#using offensive magic takes its toll eventually...

[beyhr]

dog of war

[existentialcrisis-24-7]

Abridged and very hastily summarised version of my winx magic system

(There will eventually be a whole post going into detail but that day is not soon)

Okay so you’ve got your 3 alignments, you have to be one of these if you’re going to do magic frequently:

Witch: using negative feelings and emotions to channel their magic. There’s transformations

Fairy: using positive feelings and emotions to channel their magic. There’s transformations

Wizard: not using feelings to channel their magic, instead just relying on your connection to it. There’s no transformations

Spells can be cast in two ways:

Oral (chanting, writing, singing etc)

Kinetic (waving your hand, dancing magic, magic punch etc)

And there’s also 4 different types of spells:

Offensive

Defensive

Healing

[no name rn] which encompasses: practical spells, Enchantments/Curses and Charms/Hexes.

Then there’s the types of magic, the list is kinda long and I’m debating whether or not some types should stay and also the names of some types but for now here it is:

Water

Fire

Ground

Air

Ice

Floral

Faunal

Fungal

Sound

Electricity(?)

Mind

Light

Dark

Opposite

Form manipulation/shapeshifting

Space

Everyone is born with at least two magic types (their native magic) with the maximum being five and they have a primary and secondary (and tertiary, etc depending on how many they have) magic. Magic types tend to manifest by the time a person is five or so. Magic types can be inherited, though you’re also very likely to be born with a naturally occurring magic if your on a certain planet (eg: if your parents have light and dark magic, you still might be born with floral if you’re on Linphea).

You also don’t technically have to have a full connection to use a certain magic (example being Stella, who was born with light, dark and space magic but still knows a fire spell or two). You can’t preform any powerful spells if you haven’t formed a connection to it though.

The two following are sort of different types of magics, and they’re magics you can’t be born into either. You either have to be gifted the ability to use them or you have to spend years trying to find a way to connect to them

Primal (like the dragon flame, a very source of magic itself)

Wild (essentially chaos magic)

Nymphs are all born with a connection to Primal magic. And on that topic!

Nymphs! They’re sort of like fate assigned protectors of a world. They’re not so much there to protect the people so much as they’re there to protect the magic of the planet they’re on. Nymphs, once they start practicing magic properly will earn a form called Nymphix. Nymphix is the only exception to the alignment transformation rule, as nymphs who are wizards can also earn this. And again, they all are born with a connection to primal magic and 99/100 are born with the main magic type of a planet (eg floral for Linphea).

Transformations! List is incomplete and will be added to but this is what I have so far:

Base, Renamed to Winx after season 1, can be earned in a variety of ways, from just happening when your magic fully manifests to a moment of strong emotions. It makes magic outside of transformation weaker but when transformed it is significantly stronger.

Charmix can be earned by overcoming a fear or a flaw and generally improving yourself. The vast majority of schools that teach fairy or witch magic will have earning this as the final exam, generally to show dedication to magic, a willingness to improve and also because it’s the easiest transformation to earn that doesn’t take a huge toll on the body.

Each magic type has its own transformation (I’m not gonna list them all here, as I said this is the abridged version)

Each magic combo also has a transformation

There is a transformation (lacking a name currently) that is formed out of a deeper understanding of oneself and a stronger connection to the magic they were born with.

There is a transformation that can be earned from finding a familiar, working name being Familiarix (the exception to this is if a familiar is found before someone’s magic is fully manifested. They’d have to some one on one bonding with their familiar to earn it in that case)

Enchantix, earned through sacrificing yourself to save someone. There’s a catch though. Most assume it has to do with home world, nah it’s just what magic you were born with, which conveniently, people of the same home worlds tend to share. This would mean that someone born on, say, Linphea had water magic and someone from Andros who also has water magic sacrificed themself for them, they would earn enchantix. It doesn’t happen a whole lot because most people don’t ever get in a situation where they need to sacrifice themself for someone, even rarer off your home world.

Disenchantix, same premise as Enchantix but you have to kill someone for someone else (of the same magic type).

Unfortunately that’s all I got for now (most of the cool names I had are for the magic-type transformations). There will probably be a Believix-esk transformation though it’s not gonna be earned the same nor will it have the exact same function, but because I haven’t ironed it out I’m not listing it.

Anyway as far as I can remember that’s everything, I know it’s very messy and disorganised but I like getting my thoughts out like this and then later returning and clarifying things.

[pearl484-blog]

Replay Lore Notes Compliation

Below is a compilation of all current lore notes found in comments in Replay or at the bottom of Replay related material.  ========================== Main Story: ========================== Chapter 1: Names and titles of magical creatures hold magic, and some magical creatures, such as Kwamis or akumas, will take offense to being referred to a magical by an incorrect name or title. For akumas, the most disrespectful of the wrong names is their former name before they were transformed. Because they have drastic physical and magical alterations when they transform, magically speaking, an akuma is an entirely seperate person from who they were before, albeit one who remembers their previous life.

The ability of a Butterfly to give someone a new identity is profoundly useful in allowing their akumas to pass barriers, both real and percieved, that would stop their host's previous identity and can soothe creatures who have lost their own sense of identity. Their extremely altered magical core also provides any akuma's hosts some measure of protection after their service, allowing them to hide from anything that can track a person's magic. --------------------------------------------- Chapter 2: Miraculouses are no longer without a cost. Miraculouses now have both a physical and mental toll. For example, wielding a Miraculous will cause problems such as sleep deprivation to appear faster and strike harder. Since Miraculous are not considered "cursed" artifacts, the price is low, but it differs depending on the compatibility between the wielder and the Miraculous. It is also multiplied when wearing dormant Miraculouses and exponentially increased when fused.

Abusing fused Miraculous now has the consequences implied in Miracle Queen (IE. Chat's complaint that they could die or go crazy), and Marinette and Adrien cannot pull all-nighters like their peers, a fact implied by the Season 2 finale, Star Train, and several other canon episodes. Most teens could pull it off, albeit not at the frequency they do, but in canon, they could not. Unfortunately, this does mean the Hawkmoth could not wield all the Miraculous at once or he'd swiftly die from having his life force sucked out faster than he can say MWAHAHAHA, but it's a sacrifice that I am willing to make, especially since that move DID contridict Kwamibuster and Miracle Queen. --------------------------------------------- Chapter 3: (Warning: Body Horror) When someone begins to suffer from magical instability, there is nothing physically wrong with them. Their lungs still pull air in and out, their heart still beats, and everything, but there is a certain SOMETHING missing from their bodies that will cause their organs to have short bouts where they doesn't function as effeciently, which become longer and longer and more and more serious as the body slowly stops being able to perform vital functions, and the organs slowly start to fail due to this ineffciency. Eventually, the afflicted falls into a coma where there is nothing medically wrong, but they cannot wake up and most of their organs do not function as they should despite having no medical cause for doing so. ---------------------------------------------- Chapter 4:

Sentimonsters (Ninguardian, Archie, and Chronodragon): Ninguardian: Born out of a desire to get the Grimoire and complete the mission at any cost, Ninguardian is a living bundle of cloth that can take the shape of a ninja or settle down into a crumpled pile of fabric. It's mouth is a diagonal slit in it's "chest" that is only accessible in it's human form. It's lightweight form allows it swift, quiet, and nimble movements with an extreme amount of flexibility, but it is easily thrown or buffeted by elements around it. Because it is sired by it's Peacock, it has the ability to sense the Grimoire it is seeking within a limited range.

Archie: Born out of duty to Paris, love of Paris and its citizens, and a complete and utter hatred of akumas, Archie is a cat with unusual features, such as golden eyes, stripes on its chest, and hands for feet. It's small size allows for increased speed and agility while it's hands allow for excellent grip strength. Unfortunately, much like it's predecessor, Ninguardian, it's small size and light weight allow it to be easily thrown in battle. Because it is sired by it's Peacock for the express purpose of defeating a Butterfly, it possesses immunity to akumas.

Chronodragon: Born out of desperation to not lose to that freaking Bunnyx, Chronodragon is a large Eastern dragon adorned with several clocks across its body. It's large, serpentine body allows it to move quickily in water and deliver powerful flows of force to it's enemies, while it's teeth and excellent fine motor control make it a formidable foe on land. Unfortunately, it's large size and heavy weight make it unable to fly and while leaps are possible, they are difficult and often cause catastrophic damage to anyone it is near. Because it is sired by it's Peacock, Kukko, it retains Kukko's natural ability to hold time and use it to it's advantage and has been granted a large amount of time by Kukko to serve as a failsafe against Bunnyx.

Note: Although Kukko and Future!Adrien are different versions of each other, magically speaking, an akuma is different from its host. So yes, Chronodragon and Future!Adrien's akumas (Ninguardian and Archie) can exist at the same time since they are created by different Peacocks, but Ninguardian and Archie cannot co-exist as they both share the same Peacock.

This is a built in safety feature that prevents people from being punished for an reckless actions taken while being an akuma (while also stopping them from being too reckless with it as an akuma), and also prevents normal mages who do not have near limitless reserves from accidentally killing themselves by bleeding themselves dry creating a sentimonster.

Theoretically, if Adrien were to develop an entirely new 2nd akuma form, it could be magically different from Kukko and future!Adrien, depending on the level of difference. If Season 4!Adrien becomes Ephermal or Chat Blanc and got either of them hands on it, they could use it to create a new monster, but if Replay (Kukko's original form) becomes Replay 2.0 or Reset or an akuma that's too similiar, it wouldn't work. Likewise, if Season4!Adrien tried to fuse two Miraculous to get extra juice, it wouldn't alter his magic enough to do it. It probably won't be brought up in the main story again, but my Beta and I had a blast talking about it. ---------------------------------------------- Chapter 5: In order to balance out Marinette and Adrien, I have given the two of them innate abilities that are independent of the Miraculous, although they can be influenced by them over time. These are not concious abilities, and they are designed to more strongly reflect the yin/yang theme.

Marinette has the Jinx ability, which manifests itself as bad luck in the area around her when her emotions become too chaotic. Certain emotions may trigger this effect more than others. This is inspired by her chain of disasters in Origins and the disaster that was Animaestro. She also has bad luck with doors in the New York special whenever she is anxious near Adrien. On a rewatch of Season 1, she also trips more when anxious.

Her secondary ability is short range teleporting, although it typically only manifests while she is anxious. This is a reference towards her ability to move in animesque ways in the cartoon when anxious or nervous. I find it endlessly amusing, and so it shall be kept.

Adrien has the Balance ability, which allows him to stay balanced as long as he is not startled or tripped by another person. This is inspired by his ability to stack improbably high stacks of objects in improbable ways by THROWING THEM, as seen in Kuro Neko, and his ability to fence on a freakin' rail in Ephemeral. However, during a rewatch, Chat also demonstrates this ability by being able to accuartely wedge a car by throwing his staff so that it saves Alya in Origins. This was a skill developed at a young age. Because of this, when Adrien does not have magical reserves or cannot use magic, he becomes easily unbalanced and wobbly.

His secondary ability is a bit less dramatic and allows him to quickly understand others and learn languages with much greater ease than normal. Why? Judging from the Shanghai Special, his Mandarin is impressive enough to have a casual conversation with a native, despite not regularly interacting with a Mandarin community and being in France. He also mentions having a knack for languages in Robustus and that is all the excuse I need. Plus, I needed him to balance with Marinette. -------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 6: In this series, Adrien and Felix are NOT senti-monsters, and are human. The Graham de Vanily and Agreste families' histories will likely be much different because I will not be using Season 5 to base the family off, and they have a different backstory here.

That being said, although Adrien has very strong magic, because his magic likes to present itself in subtle ways, it was assumed by both the Graham de Vanilys and the Agrestes that he has little to no natural magic. It was a source of lot of tension between the family because the Graham de Vanilys assumed it was due to Gabriel Agreste's "inferior" bloodline. The Agrestes were offended by this notion. For obvious reasons. ---------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 7:  Rabbits see the timeline as one continous line, with a chain of cause and effects. This timeline is simply the timeline that is MOST likely, but not set in stone. If a timeline is changed due to an unforeseen event, the Rabbit will know and have a general awareness of when and where the anomly happened, and can look backward from any point in the timeline they’re on to see what caused it and what happened. 

Usually, these things are too minor to get involved with, but on occasion, Rabbits will notice an abberation so dangerous as to be a threat and hunt it down, especially when it threatens their existence. Rabbits are especially effective when fighting against time abberations, including other Rabbits. Woe betide to the Rabbit who gets too “uppity”, for any time abberations can be “reset” to the normal effects of time, completely unaware of their previous life without it.

================================= Side Stories ================================= Akuma Logic: Ignoring logic about a power structure because of an akuma is not mind control and will not erase your memories. It's more akin to a glamour in that it subtly encourages your brain to not think about how it doesn't make sense. ================================= Lessons From a Peacock Veteran: ================================= Chapter 1: Plagg loves attention, but he doesn't love admitting it. ---------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 2: The Adriens do not like to read articles about times they are mind controlled. It creeps them out. ---------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 3:  By default, when an akuma creates a copy of a Lucky Charm, they get a sword. Senti-monsters are more flexible with their summoning of weapons (albeit more random), but may still pull out the Impractically Lethal Sword as well or the Impractically Lethal Gun. ----------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 4:  Rejecting a Miraculous removes the protections its magic may have placed on you. An example being a Butterfly's immunity to akumas, while bonded with the Butterfly, a butterfly can safely hold/carry/and interact with an akuma without fearing being overwhelmed by its magic. After the Butterfly is renounced or rejected though, this safety precaution is removed. ================================== Not a Vampire, But Clearly a Monster Miraculous wielders have an aversion to eating the animals they were based on. The more integral their other self is to their identity or the more magical they are, the stronger this aversion will become. Eating it can make the wielder sick and/or weaken them.

In France, the only 5 Miraculous that should be regularly affected by this limitation are the Rabbit, Goat, Pig, Rooster, and Ox. Since these Miraculous are sometimes story breaking, infrequently used, and help me give these critters a better balance, I'm not shedding too many tears. This is based off Cu Chulainn's geas to not eat dogs, which caused him to get very sick before battle, along with stories of mythological creatures getting upset with improper sacrifices. ----------------------------------------------------------- Bring Back What Once was Mine Marianne is a WWII spy on the side of the French. Master Fu took up the mantle of the Jade Turtle shortly after leaving her and seeing how bad things had gotten. During this time, he didn't had the guts to come back to her and face the possibility that she was dead, fell in love with someone else, or had been the victim of war atrocities. Eventually, he worked the nerve back up to go back to Paris, but never managed to confirm or deny his fears and anxieties until he thought he was dying in Backwarder. ----------------------------------------------------------- The Worst Influence of Your Life Because Butterflies can operate without akumas, but akumas need a Butterfly to stay sane, most akumas will instinctively value their Butterfly's life over their own.

[violet-t-9]

Checking in on my (not very realistic) wish list for episode 133

1. Continued dungeon crawl starting with a relatively easy victory against the frost salamander thingy.

Fjord you battle genius! That was pretty easy I totally knew it-oh never mind lol there is another one. Also, Capeleb my beloved. Still pretty easy first combat though considering they took both salamanders out in 2 rounds.

2. They discover more about the nature of the “coldness” they experience in the ruins that keeps making them do constitution checks (is it just the brown mold? I don’t trust it).

I mean, seems like regular brown mold to me at this point! We got a full explanation of their effects as well! (Still don’t trust it though.)

3. Maybe they can discover some more cool relics/clues to what happened to Aeor, the nine eyes, its history or arcane and this mysterious ward.

They found the city proper! Cool stuff. They also found mummified bodies and pretty architecture. A weird body with metallic features and runes! A smooth orb power core? Weird blue and teal lights and dome. Who is that woman?

4. Confirm (via commune perhaps, let’s go team clerics) that the TT are in fact still gathering their crests/just got them so M9 still have some time to relax/plan.

Yay Jester! Go Jester! Shoot they are less than a day away though... but they still got some time to rest/plan. At least Trent and Co. are not pursuing close. Ah never mind they are actually here-

5. Seeing more of Essek’s cool dunamancy spells in combat and for other things (Matt please give me more of that delicious dunamantic flavour yum), also seeing his other fancy magical items.

Magnify Gravity hype! Magic missile description was also cool (love the colour scheme)! Sending stones made an appearance again! (Rip those rangers)

6. I will continue waiting for the Essek and Caleb one-on-one conversation until it happens eventually (manifesting). (Bonus: Essek meets winter Frumpkin)

Yes! It happened! They talked, in private. Literally everything I have ever wanted for weeks now, thank you critical role.

7. More Essek realization moments as he gets more and more convinced that he is surrounded by super powerful idiots. (Bonus: Essek gets either super impressed by M9′s battle skills or joins in their fun afterwards)

I’m counting the Capeleb moments lol, low int Capeleb is low int. (Again, Capeleb my beloved.) Also Essek joined them in their heroes’ feast and expressed his love of beef stew so I’m going to assume he had fun.

8. Finding a place they see fit, coming up with and deciding on a tangible plan for ambushing the TT and actually setting up the traps. (Bonus: discover the place where the TT plans to use to go to the astral sea)

I love ambush planning! They actually set stuff up! Wonderful wonderful. Did not expect them to actually confront the TT so soon, but hey, 3 down 2 to go. The real problem is the bonus part. 

9. Widogast’s Nascent Nein-Sided Tower (with renovations) the next night (let Essek see it before fighting the TT, come on). (Bonus: water slide woooooo)

Ayyyy “impressive” indeed! Caleb even gave Essek a short tour. What fun that this episode just keeps delivering. Water slides even got an honorary mention (they are in the rooms of requirements).

10. Dome cuddle pile shenanigans on this night, maybe some more one-on-one conversations between people on watch. (Bonus: the couples cuddle)

I mean technically yeah there was the dome too! Essek and Fjord had a very intense one-on-one conversation that I loved... so I’m counting it.

11. No more red eyes on Beau and Caleb in their long rest (I’m still hoping that their amulets are helping with that, honestly though that’s unlikely).

Well they never got a long rest, but no red eyes I guess so l will take it.

12. Caleb (from casting polymorph) and Veth’s (from spider climb) wild magic rolls from last episode have their effects revealed. (Bonus: the effects turn out to be not horrible or harmful for them)

I mean, no news is good news! They have been using a lot of magic but are fine so far. Hope that they keep getting the casual “you are fine”.

13. Fjord and Jester having more powerful battle couple moments (since last episode they were being very cute and flirty). (Bonus: Jester heals or refuses to heal Fjord)

Fjord and Jester were such a battle couple this episode! All the fire damage from Fjord, spiritual weapon and toll the dead from Jester. It was really awesome to see. They also went in first against the TT!

14. Yasha and Beau having more cute and flirty moments (since last episode they were being a super powerful battle couple). (Bonus: they kiss)

“Come on babe this is the hottest you have been” lol it worked! The strength check worked guys! It’s the power of love. Beau also gave Yasha a little kiss! 

15. Cad and Veth each gets at least one nice RP moment or battle moment (would love to see them interact more honestly, they have an interesting dynamic).

Cad got to fly around Aeorian town as a stealth agent, fun! Veth had a little moment with Caleb when they were doming up. Also, she got to kill Otis, so I’m sure she is pretty happy right about now.

16. At least one of the party members gets tempted by a strange, powerful or magical item/location/opportunity etc. and attempts to push the button.

I mean, Fjord was really tempted by exploring the rest of the Aeorian cityscape. Who could blame him though.

17. Everybody stays relatively happy and very much alive by the end of this episode (probably will end on a terrifying cliffhanger, AGAIN).

Hey, I will take that as a win! The cat-and-mouse game starts again, except this time they are the ones on the offensive! Most impressive.

Score: 14/17 fulfilled, this episode fulfilled almost everything on my wish list and delivered even more excitement! Wow, what an episode. I’m so excited for how this is going to turn out!

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Teller of Tales

The trio head through the portal to explore Danny's brand spanking new Sanctuary and are a little awed by all that he managed to make.  They meet a facinating new ghost, who has a deal for them.

ao3

When Danny took Sam and Tucker through the portal and into his Sanctuary, he was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one floored by how much of it there was, or how complex it had turned out. “I don’t think I’ve ever even made a drawing this complicated and detailed before,” he said as they reached the roof of the main portal building and house. It was at the heart of what looked to be a town or maybe even a city, which was surrounded by a dense forest, with a mountain to one side, a massive body of water that Danny would call a lake but that looked so vast an ocean felt more appropriate on the other, and even misty clouds of every kind of color he could see passing by a point of brilliant light. “I’m glad it’s been keeping Walker out as much as it has, and every other ghost too. That means we can explore it!”

“Danny, this place is magnificent!” Tucker wrapped him up in a tight hug and squeezed nearly hard enough to crack his back. “Dude, you made a whole ass town that’s almost as big as Amity Park! I wonder how stocked up this place is. You’ve got copies of our hoverboards here too, so what are we waiting for?”

“I say we take a look at that forest, it’s practically screaming ��enchanted and full of mystery’, and maybe we can even figure out what all goes on in that head of yours.” Sam poked Danny’s head with a laugh and called up her own backup hoverboard, hopping over the ledge and onto it before Tucker could catch up. Tucker, of course, swerved off to see if he could find anything substantial in the town, which meant splitting up, which had Danny reaching out to grab them both.

“Guys hold up! Are we really gonna go into a freshly made place that I made mostly subconsciously while in ghost form and do it while splitting up? Are we the Scooby gang?”

“Take full offense from this but you’re baby,” Tucker said with a snort. “Your subconscious mind didn’t come up with anything that might hurt us.”

“Maybe not on purpose, but I might’ve made some parts of this place uninhabitable to regular humans, but perfectly safe for a ghost to be floating around in.” After all, a ghostly mind set deeply into a Passion could easily forget things like safety regulations for squishy humans. Young Blood wasn’t even malicious or Obsessive and look at how he’d turned out.

Sam rolled her eyes but circled back around to the boys. “Fine, we can stick together and tour your McMansion together, you lil show off, but if so then how about we take a look at the edges to see what we can learn about how well defended this place is? It’s meant to be your Sanctuary, so you’ve gotta have some way of keeping ghosts out without just shotting at them.”

“We can work our way through the town and out into the forest, guys, you know that right? We’re literally starting from the middle.” Danny sighed, shaking his head. “The defenses are clearly working because nothing’s actually done anything to us yet, they can wait.”

It took a bit of back and forth but eventually, they all decided on a direction to go and headed for the lake instead of the mountain. After all, if the water was safe for humans, they could all go for a swim. The trio set off and found what looked to be empty homes, some buildings that could be shops, a few restaurants that just needed stocking up and customers, and other places that looked all but ready to be populated by people stuck on the ground and people who could fly. There was a warehouse full of Focuses, cameras, and replicas of every robot or project that Danny and Tucker had ever put together before, along with a few that stored Fentonworks non-violent products too. “This place looks like someone’s fantasy dream town where you can sit, relax, chat up a ghost, and then head off into the unknown in your very own - oh wow, Danny is that the Specter Speeder?”

“Well, I may have gone over Mom and Dad’s blueprints a while back for it, but only because I wanted to see if I could develop ya know, a space ship from it.” Danny felt his cheeks burning and gave Tucker’s shoulder a light punch to try and wipe the grin off his face. “Shut up.”

“Actually, the closer we get to the forest, the more ‘port town’ vibes I’m getting,” Sam mused. “Danny, didn’t you say you wanted to be a pirate once when you were a kid?”

“Shut uuup, noo.” Danny pulled his hood over his face, even as he turned invisible. Ok, so maybe it did look like the perfect place for a pirate who hit land on an undiscovered island to have set up their own little town. That proved nothing.

Just as Sam opened her mouth to keep teasing him, Danny popped into visibility and transformed entirely, shooting into the air with plasma gathered in his hands. It felt like the pull of some massive celestial object focused on him and his sanctuary alone, getting closer and closer, and Danny was all but certain he couldn’t do much on his own against it. He reached into his Sanctuary, felt it reach back, and begged it to hide . The partly cloudy sky went dark, the clouds now stretching over the whole expanse of the island, and in the mountain, Danny could feel the hum of railguns warming up and ready to fire like Danny couldn’t on his own.

The clouds were parted by something vast and incomprehensible that sung every song never known by mortal ears, and looking at it was looking upon all that had ever happened throughout the whole of humanity, listening to every story ever told to another person, and Danny nearly unraveled before he could look away. Something like a bell tolled and that massive shape resolved itself into something steadily smaller and simpler, while a voice called out to them - when had Tucker and Sam joined in him in the air? - with a deep baritone voice. “ A̸̢̦̮̥͚h̴͉̟̳͙͈͎̩͡, my sincerest apologies! I hadn’t expecte d any mortals or bridge spirits to be here and so came to investigate this lovely new place in an old er form. Perhaps this is easier on your minds and senses?”

The being settled into the shape of a male presenting person with grey skin, a white shirt, black pants, and a purple trench coat. They were also wearing glasses over eyes that were green at a glance but any lingering eye contact showed every shade of green and violet that could be thought of, and Danny struggled to keep his gaze on the center of the being’s forehead. They smiled with shark-like teeth and held out a hand. Danny, after likely too long, regained enough sense to shake their hand and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, this is uh, this is a lot easier. Hi. I’m Danny.”

“Hello Danny, I’m recently going by Ghostwriter! And who might you all be?”

“I’m …. Tucker Foley. Tech master extraordinaire.” Tucker shook off his awe quickly enough and gave the Ghostwriter some finger guns and a grin, shaky as it may have been.

Tucker’s joke seemed to snap Sam out of her own stupor and she shook the ghost’s hand warily. “Sam Manson, curious to meet you.”

“It’s always good to be curious! I came here sensing both a new place to learn about, the gateway to this lovely little planar system, and also I sensed a curious mind like my own seeking new fascinating secrets to uncover. Considering only one of you is capable of creating a Sanctuary, I imagine it’s you, Danny?”

Danny nodded and scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, about you coming here, can I ask uh, what was up with that mind-melting form you were just in?”

“I’ve never properly understood Lovecraftian Horror’s until now,” Sam muttered with a shiver. Tucker elbowed her in the side.

Ghostwriter tapped their chin with a hum and looked around at Danny’s spooktacular bachelor pad and clapped his hands with a grin. “I propose a trade! If I tell you about myself, as the answer to your question is best answered with story, then you all tell me about your selves. Deal?”

The trio looked between each other and nodded, Danny holding out his hand to shake. “Deal. Can we take this to the cafe down there though?” Danny pointed exactly to one of the cafes in his Sanctuary and slowly relaxed his panicked grip on the place. If Ghostwriter wanted trouble he clearly didn’t want any with Danny.

They sat down, Danny found some tea, coffee and all the things required to make hot chocolate inside, and offered everyone. Tucker accepted some iced tea, while Sam and Ghostwriter got coffee, and soon Danny sat down with his own hot chocolate and everyone else’s drinks. They appreciated the drinks and took big sips before the Ghostwriter began to speak.

“Oh, but where to start, where to start? If you have time, I can start even at the very beginning of it all?” The trio looked between each other and shrugged; it was the weekend, they had plenty of time. Ghostwriter seemed delighted by that. “The very beginning it is!” Music began to play, soft and mysterious in their minds.

“Before all that you see around you, before the swirling mists and oceans of darkness, before the very concept of Being, nothing was all that was. No past, present or future, no light or darkness, simply a blank nothingness.” On the table, a portion of the air became… empty, in a way that Danny felt in his soul, and he ached to fill the void. “Now, no one, not even myself or my siblings, knows why what happened happened, but for whatever reason or unreason, something began to Exist. Now, the very first something is what some call ectoplasm, others magic, and countless other names, but my siblings and I simply refer to it as the Realms themself being born.” Green light shone in the center of the void and quickly expanded to fill it up, accompanied by glorious and triumphant music.

“Now, while the Realms were the Something to all the Nothing at its edges, it still had just about nothing in it. So, it got to making things within itself from itself, and after a bit of experimenting with half-formed ideas like any creative soul, the very first Realm - the first universe was created. Inside of this universe, there was a great deal and the forces that be happened to be rather proud of themself but had no one to share their creation with. So, they created a soul, and a vessel to house that soul in so that someone could experience what they had made. There was, however, the issue of longevity, which was solved somewhat easily enough, by moving the soul into yet another vessel.”

The shape of a person appeared, surrounded by others, and a light slid out of one as they fell, before being nudged into the next, back and forth. “Now, what with the flexibility of how the Realms interact with time, the soul of their creation was able to hop from mortal vessel to mortal vessel, back and forth across history. Each time the soul left a body it simply went to the edges of the universe before being guided to its next life. And so it went until all the mortals were gone, but the soul was now so complex from experiencing life as every mortal that it could fit in larger vessels from which to appreciate the world. So, they became each planet in turn, and then each star, and each galaxy and cluster, and black hole, until that universe finally went dark, and the being had been everyone and everything in it across its lifespan.”

The light grew brighter and brighter with each leap it took until it burrowed down deep enough to contain that light, and the images Ghostwriter showed them zoomed out to show a solar system. And from there, the light flowed all around it, even jumping to other systems, until the light was too bright to contain in those planets and so it became all the light there was. Abruptly there wasn’t any light at all. An emptiness that the soul grew and grew to fill.

“And so in the cold, dark, quiet of the seemingly dead universe, the being that experienced Existing in a way the Realms could not did what it hadn’t the chance to between all its various lives with their fresh starts and clean slated beginnings: remembered. They experienced all that they had gone through, the scope of their life unfolding to be felt in its entirety in a way that could only be done when unbound by flesh and stone and plasma confines.”

The darkness shrunk as the grey light grew, and then the darkness was a ball within a green expanse. “And then they Were, and the universe ended with a bang, as they who I call mother and you can refer to as Queen Death, was born into the Realms properly.” The ball cracked and trembled before exploding in all directions, the bits of the cosmic eggshell being tossed to the edges of what they could see on the table. A being outlined in grey that held every color there was within, spun around in excitement, and reached out, taking one of the fractured shells of her egg and molding it like clay into another ball, then doing the same with another.

For a long moment, the trio stared at the little queen Death making universes all around her, Tucker sipping his tea as he did so. While Danny was still processing and Sam struggled to find her words, Tucker set his cup down and cleared his throat. “So, there’s a lot to unpack there, and I presume that you’re one of those souls that finished maturing inside of their universe - what are your pronouns by the way?”

“Ah yes, those, I go by he and him for now.”

Tucker nodded and hummed. “So there’s a Queen of the afterlife then? Queen Death?” Ghostwriter’s face fell from that of an eager storyteller to something sour, bitter, and full of grief.

“Not anymore, sadly. Once Mother had adjusted to Being, she realized that she too could create in this wonderful place from which she came. She crafted for herself a lovely palace made half from concepts rather than stone or metal or wood, though it was made from all that and more too.” Death was shown molding the very mist around her into an intricate and beautiful landscape and building, before stopping and sitting cross-legged in her throne, tapping her chin. “But Death knew something was missing from her experience, something she’d had once before: companionship.”

Death was shown leaving her castle to go and gather the broken bits of her eggshell, and took them into her palace, before splitting one shell chunk in two and twisting the two into eggs. Green light gathered in each of her palms and flowed into the shells. “Mother made my eldest siblings, who would go on to name themselves Entropy and Peace. Unlike with her own experience with being guided into each new life, mother decided her first children would have a less lonely experience.” Blue light flowed from one egg and golden to the other and back, with the guiding hand of Death.

“Peace and Entropy would know each other in a way few still living gods do, for they were each other at times. And when they emerged, they gazed upon Death’s palace and kingdom with wonder, and they were a happy family.” Blue and Gold silhouettes hatched from their eggs, both donning violet. The three laughed and hugged and danced, crafting and playing. “And Death, and the Realms, decided to create again, and this time they would act together. And this time,” Ghostwriter said with a chill in his voice and his drink boiling, “the Realms would act on their fascination with balance.”

A violet light appeared as Death molded an egg all her own, and it pulsed and dripped with what felt to be oddly malicious. Entropy and Peace went about exploring their mother’s world while this happened and even took a few discarded shells to craft a universe of their own. Death and her children soon went about covering the table in art and Realms, along with Realms simply spawning from nowhere. The dark purple egg hatched, and the other universes shook.

“What if I told you that the force that brought Existence into Being made mistakes? What if I told you that gods can die?” Ghostwriter gestured to seven eggs orbiting each other, bands of light flitting between them all. “The third child of Death called himself War, and he was the first to disrupt things and give Peace a job to do.” War walked over and flicked the bands of light between two of the eggs, forcing the soul out into the Infinite Realms early, and it grew into a small green being. Peace flew over, and gently nudged the being back toward its egg, but not before drawing from within a blade and cutting through the tiny being. It returned to a ball shape and flowed back in.

“Ghosts of the dead, as you might call them, are souls set adrift from the path between lives, and Peace made it his job to take them back where they go. Sometimes War did this many times at once, and I, curious, asked Peace to allow a few to stay. After all, they were going to end up here again anyway, weren’t they? And so, we tried that, and due to the boundlessness and chaotic nature of the Realms these ghosts found themselves evolving and mutating over time, some of them fulfilling a passion from their previous life and finding their way back home into the next life, while others stayed here and grew and grew and even figured out a way to reproduce - sexually and not. Those ghosts born in the Realms from the dead we call Deathless because they never died.”

“So you’re the reason we have ghosts and stuff?” Sam frowned at the Ghostwriter and the story unfolding before their eyes froze. “Because you wanted to see what’d happen?”

“The name I first took was Curiosity, my dear, and actually I was the first ghost, made rather curious for a reason. It was something new. If I may?”

“Sorry.” The writer waved it off and the story continued.

“Peace forged a sword within himself that he used to set free souls that had gone too long outside of their shells, their minds dissolving under the pressure of an eternity they weren’t mature enough for yet. Many of the elder Deathless he granted such Peace granting tools, and so when a ghost went mad with age they were cut down and their soul returned to their egg. But if that were the last of War’s troublesome and destructive actions, this tale would have a happier ending.”

The violet War wrapped himself in black and red and forged within himself a ring and from that ring beat drums and played bagpipes and ripped chords that called out to something burning hot inside of Danny that had his chocolate evaporating out of his cup. “A god or a ghost can craft from themselves an artifact of power that embodies their very self, their greatest passion. Peace acted as a knight to Queen Death, while Entropy became the watcher over things, and War… War crafted his own place, a fortress beyond our immediate sight, and started taking ghosts there.”

War took the tiny green ghosts far from the others and brandished his ring at them, and from it a sickly purple light seeped out and infected the ghosts, turning them a toxic looking blend of green and purple. Danny shivered, and Sam set down her coffee, looking pale and furious. “Before we knew what he was doing, we thought of War simply as seeking conflict, as his name implied. But war, oh war is not just violence, it is imperialism, it is slaughter, it is conquest it is a͜ h҉un̵g̸er̶ ̸th҉at ca̴nnot be sat̶ed ųnt͜i̷l ͜all͢ i͏s͝ c̸o̡ns͢umęd ̕an͏d̴ ̕li̷k͝e͞l̢y̕ ev͜en͢ ͟not t҉he̛n.” The sickly purple and red light spread further and further, seeping into the ground and choking the air.

“When the dead forge artifacts that outlast them, they make them from the ectoplasm of the Realms and have them resonate with that ghost’s soul, thus allowing any Dead, Deathless, or even a living mortal with the same soul or at least born of the same soul as the ghost who made it to use it. When one of us does it though, well, we’ve got a universe worth of energy to work with, replenished by the Realms, so we reach inside and forge our relic from our own soul, and a bit of ectoplasm. Queen Death made her crown of Fire as a light to keep back the darkness, and to assist her in managing the ebb and flow of souls across the cosmos.”

The palace courtroom came into view and violet War marched forth toward his mother, his purple and red, and black ring pulsing with the beat of wrath. “As her Majesty Queen Death put to work her latest project of making systems out of Realms that would regulate themselves, her third eldest child marched into her throne room with a ring made from the collective heat and metals of stars within him, his malice, his corruptive hunger that would take and steal and conquer, and he stole from her what was her own, the Crown of Fire that lit the darkness of the Infinite Realms, and with a sword stolen from a Peacemaker he earned his most hatefully spat title, the Filthy Mother Killer.“ The kaleidoscopic crown atop Death’s head turned sickly and purple-green. A sword the color of bone pierced Death’s center and the whole Sanctuary shook with a screech.

“Peace ran to mother's palace to ask what had happened, for all the Realms felt it when Death died, and oh, how realization crashed down upon that which could call itself the Realms themself, and oh how it wept and oh how it raged, as the sword that would cut free the souls lost and tangled in obsession too deeply to pass onto their next lives alone and gave the infant Realms peaceful deaths was used to reach into Peace itself and oh how the Realms wailed with fury as the Fright Knight was forced into being under the service of the Usurper, and struck even his sibling Entropy, now Clockwork, giving them their famed scar.” Gold was encased in bone white armor and it’s violet cloak ignited. They struck blue Entropy and soon the gods all over clashed, and the tabletop was swallowed by a rainbow of violence and dripped with emerald blood.

“And so, the Corrupter of Worlds threw the Realms into the most horrific war, beyond mortal comprehension, as the gods grieved and raged and fought with all they had, but could barely scratch their elder brothers. Until finally, finally, Clockwork sealed Fright Knight away in the nightmares his sword now caused. And finally, Entropy itself rallied their brothers and sisters and we sealed away the vile Mother Killer in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.” Ghostwriter banished the images, his eyes burning amethyst and crimson and he took deep breaths, while the teens leaned back, wary and filled with their own impotent rage.

When finally he seemed to calm, the Sanctuary not writhing and rumbling with the force of his rage, he did a little gesture and the mist coalesced once more into a little stage. A foundation of stone formed and over it lay an ocean and from within it grew a tree of bark and steel, surrounded by breezes likely large enough to dwarf Jupiter’s red spot, mold growing at the bottom of the tree while a star roared to life above it. “Though War was locked away, the Realms did not know rest. So they set to work putting together their daughter's last project: a planar system. And ages beyond time passed, until one day, every god and spirit woke to the sound of a scream. And that, my dear Bridge Spirit, is where I believe your story begins.”

Danny sat there, turning over the story that he’d just been told in his head, and tried his best to process it. He wasn’t sure how to do that, though, with the enormity of it all. So, Tucker cut in for him, like always, but with a rap. “Yo, Danny Fenton, he was just 14-“

“Ai dios- stop!” Danny snorted a laugh and shoved Tucker’s face, and the trio descended into a fit of giggles. “Alright, my story isn’t as much as yours is, but, well.” And so, taking turns picking up where the others didn’t know, they told their story to the Ghostwriter. They could process the meaning of life later.

[natashaswinterwolf]

Day 7- Nimulot week St. Patrick’s Purgatory  from Draoight

                       Chapter Text    some humor

The two day’s ride ended up being three, the weather and terrain slowing the horses down. The mountains in the distance were already frosted with snow, and the horsemen could tell it would be descending into the valleys in a short while. Worrying about her people, Nimue wondered if it would be possible for her and Lance to perform the rite out in the open in the cold. Lancelot was up for anything where sex with Nimue was concerned but a turn in the weather forced them to seek shelter in one of the many caves that dotted the landscape.

Of course caves were places of magic and one could stand at the mouth of cave and stare out at forever. Lancelot and Merlin gathered firewood and Morrigan used magic to dry it out quickly. A nice fire chased the chill away, but it would eventually come back and they needed to be settled by then. And settled on this night meant a warm woman in your arms with a saddle pack under your head. For Lancelot and Nimue it was a familiar position. Morrigan and Merlin had to work on it.

During the night a family of wild cats entered the cave and made their beds near the cavern wall. A solitary fox actually bedded down near the fire. They all left before the fey awakened, but Lancelot knew they had been there.  

“We had visitors last night,” he told Nimue with a smile on his face as he repacked their saddle bags.

“What kind?”

“A fox and some cats.”

“I wish I had seen them,” she replied with a wistful smile. Once the horses were saddled, they rode out into the chilly morning. The ground crunched beneath their hooves, but within the hour they were topping a ridge and pausing to gaze out across a long narrow valley. In the distance frosted with snow a blue mountain range rose above it.

Merlin led them into the valley, Lancelot bringing up the rear. By midday they were standing at the edge of Lough Derg, and Merlin was horrified. “There’s a church on our island,” he said in amazement. “I thought you said there would be dobharcus and lake monsters. Instead we are going to be facing monks….no offense.”

“None taken,” Lancelot answered.

“I haven’t been here in a thousand years,” Morrigan replied defensively. “How was I to know they would build a church on THAT island.”

“What we need is there,” Merlin continued. “There is supposed to be a cave on the island and the shard we need is there.”  Looking around for a way to cross to the island, he said, “I would rather deal with dobharcus.” Spying a dock with a pair of curracgs tied to it, they walked over to see if anyone would take them to the island.

“I’ll stay with the horses,” Morrigan offered. “No monk is going to believe I’m one of them.” To Nimue, she said, “You’ll need to cover your hair.”

“Or I could stay with you and not upset the monks,” Nimue offered.

“Cowards,” Merlin snipped and looked up at Lancelot. “They have a point but you don’t.”

“I said nothing,” Lancelot spoke up in defense of himself.

“You don’t have to. Come on, let’s see how much it will cost to sail over to the island. And we have to leave our weapons here.”

Nimue and Morrigan watched the currach slide across the water towards the island. “He really was looking forward to seeing a dobharcu,” Morrigan remarked as she waved her fingers at Merlin.

“I think Lancelot was too,” Nimue added wishing now that she was going with them, although an island of monks did not appeal to her. And there probably wasn’t any room for her on the boat.

The currach beached and the oarsman said, “I’ll be back in three days.” And he shoved off.

“Three days?” Merlin muttered to himself. “I do not plan on being here three days.” Lancelot didn’t say anything; some monks were coming to welcome them.

“Brothers,” the elder of the two greeted them with extended hands. “Welcome to St. Patrick’s Purgatory. “I am Brother Aedan and this is Brother Daniel. You will find inner peace as you fast and pray for the next three days.”

Merlin grimaced at the thought of fasting for three days. “I am honored to meet you Brother Aedan, this is my son Bradan.” Appreciating his own joke, Merlin explained, “His mother had a love of fish.”

“The fishing is excellent here,” Brother Daniel included.

Merlin looked around, noting that everything was wrapped in winter brown…except. “Is that Crios Conchulainn growing there?” he asked and pointed at the lush blooming white flowers.

“We prefer to call it meadowsweet, but aye, isn’t it remarkable?” Brother Aedan replied and led them to the very shallow iron planter. “They bloom year round without any help from us. A true miracle from God.”

A miracle all right but not from God. Merlin recognized the bottom portion of the Dagda’s cauldron. He knelt down on one knee and ran his hands over it. He could feel the magic rolling off it. Glancing up at Lancelot, he said, “We have certainly come to the right place.”

Lancelot gazed thoughtfully at the piece of iron and knew without a doubt his soul was going to burn for all eternity, because they were about to rob a church. The brothers led them to the chapel where they could pray in peace as they were the only guests on the island. Kneeling at the alter in the candle lit church, the smell of honey filling the air, Merlin looked at Lancelot and whispered, “I didn’t realize it was that big. We won’t be able to just tuck it under our cloaks and run.”

“We’ll need our own currach,” Lancelot realized aloud.

Merlin thought hard. Where was Scuabatuinne, the Sweeper of the Waves? Who got it after Lugh was killed? If only he could contact Morrigan or better yet Nemglan. “Can you reach out to Nimue?”

“I have to be touching a green plant.”

“The flowers. If you can reach her, tell her to send Morrigan this way.” When Lancelot hesitated, Merlin said,  “Do it now before they go somewhere else.”

Lancelot made the sign of the cross and rose from his knees.

“I can’t believe I’m about to rob a church.”

“It was ours first,” Merlin reminded him. “Don’t be long.”

Going from Christian rites to pagan ritual was making Lancelot a little disorientated.  Keeping his head down and his hands clasped in prayer, he returned to the meadowsweet and ran his hand over them. Keeping it hidden as best he could, he reached out to Nimue. Several heart beats later she appeared to him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, her background indicating she was indoors somewhere.

“We found it.”

“Where?”

Lancelot lowered his gaze to the flowers. “Merlin needs to see Morrigan. I have to go.”

Nimue watched him vanish and turned to her roommate in the hostel run by the Sisters of Eternal Grace, yes she and Morrigan were hanging out with nuns. “Seems that they found the piece they were looking for, but Merlin wants to see you.”

“I should fly over now,” Morrigan teased. “Give the monks a big thrill, but I’ll go tonight.”

Merlin was beginning to think she wasn’t coming when the large back raven settled on the dry lawn. Within seconds she was Morrigan cloaked all in black from head to toe. “It’s about time,” he greeted impatiently.

“You didn’t want me to come in the middle of six o’clock mass did you?” she retorted.

“I need you to find my currach.”

Morrigan looked at him as if he were crazy. “Do you have any idea where it might be?” she asked.

“Maybe Naas? I don’t know. Find Nemglan and ask him to send his birds out.”

“It might take a few days.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Merlin retorted. “I just hope they don’t try to baptize me before you get back.”

Morrigan looked up at the silent Lancelot. Such a tall sweet baby. Slipping her arms around his neck she kissed him. A little magic got his lips parted for a slip of the tongue. And then she released him. “That’s from Nimue,” she said and flew away.

Merlin snorted, “Nimue, my ass.”

Sleep depravation did not bother them; they were fey after all and sleep was not essential to their existence. And fasting, while annoying to a man used to several meals a day, did not weaken them, but the constant praying and pretending to pray was taking its toll on Merlin. Lancelot taught him a few lines to speak in the presence of the monks, who owed their lives to the fact that Lancelot had left his swords with Nimue and Merlin could not convince him to just strangle them.

On the third day without any sign of Nemglan or Morrigan, they stepped into the rented currach for the ride back to mainland. Merlin didn’t know how they were going to get back to the island, but he was not leaving without that piece of the cauldron. Half way to the shore, a large white cob flew by with a raven following. Nemglan! And he had something around his neck on a leather string. His currach! It had to be Sweeper of the Waves!

Merlin and Lancelot were dropped off at the pier, where they were met by Nimue. Did she ask her father how he was doing? Or did she throw her arms around Lancelot and not come up for air for several seconds?

“People are staring,” Merlin warned her. “I mean I can’t remember if he’s your brother or not.” Gazing out at the large swan floating by, he said, “You’re late.” The swan flapped his wings but settled back in the water. “I am going to get something to eat…please tell me there is food around here somewhere…and when it’s dark we’ll come back.”

The Sisters of Eternal Grace served hot oatmeal flavored with cream and honey. Merlin ate because he was starving. Morrigan joined him and together they watched Nimue and Lancelot try to flirt without anyone noticing.

“You realize everyone knows what you are doing,” Merlin remarked and stuffed a wooden spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. Nimue moved her hand from Lancelot’s thigh and scowled at her father.

Morrigan turned to Merlin and asked with a smile, “Were we ever like that?”

“Like what?” he asked and shoveled more oatmeal into his mouth.

“Innocent.”

Merlin thought about it as his daughter scowled at him. “Never.”

Morrigan arched a fine black brow and finished her oatmeal. Humans ate horrible food. How were they ever capable of driving the sidhe underground?

Once it was good and dark, and they had their horses saddled and ready, they returned to the lake where Nemglan waited in swan form for them. Merlin took the leather thong from his neck and held the small palm sized object for the first time in centuries. “The Sweeper of the Waves,” he said in awe and started unfolding the currach.

Nimue and Lancelot watched in amazement as the small leather packet grew bigger with every unfold. This was real magic. Soon a full sized currach settled in the water. “Get in,” Merlin told Lancelot. “Nemglan we will need you.” The swan hissed and flapped his enormous wings to rise gracefully from the water. Morrigan shifted into a raven and joined him. Nimue wasn’t going to be left behind this time and jumped into the leather boat.

“Take us to the island,” Merlin said once he was settled. Without oar or wind the magical currach backed from the shore and slid smoothly across the water. Nimue grabbed Lancelot’s arm as they covered the distance without a ripple of water. Nemglan and Morrigan, still in bird forms, waited for them. Nemglan shifted into his very naked human form and helped pull the currach up to the bank. Nimue stayed in the Sweeper

The three men quietly approached the planter and studied it for a moment. “Save the flowers?” Nemglan asked Merlin.

“Leave them in the hole, maybe they won’t notice,” Merlin said. “Lancelot, use your dagger to loosen the dirt.”

Lancelot withdrew his dagger and jabbed it into the soil around the edge of the pot. Only the bottom part was the cauldron, but the planter had been added to. Once the flowers were free, the men could removed the extra part, put it in the hole and return the flowers to it. Merlin picked it up and carried it quickly back to the currach setting it in the middle of the boat. Lancelot hopped in and grabbed the edges Merlin climbed in last and with a thought sent the boat back across the waters.

They packed the large piece of iron on the pony mare while Nimue stroked her head. Then Merlin took the currach out the water, folded it back into a small package and slipped it into his pocket. Morrigan assumed her human form and mounted her white mare. Nemglan flew home.

Merlin paused a moment to decide which way they should go. The sea was pulling at him, beckoning him home.  Turning his horse towards the southwestern end of the valley, he urged his horse on. They would reach the coast by noon the next day.

[startledserpentwriting]

Unknown Oath Worldbuilding: Magic

The following is an explanation of how magic works in my Unknown Oath setting, as well as a list of major characters and each one makes use of it.

In General

Magic is a catch-all term for the manipulation and channeling of a force known as Mya through an apparatus to circumvent the conventional laws of physics. This apparatus is known as a focus.

Magic is grouped into a number of subtypes known as Strains, generally separated by the channeling methods they utilize.

Strain 1 (Yzarin)

Mechanism

Strain 1 magic is arguably the most versatile form of magic, a fact from which it derives much of its strength. Unlike the other two known strains, Yzarin magic does not require a focus separate from the caster, instead using the caster’s own body as a focus. This makes channeling magic much easier for practitioners, as it tends to feel more natural than channeling through an object---a mere extension of the body and will.

However, the channeling of Yzarin magic takes a toll on a mortal body. The magical augmentations of the Oathbound neutralize this toll, but baseline humans often find it difficult or even dangerous to cast or maintain Yzarin magic for significant amounts of time without similar enhancements.

Origins and History

Yzarin magic’s origins are unknown. It is known to have existed since long before humanity, as a number of older animal species exhibit the use of it, albeit in more rudimentary ways known as biomagic (dragons’ fire breath, the unnatural durability of shard beetles, etc.).

The earliest known users of Yzarin magic in a more directed form are the original Oathbound; that is to say, those that originally took the Unknown Oath. The fact that the Oathbound are born with both an inherent affinity for Yzarin magic and a total resistance to its negative effects suggests that the entity or group that granted them this power (if it truly existed) also had significant knowledge of Yzarin magic.

The Acolytes of Illusion are known to possess extensive knowledge of Yzarin magic in all of its forms, though they seemingly refuse to use it under any circumstances.

Notable Users

All magically-inclined beings are capable of using Yzarin magic to some extent, though it is by far safest and easiest for the Oathbound to learn for the above-mentioned reasons.

Of the current factions, Yzarin magic is most often used by Ophidia and the Towering Inferno, though it is also used by select members of the Sentinels. Notable characters within the story who make use of Yzarin magic are Karina, Rachel, Dragon Councilor Serita, the Falcon Councilor, and the Hybrids.

Strain 2 (Initris)

Mechanism/Channeling

Initris magic is used by channeling it through a secondary, pre-existing object, known as a focus or catalyst. In this way, the user avoids the immense strain on the body associated with Yzarin magic.

Initris magic is somewhat more limited in versatility than Yzarin magic, though it still rewards creativity.

Origins and History

Strain 2 is easily the newest strain of magic. It was developed by the group that would eventually split off into the Sentinels and the Cull Hunters several hundred years before said split occurred, as a way to even the gap between the magically-empowered Oathbound and humanity.

Users

Initris magic is generally used by baseline humans, though it is also used by some Oathbound who prioritize versatility or need it for research purposes. The main factions who make use of it are the Sentinels and the Cull Hunters. Notable characters who use this Strain are Dave and Jason.

Strain 3 (Kyphal)

Mechanism/Channeling

Kyphal magic is channeled through summoned focuses or catalysts, known as kypha (singular kyphane). Kyphal magic is a powerful strain with a high amount of versatility. Of note is that kypha can be altered before and during channeling.

Origins and History

As it is used exclusively by the Acolytes of Illusion, the history of Strain 3 magic is shrouded in mystery. A popular theory is that the Acolytes themselves developed the Strain, though even this is unknown.

Users

The only known users of Kyphal magic are the Acolytes of Illusion. Despite multiple attempts, Kyphal magic has not been replicated by any other faction or individual.

Characters and how they use their Magic

Jason

Jason is a skilled user of Initris magic. His style is mainly defensive, channeling magic through his armor and weapons to form shields, dissipate attacks and offensive structures, and endure force. 

Karina

Karina is a skilled user of Yzarin magic. Her style is mainly offensive and erratic, designed to keep opponents off balance. It focuses on quick bursts of attacks from multiple angles and using multiple methods, with the goal of disorienting and eliminating opposing forces as quickly as possible.

Rachel

Like Karina’s, Rachel’s style of magic is mostly offensively-focused. However, while the latter focuses on multiple quick strikes, Rachel’s style focuses mainly on pure force, making use of relatively slow and singular attacks that break barriers and overwhelm opponents.

Serita

Due to her extensive age and experience, Serita is an extremely formidable master of Yzarin magic. She is capable of switching between and blending styles on a whim, and is highly skilled in essentially all areas of the Strain.

Ky’isem

Due to being non-sapient, Ky’isem is generally incapable of using structured Yzarin magic. However, being a dragon, it does manifest in a number of ways in the form of biomagic. 

Among other things, her scales and flesh are unusually resistant to magical and physical damage, she is capable of breathing intense streams of fire, and she is capable of flight where, without magic, her wings and weight would not allow it.

The Hybrids

The Hybrids utilize various styles of Yzarin magic. Yzarin magic seems to come to Hybrids even more easily than it does the baseline Oathbound, as well as generally being more powerful and possessing larger reserves. Apart from this, however, there are few noticeable differences from baseline Yzarin magic.

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[oraculideluna]

Mobile Link - Main Verse

There’s a lot here, so the tl’dr version is this: Luna survives being stabbed by Ardyn and healing Noctis in Altissia. She goes back to Tenebrae and lays low while she recovers, staying hidden from the Empire. Due to her energy and magic being sapped, leaving her nearly dead, her magic has no allocation for keeping Eternal Night away. Night falls, plunging the world into darkness. Once Luna has recovered and regained her strength, she begins training more with her trident and Oracle Armor (which you can read about directly below this). In the years while Noctis is asleep, Luna trains and starts helping further in the fight against the nocturnal beasts, and against the Empire. When Noctis awakes, she assists in the fight against Ardyn.

At least Luna survives (whether Noctis does is plot dependent, but I’m entirely down for either outcome) to see the sun rise again. She goes back to Tenebrae and takes up the role of Queen, and begins finding ways to ensure something like this doesn’t happen again.

Oracle Armor

In appearance, Oracle armor is white plate armor with a pearlescent sheen, and covers the Oracle from head to toe, fingertip to fingertip. Elegant lines, intricate designs, and small chains and jewels act as decoration, though the armor is entirely practical. It was crafted by the gods to keep the Oracle safe from harm should the need arise, and is infused with holy protection. While it can’t keep her safe from every attack, it is powerful in its defense, allowing the Oracle a better chance of survival than without it, and is built to complement the enhanced strength, as well as the healing abilities, of the wearer.

Historically, since Tenebrae has always been peaceful, the armor was worn more for show. It is granted to the Oracle on receiving her status when the previous one dies, and is thereafter worn for annual celebrations, rites, and ceremonies. Most often, the helmet is worn only for a few minutes, and then is carried either under the Oracle’s less dominant arm (leaving the dominant hand to summon the Trident), or by a handmaiden. The armor itself can also be summoned and removed in the same way the Trident is, allowing for ease of switching between regular clothing and armor, particularly useful if needed to be donned quickly.

Reference image of the Oracle Armor.

Luna as Oracle, and her role during and after the war

Though Luna’s mother, and previous Oracle, died when Luna was twelve, the title and role didn’t get passed on until Luna was sixteen, making her the youngest Oracle in history. Most Oracles don’t receive their abilities until much later in life, and while Luna’s teachings on one day coming into those abilities were broached, her training on the subject was never completed before her mother died. On becoming Oracle, she was unprepared for the intensity of her role. This caused, for a while, mental and emotional breakdowns, and frequent bouts of insomnia while Luna tried to adjust.

The visions were the most difficult to really come to terms with. Healing the Scourge made her frequently ill until she grew and stabilized; the near constant allocation of some magic to keep the Eternal Night away kept her slightly weakened, but she became used to it after a while; but the visions frightened her at first. After a time, she would force herself to stay awake for days at a time to try and not have to see them as often, which only made her sick more often. It took the better part of two years, but eventually, she stopped fighting against it, though there are still times when she’ll stay awake a night or two simply to avoid the visions for a time.

In the four years between her mother dying and receiving the mantle of Oracle, there was no magic keeping away the Night, and it was four years when the days slowly grew shorter and the nights longer. Not incredibly noticeable over time, but the stark comparison of four years prior to the day she became Oracle, there was a significant difference in length of nighttime. Once she receives this magic, the onset of Night slows again. She keeps the progression much slower for eight years, until she is twenty-four.

It is in Altissia when Luna is stabbed by Ardyn that many things change for her. Between her encounter with Leviathan, being stabbed by Ardyn, and healing Noctis, she is left damn near on Death’s doorstep. She manages to survive the attack and healing Noctis, and uses the last dregs of magic to heal the wound in her stomach as best as she could. It isn’t enough to do more than close the wound most of the way, and it ends up leaving a scar behind, twisted with knots of scar tissue along its length, but she survives. Protected by Leviathan, she is swept away to sea, and wakes up days later recovering in a doctor’s house in a small seaside town. When she is able to move enough to be mobile, she dons a hooded robe to disguise herself, and heads back to Tenebrae.

On returning home, she lays low for a while, keeping her presence to a minimum and taking more time to recover. With the Astrals awoken, it is one less responsibility keeping her weak; the next reprieve, and simultaneous onslaught of panic, comes when Eternal Night finally descends. Having drained herself nearly to the point of death, she was unable to keep Night away, but instead of a slow descent, it falls far more rapidly, and she is unable to prevent it. While she knows this Is dangerous, that powerful nocturnal beasts will now be able to run rampant with no limitations, she also knows that this means more of her own abilities and strength can used towards getting to the end goal: Saving Eos.

She begins focusing on building up her strength, as well as training. Up to this point, Luna had only used the Oracle Armor in the same way all the previous ones had: as decoration and for ceremony. Her insistence that she can find the good in anyone is a mistake she won’t repeat, especially not at the expense of her life and her people, and she starts wearing the armor for practical use. For protection.

It doesn’t take much time for her to feel ready to move forward, but any plans come to a halt when Noctis is trapped within the crystal. Luna doesn’t know how long this will last for, and the Gods aren’t being very communicative about it, so Luna is left waiting. Eventually she comes out of hiding and presents herself once again as Princess of Tenebrae, and spends ten years defending Tenebrae and assisting in battles against the beasts, doing everything she can to help.

When Noctis wakes up, Luna sets out to find him and help him adjust to being back in the world and missing ten years, though her ultimate goal is to help Noctis finish preparing for the final confrontation, and to restore Eos. She doesn’t expect to survive the fight, having been prophesied that the Oracle and the Chosen King are to die in this battle. She gives her everything in this fight, expends her magic, dons the armor and delivers heavy blows with her trident, suffers bone-breaking attacks and very nearly does die.

But she doesn’t. She lives. Moving to stand beside Noctis, they witness the sun rising for the first time in ten years.

Luna goes back to Tenebrae and, at the behest of her people, takes on the role of Oracle-Queen rather than Princess, and starts leading her kingdom in something of a new direction. While she is maintaining pacifism and neutrality, she is also determined not to see her kingdom overthrown again, and to have better protection if another war were to ever break out. She begins seeking out alliances with more militaristic kingdoms. This sparks controversy among many people, though Luna holds true that she isn’t aiming for offense, only for defense, and only if the need arises for it.

Abilities of the Oracle:

To heal those inflicted with the Star Scourge, taking the sickness into her body. This greatly weakens the body of the Oracle since the sickness is then left to fester inside of her.

Being able to speak to, and receive communication from, the gods. This is unconventional in some ways, since there is no way to speak with the gods by way of having a conversation. As Oracle, their prayers are absolutely heard, but the Gods can be ambivalent to any prayers they deem not worth their time or unimportant enough to deal with.

When the gods speak to the Oracle, it isn’t through spoken word or cryptic written messages. They instead send visions to the Oracle as dreams. These visions can be very intense, and even if they aren’t nightmares, they manifest as such. The Oracle is kept in the dream until the vision is finished, and many times can leave her exhausted, as if having just woken from a vivid nightmare.

Keeping Eternal Night at bay. This is a near constant process, as the mere existence of the Oracle’s magic is what slows it down. Some allotment of the Oracle’s magic is always being used for this purpose.

(When the time arises) Waking the Astrals and forging a contract between them and the Chosen King. These take so much energy and magic, that each one takes a massive toll on the Oracle’s body, bringing her close to death each time. Care must be taken to ensure recovery between each contract.

[eirabach]

Renegades [9/10]

Here we go folks, the final proper chapter. I hope I did you proud @seastarved. Thank you for being the best human I know. @losttalongthewayy, @thegladelf, @natascha-remi-ronin, @katie-dub and everyone else who’s supported Renegades and me, including the ever wonderful writers hub ladies who’ve been listen to me moan about this fic for months on end - you guys rule. I love you masses.

Screenshot from kissthemgoodbye.net

This chapter 5.1k.

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Chapter Nine: Captured Ghosts

There’s little they won’t do for her, these people who are now her own.

They find Pinocchio hovering at the edge of the forest, and although he looks at Killian with nervous eyes he’s more than willing to lend them the maps they’ll require for the last part of their journey. He offers to guide them himself, offering Emma a floor scraping bow as he reiterates once again how his father was once one of her mother’s inner circle, but Emma feels the way Killian stiffens at her shoulder and shakes her head.

He offers to gather a retinue - volunteers to staff her new home, men for the army she’ll be expected to lead - and she scoffs at the idea. She doesn’t need ladies-in-waiting, or a cook, or footmen to gossip in stairwells and dark corners.

“Maybe not, my Lady,” Pinocchio says with a wry smile. “But a Queen does.”

They make slow progress along the roads marked on Pinocchio’s map. Emma finds herself almost constantly mobbed by gangs of pathetically grateful villagers, all of whom seem to want to grab a piece of her clothing, a moment of her time, a word from the lips of the woman who’s banished the despot under whom they’ve suffered for so long.

There are decent meals, too. Offers of warm beds. Clean clothes and hot baths and the souls of their firstborns too probably, if she should ask for them.

It’s both nice and worrying in turns. The sheer joy of many of Regina’s ex-subjects is infectious, and in many places they are followed along the road by bands of musicians, dancers, small children who press flowers into her hands and beg to kiss her cheek, but in others their gratitude shifts into a darker, more bitter thing. Old widows who turn their faces away as she approaches, men who scoff as they tell their story, disbelief in the furrows of their brows. Hard-eyed women with scrawny children clutching at their skirts who ask the question she can’t answer.

What took you so long?

Killian stays by her side through it all, whether he’s riding beside her in a borrowed hay wagon or offering to lay his coat over puddles as they walk.

(She jumps in them instead, sending mud flying up their legs and the children into paroxysms of laughter, and he looks at her like she’s the sunrise and she doesn’t even mind.)

But it takes its toll, journeying through a land so cowed and desecrated and hers, and when a woman attempts to cut a chunk from her hair - only stopped from leaping onto Emma’s back with her homemade razor at the ready by Killian’s swift actions and liberal waving of his hook - she decides she’s had enough.

“What about your magic, love?” Killian asks when she starts to flag, her smile strained and her steps staggered. “You’ve transported us before.”

“I wasn’t thinking about it then,” she grumbles. “What if I get it wrong? We might end up anywhere.”

“And that wasn’t a concern before?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

She shrugs, turning to wave at some well-wishers so that he can’t see the unhappy twist to her mouth.

“It wasn’t my main concern, no,” she mutters.

“Well,” he says, pulling her into his side as the crowd push a little too close. “Leave it to me this time. I’ve got an idea.”

–

She smells the ocean before she sees it, the salt and tar traveling on the wind, bit even without that she’d know where they were heading just from the smile on Killian’s face and the way his steps grow lighter and quicker until, by the time the pine needles underfoot give way to sand, he’s practically jogging, Emma tripping over her skirts in an effort to keep up.

They burst out onto a spit of sand at the edge of a curving cove, a small natural harbor tucked against the mossy cliffs at the far side with a few rambling harbor side businesses alongside, their gas lights lit against the encroaching dusk.

“Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?” she asks.

Killian grins.

“I thought you liked adventure?”

“I like you,” she tosses back. “But I’m a princess now I can’t just go…” She gestures to where a few small ships bob gently on the waves. “Do whatever it is you do.”

“Well then don’t love,” he says, offering her a silly little bow. “I am at your service.”

“I thought we didn’t work for anyone anymore?” she says, swallowing a laugh.

“It’s not work,” he says lightly.

“Oh.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Duty is it?”

“Not quite,” he says, and his face takes on that too soft expression again, the one that fills her with a warmth she can’t control. “It’s you.”

They hold hands as they make their way along the beach, pausing only for Killian to rinse the old blood from his sword and hook.

“Don’t want to give the wrong impression,” he says with a wink as the water sluices away the evidence of death.

“Or the right one,” Emma says.

“That’s why you like me,” he says, and sweeps her up in his arms as if threatening to dunk her in the ocean - cloak and all - her laugh echoing off the cliffs around them.

(Like is not quite the word, she thinks. It’s not the word, but the right one won’t fall from her lips.)

He leaves her in an old tavern right at the harbors edge, with a flagon of rum and a mug of weak ale for ‘old time’s sake, and heads out into the gathering dark. She sips her rum slowly, watching the old salts at the bar and the tired looking bar girls with a practiced eye. She sees the way one drunk’s coin pouch is slipping, little by little, onto the bench beside him, and catches the eye of one of the girls who seems to have noticed the same thing.

Emma looks down into her drink, and says nothing.

It’s not like she can judge, after all.

(She could. Should. She just doesn’t know how.)

When Killian returns he doesn’t sneak in, nor does he storm the place with weapons drawn, and although she’s not really an expert on the details of how one commandeers a pirate ship, she’s reasonably sure it doesn’t involve enlisting a little old lady carrying a brown package tied tight with fraying string.

“Here she is,” he says, gesturing widely with his arm to where Emma pauses, halfway through rising from the table, “Princess Emma of the Enchanted Forest!”

The drunken man belches loudly.

There’s a moment of silence, and then the bar girl who had been eyeing the coin purse bolts for the back room as if Hades himself is at her heels. Most of the patrons turn to stare at her with cautious, rheumy eyes, but the old woman with Killian looks at her as though she’s the answer to all of her dreams come true.

“Your Majesty,” she says with an arthritic curtsey. “I’ve waited many years for this.”

“Yeah?” says Emma. “Welcome to the club.”

The woman dodders over to the table, Killian following her with a twinkle in his eye that puts Emma immediately on edge.

“It’s not a crown, is it?” she asks, as the woman reverently lays the package down before her. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of crowns.”

“Really? You stole enough,” grumbles Killian good-naturedly, and she shushes him harshly.

“Ixnay on the robbery, okay?”

“But it’s how we met!” he says, all mock offense, and she barely resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“You’re just like your parents were,” sighs the old lady, tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes. “It’s like seeing them reborn.” She looks at Killian, and the corner of her mouth twitches slightly. “If a little… rougher around the edges.”

Emma sits back down hard enough to send her ale slopping over the rim of her mug.

“You knew my parents?”

“Very well,” the woman smiles. “You look very like both of them you know.”

“What were they like?” It comes out a little breathless, but she can hardly help it, leaning forward as if the woman’s words might somehow disappear before she can hear them.

“Brave,” says the woman, her tears threatening to fall. “So brave. And good. Good and kind, and oh sweet girl, they loved you so very much.”

“Really?”

It’s a child’s voice, a child’s plea really, and the woman leans over the table to take Emma’s hands in her own wizened ones.

“Really.”

“She said they were still alive,” Emma says, squeezing as tight as she dares. “Do you believe that?”

The old woman shakes her head, but she’s smiling nonetheless.

“I think if you believe that, it’s all that counts. Your mother taught me that. To have hope.”

She nudges the package forward with their joined hands.

“Well, open it dear. The tide is in and time’s wasting.”

Emma struggles slightly with the strings, the knot worn tight with time, but eventually the packaging falls open to reveal an old piece of fabric. She pulls it free and watches as it spills over the table, slightly singed at one edge, but still recognizable.

“A flag?”

“Your flag,” the woman says. “To fly from the ship your companion just purchased. A Royal standard.”

Emma gapes.

“You purchased a ship?”

“It’s a day for firsts,” Killian says, and scratches behind his ear with his hook.

“Thank you,” she breathes, “how can I ever repay you - ” She grimaces slightly. “I’m sorry, your name is?”

“Granny,” says the old woman. “At least, that’s what your mother called me.”

“Granny,” repeats Emma, her vision blurring. “Thank you Granny.”

“No,” Granny says with a final squeeze of Emma’s fingers. “Thank you.”

She nods once to Killian, then tilts her head at the half empty flagon.

“Of course if you’re not going to finish that?”

Emma pushes it towards her, tucking the flag up under her arm as she does so.

“No,” she says. “It’s all yours. We have somewhere to be, right Killian?”

“Your Majesty,” he says with a bow, and reaches out so that she can place her hand in his. “Your kingdom awaits.”

–

They sail through the night on the small sloop, Killian at the helm focused on the stars, and Emma at the bow, her knees tucked under her as she faces into the wind, the Royal standard flying above them both.

Sunrise finds them close-hauled and bobbing gently into the mouth of a bay, the tide carrying them where the winds will not. The first pink rays catch the edges of a high promontory that reaches out like a long finger, and, at its tip, glowing golden as Emma’s hair -

Home.

“It’s beautiful,” she gasps, leaning forward over the bowspit for a better view of the grey-gold castle.

Killian ties the helm in place and comes to stand beside her, his hook hovering over her back as though he’s worried she might fall overboard in her excitement.

“Aye,” he says, and when she turns her face to him he only has eyes for her. “That it is.”

“I meant the castle,” she teases, standing upright so that he can wrap his arms around her, his warmth soothing the ache in her muscles from a long night’s watchfulness.

“Oh, well that has its appeal too I suppose,” he says, before pressing a kiss to the delicate skin beneath her ear. “I think I’ve the better treasure, though. Don’t you?”

(She thinks she does, actually. A treasure made of leather and sin and devotion. But she says nothing, just hums as he works his kisses down her neck, and wonders when the words will come.)

They drop anchor as the sun reaches its midpoint, the royal dock overgrown and storm battered but still recognizable by the few long faded tattered rags fluttering from sagging flagpoles, the scorched stonework of the castle’s outer walls rising up alongside.

“Home sweet home,��� says Emma, rubbing her hands over her arms in the stiff breeze. “Looks cosy.”

Killian leans back, looking up to the tumbledown ramparts with his hand tucked into his belt.

“Could use a lick of lime I expect,” he says brightly. “But it’s an improvement on a tree trunk.”

Emma scowls and swats at his arm.

“I liked my tree trunk,” she hisses.

“As did I,” he agrees. “Looked lovely from my net, but you can’t deny there’s something to be said for a roof.”

“And a bed,” she says without thinking, and he hums lowly.

“Now that we can agree on.”

–

Pinocchio must have had more difficulty convincing people into a life of Royal servitude than he’d expected, or the winds must have been to their benefit, because the castle is empty apart from the two of them and a family of feral cats who watch them with glinting eyes from darkened doorways.

There’s a pile of rubble where the throne room once stood, and Emma spends a long time - too long really - staring at the broken splinters of wood that were once her parents’ council’s chairs. At the bleached white bones without names.

As they explore further they discover a beautiful library - dusty and damp, but intact - and Killian spends almost an hour lovingly stacking a fire in the grate while she watches from a moth eaten sofa until the flames spark and bring the room to life along with them. He turns to her with pride written in all the shadows on his face, and when she whispers perfect against his lips, it’s not the room that she’s referring to.

They spread the food they’ve carried from the villagers out on her cloak in the room that was once a royal kitchen and wipe cobwebs from silver cutlery. Emma curls into Killian’s embrace as he feeds her grapes, the juice running down her chin as she laughs, and the echoes bounce off the old stone walls, the castle itself seeming to laugh right along with her

She feels like she’s been waiting her whole life for this - not the castle, not the crown, those she could have lived without - but for wide blue eyes and a ridiculous grin as he tosses a grape up into the air and catches it in his mouth. For someone who loves her. For someone she loves.

Before the sun dips below the horizon, she knows she’s not waiting any longer.

She leaves him examining the spines of the books in the library and heads up the most intact staircase she can find, on a mission to find a bed that’s not been already reserved by a cat and her kittens.

Her eye is immediately caught by a door that stands ajar at one end of the corridor, the setting sun throwing an arrow of light along the flagstones, and tempting her to peek beyond it.

The room is dusty and battered, but was clearly once grand. An upturned cradle lies at its center, toys scattered across the floor and on every surface, and she knows that when she closes the door - her heart pounding and her eyes hot - she closes it forever.

Somethings can never be recovered, after all.

There are plenty of beds to be found elsewhere. Beds full of mewling kittens and beds full of bones, beds sunken and stinking from damp and mold. One, four-posted and grand, is covered with silken sheets that are stained red-brown with old blood, the remains of what was once a man lying ragged and mildewed at its foot.

They don’t exactly scream romance, or a peaceful night’s sleep.

Killian laughs at her pout when she tells him, dropping a kiss to her forehead and swearing solemnly that he doesn’t need a bed, just you, Swan. That’s all.

He sweeps her off her feet, dropping her on the couch and then trying hard not to cough as clouds of dust rise up around them, Emma’s giggles becoming almost hysterical as it settles in his beard.

“Very distinguished,” she sniggers. “How old are you again?”

“Old enough,” he says, tapping his hook against his lips as he considers her. “Now stay put.”

“Not very romantic,” Emma snorts, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Not finished,” he says with a wink, and sweeps out of the library, with a final warning wag of his finger. “Stay.”

She huffs, but stays put, watching the lazy whirl of the dust through the air and allowing the crackling fire to soothe her still ragged nerves.

Occasionally she hears an oath muffled by distance, and once she sits up, alarmed by a terrible clatter coming from somewhere above her head, but mainly she just seems to drift - warm and hazy - until her eyelids grow heavy, the hiss of the fire playing like a whisper through her dreams.

Emma, Emma, Emma.

“Emma?”

She jerks awake, her hand already going for her knife, her bleary eyes taking a moment to recognize Killian’s silhouette without the bulk of his coat.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, kneeling beside her. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Yes you did,” she yawns, plucking at the edge of his shirt. “You did it on purpose.”

“All right,” he says, his teeth flashing white in the dying firelight. “Maybe I did.”

“Hmmm,” she sighs, shuffling slightly towards the edge of the couch until her nose is almost pressed against the thin fabric of his shirt, her breath stirring the hairs beneath the open buttons. “Wonder why.”

“A princess shouldn’t sleep on an old moth eaten couch,” he says, curling a lock of hair around his hook and tugging lightly. “So instead -”

She hooks a finger under the next button on his shirt and pops it free, pressing her lips to the freshly exposed skin.

“Instead?”

She feels the vibration of his sigh under her lips as she works her way to the next button.

“I thought you were tired,” he mutters as she flutters kisses over his navel, her fingers tangling in the laces of his leathers.

“Second wind,” she counters, looking up at him through her lashes as she works at the knot. “You were gone a while.”

“I was busy,” he grunts, his hips canting forward. “Creating a bedroom fit for a princess.”

She pauses, tapping her fingers against the hard ridge of him where he strains against the leather.

“I think you like that.”

“Like what?”

“The princess thing.”

He smiles down at her, his face softer than she might have expected considering the heat of his arousal against her hand.

“Do you know,” he says, his palm against her cheek and his hook in her hair. “I suspect it’s more the Emma thing.”

“You’re making it difficult to seduce you you know,” she huffs, leaning into his touch. “Getting all soppy on me.”

“My apologies, Swan,” he says with a grin. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

She leans back against the sofa, lifting her arms above her head as she stretches languidly, and quirks an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t know, maybe I am too tired.”

Killian doesn’t seem to take the bait, instead still watching her with those too soft eyes.

“How about you let me take you to bed then, hmm? Perhaps you can consider your next move from a position of comfort.”

“Sounds wild,” she scoffs.

His lips twitch.

“Sounds like you’ve got a - how did you say - pirate thing.”

“Maybe I have,” she drawls, biting down on her lower lip as she loosens the stays of her corset to expose the rise of her breasts. “Want to find out?”

“Maybe,” he says, reaching to catch hold of her wrists so that he can pull her back to the edge of the seat. “But right now, there’s one thing I really would like to discover.”

“Oh?”

He tugs a little more firmly so that she rises to her feet, the loose halve of her corset falling away and leaving her in only her chemise and skirts, the heat of his body through the thin material sending warmth flooding through her as he presses her into his chest.

“Trust me?” he asks.

It’s never in doubt. Not when he wraps a piece of cloth around her eyes, nor as he leads her through the hallways of the castle, up a flight of stairs and down another, his hands steady and sure on hers whenever she threatens to stumble.

Finally they stop, Emma bumping into Killian’s back. The room is warm after the chill of the journey, the scent of candle wax strong in the air, and when Killian steps away the draft of the door being shut sends shivers down her spine.

“Scared?” he asks, the amusement in his voice laced with something darker, something that sets goosebumps shouting across her skin for more reasons than just the chill.

“Hardly,” she answers, “now can I take this thing off or - hey!”

She’s briefly weightless, flailing through the air, magic sparking through her blood like panic, and then she lands on something soft, her undignified squawk almost muffled by Killian’s chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” he sniggers against her ear as he tugs at her blindfold. “I couldn’t resist. Pirate, see.”

She blinks against the soft glow of candlelight as her vision is restored, Killian’s flushed, happy face hovering over her own as he kneels above her.

“You,” she says, “are an asshole.”

With only two swift moves she flips them so that he’s lying, pink and breathless, on the feather bed he’s somehow procured, while she sits back on her haunches, his thighs trapped between her own.

“Aye,” he says, with a lightness she barely recognizes him capable of, his smile making him look years younger as he lifts his hand and hook to rest them behind his head. “I dare say you like it.”

She leans forward, resting her thumbs on his cheeks as she brushes her lips oh-so-lightly against his, her next words barely a breath between them.

“I dare say I do.”

They’re not the words he truly wants to hear, nor the ones she can feel lying heavy on the tip of her tongue, but he surges up to taste them nonetheless, his mouth hot and certain as he draws out the words she cannot say, the truth of her feelings for him stuttering out in a series of half choked moans as he cants his hips up to meet hers.

“Too many clothes,” she mutters into his collarbone. “Why are there always too many clothes?”

“Not this time,” he mutters, pushing the cotton of her chemise down her arms until it falls to her waist exposing her breasts to his hungry eyes. 

“So beautiful,” he groans as he reaches for her , but she stops him with a hand on his wrist, the other hovering over the straps that hold his hook in place.

“May I?” she asks gently, aware of the way his eyes widen and his breathing seems to speed up as she turns the brace gently and presses a kiss to the hook. “For the first time in probably both our lives, no one is out to get us. We don’t need this…”

He licks his lips, his skin a little paler than before, and winces slightly as she runs a finger around the braces edge.

“Swan I -”

“I’m not a princess,” she says. “And you’re not a pirate. Not any more, not right now. We’re just us, just you and me.”

“Us,” he says, a smile breaking over his face. “I like that word.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too. So, let me see you? Please?”

He nods shortly, and she concentrates on working the buckles loose, years of ocean air having stiffened them to the point where she wonders just how often he actually removes the thing.

“Alright?” she asks as the final one comes free.

He nods again, his gaze fixed on the way her fingers close around the leather as she pulls the brace gently towards herself. For her part, she watches his face, never letting herself waver even as she drops hook and brace to the floor with a resounding clunk and brings his wrist close to her body.

“Too many clothes,” she tells him again, taking hold of his hand and resting both against the exposed skin of her waist. “Help a girl out?”

The nervous expression disappears in a moment, replaced by a familiar smirk - the one he’d sent her over a tavern bench a lifetime ago, all swagger and promise (and by the gods can he keep a promise).

“With pleasure.”

It doesn’t take much, just the lifting of her hips as he works her skirts down her legs, and then she’s over him again, leaning down to run damp kisses against the scars on his chest, her hands sliding lower until he’s the one squirming out of his trousers, kicking them off the end of the bed as he rises up to crush his lips against hers.

She grabs at his shoulders as he moves his mouth lower to lavishes kisses on her throat, his teeth nipping at her collarbone and then lower, lower until she’s keening against him as he turns his attentions to her breasts, his hand and wrist pressing her down until she’s practically grinding herself against his heat, tossing her head back so that he can draw more of her nipple into his mouth, her body straining towards him.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he rasps against her damp skin. “Ever since you came back to my ship that first time, it’s always been you.”

She mumbles something that’s lost to a gasp as he slides his hand between them, making her nerves sing s though she’s an instrument he’s been playing all his life.

“The way you feel,” he sighs, rolling her clit between his fingers until she whimpers. “The way you taste.”

And then it’s her turn to be on her back, taking great gulps of air as he throws her legs over his shoulders and plunges his head between her thighs.

It’s all she can do to hold on, her hands fisting in his hair as he winds her higher and tighter until her vision bursts white behind her closed eyelids, pleasure flooding through her in waves as he laps and sucks like a starving man, the crook of his fingers inside her almost enough to make her see stars, but that highest peak is just out of reach, her body arching off the bed as she strains toward it, her thighs trembling around his ears.

“Please,” she begs, hardly sure what it is she’s asking for but just knowing that she needs it - that she needs him - heavy and hard and hers all hers. “Killian please.”

I love you I love you I -

And then he rises up her body, his mouth bruising and tart as he kisses her, and slides slowly, perfectly, home.

I love you.

–

She’s settled into the afterglow before she realizes they’re in some sort of tower room, the stone walls bare of any decoration save for the flickering shadows cast by the candlelight, and the steady glow of the dying fire. There’s a great arched window on the wall opposite the foot of their bed, and of they weren’t so high up - so high up that she can see the boat they arrived in as a mere speck against the silver-black sea - she might be self-conscious about lying here clothing in nothing but moonlight and shadow, her head pillowed on Killian’s chest while the waves crash against the rocks below.

She isn’t.

They lie in silence for a while, Emma content to count the beats of his heart under her ear and run gentle fingers over the scarring at his wrist. Killian lets her, only moving to toss the crumpled sheet over their entwined legs when the cool night breezes make her shiver, and then settling back, pulling her tighter against him as he does so.

Maybe it’s the need she feels in him then - the slight uptick of his heart rate, the shudder in his breathing as he presses his nose into her hair - or maybe it’s the wind picking up and sending the candles stuttering with the sound of the ocean’s displeasure, but her contentment is short lived.

“When will you leave?” she asks, her fingers stilling against the worst of the marks, the scarring much bolder in the struggling light.

He doesn’t move to sit up, but she feels the tension in his body, the way he holds his breath before he answers.

“Excuse me?”

“To go back to sea,” she says.

The wind howls, and the last of the candles gives up in the face of its wrath. Killian shifts himself and lifts her chin, forcing her to attempt to make out his expression in the pale moonlight.

He looks sad, she thinks. She thinks maybe he always has, somewhere beneath the leather and swagger. Somewhere beyond the anger and flirtation.

It dawns on her that she’s not the only one exposed tonight.

“What on earth makes you think I’d do that?”

“But you said -” she starts, then pauses, wracking her brain for what he’d said that made her think he planned to leave. Something on that first night perhaps? When he was freshly betrayed and they were freshly lost?

(Or found.)

He stares at her, and it dawns on her that it’s not unhappiness written in the shadow at his jaw or the quirk of his brow.

The bastard’s trying not to laugh.

“Emma,” he says in that gentle tone he seems to save for when he thinks she’s ridiculous. “What possible reason could I have to leave?”

She doesn’t know how to answer that, her only reference a lifetime of reasons she was left.

“But the sea, your ship, your crew, don’t you have to keelhaul them or something?”

He hums and nods, pouting slightly as if considering the idea, but his hand is traveling down her side, his fingers splaying against her hip as he sits up, adjusting her on his lap so that she can wrap her legs around his back. The sheets fall away again, but she barely notices, not when he’s stoking the fire within her all over again with tender touches and his lips at her ear.

“The thought is tempting, but I have a better proposition.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“It involves a castle, a princess and a dastardly pirate. I think you’ll quite enjoy it.”

“You think?”

“Oh darling, I know.”

–

FIN