#the filigree on the robes was such a pain but at the same time such a fun challenge

[amouress16]

Wonderland Reverie

[lindsaystravelblogs1]

Day 9, Saturday, 24 December

***** Christmas Eve – Happy Christmas everyone! *****

The Lemaire Channel was truly spectacular last night.  Not everyone stayed up for it, but I guess about half the passengers were up and watching our passage down the Channel.  Heather went to bed but left the curtains wide open so she could see most of it from the starboard side and when the ship turned and retraced its route, she saw what was previously on the port side.  I was very tired but I stayed up and went up to the Observation Deck and watched.  It was bitterly cold outside on the deck, so I went in and out many times, alternating cold and comfort and taking lots of photos.

Lemaire Channel at midnight.  Approaching the narrows beyond which we hung a U-turn and retraced our route.

The landscape was so dramatic, higher and steeper mountains than we have seen before (and that says a lot!) with mountains of snow everywhere.  There was a lot of ice, from brash to hundred metre long icebergs and because of the hour, the light was fascinating.  At midnight, it was still light enough to photograph, but everything was a little surreal in the semi-gloom.  Despite my fatigue, I was glad I stayed up because the mountains and the ice were quite majestic and seeing it all around midnight was really something very special.

We were allowed to sleep a bit later in the morning, but we were actually up earlier than usual for some reason. We did a few puzzles in bed and then got up and went down for breakfast.

We had another ‘continental’ landing during the morning, likely our last for the trip because the rest are likely to be on islands rather than mainland Antarctica.  Heather stayed on the zodiac when I went ashore and she went on a cruise while I climbed and walked the long loop track they had prepared for us.  I say ‘prepared’ but it was really just setting up some flags to show people the route and in the course of doing that, some of the ice along the track was compacted a bit.  The more people who walked the loop (or various diversions from it) the more compacted and defined the path became, but it was still pretty hard going and I was often knee- or thigh-deep in crackling snow, even when relying on my hiking stick to keep me upright and on the safe path.

I went back to where more of our zodiacs were landing and I climbed aboard one with a few others and we went on a long zodiac cruise.  We went a long way up Fournier Bay to where there were some amazing icebergs – they were really high and one in particular was like a cathedral with entrances and columns and all sorts of filigreed ornamentation, much of it in many shades of blue.  We saw a few seals, some birds and lots of penguins (all of which were also birds) – both Gentoos, but mainly Chinstraps.  It was pretty cold out there and the weather was deteriorating after a reasonably comfortable sunny morning so we went back to the ship to warm up.

Ice cathedral - front and back of the iceberg.

Warming up was great, but then they called anyone who wanted to do the Polar Plunge to come down and freeze to death.  We put on our plunging bathers and a robe (one each really!) and went down to the staging area where we had to stand around for a while until all the idiot plungers were there and they could start their absurd safety briefing.  We all had to stand on the freezing aluminium floor that hurt my feet because it was coated with sharp non-slip material, giving it a very rough surface.  It was very painful, but the cold was worse, with our feet and ankles almost freezing as the cold crept up our legs – or, more technically, our body warmth was sucked into the floor.

Heather and I plunged together and for some reason, it seemed more bitter than when we did it in the Arctic.  (They said the thermometer read 4 degrees, but they also said they had used it elsewhere and were sure that it was faulty.  They think it was probably about 1 degree, the same as for our Arctic plunge.)  At least, we can now say we have plunged at both ends of the earth – sort of pole to pole. Jumping into the water was not hard, but there is this all-over clamp that seems to grab you the moment you submerge, and you then have to swim to the pontoon and climb out into the frigid air. There are two guys to help you but I couldn’t hoick myself up far enough to grab their hands for a while and I knew Heather was desperate to get out behind me too so there was a frantic minute until I could haul on one of the ropes to get out.  Heather also had trouble and hurt her ribs quite badly on the edge of the pontoon before reaching safe ground.  We were wrapped in big towels as we left the pontoon and were given a generous shot of vodka on our way back to the ship proper.

We then raced back to our cabin and took long hot showers before going down to lunch.

Late in the afternoon, we made another landing at Hydrega Rocks.  (Hydrega is the Latin/scientific name for Leopard Seal – a creature that has never been seen there according to our Expedition Leader.)  Heather decided to stay on board, but I decided to brave it and went out again.  We had a bit of light rain earlier in the afternoon but that had stopped during lunch although it was still a bit windy and the sea was quite choppy.  Alas, as soon as we got into the zodiacs, everything changed.  Almost instantly, there was sleet and snow, and a lot of it too.  The snow was much heavier than anything I had seen before although, admittedly, I don’t have a lot of experience to compare it with.  I probably looked like the Abdominal Snowman (or his cousin) by the time our long zodiac ride to the shore was completed. Maybe practising for a Santa audition, covered in snow that soon turned to ice.  Despite the appalling conditions, it was an interesting excursion. It was basically a short trek across the island with Chinstrap Penguins all around us.  They were mainly on the surrounding rocks while we trudged along a snow path between the ridges.  They are very cute birds and probably my favourite penguins.  There were also numerous blue-eyed Antarctic Shags, Brown Skuas and Kelp Gulls that we hadn’t seen since Ushuaia.  But the birds that fascinated me most were the Snowy Sheathbills. There were lots of them around, not at all afraid of us, looking like overgrown white chooks, flying around or scratching out holes in the snow, or just sitting on the rocks watching us watching them.

On the other side of the island, there was a long inlet and we saw a few seals swimming around or just wallowing in the shallow water.  This one simply looked too smug for words in my opinion - so here is a thousand of them.

The conditions were really miserable and I was getting quite wet from the snow so I took a few photos and trekked back across the island to the zodiacs and returned to the ship where I hung everything out to dry and tried to dry off my camera and binoculars.  Amazingly, everything seemed to dry overnight and hopefully no damage has been done – except for me (more on that tomorrow).

Once I changed into warm dry clothes (I changed back into a person later that day!), we went up to the bar for cocktails and nibbles before a very brief briefing and dinner.  It was supposed to be a barbecue out on deck, but with the bitter wind howling and the rain lashing down, that got cancelled and we had a ‘pretend barbecue’ – a more or less normal meal in the dining area.  After dinner, we returned to the bar where a bunch of crew members were distributing gluhwein and singing seriously offkey Christmas carols.  We didn’t stay long and retired to bed to read until we fell asleep, exhausted but well satisfied with our day.

[haziebat]

Moving Mountains | Ch. 1 | Skyrim x Fem!Reader

[Interactive | Readers Vote]

Word count: 2,700

Content Warning: Depictions of violence

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You find yourself in the courtyard of a palace made of smooth gray stone. Its spires graze the twinkling stars emerging in the green-tinted sky. To either side of you are aged trees. Their gnarled, leafless branches reach toward the twilit heavens. Their roots dig into lush grass that creeps into the stonework of the walkway.

You can't place the scene, but it's stained with an uneasy familiarity. Your feet recognize the stairs beneath them as you begin your climb to the palace doors. They are a stately pair - tall, with ornate filigree designs, standing in proud opposition to each other.

You reach out and take hold of a sturdy handle. It's cold to the touch - a sensation so vivid it could burn your palm.

With an uneven breath, you pull. 

───── ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─────

White light sears your bleary eyes.

Groaning, you pinch them shut. The glow taunts you through your eyelids. It flickers in spots, giving you the image of sunspots shining through a verdant canopy. Leaves dance in a cool breeze. Goosebumps prickle your bare skin.

Your head aches as you're jostled. A throbbing pain resonates through your muscles. Wheels click on a cobblestone road. You're certain you're on a carriage, and almost as certain that one ran you over.

This isn't right.

You force your eyes open.

They're flooded with harsh morning sun. 

Blinking away the discomfort, you begin to take in your surroundings.

You are on a cart, just as you suspected, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Behind them are towering evergreens. Birds sing among the needles. A light frost clings to the branches. Stray snowflakes meander through the air. On the road before you are more carriages with strangers clad in identical armor sitting in the backs. Carts slip off around the bend toward a destination unknown.

Unknown.

There are a lot of unknowns right now.

How you got here, for example.

You go to search the dustiest corners of your memory just to find that there are no corners to search. No dust has settled because there's nothing for it to cling to. Every stretch of your mind comes up blank. Where you were before and where you're headed... Nothing.

All that's left are the clouded memories of a dream.

Your stomach twists into a knot.

You need to focus on the things you know - on certainties.

First order of business: do you know your name?

(Y,,,,N)?

(Y/N)?

Sure.

Sounds good enough.

You're more confident about that than anything else right now.

Your name is (Y/N) and you're somewhere you don't know, on a carriage headed somewhere you don't know, surrounded by people you also don't know. The strangers share a grim expression that only makes your sinking feeling grow deeper.

You move to rub your temples and massage away the headache and racing thoughts.

Your hand is caught.

Your heart goes still.

You look down to find your wrists bound with an intricately wrapped leather strip. It digs into your flesh with each tug against it.

No.

No, no, no.

This isn't happening.

Panic threatens to seize you. It festers in your gut. Your breathing is uneven.

You look to the man across from you. He looks to be in his late twenties, with wavy blond locks falling to a square, bearded jaw. His eyes are round and prominent, a striking blue and steadfast. He's clad in armor made of supple brown leather with a muted blue sash displaying the emblem of a bear, same as most of the others.

"Where are we?" You croak out. Your throat is dry, but your voice is familiar. It's a small shred of comfort.

"You're in Skyrim, lass." He replies. He bears an accent that marks him as a Nord - a term you recognize.

"Skyrim." You repeat. Another word you know.

You're relieved you still seem to hold some functional knowledge of the world. You're in Skyrim, the snowy, northernmost province of Tamriel. It's a land of harsh frost and cruel beasts, with hardy people and hearty mead. These are all facts - little things that make such a surreal moment feel more concrete. And yet none of these details paint you a portrait of yourself. Frustration seeps in alongside anxiety.

"You were wandering near the border." The stranger explains. "Lost, confused, naked... Seems like you have a few more of your faculties back now, eh?"

You glance down at yourself. Whoever captured you had the decency to dress you, if that's what you want to call it. You're clad in rough burlap rags with dirt clinging to the fraying fibers.

"Well, I'm clothed. That's something." You reply.

"Good. Still got your sense of humor. You're going to need that." The man says.

His words unsettle you.

"How'd I wind up a captive?" You ask, tugging again at your binds. You're aware of the futility but there's little else for you to do.

"You got tangled up in the fight when the Imperials ambushed us. Couldn't get out a damn sentence but you took down two men. Can't say I've ever seen anything like it." The Nord's voice holds a hint of humor. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Same as that thief over there."

"Damn you Stormcloaks." The thief spits. Your attention is drawn to him. He has a lean frame and gaunt face with grime coating his skin. Greasy brown hair frames wild eyes better suited for a caged animal. "Everything was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

"Stormcloaks?" You inquire. It's the one word that escapes your recognition

"You really are in a state, aren't you?" The blond man replies with a crinkle of his brow. "I was sure everyone had gotten wind of our rebellion."

"Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna be the best gauge of that one." You say with a trace of a smirk.

"Shut up back there!" The driver barks.

A tense silence settles over the cart.

It's broken by the thief, who asks in a hushed tone, "What's wrong with him, huh?"

You follow his eyes to the man in question. They're locked on the Nord to your right. He's an imposing man with a mane of wild, deep blond hair pulled back from his face. It's adorned with braids, fastened with carved beads and leather knots. He has steely eyes beneath a stern brow. His nose is prominent and slightly crooked, giving the impression he's had it broken a time or two before. He wears fine robes adorned with chainmail - attire that indicates both his wealth and his status as a warrior. A gag is tied around his mouth.

"Watch your tongue." The Nord in front of you commands. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" The Thief nearly chokes on the words. "You're the leader of the rebellion... If they've captured you... Oh, Gods... Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

Sovngarde, a Nord's afterlife,

If what he says is true - if you're headed to your death - where is your soul headed? Will you be granted an afterlife, or be met with an abrupt nothingness? Or will your lost and confused spirit be bound to mundus, cursed to wander for an eternity?

Plenty of options, and very few appealing ones.

"No! This can't be happening! This isn't happening!" The thief's voice wavers. His eyes dart about the carriage, cycling restlessly from face to face. He seems to be looking for an out you could assure him doesn't exist. His desperation is palpable.

Your heart is fluttering. Your palms begin to sweat. You don't know what life you led until this point but you can't begin to piece together how it led you here. Is this what you deserve?

It's impossible to say where you've been, or where you're headed. You can't even tell how long you've been in Tamriel. Your exact age is as murky as everything else. You can ascertain "adult" but how much of an adult is unclear. You feel as if you've been around for a while though the more you settle into your skin you feel that your body is still comparatively young.

You bring your eyes up along your bare arms and take in the pale scars dotting them.

Your skin tells stories with ghosts of burns, cuts and gashes. Though the details are lost you can make out the meat of them: no matter how long your body has been around, it has been through a lot. You seem to have a knack for getting into trouble, or a history of dangerous work.

The Nord in front of you speaks up, pulling you from your thoughts. 

"Hey... What village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" The thief snaps.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief hesitates. His face contorts before softening, with thin lips curled into a frown. "Rorikstead... I'm... I'm from Rorikstead..."

"What about you?" The blond man asks.

You pause to think on the question.

Yet you keep coming up blank.

You were found wandering at the border? Which one? Southern makes the most sense - this area doesn't share the lush, mountainous terrain of High Rock. It closer resembles the Jerall mountains, with steep hills and muted greens. You could be from Cyrodiil, but something in your bones insists this answer is unsatisfactory.

Sitting on the question too long you stammer out, "I uh... I have no fucking clue."

He laughs - a genuine chuckle with a glimmering smile. "Good an answer as any. I suppose it won't make much of a difference soon."

The carriage rounds a corner and a small village comes into view. It's surrounded by a sturdy stone wall with a broad wooden gate shielding the houses from the road. A figure on the covered walkway above calls out to the man leading the caravan, "General Tullius, Sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good." A gruff voice barks. "Let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh... Divines, please help me!" The thief pleads with closed eyes, head slumped and shoulders shuddering.

Entering the gates, you pass the man who led the string of carriages. He seems to be in his fifties, with cropped gray hair, though his toned arms tell you he's still in good shape. His face is austere with near-black eyes boring holes into the Altmer across from him. The golden skinned elves wear dark robes and gold armor.

"Look at him," the Blond man growls, "General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves."

"Thalmor." You barely recognize the word on your tongue. You're unsure what it means. The most closely related term you can conjure is "laughing stock".

"What's their deal?" You ask.

His brow furrows. "I don't know what happened to you but whatever it was, it really did a number on you, eh lass? The Thalmor are with the Aldmeri Dominion, here to 'unify Tamriel'. Serves better to rip her apart."

Okay that sounds like... New information.

You close your eyes and take a deep, steady breath.

This, you have decided, is all bullshit.

You struggle to keep your attention outwards, away from these prying thoughts.

"This is Helgen," The Nord continues. His expression grows heavier with each turn of the wheels. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here... Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in."

Juniper berries. Piney, with a hint of a peppery bite. 

This trivia is useless.

Above you looms a tower. A flag at its top proudly flies the symbol of the Empire - that dragon that rings so familiar. You know it well, but you do not feel loyalty. It is simply an icon of a frail nation.

"Funny... When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." The Nord sighs.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" A young boy chirps above the murmur of the townsfolk. The people have gathered in the streets and on their porches to watch.

"You need to go inside the house, little cub." His father replies.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

"Yes, Papa."

You wonder for a moment - who were your parents? Are they worth remembering? You wait for a melancholy pang and are met with apathy. This, somehow, feels worse. You try and focus on the present - it's the most you have right now.

The carriage draws to a halt in the town square, in the shadows of the ominous stone towers. In the clearing the headsman stands by his block. His axe gleams in the sunlight, drawing your eye back no matter how you try and avoid it. Beside him is a priestess wearing golden robes and a solemn face. She's likely a follower of Arkay, here to give you a proper sendoff to the grave.

You're not sure how much stock you put in the Divines.

At the moment, you'd say not much.

"Why are we stopping?" Beads of sweat begin to trickle down the thief's forehead, leaving trails of fair skin behind. It reveals his flushed cheeks and betrays his terror even further.

"Why do you think? End of the line." The blond man gets to his feet. He's tall with broad shoulders - the quintessential Nord. Looking past him at the others, you'd say he's right at home in this crowd. It seems to be a requirement for a position as a Stormcloak. How the Imperials threw you in among them is beyond you. You're pretty sure you put even less stock in the Legion than the Gods.

You get to your feet on rickety legs and follow the men off the cart. On the ground, you can hardly see past the group.

In the gaps between heads and shoulders you see what looks to be an Imperial Captain in heavy steel armor standing beside a leather clad soldier with auburn hair and an uncertain look. In his hand is a thick tome.

"Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time." The Captain's voice holds no remorse. If you aren't mistaken, it seems to be dripping pride. Your lip curls at the sound.

"Empire loves their damn lists." The blond man says in a hushed tone.

The Imperial soldier begins to read from the pages in front of him. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

Ulfric remains silent as he joins the crowd congregating by the headsman's block. He walks with his head held high. He must know he'll die a martyr. If he's a true leader, his fight should last long after him, whether or not it's in the right.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The soldier reads.

The blond man gives you a nod and heads towards his fate. A strange loneliness sets in. For the first time since waking you don't have a companion - or at the very least a voice other than yours to drown out your thoughts. To talk over the terror creeping up your spine.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief's eyes are that of a cornered beast. Frenzied, he looks to the block, then back to the Captain. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

Before she can reply, he runs. His legs carry him toward the gate at an uneven pace. They look as if they'll give out beneath him. "You're not gonna kill me!"

"Halt!" The Captain's shout echoes off the buildings surrounding you. Her demand falls on deaf ears. "Archers!"

There is the pluck of bowstrings in near-unison. Lokir cries out as arrows bury themselves in his back. He collapses to the ground, blood running down his side and staining his burlap rags. He wails one final time as his arms give out beneath him.

He falls limp on the cobblestone.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Captain asks.

She's met with silence.

The auburn haired soldier's eyes wander to the book, then back to you. "Who are you?"

───── ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─────

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

Q U E S T I O N S

╰━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╯

1.) What race are you?

✶ Argonian

✶ Breton

✶ Dark Elf

✶ High Elf

✶ Imperial

✶ Khajiit

✶ Nord

✶ Orc

✶ Redguard

✶ Wood Elf

2.) Any last words when you're at the headsman's block?

✶ "I'm not a rebel!"

✶ "Your grip on that axe is sloppy. You sure you've done this before?"

✶ "Fuck you."

✶ Nothing. I'm going out with whatever dignity I have.

✶ Nothing. But I spit on the executioner.

POLL CLOSES: 01/31/2021

[thefugitivemango]

A letter arrives to Bey’ron, postmarked from Pandaria of all places. There are grummle-prints all over the envelope, which at one point was probably in great condition! “I’m sorry that I left. I felt trapped — by my armor, by the politics, by the... visions... I left to the only place I know to clear my head and my soul. I really did love you... I still do. I will never forget Midsummer, years ago. I hope someday you can forgive me.”

[[ Interestingly enough, I have a response to this prompt ready, co-written in part by @kidcatgemini. We were going to post it later on separately on its own, but with some amending, it felt proper to post it up in response to this! ]]

~*~

Night finally fell over Eversong. With the day concluded, Bey’ron shed his formal attire, causing his mantle to levitate up from his shoulders. He disrobed, slipping instead into a more comfortable evening lounger robe; These little comforts had become borderline necessities to him, over the years. After going without such things most of his life, they reinforced the progress he’d made in his life. Tonight’s robes were white-- unusual for him. Yet the golden flame-patterned filigree around the seams and deep red streaks at the collar and cuffs felt on-brand enough for him. He had already slipped it on and tied it closed, before he realized where he’d gotten in. A Midsummer gift… from Ina’thia. 

He stood in silence a moment, eyeing the robe in the full-length mirror that stood tall and proud beside his eveningwear shrank. He hated this. He hated ALL of this. It was one thing to have something taken from you - everything else could be replaced. But not her. The void she left behind wasn’t just a vacancy. It was a cold-yet-burning tightness in his chest. He should’ve known better than to let anyone close like that again. He’d hoped Ina’thia would be different. A stronger, deeper bond that could withstand the test of time. The foibles of refamiliarizing himself with the notion of a relationship. The hardships of disagreements and conflicting interests. 

He was wrong.

A part of him wanted to rip the robe off. Burn it. But at the same time, he wouldn’t dare. It was one of the few things he had left of her. And for as much pain as he felt now… they’d had some good times. The robe was a gift from last year’s festival. She’d picked it out for him, after learning he collected them. It made for a fine addition to his nightwear collection, he had to agree. The year before that, their relationship was only just beginning. At least, the positive turn of their relationship was. He remembered the conversation well. Of nobility. Of doing what was right for Quel’Thalas. He’d found such common values in her he’d never stopped to consider before. It was then, and events like that, which painted the stern and impatient Knight-Lord in a new light for him. The start of something greater.

He snapped back, shaking himself free from the memories. They provided only so much comfort. The more he thought about them, the more it hurt when he finally stopped. He settled on wearing the robe all the same, stepping away from the mirror as he approached his bookshelf. He needed something to read to distract him from his own thoughts, tonight. But the opportunity to even select a distraction was robbed of him, as a knock came at his front door. So late! Who would dare disturb him at this hour!? He considered sending the felstalkers to deal with whatever intruder was present… but thought better of it. 

Instead, he waved his hand to trace a runic sigil in the air. It lingered, fel-green magic forming a window. A viewfinder. At the same time, fel green eye materialized from a portal down at his front door. It darted about, settling on a figure for a moment-- before it burst in a small controlled arcane 'pop'! He recognized the tall, slender figure. A Nightborne. Aelissah. A portal opened in place of the eyeball, leading into the upper rooms of the Manor, where Bey'ron sat waiting.

The Nightborne stepped through and pulled back her hood to expose her dark skin, ears and glowing arcane markings. Her white eyes set on the Magister, making no commentary on his attire. It was late after all. The portal closed behind her promptly.

“I regret to be bothering you at this hour, Lord Everblaze.” Aelissah said, tone even.

“Nonsense, Miss Ambroise.” the Magister replied, returning the gaze. “You bring news?”

The Nightborne’s brows knit together, her gaze meeting his as she delivered the report. Straight to the point; she figured he wouldn’t appreciate hesitation. She extended her hand, holding out a small, well-worn envelope very familiar to Bey’ron.

“I traced the letter through Pandaria, as you ordered. There’s a good chance it was written before N’Zoth’s fall. And considering how hard the Old God corruption made it to fully trace back to origin… I’d say that’s likely the case.” she frowned, almost apologetically. “However, I did manage to get my hands on the list of casualties, and can confirm that her name does not appear on them.”

“... Hm.”

Bey’ron’s initial response was a little underwhelming. Even for him. He took the envelope, and eyed it pensively. With a sigh, he tapped his chin with his bare, calloused hand, for a contemplative moment. His expression was unreadable, aside from his eyes glowing just a bit duller.

“... Damn her.” he muttered, turning from Aelissah.

He went straight for the wetbar just along the left-hand wall, and set the letter down before pouring himself a drink. His hands shook, glass decanter clinking against the cup he slowly filled. Slowly, his facade fell apart.

“She’s… a fool. A fool!” he scoffed. “Running off amidst such chaos? Away from the safety and security of this place? This manor, in which I so graciously accommodated her?”

He wore a scowl as he turned back to Aelissah, eyes flaring now in anger… or grief. Both, perhaps. He shook his head.

“That list… is it complete? You’re certain of it?” he asked. “Or is it just a list of confirmed dead? Because if she’s gotten herself killed out there, and no one’s found her, she… she wouldn’t…”

He huffed in frustration-- before throwing his glass across the room! It crashed into a bookcase, shattering into half a dozen pieces. Felflames danced along his hands, now clenched in fists, as he stared aimlessly. He was upset, certainly. Shaken by the news.

Aelissah’s ears flickered as the glass shattered, but otherwise remained unaffected by Bey’ron’s outburst. 

“The list was last updated two days ago. The count was taken from The Vale of Eternal Blossom, Uldum and Ny'alotha.” she answered… a brief hesitation befalling her before continuing. “...To be frank, it does not include those swallowed up whole by Void tears. I believe the Alliance has the Ren’dorei looking into that. However, Dawnblade’s name was not on the list of registered combatants. It is possible she made her way straight through to another part of Pandaria, but there are no leads to go on in terms of actually finding her.”

Bey’ron slumped down into his chaise, hunched over as he listened. Ears wilted in grief, yet flickering to indicate he was paying attention. He buried his face into his palm.

“So one way or another… you’re telling me she’s gone.” he scoffed, frustration well-evident in his tone. “There’s nothing else? No possible leads? No matter how small, she just… vanished? How many people have you questioned about her? Anyone? How--”

He clenched a fist… then relaxed it. A sigh of resignation escaped his lips as he slowly shook his head. He leaned back, brushing loose strands of hair from his face as he stared off at the far wall. He was never a very expressive elf, generally hiding his true emotions behind that nigh-sinister smirk of his. But now, he wore no such mask. He looked… weary. Broken. Hopeless.

“... How could she do this to me…?” he mumbled, rhetorically. “She wanted for nothing here, but left anyway. Are void-ravaged warfronts truly so preferable to my hospitality? To me?”

His eyes, now dull once more, flickered to Aelissah. He sighed.

“You met her, once. Once I know of, in any case. Do you recall?” he asked. “What do you remember of her?”

“I remember her being confident and decisive.Good at giving orders and getting others to follow her lead,” she said, “but not much beyond that. I was mostly concentrating on approaching my target unseen, then trying to unimpale myself from a tree before someone decided to use Light magic in the Void filled area.”

She shook her head.

“I did not get to know her on a personal level, so I cannot tell if her current decisions and actions match her personality or not.”

The Magister waved his hand, dismissively-- almost sorry he asked. He shook his head, as he exhaled a sigh.

"I'm not asking if you think this is in character for her. I already know it is." he said, sinking down into the chaise. "She's a dragonhawk, Miss Ambroise. Gorgeous, cunning… dangerous if you don't approach her the right way. So tenacious… so elegant…"

He let out another lamenting sigh of resignation, covering his face once more with his hand. 

"... I was the foolish one, for thinking any cage, no matter how grand, would be suitable for such a free and indomitable spirit. Of course she'd leave!”

He reached out towards the table beside his chaise lounge for his glass-- only to then remember he’d thrown it across the room. Another sigh. 

“And now… she's gone." he muttered to himself.

He stood up once more, and returned to the wetbar. He took up the decanter once more, but… then simply set it down again. His palms pressed to the bar’s edge, as he stared at the worn grummle-printed envelope in a moment of silence.

“... That will be all, Miss Ambroise.”

He didn’t look to see her leave. He wasn’t even sure if she’d left before he ordered it. It didn’t matter. Instead he plucked the envelope up once more, and withdrew the letter inside. His eyes flickered over the words, as if to commit each quillstroke to memory.

He’d find no distraction tonight.

[[ Co-written with @kidcatgemini / @aelissah belongs to her. @inathia for mention. ]]

[daedriclorde]

A Thief in Wolf’s Clothing, Part III; Chapter 10, “I Would Stand At Your Back”

The Finale

Summary: Kjolti returns to Jorrvaskr from the Tomb of Ysgramor, cleansed of her beast blood. She is ready to move forward as The Dragonborn, to face The Greybeards.

But first, she must face Farkas, and her feelings.

Wow, my goodness. It's done.

When I had this idea while bored at work a year and a half ago, I thought I could tell this story in like, 7 chapters.

25 chapters split into 3 parts and 48,000 words later, here we are.

I hope that you've enjoyed this leg of Aerisif's journey! It has been a painful chapter of her life, to be sure, but her story doesn't end here. 

I am taking a hiatus from writing fic for a while. I’ll be reorganizing the content I have here, so that all of Aerisif’s story is easy to find and read. I’ll be focusing on art for a bit, so expect some more art for Aerisif!

I would love to hear what you’d like to read next for Aerisif! Let me know, I’m so far from done writing for her.

Read it here on Ao3

Chapter 10, “I Would Stand At Your Back”

Aerisif sat on the roof of the temple, motionless in the night. Whiterun had long since gone to bed, and even Heimskr had stopped his crowing to get some rest. A gentle breeze pushed in from the plains.

Jorrvaskr loomed in front of her, stoic as ever. The task ahead of her seemed just as immoveable, just as daunting as the mead hall before her.

Aerisif wasn’t sure if her placid mood was due to indifference, or the relaxed nature of her clean blood. Since forgoing her beast blood, she had been feeling surprising serenity. Whereas before she was subject to the urges of the blood, Aerisif was now driven by a calm acceptance of her fate, of what she had to do.

But accepting it in the tomb of Ysgramor, and facing it here in the flesh were two different things.

Aerisif shifted, a shadow on a dark night. She had stowed away her loud steel armor. For her purposes, she needed to be able to move quietly. Aerisif had considered putting on her Nightingale armor. But even just holding it in her hands brought her too much pain,  and instead she donned simple blue robes. To a casual observer, she would just be a citizen of Whiterun. Not a Companion. Not a Thane. Certainly not the Dragonborn. 

She slipped off the roof silently, making little more than a soft thud as she hit the ground. Aerisif slid around the torchlight, remaining safely tucked in the shadows. She found the small window that was near the stairwell inside the mead hall, and tenuously worked it open. It hadn’t been opened in decades, probably, but luckily it moved without a sound. Perhaps I still have some luck after all. 

Jorrvaskr was asleep. None remained in the hall at this hour, even Tilma had gone to bed. The great fire in the middle of the hall was reduced to glowing embers. It was closer to dawn than dusk, and Aerisif knew she only had a little time before the sun would start to break over the horizon and Jorrvaskr’s warriors would awaken.

Aerisif’s footfalls made little sound as she crept down the stairs. The doors to the living quarters swung open and shut with minimal noise. A half-full tankard sat abandoned on a hall table. Aerisif gave half a smile, recalling her first visit to Jorrvaskr. She raised the tankard to her lips and drank it down, to the memory.

She arrived at her room. Aerisif undid the trap on the door, which she had placed there many moons ago. Her bed looked soft and inviting, but she resisted the temptation. She had to be out of the city by dawn. Instead, she grabbed the ornate tankard that she had been given by Farkas. She quietly searched her room for a scrap of parchment, and finding it, wrote four short words down, folded it up, and dropped it within the tankard.

Aerisif padded silently down the hall further. She paused at a corner, listening for any signs of life. Both Vilkas and Farkas were snoring audibly. Aerisif crept to Farkas’s door and let herself in, quickly shutting the door behind her. 

Despite the darkness, Aerisif quickly made out the shapes of Farkas’s room. His prized greatsword leaned against the wall near the bed. Beside it rested her own greatsword. She could see that Farkas had cleaned, sharpened, and oiled the blade. She gave a sad smile at the sight. His armor, meticulously cleaned and cared for, sat nearby. Farkas didn’t keep much, but the things he did were important to him. Aerisif gently placed the ornate tankard on his shelf amongst some other items of his. She hoped it wouldn’t stand out too much. Aerisif traced the fine filigree designs with her finger, recalling the day Farkas pushed it into her hands with pride. The memory brought another pained smile to her lips. Sighing, she bolstered herself for what she had to do.

She whispered. “Farkas.”

The sleeping form shifted and the snoring stopped. It didn’t take much to wake him; his beast blood prevented a sound sleep.

Farkas’s soft brown eyes blinked wide as they focused. He opened his mouth, but Aerisif quickly shushed him, putting a finger to her lips. 

“You came back,” he whispered. Farkas sniffed as he sat up. “And you cured yourself.”

“I,” Aerisif struggled with the words. ”I had to. You saw what I became.” She paused. “I’m leaving. I won’t be coming back.”

“What? Why?” Farkas’s confusion was plain on his face, mingled with sleepiness. “Stay,” he begged. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t, Farkas.”

“Why not?”

“I have to leave, Farkas. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?”

“And only to you.”

Farkas’s face softened.

Aerisif hesitated. “I need to apologize to you.”

“What for?”

Her silver eyes were heavy with sadness. “For not being anything near what you deserve. For keeping so many secrets from you when you were so open with me.”

Farkas scratched his head. “Hey, now, I wasn’t so honest with you. I have my secrets.”

“I know, Farkas.”

“You know what?”

“I know. I know how you feel about me.”

His face flushed. “You do?”

She nodded.

“Is that why you’re leaving?” It was nearly imperceptible, but Aerisif thought she saw his lips tremble.

“No, it’s not.”

“But you’re still leaving.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t feel the same way, do you?”

Kjolti looked away. “It’s more complicated than that, Farkas.”

His heart sank. “Then explain it to me.”

Kjolti ran her fingers through her hair. “May I sit down?”

He motioned next to him on the bed. Farkas’s ears flushed at the sight of Kjolti sitting on his bed, and he was grateful for the darkness.

“I want you to know,” her voice began to quiver, “that my time here, my time with you, is precious to me. I came here initially for training, to be physically able to fight a dragon, but I stayed longer than I needed to. I stayed because Jorrvaskr became home, and the Companions became my family. But I can’t hide from my responsibility forever. I have to go.”

“Kjolti?”

“Farkas?”

“Do you love me?” His voice was as fragile as a baby bird.

Kjolti sniffed. “I was supposed to be executed at Helgen. Then Alduin attacked. And I should have died then. I didn’t, my body didn’t, because I have to kill him. Because someone, something, else decided that’s my destiny. But me, my soul, died there. I died in Helgen. I’m empty, Farkas. I’m a shell. I don’t love. I have nothing to give.” Farkas broke when he saw tears in her eyes.

She sniffed again. “If my life had been different, maybe—“ He silenced her with a finger to her lips. The contact surprised her. With gentle hands, Farkas cupped her face.

“I’m coming with you,” He whispered.

“No,” Kjolti’s voice was stern. “I need you here.”

“I’m coming with. I can help. I can protect you.”

“No! Listen to me. I could die,” she started.

“Which is exactly why I should join you.” He tenderly brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face.

“I need to know you’re here, protecting Whiterun. With the Companions. I can’t be everywhere at once. I need to know I’m leaving the city in good hands. Please.”

His eyes were welling with tears. “Don’t go,” he pleaded.

Tears dampened Kjolti’s face too. Farkas reached out and wiped away a tear falling from Kjolti’s silver moons. “I have to go. Promise me you’ll stay, Farkas. Promise me you won’t come tearing across Skyrim after me. Promise me.”

“Why should I?”

Kjolti sniffed. Then in a soft whisper, she murmured:

“Because you love me.” 

Another tear fell. He gently wiped it away. 

Farkas nodded and hung his head. “I promise.” His voice broke.

Silence sat between them. 

“Take my sword.”

“What?” Kjolti was taken aback. 

“Take my sword. Let me protect you, even if I can’t be with you.”

“But, didn’t your sword belong to—“

“Yes.”

“And you still want me to have it?”

“I do. Its served me well, let it serve you now.”

Kjolti nodded, tears still welling in her eyes. “Then take my blade. Please.”

Farkas nodded, but said nothing. 

“Are you going to tell everyone?” Kjolti found her voice again after a moment.

“Do you want me to?”

She considered that. “Word will travel soon enough. Once it reaches Jorrvaskr, you can tell everyone you knew all along. But until then, please don’t let anyone know I returned. So, will you keep one last secret for me?”

He grasped her hand and kissed it softly. “I will keep them all, Kjolti.” Kjolti felt an unexpected shiver run down her spine as he did. 

Farkas gathered himself up, and looked her straight in her eyes. Even in the dark, she could see the longing in his soft brown eyes. And mingled with it, a gentle sort of resolve. 

“Kjolti, Kin of Dragons. I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in your stories.” His voice was like being wrapped in a soft blanket on a cold day.

“Farkas—“

“Shh,” he sniffed, fighting his own tears, “I would raise my sword in your honor, ready to meet the blood of your foes.”

“Farkas—“

“Shh. I would defend you till my dying breath.”

They were both crying.

“I would stand at your back, that the world might never overtake us.”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“I love you, Kjolti.”

Kjolti placed her hand on his, still softly grasping her face. Farkas was staring at her intensely, with what she now recognized as passion. It had been there all along, and she hadn’t seen it. She hadn’t been able to. 

Shaking a little herself, Kjolti reached out and took his face and pulled it towards hers. 

Farkas’s heart leapt into his throat and he closed his eyes.

Their lips met, gentle as a breeze on a petal. Kjolti felt something lurch in her gut, and her head got dizzy. It was as if she had suddenly been placed in a boat on turbulent waters, but Farkas’s grasp steadied her, safe and tender. Farkas thought torchbugs were buzzing in his belly and stars danced in his head. He was sure he had never touched anything softer than Kjolti’s lips. They held the kiss for a few seconds before Kjolti pulled away. Farkas gave a little gasp.

Even after she broke off all contact, he kept his eyes shut, savoring every sensation of that moment. When he opened them, Kjolti, and his blade, were gone. 

***

Aerisif breathed in the crisp night air. She had put her foreboding steel armor back on. Farkas’s greatsword was strapped to her back. Somehow, it felt like his touch, always there, always watching her back. It simultaneously felt like a hug and made her stand up taller. She looked like a Thane. She hoped she looked like The Dragonborn.

She pushed through the doors into Dragonsreach, the guards nodding in acknowledgement. A woman with brown hair was pacing the atrium. She halted when Aerisif walked in, and bowed her head in respect. “Honored to see you again, Thane.”

“Lydia,” Aerisif dipped her head in return. “What has you up at this hour?”

“Dreams of dragons, Thane. I’m haunted by them from time to time.”

Aerisif nodded. “I understand.” She straightened. “Follow me. I need your help.”

Lydia nodded stiffly and stood at attention. “I am at your command.”

[dyslexicsquirrel]

Title: Anything

Square filled: Prostitute 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alpha/Omega, Omega Verse, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Prostitute Dean Winchester, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural), Anal Sex, Knotting

Word count: 2235

Created for @spnkinkbingo

What was he doing here? This was a horrible idea. Possibly the worst idea he had ever had and he once helped his older brothers sneak Scotch into Almac’s under the eagle eye of Lady Jersey, the most frightening omega the peerage had ever known.

“Oy, you gettin’ out or what?”

The voice of the hackney driver had him jumping, retrieving his hat and cane from the seat next to him and stepping out into the street. The carriage sped off with a crack of the reigns and he looked up at the brick facade of the building in front of him. Candle light seeped from around the edges of curtains drawn tight to hide the goings on inside.

God Almighty, he already felt his cock getting hard in his beeches and was thankful for the drape of his greatcoat to hide his embarrassing state. He was tempted to walk away, but another part of him, devious and whispering temptation, urged him inside. “You’ll find everything you’ve ever been curious about,” it whispered, echoing his older brother’s words that sent him on this errand in the first place.

“Don’t be a prude,” Gabriel had chastised. “Everyone does it. It’s like a right of passage. Our dear old father is the one who took me to my first whore house,” he added with a lascivious grin, lounging across the settee, popping grapes into his mouth as he spoke. “Don’t tell me you aren’t curious.”

And he was, which was what made it so shameful. It was true that most peers, the alphas at any rate, were encouraged to sow their wild oats before marriage, but Lord Castiel James Shurley had always been odd. He thought for himself, flouted convention, and had been, until recently, convinced he would go to his marriage bed a virgin, same as whichever omega his parents deemed suitable for him.

Ever since his first rut hit last year (a late bloomer, everyone had said, seeing as he had been all of six and twenty), he could think of little else. Not even his plants could keep his interest anymore and his fellows at the Horticultural Society were starting to worry. He spent more time locked away in his room than his greenhouse.

The front door opened suddenly, a thin omega in a red dress that was barely proper bathed in the light which spilled into the street, red curls falling from the pile atop her head to brush her shoulders. She smirked at him. “Why don’t you come in, love? We don’t bite.”

She chuckled at her own joke, and Castiel felt a blush creep up his cheeks. Well, he was caught now. It was either look a fool for loitering outside only to run away with his tail between his legs (And why did it even matter, he asked himself. He wasn’t likely to run into this woman in the street.) or stop being a coward and take what he wanted, what he had been fantasizing about for months—a warm, tight hole squeezing around his prick, an omega mewling beneath him.

It as base and common, but, oh, how he wanted it.

He walked up the steps and through the door.

~

The inside of Madam Ellen’s was as gauche and ostentatious as Castiel feared it would be: velvet, gold leaf, filigree, sconces shaped like male members, frescos of men and women, alphas and omegas, in flagrante on the walls for the foyer. There were also… noises. Ones he hadn’t been able to hear outside, but once past the doors they rang in his ears, moans, grunting, growls echoed by softer purrs. Things Castiel would have said were reserved for marriage beds, but were making him warm beneath his clothes, his cravat feeling too tight.

“Charlie, take the gentleman’s coat, why don’t you? I thought I taught you better manners than that.”

The woman who spoke descended the staircase with a regal air, dressed fine enough for any Ton ballroom in blue satin adorned in peacock feathers. She was older, perhaps his mother’s age, handsome, and an omega. Obviously the proprietress, by the way the redhead who let him in jumped to follow her order, which surprised him. He wouldn’t have thought an omega would run a house of ill repute such as this, but perhaps it made sense. Who else would an omega trust to keep them safe but one of their own?

He relinquished his greatcoat, along with his gloves, hat and cane, fingers fidgeting with the buttons he of his waistcoat. Madame Ellen reaches the bottom step and held out her hand with a smile that was more than a touch predatory. Still, Castiel raised her hand to his lips because he was a gentleman.

“No need to be frightened, dear boy,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow and leading him father into the house.

“I’m not,” he replied automatically and she smiled again as they passed through a doorway into a sitting room filled with numerous couches. Artfully displayed on a number of them, omegas posed for inspection. Castiel stopped in his tracks, eyes widening, arrested by half clothed limbs.

One omega in particular, seated by the fireplace, golden skin gilded by the fire, stole his breath. He was… stunning. Tall and leanly muscled, with green eyes and light brown hair, he wore nothing but a silk dressing gown from what Castiel could discern. The material split over one of his thighs, leaving his legs bare, long and made smooth and hairless by a process he couldn’t even begin to guess at. It fell off one shoulder, to behalf of his chest visible along with a single, pert nipple. A wine glass filled with ruby colored liquid dangled negligently from his fingertips, eyes trained on the flames before him.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Hmm, good choice,” Madame Ellen murmured, too close to his ear, her scent overpowering, but he didn’t pull away because what if he made her angry? The last thing he wanted now that he’d seen this omega was to be tossed out on his ear. She stepped away, one hand around his arm, the other beckoning the omega. Her lips curled in a sly grin. “Dean, dear. Come. Someone has requested your company.”

~

Castiel had no earthly idea what the room he was led to looked like because once the door shut behind them, Dean shed the robe he wore, tossing it over a chaise lounge pushed against the wall across from the bed, which he only glanced at when Dean laid back against the bedding. Propped on his elbows, everything wasI’m display. He looked like sin incarnate, half lidded eyes and a smile curving his plush lips. The blue silk sheets and velvet bed hangings were sumptuous and the color set off the omega’s skin in a way that made Castiel think they had been chosen specifically for that purpose.

“So,” Dean said, the deep cadence of his voice shocking Castiel, as well as the fact that he was American. He found himself wondering how this man had come to be here. “How would you like me?”

“I don’t know,” he stuttered, fidgeting with one of his cufflinks.

“Don’t be shy.” His voice lowered and he sat forward as though he were sharing a secret, the lean muscles of his abdomen flexing, candle light catching on all the dips and curves of his body. Smile turning coy, he informed Castiel, “I’ve tried everything. Nothing you ask for will shock me.”

“I don’t know what to ask for because I haven’t done anything. Shocking or otherwise.” He hadn’t meant to admit that, but the words tumbled from his lips and it was too late now to take them back.

Dean sat back, stunned, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. “No shit?” The omega’s green eyes ran slowly up and down his body, making Castiel blush. “Been a while since I was with a virgin. Probably since I was one myself,” he added with a wry twist of his lips. Then he stood, walked toward Castiel, his movements I’m yes with sensual grace, and began tugging on the knot of Castiel’s cravat. “Well, that just means I get to ruin you for everyone else.”

Cas believed Dean could do it, too, as he slowly, efficiently, stripped Castiel of all his layers. He seemed pleased with what he saw, licking his lips when he uncovered Castiel’s cock, pupils widening. Dean ducked his head to run his lips along Castiel’s chin.

“I should have asked before, but what’s your name?”

“Cas,” he said even though only his family ever called him that.

Dean hummed, tongue licking up his neck. “I’m going to take care of you, alpha.”

Lord above, that went straight to his cock. He had been imagining making an omega scream his name by the end of the night, foolish seeing as he had no prior experience to call upon, but he thought it was going to be the other way around. 

~

Silk gripped between his fingers, Castiel groaned, stars filling his vision. He was on his back on the bed while Dean rode him as skillfully as a jockey at the Ascot. It was better than he had ever dreamed. The omega’s channel was hot and wet, squeezing him so tightly it bordered in pain. The scent of his sweat and the slick running down his thighs filled the room, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head when Dean clenched impossibly tighter.

Dean caressed Castiel’s chest, thumbs plucking at his nipples, then leaned down to kiss him, nipping at bottom lip. “Are you going to knot me, alpha? I can feel it, Cas. It’s so big.”

“Oh, God,” were the only words he could get past his lips. He untangled his fingers from the sheets and curled them around the omega’s hips.

His breath bathed Castiel’s ear with his next words, so softly spoken, but they were like ice water through his veins, reminding him of what this was. “It’s extra.”

“Anything,” he choked out, groaning, hips snapping up, chasing his release. He would give Dean anything, anything he wanted. He didn’t think he could live without this, without him.

Dean straightened, breath catching, and held on while Castiel thrust into him. His nails dug into Castiel’s skin. He thought Dean might have drawn blood but he didn’t care enough to look or to tell Dean to stop.

He was transfixed by the sight of Dean succumbing to pleasure. Eyes closed, head tipped back, he stroked himself with one hand, panting through parted lips. He was perfection.

Castiel’s knot swelled even more, making it harder to push inside. The noises their bodies made was a symphony Cas had never heard before: skin against skin, the squelch of slick being forced out of the omega’s channel. Frustrated when his knot pulled free of Dean’s sheath, the omega’s body resisting its entrance, he dug his fingers into Dean’s hips and tugged him down when he drove up. Dean shouted, spend painting Castiel’s chest, milking his knot.

Dean collapsed against his chest, hips rolling to pull the rest of his release from him, not that he thought he would stop anytime soon regardless.

“How was that?”

Dean’s question had Castiel barking a laugh. He ran his hands up and down the omega’s back, over the swell of his generous backside. “I want you to be my courtesan.”

Dean stilled. Slowly, his head lifted from Castiel’s shoulder. His eyes were wide with disbelief. “You can’t be serious. We’ve only just met.”

“I’ve always known what I wanted,” he told Dean, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. He confessed, “Truthfully, I don’t think I could stand the thought of anyone else touching you.”

“I did say I would ruin you for anyone else.” Dean spoke the words softly, voice filled with melancholy.

Castiel traced Dean’s cheek. “I will have to marry. One day. And were it a more perfect world…” He trailed off, not willing to say the words aloud. They would only serve to make them both sad. “I have more money than I could spend in two lifetimes. Let me spend it on you. You would have the freedom to do what you wanted when we aren’t together, run your own household, revive a monthly stipend.”

Dean studied him, fingers tracing idle patterns in the skin of his chest. “What happens when you decide you don’t want me anymore?”

The question was pragmatic for someone in Dean’s position, but it broke Cas’s heart. Conscious of his knot which had yet to abate, he sat up carefully so as not to jostle Dean too much and hurt him, and wrapped the omega in his arms. He couldn’t see that happening, but all he said was, “Everything will be yours to keep. I put the house in your name. You’ll have your own accounts.”

Dean looked away, biting his lip as he contemplated Castiel’s offer. “You are the best lay I’ve had in years,” he mused and tossed Castiel a cheeky smirk.

The alpha growled, rolling them over, trapping Dean beneath him. Dean’s laugh morphed into a moan when Castiel started circling his hips. “Is that a yes?”

Dean didn’t answer with words. He pulled Cas into a kiss, wrapping around him like he would never let him go.

[paradife-loft]

hmmmmm angsty angsty narrative parallels

[[MORE]]

-----

Pressure. So much pressure, another mind invading her senses and squeezing her reach in the Force down to almost nothing.

Rivka raised her lightsaber once more, limbs like lead, as if she could fend off another attack like a physical blow. It felt physical, compressing her from the connections with minds, matter, the flow of the universe around her into nothing but her bodily shell; and edging her presence out of that too, as the fight continued.

Was she the last one standing? Braga and Sedoru, she thought she remembered seeing them fall, but she couldn't - check - ordinarily almost effortless and now she felt tiny, claustrophobic - Leeha, what happened to Leeha - ?

Hundreds, hundreds of thousands of voices seemed to swarm into her ears, into her soul, and she swayed, dizzied… so many voices, some terrified, or despairing, or pained. Worse than the most intolerable chaos of the capital, even with it's underlayer of ignored suffering.

The part of Rivka that could still feel the outside, felt her crying out, quiet at first and then louder, as she clasped her hands inward, curling back and forth as she dropped to her knees, wrapping herself into a ball. The sound of her lightsaber, clattering on the floor.

Help us!, chorused the voices. Join us.

With each repetition, they blotted out the last piece of her own senses, bit by bit. Black eating at the corners of her vision.

Rivka floated on the sea of voices, fragmented souls, numb.

Her body unfurled, and stood.

-----

Khisit practically bounded down the boarding ramp, so so ready to be off this damn ship, ghost-haunted not to mention making them stir-crazy with the nearly two weeks it took to cross the entire galaxy from the Caldera to the Core. It hardly mattered what hour of the day it was local time; they were going to head out to the nearest train and spend the next twelve hours just wandering, anywhere they could find that looked interesting where they could stretch their legs, move around, forget themself and doomed missions and grab a bite and a drink -

The view outside once nature's lighting had fully replaced the shipboard glare knocked that train of thought violently off course and skidding to a stop. Bright sunlight, a smell of evergreen foliage and water, rather than the diffuse, climate controlled city sky and thrumming assault on the senses - Instead of endless layers of skyscraper towers in a mish-mashed tumult of architectural styles, only a few buildings rose in Khisit's line of sight; gentle sloping lines on large, awe-suggestive shapes, stone carved and filigreed. It wasn't any place they could remember being before, but it was just familiar enough to tweak alarm bells ringing in their head.

They turned to look up at Kira, carrying baggage down our of the ship. "I thought you said we were going to Coruscant?"

Hard to read through the exhaustion on Kira's face, but some expression of unease flickered through for a moment. "I was going to, but with all that's happened I ended up making a last minute course change - some things really couldn't wait…"

"So then where did we - "

Footsteps on the landing pad made Khisit turn once more; and then everything slotted into place like a shock.

Brown robes, with blue and beige and silver and yellow tunics beneath; a group of three people led by a pale, dark-haired human at the front -

Familiarity slid into the heavy immersion of a sense memory, a presence they knew since before anything else they could remember… Ah.

...fuck.

Khisit backed up reflexively, almost running into Kira as they swung back around toward the ship's ramp - she was still standing practically in front of it with her bags, and of a sudden something icy lodged in Khisit's lungs.

"What kind of bullshit is this?"

Kira swallowed. "I spoke with the Council several times while we were in transit and they urged me to come to Tython immediately without any delays or stops in between - "

"I'm sure they fucking did," Khisit exclaimed, snarl rising along the edge of their voice. "Now get out of my way."

"What, are you going to change your plans entirely and go sulk inside the ship just because we're on Tython and not Coruscant?"

"Oh, I'm not staying - "

"Welcome back to Tython, Knight Carsen," came another voice from behind them. Khisit flinched. "...Is there some sort of problem here?"

(What was the damn luck it would be Tryse sent out to greet them just on chance - ?)

"Move," said Khisit, stepping around Kira to get to the boarding ramp - not without an only minorly intentional shoulder-check.

They'd strode halfway up into the ship, ignoring a chorus of Hey!, Excuse me, Savrow -, Stop right there -, when each part of their body was tugged suddenly, stopped abruptly from its forward momentum by a pressure exerted in the opposite direction like reaching the end of a bungee cable. They felt their heart jump in their throat, startled; then tried to lean back in and relieve the pressure.

Nothing. They couldn't move.

Khisit's eyes darted back, looking as far behind them as they could with their head nearly locked in place; the rhythm of their heart beat frantically enough to make up for every other limb that wouldn't budge.

"Let me go!" they shouted, throwing all their strength against the invisible restraints around their arms, legs, body. They crept forward a hairsbreadth, muscles straining.

Boots clacked along the boarding ramp, until Khisit could feel her presence behind them like a pervasive perfume, infusing the air like clouds. "Not if you're thinking of trying to steal a vessel belonging to the Order in the middle of Tython," said Master Tryse Mavari, sensible and irritated and final all at once. A cousin, in essence, by Sith kinship - but it wasn't family that mattered among the Jedi, only history. "Khisit, that's absurd even for you."

They felt one of Tryse's hands on their shoulder; could feel her looking them over for a weapon - Khisit had left their blaster on the ship. No need for if if they were just a civilian, no guerilla campaign, no more missions with Rivka - Rivka -

The pang broke through fresh again, alloying Khisit's fury. At the same time, Tryse was grasping their arms, wrists, pulling them behind Khisit's back; and then they were forced down -

Their knees could buckle, and for a moment that was enough. Bonds slipped, or determination punched through, or something, and they shoved their shoulders forward, twisting in Tryse's grasp even as it felt like fighting through tangled sheets; cursing and yelling. Then a few seconds later a second pair of hands fell on their shoulders and arms, and clapped restraints around their wrists.

("Khisit, are you kidding me, use your head!" came Kira's voice, raised and exasperated, in the background. Did she think this was some kind of game? Of course, of course not, no, the Jedi had saved her.)

Panicked tears began to blur Khisit's vision. They'd never said it to themself, had they? It had just become a felt, unspoken axiom, somewhere in between shooting at Imps and dodging security firewalls - they were never going back, ever.

Tryse sighed, with an edge of frustration. "I hoped to have a reasonable discussion about your path going forward," she said, somewhere above Khisit's head, looking down. "But I suppose that will have to wait if you're going to act like this." Her hand closed around the side of Khisit's face; fingers splayed about their temple.

For a moment, all Khisit's senses swam, going fuzzy and dim. And then they were silent.

[stormscream]

Conflux, Pt. 1

Ana’s eyes were glued shut, her expression pained as she dreamt.

Dreaming, of late, had been a whole new level of fantasy for Anafenza of the Ejinn.  Some nights she was in her own memories, which was nothing out of the ordinary.  Some nights, she was in front of the dark tree and hearing the mournful, enraged notes of the Dragonsong – she’d started having these dreams after she’d killed the elezen Jessika while she was brainwashed (but that is a long story for another day). But now, her dreams began to bleed into the wondrous: she’d dreamt she was flying, calling wind and rain and it obeyed her!  Or that she was commanding a group of people bustling around some sort of control center, the floor shaking beneath them as explosions rocked them and she stared out at an endless sea of night.  She’d even had a few where she and the other two “hers” interacted with one another, before she was jolted awake.

And then the dreams of everlasting light – a field of pink flowers, with child-like giggles floating on the breeze around her.  There was no warmth, no sun in the sky – just light glaring down upon her, and voices.

“Aenc tyr,” they’d say. And another, “Open the gate.”

  But this…this dream was new.  It was a memory, but not her memory.  As Anafenza looked around the small room as she paused her frantic packing, she knew it was not her own.  The simple wood hut; the longbow leaning against the wall by the door; the roiling sky, filled with the great red light of the falling moon...

The falling moon… She quickly went to the window to look up and gasped.  She had seen Dalamud in the sky as it fell years ago when she was still living in Othard, and her people had seen it as an ill omen.

"Quickly, Jessielle, quickly!  Get your bow, come, come!"

Ana turned around, confused, before moving to the satchel of personal effects on the bed, nearly crammed full of trinkets and clothes she was trying to protect.  Her family had finished ensuring the last of the villagers who were seeking shelter were in the catacombs, Anafenza thought, though she wasn’t sure how she knew this.

Once the last few villagers trickled in, the family returned to their own home to prepare.  She assumed it was to gather what they could and hide as well, so she was in her private room, gathering mementos of her life, when her father came barging into her room, shouting her given name.

Anafenza froze, realizing the knowledge she’d just come to know.  Father?  Jessielle? These are Jessika’s memories!  But why…am I in them?

There was a loud crack outside, and Ana and Jessika’s father turned to see, out the window, a plume of fire where a chunk of the moon had fallen.  "Come Jessielle...there is not much time," he said, his crisp and proper Ishgardian words flowing gracefully out, despite the urgency.

"Père, what..."  She heard herself saying, before finally looked at him, noticing the man was clothed in heavy, black leather armor, armored gauntlets with intricate gold and blood-red patterns winding over them.  His legs were clad in armor as well, the same gold and red filigree snaking up the armor like ivy.  "Père, what are you wearing?"

Her father – Jessika’s father – rolled his eyes and, picking up her bow from near the door with one hand, grabbed her arm with the other and pulled her out of the room. "There is no time to explain. Come, come!"

He pulled her through the house and outside, his armored fingers digging deep into Ana’s wrist. She squirmed a little, biting her lip to keep from yelling at him as she stumbled along behind as he guided her to the center of the small village.

"Jacemont, what took you so long?  The time is approaching!"

Jacemont Saphir finally let go of Anafenza’s wrist, approaching the woman waiting for them there. She wore long, flowing robes of dark fabric, completely black except for a blood-red design up the right side.  It wound up from the hem of the robes to the collar - an intricate, winding design like ivy, with leaves and thorns.  She turned her head to look at them, her eyes cold and dark.  "Jessielle, what were you doing?"

Before she knew what she was doing, Anafenza dipped her head in deference. "Mère," she greeted her, realizing this was Jessika’s mother.  "I was gathering my things...why aren't we in the catacombs?  What are you and Père doing out here?"  She motioned to the descending moon, meteorites flying off it and impacting the ground in the distance.  "We need to take shelter!"  Anafenza looked around, realizing she wasn’t in control.  She was watching the memory unfold, taking the role of Jessika in it. Even with the knowledge that she was in a dream, she couldn’t take control and change the course of it.

The mother – Raechelle, Anafenza realized was her name – shook her head ever so slightly and turned back to look at Dalamud.  "We are sheltering.  Jacemont, stand with me.  Jessielle, come here."  She motioned to her left and right sides; Jacemont stood to his wife's left, looking up at the sky.  "Something is happening."

As she said the words, there was a loud crack, and the three of them watched as Dalamud began to fracture. Fire peeked out through the fissures, and enormous wings appeared at the top of the hulk.  The surface of the moon roiled and shook.

"Gods preserve," Jacemont whispered, his eyes wide in horror.

Raechelle reached behind her, her hand grasping at the air behind her head.  She raised her arm, and Anafenza watched in awe as woman lifted a large, black sword with gold-filigree into the air, pulling it out of thin air. Shadows and darkness seemed to pour out of it and fall off it, like fog off of an ice crystal.  She spun the blade down and screamed, thrusting the sword into the ground.

There was deafening boom, and Ana fell backward as the moon was blasted apart, fragments flying into the ground with enough force that it shook all around them.  A few homes were ripped apart as fragments slammed into them, fire and debris exploding into the air.  The ground shook, and Ana fully expected to feel fire consume her.  She was going to die, she knew it...

So when, after a few more moments, she was still alive, Ana opened her eyes, feeling the memory of Jessika’s confusion even though she knew what she was going to see.  She looked around and heard herself gasp.

Raechelle was holding the hilt of the sword still, gritting her teeth.  All around them, extending out several meters, was a swirling cloud of black mist and smoke, shadows flying through the cloud around them with such speed that Anafenza couldn't get clear views of them.  The cloud enclosed them and much of the village like a bubble, the outside just barely visible.

Jacemont cursed loudly. "It's a dragon!"

"It's not a dragon, it's a god," Raechelle corrected, gazing in equal horror as her husband.  Ana clambered to her feet, watching as the beast - which took up much of the sky - began to fly quickly around, flares of fire shooting from its body and striking the ground, causing more earthquakes and explosions.  It soared overhead with a scream, releasing a volley of fire at the village below.  Far in Othard, she remembered seeing the moon drift below the horizon, but this…

This is the Calamity everyone speaks of.  Kami, what hell…

"Jacemont! Now!"  Raechelle screamed.  Anfenza turned in time to see the man reach up and behind him.  He clenched his hand and, in the same way as she had seen the woman, pulled a large sword out of nowhere, thrusting it into the ground as well.  There was a pulse of energy that she felt push through her, and the bubble of shadows grew darker.

The beast's fire slammed into the shield, and Jessika's parents shouted in surprise, both of them faltering slightly, as if a great weight just landed on their shoulders, pushing them downward.  They held onto the hilts of their swords, struggling to straighten back up.

Anafenza looked around, the memory of terror rising in her as Jessika watched.  Another memory crept into her thoughts, an earlier time that she’d seen this happen, but she didn’t focus on it.  Anafenza had seen this cloud of shadows before as well – the day she killed Jessika, it had exploded around her, swirling around and subduing Ana, as the curse fell upon the auri girl.

Raechelle shouted, and Ana looked up to see the dragon approaching again, circling back around for another indiscriminate attack on the land below.  "Jessielle, we need you!"

Anafenza blinked in surprise.  "What?! No!  I...I don't know what's happening!"

Jacemont staggered again, falling to one knee but still holding onto his sword.  "Your bow, child!  Your bow!"

Ana shook her head, staring at the wooden longbow in her hands.  "I don't...know what you want from me," she said, still confused, though the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle.

"Strike the ground!"  He called again, pulling himself back up to standing.  "Strike the ground and defend your home!  Your friends!  Your family! Defend those you love, protect them from this!"  He looked at her, and she noticed his eyes were pitch black, shadowy energy flaring out of them like two dark fires.  "You know what to do, child!  Now, stand with us!"

Anafenza looked at the two elezen, then back at the bow in her hands.  She looked up, seeing fire rain down again.  Panicking, she did what Jacemont told her, lifting the bow in the air and striking the one end of it to the ground.

Ana felt another pulse of energy radiate out, and the shield grew darker still, swirling faster and further out so that it protected most of the village.  She felt as if her feet were rooted to the ground, and her hands locked in place, wrapped around her bow.  Her vision darkened as she heard the fire slam into the shield, felt the impact of the fireballs on the shield as if a heavy hand were shoving her to the ground.  She fell to one knee, her hands unable to release the bow, gasping for breath.  The familiar sensation of being choked by the darkness came to her, the same choking she’d felt when Jessika had died. Her eyes were playing tricks on her: in one moment, she could see the bow clear as day, but in the next the weapon appeared like a great sword, similar to the ones the elezen were wielding.

Similar to the sword I’ve pulled from my aether, she realized, recognizing the weapon she’d come to know as “Bloodthorn.”

The attack continued for what felt like hours, or maybe it was only a few seconds.  The three of them were screaming in defiance and pain as the ground shook around them.

Then, the world went dark.

[stormclue]

A story about a Pebble

Fleleus, world weary man, with salt and pepper in his scruffy facial hair, trudged tiredly on his way. He was on a journey to speak with his old friend, the dragon Ranam the Powerful, whom he had met in his youth, they had shared many adventures and journeys and had become good friends. Ranam had just become a Grand-Dragon, and Fleleus was on his way to meet the young dragons. Which was rather unfortunate you see, because they lived all the way across the Mountains of Sleep, which was a rather far distance from Fleleus’s wizard tower. But old friends were old friends so he had decided to make the strenuous journey. So here he was halfway across the mountains. With a huff and a puff, he crested the hill he had been working on for the past ten minutes.  He put his hands on his knees and bent over, talking a couple deep breaths. As he looked on towards the misty way he had to go, he saw the most gorgeous and tranquil waterfall, barely three feet high and quietly splashing, surface from out of the mists, seeming to appear out of the side of the mountain. As he walked towards it, he saw that his waterfall coalesced into a beautiful stream that meandered its way around a towering oak tree, disappearing among the roots. He gasped in wonder at the beautiful scene he had found. He crouched amid the moss near the stream and waterfall and sat, cross-legged, to take in the beauty of the magical corner of the world that he had found.

Hours later, Fleleus, remembering the point of his journey, regretfully rose, joints cracking and popping. Feeling much more at peace than he ever had before, he moved to start again on his journey to visit Ranam, when the thought came to take one more look into the waterfall’s meandering stream. Of course Fleleus couldn’t resist. He carefully stepped and sank to his knees, sitting on his heels,  peering into the stream. And then, there, on the bottom, he saw a pebble that caught his eye. Pulling his sleeve back with one hand and reaching into the stream with the other, he gently pulled the pebble out and let it fall into the palm of his hand. Beads of water clung to the pebble and his palm alike pure sweet water trickled down to wet his sleeve.  

The pebble was smooth and marbled with slightly different shades of gray, it almost looked like the dappled shadows of sun shining through leaves. It fit right in the palm of his hand. It was simple, and beautiful. Without really knowing what he was doing, he looked up, at the magical, tranquil, secret corner of the world that he discovered, and murmured a quiet, almost hesitant thank you.  An unexpected wave of pleasure swept over him, and he heard a pleasant feminine voice, powerful, but quiet, like the rush of the ocean, echoing through the clearing, saying, “ It will bless you with peace throughout your life, but its goodness is connected to your life-force”

Fleleus, in awe of what had just transpired, waited until he was sure the presence had gone, and then set again on his way.

A century after the discovery of the pebble…

As he adjusted the blanket around his master, The Arck Wizard Fleleus’s shoulders, Ewyn looked up at Fleleus’s face and winced in sympathy as the Arck Wizard coughed. His shoulders hunching inwards with the force. Fleleus, was dying, after a long lifetime, and becoming the greatest wizard the world had seen in millenia. Ewyn thought of just how long he had spent in Fleleus’s company, being his apprentice and learning all that the Arck Wizard had to offer him. It had been three quarters of a century at least, and he had no idea just how old his master was.  He thought back on all the moments he had shared with his beloved master. He remembers learning spells and charms. He remembers accidentally changing Fleleus’s favorite walking staff into a lizard, and he recalls accidentally charming his own robe to fly, but forgetting a key part. You know, the fact that he was wearing the robe, and he got stuck on the ceiling. He remembers the sweet moments, when Fleleus nodded in approval at a well performed spell, or hugged him after he had rescued himself from a band of bandits that had kidnapped him on his way home from gathering herbs. However, the one thing he thought of when anyone brought up Fleleus, was the palm sized river pebble that his master always had on him. Ewyn saw him stroking it whenever he was deep in thought, or when he was stressed. Ewyn was jerked out of his thoughts as the rasping voice of his master pulled him back to the present.

“Ewyn,” Fleleus, rasped, out of breath with just the one word. Ewyn leaned closer and spoke to his ill master.

“Master, I’m here,” he said, placing his hand on Fleleus’s shoulder and leaning closer.  Fleleus’s eyes struggled open, his storm grey eyes whitened with age.

Fleleus struggled, his breath rasping, and his chest trembling with the effort. “ I’m there again!” he cried, tears beading in his eyes. “It’s more beautiful than I remember.” he said with tears in his voice, yet a smile breaking across his old, weathered, craggy face. And his last breath, with a sigh, came rushing out of his chest. His eyes closed, and his mouth shut, the remnants of his smile on his face. And that was it. He was gone.

Ewyn closed his eyes for a moment, feeling them tear up. He opened his eyes and looked to his master who looked so peaceful and content. Then he looked over to the nightstand, and there, sitting on a soft cloth, sat the pebble his master had so loved. Tentatively, Ewyn reached over and picked it up, holding it in his hand for a moment, then closing his hand tightly and holding it close to his chest. He would keep the pebble, to remind him of his master, who had practically raised him, who had taught him and loved him.

A century and a half after the discovery of the pebble…

Ewyn, by now, long into his 100’s, was walking across, the animated cobble drawbridge, that crossed a moat filled with mermaids of the carnivorous sort. The cobblestone drawbridge lead up to a massive keep, with six tall towers, five in each corner and one standing taller than the rest with an incredible white light levitating maybe ten feet above the top of the tower. Each of the towers in the corner had a light, but of differentiating colors,  deep blue, royal purple, fiery red, sea-green, and the rich color of the earth. Ewyn, as he reached the opposite end of the drawbridge, he mentally prepared himself to meet the raucous and strange bunch that was the Wizarding Convocation. The reason he was there, was to look over the new batch of apprentices. He sighed to himself and reached his hand into his pocket to gently rub over The Pebble. As he stroked it, he came to the conclusion, that this time, he needed to take on an apprentice. It was what his master would have wanted.

As Ewyn began the walk home, a young blonde haired boy tripped and stumbled over his own two legs as he struggled to hold his bags, fighting to keep up with his new master.

After Ewyn...

And for years, no, centuries, things passed much the same. The Pebble was passed from master to apprentice, for no other reason than Fleleus had kept it and thought it important, and therefore so did his apprentice, Ewyn, who kept it because his master had. And so on and so forth. However as the centuries passed, the meaning of the Pebble changed. Soon after it had left Ewyn’s hands it gained the name, The Arck Wizard’s Stone, and became a mysterious thing, fraught with rumor. Ewyn’s apprentice, had had it wrapped with gold wire and wore it as a pendant. And so it began to become a public symbol, a mysterious stone that was said to have mystical power, after all, it was The Arck Wizard’s Stone.

As was inevitable, The Arck Wizard’s Stone eventually found its way into hands of men with less and less good intent in their hearts. It became a symbol of power and leadership, if one possessed it, than one had the right to rule, and at first, it was just the wizards. However inevitably, things changed.

10 centuries after the discovery of The Arck Wizard’s Stone…

A figure, backlit by a floating orb of somehow rusted, blue light, was leaning over a table, poring over maps.  When a young man, with greasy black hair, pushed the flaps of the large tent open, the figure looked up, his face, stone, his eyes, hard and dark. “We’re ready Sleviar.” the greasy-haired man said, his grin almost evil. The figure, Sleviar, nodded.

“Begin the attack.”

A gold-wire wrapped gray stone, hung sadly, nestled among the robes of the hard faced man.

And in the dark of night, fire and flashes of color disturbed the darkness, as screams of pain and horror shattered the still silence. And the kingdom passed into the wizard’s hands.

And from then on, the kings of the kingdom, always wore a pendant, a gray dappled stone, The Arck Wizard’s Stone. The horrors of that night were not the least of it however. Things only got worse from there. As things always eventually do when humans are involved, they turn corrupted, dark.  The Arck Wizard’s Stone become a symbol of kings, and whoever possessed it became king. And of course no one wanted to wait and do the conventional thing. They had to lie, murder, cheat, and steal.

Son murdered father. Brother murdered brother. Daughter tricked father into relinquishing the stone to her and her husband. Uncle tricked nephew into gambling with it. And eventually when no one of direct descent was left, cousin murdered cousin. Wives murdered husbands. Children rose to overthrow their parents. And so the world was falling into the downward spiral. And it was all just a matter of time till the ticking time bomb exploded.

102 centuries since the discovery of the Arck Wizard’s Stone…

The room was dark. The soft sounds of two people’s breaths the only sound. It couldn’t be seen in the dark, but the room was finely ornamented. Gold filigree and fine wood. The floor covered in rich carpets. And in the center of the room, almost as if one display, was a ostentatious throne of a bed. It was decked out with the softest of velvets. And in the bed were a man and a woman.  And all was peaceful, all was quiet.  A deep, slow feeling filled the entire room. Almost as if a spell had been cast over it. That was until, a crack of soft light broke the darkness. And quiet creak of protest, that usually unnoticed, became far too loud in the dark, as the door slid open. A shadow, blocked the light for a moment, as a figure quietly slid their way into the room. The figure left the door open the width of a grown man’s toe. The figure crept towards the bed, a red scarf visible around their face, hiding everything below the bridge of the nose. It crept closer, leaning over the bed, staring down at the figures inside of it. The man in the bed stirred, and as he shifted, the light fell, glinting, on a gold wrapped stone hanging around the man’s neck. The shadow figure, at the sight of the stone, reached into his dark clothes and pulled something, out. The faint light, glinting of the tip of a very sharp object. And the cold steel, began to lower.

The next morning, the court of the king mourned. For in the night, an assassin had stolen into the palace and murdered their king and queen. And it was announced that the king’s son, Prince Fouque would be crowned in a weeks time. As the court murmured and moved. The Prince moved through them accepting their condolences and well wishes. A red scarf hanging around his neck.

And a week later, the Prince was dead. And for the first time, a daughter would inherit the kingdom. No one saw her pass a large bag of gold to a shadowy figure in an abandoned hallway.

Sometimes, someone would come to the throne and try to do things the right way.  They would try so hard, their hearts would be in the right place. But eventually, the politics became corrupted and the kingdom erupted in war, usually brothers or a brother and a sister, and sometimes more than two would war for the Arck Wizard’s Stone.

Greed.  Power.  Cheating.  Selfishness.  Stealing.  Murdering.  Corruption.

The corruption, that has become so deeply entrenched in the kingdom, began to spread across the world. It began to affect the other kingdoms neighboring it. The lust for power, that filled the people they let be in charge, began to affect the other kings.

And the ticking time bomb erupted.

105 centuries since Fleleus had found his Pebble...

Wars were fought. The common people caught in the crossfire. Thousands if not millions perished. At the end not a single man who had fought stood. The Arck Wizard’s Stone sat in the hand of a man slumped against the body of another, a spear in his gut and an arrow in his chest. Blood bubbled out of his mouth, his eyes crazed from fear, hatred and terror. He giggled. And then laughed. “At last!” he cried. “ It’s finally mine!” and then he died. His mad eyes closed. His body slumped. And the last of the lustful and power hungry perished. Hours passed. The bodies grew cold. The carrion birds arrived and began feasting. The ground was wet and slick with bloody mud. The pebble, for that was all it was, sat in the mud, droplets of blood spattering its smooth surface. And as the moon rose over the battlefield that stretched hundreds of miles, it lit up a small figure picking her way across the field. The girl, as that was all she was, a young teenage girl, walked until she found what she was looking for. When she reached the man, she shook her head. “You were so foolish father. You gave up your life. Your family. Your kingdom, for a small stone.” And tears began to stream down her face, washing tracks down her dirt-streaked face. She looked down and saw the pebble. She bent down and picked it up. How beautiful she thought.

Then suddenly angry, she turned her head up to the sky and screamed with her entire body, “Why! Why did this have to happen? What power does this stone even have that could be worth the cost of so many lives!” She screamed to the moon, tears flooding her cheeks, and then spent, she collapsed on the ground and began to sob.

The moon seemed to sigh, blue silver flakes, like lightning bugs, floated down from the moon. They danced in the air, trailing their way down gently towards the girl. As they began to reach her, they began to coalesce, falling into place, creating a blue tinged, see-through figure.

The girl started when she felt a hand fall onto her shoulder. She almost fell over as she quickly turned to face the figure. As the figure came into view she gasped. “W-w-who are you?” she asked of the man. She looked into his face and saw a world weary man with salt and pepper in his beard. His eyes were grey, and they looked so tired and sad that she almost felt her tears start again.

The man answered. “I am Fleleus.” he said, his voice deep and comforting. “ I was the first Arck Wizard.”

The girl felt anger fill her gut. “ So this is your stone?” She questioned, raising the stone in question accusingly, rage filling her voice. “What does it even do. What is the purpose of it?”

Fleleus sighed, “ That Pebble,” he said, “brought me peace during my life. I discovered it in a secret corner of the world that I found. It was the most beautiful, tranquil, peaceful place I have ever been. And while I was there, I found the pebble, and I wanted to keep it to remind me of the peace. When I picked it up, I heard a voice, it told me that it would bring me peace throughout my entire life. And so I took it.” And when I died, my apprentice kept it to remember me by. And for many years, it brought peace to those who held it, however, as wizards are a very secretive people by nature, the story of the Pebble, passed into oblivion. Because it came from me, the first Arck Wizard, people began to assume that it has some great power, how else would it have come to be in my possession.”

“So this,” she gestured to the carnage around her, “ the war, centuries of corruption and greed was caused because of a misunderstanding. Because a wise, old, powerful wizard, thought a pebble was pretty?” She asked. Her voice, brimming with consternation, and realization.

Fleleus nodded. His eyes filled with sadness and the regret. “ But you can do better. With the people who survived this, you can do better. Make sure there are no misunderstandings.  Make history clear, tell people what happened and teach them to do better. Because only when we truly understand each other, the world around us, and the mistakes of the past, can we truly have a millennia of peace and progression. You will have to do better.” Fleleus placed his hand on her shoulder, and then seemed to just fade away into flowing blue lights, almost like fireflies. And he was gone. And all that was left was a girl.  A girl with a pebble that had come to mean so much. That represented so much pain and heartache.  And she looked at the pebble, marbled and dappled with shades of gray, and then she put it on. Settling it around her neck and then she looked up. She looked to the dark sky, the pale, huge moon, the small glistening stars. And she vowed to do better. She vowed to understand.

[dfroza]

we need spiritual truth.

people cannot be their own god. and we cannot afford to choose ignorance over the majesty and grandeur of Creation of the heavens and beautiful earth where so many things grow from seeds... (A universal garden)

we need humility. and grace. and to believe that all things were originally made pure, and will return to be that way at some point. rebirth.

to erase all of the wrongs done on earth. because people want to be in control of themselves and others, even to their own destruction. it’s a mess. but there is hope. there is healing. there is freedom from sin and from fear.

and we see it clear as we continue in the reading of the book of Hebrews with Today’s chapter being the fifth:

Remember what I said earlier about the role of the high priest, even the ones chosen by human beings? The job of every high priest is reconciliation: approaching God on behalf of others and offering Him gifts and sacrifices to repair the damage caused by our sins against God and each other. The high priest should have compassion for those who are ignorant of the faith and those who fall out of the faith because he also has wrestled with human weakness, and so the priest must offer sacrifices both for his sins and for those of the people. The office of high priest and the honor that goes along with it isn’t one that someone just takes. One must be set aside, called by God, just as God called Aaron, the brother of Moses.

In the same way, the Anointed One, our Liberating King, didn’t call Himself but was appointed to His priestly office by God, who said to Him,

You are My Son.

Today I have become Your Father,

and who also says elsewhere,

You are a priest forever—

in the honored order of Melchizedek.

When Jesus was on the earth, a man of flesh and blood, He offered up prayers and pleas, groans and tears to the One who could save Him from death. He was heard because He approached God with reverence. Although He was a Son, Jesus learned obedience through the things He suffered. And once He was perfected through that suffering He became the way of eternal salvation for all those who hear and follow Him, for God appointed Him to be a High Priest in the order of Melchizedek.

I have a lot more to say about this, but it may be hard for you to follow since you’ve become dull in your understanding. By this time, you ought to be teachers yourselves, yet I feel like you want me to reteach you the most basic things that God wants you to know. It’s almost like you’re a baby again, coddled at your mother’s breast, nursing, not ready for solid food. No one who lives on milk alone can know the ins and outs of what it means to be righteous and pursue justice; that’s because he is only a baby. But solid food is for those who have come of age, for those who have learned through practice to distinguish good from evil.

The Book of Hebrews, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

along with Today’s paired chapter illuminating the clothing of the High Priest in the instructions given to Moses and the completion of the work of building the ancient Sanctuary.

[Exodus 39]

Vestments. Using the blue, purple, and scarlet fabrics, they made the woven vestments for ministering in the Sanctuary. Also they made the sacred vestments for Aaron, as God had commanded Moses.

Ephod. They made the Ephod using gold and blue, purple, and scarlet fabrics and finely twisted linen. They hammered out gold leaf and sliced it into threads that were then worked into designs in the blue, purple, and scarlet fabric and fine linen. They made shoulder pieces fastened at the two ends. The decorated band was made of the same material—gold, blue, purple, and scarlet material, and of fine twisted linen—and of one piece with it, just as God had commanded Moses.

They mounted the onyx stones in a setting of filigreed gold and engraved the names of the sons of Israel on them, then fastened them on the shoulder pieces of the Ephod as memorial stones for the Israelites, just as God had commanded Moses.

Breastpiece. They made a Breastpiece designed like the Ephod from gold, blue, purple, and scarlet material, and fine twisted linen. Doubled, the Breastpiece was nine inches square. They mounted four rows of precious gemstones on it.

First row: carnelian, topaz, emerald.

Second row: ruby, sapphire, crystal.

Third row: jacinth, agate, amethyst.

Fourth row: beryl, onyx, jasper.

The stones were mounted in a gold filigree. The twelve stones corresponded to the names of the sons of Israel, twelve names engraved as on a seal, one for each of the twelve tribes.

They made braided chains of pure gold for the Breastpiece, like cords. They made two settings of gold filigree and two rings of gold, put the two rings at the two ends of the Breastpiece, and fastened the two ends of the cords to the two rings at the end of the Breastpiece. Then they fastened the cords to the settings of filigree, attaching them to the shoulder pieces of the Ephod in front. Then they made two rings of gold and fastened them to the two ends of the Breastpiece on its inside edge facing the Ephod. They made two more rings of gold and fastened them in the front of the Ephod to the lower part of the two shoulder pieces, near the seam above the decorated band of the Ephod. The Breastpiece was fastened by running a cord of blue through its rings to the rings of the Ephod so that it rested secure on the decorated band of the Ephod and wouldn’t come loose, just as God had commanded Moses.

Robe. They made the robe for the Ephod entirely of blue. The opening of the robe at the center was like a collar, the edge hemmed so that it wouldn’t tear. On the hem of the robe they made pomegranates of blue, purple, and scarlet material and fine twisted linen. They also made bells of pure gold and alternated the bells and pomegranates—a bell and a pomegranate, a bell and a pomegranate—all around the hem of the robe that was worn for ministering, just as God had commanded Moses.

They also made the tunics of fine linen, the work of a weaver, for Aaron and his sons, the turban of fine linen, the linen hats, the linen underwear made of fine twisted linen, and sashes of fine twisted linen, blue, purple, and scarlet material and embroidered, just as God had commanded Moses.

They made the plate, the sacred crown, of pure gold and engraved on it as on a seal: “Holy to God.” They attached a blue cord to it and fastened it to the turban, just as God had commanded Moses.

That completed the work of The Dwelling, the Tent of Meeting. The People of Israel did what God had commanded Moses. They did it all.

They presented The Dwelling to Moses, the Tent and all its furnishings:

fastening hooks

frames

crossbars

posts

bases

tenting of tanned ram skins

tenting of dolphin skins

veil of the screen

Chest of The Testimony

with its poles

and Atonement-Cover

Table

with its utensils

and the Bread of the Presence

Lampstand of pure gold

and its lamps all fitted out

and all its utensils

and the oil for the light

Gold Altar

anointing oil

fragrant incense

screen for the entrance to the Tent

Bronze Altar

with its bronze grate

its poles and all its utensils

Washbasin

and its base

hangings for the Courtyard

its posts and bases

screen for the gate of the Courtyard

its cords and its pegs

utensils for ministry in The Dwelling, the Tent of Meeting

woven vestments for ministering in the Sanctuary

sacred vestments for Aaron the priest,

and his sons when serving as priests

The Israelites completed all the work, just as God had commanded. Moses saw that they had done all the work and done it exactly as God had commanded. Moses blessed them.

The Book of Exodus, Chapter 39 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, April 25 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

Today’s reading of the Bible accompanied by a post by John Parsons shared this morning:

The Spirit speaks: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, and you are mine” (Isa. 43:1). God has personally redeemed you, friend; he calls you by name, and you belong to Him. The Lord loves you with an everlasting love and draws you close (Jer. 31:3). He will never leave nor forsake you, even if you might face waters that seem to overwhelm or fires that seem to devour (Isa. 43:2). The will of your Heavenly Father will never lead you to a place where his love will not there sustain you.

Worry is a place of exile and pain. We are commanded, al tira, “fear not,” because fear was behind the original sin in the garden, just as mistrust lies behind our own hiding and self-imposed exile from God... Since sin expresses a heart of fear (Rom. 14:23), the way of healing is to courageously turn back to God, despite our uncertainties. We can trust God’s love for us because of the cross of Yeshua our Lord. If we haven't received God's love and acceptance, we are still enslaved to fear and abide in a state of exile. The love of God casts out our fear because it casts out all our sins (1 John 4:18).

“God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power and of love, and of a “sound mind” (2 Tim. 1:7). The Greek word for “sound mind” means “safe” because of the restraining influence of the Spirit of God... If you sense fearful oppression within your heart, turn to the Lord and offer him focused praise. Lift up your soul to him and thank him for your trouble. This has the double benefit of confessing your trust in God’s care, as well as vexing the enemy of your soul. Come boldly to the throne of grace to find your help (Heb. 4:16); cast all your anxiety on him, for he cares for you (1 Pet. 5:7).

The Name of the LORD (יהוה) means “Presence” and “Love” (Exod. 3:14; 34:6-7). Yeshua said, “I go to prepare a place for you,” which means that his presence and love are waiting for you in whatever lies ahead (John 14:1-3; Rom. 8:35-39). To worry is to “practice the absence” of God instead of to practice His Presence... Trust the word of the Holy Spirit: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for healing peace and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope (Jer. 29:11).

Take comfort that your Heavenly Father sees when the sparrow falls; he arrays the flower in its hidden valley; and he calls each star by name. More importantly, the Lord sees you and understands your struggle with fear... Come to him with your needy heart and trust him to deliver you from the burdens of your soul (Matt. 11:28). [Hebrew for Christians]

4.25.20 • Facebook

“there is no fear in Love”

[havok-hatake]

The Maker’s Sigh- Chapter 2

(Ostegar)

As they arrived walking towards the border of Ostegar, they found themselves at the bottom of a rather large chasm separating the camp and the tower of Ishal. Ace stopped at the wall and looked up at the called a surprisingly loud, "Hey guys, think you can drop down a ladder please," she gestured toward the trail leading to the bridge, "because you know fuck that shit, I am not walking around." A guard nodded and disappeared for a long moment before throwing a wood-and-rope ladder down the wall at her. Ace pulled a cloth from her pack and wrapped her corgi up like a small child, watching him get comfortable in the hammock, panting rapidly. She situated the dog and hoped on the bottom rung of the ladder, making her way up to the camp with Demy following behind…right up until he looked up and got an eyeful, which sent him tumbling down the ladder and onto the snow packed ground with quite the nosebleed from where his knee tried and failed to break his face's fall.

She looked down at him, "you okay Demy? That fall looked like it hurt."

He sat up and made an attempt to focus on the other half of the conversation, only to have his blood pressure spike and cover his front with a new layer of blood. Great. He fell back and stared up at the sky, "Hey I have an Idea I'll wait till you're all the way up and then I'll climb up okay?"

"Uhh sure…whatever you say weirdo."

Demy smiled crookedly sitting up as he mumbled to himself, "I'm the weirdo huh?" He resisted the urge to shoot another glance up at his newly but strange companion, "Then how come you don't have any pants on…?" He waited patiently for her to get all the way to the top before climbing to his feet and scaling up the ladder to the camp, where a man that he assumed was Duncan was waiting with Ace and another blonde man he'd never seen before.

"Well…well…well you finally got up here" Duncan teased, smiling wanly and chuckling at the coat of blood down the front of Demy's breastplate, holding out a hand to help Demy climb over the low wall.

Demy dusted himself off before giving Duncan a handshake, "Uh yeah I had a little complication climbing up the ladder…" he glared at Ace and groaned, "I'll address it later… either way I'm here to become a Warden."

Duncan smiled and nodded and gestured toward the small boy with blonde hair, "This is King Calen the youngest of King Marric's son, he rules all of Ferelden."

The king smiled, "Hello there, young mage…."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it there, first off I'm older than you, I just look young so I'll take that as a compliment not in insult. Second I knew your father, and he had two sons. I can't remember who the other one was…he's probably dead for all I know…" he squinted, "so yeah… hey you… person… King…"

Ace made an irritated little noise and stepped closer to Demy, clocking him upside the head with her bracer, "this is your King and you will show respect."

Demy jolted from the blow and knelt respectfully in front of the king, "I apologize my King please, forgive my rudeness and allow me to introduce myself, I am Demitrious Alexander Fleur Esquire, Senior Enchanter from the Mages Circles in Orlais and Ferelden." He caught sight of Ace cocking a smile, folding her arms in an accomplished sort of way as Demy got up and bowed politely, following Duncan and Ace to go find some guy named Alistair.

After a short trek through the camp, Duncan stopped near a set of pillars and looked at Demy, "I will stay here, you two go find the others; another mage is here from the Circle, along two other warriors.  Alistair will be your guide, he is another Warden, who is in the same rank as Ace… feel free to wander around; all I ask is that you stay within the camp for the time being."

“Understood," he paused and looked around, "uhh is that mon…ahem I mean Ace going to be tagging along with me while I explore?” he straightened at the sharp sound of cracking knuckles came from behind him and he flinched.

Duncan nearly cracked a smile and nodded “Yes she will be your escort around the campsite, so play nice and go on out and meet the others.”

Demy nodded sheepishly and Ace walked over, grabbing him by the collar so she could drag him across the bridge as he waved sadly at Duncan, a worried sort of smile on his face.  Duncan waved back and looked at Ten who stared back up at the older man, panting innocently, “It’s going to be a long day Ten let’s hope those two get along.” The dog barked in agreement and the pair of the walked to the campsite.

Demy pulled himself from his companion's grip and straightened up, “Alright already, I can walk by myself damn you, there’s no need to be so rough. Geez…what the hell’s your problem? I haven’t done anything to you.”

“My problem with you is that you’re lazy, arrogant, your attitude sucks and it seems like you have the IQ of a fucking squirrel," she stopped for a moment, scanning the camps, "but then again I see something in you will that no one has seen in a long time, which is why the First Enchanter and I chose you…so I guess I could ease up a bit.”

“No, it’s my fault you're right. I should start pulling my own weight, and if I make it through this, we’ll be brother and sister, wont we?" He grinned, "So! Why not start getting along now? I apologize for my shenanigans and hope I can make it up to you, Ace,” Demy laughed and scooped her up into a rib cracking hug. She struggled against him for a long moment and probably would have broken free of him, except Demy had pinned her arms to her side and she wasn't going to be regaining her freedom anytime soon. So instead, she gave up after a moment and hugged him back until he put her down so that they could make their way toward a female mage who sat leaned against the tree, her arms folded. She had a proud look about her, with her white hair pulled back and orange robes denoting her rank within the circle and her head held high.

Demy stopped on the side of her, smiling brightly and leaned in to kiss her cheek, leaving his old friend Wynne shocked at the sudden affection.

With her hand raised and turned to see Demy standing in front of her with a cocky smile on his face. She smiled back and gave him a hug, “Demitrious! by Andraste, it’s been too long. I’ve missed you since you left the tower it’s been kind of boring, without you making a fool out of Gregior."

Demy and Wynne both chuckled at the memory for a moment, before Wynne looked her new companion up and down, studying him, "but enough of that; look at you, it's like I'm staring at a completely different person." She shook her head, "I heard you were going to be made into a Grey Warden," she smiled at him, "I have to say I couldn’t be any prouder of you my dear, I'm sure you'll do the Circles proud by being the best Warden there is.”

“I know I will Wynne," Demy grinned down at his old friend, "I’m sorry for not writing letters to you, Irving, and Anders…" he frowned for a moment before fitting the smile back on his face,” but yes I’m to become a Warden. Thank you for your appreciation Wynne, I'll visit as soon after all of this is over…promise.”

Wynn rolled her eyes skyward at the mention of the other Mage, “Anders is here somewhere in the camp I don’t know where exactly but he went off to explore the uhh… ahem matronly warriors.”

Demy nodded and gave her another hug before walking away to re-join Ace, who glanced over at him with, eyebrows raised. Demy smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder “I’ll explain to you when we aren’t so busy. Until then, let’s meet the others, aye?”

“Yeah yeah," she rolled her eyes and shook her head, "come on I think I see one of our recruits getting into something that’ll cost him dearly.” She pulled Demy toward the scuffle, and he soon found that they were steadily approaching a man he didn't recognize, leaned against a tree, and flirting with a woman warrior, saying something about how this could be their last battle and how they shouldn’t spend the night alone. Demy and Ace walked towards the man, who found himself getting what looked like a very painful slap to the face as his target huffed and stomped off.

Daveth rubbed his cheek and smiled sheepishly looking at Demy and Ace with a raised eyebrow, “Well I didn’t expect you to look like that.”

“Well what did you expect me to look like?” Demy asked jovially, crossing his arms over his chest.

He shrugged, “Not a man," then he shrugged, "I guess we will be taking the Joining together, then." He straightened and turned to properly face Demy, "I heard they’re sending us to the Kokari Wilds, don’t know what that’s all about but I’m sure they wouldn’t send us there if it wasn’t important." He paused and cocked his head to the side and smiled crookedly, "but uhh I think what's more important is that cute little woman behind you.” Daveth stepped forward and pushed Demy out of the way, turning up the charm so he could presumably charm his way into Ace 's pants.

He smacked her ass as if he owned it and Demy folded his arms, clapping his hand over his mouth so that neither one of them could hear the fit of laughter he was in the middle of, “Oh no this should be good.”

Ace leaned a little to peer around Daveth at Demy, who was trying and failing to contain his laughter. She redirected her attention back at the other Rogue, fitting a seductive look on her face as she traced some of the filigree on his chest plate, before delivering a swift punch to the face and then a knee to the stomach, followed by a very painful sounding boot to the balls. Daveth fell like a stone and Ace dusted off her hands before stepping away from her victim and grabbing Demy’s hand so she could drag him up the ramp that lead to the centre square of Ostegar. She paused near the top and turned, “Get your dumbass to Duncan before I lose what little sanity I have left, Daveth.”

The other nodded and began crawling in the direction of the Warden camp.

Demy laughed to himself and followed Ace as she continued to prowl the camp for a moment before finally coming upon a man sitting with the warriors that were praying off to the side of the clearing, “I'm assuming that's one of the other recruits," he pointed, "do you know his name Ace?”

She slowed and crossed her arms in thought, “I think I do, Duncan mentioned something about a Sir Jory… from what I understand he was a knight from Redcliffe. He won the tourney they held and Duncan recruited him for his skill, but he should explain that himself.”

Demy nodded and walked over to the man who was praying to Andraste and The Maker, Demy cleared his throat and Gabi stood next to him with her arm on his shoulder smiling, “Hey there bud, the names' Aspen Alexa Vien and this is the new recruit Demitrious.”

Demy waved, smirking, as Jory stood and looked at them both, “Nice to meet you…I suppose we will all be taking the Joining together." He smiled a little, "and since you’re here that means we can get on with it. Unfortunately, I don’t know anything about what we'll be doing.”

“Apparently Daveth says we’re going into the Kocari Wilds," Demy responded, crossing his arms and looked back toward where they'd left Daveth, "so be prepared." He sighed, "I would suggest you go back to camp and wait for everyone else. Daveth is there right now, and we're about to go find Anders and some guy named Alistair.” Demy jerked his head toward Ace who shrugged back, watching mildly as Jory began making his way back to the Warden's campsite.

Demy's companion watched the other for a moment before heaving a loud sigh and slapping him on the back. She smiled, “well looks like we have two more people to find, so come on. Let’s not tarry about any longer…”

He nodded and followed her toward the other side of the camp climbing another ramp that let out to a balcony of sorts. Soldiers were lined along the edge, looking away from the beautiful scenery behind them, their attention instead directed toward a man that was pointing at various parts of some vile looking creature as he explained where to stick their swords. Another man stood at the edge of a cliff, trying his best to sass a pair of Templars that were hounding him.

Demy strode over to the group and grabbed both Templars’ shoulders, tossing them both onto the cobbled floor with little effort, “Andraste’s tits Anders what did you do this time? I haven’t been here for 20 minutes and I’m already pulling your ass out of the fire.”

The Templars struggled to their feet, pulling out their swords and shields with the express purpose of maiming Demy and Anders, “you protect this mage, when he is wanted for being an abomination?” Demy had a confused look about him as he slowly turned to Anders who held his hands up innocently, one of the templars step forward “He has been bragging to the woman-folk that he consorts with blood magic.”

“For the Love of---" Demy clapped a hand to his head, "Anders, not again; this is the second time with this shit. Come on, how many times do I have to tell you: if you want to get with the women, tell them you use Entropic Magic, not that you’re a blood mage.”

Anders smiled, dusting himself off before placing an arm around Demy's shoulders, “Oh come on you know the ladies love a dangerous man on the run, and in need for some good loving. Wouldn’t be the first time it worked on them.”

The Templars sent each other worried looks and put their swords away staring blankly at the two mages conversing before them. One of them cleared his throat, “Do you two mind explaining what the hell is going on.”

Demy turned and looked at him, his eyes widening as he realized that he'd just manhandled a Templar, “Hmm? Oh right sorry, umm…" he scratched his head, "please excuse my friend for he is not a Blood Mage, he just claims that he is so he can pick up women." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "…actually I can vouch for him since he's one of my students… I'm one of the Senior Enchanters of the Circle, I apologize for his vacuous.”

“A Senior Enchanter?" The Templar raised his eyebrows, "You look nothing like a mage… you look more like one of the Order... I see the two daggers on you and a stick?" he tilted his head a lot like a confused puppy, "I see no staff on you… the only way you can prove that you’re a mage is if you show us your magic.”

Demy blinked, sighed and pulled his wand from his waistband, waving it lazily so that a spiral of flame spun around on his palm, “this is a wand, I don’t use staffs." He sighed and flicked the flame away from his hand, "They crack and smolder.”

Both Templars nodded, bowing respectfully before directing their attention at Anders, “Make sure he behaves, and that this doesn’t happen again.”

“Will do…thank you, have a nice day.”

Anders waited for them to leave before punching Demy in the shoulder, smiling, “thanks for that. Probably would have been dead if you hadn't come along…" his smile faltered a bit before returning full force, "which begs me to ask: you aren’t the new recruit everyone is talking about are you?”

“Well yeah I am, actually Miss Lady over there recruited me to be one of the Grey Wardens she came all the way to Orlais, barely arrived today, so, there’s that,” he pointed at Ace, who didn't do much more than cross her arms and glare in their general direction.

“Miss Lady?” Anders looked over and saw the woman who waved stiffly at him and maybe smiled a bit.

Anders slicked his hair back and looked over at Demy, smirking at him as he swaggered toward Ace, or…tried to; Demy stopped him before he could make any real progress and shook his head, whispering about what she'd done to Daveth in his ear. Anders turned white and gulp then straightened himself out continuing his trek toward the Lady Warden. He bowed politely and smiled charmingly, “Well I don’t want to waste my time here…considering…" he looked her over for a moment, "I think I’ll wait for you guys back at camp so, see ya!”

Ace perked an eyebrow and directed her gaze at Demy who smiled back, waving innocently. She shifted and set her mouth, “What was that all about, what have you told him?”

“All I told him was what you did to Daveth with more explicit detail," he shrugged, "I kind of like Anders to stay in one piece, so I saved him a deal of trouble.”

Ace rolled her eyes and stalked to the opposite side of the west wing of Ostegar where their final companion was. Demy followed closely behind her, wondering what this Alistair would be like - the outlook didn't look particularly good, if the other Warden recruits were anything to go by….

As it turned out, they found Alistair arguing with a mage that seemed to have a slight attitude problem and was smack in the middle of shouting, “I will not stand her and be insulted like this,” at him.

Alistair folded his arms, rolling his eyes skyward and smirking, “yes I was insulting you by delivering a message from the Grand Cleric.”

The mage heaved a sigh, throwing up his hands, “Fine what is this so important message that you had to interrupt me in my mediating.”

“The uhh, Cleric asks for your presence ser mage," he paused a moment, "with haste.”

“What could be so important to speak with that woman?” the mage nearly shouted, dropping his hands and crossing his arms.

“How should I know?" the other asked, "I just deliver messages.”

The mage tossed his head, “I’ve had enough of this, I am leaving.”

“Leaving so soon? And here I thought we were getting along so well," there was a pause and the smirk fell right off the blonde's face, "I was even going to name one of my kids after you; The Grumpy One.”

The mage made a noise like an angry child and Alistair turned in place to see that Ace and Demy had been audience to his sass battle. He smiled, “You know the good thing about a blight is that it brings everyone together.” He made a gesture as if to hug the pair of them, but didn't move from his spot.

Demy smiled and glanced at Ace “I know what you mean.”

“It’s like a big party” she sighed, smiling herself and stepping over to the larger man so she could give him a warm sort of hug, before turning to look at Demy, “Alistair this is the new recruit,” she pointed at Demy, who waved and smiled at the pair of them.

“My name is Demitrious, but you can call me Demy.”

“Right that’s the name," he looked sad for a moment, "hopefully you do manage to become one of us," the smile fit right back on his face and Demy suddenly became suspicious, raising an eyebrow, of the whole Joining thing he was supposed to be going through, "anyways, seeing as you've already met the other recruits…" he looked down at Ace, "I assume that’s why you’re here at last to see me.”

“Yeah, I saw my old buddy, Anders, and the other recruits," Demy put his hands on his hips and grinned, "so we saved the best for last. And since we've finally found you, I should assume we need to head back to Duncan?” He looked hopeful.

Ace nodded and glanced up at Alistair raising her eyebrows, “that would be correct." She let go of Alistair and folded her arms, "let’s go, I’ll accompany you both from here on out.” Demy nodded in agreement and the three of them made their way from the west wing toward the Warden Campsite, where Duncan was waiting for their return.

He smiled wearily at them, “Good you’re all here, that’s if you’re done riling up the mages, Alistair.”

He held up his hands in surrender, “What can I say, she cornered me”

“The Grand Cleric asked you to rile up the Mages?” Duncan asked, less than amused.

Alistair raised his eyebrows and heaved a sigh, “Not Exactly, but you know how she is; she assumed sending a Templar would be enough of insult.”

Duncan looked mildly irritated, “Alistair we don’t need these things to happen, we don’t give people more ammunition against us.”

The other looked mildly hurt by the accusation. “I...I understand Duncan, I apologize…"

Duncan nodded and looked at the rest of the recruits, folding his arms as he glanced at each one of them, “there are two tasks that I need you all to complete: the first is to acquire four vials of Darkspawn blood…” he paused to see that Jory was shaking in his boots, while Daveth looked unsure about the whole thing, and Anders stared blankly at Demy, shaking his head as the other mage merely shrugged.

“I am assuming that the Darkspawn blood is used for the Joining?” he asked after a moment, tilting his head to look at Ace and Alistair, who were standing a few feet away, as if they'd give away any clues about what was to come. Ace was staring passively in the direction of some dog kennels, while Alistair fidgeted with his bracers, looking unnerved.

Duncan interrupted Demy's attempt at mining information, “Yes precisely." He smiled, "The second task is that I need you to retrieve the treaties that were kept in the Warden Tower of the Wilds long ago, it would be nice to get them back…”

“How do we know they’re still there, for all we know the chasind or something else must have taken them,” Demy asked, putting his hands on his hips as he tried once again to gather more information on their apparent quest.

Duncan looked mildly impressed, “They’ve been sealed by a magic ward so I doubt that anyone has taken them. I strongly suggest you retrieve them by any means necessary.” It wasn't a question.

Demy chuckled, “Right, so four Darkspawn vials and some treaties, would you like a large drink and fries with that?” the smile fell right off his face when he noticed that Ace's attention had snapped toward him.

Alistair was trying not to laugh, lest he be smacked, while Duncan just heaved a sigh and then smiled wanly, “No thank you, Demitrious…Alistair and Ace will be joining you on your mission as overseers, however, so stay calm and keep your wits about you…Good luck.”

The gathered party nodded, steeling themselves as they made their way toward the main gate that lead into the Kocari Wilds.

[harth-rosanna-blog]

Thief and the Werewolf; Chapter 2

Read the entire story at: https://harth-rosanna.deviantart.com/gallery/63924814/The-Thief-and-the-Werewolf

Hilton was such a strange place.  So many people all living within the same ten or so square miles, all with no real forests, or open plains, or fields.  I came from a small nameless village in the mountains, a collection of maybe ten or twenty homes, mostly housing individuals instead of standard families.  At least like I’ve seen here.  Reisende says that this is a normal city- average for humanity, and that we don’t belong.  That we’ll be staying here only so long, a few days or a week at most- and already it was nearing the end of that time.  I still haven’t gotten used to looking up and seeing tall towers outlined by the lesser moon, Tytos. That one was my favorite moon, all broken and shattered.  More a blot on the night sky- a cloud of dust hanging in the air around a few large chunks of a broken sphere.  Reisende said it had no effect on us because it was broken- and that always made me feel a little sorry for it.  Poor little moon.  Tonight it was outlining a large stone building that I was told to never go inside- a church of some sort.  Or maybe it was a cathedral.  Either way, I was not supposed to go inside because the people there didn’t like… People like us, I suppose.  Which never was a problem before- there was a small chapel in the town I came from, and we worshiped there before and after the full moon- the greater moon, not the lesser one- surely it cannot be too different here, right?

Curiosity got the better of me, as it usually did, and I found myself creeping along rooftops to get to the church-thedral, so I could get inside and sate that need to know.  A leap here and a dash there, and in no time at all I was climbing onto the vaulted roof of the main portion.  The windows up here were open, presumably to let out the heat gathered during the day.  They were small, on the walls of a small portion of roof that was above the roof.  Terraced, I think. I peek my head in and look around- spotting a catwalk immediately below the windows where the people who opened them probably stood to do so.  Interesting.  I slipped inside, brushing my chest against the roof and muttering a small curse under my breath.  Stupid things kept getting in the way- I missed being smaller.  I probably could’ve fit through a window half that side just a few months ago- but noooo- my chest had to balloon out like I’d gotten stung by a swellfly.  I huffed, pulling my leather tunic back down around my hips and peered down into the great room below. It was… Shockingly beautiful.  A great big room- filled with benches all facing towards the back- where the tower was.  An altar had been hewn out of stone and hauled into place, and then decorated with gold and brass- lined with candles and symbols that I couldn’t quite make out from here- even with my night-vision.  Didn’t help that it smelled of sweat and grief, though.

So I crept closer.  Half-crouched and putting one foot in front of the other- I made my way down the catwalk, silent save for the occasional soft creak of wood if I happened to step on a weak spot in the planks.  I made my way to the end, and then found a stairwell sunk into the back wall, spiraling down past a few landings on the back- rooms of some sort, maybe?  But no matter- the altar was what I wanted to look at first.  I didn’t think that these people worshiped the same things Reisende and I did.  The windows were all covered with images of people slaying monsters, and men and women in white robes casting down beams of light- or more symbols I didn’t recognize.

Still, the building seemed deserted right now, so I made my way from the stairwell to the altar, peering curiously at the silver candlesticks standing on the altar.  Both were engraved with some symbol or another, a sign of… What, a nine-pointed star?  Strange.  Peering at the altar, there were nine little statuettes on top of what had at first appeared to be a brass filigree- but was actually just a brass-colored cloth draped over the top.  I frowned, and looked around.

“...Huh… No Lunaris…”

My voice was soft and sweet, at least that was what I was told when I went out this afternoon- though I think those men just wanted me for my stupid puffy chest.  But as quietly as I had muttered- it still seemed to echo throughout the chamber.  And was followed by a scuff at the door on the far side from the stairwell.

I felt my hackles rise, but I shook my head, and reached over the altar a moment and felt a small pain in my hand, I winced, and withdrew my hand, turning to flee towards the stairwell.  People took their worship seriously, and it wouldn’t do to be caught sneaking around- even if I was just curious.

I took the stairs two at a time, confident in the stonework of the church that I could sacrifice stealth for speed in this case, and emerged back up on the catwalk in time to see an elderly man in black robes standing over the altar and its eight little statues aghast.  He turned around quickly, and started running for the main doors as fast as his elderly feet could take him.  I was already outside when he had gathered enough air in his lungs to shout.

“Thief!”  He shouted, “Thief!  Guard, someone has profaned our holy temple…”  His shouting continued, but I was already on my way, hopping rooftops in the direction of the manor that Reisende and I had… Acquired almost five days ago.

Thief?  Was there another person in there?  I would’ve seen them, or smelt them at least-  we did have rather powerful noses.  It wasn’t until I was almost home that I looked at my hand- feeling starting to come back into it.  Oh… I was the thief. I paused in the yard- by the fountain showing some babe-faced creature burbling water into a pool- and looked down at what I had.  It was a figurine of a woman- holding a symbol- what looked like a great flame, to her breast.

I clambered up the latticework up to the second floor balcony, and paused as I opened the door without having to unlock it.  Oh… Oh no…  My cheeks burning, I rammed the statue into my pack and locked the door behind me.  Maybe nobody noticed, maybe Reisende didn’t realize I’d accidentally left the door unlocked?  If anyone got inside she was going to be cross and we’d be leaving the city tonight- especially if they got-

“Emma, come to the study please. I have a surprise for you.”  A stately voice, Reisende, called down the hall.  I jumped in surprise, rubbing my arm nervously as I walked towards the door and opened it.  Immediately, the scent of burnt flesh and coppery blood filled my nose, making my mouth water slightly.  Scorch marks covered the floor, and a prone form lay slumped against a wall, a longknife in one hand.  The woman on the ground bled heavily from beneath her torn up shirt and scarf.  My hands shot to my mouth and I looked at Reisende, then to the form, and rushed over to check that the dark clad woman was still alive. “Emma, darling, do what you can for her.  She surprised me, and I may have overreacted some.”  Reisende said, behind those dark glasses that rendered her face mostly unreadable.  She was dressed elegantly, as she always was- and her voice welled up with care.  Genuine care for me. I huffed, and set my bag down again, clearly smelling the brimstone and sulfur of the hellhound she had likely summoned on the intruder.  Almost mindlessly, I brushed the statuette aside and pulled out a strip of bandages and a vial of cream, looking around for the woman’s wounds.  Her shirt- of course.  A quick slash with the knife at my hip and I cut it off her, revealing her breasts- smaller than mine.  Why did they have to be smaller than mine?  And the lacerations that covered them and her torso.  Reisende had me do first aid like this before, but never… Not unannounced.  Or on strangers…  They were always members of her order, or of my village.  I slathered the disinfecting poultice on her wounds, my hands moving with a rehearsed mechanical precision, quickly wrapping them up and binding them behind her back with a whispered word of power to make the bandages stick.  Then I looked at her hand. Badly burnt was a bit of an understatement.  The hand was blistered heavily, fat having bubbled to the surface and some of it sloughing off in chunks.  I grimaced in sympathetic pain, applying a bit of the same unguent and slathering it on the bandages this time.  I wrapped them all the way up to the woman’s forearm, sealing the cloth with the same whispered word- all while Reisende watched.

“Good work, dear.  Now- take her to the guest quarters.  And get packed.  We will be leaving tomorrow night.”  The elder woman cast a knowing look over the top of her darkened spectacles, revealing her permanently wolfish eyes.  The eyes didn’t bother me, in the village they were… Well… Special.  But she hid them, and I know this was her way of punishing me for being so foolish as to leave the door unlocked when I left.  Gently, I picked up the young woman, she was lighter than I expected.  And I moved down the hall to tuck her in the third bedroom, grumbling about my stupid chest getting in the way of something as common and needed as this. Reisende followed behind, unwilling to bend to the task- because she had done the hard work and this was a lesson for me.  Not for her.  I rubbed at my face. “M-Mother?  What are we going to do about her?  How-  Um… How much does she know?”  I ask, hope in my voice.  Maybe because she’d had me bandage her up, the woman was friendly?  Maybe we wouldn’t have to leave another dead body in the basement of this home?  Maybe…

She merely smiled softly, and stepped forward to embrace me- pressing my head to her chest and whispering softly.  Reisende always knew when I was about to cry, always knew that I didn’t like killing like that, that I wanted people to get along.  She didn’t usually like my attitude though… She wanted me to be stronger than that, to… To be more like her.  “Shhh, dear.  She will be coming with us- Miss Gray here wants to be your friend, see?” My eyes shoot wide and I look across at the wom-  Girl-  Miss Gray- and then back up to Reisende.  “I can- I can have a friend?” “Yes, dear.  Now, let her get some rest, and pack up your things.  I already took the time to pack up your jewelry- the bag is in the study.  Chop chop, Emma.”  She smiled sweetly as I left the room to hurry about my task.

[gathering-storm]

✂ whoever hates Shevel the most killing Wolfsbane and Vikki

Therethey stood under pouring rain, the wet sheets falling upon thegathering as though heaven itself were crying for the loss, a smalljar made of gold upon a stone pedestal carried by two creaturesthrough the saddened throngs of mortals and deities alike, the darklysoothing notes of the Vetmoran hymn “Passage of Eternity” flowingas a fabric of solace across the mournful scene, the reborn childVertoria and her mother Wolfsbane dressed in traditional black asArturis, the once conflicted demigod who had become as a teacher toboth of the men whose final shards now rested within the ornate urn,placed his hands upon their shoulders, his long, gray hair flowingaround to enshroud them both in a comforting embrace, the gravestonethe brothers would share engraved with a picture depicting the two ofthem in much happier times, that of when they were children, Shevel,his then peaceful amber eyes looking to the younger Raesal as the twoof them played a game of patty cake, their hands frozen together inthe picture, both smiling, both happy merely to be with each otherand the words “il Et Matavre” written in silver filigree belowthe peaceful scene, an ancient phrase in the brothers’ nativetongue alluding to a work of verse by the demigoddess of poetry,Romai, whose expression said volumes as she looked upon first the urnthen grave, her eyes, which for an eternity had remained in a loving,graceful stare even in times of great tragedy, now barren andlifeless, this beauty who rivaled even the True Angels now looking asthough all the endless life within her had been removed, replacedwith the same emptiness now felt by many in attendance, her lower lipshaking in the same manner as the innocent Vikki’s.Asthis final ceremony for the last true Vetmoran mages commenced, theone chosen to intern them into the soil made his way through thecrowd, footsteps as silent as the pain shared by all those who cameto attend, his long, flowing robe dragging the ground, his normallyproud, snow white wings hanging low at his sides, the very feathersupon them falling like tears onto the wet ground, this demigod ofromance, whose very presence on any other day would have inspiredhope in love anew, adopting the role of preacher in this time oftruest darkness, his motions slow as though he were struggling tofind the will to move while he opened the ancient tome he carriedwith him, its pages and cover, though older than the mortal planeitself, in immaculate shape. “and thus today do we, those fortunateenough to have known the Entwined Kings, release what remains oftheir immortal shells to the ether of the afterlife”, he said withforced ceremonial pride, searching the page to which he had turnedfor an appropriate eulogy, “their lives, though often tangled withthat of each other in endless conflict, concluding both with acts ofpurest sacrifice, their actions speaking volumes about their truenatures, with even the once dreaded Shevel giving all of himself toresurrect his precious family”, he added, a tear of both shock andsorrow falling from his eye as he recounted the death of that oncemost hated of Mageborn Sons, “as it is written in the SacredGuidance of Yuvasi, ‘let not thine eyes be fooled by what laybefore thee, as within even the darkest of hearts does their lay aspec of light, be not given solely to the words of others, as theyoft’ do not know fully of what they speak, nor shouldst thee trustthine first instinct as biblical truth, as e’en we Gods lackperfection, instead, shouldst thou desire the truth as a whole, lookbeyond that which thou dost see, into the deepest reaches of another,listen well to the sounds of thine own heart more than the misguidedwords of others and balance thine instinct with higher reason, asthis is the way to deepest understanding’”, he recited, thewords, though unintentionally, making several in the crowd wail fromguilt, having once misread one brother or the other, “now, if themost powerful of Yuvasi’s children would please come and give untothese fallen legends the Grand Blessing and thus send their souls toour Realm.” he called out, Decimara, the wrathful god of justicestepping forward as the ornate vessel was rested against the front ofits headstone then cutting off a piece of his hair, laying it alongwith the enchanted blade he had used to remove it, on top of theblessed urn “we may never, in all your lives, have seen from acommon viewpoint, I cannot deny my respect for you two, may you bereborn in our blessed realm as the deities you do so deserve to be.”he said kneeling , his hands upon the stone pedestal shielding Raesaland Shevel’s final home from the soggy soil, a brief pulse ofdivine energy flowing from him and into the sorrowful shrine.“Iknow this may not be the best of times, but might I ask what Shevel’sfinal words were?” Arturis questioned in a hushed whisper whileobserving the spectacle, Wolfsbane in her grief stricken state ofmind replying with the ones which stood out the most to her, those inthe language she did not recognize  “talepsum eccat manarade, e mar cammasepht?” sheanswered, the words freezing the wise demigod instantly, the sadnesshe had been restraining for this ceremony becoming immediatelyreplaced with horror, his jaw falling agape as the words sank in“EVERYONE AWAY FROM THE GRAVE NOW!” he shouted shoving his waythrough the mourners and toward the grave site, tossing gods andmortals alike away, even tossing Tereval, the one who had given theeulogy andDecimara, the physically strongest of all gods, backward with all the force he could muster, the jar containing thefinal fragments of the two beloved deceased shaking wildly, itsgolden sides cracking as it levitated into the air, Decimara’saura shining around it vibrantly, the mourners looking upon it inwide eyed surprise, some expecting a miraculous rebirth, othersfearful from Arturis’s actions, their worst feelings proving to bethe most accurate as a voice, unheard since the end of the MortalUprising, boomed from the container “my blood collected, I see theworld anew, as my reason and ferocity are both joined once more,forged together by the power of my strongest brother”, it said withgrim joy, shockwaves of terror reverberating through the entirepantheon present, their bodies shaking as the realization of what wasto come sank in entirely, a shapely male form appearing around thebarely whole urn, the shards within it flying through the cracks inits sides, adhering to the outline of the spectral shape coalescingaround it, “tell me, traitors to the Divine, are you ready to reapyour just reward?” the voice questioned angrily, the forming bodyexpanding to many times its size, stopping when even the largest ofdeities looked the size of a child by comparison, the shards fusing,long flowing hair trailing down a heavily scarred, snow-white back,fierce red eyes like portals to damnation igniting brightly, asmile so vicious as to send even the intimidating goddess ofpunishment, Urax, diving for whatever cover she could find, spreadingacross the face of this visage of destruction “S...S…..Sylivasi,how is this possible!?” the demonic looking Lord of Night,Obsidian, shouted in utter disbelief, “WE ALL WITNESSED VALSAERSLAY YOU!”“for such all knowing beings, all of you,save for this halfblood, are certainly talented at overlooking themost obvious of details”, the reborn emblem of fear laughed whilegrabbing Arturis by the neck, disabling the stunned demigod with asimple sharp grip, throwing his body into the frightened throngs, the defeated teacher landing at the feet of Wolfsbane and Vertoria,gaspingdesperately for air, the fair female fae discarding her fright forthe time being, charging at the horrid deity currently rampagingthrough his fellow gods, killing a great many of them effortlesslywith but a single swing of his immense scythe, “isthis all my brothers and sisters can do to stop me?!” he cackled,his face covered in the spray of their ends, his dark pridefuljolliness interrupted by the furious woman slamming headlong into hischin, sending him staggering backward “ah, here we have one withsome fight in her!” he smiled as he recovered, his attentionfocused on her and her alone, his strikes missing their mark as hetoyed with her, allowing her several direct hits upon his personage,enjoying the chance to be challenged in any respect. “CEASE THISFOOLISHNESS WOLFSBANE!” Decimara bellowed as he lunged toward hisbrother, sword slashing downward with air splitting speed, its bladebiting deeply into Sylivasi’s shoulder, eliciting a pained yelpfrom the surprised God of Death, “you have a daughter to think of”,the feared God of Justice urged while trying to use his blade to keepSylivasi restrained, pulling back hard with all of his might, barelyable to restrain the force of the fighting villain, “take her andfind safety in some other realm, where not even this eternal horrorknows the name”, he encouraged, “I shall keep himhere.” “ah, so there IS a heart in the only God asfeared as I”, Sylivasi taunted while ducking free of the blade inhis flesh, turning around with the speed of fate itself and plunginghis hand deep into the chest of his one time cohort in devastation,“and it beats so well, I can’t wait to taste it.” he uttered,licking his lips hungrily, enjoying the look of surprise onDecimara’s proud face as the knowledge his end was soon in comingtook full hold, the expression becoming the blank glare of a corpsewhen his solid black heart was torn from his body, pulsing wildly inthe eternal terror’s hand as if struggling to free itself, thethrobbing ceasing upon the Tormentor’s teeth sinking into itssupple walls, his face dyed crimson “now, where was I?” hequestioned sarcastically, turning his attention back to the fae, thenimmediately to her daughter, the child standing horrified amid thecleaved bodies of the other former mourners, her height all whichsaved her from Sylivasi’s first sudden strike, her terrified wailsfilling the air as the monster appearedclose in front of her,the innocent halfblood trying to force her frozen legs to flee, theblood running cold in her veins, her eyes showing the abject fearthat ran through her young mind as she looked up to the face of theman that would certainly be her end “Iwonder just what that mother of yours is willing to do to save yourlife...” he teased as he leaned down to her level, his nose itselffar larger than her, his bullying of Vertoria interrupted by a hardstrike to the back of his head from Wolfsbane’s fist “leave heralone, or die.” the fae said defiantly, the god vanishing for amoment, only to appear behind her in a much smaller size matching herown, his hands on her body, tracing up her sides and toward her chestin full view of the one she wished to protect “I might”, he saidpulling her tightly against himself, his hands clasping her breastsas hard as he was able, her struggles to free herself only serving toarouse him, “ifyou make it worth my while….” “there..is no way...Iwould EVER SEE TO THE PLEASURE OF A WORTHLESS SHIT LIKE YOU!” sheyelled as she fought against his force, only to receive a harsh biteto the edge of her wing, the villain tearing a chunk out of thebeautiful appendage “yes, fight back, its all the more fun to me.”he cheered tossing her to the ground “oh and, child, feel free towatch, I LOVE an audience...” he said as he tried to get on top ofWolfsbane, the fast woman sliding out from under him before he couldget into position, kicking him in the crotch with all her might, theblow briefly stunning him, allowing her a chance to follow it up witha barrage of ranged attacks, her magic driving him to the dirt “cute,now its my turn...” he said, his face caked in mud, the callouscoward grabbing Vertoria, his re-summoned scythe’s blade againsther throat “itsyour choice, bride of my reason, do as I say, or watch her die...”he threatened, digging the celestial steel into the scared kid’sskin deep enough to open a shallow cut “m..mommy...” shewhimpered “help me….” “yes valiant creature, help yourdaughter, you know how to...” Sylivasi said dragging the implementacross her throat, stopping just shy of her carotid artery, Wolfsbanetrying to think of a way to save her beloved child without giving theman what he so desired, her gaze flitting between him, her daughter,his weapon and the area around the two of them “time’s runningshort sweetheart….” he encouraged, the tip of his blade startingto burrow in to Vertoria’s lifeline, the child crying as she feltwhat could likely be her final pain, “I have a WHOLE UNIVERSE toruin after this!” he shouted dementedly, a drop of Vikki’s bloodgracing the silver instrument, streaking its face like the signatureof doom “a...alright...” Wolf relented as she started to move thestraps to her funeral gown off of her shoulders “but...can we atleast do it somewhere she can’t see?” she asked, hoping to atleast spare Vertoria the sight of her mother being ravaged “I canwork with that, giving you your last little request...” heanswered, removing his hands from Vikki, his weapon staying preciselywhere it was “but if you try to break our deal...its curtains forher...” he added heading her way, his scythe keeping pace as thehalfbreed tried to move awayfrom it.“I won’t, just get this over with….” shesaid resigned to her fate, the ferocious acts of desire thatfollowed, the stuff of nightmares as the rapacious formerly deceaseddeity explored every cruel option his endlessly twisted mind couldconceive of, the fae’s screams of pain and agony from behind theonly tree near the grave reducing her daughter to frantic tears, asher body was used and abused like a toy owned by a psychoticteenager, his every blow onto her and every thrust within her donewith the utmost malice, her bones eventually snapping from the force,her skin opened up in countless cuts and her very soul nearly torn toshreds as the bestial devil finished his gruesome acts of sexualtorture, letting out a final loud grunt accented by her most frantichowlwhenhe spilled his seed within her. The deed done, he rose from thewrithing mass of womanhood, his body sweaty, face almost peaceful,and said in a voice brimming with pure evil “I won’t let yousuffer, time to die.” before crushing her skull beneath his foot,thelast sound she would ever loose a desperate scream, thislast cry of her life followed almost immediately by the loud,sickening crunch of her head caving in beneath the force of his foot“thatjust leaves the girl….” he hummed appearing once more near Vikki,the dreaded weapon which kept her prisoner still where he had placedit, its tip nearly buried in her “can’t have you coming back forrevenge some day, say hi to your mother for me.” he said beforeslittingher throat from ear to ear, washing the ground in the crimson tearsof her veins, her eyes frozen in shock and herbody falling ontothe soaked soil onlyto be kicked onto the grave which was meant to house her father anduncle,her hands reachingfor the picture engraved on the headstone as her life ebbed quicklyaway, a last attempt at comfort before she succumbed, her fingertipsdug into the crevices of the engraving, head falling to rest againstthe stone slab, in line with Shevel’s gaze, her tears as she sliddown to that final position clinging to the image of her father’seyes, making the grave itself seem to cry for the loss of her.

[readbookywooks]

‘What is this place?’ said Conina.

Rincewind looked around him, and made a guess.

They were still in the heart of Al Khali. He could hear the hum of it beyond the walls. But in the middle of the teeming city someone had cleared a vast space, walled it off, and planted a garden so romantically natural that it looked as real as a sugar pig.

‘It looks like someone has taken twice five miles of inner city and girdled them round with walls and towers,’ he hazarded.

‘What a strange idea,’ said Conina.

‘Well, some of the religions here-well, when you die, you see, they think you go to this sort of garden, where there’s all this sort of music and, and,’ he continued, wretchedly, ’sherbet and, and - young women.’

Conina took in the green splendour of the walled garden, with its peacocks, intricate arches and slightly wheezy fountains. A dozen reclining women stared back at her, impassively. A hidden string orchestra was playing the complicated Klatchian bhong music.

‘I’m not dead,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I would have remembered. Besides, this isn’t my idea of paradise.’ She looked critically at the reclining figures, and added, ‘I wonder who does their hair?’

A sword point prodded her in the small of the back, and the two of them set out along the ornate path towards a small domed pavilion surrounded by olive trees. She scowled.

‘Anyway, I don’t like sherbet.’

Rincewind didn’t comment. He was busily examining the state of his own mind, and wasn’t happy at the sight of it. He had a horrible feeling that he was falling in love.

He was sure he had all the symptoms. There were the sweaty palms, the hot sensation in the stomach, the general feeling that the skin of his chest was made of tight elastic. There was the feeling every time Conina spoke, that someone was running hot steel into his spine.

He glanced down at the Luggage, tramping stoically alongside him, and recognised the symptoms.

‘Not you, too?’ he said.

Possibly it was only the play of sunlight on the Luggage’s battered lid, but it was just possible that for an instant it looked redder than usual.

Of course, sapient pearwood has this sort of weird mental link with its owner … Rincewind shook his head. Still, it’d explain why the thing wasn’t its normal malignant self.

‘It’d never work,’ he said. ‘I mean, she’s a female and you’re a, well, you’re a-’ He paused. ‘Well, whatever you are, you’re of the wooden persuasion. It’d never work. People would talk.’

He turned and glared at the black-robed guards behind him.

‘I don’t know what you’re looking at,’ he said severely.

The Luggage sidled over to Conina, following her so closely that she banged an ankle on it.

‘Push off,’ she snapped, and kicked it again, this time on purpose.

Insofar as the Luggage ever had an expression, it looked at her in shocked betrayal.

The pavilion ahead of them was an ornate onion-shaped dome, studded with precious stones and supported on four pillars. Its interior was a mass of cushions on which lay a rather fat, middle-aged man surrounded by three young women. He wore a purple robe interwoven with gold thread; they, as far as Rincewind could see, demonstrated that you could make six small saucepan lids and a few yards of curtain netting go a long way although - he shivered - not really far enough.

The man appeared to be writing. He glanced up at them.

‘I suppose you don’t know a good rhyme for “thou”?’ he said peevishly.

Rincewind and Conina exchanged glances.

‘Plough?’ said Rincewind. ‘Bough?’

‘Cow?’ suggested Conina, with forced brightness.

The man hesitated. ‘Cow I quite like,’ he said, ‘Cow has got possibilities. Cow might, in fact, do. Do pull up a cushion, by the way. Have some sherbet. Why are you standing there like that?’

‘It’s these ropes,’ said Conina.

‘I have this allergy to cold steel,’ Rincewind added.

‘Really, how tiresome,’ said the fat man, and clapped a pair of hands so heavy with rings that the sound was more of a clang. Two guards stepped forward smartly and cut the bonds, and then the whole battalion melted away, although Rincewind was acutely conscious of dozens of dark eyes watching them from the surrounding foliage. Animal instinct told him that, while he now appeared to be alone with the man and Conina, any aggressive moves on his part would suddenly make the world a sharp and painful place. He tried to radiate tranquillity and total friendliness. He tried to think of something to say.

‘Well,’ he ventured, looking around at the brocaded hangings, the ruby-studded pillars and the gold filigree cushions, ‘you’ve done this place up nicely. It’s-’ he sought for something suitably descriptive - ‘well, pretty much of a miracle of rare device.’

‘One aims for simplicity,’ sighed the man, still scribbling busily. ‘Why are you here? Not that it isn’t always a pleasure to meet fellow students of the poetic muse.’

‘We were brought here,’ said Conina.

‘Men with swords,’ added Rincewind.

‘Dear fellows, they do so like to keep in practice. Would you like one of these?’

He snapped his fingers at one of the girls.

‘Not, er, right now,’ Rincewind began, but she’d picked up a plate of golden-brown sticks and demurely passed it towards him. He tried one. It was delicious, a sort of sweet crunchy flavour with a hint of honey. He took two more.

‘Excuse me,’ said Conina, ‘but who are you? And where is this?’

‘My name is Creosote, Seriph of Al Khali,’ said the fat man, ‘and this is my Wilderness. One does one’s best.’

Rincewind coughed on his honey stick.

‘Not Creosote as in “As rich as Creosote”?’ he said.

‘That was my dear father. I am, in fact, rather richer. When one has a great deal of money, I am afraid, it is hard to achieve simplicity. One does one’s best.’ He sighed.

‘You could try giving it away,’ said Conina.

He sighed again. ‘That isn’t easy, you know. No, one just has to try to do a little with a lot.’

‘No, no, but look’, said Rincewind, spluttering bits of stick, ‘they say, I mean, everything you touch turns into gold, for goodness sake.’

‘That could make going to the lavatory a bit tricky,’ said Conina brightly. ‘Sorry.’

‘One hears such stories about oneself,’ said Creosote, affecting not to have heard. ‘So tiresome. As if wealth mattered. True riches lie in the treasure houses of literature.’

‘The Creosote I heard of,’ said Conina slowly, ‘was head of this band of, well, mad killers. The original Assassins, feared throughout hubward Klatch. No offence meant.’

‘Ah yes, dear father,’ said Creosote junior. ‘The hashishim. Such a novel idea.[15] But not really very efficient. So we hired Thugs instead.’

‘Ah. Named after a religious sect,’ said Conina knowingly.

Creosote gave her a long look. ‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘I don’t think so. I think we named them after the way they push people’s faces through the back of their heads. Dreadful, really.’

He picked up the parchment he had been writing on, and continued, ‘I seek a more cerebral life, which is why I had the city centre converted into a Wilderness. So much better for the mental flow. One does one’s best. May I read you my latest oeuvre?’

‘Egg?’ said Rincewind, who wasn’t following this.

Creosote thrust out one pudgy hand and declaimed as follows:

‘A summer palace underneath the bough,

A flask of wine, a loaf of bread, some lamb couscous

with courgettes, roast peacock tongues, kebabs, iced

sherbet, selection of sweets from the trolley and

choice of Thou,

Singing beside me in the Wilderness,

And Wilderness is-’

He paused, and picked up his pen thoughtfully.

‘Maybe cow isn’t such a good idea,’ he said. ‘Now that I come to look at it-’

Rincewind glanced at the manicured greenery, carefully arranged rocks and high surrounding walls. One of the Thous winked at him.

‘This is a Wilderness?’ he said.

‘My landscape gardeners incorporated all the essential features, I believe. They spent simply ages getting the rills sufficiently sinuous. I am reliably informed that they contain prospects of rugged grandeur and astonishing natural beauty.’

‘And scorpions,’ said Rincewind, helping himself to another honey stick.

‘I don’t know about that,’ said the poet. ‘Scorpions sound unpoetic to me. Wild honey and locusts seem more appropriate, according to the standard poetic instructions, although I’ve never really developed the taste for insects.’

‘I always understood that the kind of locust people ate in wildernesses was the fruit of a kind of tree,’ said Conina. ‘Father always said it was quite tasty.’

‘Not insects?’ said Creosote.

‘I don’t think so.’

The Seriph nodded at Rincewind. ‘You might as well finish them up, then,’ he said. ‘Nasty crunchy things, I couldn’t see the point.’

‘I don’t wish to sound ungrateful,’ said Conina, over the sound of Rincewind’s frantic coughing. ‘But why did you have us brought here?’

‘Good question.’ Creosote looked at her blankly for a few seconds, as if trying to remember why they were there.

‘You really are a most attractive young woman,’ he said. ‘You can’t play a dulcimer, by any chance?’

‘How many blades has it got?’ said Conina.

‘Pity,’ said the Seriph, ‘I had one specially imported.’

‘My father taught me to play the harmonica,’ she volunteered.

Creosote’s lips moved soundlessly as he tried out the idea.

‘No good,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t scan. Thanks all the same, though.’ He gave her another thoughtful look. ‘You know, you really are most becoming. Has anyone ever told you your neck is as a tower of ivory?’

‘Never,’ said Conina.

‘Pity,’ said Creosote again. He rummaged among his cushions and produced a small bell, which he rang.

After a while a tall, saturnine figure appeared from behind the pavilion. He had the look of someone who could think his way through a corkscrew without bending, and a certain something about the eyes which would have made the average rabid rodent tiptoe away, discouraged.

That man, you would have said, has got Grand Vizier written all over him. No-one can tell him anything about defrauding widows and imprisoning impressionable young men in alleged jewel caves. When it comes to dirty work he probably wrote the book or, more probably, stole it from someone else.

He wore a turban with a pointy hat sticking out of it. He had a long thin moustache, of course.

‘Ah, Abrim,’ said Creosote.

‘Highness?’

‘My Grand Vizier,’ said the Seriph.