#ok hes a caravan guard now. now hes a soldier. now hes on his way to being adopted into house indoril

[rucow]

the way im the only person who genuinely sees nerevar as being a divine (or at least a fragment of a divine) .... i need to lie on the floor and ponder

[donttellthemangosiwashere]

Guess who watched Frozen2 yesterday and is back on her AU Juice

ok get this, using thomas’s rewrite for Frozen 1 but also 

you know that theory where Hans is like,,,, a chill dude, and the rock trolls are the evil ones and mind-controlled him into fuckin shit up so Christof would become king? also that

Spoilers for Frozen 2 so,,,, be wary

Virgil is Elsa 

Paranoid shut-in, afraid of scary ice powers, convinced himself he’s perfectly comfortable with being alone forever. Distrusts Dee immediately because he can sense the presence of magic in him, but he doesn’t know that’s what it is at first

Patton is Ana 

Emotionally volatile, quick to trust/immediately assumes the best in people, bit of a hopeless romantic

Roman is Christof 

Agrees to help Patton because “ur a prince, I cant let you do this alone it’s not noble of me to leave u hanging like that”

Remus is Roman’s funky twin brother who would rather just continue being a rock troll honestly

Kinda functions as Sven/Olaf/comic relief buddy character but they also DO have an Olaf and a reindeer steed to pull the wagon. He's hanging out with Patton and Roman during most of the movie

Deceit is Hans

Actually a prince from another country who’s like an ok dude and does grow fond of Patton immediately after meeting him, not evil until later

Logan is the head guard/politician guy with the big nose that was their advisor/guardian after their parents died, you know the guy

He's gonna be much more important in the story. He mostly tails Dee and slowly figures out that there’s something weird about him towards the end, and tries to protect Virgil and Patton from him. He cares about them so much, but he’s bad with emotions, so he’s not great at helping Patton with his loneliness or helping Virgil with his anxiety. Even when the rest of the kingdom starts to turn against them, he never doubts that Virgil is good

Character Thomas is Olaf because that’s cute as hell

He’s an embodiment of Virgil’s love for and protectiveness over Patton, but the longer he exists, the more he starts to develop his own personality and traits based on who he spends time with? So eventually Logan, Roman, Remus, Deceit, and Patton all become a part of him too, and he’s their little amalgamation snow son

(plot stuff under the cut. be warned, i put waaaay too much goddamn thought into this)

Ok so most of the first movie happens as normal. Thomas is just a lovable little anxious snow boy who walks around and dotes over and protects Patton, Reindeer is just a regular animal, Virgil runs away after a freakout, Patton goes to find him, etc etc etc

But when Hans is on the road in the first movie (when him and some soldiers have just captured Virgil from his ice castle and are marching back to the kingdom) their caravan is jumped by the rock trolls. Virgil doesn’t know whats going on cause he’s trapped in a carriage with no windows, but the rock trolls lure Dee away and then do the evil magic thing, they puppet him from then on to imprison Virgil and refuse to kiss Patton.

Roman and Remus drop Patton off and return to the woods, right? Roman’s being all reluctant about it, and Remus is like “im sure he still wants to be ur friend bro, it doesnt matter that he’s a prince and we’re common, you KNOW he doesnt care about all that” but Roman is not convinced, says he’ll ‘think about it’. They return to the rock trolls, and Remus sees the shaman in the process of puppeting Dee, in the “if only there was someone who loved you” scene where Patton is clearly dying. Remus runs to tell Roman what’s really happening, and they get caught. Roman stays behind to fight off the other rock trolls, buying Roman time to race towards the castle and save the brothers

The “if only there was someone who loved you” scene is different, tho. First of all, Dee doesn’t say that. He (and the shaman) are too smart to give up the bit until they are SURE they’ve won. Dee refuses to kiss Patton, but in like a soft way. (Got this scene from my friend Nat on discord, one of the reasons i made this au at all, its fucking KILLER) It’s more like a 

“i mean yes im fond of you but I don’t love you??? We just met” “but you proposed!” “We’re princes, looking for love in marriage is an idea I abandoned a long time ago. I figured I could at least make you happy, and an alliance between our kingdoms would be favorable.” “Oh...” “I could see myself falling in love with you, Patton, i mean that. But right now... If I could break the curse, I would. I’m deeply sorry.... Is there anything I can do to keep you warm?“ “No, there’s nothing...” “How dare your bother turn his magic against you? First he freezes the kingdom, then that golem, then he curses his own brother? (he does a whole schpeil where he convinces an emotionally broken and shellshocked Patton that Virgil is actually like evil and bad) ...Sit here, I will get you some blankets.” (Again, quote @glorifiedpigeon! She wrote a whole scene like this with Dee as Hans and Roman as Elsa, its bonkers as hell!! So good!)

While he’s gone “getting blankets” (Dee’s really just gonna leave him to freeze) Thomas sneaks in, and starts up a fire. Patton tells him not to do that cause he’ll melt, and he’s like “some people are worth melting for.” Thomas can tell Patton he’s upset and they talk about Virgil and how Patton doesn’t know what to think anymore. Thomas melts while keeping the fire warm for Patton, his sacrifice breaks the cold-poison-curse-thing and Patton is saved. The conversation Patton has with Thomas while he’s dying is weirdly familiar, and Patton realizes that it’s a 1 to 1 of a conversation him and Virgil had when they found out there parents died, when Virgil promised to “protect you no matter what, i love you.” Patton realizes Thomas was just a representation of Virgil’s brotherly love for him, which is cute as fuck, and then he goes to save his brother.

Virgil is visited by Logan, who busts him out of his cell, telling him he never doubted him for a second, but he’s wary of Dee. They run away together, panning to go out and find Patton and finally talk everything out. Dee reaches them, and calls Logan a traitor to the crown for helping Virgil escape, insisting that the fact that they are running away proves Virgil’s guilt. Logan tells Virgil to stay calm and keep a hold on his powers, and goes to confront Dee alone. Dee twists Logan’s words and just makes them sound more suspicious, eventually whacking Logan with the handle of his sword and knocking him out. Virgil is enraged, and attacks Dee. He almost kills him, but then Roman arrives, and stops Virgil from landing a killing blow. He’s about to explain what’s happening, and that Dee can still be saved and it’s not his fault, but Dee (with the rock troll magic being channeled through him) Silences Roman with a spell, so he cant speak. 

At the moment, Virgil is scared, distressed, and kinda cornered since he refuses to leave Logan’s unconscious body, and Virgil has no reason to trust Roman. All Roman knows about Virgil is that he’s wicked powerful and volatile, and he knows he can’t let Hans kill Virgil. This leads to the three of them all fighting each other 1v1v1, Hans trying to kill Roman and Virgil, Virgil trying to fend off Hans and Roman, and Roman trying to keep ether of the other two from killing each other while protecting himself.

Patton finally reaches them, and sees Roman knocked out and trapped in ice, incapacitated by Virgil, and Virgil is doin some ice magic at Dee, about to kill him, or at least wound him, to escape. Patton protects Dee, and is like “Yo no wait Virgil, you both have the wrong idea! He’s just scared of you, he’s not bad!” And Roman really wants to say “He IS bad but not in the way you think!”, but he’s still silenced. Virgil’s like “uh yeah he IS bad, look at what he did to Logan!” 

Finally, Remus catches up. He runs in from behind Dee and Patton, so they don’t see him approach until he yells to them about the trolls and whats actually going on. While they’re all distracted, Dee attacks Patton, holding him at knife-point and using him as a hostage to get Virgil to stop with the magics.

How is this fight resolved? Fuck if I know, I kinda wrote myself into a corner lmao. They are somehow able to incapacitate/trick dee, and Virgil uses his magic to override the trolls and free him from the mind-control.

And, at the end, there’s this cute little scene, after Patton is explaining everything that happened to Virgil and vice versa, where Patton’s like:

“Wait, wait! Can you resurrect Thomas??” and Virgil’s all snarky about it like “I dont know, wouldn’t that lessen the impact of his sacrifice? He’s like, a part of me, right? I think he’d like to go out all melancholy and poetic like that” “Virgil oh my goodness if you dont bring back my little snowman buddy I will cry here and now” “Okay, okay, jeez”

HERE IS WHERE THE SECOND MOVIE COMES IN

pretty much the only thing that changes is this: you know the voice thing that Elsa just starts hearing out of nowhere as a sign to fix past wrongs and whatnot? Virgil only starts hearing them now BECAUSE the rock trolls were blocking the signal from reaching him. And, Dee comes with them on this adventure and kinda redeems himself over the course of the movie by being a cool dude. And, the grampa who did the betraying was ALSO controlled by the rock trolls way back when; the rock trolls have been trying to destabilize the magic for years so that they could siphon more of it away from the spirits for their own personal use, and they got greedy once they had humans (re and ro) to work with, wanting political power as well. (Dee has been staying with them in their kingdom, as the ambassador from his country or whatever)

And for all you Shippers out there

the ships for this could be literally anything, dude. like literally any combination works, go fucking hogwild. Doesn’t even have to have a romantic ship or anything, it could just be everyone being platonic lovely babies.

[eugenebondurant]

those stumbling words that told you what my heart meant  || ch. 1

Read on AO3 here ★

Summary: When Easy comes into the town of Alsace for the night, Carwood and Ron are billeted together in a room with one bed. Carwood's got pneumonia, Ron is fretting over him, and both think the other should have the bed.

Pairings: Carwood Lipton x Ron Speirs

Genre: Fluff, sickfick, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: None!

A/N: This fic is based on a paragraph from Stephen Ambrose's book Band of Brothers. I couldn't believe that I had a ready-made "there was only one bed" sickfic for Speirton, and of course, my brain took that and ran with it. That said, this fic is based solely off the portrayal from the HBO miniseries and is meant to be taken in that pseudo-fictional universe, and no disrespect is meant to any of the real guys whatsoever :)

The night air was bitterly cold, sharp and still like a blanket over the town of Alsace even as the line of Army trucks rumbled through the streets. Carwood got out far earlier than his aching muscles wanted to; he hopped down from the bed of the truck as soon as the lights of the town could be spotted, mindful of his responsibility despite the protests of his body and the men in his truck who urged him to stay put and let somebody else take his job for the night. Carwood would do no such thing, but he appreciated it all the same; he knew without a doubt that most of his friends and fellow soldiers would gladly take on the walking patrol for him and let him rest, but he wasn’t one to shirk his duties, even when sick, and especially not when he could take any burden and risk away from his men.

He fell into step beside the slow-moving caravan, letting the familiar sound of the men’s tired conversation act like a balm to his mind that ran ragged with worries of attacks, endless checklists, and making sure everyone and everything was taken care of. They weren’t expecting any resistance through Alsace, but no soldier worth his salt - especially one just emerging from Bastogne, Foy, and Noville - would let down his guard so easily. Like the other noncoms walking beside their trucks, Carwood kept a sharp eye out for Krauts, hostile townspeople, or even rowdy paratroopers who’d had a bit too much whiskey and a bit too little peace of mind. Their vigilance would pay off when everyone was safely billeted and everyone accounted for.

He muffled a cough in his sleeve, wincing at the sound of it and the accompanying pain in his chest. He wondered briefly if he should check in with a medic before the night was through, but he had other things to worry about before he worried about himself.

“Hey, Sarge,” came a voice from the truck in front of him. Carwood looked up and saw George Luz’s face peek over the tailgate, cheerful as ever despite the shadows under his eyes that told of loss and pain and utter exhaustion.

Carwood gave him a smile. “What’cha need, Luz?”

“You sure you don’t want one of us to take the patrol?” he asked. “You really should try and take it easy. Uh, sir,” he added quickly, lest the first sergeant mistake his concern for insubordination.

Carwood chuckled. “Thanks, Luz,” he said. “But I’m ok. It’s not much longer till we’ll be stopping anyways. You know where you’re billeted?”

“Malark says he does, so I’ll follow him,” Luz said with a grin. “He’s useful, from time to time.”

Carwood shook his head and couldn’t help but smile. “That he is.”

He was going to ask George to see to it that everyone riding with him knew where they were billeted - not that the boys didn’t look out for each other, but it always helped to have a reminder - when he heard his name being called further down the line.

“See you later, Luz,” he said, getting a jokey salute in return, which made him smile. He picked up the pace and jogged down to Lieutenant Foley, who looked a little surprised when Carwood walked alongside him.

“No offense, First Sergeant, but you look like hell,” Foley said.

“None taken,” Carwood said calmly. “Though I can’t imagine I’m worse than most of the men, sir. You needed to see me?”

“Uh, yes,” Foley said, a little sheepish with how smoothly Carwood had diverted the attention away from himself. “I wanted to make sure you knew we don’t have to go ahead with the OP tonight.”

Carwood breathed a sigh of relief. He’d hoped for the men’s sake that they wouldn’t have to bother with setting up an OP on the far edges of town; it would have been more miserable than anything to have to stay awake and alert out in the cold while everyone else was sleeping in warm houses. He’d thought about who he’d pick for OP duty if it had been needed; aside from himself, he couldn’t bring himself to choose anyone. He was glad he didn’t have to.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “The men will be very happy to hear that.”

He and Foley slowed as the trucks rumbled to a stop in what looked like the city square, men unloading themselves and what little gear they had onto the icy cobblestones and awaiting direction.

“Get some rest, First Sergeant,” Foley said. “The men need you in fighting form.”

“Yes, sir,” Carwood said obediently, knowing as well as Foley did that the noncoms wouldn’t rest until all the men were settled. “I better try and get the guys headed in the right direction.”

He and Foley parted ways, Foley to look after his platoon and Carwood to find anyone who looked lost, especially the replacements. The only thing those kids had ever known of war was the front lines, and they could probably use some help getting to where they needed to go.

He was especially keen on easing the veterans into a position of friendly responsibility for the replacements, reminding them that they had been just as green and just as eager to please as these kids were. He found a few stragglers and told them within earshot of the veterans to stick to their sergeants and corporals; their squads would most likely be billeted together, and it was a safe bet to follow their noncoms. Even the surliest of veterans couldn’t easily protest when Carwood shepherded one of the replacements over to them, and Carwood felt confident that concern for their fellow soldier would override any reservations they might have.

He had just steered a replacement barely eighteen years old into Bull’s kind and compassionate circle of influence when Lieutenant Speirs walked up to him, helmet held under his arm, messy curls falling over his forehead.

“Lipton,” he said by way of greeting, his usually stern features softened by tiredness. “Are the men getting settled?”

“Yes, sir,” Carwood answered. “I think Sergeant Randleman’s is the last squad to get into their billets. Everyone else is accounted for.”

Speirs gave a relieved sigh. “Good. Thank you. Do you know where you’re billeted?”

Carwood shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Me either,” Speirs said. “Come on, let’s see what we can find out.”

Carwood walked with the Lieutenant as the empty trucks started to depart, content to let Speirs find someone to give them directions. Now that he knew the boys were settled, he was starting to feel the weight of his own exhaustion; worse, his body was starting to give up on the defenses he’d shored up against his illness. He felt the chill all the way through to his bones, and every breath he drew rattled and ached in his chest.

Carwood felt Speirs’ gaze on him as they walked, particularly after a rough volley of coughs that seemed to take more energy than he had left. He recovered and huddled further into his jacket, cradling his rifle in his arms that crossed over his chest.

“You sound terrible, Lipton,” Speirs said.

Carwood gave a dry laugh. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, I mean it,” Speirs said, his voice colored with concern. “Have you gotten that checked out?”

Carwood shook his head. “Haven’t gotten around to it, sir.”

Speirs huffed. “Well, I can’t blame you. But you’re seeing a medic before you sack out, and that’s an order.”

Carwood sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“In fact - ” Speirs waved someone over; Carwood didn’t have the energy to see who. “Let’s get that done now, and then we’ll find out where we’re staying, and we can go straight there.”

Carwood didn’t miss how Speirs kept saying “we”; he felt a warmth that took the edge off the night air at the Lieutenant’s concern for him. He let Speirs steer him to sit on the bed of a truck that was still idling, allowing Speirs to take his helmet off for him almost tenderly and gently prying his rife from his stiff arms.

“Doc Roe’s going to take a look at you,” Speirs said.

Carwood looked up and met the brown eyes of the Cajun medic, kind despite their tiredness. “Hey, First Sergeant,” Roe said calmly. “What’s going on?”

Carwood shrugged. “Cough. It’s been pretty bad for a day or so.” It was no use lying to Doc Roe; not only would it not help, he would also be able to see through it in a second. The medic had become so accustomed to Easy Company’s tells that he could read every man like a book when it came to their health.

“Okay,” Doc Roe said kindly. He fished around in his bag and pulled out a thermometer, which Carwood dutifully took in his mouth as Roe continued to check him over.

“Dry cough or wet cough?” he asked.

“Wet,” Carwood said around the thermometer.

“Any chest pain when you breathe or cough?”

Carwood nodded. 

“I’d ask if you were tired and achy, but I think you’d be feeling that way even if you weren’t sick.”

Carwood gave a soft laugh at that and was pleased to see a small smile tip the medic’s lips. Doc Roe took the thermometer out of his mouth and moved to see it better in the light of a streetlamp.

“Yeah, that’s quite a fever you’ve got there, Sarge,” he said. “It’s probably pneumonia.” 

Carwood appreciated how easily he delivered the news; there was no hint of alarm or fear in his voice, and it did wonders for his nerves, and, he suspected, Speirs’ nerves as well. The Lieutenant had been standing beside them the whole time, giving Doc Roe room to work but still close. 

“I guess I shouldn’t even try to convince you to get evacuated,” Roe said.

Carwood gave a breath of a laugh. “That’s probably wise. I can’t leave, not when we just got here.”

“I figured,” Roe said, sticking the thermometer back in his bag and taking a small metal case out. “In that case, I’m gonna give you a shot of penicillin to see if that helps clear things up, and I want you to come find me or send someone for me in the morning so I can check you again. Alright?”

“Alright,” Carwood agreed. He’d often mused on how much authority medics had in a company; any man would be loathe to disregard their orders, higher ranking or not. Carwood had no desire to disregard what Doc Roe ordered; he was just thankful that Doc Roe was willing to make one last check-up when he was just as dog-tired as everyone else.

Roe administered the shot in his upper arm, the twinge of pain that normally wouldn’t have bothered him at all somehow magnified in his already sore body.

“Thanks, Doc,” Carwood said, pulling his jacket over his shoulder again and taking his helmet and rifle back from Speirs as he stood. “Get some rest.”

“Yeah, you too,” Roe admonished. He exchanged friendly nods with Speirs before he turned to go, placing everything neatly back in his medical kit.

Carwood looked up at Speirs. “You should find out where you’re billeted, sir.”

“We both should,” Speirs answered, easily deflecting any hidden insinuation that it was a burden to be looking after the First Sergeant. They walked together to where the officers and their assistants were circled, making sure everything that needed to get done tonight was done.

“Anybody know where we’re supposed to be?” Speirs asked, without any of the formalities that Carwood would have had to employ. Sticking with a Lieutenant when you were nearly too gone to carry a conversation did have its perks, Carwood thought.

Sergeant Vest shuffled through the paperwork he kept on his person at all times. “For you, Lieutenant Speirs, says here I’m to deliver your mail to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Boucher, which is...” He handed the paper to Speirs, who looked the address over and received vague directions about where in the city the house might be.

“‘Butcher’ in French,” Speirs said with a tired laugh, handing the paper back to Vest. “Mr. and Mrs. Butcher. Sounds delightful. You got an address for First Sergeant Lipton in there, too?”

Vest thumbed through his papers. “Uh, right here.” He scanned the paper. “He’s with the Bouchers too. Same house.”

“Thank you,” Speirs said, readjusting his rifle strap on his shoulder. He turned to Captain Winters. “Anything we can do, Dick?”

Winters shook his head. “Everything’s taken care of, thankfully. We’re just about to turn in. You two saw to it that the men got squared away?”

“All settled,” Speirs agreed.

“Good,” Winters said. “Colonel Sink wants a meeting tomorrow, so be at battalion CP by 0900.” The redheaded captain looked his First Sergeant over, concern and compassion in his expression, and Carwood knew Winters hadn’t missed his visit with Doc Roe.

“We’d be glad to have you at the battalion meeting, Lipton, but your presence isn’t required.”

Carwood straightened his shoulders and met his captain’s gaze. “Thank you, sir, but I’ll be there. I want to have all the information I can to help the men.”

Winters nodded, as familiar as any of them with muscling through sickness and exhaustion to do his job.

“We’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said. Turning to Speirs, he said, “Ron, could I have a moment before you go?”

Carwood stepped back to a respectful distance as Speirs moved closer to Winters, their conversation low enough to not be intelligible over the last truck engines and the tapering conversations of the exhausted officers. He didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know what they were talking about, though. Speirs bid Winters good night and came back over to Carwood, starting them in the direction of the home of Mr. and Mrs. Boucher.

“I really am fine, Lieutenant,” Carwood said as they walked together.

A smile quirked the corners of Speirs’ mouth. “Awfully self-important of you to assume the captain wanted to talk to me about you, Lipton.”

Carwood felt himself flush with more than fever, immediately wishing he’d bitten his tongue. “Sorry, sir,” he said quickly. “I didn’t - ”

“It’s ok, Lipton,” Speris said with a chuckle. “I was only joking. We were talking about you, as you so astutely guessed, and I assured him you’d get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Carwood said. He tried to let the sound of Speirs’ laugh ease his worries of having insulted him or being insubordinate.

Speirs looked over at him after a moment. “You don’t know quite what to make of me, do you, First Sergeant?”

That’s an understatement, Carwood thought. “How do you mean, sir?”

Speirs shrugged. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“No sir,” Carwood agreed. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Nor do you believe those stories about me.”

Carwood caught a cough against his sleeve. “No, I don’t.” It wasn’t that he thought Speirs wasn’t a brave, tough, formidable soldier - he was glad Speirs was on their side, and was thankful to have him as their leader. He just had never been able to reconcile the heartlessness of the stories he’d heard about Speirs with the man he knew. Even when he was C.O. of Dog company and their contact had been limited and formal, Carwood had always thought of Speirs as a fair, reasonable man who would never be so nonchalant with another man’s life.

The stories had their use, Carwood knew; but he, for one, didn’t put any stock in them.

Speirs studied Carwood’s face in the light of a streetlamp. “But you have your reservations about me.”

“That’s not true,” Carwood said sincerely. “I think you’re a good leader and a good soldier. I think Easy’s lucky to have you.”

“I don’t mean about Easy and being a soldier and all that,” Speirs amended. “I mean, thank you, but that’s not what I was getting at. I just meant... I don’t know, as a person. As a friend.”

Carwood looked up. “A friend, sir?”

Speirs couldn’t help a soft chuckle. “Yeah, Lipton, a friend. Someone you don’t have to call ‘sir’ all the time, or ‘Lieutenant’.”

Carwood frowned. “And call you just... just ‘Speirs’?” he asked. It sounded wrong coming out of his mouth, like it was disrespectful.

Speirs shrugged. “Or you could just call me Ron.”

Carwood was so surprised he drew a sharp breath that quickly dissolved into a cough. Speirs slowed to let Carwood catch his breath, putting a steadying hand on his arm.

“I’m fine,” he managed when he could breathe again.

“I know,” Speirs said easily. “Doesn’t hurt to take a second, though, and make sure.”

They started to walk again, and it didn’t escape Carwood’s notice that Speirs had slowed their pace.

“You could’ve just said no,” Speirs said.

Carwood looked up at him. He could hear the teasing in the Lieutenant’s voice but was still keen on erring on the side of caution. “What do you mean?”

Speirs smiled. “Instead of nearly choking to death, you could have just said you didn’t want to call me Ron. I wouldn’t have been offended.”

Carwood allowed himself a small smile. “Sir, if I was only pretending to have pneumonia, it would be for something a bit more important than not offending you.”

Speirs laughed then, a comforting sound so different than the sounds Carwood had learned to associate with war, especially from officers. It had been a long time since he’d heard a laugh like that, and he drank it in as deeply as he could.

“Rightly so,” Speirs said with a smile. It struck Carwood that Speirs’ features were more suited to that smile than the serious scowl he’d seen so often; it made him think that Speirs must have smiled a lot in peacetime. He found himself wishing he’d known Speirs before the war, and hoping to know him after it was over.

“So, what about it?” Speirs asked. “Could you manage dropping the formalities? Or is it all too anti-Army?”

Carwood chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll try, sir.” Then, after a moment, “I guess you could call me Carwood, if you wanted.”

“You guess? I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

He looked up at Speirs. “No, it’s... it might be kind of nice. Nobody in the Army’s ever called me by my first name.”

“Ah, so there is a little bit of anti-Army in you after all,” Speirs said with a grin. “Ok, Carwood. That’s a hell of a name.”

Carwood laughed. “Thank you.”

They reached the home of Mr. and Mrs. Boucher, the warm light from inside spilling out into the street where the two officers stood and waited patiently for someone to come to the door after they’d knocked. If Speirs had been worried the Bouchers might live up to their name, he was let down; the door opened to reveal a tiny, old woman with long silver hair and a surprisingly gentle smile.

“Amerikanisch?” she asked.

“Ja,” Speirs answered. “Mrs. Boucher?”

She smiled. “Ja, willkommen.”

She opened the door wider and let them in, closing the door on the cold night behind them as they stood just inside, waiting for direction. She seemed perfectly at ease with two strange soldiers in her home and beckoned them closer to the fire. Her husband strode over from the kitchen doorway, greeting them each with a smile and a handshake.

“Hello,” he said jovially, in heavily accented English. “Very good to have you here.”

“Thank you,” Speirs said, returning the man’s smile. Carwood let Speirs do the talking, muffling a few rattling coughs in his sleeve, his head swimming with fever and exhaustion.

“Sind se krank?” Mrs. Boucher asked, concern etched on her face.

“Your man is sick?” Mr. Boucher translated, asking Speirs.

Carwood gave a surprised chuckle as Mrs. Boucher tutted and put a warm hand to his cheek. “I’m alright,” he said with a smile. “Ich bin gut.”

“Liebling,” she cooed. Darling . Carwood had heard parents call their children that, and it made his chest warm with affection for Mrs. Boucher.

“Kommen sie,” she said, taking his hand. He’d said that to prisoners enough to know what it meant, and he was thankful he was going to a much better fate than an Army prison. He met Speirs’ eyes, asking if he should go with her, and he nodded with an amused smile.

“Papa, mach bitte tee und schnapps fur die soldaten,” she said as she led Carwood out of the living room and down the hall.

“Ja , mama,” he heard Mr. Boucher say. Carwood followed her into a small but homey bedroom, a fire crackling cheerily in the grate and a colorful quilt on the four-poster.

“Gut?” she asked him, studying his face.

He smiled down at her. “Ja, danke,” he said sincerely. He would have been happy for anything that wasn’t a snowy foxhole, and this tidy, cosy bedroom was more than he’d dared hoped for. This was a greater kindness to them than the Bouchers could ever know, he felt incredibly grateful to them while she patted his hand and smiled up at him.

“ Gut ,” she said, satisfied. “Ich werde nachdeinem tee sehen.”

He didn’t know what she’d said, but she gave his hand a gentle squeeze and went back out to Speirs and her husband, leaving Carwood at the door of the bedroom. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to get into bed and sleep for a week, but he checked himself; Speirs should get the bed, since he was a Lieutenant. It wouldn’t be right for Carwood to take the bed and leave Speirs to sleep on the floor.

Though his body protested, he didn’t have a bit of hesitation or resentment in his mind about it. He would take the floor, and he was grateful for it; it was warm and dry and safe, much better than sleeping in the snow among tree bursts and German artillery. Compared to what he’d been living through, what all the men of his company had been living through, the hardwood floor of this little French house was heaven on earth.

He took off his helmet and set down his rifle, half-listening to the sound of quiet conversation coming from the living room, unable to keep a smile from his face when he heard Speirs’ laugh. 

Maybe we could be friends, he thought as he took the woolen blanket from his pack and spread it out on the floor. Carwood and Ron. He gave a soft laugh. He liked the sound of that.  

forever taglist: @not-john-watsons-blog​​, @punkgeekchic​

[hellyeahomeland]

“Fucker Shot Me”: an HYH recap

A day after Haqqani turns himself over to the Americans, the Americans are turning him over to G’ulom. Saul and Haqqani pull up to Ghazi Stadium, where G’ulom has been holding the Taliban fighters.

G’ulom is standing outside, in a cape, like he’s Andre Leon Fucking Talley (to be clear, we stan). Haqqani says he’s ready and Saul gets out of the car to give another speech that G’ulom is definitely not listening to about Justice and Due Process and Integrity. G’ulom fulfills his end of the bargain, releasing the prisoners, who all make a beeline for Haqqani because, well, he’s the Emir! Saul warns G’ulom that if he doesn’t treat Haqqani with respect, “your world will explode.” So that’s coming. 

Saul goes back to Kabul station and Mike and Jenna have something to tell him.

Jenna: Remember how yesterday I had one job, which was to get Carrie on the plane to Germany? Saul: Yeah… Jenna: Well, I fucked that up. Mike: Carrie was photographed at the airport getting in a car with everyone’s favorite Russian hunk. Yevgeny Gromov! Can you believe it? Saul: Yes. I mean, no! How surprising. Mike: They could be halfway to Moscow by now. Saul: First, chill. Second, doubtful. Carrie is all about saving her friend Max. She’s probably somewhere in Pakistan. Mike: This is an outrage. Rules! I must follow them! I’m referring this to the FBI. Saul: Whatever. Send me a text or something when you find her ok byeeeeee

Carrie and Yevgeny are somewhere in Pakistan, it turns out. They’re listening to the radio, which is such a quaint thing for two lovers frenemies to do together. The radio report is about Haqqani turning himself in, and they get to talking about the CIA’s working theory that Carrie is a traitor who told her Russian handler—Yevgeny—about the president’s helicopter so that he could alert Haqqani who could fire an RPG! Phew. That’s a lot. They’re both like “yeah that didn’t happen” but also realize the, like, component of weirdness of the situation since they’re off on this road trip together and look extra double super suspicious now. “Ironic,” Carrie says while gazing out the window.

They pull up to a checkpoint. Yevgeny gets out of the car because he is In Charge. He approaches two guys, who are actually his homies, inquiring about where “the American” (Max) is. They have a line on him.

Carrie and Yevgeny’s next stop is a small Pakistani village. Again Yevgeny gets out of the car and instructs Carrie to stay. But we all know (and he should too by now!) that if you tell Carrie not to do something, she turns into a four-year-old child who instantly must do that thing. Plus her spidey senses are tingling. Maybe she recognizes some of these structures? She hops out of the car and ends up at a gravesite. Rows upon rows of graves with the year “2014” etched across the bottom. Uh oh. A few split-second flashbacks later and… yep, these are the graves of the people she dropped a bomb on in “The Drone Queen.”

Carrie: Quit fucking with me. Yevgeny: Heh? Carrie: Quit 👏 fucking 👏 with 👏 me  Yevgeny: I’m not fucking with you. Carrie: Coolio, so we just happened to end up at the village I decimated four years ago in the event that probably more than any other haunts my waking nights? Yevgeny: What do you think happens after you decimate a village with a bomb, Carrie? We come in, help them rebuild the mosque, and develop contacts. It’s not a coincidence we’re here. But I’m not fucking with you. Carrie: I’m changing the subject now. What did the imam say? Yevgeny: He knows where Max is. Come on.

Saul, resident hottie Scott Ryan, and Not Martha Boyd are gathered around a conference table in Kabul station, talking to Linus and his homies back at the White House. They’re all very concerned that Haqqani’s trial will be a sham, he’ll be put up against a wall and shot, and that will mean more violence and more instability, and certainly not an end to “The Forever War.” Not Martha mentions that the lead judge is a woman she knows from some embassy events and she’s fair and independent so they can probably influence her (umm… what?)! Their meeting is interrupted by Hayes, who’s apparently just wandering the halls of the West Wing searching for something to do. He’s generally displeased this is all taking place behind his back, but no one thinks he can do anything, so it’s understandable. He flatly denies Saul’s request to declassify some intelligence that could prove Haqqani is innocent, asks again for the “action plan” to kill more brown people, and storms out.

Back in Carrie/Yevgeny land, Yevgeny continues to pry about the drone strike. He says again he didn’t put two and two together, then proceeds to ask actual personal questions like, “so is that why you left the CIA?” Carrie explains her mental state in season four, which is not something she’s ever done, but it’s interesting nonetheless. She catches herself at the end again questioning whether he’s being truthful or not, because if he is, she doesn’t know why. Poor Carrie has no concept of a personal relationship that’s not transactional.

They eventually arrive at the house where Max is being kept. Again, Yevgeny does all the talking. Carrie storms in to find Max, sprawled out on a mattress, one arm still handcuffed to the bed frame. Immediately she springs into nurturing, concerned Carrie, which is not a hat she wears often (side note: when will Carrie wear another hat?). Max says he’s fine but the narsty wound they show in close-up confirms otherwise. He explains that he doesn’t have the flight recorder anymore but he didn’t want to make a big deal about it, lest it suggest the flight recorder was not just some random red boxy thing. “You did good,” Carrie assures him.

Unfortunately, their touching moment ends right there because a few trucks full of Taliban soldiers pull up to the house. They uncuff Max and then cart him off. Yevgeny looks on helpless. Carrie tells Max she will find him. Then she goes off on the dude who let them in. Yevgeny has to physically restrain her. He looks in her eyes, tells her he’ll take care of this while Carrie attempts to calm her breathing. Did anyone else get the indication he has definitely done this before? He was too effective for that to be a rookie attempt. Anyhoozles, Yevgeny finally gets the location where they took Max, so it’s off to stop #3.

At Dover Air Force Base, Hayes is asking Linus for his unconditional loyalty, which is always something you want a president to be asking for. He’s really miffed that people are going behind his back but Linus says something like “we gotta be in the information flow, man.” Hayes repeats the phrase back, and you definitely get the indication he’s the type of person who uses words and phrases wrong all the time without realizing. Again, he’s the president! Don’t you feel safe?

Oh, the reason they’re at the base is because Hayes had an empty casket shipped back on Air Force One for a photo op. And surprise, surprise! G’ulom came over too. I’m sure they’ll have tons to talk about.

Elsewhere in Pakistan, Saul is grasping at straws and goes to Bunny’s home. Tasneem is there, because they have no secrets between them. Saul pleads for their help coming up with a way to help Haqqani. If they don’t, there will be another war, right at their border, and that’s not great for America, but they’re 7000 miles away. It’s really not great for Pakistan, because it’ll be right on their doorstep. Bunny is having none of it. The Americans play hot and cold with Pakistan, asking for their help whenever it suits them and in the interim killing their citizens, withholding aid, and generally being massive dicks. Enough already!

Saul sees himself out, but Tasneem surprisingly comes knocking on his car window. She’ll help him. Why? She doesn’t want to watch the world burn. This is a surprise because I thought that was Tasneem’s defining quality.

Carrie and Yevgeny arrive at stop #3, which is a field just above where Max is being kept. Carrie scopes out the house. It’s barely being guarded, but who knows how long that’ll last. She decides to phone a friend, but Saul never answers his damn phone. So she decides to phone a Single White Female.

Jenna: Carrie? What the hell? You made me look like an idiot. Carrie: Made you? Lol ok. Anyway, please listen. Mike: What are you doing, Carrie? Carrie: Oh, great, you again. I found Max. Y’know, that thing you guys were doing anything in your power to accomplish? I did it in like 12 hours. Mike: Who are you with? Carrie: ...Breezing by that question. Anyway, here are the coordinates. Will you call special ops? Max is in critical condition, I don’t know how much longer he can make it.  Mike: Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? Carrie: Do you have any idea how much I don’t give a fuck? Just call special ops. Bye. [click] Mike: You are now a fugitive, your case is with the FBI, Carrie…? CARRIE?

In the Oval Office, Hayes and G’ulom meet for an “unofficial summit.” Hayes reads a headline on his iPad that declares “The Two Presidents,” which… is certainly a true thing about them. Hayes hems and haws about going back to war with the Taliban, and G’ulom says some manipulative stuff about the US being all-powerful fighters who could totally put them away in two to three weeks. Hayes doesn’t even know he’s being manipulated though and plays right into G’ulom’s hand. He eats this shit up! He loves hearing about American dominance and how he could be the steward of it. If it means murdering even more brown people, that’s just a bonus!

Saul and his new BFF Tasneem arrive at the home of the lead judge for Haqqani’s trial and plead with her that he’s innocent. She asks for literally any evidence and their response is “just trust us, two perfect strangers who barged into your house late at night.” She’s highly skeptical until Tasneem pulls up a news article about the RPG that hit one of the Taliban caravans back in episode two. That was meant for Haqqani, because he wanted peace and the ISI didn’t, and he still agreed to the peace deal. This is apparently enough to sway her, so she agrees to a continuance for one week while Saul and Tasneem figure out what to do.

Carrie is taking a light nap in the back seat of Yevgeny’s truck when he wakes her. Some more cars have arrived at the house where Max is. She peers through the binoculars to see Jalal Haqqani rolling up with his crew. Shit. Jalal enters the room where Max is being held and asks him who shot down the helicopters. “What helicopters?” Max cooly replies. Max 4 President!

Above, Carrie is panicked and phones Mike again. Mike admits that no, special ops isn’t coming. It’s too risky, they haven’t scouted the site, etc. Carrie, totally missing the point, offers to scout the site herself. The issue, of course, isn’t with the site, it’s with Carrie herself. She’s a rogue agent, calling from a Russian sat phone. Who else is even listening in on this call? Carrie says, verbatim, “I don’t underestimate the difficulty.” Whenever Carrie goes searching for euphemisms (“That is a mischaracterization!”) you know she’s in deep shit and that she knows she’s in deep shit. She pleads with Mike that Max is one of ours and we can’t just abandon him. He says they’re doing all they can, which is of course a lie. This must all feel eerily reminiscent of Brody and Tehran for her, a slow-motion car crash she’s powerless to stop.

In need of something, anything, to do, Carrie asks Yevgeny for his gun. She’s going to scout the site herself, at least see if Max is still alive. Yevgeny reluctantly agrees but vows to book it if she gets in trouble, which is also of course a lie.

In Kabul, Saul visits Haqqani in his cell, which is also eerily reminiscent of the cage they kept Brody in in season three. He tells him of the continuance he secured and Haqqani is like, “bro, why are you doing all this?” Saul says it’s because he’s innocent. Haqqani knows the truth though: after forty of years of war, none of them are still innocent.

In the court room, one by one the judges file in. The last and presiding one, however, is not the woman Tasneem and Saul met the night prior. That’s right, G’ulom pulled the ol’ trial judge switcheroo! This new guy is definitely not ordering a continuance. He gives a speech about the pain and suffering Haqqani has inflicted on thousands of people. How he killed both presidents. He sentences him to death. Saul looks on horrified. He calls Linus, who informs him that Hayes has asked for new perspectives on Afghanistan, and John Zabel is in the Oval Office meeting with him as they speak. They are extremely disgusted, so we know John Zabel must suck. Outside the courthouse, crowds have gathered in celebration of the announcement of Haqqani’s inevitable execution.

In the Oval Office, Linus interrupts the meeting between Hayes and John Zab—oh my god, it’s Hugh Dancy! Ok, ok, we all knew it would be Hugh Dancy, but it’s still exciting! He has a terrible haircut, awful facial hair, and gives off general vibes of hot evilness. He makes a few incredibly racist remarks, praises Hayes’ quick action in avenging Beau Bridge’s death, and talks about next steps. Linus comes thisclose to doing a Jim Halpert on The Office impression.

A few Taliban soldiers come into Max’s room and drag him up. He groans and yells. Outside, Carrie, gun in hand, makes her way to the perimeter of the house. They’ve carried Max into the courtyard and are pulling an orange jumpsuit on him. He screams in protest, doing everything he can to resist. Jalal stands in front, camera and tripod at the ready. Carrie watches in horror, beginning to put the pieces together. They pull Max’s glasses off and she pulls her pistol up, ready to shoot.

Suddenly, Yevgeny grabs her from behind, his hand over her mouth, muzzling her cries. He puts her against a wall (why is this so sexual??) and stares into her eyes. “No,” he whipsers. For once, she listens.

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 37

The scientists did excellent work; Valentine made the trip north without complaint or further mechanical failure. We stopped by Jamaica Plain again to stay the night with the Lockheeds, and left early for Diamond City.

Gunshots and shouting drew our attention midway to our destination, near a radio tower. A trade caravan had run into a pair of yao guai. One of the guards was mauled while his fellows unsuccessfully tried to intervene. Danse charged the first while Valentine and I assisted with the second beast. A rifle fired and the mutated bear fell, a bullet through its eye.

We looked around, surprised, and three shots from the hidden rifleman crippled one of the rear legs of Danse's opponent, allowing the soldier to easily finish it off. Danse stepped out of the way as the other members of the caravan hurried to the fallen guard's side. “He's alive, but gravely wounded,” Danse said.

“Can he make it to Diamond City?” Valentine asked.

The caravan leader sighed heavily, “It'll be close. Stimpak'll help, but I don't know… oh!” He was startled as he looked at the man addressing him. “Uh,” he looked at me, “thanks for the hand?”

“You're welcome,” I said, and introduced us, “This is my partner Nick Valentine, my name is Sherlock Holmes, and the man in power armor is the Lt. Colonel of the Minutemen -”

“Boss?” a familiar voice called from behind a tree a short distance away.

I turned and saw a young man in a green cap and ragged duster holding a sniper rifle, ammunition belt strapped to his thigh. Seeing that Danse had taken over discussion with the caravan leader, I moved toward the sniper. “MacCready?”

He gestured to a small boy behind him, no more than five years old. The boy clutched his hand tight as they came forward. The boy's clothes hung loose on his thin frame, his light brown hair and blue eyes a perfect copy of his father. “Mr. Holmes, it's good to see you,” said MacCready.

“And you, Mr. MacCready. Is this who I think it is?”

He grinned, proud, “Yeah. This is my son, Duncan.” He said to his son, “This is Mr. Holmes, he's one of the people who helped me find your medicine.”

“A pleasure to meet you, young man,” I smiled. He seemed inclined to come out of his shell for a moment, but quickly hid behind his father with wide eyes as he stared behind me. “Oh, this is my friend,” I reassured him. “His name is Nick Valentine.”

“Nick helped find your medicine too,” MacCready said, “He's not like the other ones.”

Valentine’s brow rose, “Other ones?”

“We ran into some of your cousins,” MacCready said. “Blue lasers and shi- stuff. No fashion sense.”

“Institute leftovers,” Valentine frowned. Then he knelt down and spoke gently to Duncan, “I know I look kinda scary, but you've got nothin’ to worry about from this old synth.”

Duncan was doubtful.

“The injured guard is secured for travel,” Danse reported. “We should keep moving.”

The caravan was happy to have extra guns and welcomed my friends and I, even if Valentine received a few suspicious glances. MacCready had signed on as a guard for the caps, thinking he would need all he could get to start a new life for him and his son wherever they ended up. He’d come back to the Commonwealth because the Capital Wasteland held nothing for him but memories, or so he said. I personally believe he came back because the Commonwealth held an opportunity to start over and be the sort of man his wife always knew he was. Whether or not he takes that opportunity remains to be seen.

Diamond City welcomed us home with Dogmeat's excited howl and Shaun running out of the house, overjoyed to see us. “Dad! Nick! Are you fixed?”

“Not all the way,” Valentine said with more good humor than I would have been capable of, “but we know someone who should be able to take care of the rest.”

I asked Valentine and Danse to take Shaun back inside while I made sure the caravan guard was seen to by Dr. Sun. Then I asked MacCready if he cared to stay the night while I tried to find a more permanent solution for him.

“Got room for all of us?” he asked.

“There's a spare bed in the Agency if necessary.”

Shaun came running back out of the house, “Nick said your friend and his son can stay and I should come out and meet Duncan?”

I laughed, “MacCready, this is my son Shaun. Shaun, this is Mr. MacCready and his son, Duncan.”

“You can skip the 'mister,’ kid,” MacCready smiled. “Duncan's kind of shy.”

“That's ok,” Shaun bent over a little to speak to the younger child, “Diamond City is a lot, but you get used to it. Do you want to see my toy car?”

Duncan's face lit up, “Yeah!” Shaun took his hand and led him into the house.

MacCready was amazed. “I guess we can stay for a little while.” He spoke briefly with the caravan leader, and joined me inside.

Shaun was marvelous with Duncan, playing gently and patiently. Valentine later confessed he'd warned Shaun that Duncan was only half Shaun's age and had recently recovered from a harsh illness. The chance to play was clearly good for Duncan’s spirits as well.

Codsworth recognized our guest, “Mr. MacCready, wasn't it? I hope your business with my master from your last visit was successfully resolved?”

“You saw him,” MacCready gestured to where the boys were playing upstairs.

“Oh of course! He seems a fine young man, and it is wonderful for young Master Shaun to meet someone younger than himself. Can I provide anything, sir?”

“Nah, I'm good right now, but thanks.”

Danse joined us after seeing to his armor in the workshop, “How do you and Holmes know each other?”

“I hired him in Goodneighbor, only to discover he required my services more than I required his,” I said. Valentine's brow rose slightly at my interception of the question, but he said nothing.

“I owe Holmes a lot,” MacCready said. “Without his help, Duncan wouldn't be here.”

“Danse, you wouldn't happen to know of a settlement in need of a sniper with room for a growing young boy, would you?” I asked.

Danse didn't like the fact that we hadn't fully answered his question, but he didn't pursue further details at that moment. “There have been reports from Finch Farm that the Forged are becoming active again. They might be able to accommodate. Or County Crossing and Somerville could both use an extra pair of eyes against recent super mutant activity.”

“No shortage of choices,” I said to MacCready. “We're headed to Sanctuary tomorrow, you should come. It's where all the new Minutemen recruits begin their training.”

He made a face, “I appreciate the hand, boss, and I'd be happy to give it a look, but I gotta finish this job first. I said I'd go with the caravan all the way, so I will. That was the deal. Besides, the Minutemen might be a good idea, but I'm… more of a freelance sort of guy.”

“You're a mercenary,” Danse didn't quite roll his eyes, though he clearly wanted to.

“That's right,” MacCready challenged. “And you won't find a better shot for your caps. Been handling a rifle since I was a kid.”

One of the caravan guards knocked on my door. MacCready could stay behind and get a quarter of the promised pay, or finish the job and receive one and a half times his pay to compensate for extra work now that they had an injured guard. Some minimal haggling followed, more out of tradition than anything else, but the terms remained unchanged and MacCready said he'd meet them at the entrance.

Duncan was disappointed he had to leave, but refused to stay behind without his father. MacCready promised him that he'd see Shaun again. Codsworth gave Duncan a small pack of bottled water and fruit for the road, and they took their leave.

The door closed behind them, and Danse looked at me, “May I ask why you required the services of a mercenary?”

I was dismissive, “I was bored, it was not one of my better moments.”

“Not sure 'bored’ does it justice,” Valentine muttered.

Shaun sat next to Valentine at the table, “I liked Duncan, he was nice. He told me he and his dad are from the Capital Wasteland, a long way from here. He said it's a lot different than the Commonwealth. That's where you're from, isn't it Danse?”

Danse nodded once, Shaun's enthusiasm drawing a slight smile, “Yes. He's right; it is very different.”

Dogmeat, seeing Shaun's attention was no longer focused on his guest, walked up and put his head in Shaun's lap. Shaun scratched behind Dogmeat's ears and said, “Wanna run the bases?” Dogmeat barked, and Shaun leaped off the chair to hurry outside, “We'll be right back!”

Valentine and I shared a smile. “A boy and his dog,” Valentine chuckled.

“His energy is boundless,” I said, a bit astonished.

“Takes after his father on a good day, if I may say so, sir,” Codsworth said.

I was a bit affronted, “A good day?”

Valentine laughed, “I couldn't agree more. Danse, stop standing there glowering. Soon as Shaun gets back, we can tell him about the trip to Sanctuary. You sure you don’t want to wait here for Preston to join you instead of heading west just to go east again?”

Danse shook his head, “I recognize you’re functioning somewhat normally, but I would prefer to personally see all of you to Sanctuary safely rather than stay behind with nothing to do.”

“You’re worried I’m not gonna make it, and you don’t want to be bored out of your mind sitting around here,” Valentine summarized with a grin.

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“Sure did,” Valentine lit a cigarette and tossed the pack to me. “Just makin’ sure I heard right.”

We didn’t waste any time. Valentine and I reported to Ellie, who naturally demanded the full story of the trip to Murkwater and the plan to help Valentine. She is very worried about her friend and employer, but put on a brave face and wished us luck with the best optimism. Danse needn’t have worried about Valentine breaking down on the way to Sanctuary, but I was glad for his assistance in safely escorting my family.

Sanctuary continues to thrive as the Minutemen grow in number. Valentine saw to getting Shaun settled in while I spoke to Preston and Danse. As I expected, both men were more than willing to do their best, and were attentive as I outlined what they should expect from the island’s unique residents. Shaun was ecstatic when we told him we were going to Sanctuary for an extended visit, though he was almost more fascinated by the mysterious island from whence his second father’s help would come… hopefully. Danse has no doubt become something of a knight in shining armor in Shaun’s imagination the next few weeks. With luck, he and Preston can coax a wizard from his cave.

[mikotyzini]

Boundless - Ch. 5 (Mythological/Fantasy AU)

Introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Sighing into the mirror, Weiss reached up and removed her dangling, diamond earrings - which were far too heavy for her liking. After setting them down on the chest of drawers, she removed the sparkling tiara from atop her head and set it beside the earrings.  

It had been a long day, but it was finally over. Now the healing could begin.

The sound of footsteps approached her room, but stopped just outside the open door.  The person who owned the sound was far too polite to come any further without a formal acknowledgment, even though an open invitation had been granted several times.

Two soft knocks rapped on the doorframe, representing the polite request for recognition.

“Do come in, Glynda,” Weiss said, stepping to the side so that her view in the mirror now included the stern woman standing in the doorway.  

Removing a set of jeweled bracelets from around her wrist and pulling off a glittering ring that symbolized nothing more than wealth, Weiss set everything in front of the mirror before turning around as Glynda strode across the room.

“What is it?” Weiss asked, noticing the trademark furrowed brow her closest advisor was wearing.

“I wanted to say that I’m truly sorry for your loss, Your Majesty.”

When Glynda bowed her head, Weiss huffed in disbelief.

“Save your sympathy, Glynda,” she replied. “What are you sorry for?  That tyranny has ended?  That people will no longer be forced into suffering so that we may live in excess?”  Letting out another scoff, she shook her head.  “There’s no need for sorrow.  I’m glad he’s gone - we’re better off without him.”

“He was still your father…”

“Which only means I was closest to his ire,” Weiss pointed out, feeling not an ounce of sympathy for the miserable life that had finally ended.  “Truthfully, Glynda, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.  I’m looking forward to making changes for the better.”

Only after studying Weiss closely did Glynda accept the words, giving a curt nod that would be the end of the matter for good.

“What will you do first?” Glynda asked, back to business now that the emotional checkup was complete.

“There’s much to be done - much that needs to be changed for the better.  I’ll need your help correcting his mistakes, but first...reach out to the Kingdom of Vale - I’d like to arrange a meeting as soon as possible.”

“Vale?” Glynda asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “But -”

“I want to discuss a truce.  It’s time to negotiate an end to this pointless war.”

For a long time, Glynda stared - trying to read the intent behind Weiss’ words.  Finding that Weiss was speaking the truth, Glynda nodded again.

“When would you like to leave, Your Majesty?”

“Right away.  Tomorrow, if it can be arranged.”

“We won’t be able to send a messenger there and back in time -”

“Then I’ll set out without their response,” Weiss replied, knowing that Glynda wouldn’t enjoy that idea in the slightest. “I feel strongly that they’ll want an end to this, as well.  There’s no point in risking further bloodshed due to logistics.”

Again, that nod - which meant Glynda would do as instructed even if her pursed lips and furrowed brow gave away her true feelings on the situation.

“I’ll get started on that right away,” she said, backing towards the exit of the room, practically buzzing with restless energy now that she had multiple objectives to accomplish.  “Expect to leave tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Without another word, Glynda turned and disappeared through the door, making sure to close it on her way out.  

Left in solitude, Weiss walked away from the extravagant jewelry and sat on the end of her bed to think about recent events and what her future might hold.  And - for the first time in what felt like ages - she smiled.  

She’d wanted to visit Vale for years, but hadn’t found an opportunity that wouldn’t result in her father having her hunted down and executed as a traitor.  Even if she managed to make it - and even if Vale was willing to provide her sanctuary - he would have no qualms sending legions of assassins after her or Ruby for the rest of their lives.

Now that he was gone, Weiss could finally go - she could find Ruby and hopefully win her heart.

That night as she got ready for sleep and mentally prepared for the following day, she felt lighter than she had since she was a child - maybe even lighter, as during her younger years she’d been ruthlessly aware of the expectations placed upon her.

There were days she never expected to make it this far.  There were days she thought her life would be cut short - another victim of her father’s uncontrollable frost and anger.  The only thing that helped her through was Ruby.  Ever since her eighteenth birthday, Weiss knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  One day, her father would be gone and, when that happened, she could find Ruby.  

She’d dreamed of that moment for so long...and she would dream of it again tonight, on the eve of setting out in search of her happily ever after.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt again…”

Coming back to the table in the midst of a restaurant, Weiss focused on Ruby and smiled.  “It’s ok,” she said, her attempt at reassurance doing nothing to ease the deep crease of concern in Ruby’s brow.

“It sounds like your dad was a bit of a...jerk?”

Weiss sighed at the question and sadly shook her head.

“He was extremely powerful and extremely volatile. You never knew what would send him into a rage, and you never knew what he might do when that happened.”

“That sounds really scary.”

“It was,” she answered honestly.  “But this was a different world, Ruby.  It was a more dangerous world, and the people reflected that.”

When Ruby bit her lip, Weiss added, “And we made it through just fine.”

Finally appearing somewhat relieved, Ruby smiled again.

“But your dad now…?”

“Is much nicer,” Weiss answered with a smile that removed the rest of Ruby’s worries.  “He’s driven and almost solely focused on work, but he tends to grow frustrated rather than angry - a much better situation, in my opinion.”

Comforted by the knowledge, Ruby nodded and waved a hand in apology.

“Sorry, I just wanted to know,” she said.  “I’m excited to hear what happens next!”

Ruby’s concern over Weiss’ father was heartwarming, so much so that Weiss felt the incredible urge to give Ruby a kiss for being so caring.  That would have to come later though.  There were more stories to tell first...

The next morning was bright and sunny, but not warm.  Atlas was hardly ever warm anymore, but the chill bothered Weiss very little as she was led towards the escort for her trip to Vale.  Multiple carriages lined the front of the palace steps - some carrying advisors and negotiators while others carried various gifts of treasure to be used as an offer of peace.  The largest of these carriages was reserved for her, built to provide as much comfort as possible over what would only be a few day trip.  

The legion of soldiers accompanying the carriages was large, numbering near a thousand men and women clad in extravagant silver armor.  It was surely more than necessary, but Weiss understood Glynda’s precaution. Relations with Vale had soured long ago thanks to her father’s demands of fealty.  Hopefully, that would change soon.

Approaching the caravan while flanked by her most loyal guards, Weiss examined the soldiers set to accompany her.  They stood in crisp, straight lines with their weapons at their sides, while those on horseback sat rigid in their saddles. Each had plumes of icy breath billowing from their lips - the mark of Atlas and its frigid warriors.  These men and women proudly displayed their element for her inspection, each of them assuring her through sight that they were capable of protecting her on this journey.

She wished that the display of force was unnecessary, but until she spoke to Ruby there was always a possibility they would be attacked on sight.

Satisfied with what she saw in front of her, Weiss called upon the ice running through her veins - the constant cold that never went away.  The cold deepened, approaching what would be a painful freeze if she wasn’t used to the feeling by now.  Drawing out this power and projecting it in front of her, she summoned ice to do her bidding - pulling shards into the loose shape of a towering soldier that dwarfed them all.

The figure moved like a swarm of crystals, coalescing and breaking apart as he walked to the front of the caravan while Weiss was escorted to her carriage.  Once she was situated inside, she commanded the figure to point the way with his giant sword, spurring the soldiers to motion before she scattered the crystals by the wayside.

With the journey underway, she leaned against the window and sighed.  She loathed the posturing, but it was the way of life in this realm - a subtle reminder to those serving her that, while they may wield some semblance of power, it was her family that controlled the ice within them.

Their voyage would take several days, with most of the delay caused by the slow progress leaving Atlas.  High mountains and snowy corridors at the edges of the kingdom were a boon as protection from invaders, but treacherous when it came to traveling between kingdoms - especially when traveling in such a large group. Of course, with the war going on, very little traveling was happening anyway.

Settled in for the long road ahead, she had plenty of time to think about what she wanted to say, and what response she might receive.  She already knew she needed a way to calm Yang’s fire - the older sister being notoriously hotheaded and fueled by flames.  But what would Ruby be like?  How had this world shaped her?  Weiss was excited and anxious to find out.

The first two days of travel were uneventful and long, but a commotion outside the carriage in the early hours of the third morning disrupted Weiss’ breakfast.  

As she went to the window to see what was happening, but the door to the carriage abruptly opened and one of her elite guard jumped inside.  He shut the door behind him as the windows were shuttered and locked from the outside.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her heart beating fast as fear and confusion flooded through her.

“Someone slipped into camp,” he explained, on high alert while listening to the shouts and motion outside the walls.  Weiss understood his caution.  They’d left Atlas and entered the no-mans-land between Atlas and Vale - The Badlands, as it was called.  In this place, they were susceptible to attacks or assassins.  Her family didn’t have the most highly regarded name, after all.

After a few minutes spent waiting on pins and needles, the commotion died down, and the windows opened back up.

“Sir,” someone called, knocking in a very specific pattern on the door.  When the guard immediately relaxed, Weiss did too, and she followed him out the door to see what was going on.

“She claims to be a thief, Sir,” one of the soldiers explained as the lead guard approached him.

“Your Majesty, I advise you stand back,” the lead guard said, pointing to a spot on the ground before continuing forward. Weiss didn’t listen to him - because she didn’t have to - and several guards moved to her side as protection while she walked towards the source of the uproar.

As soon as a split in the crowd opened up, allowing her clear view of their new prisoner, Weiss’ heart sped up in surprise.

Kneeling on the ground, surrounded by more soldiers than necessary, was Blake.  She was immobilized - her wrists and ankles bound with cuffs of ice - but she still held her head high.

This was the Blake that Weiss knew - and that Blake would never be foolish enough to attempt stealing from such a heavily-guarded caravan.  

“Who sent you?” one of the guards demanded, glaring down at her while she refused to meet his eyes.

“No one.”

Thinking the answer was a lie, the guard raised one hand in the air, prepared to level it across Blake’s face.

“Stop!” Weiss ordered, encasing the man’s arm in a large block of ice.  He yelped in shock when he was dragged to the ground by the dead weight, but she paid him no mind while shoving through the soldiers and kneeling in front of Blake.

Their proximity made every guard nervous, causing them to inch forward in fear, but Weiss looked into Blake’s eyes knowing that the girl would never hurt her - even if that had been Blake’s initial intent.

“Blake?” Weiss asked quietly, watching confusion swirl in Blake’s eyes at the sound of her name.  

“How do you -” she began to ask, but Weiss smiled.

“You have impeccable timing, don’t you?” she said before standing.  With a small glance, she cast away the ice binding Blake’s arms and legs and freed the guard of his block of a hand.  

“Has she been searched?” Weiss asked, finding it prudent to take a little precaution.  Knowing Blake, there was a high probability that she’d allowed herself to be caught for a reason - which meant she might very well be an assassin, after all.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good.”  Looking down, Weiss extended a hand to help Blake to her feet.  “I’m going to need your help with something,” Weiss explained. “Please come with me.”

Ignoring Weiss’ hand, Blake stood on her own.

“What could you possibly need my help with?” she asked, disbelief and incredulity seeping into her tone.  Something about this situation wasn’t playing out as she expected, which was good.  Weiss needed to keep Blake curious - that was the only way she would put her original plan on hold.

“You’ll see soon,” Weiss replied, raising a brow at the idea Blake thought she was in a position to decline the request.  “I think you’ll find it preferable to your other options.”  After nodding towards the soldiers, Weiss waved towards her carriage and took a step in that direction.  The silent invitation took everyone by surprise, but Blake accepted it with narrowed eyes and a hesitant nod.

While Blake walked towards the carriage, Weiss held onto a higher sense of caution.  She knew Blake was crafty in ways others were not.  But Weiss wasn’t defenseless, and she’d been smart enough to hide the depths of her powers from her father and anyone else.

It was still a risk, but a calculated one.

“Your Majesty,” the lead guard said, reaching out to stop her before she followed Blake into the carriage.  Blake paused with one foot on the lower step, turning around and watching the interaction closely.  

The guard’s eyes were fearful - approaching panic - as he glanced at Blake and then looked down at Weiss.  “I strongly advise you not to trust her -”

“I’ll leave the window open,” Weiss replied, attempting to allay his fears.  “If I need your help, you’ll know.”

He wanted to disagree, but knew that he shouldn’t. Instead, he nodded and straightened his posture.

“I’ll be right outside.”  After giving Blake one last look, he rallied the soldiers back in order so they could resume their journey.  Blake looked at Weiss for direction and stepped into the carriage when Weiss gestured that way.

When Blake took the seat on the far wall of the cabin, in plain view, Weiss wasted no time following.  The door shut behind her, and the windows were opened on both sides for the anxious guards outside.  Thankfully, the weather here wasn’t nearly as frigid as in Atlas, and provided a nice, cool breeze that swept across them.

Sitting down opposite of Blake, Weiss couldn’t help but smile at the surly girl across from her.  If she had to guess, Blake’s life had probably been difficult up to this point, but that would change now.  Soon, the four of them would be together once again.

But first...silence.  Blake said nothing, and Weiss said nothing as the carriage spurred to motion once more.  It was normally like this between the two of them, but Blake’s curiosity always won out in the end.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked, glancing out the window before looking at Weiss.

“Vale.”

“Vale?  Why would you go to Vale?”

“Your Majesty!”

Hearing the voice, Weiss left the question unanswered as she looked out the window and found a man on horseback riding up beside them. Based on his more casual clothes, he wasn’t a soldier.  He was a messenger - the one Glynda sent ahead to Vale.

“Your Majesty!” he called out again, looking through the window and spotting her.  “I bring news from the high court in Vale!” he said, his breathing labored from what had likely been a long, sleepless journey.

“What is it?” Weiss asked, knowing that this was the first moment of truth.  If the response was bad…

“The sister queens agreed to meet upon your arrival to discuss a truce!” the messenger said with a smile.  “They await your presence and wish you safe travels into Vale!”

Sighing in relief, Weiss gave the man a nod of appreciation.  “Thank you for that message,” she said.  “Please return to Atlas and let Glynda know.”

Nodding, the man spurred his horse off for the final leg of his journey.  Upon receiving the good news, Weiss sat back in her seat and smiled.  If Ruby and Yang agreed to a meeting, maybe relations weren’t as poor as they seemed.  Maybe there was hope that a valuable alliance could be formed.

“You’re negotiating a truce?”

The question brought Weiss out of her thoughts and back to the carriage, where Blake was staring at her - clearly surprised by the information.

“I’m going to try,” Weiss answered, watching Blake’s eyes widen in response.  “This isn’t my war,” she added.  “And I have no desire to keep fighting it.”

Knowing what she did about Blake, the words would make an impact.  At the very least, Blake would be willing to stay if she thought that doing so would help the greater good.

“You want to end the war,” Blake repeated, sounding very much like she didn’t want to believe the statement.

“Yes, I do.”

After saying the words, Weiss watched Blake’s demeanor change - from pent-up anxiety to confused and befuddled...relief.

“If Vale agrees...what will you do next?”

“Hopefully, fix what my father destroyed.  Rebuild Atlas.”  

“What about The Badlands?”

In one question, Blake laid down her cards for all to see.  That was the cause she’d attached herself to this time. That was what drove her forward, and what brought her into Weiss’ life.

“The Badlands also need healing, which I mean to help with...if they’ll allow it.”  Looking out the window and thinking about how ruined the world had become, Weiss sighed and shook her head.  “There’s so much work to be done…”  Pausing, she sent a glance at Blake.  “That’s one of the reasons I need your help.”

The Badlands had grown lawless as war ravaged the small towns and cities located there.  The citizens now operated under their own rules - or lack of them.  They wouldn’t take lightly to the kingdoms stepping back in, even if it was an attempt to help restore order.  But with an advocate...there might just be hope of healing the damage her father had caused.

“Why me?”

“You seem like someone they’ll listen to,” Weiss replied, shrugging as if she didn't understand Blake’s importance to this world. But, based on lives past, Blake was likely already a leader in this rouge area of society - earning respect by following her morality through thick and thin.  

“Do you have any ideas on how we can make things right?”

The question lit a spark in Blake’s eyes, saying without words that it was the right one to ask.  

“I have a few.”

“I’d like to hear them,” Weiss added, nodding once to encourage Blake to speak.

And speak she did - launching into a list of suggestions both detailed and ingenious - so much so that Weiss actually found a pen and paper to write them down while Blake spoke.  

For hours, the two of them discussed the state of the kingdoms, and what could be done to repair their way of life.  When Blake asked questions, Weiss answered honestly - even if that meant saying she didn’t know the answer.  But Blake appreciated the candor, and her walls were lowering by the time Vale came into view.

“Your Majesty,” one of the guards said, appearing by the window and pointing up ahead.  Following the direction, Weiss found herself staring at a sprawling metropolis hemmed in by towering walls that glowed red from the sunset.  The palace was easily viewable in the distance, rising above the rest of the city and glittering in opulence.

“Have you been to Vale before?” Weiss asked, her heart fluttering when she realized that Ruby was right there, tucked somewhere inside those walls.

“Not in a long time,” Blake answered, looking out the window before turning to Weiss.  “What about you?”

Shaking her head in response, Weiss stared out the window as their caravan stopped outside the city gates.  The soldiers up front conversed for several seconds before the gates opened and they were admitted inside, but with a large contingent of Vale soldiers joining them as they traveled through the city streets towards the palace.

Their grand entrance garnered the attention of everyone they passed - the citizens of Vale curious as to who was the cause of such a large procession.  Weiss’ attention was solely for the palace though, watching it grow larger as they neared it.

Her heart, which had remained quiet for so long, now loudly announced its presence - determined to control her actions as her moment of destiny quickly approached.  She had no idea what to expect inside the palace, but she expected Ruby...and that was enough for her hands to shake with nerves.

“I’d like you to come with me,” she said as the first of the carriages arrived in front of the palace doors.  Turning away from the window, she looked at Blake. “I’d like you to participate in our discussions as my advisor,” she elaborated.

The request took Blake by surprise, but she nodded in agreement.  Satisfied that she had one pseudo-ally with her, Weiss took a deep breath and turned towards the door as it was opened for her.

“Your Majesty,” the soldier said, bowing his head while holding one arm in the direction of the palace entrance.

Not showing any hesitation, Weiss left the carriage behind and stepped into the cool, Vale air.  It was nowhere near as cold as Atlas, which was a relief to the ice running through her veins.  But while her element warmed, her nerves tripled while following her elite guards through the towering entrance to the palace.  She glanced over her shoulder once, making sure Blake was close behind as they entered a grand foyer that was comparable to Atlas’ own palace in terms of grandeur.

Spotting a group of people standing up ahead, Weiss’ palms grew sweaty as they approached  - knowing that the moment was almost upon her.  As the opposing party neared, however, she realized she would have to wait a little longer, as the only person she recognized was tall, blonde, and wearing a smirk.

“The Ice Queen arrives,” Yang said, stopping several paces away from Weiss with a group of red-hued soldiers surrounding her.

In four words, Weiss knew this was going to be more difficult than she’d hoped, for a couple of reasons.  One, Yang was cockier than average, as evidenced by the way she folded both arms over her chest and smirked.  Two, Ruby was nowhere in sight.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Weiss replied as politely as possible before glancing around and finding nothing but soldiers and more soldiers.  “May I ask whether or not your sister will be joining us?”

“She’ll get here when she gets here,” Yang answered, waving a hand as if she could care less about Ruby’s whereabouts before nodding towards the large throne room beside them.  “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

With Yang waiting for her to enter the room first, Weiss turned towards her royal guard.

“Wait out here,” she directed them - the unanticipated demand making Yang’s brow raise.  

“No guards?” Yang asked before grinning and shooing her own guards away.  “l like where this is going.”

“I’d like my closest advisor to come with me though,” Weiss added, gesturing to Blake.  If Blake was surprised by the term, she did an excellent job hiding it. Instead, she returned Yang’s questioning gaze with an impassive expression.

Eventually, Yang shrugged and waved them both through the doorway.

“After you, then.”

Blake and Weiss shared a look before walking into the throne room, which was just as cavernous as Weiss would have expected. The ceilings towered over their heads, their footsteps echoed off the highly polished floors, yet it was the sight of the twin thrones sitting ahead of them that really caught Weiss’ attention.

Where was Ruby?  This conversation was almost destined for failure without her presence.

“So -”  Clapping her hands, Yang stood in front of the thrones and sent Blake and Weiss a grin.  “What’s this I hear about a ‘truce’?  Doesn’t make much sense coming from someone like you.”

The words were intended as an insult, but Weiss tried not to let them annoy her.  If she let Yang get under her skin too early, they’d be at each other’s throats in no time.

“I want to discuss a truce,” Weiss replied as calmly as possible.  “This war has done nothing but harm - it’s time we put a stop to the needless fighting and focus on rebuilding the damage that’s been done.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Weiss saw Blake nod in agreement - and that small gesture assured Weiss that she had at least one person on her side.  

However, Yang scoffed and shook her head.

“Righttt...so after years of fighting, you suddenly just wanna up and quit?”  Again, Yang scoffed in disbelief.  “What terms are you trying to negotiate then - you want the crown off my head?  You want to march your armies into the city and take over?”

“That’s not at all what I’m suggesting.”  Weiss lifted her hands - trying to show she wasn’t playing a trick - but Yang stared her down, sending tendrils of uncomfortable heat across the room.  “I want to end the war,” Weiss repeated.  “Your soldiers can return home, and so will ours.”

Yang frowned at the words.

“But…” she said, intuitively picking up that Weiss had more to say.

“But we’ll need to work together to repair the damage.  Especially in The Badlands -”

“Oh that’s just ripe,” Yang interrupted, her frown turning into a full-fledged scowl that rang alarm bells in Weiss’ mind. “We’ll work together to fix The Badlands.  Vale and Atlas will unite to fix the problems that we caused.  Maybe you don’t remember that you’re the ones who marched your armies through there, killing innocent people -”

“And your armies started torching villages!” Weiss retorted, her voice rising with a spike of indignation.  Quickly shaking her head, she struggled to calm down - which would be easier to do if Yang’s inner fire wasn’t burning so hot.  The element was pulling at Weiss’ ice, bringing it to light.

“Those weren’t my decisions,” Weiss added firmly. “I had no say in the matter -”  

“Bullshit!”

As Yang shouted the word, flames shot from her. Weiss reacted with a wall of ice to deflect the anger, but in front of that ice a mountain of stone appeared, erupting from the ground as an impenetrable boulder.  The flames hit the rock and dissipated, dealing no damage before disappearing completely.  

The entire incident lasted no more than a second, but left Weiss staring at Blake - stunned by the display of power - while Yang laughed.

“l knew it!” Yang said.  “Belladonna - the earth assassin!  Walked right into my castle!”  Yang laughed again, her eyes trained on Blake while pointing to Weiss.  “Are you here to kill her or me - or both?  Because I think you’ll find that more difficult than you’re expecting.”

Undeterred by Yang’s response, Blake stood straighter and never looked away from Yang’s gaze.

“I’m not an assassin.”

“Really?” Yang asked, tilting her head in clear skepticism.  “Because they say you are.”

“And they say you’re hot-headed and reckless,” Blake shot back.  “It appears the rumors were right about one of us.”

Weiss expected Yang to scowl at the fiery response, but instead she let out a short huff - looking almost amused by the quick wit aimed back at her.

“You’re still an outlaw,” Yang pointed out.  “And what - you hitched a ride here?”  Gasping for effect, Yang leaned closer and lowered her voice.  “Were you planning to off the Queen of Atlas on the way?”  Dropping the act and chuckling, she leaned away and waved towards Weiss.  “Because feel free - I won’t stand in your way.”

Weiss scowled at the response, but dropped the expression when Blake turned towards her - eyes begging for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” Blake said, confirming Yang’s words to be true.  “When I heard your caravan was stopped nearby, I knew I had to take a chance - in hopes it would stop the fighting.”  

“Forgiven,” Weiss replied before Blake could feel too badly about it.  “I figured it was a possibility, anyway.”

Again, Blake was surprised by Weiss’ reply - pleasantly so.  With a smile that felt like the beginnings of friendship, she continued.

“After hearing your plans, and what you hope to accomplish, I knew I wanted to help.” Pausing, Blake turned back to Yang.  “l believe her,” she said, not at all intimidated by the raw power emanating from Yang.  “And I have no reason to believe either of you.”

“You believe her?” Yang asked, pointing towards Weiss and scoffing.

“Yes,” Blake said, unafraid to use emphasis in the face of the Queen of Vale. “You try to place the blame entirely on Atlas, but Vale hasn’t cared about us either.  The people at the fringes were left to fend for themselves - free to starve to death while both kingdoms ignored us or destroyed what little we had left.  Why do you think we organized?  Why do you think we fought back?  You’re deciding your politics on our land, our homes.  We might never recover from the destruction, but you won’t care about that, either.”

When Blake’s impassioned rant ended, Yang stared - her mouth open as she searched for a response.  But she wasn’t given the opportunity as a giggle broke through the silence in the room.  Weiss’ heart leapt at the sound - because she would know that giggle anywhere.  It was everything she remembered it to be and more...even more incredible to hear in person than to imagine in a dream.

A breeze swept across the room, and Ruby finally joined her sister - playfully shaking Yang’s shoulders to remove the angry stiffness from them.

“She’s got you there, Yang,” Ruby teased, her lighthearted voice working wonders in dispelling the rising tension.  But then Ruby shook her head sadly, understanding the situation far better than her years would suggest.

“We knew people would suffer, but we had to protect those we could.  Now Atlas wants a truce - why would we keep fighting?”

“l - because -” Searching for an answer and coming up empty, Yang shook her head and pointed at Weiss.  “Because I think she’s lying!”

“Hmm...”

Thinking about Yang’s concern, Ruby met Weiss’ gaze and walked over.  Weiss’ skin tingled the closer Ruby drew, buzzing with an energy unlike anything she’d experienced in this life.  When Ruby was close enough, Weiss broke every custom she’d learned and curtsied.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Queen Rose,” she said, her inner ice melting under Ruby’s warm, silver gaze.

“You too,” Ruby replied, responding with her own curtsy that made Yang frown.  “You can call me Ruby.”

“Ruby...” Weiss savored the name on her lips before smiling, fending off the waves of happiness that wanted her to kiss Ruby right then and there.  “Please call me Weiss.”

Ruby was enjoying the interaction, and enjoying every bit of royal protocol Weiss was willing to break with her.  

If that’s what Ruby wanted, Weiss would willingly break every rule she’d ever learned.

“Are you lying, Weiss?” Ruby asked, her expression serious but a smile threatened to break at any moment.  “Are you pretending to want a truce - to trick us?”

“I’m not lying,” Weiss replied, willing Ruby to believe her.  “My father craved power and was willing to fight to take it.  I’m not my father.  I want nothing but peace.”

For the longest time, Ruby looked into Weiss’ eyes as if reading her very soul.  It made her feel vulnerable, exposed, and...alive - alive in a way that only came from sharing everything with another person, trusting them to treat what they learned with confidence and security.

Finding whatever she was searching for, Ruby smiled and turned around.

“l believe her!” she said, walking back to Yang’s side - leaving Weiss wishing that the moment hadn’t ended so soon. “Why don’t you?”

Staring at Ruby, Yang opened and closed her mouth several times before finally snapping her jaw shut and shaking her head.

“Because her father was an ass,” she grumbled, looking extremely unhappy with the turn of events.

Hearing the comment, Weiss burst out laughing. When everyone stared at her in surprise, she held up one hand and quickly pulled herself back together.

“I’m sorry,” she said, chuckling several times before clearing her throat and shaking her head.  “I’m sorry, but that might be the most succinct description of him I’ve ever heard.”

“Well at least we can all agree on something...” Blake muttered under her breath.

Having found common ground - in despising her despot of a father - Weiss discovered an opening, a chance to present her case to Yang and Ruby.

“l understand your hesitancy,” she said, her gaze inevitably drawn back to Ruby.  “And I understand you have no reason to trust me, but please feel free to suggest some way I can assure you that my intent is pure.”

Weiss waited, looking between Yang and Ruby while hoping one of them had a suggestion she could willingly agree to.  It didn’t matter what it was - as long as it was somewhat reasonable, she would do it.  

“l have an idea,” Ruby spoke up, smiling at Weiss and melting her heart in the process.  “I’ll go back to Atlas with her.”

“What?!” Yang shouted, while Weiss stared at Ruby in shock.

“I’ll go to Atlas with her,” Ruby repeated. “That way I can make sure she’s keeping her word.”

“I’m more than willing to accommodate that,” Weiss replied, still in a state of dumbfounded disbelief at the pleasant turn of events.  This was actually turning out far better than she could have hoped for.

“And if she - I don’t know - tries to kidnap you and use you for ransom?” Yang asked, but Ruby merely giggled at the serious question.

“l don’t think they can catch me.  And if they do, we know she lied and can unleash our secret weapon.”

“Secret -?”  When Ruby gave Yang a pointed look, Yang paused and slowly nodded.  “Ohhh, right - uh, that secret weapon.”

Weiss wasn’t sure if they were serious or if this was some long-standing joke between them, but she felt compelled to add her thoughts.

“l would never do that,” she said, again searching out Ruby’s gaze in an attempt to assure her.  “You have my word that you’ll be treated as the Queen you are and given access to the decisions our court makes.  Atlas needs to rebuild itself - we could use someone with experience to help shape our future.”

“I’d love to help,” Ruby replied, dipping her head in acceptance of Weiss’ response before turning to Blake.  “And maybe you’d be willing to stay and help Yang restore The Badlands to what it was before it became...you know...bad.”

Weiss could kiss Ruby for the suggestion, which took Yang completely by surprise.  From the interaction so far, it was obvious Yang was used to getting her way - unless Ruby overruled her.  Knowing Ruby, Weiss had to assume this hardly ever happened, which was the cause of Yang’s current consternation.

Blake, however, was hesitant but willing to try to make this work for the better.  Her inner desire to help the less fortunate normally led her decisions, and it continued to do so today.

“If you’d like my input, I’m willing to offer it.”

Everyone’s attention turned to Yang, who stared at Blake for a few seconds before laughing.  “Sure,” she replied with a shake of her head.  “I don’t mind an assassin moving in.”

“I’m not -”

“Not an assassin,” Yang interrupted with a wave of her hand.  “l get it. I’ve heard the other stories - how people look up to you, follow you.  You might not have a crown, but you’re a leader - like us.”  

The compliment left Yang’s lips easily, and she failed to notice Blake’s blush at the praise while sharing a long look with Ruby - the two of them conversing without words.  Weiss wished she understood what they were secretly discussing, but knew she’d develop that ability as she and Ruby spent more time together.  Today, she was simply happy to see Ruby give a slight nod and smile once more.

“Ok, if Ruby’s going to Atlas,” Yang began, meeting Blake’s eyes and - for the first time - looking pleasantly agreeable.  “I could use the help.”

When Blake nodded - looking both relieved and excited by Yang’s acceptance - Ruby giggled, the sound drawing Weiss’ intent gaze.

Ruby was as joyful as ever, but had just navigated a room full of explosive egos with aplomb.  Beyond that, she’d crafted solutions that would benefit the multitudes of people depending upon them.  

Blake staying with Yang meant that Vale could provide aid and resources to The Badlands without it being rejected outright. And Atlas needed to recover from the tyranny from which they’d just been freed.  The citizens needed to trust in leadership once more - and what better way to foster this trust than by bringing in someone as sweet as Ruby, who they would love in no time?

“I guess that’s settled then?” Yang asked, looking at Blake and Ruby before her eyes landed upon Weiss.  “The war is over?  We’ll call the troops back?”

“As soon as possible,” Weiss agreed.  “I’ll send a messenger right away.”

“Alright.  We will too.” Yang and Ruby shared a look before nodding in unison.  With that answer, Yang broke into a big smile - one that reflected her true personality. “It’ll probably take Ruby a couple days to get ready...you’re more than welcome to stay here while you wait.”

“That would be very nice.  Thank you,” Weiss answered, appreciative of the hospitality.

“Don’t mention it,” Yang replied with a wave. “So...how about a tour?”  With the question, she turned her attention back to Blake.  “Have you been to Vale before?”

“A long time ago,” Blake replied, moving to follow when Yang motioned towards her.  “But I can’t tell you what for.”

The teasing comment succeeded in making Yang laugh as the two headed out of the throne room, leaving Weiss and Ruby behind.

It was strange to think that it was that easy - that the four of them just ended the war and were now on speaking terms, that the four of them would work together to bring peace and prosperity to their kingdoms.  Of course, none of this would have happened without one person’s influence.

“I appreciate your help,” Weiss said, turning to the side and giving Ruby a sincere smile.  The situation would’ve ended far differently if not for Ruby’s timely arrival.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Ruby replied with a smile of her own.  “Please forgive Yang.  She tried to reason with your dad quite a few times, and...it never ended well.”

The disclosure wasn’t a surprise to Weiss, but she still shook her head in shame, wondering when she’d ever dig her way out of the hole her father had dug for her.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I mean to change things.  And you’ll always have my honesty.”

“I know!” Ruby replied.  The certainty in the response cause Weiss to tilt her head in curiosity.

“How are you so sure about me?” she asked, unable to escape the feeling that Ruby could see right through her.

“You can learn a lot about a person by watching them,” Ruby commented, lightly swinging her arms while never losing that hint of a smile.  

“And what did you learn about me?” Weiss asked, willing her heart to stop beating so quickly at the thought that Ruby had been watching her.  

But it only beat faster when Ruby leaned close and whispered, “I learned...that I want to learn more about you.”

Leaning away and giggling, Ruby had no idea she’d just given Weiss a small heart attack - or she knew exactly what she’d just done, and that’s what she was giggling.  

“Can I show you around Vale before we leave?” Ruby asked, taking a step towards the door before turning back to Weiss with a heart-stopping smile.

This version of Ruby was...majestic.  Maybe it was the air fueling her - flowing through her like a breath of freshness in a world of uncertainty - or maybe it was her upbringing as royalty, but her traditional kindness was layered with an elegance that Weiss found impossible to resist.

“I’d love that,” she managed to reply, spurring her feet into motion as they left the throne room and rejoined Yang and Blake.

All these years, Weiss had dreamed of meeting Ruby - of finding the person she was destined to be with.  Now that they’d finally met...she was dreaming of a kiss.

“Did we fix things?”

Weiss smiled - at the question and at the fact that Ruby had listened to the second half of the story with a French fry halfway to her mouth.

“We did.  There were trials along the way, but the four of us always worked together to solve them.  And we were...happy.”

The memory spread like a warm ray of sun through Weiss’ chest.  They’d formed a bond comparable to the one they’d shared in their very first life together.  It was that closeness and trust that led them through all the evils the world threw at them. And, through it all, Ruby stayed by Weiss’ side - a constant source of love and devotion that got them through.

“You were a queen, too,” Ruby commented, finally biting off half of her French fry before chewing thoughtfully.  “And your family owns some businesses this time...it sounds like you’re usually pretty rich?”  

Fortunate in wealth, never in love.  That’s how Weiss’ lives worked - until she met Ruby, then her fortunes changed.  But she would gladly forego her wealth to stay by Ruby’s side, and in some instances she’d done just that.

“Usually,” Weiss answered.  “I like to think it provides me with the resources to find you. But that’s not always the case. There are times when we both have nothing - but in those lives, it seems like we find each other far earlier.” Leaning forward, she smiled. “Those are some of the best ones.”

This time there was no hesitation in Ruby’s eyes. Instead, there was a sparkle of excitement as she picked up another French fry and leaned closer to the table.

“Will you tell me about one?”

The question was music to Weiss’ ears.

“I’d love to.”

[maniacalmachinist]

From Ice and Ash (pt 4)

En Route:  Underdark – Interception

The slow travel had stretched on, being within a few days of the cave which will take them on a direct route to the Lady Darkfrond’s estate. Jamax found himself grateful that the elves had carts and wagons, allowing him to recuperate a bit from the strenuous barrage of elven linguistics, combat training, meditation, and control of his breath. While he did grasp the base necessities of the Drow’s particular dialect of elven, he had learned enough words to comprehend when the escort was insulting him behind his back.  It was odd listening to their jabs and trying to understand why ones who dwell below the surface think themselves living on high.  He slowly got the feeling that each race seemed to think itself superior to another for any number of reasons.

During the trek, he took the time to recollect what Chamelia had taught, told, and showed him, but yet not once did she appear to make herself superior; with of course the exception of martial prowess.  She took him to a tavern once, in one of the neighboring villages, one of the few things she seemed to enjoy; outside of tormenting him anyway.

*****************************************************

“Bart, you know the drill!”

“Oh, hey Sparky . . . bottle of Firebelly coming up.  Something for your guest?”

Chamelia chuckled, “Something weak for the hatchling, he’s not got the stomach lining yet.”

Bart laughed with her, “Fruit juice it is . . . “

Jamax elbowed her, “Seriously, Hagscale?”

The tavern itself wasn’t too bad, bar and food on the bottom floor, rental rooms on the next.  It was mostly used by wayward merchants and whatnot, and from what she told him, was  among the few towns that was neutral to the “order of things;” meaning that dragonkine were considered citizens and guests, and were extended such courtesies.  Jamax took some time to look around.  Most of the patrons were dressed as modestly as the dragonborn were, a few with intricate walking sticks or hats, but nothing too out of what’s considered ordinary.  Then again, he always got the feeling from Aar’n, a human male he met some months after being shown his egg, that the sapiens get a bit unnerved by reptilians wearing something “civilized.”

Glancing at Chamelia, she wore something that could be considered a body drape of light blue that extended to her “ankles” with slits on the sides reveling her powerful legs.  An ocher sash was wrapped around her waist, tied off on the side and the coloring seemed to mix well with her bronze scales.  She had some tendrils that flared from the back of her head, running along her dorsal spines to about the top of her shoulders, each one with intricate beads.

“So, Hagscale, what’s with the outfit?”

Chamelia snorted, “When you get old enough for your loins to tell you about things, I’ll let you know.”

Jamax coughed while taking a drink, “Ach ah ah . . . where the hell did that come from?”

“What? I can’t babysit your hide all the time . . . I have others to attend, and my own ‘needs’ to quell.  You’re almost an adult now . . . was hoping you’d be a bit more, shall we say, mellowed at this point.”

He chuffed at the comment, “Now listen here hags-”

The moment was interrupted by the sound of marching at the door, a mix of humans and elves in what seemed to be military grade equipment: shields, swords, spears, armor . . . it was ony the helms that accommodated elongated ear lobes that gave some away.  They made their way to a table, a half-orc waitress taking the order, and she didn’t seem to happy about the assignment.

Chamelia made a low growl while drinking, “Fucking Thanlengar Kingdom . . . almost as bad as slavers.”  She chuffed, “I’d mess them up now if it meant I wouldn’t shred the dress.”

Jamax blinked, “Why aren’t we speaking our native ton-”

Chamelia cut him off, “I’ll inform you now, speaking our ‘tongue’ is considered a crime . . . even if this is neutral territory, it’s wise not to instigate.”

He grunts, listening to the banter of the soldiers.

*********************************************************

The memory was cut short by shouts from the Drow guards, [INCOMING!!!] one cried out, everyone stopping the caravan, arming themselves and getting ready to repel.

Jamax scooted to the edge of his cart trying to get a look.  There was a shrill squeal, coming from multiple direction followed by constant rustling of branches and leaves.

“Greenscale, stay there . . . we have RAPTORS!” shouted Har’kon.  The Drow guards took up spears and bucklers, encircling the carts as best they can, forming a briar around the transport.

[Those in front protect the horses!  Har’kon, you’re guarding the guest, the rest fan out and keep an eye on movement] Shouted Nia, drawing her blades and taking up the center of the small formation, her eyes darting and ears twitching to pick up the dinosaurs’ movements. [Jamax, you’re a last resort, we may need your breath!]

He nodded, [Understand I do] he replied their tongue.  He sank a bit lower, relying on his hearing and smell to detect the creatures. With all that was going on, his senses were confused, but tried to keep some degree of focus on the situation.  He could tell by the shuffling and sounds of the guards getting into position, catching the random glint of moonlight off their weapons as they moved.

That sound, that shrill sound . . . he could hear the creatures, it was almost like a speech pattern with clicks, growls, hisses, and a small array of other variations that felt like combinations thereof.  He sunk further down, and listen to the shouts of the guards, Nia commands, and the responses of the raptors as they shifted with the guards’ movements.  “I get the feeling these creatures are intelligent to some degree . . . “

Nia was a bit too busy to respond at that instant, “Think a pack of wolves mated with crocodiles, and developed a language of their own . . . oh, and some nasty teeth and claws to boot.”

“I thought that was the lizard men!”

“They’re distantly related, now shut up!”

The shouts and cries continued, raptors seeming to test the defenses of the guard, and Nia shifting them around.  Jamax listened and tried to watch who was shifting where, and paying attention to the cries, catching random new sounds from the Raptors . . . “Nia, be ready . . . I think they might be going for you soon!”

“Jamax, shut the hell up and let me . . . .FUCK!” Nia cried as a raptor leapt from a open section of the guards, dodging with a quick slice to it’s gut, it’s momentum and entrails being sent into the opposite side of the cart.  “Where did you learn their language?!?”

“I didn’t, just been listening and trying to watch . . . I don’t know what they’re saying, but I can tell when they’re shifting.”

“Damn . . . ok, you listen and give me a heads up when they try that again. Har’kon, protect our listener here.

Har’kon grunted, but in a way that seemed to denote jealousy as opposed to hatred.  The minutes seemed to stretch for hours as this game of tap and run with the raptors.  Jamax continued to listen to their chittering, as if trying to figure out what game them away . . . there was suddenly a different call, and the raptors retreated. “Anything from your end, Jamax”

He shook his head, “It’s a new call from the others . . . could easily mean regroup, retreat, or leave for all I know given the context.”  He stood up, looking around . . . “But I suggest we try to rest and . . . .” There was a sudden rustle in the bush, as a raptor jumped Jamax, both of them landing in the brush.  For the first time, he felt fear, staring at the silhouette of this beast. His sight wasn’t good in the dark and could hear Nia shouting orders.  “Alright, you found me scalekin . . . now, what are you going to do about it?”  He took a stance, trying to mirror the raptor’s posture.  They circle each other, the raptor growling and hissing, he could tall in the moonlight it’s eyes and maw cried out for blood.  Jamax answered in Draconic, “Two will circle . . . one shall fall.”  He kept his posture loose, and fingers rigid and ready to tear.

The raptor leapt at him, it’s legs swung forward with it’s inner claws ready to dig in.  Jamax, dove under it, tumbling aside and standing up, while the raptor regained it’s bearings.  It stared at him, snarling and charged, stretching out it’s claws.  Jamax responded by grabbing it’s claw, clenching it’s fingers down and pulling the limb behind it, and pushing the creature down, planting his foot at the pit of it’s arm, twisting and pulling.  The creature cried and shrieked at the pain as it’s limb was under threat of being torn off.  He didn’t see the other raptor, though smaller, it jumped out at him, crashing them aside the one on the ground.  The two grappled, that raptor’s teeth and claws biting and slashing to weaken Jamax.  He writhed around the creature, taking it’s jaws in his hands while wrapping his legs around it’s neck. He was grateful for his thicker hide as he pried it’s maw open, then with a deep breath exhaled, pouring his icy breath down the creature’s throat, freezing it from the inside out . . . it’s squeal of pain was deafening, but he wouldn’t stop until such cries ended.  It’s body slowed to a halt, stopping altogether and becoming solid as a cold stone.

Jamax panted, getting up off the frozen creature, and stared at the other with a glare that said all the raptor needed to understand.  It used it’s good arm, and started shuffling away just as the guards arrived, Nia looking pretty shocked at the scene, but smiling, “Well . . . you learned better than Cammi thought.”  

“My lady I . . . “ started Har’kon, then followed Nia’s gaze to the frozen and retreating raptors . . . “Flying hells . . . this silver lizard can actually do something useful?”

Jamax grunted, feeling a bit raw around his sides and legs, “I may be new at this, but I’m not entirely stupid.”

“Get your ass to the medic . . . everyone else clean up and look sharp. Those reptiles have a tendency to regroup and return.”

Jamax groaned, holding his side, and noticing his own blood for the first time . . . eye-opening as it was, he knew that there would likely be worse waiting for him.  He looked up at the moon, and for the first time, he felt as if his calling was starting to come to him . . . when he arrived at the cart, all he could do was fall in, and could feel someone tending his injuries while he ultimately passed out from exertion.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 4: Heresy

Our cards for this session: The Hunter, The Knight, The Madness, The Heretic.

This week: I took EXCELLENT notes, probably because I was physically incapable of speaking and had to conduct all roleplay via telegram.

Back at Shoshana’s house, we crash for a long rest. Ser Balderich is convinced to take the only bed, because he’s spent the last forty-eight hours in a curse hole. Shoshana is surprised - and a little saddened, in a way - to see that his time in the supernatural darkness has not affected Ser Balderich seemingly at all, unlike her. Beggar Knights are granted strong protection from Rack, the god of suffering and mercy, and likely this is what helped him resist corruption.

Didn’t help him resist breaking his bones, though. He’s gonna stick around in Ovruch to heal and to protect the town. Shoshana warns him that her cats are probably going to stay here and be assholes, and he laughs it off. He’s fought the most terrible monsters known to man - cat-wrangling can be his next adventure! She laughs with him, but warns him that they are affected by the Curse - he may have to put them down, when they get too aggressive to save.

Ser Balderich takes the chance to lay down some wisdom on the young witch: “I’ve seen a lot since I started fighting the Curse. It can turn a man’s hands to claws, it can break his mind, but it cannot make you a monster unless you allow it. I have seen people barely recognizable as humanoid who have the noblest hearts. And I’ve seen men you wouldn’t blink at in the market with the most monstrous hearts of all. Don’t let anyone turn you into something you’re not.”

The man has INCREDIBLE Dad Energy. It’s so potent he almost immediately falls asleep in an armchair in front of the football game.

Meanwhile, Gral rolls a 19 and, in his own words, “wakes up in the morning feelin’ like P. Diddy.” 

Shoshana leaves a letter for Herschel the innkeeper, letting him know “I think she’s alive - I’m going to find her,” and then we get on the road to the town of Holzog, Ser Quentin Morozov’s base of operations.

The party is hustling along the road, being Super Quiet and Awkward because we’re all stoic assholes with secrets (not you, Valeria, you’re an angel and we’re glad you’re here). Then, rapid hoofbeats! Coming along a fork in the road, a company of lightly armored riders bearing the crest of a rook upon their shields thunders past us. Despite our absolutely terrible history rolls, the DM can’t resist telling us that these are Condotierri - mercenaries from Ventallus, known for being highly professional, highly skilled, and deeply cautious about any venture too dangerous to be worth their hire price. They seem to be headed to Holzog as well, just much faster.

Holzog is set in a valley, surrounded by huge craggy hills that the Curse has made dark and foreboding. We know it’s a much bigger town than Ovruch, sustained mostly by fishing on the large lake that butts up against it. There’s a strange smell on the breeze - it’s familiar to Gral, but he can’t quite place it, not with a perception check that low.

Awkward road conversation is made (”SO UH I SEE YOU’RE A LARGE LIZARD PERSON. HOW’S THAT GOING FOR YOU. WHERE YA FROM.”) but Valeria’s explanation of how she’s from Aurentium, the Golden City, the shining example of the post-Aquilian Empire!!! is interrupted by the sight of a big ol’ keep on the horizon, flying a flag with the crest of Holzog. Looks like a watchtower that’s been recently expanded. Soldiers are stopping a caravan of merchants and ushering them inside. We head on over.

A halfling woman in fancier armor than the rest of the soldiers introduces herself as Captain Claudia. “Road’s closed ‘till morning,” she tells us. “The mists are out.”

From the tower’s windows we can see a strange, shimmering purple mist has indeed descended on the town, purple and rippling. The hell is that?!

Captin Claudia says hell if she knows, but baroness’s orders are not to fuck with it, and the valley’s shut down until it’s gone. Usually takes 12 hours or so. Comes out of the lake.” The baroness of Holzog has established this roadhouse for travelers who are stuck. Claudia’s in charge, and she’s not above using her musket or kicking us out into the woods in order to keep the peace. She confirms the Condotierri we saw were hired by the baroness as extra muscle to guard the forts around the town - but they only answer to their captain, and they keep avoiding the rough jobs.

So we’re stuck here for the night. We go chat with the merchants - a Demish furrier shows us the weird cursed furs that are all the rage in fashion right now (this one’s purple! with spines!) and Valeria manages to buy some Fortified Demish Healing Wine off him - for discount price, because you’d hardly sell GOOD wine to these beer-swilling Valdian yokels, and Valeria, being a noble AND a dragonborn, rolls pretty darn well on her snob check. 

There’s a bookseller, too. Clem makes the practical decision of purchasing some journals published by Sturmhearst University about the latest research into the Curse. Valeria gets a beautifully illustrated heroic tale of the Peacock Knight, founder of the Knights Radiant. Shoshana, who has more money in her pocket than she’s had in maybe ever, giddily buys a dramatic Gallish pirate adventure. 

The door slams open, dramatically. “Why, Captain Claudia! I had heard the mists were up in the valley, and I did so hope you would be the one to host us this night!” Two humans stride in. First comes a lean man with a goatee and a big hat with a feather in it, his white leather cape falling over a gleaming sword. Behind him comes a muscular, angry-looking woman, with similar hair and features, lugging a huge lumpy sack and two nasty-looking warhammers. Both prominently wear the symbol of a sword and hammer crossed over a sun - the symbol of the Knights Radiant.

“Ah! Do not fear, huddled citizens of Valdia! You will not need to pass this night in fear of the things that lurk beyond the walls, for the Knights Radiant are here!”

Captain Claudia tells him to can it and go help his sister carry stuff. The gentleman in the majestic hat mourns that sadly, duty keeps us apart, and yet - oh hey, I have an audience.

“Who here would like to hear how my sister and I slew the werewolf of Vanderburg?!” he declares with a flourish to the gawking merchants, and us. “My sister Fiona and were in Vanderburg when we heard the distinctive howl, the locals were terrified of the beast, who had been taking cattle and stalking them for weeks. We laid our trap! Knowing the wolf preferred beautiful long haired women, we obtained a fancy dress! My sister hid in the bushes while I played bait. Then, I drew my silver blade!” It’s all very dramatic. His blade glows as he waves it around dramatically. The descriptions get flowery. The story is very heroic. “So you need not fear anything tonight – oh. There’s already knight-looking people here. Well, you still don’t need to fear anything because I am HERE!”

Thanks, All Might. We continue to awkwardly look like a blatantly obvious adventuring party, which has clearly thrown Mr. Hero off his game a little.

His large, intimidating sister taps him on the shoulder and rapidly motions to him in sign language. “OK fiiiine, I won’t tell the story of how we cleansed the cemetery of ghouls – Fiona, don’t speak for them, I’m working here. Remember, sister, our mission does not end when the beast is slain, but when spirits are lifted!”

The aforementioned Fiona looks at us, pulls out a wineskin, takes a slug of alcohol, and offers it up. Clem identifies it immediately as primo, grade-A trench hooch. Cooked in a dented greathelm, made of spit and armor polish. Clem happily accepts a swig of what most folks would identify as industrial solvent. 

Fiona’s theatrical brother notices Valeria’s new Peacock Knight book and decides to come bother miss – uh, Kyr? Kyr Dragonborn, please allow me to introduce myself, I’m SER FLYNN FAIRGOLD OF THE KNIGHTS RADIANT, DEFENDER OF THE PEOPLE, PROTECTOR OF VALDIA. My lovely sister is SER FIONA FAIRGOLD. She has neglected to take any additional titles. THE HUMBLE. I gave her that one.

”What’s he in town for? “My sister and I are here upon a dangerous quest! A noble seeker of truth tasked us to investigate and retrieve a-” He notices Fiona making a cut-throat gesture. “Yes, we are delivering things to a knight of much renown!”

Us: “Is it Ser Quentin Morozov? Because he’s the guy we’re gonna go bother.”

Flynn: “...Why yes! Ser Morozov is a frequent employer of ours! He dispatches us, his most trusted agents, as far as possible! He knows that the further we travel from him, the more evil we defeat and hopes we raise. Honestly, I usually check in on our uncle while our sister talks to him. While you’re in Holzogh, check out the Greencloak Inn, my uncle runs it-”

Shoshana begins to make conversation about knowing guys who run inns named after wars with elves. (Greencloak being a term for Kevan soldiers.) Gral tries to ask Fiona about her travels, but she just points to her throat, which is covered in thick burn scars. We’re all settling in for a night’s conversation when there’s a banging at the doors, and Captain Claudia shouting “nO DON’T OPEN THE...gates, dammit.”

A group of men pour in, uniformed in rough white clothes bound with chains. They bear a banner with the image of bloody chains, and their leader wears a thin blindfold over scarred eyes and carries a wicked-looking thorned whip.

He intones, “REJOICE, CITIZENS. THE GODS HAVE SPOKEN TO ME. WITHIN THIS FORTRESS LIES ONE DEEPLY TOUCHED BY EVIL. A BEING WHO HAS BOUND THEMSELVES TO THE DARKEST POWERS. THEY LURK AMONG YOU! BUT REJOICE, FOR WE HAVE COME, TO MAKE THEM FACE THE JUSTICE OF THE GODS.”

Shoshana immediately rolls for stealth and dives behind the largest available Clem.

These, we know, are the Penitent Knights: militant devotees of Rack that fanatically slay anyone deemed to be sinful, in order to excise the Curse from among the people. They are...not known for remembering the “mercy” part of their god’s whole shtick. 

“LET THE EVILDOER OR ANY WHO KNOW OF THEM STEP FORTH, THAT WE MAY BE ABOUT OUR HOLY BUSINESS.”

Valeria immediately uses her Divine Sense to detect whether there are, actually, any Fiends among us. Nobody pings the radar, though our wrapped tapestry is a little suspect, but there’s a slight whiff of...something?...from the Fairgolds, who are beginning to look just a little nervous. Especially emanating from Fiona’s back and shoulder?

We all simultaneously remember that Fiona was carrying a huge mysterious sack earlier, like a buff warrior Santa. HMM. The bag’s nowhere to be seen, though - she put it somewhere in the keep while Flynn was telling stories.

Meanwhile, Valeria is not about to put up with these creeps going all Spanish Inquisition on a bunch of innocent merchants, and stands up to reveal her impressive presence. “None here are any sort of fiend!”

“DO YOU SPEAK TRUE, OR ARE YOU A DECEIVER?”

“I’ve taken my oaths, I am no deceiver!” Valeria rolls an excellent persuasion check and looks Very Knightly and Trustworthy. Everyone in the room is on her side. Well, except the captain of the creeps:

“AND YET I KNOW THAT WITHIN THIS FORTRESS A VILE HERETIC RESIDES. MEN! SEARCH THE PLACE FOR SIGNS OF HERESY.“

Valeria: “There’s no need for any of that.”

“I WILL NOT SEE JUSTICE UNDONE.”

“Whatever you’re looking for isn’t here!”

“AND YET I KNOW THAT IT IS. UPON MY AUTHORITY AS AN AGENT OF THE ARCHCLERIC OF RACK, I DEMAND TO SEARCH THIS FACILITY AND DISPENSE THE JUSTICE OF RACK.”

Valeria, also being an agent of Rack’s justice, thinks this guy is full of crap and tells him in no uncertain terms to get lost. Gral, Clem, and both Fairgolds decide to assist by Looming Intimidatingly. They’re very good at it.

“VERY WELL. GOOD PEOPLE, THIS KNIGHT OF THE ROSE HAS DECLARED RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR SAFETY THIS NIGHT. LET ANY EVIL THAT BEFALLS THIS PLACE BE UPON HER HEAD.” With that ominous proclamation, the Knights Penitent shuffle back outside the gates. Captain Claudia wastes absolutely zero time making sure everything is locked and barred.

“Yeah, sorry you had to see that. They creep me right the heck out,” she tells us. Out of sight of the merchants, she motions to us surreptitiously. “But there’s something you should see.”

Flynn: “UM, my dearest Claudia-”

Claudia: “Shut it, Flynn, I think the Knight of the Rose has the right to know.”

As she leads us back towards the dungeon-y part of the keep, she berates Flynn further: “Dammit, Fairgold, I’ve got people here who are my responsibility. If you knew they were following you-”

She takes us back to the keep’s single jail cell. Inside is a battered, emaciated elf, thoroughly bound and gagged, and unconscious to boot. He’s covered in tattoos, and even the idiots among us can tell the symbols are fiendish in nature. Clem recognizes what he is on sight. Back during the Ascension war, there were members of Raspult’s cult - who he gave free reign to do all evil, on the reasoning that once he was king of the gods, he would forgive them for everything and anything done in his name - called the Marked. They would tattoo themselves with sacrificial blood and demonic symbols, mad-eyed cultists able to summon demons by making themselves bleed. The worst part of battling them: wounding them could just as easily summon the demons as if the cultist had done it themself. 

Clem is not best pleased. “Who brought him here?!”

Flynn: “Welllllll...that would be us. See, Ser Morozov sent us to investigate reports of a demon summoner. We found him, slew some of his imps, and my sister Fiona choked him out. We’ve been tasked to bring him back for interrogation; Ser Morozov believes that followers of Raspult may have information on how the Curse came to be.”

Clem, who has seen combat with these bastards, is incensed. “So you brought him here, to a keep full of innocent people? He has an ARSENAL tattooed onto his skin!” Gral, who has not personally fought a Marked, claims he can access memories of those who fought them through the Orcish Allsoul, and that yes, they are absolutely that bad.

“He’s drugged unconscious, it’s one night-”

“If - WHEN - he gets lucky, just once, everyone here could die!”

“Well, we couldn’t let the Penitents get him! If they found him, they’d drag him out in public and whip him until he bleeds to death with their chains!”

We all pause a moment, to contemplate just how Super Absolutely Not Good that scenario would be.

Clem’s still not having it. “So you brought him INSIDE a stronghold filled with civilians? When he gets free, their blood will be on your hands,” she hisses, filled with contempt.

We all agree that even though it’s one night, someone will stand guard. We can’t all fit into the small jail room, so we’ll take shifts. Whoever is on guard will take our magical horn, so they can sound the alarm the second anything happens.

Flynn and Valeria take first watch, and roll just absolutely terrible on all their perception checks. They hear a noise in the other room, and Flynn goes to investigate. Valeria promptly gets clubbed over the head with a blackjack.

Two Penitents have snuck inside and are making a beeline for the now-awake elf in the jail cell. Roll for initiative, everyone, it’s ON.

Clem is woken up by the magic horn and Nat 20′s on initiative out of sheer rage, and everyone else is woken up by Clem’s vehement cussing. The Penitents get some damn good hits in on Flynn and Valeria, but with Clem and Fiona crashing in as extra tanks and Gral and Shoshana sniping spells from behind, neither one makes it into the cell. The bound elf is struggling and making noise, but hasn’t managed to get free or summon anything.

Clem immediately turns on the Fairgolds, punching Flynn in the face and spitting that this is exactly why the Marked should never have been left alive! I told you, and it’s been what, an hour?! Now Clean. Up. Your. MESS.

Fiona signs to her brother that the rest of the Penitent Knights have been sighted outside, waiting for the prisoner. We all know that we can’t let them have him, they’ll release the demons on his skin. Clem argues that we should do now what we should have done two hours ago: kill him immediately.

Clem Valeria, a hint of the Hunt’s corruption in her expression, concurs.

Gral stalks up to the cell, growling at the Marked for his crimes. “Defiler of our ruined lands, we have killed your god and we will kill you too. If you struggle we will kill you faster.” His Words of Terror ability chillingly cows the tattooed elf into submission.

Shoshana quietly asks if this means we’re interrogating the elf, or if we can get on with it already - because, after all, a sorcerer can kill without ever making their target bleed.

Seeing no objection, she uses the rest of her spell slots to repeatedly Chromatic Orb him to death with cold damage. Clem must roll a will save when seeing a humanoid die - albeit super-rapidly - from the elements, but succeeds with a stony glare of contempt toward the cultist.

Once she’s done, she coldly looks back at the rest of the gathered warriors. “See? This,” she says, gesturing to the dead elf, “is why you should just put things like me DOWN, when you have the chance.” She stalks off into the keep.

Clem stares down the Fairgolds and then similarly storms off in a rage, leaving Gral and Valeria to figure out what to do with the bodies. 

Though the tattoos have become inert now that the cultist is dead, the Fairgolds still want to bring the body to Ser Quentin - Speak With Dead can grant the Cursebreakers a limited amount of interrogation, at least. But the Penitents outside aren’t going to leave without proof their quarry is dead. 

Gral sends their leader a Message cantrip: “Inquisitor, you have breached our trust and peace by sending your agents here, but we do not want further conflict. We have the corpse of the fiend you seek.”

They meet the Penitents at the gate and show them the body.  “I apologize for my men, they were…overeager,” says the Inquisitor. Upon seeing the frozen body: “The god’s justice has been done this night. Justice…can be cold. Thank you for seeing it my way. Do you have my men?”

Well, uh, technically, yes? Gral and the fort’s soldiers give them the bodies. The Inquisitor doesn’t even look particularly bothered by his men’s deaths. 

Just as Gral is going back inside the gates, though, he hears something, carried on the mists. A terrible, familiar sound. He immediately dashes inside, calling to Close The Fucking Gates (the guards were already on it, they are barricaded as HECK).

Meanwhile, Valeria tracks down Shoshana, who is curled in a ball in a corner somewhere. She sits down next to her - not quite crowding, but close enough to touch. “That...thing was nothing like you. You know that, right? He chose that, over and over again.”

Shoshana’s not comforted. “Yeah, well, I knew people who wouldn’t have chosen what they did, until the Curse changed ‘em.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“You think those were the first cats I ever adopted?” Shoshana asks. “I’ve had to put them down, when they got so fucked up and aggressive that they were just little monsters. Eventually the Curse wins, every time.”

She leans on Valeria’s shoulder. “It’s gonna happen to me eventually. Just...minimize the damage, you know?”

“It doesn’t have to happen. You can choose differently. You’ve been choosing differently.”“

“If I’m lucky. If I keep getting lucky. And...I just want you to know. When the time comes and you have to do it, I’m not mad or anything.”

Clem finds her way to the courtyard and drinks alone all night. 

On those depressing notes, the morning comes! A troop of Condotierri ride by and declare that the mists have cleared. Captain Claudia shooes everyone out of the roadhouse, thanks for coming, safe travels, BUH-BYE. 

We walk with the Fairgolds and make it to Holzog by mid-morning. The Condotierri at the gates give us the hairy eyeball but don’t stop us, probably because we’re with Flynn and Fiona. We head to the old mining office that the Cursebreakers have taken as their headquarters, while Flynn bounces off to arrange rooms at his uncle’s inn and avoid talking to Ser Quentin.

A sly-looking fellow in a long coat, holding a book with an eye on the front, greets us at the door. This is Contractor Darius, a Cursebreaker Knight using the title of a Celestial Warlock of Torme. He has a white bird familiar who we immediately, in reference to a previous campaign, dub Daikon. Darius leads us inside.

Ser Quentin Morozov is a gaunt elf with silver spectacles and a bandolier of knives across his chest, examining a wall of maps covered in pins and strings. “Ah, Fiona,” he says. “Did your brother learn to cast Hold Person?”

She shakes her head.

“Then you have brought me a corpse instead of a prisoner.” His disdain is palpable, but we explain what happened. It takes him a moment to remember who the hell Shoshana is, despite meeting her only a few days ago - he finds the correct journal entry: mild corruption, unlikely to be a threat. Anyway: he’s happy to hear we’ve rescued Ser Balderich (and entirely unsurprised at the other knight’s foolhardiness, and rather intrigued with the gory tapestry we’ve brought him. He’ll certainly have to interview all of us about the Hunt.

Gral inquires about the Mist, implying that he might know something about it. Here’s what the Cursebreakers have: Darius has studied it. It rises out of the lake and seems to spread, wandering irrespective of wind. Living things caught in it get corrupted, maybe with lingering effects. Monsters and beasts seem to roam within it. It originates within the lake, and the fish in the lake have shown signs of corruption. All travel is forbidden when the mist is out, by order of the Baroness - a wise policy, in Ser Quentin’s opinion.

This is unsatisfying to Gral, who anxiously insists he has to have an audience with the Baroness about the Mist.

Meanwhile, Clem inquires with Ser Quentin whether he is familiar with a group of Kevan soldiers known as the Red Hand - she’s a former member. Indeed, he’s worked with them before. One of the more excellent entourages he’s hired. He assures her that he last saw them unharmed, but with a strange twist. 

He had taken them on an expedition to Mornheim, the territory ruled by Ser Balderich’s family, known for its apple orchards and its extensive necropolis. Before the Curse, Mornheim had been famous in that its lands spawned no undead, so many wealthy and noble families would send their dead to be buried there, unbothered by magic. And then the Curse hit, and that streak broke, and now there’s a LOT of undead there due to the extensive burial grounds. 

When Ser Quentin had taken the Red Hand on an expedition to fight the undead in Mornheim and investigate the catacombs, a member of the party had been separated from the group during an ambush. Ser Quentin would have left the young man for dead, but his comrades insisted on going back for him.

“They returned with their companion the next day, but there was something strange about him. He was very secretive around me. Hid things from me – and you must be very good to be able to hide things from me. Shortly afterward, they announced their intention to leave my service. I did have some of them followed. Some of them left Valdia and headed south to the Crownlands or Keva. Others went different directions throughout the Greatwood. I do not have evidence to say yet, but part of my expedition to Mornheim is to figure out what happened. Rather uncharacteristically unprofessional that they didn’t tell me.”

Ser Quentin gives us a monetary reward for saving Ser Balderich and bringing him the tapestry, and asks us to sign on for his expedition to Mornheim to investigate what caused the undead to rise, and what happened to the Red Hand. Clem is, obviously, interested, but Gral is far more interested in the mists.

Ser Quentin pulls some strings and gets Gral his audience with the Baroness. Gral and Valeria go in - Clem’s not interested, and Shoshana is pretty sure they don’t just let peasants in there. Darius escorts them in, to a small audience room in which the Baroness is working. There are guards and clerks and scribes there, doing their work. The Baroness is a beautiful tiefling woman with royal blue skin, pitch-black eyes, and four horns, one set curling forwards and the others pointing back. She wears a royal purple gown and a simple silver circlet as a symbol of office. 

The Baroness Francesca von Holzogh addresses Gral with a posh Ventallan accent. “Is this another entreaty from your Duke to join his forces?”

It is not. Gral instead brings up the mist, and asks her if she is aware of the theory that the Curse has its own agenda. She affirms that Ser Quentin has shared the theory with her. 

“The Curse has not only its own agenda but its own Champions,” says Gral. “I heard the cry of its Champion last night in the mist. We need to talk.”

-fade to black-