#i first laid down shadows over Phoenix’s entire form

[cargopantsman]

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper...  I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

#personal bs #vince rising #dan falling #don't try this at home kids

[certifiedskywalker]

Who Are You? - Paz Vizla

Anonymous said:

Could you do a Paz Vizla x reader cause I haven’t seen any

You weren’t a native to Nevarro but you had spent much of your life working with the smugglers that filtered in and out of its shipyards. The pay wasn’t good, the people were worse, but it was...well...home. Nevarro was the only real home you had ever known. So, you were surprised to find that there was an entire covert of Mandalorians living within the sewers. Surprised, shocked, but grateful when one Mandalorian, in blue armor, saved your life.

AN: I hope our blueberry-big boy is still alive and that I characterized him well! 

You had spent your whole life running from war. Maybe it was the startling sound of ion cannons or the constant fear of having your life cut short. Hell, it could’ve have been the sight of blood but you didn’t dwell in any part of the galaxy long enough to figure it out. Eventually, your planet hopping led you to the Outer Rim, to Nevarro.

The steaming sand planet was perfectly horrible.

It grew terribly cold in the darkness of night but was always hot during the day, unbearably so. Sunlight never once faltered and the lava fields produced a heat and stomach-twisting carbon stench that carried on every fleeting breeze. The stink of sweat was so strong it could never be washed out of your clothes but the shady characters that supplied you with work didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t ask questions; you were paid to move shipments and glance at manifests and that was that.

Granted, it was those smugglers and the crippling heat that kept the war out of Nevarro. The phoenix of the New Republic would never risk associating with smugglers and what was left of the Empire had a rather haughty past with lava planets. You were safe from the reach of both sides. Felt free and untethered, you had no inkling of what was bubbling up towards the surface until it was much too late.

Now, you were paying for the few, precious years you had away from the cries of battle.

Now, you were stuck in the thick of it.

Sharp and metallic, the scent of blaster fire was all around you. You tried your best to focus on that scent in particular. If you let your sense of smell wander past that and the mud, it would eventually find the reek of charred flesh. Perhaps that was why war never suited you: you never had the stomach to handle the stench.

“Y/N!? Is that you!?” You glanced over to see a familiar, scaly face. At the sight, a strange sense of relief twisted your guts. You felt as sickly green as the smugglers skin.

“Carniv, you’re still here?!”

“Yes,” the Trandoshan smuggler hissed between bolts of blaster fire. “These metal-heads started up before I could get outta here.”

You nodded in understanding before peeking your head out from the barrier you had hidden yourself behind. Soldiers, in armor that you had never seen before, were lasting waste to people you had seen filing in and out of the cantina. Prior to the fight, you heard heard Greef Karga’s voice bellowing out orders to a Mandalorian. Were these Mandalorians? You had only seen the one taking bounties from the Guild. 

“Where did these guys come from?!” You shouted over the blaster fire to Carniv whose amber eyes were flecked with fear. His slit pupils were thin as he studied the band of armored warriors. “They’re not Imperial, right?!

“Mandalorians!”

A blaster bolt whizzed with a fiery hiss past your head. White-hot, adrenaline rushed through you and you ducked back behind the storage unit you were using as a barrier. Carniv tucked himself back into the alleyway he had claimed just as a rain of fire hit the stone. He screeched, all high-pitched and lizard-like. You peered down the alley the cowardly smuggler was hiding in and felt a twinge of hope in your chest. Working in the shipyards required that you know the spice running routes; that included the alleys and sections of the sewers. Where Carniv stood, there was a path cut to the far Western side of the settlement. An easy escape.

“Carniv! The alley!” The Trandoshan glanced behind him and, when he looked back at you, he shook his head. His mouth, all toothy and forked tongue, opened but a peppering of blaster fire drowned him out. “What?!”

Another wave of gunfire ripped through the air. You screwed your eyes shut at the horrendous sound. When you opened your eyes, you looked back to Carniv. He was tense, his feet spread and knees bent. He was going to run towards you, you realized, the fool!

The Trandoshan pulled out his blaster with a shaking hand. “No, Carniv! Don’t-”

Just as the reptilian smuggler stepped out, ready to dash to where you sat in relative safety, a shock of blaster fire tore through the air. It was so loud, so close, that you shut your eyes and covered your ears with your hands. Dulled but still echoing in your skull, the shots blended into the sound of your pumping blood and pounding heart. However brief the blasts were in reality, it felt like a lifetime until you pried your palms from your ears. Even longer until you opened your eyes.

Warily, you glanced over to the entrance of the alleyway. Carniv no longer stood there and, for a moment, you were hopeful. 

It was only when you glanced down at the well-packed earth did the urge to vomit rise up in your throat. Carniv, his towering, scaly form, was riddled with holes. Steam, smoke, what it was exactly you were too distraught to tell, wafted up from the open wounds. With it the scent of charred flesh carried over and up into the air around you. You pinched your nose shut and tried with all your might to pull your gaze from his body. But the sound of blaster fire still excited the atmosphere of Nevarro and Carniv had found himself victim to it. 

What somehow managed to stay untarnished was Carniv’s blaster. It was only a few precious inches away. One good reach and you could grab it. It was a tempting thought, perhaps too tempting for your own good. Carefully, you peeked over the storage unit you were tucked behind, nose still pinched shut. The warriors, the Mandalorians had turned there attention to different group of pinned smugglers.

One larger one, in blue armor had stopped firing; although his heavy-loaded weapon was still pointed in your direction. Smoke rose from the tip of the huge blaster and it hit you all at once. He had killed Carniv. Though, to you, Carniv had killed himself. The alleyway was the way to safety, you knew that. You had tried to tell him that!

Taking advantage of their distraction, you ducked down and focused on Carniv’s blaster. It was close to his hand but not quite under it. You could reach it. What other choice did you have? Stay where you were, defenseless and waiting to be gunned down did not spark any pleasure in you. No, if you were to get out alive, you would have to fight. 

In a flash, you spread out your arm. Cool against your fingertips, your hand landed on the blaster. As you leaned over to it, you were hit with the copper stink of blood and carbon scoring from missed shots. It didn’t matter though, not as you darted back to your hiding place with the blaster in your hand. You glanced towards the alleyway, your heart pounding at the thought of escape. You were close.

As you tried to gauge how long it would take you to dart into and down the alley, the blaster fire stopped. An eerie silence fell over the settlement. It created the perfect surroundings for you to feel your visceral fear. Your stomach was tight, your hands clammy and your fingers itched to do something. Anything! You weren’t a smuggler or a crook! You had not quarrel with the Mandalorians! You needed to get out of there!

Before you could think clearly, you were standing up and running. For a fleeting second, you felt free. You would survive war yet, this would not be your last stand. For a fleeting second, you felt victorious.

The second later, a burning, furious pain ripped through your leg. With cry, you crumpled to the ground with the top half of your body falling behind the wall of the alleyway. Tears welled up in your eyes as you fought back a scream. With wild kicks, you propelled yourself into the alleyway for better cover. When the shadows covered you completely, you looked down at your leg. Thankfully, in the darkness, it was hard to see how bad it was; you could only feel it. 

“By the Maker,” you hissed, reaching down to feel the edge of the wound. Wet, thick blood coated your fingertips and you pulled your hand back so swiftly it was as if you had touched a still-running engine. In a vain attempt to stifle the pain, you squeezed the handle of Carniv’s blaster. The metal was now warmed by your hand and the pressure did little to dull the searing streaks of pain that raced up and down your leg.

As you wormed around on the ground of the alleyway, blaster fire died out. Once more, that unsettling quiet fell over the settlement, over the alley and filled you with a rebranded fear. You tried to push yourself further down the alley. With each movement, a new wave of pain rushed through your body and a few sharp cries slipped past your lips. 

With a final huff, you laid back against the cold ground. At least the dirt felt cold against your flushed skin, warmed from the heat of battle. Before long, the orange-purple tint in the sky would turn its signature greyish blue and bring Nevarro’s beating fever with it. You cringed at the thought of bleeding out and being left to cook in the alleyway. To die this way…

If I don’t get shot first, you thought dryly.

It were as if fate had been cast against you because in the quiet you could pick up the soft crunch of booted feet against the mushy ground. Sets of two feet, you realized. Sweat slipped down your brow as you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows. As you moved, your fingers tightening around the handle of the blaster, two looming shadows crept into the alley.

“Hold it!” The voice was altered, almost droid-like. Instinctively, you, just barely, lifted the blaster. “Don’t do it.”

With gritted teeth, you pressed the blaster to the ground and stared up at your prospective executioners. One was in bolt-riddled, brown armor the other was lumbering forward in heavy blue armor. Anger ran through you at the sight. You could not, would not, die by their hands; you had survived too much already.

“I don’t work with the Guild,” you snapped, “not a smuggler or hunter.” The two warriors stopped in their tracks. 

“You’re lying,” replied the brown one shortly. The voice was not the one you had heard before. Underneath the brown helmet, you imagined a woman with battle scars. 

“I’m not,” you said, softer than before.

“Get ready to die,” she ordered, raising her blaster and taking a step towards you. Your breath hitched and your grip tightened on the weapon in your hand. You knew you wouldn’t be able to draw fast enough, but it was worth a, literal, shot.

“Stop this,” the blue grumbled. “Look at this one. There’s nothing to them. They’re no hunter, that is clear.”

“Nevarro is home to scum,” the brown one snapped, the blaster’s scope never wavering in its aim on you. Nevarro, home? It didn’t feel like it. 

The blue one, the one with the deeper voice, lifted a hand. He pushed his partners’ blaster down and out of your face. A shaking sigh of relief rattle through your chest. Despite the momentary peace, your body remained tense and ready to fight.

“Go back to the others, tell them we have a civilian.”

“Civilian?!” The warriors, the Mandalorians, stared at each other. “They fired on us, every one of them. Killed us like their Imperial cousins.”

“Does this look like an Imperial to you?” A gloved hand moved out to you, finger extended as the blue-armored Mandalorian pointed at you. “Killing the innocent, that is not The Way.”

Something in his small speech set the brown-armored Mandalorian off. She stomped out of the alleyway, leaving you and the blue one alone. His helmeted head turned to you, the t-shaped visor almost peering into your soul. It was like looking death in the face.

On instinct, you raised the blaster and fired. 

The shot barely moved him. It left a black pot mark in his blue armor before the blaster-bolt lost its power. Your eyes widened and mouth opened in shock. 

“I told you not to do it.” 

You let the blaster fall from your grasp. Suddenly, the pain in your leg was overwhelming and your heart was pounding. Small gasps roared up your throat but no air filled your lungs. Panic, you were feeling pure, unadulterated panic. Before your vision went black, you saw the blue Mandalorian rush towards you, reaching…

You woke with a start. The moment your eyes opened, you jolted with your legs kicking out slightly. A shock of pain, not as powerful as before, run up your leg. You winced, reaching down to peer at your wound. A bacta patch was placed over it, mending your broken flesh.

“It will heal.”

You looked up and saw the blue-armored Mandalorian. Bars, metal and cold looking, nearly blocked your view of him. You were in a cage. Once more, fear rolled through you and you were on your feet. The jail cell was cramped but you could stand and face him. 

“Let me out.”

“You shot me,” the Mandalorian grumbled. “If I let you out, you’ll get killed.” You scowled but knew he was right. The other Mandalorian, the one in brown armor, she wanted to kill in the first place. You turned your back on him and thought back to the shoot down. Carniv.

You spun on your heels and gripped the bars. “You killed my-”

“The Trandoshan. Was he your friend?” You cringed at the word friend but opened your mouth to agree. Then, you thought back to the battle, you remembered Carniv for what it was. He was a smuggler who dealt in spice and bounty hunters. He was partnered with Greef Karga and the Guild, the people the Mandalorian had targeted. 

“No,” you replied softly, “he was...just someone I knew.” The Mandalorian shifted and leaned toward you as you were still pressed against the bars.

“And who are you?”

You stared dead into the t-shaped visor of his helmet. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I asked first,” he snapped. You pulled back from the jail cell bars and shook your head.

“Well, then, I guess this interrogation is getting no where fast, huh?” The Mandalorian remained close to the bars, watching you watch him. 

“Who said this was an interrogation?” You swallowed hard and shifted on your feet nervously. What was his game?

“I’m in a jail cell,” you said, the statement almost sounding like a question. “What else could this be?”

“Protection. Now, who are you?” He pressed it again and you stepped back unconsciously. “If you’re not an Imperial or a smuggler or a bounty hunter, who are you?”

“Nothing worth sharing,” you snapped, still stepping back into the depths of your cell. Your open palms pressed against the sandy walls of structure. 

“I doubt that,” the Mandalorian replied, not missing a beat. You felt your breath leave you at his words. “Who are you?”

“Y/N.” The Mandalorian stepped back from the bars and you watched his shoulder relax. The heavy armor around his neck knocked together. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he echoed your name and it sounded strangely nice coming from under the Mandalorian’s helmet. “You don’t have anywhere to go? No one to miss you?”

“Well, that’s personal,” you countered. The Mandalorian shifted and leaned towards you to enforce his point. “No, I don’t.”

“There is no limit to the age of foundlings,” the Mandalorian stepped aside and you lost sight of his visor, of him. “If you leave this cell you can leave free or as a member of the Mandalorian creed. The choice is yours.”

“What?” The Mandalorian stayed silent and you moved inside your cell to meet his eye line. “What do you mean?”

“You could be something more,” the Mandalorian said, “you showed courage on the battle field. We need more like you.” He stepped away before falling quiet. You let yourself ingest his words, your eyes never leaving the man’s visor. Your legs ached slightly and you had to shift your weight to get comfortable again. Though, it was impossible to get comfortable. You had been running all your life. Maybe it was time to stop.

“How do I get out of here?”

“You know The Way.” You cocked your head to the side and met the Mandalorian’s gaze. You couldn’t see his eyes but you could feel them. It was a test. He was pushing you, making you run one last time. Maybe with the Mandalorian’s there would be more fighting than the war with the Empire and the Rebellion. Or maybe, it was the chance at another life.

“I know The Way,” you murmured and stepped out of the shadows. Limping forward, you extended your hand and pressed your palm against the metal bar door. With a little push, the door swung open. You took a step out and felt your wounded leg buckle.

You fell to the ground, or at least you almost did. Two strong hands caught you and pulled you back up to your feet. Your hands, shaking slightly, gripped at the coolled, blue armor of the Mandalorian that saved you, that offered you a new life. 

You looked up into his t-shaped visor and you could feel his eyes again. They were softer now, not as calculating as it was before. 

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

And, for the first time since you landed on Nevarro years ago, it felt like you were truly home. Or maybe it was because you were in his arms. You weren’t sure but you were ready to find out. 

#paz visla #paz visla imagine #paz visla imagines #paz visla x reader #paz visla fanfic #paz visla fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #sw #sw imagine #sw imagines #sw fanfic #sw fanfiction #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #paz vizla imagine #paz vizla imagines #paz vizla fanfiction #paz vizla fanfic #paz vizla x reader

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero, @magic713m, @ccboomer, @aubsenroute, and @somebodyswatson

Chapter One The Dark Lord Ascending

The table was dimly lit, but the fireplace behind the head of the table spread across the white marble floor and cast a ghostly pallor over the faces of the witches and wizards seated around the long dining table. Their stiff expressions did not make them appear any more lively.

Lord Voldemort, seated directly before the fire, was shrouded in shadow. His white hands, however, reflected the firelight almost as easily as the silver sword resting on the table did, and the firelight glinted in his red eyes just like it glinted off the rubies set in the sword’s hilt.

The snake, Nagini, slithered along the cool, smooth floor near Lord Voldemort’s feet, then slowly climbed up his chair. He stroked her head and reminded her to be patient. Dinner would come soon. Voldemort had a point to make first. Footsteps echoed from the high ceiling and two more wizards entered the room. The first — tall, blonde, and broad-shouldered — still wore his Ministry badge pinned to his robes. Behind him walked another man in billowing black robes, with stringy black hair, and a sallow complexion. His solemnity fit in perfectly with the crowd gathered around the table.

“Yaxley, Snape,” Lord Voldemort said in a high voice. “You are very nearly late.”

The blonde man, Corban Yaxley, approached Lord Voldemort’s chair at the head of the table, knelt, then took the seat Lord Voldemort directed him to, an empty space beside Antonin Dolohov. Severus Snape approached next and knelt, but when he stood to take his place at the table — a space usually found at the end, near Gibbon and the Carrows — Lord Voldemort laid a hand on Snape’s wrist.

“Here, Severus,” and Lord Voldemort directed Snape to sit at his immediate right, beside Pyrites. It was a place once held by Bellatrix Lestrange, who now sat further down, not far from Lucius Malfoy.

Voldemort ignored the daggers that Bellatrix glared at Snape. Snape had served him best in the recent weeks, and deserved this point of honour. Bellatrix, however, had done little but fail and disappoint him. And then there was the matter of her cousin and her niece…

But there were more important things to be concerned with at the moment. Shaming the Black family could wait a moment longer.

“So?” Voldemort asked Severus, eager for his news.

“My Lord,” said Snape in a soft voice, “the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from the Potter estate on Saturday next, at nightfall.”

Voldemort noticed the way Snape’s voice seemed to curl around the name Potter, like it was a poisonous potion he dared not hold onto for long. Voldemort knew there was no love lost between Snape and the Potters, but he also knew that a year ago, he had peered into Harry Potter’s dreams and seen Severus Snape’s long-held affections for Lily Potter. Snape may have just returned to his fold with the greatest proof of his loyalty, the murder of Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous enemy, but he still wondered just how trustworthy Severus was.

It was easy enough to find out.

Lord Voldemort stared into Severus Snape’s dark eyes, searching, using his long-practiced gift of Legilimency to unravel Snape’s thoughts. He found a memory of Snape sitting in a bar, discussing with a squat man — “Mundungus,” the barman called him, in an irritated voice — as the man, under the pliance of drink and perhaps a potion or two, freely informed Severus Snape that the Order would be moving Harry Potter and his family next Saturday.

“Good,” Voldemort smiled. “Very good. And this information comes —”

“— from the source we discussed.”

From the Order itself. From the fools who allowed their guard to be let down long enough for Severus to manipulate them into spilling everything he needed to know.

“My Lord,” Yaxley interrupted, and leaned forward on the table to look directly at Voldemort.

Voldemort pulled his gaze from Snape and glanced at the man who seemed so small so far down the table.

“My Lord, I have heard differently.”

Lord Voldemort did not think that the Ministry could be any better informed than Severus Snape, and he was shocked that Yaxley had the arrogance to presume so. But he supposed Severus Snape’s rapid advancement in ranks was enough to incite envy among his followers. They wanted to prove themselves. He could indulge them for a moment.

“Dawlish, the Auror,” Yaxley continued, “let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen.”

Snape smiled. “My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible.”

“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain.”

“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain. I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry.”

Alecto Carrow laughed, a high-pitched wheezy thing that reminded Voldemort of a sow squealing. “The Order’s got one thing right then, eh?”

A few others echoed her laughter. Lord Voldemort did not. His gaze drifted from Yaxley to the main feature of the dining room, the feature that all in the room pointedly ignored. Over the table, dangling by her ankles, was the body of a woman, turning every so slowly. She was unconscious — for the moment.

But she held little interest for Voldemort just now. He considered Yaxley’s suggestion that Potter would be moved right before he turned seventeen. It would be sensible, he thought, to move Potter shortly before the Trace was lifted. At that point it would not matter how deep the Death Eaters had gotten into the Ministry; they would have great difficulty finding Potter if he did not want to be found. However, he trusted Severus, and he knew of the Potters’ great disdain for the Ministry. It was like them to behave rashly, to flee somewhere outside the Ministry’s reach, and as quickly as possible.

“My Lord,” Yaxley continued, “Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy —”

Voldemort held up his hand, and his follower obediently fell silent.

He turned to Snape. “Where are they going to hide the boy next?”

“At the home of one of the Order,” said Snape. “The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order can provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest, and take them at their home.”

Voldemort turned his gaze back to Yaxley. “Well, Yaxley? Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”

Yaxley sat up a little straighter, puffed his chest out. “My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have — with difficulty, and after great effort — succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”

Desire to impress indeed. Antonin Dolohov clapped Yaxley on the shoulder, and a few of the others around him murmured their approval.

“It is a start,” Lord Voldemort said, “but Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister’s life will set me back a long way.”

“Yes — my Lord, that is true — but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.”

Voldemort considered this. “As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest. At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels.”

“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, though Voldemort wished very much that someone else might make an attempt to prove themselves. He was growing tired of Yaxley’s ineffective information, and this statement was no better. “We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately.”

“He will not do either,” Snape said. “The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place.”

“All the better,” Voldemort said, grateful once again for Severus Snape. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far.” He turned his gaze away as Yaxley sank back into his seat. If Potter was going to travel in the open, that meant Voldemort would have to be out in the open as well. There would be no sneaking into a poorly protected home and murdering a child in his bed. But it had to be done.

“I shall attend to the boy in person,” he told his followers. “There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs… I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans.. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.”

A cry of agony interrupted Voldemort’s train of thought. He recalled the prisoner below his feet, in the cellars of Malfoy Manor, and pulled his gaze from the woman above the table to Lucius Malfoy.

“Lucius, is your house-elf good for nothing, if it cannot keep our prisoner quiet?”

“M-my Lord,” Lucius bowed his head slowly.

“Draco,” Narcissa said in a calm, quiet voice, “find Winky. See to it that our Lord is not disturbed again.”

The young man with pale, blonde hair and an ashen face seemed eager to leave the table. He glanced up at the woman above the table just once, then disappeared into the Malfoy’s kitchen.

Voldemort had found the house-elf Winky to be useful, though frailer than he would have liked. He had stayed in the Crouch family home for the year before his return to his body, and the house-elf had, under Barty Crouch, Jr.’s control, helped keep him alive in his half-life form. And then, after he had returned to himself, after he had looked into Regulus Black’s eyes and seen nothing but hatred and revulsion, and after Regulus Black had so very nearly revealed Voldemort’s secret — his Horcruxes — Winky had helped him again. He had gone to the caves he had explored as a boy, where he had hidden Salazar Slytherin’s locket, and had the house-elf show him the proof of Regulus Black’s betrayal: the small silver locket, with a simple note inside. Voldemort had burned the parchment immediately, but the words themselves were forever seared into his memory.

I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more…

It had sent Voldemort into a rage. He had taken Winky to check on his other Horcruxes, the ones he knew could be at risk. This elf had been weaker than the first he had used, but at least it had survived both the curses surrounding the locket and the curses surrounding Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. That had been intact, too, safely stored in Lestrange’s Paris estate, but Voldemort could not risk it staying there for long. Though Severus insisted that Regulus Black was not in the Order, and had not made contact with Dumbledore, it was a risk too great to ignore, and so Voldemort had entrusted the cup to Bellatrix Lestrange. Her family’s vault in Gringotts was as safe as Hogwarts, he was certain.

Lucius, of course, had seen to it that his diary had been lost. Lucius had been soundly punished for that. As for the diadem, Voldemort was confident that no one else could know where he had hidden it; no one else could know Hogwarts as intimately as he did. And then there was the matter of Lord Voldemort’s grandfather’s ring… The Gaunt family home was far too public a place, too close to the site of his resurrection to visit safely without fear of the Ministry’s interference. Soon, though, he would have control over the Ministry. Soon he would be able to visit the site for himself and check. But surely it was safe. No one but Dumbledore had known the truth of his family, and with Dumbledore dead…

“As I was saying,” Voldemort looked back at his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

He was not surprised by their shock. He had perhaps hoped one or two might be eager enough to impress him, but he did not blame them. Their wand was their mark of power; no true pureblooded wizard would desire to give that up.

“No volunteers? Let’s see… Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

“M-my Lord?”

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I…”

Voldemort noticed the way that Lucius turned to his wife for assistance. It grated on him and he resisted the urge to curse Lucius then and there, but he did restrain himself, for Lucius reached into his robes, and drew his wand. It was a sleek, dark thing, and he passed it to Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort turned the wand over in his hands. The custom fit handle, a snake with its fangs bared, was almost comical when he considered Nagini and the true terror she inspired.

“What is it?” Voldemort asked.

“Elm, my Lord,” said Lucius.

“And the core?”

“Dragon — dragon heartstring.”

“Good.”

Voldemort withdrew his own wand, which had served him so well over the years, and compared it to Malfoy’s. He hardly had a moment to note the stark difference in colour before he saw Lucius’ hand reach — ever so slightly, an involuntary movement — but Voldemort turned his cold, red gaze on Lucius.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Some of the others around the table laughed, but Voldemort did not.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius. Is that not enough for you?”

Voldemort saw movement near the doorway to the kitchens. Draco had finished what his mother had sent him to do, and seemed unsure if he should return to the table. When he realised that he had been seen, he hurried to his mother’s side.

“But I have noticed,” Voldemort said as the boy took his seat, “that you and your family seem less than happy of late… What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius. Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord.” With a trembling hand, Lucius wiped away the sweat that had begun to form on his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

Narcissa did not look at Lucius, nor at Voldemort, but she nodded once in agreement. Draco, for his part, started to look at Voldemort, but could not bring himself to. He glanced back at the woman dangling over the table, then down at his lap.

The Malfoys’ manor had been Lord Voldemort’s base of operation since the death of Barty Crouch, Jr. Losing his most faithful servant to Regulus Black had also cost him a safe place to avoid the Ministry. Lately, the Malfoys had been under more scrutiny from the Ministry, and Voldemort knew they were not pleased with the attention. But in the same vein, Voldemort was displeased with them. Lucius had failed to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, and as a result, Voldemort had lost many of his most valued Death Eaters to cells in Azkaban. Then young Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore — not that Voldemort had never truly expected the boy to succeed.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix, with her voice full of its usual fervor, said “it is an honour to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”

Her family’s house, Voldemort thought. What an interesting choice of words. He did not think much of family, though he called the Death Eaters his family. People who relied on others, who trusted others, were weak. Even he had made that mistake, trusting Lucius and Bellatrix, who had failed him, and Regulus Black, who had betrayed him more fully than anyone else. Regulus Black was Bellatrix’s family far more intimately than Lucius Malfoy.

“‘No higher pleasure,’” he said. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”

His praise brought tears to her eyes, as it so often did. “My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”

“‘No higher pleasure’…” he said once more, and turned Lucius’ wand over in his hands. “Even compared with the happy event your family has scheduled this week?”

The Malfoys seemed unaware of what event he was referring to. Bellatrix stared, mouth half-open as she worked to unravel Voldemort’s riddle.

“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix, and yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She is, as I hear it, preparing to marry the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.”

The table erupted into laughter. Though Narcissa did not flinch, did not even seem surprised by the news, Bellatrix’s face flushed with both shame and anger.

Good, Voldemort thought, even as Nagini hissed at the loud outburst. He stroked her absently. It was time that the Black family paid for Regulus’ crimes. Bellatrix owed Lord Voldemort more than she would ever know.

“She’s no niece of ours, my Lord!” Bellatrix had to shout to be heard over the jests and taunts of those at the table. “We — Narcissa and I — have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries!”

Though Bellatrix’s passion was admirable, Voldemort was far from finished. “What say you, Draco?” He did not need to shout; the table went silent as he opened his mouth. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The level of noise rose once more as the table erupted into laughter. Draco Malfoy, for his part, was concentrating very hard on his lap. He did not look up at the comment nor make eye contact with anyone, though his ears burned red.

Lord Voldemort was surprised by the boy’s stalwart display. From what Yaxley had told him, Draco had played quite the coward at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Well, at the very least, Voldemort had one thing to be grateful to Draco for. Though he had done it unwittingly, the boy had brought Voldemort the Sword of Godric Gryffindor.

“Enough,” Voldemort said, and the laughter faded away. “Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said to Bellatrix. “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest. From your niece to your traitorous cousins…”

“Yes, my Lord,” she said, on the verge of tears once more. “At the first chance!”

“You shall have it.” Voldemort noted that Narcissa said nothing, but he supposed the shame she had just experienced would have to suffice. She was not properly one of his followers; she was merely Lucius’ wife, and his gracious host, after all. And she had been willing to give her son to his cause. “And in your family,” he turned from Narcissa and Bellatrix to the table, “so the world. We shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain.”

Lord Voldemort used Lucius’ wand to reanimate the woman hanging above the table. She moaned and her body twitched with attempts at movement, but there was nothing she could do against the magic that held her in place.

“Do you recognise our guest, Severus?”

All eyes turned to the woman as she rotated slowly. Her face was brilliantly red in the firelight as her blood drained to her head, and her eyes were wide with terror. She certainly recognised Severus.

“Help,” she said, her voice weak and terrified. “Severus — help me —”

“Ah, yes,” Severus said, voice calm and even.

“And you, Draco?” Voldemort asked.

Draco did not move. He had become as still as his mother.

Voldemort considered for a moment that this might be insolence, but he decided the boy was simply terrified. “No,” he said, “you would not have taken her classes. For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

This resonated with a few of Lord Voldemort’s followers. A witch at the end of the table even cackled in delight.

“Yes,” Voldemort continued, “Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles. How they are not so different from us…”

Dolohov spat on the floor.

“Severus,” Burbage gasped as her face turned to meet his again. “Severus, please…”

Draco looked up at this, then quickly back down. Severus was unchanged.

Voldemort flicked Lucius’ wand and Silenced the woman. “Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance. She would have us all mate with Muggles… or, no doubt, werewolves.”

There was no more laughter. They understood. Voldemort was calling for an entirely different humiliation. Though her cries could no longer be heard, the tears streaking her face, falling into her hair and on the table, were obvious. Her gaze met Severus’ once more, and once more, Severus showed not an ounce of pity or sympathy.

“Avada Kedavra,” Voldemort said. The bright green light filled the room, briefly, then struck Burbage in the chest. She fell to the table with a thud. Draco jumped out of his chair and fell backwards onto the floor. Several others stood and stepped back in surprise.

Voldemort stroked Nagini’s head. “Dinner, Nagini.”

The large snake slithered forward. Her jaw opened wide and she began to consume her meal in one large, long bite.

A few of the Death Eaters looked on, fascinated. Some looked away. Voldemort focused on the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, still lying before him on the table.

He had some time to complete his ritual. He could feel the familiar damage to his soul. Damaging it was simple; there was no pain in it. It was the rending that would hurt. He looked down at his hand, examining the papery white skin. Bluish veins stood out across his bones. He looked less and less human with each Horcrux he made. He wondered how many he could make before he would simply cease to be.

His plan to have seven parts of his soul separated out and hidden had gone awry. He had lost two already. Four more remained in safety, hopefully. As soon as he had control of the Ministry, he could check on the Gaunt residence outside of Little Hangleton. If the ring was not there… If it was not, then that was one more betrayal on Regulus Black’s head. That was one more strike against Bellatrix and Narcissa and their foul family that should have been made of such noble stock.

He stood, and all of his followers stood too. Draco, who had only just gotten back into his chair, jumped to his feet.

They understood that the meeting was over, and they began to leave. The sight of a python slowly consuming the body of a full grown human was an unpleasant thing to witness. Nagini would likely take an hour to consume her meal. The Death Eaters found this act either too grotesque or too dull, and began to filter out of the Malfoy’s dining room.

They all left, except for Severus, who stayed at Voldemort’s right hand, though he was not watching Nagini. His eyes were on the sword.

“Have I failed to reward you enough, Severus, for the great loyalty you have shown me?”

Severus did not look up from the sword. “No, my Lord, it is not that at all. I was only considering what you might plan to do with Hogwarts, now that it is within your grasp.”

Voldemort had considered this, but it was not one of his priorities at the moment. He wanted the Ministry under his thumb before he made any plans for the future youth of the Wizarding world. “Is that what you wish to have as your reward?”

“I will serve in whatever way my Lord sees fit.” Severus even punctuated this statement with a small bow.

Voldemort recalled the scrawny, greasy half-blood that had first received his Dark Mark all those years ago, and then a few years later had come rushing in with news of a prophecy, urgent news that needed to reach the Dark Lord’s ears immediately. Who would have thought that that young man would someday have shown Voldemort such incredible loyalty by killing his greatest foe?

“We shall discuss it again, once Potter is dead, and we have the Ministry in our hands. Victory is within our grasp, Severus.”

“My Lord.” And Severus left without sparing a glance at Burbage’s body.

Alone at last, Voldemort took Lucius’ wand and began to draw the runes for his ritual into the Malfoy’s table. He had practised these runes for hours in his dormitory beneath the Black Lake, comparing the shapes in his parchment to those in his books, checking each stroke for perfection. He had sat on the floor in the Chamber of Secrets and tried the spell for the first time, after killing that stupid, loud-mouthed girl. It had been long and painful, but he had carried the ritual out perfectly, and his diary had become his first Horcrux.

By now, he had read and performed the ritual so many times he was intimately familiar with it. He stared at the Sword of Gryffindor, thinking it was a fine replacement for the locket Regulus Black had stolen from him. At least the Malfoy boy had done this for him. Maybe the child was not a complete waste after all.

#harry potter everyone lives #hp everyone lives #hp everyone lives au #everyone lives au #hp fic #dh

[missbellaswan]

Twice Bitten Half Turned - Chapter 1

Full Fic on AO3

After everything that happened with James, things finally seemed to be going back to normal. It was summer, and now that we were out of school Edward and I were spending most of our time in the meadow.

All my injuries from the fight in Phoenix were healed. Carlisle had given me a clean bill of health, and I was starting to feel like my old clumsy self again. Charlie was surprised at how fast I had healed, but Carlisle told us that it wasn’t totally unheard of. I was young and healthy, and apparently that makes it a lot easier to recover from things like concussions and fractures and vampire bites. Although Charlie remained unaware that a vampire bite is something I would ever need to recover from.

This was my first summer in Forks, and it wasn’t anything like the Phoenix summers I was used to. The sun was dimmer here. The trees still cast large shadows, the clouds were present even on the sunny days, and the rain never stayed away for as long as I hoped it would. But it was summer nonetheless.

And as much as I missed the dry Arizona sun, I had to admit that summer in the meadow was beautiful. It wasn’t the same as the blistering heat I longed for, but it was warm here. The grass soaked up the sun and warmed my back as I laid there, and the bright yellow and white spattering of wildflowers broke up the dim green expanse of the forest.

I was laying in the grass drifting in and out of sleep while Edward sat next to me tracing patterns up and down my arm with his cool fingers. It was late afternoon and I could feel the sun on my eyelids as it appeared from behind the clouds that were drifting across the sky.

Edward stiffened beside me and his hands froze against my skin. I opened my eyes and squinted at him through the suddenly bright sunlight.

“Edward?” I shifted up on my elbow to look at him. He didn’t move or speak, but I had spent enough time with him to know that his vampire senses were reacting to something.

“Your arm.” He said. He kept a hold of my hand and started turning it back and forth, watching it intently. I sat up to inspect it with him.

“Edward what’s going on?” I asked. He continued to move my arm gently, but with an urgency that made me nervous.

“Can you see it?” He murmured, his voice was barely perceptible.

I instinctively looked down at the fresh scar from James’ bite, but I didn’t see it at first. I lifted my hand and held it closer to me, angling it in the sun to see where the teeth had sunk into me.

“My scar is disappearing.” I was nearly whispering now too. Ever since James bit me, the mark it left was paler than my skin. It usually glimmered as if it were translucent, but now I couldn’t quite make it out.

“Hmm?” Edward looked up to meet my eyes.

“My scar is disappearing.” I repeated. 

“No, Bella, look,” he said. He laid my forearm against his and shifted them to catch the rays of sun that were spilling across the meadow. His arm glittered and I was distracted by it for a moment, until I saw what he was seeing. My arm was shimmering too.

It didn’t look exactly the same as his, but it seemed like the sun was hitting it from different angles now, leaving a faint shine underneath my pale skin. I blinked and pulled my arm away from his. Maybe it was just the reflection of his diamond skin. But as I continued to watch it, the glimmer was now unmistakable under the skin of my forearm.

“Its shining.” I said.

“Bella, your scar isn’t disappearing. Your whole arm is—” He stopped. He was clearly comparing it to his own. He had never been fond of this aspect of his anatomy. In fact, it was something he detested about himself.

“What’s happening to me?” I stood up. My whole body suddenly felt jittery and my mind was spinning. I knew this meant something, but in my panic I couldn’t form the thoughts.

“I don’t understand.” Edward was still sitting in the grass watching my arm as it reflected the sunlight. Usually his senses were much sharper than mine, but he seemed to be stuck.

“We should talk to Carlisle.” I said. He would know what to do.  

Edward nodded. He stood up slowly and offered me his hand. I grabbed it and he pulled me onto his back and then we were running.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them again we were standing at the door to Carlisle’s study.

As I was unwrapping myself from Edward’s stone figure, I noticed he was already talking. I could hardly make out the words, but it was clear he was trying to tell Carlisle what was going on.

Carlisle opened the door and stood aside to allow us in. He was looking at Edward, obviously replying to whatever Edward had told him about me. After he and Edward were finished, he looked down at me with his kind smile.

“Isabella, how are you feeling today?” Carlisle said.

I was confused by his question. It was the same question he asked me at the start of every appointment we’d had since the accident. The last few minutes had shaken me up so much, and I thought he would be a little more concerned than he appeared.

“I’m—" I took a breath, “I feel fine.” Which was true, I wasn’t in any pain.

“That’s good.” Carlisle shot a look at his son. “It seems Edward has some concerns about your bite mark.” He motioned down to my arm, and I held it out for him to examine.

“My arm. It was glittering.” I said. “In the sun. Like yours does.” He looked me over in silence for a few moments, and my thoughts finally started to catch up with me. “Well, not exactly like that. It’s a lot less noticeable, I didn’t even see it at first, but Edward—” I looked over at him, “he noticed it. In the sun.” I realized I was talking myself in circles and took a deep breath. Edward could see the effort in my inhale and squeezed my hand.

“It does seem to have taken on some of the qualities of our kind’s skin.” Carlisle said. He had worked his way up to my shoulder now, poking it lightly with his cold hands. “We will have to run some more test of course, to know the extent of things.”

“What does that mean? I’m not one of you, I can’t be.” I said.

“No,” Carlisle’s assurance wasn’t as forceful as I would have liked. It was more of a musing, like he was turning over lots of different theories in his head all at once.

“Then what?” Edward said.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure.” Carlisle paused to think for a moment, “your scar did have some of these properties initially after you were bitten. Perhaps it is—”

“Spreading?” Edward said, finishing Carlisle’s thought for him. It was just loud enough for me to hear through the frantic thoughts swirling in my brain.

And then everything went black.

...

Full Fic on AO3

okay so I may have gotten a little carried away thinking about this post and the concept of a partially immortal Bella post twilight. This is just a short first chapter where I’m playing around with what that might look like. Smeyer refused to give me any satisfactory amount of info on vamp biology so I decided to mess around with what would happen if things weren’t as black and white as smeyer likes to pretend they are.

#me? actually writing fic? and then posting it as promised? #apparently its more likely than you'd think #twilight #mine #twilight fic #twice bitten half turned #tbht

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 05: MISSING, PRESUMED DEATH

QUEST SUMMARY:

Sliske invites all of Gielinor’s returned gods to his ‘grand ascendency’, claiming godhood. Instead, he uses the platform to pit all the gods against one another in a free-for-all that threatens to tear Gielinor apart. Their incentive? The sole survivor will be awarded what every deity is desperate for - the Stone of Jas…

CHAPTER 3: BIRD OF PREY

God emissaries had taken up residence in some of Gielinor’s major cities, preaching to anyone that would listen about why their deity should be worshipped above all else. As one would expect, this didn’t go down too well in some places, especially when you had Saradominist followers preaching in Oo’glog (a Bandosian stronghold), or Zamorakians having the nerve to try and preach in Falador, something the Saradominists had outlawed many years ago. So alongside this supposed ‘undead army’ that came and went, Falador also had an invasion by the black knights to deal with.

Now that the gods had returned, people thought they had the right to excuse despicable, discriminatory behavior, all in the name of religion. The old vampire of Draynor was ousted from his home by a pitchforked mob, accused of being a Zamorakian. In reality, he didn’t worship any deity, and any claims of bloodsucking were entirely made up - he loathed the stuff, preferring to drink milk. Saradomin had pretty much laid claim to all human settlements on Gielinor, save for Taverley and Burthorpe, who remained stoutly Guthixian. No-one else preached there - it was still too soon.

The Dark Wizards Tower had come under attack from their Saradominist counterparts. In return, the Saradominist temple on the outskirts of Morytania came under siege. Some of the ogres that settled near Yanille - who had been keeping to themselves for the better part of a decade - crashed through the city’s gates one sunrise. Meanwhile, in the Kharidian Desert, the bandits in their encampment had started kicking up more of a ruckus than normal; they were one of the few concentrated pockets of Zarosian followers, and they decided to let everybody know.

Gods help anyone who tried to preach on Karamja. Those people were set in their ways, and will kindly introduce you to their friend ‘poisoned spear’ if you dare tell them otherwise.

The peace that had been formed since the end of the God Wars was starting to crumble, and Gielinor was suffering for it.

The worst case of god clashing came in the form of the direct confrontation of two of Gielinor’s major deities: Armadyl and Bados.

Armadyl, the avian god of justice, was the patron deity of the aviantese, a race of birdlike creatures from Abbinah, to which he also belonged. Unfortunately, the God Wars destroyed most of the aviantese. Because of this, Armadyl left Gielinor at the end of the wars to roam the cosmos, mourning his lost kin.

The Armadylean holy book was rarely known beyond the avianse or dedicated religious scholars of Gielinor. Much of it was written by Armadyl himself, and split into two testaments - the First, written during his time on Abbinah and Gielinor, and the Latter, compiled after the God Wars - written in the form of a journal - as he travelled from world to world, always searching, never resting.

One of the extracts that showed Armadyl’s journey back to his home world of Abbinah is most beloved among the avianse; it is right before their deity returned, reborn, and taking upon the aspect of a phoenix that rose from the ashes…

“I arrived on this world several sunsets ago. This is a desolate place: the ground is grey dust in all directions; it is cold and light is scarce. I taste the air and know my people could never have survived here. It is a fitting place for me to stay, for a time.

I walk as I write. My wings trail in the dust, a zigzag record of my time here, and my thoughts turn to legacy. There is nothing of me on Gielinor: my aviansie are dead, my Staff has been lost. In time, they will forget me. There is something reassuring about that.

A bright light catches my eye, far to the west. I fly to it. It is nothing but a meteorite, smoking in a crater. This world's similarity to the wilderness of Forinthry is inescapable.

There is no land on this world, just wind, water and waves. Nothing stays still. The chaos of it all deafens me. I hunger for peace, stability, growth; so - upon my arrival - I froze water and made an island. A migrating bird still needs a perch.

To pass the time, I flew on the crosswinds and tried to forget my troubles. I remembered that my aviansie would fly about me as I soared, playfully mimicking my every move.

I know now that I cannot - should not - forget… no matter how much I may wish it.

It seems there is no life on this world. I can see the seeds of life, but not life itself. I feel myself reaching for my Staff, to give those seeds a spark of energy, a push to catalyse their efforts…

But it is gone.

I have wasted enough time here.

The sky is a boiling mass of noxious gas, and the ground seems to be melting. But - by the Elder Gods - there's life here!

I headed southwards, until everything grew colder. I saw what looked like dark stones, fused to the ground. I attempted to move one, and to my surprise it moved itself! These were not stones, but small, shelled creatures. Sharp legs shot out in an attempt to repel me.

I have taken to studying them. Weather, temperatures and tectonics conspiring against them, but they hold firm, clustered in their shells. They survive and endure, again and again. 

I must continue my solitary pilgrimage.

The air here is toxic; hard, unrelenting gravity pulls me downwards, and even I must struggle to remain aloft. The world is gas, with no ground to stand on. And yet, this world is a paradise for the beings native to its atmosphere: tiny creatures, the biggest no larger than a wasp or beetle. 

They circle around me. At first, I thought they wanted to hide in the down of my feathers. But when I turned, they turned. When I stopped, they stopped.

They were mimicking and playing.

I feel my old strength - enough to make the journey back to my home. In the hollows of my bones I know that it is time to return, and to shelter my faithful beneath my wings once more.”

It was Bandos who the winged deity clashed with the most.

Bandos was a very powerful, manipulative and bloodthirsty entity, known for taking pleasure in conflict and slaughter. He demanded worship and unquestioned obedience. His followers' main trait is strength, generally at the cost of intelligence, making them valuable warriors who would listen to him blindly. He did not usually care if most of his armies were wiped out - he fought solely for the sake of battle and would enjoy the bloodshed, provided that he retained enough troops to fight for him. But do not let his bulking size and monosyllabic dialect fool you - his cunning and battle prowess is second to none.

There was no such thing as a physical Bandosian holy book; those of intelligence were accused of being defiers of the War God, thus very few of Bandos’ followers could read or write. However, tales of Bandos, alongside his preachings, philosophies and beliefs, had been passed down verbally for generations, naturally altering throughout time, as all tales do.

One tale, however, managed to keep quite consistent throughout its history: it was the story of Bandos’ reign over Yu'biusk.

The hobgoblins of the Thrasghdak tribe built a statue of Bandos, higher than their tallest building. Bandos loathed the statue, declaring the only craftsmanship he admired was that of fine weaponry. He ordered the statue to be torn down, and said that the craftsman must use their skills and resources to create weapons and armour.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

The orks of the Verotark tribe built smaller, more humble statues, all across their city. Seeing this, Bandos pointed to the Thrasghdak, saying how their statue was magnificent, like a second sun… but he said they had torn it down in defiance, had erected secret workshops to craft weapons not for him, but to fight against his righteous rule! He ordered them to gather their tribe for battle, and destroy the Thrasghdak tribe. Men, women, children and the elderly… there was to be no mercy for any of them.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

The ogres of the Azkragthog tribe waited until the Verotark returned weak from battle, and obliterated them. They didn’t destroy any weapons they came across - instead, they used them for battle to aid in their conquest. There was no statue, no ballad, no ceremony of worship. This greatly pleased Bandos. He ordered them to build more weapons and use them to conquer the tribes beyond the mountains and beyond the oceans.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

To the ourgs of the Goltholglor tribe, Bandos ordered that they stand and fight against the armies of the Azkragthog that were bearing down on their cities. He gave them the same weapons as the Azkragthog - a fighting chance - but instead of defending themselves, the Goltholglor tribe sent diplomats to plead for peace. The wise ones of the Goltholglor tribe said that to go on using the new weapons would be the end to all life in Yu'biusk. Bandos decried them as cowards who wished to corrupt the true followers of Bandos. He decreed that if anyone preached against war, they were to be put to the sword.

He said that the last tribe to survive would be greater tribe in Yu'biusk.

Armadyl’s followers had been seen preaching in a camp north of Falador and, for some reason, it was Bandos who took umbrage at this. Then again, Bandos would take umbrage against the sky for any rain that fell on him. The camp was located on the merchant’s road between Taverley and Falador; Armadyl had very few human followers and no territory on the ground to call him own, so his emissaries had taken to setting themselves up where they could. Now, granted, the camp was a little close to the Goblin Village, the largest settlement of goblins in all of Gielinor and, naturally, Bandosian. Then again, it was also in a large expanse of Saradominist territory, and he didn’t seem to mind. It’s debatable if he even knew, let alone cared.

A terrifying rumble, like the roars of ungodly thunder, shook the area around the encampment, so vicious that it knocked over trees and caused an avalanche on the nearby mountain. From the dark grey skies, Bandos appeared, towering twice as high as the walls of Taverley. He loomed down on the helpless Armadyleans below, a malicious smirk cracking through his dark green features, before he crashed down a giant foot onto them and squashed them into the dirt below, like insects.

Armadyl… did not take too kindly to that. As soon as word reached him, he materialised and - reminiscent to the battle between Zamorak and Saradomin - camps were erected, armies were gathered (with Saradominists aiding the Armadyleans once they heard the news), and the war commenced. This time, divine energy was being gathered to help empower large weapons of mass destruction both sides were constructing. 

Despite this, Bandos occasionally took to snatching up a handful of goblins and lobbing them across the battlefield at Armadyl.

Armadyl remained on his perch, his tactics much less crude. At least this time the battle did not take place in the middle of a major human settlement; no evacuations were necessary, taking place in the sizable area north of Falador and east of Taverley. The battle also only lasted six weeks, still with heavy casualties on either side, but like the previous clashing of Saradomin and Zamorak, it ended as suddenly as it began.

The catapult-like weapon Armadyl had been constructing, which he’d dubbed ‘The Divine Focus’, simmered with barely contained energy. The avianse deity looked oh-so satisfied as he shot a cannonball-sized orb of power across the skies, straight towards an enraged Bandos. He ordered his weapon - far weaker in comparison - to be fired in retaliation, but his armies were too slow.

The orb crashed down, smashing through Bandos’ fortifications, scattering his armies… and decapitating the Big High War God. Flying over to the corpse, Armadyl set himself down beside Bandos’ remains, a cold and unfeeling look in his thin eyes. He then took Bandos’ own mace, very heavy in his grasp, and held it aloft, before driving it down and through the deceased god’s skull. His head was crushed and split into fragments, his brain leaking from the remains.

Armadyl did not look happy, but he looked relieved; he’d set out what he’d resolved to do, and that was to remove the threat of Bandos from Gielinor.

With a squawking war-cry to the heavens, Armadyl held the mace aloft and teleported from the battlefield.

From the remains of Bandos’ fortifications, some of the soldiers began erecting shrines to their new deity, Armadyl. After all, it was Bandos who taught them that only the weak died, and only the strongest deserved worship.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#runescape #armadyl #bandos #fiction

[shemakesmusic-uk]

This segment features artists who have submitted their tracks/videos to She Makes Music. If you would like to be featured here then please send an e-mail to [email protected]. We look forward to hearing from you!

Dahlia

Dahlia is an Edinburgh-based singer-songwriter and the music she creates is a hybrid of trip-hop, R&B and witch house with lyrics which focus on mental health and bizarre life experiences. Alongside Jordan Russell-Hall on production and Jamie Clapton on drums and live arrangements they are influenced by the forward thinking sounds and attitudes of FKA Twigs, SOPHIE and Young Fathers. Dahlia has just released the double single 'Clarity' / 'Slip Slowly' and here is what she had to say on the offering: "I chose to release these two songs together because they are bookends to a time in my life when I was learning how to identify toxic behaviours in others and unlearn them in myself—shout out to the queens of boundaries themselves Florence Given and Michelle Elman for that one. Opening up dialogues about mental health is something that’s very important to me and my music and these songs demonstrate that. I grew up singing Gaelic folk songs. I’ve found this style of singing and the storytelling style of songwriting has woven it’s way into my current way of working. I’m also heavily influenced by late ‘90s and early 2000s sounds and aesthetics like Portishead but also more contemporary sounds like FKA Twigs and Sevdaliza. These two songs are a marriage of all these things with a little Dido drama at the end for good measure." Listen below.

Gillian Stone

Gillian Stone is a Toronto-based multi-instrumentalist who aims to reconcile tenderness and dark emotion in her work. Her music is an exploration of inner and outer landscapes, turbulent feelings, recovery, and the juxtaposition of femininity and imperfection. She uses vulnerability to create a safe space to explore the dichotomy of beauty and discomfort. Her background in jazz and ethnomusicology has heavily influenced her work. Her upbringing on Vancouver Island also led her to Coast Salish hip hop and the soundscape and scene of the Cascadian bioregion. Stone uses an interdisciplinary approach to explore disparate genres in order to produce a singular sonic environment. New song 'Bridges' is the soundscape of recovery. "I wrote this song in 2009 after a summer of self-imposed turbulence," says Gillian. "I don't remember exactly when or how I wrote it, but it stayed with me and became predictive. For over a decade, I've returned to it as a space to safely express shame. Now it's morphing into a reminder, a call for self-temperance. I'm still discovering what it means. 'Bridges' follows a journey of dysregulated emotions exacerbated by alcohol abuse. The e-cello movement is meant to evoke the feeling of losing one's mind. This is a post-rock night song that ends with a promise of the sun." Listen below.

Gillian Stone · Bridges

Jenna Kearns

Jenna Kearns is a disabled songwriter from South Wales. She has rheumatoid arthritis and spent a lot of time as a young child in and out of hospital, having treatments, tests and operations. She grew up and has lived in a small town most of her life. "I’ve always had music in my life in one way or another but when I was younger it was musical theatre," says Jenna. "It was while studying at university that my passion for writing songs became my main focus." She worked with a songwriter/producer in Leamington Spa and it was there she wrote her first EP Time Has Passed which was released in July 2016. Last year in 2019 the title track of the EP was used on the TV show Dance Moms. During lockdown since March she has been writing nonstop with different songwriters/producers. "I now have such an incredible team behind me that I’m very excited for the near future as a disabled artist," she says. "Personally for me being a disabled artist in the industry who cannot get out of her wheelchair the biggest challenge has really been access into studios/songwriting spaces. The studio I worked with on my first EP wasn’t accessible however it was a simple fix they had someone build ramps for me to be able to access the parts of the studio needed." 'Thank you' is the latest single from Jenna. Co-written with and produced by hotly tipped singer/songwriter Joe Dolman, 'Thank You' is a new spin on the damaging effects of toxic relationships.  Offering a positive outlook on this negative experience, the song thanks someone for showing their true intentions. "This year during my 8 months of shielding, I've been writing loads, creating an identity and really honing in on my sound and skills. Part of what makes me unique is being a female disabled artist, having a physical disability people don't see that much disability representation within the music industry, physical disabilities even less so. Talking about disabled creatives or in my case disabled artist will push forward barriers, because I  simply do not want to be seen as just the disabled girl, but want to find those who are about inclusivity and talent." Listen to 'Thank You' below.

Jenna Kearns · Thank You - Next Single 13th november

Total Brutal

Total Brutal is the new indie pop solo project from Los Angeles based singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Emily Moore. Moore is known as a professional touring musician, having shared the stage with the likes of Grammy award-winning band FUN, Børns, Ella Vos, X Ambassadors and many more. With the goal of spreading positivity and self-empowerment, Total Brutal has an ethos of standing up for yourself in order to be heard and seen, facing fears head on and being comfortable in your own skin. Her latest single 'Egypt' is an 80’s tinged song, reminiscent of Phoenix meets Fleetwood Mac. Oozing with soaring harmonies and warm, muted vocals, the funk-fueled track shimmers brightly, creating the ultimate dance-worthy anthem. 'Egypt' narrates trying to get the feeling back of being a kid and the excitement of what the future holds. Nowadays we live in fear of the uncertainty, wanting to bury our heads and hide ourselves away. Moore confides, “I constantly need to remind myself to play more and lighten up. It’s easy to get lost in the seriousness of life but I want to go through life having fun and viewing everything with curiosity.” The sun-soaked track succeeds in lifting spirits, certain to put a smile on your face from the very get go. Inspired by strong female artists, Total Brutal is determined to help other young women make their worth known and their voices heard. She shares, “It took me a really long time to understand that I am allowed to speak up, have opinions and speak directly. I’m starting to realize that I can be myself and be liked and professional all the same. I want to help foster that adventurous spirit and confidence in young women!” Listen to 'Egypt' below.

Total Brutal · Egypt

Kate Boothman

Hailing from The Ganaraska Forest in Southern Ontario, horse trainer turned singer-songwriter, Kate Boothman, emerges with her forthcoming sophomore record, My Next Mistake this fall. Recorded at producer, Thomas Knox D’Arcy’s, Taurus Recording, over 2 snowy weeks in January, 2019, Kate and Thom made what they referred to in the studio as a “massage rock” record. Writing as they went, Kate and Thom’s life-long friendship enabled them to tuck into their shadows. This provided them with instant fodder for the moody narrative that Kate delivers as part prayer, part animal, and entirely her own. This sits nicely against the sweeping strings, heavy bass, twangy guitars, organ swells and sometimes thunderous drums that make the trippy washed out folk scape reminiscent of something Lee Hazelwood would have dreamed up with the help of Mazzy Star. Latest single '17' "is one of those songs that emerged fully formed," says Kate. "It's about that confidence and arrogance that comes with being a spicy youth, and then all of a sudden you're an adult and you realize you knew nothing. You look back and can't help but examine everything you've learned and lost. I wrote '17' after a particularly heavy day during a particularly heavy time in my life. I was overworked, overwhelmed, underslept, heartbroken, and generally confused. I got home late, laid down on the floor, and when I got up, wrote the song in 20 minutes. My songs come fast, but they build up slowly. Festering away inside until they simply can't be contained." Listen below.

Kate Boothman · 17

Clara Byrne

Clara Byrne is a socialist singer-songwriter from Bray. She seeks her lyrical inspiration in the world around her and seeks solitude from that world in the music she creates. 'Conflict Bound' is her first single from her upcoming debut album Handstitched. Clara on 'Conflict Bound': "In a world filled with juxtaposed opinions and clashing ideals, it is getting progressively harder to know where to stand. It can be nearly impossible not to get bogged down in fighting the opposition or slaving towards winning small mercies. It all seems so vast, so utterly impossible to grasp. But there are rare occasions when a clearing appears through the density. These moments when everything is laid out in its most digestible form, is worth waiting for. The woods briefly comes into view and with it a sense that it is all so obvious.We cannot go on like this, in this pressure cooker waiting to be boiled alive. We are heading towards a grand finale; the likes of which mankind has never seen before. As we navigate through the late stages of capitalism, its true face appears clearer now than ever before; we the people are expendable. And like the true dying beast that it is, it will not go down easy. It will not go down alone. Don’t let it’s dying cries drown out what has become clear to you; we’re conflict bound." Listen below.

Conflict Bound by Clara Byrne

Just Costa

For Just Costa, music is just the ticket — to their own sonic theme park. "We call it Just Costa Land," quips Jesse Just Costa, who leads the Montreal outfit with sister Juliana. "We want to bring the sense of an amusement park to our music. The excitement, the enthusiasm, the joie de vivre; that's what we're bringing to life." They have all the building blocks they need. First and foremost are their vocals: Hers clear, supple and sweetly flowing, his lightly sanded and breezy. They blend with the grace and beauty of siblings who finish each other's sentences. Then there are the songs: Richly melodic, lyrically life-affirming and — most crucially — irresistibly groovy. Laced with Jesse's tasteful guitar work, crafted from an amalgam of contemporary R&B, soul, funk, pop and more, their tracks can hold their own next to hits from Bruno Mars, Michael Jackson and Khalid. Enjoy the ride. "'514' is our ode to the beautiful city of Montreal," say the dup of their latest single. "Our hometown's energy is creative and electric. The people are kind and open – you can feel the joie de vivre in the air, especially in the summertime. If your city inspires you, pushes you to open your heart and do better, then this song is for you. This is our first fully self-produced single, recorded in our own studio, with some help from the retro synth wizard himself, Paul Shrofel. The beauty of a song about a city is that everyone has their own unique stories and experiences within that city. Montreal has no lack of open-mindedness, artsiness, or beautiful people, and this city is an ongoing narrative that threads through the story of our own lives."

Just Costa · 514

#submission saturday #dahlia #gillian stone #jenna kearns #total brutal #kate boothman #clara byrne #just costa

[twxntrash]

I’m posting a small snippet of the second chapter of my work-in-progress novel here. Was actually one of my favorite scenes to write so far on the draft I’m currently working on.

Includes humans, werewolves and a scrawny & tiny mage.

Looking around, she blinked at her surroundings and bit the inside of her cheek as she felt a small chill run up her spine. She hadn’t really taken much notice at the time when she was following Phoenix, her entire attention being on him and what he was doing rather than where they were going. But, now she kind of wished she had been watching where they had been walking.

           The forest, thick and dark was to her left, as ominous and threatening as it always was late at night when it was too dark to see well in it. To her right were tall apartments that loomed high, barely up to code with crumbling faded bricks and stained, cracked windows. The street was illuminated by streetlamps which were sorely in need for some TLC from maintenance; half of them flickered on and off showing the light was barely alive, and the other half didn’t shine at all, their bulbs long dead.

           This was a part of town that Zoe tended to avoid, even during the daylight hours but especially at night. For good reasons too; it always left her feeling nervous and on edge. It just, it wasn’t the safest place to be.

           The wind had begun to pick up, rustling the leaves and making branches creak.

           Zoe felt another chill run up her spine and started walking.

           Now, common sense would tell her to stay with the buildings and street, where there would be lights, regardless of how weak or dim they may be from numerous burnt out bulbs. It would still give her light and offer her some form of safety. But, common sense had gone to bed two hours ago, and she wanted to do the same right now, she wanted to go home. So, she took the more scenic and much shorter route home by cutting through the forest.

           A salty wind swept up from the beach on the other side of town, the scent of ocean mixed in with the earthy smell of the forest filling her senses as she breathed. Leaves crackled all around and she could hear crickets chirping and owls hoo-ing.

           Zoe couldn’t help the yawn that escaped her and the heaviness forming at her eyelids, as though weights had latched themselves to them. “I really need some sleep once I get home,” Zoe muttered to herself.

           She didn’t bother taking her flashlight from her bag. She had walked through the forest so many times that she knew the path by heart. Even in the darkness, with the only light being the moon above, she could still make out the sidewalk she followed and the dirt paths that branched out from it. Even without the path, she trusted herself to be able to navigate her way through the forest and back home.

           Occasionally Zoe would spot an animal dart by. An owl flying from branches, a raccoon darting up a tree.

           A twig cracked loudly behind her and Zoe flinched. Turning around, she saw nothing but a broken branch on the ground just a few feet away. Shaking her head, Zoe could feel her heart begin to pick up in pace, though she continued to walk down the trail, “Rabbits, it’s just a rabbit,” she told herself.

           Leaves rustled loudly to her side and Zoe instinctively held onto her bag tighter as she began picking up her pace, walking faster. Her pulse began to race as the rustling increased. Far too loud and intense for it to be some harmless little forest critter. It couldn’t be a rabbit; she knew that there was no way that it could be a rabbit making all that noise.

           Breaking into a run, Zoe started panting as the trees started to shake around her, she doubted it was just the wind causing it. She could hear footsteps, loud and heavy, following her from behind. Her heart pounded in her ears, felt like it was about to rip itself from her chest as she kept running. Panic had settled in deep into her very being, as was the regret for even stepping foot into this stupid forest.

           She shouldn’t have cut through the forest; she should have stuck to the streets. Oh, God, this was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.

           Up ahead, Zoe saw a glimpse of a large, bestial shadow moving.

           Slamming her heel into the concrete, she felt pain run up her leg as she whirled around, stumbling for a moment, before regaining her footing and sprinting back in the opposite direction, back the direction she had come from. She hadn’t gotten too deep into the forest yet, she could break free from the trees and into the safety of streetlights and apartment complexes. She prayed to whatever Gods were listening that she would make it. That she could reach the streets, get out of the forest and get somewhere safe.

           Maybe, if she was just lucky enough, she could reach a store or something that was still open, or find some other people out at night. No way anything would attack her if she wasn’t alone. Right?

           She just, she had to get somewhere safe.

           Zoe could hear creaking and cracking, thick branches snapping like scrawny twigs behind her as she ran. Something was scraping against the pavement behind her. It sounded sharp. Zoe wanted to scream as the thought of blood stained claws flashed through her mind, but her lungs were far too busy trying to keep her breathing and all to spare her the air for a scream.

           With every passing second, the sounds got louder, grew closer. The clicking of claws against asphalt were ringing in her ears.

           She pushed as hard as she could, begging her legs to keep moving, ignoring the burns running up her calves and thighs as her legs were pushed past what they were used to. She could hear heavy panting as she ran harder and faster than she had ever done in her life.

           It took her a second to realize that it wasn’t her panting.

           Blind panic took over and she tried to go even faster, try to outrun the beast chasing her. Her legs were burning, her lungs on fire and her heart practically bruising her ribs at this point. Her mind was racing with all the thoughts of what the thing chasing her could be, of what her fate was going to be if it caught her.

           As she broke free from the forest, her feet found themselves tangling against themselves and sending her skidding across the sidewalk, tumbling and rolling until she came to a stop on her back under one of the flickering streetlights. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt her head throb and blood run down her leg. Her whole body hurt and she couldn’t find the energy to bring her back to her feet, left in a small daze from the fall.

           She could feel all the bruises and scrapes covering her body, marring her with injuries she would loath in the morning. If she made it to morning. But, she had to, she was out of the forest and in the light. The thing chasing her wasn’t going to follow her out here, not when anyone who looked out their window could see it.

           Zoe took a deep breath, trying to sooth her lungs as she laid there. It wasn’t like she could even get up if she wanted too; her body felt as heavy as lead, far too exhausted to move.

           Lying on her back, she groaned at the pain that throbbed throughout every inch of her body, wondering for a moment if she maybe had broken or twisted anything. Then, she fell silent as she came to hear breathing. Breathing that most certainly was not her own.

           It was slow, rhythmic, deep and right in front of her. Every breath led to a hot, moist puff of air across her face. Something wet dripped onto her face, running down her forehead and cheeks and dripping onto her clothes. Clenching her hands into fists, her eyes squeezed shut tighter, too afraid to open her eyes and look and what had found her. Her body held back a tremble, and it dawned on her that it wasn’t her own body that felt heavy, but the thing on her that was keeping Zoe down.

           She wanted to whimper, she wanted to cry.

           Maybe if she held perfectly still, whatever it was pinning her down would grow bored and leave her alone. Maybe it would think she was dead and leave.

           Maybe it was just a lost dog.

           Please let it be a lost dog.

           As much as she didn’t want to, there was only one way she could know what it was that had her down. Letting out a shaky breath, Zoe slowly opened her eyes.

           It could pass for some kind of dog, if the requirements were stretched far enough. It had the basic traits to be considered one, the canine features were clear despite the poor lighting. But, that wasn’t what Zoe noticed first. No, the thing that Zoe first saw when she opened her eyes were two rows of sharp, white teeth. The canines must have been as long as her hands, maybe longer, and sharper than knives. Each tooth was sharpened to a dangerous, deadly point and was paler than the moonlight, glistening and dripping with saliva. The mouth was curled into a sickening smile.

           Looking up further, she stared past the muzzle of the biggest wolf that Zoe had ever seen, though it was hard not to focus on the teeth, ready to rip her apart, she managed to take in other details of the beast. It’s fur, though hard to be sure with the lack of lighting, was thick and dark brown, with paler streaks all throughout its pelt like some kind of inverted tiger.

           Its eyes were trained on her, glowing amber burning themselves into her memory.

           Primal fear struck her right to the core. Every hair on her body stood on end, every cell wanted to run, but she couldn’t move. Not with the wolf practically on top of her. Zoe could feel herself growing close to hyperventilating, she was shaking from head to toe. The massive paw that was on Zoe pressed down harder.

           This wasn’t how she was supposed to die; she was too young! For God’s sake, she was only fourteen! She wasn’t done with school, she hadn’t even finished her Netflix queue; she wasn’t even caught up on Game of Thrones yet! Hell, she hadn’t even gotten to experience high school or learn to drive yet!

           Oh, God, she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die. Not like this, not her and not now. Certainly not by being eaten by a giant wolf.

           The wolf made contact with Zoe and its mouth broke into what could only be classified as a grin. Even as it leaned closer, it didn’t break eye contact. Something in Zoe clicked, a realization that only made her feel worse. This thing enjoyed her fear. It liked watching her squirm in terror. She swore it was laughing, it’s body shaking with glee and those terrible amber eyes showing sadistic joy.

           Zoe opened her mouth, she wanted to scream. Scream at the wolf, scream in terror, scream for someone to help her. Just, scream. But, her voice had left her as the wolfs smile grew wider and wider. Baring it’s teeth, the moonlight outlined its terrifying features, Zoe felt her heart stop and cold dread fall over her.

           Moth wide open, it snapped its head forward.

           A scream ripped through her, leaving her throat raw and voice hoarse, it was earsplitting and louder than she had ever gone before. She threw her arms up in front of her, a desperate attempt to shield herself from the rows of razor sharp teeth, though futile it may be. She kept screaming as the seconds ticked on and anticipation filled her. Anticipation for the ripping, the tearing and the inevitable agony as she was torn apart, piece by piece, and gobbled up as a midnight snack.

           But… nothing happened.

           A second passed, then another. Zoe’s scream slowly died down as time ticked on with no pain, no… nothing. Hesitantly, Zoe brought her hands down and opened her eyes a crack to see what had happened. She immediately wished she hadn’t.

           Just two inches away from her face was a world of teeth, pain and death. The tongue hung out, seemingly frozen in place even though drool still dripped down and landed on the ground just an inch away from her head. She could see its eyes moving; confusion and anger shining in them, but it was clear that its body wasn’t going to budge.

           She was still rather terrified, but, her body relaxed just a little as she felt her lifespan extended just a bit longer. Looking at this creature frozen in spot, she felt fear still gnawing at her from inside as she wondered how long it would be until it started moving again. More importantly, why it was frozen to begin with. Scooting back, Zoe managed to crawl her way out from under the wolf and break free from its hold.

           Now that she was sitting in front of it as opposed to under, Zoe was given the opportunity to get a good look at the beast and get an idea of just how big the wolf truly was. It had to be at least ten feet long, and standing on its legs, it reached an easy six feet from foot to shoulder. Obviously it wasn’t any normal wolf, nevermind that Edgewood didn’t even have wolves!

           Zoe breathed slowly, trying to wrap her mind over what had happened and try to calm down, but she was still in shock over this giant creature, this mammoth of a wolf. Having nearly died, well, she wasn’t in the best place at the moment.

           She broke her gaze from the wolf when she heard footsteps behind her. Fear coursed through her once again as she shakily turned around, preparing herself for a freaking zombie or Bigfoot himself to show up.

           Instead, she was met with a small boy in an oversized green hoodie.

           From the dark and into the dull streetlights, Phoenix stepped into her view. His head was held high and an arm held forward, palm facing towards the wolf as he approached Zoe. His expression was light, innocent and far too friendly for this situation as he tossed Zoe an almost apologetic smile.

           “Hey there,” Phoenix greeted her as he came to stand beside Zoe, not breaking his gaze from the wolf, “I know this is a lot to take in and all, but, could you do me a small favor? Just relax and, please, try not to scream?”

           Zoe failed that in record time.

#cam writes shit #original work stuff

[easkyrah]

An Assassin’s Affection 2

The dark-haired female stares at herself in the mirror, staring at every blemish and scar decorating her own face. If she’d been a tapestry, she’d been strung and strewn over layers of needlework, many loose strings and scissors surrounding her.

“Oh, how your kingdom will fall

when you find that your discarded pawn

was the queen all along”

[Nessian Assassin AU]

Varian had patched her silently as she stared blandly at the wall. The faint sounds of water droplets hitting the cement broke the silence, with the atmosphere of the void of emptiness persisting. The empty warehouse had been a meeting point of theirs, just to trade information that leaked through her employer’s mouth or the ones that the streets whispered when she coasted on the rooftops; he just told her anything she asked to ease her mission stuffed into her arms she had no part she desired of.

One of the notorious underground crime lords, he had become one of her unlikely allies as she had posed as one of his escorts to kill one of his contacts—also one of Tomas’s targets. Varian hadn’t noticed her among his personal escorts and immediately ordered her capture, but she’d escape, only to see him the next day, holding a silver dagger through the heart of one of her targets. He offered a deal, and she took it, needing every ounce of help and assistance she could find in this black and dark world where it seemed only monsters thrive.

He slew the last stitch through her, a slight hiss escaping her throat. A tap to her wrist indicated that he was done, and she flexed her shoulders.

She knew Varian had most likely looked her up as soon as they started seeing each other in the most unlikely places that was not meant for a consort. It didn’t matter as soon as he saw her snap the neck of one of the other target’s bodyguards and shoot the target through the head. He knew that she wasn’t pure and what she stood for. He knew who she worked for, and had stood disgusted, not that she blamed him.

Until she could pay off her debts to Tomas for the shelter, however unwillingly, and all the weapons she used, she remained hostage to him. Varian had set up a trust fund in the underground markets for her, and some nights, she would see him surreptitiously dropping a gold coin or two into her bank deposit.

He was the Phoenix’s shadow, or no way near her guardian angel. An older brother of sorts. They had never had a full on normal conservation, discussing this arrangement of theirs, but Nesta didn’t mind.

She pressed a ruby necklace in his hand, the one he’d been eyeing from the shops the last time they’d stood together at the end of the sewers, searching for one of the other crime lord’s one-eyed informats scurrying around.

A faint smile graced his lips and he slipped the pendant into his pocket. She changed out of the hospital gown cut open at the back and into her gear as he washed his hands with brutal efficiency, packing his medical kit. She saluted him as she headed for the door, throwing open the metal panel. However, before he returned her usual farewell with a tip of his hat, and jumped out the window, he whispered a request in her ear, leaving her face ashen for a split-second.

Nesta nodded, and a viper’s smile formed on her face.

The hardest part of the ordeal was shopping for clothes. She had headed for the athletic section, still finding the entirely cotton shirts worthless and unnervingly short pants absolutely ridiculous.

Dismissing one of the store employers who didn’t seem to know the difference between a strain and a sprain, Nesta grabbed a set of blouses and other unnecessary pairs of jeans that would hinder her maximum performance if she was caught in the middle of a fight. The most dangerous enemies knew what her true face looked like without a mask and would most likely be tracking her every moment.

She didn’t like this different approach, and gritted her teeth as she went to the cash register. When the worker dared to short-change her, Nesta called the manager and threatened to sue, pulling up her shades to indicate that she meant business. The tiny man had profusely apologized and let her choose another set of clothes for free, in which she took up, sneaking in a pair of boots when the cameras weren’t looking.

Sighing, she closed her trunk shut, and cursed loudly as her earpiece crackled into existence.

“Get your fine piece of ass over to second base,” Tomas said, and then shut down the link.

Nesta instantly shut her car door, and changed into her gear, sending a blessing for the tinted windows. By the time she arrived at the warehouse, the clouds had matched her mood, gray streaks piercing the air. Soft rain pattered down her windshield, and Nesta shoved her bags under the seat lest one of Tomas’s goons catch sight of her non-contraband materials by any chance.

When she stalked inside, forcing herself to loosen her muscles, the man of her nightmares sat at the head of a table, another of his acquaintances in a black trench suit sitting on his left.

The man turned, and she recognized the one-eyed man. Or at least, now two-eyed man. Varian had pinched out the other orb at as a means of last resort in extracting information when the man wouldn’t speak of Tomas’s plans.

“Hello, Nesta.” Tomas grinned, and gestured to the empty seat to his right. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Dining with the wolves. Her favorite.

She obediently sat, wondering why he was here. Varian nor her hadn’t tipped him off of who she was, wearing one of her random masks that she fine-tuned to change a bit in appearance every time she hit the streets.

“This here is a man who was attempting to rise to the top of the hierarchy.” Tomas gleefully gestured to his left, but the man showed no indication of hearing. Her employer frowned, eyes flashing. “You see, Nesta, he’s blind because two bitches on the streets took his eye. The first was his employer, and the second a man he wants to kill.”

She slid a dagger out of her sleeve, and glanced at the man warily. Those pinkish, dirty yellow colors swirling around in his eyes were the first sign of infection. He should be demanding treatment, but—

“Tonight, this man will take you, and then you will continue with your latest mission.” Those black eyes pitied against, and Nesta felt bile roll up in her mouth. It had been a month since her employer had scheduled her appointment in the sex trade, choosing instead to use her abilities out on the field where a different type of monster of degradement awaited.

The man, looking straight ahead, placed a pair of steel chains on the table, the clinking sound having her insides shudder. She knew what he wanted to do to her, and her toes curled in protest.

“No,” Nesta said, watching the man’s eyes furrow. “No,” she repeated, this time louder.

“No?” Tomas snapped, almost disbelievingly. “You don’t have any choices here. You have no say and no freedom, and no right to decline.”

Her eyes turned to storm, and her back straightened, a pillar of steel and ice. “You had no right to kidnap me a rape me no more than any other female around here. You shaped me into a weapon when I was weak. You are lucky I continue to kill and pay my debts that I should never had accumulated in the first place. So no, Tomas, look for another girl to pick on.”

“You will respect me!” Tomas roared, and within a second, a whip laid wrapped around his wrists.

She flinched, and he grinned, one smile full of vile and vices. The way he moved that whip—

Nesta lifted her head. “This is not respect. This is control and dominance. This is abuse.”

The other man cocked his head, rubbing a knuckle. Slowly, his head turned towards Tomas, who was breathing heavily. “She’s a bitch, isn’t she?” He lowered his voice. “I don’t need to see her to know what fun she’ll be under me.”

“I may be a bitch, but no female deserves to be treated like this,” Nesta hissed, and flung the dagger outwards, a second following a different path. She didn’t watch them hit their targets as she fled the building, starting the engine.

No one followed her as she jerked the truck forward, the taste of blood clogging her nostrils and the tang of metal ringing in her ears.

The bar was a sorry excuse for one, with cheap shots and disgusting liquid that stung as it poured down her throat. Nesta didn’t care, as long as no one recognized her. She’d braided her hair and changed into one of the fruitless pieces of material that exposed more skin than she’d liked. Loud music drained out any thoughts as she tried to imagine the expressions that would cloud the other trained faces she’s seen walking in the hallways—what they would think when their boss no more.

She knew someone would seek retaliation against her for the second man’s death. There was always unwarranted ties and unspoken alliances that spun through the underground streets, fueling the tensions and cracks in their bittered society. The second man’s eyes had been gutted partly because of her, and his death had been laid in her hands. His last wisps of air, Nesta had decided, would serve as a symbol to others that would seek vengeance against her.

Her blade had flung at an expert arc horizontally that had sliced through his neck completely. A beheading.

An execution. Those soulless eyes had blinked no more.

Tomas was a different story.

It had been unspeakable to lay a hand nor speak a syllable in front of her master. There were no consequences for killing a boss since no one would dare in the first place. Except Nesta knew she hadn’t murdered Tomas with the first blade that had landed directly between his eyes. If she had, she would have accumulated more death and decay her already full plate would have no means of rejecting.

She’d thrown the dagger so softly at Tomas it’d barely pierce his flesh. No, at most the blade would hit his frontal bone and spur him unconscious. He’d bleed out, risk brain damage, but be alive—and live to torture another soul.

He wouldn’t die by her hand. She had made sure of that.

“I need a body to experiment a new drug on,” Varian had whispered in the warehouse hours ago. “By the end of the day.”

So Nesta had obliged, providing him with Tomas’s body.

Varian had headed over and stolen his body, interrogating his last minutes on Earth. He had asked why she’d provided him with this body over the blind man’s; she’d only replied with a sick smile plastered on her face, over their untraceable phone, “It’s him.”

The man who had created this nightmare and kept her under it for years—when she needed respite with peaceful dreams rather than the undulating, poisonous thoughts. The one who had touched her where she had deserved to be worshipped. The man who had broke her when she needed someone to build her up.

So Varian had informed her he had pumped Tomas’s body with morphine and other drugs to keep his brain fluids from leaking and heart beating—so that after the tested the opiate, he could further wreck pain like no other on Tomas’s body.

Nesta had merely stated to make sure that his dick was caught off and he was whipped.

Tomas’s last moments here wouldn’t be pretty, nor would it be grand. It would be brutal and messy, Varian gutting apart each socket and stuffing pins and needles through his sunken flesh.

A cold smile seared her face, and she sipped the cup harshly.

“You’re looking a little tense there, sweetheart.” A male voice, dripping honey, appeared next to her. A large, well-built body slid in the stool next to her. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Beautiful, deep brown eyes with ropes of corded muscle that white-collared shirt could not hide. Each movement had a ripple of tendon as he flexed his arms in a casual manner Nesta knew all too well. He looked oddly familiar as he waved the bartender over, and there was something to that rugged face that sent her on edge.

No rutting way. Even though that shot had been across ten buildings, she would never forget that smirk as her bullet had sunken through the wrong person. Her first missed shot. Her first whipping. Her first realization that she deserved more, than just pain and emptiness.

His own appearance didn’t seem quite as fully relaxed, those arms tense as if readying for a fight. The gauze and pad on his shoulder had her more suspicious. Her nail jabbed it, not too nicely. “Where did you get that?”

The male huffed and flinched as pain shot through his shoulder. “Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

That confirmed her fears and she flung out of the seat and headed towards the bathroom. A sense of calm rage appeared over her, and senseless feelings of violence and the absence of peace had long nagged at her. Two women emerged from the bathroom, clad in skimpy clothing and red lipstick dotting their mouths.

She froze as they passed her, completely oblivious to her ignorance.

Those mouse brown strands of hair, one shorter than the other, her giggle—the older one’s hand on the younger’s elbow as they sashayed onto the dance floor—

Her sisters were in town.

Nesta cursed herself and the world as she went into the parking lot, the cold air kissing her skin. She found herself shivering for no reason, not when this night was nothing compared to others of being locked outside, chained to a lamppost, where other males would paw and jeer at her.

She didn’t know silent tears had flowed down her face until a thumb gently wiped it away, and the male at the bar stood in front of her. It had taken her entire willpower to allow him to sneak up on her and let him carry on his business. Except she didn’t think he would approach her.

“I’m Cassian,” he offered, his own body radiating heat and warmth.

She deserved to rot in empty coldness for every body that was now decaying and decomposing because of her. They taught her to have no remorse, and to not think except to focus on her next assignment. But Nesta was human and had a family before, so she’d transformed into a shell instead of a truly empty weapon. She’d become fixed between knowing her own mortality and the deaths of others, her mind shattered beyond repaired. There was no healing and mending save for her own injuries.

Cassian stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. “Crying is just a sign of being strong for too long.” He hesitated for a second before extending an open palm. “Would you like to go out for dinner?”

Nesta looked down at his hand. At what he could give her: happiness and contentment and undeserved fortitude.

So she stared at him, letting that calm mask fall over her face. “No,” she firmly said, and headed towards her truck. She could feel the other male’s eyes burning in hers, and she wondered if he had been outright rejected before.

No.

She needed to think, and Cassian had already started to plague her mind. Too much emotion in too little time—her sisters were here, and Nesta needed to get her hands on that file, and see what Tomas accusations against Feyre had deemed her worthy of death.

As she started pulled the gears in reverse, the male stood outside the bar, his hands in his pockets, watching her go—and flee from him as usual.

“She doesn’t recognize me.” He grinned into his earpiece. “At all.”

#nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian x nesta #nessian fanfiction #nessian assassin au #sarah j maas #acotar #acomaf #acowar #cassian

[the-dorothinquisiton-blog]

The Ravaging Flames - Chapter XIV

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**Okay, okay, so pretty much, I’m really new to this site. I normally hate the idea of social media, but I guess I want to try some new things or something, I dunno. Anyway, I like to write in my free time, or whenever I feel bored outta’ my ever-loving mind. I thought maybe a good start for me on this site would be to share some of my work; or at least, I hope so. This is just a little excerpt from a story I’ve been writing based on the game ‘OFF’ made by Mortis Ghost. I’ve always wanted to publish my work, so I decided to start writing a ‘test-novel’ of sorts to see if I might be able to interest a few people before moving onto something completely original! I might’ve made a few grammatical errors,  and I know that already, so don’t be all that harsh. I’m not opposed to criticism by any means, but I’m just not really looking for any of it right now. I’m posting this manly to make someone’s day a little better, if I’m even capable of that in the first place! This is Chapter 14, and for another note, (if you’re familiar with OFF) some of the character’s personalities and motives have been changed; so just try to bare with me! Sorry if it’s a lot out of context; I just chose one of the chapters I liked best. If people like this one, I might post more, I dunno. So, anyway, here it is. Enjoy this copy-pasted mess from my word document. ;~; 

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The cool night breeze flooded through the doorway, meeting the Batter’s cold gaze immediately. He had emerged atop the apex of the Great Library. The summit was rather flat, about forty feet wide and long. An eerily placed barred fence walled off the steep edges, preventing anyone from falling to their untimely demise. The night sky was lit ablaze with stars; from which the Batter could barely avert his eyes. Even he had to admit, it was truly an astounding sight to witness. Dark purple clouds swirled slowly in the midnight breeze, casting a series of somber shadows down upon the library’s peak. However, no one appeared to be anywhere within sight. No signs of life shone at all; the only sounds to be heard were the delicate howling of the wind. The Batter walked calmly over to the barred fence that enclosed the summit of the Library, and looked down at the rest of the Zone far below. The sight was stunningly beautiful to say the least; especially the vibrant lights of the city, and the pale glimmer of moonlight off of the ocean’s waves. Hordes of phantoms still flew around below, tormenting the Elsen ruthlessly in the streets and atop buildings. Most of the Zone’s citizens appeared to have already fled to their homes for the night, but the unlucky few were torn to shreds by the vicious carnivores far below the Library’s summit. The sight was truly painful to watch, even for the likes of the Batter. In an effort to break the eerie silence, the Batter spoke aloud to himself. 

“Show yourself Japhet the Millennial Firebird, for I have arrived.” The Batter’s cold statement echoed heavily in the stale air, reverberating countless times before dying off. After a short yet antagonizing silence, the Batter’s words were finally met with a response.

“Beautiful… isn’t it?” The voice came across shy and nervous; as if anticipating what was to come. As the Batter turned in the cold night breeze, he laid his eyes upon the feline host of Japhet, starring down at the breathtaking view. She stood facing away from him on the opposite end of the summit. “A sight as beautiful as this used to bring me to tears… That was a long time ago, however… I cannot even seem to recall how to cry any longer, to be perfectly honest.” Japhet proclaimed from within the feline’s body, a small yet noticeable frown spreading across her face. The Batter however, had dealt with enough of these foolish back and forth verbal games, and was growing distain of Japhet’s careless banter.

“You have brought nothing but chaos and suffering to this land. You are the parasite that not only feeds off of Valerie’s body, but this Zone in its entirety. Stop hiding behind your host, coward. Show yourself to me.” The Batter’s hardened words echoing out into the night sky. Japhet suddenly turned to face the Batter, her eyes glowing a deep purple. The Batter’s impatience seemed to resonate sourly within her.

“It isn’t like I wished so desperately for the poor feline to devour me whole! Is that what you think?!” Japhet shouted aloud, her voice growing pained and weighed down by thoughts of regret. “As I lay, in a peaceful sleep, the foolish predator tried to devour me, as you must already know… However, the foolish beast didn’t chew, and I now reside inside her body controlling her like a puppet… She deserved a fate such as this…“ Japhet’s eyes lit ablaze with anger as she bared a toothy grin. The Batter stomped the ground impatiently, cracking the ground beneath his cleat.

”Enough chatter. I understand that the incident with Valerie wasn’t your fault entirely; thus I have already forgiven your sins regarding the matter. However, that still doesn’t justify your crimes against this land, whether you wanted this or not, tonight you will close your eyes for the final time. Show yourself to me now, and die an honorable death.” The Batter proclaimed sternly. The frightening cat only giggled quietly in response, her grin spreading wider than before. Her emotions were clouded and vivid, changing from one to another within mere moments. Insanity was slowly setting in.

“As you wish!” The small feline began hacking and coughing violently as she uttered those chilling words. A pool of fresh blood gathered on the floor below her mouth, as something began to push its way out through her throat. A small avian-like head emerged from the bleeding maw of the cat, one that resembled that of an elegant, white bird. The bird blinked several times, adjusting herself to the cold outside breeze before speaking out in a hatred fueled voice. 

“Valerie couldn’t even chew through a little bird, right until the very end!” The small yet oddly exquisite fowl screeched. The Batter took a somber step backwards, as if he wasn’t expecting her statements to hold any water. It truly was a horrifying sight to witness; a bird forcibly ripping its way out of the mouth of a feline who attempted to devour it.

”What’s the matter, purifier? Could it be that you too fear my true appearance? Well, in that case, allow me to grace you with an even worse sight!” Japhet maliciously cackled, her voice shrouded deep within insanity. Without much warning, Japhet’s host body erupted violently, blood spewing profusely in all directions. As the cat’s body convulsed, two stunningly huge wings, at least sixteen feet long, seemed to arise from Valerie’s now trembling carcass. The horrifying visage of a huge, crane-like bird arose from the weakened corpse of the dismembered feline. Japhet slowly staggered to her feet, still not fully accustomed to her true form. The elegant Phoenix stood at least fifteen feet tall, her wings fully outstretched to the sky. Her eyes gleamed a sickening white, stained with a demented craze. Her neck was long and slender, leading up to her crane-like head. The saddened carcass of Valerie adorned her neck in a rather morbid fashion. It appeared as though when she began to grow into her true appearance, Valerie’s corpse had gotten stuck around her neck; ripping her body open in the process. Blood dripped down from the corpse of the cat, staining Japhet’s magnificent form in fowl drops of crimson red. A long, smooth tail protruded from the phoenix’s rear, slamming fiercely against the tiled floors of the Library’s apex. Yet, her elegant voice remained soft and calm, truly not matching her monstrous crane-like form.

“The more I fight for my people, the more I work to keep them satisfied, only to be let down miserably in the end. They have forgotten me. Against all reason… they’ve become mortified of my very appearance. I’m trapped in an everlasting misery, as if damned by the Thousand Faced Queen herself… But now, I am finally free. Far below this very Library, the carnivores that I wrought into existence look up to where I soar, far above the clouds themselves, far above the storms that plague this tainted world. I can feel the pure power flowing through my veins… The phantoms have set me free of my everlasting burden! They’re all around me, circling like vultures to a rotting carcass! I can feel their sickening presence even now as we speak! Yes, it is true! It was I who summoned the phantoms from the depths! They are truly by my side, even now in my final moments! I’ve risen up beyond the sky that confines me, beyond the stars that withhold me!“ Japhet preached to the stars above, her stunningly beautiful voice echoing far into the sky. With a sudden and fierce flap of her mighty wings, Japhet lifted herself into the sky. The now brightening stars above shone on her massive wings, giving her body a stunningly divine appearance. 

“The energy of the galaxy’s divine expanse has given me power beyond the stars themselves. Now Batter, strike me down! End my sinful existence before the very beings of my creation destroy this crumbling Zone!” Japhet screeched down at the Batter, her voice heavily weighed down by fear and grief. Even while begging for death itself, she still feared what lied beyond life’s touch. The Batter pointed his blood soiled bat up at the huge phoenix, a menacing glare upon his stern face.

“Now, look upon yourself. Driven insane by the very power you were graced with in the beginning… how regrettable. You are truly a demented child of evil, Japhet. Your reign of fear and your rule over the phantoms ends here.” The Batter’s voice grew cold and dark, a gnarled hatred growing from within him. The towering phoenix raised her head upwards towards the stars without another word, and opened her gaping beak wide. Her silky white eyes glowed brightly in the darkness of the night. From deep within her throat erupted a vibrant plume of pale purple flames into the night sky. The deep purple blaze spread out in the sky before arching back down towards the Library’s summit. The sky was truly raining heavenly violent fire. As the plumes of fire rained down from the sky, the Batter leapt from place to place; desperately trying to avoid the scorching blaze. He tried to maintain his balance, seeing as though one wrong step would land him straight into the searing flames. From far above, he could hear the demented cackling of the colossal phoenix as he leapt from place to place.

“Try as you might, Batter… I hold within me the searing flames of creation! This Zone and everything in it is about to come to an untimely climax, whether you care for its people or not! What will you do?! Run and hide like the coward you truly are?! Or stay and fight?!” The Flaming Sovereign taunted, her voice soaring far above the flames. She began flapping her heavy wings at a great speed, attempting to blow the plentiful fire straight into the Batter. The sportive purifier stopped dead in his tracks, noticing the vibrant violent flames spiraling around him.

The dancing flames seemed to form a towering hurricane of hellfire, engulfing the entire summit of the library within a barrier of churning flames. The Batter could feel the immense heat harshly pressuring his body from all angles. Japhet was now nowhere in sight, hiding somewhere upon the other side of the scorching hurricane of flames. The crazed phoenix’s chaotic laughter rang out in the Batter’s ears, emanating in all directions. Such an elegant voice should never have to utter such guttural laughter. It simply isn’t natural. It was near to impossible for the Batter to locate the direction of the maddening laughter, seeing as though the roaring flames that surrounded him emanated with such an unknown fury. Without warning, large assortments of phantoms began shooting out from the scorching barrier of fire; all headed straight in the Batter’s direction. They all laughed hysterically as they charged at him from all conceivable angles. Japhet was putting her mastery of the phantoms to sparingly good use. The air was filled with maniacal snickering and violent hisses of anguish. The souls of the dammed were closing in. The Batter swung his mighty bat from phantom to phantom, ducking and dodging as many cackling specters as he could in the process. No matter how many phantoms the Batter seemed to banish, more and more spewed from the spiraling vortex of vibrant purple hellfire. The Batter’s reflexes were spot on, however. He began swinging his cast iron bat as hard and fast as he possibly could in a furious attempt to ward off the countless spirits. Finally, the phantoms seemed to begin to die down in frequency. He had totally lost count of the amount of vicious ghouls he had purified, but all that mattered to him at that moment was completing his sacred mission; and of course avenging the tragic loss of the Judge’s dear sister. He would not stand for such a cruel and heartless deity to get away with these unspeakable actions, no matter how kind and compassionate she may have been in the past.

The walls of vibrant, swirling fire began to close in around the Batter however, leaving him with only a few feet of space left in which to move. The emanating heat and bursts of volatile cinders from the walls of broiling fire seemed to dance about, lighting the night sky ablaze in vibrant color. As the Batter glanced overhead, he saw Japhet circling far above at the highest point of the spiraling vortex. Her voice rang out above the churning flames.

“Farewell, foolish purifier! To think I actually thought you’d be strong enough to snuff out my life like a dying cinder. Now there’s naught left to do but burn you to crisp ash!” As she spoke her hateful words, bright violet flames brewed between her gapping jaws. The mighty phoenix reeled back her head, only to thrust it downward towards the Batter, releasing a fierce burst of blistering purple flames. The plume of fire traveled swiftly down into the spiraling vortex, leaving the Batter with no place to run. He was hopelessly trapped; Blistering fire resonating from all directions. All he could do was prepare to block the oncoming breath of searing flames with his mighty cast-iron bat. As the twisting flare of vibrant purple came in contact with the unprepared Batter’s bat, a vicious explosion of intense force ensued; dissipating all of the surrounding fire. Plumes of smoke erupted bleakly from the explosion as the rising dust began to settle back to the ground. Japhet soared above the scene, observing her handiwork from far above the summit of the Library. As the dust settled, and the sounds of churning flames died down, Japhet gently lowered herself back to her roost upon the Library’s summit. Bowing her head slightly while closing her eyes, she spoke aloud to no one.

“Sleep well, young purifier. You tried your very best indeed… but in the end, no mortal can best an entity of pure divinity such as I.” Japhet proclaimed confidently, folding up her colossal wings around herself tightly. Small cinders still flickered on the now singed ground, as a deafening silence rose into the stale air. The wind could still be faintly heard blowing gently through the air; its soft breeze stirring up dust along the Library’s peak. Just when Japhet was positive her resilient adversary was no more, a deep voice pierced the eerie silence once again.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Japhet. Divinity is just a concept of delusion, rendering you just as mortal as I am. Not even the darkest flames of the devil himself could cast me down.” The Batter slowly emerged from within the thick cloud of smoke, a stern look plastered over his face. Even after such a devastating blow, the Batter was virtually unscathed by any stretch of the word. His batting uniform was miraculously unsigned, and his ghastly black ball cap still sat eerily upon his head. “If you still wish for death’s icy embrace, now would be a wonderful time to accept.” The Batter spoke, all remorse vanishing from his voice in that single instant. Japhet calmly ruffled her feathers in an expectant manner, not at all surprised at the Batter resilience.

“Ah, you are certainly full of surprises, Batter… And here I thought you’d be singed to a fine crisp. In another life… or maybe, in another reality… we could’ve been… good friends…” Japhet preached softly, somewhat relieved to know that her furious adversary might still be able to finish her off. All Japhet dreamed of now was death’s oh so sweet release. The sickening corpse of Valerie still clung lifelessly to the back of her neck, shaking moderately in the soft wind. Streams of blood trickled down from the putrid corpse, sending forth bright trails of crimson liquid down Japhet’s slender neck. Unfolding her massive wings once more, she gathered her thoughts as quickly as possible. “I would have been overjoyed to be your… friend. Yes… your friend…” Japhet meekly inquired, attempting in vain to hold back tears. All of her cruel wrong doings finally seemed to be weighing down on her conscience as she felt the warm streams of blood traveling down her tensed body. In a sudden moment of clarity that temporarily pushed aside the dreadful madness that plagued her mind, Japhet remembered what it was like to be a Holy Guardian once more. The happiness, the admiration, and the joy. The smiles of her closest friends, the tangled feelings of love she felt in her heart, and the one person who never left her side even in the darkest of times. The one girl she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Japhet knew there was no going back now, however. Her sins were unforgivable, and had driven even her closest friends and loved ones out of her life for good. She had pushed all of them away, except for the girl. The girl who she knew deep down would never look at her the same way if she was to learn of Japhet’s wrong doings. All Japhet wanted now was for it all to come to a close, an end to the pain. Glistening tears began to flow from her glimmering white eyes, staining the feathers lining her gentle face. The Batter starred up at mighty phoenix, who was seemingly falling apart mentally before his very eyes. He knew naught what to expect; Japhet was now on the verge of mental collapse. He understood her pain however, somehow he knew what it felt like to be in her position. The loss of everything she loved, the loss of everyone she loved. All that remained within her was the maddening power she possessed, and the only thing left to do with it. To destroy everything.

“Maybe we could’ve been friends in some other reality. You wish so desperately for me to destroy you, yet you have been the only Holy Guardian thus far to even consider for a brief moment the consequences of your actions. My previous offer still stands. We can compromise. Let us put an end to the fighting, Sovereign Phoenix.” The Batter proclaimed calmly, hoping to get through to the troubled Guardian. A long, agonizing silence ensued as the phoenix pondered the Batter’s words ever so carefully.

“You want… to be my friend…? Even after my countless attempts to take a stab at your life…? I have no one left to love… I’ve driven everyone away… I deserve this fate… Batter, forgive me… but I must respectfully decline your proposal of friendship… I must die tonight.” 

#writing #off mortis ghost

[hathorahbrightwing]

Whisked Away

Slowly he awoke, her keen sense of hearing noticed his yawn and stretch as he woke. She smirked, knowing it would not be long before he joined her on the terrace of her private estate. An estate that she had somehow managed to keep a secret from everyone…even Jan. Tempakuron was not even aware of it until a few weeks after their first kiss. She smiled with a softness that seemed so unlike her as she recalled that afternoon, though in all truth these past few months he had changed her in ways she never would have thought possible.

“Where in the light are you taking me woman?” he shouted over the whipping wind as his teeth chattered from the cold. All his plate and furs proving inadequate for the coldest reaches of the Storm Peaks. Her refuge, her sanctuary away from the world she now knew, her safe house, and her chosen location for solitude. When she had heard of the fall of Arthas, she practically ran here, as if she needed proof of his demise. While scourge still peppered the landscapes and terrorized the creatures they would easily fall and posed little to no real threat. She could not contain her smile as they marched closer and closer to her hidden home. Nestled high above the snowy plains just east of the Terrace of the Makers and North of Camp Tunak’lo she found it to be a perfect location. Though Tempakuron seemed to disagree as he mumbled complaints under his breath, he hated the cold but she loved it. Something about the delicate flakes of snow falling from so high, undamaged and creating a blanket over everything in sight to make it all the same. Making everything…equal.

After a hike of nearly half an hour they reached the gates. Gates standing only about eight feet high, made of what seemed pure dark iron and steel, embellished with small cobalt blue stones hidden within the curls of the iron work.

“We’re here…” she took in a deep breath, she had never even told anyone of this place much less brought them here but they were in a rather precarious situation. She a death Knight, him a paladin and engaged to a High Priestess. IF anyone were to discover them who knows what punishments might befall them both. As they approached the front doors two men came out from the shadows, startling Tempakuron. As he went to draw his blade she held out her hand sternly telling him to stop, and of course he paid attention slowly fed the long golden sword back into it’s sheath.

“Have the preparations been made?” she asked the man on the left

“Yes, my lady, preparations have been made and you have provisions to last upwards of a month.” He bowed his head and kept it down.

“Very good, none are to pass those gates without my say so. Put up the wards and have Velnnah oversee it all. Nobody leaves, nobody enters is that clear?” she said sternly.

“Yes madam”

Tempakuron stood in surprise…” My lady...?” he asked her inquisitively as he raised a brow. This was news to him, she had always been so reserved and private, he never had known much about who she had been before her undeath. She simply gave him a glance over her shoulder with a small shrug, as if this was nothing. As he looked about slowly forms and buildings revealed themselves from the shadows. Rangers and hunters on the rooftops and terraces with bows, rogues along the perimeter, various plate wearing men and women patrolling the expansive grounds. To his right a small Mage Tower could be seen, standing maybe four stories tall. Such unique architecture, the building itself made with dark blue stones, though on each new level there was one ring of red. Frost and Fire perhaps? As they walked forward many buildings could now be seen. To his left what looked like a large greenhouse…here in the Storm Peaks! An intricate stone walk way below his feet lead to an estate greater than his own, standing only three stories tall but made with large black stones, peppered with more blue stones. Various terraces seeming to connect to rooms on the inside with beautifully made rod iron bars, that seem to copy the great gate with their intricate design and gems. Smoke billowing from 3 different stacks from the roof of the estate, that signify fires burning inside to shelter the inhabitants from the cold. As they approached the front doors he noted a crest to the right laid in stone. Fantastically made honestly, work like this would have taken many weeks. Two phoenixes are depicted, with a large shield in the middle hiding the point where the bodies of the two mythical birds’ bodies connect. The bird on the left is a bright red, with cobalt blue eyes. The face depicted as almost angry or in pain, and as he looked down he noticed the talons, the one on the left held a single rose with black petals. Homage to the name Hathorah had once taken. The bird on the right however was different, blacker but still with red hues mixed in. It’s eye fel green like most other Sin’Dorei, and in it’s talon it holds a small rose stem covered in black thorns. On the shield in the middle was the crest itself, a traditional depiction of a proper and noble house. One that would only be bestowed to those with noble blood in their veins, there was no mistaking. This was the crest of Brightwing. The letter B in the middle of the shield in gold, with a dark blood red background and back outline written in an old English style. How she managed to keep this place so hidden even from him was beyond him, though he had come to learn she was never one to be predictable.

With one forceful push she flung open the doors of the estate, warmth escaping into the cold air as the snows blew in to the foyer. As they entered a woman he had not even seen closed the doors. Hathorah walked past the grand staircase and into a room on the left, as he walked in he was welcomed by the warmth of a fire.

Quickly he took a seat in front of the fire and opened his furs to let in the welcome sensation of warmth. The numbness of the cold fading. The cold of course did not affect her in such a way, she was after all undead and had spent much time in Northrend while under the command of the Lich King. As he warmed by the fire she watched as he took in the room. This was her study, a place she would often write. A place she had often written of him.

“Hathorah…how long have you had this place?” he asked quietly as he looked over his shoulder.

“About a year now, since before my attack. “she replied quickly.

“And the crest…who is the other half?” he pointed to the same crest that had been outside that was also above the fire he sat in front of. She sighed heavily, even though it was him she hated to give out her secrets.

“My brother…younger brother. While I was known as the Black Rose he is known as the Black Thorn. We are very close him and I, you will meet him with time. He isn’t one for the cold. He is back in Eversong.”

“Well you are always full of surprises aren’t you. Here I thought you came from a quaint house and came back after your liberation to nothing…. now I find that is rather far from the truth.” He looked around in awe. Finally, stopping as his eyes fell on to her.

“My Father was Erovan Brightwing” she said hesitantly “My real name is Lor’Nei, and I now hold the entire Brightwing estate aside from what my Great Uncle holds as Ranger General.”

Tempakuron sat there a moment as if he had no words to say. Of course, being in the order of light he had heard the name Erovan Brightwing, he had been well known for his feats of courage in the face of such incredible odds. Facing down the scourge with only a single battalion and his daughter at his side. His daughter as well had made a name for herself, though she had not made it into the order, she had great promise and had she lived she would have rivaled Lady Liandrin herself in due time. In the great hall there was a plaque that had been commissioned in honor of those servants of the light that had fallen to Arthas and the scourge as their death and dismay over ran the Sin’Dorei. Her name and that of her father had been on that list.  She will never forget the look on his face as he learned her true heritage.

“Daydreaming again I see” he quipped as he walked out to the terrace wrapped in heavy furs.

“Just memories is all…did you sleep well?”

“I did thank you, will you be alright up here alone?”

She scoffed “Alone? Temp I have a damn battalion with me. I will be fine. I will be back in a week.”

They had agreed to return separately so they did not raise suspicion. They had to be cautious. Jan had some ceremony for the priesthood in Silvermoon to attend with Tempakuron at her side. While it pained Hathorah to know they would be reunited she was content that nobody knew where he had actually been these past three weeks. For all anyone else knew he had been on a meditative training excursion in the Northern reaches of Winterspring. By now most people were used to Hathorah disappearing for weeks at a time, she was after all quite private.

As she re-entered her master bedroom he has just latching the last bits of his armor on. These past few weeks had been so wonderful, they both hated that it had to end. Now they would be back to sneaking about, exchanges coded letters and private messages. Watching Jan enjoy her fiancé in public while Hathorah was left to only to private hideaways and lies. She hated lying to her friend, but in the end, he had given her a piece of herself back. She felt more like Lor’Nei with him. More like the living.

He placed a soft kiss on her cold lips and lay his forehead to hers.

“I will see you in a weeks’ time…for the love of the gods woman do not make me track up here alone to get you.” He teased playfully. After a few moments he tore himself away and walked out the door, meeting with Velnnah, her best magister in the mage tower to be transported back to Eversong. Now left to her own devices for a week. What would she do? She sighed heavily, as she walked back onto the terrace and sat silently.

[dnddomtown702-blog]

Star Trek dnd 3.5e my 7th mission

After acquiring the Phoenix on Earth:

-          Once all are on board the Phoenix, You all see the retro-fitted star ship in all its glory. It’s nothing compared to the enterprise but the cockpit (now Bridge area) has been expanded and all equipment upgraded to the latest versions available.

-          Captain Picard and Ambassador Spock hail the Phoenix once out of orbit.

-          Captain Picard speaks, “Team I need you to meet us at star base 3572, It’s located close to the wormhole that Q spoke of before departing.”

-          Ambassador Spock adds to Captain Picard’s orders, “Team, it seems there is something special about your group but I must warn you that a legend speaks of certain death on a planet that orbits the wormhole. The legend also speaks of seven mighty warriors that helped contain this “Death” on their quest to insure the safety of our universe. We cannot allow the Borg to acquire whatever this “Death” might be. Something about your team seems to be aiding you with this perilous journey you’re on, you must not forget this as you continue on your adventure. We will give you more information when you reach the star base.”

-          Upon arriving at star base 3572, Picard goes over information that initial scans of the planet revealed. “As you can see from our initial scans of the planet that seems to be scrambling our scans. The orbit and rotation of the planet has the same area that is scrambling our scans pointing directly at the worm hole constantly. From our initial scans, we can teleport you right outside the area and we will give you a device that will teleport you back to the enterprise one time. The device can either be used manually or the moment I decide you must come back to the enterprise. Team, I feel compelled to warn you about what you are about to undertake. There is something emanating from the planet that… I can’t explain but I can feel that it’s extremely dangerous. Make sure you are ready and take some time to discuss anything ”

-          The Players can also feel a pressure seemingly emanating from the planet as well. They can discuss and decide what to carry with them. Also, they must decide a formation before teleporting down in case things get bad while on the planet.

-          Once the team has decided what they would like to do, they meet Captain Picard on the bridge of the Enterprise.

-          Picard says, “We will be in orbit and while you are on the planet, Data will continue to try to monitor your progress from here. Team, are you prepared?”

-          Upon a yes, Picard taps his badge, “Picard to teleportation room 3. O’Brian, I need you to teleport the Team to the coordinates we discussed earlier.” He turns to the team for a moment and says, “Please be cautious”. O’Brian responds “Captain, we have the coordinates locked in and are ready at your command.” Picard glances at the team as a slight moment of worry comes across his face, then turns to face the view screen and promptly says to O’Brian “Energize!”

      Ruins of Death Floor 1:

-          Outside:

o    After the team is teleported down, a massive building looms in front of them. It’s shadow casts over the team and the pressure felt before pushes on them as they look at the ancient two-story building in front of them. Something seems oddly familiar about the structure but, before the team has time to access their situation. 10ish beast come out from the surrounding woods. There are four large doorways made of stone that seems too be the only entrance to the ancient building. (Push heavy stone doors to enter)

-          B1,Memorial room:

o    The room inside is vast and every 3 or 4 feet there is a grave stone. All say some variation of “for assisting in the containment of Death they have given themselves to protect the universe.”

o    As the team searches around, a huge version of the beast leaps out at someone and 5ish other huge wolves emerge on both sides of the team.

-          B2,Burial Chamber 1:

o    4 coffins line the walls of the small stone room and a small plaque engraved on the back wall. The coffins are extremely elegant for such a dull place with jewels and diamonds encrusted around them. Each coffin bares writing and holds a glyph depicting the people inside.

§  If the crew figures out anything, one is Vulcan and wielding the Stone of Gol. Another, is human and looks to be in the cockpit of the Phoenix. The next coffin has a Romulan wielding a weapon that looks like a pole with spikes on either end. While the last coffin has a Jem’Hadarian wielding a familiar weapon as well.

§  The Plaque on the wall says, “These are warriors that risked their lives to keep Death at bay. May they rest in peace, for the fire will always consume the greedy. If players try to loot the coffins without disabling they will take 1d4 of fire damage. DC 15 for all checks. There is 2 amulets of strength +1, a +4 greatsword and about 25,000 gp in jewels.

-          B3, First Activation:

o    Upon entering the room it appears as if it’s completely empty and the darkness feels as if it is swallowing the team. After a moment, the weapons that are keys begin to faintly glow and a light bursts out from the back of the room temporarily blinding the team. After your eyes adjust there is a symbol on the back wall, it seems to look similar to the one within the Phoenix but without any place for keys to be placed. Can use decipher or knowledge to identify the symbol DC15, this is the first of two symbols that need a drop of the players blood to unlock the whips. A deafening sound reverberates the entire building as something above them lets out a frightening growl.

-          B4, Burial Chamber 2:

o    Room is laid out like the first burial chamber except the depiction on each coffin is different and there are 3 coffins lining the wall. One has the depiction of a Klingon wielding a Bat’Leth, the next has a Ferengi with what seems to be a type of gun held in both hands, the final coffin depicts a humanoid race much like the new crew members but with some type of whips in each hand with an aura surrounding them. (Search DC of 17 for +3 Full-plate and 40,000 gp.)

-          B5, Golem Pit:

o    (Door Locked DC 15) The room is pitch black upon entering this room, the keys glow responding to something and in the darkness 8 red eyes appear in the darkness. The keys glow bright enough to light the entire room and there are 2 Golems on either side of the room coming in the players’ direction.

-          B6, Phase Spider Pit:

o    (Door locked DC 15) Same as B5, but instead 32 red eyes in groups of 8. Phase spiders on either side of the room.

-          B7, Staircase to death:

o    Upon passing B5 or B6 the room will react to the teams’ keys and some of the tiles on the floor also light up and begin to form a staircase leading up to a space in the ceiling.

Ruins of Death Floor 2:

-          A1, Top of staircase:

o    There isn’t much in this room, there is a door directly in front of the team with the words do not enter written with what seems like blood. Another door is next to the team as well.

-          A2, Sacrifice chamber:

o    Another symbol responds to the keys presence on the back wall. This time though words appear underneath, “Only the blood of those that built the means to contain death can unlock unseen paths” (Players must put their blood on the symbol to unlock doors from A2 to A7, A2 to A4 and A7 to A5.)

-          A3, Colossal Guard Room:

o    The room is massive and around 100 yards in length with a ceiling that no character can seems to find. 2 colossal monsters begin to whir nearby and begin to try stopping anyone that enters the room.

-          A4, Burial Chamber 3:

o    Along each side of the room there are slabs in the wall with the bones of dead beings in each slab. A plaque reads “May all that sacrificed their lives to contain death rest in peace.”

-          A5, Burial Chamber 4:

o    Same as above

-          A6, Death’s Container:

o    As the team enters, they immediately know where the noise came from as a humongous creature rises up into the air as if to greet the team. The figure looks almost angelic as it floats but dread overwhelms the team as the figure begins to attack the team.

-          A7, Container for the Whips of Death:

o    A large chest with multiple versions of the symbol the characters have seen throughout the building. The chest seems to react to the keys as well and the top begins to slide open. Two snake looking things arise and probe the characters telepathically to see who is worthy of the Death Whips of the Unknown. (Decide and show the key to players, will grab a player and then the whips are soulbound to that character.)

#dnd #dnd 3.5e #d&d #d&d 3.5e #d&d star trek #star trek

[indelible-eyes-blog]

The Sorrows of Sarafina Ember

    I have been everywhere and seen everything, met very important people and had made a name for myself; but the only thing that comes to mind when i try to recollect my past life, only your tender, loving face shows up. now i just think of the pain that it once caused me, still causes me today.     I am going to tell you about my life, everything that needs to be poured out, so I do not forget what it was like to be human once I die. I am human, but this i will tell you, for i have have been reborn to tell the tale of my life. My mother named me Sarafina, and we lived outside the village in the Shadow Realm. I don’t remember any childhood memories but one: we were in a field of wild sunflowers and I was crying because I Had lost my mother as we walked through the forest. it was beginning to rain as i saw her face come up from the incline of the hill, her face full of dark stars and green moons. the storm immediately stopped as she scooped me up in her arms and carried me away. we lived in abandoned castle not too far from the village, though i cannot recall what the name is, it was my home. our home. my mother and i were different from the townspeople. my mother was able to control the storms in the sky and the plants on the Earth. i always envied her because all i could do was destruction with flames. my mother taught me i was meant to protect, not to destroy, that even the mighty Phoenix can create new life after it destroys it. as i grew, soldiers were sent in for a reason i do not know but their camp was near our house; i had become curious of them. and also i grew my wins, which was rare because only goddesses could possess wings. my mother didn't know what to do as my abilities only grew, my temper and emotions strong and violent. i almost burned down the forest as we practiced! the soldiers would always peek at me, that would make me shoot flames near their tents as they scurried away, but sometimes i could feel someone lurk behind, like the eyes still glaring at me; what was so fascinating? the soldiers would ask my mother for potions and posses the swords as i would practice to fly, and boy did i fly. that's when i didn't care to be watched. as i landed on the ground hard and it would crack, i loved the fear and amazement in their eyes. but that all changed very soon. I became terribly sick and i didn't know why. moy mother, an expert healer, didn't know what was happening to me either, but she tried her best. along with the pain for years, the voices had come; louder and louder than anything that anyone can imagine. slowly and surely, they lead me out into the forest. I was tired of giving into these demons inside me that were feeding on my humanity and love. I burst into flames, my wings spread out and my eyes with a fiery hate, the trees were burning, everything was burning. all i felt at the moment was absolute bliss and harmony as i lifted myself up into the air and as i looked down at the increasing blaze, the energy was unlimited. as i screamed in happiness and ecstasy, it went all black.     IN the dark, i felt within and without of myself. all at once, i felt like i was everything the universe had needed; but also i feel like i was a blimp in the universe, even in the entire realm. but i was falling, falling. and i could stop.     I woke up screaming from a cot in the camp of soldiers, all of them outside of the tent glaring at me, but pretending not to look. i glanced around to see a healer or three, but none of my mother; i started to panic because the realization that i had killed my own mother out of everything made me throw up, fighting off anyone who had to get in my way.     Outside of the tent, i was surrounded by endless destruction, the death of limp naked trees were only a few, everything was so grey and this divulged the beast in the middle, where a ring of black soot remained. i went there, where i wept for my mother, for the things i have killed every good thing about myself, selfish.     a hand laid on my shoulder, then arms have enveloped me into a embrace. no matter how hard i fought them, i knew they held me tighter from the damages i had done not only to this forest, but to the entire village.. because of me.. i looked up to see a face of softness and tenderness, wiping away my tears with a single finger. he had the softest brown eyes i had ever seen in my life and i wanted him to hold me because i missed my mother.         i had stayed in the aftermath of the destruction for only a while longer, still half hoping i find my mother in the ash heaps. but i was relinquished from the search as the man that held me offered me a room in his kingdom. since i had nowhere else to go, everything i had touched was destroyed by my reckless abandonment, i couldn't refuse and offer.     i don't remember the journey there, only that the mountains and ancient ruins made me feel holy and sick at the same time. i remembered my mother creating love potions, but also reminding me that true love is the best medicine or magic we have. and that's the one thing no can posses but within ourselves. I look over casually at the man who held me, who had watched me from afar and it made me sad, for i don't think i could love anyone without putting them in danger. When we got there, there was plenty of guards and they all feared him in some capacity, which made me shiver. I didn't realize he wasn't just a soldier, but a general, owning himself a large kingdom. he walked me through everything , including the vast library and the dining area, where i was welcome to do that and anything else i might need. my stay felt staged, but i couldn't keep out the voices again, after everything that had happened with the village. i always got feedback from them, but it always made me sad. so i retreated back into the books in the library, where i had spent most of my days. the words filled me with a warmth that i don't think anyone can give me anymore. there i had met a man named Helix. he was dashing and playful, but i wasn't in the mood for games. he always showed me new books and made me feel wanted again, but somehow it wasn't enough. sometimes i would go on these walks, the grounds were beautiful. there was always this willow tree that reminded me of my mother's hair, how wavy and rebellious it always was. there i would gander at all of the beautiful roses and flowers, and the water garden where i would play with the water faeries. my mother said that water faeries were like angels submerged in water. the  i began to weep. a man then walked up to me in all armor, asking me if i was okay. when i look back uo at his face, he had sandy  hair and smiling eyes as he helped me to my feet and back to my room, where i learned his name was jack. but i didn't get to see him much, other than roaming around on the grounds outside and watches out for me. I never got to see the man that had rescued me from my own destruction, he was on war trips and i wanted to help him. i was tired of being cooped up in this polac for so long. he would come back for a few days, only to be shipped out again. that's when  i decided to see him. but he pushed me aside and called me a child; i started training hard.     training with Helix helped me unlock other regions in my brain that i never thought would happen. He taught me how not control, but to embrace it where i had not feared my powers on the site where i burned down an entire forest. he told me he had watched me from that camp sight and he never saw anything that beautiful before. he touched ,my chest and said i shouldn't be afraid of myself. so i didn't. i was able to embrace them, then they were under control, but we both rule the court of my mind. finally i could prove i wasn't as useless as he thought. as i went to him that afternoon, he had a woman in there, which i didn't care about at first nut as soon as she touched his arm, i kinda blew up. i asked why she was allowed in battle than i can, yelling at him that i wasn't helpless and i can help protect the troops. but all he did was say i'll kill everyone because he saw i loved the power and how i embracing it was a bad thing. i couldn't believe him! after all the training i had been through, i should’ve burned his precious battle plans. later on i didn't speak to him for a while. i didn't care about his mistress or anything that contained him. i focused onto the reading of battle plans and potions, training with Helix and CAsual walks with Jack, when he wasn't too busy. all of them had duties, but somehow they had made time for me in their busy lives, while i was stuck here, withering away. I felt myself being drawn to the man that held me though, despite all that i had said; it was this yearning inside me that ached, no craved for his touch. but with all this going on, this didn't keep out the yearning if the beasts inside of me. at night once, they were eating at my heart, i was screaming and screaming and i felt like no one could here me, i was so alone. the beasts gained a physical form as they craved my powers of destruction, but they were doing such a great job at destroying my mentality, they didn't need it. but they were killing me. i was getting angry but i knew i would blow up the room was in so i just let them try to eat me away. for the days, they were still eating at me, but they were just gnawing on what humanity i had. i would stay in bed for what seemed like days was really weeks,and people were getting worried about me. but no one ever dared come into the room except Helix, who read me stories  and fed me soup, after i would throw it up. he caressed my face, but he had known there was a demon inside of me that seek powers of extraordinary powers, and found me. i threw up in his lap. at night, i couldn't handle it anymore. i felt defenseless as i was about to give up, i could feel myself slipping in and out of life and death, like i was being toyed with. as i closed my eyes for what seemed like the last time, i saw my mother smiling at me, saying i was not ready. then i could hear a door slam open, and the man with soft slayed the demon inside of me, almost ripping me in half if it wasn't for the fact that i was immortal in that moment. as i tried to stand up, i fell back down, but into his arms instead. he caressed my face and cheeks, making sure i was warm as the color was restored to my face. i almost confused him as Helix but i felt so good, because i kissed his lips with an absent mind and then everything went black. i went back to reading with Helix and walking with Jack. I asked them where they were when Shade slayed the demons inside me. JAck was on a mission that night and a few nights before. Helix wouldn't answer me, just muttering how it was his fault. i gave his hand a squeeze and assured him i was fine, no matter where he was. the uneasiness of his brow gave me a worried thought all day. SHade sooner or later stopped seeing the woman and started talking to me, making sure i know he was there at my worst of times; i hated that about him. he would escort me anywhere for the past few months, where we talked about everything under the sun, i didn't realize how i connected with him so well. but i was afraid that if i fell for him and his heart and soul, i will end up destroying him in the end. later that night, he had proposed to me, handing me a black diamond ring on my ring finger. i guess i wanted him in a sense i wanted to protect him, but i couldn't help falling deeply and indelibly in love with him. we went on many battles, fought together, laughed together, made love together and breathed together. there was not a day that went by that i didn't have a thought of him, knowing i'm glad he had saved me from my own destruction. the battles kept me sane, for i could use my fire to bring peace and tranquility. i would go back to the sites and see a new life growing back out of that destruction. we were inseparable. for i was the goddess of rebirth but i could never remember what he was, only he carried shadows with him and dark overcast hanging from his furrowed brow. after what seemed like decades instead of two years, we were under attack by a group called the Force. it was a mysterious group that originated from the west of the realm, killing off the first and last child borns. thats where you are given powers, if you are the first born and last, you posses certain abilities and abilities at all. they were being slaughter by this cla. shade and i tried to track them down for six months, waiting and waiting till they reached us, where we were faced with not a militia, but a whole fleet and two armies ; we were outnumbered. but as soon as we thought we had the upper hand, shade had gotten captured by the leader of the clan with a hideous scar. i could not recollect his name, or the origins of the story, but i knew he was going to kill Shade if i didn’t do something. so i closed my eyes, letting my wings lift me up from the ground slightly, my wings spread all the way open as i felt something from my chest being lifted and into the palm of my hands. i could hear Shade screaming NO PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME. but i wasn’t listening to his pleads. the Force were slaughtering our children and the only thing i could do, is put them to sleep. i could feel everyone of their souls falling asleep, the leader of the clan tried to kill me, but as soon as he started to penetrate my filed, he went to ash. then everything went dark for a long long time… I had awoke to the sound of your voice bringing me back, for i had been asleep for a long time, almost 5,000 years. MOdern day. Born into another family. I didn't recognize who i was until i was about 12 when i realized who i was n=before. my heart and soul into another body, oh how i missed my body. but my abilities were far from short. soon after i found you through you poems. we had talkerd and talked and talked but after a while, the modern of our world drove us apart; that and distant. you said i was too much to handle and for years on, i wept and wept and wept. for all this time and for all that, you gave me a name Ember. you halfway made me and also my mother, how i missed her and how i missed your touch, voice, kiss, taste, love, sex. everything. now, i will be alone to suffer on this wretched realm. in this world, i will suffer and endure as much as i can until i spontaneously combust. for i was not destined for anything but destruction. i could not find the creation my mother was talking about in those fields. memories flood back to Shade, and how safe he had made me, and now how i curse him because of how happy he is now, found a way to replace me. i curse the day i let those demons get to me because then i killed all the yellow flowers inside of my mother.. writing bring me peace and brings me sorrow. so this is where as far as the story goes.

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[boundless-voyage-blog]

A Templar is never alone. (Short story, if you can call it that.)

The voice(s) calmed down once he entered the cave, it was as if someone was watching his every move.

Fhoruth remained silent, scrounging through the cave he awoke in earlier. 

Bits and pieces of Protoss technology laid about, broken under the collapsed cave walls. Stalagmites grew from the floor, engulfing the remains of a probe, and some of the warpgate Fhoruth was rescued from. 

Fhoruth paused to hear the slow dripping of water from within the caves..It was peaceful in here...so different than the rocking battles outside.

Turning his attention to the pylon which saved him, he knelt by its shattered remains. The crystal which powered the line of warp-gates by his side had been split apart, several smaller shards now lined the cave walls, and some were buried within the rocky ground.

He clasped a small crystal in his hands. It still bled with energy, even after all this time. He found it inspiring, how such a small thing held so much power.

He ran his left thumb against it, finding comfort in the smooth crystal rubbing against his calloused hands. He scanned the caves, finding that one of the gateways somehow clipped through one of the cave walls.

He felt something in the back of his head, the little whisper calling to him through the caves. With a squint, he slowly moved toward the wall the gateway clipped through. Touching it with his hand, he found that his hand went straight through the wall. It was an illusion...which confirmed some of his suspicions. 

He kept his hand outstretched, slowly going through the wall.

Dark, so dark. He could not see through the thick shadows. Raising his right arm in front of his head and closing his fist, a psionic blade flickered to life. It burnt bright and danced like a flame, a flame which seemed in capable of penetrating the darkness here.

This darkness was almost supernatural, it seemed to choke out any light that entered, it moved like a beast, cutting a path toward a small hole in the back, which was sealed with columns. 

Fhoruth felt a small amount of guilt as he cut through the thousand year old stone to reach the exit. What he saw was worth the destruction.

“An airfield? Here?” He said aloud with a tone of glee.

He ran toward the vehicles, old and new--ish. Phoenixes surrounded a sleeping behemoth, a Carrier. It seemed that the entirety of this mountain was an illusion, a false face to hide this base. Pylons spun end on end, powering the ships and the illusion-field...which raised several questions...for Fhoruth

Such as, “Why can’t I sense any of my brethren in there?” and “How has this all been untouched for centuries?” oh, and of course: “How did we get here?”

Approaching the giant of a vessel, he took in a deep breath through his skin. His hand slowly touched the cold metal exterior of the ship. 

Fear rode up his spine. Would he find the corpses of his brothers and sisters in there? An infestation, perhaps?

Ah--that was no way to think. If there was an infestation, the Humans he just assisted would’ve done something called an Exterminatus to the planet. 

“Well, Zerashk Gulida...” Fhoruth spoke to himself, entering the seemingly abandoned Carrier with hesitation. 

It was dimly lit inside, at first. His arrival within the Carrier caused the vessel to recognize that a Protoss was awake, causing the lights to slowly illuminate the ornate interior of the vessel. It was untouched, no dust over the consoles, no signs of damage...which eased his fears, somewhat.

He would use this vessel to search the stars for his brethren, if possible. 

But he had priorities, such as seeing if he was alone on this vessel.

The voice he heard a few minutes prior, its whispers were now silenced. Against his ‘gut’ feeling, he let out a short and simple telepathic message: “Is anyone there?”

If his memory served him, these Carriers held Stasis chambers for long voyages supposedly, there was a stasis hold on each deck. 

He began to wander about, heading to the closest door to his right. An engine room, long abandoned, yet still capable of propelling them into the atmosphere, and across the universe in a matter of hours.

He had only been on one of these Carrier’s once, and that trip lasted only a few months. The majority of the time which he spent in Stasis himself. His teachings taught of the older model Carriers, this one was newer, faster. And somewhat larger than previous models.

He continued to wander, heading from the engines to a elevator nearby. He took one last glance at the engines, what a marvel of engineering...

The sound of a door opening up behind him caught his attention, as he turned to see whom was there, he caught a glimpse of a short-cut nerve cord and tiny feet.

“Tiny feet?” He thought of what that could mean, furrowing his brows as he thought of creatures with small feet. His eyes shot toward the corridor, suddenly he realized what it was.

“A Child!” He shouted, running after the Child as fast as he could.

His footsteps were heavy, the clacking of his ruined armor and the flapping his cloak alarmed everyone of his being there. Not to mention his shouting.

“Wait, Child!” He again shouted, following the small footed Protoss youngling all the way to a lower-level hangar.

The door ahead closed swiftly, Fhoruth approached cautiously. He now felt the psychic presence of a few hundred Protoss on several sections of the ship, with only a few of them asleep.

“Oh--” He muttered to himself, looking past the hangar. There was a powerful presence here, similar to his. Perhaps another High Templar?

Opening the door, he was met by the gazes of several dozens of Protoss. Their armor shined brightly, polished to the point that it appeared to have just recently been made.

Several pylons spun in this section of the Hangar, it held no vehicles outside of the small Interceptors, which hung from the ceiling. It seemed a great majority of the Protoss on board had gathered into this section of the ship.

He stood out like a sore thumb, broken armor, torn clothing and blood splatters on his attire and face. He could feel them clambering into his mind, trying to find whom he was, why he was here. He at first thought this was the research team he was guarding some days back, but it seemed that they disappeared. These men and women were different than the researchers, with their only true similarity being that they were Daelaam. 

Fhoruth walked toward the strong psychic presence. Zealots moved out of his way, with one of them pointing to a elevator in the middle of the hangar.

“En Taro Zeratul!” Shouted several Zealots, both male and female, their mental voices booming with pride as their hands smacked against their armored chests.

“En Taro Zeratul.” He spoke calmly to the crowd as he made his way past them. It seemed he was welcomed here, or so he assumed, seeing as he hadn’t been stabbed or put on trial yet.

He was told to wait with the rest of the Templar, the elevator doors opened, revealing a High Templar, much like Fhoruth, she held a astounding grasp on physic powers, but unlike him, she wore heavy armor while he wore cloth.

“En Taro Zeratul, High Templar.” She spoke with a commanding tone, her voice carrying an odd strength with it.

“So you know of me?” Fhoruth placed his hands behind his back and cocked his head to the right as she spoke. He wasn’t sure if this was some form of illusion or perhaps--a mental ploy from some scheming agent of Chaos.

Yet, her commanding voice and strong mental presence was rather incredible, he assumed her, and this entire crew to be real.

“Only by your records; we thought you dead--until we saw the gateways nearby. You were the last one we were able to pull out, the rest have already joined our ranks.”

“I see.” Fhoruth’s response was short, his arms crossed over his chest, with his left hand moving to clasp his chin.

“I’ll get right to the point, you’ve been in many battles, seen many world and killed many foes. I require you in my council.”

“So you want an Adviser?” 

“Yes, and a relations expert. You’ve already made strives with these--Terrans. Perhaps you could help with the other races we’ve discovered.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

#/. Into the breach.