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yellowcanna · 3 years

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The ZhongXiao Alliance

Summary:

“You requested the bard to get you porn?” Diluc questioned with a skeptical look on his face.

“No!” Aether shouted, waving his hands frantically in front of him. “It’s for…for Paimon!”

“WHAT?!” Paimon screamed off the top of her lungs before spinning around to see the pair of crimson eyes narrowing at her while the blue one twinkled with amusement.

"So he says." Kaeya gestured to the Honourary Knight.

“No! Paimon would never read these kinds of things! It’s adeptus Xiao!!”

“An adeptus from Liyue want you two to get porn?” The disbelief in the tavern owner’s voice was clear.

“This is all for Morax’s sake!” Venti pipped up from behind Aether, as if that would make the situation any better.

“Oh? Morax?” The Cavalry Captain raised a brow. "So it is the Geo Archon that wanted the porn?”

Aether buried his face into his hands. He should have never taken up on Xiao's request. No, before that, he shouldn't have taken Zhongli's request.

This whole mess started when Zhongli confessed to Xiao in the wrong order, starting with sex.

Now, it's up to one traveller, one emergency food, and one bard to make things right...by getting Xiao a guide to sexual intercourse.

Rating: 18+

Genre: Mutual pining, comedy, miscommunication, romantic fluff, smut, yaoi

Pairing: Main Zhongli/Xiao, side Aether/Venti, hint of Kaeya/Diluc and Xingqiu/Chongyun

Story type: Multi-chapter

Beta’d by: Amberowl123

中文 Chinese Translation available by: Yejet

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Available on AO3!!

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CHAPTER 2 - ZhongXiao Alliance, Book!

“Eleven…twelve…thirteen…” Aether counted, carefully plucking the Cecilias and adding them to the basket in his hand.

“Aether! I got five more!” Paimon waved, flying back with an armful of Cecilias.

“Thanks, Paimon!” Aether smiled, plucking two more Cecilias while Paimon added her flowers into the basket. “Perfect, that’s all the flowers!”

“Great! Let’s go back to Mondstadt! Maybe the tone-deaf bard got the thing already!”

“You’re pretty optimistic about that.” The blond raised a brow at her.

“Well…as long as it’s not us who need to find it! That tone-deaf bard seems oddly familiar with these things, don’t you think?”

Aether couldn’t argue Paimon there. Venti was strangely at ease—confident even—when he told them he’d get them the porn. Though Venti was over two thousand years old, and so was Xiao. Perhaps it was due to their long lifespan that they no longer feel embarrassed over things like that?

When the blond thought of it that way, he found himself to be quite immature. If he thought over a bit more, the book was—as Xiao had said—study materials, right? Maybe he and Paimon were the ones over exaggerating and over complicating things.

With that mindset, Aether and Paimon left Starsnatch Cliff. The journey back to Mondstadt took about two hours. By the time they arrived, the sun had already set and the city was quiet compared to the lively nights at Liyue Harbour.

The two headed straight for Angel’s Share where there were already customers seated around on the tables outside, gulping down their drinks. The blond and Paimon greeted some familiar faces before grabbing the door handle and stepping inside the tavern Venti had told them to meet him at.

The first thing the two were greeted with was the sight of Diluc’s irritated face, Kaeya’s amused look, and Venti who was grinning from ear to ear.

“Aha! You see? I’m not lying!” Venti announced, pointing towards Aether who was frozen at the doorway. The blond wondered if it was too late to close the door and pretended that he was never here.

“What’s going on?” Paimon asked, looking between the two men and the archon.

“You’ve joined us at the right time,” Kaeya waved his hand lightly for them to come over.

Having no choice, Aether walked over to them despite his instincts screaming at him to leave. “What happened?” He asked and he swore he saw Diluc’s brows twitched.

What in the world did Venti do this time?

Venti, receiving Aether’s questioning look, shrugged. “Well, Master Diluc, Sir Kaeya and I were just talking about… aesthetics.”

“We were discussing your questionable performance,” Diluc corrected. Even though his voice was even, Aether could tell the man was this close to tossing the bard outside.

“What part of my performance was questionable?” Venti argued back, clearly seeing no wrong in whatever he did. Worried a fight might break out, Aether hurried to step between them.

“The part where you requested the customers to pay you with porn.”

The blond tripped over his feet, his face smashing against the hard wooden floor and his body drawing a line between Venti and Diluc.

“Aether! Are you alright?” Paimon flew over to Aether who had a hand over his reddened nose.

“Hey, I was doing our Honorary Knight a favour! You wouldn’t want to deprive Mondstadt’s saviour his needs, would you?”

Both Diluc and Kaeya looked down at Aether—crimson and blue eyes staring at him skeptically.

“You requested the bard get you porn?” Diluc questioned with an unreadable look on his face.

“No!” Aether shouted, bouncing back onto his feet at the accusation while waving his hands frantically in front of him. “Well, I mean, yes, I did ask, but it’s not for me!”

“Then who is it?” Kaeya inquired with one hand resting on his hip.

The blond’s brain was a mess as he tried to think of what to say. There was no way he could tell them that it was Xiao who wanted the book! He was an adeptus, after all. He also couldn’t say it was for a friend since that would sound like a poor excuse! “It’s for…for Paimon!”

“WHAT?!!” Paimon shouted off the top of her lungs before spinning around to see Diluc raising a brow at her while Kaeya let out a small hum.

“I must say, I would never have expected that from you,” the knight commented with an odd smile on his lips.

“No! It’s not for Paimon!” Paimon shrieked. “Paimon would never read these kinds of things! It’s for Adeptus Xiao!!”

Aether covered his hands over his face, unable to watch the mess unfold.

“An adeptus from Liyue wanted you two to get porn?” The disbelief in Diluc’s voice was clear.

“This is all for Morax’s sake!” Venti piped up from behind Aether, as though that would make the situation any better.

“Morax?” Diluc frowned. “Didn’t the Geo Archon die?”

“Uh…!” Both Aether and Paimon paled.

“Are you suggesting that not only is the Geo Archon not dead, he asked you to get porn?” Kaeya pushed on.

“I…!” Aether looked between the two men, feeling completely trapped with no way out.

“This isn’t the place to talk,” Diluc gestured for them to follow and brought them to the basement where they stored the wine. He shot more than a couple of nasty glares when Venti’s hands wandered too close to some of the wine.

Once they were inside one of the storage rooms, Diluc slammed the door shut and turned to Aether with his arms crossed over his chest. “Explain.”

Having, no choice, Aether began to explain the mess they were dragged into—including the fact that the Geo Archon was very much alive. The blond knew he could trust both Kaeya and Diluc to keep it a secret…perhaps that was also why Venti casually revealed the Geo Archon being alive.

“So Rex Lapis is alive and he has fallen in love with one of the immortals of Liyue,” Kaeya muttered after hearing the full story. “Most interesting indeed.”

“And that adeptus requested you bring…research materials.” Diluc pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a quiet sigh. While he fully understood the situation, he didn’t look any happier than when Aether first saw him.

“Now that we've gotten this misunderstanding out of the way, can I get my books back?” Venti asked with his hands on his hips.

“So…what exactly happened?” Paimon asked again.

“As usual, the audiences loved performances and kindly gifted me their valuable collections, but they were all confiscated by Master Diluc here.”

“You should be glad I didn’t kick you out of the tavern.” Diluc retorted.

“Wait, so you really did get a book?!” Paimon turned to Venti in shock.

“Of course! I did promise I’ll help you guys find one, didn’t I?” Venti bragged and looked back to Diluc.

“What about Kaeya?” Aether turned to the Cavalry Captain. “Why were you here?”

“As one of the Knights of Favonius, it is my duty to oversee regulations. I can’t turn a blind eye to shady dealings now, can I?” Kaeya shrugged.

“How was any of that shady?!” Venti gasped in genuine shock.

“Even if you are lord Barbatos, there are still laws you have to follow.”

“Surely a book or two isn’t that big of a deal!”

“You are correct. A book or two is not a big deal, but…” Kaeya trailed off, his eye shifting to Diluc. Diluc spared a small glimpse at Kaeya before sharply turning away. He looked a little irritated, but stepped out of the storage room and returned a minute later carrying a large bundle wrapped in a tablecloth.

The moment the redhead set the bundle onto the floor, the cloth unwrapped, revealing stacks after stacks of books.

“Don’t tell me—!!” Aether’s jaw fell open at the mountain of porn.

“Did you rob the entire city?!” Paimon shouted.

“Of course not! These were all gifted to me by my faithful fans!”

“So now you see.” Kaeya bent down, picking up a blank cover book and waved it at Aether. “When a large quantity of these suddenly turned up at a tavern, that is something a knight cannot ignore.”

“We’re very sorry!” Aether apologized immediately. He was never so glad that it was Kaeya who caught Venti and not Jean, Lisa or Amber. Aether would never be able to face them again if they were to find out.

“Morax’s happiness is on the line here! Can’t you cut us some slack?” Venti tried to bargain.

“You say that you only need one book, didn’t you?” Diluc finally spoke up. “Take one and return the rest to wherever they came from. That should be fine, shouldn’t it, Knight of Favonius?”

“Certainly,” Kaeya easily agreed.

“Thank you so much, Diluc! Kaeya!” Aether and Paimon cheered while Venti looked disappointed.

“Aww, I have to give all of these back?” He looked at them with teary eyes.

“Were you planning on doing anything with them?” Diluc’s sharp gaze was immediately locked onto the Anemo god.

“Of course not!” Venti laughed before glancing down at the pile of books, then to Aether. “So…which one shall we take?”

“Wouldn’t any one of them work?” Aether asked in confusion.

“Hmm, take this for example!” Venti held out two books. “One is about a woman and a man, while the other is about two men. Which one does Xiao need?”

“O-of course it’s…!!” Aether stammered, taking a look at Diluc and Kaeya before quickly hissing out the last part. “That second one!”

“Then does he want a book with words, or pictures?”

“Huh?”

“Are there any specific positions they want to do it in?”

“T-that’s—!!”

“And what kind of kinks do they—”

“Just something educational!” Aether frantically shouted to stop Venti from talking. He felt like he was going to die from embarrassment at this rate.

When he turned to look at the other two men, he saw Diluc with one hand covering his face while Kaeya was smiling weirdly at him.

Someone let him die.

“Guess we have no choice but to look through them all!”

“How did you reach that conclusion?!” Aether’s shout was so high that his voice ended up cracking.

At this point, Diluc had finally had enough and headed for the door.

“Oh? Are you not going to help our Honorary Knight with his troubles?” Kaeya watched the Pyro user open the door.

“Unlike someone who has too much time on their hands, I have a business to run,” the redhead stated before disappearing into the hallway. The knight chuckled and followed after Diluc. On his way out, the knight grabbed Paimon by her scarf, plucking her off the air and bringing her with him.

“Hey!!” Paimon shouted, kicking and throwing her arms around, but her limbs were too short to reach the man.

“It would be best if you wait for them upstairs. Seems like they will take a while,” Kaeya said, giving the blond a wink and closed the door behind him.

Aether was blushing hard, but Venti was already ushering for him to sit down so they could start looking through the books together.

“Hey Aether, look at this one!” Venti cheerfully opened one of the illustrated Inazuma scrolls right in his face, giving the boy a clear picture of the indecent act being performed…with an octopus.

Aether had to use all of his will power not to scream.

Why was there an octopus?!

“It got an octopus in it!”

“I can see that?! You don’t need to show it to me!!” Aether cried, swatting the scroll away from his face.

“You have such a pure-hearted~” Venti giggled, rolling up the scroll and setting it aside. “Alright, I won’t tease you anymore. Let’s start looking for something you can give to Xiao.”

Aether nodded, still red in the face as he picked up the book closest to him. Since all of these covers were blank, it was hard to tell the contents without looking inside. The moment Aether opened the book, he immediately regretted it as it was a picture book.

Golden eyes rounded upon the sight of a man lying on the bed, his head thrown back with his mouth opened and eyes closed. The look on his face could only be described as ecstasy with spurts of white splattered over his body. With his legs pulled apart, Aether was given a clear view of another man’s appendage, going into the...

The blond frantically snapped the book shut, but the image was already engraved into his brain…

“There’s surprisingly a lot of novels here. Well, then again it might be not so surprising. Some nations have strict rules on the picture ones. This would be good since words can go into details of how it’s done!” Venti mumbled while scavenging through the books and oblivious to Aether’s inner terror.

“We should pick out the ones with males only and put them into a pile!”

“Uwah, this one is a bit extreme, but hey, surely that brute would be into it!”

“Hilichurl? Huh, people sure are imaginative these days.”

“Woah, a Regisvines? Wouldn’t you freeze to death? Wait…did Regisvines have tentacles like these? Oh, they’re roots…?”

“Hmm, as I thought, there’s not too many with only males—oh! Hey Aether! Look at this! This one’s from Fontaine!”

“Aha, here’s another one! Come now Aether, help me out here!”

“Aether? Are you listening?”

“Aether?”

“Aether!”

…They found a book thirteen hours later.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Are you sure you guys were finding a book and not gone off to fight monsters?” Paimon asked, hovering over Aether who was lying in the carriage with a folded cloth shielding his eyes from the morning light.

“Ehe, don’t mind him!” Venti smiled. “He’ll be fine after getting some sleep.”

“You two sure took your time! Paimon fell asleep waiting for you!”

“There were too many things to sort through. Besides,” the archon gestured to the carriage they were in. “If we didn’t take an entire night, how would we be able to hitch a ride on the Dawn Winery shipping cart that is heading to Liyue?”

“Why are you so proud when it’s Master Diluc who gave us the ride?” Paimon huffed before looking down at the book the two had taken an entire night to choose. Judging by the hardcover and the form of the book, it originated from Mondstadt. Since there wasn’t anything on the front or the back of the book, Paimon couldn’t tell what kind of content was inside.

“Soooo…” She looked up at Venti with a sly grin. “What book did you guys choose in the end?”

“Hmm, I would advise against reading it. It’s not something for the faint of heart~” Venti winked and began playing music on his lyre. Paimon puffed, but she floated down, sitting in the corner of the carriage and listened to the archon’s music.

The journey back to Liyue was peaceful. Even when there were nearby monster attacks, Diluc’s men were able to fend them off so there was no need for Venti or Aether to intervene. Because the Dawn Winery carriage was heading towards Qingce village, the three had to get off around Stone Gate and walk the rest of the way to Guili Plains.

This time, there was no need for Aether to call for Xiao. The moment they arrived at their destination, Xiao appeared in a flicker of green light.

“Lord Barbatos,” he greeted politely, nodding his head towards the Anemo Archon.

Aether and Paimon stared at Xiao, then to Venti who puffed out his chest with pride. Sometimes, they both forget that Barbatos was a huge deal due to the archon’s behaviour and the little respect the bard named Venti gets in Mondstadt…

“It’s been a long time, Xiao! Almost a millennia, I believe?” Venti greeted.

“Yes,” Xiao responded curtly. “What brought you to Liyue?”

“I ran into our dear traveller here back in Mondstadt and heard about Morax’s proposal to you, so I decided to come along!”

“I see.” The adeptus glanced to Aether. “I trust you’ve brought the items?”

“Yes, here they are.” Aether handed over the basket of Cecilias and the book.

“What are you planning on doing with those Cecilias?” Venti asked curiously.

“They are for the Cleansing pills.”

“Cleansing pills? What’s that?” Paimon inquired.

“Adepti do not indulge themselves in mortal desires,” Venti explained for the pair. “Stuff like alcohol, gambling, food, baths…things human usually need or do for pleasure! While older adepti don’t need to eat because their power is strong enough to sustain themselves, the same can’t be said for the younger ones. To prevent them from having worldly desires or cravings for things they shouldn’t, they created all kinds of special pills for convenience—like pills for hunger, pills for meditations and so on. The Cleansing pills are for when they want to wash their body. Toss one into the bathtub, dip in a viola! You’ll be clean and refreshed in no time! Pretty handy when you’re suffering from a hangover!”

“Wait, you mean they don’t need to eat at all? But Adeptus Xiao ate!” Paimon pointed at Xiao who crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to his right foot.

“Eating is but a choice for us,” he said before narrowing his eyes at the wind god disapprovingly. “The Cleansing pill purifies the body and soul. It is not to be used to consume more alcohol.”

“You say the same thing as Morax,” Venti groaned. “But if I remember correctly, isn’t the Cleansing pill made with the herbs in Liyue? Why do you need Cecilias?”

“Many herbs have been lost in the flow of time and the changes within the formation of land,” Xiao replied rather patiently, to both Aether and Paimon’s surprise. “Madame Ping has informed me that the properties of Cecilia are similar to the herb I am missing.”

“Ah, Madame Ping! I haven’t seen her since I’ve last visited Liyue Harbour!” Venti nodded.

“If you’ll excuse me, I will take my leave.”

“Hey now! It’s been so long since we last spoke! Don’t be so eager to leave!” Venti hurriedly blocked Xiao’s path. “Even if you read that book, would you even know what you need to do?”

That made Xiao stop. For the first time, his emotionless mask cracked, revealing a lost look on his face as he stared at the book inside the basket of flowers.

“On the other hand, Aether and I had learned quite a lot! I’m sure we can help you with your studies!”

Aether’s head immediately snapped to Venti in disbelief. He opened his mouth to object, but Xiao beat him to it.

“I will humbly take you on your offer, lord Barbatos.”

“Wait, Adeptus Xiao, let’s not—”

“Perfect! In exchange, give us some of your Cleansing pills! Surely you’ll have extras once you are done!”

“I will only require a few. You may have the rest once I’ve refined them,” Xiao swiftly agreed.

“Wait—!”

With that, Aether was dragged away to Wangshu Inn by Venti with Xiao walking at the front and Paimon trailing behind. When the boss of Wangshu Inn saw the green-haired adeptus, she quickly organized the most luxurious room for them.

That was how Aether found himself locked within the room with one adeptus, one archon and one book between them. Paimon had slipped away at some point, no doubt stuffing her belly with food right now.

Aether was sitting there nervously, watching Xiao open the book to reveal the fine texts printed over the white pages. In the end, Aether and Venti picked out an erotic novel instead of illustrated ones. The blond had feared that the picture books would be too…too graphic for the adeptus to handle. At the very least, he couldn’t handle it, so they chose a novel instead with milder tastes.

“Start over here,” Venti told Xiao, flipping to the middle of the book where there was a red bookmark.

Xiao didn’t ask any questions and read from there. With the way those bright yellow eyes narrowed seriously and that pale hand covering his chin and mouth, Aether would think he was trying to decipher some sort of code rather than reading a sex scene.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Xiao said after only looking through the first page. “Why must you prepare the other person?”

“It’s called stretching! It’s so the person who tops could enter the person who bottoms easier!” Venti replied lightly.

“It’s muscles,” the adeptus deadpanned. “It should be the same if you relax.”

“Well, I suppose that makes sense, but it would be bad if anything tears, right?”

“Such insignificant wounds are hardly anything to mention.”

“But wouldn’t Morax mind even if there is a tiny bit of injury? He might feel responsible, you know?”

Xiao’s brow twitched, but he didn’t say anything about that anymore and moved to the next topic he couldn’t understand.

“What of this oil? What is the purpose of this?”

“It’s so your lord could go in easier and let him feel good, of course!”

Xiao nodded and went on to the next one.

Aether buried his face into his hands. After that first question, Venti has mastered the art of explaining things to Xiao—by telling him that everything was for Zhongli’s sake and how it could benefit Zhongli.

“Positions are an important part of sex!! You should let Morax see your face when you guys do it!”

“Why is that?”

“Well, surely he would want to know whether or not you are feeling good?”

“My pleasure matters not.”

“But it will to Morax! His pride will be hurt if you don’t feel good! That’s the same as saying he's bad lay!”

“A bad what?”

“It means you think he’s impotent~”

“…!!”

Aether’s golden eyes shifted to Xiao who looked as though he had swallowed a whole Electro slime, then to Venti who was smiling way too brightly than he should in such a situation. It was obvious that the archon was enjoying this way too much and Xiao was too clueless to see it.

The blond weighed the pros and cons of intervening before deciding to keep his mouth shut. While Aether never had any sexual experiences, reading porn and erotic novels for thirteen hours straight gave him some…insight to things. Even if Venti was seemingly playing around with Xiao, the Anemo Archon was in fact giving Xiao the best advice that could bring him and Zhongli closer together.

“There are also techniques you must master! You also need to know what Morax’s kinks are.”

“…Kinks?” Xiao frowned, clearly not understanding the definition of the word.

Aether’s mouth fell open, gawking at Venti like he had grown a second head.

And so, Venti began a list of every kink that was possible to mankind. Some of which Aether saw in the stacks of porn, but most he never even heard of and was certain the god was making this up as he went!

By the end of Venti’s long rambling, Aether’s jaw was pretty much touching the floor and Xiao…

Xiao was shaking with long bangs falling over his face. With his head dipped low, the blond couldn’t see what expression he has right now.

“I have no idea…that this requires so much skill…!!” Xiao whispered before promptly getting up. “I must request my lord to reconsider. As I am now, I can’t possibly be his partner.”

“Wait! Wait, Adeptus Xiao!” Aether jumped up—or at least, he tried. Distracted by Venti’s rambling, he didn’t even realize how numb his legs were and he ended up smacking into the floor with his hands grabbing onto Xiao’s ankle.

It was a good thing Xiao had stopped when he called out, otherwise Aether can’t imagine what would become of him if he made the adeptus fall flat on his face.

“You haven’t finished the book yet! Why don’t you look through the book first?”

Xiao considered the traveller’s words for a moment before he sat back down and picked up the book once more. Aether secretly let out a small breath of relief before shooting the god an accusing look. Venti responded with a guilty smile while scratching the back of his head, knowing he went overboard. Although the bard didn’t think he was wrong. Who knew what sort of weird kinks that old grandpa would develop after over two thousand years of yearning?

Now that he wasn’t asking questions every other sentence he encountered, Xiao’s reading speed increased a lot. In no time at all, he finished the sex scene and the milder contents inside calmed him greatly.

“I’m sure all those—erm, kinks that Venti mentioned don’t apply to Zhongli.” Aether made sure to shoot another look at Venti. “At least, I don’t think he would want to be tied up and lick your feet or make you lick his feet.”

“I have no issue if my lord asks me to lick his feet,” the Yaksha responded with absolute seriousness. “It’s…I cannot imagine making…making him…” The thought was so terrifying to Xiao that he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“No, they are equally bad!” Aether wanted to crack open the adeptus’ skull to see what was inside that head of his!! In fact, he also wanted to crack open Venti’s! What in the world was the archon thinking trying to stuff these ideas to Xiao knowing he’ll take them seriously?!

“Calm down, Aether. You’re gonna burst a vein,” Venti laughed and Aether briefly entertained himself with the idea of throwing Wei—the stray cat at the front counter—at the cat-allergic god.

He can’t rely on Venti anymore, so he needed to do this by himself.

“Adeptus Xiao, has Zhongli ever given you anything?”

“The medicine you delivered to me was from him, was it not?” Xiao asked back.

“Well, yeah, but has he given anything that was…infused with his power?”

“…He has.”

“What was it?!” Aether’s reaction was a bit over the top, but he couldn’t help it. With so many things going on, he felt like he was going to die from a headache if he didn’t get one thing sorted out.

Instead of replying, Xiao held out his hand and his weapon materialized within his palm.

This was the first time Aether has seen Xiao's weapon, yet the moment he laid eyes upon it, he found himself thinking how there was no weapon in this world better suited for Xiao than this. The spear in Xiao's hand was by far the most beautiful spear Aether has ever seen. The weapon had an elegant emerald body with the bright green spearhead crafted from the finest jade. There were fix smaller jades—three on each side—spreading out like wings. Even without touching it, the blond could feel power radiating from the weapon much like its wielder.

“Ah, the Primordial Jade Winged-Spear!” Venti immediately recognized the weapon. He then turned to the clueless blond and explained, “it’s a weapon Morax made for Xiao. During the archon war, there was not a single god who did not know of Xiao and the spear he wielded. This close up, I can certainly feel Morax’s energy flowing within.”

“Aside from this, was there anything else Zhongli had given you?” Aether asked. A very bad feeling was creeping up on him, but he didn’t want to believe it…

“No,” the adeptus replied with absolute certainty, crushing what little hope Aether had left.

The last bit of energy left the blond, but he slammed his palms into the floor, stubbornly hanging onto his sanity.

One mystery was now solved.

The gift Zhongli mentioned…it was definitely this Primordial Jade Winged-Spear.

The courting gift Zhongli had given Xiao was a weapon…and of all times he gave it to him, it had to be during a war?!

How could anyone not misunderstand?!

“T-then did Zhongli say anything when he gave that to you?” Aether asked in his last attempt of struggle.

“He said he hoped I would accept,” Xiao’s gaze was distant as he remembered the past. “That was the day, I devoted myself to serving him.”

THUD

“…What are you doing?” Xiao frowned at the human lying on the floor.

“Eh…his legs must be numbed. Humans tend to have this issue when they sit too long, don’t mind him!” Venti waved and picked up the erotic novel. “Let’s continue!”

Xiao nodded and the two went back to discussing the book, ignoring the worldly-outlander slowly withering away on the floor.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Hold on…you’re saying that the gift Zhongli gave Adeptus Xiao was his weapon and when he said he hoped Adeptus Xiao would accept…Adeptus Xiao misunderstood it as Zhongli asking if he would serve under him?!”

Aether hid his face behind his hands. Hearing Paimon repeated everything in his head out loud made the situation even more ridiculous.

After getting down the basics of how intercourse works, Xiao needed to work on making the Cleansing pills and left the inn, telling them to come back after three days to give them their portion of the pills.

So now they were back at Liyue Harbour, strolling around the streets since the last time Venti visited Liyue was centuries ago. The archon was running around the street, taking in the sights of the city while Aether explained the situation to Paimon.

“As I thought, this is all Morax’s fault,” Venti sighed all too happily, coming back with a steam bun in hand. “I figured that blundering buffoon couldn’t do a proper confession, but to think it would be to this extent.”

“Where did you get that steam bun?” Paimon asked, knowing full well the archon had no Mora on him.

“The old lady at the stall was nice enough to give me one after listening to one of my stories!” Venti took a bite into the hot bun and let out a satisfied hum. “Hmm! It’s been so long since I’ve tasted Liyue’s delicacies.”

Seeing the joy on the god’s face, Aether couldn’t help but smile and said, “let’s go to Wanmin Restaurant. We can talk while we eat there.”

“Now you’re talking Paimon’s language!” Paimon cheered. “Maybe Xiangling would be there!”

“Oho, I have heard of the name Xiangling. She is quite famous!” Venti nodded, taking another bite of his bun. “Ah, by the way…does this restaurant have any alcohol?”

“I’m sure they do, but…” Aether wanted to point out how none of them looked to be of legal drinking age, but Venti waved him off.

“Come on, you need to learn to live a little or you’ll end up becoming one of those block of rocks that can’t—”

“Oh? That can’t what?” A deep voice came from behind them, causing Venti to turn into the very stone he was mocking.

“Zhongli!” Aether turned to see Zhongli standing behind them with his arms crossed over his chest and those Cor Lapis coloured eyes glaring down at a certain archon.

“Aah, if it isn’t my dear old friend!!” Venti’s tune immediately changed as he spun on his heels and greeted his old friend. “I heard you’re going by the name of Zhongli now, yes? How is the life of retirement fairing for you?”

“How about we talk somewhere less conspicuous?” Zhongli suggested, though he wasn’t talking to Venti, but at Aether and Paimon.

They ended up booking a private room at the Liuli Pavilion with Venti and Zhongli listing out their orders to the waitress. Aether could already hear the sound of Mora leaving his wallet because there was no way these two broke gods would be able to afford any of it.

Once their meals were brought up, the waitresses closed the door on their way out, giving them full privacy. Finally, Aether found the opportunity to speak. He decided to start by telling Zhongli about Xiao asking for him to wait a week—or if he was to count the days that were already lost, to wait for five more days.

“I see,” Zhongli said with a small smile on his lips. “You have my thanks.”

“No, we uh, still haven’t figured out what he likes yet,” Aether said guiltily. To be honest, he had completely forgotten about that part with the porn and everything else going on.

“Wouldn’t anything be fine? That child is blindly devoted to you,” Venti chipped in from the sideline, but was ignored by Zhongli completely.

“It’s alright if you cannot find out. I know that it is difficult to get him to talk about himself.” Zhongli said with a soft sigh. “I have tried in the past, but he never gives me his opinion and only agrees with everything I say…”

“So that’s why you wanted us to ask!” Paimon gasped, finally understanding.

“What did I say? Blind devotion,” Venti lamented.

It was then that Zhongli finally spared some of his time to the other god. “Barbatos, why are you here?”

“Can’t I visit an old friend?” The Anemo Archon blinked those large, forest green eyes innocently.

“Venti was helping us gather some materials for Adeptus Xiao.” Aether quickly explained, not wanting Zhongli to think Venti was here to meddle.

“Materials?”

“Your little Xiao is refining some Cleansing pills so he asked our dear friend here to get some from Mondstadt.”

“Then he must have needed the Cecilias,” Zhongli nodded in understanding. “I should have told him I have already prepared the Cleansing pills. That is an oversight on my part.”

“He just started. We can tell him that you already have it prepared?” Aether offered.

“No, that’s alright.” Zhongli shook his head lightly. “I am happy that Xiao is taking the initiative. Traditionally, it is the one that proposed the courting be responsible for the preparations.”

That’s because he had no idea he was being courted—Aether wanted to say, but held himself back.

“What kind of preparations?” Paimon questioned with a tilt of her head.

“You know how male birds attract female birds by being pretty and all?” Venti cut in when Zhongli parted his lips to respond. “They must also build a nest and prepare the food. If the female likes the home they made, they stay with the male!”

“Barbatos,” Zhongli’s tone dropped and he glared at the other god. “Do not compare the courtship of adepti to that of animals.”

“Aren’t you all closer to animals than humans anyway? And besides, Xiao’s technically a bird.”

“Comparing Xiao to a bird is a grave insult. You say this knowing I am in the middle of courtship with him. Are you testing my patience?”

“I would never! I simply thought our friends here would understand better if I explain it that way!” Venti countered.

“Do not believe in this bard’s nonsense,” Zhongli said to Aether and Paimon. “The act of intimacy is important within our courting traditions. It is the first exchange of our adeptial powers, one cannot take it lightly. Therefore, it must be located in a place where we cannot be disturbed.”

“So…like a vacation home?” Paimon summarized.

“Yes, you can say that.”

“A vacation home…” Aether perked up when an idea popped into his head. “Zhongli, do you already have a place prepared?”

“Yes, I am thinking of Jueyun Karst. It is the only place with few mortals thus we would not be disturbed. I have already informed the adepti living there of this matter.” Zhongli paused when he saw the disappointment on Aether’s face. “Do you perhaps have an idea?”

“Oh no, if you already prepared it then it’s alright!”

“Plans can always change. I want to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

“Well, it didn’t seem like Adeptus Xiao have a home like the other adepti. Even when we sit down to talk, it’s at Wangshu Inn. I thought it would be nice if he could have his own place.” The blond said, scratching his cheeks. When he looked up to Zhongli, the archon was sitting there, staring at him with his eyes wide.

“Yes…that is…” Zhongli mumbled to himself before bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. “It has been a long time since…perhaps now…”

“Uh, Zhongli?” Aether called, successfully snapping Zhongli back to reality.

“My apologies,” the man heaved out a deep breath. “It is only natural you do not know of this, but the Wangshu Inn is established for the purpose of supporting Xiao.”

“Eh?! What do you mean?” Paimon flew up from her seat.

“The Wangshu Inn is created by a secret organization within the Qixing. To be precise, it started with an agent, but it grew and expanded into an organization over time.”

“Then the boss of the Wangshu Inn…” Aether trailed off, remembering the woman always sitting behind the front counter. Now that he thought about it, there was always something strange about her…like how casual she was when mentioning Xiao and even took in ghosts that Xiao brought over.

“If you are referring to Verr Goldet, her real allegiance is to that organization within the Qixing.”

“And the Almond Tofu that Adeptus Xiao loves to eat?!” Paimon gasped.

“The Almond Tofu is also created for Xiao,” Zhongli answered.

“Let me guess, that agent that started the whole thing was you, Morax?” Although it was a question, there was a knowing look on Venti’s face as he grinned at his fellow archon.

“I will not deny my involvement, but the Wangshu Inn is the result of the people’s gratitude towards Xiao.”

“And of course, Xiao is oblivious to all that~” The Anemo Archon sighed wistfully.

“He doesn’t know?!” Paimon stared at Zhongli with wide eyes.

“If he finds out the truth behind Wangshu Inn, he will not go there anymore.” The Geo Archon had a troubled look on his face. “He is a stubborn one and does not easily accept help from others. That is why you must keep this a secret.”

“Of course! Paimon will never tell anyone!”

“Your secret’s safe with us.” Aether nodded.

Then, the two turned towards Venti who straightened under their gaze. “Why are you two looking at me like that? You think I would tattle?”

“True…the tone-deaf bard may be annoying at times, but he can keep a secret!”

“Thank you for your compliments,” the god chuckled.

“Since he got a place already, I guess there’s no need for a home, huh?” Aether laughed lightly.

“Not necessarily. You have given me a better idea.” Zhongli looked at the blond gratefully. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“Oh…I’m glad I could help?”

“I have one more favour to ask of you.”

“What is it?” Aether asked rather cautiously. He couldn’t help it, not after what Xiao asked them to do…

“You say that Xiao is refining the Cleansing pills right now?”

“Yeah, he told us to come back in three days and he’ll give some to us!” Paimon beamed. Even if it wasn’t Mora, it was still a reward for their efforts. Besides, if it was something made by an adeptus, surely it would sell for a hefty price!

“Three days…that leaves two,” Zhongli muttered. “That is plenty enough time. I want to ask you to lure Xiao away from Guili Plains for the remainder of those two days. Preferably somewhere up north—around Qingce village. ”

“But…would he leave with us?” Aether frowned. The whole reason Xiao spoke to them in the first place was because they were delivering his medicine and that he needed their help. As for their time at Wangshu Inn…that was because of Venti. If not for the Anemo Archon, Aether doubted that he would be able to convince the Yaksha to go anywhere with him.

Zhongli was conflicted as well. He knew that his request this time was too much to ask of the traveller. Even he couldn’t think of any convincing ways for them to get Xiao to leave the plains he dwelled upon for so long.

“Ahem!” Venti cleared his throat, letting his presence be remembered. “Might I offer a solution to that? Of course, it will come with a small price~”

“I will give you three gallons of the finest Osmanthus wine in Liyue.” Zhongli was quick to take up the bard’s offer. Putting their many disagreements aside, Venti was still an archon and the one who gave Xiao his Vision. The younger god may be childish, a drunkard, slacks off from his duties and overall a disgrace to the arts…but he was an old friend Zhongli could rely on when push comes to shove.

“Deal!” Venti chirped, snatching up a Lotus Flower Crisp and bit off the fluffy pastry petal.

Aether smiled and raised his chopsticks. “Well then, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

“Finally!” Paimon let out an exaggerated sigh, picking up her plate and chopsticks with her eyes sparkling as she gazed upon the food. Zhongli let out a small chuckle and joined in as well.

At that time, Aether had no idea what sort of disaster his innocent suggestion was about to bring to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, the adepti and the Treasure Hoarders located in Guili Plains.

Likewise, he was also oblivious to the new hell that awaited him at Qingce village…

◅ PREV MAIN NEXT ▻

#zhongli #xiao #genshin impact #genshin xiao #aether x venti #xiao x zhongli #genshin fanfic #Genshin Impact fanfiction

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gamesception · 4 years

Text

@retphienix said:

I gotta thank ya for the @ because I struggle to keep tabs on tumblr with all the updates bricking my addons etc x.x Not that I was particularly on top of things before that lol.

god, same, yeah. no problem.

Also thank you for reminding me that Hollow exists, downloading now because I’m more or less juggling games to see which I intend to sit down and marathon a lot of and that’s a good idea for a title!

I really cannot recommend it enough. Easily the game I’ve played the most over the last couple years, and probably the game I’ve enjoyed the most since Undertale. That includes Dark Souls, which I first played during that period, and I *really* liked Dark Souls.

I would love to hear your take on it, when and if you end up getting around to it. It’s also nice to recommend a game to you that isn’t, like, bad in more ways than it’s good, with the great aspects that do peek out at you through the jank only serving to taunt you with the actually great game that might have been.

I do maintain that a game that’s bad in interesting ways can be a more compelling experience, and make for more interesting analysis, than a game that’s just good, but Hollow Knight isn’t *just* good. It’s fantastic, in a dizzying myriad of compelling ways that are all interesting to discuss, from the way it builds its tone and atmosphere to the way it highlights the best of what the classic 2d metroidvania has to offer while also sidestepping a lot of the genre’s pitfalls.

I don’t know what it is lately with various games I enjoy or try to keep tabs on suddenly and arbitrarily making difficulty spikes that don’t fit the game? I mean, it’s hollowknight, it’s a souls like and all that jazz, but you’d know better than me in this scenario since YOU PLAYED IT

It’s not all that bad, since it really is quite overtly segregated from the rest of the main game, and isn’t necessary to get what otherwise feels very much like the actual canon ending. Honestly, though, I think there was maybe an over reaction on Team Cherry’s part to what seemed to be a relatively common complaint about the base game, one that I would have shared honestly, in that it didn’t feel like there were enough difficult late game bosses to take advantage of the knights full move set.

This is something of a natural consequence of the open design of the game. It starts out pretty linear, but once you get a couple movement abilities virtually the entire map opens up and you can go almost anywhere, finding meaningful progression pretty much wherever you go. As a result, though, the devs are almost never sure of what upgrades you already have when you reach a boss, so they couldn’t really include any in the main game progression that required you to have particular upgrades to effectively fight them.

I think the trade off in favor of exploration is worth it, but it does leave a bit of a gap in difficulty for those who are old hats at 2d platformy action games.

But it seems like what the devs heard was “Hollow Knight is a baby game for little children”, and their response was basically

The first three content pack updates added several new and much harder endgame bosses, most of which are a ton of fun and have fantastic presentations. They even went back and ramped up the difficulty of some of the lackluster bosses in the base game, in particular one boss in one of the few late game areas that does need more of the knight’s move set to reach now calls on the use of those abilities in the fight itself.

And people loved it! All these expansions went over great. People loved the Grimm Troupe in particular, in part because of the legendary difficulty of its final boss. So it’s perhaps not surprising that the devs pushed even further in that direction for the final DLC, one that revolved entirely around bosses, and it’s not surprising that they ended up overshooting the mark for a fair portion of the audience. And given that there are many players super invested in the lore of the game that found themselves gated out of new endings by an absolutely brutal slog of an overlong boss rush capped off by a much more difficult version of the one boss in the main game that most players already thought was impressively hard?

I really do think the Godmaster DLC is worth trying even for those who go in content that they’ll never beat it. Some of the fights that can be accessed much earlier in the DLC are really cool and worth experiencing in their own right, but I have nothing against anyone who takes one look at it and just nopes the heck out, and I can’t disagree with those who point to it as one of the few noticeable flaws in what is otherwise a truly majestic game overall.

Some of it probably comes down to that “souls like” moniker. Hollow Knight really isn’t a souls like. Its a classic 2d metroidvania action-platformer, that just happens to have a similar tone, story structure, and method of lore delivery that are all heavily inspired by Dark Souls specifically. And the game really benefits from that influence. But where the game tries to parrot souls-like mechanics, whether in super hard bosses that the player is meant to throw themselves at repeatedly until they ‘click’, or in the corpse run mechanic, which is overly punishing in the early game when money is hard to come by and some progression paths are gated behind expensive purchases, but means nothing at all in the late game since HK doesn’t have a leveling system like DS does, so once you’ve purchased the stuff you want there really isn’t any cost to losing your cash on hand any more? That doesn’t work so well.

Worse, it’s actively detrimental to the idea of exploring wherever you like, by pointing the player back in the same direction every time they die, when players in the early mid game might be better served by taking death as an indication that maybe they stumbled into an area that’s a bit much for them right now and they might be better served by trying another path first.

There’s one clear example early on of a particularly tough optional boss fight against multiple opponents. If the player dies to this boss, the game even puts a friendly npc on the path back who heavily implies that the boss is maybe too tough for them, and the player should look for a way to upgrade their weapon before coming back. But that npc shows up /before/ the player reaches their corpse, which happens much closer to the boss itself, and by the time you get there to get your money back - again, this is still relatively early game so loss of your money really stings - and by the time you reach your corpse you’re right outside the boss door, and taking another crack at it can feel less daunting than climbing all the way back out of the area.

If you do beat the boss, ... actually, no I wrote a fair bit but no, cut that. I've got more to chatter on about that but I don’t want to spoil more than I already have. The point is, while it’s really cool you can beat this boss and the area behind it “early”, and I love that the game lets you do that, the corpse run mechanic pushes players who are less comfortable with the game mechanics to keep throwing themselves at the fight when they might be better served by trying another progression path.

monhun

I haven’t played the the new Taroth or however that’s spelled. Heck, I haven’t fought master rank jiva either. The most recent thing I’ve tried is the raging brachy. I actually found that fight pretty fun. Reminded me why I like Monster Hunter. But after seven runs in a row without getting a single reactor drop it also reminded me why I don’t like Monster Hunter nearly as much as you & Bard do.

Still, we should do a few runs together again at some point.

Man, what a thing to type when discussing a souls like, asking to martyr myself mentioning difficulty spikes or difficulty modes/options heh.

Honestly, I kind of share the criticism some people have made of the souls-like genre overemphasizing difficulty. Mechanical challenge is a key aspect of the games, but Dark Souls 1 in particular is really Not That Hard. It’s obtuse more than anything else, but once you know what the stats mean, know how to upgrade your weapons, and have a feel for the mechanics, it’s not that bad. Especially if you take advantage of the summoning / multiplayer mechanics. I know purists can get uppity about getting help, but those mechanics are part of the game for a reason. Dark Souls is probably the easiest of the souls-like games I’ve played so far once you know how it works. I’d also say it’s probably my favorite, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

The over-emphasis on difficulty alone when people discuss souls games can get in the way of enjoying them. For instance, it leads to situations like new players trying dark souls for the first time bumping into the skeletons at the start of the game and thinking “wow, dark souls really IS as hard as they say” instead of “these guys are clearly too tough, I must be going the wrong way”. It can also lead to developers focusing too much on challenge, and on a particular /kind/ of challenge, and missing out on the other compelling aspects of Demon’s Souls and Dark Souls, including the way Demon’s Souls in particular emphasized delivering a variety of game play scenarios, or how it understood that a well placed deliberate anti-climax of a boss can sometimes be more engaging than yet another straight forward test of reaction time and pattern recognition.

>final achievement BIG CONGRATS, THAT’S SICK! I know what going over the edge on a game renown for challenging gameplay can do to ya, and that’s quite the darn accomplishment!

Thanks! I’m quite proud of myself, even if there are harder things that I still haven’t done in the game yet, and probably won’t ever. Stuff not tied to explicit achievements, but that still have little in game rewards or markers that you’ve done them. I certainly wouldn’t say I’ve mastered the game. But I’ve probably gone as far as I’m going to go, and I’m quite content with how far that turned out to be.

Not that I’m done with the game. I’ve played it all the way through three times already, and I can already tell it’s a game I’ll be coming back to replay fairly regularly.

>no thanks, I think I’m good I’m probably projecting since I’ve said the same thing 100 times (or thought to) on this very blog, but I ‘assume and apologize if I’m wrong in doing so’ you say this because you feel some sense of guilt like you didn’t ACTUALLY do all you could and you must put on airs for the blog and let me say, screw that noise.

Oh, no, not at all. Yes, there’s stuff left that I’m not able to do, and there’s people WAY better at the game than I am, but going by steam achievement records less than 3% of the people who beat the first boss go on to beat the final pantheon, so by that metric I’m in the top 97% of rattatas Hollow Knight players.

So yeah, I feel pretty chuffed with myself.

>Can’t promise it’ll suddenly be my next game, and even if it was it wouldn’t sadly get much showing I suspect because my pc is more or less down. I DID get replacement equipment so MAYBE? But I haven’t sat down and attempted to get my old setup running again.

So it goes. Again, if and when you do play it, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. Even if I can’t, like, watch you stream it or whatever. Honestly, I’d like to be able to just blather on about it to you at more length without feeling like I’m spoiling stuff.

#retphienix #redphienix #hollow knight #hollow knight spoilers

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geek-patient-zero · 5 years

Text

Part 1, Chapter 2

Or: McCann Reads His Mail

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Dead Trilogy Volume 1

Dire McCann returns to his office, in “the heart of the tenderloin district.”

Big, bold, black letters on the door proclaimed, D. McCann, Investigations. Beneath his name, in much smaller print, was the disclaimer Consultation by Appointment Only.

I guess even Dire knows his first name’s a little odd and abbreviated it. Who’d want to give work to a guy who looks like they’re trying to give themselves a nickname.

There’s several paragraphs describing the office. The outer office/reception area has a coffee table with old issues of Sports Illustrated and three red chairs, like a doctor’s office with an even more limited selection of outdated magazines.

It wasn’t much, but he didn’t require any better. Recently, his only clients had been the Kindred, and none of them worried about his taste in furniture.

Not to his face, anyway. Vampires are like suburban parents that way.

The office proper, or his ”inner sanctum” as the narration calls it, is pretty standard; huge oak desk, “an elaborate telephone answering machine,” a table with a fax machine, PC, and printer on it, some metal cabinets, and more red chairs. It was also mentioned to have an “outrageous” rent that was almost worth it for the building’s cleaning lady.

The glow of a nearby streetlight gave the room an eerie, ghost-like interior.[...]No cheaply framed photos with hearty endorsements or tacky paint-by-numbers artwork hung on the walls. McCann believed in a strictly functional workplace. Besides which, it made a better impression on potential clients.

McCann sits behind his desk and reloads his submachine gun.

Considering what had happened already tonight, it seemed like good policy to stay ready for trouble.

For all the good it did him, but good thinking I guess. Proper paranoia helps in the World of Darkness.

Then he checks his answering machine. Two of the messages are for “divorce work.” That kind of stuff “didn’t interest” McCann, but there’s another detective in the building who specialized in it, and McCann trades him leads for favors, so he writes down the names and phone numbers. Another message is trying to sell him health insurance.

McCann grinned. Considering his present circumstances, he wasn’t sure he could afford the premiums.

Finally, McCann gets around to checking the mail he was carrying around during the first chapter. After separating the junk mail, he’s left with the small box, which was from Switzerland, three letters from Venice, Italy, another from Australia, and the last from Peru. He starts with the mail from Venice.

Dated approximately a week apart, the letters contained detailed records for financial deals made during the previous seven days. The facts and figures covered hundreds of major business transactions throughout Europe and the United States. The detective scanned the documents carefully. There were no unusual expenditures or unexplained finances. Not that he expected to find any. The masterminds of the Giovanni Clan were the greatest financial wizards in the world. They kept a tight watch on their investments. McCann merely wanted to make sure no one other than him was skimming the profits.

Interesting. Despite doing work for the Camarilla, McCann also has connections to the independent Giovanni Clan, or at least is stealing money from them, and in a way that even their “financial wizards” can’t detect. There’s an even more interesting reveal at the end of the paragraph.

The longer he lived, the more cautious he became. And, though he appeared to be in his mid-thirties, Dire McCann lived a very long time.

Huh. The summary on the back cover describes him as “mortal.” Then again it also misspells his surname as McCannan, so...

Next he opens the latter from Darwin, Northern Territory Australia, which contains a newspaper clipping. Recently, “nomadic” Aborigines fled their reservation in the Tanami Desert and set up a shanty town outside the city. Officials tried to get the “troublemakers” to go back, “but with no success.”

No one could offer an explanation for the natives’ unexpected migration. Nor were the unwelcome Aboriginals willing to discuss why they had abandoned their primitive shelters and made the long trek to the coast. Their only reply was to point in the general direction of the Macdonnel Ranges and utter the word “Nuckalavee, Nuckalavee,” over and over again.

The hell’s a mythological Scottish demon doing in Australia?

Unfortunately, no one other than the natives understood what the term meant.

Have they tried asking a Scottish person? Maybe someone from the Orkney Islands? This is like Native Americans fleeing from the Loch Ness Monster or a kappa.

For those of you who’d never heard of it, or had never played The Bard’s Tale, the Nuckelavee is this big horse with the upper torso of a rider growing out of the middle of its back, and it has no skin.

The story ended with the mayor promising city residents that the shanty town would be gone shortly.

Australians being shitty to the Aboriginals. What a surprise.

I know, hypocritical coming from an American. But still.

McCann grimaced. He understood why the Aboriginals had fled. But he doubted that the government officials in Darwin would believe his answer. Or care. Mentally, McCann noted that he should request that his clipping service search for any follow-up stories. Or reports of unusual disappearances in the Northern Territories.

It’s a minor spoiler, but not an unsurprising one given the setting, but the World of Darkness version of the Nuckalavee is a vampire; a Nictuku, the name for a fourth generation Nosferatu. Father Naples mentioned them during the prologue when he was talking about the Nosferatu, remember?

“A few of their fourth-generation progeny are rumored to be grotesque monsters, known as the Nictuku.”

But whether it’s the mythological Nuckelavee or a vampire character based off of it, it’s bizarre that Weinberg took a mythological creature from one culture, transplanted it to a completely different one on a different continent, and act like it was always a part of that culture. Even in 1994, before Wikipedia, anyone familiar with Scottish folklore would know better. Hell, check that fan wiki page I linked just now. The reference used for the page came from VTM: Clanbook: Nosferatu. It came out in 1993, and it’s most likely what Robert Weinberg used for information on Nuckalavee too. If the information on the wiki is accurate to the book, then the book straight up says that the thing is Scottish. Even if the vampire migrated at some point, more people should know about it, at least as a legend, than some scared Aboriginals.

Speaking of... I’m no expert on Aboriginal cultures, living on the opposite side of the Pacific and all, but I’m sure they can communicate better than pointing at some mountains and grunting a monster’s name in fearful tones like some old Hollywood tribal character. At least enough to say “there’s something life threatening by our reservation and we’re getting away from it.” The story’s sympathetic to them at least, but that part rubs me the wrong way.

Next, McCann opens the envelope from Peru. It contains a photo and a handwritten note from a member of the Explorer’s Club. The photo makes McCann “swallow hard”. More bad news.

Scribbled in black ink around the margin of the photo were the words, “Found at entrance to huge cavern, Gran Vilaya ruins, Peru.” The picture showed a massive stone statue of a crouching demonic figure with a misshapen, bloated female body and the face of a snarling jaguar. Circling her feet in a ring were a dozen stone heads. Judging from the size of the skulls, the demon stood a least fifteen feet tall.[...]It fronted a huge network of previously unknown caves that honeycombed the Andes for miles. No one knew for certain the purpose of the underground warren. Several members of the expedition thought it might have served as a ritual burial ground for the mysterious Chachapoya civilization due to the numerous skeletons found scattered all through the tunnels. Which would therefore identify the demonic figure as the guardian of the dead.

Credit where it’s due, Robert Weinberg didn’t just make up the Chachapoya. Little’s known about their ancient civilization, and some of what we do know come from the Inca that conquered them and the Spanish, which aren’t what you’d call unbiased accounts. They even lived in the kind of “fog-shrouded region” or “cloud forests” that Gran Vilaya was described as being found in.

The writer ended his note with the hope that McCann felt his research money was being well spent.

McCann used money from a “secret Giovanni slush fund”, which of course none of the Giovanni clan elders know about, to fund the expedition. McCann feels the cost was justified, but would’ve preferred it it if they’d found nothing.

The statue was not a representation of the spirit guardian of the dead Chachapoyas. It showed their murderer..

Not sure why the Spanish had to build underground catacombs for the Chachapoyas to die of disease and poverty in when- No, wait, he’s talking about a vampire.

A creature who abhorred all life, she was named Gorgo, the One Who Screams in Darkness. And the empty caverns in Gran Vilaya indicated that once more she walked the Earth.

Turns out she’s another Nictuku, like Nuckalavee. One with a kickass title. It looks like some very old, very powerful vampires are waking up, and McCann is not happy about it. He opens the box from Switzerland. It came from “an old friend.”

Inside were photocopies of more than three hundred pages of hand-written memos and high level classified documents. They were a mixed selection from a half-dozen different European security agencies. All were marked TOP SECRET.

But we readers don’t get to learn what they say, because McCann checks his watch and learns he’s gotta be at the Club Diabolique to meet Alexander Vargoss in half an hour.

McCann’s preparing to leave when his phone rings. Remember his “elaborate telephone answering machine?” It’s got some spiffy futuristic tech in it like a “caller ID feature” and the ability to record phone calls. Stuff that only someone secretly skimming money from the Giovanni can afford. But seriously, I enjoy reading old stuff and seeing things that are common today described as rare and amazing. Hell, I didn’t know caller ID was a thing in 1994. My family’s middle class and we didn’t get phones with caller ID until the 2000′s.

Unfortunately, none of his phone system’s features come in handy in this case. He doesn’t recognize the number, but McCann answers the phone anyway.

A man whose voice McCann didn’t recognize spoke in clear, crisp tones. “Lameth,” said the stranger, “beware of the Red Death.”

Without another sound, the man hung up, leaving a stunned McCann holding the receiver. Lameth, the speaker had called him.

Nah, Dire, despite his clear, crisp tones the mysterious caller still has a bit of a lisp. He was actually calling you “lame-ass.”

It was a name from the dawn of history, one that McCann believed long forgotten. A master schemer, the detective did not like unexpected shocks. Especially ones of this magnitude.

McCann certainly has the connections and resources to be a master schemer. Still, I’d of liked to have seen him actually scheme before the narration straight up calls him one.

He tries to listen to the recording of the phone call, but turns out it didn’t record. The caller ID screen is blank, and even the phone number it picked up earlier disappeared. This is starting to sound familiar.

Luckily, McCann memorized the number despite his previous confidence in technology. He calls the local police station, specifically a cop named Harry. He asks for a favor due to him for a bottle of wine he sent Harry for his birthday; the location where his phone call was made from. Turns out, it’s from a booth in the front lobby of his building. One that’s been out of service for months.

Let’s recap. Assassins just tried to kill McCann. Powerful vampires are waking up abroad, which is worrying for a very old schemer with an eye towards international news like him. And an untraceable magic man just called him by a very old name no one should know and warned him of a threat with an ominous name. All before he’s gotta meet with the Prince of St. Louis. Good thing McCann’s a big tough book protagonist, ‘cause I’d certainly be a little anxious.

Not a believer in coincidence, the detective knew the three events had to be linked together. But how?

The voice on the phone had warned him to “beware the Red Death.�� McCann had absolutely no idea who or what the Red Death might be. He had a terrible suspicion that he would soon find out.

#vampire the masquerade #vtm #vtmb #world of darkness #vampire: the masquerade #blood war

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haledamage · 5 years

Link

Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: A series of conversations, during a brief respite between fights.

We’re up to 10 chapters! and over 42k words! thank you so much for all the support <3

“I thought this place would be bigger. Grander. The way you spoke of it, I expected a fairy tale castle covered in climbing roses.”

“Of course you did,” Cait said, picking another wildflower out of their basket and weaving the stem with the others. “You’re a romantic. Even when I said ‘Avvar fortress’ and ‘built for function over form’ all you heard was pretty things.”

“I like pretty things. Like your Nathaniel,” Leliana said with a cheeky grin. “He is very handsome, isn’t he? He must take after his mother, no?”

Cait smiled as she placed her completed flower crown on Leliana’s head. “I can’t even imagine how you must have pictured Nate, the way I used to talk about him.”

“He does not quite live up to expectations, that is true.” Their eyes followed Nathaniel, over at their makeshift archery range. He was having what was probably a very dour and taciturn conversation with Loghain and Stroud. “How could he? True love makes everyone appear more magnificent than they really are.”

Cait fought the urge to roll her eyes. True love was a fairy tale. The love she felt for Nathaniel was no greater or more 'true' than the love she had for Leliana, or Fergus, or Anders; it was just a different kind. But they’d been over it before and she didn’t feel like rehashing it today. “It seems like you and our dear General have grown close.”

Leliana laughed her lovely, musical laugh and placed her flower crown on Cait’s head. “For someone whose job demands so much subtlety, you are not very good at it. But it is not like that. Loghain is… a friend. It is more than I expected when we met. It is enough.”

“He gave you the ‘old soldier’ speech, didn’t he?” She did a passable impression of his low, grumbling voice. "‘I’m old enough to be your father, girl. You have better things to do than waste time on an old soldier like me.’ He tried that on me too and I wasn’t even romantically interested in him. But you are, aren’t you? I’m not reading that wrong?” Leliana didn’t answer, just laid her head back on Cait’s shoulder. They both stared up into the canopy of her tree. “I can see why you would be. He’s handsome enough, and charming despite his attempts not to be. Maybe because of his attempts not to be.”

“You find him handsome, do you? I suppose you would.”

Cait shrugged the shoulder that her friend wasn’t leaning on. “I have a type. I’ve learned to accept it. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Caitie,” Leliana said lightly.

Cait shook her head, then had to catch her flower crown as it slid off her head. “You didn’t. You would do the same for me.”

“Do you need me to?”

“No. Nathaniel isn’t the issue in our relationship. I’m the one holding back.” Leliana found her hand and laced their fingers together, a silent show of support. “I’m just not any good at words. I have them, in my head clear as day, but when I try to say them… nothing.”

“You do not need words to show someone you love them. These,” Leliana touched her flower crown, held up their joined hands, “are how you tell me you love me. This is how you prefer to speak to us. I understand because I love you too. He understands too. He has had much more time to learn your language.”

“Maybe, but I want to tell him in his language. He’s… he’s a romantic. Like you.” Cait paused as Leliana giggled. “I know. He’s good at hiding it. I told you none of this, okay?”

“Well, if it were me...” Leliana said, and Cait could hear the ideas already forming in the bard’s head. “Perhaps something big is in order. You are very good at grand gestures. I think I know a good place to start. I will help, it will be fun.”

They didn't make any real effort to get up yet, though. They'd both spent the last few months surrounded by grumpy men and it was nice to be around another woman for a while. Maybe they should get Sigrun and have a girls' night; Cait was sure the three of them could find some trouble to get into, something more fun than their usual brand of trouble.

“Mrow,” a tiny voice said from the tree above them. Cait and Leliana exchanged a glace.

“Hello…?”

“Mreep eek.”

Cait scrambled to her feet to come face to face with a tiny ginger cat on one of the low branches. It was young, in that midway growth stage where its legs and tail were all much too long for the rest of it. Maybe six months old or so. It stared at her with bright green eyes. “Hello, sweetheart. Where did you come from?”

“Eep mrrr.” She reached out a hand and the cat leaned so hard against it that it almost fell out of the tree. She picked it up gingerly and it grabbed onto her shoulders, tiny needle claws digging into her skin. It bumped its face into her chin in a friendly kitty hug.

Leliana giggled. “I see you’ve made another new friend.” She scratched the cat between its ears and Cait almost dropped it as it tried to lean into the new source of attention. “I think he is hungry, poor thing. You take care of him and I will go to my room. I have something for you. I will go get it and see you in your room later.”

After she left, Cait stared at the cat. The cat stared at her, squinting its eyes happily. “I think I know exactly what to do with you, sweetheart. What do you think of mages?”

-------

“Anders, are you awake?” Cait banged on his door. “I have a present for you.” As soon as the door started to open, she held up the little cat.

Anders blinked at her over the cat’s head. His hair was down around his shoulders and he was shirtless; Cait could clearly see his ribs, but he looked much healthier than he had when they’d met. He looked like he had just woke up, even though it was early afternoon.

“Moooow rrp,” said the cat, and Anders’ bleary eyes finally focused on it. He reached forward very slowly and scooped it into his arms. It smooshed its face into his.

“I found him in my tree out in the courtyard,” Cait said, grinning. Anders looked completely smitten; he barely even acknowledged she was there. “He’s yours, if you want him.”

“Mine? You mean I can keep him? Here in the keep?”

“Of course you can.” She scratched the cat on top of its head as it thoroughly inspected Anders hair; seemingly approving, it bumped its face into Anders chin again. “You’re responsible for keeping him fed and happy. If he comes near my dog, Byron will adopt him immediately and try to teach him how to be a good mabari, so maybe keep an eye on where he roams. The rest is up to you.”

Anders walked over to his bed and gently set the cat down, who curled up immediately on his pillow and closed its eyes. He then stalked back to Cait and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “May I point out that you’re all right?”

She smiled. “Go ahead.”

“You’re all right.” He stared at the cat as it stretched out its front paws, taking up a remarkable amount of space for a half-grown kitten. “Now I guess I need to get you a nice gift, ey?”

Cait stared up at him, confused. “What? No. Of course you don’t. Why would you?”

“No one’s ever just… given me a gift before,” Anders said in the smallest voice she’d ever heard from him.

“Anders, you’re my friend.” She hugged him again. She wanted to hold him until he understood what the meant and understood that she meant it. “You’re family. This isn’t some kind of one-upmanship. If you want to think of it that way, think of it as thanks for saving my life. Or thanks for being obnoxious and pushing Nathaniel and I together again.”

He was quiet for a very long time before he nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Caitie.”

“Can I make a request, though?”

“Anything.”

“Give that cat the most ridiculous blighted name you can think of.”

Anders grinned. “I think I have some ideas.”

-------

Her room had been empty when she returned. No Leliana, no Nathaniel, just Byron napping in the sun. She'd waited a while, but the bard had never come around, so Cait went down to the training cellar, hoping to hit things until she could think straight.

Grand gestures, Leliana had said. She could do that. She just hoped it didn't backfire.

They still hadn't set up any decent combat dummies, so Cait walked through a few basic training drills to warm up. Then she worked her way through a series of push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and lunges, just trying to work up a sweat and get her heart rate up.

“I should have known I'd find you down here,” Loghain's quiet, amused voice said behind her. “Nice to know you aren't letting yourself get complacent now that you've got a roof and a title over your head.”

“I am hiding from my emotions,” Cait said honestly, dropping from the hanging bar to land toe to toe with the former teryn.

“Would you like some company?”

She picked up a sword and shield and he grabbed a pair of daggers, switching roles to keep them both out of their comfort zones. They already knew who would win in a normal fight, after all, and they both still bore the scars from it.

Cait felt off balance, the shield much heavier and less maneuverable than she was used to. The daggers looked comically small in Loghain's large hands.

She swung her sword, in much too wide an arc. Loghain parried easily. “So what are you hiding from?” she asked bluntly.

“They spotted a woman matching the description of the marsh witch at the border to Orlais,” he said, swinging at her but missing entirely, used to a longer blade. “Heavy with child.”

Cait paused. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. Loghain slapped the flat of a dagger to her shield arm and the shock of pain brought her back to the present. “Morrigan is a lot of things, but a liar isn't one of them. Chances are we'll never see her or her child again. We're both alive. Concentrate on that.”

He laughed dryly. “I have missed your unique brand of optimism while I've been away.” His tone changed to that of a patient instructor. Ever the general, even here. “Try switching the shield to your right arm. You're left hand dominant, you'll feel less off balance with your sword there.”

She did as he suggested, rolling her shoulders to loosen them up and adjust her footing. “You're right, that does feel better.” When she pressed the attack again, she was quicker, less clumsy.

“I've spoken at length with your Howe,” Loghain said, moving close to try and get past her guard.

Cait kept her shield resolutely between them. “He has a name, you know.”

He smiled a little, looking much more relaxed now that they were alone. “Yes, but you still knew who I was talking about.”

“And?”

“And I think if I'd had him at my side instead of his father, I would have had a much more successful campaign during the Blight,” he said wryly.

“If you'd had him at your side instead of his father, you and I would never have been enemies.” She swung her sword again, but was much too slow.

“Indeed.” He watched her face, easily sidestepping and ignoring her attempts at attacking. “He asked for my blessing to marry you.”

“He what?” Cait's sword clattered to the floor. Loghain dropped his combat stance until she picked it back up. "That's cheating, Loghain," she snapped. "A low blow."

He wasn't impressed or intimidated by her display. "Maybe you shouldn't expose your weak points quite so obviously."

She finally lifted her sword again. “I--Shouldn't he have asked Fergus? He's my only living blood family.”

“Perhaps.” Loghain waited until she was clearly ready before stepping forward to harrow her again. “When's the last time you spoke with your brother?”

“The coronation,” Cait said, half-hiding behind the shield. “I see your point, I guess you would be my closest family, these days.”

“Is that what we are?”

“Aren’t we?” Loghain's expression didn't change, but there was a softness around his eyes that hadn't been there before. “So what did you tell him?”

“That he had my blessing for as long as he makes you happy. That I know several very skilled assassins if he ever stopped.” He hit her shield a certain way and her whole arm went numb. “But I assume that’s what you’re down here hiding from.”

“You assume correctly.” Loghain sliced forward with a dagger and her sword clattered to the ground again. He picked it up and handed it back. As they started over, she said, “Do you ever feel like an impostor? Like every positive thing anyone sees in you is just… window dressing? Like you’ve fooled them into thinking you’re a good person and it’s only a matter of time until you slip up and they see through it?”

“You’re too young to be so jaded, Cait,” he said, disarming her again easily. She held up her hands in surrender. “Even at your absolute worst, you’re still a better person than most. You’ll never have a normal life, but you can still have a little normalcy in it. That’s what Howe is offering you.”

He helped her unstrap her shield and stayed close, studying her with that intense stare that she found so intimidating when they first met. Maybe she still found it a little intimidating. Loghain continued, “If you don’t mind a bit of advice from someone who’s been where you are: take it. Be happy in spite of the burdens placed on you.”

“I wish you’d take your own advice,” Cait whispered.

“Cait…”

“At least take her to dinner or something, Loghain. Give her a chance.” Cait knew how petulant she sounded, but she didn’t care. “She's an amazing woman, and you'd be good for each other.”

Loghain scoffed and turned away under the pretense of putting the weapons away. “She's barely older than my daughter.”

“Anora would absolutely be agreeing with me if she were here.” She followed him across the room, not letting him escape that easily.

“She's Orlesian,” he sneered.

“Loghain…”

He finally turned back to face her. “She deserves better than me.”

“Maybe,” Cait said plainly. “But she wants you.”

“She told you that, did she,” Loghain muttered, but he looked pleased at the thought.

Cait was pretty sure if she hugged him she'd start crying, the torrent of emotions rolling in her belly finding the only outlet they could. Instead, she laid her hand on his arm, thumb resting over a knot of scar tissue just above his elbow. He sighed, a small, frustrated sound, and found the matching scar on her arm from the same fight.

Friendship forged in blood and pain. Maybe she was good at grand gestures. Maybe Leliana understood her more than she gave her credit for.

She smiled at him, starting to finally feel calm again, and said, “Maybe it’s time for us old soldiers to stop running from the chance at a little peace.”

-------

She ran into Leliana in the hall on the way back to her room, who held out a small box for her. "It's a gift from the Drydens. They said you would find a use for it. I think I have an idea, but let us see if we are thinking the same."

Cait opened the box and stared at its contents in awe. "I know exactly what you're thinking," she said. She pulled Leliana into a hug. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"You are so welcome."

"I actually have something for you too. Will you come with me a moment?" She grabbed Leliana's hand before she could answer and pulled her along.

They made a quick stop at Wade's forge. He was hammering out a sword, but stopped as soon as they approached, visibly grateful for the distraction. When Cait said “I have a commission for you!” in a sing-song voice, he even looked a little excited. She left the box and a down payment, as well as a promise for double the pay if he and Harren kept it secret, and then she took Leliana’s hand again and led her back inside.

Nathaniel was in her room again when they walked in. He sat at the little desk under the window, a quill in hand and Byron asleep on his feet. His hair was down and loose around his shoulders and his bow was propped up in the corner by her armor stand and it was all so unexpectedly, breathtakingly domestic that Cait couldn’t help pause in the doorway and stare.

Then Leliana elbowed her in the back and Byron barked happily when he spotted her and the moment was lost. She stepped into the room, Leliana on her heels. “Sorry to bother you. We’ll be out of your hair in just a moment.”

“Cait, it’s your room,” Nathaniel chuckled. “If I didn’t want you in my hair, I could go to my own room, couldn’t I?” He grabbed her arm as she moved past and pulled her back to him. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” She kissed the top of his head, then squirmed free to get back on task. She found her bags in the corner by the bed and dug through until she found what she was looking for.

Cait held the green-gemmed ring out to Leliana. “I think this is supposed to be yours.”

“It’s… lovely,” Leliana said slowly, studying the ring. “What is it for, exactly?”

“A pretty thing with a sad, romantic story attached.” Cait told an abbreviated version of their trip to Blackmarsh, of the scavenger hunt with the ring and the note at the end and the villagers, trapped in the Fade for decades. “I know how cheesy this sounds, but I think I was meant to bring it to you. To tell you their story so you could carry it with you.”

Leliana grinned playfully. “You’re right. That does sound cheesy,” she said, but she put on the ring. “I hope they are together, wherever they are now.”

“That’s what I said,” Nate said softly.

“Good,” Leliana laughed. “Then I do not have to worry that Cait will get too serious and grumpy without me here.”

“You like serious and grumpy,” Cait pointed out.

“I have a type. I have learned to accept it.” Leliana gave Cait a quick hug. “I should go find your General. He is likely to find something reckless to do so he doesn’t have to think about his feelings, no?”

“I can see why you and he get along so well,” Nathaniel said dryly. “So much in common.”

After Leliana left, Nate turned back to the desk and Cait tried not to go back to staring at him. She busied herself sorting through the pile of now clean and dry clothes on her bed and putting them away. A remarkable number of them weren’t her clothes.

"Do you even use your room anymore?" Cait said softly, putting another of his shirts on a hanger and putting it in the closet. "Maybe we should just move all of your stuff in here."

Nathaniel turned to look at her. "I can’t tell if you’re joking or not."

"I’m not. But we can pretend I am if you’d prefer." She gave up the pretense and walked over behind his chair and sliding her arms around his shoulders. “What’re you writing?”

“Calling in some favors from my time up north. Trying to find some information about the Architect or any historical mentions of talking darkspawn.” He leaned against her and took her hand, holding it over his heart. “The First Warden is understandably slow to share information with me, but the Wardens can’t be the only ones with records dating back that far. I know a girl in Kirkwall, Charade, who has contacts as far north as Tevinter. Told her I’d help her track someone down if she did the same for me.” He tapped the top sheet of paper and added, “This one’s to Delilah. I promised I’d keep in touch.”

“I should probably write to Fergus,” Cait said with a sigh. “He’ll ask me to come visit him. I’m not ready.”

“Have you been back to Highever at all?” He turned his chair around and pulled her close. Sitting down, he was still barely shorter than she was standing.

She shook her head. “Not since Duncan dragged me out. I just… I can’t.”

“I understand.” Nathaniel touched his forehead to hers. “I could go with you, if you want. Once you're ready. Assuming Fergus would even let a Howe through the gates.”

He was probably right. Cait wasn’t even sure Fergus really wanted to see her either; she knew he blamed her at least a little for the deaths of their parents, of his wife and son. As if she wouldn’t bring them back in a heartbeat if she could.

“He’ll come around,” was all she said, “sooner or later.”

“That’s more patient than I would normally expect from you,” he said.

“Yes, well, I had a good day. I’m feeling a bit generous.” She tilted his head up so she could kiss him. “Don’t worry, I plan to go back to being obtuse and difficult first thing in the morning.”

“I’d better take advantage of it while I can, then.”

-------

She ran into Stroud in the hall the next morning on the way to breakfast. "Good morning, Ser Stroud."

"Good morning, Warden-Commander. Might I take a moment of your time?"

“Of course. Do you want to take a walk?” she gestured down the hall and fell into step next to him.

“As you wish.” He didn’t say another word until they were outside. Stroud kept his hands clasped behind his back, every movement poised and professional, and Cait found herself mimicking his posture as they walked. “You have done good work here, Commander. Especially considering the… unique circumstances surrounding your recruitment.”

She nodded her head in a small bow. “Thank you, Ser Stroud.”

“Call me Jean-Marc.”

“Only if you’ll call me Cait,” she said with a smile.

His mustache twitched. “On second thought, perhaps just Stroud will do.”

Cait laughed. “So you do have a sense of humor after all. What was it you wished to discuss?”

They turned a corner, moving farther away from the forge and the crowds in the courtyard. Stroud spoke in a hushed voice to discourage eavesdroppers. “Have you had any direct contact with this Architect?”

Cait shook her head. “No. Just minions.”

“I have been reading your reports and these confrontations you’ve been having do not seem accidental.” He pulled her to a stop behind a half-repaired wall, dark eyes somber and intense. “I think the Architect, whatever it is, is targeting you specifically.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Targeting me, or targeting the Commander? Because the Commander could be anyone. If I were to walk away tomorrow and leave for… I don’t know, vacation in Antiva, would I meet talking darkspawn there or would they be the new Commander’s problem?”

Stroud’s mustache twitched again. Cait was starting to suspect he had it so people couldn’t read his expressions. “Are you planning a vacation to Antiva, Commander?”

They started walking again. “No. But if they're targeting the Commander of the Grey, the Architect has a grudge against Wardens and is just trying to cut off the snake’s head, as it were. If they're targeting me, it’s for something I’ve personally done.” She shrugged. “And since I’m not the one who killed the archdemon, I don’t know what else they could possibly want with me.”

Stroud was quiet for a long time. “I hadn’t considered that. I don’t think I like the implications either way.” A merchant cart came barreling down the road toward them, and they stepped to the side to let it past. Once it was gone, he continued, “I’m concerned about the way his subordinates keep finding you. How did they know you would go to the Blackmarsh? To Kal’Hirol?”

Cait’s blood ran cold. “You don’t think there’s a spy here, do you?”

“Not among your Wardens. I have spoken to all of them. Their loyalty is not in question. Neither is that of your seneschal,” he said, and Cait deflated with relief; she knew that her people could be trusted, but convincing a man like Stroud of that would be impossible if he’d decided otherwise. He was still talking, seemingly not noticing her momentary distraction. “I’ve heard rumors of a conspiracy against you.”

She heard what he was trying to infer. “You think Esmerelle is working for the darkspawn?”

“Or perhaps they work for her.”

“Esmerelle isn’t smart enough to be the Architect,” Cait sneered. “Unless someone hired her, too, to try and split my attention. Blight and damnation, I don’t like the connotations there, but… I’ll look into it. That would be my blighted luck, wouldn’t it?” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Stroud.”

“You are welcome, Commander.” They walked for a while in silence. “I will be heading back to the Free Marches soon, I think. You have things well in hand here.”

Cait had figured he wouldn’t be staying long, but she was surprised that she was a bit sad to see him go. Curious and knowing she might not get a chance to ask later, she asked, “What’s your job like up north?”

“Scouting, mostly. There are several places where the Deep Roads open directly to the surface, like at Kal’Hirol. We patrol to make sure the darkspawn don’t try to amass at any of them.” Stroud’s mustache twitched again. He was clearly proud of his work. “I do some recruiting as well. A lot of promising people come to and from the Marcher cities.” He paused, then added, “Perhaps I will start sending them your way instead of to Orlais.”

Cait smiled. “If I find any promising scouts, I’ll send them your way.”

“Thank you, Commander.” As they turned to head back to the keep, Stroud continued, “Sigrun in particular shows great promise, if she would be amenable. After this Architect business is concluded, of course.”

Her gut reaction was to say no, but she stopped to think about it. Even with this Architect stuff, it was pretty quiet in Ferelden on the darkspawn front. Sigrun would get bored with too much downtime between fights. She conceded, “I’ll talk to her about it. The decision would be hers ultimately.”

“Of course.” Stroud watched her closely as he said, “Lord Howe would be of considerable use as well.”

“I’m sure he would,” Cait said, fighting hard not to sound hostile. “He and I are a package deal, however.”

He huffed, a sound dangerously close to a laugh. “If I am honest, you would be a boon to my work too. A woman of your talents is wasted on paperwork. But that is not up to either of us, is it.”

“I suppose it isn’t,” she said, relaxing a little.

“Thank you for your time, and for your hospitality,” Stroud said, and after a very long pause added, “Cait.”

“The honor was mine, Jean-Marc,” Cait grinned, only tripping over his name a little. “I hope we get to work together in the future.”

“As do I.”

#nathaniel howe #cousland/nathaniel howe #dragon age #dragon age awakening #dragon age fic #cait cousland #cait/nate #rhi writes #something might be found #no action this chapter! just a bunch of chatting #background loghain/leliana #because I love my pairings as rare as possible apparently #I introduced stroud to begin with only because anders acted like he knew him in da2 and I wanted them to have met #but uh I love him and I'm sad he's leaving

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my-emotional-self · 7 years

Text

The Viking and The Star Part 2 (Ivar x OFC)

Pairings: Ivar x OFC Hettie

Warnings: Attempted Rape, Kidnapping, Ivar being a little shit

Word Count: 1.6k+

Summary: We get a little more insight from Hettie’s past and how she was kidnapped.

A/N: This is a Vikings Fanfiction. There will be blood, death, torture, rape, abuse. All of the above and more. This is a fair warning but I will put those warnings up for each part! Feedback appreciated! And Tag List is open as well!

“Boys, this is Hettie. She will be staying with Floki and Helga. Hettie” Aslaug turned to you, giving you a squeeze on your shoulder, “these are my sons; Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar.”

Ivar, the young man with the impenetrable blue eyes, the one who made your heart stop with just a glance. You smiled at them, giving them a nod of acknowledgement.

“Hettie, what kind of name is that?” Ivar scowled out with a glare.

Your face became warm, flushed with heat of embarrassment. His voice sounded like beautiful music as it rang in your ears, but you were taken aback by the anger laced within it. Staring straight back at him, you replied, “It means star-like actually.”

“You will have to ignore Ivar over here. He is the youngest, therefore he has no manners” Ubbe spoke up, his eyebrows furrowing at his youngest brother. “I for one, think it is a beautiful name.”

A smile appeared on your lips as you nodded at Ubbe. “Thank you.” He smiled back at you, but you couldn’t help but feel the daggering stare Ivar was giving you from the side.

You felt your body being lifted from the hard warm ground as more screams began to penetrate your mind. Your limbs felt heavy, as if you were treading in a sea of mud. Tired, you were so tired. You let the darkness take you away yet again.

Many new moons had passed and you found to love your new home in Kattegat. There was so much to see, so much to explore. Aslaug had become somewhat of a mentor to you and the two of you grew closer. Helga and Floki did not take too kindly to that, but Floki was happy that you were getting along with the boys. He told you stories of Ragnar and him and all the battles they went through together. You also found out that Floki was very much a father figure to Ivar.

Ivar, the man who secretly stole your heart from the moment you saw him. He was troubled, stubborn, and demented in his ways, but you understood. You understood what it was like to be different, to feel different; for people to stare at your differences. You heard stories about how he killed a child when he was younger and you had to admit, it scared you. But you had done the same thing. The rage lying dormant deep inside you bubbled to the surface and you almost strangled a girl your own age to death from her tormenting.

It was a particularly chilly night in Kattegat as you sat upon a hill, looking at the stars. It was your favorite thing to do as the sky was a beautiful majestic sight. You heard the all too familiar crawl of Ivar approaching as you turned to look at him. Over the short time you had arrived here in Kattegat, you could see Ivar become stronger and slowly turn into a man.

“Ivar” you breathed out with a smile, “what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

He grunted as he took a seat next to you, rolling his exquisite blue eyes at you. “Do not do that” he growled out.

You were used to his unusually bad moods, but you knew he was in almost constant pain. Nevertheless, his anger towards you still hurt. “Do not do what Ivar?”

“You are always smiling when you see me. I do not understand it.”

“I smile because I am happy to see you. How is that so hard to understand?” you questioned with a quirk of your brow.

He sighed out in frustration, shaking his head before turning to you. His eyes took in your dark hair and your green eyes before moving his hand up to touch the scar that crossed over your eyebrow. You flinched in reaction; not to his touch, but to what happened for your scar to appear.

Ivar narrowed his eyes at you before roughly gripping your chin, making you turn back to face him and so you could not pull away. His touch was rough, his hands calloused yet warm. His touch sent a pleasurable shudder throughout your body.

You licked your lips as you noticed his gaze move across your face before landing on your lips. Nerves started to flit around your stomach as your heart hammered in your chest. Ivar leaned in closer and you felt his breath on your face. “Are you scared?” he asked, his eyes never leaving your lips.

You were unsure how to answer him. At times, he did make you scared and frightened. And he had never placed his hands on you before this moment right here. Without thinking any further, you nodded your head at him.

A smile laced his face before he closed the small gap, his lips harshly placed on yours as you let out a whimper. It was your first time kissing anyone and you didn’t know what to do, except to melt into him. His touch was rough as he nipped at your lower lip causing you to moan out. He pulled away at your noise of pleasure, the light of the moon illuminating his face and you could see his eyes become dark.

He gripped the back of your neck with force before crashing hips lips to yours again. You started to realize that you liked the roughness of him and it made you tingle in areas you had never noticed before. Your hands rose, wanting to run it through his thick hair but the second he felt your hands on him, he pushed you back down.

Your back landed on a rock and you yelped in pain. “Ivar!” you yowled but he paid no attention. His body soon hovered over yours as he took your hands in his, holding them above your head before his lips found yours again. As another moan left your mouth, Ivar placed his tongue in your mouth and your core heated up with desire.

All too soon, Ivar pulled away from you, leaving you wanting more of his touch, more of his lips on yours. He let go of your wrists before sitting up. “Thank you” Ivar stated as he started to crawl away.

“Ivar! Wait” you pleaded and he stilled his movements.

You glanced at him curiously, wondering what that was all about.

“I have seen Ubbe and Hvitserk kissing girls and I wanted to know what it was like. Now that I have a little experience, I too can go around and start kissing girls. I will not be left out of their fun anymore.”

Your heart broke as he spoke his words. He was just using you; using you for experience. He never intended to claim you, to make you his. That was all you wanted, all you dreamed about for many moons. Tears threatened your vision but you held them back. “I hate you Ivar the Boneless” you declared as you ran far away from him.

You ran as fast as your feet could carry you; ran from Ivar and his cruel words. The dense forest made it impossible to see as you tripped over branches and rocks on the ground. Your palm caught on a tree branch, tearing it open as you fell in defeat; sobs racking your body.

“Well you are a pretty one” you heard a gruff voice say as you quickly scrambled to your feet, but it was no use. He was faster than you and he pinned you to a tree. You had never seen this man before. He was cleaner looking than most the Viking men back at Kattegat. “What do you think Bard? Should we take her back with us?” the man rasped as his hand snaked up your thigh.

Another man came into view and your heart stopped. “Oh yes. I think she would fetch for a fair trade.”

You wiggled from the man’s grasp as best you could but he was too strong for you. His hand snaked higher up your thigh before coming into contact with your womanhood. You let out a blood curdling scream; a scream so loud that it alerted many back at Kattegat. The man slammed your head back against the tree and you blacked out.

Your nightmarish memories awoke you as you started screaming and thrashing; hands holding you down as voices tried to calm you.

“Hettie!!! Hettie it’s Helga! You are safe. You are safe here with me” Helga’s voice broke through your screams as stilled yourself; your chest heaving as you re-lived one of the worst times of your life.

You glanced wearily around and you noticed you were on a ship, inside a small tent lying on a bed. Floki, Helga, Hvitserk, Bjorn and another younger girl with darker skin and brown hair all watched you with wide eyes.

As you realized where you were, you broke down in quiet sobs; Floki and Helga embracing you tightly.

“Oh Hettie! We thought you were gone forever. We tried searching for you for so long. We thought we lost you” Floki declared; his beard scratching at your face as he hugged you.

They backed away, giving you space to breathe. Hvitserk was staring at you in disbelief that you were really here, alive.

Your eyes connected with Floki, then with Helga before you spoke. “You did lose me.” It was the truth. You were not the same anymore. The torture, the abuse you went through the past two years. It made you a different person. You were secluded, isolated from everyone even in a room full of people. You weren’t the bright shining star of Hettie anymore.

Tag List: @kanupps06 @potterhead1265 @miss-cap21 @pumbibaby @the-real-kellymonster @princess-evans-addict @mustbenot @remember-that-one-blog @projectxhappiness @libbitinasdeath @mcuimxgine

#ivar the boneless #ivar fanfiction #ivar's heathen army #ivar x reader #ivar x ofc #ivar fanfic #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #ivar lothbrok #ivar smut #eventual smut #ubbe lothbrok #floki #floki vikings #helga vikings

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classquads · 6 years

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lemme get fuckin uhhhhh relationships for a Heir of Void

Rubs my tiny gremlin }{ands together.

Alright, Heir of Void’s relationships!

Long ass post so puttin’ it behind a readmore!

For the Red Quadrant I think a… Hmmm……… Maybe a Sylph of Space? Or a Bard of Time, honestly. Space in general is a pretty good match for Void, so the Bard initially acting as a Space player would be pretty good for a budding relationship between the two of them.

Naturally, the Heir of Void probably doesn’t think anything ‘wrong’ with them per-se. At least, not at first, not until they develop as a person and realize. Hey. I kinda need help. Which is kind of important when talkin’ about relationships, since the Heir could act like a total blunt dick, and push their potential romantic partners away from them by saying, or doing, things that are mean, or offputting( Looks Equius straight in the mcfuckin eyeballs ).

Firstly, Bard of Time; The Bard of Time and the Heir of Void would initially not be too interest in each other - At least not until the Bard does, or says, something to attract the Heir. And, honestly? The two would hit it off right off the bat. They’d click pretty well, both having their own hangups that could make them bond as friends making light of their issues together.( They’ve both got HELLA baggage ) The others might see this as kinda weird, having two awkward, and kinda really messed up people taking an interest in each other and making morbid jokes would really put them off.

But the Bard and Heir would just be all too happy to finally, FINALLY, have someone who gets their senses of humour. Someone who isn’t afraid to generally be kinda dickish to themselves, and relate to even the most fucked up of scenarios.

The two of them slowly, ever slowly, start to have inklings of feelings for one another and, well… This is kinda where is could very easily tapper off. Both of them wouldn’t be the best at admitting their feelings for the other, and may very easily result in them distancing themselves, or worse, have one party completely overwhelm the other with some gesture of romance that goes horribly for one reason or another.

Secondly, Sylph of Space; Okay, so, the Sylph in general is like. Mom Friend City Central. Tack Space onto that and they become the Cool Neighbour Mom Friend. The one who makes totally amazing things that you can only wish to make, and so UTTERLY TALENTED in whatever they apply themselves to creatively speaking.

At first the Heir could be sceptical of the Sylph, thinking them to be too good for them, or even being jealous of their talents. Buuuuuut, and boy howdy do I use that a lot, the Sylph would be more than willing to step down off the pedestal the Heir has set up for them, relating to an issue they are having with their own project(s). The Sylph would work with the Heir, despite the Heirs reluctance to be so close to them( Good people cooties, oh no!! ), without even being asked to do it, showing them easier ways to do the thing they had been stumped on. They’d work up close and personal with the Heir until they understood it as best they could, and even then the Sylph would keep trying to motivate the Heir to keep going! To keep working towards their goal, whatever it may be! Even if it’s completely unrelated to what they had bonded over, the Sylph is just happy to know the Heir isn’t giving up. That they are continually doing their best despite the Heirs lack of self-confidence.

Inevitably, the two will start to get along on a more personal level, and learn more about each other. The Sylph would become more comfortable actually talking about themself, and not just their craft, and could ease the Heir into talking about themself too. Maybe even picking into some of that trauma, which is a huge deal for the Heir of Void to do. Sharing( Personally or otherwise ) isn’t exactly in their vocabulary. it’s something the Heir of Void REALLY NEEDS TO DO THOUGH. Uhhhh, nyes, hello, therapist town??? We need one of you here STAT. We got a real bad case of VOID ASPECT mixed with some horrible HEIR CLASS.

And what can the Heir do for the Sylph, I hear you asking. Well, simple. They supply a quiet partner, someone who has trouble dealing with certain things, someone for the Sylph of Space to ‘fix’( Or help to heal, really. ). Sylphs WANT someone who is bad for them, who is so inherently broken they have no chance to be fixed by someone other than themselves, but Sylphs NEED someone who can not only keep up with their quips and inbuilt sarcastic nature, but also provide with someone to assist, to help in any sense of the word since it brings the best of both their wants and needs.

The Heir could very well develop romantic feelings for the Sylph through all of this, knowing that the Sylph is there for them, that they are wanted by someone. The sylph, too, could develop feelings for the Heir, buuuut we all know that Sylphs have bad taste in romantic partners, so it’d take them a bit to realize that they’d be better off with the Heir who has come to be such a big part of their life.

Really, it’d be a lot of the Sylph being their ever patient and kind self, while the Heir grows.

After the Heir has become who they were destined to be, no matter how much time has passed, you better believe the Sylph will be there to congratulate them. Just make sure that you’ve let the Sylph know you’re interested, even if they might have an inkling to it, it’s always better safe than sorry, since the Sylph could probably get snatched up by someone who’s really kind of shit.

For the Pale Quadrant I’d say a Rogue of Heart Seer of Heart might work out pretty fuckin well, yeah? Void players have this tendency to be quiet people, ones who don’t ever really speak their minds and just let life happen to them. Basically the epitome of Depression. And tack the Heir class onto that and you’ve got a ridiculously quiet, but sturdy person who does their damndest to get their point across while keeping mostly to themselves, and hardly speaking up about their feelings. ‘Cause feelings are dumb, right? And also a burden, right? Right? BUT! This is where the Seer of Heart comes into play, since they could just. Read the Heir like a book. The Heir wouldn’t be able to hide anything from the Seer.

From the moment they meet, the Seer could easily know exactly what the Heir is thinking, know what they want to get across but can’t because of inherent awkwardness and be able to say it properly for them. The Seer could easily, EASILY, become a key point in keeping the Heir stable Keep them from going Grimdark by knowing the best times to start feeling jams, and the best times to avoid them.

And the Heir? The Heir could help the Seer work on their inability to not constantly push themself into other peoples business. Seers are just THOSE kinds of people, the kinds who just can’t help but want to get into other peoples private affairs as if they were entitled to it. The Heir could distract them, keep them busy with other things so that their team wouldn’t get upset with the Seer for becoming TOO invested in what doesn’t concern them.

Honestly, I think Void and Heart in general is just a really cute Pale pairing, as the two aspects go hand in hand in a lot of ways.

Ashen issss a bit harder to pin down, due to determining a good rivalry to cockblock being a bit out of my sphere for the moment.

Aaaand Black. HOO BOY. A Witch of Blood, or even Light, could fit the Heir of Void pretty well. Their rivalry would be built on their mutual lack of trust in others. They would be paranoid around one another, thinking that the other knows more than they should, that maybe they’re plotting the others downfall.

The two would butt heads near constantly, to the point that it’d get a wee bit ridiculous to everyone around them, especially since the Heir wouldn’t be the most outward with any Hate they felt, yet the Witch makes it come out of them. Kinda like word-vomit, but with hate, y’know? The Witch could be talking about anything, really, and the Heir, even with their quiet and reserved nature, would instantly butt into the conversation and aggressively oppose and/or debate with the Witch over the topic at hand. Honestly the two throw the entire party for a loop with how vehement they are about trying to get the upper hand over the other.

Even if the black quad is built on hate, it’s also a Rivalry quad, so even if the two of them can’t stand each other, the Heir of Void and the Witch of Blood/Light would have an understanding between them, one that they probably don’t even notice until much later on. Probably after the both of them have had time to come into their respective classpects. They highkey just think they hate each other, and don’t have any kind of rivaly-thing goin’.

Specific to the Witch of Light; The Witch of Light would also probably get on the Heir of Voids nerves from how mouthy and lond-winded they are, nto to mention the never ending pep they seem to radiate. It’s kinda like shoving an 8000 year old vampire up to a loud youtubers lets play and telling them to listen/watch to all of it. It just ain’t gonna click all too well, and probably result in the Vampire choosing to walk into the sun instead of suffering any longer.

But t}{is is all just me spoutin’ BS. W}{en it comes to relations}{ips, in t}{e end w}{at reely matters is t}{e people be}{ind t}{e classpect. }{ell, an Heir of Void could even get wit}{ a fuckin u}{}{}{}{ Knight of Mind and make it work.

#classpect #class #aspect #quadrants #homestuck #inb4 ppl tell me i suck at this LMAO #oceanmandrawsthings #heir of void #sylph of space #bard of time #witch of light #witch of blood #seer of heart

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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Soo like 6 days ago I started watching the Witcher stopped at ep 7 bought the Witcher 3 and have been playing it nonstop. The shows okay? I think? (From someone who only knows what the series is from a 4 hour critic video that I had no idea what was going on in BUT- the game is so funnnn. Like I barely know what’s going on, from that video and people discussing things online but WOW??? Like how was I not told about this shit earlier??? Dandelions realllllly icky thooo like I thought he’d be more fun and less “wow your straight fucking scum” but I mean at least he cares about his friends? Triss and yennifer are... Oof rough BUT I’m only just in the game, hope they’ll grow on me? Or change? But Ciri? Is adorable? Her parts are so fun to play her dodge is so fun.

The novels! Have You read them? Where does one get them lmao Ik they’re translated?

[old timey fisherman's voice] WE CAUGHT ANOTHER ONE, BOYS!

Ahhhh new Witcher 3 fan!! Congratulations, anon, you've unlocked my numerous Thoughts™ and Opinions™ on the matter that I am now going to dump on you in bullet point form. No spoilers though!

Okay, okay, yeah I like this game a totally normal amount. I've sunk at least 250 hours into it (so far) which might not be much compared to the Pro Gamers and whatnot, but it's an insane amount for someone like me who possesses the attention span of a goldfish. I don't do any of the same thing for 250 hours (except write things on tumblr, I guess)

I didn't know what was going on either when I first played. I didn't even have the show to sort of help me out, Witcher 3 was the first Witcher story I ever dove into. The great thing though is you can just... google stuff? See, idk if you've worked this out yet, but the games all take place post-book series. All the stuff in the series happened, then Witcher 1 starts with Geralt having amnesia, and everything else in the games is new content. Which means that though there's obviously a fair number of book spoilers throughout, it's pretty easy to google worldbuilding questions without getting game spoilers. So once I understood that I was able to supplement what I was getting via game osmosis with stuff like, "Who the fuck is Nilfgaard again and why does everyone hate them?" or "What did Triss do to Geralt?" without getting any quest-specific spoilers. Basic wiki articles with, "Such and such is related to such and such and once did This Thing" was super helpful.

Yeah, the show is just okay. I'm far less enamored with it a year later than I was at the start. I think I was trying to like it more than I actually did... Honestly, I'm actually somewhat wary of getting more seasons simply because of how TV shows tend to dominate fandoms. The Jaskier/Geralt dynamic is a perfect example: once the show does something, a very large portion of the fandom tends to take that as their preferred canon. Finding non-TV!Jaskier/Geralt content is more of a struggle now. Which isn't a bad thing, god knows I'm happy to have more Witcher content in general, it's just too bad that we have game and book dynamics that are, at least here on tumblr, largely overshadowed by the show. My fave in the whole franchise - Regis - is someone I'm particularly worried for because if the show does him dirty and the whole fandom takes that characterization as gospel, I may not recover lol.

Dandelion's characterization in Witcher 3 is, sadly, not what I'd hoped it would be. To my mind book!Dandelion is superior to both game!Dandelion and TV!Jaskier. It's his dynamic with Geralt that made me ship them in the first place. He does grow on you in the game though (or at least he did for me), but he's definitely presented as more annoying/inept/creepy than in the books. And don't even get me started on how they butchered that relationship in the show... Though I WILL say game!Dandelion remains pretty funny. There's one quest in particular that never fails to make me laugh. Also his fashion is on point for a flamboyant bard.

Oof Triss and Yen... beware, anon, that is THE debate in this fandom and the one you might want to steer clear of lol. Personally, I'm not a fan of either. Triss is fine, I guess, but not someone I really, actively like and Yennefer is... well. Let's just say if I could do away with any character it would be her. I absolutely despised her in the game, was told she was better in the books, started the books, hated her even more, tried to give her a chance in the TV show, and ended up hating her there too. I'm just not a Yen fan, at all, which basically makes me the black sheep of the Witcher fandom lol. You might warm to them though, the majority do, however, know that you don't have to romance either of them. My Geralt was quite happy being a single father to his amazing daughter Ciri :D

I've read the short story collections and read enough of the novels to realize it wasn't my cup of tea. Basically, there are two collections of interconnected tales as Geralt goes about his witchering and then a six book epic following the hansa and everything with Ciri. Personally, I couldn't get into the epic and dropped the novels early on. In my humble opinion Sapkowski, writing a character like Geralt, (much like Doyle writing Holmes) excels in the short story format and then struggles stylistically in novel form. I found his writing tedious, the themes not nearly as poignant (many outright uncomfortable), and the fact that Yen is a central part of the whole tale didn't help sell things for me. Reading a six book series where a good chunk is dedicated to the supposedly epic love story of a couple where you hate one half and find the whole relationship cringy (though not in a way the story is purposefully acknowledging)... doesn't make for great reading imo lol. But I want to emphasize that that's my take and god knows it's a minority one. Most fans adore the books - and I do heartily recommend the short stories - so definitely give them a shot for yourself some time.

They are indeed translated (I can't read a word of Polish lol) and are very easy to find in a bookstore, online seller, etc. The wiki article lists them all.

(Though know that you definitely can't download ebooks for free via the Z Library. Nope. Not possible. Don't know why I'm even getting your hopes up.)

Really though, Witcher 3 is my fave, hands down. Out of the books, the show, the other games... Witcher 3 is the version of Geralt and the world that I truly fell in love with. When people say "Witcher" that's the version of Witcher I'm eager to discuss. However, if you can stomach early 2000s games with pretty terrible graphics, I recommend trying Witcher 1 and 2 once you're finished (I was immediately ready for more gameplay content after I'd finished lol). Witcher 1 is, in many ways, a mess. God the combat system drove me nuts... BUT it has a strange charm that I, in all seriousness, really loved. Meanwhile, Witcher 2 (Assassins of Kings) is far stronger. You can easily see the building blocks of Witcher 3 in the narrative choices and worldbuilding. Plus, AoK has Iroveth who is just such a fun character. Wish he'd made it into Wild Hunt :(

Also the comics! I bought the omnibus a while back and didn't regret the purchase for a second. House of Glass (the first story run) also has one of the saddest Geralt moments for me. Just this single panel that lives in my head, rent free, making me Feel Things on occasion lol. There's a new run, Fading Memories, releasing this month (!!!) which I can't wait to get ahold of once the trade paperback is out.

Oh god I could ramble about Witcher 3 for ages but this is already getting so long. Do all the side quests! Return to places you've already been to for fun surprises! Replay decisions to see how differently things turn out! Play lots of Gwent! Enjoy the gorgeous landscapes! Be sure to get the amazing DLCs when you're finished! Play Hearts of Stone first because Blood and Wine has an ending-ending and I didn't realize that, so it was a little weird to get the emotional finish and then have like 10+ hours of gameplay left! Oh, and if you haven't figure it out already know that you can put points into any skill in the General Skills tab (you don't build on it like the fighting/signs/alchemy tabs) and I would snag the "Gourmet" ability ASAP because it has saved my ass so many times.

AND ENJOY PLAYING

I wish I could play it for the first time again, but diving back into more Blood and Wine tonight will have to do :D

#witcher #TW3

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araneaes-order · 6 years

Text

In the Bleak Mid-winter Ch. 6

LAST HERALD-MAGE FANFIC

Fix-it…ish. canon mm

Young Stefen, living on the streets, found out someone was looking for him and decided to lay low, avoiding the mysterious stranger in red, so he’s never taken to Haven by Bard Lynnell. It was an unfortunate decision, but in spite of it, he and Van do meet up, just later, and under less kind circumstances. Basically a redo on the ending. ~55k words Finished.

Word Count: ~9400

Rating: Mature for, sorry, lots of bad stuff, rape, sexual abuse, child abuse. Canon was pretty dark, especially what I was redoing here, so’s this.

On AO3.

Chapter Synopsis: Stefen’s backstory with Leareth. (Mind the warnings)

Stefen felt ready to crawl out of his skin at any moment. They were so close to Master Dark already. It was just the pass between them now and Stefen hated crossing through that narrow, dangerous way, the mountains to either side like two frozen oceans, or one, divided, and only waiting for the perfect moment to come crashing back together and smash whatever insignificant creature was stupid enough to try to ford them.

The Herald, the whole reason he was doing this, didn’t even seem to care. The closer they’d gotten, the cooler he’d become. Stefen wanted to shake him until he expressed some of the terror he ought to be feeling, if only so Stefen could feel less alone in it—except he’d seen the man blow out the roof of a keep without half trying and kill almost twenty men with frightening little effort, and that after being beaten bloody and broken. No, Stefen wasn’t making a move on that one in anger.

The Herald and Master Dark might just be well matched in more than appearance. …if the Herald had brought an army with him, a few dozen magical monsters from the Palagirs, a score of lesser mages to drain of power and life and hope…

At least he probably was fine going off by himself here, though Stefen had tried pointlessly to argue with him about it at first. But no one came this far north without express invitation from Master Dark. No one who was hunting him would even consider he might be so close already; this was possibly as safe as they could be, short of on the other side of the continent.

The Herald had told him ominously to “rest while he could,” as though there was any chance of that, before taking off for whatever solitary errand he was pursuing. Stefen’d napped a little on that uppity horse and now sick dread was churning his innards, making him shiver more than the cold even as he huddled over the small fire the Herald had left.

When that horse, that Companion, let out a terrified call and half rose to her feet from the lying position, he jumped to his own in a panic, his dagger drawn, pointed out at the dark, wondering what the hell she’d caught wind of. After a moment, with no attackers and no more noise from her behind him, he turned to find she’d settled back into her previous position and was only staring wide-eyed and mouth agape, into the darkness.

No. No, she wasn’t staring at anything, he realized after a moment, another shiver racking him; she was talking to her Herald, and apparently not liking what he was saying to her.

Stefen retook his place, huddled so close to the flames he was at genuine risk of his clothes catching fire. Gods, it was creepy.

He suspected he was missing most of the times they were “talking” but he’d caught it often enough: the sudden blank expression of one or the other as their focus turned inward, the gestures, a turn of the head, a sudden pat or stroke, the shifting of the Companion to be closer to him, all hints of a constant flow of conversation going on around Stefen’s head.

And thank the gods for that! He shivered again.

He couldn’t imagine anything worse than a relationship that unnecessarily close. Someone always in the back of your head—more than bad enough the times Master Dark had strutted through his, thanks—how horrible and invasive it would be to have someone just…always there?

And how much worse would it be when they turned on you? he wondered, since in his experience everyone always did, eventually.

He kept his eye on her. She was supposed to be resting. She’d run all day after their early start, and would run all or most of the night just to get them to the other side of the pass. Hopefully she’d run all the next day—or several—afterwards, to get them well away from here once the Herald had seen what he wanted of Master Dark’s forces.

Stefen still couldn’t stop feeling guilty, even though this clearly wasn’t about him. Whatever was between the Herald and Stefen’s Master had been going on longer than he’d been involved. But that didn’t let Stefen off the hook for bringing the Herald, helpless, to Rendan, orders or no.

Guilt was idiotic. Pointless. A privilege for people with wealth and power and real choices in life. But that didn’t mean a penniless boy couldn’t feel it.

He knew what would take the edge off, the only thing that would, and he ached for it with a desperation that made his fingers almost fumble on the strings of his gittern, which he didn’t remember breaking out though he was glad to fall into the music when he noticed it.

It was almost as good. There was a time it had been better; when the music had been the nexus of all his hopes. Now even the music couldn’t stop him feeling the flask tucked tight in its hidden pocket against his chest, and hearing the sweet call of it.

He’d be useless if he gave in. He owed the Herald a clear head until he got him where he wanted to go, no matter how futile the Herald’s desire to see the Master’s work was.

His fingers tripped off into a faster tune, loosing some of his frantic tension in racing, tumbling notes. As quickly as he wished to be flying away from here, his fingertips strummed the strings. He was panting when he finished the song, heart pounding.

His eyes slid over the Companion. She was lying down now, as if she was dozing, but he suspected she was still in contact with her absent Herald. He wondered how far their mental link extended.

He moved into a softer, gentler song then. He didn’t call on his pain blocking gift, but he did weave a bit of restfulness into the melody. Peace, he played, until he felt the calmness rising in himself. Nothing but now. No use feeling guilty over what was past, no point worrying about what they would face in the morning; for now, there was rest.

It didn’t last. The Herald returned a bit later, striding out of the snow that had started falling again, like a creature of the snows himself, even if he was wearing the drab brown of the Rendan’s unfashionable bandits instead of his ruined Heraldic Whites. The silver in his hair and in his eyes was more than enough to make him seem a creature of an elemental winter, and the calm surety of his too-pale face made him seem more than human.

The longer he had spent with him, the more superficial his similarities to Master Dark had seemed. As the paler one, of eye and hair anyway, Stefen would have thought he’d have appeared the…weaker. More worn, more aged, and in some ways that was true, but age and care made him seem more real than Master Dark, and made the dark mage feel more and more like an imperfect copy, crafted by a talented but uninspired artist.

The Herald went straight to his horse, who stood, not waiting for a word or visible sign, so he could fit her gear back on her again.

Without being told, Stefen put away his gittern and quenched the fire.

“’Fandes says to thank you for the music,” the Herald said, without turning from his work.

Startled, Stefen looked at her, as though to check her expression—as though a horse’s face could have revealed whether that was truth or mockery.

The ride through the night was by far the worst part of the journey, as Stefen had expected. The pass was dangerous, narrow, and the crags of the mountains on either side made dark, looming silhouettes against the sky. The wind funneled through the pass, a mad, howling thing, raging and frigid and even with the Herald in front of him, shielding him from the teeth of the beast, he couldn’t stop imagining the damage frostbitten fingers would wreak on his musical abilities.

That was still less terrifying than the thought of being in Master’s Dark’s presence again if he found them before Stefen could convince the Herald to run away.

And he didn’t want to think about what the Master would do if he found Stefen with the Herald and realized he hadn’t been bringing him to turn over. Frostbit fingers would be an easy fate in comparison, even if he never played an instrument again.

The Herald patted one of his hands, and he realized he was probably holding on to the man far too tightly but he couldn’t make his grip loosen.

“The end of the pass will be guarded,” the Herald said, turning his head and shouting over the wind.

Stefen nodded against the Herald’s back, though he understood it had not been a question.

“I’ll set a Seeming on us—an illusion. Keep quiet and stay down and close to my back and I promise they won’t see us.”

Stay down and close? That wasn’t a problem; Stefen buried his face in the Herald’s cloak, trying hard to regulate his breathing. He’d been feigning indifference to the world since he was a child. But he couldn’t pretend indifference to Master Dark, pride be damned.

He was so lost in his fears he didn’t even notice them passing the guards that Master Dark had set at the northern entrance of the pass.

The Herald’s gasp and sudden stiffness was his sign that they were probably in sight of the stronghold. He sighed.

The Herald had cut east as soon as he’d reached the open snow plains north of the pass. The Companion found a small ridge of stone that curved up along the mountains, taking them high enough to look down over Master Dark’s work.

Stefen finally forced himself to look as well.

There was a straight path from the entrance of Crookback Pass to the grand front gates of Master Dark’s keep. Though calling it a “keep” was doing the elegant structure a grave disservice: it was a small palace, pulled from a child’s song, multi-towered, sparkling with glass even from such a distance, pennants flying, with high walls surrounding a courtyard that somehow enclosed a lush and verdant garden, even in the heart of this wintery land. It was all well suited to the powerful and vain man who’d made it his seat and stronghold.

But Stefen had seen all that before.

New to him, though it was little surprise, was the army camped around the keep, filling an uncomfortable amount of the landscape. It crowded the plains almost to the horizon, it surrounded the keep, it was gathered around that road between it and the pass, and Stefen could already imagine the spectacle that the Master had planned: him riding out of those gates on something that wasn’t a horse, along that clear, open road, his men falling in behind him as he rode through them, taking the vanguard and leading them through that pass into the southern land—and then to Valdemar.

Stefen knew he’d been gathering an army, allying with and subjugating many of the tribes of peaceful and not-so-peaceful caribou herders who’d once controlled the northern country.

He sighed wearily. You could even see where some of the beasts were being held: both summoned mage beasts and wild things captured from the Pelagirs. The former would obey their Master’s command, the latter could be set free and driven before the army to sow chaos in his enemy’s ranks.

The mages weren’t as visible, but Stefen knew they were there too, likely in the keep with Master Dark himself. Some would be blood mages, willing acolytes of such a powerful dark mage, hoping to learn enough at his knee to one day overthrow him. Others were captives and slaves, brought to be drained of magic and of life, their blood forfeit to the Master’s spells. That was the end that Herald Vanyel was courting. He was powerful, as Stefen had seen, but Master Dark was unstoppable. Hopefully now, looking over the forces he had gathered, the Herald would finally understand that.

“You see?” he demanded, though his voice was dull with exhaustion. “You can’t stop him. Go back to your country—maybe if you raise your army you can hold him off.” For a while.

He and the Herald dismounted, the Herald still disturbingly silent.

“I need you to do something for me, Stefen,” he finally said, slowly, as though the words were difficult for him. They probably were, a high and mighty Herald asking for help from a backwoods thug. But for some reason the way he said his name made Stefen shiver. It was foreboding, he decided. Trouble. And the way the Companion turned away from them both as the Herald spoke only made his heart sink lower.

“…yes…?”

The Herald turned to face him and pulled out one of the packets of Master Dark’s powder. Stefen stared at it in confusion.

“I need you to take me to your Master Dark.”

He forgot the powder. “What?”

The Herald grabbed his hand and pressed the paper packet into his glove. “Use this and take me to your Master.”

Stefen didn’t even think, he dropped the little envelope of powder and staggered away as though he’d been attacked instead of…whatever this was. “You’re mad!” he said, but to his own ears his voice was the voice of a child, shrill and frightened.

And perhaps the Herald saw him that way too: he looked regretful but determined, picking up the packet and following Stefen, then following again when Stefen couldn’t help falling back another step.

“I can use it on myself, I suppose,” the Herald said, sounding remarkably understanding for a man who’d gone completely off his head, allowing the hand that still held the powder fall to his side. “But I’ll still need you to take me to Lea—to Master Dark.”

Stefen was already shaking his head. “I won’t do that. I won’t—you’re mad!” he finished again, faintly and even vaguely plaintive.

He looked at the horse, thinking this had to be some strange test. She’d turn on him in a second and trample him to bloody bits in the snow for even listening to this. But she’d stayed where they’d dismounted, staring out over the plains as though memorizing the view, not turning at all to look at them.

Catching the direction of his gaze the Herald sighed. “She doesn’t like it, but she’s agreed with me. It’s the only way: Yfandes will go back to Valdemar and raise the Heralds, she can tell them through the other Companions, she can show them exactly what we’re facing here. That army—” He waved at Master’s Dark’s troops, a camp that stretched from the mountains to the distant horizon. “—they’re almost ready to march. The standing army of Valdemar will never assemble and make it here in time to hold them back, but Heralds on Companions might at least reach the pass…perhaps. Master Dark’s number won’t matter so much if we can catch him before the bulk of his forces are through.”

Stefen lifted his chin. “Then good, the two of you go back and get the other Heralds—”

But the Herald was already shaking his head. “They can take on the army, but Master Dark is a different matter. He’ll have mages, feeding him and strengthening his shields…?”

Stefen nodded so stiffly he was half surprised his neck didn’t snap like a brittle branch under the sharp jerk of his head.

“…and we’ll never be able to touch him. Not from any distance, and with as many troops as he cares to hide behind to keep assassins at bay.”

And Stefen began to understand. He snorted. “And what sort of assassin will you be? Blind and deaf and helpless because of that stuff—”

The Herald smiled in weary triumph. “Don’t you know? The powder doesn’t affect me the way Master Dark designed it to.”

Stefen waved his hands wide. “Master Dark will never buy that stupid story I told Viga! I still can’t believe Viga bought it, but Master Dark’s no small-minded hedge wizard.”

The Herald caught one of his hands and held it between them, stepping close and using it to keep Stefen from trying to back away again. “Yfandes and I made some changes to my personal shields. Nothing Master Dark should notice, but that powder will affect me differently now. I won’t lose all my senses, and though it will block my magic, it will leave a sort of backdoor in the walls that hem my powers in. It shouldn’t be visible to your Master Dark, but I’ll be able to use it to bring down the shields against me when I’m ready to.”

“And if he kills you right off?” Stefen asked quietly, a rising wave of despair peaking over him as he realized the futility of trying to talk the Herald out of this suicide mission. Was this what it always felt like to be standing with a hero as the makings of a ballad were aligning around you? A terrible, doomed sort of feeling. “Or if he doses you with something stronger once he has you?”

Those strange, pale eyes were as gentle as his grip on Stefen’s wrist. “He’s been waiting too long for me to kill me out of hand.”—at least that was likely true—“And I suspect he’ll have other ways he’ll want to ‘play’ once he has me.”

Shite. That was probably true too. Stefen gnawed at the inside of his cheek.

But if I take you to him that means I’m giving myself to him too! he wanted to whine. Just because the Herald didn’t care if he threw his life to Master Dark it didn’t mean that Stefen shared that same casual disregard for his own skin.

But the grave expression on the Herald’s face suggested he knew very well what he was asking and it left Stefen squirming under the steady weight of that implacable, saintly calm. Stefen had never pretended to be a hero and he sure as hell had no delusions of sainthood.

He’ll go to the Master without you, a voice whispered in the back of his head. Alone. Surrounded by the Master’s sycophants, he’ll suffer—and probably die—alone.

And for some reason selfish, practical Stefen couldn’t bear the thought of the Herald facing that fate. Not alone. Not without a single friendly soul to stand beside him. Or knowing his own cowardly, worthless self, to watch helplessly and silently from his place at the Master’s feet.

His throat was closed with fear and something else he couldn’t even name, leaving him able only to nod his assent.

The horse had nuzzled the Herald for a long moment, and aimed a stern, searching gaze on Stefen.

:If I find out you betrayed us, the gods themselves will not keep you from my justice.:

He staggered at the clear, dangerous female voice ringing through his head.

You can talk to me?

For once it was the Herald, his arms wrapped around his Companion’s neck in bittersweet parting, who was left out of the conversation. Behind his back, she bared her teeth.

:I can do more than you guess. More than even he knows. Take care of my Chosen.:

As she turned and left them there on the side of a mountain, her stony gaze passed over him but didn’t linger.

Watching her go, he got a better sense of the speed with which she moved. He’d known she had to have been near to flying to get them to the pass so quickly, but seeing her from this new vantage he found she almost seemed to vanish as she ran, leaping, and disappearing, and reappearing again several ground-devouring strides further ahead. He blinked away the odd observation, certain it was some trick of the light on the snow and her equally snowy hide.

Then if you care so much for him, come back for him as quickly as you can! he thought a her, but he had no idea if she could still hear him or was still listening or…whatever, and there was no reply.

The Herald turned on Stefen and held out the packet again, with an almost sheepish smile. He’d use it on himself if Stefen wouldn’t, he’d already said as much and he seemed about ready to do just that.

Gods above and below, save him from heroes.

Stefen snatched the little packet. He’d unfolded the first flap when the Herald stopped him.

“Wait,” the Herald said, and suddenly held out seven of the powder packets Stefen had given him. “It’ll look suspicious if I have them.” He smiled again, but Sefen knew the expression. Trust me, it said. He’d worn it often enough himself, and usually turned it on people he was about to fleece, one way or another. It irritated him that the Herald was trying it on him. Amature, he thought unkindly, pocketing the other packets and finishing peeling the first one open.

The Herald watched him steadily; a strong, hard breath over the pile of powder cupped in his hand sent it airborne, setting it over the Herald, sparkling for a moment like stardust before it settled and dulled, like a quickly melted frost.

He should have made the Herald move away from the edge of the mountain; it would have been just his luck to end up throwing the man he was trying to protect—gods knew why—off of a cliff.

Fortunately for both of them, but especially for the Herald, it seemed he and the Companion had done as he’d promised and though a shudder chased through him, he didn’t fall and his eyes remained clear. Too clear, perhaps.

Stefen considered him critically for a moment.

“…The Master isn’t going to think you’re under any sort of spell at all…”

The Herald’s mouth quirked. “Oh, he will. It’s easy enough to see and to feel, if you’ve any sense for the Mage Gift.” He rubbed almost absently at his temple, as though a pain was kindling there.

Well the Healer had noticed the “walls” on the Herald’s power easily enough. If that much of the spell had been left, then Master Dark would certainly know. But—

“He’s not going to believe I’m controlling you, with you so…” Stefen waved vaguely with his fingers. “Free?”

“I won’t seem so free by the time you get me to him,” he said, and Stefen wasn’t sure if he meant he was going to pretend to be out of it or that he might actually lose some of his clear-headedness, and he desperately hoped he meant the first, even if he didn’t think the Herald could trick Master Dark like that. “And this will help,” he continued, holding out a coiled length of rope.

Stefen took it, not liking this, any of it, trapped as he’d ever felt and had always been since Master Dark had come into his life. The Herald stood patiently with his wrists pressed together and extended for Stefen’s fumbling attempts to bind them. He was usually a pretty good hand with knots, tying and untying them, but the cold and his gloves and his nerves made his fingers clumsy.

More than that. The siren song of his flask—there was so much he wanted to forget, so much he needed to escape—

He cleared his throat. “I guess…I tell the Master we got attacked by the other bandits he sent hunting you. Tell him I didn’t trust his men after that—he’ll think that’s just delightful, amusing as all fuck—so I snuck you in, past his guards at the pass. He’s a clever bastard but maybe he’ll be so excited to finally have his hands on you he won’t worry too much about how I got us so far without horses…” he trailed off doubtfully.

“You shooed the horses off when we were through the pass, but before we sneaked past his guards.”

“I suppose—”

“And stick to your first story for Yfandes. She got away when you took me from the guard post.”

Stefen shivered at the thought of admitting that to the Master, even though he’d thought the same thing when he’d spared her in the stable. The order had been clear, the Companion was supposed to have been killed. “Couldn’t I just say she’s dead?”

The Herald shook his head and then wove a little on his feet, prompting Stefen to grab his arm and pull him away from the ledge and closer to the mountain. Please, let him be pretending.

“I can’t feign that sort of loss. He’d know if I’d suffered the severing of my Companion bond. It will have to be good enough that he thinks we can’t communicate while I’m blocked like this.”

Good enough to make Stefen pay for failing on half of his orders.

But he squared his shoulders and forced his chin up. It was the Master’s own fault for setting the other bandits on the Herald too. It was a stupid thing to have done; he had to have known they’d squabble over the right to be the ones who turned him over, going at each other like starved dogs over a single, bloody scrap. Gods, he was lucky Stefen had managed to even get the Herald to him under these conditions.

Sometimes the Master was amused when Stefen played cocky. He could hope he was in such a mood today.

The Master’s guards had never been friends to Stefen. In part because they, like the bandits on the other side of the pass, were never entirely sure where he stood in Master Dark’s regard and in part because they, like the bandits, knew that whatever his place was, he’d bought his way there with his body.

But while he enjoyed the relatively unusual benefit of coming and going with no real oversight, he hadn’t ever before come striding through the front gates bearing company to the Master’s palace. Strange, staggering, bound company at that.

“Who goes?” a guard—Warin—demanded suspiciously, stepping in front of him at the inner gate, and Stefen knew the young captain wasn’t asking for his own credentials.

“A special package for the Master,” Stefen answered, full of swagger and grinning false pride.

The taller man looked over the captive Herald with interest but didn’t immediately stand down. He was cleverer than many of the Master’s men, hence his promotion to captain at such an age, and not too proud to have let Stefen spend more than a few nights in his bed, though he welcomed the pretty kitchen maids there just as eagerly. He wasn’t a bad sort, especially considering many of his brothers-in-arms, and Stefen felt himself holding his breath. If anyone less than the Master and his inner circle of apprentices might recognize the trick, it would probably be Warin, but without magic what would betray them?

Was the rope that Stefen held not bound tightly enough around the Herald’s wrists? Were the Herald’s eyes not glazed and dull enough to mark him as properly subdued? Was—

Warin snorted, cutting through Stefen’s spiraling doubts. “Don’t look much like anything special to me,” he said, his hand sliding from the hilt of his sword as he shifted slightly, though he didn’t actually step away.

For a moment Stefen’s eyes widened, surprised by more than the ‘easy’ deception. Couldn’t Warin see the resemblance between the Herald and their Master? That alone would have been worth a second look—but then, even as a captain, the guard probably hadn’t spent enough time in the Master’s company to be as familiar with his looks as Stefen was, the better for Warin.

Master Dark didn’t spend much time with the lesser ranks of his men, and he had a separate, more carefully curated guard to protect himself and the inner sanctum of the palace: soldiers whose minds had been stripped to little more than mirrors of their Master’s whims; simulacrums, whose eyes were his eyes, whose ears were his, incorruptible, unfeeling, unaffected. Just the muscle memory of the warriors they once had been and the singular, driving will of the man who’d reduced them to nothing more. Yes, better for Warin to stay where he was.

Stefen tossed the captain a saucy smile. “Easy for you to say! You weren’t the one who had to get him here,” he said, leaning a little against the captain to pull his attention from the Herald. Perhaps he was just lucky the man didn’t favor brunets, though he knew he wouldn’t have let the handsome Herald pass by without a second glance, even if he hadn’t been out hunting him.

Warin stepped aside with a laugh and a gallant hand light on Stefen’s elbow to steady him as he did, his eyes gone a bit softer even while his grin took on a sharper edge.

“Off with you then, little bird. I won’t be the one responsible for keeping the Master waiting.’”

But it was a pair of the Master’s special guards who were waiting.

They were beautiful, the Master wouldn’t bear anyone in his presence who wasn’t, and one of them looked familiar, which Stefen tried not to think about. Had she been friend or foe? Not that it was important anymore; it was at least a relief that she didn’t strike him as familiar enough for him to remember who she’d been.

Now her eyes were blank and empty, like a hauntingly realistic doll. Or a magician’s puppet, dancing on a string.

“We’ll take him,” she said. The mouths never seemed to work quite right, as though the voice that passed between those lips wasn’t theirs.

“But—”

“Master’s orders,” the other one said, and Stefen knew there was no argument to that, even if the special guard could be argued with, which they could not.

He handed the rope off to the woman.

“He knows I brought him? I want my reward!” he whined, glad to imagine that the Herald was as dulled as he looked, and not able to hear Stefen’s weedling tone. It wasn’t entirely an act.

They ignored him though, trudging off down the hall where they’d intercepted him, three clockwork humans in a clockwork castle of stone and glass. Glittering and lovely, but cold and utterly lifeless. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.

The Herald gone and his stomach churning with a worry he couldn’t even name, as if he didn’t have enough whenever he was here, Stefen headed to his own chamber. He’d had bigger when he’d first come, swanning around as Master Dark’s pet, too stupid yet to recognize what a trap he’d leapt right into.

He’d lost it not long into his service, the punishment for some misstep he couldn’t even remember now, there’d been so many missteps and so many punishments since. Losing those big lovely rooms, right by the Master’s, hadn’t been even close to the worst. He shivered again, his teeth almost chattering as he let himself into the small, single room he now occupied whenever he was called to heel.

He froze with the door half open, finding the Master himself sprawled on his bed.

Oh gods, oh gods, what’s he doing here? he thought in panic, his stomach heaving.

“Against all odds, my little hunter returns triumphant!” the Master said, smiling and sitting forward, his dark eyes glittering.

Brave. Sometimes it amused him when Stefen played brave. Although his spine felt like jelly, he straightened it. “Against all odds is right, with every hold in the hills looking for him too. I was starting to think I wouldn’t make it back alive, nevermind get that damned Herald here,” he groused, forcing himself to walk into the room when everything in him was screaming for him to run. He couldn’t run. He knew; he’d tried.

The Master tossed his head back and laughed.

Stefen flinched, hoping he hid it well enough. That laugh always meant suffering, one way or another, and yet it still curled inside him like a warm hand, delicious and wrong all at once. He recognized it as something like his own gift, the barbed hooks in every word and sound the Master made, but that didn’t make him immune to its pull, or make him any less ashamed of feeling it for this man—this man, of all men.

But the closer he was and the longer he spent there the worse it became, his will and even personality draining away, bit by bit.

“Ah, Stef, my sweet Stef. I knew you could handle anything those ruffians would try. I didn’t want you to get bored. Where’s the thrill in an easy victory, hmm?”

All lies. Any of the brigands could have made short work of him and would have if it hadn’t been for the Herald’s Companion carrying them away from danger at a pace no normal horse could have managed to keep up with.

“Well anyway, he’s here now. You wanted him so bad, I’m surprised you’re bothering with me.” He wanted to sound disgruntled, but he knew the words came out sounding jealous. He felt jealous. Why did the Master even want the Herald so bad when he had Stefen? ‘His’ Stefen, who would do anything…

Master Dark stood and Stefen had to force himself not to scurry away like a frightened mouse—or fall to his knees and start licking his feet. He suppressed a shudder and stood his ground.

So the Master came to him.

While Stefen fought desperate, conflicting urges, the Master cupped his cheek and everything else fell away, the whole of his being focused on that hand, that touch. Everything was right when his Master touched him. He sighed and leaned into him, his eyes falling shut, his breath hitching in pleasure.

“Why Stef! You’re no bother…” His Master’s voice was a song, the melody that Stefen’s heart and his blood and his very soul sang. He’d do anything to please him.

There was something he was supposed to say… I love you. I worship you. No—

“That dust didn’t work on the Herald like you said,” he babbled, his tongue somehow bypassing the song in his head. “He didn’t go down all the way like you said he would. He’s just quiet, like one of your guards—”

“Shhh…that’s fine. It’s fine.”

He’d been afraid the Master would be mad. So afraid. The light amusement in his Master’s voice set off another wave of pleasure that made Stefen’s toes curl in his boots and wrung a sigh from deep in his chest.

“And the horse got away,” he continued, knowing he needed to say it all, confess—lies—before he lost his nerve.

The Master inhaled sharply. The pleasure drained away, the keen edge of terror piercing Stefen’s gut instead.

pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—

He felt a weight on his chest that made it hard to breath, an insistent pressure on his bladder that made him fear he’d shame himself. But shame was nothing, nothing at all to what the Master would do if he was displeased.

Stefen opened his eyes, biting his lip to stifle a whimper, and looked pleadingly into that cold, black gaze.

“Where? How long ago did the ‘horse’ get away?” Angry, the song of his voice became a storm, a raging, discordant cacophony, his words, bludgeoning hail, the silences between, electric.

It would have been better if the Herald had killed him in Rendan’s keep when he killed the others.

Stefen couldn’t hold back a little, despairing moan. “At—at the guardpost. I got the Herald but I couldn’t get the horse, we had to go or I’d’ve lost them both!” he whined. He pleaded.

He held his breath, waiting for judgement.

Slowly, the Master smiled.

Stefen didn’t react; a smile could mean forgiveness or it could mean punishment, he didn’t dare assume.

“Sweet Stef,” the Master murmured, stroking Stefen’s cheek and brushing his thumb across his lips, and at last, Stefen exhaled, falling forward into his Master’s arms, clutching at his clothes and panting for breath. “Shhh, I know you did your best. And I’m very grateful.”

Stefen fisted his hands, daring to look up and meet his Master’s eyes again, hating himself for feeling so hopeful.

Hating himself more for how he trembled when Master Dark leaned forward and kissed him. He felt it in every part of his body, a sudden fire raging to life. This was so much worse than Rendan and his men. Master Dark made him want it, need it. His body shook with the desire to serve him.

Of their own accord his hands slid down the Master’s chest towards his breeches.

To his sorrow—and immense relief—the Master caught his hands and gently pushed them away, chuckling as he extricated himself from the kiss.

“Now, Stef. I must see to our guest,” he murmured indulgently, and Stefen felt his gorge rise at—everything, every part of the play Master Dark forced him to perform every time he was in his presence. The besotted fool, the desperate lover, the cossetted pet, he was none of those things, godsdammit, but he would act as if he was, no less a puppet than the Master’s mindless guards.

He couldn’t make himself pull away. That was for the Master only, and only when he wished it. Stefen leaned against his body like a dog, desperate not to be left. “Do you have to? Right away?” he asked, feeling guilty for the Herald’s sake that he didn’t mean it at all. Gods, just go, please, anywhere else. Just leave me alone.

The Master gripped his chin and kissed him again, deep, hard, and Stefen fell into it, devoured and lost and only returning to himself when the Master not only released him but stepped back, a little smile on his face.

“I’m afraid so,” he said, and Stefen couldn’t make sense of the answer or the question it was answering through the haze still clouding his mind. “But I haven’t forgotten what a good job you did, bringing him to me. And I haven’t forgotten your reward.”

His focus sharpened instantly at that word. These days there was only one thing that meant and it was the only thing Stefen needed more than he needed his Master.

Master Dark laughed again. “Yes, for my good boy—” He pulled a flask from somewhere, possibly from another room and space entirely, he did enjoy showing off, but Stefen wasn’t an appreciative audience at the moment, his gaze and attention solely on the large glass flask. The Master shook it slightly from side to side, the liquid inside sloshing audibly. Gods, it was full! “What do you say?”

“Please? Please, Master—”

“Of course,” the Master drawled, holding it out.

Stefen reached for the bottle, hesitantly, desperate, but used to having things offered and then snatched away as he reached for them. It wouldn’t have been an effective trick if his Master didn’t occasionally throw him a bone, and this time, mercifully, he allowed Stefen to take the flask and cradle it to his chest.

“Thank you Master, thank you! Thank you so much!” he babbled, but Master Dark, bored, was already walking away.

He cursed the little ball of pain that kindled in his chest at being left alone and as soon as the Master closed the door he fell to his knees, the precious flask still cradled carefully in his arms while he leaned forward, pressing his head to the cold floor, and cried.

He was fourteen or so, maybe fifteen, nobody knew for sure, least of all him. He’d been with Rendan for going on five years, bought for a handful of silver and a small keg of sour beer from a pair of filthy old men who’d bought him from Berte and carted him north, the length of the kingdom he hadn’t known he was part of. He’d learned what he was good for long before reaching Rendan and it wasn’t singing. It was almost enough to make him think the gods cared enough about a pair of dirty street rats to get him back for what he’d said to Janne that day in the alley.

Whatever his age, after five years Rendan and his men were losing interest in him. He was still small, but not so fresh faced anymore, and although that life had left him with a diseased soul, broken and decaying inside his head, physically he was a hearty thing, and there was only so much you could go through before even horror and hell became somewhat mundane. They still had their fun from time to time, but he didn’t squeal the way he used to and there were days he found it more dull than terrifying. He was mostly just tired.

And then one day, they brought back the girl.

She was pretty, even with the bruises darkening half her face, and her screaming and sobbing made it clear she didn’t find Rendan and his men to be dull at all. They’d brought back plenty of other of their prizes since Stefen had been with them, but she was different, maybe just because they hadn’t touched her before they got her to the hall.

It was the first time Stefen saw Rendan and Tan and them with someone who wasn’t broken yet. The terror in her face reminded him of something and it took him longer than it should have to realize it was himself, sleeping in garbage in the back of that rattling cart, the first time one of the old men had slipped back there with him. Old and foul smelling, but big and so strong—

When they stripped her he realized she wasn’t as young as he’d taken her for. She was a woman, not a girl; her hips and breasts, though slim and small, were too sweetly curved for a child’s body. That didn’t make it any easier.

Stupid girl, if she’d just stop whining and lie there they’d finish faster, he remembered thinking to himself, curled into the corner by the fire, hiding his face and trying to cover his ears, humming a wordless melody to himself and hating her almost more than he hated Rendan for reminding him what it was like for a real person to suffer Rendan and his men.

Turned out he was wrong though. No matter what she did it wouldn’t have changed Rendan’s plan.

“Enjoying yourself, girly?” The bandit lord sneered, that pitch piercing Stefen’s song and making his breath catch. No, there’s no reason to worry, it’s not you he’s talking to. It’s not you, he tried to tell himself but he couldn’t find any comfort in that this time, her answering whimpers were so pained and pathetic. Idiot, just shut up!

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, folded in on himself, as small a shape as he could twist himself into, as small a target as he knew how to be.

The sharp crack of a blow landing on soft flesh was met with another shrieking cry. “Gotta send word to your da, thanking him for sending you to us, eh?” Rendan said, his voice low and his words eliciting a round of mean chuckles from his men.

“My father didn’t—”

A slap, or worse, and silence in response this time. “Did, though. He knew what would happen if he didn’t fall in. He made his choice—and yours. The better for us. Oh,” he crooned—Stefen hated that, hated when his voice went soft like that, in mocking mercy—“Don’t hide your face now, girl. You don’t have anything left to hide from us, does she boys?”

There was another round. He wouldn’t look and he tried not to hear, but there was no mistaking that rhythm, flesh on flesh, or the little cries, or the smells. He hummed. Hummed and hummed, smart enough to keep it all inside his head though, he’d made that mistake before, and the men hadn’t been in nearly as dark a mood then.

It was starting to sink in this wasn’t a ‘normal’ game for them, this was something else.

She lasted three days. Three hellish, haunting days, before he overheard Rendan talking to Tan. “Send word to come get her. He’ll want to deliver her himself, I reckon. See the look on the old man’s face,” he spat and laughed. “Old fool.” He inhaled sharply, sniffing. “And for the gods’ sakes, get her out of here. He can pick her up from the barn, smells like she’s a week dead already.”

She wouldn’t smell so bad if they hadn’t—but he didn’t want to think about it. He’d thought he’d seen them at their worst, he hadn’t imagined there was worse in them, or in anyone, but he knew better now and it made him sick. He could hardly admit it even to himself but it was a relief when Tan tossed the girl over his shoulder and disappeared outside. He didn’t know how she wasn’t already dead, but he was glad she was gone, even if it was only as far as the stables.

And yet—

He couldn’t stop thinking about her, while he filled and refilled beers and stirred and dished out week-old stew. How pretty she’d been when they’d brought her. How everything had frightened her. Soft, is what she’d been. It was too dangerous a world to be so soft. The fault of her ‘da,’ for letting her be so soft and not giving Rendan and his set whatever they wanted if he’d wanted to keep her that way. He hated Berte, of course he did, but at least she’d taught him to be strong before she sold him north.

He slipped out of the hall, mumbling something about taking care of the horses when Gart stopped him at the door.

He found her in a stall at the back, and he couldn’t have said what he expected to find when he pulled the blanket off her, except penance, having to see her again. But he was surprised—and endlessly disturbed—to find she was still breathing, shallow and thready. She wouldn’t be for much longer, that was an easy bet, but gods, that she was even still alive.

He couldn’t stand to touch her, could hardly bear to look at her, she was so ruined, more meat than person. But he couldn’t just go back into the hall and leave her, either. She deserved more than that, even if she’d been stupid and soft. He squatted on his heels, scratching his arm, torn between grim vigil and guilty flight.

Then he began to sing. He couldn’t imagine she was in much pain anymore, she was probably already too far gone, but he sang as if he could still help her, since it was all he had. He felt a little rusty, no one to listen to it but himself since he been taken by the slavers, Rendan and his men not seeing much purpose in his ‘caterwauling’ except when they needed a break from their well-deserved injuries.

It was only her and him and the horses now though, and so he sang as if it would make a difference, tears in his eyes, but not for her.

He sang a love song first, a real one, low and sweet and soft, like her, full of longing and hope. He didn’t know many nice songs like that, his list was mostly raunchy ballads, dirty stuff full of innuendo and double entendre, suitable for a brigand’s hall. So he switched to lullabies, he knew a few of those and they seemed fitting.

Sleep now and don’t fret, your dreams will be lovely and the morning will find you—

Dead. He blinked and shook his head, his song cut off, the silence hanging heavy around him. Just meat now and no one sang to meat.

He reached for the blanket to re-cover her, shamed by the relief that made his hands shake. He’d go back in and curl up to sleep in his corner and not have think about her anymore.

“What happened to her?” a hushed voice asked from behind him. He fell forward with a yelp, struggling with an ungainly tangle of his own half-grown limbs to not land on the dead girl.

“Whoa! I’m sorry!” The voice came again with a hint of concern. “Let me—”

Stef scrambled away sideways, quick, putting his back to the wall beside the girl so he could face the stranger—there were never strangers in Rendan’s hall, unless they came with Rendan himself. Who was this man, off in the stable alone?

Then—

An angel, Stef thought, catching sight of him and staring, dazzled. He felt a dizzy certainty that he must have been the one who’d quietly slipped away in the stable, fallen asleep and frozen to death while the girl still labored for breath, no less than he’d deserve for such a wooly-headed bit of stupidity.

The man in front of him wasn’t like anyone he’d seen before. Pale, but with hair black as a raven, even with that bit of sheen to it, winged brows over depthless, black eyes, the prettiest face Stef had ever seen on a grown man; he was from a fairy tale if not the Havens.

The stranger dropped his hand—elegant, pale, long-fingered, a noble’s hand, that had never done real work—realizing Stef wasn’t going to accept his help up, and cocked his head and smiled, a little upward twist of one corner of his beautiful mouth. Stef felt it in his belly, like he’d been hooked on a fishing line and the handsome stranger held the rod and reel. This was… this was desire and it was the first time in his life he’d felt it. He hadn’t known he could, but it was glorious and nerve-wracking at once. His skin prickled, his ears rang, he felt lightheaded, and in his breeches—

Looking around, because he couldn’t keep looking at the man any more than he could have stared into the sun, his gaze fell on the body beside him and he remembered the stranger’s question. He shrugged stupidly and pressed his hands between his back and the wall of the stable. Where was Rendan? Who was this man? He was torn between wanting him to stay and wanting to warn him to go, leave this awful, dirty place while he could.

“Your singing was beautiful. I was sorry you stopped,” the stranger said, his words like music.

Stef didn’t think he could have managed anything sensible if he tried, so he just shrugged again. But he flicked his gaze back, catching the curiosity on the man’s face, and he found himself strangely desperate to please him, especially after he’d called Stef’s warbling ‘beautiful.’ Sometimes he still thought it was, but what did he know? The praise he’d once gotten for it on that faraway street corner seemed like something from a dream of another life, and Rendan and his boys didn’t think much of it, except when they needed him to sing away their pain.

“She wasn’t list’ning no more,” he said plainly.

The man smiled a little wider, leaned a little closer, as if to share a secret. His scent was heady, something herbal, woodsy, and clean.

Stef stared and licked his lips.

“I am,” the handsome man promised.

Too clever, Stef had been called all his life. It was never a compliment. Too clever for his own good. Too clever to take what he ought to just take. Too clever to leave well enough alone. Always looking for an out, always considering his options, even when he didn’t rightly have none.

What was his life with Rendan? He was a slave and fuck-boy, a toy for any man in Rendan’s hall. But he wasn’t half-bad to look at, maybe not as pretty as the stranger but prettier than any of the others in the hall, prettier than any of the men and a good lot of the women Rendan’s boys sometimes showed up with. He straightened his shoulders, hands still pressed to the wall behind him, he knew what his stance offered.

He looked down for a moment. The girl’s feet weren’t quite covered by the blanket and there was something heart-breaking in the vulnerability of those pale, bare toes in the dirt and hay.

Stef wasn’t soft like her though.

“I know more songs. More’n I was singing just now,” he said.

The man grinned. “I’m certain you do. And perhaps I could teach you a few new ones.” He held out his hand again.

This time Stef took it.

Stefen rolled over with a gasp, pounding his hand against his pillow, tears wetting his cheek and his bedding. When the dreamerie went down wrong it went down wrong, and dragged him with it.

He panted for breath, like he’d been running in his sleep instead of strolling through dark and misty memory. Stupid, stupid little boy, thinking he’d known the worst life could be, taking the devil’s hand and calling him an angel.

If there was justice in this life then he must have lived a helluva last one to have earned this lot. But he didn’t believe in justice or angels. He tumbled from his bed, staggering across the room.

He should have checked the time, maybe asked around to find out what had happened to the Herald, but he went to the flask instead.

There were worse memories he could have had dragged up to replay, as real as if he was living them again. Something after he’d gone with the Master maybe, the first time he’d made him mad, when he’d been unprepared for his ‘angel’ to cast off his wings and show his horns. Times he’d been beaten, made to crawl, given away like he was a cup to be borrowed, passed around—filled—gods!

His hands fumbled the cork off and he took a hit straight, not even diluting it in water or wine.

He’d told the Master everything about himself in the first, full bloom of that infatuation, thinking, unaccountably, that his plans had more than paid off; that he’d found a safe place at the frozen top of the world. When they’d fucked it had been the first time Stefen had ever actually wanted to. Damn him, how he’d paid for it.

He shuddered, wiping his hand across his lips to catch what spilled in his haste and then sucking his palm to savor any lingering drop, any smear of the drug, as he lurched back to collapse on the bed and curled around his pillow, still instinctively trying to make himself small.

His Master had given him music back, fascinated by Stefen’s Gift. He’d given him instruments, tutors and mentors. His words when he’d taken him away had been more than just innuendo: he’d given him access to a repertoire of songs he’d never have dreamed of, and then he’d stolen it all by back by claiming it, and Stefen himself, as his own.

His little pet, and, when he wished, just another weapon in so vast an arsenal it shook Stefen to his bones and stole his nights and his sleep. Then he’d given him dreamerie, knowing what it had been to his childhood, knowing the racking shame he’d kindled as he used it to buy what little was left of Stefen’s soul.

He hissed in pain, begging the dreamerie to kick in again, but better this time. Please, gods, please, let it be better this time!

The world started to fold in on itself, the little room falling away. Stefen breathed in relief as a cool, green light enveloped him. This was a good place, the best of places. A circle of trees, a warm, sweet-scented wind through them, and someone he was waiting for…

Continued in Chapter 7

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#LHM #the last herald-mage #Vanyel Ashkevron #Stefen #Tylendel Frelennye #my writing #fanfic #long post

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