#the one season in which he's actively being invited to an alliance and he's like FUCKKKKKKKK.

[sprucewoodmpreg]

really funny that clethubs has gotten way more popular this season considering bdubs has been WAY more of a petty bitch than usual 😭

[kisilinramblings]

Jubilation part 1 : A New Dawn

As promised, I’m digging into Jubilation. Why that episode particularly? Because the episode is themed around dreams. The episode has a whole is offering us a unique chance to dive into the main heroes’ subconscious and psych, more so than usual. Let’s go!

The episode starts where we see Marinette jogging as the sun rises. When the episode started, I first notice how unusual it was for us to see Marinette do that. Normally, for an episode opening scene that starts with Marinette, we either see her doing Ladybug stuff, being at school, or running late. She is normally either working on projects, hanging with friends or family, or daydreaming one way or another about Adrien. That was the old normal. 

Here, the first shot tell us it’s a new day. We have emerge from the night where began the first three episodes of the season. Now, it is new day, a new beginning. Marinette is alone but keeping herself active. She also wakes up herself early. She is changing her habits.

We are also seeing the Alliance add. Another new product that will play an important role during the upcoming season. Gabriel too has now new plans.

The add also enacts a discussion between Tikki and Marinette, explaining that the Adrien we see is actually a 3D model of him and informing the audience that his life has changed as well. And we will only get a glimpse later on how he is actually faring. For now, the episode focuses on Marinette.

Speaking on which, when Tikki comments Marinette is still love with the real Adrien, Marinette affirms she has moved on. Her motive?

“As long as I am Ladybug, I refuse to be in love with Adrien or anyone else. I’ve lost possession of the Miraculouses because of love. Thanks, but no thanks”. 

That’s the English dub line, but let me inform you that the Fr Dub goes with “I’ve lost the Miraculous I was in charge of”. Putting a bit more emphasis on how the Miraculous were her responsability and she failed to protect them. 

Also, we are not even 1 minute in that we are reminded of one dream Marinette has cut out on of her dream from her life. Remember how was Marinette during Stormy Weather back in S1?

“I’ll invite him out for a fruit smoothie at the end of the photoshoot. Then, we’ll get married. Live happily ever after in a beautiful house. Have 2 kids... No, three! And a dog! Maybe a cat? Nah, forget the cat. A hamster! I love hamsters!”

She was more... alive and optimist. She could allow herself to daydream and get ahead of herself. Now? We are facing a more down-to-earth and scarred Marinette who focuses on the present. And she also has become more pessimist on some level, but more on that in the next part. 

Just like at the end of Truth, where Marinette mourned the fact she could not be in a romantic relationship because of Shadow Moth. Now, she has shut the door tighter than ever. She won’t just not be in a romantic relationship. She will refuse to be in love. The stakes are too high and the situation is dire. She cannot afford another slip. Love is a luxury and a leasure she cannot have anymore. In a way, she is trying to prevent another mistake, but at the same time, it feels like she is also punishing herself.

All right, that’s for this post. Next part will focus on Marinette and Socqueline’s discussion. Stay tuned!

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Day of the Animals

While perhaps not my favorite episode this season, Day of the Animals is easily the best written story of season three. Even so, it still has problems due to the third season’s poor approach to characterization. 

Summary: Rapunzel, Varian, Angry and Red are returning stolen loot that the two girls had stolen years ago. They are accompanied by Max, Pascal, Ruddiger and Hamuel who all cannot stop quarreling with each other (or in Hamuel's case, just being useless). While messing with a sea shell pendant, it magically transports the humans into it, leaving the animals to fight over it. A minor thug named Dwayne, steals the pendant forcing the animals to work together to retrieve it. 

So Why is a Polynesian Inspired Kingdom Within Riding Distance of a Northern European Country? 

If you’ll remember my review of Beginnings, Neserdina’s princesses were wearing Polynesian garb and dancing the Hula when prepping for the competition. Now I’ve already went into length as to why that’s not good representation, but in addition to that it’s also just plain dumb. You can’t just transport one ethic group and dump them into another part of the world because it’s convenient for you. You don’t earn any brownie points for doing that. Especially when your fantasy world is still based off of our own historical earth. 

To make things even more confusing, we actually saw Neserdina way back in season one in Way of the Willow. It’s where Willow bought the gremlin knock-off. 

That is an island. How the heck do you get to a volcanic island riding in a horse and cart? And don't tell me they’re riding to a port, because Corona is a port city already. They could have gotten there by boat. It’s also can’t be too far away from Corona’s borders if Angry and Red were able to get there on foot during their year long travels. 

The only explanation is that the entirety of the Tangled crew doesn’t understand geography, and this won’t be the last example in the show to back up that statement. 

So Why Is Rapunzel Here?

We get explanations for why everyone is on this road trip, except for the main character herself. Red and Angry are trying to return some stolen loot. Varian is wanting to pick up rare alchemy supplies at the market and was invited along because Raps hopes it’ll be a chance for Ruddiger and Max to get know one another better. 

But why on earth does Rapunzel feel the need to come on this trip herself? Doesn’t she have a kingdom to run? While I’m sure Eugene is more than capable of handling things, this doesn’t reflect well upon the writers supposed plan of making Rapunzel appear more responsible. 

Literally any other adult could have come along on this trip. This wasn’t something Rapunzel needed to waste time on. Lance especially would have been more appropriate here as he’s the one who’s suppose to eventually adopt Angry and Red.  And the sad thing is, all they had to do was give Rapunzel a line about needing to attend some sort of diplomatic business in Neserdina. That’s it. 

In a show that’s supposed to be all about Rapunzel; Rapunzel sure doesn’t have a whole lot of reasons to exist in the majority of the episodes. 

Lack of Worldbuilding Strikes Again

At this point I’m kind of numb to the whole “magical thing just exists for no adequately explained reason” and so I’m not as upset as some people are about the shell necklace. But it’s still not good writing. 

Why does this thing exist? How did come to be cursed? How did it get mixed in with their stuff? What activated the magic and why did it only effect the human’s even though the animals were closer to it? 

Just something show. Anything. You bothered to give use rules for how this thing works and even stuck to them this time, but you can’t just make the last leg of the trip and give us some exposition? 

Yeah, okay. 

So Where Exactly Are We in Relation to Corona?

We can see Pittsford and Ivangarr on the road sign and we have to be in riding distance to Neserdina from Corona, but like are we in Corona still? Are we in Koto, which is Corona’s nearest neighbor to the east according to season three. Are we in some no-man’s-land where none of the kingdoms have control, or are we already in Neserdina itself? 

The series gives us no sense of direction nor any firm placement for Corona within it’s world. I only know it is a Northern European country because Corona itself is a peninsula with a north sea, uses French, English, and German fashion/customs, and Rapunzel is a Germanic fairy tale. But like those clues are thrown into a blender and contradicted several times over, on top of never being told where it’s closest kingdoms actually lie. 

All of this matters when traveling and exploring the wider world are big themes of your show. You need more solid and consistent world building than this. It also impacts how much authority and control your main character has within the episode itself if she range of political power is limited to one area. So like we need to know where the heroes stand here. 

(FYI I personally headcannon Corona as former Prussia which was once part of Germany and it’s alliance of smaller kingdoms. It’s also a peninsula next to the Curonian Spit) 

This Is Not Progress

Okay so the idea here, is that the show is implying that Rapunzel is trying to improve Corona’s justice system over Frederic’s previously inhumane crack down on crime. However, this is terribly executed. 

For starters the show has never called Frederic nor Rapunzel out for their previous misbehavior. You can not change any system for the better without acknowledging the flaws within said system first. Therefore this comes right out of nowhere and doesn’t stick around long enough to stay within the viewers minds for later. 

Secondly, Rapunzel is incredibly fickle about who she does and doesn’t set free. The Saporians were still in the dungeons last time we saw them, Caine was shipped off to the prison island and left to die there as far as we know, and the Stabbingtons are shown shackled together in the wedding short even though they supposedly changed their ways and befriended Eugene again. 

Meanwhile Dwayne and Stalyan are free to go their marry way and continue their life of crime, Varian is only released from his overly harsh punishment because he kissed Rapunzel’s ass not because it was wrong to imprison him in the first place, and later Cassandra gets away scot free because she’s Rapunzel’s bestie even though she committed the worst crimes out of everyone in the show and for very little reason. 

That’s not justice. That’s not compassion. That’s not progressive reform. It’s just nepotism, and it’s every bit as corrupt as Frederic’s classism and totalitarianism. 

Just because Rapunzel is “nice” it doesn’t mean that she is kind. Real reform has to treat everyone with equality and have a set of base standards that are beyond one person’s personal judgment. She is still a dictator and an abuser even if she lets the occasional person go free on a whim. 

Finally, Rapunzel’s methods are just downright ineffective. Dwyane may not be a threat to our heroes, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a threat to other people. He’s not actually sorry about trying to rob people at knife point and he fully plans on continuing being a thief after feeding Rapunzel the lines she wants to hear. 

Furthermore, we don’t know if this course of action is born out of malice or desperate need. He half heartily comments about finding ‘an honest job” but can he even do that? Is it even a realistic option for him? The series has been weaving this class inequality theme through out it’s past three seasons and directly connecting that to Corona’s crime rate. 

Eugene had a hard time finding a job during season one directly due to his past record, remember? A life of crime he was forced to lead in order to survive, and he’s the Prince Consort! What chance does Dwayne have? Did Rapunzel even try to help him find work or did she just wag her finger at him and told him “Now, now, stealing’s not nice.” 

The show wants to act like Rapunzel is this progressive reformer but then they turn her into a Republican instead. That’s not me being sarcastic either, this approach to criminal justice is the foundation of conservative belief and has been for centuries. The right are not interested in why people commit crime. They don’t care about addressing the fundamental problems in society that lead people to break the law. Let alone bother to analyze why those laws exist in the first place. Instead they resort to doublethink and survivor bias to either write off those that fall through the cracks or make excuses for why their policies repeatedly fail, often ignoring the fact that things aren’t actually working for whole swathes of people who aren’t themselves.  

Tangled the Series is far too simplistic and childish in it’s approach to deeper subjects like this to enforce the messages it supposedly wants to enforce. Rapunzel herself relies on magical thinking, double standards, and personal bias to see her through every and any problem and the show just rewards her for it rather than challenging her to grow and in doing so winds up supporting people like her in their authoritarian ideas, whether that was the writers’ intentions or not. 

In short, Rapunzel shows no interest in putting in the real work it would take to implement genuine restorative justice. She doesn't honestly care about Dwyane or his victims. She’s just posturing here for the sake of her self image.  

You’re Not In Any Position to Talk Rapunzel 

Speaking of Rapunzel being a hypocrite.... The entirety of season three’s main conflict is her having a petty bitch fight with her supposed best friend and needlessly dragging everyone else into it.

In fact that’s the whole show. Rapunzel repeatedly failing to get along with other people because she’s deep down a shitty person despite the veneer of ‘friendliness’ she slaps on to hide it. Having her just say she knows better does nothing to convince me that she’s actually learned anything. You have to show that she’s learned it first, and that requires acknowledging her own wrong doings.  

Varian’s face here just tells it all. Rapunzel is full of shit and no one in the show knows it better than him. Why are they even friends again? Why should we trust her with the three kids she neglected more than once? Why should any of these people take what she says seriously? 

Well This is Contradictory

Also, since we brought up double standards, here’s Varian undermining that whole “jail is bad” thing Rapunzel is trying to push with Dwayne and later with Cass. Not only is the show under cutting it’s themes for a joke, but it just reinforces the abuse Varian received. He’s now bought into Frederic’s stupid beliefs and winds up reinforcing to the audience that that his ‘reform’ was due to his past imprisonment.   

As an adult watching this series, Varian’s supposed redemption continues to increasingly look like a victim complying with their past abuser out of fear of further harm rather than anyone genuinely learning to be better.

Can We Please Stop Infantilizing the 16 Year Old

As if to deflect from Varian’s past mistreatment and continuing parentification, the show then goes on to showcase the opposite extreme whenever possible. I know it’s hard to tell just from these few screen shots alone, but over the course of season three Varian is spoken down too and treated condescendingly by the rest of the cast, and by Rapunzel in particular, even as he enters his later teens/early adulthood.  

Some of this is just to due to Rapunzel being her usual holier than thou self, but there’s also times, like here, where Varian is lumped together with the actual children of the show, even though he’s 6 to 8 years their senior. 

In fact out of everyone Rapunzel interacts with, Varian’s actually the closest to her in both age and development. Queen for a Day forced the two of them into a power imbalance due to a mixture of classism and society’s ongoing unhealthy (and often artificial) divide between younger and older teens, but as we get further and further away from that point in time and as Varian nears the same age Rapunzel started out as, that imbalance becomes less and less relevant. 

Look at how this scene is framed, He’s standing between Angry and Red and is placed lower than them to make it look like he’s one of them. He’s not. 

Varian may still look 12 with his big old eyes and short stature, but seeing as how we’re past Hearts Day, he’s actually close to being 17, if he isn’t already. The timeline gets even wonkier after The King and Queen of Hearts, but trust me, we’re close to being two years past Queen for a Day, if not more so. 

Varian, for all counts, should be Rapunzel’s equal by now in terms of story. Not only is he closest in age to her, but he’s also the only other person going through a coming of age arc. And of the two, Varian’s the one who has actually learned and grown as a person. He has more real world experience than Rapunzel ever will and knows how to implement that experience. (He’s also the more mature, but that’s more of a failure to write Rapunzel competently than a reflection of his capabilities.) 

No matter how you slice it, Varian shouldn’t be taking orders or advice from Rapunzel; no one should be, really; and he most certainly shouldn’t put up with her condescension. Rapunzel is not his nor anybody else’s mother. She’s not even a big sister like figure, and at no point should be treated as the leader of anything or anyone. 

Rapunzel is a Poor Man’s Rose Quartz 

I typically try not to draw too many comparisons between Tangled and other shows outside of the occasional parallel, as a show should be able to stand on it’s own for good or for bad, but it’s hard not to discuss the series without also discussing Steven Universe in some way. 

Steven Universe is this generation’s Batman the Animated Series or Scooby Doo. It’s the game changer that everybody else is trying to copy in some manner. Chris desperately wants Tangled the Series to be the next Steven Universe, right down to how the show is structured, paced, and what themes are presented. But unfortunately Chris has no idea why Steven Universe works the way it does. 

For starters SU adjusted it’s pacing as it went along, smoothing out its rougher edges while Tangled doubled down on its filler. SU had a planned arc from the get go and stuck to it, so that by the time the twists came they made sense. SU kept it’s focus on Steven purposefully so that the story unfolded from his view point while making to sure to acknowledge the importance of other characters around him and their conflicts. It didn’t make him infallible nor shove aside everyone else’s arcs.  

But most importantly, Steven Universe was written by a bisexual nonbinary person who set out to make a show for people in the queer community like themselves. Meanwhile, as a middle aged white man, Chis hasn’t a damn clue about his primary audience and has shown no interest in connecting with them. 

This isn’t to say that Steven Universe is a perfect show. No show is beyond criticism. Nor is this to say that straight white cis men can’t write; many of them do and can portray characters unlike themselves competently enough. But if you’re completely disinterested in other points of view than you can’t be a good writer of fictional stories, that’s just a fact. Because in order to understand proper characterization you need to acknowledge that not every character ever will be like you and that even you’re main heroes will hold beliefs and experiences different from yourself. Otherwise there is no genuine conflict to build off of. Either no one will disagree with each other or the conflict will come across as flat and forced, complete with lopsided bias. 

Therefore, in the end, Rapunzel winds up being less of a Steven and more of a Rose Quartz/Pink Dimond. Both are spoiled princesses/co-rulers of a kingdom that mistreats it’s people and anyone outside of it, who rebelled against their guardians, supposedly out of a sense of justice, but really for themselves and their own freedom, only to make things even worse for everyone. On top of that they both accidently harmed their friends, freindzone their best friend while also bossing them around, are condescending to their love interests, is controlling of people who trust them, and throws temper tantrums when they don’t get what they want, oh and neglected someone for an inhumane amount of time. 

Even then, Rapunzel winds up being the worst of the two. 

The whole point behind Rose was that she is someone whom the main characters place upon a pedestal and as the series went along slowly had the scales fall from their eyes and learned to view her for who she really was flaws and all. By the end, in Future, she is even metaphorically removed from her pedestal when Steven removes her picture from the wall.  

Rose also grows as a character, unlike Rapunzel. Her story is deliberately being told to us backwards. The awful person she was in the past was no longer who she was by the time of her death. True she was still flawed, and the consequences of her actions continued on even after her demise, but she actually tried to be a better person. She got called out for her behavior, she wasn’t excused for actions even when the show explained why she did what she did, and she stopped doing harmful actions whenever she realized that they hurt someone. 

Greg was allowed to stand up to her and show how she was wrong, and she respected him for it and later fell in love with him because of it. She tried to better control her temper when she wound up hurting her friend. Her failed revolution and her mistreatment of Spinel was actually born from a misguided desire to help, rather than outright selfishness. 

Rose Quratz/Pink Dimond is a brilliant fucking character. You may not like her, but you can’t deny that she is one of the most complex figures in children’s media to ever be created. She is real, nuanced, and multifaceted. He role within the story is complicated, messy, and intricate. She is the most well rounded female character I’ve ever seen and she is what I had hoped Rapunzel would be when I first watched season one, only even more so as the actual focus. 

I want women in cartoons to be people! 

But Rapunzel fails at every turn to follow through with this promise. She is not a deep complex character. She’s not a flawed and complicated heroine. She’s a blank canvas in which the creator can shove his creepy ass views upon. She is never taken off her pedestal, she’s never allowed to be wrong, and she is forced to spout the the creator’s personal bias against other characters. 

Rapunzel isn’t a person. She had the chance to be one, but then was reduced to .. to this. As a woman, the treatment of Rapunzel and Cassandra in this show is just flat out insulting. 

So What Is the Difference Between Angry and Red Now?

I’m all for character growth, but at this point Angry and Red are just interchangeable. Anything that made them uniquely them has been lost, and they’re now just fulfilling the generic rambunctious little kid trope. Red becoming more assertive shouldn’t mean she stops being an introvert altogether; that’s not how that works. While Angry shouldn’t lose her temper completely just because she’s wiling to open up more. 

So Why Dwayne?

I like Dwayne as a character and in truth I don’t mind his existence here, and unlike that werewolf hunter last time he at least was established in a pervious season. But this is still time that could have went to a more important antagonist. 

Also notice that Dwyane gets a villain song, but not Lady Caine or Zhan Tiri. Just saying. 

Rapunzel Has Not Earned the Role of the Wise Sage and Mentor 

Rapunzel has never learned to listen to others. Ever.

On it’s own this might have been a good speech, but when taken in context of the wider story it just makes Rapunzel look like an ass. 

A year traveling does not make Rapunzel suddenly all knowing. She is not wiser nor more experienced than anyone else in this scene. She’s also a crappy leader and big fat hypocrite.  

Even when she’s technically right, as seen here, she’s still in the wrong because she never follows through and acts upon her own advice; making this whole story pointless in the grand scheme of things. 

And that’s the core problem with season three. Rapunzel is shoved into a role she is not designed for and the whole premise of the series runs right off the rails. You’re main heroine in a coming of age story can not inhabit the mentor role. She can not simultaneously learn and grow and be always right while instructing everyone else. 

All through out season three Rapunzel is either rendered completely useless in her own damn series, or she utterly fails to fulfill any sort of narrative promise laid out for her while she infuriatingly hijacks the story from more interesting and dynamic characters. 

Behold The Only Reason Why Varian was Included in the Episode 

Speaking of hijacking things, Rapunzel of course has to get the idea to save everybody, even though what she thinks of isn’t anything special. It’s not derived from her character as an individual nor from all that experience she supposedly has. It’s literally an idea anyone could have come up  with and the show just hands it to her in order to justify her exitance. 

Meanwhile the character who actually is useful to the plot is sidelined and reduced to just a plot device. And not just here, Varian is rendered practically pointless in all but two episodes in season three, even in episodes that he actually should have more impact in, like the season opener and series finale. 

Good writing treats characters as equally contributing to the plot in ways that complements who these characters are.  

Ok I’ll Admit That This Line Is Funny

Look, I know this whole review series is about pointing out the negative, and I stand by my opinion that Tangled the Series is one of the worst written shows I’ve ever seen, but I want to make one thing clear.... I do not hate the show. If I hated the show I would not waste my time reviewing it. 

Yes the over all writing is shit, but there are a lot of good things to be found in the series beyond just the crap story arc. The humor is usually solid, the animation is gorgeous, the music is a delight, and the majority of the characters are likable even though they don’t develop in the ways that they should. There’s a lot of talent that went into this show and there’s a lot of potential to be had in it’s set up and lore. 

Being critical or negative about the aspects of something doesn’t mean you dislike it, or that you’re not a real fan, or that you’re just a ‘hater’, and I actually find TTS to be fascinating because it’s such a mess. I write reviews because they’re fun and because I genuinely think there is something to be learned from Tangled’s mistakes. 

So Why Do We Cut Back to Rapunzel Here and Not Varian? 

This is such an odd framing choice. Varian is the one who is talking and reacting to what’s happening. It’s his pet that’s in trouble and therefore he carries the emotional weight of the scene, and yet it’s Rapunzel’s shocked face we focus on? Why? What’s the point of that? She has no business being the center focus here. The action does not involve her. 

If you wanted to include her for a later set up then why not have both her and Varian present in this shot? Usually I can at least count on the story boarders to frame things better than this, but they really missed the mark here. Unless Chris is just that stupid and petty that he over ruled them and forced Varian out of the scene, but that seems like a pointless fight to pick, even for him. 

See This is How you Fulfill a Narrative Promise 

The conflict between Ruddiger and Max was set up in season one with What the Hair, then it was reiterated a few episodes ago during The Lost Treasure of Herz Der Sonne, and then it was reintroduced in this episode along with a stated lesson about working together that they needed to learn. By they end of the episode, guess what, they’ve learned to work together. That is how you properly set up and resolve a conflict. 

It’s clear from this that the writers of Tangled the Series know the basic tenants of writing and how to fulfill narrative promises. So the fact that they don’t follow through with this in the majority of the show’s episodes and ongoing story arcs just baffles me. 

Is it negligence? Is it hubris? Is it incompetent management and editorial mandates? Is it just one asshole ruining everything or is this a failure in the writers room as a whole? 

I just don’t understand what the fuck went wrong here. There’s no reason for why the show got as bad as it did. How does the most acclaimed animation company in the world put out such amateurish tripe? 

Just... wow. 

Now you know why I’m mesmerized by this show. It is a mystery to be solved, like trying to figure out how the crew on the Titanic fucked up so badly or why Hindenburg blew up. You just can’t look away. 

Conclusion 

Like I said at the start, structurally speaking this is the strongest episode of the season. I personally enjoy Lost Treasure a little more, just because Rapunzel annoys me less in that, but it’s not a bad story. However when you’re best episode in your final season is filler, then you know you’re in trouble. 

If you like my reviews and want to support my writing endeavors you can drop a tip in my kofi https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (1/4)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 11,570

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

“Thorns on my breasts, rain in my mouth, loam on my bare feet, rough bark grazing my back, I moaned for them all. You stood, waist deep, in a stream, pulling me in, so I swam. You were the water, the wind in the branches wringing their hands, the heavy, wet perfume of soil. I am there now, lost in the forest, dwarfed by the giant trees. Find me.”

— Carol Ann Duffy, from Forest; Rapture, 2005

--

To the surprise of no one, it was raining in Boralus. An icy sleet rushed down from the mountains, pelting civilians in an inescapable barrage. It coated the rooftops. It clung to the eaves. It made treacherous the cobblestone streets. And though it was mid-morning, the watery sunlight could not pierce the heavy bank of cloud that washed over the harbour, so that it felt like dusk. Any rational people would have sequestered themselves inside for warmth, but it seemed that Kul Tirans were utterly immune to the cold wet misery of their capital city. Or perhaps they had merely forgotten what it meant to be dry.

A crowd was gathered on the westernmost docks, sheltered by the inlet. Red banners bearing a crest of scales slapped wetly against their pillars. Dockworkers had halted their usual bustle of activity. Casks and crates and other break bulk hung suspended in the air by creaking ropes. A shark had been strung from a hook and gutted on the quay. The fisherman still held a bloodied knife in his hands, but his attention was turned upon the massive ship tethered to the pier.

The ship was a hulking mass of timbers. She was broad and lavishly decorated. Her sails were tightly furled lengths of new white canvas. Her mainmast bore two flags, which snapped in the wind. The longer pennant was red and streaming and far more prominent than its foul-anchored counterpart. She was the pride of the Ashvane merchant fleet, and she was -- to be frank -- quite horrid to behold. Ugly, even.

Not that Sylvanas would ever say that aloud. Certainly not when she was surrounded on all sides by Kul Tiran sailors and stevedores, all of whom were nudging each other and murmuring their appreciation of such a saucy vessel. Whatever that meant.

What shelter there was to be found on the docks was next to useless. The wind slanted the rain at an angle that slashed beneath any eaves, no matter how deep. Sylvanas’ long ears twitched, flicking off a few drops of rain to very little effect. She reached up to tug the hood of her cloak more firmly in place. The Kul Tirans on the dock gave her a wide berth, or otherwise pretended that she did not exist.

Beside her, Nathanos leaned forward to mutter. “With all due respect, my Queen: remind me why we are here?”

Sylvanas did not take her eyes off the ship. Wordlessly, she nodded towards just above the hideously gilded stern windows. Officers stood atop the poop deck, glittering in all their finery. Three figures stood at the very fore of the ship’s congregation, clearly identifiable even from this distance. Lord Stormsong clutched his staff, tall and dark and glowering in his mitre of office. Lady Ashvane held a possessive hand on the ship’s rail, her fingers glittering with a glut of gem-studded rings. And between them both stood the Lord Admiral Katherine Proudmoore. She was straight-backed and grey, as though carved from pale iron. Her militant greatcoat cut a sleek dagger-like figure through the curtain of rain.

"Is this really worth it?" Nathanos asked in a low tone. "We already have the Zandalari Navy."

Sylvanas waved him away. "We are still negotiating that treaty, I'll remind you."

"And if it fails, I shall eat crow."

"Don't say such tempting things, Nathanos. I might sabotage the treaty for fun."

He sniffed, clearly unimpressed by her threats. "You are dodging the question."

Sylvanas watched the quayside. Her eyes glowed a dull dangerous red, seeking any hint of Alliance representatives or spies. She found none. Nathanos and her rangers would have alerted her of any such Alliance presence in Boralus at once. Still, she scowled. "The Alliance is circling over this place like a well-fed vulture. Foiling them is its own reward. And besides," Sylvanas added dryly. "One always needs more friends."

“With friends like these you’re more likely to end up with a knife in your back.”

Sylvanas hummed a thoughtful note. “Situation normal, then.”

Indeed, Lord Stormsong and Lady Ashvane watched their Lord Admiral with openly hawkish expressions. Katherine hid her limp well -- an old war wound from some wayward grapeshot, or so Sylvanas was told -- but there could be no doubt that she appeared wan. Her shoulders were hoisted straight back and proud, but her gloved hands trembled somewhat.

Nathanos did not sound amused when he said, “From what I understand, the previous Lord Admiral had his youngest son tried and hung for treason.”

At that, Sylvanas arched an eyebrow and cast a curious look over her shoulder. “What manner of treason?”

“A certain band of orcs were shipwrecked on the coast of Kul Tiras on their way to Kalimdor. The boy dared to offer them aid, and kept it secret from his father.”

“Not very well, apparently.” She turned back to studying the ship ceremony. There was whiskey being poured into tankards now. “And the Lord Admiral in question?”

“Sailed west after the orcs who killed his eldest son. He was eventually slain by Thrall and Rexxar, and subsequently succeeded by his wife and only remaining Heir.” Nathanos inclined his head towards Katherine Proudmoore aboard the merchant ship.

“Hmm,” said Sylvanas.

Katherine Proudmoore was lifting the tankard of whiskey into the air. She drank deeply from the cup, before passing it first to Lord Stormsong, and then to Lady Ashvane. When the tankard was back in her hands, she poured what remained onto the deck of the ship, while Lord Stormsong chanted some nonsense about the Tides. The sailors and stevedores on the docks began to cheer, voicing their approval of a newly blessed ship.

“Does our esteemed host currently have an Heir?” Sylvanas mused aloud, lifting her voice just enough to be heard over the din.

Nathanos shook his head. “None that has been announced to the Great Houses. They would need to be confirmed by a majority vote before they could succeed the Admiralty.”

Sylvanas had her arms crossed. She tapped the fingers of her clawed gauntlet against her opposite arm. They clicked against links of chainmail. She could not feel the chill through the veil of undeath that hung over her, but weather like this always reminded her of other places; Northrend was too close to the lingering cold. Finally, Sylvanas said, “Find me one. A lesser cousin, perhaps. Anyone with the name ‘Proudmoore’ attached to their lineage, even peripherally.”

For a moment, Nathanos made no reply. When he spoke, it was in a low hiss. “I had hoped to dissuade you from this course, my Queen. This place is on the brink of civil war.”

“Excellent. I always did love a good challenge.” Sylvanas said dryly. The crowd was beginning to break up now that the ceremonial ship launching was for all intents and purposes complete. The three Great House leaders had stepped down to the quarterdeck, out of sight from the quay. Sylvanas herself turned and began to stride back towards the city centre. “Now, please tell me you’ve found someplace for us to stay in this miserable backwater that isn’t thoroughly damp.”

Nathanos did not say anything. He did not need to. The look on his face was answer enough.

Sylvanas twisted her mouth to one side as though she had bitten into a sour lemon, and she growled, “Fantastic. The weather shall drive me away before the god-awful people do.”

“Then I shall pray for a rainy season.”

“Don’t you know?” Sylvanas tsked. “It’s always a rainy season in Kul Tiras.”

--

Three days later, Sylvanas was being escorted by a steward into Proudmoore Keep out of the downpour. The guards flanking the great doors of the Keep were dressed in heavy oilskin jackets beneath their livery. Their kettle hats, which Sylvanas had previously thought were purely for show rather than utility, kept the rain off their faces.

She had arrived at the Keep alone, much to the annoyance of Nathanos and her rangers. She had told them they could circle the Keep if it made them feel better about it. There was no doubt in her mind that they were probably prowling the grounds before she even set foot inside without them. But the invitation from the Lord Admiral had specifically been for the Warchief of the Horde, and not for sundry others. Sylvanas was not about to jeopardise this mission before she could even get a chance to speak with the military leader of Kul Tiras.

The moment the great doors shut behind them, the steward held out his arm. "Your cloak, my Lady?"

Sylvanas considered him coolly before she pushed the hood away from her face and unclasped the cloak from her pauldrons. The fabric dripped into his arms when he took it and handed it over to another servant, who whisked it away into an unseen cloakroom behind a set of doors.

The steward seemed not to mind the wet at all. He did not even deign to wick it from his tailored suit. "If you would follow me, please."

It was a long walk through the vast warren of corridors. Proudmoore Keep was designed to withstand an invasion, should the harbour be overrun. As Sylvanas discreetly studied the various hallways branching off in different directions, she roughly calculated how many souls could be housed here during a siege, and for how long.

Not that that information would be relevant. Not so soon, anyway.

Eventually, the steward led her to a nondescript doorway, which bore an iron anchor in its wood grain. He knocked, and from within came the sharp order, "Come in!"

Before opening the door however, the steward passed a critical eye over Sylvanas' appearance. She had left her bow and quiver behind, but there remained tucked into her boot a wickedly curved silver skinning knife. A gift from another life. His lips thinned at the sight of the hilt peeking out from her calf.

Sylvanas glared at him, and her eyes burned crimson. "Do not even think of it," she said coldly.

Despite their difference in size -- Sylvanas was tall by her people's standards, but Kul Tirans seemed a cut above the usual humans she had encountered in the past -- he silently came to the conclusion that one knife was not worth the effort, for he sniffed in disdain. Still, he turned and opened the door for her, even going so far as to bow at the waist as she passed.

An attempt had been made to soften the omnipresent grey stone by the addition of thick rugs. It did very little to make the room more cosy. A dull fire snapped in a black-scorched fireplace, and a wrought-iron candelabra dripped wax from the ceiling. Sylvanas had been in dungeons as accommodating as Proudmoore Keep. The Kul Tiran sense of interior design was cut from the same cloth as their choice in homeland, it seemed.

The Lord Admiral was seated in a high-backed armchair before the fireplace. Beside her was an identical chair, and between them a low table, which carried a tray with a tea set. A thin tendril of steam wound its way from the teapot's spout. The rain-lashed windows were dark, their corners beset with a light mist. Katherine's greatcoat was gone, revealing her shirtsleeves and waistcoat. A warm woolen blanket had been draped across her knees.

Katherine glanced up from a book she was reading. Her half moon spectacles gleamed in the dancing firelight. "Ah. It's you." She marked her place in the book with a length of ribbon, setting it on the table beside the tea set.

When Sylvanas tucked her hands behind her back and inclined her head respectfully, the Lord Admiral gestured sharply towards the other chair. "None of that bullshit. Sit. Please."

The last sounded tacked on and half-remembered, as though they hadn’t the time for such pleasantries. A woman for whom wasted words were a sin, then.

Crossing the room, Sylvanas sat. For a long tense moment, the two studied one another in a quiet broken only by the crackle of the fire as a log slipped across the embers. Then, Sylvanas said, “I would comment on the delights of your fair city, but I have yet to find them. The weather is atrocious, and the people inhospitable.”

If anything, Katherine seemed amused by this observation. “Quite right. Tea?” she asked. Her hand hovered over the handle of the porcelain teapot. “Or are you even able to consume food and drink in your…” She fished for the right word. “... unique condition?”

Rather than answer, Sylvanas nudged a cup and saucer closer to the teapot. “No milk.”

Katherine poured two cups accordingly. She hid the slight tremor in her forearms as she lifted the heavy teapot, but Sylvanas noticed regardless. Sylvanas said nothing. Instead, she took the opportunity to silently note the heavy lines etched into the Lord Admiral’s face, her narrow shoulders, her general pallor. When Katherine handed over a saucer and cup without milk, Sylvanas took it with a simple murmur of thanks.

“So, tell me,” Katherine began, and though her body appeared frail, her eyes and voice were sharp enough to cut. “Why are you here? Did you hope to convince me of something in person in a way your envoys could not?”

“That was the plan, yes,” Sylvanas said dryly.

Stirring milk into her own cup, Katherine tapped the little silver spoon against the porcelain rim. “I hardly think sailing a warship into my waters will convince me to open the borders to the Horde.”

“A single frigate is hardly a threat to the might of the Kul Tiran fleet.” Sylvanas sipped at her tea. It tasted muddy, like everything else. “Unless, of course, your storied Navy is far less powerful than I have been led to believe.”

Katherine grunted a wordless note into her own cup. It sounded like the midway point between a snort and a laugh. She lowered the cup to its saucer, and held them close to her chest in both hands. “Go on, then, Warchief. What message do you have for me that your emissaries did not have the balls to deliver themselves?”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose. There was a gentle clink of porcelain against the wooden table as she slowly set down her tea. “Very well,” she murmured. Then, leaning forward in her seat she met the Lord Admiral’s unflinching gaze. “You are a widow with no remaining children. Your peers already plot against you. Your good health is quickly fading. You are in need of a powerful ally to steady the ship, so to speak, and I am a very patient woman with all the time in the world thanks to my ‘unique condition’.”

Despite her best efforts, Sylvanas could not keep the slight sneer at bay when she said those words. The longer Sylvanas spoke, the more stony Katherine’s face became. Her jaw clenched, and her blue eyes narrowed. When Sylvanas had finished, Katherine tongued the inside of her cheek and then took a long sip of her tea. “When I encouraged you to be blunt, I did not mean that blunt.”

Sylvanas shrugged, an unapologetic lift of one shoulder. “Then you should not have asked.”

Katherine pursed her lips into a thin line. Another sip of tea, as though to calm herself before she spoke again. “I respect your honesty, even if I do not appreciate its implications. The truth is never easy to bear. But you cannot deny that your people and mine, we have a history. Even were I to accept your offer of ‘stability’ and whatever that entails, there would be severe internal resistance to an alliance with the Horde.”  

“Small steps first, Lord Admiral,” said Sylvanas. She leaned her elbow upon the armrest, but eased off slightly when she felt her armour begin to scrape the supple leather. “We can talk open borders now, and formal ties later.”

“My people will not see the difference. Not quickly enough for me to be of any political use ‘later’, as it were. As you’ve already said, my position is -” Katherine held up her teacup as though drinking to good health, “- precarious at best. I cannot risk seeming weak now, of all times.”

Trying to seem blithe, Sylvanas said, “Then you leave me little choice but to seek out alternative arrangements with your peers.”

Sylvanas’ ears tilted back in surprise, when Katherine let out a bark of laughter. She was still laughing when she went to pour herself another cup of tea.

“By all means.” Katherine poured a dollop of milk into her cup before drinking from it. She smiled at Sylvanas over the rim, but her gaze was humourless. “You may think me a stubborn old crone -- and you wouldn’t be half wrong -- but I know Lord Alfred and Lady Priscilla very well. They would be even less inclined to hear your petition than I am. Though if you do end up asking them, be sure to do it before I die. I so rarely get a laugh these days.”

With that, Katherine added another hearty little chuckle. Sylvanas had to school her features and stop her ears from pinning straight back in irritation. Her clawed gauntlets dug into the armrest. This time she did nothing to stop them from piercing the material. “Last I heard, there are four Great Houses of Kul Tiras, not just three.”

“And so there are.” Beneath the blanket, Katherine’s foot began to bob in time with the tapping of her finger against her teacup. Abruptly, both stopped. “You’ll find Lucille Waycrest a paltry ally, I’m afraid. The culmination of the Drust incursion has left her region to the mercy of the other Houses. She does the best she can, poor girl, but she inherited a fractured House.”

Sylvanas bared her teeth in a fierce smile. “In my experience, desperation can lead to surprising ends.”

Katherine brushed aside the implication of that statement with a shake of her head. “I cannot stop you from personally speaking with anyone, but your ships are still not welcome in Kul Tiran waters. There will be no open borders to either the Horde or Alliance while I draw breath.”

“Then I suppose our conversation is finished.” In a clink of armour, Sylvanas rose to her feet.

Katherine did not follow suit. She remained seated, cradling her cup of tea. Peering thoughtfully up at Sylvanas over her half moon spectacles, she cocked her head to one side. “To say it has been a pleasure would be a lie. Nevertheless, I am glad to have met you, Warchief.” Then she waved Sylvanas away. “Now, be a dear, won’t you, and have the steward bring an old woman another blanket.”

When Sylvanas swept from the room without another word, the steward was waiting for her outside. She stormed right past him down the halls back the way they had come. He had to trot to keep up with her, despite his own long-legged stride. Sylvanas did not speak until they had reached the cloakroom, where the steward disappeared inside to retrieve her cloak. She tapped her foot against the stone tiled entryway.

The steward reappeared and she snatched her cloak from his hands. As she was fitting it back into place, she snapped, "Take your Lord Admiral another blanket."

The steward blinked in confusion, but immediately rushed off towards Katherine's study to do as he was bidden. Sylvanas tugged the hood of her cloak over her head and snapped her fingers at one of the guardsmen to open the doors for her. The pair of guards did so, heaving at the heavy iron-bound doors until they groaned open just enough for her to slip through.

Outside, it was only twilight, but it looked to be nearing dense night. It was still pissing down with rain. Sylvanas glowered out at the icy downpour, but did not slow her steps as she descended the sweeping staircase from Proudmoore Keep.

Before she could reach the second set of stairs, Nathanos and two of her dark rangers appeared at her side. The rangers dropped a few paces behind, shadowing their footsteps with watchful eyes, coal-bright.

Nathanos' coat did not have a hood. Somewhere he had procured one of the kettle hats and livery sets worn by the Proudmoore guards. "How did it go?"

Sylvanas glanced sidelong at him. "You look ridiculous."

"I gladly suffer for the sake of your safety," said Nathanos dryly. "Now, how did it go?"

Her brows drew sharply down. "She is a stubborn old crone," Sylvanas growled. Her frustration was exacerbated by the squelch of water in her boots. "I quite like her. It is a shame she will not last the next five years. Otherwise, we might have reached an understanding. And what do you have for me?"

In answer, Nathanos lifted two fingers. "Lord Aldrius Norwington. One of Daelin Proudmoore's second cousins, and by all accounts a rich old toff with little interest in politics. But he and his wife are beloved by the Navy. She was a Captain of Marines and he served as a Rear Admiral for a number of years before retiring."

"I assume there's a catch?" Sylvanas asked.

"He is old. Older than the Lord Admiral. And his son died at sea not long ago. He and his wife, Elena, have been in mourning ever since."

"Hmm." They strode towards Unity Square, swiftly making their way towards the inn that Nathanos had secured for them earlier that week. Sylvanas could see sheets of rain in every pool of light from the flickering poles that lined the streets. "And what is the second option?"

Nathanos glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice before answering. "A daughter."

At that, Sylvanas stopped in her tracks. She stared at him incredulously. "A daughter?" she repeated. "I thought the Lord Admiral had no other children."

"She had three. The youngest was a girl by the name of Jaina. From what I understand, the girl was somewhat magically gifted. Katherine and Daelin had an altercation regarding how she ought to be trained. In the end, Katherine smuggled her off to a Drust Thornspeaker by the name of Ulfar.”

“And her current whereabouts?”

Nathanos shook his head, and his kettle hat sent droplets of rain scattering about. “Unknown and presumed dead. Killed during the Drust incursion a few years back. Though her body was never recovered.”

For a long moment, Sylvanas did not reply. The drum of the rain drowned out other noises, so that the sounds of the harbour could only just be heard from the nearby dock districts. Light spilled from the windows of houses, restaurants, and taverns, along with the sounds of merriment from within. Only a few others wandered the streets in this part of town. Mostly Proudmoore guards, the occasional lieutenant on foot, or even a nobleman's carriage bearing some lesser House's coat of arms.

Finally, Sylvanas turned away from the inn which they had been heading towards, and instead strode off in the direction of the docks. "Nathanos, see that our rooms are cancelled for the evening. Anya, arrange for the first ferry to Drustvar. I want us there by daybreak."

Whereas Anya inclined her head and then seemed to melt into the shadows, Nathanos sighed. He made no movement. "The likelihood of finding her is very slim. And even if we do manage to miraculously stumble across her corpse, it will be too far gone for her people to accept her back into proper society."

"You misunderstand me. I mean to find her alive. And failing that, we will procure someone suitable to serve as a nephew to this Norwington fellow. Now," she swung her gaze towards him, her eyes burning through the late afternoon gloom. "I believe I gave you an order, Blightcaller."

Removing his kettle hat, he swept it to his decrepit heart and bowed. "I live to serve the Dark Lady."

Sylvanas watched him with a scowl. When he straightened and departed to do as she commanded, she called after him. “And get rid of that outfit before we leave!”

--

The only good thing Sylvanas could say about Arom's Stand was that at least it wasn't raining. Instead, it was snowing. The hills were surrounded by steep mountains, which already bore their white winter coats. Sylvanas could just make out their ridges in the distance through the scattering of snowfall.

The town itself wasn't much in and of itself. An open stable and rink, where a few horses huddled together for warmth. A mere handful of ramshackle buildings precariously perched together so that they seem to lean towards one another -- not unlike the horses. It was mid morning, but already the lanterns hung over each doorpost were lit, shedding pools of warm yellowish light through the drifts.

It had taken them the morning to get from the little docks where the ferry had unceremoniously dumped them. At least they hadn't been forced to hike the whole way. Sylvanas was willing to suffer few indignities these days. Walking through miles of snow was not one of them. She had scarcely waited until the ferryman was out of sight before she summoned skeletal horses from the earth. The bones had leapt from the ground with an eagerness that had momentarily shocked her. As though the land of Drustvar were hungry for life beyond the grave.

Now at Arom's Strand, the supposed heart of the noble witch-hunting Order of Embers, she saw only one person walking about. And that was a man who staggered out of what appeared to be a shabby little tavern to piss into the snowbank.

"Charming place," Sylvanas muttered. Her skeletal horse stamped a bony hoof as if in agreement.

“Seems like work is slow,” Nathanos noted.

The haughty timbre Anya’s voice was unmistakable as one of the rangers behind them replied, “They must have run out of witches to burn.”

For all that, Sylvanas spied a few tokens strung over the doorways. Bits of bone carved with scrimshaw and bound in leather strips. Kul Tirans were sailors, through and through. And sailors were a superstitious lot.

The man out the front of the tavern was fumbling with the drawstrings of his breeches once more, tying them firmly in place. He had not seemed to have noticed their presence, for he stumbled back into the tavern without any hesitation. The door slammed shut behind him.

“And apparently they’ve run out of wits as well,” Anya added.

“But not drink,” said Nathanos.

That earned a brief titter of shadowy laughter from both Anya and the other ranger, Velonara.

Slipping her feet from the stirrups, Sylvanas dismounted. The moment she stepped away from the horse, its form collapsed in a rush of dry bone and dust, which marked the pale snow. She ignored the antics of Nathanos and her rangers, as well as their sudden sharp attention upon her when she started wading her way through the snow towards the tavern.

"We should gather any intel before you go in alone, my Queen," Velonara said.

Sylvanas did not stop. Nor did she turn around to glance at them. The snow came up to just below her knees. She grunted as she all but kicked a path for her calves. "If I want to be coddled, I will tell you," she said. "Otherwise, you are to wait for me outside."

Behind her, Nathanos made a disgruntled noise, which was not parroted by the rangers, though Sylvanas did not need to look around to know that their expressions would be blankly unimpressed. They did not question her further, however. And by the time she reached the steps leading to the tavern, they had vanished.

Sylvanas took a moment to knock her armoured ankles against the topmost step to loosen any remaining snow before approaching the door. Unlike the inns and taverns at Boralus, this establishment lacked the sound of lively laughter and conversation, of feet stamping along to the rhythm of a fiddle while patrons drunkenly sang along to the chorus of their favourite sea shanties. Here, the windows were blackened with soot, barely leaking through the firelight from within.

When she opened the door and stepped inside, every patron turned to regard her with a steady gaze. There were not many of them. A mere five, and that included the barkeep. More witch's tokens were strung up along the rafters alongside the cobwebs. Bits of bone and thorn wound together. Even a little wicker effigy had been affixed over the fireplace beneath the sun-bleached skull of a deer. Steps wound up the opposite side of the room, leading to what she assumed were the barkeep's accommodations. The barkeep himself had his feet propped atop a cask of ale behind the counter. His apron bore a series of stains all along the once white linen. He tilted his hat back to get a better look at her.

The other four all wore dark-washed tabards with a flame-like symbol woven into the fabric with copper thread. Three of them nursed chipped tankards of ale. The fourth was a red-haired slip of a girl who held a knife in her hands, its point digging into the wooden benchtop. After a long moment, they all turned away from her. They returned to their own closed circle of conversation, taking up every last seat at the bar. Their voices were hushed murmurs and rumbles.

Sylvanas strode straight up to the end of the bar and leaned her elbow against it. Her voice cut through their soft-spoken phrases like a claw through hide. "I am looking for members of the Order of Embers. That's you, isn't it?"

One of the men, a tall burly human with bushy black sideburns, set down his drink. "We might be."

At that, Sylvanas gave their tabards a pointed glance. His colleague, a great hulking woman with shoulders like a shipwreck and a scar running down her left cheek, rolled her eyes.

"Enough of that, Sterntide." She jerked her head towards Sylvanas. "Joan Cleardawn. Marshal of the Order.” She gestured towards the others in turn. “This is Sterntide. Notley. And Mace. Not many strangers come 'round these parts nowadays. Have you gotten lost?"

"No," said Sylvanas.

Sterntide, for all his gruff demeanor, motioned towards the barkeep for another drink. When the barkeep pulled out an extra tankard for their guest, Sylvanas shook her head curtly. "Nothing for me."

She drummed her clawed gauntlet against the wooden bartop. Beside her, the slight red-haired woman named Mace fiddled restlessly with the knife in her hands. She scraped little carvings into the scarred wood. From this angle, Sylvanas could just make out the beginnings of an animal skull, though which kind was yet to be determined. Certainly, there were some very sharp teeth involved.

Sylvanas looked away from the carvings. "I was told your Order still keeps in regular contact with the Drust," she continued. "I am looking for one of their kind. A Thornspeaker."

The other man, Notley, slight of build but still fiendishly tall -- a trait of all Kul Tirans, it seemed -- leaned over his drink to get a better look at her. Sylvanas did not move in the slightest, despite how close he drew. He smelled of ale and woodsmoke. There were twin falcon's feathers affixed to the edges of his cloak. Finally, realisation crossed his features. He leaned back in his seat.

"Undead," he remarked. "Don't know why your kind bother. No Thornspeaker can help you, you know."

Sylvanas frowned at him. "Nevertheless, I would speak with one."

"Why?" he asked.

None of their expressions seemed overtly hostile upon learning what she was. Wary, to be sure. But not hostile. Not even remotely surprised. As though the dead frequently walked into their frozen hamlet, which barely warranted a mark on a map.

Briefly, Sylvanas considered her chances of getting away with a lie. This crowd did not seem easily deterred, however. "I am looking for someone," she finally admitted. "One of the Thornspeakers everyone thinks died in your Drust incursion some time ago."

Sterntide grunted into his cup. Lowering it, he wiped foam from his moustache with the back of his hand. "You one of those, aren't you?"

Sylvanas' eyes narrowed dangerously, and her ears lowered just a fraction. "I do not follow."

"Had a group of hunters out here last fortnight, wanting to go trawling through the Crimson Forest." Sterntide gestured emphatically with his tankard, sloshing a bit of ale onto the bartop. "I told them, I said, 'Don't do it. That forest is protected. Eat you alive, it will.' They didn't listen." He waved his free hand dismissively, then raised his tankard of ale back to his lips. "Haven't seen them since, poor bastards."

Cleardawn joined in as well. There was a dark furrow in her brow, and the scar on her cheek creased when she spoke. "Some bloody idiots heard there was an ancient Thornspeaker born of the Wild God, Athair, living in these parts. And off they trotted to the mountains, hoping to bring it down with silver arrows. Got themselves ripped to bloody shreds by the Drust ghosts at Gol Osigr." She snorted, shaking her head.

Mace stabbed her knife into the bartop so that it stuck in place, its hilt quivering. "You know, I saw a hunter selling broken arrows down in Corlain last month? Claimed they'd been pulled from that Thornspeaker's bloody hide, and that they could fell any beast, living or dead. Sold them for their weight in gold to some sad sack of shit from Boralus, too."

Sylvanas had not come here for tall tales, but it seemed she would be subjected to them regardless. She almost wished she had taken up their offer on a drink. And that alcohol still had any effect on her whatsoever.

"I am not looking to sell pieces of the Thornspeaker off for gold," Sylvanas said. She stopped rapping her fingers against the bartop, her palm splaying out across the gridwork of carvings all across the wood grain. "I only wish to talk."

The wary expressions returned.

"What for?" Notley pressed. His free hand stroked along the fletching of a quiver at his hip, though his bow was nowhere in sight.

"Yeah, and why not?" Sterntide added.

Sylvanas had to stamp down the urge to roll her eyes. "Do you know, or don't you?"

Silence. And then -

"Gol Inath," Mace whispered. She had taken up the knife once again, and was nervously digging a sprawling array of antlers from the skull carving. "The High Thornspeaker lives at Gol Inath."

The moment the name of that place was spoken, a wind buffeted down the chimney, and the fire flickered and snapped. Sterntide spat over his left shoulder. Notley fidgeted with his arrows. Even the unshakeable mountain of a woman, Cleardawn, cast a nervous glance towards the hearth.

For her part, Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow. "And how do I find Gol Inath?"

"You don't," Cleardawn said darkly. "It finds you."

"How very unhelpful," drawled Sylvanas.

"Watch your tone," the barkeep growled. It was the first thing he had said since her arrival. His doughy face was ghostly pale, his expression hard as wrought iron. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know shit."

Straightening somewhat, Sylvanas grudgingly kept her tone neutral when she said, "Can you at least give me a hint? A general vicinity, perhaps?"

She tried to catch the eye of the members of the Order of Embers, but they were all looking towards Cleardawn, as if waiting for her answer, or perhaps for her permission before they spoke out of turn. For that matter, Cleardawn was watching Sylvanas with serious eyes. "I don't like sending strangers off to their death," she explained. "It's not very host-like, see?"

"I think you'll find it's all far too late for that." Sylvanas gestured to herself with a humourless smile.

Even so, Cleardawn shook her head. The smile disappeared, and Sylvanas could feel the ire growing in her chest like a living thing. Before she could open her mouth however, Cleardawn sighed.

“Follow the old silver mines west down the cliffs." She pointed towards the western-most wall, which bore a brace of gutted hares that were tied up by their feet. "From here, you can see the great tree at the centre of the Crimson Forest. That's where you're headed. Mark me, stranger." Cleardawn leaned her bulk against the bartop as she fixed Sylvanas with a hard look. "The way may seem easy. But it isn't. Tides preserve you."

Inclining her head, Sylvanas murmured, "I shall not keep you from your cups any further."

When she turned to walk away, they did not immediately strike up their conversation again. She could feel their eyes upon her, and she distinctly heard Sterntide mutter under his breath, "Poor sod."

Sylvanas stopped in the doorway, her fingers upon the handle. She was craning her neck to study a tangle of briar thorns that had been placed over the entryway, strung with other smaller tokens. “I thought your Order was founded to combat witchcraft,” she mused aloud. She reached up to gently turn one of the tokens between her fingers. It was the yellowish fang of some indeterminate animal. A large cat endemic to the area, perhaps.  

“Aye,” said Cleardawn from the bar. “But the best way to fight witchcraft is with witchcraft. Take one with you, stranger. May it protect you, where your arrows can’t.”

Running her thumb along the blunt edge of the tooth, Sylvanas stood silently for a moment. She did not know what compelled her to do it, but she tugged the token free. The bit of twine that tethered it in place snapped. It was heavy in her palm, like a lodestone. Closing her fingers around the token, Sylvanas pushed open the door and stepped outside.

“Cheerful lot, aren’t they?” murmured Anya’s voice.

Sylvanas glanced over to see three pairs of eyes glinting at her from the shadows of the tavern’s eaves. She worried her thumb against the tooth’s blunted point, thoughtful. “I want to see the map again.”

Those eyes blinked owlishly. Then, Nathanos stepped forward. He pulled a folded scrap of parchment from the breast pocket of his coat, and handed it over. As Sylvanas unfolded it, she gestured for the other two to gather round. Together, they stood out of the way of the first story window of the tavern.

“We will divide Drustvar into scouting regions. Gather information. Find me this lost heir to the Proudmoore line.” Using the tip of the tooth, Sylvanas pointed to eastern coast of Drustvar. “Anya, you will take everything from Carver’s Harbour to Fletcher’s Hollow. Nathanos, you have the mountains all the way to Gol Koval. Velonara, take Waycrest Manor to Corlain. Which leaves…”

The fang hovered over the southwest peninsula of Drustvar. The map there had no markings titling it apart from a small town named Falconhurst at the inlet south of the Crimson Forest. The forest itself was a blank mass of branches. And at its very centre a massive tree. The locals who had penned this map had not dared to put the tree’s name to paper. As the fang circled round the tree, it seemed to push away from the location as if magnetically repelled.

“I for one do not like this plan,” said Nathanos. His statement was met with grave nods from both Anya and Velonara. “It’s too risky. We are stronger together.”

Folding the map back up, Sylvanas carefully traced the creases in the parchment between her pinched fingers. “We are also slower together,” she said. “And we have a great deal of ground to cover.”

She was fixed by three nearly identical glowers of disapproval.

Sylvanas glared right back. "Oh, I'm sorry," she growled. "Did this become a democracy when I wasn't looking?"

Anya huffed. Velonara rolled her eyes. Nathanos, for his part, held out his hand for the map. Sylvanas slapped the piece of paper into his palm.

"You have your orders," she said. "Now, follow them. We will meet back here in a week. Do try to refrain from any notions of rebellion in my absence."

"I for one make no promises," Velonara said.

Meanwhile, Anya added, "I distinctly remember your original platform being founded on the idea of rebellion, in fact."

"Spare me the sass, you two," sighed Sylvanas. "I thought death was supposed to be peaceful."

Jerking his thumb towards the other two, Nathanos said, "And you still kept these jackals around?" He tsked and shook his head in a reprimanding fashion.

Velonara made a rude gesture with her fingers, while Anya jostled Nathanos with her very bony elbow. He bore the injustice with a grunt of discomfort.

"Just as well you three aren't left alone together," Sylvanas muttered, not bothering to keep her voice down. "I'd come back to find the rest of Drustvar in flames."

Anya tried for a look of wide-eyed innocence, but on her impish face it only made her appear more devious. "And let Ashvane and Stormsong have all the fun?"

Sighing, Sylvanas tucked the fang into a leather pouch at her waist. "No inciting a civil war until we're well and truly ready to profit from one. Now," she waved at them as if trying to swat a swarm of flies in the air. "Go."

They went, but not without mocking little bows in her direction, each accompanied by a murmured, "For the Dark Lady."

With a shake of her head, Sylvanas waited until they had set off before making her own way around the outside of the tavern. Behind it was a stone walkway that traced the edge of the sheer cliffs that Cleardawn had spoken of earlier. A falcon was perched atop an outcropping. Its head was tucked beneath its wing, but it rustled its feathers and peered blearily at her when she stopped nearby. It chirped at her. A length of dyed leather was bound to one of its legs, and a scattering of rodent bones lay beneath its perch.

Sylvanas ignored the falcon in favour of looking over the cliffside. The snowfall had lessened. Only a few small white clumps drifted through the air now. Somehow it felt warmer up here than in the miserable rain of Boralus; the blanket of new snow and cloud acted as a layer of insulation. Even if Sylvanas had not been Undead, she would not have needed the luxury of a heavy cloak.

Dug into the slope were the abandoned silvermines, their rail carts barely visible from beneath the cliff's dramatic overhang. The lengths of steel seemed to shunt to nowhere, and with a crane of her neck she could just make out that segments of the rail line had been shorn off and carted away, cannibalised by the locals for alternative use. The snow sank slowly downwards, far below, and from this altitude Sylvanas could see the point at which the air grew too warm and turned it to rain. A mist clung to the tops of trees that seemed caught in a stasis of autumn.

Even from here, the enormous tree could be seen. It loomed through the mist, a sprawling colossus of nature. Its twisted limbs were bare and skeletal through the fog, like a mythological being that had been petrified in place, struck down by some rival god in the very midst of battle. A path cut its way from the silver mines down to the forest's edge, but there it stopped dead in its tracks, overgrown with wild underbrush and tangles of briary roses that had long since lost their blooms.

Something rapped against her wrist. Sylvanas' head swung round sharply, only to find that the falcon had hopped down from its perch and ambled towards her along the stone railing where her hands had clenched themselves into fists. The bird was toying at a tarnished buckle of her vambrace.

"Plucky little thing," Sylvanas muttered. Then she waved it away, and turned aside to begin her descent.

The cliffs were broken only by a single steep slope at the edge of Arom's Stand. It was clearly marked as the road to Corlain by a lonely lantern that shed its dim light onto a signpost beneath it, scrawled in a blackletter script that had faded with age. It took longer than she would have liked to traverse the switchbacks through the silver mines. Her only blessing was that the further down she went, the more the snow receded, until she could stride unencumbered across the path.

The ground here was marked with the grooves of merchant's carts that had traveled for years across these roads, heavy-laden with goods from Corlain. Mud congealed along the tracks, and puddles gathered in the ruts. The melted snows were a fine drizzle that misted the air, obscuring vision so that the mountains faded behind her into haze-riddled shapes.

When Sylvanas reached the treeline, she paused. The road curved well around the Crimson Forest, giving the woods a wide berth. She lingered between the two. Her eyes scanned the canopy, where a raven watched her in turn with a steady gaze. After a moment it took flight, its strident cry sending a flurry of smaller birds scattering in its wake. She squinted, but even her heightened senses could not pierce the veil of shadow that clung to the underbrush. The woods were thickly-woven, their branches a loom that threaded together, offering no clear path forward. A hunting knife would do little in the way of hacking through that dense thicket. The broadest axe would struggle.

The cries of the raven were fading into the distance. When Sylvanas took her first step past the trees, the weight of the fang in her pouch seemed heavier, tugging at her belt with every footfall. She ignored it and ducked beneath a branch, pressing onwards. Overhead, the dense canopy began to weave together as she ventured further into the woods, until what meagre sunlight Kul Tiras had to offer could not be found in any trace.

Steadily, her eyes adjusted. Her ears pricked at any wayward sound, alert and on guard, though she kept her bow strung over her shoulder rather than firmly in her grasp. Sylvanas had spent many years of her former life traversing deep woods, and often she would dwell upon those memories still, memories of better times, some of the best in her life. If asked, she would consider herself an expert, but this was like no forest she had encountered in the past, alive or dead.

A forest was alive. It breathed. It teemed with all manner of creatures. It had a rhythm. This place had none of those qualities. It was absolutely still. Neither breath of wind nor life. Mist clung to her ankles when she walked, disturbed by her movements, only to settle back into inaction in her wake. She was a disturbance. An unwelcome guest at a funerary rite.

Where at the entrance to the forest, the enormous tree at its heart had towered above the others, now Sylvanas could see nothing of it. Any vantage point, any reference had vanished like smoke. She carried no compass; she had dead reckoning and had never found the need for one in the past. Something told her that even if she had thought to bring one however, it would be of little use here. Cocking her head, she continued southwest.

The forest offered very little in the way of landmarks. The landscape here had a repetitious quality. Same colours. Same sounds. Same patterns. Once Sylvanas could have sworn she heard the rustle of something in the distance, but it was beyond her vision.

Eventually she came across a distinct clearing. It was presided over by a black and twisted ash tree -- the victim of an old fire, no doubt. Even its roots still appeared scorched. While the other trees had regrown over time, this little glade remained untouched. As she drew near, Sylvanas paused. In the centre of the clearing a wicker man had been erected. It was a larger copy of the one Sylvanas had seen at the tavern in Arom's Stand. A group of superstitious hunters must have put it here to guard them while they slept.

Sylvanas took note of the surrounding area before pressing onwards. With near silent footfalls, she stalked the woods. The most she came across in terms of living creatures were a few unwary hares with grey coats, and the sporadic raven that croaked balefully at her from the trees. Nothing larger let itself be known however. Normally, she would have expected to stumble across the path of deer, or wild boars, or even predators that had little fear of humans in such untouched areas. But not here.

Hours passed as she walked. The space between the trees were beginning to darken as evening approached. Sylvanas glanced around, then froze.

The old flame-blackened ash tree stood, stark as a pillar, not a stone's throw ahead of her. Slowly, Sylvanas approached it once more. A wary hand strayed to the bow slung across her shoulders, but she did not draw the weapon yet. She stopped at the edge of the clearing, her fingers just grazing the handle of her bow, waiting.

The wicker man was slumped against the stick that held it upright, utterly unchanged from when she had first been here. Instead of hands, it had bear claws bound to its wrists with coils of thick flaxen rope, the kind one might use on a ship's deck. Its head had the length and shape of a wolf's skull, but for the set of antlers coronating it like a crown. The skull was tilted down and to one side, as though its maker had pushed its face away.

Had it looked aside like that before? Sylvanas cast her mind back, but could not be completely sure. Perhaps this was a series of camps, created by hunters or whoever else dared traversed these woods.

Sylvanas lowered her hand from the bow. She drew the silver hunting knife from her boot, and scored the withered bark of the tree. Then, sheathing the knife, she continued on her way.

Night was swiftly upon her. In the darkness, the woods grew vast and deep. No starlight could reach her here. Not even rain. The patter of gentle rainfall had long since vanished during her wandering, but the mist remained. In life, her night vision could never have rivaled those of her cousins across the sea in Kalimdor. In death however, Sylvanas needed very little by way of light to see. Even so, there was nothing to be done about the dense vegetation that obstructed her at every turn. In some areas, the woods grew so thickly together that she had to squeeze her way through narrow gaps between trunks, and the sharp branches would snag upon her clothing, as if attempting to drag her back.

A few more hours. She was sure she was gaining ground on her final destination, when she saw it.

The ash tree. Black as basalt. The mark Sylvanas had left in the bark was bleeding like a wound with a substance too dark to be sap. And in its bare spiny branches, a dark shape lurked with arms outstretched.

In a single fluid motion, Sylvanas drew her bow. The fletching of an arrow was brushing her cheek, ready to be fired, but she paused. She relaxed the bowstring, lowering the weapon just slightly. A wary step forward. Then another.

The shape was unmoving. It dripped onto the ground. Quickly, Sylvanas put away her bow and arrow, and pulled flint from her pocket. A moment later she was lifting a torch towards the tree.

A wolf had been flayed and perched in its branches, as though stored there by a shrike. Its ribs were cracked open, its belly slit, its head was missing, and its entrails spilled onto the forest floor. All but its heart, which had been staked onto the chest of the wicker man in the clearing.

With a soft grunt, Sylvanas studied the wolf a moment longer. She removed the glove from her spare hand with her teeth, and reached out to touch it. The blood of its offal was still warm. A fresh kill.

Scowling, Sylvanas wiped her fingers clean, put her glove back on, and strode into the clearing. The wicker man was looking straight ahead now, a watchful guardian of the empty grove. For a fleeting instant, she considered setting it alight with the tip of her torch, but some whispered misgiving stayed her hand. The urge to at least turn its head aside once more was too great however, and she nudged the skull with the toe of her boot so that it would not watch her while she made camp.

When she had a small fire going, she pulled out a piece of parchment and retraced her steps. A few strokes here and there with a bit of charcoal from the fire, and Sylvanas had a makeshift map of where she had gone through the Crimson Forest so far. Or at least, where she thought she had gone. Everything in her body, every last scrap of experience told her that she had been travelling southwest the entire time. There were very little hills. The hills were flat for the most part, broken only by gentle slopes here and there. From memory she charted the gullies, and came to the conclusion that she must have gotten turned around at one end, so that she continued back down her path towards the ash tree on multiple occasions.

The magic of this place would be muddying her sense of direction. That was evident. Her first course of action from here would be to find a river or stream. If it were fresh, it would be fed from the glaciers to the east. She could follow the water away from its source, and in the direction of Gol Inath.

The fire was burning low, simmering to its bed of coals. For the first time in Kul Tiras, Sylvanas' clothes were at last starting to feel dry. She counted her luck on that front, at least. Unless there was a truly torrential downpour, she would be spared wet clothes for a while yet.

In the dead of night, the noises of the woods were hushed but present. The ravens had faded in the wake of owls and the chirp of nocturnal insects. A few moths danced dangerously close to the flames, and the whine of some bold mosquitos ventured near, only to find her a poor meal indeed.

Slowly, her hands grew heavy. Her wrist slumped, and the bit of charcoal dragged a ragged path against the parchment in her grasp. Sylvanas blinked against it, straightening her posture. But a few moments later, and her shoulders sinking down once more. The fire flickered limply against the weight of the night air, until even the stray sparks were pushed down into the flames.

Sleep should not have been possible -- Sylvanas could fuzzily recall the last time she had experienced it nearly a generation ago -- but she closed her eyes, and it claimed her regardless.

She was standing at the summit of Icecrown Citadel. The wind whipped her long cloak into a frenzy around her ankles. The balls of her feet were balanced at the very edge of the frozen fortification, and when she looked down, nothing but darkness awaited her below. Her foot lifted. She stepped forward and off the ledge. And when she fell -- down, down -- she was not met with the slam of ice and rock, but with the feeling of something catching tight around her neck and yanking, so that she dangled from the Lich King's lair like a trophy for all to see.

Sylvanas wrenched awake with a gasp. Her chest heaved, lungs working for breath that she no longer needed. She started to reach up to touch her neck, but something crumpled in her fists. She looked down. The parchment she had been using for a map was now a mass of black -- smeared from every edge and ragged corner -- and in her other hand the charcoal had been worn down to a nub. She threw the parchment and charcoal aside. The fingers of her gloves were grimy with dark ash.

At her feet, the fire had burned down to a bed of pink and white coals. They shed a feeble scarlet light onto her surroundings. And across from the coals, the wicker man cast a looming shadow against the trees. Its skull was turned directly towards her, and the hollow sockets of its eyes gleamed in the dying light.

Scrambling upright, Sylvanas kicked dirt over the coals until they were smothered. Then, she snatched up the quiver and bow from the ground where she had left them within arm's reach. Fastening them across her shoulders once more, she glowered at the woods. They stood impassively. She aimed a last glare at the wicker man, which seemed to stare back at her.

Sylvanas bared her sharp teeth and hissed softly, “Stay out of my head.” Then she kicked the skull back to the side to stop it from looking at her, and strode from the clearing.

Dawn was not far off. An hour or two of brisk walking, and the trees seemed to lighten in colour somewhat, so that the low-slung mist that pervaded the forest brightened. She stalked through it viciously, her eyes burning as tendrils of fog swirled around her feet.

She headed dead south. A completely new direction today. At least if she went too far and somehow passed by Gol Inath, she would wind up in Falconhurst. From there she could gather more intel from the local farmers and trappers, before heading back into the forest.

The gullies in this direction grew steep. More than once, Sylvanas had to gingerly pick her way down the slopes, or risk making enough noise to alert every predator of her presence from here to Corlain. She knew now that there were wolves in these parts. Even if the only one she had seen so far had been killed by unknown hands.

Nearly the whole day she walked. Never pausing. Never relenting. She sought a water source -- there must be one; there must -- but even the most meagre of streams eluded her. Eventually she abandoned caution. She pressed through the trees with a recklessness that would have gotten her scolded by her mother as a child learning to hunt for the first time.

Whereas the day before the woods had treated her with a cold indifference, today they seemed guarded. As though she were being observed by a massive crowd of people who muttered in disapproval about her presence. Once or twice, Sylvanas could have sworn she saw something moving at the corner of her vision -- an enormous shape slouching between the trees. Her ears would cock forward in search of any noise, and her head would whip around, only to find nothing. But always the unpleasant feeling lingered. Of being watched. Of a hand reaching through the dark to grasp her shoulder and wrench her round.

After hours and hours of trekking, Sylvanas clambered up a steep incline, then went stock still.

That damn ash tree. Again. The wolf was still there. Its entrails were gone. Bloody smears were dragged along the ground from the base of the tree. Something must have come along and eaten the offal. And of course, the fucking wicker man was there, too.

Swearing -- not bothering to keep her voice down -- Sylvanas  scowled up at the tree. It was growing dark again. A whole day. Wasted.

She fumed. She paced the clearing. She pulled the fang from her pouch and rubbed it between the fingers of one hand. Then, she dropped down on her haunches in front of the wicker man to glare at it, close enough that her nose was but a finger-breadth away.

"I am growing rather tired of this game," Syvlanas growled.

The wicker man of course made no reply.

That night she dreamt of Frostmourne. The blade plunged beneath her ribcage while she knelt in a field of golden flowers. And when she slumped to the ground, she was drowning in a sea of petals. They got into her mouth, into her throat. They filled her lungs until she choked on golden blooms.  

She awoke panting for air, and her initial bout of panic seethed into fury. Coils of her banshee form curled from her body like black smoke. The fire she had built a few hours ago spluttered when she rose to her feet, shadows gathering close around her. The wicker man watched in stolid silence.

Sylvanas snarled something wordless, the noise echoing. Her hands were clenched into trembling fists. The fang dug into her palm until it began to pierce the glove of her clawed gauntlet. Without thinking, she hurled the little witch’s token at the wicker man in a fit of anger.

The fang never reached its intended destination. No sooner had it left her hand, than it fell back at her feet, as though it had bounced against an invisible wall, or been buffeted back by an unseen wind.

Sylvanas blinked. Slowly the anger boiled low in her stomach until it was just a metallic taste on the back of her tongue instead of the wild thing that gripped her jaws. She reached down, hesitated a moment, then picked up the fang from the ground. Turning it over thoughtfully between her fingers, she looked between the fang and the wicker man. Then, she tore a thin strip of cloth from her cloak. She used her knife to bore a hole through the thickest section of bone, and looped the fabric through until the fang hung from a knot.

When she held it up to the wicker man, the fang pushed away at the end of the length of cloth like a pendulum.  

“Well, well…” Sylvanas murmured. She pulled her hand back so that the witch’s token hung normally from her grasp. “It seems I have a compass after all.”

If Sylvanas had thought the Crimson Forest an untraversable warren before, her mind was not changed now. In one hand she held the makeshift compass aloft like a lantern. It would swing wildly about with every step, always pushing away from the heart of the woods. The further she ventured, the more the fang strained at the end of its strip of cloth, as if trying to drag her back to safety. And with every step she ignored its warnings, pushing ever inwards.

Her ears pricked at the first sound of trickling water, and not long after she came across a stream. It was small enough for her to step across, but she felt triumphant nonetheless. Any change in scenery was welcome. Especially if it meant she didn’t have to cross paths with that wicker man again.

The next time she did, she would stuff it full of arrows.

As time went on, the sensation of being watched only intensified. The ravens ruffling their feathers upon high branches were eerily quiet. Something rustled through the underbrush, the sounds animal-like at first, only to prove itself a breeze when Sylvanas inspected the source more closely.

And then the fang began to spin in circles, like a needle skipping over a track. Sylvanas glanced down at the slope beneath her feet, looking around to get her bearings. Another little hillock protruded from the ground not far off. And another beyond that. It was then that she realised they were not hills at all, but roots that had been grown over with earth.

Stuffing the fang back into its pouch, she continued to climb. The roots levelled out, and gradually the trees began to thin. She could see patches of sky riddled with a scarlet haze from the light of the setting sun slanting through the atmosphere. The fog slithered along the ground here, flowing past Sylvanas in slow ripples. The sound of rushing water grew louder and steadier. She hastened her step, her hand straying to the bow, drawing it from her shoulders.

In the epicentre of the forest, Gol Inath sprawled. Waterfalls flowed beside it, feeding pools of water that shed the mist that pervaded the woods. The colossal tree’s bulging twisted limbs were bare and grey. So broad was its trunk, a hundred men could not hope to encircle it. And at its very base, a pointed stone arch had been built, fragments of stone staggered along the path leading to it like a series of broken tombstones to a monument.

The air here was heavy. The taste of it lingered on the back of her tongue like the tang of copper. Cautiously, her eyes scanning the clearing for any hint of movement, Sylvanas stepped forward. The path to the enormous tree was clear, but every instinct urged her that this was a lie. With every step closer, she waited for an attack to come, until she stood directly before Gol Inath, peering into its hollow trunk.

The space beneath the archway was a black beyond black. She could just make out stairs leading down into the ground beneath the tree. In the stones above the entryway, runes had been chiselled. They glowed with a spectral blue light that pulsed with a slow steady rhythm, as though they were breathing.

Sylvanas lifted her foot to take that first step inside, when a voice echoed around the clearing, “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

In a blur of motion, Sylvanas whirled about, nocked an arrow and pulled it back, ready to fire. She aimed down the shaft of the arrow, but nobody stood behind her. The clearing was empty. The only other noise was the series of waterfalls, which splashed against rocks and gnarled roots.

“I see you are no different from the other hunters, then,” said the voice again. Its owner sounded weary, feminine, and slightly bored.

Sylvanas shifted her grip upon the bow. Then, warily, she slackened her bowstring. She lowered the weapon, but did not put it away, her fingers holding the arrow steady. “I am looking for someone. I was told you trained her. Assuming you are the High Thornspeaker, of course.”

Silence. When the voice spoke again, it seemed to come from a different angle, and Sylvanas’ head snapped around to follow it. “It’s rare I receive new pupils, though not completely unheard of.”

“Not recently, no. You would have trained her years ago.”

This time, the silence seemed contemplative. Curious, even. A breath of wind stirred behind her, and when Sylvanas turned around once more, a tall figure stood beneath the stone archway of Gol Inath. A sickle-shaped staff was clutched in one clawed hand that appeared to be made of the same wood as the staff. The woman’s face was obscured by an antlered skull with teeth far sharper than a deer ought to have. Her broad shoulders bore a fine mantle of woven feathers and leaves, dark as the forest itself.

“Strange,” said Ulfar, her voice a wine-black murmur beneath the mask. “You are not a member of the Order of Embers, yet you bear one of my tokens."

The fang was a steady weight in Sylvanas’ pouch. “One of the Order gave it to me as a parting gift.” Sylvanas lowered her bow fully, then placed it and the arrow over her shoulder. She studied the glowing runes carved into the skull’s antlers, similar to those carved into the archway. A multitude of tokens and charms wrought from stones and thorns and animal bones were clustered at Ulfar’s belt, or hidden among the folds of her clothing. Sylvanas nodded towards them. "They told me you were the High Thornspeaker, but they failed to inform me you were also a witch."

Ulfar’s hand tightened around her staff, and the skull swung round. The fathomless sockets of its eyes stared at her in a menacing way. "I am not a witch," came the hissed reply.

Raising her hands, palm up, Sylvanas said, “Peace, Ulfar. I meant no disrespect.”

Ulfar cocked her head to one side in a curious tilt. “Your information is outdated, stranger. I am not Ulfar. He is no longer with us. I am his successor.”

Sylvanas frowned. “Then what should I call you?”

“Jaina.”

--

title from:

“In my body you search the mountain for the sun buried in its forest. In your body I search for the boat adrift in the middle of the night.”

— Octavio Paz, from Counterparts (tr. by Eliot Weinberger)

[armsdealing]

* LOCATION SERIES: THOR’S RESIDENCES.

as the god of clouds, thor is scarcely at home and instead, he's always out and about either seeking adventure or on call for his skillset by gods and worshippers alike. this being said, he has a number of established homes both in asgard and in midgard that he frequents and could be found at whenever necessary.

ASGARD.

in the lore, thor is ascribed three dwellings -- þrúðheimr / thrudheim, or the world of might and strength, which is mentioned as his realm or kingdom (grímnismál, 4), bilskirnir, or lightning-crack, which is specified to be the name of his hall or mansion (also mentioned in grímnismál), and Þrúðvangr / thrudvang, or power-field, which could be interpreted as a different name for thrudheim, yet i chose to view as just a different location within the realm (pictured above).  

as always with norse myth, not much is mentioned about any of these places. thus i choose to take some creative freedoms with their descriptions and specifications. however, according to the norse myths by heilan yvette grimes, thor was born actually in midgard/verland (the land of men) with his mother jord (noteworthy for being the personification of the earth, and a jotunn). he was quick to grow and soon jord realized she could not manage him. at just a few months old he was able to lift and kick off the ten loads of bearskin piled on his cradle to keep him warm, a worthy feat for a grown man and inimaginable for an infant. all around, he apparently got on her nerves a lot (according to etter robert james, he was all around a handful, throwing massive and destructive fits, pulling at his parents hair and ears and being a little shit all the time, basically), so she sent him to the giants vingnir and hlora to be raised as their foster son in jotunheim, the reason why sometimes thor is referred to as vingthor and hlorridi.

one small detour: in the endnotes to his translation of the völsungasaga, jesse l. byock explains: “fosterage was a norse custom of having a child raised in another household in order to extend kinship bonds or to form political alliances”. since we have to assume that the giant-asgardian conflict was still alive and well while thor was growing up, it's good to keep this in mind for later reference -- maybe not for this post, but in general. 

thrudheim.

upon his return to asgard, and after killing a rock giant that threatened the aesir, thor was rewarded with some lands upon which he built a estate, and that estate was called thrudheim. in stanza 4 of grímnismál it is described as "a land [that] is holy, which i see situated near the aesir and elves". not much else is stated about the kingdom. some believe that in the afterlife worshippers of thor may end up in it, but unlike what you may think, not many of these worshippers are warriors. those tend to go to valhalla (the hall of odin) or folkvang (the hall of freya). instead, thor's hall tends to receive the common folk, peasants, farmers and workers of the land, and only a certain type of those who die in battle (primarily the "thralls", as in the servants and slaves, as opposed to the noble warriors, who will go to odin's hall). this much is mentioned in hárbarðsljóð, where odin (disguised as a ferryman) openly mocks thor with this fact during a verbal spat. 

so, knowing the population it will have, we can guess that the kingdom counts with many of the amenities of a large, tightly packed farming city. i'd also envision it surrounded by farms and crop fields, specially wheat fields considering that sif, thor's wife and an earth goddess, would be living with him. it's these fields what i would call thrudvang and what would give thrudheim the appearance of being washed in gold -- on top of, of course, the gleaming strikes of lightning that would be frequently seen in the cloudy skies. it's likely the kingdom plays a big role in asgard as a hub for agriculture and livestock farming -- i.e much of the food (and some of the mead) the gods eat and drink comes from thrudheim. the harvests would be always bountiful and perfect, thanks to the kind weather and generous soil endowed to the realm by thor and sif respectively.  there would be crops and flora of all kinds, as it's a very lush place, but it must be mentioned particularly the presence of oak forests due to their significance in thor's worship, as well as other plants and produce: the ash, the hazel, the birch, the rowan (also due to sif), the thistle, garlic, onion, houseleek, leek, vervain, burdock, hawthorn, the blackthorn, bramble, holly, nettle, and the rose, all of which have special properties and meaning in the cult of thor. (may be topic for a different post)

bilskirnir.

the massive hall was built for thor also around the same time as thrudheim was established as his estate. grimnismál, stanza 24, has odin reveal the following vision as he catalogs the dwellings of the gods: "five hundred rooms and forty / there are, i think, under the arches of bilskírnir / of those halls which i know to be roofed / my son's is the biggest." in gylfaginning, when he introduces thor, snorri has hár say that thor has a kingdom and a hall called bilskírnir with 540 rooms, which is the greatest of buildings, equal only to the one in valhalla. in skáldskaparmál snorri says that "owner of Bilskírnir" is a valid thor kenning, and in fact "prince of bilskirnir" is attested in the skaldic corpus. the meaning of the name is unclear, but it seems to be either "suddenly illuminated (by lightning)" or "everlasting." according to heilan yvette grimes, in bilskirnir, thor's fallen worshippers "guaffed mead and banqueted on enormous meals, and practiced their warrior skills in preparation for the last fateful battle."  in regards to appearance grimes also noted that the outside of bilskirnir was studded with shields and glowed red in contrast with the inside which was a gleaming purple.

it's a gigantic "mansion", but more than that, it's tall enough to reach the skies, as apparently thor frequently shoots lightnings from the top floor. it's also here specifically where he's said to live with his wife and children.

MIDGARD.

palafito in ologá, venezuela.

ologá, in contrast to the realm of thrudheim, is a tiny settlement where less than 50 families reside in stilt houses, or palafitos, which are houses raised on piles over the surface of the soil or bodies of water. it's located south of maracaibo, 1m over the water level, and it's a community of fishermen. it's sustained mainly by said fishing but also by tourism, as it's from its palafitos that the world-famous catatumbo lightning can be comfortably seen and photographed. (you can click in their names for some nice galleries featuring catatumbo and ologá) 

thor feels a natural connection to the place, given its peculiar atmospheric conditions which make it so predisposed to thunderstorm activity and lightning (which occurs during 140 to 160 nights a year, 10 hours per day and up to 280 times per hour). he has a natural pull to it, drawing special strength from the perpetual storm, which sent him to the small town sometime around the mid 50s and made him build his own stilt house there, keeping in mind his size and height, something that quickly made him the object of curiosity from the locals. he made his most used human persona, dario belmonte, be born here, and he became a very active figure in the town as a fisherman, builder, and healer and all around friend to everybody. it got to the point that eventually he pretty much confessed (more or less) his status as a god to the entire town, as there was no other way to explain his lack of aging and magical abilities. to this day, they continue to keep his secret, and he visits them sporadically every few years to make sure they're doing well.

his palafito is not more lavish than any of the other houses in the settlement and it's made from the same materials. it's a two room house and anyone else is free to use it whenever he isn't here -- he usually leaves it to his neighbors so they can rent it to tourists.  

in his post-ragnarok verse thor, who was meant to die after his battle with the midgard serpent, ends up coming back to "life" in the depths of the maracaibo lake during one of the loudest thunderstorms the townsfolk had ever witnessed. he's found floating unconscious by a couple fishermen in the morning and taken to the house of one of the older citizens, who recognizes him. he's nursed back to health and it's from this point onwards that thor begins his arc exploring what is left of midgard.

farm in sweet grass county, montana.

located in the outskirts of big timber, montana, thor counts with a 4 bedroom farmhouse with a barn and 4 horse stalls + heated tack shed. next to the house sits a metal shop with concrete floor and overhead door with electricity throughout. the barn and the arena are surrounded by corrals. 40 acres surrounding the house comprise the perimeter, cross fenced as needed. there are 4 wells, one in each of the 120 acre parcels.  

thor established this farm in 1995, and lived in it almost permanently between march of that same year and november of 2007. he didn't live alone, however; he invited his brother tyr -- who was then living in kentucky -- to live with him so they could be close to one another. almost simultaneously thor made tyr the part owner of the estate. in the farm they keep up to four horses, a dozen of chickens and six goats (which he keeps for milk), and a variety of crops cycled in and out depending on the season (carrots, beets, potatoes, green peas, sweet peas, broccoli, corn, and more). they also have two dogs, two huskies by the names brynjar and einar that freely roam the property, as well as tyr's three cats.

after 2007, thor still technically continues to live there, but he travels more frequently.

PHOTO CREDITS. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4. 

[brightsun-and-darkmidnight]

My Hand is Not Yours to Hold

TITLE: My Hand is Not Yours to Hold

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Oneshot

AUTHOR: brightsun-and-darkmidnight

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: You are a princess. When you come of age, your parents decide to hold a tournament, the winner gets your hand in marriage. Invites for the tournament are sent to all of the nine realms and beyond.

NOTES/WARNINGS: Arranged marriage. NSFW.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Serilda has a secret that Loki finds out and uses both male and female forms to satisfy his princess.

*Thanks again to @cateyes315 for having wonderful ideas! Especially for urging me on when I need the push.

My Ao3: brightsun_and_darkmidnight

*FINALLY..Read the warnings. Once you agree you can handle it...

 ~ ~ ENJOY  ~ ~

Serilda was called to her parents throne room for apparent "important business."

The guards opened the door and when in front of them she curtsied. "Mother. Father. You requested me?"

"You are of age now and are to be married off to make a strong alliance with another world."

"That is ridiculous! How is an arranged marriage going to work. I don't want to be married -you can't!"

Her mother scolded her. "Serilda you knew from when you were young, the day would come when you are to be married. It is your duty as Princess."

Her father spoke loudly. "We will send out invitations tomorrow to all the neighboring worlds for a contest for your hand. The winner will be more than able to protect you and thus their world will be best to make an alliance with."

Serilda hoped her assumption was right. "So there will be a contest to battle for my hand?"

Both of her parents nodded in agreement.

Serilda stomped her foot and turned towards the door. "It is a stupid idea!"

However once in her room she grinned mischievously in the mirror.

~^~^~

Loki saw Thor walking to the throne room.

Loki asked, "Did father call for you as well?"

Thor nodded as he kept walking.

Loki stayed silent on the walk. 

The doors opened for the Princes and then shut once they were in. Both of them bowed to their father.

"You have both been invited to a contest for princess Serilda's hand. I would advise both of you go. The Queided have numerous animals that could aid Asgard and the nutrients from their plants are the healthiest of the entire 9 realms."

Thor asked, "Aren't the Queided exotic beings?"

Odin spoke, "yes. Their appearance is not like any you have seen. You will treat them all with respect and honor. You are dismissed. Go and train. You leave in two days."

~^~^~

Loki trained the hardest he ever had before. Mixing his magic in with his daggers. He hit the bulls eye so much that there was no longer color for that part of the target but a noticeable divot. Just because Loki was not thrilled about being in an arranged marriage, he was not going to just lose.

Besides the main point of all the training was to prove Loki he was worthy of something.

~^~^~

Serilda trained all night with her sword.

No one but the wild animals knew she had a sword, other than the blacksmith. Even then she was in a heavy disguise at the time of purchase. That disguise would come in handy once again when she won her freedom, her own hand.

 ~^~^~

The day came when all of the suitors stood in front of Serilda's parents, who were delighted the Asgardian princes accepted.

Serilda stood tall and confident among the suitors in her own disguise. She did not say more than needed due to her throat finding it difficult to keep the deep rumbling voice active.

No matter what... she would win. Her confidence was the highest it has ever been because she was a woman fighting among men. Her parents would throw a fit if they knew she was a fighter but they would find out when she won. 

Girls were never meant to fight on her planet, but she didn't care.

If lady Sif could fight her way to get noticed as a warrior among men why couldn't Serilda do the same?

~^~^~

While Thor and most of the other suitors went to binge the food and drinks, Loki went for a journey.

The wildlife were not scared of him and they were surely interesting to watch. Some had many legs, some had wings but did not look anything like a bird. All animals and plants had unique prints on them. When the light went down many things glowed with intricate patterns.

It was a truly interesting world. 

Before leaving Asgard, Loki had found a book on this world and nothing could compete with the real world.

Loki heard a woman grunt and he went to see if she was in distress. The women were prized and were protected. They were not allowed to fight.

Loki seen a woman with nightshade purple hair. A petite figure with, distinct pale skin and yellow eyes.

It was the Princess.

Loki stayed silent as he watched her. Observed her moves and how well she was doing. Loki understood her fighting style in a few moves then left with the information in his mind.

Loki paced in his room as he tried to figure out what the princess was doing with a sword and knew how to use one. He couldn't ask anyone because she would be in trouble but finally everything made sense the next day when he seen the mysterious suitor fighting.

It was the same sword. The same movements and Loki knew who it was, giving him even more reason to make it to the top. He knew she did not like the idea of being married off since she made it clear by not being present at most things...but the mysterious one would be at.

Perhaps if Loki was in the final round and let her win she could have her freedom.

~^~^~

Serilda was anxious. She made it to the final round but she had to go against Loki. He was a quick study and found weaknesses so blindly fast he won all of his battles easily.

The fact he was pleasantly charming and by far the most polite out of all the suitors, her parents were in favor of Loki.

They said he is the best choice -not the mysterious one. Which in all fairness, Serilda would not like a potential suitor who did not give information.

Loki on the other hand was knowledgeable, he seemed to know everything that was brought up in a discussion and he held himself with such confidence.

Serilda was starting to like the attempts to talk to her.

He had so many questions about her world and snuck in questions about what she liked and didn't.

~^~^~

Loki seen Serilda and went to her.

"Would you like to walk with me?" Loki offered his arm.

He seen the hesitation before she gently held on.

"Where are we going?"

"Is it okay if we go to the forest? I frequented there every night since I arrived. The animals are quite nice compared to Asgard's beasts."

Serilda visibly took on a frightened look. She cleared her throat quickly. "Yes. Asgard have bilesnipe. Are they really that dangerous?"

"Oh yes. But in order to keep their numbers down we have a hunting season for them."

"We do not hunt many animals here. We have our plants for important nutrients, our waters to keep hydrated. We get milk from all animals, some of them so sweet it is practically nauseating."

"I have yet to find something that sweet. And I am told I have a terrible sweet tooth."

Serilda giggled. "Perhaps I should get you some. It is mainly used as an ingredient for cooking. Have you tried the red and gold circular candy with the silver goo inside?"

Loki smiled, "yes and I fear it was not sweet enough."

Loki laughed at her highly surprised face.

"That is absurd. It is the sweetest food we make here and it only has five drops of the milk!"

Loki grinned. "I ate 5 of them."

She teased with a smile. "Have you slept?"

"Like a newborn babe." Loki took her in the direction of her training area and she held onto his arm and tried to take him elsewhere.

Loki took both of her hands and looked at her face.

"I know your secret."

Loki let her take her hands away. 

"I have no secret."

"You are the mysterious suitor no one knows nothing about. I have seen you practicing here."

She searched his face. "What are you going to do?"

"I was thinking we could practice a battle to where I loose and you can have your own hand."

"Really?"

"I think it sounds like fun. Just a little Mischief of course."

She smiled and agreed.

~^~^~

Serilda's parents watched with anticipation as the battle went on but the mysterious one won.

Serilda smiled in victory as she took her helmet off.

The gasps of the crowd and the disbelieving rage on her parent's faces was worth it.

However it did not go well.

Serilda was scolded and her parents apologized to each suitor as they left with damaged egos.

Odin however did not accept any apologies and instead bargained.

"You, princess Serilda, are a brave fighter. If you would accept to be my youngest son's wife you would bring along great fortunes from Asgard to your planet. There would be trade and your people would prosper and be protected by Asgard with a stronger alliance."

Serilda felt all eyes on her and seeing how different she looked from the Asgardians made her question if she really wanted to stick out somewhere in such high royalties.

Her father broke the silence, "Serilda you are to marry prince Loki since he is the real champion. That is, if he would have you."

With a glance at Loki she decided it wouldn't be so bad.

He was the nicest of everyone and she knew more about him than all the others. Loki also kept her secret and helped her try to get her freedom. Loki seemed to care about her own choices, since he was willing to lose for a chance of her own freedom.

His lips formed a smile then a thin line as he tried not to.

"I accept."

Loki was asked, "do you, Loki, wish to marry our daughter and create a great alliance between us?"

"I do." 

Then he smiled and it forced Serilda's lips to curve upward as well.

~^~^~

It was decided the ceremony would happen at Asgard so Serilda was packed up with everything she wished. The servants were nice to her but she saw their lingering stares.

She went to the forest for a moment to be alone.

~^~^~

Loki was on his way to retrieve Serilda so they could be together as they walked through Asgard.

However, he saw her headed to the forest while wiping at her cheeks.

Loki paused for a moment before observing the area. 

No one seemed to notice, or at least did not acknowledge her leaving.

Loki followed her through the forest and was careful not to be seen or heard.

~^~^~

Serilda leaned on a tree to stabilize herself.

Sobs turned into bawling.

One of the animals sensitive to emotion nuzzled into her to which she threw herself at.

The soft fur was distracting and the hum of the animal's calming song enveloped the area.

Serilda talked through her sniffling.

"How am I to marry a prince? A man?"

She twirled some fur around her finger then let her hand rub signs into the animal.

"Oh Zen. I am going to miss you. You know all of my secrets. You are the only being that knows I prefer women. Not that there is anything wrong with Loki-or that I am repulsed by him… it's just."

Serilda let out a groan of frustration.

"I have a protective nature, and I fight for what I want. Those things are not accepted by my people, being a woman that is. I highly doubt things will be different in Asgard. And the way people stare is making me worry more. I am different in so many ways."

Serilda continued to rub Zen's fur as a thank you for the comforting time to just talk.

The calming humm stopped causing Serilda to look around.

Behind her was Loki.

~^~^~

Loki stood behind Serilda and decided the next words were crucial.

"Everything you said makes you, who you are."

Serilda's eyes were wide with fear as she clung to the animal.

"Serilda do not be afraid. You will be prized for all you are in Asgard. The reason everyone stares is because they are in awe of your beauty."

"What of the marriage ceremony? You still…"

Loki offered a timid smile as his magic shimmered across his body.

A melodic voice took place of a deep velvet voice.

"People have called me a plethora of names but I am comfortable being whatever I am."

Serilda's eyes scanning over Loki's body made her shiver in excitement.

Serilda hesitantly questioned. "You can be both male and female?"

"Simply put, yes. I am a natural shapeshifter, for me to change into whatever form I wish -or perhaps, you wish, is easy for me. I do not mind one or the other because who I am does not change."

Serilda rose to her feet and stood awkwardly.

"What form would you like to escort you into Asgard as my partner?"

Serilda looked down in thought then glanced at Loki. "We will be expected to have a child?"

Loki went to his male form. "It is expected of us, yes." Loki smirked, "though you don't need to worry. Most of the 9 realms know I change forms. Word will likely reach this planet as well. People love to talk, especially those who have no idea on the subject."

Loki held out his hand and Serilda took it.

Loki smiled and kissed her hand. "Your secrets are safe with Zen and I."

"Thank you Loki."

~^~^~

Serilda was sweating profusely as Loki held her from behind.

He moved her feet further apart.

His breath hot on her ear "you need to move like this."

Serilda nodded silently and let his hand move hers towards her body.

With his hand starting to go back to her elbow she then flicked her wrist to throw the dagger.

He kissed her temple. "Better."

Serilda grunted. "It wasn't a bullseye."

Loki pointed to the target where there was a cluster of daggers.

"You hit the same area every time. You just need to adjust your stance."

Serilda went to position herself as Loki has been working tirelessly to perfect.

Loki kicked her foot, then again because apparently she didn't get it right. He tapped on her shoulder and hooked her chin up higher.

Serilda didn't remember her face needing to be so high.

Her eyes met his and then he spoke with a smile.

"Your body is holding a lot of stress."

Serilda became flustered with how intense his gaze was.

"Is it the training, or the ceremony on your mind?" Loki leaned in slowly, eyeing her lips and husked, "or something else?"

Serilda watched that special tone of green appear in his eyes.

Loki hummed in question with a raised eyebrow.

Serilda's eyes were wide as she watched him back up and rock on his feet.

She huffed and threw the dagger at the target.

"Stop teasing me!"

Loki pointed to the target with a dagger almost touching the bullseye.

"I am starting to think the more flustered you are the better you are at training."

Serilda growled as she went to retrieve her daggers. 

"So what is getting your body so tense?"

Serilda glared at him as she threw another dagger. She glanced at the target and the dagger was actually in the center of the target.

Loki moved close to her, "perhaps a little more tension will get the next bullseye?"

Serilda ran from him with a laugh.

Laughing even harder as she was caught.

Though once his mouth started to work along her neck she had to close her mouth in fear of being heard.

"I can not wait till this ceremony is over with. You will be calling out my name-"

"Loki!"

He chuckled into her ear. "Not quite like that."

Serilda knew they were alone but the way he spoke such sinful things so easily made her stomach warm and her legs to close tightly for any amount of relief.

Loki's hands went to her hips and she could feel his arousal.

"I look forward to having your mind swimming with the need for release as I tease you relentlessly with both body forms one at a time."

Serilda felt his body change. No longer was there something rubbing on her ass but the soft mounds pressing into her upper back.

The melodic voice was close to her ear, "will you be the judge to what form is the best at giving pleasure?"

Serilda could only nod due to fear of what sound would escape.

Loki parted from her and Serilda glared at the beautiful woman.

Loki pointed to the targets with a sexy smirk. 

"Back to target practice. Or do you need another pep talk?"

~^~^~

After the ceremony they were carried to Loki's chambers much to his delight.

All of the teasing from the past few days did not leave Serilda the only one tense for release.

Loki admired Serilda's appearance even when some Asgardians thought her odd looking. Loki let her know her looks are far more captivating than anyone he has seen on Asgard. 

Her pale skin stood out of his darkly colored rooms.

Her yellow eyes matching the gold trim of his pillows.

And her hair sprawled all around her head captivated him and he could not stop touching it.

Loki changed to his womanly form and let Serilda explore.

Serilda gave Loki the best orgasm of her life, to which Loki returned the favor once Serilda was done with her feast.

As their bodies moved together in slow movements Serilda moaned loud enough Loki was sure the whole palace could hear. 

Loki was sure to feel all of Serilda with slow hands of his masculine form. Of course Loki would attempt similar actions since he was being judged. Equal treatment was needed for fair judgment after all. 

Loki watched with fascination as she came to completion, his name ringing through the room. She tugged on his hair and kissed him as he drove her to completion three more times before finally finishing himself.

He laid there with her and she held onto him as they both regained their breath.

Loki covered themselves with a thick blanket.

"So which form did you like better?"

Serilda hummed in tired delight.

Loki kissed Serilda's forehead. "Perhaps in the morning we could start another round..."

[exalted--zealotry]

Three Houses Main Verse

Before you ask, I’m still going to be keeping the notes of this verse; this will just be moved to a side/alt 3H verse.

Since I’m going to cover as much info as I can about this verse in a single post, all information will be posted under the cut, and will include spoilers for the game.

Unlike in the now-alternate Three Houses verse, in which he is a native of Faerghus, Anri’s presence in Fódlan is explained the same way as his presence in Askr during the events of Heroes, as with most of the first generation characters from Genealogy of the Holy War in Heroes: in his own world, Anri is dead- murdered at the hands of Naeva, reduced to naught but ashes by her flame. The events of Awakening play out as usual.

Shortly before the events of the game take place- a couple of moons, at best- Anri is found unconscious outside of a village in Faerghus by a squad of the Knights of Seiros, where he is nursed back to health. He’s shocked to discover that the common language of Fódlan is seemingly identical to that of Ylisse- and even more shocked to discover, as a result of an errant conversation about his ‘unusual blade’ that no one else could seemingly wield, that Falchion remains by his side. After assisting the knights in defending the village against a bandit attack, Anri accepts an offer to return with them to Garreg Mach Monastery, with an invitation into the Knights of Seiros, when the knights notice how, for a man only in his late 20s, he fights like a seasoned warrior. He is inducted as a Holy Knight, though no doubt many are suspicious, especially Rhea and Seteth themselves; these suspicions will only worsen when it’s discovered that Anri has an undiscovered ‘Crest’- in reality, simply the brand of the Exalt (not that the people of Fódlan know any better).

In order to hide his temporal nature, Anri obfuscates his lack of knowledge of Fódlan as being a result of memory loss, a fact which he would only confess to either Byleth or Professor Hanneman during an A-support. That being said, he’s incredulous upon discovering nothing about his home in any of the books in the academy’s library- no Ylisse, no Plegia, no Archanea, no Jugdral, no Naga. This is his major motivator in determining which routes Anri will be available in during Part 2, as he comes to despise the Church of Seiros, even if he gains companions amongst its Knights. 

During Flayn’s kidnapping, Anri will most likely be considered the second most likely person to be the Death Knight, as he will speak very little about himself of his origins, though his name will obviously be cleared Jeritza’s disappearance after Flayn and Monica have been rescued. From this point onwards, Anri will be available for recruitment by Byleth, and requires that Byleth be Level 15 like the professors and most of the other Knights.

Following the Flame Emperor reveal, Anri will be available for the defence of Garreg Mach during Chapter 12 on the Blue Lions and Golden Deer, and will stay available for all of Part 2 in these routes. Should Byleth side with Edelgard, Anri will follow, much like Shamir and Alois do if they are recruited, and will be available for the Assault on Garreg Mach; if Byleth sides with the Church, he will still partake in the defence of the Monastery, but will desert from the Knights shortly afterwards, considering his service with them at an end- the same occurs if Byleth sides with Edelgard and Anri is not recruited by this point.

During the timeskip, in Azure Moon and Verdant Wind, Anri will likely be landed by Dimitri/Claude, respectively, and resign from the Knights of Seiros. In addition, he is pro-Dimitri/pro-Faerghus, and will resist Cornelia and the Imperial occupation in Azure Moon and the pro-Imperial lords of the Alliance in Verdant Wind. In Crimson Flower, Anri will instead become a general of the Imperial Army.

In Silver Snow, or if unrecruited in Crimson Flower, Anri will be the boss of a paralogue in which he is discovered in an old, abandoned (but still standing) fortress, having become a mix of army/cult leader in an attempt to spread the teachings of Naga, having raised a sizable enough following to draw attention from either the Church or the Empire. Upon being defeated by Byleth, he can either be executed or spared (or recruited in Crimson Flower), the latter of which has Anri vanish from Fódlan history after this point.

As a unit, Anri will be recruited as a Paladin, as is his default class in any other verse, with high Str and Def, above-average Dex, Chr, and HP, average Spd, below average Lck and Mag, and low Res. He is proficient in Swords, Riding, Lance and Authority, with weaknesses in both Reason and Faith Magic, Heavy Armour and Flying, but a Budding Talent for Faith Magic. During meals, he prefers savoury, bitter, and spicy foods; enjoys choir practice (despite his initial weakness), and cannot cook to save his life. His Lost Items include Handwritten Lyrics, a ‘Strange Book’ (his holy book of the Naga Faith), and a Locket (inside which is a miniature portrait of Emmeryn, painted when she was an only child).

Falchion will act akin to a Hero's Relic, but does not have the exact same properties; for example, whereas actual Hero's Relics deal field damage to wielders without a sufficient Crest, Falchion can be hypothetically wielded by anybody else, but the blade will be dulled for anybody but Anri, giving Falchion 1-2 Might at best. In Anri's hands, Falchion will have 15 Might and give him access to Aether as a combat art, which costs 4 durability and has the same affect as the skill as in previous main series games- two attacks, the first restoring health equal to 50% of damage dealt, and the second halving the opponent's Def. The 'Crest of the Exalt' works akin to the Heroes incarnation of Aether, with the effects combined into one attack, but at a lesser value- either 20 or 25%, whichever is better balanced. Anri's personal skill is Crusader's Ward, functioning almost exactly the same as it does for Sigurd in Heroes, with the activation rate being: (Dex + Def or Res depending upon which stat is targeted)/2.

Pre-timeskip, Anri’s face and hairstyle remain unchanged from his standard verses, though his armour changes to a set more befitting of a Paladin in the Knights of Seiros, and follows the general Fódlan style, with an in-universe rumour/theory amongst some being that he’s possibly distantly related to House Fraldarius. Unlike most non-student characters, Anri’s appearance does change post-timeskip; he has since reverted back to his Ylissean Paladin armour that he wore as Exalt, and remains clean-shaven, though his hair has grown out in a long ponytail in order to emulate his ancestor, Seliph- it’s debatable whether or not the look suits him. Anri’s two most likely Master Classes are either Holy Knight or Bow Knight, with him fought as a Holy Knight during his Paralogue.

Anri will have platonic paired endings with Professor Hanneman, the House Leaders (depending upon the chosen route), and Dorothea, and B-Supports with Ferdinand, Felix, and Manuela. His solo ending will have him accept his death in the Awakening world, with no hope of return, and will settle down and remarry. In addition, he would be a hypothetical S-Support for a female Byleth, and possibly a romantic paired ending with Catherine in Azure Moon and Verdant Wind, but as of writing I currently don’t have plans for either of these ships.

[12freddofrogs]

Gotham Crusaders - A Batfamily TV Show

A few months ago I started wondering how I would adapt the Batman/Batfam comics to TV. I started relatively simple, but then I started getting a little more detailed with a specific episode plot here, a little more to this scene there, some dialogue to be specified… and now the fic is nearly 80k on Ao3, and I still have another season/chapter to go.

This is an extract from Chapter/Season Five, Damian’s Robin introduction, also known as Dick’s run as Batman. 

Other episodes in S5 include Cass giving the Batgirl mantle to Steph, Jason getting caught in a hostage situation at Gotham Library, Dick introducing Damian to ice-cream, Tim making a reluctant alliance with the League of Assassins, the Red Hood trying and failing to convince himself he doesn’t care, and the general aftermath of the Bats without Bruce.

Start Gotham Crusaders from Season One Here

Season Five Here

Season Five, Episode Sixteen - Halloween Night

There haven’t been any holiday episodes so far. Let’s celebrate Halloween with the Batfamily.

Cass, Steph, and Babs wander the Gotham University Halloween fete at dusk.

For the moment, they’re just having fun. Steph goes apple-bobbing. Babs aces a ring-toss. Cass is unimpressed with cotton-candy.

A commotion catches their attention.

The girls hurry to where one of the students had tried to tear apart a light display. By the time they arrive, two security guards have already pulled the skinny twenty-year-old off.

He’s babbling about how lights will attract Batman, even as the security guards breathalyse him.

In his theory, the Batsignal is a way for the police to announce when they have a new victim for him, so it’s very unwise for them to have their own vampire-beacon on Halloween night.

“Batman and his colony are feeding on criminals to lure us into a false sense of security before he unleashes his dark powers—”

Steph laughs so hard she falls over. The student pauses long enough to glare at her, which doesn’t help.

Babs bites her hand to stop giggling. Cass is trying to pull Steph to her feet.

Finally, the student is escorted back to his dorm, mumbling that Gotham is going to be enslaved because they believe a blood-sucking monster wants to help.

Robin’s been a child for over ten years now, how is that not suspicious?

If anything would get Steph off the ground, it was not that.

Once he’s gone, Cass asks what a vampire is.

Meanwhile, Dick and Damian are arguing in the Manor living room.

“I’m not asking you to go trick-or-treating.” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. “Or dress up, or put on a spooky voice, or do anything beneath the outrageous dignity of a ten-year-old. All I’m asking is you open the door, smile, and give out candy.”

“I don’t understand why we reward these pitiful efforts.” Damian looks out the window. Alfred is visible handing chocolate to a girl dressed as a dragon. “I have seen three facsimiles of armour tonight, none of which would stand up to the shoddiest of blades, and there’s no challenge in approaching the door. Surely we should have at least set up a basic trap to be worth overcoming?”

“Okay, the point of fun is a lesson for later.” Dick picks up a novelty candy bucket and shoves it into Damian’s hands. “Right now is social skills.” He drags his youngest brother to the hallway. Through the window, there’s another group of trick-or-treaters. “Talk to these kids, and then we’ll go on patrol.”

“Tch! Fine!” Damian storms to the door as Alfred steps out of the way. He sends an icy glare over his shoulder before turning the knob.

“Trick or treat!” Three eight-year-olds beam at him: a princess, an astronaut, and a dinosaur.

It’s impressive Damian’s forced grin doesn’t scare them. There’s nothing genuine about the teeth on show. “I… like… your costumes.”

“Thank you!” The astronaut holds out her sack.

“You must be a dead astronaut.” Damian gives her a chocolate. “Appropriately ‘spooky’.”

“I’m not a scary astronaut”

“No, you’re a scared astronaut.” Damian hands confectionary to her companions. “Even accepting the useless fabric as part of the holiday, your ‘suit’ stops at your wrists and ankles, exposing much of your skin to the void. Your ‘helmet’ is improperly attached to your shirt, and there is no indication your character has an air supply. By now you would have suffocated as your blood vessels rupture and the fluid in your eye sockets boil.”

The children gape at him.

“Happy Halloween.” He shuts the door. “Well?”

Dick and Alfred exchange a look. “He did smile.”

“That he did.”

Night falls and the Bats go on patrol.

Batgirl detours back to campus, tucking her comm unit into her belt.

The conspiracist-student is getting ready for bed. When he steps into his bedroom, he screams to find Batgirl on his desk.

“For someone so afraid of Bats, you’d think you lock your window.”

He stumbles back, pressing himself against the wall. “You… you can’t come in here without an invitation. You shouldn’t be—”

“Vampires can’t enter houses without permission. This isn’t a house.” Batgirl waves at the dorm. “It’s not your home, not a permanent space, it’s basically public property. I can come and go.”

Maybe it’s a little cruel, but it’s supposed to be a harmless prank.

Batgirl’s rattles off vampire lore, occasionally slips into a bad Transylvanian accent she can’t hold, makes spooky gestures with her hands.

She does promise that the Bats of Gotham don’t kill — maybe they’ll take a sip from a mugger, but nothing they can’t spare.

“Calm down, I’m not going to bite you. We’re harmless, really, at least to law-abiding citizens like—”

The student had been pushing himself along the wall to his closet, where he rips out a clove of garlic.

Batgirl is delighted, and plays the part. Hissing, retreating, hands out defensively. It’s awful acting, but she’s only there for a joke. It certainly convinces him.

While Batgirl is dramatically cowering from a spice, the student grabs a heavy metal water bottle from the desk and hits her over the head.

(Continues under the cut)

Batgirl wakes up tied to a chair in a lecture theatre.

A garlic garland is draped around her neck.

Steph is more concerned with the ropes. Her arms are pinned to the arm rests, done so vigorously she can barely wriggle her fingers. Her legs are similarly tied.

It’s still night. The lecture theatre is dark, with the only light being a glimpse of the festival from the windows and the candles the student is lighting.

“Um, hi?”

The student leaps to his feet, brandishing a cross at her. “Stay back!”

“Sure. Just untie me first.” Batgirl tugs at her ropes. “Okay, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I was kinda joking. I’m not a vampire.”

Shockingly, he is unconvinced. “I will not allow your colony to feast on the innocent.”

Batgirl switches her argument from ‘not-a-vampire’ to ‘not-an-evil-vampire’. It doesn’t work either.

Finally she groans, letting her head hang forwards. “How long am I going to be here?”

“Until morning, when you are destroyed by the rays of the sun.” With that dramatic pronouncement he picks up his book and leaves.

Batgirl sighs. “Nobody will ever let me hear the end of this.”

Meanwhile, the episode needs a bigger threat than a uni student with a stroke of luck.

Clayface is a more traditional Halloween villain.

Batman and Robin get waved down from a building by a nearly hysterical man, babbling about a monster that just mugged him.

At first Batman just tries to calm him down, but the revelation that the mud coating his shirt is attempting to crawl away makes them realise Clayface is active.

They give him money to take a cab home and the Dynamic Duo split up to search.

Contacting the others reveals that Oracle’s cameras caught glimpses of Clayface an hour ago, that Black Bat is patrolling on the North End but will keep an eye out, and Batgirl isn’t picking up,

While Batman continues the A-plot with an actual rogue, Robin is sent to find Batgirl.

He grumbles as he leaves, but doesn’t protest.

Steph hadn’t wanted to advertise her plans to prank a civilian, and had switched her tracker/comms off as she arrived on campus. That was still enough of a record for Oracle to note she went back to the university.

Oracle takes a guess and researches the vampire conspiracist. Henry Davids has posted a lot online.

The window to his dorm is open. Robin grapples up, pauses when he finds identical grapple marks already in the wood.

Inside the room are signs of a struggle. A single blonde hair is caught on the curtain.

“Oracle. Batgirl was here and appears to have been outmatched by someone with less combat training than a goldfish. What can you tell me about this building’s activities?”

“Not much, kiddo. Most of the dorm building cameras have been broken for months, needing new funding that hasn’t gone through.”

Black Bat is in the middle of stopping a convenience store robbery, but she takes the time to touch her comms. “Do you want back-up?” she asks, spinning neatly to slam her knee into someone’s throat. “Can be there twenty minutes.”

“No.” Robin climbs out the window. “I can handle this.”

He swings up and drops down to the ground.

Meanwhile, Henry has returned to the lecture theatre.

Batgirl is bored, but her cowl’s eyes widen when she sees him placing a pile of wooden stakes on the teacher’s desk. “Wait, I thought you were going to burn me in sunlight?”

“I said you would die at sunrise. I’m not dumb enough to think a vampire can be defeated by one.”

“How about garlic and sunlight? Throw in some holy water, too, that’ll do the trick — is that one silver?”

Robin is combing the campus.

Oracle tries to help, but Batgirl’s offline and there aren’t enough security cameras. Plus, she’s also concerned with finding Clayface.

“Are we sure Davids is still on the grounds?” Robin asks.

“No, but he hasn’t got a vehicle, the buses aren’t running, and there haven’t been any taxis. If Henry left campus, he was on foot. Even in Gotham, you can’t drag an unconscious girl through a crowd unnoticed.”

“You think she was unconscious?” Batman asks, crouching in an alleyway. More of Clayface’s mud is splattered over the ground, steadily making the way to a manhole cover.

“Hard to imagine what he could have threatened her with to make her go willingly, and Robin said there was a fight.”

“And there’s no digital trail.” Batman puts a sliver of mud into a tray as a compass and slides into the underground. “Guess you’re on physical detective work, Robin.”

“How? Drunken crowds roam every pathway. Even if he left footprints, every sign would be obliterated.”

“Those crowds happen to be your best bet,” Oracle says. “Just ask for information.”

“Nicely,” Black Bat adds, handcuffing the last of her robbers to a streetlight. “Don’t hurt anyone.”

“Or tip anyone off,” Batman says. He flicks his torch against the walls, which bounces back and lights up his grin. “You need to go undercover.”

“How would I do that?”

Cut to Damian knocking on a door.

“Trick or treat,” Robin mumbles reluctantly, holding out a bag from the fete.

He’s given a slew of compliments about how adorable he is, how cute his Robin costume is (“Did you make that yourself?“) and a small shower of candy.

“Thank you,” he says, forcing a smile. “Have you seen my… older sister? We’re in matching costumes. She’s Batgirl.”

He’s told they must look adorable, but nobody’s seen her.

At another party someone waves over someone dressed in a well-intentioned-but-badly-designed Batgirl costume Robin has to visibly bite back comments about.

His bag fills quickly. Once in a while he double-checks no-one’s watching before sneaking a chocolate.

Finally, he gets some useful information. No-one’s seen his ‘sister’, but when he adds that her boyfriend is Henry Davids, someone recognises him. “Yeah, I saw him an hour ago heading into the Arts Building with a lot of candles.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait, kid.”

“Yes?” He pauses midstep.

“Look, see, um… sometimes when a boyfriend and girlfriend get candles and go into a place alone—”

Robin leaves without another word.

He palms another piece of candy before dumping his bag.

Robin lands on the Arts Building.

He pauses at the stairs, finding paper cut-outs of crosses and garlic cloves dotted around.

“Tch.” He taps his comm as he walks. “Robin to Batman. I’m pretty sure I found him. Give me ten minutes and this will be handled.”

“Alright.” Batman is distracted, climbing out of another storm drain and frowning at the giant Halloween party in the building in front of him. “Keep me updated.”

Batman watches the party.

He notices the same man who’d begged him for help earlier that night — now cheerily joking with friends, the same clothes mysteriously clean — and contacts Black Bat.

While she arrives, he heads over to the party, only to find not only is there a strict guestlist that requires an invitation and ID, but also that the bouncers don’t recognise he’s really Batman.

Batman doesn’t insist on his identity, instead asking why the security is tight enough he can see patrols walking the upper balconies.

The guards don’t answer.

Oracle explains that company parties mean it’s very difficult to keep track of everyone’s movements, and this particular company has a lot of valuable prizes stored in the same building.

She’s cut-off when the suspiciously-not-muddy man notices Batman, curses, and transforms into Clayface.

Back in the theatre, Batgirl is sulking.

Henry has set up the room with enough candles to be a fire hazard, each connected with string.

He’s sitting in the row behind her. Several wooden stakes are resting in easy reach.

Batgirl sits up a little straighter when a small red-green-black figure appears in the doorway. “Oh. It’s you. Great.”

“What is this?” Robin steps inside, gesturing at the room.

“This is… umm…”

She’s spared the explanation as Henry lunges forward over her shoulder. He presses a wooden stake against her chest plate, the other hand gripping a mallet.

Robin has a batarang out immediately. “Let her go.”

“I can’t.” Henry’s pale, his eyes frantic. “I have to — I have to protect Gotham. This is my only chance.”

“Protect Gotham from what?”

“You.” Henry’s breaths are quick and shallow. “I know what you are, I know what you’re going to do to the city. I’m the only one willing to stop you.”

“He thinks we’re the terrifying vampire heroes of Gotham,” Batgirl says. Her voice is unconcerned, but she can’t stop glancing at the stake.

“You’re not heroes.”

Robin rubs his forehead, lowering his batarang. “Look, we’re not va—” He stops mid-word. Slowly, he pulls his hand down, smiles with too many teeth. “We only feed on those who deserve it. Criminals, muggers, the occasional student too nosy for their own good.”

Henry jolts.

“I’ve been very good lately.” Robin takes a step forwards. “But it’s Halloween, and no-one can deny I look like a child. I think I deserve a treat.”

Batgirl tries not to laugh.

The panic serves to motivate Henry and he swings the mallet with all his might, digging the stake forwards.

Reinforced armour meets pointy stick. The wood splinters.

There’s a long moment where he’s frozen, unable to comprehend what happened, before Batgirl headbutts him. He falls back.

Robin bites down his smile, stepping into the maze of tripwires.

“No, no, no!” Henry stumbles to his feet, one hand clutching a bloody nose. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his emergency garlic clove, throwing it at Robin.

There is a long moment where Robin considers the spice that landed by his feet, before he grins.

He takes a dramatic leap back, flipping midair, and bares his teeth in a hiss. “That was unwise. Now you’re out of ammunition.”

“Not yet!” Henry rips the garlic necklace off Batgirl’s neck, and starts flinging the individual cloves.

His aim’s pretty good. It’s useless, but accurate.

Robin plays the game. He ducks and dodges and somersaults to avoid the garlic, trying to hide his smile. Once he pauses long enough to wave his fingers like claws.

Batgirl is trying very hard not to laugh. When Robin abruptly remembers her presence, she grins at him.

Meanwhile, Batman’s dealing with Clayface.

The security guards fire, but the bullets do nothing except splatter people with mud. He reaches up to swipe at the balcony, and the guards are no longer interested in shooting.

Batman darts past the bouncers, causing a reaction as people recognise it’s not another costume.

Clayface doesn’t stand and fight, and instead moves to the upper levels by stretching an arm as a grappling hook. Batman follows him, as the party flees.

Upstairs, amongst enough art to be a gallery, they fight.

Black Bat arrives through a window mid-battle.

It takes a while, ducking between pieces of fancy artwork (Black Bat takes the time to move one statue out of the way) but eventually Clayface ends up caught in containment fluid.

Henry is still throwing garlic.

He attempts a particularly ambitious shot and trips over the string criss-crossing his theatre.

Around the room, his candles are knocked over.

Flames start to spread.

Robin flings a batarang. It stabs Batgirl’s chair, narrowly avoiding her arm.

“Hey!” She scowls, even as she’s rubbing her tied wrists against it.

Robin leaps over the chairs.

Henry is tangled in string and mildly dazed. Robin slices the thread and drags the student to his feet.

Batgirl’s free by the time they’re standing.

The three of them flee the burning building, Robin and Batgirl dragging Henry by the elbows.

Batgirl pauses at the door, turns, and tosses a pellet into the midst of the fire. Foam explodes out, suffocating the worst of the flames.

Combined with the sprinklers finally turning on, the damage is halted.

The moment they’re out, Henry slides to the ground.

The Bats let him.

“You okay?” Batgirl asks.

“I — I think so.” He takes a deep breath, still on his knees. “You saved me.”

“We did.”

“Are you going to bite me now?”

“No,” Robin says.

“I might slap you, though,” Batgirl mutters.

“How exactly did you get into that situation?” Robin asks her. She ignores him.

“So — so you were telling the truth? You’re heroic?”

Batgirl and Robin share a look. Robin rolls his eyes and turns away, and Batgirl shrugs. “Yep.”

“I… I was wrong?”

“Also yep.”

“About everything? What about the Riddler being an escaped thrall? And the Bat-signal announcing new victims? And — Batman came back after being disintegrated, I had to be right about the time-travel.”

Robin jerks out of his folded arms. Batgirl stiffens. They stare at him.

“Or… not. I guess I was” He stumbles to his feet.

The sound of sirens reach them. The fire’s out, but smoke drifts from the windows.

“I’m sorry. About everything. I shouldn’t have — I should have put more together, realised vampire doesn’t equal monster.” There’s no response, but Henry’s looking at the fire engines anyway. “I’ll talk to the firemen. Thank you for not biting me—”

When he turns around, he’s alone.

Later, the Bats have met up on top of a building.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Robin says, balancing on the roof railing. “He tried to put a stake in Batgirl’s heart. I wouldn’t consider him a reliable source.”

“No,” Black Bat agrees, sitting with her back against the railing. “But Tim is.”

“Names,” Batman says without thinking.

“I figured T was in denial.” Batgirl’s pacing. “I got it, I might have done the same. He didn’t want to lose three parents in ten months. But our little conspiracist had the same theory.”

“We already knew T must have had something to base it on.” Batman stares out at the city. “Some detail he’d decided was a clue. Even good detectives come to wrong conclusions and he’d never insist if he hadn’t found something he called evidence. Someone else just found the same clues.”

“Nothing Davids said can be considered relevant,” Robin insists.

Batgirl stops pacing and sighs. “No. Probably not.”

There’s a moment as they let it sink in.

Oracle informs them Henry had admitted the truth and been arrested. He’ll only be held overnight, but is likely to be expelled. He’ll probably head back home, leaving Gotham.

“Good.” Batgirl nods. “I don’t think he deserves Arkham but I really don’t want to deal with him again.”

“I still have questions about how you were captured by that incompetent,” Robin says.

“Don’t act so dignified, I saw you playing along and hissing like a good little vampire.”

Robin’s cheeks colour. “I was not — I did not play — and even if I — that does not answer how you were caught!”

Batman places a hand on Robin’s shoulder, trying not to grin. “It’s not Halloween without a horror movie. Shall we finish patrol and meet up?”

“Make it the Cave,” Oracle advises. “Better atmosphere if we turn off the lights. I’ll bring popcorn.”

“I vote cheesy horror,” Batgirl says, swinging off the roof.

“With vampires!” Black Bat calls, following her.

Batman glances at Robin. “Did you have fun?”

“I—”

“Good.”

They pull out their grappling hooks and swing away.

Find the rest of the fic on AO3.

More tumblr extracts:

S1E13 - Birdcage In which Dick Grayson is held for ransom. Dick is bored, Bruce is frantic, and Robin ends up on the phone with the Commissioner and has to fequently ‘pass’ the phone to Dick.

S2E9 - Double In which the second Robin trades himself to Two-Face as potential leverage over Batman in return for the civilian hostages to be freed. Jason proceeds to comment frequently on all the ways Two-Face’s plan is failing.

S3E20 - Songbird In which everyone in Gotham under the age of eighteen is abruptly bursting into song. Tim is distressed, Steph attempts to pretend she’s not creeped out, Dick finds it hilarious, and Cass is a little jealous that she’s too old to be effected. 

S4E01 - Worst Nightmare In which Scarecrow manages to drug Robin and Spoiler. Batman is a protective father, Steph has a discussion with her childhood fears, Tim is walking a fine line between terror and consciousness - and at home, Cass refuses to acknowledge flour/sugar/baking soda are different ingredients for cookies. 

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 171: Knock Them Dead With Your Sound

Previously on BnHA: Deku and Mirio visited Eri in the hospital. Eri apologized for everything they went through in order to save her, particularly Mirio who lost his powers. Mirio told her it wasn’t her fault and that everyone was just glad she was safe, and they all wanted to see her smiling face. Eri tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. Deku racked his brain for ways to cheer her up, and struck on the idea of inviting her to the cultural festival. Aizawa said he’d need to ask the principal but that it could probably be arranged. After Mirio explained the concept, Eri agreed, saying that she wanted to get to know everyone better. We then cut to the police, who were watching a live broadcast of a convenience store robbery and trying to trace its source. The robber, a gentleman thief named -- wait for it -- Gentle, took out six heroes in the blink of an eye and then left without taking any money. He said he wanted his name to be etched into history, and as he met up with his accomplice afterwards, he pondered what his next great exploit should be.

Today on BnHA: We are properly introduced to Gentle and his social media-savvy adoring fan La Brava. Gentle specializes in “chivalrous crimes” that target corruption. However his recent videos haven’t been as popular, in part because Stain and the League of Villains have been stealing his thunder. Back at U.A., word begins to spread about class A’s band performance and dance program. Bakugou overhears some grumps complaining about how cocky 1-A is and how they’re the ones who “start all the conflict.” That evening the kids meet to hash out who will be in charge of what. Jirou needs a drummer, and it turns out Bakugou plays drums, but he’s pissed at the idea of being obligated to provide stress relief for the other departments. As he puts it, “we aren’t getting smacked down by the villains because we enjoy it.” Instead he reframes the whole thing as a battle, and vows to knock U.A. dead with his sound. I mean, whatever works I guess. Meanwhile Gentle reveals to La Brava that he’s planning a new stunt which will surpass anything Stain or the League has done: he plans to invade U.A.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 198 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

lol

LIVING LAWLESS. all about that THUG LIFE

okay so the narrator, whom I assume is Gentle, is talking about people who have left their marks on history

you’re telling me there’s a hero out there simply known as “Brave”? I know we already had a Mr. Brave, and I can tell you right now he has left his mark on absolutely nothing. so that means there’s another guy out there named Brave, so Mr. Brave, your hero name is even lamer than I thought. WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST GO WITH SPLIT END

ooooohh!

oh my god. I want to know everything about all of these guys right the fuck now. particularly Destro. “special abilities liberation army” sounds a lot like a Magneto type “mutant rights” type of thing. there’s an era that we still don’t know much about right after quirks first started appearing on the scene, and it fascinates me and I want to know more about what it was like. because I have some fic ideas about that time period tbh. Destro, I’m definitely making a note of you

so now the narration is talking about how before the present systems were established, the lines between heroes and villains were blurred and it was an age of chaos

honestly this all sounds incredibly badass, like a superpowered wild west

and Gentle seems to agree, saying it was an age of pure freedom

this guy really feels what he’s doing, huh

the gentle, soothing, cuddly criminal. when he’s not out doing Crime, he makes ASMR roleplays in his spare time. “sleep-inducing bank robbery 🌙 (whispered/soft-spoken)”

he’s walking over to La Brava now and she says that their account got deactivated “again”, so she just finished uploading all of their videos to a new account

fucking 2010s manga though, you guys!!

and apparently that narration was from his debut video, which she was rewatching and swooning over just now

so he’s going to finish his cup of tea and then they will get on to today’s filming

oh my fucking god

you don’t understand guys. he’s really a man of the people. he’s on your side! handing out punishments to “those who do not act gentlemanly.” protecting them all from the horrors of expired pudding

oh my god you guys La Brava is the cutest ever I swear to god

how is she so cute though??

she’s frustrated because the jstore robbery video didn’t get that many views

but Gent says they’re not in it for external validation

she’s really mad though because she says it’s been 6 years since he’s been active as “the villain of the media world”

and apparently when Stain came along and went viral he stole all their views

yes but you have to admit they are super compelling though. I miss them, actually. where are they

(ETA: for real, they’ve been way too quiet recently and it’s starting to make me pretty nervous)

did you read that car chase chapter, though. “spectacle” indeed

he says his style is the opposite of that, but nonetheless it can’t be denied that they have momentum

he says all of the 10,000+ comments on their videos concern that violent behavior

are you sure some of the comments aren’t also shipping Toga and Twice. or theorizing what’s up with Tomura’s hands. or talking about how badass Compress’s new metal arm is. honestly they have a lot going for them, man

lmao

WAY TOO MANY JUMP CUTS

I also agree with the guy saying La Brava deserves more of the spotlight. she’s so great

Gent is letting loose with a hearty laugh and says he won’t be discouraged though, and that his next project will surpass even theirs

that is a tall order, sir. Tomura’s most recent act was a great service to humanity. all I’m saying is, you better not hype me up like the last new villain only to let me down, because don’t even get me started on that shitshow

so La Brava is all excited and asking what the next project is, and Gent is responding with a bunch of cryptic bullshit

so I guess we’re going to find out more about the history of heroes and when they became an established thing, huh? I’m 1000% on board with this and I may actually be even more excited for this than for the upcoming class 1-A rave, negl. good job getting this manga back on track, Horikoshi!

(ETA: I’m so thick, he’s clearly just talking about U.A. here lol)

so now we’re cutting back to U.A. and Vlad (who I almost called “Brad” again, it’s been so long) is talking to Aizawa about the cultural fest, and he’s all “so I heard class A is doing a rave huh?”

interestingly, this seems to be one of the rare occasions where Aizawa doesn’t seem to be 100% on board with their hijinks

stfu Aizawa. what’s more admirable than a fucking rave

now we’re cutting to the always adorable children of class A who are excited to plan their festival program

and some shadowy person is coming up to Bakugou and is all “did you hear?”

oh no wait they’re not talking to him, they’re talking to each other about class A right in front of him

um, whoa

y’all trying to start some shit, huh? gonna talk shit about his class when they’re trying to do something fucking nice?? like it’s their fault they keep getting attacked by fucking villains? okay then. hey on an unrelated note, go fuck yourselves

so are these guys just assholes or is this really what the rest of the school in general really thinks? because I can see why they might not exactly have a favorable impression of them, truth be told. Bakugou’s stunts at the sports festival didn’t exactly paint them in the best light. and most likely everyone has made the connection between the kidnapping and Kamino and the student dorms. and probably it’s not much of a secret who the two kids who were caught fighting on Ground Beta after hours were, either. so yeah

but it’s still a dick move to come and do this right in front of him when he’s not bothering you or anything, so fuck you still, and I will come over there and fight you if I have to, don’t think I won’t

fuck. well anyway, while I’m here grumbling and trying to take deep, calming breaths, we’re cutting back to Heights Alliance, and Iida is taking charge of a planning session

first they need to decide on the music, so Jirou is suggesting genres

she says they really should be doing EDM if the intent is to play dance music, but on the other hand everyone seems set on playing instruments. lol it would be funny though if everyone took turns DJing

so she’s asking if anyone in class plays bass or drums, and is met with a dead silence

she says she plays guitar mainly, so her drumming is only so-so. and she says that if she has to teach a beginner how to play drums then one month is not going to be enough time

OH MY GOD

I don’t fully understand what’s happening but ARE YOU IN FACT IMPLYING THAT MY SON KATSUKI KNOWS HOW TO PLAY DRUMS OH MY GOD. KATSUKI ARE YOU GOING TO BE IN A ROCK BAND!?

apparently the answer to that question is YES because class A knows all too well exactly how to manipulate him

MASTER OF PUPPETS I’M PULLING YOUR STRIIIIIINGS

lmao and JUST LIKE THAT

TOO EASY

holy shit. and it seems like he actually does know what he’s doing as well. go figure, he is good at virtually everything after all

well, this is everything I never knew I wanted. good show. excuse me for a moment, I’m gonna go play Song 2 by Blur and wonder what the season 4 OST is gonna be like

now he’s trying to walk away again lol

this is really just an open invitation for someone to come up with a convincing enough reason for him to do it without losing face

although part of me also wonders if maybe he would just rather not be in the spotlight for once. especially after overhearing those JERKFACES from the department of GENERAL JERKS earlier

oh my god Jirou

come on Kacchan don’t you want to be a good person?!

oh shit now he’s going on a tangent

he says nothing’s going to come of it

ahhhhhhhh. I see. so it’s that he’s pissed off at the other departments and doesn’t feel like they deserve class A’s niceness

ahhhh but Jirou looks crushed ;_;

Hagakure is kind of awkwardly being all, “hey, c’mon...”

but Bakugou says that what they’re doing is just “indulging the enemy”

and when exactly did it become Us vs Them though, I wonder. like, if the other classes are the enemy, that implies that your class is Not The Enemy though, yes? aww

oh shit. ohhhhh shit

oh my. and I didn’t even order any Bakugou feels. “yes, we know,” Horikoshi says, holding out the delivery bag. “these are on the house. please accept our gratitude on account of being such a loyal customer”

oh shit you guys. so what do I even do with these. should I meta about them or should I just eat them while they’re still hot

lol, but yeah. “I didn’t ask to be kidnapped. we didn’t ask to be attacked.” people acting like it’s their fault and like they’re enjoying the attention. and maybe once upon a time he did want that, but it’s one thing to fantasize about being famous for being the number one bestest coolest hero, and quite another to wind up actually in the spotlight because you’re the kid who keeps getting attacked by sludge monsters and Villain Leagues. and then people act like you brought it on yourself because you were too cocky. especially when we know that on some level he does blame himself, so it stings all the more

so why should they go out of their way to try to support people like that? it’s almost like they’re apologizing to those assholes, and fuck that

mmm. [munching] so anyway let’s see where this leads

hahaha. what

oh my god this fucking kid

lol. okay so he is on board, then, but just to make it ABSOLUTELY CLEAR, he is not out to “support” anyone, but rather he is declaring war. via drums. that’s right

well hey, however you need to frame it! at the end of the day he has agreed to help, so!

the other kids seem to be on the same page as me lol

yep. WE’LL TAKE IT

JIROUUUUU

;_____; I LOVE YOU SO MUCH JIROU

and now we’re cutting back to Gent and OH MY GOD

CAN YOU PLEASE. NOT

JESUS CHRIST. CAN THEY NOT JUST HAVE JUST ONE FUCKING THING. LET BAKUGOU DECLARE A DRUM WAR AND LET JIROU SHARE HER MUSIC WITH EVERYONE AND LET ERI HAVE A GOOD “DATE” WITH HER DOTING BIG BROTHER MIRIO AND LET THEM JUST RELAX WITHOUT ANY VILLAIN ANTICS

goddammit. I mean like, Gentle’s idea of villainy would probably be to whip out a violin and challenge them to a classical battle of the bands. but even polite villain antics are really not going to be good for U.A.’s PR at the moment. and this guy films everything he does. and just. we don’t need this sob

BONUS:

everyone this is Agoyamato Tsutsutaka and Togeike Chikuchi. that’s literally all this is. just their names. did we really need to know this lol oh well

[weerd1]

Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1909.05: Missions Reviewed, “A Time to Stand,” “Rocks and Shoals,” and “Sons and Daughters.”

“A Time to Stand” picks up three months after the Dominion seized Deep Space Nine in “Call to Arms.” Dukat has been unable to bring down the minefield at the mouth of the wormhole, but neither is the war going well for the Federation/Klingon alliance. The Defiant crew heads to starbase while waiting for word from the Seventh Fleet, which is undertaking a major offensive against the Dominion. Word does come: out of 112 ships, 14 have survived. On DS9 things remain civil, but Kira is unable to convince Dukat to allow Bajoran security to patrol the ship again.

 Jake is writing stories for the Federation, but Weyoun refuses to send them out due to their “bias.” Benjamin meanwhile is taken out of command of the Defiant and the sector admiral, Admiral Ross, assigns him to the starbase pending further orders.  They are not long in coming though as the Jem’Hadar ship Sisko captured the year before (in “The Ship,”) has been refurbished. The Defiant crew are to take it and destroy the main ketracel white production facility in the Alpha Quadrant. On the way, they end up glad they brought Garak as the Command interface is giving Sisko a migraine. 

After narrowly escaping a Federation ship that doesn’t know who they are, they get to the facility, intending to beam a bomb down in the empty White container. They are locked down though, and Bashir uses his genetically enhanced brain to devise and escape velocity that will keep them ahead of the bomb but not bounce them off the shields. The bomb detonates early though, and the ship is damaged; their warp drive gone, Bashir estimates it will be 17 years to get back to base.

Season six starts off strong with a very contiguous story arc. The first six are actually very serialized, but we have reached peak Deep Space Nine. All of the major players are in place, and the writers and actors all know who they are playing and how. The stakes are high and we are now examining humanity facing an existential threat. Great use is made here of Doctor Bashir’s mental talents, and for the first time we allude to his believing there is a good chance the Federation will fall. Kira is also well represented here as someone who has to bide her time and seemingly assist the people who she is sure will try to capture her world. The tension between the Dominion represented by Weyoun playing the long game, and the Cardassians represented by Dukat and Damar ready to be the tyrants they were before Cardassia “lost its way: is very well presented. The Cardassians are licking their lips at the possibility of re-occupying Bajor, but the Dominion’s tactics are so much more subtle.

“Rocks and Shoals,” has the damaged Jem’Hadar worship with Sisko and crew on the run. Chased by other ships, they duck into a dark matter nebula to avoid the enemy fire that has already severely wounded Dax. Out of control in the nebula, they are pulled into the atmosphere of a planet lurking within. On the station, things have fallen into a routine, and Odo, Quark, and Kira admit that this is a far more peaceful “occupation” than under the Cardassians.  Odo approaches Weyoun to restore the Bajoran security force, which Dukat wants to deny. Weyoun immediately concedes, in exchange for Odo joining the station’s “ruling council.” Jake asks if this move somehow gives legitimacy to the occupiers. He also asks Kira if she will stop the Vedek led protest planned for the next day. Kira goes to Vedek Yassim, an older woman, to get her to back off for now, to bide her time because “this isn’t like with the Cardassians.” The Vedek asks how it is different, and then is the only person who appears to protest the next day: she hangs herself on the Promenade after declaring “Evil must be opposed!”

 Kira begins to see herself as a collaborator, and she and Odo decide it is time to begin some form of resistance. On the planet where Sisko and crew have crashed they are stranded but find there is a Jem’Hadar crew already stranded there with a wounded Vorta. 

The Vorta negotiates with Sisko to have Bashir save him, and then tells them that they must kill the Jem’Hadar. There is only one remaining vial of ketracel white, and when it is gone, the 10 soldiers will go mad with withdrawal and kill everything they see. In exchange, the Vorta has a subspace transceiver O’Brien can repair.  Sisko talks to the leader of the Jem’Hadar about how they can be put in stasis and all saved, but he refuses, leading his men into Sisko’s attack, all of them dying. The Vorta brings the radio, and Sisko has to fight the impulse to kill him as well.

The juxtaposition for Kira here as the young angry freedom fighter, to the person biding her time, to someone who can no longer just wait and has to take an active role is fantastic here, as is the desire of Sisko to try to solve this situation without just murdering ten Jem’Hadar soldiers.  The Vortas continue to be smarmy and conniving with Kivas on the planet being as bad as Weyoun. The Vedek’s protest feels like a Buddhist monk in Vietnam setting themselves on fire, and Yassim’s appearance may be brief, but it is striking  and memorable.  Parts of Bajor are coming to the realization that a benevolent occupier is only benevolent when the occupier is happy with you.

“Sons and Daughters” begins when Dukat brings Ziyal back to the station. Ziyal wants to have dinner with Kira and Dukat to share something important to her.  Kira is resistant (literally as part of the resistance) but gives in to Dukat’s request. 

Martok’s Klingon ship the Rotarran brings Sisko and crew home from the Dark Nebula with their Vorta prisoner, and Worf goes back out on mission with the Klingons. New crew arrives including Alexander, Worf’s son, who has decided to try to live as a Klingon.  He is small and weak and timid however, and has a real problem finding his place, also finding much conflict with his father. Alexander feels his father has abandoned him as Worf feels he was only protecting his son. Ziyal reveals she has become and artist and is going to be exhibited on Cardassia. Dukat decides to throw a party for her, and Kira is invited.  She is willing to go for Ziyal’s sake, but when Dukat sends her a dress as a present, Kira goes to him returning it and tells him that she simply cannot have any part of a relationship with Dukat beyond her station duties, believing Dukat to be an opportunistic despot. She leaves, and Ziyal enters asking who it was. Dukat tells her it was a delivery, bringing them the nice new dress he got his daughter for the party. The next day Ziyal asks Kira where she was and Kira says she knows Ziyal can’t choose between them but she will not be part of Dukat’s game.

 On the Rotarran, Alexander continues to bungle things, but then when the ship is damaged in a skirmish, dives in to do what must be done to save it…before accidentally locking himself in the compartment. Worf accepts that Alexander must choose his own path and reconciles, while Alexander accepts the name “son of Worf” and is inducted into the house of Martok.

For Kira the occasional hint that there might be some reconciliation with Dukat ends here. She is done, even with Ziyal in the middle, and this defines how the two will act toward one another the rest of the show. A little strange having a young but adult Alexander here, as timeline wise he should only be about eight or nine years old having been born late in TNG’s second season. This acceleration was done for dramatic reasons, but that now means that Klingons must mature and grow quickly. This seems at odds with Worf hitting normal human milestone when he grew like high school and entering the Academy at 18 but…space man, it’s outer space.  Perhaps time dilation plays in as well.

NEXT MISSION: The DS9 resistance learns the minefield may soon fall and a Founder comes to the station in “Behind the Lines.”

[templeofulchtar]

Ghost Season Working Part 4/7

Welcome to your first ritual: Greeting The Seeker!

Before we begin, a quick overview:

This is a preparatory step that should be taken prior the Confronting Unicron rite, so I would recommend doing it in the week leading up to August 22. Do not skip it! This deceptively simple meditation is the heart and soul of the Ghost Season Working. Without it, you won’t be doing the Working. You’ll be doing something else. (Which is fine, but probably not what you’re here for.)

This meditation is adapted from a method of spirit contact I learned from Taylor Ellwood, author of many books a variety of magickal subjects including Pop Culture Magick. If you’re curious about his work, you can check it out here. What I appreciate about his method is that it is, above all, respectful.

Boundaries and Respect

A lot of magickal approaches to entity work involve trapping spirits, binding them, and generally bossing them around. I'm willing to bet that you would not enjoy being treated this way, and if you're familiar with Starscream, you can probably guess that he doesn’t either. I trust most of what follows will be common sense, but I feel obliged to include it anyway. Given Starscream’s nature, it’s quite possible that someone could have a bad experience with him if they approach him in a disrespectful manner. So just… don’t. It didn’t work well for Megatron, and it won’t work well for you either. On to the positive stuff.

Partnership is the Key

In the episode Fire in the Sky, it’s clear that Starscream once had a working partnership with Skyfire, and that this relationship was very important to him. In many, many subsequent episodes, he’s shown making deals with various characters and recruiting allies to assist him in achieving his various goals. These alliances tend to end rather badly, but I think it’s because Starscream is trying to fill the gap Skyfire left in his life. He’s subconsciously looking for a true partnership, one based on equality and mutual trust.

As a spiritual entity, Starscream remains partnership-oriented. Lucky for us, he seems to have no issue about making deals with puny humans. That might seem surprising, but it makes sense when you think about it. You are a physical entity with a manifested body. As such, you’re empowered to take real-world action to bring your goals into being.

Starscream, as a non-physical entity, has access to knowledge and wisdom that’s beyond your awareness. He can put people and information in your path as needed, and can guide you in making the best possible decisions. It’s the perfect balance. You each bring unique and complimentary gifts to the endeavor.

If you’ve watched the series, you will probably also have noticed that Starscream likes getting something in return for his help. Who doesn’t? We all like to be appreciated, and Starscream adores it! In light of this fact, here are some thoughts about offerings.

Offerings

When you come for dinner at someone’s house, it’s customary to bring a gift. The same applies with spirits. Offerings are a token of respect, and tangible proof of your appreciation for their potential help. What sort of offering might you bring for Starscream? Well, he’s specified to me that where it comes to gifts, his preferred offerings are: 

“Acts of Pleasure, Devotion and Creation.”

Now. What exactly does that mean? He declined to elaborate, which generally means, “You’re smart; figure it out yourself.” Which I’m sure you are, but in case you’re stuck, here are a few ideas to get started with:

★ Devotion could mean building an altar to Starscream (see my post on Altars for some thoughts on how to do this).

★ Creation could mean writing a story about him, or engaging in some other form of creativity that honors him.

★ Pleasure could mean savoring a food you like (dark chocolate is my go-to) and inviting him to share in your enjoyment of it.

Those are just a few suggestions. If you’ve established a connection with Starscream already (if not, I will be posting shortly on how to do this), you may find that he has suggestions that are tailor-made just for you. Give thought to what you’re able and willing to offer in exchange for Starscream’s help. Whatever you choose, make sure it's something you are truly prepared to do.

With that in mind, you are now ready to Greet the Seeker.

Don’t worry; it’ll (probably) go better for you than it did for Octane.

Greeting the Seeker

Despite the detailed preamble above, the actual ritual of Greeting the Seeker is a very simple two-stage process.

Stage One:

Surround yourself with things that remind you of Starscream. This could mean re-watching favorite episodes, reading comics or fanfic, looking at fanart, wearing Starscream’s colors or any Starscream-related apparel that you happen to own, setting up an altar for him, or listening to music that reminds you of him.

The idea here is to immerse yourself in Starscream’s energy. Choose items and activities that make you feel really good, and really connected to him. Take as much time with this stage as you want. You can even do it over several days if you like.

Stage Two:

Pick a time and place when you won’t be interrupted, and enter a meditative state. There are lots of ways to do this, too many to detail here, but taking slow, deep breaths is my go-to method. Once you are in a calm, relaxed state, invite Starscream to make himself known to you.

Then wait.

Remain in stillness, paying close attention to whatever comes up. I can’t tell you what to expect. You may feel a shift in the atmosphere of the room, a tingling in your body, or you may begin to ‘see’ him in your mind’s eye. You may ‘hear’ his voice inwardly, or simply have a knowing that he’s there.

Trust whatever comes up. There’s no right or wrong with this, and it’s also possible that you won’t experience much of anything, especially if you’re new to this type of work. If you’re not feeling anything, simply trust that Starscream is there, and move on to the next step:

★ Thank Starscream for showing up. This applies even if you don’t feel anything.

★ Explain to him what your intention is. You can do this in words, in mental imagery, or any other method that feels natural to you.

★ Ask Starscream if he’s willing to help.

You may get a sense of yes (or no). If it’s no, thank him again and end the meditation. If you get a sense of ‘yes,’ ask him if he wishes anything in return for his help. At this stage, it’s fine to make a few suggestions of what you’re able and willing to offer. He’s very likely to choose from your list. Thank him again, and end the meditation.

If Nothing Happened

If you completed the meditation but didn’t feel anything, all is not lost. Simply ask Starscream if he will reveal his answer to you over the next few days. (This, by the way, is one of the reasons why it’s a good idea to do this ritual a few days in advance. You want to leave time for things like this.)

Then wait. Pay special attention to your dreams, using your journal to make note of any that seem significant. Also take note of any synchronicities (meaningful coincidences) that occur. These can take many forms. A song that reminds you of Starscream might be playing on the radio when you start your car, or you might see an image that reminds you of him (I see crowns a lot, for example), or significant numbers might pop up, such as 9 or 36, Starscream’s name-number. Have a look at my article on Starscreamian Correspondences (part 1 and part 2) for some ideas on what to look out for.

If nothing happens at all, the answer may simply be ‘no.’ When Starscream says no to me (which doesn’t happen much, but it does happen) it’s always because the thing I’m asking for is not in my best interest. You may wish to re-evaluate your goal, modify it and try again, or choose another goal and see if that one meets with the Seeker’s approval.

Good luck!

Now that you have officially 'met' Starscream and enlisted his help, it’s time for the opening ritual of Ghost Season: Confronting Unicron!

[vixxscifiwritings]

Samrajya (2/4)

Summary - In an attempt to consolidate his empire in new lands, Taekwoon proposes a marriage alliance between his brother and the princess of Magadha. But Jaehwan’s heart belongs to someone it shouldn’t belong to.

Story Masterpost

<< Previous

Part 2 - Mor Pankh

[Hindi, noun] peacock’s feather

“Jai Shri Ram (Greetings to Lord Ram) ” the scholar greeted with folded hands which Ananya reciprocated.

“ Rajkumari ne aapke liye chai aur pakvaan mangavaya hai (Princess has ordered tea and refreshments for you) ” she told him as she led him to the aangan. The large courtyard housed a banyan tree, old and ancient. It was the pride of Janaki Mahal, the centre of any social activity organized by the queen. It was always decorated in fresh flowers and lights for festivities.

But now, it was simply adorned and it served as a place of meditation for the late king’s last rites. Chitrangada wore a simple white saree, the aachal draped over her head. Her full attention was in sacred texts.

“ Rajkumari (Princess) ” Ananya said, interrupting her when the current verse was over. “ Acharya Bhuvan Gupta aa gaye hain. (Teacher Bhuvan gupta has arrived) ”

“ Pranam Rajkumari (Greetings Princess) ” Bhuvan said, folding his hands.

“ Pranam guruji (Greetings Teacher) ” Chitrangada greeted him.

“ Maharaja ke baare mein sun kar humein bahut dukh hua (I was very sad to hear about the king) ” Bhuvan said regretfully. “ Par yudh ki vidhi yahi hai. Unhein veergati praapt hui hai. (But this is the way of battles. He had a brave death) ”

Chitrangada nodded but said no more. She held no happy feelings for the glory of battle but this wasn’t the time or place. Bhuvan sat down and everyone shifted around him, rushing to make the scholar comfortable.

“ Aapne baaki ki khabar bhi suni hogi (You must have heard the rest of the news) ” Ananya asked, breaking the subject gently. The real reason for her inviting Bhuvan Gupta here was the subject of Chitrangada’s marriage. The princess had refused to marry Jaehwan despite Ananya’s many pleas. The princess did not have an army or any allies to help her. This was the only way for her to survive but she had outright refused to even meet Jaehwan or consider the idea.

The chief general had understood. He had politely requested to meet the princess to talk about their upcoming marriage and had withdrawn when news of her refusal had reached him. To his credit, he hadn’t raised a fuss and the emperor had not been alerted. A major crisis had been averted.

“ Kaash… Yeh sach mein kalyug aa chuka hai (Sigh… these really are the dark days) ” Bhuvan said, shaking his head. “ Hamare raaj singhaasan pe ek suryavanshi ke raaj ki pratha arso purani hai. (The tradition of a Suryavanshi sitting on the throne is eons old) ”

Ananya frowned but kept quiet. Clearly Bhuvan Gupta would be of no help here either.

“ Rajkumar Nalanda aaye the. Yeh khabar aap jaanti hongi (The Prince came to Nalanda. You must have heard that news) ” Bhuvan said, taking the Gita in his hands.

“Ji, yudh ke baad (Yes, after the war)” Chitrangada filled in.

“ Mujhe unse baat karne ka mauka mila tha (I had the chance to talk to him) ” he continued. “ Unke saath Neeti Shastra pe kaafi charcha hui. (We had a great discussion on Neeti Shastra (book on ethics) ) ”

“ Neeti shastra? ” Ananya asked in surprise.

“ Neeti shastra, Arthashastra, Gita se mili seekh, Buddh ki kahaaniyaan (Ethics, Warfare, lessons from Gita, stories of Buddha) ” Bhuvan counted. “ Unse zyaada padha likha kshatriya maine aaj tak nahi dekha. Woh Maharaja ko bahut pasand aate. (I have never met a warrior as learned as him. Your father, the King would have liked him) ”

Chitrangada huffed and took the book back from Bhuvan. Her mind was made up and the thinly veiled allusions to how great the foreign warrior general was would not change her mind.

Ananya looked at Bhuvan Gupta and then towards Chitrangada. The servants brought the tea and snacks and soon other conversation started to fill the silence.

“ Humne suna hai ki maharaj ne aas paas ke rajyon mein shaanti ka haath badhaya hai (I have heard that the king has sent a treaty for peace to the neighbouring kingdoms) ” Bhuvan gupta said.

“ Sandesh bhej diye gaye hain par koi uttar nahi aaya hai (the messages have been sent but no answers have arrived) ” Ananya told him.

“ Aur aapko kya lagta hai? Kya maharaj shanthi praapt kar payenge? (And what do you think? Will the king be able to obtain his peace?) ” Bhuvan asked her. Ananya sensed Chitrangada looking at her while Bhuvan maintained his composure, yet betrayed the curiosity he felt over his old student’s answer.

“ Maharaj Ashok ne bhi shaanti ki manokamna rakhi thi. Woh safal bhi hue the par unki shuruat yudh se hui thi (King Ashok also wanted peace. He was successful too but he started with war) ” Ananya explained. “ Jab tak maharaj apne rajya ko phailane ki ichhaa rakhte hain, yudh apariharya hai. (Till the king wants to expand his territory, war is inevitable) ”

“ Yeh aapne sach kaha hai (What you have spoken is very true) ” Bhuvan said, sipping his tea.

-

“The vast plains will make it easy for the army to move quickly and conquer the neighbouring kingdoms” Hakyeon concluded.

“I can’t advance forward when the matter of succession here is not settled. It will be dangerous to do that” Taekwoon said thoughtfully. “What has the princess replied? And what did Jaehwan think of her when he met her?”

“The two haven’t met” Hakyeon said. “The princess refused and Jaehwan has accepted her decision to not meet till later.”

“She’s going to refuse the wedding proposal” Taekwoon said, glaring at Hakyeon.

“And then you can kill her. But custom demands that you hold your promise of giving her time to answer the proposal like you promised you would” Hakyeon told him.

“Tell Jaehwan to meet the princess tomorrow. We can’t dilly dally this any longer. She must agree to the marriage and the wedding should be wrapped up quickly” Taekwoon said.

“As you wish, Your Highness” Hakyeon said.

“And you are specifically responsible to make sure this happens since he listens to you Wonshik” Taekwoon said. Wonshik started and bowed. Taekwoon didn’t miss the exchange of looks between Hakyeon and Wonshik.

“As you command, Your Majesty” Wonshik said when he picked his head up.

“I think it is important to discuss the state of our negotiations with the surrounding kingdoms” Hakyeon said.

“When did the messengers leave?” Taekwoon asked.

“Three days ago. They will reach our neigbouring kingdoms in two days and should return by the next full moon” Hakyeon told him.

“Many of my decisions will be made by the next full moon” Taekwoon mused.

“Perhaps you are right, Your Majesty. Maybe waiting till then would be prudent. We will know who are allies and who are enemies are” Hakyeon said thoughtfully.

“What do you think they will reply?” Taekwoon asked, idly playing with the jewels hanging off his wrist. The bracelet had belonged to the treasury and had been gifted to the new king.

“None of the lands we conquered took kindly to a foreign ruler.”

Everyone turned to the door to watch Jaehwan standing there. He bowed to his brother as an act of seeking permission to enter. He could only be cheeky to an extent. Taekwoon waved his arm, dismissing the formality and indicating he could enter.

“The ones who were poor coordinated out of fear and lack of military strength. As we go up the Ganges, we will find stronger kingdoms and they won’t relent so easily” Jaehwan reasoned.

“Which is why I want to avoid war” Taekwoon said.

“And yet conquer? Look to history brother. Conquest always starts and ends with bloodshed” Jaehwan told him.

“So we prepare for war” Taekwoon concluded.

“We can’t send messages for peace treaties and appear hostile too” Hakyeon pointed out.

“Maybe military exercises?” Wonshik suggested. “It would boost the soldier’s morale. And distract them from their homesickness and lack of activity”

“You will see to it?” Taekwoon asked Hakyeon. Hakyeon nodded and turned to leave. The others were dismissed as well, save Jaehwan.

“You’ve been avoiding meeting the princess. Why?” Taekwoon asked him.

“I merely wished to give her some time to mourn her father and then to think of the proposal with a calm mind” Jaehwan told him. Taekwoon narrowed his eyes at his brother who flinched slightly by the intensity of the reprimand.

“I am meeting her tomorrow” Jaehwan spoke up before Taekwoon could. Taekwoon exchanged a look of surprise with Wonshik who appeared to have been equally unaware of this development.

“Fine. You may leave” Taekwoon said, dismissing the two. Jaehwan left and Wonshik followed him, clearly intending to find out why the prince had so obviously lied.

-

“Why did you lie to your brother when you know Hakyeon would tell him the truth?” Wonshik asked.

“It felt like the right thing to do” Jaehwan said. He threw more breadcrumbs onto the grass, letting the doves feed.

“And what if the Princess refuses to meet you tomorrow?” Wonshik asked.

“She will. It is clear that she does not wish to marry me and I don’t blame her for it” Jaehwan replied with a shrug.

“Taekwoon will have her killed if she refuses. She knows this” Wonshik frowned.

“I think being steadfast is one of her better qualities” Jaehwan smiled.

“You don’t wish to marry the princess” Wonshik said flatly, impressed.

“I don’t love her and I doubt we can force love by the next full moon” Jaehwan said.

“You haven’t even met her” Wonshik countered.

“Even the greatest beauty in the world can’t sway my mind” Jaehwan said simply. He dusted his hands since he was out of crumbs. The attendants came to catch the doves and put them back in their cages.

“What of our negotiations with our neighbours? Have we received any answers to the declarations sent out?” Jaehwan asked.

“Hakyeon isn’t anticipating an answer for a few more days. We are starting to enter the festival season. Armies will be reluctant to fight” Wonshik said. Jaehwan nodded. The next few months had major festivals coming up. Kings were likely to avoid war. A temporary peace would still be good.

“ Arre dekho dekho mor! Aangan mein mor aaya hai! (Look look, a peacock! There is a peacock in the courtyard!) ”

Jaehwan and Wonshik exchanged looks, following their guards as they looked over the wall to Janaki Mahal. From the wall, they could see the large courtyard where the women had gathered around a large peacock. The blue bird coo-ed, enjoying the attention and the women giggled, their laughter heard all the way to the other side of the compound.

Jaehwan looked on curiously as the bird spread its tail, dancing as it did so. He raised an eyebrow in surprise when he noticed Bhuvan Gupta, one of the scholars from Nalanda who had accompanied him. He remembered belatedly that the scholar had told him that one of his favourite students had been at Kumrahar and maybe his presence shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. The favourite student must have been the princess, he realized, as the royalty all studied under the scholars as children.

The princess, who had been sitting with the Bhuvan Gupta, pointed something to another who started a song. The other women joined in the chorus and even the guards standing on the wall hummed a little. A popular song Jaehwan gathered, but one he couldn’t make out the meaning of as the words were in a local dialect.

“They say the sightings of a peacock spreading its feathers mean rain” Wonshik told Jaehwan. He looked up to the sky but there were only a few clouds in the sky now. “Guess it isn’t true.”

“It’s a pretty sight” Jaehwan said, still looking at the princess. Hakyeon and Taekwoon had both told him of her great beauty and they had been correct. A great beauty and an intelligent mind, if Bhuvan Gupta was to be believed. She had gone back to the book she had been reading, flipping through the pages while listening to the others sing. As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked up and their eyes met. Jaehwan held her level gaze and looked away only when she did.

“A pretty sight indeed” Wonshik agreed, thinking Jaehwan had meant the peacock’s dance. Jaehwan nodded and went back to the other side of the wall, missing the doves that had been taken away.

“Send a message to the Princess. I wish to meet her in the evening today” Jaehwan said. Wonshik frowned at the sudden change in Jaehwan’s attitude.

“I thought you wished to leave her alone” Wonshik asked, confirming if he had heard it correctly.

“I don’t wish for death at the hands of my brother” Jaehwan admitted. “And if my lie is caught then he may not be as merciful as a death order.”

“As you wish” Wonshik said, still not finding the explanation sensible. He called for a messenger and sent forward the request from the prince. He wondered what had made Jaehwan change his mind so quickly.

-

Jaehwan rung his hands as the guards announced him before leading him into Janaki Mahal. He had never been here before, having only seen the palatial building from outside. The walls were built from the same stone as the Raj Bhawan where Taekwoon resided but the decorations were different.

There were multiple paintings on the large walls. Many of them featured stories from the sacred texts. Jaehwan recognized Lord Ram from some of the paintings at Nalanda and stories he had heard since entering this land. These must have been from Ramayana. There were more paintings of different gods and their stories.

These were interspersed with paintings of people celebrating festivals or of people playing different types of musical instruments. Perhaps if they had more time, Jaehwan could learn more about them. Would Taekwoon be averse to an evening of musical appreciation, he wondered idly.

“You seem to be in deep thought, Your Majesty” someone said, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Your Highness” Jaehwan said, recognizing the princess from earlier. For royalty, she was dressed rather simply. It was a simple saree , the same as the one in the morning but the ligh green color of it did her eyes justice. They were her most prominent feature - large and dark brown in color, the rest of her features smaller and cuter in comparison.

But why had she come in unannounced? And why had no one told her that she was fluent in their language? Wasn’t she supposed to be accompanied by her lady in waiting?

“You’re mistaken, Your Majesty. I am not Princess Chitrangada” the woman said.

Oh.

“Forgive me, my lady” Jaehwan said, bowing in apology. It didn’t take him long to piece together that this must have been the princess’s lady in waiting that everyone had been talking about. The one who had been fluent in their language and the one Hakyeon had said was the half sister of the princess. Well, this was a very awkward mistake.

“I didn’t mean to offend you” Jaehwan said guiltily.

“Being mistaken for a princess could rarely offend a woman. If anything, it was flattering” his companion said.

“I do not know your name, my lady” Jaehwan said, leading to an introduction. Wonshik had offered to accompany him, clearly believing he would renegade on his promise. Jaehwan had turned down the offer but perhaps he shouldn’t have. This mistake would have clearly been avoided if his advisor had been present.

“Ananya, Your Majesty. My name is Ananya” Ananya said, introducing herself.

“Ananya…” Jaehwan trailed off. Ananya coloured slightly at how he said her name carefully and smiled at her fondly.

“I am afraid I will be the one to offend you, Your Majesty. I bring bad news” she said, hesitating a speaking more.

“The princess has refused to meet me again. I expected as much” Jaehwan sighed. The outcome had been exactly what he had expected.

“She’s… stubborn and hasn’t dealt with the death of her father well. I must apologize on her behalf” Ananya said, eyes downcast. To have snubbed the man once was bad enough. Chitrangada clearly wished to court death at this rate. While the prince had not thought bad of her for it, how long would his good favour on her last?

“I can understand. I lost my father to war at an early age” Jaehwan told her. Ananya looked at him curiously.

“Taekwoon was crowned king when he was merely a teenager and I was just a boy. But I still miss his presence” Jaehwan told her. She nodded in understanding and Jaehwan looked away, choosing to look at the paintings instead of dwelling on the subject too long.

“Are you interested in the painting, Your Majesty?” Ananya asked, changing the topic.

“It was interesting. I have seen the same story depicted in multiple paintings but I didn’t know of it” he told her, gesturing to the one he had been looking at.

“Ah. This is a popular story indeed. It’s the story of Lord Krishna when he was a baby. He had a habit of stealing butter as a child” Ananya said, laughing.

“Stealing butter?” Jaehwan asked, confused.

“Lord Krishna’s story is an epic in itself. But when he was a child, Lord Krishna was very playful. He would often charm the womenfolk and often steal butter. One of the many names we call him is makhan chor (butter thief)” Ananya explained.

“And stealing wasn’t frowned upon?” Jaehwan asked surprised. The only epic he had learnt of was Ramayana and how Lord Ram was a paragon of values. He had thought that other stories from their mythology would have been stricter about morality of actions much like Ramayana was.

“It was forgiven under the guise of cuteness. And more often than not, he was caught by his mother” Ananya replied. Jaehwan nodded, understanding more about it now.

“We celebrate the festival of Krishna Janmashtami on the day of his birth. One of the rituals is to steal a pot of freshly churned butter that is suspended high in the air” Ananya said.

“Seems like it would be very enjoyable. The festivals are celebrated in a grand way here” Jaehwan said, admiring how Ananya’s face lit up as she told him more about the upcoming festivals. Her manners were sensible and her appearance sober but there was liveliness behind the facade and Jaehwan wondered how many people had gotten to witness that part of her.

“It sounds like it is going to rain” Ananya said, looking away. Jaehwan followed her line of vision to the balcony outside where clouds had started to gather. The sky was dark and there was sound of thunder in the distance. “Just in time for teej day after tomorrow.”

“I guess the peacock wasn’t wrong then” Jaehwan said, amused at how Wonshik must have thought the same. “Do you like the rains, Lady Ananya?���

“Monsoon is my favourite season” she told him. “The smell of the ground just after rain is always refreshing.”

“It looks like it is time for the evening aarti. Would you stay for the puja?” Ananya asked Jaehwan.

“Perhaps some other time. I have overstayed the princess’s welcome today” Jaehwan said wistfully. Perhaps the endeavour was a lost cause. He drew comfort in the fact that Ananya looked sad as well.

“But if you would allow me, I would like to visit you again” he said, before he could stop himself. Ananya was equally surprised at the bold request.

“Maybe you can teach me more about the stories behind these paintings” Jaehwan said, gesturing around them. “Bhuvan Gupta did say that you were his favourite student.”

“As you wish, Your Highness” Ananya agreed. Perhaps this would be a good way to engineer Chitrangada into meeting Jaehwan. He was a good man and she would see it soon. She smiled at Jaehwan who took his leave of her. Ananya sent a prayer to the heavens above. A solution like this could only have come by god’s grace.

-

“Chitrangada” Ananya called. Things hadn’t gone as smoothly as Ananya had expected. When Chitrangada had heard of Jaehwan’s request, she had denied it instantly. But she hadn’t been happy to learn that he had stayed anyway.

When another invitation had followed, to attend a classical musical performance tomorrow night with him at Taekwoon’s palace had arrived, all hell had broken loose. She had a thrown a fit and refused to eat dinner prompting everyone in the palace to be concerned.

“ Didi (elder sister) ” Chitrangada said, sitting up. If there was one person she listened to, it was Ananya and even her influence had swayed in the recent days.

Ananya sat next to her and took Chitrangada’s hands in hers. “ Tumne khana nahi khaya abhi tak? (you haven’t eaten yet?) ” she asked the younger.

“ Khaane ka mann nahi hai (I don’t feel like eating) ” Chitrangada told her.

“ Thoda sa (Little bit) ?” Ananya asked, trying to cajole her into eating. Chitrangada shook her head but Ananya could see her resolve wavering.

“ Dai ma ne tumhare liye aam ka murabba diya hai (Our caretaker has sent sweet mango pickle for you) ” Ananya said, holding up the little pot of pickle she had brought along. It was Chitrangada’s favourite.

Chitrangada frowned but Ananya was quicker. She tore a piece of the roti from the plate that had been neglected and left on her bedside table, dipped it in the sweet pickle and fed it to the princess. Chitrangada ate but frowned at Ananya the way a petulant child would.

“ Khaana barbaad karne se paap chadhta hai (Wasting food is a sin) ” Ananya reminded her, as she fed her some more.

“ Didi aap aasj uss rajkumar se mili thi? (Ananya, did you meet that prince today?) ” Chitrangada asked. Ananya debated a while before deciding to tell Chitrangada the truth.

“ Haan (yes) ”

“ Kyun (why) ?! ”

“ Hamara riwaaj hai atithi ka aadar karna (it is our duty to serve our guests) ” Ananya recited. Chitrangada huffed, not knowing what else she had expected from her sister.

“ Main kal nahin jaa rahi hoon. Unhe keh dena meri tabiyat theek nahi hai (I’m not going tomorrow. Tell them I have fallen sick) ” Chitrangada said, asking to be excused.

“ Tumhe unse kabhi na kabhi milna hoga (You have to meet him some time) ” Ananya said firmly. “ Woh itne bure nahin hain.(He isn’t so bad). ”

“ Woh bas kehna asaan hai (That is easier said than done). ”

“ Badi Mausi ki chithi aayi thi. Woh teej ke din Pataliputra pahunch jayengi. (Our aunt’s letter came. She will be here in Pataliputra on the day of Teej). ”

Chitrangada started. Ananya had suggested writing to her maternal aunt, the queen of the neighbouring kingdom and their closest and most trusted family member when they had received the news of their father’s death. The two of them had given up hopes of a reply arriving till today when they had received news of her arrival.

“ Unhe pata hoga ki kya karna hai (She will know what to do) ” Chitrangada said, nodding to herself. Ananya nodded in agreement as well. Chitrangada’s aunt was wise. She also had enough military might to protect them. Chitrangada would listen to her.

“ Kya maharaj ko yeh pata hai? (Does the king know this?) ” she asked. Ananya nodded. King Taekwoon had been informed. Hakyeon had dropped by to ask if help was required in arrangements for the queen’s stay. Ananya had politely refused, stating she would want to stay with her niece and Janaki Mahal had enough space for the company to arrive.

“ Aaj aangan mein mor aaya tha (A peacock came to the courtyard today) ” Ananya told Chitrangada. The younger had taken her leave after their discussion with Acharya Gupta and had missed the hue and cry in their courtyard. “ Maine tumhare liye mor ke pankh ka kalam banvaya hai.(I had a quill made from the feather of the peacock) ”

Chitrangada hugged her sister gratefully when Aanya brought the set of quills. The nib was golden, attached skillfully to the long green and blue feather. Ananya patted her back soothingly. Her thoughts briefly wandered back to earlier in the day when she had seen Prince Jaehwan and his advisor walking over the compound wall. They had looked over due to the commotion and she had noticed the young prince for the first time. He had looked more handsome up close.

“ Didi ” Chitrangada said, distracting Ananya from her thoughts. She held a bit of the pickle in her hands and Ananya smiled before eating it. She made a face at how sour and sweet it was and Chitrangada laughed, for the first time in many days.

-

Next >>

[fragmentedshards]

The Final Curtain, Chapter Sixteen

Florentia and Theodosia

-

The next week was spent in preparation for investigating the Viscount Druitt. When Ciel received the invitation to the Viscount’s ball, he was shocked to find that the man had apparently decided to completely abandon all decorum.

“September and the beginning of autumn is nearly upon us, the season of plenty,” Ciel read the invitation aloud at the breakfast table. “In the spirit of bounty, I am opening this masked ball to the lower classes as well as the nobility. Even servants are welcome.” The earl tossed the letter onto the table and sipped his tea. “Well. I expect that means Matilda still has a chance to be the bait, then.”

Elizabeth struggled to refrain from rolling her eyes. “My previous logic still stands, Ciel,” she said firmly. “I am in the best position to do this job. Let’s have no more arguing about it, if you please.”

The earl was shocked at seeing Elizabeth’s assertiveness in this way. His cousin rarely had any qualms about voicing her opinion, but he couldn’t remember a time when those opinions had been about anything other than clothing. Had he been ignoring Lizzy’s intellect all these years? Or had she been hiding it?

While Ciel may have been stunned into silence, none of the others at the breakfast table had the same problem.

“It seems Lady Elizabeth is finally coming into her own, Ran Mao,” Lau remarked, breaking his scone in two. “This will be very interesting indeed.”

Ran Mao, in a rare turn of events, responded. “She is secretly tough. I like her.”

“Everyone underestimates Lizzy,” Prince Soma said from his chair opposite Ciel. “There is nothing wrong with being a lover of prettiness, but because she loves pretty things she is always dismissed. I am eager to see her succeed.”

Ciel remained silent, but he felt his anger well up inside him. Without his noticing, a billowing black shadow rose up behind him. The others at the table saw it, and they looked on in terror before Sebastian cleverly intervened.

“My lord,” he said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Instantly the shadow dissipated. “We must begin your lessons now. We have a great deal to do before the ball at the end of the week. And don’t forget, you have a meeting over tea with Florentia and Theodosia Loric this afternoon.”

Ciel sighed, still angry. “Yes, of course,” was all he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin and leaving the table. Sebastian followed him closely, watching his master through narrow eyes.

It appears I have much to teach him, he thought to himself.

~

The earl’s anger did not abate with the passing hours. He, Elizabeth, and Prince Soma took their lessons together in the library now, with Sebastian and Agni presiding over them while Paula cared for Ephraim (with help from Bryony, as she was available now as well). This proximity to each other caused a good deal of unease between all three. Music, literature, business, diplomacy, fencing. Ciel had never felt such relief when the time came for his meeting with the Loric sisters.

After Matilda had persuaded Snake to hide elsewhere, she and Sebastian set a magnificent table in the greenhouse for the tea meeting. Sebastian explained the measures they had taken as he stood by Ciel before the manor, awaiting the arrival of their guests.

“We selected a specific set of china with many patterns but understated colors, as a nod to the sisters’ signature toys,” he said, noticing Matilda’s pleased grin. “In addition, we arranged a marvelous bouquet of day lilies and pink roses, with Finny’s help.”

Ciel nodded in apparent approval but said nothing as the carriage bringing the Loric sisters came up the path. When it reached the manor, the earl and the present Phantomhive servants were able to get a good look at the man driving it. He looked rather similar to Vicar Jeremy Rathbone, who they all knew now was merely Sebastian in disguise.

“That is the sisters’ butler, sir,” Sebastian whispered to Ciel, “Apparently he is a multipurpose manservant.”

The sisters emerged from their carriage, Theodosia first with Florentia following. They looked as if nothing had changed since the night at the ballet. Even the color of their dresses were the same; aubergine and aqua. The only possible change was that they seemed even more worn-out than before.

“Thank you, Treacher,” Theodosia thanked the butler, who nodded to her in response. Snake, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and left his snakes elsewhere, guided Treacher to the stables where the horse could replenish itself.

“Treacher?” Ciel whispered to Sebastian before the sisters came too close. “What sort of a name is that?”

As they drew nearer, Sebastian addressed them. “Welcome to the Phantomhive manor, Lady Theodosia and Lady Florentia. It is our pleasure to have you.” he bowed, and the remaining servants followed suit.

“The pleasure is ours, sir,” Florentia replied, scanning the estate. “We are delighted to finally meet the esteemed Lord Phantomhive.”

“Yes, when Treacher informed us that we were to meet with you over tea and discuss a business collaboration,” Theodosia continued, smiling weakly. “We could hardly contain our joy. Indeed, we felt better than we had in months.” her smile faded.

Ciel furrowed his brow. Both sisters’ voices sounded fragile, like they belonged to women too sickly to be outdoors. Yet here they were, looking unmistakably ill but not in danger of collapsing. Pushing these thoughts aside, he gave the sisters a smile. “I have been looking forward to meeting you for some time,” he said, and found to his great surprise that for once he was being honest. “I have always admired the curios your company produces. I find it even more interesting that the two of you are, in fact, the inventors of the toys, not merely the heads of Kurios. Shall we discuss our business alliance over tea?”

As the three were escorted to the greenhouse, Ciel walked close enough to Sebastian to whisper to him. “Help me observe them throughout tea,” he said. “I’m sure they are sick, but ordinary people would be bedridden by this point, I believe. Surely whatever ails them cannot be a mere sickness of the body.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sebastian whispered.

Sebastian and Matilda had enlisted Agni to help with serving tea. While Sebastian pulled out the chair for Ciel, Agni did the same for Florentia, and Matilda for Theodosia. All four of them noticed how the sisters seemed to always grasp onto something for support, be it the back of the chair or even each other’s shoulders.

Ciel shivered. Watching the sisters struggle to accomplish basic tasks made something inside him quake. He exchanged looks with Sebastian. Something else was definitely afoot here, and whatever it was was alerting senses he didn’t know he had.

Sebastian poured the tea, saying “For today’s tea we have a soothing herbal blend known to heal most ailments.” He exchanged smiles with Agni and Matilda. The three of them had combined the healing tea and the curry bread in the hopes of curing whatever ailed the sisters. But as Ciel and the servants watched the sisters shakily take sips of tea and merely pick at the curry bread, as if they wanted to eat but simply had no appetite, their hearts sank. Matilda and Agni’s faces fell. Perhaps this would not be solved by ingestion.

Trying to ignore the strange prickling on the back of his neck, Ciel addressed the sisters. “As much as I enjoy your company, I do not wish to monopolize your time. Let’s get to business. I propose we work together first on an individual product and see how that works out before launching anything too elaborate.”

Florentia nodded in agreement and pursed her lips in thought before replying, “What if we could form a curio of Bitter Rabbit?”

“Oh yes,” Theodosia interjected, and she seemed to be trying her best to appear enthusiastic. It was clear, however, that she and her sister both were running out of energy. “And he could turn into all sorts of other Funtom creatures. Perhaps he could even turn into you?”

Sebastian just barely stifled a laugh. Ciel glared over his shoulder at his butler before raising a single hand and saying “I would prefer not to become a caricature. I like this idea in general though. If you like, I can compile a list of Funtom’s most popular character toys and have it delivered to you, and we can continue this project at a later date.”

Theodosia - whose eyes were beginning to dart back and forth ever so slightly - smiled and tilted her head. “Will we be seeing you at Viscount Druitt’s masquerade, Lord Phantomhive? If so, we could discuss the next step that evening.”

“That would be lovely-”

The earl’s reply was cut off by a coughing Florentia. The fiery-haired woman lifted a gloved hand to her mouth and coughed furiously, while her sister held her shoulders. The coughing was wracking her body violently. When she seemed finally able to breathe again, she pulled her hand away to reveal chunky brownish-red blood covering the white palm of the glove.

Matilda couldn’t help herself from gasping in shock. Unsure what to do, she produced a handkerchief from her apron pocket and extended it to the sisters. Theodosia meekly took it, nodding in thanks to Matilda and daintily wiping the blood away from Florentia’s mouth.

“I’m afraid we must be going now, Lord Phantomhive,” Theodosia apologized hurriedly, supporting her sister. “Will one of you please send for Treacher to bring our carriage around?”

Sebastian nodded and sprinted off in the direction of the stables. While awaiting his return, Agni decided to wrap the curry bread in one of the napkins for the sisters to take with them in the hopes that they would eat them later. He only knew of one instance where curry bread had not healed the sick, and that was when it failed to bring back Lord Phantomhive’s lost memories - which, he knew now, was the result of demonic activity, cancelling out the positive demonic activity of Sebastian’s recipe. Moments later the butler returned to the greenhouse, stating, “Your carriage is ready, my ladies.”

Theodosia tried to help Florentia to her feet, but she was too shaky herself to do it on her own. Ciel and the servants joined in to help the sisters on the short walk from the greenhouse to the carriage. As soon as Treacher saw them, he rushed forward to lend his hands as well.

“They just keep getting worse,” he said in an undertone to Sebastian. “I don’t know what is causing it, but every day they lose a little bit of their health, and I am helpless to cure it.”

After making sure the sisters were safely seated in the carriage, Agni gave Treacher the parcel with the curry bread. “Please do everything in your power as a butler to ensure that they eat this,” he instructed. “Even just a little of this curry bread can make all the difference.”

“I’m afraid I may have to keep this handkerchief, Matilda,” Theodosia called weakly from the carriage to the maid. “I think it is stained beyond repair.”

Matilda waved it off, insisting it was no problem. It was obvious to everyone present that Theodosia was far more terrified by what she had seen happen to her sister than she was letting on. Treacher snapped the reigns and they were off. The earl and the servants watched apprehensively, wondering what on earth would become of the Loric sisters, as the carriage thundered away into the distance.

Ciel’s eye darkened. “Sebastian,” he said, turning on his heel and storming into the manor. The butler was at his side as always, with Agni and Matilda following worriedly. Once they were inside the foyer, he looked at the three servants. “No ordinary illness could escalate that way, I’m sure of it. Lady Florentia coughing up all that blood makes me suspect a slow poisoning, but not by Treacher; I could tell his fear for the sisters’ wellbeing was genuine.”

Sebastian nodded. “You are quite right about that butler, my lord,” he confirmed. “He is a worthy butler, especially for a human. He cares for the ladies to the best of his ability. Whatever is wrong with them, he is not the cause.”

“I’m not so sure about poison, though, young master,” Matilda confessed, wringing her apron in her hands. “I would agree with you about Florentia’s blood, except... it was in chunks, as if tissue was coming out as well. To tell the truth, it almost looked like menstrual blood, but it didn’t smell the same. I was closer to her than any of you, I could tell.”

Agni rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve seen curry bread heal those afflicted by the forbidden spice,” he mused. “But if those sisters are coughing up blood and tissue... I don’t know how much it will do, or if it will do anything at all.”

Ciel shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “I felt the strangest sense of unease around them,” he admitted. “It was as of something else was hovering unseen behind them, something menacing. I have no idea what, but it made my entire body tense.”

Sebastian stared at his master. There was still so, so much he had to teach him. But not here. Not now. “Master,” he began, not at all liking what he was fixing to say and knowing that Ciel would not like it either. “If you recall, during the search for Jack the Ripper, Viscount Druitt was on our suspect list in the first place in part because he has a medical license. Surely even though he is not a practicing doctor, he may possess the necessary knowledge to find out the root of what ails Lady Theodosia and Lady Florentia?”

Ciel gritted his teeth. He wanted to argue more than anything, to remind Sebastian what a butcher the Viscount really was, even though he turned out not to be the infamous Ripper. But he knew his butler was right. “It’s a good thing the Viscount’s ball is open to everyone after all,” he growled angrily. “It appears we have more investigating to do than we thought.”

[softersinned-arc]

the originals — episode by episode. (under construction)

     — SEASON ONE

1.01 Klaus mentions to Elijah that he’s called in one of “his” witches, and that she’ll be arriving in the next couple of months, once she’s tied up some loose ends. Astoria begins making preparations to stay in New Orleans, hopefully indefinitely.

1.03 Astoria arrives in New Orleans with her research in tow and arrives at an empty storefront in the French Quarter. The shop on the first floor has been under construction for a month, and Astoria calls Klaus to let him know that she’s arrived. He asks her to wait before letting anyone else know, and that she should lay low for the next couple of days, and remain outside the city.

In an attempt to manipulate Astoria’s behavior, Klaus tells her that Marcel has been seeing someone — a human bartender he met not long before. Astoria feigns anger at Marcel’s “betrayal” and “dishonesty” in not reaching out to her, and Klaus seems satisfied with this. He invites Astoria into the city after he kills Katie, and Astoria goes to see Marcel at his compound.

1.04 After a long conversation with Marcel, Astoria receives permission to use magic in the city to maintain her healing, though she promises not to do any more. She and Marcel also agree that their best bet is to keep their distance from one another, to avoid Klaus learning the truth: that Astoria has known Marcel was alive for the past century, and that she actively helped misdirect Klaus to keep Marcel safe and hidden. She is allowed to remain in the French Quarter during the music festival, though she agrees to stay indoors and avoid attention.

1.05 Klaus comes out to Belladonna Apothecary to see the progress being made, and to ask about Astoria’s reunion with Marcel. Astoria lies and describes the reunion as tense and uneasy, and says that she’s still furious with him; however, she did obtain permission to maintain her rapid healing while in New Orleans, and to put up basic security measures, “for old time’s sake.”

1.06 Astoria learns the whole truth for the first time: that the witches of New Orleans are using Hayley to control Klaus, and that Hayley is pregnant with Klaus’ child. She tries to undo the spell linking them, though she is unable to do so, as she is not a part of their coven; she tells Klaus that if he wants her help, she needs to have all the information, and she can’t fix a problem that she doesn’t know exists. With more time, she may have been able to succeed.

After Hayley and Sophie are unlinked, Astoria texts Marcel and asks him to meet her outside the city, where she can be sure they haven’t been followed. They meet in the airport, taking advantage of the crowds there to guarantee that they aren’t watched, and Astoria tells him everything she’s learned, including where the Mikaelsons are staying. She assures him that whatever her affection or loyalty to Klaus, Marcel is always her top priority, and that if it comes down to the two of them, she’ll always choose Marcel. She points out one more time that even her magic has limits, and that if he needs her, she’ll make her alliances known, and Marcel, not wanting her to lose access to her magic, tells her to wait.

1.07 While Klaus, Elijah, and Rebekah are distracted looking for Hayley, Astoria and Marcel meet in the Garden, where he shows her the plans he drew for their home together a hundred years before. Astoria is immediately endeared by Marcel’s choice to use the foundation of their home as a vampire prison, rather than intensely creeped out by her surroundings, like a normal person. She tells him that she’d like him to think about her drinking vampire blood regularly; Klaus will eventually find out that she’s known all this time, and will probably kill her. While she’d prefer to have her magic, she’d rather not be dead, and she’ll take what she can get. When Marcel is uneasy about this, she tells him that she can wait while he mulls it over; before leaving she tells him that she’s loved him the past hundred years and she can wait a while longer, but that she needs him to be careful.

1.08 When Rebekah and Marcel plot together to take down Klaus, Rebekah first suggests using Davina, then suggests using Astoria; Marcel refuses both. Klaus brings Astoria with him to the Abattoir, where he intends to take the dagger from Marcel, and plans to use an unsuspecting Astoria as leverage if necessary. Klaus tells Astoria not to interfere when Marcel’s vampires attack him, and Rebekah urges Marcel to pick up the coin when the battle turns in Klaus’ favor, insisting that Klaus will kill everyone there — including Astoria — to teach Marcel a lesson.

When Klaus returns to the plantation to confront Elijah and Rebekah, Astoria, furious and horrified by Marcel’s plan, tells him that the next time he tries to do the impossible, he should make use of all of his allies. She tells him that she’d suggest they just run, but she knows how important New Orleans is to him, and she wouldn’t want him to have to run just because of Klaus. They agree that they need to be even more careful for the time being. Astoria returns to the apartment above her shop and starts making plans of her own to bring Marcel back into power.

1.09 Astoria and Marcel interact civilly in front of Klaus, though she still gives the appearance of anger. When Davina is moved to the Abattoir, Astoria introduces herself, and tells Davina that it’s nice not to be the only witch working with vampires in New Orleans. She and Davina speak only briefly, but just long enough for Astoria to learn a few names and details, which she puts to use along with Klaus and Marcel, meeting the Faction as one of Klaus’ allies to indicate that the witches of the city are not all united, and are not all willing to stand against the vampires. After the Faction’s attack on the vampires, she urges Klaus to consider making more daylight rings, to protect the vampires further. When Marcel tells her that things between himself and Klaus are starting to settle, she encourages him to continue doing as he’s doing and to not rock the boat. She says that the safest option for them may be to simply pretend at a reconciliation, and that once things have truly settled, they can make a plan for this to happen.

1.10 Rebekah brings Astoria to where Klaus, Elijah, and Marcel are trying to get Davina back; when Astoria tries to prevent Davina from harming Klaus or Marcel, Rebekah breaks her arm to slow any magic she might use. Astoria gives Marcel her blood to speed his healing, and he helps reset her arm so she can heal it before she moves on to Klaus. When Davina wakes up after being poisoned, Astoria goes with Marcel to her bedroom and helps heal any residual effects and weariness, and gives her something to help her sleep. As she’s leaving she finds the pages from Esther’s grimoire sitting out among Davina’s things.

Once Davina is asleep, Astoria confronts Elijah to ask why Davina has been allowed pages from Esther’s grimoire, but she hasn’t. Elijah dismisses her and she leaves the room angrily as he puts together Davina’s sketches and Hayley heads in. Beginning to believe that Klaus will never give her what she wants, she heads into the French Quarter to look for Sabine.