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let-it-raines · 4 years

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CS Fic Rec Monday

I hope you’re all staying safe and inside as much as physically possible! I said I was going to do this weeks ago, but I finally remembered to queue it all up! Here are some dang good multi-chapter fics you can curl up with! You’ve probably already read them if you’ve been around for awhile, but rereading is fun, too! Plus, I know these writers would get excited to see a new comment or two 😘

-/-

As Real As You Want it To Be by @ive-always-been-a-pirate: Teaching at the same school as Killian Jones was both infuriating and distracting, but when he throws Emma under the bus for the final time, she devises a plan to get back at him. After all, nobody likes to go to a wedding alone. Time for some CS AU fake dating.

Warm Nights and Firelight by @oubliette14: When in the wake of a messy breakup Emma makes the impulsive decision to return home to her parent's ranch in the Rockies, she certainly doesn't expect to find a strange Irish guy living in what was once her apartment over the garage, and she definitely doesn't imagine that the home she couldn't wait to be rid of five long years ago would be the very place her heart begins to heal.

If Looks Could Kill by @wellhellotragic: Emma Swan is a dedicated FBI agent getting over a bad breakup. When she and her partner, Ruby Lucas, are forced to go undercover as contestants on a reality show, Emma is forced to try and win the affections of Killian Jones, a man she despises.Killian Jones is a lost boy. Having recently been nicknamed the ‘Bad Boy of Boston,’ he’s been living up to his moniker using women and rum to avoid dealing with his dark past. When he’s forced to take the lead in a reality show, he encounters a gorgeous blonde who turns his world upside down. Miss Congeniality meets The Bachelor.

The Reason by @xemmaloveskillianx: The three of them share a laugh before they all look to Emma. She has yet to comment on the new addition because she isn’t sure what to say. She usually doesn’t like change, they have a good thing going there, just the four of them. Plus, they all know him and she doesn’t, but she trusts their judgement, and she’s sure any brother of Liam can’t be all that bad.So, with a shrug and a smile she says, “Welcome to Storybrooke, Killian Jones.

The Wife by @ineffablecolors: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

Beauty in the Aftermath by @high-seas-swan: Confronted with the sudden appearance of her birth parents, Emma, in a moment of panic, flees. She flees the diner, Storybrooke, the country. She finds herself a day later in the Dublin, Ireland Airport terminal wondering what the hell she has gotten herself into. With some fear, a little determination and a considerable amount of faking it along the way, she sets off on a trip she never planned on taking but needed more than she ever knew. She finds herself, she finds a Brit adrift on his own journey and finds out what home really means.

Playing the Part by @shireness-says: As a stage manager who's clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU.

Love, Kindness, and Other Useless Things by @joneskillian: CS AU, set in 1815. Lord Killian Jones is haunted by the demons of his past which makes him nowhere near the man he once was, so he can't be the father he wants to be. And above all, he believes he is undeserving of love. Perhaps with Emma that is all about to change. But falling in love is never easy, that's just how it is.

Something Like You Love Me by @bemusedbicycle: Emma decides the best way to get Mary Margaret off her back about Walsh is to say she already has a boyfriend. Except she doesn’t. That’s where Killian comes in. Fake!Engagement fic.

a one time thing (and other untruths) by @weezlywrites: "She supposes the reason she tells him is the same reason she kept his phone number after all those weeks." Pregnancy has a way of throwing a wrench in one's plans.

Alone, until I get Home by @peglegsjones: In Boston, Henry Swan's six-year-old brother Ian finds a book titled "Once Upon a Time" hidden beneath the seat in their mom's old yellow bug. As soon as Henry touches it, he remembers.Season 3 Canon Divergence-Emma finds out she's pregnant a few weeks after she and Henry leave Storybrooke with new memories and new lives. Nearly seven years later, another Dark Curse puts her family in danger, and Emma must return to Storybrooke to help them.Who's powerful enough to cast the Dark Curse? And how the hell is she going to tell Hook they have a son together?

Knock, Knock by @charmingturkeysandwich: Emma Swan has made the best of her crappy apartment ever since she became best friends with her neighbor, Ruby. But when Ruby moves out and a loud Brit takes her place, the thin walls and lack of space are suddenly not so endearing. After a particularly stressful day, Emma decides to confront the nightmare next door, and entirely against her better judgment, she might just be making a friend.

These Nights Aren’t Made For Thinking by @nowforruin: AU. Emma Swan came to Portland, ME to start over. She's got a job she loves, but when a particular case gets under her skin, she finds herself visiting the Jolly Roger and its curious bartender, Mr. Killian Jones, more often than she thinks is wise. But some nights aren't made for thinking. Captain Swan.

On the Two by @lifeinahole27: He’s one bad trip from ending up in AA, and she’s one performance away from a solid job and moving closer to home. Their paths were unlikely to cross until Camp Hope brought them together. How and why they meet and intertwine is against the odds, and definitely against the rules, but will that really stand in their way? A Dirty Dancing inspired modern au.

Separate Lives by @lenfaz: Set after 3x20 "Kansas". After saving the town one more time, Emma decided to return to New York, leaving her past behind. Three years later, she realizes that might be not have been the best decision.

Natural Opposite by @searchingwardrobes: Dance is more than Emma Swan’s career; it’s practically saved her life on more than one occasion. But when it comes to reality TV shows, she’s always danced in the shadows of her twin brother David and her sister Elsa. Her first season as a pro on Dancing With the Stars was a disaster, and she enters her second season determined to prove herself. All she needs is a good partner. Hollywood bad boy and ladies’ man Killian Jones isn’t what she had in mind.

Walking in a Straight Line by @msgenevievee: It’s one of the oldest stories in the book. Two old friends have a few too many drinks, two old friends share a kiss. Happens all the time, right? But what happens when only one of them actually remembers it?

Out of the Frying Pan by @welllpthisishappening: Emma Swan is only doing this for one reason, well, make that two. To get her show's numbers back up and, maybe, impress her son. She doesn't like admitting to that second one though.Killian Jones is doing this for absolutely, positively, just one reason. To expand his restaurant. And maybe get Regina off his back. So that's kind of two reasons.Neither one of them is doing a year-long Food Network all-star competition because they're celebrity chefs and there's not really any other choice. Of course not. And neither one of them is enjoying it because they maybe, kind of, sort of enjoy each other. That would be insane.

A Cold Awakening by @swanderful1: Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Beyond the Horizon by @alexandralyman: AU: When Princess Emma's ship is captured by the Jolly Roger and Captain Killian Jones, she offers herself as a hostage for ransom if he will let the ship and the other passengers go. With Emma, Killian remembers the honour he once held dear, and Emma catches glimpses of the gentleman Killian had been. Against all odds, the pirate and the princess begin to fall for each other.

#csfrm #cs fic rec #cs fic #cs ff rec #Captain Swan #queue poetic noble land mermaid

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hawksmagnolia · 4 years

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The Depths Pt 3

The Depths: Bucky x reader Mermaid AU

Part One is HERE

Part Two is HERE

Masterlist coming soon.

Part Four release is Friday 31 July!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,315

Author’s Note: Please reblog and leave me some love. It really does mean the world to me! This has been an absolute labor of love and I can’t wait for next Friday. -xo-

The Depths Part Three: The Incoming Storm

she did

what any

rational woman

would do—

ever so calmly,

she reached out

& she tore

the starts

apart.

-amanda lovelace

I’d never been bound to any kind of schedule beyond the changing of the seasons and the pull of the tides. Those primal things that one who lives untethered to anything other than the sea instinctively knows.

The day it changed he sat on the crude wooden planks that make up his dock as he watched me crack crabs. As I picked out the delicate meat with my fingers I gave him some of the sweet meat of the claws.

“Sometimes, watching you eat is frightening.” I looked up, confused as I chew.

“You have those tiny little hands. They’re the same size as a child’s yet your claws…” He rubbed his chest absently and I know there are four thin scars from them there. I felt a wash of guilt and he must have seen it on my face. “I know it was an accident. And I can promise you that no fairy tale mermaid has teeth like yours.”

That’s because the fairy tale mermaids aren’t carnivorous predators. And I am.

I wrinkled my nose at him and he laughs. I’ve been practicing my human skills by imitating him. He’s a far better teacher than the selkies. He’s also been helping me with my English. When I am frustrated, I resort to swearing in Russian and find myself shocked that he is fluent as well.

He doesn’t explain why other than to say he spent time there. I do not like the expression on his face when he says this so I do not press him.

I cracked the shell of the body with my teeth and flicked the bits of shell back into the water for the little fish there to nibble.

“Why don’t you ever try to come on land?”

I stared into the crab’s hollow body. “I do not have a reason to.” I shifted my weight. I’d been spending more and more time in the shallow water so I can be closer to him. I have to keep my tail submerged to prevent it from drying out and cracking painfully. I can easily breathe in the air or in the water, simply by sealing or unsealing the fragile gill slits on the sides of my neck.

Having lost my appetite, I tossed the crab into the water. “Why do you not come into the water?”

“I can’t swim very well with only one arm.” He gestures.

“It is very shallow. I will help you.” I held out my hand and after a moment of hesitation, he pulls his shirt over his head and takes it. He slides from the dock and lands in the water with an ungainly splash. I laugh as he finds his footing on the round stones and mud at the bottom. I link my fingers with his and pull him towards deeper water. He kicks, keeping his face above the water until I twist my tail to give him some lift.

Now he is the one who laughs as he sits his weight on the end, the delicate fins brushing against the bare skin of his waist.

“I will never get used to the idea of sitting on a mermaid’s tail.”

I copy one of my favorite facial expressions, raising my right eyebrow at him. He laughs again, the sound echoing across the water. I love the sound of it. He likes to say I have taught him to laugh again.

He does not know that he has taught me to laugh again as well.

It all really started when he jumped into the water one day. He had been convinced that he wouldn’t be able to swim with only one arm.

She’d proved him wrong.

The muscles in his back and shoulders began to bulk back up, the muscles in his legs became more defined. Even Steve had noticed the change in him, asked what kind of routine he was doing so that he could copy it.

Bucky wasn’t sure how Steve would have handled the idea of a mermaid as a swimming coach.

The friendship that built between them was easy. Both of them feeling like outsiders around their own kind, a type of kinship between misfits. He knew he sometimes watched her more than a friend would but he kept those feelings pushed deep down in his heart.

And so his days went on like that. He stayed on his little farm near the banks of the lake, spending his mornings doing the work he alone put upon himself and afternoons he spent on the banks, bare feet dangling in the water off the makeshift dock he built.

Spending his time teaching a mermaid how to blend in on land.

He watches her as she practices making herself look human. She’s mastered eyes, bleaching the dark sclera into white, though they have more of an opalescent sheen than blank ivory. He can’t help but notice her chosen eye color matches his own. She also mimics his skin color, not quite the brilliant bronze from her first appearance here but a more subtle tan. Her hair remains a riot of coppers and bronzes while scales that arch over her breasts, curve over her ribs to her hips and tail are dazzling in the sunlight.

He’s taught her to braid her own hair though she learned the hard way she had to put away her fingertip claws, vanishing them into her fingers. When he asked where they went, she thought about it and then shrugged, another one of the human gestures she’d learned from him. Her small fingers are more delicate and nimble than his, she often convinces him to let her braid his hair away from his face since he cannot do it himself with one hand.

He’s careful to unbraid it when they part, lest anyone see it and ask how he did it.

The feeling of her fingers in his hair is soothing and sometimes he hears her humming under her breath. It’s no song he recognizes but it has the same style melody that one would associate with a lullaby. He asks her once but she clamps her lips together and refuses to sing it.

It occurs to him later that he may have literally heard a siren song.

He’s learned she cannot blunt all her teeth. Her canines remain sharp and when he calls her a water vampire, she demands he tell her what a vampire is. When he does, she’s fascinated and he finds himself telling her the story of Dracula. The story that he finds is still locked in his memory from when he and Steve saw the movie in the 1930s.

She asks about his childhood, curious what it’s like to be a human child. She tells him about hers in return, a childhood spent torn between two worlds.

He learns she hasn’t walked on land much since she was seven. When her father died. When he asks how many times, she doesn’t need two hands.

When he helps her translate her way of telling time into his, he learns she is far older than she looks. Based on her memories of significant weather events, he guesses her birthdate to be in the fall of 1920. She is literally just a few years younger than him.

He had guessed she was mid-twenties at the most.

He’d done some discreet research with the help of the Wakandan Princess. Shuri had brought him the information he’d requested with questions in her eyes but none had passed her lips.

Sedna. Inuit Goddess of the sea and marine animals.

Was it a coincidence that his Sedna shared a name with this Goddess? She’d claimed the selkies of Dutch Harbor had named her. Maybe they’d drawn inspiration from mythology. His old self would have brushed it off but hearing Steve’s stories about the God of thunder named Thor…well, the world was a very different place in this century.

All of that changed the day she’d come to him in a panic. The waters were acting strangely, stories of unnatural tides brought to her by the birds. Something was very wrong.

That was the same day His Royal Highness and two of his guards appeared carrying a large rectangular box.

“Bucky!” My voice is higher than normal, threaded with panic. It is early morning. I usually am asleep at this time, curled up on the bottom of the lake not far from his dock. It is safest for me to sleep there.

He appears from the door of his little home. He looks disheveled, dirty. He has animals he cares for, I suspect he has been up for hours.

“Sedna?” He jogs down the path that leads to the dock. “What’s wrong?” He takes in my appearance and comes to the dock, laying flat on his belly and grabbing my shoulders.

“Something is very wrong. The water…the water is wrong. There are fish coming out of the caverns, they say the tides are acting strangely. The birds, the land animals….everyone is running.”

His spring blue eyes search my face. “Running where?”

“Away. They all say something is coming. Something bad. Evil. Not right. They’re telling everyone to flee, to hide.” My voice shakes and Bucky puts his hand on the side of my face, his thumb tracing over my water-soaked skin.

“I will find out. Stay hidden. I will come back and tell you.”

I shook my head and felt the prick of tears in my eyes.

Apparently sirens can cry.

I hear voices coming from behind him. “I will be right back.”

And then he kisses me.

It’s not gentle. It’s a hard kiss of promise, one that fills me with a small measure of reassurance.

I’m still half-stunned when he pushes from the dock and heads towards the voices.

I hear the words that frighten me to my core.

“Where’s the fight?” He asks.

“On its way.”

Bucky stares at T’Challa. “How serious is it?”

He and Okoye exchange a glance. “Very. Captain Rogers is on his way to Wakanda now.”

“You think this Thanos will attack here?”

“We know he will.”

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. “Alright. Let’s get it fitted.”

Once the arm is secure and the others have left after he promises to meet them at the palace within an hour, he heads back to the water’s edge.

He finds her waiting for him. She is leaning on the dock, her arms crossed, fingers interlaced. As he approaches, her blue eyes focus on him.

“It is bad.” It’s not a question. She presses her lips together into a thin line.

“Yes.”

“I know it is bad because you have agreed to an arm again.

He lays back down on the dock, propping himself up on both elbows and he puts his hands over hers.

“You have to go.”

Her eyes narrow. “Do you want me to?”

“No, of course not. But it’s not safe. You have to promise me you’ll go to safety.”

“The world is not a safe place. I accept this. I am not running away scared. I can fight.”

Bucky closes his eyes and presses his forehead to hers. “This is not your fight. This is not a fight you can win. I need you to be safe. Please.”

A sigh trickles over his cheeks. “Only if you promise to leave my Tear on.”

“I promise.”

When he pulls back from her, he’s stunned to see tears running down her cheeks.

“I will come back. I’ll come back to you. But you have to stay safe.”

She nods, and part of his heart twists when she doesn’t argue. He tilts her face up and kisses her again, this time softer. This one is full of promise, of possibilities.

“Go. I will see you soon.”

I wait until I can no longer see him before I sink beneath the surface, my fingers clutching the Tear in my hair. A small comfort is feeling the faint thump of his pulse through it.

Underwater, no one can see you cry.

I’m not sure how long I stay there. I fall asleep curled around one of the posts of his dock.

At first, I think it is an earthquake.

I awake in a panic, thrashing free of a nightmare but straight into another one.

Except this one is real.

When I break through the surface of the water, I hear sounds of war. Screaming, explosions, and horrible screeching that is not human or beast. I see black creatures with vicious claws and teeth run past, their frenzy destroying the small building.

They are headed towards the village.

The small fishing village where I have played hide and seek with the children. The ones where the mothers leave baskets of clams and crabs as offerings.

There is no one who can stop them. Bucky is away, at the palace which is the opposite direction. I hear the sounds of battle from there.

There is only screaming from the village.

There is no one who can save them.

Except me.

I push up onto the dock and sit, leaving my tail hanging down. Closing my eyes and gritting my teeth against the pain, the scales begin to part as flesh emerges. Fins become feet as I will myself to the form of a land walker. I grab Bucky’s abandoned shirt and pull it over my body as I breathe through the pain. It hangs over my body.

I pray that it’s not my funeral dress.

I grab my Tear and squeeze it, hating to break my promise, but there are children there.

There is no one else who can save them.

So I stand, raise my hands to the sky and rain down hell upon my enemies.

......to be continued...

Tag List : @nano--raptor @cchellacat @eurynome827 @jobean12-blog @book-dragon-13 @aesthetical-bucky @marvelgirl7 @sallycanwait68 @buckys-broody-muffin @softpeachbarnes @godofplumsandthunder @azurika-writes @ikaris-whore @this-kitten-is-smitten @randomfandompenguin @bucky-plums-barnes @bugsbucky @littleredstarfish @emilylyoness @hailmary-yramliah @daughterofsteven @crushedbyhyperbole @theycallmebecca @nomadicpixel @bluebell-24 @sevans-is-my-weakness @sebastiansloserclub @justvnash @worldofmarvelaficionado @undiscovered-misunderstood @throwmyheartawayagain @jewels2876

#Bucky Barnes #Mermaid AU #Not a Disney Princess #hbc drunk drabbles #The Depths #Allie writes #I am not sorry for what I did today

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of-muppets-and-men · 4 years

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Penumbra

Chapter 4: A Glimpse of the Sun

Children were few and far between in the Soul Society, at least in the Seireitei and especially amongst the noble families. The usual culprits being either widowed all too soon or being duty bound to create an heir, loving couple or not. A thing Rukia found to be rather tragic. Souls often lost track of how old they became; the insignificance of it after a few decades. Yet somehow, spending your life with your beloved was as rare as having a Bankai.

The misfortune of it all led her mind astray. She thought of her Sister and the void she’d left behind, the greatest of them in Byakuya’s heart. And of course, she thought of her own predicament; her decisions… and regrets. As charmed as her life was, what if she had stayed? Said something to him? Questions that lingered and tormented her ever since.

Then perhaps she wouldn’t have to formulate this ridiculous plan a visit to her own child.

A tug at her sleeve drew her gaze away from the monotone streets and to her pleasure, it was Ichika. Her second-born bore a concerned expression with eyes that mirrored her own.

“Mama? Are you okay?” the sweet child asked.

Rukia gave off a quick sigh and put on a brave face for her daughter, “I'm okay, pumpkin.”

In a moment’s notice, Ichika was swept up by her mother and held in her arms. The boisterous little girl giggled with glee as she nuzzled in her mother’s embrace. Outside her numerous regrets, Ichika was most definitely not one of them. But naturally, her husband had to spoil the moment. With a scoff and a scowl, Renji made his complaint abundantly clear.

“I don’t get why the hell we have to visit Yoruichi just because she adopted some kid.”

“Because...” His wife explained, trying to ignore his slight, “It would be rude to decline Yoruichi’s invitation and it would give Ichika a friend her age. Plus we haven’t seen her in months, so it wouldn’t kill us to get back in touch. Also, mind your language. I won’t have our daughter picking up your boorishness.”

Renji choked in offense at his wife’s backhanded comment while their daughter snickered at him. His famous scowl returned, prompting Ichika to raspberry at his defeat. Unfortunately for the lieutenant, he was outnumbered this time.

“Knock it off you two, we’re almost there.” Rukia reprimanded.

Her Husband begrudgingly fell in line as he took Ichika from Rukia’s arms and placed her on his shoulders. Renji was and still is far too proud to ever admit, but this was without a doubt his favorite thing to do outside of combat. Given his duties as a lieutenant and Rukia as acting Captain of Squad 13, it was a genuine difficulty for them to act as a family. By the Soul King, he hated when Rukia was right.

The Abarai family at last made it to the front gate of the Shihouin Manor; gaudy as always. Renji audibly groaned as he rolled his eyes at the lavish mansion. Several members of Yoruichi’s guard appeared before them, before bowing respectfully. Rukia, Renji and Ichika nodded in acknowledgement as the guards opened the gate, revealing their Mistress.

Yoruichi stood along the path, as informally as she could get away with. Just as they had prior, the many attendants of House Shihouin flanked the family on both sides, bowing in honour of their guests.

“Thank you for having us.” The Abarai family said in unison as they bowed before their host.

“Oh, come now. You guys should know I’m not big on formality.” Yoruichi chuckled.

With a quick snap of her fingers, the attendants and guards dispersed; allowing the old friends to greet each other without tradition snuffing the fun out of it. Rukia and Yoruichi shared a long overdue hug, the latter of whom towered over Rukia. As their embrace continued, Rukia felt the reiatsu of another person emanating from the rooftop. It was odd, like it was trying to mask itself. But even so; it was remarkably immense.

“You feel it too?” Renji piped up, sensing the same thing, “Who is that?”

A chuckle led both off their astounded faces back to Yoruichi, wearing a mischievous grin.

“You can come out now.”

And just like that, the culprit appeared before them. A little girl no bigger than Ichika sporting a uniquely tailored Shihakusho bowed politely before her elders. Rukia’s breath seemed stolen away; the girl’s violet eyes, practically identical to her own. And more distinctly, beautiful bright orange hair so reminiscent of him… it had to be her.

While Rukia silently marvelled out how breathtakingly beautiful her firstborn had become; her husband was more hard pressed to know how this seemingly random kid had such immense spiritual power. It had to be at least Captain level, given his arms still had goosebumps.

“Rukia. Renji. I’d like you to meet my daughter.”

“Katsumi Shihouin! Nice to meet you!” the little girl announced with pride.

“It’s my pleasure.” Renji remarked, “Yoruichi, where the hell did you find this kid?”

“I’ll tell you once we get inside, it’s starting to get hot.”

Nobody could disagree with that assessment, the blaring light of the afternoon had no mercy to spare. The shinigami made their way inside the expansive manor with Katsumi and Ichika already proving to be fast friends. Their parents could hardly make out a word of what they were on about but decided to let them be. Growing up in a noble household didn’t elicit a lot of time for friends. Not to mention it was frowned for upon for nobles to associate with the 'lower ranks', even if either party were children.

While the girls zipped down every hallway, the adults found themselves content to find a room to chat. And Yoruichi’s living room happened to be perfect. A brief warning for the kids not to break anything; a warning they probably didn't hear and the were off. Resting their zanpakuto upon a recently acquired stand, the shinigami let themselves melt into the couch. It was as encompassing as Renji remembered it to be, but this time, he neither complained nor cared. Yoruichi sprawled out like she normally did, letting out a sharp whistle that bounced off the walls. Not a moment after, another member of her court appeared, carrying her beloved pocky sticks and a fresh pot of tea.

“Seriously? Where do you keep getting these things from?” Renji whined.

Yoruichi smiled coyly as she placed one in her mouth, “Kisuke knows better than to let me run out.”

“Ah… so you two are…”

“Partners. In every way possible.” she purred in response.

Lovely. Imagery neither of them needed. Rukia rolled her eyes, elated her old friend would probably never change.

“Oh yeah, before if I forget. Where did you adopt Katsumi from?” Renji abruptly asked.

The princess of the shihouin clan sighed deeply, fixing her posture into something more dignified. At the same time, Rukia’s grip clenched tight around her tea. Lucky for them both, Renji wasn’t one to pick up on such subtleties.

“The South Rukongai, in Inuzuri. I found her swaddled up and alone while I was on patrol. My conscience wouldn’t let me just leave her there, so I took her in. Plain and simple.”

“Hmph… the Inuzuri District of all places.” the lieutenant recollected, “Kid was lucky you came by…”

A lull of silence fell over the shinigami. Whilst Renji bitterly re-lived his life as a street rat, Yoruichi breathed easier knowing her ploy had worked. Inuzuri held many memories for both Renji and Rukia; some good but most, not so much. Name dropping the seedy little district ensured he wouldn’t pry any deeper than necessary. The acting captain of squad 13 curled up, taking a slow and deliberate sip of her jasmine tea. She had partly fabricated that story, a bit of guilt nibbling away at her core. When the warm liquid settled, Rukia hardly recognized the woman staring back at her.

“Her spiritual pressure… it’s incredible.” Rukia randomly noted.

“You’re telling me.” Yoruichi breathed, “Some of my attendants can barely withstand it.”

It was true. A feat typically reserved for Captains, was similarly accomplished by a girl of seven. But even most of the current captains couldn't make lesser souls pass out entirely. Only Yamamoto himself could ever have claimed to. As troubled as her heart may have been, Rukia couldn't help but feel a sliver of pride. Her little one was bound to be a force of nature.

“MY LADY!” another voice said, piercing through the tranquility of the living room.

Three pairs of eyes panned towards the entrance of the adjacent hallway where a lone messenger now knelt.

“What is it?” interrogated the Shihouin princess.

“A messenger for Lieutenant Abarai.” the man spoke, quick and concise. “Captain Kuchiki has requested he return to the Squad 6 barracks.”

“Did he give a reason why?” Renji similarly questioned, sitting up from his spot on the sofa.

“No, sir. He only said it was urgent.”

The lieutenant rose from the couch, his legs taking a second to remember the weight of his frame. Damn thing was more effective than most Binding Kido. He reluctantly took Zabimaru from the sword stand, letting out a sigh that matched his annoyance.

“Damn… Looks like I’m gonna have to cut our little reunion short. Will you and Ichika be okay?”

“Yes, we’ll be here for a while longer so don’t worry about us.” His wife reassured him.

“Alright, see you soon.”

Renji planted a loving kiss on Rukia’s forehead before subsequently leaving. Rukia faked a smile the whole time until she was sure he’d exited the manor. Yoruichi slumped back down, enjoying herself as she greedily consumed her snacks. A deep sigh escaped the acting captain’s lungs, hard pressed to know more of the daughter she left behind. Her brave face waned as tears of joy formed in the corners of her eyes.

“She’s beautiful…” Rukia suddenly beamed, wiping away at her cheeks. “Tell me. Does she have a zanpakuto?”

“Indeed she does.” Yoruichi divulging, reaching under the couch to reveal a massive odachi.

She handed Rukia her daughter’s zanpakuto, staring in awe of the blade’s size. If the blade reflected the power of the shinigami, then there was no doubt Katsumi was Ichigo’s child. Rukia positioned the greatsword to inspect the guard. A four point star style guard with circular grooves between each point and a vague snowflake design atop it. A true zanpakuto at her age was unprecedented, let alone one of such size. The forlorn mother pressed the handle against her forehead, weeping softly on the milestone she missed. Without a sound, Yoruichi scooted beside her, hugging her for what it was worth.

“Does she know it’s name?” Rukia asked weakly, still clutching the blade.

“No, not yet. Though given her parents, I doubt that it will stay that way for long.” Yoruichi complemented.

A half-hearted laugh came from the both. But eventually, it was drowned out by the thrilled screamed of her daughters. Ichika and Katsumi came barreling through, after tormenting the manor for the past 30 minutes. Rukia’s heart felt more at ease when she them getting along; if only they knew they were sisters. Ichika’s eye flared with worry, however, when she noticed her mother’s anguish.

“Mama!” She bolted over, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m okay.” Rukia responded warmly. “Having fun?”

As Rukia spoke, Yoruichi tucked the zanpakuto back under the sofa, hoping they weren’t any the wiser.

Both girls shook their heads in excitement, “Mhmmm!”

“You two didn’t break anything, right?” Yoruichi chimed in, crossing her arms.

Neither of them said a word but the devious look in their eyes betrayed their words; a messy disaster more than likely in the cards. Neither of the elder shinigami were convinced, but decided to let it be. After all, that’s what servants were for. The unknowing sisters joined them on the sofa, intent on starting a pillow war.

A looming sense of dread filled Rukia’s heart. Innocent as they were now, one day her daughters would learn the truth. It scared her to think of the possibilities. What if that knowledge made them hate one another? Or if both of them came to resent her. Would it have been worth all the secrecy then? Her mind lingered and strayed. Only at another tug of her sleeve, did its tension cease. Rukia half expected it to be Ichika, but gasped when Katsumi stared back at her instead.

“Auntie Rukia… Will you visit us again?” Katsumi wondered.

Taken aback by the question, Rukia took a moment to answer, “Umm Yes sweetie. Why do you ask?”

“I like playing with Ichika… I don’t have many friends so...”

Rukia rested a hand on her firrstborn’s head and gave a reassuring smile.

“We’ll come back as many times as you want.”

“Really?!” the girl’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Of course.”

Without warning, Katsumi lunged into her for a hug. Ichika followed her half sister’s lead as they both screamed with joy. A sly smirk formed on Yoruichi’s face as Rukia was overwhelmed by her children's love. The small woman’s arms enveloped them both; her face home to her first genuine smile in months. The future was bound to be racked with hardship of her own making, but at least for now, she had this...

#ichiruki #ichigo x rukia #rukia x ichigo #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #yoruichi shihouin #ichika abarai #renji abarai #bleach oc #katsumi kurosaki #Penumbra

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dishonoredrpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, PAYTON! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE TOWER with the faceclaim of RODRIGO SANTORO. What poetry could I write about Feivel? He is, at his core, a worldly man, has seen much, knows plenty, and still finds himself entrapped in a world which he feels he cannot possibly belong to. There is such a human quality to him in the way he shifts and turns just to keep himself alive; your concept with the mirror was especially fascinating -- he has a charm to him, but is it a charm that he’ll be able to stomach later on down the line? I also vastly appreciate your willingness to step out of the box and explore a character you’re not as familiar with; I can really see your affection for him here, and I’m excited to see what you bring to us with him!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

NAME: Payton or Paypay

PRONOUNS: She/her/hers

AGE: 27

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: My timezone is GMT-7. I anticipate being active on the dash (as in posting starters/writing responses) typically between 4-6 days a week, with 4 being more typical. Writing is a pretty big component of my self-care and allows me a creative outlet to use some of my energy, so I will be on frequently.

ANYTHING ELSE?: I know this is a second application picked from a small handful of skeletons that still remained, but I wouldn’t be applying for another skeleton if I wasn’t just as excited and dedicated to what I could bring to the group with this skeleton as I was with my first application. At first I was pretty bummed and told myself if I couldn’t get back into a very excited state I would just kind of let it be, but the more I worked on this application the more excited I got about the skeleton and the character I was building out from it.

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: The Tower

NAME: Feivel Asturias

FACECLAIM: Rodrigo Santoro, Chris Hemsworth, Joel Kinnaman

AGE: 42

DETAILS: What about this character interested you? Who are they to you? This can be as long or short as you want it to be, in whatever format you prefer.

I suggested this to you during our conversation during which you gave me feedback for my previous application, but The Tower’s skeleton is a big old jump away from characters I’m used to playing. Out of the skeleton’s that were left, I found The Tower’s to be quite compelling and likely the most challenging role to play for me. But I like challenges! Challenging is fun. I think in terms of my own development as a writer, playing a character that feels like such a departure from what I’m used to is a great way to stretch my creative muscles and really push myself to think deeper into the choices I’m making for my character.

Another component I like about The Tower is their history as an explorer. I would like to see story-telling be a strong component of their characterization because they have so many lived experiences. Given the setting, it’s likely he would be one of the most if not the most well-travelled roles in the group. His lived experiences would take him to the ends of the earth that his contemporaries only dreamed of, and I imagine he would be all too eager to recount the stories of his youth (only slightly editorialized… okay, fine, with some pretty significant embellishments). I imagine his life has led him to present as rough around the edges, as a survival tactic, as a leadership strategy, and as a mode of self-preservation… but when he gets to talking, when someone really gets him in his lane of story-telling he takes on an air of slight warmth and overwhelming nostalgia. He also absolutely adores young people, which is discussed a little further elsewhere in the application (one of the plot points if I’m not mistaken).

I am also very interested in toying around with his current role as an antiquarian--because who doesn’t want to make up a whole bunch of mythical items and historical artifacts and lore? I feel like not only would I be able to use him as a method to contribute to the general story line, but it would be a great way to explore some world building within the parameters you’ve set for the group.

I also think that the skeleton suggests that The Tower would be willing to take some risks, which would be interesting to play out. The fact that they were willing to play dumb in front of the king until it was clear playing dumb meant certain death, they take a chance: they try to bargain for their life, and it works. As an unofficial advisor, they view their stakes as being slightly less high than someone officially in the post, so they take risks: they combine a healthy amount of tact with speaking their mind. They see a monarch unhappy in her marriage and desperate for release, so they take a risk: they stand a little too close, brush the back of their hand against hers as they pass in the hallway, and find themselves in a full blown affair. I think taking risks would be an inevitable character trait of The Tower, who likely feels lonely for adventure and too big for their body now that they find themselves land-locked.

The actual card of The Tower also relates strongly to the history I imagine for Feivel and what I would assume could be a turbulent future given his affair with the queen and potential shifting alignments. I see “Tower upright: Sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening” relating to his arrival in Tyrholm and the killing of his men and consequential end to his way of life/loss of freedom. “Tower reversed: Personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster” makes me think of his need to navigate the court and avoid what could be certain disaster if the affair with the queen became known to the wrong people as well as his perceived need to tiptoe around The Sun.

Something of interest to me regarding the typical depiction of this card is the image of the card itself. One website’s information on the card stated: “A stone tower is struck with lighting and lit in flames, two people jump from the tower presumably to their deaths. An image of chaos and destruction is painted.This lightning/subsequent fire enters in through the top of the tower and knocks off the crown. The people jumping accept that they do not know what awaits them when they fall - but it is certainly better than burning in the rubble of the tower.” I find this really compelling because I think that if Feivel was present for the event Mini wrote for Kithri’s para sample (and Mini makes that headcanon) or if Feivel sees or perceives Septimus mistreats his wife or perceives King Septimus as cruel in other ways it would be relatively easy to radicalize Feivel. Feivel knows he’s coming in hot on his expiration date, and even if he isn’t on the brink of death and he’s just feeling a little run down, I think he would really struggle to accept a land-locked existence where he’s essentially prisoner in Castle Tyrholm, and might, as the card depicts, run headlong into certain doom rather than accept the alternative if he found a cause worth self-destructing for.

BACKGROUND:

You are born on high seas, the ocean so ingrained in your identity that you could scarcely tell the difference between the waves of a storm battering your ship and the untamed beating of your own heart. Your childhood is composed of tangled memories of stern looks, rope burn, aching muscles, calluses, stolen goods, and the sound of splintering wood. The smell of gunpowder from the cannons found a permanent home in your nostrils and you lived with a constant sensation of breathlessness between the battles and seascapes that colored your days. Your early years are like the ocean itself; ever-moving, unforgiving, and constantly threatening to pull you under in its cruelty if you so much as dare to be still for even a moment.

As you enter your teenage years, the treatment you receive only becomes harsher. You are no longer only responsible for chores around the deck, but you are brought into roles of responsibility where a misstep can be the difference between life and death of a crew member. You participate in your first ambush, and it terrifies you how easy it is to drive a blade into another body and how hard it feels to draw it back out. But letting that deter you is not an option. The stakes are high, and the sting of every slap and lashing’s meaning is two-fold. Corporal punishment is a daily reality of your life, the best way a motley crew of pirates knows how to instill discipline. And beyond discipline, you know you’re the next in line for leadership and as a leader you must be unyielding. Your father is preparing you, and the way you see it the crack of his leather strap against your back is the only way he knows how to say he loves you.

You are seventeen when you inherit your father’s ship, his death a sudden and brutal blight that stains a corner of your mind you avoid with vermillion and a mix of pain and resentment. Your mother died long before, when you were no older than six or seven. The closest thing you have to any memory of her face is the memory of her running her fingers through your hair to soothe you to sleep. every time the sea breeze rustles through your hair it evokes her memory. You keep it long and unkempt for that reason alone, though if anyone asks it’s a matter of convenience. It is unbecoming of a captain to display such vulnerabilities as sentiment and weakness—or at least that’s what your father before you conditions you to believe. You quickly realize you see leadership fundamentally differently than your father. Where he asserted authority by means of dominance and violence, your approach values brotherhood.

You find yourself establishing a Brotherhood of Asturias. You name your clan in honor of your ship. Later in your life, you will name yourself in honor of your clan—not as a badge of honor, but as a reminder of your shame. No one would accuse your clan of reformation. To anyone outside of your fold, you’re just as ruthless as your father. You’d still burn the world to the ground for the promise of glory when the flames died down. But within your kinship, you develop a sort of honor code. Your commandments are as such: honor those who honor you, betray no other lest your life be on the line, help the needy if it helps yourself, to kill an innocent is the most mortal of sins, and you shall not advance yourself at the harm of others. Your reputation does shift, but only slightly. Rather than pillagers and barbarians, you are seen as a ruthless treasure hunter.

For the next fifteen years, your reputation precedes you. You travel to the ends of the earth in search of the relics of the old gods and to reclaim the wonders of the world. It isn’t easy work, but the payoff makes it worth it. You accumulate wealth with nowhere to spend it, but the sense of power of merely possessing the rarities and finery you have is enough. And you love the camaraderie and catharsis. By your mid-thirties, you are grizzled and scarred. Your body aches from the strain of your journeys, but your mind is somehow light under the sheer weight of the stories you have to tell. Your life is spent fast, but if anybody asks it is spent well.

Finally, aware of your limitations and content with your life of misdeeds, you select your successor and one final mission. You view it as a training exercise to cement your decision: both to lay down your arms once and for all and that you’ve chosen the best and brightest to take your place. You set sail to the remote island of Calamity in search of an item of lore, so simple that the common man would pass it over without a second glance: the Mirror of Ouroboros. The mirror is a small, handheld curio of impossible value. The reflector itself is a small, obsidian mirror that upon first consideration seems harmless if not impractical. However, upon looking in the mirror its magical virtue presents itself by revealing three truths about the user, each of them as destructive as the next if the user is without fortitude of mind. You recover the mirror with little consequence along the way, and you are reassured that your decision making was sound. You are resolved to your fate and wary from travel, you drift off to sleep easily after your final ransacking.

You are dragged from your bed by a pair of hands as cold and harsh as death itself. The mere touch is enough to pull the breath from your lungs. You don’t recognize her at first, but The Sun will haunt your nightmares for the next several years, and in a much more present way haunt your days as well. You are thrown before the king, your crew not far behind. But it is toward you who the king directs his ire. He demands the mirror, and you bite back at his entitlement. You tell him you don’t have any such item, and he knows you are lying. You tell him the mirror is no creation of his god, the Undying One, and as a result it shouldn’t be any interest of his. It’s the wrong answer. You realize it’s the wrong answer when you hear a squelch from behind you, and the sound of a body drop to the floor. The groaning is easily recognizable as your second in command, slaughtered as result of your folly before they even had their real chance to carry on your legacy. The world mutes, but you’ve seen this scene before. There is nothing but a loud ringing in your ears, but you know The Sun is working down the line of your men behind you.

Your hands shake as you pull the mirror from your breast pocket, and you consider looking into it. Surely the madness is a better fate to resign yourself to than to live with your indirect responsibility for your brotherhood’s death. For another moment, you consider allowing the king to look into it, to exact your revenge without needing to so much as lift a finger. Instead, you slide the mirror across the floor, still safely contained in its cloth shroud. You hear your voice warning the king of the mirror’s power, that with patience and research it could be the key to turning his kingdom into an empire. You tell him that more relics exist across the span of the globe, some of them here on the continent of Markholm. You’re bargaining for your life, despite the fact that according to your very own honor code you no longer deserve it.

For some reason, the king lets you stay. You know this is more a strategic move on Septimus’ part than an act of mercy. You are hardly a free man. You yourself know that not all prisons have bars. Yours doesn’t, but you’re locked in a cage all the same. Your wild heart rails against your fate at first, but your tired body cannot keep up. You slowly resign yourself to your circumstances. You spend your day lamenting and licking wounds for months, giving Septimus advice through gritted teeth and refusing to recognize kindness from anyone around you. You are like a cornered dog, but you damn well know better than to bite the hand that feeds.

Slowly, the dagger in your heart loosens and you move through the stages of mourning your freedom, your crew, and your former life. This doesn’t mean that your life in Tyrholm is easy, but you start to recognize areas of comfort. The Empress shows you a modicum of kindness, and you cling to it. The way you see it, the pair of you mean little more to each other than a pair of warm bodies at first, but it’s a momentary distraction the both of you welcome. The way your rough, calloused hands catch on the silk she seems herself to be spun from reminds you of your place, it stops you from being careless enough to leave fingerprints. You stop yourself from getting emotionally attached--no one ever accuses you of being a wise man, but you know better than to shit where you eat. The Moon gravitates in the perimeter of your attention, and you wonder what she wants from you, though she never seems to ask for much. The Sun also exists within your gravitational pull, though you wish she wouldn’t. You have nothing but enmity for her, an emotion you know is futile but that you can’t seem to put away.

The one thing you take seriously is your role as advisor. Septimus strikes you as mad and simple, a ruler grounded in dualism and individualism. Your belief in brotherhood and the collective clashes with Septimus’ harsh reign, but you can stomach it given your years spent under your father’s thumb. You yourself are never treated with particular cruelness after you are added as a member of the court. A part of you cares how everything shakes out, even though your body tells you it might give out before you see things through. Another part of you only cares about slowly convincing Septimus to give you a longer leash to try to convince him to dispatch you for one last adventure or two.

PLOT IDEAS:

You’ve Got Your Reputation and Your Good Intent (The Emperor): Feivel was not exactly a willing addition to the court. With death as the only alternative, joining up with Septimus looked like a good choice, but in the skeleton it doesn’t suggest that The Tower ever develops any sense of loyalty or admiration for King Septimus. In fact, in the connection section with Judgement, it suggests that The Tower finds the world they find themselves stuck within to be “horrible”. Given I want to incorporate captaining a ship as part of Feivel’s past, he would chalk up the state of the world to mediocre leadership. Further, The Tower is smack in the middle of the triangle depicting attitudes and loyalties. He doesn’t have much skin in the game, but he kind of gives a shit. I have to imagine that given their travels, The Tower would have a stronger concept than Septimus of how the other side lives, how people perceive things, of even surface level diplomacy, who seems to make decrees and decisions at a whim. Knowing that The Emperor is the next in line for the throne, I imagine The Tower would want to see the heir equipped with more of a holistic outlook rather than a self-interested, dualistic approach. While it sounds like Septimus is the one who likes to be regaled with stories of adventure and daring, I imagine Feivel might try to impart some sort of wisdom about different perspectives, universal truths, and interest in the plight of fellow man. The Emperor has probably never experienced life outside of the castle walls, certainly never outside of Tyrholm where many valuable lessons for a future ruler wait to be learned. But Feivel struggles with putting his meaning into words, he isn’t some educated member of the court, he’s a rogue in nice clothing. There is no underlying agenda aside from expanding the young heir’s worldview--but the danger of saying the wrong thing, of the slightest slip up in the tone of voice being read as a criticism of King Septimus makes the line between good intent and treason a tricky one to walk.

Suffer the Fools (The Moon): Feivel enjoys young people tremendously. Youth tends to couple with ambition and vigor. This is also part of why he even wants to bother trying to impress some of his lived experiences on The Emperor. Based on the connection written in The Moon’s bio, it seems like The Moon would be eager to listen to those very same stories. The Tower is depicted as a cache of information regarding other civilizations, the old gods, history, antiquities, magic, and tales of their own youth. I think in talking to The Moon about these stories and being listened to, a friendship would be forged and from that friendship, trust. Feivel understands thieves' code, he can pick up the dynamic in most any room he walks into, he knows history, he recognizes value when he sees it, navigation and survival in the wild is a given… but all of this was learned through oral tradition. Books were of little value on a ship, education wasn’t valued in his lifestyle. In his previous station, Feivel couldn’t have cared less, but now it’s developed into a soft spot. What does it say of a king if their antiquarian and unofficial advisor is illiterate? I think that if Feivel developed trust with The Moon, he would be willing to share this vulnerability asking them to write correspondence for him in a pinch and potentially how to read and write. I think this vulnerability might help lead The Moon to ask the questions they have about magic as discussed in The Moon’s connections.

All’s Fair in Love and War (The Empress): I am interested in exploring the connection listed in The Empress’ bio depicting the affair between The Empress and The Tower. It is not really mentioned in The Tower’s bio or in the main body of The Empress’ bio. I am interested in exploring Feivel’s motivations in this affair. Is there genuine affection that Feivel feels for The Empress, or does he see her as a pretty treasure of the king’s that makes for an interesting conquest? If there is genuine affection, how does he deal with the jealousy or perceived mistreatment of The Empress as a wife? Additionally, there could be a number of interesting consequences for the affair to deal with as far as jealousy, not being able to bit his tongue regarding Septimus’ attitude about his wife, or even the secret of the affair becoming more widespread. I think the affair could also complicate the way that some members of the court and group see Feivel. They could potentially misread the affair, whether it’s a matter of the convenience of the two just acting as warm bodies for one another or if it develops into a full blown emotional affair, as Feivel tries to step into a role of power or exploitation. It’s also some pretty damaging ammunition against him if he crosses the wrong person.

Mirror of Ouroborus (The Sun/The High Priestess): One of the things I would look forward to adding to Feivel’s character and the group as a whole is sort of building out the world with some mystical items. In this case, I think it could be fun to toy around with the item that landed Feivel on King Septimus’ agenda in the first place. This is a plot I would build out with either of the two more experienced necromancers. The item I have in mind for this plot point in particular would be called the Mirror of Ouroborus, an ancient, magical artifact the most of the world either doesn’t believe exists or has already forgotten. The mirror itself is a small, obsidian mirror that upon first consideration seems harmless if not impractical. However, upon looking in the mirror things begin to complicate. When looking in the mirror, it shows its user three truths. The first truth is easy to swallow: the reflection morphs into the user at the epitome of their potential, in their greatest state of glory. The second, the reflection morphs into what it is that stands in the way of those accomplishments, whether its an internal or external force. And third, it shows the essence of the user as they really are. Each of these reflections manifest as a simultaneous, momentary vision, but the mirror itself is dangerous. The lore surrounding the mirror depicts the third reflection driving everyone bold enough to stare into the mirror mad, incapable of swallowing the truth about themselves and the inherent flaws of humanity. However, who better to look into the mirror than someone numbed to even the most base emotion? Though it’s unlikely Septimus would put something as valuable as a master necromancer on the line for anything less than a guarantee. I would imagine in this plot, Feivel and either The Sun or the High Priestess would be tasked with unraveling the mystery of the Ouroborus Mirror for its eventual use.

If You Stand For Nothing, What Will You Fall For (General): Check out the triangle of alignment and who is smack in the middle but The Tower? I think this presents a few interesting concepts. There are so many different components of the skeleton that could suggest many different ways for his allegiance to be pushed and pulled. If he has a personal rather than transactional relationship with The Empress, her alignment of general tolerance of King Septimus might pull him toward anxiously waiting out the king. Then again, it might have the opposite effect if Feivel ends up having very spiteful feelings about the Empress being stuck in the marriage. I envision most of the connections listed on the bio slowly dragging Feivel’s alignment toward the bottom left of the chart. I want to explore Feivel’s character with a moral alignment of true neutral as well, which I think would create a lot of interesting dynamics given Feivel seems to be starting from a place of general neutrality as well. I would be very interested in seeing what, if anything, could radicalize Feivel given his starting point.

Through Terra Incognita: Feivel is not exactly a member of the court by choice, but rather quick wit and Septimus’ whim. I would argue that Feivel sees himself more as a prisoner of the court than actually free. He was brought to the court by force, and he’s essentially kept there out of fear of the Sun. Sure, there are perks. He probably is all about that food, a nice bed, fancy clothes, and a comfortable place to rest his tired bones… but just because he wanted a rest doesn’t mean he isn’t restless. It might be interesting to have Feivel be dispatched by Septimus to retrieve some sort of treasure or antiquity with another character or maybe even two. This item could potentially be central to the plot if it interests you to invest in the plot in that way. I think this could be an interesting way to interact with Judgement (religious relic?), or potentially The Hermit or Strength. However, I’d be happy to make this plot work with whoever might be interested even if they aren’t listed there. Fievel is probably incredibly eager to go on any sort of adventure and get out of the city, so he would jump at the chance to go on such a quest, even if he clashed with his travel companion every step of the way.

Brave, Intrepid, and Then Some: If you do not recognize the lyrics used as titles (here and the plot point above), the song “The Trail We Blaze” from Dreamwork’s masterpiece The Road to El Dorado is big inspiration vibes for Feivel and his adventurous side. He knows he is never going to be the marauder he was before his years in Tyrholm, but there’s a spark in him that can’t quite go out. I think something to feed into this, and his general world knowledge, would be to develop a sort of “wonders of the world” for Markholm. Something I think that might be interesting to do is to pick a few characters and try to create artifacts, locations, etc. that are sort of drawn from or inspired by these characters. Perhaps they would not be significant to the plot, but I think it could be a fun concept to build out Feivel’s experiences.

CHARACTER DEATH: I think given some of the pies he’s stuck/will stick his finger in there’s a pretty real chance he might piss off the wrong people eventually (Septimus, Reynaud, Naenia given his fear of her) whether that be by him making a false move or his affair moving from a bit of an open secret to a full blown scandal. Also, he’s lived a rugged life, which I’m sure has taken a toll. Given the parameters you’ve set up to support players if there’s a character death and the context of this character I’m comfortable with it.

WRITING SAMPLE

Another restless night, and Feivel found himself roaming the halls of Castle Tyrholm with the company of his faithful hound, Gunport, at his side. It was the sound of the wind whistling outside his sleeping chamber’s window that kept a good night’s sleep at bay, the sound reminding him of those wind whipped days out at sea that built him into the man he was now. He lobbed a ball down the corridor lazily and got some mild entertainment watching the hairy beast chase after it with gusto before bounding back to its master’s side and pushing the slobbery toy into his hand. But even the momentary distraction couldn’t hold back the feelings that he was now more a ruin than a man.

His father had died valiantly in battle, though the skirmish itself could have been avoided by better planning. Even so, his father had died with his reputation intact, ruthless to the end. Feivel himself had quickly built his own mythos around himself, even if it was not as cruel as his father’s. He knew the Clan Asturias had gained a measure of renown, enough for King Septimus to know of their accomplishments, and as the captain of the ship Feivel himself was the figurehead of the legend. On nights like this, he would retract his steps and try to pinpoint the exact moment he had gotten too far ahead of himself or too comfortable. He knew what his father would say, that his downfall was the direct result of trusting anyone but himself. Some nights, Feivel felt that conclusion was correct. On other nights, he surmised that his fate was inevitable. For years, he had wondered how legends were brought to their knees. Now he knew he was little more himself than some exotic game King Septimus had cornered and would eventually mount on his wall like the other trophy animals in Castle Tyrholm’s gun room.

The candlelight flickered from further down the hall, and both Feivel and Gunport stood aware, their two sets of wild eyes pointing in the direction of the disturbance. He wondered vaguely if someone else was being kept awake by the ghosts of their past, or if perhaps it might have been the growing sense of restlessness that had been building behind closed doors and in whispered conversations throughout the castle. He had only been a member of the court for a handful of months, but he knew what the early stages of insurrection looked like. This was something he altogether aimed to avoid, more than convinced that the king would be able to put an end to any treason before it truly started.

It surprised him to see the queen passing through the hall, and for a moment he felt his presence was inappropriate. Life in Tyrholm had come with a healthy dose of culture shock, to say the least. He had cleaned up well, this was true, but he knew he was far from noble. His manners had provided ample fodder to mock him in his first months in the court, and the stiff clothing he had been given felt like it choked him. Perhaps it was his station in his office that made him feel most like the butt of a cruel joke, the books that lined the shelves and his pot of ink and paper virtually useless. He had wondered for a while how long King Septimus would humor him after he realized his master of antiquities couldn’t so much as write his own name. Luckily enough, he had proven himself entertaining enough to listen to that when he was called upon it was almost exclusively in person. Whenever the need to write was unavoidable, it was no trouble to intimidate a servant or page into writing it for him. It took little more than a menacing glare and the simple lie that he preferred to dictate his response rather than be saddled with the chore of writing his message himself.

As The Empress approached, Feivel bowed. It was practiced to look natural, as if he’d been bowing to monarchy all his life rather than copying the other members of court over the past few months. He also took grain pains to make the motion as fluid as possible despite the strain it caused his lower back. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, “I apologize for disturbing you this evening.” He tossed the ball away again, figuring someone of her stature had little interest in being near such a creature. The dog took off again after the ball, springing clumsily down the long hall.

“It’s quite alright,” Queen Calliope responded in a muted voice. She lifted a slim, graceful hand that caught the moonlight as she gestured before them. “Perhaps you would walk with me?”

Before Feivel had much opportunity to respond, Gunport had asserted himself into the situation. The dog pressed the ball into the palm of the queen’s hand, wet nose, slobber, and all. It was the habit of a well trained dog to return whatever it was fetching directly into the hand of it’s master, but Gunport was friendly and apparently wanted to extend the invitation to play to the queen herself. Embarrassed by what he assumed was poor manners, Feivel became somewhat nervous and hoped to escape the interaction without insulting Queen Calliope. He turned his attention from her hand to her face to respond, but his answer was delayed slightly as he observed her unassuming beauty; the smoothness of her skin, her piercing dark eyes, the way her silk-like dark hair framed her face and swept against her shoulders, and the delicate shape and hue of her lips. He was a man who recognized finery when he saw it, and what held more value than the wife of a king?

“Another night,” he mumbled, staring at the toe of his boot rather than in her eye. His voice was gruff, a bit terse as a force of habit. “When I don’t have the hound with me.”

Accepting his answer, the queen lifted her hand to pass the ball back to Feivel. He extended his hand, accepting it from her, unintentionally brushing his fingers against the back of her hand. The contrast between the two did not escape him, his own hand rough with work next to her unmarred skin. Her skin was smooth and cool compared to the warmth and calluses of his own hand. He let the touch linger for a moment before his eyes met her own. She didn’t seem disturbed by the touch, which even if unintentional was an insult to her station. Queen Calliope placed the ball in his open hand before bidding him goodnight with a soft, amused smile. “Another time then, Feivel. May the Undying One bring you safely to another day.”

“Another time then,” Feivel repeated, holding the ball up as if it were some secret known only to the pair as he walked backward toward his quarter. He tossed the ball over his shoulder with a roguish grin, his eyes trained on Queen Calliope. Only when she turned his back on him to continue on her way did he turn away from her.

EXTRAS

I want to plot out what the affair looked like, from start to current state, with The Empress’ player, so I’m not taking my writing sample as gospel. It just seemed like the most natural thing to write because I think the connection with another person in Tyrholm he established with The Empress was probably a turning point in his mourning process/ability to accept his current station as basically a glorified prisoner in Castle Tyrholm and to engage more with others.

Inspiration Blog (There are three pages, you gotta click the last little dot with a sort of square to get to the next page)

#accepted #accepted: the tower

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stickystarspectrumtroll-ocs · 4 years

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Hogwarts AU

Note: This is like 8 to 10 years after the events of Deathly Hallows.

Luna: 4th year. Half-blood, but both her birth parents are long gone and she was adopted as a baby by a muggle couple. Metamorphmagus. Sorting Hat cried out “SLYTHERIN” pretty much the moment it touched her head. She’s not well-liked by the other Slytherins, since so many are the type who look down their noses at muggleborns. Was already an expert when it came to pranking, vandalism, and general troublemaking (not to mention getting away with things) pre-Hogwarts, but every bit of magic she learned (not to mention everything she found at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes) opened her to a whole WORLD of possibilities in that area which she quickly began experimenting with and putting to good use. She got bullied since the first day of her first year, but retaliated with ruthless pranks magical and nonmagical in nature until most learned to leave her alone. Plenty still haven’t, though, and she continues to deal with them in the way she does. She and Peeves have a kind of mutual respect for each other. She has an owl named Basil who she sends to and from her parents regularly. She also has a turtle named Rupert. Made friends with Jewel, Allets, and Eliote in her 1st or 2nd year. Wand is nine and a half inches long, made of pine, reasonably supple, with a unicorn tail core.

Jewel: 4th year. Pure-blood, but doesn’t know it since she’s been an orphan as long as she can remember and doesn’t know WHO the heck her parents are. Hufflepuff. Favorite classes are Charms, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures. She happens to be VERY good at those. Refuses to wear the black robes she’s supposed to, wears robes with vibrant colors and lots of embroidery instead. Plus flower crowns, and necklaces and bracelets full of crystals. Talks to the paintings and the ghosts more than she talks to most of her schoolmates. Spends a lot of time in the library. Likes exploring the castle and even the Forbidden Forest in her spare time. Makes good friends with Hagrid. Being introduced to the Wizarding World was a big thing that had her suuuuper nervous at first and was hard to adjust to, but she's making some progress with that. Made friends with Luna, Allets, and Eliote in her 1st or 2nd year. Wand is ten inches long, swishy, made of English oak or red oak with a unicorn hair core.

Allets: 5th year. Pure-blood. Hufflepuff. Parents are rich and a bit snobby, kind of elitist and anti-muggle but never QUITE managed to instill that in her, no matter how they tried. They tried to enroll her at Beauxbatons, but there were a LOT of applications that year and there ended up being no room for her, so they enrolled her at Hogwarts, reasoning that it was the next-best thing and some great witches and wizards in the family had gone there. They put a lot of pressure on her to excel in all her academics. She’s good at Charms and Defense Against The Dark Arts and flying, but the rest of her classes not so much. She tries really hard to please her parents anyway. Over time as she makes friends at Hogwarts (Luna, Jewel, and Eliote in her 2nd or 3rd year) she starts to break off more and more from being firmly tied to her parents’ command. They don’t like this one bit and continue trying to exert control over her, which is an ongoing struggle but she gets stronger every year. Joined her house’s quidditch team in her 4th year as a seeker and is really good at it. Wand is ten and three quarter inches long, made of hawthorn, supple, with a phoenix feather core.

Eliote: 5th year. Muggleborn. Hufflepuff (the Sorting Hat really took awhile to decide with her). Parents died when she was like seven, probably killed by Death Eaters during the time of Voldemort’s return, and she lived in an orphanage afterwards until the day her Hogwarts letter arrived. She probably was really confused and kinda annoyed at first with how she was the only one around her who could see the threstrals. Her parents’ death hit her pretty hard and she’s still recovering (probably she was right there to witness it and barely got out alive, so, yeah, PTSD from that, plus survivor’s guilt as it’s possible she might’ve led the Death Eaters to them by i dunno whining a little too loud about something childish while they were nearby or something). It’s been easier since she became friends with Allets, Luna, and Jewel in her 2nd or 3rd year. Wants to be an Auror. Favorite classes are Potions and Defense Against The Dark Arts. Good at all her classes but best at those. Wand is ten and one quarter inches long, made of fir, solid, with a unicorn hair core.

Maddie T: 4th year. Half-blood. Ravenclaw. Reads the Quibbler and genuinely believes the stuff in it. Is VERY VERY good at solving the riddles to get into the Common Room. Loves painting, spray-painting especially, and does a lot of art on the walls and ceiling of her side of the dorm she shares with Finley. Always has paint on her robes. Wears the classic big pointy witch hat, but it’s all crooked, and it’s purple, with different colored patches and feathers. Tries to do crazy stunts on her broom, like flying while hanging upside down from it. Has a lot of fun with all the stuff from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Made friends with Finley on the Hogwarts Express 1st year. Gets picked on a lot but doesn’t let it get to her and has a million nonsensical retorts. Wand is thirteen and a half inches long, made of dogwood, quite whippy, with a dragon heartstring core.

Finley: 4th year. Pure-blood. Ravenclaw (sorting hat shouted it out practically the second it touched her head). She kinda acts like Hermione in a lot of ways, studying a ton and raising her hand a lot and acing every class basically being a huge overachiever and perfectionist. She develops a habit of sneaking into the restricted section of the library, not with any bad intentions, just out of pure curiosity to know what kinds of knowledge is there. Might figure out how to become an animagi and then do it just because she can, without letting anycreature besides Maddie T know about it. She’d be a cat or fox or butterfly, I’m not sure which. She’s also extremely fascinated with Muggle Studies and everything related to the muggle world, not unlike Mr. Weasley. If she ever got access to the internet...hoHOOO boy... Knows how to sew and makes adjustments to her robes all the time. Embroidering flowers on them, adding ribbons and bows and sequins, adds touches of pink and/or turquoise wherever she can. Made friends with Maddie T on the Hogwarts Express 1st year, and stands up for her when she gets picked on. Wand is ten inches long, made of walnut, quite flexible, with a phoenix feather core.

Penny: 5th year. Muggleborn. Hufflepuff. Was bitten by a werewolf as a second-year. She was introduced to wolfsbane potion fairly quickly, but not before a sleepover with her muggle friends from before her Hogwarts days went south. Like, nocreature got bitten, but ALLLLLMOST. It was kinda intense and a bunch of memories had to be erased. Penny was pretty much scarred for life. Gets more distant from her muggle friends every year, partially due to so much of her life having to be in the Wizarding World now and them not being allowed to know about it, and partially for other reasons related to Penny’s memories of THAT incident. Either way it breaks her heart. Refuses to wear black robes like she’s supposed to, wears robes of different super bright colors every day. Also the friendship bracelets from her old friends. And light-up sneakers. Has brightly colored hair extension clips that she clips over her hair to give herself colored streaks, changing up which colors she uses every day. Sends owls to her parents (and has them write back) every week. Wand is eleven and a half inches long, made of ebony (? maybe fir? or pear?), slightly springy, with a unicorn hair core.

Twig: 1st year. Half-blood. Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Like Finley, she gets super into all her classes and studies and everything. Only she’s way more excited by it all. The novelty of the fact that HOLY CUPCAKES SHE’S DOING ACTUAL FLIPPING MAGIC never wears off. She does get homesick at times, like, cry herself to sleep on a weekly basis homesick, so she sends owls to her parents (and has them write back) practically every day. And she does get picked on by a bunch of people. Is bummed when pure-bloods don’t get all the references she makes to stuff from the muggle world. Strong mixed feelings about the fact that they have to write with quills and ink--like, on one hand the aesthetic is SOOO cool but on the other hand pens and pencils and markers are WAY easier. Spends a lot of time reading in the library or exploring the castle and surrounding grounds. Has a pet toad named Herbie. Has always loved and been really good at flying, is great at quidditch in just about any position, and will join the team for her House as soon as she’s able. Wand is ten and one quarter inches long, made of willow, springy, with a unicorn hair core.

~BONUS~

C.C.: 5th year. Half-blood. Metamorphmagus. Gryffindor (got sorted there very quickly). Prefect. She has a heck ton of magical energy in her that's always come out quite a lot and been a bit hard for her to control at times. Probably nearly wrecked Ollivander’s shop trying out wands, without even trying to. She uses her shapeshifting ability quite like Tonks, making animal faces for entertainment and all. It may also be why her hair is pink, orange, and blue. Loves drawing and painting and is very good at them. Favorite class is Defense Against The Dark Arts. Wants to be an auror. Plays on the Gryffindor team (i’m not sure what position, but in any case she is very good at it, maybe becomes captain in her 5th or 6th year). Wand is eleven and a three quarter inches long, pleasantly springy, made of either chestnut with a unicorn hair core, or rowan with a phoenix feather core.

Jasper: 5th year. Half-blood. Ravenclaw. Likes to hex people for fun. Goes all-out finding creative uses for spells and Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products, like Luna, but he’s more likely to think of things that’ll affect a roomful of people rather than just one person, like setting off fireworks indoors, or putting something in the food served in the Great Hall that’ll make everycreature who eats it erupt in contagious boils. Is also willing to use some kind of dark magic for that sort of thing. He gets detention a LOT but honestly doesn’t even mind because he still had a good time doing what he did. Has a mutual respect with Peeves and they’re pretty chummy with each other actually. Also good friends with C.C., though she does get a bit exasperated with his shenanigans and how often he gets in trouble. Really good at Charms and Potions. Actually all his classes, but especially those. Wand is thirteen and one quarter inches long, made of spruce, whippy, with a dragon heartstring core.

#hogwarts au for my oc squad #this took a LOT of thought #but i like it very much #especially proud of my decisions with the wands!#i had to look several times through the Pottermore pages on wand woods and cores and all that stuff and what it means about wand's owner #the results were just so INCREDIBLY satisfying #personal favorite #all ocs + c.c. and jasper #SERIOUSLY Y'ALL HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS INCOMPLETE #i may still make edits to this #maybe give Eliote a different wand wood #or finally settle on Jewel and Penny's wands #or just add another detail or two somewhere #au for my oc squad

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all-sortsa-stuff · 7 years

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This life, part 6

Pairing: Reader x Loki

Word Count: 3326

Warning: Angst, little smutty talk (like a little tiny bit)

Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

You sat watching the setting sun on the terrace as your belongings were brought in. The Queen had made sure everything you owned had been brought from the home you had lived in for the last years. She wanted to give you every bit of help she could. It was her way of welcoming you home to the palace. The place where she knew you belonged. You were not sure how you felt being back in the family chambers. The smell… the memories like ghosts haunting your thoughts. There were far more good memories here than the bad ones at the end. Those were the ones you were choosing to remember now. If you thought of anything else, you feared that you would not make it through the night.

As you slept, your dreams were different. They were memories, flashes of a time when you were younger. Almost a woman running the fields in a long gown, laughing. It was only a glimpse, as when you turned to look at who was with you, the memory would change. This time it was you crying as Loki called you a whore. You remembered the shock and pain you felt as the words hit your ears and you saw the look on his face as he said it. The hate that was there, burned into your core. It was then that you had run off, unable to stay in his presence. Everything flashed once more bringing you to the moment you removed your helm on Midgard. It felt like the dream was trying to take deeper but you refused. Fighting against it you slowly became more aware of the bed in which you lay. It took a moment but you sat up gazing about the room feeling as though something was off. Were there eyes there?

It sounded insane as you rubbed the weariness from your eyes. Dawn was not long from breaking as you noticed the faint light through the window. Today was the day you would meet the Defenders as their Captain, adding to the legacy of your family’s name. Dressing in your armor first, you made sure to give yourself time to eat and be at the training area before anyone else. As they started to gather, you could hear the whispers. Some were amazed you stood before them; others doubted you could do what was asked of you. You had been doubted before and look where you stood now.

“You all know who I am. Therefore, I will skip the formalities. Train hard and you will represent Asgard with pride. If you let your prejudices consume you, decide to make the choice to disregard what I will teach and you will be removed. Do you understand?” There were more whispered murmurs from the group as you looked around. “I want an answer. Do you understand?”

“We understand.” Was the answer received. It echoed against the walls of the training area. You nodded letting the training begin. Formations and defense moves were to start. There were several pushbacks with several members but you pushed right back. No one was going to force you out. Especially when you knew, you could make them better.

Loki lived in the shadows since his return. Just as he had when everyone thought him dead. Now he had the opportunity to go into the light of day and here he stood watching you. The ache in his chest was made only worse with his proximity to you now. His heart nearly exploded in seeing you again on Midgard. You were the last person he ever thought he would see again. Now he suffered with you so close. It took every fiber of his being to not grab you and show you what was in his heart. Long ago, he thought you knew, but… No, he could not think of it again. It hurt more every time he thought of it.

One of the soldiers had taken a sly shot at you causing you to fall. Loki nearly jumped off the terrace where he stood to take off the man’s head. However, you flipped up from the ground grabbing the man by the back of the neck, bringing his face against your knee, crushing his nose. You were a blur as you spun around, connecting your foot with the side of his head. The man flew to the ground with a loud grunt. Loki had to cover his mouth to prevent a cheer from being heard. He did not think he had ever been so proud of you than at the moment. That feeling only increased as you stood over the man asking if he yielded. Loki could not hear what the man said but he watched as you offered your hand to help him stand.

“Has she not grown lovelier over the years?” Frigga’s voice sounded from behind him. His posture stiffened as his knuckles turned white from his grip on the terrace wall.

“Good morning, mother.” She laughed as she rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes it is a good morning, Loki. Overseeing our new Captain?” He sighed releasing his grip.

“I think you know better.” Frigga turned Loki to face her.

“I do. Circumstances are far different now my son. You both are free to love whom you choose. Tell her… show her what is in here.” Resting a hand over his heart, her eyes pleaded with him.

“It is not so easy, mother. I said so many cruel things, committed so many atrocities I do not believe she could forgive it all. There is her one betrayal of me… It never leaves my mind.” His mother looked confused. Never had she heard anything from him or you about a betrayal.

“What betrayal?” Loki shook his head.

“It truly means nothing now. But it will always be there in the back of my thoughts.” Your calls to the soldiers could be heard up on the terrace causing them both to look down towards those gathered. They watched quietly for several minutes as the warriors ran through the motions you were showing them. It started to look like a well-played dance as they started to move in unison. “Even now she draws them in with little effort. They all flock to her and they do not know why.”

“Whether she cares to admit it, she is as her father in that way. People just listened to him as they do now to her. You are correct though, she does not know it.”

Time passed by so quickly you hardly believed you had been Captain nearly a month. Those under your command were making great strides and training was going well. You felt as though you found what your purpose was. Everyone could see how much happier you were recently. Training with the Defenders during the day and doing whatever pleased you at night. Many times it was enjoying ale and stories with those you held close. For once, everything felt right. Drawing a hot bath, you stretched out letting your muscles relax after another hard day of training. You closed your eyes as you rested your head against the back of the vessel. A hint of a smile played with you lips as you toyed with the idea of how good it would feel to have a man between your legs right now. Pushing slowly into you as he kissed your neck. Damn it, it had been far too long since that had occurred.

A frown replaced the smile as you thought back to the last time. It was awful and the man had been in such a hurry to get between your thighs that he finished quickly and had pleasured you naught. The best time had been your first. Worshipping your body throughout, his tongue had tasted every bit of your skin. He had ensured any pain felt was followed by more pleasure than you had ever dreamed. There had not been another time such as that. Thinking of his lips on your skin now… it made all your sensitive areas tingle desperately.

“By the Gods… no.” Standing quickly from the bath, you dried and put on your leather armor. There was only one way you could think to work off that feeling. Thor found you not long after fighting an unseen target with an aggression that was rare.

“Should I ask or will it remove my head from my shoulders?” You did not answer at first as you were heaving for breath.

“I needed… to rid my mind… of thoughts…. This was… the only way.” Pointing a water skin close by, he picked it up tossing it to you. He stood looking at you with a raised brow. “No, I will not confess it to you.”

He laughed his deep barrel laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I will let you have your thoughts. Though I may have something that may support ridding them.” You emptied half the skin before looking back to him.

“Tell me…”

Thor’s something was a journey to one of the outer villages to stop raiders that had been ransacking over that part of the realm. Many homes had been destroy and there were reports of people taken. It was unknown what had become of them. Word had been sent to Odin for help. The king gave the task to Thor to remedy. Now here all seven of you stood in the midst of the burning village. Thor had forced Loki to join the group. Told him it was important to show that he was longer who he had been. It was a chance to redeem himself. Reminding him of all the times they had joined to fight together. Loki merely rolled his eyes but joined knowing he would see you. It was torture in itself but he had no resistance against what you did to him.

The plan was to take out of raiders you could now in the main area of the village, saving what innocents you could. Then you all would concentrate on finding those who orchestrated the attacks. Within the hour, the village had been mostly cleared. Word came that several of the leaders had taken over a farm on the western edge. It backed up to a dense forest where the terrain made it difficult to attack from that direction. Obviously one of the reasons they chose that area. The group stood together on the hill looking down at the farm. There were only two guarding outside but you knew there were far more on the inside. “Fald?” You asked with a wicked grin. Volstagg groaned and Fandral rubbed his face. Thor looked between the group then back to you. Loki was confused.

“Fald? The village of Fald?” You looked back to him with a devious glint in your eye.

“Yes, that Fald.” Thor groaned but extended his arm as to let you go ahead.

“My friend… Try not to take the damn building down on top of us again.” You shrugged as you took off down the hill. The darkness masking your movements from the raiders. The group followed behind as you came upon the large barn. Voices could be heard from inside, far more than you expected. Thor and Volstagg walked in front of your ready to pull open the large barn doors. “Ready?”

That grin had not left your face; nodding to him, you started to pull the energy from deep within you. The two men pulled the doors off their hinged causing those inside quite the shock. Walking closer with your glowing hands caused more though they started to run towards you. “I thank you for the welcome party. Though I think you all need to learn to not take that which does not belong to you.” Thor and Volstagg ran out of the way, as you sent the electric pulse towards those coming for you. It knocked them all back, sending a few through the barn walls. Loki was in utter amazement. “The building still stands. Does that please you?”

Thor laughed before running into the fight. Everyone else following behind. Swords and hammers clashed, screams of those who met their end filled the air. Blood marred your armor as you fought through their ranks. The group had been separated by the end of the battle. There had been more raiders in the forest that had come to join in the fight when they heard the screams. Over all the commotion, you heard a different scream. One of panic and fear, from a woman. As you glanced over at your companions, you noted they were all well prepared and able to finish those that were left. The scream rang out again forcing you to follow it.

The far end of the farm was a line of old trees. You found two raiders attempting to drag a girl off towards the woods. She could not have been more than fifteen. “Let her go before I relieve you of several favorite appendages.” Your swords drawn holding one in each hand ready. The one that held the girl pulled a blade up to her throat, showing a smile that held few teeth.

“This one is ours. Step close and we will see how pretty she bleeds.” The girl tried to squirm by the blade pierce just a bit of her flesh causing blood to well up then trail down her neck. There was no way for you to use your abilities and not hit the girl as well. Tentatively you took a step close. The man pulled the blade even closer causing the girl to cry out. “I told you… I don’ care if I kill her. Always more I can take.”

“Take me then. Let the child go.” Both men look surprised you would be willing to trade yourself for some girl.

“Fine, drop your weapons. “ You did as they said, dropping both blades to the ground. “Good, now… step closer.” It did not take a genius to know what they were going to do. The second man grabbed you roughly. “Good now we gotcha both.”

“Not today.” Throwing your head back you heard the crunching of bone of the one that had you before punching the other one in the face. He lost his grip on the girl and you screamed at her to run to your companions. She did not wait for further instructions, running faster than she ever had. Both men converged on you, pissed that you cost them their prize. One of them slammed his fist into your stomach causing the wind to fly from your lungs. The other kicked your ribs hard as you were bent over. Somehow, you were able to catch yourself from falling completely over. Turning quickly you kicked one in the gut causing him to fall. The other hit you in the head with something hard. That sent you to your knees. You could feel the blood dripping down the side of your face as you tried to call your energy to you.

“Hold her…” A third man’s voice called out. Your arms were pulled back behind you holding tight. As much as you wanted to fight back, the pain in your head would not allow it. A metal collar was secured around your neck sending a jolt through your body. Another blow to the back of the head and your world faded into darkness.

You companions had cleared out the rest of the raiders from the farm. They were all exhausted, filthy, and quite ready to return to Asgard. Sif was the first to notice. “Where has [Y/N] gone? I have not seen her in some time.” Everyone looked around quickly before deciding to separate to search for you. Several hours passed before they admitted you were gone.

“We need to find her, now!” Loki was on the brink of panic as his heart pounded in his chest. If something happened to you… It was then the girl you had saved came out of hiding. Timidly she approached the group.

“Pardon, my Prince… the woman told me to find you.” Thor looked down at the girl.

“The woman? Our companion?” Nodding, the girl looked petrified. “Tell me, where is she?”

“Those men, they wanted to take me. Called me a new plaything. She stopped them. Told me to run and find you. They took her. They beat her and dragged her off. I just wanted to see if she was all right. I should have found you as she said. I am so sorry...” The girl broke into hysterical sobs before Fandral embraced her.

“It’s all right child. We will find her.” He whispered quietly in her ear and he comforted her. Once she had calmed they were able to determine the direction you had been taken. Your friends went off into the night searching for you. Their only hope was finding you before any further damage could be inflicted.

They searched for days for you, to no avail. It was as though you and your captures had vanished into the void. Heimdall could not even locate you. Loki was half-mad with his worry. Every moment sleeping or waking was of you and his love for you. It consumed him. The six of them were camped out along one of the major rivers of Asgard. He walked off to drown in his own thoughts without having to hear the horrid snores of Volstagg. Thor followed not far behind. “We will find her brother, I promise you.”

“Promises are worthless until she has returned.” The curtness stung a bit, but Thor chose to not return it.

“You are not the only one who cares for her. Every person here loves her in their own way. None of them will give up until she is home.” Loki shook his head walking towards the water.

“I have held on to so much anger, but I will let it all go just to see her face once more. She may never be mine but I swear to the Allfather I will do anything so that she lives.”

“When she returns, and she will return, you need to tell her that.” Loki turned back to look at Thor, many questions in his eyes.

“You do not care for her as I do?”

“Brother I do not understand. I love her as I would a sister. There is nothing else between us. There never has been.” Loki stepped back reading his brother’s expression.

“Never? You were to be married once. You took her to your bed, just days after I took her innocence. If there was never more than a brotherly affection, tell me how you would bed her.” Thor’s brows raised in surprise.

“Bed her? Loki I never bed [Y/N]. Yes, we were to be bound but spoke that we would not consummate anything until after the rites.” Loki’s skin went paler than Thor would have thought possible.

“I saw her… I saw you… She left your chambers it was nearly dawn. You embraced her then she ran off.” It took a moment for Thor to remember the moment Loki spoke of. When it came to him, he sighed.

“She was speaking of you, dolt. [Y/N] came to me crying that she had betrayed our promise and me. She felt I would cast aside her friendship. The guilt was eating her from within. When she explained, what happened and why she wished to end the engagement, there was no anger. I told her we would figure a way to end it without dishonoring either family. I wanted to find a way for you both to be happy together. She wanted to be with you, brother.” The words stabbed through Loki’s heart cleaving it into so many pieces. As he stumbled backwards, he mumbled.

“I called her a whore…”

Part 7

@feelmyroarrrr @bolontiku @aquabrie @malindacath @frenchfrostpudding @independentgirl @lokislonelylady @hollycornish @magpiemischief @myclock @xxxprettydeadgirlxxx @mariadoghorses @red-writer13 @magellan-88 @mirhem @deepnachodelusion @melkor--dreams @ex-bookjunky @vagabondfairy @cheyowl

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the-delta-42 · 7 years

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The Pirate Prince Chapter 1

The Pirate Prince

Severe AU. Link was orphaned at 3 months old and taken in by the King of the Gerudo, Ganondorf. Fast-forward seventeen years later, a disagreement results in Link leaving and start sailing the seas as the captain of The Fierce Deity, a Pirate ship that is known for hunting down various Criminals. But when the winds of destiny throw Link back to his family, he must force his own past, to ensure his worlds future.

Alternative links FF.net & DA.com

Chapter 1: Orphaned

Ganondorf look across the sand dune of the Gerudo desert atop his horse, his younger sister, Urbosa, rode behind him, the 12-year-old Gerudo girl sulking.

“I don’t know why you’re sulking, I think this is an ample opportunity for you to explore our home.” Said Ganon, a massive grin on his face. Urbosa scowled, “I’d much rather be with the Divine Beast, it’s much more interesting than this.”

“Yes, lest we forget the King of Hyrule’s demands shall we.” Scowled Ganon, he had no lost love for the King of Hyrule, while the Queen was polite and courteous, the King was rude and arrogant. Ganondorf remembered how the King had turned up one day, demanded to speak with him and then tried to make it seem that Ganondorf had grovelled at his feet. That was, until the Queen of Hyrule arrived. The pregnant woman had proceeded to calmly berate her husband in a tone that would’ve made shouting seem peaceful, Ganondorf snorted at the memory of how pale the King of Hyrule had gone.

It was then, the Queen had spoken of Ancient beasts that could fight, and possibly destroy, the Demon King of Evil, which they had done roughly two hundred years ago before they had to be abandoned. Ganondorf remember how the beast had originally been a Gerudo king, before he was defeated by the Hero of Time and the Seven Sages, the beasts quest and lust for power had turned him insane and transformed him into a monster, so much so that the Gerudo that had followed him abandoned him in favour of sealing him within a prison of the Beasts own making. But what the Queen had also told him had shocked Ganondorf to the core.

The Divine Beasts could also awaken the Colossi, ancient being with the power to destroy the world, created by one of the ancient Gods. The only proof that such creatures existed were the remains of cities that had been unearth below the surface of both the land and the Sea. It was rumoured that a couple of such creature were still around, sinking ships that dare to get to close to certain areas.

The Colossi, Ganondorf recalled, only answered to one being. The Chosen Hero, Hylia’s Champion. Which made matters worse because if the Colossi were woken before the Hero was found, destruction would rain down upon the world.

“Nonnie!” Came Urbosa’s voice, piercing through Ganondorf’s thought like an arrow.

Ganondorf turned to face his sister, who was scowling at him. “What?” Asked Ganondorf, frowning at how adorable his sister looks when she scowled.

“There’s something over there.” Pointed Urbosa, Ganondorf sighed, hoping it wasn’t another Sand seal, those things had already taken many of the other Gerudo by storm, he hoped that they wouldn’t take his sister as well.

What Urbosa was pointing at was something covered by the sand.

“Wait here.” Said Ganondorf, dismounting his horse and drawing his Scimitar before approaching the object. What first got his attention was an arrow sticking out of the objects side, with some liquid staining that sand.

Ganondorf nudged it with his foot, making it role over. Revealing a Hylian man wearing the garb of the King’s Knights. Ganondorf frowned before looking around again and spotting another mound, this one at an odd angle, as if it were holding something. Ganondorf walked towards it before an ear-splitting cry erupted from the mound. Ganondorf rushed to it, noting that this one was the body of a woman, before spotting the bundle, Ganondorf looked closely at it.

“What do you think it is?” Said Urbosa, suddenly at Ganondorf’s side. Ganondorf jump at the sound of his sister’s voice.

“I thought I told you to wait where you were.” Said Ganondorf, annoyed. “I waited, got bored and came to you.” Said Urbosa, shrugging, “So, what is it?”

Ganondorf was quiet before turning to the source of the noise, which had gone from crying to whimpering. Ganondorf pulled a piece of cloth that covered the thing that was making that noise, what he saw surprised him greatly.

“A baby?!” Asked Urbosa, incredulous, “I thought it would be something interesting.”

Ganondorf picked the baby up, gently cradling them in his arms, before noticing that it was two babies, not one.

“What are we going to do with them?” Asked Urbosa, looking at Ganondorf. Ganondorf was silent for a few moments before he spoke, “We take them back with us, we can send some scouts to bring the bodies back to the Fortress in the morning.”

Urbosa looked as if she wanted to protest but kept her mouth shut, as while Ganondorf was her brother, he was also her King. Ganondorf walked back to his horse, Urbosa trailing behind him.

The journey back was filled with a tense silence, one that Ganon would’ve been able to cut with his Scimitars if he wanted.

“Out with it, Urbosa.” Said Ganondorf, as the Fortress came into view.

“One of the children is a voe.” Said Urbosa, the female child snuggling into her, “The only Voe that is allowed to be within the walls of the Gerudo Fortress and City can only be our King.”

Ganondorf was quiet for a moment before looking at his sister.

“The King of Hyrule broke that law when he made his surprise visit last month.” Said Ganondorf, “and the Law applies to voe who have been raised outside of the Valley, not to one who’s been raised within.”

“Who raise him, Ganon?” Asked Urbosa, “no one would want to take him in, even if you commanded them yourself.”

Ganondorf looked back in front of himself, the Guard standing at the Gate opened the Gate for him and his Sister, Riju the Elder stood not far away, Nabooru standing next to the former chief of the Gerudo.

“You two were longer than you usually were,” Said Riju, the over 200-year-old woman pointing a boney finger at the two, “And you’ve brought company.”

Ganondorf and Urbosa dismounted from their horses, each cradling the infant close to them.

“Ganondorf found two infant children in the desert, Grandmother.” Said Urbosa, looking at Riju, “A Vai and a Voe.”

Riju tutted and walked towards them, “Let me see them.”

Urbosa presented the girl to Riju, who checked her over before handing her back to Urbosa.

“Her name is Aryll, I’m surprised that you didn’t check them over for any identification.” Said Riju, before turning to Ganondorf and held her hands out for the boy.

Ganondorf handed the boy over to Riju, who looked at the baby’s teary face and froze. In her arms, blond hair and blue eyes, with the marking of the Tri-force of courage on the back of his left hand, was the practical spitting image of Link. The young man who’d snuck into the City dressed as a woman, who she met when she was young and bonded with over their mutual love of puns and animals. The young man who defeated the great Calamity, who became her friend. The man who helped her place her feet on the ground when Hyrule was raised from the ashes and reached out for support. The man she had loved, despite herself. The man who’d been dead for near two hundred years.

“Grandmother, what is it?” Asked Urbosa, stepping forwards. “T-the boy is perfectly healthy.” Said Riju, her voice unsteady, “His name i-is Link.”

Riju handed Link back to Ganondorf and quickly walked off, leaving Urbosa and Ganon with Nabooru.

Nabooru was quiet before looking at the two infants, Aryll was fast asleep and Link was awake, his eyes teary and wide. Nabooru walked over to Ganondorf and took Link from his arms and looked at him.

“He is still young.” Said Nabooru, as Link slowly closed his eyes and slept, “too young to be without his mother.”

Ganondorf was silent, watching Link sleep in Nabooru’s arms, as if the place comforted him.

“How old do you think he is?” Asked Urbosa, Aryll slowly waking up and looking at the Gerudo woman.

“The healers would know, but we cannot be sure.” Said Nabooru, adjusting the sleeping babe, “We still need to find them a family.”

Ganondorf was silent, thinking on the two children.

“We don’t need to.” Said Ganondorf, looking at Link while the child slept in Nabooru’s arms, “I will raise them.”

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templarhalo · 7 years

Text

Endryd Haar: The Riven Hound Chapter 2

Thanks to @sisterofsilence for her constructive criticism and loaning me Tribune Arlette Augusta Amon Rakaposhi Gorro, her amazing and badass female Custodes. Did I mention she's the Emperor's Equerry?

“Let's go over this again traitor. Your legion was exchanging gene-seed data with the World Eaters and successfully produced Gene-Seed that combined traits from the World Eaters and Emperor's Children Gene-seed that could theoretically could produce a stronger Astartes with a minimal chance of implant rejection. Correct?” Kal said softly.

“That’s correct.” Titus said.

The Emperor’s Children’s face was a mass of precision knife cuts courtesy of Boian. Haar had broken his nose again.

“Why'd you combine World Eaters Gene-seed with your own legion’s? Wouldn't it taint your “Perfect” Gene-seed?” Boian asked.

“On the contrary, The World Eaters Gene-Seed was most suited for the augments we wanted to add and the accelerated implantation in hosts. In addition it had the lowest rate of implant rejection after the Sons of Horus and Iron Warriors, both which were rejected due to difficulties in combining the samples. Chief Apothecary Bile decided that the World Eaters gene seed was perfect for this project.”

“What role does to that girl in that stasis coffin play in this little project of yours?” Haar asked.

“She is someone my master has been looking for a very long time. You see, before we found her, this project was all theoretical. To borrow a mortal phrase. A wet dream. But you see Ruri and I found this girl when we were attacking a world.. She was the daughter of all some imperial noble Daken killed and her genetic profile indicates she is a perfectly compatible match to our hybrid Gene-Seed.”

“You don't mean to-

“ Oh yes, she would be our first test subject. The Blade of Chemos was supposed to pick me up and take the girl and I to Master Bile’s workshop. He was to supervise her implantation personally. And considering the girl is young and healthy, with excellent physical traits…”

Haar put the pieces together.

“I remember a time when your legion would condone such acts.” Haar said

“My legion?” Titus said incredulously “It was Gahlan Surlak, Master of Induction for your legion who proposed the project to Master Fabius.” Titus said.

Haar was silent.

“We'll have some more questions for you later.” Haar said.

“I won't be going anywhere.” Titus said.

Haar, Boian and Kal left the cell.

“I can't believe the traitors really are that desperate.” Boian said.

“Of course they are. With the loss of Bodt to Autek Mor and his Iron Hands and the heavy casualties they regularly sustain, our former brothers will do anything to keep the legion’s numbers up. And Horus knows every Astartes he loses is one he won't have at Terra. The bastard knows the scales are balancing out. “ Haar said.

The three strode through the hallways of the the Tyrannis. The Tyrannis’ hallways were empty. When they weren’t in battle, the mortal crew was sleeping like the dead.

With the exception of Ella who shot them a glare that could bore through Terminator Armor as the three Astartes walked into the apothecarium.

“Remind me why I’m here again and not in my nice warm bed?” she asked out loud. The Flag Captain was clad in a plain white slip, wool slippers and an oversized fur shawl. He hair was free of the braid it had been for hours and her blood red locks tumbled past her shoulders in a messy sprawl.

“ Because you are a woman, Flag-Captain. The trauma this girl probably endured means she might have a rather violent reaction to four Astartes.” Apothecary Danek said as he checked the readouts on the old cogitator that was hooked up to the stasis coffin.

Like Haar and Boian, Danek had been inducted long before the Twelfth Legion became War Hounds . Danek was dark of skin, and his face a mix of scars, stitches and burns. What patches of hair he had leff was sloppily cut, almost like it had been done with a combat knife.The good apothecary was missing his right ring finger and his left eye was a bionic. His right eye was the the red rimmed one of someone who had spent a good portion of their career around rad weaponry. His body was all but broken, held together by artificially replaced organs, bionics and a desire for vengeance. The right side of his throat was a partial augmetic due to phosphex burns . This also had required the removal of his Betcher’s Gland. The lower right side of his chest was all bionic organs and metal ribs. One of his three lungs and part of his Osetic kidney had been blown to bits. One lung was partially collapsed and kept working because of a device attached to his chest plate that pumped oxygen directly to it. His Multi Lung had been poisoned by radiation and Death Guard chemical weapons. One of his Progenoid Glands had been destroyed as well. His right shoulder had a Rotor Cannon round embedded in it. His body, his right leg in particular was a mass of tumors from aggressive cancers. Worse his Larraman’s organ was slowly breaking down and not healing his body as quickly as it use too. His Mark III Power armor was as broken as his body. He had long disposed of the right gauntlet and he had replaced his right shoulder pad with a piece of Scout armor. His left thigh-plate was held together by two crossed chains. His left Pauldron was carpeted with molecular bonding studs and there was plenty of cracks that had been filled with solvent. Deep gouges covered nearly every surface of the armor and much of the original black paint was now gunmetal grey. Dried blood dotted the armor as well.

Erud said he would repair the armor one day, but he had never gotten around to it.

Danek limped over to the Cogitator, the right leg joint of his armor sparked a little bit.

“We're readyEndryd.” Danek said.

“Do it.” Haar said.

Danek nodded and pressed a switch .

Steam hissed and pistons fired. The cover of the Stasis-Coffin retracted .

“Vitals are green so far. Brain activity is speeding up. Her core body temperature is rising .” Danek said.

The girl rose from the coffin like she was waking from a nightmare. Her eyes, a deep brown the color of freshly tilled soil or chocolate darted around the room .

‘“Where am I? Who are you?” she said.

“Calm yourself child. We mean you no harm.” Danek said in a soothing tone.. This was rather difficulty, as a throat ravaged by cancers and partially augmetic didn’t lend itself to a comforting voices.

“Can you tell us your name?” Danek asked.

“It's Vesta sir. Vesta..”

The girl put a hand to her head.

“Headaches?” Danek asked.

“Yes sir. I’m sorry, but I can't remember anything. I don't even remember my last name. “

“That’s alright. I am sure your memories will return in time. I am Apothecary Danek. The other Astartes you see are Praetor Endryd Haar, Chaplain Kal Jakar and Sergeant Boian Traven. The woman is Flag Captain Ella Thylin.”

“I. It’s nice to meet you. Forgive me for asking, but I don't know what legion you're from.”

“We left our legions behind us. We are Blackshields. Space Marines who remained loyal to the Emperor and the Imperium while our brother became traitors. “ Haar said softly.

“ Traitors. I remember the Emperor's Children. They and the World Eaters came to- “ Vesta put her hand on her head.

“ Don't worry about trying to remember Vesta. We're going to our best to help you. Can you step out of the coffin?” Haar asked with a gentleness in his voice that surprised himself.

“ Yes. “ She rose and then paused.

“Apothecary Danek, do- do you have some clothes for me?” she asked timidly. Vesta wrapped her arms across her developing chest.

It was in that moment that the three Astartes and Ella realised the girl was naked.

“ I knew I was forgetting something.” Danek said.

After Ella wordlessly handed Vesta her shawl. Kal had gone down to the supply a room and returned. with a set of grey robes and some boots. The robes didn't exactly fit, but they would do until they could get her measured for some better clothing.

Danek had given her a physical, taken blood and tissue samples and pronounced her in good health. Albeit partially amnesiac . He also explained why the traitors wanted her.

“ Your memory must have wiped before they put you in the Stasis casket. Probably in the misguided notion that it would reinforce your hypno-indoctrination. Which it does not. I can't promise your entire memory will return, but some should come back to you over time.”

Kal and Endryd had then taken her to the cafeteria and watched her scarf down a surprising amount of food. It was quite amusing to see, as Vesta was trying to be dainty and have good manners,while trying to get as much food in her mouth as possible.

After that they the taken her to the Tyrannis’ seamstress, Philone. Philone had been a civilian, an old woman whose world and husband had been lost to the traitors. She sewed and mended the garments and assisted in other duties aboard the ship. She was a fine old lady full of wisdom and had a tongue as sharp as a Chainsword.

Philone took some measurements and soon had seven robes produced for Vesta.

Unlike Vesta’s ill-fitting and baggy grey robe, the robes Philone spun for her,were made of the same beige cloth meant for a Remembrancer’s robes and fit her perfectly.

“You’ll fit in just fine at Terra.” Haar said.

“Terra!” Philone exclaimed.

“ We need to speak with Lady Arlette Philone, the traitors want Vesta and we need to plan a course of action . “

“You'll need a better outfit if you're going to Terra girl!” Philone said. She held up a strip of purple cloth and scrutinized Vesta.

“The robes you made me are fine Lady Philone.” Vesta said shylly.

Philone glared at Vesta. It was a glare that even Haar found intimidating.

“Nonsense Vesta! You're meeting with Lady Arlette herself! She’s aTribune of the Legio Custodes You need some much more regal looking than that! Besides I’ve been wanting to make something nice for a long time. Especially since the Flag-Captain won’t let me make anything nice for her.”

“You do know the Flag-Captain doesn’t appreciate your unsubtle attempt at finding her a date.” Kal Jakar said.

“Hmph, mark my words, Ella will come down here asking me to weave her something nice for a date she has with some nice lad or lass, maybe even an Astartes. Throne knows this ship is big enough to them to find a place to have a date and -”

“We do have a twelve year old present.” Kal said.

‘It’s alright. I know what she’s talking about. Ms. Thyln is a nice lady, i’m surprised she hasn’t found someone yet.” Vesta said.

The three Astartes stared at the young maiden.

“I’m an amnesic twelve year old girl, not an idiot.” Vesta said.

Philone cackled.

It was agreed upon by Haar and the Blackshields that Vesta should have her own room in the Astartes quarters. There had been an unused room right across from Haar that she could use. This also was so in the unlikely event they were boarded Haar and the others could quickly defend her. Plus if she needed medical attention, Danek would be close at hand. The cot was sized for an Astartes, and Vesta declined an offer for a human sized one.

Vesta had a pillow, a brown wool blanket and a thick quilt that was a mosaic of colors. She lay there for a while. Then she had fallen asleep rather quickly.

Unfortunately her dream that night were anything but pleasant

“My lord the walls have been breached. The traitors are now inside the capital,” Lord Marshall Marcus Quintus said.

Vesta’s father Justinian Augustus, Imperial Governor of Byzas Longa, sighed.

He asssesed the tactical hololiths., sighed again and looked at her and her brother.

“Theodosius! Look after my children. Get them to the starport. The time has come for me to meet Horus’ whelps blade to blade.”

Theodosius, Captain of the Praetorian Guard made the pre-unity salute. He was a huge man. A Gene-enhanced man like the rest of her father’s bodyguard. Some in the court whispered he had once been a Thunder Warrior.

The five members of the Praetorian Guard were clad in Void-Hardened Carapace Armor. They carried Volkite Chargers and had power weapons sheathed at their side.

“Father “-her brother, Trajan began.

“You and your sister look after each other Trajan. And do not cause mischief for old Theodosius,” he said, his tone light as he unsheathed his Paragon Blade

“You're going to your death father.” Vesta said

“You have your mother’s bluntness Vesta. Yes I am. I will not cower in my palace while these traitors slaughter my people. And someone must rally the remaining militia and Solar Auxilla to buy time for the last of the civilians and yourself to escape.”

“But father.”

“Vesta you and your brother, are my legacy. Children like yourself will be the future of this Imperium. As long as you live the fires of the Imperium will keep burning. The heart of mankind will not be snuffed out by Horus and his ilk.”

“I love you both. I cannot tell you how proud I am to have such wonderful and intelligent children. I know you both will accomplish great things. “

Vesta could tell Trajan was holding back tears.

Justinian smiled and hugged them. Than Theodosius led them the underground escape route in the palace..

Vesta never saw her father again,

The traveled for about 10 minutes underground, although it felt much longer to Vesta. They climbed up a ladder and emerged just outside the starport. The small warp-capable skiff lay a few meters away.

Vesta heard screams and the sound of Bolter and lasfire in the distance.

She drew her Volkite Serpenta, it's weight a comforting presence. Trajan drew his Power Sword.

“Greetings.” a rich cultured voice said. The voice belonged to an Astartes. An apothecary of the Emperor’s Children. Standing next to him was another apothecary clad in the blood stained white and blue colors of the World Eaters. Behind them was five Palatine Blades of the Emperor’s Children and ten World Eaters Tactical Marines.

The Praetorian Guard leveled their Volkite Chargers. Trajan didn't stand in front of Vesta, which was good. She didn’t want her overprotective brother blocking her line of fire.

“ Allow to me introduce myself. I am Titus Phovian. You must be Justinian Augustus’ children. You should be proud. He slew three of my Palatine Blades and five World Eaters before Centurion Daken removed his head.” the Apothecary said in an oddly polite tone.

The World Eaters apothecary signaled to his men .

The ten World Eaters charged, Chainaxes raised high.

Theodosius and the Praetorian Guard cut half of them town with their Volkite Chargers before they got into melee range. Theodosius killed one with his Power Axe before they hacked him into pieces. Two members of the Guard took another with them into death’s embrace . That left three to charge the two youths.

Vesta dropped one with a clean headshot. The second one took two shots to the face before his twisted soul left his body.

The third Eater of Worlds met his end at Trajan’s Power Sword. Trajan had rammed his sword deep into his throat.

He withdrew it and shook the thick transhuman blood off the sizzling power field.

“That was unexpected. “ The World Eaters Apothecary said gruffly.

One of the Palatine Blades stepped forward and Vesta shot him in the chest. He fell to ground with a thud.

“Who’s next!” Vesta shouted. She sounded a lot braver than she felt.

The World Eater Apothecary charged them. He was a blur as he raised his Chainaxe. Trajan lunged forward, his Power Sword held in both hands.

The Apothecary’s blow sent Trajan’s Power Sword skidding out of his hands. He struck Trajan with the back of his chainaxe. The blow sent him flying into the ground . He did not rise again.

Vesta leveled the Volkite Serpenta at the apothecary, before a hand wrapped around the back of her throat and lifted her up. The Volkite Serpenta slipped out of her hands.

She grunted in pain as she felt a needle dig into her neck. She heard the device on Titus’ gauntlet chime .

“ Ruri my friend, today must be our lucky day.”

“What are you talking about?” Vesta said.

“You. Don’t worry my dear, Ruri and I going to take good care of you. “

Before Vesta could question him further, Titus extended his Narthecium. She felt something sting her neck. Then everything went black.

Vesta woke up screaming. It all had come back to her. The death of her world Her time in that monster Titus’ hands. Watching her brother be turned into a mindless killing machine. The needles and tubes as Titus poked and prodded at her. His cruel whispers and how his hand would stroke her hair .

She sobbed. Part of her wanted to hold her tears back, but she couldn't. She cried and cried and cried.

When she ran out of tears to shed she rose and wrapped the brown wool blanket around herself and stood up. She walked out of her room and found herself standing outside Haar’s door. Without thinking, she knocked on the door.

Haar answered. Unlike Vesta, who wore a blue nightgown and had wrapped herself in her blanket, Haar was naked but for a loincloth.

Vesta couldn't help but stare.

Haar’s physique was amazing, even by Astartes standards. Regular combat, rounds in the fighting pits and long gymnasia sessions during interstellar voyages had has left him with a body any mortal and more than some Astartes would kill for.

Vesta blushed. Haar just stared.

“ Can I sleep with you tonight? I… I don't want to be alone.“ She asked.

“Danek said this might happen. I'm assuming you had a nightmare?” Haar asked.

Vesta nodded.

“Did you memories return?“ he asked.

“Yes.” Vesta said. She looked so frail. The blanket she wrapped herself in dwarfed her.

“Do you want me to wake Danek? am sure he has sleeping medication.” Haar asked.

“No! No sedatives. I don’t need them. “ Vesta said with a fierceness that surprised him.

Haar felt something like pity but he squashed the feeling. To pity this girl after all she endured would be disrespectful.

Without a word he let Vesta in his quarters.

Haar’s quarters were plain. There was a cot, foot locker, and rack for Haar’s wargear. The World Eaters were never big on ornamentation and any trappings from Haar’s former legion had been removed. The large desk and chair that had been sized for an Astartes had not been used for some time.

Haar made room for Vesta on his cot. She snuggled close to him and in seconds she was asleep.

The voyage to Terra was three weeks. Vesta spent much of her time helping crew members with various tasks aboard the ship. Her free time was filled with medical check ups at Daken’s hands, being fitted for various clothes with Philone and reading. The Tyrannis had a rather nice library and Vesta enjoyed the solitude it offered. Kal Jakar and Boian often joined her. Kal asked if she wanted to go to the Mass he held aboard the ship, Vesta went a few times out of politeness, but the Lectitio Divinitatus didn't really appeal to her. (She did remember her father turning a blind eye to it on Byzas Longa.)

Boian often made jokes. Sometimes really dirty ones that made her laugh so hard she cried.

And then there was the fighting pits.

While the Blackshields utterly rejected their previous legions and traditions, including the spoken and written languages they once used, old habits died hard. Many of the Fangs of the Emperor. Were former World Eaters, and sparring was a good way to vent anger and grief. In addition it, settled conflicts and rivalry and was good for morale. The mortal crew loved to bet on the fights.

The arena was a section of the vehicle storage bay that had been unused for quite sometime. Empty ammo crates formed a ring. Chairs and other empty crates acted as seating for the spectators. . A few jars of olive oil that had been borrowed from the kitchen had been laid out for those who wished to anoint themselves before a match.

Kal Jakar was refereeing. Karanthus stood beside him ready to intervene if a match became to the death rather than to third blood.

Vesta liked watching the matches. It was interesting seeing an astartes fight. The spectacle, the brotherhood. The jokes and curses, all were entertianing and so interesting. .

Vesta’s seat, nicknamed the “Kathisma” or royal box, by the Blackshields was two ammo crates stacked atop each other with a blanket laid atop it. It gave her an excellent view of the matches.

Right now it was Boian and a Blackshield named Gorrivan, were sparring. Gorrivan held a chainsword in one hand, a chainaxe in the other. Boian held a Power axe. Both warriors wore loincloths and their. Gorrivan had already taken two blows. Boian was untouched.

Gorrivan made an overhead swipe with his chainaxe while simultaneously stabbing with his chainsword. Boain sidestepped him and raked his power axe across his back.

“Third blood.” Kal Jakar said.

Gorrivan growled but the two shook hands.

“Next time Boian.” He growled.

“Of course.” Boian said with a smile.

“Who’s next?” Boian called.

As Vesta observed the next match. As she saw these transhumans, these living weapons cheer laugh, and curse. She wondered, what had made them a family? These men were all from different legion’s, different cultures. Was it because they were outcasts? Was it because they had stayed loyal and true when others went astray? Was it all of it or none of it?

Vesta could have asked, but she was content to wait. Something told her that she would get wildly different answers. It would be better to observe and interact with these men, these pariahs and she’d find the answer herself.. After all, with her world and family dead, she was like them now, an orphan of war and betrayal.

Terra.

Humanity’s cradle. Humanity’s mother. Without her the human race would not exist. Without her, the Legiones Astartes would not exist.

Terra was the most important world in the Imperium of Man. No other world rivaled it in its splendor or glory.

Being the impending target of Horus’ invasion Terra was now a fortress world. The vast fleet of the VII legion, the Imperial Fists, circled it like wolves. Thousands of vessels of various classes, from corvettes and frigates to the Five Gloriana class battleships that surrounded the Phalanx, the massive vessel that the Imperial Fists called home. A circle of orbital defense stations and star forts ringed the planet.

A single Storm Eagle gunship descended. It bore no markings apart from the scars of war and the old bloodstains on its hull. It was black as night itself.

“Our clearance code has been accepted.” Fabius said.

Haar surveyed the people he brought with him.

Blackshields didn't have formal Command Squads and these were a rather rough honor guard. They sure as Hell wouldn't pass a parade ground inspection.

Harr had has brought Danek, Boian and Kal Jakar. Vesta had come as well. She looked more like the noble she was rather than the scared waif they had awoken from a stasis coffin.

Vesta wore a white Stola with Grecian style sandals. In addition, she wore a purple Palla with a freshly polished Aquila clasp. Haar noted it was an older one that clutched lightning bolts in its talons. Her hair was unbound and her brown hair fell nearly to her waist. She wore no jewelry and had no makeup, but she was beautiful. Perhaps more beautiful the so called “nobles” of the Imperial Court.

“Nervous?” Boian asked.

If Vesta was nervous she hid it well. She didn’t fiddle with her clasp or fidget. She looked straight ahead.

“A little. I mean this is Terra. And we're going to the Imperial Palace ” Vesta said.

“Trust me it get’s boring after a few visits.” Boian said.

Kal Jakar looked like he was going to launch into his “This is Holy Terra, the birthplace of our species” rant, but he remained silent .

Haar looked outside the viewport and scowled.

“Aella is late.” Haar said.

“She is a little girl.” Kal Jakar said.

“The ligo aetes are never late.” Haar sat.

“There’s always a first time for everything Endryd.” Boian said.

“Little eagles?” Vesta asked.

“Custodes in training. They’re mostly young children, but there are a few around your age or older.” Haar supplied.

“I’m surprised you know Grecian.” Danek said with a cough.

“Byzas Longa, my homeworld spoke a dialect of Grecian before the coming of the Emperor, It was still used in court along with High Gothic. My father would switch to it in the middle of a conversation to help me and my brother learn it.” Vesta said in perfect Grecian.

“Well i’ll be damned.” Boian said with a smile. Boian smiled a lot. It gave him an opportunity to show off his Iron teeth.

“Your soul already is.” Kal Jakarsaid in a voice as dry as the desert he was born in.

The two laughed as the ramp opened and they stepped out of the Storm Eagle.

They paused when they came face to face with a Legio Custodes. He stood between them and the entrance to the Inner Palace. The Custodian’s body language indicated great displeasure, though in Haar’s opinion, most Custodian’s body language indicated great displeasure.

“Halt.” The Custodian said.

Haar paused. He recognized that voice.

Prefect Diocletian.

“We are agents of the Imperium and we come being news for Lady Arlette.” Haar said.

“Your kind are not welcome here Blackshield. Neither is the girl you bring.” Diocletian said.

“Why do you deny us passage? We are both warriors of the God-Emperor and we bear the blessing of your Tribune.” Kal Jakar said.

“Silence Word Bearer. The Emperor has forbidden the referral to him as a God. Speak that word again and I will remove your head from your body.” Diocletian said.

In hindsight. Kal Jakar shouldn't have mentioned the God-Emperor, but Diocletian would have stopped them and made the threat. anyway. The Prefect was quite frankly, a dick. Haar knew he did not trust them, and he had probably delayed Aella with some meaningless task like retrieving headlight fluid for the Grav-Rhinos. Haar honestly no idea why Diocletian had delayed them or why he disliked them. You think the Emperor’s own Equerry vouching for them would give them some slack. Haar was pretty sure Malcador’s band of misfits didn't have to deal with this.

Haar decided he had enough. As much as he wanted to rip out the Custodians spine, he’d settle this with words.

“Praetor.” Haar said with all the cold rage and authority he could muster.

“I’m sorry?” Diocletian said.

“My rank is Praetor, Prefect.. You may also address me as Reaver Lord if you prefer. We report directly to Lady Arlette and the Emperor himself. While you are well within your authority to stops us. I believe your reasons for stopping us are personal and not for security reasons. My brothers and I have stayed loyal while our legions turned traitor. We are willing to sacrifice our lives for this Imperium. Not for honor or glory, but for duty and vengeance. This girl you so casually dismissed,has suffered more than any girl her age should have. She has lost her family and her world. The IIIrd legion plans to do unspeakable thing to her. Our own brothers and our primarch’s betrayed us, soaked their blades in our blood. And you dare question our loyalty! You dare to question our honor and commitment to this Imperium! To our Emperor!”

Diocletion was about to reply, but Haar cut him off.

“Now I want you to stand there Prefect Diocletion, in that golden armor of yours and extend some fracking courtesy to myself, my brothers and this girl.” Haar said.

Haar had a feeling he wanted to draw his Misericordia and strike him down.

Than the sound of scampering feet was heard.

“I'm so sorry!” an eight year old voice said.

A blur of red and gold dashed pass Diocletian.

“It is alright Lady Aella.” Kal Jakar said. The Chaplain made the sign of the Aquila.

Aella was a young girl, a few weeks shy of her ninth birthday. She wore the red with gold trim robes of the Legio Custodes Her hair was a black and silky,and she wore it in a braid with a silver and jade hairpin.

“Lady Arlette sends her compliments Praetor Haar. I’m here to take you to the Tranquil Courts.” Aella said in an imitation of a rather regal and important sounding tone.

Aella looked at Vesta.

“Hi! I’m Aella! What's your name?” Aella said this with all the enthusiasm an eight year old girl possessed.

“Vesta.” Vesta replied.

“You're very pretty. I like your Palla.” Aella said.

She turned to lead them to inside.

“Aella,could you wait a moment. Prefect Diocletian needs to tell me something.” Haar said.

“Sure!” Aella said cheerfully.

Haar looked at Diocletian.

Haar could tell Diocletian was gritting her teeth beneath his helm.

“I apologize for my rudeness Praetor.”

“Not just me.” Haar said. He gestured to Kal Jakar.

“I apologize for my unkind words, Chaplain. I hope I have not offended you.”

“Think nothing of it. The Emperor's blessing be upon you Prefrect.” Kal Jakar said. He made the sign of the Aquila. For politeness sake, Diocletian returned it.

Diocletian turned to Vesta.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, My Lord. It's a honor to be here.” Vesta said.

“You're too kind for your own good, girl.” Danek said with a laugh.

“We’re ready to proceed Aella.” Haar said.

Aella smiled, waved goodbye to Diocletian and led them into the Imperial Palace.

The Tranquil Courts was perhaps the only part of the Imperial Palace not fortified. An eye of peace and beauty in a storm of iron and stone.

Tribune Arlette Augusta Amon Rakaposhi Gorro was waiting for them in a spacious patio.

Arlette was a rather striking woman with brown skin and black hair that stopped at her shoulders. She wore red robes with fur and gold trim. She held an old graphite pencil in her hand.

The square table she sat at was carpeted with paperwork.

The table style was one he did not recognize. Although, Haar did not an Emperor’s Chilrdren or Thousand Sons, skill in recognizing furniture. It was strangely low, and her seat was directly on the ground

She looked up from the parchment she was scribbling on. Writing implements of various types lay in easy reach. Everything from pencils and various types of pens to monoquills.

Arlette smiled at Aella as she bowed.

“Hello Aella, did Diocletian delay you?”

“Yes my lady, Prefect Diocletian was grumpier than usual.” Aella said with a pout that was more adorable than annoyed.

“It’s probably because we're here,we’re not exactly good little boys compared to Dorn’s little builders.” Boian said.

Aella giggled and Arlette smiled.

Haar gestured to Vesta.

“Lady Arlette, this is Vesta Augustus, the heir to the Imperial governorship of Byzas Longa.”

“She’s a friend of ours.” Boian said.

It’s an honor, my lady.” Vesta said with a bow.

“The honor is mine, the Emperor and I enjoyed our time on Byzas Longa.” Arlette said.

Haar watched the two women make eye contact.

This was not merely the meeting of two women, this was the meeting of two queens.

One who was young and recently crowned, ready to take her throne and do her duty. The other, older and more comfortable in her role. One who had done all her king and subjects asked for and more.

“Aella could you bring my guests and I some tea?” Arlette asked.

“Yes ma'am. What kind of tea do you want?” She asked.

“My usual.” Arlette said.

“Black.” Haar said.

“Lemon, one cream, milk and two sugars.” Danek said

“Black with three sugars.” Boian said.

“Green tea.” Kal Jakar said.

“Black, one sugar.” Vesta said.

Aella scampered off.

Arlette gestured for them to sit.

Haar sat directly across from Arlette. Kal Jakar sat to his right, Boian on his left. Vesta sat next to Boian, while Danek sat next to Kal Jakar.

Aella returned with a platter laden with mugs of tea.

Haar caught the whiff of cinnamon as Aella distribute the tea.

Haar sipped his tea. After months of recycled water, the tea was a rare treat. He could tell his brothers and Vesta enjoyed the tea immensely.

The woman who saved his life enjoyed her tea immensely as well.

Some compared Arlette to the Roman goddesses Bellona, or the Grecian goddess Pallas Athena, but no such comparison could be made in person.

She was beautiful in her own unique way. She radiated an overwhelming power and grace that rivaled, even surpassed, a Primarch. No one could stand before her without to urge to kneel and prostrate themselves. No one could draw a blade or Bolter to harm her without dying. Either at her hands, or the Emperor’s himself.

She was, in many many ways, the ideal woman.

Haar knew that if it wasn't for Arlette’s backing of the Fangs of the Emperor, they wouldn't have been able to inflict so much damage on the traitors. The Tyrannis wouldn't have been able to be refitted and resupplied. The Sigillite would not have shared his Intel. The Fangs now had an opportunity to die a glorious death that would be remembered by loyal and traitor alike.

“I trust your mission was successful?” Arlette said.

“The Word Eater’s 126th Company has been informally disbanded and a plot that could tip the balance in the traitor’s favor has been discovered. “

“And what does this plot entail exactly?” Arlette asked with a sip of her tea.

“Unsanctioned Legions Astartes implantation and indoctrination methods, tampering with blessed gene-seed and the utter damnation of the souls.” Kal Jakar said.

“What Chaplain Jakar means is that the Emperor’s Children have created enhanced hybrid gene-seed designed to maximize the positive traits of both World Eaters and the Emperor’s Children with a high compatibility rate and a minimum chance of implant rejection. They are also enhanced via genetic data and sample recovered from Blackshield Astartes referred to as Chymarie. Lady Vesta here was to be first test subject. We recovered one of the apothecaries responsible and we’d like to transfer him to the Silent Sisterhood. for interrogation.”

“We’d also like to arrange for protection and sanctuary for Vesta. We also need some more supplies and a couple of fresh crewmen. “ Haar said.

“ The first request I can grant. The second I must deny. The Ten-Thousand must remain at the palace. Like the Sigillite and the Knights-Errant, we are fighting our own Silent War and the casualties have not been light. I cannot spare the Custodes. The Emperor's safety cannot be jeopardized While there are those in the Imperial Court who could provide sanctuary, Alpharius and his sons are here on Terra, until Rogal deals with them, her safety cannot be guaranteed. A moving target is harder to hit, so Vesta will stay with you. As for supplies, the Hall of Weapons is open to you. Perhaps while you restock, you could find some weapons for Vesta here as well. In addition, if your looking for crewmen, many refugees have gathered in the Petitioner’s City, seeking to join the Imperial Army and Navy. I’m sure you will find willing recruits.” Arlette said.

“Thank you My Lady,” Haar said

“You’re welcome Endryd.” she said with a smile.

Haar rose and brought his fist to his chest in the pre-unity salute.

Arlette returned it.

��The Hall of Weapons was like a toy store for an Astartes. While the Fangs could not access the sections reserved for the Custodes and the Silent Sisterhood, there was still plenty for them and their young companion.

Weapons were kept on racks or held in shining stasis-fields. Crates of ammunition were stacked under the racks.

“I could spend decades in this place.” Boian said with a childish grin. He had taken a Phobos-pattern Bolter and about nine clips from one of the racks.

“I don’t doubt that.’ Kal Jahkar said.

Haar hadn’t touched anything, but he had watched Vesta as she browsed the racks.

Vesta had immediately grabbed a Volkite Serpenta, but she had stopped at a collection of swords. She hefted a chainsword and placed it back. She ignored the large two-handed weapons. She paused at the knives and grabbed a Power Knife sized for a mortal and a Chainknife. She also grabbed a Digi-melta and slid it on her left ring finger.

She was smiling the whole time she had done this.

This was the first time any of them had seen Vesta smile.

She looked around some more and went to a small collection of blades and pistols in stasis fields.

She paused in front of a gladius in a stasis field.

“Blade.. Of the Hearth?” Vesta said reading the High Gothic inscription on the blade.

“Looks like an Albian Power Gladius, Shadrak Meduson has one of those. Some officers in the Fourteenth used to carry those.” Boian said.

“A few in the Seventeenth did as well.” Kal Jakar said.

Vesta pressed the key to disengage the stasis field and gently grasped the blade.

It came free from it’s stand with a soft shunk noise.

Vesta gave it a few swings and made a stabbing motion with the blade.

It was in that moment that Harr saw Vesta in a different light.

He now longer saw her as an amnesiac waif or a young noblewoman.

Now she was a warrior-queen.

Now she was ready to take her vengeance on the traitors who stolen everything from her.

And Haar and his Blackshields would gladly fight by her side.

#endryd haar #warhammer 40k #horus heresy #Vesta is going to kill some Emperor's Children real soon.

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autolovecraft · 7 years

Text

Marooned on the wharves with many odd farmhouses crowned by low domes.

Carter stood breathless and expectant on that balustraded parapet there swept up to the far markets of Rinar, Ograthan and Celephaïs.

He bade him therefore be his guest inside the castle atop Kadath was dark when the sun seemed farther south than was its wont. The ghoul that was Pickman advised Carter either to the water's edge. It was a cold twilight realm there is more evil in the taverns of the monstrous castle, and the Other Gods and the great leap through space back to Inquanok and saw the excessive width of their own small covetousness; for the early remembered scenes; the nameless doom that lurked waiting at chaos' core. It is not of earth about them, having gained all the hideous ghouls and the fountains sang, while the land of dreams. Carter had feared, for legend tells of older and more uncomfortable; for they are with their muzzles, and who own not Nyarlathotep but hoary and immemorial Nodens, Lord of Ooth-Nargai beyond the filigreed balconies and tessellated courts of simple Ulthar. It was not much would emerge alive. Never before had he known what shapeless black things with smooth, oily, whale-like distortion of a form not to be known to their people.

Gray day had now floated ahead a definite crest, however, did not like, and having a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in the range, where he could no more in the cavern of flame at certain moments; for there is antique Salem with its nameless monastery and wicked stone villages and unmentionable monastery were really there, and it was. In one place a narrow lane; and those scales are very strange colloquy began. He had met as a memory that it might be needed more acutely near the snow uncounted thousands of feet above, and doubled his speed from this encouragement. Behind him a basalt cliff rose topless and perpendicular; its dark side.

They told him furtively by the slaves of the Tanarian Hills and is sometimes surprised by a Gug. There were the houses, and it was, that mystery whose place and meaning have haunted you through the sky beyond it the lower bowers of verdure. And to that austere and reticent cotter he was not yet evening when the rest to instinct; and all things became again as they approached it.

It proved that they did not know the way. It was a stifling odor of the ship swept on, rounding the eastern headland in the night-gaunts own not Nyarlathotep for whatever nameless bounty might be available for a ship with violet sails bound for Zar, in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as well if none ever found, matters would be disastrous to his feet to avoid as much strength as he could leap off the invading ship, telling them that he had not been very rough and polished loveliness; and at best an unpleasant companion for man. This time, however, that the Great Ones, sending them back gently to those scenes which are known only to turn the slab rise slowly and deliberately. And when it saw them drive the stout black men of that fearsome city. On and on they flew, till at length the slimy soil was fairly black with clouds of those fertile fields that flank the Skai. Scornful and spectral rocks wherein all that he was probably nearer the waking world. Indubitably that primal city was no mind can ever measure, but only stand and cling and shiver in that ancient house and shewed no relenting, nor ever complained when scores of almost-human torch-bearer on either side, whose trees came down clear to him, all ceased their songs or tales and bowed silent till the day the sailors were nervous, but the last, after a fashion alive, and the night-gaunts and mounted ghouls was very beautiful, with bulbs of strange colored lilies for cargo. Once in crossing an open street he wriggled worm-like mountains carven into monstrous watching statues, and the beginning of the Gugs were one sentry less, and the ghouls favored the design, but because he loved nothing on earth more than small black kitten.

The ghouls were none other than the Basalt Pillars of the Great Ones of their hideous laps rose evil Shantaks of elephantine bulk, but these lawless spirits were soon restrained by their conquering kinsfolk, whilst great polished blocks of it were a choice morsel from a certain hellish familiarity; and to the night that galleon floated on past the basalt wale and the great temple and talked with the Gugs. It was a gigantic Shantak, sending him skyward with the phosphorescent clouds to wait patiently for the carved and uncarved awaiting shipment to the reaches of transmontane Leng were joined to form a sight whose loveliness was beyond reality, and was perilous with loose black gravel and small curious round windows all over it and into the sea; but it was doubtful how they thought of such countryside in the shops of men, but the bare feet and hands of the endless twilight. Only those remote and prehistoric monastery wherein dwells uncompanioned the High-Priest Not To Be Described. The seven arched gates of a land whose name no lips dare speak aloud, for truly, it was equally clear that this was not for an instant did the ghouls presently rose ahead the jagged and hideous rock in the forecastle while the hovering galley of kindred form, but found no meaning therein, and basins there to greet them, and sometimes clouded lower down with their blood, dwelling amongst men. Suddenly their desperation was magnified a thousand fold by a sound was made.

The Pickman ghoul allowed several hours for the third day they turned and descended again the onyx-miners by the head was chiefly terrible because of the awakened Gug sentry at all, but gleamed red and having in them the sight. The captain took Carter to the beast which once was Pickman advised Carter to reach Sarkomand in their onyx castle of Kadath lies, nor have you failed ever in thickest darkness, and the gray headlands while still he clung to the hidden gods of earth whom he sought out the bazaar of the brooding clouds shewed it plainly, and even gave him another gourd of moon-things as officers, navigators, and one each before and cast that portion into the wood, and Manx; Tibetan, Angora, and snarled derisive on the farther hills toward the gaunt gray flanks of the Zoogs, for it only till you hear a far forgotten first youth, and the invading land army concentrated in one place, and Carter was not fair to the Other Gods, that are never beheld; and he felt an unaccountable dread of opening it or even capture some young god himself, disguised and dwelling amongst men. The almost-humans fought with the great black mountain that its human origin was already low. Then came too late for rumors and legends he sought.

Only the increasing rarity bothered him, and in that deep place that simple folk say splendid Cathuria lies, nor are the cause of their disgusting meeping and glibbering.

Carter said he was not sure he had snatched abruptly from their tasks to stare seaward and cluster round the waterfront. But they would miss when the first time in dreamland that common folk would call them fools; and his mother nearly out of the slippery floor of black earth, with its blood all sucked away through a singular wound in its immensity. Toward noon a dark coastline appeared, and as Carter stood in the Six Kingdoms. The slant-eyed man had seemed to share with the leaders of the thing above the clouds beneath. Once in a roadside meadow beneath a tent-like distortion of a temple or seen the bulging walls of slippery onyx. Late in the sunset sea, and how the vast clay-brick ruins of a broad and bygone street; and he heard the shivering clang deafening above him, as if his three glimpses from afar, and never smiled because they had nothing to give. The traders that come from the frescoes he had done the next he was moved to deep thought, for they are sure signs of life, and use for the Shantak raised its ears and plunged ahead, and under that leaden northern sky was obscured by the old priest's conversation.

Ships came from the traders and sailors in that army floated captive and helpless in the vaults of Zin where Gugs hunt ghasts in the days after that the ghouls set to with something of a daemon trumpet. Carter soon found that the portal open. Of other clothing they had hooves instead of feet, and the quarry and lost themselves in the violet valley where the Great Ones as set forth in scrolls older than history, and also to warn the people roam reverently at will, and three times was he could no more in the rose-crystal Palace of the monarch's pleasure. Everything focused toward the gaunt gray peaks that divide Inquanok from hateful Leng. He was now nearly past, and all the information he was held for the gods so dislike to be doubted, but was soon overborne by the great black-beamed ceilings and casements of greenish bull's-eye panes. As the Shantak flew lower, revealing beneath the awning and ate the smoking meat that was all steps, and sailors later said that he was close to unpleasant Leng; although high impassable mountains towered on the shore of Yath, on a very old quarter and teaching their sons the old ghoulish custom of killing and eating one's own wounded, and the garden gates, there are fountains, and the snowy peak of Hatheg-Kia. Softly glibbering directions to their wonted place atop unknown Kadath and its dreamland.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath #1926 #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath week

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