#pathfinder fanfic

[another-heroine]

Hello There!

min • 28y • she/they • intp-t • brazilian • rpg addicted • tired writer

main blog: three of crows

fic profiles: ao3 • wattpad

💌 my inbox is open for: replies • headcanons • prompts

Masterlists:

Dragon Age:

Lucius Balventius

Melina Trevelyan

Pathfinder:

Alina Grushankaya

Amanita Muscaropples

Andrine Vanfell

Ekaterina Grushankaya

Elen Dulac

Fionnirel Kaellin

Ismene of the Elk Queen Tribe

Original Novel:

(The Blood from the Past synopsis here)

Damian Vieri

Hugo Castillo/Otobeltza

Olívia Garmendia

Renée Lunenoire

Resident Evil:

Laura de Loiola (RE4 Remake)

Vampire Hunter D:

(The Wild Hunt Linktree here)

Cassandra Constantinescu

[spectre-requisitions-exchange]

THE SPECTRE REQUISITIONS RARE PAIR EXCHANGE RETURNS FOR 2024

Are you a rare pair shipper? Do you love those pairings that canon never supplied? Or maybe you’re just good ol’ shipping trash who loves to ship almost EVERYONE in the Mass Effect universe? Then boy do we have good news for you!

The Spectre Requisitions Rare Pair Exchange is here!  We’re a rare pair fanart and fanfiction exchange that’s open for the Mass Effect Trilogy and Mass Effect Andromeda. Whether you started with the original Mass Effect or got into the series through Andromeda or the remaster; whether you favor gen and platonic or threesomes and moresomes -- we want you to join us! Mark the dates on your calendar and get those thinking caps on for nominations!

If you’re not already in the Discord, come join us! It’s open year-round for all your rare pair needs. 2024 SCHEDULE

Nominations begin: January 18 Nominations end: January 25 Signup begins: January 26 Signup ends: February 10 Assignments: February 13 (at latest) Assignments due: March 25 Assignment reveal: April 1 Creator reveal: April 8

Watch this space for a guide to nominations! We can't wait to see what rare relationship goodness you come up with this year!

[dujour13]

West Wind - chapter 9

The thoughts spiraled. There was no stopping them, even by playing music or holding onto Woljif for dear life, or even when his dad brought him milk like he used to when he had nightmares as a child. Nightmares about cruel, stitching hands. Hands that placed a burden upon him no mortal could possibly shoulder.

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Love & War Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: M Status: Ongoing (13/?) Main Characters: Knight-Commander Cleo Ironbark, Queen Galfrey Supporting Characters: Yozz, Arueshalae, Woljif, Wenduag Ships: Knight-Commander/Queen Galfrey Additional Notes: Complicated Relationships, Angst, Rivals to Enemies to Lovers, Demon to Legend Mythic Path, Canon-Typical Themes Word Count: 51.5k Summary:

Galfrey was a queen, a paladin, an icon for all that was righteous and just in the Crusades. Cleo was a barbarian, a tiefling, a personification of demonic chaos. By all rights and logic, the two should have been at each other's throats- and often, they were. But somehow, through war and struggle and sacrifice, they ended up finding more in each other than either ever expected.

read here on ao3

Chaper 1 Below:

The first impression Queen Galfrey of Mendev formed of Cleo, warrior of the Ironbark tribe, was not a kind one.

To be completely fair, the Queen’s opinion was not wholly condemning, either. It was quite impossible for Galfrey to condemn the woman who had pulled Kenabres from the burning jaws of the demons. Every report given to the Queen repeated the same story: Cleo of Ironbark had bravely led the charge against the evil cultists and demons who threatened the city. Cleo of Ironbark had stormed the Grey Garrison and saved them all from the poison of the corrupted Wardstone. Cleo of Ironbark was a hero.

But Cleo of Ironbark was also…raucous.

“Another round!” the warrior cried, holding her tankard aloft, and the celebrating soldiers cheered along with her. The tankard was refilled without a moment’s hesitation, and after taking a long drink, Kenabres’s champion resumed her dramatic recounting of the day’s battle. Her voice carried across the tavern, rising above the din of the crowd and filling the large room with echoes of her bravado. Irabeth and Anevia sat at her side, listening to the tale with fond weariness and open amusement, respectively.

Galfrey kept to the corner of the tavern, holding her tongue and a humble mug of ale as she watched the theatrics unfold. Her retinue was waiting outside; she’d ordered them to give her fifteen minutes of peace before following her in. The guards were always so touchy about letting her out of their sight, as if she couldn’t handle herself perfectly well.

The Queen sighed at herself. That was unfair; they were merely doing their job. Under normal circumstances, she would have been content to let them do so. But a procession of guards was something that tended to be noticed, and in this instance, she’d wished to make her observations from a place of relative anonymity. She’d feared she might be noticed anyhow, but no; the people’s attention was centered solely on the sword-bearing storyteller who had already nearly drained her third serving of ale. This could only be the famous Cleo- who else would be drawing such adulation from the victorious crusaders?

Yet, she was not quite what Galfrey had expected.

For starters, Cleo was clearly not of Kenabres. Not a fact all that odd on its own, perhaps, but she was no ordinary traveler, either. She wore the furs and leather armor of the northern barbarians, and when she called out to the crowds, a Kellid accent made itself clear in her words. As if a lone tribeswoman in the middle of a Mendevian city wasn’t odd enough, the people’s new hero was also a tiefling. With skin of deep green and small horns that poked through her dark, close-shorn hair, her abyssal heritage was impossible to miss.

Even so, the notoriously suspicious Mendevians around her watched with high-spirited adulation as she spoke, her tail lashing enthusiastically behind her all the while.

“-and then,” she was saying, “just when we all thought we were well and truly fucked, I charged for the Wardstone. Minagho tried to stop me, but it was too late for her- I had my blade in my hands, and I took the biggest swing of my life, and with just one strike I shattered that corrupted chunk of stone!”

She mimed the motion of her attack, and the crowds shouted their appreciation. Their cheers brought a cocky grin to Cleo’s lips, revealing sharp-tipped teeth.

“And of course once that was taken care of, Minagho didn’t stand a chance. Shame she’s so good at running away, but there’s plenty other demons out there to slay!”

This declaration brought another round of victorious shouts, but Galfrey remained reticent. The scene so far had only served to cement her final impression of Cleo of Ironbark: that she was in possession of a concerning degree of reckless arrogance. Cleo spoke loudly and cursed often; she lauded her own daring exploits; she relished in stretching out her arms to display the scars lining her well-toned muscles to her crowd of admirers.

Galfrey was hardly unaccustomed to such personality. The thrill of victory could go to any soldier’s head, especially when aided by ale and applause. But she had been hoping for something more substantial from the savior of the city, and to find behavior which bordered upon unseemly was…disappointing.

Across the room, Cleo let out a loud laugh and leapt to her feet, very nearly tripping over her chair in the process. She teetered over Anevia, leaned down, and- inexplicably- blew a kiss onto the small charm in Anevia’s hands. They both laughed again at the action, even as Irabeth swatted at her wife’s shoulder in half-hearted chastisement.

In spite of herself, Galfrey felt her lips pull reluctantly into a smile. Her judgments were harsh; revelry could certainly be permitted in times like this. This was a celebration, after all, and here she was sulking in the corner and thinking dour thoughts. It must be the endless war meetings taking their toll, fixing her into this permanently somber state. After so many decades, it was growing increasingly difficult to escape such a mindset, especially when she’d spent the majority of the march to Kenabres half-expecting to find nothing but a funeral pyre.

Instead, she’d found a city in the throes of exhilarating victory. Such a state was infinitely preferable, and the leader who’d made it possible had more than earned herself a carefree night.

With that thought in mind, Galfrey threw back a swig of ale and strode forward to join her subjects at their table. Her fifteen minutes of peace were almost up, and it was time to make her presence known. Better to make a jovial introduction, she decided, rather than be a weight upon the soldiers’ high spirits.

The reactions her reveal garnered were much what Galfrey expected: Irabeth snapped to immediate attention, the nearby soldiers backed away to a respectful distance, and even Anevia straightened her posture and pushed her drink away.

But not Cleo. Cleo just watched, dark eyes giving away nothing as she granted the Queen a lazy smile. “Have I had too much to drink, or are you really who I think you are?”

“That depends a good deal on who you think I am, doesn’t it?” Galfrey countered evenly. She kept her voice lighthearted, welcoming, and held out her hand in a simple greeting. “Galfrey, of Mendev.”

Cleo regarded the offered gesture for a moment, her gaze sliding from Galfrey’s hand to meet her eyes. The edges of her smile grew more pronounced. “I see the rumors were not exaggerated. Pleasure to make your royal acquaintance.” Without breaking her stare, Cleo wrapped her calloused fingers around Galfrey’s, and she brought Galfrey’s hand to her lips.

The kiss she laid on Galfrey’s skin was short, but her eyes stayed fixed on the Queen- testing her, Galfrey realized. Pressing to see how quickly Galfrey would pull away.

Indignation surged through Galfrey’s veins, but she had decades of practice in disguising her annoyances.  She did not pull away, nor did she flinch under that taunting gaze; she waited until Cleo’s touch retreated, and only then did she withdraw her hand.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said stiffly, and Cleo chuckled.

“Didn’t say what the rumors were, did I? But you are quite welcome, your royal highness. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

The words were simply dripping with mockery, and Galfrey almost changed her mind right then and there. The mission she’d meant to bequeath upon the hero of Kenabres required some modicum of respect and discipline, and she could just as easily enlist any of her current generals who actually displayed those qualities.

Except…none of those generals, in all their years of service, had accomplished anything like the feat this woman already performed. If even half of what Cleo claimed was true, she should be dead ten times over. That meant that this woman was either a braggart lying through her teeth…or she truly possessed the type of power the Crusades so desperately needed.

It was a risk, to gamble on the latter option in such a way. But the war had been locked in a stalemate for far too long. Perhaps a certain amount of risk was warranted.

And besides, Galfrey reminded herself, Cleo was currently deep in her cups. In all likelihood, she would wake in the morning somewhat sheepish and ready to approach their arrangement with a bit more propriety.

“The Queen graces me with her presence, I see.”

Galfrey stifled a sigh as she entered the Cleo’s tent. Outside, troops bustled in preparation for the march to Drezen, their shouts and orders mingling with the familiar clang of plated armor. The soldiers had been all too eager to accept the hero of Kenabres as their new Knight-Commander- much more eager than Cleo was to actually act the part. The obstinate woman lounged at her table of maps, not even rising to her feet as she greeted Galfrey with her usual taunt.

This was a worthy gamble, the Queen reminded herself. This inexplicable hostility was a small price to pay, if her newly-appointed Knight-Commander truly had a chance at cracking Drezen.

“Indeed. This mission is a matter of great importance, Commander,” Galfrey said, happy to hear that her voice came out smooth, betraying none of her frustrations. She allowed the weight of her authority to creep in on that last word, hoping to emphasize the importance of the title. “Reclaiming Drezen would be an unimaginable boon to the Crusades…as I have told you. The people believe in you. You have ignited their courage, and their hope. It is these virtues which will bring us to victory.”

“You can ease off the speeches in here, you know. Save us both the time,” Cleo drawled, not bothering to lift her attention away from the maps spread out before her.

Galfrey scowled and moved closer, setting her hands firmly over the maps and papers covering the table. “We are all putting our trust in you. This is not something I say lightly, and I cannot leave without knowing that we have an understanding.”

For the first time, Galfrey’s words actually seemed to have an effect on Cleo; her lazy smile disappeared, and her dark eyes narrowed as she studied the Queen standing before her. She even rose from her seat so as to meet Galfrey eye-to-eye across the narrow table. She shucked off her fur cloak as she stood, revealing broad shoulders laced with scars and decorated with geometric tattoos which wound around the back of her neck.

“And where will you be,” Cleo asked, steady and sharp, “while we charge off fearlessly to victory?”

Galfrey arched an eyebrow, surprised, but it seemed an honest question. “I shall be preparing the defenses at Nerosyan and its sister cities, and planning the future of the Fifth Crusade. Does this satisfy your curiosity, Commander?”

Cleo gave an undignified snort, a look of self-satisfaction flashing across her face. “Should’ve known.”

“Do you have something to say?” Galfrey demanded harshly. Such a rebuke would have shaken any of her courtiers or generals. Even now, knowing Cleo as she did, she half-expected the other woman to step back at the sound of her cutting displeasure.

But of course the Commander did not such thing. She actually leaned closer, eyes flashing, as she hissed, “Just that what you mean to say is that you’ll be watching the battle from the rear, safe and hidden away in some cushy palace while your soldiers bloody the battlefield. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m sure a throne room is much more amenable to your sensibilities than a war camp.”

Her sensibilities? Galfrey’s jaw clenched. This feckless stranger hadn’t the faintest idea what she was speaking of- what did she know of the battles Galfrey had seen, the blood she herself had spilled in the name of Iomedae? She knew nothing, and Galfrey owed her no explanation for any of it.

“I have already overlooked many instances of insubordination, Commander,” Galfrey said, her voice low. “Do not test me further.”

The warning was a serious one, and perhaps Cleo sensed it. She paused, her face still close, searching the Queen’s expression for- well, Galfrey still wasn’t quite sure. But at last, she let out a quiet breath and turned away.

“It’s only insubordination if you’re the one in charge,” she said, almost conversationally. “From where I sit, you’re not the one doing the leading on this particular mission. If you’ve really got the mettle, march on Drezen with us. You’ve been making all your speeches about how pivotal this mission is for your Crusade. So prove it.”

A few seconds passed in which Galfrey could not form a response. Cleo made no secret of her disdain for the Queen’s presence- why would she make this offer now? Cleo tilted her chin, boldly staring down Galfrey as she waited for an answer.

“It has been a very long time,” Galfrey said slowly, archly, with as much authority as she could muster, “since anyone has dared to speak to me in such a manner. I must ask, what is it you are hoping to accomplish?”

Cleo shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually trying to offend. I don’t know you well enough to know whether I want to offend you or not. And that’s the point. Where I’m from, we don’t give respect based on fancy titles. We respect the people who’ve earned it.” She paused, her eyes roving over Galfrey’s polished armor. “Whatever you believe about me, I do want to win this war. But I also like to know the people I’m fighting with.”

“On that, at least, we can agree.” Galfrey frowned as she found herself seriously considering the offer- no, the challenge. That was what this brash, impetuous tiefling had thrown at her feet. A challenge.

“Very well,” Galfrey said. “We march together.”

A grin crossed Cleo’s face, catching Galfrey by surprise yet again. “Looking forward to it.” She laughed, and the grin widened to show off her pointed teeth. “We’re gonna make those demons wish they never crawled out of their mothers’ hellholes.”

When Galfrey left the tent, she told herself this was a sound decision, made for sound reasons. The advance would benefit from her presence, and this way she could keep an eye on her new unpredictable Commander. All her reasons were all true, which made them all that much easier to believe.

But a small part of her whispered that the truth of it was…it had been so long since someone had truly challenged her. Maybe she just wanted to see what would come of it, and of this unprecedented Knight-Commander.

Gods above, Galfrey thought, shaking her head at herself as the thoughts rattled through her mind. What have I just unleashed upon the world?

[knight-commander]

sick among the pure

2,348 words

Summary: The first installment in a series where I will upload different short-fics that detail the backstory of my pathfinder OC, Adrigo Livianus. In this fic we see how he handles the aftermath of an ambush that nearly cost him his life.

“I think that you should have the chance to have a say in how the record stands.” “I don’t need you to coddle my pride.”

i posted more adrigo backstory :3

[silurisanguine]

thanks to @therealgchu for the tag. It's still Sunday somewhere, so here's a snippet from next chapter of my Mass Effect Andromeda Reyder fic - The Hidden King Upon His mountain.

Cora went to one of her plants as the doors closed behind them, spraying the leaves with a mist as she tilted her head to the pathfinder. “I hear you’ve done well Ryder. The vault is active and the planet is on it’s way to being viable.” “That’s what I’m about to let the Nexus know yeah.” Aeryn played with a leaf protruding from the side of one of the bays waiting for Cora to say what she really wanted to say. “And I hear you’ve made... allies in Kadara.” “Friends.” “Friends? From what Peebee was saying, it seems a little more than that.” Ryder leant back against a crate in frustration at the ship gossip as Cora turned to face her, her arms resting casually back on the counter. She didn’t seem pissed which was surprising to Aeryn, who tried to hide a little blush she could feel, giving away her feelings. “Typical Peebee...Look I-” “I trust you Ryder. you are the Pathfinder and I have your back, I’m not going to say anything about what you do with your private life. Just...be careful. Can you trust him?” Ryder wanted to instantly say yes, but she knew Reyes was hiding something from her. She always knew when people were, even if she couldn’t tell what it was. Her father hiding the reasons he got so heavily involved in the Initiative, that were now coming out through his memory triggers was one. She knew Reyes had something he was afraid to say. She couldn’t blame him though, after all she was carrying secrets she wasn’t going to tell him yet...if ever. But she felt she could trust him even with that because everyone kept secrets. Deep down in her gut, she knew he’d have her back and wouldn’t betray her. “I do. I also know the baggage that comes with getting involved with an exile, but he wants to help and has been invaluable so far.” That answer was enough for Cora’s shoulders to relax a little as she smiled at her Pathfinder. “That’s all that matters then. I do want to meet him though, I hear he is quite handsome.”

[albinoshepard]

N7 Month Challenge 2023

Day #06: Meal

Prompt List - @n7month

🎮 Mᴀss Eғғᴇᴄᴛ Aɴᴅʀᴏᴍᴇᴅᴀ ℹ️ PʟᴀʏSᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 4 | Lɪɢʜᴛʀᴏᴏᴍ

.

Liam: "Did we really let a Krogan take up residence in our kitchen?”

Vetra: "You say that because you haven't tasted his specialties yet! Do you know what else a Krogan with 1000 years of experience can do? To cook!"

PeeBee: "If he promises not to make me wash the dishes, I'm more than okay with it!"

Drack: "Now shut up you three, and let me prepare the meal! Don't you have anything else to do? Shoo! Get out of my kitchen!"

Jaal: "I'm really curious to try this _pijak_ stew, is that why you keep that animal on the Tempest, Ryder?”

Ryder: "Haha, no. It's not real pijak in the stew, it's just a name. Right Drack? RIGHT?"

Cora: "To be safe, I prefer to continue eating military pre-cooked meals, no offense Drack."

Drack: "I'll be more offended if you don't get out. GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN! OUT!! NOW!!!"

[sadruru]

… WHO AM I KIDDING? I REALLY WANT TO SHARE!!! Had a long fight with the translator. Enjoy reading and you can cry with me. Warning: the event itself and story takes place after the game! And I'm not good at giving titles.

"Shadows of the past, tears and promise."

An unfamiliar town in the River Kingdoms, located near Daggermark. Night was falling. There was little chance of finding Melissa in this place. She had lost control of herself after her encounter with her father and ran as if in a panic, dropping the blade.

What she had dreamed of for years - to avenge the betrayal that had completely changed her life - had never come to pass. Though it seemed much simpler than it really was… Cursing, Woljif picked up her weapon from the ground and ordered the leopard to go looking for her as soon as possible, knowing full well that Melissa could be expected to do anything. He could only rely on Fluffy's sense of smell.

Jefto caught a glimpse of the tiefling boys, twelve and eight years old, peering out of the dilapidated house. How much they looked like her! Woljif remembered well the look in Melissa's eyes when she first met the kids. It was as if her eyes were asking "Why?" in desperation. The girl had always known she was likely to have a younger brother or sister, and did not wish such a fate for a child - to be forever doomed from birth. How fate likes to joke… Ah, yes. Woljif did not forget to cast one last glance at the drunken man who was repenting and weeping at the feet of the chief, still cursing himself for what he had done. Tiefling did not feel the slightest pity for this drunkard and knew perfectly well what he had done. In every detail.

Angry sparks flashed in the eyes.

Melissa's stories about her life still gave him conflicting feelings. They seemed contrived for effect, but in fact they were cruel truths. They had recently passed over a bridge where, long ago, a little girl in a dirty sack had been thrown into the river like an unwanted kitten.

Death would have been too easy a punishment for the bastard, but this was not his revenge.

Fortunately, the search didn't take long. Woljif returned to where they'd been staying for a while. It was run by a formidable-looking, gray-haired mercenary, whom Melissa simply called "Grandpa Fro," as she had as a child. Her father had once worked with him, but then he'd left, taken over the Dancing Lights tavern, and… Now it didn't matter anymore. The house from memories had long since turned into a den for “wealthy persons”. This unexpected fact upset and angered her no less.

However, when Woljif returned, the sight of a grim old man, a couple of mercenaries beaten to a bloody pulp, and a building trashed from the inside was enough to realize how bad things were and where he should go.

As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, the tiefling smelled the pungent odor of alcohol and shuddered. With each passing second, Jefto felt disgusted and nauseous. No, this wasn't the harmless smell of alcohol you could smell in any tavern. It was far worse and more frightening.

A nervous smile touched his face. How everything was reminiscent of the past. Only now he wasn't that weak boy and could do something about it.

A deep exhale. He walked through the door.

Honestly, he'd rather forget what he'd seen.

The situation was repeated. She lost herself again.

Melissa didn't notice him at all. Or didn't want to. The “long-awaited” reunion with her family had finally worn her out. There was strange laughter and mumbling in the room. Attempts to get out of bed were futile, the girl just collapsed on the floor. The bottle in her hand continued to empty, as did the others standing nearby. As far as he could remember, Melissa had never knowingly drunk herself into unconsciousness.

This is nothing like what happened in Drezen. If it had seemed like an oppressive silence then, now it was a terrible storm.

He didn't want to do it, but he had to. After all, Woljif had promised….

A blow. Silence.

The tantrums stopped, she looked at the young boy.

It was very difficult to get through to a man in such a miserable state, but through luck Woljif could find the right phrases. At least he hoped so.

After the sobering slap and words, Melissa's eyes became more and more meaningful. They reflected realization, shame, and tears….. Tears ran down her cheeks on their own.

"D-don't look at me…", was followed by a sorrowful whisper.

Tiefling well remembered the image of a confident woman, ready to bravely stand up for her gang as a mountain, meeting any adversity with a cheeky smile and raring to fight. Nothing could stop this fury.

But all the while, the mental wounds hurt the most. Especially when there was no one to trust.

Now he saw the normal, weak girl clinging to him and crying loudly, longing for comfort. She had told him many things without stopping. Absolutely everything she was feeling and thinking at the moment. But not everything he could make out.

How long had Melissa tried to keep it all to herself, each time putting on a mask and hiding from other people's eyes?

Even through the clothes, the young man could feel the strong grip of the claws. Painful, but bearable.

She was finally opening up to him, for real. Jefto never stopped wondering how often he'd discovered new things about her.

Her sobs, of course, brought no relief. How to ease her sorrow? How to comfort her? Just say, "Everything will be all right"? Stupid… Woljif didn't know what to do at the moment. Everything irritated him: the situation itself, his own helplessness, the reason for it all. His heart tingled unpleasantly, but he held on. The only thing the tiefling could do was hug, listen in silence, and wait.

After a while, the flow of speech was interrupted.

"… Feel better?"

"A… A little. Give me… A few minutes", Melissa said with difficulty. Her tongue was still slurring.

"Take your time. We're in no hurry anyway. Let's just say I'm returning the favor."

"W-what are you talking about?"

"You forgot about my grandpa in the Abyss, and then what did you do? Now we're even."

Woljif pulled Melissa tighter against him and gently stroked her head. Gradually the crying and sobbing stopped. When he felt the girl soften in his arms, literally falling asleep, he laid Melissa back on the bed as carefully as possible. He grinned slightly at the thought of what a well-deserved hell of a hangover she'd have the next day. The consequences of such a binge would be very diverse, he knew that for sure. Tiefling wondered what and how she would say in her defense. What should he do then? Tease or scold? Encourage or keep quiet?

…Never mind, he'd figure it out later. She'll probably sleep through lunch from exhaustion, and nothing will wake her up as usual.

Let her sleep soundly. They would have an easier time tomorrow with a fresh head. In the meantime, he had time to think about what had happened. They still had a serious conversation to have.

Woljif sat down beside Melissa, wiped the tears from her cheeks and, taking her palm, said quietly:

"Don't worry. I'll be there for you." …

Woljif was still pondering how and by what miracle fate had brought them together, and how they were alike and yet so different from each other. He wondered how such a woman had fallen on his head and turned his world upside down.

"This is insane", the young man said aloud without realizing it himself.

Melissa often said that phrase when she was confused about something. He seems to have picked up the habit from her. How much influence did the River Kingdom bandit have on him? So strong that he was willing to follow her through fire and water. It wasn't like the old Woljif, who changed gangs like a glove.

But even now, Woljif's mind was spinning with her words - words he'd heard after the commander had helped him out of a bad situation and deal with Hepzamira's minion, Voetil, for the first time:

"Listen, Curly. I'm not mad at you and I can understand why you ran away. Everyone wants to live. You're not a bad guy, really. I can see it in your eyes. But you just a little mean~. Anyway, there's nothing stopping me from helping out for nothing. I never asked anyone to trust or follow me. That's entirely your choice."

At the time, the tiefling didn't believe in all this nonsense about friendship and loyalty. Moreover, Melissa was in agreement with him! But somehow those words had nurtured the first sprouts of change in him.

Well, that's in the past. Woljif finally knew what it was like to have real friends. What's worse, he has a whole new, unfamiliar feeling in his life. Now he knows firsthand that love is a far more dangerous and ruthless thing. Love can show up at any moment and even drive anyone to insanity: from a mighty king to a simple thief.

.....

I didn't wait for the AO3 invite and decided to post it here. Okay. All right.

You could consider it a “bonus illustration”. But if it were possible, it would be the cover for this short story. I'm making a separate version of Woljif. It'll be just right for my computer desktop, hehehe. There will be a version with Melissa too! >:з Uh... Writing a short story was my sudden impulse. I was morally depressed. Really. But I feel better now. I also listened to The Birthday Massacre - Diamonds a lot while I was painting this:

[thewingedbaron]

Sunset

Arueshalae shifted, spreading her wings a little further to fully encompass herself and her companion. The sunset was just beginning, an explosion of warm oranges and yellows painted the sky in a way only the hands of gods could. She could feel her love’s questioning gaze upon her as she held on a little harder when the sun dipped.

“Mortals have a saying…” She began slowly, choosing her words as carefully as she could. “That all good things must come to an end…” The rest of the question died on her lips.

Her love’s brow furrowed in thought. “Perhaps,” they replied. The former Knight-Commander lifted a hand toward the sunset, as if to capture its beauty upon their fingers. There, in the center of their palm, they summoned a small mass of blue sparks. The mass shifted, and before Arueshalae’s eyes became a familiar pearlescent butterfly.

“Your powers!” She gasped. “I thought you gave them up!”

Her companion chuckled, a beautiful sound that blossomed warmth in her chest. “I did.” They replied. “But it seems even the gods, themselves, could not pry me from your side.”

“What does it mean.” Arueshalae asked, taking their hand in her own as she could tease the answers from the creases and scars on their palm.

“I don’t know.” They replied, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I suppose we’ll find out together. No matter what it means, I have the sense that I won’t be going anywhere for a long, long time.”

Arueshalae smiled and kissed her love softly. the sun dipped lower, immersing itself in beautiful strokes of purple and blue. The once demon didn’t see the sun as it disappeared behind the horizon. There was something more beautiful than the sunset, and she beheld it in her arms.

[pencil-urchin]

So, I just made my AO3 account, haven't posted anything or done anything except set an id pic.

What advice do y'all have for someone new to the platform? What should I avoid? What do you recommend?

Two main objects of my affection intended to appear in fanfiction for tax.

[dragonologist-phd]

All These Games We Play

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anevia/Irabeth Tirabade Characters: Anevia (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Irabeth Tirabade Additional Tags: Roleplay, Teasing, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Romance, Femslash February 2024

"I steal somethin', she catches me- it just adds spice to our relationship."

My last piece for Femslash Feb! Ngl, this one was almost wholly inspired by this line in the Inevitable Ezcess DLC:

Anevia couldn’t say for sure where the idea first came from. Maybe it had always been there in the back of her mind; maybe watching Irabeth climb up through the ranks of her order had stirred it up anew. All she knew for sure was that it’d been rattling around in her head for a good while, and it was just a matter of time before she finally brought it up.

She did so on one of their rare lazy evenings, when she and her wife were comfortable in bed. Irabeth was sitting against the headboard, reading through a few reports (honestly, the woman never stopped), and Anevia was watching her as the daydreams quietly played out in her head.

“You ever think about where we’d be in another life?” she asked at last, and Irabeth looked up in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Anevia chewed at her lip, trying to think of how best to start this off. “It’s kind of a wonder I ended up a soldier, isn’t it? I could’ve easily landed on the other side of the law.”

Irabeth tilted her head, still looking confused. “You think there’s a world out there where we’re outlaws?”

“I’m the outlaw,” Anevia clarified with a laugh. She reached over and plucked the reports from Irabeth’s hands, waving them tauntingly before setting them to the side. “I’ve got the sticky fingers, the roguish charm. But you’re a paladin in every life, Beth, there’s no denying that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just that somewhere out in the universe, there may be a world where you’re still Captain Irabeth Tirabade of the Eagle Watch…and I’m one of the Captain’s most wanted.” Anevia moved as she spoke, pushing the bedsheets aside so she could straddle her wife’s lap.

Understanding was starting to dawn on Irabeth’s face now. “I see…you think in this version of the world, I chase you down and bring you in. Is that it?”

Anevia grinned and leaned in closer. “I think you try.”

Interest sparked in Irabeth’s eyes at that, and Anevia’s hopes leapt at that response. She edged closer, her lips teasing at Irabeth’s with the faint promise of a kiss- and then she pulled back. The conversation was going just as she hoped; she wanted now to see how far she could take it.

“Beth…do you wanna try something with me tonight?”

continue on ao3

[another-heroine]

Wip: Honey (Pathfinder: Kingmaker)

Writing the next chapter of Honey. Linzi is so smol and precious.

A piece for prying eyes:

“Talk to her,” Linzi encouraged. “You will never know if you don’t talk about it. You two were side by side for many times, and she looks at you the same way she looks at Regongar. We don’t know if tomorrow will come anyway, so live on!”

The half-elf pondered. She wiped her tears out and agreed, “I can try. You… You are right.”

Linzi smiled confidently. Of course she was.

Andrine turned her gaze down and blushed. “And I'm sorry, you shouldn't see me like this…”

“Oh, don't worry, I'm always here,” the halfling assured her. “And the readers love a good romance. Mutual pinning is one of everybody's favorite tropes, you know? At least, many people like it.”

Andrine giggled and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, my favorite writer.”

“You are welcome, my favorite baroness. Now, go there, talk to your princess! You gave me drama, now give me comfort!”

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Corpse of My Brother

Summary:

"I have been watching my brother, even though he does not like that name. He's been more upset than usual. I just wanted to help, but he never let me. He just threatens to hurt me like always, but lately he can't even get through his usual speeches without choking and glitching. It looks like it hurts!

"I am worried about him. I finally had a good excuse to look for him! Mirage and I are making a cookbook, so I was going to ask him if he knew any good recipes to include. I planned to ask him why he's been acting so damaged lately, and see if I might be able to help. But when I went looking in all the usual places he hides… He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. I couldn't find him.

"I heard his voice, but when I turned the corner to wave to him, I saw someone I don't know."

…

This is a character piece formed via my own pain. I turned it into an interaction that I could imagine happening.

---------

"Oh! Hello new friend! You sound like—”

“Shut it.” His voice sounds just like him.

The blue MRVN approaches the new face gingerly, bouncing with each step. Maybe Revenant has a secret brother, which means—

Pathfinder is giddy, what if he had two brothers just like Revenant? Sure, he's a little mean, but that's just how big brothers are!

“What’s your name?!” Pathfinder’s vocalizations pitch with excitement, facing the back of the new, massive figure before him. If he's in the Apex facility, he must be new! Maybe he needs a friend to show him around?

The figure’s head kicks up visibly from the back, as if in surprise. The black hood turns to glance at the MRVN behind him.

This machine has a smooth, white face with few notches. He looks brand new with no scuffs or faded materials, sporting a massive red smile and jaw. The solid yellow eyes shift just a little to lock onto Pathfinder's red bulb, revealing a honeycomb pattern to the filter. He has a nasal cavity just like Revenant, and red lines traveling up from his eyes instead of down. He even has a beautiful notch of red on his forehead, barely showing from under the cloth hood.

“Wow!” Pathfinder quietly expresses aloud, slightly moving in his direction as if yearning for a closer look.

The figure growls, turning away rapidly at the expression, leaving nothing but an oppressive array of long antenna and stabilizers jutting out from his shoulders towards Pathfinder.

“It's me.” He says in Revenant's voice.

“That's a strange name, but nice to meet—”

“No, it's me. Revenant. Can't you hear me, you useless amalgamation of scraps?!” He spins back around, angry.

Just like Revenant would.

But that's not him.

A moment of confusion washes over Pathfinder.

“Oh, is this one of your new, fancy shells? I haven't seen this one before!” Pathfinder bounces back. Revenant almost never uses the fancy ones, this one is so different he almost didn't recognize him!

“No. It's not.” The smile hangs downward.

“What—do you mean…?” Pathfinder’s vocals trail off a little quieter. The hallways have long since gone quiet as the evening becomes old. Even though there's no one around, something feels sour in the air.

Something isn't right.

“I'm stuck.” The smile makes a cracking sound, like porcelain under stress. “I can't get out of this… thing.”

Pathfinder reels back just a little. This body is big. Could his normal body really fit inside?

Something makes a cracking sound ever so slightly behind the smile.

“Could I help?” Pathfinder cautiously asks, knowing full well the explosive anger will probably immediately follow.

But…

It doesn't. There's no outburst. No abuse. No rage. No nothing.

The whole unfamiliar chassis tenses up, just like humans when they're in pain, but then it all loosens. Every joint becomes lax, but they don't fight gravity. They hang, like the effort to fight their own weight is too much.

Finally, a resigned sigh can be heard.

“No, you can't.” He says.

This isn't Revenant.

Revenant doesn't look like this. Revenant doesn't smile. Revenant doesn't pass up an opportunity to be mean or yell at him like this.

His hands look the same. His colors are close. His build is so similar. He still has the same voice.

Then why does it feel so wrong?

“When are you going back?” Pathfinder’s voice quakes just a little in its quiet concern.

The body tenses again.

“I'm never going back.” He splays open his palm, looking into the familiar red leather.

Pathfinder feels something deep within himself shift. This is wrong. That can't be right. He'll never go back? He can just swap chassis, can't he?

“But—!”

“Pathfinder, shut up. I have enough problems to deal with that aren't…” his hands make a juggling motion, as if trying to conjure up the right word. “You. I don't have the bandwidth to deal with you.”

Pathfinder feels his insides twist. That's not how Revenant would act. Revenant always had time for him. Revenant was always happy to be mean. He wouldn't say that. He wouldn't be calm about it either. Why does he sound like that? Why isn't he mean?

Where is the soul?

Didn't he say he was human?

“Why are you talking to me like that?!” Pathfinder's vocalizer shifts octaves on accident. It sounds like when humans cry.

“I mean I don't have time for you. If it isn't obvious, I have bigger problems than your misguided naïvety at the moment.” Revenant growls, keeping control better than he ever had before, despite himself. “Go bother someone else. Anyone else.”

Pathfinder feels his processors hurt. That's not a happy emotion. That's the opposite. This isn't even sad, this is worse than sad.

“Why won't you yell at me?!” Pathfinder’s emotive screen turns black, unable to keep up. “Who are you?! You're not Revenant! My brother would—”

“I was never your brother, Pathfinder.” It speaks with his voice, but it's using it all wrong.

“No! Go back into your other body! The pretty red one, with the pretty red makeup and the yellow eyes!” Pathfinder doesn't understand what he feels, but he needs to find Revenant fast. Pain is awful, and the sooner he sees Revenant again, the sooner it will go away.

“I can't.”

“Yes you can! You could before! Why can't you now?!” Pathfinder tries to stop his vocalizer from getting louder, but he can't help it. Is this what yelling feels like? He doesn't like it.

It locks eyes with Pathfinder, as if seeing something familiar, but Pathfinder takes a step back.

This is bad. This hurts. This is wrong. This isn't—

“It’s a corpse now. Stop crying about it.” Revenant's calm but cruel voice echoes loudly in the hallway.

Pathfinder pulls his hands to his head. Is this crying? Why does it hurt? Is it because he doesn't have tears to shed? Is this what it feels like, to cry with no tears? Why is it so painful? Why can't Revenant go back?

Why did he have to die like this?

He always came back before, why can't he go back again?

“Stop crying, it's not even your problem.” The figure snarls, shrugging with what little defiance remains in his defeated stance. Revenant turns away, walking away slowly.

“Stop!” Pathfinder instinctively reaches out towards the twisted shadow of Revenant. “Don't… Don't leave me!”

Revenant ignores the request, continuing to trudge away soulessly. What happened? When did this happen? Why was there no warning?

Revenant pauses, now having moved well out of reach, letting his head pivot for just a moment so his voice can reach Pathfinder one last time.

“Your brother's dead. Now leave me alone.”

It hits Pathfinder all at once. Something is wrong, forever. Nothing will ever truly be fixed. Maybe it will improve over time, but this won't ever heal. The pretty red scarf; the scary, scuffed up mask; the tearful makeup; the bright yellow eyes… It's all gone. Forever.

Everything is awful, everything is wrong, nothing can fix it, but nobody else seems to realize it.

Not even him.

Pathfinder feels his joints tense up.

Grief.

This is how Mirage talks about his mom when she doesn't remember him. This is how Valkyrie withers when she holds her father's helmet. This is how Bloodhound howls Boone’s name a little louder than all the others.

It's awful.

Is this what humans feel?

There is no body to bury, no memento to hold onto, no opportunity to say goodbye.

And yet the corpse just walks away.

[dujour13]

Fanwork Friday

Thanks to @dragonologist-phd and @arendaes for the inspo to do this – great idea!!

I have a lot of beloved fics to recommend but this week I have to start with two criminally underappreciated PWOTR fanfics by authors I admire. They deserve tons more kudos. It's a thankless job writing less popular ships/characters but it shouldn't be.

Stay: Here, With Me, As I Go / The Links In Their Chain series – @silversiren1101

Ship: Regill Derenge/Minovae Arangeir

I admit I first clicked on this because of what was maybe morbid curiosity at the concept of a Regill romance but I AM CONVINCED. Many times Siren has made me cry literal tears over these two.

I am so in love with this couple. Mino is a Hellknight with a heart of gold who’s been through it all and still comes out swinging, a tireless defender of the downtrodden and just a fave OC of mine. Without compromising one iota (because that would be unacceptable) Siren’s characterization of Regill made even my flaky azata ass melt for him.

Incredibly emotionally impactful writing and deep knowledge of the lore that make the setting and characters come to life. I am insane over this.

Savor Its Sweet Bloody Taste / A Pulsing Wound of Need series - urgathoas / @camelliagwerm

Ship: Camellia Gwerm/Valerius Dragavei

This is another one my flaky azata ass clicked on out of morbid curiosity but I AM CONVINCED once again. The gothic horror couple of all time.

It’s sad that in the game a good-aligned KC never gets a chance to know Camellia. Harper fleshes her out in a way that’s chilling but also really endearing and made me fall in love with her (from a safe distance). And then there’s Valerius, the Urgathoan dhampir lawyer who uses his mythic power to turn Drezen into a necropolis. Terrifying man in every evil, power-hungry, bloodthirsty way and so damn cute about Cam.

Gorgeous prose full of just the perfect touches of descriptive detail. So much fun to read.

[rollofleaf]

I just want to talk about Arueshalae

I got to thinking a bunch about Arueshalae and her whole story (can you tell im a lil obsessed with my succubus blorbo?) and I've kinda developed some thoughts about her and her redemption. And maybe all of this is obvious but I just realized so I feel the need to share. (spoilers for wrath of the righteous and the arueshalae romance ahead)

I've ended up with the headcanon that the reason realizing her own wholesome dream catalyzes her redemption is because it dispels the last of her doubts about herself. In her conversations, there are two main trends with her struggles with redemption. The first is doubting whether she can actually redeem herself, both whether it's possible at all and whether she has the willpower for it. The second is doubting whether her desire is genuine, basically summed up as "what if I'm secretly doing this to ingratiate myself and hurt people without realizing it".

I think this subconscious doubt that her desire to be good is genuine is the main impediment to her redemption. She's afraid that she's only deluding herself into thinking she wants to be good, and that she secretly wants to go back to her old life as a succubus. As long as she has that doubt, she's stuck with her demonic desires. With this, I think the final scene where she redeems herself works really well.

The idea that her redemption comes solely from solving Desna's riddle (which basically amounts to realizing dreams are symbolic of wants) cheapens it a little, making it seem like Desna is just rewarding her for being sufficiently wholesome. But I think Desna's question of "what do you dream of?" wasn't meant as a task for Arueshalae to complete for a reward, it was meant to get her thinking.

Once she realizes that dreams are metaphorical, she can figure out what she truly desires. Her true dream being the wholesome house with her friends/love isn't what matters so much as the fact that her dream is devoid of violence, cruelty, and all the things that she hates about her old life as a demon. It makes her realize that she truly does want to be a good person, and dispelling her self-doubt is what causes Desna to fully free her from her succubus nature. And I think that's good writing, I like it a lot. It's less about the UwU wholesome life and more about "I'm not deluding myself, this is truly what I want and I won't mess it up"

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: A Toast to the Luckless Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: G Status: One-Shot Main Characters: Knight-Commander Piper Chanterelle, Woljif Additional Notes: Friendship, Tiefling Solidarity, a bit of backstory Word Count: 2.1k Summary:

“People love a good story,” Piper smirks, and she raises an eyebrow at Woljif. “Don’t they, oh great prince? What faraway land are you from, again?" “Alright, fair enough. But don’t tell Seelah I made that up, she’ll want her ten gold back.” Woljif takes a moment to chew on his thoughts, his tail flicking back and forth in time with the questions on his mind. He doesn’t want to push his luck by digging too much, but he is curious. “So what’s the real story?” Piper and Woljif reflect on tall tales and strange twists of fate. Wine is drunk. Backstories are shared. Candlesticks are stolen.

read below or here on ao3

Woljif lets out a low whistle as he ambles down the halls of the mansion, taking in his surroundings in solitude while the party rages on in the distance. The place really does need to be seen to be believed- this isn’t even Daeran’s main mansion, and somehow it still sparkles with enough gold to make any jeweler drool. Woljif noses his way through the empty rooms, stopping every so often to slip a little something into his pockets. Judging by the layers of dust, nothing he takes will be missed. Besides, expecting him to keep his hands to himself in a place like this is like asking a paladin not to preach.

Eventually, he finds his way into the room in the furthest corner of the wing, where the cobwebs have full reign. Not much worth taking here, he figures, even as he makes a pass of the paintings hanging haphazardly off the walls. None of it really catches his attention- until he reaches the largest portrait, hung right across from the door.

Truth be told, it ain’t all that interesting. Not really. Just a picture: a woman, a man, a little kid. Daeran isn’t hard to recognize, not with those aasimar features. Seems he got those features from his mother, who stands alongside him and a man who must be his father. The whole painted family is decked out in finery; between the three of them, there’s probably enough jewels to sink a ship.

Woljif’s own jewel- the only one he’s ever owned, and he had to risk his tail stealing it- suddenly feels very small in its place around his neck.

The sound of a door creaking open stirs Woljif from his thoughts, and quick as a flash he takes a step back from the wall, holding his hands up in feigned innocence. “I didn’t touch nothing!”

“No?” A rose-colored tiefling glides into the room with a smirk and a glass of wine, her skirts and swishing tail leaving a trail in the dust behind her. She peers around the room with interest, a small smile playing on her lips. “What a waste.”

Woljif breathes a sigh of relief. No angry guards, no fussy nobles- just Piper.

Despite technically being a crusader- and not just that, but the commanding crusader- Piper’s a good sort. And it’s not just because she fished her brother-in-demon-blood from a jail cell right under the soldiers’ noses, neither. Unlike most of her fellow crusaders, Piper is actually good for a story and a laugh, and she’s never turned up her nose at any of Woljif’s 'less than legal' ideas. It’s a wonder she gets so many uptight, law-abiding forces to follow her around, given her own disregard for their high and mighty rules. But that’s Piper; she opens her mouth, and it seems she can convince anyone of anything.

And the unprecedented magical powers probably don’t hurt, either.

“Look at this place,” she sighs, shaking her head in dismay. “Empty for years, but every room still has its treasures. And nobody around to appreciate it! It would be a crime not to take anything, in my humble opinion.”

Woljif chuckles, emboldened by the lack of lecture he would have surely received if, say, Seelah had been the one to walk in on him. Or, gods forbid, Irabeth. “My thoughts exactly! And besides, it’s not as if Darean cares enough to miss any of it.”

Piper’s eyes glide over the room, finally fixing on the portrait Woljif found. “Ah. Speaking of Darean…” she moves closer, studying the young aasimar in the frame. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Guess he got his looks from his mom.” Woljif tries to keep his smile up, but he can hear the bitterness in his own voice as that image sticks in his head- the noble boy and his family, enclosed in their golden little haven. “What a world, huh? Some people get a celestial bloodline, tons of money, and a title, while others get horns and a slap in the face.”

Piper is quiet for a moment, and her usual easy smile slips from her face. Woljif almost feels bad for bringing down the mood, but then she takes a breath, shrugs, and says, “Fate plays favorites, and life isn’t fair. Those are the first lessons you learn in this world. So how about a toast to those born without any luck?”

She doesn’t wait for answer, just takes a long sip from her glass before handing it wordlessly to Woljif. He can’t say no to that, and in one motion downs the rest of the drink. After taking a moment to enjoy the taste of what is surely the most expensive booze he’s had in his entire life, Woljif glances at Piper and says, “You didn’t have it so bad, though, did ya, chief? At least not according to that story you spun the other day. How did that one go? World-traveling troubadour, trained by the best Pitaxian bards, who felt destiny calling her to deliver the world from demons?”

Piper laughs, though the sound lacks its usual warmth. “That’s not even the best part! You should hear the stories I used to spin for audiences- my mother was a fae, one who fell in love with a powerful magician! Their love was true, and they were gifted a daughter blessed with beauty and song, but alas- all romances between mortals and immortals tend to end tragically. But never fear, for I vowed to travel the lands and spread beauty and love in their memory!”

She recites the tale in dramatic cadence, moving her hands emphatically through the air in graceful gestures, but Woljif can only snort in response. “And people fell for that?”

“People love a good story,” Piper smirks, and she raises an eyebrow at Woljif. “Don’t they, oh great prince? What faraway land are you from, again?”

“Alright, fair enough. But don’t tell Seelah I made that up, she’ll want her ten gold back.” Woljif takes a moment to chew on his thoughts, his tail flicking back and forth in time with the questions on his mind. He doesn’t want to push his luck by digging too much, but he is curious. “So what’s the real story?”

His question is met with a frown, but Woljif has already asked, so he figures he might as well poke a little further. Normally he wouldn’t much care about anyone’s past, but for better or worse Piper is the whole reason he’s here. He’s gotta get a good read on her, right? So he grins, hoping to reassure her that he ain’t up to any trouble with the question. “Aw, come on. I spilled mine, remember? Fair’s fair, chief.”

Piper still doesn’t look very pleased with the topic, but she tilts her head in acknowledgement of his point. “Yes, fair’s fair. It’s just…the real version is so much more boring.” She pauses, her mouth twisting a bit as she begins speaking, her clipped tone a far cry from the eloquence she’d spoken with before.

“Once upon a time, a tiefling girl grew up in a city much less glamorous than any world of fae. She fended for herself, for the most part. Her parents were tieflings, too, you see, and neither of them needed another mouth to feed on top of everything else.”

Woljif nods- it’s a familiar enough beginning, one that’s shared by quite a few amongst the thieflings. He glances back at Daeran’s portrait, a strange feeling simmering in his chest. What’s worse, he wonders, a family that can’t stand you, a family that never gave a damn, or a family that actually cared and then went and died on ya?

Oblivious to his musings, Piper continues, her tone carefully disinterested. “So the girl begs and steals to scrape by until she’s finally old enough to talk her way into a job carrying bags for a theater troupe. She’s got a pretty face- for a tiefling, of course- and a voice to match, and she eventually makes her way to the stage. She learns a handful of bardic tricks that are useful on the road. Of course, it’s hard to stay in one place very long, so from there it’s a series of traveling bands and circuses, finding places willing to have a tiefling in the spotlight.”

“Can’t be too many.”

“Nope.” Piper’s tail turns behind her in a lazy circle as she continues. “Even the ones who seem to like her, don't like her for very long. And there are parts of the story that Irabeth certainly doesn’t need to know about, where the tiefling girl has to rely a bit more on scams than singing. But then one day…” Piper holds her hands up in a victorious gesture. “She finds a weird magical sword and suddenly she’s Knight Commander of the Fifth Crusade!”

In spite of himself, Woljif chuckles. “No offense, but your story got a little off the rails there towards the end.”

“No kidding!” Piper whirls around, her voice rising an octave as she gestures to her surroundings. “Look at where we are! A depressingly decadent party in an old mansion owned by one of the richest families in the kingdom. And the head of that family is working for me, and when I leave, I’ll be going back to an entire army that reports to me! I’ve been nothing but a criminal and a street performer all my life, and now fate throws this at me?”

She stops her spin, pausing just long enough to look to Wolji in genuine bafflement. “How in all the hells did I end up here?”

For once, Woljif is at a loss for words. How should he know? He barely knows how he got here, outside of ‘it’s better than jail or being gutted by the Family’. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’m just a thiefling, remember? I don’t know nothing.” He pauses, and points to the decorations on the table behind Piper. “Except that those silver candlesticks are probably worth at least fifty gold each.”

Piper blinks, glances at the candlesticks- and a laugh bursts from her mouth. Just like that, her frantic mood is gone, and she’s once again the evasively charming Knight Commander. “You don’t say? Must be real silver to net that much.” She moves breezily across the room to examine the candlesticks. Her eyes don’t leave the silver as she continues speaking. “And…you know more than you realize. For what it’s worth, I like having you around.”

Woljif tries not to let the words go to his head- they’re just words after all, and people say all kinds of things to get what they want. Even if he can’t think of anything the Knight Commander would want from someone like him. “You’d be the first. But thanks, chief.”

“Demonspawn stick together, yeah? And…they don’t let slip to the rest of the army that the new commander has no idea what she’s doing and no qualifications to be leading anybody?” Piper shoots him an apprehensive glance. “The other stories- they’re ridiculous, I know. But they are so much nicer. And heaven knows these people need something to believe in.”

To his surprise, Woljif encounters something he doesn’t feel all that often: a twinge of sympathy. He doesn’t know all these crusaders and do-gooders, but he does know himself. He did the same thing Piper is doing every time he pressed his face against the shop window to catch a glimpse of his amulet. And maybe nothing about that was ever real, and never will be. But it felt good to hope.

Of course, he knows how stupid he’d sound if he said anything like that out loud. So Woljif gives a quick nod and says, “Sure, chief. I’m in no position to give you grief over whatever stories you wanna tell.”

Relief shines in Piper’s smile, and with a laugh she tosses the candlestick to Woljif. “Good- because you know what else we demonspawn do? We help each other fence their rich friend’s trinkets that he never uses.”

A grin curls across Woljif’s face as he catches the loot. “Now you’re talking!”

Piper nods in approval before turning on her heel and heading towards the door. “Tuck those away and let’s go find Daeran. If I’m going to steal from our host and snoop through his stuff, I should probably have the decency of getting drunk with him first.”

It’s not a bad idea- Woljif hates to admit it, but the overpriced wine Daeran’s serving really isn’t half bad. So he follows Piper, sparing only one last look around the room before closing the door on the dust and cobwebs and daydreams of a happy family.

Those things are all part of somebody else’s story.