#tribune rytlock brimstone

[rosy-opal-commander]

Crecia Stoneglow I fucking love you so much for being so Done™️ with Isgarren bull shit. The exasperated sigh, and the "yes.... very good and big brained of you thank you for your contributions 😒🙄" that's Ryclock's wife for sure. The same attitude of "are you being dead ass rn? Stop playing in my face." Made for eachother.

[skaald-of-the-hearth-fires]

y'all know it's canon that guardians are rarer among charr, yeah? since guardians are so faith-themed and faith and gods are so stimgatized among the charr.

ofc you can have faith in, like, the Legions (and let's be honest, 90% of charr do) but the whole concept of 'faith' as explicitly embodied by guardians is rather a squick to them.

nonetheless! guardians are powerful. lots of good, hefty healing. lots of bashing. lots of bang for your buck with guardians. just. eeeesh.

that means guardians are rare enough that every SINGLE time Rytlock runs into one, the mere fact of them being a guardian is 1) notable and relevant, and 2) reminds him of Logan

Rytlock just can't get away from reminders of that guy huh

[entering--hyperspace]

Common blood legion tribune occurrence

[transzojja]

of course people like rytlock brimstone, he's the most badass hardass sopping wet sad beast in the entire series. he's a tribune, the rest of blood legion hates his guts, he's a hero who's slain dragons, he fucked up and unleashed a corrupt war god, female charr want him carnally, he's divorced, he's the only one with sense, his own son thinks he's a loser, every other race thinks he's big and scary, he's a runt compared to almorra soulkeeper. the dick must be insane.

[telltalecoyote]

Summoned by Rytlock Brimstone to face punishment over the previous night's deeds, Cassius grapples with guilt and remorse for the crime that led to the injury of a fellow soldier at the behest of his sire's strange dream for the legions. Very short story below!

AKA Cassius did a bad thing and now he faces the consequences

(This is a VERY early scene I was thinking about a LOT as I do my play-through of base game)

With no sleep the night prior, Cassius had been sitting at his desk for hours, head planted firmly in the palms of his paws, a summons was delivered not long ago and laid before him, very pointedly left on the blank side as he hoped it would simply disappear.

“Tribune Brimstone.” The signature at the bottom of the summons read, not ‘Rytlock,’ or the even more informal ‘Ryt’ that he was known to use with Cassius for short notice and that alone made stomach drop further than it has in any of his recent field assignments.

He knew what this was about, and the astonishment lingered. Despite covering up his tracks and his sire's, he had even made it seem like no crime had been committed at all. Cassius thought to himself, "What was I thinking? It was treason on both our ends. I was an idiot for believing him, I deserve whatever happens."

His mind raced back to the promises of last night, of revolutionizing the legions, his sire's assurances that no cub would face the horrors he had endured nor have to grow up struggling with no support for similar situations as his. Cassius, however, knew it was too good to be true. A good man was comatose because of him, and he felt responsible. "Change the legions, might as well make me Khan Ur while you’re at it."

The walk to Brimstone's office felt agonizing, minutes stretching into an eternity due to his overwhelming guilt. Rounding the stairs, he tried hard not to glance out over the balcony and over towards the Asuran portal where it all transpired, but he couldn't resist.

With a curt nod to the charr standing guard outside the Tribune’s office, Cassius stalled a moment and took a deep breath, hearing from his flank; “Brimstone’s pissed, hate to be the guy who got on his bad side.”

“Agreed.” Cassius couldn’t tell if he was being mocked or not, but it mattered little. As he entered the office, it felt as if the air was sucked out of the room once it was just the two of them, despite having half expected to find his sire dragged in here as well, bound in cuffs.

“Ryt–” Cassius started, hands folded behind his back in respect as he straightened up, he could anticipate the anger in the Tribune’s voice.

“Brimstone, Witherpaw, it’s Tribune Brimstone.” Rytlock growled, Cassius couldn’t see his face as he stood by the office’s window, back turned. “You know why you are here, did you think I wouldn’t know?”

Cassius gulped. “...Sir, It was a mistake, I don’t know what went through my mind–”

Rytlock spun around, slamming his fist against his desk, causing a ruckus; startling and silencing the younger charr who still stood firm. “Are you stupid, Witherpaw? Or do you just think I am?

Cassius didn’t respond, grimacing as he couldn’t find the strength to meet his superior’s gaze.

"You were such a good soldier, did everything I asked,  went above and beyond with little asking from me," Rytlock's gaze unmoving, "And yet, you were so eager to throw everything away like this? Because your sire filled your head with lies?" 

After a brief pause and no response, he continued. “Even I used to think Ash was stupid to let someone as arrogant and sloppy as Oberon be a spy, but maybe I was wrong if he was able to pull the wool over your eyes, of all people!”

"I apologize, sir. It’s just, he’s my—Oberon, he gave me reasons to trust in what he was doing, even if not for those purposes, he would have no reason—or even ability—to use that information for harm, you’ve said you trusted my call in these sorts of situations." Cassius spoke up, his voice notably quieter.

“That was before you got your fellow charr hurt.” Rytlock didn’t yell this time, and yet it felt even worse. "Do you know what power that words can hold for charr like him; charr even worse than him? Thinking like that is dangerous, Witherpaw." 

Rytlock spat, his glare burning holes into Cassius who struggled to maintain eye contact. "Thinking like that is what creates defectors, it always does, like... like moths to a flame, THE Flame!"

Behind his back, Cassius’ claws dug into his arms as he weathered the assault. Cassius was much younger than the tribune, but he was no cub. Yet, he felt like a child being scolded by his father, a pet being punished by its owner, he couldn't help but take this treatment on a personal level rather than the interaction between military personnel like he should have.

Eventually, Rytlock sighed. Cassius had been one of the tribune’s most loyal legionnaires in what felt like ages; he didn’t wish to give Cassius more reason to turn on him, that would be a waste of talent. "I could have you executed on the spot, but for both our sakes, we can say this was just another crime being pinned on his back by a rival of his. I trust you."

Cassius kept his head low, and despite the words of reassurance; he simply was too afraid to look up. "More importantly, I already have an inkling as to where and to whom that information is going; it won't prove to be any more trouble for me as far as I am concerned. I am simply disappointed in you." 

"You won’t screw up like this again. I have a few assignments coming up that call for my attention, I know I can trust in you to join me." Rytlock grumbled, he approached Cassius and hooked a claw under the younger charr’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. “There, you will listen and do EXACTLY as I command.”

"Yes, thank you, Tribune Brimstone," Cassius gulped, noting the change in Rytlock’s tone—stern, reassuring, and familiar. "Anything you ask."

[commanderhorncleaver]

apologies in the sun

“You already apologized,” Sigmund sighed. His voice was hoarse, and Augustus passed him the waterskin. That electric hum thrummed across the gap between their fingertips, from claw to claw, as he took it. He tried not to worry about the dragon–the dragon wasn’t his priority, not at this moment–but he wondered if it might make things harder for Sig.

“I know that, but it doesn’t make me feel better about it.” The sun beat down on them from a shockingly cloudless sky, and Augustus looked out over the stretch of sand that surrounded them. Gaius and Oberon had split off to find a spot they could contact Taimi, and once again August fretted about the consequences of his outburst the day before. He hadn’t been paying attention to where Gaius had sent Brimstone, though he knew the tribune’s separation from the group was intentional.

Sigmund leaned against him; their fur mingled together pleasantly, and Augustus felt his tail lash. “I already said I forgave you.”

“I know that, too,” Augustus started. Gaius and Oberon hadn’t broached the topic of what had happened–but it wasn’t out of character for either of them to do so. Gaius was as business-oriented as ever, and though he hadn’t voiced it, Sigmund’s sire hadn’t seemed particularly torn up about being puppeted to attack Rytlock. Rather, the older soldier had almost seemed disappointed at losing the opportunity to tear out the tribune’s throat, which in fact was another reason for why the group had separated again.

Augustus wondered if, perhaps, there was some deeper cause of Oberon’s malice towards Rytlock, but given he had no intention of asking, and less intention of skimming it from his mind, he’d likely never know.

“It’s just that–”

“So what’s the problem?” Sigmund asked at the same time.

Augustus breathed in the scents of the desert, a slow and calming action, the start of an exercise he’d been taught years ago to keep his emotions in check. There wasn’t any threat of an outburst now, but it let him arrange his thoughts and push them into order like ants in a line to figure out what it was he wanted to say. In the distance, some mile or so from them, he watched a hyena attack a choya.

“I shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” he breathed. He could feel Sig’s eyes on him, waiting for him to finish the thought. Memories of Gaius asking him if he understood why it was wrong threatened to overlap with memories of his mentor in Ash teaching him why he should, and he nudged at them to remain where they belonged. His teachings were oil and water; they didn’t mix, didn’t belong anywhere near one another.

“It isn’t just because it was you, but I can’t kick the thought that you’ll worry I’ll do it again. If we’re comfortable with it, why would I stop? How would that make me any different from–” he paused, and considered his words. Instead of who I used to be, he heard himself finish the thought as from Flame?

Sigmund’s answer was quick as he snaked his paw into Augustus’, intertwining their fingers. “You’re different because you know it’s wrong, and because I trust you to be responsible.”

Sig’s voice had deepened since he’d found the first of Vlast’s crystals, and now that he was the dead Scion’s champion, if August paid attention, he sometimes heard both their voices when Sigmund spoke. He tried not to worry about that–even if he didn’t like the idea of it, the dragon had made Sigmund hardier, healthier. He still needed breaks, only less frequent; he still leaned on Augustus for comfort and support, but now he seemed more confident in that. Augustus was glad for it, even if sometimes Vlast felt like an unwanted intruder in these moments–even if he couldn’t hear him, he knew the dragon spoke.

In the quiet, Sigmund continued, “I wouldn’t have volunteered for it, but I would have taken the shot for you, August. You know Obie would have, too. We’re not mad at you.”

A stiff and hot wind blew into Augustus’ face–he turned away and found himself gazing into Sig’s mostly-gray eyes; the yellow of Vlast’s brand flecked them now, bursts of sunlight behind a shelter of clouds. Augustus exhaled. The doubts hadn’t quieted, but looking at his mate, it was harder for them to run amok. He squeezed Sigmund’s paw.

“I’ll be mad at you if you don’t kiss me right now, though,” Sigmund grinned through sharp teeth.

Augustus obliged, pressing his muzzle against Sigmund’s and bringing his other paw up to hold him there as their rough, flat tongues mashed against one another for a long, sunbleached moment.

“I’ll do my best, then. Thank you, Sig.”

[the-three-idiots]

Daily Dispatch #2 - Typical Norn

Three idiots episode:

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Written by Phil Sheldon

Editor - Kari woodlots

COMPLACENCY ON BOTH SIDES!

After the battle for the North nolan hatchery, our heroes made their way to Hoelbrak.

Hoelbrak seems to have become colder since I last visited about a decade ago. The atmosphere seem more tense and Shaken, possibly due to the most recent norn refugee crisis.

Bramham Eirsson, who claims to be the son of legendary hero, Eir Stelgakin, has been trying to rally support to resolve not only the refugee crisis but the attacks by the molten alliance.

Due to his contested heritage however, not many people are willing to rally behind him.

He has failed to win over Tribune Rytlock Brimstone to aid the refugee and now has failed to win the support of Knut Whitebear, Master of the Lodge.

Surprisingly, Eir Stelgakin has also refused support to Braham. Many see this as crucial mistake given the ongoing molten alliance raids against norn settlement.

Braham has declared that he will go fight the raiders, by himself if he has too.

However, Kotaru Tieran, Anwfyn and Lisbet Veros have now joined Braham's crusade to save Cragstead. The supposed next target of the raids.

The question as too why these three heroes joined Braham's crusade without any potential reward is puzzling and why the sylvari (Kotaru & Anwfyn) are helping what is essentially a very Norn problem.

but one thing is for sure; the battle of Cragstead is now going to happen.

With or without the help of the Norn or Char military.

[brightwingedbat]

gw2 oc ramble time, Nastazya on brain

Nastazya Ragewelder is officially in her 40s now, and she gets really sensitive about it too. Never ever mention the word 'old' to her or you will not be leaving the conversation unscathed.

She keeps such good care of her fur to keep a more youthful lustre to it, and to be fair it works very well as most wouldn't expect her to be middle aged.

She has yet to find any greying hairs or strands of faded fur, but she still dreads the day she does...

Bonus writing excerpt stuff;

Marcus hid that he lost his right paw, and this is directly after Nastazya finds out and makes a call to get him a prosthesis.

--- Nastazya puts the device back in her pack, then looks straight to her mate with her arms crossed, an eyebrow raises.

"…I have never seen more of an 'I told you so' face on you before, Naz." Marcus responds rather weakly, a meek shrug of his shoulders. "Thank you, though. Guess this 'old man' isn't going into retirement just yet."

Ragewelder's eye squints, she's older than her mate by two years. "…Are you insinuating that I am old?"

Furyclash freezes up, raising a paw with a nervous grin on his face. "No! No, no, it was ironic! I don't think of myself or you as old!"

Nastazya simply huffs in response, a small tilt of her head. "You're on thin ice." ---

And a later one, where Marcus calls friends and such to let em know he and Naz are having a third cub.

--- Rytlock answers again, a bit of a curious tone in his voice. "Another cub, huh… I know the Commander's starting to get on in the years so I'm surprised she-"

"NO." Furyclash quickly tries to interrupt the tribune, his gaze shifting to his mate. He gulps nervously.

Nastazya huffs and stands up, stomping towards Marcus and snatching the communicator out of his paw. "…Is Crecia there at all?"

"Uhh-" Brimstone mutters, the device goes quiet…

Another voice, the Blood Imperator's… "Yes, I am here. Congratulations by the way, what did you need?"

"Thank you, please punch Rytlock for me." Ragewelder says, a hint of maliciousness in her voice. "Hard."

"Wait- Cre don't you-" The tribune's voice is cut off with the sound of a thud, and a pained growl.

"Much appreciated. And thanks everyone else, I'll get back to my smithing now." With that, Nastazya hands the communicator back to her mate, returning to working on the cuirass.

Marcus meekly watches her, before whispering back into the device. "…Sorry, Rytlock."

"Errgh… Need to remember age is a touchy subject with her… I'd best get back to work." ---

[wall-legion]

How would Garrus feel about Lu?

Garrus considers her a good soldier and ally, since she fights for a cause that's her own. At least in his eyes it's her own cause. He knows how perilously close he came to being a gladium as well when his own warband all died, and it was only through his cousin's Tribune Rytlock Brimstone's intervention that he didn't end up as one, so he admires her for having the fortitude and bravery to keep going the way she has. Plus she's in the "emotionally invested in (1) asura" club with him. That's just a bonus.

[ascalonianlightbringer]

Last headcanon time, Tybalt and Gwen headed out onto the plains of Ashford for their Ascalon day trip. Gwen did manage not to attack anyone but Flame Legion, ghosts, and Separatists. Partway through the journey through Ashford, Gwen's private tumult was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger with two letters for her from a mysterious "herald."

The herald introduced themself as an admirer and story collector known to Logan, and familiar with the history of Destiny's Edge. They also told Gwen that Eir, the Norn member of the guild, had recently made a beeline for the Ascalonian catacombs in Ashford, likely aggravating her Charr former guild mate, Rytlock, as a head's up. Tybalt wanted to check out what was going on and Gwen, with some reservations, agreed.

Yup, it's dungeon time!

As Gwen and Tybalt head towards Phasmatis Corridor, an idea seems to strike him and he turns to her.

"Hmm, that's a thought. Gwen, you were there during the, ah, meeting between Rytlock Brimstone and the rest of Destiny's Edge?"

A little perplexed, she says, "Yes. Logan wasn't sure what to expect from Caithe, so I went with him, as his friend."

"That's what I thought," says Tybalt, adjusting his rifle. "Okay, then you don't need to be all raspberries and applesauce if we run into Rytlock. In fact, it'd be a bad idea."

"Raspberries and applesauce...?" says a deeply puzzled Gwen.

"Erm, well—pleasant and all. Nice. The way you usually are."

She blinks.

"It won't do you any favors with him, especially not when he saw you just a few days ago with Thackeray. He doesn't forget a face."

"Even a human one?" says Gwen—not as a jibe, really, but more honestly curious.

"Particularly a human one," Tybalt replies. "He's going to know your main impression of him comes from Thackeray, so it'll be pretty suspicious if you're all—"

"—raspberries and applesauce. I see," says Gwen. "Well, you'd know better than me. How should I act?"

He thinks over it a bit as they're fighting and avoiding ghosts while trying to hurry northeast.

"A bit prickly," he says. "You'd take Thackeray's side, so you'd have no reason to think well of Rytlock. We can be upfront enough about you hearing that Eir had gone into the catacombs. You're suspicious and want to limit the upheaval she causes, especially with a Priory camp not far away."

Gwen nods. "What about you? What brings an appleseller to the catacombs?"

She can see ruins in the distance, past a stream, jabbing upwards towards the sky and down further than she can make out. The idea of venturing into her people's burial grounds and disturbing what little rest they can get is abruptly very real. She swallows.

"We're business partners," he says after a moment. "Fruit grows a bit better out in Queensdale. 'Specially apples. You make the deals on the human side, I have contacts in Lion's Arch, profit. So when you rushed off with hardly any warning, I followed to make sure you didn't get yourself and our business deals destroyed."

"Someone has to keep the wheels of commerce turning," says Gwen. "Got it."

So off they go to the catacombs. Rytlock is waiting near the entrance.

Rytlock glances from Gwen to Tybalt, his eyes narrowing.

"You're the reinforcements?" he snaps. "A mouse and a ... what's your legion, soldier?"

"I'm no soldier," mumbles Tybalt, with a glance at his left arm. Belatedly, he adds, "Tribune."

Rytlock's gaze returns to Gwen.

"You're Thackeray's lackey. What do you think you're doing here?"

"I'm Logan's friend," she says. "I heard his old guild mate was here disturbing my people's rest and figured I'd pitch in."

Rytlock gives her a hard stare. "Rest? Run along back to Logan, mouse. You're no good here. These catacombs will tear you up. And this civilian—"

"This is Tybalt," she says, "my business partner, and a good hand with a rifle."

Tybalt hoists the rifle.

Rytlock pauses, but the area beyond them remains empty, and he gives a low growl.

"You have a name, mouse?"

Gwen smiles, showing as many of her teeth as she can. "Gwen."

With a roll of his eyes, Rytlock sighs. "Of course. You worth anything in combat?"

"I'm devastating," she says sweetly. "If you're not afraid of a little magic, great tribune."

His reaction to this might have been worse, but at that point, two other Charr show up, trailed by a breathless Asura in Priory clothes, desperately trying to catch up.

"March into the catacombs for a bunch of angry murdered ghosts, they said," the Asura mutters. "It'll be a chance for great discoveries, they said. Ha! A chance for my legs to fall off, more like. What are the odds we make it out?"

Rytlock heaves a greater sigh. "All right, you all. I'd prefer strength and numbers, but you'll have to do. That fool Norn Eir has stirred up the ghosts down here."

Gwen has figured as much, but she's still on edge, thinking of the fate of the ghosts. Hunted and murdered in life, cursed in death, their little rest now disturbed by some reckless Norn who doesn't understand or care what they've been through.

"Let me brief you," says Rytlock. "This place has a history, and I don't want your ignorance getting us killed. This was originally Charr land."

The Asura gives a little cough. "Well, technically—"

Rytlock ignores him. "The humans pushed us out and built Ascalon on top of it. Over two hundred years ago, we took our lands back."

Tybalt's advice to act prickly instead of pleasant might be the easiest she's ever taken. Gwen's hands tighten.

"So that's what you tell yourselves," she says. "Does that make it easier to live with the gains of countless atrocities? I've always wondered."

The last sentence is a lie. She's never wondered what Charr feel about anything until Tybalt.

Tybalt himself winces. "Gwen, not helping here—"

"You, mouse, can stop whining or go crying back to Kryta," says Rytlock.

"I'm not going anywhere," says Gwen.

He clearly would like to throw her out and just as clearly can't afford to with so few here. His breath hisses out his fangs.

"Fine. But you'll take the lead. I don't want a sword in my back. Just try not to die right away." He turns back to the others. "The human king, Adelbern, watched his soldiers panic as we breached the city gates. Facing certain defeat, the doomed king refused to surrender. Adelbern smashed his ancient blade Magdaer, and cursed Ascalon."

That much matches the stories Gwen knew.

"The blast incinerated the attacking legions and turned the defending humans into vengeful spirits," Rytlock goes on. "The ghosts see the living as invaders. They show no mercy and no weariness—only blind hatred. Adelbern's hatred."

Not just his, Gwen thinks. Maybe it's easier to place all the consequences of all their atrocities at the feet of one person. And the curse was certainly Adelbern's doing, after he went mad. But she's pretty sure there were ghosts who already hated the invaders, Adelbern or no Adelbern. And it's very noticeable that he's not saying anything about the Searing. There was a reason Adelbern lost his mind. There's a reason that the Ascalonian people refuse to forget what the Charr did to conquer Ascalon—to civilians, children, everyone, in the Searing and afterwards, for two hundred and fifty years.

We'll never forget it, living or dead, she thinks, only half-conscious of Tybalt at her side. And never forgive.

"And now Eir's gone right into the dead king's lair. What a mess." His focus returns to the group. "We're going after her. She's causing trouble, and I don't want anyone dying because of her foolishness."

The two Charr she doesn't know nod. The Asura says,

"Reasonable enough."

Gwen adds coolly, "How noble of you."

Tybalt gives her a light jab and hisses, "Gwen."

The stranger-Charr glance around. One, the larger of the two, looks nervous.

"We don't need a hindrance, Gwen," says Rytlock. "Lead the way or get out of it."

Gwen takes a deep breath and draws her swords. Despite her intense dislike of Rytlock and his Charr-approved version of history, she knows she'd have no chance in a fight against him—or at least not against Sohothin, even if no others were there. With one last distrustful glance, she turns to the catacombs and strides forwards.

"She's not a Separatist," Tybalt is assuring Rytlock in a low voice. "We're partners, after all! And she's been an advocate for the crown of Kryta, she's just touchy."

"I don't care, as long as she fights the ghosts," says Rytlock.

"She will," says Tybalt. "I mean, they'll kill her otherwise, so."

Rytlock actually gives a sort of low growl of a laugh. "All right, the rest of you. Follow me. The sooner we can find that fool Norn, the sooner we can quit this foul place. We need to stop her from shaking the hornet's nest."

As they head down into the cold, damp, stone passageways of the catacombs, the Priory scholar says,

"Oh, are there hornets down here?"

"No," says Rytlock irritably. "The ghosts haunting this cesspool are angry."

Yeah, good for them, thinks Gwen. Her hands are clenched on her swords.

"Eir's meddling will get them all riled up," Rytlock goes on. "I want to keep them down here, where they do minimal damage."

"Ah, that makes sense," says the scholar.

They're fairly quiet, Tybalt loping near Gwen, as they navigate around the various traps, puzzles, and obstacles throughout the catacombs. Gwen, who is used to sneaking around dimly-lit places she's not supposed to be in, is good at picking up on slight clicks and hisses to navigate around. Soon enough, she's not just leading as a safety measure/meat shield, but half-guiding the others safely, even the non-Tybalt Charr. She hears them muttering, but as long as Tybalt can keep them from murdering her, she doesn't really care.

(Much as Rytlock doesn't really care about her motivations, though she'd hate the comparison.)

They successfully fight Napa, guardian of the mystical gate, and manage to open it and disable the many, many traps, then move on through the dimness and arrive at a gate with a pressure plate.

"Put something heavy on the pressure plate," says Rytlock. "Or you can stay on it, mouse."

"You won't get me killed that easily," she says, almost lightly.

The Priory scholar grumbles and puts a shield he's picked up and meant to study on the pressure plate.

Beyond that, Gwen takes the lead again, and is the first to see a towering shadow amidst the lighter shadows that permeate the catacombs. She braces herself, expecting some particularly dreadful attack, and the rest of the group nearly runs right into her. Gwen silently gestures towards the shadow.

"Do ghosts cast shadows?" she whispers. She's pretty sure not.

The shadow seems to pick up on even the slight sound and turns in their direction. If it is some sort of underworld being, it's accompanied by another one, some sort of wolf-shaped animal whose growl echoes around them.

"Rytlock?" the shadow calls out, and moves forwards into the low light of the torches and ghostly blue flickers. Now, Gwen can make out the figure's deep red hair and sheer size. A Norn—and, unmistakably, Eir Stegalkin.

Eir exclaims, "What are you doing here?"

[hiddencarpet]

Just had to draw my fave boi Rytlock Brimstone <3

[skaald-of-the-hearth-fires]

Anet could have done SO much with the Destiny's Edge split-up. How to deal with toxic friendships, how to healthily respond to blame and guilt, how to distance yourself if necessary...

Not necessarily by PORTRAYING those things (DE is as dysfunctional as it gets), but by showing the opposite, the bad habits and thoughts we fall into.

The sheer contradiction of "I miss them but I'm glad they're gone."

Like those relationships were SO GOOD and then they got SO BAD and like. That should be talked about more.

Anyway there's another chapter of Reforging the Edge coming out today, so stay tuned!

[red-catmander]

important brimstone lore fact

you know the young aide-de-camp in rytlock's office, laria

you can talk to her and she'll inform you rytlock granted her the powers of his station just because it would be very, very funny, which I feel tells you a lot about how he operates as tribune

>What's it like working for Tribune Brimstone? Challenging...exacting...but I enjoy it. He's even given me clearance to issue some orders in his name. I think it amuses him to see senior officers take direction from someone they outrank.

welcome to the tribune's office, sharpeye. i'm in charge of 29,000 troops and on sangria sundays so are you

[i-mybrunettelady]

ty for boosting the prompts, as I did not see them originally xD this one was too good Not to send, so have ❛let’s fuck some shit up is my legal middle name.❜ for whoever it fits best! :D @kerra-and-company

Ty for the ask! This gave me incredible El energy and I'm not entirely sure I fit the prompt but I had this dialogue in my head and since this is my last fic of 2021, I think some El and Nyra is in order. Happy New year's, y'all :D

The fic assumes basic knowledge of this one!

---- prompt: let’s fuck some shit up is my legal middle name

--- Divinity's Reach, 1334 AE

There's the issue of cats. The mansion may be giant and he doesn't really have an issue with that (even if the design is too Ascalonian for his tastes) and there is an amazing (cross his heart and hope to die that El would never admit or use that exact word) collection of magical weapons, mostly staves. The noise suits him, but...

But there are cats. Twelve of them. No, really. Twelve little shits running around. If Trahearne wasn't staring him down, he'd suggest letting them into the weapons' room. Liv wanted to laugh his tail off when one by one, they climbed over El's head and decided he was a good cat tree.

He managed to shoo most away. But this one, a little ginger menace, kept coming back. So El's running around the three-level mansion trying to get this one cat to know that he isn't a cat tree.

"Kas, Jory, Rytlock," he hears Nyra say from a nearby room, "I will be painfully honest with you." A pause. "I look like I beat my wife in this."

"Better than that dandy shit you're going for usually," Rytlock says. "You look reasonably warrior-like now. Y'know, like you beat your enemies. Not your wife."

"Two things can be true at once, Rytlock. And the only thing that makes this outfit warrior-like is that it shows I have muscle. And uh, scars."

"That's not a bad look, Nyra," a female voice says.

"See! Jory agrees! Besides, ladies love scars. You might catch a wife if you go out like this."

"Tribune Brimstone," Nyra says firmly, "do I look like I am in need of a wife? A spouse I do not already have?"

"I dunno how your laws feel about bigamy, Nyra. Rawr."

Now, El isn't exactly ladies or a wife but he's curious. He hears a meow down the hallway but the image of Nyra in a self-described "wife-beater" outfit really takes precedence. So he knocks, as is only polite and Trahearne would be angry if he wasn't polite here, so.

"Enter," Marjory shouts and he opens the door.

"Flaming brambles, Alysannyra, who made you wear this!" he comments loudly, blinking. "It's horrible!"

"I know!" she bangs her hands against a nearby table and points. "Even Elandrin agrees!"

"I can disagree, if you feel the same way I do," he snickers.

"I'd rather you didn't." A pause, and then she adds, conspiratorially, "I like to think we don't have to be at odds at all times. Even if it's for an outfit choice."

"Since when is he here, Nyra?" a blonde woman asks warily.

"This is Trahearne's house as much as mine and he has a right to invite guests over. Even if said guests and I are... Elandrin and me, honestly," Nyra shrugs. "And to answer your question, Elandrin, it's Rytlock. He made me."

"Tribune Brimstone," El starts, "I have to say your taste is worse than a pile of shit. And I just wanted to say that you shouldn't, under any, any, any, any circumstance beat your beloved, especially you, Alysannyra."

"Do not go there," Nyra sighs. "I know you shouldn't beat your beloved. I have morals, you know."

"Questionable but I'll accept it. Now it's only moral you get changed now. That dandy from three centuries ago look really suits you better than this."

"Happy Wintersday, everyone," Nyra laughs, incredulously. "Dwayna has blessed us with an agreement!"

"Twig, just for this you're off the hook," Rytlock grumbles. "For now." A snarl. "Your boyfriend doesn't dress too differently from what I've seen."

"But he's my boyfriend and you're not," El concludes. The blonde woman stares at them all with an unimpressed face.

El has more important things to do now, like making sure he isn't used a cat tree anymore, so he loudly closes the door behind him.

---------------

Bonus:

"Nyra, a question for you," Kas asks as she helps Nyra tie the corset behind her back. "Do you always interact with him like this?"

Nyra laughs quietly. "A few months ago it was awkward, and a few years ago, he wanted me dead, so I'd say sarcasm is better than any of that. A Wintersday miracle, if I may say so myself."

A Wintersday miracle indeed.

[just-eyris-things]

UNFINISHED PIECE, LWS1 BEGINNING, wrote it to show Nia's personality, but let's be honest, I won't finish it! So have this short...thing, it should still do the job, and let's be honest I will NOT finish it.

"Tribune Brimstone," Nia exclaimed joyfully as she walked in Rytlock's office. Even though she heard the matters were dire, she kept her head up - a smile was always a way to raise morale, at least in her experience. Yet, said smile disappeared from her lips and she stopped in her tracks as she saw him talking to a young norn. They both seemed... agitated. Soon, the norn passed by her, almost shoving her with her shoulder as he was heading out of the office (nothing personal, thought Nia, he probably didn't estimate properly how close I was standing), and Rytlock grunted as he sat in his chair and took a swing of brandy.

"Tough customer, huh?" Nia said, looking over her shoulder at the norn as she approached the charr. "Logan told me I could lend a hand with this..." Nia paused as she put her backpack with a heavy thud on Rytlock's desk, not bothered by his growl of disapproval. They were friends, were they not? He surely did not mind (he did, though...)! After shuffling through her belongings she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and looked at it, as if searching for the right information. "Molten Alliance? That's not a very good name, but who am I to judge, am I right, Tribune?" she smiled at him. "So, what's the deal with them? And that norn?" she pointed with her thumb over her shoulder at a norn...who had by now left the command core.

"We're claws in this Molten Alliance and he wanted troops to help him in the Shiverpeaks." Rytlock put down the bottle with so much force Nia thought it would shatter. "I can't spare those troops, commander. And he lied to me."

"Lied?"

"Said he's Eir's son. I know Eir. She doesn't have a son."

Nia pondered for a moment. That seemed strange, would anyone really lie about something like that? Eir and Rytlock were quite well known as fellow members of Destiny's Edge. Nia said nothing about it to the Tribune, but she decided to investigate it further. Who knew, maybe Eir did have a secret son and she didn't know about- wait, no, she had to know, she must have given birth to him- unless....

Nia mentally shook her head. Now she should focus on Rytlock and this so-called Molten Alliance. Or maybe she could just... an idea sparked in her mind. With a smile she spoke "well, I'll help out around as much as I can, Tribune. But first I have a norn to catch up to!" She put the backpack back on and nearly ran out of his office. Rytlock growled. For a commander she sure did not act the part much.

-

Asking the spirits for help, Nia ran so fast she could outrun a centaur, so she caught up with the norn quite easily. She jumped in his way and startled him slightly, almost making him tripnover her. She reached out her hand for a handshake as she presented him a smile.

"Hey, I'm Nia Furaha, Rytlock told me you wanted help. How can I help you?"

The norn opened his mouth...and then he closed it. This woman he had never seen in his life looked familiar, but surely the famous commander would not act like... that. Maybe she was her cousin, he thought.

[commanderhorncleaver]

What's your opinion on Rytlock? for August and Gaius at the start of the personal story

"The tribune and I are good friends," Horncleaver says, easily, and rather affectionately. "I wouldn't say his head is much burdened with the stuff needed for forethought, but Brimstone's good at what he does, and what he does is solve problems. The bigger question tends to be whether or not he caused it."

Augustus nods from where he sits nearby, watching his sire adjust the strap of blades across his chest. "I have to admit, I don't think too much about him," the blond charr hums. "I'm Ash--the only time I see him is when I walk in on him and the old man going at it."

He pauses when Gaius' brows furrow, and a smile splits his muzzle. "Now from what I've seen, Gaius' opinion of Brimstone's ass is particularly high; from the rumors, it's pretty rare for the old man to stick with one partner."

"Why are you even here, Augustus? Don't you have better things to be doing--like a job?"

"Ha, not at the moment. What's up, you going on a date with Brimstone?"

Horncleaver chuffs. "That's none of your business."

"Well, if you aren't then you won't mind if I come along."