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Flesh and bone 1 Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 6.8K Based off of this thought ! -> Next Chapter Warnings: Start of a dark fic!! Mentions of death, depression, dubcon touching, semi-graphic description of violence, paranoia, manipulation, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot! A/N: i've never written for cod before so i'm sorry if characterizations are wonky okay ty

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Most often in literature they can be associated with the circle of life- many animals lay dormant in this time of year. But even still, it goes to show the fragility of life; some creatures thriving in the atmosphere while others retreat back to their homes and really remember just what they’re living for- waiting it out until the leaves sprout anew. Just as the waters of puddles and lakes crystalize into ice or the roads start to slowly become less traveled– many things come into association with this time of year. Death, mourning, skiing- sledding. The dichotomy of moseying along something in nature that could so easily kill you. Just for a bit of adrenaline. For some thrill or interesting experiences to tell at the next person you see at a tavern, drinking and chortling over a tankard of ale.

Albeit most races aren’t built to survive freezing temperatures, they sure act like they are. But some actually are of course. Goliaths with their adeptness of surviving in the mountains- up to twenty thousand feet in altitude. Some dragonborn depending on their ancestry, hailing from ancient beings that simply thrive in some of the most subzero of places in the lands. But of course.. most are not. Putting on layer upon layer to just merely survive in these conditions- unable to even thrive unless the circumstances deem worthy enough.

It is seldom worth the consequences.

The winters were frigid as always, sharp pin pricks of frost seeping into through your stagecoach’s insulation even though the artificer claimed they infused the interior with a heating cantrip. Damn swindler- “100 gold for a safe and warm journey!” It unfortunately was the price of discreteness.. but maybe if you wished hard enough the air coming through would be enough to keep you from turning into an icicle- but it provided almost an almost numbing sensation to temporarily soothe the anxiety pricking at the recesses of your mind.

Just a few more hours, just a bit more time, and everything will be perfect.

Regardless, it was a fitting evening, all things considered. The mountainous path was characteristically barren- as to be expected being so close to Midwinter. The dense fog drifts further obscuring your vision as you stare out the semi-opaque glass into the no man’s land. Trembling fingers smooth out your cloak as you straighten in your seat, the temperatures seeping through and nipping at your skin despite the warm wool gloves that cover the appendages. Your breath was a foggy mist as you breathe, leaning back as the air swirls around and encapsulates the interior of the.. Let’s call it a cozy vehicle.

It was easy to notice the slow pace that the coach was going: after all you can only be lost in your thoughts for so long. Going out of the city during this time of year was always a toss up on how navigable things would be.. But given the surge in technology with these infused machines and .. these wizards and such- theoretically it should be a breeze.

A gilded bag sits beside you on the worn leather seats, the contents packed with purpose- containing the bare essentials, among other things. It was silent besides your ragged breath, gripping the fabric of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip, lips pursed as you glanced through the fogged glass once more as if something would change in the scenery. The engrained tick made it a habit hard to shake off; eyes flickering back and forth repetitively either side of dark path on the left of you to the dark path to the right of you, almost compulsively like it was an itch needed to be scratched despite there being no one there the last ten times you checked. It was a simple inkling that needed to be constantly taken care of- as if the moment your head was turned, you could almost swear that something was looking back at you.

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

The stagecoach swerves and it makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes glancing behind you towards the front of the carriage, absentmindedly chewing on your tongue and a grimace immediately crosses your features, not even registering the pinprick of pain in your mouth.

Seeing the horses rearing their hooves, stopping in their tracks, the horse’s squeals were loud even over the sound of the biting wind. All of it felt too familiar; it’s been years and yet.. It’s almost too easy to fall into the abyss of your mind, your breathing slowing. The slow and steady stream coming to a halt as if the crimson in your veins were mere molasses- stopping the flow to what allowed you to properly breathe, feeling as though your chest was being crushed. Pressing down, ripping the air out of your lungs in one foul swoop– peine forte et dure.

It was almost mocking in a sense, the stagecoach seems to disappear and you’re planted firmly back in the painful memories that dance around your skull like a rattle, the taunts and phantom pains drifting over the side of your face. Remembering the curve of a dagger sinking into your skin and through tissue, choking on blood- a sense of blind panic seeping its way into the air that your lungs struggle to remember how to be of use. You recall smoke- thick and permeating down your throat, choking- gagging for some sort of reprieve, your hands outreached to grab their hand if only you could stretch just a little further-

A bang startles you out of your stupor as you gasp, head whipping to the side- cold sweat dripping down your temples. Your left hand feels unnaturally heavy as you take a deep breath to steady your haggard breathing, trembling as you stare at the coachman- a harengon- you hadn’t recalled his name. He hops into the interior, shooting you a look of concern. You gulp a few times to soothe your dry throat, the taste of iron bittersweet, coating your tongue as if a rich cabernet- thick and heavy. Familiar.

“Ma’am- I’m so sorry. The path is too treacherous I can only take you this far-”

It takes you longer than you would have liked to collect yourself-, licking your dry lips, the cracks from the dry weather causing the simple motion to sting. “And- And I do believe I paid you for a full express ride through the Surykyk Range and to the top of Mt. Akka. Did I not?” Your voice is firm, albeit a little shaky as you cock your head looking at the rabbit with pursed lips.

He looks apologetic, wringing his hat between his two paws, his ears drooping. “Ma’am, really, you have to understand-”

“Understand?”

“Yes, I know you prepaid but the road after this gets too perilous and..” His voice becomes a sort of background noise, an ugly feeling festering as you blink slowly. There was that sensation again you’ve felt a few times over the past few years; a little tingle on the hairs of your neck as they raised, along with the incessant buzz that completely sounds out the haregon’s voice. His lips move- words that seem to go in one ear and out the other, as if making fun of you. His droopy ears, his expression of sympathy- no pity. Looking at you like you’re some sort of wounded animal– no- he was mocking you. Of course he was.

Your hands tremble as they tighten into fists, mouth opening and then closing and you let out a heavy sigh. It was irritating- how could a simple job such as this could not be? Pay some gold to get to the top of a mountain- why was everyone around you acting so completely incompetent? Why are they acting as if you were asking them to do the impossible? In this day and age a small trip of this magnitude should be nothing. A walk in a park. If they weren’t going to be of any use then.. Why are they even in front of you at all? Do they seriously not know how long you’ve waited for this and they’re just denying you access? Over a petty blizzard? No.

Beneath your gloves the skin was taut as you tighten your hands into fists as if it would help ground yourself but to no avail. The low buzzing grows louder; like bees humming around your brain like the ridges and valleys were honey- drowning out the pounding of your heartbeat. Louder and louder, reaching deep into the grooves and making their place known, feeding on your festering distress. On your negative emotions. The sense of trepidation melds back into being wound up like a tight spring as you continue to stare hard at the rabbit; your body acting as if on auto-pilot. His whiskers twitch. And you? Well you just go through the movements and zone out once more, falling into a welcoming void of darkness, surrounding you- comforting you.

The blood rushes to your head as your heart pounds, the buzzing ceasing to a low hum. When you come back to, you are still in the stagecoach, however, you are the only living being in it. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise really, these recent bursts of blackouts are more common as of late, happening more often than not. They happen at the most random of times and always seem to exemplify death- oddly enough it only started happening after the incident. Only after you found out you could summon a greater being to give you power.

Your eyes flicker down to the white boots you were wearing and click your tongue, seeing the sprinkle of red bleed into them as if the blood were a brush and the leather it’s canvas. You try to rub out the stain but to no avail, only smearing it into a sort of pinkish hue. Your eyes then move upwards towards the wooden ceiling and then fall unceremoniously towards the corpse, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove, face losing color. Your hands felt almost achy, the muscles strained and well.. Seeing the way his neck was bent ninety degrees, it was understandable. The aftermath of these blackouts were never easy. Fighting down the growing nausea, you stumble out of the stagecoach, clutching your bag firmly to your chest as you pass the horses- trudging through the rough terrain.

—

The hours feel longer now, the evening turning into twilight, as you take the trek by foot. Sheer cliffs drop sharply into the abyss below as you continue to climb further and further from mass-population; rising steadily in elevation as you take in the sights all around as far as the eye can see. The thick blanket of fog really did make it hard to see everything clearly but what of the forest around you that you could see was big. It was vast, the barren trees with a light coat of fresh snow brushing along their branches. Grand normally in nature, but even more so as they seem to tower over the road: the branches sticking out like gnarled fingers, hanging over the cliffside as if trying to beckon you off the beaten path. The snow covered ground is uneven, the shadows cast by the moon creating disfigured shadows and shapes that play tricks on your eyes.

It honestly didn’t help the anxiety whatsoever; the fog, the falling snow— the overall just sensation of being watched. You blame the paranoia and lack of sleep at the time, but it was impossible to resist the urge to look behind you to see if something appeared in the last two seconds you weren’t looking.

Maybe the Haregon was.. right. It was, for lack of a better term, hell. Auril’s reach was deep- as to be expected being so deep into her territory, but it was terrible. The snow piled up to be knee deep, having to pay close attention and really watch where there was the slightest indentation in the snow- if only to figure out where the fissures were so you don’t fall to an unseemly death. It was nearly impossible to do this with just the moonlight to light your way: wishing that you didn’t care so much in case something went wrong. You should’ve just gone through with all this in the comforts of your home.

After all.. It would surely be a shame if you got so close to your goal and yet never reached it. Would truly be such a pity.

The area was honestly reminiscent of what you might conjure up Stygia being like; how you might imagine that part of the hells being in terms of barely being traversable- snow as far as the eye could see. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you saw a gaggle of frost giants or the start of the Styx the next time you turned a corner as you continued to steadily rise in elevation.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, creating a rhythmic cadence. Every step is a genuine, calculated effort to not slip and fall on the surface- gripping the mountain side tightly as to not fall. And well, in addition to yet everything else the frigid and occasional gusts of wind that sends plumes of snow swirling around you, only adding to the overwhelming sense of sheer isolation in this desolate landscape. The further in elevation you get the more that feeling grows on you. It doesn’t help that you can barely see ten feet in front of you either. However.. At some point you realize you may or may not be lost. It was.. Well, it was hard not to get lost.

Yeah, you were definitely lost.

It was easy to look up at the sky and huff, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, but it was certainly a difficult task. Back in the city when you initially planned out this whole grand scheme, it was theoretically supposed to be an easy trip. Go out to Mt. Akka- far away from civilization in case you mess up the ritual, and then summon the all knowing being and make a pact. It was supposed to be easy. Three easy steps. After all that’s what he said all those years ago. The man that started all this.

—

Days after the incident had time crawling to a standstill- the hours feeling like weeks. Funeral arrangements made and gone through with. Sympathies and gifts sent to your temporary place of residence as if they were truly sorry for you. ‘Sorry for your loss.’ ‘She was a wonderful mother, a great friend.’ If they truly felt that way, then why was it just you looking down at the casket as it got covered with soil? Why were you the only person who seemed to be grieving for this loss? Why did nobody else come to pay their respects as you stayed for days, finding solace in the overturned soil? As if you could claw your way through the ground and climb inside with her, hugging the charred corpse and burrowing between her ribs. Aching for the sensation of a hug, of an embrace.

It really was no surprise when you’re found in a back alley tavern. Tucked away deep in the city- in alleyways, far away from the upper levels. It really was the best place to drink away your sorrows. It was the perfect place to become a nobody.

Huddled into a corner of a grimey back alley place, the wood sticky and stained with what, you weren’t sure. It was loud that night; and yet there you were: alone with nothing but a tankard of ale to drown out anything else. Just wanting to get numb. Just wanting to .. stop everything. Patrons come in and out, and yet there you stay even as dawn begins to rise. Sticking out like a sore thumb despite the best efforts to blend in. Too rigid to count as a regular, too downtrodden to appear lighthearted enough to familiarize yourself with the other joyous people. Just a meager human in a hodgepodge of species.

That’s where he found you. Sitting on a stool on the end of the bar; staring down at the amber liquid, gently nursing the liquid- too many drinks in to necessarily turn your nose up at the far too bitter and pungent cheap ale. It was now a more comforting taste, dulling the senses, muffling the loud noise, turning into a vice.

A hand brushes along the curve of your ass- quickly making its way up and settles over the nape of your neck- squeezing absentmindedly, and you’re brought back to the present. Head lolling to the side slightly as your gaze travels upwards. Bright blue eyes stare back at you, resembling a kaleidoscope of precious gems- sapphire, larimar, kyanite- swirling and sparkling with mischief, his gaze adorned with an impish grin. His dark hair was ruffled up in a sort of weird style, long on the top, short on the sides. He was a peasant, it was easy to assume but if you were more coherent, it was easy to tell that he was anything but, despite how he presented himself to you. Back a little too straight, nails clipped and short, no signs of dirt underneath them. The stranger’s fingers dig into your flesh and you frown, squinting up at his sheer audacity.

It was then you noticed his ears- ah. That’s why he looked so .. ethereal. His skin was perfect. But he had facial hair.. A half elf? Regardless, you stick your nose up at him as you scowl, perfectly content to wallow in grief in peace. Trying to twist your head out of his gentle, but firm grip. Mouth opening to tell him off- to leave you alone–

“Ah’ll buy ye a drink bonnie.” His low purr cuts off your starting protests, hovering over you, blocking your view from the rest of the tavern- squeezing you once more before falling and taking their place across your lower back as if it belonged there. The warmth of his hand follows your movements as you press against the bar in a sluggish attempt to get some space, following like a moth to a flame. Like an animal with a treat dangling in front of its nose. The man tilts his head down at you, giving a toothy smile when your frown deepens, looking at him with clear apprehension- “Dinnae ken, i’ll buy ye something strong. You look like ye need it, hm?”

It was easy to squirm under his insistent gaze, nodding. Eyes half-lidded as you blink slowly, the pads of his fingers absentmindedly tapping into your back when you didn’t answer verbally. “Yeah.. I guess so.”

Never realizing that you never had a choice; it truly was never an offer.

Regardless, this stranger- John you later found out his name was- listened to your tales and woes as you blubber over the ‘top’ shelf liquor. Slurring your words incomprehensibly as he sat on the stool next to you, large hand now finding its home in holding the flesh of your thigh far too high up to be considered respectable. It was easy to take the information given to you at heart as he even gave such great life advice. Describing wonderful tales of protection- of something to work for- a goal to try and get to. It was hard to remember at the time why his words seemed to cut through the fog of the alcohol, and why it stuck with you.

“And he’d make sure ye’d never have te worry about nothin’ again. Set up for life, able to get easy protection for yerself. Sounds like a dream, and it’d only be a few small things tae do.” Poisonous words seeping into your ears paired a saccharine sweet smile hiding the maws of a dog ready to bite down at a moment’s notice. Holding himself back, playing nice for you. For him. “I mean yer a wee bonnie thing, drinkin’ your life away. Shh.. shh I ken, I ken- I know it’s hard.” Wiping your tears away as they start to overflow again, hiccuping as you take another large swig of your drink.

John was just one of those people that it was easy to talk to- maybe it was how long you’ve been in this place, or maybe it was the fact that he was buying your drinks, who knows. Just a charming gentleman, knowing all the right things to say, and so what if he was a little touchy? Maybe he just needed a little bit of comfort, surely you could understand that, right? He was so nice in fact that he walked you back to your temporary residence- silly, you must’ve forgotten you told him where you were staying- and when you woke up the next morning there was a concisely written note with everything you needed to do. The smell of sulfur stuck to the parchment as if burned into the grooves of it.

What a nice guy.

—

Yeah, looking back though it certainly wasn’t the brightest idea to go this far away from civilization. But you heard it was a scary ritual! That there might be a lot of consequences to it! But as you looked around the snowy scene with a huff it was clear that you were more than likely not going to make it any further than this without just flat out dying. So.. you pause in your steps. The situation was just so absurd, that you were risking your life for something that might not even happen. But what else is there for you to do? It sparks a bubble of bittersweet laughter in your chest as you wipe away some flurries on your nose- maybe you can just wish to make it out of here alive and well.

You crouch down, awkwardly trying to clear away the snow to reveal the hard ground- your hands freezing wet by this point- the wool gloves feeling as though it was becoming brittle and stiff. It takes a few minutes but you were able to eventually clear a decently sized space around you. The ritual should’ve been performed at a higher elevation, for your sake of mind over anything else- but at this point it was quite literally probably either do or die. So might as well try to give it a last ditch effort, right? And with how the snow continued to descend thick and fast, like a relentless onslaught with no regards towards your personal quest, it was only a matter of time. So you continue to awkwardly carve out a space around you, grimacing at how your hard work was by the minute getting covered up by the steadily growing blizzard around you. The line of sight diminished drastically as the snowstorm swept through the landscape like a ghostly specter, cloaking the world in a shroud of swirling white and obscuring all signs of life or landscape.

Clutching the bag so the contents don’t get blown away, you procure a small glass jar of a fiend’s blood- trembling hands starting to pour it on the ground in an attempt to recreate the shape you recall tracing so many times before. It certainly felt different using blood as paint rather than graphite; practically speeding through the process as by the second, snow was landing on your hard work. The symbol was lopsided, the intricate circles and lines definitely lopsided and not fully correct- A gust of wind shoots through the gorge, the force nearly strong enough to make you crash into the ground. You stumble as the sound of glass shattering resonates, the sound echoing even above the roaring sound of the wind rushing past you. You gulp hard, shaking like a leaf in a raging storm- when another gust, almost like a predator sinking its claws into your skin; forcing you down into the ground, as if you didn’t have permission to stand. Your body hoists itself up for but a brief moment and then unceremoniously falls, and you scowl as your body is forced into a makeshift kneeling position, the cold tendrils blowing past you as if in the imitation of a bone chilling hug.

Well.. a pact summoning could be done standing or sitting down, you suppose.

Somewhere along the way your demands and wishes for this pact- for this all giving wish might have gotten a little.. skewed. It had been a whole process to get to this point after the accident- years dedicated to sneaking about the forbidden areas of libraries- going from nation to nation, paying hefty amounts of gold for mere names that might aid you on your quest for the power to protect yourself. The power to protect what once had long been past, like a memory fleeting in the wind. Faceless people crying out for you to run, for you to stay- for you to save them– for you to save yourself. The power to reach your hands further out and save your loved ones.

So .. when did that start to twist into the wish to live. To simply survive the circumstances you thrust yourself into?

The blizzard seems to rain even worse as you sort of tussle down a gem in the ground of one of the circles- some emerald pendant your family has had in their lineage for centuries. It was an attachment that felt sort of poignant, one of the only few things that’s survived that is of their memory– blinking away the forming tears as you watch the snow slowly fall over the item. You then proceed to pull out a singed book of spells- one you’ve tried to use a countless number of times, but the weave never seemed to allow you to tap into the energy; and you’ve had to hold onto it for the ritual as it was a magical item, no matter how much it was just a blatant form of mockery. As if saying ‘wizards and sorcerers can use me and yield results, so why can’t you?’ You set the heavy leather book on the other circle.

You crawl against the force of the wind awkwardly to the middle of the practically ruined ritual circle, trying not to ruin your already stained clothing- but at this point did it even matter anymore? A small vial is procured- this blood visibly lighter than the fiend’s- this being one of a fellow human; the blood of a friend. You haul yourself to your feet, digging into the hard dirt to keep yourself stabilized, despite how badly the world was trying to send you crashing down to the floor. Clearly unable to keep yourself steady, you hastily drip the liquid beneath you, already starting the incantations that you know oh so well, spreading the liquid in a smear with your heel, praying and hoping this would work. Watching as each drop sinks into the sleet, the macabre tapestry that spirals out– as if the very land itself was painting a picture; weeping for the fallen, mourning their passing in silent reverence. It was for a good cause- you told yourself.

Years of letting your feelings fester, dedicating years of studying and researching towards this moment, your palms becoming doused in red and the darkening of your soul- all towards changing your fate- though you had hoped this moment would end up being done in a well.. more covered environment, however it was no matter. This was the better alternative- getting power for free. Not having to train and be proficient in magic and study all those years. Your mind sort of just latched onto the idea of working smarter- not harder. To get a shortcut in the way of life.

Infernal spills from your tongue- accented and choppy despite your best recreation of it- clearly not of your mother tongue despite the fact you could practically recite it in your sleep by this point. The incantation was slowly spoken, like a low rumble- reaching the far back of your throat, the cadence deliberate and guttural as that small hum of a buzz begins to slowly begin in the deep recess of your mind. A small pocket knife is procured from your bag, flipping it open as you urge your voice to be louder than the howling wind as the snow swirls around you like a vortex. The blade presses against the palm of your hand.

The pain lasted for but a brief moment, small bubbles of blood starting to dribble out of the wound, falling at a faster rate as it dripped onto the circle beneath you, combining with the scarlet already split. The cold wind continues to swish around you, your clothing providing little to no protection as the incantation becomes louder, the words becoming choppy– more frantic. The shadows grow longer, the trees groan as if bearing the weight of something heavy. And then your voice comes to a stop, panting as you wait for something to happen, smiling as you look around with wide eyes, limbs starting to feel numb.

Silence.

And more silence.

It was painstakingly easy to panic, hastily repeating the incantation as loud as you can- something setting in. A realization of what you were doing? Yeah that wasn't working.

“No- Nono.” Tears make it harder to see, blinking them away as another cut was made, adding more blood to the middle of the circle as if that would solve all the problems in the world-

“Why- Why isn’t it working? I did everything right-” The pitch rises in your growing hysteria, looking around at the partially covered symbol to see if something went wrong. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and it turns into a chuckle and then into a full on fit of laughter, your cracked lips forming a larger grin. There’s no way right? That this was actually happening. Years of your time- nearly five god forsaken years. If you ever saw that blue eyed elf you’d kill him. Fucking hell-

“Please-” Your head tilts back as you glance up at the stormy sky, pinpricks of fear running down your spine as the expression simmers into a more somber one. It all comes crashing down as a jarring realization that all this time- you didn’t even know exactly who it was you were trying to summon. That elf and all those people telling the stories of tales across the land, talking of a being to grant power. To grant wealth. To provide enough strength to save the people around you. To take a nobody and turn them into a somebody. To give reason to actually keep living instead of joining your mother six feet under. Buried back under the burnt down remains of your estate.

It was described as simple. Summoning the being in a circle of a fiend’s blood- establishing a connection to the outer realms. That part was simple enough, though it took trading with some shady people but eventually you got what you needed; some mercenary you had to pay off to look the other way as you essentially go through the process of bloodletting an imp. Then draw out the symbol- provide the items of a precious gem and a magical artifact. Easy enough. Provide the blood of a friend- showing how willing you are to cut ties your former life to just to establish the connection, and finish it with a drop of your own blood to finish the connection, all while chanting some very specific incantations.

You did all that. So.. why wasn’t it working?

You performed it perfectly.

The hard ground felt like nothing to your numb body as you sank into the snow once more. Glass glitters in the snow as it presses into the side of your face, but you barely register the pain. It was supposed to work. All those scrolls- all those people, all that time. And for what? A useless invocation. Something that didn’t even work. Taking the time and energy, going out of the way of civilization in case something went wrong and.. Yet. And yet- It was silly. It was so freezing out here, the air thin and hard to breathe, but for some reason it felt warm.

You weren’t anything special, a mere human in the world of dragons. In a world of krakens and dragons and all these amazing things.. And yet at the end of the day.. you were just a regular old nobody. Sure, you were of a sort of nobility status– but you were trying to change your past; trying to make yourself better. To change what has already been predetermined- to reach up and touch the stars, not realizing that you were tethered to the realm. Trying to rewrite predetermined fate, as if you actually had a chance at being anything more than being completely useless-

It was easy to lose your train of thought, head swimming as an unsettling terror seizes your chest- everything begins to fracture and break. The sounds around you start to become distant echoes, muffled and indistinct, as if you’re listening from the bottom of a deep well. There's a strange detachment, as if you’re floating on the edge of reality, holding on only by the thinnest of threads. The cliffs around you seem like they’re combining overtop, as if you’re looking through a fishbowl lens: the shadows seem darker, twisting and turning under the moonlight’s glow. Your thoughts slow to a crawl, each one a struggle to grasp before slipping away like sand through an hourglass, fighting a losing bottle to have any thought be coherent enough to pass through the filter. Accompanied by a tingling sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the crown of your head, as if your body is disconnecting from itself, each limb growing heavier and more distant with every passing moment.

Why did this happen? Why.. did it not work?

Why did you even try? You just wanted to be more. You just wanted to survive. To live.

Black dots fly in your field of view; dancing around like fairies in the wind, mocking as they flutter across your vision with no rhyme or reason. Your vision blurs- the unsaturated colors of the snowscape soften into monochromatic tones of gray; the moonlight seems to go further and further away as your head sinks into the snow; the dots growing larger as if obscuring your vision.

You’d do anything.

You blink slowly as the buzzing creeps up louder, wrapping around your brain and clinging to the nerves. And then all at once dissipates, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The feeling of being watched seeps into your conscious state of mind but at this point it was a mere afterthought, feeling hollow as your eyes fall half lidded.

“Anything?” A low timbre resonates around you, emanating from no discernable source. The disembodied voice seems to drift around your fallen form, as if hovering- waiting.

The realization has a little chuckle ripping its way out of your throat. Oh, you were hearing things now. Lovely. You were discombobulated clearly, eyes closing as you breathe slowly, your heart seeming to calm down. The voice- you weren’t exactly sure if there was someone around you or if you were genuinely going crazy, like it was some angel above speaking to you on death’s door.

Right. Keep your eyes open- it’s not time to sleep yet. Right? But honestly it wasn’t even that cold anymore. Rather warm actually- like you were being coddled in an embrace- why would you want to move? Your eyes squint open against the snowstorm, looking around blearily at your limited scope of sight. Your limbs feel not only heavy but numb, and you knew moving them would be a chore and so you simply stay put laying down. There was a brief moment of nothing and then- Ah, right. There was someone speaking to you.

“Uh huh.” That sufficed right? There was an unnecessarily long pause, prompting you to continue talking- after all, what harm would it do? “Wanna live.” Your tongue felt heavy, as if speaking required some sort of insurmountable effort. You shift- pressing your face further against the dirt, lacking the energy to try and do anything else, little pricks of blood starting to stain the fresh snow.

“You’d do anything?” The gruff voice rings out once more and you almost groan, eyes fluttering around uselessly, vision blurring and becoming unfocused. Why was it–he?- asking you that? Aren’t your last moments supposed to be in peace, not filled with conversation?

“Anythin’.” You slur, gasping for breath as soon as the last sound finishes your chest suddenly tightens, constricting your breath, as if the air around you stills. You don’t notice the change in atmosphere, the magic sprinkling around your body- floating and pulling at unseen chains tethered deep in your heart- too hyper focused on the sudden searing pain on the back of your neck; akin to a branding iron.

“Silly girl.”

You writhe, whining, feeling the individual lines of runes being carved deep into your skin. The pain was unlike you’d felt before, even from the pain all those years ago. No- this– this was agony. This was being trapped in a whirlpool, dragged under the depths by the relentless force of pain, unable to find solid ground. This was thousands of needles piercing your skin, pulsing through you like a constant drumbeat- each throb, each line being carved only sending waves of agony. Like a black hole, taking you deep into the Shadowfell, into the Nine Hells- being torn apart- each limb being torn. No- not torn. This was more precise, being carved like a butcher- no like a surgeon, meticulously taking their time to dissect you. To pull back your skin and peer at everything that makes you, you. Each individual nerve and muscle laid bare as they are probed and examined, delving into the very essence of your being. Seeing what makes you tick, what makes you smile- your worst thoughts- your deepest desires.

This feeling wasn’t.. unfamiliar oddly enough- in fact the opposite, as if you’ve felt it before, except this time it was a more obvious invasion, a violation of your innermost sanction as it digs deep into your body and pushing past your ribs and settling into its new home, wrapping an icy claw around your heart and constricting–

Then all at once the torment ceases, the pain being replaced with almost a sense of reprieve. You feel the phantom of a hand brushing over the now raised skin, causing your sweat-ridden body to jerk away frivolously, before settling, letting out a soft sigh. The sudden relief was like stepping into a new realm of freedom and tranquility; as if all the burdens you previously had were released. Like gentle relief that calmed the raging of your mind- calming the storm of anguish and bringing a moment of clarity and peace. The fear that once consumed you, the sense of hopelessness that weighed heavy on your heart, the loneliness that haunted you for years—all of it now seemed fleeting, like passing thoughts. As transient as the wind sweeping through the sky, soon forgotten. Those years of all that struggle; all those years of searching and praying for some sort of help. Like a weight lifted off your chest. You could reach above; no longer being bound to the realm: you could do anything. Be anything- Your eyes had closed, when did they close? You open them- seeing nothing but the darkness of the mountains, but it was so weird, as you could feel it- him- hovering around your form like a lingering shadow. A man? A monster- you weren’t sure. It was hard to tell.

And so, when your eyelids inevitably fell closed once more, it only made sense you were too far gone to even notice the skull-faced monstrosity standing over you, his head tilted as he looked down at his newly anointed warlock with an inscrutable expression. Rich amber eyes looking down at you and then- a pleased hum resonates through the air.

Mere minutes later the spot where you once laid was coated with a fresh coat of snow, looking like a pristine blank page, as if nothing had even transpired there in the first place. As though you never existed in that space to begin with.

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shera-dnd · 1 year

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Hey it's time for a new fic... well, an old fic. This one is about like 4 years old now, but since this has a sequel in the works I decided to bring this first half back up to my new writing standards

This fic, along with the big finale of the D&D!AU, are gonna be more centered around my original character, GM, and their relationship with Mara, as well as the development of the "Princesses of Power" homebrew campaign that you guys have followed for the past few years

God I still can't believe I'm finishing off the She-ra D&D era of my blog.

Well I can save the emotional ramblings for once the finale goes up, for now I hope you guys enjoy this little update

The Moon Opal was a quiet place in the earlier hours of the day - most of its customers were the nocturnal type - making it the perfect place to get some work done.

A tired figure sat at one of the empty tables, typing at the laptop in front of them.

The last of what they called ‘lunch’ sat untouched beside them as they deleted their recent work for what felt like the 100th time that day.

They leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling for a solid moment, before turning back to the two words still left on their screen.

Project Etheria.

It was a placeholder name for a game about collaboration and teamwork, and yet someone decided that giving a player an extremely overpowered form was a good idea. Now it was up to them to make this mess work.

Sure, it made sense for She-ra to be this strong. She was supposed to be the protector of the world, the key to the world’s magic.

Every princess had an element, but She-ra - the Princess of Power - was supposed to be the center of everything.

She-ra was the center of everything…

Their face brightened as they typed away on their keyboard with renewed vigor.

Oh, they couldn’t wait to see Mara’s face when they showed her this.

“Hey, someone is feeling productive today,” Mara greeted, apparently summoned by that errant thought.

“Mhm,” they hummed, not even taking their gaze away from their work.

“Earth to GM,” she joked, the mention of their name stealing their attention, “You there, GM?”

‘GM.’

They had been called that most of their life.

But it felt different when Mara did it. For her it wasn’t a title or a descriptor, it was a name, their name.

At least, it felt more like theirs than the one they were given at birth. She always made it sound like she was greeting a friend.

“Ah! Sorry,” they shook their head, looking away from their screen, “hey, Mara.”

“Hi there,” she said with a smile as she took a seat next to them, “what got you so excited today?”

“Rebalancing She-ra for hopefully the last time,” they said, turning their laptop so she could see, “I removed most of the new Traits from She-ra herself, and made it so she grants them to the princesses around her.”

“I’m gonna have to rewrite my whole character sheet again, aren't I?” she sighed, reading over their notes.

They almost started to talk, but Mara didn’t give them the chance.

“I almost forgot!” Mara exclaimed.

She rummaged around her bag for a moment before handing them a few sheets of paper, “I finished some more Lore on Etherian magic and the First Ones.”

GM took the notes titled ‘Heart of Etheria’, and skimmed through them.

The silence dragged on as they each read each other’s notes.

Mara could be loud and energetic when she wanted to, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to share in these little quiet moments.

It was nice.

Unfortunately, they were the one to break the silence this time.

“The planet is a what!?” GM blurted.

“A weapon of mass destruction,” Mara said, as if saying it out loud suddenly made it make sense, “I thought the setting needed bigger stakes.”

“We already have an invading alien empire, giant monsters, and evil sorcerers,” GM said, but all they got from her was a shrug. “I guess Mara - Princess of World Building - would know better than me.”

“I like that one, let’s use it in the book,” Mara joked.

“You got anything we could play while I change up my traits?” she asked, picking up her character sheet.

She was on her third one, the last two had been torn up from the constant rewriting.

“Preferably nothing combat heavy then,” GM pondered for a moment, “well, you had just finished a mission last time, so we could maybe have a chill scene in the Crystal Castle?”

“Perfect!” she cheered, “I wanna flirt with Light Hope.”

“Excuse me? She is an AI,” they said, raising a brow at her.

“So…?” she didn’t seem to understand their point.

“She’s not programmed for romance,” they explained, a little exasperated.

“Nothing a little love can’t fix,” she said, with a shrug.

“You’re not teaching a robot to love, Mara!”

“Hey, look at it this way: I’m preparing you for all the players who will absolutely try to romance everything, and everyone, in this setting.” she explained. “Also, Light Hope is really cute.”

“Miss me with that allo shit, Mara,” GM groaned.

Their playful frustration melted away as they got into playing, just simple scenes at first while Mara worked on her sheet. But once that was done they moved right into combat, and for the first time Mara seemed satisfied with how things had turned out…

“Yes!” she exclaimed as the last spider fell. “You’re the best.”

“I...uh...thanks.” GM mumbled, shying away from the compliment, “You’re the one making the world, I just turn stuff into rules text.”

“But that’s the important part,” Mara assured them, “I can say what it means to be She-ra all I want, but it’s all pointless if the rules say something different.”

“And what did the rules say?” GM asked, a little surprised.

They were so focused on making She-ra balanced that they didn’t even consider that aspect of things.

“That She-ra isn’t meant to make people feel weaker. You shouldn’t feel like you’re less than them, you should feel stronger by being with them.” she explained, her voice filled with excitement, “Helping others be their best selves, that is what it should mean to be She-ra!”

_____

The Moon Opal always got busier towards the evening, with customers crowding the tables with RPG sessions, and card game matches. It left very little space for someone to concentrate on their work.

GM rubbed their tired eyes, trying to recover from staring at that blank page for far too long.

They weren’t even sure if they should keep trying to power through, or just call it a day and go home.

Before they could decide they were distracted by a familiar groan as someone slumped onto the chair in front of them.

“Long day?” GM asked, not taking their eyes away from their work.

“Long day,” Adora said.

She opened up her backpack and began looking for something inside it.

“Sorry for jumping right to the point, but I still gotta pick up dinner,” she sighed, handing them a few sheets of paper.

“Oh, right, your backstories,” they said, taking them both and skimming through them. “Why is Catra’s six pages long?”

“Because my girlfriend is the most competitive person on the planet,” Adora groaned.

Of course Catra would consider this a competition…

“You two want to call dibs on any of the homebrew powers?” GM asked.

“Nah, I’m good with whatever you send my way,” she waved it off. “, and Catra doesn’t want any powers, because she wants to prove she can kick everyone’s ass without any.”

“I’m not surprised in the slightest,” they sighed, reading through Adora’s story a second time.

They couldn’t avoid the strange sense of nostalgia that came from it…

“What it means to be She-ra,” they mumbled without really thinking.

“You say something?” Adora asked, perking up in her chair.

“Nothing,” they said, “Just had a few ideas for your character. Do you… mind if I keep these?”

“Sure, sure, we don’t mind.” She handed it to them, “If that’s all, I should probably get going.”

“I’ll text you if I need any more details,” they said. “Have a good night, Adora”

“You too, GM!” she said, waving at them as she left.

They smiled and gave the papers in their hand one last read through.

Oh Mara, you would’ve loved this one…

#dnd!au #shera d&d #shera #spop #mara #original character #gm #gmara?#fuck it I'm coining this ship name now #gmara

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