#night shots in the stand of the sentinels area!

[hzdtrees]

Beneath the canopy

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Apocrypha (3x16)

The ambulance doors fling open and for a split second, it's déjà vu for Luis Cardinal. A flash of red hair and those eyes, the same eyes… only these aren’t taken by surprise, barely registering death before they close. This time they are directed at him in anger.

Back in Nicaragua, death was a way of life. He’d spent most of his days chasing his older brothers, engaged in target practice, pretending they were Contras. His mother always called him cumiche, the baby. Her baby. 

But he doesn’t think about her anymore.

By the time he was in his mid-twenties he’d surpassed both of his brothers, having become exactly what he’d trained for. And when he arrived in the United States, having been enrolled in the School of the Americas, he’d required little training as a marksman. In fact, his skills in that area were exactly what had drawn the Smoker to him. He’d been the one to pluck him out of a lineup, take him under his wing, and erase his history. Just in time, too; it happened mere months before the feds required the human rights background checks he would certainly not pass.

He didn’t make mistakes back at Fort Moore. But here and now on his own as a mercenary, he has made far too many. First the Scully woman, then the Assistant Director. 

He’s come here to rectify his error in the restaurant; now is his chance to finish the job. Because the man he works for does not tolerate mistakes. And perhaps that’s what’s made him reckless now, as he fires wildly into the vehicle and misses. 

Luis flees, something he’s gotten used to doing. Working in the shadows as a cipher makes it a necessity. The redhead gives chase, and if not for an ill-timed car pulling out in front of him, he might very well have escaped on foot. But his legs ache, and his back… his back feels like it’s been stabbed with a thousand machetes.

“Federal Agent, stop right there!”

He collapses, unable to bear the pain. 

“Are you Luis Cardinal?!” she screams, her gun pointed directly into his face. Then, louder: “Are you Luis Cardinal?”

Luis Cardinal. His name sounds unfamiliar now. This is not who he is anymore, this is the name of the boy who chased his brothers through the streets, whose mother cradled him at night and kissed his head, calling him her cumiche.

No. He doesn’t think about his mother anymore.

“Are you the man who shot my sister?”

The Scully woman is not simply angry, she’s unhinged. A woman with a vendetta. And there’s a small part of him that understands;  it’s the part of him that, prior to working for the Smoker, had never been asked to shoot an innocent woman in cold blood before.

But the adrenaline is coursing through his veins, pushing towards the forefront of his mind the singular thought of a survivor: I don’t want to die.

The Smoker has made it clear he no longer trusts Alex Krycek. For years it seems Krycek was poised to be his right-hand man, but since that’s no longer the case, now is Luis’s chance to throw his counterpart to the wolves.

“You want Krycek,” he tells her. He was there, after all. It’s a last-ditch effort, and he’s not entirely sure it will even work. All she has to do is pull the trigger. But the Scully woman shows something he never does: restraint. It’s probably the only reason he’s still alive.

The officers arrive, slapping cuffs on his wrists, and he is caught. His third mistake. The Smoker will not be pleased.

Luis sits in a cold holding cell for what feels like an eternity, but most likely is only a couple of hours. It’s strange how time has no meaning when your death is imminent.

Eventually, the Smoker arrives, a carcinogenic cloud following him the way it always does. Luis crosses himself like a reflex; it’s something he has not done in years. He wonders how God will judge him, something he also has not done in years.

For the first time Luis notices Alex Krycek is standing behind the Smoker, unusually stiff, like a sentinel. Just as earlier, there’s something not quite right about him, but Luis has no time to worry about that. He has no time for anything, not anymore.

The Smoker comes up close to the bars, exhales a plume of smoke between them. “I have no use for men who make mistakes,” he says coldly. He unlocks and opens the cell door, and Krycek advances wordlessly. 

There is no time for pleas or arguments. A cord is wrapped around Luis’s throat, and he gasps wildly for air. All he sees is the Smoker standing back in the shadows, like Death himself. 

It’s not what he wants to see before he welcomes death. He closes his eyes and the last thing he sees is his mother. He waits for her to hold him close, to whisper cumiche.

She does not.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Ao3

@admiralty-xfd

[ashtarels-archives]

Traversing Tel'anor: Heroes of Old Kalimdor

Tel'anor, the gravesite of old Kaldorei heroes, still stands as a beacon of ancestral reverence. Many plaques here are illegible, but some have withstood the sands of time and grant us an insight to those who played important roles in the War of the Ancients, or had a lasting impact on Kaldorei culture.

General Startalon:

Thaedris Feathersong tells us that Startalon was commander of the Suramar hippogryph riders during the War of the Ancients, and that Thaedris meditates near his grave for guidance. Startalon's existence implies that companionship with hippogryphs is a long-standing practice in Kaldorei culture, and these aerial units were likely extremely useful in the battle against the demons - especially when facing felbats and the like.

While Startalon possessed a legendary affinity for commanding, the actual seeds of trust sown between Kaldorei and hippogryph are likely owed to Dorendil Wildcaller below.

Dorendil Wildcaller:

His plaque reads: "Nature and society called to him alike, and he was one of the first to speak with the hippogryphs. His legacy lives on in our eternal kinship with them."

The quest [Forces of Nature] speaks of a legend that "they were created by Cenarius himself as a gift for the night elves. They're wary of other races, but they're intelligent enough to recognize a friend of a friend."

Perhaps Dorendil was an ancient Druid or hunter who proved himself a worthy ally of Cenarius and the forests, and gained the trust of these mystical creatures.

Likely not intended, but if we convert his name to Darnassian "Dor" + "endil" it would mean something similar to "wild-killed/killer." This could also be a mixture between "Doren" + "diel" or "wild journey." His name could simply be "Doren" meaning "wild/feral" + a simple Kaldorei suffix like "dil."

Lilyiana Meadowblade:

Her plaque reads: "Her blade was second to none, and flowed through her foes like a blade of grass dances in the wind."

She is situated across from Dorendil Wildcaller's memorial; though whether they are related in some way is unknown.

A legendary warrior, it could be that her surname was given to her in representation of her skills with a blade, rather than one passed down from family. She could have been an armswoman of legend whose blade was compared to a blade of grass poetically, or she could have possessed some mixture between melee prowess and druidic affinity if we see these words in a more literal sense.

Aelynn and Banlorus Truecaller:

Their joint-plaque reads: "Brave Aelynn and noble Banlorus ruled the battlefields and courts alike. They fell as they lived, protecting our people from threats on all sides."

The wording of this plaque leads me to believe that Aelynn was likely a renowned warrior, and Banlorus was perhaps a magus, noble, or other person of high status who held some political sway in the Kaldorei Empire. Their involvement in "the courts" could be more social, Highborne courts of old, or possibly areas of law and justice.

Ultimately, the War of the Ancients claimed both of their lives.

The Windstriker Family:

Their plaque reads: "Marksmen without peer, their skill with a bow was an inspiration to generations of archers. Their family developed the gauntlets the Sentinels wear, carefully articulated mail links that empower our archers to this day."

I'm unsure what these gauntlets really are, as I haven't seen mention of them in regards to the modern-day Sentinel army. Maybe these were protective arm-guards with bracers and finger-tabs that allowed for comfortable and precise shots, or maybe they were more ornamental considering that military status before the Sundering was a mere title often linked to nobility. Another possibility is that some long-forgotten archery enchantment of the Highborne was intrinsically tied to the Windstriker gauntlets, and is now lost to the ages.

They could have been a staple in Pre-Sundering Sentinel regalia, but the method of craftsmanship/spellwork either did not survive the war or was abandoned when the order was revived by Tyrande Whisperwind.

Arnaera:

Perhaps the most peculiar of them all, Arnaera's plaque reads: "In service to a mythical cause, they were a shining gem to our people, giving aid where they could in assisting the populace. Alas, the hammer fell and Arnaera made a journey west. They were reborn in winter's heart, and their grand design continues."

This entry is extremely vague, and this grave lies on the outskirts of Tel'anor, down a hillside. This could be a reference to the Hammer of Khaz'goroth, or it could be a metaphor for something else entirely. The rebirth in winter's heart could be the ancient Highborne settlement of Shandaral, Winterspring, Northrend, or their soul going to Ardenweald.

What do you make of Arnaera's story?

Latara Feathersong:

Latara's plaque reads: "A huntress of the Sentinels, she led the vanguard in many campaigns. Her bravery and compassion were endless."

She is the wife of Thaedris Feathersong, a Nightfallen we meet in Tel'anor who, after 10,000 years of isolation, seeks to free her spirit and reunite with her in the afterlife.

During the quest [The Final Ingredient] we retrieve her bow, which "glows with a faint white light" and "has potent magic in it" according to Thaedris. This could be a lingering blessing from Elune, materializing in a silvery bowstring.

After we kill the harpy matriarch terrorizing the graveyard, Thaedris says, "It is done. Latara, my love. I will continue to fight for you. For us."

Upon completing the questline proper he is given renewed hope, "I thank you for giving me newfound purpose. I will meet you at Shal'Aran. I think I will be needing a source of magic, after all."

[pretchatta]

swoon june day 9: fairy tales

loosely based on the greek myth of orpheus and eurydice

rating: general (warning for character death); kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.5k words

---

There once lived a man who was blessed by the gods, and his name was Kanan.

Kanan was one of the Kasminauts, the fabled heroes who travelled with Janus to retrieve the Golden Flight. His skill with a blade was considerable and helped the group out of many a tight corner over the course of their quest, but it was his silver tongue that proved to be his most valuable asset.

Kanan’s divine gift had been bestowed upon him by Depa, goddess of the spoken word, and his was the gift of storytelling. When Kanan began a tale, all would stop in their tracks to listen. Men would pause in their work; beasts of the forest both great and timid would emerge from their dens; even the trees would inch closer to hear him. It was his way with words that allowed the Kasminauts to pass the Golden Flight’s devaronian guard, Jondo, as well as surmount countless other obstacles on their journey.

When their quest came to an end and the heroes returned home, Kanan decided to settle down. He found a cottage at the edge of a forest and he made it his home. Now this forest was not an ordinary forest, for it was inhabited by a clan of twi’lek nymphs, and it was during a walk along the forest’s border that Kanan’s ears caught the sound of the loveliest voice he’d ever heard. Enraptured, he sought out its source, and that was how he met Hera.

Hera was the daughter of Cham, the leader of the forest twi’lek. Her beauty and grace were indescribable, and Kanan fell in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. From that day he would come to the forest every morning to tell Hera one of his many magical tales, hoping to win her affections. What he didn’t know was that Hera already returned his feelings; she had heard of Kanan and his silver tongue, but wanted to see how far he would go for her.

The first tale he told was of an ancient order of noble warriors. His words painted pictures of elegant figures in flowing robes protecting the weak and caring for the needy. In his attempt to impress Hera he made it his best performance to date. So inspiring were his words that the forest itself felt inclined to grow. The trees pushed their roots further than they’d expanded in years and new saplings shot up in every direction, increasing the area the forest protected.

Kanan’s second tale was a tragedy, one of betrayal and loss and hardship. He made this one even better than his last, delving into his deepest reserves of emotion as he told it. So moving were his words that the ground itself wept. A new stream sprang from the forest floor, feeding the forest’s new growth, and the trees grew lusher than ever.

His third tale was of new beginnings, describing friendships forged and purpose found. His voice soared with his most powerful story yet and carried through the whole forest, uplifting every beast and being who heard it. That night there was much celebrating, with everyone who lived in those woods rejoicing in the life they had and the ones they shared it with, and by the following morning the forest’s population was inexplicably larger.

Hera, seeing her home revitalised and strengthened by Kanan’s tales, held no doubts in her mind of his devotion. She revealed her heart to him and they were married in a beautiful ceremony by the stream. The wedding was well-attended, with music and dancing from her people, drinking and laughter from the Kasminauts, and a special performance from Chopper, a bird that Hera had once nursed to health and who had stayed with her ever since. Kanan and Hera moved into the cottage at the edge of the forest, and they were blissfully happy together.

But it was not to last.

They were not the only ones who lived by the forest, and a man by the name of Azmorigan also desired Hera. His covetous feelings drove him to pursue her relentlessly, but never within sight of Kanan. One day, he waited for Hera to take her daily walk outside of the cottage and snuck up behind her. Hera, having been raised in the forest and knowing its sounds like her own heartbeat, heard Azmorigan approaching. She fled before he could touch her, but in her haste to escape, she did not watch her step. Her foot fell on the back of a ysalamiri lizard and it bit her ankle. The lizard’s lifeforce-suppressing venom seeped into her blood, and Hera fell to the ground.

Azmorigan fled, and it was evening before Kanan came to look for his wife. The man of such beautiful words was silent when he found her lifeless body. He was silent as he carried her back to the home they had shared, and the silence stretched for three days and three nights. Trees wilted, birdsong was half-hearted, and instruments would not hold their tune without Kanan’s words to lift spirits.

Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, Kanan re-emerged. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn on his voyage with the Kasminauts, with his sword strapped to his hip and a small travelling bag slung over his back. He said not a word as he departed for the hills.

Kanan’s journey was a long one. He travelled out of the forest and over the hills, through fields and between mountains until he reached the sea. He took a boat and sailed over the horizon and beyond, until he found land again. He crossed arid deserts, frozen tundra and lush jungle. He saw fishing villages, market towns and cities in the clouds, but he never stopped, and he never spoke.

Eventually, he reached the cliffs at the edge of the world. There he found a cave, an opening that descended into darkness, which he entered without hesitation. The tunnel took him deep underground and far away from the land of the living. He walked, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, until he reached a gate. Standing before the gate was a fearsome sentinel, the honourable guardian Garazeb, his eyes wide and alert.

It was now that Kanan finally broke his silence.

“I wish to pass into the Land of the Dead,” he said softly.

“That is forbidden,” Garazeb growled, his deep voice like grinding rocks. “Only the dead may pass this gate. As long as I stand guard here, no living thing shall pass me, in or out.”

Kanan thought for a moment. “Very well. Then perhaps I could make your endless watch a little less dull. For I am Kanan, a storyteller of great renown.”

Garazeb did not respond, merely fixing Kanan with a stony stare, but he was not deterred.

Kanan began his tale. For the gate guardian who saw people from all walks of life pass him on their way to the Underworld, he recounted long marches to battle, legions of feet falling in step, their thunder echoing around them. He drew his sword to emphasize his words as he described endless repetitive days of marching, camping, marching, camping, always surrounded by the same faces. Garazeb’s eyes followed the blade as he swept it from side to side in an almost hypnotic fashion, drawing the same shapes over and over. Soon, the mighty guard’s eyelids began to droop. Kanan did not end his story until Garazeb finally slumped back against the wall, slid down to the ground and let out a deep, rumbling snore.

Silent once more, Kanan stepped over the sleeping sentinel and passed through the gate. He shivered as he felt the change in the air that signified he had done what no other living mortal had done: he had walked into the Land of the Dead, the World Between Worlds, the Underworld. Only his blessing from Depa protected him from Death’s icy embrace here.

The tunnel continued onwards, filled with chill, damp air, and Kanan with it. As he walked he became aware of a distant noise, a rushing, roaring sound that grew steadily louder as he proceeded. The tunnel turned a corner and Kanan emerged into an enormous cavern through the center of which thundered a wide river.

On the near shore, where the rocks were wet with spray, a man waited with a boat. Kanan approached him and spoke once more.

“I wish to cross the River of Souls.”

The man looked at Kanan. His face was young, but his eyes were old, and his expression was as cold as the waters of the river.

“I only ferry the dead over this river, and only in one direction.”

“Has anyone living ever asked you for passage?” Kanan challenged.

The man narrowed his eyes. “No. Garazeb does not allow them to pass the gate.”

“So why would you not take me across? I have made it this far, after all.”

“This river washes away all souls who are not worthy of eternal life in the fields beyond,” said the boatman. “If you attempt to cross and are not worthy, you too will be washed away into nothingness.”

“That is a risk I am willing to take.”

“Hm.” The boatman considered Kanan. “Then you will pay me for your passage. I ferry the dead for free because they have nothing, not even their lives, but this is not the case with you. What can you offer?”

After his long journey Kanan had only the barest of essentials, but he knew that what he needed he always carried with him.

“I have no money with me, but I am known for my skill with words,” he told the boatman. “I doubt you have much cause for joy down here; if I can make you smile, will that cover my trip?”

“I suppose it will. But I cannot remember the last time I smiled, and you will not be able to change that.”

“We shall see. Before I begin my story, might I have your name?” Kanan asked.

“I am Ezra, bridger of the River of Souls,” the boatman replied.

Kanan began yet another tale. For the man who had companions every day but not a single one who would stay with him, Kanan told a tale of families, of belonging, of love. His words brought warmth into the air that was chilled by the river’s spray, and light into the cavern that was out of reach of the sun. When he reached the part of the story where the father went back for his son, the corners of the boatman’s mouth twitched upwards.

When Kanan pointed it out, the boatman grumbled. “It was barely a smile. More of a spasm. Doesn’t count. But I’ll suppose I’ll allow you over. Keep telling the story though, it’s a long crossing.”

So Kanan did; he told of the father rescuing the son, and taking him home, and wrapping the boy in blankets and reassuring him that he was safe now, that nothing bad would ever happen to him, and that he was loved. By the time they reached the other shore, the boatman was smiling widely, and a few tears had run down his smooth cheeks.

“That is your second smile,” Kanan told him, “and I will want to make the return trip.”

“Fine,” Ezra agreed, still smiling. “You have earned it.”

There was no tunnel on the other side of the river, but great, rolling fields under a black sky. A road wound between them which Kanan started down. Dimly, he could see pale figures wandering aimlessly over the land. None of them drifted close enough for him to see their forms clearly and he did not deviate from his path forward to investigate. He was close to his goal now; he could feel it.

The road crested a small hill and there before him was his destination: a towering construction of smooth black stone that glinted with a mysterious light. The Palace of Malachor.

The road to the palace entrance was not empty, however. His way forward was blocked by a young woman in full armour. In the dim half-light of the Underworld the armour’s markings were greyscale swirls of shapes and patterns. A matching helmet was tucked under one of her arms.

She caught sight of him immediately.

“You are not dead,” she accused. “You do not belong here.”

“I seek an audience in the palace,” he told her.

“And I seek justice, as I did in life. I will not let you proceed until you are dead.”

Having come so far, Kanan would not let this stop him. Not when he was so close.

“So we will duel,” he said, “and if you win, I will die. But if I beat you, you will let me pass.”

She considered him for a moment before nodding. “Very well. I accept your terms.”

She fitted the helmet over her head and unsheathed the blade at her hip. It was even blacker than the land around them, so dark it seemed to absorb light. Kanan drew his own blade, and their duel began.

The warrior was strong, and quick with her blade, and Kanan soon realised he was outmatched in skill alone. So he began to talk as their blades clashed, and for someone so young who needed so much armour, he told a story of acceptance. He described a young girl forsaken by her family, forced to strike her own path before she was ready. He saw his words have an effect as the warrior’s blows faltered.

He continued, describing the comfort and safety the girl found in the arms of people who accepted her for who she was, and who loved her unconditionally. Her parry went wide and Kanan’s blade slipped past the warrior’s guard to press against her neck. The tear that had blurred her vision fell from under her helmet to splash on his blade. She yielded, and true to her word, allowed him to pass her.

It was not far, then, to his final destination. The doors of Malachor opened to his touch and he stepped into the throne room. Before him sat Maul, Lord of the Underworld, and it was he Kanan addressed.

“O Great Lord of the Dead, I have travelled vast distances to come here before you. My wife, Hera, the light of my life, was taken from me too soon and now she walks in the fields outside this very palace. I have come before you to humbly beg for her return.”

Maul regarded Kanan with utter indifference.

“And why should I do that?”

Kanan took a deep breath and opened his mouth. He told Maul a story, the tale of his long journey to the Underworld, the lands he had crossed and the sights he had seen. He told of how he had surmounted the obstacles from the gate guard to the boatman to the warrior of the fields. He told all of this with his most magical of gifts, but Maul was a god, and unmoved.

He did, however, recognise Kanan’s voice.

“I care not for the trials of mortals before their demise, but you have done me a service in the short life you have led so far. In your love for your wife, you told stories which grew a forest and the numbers of those who live in it. Many of them have, in turn, died, and their souls have come to me. In return for this act I will grant you the chance to see your wife again.”

For the first time since finding Hera in the woods, Kanan allowed himself to feel a spark of hope.

“She is indeed in the fields outside,” Maul continued. “Go to the doors and tell one of your famous stories; she will hear your voice and will come to you. If you then walk back to the land of the living she will follow, and I will make sure none will stop you. But be warned: if you are to see her complete her journey, you cannot look at her while she is still in the Underworld. Do not turn around until you are both standing under the sun once again, or you will never see her again.”

Kanan bowed deeply in gratitude and thanked the Lord of the Underworld before departing his presence to do as he suggested.

Kanan went to stand just outside of the palace doors, and he knew exactly which story to tell: the story of his life. It was one Hera would know well, because she knew him better than he knew himself. He began his telling, and the slightest brush of wind encouraged him to start walking.

As he crossed the fields, he passed the warrior again. It was as he was telling of his childhood and of the importance of family and standing together. Her helmet was tucked back under her arm and she nodded at him respectfully, the faintest of wistful smiles at her lips. She gave no acknowledgement of anyone following him.

He reached the river and the boatman, whose face was back to its stony mask. The man did not hesitate as Kanan approached, remembering their agreement and giving Kanan passage back to the other shore. During the crossing Kanan told of the heartbreak of having everything he knew ripped away from him, and the boatman nodded along mournfully as he steered the boat. Neither when he boarded nor disembarked did Kanan feel the boat respond to anyone else’s movements.

He was telling the legends of the Kasminauts when he came up to the gate. The guardian was awake again and watched him impassively as Kanan approached, recounting his adventures with his brothers. The honour guard gave no indication that anyone was following Kanan but made no move to stop him from leaving the Underworld.

It was as Kanan started the uphill climb through the final tunnel that he reached the best part of his story. This was the part where his travels ended and he met Hera. The most beautiful, perfect woman, who healed him and loved him and gave him everything he needed. His words echoed off the tunnel walls along with the sound of a single set of footsteps.

Kanan had no idea if Hera was following him. He knew, he trusted, that if she had heard him and been able, she would have come to him in the field and would have stayed with him since. But what if she hadn’t? What if Maul had tricked him? What if the warrior had blocked her way, or the boatman had denied her passage, or the guard had closed the gate on her?

He could see the brightness of daylight just ahead of him. If he returned to the overworld now, he would never be able to return. If she wasn’t behind him, he would lose her forever.

He had to know. He could not leave without her.

And so Kanan turned, and was overjoyed to see Hera’s wraith-like spirit only a short distance behind him. But her expression turned to dismay as he looked, and even as he opened his mouth in reassurance, a shadow fell over her.

Maul.

“I warned you not to look,” he spat, face twisted in anger, “and what have you done? Now, you will look no more!”

There was a flash of red, a blinding pain, and Kanan felt himself flung backwards and out of the tunnel. He landed on soft grass and felt the warmth of the sun on his face, though no light came through his eyes. He knew he was back in the mortal realm. He knew he could not return to the Underworld. He knew he had shattered his chance to retrieve Hera.

He cried out in pain and frustration and grief.

But then warm arms gripped him and pulled him into a solid embrace, and a voice spoke in his ear.

“Kanan?”

The most beautiful voice.

“Hera?”

He reached up to where the voice had come from, and his fingers traced an achingly familiar face. Tears tracked down her cheeks, but she was here, with him, alive again.

“Oh, Kanan, your eyes!” she cried. “He has ruined your eyes! How will you see?”

But Kanan smiled.

“I do not need my eyes to see you,” he told her.

And so they returned to their cottage at the edge of the forest, and to their happy life together. Though he was blind, Kanan could still tell his stories, and Hera still loved him deeply. The tale of how Kanan’s love for his wife had driven him to retrieve her from the depths of the Underworld was one he told to many generations of twi’lek in the forest, and it was even more popular than the legends of the Kasminauts.

He was still telling it when, well into old age, he recognised that his time had come. This time, Kanan and Hera travelled together into Death. They greeted the gate guard, the boatman and the warrior like old friends, and hand in hand they stepped into the fields, ready to spend eternity together.

[thesolitarystripe]

Tindyl’s Origin

How I’ve not posted this is beyond me..

It was an especially bright night, the evening that Tindyl was born. The moon was high in the sky. Its shimmering image was crisp and untouched by clouds. It was taken as a good omen as the young night elf was birthed beneath the giant limbs of Teldrassil. She was born of parents; Bai’len Moonwillow and Laurêl Sagebloom.

Bai’len, a Druid of the Claw, came from a long line of druids that also followed the path of Urso and Ursol. When his daughter was born, he dreamed of a life for her where she might follow in her ancestor’s footsteps.  As the world turned and decades passed, it became an apparent reality that times were changing. Female Kaldorei were becoming druids and males taking up Priesthood. Though he was conservative in his beliefs, a faint flicker of hope welled within him—perhaps Tindyl Willowmoon could become a druid.

It was a silent wish he kept to himself for many years.

Much of Tindyl’s childhood passed as it did for all Kaldorei children. She ran through the forests, danced with the whispering wind, and lost herself amongst the fields of flowers. Bai’len saw her connection with nature at an early age; though all night elves bore the same deep love for the perseverance of nature and swore their lives to protect it, he was sure that when Tindyl spoke to the trees, they spoke back.

When the young night elf reached the age of 100, she had a general grasp of all the duties available to her within their society. Bai’len taught her without sway. Though the druid tried to remain unbiased in his teachings, he couldn’t help but spend a little extra time showing her how to sharpen her claws or learn how to knit her pelt so tightly together that it felt like iron.

On days when the sun was high and the forest lost some of its naturally dim hues, Bai’len would take Tindyl to the main continent of Kalimdor, into the trees of Darkshore, and spar with her. The little she-elf practiced shifting in and out of different forms and did so adeptly. Bai’len knew fully that not every elf born had the knack for nature magic and the fact that his daughter caught on at such a young age, surprised even him.

He chose to practice away from their home for fear that others might think ill of him. While it had become more commonplace for females to practice druidism, his old bones felt the uneasiness of thousands of years of tradition. Some still did not approve of the societal changes and Bai’len feared that Tindyl might be treated harshly for her interests.

So, they spent their mornings nestled in the cool forest of Darkshore. Tindyl would practice shifting until Bai’len saw no hesitation in the way her body morphed. This simple teaching left her too fatigued to carry out any other lessons but; as she grew, her body became resilient and she took on the form of a cat, doe, bear, and dolphin with relative ease.

When she had the energy, Bai’len challenged his daughter to a sparring match. At first the young one was shy and meek to fight her father. When she stood beside her father in his guardian form, her eyes would fall to the massive prints left in the damp dirt as he walked from her and she worried that her own paws might never grow to even half the size.

Despite the hesitant approach Tindyl took to swatting at her father with a thick paw, the elder did not relent. With the same ferocity he would take to battle, he dove at Tindyl; teeth bared, claws protruding, and a mighty roar shaking the trees around them. Day by day, she cowered less and fought back more.

There were not many matches that she won but every so often, her teeth would nip the right spot behind her father’s neck and the druid would howl. One paw might swipe above his massive head, but she was small and quick. With the distraction, Tindyl would seize her opportunity as Bai’len stood with only three feet upon the earth. Their bodies crashed together as she lunged fearlessly, and they toppled into the grass in a pile of silver fur.

Bai’len’s laugh was as loud and rumbling as his roar. In an unusual display of public affection; he’d scoop up Tindyl and press his forehead against hers and scold her playfully for picking on her old father. Tindyl would laugh, roll her glowing silver eyes, and push herself out of his grasp.

It wasn’t long into her adulthood that he watched Tindyl’s demeanor change. While she obeyed and trained in the shade of Darkshore, there was a heaviness upon her heart. Her laughter did not echo between trees like part of nature’s symphony. Bai’len found her one evening sitting in a large meadow, head back as she stared up at the moon.

“What troubles you?” He asked in his deep baritone.

Tindyl’s eyes shut and a long breath slipped through her lips slowly.

“You’ve always told me of my ancestors, of your father and mother, and of theirs, Druids of the Claw. Druids of the Talon.”

Bai’len stood with bated breath. This was the moment his heart had held onto from the moment Tindyl’s first cries were lifted upon the wind and into the branches of their home. Yet, he felt as if he hadn’t enough time to prepare over these last 105 years. The druid stood beside her now, eyes fixed upon her face as his daughter’s brow knit together.

“I do not think I was meant to follow in their stead,” her voice was almost fearful as she said it. Those bright eyes opened and watched for her father’s reaction.

Inwardly, Bai’len felt a piece of him shatter but his face remained smooth.

“You have always had a choice, daughter. It would be an honor to serve with The Sentinels or even one day, The Wardens.”

“An’da,” her hand waved in the air dismissively.

Thinking that his daughter meant to shy away from his suggestion of becoming a Warden, Bai’len continued. “It is a high honor Tindyl, you’ve trained extensively in many areas I do not doubt—” Bai’len was interrupted.

“I do not want to be a Sentinel or a Warden.” As if preparing for battle, Tindyl got to her feet noiselessly.

“Then, what is it you want?”

Their shadows were cast long against the lush green grass as the moon shined down upon them. A desperate prayer was lifted to Elune as Tindyl took another deep breath and clenched her fists.

“I want to be a Druid of the Wild, I want to learn more of what you’ve taught me all these years. You said when I was young that it was uncommon that someone should be able to shapeshift into more than one form. I think..I must have been born with this gift, given to me by Elune herself!”

It amused Bai’len slightly to see his daughter’s purple skin flush with a red undertone as she passionately delivered her reasoning.

“While I love spending time with you in the forest, I do not think that I was meant to follow the path of Urso and Ursol. Nor am I meant to follow Avianna.”

“What do you intend then?” Bai’len’s arms were crossed lightly over his wide chest.

“I’m going to use magic…nature magic…to…heal.”

A single thick, silver brow raised high as Tindyl delivered her intentions in full. Bai’len’s composure broke mildly as his lips parted and he gazed down at his child in bewilderment.

“I’ve not taught you anything of restoration, who has put this thought into your head?”

“I did.” Tindyl stared up at her An’da, voice firm and calm for the first time during their meeting beneath the moon. “I would gladly spill blood to protect our home, our kin, our ways but it does not feel right. I am a warrior only because you’ve taught me how to be one, but it is not who I am within my heart.”

Tindyl waited in agony as silence fell between them. It was not within her nature to fidget or show any signs of her true emotions, but her eyes did hold the vision of Bai’len’s face tensely. The elder rubbed his forefinger over his bearded chin. The white hair bristled beneath his fingers as he scraped at the dark purple skin below it.

“I will not allow this, Tindyl.”

“But you would allow me to strap a bow to my back and ride a nightsaber alongside my sisters who die in battle against those that encroach on our home?”

“Do not raise your voice to me,” Bai’len threatened, voice like the snarl of a bear.

“Traditions are important, father.” Tindyl composed herself in an effort at another attempt to persuade him. “I believe that fully. Our ways should be preserved, our beliefs upheld, but I ask if you would allow me to practice druidism—something once unheard of for a female not many moons ago, why do you baulk at the idea of my healing? I only want to serve our people, to heal the wounds that would not otherwise mend. I’ve seen the soft green glow of that magic flow through my veins in dreams sent to me by the moon goddess. I can feel it in the tips of my fingers when they graze the petals of flowers and trunks of our trees. I will not allow it to consume me, not like it did to mother.”

Bai’len’s head snapped upward from where his eyes had drifted to a single flower swaying in the breeze.

“You will release this foolish dream from your head.”

That was the last word. Bai’len left Tindyl standing under the comforting rays of the moon. Tindyl sunk to her knees where she stood. The small stalks of grass were light against her skin, wrapping around her fingers and wrists as if to console her. The earth beneath her fingertips sang to Tindyl in the chirp of insects and call of evening birds. She knew it in her heart that what she said was true.

A single tear dripped down her alabaster skin and fell into the dirt below. In a dizzying instant, a wisp of green light shot upward. It vanished as quickly as it came and, in its place, stood a fresh silver flower. Tindyl’s hands hesitantly cupped its petals. The faintest green hue emanated within her palms and caressed the smooth edges of the plant that had just come into existence. A somber smile graced the night elf’s lips. She kept her hands around the flower as she leaned back and looked up at the moon.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her words were carried away upon the wind, whisked up and away into the leaves of their mighty Teldrassil. She could only hope Elune heard her and continued to show her the path she was meant to tread.

[beginagaininspo]

TIME TO CELEBRATE SCIENCE AND TECH

— LORD TECH GALA INSPIRED STARTER MEME !!

( add a && for a reverse on the prompts that are muse specific in action. )

TALK SHOP.

[ virtual ] for OUR MUSES to discuss the implications of VR.

[ nanotech ] for OUR MUSES to discuss the future of Stark Industries.

[ cyber security ] for OUR MUSES to discuss Drake Industries.

[ guardians ] for the POSTER’S MUSE to comment on the developments at LordTech.

[ partnership ] for the POSTER’S MUSE to talk about some ideas they might have that would work in tandem with the new tech presented. 

[ clinics ] for OUR MUSES to discuss the popup clinics sponsored by Lord. 

So, is L-Corp a video game developer now? That’s what VR is for, right?

VR has a lot of interesting applications! It is so much more than video games.

They’re... going to use heroes as security? Might as well call them mercenaries then.

Do you think Stark made the nanotech colored in red and gold to match Iron Man?

The tech of the century is at our fingertips and you’re biggest concern is what color they’ll come in?

Should we taking bets on how long it takes for someone to hijack the VR systems and start manipulating our brain and memories? Just me? Okay. 

Can you just be excited? For two seconds? 

Technical advancements like this are what led to Ultron... and the sentinels. Hard to get hyped with that in mind. 

WE’RE HERE TO PARTY.

[ cheers ] for the POSTER’S MUSE to raise their glass in celebration at the prompting of the SENDER’S MUSE. 

[ dance off ] for the SENDER’S MUSE to challenge the POSTER’S MUSE to a dance off.

[ slow dance ] for the SENDER’S MUSE to extend their hand in invitation to dance with the POSTER’S MUSE.

[ sneak ] for the POSTER’S MUSE to catch the SENDER’S MUSE trying to sneak an extra shot of alcohol after being cut off by the bartender. 

[ spill ] for the SENDER’S MUSE to bump into the POSTER’S MUSE causing them to spill their drink.

[ clean up ] for the POSTER’S MUSE to help the SENDER’S MUSE clean up their outfit after a spill. 

[ taste test ] for OUR MUSES to sneak into the set up area and try some of the other snacks available. 

[ serenade ] for the SENDER’S MUSE to attempt to serenade the POSTER’S MUSE.

[ banquet ] for the POSTER’S MUSE to catch the SENDER’S MUSE shoveling food into their bag.

The open bar looks pretty nice right now.

Are they allowed to cut you off? It’s celebration! 

I’m not cut off! They just won’t serve me anymore! 

Did that kid just swipe a drink? 

They are either really feeling their drink — or the music... and I’m not betting on this beat.

You know, this song isn’t half bad.

You’re not going to stand in the corner all night, are you?

There’s a nice space outside if you want to go for a walk... get some fresh air with me? 

It’s really stuffy in here, there’s so many people...

Don’t look at me like that, I’m hungry.

Shit — I’m never going to get this stain out! 

THE COWL COMES OFF.

[ double ] for OUR MUSES to accidentally wear the same color / accessory / mask / or theme idea for our outfits.

[ unmask ] for the SENDER’S MUSE to break code by taking their mask off.

[ compliment ] for the POSTER’S MUSE to compliment the outfit of the SENDER’S MUSE.

Who are you supposed to be?

Put your mask back on! You’re not supposed to show your face! 

Do you think I can get away with just a pair of sunglasses instead of a mask? 

This isn’t a mask, it’s a way of life! 

Your mask needs more glitter! 

Your mask isn’t covering anything...

WHO TEXTS AT A PARTY?

[ text ] did you pull out a flask? 

[ text ] no one needs that many cheese balls

[ text ] it wasn’t magic, idc what you say

[ text ] is it so hard to believe in magic?

[ text ] why are you looking at your phone! go talk to people

[ text ] you keep texting me! let me eat these pretzels in peace! 

[ text ] are you even talking to anyone? or are you just pretending to have a very serious conversation on your phone? i need to know for financial reasons 

[ text ] they were trying to HIT ON YOU, you idiot 

[ text ] when i call you an idiot, i mean it lovingly 

[ text ] when i call you a dumbass mother fucker, i mean that in the same spirit as the dagger emoji 

[ text ] are you making a tiktok in the corner? 

[ text ] i might be addicted to social media but that doesn’t mean that’s the /only/ thing i do! 

[ text ] your obsession with tiktok has gone too far this time

[ text ] if you want to be in the video just ask

[ text ] i’m scared that i’m gonna sneeze and a bunch of glitter is going to shoot off my face 

[ text ] * indistinctive conversation * — my phone wants to say hello

[ text ] if you want to get out of here just blink and i’ll pretend to faint and then we can get the hell out of this place 

[ text ] do you think they take requests? i’m about to put in a hundred song requests

[ text ] where the hell did you go? 

[ text ] if you left without me, you better turn your ass around come back

[ text ] do you have a needle and thread? i am having a wardrobe crisis 

[beautyandthewarcanons]

Echo's Beacon: Part Twenty Six

[You can read part twenty five here! All BATW & DTTR characters belong to @poisonappletales ! ❤]

"You better stay away from her, with that temper of yours." X warned. "Because if you lay one scratch on my woman, I'll make sure you-"

Without warning, Wind whirled around, shoving X against the wall like a rag doll. "I told you that it wouldn't end well for you if you called her that again."

X clenched his teeth, grabbing Wind and flinging the Imugi off of him. "Alright, you wanna play, let's play!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Ambrosia cried.

"Princess, take your friend and get out of here-" X was cut off when Chase came up from behind, shoving the criminal to the ground. I inhaled sharply as X rolled onto his back, hopping to his feet. He was about to sucker punch Chase, when Wind grabbed his arms. X's hair and eyes began to glow, phasing into Aries mode. Ambrosia took hold of me, trying to get me to my feet.

However, I felt paralyzed as my vision blurred for a moment.

And then, I no longer saw them.

I saw Xavier. I saw him in a struggle against Wade, Caleb helping him. The prisoner unsheathed a blade, slicing Caleb's face and chest before stabbing his eye. Just before landing the killing blow, Wade grabbed Xavier, turning him around before shoving his thumbs into the man's eyes. Wade's unkempt nails reduced the man's eyes to jelly as he screamed. Falling to his knees, Wade bore his teeth as he picked up the blade Xavier had dropped... and as Caleb dragged himself across the floor, bleeding to death... Wade cut out the man's tongue before shoving him through the basement door.

Ambrosia gasped as an overhead lightbulb burst. The three men had stopped their brawl. I clutched the sides of my head, my screams like nails on a chalkboard.

Bo Peep held Barium's hand, leading him to where we were. "They're there, and they're fighting over who-"

Suddenly, as the pair rounded the corner, a gunshot went off.

Barium shoved Bo behind him. I cried at the sound, clinging to Ambrosia as she stared ahead in shock. Chase looked around silently as Wind snarled lowly. X's brows twisted up in bewilderment.

Before them, Unknown lowered his hand, smoke still rising from his gun. There was a small hole in the ceiling above them. For once, he wasn't grinning.

"None of you are being very nice... are you?" He asked. I continued to tremble, sobbing quietly against Ambrosia's shoulder. Barium narrowed his eyes as the blanketed man turned then, without another word, walking away from them.

It took quite some time for the present group to piece together what had just transpired.

---

Brooks played with one of her dreads. The entire group sat in the living room, a fire burning strong within the hearth. Barium sat in the large armchair, looking around at everyone before shifting his gaze to me.

"Kara." He began. "I'd like you to tell me your version of what happened."

I took in a breath. My throat still looked poorly. "I was talking to Rosemary in the bedroom. Then he came, asking for me." I motioned to Wind. "He wanted to know of I could really see the spirits here. After a couple minutes of hounding me, he finally believed me enough to let up." I said, my expression hard. "He told me that he thought he sensed something. He didn't give me much of a choice before we went down to the basement. Before that, though..." I shot Wind a look. "He promised me that he wouldn't leave me alone down there. But he lied."

Silence trickled for a few moments. Chase stared at his feet.

"What happened next?" Barium asked. Onyx stood beside the armchair like a sentinel, silent as the grave.

"As soon as his feet hit the ground, he barely stayed with me. I tried to tell him about Xavier... the spirit Bernard told me inhabits the basement. But Wind was preoccupied."

"I heard someone down there. If you hadn't been such a noisemaker, I would have had them-"

"Don't... speak to me." I seethed.

Wind scoffed. "Maybe if you weren't so soft, you could actually defend yourself-"

"I'm sorry that I'm not an Imugi. I'm sorry that I'm nothing but a stinky, soft, needy human to you." My voice began to rise. Wildfire snorted, trying to hold in a chuckle. Arsenik shot her a look. "I just thought that after all this time, maybe we could have been SOME semblance of friends, after all the times I stuck up for you and tried to get other people off your back-"

"I don't need your help. Unlike you, I don't take every little insult personally."

I was silent for a moment. "I know you saw it. You didn't see him, but you saw that I was in danger. But instead of stopping him, instead of helping me... you looked me right in the eyes and ran the other way. So, tell them. Tell them that you did that. Tell them that you left me for dead Wind!!!" I shrieked. Another few moments of silence passed. Barium stared at the Imugi, waiting for his answer.

"I ain't denying it." He said. "My priority was finding the lurker. And unfortunately, they got away."

I rose. "That's all there is to it. X ultimately found me, and he managed to drag me up the stairs. I'm not talking about this anymore." I then turned, storming out of the room. In the distance, the group could hear a bedroom door slam. Wildfire burst out laughing then. Barium turned to address it-

"Miss Wildfire. You will cease this mockery immediately." Arsenik demanded.

"Oh yeah? Or what?"

"Or Onyx will wipe the smirk off your face." Barium answered. Bo raised her brows in surprise at his response. "X." The monarch then addressed. "What is your involvement in this?"

"Look. I was mindin' my own business. Then, I saw that door to the basement was open. I go down there, and I see blondie on the ground, scared out of her wits. I brought her upstairs, and then I get a little monkey on my back over there." He jerked a thumb in Chase's direction. "He thought I strangled her."

"It's not like I don't have a reason." Chase crossed his arms.

"Well, I thought that beast boy over here must have done it. He was the only one down there with her!"

"There was someone else down there." Wind growled.

"And he doesn't even know what he- or she- looks like, by the way." X bantered. "So that really helps your case."

"But Kara didn't say that Wind did anything to her. He didn't do anything to her when she slept on the couch and he didn't hurt her today, either!"

"Wait... on the couch? Why was that brought up?"

"Well, I just thought the night lurker may have been prowling around because he was butt hurt about me switching beds."

"Let's just focus on today." Barium said. "X, did anyone see you go into the basement? Was anyone with you?"

"No... but come to think of it, I do have an alibi. Just before I went down there, I was talking to Roseanne over there."

"It's Rosemary!!!" The Phoenix shouted, her head falling back in frustration. "Why can't you get my name right?!"

"Lady Rosemary, for once, will you please stop shouting?" Jasmine rubbed her temples.

"And you stop scolding me, lady Jasmine!" Rosemary crossed her arms.

"Alright. X, you've made your point. You're clear." Barium nodded.

"Took ya long enough." X rolled his eyes.

"Wind, you're also clear... of causing Kara harm directly. However, what you asked her to do was reckless." Wind curled his lip. "And Chase... taking things into your own hands is just as reckless."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" Chase held his arms out.

"Leave the investigating to me. Stressing everyone out isn't going to help the situation. Tend to those who need it."

"Fine..." Chase conceded.

"Very well. As for the basement, access is going to be restricted except to Onyx and I. We won't be announcing when we're going to search the area. You can all go now." The group began to go their separate ways. "... Except for you."

Unknown paused. Arsenik hesitated as well, stopping to listen.

The Frenchman chuckled. "I don't do private sessions with men, you know-"

"How long have you been in possession of that weapon you fired this afternoon?" Barium asked.

"How long have we been here, hm? I'd guess about that long." Unknown replied.

"You're going to lead Onyx and I to where you're keeping the weapon and hand it over to us."

"And why would I do that?" Unknown asked.

"Because if you don't, Onyx is going to be watching over you. Every moment, of every day until we leave this place." Barium said.

Unknown did nothing for a moment. Then, he rose. Barium and Onyx followed him. He turned the corner into his bedroom. He deliberately lifted the mattress, reaching his arm under it. After a few moments, his lips began to purse, seeming perplexed. "Hm..."

"Unknown, stop the games." Barium warned.

"It seems someone else is playing games... my gun is missing."

"Onyx, search the room for it." Barium ordered. The executioner did not hesitate.

Meanwhile, I sat on my bed, hugging my knees. I looked up at the painting across from me. "I'm never getting rid of you, am I?" I asked aloud. Just then, the door opened, making me jump a bit. Ambrosia approached, sitting beside me. I exhaled slowly as she rested a hand on my head, playing with the wild strands. "... Hey."

"Lady Kara... are you alright?"

"I haven't been alright for a while, Ambrosia."

She bowed her head. "Sir Wind didn't abandon you on purpose."

"Ambrosia... let's be real, okay? Wind, Arsenik, most of them... they only tolerate me because of you. Some better than others."

"That's not true... you are beloved by Virgo Islanders."

"'Beloved?' Ambrosia, your own cousin can barely stand me." I said. "This was a terrible idea from the start. And now we're stuck here for another two damn weeks!" I kicked my suitcase, making Ambrosia jump a bit.

"Lady Kara... perhaps you need another treatment-"

"You've spilled enough blood for me. I just need to sleep." I sighed, crawling under the covers.

Onyx rose, having searched the entire bedroom. "Your majesty. I did not locate the weapon. However, I did find something else of potential interest." He motioned to the ground, Barium craning his head before shutting his eyes.

Footprints of watery residue were visible on the floor, leading to and away from Unknown's mattress.

To be continued...

[sheyshen]

Fictober Day 25

Prompt: “Sometimes you can even see.” Fandom: Wow (World of Warcraft) Rating: T Pairing: Night Elf Priestess/Blood Elf Hunter (Aulara/Kieran) (mentioned are Sen, an Orc hunter, and Koren, a Human Paladin)

-

There was fire everywhere. Kieran ran through the streets of Darnassus, a hood drawn tight over his head to hide as much of his features as possible. There was too much chaos that it was unlikely anyone would notice a blood elf amongst those trying desperately to escape but he didn't want to risk it.

People were shouting to be heard, pulling injured free of destroyed buildings, dumping water on any fire they could reach. Heroes who were willing to risk their lives if it meant that they could save at least one person. He was sure the one he was looking for was somewhere among them. He couldn't let himself even think that she might be amongst the dead that already littered the streets.

He had known she was in Darnassus when Sylvanas had made the push into Darkshore, just as she knew he had been with the Horde forces. Neither were happy with it, but as the Champion of the Horde, he wasn't in a position to say no. He went along, thinking this was just a land grab, a chance to gain ground and fortify their hold on Kalimdor.

He was wrong.

Kieran had a bad feeling when the trebuchets were set up, but he assumed they were for defense from naval reinforcements. He realized his mistake too late as the first shot was launched hitting the branches of Teldrassil and setting it alight. He had heard Sen curse as he sprinted away, charging to where some remaining night elves and alliance forces were mounting up to retreat to the city to save those who would be caught in the destruction.

He had stolen a hooded cloak as he rushed to them, pulling the hood up to hide his features and did his best to pretend to be a human. An injured sentinel helped him onto her hippogryph and he was brought along without question.

From there he was launched into chaos.

There was still no sign of Aulara. He bumped into a human in heavy armor, his hood slipping back and showing his face just as the soldier turned to look at him. The human's eyes went wide for a moment before they started looking around quickly.

"Kieran, what are you…" he was grasping for words, "what… I…"

The blood elf pulled his hood back up thanking his luck that he ran into someone he knew. "Koren, where's Lara?"

"I-i don't know, I've been searching everywhere. We were separated as soon as the fires started and-"

"Where did you see her last?"

"By the druid… area. I don't know the districts here." He gestured across the lake, "I thought she'd go to the temple but-" he shook his head.

"Can you show me?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, follow me."

The paladin sounded so rattled, and Kieran couldn't blame him. Koren and Aulara grew up together, so for him to lose the closest thing to family… the hunter refused to continue that thought. His wife was fine, she was alive somewhere in the city, she was likely helping with rescuing others, she would be in one piece.

They ran through the streets past the destroyed buildings of the artisans who trained there. A woman shouted for help, and while both were desperate to find their priestess, they couldn't just ignore the cry. Both turned and headed to where they heard the shouting. A woman was crying, screaming, next to a destroyed building, quiet sobbing could be heard from beneath it.

"My daughter. She's-"

"We'll get her out." Koren turned and wedged his shield under the edge of the roof. "Kieran, I'm gonna need you to pull them out. I won't be able to hold this up long."

The elf nodded, debated for half a second, and pulled off the cloak, tossing it to the side. The crying woman's eyes widened but she didn't say anything, instead watched them guardedly.

Koren shifted the shield, using it as a wedge and slowly the roof lifted. He braced himself on it, straining to get it up as much as he could as Kieran lay on his stomach and slid himself under the debris. He found the child and grabbed her.

The little elf screamed in alarm but stilled as the roof above her groaned as the weight shifted.

"It's alright, I'm a friend," Kieran spoke gently in Darnassian, letting her know she was safe as he crawled back, bringing her with him till both were out from under the building. "She's out, drop it."

Koren dropped the part of the roof he had been holding onto, kicking his shield out of the way and then collapsing on the wood, trying to catch his breath. The little girl scrambled away from Kieran to the waiting arms of her mother.

"Thank you." She said as she stood, holding her child close.

"Head to the temple." Koren was still trying to catch his breath so the words were spaced between exhalations. "They have portals."

"Before you go," Kieran spoke up. The mother looked distrustful, but she didn't run at least. "I'm looking for someone. My wife. She’s a priestess that should've been here. White hair about this long wears a white dress with a black and red cloak."

The woman looked like she was about to bolt, but she pointed to a pair of buildings that were falling onto each other. "She saved me there before I rushed home."

"Thank you." Kieran smiled at her, and grabbed Koren's shield as the paladin pushed himself to his feet, "ready?"

He nodded, thanking the woman too as she ran to the temple for safety. "Tired, but I'll be fine."

"Let's go." The hunter strapped the shield onto his back as best he could with his bow and quiver still there. He didn't bother putting the cloak back on. Koren went to say something but decided not to as they hurried towards where the woman indicated.

"Sometimes…" the human started, "you can see how much you love her."

Kieran glanced at his friend and raised an eyebrow.

"I mean I've never doubted you, but a member of the horde and alliance marrying, there has to be an ulterior motive in there. But you never have. You've risked so much to be with her."

"Not much left to risk now." They turned a corner, fire spreading quickly above them, "I doubt ill be welcome in the horde now, there's no way Sylvanas didn't notice me leaving."

"True…" frantic shouts made them pick up their pace as they ran toward them.

A pair of druids tended to burns on three injured night elves. Though all were covered in blood and dirt one of the injured was immediately recognizable.

"Lara!" Kieran rushed to her side, Koren right behind him. She turned her head slowly to look at him, groaning in pain as she did so. As soon as she saw the blood elf's face she smiled and reached up. He took her hand mumbling apologies as he held it tight.

"What happened?" Koren looked over the battered team.

"Tree collapsed, if it weren't for the priestess we would've been stuck in there." One druid said.

The other spoke up, "she took a branch to the legs trying to protect us, one of them is broken and we cant carry her out of here without.."

"I understand." Kieran glanced at them. He turned his attention back to his wife, "this might hurt, but I'll try to keep you steady." He put an arm under her legs and the other around her back. She winced as he got a good grip on her and lifted, standing as he did so. "We need to get her out of here."

"Agreed." Koren bent down and helped one of the other injured elves to their feet, bracing them as he led them forward, the druids helping the last and the team of survivors made their way towards the temple of the moon.

"I knew you'd come." Aulara grinned.

"I'd never leave you behind. You know that." Kieran huffed a laugh.

"Mhm." She smiled. She was exhausted and in pain, but she had done the best she could. "I'm healing it, but it's slow. I've been healing so many and-"

"You did everything you could. You saved a lot of lives. So get some rest, you can finish healing your legs after you get some sleep."

"But."

"No buts, rest."

She grumbled in reply, but snuggled in as best she could and closed her eyes.

The group hurried into the temple. They were met with looks of surprise but no one even tried to stop him as he stepped through the portal to Stormwind. Getting his bearings he prepared himself for the worst as Koren appeared behind him and they escorted the injured to the cathedral.

He received looks of surprise and anger but none stopped him. He wasn't ready to face the consequences of his choice, but in the end, being in the horde or the alliance didn't matter to him as long as she was safe. If he was exiled, imprisoned… he wasn't sure what they did to prisoners, but in the end, it would be worth it. Aulara was safe.

[chaniters]

Masquerade

The next part of @kruk-art‘s Awan Cormac fic.  Writing the final parts of this finally!

Infiltrating GeniTech’s party, the rangers attempt to change the board’s mind about the riot, but things on the inside aren’t as calm as they initially seem. 

Spoilers ahead for Rebirth, as usual. 

__________________________________

You glance nervously to your left, as a whole platoon of soldiers clad in articulated carapace armors scrambles through the corridors ahead of you.

In your mind, GeniTech’s Arcology is now the Trojan fortification, the rioters are the greek, and the lot of you are a an improvised rebellious third party refusing to let history repeat itself, hidden inside the wooden horse Ortega asked you to build. All you can do is hope it won’t get burnt before crossing the gate.  

“You’re clear.” the guard announces. “Excuse me for the delay, we didn’t think anyone would be joining this late… especially with what’s happening…”

Ortega watches him without a word, before putting his mask back on. 

“...Enjoy the party” the guard states drily, opening the gate. 

All of you walk past, putting your masks back on, not stopping until the elevator’s doors close. It quickly fires upwards, taking you to the upper floor, where GeniTech’s Halloween celebration takes place. 

“Well done everyone,” Ortega says when it seems no guards are listening. 

Elyise disabled the dampeners, Steel used your scrambler to deactivate their retinal scan and you made them think you were legitimate party guests and that everything was in order. Anathema added fake zippers and other details to your suits so they have a Halloween-costume flair to them.   

This would have been pretty standard infiltration were you still at the farm, but it’s blowing your mind for completely different reasons.  Most humans wouldn’t know what to say to their creator if that even existed. That’s no dilemma for you, though.  The farm might have assembled you, but GeniTech came up with the very idea of you. What would you say to them, the people who invented you? What would you even…-

“Be on alert everyone,” you say coming back to earth. “Steel, will use his scanners to find board members. Elyise will deactivate the scramblers in the area one at a time. The rest, distract them with conversation until Ortega can get into position, and then…” you go on explaining. 

You suggested using your powers to change the Boards mind and let the people take refuge in the Arcology, but, it was Ortega who came up with this infernal plan. You have to admit it was a really good one. You still suggested a ton of changes needed for it to actually work, and the Marshall ended up putting you in charge in return. Steel’s glare made It’s painfully obvious everyone now knows you’ve got more experience with covert operations than any of them suspected, a point you had been trying to conceal, but that can’t be helped. 

“We’re here. Remember, mingle and wait for Steel’s word. Ready, Marshall?” you ask looking to Ortega, who gives a quick nod, giving this operation the go signal.

___________________________________

“...We appreciate power

I'll evade the human race, putting makeup on my face…”

You being you, the lyrics are frankly disturbing. At least that’s all you can think as you turn your back on the live band, broadcast via a hologram on the stage.

You take a drink from a passing waiter and walk up to the glass wall. The sight is magnificent from atop the central spire of the arcology, even obscured as it is now, possibly to diminish the sight of the fires and the approaching riot.  As Ortega Explained, Halloween has a different meaning for the genecorps. They created superheroes and their worship. These parties are an occasion to dress up as their creations, bask in their glory, and the profits they bring. There are posters of all of GeniTechs’ sponsored heroes on the walls. Even with the dampeners online, you can almost feel the gigantic egos of everyone inside.

It’s easy to understand why won’t they just call off the party from up here. This whole building is a pharaonic monument to their vanity and pride, and they won’t let Psychopathor, the public or anyone else get in their way. They own the west coast and will prove their power to anyone who dares interfere. If there has to be a war, they have the guns, soldiers and the technology to win it. They will put the rabble back in their place, or at least that’s what they think will happen. 

These people are loaded to a degree you hadn’t even considered could exist.  Their impossibly expensive costumes are sometimes better than those worn by some actual heroes you’ve met. There is an Owl walking by that has a reactive armor piece that the original could never afford. You saw someone wearing your own hero persona in a skintight armored nanomesh that could have taken bullets as if they were candy. She scoffed at your own, by comparison, shoddy suit, leaving you with all manner of questions. 

Are you the knockoff here?!

“Big party, huh?” someone says, holding a drink next to you. “First time to an event like this”

You turn to see The Void, drinking a colored shot next to you, only his lips visible with the mask partially pulled up.

“You too?” you say trying to strike a conversation, as you were taught to do. “I must confess, I’ve never seen a party like this before.”  

“Well, I plan to see many more like this my friend,” he says with a mischievous soft smile. “Many, many more”

As he says that, you notice many things happening at once.

First, you hear Steel on your left ear, confirming a board member is in your vicinity, which means you should pull over. Before you manage a full step back from the glass wall and this man talking to you, you can feel your thoughts relaxing and the dampeners going down. 

You expand your mind, ready to home in the GeniTech executive like a hornet… but instead realizing the man beside you is the real-

“Nath?!” you exclaim before bitting your tongue. 

“Awan?” he says spilling his drink, glowing eyes on his mask fixated onto you in shock. 

Neither of you even think, farm training actings on its own. Your hand reaches forward, trying to bend his arm backward, but knowing you’re better at judo he spins faster to avoid your grab. You took your chance and failed, and there’s no way to avoid the incoming kick that pushes you deeper into the crowd of fancy rich assholes playing armored heroes and villains. 

A false Green Blast and Ophidian both curse ruining their looks, and by the time you get free of them, The Void has banished among the other costumes. 

“Sidestep! Sidestep, come in?!” Steel’s voice in your ear becomes audible again. “We’ve got the executive! Hurry up”

“I… I just saw The Void,” you say 

“What?!” Ortega’s voice floods the channel. “Mierda, who invited that asshole?”

“ I don’t know… He was just standing there and…”

The music goes on.

“Sidestep, are you ok? You’re looking drowsy” Ortega’s question lingers in your ears.  

The room seems to be spinning with all these insane people’s minds clashing against your weak shields. You hold on to a tall table for a moment, trying to get the world back into focus. 

“I’m ok. Void distracted me, and you know I have to prepare around crowds. These people’s egos are immense, taking it all in after the dampeners went off is too much… and the music’s not helping either.”

“Awan, can you still do this?” he asks

“Yes.” you say straightening up. “I’m ok. Just needed a moment, I’m fine now.” 

“Ok… well then I say we go as planned... Everyone keep watch for The Void. We don’t know what’s he’s doing here and…” 

The music, lights, and everything seems to go off at once, along with his communication. 

Shit.

You’re not caught unaware this time and immediately switch to night vision. All the partygoers seem to be expecting something to happen. Maybe some sort of surprise?

“Use the secondary channel!” you hear Ortega’s voice again, and you quickly adjust, as everyone on the team asks what’s going on.

“Maybe it’s a surprise?” Sunstream asks “I hear these parties can go wild…”

“I don’t think so, this is all too much of a coincidence…” Sentinel says “Something is wrong, I can feel it and...”

The lights go back on, the crowd cheering as Reaper himself is now on stage, wearing his dark cloak, hood and trademark glowing spectral scythe in his left hand. Everybody loves a real legend like him, standing taller than life. 

Still, the cheers die off rather quickly, as they follow his right arm, noticing that he is strangling GeniTech’s CEO with his skeletal fingers while his white skull cackles in a decidedly macabre and less than jovial tone. The scream of pain, the skin wrinkling, the hair going white, turning into a husk, a skeleton, and then finally breaking to pieces and disintegrating… It all seems far too realistic. A few people on the front row cough as they are bathed in handfuls of the floating dust, and everyone’s deathly silent by then.

“Sentinel dear, do you ever get tired of being so fucking right?” Elyise asks tiredly.  

___________________________________________________

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

The song is We Appreciate Power by Grimes, which of course I do not own.

[squeallywrites]

I’ll Search the Universe

Baekhyun/OC

Power AU

Luna was going about her business as usual, trying to be careful with the Lunar Eclipse scheduled that day. But that changes when her best friend, the very one that she has a crush on, tells her that his unit is going on a raid to planet 1563. She tries to tell him of the dangers of travelling during the eclipse but it falls on deaf ears. When he next comes through her door, he’s different.

A/N: I’m still new to EXO, so I’m sorry if their personalities are a lil wonky or don’t seem to fit. I tried ._.

~~~~~~~~

“Luna!” Baekhyun called out as he waltzed into his friend’s laboratory.

“Baekhyun! What have I told you about barging in unannounced?” Snapped the machinist as she dusted the dirt from her pants. As Luna stands up, her eyes meet that annoying cocky smirk of his. Rolling her eyes, Luna wraps her arms around her idiot.

“So what’s up?” She asks as soon as she pulls away.

“What? I can’t just drop by to see my best friend?”

“Anyone else? Yes. You? No. So why are you here?”

He looks away, shoulders slumped, “We’re doing a raid tonight.”

“Tonight? The night of the Lunar Eclipse?? Are you insane?!”

Baekhyun grips her shoulders, “I know that, but don’t worry. Suho’s got a plan. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Luna stares into his eyes, “Promise me?”

“Promise.”

His eyes meet hers. Slowly his head lowers towards hers.

BEEEEEEP

With an annoyed sigh, Baekhyun pulls out his communicator as they pull away.

“It’s Suho. I’ve got to go.”

He doesn’t look back as he leaves Luna staring after him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Unit EXO reporting for duty. This is 01 checking in,” Suho states into the log as he adjusts his glasses, “We are enroute for planet 1563. All seems clear for now.”

As soon as Suho cuts the transmission, Chanyeol can’t hold it back anymore, “So Baekhyun, did you finally confess?”

“DiD yOu fINalLy CoFeSS?” Baekhyun mocks, “No. I didn’t. Suho called me back right as I was about to.”

“That sucks man. Especially since it’s the Lunar eclipse,” Chen leans over to place a comforting hand on the taller’s shoulder.

“Why is everyone obsessed with the eclipse? It’s not like we’ll see it in space.”

“That’s exactly why,” Kai supplies from the pilot seat, “Since we’re flying, the sun’s ray are more powerful so if anything happens to us on 1563, we have to be careful that it won’t react with the intensified radiation.”

“Still doesn’t make sense to me.”

The others shake their heads at him.

“Oh well. Everyone get ready. We’re about to breach the boundary,” Kai announces over the PA.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ship shakes violently as they fly closer to the surface.

“I thought you said that we’d be undercover!” Yells Chen.

Kai doesn’t answer as Sehun stumbles to the front, kicking Suho from the front seat. He turns the switch for manual drive and the ship begins to stabilise. Checking the panel, Sehun calls out, “Cloaking is still active. The magnetic field of the atmosphere is stronger than we expected,” He turns to Kai, “Take a small break. I got this.”

Suddenly, the ship lurks forth.

“Yeah you sure got it!” Baekhyun quips.

“Shut up! I’m losing power,” Sehun snaps before looking back at the panel, “Shit. Something’s on board.”

Alarms blare as the ship begins to tumble to the planet below.

~~~~~~~~~

Luna snaps the last panel into place before going to her control board, “Okay. Let’s try this again.”

Two beams begin spinning rapidly, an unearthly blue light forms a halo around them. Strands of light slither to the centre between them, creating a ball of energy. The ball quickly expands and flattens to form a portal.

“It works. It actually works,” she breathes. She can hardly believe it.

The light grows brighter before flashing, sending a wave through the shop, knocking out the power and sending her flying. Luna scrambles for the control board, frantically pressing buttons, all to no avail. Stumbling to the electrical panel, she manages to get the power back on. With a breath of relief, she makes her way back to her teleporter. Luna inspects the machine, noticing that just the power bank needs repairing. On her way to her storage room, she spots something out of the corner of her eye crawling around the floor. Luna gets down on her knees to see a small ball of white fluff, shaking under a cabinet.

“Come here, you.”

She pulls out a small kitten with bright blue eyes, “Well, hi there.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Suho! Chanyeol!” Kai yells, coughing as he climbs from the wreckage, “D.O! Everyone?! Where are you?!”

He grabs a gun from a destroyed rack, making sure it works before racing towards a ruined wall. Peeping around, he noticed a giant robot searching the ground, slowing heading in his direction.

He curses under his breath, “Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~

Chanyeol saunters up behind a boulder, twirling a pistol around his finger as he looks over the rubble. Noticing the tentacle like claw, he quickly moves on, just escaping its grasp as it rams through the wall. A distance away, D.O and Xuimin jump.

“That was too close,” D.O mutters.

Xuimin, noticing a large unplugged cable on the ground, gives the younger a thumbs up, “Don’t worry. This should do the trick.”

“No, Xuimin! You’re not the engineer for a reason!”

He doesn’t listen and pushes the plugs together.

BOOOM

Chen barely jumped out of the way as Xuimin fell from the sky. Shaking his head, he gestures to Lay to come over before taking the cables. Lay begins to patch up Xuimin’s wounds as Chen grabs a scrap piece of metal.

~~~~~

DO creeps to look over the other side of the wall, barely missing the blasts from a stray pistol.

“I haven’t found anyone yet,” he hears Sehun report, “But the sentinel is closing in.”

“Hey!” DO muttered waving his hand around the rubble to Sehun’s side.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sehun hugs his hyung before the two of them race off. Chanyeol notices them and draws the sentinel’s attention.

“Hey!!” He shouts punctuated by blaster shots.

~~~~~~

Kai spots Suho frantically runs his hands across the ground, desperate to find his glasses. Right as he finds them, the sentinel notices the movement.

“Get down!” Kai pushes Suho out of the way before firing on the sentinel. The sentinel’s claw begins to spin before shooting a beam of fire at Kai as Suho runs.

“Lay!”

“On it!” Lay races for his comrade as Suho joins Xuimin and Chen.

Chen looks over his shoulder to see the others have grouped up, “Go join them. I’ll be right there!”

“Wait. We still need the serum that command was talking about.”

They share a look before Suho nods, “Let’s get it. You keep it distracted.”

“I’m almost done with this,” Chen says, “I just hope it works.”

Suho and Xuimin run off to a door hidden in the cliff-side nearby.

Chen looks up to see that the claw is spinning again and races to the group. Just in time, he blocks the blast before shooting back. The sentinel explodes, sending debris flying everywhere. He turns to the others, “Where’s Baekhyun?”

~~~~~~~~

Xuimin and Suho race through the hallways as the alarm blares, serum in hand.

“This way,” Suho grabs Xuimin’s wrist. They run, barely dodging a group of security guards, and stumble to a halt as they end up in a hanger.

“Great. You led us to a dead end.”

Suho pants as he looks around.

“Oh thank god. You guys showed up,” A familiar voice quips from a few feet a way, “Help me get these locks undone.”

They turn to see Baekhyun frantically breaking a lock off a chain for a small passenger ship.

“What the hell?”

Baekhyun groans, rolling his eyes, “I managed to sneak inside while the sentinel was distracted by you guys. And these locks are not easy.”

Snapping out of it, they help him get the last lock undone. They race onboard and turn on the engines. Right then, a security detail breaks into the hanger.

“Let’s get out of here,” Baekhyun says, taking the wheel and blasting open the doors and speeding through.

~~~~~~~

The ship glides to the surface, barely missing the ground as Baekhyun slams on the breaks. Suho opens the side door, screaming over the engines, “Get in!!”

The group scrambles onboard, Suho slamming the door shut as soon everyone is on. Sehun races to the front as Baekhyun takes off, sitting next to Baekhyun. They blast off.

Right as they break through the atmosphere back into space, Kai exclaims, “Shit. The Lunar Eclipse started.”

“We’re fine. Nothing happened and we’re on our way home,” Baekhyun scoffs.

Suddenly the ship is hit on the side, causing some members to fly from their seats and the bottles of serum to crash on the floor.

“The serum!!!”

Strings of electricity propel throughout the area, hitting everyone in the heart. Screams fill the air. Sehun barely keeps his eyes open as he tries to keep control of the ship. Kai winces as he stumbles to the front, pushing a dazed Baekhyun from the front seat. The two manage to keep the ship steady before it only just lands back on planet 1485.

~~~~~~~

Luna jumped at the tremor running through her studio. She runs outside only to see the crashed ship.

“What the hell??”

The door opens to Baekhyun and the rest of the EXO team, eyes glowing different colours.

“What the hell happened to you guys?!” She asks, rushing to help Baekhyun step down. Lights flicker in the sky, trailing not far behind, “Shit, get inside.”

As soon as they’re inside and the blast doors of the lab are closed, Suho takes a deep breath before explaining the raid.

“When we escaping, they hit our ship, shattering the bottles of serum. Of course it was at the height of the Lunar eclipse. Something happened where this surge of energy shot through all of us.”

Luna scrambled to her desk, grabbing a small device. She doesn’t explain anything as she points it at them. Just as the machine goes off, they all begin to glow.

“Whoa.”

Chanyeol starts screaming.

“FIRE FIRE!!” His eyes are like saucers, staring at his hands. Suho runs to his side, holding his hands. What he doesn’t expect is a blast of water to shoot forth, soaking Chanyeol to the bone.

“The radiation and the serum combined must have given you special abilities. There’s barely any radiation left though. That’s interesting.”

“What should we do?”

The building shakes, debris falling from the ceiling.

“You guys need to get out of here.”

“What? You tell us we have powers, and that we need to leave?” Suho exclaims, “How? There’s no escape!”

“I know, but with the sentinels chasing after you, it’s not like I have the time to help you with that. But I have just the thing to help get out of here,” Luna says as she goes to her control board, “I just finished testing my newest creation: A Dimensional Portal. This will send you to another world like ours.”

They all gape at her.

“What?”

“Why did you build this?” Xuimin asks.

She shrugs, “I was bored but right now it’s the best invention I’ve ever made.”

Starting it up, the pillars begin to spin, creating a portal of bright blue light.

“Go through. You’ll be safe.”

Suho walks up to her, “Thank you. For helping us.”

“It was my pleasure. Be safe.”

They all rush through the light, yelling out their thanks before disappearing. But Baekhyun doesn’t leave just yet, staring forlorn at her. She rushes down to him.

“Baek, it’s your turn. You need to go.”

“Not without you,” he takes her hands, “Come with us.”

She meets his eyes, “Someone has to stay and close the portal. I can’t let them follow you.”

“And I can’t lose you. Luna, I’ve been meaning to tell you—“

Luna smashes her lips onto his. He melts into her embrace.

“I love you, Baekhyun,” she  says before pushing him into the portal. As soon as he’s through, she runs to the control panel and cuts the power. Right as the portal zaps away, the ceiling crashes down, crushing the machine. The cat runs to her side, hissing at the intrusion. Luna pulls the cat to her, closing her eyes. I’m sorry, Baekhyun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Baekhyun is falling through the sky, slipping pass every cloud into the water below. Breaking the surface, he floats as he catches his breath.

“Over there! Something fell from above!” a voice shouts in the distance.

He ignores it.

“It’s a person!”

“Man overboard!”

I’ll come back to you, Luna. Even if I have to search the universe.

[krumbine]

Monsters in America: The Bloodsucking Assholes

Lest we forget about the real monsters America.

###

The Magic Mega Mall Indoor Flea Market was neither magical nor a mall (at least not a mall in the traditional sense). For that matter, it wasn’t much of a flea market either, not since the pandemic had shut down all retail (and quasi-retail) operations in the city of Greenville.

It was, however, certainly mega, especially in respect to typical flea markets. Indoors or otherwise.

The shutdown––currently entering its seventh week––had proven devastating to the tenants of the flea market. Stalls were closed, merchandise either locked up or carted back to the owner’s residence, aisles empty and dark. Beneath the abandoned flea market, in a basement originally reserved for storage and other illicit activities one typically finds in third-rate retail establishments, three remaining tenants were facing struggles of a different kind.

At one end of the basement was a makeshift living room filled with second-hand furniture and a third-hand area rug.

A woman lay splayed across the threadbare couch, her arm dangled over the edge with a robust sense of lethargy. Her usual plump and rosy complexion was pale and thin. A flowing crimson top seemed not to care about the absent flowing air as it billowed around her.

“Uuuuuunnnnnggg …” she moaned. “I hunger!”

A figure popped his head out of one of the fenced-off storage units that lined one side of the basement. He clutched a fluffy orange tabby and offered it in the woman’s direction. “Cat?”

The cat hissed and swiped at him. He flinched, tossing the uncooperative feline back into the storage unit.

“I’m allergic,” the woman grumbled. “One sip and I’ll have the drizzly shits for weeks.”

With a lurch, the poorly-stitched-together-person closed the storage unit before sitting down next to the woman. He was much paler than the woman, black circles around his eyes where the flesh had simply abandoned all semblance of biological function. Across his forehead, haphazard staples held together two loose flaps of flesh. He wore a dark red dress shirt, black pants, and a matching black buttoned dress vest for extra support keeping his torso together.

“I know what you mean,” he said, his vocal cords raspy from death but still youthful in a decrepit sort of fashion. “The last time I had a bag of Brain-O tacos from Los Muertos Hermanos, I was shitting up a storm for three days.”

He casually leaned back and threw his arms around the back of the couch. “I didn’t even know zombies could do that,” he said in bemused wonder.

She rolled her eyes. “Pick up your arms, Zaphod.”

Zaphod Zombie sighed and got up to collect his dismembered appendages from the floor behind the couch.

The woman flailed with histrionic anguish. “I haven’t been this hungry in a thousand years.”

Another voice, this one so guttural it sounded like it came from someone eaten by a Sasquatch: “Don’t be dramatic. You’re barely even a hundred.”

Zaphod sat back down as the woman pushed herself to an anguished sitting position, elbows on knees, head cradled in hands. She said to the hulking figure sitting across from the couch: “You know, you’re a stout, virile young man. We could have just a little nip––”

Large, intelligent brown eyes glanced over the frames of a pair of comically-undersized reading glasses. “For the last time, you can’t drink my blood.”

“––just a tiny sip––”

“V'Dara!”

She collapsed back into the couch. “Admit it, you want me to perish!”

Across from the couch, a hirsute finger the relative thickness of a rolled-up magazine picked at the edge of a local newspaper before turning the page. After a moment, the finger was licked and it picked again at the edge of the paper. An equally hirsute finger on the other hand nudged at that pair of comically-undersized reading glasses resting on the flat nose of Lincoln Squatch.

“No one wants you to perish––”

“Then help me eat now, you beautiful bastard,” V'Dara replied. She held a thumb and an index finger a small ways apart. “Just a little sip?”

Zaphod snatched his digits back from V'Dara. “C'mon!”

Lincoln sighed. It had been a few years since he had struck a deal with the mall’s manager––Lincoln worked night security at the mall in exchange for basement accommodations. Lincoln understood all too well the importance of a responsible, symbiotic relationship with the humans. He sympathized with his vampiric friend but he also knew that the dead don’t die––she could stand to be a little hungry until the situation was more tenable.

Lincoln looked back down at the headline in the newspaper. He shook his head gravely and tried to change the subject. “Says here the unemployment rate is worse than it was during the Great Depression.”

V'Dara’s head rocked gently in absent thought. “I remember the Great Depression,” she mused. “Wasn’t nearly as hungry.”

Zaphod looked up from screwing his fingers back in place. He was flabbergasted by Lincoln. “Since when do you care so much about how the meatbags manage this crisis? Last I checked, they’re the ones who hate us. Pretty sure that’s why we live in a basement, Link.”

V'Dara stared wistfully into the distance. “… meatbags. Bags. Full of blood. Blood bags …”

Lincoln took his readers off, folded them carefully and set them on the side table. “Where the ‘meatbags’ go, the monsters follow.”

V'Dara sneered. “I hate that word. Monsters,” she gagged.

Zaphod pointed at V'Dara. “Exactly. That’s what I’m talking about. We’re not the ones hoarding money, denying healthcare, or conducting ourselves in an irresponsible manner during a pandemic!” Zaphod’s righteous outrage was almost inspiring. “I mean, look around! I see a vampire, a zombie, and a Sasquatch the size of a Volkswagen Beetle––”

Lincoln frowned as he glanced down at his belly covered in dense, dark fur. It wasn’t that big.

“––if you ask me, we’re the original social distancers right here!”

V'Dara let out a forlorn sigh. “I want to invade someone’s social distance … with my teeth.” She bared a pair of extra-pointy canines and let out a weak, deflated hiss.

Lincoln shot Zaphod a sideways glance. “I’m pretty sure zombies aren’t hailed for their social distancing.”

“That is a stereotype and I’m offended,” Zaphod shot back without missing a beat. Softly, he added: “I don’t even like people. That’s the whole point of the kitten trade-in shop.”

Lincoln rubbed his brow. “Fine. Yes, you’re right. You’ve developed a respectable, self-contained food supply. And I’m perfectly content with my weekly forage in the woods.” Lincoln addressed the vampire in the room. “V'Dara hasn’t been so lucky. Where the 'meatbags’ go, our kind will follow,” he repeated. “The lockdown sent everyone home but V'Dara still needs to be invited inside. A rush to re-open will flood the system––yes, V'Dara will be able to eat in the short-term, but if things go downhill again for the humans, it’ll put V'Dara right back into the same situation.”

V'Dara stewed in hunger and frustration. “… the unemployment rate is worse than during the Great Depression?”

Lincoln picked up his reading glasses. “And the financial markets responded with record gains.”

“And they say I’m the bloodsucking asshole.”

Lincoln shook the newspaper back open. “Where the meatbags go, our kind will follow.”

Zaphod stewed for a moment offered V'Dara a downward, apologetic glance. “… sorry.”

V'Dara shrugged a weak shoulder. “Screw it. Let’s order out.”

Zaphod perked up. “Oooh, Brain-O tacos?”

“I don’t care. Get whatever you want,” V'Dara said, handing Zaphod her phone to place an order. “I’ll have the driver.”

###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

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[saltylikecrait]

Yellow - Finn/Rey One-Shot

For @finnreyfridays. A continuation of my series that takes place between The Last Jedi and Episode IX. Rey has a yellow lightsaber in this series for temporary use.

It’s a little long and can be also read on AO3 here.

“So, this is the place?” asked Poe. “You sure?”

The three of them gazed out over the world as they were about to enter its atmosphere. Rey scanned the overall appearance of Klatooine. Flecked with reds, yellows, and browns, she could only find a few dark spots that indicated to her that they were bodies of water. The world seemed to have more variety in geography than Jakku, but she wasn’t sure if it was much better.

She nodded. “From what I could gather, there should be an archive hidden somewhere in the Derelkoos Desert…”

Poe glanced at his map and entered in a couple of coordinates. “I’m not going to land near a town,” he explained. “The last I heard about this place was it was still full of Hutt sympathizers that want to bring them back to power, so be careful. There’s still a few dangerous Hutt cartels. Finn, I’ll give you guys a tracker to use to find me again when you’re done.”

Finn and Rey both agreed that seemed like the best plan. They both packed bags of ration cubes and water that would last them for up to three days. The plan was if they hadn’t found anything by the second day, they would have to turn around to return to the shuttle.

“I would say it’s probably better to travel at night,” Rey began, “but I’m worried what we’ll find. The sun might not be our only enemy.”

Her old habits and instincts kicked in almost immediately when she looked outside the shuttle as Poe was landing and saw nothing but sand and rock formations as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t the dunes of Jakku, but sand was sand, no matter how rocky this kind was. Finn did not appear pleased by this discovery, but he seemed to accept that he volunteered for this excursion and he would to help Rey find Jedi holocrons if there were any left on this dusty planet.

She examined her supplies and began a mental checklist of what was in the bags, what they might need to scavenge the shuttle for, and how and when to use what. It wasn’t ideal to her, but they would have to make due with what they had.

So, as prepared as they could be, Finn and Rey took their first steps into the desert.

“Where to?” Finn asked.

Rey pointed west. “This way, I think.”

“How do you know?”

She shrugged. “The Force? A good guess? Got a better plan?”

“Not at all.” He shook his head.

They wandered the first day through the sand, sleeping near an outcropping of rock for cover in a small tent. At signs of coming near civilization, they wandered off in a wide berth to avoid being seen. Their journey seemed to be going well, but halfway through their second day they were both growing eager to find something, anything, that would show they were coming close to what they were looking for.

“Ugh,” Rey growled in frustration. “Hey, Force,” she half-shouted. “A vision or something would be nice right now!”

Finn chuckled. “I’m not a Jedi, Rey, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how the Force works.” Then, he pointed out ahead of him, gazing out beyond the cliff they were standing on. “But maybe that would be a good place to start?”

She almost rolled her eyes until she walked over to him to look what he was pointing at. Glancing out over the horizon, her mouth fell open.

“Seriously?” she groaned. “Are we sure this isn’t how the Force works?”

Out ahead of them, maybe a mile away, stood a series of columns with what appeared to be the entrance to a temple of some sort. The sand looked thicker around it, but they could get through it quickly, probably.

But when they got closer to the temple, they realized they were not alone. A pair of Klatooinians stood guard outside the entrance, though Rey noted they looked bored, probably from a lack of action happening around here. But one thing was sure: something was in that temple, and whatever it was, it was worth guarding.

“Think we should risk it?” she asked Finn.

He glanced around, scanning the area. “We might be able to swing around and come from another direction. Either there is a back way in, or we can sneak behind them. Think they have a good sense of smell?”

Rey observed the Klatooinians and noted their canine noses, wondering if their olfactory glands were superior to humans or if it gave them an advantage of some sort in the desert air. She never met someone of this species before to have any real idea.

“Not sure,” she admitted, “but I think we should try your plan out.”

While it took a little longer than Rey would have cared to add to their time, she agreed Finn’s plan was better than just making a run for it. There was no other entrance as they had hoped, but they realized the two Klatooinians were positioned farther away from the temple than they initially believed. Walking quietly, but quickly, they snuck behind them.

They were surprised to find the temple was still in wonderful condition, noting how the bronze statues of strange, snakelike beings had been shined recently and the entry room which lead into others had been swept free of dust and sand.

“We need to be careful,” Finn observed. “There might be others inside the temple.”

Rey nodded as she opened a door and went inside.

They explored the temple for a while, not running into anyone but also not finding any of the holocrons that had been rumored to be here. “I sense them,” Rey said. “They are here, but I can’t figure out where.”

The room they stood in was one they came to for a second time. To Rey, the holocrons seemed to sing to the Force and the sound they made was the loudest here. It was almost as if they were hidden and Finn and Rey would have to find a way to get into the temple further. What stood out to the both of them in this room was the life-sized statue of another snakelike being, a female, judging by the way she stood up and how the features of the statue just appeared more feminine to Rey. She was depicted as wearing ceremonial robes and decorated with real yellow jewels and gold.

In her hands looked to be some sort of staff weapon. Rey curiously studied at it and noted it was a double-sided weapon of some sort.

“I think this is real,” breathed Finn as he too glanced over the weapon. “Look, it’s resting in her hands, not molded into them.”

And when Rey glanced closer, she found this was exactly the case.

Before she could get a better look, however, a group of Klatooinians entered the room, pointing blasters at the pair. They spoke in a language that neither could understand and if they knew Basic, they ignored Finn’s pleas to believe the story that they were just a couple that wanted to explore the temple, nothing more.

After a few minutes of attempted negotiations, Rey decided she couldn’t wait to be shot at, so, she drew her lightsaber – the yellow one she wasn’t sure she liked – and tried to convince the Klatooinians to back away. 

Upon activation, it crackled and flickered out. 

“Oh, come on!” Rey whined, shaking the saber out of frustration.

The yellow blade reappeared after a few moments, startling her and the Klatooinians. With a grin, she used the lightsaber to deflect their startled blasts away from her and Finn.

Without a weapon, however, Finn was a sitting duck.

“Can you cover me?” he shouted to her against the deafening sound of blaster bolts being shot off. “I have an idea.”

“Hurry,” Rey answered.

As she protected him from the incoming shots, Finn stumbled his way toward the statue, reaching his arm out for the weapon. Holding it in his hand, he looked at it a little curiously before he thumbed something on its hilt.

Twin plasma blades, as bright and brilliant as the gold on the statue, glowed in the dimmed light. They were shorter than Rey’s own yellow blade, and the color was deeper than hers, but the length was far more suitable for a double-bladed weapon. Finn twirled it around once, and then, holding it firmly in his hands, charged for the nearest Klatoonian.

Rey almost stopped to marvel at the doubled-bladed saber and how unique it was in combat until she reminded herself that there were still four other Klatoonians in the room and at least two of them had her in their sights. She swung her lightsaber, backing up and swiped at them to try to scare them off. Eventually, her side made contact with Finn’s and they met eyes for a moment before she understood that it was time to quit deflecting their bolts and attack them head on. They weren’t going to back off, which would have been the smart thing to do.

When she ran her blade through the side of one Klatoonian, she surprised her to see him back up a step in shock and then fall to the side. She didn’t think she killed him, but the wound would have been big enough that without immediate care, he would be dead in a few hours.

The others looked at him with alarm, almost in unison, before they ran for it.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” said Finn as he frowned at the Klatoonian on the floor. He gazed at the lightsaber in his hands. “Didn’t expect this either.”

Approaching the statue again, Finn halted in his steps as the room began to tremble around them. There was a light scraping sound, and they watched as three cubes slid down one of the sleeves of the statue’s robes and into her hands. A chute had been hidden there.

“Woah,” said Rey. “Clever.”

Finn glanced at the lightsaber again. “I guess this is what set the statue off? But how? I removed this a couple of minutes ago.”

“Delayed reaction?” Rey shrugged. “In any case, we found the holocrons and if the stories are true, these contain knowledge on how to manipulate the energy of a lightsaber.”

He looked puzzled. “And what exactly would that do?”

“Dunno exactly,” she admitted. “I heard this had once been the location of a temple where a Jedi Master lived and taught students that were in the Outer Rim. One of his students was named a Sentinel after he died and she guarded a secret ability she mastered. I assume that’s her.” Rey nodded at the statue.

“Meaning this would have been her lightsaber,” remarked Finn. “Looks like she guarded those secrets long after she died herself…”

“If I am the last Jedi,” Rey began, “then I’m sure she’ll understand. I can return the holocrons later. I might need this.”“Should we keep the lightsaber?” Finn grinned. “It’s not much use here. We could always use a spare.”

Rey wanted to roll her eyes because Finn really meant he wanted to keep it, preferably for himself. But she was curious about the lightsaber and wanted to know how it worked as a reference for herself to possibly reforged the old Skywalker saber.

“All right, Finn, we can keep it,” she relented. “But we might have to return it one day. ” She thought she might give Finn this lightsaber she was using once she had the blue blade reforged. Maybe the yellow saber would take to him better than it did with her.

The smile on Finn’s face was brighter than the Klatooinian sun overhead.

[kinessie]

i thought of you (so i didn’t have to think of myself)

[ao3]

I thumbed at the old wolf insignia on a metal coin I kept beside my bed. Cassie called me through to eat and I stared at her for a second before roughly throwing the past into a drawer.

I watch over Cassie a lot, I feel like it was my duty to keep an eye on her, after being the one to bring her in. I had bad memories associated with taking a mentor role again, Cassie changed my view.

She’s an amazing girl. She’s smart and friendly, always greeting me with a smile. Her combat skills are second to none, even without formal training. Cassie is absolutely an asset to the Resistance. Valera has commented on that fact many a time. I felt pride burn in my chest seeing her up front next to Valera during battles.

Through the time I’d spent with Cassie, I understood more about her quirks and personality. I’d picked up on most mannerisms of the Paladins as we were very tight-knit. Ying runs her hands through her hair when talking and talks to you like you’re the most important person in the world. Inara paces back and forth in the boardroom when she’s taking time to grieve. Cassie wears her heart on her sleeve, she expresses herself so clearly, her eyes were an open book of her emotions.

So it became apparent to me when she started acting… Out of sorts. I noticed it first around six months ago when she came back from a patrol with joy in her eyes and a smile on her face. I asked why. “Buck told me a great story earlier today!” Buck had been spending the last 48 hours up the mountain after he and I got into another Sentinels-themed argument. I chalked Cassie’s mistake up to a simple slip of the tongue.

Cassie had been keeping to herself recently, only slightly more than usual, only enough that I’d noticed. She’d talk and laugh with Zigs for long stretches or write much longer entries in her journal. One day she put her pen down after seven straight minutes of writing. I asked what was on her mind. “Guess I’ve just been more in-tune with my emotions, recently.”

I walked into her bunk the other day and she was no where to be seen, but I reached down and found a scrap piece of paper with long lines and looped words. Cassie wrote poetry. She wrote one for me, once, but that was short and uninspired. This, however, spoke of a place of peace and serenity. “Beneath the trees where my love is unchained and paints the night sky,” I’d never understood poetry, but I could almost see her soul in this piece.

Last week Valera had us all in the boardroom to discuss an upcoming rally in a village three towns over. It was simply another plan to encourage un-allied settlements to sway their opinions in the way of the Resistance. We all stood, nodding along. I noticed Cassie fidgeting. “How about we do this the week after?” Valera raised an eyebrow at her. “Well… Zigs noticed a storm upcoming. We’d be travelling in poor conditions and the village will be boarded up.” Valera told her that Magistrate occupied areas were creeping closer and closer, and we may not have another opportunity. Cassie dug her fingernails into the wooden round table but said nothing.

Valera agreed in the end to push the rally to the end of the week, although she showed distress in the question if the Magistrate had already sent their forces in this direction. I didn’t want Magistrate blood on my hands today, but I would fight with pride if I must.

We walked through the village which was almost sheltered by forest. I looked up and admired the sunlight peeking through the tall canopies. I could hear Inara behind me taking slower steps as she herself spent time with the nature. People of the village started to emerge from their homes as the Paladins made their way closer to the centre. Cassie was looking back and forth between the trees, not in a lingering, admiring way, her eyes darted.

The mayor of the town had walked up to Valera. His robes were expensive and long, his beard long but well-kept, his posture straight and attentive. He almost looked too regal to be from such a small settlement. Valera gave him a speech similar to ones she’s told to many before. While everyone else stood calm in this seemingly safe village, Cassie was almost alarmingly on-edge. Her hand gripped her crossbow until her knuckles turned white.

Something had to be going on.

That’s when it happened. The mayor took a step away from Valera and immediately a bullet shot through the air and through his skull. Chaos ensued. All of us drew our weapons and the villagers ran around in a frenzy. Ying and Buck tried desperately to calm them and get them back into their homes. Valera pointed her sword in the direction of the bullet, but Cassie piped up and stared in the opposite direction. “I see them! Over there!” That was enough for Valera to take off in the said direction. Sha Lin got himself onto a nearby roof and then into the trees ahead, giving chase.

Cassie was lying. I knew she was. She uses small, almost unnoticeable hand movements to direct Zigs. And as she spoke to direct the others, I saw her left hand curl backwards. Zigs had gone in the correct direction. I should have called her out then and there, but I didn’t, I felt like she was my responsibility. I rushed off with the others for a few seconds, then turned back to see Cassie running after Zigs. I followed behind and tried not to be noticed.

The huntress ran for a while until she reached a slightly open clearing that Zigs hovered over, I flattened myself behind a tree. “Nessa?” She yelled. “Fuck.” She hissed. I’d never heard her swear. A twig snapped and a thud sounded on the forest floor, my curiosity lead me to peek around the trunk and I almost got whiplash at the speed I turned right back.

Kinessa. We were in the Sentinels together. We trained together. Lived together. All of us. And now she was here, after five long years, standing in front of the woman I mentor now just like I mentored before.

“I’m here. You okay?” Spoke the voice that cut into my memory like a knife. “Me?” Spoke the other. “We were all there! They could’ve killed you! I covered for you!” 

Things were starting to fall into place. I could only think of the obvious: Kinessa killed the mayor.

“Shit. I’m sorry. You don’t need to do that for me, I could have gotten away.” Kinessa spoke with a softness I’d never heard before. I remembered her tone as brash, always either excited or mad. I felt a pang in my chest at the unfamiliarity.

“Look.” Cassie audibly sighed. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

There was a moment of silence, I peeked past the tree once again and everything finally made sense. The solo patrols, the late-night monologuing, the long-winded journal entries. It was all for Kinessa. It always was. The two embraced and the once larger than life, reckless and dangerous bounty hunter almost looked small next to Cassie.

I didn’t know what to do in the moment. A part of me strived for justice, to confront Kinessa about the murder, to question Cassie’s loyalty to the Paladins. I wanted to raise my rifle at Kinessa and tell her we all felt lost without her. I wanted to see her face contort after telling her I put a bullet in Strix’s arm only two months after I pledged into the Resistance. I wanted her to feel the pain she had inadvertently caused.

But that wasn’t fair? Was it?

That all happened years ago. Now today I see Cassie smiling and writing poetry on scraps of paper. The neutral grounds she spoke so delicately of were never of a place but of a person. War had raised the hackles of everyone and if Cassie had truly found a place to exist comfortably for a while, then did I really have the heart to stop her?

Looking back just one more time I noticed the large scar across Kinessa’s right arm and remembered the face of the gorlock who cut it. The scars on my stomach told the same story. As if she could hear my thoughts, Cassie reached over and trailed her thumb over Kinessa’s scar. It was almost as if she was acknowledging she carried memories in the past, but that they, together, lived in the present. 

War was messy, confusing. It bred grudges, anger.

Four years ago I wouldn’t have walked away from that clearing as I did, leaving Cassie behind. I fear I would have killed Kinessa there and then, blaming her for ruining the only hapiness I had. Cassie was a better person than me, I couldn’t pretend that I knew everything about her, but I knew that for sure. It was time for me to take my place in the present. It my have not been politically right, but protecting Cassie was morally right, it was something I wanted to do. 

In the coming months, whenever Cassie came in late and I saw her giddy and grinning, I covered for her. Said to Valera she was on a patrol set by me. I talked with Buck, getting out into the open all the bottled up emotion I had of the past, and that was then settled. Tensions rose higher and higher, clashes with the Magistrate had left some of us wounded and angry.

One night, Cassie headed for the door with a bag slung over her shoulders. I spotted her and she looked at me like a deer in the headlights.

“Tyra! I-“

Go. I told her. And she went, seeking the comfort and answers we couldn’t provide.

I opened my drawer and picked up the metal coin inside. It was rusted, it’s status and dignity long lost. Buck found his freedom in worship, Kinessa and Cassie found theirs in love. I think I was about to find my freedom in a way unique to me.

I went to place the coin back but hesitated, I slipped it into my pocket and felt it press against a scar that I would carry with me, always.

A door opened. 

[high-justiciar]

Light The Corners

[ tw: detailed war scene beneath the cut ]

Even the shadows of Drustvar did not dare to penetrate a certain radius around the Justicar, one that remained unseen, but blindingly apparent all the same. At her side, her squire found it harder to deal with the darkness which had naturally permeated this land over time. “I did not expect us to head this far north...”

“Enjoy it, Sunfletcher, it is even worse inland.” The Justiciar stood straight and taut as she adjusted a plate gauntlet, a soldier’s posture, one proven to be engrained in her very nature and character since he’d known her; and long before that, he was able to infer.

Sighing lightly, Deus directs his golden gaze out across the expanse of dark water before them, settling upon an island less than a mile from shore, which stood not much more than an outcropping of rock. Even then, Alliance soldiers crawled along it’s surface like ants, unloading crates of supplies from rowboats, and hoisting up the bare bones of wooden structures. “Why here?”

“We’ve mapped every one of their trade routes within Kul’tiras, scorched the suppliers along the way, and with our outposts here, the western side of the island has been put into a complete chokehold. They must hope to use this point to send supplies inward to Arom’s Stand. It is almost ingenuous.”

She looks upward, sunfire eyes scanning the horizon coolly. 

“But, much too expected. Send for bats, we are going to take care of this ourselves.”

“Now?” He glances over his shoulder to the ten-man team that had been assigned to accompany Siphiah in scouting the area. “But they must be at least a platoon strong...” A nicer way of saying that they were currently outnumbered four to one.

“Deus, look upon the island.” She instructs, and he does so. “A few humans unload the boats, but...”

“Mostly night-elves.”

“That’s right.” She nods, curtly. “And, night-elves want to be fighting with their brothers and sisters in Darkshore, not building an outpost for an island they could care less about. Merely another one of the Alliance’s expeditions which has pushed their people into a foreign war. They’re just going through the motions. There is no drive, many of them aren’t even armed.”

Her gaze directs upon him then, one that never failed to make him falter, even when it wasn’t her intention. Right now, though, it might have been. 

“Send for the bats.” She reiterates, and this time, there was no hesitation to comply on his part.

The moon had risen, shrouding their surroundings in shades of cool blue. In Drustvar, these subtle differences in atmospheric hues were the only hints at a passage of time, for darkness hung over the land constantly. It was yet another fact about this place that both interested, and unnerved the squire. 

When the deathstalker arrived with a tribe of riding bats bound by chains, they selected their mounts and took to them swiftly, two to one. Deus seated himself behind Siphiah, and weary of the creature beneath them, he reaches around the Justicar’s waist to steady himself by the reigns. A gauntleted hand instantly whips upward to smack him with the back of it, the sting of plate leaving him recoiling backward, and clinging to the rump of the bat instead. She does not say a word as she takes up the reigns and lifts them into the skies.

Regardless, the flight was quick, and the group soon landed at the back of the island, swooping around in a longer route to remain as undetected as possible. Of course, Deus had been beside the Justicar in battle before, and knew subtlety was often her last concern.

The bats were left at the shore as the twelve of them wrap around the island, stopping behind a mountainous ledge which offered them some cover close by, but out of sight. From there they take inventory of what was visible; 34 soldiers, possibly more within an unfinished fort sat on the highest point of the island. Sentinels bore glaives, some soldiers with swords, fewer with rifles, and the unloaded cannons did not yet appear primed or ready to fire.

Crouching behind the outcropping, the Justicar gestures for Deus to unlatch his saddlebag, removing a stack of short torches from it, which she passed along throughout the group and lit between her hands with a spark of holy fire.

“We shall burn their supplies as we go, we don’t have the manpower to haul it from here. There’s a large cache set farthest away from the water and behind their tents; no doubt it’s ammunition, and probably Azerite. Take a shot at it, and we’ve taken care of a third of their troops, maybe more.” She looks upward to every gathered soldier. “The rest can be left to me. Understood?”

A silent chorus of nods ensued. A ranger takes point at the edge of the outcropping, with just enough room to aim above it, her arrow gleaming with azerite. Their breaths held as she fired, and true to Siphiah’s inference, the crate exploded the moment it was pierced, decimating their tents, and tossing aside soldiers in at least a 10 yard radius. The remaining platoon launched into action, leaving Siphiah to watch on with a squint as some of the sentinels take advantage of their surroundings and meld into the shadows.

In an instant she had scaled over the outcropping, striding forth with purpose, and splaying her hands outward as she utters her spellwords. Beneath their feet, her consecration spread to encircle most of the shore, it’s borders flaring to life with holy fire, stealing away any who tried to hide themselves within it, and trapping all those who found themselves inside regardless.

“The Light reveals,” She declares, removing her axe from her back to hold, a titan-forged weapon which rippled with heat, empowered by her touch. The borders part enough to allow her to breach it, and quite instantly, a footman surged forth with his sword, aiming for her frame with wild abandon. Swiftly, she swings in an upward strike from left to right, her blade connecting with his helm, savagely denting the metal and melting through it like butter; of course, that did not matter much, when the force of the blow alone was enough to snap his neck. He crumbled to the ground beneath him in an instant.

Deus marveled at the way her brutality was able to inspire; at that very moment, the rest of their group rushed in, orcs letting out an easy battle-cry, crushing their way through the forces still disoriented by the Justicar’s spell. He followed hot on their heels, drawing his sword and picking off stragglers, while staying away from the heat of battle. Even then, he could watch Siphiah cutting her way through their forces to the cove that must have held their leader. This was standard procedure.

It was not even a minute later that the Justicar appeared, dragging out their captain by the hair, bloody and burnt. The battlefield quieted and they watched, some in horror, her own forces with pride, as Siphiah forced her to her knees in the middle of the field. 

“Would you like to share the truth with the rest of us, Captain?” A gauntleted hand grabbed at the top of her head, the sentinel captain screaming out in pain as the Justiciar’s light sears into her mind and flesh alike.

“We were to...supply an attack...on your outpost...” She sputters blood. “S-supplies...to Arom’s…”

Siphiah had heard enough. A final flash of light rippled from her palm, and the captain fell forth, brain-dead before she’d even hit the ground. The scene deprived the Alliance forces of what little morale they had; soldiers were easily cut down, others captured, their supplies and belongings set ablaze.

The Justiciar calmly crosses he field to her squire, looking him over for signs that he had participated in the battle. Spotting blood upon his gloves and blades, she nods approvingly.

“If you remember anything from me, Sunfletcher, let it be that candor will always show itself to a willing hand.”

[diveronaevents]

The days and nights that follow the Trial come and go not unlike the trial itself-- strangely, and without a true sense of closure, any hint of justice lost to the currents beneath the Castelvecchio. The verdict on Alvise’s murder remains murky and Celeste remains hidden behind Capulet walls, her status largely unknown to the Montagues except for what slivers of truth her captors are willing to parcel out in their mercy. Violence continues, unfettered and everblooming, each day bringing rising casualties and minor destruction, each day there’s new smoke on the horizon, new ash littering the cobblestone streets. The Witches remain silent and unseen, absent from their usual posts at their properties, unfamiliar faces wordlessly taking their place.

The more superstitious of Veronans in the know must surely wonder what the price of a witch’s bruised ego is. Would they take their guests’ insolence in stride? Had the city lost its sentinels of centuries to their own pride and exasperation? Had a breaking point finally been reached? “Nonsense,” their more secular counterpoints scoff, “Not every silence is ominous.”

But the avid reader might have already learned that circumstances are not so simple, and something as tricky as fate is not so easily brushed off by mortals who fancy themselves gods. Luck and tragedy have a way of walking in tandem, one striking after the other, one wearing the other’s face while speaking in their own voice. If there was luck to be had, it would come bearing tragedy’s likeness.

There was only a light drizzle at first. Citizens walked with a quicker step, lifting their newspapers above their heads; most continued on in their business, as most would. But the drizzle quickened into a brisk pouring; doors closed shut, tables were taken in from outside; still, no one had any reason to be worried— and why would they? The weather has been sunny in Verona for months, a blessing upon the tenuous peace that had been so lasting. But every peace lasts only for so long.

It began with the whipping winds, the gales strong enough to shake windows and tear plants from their roots; debris flew, striking the shingles off rooftops, colliding with ancient monuments and shattering window panes. Then, the lightning. One great bolt, the thunder so deafening one would wonder if the gods themselves bore a grudge against Verona. All at once, darkness blankets the city. No power, no lights, all as evening arrives, the secondary player to the storm, indifferent to the destruction wrought.

But just as some may think a reprieve has finally come with the shadows, the flood begins. The Adige rises before anyone can beg for its mercy, filling the streets with rapidly moving water, first to the height of one’s ankles— then to their waists. The masses desperately make their way to higher ground, racing to cathedral rooftops, the very top of Lamberti Tower, anywhere to be shielded from the rain above and the rushing current below. It seems as if no one is safe in Verona, and certainly not either of the two most notorious families.

MERCUTIO and CELIA were in the middle of a skirmish on Capulet territory with MACBETH and PARIS when the storm struck. The four are forced to seek refuge in the The Dark Lady. The Capulets attempt to bar the Montagues out to strand them, but the Montagues manage to force their way in, enraged and hungry for blood. The power goes out— a dangerous game of cat and mouse ensues.

Elsewhere, VOLUMNIA encounters ANTONY in peril— the adviser was in the Gardens of the Twelfth Night Museum when a tree collapsed onto one of the standing statues, the fallen marble pinning him underneath. Not long after, BENVOLIO arrives, having heard the commotion from inside, and helps ANTONY regain the upper hand— only to earn the adviser’s ire against the Capulets manifested in a punch straight to his jaw.

CORDELIA and TITANIA, meanwhile, find themselves stranded on Montague territory in the midst of rising waters. Wading through, they find refuge in the first building they can find— the library of Montague headquarters. HAMLET and SEBASTIAN are waiting for them and take the opportunity to either separate the two or use one to get the other to talk about Alvise.

GONERIL, having accompanied ANTONY to the museum thinking CRESSIDA could have been hidden there, split up with the adviser to investigate the offices on the lower level. She runs into ROSALINE, who is prepping the museum for the storm, and the Capulet immediately goes on the offensive, to the soldier’s delight.

BIANCA, having been tasked with integrating herself in Montague contacts, finds herself in To Tame A Soup the hour the storm strikes. As the patrons realize the severity of the storm and begin to panic, she attempts to leave before the situation worsens. ROMEO spots BIANCA and gives chase— she realizes she can play dumb or own up and risk the consequences or explain herself by giving the appearance of a genuine interest in the soup kitchen and possibly gaining the Montague’s mercy as the storm worsens around them.

TYBALT, having left Measure by Measure not long before the storm hit, resorts to breaking into an abandoned building to reach safety, only to injure himself in the process, catching his skin on the broken glass. NICK BOTTOM, already having sought refuge inside, spots the Capulet and can’t help but taunt and provoke him into a fight, wanting to see if even the Tiger has limits. It’s broken up quickly when the water reaches inside and they’re forced to climb to the roof and find safety.

REGAN, having been sent to investigate Measure by Measure, finds herself and the rest of the fight club patrons plunged into darkness. Chaos erupts among the fighters laden with adrenaline, and there’s no clear way out in the confusion and dark. BRUTUS emerges, having recognized the Capulet, and is torn between throwing REGAN into the middle of it all or helping her gain control and command over the situation.

LAVINIA and LADY MACBETH are out near Montague territory when the storm strikes, LADY MACBETH intent on toughening up LAVINIA. They run across a stranded Montague who, having nearly been caught by the floodwater, scaled up to the rooftop of the Two Gentlemen. A rookie, they are, having just joined the Montagues as a drug runner, they tearfully confess. It’s too late to turn back from the filth of this life, Lavinia— this is war. However, a sudden appearance by CLEOPATRA puts a halt to their plans, and she steps in front of the Montague rookie, intent on making it clear that the Capulets’ antics stop here. Another target upon which to set our crosshairs, LADY MACBETH reminds LAVINIA.

At the Lamberti Tower, OPHELIA and IMOGEN have met to discuss the aftermath of Alvise’s death for a possible story to go to the press. As chance would have it, HIPPOLYTA was in the right place at the right time, catching sight of them meeting at the foot of the tower. As the storm worsens, she follows them up, suspecting them of working against the Capulets— she ambushes them both, emerging with her gun drawn, and grabs IMOGEN. OPHELIA, in all her grief and anger, refuses to let the situation spiral out of control. A shot rings out.

CELIA, following her skirmish, is crossing a treacherous path back to Montague headquarters when she finds VIOLA helping pull an injured Capulet free from flood waters. The Capulet recovers, only to pull a blade out at the sight of CELIA, lethal and full of newfound adrenaline. CELIA only has a split second to gather her bearings and ready herself for a fight; VIOLA realizes the situation needs to be diffused before anything worse comes from it.

JULIET is alerted to a massive crash in the area of Capulet headquarters where CRESSIDA is being held hostage. The wall had been partially damaged in the storm, enough for Montague to slip through, leaving the space she had once occupied empty. The heiress frantically runs out of the headquarters and runs into PORTIA who, sensing something is amiss, corners JULIET and demands answers.

HORATIO finds himself caught in a rapid current and barely has enough energy to stay afloat and breathe. He tries desperately to cling to whatever he can find, but to no avail. As the water takes him towards Capulet territory, MIRANDA, having found some higher ground, spots him and hurriedly goes to save him. Grabbing him, she is suddenly pitted against nature, and by sheer force manages to pull him to safety, the both of them exhausted beyond belief. Relief comes in the form of HELENUS, who was in the middle of conducting mass when the storm struck.

CRESSIDA, having not escaped very far In the storm due to a sprained ankle, runs into EDMUND who admonishes her attempt at escape. However, they catch the attention of FORTINBRAS who recognizes his chance to win Damiano’s favor. The Capulet draws his gun at FORTINBRAS, but is shot at before he can, a bullet grazing his wrist and causing him to drop his gun. PUCK emerges, balancing the scales for his offense against BEATRICE, and allowing FORTINBRAS and CRESSIDA to escape.

OVERVIEW: Welcome to the third scene of act one, dear friends and roleplayers! A terrible, ominous, almost supernatural storm has gripped Verona, and our Montagues and Capulets and in-betweens are caught right in the middle of it. Many muses were performing their daily duties when the storm struck, and now find themselves in precarious situations— please feel free to play out any of the above scenarios out on the dash! And just because your muse is in one location doesn’t mean they can’t be anywhere else before or immediately after the storm, which takes place on September 29th. Please date threads anytime from September 29th to October 9th, with the storm starting to affect Verona at 4:45PM on September 29th. As always, feel free to write any of your previous threads as well.

We also hope you all enjoyed FORTINBRAS and HELENUS’ introductions— their bios will be released in the next few days, so keep an eye out for them! We purposefully tried to keep their involvement to a minimum or at least made it possible for muses who have interactions with them to write threads prior to or following their involvement.

Thank you all for your wonderful activity, and we hope you enjoy this plot drop!

[let-it-go-and-let-it-live]

Lesson Learned

Tony Stark x Reader

anonymous asked:

could you do where tony is teaching something sciencey in his lab and the reader gets hurt and or something and tony gets super worried?

Word Count: ~890

A/N: Alright, so I deviated a bit. I am also extremely happy with this. It took me so long to get it started, and then I finished it in a night. So, my dear Anon, wherever you are, I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

It was easy working for and with Tony Stark… as long as he wasn’t around. You were fresh out of college when he took you on as his intern. It was Pepper’s idea; she thought Tony needed somewhere to channel his extra energy. She insisted that having something to really focus on, someone to teach, would help with his anxiety.

For the most part, her plan works. On the nights you both part ways after hours in the lab, the man sleeps like a rock. Whenever he’s gone on a mission, he leaves a project or two behind and calls to check your progress when he can. He’s a great teacher, doing more for you than you would have ever expected.

You’re in the lab, one of Tony’s sentinels standing with its chest cavity open. You hold a tablet in one hand while your eyes focus on the projected diagram of the sentinel’s insides.

“I don’t understand why…”

Just as you reach in to check one of the wires, the lab door opens, and the sound of Tony’s voice makes you jump.

“Ow!” You exclaim, shaking your hand and looking at your shocked fingers, “Damn it!”

He quickly apologizes and closes the space between you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He says with a gentle smile as he takes your damaged hand, “Are you okay?”

“It…” You clear your throat. “It was just a little shock.” You pull your hand away. “I’m okay.”

He clears his throat as well and steps toward the sentinel, “So, how’s it coming?”

You have to shake your head clear before answering him. You move to stand next to him as you zoom in on the affected area in the diagram.

“It looks like a couple of his wires just shorted out. It should be an easy fix.”

He nods and turns to you, taking the tablet from you and closing out the diagrams, “It’s late. You should get some rest. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

You could do nothing more than just nod your head and quietly leave the room. As you crawl into bed a little while later, your mind is still reeling, trying to make sense of his actions – of the concern in his eyes as he held your hand so gently in his.

You spend the next week trying to focus on work and not on him or the things he started doing. He’s bringing you coffee in the morning, and it’s exactly the way you like it. He’s going out of his way to get you lunch from your favorite restaurants. He’s working closer to you than ever before, your hands touching constantly as you trade tools. In the end, you spend the whole week trying to figure him out while your progress with your work slows down.

A couple of days later, Bucky catches you in the hall after having just come back from a mission.

“I took a hit,” he explains, “and my arm has been acting up since.”

“Well, I was just on my way to the lab. You can come with me, and I’ll get some scans and try to figure out what’s going on.”

That’s all that was happening when Tony came into the lab ten minutes later. You know he has his eyes on you and Bucky, but he hasn’t said a word. It only takes a half hour to get everything you need to start the working on the repairs to Bucky’s arm. You give him a temporary fix and tell him you’ll let him know when everything is ready for the permanent solution.

“Thanks, doll.”

You smile only slightly at his words and watch after him as he leaves the lab. Once he’s gone, you turn back to the materials at hand, but the new arm is Tony’s design and you’re having a little bit of trouble.

“Hey, Tony, can you help me with this?”

It takes calling out to him a couple more times before he finally comes to your side.

“I don’t how you did it, but some of these connections just don’t make sense.”

He chuckles a bit before he starts to walk you through the way he connected and calibrated everything. He watches you as you work. As you move to connect one last wire, his hand reaches out abruptly to take yours.

“Not there.”

In the same moment, though, your other hand touches the end of the soldering iron. You draw your hand back with a shout, and as you’re trying to shake the pain away, Tony is struggling to catch your hand. When he finally does, he inspects the glowing red mark. You watch in shock as he leans down and kisses the wound.

You speak his name on a breath. He looks up at you, his brown eyes searching yours for a hint of offence at his actions. Instead, your own eyes look to his lips before his eyes again. A moment later, your lips are against his in a gentle but satisfying kiss. When you pull back, he chuckles and kisses your hand again.

“You should really learn to be more careful.”

You put your hand to his cheek, sliding it back to rest on neck, “Consider that lesson learned.”

He smiles as you pull him back in, any pain and any confusion forgotten.

TONY STARK X READER MASTERLIST

TONY STARK TAGLIST (OPEN):  @captainamerotica @irishprincess9 @jaegers-and-kaijus @starkiewtf @thevanishedillusion @callingmrsbarnes @plan3tmadison @winchester-negan-one-shots @mrunmayi @purplekitten30 @babyblues915 @gabriels-trix