theknifetest

[theknifetest]

family

Eden Tellain descended the stairs with a wary, careful stride. To her surprise, Eden had no need of a torch; though there were no windows (the staircase being hidden inside the heart of the castle), orbs of bright light cast a faint orange glow from their positions along the wall. Magic, but a spell she did not recognize. So long as she had their light, she didn’t much care how they worked. Despite her draconic heritage, magic was still something she struggled with.

The castle of Vayen was large and held many secrets, and she had found this place completely by happenstance. She had dropped her quill beneath the throne that day, and while she scrabbled after it on hands and knees Eden had discovered a curious knot on carved on the underside of one leg. It had taken some prodding (and no small amount of sneaking about, just to get away from her usual entourage of guards and attendants), but finally, finally her determination had paid off—for the knot, she discovered, was a small button, and that button opened a panel in the floor behind the throne; and that, in turn, had led her here.

She ought to have told someone where she was going in case this turned out to be some sort of trap, or she found herself lost in a labyrinth that no one living remembered. Or brought someone with her, since it wasn’t likely that Ilia or Fohley would stay behind willingly when there were adventures to be had. But it thrilled her to know something no one else knew, and even during a growing war she reveled in the diversion. This was a secret she wanted to herself.

She descended two floors, perhaps three, before the stairs came to an end. They leveled out at a short stone-walled hall, which in turn ended at a pair of large doors. The doors were tall, pieced from hardwood planks and carved in simple scrollwork, the painted over in rich, velvety black. Metal bands, likely steeled reinforced both top and bottom; a large chain, nearly as thick as Eden’s wrist, wound through the handles, looping round and secured by an equally-large padlock.

Eden eyed the doors with apprehension. Great things lay beyond doors like that. The true question was whether it was a good sort of great, like a hidden shrine or ancient treasure, or if whatever was locked behind those doors was the great and terrible sort.

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[theknifetest]

She’d been here before.

All around her was dark, a blackness so absolute it weighed her down, limbs heavy and heart feeling crushed beneath her own lungs. Kalysta knew this darkness, was familiar with it like her own skin, because it was her. This was a place of her own making.

But familiarity did not make it any less frightening. Instead, knowing made it worse. She knew what happened here, what she would have to face before it was over. Knew it wasn’t real.

Not true—the pain was real. The dagger this place would drive into her soul cut like any blade the waking would could conceive. Still, she would try to be brave. Maybe this time she could endure it. Maybe this time wouldn’t be so bad.

The faces began to appear before her, and Kalysta steeled herself with a deep breath. She wouldn’t let the win. Not this time.

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[theknifetest]

The Mad Prince

Elanor heard the footsteps approaching and nearly leapt from her vanity, her heart in her throat. It had been six hours—six! Her uncle had never kept him this long. Something must have happened, something dreadful, something—She couldn’t finish the thought. Instead she waited, ten paces from the double doors, hands clasped in plain sight and eyes on the floor. It was the same way she always waited when Symon was called on to make a public appearance. This time, she couldn’t keep her hands from trembling. When that door opened, what state would her brother be in? Would he be there at all?

Stop that, Elanor, she hissed. Symon is fine. You are fine. You still have time. You’re not dead ye—

“Away from the door, princess,” barked a voice, and Elanor bit back a smart reply. Haughtiness and sarcasm might be satisfying, but they’d earn her nothing but trouble. And she desperately needed to see her brother.

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[theknifetest]

“Psst.”

The first rock bounces off the bars across his cell.

“Psst.”

The second rock clatters as it skids over the stone floor.

“Kennan, I know you can hear me, you asshole.”

The third rock strikes him across the forehead, and he finally cracks one eye open.

Kalysta shoots him a glare, brandishing a fourth rock. And admittedly she’s a pretty good shot, but he’d be more concerned with her aim if she wasn’t currently stuck in the cell across from him.

“Go back to sleep and I’ll wedge this one up your ass,” she warns him, ignoring his snort of amusement. “Kennan, don’t you dare.”

“Fine, alright. Speak your piece so I can go back to my nap.” As if to impress on her just how unimportant this conversation is, he stretches back out on his cot, head atop his interlaced hands.

There’s an exasperated sigh from the other cell, and Kalysta’s projectile bounces harmlessly off his arm.

“Why haven’t you broken us out of here yet?”

“Can’t break yourselves out?” he asks, trying not to smile at the strangling motion she makes at him through the bars. “I thought you and Sand had all manner of tricks up your sleeves for getting out of tight spots.”

“Not for lack of trying.” Kalysta jerks a thumb at the cell next to hers, now empty; the door stands open like an unfinished sentence. “Did you seriously sleep through all that?”

“Maybe. Enlighten me.”

A resigned shrug. “Lysander’s been moved to high security. He burned a lockpick spell on the door and they caught him opening mine.”

“Can’t you just, you know… charm ‘em?” He wiggles his fingers in lieu of any actual spellcasting. “I thought that was your thing.”

“That is my thing,” she spits back, “except when the guards are all robots, who aren’t generally susceptible to the charms of a human woman, so if you’d be a dear and break me out of here, we can go collect our third idiot and maybe still break even.”

“Ask real nice and I’ll consider it.” He sits up anyway; when Kalysta wants something, he’s not generally too far off from granting it, whatever it might be.

Kalysta, admirably, doesn’t miss a beat. Her frustrated expression is gone in an instant, replaced with something seductive and smoky-eyed—the sort of gaze that makes most sentient beings fall at her feet. “Please, Kennan? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“See? That’s all I wanted. Oughtta keep that in mind for next time.” He hauls back for a kick, lighting up the strength sigils on his hip and thigh as he lunges; the door, formerly locked and bolted, snaps off its hinges and crashes to the stone floor.

“Quietly,” Kalysta sighs, too late. “Get me out of here, hero.”

-------

There are two things Kennan knows absolutely and for certain, right at this moment.

One, that no human being in their right mind would fight a room full of mechanical prison guards, armed to the teeth and just bristling with malicious intent.

And two, that he is entirely prepared to fight the entire room full of mechanical prison guards, armed and bristling, with nothing but his fists and a bent steel bar.

“SURRENDER YOUR WEAPON AND RETURN TO YOUR CELL,” one of them orders.

“How about this: all of you go back to your patrols, and you survive beyond the next five minutes,” Kennan counter-offers, cracking his knuckles. “I’m feeling real generous, and I’ve got a—“

Partner? Boss? Friend? Ew.

“—coworker who needs rescuing, so I’d appreciate it if this went as fast as possible.”

“SURRENDER YOUR WEAPON AND RETURN TO YOUR CELL. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN USE OF LETHAL FORCE.”

“I’ll take that as a no, then? ‘S a pity, it was a real reasonable offer.”

“FAILURE TO COMPLY NOTED. STAND BY FOR INCINERATION. THANK YOU, AND HAVE A NICE D—“

Kennan cuts the reply and the jet of fire off with an uppercut, his fist connecting sharply with the robot’s chin to pop its head off in a crackling spiral of orange sparks.

He knows better than to give the other bots time to react; by the time they realize their leader’s been decapitated, Kennan’s already carving his way through their remaining ranks, constellations of tattoos blazing just under his skin.

Strength bolsters his spine, sharpens his movements; he can’t last for long like this, flooded with magical energy, a conduit for some divine fury—but he doesn’t need long to shatter through the gathered ranks of the mechanical guards. He’s a natural disaster in human skin, a destructive whirlwind leaving nothing but debris in its wake.

And the robots are entirely unprepared for dealing with a human who can punch holes through metal armor like it’s tissue paper.

As the last one falls, sputtering softly and fumbling for the hole through its chestplate, Kennan looks the enormous iron high-security door up and down, then knocks twice, leaving dents in the metal.

“If you’re in there, Everstar, stand back.”

“Kennan, wait—“ Kalysta, fiddling with one of the downed robots, straightens and holds up a key.

Oh.

“You’ll be less likely to completely crush him with this,” she says sweetly, patting his shoulder. “Plus, I need you to still be able to fight off the robots upstairs, so don’t burn yourself out on a door when we have the key.”

Kennan rolls his eyes and, with a reluctant breath, lets go of the power he’s holding.

It’s not unlike an adrenaline crash, but there’s an emptiness that comes with letting go of that much magic at once; better people than him have called it a comedown, and maybe they’re not wrong.

Either way, it’s exhausting, so he lets Kalysta get the door.

“About time.” Sand barely looks ruffled, the bastard. “I thought I was going to have to actually work to get myself out.”

“Hello to you too, dear,” Kalysta says.

“Should’ve just left you to rot,” Kennan adds over top of her. “Come on.”

“Coming. Did you two take out the really big security bots upstairs, or are you leaving that for me to figure out?” Sand tugs briefly at the cuffs on his wrists, then flips his middle fingers down to tap the metal, an inverted fuck-you that activates the spells tattooed on his hands and snaps the locks open.

“Left ‘em for you.”

“Didn’t even know they were a thing, really.”

“Of course.” He looks equal parts annoyed and amused. “Fine. Kalysta, darling, you won’t be of much help—“

“Excuse me,” Kalysta says, propping her hands on her hips.

“—until we get to the human part of the guard, dearest, let me finish; Kennan, we’ll need you to get us upstairs and through the bots, but there’s a power source on the backs of the big ones that you can break to take them out fast. From there, we can get up to ground level, and there you can work your magic on the human guards. And while you’re flirting, I’ll grab the security codes we came here for in the first place.”

“Awful lot of trouble for something we could have just punched someone in the face for,” Kennan says under his breath, but he doesn’t mind. 

At least he got a nap in his cell.

[theknifetest]

(continued, aka i’m not happy with how this flows but whatever I’m trying not to be 100% perfectionist over this)

You hold the ring in one hand, and you call her from across worlds, fixing the thought of her in your mind—every happy moment, every grand tale Matthew’s told you. And you don’t know her, not really, but you feel like you should, like she’s the ghost of an old memory at the edge of your thoughts, something ephemeral and long-forgotten brought back to life under Matthew’s jovial affection.

The portal spins to life.

You hold your breath—careful, careful—and then step forward, extending your hand and reaching through the portal. It’s odd, reaching through; you’re used to calling, to pleading for heroes to join your cause, whoever they be. This reaching, this searching for someone, it feels strange.

But then someone takes your hand, and you tighten your grip and pull them through.

And when you emerge from the portal with Leila holding fast to your hand, you can almost hear Matthew’s heart leap into his throat.

You unlink your hands, your arm buzzing from the energies of the portal, and motion for Matthew to stop standing around with his mouth open and actually greet the woman you’ve just pulled out of some distant world.

“Hey,” he manages, his voice cracking again. “It’s good to see you.”

“You seem so surprised,” she says, and she gathers his shaking hands in hers.

“Guess I am. I just, I didn’t think it would work, I don’t have anything witty to say—“

He makes a choked noise and wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. From this angle, you can’t actually tell whether he’s laughing or crying, and something tells you it’d be rude to get any closer to try and figure out which.

“You’re here,” he says, “you’re here, you’re alive, you’re here—”

“Was I going somewhere else?” Leila asks with a smile, one hand ruffling his hair as he tries to compose himself. “Yes, I’m here. I don’t know where here is, but as long as it’s with you, I don’t think the location is that important. 

“Askr,” Matthew says, and Leila raises one eyebrow. “Doesn’t matter, never mind. You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

“Darling, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d just attended my funeral.”

You decide, as Matthew’s eyes fill with actual tears and he squeezes Leila like he’s never going to let go of her again, that maybe this is a good time to excuse yourself and let them catch up.

(of thieves and silver and stolen futures, aka half of that thing I promised you, Court.)

—

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[theknifetest]

(of thieves and silver and stolen futures, aka half of that thing I promised you, Court.)

---

You find Matthew on the castle wall, fiddling with something that glitters dully in the low torchlight. And while you’re reasonably certain he’s heard you approach, being an integral part of the Ostian spy network, you clear your throat anyway so as not to accidentally startle him and thus get stabbed in the face.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, if it isn’t the hero of the hour,” he replies, patting the spot next to him with a grin. “Our grand and exalted Summoner, savior of the gates and the ways, protector of folk who, without your noble guidance, would be duty-bound to serve the cause of tyrants and violence.”

You sit beside him, rolling your eyes a little, though his praise is genuine enough to earn a half-smile. “You’re buttering me up, thief. What is it that you want? I can’t summon treasures, only people.”

His lack of response feels like a missed step, and you turn to look at him as he looks down at his hands.

“Actually.”

“Actually,” you prompt, when silence fills the space between you.

“I was wondering. That relic. Can it summon anyone?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“There’s someone I was hoping I might see again.” He holds up one hand, and you think for a moment that he’s shushing you until you realize he’s holding up a worn silver ring, something oddly humble for a man who tends to surround himself with as much flashy and glittery as he can get his hands on. “A woman. A hero.”

You hold your hand out for the ring, and he sets the silver band carefully in your palm. It’s warm from his touch; you wonder if the wearing is from age or from being worried between his fingers so often.

“Her name is Leila,” he continues, not meeting your eyes, and you trace the band and let him talk. “She and I, we—well, when two people love each other very much, sometimes they think about running away together and putting their dangerous lives behind themselves, you know? Only, hers caught up with her before we could. She gave her life in service to Ostia, and I buried her on a distant isle.” 

His voice cracks.

“Couldn’t even bring her home proper.”

You place a hand on his shoulder. He exhales softly, like he’s pushing the sorrow out of his lungs.

“But you, you can summon people. People who should, by all rights, be dead.”

“You want me to call Leila,” you finish when he trails off, and he looks at you with the most hopeful expression you’ve ever seen written on his face.

“Can you?”

You consider this for a moment, chewing on your lower lip.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried calling someone specifically. But I think, if I had to, this would be a very good place to start.” You roll the ring between your fingers, memorizing the weight of it, the promise it almost symbolized.

“Tell me about her. Tell me everything. Maybe I can reach her if I know her.”

Matthew grins like you’ve just handed him the key to all the treasures in the universe.

“It would be my great honor to regale you with stories of her bravery and beauty.”

[theknifetest]

ARE YOU NOT TERRIFIED, LITTLE MORTAL, the being roars, its voice the sound of nails on a chalkboard shattering its way through space and time and echoing through the void of eternity. WHY DO YOU NOT COWER AND FLEE LIKE THE OTHERS.

“See,” Quincy says with a shrug, stepping back to avoid getting eldritch goop on his non-slip work shoes, “a couple years ago, I might have. But I’ve faced horrors greater than you and lived to tell the tale.”

AND WHAT HORRORS COULD POSSIBLY BE GREATER THAN I, comes the stomach-churning, light-devouring response.

“I worked retail on Black Friday.”

There’s a pause, almost quizzical; if ageless eldritch shadow-beasts had the equivalent of eyebrows, this one would be raising them.

“I’ll admit, you’ve got the whole I AM A TERROR OF THE ENDLESS NIGHT deal going for you, but you haven’t known real terror until you’ve tried to navigate a sea of angry people armed with shopping carts. I got pepper sprayed. You, my friend, have nothing on humanity.”

The beast blinks all of its eyes in dawning comprehension, then slinks back a little.

I’LL JUST, ER, SEE MYSELF OUT THEN.

“You’re a champ, thanks. Try to avoid dripping on the front displays if you can, I just finished restocking them.” Quincy offers the beast a quick reassuring pat as it slithers out, taking the encroaching abstruse darkness with it.

[theknifetest]

please ignore this a lot, I’m fighting my computer to see if I can get audio posts to work

aka me fighting with my microphone for about 20 minutes and spending 5 just trying to chew it out of its styrofoam casing and then FUCK THIS POP FILTER

[theknifetest]

??????? here

I didn’t let myself do my normal GO BACK AND FIX EVERYTHING, THIS SOUNDS HORRIBLE, LOSE AN HOUR OF WORK so it’s not fantastic but whatever it’s a thing take it

I don’t even know if Talos is a morning person

------

Patrol duty meant being up earlier than anyone in the world would appreciate, Kali decided irritably, buttoning her coat up as high as it would go and draping a scarf around her neck. The only person happy about the early morning thing was her partner, Talos, who was beaming like a particularly unhelpful ray of sunshine as she fumbled tiredly for her gloves.

“Whooooo’s the sleepiest partner ever?” he teased, leaning in.

She considered punching him in the face before remembering that that would mean even more paperwork, and he’d probably even get sick leave or something. “Gonna turn you inside-out, buddy pal,” she threatened anyway, trying to figure out how she’d managed to put her gloves on the wrong hands. “Help me with these before I break your pretty fingers.”

“You’ve got them backwards,” Talos informed her brightly, pulling them off her hands and swapping them. “There. Let’s go!”

“Coffee,” Kali protested, a longing glance reserved for the general direction of the break room.

“Justice,” Talos corrected, pushing her towards the door instead.

She dug her heels in just to spite him.

Of course it was even colder on the street, she grumbled, pulling her scarf up over her mouth and nose to keep the snowflakes and bitter winter chill from completely freezing her breathing capability. The result was that she looked like an angry turtle, and Talos—who was probably invigorated by the cold—flung his arms wide in the interest of being as much of a polar opposite as possible, taking a very large breath and exclaiming to anyone unlucky enough to be awake that it was a lovely day.

The end result of which being that he got a very large snowflake up his nose, and Kali felt reasonably justified in laughing at him.

“I could share my scarf,” she offered, dangling the end of it in his direction. “We could look like a gag-worthy couple.”

“Pass,” Talos said, still grimacing. “What if we needed to chase someone? We might end up clotheslined on something.”

“Because we’d be stupid enough to run after someone while still connected?” She unwound the scarf, then, making him stop walking long enough to sling it around his neck and pull it up over his face. “There. You can buy me a cup of coffee when we’re on break, Captain Snowsnout.”

“Your contribution is appreciated, citizen,” Talos replied, muffled from behind the fabric, and she elbowed him with a grin and set off walking again.

[theknifetest]

here’s a shitty thing I wrote five years ago! just for you, Court.

cw: blood and various injury

also an angry lady but when is Lexaren not angry

------

The door slammed shut behind them, drawn by some invisible force; Lexaren motioned for her men to hold their ground at the same time as Florian. They had just come through that door; there was not much reason to go back through it just yet. Except for the sake of escaping from something, but they were members of the Order—a full complement of officers, six from Treble and six from Blitz with Andrew making the thirteenth man and drawing lines of truce between the warring captains—and it was to be hoped that they could deal with the problem rather than running away from it.

Just as Lexaren looked ready to order her men to spread out, check the room, a door along the opposite wall slid open and a man and a woman walked through, though the door clicked shut and locked into place before any of the officers could make a move towards it.

“Who are you?” she asked, nerves tingling on-edge despite her composed form. Andrew wondered how she managed it—managed to deal with other people without jumping at shadows and suspecting everyone.

For a moment the air sang, heavy and taut with sounds too beautiful to come from a human throat, sounds that Andrew did not at all recognize but wished could go on and on. Every member of the Order seemed half-entranced by the resounding music, everyone but Pyrrhus who took a single horrified step backwards and into Valier, who shoved him forward again with an annoyed breath.

Then the musical speech, if speech it was, was gone; the man who had just entered frowned for a moment and opened his mouth, the words coming slowly and awkwardly and heavily accented. “We are… hunters.”

“Hunters?” Lexaren prodded, seizing onto the recognizable speech and forcing her way onward the way she always did; that was how she ran things and people always recognized that she was the one in charge. “What are you doing here, then?”

“Hunters,” the woman repeated, then frowned at her partner and the faint echo of a whispered music-word sounded between them; she looked back up at Lexaren and tried again, “Star hunters.”

“Reporters?” the blonde woman suggested, folding her arms over her chest, giving them the chance to trade glances again and shake their heads. “No? What, then?”

“Hunters,” echoed the woman; the man put a hand on her shoulder and took over.

“We are looking… for our fallen brother,” he said, working the words over in his mouth before speaking them. “He fell many years ago. Thought dead. Still living.”

“If you’re looking for someone, all you have to do is ask—you don’t have to send up a level five distress signal.” Lexaren looked miffed at the fact that they had wasted her time, gotten her excited about nothing at all; she liked dangerous and risky missions and Andrew couldn’t for the life of him fathom why, except that she tended to come out unhurt and grinning. “We’ll be happy to help, but our agents could have handled something as simple as a manhunt by just—“

“Needed to call you,” the woman interrupted, brushing silvery hair out of her face as if she didn’t know what to do with it. “Tracked brother down. Only way to see him.”

Lexaren would have replied, but Pyrrhus beat her to the punch and stepped forward, heat radiating from him in such startling quantity that Gladwyn swore audibly and Lexaren took a few steps back to give him space.

“I am here.” Undertones of the same musical sounds to his words, and the man and woman’s attention snapped from Lexaren to him immediately.

Shock and surprise emanated from Pyrrhus in even greater quantity than heat, as they took a joint step forward and the song began again, louder than before; he seemed frozen in place, his feet rooted to the floor and his eyes wide-open as if he had not expected whatever it was they were doing.

Slowly, the sounds faded again, and the redhead seemed to regain some measure of his physical functions. Staggering backwards, well out of their way, he bumped up against the wall and stopped wide-eyed and frantic.

“What the hell do you want with my agent?” Lexaren demanded, hands on hips.

“We came to find him,” the woman said, her heavy accent gone, the words flowing easily over her tongue as if she’d been speaking this way her whole life. “He committed a grave sin, and was to be exiled—“

“Executed, you mean.” Pyrrhus spat the words at her, angry-sharp and bitter, but she smiled nonetheless.

“Exile was all that you were condemned to, my brother.”

“It’s the same thing.” Lexaren glared at him, and he ran a hand through his hair sheepishly, as if not sure how to bring her back into the conversation she was no longer part of. “Exile, I mean. I’m a star—you know that.”

She gave him a raised-eyebrow look—yes, go on—and he continued, as the man and woman waited patiently for him to tell his story; they seemed half-amused by the entire scenario.

“I’m a star—not like the ones you see at night through a telescope, mind you, but real living breathing ones—and I sort of... made our Emperor angry at me,” Pyrrhus said, and the man barked a laugh and stepped in.

“You threatened to depose him, brother.”

“I did nothing of the sort!”

“You said that you wanted to take his place someday,” the woman added, “that you would make a better Emperor than he was.”

A nervous chuckle, and Pyrrhus nodded agreement. “Alright, I did say that, but it’s true, damn you. And it’s no reason to have me executed.”

“You were not executed,” said the man, flicking silvery bangs from out of his eyes, revealing a predatory look that made Pyrrhus attempt another step backwards, “you were exiled. The Emperor was merciful and decided that instead of extinguishing you then and there—“

“—I could just be kicked out, thrown down to earth somewhere and left to burn,” Pyrrhus finished with a hiss, finding bravery somewhere in the memory of being exiled. “A slower death, but no less certain; we cannot survive here for long periods of time, without the proper care.”

The woman nodded thoughtfully, not at all put out by his anger; she was calm-cold and determined, and her melodic tones sang through her words, sharp as they were. “Indeed. But a merciful death, and you cannot deny that; had the Emperor had you snuffed out, you would have suffered a great deal more than burning yourself out.”

“And yet we find you here, alive and well and holding a shape that should not be yours,” the man added darkly. “Grown too comfortable with the language of earth, with their mannerisms and their ways of life, no less.”

“So let me be,” Pyrrhus said, waving a hand as if he didn’t much care what they decided, though Andrew could feel his emotion, the silent current of fear and anger running deep. “I can hold this shape indefinitely, now. I’ll play the human and no man need know the difference.”

“You would sully our good name by playing the earthwalker?” the woman said, taking a step forward. “No, I’m afraid we have come to end the miserable existence that is all you may lay claim to. Our Emperor is tired of your continued survival.”

Before she could close the distance, pin him where he stood terrified and angry and disbelieving, Lexaren stepped into her path with arms outstretched to the sides as if to block her path completely. It was enough to bring both her and her partner to a startled halt. “You will not lay a hand on him without my permission,” she snarled, and Andrew felt a surge of pride in his captain—willing to defend her men with her life.

“I do not need to ask your permission, earthwalker,” the woman said waspishly; Pyrrhus’ eyes widened and he stepped forward but too late, the duo had grabbed hold of the female captain’s arms and spun her about as she struggled.

“Let go of me, damn you!” Lexaren fought madly, and the man made a surprised noise and jerked back, releasing her arm as a crackling, sizzling noise filled the air; the smell of burnt flesh accosted those present.

“What have you done?” he murmured, examining his hand; the charred skin rippled for a moment, then healed back to perfection, though Lexaren was already fighting to free her other arm. “She ought to be checked for other weapons—earthwalker she may be, but she is capable of some small harm.”

His partner nodded, reached for Lexaren’s duster collar and yanked; the buttons popped off from the strain of her pull and before the blonde woman could protest, she stood coatless and small without her uniform, and all too obviously unarmed. “Only her arm serves as a weapon, my brother.”

A flicker of movement off to the side caught her attention, and she hissed a warning. “Make a false move and she dies,” and drawing a thin short blade from a sheath at her hip, she pressed it to the back of Lexaren’s head as Florian froze in place, his officers doing likewise.

“Let her go,” Florian said cautiously. “Maybe we can work something out.”

“I think,” the silver-haired man said, taking Lexaren’s thin-wired prosthetic hand in his larger one and ignoring the increasingly powerful shocks she was fighting him with, “that this sort of weapon would be a bad thing to leave in your hands, miss,” and then he placed his free hand against her neck as support, and pulled.

“NO!” screamed Rinforz and Gladwyn at the same time, but it was too late. With no more than a startled half-cry from the blonde woman, the man tore out the prosthetic limb, the entire base coming separate from where it had been grafted onto Lexaren’s skin, and Andrew’s breath stopped in his chest as her pain flooded his senses and darkened his vision, roaring in his ears and driving him to his knees in a vain effort to stop it.

Crimson blossomed against her white undershirt, splashing darkly against the clean floor and suddenly the duo didn’t need to hold her in place; Lexaren collapsed in wide-eyed shock. Blood pooled around her, staining where she lay, and Florian’s horror was written across his face too plainly for him to be expected to do anything about it.

“You didn’t need to do that!” Gladwyn snapped, taking three quick steps forward to where she lay, digging frantically through his bag for anything that could be used to stop the bleeding; a roll of bandages was quickly soaked through.

“She would have used it against us,” said the man, tossing the prosthetic limb aside; he did not seem terribly remorseful, or even interested in the situation.

[theknifetest]

brainstormin

I don’t know how to do this ahahahaaaa

The Academy: A most astute and scholarly institution, run by the most promising scholars of magic, etc etc. The Academy itself is a reasonably large school with plenty of space for students to experiment with different fields of magic, as well as on-campus living and dining facilities, classroom space, and so forth. Key locations will be LARI AND CELINA’S ROOM, ASHE AND SAMMIE’S ROOM, various CLASSROOMS and STUDY ROOMS, the LIBRARY, the DINING HALL, the COURTYARD, the TRAINING GROUNDS, and the POND.

Lari and Celina’s room: Bright and cheerful, but tasteful. Both roommates are clean and orderly, even if massive stacks of books occasionally take over the space. Think colorful decorations, happy accessories, well-lit and open to the world. Harmonious.

Ashe and Sammie’s room: Quiet, fairly dark. Sammie doesn’t like natural sunlight much, Ashe doesn’t like external sound; between the two of them, they’ve mostly sound- and light-proofed the place and prefer it that way. They’ve also drawn a line down the center of the room. One half is hospital-corners neat, one is more like a big messy nest.

The library: Filled near to bursting with tomes both magical and historical. Well-lit, but fire is not allowed in the library; light runes take up most of that burden. The favored area is the nook in the corner, piled with blankets and pillows — not necessarily conducive to good studying habits, but well-loved nonetheless.

The courtyard: Herald to the great Magic Academy, basically large and a little bit imposing. Lots of marble, open spaces, echoing. The school’s seal carved into the stone and stained in silver at the center. Close, very careful examination might reveal layer after layer of protective sigils set into whatever can hold them, but you’d have to be very good at your job to find them.

The training grounds: Also magically protected, but much more visibly so. The training areas are open to the air, divided by walls into practice courts but not protected from the elements otherwise. Every few feet is a different sigil bound to protect practicing students from accidental backfires, explosive force, excessive drain on resources -- anything that might cause a lot of harm to come to a baby mage. They do not protect people from newbie mistakes, though, just potentially fatal ones. There’s also recording runes that monitor the areas and keep track of comings and goings and spells cast.

The pond: nothing special, home to approximately 15 ducks as well as an armload of unfortunate schoolbooks.

———————

Wit’s End: A small bakery-coffeeshop place favored by students of the Academy as well as officers of the law for particularly cheap and delicious goods. It’s not a particularly impressive space, lacking anything extremely flashy to draw people in, but the pastries are to die for and the girl at the counter always knows when her customers need an extra shot.

(Run by Lycoris and Lucian Renegade, Wit’s End is a cover for the Renegades’ sketchy dealings. The tiny hole-in-the-wall bakery provides the perfect exterior for an extensive literal criminal underground; just under the milling feet of caffeine-addicted students and police officers lies the expanded Renegade headquarters, as well as workspaces for the in-house siblings. Lemuel has his pseudo-library and monitoring station, Lucian’s workbench hosts a variety of deadly weapons, Lianna keeps a weapons room, and so on. Expensive, effective, and extremely illegal spell runes track for illusions, unbound weaponry, and unpermitted entry.)

———————

The police station: Center point for the city’s primary law enforcement agency; hosts a variety of detectives, officers, and trainees. There are other divisions and stations but this one’s the busiest, being set at the heart of the city and right smack in the middle of things. Most important to the story is Talos and Kali’s information board, a collection of corkboards hastily taped together and set up to accommodate their extensive history of tracking the Renegades’ movements. Also their desks, considering that they’re both pushed up to be across from each other and within witty quipping range.

[theknifetest]

her wrath undoes the wicked || LISTEN || fearless, tireless, born for battle; the lady law abides.

(art credit goes to antonio mora)

01. flesh and bone; the killers

anointed by the blood, i take the reins

cut from the cloth, of a flag that

bears the name "battle born"

02. fury oh fury; nico vega

my fire is wild

my rage is deep

one black eye

busted teeth

03. soul wars; awolnation

can i get an amen

for all the bleedin' and the prayin'? 

i had to struggle to be gracious

now we can touch it, we can taste it

04. don't mess with me; poets of the fall

no point of view is enough to quell

the rigors of passion in this world i dwell

if i'm going to scale the highest wall

i'm gonna give it my all

05. knights of cydonia; muse

no one's gonna take me alive

the time has come to make things right

you and i must fight for our rights

you and i must fight to survive

06. burn it down; awolnation

looking through the barrel of today

would that make you turn around and stay

looking through a window made of time

would you have the courage not to lie

(burn it down baby burn it burn it down)

07. glory and gore; lorde

glory and gore go hand in hand

that's why we're making headlines

you could try and take us

but victory's contagious

08. come with me now; the kongos

i was born without this fear

now only this seems clear

i need to move, i need to fight

i need to lose myself tonight

09. this too shall pass; nico vega

i'm not stupid, but i know myself quite well

i am the great almighty, as far as i can tell

10. unbreakable; bon jovi

i'm unbreakable, unstoppable, i'm invincible 

c'mon bring it to me, 'cause i'm always gonna be unbreakable

reliable, undeniable

c'mon give it to me, 'cause i'm always gonna be unbreakable

[theknifetest]

Send me a…

— 〆 for a childhood story — ღ for a drabble about a romance/their love life — ⌆ for a story about their family/home life — € for a bad memory that still haunts them — ✢ for a good memory that makes them smile

Or…

Send me a name/place/event or situation from my character’s past and they will just talk about that one thing.

Peek into my character's past!

[theknifetest]

BLUH BLUH CHARACTER STUFF BELOW THE CUT

LYCORIS — Head of the Family. It’s hard to imagine the sweetheart running the combination coffee shop and bakery as the mastermind behind the hostile takeover of the city’s underground, but that’s kind of the point. She operates in relative anonymity, her intent to overhaul and either reform or dismantle the various existing criminal organizations, because what better way to make sure people behave than to rule them with an iron fist?

LUCIAN — The second-in-command, Lucian issues orders on Lycoris’s behalf, manages the lieutenants and puts a face to the Renegade name when necessary. Most people assume he’s the head of the Family, and that’s the way they both prefer it. He also manages a lot of the weapons trade, especially the more volatile sort, and is exceptionally good at terrifying people back into line.

LEMUEL — Bookkeeper, spellbinder, creator — Lemuel is the man in charge of most of the Family’s paper, whether that be finances, resources, magic, or constructing cover identities for their operatives. His work is meticulously detailed and error-free, and his dedication is what allows the entire operation to run as smoothly as it does.

LOCKE — Queen of the thieves, more or less; she plays sweet and innocent and klutzy but anyone who has really really met her knows exactly how clever and ruthless she can be. She has masterminded a wide variety of heists, all without dropping a single body — an achievement that can be credited to her skills in impersonation, infiltration, and improvisation. There isn’t a lock in the city that can keep her out, a security system she can’t crack.

LIANNA — Not so much the leader of the mercenaries as the one with the best (worst?) reputation. People in her line of work know her by name, by sight, by the sound of her boots on a cold stone floor — and they know better than to cross her. She, in turn, knows pretty much anyone who’s ever sold their services to the highest bidder, and knows the circles they move in. She is also good at procuring specialized information that Liam or Lasy might not be able to obtain (the sort that generally requires intimidation and torture).

LAASYA — Lasy is the baby of the Family, both the youngest and the newest of the lieutenants. She’s their PR girl, the one who deals with their public image, who handles the diplomacy on a local scale and who smooths things over if events go south. Charm, money, influence, blackmail — she knows what tunes people dance to, and she fixes problems.

LANCE — The straight man to the Renegade’s underhanded tactics, Lance is a law enforcement officer with personal ties to the Family, and their eyes and ears inside official police business. He’s solid, a dedicated detective — but he believes in Lycoris’s longterm plans and is willing to assist them in whatever way he can as long as they stay on the ambiguously good side of the moral tracks.

LIONEL — Nobody knows the city’s smuggling rings better than Lionel. Whatever it is, he knows someone who can get it for you; Lucian may deal in explosives, but Lionel deals with people, with favors and backroom partnerships rather than in any one particular commodity. When he talks, people listen.

LIAM — An operation as sizeable as the Renegade family needs some kind of network to keep the information flow current, and Liam is the one in charge of keeping it running. He’s also the go-to for detailed information about people — players, targets, people of interest — and can put his contacts to work tracking nearly anyone. He’s good with people.

LEOPOLD — A former Lachirim special forces operative, Leopold manages most of the Family’s foreign contacts, and handles international diplomacy and communication when necessary. This gives him the necessary freedom to move in other countries and take care of particularly well-hidden or protected targets. The fact that he is soft-spoken and polite to a fault just makes it that much harder to pick him out as an assassin until it’s too late.

[theknifetest]

diamonds will make me feel better || LISTEN || you're charming, gorgeous, the picture of sophisticated grace; people fall at your feet and offer you the world and who are you to refuse them? if you don't play fair, it's only because the world has never played fair with you. 

01. can't resist (ft. laura vall); austin wintory

the thirst for the heist

that's what makes my world go 'round and 'round

everything that's yours is mine!

02. primadonna; marina and the diamonds

would you do anything for me?

buy a big diamond ring for me?

03. million dollar bills; lorde

there's nothing i want but money and time

million dollar bills and a tick tick tick tick

04. miniature disasters; kt tunstall

miniature disasters and minor catastrophes

bring me to my knees

well i must be my own master 

or a miniature disaster will be

it will be the death of me

05. thank god i'm pretty; emilie autumn

thank god i'm pretty

every skill i ever have will be in question

every ill that i must suffer merely brought on by myself

06. lover to lover; florence + the machine

but i believe

there's no salvation for me now

no space among the clouds

and i feel i'm heading down

but that's alright!

07. power and control; marina and the diamonds

think you're funny, think you're smart

think you're gonna break my heart

think you're funny, think you're smart

yeah you may be good-looking

but you're not a piece of art

08. wow and flutter; april smith and the great picture show

don't hate a girl because she knows

all the ways to get beneath your clothes 

'cause you played those games, down to the letter

you're just mad 'cause i play them better

[theknifetest]

Law’s apartment is tiny, an all-but-unfurnished single-room place set in the center of the city. There’s a bed, and a table and a chair, but if you were expecting something else you probably don’t know Law too well. Honestly, it’s a wonder she has a bed at all, considering that she doesn’t sleep unless she has to, and even then she’s the one most likely to just set up her camping gear in the living room.

She doesn’t spend much time there, either. Too busy keeping people in line. Home is boring and — well, the word lonely would never cross her mind, because Law doesn’t get lonely, doesn’t acknowledge that there’s a certain emptiness that extends beyond the boundaries of her physical space, but lonely is probably a good word for it.

Home is quiet, and quiet is strange and slightly terrifying if only because it offers the space to remember things in.

Law has taken to breaking into Bastion’s quarters.

I didn’t know you could pick locks, he says when he finds her the first time, feet propped up on his table, a half-empty bottle of beer in her hand. Also, I'm pretty sure breaking and entering is illegal.

To understand your enemy you must think as he does, Law replies with a shrug. But I guess if it means that much to you.

The second time she lets herself in, she just breaks the door.

He has a key made for her almost immediately.

She doesn’t sleep there, exactly, just shows up some nights and eats his food and passes out on his couch for a couple of hours. And sometimes she brings him things, and he can’t decide if she’s trying to make up for crashing in uninvited or if she’s more like a cat bringing him dead birds, but one night she brings him an active clockwork spider and the next is a stack of papers and after that is a bottle of expensive wine and he gets used to it after a while.

——

Bastion’s living space is pretty much the opposite of Law’s, but then again, it’s not that hard when she has all of three pieces of furniture. Well-furnished, decorated, carefully arranged like that’s something he has time for (he doesn’t) — it’s almost like his life is normal, and not spent mostly out of the city. His tastes tend toward functionally elegant, the sort of thing you spend a lot of money on mostly so it doesn’t get noticed or in the way. Rooms are arranged so that the exits are easily accessible, clear line of sight to the doors and windows.

It’s not all that much, but he’s proud to call it home.

Even when he finds Law’s weapon caches.

There’s an axe behind his headboard and a crossbow under the couch and knives belted to the undersides of several surfaces and he’s pretty sure she has a bag of Clockwork-made flash grenades stashed somewhere under one of the floorboards.

She assures him it’s necessary, Mother forbid they be caught unawares and unarmed because that’s absolutely something that’s going to happen in the middle of the Citadel, and eventually he stops arguing.

It’s worth it, too, because when Worthy drops in via the window instead of the door Law pegs him with the crossbow without so much as blinking. 

Must’ve been an arrowing experience, she says flatly, as he pries the shaft out of his shoulder with about as much complaining as one might expect from a man who’s just been shot.

[theknifetest]

The roar rattles North’s bones even from far and away, and Ilia’s great wings spread across the sky like a cloudless day unfurling. He is brilliance, brightness — glittering copper-orange-gold scales rippling in radiant armored patterns across his skin — and for a very long moment North cannot tear his eyes away.

But the moment is not so long that he loses his advantage, and by the time Ilia thunders back into the clearing, North stares up at him from bright blue human eyes.

It takes the dragon a moment to find him, overlooking the tiny boyshape in the hurry to find the great silver-blue-white dragon that had been there a moment ago, but eventually Ilia’s gaze settles on him and sharpens to a bristling point.

Change back, he orders, an impression on the mind rather than on the ears.

“No,” North replies, folding his arms over his chest. “I do not fight unless I must.”

You should have thought about that before you threatened me with iron and then hit me, Ilia snaps. He towers over North, bearing down on him as if to frighten him into erupting back into dragon shape. Change back or I will swallow you whole!

“You may try, if you like; I will just turn back when I am inside you.”

Ilia stops.

Blinks.

His snort of laughter nearly bowls North over.

You are a precocious little shit, aren’t you?

“I’ve been told it’s one of my better qualities,” North replies, risking a smile as Ilia sighs and — for lack of a better word — compresses himself back into his humanity, stumbling a bit as he settles into himself again. “I am sorry about your drink. If I’d realized you were the same sort of dragon as Miss Lyrica, I would’ve offered you something else.”

“Just don’t hit me again, or I’ll squash you, human or not,” Ilia says with a weary chuckle. “If you're offering, though... I don’t suppose my dear cousin taught you how to make sunstone brandy?”