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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 3 years

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Of Ice and Blood

Part 7

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Fem!Human/Reader)

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Violence, brief mention of attempted rape (minor character)

Tai'chi gently lets go of your hand as the two of you approached the building entrance, students filing out of the rooms, chattering as they made their way to their next class.

As much as you want to feel the warmth of his hand as he held yours, both of you didn't want to risk any more brash acts, having enough of what had happened in less than a day.

You are tired.

One more jerk approaching you with a snide, insulting remark will send you off into a frenzy of kicking everybody's ass. Your father always scolded you for this, lecturing you about the importance of training your self-control, to not let your temper get the best of you.

Come to think of it, if Tai'chi hadn't stopped you earlier, you would've lashed out at David without a second thought, which will then put you in a bad position, making everything far more complicated.

Worst case, they would have expelled you right away.

Self-control, huh. Should've listened to Papa and worked more on it.

You weren't paying much attention to where you were going as you walked through the slightly crowded halls. You let out an "oomph" as you bumped into someone's...arm?

Your apology didn't make its way out of your mouth as a tall, blonde elf, snapped.

"Watch it, human."

The elf gave an irritant side glance as they passed, looking down at you, literally. Like most elven kind, they were slightly taller than the average human. You scented them, subtle, taking in a smell that confused you. The usual sourness is there, but mixed with something sweet? Perhaps the elf was not a bad person after all. Sweet scents from your experience were good.

Kind, even.

"I'm sorry!" You called out, with enough volume, so they could hear you. Your apology was genuine, with a small smile hidden behind your mask. All you got was a 'hmp' in return.

Hey, at least they heard you. You really didn't mean to bump into them, maybe they didn't see you, in regards of your height.

Which wasn't much.

You turned to Tai'chi, and as always, he was watching you, his gaze soft, his face neutral, but you caught a small tug of his lips before it goes back to his previous expression as you went to your class.

Once you stepped inside, you subconsciously looked for vacant seats in the back. Luckily, there were still a few students when you arrived, the pink pixie and the lizard person catching your attention first. You waved as you pass by where they sat. The pixie waved back, seemingly cheerful with your greeting. The lizard person beside her, however, only gave you a curious eye.

You took your seat, Tai'chi following suit and took his beside you, the chair slightly creaking under his weight. You held your breath, releasing it after a moment when the chair didn't break. Tai'chi hummed in amusement.

A moment later, an old, white-haired man entered, followed by a couple of students in your class. He wore a light grey undershirt, a black vest with a red tie, matching black slacks and shoes, along with square-rimmed glasses.

You didn't see him in the office earlier so you have no idea what he's like.

"Good afternoon, students." The teacher began as he wrote on the blackboard. The class responded to his greeting before he continued with his aged voice. "I am Professor Hurton Flemming. I will be the one teaching you your General Mathematics. We will be..."

You listened to Professor Flemming as he briefed the class on what you will be tackling in his subject for your freshmen year.

"Please raise your hand if your name is called. I would like to know the names and faces of my students under my care this year." He took out what looked like a journal and started calling your names.

Turns out, the girl who shoved you this morning was Tiffany Morai. She did sound and act like a Tiffany, like a bitch.

No offense to the other Tiffanies out there.

Lilia Fontaine, the pink pixie. Her name suits her cheerful and bright personality just from her scent when you passed by. She smelled like an assortment of flowers. You weren't good with figuring out their names but you could hint marigolds, which was abundant where you were from.

The lizardperson, Eznet Novak, you found out right after. You couldn't scent them much, just a whiff of some earthy mineral you didn't know.

You thought back on what Tai'chi had told you in regards of your ability.

I should ask him later.

Eznet seemed apprehensive of you, too. Maybe they don't like humans in particular? Or is it because of your mask? People who wore masks are usually deemed suspicious so it seems.

The blue tiefling and the dwarf from earlier weren't present, you noticed. Perhaps they skipped or went somewhere else, another class maybe.

You looked to your seatmate for help when you missed someone's name. Tai'chi felt your eyes on him and he leaned down for you to whisper.

"What's the elf's name again? I spaced out for a second there," you asked.

"Her name's Arlenre Vinela."

Tai'chi whispered back, tilting his head to your ear. You couldn't help but feel a little shiver run down your spine at his rich voice. You hoped he didn't notice it. You almost forgot the name again.

"T-Thanks."

He huffed out a reply as he sat back in his chair. He briefly gauged your reaction, quite proud when he saw that slight tinge of color on your ear.

The two of you raised your hands in attendance, being the last ones called.

Once the professor was done, he left everyone to use the time left for chit-chat and other things as long as we don't cause problems. He is caring and openminded, you wondered what he's like when teaching actual lessons in class.

Ligh chatter filled the room, some in hushed voices, others in a casual one. You glanced to your right at a group of humans halfway across the large room as you sensed their eyes on you. They grimaced when you saw them and went back to gossip amongst each other.

You try blocking out their scents, letting out a tired sigh when you couldn't, you shut your eyes and attempt to get some rest before anything else happens, resting your head on your arm and desk.

What are the chances that a ball of paper would be thrown in your direction right after?

Pretty high.

The orc saw it flying over and caught it in his fist before it hit you. He shot a glare in their direction, huffing when the students pretended to have nothing to do with the paper.

Tai'chi suspected some worded insult inside, so he chose not to uncrumple it, shoving it inside his pocket instead. He'll throw it once he sees a trash bin on the way out.

You weren't aware of what happened and even if you felt the air move, you wouldn't care much. The day's events were catching up to you slowly, you're pretty sure once you step inside your apartment you'd pass out.

For what seemed like half an eternity later, the bell rang for the last time today.

"...Pearl." You two walked out, Tai'chi slowing down his steps for you as he took notice of your drowsy state.

"Hm...?"

"You are tired."

"Mhm yeah...that I am." You replied, yawning behind your mask. Tai'chi chuckled at this, he found you cute everytime.

"Would you allow me to walk you home?" He offered once the two of you got out of the school building.

You perked up, blinking away rapidly.

"W-walk me home?"

"Yes...? But if you're not comfortable with I unders—"

"No! I mean yes!" you spluttered, "I mean— I-I would like that...you walking me home, Tai'chi." Your little outburst drew some attention, but you were pre-occupied to even bother.

Tai'chi breathed out, "Good. That's good. I would like to talk to you about the, uh, courting, if that's okay with you? If you're exhausted we could talk tomorrow." There was no lie on how your eyes looked, you need to rest.

"Nah, I can pay attention for that," you insisted. "I'd like to know what these courting rituals are, today, so I'll know what to expect...and stuff. I seriously have no idea. I never ever, ever had any...suitors? Yeah, suitors."

Huh, now that you think about your past, you didn't find anyone you were attracted to, much to every other girl's convenience and annoyance when you wouldn't react like them when the "campus sweetheart" walks by, squealing and batting their eyelashes, puffing out their chests and raising their hips. They all acted the same way and you found it confusing why they'd do that, alienating you in the process.

"Not even one?" The orc was secretly baffled and relieved to hear that, but he'd never admit it out loud. Maybe.

"Before you? Hell, there are none. I don't think they know I exist, until I get into a fight with them or if they caught word about my reputation, I guess," you shrugged. "You see, uh, most people don't really like the thought of girls who are strong, and psh...capable of anything else other than being submissive, curvaceous and flirty with those skimpy skirts." You say to him, waving your hand in front of your face. You were out of the gate already, so you head right, Tai'chi an arm's length away to your left.

He grunts as he pondered about how those human men are blind and shallow in their choice of interest. Who would not want a strong woman? One capable of handling herself in undesired situations and protecting others?

The answer to that was obvious.

You remained silent for a while, the rush of vehicles and the buzzing of the city surrounded you as you got lost again in your own thoughts. You saw groups of high school students chatting along as they passed.

Tai'chi would glance at you from time to time, paying attention to your features, your tight braid swaying slightly behind you as you walked, and your hands hidden inside your hoodie. You took a left and crossed the street, and then a right after 8 minutes of walking straight, the area you were currently in was quite deserted in the early evening...

A scent.

You stood still, frozen as your nose caught something faint. Something familiarly bad.

"What's wrong?" Taichi asked, his brows furrowing, concerned as he watched you— why did you stop?

"Tai'chi, do you smell that?"

He inhaled the air around him, catching a whiff of something indecent and awful, he frowned, alarmed when he realized what it was.

Lust and fear.

A distant scream slit through the silence and you bolted.

It took a second for Tai'chi to follow, taking large hurried steps as you ran ahead of him towards the origin of the distress.

When you arrive in a dark dingy alley, you pulled out a pair of nunchucks from your bag, the red and black patterns barely visible in the shadows, your knuckle dusters on your left, fingers gripping them tightly. You saw a young girl, her uniform that of a high school student, similar to the ones earlier. She was held down against a wall by a brawny tattooed arm of a man, his hand slowly trailing up her skirt as the other people with him rummaged her school bag.

"P-Please let me go...!" She begged as she squirmed under his grasp.

"There now, little girl, you and I are gonna have so much fun tonight," he breathed at her neck, humming lustfully as he groped her thighs.

You didn't bother making a sound as you lunged, going for the first one as you whip your weapon and hit the back of his head. This startled him, letting go of the girl in the process as he stumbled back, she only sat there, shocked in place.

"What the fu—" You shut him up with a punch to his gut and another one to his jaw. He drops to the ground, unmoving, you hit him too hard, apparently. Not dead, at least.

You got to caught up on your front that you failed to notice the one behind you.

Shit.

Curse yourself for being such a reckless ass when you're lethargic. You braced yourself for whatever was coming, arms raising up to cover your head defensively.

A second passed but nothing happened, nothing hurt. You opened your eyes when you heard a strangled cry and saw a man, held at his neck against the wall by none other than your orc.

W-Wait he's not my orc!

Tai'chi disarms him and buries the knife into the wall just beside the their face, cracking the concrete in the process. He let out a low growl, reigning the urge to simply snap their neck for trying to hurt you. He glared down at them, the man shaking under his hold, terrified.

Your attention was quickly drawn away by a yell of someone heading for you, seeing a glint of another knife, you dodged as he repeatedly tries to stab. You wrapped the chains of your weapon around his wrist when he swiped, twisting it and making the man scream out in pain. You punched him square in the face, a tooth flying off as he spit blood. He falls down to the ground, just like the previous guy.

You attempt to chase the last one that scampered away. The quiet woosh sounded in the air made you hault. A small brick, you saw, flew over you and it hit the guy right on the head.

Anddd he's out. No, he's not dead. I think.

Tai'chi, (who else would've made that shot?) just saved you the trouble of running again. You doubt you could even reach the guy, you'd pass the fuck out within 50 meters.

You exhaled loudly, your hands on your hips as you let your body come down from another rush of adrenaline.

For like, five goddamn times now. You just can't catch a break today for fuck's sake!

While you were cursing every wicked thing out there, a whimper reached your ears, immediately silencing your thoughts.

Ah, right, the girl.

"P-Please don't h-hurt me." She cried out, her scent was heavy in fear, terrified as she stared at the orc who stood beside a man that lay unconscious at his feet. You ran to her, holding her face in your hands as you force her to look at you. The girl was trembling, her body flinching away when you touched her.

"Shh...shh... It's okay, it's alright, you're safe now. Calm down. Take deep breaths for me okay?" you assured. She nods and does what you say, breathing in and out in repeat until her scent changed slightly, though the fear was still there, her trembling turned into light shivers.

"He's a friend. He will not harm you."

You glanced at the orc, your eyes landing on Tai'chi smiled, which he returned with a small nod.

You helped her stand up and put back her things in the bag. Her phone was still in the area, luckily, the guy must've dropped it when he ran away.

Once that was done, the girl hugged you tight, taking you by surprise. You weren't used to this sort of physical contact, at least in a non-violent way.

"Thank you for saving me. H-How can I repay you, miss?"

"Oh no, no, no need to do that. I only did what was right. Just be careful next time when going home alone okay?"

"I insist, p-please let me repay you!" she pressed and you pulled back to look at her.

"No. Really. It's okay, you're okay now."

"But—"

"How about thanking my friend then?" You motioned to Tai'chi who was leaning his weight against the wall, watching you both silently.

"H-Him?"

"Yes, him. His name is Tai'chi and I'm PearI. I want you to thank him."

"But he's—"

"An orc. Is there a problem with that? No. Now listen here, girl, race doesn't fucking matter." You said as you took her hands and squeezed them. "Everything and everyone has a good and a bad side to them, no matter their kind. Do you remember who attacked you? Humans. Our own flesh and blood. Never judge anyone from what they look like, that and thanking him is enough as your payment."

She stared at you with wide eyes, nodding after a moment when she took in your words. She approached the orc, stopping a few feet away and thanked him, shyly peeking up at his face.

"You're welcome," Tai'chi smiled.

——

Part 8 will be out shortly! The day is not over— and I'm scolding myself for the pacing and I'm sorry...

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bigbraincel · 3 years

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About: Feren

I was tagged by @curiousartemis and learned all about Imryn Dyre! I love this sweet doctor man and I wish him the happiest of endings with Mr. Waterdeep.

Name: Eys’feren Sylvhare

Alias: Feren is a simpler and less regal form of Eys’feren, so Feren’s noble background can remain unknown.

Age: 22

Species: wood-elf

Zodiac: aquarius / aries / cancer / capricorn / gemini / leo / libra / pisces / sagittarius / scorpio / taurus / virgo / unknown (idk if this is applicable to dnd lore but he gives me leo vibes)

Abilities/Talents: Feren is a druid/ranger of middling talent, but has a strong enthusiasm to develop his skills. He talks to animals with ease and tends to thrive in the wilderness, which is where his druidic magic is strongest. He’s a decent cook, knowing how to make a lot out of a little and how to work with what nature provides. This doesn’t mean he’s a stranger to city living, in fact, he’s travelled to many of the cities in Faerûn, getting by on a smile (or sleight of hand). Being able to (talk shit) think on his feet has enabled him to survive many close calls. His skill as an orator enables him to sell artefacts of variable quality in a low-end but cozy shop in Baldur’s Gate. Singing was a common past-time in his clan so he can carry a tune if the mood takes him.

{𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙}

Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

Religion: non-religious, although is partial to Silvanus.

Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

Languages: He can read and write in many Elven languages, but has a habit of mixing them up. Although he can speak common very well, he cannot read or write it. Anything else is unknown to him, beyond a turn of phrase he may have learned in the city slums. He knows pretty much every swear word in all languages though.

Family: His parents lived in an ancient and secluded clan in the starwoods of Cormanthor, bordering the ruined elven city of Myth Drannor. Feren greatly takes after his mother, who was said to have the look of Corellon with her shimmering blonde hair. He was very close to them both when he was little, although they could be distant at times as they bore the responsibility of ruling their clan. Their deaths broke him.

Friends: Feren has no shortage of friends, having known many inhabitants of the Lower City in Baldur’s Gate for many years. Looking deeper, however, reveals that these friendships tend to be quite shallow, as none of them know much about Feren at all -- save for his employer Guffwin Barebones, owner of Guffwin’s Antiques. He’s the closest thing Feren has to a guardian.

Sexual Orientation: heterosexual / bi-/pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

Relationship status: single / dating / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated. (He’s... cautiously receptive to a relationship, but is more comfortable with something casual.)

Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

{𝑃ℎ𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙}

Build: twig / bony / slender / average / athletic / curvy / chubby / obese - I’d say he has kind of a stocky build but he’s still thin; he doesn’t eat much

Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other

Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / very brown / other

Height: 5'4″/162cm

Weight: 120lbs/54kg (i’m bad at visualising height/weight)

Scars: very faint scars on the backs of his thighs.

Facial Features: He is generally considered quite attractive, said to resemble Corellon’s gender ambiguous visage. He has full lips, a heart-shaped face with a sharp jawline. In summer, freckles line his cheeks and the bridge of his slightly upturned nose. His eyes are a deep greenish-blue with full, blond lashes. Despite keeping his hair short, he can never quite tame it, and it usually hangs over his face and ears. Some days he might weave flowers and braid parts of it.

Tattoos: He has no tattoos as he doesn’t want to be easily identifiable, but longs to one day tattoo the intricate markings that were common in his clan.

{𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒}

Dogs or Cats? He loves all animals, but after being raised with dire-wolves he has a deep fondness for canines in particular.

Birds or Nugs? In this case, he would prefer a creature of flight to one of the earth.

Snakes or Spiders? He likes them both but has a strange affection for spiders.

Red or Blue?

Yellow or Green?

Black or White? either ig?? 🤷‍♂️

Coffee or Tea? He’s used to collecting herbs for tea drinking, not to mention coffee makes him a little too jittery.

Ice Cream or Cake? These tend to be luxury foods which Feren hasn’t tasted much in his life, so as soon as he gets a taste, he’s obsessed. Ice cream only wins because he’s fascinated by cold food.

Fruits or Vegetables? He finds vegetables more filling and tends to snack on fruits. His favourite fruit is moon fruit, and not just for the benefits.

Sandwich or Soup?

Magic or Melee? Depends on the setting mostly, but as he gets more powerful he comes to depend on (and enjoy) magic the most.

Sword or Bow? He’s decent with a bow, but he has a deep attachment to his ancestral sword Skallga, descended from the Sylvhare and blessed by Tar’Ael Veluuthra. It was a gift from his mother.

Summer or Winter? He despises winter. He’s spent enough nights on the streets to know its bite. Summer is not just beautiful, to him it is the essence of life itself. He eventually comes to appreciate winter when he finds a stable home.

Spring or Autumn? He’s weary of the months when it starts to get colder. Spring is a lot more of a hopeful time for him.

The Past or The Future? Feren is someone who very much lives in the moment. Most of his life has involved winging it, he’s not great at abiding to firm plans. Secretly though, he is still deeply haunted by his past and most of his future entirely revolves around it in some way. It’s a bit circular at this point. Ahem, @aghxst, @rosewaterhag, @sunflowerwizard, @aredhairedhunter if you guys have any OCs you wanna talk about have at it. ilu guys <3 <3

#oc #oc rambles #writing #bg3 #dnd #feren

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elisende · 3 years

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Predators (1/2)

Characters: Halsin/FOC Rating: M Words: 2655 Long before becoming the first druid of the Emerald Grove, Halsin is a hotheaded, aimless youth struggling to control his anger and alienation. When a mysterious druid saves him from a great bear, he sees a path to another life. Even the High Forest was a lonely place for a wood elf with no kinfolk to speak of--none still living. Most of his kind had left for Evermeet or for the teeming cities of the east. Neither appealed to Halsin.

He roamed the great forest that was his birthright, scavenging what scraps could be found on the edges of the human settlements that encroached, year by year, like some choking vine.

And he grew from adolescent to adult over the twenty winters of his wandering, broadening across the shoulders, shooting up to a height that others seemed to find incredible. The humans around the villages he haunted took to calling him the Tailhleach, “the tall walker,” in their strange tongue. They feared him as some sort of half-man, half-beast, a spirit protector of the forest. The myth was a useful one: it meant he went mostly undisturbed, except when the occasional foolhardy youth took it upon himself to hunt down the beast. But Halsin had his own ways of staying the sword arms and bows of overeager hunters.

These conquests, too, became part of his legend.

Now fully grown, he had become, in a word, complacent. There was nothing in the forest, man or beast, that could challenge him. So he thought, with all the arrogance of the young.

Halsin’s appetites often led him from one part of the forest to the other in search of delicacies: truffles, chestnut honey, blackberries. Today he was foraging for mushrooms: the orange rilled ones so good they could be eaten raw, as soon as they were dusted off. The mushrooms preferred this part of the wood, the wet brambly hillside that was often choked in fog.

Nothing seemed amiss as he scanned the forest floor for their distinctive convex caps.

He was deaf to the crackling of dead leaves, the faint but audible snap of a twig, the rustle of disturbed undergrowth and even the snort of the curious bear as it approached his crouching back.

It was only when the beast’s breath disturbed the hair on Halsin’s head that he whirled around, startling the great bear. For one moment that felt like a century, they stared, nose to nose and eye to eye: elf and bear, locked in the fatal glance of prey and hunter.

Then the bear roared, its fear exploding to rage like dry tinder under lightning’s forked tongue. Halsin was so close that he could see the ridges on the bear’s bright canine teeth, taste its meaty breath. A young bear, he thought stupidly. He began backing away, all the while watching the beast.

The great bear stood on its hind feet and flattened its ears. It made as though to charge but it was only a feint, a test of Halsin’s resolve. He stopped. Anger building alongside his terror, he bellowed at it, swung the slim oaken branch he always carried with him.

But the bear wouldn’t be intimidated. It had no inkling of his fearsome reputation. His rage was only fuel for its own.

It swiped, claws scraping Halsin’s flesh from his hairline down to his left eyebrow. His vision went red and by instinct he swung his club. He only hit the bear by luck, the same luck that had saved his left eye.

It backed away and lowered its head, ears flattened. This would be a true charge and he stood little chance of surviving it, given the bear’s size.

He stood, waiting, in a defensive crouch, holding out his makeshift club, blood pouring down his face. But just as the bear started to charge, a warning growl sounded from the chestnut grove beyond.

Almost comically, the bear quirked its head. The growls continued and the bear moaned in reply, as though in conversation with it.

The rage melted from the beast’s eyes and it pawed the air as an elven woman appeared in the gloom. She lowed at the bear once more and the bear, incredibly, seemed almost to chuckle.

“What are you--”

“He says you’re after his mushrooms again. Whenever you come here, you leave nothing for the others who reside in this wood. He thinks it's rather rude,” the elf said. As she came closer, he saw the crest of Silvanus on her broach. A druid, then.

He laughed incredulously, wiping the blood from his face. “I’m rude? That bear--”

“His name is Sage.”

Halsin paused, collecting his thoughts. The druid was very lovely, as a moonrise over a pine forest is lovely, or a bird of prey on the wing, or the river’s rush after first thaw. Hers was a stark, unadorned beauty. “That bear-- alright, Sage--was about to kill me,” he finally said, failing to keep his voice level. He was still trembling with his fear and anger. The two never could be parted, for him; they were like smoke and flame.

“His kind have been killed for far less,” she said. Her tone was neutral but he could see a warning glint in her amber eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked, his curiosity overtaking his consternation. “There is no Circle for twenty leagues.”

“No indeed,” the druid said. He could tell she did not enjoy speaking of herself; her words took a rote quality. “I’m posted here for a task that has taken me some years, and will take more still to complete.” She tilted her head, looking inquiringly at him. “Like Sage, I’ve also noticed that you claim more than your share from this wood.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

“You are hard to avoid. You trample through the wood like it's your bedchamber.”

He colored ever so slightly when she said the word bedchamber. The bear, Sage, groaned as if in agreement. The druid walked over and patted him on the head, whispering something in his rounded ears. Halsin felt absurdly jealous at the intimacy, even as his wounds began to throb.

As was often the case, he found himself speaking before he knew precisely what he was going to say. He knew only that he was drawn to the druid. “I can help you with your task, whatever it is, if you teach me in exchange. I would like to learn the ways of the druids.”

She didn’t laugh outright, at least. The druid seemed even to consider it. But then, finally, she said: “No, I haven’t the inclination for such an arrangement. I live alone by choice as much as by necessity.”

And without so much as a fare thee well, she vanished back into the wood. Sparing a quick backwards glance at the now mellow bear sniffing the orange mushrooms, Halsin followed.

He trekked for more than half the day until evening fell. The druid doubled back three times and almost lost him half a dozen more but every time he’d managed to find her trail and catch up with her.

Perhaps, he reflected later, she wanted to be found.

He was not so foolhardy as to barge into the tiny hut where the druid lived; he had little doubt the elf could magick him into a fine paste and butter her toast with him, if she so desired. He rested on a fallen log on the patch of green and looked around the darkening glade as he waited for her to emerge.

It was virtually untouched, despite her habitation. In contrast to the human villagers who seemed intent on clearing every tree within the radius of their settlements, the druid’s hut seemed to have emerged spontaneously from the ground, disturbing none of the surrounding environs.

A brook murmured nearby and made sweet music with the evening song of the crepuscular birds. His mind wandered back to the druid and he resumed the game he’d been playing all afternoon as he trailed her, trying to guess her name. She looked to be a high elf of some maturity--perhaps five or even six centuries, old enough for the first lines to appear at the corners of her lovely, fierce eyes. What was she doing here, after all?

It had been long since he’d met such an interesting person--since he’d met anyone he cared to know. The irony that she didn’t wish to know him was bitter, stinging. He dabbed gingerly at the gashes on his brow. They throbbed still but had stopped bleeding, at least.

Smoke rose from her hut and Halsin’s belly cramped with hunger. He had not eaten all day and was out of the deer jerky he usually kept in his hip pouch. And, too, there was hunger of another sort, equally desperate for satisfaction.

Her door finally opened to him, a rectangle of golden light in the gathering dark.

He felt every inch of his six and a half feet when he entered the hut; he was eye level with the rafters and had to crouch to move around the single room. Without comment, the druid pulled a chair from the table--there was only one chair--and extended her arm in invitation.

Halsin sat, inhaling the exquisite scent of the rabbit stew bubbling on the hearth. She did not offer to bind his wounds but bent over him to take a cursory look to ensure there was nothing amiss.

He held his breath as she touched his face with her cool fingers, probing the furrows the Sage’s claws had left in his flesh. He gasped, and not just from the pain. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s touch, even an indifferent one? “Those will scar,” she said simply, then moved back to the hearth.

“Tell me,” he said, watching intently as she ladled the stew into an earthenware bowl. “What is your name?”

The druid glanced up from the hearth. Her amber gaze was intense; he felt his blood heating just from that look. He wanted her so badly that even the distant possibility his desire might be fulfilled quickened his pulse.

“Dalia,” she said. He could never have guessed it.

“‘The edge of dawn,’” he translated from the high elven. A poetic name but one that seemed to suit her. “Pretty. I’m called Halsin.”

She smiled at that. It was not a common name, he imagined, among her folk.

“‘Hazelnut,’” she said, meeting his eyes again as she passed him the bowl. Their fingers brushed and his intake of breath was audible.

“Just ‘hazel,’ in our tongue,” he said, still watching her. She was as captivating as a hawk at prey, even serving soup from a cookpot. He noticed a fading tattoo running along her hairline. Too ornate for druid work. He longed to trace it with his finger. “Where are your people?”

“My Circle resides at the Dancing Falls, on the edge of the Dessarin.” She settled on the hearth to eat her soup. She had a slim figure, neat and athletic and not tall, imposing though she was in presence.

His curiosity warred with his hunger and since he had already been marked as rude, he split the difference and spoke over a mouthful of the glorious stew: rich and silky, it was, tasting of herbs and wild onions and savory meat. It burned his mouth but he did not care. “I meant, your people. Your kith and kin.”

“The druids are my kin now. The creatures and trees of this wood my kith.” She blew carefully on her stew before taking a bite.

Halsin considered this and found the idea not unappealing. The last two decades had been lonely ones and he found himself now relishing even the most adversarial contacts with people. “What do you druids do? Besides live in nature?”

Dalia snorted. “‘Besides live in nature,’ as though it’s some rare sport.”

“Well, isn’t it? Not many choose such a life.”

“You did.”

He stopped eating and looked down at his bowl of half-finished stew, uncertain of how much to reveal. He wanted to tell all, unburden all the secrets of his heart for the sake of sharing them. But even his corroded social skills warned him against that approach. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him. “This life chose me,” he said vehemently, anger rising unbidden. “Not the other way around. My people are dead and gone.”

Dalia’s curved eyebrow registered her skepticism and he felt another flash of annoyance. How dare she imagine she knew his heart better than he?

“You might have traveled to a city, or made a life in one of the villages here. No doubt they would be happy to have your shield and many maidens happy to take you to their beds.”

Halsin choked on his stew and from the corner of his eye caught her faint smile, the glimmer in her keen eyes. She was teasing him for the callow youth that he knew he was, damn her.

When he regained some dignity after his fit of coughing subsided, he said, “You presume, druid. I’m not interested in maidens.” She did not squirm under his stare but merely returned his challenging gaze with her own. He wanted desperately to know what was going on behind those golden eyes. Almost as much as he wanted to throw her onto the straw pallet in the corner and divest her of her robes, to explore her lean body with eyes, hands, and tongue.

“Teach me,” he demanded. He leaned forward in the creaky chair, using his imposing size to loom over her. Like the bear, she wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“You are impetuous and full of anger. And truly, no better than the humans you scorn; for though you live in nature you do not cherish its harmony, only what you can plunder from it."

He opened his mouth to respond in fury--what he would say, he did not know, but certainly something regrettable--but the druid held up her hand, cutting him off with the force of that gesture.

"If you want to become a druid, you will first need to master your own feelings. But nature, much as we druids endeavor to heal it, also has the power to heal us in turn.” She heaved a sigh, as though already regretting her next words. “I can teach you. Perhaps it was meant to be so.”

Halsin’s anger melted into relief so deep the corners of his eyes pricked with tears. His voice was rough when he replied with a terse “Thank you.” Even he had not realized how much he wanted this--needed it. Halsin’s eyes finally rose again to meet Dalia’s. “I swear that your trust in me will not be misplaced.”

She nodded briskly as though they’d concluded a trade. “Well and good. About the other thing….”

“The other thing?” he said densely.

“Of maidens and bedchambers.” She rolled her eyes and he felt a blush creep up his neck.

“Oh. Yes. What about them?” he asked warily.

“I’m not so foolish as to offer my heart to a wood elf but we both have… needs.” Her face was still composed but behind her stiff words he could sense her vulnerability. She, too, was lonely. The idea of her dwelling here alone in the hut for years on end filled him with tenderness in equal measure to his desire for her.

His chair scraped away from the table and he narrowly avoided a collision with the rafter as he sat down beside her to take her face in his hands.

She had an angular jaw to match her aquiline features. Her eyes had little softness in them, even now. She told him what to do next. As their bodies joined by the fire he experienced pleasures he didn’t know existed. Compared to his crude, perfunctory couplings in the wood, they were divine, revelations written in flesh and sighs.

After, they lay together in silence as the fire dwindled and his heart threatened to over-brim with happiness. Rare happiness from the promise of things to come.

#halsin #fanfiction #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 Halsin #halsin/ofc

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Male changeling fae (Mhorrin) x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So some of you have waited over a year for Mhorrin’s story. I promised someone a long time ago that Mhorrin’s reader would be male, but mostly (as always really with my readers), they’re fairly neutral except for the odd pronoun or body part...

I really hope you enjoy this one - it’s one of my favourites I think, and Mhorrin is a sweetheart who deserves some love. I had a lovely patron who wanted to commission me to write his story, and when I said that a long time ago I'd promised Mhorrin a male reader, they said that was fine, so here it is! I'm pretty proud of this one, and I really hope you enjoy it.

There’s a fight with a big spider at one point, so arachnophobes might not like that bit so much, and a few descriptions of injury, but not life-threatening, and not to the reader. Also Bridget likes to curse a bit. I like Bridget. :)

Wordcount: 10,064

---

Why was it always bloody raining in these parts? Sheets of drenching grey drizzle drifted across the landscape from a low, oppressive sky, and the thick canopy of trees barely offered any real shelter. Heavy drops spattered down from above with almost the force of falling acorns, and sent the decaying leaf mould leaping and scattering.

Kicking idly at a fallen branch that lay across your path, you scowled as you tramped onwards through another patch of quagmire. Apparently there had once been a half-decent road winding its way between the huge trunks of ancient trees, their bark smothered with thick moss and laced with lichens, branches dripping with ferns and orchids, but now it was little more than a muddy ribbon rutted with potholes and puddles. Ahead and to your right, you could just glimpse the wide, lazy river sliding along between slick, muddy banks just to the south of the approaching town, and you turned your leather collar up further to ward off the fat drops which plummeted from the canopy overhead.

A collection of wooden houses with patchy thatched roofs, composed more of moss than reed, huddled miserably outside the colossal stones of the town’s wall, but hardly anyone was about in this weather. Even the chickens had given up their scratching in the mud. A huge, dark minotaur ducked briefly out of a doorway and glowered up at the small shred of grey sky visible between the branches before grunting something in disgust and slamming the door shut, leaving you to make your solitary way towards the wooden gates of the town. The pair of human guards barely even seemed to notice you as you struggled through the sludge towards them.

Inside the town walls the place was hardly any cheerier or more welcoming than outside. Despite the rain, however, there were a few vendors standing beneath ragged canvases, hawking their wares to those who scuttled by searching for shelter not trinkets, and in the distance a smith’s hammer could be heard ringing on iron. Other towns you’d passed through had bustled with life but this place seemed to be made up almost entirely of humans; any non-humans you saw were scowled at in a way that made you jumpy and wary. There wasn’t a pleasant feeling to this place at all.

A dwarf stumped past you with eyes focused firmly on the distance, heading towards the blacksmith’s, but as you pushed open the door of the first inn you came to, you saw a massive orc behind the bar which reassured you somehow.

The orc nodded at you as you approached and grunted, “Keep your weapons sheathed in here, human, you’re welcome to drink. What can I get you?”

“An ale,” you said, “And a bath.”

“The house ale is a copper,” he said. “The bath is six.”

Too tired and foot-sore to haggle, you nodded.

“Drink up, and I’ll have the bath drawn for you,” the orc grinned, clearly noticing the weariness soaking through your body now that you’d stopped walking. He was huge, with arms easily twice as big as your thighs, and one of his thick tusks had been cracked off, but his yellow-eyed gaze was friendly enough and he waved over a curvy human woman who greeted him with a kiss before letting him speak, which he did with a fond chuckle.

You took yourself off to a quiet corner of the nearly-empty inn, and groaned noisily as you eased your sore shoulders out of the travel pack and your wet leather and mail jerkin. You’d been wearing it for nearly a month solid as you’d moved steadily west in search of… something. Sure, you needed the work, but you could have joined the army if it was steady pay and a meal in your belly that you’d truly been looking for. Your journey had been about something more than that though. Shivering slightly as you sank onto the cool wood of the corner bench, you wondered if perhaps you’d find whatever it was that you were lacking here, in this formerly-prosperous trading town on the banks of a silted up river.

Somehow you doubted it.

Once you’d bathed and changed into the last of your relatively clean clothes, you returned to the bar and asked the orc if he knew of any employment for a young man of considerable skill with a bow and blade, though you didn’t own the former currently. The orc eyed you up and down, clearly getting the measure of you, and then shrugged. “There’s a bunch of mercenaries in the outer buildings,” he said, jutting his heavy jaw towards the direction of the huts outside the walls of the town. “Five of them: a big human woman, elven twins, a minotaur, and… something else. Not sure what he is. Only met them all the once, you see. Still, they might take you on if you’re any good.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I can ask at any rate.”

The rain had miraculously eased up just a little but you still donned your trusty - and now probably a little rusty - mail and leather jerkin once again, and headed out in search of the group. You’d arranged to leave your pack in the care of the orc at the inn for the moment, in case the mercenaries weren’t looking for another blade for hire.

It didn't take you long to find them. With the cessation of the rain, folks had started to emerge from the huts you’d passed on your way in, and outside the one where you’d seen the minotaur, you found two elves, a tall, beautiful woman with short chestnut hair and a scar across her lips, and the one the orc had called ‘something else’. It was immediately obvious why he’d said as much; the creature gave off a strange, almost otherworldly feeling that sent shivers down your spine if you looked at him too long.

He stood tall at over six foot, with a hunched, misshapen back over which he had draped a long leather cloak that came down almost to the mud of the road. He appeared to have the legs of an animal with long, black claws that flexed as he stood there, though his skin was hairless and an odd, almost slate coloured blue-grey. His hands, you saw as he reached to pass one of his companions their travel pack, were mottled with paler grey and he had two thumbs and long, strong-looking fingers. Covering his elongated - perhaps canine? - face was a carved wooden mask, and his hair was black as an oil slick; long, plaited, and falling to his waist.

The minotaur was nowhere to be seen now.

Approaching with your palms open and empty, showing no threat, you called out to them, “Hey, you guys are a mercenary group, right?”

The elves looked up as one and nodded, but it was the human woman who answered. By the gods she was muscular, and you didn't mind admitting that she was more than a little intimidating. “Why, you got a job for us?” she asked, looking you up and down in the same way the orc had. You where more lithe than muscular yourself, but years on the road had made you lean and solid in a way that other warriors and fighters usually weren’t. Not that you didn’t have your softer areas too though.

“Actually,” you smiled, “I’m hoping you’ve got a job for me. Any chance you’re looking to take on an extra blade?”

She glared at the sword on your hip and pouted, unimpressed, one eyebrow sailing high and placing one hand on her hip before looking at the other two, who shrugged. Somehow it seemed like an encouraging kind of shrug, and you nibbled your chapped lip while you waited for her to answer.

“Alright,” she said with a beautifully feral grin. “If you can best me with a blade, we’ll see about taking you on for a contract or two.”

That hadn’t been quite what you’d expected, but you supposed she had a point. “What are the terms of the fight?” you asked, rolling your shoulders out. You suddenly felt very grateful for the good work that the heat of the bath had done to ease out the stiffness from hauling your travel pack around.

“First to draw blood wins,” she said. “No intent to kill, maim, or seriously injure. We’re doing it properly, but this is sparring only.”

You nodded and drew steel. “Agreed.”

She grinned and her honey coloured eyes lit up as the two of you began to spar. She was strong but slower than you, and the two of you danced, circling each other in the mud of the street while the twins and the strange, silent one looked on from the shelter of the dripping eaves of the nearest hut.

In the end, you beat her with a well timed dart to the upper arm, but only just, and she sheathed her huge two-hander and held out her gauntleted hand to you, ignoring the small ooze of blood through her shirt sleeve. “Welcome. Name’s Bridget,” she said as she nearly crushed your hand in her fingers, making you rather wheeze your own name as you introduced yourself. “These two idiots are Elduin and Luirlan -” the two elves grinned and held out their hands.

Their palms were as rough and callused as your own, indicating that they preferred blade to bow - unusual for their kind, but not unheard of - and they had both cropped their brown hair short along one side, revealing their tapering ears. Luirlan had a scar through one eyebrow and a notch missing from the tip of his left ear, and Elduin had a leaf and vine tattoo that ran up his neck and onto his scalp, but other than that, they were utterly identical.

Bridget went on to say that the minotaur was named Ned, but he’d gone to have a nap ‘like a fucking old man’ and had therefore missed all the excitement - “His loss,” she grinned - and the final member of their group she introduced as Mhorrin. The figure, swathed in his heavy leather cloak, simply nodded without approaching, bowing his mysteriously masked head before turning away and returning his attention to repacking his bag.

Swallowing, you hoped that the others would balance out the relative creepiness of Mhorrin, and that you hadn’t made a mistake in joining them. Still, it had to be better than going it alone anyway.

Just after sunrise the next day, you joined them at the city gates, and the small mercenary company moved on in search of new work. Ned quickly found a contract about seven miles further west along the road. The job involved eradicating a small nest of demon-spawn that had been terrorising travellers along the King’s Road, eating them and disembowelling everyone they came across.

The nest was apparently located a short distance back from the road towards some mineral springs, and the elves and Ned soon tracked it down to a dank hollow between two huge sycamore trees. You and Bridget stalked closer, while Mhorrin drew his huge, cruel bow from his stooped back and hung a little way behind on the lip of the dell with an arrow nocked, flights to cheek, ready to loose. The strength in his wiry arms must have been prodigious because he never shook or trembled. Only a few days ago you’d seen him hunting rabbits with unfaltering accuracy, so you weren’t surprised when he aimed a deadly pine arrow straight past Ned’s ear, sinking it deep into the chitinous plating of the first creature to emerge from its festering burrow in the ground. The creature was dead before it had gone a single pace from the entrance.

The demon-spawn were vile, spewing acid and darting forwards to lash out with their serrated claws, but you and Ned cornered the second, while the twins finished of a third, and Bridget hacked another to pieces under a rain of arrows from Mhorrin. You’d just lowered your sword, the steel dripping with the viscera and slime from your own kill, your arm stinging from a light spattering of acid, when you saw one last demon-spawn scuttling down the rough surface of a tree behind Mhorrin.

“Mhorrin! Above you on that sycamore!” you yelled, and he ducked and rolled out of the way just in time for you to hurl your long belt knife at it, striking it in the chest and pinning it to the bark like a three foot long, toxic beetle in a gruesome collection. The creature’s stinger had missed him by inches and still hung in the space where his head had been, dripping onto the forest floor.

“Thank you,” he murmured, checking that the curved, wooden mask was still in place with his odd, grey-skinned, twin-thumbed hand. It was a graceful hand, with long fingers that spoke of strength and cleverness as well as the calm control of a bowman, and you stared at it for a moment longer while he listened carefully to the forest around you.

“Phew,” Bridget grunted from not far away, wiping her own zweihänder on a clump of thick grass at the base of an oak tree. “Think that’s the last of them. Those were some freaky motherfuckers… Everyone alright?”

“Yeah,” came the reply from Ned and the twins. You were a little breathless and a bit scuffed, but otherwise ok, and Mhorrin only nodded.

“You want to check out the thermal springs that these fuckers have stopped everyone visiting?” Bridget asked with a playful glint in her hazel eyes. “We’ll have it to ourselves before the hoards start moving back in!”

Everyone agreed, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and once you’d torched and sealed the nests and burrows, the troop moved off through the trees to the nearby springs.

While Ned practically bombed his way in, sending hot water splashing everywhere, closely followed by Bridget in just her underwear and chest wrappings, the twins were a little more demure, and you followed last. The water was deliciously warm, though it smelled quite pungently of minerals, and you groaned as you lay back and ducked your head under the water, washing out the sweat and grime from the fight. Mhorrin, it turned out, had no intention of bathing with everyone, and only washed his hands and feet carefully in the edge of the shallowest pond before retreating to a quiet rock a little way off.

As Ned resurfaced, huffing and blowing spray like a buffalo, you shot Mhorrin a curious look as his figure retreated, and asked Ned in a hushed whisper, “So… uh, what’s the deal with Mhorrin? I’ve been with you a week and he’s hardly said a word…”

“Keeps himself to himself mostly,” the gregarious minotaur shrugged. His thick, black hair was already curling wildly, and he had drops like diamonds on his thick eyelashes. “You got any more questions though, I suggest you ask him.”

“Fair enough,” you said. Of course, his answer had done nothing to quell the curiosity that was quickly blossoming inside you. Swathed constantly in that thick, leather coat, careful with all his movements, masked and distinctly ‘different’, Mhorrin was a mystery to you. While you weren’t generally one to pry, you couldn’t help the desire to get to know him at least, but it seemed that the strange being - you didn’t even know what he was - kept his cards tight to his chest.

As you swam across the deep pond, however, you rolled over and noticed that Mhorrin’s gaze appeared to be locked on your body as you slid through the water. Resting your feet on the bottom of the rocky pool, you stood, chest half out of the chalky blue water, and called out to him, “Hey, Mhorrin! You not coming in?”

You actually had yet to hear him speak more than a few words to anyone, but he surprised you with a full sentence as he drew his thick cloak more tightly about himself and said, “I don’t think it would be as pleasurable as you imagine, human. But thank you all the same.” Behind the mask, his voice was rough and rasping, deep, and his words were quietly and almost gently articulated, as though he had large teeth to work his tongue carefully around.

“Fair enough,” you said again, backing off, but you still felt the slight sting of disappointment anyway.

As the weeks slid by into months and you travelled further with this group of blades for hire, you began to feel at home in the rather odd family. Bridget was loud and brusque, but she had a tender heart, and you realised she was easily hurt by comments tossed her way in taverns along the road. Ned did his best to tell them all to fuck off, but you soon discovered that, despite her closeness to the minotaur, it was you with whom she found a scrap of comfort with on evenings by the campfire when the others were bedding down. Perhaps it was easier to bare her heart to a relative stranger. Either way, you liked her and you let her.

“I’ve always been too big and too strong,” she snorted on one such night when you’d passed through a town and she’d had comments tossed her way - this time about being part ogre. Ned’s earth-shattering snores already drowned out the crickets in the grasses, and the elves were quietly occupied a bit further from the fire, talking quietly in their own language.

Taking a sip from your wineskin, you crooked your elbow over your knee and leaned forwards. “No such thing as too big or too strong,” you grinned, hoping to lift her spirits.

Mhorrin was sitting not far away, whittling a forest creature out of a stick of firewood, and the steady scratching of his blade against the wood slowed as you spoke, though you pretended not to notice.

“If you weren’t how you are, you wouldn’t be able to protect the people you care about. Plus, I now know first hand that you give great hugs.”

She smiled and leaned back on her hands, her body going taut for a moment as she stretched out along the warmth of the fire. She crossed her feet at the ankle and shot you a sidelong glance. “You know,” she said, “If I didn’t already know that you like men more than women, I’d think you’re making a move on me.” She grinned playfully and you laughed, pleased that her mood was lightening a little.

Her words made your eyes and thoughts drift once again to Mhorrin. His back was hunched high over his right shoulder as he sat on the edge of the ring of firelight, and his almost animal-like legs were folded beneath him. Swathed in that cloak of his and masked as he was, you knew almost nothing more about him after those first few months than you had in your first week with the company.

You recalled your gaze and turned it back to Bridget. “Yeah, true,” you chuckled, scrubbing at the scruff on your chin with a scar-knuckled hand. “Well, I’m just showing my new friend the love she deserves. You’re gorgeous. Anyway,” you added with a snort, “You like pretty little elven women yourself, so I think any attempts at flirting from me would fall on deaf ears…”

She leaned over and gently smacked your upper arm with the backs of her fingers. It was a friendly, affectionate kind of tap, and you shivered slightly at the warmth of the unexpected touch. “Appreciate it,” she said, not appearing to notice your reaction. “I love this bunch of idiots so much, and I’m glad you stuck around too.”

With a wonky grin, you laughed and lay back, staring up at the sky above with your arms behind your head for a pillow. You drew a deep sigh that filled your lungs completely, and then let it go. As great as it had been to be with them, to have a modicum of stability and continuity in your life, you did ache for privacy at times, and as close as you all were, that pang of loneliness which had haunted you for a long time still stabbed at you now and again, usually when you least expected it.

“That was a big sigh,” Luirlan commented as he too came to settle down silently for the night beside the dwindling flames.

“Just relaxing,” you said. You didn’t think anyone quite believed you, but no one took it any further. They gave you that privacy at least.

Mhorrin’s blade had stopped feathering details into the sculpture completely now, and, risking a quick sidelong look at him before you closed your eyes, you saw that he was staring at you. You flashed him a quick smile but got no response. Disheartened and more than a bit miserable, you drew your cloak up around your ears and tried to get some sleep.

Three days later the company arrived at a town that was much livelier and more prosperous than the one where you’d first met Bridget and her friends. Made of red brick and sandstone, some faced in mosaics of knapped flint, the merchants’ houses which bordered the wide market plaza were mostly three storeys tall, and they all glittered with large-paned windows. Elduin whistled through his teeth as he looked up at them, and Ned snorted. “This is where we should have been all this time - I can practically smell their gold. Folks like this always want someone to do some dirty work for them, or at least some heavy lifting!” He and Bridget flexed simultaneously and then fell about laughing at the silliness of it.

Mhorrin was the only one who seemed truly uncomfortable here.

Even the elves, who moved like shadows amongst the trees and could imitate almost every bird call you’d ever imagined, laughed and shoved each other playfully as you made your way through the market, but Mhorrin hung back, apparently staring at the ground, with his shoulders high and tense.

Doubling back, you fell into step beside him and murmured, “Everything alright?”

He nodded tersely and then added, “Not overly fond of places like this.”

“Fancy towns?”

“Any towns. Too busy. Too open…”

You bumped your shoulder gently against his side and said, “We’ve got your back, Mhorrin.”

You sensed the smile beneath the mask in the slight softening of his body, but he made no further reply. Side by side, the pair of you walked across the marketplace, following where the others led.

An old, ovine satyr stood behind a stall selling everything from herbal ingredients to sweets and snacks, and the elves slid over to her just as a human threw down in disgust whatever she’d been holding in her hand. “At that price? Go chew on a patch of nettles, you ugly old sheep!” the customer yelled at her and the satyr bleated something unspeakable at her retreating back.

“Sorry about that,” she grunted as she turned to face the elves. “People just don’t know the value of things that are hard to find. What can I do for you?”

They haggled cheerily over the price of various herbs, and the twins also came away with a large bag of licorice which they immediately dug into with the enthusiasm of small, lanky boys.

You watched them until Mhorrin’s soft voice at your ear made you jump. “Nothing for you?” he asked.

You shrugged, astonished that he was speaking to you. “Not really. You?”

He immediately shook his head. “I’d like a bath and a room at an inn,” he said, which surprised you.

So far he’d not shown himself as someone who liked his creature comforts. Clean he certainly was, but he was always efficient about bathing, heading into the river or stream after the others had returned shivering to camp, or using the baths in whichever establishment they called home for the night alone after everyone had finished. You wondered what it was that he felt the need to hide, but never went so far as to pry and ask.

Something of your curiosity must have shown, as he chuckled softly and said, “Am I so strange that my desire for a hot bath and a comfortable bed shocks you?”

The playfulness in his tone was more shocking to you, though only because it was so unusual for him to be so chatty and informal.

When you said as much, he shook his head, the long, tarred ship’s rope of his plait swaying. “Ah, what a bore I must be to you,” he all but whispered behind his wooden mask.

Before you could refute him, a young child with the hooves of a deer and the horns of a demon pointed at Mhorrin and tugged at their mother’s arm. “Look! Is he a tiefling too? Why is he wearing a mask?”

“I have no idea,” she said, shooting Mhorrin an apologetic look to which he apparently didn’t deign to respond. “It’s rude to point. Come on.”

Mhorrin’s heavy sigh made your head snap round but he was stalking away after the retreating backs of the others before you could get a good read on him. Not that such a thing was ever truly possible with his intense need for privacy and the mask and cloak covering almost all of him.

The inn that Bridget found was a few streets back from the marketplace, backing onto the temple and its grounds. “What about it, lads?” she asked. “If we double up on rooms, we should be able to afford this place quite comfortably after that last job we took.”

Everyone agreed that it was a huge step up from your last arrangements, and while she and Ned predictably partnered up, and the elves nodded at each other, Mhorrin turned to you with an odd tension in his body. “Do you mind?” he asked breathily.

“Sharing with you?” you asked, your voice catching in your throat at the chance to speak with him later in a more private setting. “Of course not!”

He nodded once, and it was all decided. Bridget paid up, and even managed to acquire a contract from one of the patrons who happened to be meeting a friend there for a drink.

“Oh thank the gods,” the merchant sighed, pressing a bejewelled finger to his temple. You had a job not to stare at the gem-encrusted rings that studded his hand and the gold chains that dangled around his fat neck. “I’ve been looking for someone capable enough of ridding the cellars of this pest for a week now, but no one will do it!”

“Just tell us what it is that needs killing,” Bridget said evenly.

“It’s some kind of spider, but it’s enormous. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you it’s the size of a small horse! It’s lurking between my finest barrels of Black Cedar red, and I’ve got the mayor and most of the council coming for dinner on Thursday, and if I can’t serve them that with the roast, then I don’t know what I’ll do. Even I can’t simply procure a wine of that vintage at such short notice!”

Bridget smirked and Ned hid a snort behind an artfully timed cough. You shot Mhorrin a look, but he had taken a step back into the quiet shadows and remained silent as always. Part of you ached a little when you saw him simply standing there, waiting for the next thing to be decided. Did he have no agency? No whims of his own? No desires? Did he just drift wherever Ned and Bridget and the others led him? As if he sensed your rising anger, Mhorrin’s face turned a little towards you but you shook your head and looked away. The private places of his heart were not for you to barge your way into.

Somehow Bridget wangled the most outrageous price from the desperate merchant, and the six of you headed over to his huge city mansion almost immediately after dumping your travel gear in your bedrooms. The room that you and Mhorrin were to share was beautiful, with a wide stone sill and twin beds on either side, a large silk rug in the centre, and two huge and elaborately carved wardrobes that neither of you would need.

The spider did in fact turn out to be the size of a small horse, and Elduin hissed, as you shut the door on it and backed out into the hallway to discuss your plan one final time, that it was more common to find these things up in the mountains where the goblins tunnel after emeralds and sapphires and the endless veins of silver.

“What the hell is it doing in the city then?” you growled. “It’s fucking huge!”

To your surprise it was Mhorrin who answered. “Many creatures such as that are traded as exotic and monstrous pets. One that size, and producing that much venom, would fetch a handsome price on such a market.”

Luirlan turned to him and said with a wry grin, “You think you can stick it full of arrows before it rolls us up like a party snack and sucks us dry?”

“Perhaps,” he hedged. “For all their size though, they’re damned quick. I’ll need a distraction.”

The twins looked at Ned and Bridget, and they nodded just as Elduin yipped, “Why are we always the distraction?”

Bridget grinned, “Because you’re also damned quick.”

Ned chimed in with, “Plus you look like a tasty little party snack,” which earned him a punch to the sternum which probably hurt Elduin’s knuckles more than Ned’s chest, judging by the gruff chuckle the minotaur gave.

“Ok, fine,” Luirlan said more seriously. “We’ll go in and chuck some throwing stars and powder snappers at it while Mhorrin turns it into a stationary porcupine. What about you two?” he asked Ned and Bridget.

“We’ll make sure you don’t get turned into that party snack for real,” she said darkly. “One of us on either side.” She turned to you and added, “And you’ll watch Mhorrin’s back.” There was no room for debate in her comment, but neither did she leave room for doubt; she knew by now that you would truly have Mhorrin’s back, and she trusted you with her friend’s life. Something about that made your chest ache and glow, and you nodded.

With the plan finalised, and your assorted weapons eased in their holsters and belts, you re-entered the dark cellars. None of you had any magic, so the elves tossed a couple of powder snappers they’d bought in the market which flared and popped when they struck the ground, and the spider, which had been crouching low between two enormous barrels at the far end of the stone-lined chamber, rose up and chittered softly in alarm.

The sound of it sent shivers down your spine like nails on a chalkboard, but you focused on the creature with your beautiful steel blade held firmly in your hand. Beside you, the gentle and now familiar creak of Mhorrin’s bow as it flexed was a steadying reassurance in the dark of the room.

The first arrow struck the creature in one of its eyes, but somehow - despite the power of the bow and the deadliness of the aim - it survived.

“You pissed it off real good!” Luirlan yelled as he dived out of the way of its lashing, frothing mandibles. “Oh fuck!” he yelled as it slashed at his skinny body with one of its eight, hairy legs. “It’s got fucking claws too!”

The fight went more or less to plan, with Mhorrin loosing arrows at vulnerable points on its body, but its hide was so thick that they seemed more like thistles in the coat of a wild boar than the deadly pine shafts of hunting arrows. Bridget yanked Elduin back out of the way just in time, and Ned hacked off one of its legs, making the spider spit and scream, retreating back towards the barrels. At that point it seemed to notice that Mhorrin was the source of the stinging barbs in its side, and it scuttled with the speed of a hunting hound fresh of its leash straight at you.

Ned was too far away to take another swing at it, but he hurled his great axe at it, though it missed and embedded itself in a smaller barrel to your right, the scent of wine filling the chamber to replace the fusty dank smell of the spider’s lair.

It was almost upon the pair of you, so you stepped in front of Mhorrin, barely noticing the arrow that hissed past your ear as the spider reared up again, its horrifyingly enormous mandibles clacking and glistening in the low light of the room. You swung at the taloned leg that darted forwards for you, but it was Mhorrin you gave a sharp cry from right behind you. The creature hadn’t been going for you at all, and its six inch long claw had gone through Mhorrin’s thick leather cloak like a needle through silk.

With a howl of rage, you drove the point of your sword upwards into the rearing spider’s throat until the hilt hit its soft fur, and you reeled back as it writhed and screamed. Forgetting about the creature and your blade, you turned and found Mhorrin on the floor, though he’d only been knocked back by the speed of the attack, and was quickly staggering upright.

“Mhorrin,” you gasped but he shook his head.

“I’m alright. It’s…”

“You’re bleeding,” you stated. “Let me look at it.”

“No,” he said, his spare hand flying up to press it into the stab wound. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll tend to it myself.”

You scowled, but there wasn’t much you could do. The others finished off the spider and brought down the oiled tarpaulin they’d prepared earlier to deal with its corpse, as per their contract.

The merchant was hardly as grateful as he might have been when he discovered the damage that Ned’s axe had done to one of the casks, but even without the cost he’d removed from the final payment to cover the replacement of the wine, you’d earned yourself a small fortune.

Mhorrin’s progress back to the inn was slow, but he showed no signs of passing out and he refused to take your arm or lean on you. When you were back in your room, you tried again to offer your help.

“Please,” you said. “I’ve got salves and bandages, and thread to stitch you up if it needs it, though I don’t think it will. I know what I’m doing. I’m not some hedge doctor; I’ve patched people up before, and done it well.”

He was breathing steadily but rapidly, the shallow rasp of his breath the only betrayal of the pain he must have been in. His masked face revealed nothing.

“Please Mhorrin,” you said even more gently. “Let me help you.”

“I can manage,” he said, though the conviction had gone from his tone.

“I know.”

After another few breaths, he nodded. “Fine.”

The tension that suddenly filled the room seemed nearly choking, but you took a breath and stepped back while he turned away from you and reached up to unlace the knot that held his wooden mask in place. He took the tiniest intake of breath before he removed it, and then set it down on a table nearby, still with his back to you.

A moment later, he undid the buckle that held his heavy cloak in place, and folded it carefully over the back of a chair so that the strange, black blood which still oozed from the wound in his shoulder wouldn’t mar anything.

You’d never seen him without the shapeless leather cloak, and without it, he seemed suddenly so much more slender; almost vulnerable. His waist was invitingly narrow and he wore loose trousers of the kind that many satyrs and fauns preferred, leaving his paw-like feet bare from the ankle. Over his top half, he wore a rough-looking linen shirt that was stained black with his blood, a fact as unusual as the rest of him.

He plucked at the hem of his shirt and murmured without looking at you, “You need this off as well, I suppose.”

You didn’t respond immediately. The right side of his shoulders was markedly higher than the other, making his spine curve and his shoulders hunch, and beneath the thin fabric of his shirt you could see ridges and bumps on the points of his shoulders. There was something alluringly beautiful about the unusual quality of his body. You’d never seen anyone like him in your whole life, but now was not the moment for that. You had not been given this moment for the luxury of admiring him.

“Or do you just want to gawp at the monster like everyone else?” Mhorrin snarled with real venom, still staring at the wall in front of him. The hiss of breath through his nostrils reminded you of a lurking naga in a dark cave, dangerous, threatened, and poised to strike.

“Yes please,” you murmured sheepishly. “I need it off.”

In a single motion, he ripped it over his head with no care for the open wound in his left shoulder, and dumped it on the floor before reaching for his mask and shoving it roughly back onto his face before you’d even seen it.

His back was the same mottled light and dark grey as his unusual hands, like water spattered on granite, but his spine was prominently ridged and he did indeed have almost horn-like protrusions at the shoulder joints, reminiscent of those that some lizardfolk have. He was clearly not reptilian though, you discovered as you cleaned the wound, earning nothing but a sharp intake of breath from him, and the same again as you smeared the heady-scented salve across it; his skin was warm to the touch, and surprisingly smooth, though you tried not to let your fingertips linger.

Mhorrin did gasp, however, when you pressed the clean dressing down over the antiseptic salve, keeping your other palm flat to his shoulder. The wound was on his left side, and the gnarled hump on his right shoulder rose and fell as his breathing quickened.

“Did I hurt you badly?” you asked and to your surprise he shook his head.

“No.” A moment later he laughed huskily, nervously, and said, “Your hands are cold.”

“Really?” you snorted. “That’s what’s bothering you right now?”

“You’re right,” he returned with sudden sourness returning to his words. “I have much bigger things with which to concern myself at the moment.” He didn’t seem to be talking about the wound.

Not understanding his words, you nearly let go of the wad of dressing, but you steadied yourself and returned to the task at hand. In no time he was bandaged up, and it didn’t bleed through the wrapping, so you figured you’d made the right decision.

“All done,” you said, and he rose immediately from the chair and fished out a clean shirt from his pack while you washed your hands in the stand at the corner of the room. This time he didn’t wait to remove his mask, and forced it over his head, ripping the dusky blue shirt slightly at the throat.

Once it was on, he snatched up his leather cloak and stalked from the room, securing it with the buckle as he left. His clawed feet faltered at the doorway, almost as if he had been on the point of turning and speaking to you, but to your disappointment he simply disappeared into the dark corridor beyond and let the door close behind him.

You stood there a moment, recalling the rapid breathing, the warmth of his body, the closeness of him, the musky smell of leather and something else that was undoubtedly his own scent. The way his black hair had gleamed in its thick plait, and the way his strange hands had twitched in his lap as you’d leaned over him; the tension ratcheting up his spine the closer you’d got… Dismissing his sharpness with a shake of your head, you grabbed your coin purse and headed down to the bar in search of a drink.

Bridget scowled at you when you arrived and plonked down in a seat beside her. The elves were nowhere to be seen, but Ned was drinking quietly beside her. “What happened?” she demanded in a low growl. “Mhorrin just headed out like a horse to pasture, and now you come down wearing a face like that…”

You shrugged and after a passing waitress took your order, you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. “Is Mhorrin always like this?”

“Like what?” Ned asked, resting his massive forearms on the sturdy table.

A shoulder twitch was all you had the energy for until you added, “So… skittish.”

“Skittish?” Bridget blurted. “The guy’s about as steady as a rock. What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean that he’s nervous in a fight,” you amended, running your fingers through your hair. It was greasy and you needed a bath, but somehow you hadn’t got the impetus now. “When I was dressing his wound just now, he -” Bridget cut you off with an astonished bark of laughter.

“He let you get near enough to touch him?”

You met her hazel eyes directly, confused. “Yeah? I mean, I had to convince him that I knew what I was doing first, but…”

“Oh, I don’t think that would have worried him,” she went on. “I mean, he’s pretty handy with a needle himself. He knows his way around an injury or two.” She set her glass down and tugged up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a scar you’d seen many times on her stunning bicep. She had a habit of wearing sleeveless tunics after all. “He patched this up when I thought I was gonna lose my whole fucking arm. Left barely a whisper when it was healed.” She thumbed the thin silver line and shook her head disbelievingly.

That piece of information left you reeling. “If he could see to his own wounds, why did he go through all that with me…?” you mused aloud.

“All what?”

You gestured vaguely with your hand and nearly knocked your drink from the server’s hands as it arrived at your table. With a swift apology and a grin that seemed to appease him, you thanked the pretty tiefling and he left your glass on the table with a wink and an overly-friendly squeeze to your shoulder.

Ned growled, “There’s an open invitation if ever I saw one.”

You didn’t feel like taking him up on it, no matter how handsome he was. Your mind was occupied solely with thoughts of Mhorrin and his dappled skin. He’d had freckles on his back. You drew a deep breath and shrugged. Downing half your drink before looking up again, you simply said, “He let me clean and dress it, but he nearly bit my head off for the privilege of it.”

Bridget was quiet for a while, staring into her ale before she said, “You know, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him without that damned stupid cloak on?”

“Really?”

“Mmm. He never takes it off. To let you see more of him than even that… must have been a big deal for him. He trusts you,” she said, shooting you a look. “He partnered with you in that scrap with the spider and the two of you moved like our fucking elves; like you’ve been fighting together all your lives. I’ve never seen him like that…” She traced a fingertip through a glistening ring of beer on the tabletop and added, “Normally he’s our ranged fighter, hanging back on his own. To have someone with him is… new.”

Ned nodded quietly in agreement. “Give him time.”

“I think that’s all he’ll let me give him,” you grumbled, draining your glass and setting it down on the table with a hefty clunk. “I’m going out,” you announced, standing suddenly. “Need to clear my head.”

The two best friends let you go without comment, swiftly falling into their own conversation once you had strode away and left a few coppers at the bar for your drink.

Outside the soft patter of rain greeted you, and you groaned. With your hair damp in minutes, you sighed. You didn’t feel like doubling back for a cloak though, so you set off through the streets towards the temple grounds to stretch your legs and try and wear yourself out completely before going back to your shared room.

To your surprise, you’d gone no further than the bridge over the river which guarded the temple garden when you spotted a very familiar figure, swathed in a ridiculous cloak.

“Mhorrin?” you asked quietly as you stood in the drizzle at the foot of the gently arching bridge.

In the fae-lamps which illuminated the city at night, he looked decidedly peculiar, which was saying something - perhaps somewhere between a gargoyle and a damp dragon with wings folded downwards. He turned slowly and regarded you from behind his eerie mask. You thought he whispered your name, but you couldn’t be sure.

“You want me to leave?” you asked.

After taking a moment to mull over your question, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t…” he faltered as you walked towards him, boots scuffing on the cobbles.

Ignoring the water pooling on the rough masonry of the sides of the bridge, you joined him and leaned your forearms on the stonework. A huge sigh heaved itself from your lungs and you stared at the silent water slipping by in an inky black stream beneath you. Rain dribbled miserably down the collar of your jacket and you shivered, sniffing as it dripped off your nose as well.

A rather more significant shudder shimmied down your spine a second later, and Mhorrin snorted a soft laugh behind his wooden mask. The next thing you knew, the heavy leather of his cloak was being draped around your shoulders and he was standing very close to you. “I cleaned the blood off it,” he said, and you smiled a little snort of your own.

The two of you stood like that for a little while, watching the river slide by, but eventually Mhorrin spoke up. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. I had no right.”

You shrugged, not knowing quite what to say and hoping it would be enough.

“Bridget showed me her scar,” you said pointedly after a minute or so.

“Oh?”

“Mmm. The one on her arm. The one you patched up. If you didn’t need me to treat you, why did you let me?”

Mhorrin remained silent for a heartbeat or three before he sighed and said heavily, “Perhaps I wanted someone else to do the looking after for once.”

Something about his tone struck you deeply and you found yourself unable to speak or find a proper reply, so you said nothing. He seemed to understand, even to appreciate the distance your silence gave him, despite your proximity beneath the cloak.

After a while he said, “We should head back.”

When you nodded, he withdrew the shelter of the cloak from you and you straightened. Neither of you said anything as you returned to the inn, but the silence was comfortable. Comforting even.

The bustle of the inn’s bar jangled against your memory of the soft rain outside, but you still shot Bridget a reassuring smile as you passed, and she nodded once before looking away.

Back in your room, you said you were going to get some of your clothes cleaned by the inn staff, and you offered to add Mhorrin’s bloody shirt to the pile. When you returned with empty arms, you pushed open the door and found Mhorrin standing against the windowsill, his arms braced against it, his body bare except for his trousers.

His back was towards you, but it didn’t feel like he was shutting you out. Quite the opposite, in fact; it felt as though he were giving you the opportunity to stare at him openly.

And you took it.

Mhorrin’s back was crooked and gnarled as an oak tree, listing slightly to the right like an old sloop in a force eight. For the first time you realised with a slight pang of… what, excitement?… that he had a long tail like a tiefling’s which, until then, had been carefully concealed beneath the fabric of his trousers. Now it writhed gently behind him like a hypnotised cobra, occasionally twitching. You let your eyes roam over the blue-grey skin of his shoulders, taking in the horn-like studs and the freckles and the various shades of stormy grey as you approached him. His hair hung down his back in its usual thick plait, but you saw with jolt that he didn’t have his mask on.

It sat on the sill beside his hand, empty and hollow as an old temple offering.

“Mhorrin?” you asked, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Everything alright?”

“You wanted to see me,” he said without turning around. “Well… here I am.” He turned just a little as you crossed the last few steps towards him and put your palm on the small of Mhorrin’s back, making him suck in a breath as his spine tensed up.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he started to relax again as you began to explore his body bit by bit, inch by inch, savouring the touches he was allowing you. Slowly, hesitantly, Mhorrin turned towards you, still in the circle of your arms, and he revealed his face for the first time.

Elongated and almost canine, his muzzle was drawn back in a nervous snarl to reveal huge canines and a black tongue. His almond shaped eyes were massive and completely black with no visible white sclera, but they were covered in a milky film like starlight.

“Mhorrin?” you gasped, taking half a step back from him, eyes fixed on his. “Mhorrin, are you…?” and your fingertips fluttered anxiously beside his muzzle, wanting to touch his cheeks just below his eyes. His gaze sailed straight over your head.

“Blind? Yes,” he said.

“I had no idea you couldn’t see. The way you shoot…?”

Mhorrin shrugged, not shying away from your touch this time as your fingertips connected with his soft skin. “I can see heat, like a snake - always could - which is how I found you on that bridge just now.” With a dry smirk he added, “All I had to do was look for a little block of ice.”

You snorted indelicately through your nose and dropped your hand back to your side. “Can I ask… what you are?”

At long last, his face softened just a little, the muscles of his muzzle relaxing, and he sighed, leaning his wiry body back against the sill behind him with a heavy exhale. “I’m a changeling fae, born on the blood moon and thus cursed to look like… this. My mother didn’t want a monstrous child like me, so she swapped me for a pretty human boy, stole him away, and suckled him on her own blood to turn him fae. He’s… He’s their prince now…”

The brutality of his answer shocked you to your core. “Mhorrin…”

He shrugged again, turning his strange hands palm up and seeming to regard them.

On impulse, you slid your own hands into his and he sucked in another sharp breath.

“I don’t care what you are,” you said, more earnestly than you’d perhaps intended. “You’re a good soul. I’m glad I met you.”

A quiet, rumbling purr began to sound from Mhorrin, which was slightly interrupted by the embarrassed laugh he gave.

“Mhorrin?”

He shook his head, still smiling, and said, “You… You’re not like other humans I’ve met…”

“Oh?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at him properly, your hands still in his powerful grip, very aware of how close to him you were standing.

“Mmm.”

“How so?”

He laughed and said, “I… I feel…” but then he shook his head.

Deciding to act rather than to speak, you let go of his hands and took him by the hips, tugging him those final few inches closer, and you nuzzled your cheek against his before kissing him there.

Mhorrin growled softly like a gnoll and surged forwards, his hands searching up your sides, kissing you hard and you felt your cock stirring already, blood rushing south in a dizzying spiral. This was what you’d wanted for all those weeks; for someone to want you with a basic, almost feral instinct.

The changeling’s purring growl echoed in your ribcage as he backed you towards the nearest bed. “Tell me you want this,” he managed to rasp, drool glistening at his lips already. “Please, tell me you want this.”

“Fuck, Mhorrin,” you hissed, already leaning back towards the bed. “Yes. I want you. I don’t care how, but I want you.”

He chuckled at that and nuzzled a few more kisses at your neck one final time before tipping you onto the bed and stripping you rather hurriedly of your clothes. When he sprang your cock free, he moaned. “If you could see you the way I do,” he said.

In answer, you bucked your hips upwards a little and he got the message. Taking your cock in his hand and steadying your hips with the other, he smeared your leaking tip with one of his two thumbs and then slid your hard cock into his mouth and took you all the way to the back of his throat.

You couldn’t have contained the groan that rolled out of you even if you’d wanted to. The heat of his tongue and the ridges on the roof of his mouth were almost too much for your sensitive cock. You did manage to fight the immediate urge to fuck upwards into the heat of his mouth, however, and as his black tongue swirled around the head and then the shaft of your cock, you grunted inarticulately and he gripped your hips even tighter.

“Fuck, Mhorrin…” you wheezed, head lolling to one side, chest heaving. “That’s so good…”

The changeling sucked and dipped, his breath fanning over your lower torso as he worked you astonishingly quickly towards your climax, and as white heat coiled in your belly, you gasped, “Mhorrin, stop… I’m… I’m gonna…” and you lurched forwards and grabbed his thick hair, pulling him by the plait off your cock with a lewd pop that made your head spin.

“Mm?” he asked.

As you glanced down you saw the tent in his trousers and you gestured at his waistband. “You’re overdressed…”

With a shy grin, Mhorrin obliged, sliding out of his remaining clothes to reveal the evidence of his own arousal. Where the skin of his lean torso was a dark, stormy grey, his cock was almost blue, the tip a vibrant red and already weeping pearlescent pre-come down the length of his shaft, twitching in the relative cool of the bedroom.

Before he had the chance to return his attention to your cock, you reached for him and tugged him down to the bed. “My turn,” you said as you wrestled him onto his back with a playful grunt. He was stronger than you by far, and could have overpowered you easily, but he let you.

As you sat astride him, Mhorrin’s long tail snaked around your thigh and made you gasp as he caressed your balls with the soft, blunt tip of it. Your knees buckled and you pitched forwards, landing with one hand on his chest and the other on the bed beside him. His jaw parted and he raked his teeth across the pounding pulse in your neck before drawing back and saying, “Two can play that game, you tricksy little human…”

Your cock throbbed at the sound of his voice, suddenly so confident and self-assured, and it made you want to unravel him in the best way possible.

Sensing this, perhaps, he smiled hesitantly and said, “I… I have no oil that would be suitable, I’m afraid…”

“I do,” you said quietly. “Would you like me to fuck you then?”

He nodded mutely, and you smiled, raking your nails down his chest and making him gasp, his dark nipples hardening almost instantly.

It didn’t take you long to find the small vial you were looking for in the depths of your bag, and when you turned back to face him, you took just a moment to admire him. His long, lean body was stretched out, the pads of his toes spread wide with expectant pleasure, his tail writhing slowly beside him, his thighs tensed, his quads standing out and straining, and his hand was on his weeping cock already.

It didn’t take you long to open him up, but you did delight in watching the way his jaws went slack and drool slid freely from his lips as he tilted his head back and keened with pleasure as you hit that spot inside him that made him jolt and jerk with searing pleasure.

His body began to quake and quiver in minutes, and soon he was writhing and snapping his maw shut, his blind eyes rolling closed as his hands searched for you amid his pleasure. “Please,” he rasped. “Please…”

With a grin you slicked your own achingly hard cock with oil and then lined yourself up with him. Again, his tail snaked between your legs as he lay on his back, and he started to caress your balls as you eased yourself into him. He was still so tight that it took you a while to enter him completely, but when he raised his hips and finished the job for you, the pair of you let out matching moans.

Mhorrin went rigid with the pleasure of it and you felt the heat of his insides clench around you, almost daring you to come then and there.

“Fuck…” you breathed, bending low over him, adjusting to the grip he held on you.

“That’s… the idea…” he grunted. “Isn't it?”

With a hoarse laugh, you started to move, enjoying the slide of your cock inside him, watching him coming undone with each thrust, until he was shaking and whimpering. “Oh by Fate…” he cursed suddenly, “I’m… I’m going… I’m…” he cried and suddenly he was overcome, his body convulsing, his hands gripping your forearms as he curled his spine towards you, his abs clenching, his body rocking and jolting with the force of his release. His cock - untouched - spurted over his abs and chest, and he almost howled as he came.

Three more thrusts and you too were coming, emptying yourself inside him with a breathless gasp as your vision went white. Falling forwards over him, you lay there with him, gasping and still twitching, until he brought his strange hands to your back and traced idle lines up and down your spine.

Eventually you shifted, sticky and spent, and staggered towards the washstand in the corner of the room to fetch a cloth for him and for yourself.

Even cleaning him elicited similar groans of pleasure from him, and before you knew it, he was getting hard again, and despite your exhaustion from the day and from your first round, you felt the same awakening in your own body.

Silently, you moved your hand back to his cock and he jerked and whimpered.

“Yes?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yes… Please, yes…”

—

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#fae #changeling #male fae #exophilia #fae x reader #mlm #male monster x male reader #male fae x male reader

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fanpom-imagines · 5 years

Text

Requested by @infinity-war-heartbreak : I know Lord of the rings isn't as popular as it use to,but could you maybe do a Legolas x half elf half human!Reader? Maybe ,the reader is told to help with the quest to destroy the ring and at first Legolas and the reader bicker a bit,but when the reader gets hurt Legolas realizes that he could lose her and confesses his love?(sorry if it's cheesy)

Imagine being a Peredhil (half elf half human) and being with the fellowship while having a rivalry with Legolas.

Masterlist

Fandom: Lord of the Rings

Words: 2289 (got a little bit carried away)

Warnings: none

(Gender Neutral Reader)

(Translation: condo means prince in Sindarin)

In all honesty, I had no idea how I ended up on this long journey with four hobbits, one dwarf, one Dúnadan, one man, and one elf, but I guess it doesn’t matter does it? Since I’m already this far along with the fellowship.

It’s quite a peculiar circumstance, isn’t it? Kind of sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. All we need to do is walk into a tavern and we would be the joke of the realm. I thought to myself as I kept on walking not really paying any mind to where I set my feet which was a bad choice on my part. In return for not watching where I was going I end up tripping on a rock that stood out from the ground at ended up tripping which then ended with me bumping into the elf in front of me.

Great.

He looked back at me in anger with sharp pointed eyes that were almost as sharp as his ears.

“Watch where you’re going, Peredhil,” he growled the last word as if something foul tasting was stuck in his mouth. As if the word itself was disgusting to even think let alone speak.

“Oh, I’m sorry, condo,” I grumbled back in Sindarin which he only replied with a grumble under his breath as he moved along.

I huffed in irritation, but moved along nonetheless and followed in tow with the rest of the fellowship who by now had gotten used to mine and the elve’s antics.

After traveling for a good whole day once more, with gladly no interuptions, we set camp for the night to be able to rest and gather back the energy we had lost along the way.

I groaned out in relief as I stretched my back and my arms hearing a few satisfying pops and feeling my sore muscles starting to relax. I sigh and yawn as I lay down, but of course Legolas has to add in a comment once again.

Scoffing he says, “Do all Peredhil’s tire so easily or is it just you? I mean you haven’t even chosen to claim the Gift of Man yet you seem to already have the characteristics off a Peredhil who has.”

Before I could even reply Aragorn cuts me off and glares at the both of us before saying, “Can the two of you stop fighting for two seconds?! You fighting is starting to get unbearably annoying for all of us at this point. Both of you are my close friends, yet you do not seem to be able to get along.”

“How could I get along with this, condo, who can’t get off his high horse and actually treat me as his equal rather than as if I was below him?” I huffed out as I glared at Legolas when uttering the word ‘condo’ and then turning back to face Aragorn once more to finish what I had to say.

“All I’m saying is, is that the two of you need to find some common ground before you drive the rest of us mad.” Aragorn tried to reason as he massaged his temples in agitation and frustration.

“I got to agree with the girl on this one, even though she is half-elf, Legolas can be insufferable at times.” Gimli added in which only raised the tension in the air once more.

“Oh my God,” Aragorn groaned out as he just sat down as well.

Legolas was about to reply, but one of the hobbits, Samwise, cut in, “Could you two just not fight for the night? We all need rest and we won’t be able to get any if the two of you keep going on like this.”

“I don’t need rest,” Legolas muttered out as if he was a child which just earned a groan from the rest of the fellowship and made me on the other hand more irritated than before.

I honestly do not even know how we came to have such a rivalry. When we first started off on this journey. Legolas and I were quick friends, but it seems after he found out I was a Peredhil, he started to distance himself and become more snappy which in turn made me also aggravated and I guess from there the tension just started to build more. I don’t necessarily understand why he would feel the need to become more distant from me, but it may be the fact that even though Elves don’t have a specific social hierarchy, us half-elves have always been deemed as lesser by full blooded elves. I do not know if it’s because we have a choice to either live as elves with immortality or be able to live out the rest of our lives as humans after accepting the Gift of Man, but it has just never made sense to me. Though Legolas and I have a lot in common and not just our race wise, but also our culture wise as I as well had been raised by not just humans, but elves as well.

The whole situation between him and I was confusing to me and I believe to him too. It may be that because of how he was raised; he looks down upon me more just because that is what he was taught, but who knows really.

After a small glaring contest between the prince and I. We all ended up going to sleep seeing as there was no point in continuing any further in this unnecessary fight between the two of us.

It was a peaceful night with crickets playing their song of the night and the wind blowing from time to time, but it seems it wasn’t long lived. The world hasn’t seemed to be on our side as of late.

In the dark of night orcs had ambushed us. Though Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had woken up before the ambush there wasn’t enough time to alert the rest of us quick enough. So the hobbits, Boromir, and I woke up to a rude awakening with Orcs surrounding us.

Without another thought, as an orc launched itself at me, I unsheathed my sword and and jumped into battle slashing and stabbing my way at the enemy along with the others. As I was fighting off one of the orcs from the corner of my eye I saw one orc coming up behind Samwise. I couldn’t just let the poor halfling fend for himself, I had to do something so I ran up behind the orc closing in on him and killed him swiftly, but it was a short lived victory as another orc came to ram into my side pushing me over into the ground and falling right on top of me with its full weight. I groaned out in pain, but twisted my body and pulled out my knife and stabbed it in the eye to be able to get a chance to escape from under the large beast. Thankfully, my plan worked and I was able to pull myself out from under it, but before I could stand back up to my full height and send down my sword on the orc for its finishing blow the orc stabbed me with its weapon in my thigh. I screamed out in pain and clutched my thigh and in turn dropping my weapon. A stupid and grave mistake, but thankfully before the orc could recover and stand up to full height Legolas swooped in and swiftly took care of it.

Legolas looked around seeing as that was the last orc and he turned to me and was about to open his mouth, but then his eyes widened as he caught sight of my wound and quickly ran over towards me. He kneeled down next to me and examined the wound as he stared at it in concern and worry.

“Aww don’t worry to much, condo, ‘tis merely a flesh wound,” I tried to smile, but my face twisted into an expression of discomfort as more pain shot through my leg.

“This is no time for jokes (Y/N). We need to get this sword out of your thigh and stop the bleeding before I becomes anymore serious,” Legolas said sharply, but rather than it being his usual tone of irritation it was now laced with concern.

I just nodded as the others came to huddle around me as Aragorn and Legolas took charge as they had the most knowledge of herbs and medicines.

All I could honestly remember from those painful hours of recovery was just pain and the fact that throughout the whole process Legolas was always there at my side. Huh, I guess he doesn’t hate me as much as he lets on after all.

After resting for a few days not only for me, but for everyone else to patch up any wounds they might have acquired or to hunt for any extra game or search for any extra supplies or food to help us on our journey and help restock what we lost in the ambush. I was able to walk again seeing as my elven-side’s recovery kicked in to help save my leg and help save us time as well.

During the night before we planed to one again head off on our way I stared up at the sky not really thinking about anything in particular; just taking in the views the world had to offer, but my stargazing session was cut short as Legolas’ voice cut through the air, interrupting the silence along with it.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

I just shrugged at him knowing I had no real answer to his question.

After that we fell into silence once more till my mind wandered back to the day we got ambushed and I then realized, “You called me by my name.”

“What?”

“During the ambush you called me by my name rather than Peredhil,” I clarified for him.

“So?”

“You’ve always called me Peredhil, except at the beginning of our journey where you did not know that I was half-elven, and speaking of why do you hate me so much? It seems like the fact that I’m a Peredhil makes you uncomfortable around me.”

“I don’t.”

“What?” Now this time it was my turn to look at him in confusion.

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t really know what to do.”

“What do you mean?” At this point my mind was racing with many different possibilities and scenarios, but none of them seemed to make enough sense to me so I just let him speak.

“I have a sort of, how do you say, uhm...admiration for you, but the fact that I’m an elf prince and you’re a Peredhil makes me also very conflicted.”

I blushed at his statement. Sure, I had suitors in the past and I had a few court me none of them were, well, Legolas. I guess you could say, that even with all this bickering, I still somehow ended up admiring him too and seeing him in a light of more than just a partner.

“My my mind is conflicting with my heart,” Legolas confesses, “I’m royalty and I should marry to royalty and to someone who is a full blooded elf, well at least that is what my mind is telling me, but my heart is pushing me more towards you so I in turn though that if I had you hate me then maybe the decision between what my heart and what my mind wats wouldn’t be so difficult, but atlast it seems it didn’t really do much, did it?”

I chuckled out at him and smiled at him as he also returned it while we made eye contact with the other, “No, I guess it didn’t.”

“You know I was worried the two of you wouldn’t ever confess, but here we are,” Legolas and I whipped our heads toward the voice only to see Aragorn smirking at the two of us before winking and turning back around to catch more sleep, but not before muttering, “Before you do anything remember, people are trying to sleep.” And with that he fell back to sleep leaving the two of us wide eyed.

After a pregnant pause we looked back at one another before we ended up laughing lightly, as to not wake anyone else up, at what he said.

“It is kind of ridiculous now that I think about it.” I laughed out as my mouth widened into a larger smile.

“Yeah it is,” Legolas sighed out as he leaned closer to me which somehow had made my body react in the same way. Compelling me to lean forward. I glanced down at his lips as he did the same and I smiled up at him, with him returning it, but just as the two of us were about to meet Legolas let out a yelp, and I giggled at his reaction. Legolas quickly turned back to the source that had kicked him and caused him the slight pinch of pain only to see a grumpy Grimli glaring at the two of us.

“Save it for when you’re alone, lover boy,” and at that the dwarf went back to his slumber leaving a baffled and aggravated elf and me, a peredhil trying to contain my laughter at the events that just took place.

“I guess we could continue in the morning,” I laughed out as I kissed Legolas’ on the cheek before also turning in for the night leaving a blushing elf as he looked on into the night trying to refocus on trying to spot any enemies that could attack us during the night.

#legolas #legolas x reader #legolas imagine #lotr #lotr imagine #lotr x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit x reader #the lord of the rings #the lord of the rings imagine #the lord of the rings x reader

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hannah-deactivated20220725 · 4 years

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Elves (Kyle’s Story/HD/DHaF Universe)

So, since I’m the one that created elf characters for the roleplay/DHaF/HD world, my friend left it up to me what elves are like in our world...

That being said, I KIND OF went a little crazy developing them... so... here, have what elves are like in our world... also, it’s under the cut because when I say I “kind of” went crazy... I mean I really went crazy. So, enjoy!

Elves cannot drink more than 2-4 shots of liquor, depending on the elf, without dying of alcohol poisoning

When the elves realized this, they started experimenting with different things to see if they could get a buzz off of anything

Eventually, they found that they could get buzzes off of certain poisons

The poison will kill any other species

There are a few different types of elven liquor

One is a green drink called kumir

This drink causes giggle fits and tequila-like effects

Lots of elven babies have been born after the parents drank this drink

If another species drinks it, this drink causes explosive diarrhea and vomiting until they die of dehydration

As of now, there is no antidote for this poison

One is a bright orange drink called luuha

This drink is usually the cause of bar fights, so most elves tend to steer clear of this one

It can also cause an elf to see bright colors they otherwise wouldn’t normally see

If another species drinks it, this is the most painful of the poisons to drink

This poison is used in poison darts when an elf is trying to slay an enemy to not only kill them but also to disable them so that they cannot attack back

As of now, there is no antidote for this poison

One is a pale yellow drink called luisae

This drink causes contentment and over-affection

Lots of elves have professed their love for friends and crushes under the influence of this drink

When an elf drinks Luisae, it causes a tingling sensation along their whole bodies and makes kissing and holding each other a lot more enjoyable for most

If another species drinks this drink, it causes dizziness until they fall asleep… and never wake up

Elven scientists have been working on an antidote for this poison but have not found one yet

One is a bright blue drink called Rusta

Pronounced “ROO-STUH

This drink causes rowdiness and otherwise quiet elves to become much chattier

This drink is known as the Poison of Truth because it makes the inhibition disappear so that an elf can truly speak their mind

When another species drinks this poison, it causes them to foam at the mouth and die almost immediately.

This is the least painful of the poisons, though it does cause an… odd sensation

There is an antidote for this poison, but you only have 4 seconds to drink it before it’s irreversible

One is bright pink called Hoopa

Hoopa is known as the Dead Man’s Poison because it causes elves to fall right asleep

This is one that elves that have difficulty with sleeping will take

This particular poison, when taken by another species, is very painful but will just make the drinker fall asleep and never wake up.

You can usually tell when someone is poisoned with this poison because all of their veins will turn black

Has a connection to the earth that no other elves do

When an elf puts their ear to the ground, they can hear the “earth’s heartbeat”

No one else can hear it, so the other species refer to elves as the “schizophrenic species.”

Elven mages can use nature to revitalize their magics and boost them

Elven mages can do certain things with nature, like boost a flower’s lifespan or cause one to grow early

Elves have a special connection to other magic-using creatures

Elven mages feel it more strongly

Elven mages feel more connected to other nature magic-users

Magic-using creatures such as…

Witches

And familiars

Elves have royalty

There is a king and queen of the elves

The royalty is not always chosen by bloodlines, though 99% of the time, it is

If the elven people do not like a royal family, they have the right to kick them out of their position

Most elven royalty have been very good to their people

In the elven world, the queen has more power than the king

Most elves pray to have a daughter, but they will love and cherish their children no matter what sex

Female elves are spoiled and usually have a “nature room” where they can soak up that wonderful feeling of being close to nature

Female elves are even more connected to nature than the males

Elves do not typically participate in human activities or go to human places

They have their own stores that are similar to human grocery stores, only they are filled with mostly hunting supplies with just enough food to feed those elves that don’t wish to or are bad at hunting

At the end of every night, these stores will hand out food to the needy elves

They also have buildings that are like indoor forests, as a means for revitalizing the elf’s body and chakras and kind of like their form of relaxation therapy

Elves are a big believer in the healing power of colors

Being as they are beings of nature, most of the colors they believe in are nature’s colors

They believe that pink flowers will heal wounds

They believe that blue flowers will heal the mind

They believe that laying in a field of grass and staring up at the blue sky will put you in a trance that will also heal your mind

They believe that red flowers will bring back your passion *nudgenudge*

They believe that orange flowers will bring you peace

They believe that black flowers will poison the soul

They believe that the brown of tree trunks (and other parts of nature) will bring great pain

Elves have their own pantheons, all based off of different parts of nature

The goddess of all gods is the goddess of nature, or as humans call her, Mother Nature

Her name is Elais

She has long, flowing green hair the color of grass freshly rained on

She smells like your favorite flower

She has beautiful eyes that change color depending on what she wants you to feel when she talks to you

She has a voice that sounds like a soft breeze

The god of fire and the ocean (yes, fire and water) is Leonari

He has hair made of fire

He has eyes that look like an ember, glowing in the middle of an otherwise empty firepit

When he’s angry, his eyes turn from a soft ember to a roaring fire

He has a temper but he also is great at calming others in the middle of a rage

He curses the most out of the other gods and goddesses

He’s also seen as the god of depression

Not that he causes depression, but he helps elves to be able to deal with their depression

Elves with high tendencies toward depression tend to worship and pray to him the most

The god of the flowers and trees (plants, basically) is Gerardi

His hair is short and spiked

It’s rainbow colored and the colors shift every time he moves

His eyes, much like the nature goddess, change color, but his eyes reflect your soul and your intention in the world

If you’re “evil,” they turn red

If you’re “good,” they turn purple

If you’re “neutral,” they turn green

The goddess of weeds and other “undesired” plants is Magis

Her hair is green, short, with yellow tips

Her eyes are also green

She has pale skin that changes color depending on what species the person that is looking at her is

If a witch, her skin is like a pale grey

If an elf, it’s a pale green

If a werewolf, it’s white

If a vampire, it’s a pale brown

If a siren, it’s a pale blue

If a djinn/genie, it’s a pale pink

She has a look in her eyes that calms people when they are in the middle of a panic

She is the goddess that people with high anxiety tend to worship and pray to the most

Elves typically prefer to wear as little clothing as possible

The less clothes they wear, the more connected they feel to the world

The buildings I mentioned earlier with “nature rooms” are clothing optional

In fact, they encourage you to go in nude, like a spa

Most elves prefer to wear like… basically a bikini

Just enough to cover the vital places

Elves see the body as a holy temple of Elais

They eat specific berries that will boost their connection to the earth

These berries also cause hallucinations where they will see Elais

They are very big on natural exercising and going on runs out in nature

Lazy elves (yes, they do exist) are looked down upon because they’re seen as being careless toward Elais’ temple

Elves live about 300-400 years

This is partly due to their diet, but it’s also partly due to the fact that they’re connected to the earth

When an elf picks a berry from nature, that berry has a certain magic in it that boosts their lifespan

Just like how elven mages can boost the lifespan of plants, plants can boost their lifespans as well

Most elves are excellent hunters

As I said earlier, those that don’t, there’s a special section of the store for them

Most elves live in 3 places across the world

Most elves prefer the cold over the heat, but they also love LOVE tropical rainforests

When an elf is turned to a vampire, it turns into an entirely other creature

Elven mages don’t typically share their given names

If they do, they lose their power

The only way after that that they can use it again is if in nature while using it or if the person who knows gives them permission

#elves #worldbuilding #species development #my world #about my world #creating my own world #elven mages

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Cullavellan and FenHawke pirate AU: Fantasy

Chapter 2 of Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me is up on AO3, for the lovely and talented mastermind @schoute, who created this AMAZING WANTED POSTER TO GO WITH THE CHAPTER.

In which Cullen has some moral quandaries and runs into the polite and well-mannered Lady Rynne Hawke. [innocent smile]

Read on AO3 instead (~8100 words).

*******************

CULLEN

“Come in,” a stern female voice barked.

Cullen straightened and smoothed one hand over his cravat, then pushed open the polished wooden door.

Admiral Meredith Stannard was standing by the window with folded arms. She turned to face him at the opening of the door.

“Commander,” she said with a sharp nod. She gestured to one of the chairs in front of the pristinely polished desk, then launched into business without any preamble. “I have heard there is an increase in pirate-related crimes in Lowtown. What will you be doing about this?”

Cullen deftly adjusted the sword at his waist as he sat in the chair. “There has been a modest increase in minor crimes,” he admitted. “But the lieutenants and I–”

Meredith placed her gloved palms on the surface of the desk. “I’ve been informed that a pirate escaped from jail on these very premises,” she said. “During your watch. That is hardly an incident that I would call ‘modest’.”

Her stern tone and expression were as neutral as always, but her clear blue eyes were piercing. Cullen forced himself not to betray the sudden lurch of nerves in his belly at the mention of Piper’s escape.

He bowed his head briefly. “It was my responsibility, Admiral,” he said quietly. “It will not happen again.” Never mind that this wasn’t the first time Piper had evaded long-term imprisonment in Kirkwall. In fairness, this was only the second time she had escaped without Cullen’s knowledge; the other times she’d been imprisoned, she or Varric had either exploited the foibles of Kirkwall law to talk her out of being kept for longer than three days, or the men she’d injured had suddenly and mysteriously retracted their accusations of assault, resulting in her being released from jail without further penalty.

It wouldn’t do to point this out to Meredith, however. Cullen had failed in his duties enough already by inadvertently allowing Piper’s escape two weeks ago.

Meredith frowned. “It certainly won’t,” she said. “I am henceforth commanding more stringent punishment for any acts of crime committed by pirates in this city.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows slightly. “More stringent punishment?” he said. “Entailing what, precisely?”

“The noose,” she said succinctly.

A jolt of shock rocketed through his chest. He forced his face not to register it. “The noose? For… for what crimes?”

“All crimes committed by pirates,” Meredith said. “They are the bane of Kirkwall. Their unlawful activities place the rest of our law-abiding citizens at risk.” She began to pace slowly behind the desk. “The lenient approach has not worked. These criminals have not earned the benefit of the doubt that their presence in Darktown and Lowtown implies. If you or your men should capture any pirates committing illegal acts in Kirkwall, you will immediately arrest them and sentence them to death. Is this understood?”

Cullen hesitated, and Meredith’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is there a problem, Commander?”

He nervously licked his lips. Meredith’s orders smacked of wrongness, but Cullen couldn’t entirely verbalize why. After all, he would have been of the same mind as her a mere year ago. But now, the thought of hanging a pirate for a minor crime – of hanging someone like Piper for defending herself from human attackers who were twice her size…

A chill ran down his spine. But he could hardly state his trepidation to Meredith – not when the pirate he wanted to defend was the very same one who had slipped out of prison right beneath his nose.

Which then begged the question as to why Cullen wanted to defend the troublesome little elf in the first place.

Confused and worried, he did the only thing he could do: he bowed his head respectfully to his commanding officer. “No, Admiral. It is not a problem.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Good. There is one other matter. This pirate who escaped: this Mad Piper, as she is known.” Meredith picked up a tidy sheaf of parchment from the desk. “She has been a problem in Kirkwall for an entire year now, from what I understand.”

Maker’s breath, Cullen thought. He swallowed hard, then prayed that Meredith hadn’t noticed his nerves. “Yes,” he said carefully. “She often frequents the Lowtown market.”

Meredith nodded, then pulled out a piece of parchment from the stack in her hands and gave it to Cullen.

He took the parchment, and his heart thumped anxiously. It was a WANTED poster featuring Captain Mad Piper herself, complete with a (rather fetching) sketch of the elven captain, along with a list of all her crimes: theft, obstructing merchant activity, multiple counts of assault on citizens, multiple counts of assaults on naval officers, public indecency, disturbing the peace, inciting riots, and impersonating the Divine.

Impersonating the Divine…? he thought incredulously. Then Meredith spoke again, interrupting his racing thoughts. “The Kirkwall printers are in the process of making these posters en masse. They will be ready in two days’ time.” She took the poster back from Cullen. “You will arrest this criminal the next time she makes an appearance in Kirkwall, whether she commits a crime or not,” Meredith said. “An example will be made of her. Any pirates wishing to take advantage of this fair city will know the kind of justice that awaits them here.”

Cullen’s pulse was thumping in his ears. The list of Piper’s crimes flickered through his mind – a multitude of crimes, but none of them truly horrific. She wasn’t like the pirates who had attacked his ship five years ago and murdered all of his men without a second thought. Piper was trouble, but she wasn’t a monster. She was a pirate, but she didn’t deserve the noose.

She didn’t deserve this.

He cleared his throat. “Admiral, if I may–”

Meredith interrupted him. “We are also making WANTED posters for that other elf on her crew,” she said. “The dangerous-looking one. You will bring him in as well.”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose in undisguised surprise. “You mean Fe–?” He broke off and bit his lip before he blurted out the name of Piper’s master-at-arms. It would be career suicide to admit that he had enough knowledge of Piper’s life to know the names of her closest crew.

He tried again. “That crew member of hers is not known for any illegal activity,” he reasoned. “There have been no reports of his involvement in any violent or criminal activities.”

Meredith gave him a hard look. “He is the known associate of a notorious pirate. That is damning enough.”

Cullen inhaled slowly to try and calm his racing heart. Meredith’s attitude was alarming, and it had been getting more worrying as the year had worn on. The Admiral had always been a strict but fair leader, and this was partly why Cullen had been pleased to return to Kirkwall on her orders. Cullen and Meredith had seen eye-to-eye about the dangers of piracy for many years, and Cullen had never had reason to question her orders before. But over the past year or so, he’d started to become more uncertain about the justice of Meredith’s decisions.

For the first few months, Cullen hadn’t been sure whether his uncertainty about Meredith was related to his own regrettable softening toward pirates, or whether Meredith’s orders were truly questionable. But the conversation they were having now made it clear that the problem was not just Cullen’s leniency.

Fenris had committed no known crimes in Kirkwall, but Meredith was ordering his punishment. This was a clear injustice, and Cullen couldn’t in good conscience allow it to pass, no matter the consequences that it might bring to him.

He sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Admiral,” he said. “I… I regret that cannot follow those orders.”

Meredith recoiled slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot arrest Mad Piper’s master-at-arms,” he said. “He has no criminal record here. Any crimes he may have done are outside of our jurisdiction. It would be a… an abuse on my part as a commander of the navy to arrest him.”

Meredith glared at him for a long moment, and Cullen held his breath as he waited for her verdict. Finally she sighed and waved an impatient hand.

“You are correct,” she said, to Cullen’s great relief. But his relief was short-lived as she continued to speak. “We will have to think something else. I will speak to the Viscount about drafting a new anti-fraternization law.”

Cullen frowned slightly. “Anti-fraternization law?”

She nodded. “Any known associates of a pirate must be punished for aiding and abetting their crimes,” she announced. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I will think on the phrasing. You will assist me with this.”

Cullen stared at her with growing alarm. “I…”

She frowned at him, and he cleared his throat and nodded decisively, even though he felt anything but. “Yes, of course,” he said.

She nodded in response, then waved a hand for him to rise. Cullen stood up, and Meredith gave him her usual stern look. “Remind your men to keep an eye out for this Mad Piper. The WANTED posters will go up in three days, and then the whole city will have an eye out for her. But if she should appear before then, she must not go free.”

Cullen bowed. “Admiral,” he murmured, then left her office.

He headed straight for the main exit of the navy headquarters. His gut was churning with anxiety, and he was hopeful that a casual patrol through Hightown’s streets would help to calm his nerves.

He stepped out into the blazing afternoon sun and made his way along the standard patrol route that led to Lowtown, but his mind was preoccupied with the meeting he’d just had. The situation with Meredith made him feel physically ill. Meredith had never had any fondness for pirates, but Cullen couldn’t understand her particular vendetta against Piper. Was it purely because Piper had escaped from jail, and Meredith was trying to salvage the navy’s reputation? Or might there be some other reason for her focus on the wily little elven captain? Piper was hardly the sort of nefarious pirate that Meredith and Cullen so abhorred, after all. She was actually very well-liked among many of the (admittedly less savoury) residents in Lowtown, and stories of some of her more ‘amusing’ feats in Lowtown had even trickled into the gossip circuit in Hightown. Cullen genuinely wasn’t sure that sentencing Piper to the noose would convey the message that Meredith was hoping for.

A fleeting image of Piper’s slender neck encircled by a thick noose flashed through his mind. He shivered instinctively at the thought, then ran a hand through his hair. For all that he’d scolded himself about not fraternizing with pirates, it seemed that he had somehow struck up an unacceptably affable rapport with Piper. He would be lying if he said his feelings toward Piper were completely impartial… and this was a serious problem.

Cullen now had direct orders from the Admiral that conflicted with his own sense of what was right. But could he trust his sense of justice when his own judgment was biased?

I am not entirely biased, he thought. The point he’d made about Fenris was valid. It was wrong to punish a person for merely affiliating with a pirate if that person had committed no crimes – at least none that could be proven. If affiliation was all it took, then Meredith should be targeting Varric just as harshly as Fenris and Piper.

But Varric was still technically a citizen of Kirkwall. Perhaps this was the difference. Varric still managed multiple businesses in Kirkwall, and he and Piper had never actually admitted to Varric being an official member of Piper’s crew. If Meredith’s anti-fraternization law went through, Varric could technically claim that he had been abducted by Piper and thereby get out of trouble. Perhaps Cullen ought to point that out to them if the worst should come to pass.

Then he stopped and scratched back of his neck. Why was he trying to think of ways to help Piper and her crew? He was a blasted naval commander. He should be reinforcing the law, not thinking ways to help a silver-haired little troublemaker escape it.

He sighed heavily, then shunted the problem aside for now. He would calm his mind with the familiarity of this patrol, and when his jangling nerves were soothed, he would return to the problem of Piper with a clearer head.

The routine of his patrol was as calming as Cullen had hoped. Aside from a noble youth drinking rum in public and a few children playing in the fountain, Cullen ran into minimal trouble. But just as Cullen was about to start the final loop of his patrol back to the headquarters, he spotted an unusual sight: a noble lady, alone – and one whom Cullen had never seen alone before.

He approached her and bowed politely. “Good afternoon, Lady Rynne,”

She beamed at him. “Oh hello, Commander! What a lovely surprise.” She idly waved the lacy mint-green fan in her delicately gloved hand. “What are you doing on patrol? I was under the impression that this was more of a lieutenant’s job.”

She wasn’t wrong. But he couldn't very well tell her his real reasons for being on patrol. “It is,” he said. “But I took it on myself to follow this route today. See if there are any… deviations that… Er, if any changes to the route are required to keep our citizens safe,” he said clumsily.

“Ah, of course,” Lady Rynne said. “A noble undertaking for a noble commander.”

Her tone was pleasant and unsuspecting, but Cullen awkwardly cleared his throat nonetheless. “I’m surprised to see you on your own,” he remarked. Leandra Hawke doted on her eldest child, and Lady Rynne was always accompanied by at least one handmaiden, as well as a personal bodyguard from the Hawke estate or her burly younger brother Carver, when he wasn’t carrying out his lieutenant duties himself. Seeing the young lady out on the town by herself was very strange indeed.

Lady Rynne made a tiny moue of dismay. “My handmaidens fell ill on some poorly-prepared fish, I’m afraid. And dear Carver stepped into the weapons shop – no place for a lady, you’ll agree. He’ll be back momentarily.”

Cullen frowned slightly. “Would you care for my company until his return?”

She delicately fanned herself. “Oh no, Commander, please! Don’t concern yourself with me. I’m sure I will be fine until Carver’s return. I’ll sit in this shade and enjoy the breeze. It’s such a lovely day, don’t you think?” She took a seat on a nearby carved stone bench beneath a tree and arranged her petticoats around her lap, then smiled up at him.

Cullen studied her curiously for a moment. The Belle of Kirkwall, they called her, and it wasn’t difficult to see why; Rynne Hawke was one of the most beautiful women in Kirkwall, with her delicate porcelain skin and her long shiny chestnut hair. She was sociable and charming and exceedingly well-mannered: by all rights, a very proper young lady. But there was something about her smile that always made Cullen feel like she was on the verge of making a joke that never quite left her lips.

He discarded the strange impression. He was probably just imagining things. He bowed slightly once more. “Well, if you’re certain you’re all right on your own, I should return to my desk to file my, er, patrol notes.”

Lady Rynne nodded and smiled. “Of course. I appreciate your concern, Commander. Have a lovely afternoon.”

“You as well,” he said, and he left her on the bench as he made his way back toward the navy headquarters. As he neared the carved pillars of the tall and decorous government building, his nerves began to vibrate once more, and he forced himself to breathe calmly as he made his way up the steps.

One thing at a time, he thought to himself. First he would try to determine if there were any other reasons that Meredith might be targeting Piper so distinctively. If he pored carefully through Piper’s criminal record, he might be able to find a way to alleviate the Admiral’s concerns and convince her to be slightly less strict in her sentencing.

Perhaps in the course of his investigations, he would also figure out why it mattered so much to him that the infuriating, flirtatious Captain Mad Piper not be sentenced to death.

RYNNE

Rynne fanned herself lazily and watched from the corner of her eye until Cullen’s navy-coated back disappeared around the corner.

Thank fuck, she thought. She flicked her lacy fan shut, then rose to her feet and began to walk away in the opposite direction that Cullen had gone.

She glanced toward the parasol and kerchief shoppe, then averted her face and sped up slightly to pass it by; Carver was in the shoppe getting her parasol repaired just as she’d cajoled him to do. He would be angry when he discovered she’d snuck away from him again, but Rynne didn’t care. If she had to spend one more minute today being fussed and clucked over like a useless child, she was going to start tearing out her perfectly pinned hair.

Her lovely handmaidens were at home, playing sick just as Rynne had paid them to do. Free now for the first time in over a month, Rynne was going to take full advantage and do the one thing she’d always wanted to do: she was finally going to venture into the Lowtown market.

She couldn’t explain why she wanted so badly to go to Lowtown. By all rights, it was a place she should want to avoid; it was dirty and noisy and full of people of questionable cleanliness and manners, and if Carver and her mother were to be believed, it was full of criminals who would sooner tarnish her honour than tell her ‘good day’.

But Rynne couldn't believe that that’s all there was to the market. It might be noisy and smelly and packed, but it was also vibrant and colourful and full of life. Flowers burst unfettered across the roofs and walls, and there were strange and delicious smells emanating from the many chaotic cooking fires – smells that were savoury and sweet and spicy, and so much more interesting than the cooking smells she was used to at home. The sounds of music often floated out of the market, merry sounds of instruments that Rynne had never heard at the formal dances and dinners in Hightown. And the people – Maker’s balls, the people...

There were all kinds of people in Lowtown. Humans, of course, but also dwarves and elves and the occasional qunari, and all of them wearing strange and colourful clothes and adorned with tattoos and jewelry the likes of which Rynne would never see in Hightown. On the cherished occasions when Rynne ran into Varric at the book shoppe, he’d told her about the funny conversations he’d had or the odd people he’d seen in Lowtown, and it only enhanced her wishes to see it for herself.

Where Hightown was a perfect pastel-coloured canvas of humans with perfect pristine smiles, Lowtown was completely imperfect, like a mad and unstructured jumble of people and things and noises from everywhere in the world – everywhere that Rynne had never been, and probably never would go.

Rynne was stuck in Hightown society. She was the eldest and only daughter of a controversial family: the Amells had a good reputation among the noble families but the middle-class Hawkes did not, and Leandra’s bold choice to marry below her station was still having its social consequences over two decades later. Rynne’s mother was desperate to marry her off to some high-class pompous twat to wipe away the so-called shame of having married the infamously academic Malcolm Hawke – an irony that made Rynne laugh on the good days, and made her want to scream on the bad ones.

She sighed internally as she gracefully strolled through the streets of Hightown. At times like this, Rynne really missed having Bethany around. Bethany was the sweet and gentle one, and on the days when Rynne was feeling really hard done-by, Bethany had usually been able to remind her why an arranged marriage would benefit the family – usually by pointing out their other friends who seemed to be happily married to men they hadn’t met until their wedding days. But the scarlet fever pandemic three years ago had taken Bethany away, and Rynne no longer had a confidante when the expectations of her station became too heavy to bear.

And the expectations were heavy indeed. Rynne was twenty-five now – practically an old maid – and her mother was becoming more controlling than ever, forcing her to meet with the parents of eligible young men at least twice a week and to go on heavily escorted dates with those young men just as frequently. Being stared at by bodyguards and handmaidens and family members was hardly conducive to getting to know a possible suitor – not that Rynne wanted to anyway. Every bachelor her mother forced her to meet was either too young, far too old, too bland and boring, or far too prone to eyeing her in the overly-attentive kind of way that made Rynne’s skin crawl with misgivings.

In short, Rynne felt like some sort of prize cow who was being shown around for the value of the milk she could provide. In contrast, her fantasies about Lowtown were like an escape. She saw the crowded market as the entryway into a land of adventure and strangeness and freedom that she could never have. And she was so desperate for even a tiny taste of the freedom that Lowtown offered that she was willing to risk the punishment that Leandra would inevitably bestow for her misbehaviour.

She slid her fingers into her elaborately curled hair and rubbed absently at her scalp. Then the first strains of noise and foreign music floated to her ears.

She smiled, then lifted her skirts slightly and walked more quickly still. She was nearly running now – a very improper thing for a young lady to do – but Rynne didn’t give a shit: she was almost there, almost at the broad stone steps that led down into Lowtown’s lively and fragrant depths. She had limited time now before Carver would realize that she’d gone missing, and she had to make the most of the time she had.

Within a minute, she was at the top of the steps. She stared gleefully at the market, with its colourful tarps and dancing ladies and all the fucking people. Without another second’s hesitation, she lifted her skirts and hurried down the steps. Then, for the first time in her twenty-five years of life, Rynne set foot in Lowtown.

It was so much louder here, and the smells were much stronger and laced with the pungent scent of unwashed bodies. Wide-eyed with wonder, Rynne began to slip through the crowd as unobtrusively as she could despite her vast stupid skirts. People were swearing and shouting and singing, and as she made her way toward the nearest merchant’s stand, she was rudely jostled in the sort of way that would never happen up in Hightown.

It was wonderful. Cacophonous and chaotic and absolutely fucking wonderful. When she finally reached the dwarven jewelry merchant’s stand, she couldn’t stop herself from beaming at him. “These are beautiful,” she called out over the noise.

“Thanks, lady,” he shouted back. He looked stunned for some reason, but Rynne didn’t mind; she was too preoccupied by the glittering jewelry on display. It looked ‘cheap’, as her mother would say: glass crystals set in plain copper and bronze, with no fine gems or metals to be found. But the artistry in the curling metal and the arrangements of the cut glass gems were like nothing Rynne had ever seen.

She pointed at one piece and looked up at the merchant. “How much for this?”

“Ten silver,” he replied.

Ten silver? Rynne thought. That seemed quite expensive indeed. She could purchase a moderately fine silk parasol for that price.

She tilted her head. “What is it made of, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The merchant tilted his chin up slightly and folded his arms. “Why’re you asking?”

Rynne widened her eyes and blinked. “Why, because the artistry is astounding, of course. I’m curious about your methods.” Flattery always worked in the shoppes at home; perhaps it would work here as well.

Luckily for Rynne, her hunch was correct: the merchant relaxed at her words. “Oh. Well.” He scratched his ear. “Five silver, then. Since you asked so nice.”

Rynne smiled and pulled a tiny coin purse out of the pocket of her skirts. “Wonderful! If you don’t mind wrapping it for me…” She looked up to find the merchant’s wary gaze focused just behind her head.

She tilted her head in confusion. Then a large and callused hand took hold of her upper arm. “You look lost, missus,” a deep guttural voice grunted.

Rynne turned toward the voice. It belonged to a large and grubby human man with two equally large and grubby companions.

She ignored the little leap of trepidation in her belly and smiled politely. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. That’s kind of you to be concerned, but I’m just fine.”

The man’s grip tightened on her arm. “I think you’re lost. And I think you need us to help you find your way home.” He pulled her closer. “For a price.”

Rynne recoiled slightly from his rancid breath, then smiled more widely despite her rapidly beating heart. “No thank you, I’m perfectly fine,” she said. “Please, feel free to move on. Don’t let me hold you up.”

The thug narrowed his eyes. “You dumb or somethin’? Give us your fuckin’ money.”

Rynne sighed musically. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. But I do have to apologize.”

He glared at her. “Apologize for what?”

“For this,” Rynne said. Then, before she could think twice, she crushed the heel of her shoe onto his filthy bare foot.

The thug yelped in surprise and released her arm, and Rynne spun around as quickly as her skirts allowed and ran – straight into the chest of yet another man.

Her nose slammed into his sternum. “Fuck,” she blurted. She grabbed her aching nose and stumbled back, then glanced up through her watering eyes at the man she’d just walked into.

He wasn’t a human, but an elf. In the space of a split second, Rynne realized three things: first, this elf was extremely handsome, with dark tawny skin covered in strange trailing white lines and the most lovely sculpted lips she’d seen outside of an art museum. Second, he looked extremely dangerous, with one hand resting on the handle of his cutlass and a forbidding scowl on his face. The third and most surprising fact was this: Rynne had seen this man before.

It was the elf she’d made eye contact with a couple of weeks ago, when she’d managed to cajole her usual entourage to come to the threshold of the market with her and watch the goings-on. A rush of combined embarrassment and pleasure cut through her swiftly growing panic as she remembered that fleeting moment: the second that he’d met her gaze and the way his scowl seemed to soften for the briefest instant, and the way she’d shamelessly stared at him as though she wanted to eat him up–

A rush of heat bloomed in her cheeks. Fuck, fuck, shut the fuck up, Rynne, she scolded herself silently. He could be another assailant, for all she knew. Speaking of assailants…

She spun away from him and toward the humans who had originally approached her, but they were gone.

She let out a relieved sigh, then tensed and stepped away from the handsome elf. She lowered her hand from her nose and gave him a guarded look. “I’d like to think it’s my menacing demeanour that scared those assholes off, but somehow I think I’ll be disappointed,” she said. “Are you going to try and mug me, too?”

His stern eyebrows leapt high on his forehead, and Rynne winced. “Sorry. Do you – maybe you don’t speak common. Varric mentioned that a lot of the people who dock here don’t. Um…” She gave him a hopeful smile and tried out the only elvhen phrase she knew. “Andaran atish–”

“I speak common,” he snapped, and Rynne shivered involuntarily. Maker’s balls, he had a bloody nice voice.

And he wasn’t finished using it yet: he continued to berate her in a deep and disdainful tone. “You are fortunate that your coin is all they tried to take. You should not be here.”

“What do you mean?” she said shrewdly. “You don’t know where I’m from.” She was starting to feel a bit excited. Did he remember having seen her before, as well?

He scowled more deeply, and Rynne watched with delight as the very tips of his ears began to turn red. “You are obviously from Hightown,” he growled. “You should go back there now, before you cause anyone any further trouble.”

She bit back a smile. He clearly remembered her, but wasn’t willing to admit it.

She stuck out her hand. “I’m Rynne,” she said. “Rynne Hawke. It’s nice to meet you.”

He recoiled slightly from her and folded his arms, which naturally only served to draw Rynne’s attention to his hands and arms. The same white lines that curved down his chin and neck also climbed from his wrists all the way up to his shoulders.

Rynne forced her eyes back to his face: no hardship there, given how gorgeous he was. “All right, I’ll keep my hands to myself,” she said affably. “What’s your name?”

He frowned more deeply still. Then his posture loosened very slightly. “I am Fenris,” he said.

She smiled. “Fenris,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you.” She turned back to the merchant. “Now, where were we…?”

“Price has gone up, lady,” the merchant said. “Seven silver for the business your antics cost me.”

Rynne froze with her fingers halfway into her coin purse. “Seven? Oh dear. I only have five.” She snapped her coin purse shut and turned away from the merchant’s stand in mock regret.

“Fine, fine,” the merchant hastily said. “Five silver, all right?”

She paused and widened her eyes. “Are you sure? I don’t want to discount your lovely workmanship–”

“It’s fine, lady,” the merchant grumbled. “The necklace is all yours.” He started wrapping it in a scrap of coarse brown burlap.

Rynne beamed at him. “You’re far too kind,” she said. Then she looked up at Fenris, who was studying her as though she’d grown an extra head.

She tilted her head. “Is something the matter?”

He stared her for a moment longer, then tucked his hands into his pockets. “That necklace is worth one silver at most,” he said in a quiet voice. “And he did not make it himself. He is fleecing you.”

Rynne gaped at him. “It’s not handmade?”

“Not by him, at any rate,” Fenris said. He glanced quickly at the merchant’s wares. “It is of elven make. It’s the workmanship of the free colonies on the Rialto Bay.”

Rynne’s eyes widened. “All the way from the Rialto Bay? Wow.” She gazed at the merchant’s wares for a moment longer, then held out her hand to the merchant. “May I?”

The merchant paused in the act of wrapping the necklace, then handed it over to her. Rynne reached up and untied her scarlet ribbon choker from around her neck, then held it out to Fenris. “Hold this for me, would you?”

He stared at her again as though she was some kind of strange creature, then gingerly took the ribbon from her hand.

Rynne unwrapped her new necklace from the scrap of burlap and swiftly clipped it around her throat. She fondly stroked the glass crystals, then smiled at the merchant. “Please give my compliments to the elves of Rialto Bay. And give them four of those silver that I gave to you.”

The merchant gave her a hard stare, then lowered his eyes. “Missus,” he grunted.

Rynne smiled more broadly, then looked up at Fenris. “Well, it’s clear that I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said cheerfully. “Would you care to escort me around the market? I would be happy for the company of such a handsome elf.”

Fenris’s face twisted in an odd way: almost as though he tried to scowl and smirk at the same time. Then his expression returned to its default frown. “I can’t,” he said bluntly. “I am meeting someone.”

Rynne pouted to hide a legitimate pang of disappointment. “Meeting someone, you say?” She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes at him. “A special someone?”

He scowled. “That’s none of your business.”

She sighed. “Fair enough. Well then, now I have to find out as much about you as I can before your companion arrives. Are you a sailor?”

His scowl deepened, and he hunched his shoulders defensively. “Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity, of course!” Rynne said. “This is obviously my first time here. Who knows if I’ll ever come back?”

“You are looking to collect stories to tell your friends back in Hightown, then?” Fenris replied. “Tales of the pathetic and the poor, so you can congratulate yourselves for avoiding such an ignominious fate?”

It was Rynne’s turn to recoil from his acidic tone. “What? No, not at all,” she said blankly. “I… honestly, I’d rather stay here than go back to Hightown. Despite the big smelly thugs and the fleecing merchants. I’ve never been on a ship before.” She glanced wistfully toward the port and the many merchant ships that were docked there, then looked up at Fenris once more. “What’s it like? Being on a ship?” She raised one eyebrow at him. “I’m assuming again that you’re a sailor, what with the gear and the bare feet.”

He studied her carefully for a moment longer, and Rynne forced herself to be patient as she waited for his response. Then he sighed and glanced toward the dock.

“It can be difficult,” he told her. “Storms can be near-fatal. Running out of fresh water is a constant concern. But it is a free life. That counts for more than comfort.”

Rynne stared at his stern and handsome profile with a growing lump in her throat. She swallowed hard, then looked off toward the horizon. “Well, shit,” she said lamely.

Fenris snorted.

Rynne looked up at him once more: he was smirking, the first evidence of amusement she’d yet seen on his face. It was enough to make her heart flutter.

She smiled at him. “What’s so funny?”

He shook his head and didn’t reply. Then a bright, cheerful female voice approached them.

“Fen! There you are!” A short, pretty elf with a gorgeous mass of silver hair bounced over and tapped Fenris’s arm. “I looked for you at Bohdan’s stand, I thought you said–”

Rynne’s jaw dropped. “You’re Mad Piper,” she gasped. “The one who escaped from jail!” She pressed a hand to her chest in excitement. “Oh Maker, I’ve heard so many stories about you. It’s lovely to meet you.”

The silver-haired elf beamed at her, then bowed deeply with a flourish. “I am Mad Piper, at your service, m’lady.” She straightened and eyed Rynne’s impractical dress with interest. “Lady, indeed. You’re a ways from home, aren’t you, love?”

“That is what I said,” Fenris grunted. He shot Rynne a pointed look as he spoke to Piper. “She insisted on staying after picking a fight with three human thugs.” He folded his arms. “An idiotic move in the extreme.”

Rynne lowered her eyes demurely. “Oh, Fenris, you certainly know how to flatter a lady.”

Fenris huffed. Piper’s keen gaze darted between Rynne and Fenris, and to Rynne’s surprise, Piper slung an arm around her neck. “Come on, m’lady, Fenris and I will give you a proper introduction to the market,” she said. She tilted her head. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m Rynne,” she said. “Rynne Hawke.”

“Rynne Hawke! Fantastic name,” Piper enthused. “Almost a pirate-y name, actually.” She began to pull Rynne further into the market, and Rynne was delighted to follow her.

“It’s not as impressive as Mad Piper,” she replied. “So tell me, are the stories true?”

“Completely,” Piper said.

“Exaggerated,” Fenris drawled at the same moment.

Piper pulled her arm from around Rynne’s neck and punched Fenris lightly in the arm. “Excuse you! Don’t you listen to Varric? He says that every story is based on something true.” She turned to Rynne with a charming smile. “In my case, I guarantee that a solid eighty percent of what you’ve heard is true.”

“I heard you once knocked out a whole tavern of Carta thugs single-handedly,” Rynne said eagerly.

Piper’s grin became a grimace. “Well. I took out… maybe eighty percent on my own.” Fenris cleared his throat, and Piper dissolved into laughter. “Fine, maybe forty percent. I have a very loyal crew.” She winked at Fenris, who grimaced in response.

Rynne watched their playful back-and-forth with a slight ache in her chest. Despite Fenris’s inscrutable manner, he and Piper were obviously comfortable in each other’s presence. Rynne couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that way around anyone aside from her late sister.

She gazed between Piper and Fenris little wistfully. “How long have you two been together?” she asked.

Piper jauntily tucked her thumbs into her belt. “Oh, Fen’s been with me for–”

“We are not together,” Fenris interrupted.

Piper stopped and looked at him in confusion, then burst into laughter. “Oh! Oh fenedhis, you thought…? Nah, don’t be stupid.” She elbowed Rynne playfully. “Fen is like my brother. He’s been with my crew for… what, over a year now?”

Fenris nodded confirmation and shot Rynne a very quick glance, and her heart did a little flip in her chest. “Interesting,” she said.

Fenris pursed his lips and didn’t meet her eye, but the tips of his ears were turning very slightly pink again. Rynne smiled to herself and turned to Piper, who was grinning knowingly at her.

Rynne grinned back; she couldn’t help it. It somehow felt like she’d known Piper for ages even though they’d just met. “Tell me more about your life,” she said enthusiastically. “Where have you gone in the past year?”

Piper laughed again and ran her hands through her wild hair. “Not enough places, if you ask me,” she said. “We spent most of our time near Rialto Bay and along the coast of Rivain. There are a lot of free colonies there, and we helped them to resupply. It was a pretty dry season.” She snapped her fingers and looked at Fenris. “There was that one slaver ship though, the random one off the coast of Ferelden–”

“The Tevinter ship,” Fenris put in.

“Right. We sunk them good,” Piper said with relish. “But not before stealing all their supplies and their coin.”

“And freeing their slaves, of course,” Fenris drawled.

“Of course,” Piper chirped. “We should go back sometime and see how they’re settling in.”

Fenris nodded, and Rynne simply stared at them. All this travelling they did, freeing slaves and helping colonies to resupply… Piper and Fenris barely sounded like criminals at all. It sounded like they just did what they wanted, and what they wanted to do seemed to benefit a lot of people. But if they were pirates, clearly they were engaged in some kind of criminal activity…?

Rynne chewed the inside of her cheek as she tried to think of a tactful way to ask about it. Finally she decided to just blurt it out; she was sure that Piper wouldn’t mind.

Before she could ask, however, a loud and angry male voice called her name. “Lady Rynne!”

Rynne winced. Cullen, she thought with a jolt of dread. But to her surprise, Piper perked up.

She fluffed her hands through her hair and turned to Fenris. “How do I look?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “The same as you always do,” he deadpanned.

“Not terrible, then,” Piper said cheerfully. “Excellent.” She shifted her weight coquettishly to one hip as Cullen strode toward them. “Golden Boy,” she purred in a sultry voice. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Rynne watched in fascination as Cullen’s angry expression melted into a look of worry. “Piper! What are you…” He trailed off and frowned at Rynne. “Wait. Do you two know each other?”

Rynne was equally confused – no, not confused. Intrigued. She looked at Piper and gestured at Cullen. “You know him?” she asked slyly.

Piper grinned at her salacious tone and took a slinky step closer to Cullen. “Not yet,” she said. “Someday though, if I’m lucky.”

Fenris made a strange choking noise. Rynne, meanwhile, couldn’t decide whether to be more entertained by Piper’s shameless flirtation, or concerned by the way Cullen’s face was turning uncharacteristically pale.

Piper, too, seemed to be concerned; she dropped the flirtatious act and frowned. “Cullen, is something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghoul.”

He stared worriedly at her for a moment, then straightened and seemed to collect himself. He turned to Rynne with a stern expression. “Your brother reported that you’d gone missing. There is a search party looking for you.” His scowl deepened. “You told me you were waiting for him.”

Rynne sighed. Looks like the fantasy is over, she thought sadly. And it was going so well. She regretfully looked up at Fenris’s handsome face, then sighed.

“My apologies, Commander,” she said. She gave Cullen an innocent wide-eyed look. “I was hungry, you see, and the kebabs smelled so good… I’m very sorry that I caused you trouble.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Fenris’s eyebrows rising. Cullen, on the other hand, lifted a forgiving hand, just as Rynne had known he would. “It’s all right, Lady Rynne,” he said. “I will escort you home.” He chewed his lip in silence for a moment, then took a step closer to Piper.

He lowered his voice, but Rynne could still clearly hear him. “By the order of Admiral Meredith Stannard, you are to be taken into custody and hanged by the neck until dead,” he said.

Rynne clapped a hand over her mouth in horror, and Fenris restlessly shifted his weight. Piper, meanwhile, scoffed and folded her arms. “Are you fucking kidding?” she demanded. “For what?”

But Cullen shook his head slightly. “I must escort Lady Rynne home. It is my duty to ensure her safety as a citizen of Kirkwall,” he said carefully. “I will return to arrest you once this duty is done.”

Rynne immediately cottoned on. She didn’t know why Cullen was helping Piper, but she wasn’t going to question it. “Commander, if you wouldn’t mind, I do need to run some errands before returning home.” She placed one delicate hand on his forearm and batted her eyelashes. “Would you be so kind as to assist me?”

He relaxed slightly and nodded. “Yes, Lady Rynne, of course.” He looked at Piper once more. “I will be back to take you in,” he said in a loaded tone.

Piper gazed at him for a long moment. Then a slow smile lit her face. “Such a sweet man,” she murmured. “This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me, all right? I’m not quite done with you yet.”

Cullen shook his head and lowered his voice even further. “Kirkwall is no longer safe for you, Piper.” He glanced at Fenris. “For any of you.” He gently took Rynne by the arm and stepped away. “This is goodbye.”

Piper grinned, then darted forward and kissed his cheek. To Rynne’s vast amusement, his face instantly turned bright red.

Piper grinned at him. “Not for goodbye. For luck,” she said. She winked at Rynne, then slapped Fenris’s shoulder and darted away.

Fenris shot Rynne a quick frown – just quick enough for Rynne to smile at him in return – then he, too, disappeared into the crowd.

Rynne sighed, then turned to Cullen, whose cheeks were still red. She forced herself not to laugh at how flustered he looked. “All right, my dear Commander,” she said. “Would you care to tell me what in the Maker’s name is going on?”

Cullen rubbed his stubbled chin, then ushered Rynne forward with a gentle hand at her back. “Absolutely not. It is official navy business,” he said sternly. “You, on the other hand, had better tell me what you were doing here.” He frowned at her as they neared the stairs back to Hightown, but Rynne could see the worry in his face. “Were you… you were not… conspiring–?”

Rynne tutted delicately. “Of course not. I swear to you, I just met them today.” She raised her chin slightly defiantly. “Besides, they weren’t the ones to be worried about in that market. That Fenris fellow rescued me from some rather unsavoury gentlemen, in fact.” She gave Cullen an appraising look as they returned to the relative quiet of Hightown. “He may be a pirate, but he’s not a bad man.”

Cullen sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I am… not unaware of that, Lady Rynne,” he said quietly.

Rynne studied his profile with a pang of sympathy. He looked troubled, and it was quite obvious to Rynne that his actions in Lowtown would likely not be approved by his commanding officers.

Perhaps Rynne wasn’t the only resident of Hightown who was feeling rather… well, trapped.

They walked in silence for a time through the clean paved streets of Hightown. Then Rynne quietly addressed him. “I don’t really have any errands to run, you know.”

Cullen sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

He sounded so long-suffering that Rynne almost laughed. But she bit her lip instead and stayed quiet. There was a good reason he’d accepted her feeble excuse, after all, and that reason was a pretty little captain with a mass of silver hair.

She tilted her head coyly. “Come to think of it, I do have to visit the book shoppe after all. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?”

The book shoppe was on the opposite end of Hightown from the navy headquarters. Cullen glanced at her, and Rynne could swear she saw a hint of gratefulness in his expression before he bowed his head. “Of course, Lady Rynne. For your own safety, of course.”

Rynne smiled. “Thank you, Commander,” she said. “I could never carry all that heavy parchment on my own.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes for a moment, but Rynne only blinked innocently, and he finally nodded and gestured for her to lead the way.

She and Cullen made boring polite conversation about their families as they slowly walked to the book shoppe. As they neared the cozy storefront, Rynne idly reached up to touch her scarlet ribbon choker.

Her fingers found the glass crystals of her new necklace instead. Rynne widened her eyes, then hastily began removing the necklace. If her mother saw it, she would throw an absolute fit. But where had Rynne put her choker?

Suddenly she remembered. She’d given it to Fenris to hold while she put the necklace on.

A flush of heat bloomed in her belly at the thought of Fenris. Maker’s fucking mercy, he was truly gorgeous. And mysterious, with that whole quiet-and-brooding thing and the marks on his chin and neck and arms. Rynne still wasn’t sure what those marks were; they didn’t quite look like tattoos, but what else could they be?

She sighed a little wistfully. I suppose I’ll never know, if Piper and her crew will be leaving Kirkwall for good, she thought. Piper made it sound like she’d evade the threat somehow, but even if the little pirate did sneak her way back into Kirkwall, it was unlikely that Rynne would be able to sneak back to Lowtown again. She was unlikely to ever see Piper – or Fenris – again.

She forced a smile onto her face as she and Cullen stepped into the book shoppe. I hope Fenris keeps my choker, she thought.

At least a part of Rynne would get to see the world that way.

#cullen rutherford #cullen fic #fenris #fenris fic #pirate au #Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me #cullavellan #cullen/lavellan #cullen x lavellan #piperford #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hakwe #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenrynne #pikapeppa writes

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bubblelliot · 4 years

Text

Here's my second character! I will also present their teammates a bit since the crew is much more like a family this time! (Might also add pics of the others in following posts and MAYBE of his animals too)

Særos Sandiel and The zookeepers

(This art is a picrew which I do not have the rights on, here is the link to it: https://picrew.me/image_maker/62745)

The name of the team mostly comes from a joke saying that "Mama Lyræ is our zookeeper and that we are the Zookeepers to a ton of pets. Also, Yarina can shapeshift into beasts sooooooo yeah.

Technicalities:

Særos is my very first character played in D&D. We actually started playing on the other game I talked about last time, but we switched to D&D. His character sheet is actually available on DND beyond, but I'm still gonna give details here.

Those are his attributes. (He actually got an additional point of charisma after I wrote this and was too lazy to take another screenshot sorry x) )

He is recorded as a high Elf, but is actually of two different bloodlines. He is VERY young for an elf, but his exact age is unknown (well yes but know, you'll see). He has 5 wizard and 2 cleric levels, making him currently level 7.

Equipment:

I am NOT gonna go through everything Særos has, cause that would be VERY long. He has a heavy armor, he has a staff of healing and a shortsword, but he mostly uses his magic. He also has, in his spellbook, a collection of dried flowers.

Familiars:

Særos has a TON of pets he acquired through the different quests the party went on. The first one is a frog named Lepiota he found wounded and saved. He then bought an old black cat he named Persephone (even if the cat is a male 😂). Finally, he also bought two ferrets (fluffy noodles ❤️❤️) which he named Elton and Freddy (this one was as a reference to one of our former player who really loves Elton John and Freddy Mercury). He loves them with all his heart and will absolutely kill anyone who tries to hurt his babies.

Allies:

Særos' main ally is, obviously, his twin, Edran. They are very similar, but Særos is usually pretty well kept with his short hair always brushed and his braids made every morning, whereas Edran is a bit shorter, more immature, usually pretty dirty with blood all over their clothes (which are poofy dressed he hides poison in 😂) and messy hair. There is also Lyræ. She is a paladin coming from far away lands. She is a human with elf ancestors and dragon blood. She has a wife and children and thus, she is pretty much the mom of the group. (The DM literally gave her two custom attacks she can use in RP: the flick of anger that gives 1pt of bludgeoning + 1pt of psychic damage and the disapproving look that gives 2pts of psychic damage everytime she does it + makes the target intimidated). Then, there is Finian, a human assassin. Finian and Særos are pretty neutral about each other, but Edran is in absolute admiration of him, so Særos is grateful that Finian doesn't just shatter his sibling's trust. The last member, who was actually someone that was rescued by the party, is Yarina. She is a very shy aasimar and is pretty much the definition of being pure EXCEPT she is obsessed with daggers (no joke, she has 23 of them). They were recently joined by a rogue elf called Adressin who actually attacked them at first.

Appearance:

This picrew is already pretty accurate. Særos (as well as Edran actually) has blond almost white hair, but it's actually fluffier than on the picture. He has two braids, one in front of each ear, a few freckles and red-pink eyes. He is very pale, quite small and very frail. He looks pretty androgynous and rather young, though he usually passes as a bit older since he is an elf.

Backstory and campaign:

So the campaign isn't really a big story like in Rhodrag's case, so I'll tell the party's story, but not the quests.

The twins' first memory is waking up in a bed, only knowing their name. They meet with the lovely wood elf lady who save them, and learn they were found in the sand by a nearby river. For that reason, they are given the last name "Sandiel".

They live a relatively normal life with her, for around 10 years, until they are attacked by drows. Their adopted mother successfully hides them by using magic and they learn they are wanted because they are part drow and part high-elf, meaning pretty much every every elven races will want to kill them. The woman successfully protects the twins. She is taken out of the house and, to this day, the twins don't know what happened of her, whether she was killed or taken.

They left and reached a nearby city. There, they survived by stealing and being street entertainers (for example, even if he has no rogue level, Særos is proefficient in stealth, sleight of hands, deception, etc. He also is proefficient in performance. He learned to sing, the art of divination and a bit of magic.)

One night though, Særos came back to their hiding place to find his sibling dead. All he could understand was that they died of both malnutrition and hypothermia.

Out of desperation, he tried every spell he knew, but nothing happened. He tried reanimation, but it had been to long. Out of despair, he prayed any god possible to help him, saying he couldn't live in this unfair world without Edran.

A god did answer. He is actually a god from the other game we started the campaign in before switching to DND.

He is called Nuodai the Trickster.

He offered a deal to Særos: he would bring back Edran and even guarantee him power and success, and in exchange, when Særos would be powerful enough, the Trickster would take his elven traits which hold part of his powers, as well as 200 years of his life. Out of desperation, Særos accepted.

He woke up the next morning. His sibling was by his side, clearly not dead, but not entirely alive. They were now a revived.

Things went on, Edran not knowing, and Særos eventually stopped thinking about the deal, only happy to have his twin back. They moved from the city, trying to reach a bigger one, and were, once again, attacked by drows. He used a spell to put his twin in safety and attacked the drows, but was, if course, neutralized.

He was taken and they made him a slave while they tried to capture Edran to kill them together.

Fast forward, Edran is taken into an underdark prison. He meets again with his brother and both if them are beaten up. They successfully defend though and they are thrown in a cell as it is decided they're are to be executed the next day. This is where they meet Lyræ and Finian.

They plan to escape as well as a few other NPCs. They are able to leave the cell and steal a bit of stuff while a vrock attacks the guards. They escape and reach a teleporter. There, Særos successfully brings everyone back to the surface. Newly free, they all start to look for a village. After properly introducing each others, they finally reach a tiny elf village. The twins stay as stealthy as possible but end up being noticed and attacked by guards. They then have a choice: they could be changed into simple would elves or they have to leave. Særos knows it's not gonna work on Edran, and bargains to be able to stay. At first, the headmaster threatens to kill him for that, but he ends up agreeing to let them in the city, guarded, until the night falls.

They then shop and leave the city.

They end up in a forrest Særos realizes is corrupted. There, they were attacked by a HUGE snake touched by the corruption. At first, everyone tries to kill it except Edran and quickly, Særos and Finian join them. Særos finally cuts the tip of it's tail where the corruption was and Edran and Finian calm it.

Lyræ is terrified of it and finally lets them all know that her best friend was killed by a giant snake who ate her alive. (This is freaking terrifying yo.)

In the end, a fight starts and Særos, enraged, leaves everyone and runs towards the center of the corruption. There he is attacked by corrupted elves and tree creatures we happily called Groots. Edran joins him and Særos basically rages (he used they most powerful spell he had and literally exploded them.

Edran, while attacking, starts gaining weird memories.

Fast forward to the end of the quest, Særos is happily searching for animals and flowers when he and Edran hear strange noises coming from a tree. Edran climbs it and a wood elf girl falls from the tree, before Edran jumps on her from the too of the tree.

The team introduced themselves to her and she happily talks to them. So yeah, that's how we met Nayhru.

The team reaches a weird village and after the whole snake incident, leaves the party for a while, promising to find them again soon and assuring she would always be closer than they think.

They reach the village which reveals to be a village of gnomes and there they meet with a gnome (who's player inspired the names of my furrets x) ) and a Goliath travelling together. They all find the village empty before being attacked by a troll and... Metal gnomes?

They kill them, uneager to die, and search the village. They find flowers in the middle of the village and Særos takes one for his collection. Særos and Edran are attacked by an ooze and at some point, the ooze attacks Edran just before being killed by Nayrhu. At that moment, Edran starts turning into a robot as well, with the corruption growing from their arm. Særos tries to cut off the arm, but us unable and the corruption takes Edran's whole body.

They leave the village and are able to find a Druid eager to help them make a cure for Edran and the gnomes, but he needs Elder sage. He describes it and Særos shows his flower to the Druid, who confirms it is Elder sage. They go back to the village to get flowers, cane back and turned Edran back into a flesh being.

And that's when they remembered dying and being brought back to life. Edran and Særos cried in each other's arms and then continued on.

They got in a cavern near the village from where the trolls always came. There, the found a girl, chained, with glowing wings. They freed her and she introduced herself as Yarina. (Fun fact: Yarina's player is my SO, and both Yarina and Særos have the spell suggestion, so when the crew found a the boss hiding something, we just made it run away. Nice. )

The team found a clockwork dragon and helped it. They then left again. Finian had to leave a couple times, and at some point, the team realized that, even if they are young, the twins were actually a lot older than they thought: They assumed Edran's death happened when they were around 13 and that it had been around 6 years, meaning Særos was actually around 19.

They were reunited with Lyræ and began other quests. In one of them, the team encountered a wishing fountain that filled any wish you had under certain conditions. Særos asked to know his whole story, from the lives of his parents up to now. The fountain gave him a magic book that tells his story and updates. It has no name so Særos just calls it The story book.

Some time passed and the team continued on. They were traveling to the capital until one night, Nayrhu and Edran caught a thief about to steal their stuff. They quickly stopped him and realized he was very young. Instead of kicking his butt, they woke up the whole team and decided together to bring him to the capital and help him make money to survive there. And that's how they met Adressin.

The zookeepers reached the capital where they are supposed to find Finian who joined outlaws he met in another quest.

Before finding Finian, they decided to do a few quests to earn money with Adressin.

Everyone through the day kept noticing Særos bring super bold, a lot bolder than he usually is, for example, telling Yarina who was wearing a magic dress that she looked "Incredibly beautiful" as if she was "made if pure light". No one really thought anything of it though and just shoved it away.

One night, they decided a drinking contest was a good idea and everyone joined except Adressin. The next morning, everyone was doing good, maybe a tad nauseous, except for Lyræ and Særos who were absolutely fucked up. They both used spells to heal their hangover, but Særos remained mildly unwell, choosing to go on their quest anyways.

Symptoms were the following:

-A headache that was mostly located to the top front of his head

-His low back itching and hurting a LOT

-His eyes feeling dry

No one really knew what was going on, some didn't even really notice.

As they went on with their first quest, they started noticing weird stuff about Særos' appearance: His hair looked more golden than white, as they used to, there were two bumps appearing on his forehead around the location of his headache, his eyes looked.... Weird...? But no one really saw anything peculiar, his skin, usually also white, now looked kinda pink.

He doesn't really notice the changes and doesn't understand what is happening which utterly FRIGHTENS him, but he hides it. Yarina started understanding what was happening and Edran out all the pieces together and now they know everything.

To be continued...

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lord-archon · 5 years

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“Where..”

This post is in response to another event, detailed here! https://thesuncouncil.shivtr.com/forum_threads/3121945

..The Archmage asked rhetorically, after she’d answered the knock on her door, and being none too thrilled by it either since she’d just returned her wife and child home from their daughter’s appointment at the clinic as a follow up, now that she was coming up on a month in age. “The Violet Hold, Archmage,” the veiled Kirin Tor Guardian responded, slinking backwards ever so slightly in response to the shadowy venom lacing the one worded inquiry. “Did you get a name.. on the Silver Covenant upstart?” she asked now, stepping forward and closing the door behind her, so as not to perturb her family as they settled back in at home. “Belthin Dayforge, ma’am. Cleric, Priestly type. Was one of those a bit more enthused to partake in.. well..” the Guardian began, of course alluding the infamous Purge of Dalaran following the Horde’s use of their portal network in order to abscond the Divine Bell during the War in Pandaria.

“..That’ll be all.” Shakiena said, dismissing the Guardian with a wave of her hand, before returning back inside to continue spending precious time with her family before she’d tend to matters involving this.. Belthin Dayforge. The Archon knew there were some in the Silver Covenant that were all too thrilled with being given anything resembling justification to oust their elven cousins from the Violet City.. Shakiena herself having been Quel’dorei prior to her transition was all too aware of how many of her ilk at the time felt for the Sin’dorei and their ‘fall from grace’ following the events of the Scourging of Quel’thalas at the hands of Arthas Menethil, whom resorted to pragmatic means in an effort to survive and stave off withering into shambling shells of their former selves.. begging for even the tiniest source of magic, or going so far as to extract mana from the very bones of their healthier brothers and sisters.

Several hours later.. dusk had fallen, and only the luminescence of lamplight glittered across the Violet City’s skyline and streets, mostly just.. Guardian’s of the Kirin Tor and shopkeepers closing up for the night, with some less sightly denizens of the flying city creeping their way towards the entrances to the Underbelly to partake in whatever vices could be bribed out of sight of the less favorable and more corruptible Guardians stationed below with a currency that had incredible underground and black market value; namely: ‘Sightless Eyes’. Shakiena, to her own unspoken fortune, had partaken in several bouts in the Underbelly herself, garnering herself the moniker ‘Shackle’ by those unfortunate enough to have crossed blades and contested with her in magical duels when she was off duty, and in dire need of blowing off some steam in the form of her second favorite pass-time prior to her engagement and subsequent marriage to her beloved student, Luella Lightwhysper. The Underbelly, however.. was not her destination this eve, however. No.. this.. Belthin Dayforge.. was a problem. No doubt there’d need to be questions of the Sin’dorei involved in the confrontation, especially since it involved a very specific faction of Sin’dorei that partook in the political intrigues of Silvermoon. The Sun Council, headed by the Magister Bey’ron Everblaze, whom she’d had the fortunate and equal misfortune to know all too well to be a cunning and all too devious practitioner of Fire and Fel magics. She loathed the fact that he and his party were a part of this.. whatever it was, and the Archon had already begun mentally preparing that particular conversation she’d assuredly be having with the Magister following the events that would transpire this night. Station to station did Shakiena teleport to throughout the City, collecting any and all information on this particularly zealous agent of the Alliance’s former denizens of the Silver Enclave; now aptly named the Greyfang Enclave now that the Silver Covenant was no longer the primary representative of the Alliance’s interests in Dalaran. She was able to collect far more than she expected, and far more quickly just as well, what with the Silver Covenant’s storied history in Dalaran following the rebuilding of the fabled magical capital of Azeroth. Belthin Dayforge, as per most zealots, was not a particularly careful individual. Cited numerous times for instances of Disturbing Neutrality among Sin’dorei whom still resided in Dalaran, and kept in holding cells on several occasions for other disorderly conducts. Alas.. this made it all too easy for Shakiena to sort out his location, and he was still very.. very close to home here in Dalaran. Residing in a small alcove of Greyfang Enclave dedicated to what few Silver Covenant decided to stay following their fall from favor among the Kirin Tor elite.

He was home, too, the fool. She could smell incense burning from several yards out from his front door, and with her alert elven ears she could hear him speaking. “Prayers.. how quaint..” the entropic Archon mused aloud at his front door, before rapping her knuckles against the heavy wooden surface.. before slipping into a veil of invisibility as the doorknob turned, and the heavy planks of the gateway into the home of Belthin Dayforge creaked open..“Hello..? He- hello?” his typical musically inclined elven vocals asked to what appeared to him as empty air, but was in fact to the voiceless specter of Archmage Shakiena Stillwater, shrouded in the arcane.. as she slipped past and into the former Silver Covenant’s safest space.. his home. Carefully she traipsed about as the buffoon stood in his empty doorway, clearly puzzled by the absence of anyone actually present to consider trickery and deception. Room to room she went, perusing his studies, his kitchen and living areas where all traces of his livelihood here gave the impression that aside from his grievances with the City State of Dalaran, he seemed to live rather comfortably for someone making habits of ignoring the neutrality of the governing authorities. The sounds of a door closing and dragging footsteps echoed throughout the abode, then trailed their way back towards a particular study Shakiena hadn’t yet peered in to. A religious cove dedicated to his following the Light. The Guardian did say he was a Clerical type, a.. ‘Battle Priest’.. as they were sometimes called. As Shakiena stood now as a Ren’dorei, this particular individual would likely view her being anywhere near this holy place as a desecration, and that.. oh.. that did bring a smile to her masked lips. She waited.. waited until the cleric returned into his little holy alcove, waited for him to kneel at his candlelit altar to begin his prayers anew.. before snuffing the candles out with a mere wave of her hand.. stripping the entire household of it’s illumination via curtains of shadowy sorcery, immediately sending the cleric into a state of surprise, and panic!

“I would hold.. very.. very still, good sir..” the Archon said aloud at last, revealing her presence verbally at least, and dropping the shroud of invisibility, allowing only her eyes to be a source of light in the shadows that mirrored a modicum of her intent.. The elf stumbled, clearly far too startled by the presence of another in the darkness, and startled furthermore by the presence of the Archon’s glowing cerulean orbs, before his eye would be caught by the illumination of arcane rings forming around Shakiena’s hands and wrists as she raised them palms facing up to be level with the height of her chest.“IN the name of the HOLY LIGHT, I DEMAND THAT YO-!” the male started, before being abruptly cut off as Shakiena’s right palm jutted out, and slammed into the cleric’s larynx, silencing them before they could utter a spell that could even remotely contend with the Archon’s modestly carefully planned out approach, or reveal her full countenance via some form of illumination to the zealot that would give away her allegiance as a Kirin Tor Archmage very deliberately invading the home of one of its citizens. “Have a seat, sir,” Shakiena said, jutting out her left deftly, emitting a wave of force that buckled the Silver Covenant’s biggest fan’s knees, forcing him into a kneeling position before her as he grasped at his throat, wheezing his breaths out as he attempted, but failed to speak. “Belthin Dayforge, you have been found guilty..” the Archmage started, allowing a moderate amount of light to lift up through the artificial darkness she’d created to stand in contrast with her coy inflection, while maintaining the shadows directly adhering to her personage and keep all but her eyes obscured from view. “..Of breaking the Laws of Neutrality set forth by the governing Council of Six established and cemented during the Burning Legion’s Third Invasion and opening of the Tomb of Sargeras.. and.. of smuggling dangerous magical artifacts among its citizens..” she said, crouching down in front of the struggling cleric, and slipping into one of his pockets a very particular package.. laced with shadow -and- fel magics.. rectangular in shape.. the exact item she’d been handed a few days prior by another Guardian of the Kirin Tor, but.. with a slightly altered magical signature, so as not to appear completely identical. “I.. Archmage Shakiena Stillwater..” she started again, this time lifting the veil of shadows adhering to her to bring forth her true self in -every- sense of the word: her Kirin Tor allegiance, the shadows natural to her as a child of the Void that coiled around her fingers in harmony with the arcane rings still ever present. “..Place thee, Belthin Dayforge under immediate arrest.. by the powers vested in me by the unanimous trust of the Council of Six.. under arrest, and sentenced to immediate imprisonment until a proper trial by a carefully select forum of peers can be assembled.” Belthin’s eyes widened, he was.. shocked! Appearing flabbergasted and utterly betrayed by the setup taking place as he stared angrily into the Ren’dorei’s cerulean irises, attempting to sputter his rage but unable to through his paralyzed vocal chords. “But.. considering the fact you’ll miss your appointed date..” she started again, caressing the tear dribbled cheek of the enraged elf with the back of her hand, giving an avenue for the shadowy tendrils surrounding her fingers to lacerate the supple and soft flesh. “..A warrant will be put out for your arrest.. and you will be held accountable.. for ALL actions! Past and present, in violation of the Violet City’s laws!” she hissed out, leaning forward to let the stinging words slither into his elven ears, which perked up as he sensed the sudden and overwhelming presence of cold, dark magic manifest at his feet.. before he slipped into nonexistance.. of Light.. of reality..

“Oh.. oh dear..” the Archmage said aloud, with a heavy helping of sarcasm, “Seems we’ve another one meddling with dark magics beyond their control again.. real shame how some fall so fast when attempting to control what they do not understand..” she said, sealing up the void rift she’d conjured beneath Belthin Dayforge, and through which he fell to float in the purgatory of darkness that made the Void what it was. “Let it be known, dear Belthin Dayforge..” she said to the final traces of dark magic dissipating from the ground where the Quel’dorei had once knelt, “That.. an ill fate befalls those.. who never.. ever learn..” And with those parting words.. Shakiena Stillwater exited the way she came, cloaked in invisibility until she was well out of sight of the unknowingly disappeared Belthin Dayforge’s home, before slipping back into the Tower where she and her beloved family resided, where she would go and lay with her wife.. and fall fast asleep. @lordbeyron @thesuncouncil

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threecrowsinatrenchcoat · 5 years

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Hey @orionwritessomething remember when I asked for writing prompts for Lyric the Magic Shop Owner well over a month ago and you gave me one and then I never wrote it?

Well I wrote it. Thanks for the prompt!

Prompt: “What about a group of chaotic adventurers stumble upon said shop and try to scam shop owner?“

“Um, Pandora, my dear, I don’t think this is... you know. A real magic shop,” Darcy said carefully.

He had stopped some distance away from the shop his companion had led him to, and was gazing up at the battered old sign that hung above a weather-worn door. ‘The Raven’s Message,’ the sign proclaimed, and beside those words, an illustration of a raven perched atop a stack of books was discernible despite the old paint’s apparent determination to get up and leave.

The front window, when Darcy stopped trying to look through it and instead just looked at it, was coated with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. It was’t the dust that blocked his view of the interior, however- it seemed like shelves had been purposely placed in front of the window. Unusual for a shop. Downright strange for this street, where every little locally-owned business seemed to be trying to outdo each other with their window displays. Darcy frowned.

“But isn’t that the point?” Pandora countered with a grin. She had made it all the way to the door of the shop, only to double back and join him there on the edge of the street. “You’ve got like a billion glamours and shit on this thing, any mage you take it to is gonna see right away something’s up. You gotta go to someone who thinks they know what’s what, but doesn’t actually.”

“You say that like you’e done this before,” Darcy teased. He knew full well that she had, which was why he had asked for her help in the first place. At his words, she laughed.

“Yeah, well, usually just with trinkets. Little stuff. And this shop is new to the neighborhood, so I haven’t actually been here before. So you’d better not be all talk and no skill.”

Darcy flashed her his most charming smile, and patted her cheek.

“Five minutes,” he assured her as he sauntered toward the door. “That’s all I need.”

The inside of the Raven’s Message was nearly identical to the outside: generic. The place felt barely lived in. Most of these small, family-run businesses tended to feel somewhat ruffled. Shelves were browsed, items picked up and later placed in a completely different spot. Some semblance of organized chaos made of up hand-written price tags and scavenged display bins. Full of love and hard work- people doing their best with what little they had.

This shop had none of that.

Items were arranged carefully, almost mechanically, and had clearly not been moved since they had been placed. There were certainly a lot of items- sage, incense, crystals; everything one would expect to find in an imitation magic shop- but none of these items seemed, in any sense of the word, loved.

“Is this place a front?” Darcy muttered to himself as he looked around. There was not a customer in sight. He did at least spot a cash register on the back counter, wedged between a display of salt lamps and a glass case filled with many colored crystals, but no one around to man it. Feeling uneasy, Darcy adjusted his grip on the item he held, wrapped carefully in a soft blanket.

“Oh, if I had wanted a front business, I would have gone with an Italian food restaurant. At least then I could eat good food while I was up to no good.”

Darcy turned, startled by the voice. A man had stepped through the curtain-shrouded doorway to his right and now stood only a few feet away. He had somehow made no noise in his approach and Darcy, who had not been snuck up on since he was five, was both impressed and unnerved.

“And speaking of being up to no good,” the man continued, “You seem like someone on a mission. Can I help you with something?”

Darcy took a moment to study the man before answering. He was not a particularly tall man, and of average build. He certainly dressed the part of an eccentric magic shop over, with the long, flowing coat at the ribbons and beads threaded throughout his long dreadlocks. His pierced ears had a slight point to the- elven blood, perhaps? He did move with a surprising grace for a blind man- that is, if the cloudy white eyes and the faded burn scars surrounding them were being correctly interpreted. There were not many elven-blooded in this city. They were children of the forest, after all. Darcy’s last observation before he spoke was that this may not be as easy as he’d thought.

“Yes, hello,” he said at last. “I do hope you can help me, my good sir. See, I have recently come into the possession of a curious artifact, and I am hoping to find someone who may be interested in acquiring such an item.”

“I may be interested, or I may know someone who is,” the shopkeeper answered smoothly. “Please, have a seat.”

The man gestured toward the corner of the room, where sat a small table between two chais. Of all the spots in the cramped little shop, this seemed the most lived in. There was not a speck of dust to be seen upon the table’s wooden surface. A black cloth was laid out upon it, and a spread of tarot carts sat abandoned. Darcy tilted his head slightly.

Tarot. How cute.

“I should apologize for my lack of manners toward a... distinguished gentleman such as yourself,” Darcy said after a moment’s silence. The man paused in his efforts to clear off the table, and a faint look of amusement flickered across his face. Darcy continued speaking.

“My name is Darcien. Darcien Lux, though friends call me Darcy. I’m hoping we can be friends, Mr...?”

“Lyric,” the other answered. “Just Lyric. And I do hope we can be friends, as well.”

Darcy smiled. Lyric smiled back. An awkward moment passed, then Lyric cleared his throat.

“So. Darcy. What is it you’ve brought for me?”

“Oh? Oh, but of course.”

With well-rehearsed care, Darcy placed his bundle onto the table and, ever so gently, peeled back the layers of blanket until the item was unveiled.

Darcy found himself suddenly grateful he had spent the extra time to enchant more than just this item’s appearance, but even so, he found himself holding his breath as Lyric reached out, hand hovering several inches above the jewel-encrusted goblet that sat unwrapped upon the table.

“May I?”

“Oh,” Darcy answered, “By all means, friend.”

He watched warily as Lyric carefully lifted the goblet and slowly rotated it about in his grasp. His fingers gently traced along the inlaid jewels, and followed the lines carved into the heavy cast metal.

The goblet, of course, was worthless: a cheap imitation of wealth; any value it might have carried once upon a time had been eroded away by the years spent buried in the depths of the cavernous dungeon where Dacy, Iris, and Pandora had found it. The journey had been otherwise fruitless: whatever sort of lair the place might have been, whatever secrets still lurked beneath the earth, the collapsed tunnels and heavy rocks had cut the unprepared adventurers’ quest short. But Darcy was not one to walk away from an adventure with nothing to show for it. And if he had to trick a few foolish shopkeepers into purchasing a few worthless trinkets, then so be it.

Lyric took his time inspecting the goblet. Darcy let him, silently focusing on the magic he had placed upon the cup so that it screamed “wealth” and “rarity” to the one who helt it. Finally, Lyric set the goblet down, and lifted his milky white eyes toward Darcy.

“This truly is a wondrous item you have brought me,” he said with a smile. “Very magical. I like that.”

Darcy- who, despite Pandora’s insistence that this particular magic shop was not a real magic shop, had kept a very close watch for any signs of the Detect Magic or Identify spells a true retailer of magical wares would know to cast, and had not seen the man cast anything- tilted his head slightly.

“Er, yes,” he answered. A lie came quickly to his tongue. “This is... not my specialty, but I have been assured this is an item of awesome power, capiable of neutralizing any poisons that may find their way into this cup. Certainly a useful item in some instances. Perhaps for a victim of paranoia... or someone with less than trustworthy friends.”

“Mmm, yes, it certainly is,” Lyric replied evenly. Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he observed the man across from him, searching for any tells. There were none- the man seemed genuine, at least as far as Darcy could tell. And, typically, Darcy could tell quite far.

“So, my friend,” he continued when there were no further comments from across the table. “What do you think? Does such an item strike your fancy? I assure you, you will not see an item like this again, not in your lifetime.”

Lyric seemed vaguely amused by that, a hint of a smirk touching his lips. But after a moment, he nodded.

“If you accept gold as trade, I would be more than willing to offer you fifty gold pieces for such an item. Is that agreeable?”

Darcy had to bite his tongue to keep his initial reaction a silent one. Fifty? He would have considered ten gold pieces to be a win. Fifty was...

“Friend, I believe we have ourselves a deal.”

He stuck out his hand, and before the thought occurred to him that this was probably a foolish gesture, Lyric took his hand and they shook. Then, Lyric stood and crossed the room toward the cash register, while Darcy rubbed the warmth back into his hand. Lyric’s grasp had been unnervingly cold.

Not two minutes later, the exchange was made. Darcy pocketed the gold with his most charming smile upon his face.

“It truly has been an honor doing business with you, my friend. I truly appreciate your time.”

“And I, yours,” Lyric responded in equal measure. He wore a serene smile upon his face as he held the goblet. Darcy was mostly out of the door when Lyric added, “And if you stumble upon any other interesting items in the same place you found this one, please do bring them to me.”

From the rustle of clothing followed immediately by the slam, of the shop door, Lyric figured Darcy had simply waved at him on the way out. He shrugged, unbothered, and made his way into the back room of his shop.

Niiro was seated at Lyric’s workbench, valiantly trying- and failing- to keep the cats from investigating the spell components he had carefully laid out. When Lyric stepped into the room. three pairs of eyes immediately turned to him.

“What was that? A customer?” Niiro asked. Both cats, one a familiar in cat form and the other a cat in the more traditional sense, chirped. Likely asking the same question. Lyric lifted the goblet he had just acquired in answer.

“What is it?” Niiro asked dubiously. “Is it magical?”

Lyric grinned.

“Not in the slightest, dear,” he replied. “In fact, objectively, it’s rather worthless after all this time.”

There was a clink of glass and the rustle of old parchment. Niiro had turned back to the spell he was working with.

“If it’s worthless, why’d you buy it?” he asked.

“It seems like time and the elements have finally begun to unearth long-lost secrets,” Lyric answered. He was met with silence, but he could feel Niiro’s exasperated expression on him. Lyric sighed and held up the goblet.

“This is from one of my old hoards, from centuries ago. Last month’s rainfall must have finally uncovered it. I imagine many more treasures from my youth will soon find their way to me. Now, have you seen my spellbook anywhere? I must dispel all of this rather pointless illusion magic-”

As Lyric wandered off, voice fading as he continued the conversation with himself alone, Niiro just sighed and turned back to the mess of a spell he had laid out before him. Cricket, the orange tabby cat that was not exactly a “cat” per se, mewed at him. Niiro just shrugged.

“Fuckin’ dragons, man. What can you do?” he told the cat.

Cricket seemed satisfied with that answer.

#kye writes #i actually started it when you gave me the prompt but then i never finished it #well now it's finished #so thank you for the prompt!#i had fun writing it #lyric tag #niiro tag #darcy the mail girl

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npc-guy · 5 years

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Elf Inquisitor

People change over time, and with them change their cultures. Governments must adapt or be replaced, academia is constantly evolving with new thoughts and discoveries, technology always moves forward, and beliefs and ideals shift and grow. But these things take time, and for a while it may seem like things are certain and cemented. For some, that may even mean that anything that threatens these static states needs to be destroyed. Religions across the world have had to face change, but also they have had to face those that disagree with them from the outset. And what better defender both within or without than one trained to hunt and fight against those who disagree, who try to change the long-held beliefs of the faithful, and who would be enemies of one’s eternal deity? Today’s post is on another multi-centennial religious warrior, the Elf Inquisitor.

Now, I’m sure many of you will know immediately where I’m going with this: the age thing. Yes, you’re right, that is definitely a part of it. And I’m going to draw immediate comparisons to the elf cavalier that I wrote about previously. An elf inquisitor, like their cavalier counterparts, can live long enough to see their organization or their entire religion change over time. But, unlike the cavalier, the inquisitor has a more direct connection to their deity. I mean, they literally draw magic from this entity every day. As an inquisitor, these elves are charged with protecting their faith from all enemies. But what about change? For example, the war god Gorum in Pathfinder is Chaotic Neutral. This means that his followers can be Chaotic Neutral, Good, or Evil plus True Neutral. That’s four different alignments which mean four different ways to view one god. In simple terms, Gorum only cares about fighting and conflict. He doesn’t care about defending civilization and will happily watch cities crumble if it means it’s a good war, even though he is not evil. Conversely, he doesn’t necessarily advocate for wanton slaughter or torture because they aren’t truly war either. If your enemy can’t fight back, it’s not really victory and there is no glory.

Okay, so the reason I’m going into this whole thing about Gorum and the different viewpoints his followers can have is that this is a dilemma for any god in Pathfinder or any other RPG. Gods represent varying, and sometimes not entirely cohesive concepts. One of my favorite campaign journals, Tales of Wyre, deals with the problem of a paladin’s religion spiraling into a civil war because he questions whether a demon can be redeemed. The dogma said no, but a moment of doubt made him question dogma and eventually tear down hundreds of years of orthodoxy. This is what can happen, in my mind, with an elf inquisitor to some extent. If an inquisitor of Gorum is taught their whole life from a Chaotic Evil view of the Lord in Iron then they will see Chaotic Good followers of their god as heretics. But, the proof is as easy to see as a CG cleric of Gorum. That reality, though, can be hard to accept. And if this person has lived for multiple centuries, they may have seen what happens when a religion changes too much. Sure, it starts with a little more of one direction on the alignment chart, but then you have schismatic preachers pulling followers away from the established faith and towards new ideas. Some of them may advocate changing to a new god altogether. Before you know it, the temples are empty and YOU are the heretic.

Of course, that doesn’t need to happen. This is all hypothetical stuff and there’s no reason you have to have the religion(s) in your fantasy table-top RPG be complicated or anything close to real life. And this applies to the elf inquisitor, too, and this is where I can see another way to compare them to the elf cavaliers. They can be an example that can last through several generations of other races. The elf inquisitor can be there at the founding of the first temple, or have actually met the holy figure that was the original head of the faith. They could even be the author of religious texts and a clarifier in regards to what the people at the time actually meant in their writings. “For the last time, that passage is a METAPHOR. WHY in the WORLD would our goddess of peace actually advocate for setting people on FIRE?!” Most applicable to their chosen profession, though, are the more combat-oriented duties of both defense and attack (both metaphorical and literal). An elf inquisitor’s lifespan can give them a definite edge in regards to foresight and insight. They could be able to predict when a schismatic faction is most likely to turn violent or make an exodus away from the religion’s centers of power. Perhaps they have used their many years developing contacts, giving them eyes and ears to warn of any dangerous folk or creatures. They could also study their quarry, learning the details of how their enemies operate.

In conclusion, the elf inquisitor is an excellent option for a more zealous religious character in your Pathfinder campaign. It also allows for some grey area actions when dealing with religions, as the inquisitor can (like the cleric) be a step-removed from their deity’s alignment. They can be a character for excellent lore drops/bombs, having witnessed centuries of the existence of a particular faith and possibly having fought many more foes than an PC. And don’t forget they can be quite dangerous to their enemies. So if you need a character who literally saw the first stones of the ancient temples laid, fought in that famous battle centuries ago, or is mentioned in the passages of your fantasy world’s holy books, consider the elf inquisitor.

Lachlan Moray [Domain: Water]

The flame of the elven civilization burns brightly, but that is exactly the problem. So reliant have they become on the power of fire that they have forgotten that water is the source of life. Lachlan is one of the few who still understands this, and seeks to correct the imbalance. He acts as his holy element would, with ebbs and flows to erode the overwhelming might of the fire temples. One year he will be plan and plot, allowing the sycophants of heat and light to let down their guard. The next year he will slowly flood the public consciousness with the pollution that rivers, lakes, and even the seas are suffering. Always, Lachlan knows his limits and the limits of his fellow faithful, and knows not to push too hard or fast lest he be forced to defend himself and others. But he is an elf with the patience of deepest waters, and it will take many dousings to reduce the raging inferno.

Fortunist Aysel [Domain: Luck]

In the great multiverse you might eventually find yourself in a curious demiplane called Tornach which seems to be a single enormous casino. Within can be found every game of chance ever conceived, for this is the personal plane of a demigoddess of fortune. But do not attempt to cheat unless you would bring down upon you the Fortunists: mortal servants of the demigoddess who will immediately attempt your capture should they suspect any attempt at duplicity. Chief among these is Aysel, an elf who has lived longer than most games have on the material plane. In this world-sized casino she is the greatest deducer and keenest of eye, and also is one of the few who is trained to hunt against interlopers of strangling order or intolerable chaos. Aysel knows well that her lady represents a balance of fate and skill, control and its absence. So, she has watched, judged, and punished with luck on her side to keep this place of balance from being upended.

Nergüi of the Long Game [Domain: War]

The Lords of the Pit have plans laid throughout the world to bring glory to themselves and their Infernal Emperor. The Lord of Wrath has many mortal followers who serve his ends in the material plane, but Nergüi is an unusual case. While many others are simply soldiers or trained killers, Nergüi faithfully seeks to encourage the titular aspect of their lord. By hunting peacemakers, encouraging feuds, and sowing seeds of discontent and hatred, Nergüi gives their lord greater power and influence in the mortal world. Of course, they are more than capable of relishing in a true conflict, and in fact have both been responsible for and actively participated in multiple wars over the past few centuries.

#the daily npc #daily npc #npc #Non-player character #rpg #Role Playing Game #Pathfinder #Pathfinder RPG #Paizo #elf #inquisitor #elf inquisitor #advanced player's guide #book 2

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a-gay-bloodmage · 5 years

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11, 12 & 20 ;)

Wow, okay! I ended up going on and on (and on and on and on…) for these, so I’ve posted ‘em under the cut!

Thank you for the ask!

((From this post!))

11. Top 5 favourite female companions?

5. Velanna: It’s rare that we get to see angry elves. Elves who are sick and tired of humans burning them out of their homes, sick of racism and human policies, and just sick of everything the world’s thrown at their people. Velanna, despite her “abrasive” (or worse, “bitchy”) personality, is, at her core, a wonderful person. Sure, pride was a part of the reason she stood against the humans trying to burn her clan out, but, if anything, it was her overwhelming resilience and defiance that made her take a stand, even if it was against what many considered better judgement. I love angry elves, especially Dalish ones. I think that the Dragon Age series needs more elves that won’t just play to the narrative of “elves were weak and violent against The Righteous Humans so they deserved what happened to them” because they didn’t deserve any of that. Nobody oppressed deserves to be oppressed. Velanna knows that. She’s incredibly talented and strong-willed and it’s wonderful to see. But, almost above that, is the fact that she’s still a young woman, naive to the world outside her clan. And, honestly, I find that adorable. She believes Oghren’s obviously false stories about dwarvern babies, and can’t handle being flirted with. And her ears are adorable. The bigger the ears the better.

4. Sera: Okay, my love for Sera’s a little tougher to describe than Velanna. On one hand, I adore her character. I absolutely love her design, her openness of and love for sexuality, and her chaotic-neutral-with-a-guarded-heart-of-gold personality. I just… hate how she was handled. So, therefore, I have taken Sera as my own. I love her obvious neurodivergence, and how it’s the opposite of all the more widely-loved neurodivergent characters we usually get. She’s loud and unfiltered, she’s impulsive and often reckless, and she gets angry when she’s sad or angry or confused. I think, personally, that her character is a type we should see more, and that, more importantly, we should sympathize with more. Sera, at her core, just wants to help the people that have been spat on by society, the “little guy” at the bottom of the social ladder. She’s fueled by a love of adventure and want to do the good thing. And I really do admire that. I love characters who aren’t afraid to get in trouble for doing what they believe to be right. And her romance is so cute, she’s so obviously smitten by her Tadwinks and it’s downright adorable. And her friendship with a male PC can be just as cute, really. It’s all the fun of the romance without the sexy-bits. And I love how close you can become with her, living life after the Inquisition with someone who likes you for you, not because you’re the supposed prophet of someone. I think that Sera is one of the few characters that genuinely couldn’t care less about where you’re from or what you do, so long as you make an effort to understand her and her feelings, and don’t work against what she works for. Not to mention, she’s got a stupid sense of humor that I just love. Her banter always makes me laugh and I so appreciate everything about it.

3. Merrill: I’ll start this out by saying, unapologetically, that I am completely in favor of blood magic. I love blood magic. I think it’s an unharnessed force of magic that could be used in so many unexplored aspects of magical fields, and that it’s use in healing could revolutionize the art if only people would get over it’s taboo. That being said, I adore Merrill. Not only is she connected to the Dalish Warden, but her connection to them ends up leading her to becoming one of the most intelligent characters in the series. Not only is she a Dalish mage somehow surviving in human civilization (even if she does get lost sometimes…), but she’s working to undo Darkspawn corruption of an ancient elven artifact. That takes not only immense skill, but the upmost patience and dedication to discovering knowledge lost for Creators-know-how-long. And, being completely honest here, Merrill is one of the cutest characters in the series. Her absolute adorable-ness is one of the most prominent in the series. You can’t argue me on this. I’m right. I adore her voice actress, and could listen to her banter for hours upon hours. And her face is just… pure adorable. Those big green eyes just make my heart melt, honestly. Anyway, like with Velanna, I really appreciate having elves that take immense pride in their cultures, and do whatever they can to protect their people. With Velanna, it was standing alone against humans trying to attack her clan. With Merrill, it’s calling upon “forbidden” magic to restore not only parts of her people’s past, but (even if this part was… in vain) to cure the people she loved, Mahariel and Tamlen. There’s so much goodness trapped inside this tiny elf, it’s a miracle she doesn’t burst at the seams.

2. Leliana: Okay, I know I go on and on here at a-gay-bloodmage about how much I hate the Chantry and every single thing that comes out of it, but Leliana is an exception. As much as people like to claim that she’s annoying, that she’s too forward, that she falls in love with the Warden no matter what they do, I can’t help but believe that this is not only wildly exaggerated, but part of why she’s such a good character. First off, the claim that she’s annoying. If anything, her enthusiasm toward saving the world only makes me love her even more. Also, she never forces her beliefs on anyone who tells her they don’t believe in her god. She had a vision, she believes in it, and she wants to help. Whether or not you believe her is up to the player. Her forwardness is just another part of her charm to me, as well. I think that there’s something so wonderful about a woman who is just so in love with all the good things in the world that she can set aside the bad in their favor, that she can look to where people see an absentee god and see a loving, embracing figure. That warmth is so beautiful to me, and I love to shape my thinking after hers, preferring to believe in a good force in the universe instead of fire and brimstone and all the nonsense. And when people complain that she keeps ninja-mancing the Warden? So what? Again, I love that. Sure, it can mess with some relationships in-game, but she accepts a no if you give it to her. I think her love toward the Warden is so sweet and pure, to be honest. She loves the person she’s following out of actual admiration for once, and not out of manipulation, like how she was with Marjolaine. I’m an absolute sucker for characters with love too big for their heart, and Leliana fits the description quite perfectly.

1. Morrigan: Fuck you. I love Morrigan. Okay, that started off a little strong. I just really love her. I not only think she’s breath-takingly gorgeous, but her personality just draws me to her. Of course, if she were an actual person I had to interact with on a daily basis, well, maybe I’d have a different opinion, but we’re talking about video game ladies here, fellas. They can be abrasive and petty and prideful, but eventually, we get to see behind the proverbial curtain. And… God, I can relate to the serious case of mommy issues in this one. I do think that if I weren’t such a passive person, I’d be quite like Morrigan. Pushing people away before they can get too close to see why you’re hurting inside. I find it easier to deflect while she prefers to simply shove and jab and bite until you give up trying. I empathize with her, and I only wish I could’ve done more to convince her that staying with the Warden, romance or not, would’ve been welcome. That she didn’t have to run away, to take on the burden of an (at the moment) unwanted child alone. She’s secretly so caring and kind, but she just doesn’t understand that people can be loving due to the abuse Flemeth put her through. I know she wouldn’t appreciate the physical contact, but I just want her to lie her head in my lap and talk about her feelings. Poor little witch never learned how to express herself in a positive manner… And yet I love her regardless. And when it comes to her role in Inquisition, I hate a bit of a love-hate relationship with it. On one hand, she showed just how much she’s grown to care for Kieran, and it makes my annoyingly-baby-loving-heart just melt into a gushy pile of love. The fact that she refuses to be the mother Flemeth was to her? I cried. (“I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me.”). On the other hand, I wish she wasn’t the “expert” on elven lore. I blame bad writing. But one thing Inquisition really got right? Yeah, I’m back on the Kieran relationship again. I just love it so much… Her desire to be a better mother than her mother was to her is one I hold dear as well, and the reason why she’s my favorite female companion in the entire Dragon Age series.

12. Top 5 favourite male companions?

5. Alistair Theirin: First of all, I unashamedly love Fiona and Maric. Just going to put that out there. I love and actually admire Alistair for a lot of his qualities. As someone who went through years upon years of horrible abuse from the people who were supposed to be taking care of him (Fuck you Eamon and double fuck you, Isolde), was sent to a Chantry against his will and forced to become a Templar, and someone who promptly quit the order after seeing what it did to mages, Alistair’s proven himself time and time again to be a resilient and compassionate person. I think that most of my love for him comes from the fact that despite seeing how much bad was in the world, Alistair still worked to be a good person and to create something positive in the world. I personally make him King in most of my worldstates, not because I think it’s where he “belongs” or anything, or because I somehow am delusional enough to think Anora would be a bad ruler, but because he’s shown to have a lot more compassion than any other ruler. He’s sympathetic to the plights of the mages and the elves, despite not (knowingly) having any connection to them. He’s a solid, overall good boy who covers up emotional pain with humor, and I love him one hundred percent.

4. Dorian Pavus: Dorian is one of the characters that I think gets a lot of fandom love for reasons other than my own. He’s beautiful, and charming, and unique, and a wonderful gay man in a video game (an unfortunately rare thing), but I love him because I can relate to him on a deep level. That fear of disappointing those you love because you’re not what they think you could be, that hiding away your issues behind a veneer of “it’s alright” is best because then you’re not a burden and people don’t see how damaged you are. It’s hard for me to open up to people, and Dorian really is just one of those characters I can’t help but love, despite the fact that he reminds me so much of myself. And, another thing I love about him is that he’s not pale. I know that can be seen as a stupid thing to love someone over, but coming from an Italian family, seeing a character from a place modeled after Rome not being pale makes me so happy. I, myself, am pale as hell, but knowing that finally, finally, we’ve got someone from a Southern-European modeled country that doesn’t look Scandinavian makes me so incredibly happy.

3. Thom Rainier: I think that this is going to be a common theme in my explanations, but I love Thom because he’s not perfect. As like with Dorian, Thom hides behind a facade that makes him feel like he’s something better than he believes himself to be. And he’s a character that fucked up in the past, and fucked up badly, and he bleeds for redemption. He suffers and works and suffers even more in order to prove himself to really be the man he’s become. Very rarely do we get treated to a redemption arc that makes characters actively work for their redemption, face the consequences of their actions, and stick to the principles they claimed they’d stick to. He’s self-deprecating, believing himself to be damn near worthless, his only reason for existing being to help others and work to repent for what he did in the past. Believing you’re undeserving of love is a thing I know a little to well, and having a character genuinely believe themselves to be so without being seen as attention-seeking was great, if not a call-out for my self-loathing ass. Thom is a severely underappreciated character in this fandom, and I really wish that wasn’t the case. He’s an older character, but honestly, he’s about the same age as other characters like Cassandra or Varric. Just because he isn’t conventionally attractive doesn’t mean he should be pushed aside for other characters. I love my big bear husband so much.

2. Anders: Oh, Anders. My lovely, beautiful Anders. My bisexual, mentally ill, selfless, revolutionary, darling Anders. I can’t help but love him. Of course, I love him both before and after Justice, but for differing reasons. In Awakening, Anders was simply someone who just wanted to escape, to be free for once in his life, and to enjoy what the world had robbed him of. There’s something heart-wrenching about seeing a character so obviously hurt being cheerful like he was in Awakening, especially when you see more into his backstory in Dragon Age: II. He, much like Alistair, used humor to distract people from his true feelings. He was a hopeful spot amongst some other companions who wore their pain on their sleeves. In Dragon Age: II, Anders became even more of a favorite for me, simply because I could understand a lot of his pain. I, too, am someone who exhausts myself caring for others, putting the needs of others far above myself. Of course, I know I could never even hope to have mental fortitude like him, but seeing someone so intent on tearing down institutions that have ruined so many lives helps me work to do so myself. Besides, I’m an extremely anti-institutionalized religion person despite being decently religious. Seeing someone who believes in the Maker but not the Chantry was refreshing. It was welcome and wonderful. And, as someone who struggles with mental illness (in my case, things along the lines of ADD, chronic stress, anxiety, dysmorphia, etc.) seeing someone who struggles from mental illness (”possession” that covers a whole lot of shit I’m not really one to put labels to) not overcome but co-exist with his mental illness and find love and purpose was really good for me. I don’t believe for a second that Anders was overly controlled by Justice, only pushed to do things he was to scared to do before Justice came along. In every worldstate of mine, Anders is spared and stood behind. His actions are justified and supported. Fuck the Chantry and Fuck Me Anders. (Sorry, I had to)

1. Zevran Arainai: Zevran was the first character in the Dragon Age series I fell in love with, so of course he’s at the top of this list. And my love for him isn’t just because he’s handsome (even if that is quite an attractive reason), but because he’s a good person who both tries to hide/downplay his goodness and does all he can to do what he knows is right. First of all, once again, like with Dorian, I love seeing Mediterranean-coded characters as non-white. Seeing someone come from a Spanish/Italian-coded country not look British is so beautiful. Of course, I would never say someone claiming that he’s Latino is invalid. There’s one hundred percent reason to believe that, and I support their headcanons. But to me, I relish in the fact that someone from a darker-skinned area of Europe is seen as a beautiful character. He was one of the first darker-skinned European characters I’d ever seen, and that certainly guarantees him a place in my heart. Moving on, I also see a lot of myself in him, though that isn’t exactly a good thing for him. Of course, bisexuality is a huge part of both our existences, and words can’t really express how much I love a canonically bisexual man. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it, in all honesty. I thought it was a headcanon until I read that you could romance him as a male PC. So, of course I made my first character and romanced the hell out of him. Though, on a bit of a darker note, I could really sympathize with his reasoning for leaving Antiva. As someone who’s struggled with suicidal thoughts and certainly suicidal idealization (that whole “I wish I could just stop existing” bullshit), having someone not only deal with the problem of depression but actually get better was incredible. The idea that with enough love and compassion and understanding the pain would ease was a wonderful message I really took to heart. In addition to all of this, which is already a whole lot but I just can’t stop talking about him, Zevran is empathetic. He’s compassionate and understanding. He advocates where other companions stay silent. He’s got one of the most in-depth arguments against allying with the Templars, and his anger towards the Warden, while thinly masked as calm, when the mages are slaughtered in compelling and just compassionate. Not many “ordinary” people are willing to fight for those they don’t know or understand. But Zevran does. And when slavers attempt to sell people in the Alienage into slavery, Zevran does his best to convince the Warden to do the right thing, despite owing them a blood debt. He could be putting his life on the line once more if they don’t agree with him, but he does it anyway. And, you know what? Fuck it, he’s beautiful. He’s goddamn gorgeous and I want all 5′2″ of him.

20. Favorite fantheory?

Andraste was a mage. I absolutely adore this theory and I can’t help but throw my entire support behind it. I find no reason else why a somehow ordinary woman would be chosen by the Maker in the Fade (“World fell away then, misty in mem'ry, / ‘Cross Veil and into the valley of dreams / A vision of all worlds, waking and slumb'ring, / Spirit and mortal to me appeared.” -Andraste 1:10, “Long was his silence, ‘fore it was broken. / For you, song-weaver, once more I will try. / To My children venture, carrying wisdom, / If they but listen, I shall return.“ - Andraste 1:14) because she had a wonderful singing voice (magic is often referred to as a song, and this page on the wiki is quite informative) and could somehow make natural disasters occur in her favor to drive out Tevinter (“The air itself rent asunder, / Spilling light unearthly from the / Waters of the Fade, / Opening as an eye to look / Upon the Realm of Opposition / In dire judgment.” -Exaltations 1:2). Magic, in itself, is never said to be evil in the Chant, only that those who takes the Maker’s gift of magic and turn it against one another are evil (“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. / Foul and corrupt are they / Who have taken His gift / And turned it against His children.” -Transfigurations 1:2) Personally, canon aside, I believe that if Andraste could see the current state of the Chantry, she would be appalled. Especially the Chantry in Tevinter, seeing as it endorses slavery (“At Shartan’s word, the sky / Grew black with arrows. / At Our Lady’s, ten thousand swords / Rang from their sheaths. / A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly, proclaiming: / Those who had been slaves were now free.” -Shartan 10:1) and prohibits the mages from using their magic to their full potential (Once again, magic exists to serve, not to be enslaved). Sorry if this is a little messy, but Lord Do I Have Opinions.

#holy shit i went on for a WHILE THERE #asks #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age ii #dragon age inquisition #da velanna #da sera #da morrigan #da merrill #alistair theirin #dorian pavus #da blackwall #da anders #zevran arainai #original content #headcanons #andraste #THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU I LOVE RANTING

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lalcne-blog · 5 years

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index: saber vanille

spring. clear skies. gold. high fashion suits. stress headaches. kissed hands. lost opportunities. the world on someone’s shoulders. strawberries. red roses without thorns. midday naps.

HE LEARNS FROM a young age that what he wants, he gets. the staff of the seelie court trip over themselves to cater to his every need, and while he would never treat these wonderful people as anything less than his friends, it is clear to everyone aside from himself that he takes advantage of their positions.

he learns from a young age that, for the most part, what he wants, he gets.

it’s a dangerous lesson for such a young child to learn, but he uses it for the most trivial of reasons. he never asks for anything dangerous. all he asks for is some snacks, for a bath to be run, for someone to play with because his parents are busy.

he’s told that he ❝ is a joy to serve ❞, and it is a compliment he takes in stride for the rest of his life.

the only people he can’t bend to his whims are his parents, who are kind but firm in the way they rule both their people and their children. this only causes trivial arguments that last barely a minute until he’s old enough to attend school, and that is when the first real disagreement strikes.

❝ what do you mean i can’t go to school with everyone else ?? ❞ saber asks, turning his head towards the window where the other children are playing outside. he doesn’t know most of them. he’s only really spoken to the noble fae.

❝ you’ll still receive the proper education you would at school, plus the extra information you’ll need to learn to be a proper crown prince. it’s more convenient to teach you that way, ❞ his mother tells him, as though a five year old would be more worried about his education than how much he can play.

he whines, stamping his feet, and his mother frowns as he says, ❝ but i wanna go to school !! mama, i wanna !! i wanna !! ❞

❝ no, saber, and that’s final, ❞ his mother says in that tone of hers that is both gentle and final simultaneously.

he continues to whine as she leaves the room despite knowing it won’t work.

he doesn’t go to school. he isn’t cut-off from the outside world by any means, able to play with the other children as he pleases, but the distance between them is growing now that they’re not attending the same school. his lessons become more demanding as he grows older and he spends less and less time with those outside of the royal home until they are simply friendly acquaintances.

the older he becomes, the more handsome he becomes, and the more off-limits he becomes. nobody approaches him if he strolls around the market place. all they do is stare and bow and say nothing more than a greeting, and that is only if he greets them first.

it’s lonely at first, and it remains lonely for quite some time, until he decides to take it in his stride just as he has with everything else and changes things for his own benefit. he realises that to make a difference, he must make the effort himself.

rather than staying silent on his outings, he walks up to people, greets them, kisses their hand, asks them how they’re doing, what they’re doing, why they’re doing it. these are his people. he knows that he will always be on a pedestal and that people will always flush around him and avoid eye contact out of embarrassment and amazement ( and he will admit, it does make him feel pretty fantastic that he has this effect on people ), but he can do his damn hardest to ensure that the gap between them is as small as possible.

he tells himself that he doesn’t need to attend school, that he isn’t lonely, that this is good for him, but there are times where his resolve falters.

❝ valentine will be attending lucille academy, starting at the end of this month. ❞

like now.

he whirls around, his wings almost knocking down the assortment of hair products on his vanity, and stares at his mother with wide eyes. while he can no longer see his own reflection, he knows the betrayal is written all over his face.

❝ valentine gets to go ?? ❞ his voice takes on a childish tone that only his mother ever hears nowadays, and even then it’s rare. she doesn’t seem surprised. perhaps she knew exactly how he would react.

❝ valentine isn’t the crown princess. she isn’t able to inherit the crown, but she does have the freedom to choose where she studies. both of your roles come with pros and cons, saber. ❞

feeling as if he’s eaten several lemons at once, saber bites back the retort burning in the back of his throat and returns to fixing his hair.

❝ of course, mother. you’re right. ❞

his words ring hollow in his ears.

strategy meetings have been on his agenda since the tender age of eighteen, almost like a coming of age ceremony. he doesn’t find them particularly interesting, especially as there is nothing to strategize against, but he keeps his opinion to himself. he’s learned that, at least for now, his job is to sit with his back straight and listen to every detail, a vault of military information.

he only attempts to change that status quo once.

❝ and that concludes the meeting, ❞ his father says, nodding to the minutes man, who starts closing their record book.

❝ actually, ❞ saber begins, gaining the attention of everyone at the small, round table, ❝ i have something i would like to bring up first. ❞

his parents look at each other in surprise, but not anger, which he takes as a good sign. the captain of their forces ( who he’s sure don’t do much at all, as threats have been few and far between since before he was born ) and his second in command emote less, but they turn to him with what he assumes is interest. the minute man opens the record book once again.

❝ alright, saber, ❞ his mother says with a nod and the briefest of smiles. ❝ go ahead. ❞

❝ it’s more of a question, ❞ he starts, and he directs his attention to his parents as he speaks. while the captain and his troops are formidable ( probably, he wouldn’t know ), all decisions come down to his parents. everyone knows that.

❝ i’m wondering about the war that’s been waging between the unseelie court and the elves. it’s been going on for years, and i’ve kept quiet about it so far, but why does no one in this room ever bring it up at meetings ?? ❞

he doesn’t miss the way his parents’ eyes flicker towards each other. they’ve always been good at silent communication, especially when one or both of their children are in the room. he thinks they perfected it long before he was born.

it’s his mother who responds with, ❝ the seelie and unseelie courts have an agreement, saber, you know that. we have a treaty that we remain neutral with each other. we do not harm them and they do not harm us. ❞

❝ i don’t want to harm them, ❞ saber says, and perhaps he’s jumping in too quickly to defend himself, but he can’t stand any implication that he would ever want to hurt anyone. that isn’t the type of ruler he wants to be. ❝ innocent elven lives are being taken, does that mean nothing to you ?? ❞

❝ saber, do not talk to your mother like that, ❞ his father warns, but all it does is serve as a reminder that he isn’t an heir in this situation. he’s still just a child arguing with his parents. ❝ the treaty states that the unseelie affairs are their own, just as our affairs are our own. we’ve maintained this relationship with them for an incredibly long time. we can’t risk it. ❞

or they might turn on us, instead. saber hears it, even if it’s never spoken.

❝ you didn’t answer my question, ❞ he continues, as if he wasn’t just scolded. ❝ what about the elves ?? their lives are at stake. ❞

❝ that isn’t our call to make, ❞ his mother says, voice strained. she’s losing her patience. ❝ the unseelie court may be the only kingdom we have a binding contract with, but the sentiment remains the same across every kingdom: we mind our business, they mind theirs. ❞

the tone of finality sink into saber’s brain, which is just as well, as he’s quickly realising that he isn’t about to win this one. perhaps he knew that all along. perhaps all he wanted was to imprint the issue in his parents’ minds, and if so, seeing the fruits of his efforts will take time. but he doesn’t really know anything, does he ??

he stands, his back just as straight as it was when sitting, and says, ❝ then i suppose this meeting is adjourned. ❞

with a quick bow to the three silent spectators -- not that he blames them, because it isn’t their place to disagree with the king and queen -- he leaves the room without looking back.

when he’s left to his own devices, saber doesn’t know what to do with himself. his schedule is so demanding that hobbies are hard to come by, and even then, they seem to link back to his teachings.

one might say that being the crown prince is all he knows how to be.

with all of the interesting books in the royal library having been read once, twice, thrice over, he instead turns to the news archives to occupy his time. they span over years, the oldest from hundreds of years before his birth, and they aren’t solely from the seelie court, either. he can find headlines from every kingdom in existence, and he finds many of them more intriguing than those from home.

but many of those headlines speak of terror and danger and all that is wrong with the world.

❛ WIZARD STUDENT BECOMES LATEST VICTIM OF DARK TIRADE ❜

❛ NORTHERN TERRITORY ELVES AMBUSHED, 53 DEAD ❜

❛ FAMILY MANSION ON FIRE, SEARCH FOR REMAINS UNDERWAY ❜

these are things he wasn’t taught. these are the unsung heroes and victims of a world that is becoming increasingly unforgiving. his court is only a small sliver of what is out there in the big, wide world, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to learn every inch of it and beyond.

a dull ache between his eyes pulls him from his thoughts and he massages the bridge of his nose.

he supposes he’ll need to learn to save himself first.

#「♔」saber vanille #「♔」saber vanille | isms #「♔」saber vanille | para #「♔」para #「♔」worldbuilding #aGAIN: SORTA

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chelsfic · 6 years

Text

Bright Heart. Kandomere x Bright!Reader Pt. 1

Summary: Agent Kandomere abhors magic and those who manipulate it. When a bright is detected operating within a gang he and Montehugh launch a raid to capture the magic user and neutralize their wand. Things become more complicated when it’s discovered the bright is a young human woman named Lily who’s been held against her will. Trigger warning: mentions of rape, kidnapping, torture.

A/N: How did this happen? I wasn’t trying to write a multi-part fic, and yet...

Word got out that miracles were being worked on the East side of town. One of the human street gangs was doing a little too well--robbing banks with immunity, getting off felony charges due to obscure loopholes, and three separate gang members had won the lottery in the last month. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything else. There was a bright operating in their ranks, and Agent Kandomere was intent on locating the magic user and locking them away.

The night of the raid Kandomere and Montehugh were on edge. They’d been tracking the gang’s activities for weeks and had finally pinpointed the most likely hideaway for the bright inside a condemned apartment building. The two agents were in charge of the operation which included both MTF field agents and S.W.A.T. Everything had to go perfectly if they were to secure the wand and capture the bright alive. A squad of heavily armed team members went in first, securing the perimeter and detaining and/or neutralizing the criminals inside. Kandomere and Montehugh went in with the second wave, stepping over bodies in the labyrinthine hallways on their way to the basement, the suspected location of the bright.

Kandomere could hear a tense standoff taking place even before he rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairwell to enter the dank basement room. After that the first thing he was aware of was the smell. Sweat, vomit, blood...and beyond that his elven senses detected the heavy atmosphere of fear and despair which permeated the place. Five heavily armed S.W.A.T. team members surrounded a large….cage, for lack of a better term. It was constructed haphazardly of rusted chain link and stripped aluminum siding. A heavy man in his forties stood outside the cage, obviously on guard duty. In one hand he had a gun, in the other a long metal instrument, like a cattle prod, that he was jabbing through the chainlink. Kandomere couldn’t see who or what was inside the cage, but he was starting to get the creeping suspicion that it was the bright.

They’d been working on the assumption that the bright was a gang member. But this whole setup was wrong. Someone had been held here, against their will and in squalid, miserable conditions. However much he abhorred magic and those who sought to exploit it, he’d need to reserve his judgement until he fully understood the facts.

“Get away from me, man! Get away! Bitch, you better pick up that wand!”

The guard was raving and clearly panicked. Kandomere could feel the tensions in the room ratcheting up. Officers shifted nervously from foot to foot, fingers tense on their triggers. The last thing Kandomere wanted was for this to end with the fire of assault weapons. He wanted to interrogate that bright. Striding forward with typical elven arrogance, he stepped in between two officers and pointed his handgun at the guard.

“Stand down,” he said, voice cool and calm. He could see the wand laying on the dirty cement floor inside the cage a few feet away from a cowering figure bound by heavy looking chains. He watched, detached, as the guard stuck the prod through the gaps in the fencing once more and sank it’s electrified tip into the bright’s side. The pitiful figure flinched and tried to get away, but the chains allowed only minimal movement.

“Pick up that wand, bitch!”

The guard raised his other arm, waving the gun wildly. It was enough. Kandomere shot once and the man went down like a sack of flour. The cattle prod clattered to the ground and the bright let out a wail that sounded both relieved and frightened. He could feel the visceral relief of his officers, but he wasn’t done yet. The bright was still a major threat. With his gun drawn, now pointed at the crouched figure inside the cage, he walked forward.

“Stand up!” his voice remained cold and calculating. When the figure didn’t make a move he shouted, less controlled, “Stand now, back against the cage!”

Finally, with great effort, the figure rose from the ground. It was a pitiful sight. She was small, maybe five feet, and emaciated. She was dressed in dirty rags and her hand hung in limp clumps around her downturned face. She moved slowly, like someone much older than she appeared, turning so that her back was up against the cage wall. Kandomere continued his wary approach and watched as her chest heaved and her shoulders trembled. When he reached her and grasped one of her hands through a gap in the fence she flinched violently and keened in fright.

“Don’t hurt, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” the words were barely whispers but they rang in Kandomere’s ears. He slipped a pair of handcuffs onto her wrists, attaching them to the chainlink and attempting to touch her as little as possible. He recognized that this...creature had been traumatized and wanted to keep her as calm as possible until the situation was secure.

“Call in the wand removal team,” Montehugh’s voice went out over the radio. Only when the team finally came in their hazmat suits to take the infernal thing away did Kandomere allow himself to release the tension in his muscles and relax just slightly. He still had an interrogation ahead of him.

***

“You can’t talk to her right now,” the human doctor spoke with a harsh authority which Kandomere wasn’t used to hearing directed at himself.

Montehugh butted in, “Thank you for your suggestion, but we’re in charge of this investigation.”

They were standing in the hallway of a secure ward, empty but for one patient: a lethal magic user.

“People have died because of this woman,” Kandomere spoke down his nose at the doctor. “She needs to account for that.”

The doctor squared her shoulders and didn’t back down, “This woman has been starved, beaten, and raped. She’s under heavy anesthetic and couldn’t talk to you even if I did let you in there. Which I am not doing.”

They came back the next day.

***

The bed was so soft you thought you could cry from the sheer relief of something warm and comfortable underneath you. For so long you’d had nothing but the bare concrete for a bed. Even the padded handcuffs around your wrists were a luxury compared to the heavy metal chains.

A doctor had come and talked to you. She was a little older than you, Korean-American, very lovely and kind. But you really didn’t understand much of what she told you. She talked about trauma, malnourishment, shock, rape, these were things you knew but...she talked as if they were abnormal...as if it was over. How could that be? You were confused and frightened but you just nodded and made little noises of agreement when you thought she wanted you to speak. That was another shock--when was the last time you’d been expected to speak except to utter the foreign words of a spell or curse?

The doctor left and you were alone for a while. Your room was small and lit by harsh fluorescent lights. At first the light had been a severe adjustment for you. You’d spent so long in the dark basement. You tried to keep your mind carefully blank. You refused to allow yourself to believe that it might be over...that you might be free. It was too much...if you allowed yourself to hope and then they brought you back to the basement....

Around mid-day the door of your room opened and the tall, elegant elf from the previous night strode through followed by his ginger-haired partner. They stalked inside and stood menacingly at the foot of your bed. Both men were large and commanding--their presence seemed to fill the room and press down on you. You shrunk as far away from them as your bonds would allow and carefully schooled your gaze to avoid eye contact. It was impossible, though, not to flick your gaze back to the elf a few times--you’d never met an elf in real life before and he was stunning.

It was the elf who spoke first, “What’s your name?”

You were truly not trying to disobey, but it had been so long since anyone had conversed with you--like a person--that it took your brain a long time to process the question and formulate a response. Before you could answer his partner raised his voice, “Simple question, what’s your name?”

You flinched at the ginger man’s tone but finally found the answer, “It’s...Lily.”

“Lily,” the elf repeated your name, his tone was detached and clinical. “Tell us where you got that wand.”

It was not a question, but a demand. You’d been trained for years to obey the commands of your captors, it pained you to be unable to follow this one. Your voice was brittle as you responded, “I...I didn’t get it…”

Once again the human man interrupted you with anger, grabbing your hand and turning it over to reveal your burned and scarred palm, “Don’t lie to us, Lily. You’ve been using that wand for months. Where did it come from?”

The man held your fingers in a tight grip and you whimpered fearfully at the touch. The elf finally reached out and pulled the man away from you.

“Montehugh, that’s enough,” he said, the words were quiet but the authority in his voice was unmistakable. He was the one in charge here. He turned to you and again you averted your gaze in submission, “Lily, do you know where the wand came from? Who gave it to you?”

You sighed in relief at a question you could answer, “Johnny...Johnny gave it to me. I don’t know where he found it.”

They both nodded, seeming to know who Johnny was, the elf questioned further, “How did he know you were a bright?”

Your eyes went hollow as the answer fell from your lips, “He didn’t.”

You watched the elf’s face, daring to look into his silvery eyes for a quick second. A crease formed between his perfect eyebrows and you clarified, “He tried it on...lots of people. Before he got to me.”

The whole story came out in fits and starts. Thankfully, the elf--Kandomere--took over the rest of the questioning and Montehugh hung back and listened. You told him about your initial obduction when you were just a young girl, about the years of sexual servitude and abuse you’d experienced from Johnny and his men, and--finally--about the wand and the discovery of your power.

“I didn’t want to do those things,” you sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone or break any laws.”

You could no longer speak. You were emotionally wrung out and terrified that these men would send you some place worse than the basement. Instead, they took their leave of you, stating that they’d return once a formal report had been filed. You nodded--not really understanding what was happening at all.

***

Kandomere turned to Montehugh as they stepped into the hospital corridor, the elf was shaken but his exterior was the same cold mask as ever.

“That girl,” he said, pausing in thought for a long moment. “She was a victim.”

Montehugh let out a long sigh, nodding slowly, “Yup. But she’s also still a dangerous threat to the public.”

Kandomere agreed but added, “We need to do what we can for her.”

***

In the hospital room you laid back, still bound to the bed, and felt the weight of exhaustion tugging on your eyelids. Your last conscious thoughts as ��you drifted off were of a pair of cold, penetrating eyes and a flash of ocean blue hair.

#kandomere x reader #kandomere #bright #fanfic #chelsfic #trigger warning #mentions of rape non-con torture #mental trauma

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juniper-rose-blower · 6 years

Text

A Blast from the Past

June picked up a rock to skip across Olivia’s pond. She wound her arm back and lugged it forward.

SPLOSH!

The flat stone landed with a thunk in the water, sinking to the bottom. If there was ever a time when she wished Ky were with her, it was now. Her mind went back on everything said the night before...

June stood at the door of the Stormwind office, hesitating in her attempt to knock.

Malodar wrinkled his nose as they passed through the acrid air of the Dwarven district, waiting behind her patiently when she paused. "Are you alright? Second thoughts?"

The Botanist lowered her hand, shaking her head. "No... just..." she let loose a sigh, "... just remembering what happened the last time we were here."

The Gilnean gnawed on her lower lip, her hand moving to rest over one of her pockets. She let out another softer sigh, shook her head, and raised her hand to knock on the door. RAP! RAP! RAP!

The little slit near the top of the door made a grinding sound, and a pair of eyes appeared through it. "Can I help you?" a muffled man's voice drawled lazily.

Mal cleared his throat in a way that vaguely resembled the word 'rude'.

Juniper glared up at the eyes, sniffing softly before her mouth twitched on one side in recognition. She pointed to herself and then to Mal, "We're here to see Chief MacLeod."

The eyes narrowed at June, "Do you have an appointment?"

June nodded, motioning to herself, "Asset Lark for a consult, accompanied by Asset Crane."

The pupils narrowed more, brow arching, "Anything physical to confirm that?" In response, June pulled the reassignment note from her pocket, holding it up just enough to show the seal on the paper.

The elven healer folded his arms, quietly staring and lightly sniffing the mixing scents around them. He offered no response, examining the pair of eyes with a serious gaze.

Ramirez scrutinized the paper, examining the seal for several long moments. Then without a word, he disappeared from the slit in the door, its cover grinding back into place as if they were just going to be left on the doorstep. Several moments later, the door opened and the wiry Ramirez waved them in.

The Botanist walked through the open door with Mal behind her, doing her best to steel her nerves as Ramirez motioned lazily up the stairwell, "If you want to see the Chief or the Major - they're upstairs, as usual."

To this June bowed her head in a single nod, reaching into her pocket to pull out a folded note, "Thank you. Can you get this to Captain Wren please?"

A quirked brow and a five second silence later, the cheesy-smelling man plucked the note from her grasp and went to go find Quai's favorite arcane kitten to get the missive sent out.

Once alone, June and Mal headed upstairs. It took several long minutes before June found the courage to knock on the sanded wood door of the office. In response, a crisp voice called out: "Enter!" Exhaling the breath she didn't know she was holding, June pushed the door open and walked inside, Malodar following behind keeping a neutral but examining expression. He took position at the back of the room, leaning in a corner.

Glenice was sitting in another corner, working at a side-desk, various files and folders spread haphazardly across its surface. Alanna, meanwhile, was standing on the side of the main desk closer to the door, back to June and Mal as they entered. Juniper cleared her throat gently before saying as neutrally as she could: "You... wished for a consultation... Chief?"

Malodar was brought back to the memories of their previous encounter with the chief and her staff and had to suppress a frown. He remembered his unfondness for her tone and demeanor. She struck him as being quite too fond of her own position of authority.

Alanna lifted her gaze as she turned, irises shifting from June to Mal and back again several times. She gave a curt nod of her head. "I did." When June held out the reassignment missive, the Chief took it and set it on the desk out of the way, "That was nearly two weeks ago...?" Her tone was far more relaxed this time, though it still held a little formality to it.

June shrugged unapologetically, "Couldn't find a portal, so we took a ship instead." She left it at that, waiting for the woman's reaction.

Mal kept his ears trained on the conversation. At hearing her tone he relaxed, however slightly, and leaned on the pillar with his arms crossed. "My fault, portals do not treat me well."

Alanna looked back at Malodar curiously, nodding twice. "Yes, that is curious. But not as curious as to why you are also here, Recruit." She did not wait for Mal to answer before turning to look at Glenice, "Major, do you still have the file for Asset Lark regarding Azurecoast Port's algae problem?"

The conversation had taken a turn June never expected it to take. Her facial expression changed immediately, brow furrowing as a confused curiosity shined in her eyes. Her lips parted slightly, mouth hanging open in recognition.

Glenice located the file and held it out to Alanna. The Chief walked over to take it, flipping it open to observe a shot taken by a Gnomish camera of a gloomy port town under an overcast sky. She lifted the picture so June and Mal could both see it - the only thing out of the ordinary was that the normally crystalline blue water appeared bright orange from an overabundance of algae-covered kelp.

Malodar tilted his head as he examined the picture, taking in the details briefly. "Looks like a lovely vacation locale," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm, unable to stop himself.

The Gilnean's face blanched at seeing the picture up close. A lost look shined in her expression, mouth still hanging open. Alanna placed the picture in June's hand, tilting her head sideways, "Something on your mind, Asset?"

Mal was glad his slip up didn't seem to interrupt the flow, and stepped up to take a closer look over June's shoulder at the image.

Juniper blinked as Mal stepped up behind her, and she looked at Alanna with a frown, "They could try freezing it to remove it. But they'd have to dispose of it carefully to keep it out of the soil," her statement was said rather quickly, ending in an inhale taken to transition to her next, her tone shifting from expository to hopeful, "Do you have an extra picture or two of this place?"

Mal stole a glance to June's face before moving back to the photograph, trying to gauge the connection between the picture and her tone.

Alanna shrugged gently, "Perhaps. Just depends on what Ramirez took." She dug through the file and pulled out an image of a large tower in the mountains and a second image of an ornate town with little houses about its body and a great estate house at its head, wreathed in more mountains in the background. She handed both to June, quirking an eyebrow, "You are familiar with these places then?" To this, June said nothing, looking at the two additional pictures with glossy eyes and giving the tiniest of nods.

Malodar frowned more deeply as she examined them and looked up with a deep breath. "Where is this again?"

Alanna pointed to the first image, turning her gaze to Mal to speak to him directly, "Azurecoast Port. In Gilneas."

Mal face dawned with understanding. He hadn't recognized the name of the port initially, having never ventured to that particular region. Now recognizing it as June’s homeland, he at least started to get the beginnings of her tense reaction.

The Gilnean gave a slow nod and held the images back out to Alanna. They were taken from her grasp and slid back into the file folder, "Are there any long term effects they should know about in regards to that algae?"

June shrugged, "It's not exactly my strong suit... but if they bring the amount down a little, it should help the fish population grow." She shook her head confusedly, "I don't understand, that port was evacuated after the Wall fell... has Lord Sterren returned?"

To this, Alanna shook her head, "No. It was recently rebuilt with the aid of House Matheredor, from what we gathered. Some sort of trade agreement for stone from House Sterren." When the Botanist still looked confused, Alanna added, "Headed by a Kaldorei or something... Lady..."

June recognized the race immediately, stopping Alanna, "Headed by the Sentinel Captain... strange... why not Lord Sterren?"

At this, Glenice piped in, "According to intelligence, Lord Ian Sterren, Count of the Blue Mountains, was lost at sea two years ago... no one has seen him. His widow Lady Shadestar has since undergone a name change... twice."

Alanna inclined her head, motioning to a copy of the Courier over on the desk's corner, "Didn't she just have twins or something?"

Glenice nodded, "That's the one."

Mal followed along, at quite a loss from all the names and houses being bandied about. If he was generally unconcerned with the trappings of society in his homelessness, he was incalculably uninterested in the goings-on of human nobility, which from his occasional interactions struck him as somehow even more inane and nonsensical than the military. None of which it felt appropriate to express as of now. He let their exchange of information continue, absorbing what he could and cataloguing the rest for June to fill in later, in more amenable company.

June 's brow furrowed at the mention of Lord Sterren lost at sea. Something she didn't understand panged in her heart and she looked down at the floor. Alanna shrugged and turned to look back at June.

"Well, that was what we needed consulting about. Since it just needs to be managed, we'll pass the word along." She exchanged a glance with Glenice. Her blue irises moved back to June, "Was there anything else you needed?"

The Botanist seemed at a loss for words, standing there in the silence. Malodar chewed the inside of his cheek in the awkward silence, stepping sideways a little to set a hand briefly on her shoulder before retreating back to the wall.

The Gilnean looked between Alanna and Glenice, chewing her lower lip softly. Eventually she spoke, "Would... would you happen to know where Lord Sterren was last seen?"

At this, Glenice shook her head, not even turning around, "That would take more digging to find out." Alanna motioned to Glenice lightly, looking back at June.

June held her own, unblinking as she stared back at Alanna, "Could you?"

The Chief gave a nod, "We can see what we can find. In the meantime, I'm assuming you want a portal close to where the others are, to catch back up?"

At this June hesitated, brow furrowed again, "I... don't know that they need me."

Mal bit his lip, and hard too, though it likely went unnoticed by anyone else. He stayed silent, unblinking.

Alanna looked back at June and shook her head, "Kid, you're too hard on yourself sometimes. I doubt your Captain would've vouched for you as she had if they did not need you." After a few moments of silence, she added, "It will take time to dig up the information you've asked for. And if anything comes up as covert or red-lined, there won't be anything I can do. But we'll look into it. You should at least try to rest from your trip."

At this, June nodded, pale gaze shifting down, "I also will be looking into something... with the monks past the back edge of the District... Do we have leave to leave the city?"

After a few moments of thought, Alanna nodded nonchalantly, "Certainly. Our courier can find you when we have more information." June nodded in understanding, thinking of Ky playing with the little kitten Quai despised so much.

The elven healer tensed up somewhat as they went back and forth, but slowly eased back down. He put his hands in his pockets, lost in thought for several minutes. But at the last he withdrew his hands again, exhaling slowly.

June relaxed where she stood, shoulders sinking several inches. She looked over Alanna as the woman moved back to her desk and sat down. June bit down on her lower lip hard, looking uncertain about something, but Alanna seemed to pay it no mind. She motioned to the door gently, "Did you need anything else, Miss Blower?"

At the shift in tone and the use of her real name, June shook her head, glancing back at Mal before responding only with, "Just Lark is plenty... and no."

Alanna gave a nod, lip quirking in the corner briefly, "Well, then, Asset, you and Crane there are on leave until you either request to be sent back or we find another mission that needs your attention. For now, that is unlikely. As long as you keep your armband, we'll be able to send the courier to your location, so feel free to go wherever you like... assuming it's not in the middle of Horde territory, if you please. We don't need to be starting a war."

June let out another soft sigh, looking out at the lake. Lord Sterren, lost at sea. It just didn’t sound right. She was antsy to get more information from MacLeod and Morcant, but knew it wasn’t going to happen overnight.

“Let me seek out a colleague,” Mal had offered after they’d eaten a decent meal that hadn’t been prepared in a ship’s dirty galley, “I think her opinion on how to proceed with your healing abilities will be invaluable.” His hand on her shoulder was reassuring when she gave him a nod and watched him head toward the Cathedral District.

Things were so strange right now... she’d take any help in direction she could get.

(( so many mentions!!! : @malodarstarstrike @killerkyara @quai-mason @brian-wellson @ephriza-dawnblade @selene-duskwind @alanna-macleod @glenicemorcant @ladysaraholt and so many other supporting characters coming to light as June’s past comes into the light! ))

#Juniper #The Botanist #plot #writing #RP #so much stuff going on!#holy cow #also way longer than I meant it to be

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