here on out her beauty is either a small physical remnant or is purely an inner beauty.

What’s the kerchief fold for invalids that Hugo talks about? Does anyone have an image of that? Also why would invalids fold a kerchief over their chest? Is it the blue kerchief specifically that’s used by invalids, not the fold style?

So if it was August last chapter, it’s June now. If it was December-ish (from the sunset at 4:30 thing) then it’s October. If they’re outside playing on a swing, it’s probably more likely that it’s June. Hugo really just does not care about telling us the time of year unless it is Symbolically Important.

The friendship between Fantine and the rest of the grisettes was tenuous at best, manipulative and cruel at worst. But Hugo implies that none of the other grisettes stayed together either. They “no longer had any reason to be friends” despite suffering the same let down--only the others expected it and Fantine didn’t. And the men probably not only remained friends long after, they probably also made connections and used each other to gain social points and climb the ladder.

“Led by her liaison with Tholomyes to disdain the simple work she knew how to do, she had neglected her opportunities; now they were all gone.” This makes me think that for the two years she was with Tholomyes, she wasn’t working and he was supporting her and the child? Is this how it would have been? Or perhaps she was working, but other, better, more steady opportunities came up and she didn’t take them because of Tholomyes. Either way, her relationship with Tholomyes has fucked her over so many different ways. She doesn’t have a job should could have had, she has a child she can’t take care of, and she has a broken heart.

It’s also a huge clue to how little Fantine seems to know about how any of these affairs work and what’s going to happen to her that “she had a vague feeling of being on the brink of danger, of slipping into the streets.” The other grisettes kept their affairs very shallow, probably because of how acutely aware they were of how much power these men had over their lives and what a mistake could cost them. It’s why the lack of a parting gift in the last chapter was a huge let down for them--they probably should have gotten something expensive to make up for all the lost hours of work--but not as huge as it was for Fantine, who had already made that mistake.

“One day, Fantine heard some old women saying as they saw her child ‘Do people ever take such children seriously? They only shrug their shoulders at them!’ Then she thought of Tholomyes, who shrugged his shoulders at his child, and who did not take this innocent creature seriously, and her heart turned dark at the place that had been his.” Such a short series of lines on such a heavy realization. This is one of the reasons the English lyrics to I Dreamed A Dream irritate me so much. Before she even leaves Paris, Fantine’s heart has hardened to Tholomyes. She doesn’t yearn for him at all; from that point on her focus and love is purely about her child. She’s also angry here. She gets the message at this point and she’s upset about it. There’s also the double meaning of “who did not take this innocent creature seriously.” This line could be about Cosette, but it could also easily be about Tholomyes’ treatment of Fantine for the past two years.

“She had made a mistake, but, deep down, we know she was modest and virtuous.” Okay, Hugo, but what about other women who make mistakes? Are they not modest and virtuous? If they’re not, do they get different treatment? Again, back to his weird arguments from 1.3.2, about how “poverty and coquetry are fatal counselors” and how fallen woman are different from modest women, but also it’s society’s fault that they’re bad. I don’t know, Hugo seems to be confused in his moral opinions when it comes to this stuff.

(The more I learn about his youth while reading this biography, the more this kind of stuff makes sense. The “fallen women are bad” seems to be the kind of opinion he had in his youth, and the “it’s a societal problem” is an elder Hugo opinion. The two thoughts are kind of duking it out in these descriptions of working women.)

“We will see that Fantine possessed a fierce courage.” We get Fantine’s strengths in pieces: she is wise in that she notices things other people don’t notice, she possesses a fierce courage, and she has her capacity to love Cosette completely and sacrifice everything for her. This is also the second time we get a description of her as “fierce,” the first being in 1.3.4. Fantine’s courage and specifically her fierceness come out even more later on. We get the impression that had she lived in better circumstances, she would have been a force to be reckoned with. Again, I’m still reading this Graham Robb biography of Hugo, but the descriptions of Fantine’s characteristics remind me of a sort of ragged description of what Hugo’s mother seemed to be like.

“The woman had nothing in the world but this child, and this child had nothing in the world but this woman.” This just made me really sad because when Fantine goes to Montreuil-sur-Mer, she will have nothing in the world but Cosette. But Cosette won’t even know she exists.

We then learn about the fate of Tholomyes, similar to that of Bamatabois. Hugo has such an interesting perspective on law and lawyers. His characters that go to law school and complete it are all rich assholes who use their power and connections for pleasure and to ruin the lives of those in classes beneath them. Those who don’t complete due to other personal circumstances (Bahorel, Bossuet) or due to death (most of Les Amis) are the opposite. I’m wondering if this is commentary on law in general. Knowing it academically but not falling into the comfort of taking advantage of it, by leaving it instead? We don’t know what happens to Marius after Valjean’s death but I wonder if he would keep his more generous nature or fall prey to the bourgeois/Ultra personalities that hover around Gillenormand.

“The presence of angels is a herald of paradise.” An interesting sentence and description considering the ominous descriptions of what they’re swinging on. There are just so many ominous signs here amidst all the beauty of children and sunlight. You just want to yank Fantine back and go “Wait! Stop! Pay attention! Look at all the badness!”

Mme Thenardier gets so many animalistic descriptions. M Thenardier is later, in Paris, described as a wolf. Mme Thenardier gets she-wolf then, as well as sow and tigress. Here she gets “that animal yet celestial expression peculiar to motherhood.” (An interesting description considering Fantine is also a mother, but her expressions are tender and passionate.) There’s also, “The most ferocious animals are disarmed by caresses to their young,” which is such an ominous sentence. Mme Thenardier’s cruelty is different from her husbands. His is greedy, hers is jealous. There’s also the moment where Hugo says “she sang between her teeth,” a visual that reminds me of a growl. So many threats in her description, and Fantine doesn’t notice any of them, because Mme Thenardier is sitting down, and that makes her less threatening. Plus her reading of trash romance novels makes her docile, relaxed and coy, which apparently hides this animal underneath.

“A person seated instead of standing: Fate hangs on just such a thread.” This is such a huge aspect in this book, summarized in such a short line. Time and place is so important in this novel, for everyone. So much of this novel is hinged on someone happening to be in the right place at the right time (or the wrong place at the wrong time) or happening to recognize someone, or happening to do or fail to do something that totally changes the course of everything around them.

What’s up with Cosette and flies? Here she’s digging a grave for a dead fly, and later she has a tiny lead sword that she uses to cut the heads off flies. Is this just a little kid characteristic that Hugo noticed in his own grandchildren and decided to include, or is this symbolism of some sort that I’m missing?

I’ve heard that Fantine (read: Hugo) gets from Euphrasie to Cosette from “Chosette” which means “little thing.” Is that true or is that just someone making stuff up? If it is true, I can’t help the amusing thought that Cosette’s name is then basically “Sproglet” but in French. Also the “Josefa into Pepita” is maybe a reference to Pepita, the Marquesa de Montehermoso, who Hugo met when he was about 10 and she about 16. I couldn’t find anything about Francoise into Sillette, except that Hugo’s own son was called Victor-Francois? And nothing at all on Theodore into Gnon.

The moment Cosette leaves Fantine’s arms to go play with the other girls, Fantine ceases to be Fantine and instead becomes “the mother.” She is “the mother” for the rest of the chapter. She loses her selfhood the moment she loses Cosette. From that moment on, to the Thenardier’s at least, she’s just the mother of this child they have to deal with, the mother that they can suck money from whenever they want.

“It would be odd if I left my child naked.” This is such a weird line. I feel like this goes in line with interpreting Fantine as autistic. The Thenardiers are asking pretty obvious leading questions about money and costs and then about clothes. But Fantine doesn’t pick up at all on the weirdness or the sinister nature of their questions; she just thinks it’s weird that they might assume she’d leave her child without clothes.

“You’ve build a good mousetrap with your little ones” “Without even knowing it.” The adult Thenardiers fall into this over and over again. Often opportunities fall into their lap when they’re least expecting it; they plan using the new knowledge (as with getting money for young Cosette or attempting to kidnap Valjean) or they just run with it (as with meeting Valjean in the sewers). Sometimes they plan things, like with M Thenardier’s letters attempting to garner fake charity or patronage. But most of the time it seems like they just wait for a random chance and then jump on it. Which seems far more successful than any of Thenardier’s business endeavors, which is maybe why he ended up in such debt in the first place.

This entire scene feels very fae, very evil trickster-like. A lure or trap (the children), a false reassurance (Mme Thenardier) and the real evil not revealing itself until much later (M Thenardier). You just want to call out to Fantine and warn her of the danger that she doesn’t see. But it’s all hidden in a fae glamour, making everything look sweet and safe and beautiful, and she doesn’t notice all the sinister, ominous things in the corner of the eye because everything else is so bright and angelic.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.4.1 #les mis #les mis meta #oh god it's so long i'm so sorry #this is my problem i am Too Verbose #especially for such mediocre observations but oh well i guess that's just how i am

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jackdawyt · 4 years

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Today I'm delving into full spoiler territory regarding Dragon Age: Blue Wraith Issue #2, breaking down the major plot threads, characters and my overall thoughts on the second issue of this comic. I've already broken down the first issue, so be sure to check that video out if you need to be caught up.

But, if you haven't had the chance to pick up the comic and you want to read the second issue for yourself, go give it a read and revisit this video. Alternatively, if you'd rather pass up the comics for whatever reason, you're in luck because I'm going to summarise all the important deets in this video!

So without further ado, let's breakdown Blue Wraith issue #2!

Like the previous issue, the story starts with another flashback, four years ago in the Arlathan Forest. We witness Fenris's sidekick Shirallas freeing elves once more, this time by his lonesome. He swaps places with a slave, saving the elf's life whilst endangering his own. He makes a promise to the other elves that one day all slaves will be liberated.

The cart holding Shirallas and the slaves arrive at the fabled Magister Nenealeus's estate, with him present dealing with the new arrivals. He questions our knife-ear friend and his Vallaslin origin, then asks if he's ever dreamed about becoming a Perrepatae, taking him in and killing the rest of the slaves.

We discovered in the last issue that Nenealeus was looking to train an Elven perrepatae, this is a special type of Tevinter slave, specialised in killing rival mages. And it seems that he has found one in Shirallas.

We shuffle back to the present day in the Arlathan Forest, Vaea, Francesca and Fenris are having a bit of a spout. Fenris tries to take Franny's head off with a claymore, and Fran throws Fenris against a tree, then attempts to suffocate him with plant magic. We have an uppercut here, a cucumber slash there and then Vaea jumps in, seizing an end to the conflict.

Vaea explains that they just came here to talk, Fenris is like "but she's a Tevinter mage", Vaea clarifies that both she and the Mabari are trying to help Francesca, and Vaea did stop the fight.

Fenris replies saying "that is surprisingly logically", Francesca recovers from the fight and in a pinch she casts a spell and screams "where is my father", Vaea flies right through Fenris and lands on the opposite side of him.

Francesca asks how was that possible, Fenris ignores the comment and remarks that she's impressive and must be the Invidus girl, the plant-based magic she uses is very rare outside of Dalish Clans. Fenris then explains that his lyrium tattoos allow him to move through things, or things can move through him. And henceforth, the Blue Wraith.

Francesca asks if Fenris took her father, as to which he replies he did not, but the man he's tracking did. Which is Shirallas from the start of this issue who was taken in by Nenealeus.

Vaea intrudes, calling him Fenris, saying that she's a friend of Varric Tethras. Fenris and Francesca continue to talk about her father. If Fenris did take her father, he would've killed him as he is one of the last members of the Venatori, specifically a man who truly understands red lyrium. That alone makes him worth killing.

But Fenris exclaims that Francesca's father is in no danger from him, so long as he's not travelling with Shirallas willingly. He decides to go on his merry way, however, Vaea asks him to travel with the group, besides they have Autumn the adorable, amazing tracker.

We have this sad monologue from Fenris as he shares how in the end people only use you for your power and then they leave you.

One of the Dark Horse writers, Nunzio Defilippis shared more on this in his own blog I'll have linked down below, he talks about his own experiences with moving on and how in his life he's reacted to departure. He shares that no matter what choices you made, one way or another, Fenris was left behind. No matter how valid the reasons, he was left behind. And that's the basis of his character throughout this comic.

So, he leaves Vaea and Francesca and rides on. But, Vaea's smart and gets Autumn to track him.

We move on to the other team following the caravan from the first issue. Ser Aaron, Tessa, Marius and Calix are looking over a cliff-side. Ser Aaron and Calix talk about Autumn leaving him for Vaea, and how perhaps not everyone is up for sacrificing themselves for the greater good. They spot the caravan having stopped, potentially to meet someone.

We roll back to Vaea, Francesca and Autumn following Fenris, as they discuss their purpose within the group, Vaea defends herself, that she would not abandon Ser Aaron, nor the other way around, like Fenris's experiences. Autumn catches up to Fenris, as Vaea see guards ahead, she prepares a stealthy approach. However, Fenris ain't up for that, so he prepares to charge straight into the encampment.

But not before Francesca grabs him with plant magic, and they decide to take a more tactful approach as a group.

We swap back to the other group as they watch Marquette meeting Magister Nenealeus, Marius confirms that he is indeed Nenealeus, as he turned him into a Perrepatae. Nenealeus asks if the sarcophagus works, and Marquette states that it's repaired and ready.

The strange mysterious artefact from the previous issue is given more explanation here, the device was built to fit an elf and it's supposed to be used with red lyrium. However, Nenealeus would like to see if it works, so they use regular lyrium and put a human in the artefact, hence the front cover of this issue. Marquette states that House Danarius did use regular lyrium with this device before, so it should work.

Vaea, Francesca, Fenris and Autumn stealth their way into a fortress, however, as Vaea discovers the previous Tevinter occupants have been killed and the Qunari have invaded the fort. The group walk into a Qunari confrontation, we discover that the Qunari are also interested in the magical artefact and the magisters involved, they interrogate a slave and uncover that Magister Nenealeus has secured the assistance of Magister Invidus for his expertise with red lyrium.

According to the slave, the sarcophagus infuses with lyrium, granting them great power, the magisters intend on using this on Nenealeus's new Perrepatae. Which as we can understand is Shirallas, Fenris's travelling companion.

Well, when Fenris hears this plan, he screams that the device was beyond repair and charges at the Qunari. Back to the stabbing as Vaea aptly puts it.

And we make it to our final scene, Ser Aaron and squad charge down the mountain towards the caravan, as they make there way down, they're attacked by a glowing lyrium infused man who attacks Casse, Ser Aaron's horse, knocking him to the ground. Tessa shoots the man, but her bolt goes straight through him, and as the man prepares to attack Marius and Tessa, we have a gigantic KATHOOM! End of issue 2.

We had plenty to uncover in this issue, and I thoroughly enjoyed every page. Blue Wraith is becoming even more epic with each issue, and I've got to say I'm loving it more than any other Dragon Age comic so far. And with that, we only have one more issue to go until this narrative concludes.

We do have a sneak peek at the cover of Issue #3 of Blue Wraith, we see Francesca pulling off an epic plant-based spell, so we expect some sort of epic standoff. In any regard, that'll do it for me, let me know what you thought of this issue, anything you noticed that I didn't, tell me in the comments down below!

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vcsecretgifts · 4 years

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Altın Mağaralar

From: @amelthebravennian

To: @cygnaut

// @cygnaut thank you so much for this occasion to work over this rare pairing! I hope you’ll like it <3 I wish you a very Merry Christmas, and a lot of happiness!

…

The night was particularly clear, the sheepish twinkle of stars adorned the sky like celestial jewelry, after the last shades of dusk had burned out. It was a mild night, and the air transported, with its soft murmurs, the scents of warm topsoil, horses, and human food coming from a village nearby. The arid floor hadn’t seen any rain for so long, that the booted feet seemed to hover above the crackled dirt ground, lifting light veils of dust at their following. It must have been quite a show to behold, under the golden rays of midday, when heat and sun would have made of the whole land a desert splendor of gold and topaz.

Villages had been carved directly through the rock into underground places, the fast moving silhouette had heard. Moving along the shadows as a shadow itself, the shape thought about Derinkuyu and the buried houses they explored the night before, until dawn had plunged them in a deep slumber, that they had only left about an hour after the sunset. Beside the evident beauty of the place, the history and mysteries shrouding the wide expanses of valleys and hills, something else attracted the androgynous creature endowed with long braided blonde hair and cold blue eyes, deeper and deeper into Cappadocia. Feet seemed to know their path in that unknown territory, as if led by an imperious conscience through the broken curves of dunes and secrets caverns.

But if the direction seemed clear, the goal wasn’t, and there was still in this wide world some mysteries the shade wasn’t in a hurry to unveil. They had heard about ancients, about beings so powerful their heartbeats would rumble akin to a thunderstorm drumming to any immortal ear. About elders whose age was unknown, just as the limit of their potency and blood thirst. Armand had told about one of those elders. He had mourned after Marius, and the shape had learned along its journey that Marius wasn’t the only Child of the Millennia that had once walked around the Earth. They were no fool. The blood coursing through their veins, their son, and maker’s veins had to come from somewhere. They had read about legends in hidden libraries, and forgotten scrolls. Even if refusing to believe most of them, some worrisome elements couldn’t be denied.

The silent call running through Gabrielle’s body was most likely a trap, one on which they would agree to ensnare themselves merely because their instinct encouraged them to. They had learned about listening to it since the Blood -the Dark Gift- had first chanted within their supernatural heart. It wasn’t the first time they experienced the imperative push, after all. It had all began some years ago, not so long after they parted from Lestat.

It had been just a light pressure on the back of their neck, like a kiss posed by a secretive lover, an insisting glance weighting on their shoulders, a glare given by the darkness itself and delivering their fill of bothersome shivers. They had been in Italy then, visiting the remnants of a past mortal life of which they were the only living legacy. For a while, the immortal had believed that remaining hidden underground for days and nights would have made it fade and finally vanish, but they only found thirst and pain instead of peace. and so Gabrielle had left the security of the ground to get back to their wandering. Surely, the impression would disappear as they ignored it. And it did, for months, and months, until it seemed merely a foreign dream. They couldn’t even tell how many time passed before the disagreeable feeling came back.

It had been muffled steps they had heard following them to Malta then, too light to belong to any human being, too discreet for a fledgling chasing them. The sound had stopped only when they had boarded a ship sailing to Athens, and for a while Gabrielle had believed to be finally left alone. It took five nights, or perhaps six, for the ethereal push to come back again, lighter this time, but nonetheless present. It became then, as usual to feel it as the presence of a dear friend taking a walk through time and space with them.

They almost forgot about it, classified it in a part of their brain as an information not yet useful. Nights and days passed by, and their steps, led by the inner call,then left Greece and headed to Turkey. Eventually, it vanished along the road, taking years to come back as Gabrielle was digging themselves deeper in the Turkish lands. Through deserts and wide plains -indeed- the vampire had been guided, and it was with a slight indecision that they were now staring a succession of sinuous cliffs topping a narrow rocky valley. The reason of their presence in such a place was still as unknown as the next step to take. Oh, the beauty of the place was enough to fulfill any of their expectations. The real inquiring was about the ones of the presence, that seemed to make its way closer to them, just as in Malta.

Would it be here, at the confines of the world, that Gabrielle would find the answers their son had sought for? A sigh left their parted lips, interrupted in the middle by a sound they had prayed to never hear. Echoes of a low, deep drum hesitantly lost their way to the immortal’s ear. An Elder was coming by, each new heart beat heavier than the last, loudly annunciating the end of what had seemed to be a several years’ track down. It was vain to run away, thought the young vampire. If the Elder had succeeded to follow them across seas and lands, there would be no place on Earth to escape. They waited in silence, composing themselves in their attempt to spot from where the Elder would appear.

As the heartbeat came closer, a shape split the darkness from behind a boulders alike the moon piercing through dark clouds. Physical steps led the powerful vampire closer, unveiling a feminine shape moving with grace and seemingly devoid of any mischief. Long blonde hair cascaded on her back as silver reflection, displayed by the moon, conferred a ghostly presence to the Elder. Her fair skin was as pure and white as marble, and somewhere, it reminded Gabrielle the story of Armand, and how he had described Marius. Was it how they would all end up too, as ages would succeed one to the other? Like a living statue, as horrid as beautiful, so cold that even blood wouldn’t play the trick of humanity?

One would have assumed her glance to be as icy as the apparently frozen but graceful features of her face, but the tender blue of her hues seemed as welcoming as the hearth of a fire back home. It baffled the younger vampire to behold such a contrast. Such emotions seemed to transpire from her eyes, when her body language was terrifically neutral, that it was impossible not to understand her supernatural nature. And even if Gabrielle’s muscles tensed, ready to push them out of reach if only they had the time to foresee an attack, they remained on appearance perfectly stoic.

The only truly threatening thing about this newcomer seemed to be their powerful and low heartbeat, her dazzling and charming face now filled with vitality as she smiled. Her steps stopped at one arm length from Gabrielle, blue eyes wandering to old dusty boots to the large hat underneath which they had kept their braided hair hidden. Though not judgmental, the glance seemed to pass through the manlike frowzy attires, as if directly seeing Gabrielle’s soul. It was unsettling. To say the least. And before the woman’s lips parted to let a melodious, veiled voice cover the monstrous heart beats, a tremendous silence had seemed to quiet all the surroundings in a terrible wait.

“Don’t be afraid. It is curiosity that had led me on your path, and a sheer desire for friendship that made me follow your tracks. My name is Sevraine,” the Elder greeted, jovial from her voice to the bright glance she had fixed on Gabrielle.

They watched Sevraine quietly, all senses dedicated to the presence as if able to gauge the potential danger they represented at that very moment. Then, almost reluctantly, they took off their hat, and pressed it against their chest as they bowed gallantly.

“Gabriele is mine,” they said in Italian, just as they had once introduced themselves to their husband to be. A name often mistaken for a French feminine one. Well, it never truthfully irritated them, anyway.

Another silence settled itself between the two immortals, and the wind seemed to murmur harder in an attempt to break it. Bringing in its whirling the fresher scent of a dew that would never reach the floor, and the far murmurs of little birds. Dawn was coming close. Gabrielle could feel it underneath their skin, in an hour or so, the deadly sunbeams would flood the valley in gold. They would need to find a place to dig themselves under the ground before it happened, or else their blood would boil in their veins and their skin would dry before sticking to their bones and burn.

“I have a shelter, hidden deep in secret caverns,” Sevraine spoke again, sensing probably even better than Gabrielle the urge of regaining the darkness before sunrise. “Please, allow me to invite you in. There is much to hear from you, and I promise in return to answer your questions.”

The elegant Child of the Millenia opened an arm in a graceful gesture, pointing at the high reliefs of rocks and dust. With vigilant eyes, Gabrielle glanced the flawless hand, and a little further, the direction years of roaming had let to. They wondered a moment if following an Ancient on their diurnal lair was the wisest decision to make. Somewhere in their mind, Lestat’s voice arised, reminding them of his ardent seek for knowledge, for the story of their origins. The memories of Armand and his horrid coven mixed, and a thrill of warning went down their spine. But how could they refuse anything to such a powerful creature, that the even world seemed to appease itself in order to allow her supernatural heart to beat so loudly? Slowly, they nodded, placing their large hat back on their head.

“Lead the way,” they said, easing some of the tension that had built in their shoulders. After all, hadn’t she already led the game of cat and mouse all along? Sevraine gave a nod at her turn, but it was unclear whether she was agreeing with Gabrielle’s words or with their thoughts.

She led them down the valley, until a deep cave appeared half revealed by the moon’s glimmer. Gabrielle had some difficulties to find safe grips, their vampiric vision and strength tested at each new step, so much that it was more by instinct than anything else, that they found their way after Sevraine. Then, it was through a succession of tunnels physically testing to walk in that they dug deeper into darkness, finding their guide to wait after them at each tricky corner. Gladly, for it would have been a difficult thing for the younger vampire to find their way out, or in, without her.

“We are almost there,” she said quietly, as if answering a silent inquiring caught up in Gabrielle’s mind. And at the very difference of Armand’s intrusions, it didn’t feel bothersome. To be fully honest, they didn’t feel a thing, which was probably even more concerning.

Though, they found out pretty fast that Sevraine had spoken the truth, now discerning in the far depth of a larger cave, the glow of salving torchlight burning bright. So much ostentatious gold had been decorating what seemed to be an entry further into the shelter, that the light reflected on each stalactite, each cavity, each sharp rock was like the sun itself.

Gabrielle needed a short moment to ease their view, shortly stunned by the dazzlinness of the place, and its master. It was at that very moment, that the sneaky realisation of the situation caught them up. Once posed a foot further in the Golden caves, there would be no turning back. The Elder seemed to understand their hesitation, remaining for a silent moment as contemplative on the bright shapes as Gabrielle. They gave a nod, and walked further. Damned might they be if they didn’t take that chance to understand more about their nature and origins.

Entering Sevraine’s lair felt like walking in a Sanctuary, pompous from the wall to the ceiling covered in gold and ancient painting, to the severe faces of statues kept as everlasting guardians of the souls entering the cave. Candles cleverly placed here and there, rendered the whole place strangely welcoming and bright, the soft scent of melted wax and burning wick mixing with fresh draught smelling like dew. But the more baffling was yet to come, for at the very moment Gabrielle walked in a larger cave, their usual phlegm cracked in parted lips, opened on a silent expression of awe.

It was certainly the most wonderful cavern they had set foot in, outrageously wide, splendidly adorned with colored jewels and rocks, lightened by thousands of candles shining like stars all around. They wondered a moment how the flowers could be so vivid, so deep undergrounds, and whom were the figures she could catch here and there in small alcoves carved directly through the rock. Their eyes were drawn everywhere by discreet twinkles or colorful patterns, by trompe l’oeil paintings, movements of leaves dancing at the soft blows of wind… Beautiful, but unnecessary.

Down and down did Sevraine lead Gabrielle, their silent feet barely touching the steps that brought them both in a large marble court. There were others heart beats near, more discreet than the Elder’s one, more akin to the ones Gabrielle had perceived once in Armand’s catacombs. To whomever could they belong, not a face showed up yet, probably allowing the younger vampire to familiarise themselves with the place. Or perhaps it was because of the far call for slumber the coming sunrise chanted, the one they could very well feel weightening their breath and slowing their reflexes.

“Come, allow me to show you your room,” said Sevraine with her everlasting friendly soft voice.

Rooms. Many tunnels joined the principal ground, as it seemed, reminding again the hidden splendors of Derinkuyu. Gabrielle gave a nod, and followed as they did until then, through the labyrinthic succession of tunnels, opened places, and closed houses.

They entered one of them, dotted by a grand painting representing a window opened to the forest, and many more alcoves filled with burning candles. Sevraine gestured for them to enter first, and so they did, standing right in the middle of the unique room, breathing in the soft scents of green leaves falling as a cascade against a whole part of one wall, and the little nocturnal blooming flowers adorning them. A large bedding had been carved directly through the rock, many pillows and pelts giving to it an illusion of comfort, just as useless for Gabrielle, as the few apples they found on a table.

“This home is your home for as long as you wish,” Sevraine uttered softly, now sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Why?” Gabrielle couldn’t much restrain that sudden spark of curiosity, knowingly aware that nothing was truthfully free.

They remembered again of the damned coven composed of livid terrific creatures wearing black gaunt clothes and staining their hair with soil. They remembered how their covenmaster had begged for companionship in exchange of precious information, among others, the name of Those-Who-Must-Be-Kept that didn’t have any meaning to anyone of them.

“You heard about the Parents…” Sevraine seemed thoughtful, catching against Gabrielle’s will new spark of memories and secretive thoughts. “And you sought for more answers.”

“It is nothing more than legends told by a child.” they said, for that was what Armand had been : a cruel child, whose only beauty was his cherubic face and deep brown eyes. He had been rotten from the inside by his need for salvation. It wasn’t such a surprise, that the boy had believed such tattletales, just as an orphan would believe in the existence of loving parents somewhere in the world, ready to adopt them.

“I’ve met them.” The dreamy voice brought Gabrielle back from their remembrances, icy blue eyes now scrutinizing the friendly physiognomy of the Elder.

They couldn’t believe such words, of course, and even less coming from a creature seemingly that old. But soon, images intruded their brain, and in a split second, the room had disappeared to show a large golden throne chamber. They gasped, and made a step back, then another, colliding against an invisible table. Around them, the thick walls had become painted columns, the candles were now large indecent braseros aligned on each sides of a long and large nef. Human beings were all around on their knees, venerating what they seemed to take as their deities. Incense was probably burning somewhere, the warm and perfumed ambient air whirled by heavy feathered fans.

“It was a long time ago. A time of Queens and Pharaohs,” Sevraine continued along the shifting images.

On the very end of the nef, few steps led to two golden round thrones, on which two wonderful creatures of marble, onyx, silk and gold sat. The light reflected on their eyes on that very unnatural way vampiric eyes did, both of them wearing delicate lines of khol and gold. For a moment, Gabrielle stared at them with a sense of awe they rarely allowed themselves to experience. The man seemed peaceful, silent and immobile as another vampire murmured to his ear. His black hair made of pure ebony wearing a crown of linen and papyrus gave his handsome face a severe expression, and “the strength that emanated from him was enough to reduce anyone into sheer reverence.

“Enkil was the King of Kemet then. The Great King, already seen as Osiris by his loyal servants, and treated now as the personification of the God itself.”

But as much the handsome face of the man could spark admiration in one, it was nothing compared to the woman’s beauty. Her face was as delicate as porcelain dolls, her pale olivaceous skin covered with gold dust and heavy jewelry. Her long dark braided hair looked like snakes falling on her shoulders as Medusa’s tresses, and the tender pink of her lips seemed as delicate as rose petals, until they moved to form words in a dialect Gabrielle had never heard before, and showed in flash the tip of two deadly fangs. She had a certain look in her eyes which perplexed them the most. Just a little twinkle of rage, burning deep, deep into onyx. A shiver shook them, at the horrid realisation that the woman’s glance seemed barely human-like.

“She was Enkil’s Queen, and the very First of our kind. Akasha, bearer of the Sacred Core, Great Mother of all Vampires, calling herself Isis’s personification and demanding in exchange of her magical blood a blind servitude. And I, with my throat still filled with the liquid ecstasy of her Blood", would become her very first Priestess.”

Akasha… Enkil… The names rolled within Gabrielle’s mind as the vision vanished. Thus they were the very first ones of their species, walking among human beings as living Gods of Night and Blood. Where were they now? What would they look like? As shared between perfect immobility and lively moves? If being adored like Gods had been so important for them, why were there no tracks of them anywhere?

“What became of them?” they finally asked, daring to come closer to their Elder and sit by their side. Dawn was closer than ever, and yet, Gabrielle refused to let it show of their features. Trying to fool such an old creature was probably even more foolish, but they had learned soon enough to keep any show of weakness hidden.

“I promise you’ll have the answers to all of your questions as soon as dusk will rise. For now, we should part for the day to come and gather back later,” Sevraine softly stated, and Gabrielle could only nod gratefully, as they would pass out in an instant or another, even if she stayed there. She rose in a very elegant way, moving her aerial shape to the door from which she gave a light glance back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabrielle.” She bowed lightly, and disappeared in the shadows of the tunnel.

A small, sheepish smile twitched Gabrielle’s lips, as they peered through the door a moment, before laying on the bedding. Face covered with their hat and body now numbed by the forced slumber, they allowed the very last events to haunt their mind. Well, this seemed promising.

#2019 VC Secret Santa #VC #Vampire Chronicles #submission #amelthebravennian #cygnaut

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alicedrawslesmis · 5 years

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Davies Thoughts

it came out very long again

okay sorry I keep beating a dead horse here but for someone who claims they are not making the musical andrew davies feels like the les mis fandom was like right after watching the 2012 movie

Remember the 'Cosette stole Marius from Eponine" discourse? but once you read the book and you spend some time away from On My Own we realised Cosette hate is stupid, Eponine is not Marius' girlfriend, on my own is about shattering hope much like I dreamed a dream, Marius is just a mindless guy who doesn't notice his next door neighbours are living in extreme poverty nor does he think about Eponine in any way shape or form besides the information she can give him (and! if you think this is a shitty dynamic I agree! you can fix that in your writing but this is what the book says! so if you're gonna be accurate to the book you have to make Marius an idiot! or don't be accurate to the book and make him a better guy!)

bottom line is I really think Davies read the brick in such a superficial way, it feels like he speed-read his way through it and chose the """"sexy"""" parts, mixed them in with the musical and that's what we got

also I don't think he fully read the the digressions either tbh, the story is the heart but the digressions are the bones of the whole book, you can't separate them

About the lack of sex in the brick: I think it is super chaste, much more than your average Hugo work. But this book is Not About Sexual Intrigue! This book is chaste because it's a book about Revolution with a Capital Fucking R. It's about the Ideal, Beauty and Good and Justice, and Hugo made a swear to god choice to make the book more chaste than usual. His characters are mostly virgins and Explicitly Stated To Be Virgins In The Text. So Andrew, if you want to be true to "the psychology of the book" you Have To Talk About Revolution. You have to show that the endgame is to change the world for the better by revolting and not about sexual intrigue during a riot. It's not a riot. It's an uprising. VICTOR HUGO MAKES NO PLACE FOR SEX TO BE ON THE FOREGROUND WHEN THE STORY IS ABOUT THE IDEAL. THE PROOF IS IN EVERYTHING HE SAYS ABOUT ENJOLRAS.

Point is I think Davies has that image of the musical in his head from when he watched it in 1989 and never again, and he doesn't like it because it's a musical so -low artform-, and he read the book but was unable to separate the image he had of the musical from the book he was reading, so much that he missed the core of the story

and it baffles me truly because V Hugs is not subtle? Hugo states several times (I'd say too much even) what the point of this book is. And it's very much not about how everyone is a sexually repressed incel.

True to the book is Revolution, what Davies is doing is take some scenes from the book and remove it from it's political content. The musical is also kinda guilty of that, but at least Cosette gets a solo so I guess you win some, you lose some

I hate Davies' take on the story, I hate the BBC for whitewashing a book about social change into a feel-good period soap-opera that's "not a musical" meant to reassure people of how good we got now, and how shitty the past was. And I hate the way Les Mis has cemented itself in pop culture as a melodrama with Anne Hathaway.

So that's my stance I guess

#personal

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matthiaswarren · 5 years

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WHEN: October 12th, 2:39AM WHERE: Matthias’s apartment WHO: Self-para

The storm was in its final stages, though no restless soul in Verona would know that until the next day hit. It poured from the heavens, still, giving its all like a runner in their final stretch, sprinting towards the finish line before they ran out of steam completely, using every last drop of energy, creating every last drop of sweat. Drops of rain slammed against his windows, a beast tapping on the glass begging to be let in, the wooden frame that held the glass in place creaking in resistance. Below, water churned, as if he slept above the ocean, water crashing into one building before it flowed down the street towards the next, waves churning, growing angrier and angrier as they could not find the shore to peacefully fade out upon. The wind echoed the anger of the sparking seas below, whistling a horrific scream as it shot through alleyways, warning Verona: this is your reckoning. Judgment day is here. With the message it delivered the vapors from the water down below, carrying the humidity up and up and up, through the ducts and vents even as Matthias thought his apartment was too high up to succumb to the elements.

There was no mistaking nature demanding she be heard on this night, and Matthias certainly heard her, and no amount of force on the pillow shoved atop his head would drown her out.

He would sooner drown.

It was impossible to sleep when the world outside sounded like its own nightmare, no matter how heavy Matthias’s eyes drooped with the desire to close and how his mind yearned to shut off even for a few hours. With the elements warring outside his balcony with a fury that could only be housed in ever-dueling Verona, his body refused sleep, ready for war, itself. A frustrated groan vibrated from the back of his throat as he tossed to lay on his other side yet again, unsure of how many times he’d moved to the other side. He figured he was destined to spend the night like this, back and forth, back and forth, a pendulum of restlessness, a rocking horse of absent dreams. Matthias tried almost desperately to close his eyes the second the wind grew quiet for even the briefest of moments, hoping it would put him to sleep before the wind realized he was about to drift off and started up again, its sole desire tonight to keep his eyes open.

He had approximately three seconds of peace before the wind shrieked again and the water’s sloshing in the streets and the rain’s pounding upon his windows rose to meet it. This time, however, they uttered a different warning: Look who’s here. Blue eyes, red with exhaustion, slowly opened again, accompanied by a sigh. The room may have been fuzzy, the minimal amount of light allowed to peek through the cracks in his blinds didn’t help much either, but there was no denying what he saw beside his bed, first in his peripheral vision, then in his direct line of sight as he abruptly sat up to face the figure. What he thought was a cold sweat rapidly forming from jolting upright was really the cold metal of a pistol’s barrel against his skin. His gaze followed the finger resting on the trigger around to the hand around the grip, up Armani draped upon the arm, to stubble, to large, round eyes, to the villain he’d been waiting years to encounter.

Mikael Falco stood before Matthias Warren, holding a gun to his head, a wicked grin matching wild dark eyes.

He imagined this is how his enemy held the gun to his father all those years ago. He imagined this was the grin he wore as he pulled the trigger. He imagined these were the eyes full of blood lust that watched his father’s body crumple to the ground. Matthias felt rage inside of him howling like the winds outside, eagerness to do that which he has been desiring for years pounding within like the rain upon his window, and yet confusion flooding like the streets below. There were a lot of things he could say to Mikael right now, faced with this demon before him. How did you get into my apartment was a good start. Why did you kill my father was fairly direct. You’re a dead man waking, but not for long was extremely direct. He didn’t get to say any of these, not at first, as his attention was diverted to a laugh from Mikael, a deeper sound from the back of his throat than Matthias had probably ever heard of him years ago.

“You’re so pathetic, Matthias,” he stated, head tilting to the side ever so slightly, words slow and deliberate, every syllable meant to be felt, meant to be taken in to rot with the grief that sat in the Montague’s stomach.

“Fuck off, villain,” Matthias hissed through clenched teeth, though he dared not move with the presence of a bullet mere inches from his head, nestled soundly in the barrel, waiting for instruction to fly free into Matthias’s skull. “I don’t know how you got in here, but you’re not leaving this room alive.”

“No, it’s my turn to speak.” Mikael was always so good at running his mouth, after all. “As I was saying, you are so fucking pathetic. “All these years, and you still haven’t gotten your way, huh? It should be pretty damn easy to kill me, especially when you spend half your fucking time in Capulet territory – oh, don’t think I don’t notice. You’re built like a brick shithouse, Matty. You couldn’t be subtle if your life depended on it. Now, maybe it does.” He cocked the weapon, the slow click heard as he took his time pulling back the hammer with his thumb. “You have all the answers, and yet, nothing. All those files, all those years of planning, and for what? For me to end it all with a nice little bang? For your neighbors to think it was just the storm making a racket? You’re a sad excuse of a man, Warren. You couldn’t even do the one thing you came back to Verona to do, and why?” Mikael gasped dramatically. “Are you scared?”

Matthias wasn’t scared, but perhaps he was uncertain. Of what came next after Mikael was put in the ground. Of what he was supposed to do once revenge stopped ruling his life and guiding his hand. Truly, who was Matthias Warren without his father? Without the man to follow, he devoted years to revenge for that man, and once the cold dish had been served, when the plate was clean, what was Matthias to do? Shaking away the thoughts, he warned, “Shut up,” a guttural, almost growl-like sound pronouncing the syllables from deep within, smoke from the fiery anger burning within.

“Good one, Warren.” Mikael replied with a chuckle before emitting a quieter sigh. “Warren,” he repeated. “Yeah, you know, come to think of it, you look just how he did – well, the second before he died. Marius Warren, that is. Though, he was more shocked, caught off guard, more like how you were moments ago. Oh, you should have seen your face, Matty. You looked like you saw the fucking ghost of Christmas past! But now, you’re pissed. And for what?”

“You know what,” he spat.

“I do. What, do you need to hear me say it?” Mikael lowered the gun and began to pace in the space in front of Matthias’s bed, gesturing with his hands as if they didn’t contain a loaded weapon. “I killed Marius Warren. I killed that son of a bitch as he walked out of the bar that day, and let me tell you he was too busy looking into the bottom of a bottle to solve his problems to know what was coming. It was pathetic. Just like you, wasting all your damn time chasing down the past. You know, I guess you are just like your father. That’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear, right?”

He was right, that was all Matthias wanted to hear. But sweet words that he once longed to hear hit him with a bitter and acidic taste, instead, coming from the lips of this man. All he’d ever wanted was to be compared to his father. All he’d ever craved was to be even slightly as great as Marius Warren had been, to have stories like his father’s to pass down to his sons, to become someone they could look up to, as well. The Warren name had always been one he wore with pride, and yet tonight, facing the man who took the reason for its prideful connotations away from Matthias, it was coated in a sense of shame, of uncertainty, of fear for its future.

“You’re both sad excuses for space, born to die thinking you are dying for such a noble cause only to end up in hell like the rest of the sinners, forced to face consequences for your actions. You’re just like him, alright, and you’re gonna end up just like him, too. Your body will hit the ground with the same giant-ass thud, and the world will remember you as nothing more than a shadow of–”

Mikael had been pacing for too long, had gotten caught up in his own movie villain-style monologue that held a much darker twist as it stood before a sleep-deprived and drugged-up Matthias with a gun in view. Matthias saw it as his chance, though, to strike, to disarm his opponent, to finally get the revenge he had hungered for, to feed the starving ache in his belly, and perhaps to finally get a word in edgewise. Launching himself from the bed, Matthias ran at Mikael, a shout roaring from his chest as he opened his arms to tackle the other man, as he leaned his body weight full force–

Only for Mikael to disappear out of thin air, a ghost, a man-shaped mist vanishing, a mirage fading from view when he was just close enough to capture it. Unable to stop his momentum or even realize what had happened, Matthias collided with his dresser, the sheer force of his anger sending both himself and the furniture toppling to the floor. Mikael – or whatever that was – was right about a thud, but at least he’d survived when he made this one, though the shooting pain up his shoulder told him it was not without cost. The rain had settled back to the drizzle it produced earlier that day, the wind’s volume reduced to a whisper, but the water in the streets continued to churn, saying, You are a product of your nightmares.

#p: self #e: the storm #d: oct 12 #l: apartment #remember the times i've said my replies have gotten long #well this one GOT LONG #the only ic thing about mikael here is that he still doesn't shut up

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theodoragottwald · 6 years

Text

O Brother, O Sister

Marius was dying.

Bloody and shaking, he lay in Theo’s arms, his cloudy green eyes going flat as the life left him. Theo was screaming, clutching him to her, trying to shake him back to life, but to no avail. He raised a trembling hand toward her face, but it fell limp before it could reach her.

Blood, blood everywhere.

Blood of mine, blood of mine.

Gilnean blood spilled on Lordaeronian soil. History repeating itself, looping and looping, over and over.

Theo woke up.

She was soaked with sweat. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Beside her, Henrietta continued to sleep soundly, curled up in the blankets like a cat. Several real cats stirred at Theo’s outburst, low purrs and mewls asking her in their own language what was wrong. Hecate hopped up into her lap, waving her tail in the witch’s face.

Just a dream. It was just a dream.

But dreams were never just dreams for a Gottwald. It had felt too real, had been too intense to just be a passing night horror. She’d had a vision; of this she was sure. She’d been keeping an eye on the stars and reading her tea leaves almost every day. She knew what was coming.

War.

Theo bowed her head and steadied her breathing, calming the beast in her veins that threatened to tear loose in her wild fear. Her heart came slowly to a normal rhythm and the terror that gripped her began to recede.

But her certainty went nowhere. War was coming, rushing to meet her, and for once, she could not turn tail and run from it. Having found her brother and knowing full well that he would be on the front lines, she couldn’t ignore this war. Especially not after having such a visceral, horrifying vision of his death.

Theo rose and lit a few candles in the wagon. She hunted down paper and quills and began writing out letters in her jagged, misspelled handwriting. The sun was beginning to rise by the time she finished, but she couldn’t return to sleep, not yet. She had far too much to do.

As soon as it was fully light outside, she and Henry set off to mail the letters. The first was to Sera, asking that she please come to Stormwind and pick up Henry to stay with her while Theo was away. The second was to a contact in Booty Bay to come pick up the horses and the wagon, as Theo disliked the way the stars over Stormwind looked and didn’t want to leave them there. The third was to Marius, begging that he give his deployment location and orders as soon as possible so that Theo could get to him immediately.

Her letters sent, there was nothing left to do but wait.

The city was abuzz as they made their way through the streets. Word of skirmishes and movements in Ashenvale and Darkshore was leaping from mouth to ear all around them. Teldrassil was in danger, this much was certain.

Had it really been so long since she had been there? Had she been in Stormwind this long after all?

Theo hurried along to the Mage Quarter, where her shop stood. It wouldn’t be opening today, or any time soon for that matter. She found a board and a hammer and nailed it over the door, then proceeded to paint “CLOSED - WAR” on the board. She took down the hand-painted sign for the storefront and took it with her as she and Henry made their way back to the cemetery.

They returned to their wagon, locked themselves inside, and waited.

Sera arrived in Stormwind three days later. She embraced Theo and knelt to ruffle Henry’s curls, gushing over how big she was getting.

“She’ll be like one of my own,” she assured Theo. “Besides, she looks more like me than she does you.”

Theo rolled her eyes, but in truth she was holding back tears. She hated being away from her baby, regardless of who was keeping her. She hugged Henry tight and told her to mind her manners for her aunt while she was gone and that she would be right back to her, as soon as she could. Henry, for all her silence and stoicism, sniffled and pouted at her mother, but nodded firmly that she understood.

Theo watched them leave, an ache ringing in her chest, but she knew she was doing the right thing.

The man from Booty Bay arrived the next day. He fretted over Patsy in particular, unsure the old nag would make the journey south, but Theo assured him over and over that the gelding would be around longer than any of them. She paid him double what she had previously agreed to, if only to make sure the horses could get the best care while on the road.

She hugged both of her horses goodbye. Patsy was all but blind by now, standing stock still as she rubbed his neck. Midnight was more concerned, having nearly bitten the man’s hand off while being hitched up, but she soothed him and promised she’d be right back to him, swift as she could.

Theo watched them leave also, the ache in her chest growing, as well as the feeling that she was doing the right thing.

Left with nowhere to stay, she rented a room in Old Town and waited. She stared out the window, pleading with the stars to change their course, to show her something less menacing.

The stars did not heed her call.

#ITS TIME LADS #ill post the other half to this when lordaeron drops >:)#her brother #her sister

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talesfromfeldia · 7 years

Text

Chapter 1

The morning feels more hectic than it should.

Damien knew this day was coming, had been planning for it for weeks, but now it’s here and now it feels all so odd. Perhaps it was the dream -- waking up from a nightmare is never pleasant -- but nonetheless the world seems off, as if he’s still in a haze, still asleep.

As if that dream was more than just a dream.

But that’s not a concern for the time, he has responsibilities to take care of before he can ponder the many wonders of the subconsciousness. Reality first and foremost.

“Do you have everything Damien?” his mother had asked some hours later.

Damien tore his eyes away from the crest on the wall. “Yes,” he said, shouldering his pack. He’d checked it a dozen times already, and the servants had checked it a dozen more. He had everything necessary for his travels, and then some. “Enough to hold me off for two weeks, maybe three if I eat a little less. I’m ready to go whenever the stablemaster readies my horse.”

“You’re sure? Everything? You’ve got your oil for your lamp, and the whetstone for your sword?”

“Yes mother.”

“And what about your map? Have you got it? I know the roads are marked but it doesn’t hurt to have a map on hand you know.”

“Yes, I have my map.”

“And what about--”

“Mother, please,” Damien said, waving away her concerns with a reassuring smile. “I’ve got everything, I promise. It’s not even that long a ride. If anything just pray that the weather is fair and the horse doesn’t give out from under me.”

Even with his reassuring words Damien’s mother still comes up and looks him over, checking his padding for the slightest nicks and tears underneath the chainmail, and his hair for the slightest unkept tuff. There’s a maternal concern in her gaze and even if Damien wants to swat her away, he doesn’t. He can’t help it if his mother cares about the little things, and he would never hold it against her. He is, after all, leaving the nest, decked out in armor and prepared for a fight. No mother wants to see her son like that. But they have little choice.

His mother’s eyes meet his, and she smiles.

“My little boy,” she smiled, pulling him into a hug. “You look so handsome in your armor! Your father would be proud.”

Damien hugs her back, and lies through his teeth. “I know.”

“You won’t be long will you? The queen shouldn’t keep you very long. It’s only a week, right? There’s no reason for you to stay any longer.”

Damien pulls away and simply shakes his head. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Oh I’m sure you will, it’ll just be a rough few weeks. I wish you didn’t need to go at all.”

“I do too, but the queen demands it, and we know better than to disrespect the queen.” With the whole nation sitting on the brink of war the slightest hint of disobedience would be treasonous, and disastrous. In times of peace perhaps he could refuse the invitation... but this is not one of those times. It’s the time for action. Action that demands the attention of all the noble families, including House Eldren. “I promise you, I won’t be long.”

“Will you bring us something from the capital? I haven’t been in so long I’ve forgotten all the things they have there. I’ll give you a little extra coin and you can get a nice coat for your sister.”

“Which one?”

“Oh, Tanelia. She’s finally growing out of her first coat, the wee thing. It’s amazing how much bigger she’s gotten over the last few months. I think she’d rather like a coat of fine wool from the capital, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure she would mother, but I really must go. I’ll get something for everyone while I’m there, okay?”

“Alright. Oh! And there should be a lad waiting for you out by the stables, make sure you grab him.”

“A... what?”

“A lad, small boy, half-elven although a little too round in the face. Anyway, he’s your squire.”

“Squire? Why do I need a squire?”

“Aydia absolutely demanded that you travel with someone. It’s a long ride to Crystalgate after all, and I suppose she didn’t trust you to pull yourself out of a ditch.” A last minute change that Damien would have been happy to know about sooner, but fine.

He resolves with a sigh and a roll of the eyes. “Ever the protective sister I see.”

“She’s just keeping an eye out for her little brother.”

“I’m not little anymore.”

“But you’re still her brother. Now hush, go on out and talk to the stablemaster. Find the boy and be on your way. It would be in poor manners if you showed up late to Crystalgate.”

“People are going to wonder why I’m riding around with a boy at my heels, mother!” Damien said over his shoulder, already making his way to the door. He’d spent enough time lollygagging, the sun was high and he was burning daylight. A talk with his mother was nice, but he had a responsibility that he couldn’t hold off any longer.

“Don’t fuss about it!” he heard his mother respond, just as he stepped out the door into the blooming sunlight. The day was shining, nature bustling. Birds chirped in the high tree tops and little creatures bolted to-and-fro. Graveskeep was ever active.

When one stepped out the door there was a long stretch of land maimed by stone structures and wooden buildings, most used for the training, housing, and the arming of soldiers. Around this enclosure were thick, stone walls, accented by a metal gate at the very entrance. Men marched those walls from dawn to dusk, and then some. For a time patrols had been left to only one or two, but in recent weeks that number had grown. They had no choice.

Those who lived just outside the castle walls were going about their early morning routines. Farmers lead oxen to the fields, woodcutters lugged trees in from the thick woods, and the occasional child stumbled by. This village was the very foundation of the keep. If not for them then the guards would no have food, clothing, and no firewood. Likewise, if not for the guards then the villagers would have no protection. The wild might take them, if not the war on their doorstep.

And to think this was only a small fraction of the whole duchy.

Damien made his way over to the stables, where the finest horses were kept for nobility and guardsmen alike. “Stablemaster!” he called as he stepped through the door. Someone immediately turned to look at him: a bearded man with wrinkles at the edge of his eyes.

“Oh. Good morrow your grace, I’ve prepared your horse.”

“Good, I’ll need to leave at once.”

“Yes of course, I’ll bring him right out for you. Please wait outside.”

Damien stepped out of the stables and waited. The stablemaster quickly arrived with a horse in tow, as well as another individual. It took Damien about two seconds too long to realize the man dressed in leather armor was his supposed squire.

“This is our finest steed your grace. He’s trained well, knows his way around rough terrain and a long day’s travel. If nothing goes wrong then I’d wager you’ll arrive at Crystalgate within a week and a half.”

“Thank you stablemaster,” Damien said as he took the reigns. Then he looked to the new face, supposedly his squire. “Who are you?”

“Marius Falner.”

“Do you plan to tend to me the entire trip, Marius?”

“Yes your grace. Your sister asked it of me, and I wouldn’t go back on my word.”

“It will be long travels.”

“I’ve traveled far and wide, I assure you I will be okay.”

“Do you already have your things?”

“Yes. I’m ready to go when you are.”

“Fine then. Stablemaster, fetch the man a horse. Then we’ll be off.”

“Yes your grace,” the stablemaster said before he disappeared back into the stables.

Damien took the moment to adjust his things, making sure the bags along the saddle were nice and secure, and that the saddle itself was on tight. Once he ran out of things to tinker with however, it went back to relative silence. He took a moment to look over his “squire.”

This boy was not nearly as much of a boy as Damien had expected him to be. With the way his mother had went about describing him it sounded like he was hardly fourteen, perhaps younger. But this man was easily in his early twenties, if only a few years away from achieving knighthood should he strive for it. His hair was long and pulled back, and his face adorned light stubble. While in his armor and with his build one might even confuse him for a full fledged knight. Still, Damien can’t help but glance at the ears. Face a tad too rounded for sure.

It’s a wonder why his sister picked him of all people.

The stablemaster took another moment before he returned with the horse. Thanks were exchanged along with a handful of other words, and then they were off.

The horses were tended to, the fire was stroked. The only light came from the hovering moon and the blaze. Damien had already rolled out his bedroll, as did Marius, and now they prepared for a simple night of slumber. With any luck, it would be an easy night.

“I’ll take first watch,” Damien said as he reached into his pack and pulled out his journal.

“If you wish,” Marius said as he pulled off his mail. He placed his armor to the side before laying down in his bedroll. It only took a passing moment before he slipped into slumber. Considering the long day of travel, Damien was not surprised.

Ink and feather in hand, Damien pressed the tip to the page and started to write:

Day one, entry one.

My journey to Crystalgate has begun. I’ve found myself in the company of a squire by the name of Marius Falner. He’s half-elven, though undoubtedly human by name, and by appearance. If not for the ears I might not have known any better.

Apparently he was brought on by Aydia. I can only wonder how they know each other. Nonetheless, I’ve found myself in the particular position of having to travel with him. It’s something I would have much rather avoided, but it can’t be helped. It’s for my own good.

The first day has gone well enough. Rations are fresh and the horses are eager to get a good ride in. I’m just happy to be out of Graveskeep. Being in charge of an entire duchy is... intimidating, even if I’ve split the land between myself and my sisters it’s still difficult job. With dad gone and me old enough to be considered a man I’m the figurehead. I’m the one who has to deal with all the other families, making alliances and breaking alliances. It’s... not easy.

Just leaving Graveskeep has made me so awfully aware of how many lives are in my hands. And with this war drawing closer and closer by the day... at this point it’s hard to say if we’re even at peace anymore... things are only going to get worse. I’m not quite sure if I’m ready for it yet.

But if my father heard me saying that now he’d slap me upside the head, so I’ll holld my tongue.

With any luck we’ll arrive at Crystalgate within a week and a half.

Let’s hope the gods are kind.

Damien presses the feather against the page and then closes the journal. He tucks it away in his pack before turning his gaze to the fire. There are many more hours to come.

All he can do is sit and wait.

#chapter 1;

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