#the crow hack/slash

[holy-shit-comics]

[codemonki]

BIOWARE. MAKE ZEVRAN HAVE AN APPERANCE IN DA:V AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!!!!!

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Giiiiiirl

I am unwell about The Crow and it's probably a big catalyst to my hopeless romanticism.

Like someone coming up to me at the bar and being like "talk to me about The Crow" and is genuinely interested as I ramble incoherently about it?

CATNIP CATNIP CATNIP CATNIP CATNIP

I'm sure they'd regret bringing it up lol.

Swooning.

::steps up to @gargothnightzine altar::

Am I doing this right? I can’t draw for kriff, so I’m writing something. Humbly presenting an excerpt from my first stab at a ✨GAR Goth Night✨ fic!

Mae Ramble™: I love the goth subculture. it's steeped in so much history- which I could go on and on about how it has evolved over the decades... but I won't. I'll stick to the art and aesthetic. The Crow is an incredible addition to this vast genre, and one of my favorites. For this fic, I'm specifically referencing the graphic novel by J. O’Barr, and the 1994 movie starring Brandon Lee. I wanted to make a little Star Wars play on that for some 'original' content in this story.

warnings: clone x f!reader fic; reader has long nails; this "excerpt" is like 1,000+ words, mentions of grief and loss, flirting, story will have eventual fluff and smut. This is painfully a WIP. Also, I glossed over a lot of the darker stuff in 'The Crow', so if you are interested in checking it out, please consume at your own risk. I recommend reviewing the content for any triggers. It's a beautiful story with beautiful art, but it's full of 'em.

(working) summary: The irony isn't lost on you — being the only actual goth-adjacent one in your friend group. Yet, they coaxed you out of your apartment to a goth-themed night at a bar. A bar for the clones of the GAR, of all places. At least you brought a book to read as you waited for your friends to show up…what you didn’t expect was to pique a certain clone captain’s interest in the process.

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

A knowing smirk told you he'd caught you staring.

The teal patches on the clone's leather jacket caught your eye from a couple seats down the bar. Quickly, you glanced back down at your novel, still feeling his gaze on you. When you looked up again, however, he had vanished. As you scanned the bar for those distinctive flashes of teal, a warm rumbling voice sounded at your side.

"What are you reading?" The voice was soft yet distinct from other clones you'd spoken to before — a smooth, gruff curiosity that caught your attention.

It was him.

Molten amber eyes found yours, the neon lighting of 79's gleaming off his perfectly imperfect swept back hair. Teal accents standing out boldly against the black leather had your eyes wandering over him with intrigue. There was something disarmingly sweet in the way he tilted his head towards the empty barstool next to you, silently seeking permission to join. His entire demeanor radiated a quiet confidence that put you at ease, despite the pulsing music and crowded atmosphere. There was something intriguing about a man who would approach someone reading alone at a bar, especially on a night like this. Eyes drifting between your face and the book in your hands suggested true curiosity rather than some pickup attempt.

"Uh..." Caught a little off guard, you weren't opposed to people approaching you necessarily, and while being the girl at the bar with a book had its advantages, your friends were proving to be late— yet again. There was no point in being rude when he seemed sincerely interested, so you patted the stool next to you and closed the book, keeping your thumb between the glossy pages to show him the cover art.

"It's 'The Keerdak,'" you replied eventually, turning the worn binding so he could see the other side — a dark figure outlined against Coruscant's neon-lit skyline. "It's a revenge story, about a Mandalorian warrior who returns from death to avenge his lost love. Set in the lower levels of Coruscant, actually. Pretty melodramatic stuff," you added with a slight smirk, curious to see his reaction to your choice of reading material.

"Sounds pretty romantic for the Mandalorians I've met... may I?" He looked hopeful, glancing down at the text with an open hand before his eyes landed on your face once again. A soft smile formed at his assessment, handing the book to him so he could appreciate it more closely.

"What?" he asked, his quiet confidence faltering at your smile for a fleeting moment as he took the text from you.

"It's just most people don't consider this romance... it's so dark."

"I wasn't aware they were mutually exclusive..." a dark eyebrow arched up at you playfully, "...and we're here at a goth night at a bar, aren't we?"

"True, though I would hardly call 79's romantic..." you laughed softly.

"Okay, fair..." His smirk was charming as his eyes scanned over the stark black and white illustrations depicting the shadowy figure clad in all black beskar'gam moving through neon-lit streets, the dramatic panel layouts emphasizing the noir atmosphere. A flying beast with its wings spread in the moonlight circled the warrior. A silent guardian.

"Oh—" you said, tapping a perfectly manicured stiletto nail onto the figure. "That's the keerdak... she's like a warden in the world between worlds. They're connected by some kind of bond that tethers the Mando here even in death. At least until the warrior can exact his vengeance, of course..."

The clone's eyes widened slightly at the intricate artwork, fingers hovering over a particularly striking splash page showing the protagonist perched atop a skyscraper, his black cloak billowing in the wind. "Wow..." a genuine sigh of intrigue caught you off guard. "I've never seen anything like this before..."

Fascination was written across his features, and it wasn't the typical polite interest you got from most people when they saw what you were reading — this was different, almost childlike in its wonder. Something about his earnest reaction made you want to share more.

"My favorite is the helmet..." You leaned closer to him as the song changed into something with deeper bass— a little of his cologne floating over to you as you did so. It smelled of bourbon and burning wood... deep and rich and making you want more. "There's a scene where he paints it..." you murmured close to his ear, noticing how the warmth in his cheeks spread to his neck at your proximity as you flipped to the respective page.

"Like a death's head..." he mused, tracing the illustration with his fingertip, the white paint standing out against his black armor, a floating omen of death in the darkness. The symbolism clearly not lost on him — a warrior marked by loss— his grief and his armor indistinguishable from one another. The clone's eyes lingered on the stark contrast of black and white, seeming to understand the beauty in such a clash of opposing forces.

"So... what made you want to experience a 'Goth' night?" You asked him, curious but clearly not disappointed. He chuckled with a sigh. "My men dragged me out, but it looks like my second has already fallen in love with someone..." he thumbed over his shoulder. "They’re good men, they deserve a little fun..."

Following the gesture, you spotted a clone dancing enthusiastically with a Twi'lek woman, both of them completely lost in the music and each other. Something about watching these soldiers find moments of peace warmed your heart. Turning back to your companion, you found his gaze already fixed on you, warm and intent. He returned the book, his fingers ghosting against yours in a touch that felt both accidental and deliberate.

My men.

Not being in his armor kit meant you couldn’t easily tell this clone’s rank. It wasn’t something that mattered to you in the least, but upon closer inspection of his handsome and weathered face, you realized this wasn’t some shiny cadet whose attention you caught. His honeyed eyes held a hardness that spoke of battles fought and experience earned, set deep in a face mapped with a light scar that splashed across his left cheek. The roughness of his jawline and the slight creases in his forehead and eyebrows hinted at countless hours spent in the unforgiving glare of distant suns, commanding troops across war-torn worlds.

The clone beside you had caught you staring once again. Heat pricked your cheeks when he turned his body fully to face you, extending his arm.

"I'm Howzer..."

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

Honestly, I wouldn't last 5 minutes at an event like this IRL before I got overstimmed, but if I did, this would be me. I’m 100% that chick who brings a book and headphones to a bar…and has massive rbf looks kriffing hot while doing so.

Thank you @ghostymarni for sharing this incredible idea with us, and for all the artists and writers adding their own take on gar goth nite. @lonewolflupe & @gargothnightzine thank you for organizing a place to keep track of all the amazing contributions. I love seeing all the new lore being added by everyone! It's a fresh shake up as we sprint to spring.

GAR Goth Nite frequent flyers who might enjoy?: @eobe @eclec-tech @skellymom @returnofthepineapple @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @wings-and-beskargam

[senseandaccountability]

“It takes the wrong sort to put the world right.”

A huge problem for me with the tone of the narrative is that outside a very carefully curated playthrough experience with preconceived ideas of and love for Solas, Veilguard is probably the least compassionate game I’ve played in forever, while spouting out lines about how everyone can find a new path in life because our nature isn’t written in stone, our fates are our own, as well as plenty of HR department lines about working together as a team.

“It takes the wrong sort to put the world right.” The game says that, but it definitely doesn’t mean it. At least I don’t feel it. You are so very rarely challenged in your idea of who this wrong sort is and what they could bring to the table. Davrin speaks of the Wardens recruiting at the Gallows but you meet only adorable, righteous and charming ones. The Crows aren’t the wrong sort anymore, they’re just adorably Antivan upper class. And so on and so forth. Rook certainly isn’t the wrong sort either, they’re mentally around 19 years old and stumbling their way through the world like some romance novel protag. In one of the most thematically shallow plots, Rook gets thrown into a prison of regret fit to hold a god but unlike Solas, Rook doesn’t do regrets or guilt because Rook isn’t that complex. Rook hasn’t been allowed to feel any guilt for three acts, just how are they meant to be stuck in a regret prison?  

Compare with Origins where you yourself could be just that wrong sort that would put the world right. ALL of my Origins PCs would get stuck in Solas’s prison due to the weight of their own fuckups. If not during the game events where you could make shitty moves en masse, then because of their origin stories. Brosca and Tabris would get out of there through sheer fury alone - fuck you, I am a wreck because YOU MADE ME ONE, WORLD OF THEDAS - but the nobles would stew. Amell would loop in some guilt trip regarding blood magic and Jowan and whatnot.

Compare with Origins where Loghain is a piece of shit for most of the narrative. He actively wants to kill you and your Order, it’s nothing personal (okay, a little personal) but he just needs you gone. If you want to, you can hack and slash your way through some release there and just have him executed. BUT the game also challenges you on that idea. It presents a very pragmatic alternative that comes with a very plausible downside (you lose Alistair). It presents not excuses but explanations - do with them what you will. Loghain has people in his corner through the entire trilogy, arguing his case. Cauthrien FALLS TO HER KNEES before you, pleading to spare his life. Threnn in DAI will stan him for the rest of her life. Anora tells you stories about the man behind the name.  And Arl Eamon’s world view and idea of Loghain is shown to be more than a little self-serving when faced with the politics of the Landsmeet. Things around Loghain blur. In the Ostagar DLC they allow things to blur even further when Loghain’s pragmatism is countered by Wynne’s player character-moralism (ie “someone died, it’s always wrong if someone died even if that death prevented 9000000 deaths you KILLED someone!!!!!111”). Origins tells me - or hints at - why Loghain became the wrong sort, shows me ways in which he is also the right sort and leaves me wondering about him. Because the game is gritty and dark and weird but also yes, compassionate. If you execute him, Anora will mourn him because she loves him regardless. If you have him join the Wardens she will sit with him while he recovers because he is undeniably an asshole but he’s also her father who braided her hair and showed her the world. A good narrative never, ever forgets that.  Veilguard feels so different here, maybe it's just me. I'm pretty sure I'm almost done being salty now, I just... feel a lot about narratives.

[wrathbites]

Got to thinking about why Venatori are vulnerable to ice magic, and an answer popped into my head that I had to spin a little scene for, lol.

Seven dead Venatori and not enough gold between them to impress Rook as she empties their pockets.

Or rather, empties the pockets of those left intact enough for any posessions to have survived the skirmish. Lucanis shadows her, head on a swivel and eyes gleaming with the demon's violet light, on the lookout for any still alive and inching for their weapons.

Davrin watches them from where he's slowly working his hands over Assan's left foreleg, back and forth back and forth to chafe at the leftover frost from Rook's magic. There's something to be said about Crows and working in pairs, much like their avian counterparts, but even a whiff of that theory's bound to send them running for opposite hills.

He opts, instead, for safer territory. A question that's been bugging him since he first witnessed Rook swapping out elements as easily as he does an axe for a chisel with the woodworking.

"What's with the ice storms for this lot, Rook? Wouldn't fire be more effective?"

"Against one, yes, but ice is easier crowd control. They can't use blood magic if I freeze the source and cut them off from it, first," she replies. Pauses. "If it's airborne, that is. If I went after the true source we'd all be dead, with how much they hack and slash at us."

Wait. "So you can, what, freeze blood when it's still in our veins?"

"Yep. It freezes just like everything else, there's just more magic involved to overcome body heat. That... complicates the process."

That's... more than a little terrifying, actually. Davrin gently tweaks Assan's floppy ear, mutters into his feathers, "and this is why you need to be careful around mages, boy." Assan clicks his beak and rattles his head in a shake that works the length of his body, using the momentum to reclaim his foreleg and flare his wings in a quick snap.

It's a familiar gesture, a resounding no Remi would've laughed herself sick over, and Davrin sighs as he gets to his feet, rubbing his knuckles atop Assan's head. Stubborn, feather-brained little idiot will be the death of him yet.

"Hey, Rook?"

"Yeah?"

"Think you could call down some fire to unstick my sword from that one's chest? Might need it yet for traipsing around Arlathan."

"Shit, sorry, hang on."

[still-nix-d-goffic]

There's a female Crow in The Crow, Hack/Slash cross over comic "She Wears Shadows!"

I agree with your The Crow answer 100%. I'm going to give the new film a shot simply for the "love" line. I love the original novel and the story so much that I have given everything with the title a chance and found something to love about each. But it didn't have to be Eric. The Crow can be anyone.

I’ll watch it. Not in theaters but when it leaks online. And The Crow can be anyone and just once, just this one time, I think it would have been nice to have a woman.

Anyway one of my secrets I never talk about is I did used to write fanfic when I was 8-13ish like many people. And I did write Crow fanfic where the lead was a woman! For like a year I did this! That would have gotten me in the theater.

[autumnshighlady]

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 16)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: the moment you’ve all been waiting for, that’s all i can say

warnings: Night Court slander, pro-Tamlin, 

word count: 7.7k (y’all better appreciate how long this is)

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: THIS IS THE BIGGEST CHAPTER YET GUYS!! so much is revealed that i’ve been planning for MONTHS, i’m so excited to share it with you. please send me all your reactions!

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinions, i’m more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / 

read on ao3

Spotify playlist

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

The stench of blood and shredded flesh was choking your senses, clogging your throat like the thickest oil. Everything was happening in slow motion through the stained glass as Hybern’s soldiers retreated, crowing their victory as if it took a great deal of skill to slaughter a defenceless village. Their cries were muffled, as if you were underwater. Every limb ached, too stiff and heavy to move even an inch. No amount of effort could get you to lift your head up.

You were going to die here. That much you had accepted.

What would be the point in living anyway? With your entire village dead, you closed your eyes, waiting for the embrace of death to whisk you away. Each breath was like shredding a knife through your chest, what was taking so long? Everyone else was gone, yet you were cursed with the ability to still draw breath.

A strange, white flicker drew your eyelids open. Everything was blurry, but even in your dazed state you could tell that something was happening. Groaning, you stretched out your fingers. If you had a voice, you knew you’d be screaming at the pain from such a simple movement. As your palm outstretched, something warm and gentle closed around it, as if the sweet spring breeze itself had formed a hand of its own to clasp yours. The touch was gentle, reassuring even. It flooded you with a sense of calm. Was this what death was like?

The white flickering from the bodies in the village erupted in a shower of starlight and sunshine, glowing tendrils rising from the mangled fae in your line of vision. They descended upon you like smoke, and the warm touch around your hand squeezed once before agony overtook your body.

You didn’t know if you were screaming or not. Your throat burned as if a dagger had slashed it open. Your abdomen ached, as if it was being hacked apart by a longsword. It felt like Hybern’s soldiers had descended upon you with their weapons, striking and cutting a thousand times. You heard nothing but the ringing in your ears as your body shook with spasms.

Please just let me die faster, You pleaded to the Mother. I can’t take this. Just end it already.

Even throughout the unbearable pain that wracked your body, you could still feel the warm sensation like someone was squeezing your palm. You wondered if it was your mother, preparing to guide you into whatever afterlife lay ahead. But the pain didn’t stop, didn’t end. It just kept going for what felt like eons. And then, like a weighted blanket was being laid over you, it stopped.

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

“Wake up.”

You opened your eyes and groaned, Rhysand’s voice making your already pounding head worse. You had endured hours of hearing it scraping against your mental shields, pressing to try and find a way in. You had felt his anger, his frustration and disbelief at not being able to get through. Every ounce of his hatred had been flung at you like a thousand arrows, making you see right through the High Lord.

You felt his self righteousness, his true feelings about how he didn’t give a shit about anything but his precious circle. Even them, he looked down upon – including his own mate and High Lady. As Rhysand flung his thoughts at you, you read them like paper on parchment. He may love Feyre and his family, but at the end of the day he needed control. And there you were, a stain on his image, a brick out of place at the foundation of his empire, threatening to bring the whole thing down.

Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, feared you.

He was afraid of your influence, how openly rebelling on him and calling out his lies might spread ideas to others. Especially with Nesta, Cauldron-made, on your side. The thought of Rhys being afraid of you would have made you laugh, if you weren’t tied up in a cell for days on end. You weren’t even sure how you were still alive

You never figured out what happened that day your village was attacked, after the slaughter ceased and you were left alone. Every time you closed your eyes, that glowing light from the bodies around you haunted your dreams. You weren’t sure if it was even real, if any of it actually happened or if your mind had made it up. But you had felt different since that day in a way that couldn’t be explained. It was as if something coursed through your bones, waiting to answer a call.

You were changed that day, and for months you had chalked it up to your state of mind being altered by something so traumatic. But you had been in this cell without food for longer than your body, even as a faerie, should have been able to survive. Something that clearly also perplexed your captor as he stared at you.

“I don’t understand you, (Y/N).” Rhysand said with lethal calm. “Nothing about you makes sense. You happen to survive a slaughter at the hands of Hybern, you infiltrate my court and make a magical bond with Nesta Archeron that nobody has ever seen before, and you somehow resist my magic. I want to know how you’re able to do that.”

You spat up the blood that had been pooling in your mouth. “Go fuck yourself. Prick.”

The High Lord chuckled, but continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “And to top it off, you’ve been scheming with Eris Vanserra this whole time. Plotting to overthrow me, perhaps? To rip my court out from under me like Feyre did to your beloved Tamlin? If it is revenge you are after, I suggest you rethink your plan.”

You said nothing. It would be pointless to argue with him. Anything you say would be twisted and used against you, so you held your tongue.

“It matters not,” Rhys continued, pacing back and forth with his hands in his pockets. “Because you failed in whatever it is you wanted to accomplish. You are here, locked in this dungeon where nobody can find you. And whether I grant you a merciful death or not depends on you answering this one simple question.”

Rhys stopped pacing, and leaned towards you. His face was inches away from yours, violet eyes boring into you like lasers. You could feel his breath on your face as he spoke. “What spell did you use to cast the bond? Gwyn’s story only tells us so much, if any of it is even related to this, but I know there’s more to it”

You huffed, cracked lips stinging with the effort of speaking. “You seemed to have a list of other questions, what happened to those?”

“Oh, I have other ways of finding out the answers to almost everything else. But with Nesta Archeron tucked away somewhere in Autumn, you are the only other person who can speak to the magic of the spell.” Rhys’ slender finger caressed your cheek, making you squirm with discomfort. “And if you cooperate like a good girl, how about I make you a deal? I will let Nesta live out whatever shit life she wants in Autumn in peace, provided you give me what I need.”

Your breath lurched, the horror of his insinuation dawning on you. Rhys never intended to let Nesta live peacefully in Autumn, not because he cared for her safety in the clutches of Beron, but because losing her made him look weak. Even if Nesta was married to Eris and protected by the whole of Autumn, Rhysand would take every opportunity he could to hunt her like a dog and bring her back.

No doubt he’d paint himself as the hero of the situation. Poor Nesta Archeron, stolen away by the evil Autumn prince and made a bride against her will. Rhysand would save her from her terrible fate, dragging her back to the Night Court to be hailed a saviour. And that would be the last time Nesta ever stepped out of Night, he would make sure of it. Under the illusion of caring for his beloved sister in law, of course.

You glared at him, but he only chuckled again. Rhys leaned away from you and stood back upright, picking at the sleeve of his shirt casually. “It matters not,” He said. “Azriel is on his way right now. He’ll tell me what he’s discovered, and when the sun rises over the mountains, he will kill you.”

It felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped on your body as you remembered the fading voices of Rhys’ command to his spymaster before you had passed out. You didn’t know what Azriel would do. On the one hand, he had stood up for you in a way that Rhys clearly hadn’t expected. But on the other, he has been loyal to the prick for five centuries – holding out hope that would change now was foolish. All you could truly hope for was that he granted you a quick death.

“What if he didn’t find anything?” You croaked. “Still gonna kill me then? I thought you were desperate to find answers.”

“If Azriel cannot find them, then there is nobody that can,” The High Lord countered simply, as if he were making idle chit chat. “And then whatever secrets you’re so determined to keep die with you, the magic along with it. That’s something I can live with if not knowing at the end of the day means protecting my court.”

You laughed bitterly. “As if you care about that?”

Rhys’ eyes narrowed, his body stilling like a predator frozen before the kill. “Excuse me?”

“You sure don’t give a shit about most of it.” You challenged brazenly. “The women in Illyria who still get their wings clipped, anyone who has the misfortune of living outside Velaris, you don’t care about anyone but yourself and your little family. You rule because you like the power, not because you care about the people your power is supposed to protect.”

“I have outlawed wing clipping in Illyria–” Rhys growled, but you interrupted him.

“And without enforcing it harshly you have only ensured that the practice of wing clipping becomes more underground, leaving females to die from mangled procedures.”

If looks could kill, Rhysand’s would have obliterated you. But you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself at the anger you elicited from the High Lord. Judging by his reaction you knew that he knew you were right. He just hated hearing it.

“I see Azriel taught you too much.” Rhys hissed.

“What did I teach her too much of?”

You flinched as Azriel’s voice echoed in the chamber. Out of the shadows he appeared, melting into the space of the dark cell like wax. His expression was unreadable, and he did not look at you. He faced his brother, not sparing you a single glance.

“Azriel, I am very glad you’re here.” Rhys’ voice singsonged, an obnoxiously chipper tone to it. The smug look on his face made you tense up preparing for the worst.

Gwyn was the only other person who knew about what magic was used to cast the bond between you and Nesta. Your gut twisted at the thought of Azriel going to her for answers. The priestess had sworn she would never breathe a word, but in more ways than one Azriel could be… persuasive. Rhys had already figured out the story the spell was based on by going into her mind, if he knew what else she had found….

You were certain of one thing though: if Azriel had harmed Gwyn in any way, you’d tear him limb from limb.

“I assume you’re going to be more helpful than this one here regarding information on the bond?” Rhys continued, crossing his arms proudly.

Silence that was almost too loud took over the cell for a few moments, until Azriel uttered one word from his lips. “No.”

Rhys blinked in surprise. “No?” He said. “You mean you honestly found nothing?”

A tentative flicker of hope ignited in your chest. Azriel was stone faced as he answered to his High Lord. “Correct. The library was of no use, even the restricted section. I found nothing resembling the bond (Y/N) and Nesta used.”

The High Lord’s eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head. “Interesting. You are usually more useful than this, Az.”

“I explored all of my available resources and found nothing.” Azriel’s voice was monotone, no emotion or life to it. It was the voice of a spy, unreadable and impossible to decipher. It made you nervous, unsure of what angle he was playing at. Azriel was not stupid, he had to know Gwyn would have been the one to give you and Nesta access to the information.

Which means whatever his reasoning was, he chose to keep Rhysand in the dark.

“Pity.” Rhys clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I know dear Amren was dying to find out what spell it was. But it doesn't matter anymore. I guess we’ll all have to live with the disappointment, won’t we?”

Azriel remained motionless as he spoke. “I am sorry I failed you.”

Another minute of silence overcame the cell. You barely even breathed, heart racing with every passing second. Until Rhys spoke the words you had been anticipating for days. “Kill her.”

The shadowsinger shifted, standing more upright. As your heart dropped into your stomach, you anticipated him reaching for truth-teller. If he had kept the information about the spell out of Rhysand’s hands, you took it as a sign he would make your death quick and clean at least. And so you closed your eyes, finding yourself for the second time in one year waiting for death to come and claim you.

“No.”

Azriel’s firm words made your eyes snap open in confusion. Rhysand was taking a deep breath, as if trying to keep himself calm and collected before he spoke. “And why not?” The High Lord said icily.

“Because this is wrong.” Azriel said, shifting his weight as if the mere act of disobeying his High Lord caused him discomfort. He glanced at you, eyes softening for a second as he spoke. “And she is my friend.”

“Please,” Rhys scoffed angrily. “No she is not. She was manipulating you, you fool. Maybe her pretty face kept your shadows distracted enough from figuring that out, but she is not your friend. She is your prisoner, whom your High Lord is ordering you to kill.”

“I said no.”

You glanced uneasily between them, not expecting Azriel to openly defend you like this. Rhys, apparently, felt the same thing. His breath was uneven, and his voice laced with rage as he spoke. “What has gotten into you, Azriel? Are you really going to disobey me like this?”

Azriel argued back, trying to reason with his brother. “Rhys, what we are doing to this female is wrong. All signs point to her wanting just to be free, not to bring harm to your court. She has no desire to overthrow you, or whatever bizarre shit your brain has come up with. Killing her would be wrong.”

“SHE IS A FUCKING THREAT TO MY COURT!” Rhys suddenly bellowed, his loud yell hurting your ears as it echoed throughout the chamber. Without warning, Rhysand shoved Azriel against the wall, a loud crack sounding as the spymaster’s wings collided with solid rock. He groaned in pain, but did not fight back.

. “And I am ORDERING you to do your job and eliminate her.” Rhys growled at him, pressing his neck into the wall. “If you do not, then I–”

“Do it yourself, coward.” You spat with as much defiance as you could. You hated seeing Azriel let his brother overpower him, watching him give up because he thought he deserved punishment for disobedience. You did not necessarily see eye to eye with the shadowsinger on everything – hell, there were times where his bystanderism made him just as bad as the rest of his circle.

But you could not let this happen to you, because it was all your fault. It was because of you he was in this position – his job, his family, his life on the line because he was trying to help you.

Rhys froze, pausing whatever blow he was about to land on his spymaster before he slowly turned to gaze at you. “What did you just say?”

“I said…” Every word was an effort, but a surge of determination flooded through you. “Kill me yourself, you fucking coward. Do your own dirty work for once.”

Rhysand snarled, letting go of Azriel with a shove. He stormed over towards you and grabbed your throat, hand gripping it like talons. His face was pure rage, the ugly face behind the charming mask, the illusion finally shattered. “I’m going to enjoy this,” He spat in your face. “And when I’m done, I’m going to drag Nesta back here kicking and screaming if I have to. And she will meet this very same fate once I make her scream.”

Something deep inside of you snapped. A strange sensation coursed through your bones, filling your broken body with life once again. Your wrists no longer ached, your back was no longer stiff. You could barely hear over the roaring in your head as you pictured Nesta’s beautiful face in your mind. The ringing in your ears became so loud, and before the High Lord of the Night Court unleashed his dark mist upon you, the world went white.

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

Wake up.

It was not the snarling, arrogant voice of Rhysand that greeted you, but a soft female one. It was familiar yet foreign all at once, the sound of both one voice and a thousand altogether, blended like a strange melody. Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with a familiar scene.

Your village.

The bodies had gone, only ash and dirt remaining where they once were. The buildings remained in ruins, like the memorial of an ancient city. Vines had begun to curl over the rooftops, circling down the sides of what remained of the houses that Hybern did not burn down. Flowers had blossomed across the earth, a stark contrast to the death and destruction that had occurred on the very same soil all those months ago. You glanced at your arms, which were free from the cuts and bruises inflicted upon you in the dungeon. You felt no pain.

“Do you remember what happened that day?”

You jumped as the female voice sounded behind you. Whirling around, you were met with a tall female. She had olive skin and warm brown eyes, with long brown hair that shone like the rays of the sun itself. Her face was kind but strong, and she wore sparling robes that almost blended in with her skin. She emitted an otherworldly glow, a kind of radiance that shook you to your very core.

“Who… who are you?” You stuttered.

The female smiled softly, her elegant hands clasped together. “I am Estelle.”

Your mind raced, putting together the pieces from Gwyn’s information. “Like… the mother goddess from the story? Jayana’s lover?”

She nodded. “A millenia later, and I find myself missing her every day. Much like you miss your Nesta.”  

You took a steady breath, shaking your head. “Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?”

The goddess chuckled softly. “No, my child, you are not dead. You are here for a reason, one which requires an answer to my question. Do you remember this day?”

You paused, taking a few steps back and scanning the clearing. Your heart ached at the sight of it so empty, so quiet and lifeless. It held so many good memories, ones that were now tainted with bloodshed and violence. “Not all of it…”

“Do you ever have dreams, my child? Dreams where you’re back in this clearing, body seized with pain so violent it felt like you were dying a thousand times?”

You felt her presence follow you as you wandered aimlessly. “Yes…” You muttered. “Are you going to tell me that really happened?”

“Is that what you want me to tell you?”

You whirled around, facing the female once again. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is happening right now. Or at all, frankly. I’ve had enough riddles, can you please just tell me why I’m here?”

Despite your anger, Estelle showed no sign of hurt at your sharp words. There was sorrow behind her eyes, an understanding, one that you felt could see into every inch of your soul.

“You know my story, correct?” She said softly. You nodded.

“Good,” She continued. “When I absorbed the life forces of my fallen comrades, I felt each and every one of their deaths. It tore through my body like a riptide, and I was sure it was going to break me.  I felt their rage, their fear, their anguish as they were slaughtered much like your village was. And after that day, I held a new power, one that allowed me to escape Hel and break the realms of the world apart.”

Your throat was dry, a dizziness overcoming you as the weight of her words dawned on you. Every dream you had about that day, every nightmare that ended in blinding light and pain was the exact experience that the goddess in the story had felt. “What are you saying?” Your voice was quiet as you asked a question you were pretty sure you knew the answer to.

“My child,” Estelle said. “The same thing happened to you. What you felt that day was the life force of everyone in your village flooding into your body. You felt each and every one of their deaths, and I am sorry you had to experience that. But it happened for a reason.” You weren’t sure you were breathing at this point. You rested your hands on your knees, trying to stabilise yourself. “Do you mean….” Your voice stuttered as you spoke. “Do you mean that… what I felt that day… what I felt afterwards…”

Your voice trailed off, but a warm hand on your shoulder reassured you.

“Yes. Your body now possesses the life force of hundreds of deaths, a power you can shape and wield however you choose.”

The feeling of the goddess’s hand on your shoulder struck something in you. All those times you felt that invisible touch, that reassuring presence that you thought you had imagined… You had thought it was maybe the Mother, but it dawned over you that it had been Estelle this whole time. Hers was the hand that held yours as you felt the deaths of your friends and family rip through you. Hers was the voice that helped you stay strong as Rhysand tortured you.

“This whole time…” You said breathlessly, her presence behind you like a warm light on your back. “I thought it was the Mother guiding me. But it was you.”

“My dear, we are one and the same.”

You whipped around to face the goddess. “You’re the Mother?”

Estelle simply smiled. “The war that took Jayana from me was centuries before Prythian was formed. After I escaped Hel, I wandered about the universe, utterly lost. Until I found this untamed world, unguided by any spirit. I did not ask to be named the Mother, but my true name had been lost in my years alone. So I became her, but I never forgot who I was. And I never will.”

You ran a hand through your hair, mind spinning with the overload of information. The story of Jayana and Estelle was not only true, but Estelle was the Mother herself, the being that watched over Prythian and was worshipped all over the land. Not only that, but you were living what Estelle had experienced hundreds and thousands of years ago.

“Why?” Was all you could ask, not knowing what to say.

“Not everything has to have an answer,” Estelle said, taking your hand in her own. “And I urge you not to expect to know the explanation for everything after this. But as for why you are here, I needed you to know the truth. You refused to believe your dreams, and chose to try and forget about them instead of asking yourself if they were really just imaginary. You possess the power of life now, just as I do. And you are in a terrible situation, my child. I ask that you recall my story, and use this power to find your way back to your mate.”

Even in this strange dreamy reality, time seemed to stop. Mate. The world itself seemed to spiral down upon you as the word replayed in your head over and over again.

Nesta was your mate.

“But… but Cassian is Nesta’s mate.” Was all you could sputter out. Something stirred in you, as if awoken by the realisation. It was like the bond, but stronger. Its presence in your chest was undeniable, reaching out as if it were searching for its other half.  

“Fae folk can have more than one mate in some instances. Nesta Archeron has more than one, but Cassian is not one of them.”

“How–”

Estelle cut you off, more urgency in her voice than before. “I have already told you not to expect the answers to every question you have just yet. All will reveal itself in time. But Jayana and I were mates before I created the spell that allowed us to communicate. Therefore, in order for the magic to work, the spell had to be done between two mates. The daemati-like powers is the only thing that spell gives. Everything else you feel? That deeper connection to Nesta? It was already there in the mating bond. The spell had nothing to do with it.”

“Holy shit.” You gasped, blood racing. “So you’re saying… Nesta and I are mates, and that’s why the spell worked?”

She nodded. “And why Rhysand was not able to activate it. It can only be done so between two mates, no matter how powerful an outsider’s magic is. And your magic is also the reason he cannot get into your head. You are protected from all other daemati magic.”

“I’m going to pass out…” You muttered, taking a seat on the log a few feet away. Within seconds, Estelle’s, or the Mother’s, appeared beside you.

“Everything happens for a reason, my child. You received those powers for a reason. You came across my story for a reason. I didn’t have a chance to use the spell to find my way back to my mate, but you do. Seize it.”

That strange presence in your bones you had felt after you woke up from the massacre, it wasn’t imagined after all. Deep down, you had always known something otherworldly happened. But you had spent months pushing it aside, trying to ignore it out of fear of what it was. “This is all just happening inside my head, isn’t it?”

Estelle’s long robes rustled in the breeze. “Of course it is,” She said. “But that does not mean it’s not real. Across the universe, there are multiple realities. Multiple versions of oneself that may seem like different people, but are all variants of one another. With beings like me, that does not happen unless we make it so. You, (Y/N), are an incarnate version of me. It’s why this is happening in your head. I am not some external being that is inside your mind right now. I am you, and you are me.”

You were the Mother incarnate. Holy shit. It felt like a dream, but the presence beside you was too strong to be anything but real. “If people have variants of each other,” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Does that mean….Nesta is Jayana?”

“In a sense,” Estelle responded. “The connection is not direct like with you and I. I saw your situation when Hybern attacked your village, and I kept you alive by having your body absorb the life force of the dead just like I had. And thus, you became a version of me. Nesta Archeron is her own person, but fate seems to like its parallels. I see much of Jayana in her. They both have the same temper, both represent a death goddess feared across all the lands.”

You frowned. “You mean you aren’t the decider of fate? I thought everything that happened was with your guidance?”

She laughed melodically, the sound like the song of birds on a spring morning. “No, my child. I decide many things, yes. But not all. None of us do, and we do not know what does.”

Estelle’s words echoed in your mind like a hurricane, threatening to overwhelm you. But it didn’t, because in a way, everything made sense. She had no reason to lie, even if this was just some bizarre dream or afterlife sentence. The way you felt that connection to Nesta, that force in your body that threatened to explode when you were angry, it all aligned with what the goddess beside you was saying.

“I cannot linger any longer,” Estelle murmured, covering your shaking hands with her own. “But remember how I got out of Hel. Find that power buried within you and rattle the stars with it. I will always be there alongside you, my child. You are never alone.”

You turned to say something, another hundred questions racing through your mind, but the world around you glowed as the Mother faded into the light. Within a few seconds, she had gone.

Once again, you looked at the clearing around you. The marks on the earth where the bodies had lain seemed to glow, calling out to you. A force deep within you sung in response, begging you to release it. As you poured over Estelle’s words, you recalled how the magic she absorbed allowed her to burst out of Hel and free herself.

Rattle the stars.

Her wording was deliberate. The Night Court was represented by the stars. You knew not the extent of your powers, but if your theory was right, you could make the entire Night Court feel your fury.

And so you closed your eyes, and let the clearing slip away as you let that power you’d been pushing down surge through you. It felt like you were falling, the clearing swallowing up as you descended into a void of light.

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

It could have been a millenia you were falling, or perhaps a second. As you let yourself go down into the base of whatever power lay within you, you felt memories crash into you all at once. Your mother’s smile as she presented you with her freshly baked scones. The feeling of Nesta’s lips as she kissed you for the first time. Lucien pressing a cold cloth to your head when you were sick. Eris holding you as you danced in the Hewn City. Rhysand’s smirk as he carved into you like a piece of meat.

The rage that boiled up as Rhysand’s face flashed through your mind quickened your plummet, your power bubbling up and ready to overflow. And so you opened your eyes.

A look of horror crossed Rhysand’s features as your eyes glowed with a bright white half a second before his magic went to strike you down. Dark mist collided with pure light as you exploded with a war cry of ancient times.

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

White hot rage was all you could feel as you unleashed yourself. Rage of the Spring Court souls whose life forces you had absorbed crying out with you for vengeance against the Night Court. Rhysand was thrown back, Azriel too as your light exploded. The walls around you crumbled, your chains shattering as everything around you came crashing down. The earth beneath your feet shook, the rock from the prison walls flying a hundred feet out to either side.

Wind ripped against your face as the mountain your cell had been inside crumbled away before you, creating avalanches of stone whose impact upon the ground sounded like thunder. Your blood sang, as if the life force within you was happy to be used. Surprisingly, Velaris was visible in the distance – you had thought your prison would be some remote mountain in Illyria. But perhaps Rhys knew that’s what everyone would assume, and keeping you closer to his home would keep you from being discovered.

Out of the shadows, Rhysand and Azriel appeared from the smoke, coughing violently. As they finally opened their eyes to look at you, pure wonder crossed their faces. You didn’t have to look down at yourself to know you were glowing with that same light Estelle had. Your gaze landed upon Azriel, who froze like a statue as it landed on him.

He didn’t cower, or scurry away. He simply gazed at you in awe for a few more moments before dipping his head, bowing before your presence. Rhys, on the other hand, got to his feet and snarled.

“What are you?” The High Lord hissed, gathering dark mist between his fingertips.

“I am Life,” The voice you responded with was not entirely your own – it was ancient and prophetic, with the authority of a god. “And your court has taken everything from me. You will pay for your crimes, High Lord Rhysand.”

Rhys made a vicious noise, talons of mist forming at his fingertips. You quickly realised that despite what you had just done, you had no clue how to defend yourself with your power. But before he could make the first blow, a ring of silver fire burst through the air and surrounded him, accompanied by a fierce roar from the sky. As you looked up, letting your eyes adjust to the bright daylight, you gasped at the sight before you.

Three dragons were flying towards the ruined mountain. One black, one silver, and one gold. The golden one was without a rider, circling the ruins around you and crying out. A familiar redhead was perched atop the black one, golden armour shining in the midday sun.

Eris, a golden flame atop a black fire breathing mount, had come to your rescue. But it was the silver dragon your eyes were drawn to, and that piece in your chest that had spent the last few weeks reaching out to Nesta crackled with excitement as you gazed upon the silver dragon’s mount.

Dressed in red, scaling armour was Nesta. Even from the ground, you could see her silver eyes glow in the same shade as the flames surrounding Rhysand. She had the wrathful look of a death goddess as she descended with her dragon, its silver wings creating hurricane like gusts of wind as it hovered before you and Rhys.

Nesta and Eris had come to save you.

You couldn’t help but glance at Azriel, who seemed sagged with relief. Your throat closed up with emotion – the spymaster knew Eris and Nesta would show up, and likely told them exactly where.

“Nesta.” Rhys growled, staring up at his sister-in-law with anger. “Leave.”

“Not without (Y/N).” Nesta’s voice was clear and strong, commanding Rhys like a queen commanding her subjects. Her dragon roared furiously at Rhysand, causing the High Lord to flinch.

“Dragons?” He sputtered, coughing as the smoke from the silver flames blew in his face. “What… how?”

“You have your surprises, Rhysand, and I have mine.” Eris piped up, landing his black dragon on the ground. The earth shook with its impact, sending more rocks crashing down the remains of the mountain.

Weariness took over your body, and you felt the light begin to fade as your magic retreated.

No no no, You cursed to yourself, trying to summon it again. But every muscle in your body ached from the sudden surge, unable to bear any more magic. You felt helpless again, trapped. Rhysand tried to take a step towards you, but scurried back as the ground once again shook, this time behind you.

The golden dragon had landed right behind you and let out a vicious roar towards Rhysand, its eyes glowing with fury. It stood protectively over your shoulder, towering over you menacingly in a way that promised certain death to anyone who made a move.

“Dragons are protective creatures,” Eris said. “I wouldn’t get any closer.”

“You’ve invaded my court,” Rhysand hissed. “This is an act of war.”

Eris chuckled. “Technically, you declared war first. We’re just finishing what you started.”

Before anyone could speak up, a horn sounded from the ridge in the distance. You whirled around, the motion making you slightly dizzy. But your eyes were clear as ever as the banners of the Spring Court appeared over the hill.

Armoured bodies marched in synch as soldiers approached on horseback, led by none other than Lucien. His cloak streamed behind him in the wind as he loped towards the scene of the wreckage. You nearly wept, not having seen him since he rescued you. From the look on his face, Lucien felt the same way.

A different type of roar was carried fast in the wind, and a mighty beast winnowed in front of the army and led the march. Its elk-like antlers and massive body sped ahead of his troops with his great stride, bounding towards you.

“What is going on here?” Rhysand demanded, unable to hide the slight panic from his voice.

“You started this war when you stole (Y/N) from Spring,” Eris said coolly, patting his dragon. “We’ve found it in our best interests to align with Tamlin over the matter, not you.”

The dragons did not react as Tamlin’s beast form landed right beside them, growling. Tears streamed down your face in relief – the High Lord you had looked up to, the male you had helped get back on his feet, had joined in on the effort to save you.

“Rhysand.” Tamlin growled in greeting.

“If this is some sort of revenge plan on Feyre–” Rhysand began, but was quickly interrupted.

“This is not about her,” The High Lord of Spring snapped. “This is about (Y/N). You have kidnapped and imprisoned an esteemed member of my court, which is considered an act of war. I do not want to shed blood, but we will if you refuse to let her return to me.”

“(Y/N) is a member of my court now.” Rhys responded, evening out his voice. You knew he was trying to put on his collected mask, but it was cracked and slipping. You snorted at the weakness of his voice, and the dragon behind you made a similar noise, as if it was mirroring you.

“Is she?” Lucien said, halting his horse next to Tamlin and looking at Rhysand with a hatred you didn’t know he had. “Because she is still registered as a member of Spring. You never opened any accounts or filed any legal documents with her name, so according to the law there is no proof that you have taken her in as an official member. Which means you have wrongfully imprisoned a member of another court.”

“This is absurd.” Rhys scoffed. “Get out of my court. Now. This is my business.”

“Hand (Y/N) over and we will.” Lucien responded. The armies of the Spring Court halted a few metres behind the dragons, hands clasping their weapons, ready for the order to jump into action.

Malice glittered in Rhys’ eyes. You knew he wouldn’t give up easily, not when you had already made him look weak once. “No.” He said firmly.

No sooner had the syllable left his lips did a band of silver fire wrap around his throat. He cried out in pain as the flame danced, licking at his skin but not quite burning. The silver dragon’s roar turned all eyes to Nesta, and your heart jumped at the sight.

Nesta had stood up on her dragon’s back, silver flames wrapped around her fingertips and arms. The clouds darkened above everyone, thunder rumbling in the distance as her eyes glowed brighter.

“You locked me up.” Nesta’s voice was cold as ice and sharp as steel. Nobody moved a muscle as it echoed alongside the eerie cries of the wind. “I helped you, dozens of times. And you locked me up because I didn’t cope with the war YOU dragged me into in the way you deemed acceptable. I was an object to you, one to use and exploit when it suited you only to lock me away again when you were done. None of your circle has had any respect for me, Rhysand. From the beginning, you have pitted yourselves against me because it’s easier to make me the bad guy than take a look at your own flaws and mistakes. You took my human life, my money, my house, and everything I had. I was never a person to you, just a problem.”

Even Tamlin had gone completely still as Nesta twisted her hand, causing another band of fire to appear. This time, it bound Rhys’ hands and ankles, forcing him to his knees. Black mist attempted to make its way through the fire, but was rapidly quenched. Rhysand’s magic was no match for Nesta’s fury.

“I am taking my life back, Rhysand.” Nesta said. “And you and my sister will have no say or part in it. Do not come after me, do not try and bring me back here. If you try, I will burn you to nothing but ash.”

Rhysand growled, thrashing against Nesta’s fire. “Azriel!” He barked. “Do something!”

The shadowsinger was pale faced, surveying the scene before him. “Let her go,” He said sternly. “This is a fight we cannot win.”

You found your feet again, standing up on shaky legs. You summoned more magic – your body protested, but you ignored it as a shimmering white gag wrapped around Rhysand’s mouth, joining his silver flames.

“This isn’t a debate.” You panted, the weight of your tattered, shredded dress making you want to collapse. But you relented. “I am leaving with them, and you will let me.”

Tamlin’s beast form crawled towards Rhysand, growling. “I was wrong to lock Feyre up, I know that.” He spat. “But don’t pretend like you didn’t do the exact same thing to Nesta and (Y/N).”

Rhys mumbled something through the gag, but was ignored. You felt a nudge, and the golden dragon was gently pushing its snout into you. You placed your hand on its nose, letting the beast inhale your scent.

“Zorzimril says it’s time to go.” Eris quipped, smirking down at you. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You nodded, glancing up at Nesta. Your mate.

Her eyes were locked on you, and a faint tear ran down her cheek. Tentatively, you reached towards the spell-made bond. Nesta?

I…. I can’t believe I’m hearing your voice. Nesta’s response came, and so did your tears. Your lungs shook as you inhaled deeply between sobs.

Me too.

There will be time to catch up later. Come, let’s leave.

The golden dragon had lowered its shoulder to the ground and looked at you expectantly. Tentatively, you climbed onto its back, grasping the horns down its spine as you settled yourself. From the view on dragonback, you surveyed the site you had been standing on. Rubble from the mountain was everywhere, the great peak crumbled into a small hill. The gags on Rhys had disappeared, but he remained kneeling, face twisted with anger. Azriel stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder and giving Eris a slight nod. Tamlin and Lucien stood side by side once again, united with a common cause. Your heart swelled as you recognized the faces of the soldiers they brought – many of them fae that you had taken into the manor after losing their homes to Hybern. You could see it in their eyes that they had come not just because they were ordered to, but because they wanted to help you like you had helped them.

“Let’s get out of this wretched court.” Eris sighed, winking at you.

“Wait.” You said as an idea popped into your head. “I have something I want to do first.”

Nesta smirked at you, knowing exactly what you meant.

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

You, Nesta, and Eris soared on dragonback through the Night Court, approaching the Inner Circle’s mountainside cabin. You relished in the cold air whipped across your face, having not felt fresh air in weeks. Zorzimril happily flew you alongside Nesta, making happy growling noises as the excitement of what you were about to do made you jittery.

As your dragons approached the cabin, they stopped, hovering in the air above it. You looked towards Nesta and Eris, and they gave you a nod. You shouted the command Nesta had taught you, and Zorzimril unleashed a torrent of flames upon the cabin. The scent of burnt wood filled the air as the structure was quickly engulfed. Within ten seconds, it was reduced to ash.

And so the three of you flew to each remote residence of the inner circle, making sure it was away from the city before burning it to the ground. With every palace set aflame you whopped with delight, causing Eris to chuckle. It was satisfying, watching their luxuries burn down while half of Illyria was starving and poor. The Inner Circle had fled to the River House, the one shared residence of theirs that remained intact due to it being in the city centre. You did not want to punish innocent people for the crimes of their leader, like Feyre had done to your court. No, this was proper vengeance. And you relished in it.

Despite your exhaustion and pain from the last few weeks, you let yourself cheer and cry out on the back of Zorzimril as you soared through the air between Nesta and Eris, headed for the thicket of the autumn trees in the distance, leaving the Night Court behind you.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful  @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford  @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @

[satoshi-mochida]

Hyper Light Breaker Early Access launch trailer, screenshots - Gematsu

Publisher Arc Games and developer Heart Machine have released the launch trailer for open-world cooperative roguelite game Hyper Light Breaker ahead of its Early Access launch for PC via Steam on January 14.

Throughout Early Access, new content—including Breakers, Crowns, gear, story content, secrets, and more—as well as gameplay improvements and new features will be added via patches and periodic major updates. More information will be shared via an Early Access content roadmap to be revealed in the coming weeks, including when the first major content update is expected to drop, as well as the release of a Breaker codenamed “Crow.”

“The time has come for everyone to play Hyper Light Breaker in Early Access and enter the Overgrowth for the very first time,” said Heart Machine founder and creative director Alx Preston in a press release. “After all the twists and turns of the past couple of years, this is such a major and just incredible moment for all of us at Heart Machine—and we’d like to thank our fantastic community, friends and colleagues for the loving support to get us to this point. But things don’t stop here, we’d love for as many players as possible to jump in the game and share their feedback with us! Player feedback is incredibly important to us, so we’re really looking forward to working with the community to continue to evolve Hyper Light Breaker throughout Early Access to make it the best it can be before we bring it into 1.0.”

Here is an overview of the game, via Arc Games:

About

From Heart Machine, the award-winning team behind critically-acclaimed titles Hyper Light Drifter and Solar Ash, comes Hyper Light Breaker, a new co-op rogue-lite adventure set in the beloved Hyper Light Drifter universe—available now in Steam Early Access. Hyper Light Breaker is a brand-new entry in the Hyper Light franchise, with a unique story fully realized in 3D for the first time. Set decades prior to Drifter, Hyper Light Breaker has you take on the role of a Breaker, a mercenary tasked with entering the Overgrowth. Using a combination of fast-paced hack-and-slash combat, ranged weaponry and gadgets, players can expect to fight through and explore a wide array of procedurally-generated open worlds. Though you’ll start your journey trying to help the settlement, it’s clear that there’s something sinister in this long-forgotten land. Only through tenacity and rigorous exploration will you uncover the dark truths of the Crowns, The Abyss King and this brutal, eerie new landscape. Players can choose to play alone or with up to two fellow Breakers to explore open worlds, create new builds, rip through hordes and overcome the Crowns and the Abyss King.

Key Features

-Ever-Changing Worlds to Explore

A world in disarray, with mysteries to solve, vicious enemies to fight, and full 3D environments to explore.

A vast, ever-changing, procedurally generated world awaits with large scale open biomes and deep labyrinths.

Worlds are procedurally generated with unique layouts, enemies, loot and rewards leading to multiple playthroughs.

Traverse landscapes with incredible freedom with a variety of abilities; wall-dashing, hoverboard, glider and more.

-Join the Breakers

Battle through the Overgrowth alone or as a team in online co-operative play.

Face hordes of enemies and brutal bosses in frenetic third-person combat.

Rise to increasing challenges stacking through every run.

-Explore, Collect, and Destroy

Discover and unlock a wide arsenal of weapons, items and upgrades to create the ideal build for new runs.

Learn more about the Overgrowth from the fragmented memories of its mysterious defenders, the Crowns.

Bring back resources to help the settlement flourish over the course of your journey.

Watch the launch trailer below. View a new set of screenshots at the gallery.

Early Access Launch Trailer

[codyyuki]

Hey! Pls rember I was working on a project? Well it's out! For a submission to Touhou Fan Game Jam 15: Himawari CATASTROPHE! A cute hack and slash where I made the sprites of Tenshi and the poor things your slashing! Go check it out:

[areyoudoingthis]

Ed makes his way back to Stede after watching the ships burn. - Something settles into place within him as he hacks and slashes his way back to Stede. He doesn't want to do this anymore, he's certain of that. But maybe he doesn't have to burn his bridges to get to where he's going. Maybe everything he's capable of can serve him well sometimes, maybe there's some middle ground between fisherman and pirate.

Stede.

The panic sets in like a sudden tropical storm that's caught him leagues from shore with full sails unfurled, sending his brain into a tailspin.

He fucked up. He fucked up so badly. He asked to take it slow and then he let himself get carried away. Everything was so nightmarishly terrible all of a sudden. The quiet ease he was slipping into turning poison into positivity shattered into pieces by that fucking joker with an axe to grind, and then Stede... Stede pushing a man overboard, sweet, gentle Stede embodying the fucked up caricature of violence he showed Ed in that book when they first met, like it was fucking aspirational. He remembers the words to this day. "If I could be just be like Blackbeard, even just for a moment, honestly I would give all of this away." He never wanted Stede to give up a single fucking thing for him. The fine fabrics and the books and the two chandeliers made him happy, and Ed's wanted to be happy with him in a world full of soft things ever since that first morning they woke up together, high above the horizon and the shit that was dragging them both down for years, bathed in golden light and eager promises.

And after everything they both went through last night, after watching Low stick a hot poker in him and thinking this was it for them, after the fear and the adrenaline and the boundless amounts of love and sorrow he felt when he knocked on the cabin door... When Stede sought his comfort in Ed's body by pushing him against a wall and asking without words to kiss him, eyes full of unshed tears, Ed couldn't deny him. It's not like he wasn't dying for it himself, not like he hasn't wanted to allow himself to come apart with Stede since bread with marmalade on the crow's nest.

But he still doesn't know who he is or who he wants to become, where the fuck he fits in this world, in Stede's life. He knows he doesn't want to be a pirate anymore, and Stede becoming all the things he once claimed not to like in Ed... it messed him up to watch that happen.

Having sex with Stede the way they did was a mistake, but not for the reasons Stede probably thought he meant when he said it. He thinks about having to hear those same words from Stede without an explanation and he wants to run on water to get back to the Republic as soon as possible, find him and actually try to explain this time. Loving him isn't a mistake, it's taking such a huge step and making himself vulnerable like that when he was dying three days ago and he still feels lost all the time that was a fuck up.

And then he fucking panicked, and he told Stede - fuck, he started that conversation out okay and spiraled out of control within two sentences, rambling about fishermen and pirates without ever actually saying the words that were eating up at his insides, gnawing on his heart like hungry moths. I gave myself over to you. I'm ready for us to build a life together. I don't want to put you in danger again. I don't want to be a monster. I don't want you to become like me.

He's never actually told Stede how he feels, has he? Stede was so sweet at Anne and Mary's, and Ed never said it back. He wasn't ready to stay it, still isn't sure he is, even after everything. But he's ready to say something, ready to promise to stay and ask for time to say the rest when he can.

If Stede is even there to be found. What the fuck is going on, why is the entire bay on fire? Is the Revenge among the burning ships. Are their friends safe. Where is Stede. Please let him be okay. Please let him still be alive so Ed can explain to him, so he can hold his hands and give all the warmth he has brought to Ed's life back to him, so he can try to get his words to come out right this time. Give him one more chance. He won't waste it again.

Finding the leathers he does on purpose. Finding the letter is a surprise. Stede told him he'd sent him messages in bottles, but what were the fucking odds of ever finding them in the immensity of the ocean. Slim, apparently. Just like their chances of ever finding each other. And yet they did, and they keep doing it again and again like there's a string pulling them together across the vastness of the sea.

He finds out from the letter that Stede was always thinking about him, even when he left, even when he ran away and took Ed's heart with him. He came back to find him. Not to find piracy, but to find Ed. He stands in the surf reading it over and over, wet leathers back on and pulling heavily on his limbs for what he hopes will be one last time, and makes the decision to give his heart over to Stede for good.

He's all in for real this time. No more running away, no more panicking. He will find Stede and he will be alive and they will talk and work things out and they will never be separated again. Fuck the British and the Spanish and the French, fuck every navy in the world and every washed out pirate with a grudge. Fuck his own fears that live in a huge chasm inside him and claw at his throat and make the words he needs to say get stuck there like knives.

Stede is it for him. He will ask him for space to figure himself out, but he wants that space to be by Stede's side, in Stede's arms, in the home they will share every day and every night for their remaining years. He will be better at asking for what he needs. He can't lose Stede.

There is no Ed without Stede anymore. It has been too late for that for a while.

He makes his way to Stede mostly on instinct, trusting his legs to carry him and his arms to fight for him and his heart not to stop beating the second he emerges on the shore and sees him surrounded by British uniforms on the beach, fighting five to one.

Something settles into place within him as he hacks and slashes his way back to him. He doesn't want to do this anymore, he's certain of that. But maybe he doesn't have to burn his bridges to get to where he's going. Maybe everything he's capable of can serve him well sometimes, maybe there's some middle ground between fisherman and pirate. Maybe the man and the monster are one and the same and it doesn't matter, because the monster has always been just a man doing his best to stay afloat, a man kicking and screaming against the weights dragging him down into the deep black waters, and he can let go of him now without hating him for keeping him alive all these years. He brought him to where he is now and to Stede, after all.

Hasn't Stede seen him for the entirety of who he is since the early days of their relationship? He thinks as he slides on one knee across the black sand, every slice of his sword bringing him closer to the man he loves. Hasn't he been trying to tell Ed that he loves everything about him all along? Maybe it's time Ed learned to say those things to himself, too.

He crashes into Stede the second the last soldier is down, drags him into his arms with a desperation that could put a hurricane to shame.

"Ed!" Stede's voice floods into him and he soars.

"I'm sorry. You're okay. I'm sorry," he says, breathless, clings to him like he will run out of air and his lungs will collapse if every inch of them isn't touching.

"You came back."

"Never left, mate. Or no - I did. I'm sorry. This was the last time, I promise. I don't want to be anywhere else." His entire body knows this, his bones and his muscles and his marrow. He could never take a permanent step away from Stede again without coming undone.

Stede holds him tight, like he too was afraid they'd never see each other again and the hurtful things they flung at each other would be the last words they ever exchanged, like he was afraid that their life together would end before it even had a chance to start.

"I'm sorry I called you a coward."

Ed winces. That one stung a little, probably because it was true.

"I'm sorry I told you that night was a mistake without explaining what I meant." He feels Stede tense and then relax, like those words have been weighing on him as much as Ed feared they might have.

"Sorry I called your fish whatever," Stede says, voice soft and tender. "I loved the fish."

Ed smiles against his chest. They're going to be okay. He wasn't too late and they're going to be okay. Stede is safe and they're talking and everything is going to be fine. The world can burn and they will find a way to make it out of the inferno as long as they're together.

"Sorry I didn't stay to celebrate your first immolation," he jokes.

"Fuck that. Turned out to be a fickle crowd, too."

Ed suspects there's more there that he isn't saying, but perhaps a beach littered with dead and wounded British isn't the place to be discussing this. They'll have time. They're not leaving again, no more running off for either of them. This time it's for good.

"Tell me later?" He slides his hands down Stede's chest, draws in for a welcome back kiss that he can already taste sweet on his lips.

Stede runs his hand down his arm, caresses his elbow delicately with his warm palm and leans into him and they're finally going to kiss again when they hear a shout.

"Help, guys!" a voice calls out from across the beach. Stede turns and groans when he spots the woman slashing into soldiers like they're butter, but still covered in them like sharp spikes.

"Who's your friend?" Ed asks. "Should we go help?"

Stede closes his eyes, sighs and nods.

"Yeah, we'd better."

When they run this time, it's together.

[happilyobsessing]

the empress and strength for the rook asks!

Thank you for the prompts! I can't help but feel that these are also personally super relevant for me this evening, so I'll definitely enjoy answering these for Weiler.

Please feel free to send through more Rook Tarot Card Ask prompts. My ask box is open <3

Long responses to be found under the cut. I can't ever write about Weiler in half measures x

The Empress: What does family mean for Rook? TW: mentions of child abuse

When Weiler thinks of her biological family three words come to mind: abandonment, rejection, and resentment. Born to impoverished tenant farmers (who were already struggling to feed their other six children) in Ansburg, her parents were left with little choice than to sell their youngest daughter following injury, a poor harvest, and a cruel winter. Her mother took her to a local market when Weiler was three years old and as she was beginning to give up hope, a stranger from Antiva purchased the six-year-old for a purse almost overflowing with silver. What her mother did not realise, however, was that this man was a Antivan Crow from House Kortez (which, having benefitted from the financial generosity of its new Talon, was flourishing brilliantly). As genial, pleasant, and charming as Emil Kortez presented himself to polite society, behind closed doors his house was run with an unhinged depravity that would shock even the most desensitised Crow. Tortured from a young age, beaten, broken, and haphazardly put back together over and over, Weiler grew up with only one question in her mind: did her family know what hell they had sold their daughter in to? Kortez delighted in recounting how ready her parents were to be rid of her, how a full belly and a fistful of coin was more important to them, and the painful reality of the situation was that it was true. So, as Weiler's body was bruised, torn, branded, and her soul and humanity shattered to the brink of disrepair, her longing for her mother and father twisted and soured into an acidic, burning hatred in her gut. Ultimately rescued by Andarateia Cantori and Viago de Riva as they came to "clean" House Kortez following his grisly demise, Viago adopted her into his house. Distrusting and paranoid - and prone to violent outbursts - Weiler was convinced that her new "father" would abuse her in much the same way as she had been by Kortez. Long months were spent re-socialising and re-habilitating her (Viago torn between tearing out his hair and constantly checking it for new grey strands) until she was at long last ready to complete simple contracts . . . which she still managed to almost fail out of stubbornness and bitterness. Losing patience (and afraid for Weiler's safety) Viago 'allowed' himself to be persuaded by Varric to take her off his hands. It is under Varric (and subsequently with her companions in the Veilguard) that Weiler finds her true family and all that it stands for: support, unconditional love, and commitment.

Strength: What gives your Rook courage? What inspires them to keep fighting?

It's ironic. As ferociously as Weiler fights - launching herself headfirst into the fray, slashing and hacking with her daggers - and as confidently she appears to be as she leads her companions into the unknown, Weiler would never describe herself as courageous. She lives in constant fear of weakness, pain, and death, terrified that there will come a day where she must face an even greater evil than she has already had to endure and that she will not be strong enough to save herself (fuck, she wasn't even strong enough to save herself from Kortez, she believes). She pushes her body and to the breaking point because she is afraid. It is a long lesson that Weiler has to learn that courage doesn't mean physical prowess. It doesn't mean being a charismatic leader who can shoulder the burden of everyone around her, everybody in Thedas. She was to learn that it takes courage to sit amongst friends as they eat and drink, getting louder and louder and forgetting that Weiler needs a good half foot of personal space around her. It takes courage to stay lounging in the communal bathing pool - naked with no weapon in sight - as the others join her exhausted and dirty from battle. It takes courage not to flinch at the touches that occur without thought: a hand held out to help her up, a bump against her back when she stops suddenly whilst scouting, a clap to the shoulder accompanied by laughter when she lets out a rare joke. It takes courage just to wake up each morning and make the choice to live another day, another week, another month, etc. It takes courage to take Emmrich Volkarin's hand in hers and place it on her hip, closing her eyes and accepting his kiss in the peaceful quiet of the Memorial Gardens. And finally, it takes the greatest courage of all to open her heart to him and fall in love, wholly and readily.

[roguedeck]

One of the things I love about board games is their ability for emergent narratives.

It's a magic trick to take bits of cardboard, plastic, and wood and come out the other side with stories -- to take fundamentally mechanical rule sets and transform them into memories and in-jokes as if you we actually part of an intergalactic struggle or siege of the wizard's castle.

While many games do this well, for my money, Root is the best.

In Root, you take on the role of an adorable woodland dynasty and hack, slash, cajole, and strongarm your way to domination. Don't let the meeples fool you - this is a ruthless war game.

But it is also SO much more.

In addition to the normal rules of movement and combat, Root is a completely asymmetric game. When you choose your faction, you get a unique player board that defines your personal goals and mechanics throughout the game. Out of the box, you have four completely different factions.

Marquise de Cat: The current lords of the forest, the Cats start with the most pieces on the table. They score by building up their supply lines and industrializing the forest.

Eyrie Dynasty: The Birds are an explosive factions that works by programming actions turn after turn. But watch out - if you ever can't complete your program, your subjects revolt and depose you as a ruler.

Woodland Alliance: Everyone's favorite angry toast meeples represent the subversive movement in the forest. They spread sympathy/propaganda through whisper campaigns until they violently overthrow the invading forces.

The Vagabond: While the other players are in the middle of a war game, the Vagabond is playing his own RPG. He travels around the forest leveling up and raiding items from ruins.

While you can get hundreds of hours of great gameplay from the core box alone, there are a myriad of expansions that unlock the games true potential.

The Riverfolk is a big box expansion that brings along two new factions: The Lizard Cult who have limited, but extremely powerful actions and the war profiteering Otters who sell their services to any other faction needing mercenaries.

The Underworld is the second big box that introduces new maps along with more factions: The murderous Crows who sneak around the board setting traps, and the Moles who can spring up from their tunnels to jump-start their colonization.

The newest big box expansion, The Marauders, introduces Hirelings that give more options for smaller player counts. It also brought us the Lord of the Hundreds who commands his Rats to raze as much of the forest as possible, and the Badger templars who use their military prowess to delve for ancient relics.

And that's just the beginning. There are more hireling packs, an additional deck of cards, landmarks, and plenty of aesthetic upgrades you can buy.

Root is a full-on, five-star game for me. It is significantly different than the other euro and card battler games my group favors, but that palate cleanser is an incredibly fun challenge. Root also requires more direct interaction and table talk than anything else on the shelf.

While it can seem untenable from the outside, the rules system is logical and cleanly laid out. It isn't particularly hard to get up and running in a game.

And even if it was, it is worth the effort to be able to play with these little fellas...

[ilvfryends]

Everyone turns to me as my new apprentice dry-heaves the all of nothing left in his stomach. 3 people are slumped in various positions covered in various different colors and break-outs. "I mean bonus points for the variety but hell do you even understand the simplicity of long acting poison?! If you really wanted everyone here dead giving it a couple hours to kick in would be the best way to go about it." I am quite literally the house witch, it is literally my job to understand this and these idiots apparently hate their witches and have zero respect for them.

Some idiot in a grassy green jacket says "well I mean, what did you expect? We all hate each other" everyone else nodding in agreement.

"Honestly I respect all of you more for the blatancy, it's well respected at my home to say it how it is." That stupid girl from Tresstown says from the far side of the table, her pink gown matching her obnoxious voice.

"Oh shut it you Tressian, nobody gives a damn about what you respect, all you people ever do is talk about yourselves"

"Ya like you're any better Alador, all you do all day is pig out and chop off heads for fun"

Gods this is getting old, wouldn't it be fun to just kill them all, nobody likes them anyways. And as previously stated, a lot of them have an affinity for killing people. What if I just... "Well lets clear all this" I magic away the whole dinner "and drink. What are we feeling?" I pull open the hidden bar start lining the table with whatever is called out, ending with myself an expresso martini in hand. "To dirtbags doing the dirty work" which earns me one hell of a glare from Travis, my assigned Lord, before we all drink.

20 minutes later as I'm making round 2 the coughing begins, everyone looks around, specifically at my dear Lord Travis who is the only one not hacking up blood at this point. Eyes roll back, limbs twitch and more bodies end up lying slumped on and off the table. "Oh dear Drame, I never thought you to have the guts."

"In my defence they killed my apprentice, he was actually really good at his job." I hand him the fresh drink before sitting back at his side an apple-raspberry cocktail in mine, "they have heirs so relief will be short-lived."

He takes a long drink before starting "well sh-" and then dropping dead, he was alright, short and sweet worked for him.

""Hey guys, they're all dealt with, the heirs gone yet?""

I hear some screams and slashing before ""mine are done."" Oh so obviously Grace, being excessive as usual. ""Don't worry I'll shower before meeting y'all""

Everyone else confirms, ""welcome to the revolution ladies. Remember, we're meeting at the stones in an hour, let your crows in to clean up before you magic out."

1 hour later

"Lets get out of this hell already" Trish complains the second she appears.

"I swear to the gods if I have to hear anyone say that again I'm leaving you to do the spell on your own. Making a mass portal to the Fey realm is not quick and I've already been here for a half hour longer than the rest of you"

"Bitchy much?" She jokes to the others to which she receives eye rolls, we were all more than glad when she got assigned to the farthest province, sadly we can't leave her; all of us or none of us, that was the deal.

About 10 minutes later it's ready, all 26 of us stand in the circle, me at the center and spreading out by power level, the power is imbued, the words are spoken, and with a flash of light and then a wave of darkness we're pulled through space straight into the Dwarven citadel.

"….Okay, are any of the dishes not poisoned?! Is there anyone at this feast who did not poison anything?!"

[withinstarrynightskies]

@zanpakutohotspring x

Masaharu’s no kid.

Despite looking older than they are, he is twenty-three years old, much past the age of adulthood and in the stage where somebody should be taking care of themselves without any help from other people.

It’s what he’s been doing for ten years, ever since he inherited the title of the Kasugai Crow Caretaker. He knows how to think for himself, take care of himself, as well as defend himself.

"'In your way'?" Masaharu echoes, clenching his Wakizaki a bit tighter. Blood coats the weapon- demon blood, the liquid also painting their body. It dyes on their skin, their kimono, their bandages- seeping through the cloth, staining their injured eye, the organ irritated by the liquid touching it. He can smell it, the sickening stench of iron; he can practically taste it, with how much it invades his nose.

I'll need a thorough shower after this.

"We're surrounded. I can't get out of your way unless I decide to walk right into one of their mouths and get eaten."

Is this guy a Slayer?

Probably not. He's not wearing anything close to the uniform.

That makes the situation more complicated, then.

God dammit. If he's not a slayer, then he doesn't know how to kill the demons; if he wants to go hack and slash at them, the demons will know he's not a threat, and then they'll kill him. Masaharu's not in the mood to see a dead body today.

"Just-" They click their tongue. "-stay here, alright? These guys can't be killed through ordinary means, so whatever you wanna do isn't going to help. I'm currently waiting on Tsuki to find something of mine, and once I get that, we'll be home safe."

He's glad he decided to bring that crow on his excursion. With sharp eyes, the bird'll be able to locate his wisteria pouch in no time.

Hopefully, this guy'll do exactly as Masaharu says, and not make his life more difficult than it needs to be.

Hopefully.

The caretaker prays to the gods this situation goes as they want it to.

[gamezete-engine-deconstructor]

Thymesia 

A few aberrances a-side,   this Dark Souls adaption has real Pluck

Thyme,

An herb the history of which involves time zone irregulatirites and disputes involving sharp culinary tools, is an odd name for a video game

But the eclecticism of influence is a credit to this novelty, which tells the story of CORVO (whose place in canon is as a successor to preceding generations of dark-souls limbo)

Corvo is on a quest to restore his memories

The first chapter has him square off against baddies from a range of periods 

Aptly named for a Plague mask wearing Corvid, this dual wielder has adapted to the Dark Souls demand on size and other rationalism.  He has the abilities bestowed to the feathered plague bearer

But the story tells, oddly - of an age of alchemy

What acid imprints or ink stamp contributes to the production is unclear

Sea of Trees - the First Memory retrieval,   seems to suggest Corvo really is living the life of a crow, but the fighters who impede his path, against a backdrop of Aboream poisons, nasalegic anti nostalgia, and other fright, are the scalar version of Dark Souls behemoths - though their inspiration runs the range from Mortal Kombat or TNMT or Star Wars (though these references are veiled- largely combat styles drawn from pop cultural)

Maybe these memories, this bizarre and eclectic, will help to answer the question of what makes Corvo what they are:  it’s something gained from many sources, a black that’s past brown in its inclusivity

The game plays well- it has successfully improved on the customizable Dark Souls skill sets, but they’re unremarkable differences:  basically the same dodge and slash mechanics, but with  few improvements derived from being a birdman,  like the ability to Claw,  a slashing special, or throw feathers which stun restricting Criticals

And it takes a bit of getting used to:  getting the special attacks in the right order isn’t easy, even during the tutorial, as using feathers and claw to get past obstinately placed guards is the whole challenge of the Game

The game engine is rooted in a speed mechanic, and to play skillfully one must adapt strategies, using the specials and discarding or adapting the skill points to create competitive builds

While it might seem, allocating all the points progressively is the only solution, instead, choosing different combinations seems a better strategy.  It’s a Pick Your Poison kind of tactic

The game’s moody pensive tone and similarity to Dark Souls is either a draw for Dark Soul fans, - it uses beacons instead of campfires, and otherwise, many of the mechanics are unchanged.  And pits players who lack experienced against DSveterancy,  

The trick of it is,  managing the camera angles and combat simultaneously,  to avoid slashing needlessly in the air at a target that isn’t there

The skilled aspect of combat and boss fights and drear plain background make it compelling, though as with any violent hack n slash, there’s no clue what we are really involved in, the game keeps players intrigued, maybe we will reconstruct Corvo’s lost memories, and find what meaning they held

[lavi1avi]

Going have this be one of a few posts I make about Demon's Souls, Soul Series, and Other Stuff related that I wanted to make a post about. This post mainly talking about what I think was the draw of Demon's Souls for me, and what eventually made me stop caring for the soul's series.

I think the obsession of future souls games to focus more on combat was a massive misstep that fromsoft doesn't want to take back. The combat in DeS was simple, slow, and did it's job well enough for a hack n slash dungeon crawler.

Slow is said here in positive sense. To me it being slow makes it easier for me to play since I can more easily understand what's going on. As I'm getting older I feel that my taste in action games are veering away from high octane quick reflexes type deals.

The main focus of the game isn't to master the combat system, the real focus is trying to navigate and outsmart a world that is actively hostile to you. The simple combat is just one of your main tools to do so. Every level and boss had gimmicks to throw at you to see if you can figure it out.

These gimmicks are what made the game so memorable to me. I can still remember almost every boss, their name, how they fight, how to beat them. False King Allant being the only enemy in any of the souls games that can level you down will live rent free in my head. As well as his massive charge magic attack that takes up 90% of the arena. Seeing Storm King emerge from the clouds and wondering how you can fight against it. Only to come across Storm Ruler in the boss arena which you use to rend the boss out of the sky. Using the Cat's Ring in order to more easily sneak by the Old Hero. Figuring out the Adjudicator isn't the big yellow meat cleaver wielding blob, but the golden crow perched on it's head. Everything about Maiden Astraea and Garl Vinland. The Old Monk making use of the multiplayer aspect of the game to summon another player to be your boss fight. The True Final Boss being a sad mutated blob of a man that can barely fight back.

And I feel that's why I ended up becoming so disillusioned with the souls series as it went on. The more it went it, the gimmicks just went away. Getting replaced with more straight forward and faster combat. Everyone oohs and aahs as their character rolls in the mud 10 times in a row to avoid a regular enemy or boss that does 10 billion hit combos back to back. To the point that I can't even touch Dark Souls 3 without being falling into a malaise, and seeing Elden Ring finally made me realize I was left behind.