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#How The Best Hunter In The Village Met Her Death
simping-overload · 5 days
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ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴀᴍɴ ᴅᴇᴇʀ - ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʜᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ
a/n: showing my love for my favorite Greek God of all time, Hermes<3 this is a multichapter fanfic.
trigger warnings: animal hunting so animal death. Religious themes and practices
synopsis: You never thought helping out a lost hobo would end up with you in the loving embrace of a god.
『read on ao3』
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disclaimer: hermes is based on his BOZ, EPIC, and canon mythology. I don't really know how ancient greece actually was or how hunting works so take this with a grain of salt! It is just fanfiction :)
You come from a village that has been long-term worshippers of the goddess, Artemis. Each year, the village holds a festival, Laphria¹. With this festival, of course, comes activities, the most important being the hunt. Where 3 main selected participants, who were allowed to bring at the maximum two others along the hunt with them, they were to hunt down a large stag, whoever was to bring back the largest wins.
The reward would entail being given a large sum of money and being allowed to worship the goddess to the fullest extent, which means you'd get to say your prayers before everyone, including the high elders.
This year, you were finally chosen for the hunt, much to the joy of your family and friends. You were their best hunter and tracker, able to find an animal with ease regardless of how little the evidence that has been left behind.
After passing a familial trail—hunting a snow hare in the middle of snowstorm— you were gifted a beautiful pup who you named Winston². The two of you were jointed at the hip. There wasn't a place you'd go without him. This included the hunt.
You decided to bring two of your beloved friends along, Damian and Agnes. You set off at dawn, racing into the trees on the back of your horses, Winston running ahead as the scout.
Agnes and Damian were chattering away behind you as you looked over the map. You wanted to try and plan out all paths you could safely use.
"So...do you think if I win this, it would get Corinna at the very least interested in me?" Damian questions, fiddling with the horses' reins. He had a crush on Corinna ever since they were teens, spending most of his time trying to impress her— which failed considering he always made a fool of himself.
Agnes, bless her, rolling her eyes as she listens to Damian rant, just as the millions times before. She's been friends with him since they were babies. Both of their mothers were the best of friends, so it makes sense they were too.
You didn't come into the picture until you were about 7 or so, moving here to take care of your grandmother after she got sick.
You met Agnes when your mother invited hers over, and then her mother invited Damian's over. You all were just placed in front of each other and expected you all to click automatically. Thankfully, you did, and you've been friends ever since.
"Probably, but you need to remember Nikolaos is in this competition too, I know he's been desperate to get her hand as well." She pauses as her horse jumps over a fallen tree. She looks back at Damian with a blank stare and continues. "And also this could've been avoided if you just grew a pair of balls and confessed."
"I can't just do that— I need to get her attention first. Maybe we'll find that white stag the elders ramble about." Damian giggles as he pictures Corinna leaping into his arms and saying yes to his proposal. He was such a lovesick fool.
"Or maybe she's already interested and is waiting for you to confess. I've heard its custom in her family for the woman to wait for the man to ask, no matter how long it takes." You chime in, not looking up from your map.
"Wait wh—" Damian is cut off when a large gray wolf jumps from out of the trees, holding a white hare in its mouth.
Your horse, startled, bucks you off its back, sending you to the forest floor. You're now eye level with the wolf, noticing how its eyes are an unnatural golden color.
You and the wolf stared each other down for a moment before it huffed and leaps back into the trees. Agnes drops down from her horse and rushes to your side, while Damian goes off to fetch your horse.
You snapped out of your daze when you felt something wet touched your cheek. It was Winston, licking at you and whining in concern.
You pat his head to calm him, and you lean on Agnes for support as you stand. She brushes the dirt and leaves off your back.
"Hey, you okay?" She questions, her freckled face is laced with concern.
You feel fine, a little sore, but nothing you hadn't been through before. There was something about that wolf that just stuck with you, "Yeah, I'm fine. That wolf, though... its eyes were like pure gold."
"Maybe it's one of Lady Artemis' wolves? It wouldn't be the first time she's watched over the hunts." She suggests, steppingaway from you once you've steady yourself. Damian comes back with your now calm horse, handing you the reins.
"I suppose? Though I never heard of a wolf having pure gold eyes before... Anyway, Winston, did you see anything?
Winston barks in reply, his tail wagging before he runs off. You mount your horse and begin to follow him. You motion the other two to do the same.
Winston leads you to what looks to be a temple, one that seems to have been neglected for years. Nature has taken over, vines have trickled up and wrapped themselves around the columns, and grass and flowers grow from the cracks of the floor. The usual pure white of the marble has faded into a off white tan color with a thin layer of moss across the surface.
"Let's make sure the area is safe for us to set up camp here. Agnes, check out the back of the temple, and Damian, you'll start with the outer perimeter. I'll start with the inside. Regroup to the front once you're sure no one else has been here."
Agnes nods, and Damian gives an alright in response before going back into the forest. You dismount your horse, tying it to a loose fence post. You make your way up the cracked stone steps and into the temple.
The rays of sun lit the inside of the temple, illuminating the illustrations that line the walls and ceilings. Going off of the winged shoes on the god that was illustrated, this was a temple of Hermes. You wonder if there was ever a village that was here before yours that were worshippers of him.
Your search around the temple came up empty, with no human activity. Only animals and plants seemed to have been inside. You leave the temple in time to see with Damian and Anges coming back.
"There doesn't look like there's anyone for miles, only animals. I saw the cutest fox kits." Anges says.
"Same here, though I wasn't blessed with seeing any cute aniamls today." Damian pouts, dismounting his horse, kneeling down next to Winston to ruffle his fur, "Expect for this bugger." Winston barks and licks the man's hand.
You chuckle, "Looks like it's safe to set up camp here, we'll need to find something to eat, so I'll try and find something for us. You two just set up camp and remember to use the horn if anything happens."
They give you mock salutes in response before they begin to take the supplies off the horses and into the temple. You mount yours and whistle for Winston to follow as you trot off into the woods.
It doesn't take you long to hunt something down. After finding some boar tracks, Winston leads the rest of the way to the creature. Upon finding it, you ready your bow, steadying yourself on the moving horse as you focus your aim on the boar.
You suck in a breath, drawing back your arrow and whispering a short prayer to Artemis as you relase. The arrow pierces through the side of the boar, straight to the heart, quick and painless.
Suddenly, you hear a loud scream, and off in the distance, you can see someone running towards you with what looks like a... deer? Chasing after them. Winston stands alert, ears perked, and focused on the person getting closer to you. You hold your reins tight while Winston moves in front of the horse.
The person turned out to be Nikolaos. You spot his signature ginger hair showing from under his hood before he trips over a log and face plants in front of you. He doesn't try to exchange pleasantries as he scrambles up to keep running.
The deer came soon after, gracefully hopping over the log. It glanced at you for a meer moment, giving you enough time to see its golden eyes. The same color from the wolf.
You hop down off your horse, making your way to the boar.
You are for sure this time that it wasn't Artemis. Maybe some other god?
You wrap the boars legs tight with string as you bring it back to your horse, settling it on the rear. Positioned so it won't slip off, you mount your horse once more before going back the direction you came.
As you make your way back. Your mind wanders back to Hermes. It could be him. After all, he's one of the more playful gods known for his pranks and tricks. You'll have to make an offering to him for letting you sleep in the temple, regardless if it's abandoned or not, and so he doesn't prey on your friends like he did Nikolaos.
By the time you made it to camp, it was dusk. Agnes greets you outside, taking the horse reins from you. You take the boar off of the horse, taking off to the side as you make quick work of the animal, cutting off the hide and chopping the pieces of meat you need. You leave whatever is left for Winston and the other forest creatures to feast.
Damian is quick to start cooking. Thankfully, his mother was kind enough to pack spices so your group wouldn't have to suffer tasteless food.
Until the sky went dark, you spent the rest of your time eating and talking. Damian nearly choked on his food when he heard you recant the experience in the woods earlier. He says he wishes he could've seen the look on that bastards face when he was running away. Agnes jokes that Nikolaos probably looked like a scared chicken. Which admittedly, he did, come to think of it, his screams sounded like the human equivalent of one.
As the night went on, it got quiet, Damian was the first to sleep, and Agnes was next. Winston is sprawled out in between them, snoring away. Before you rest, you bring a plate of food and burning incense to the altar.
You whisper, "Please, Hermes. The God of speed and travel grant us permission to make sanctions in your temple. If you disapprove, we will be out as the sun rises. Take this food as a thank you for allowing us to sleep here for the night." You pause. "Also... please refrain from chasing us as a deer or anything else for that matter. While it was funny what you did to Nikolaos, I would rather not soil my pants." You chuckle, placing the food onto the alter and the incense in a dusty holder.
You go back to your original resting place, leaning against the pillar. You feel a soft and comfortable breeze flow through the temple. The sounds of the trees rustling soothe you into a nice slumber.
Still in deer form, Hermes walks through the woods, no set destination just allowing the fates to choose where he will end up. Faintly, he can hear someone whisper a prayer.
"Please, Hermes. The God of speed and travel grant us permission to make sanctions in your temple. If you disapprove, we will be out as the sun rises..."
It was not often that he received prayers, especially not in his sisters park of Greece. He lets the prayer pull him towards the location.
Switching to his human form, he approaches the temple. It was one of his firsts. A gift to him by his father. While unkept, it still stood strong.
He sniffs the air, a familiar smell, boar. Not only did he get a prayer, but he got an offering, too? Just what he needed after chasing the mortals.
He giggles as he makes his way inside, involuntary waking up Winston, who was silenced a quick shush and a pat to the head.
Hermes looks around at the mortals who sleep before him. Wondering who said the prayer, his eyes land on you. Still leaned against the pillar, head thrown back against it. Your hand is tightly wrapped around a dagger. Ready to strike if need be.
He studied your face for a moment, his hand twitched with the desire to trace over your features. You were very attractive for a mortal, and judging from the faint golden aura he could see emitting from you, you're the one who prayed.
He steps away with a grin, making his way to the alter. He picks the plate up, nearly drooling on the food. As much as he'd love to take his time eating, he's a glutton. In seconds, the plate is empty. He holds back a burp as he makes his way back out of the temple, glancing at you as he makes his way out.
Well, he's going to have some fun on this vacation.
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The Doomed Jaessa
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Aemond x reader (Slight Avatar au inspired)
Tags: Fantasy, au, avatar au, powers, fantasy,
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Cool devider credits: firefly graphics
🔷Summary: You are a witch hunter, looking for the witches that killed your family all those years ago. Those people are called Heyks or Summoners.
🔷Author's note: Based on the Grishaverse stories, based on Avatar the last airbender, based on The Last Kingdom, based on a lot of different influnces from all these combined. I say based on avatar but this story is a lot darker and more graphic.
🔷Wordcount :3230
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🔷Warnings: Murder, violence, war crimes and propaganda. Description of violence and brief racism to reader (though she deals with that by nearly drowing the brat) ((and aemond wont be racist to her ever) blood)
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There have been stories for as long as humankind has been alive, and stories that will remain long after humankind has gone. 
Stories and legends, told in the light of campfires, in the open skies with only the stars and the moon to witness. The stories of elements, the story of powerful humans, blessed by the gods with abilities beyond our understanding. They claim these people are called ‘’Summoners’’ and can control the elements, bend them to their will, and create chaos and misfortune for whoever may cross them.
It is why kingdoms have been divided, lands have been uprooted and people have fled their native lands. And it’s why your mother was killed, and your father was sacrificed. And it is why you swore to destroy these vile creators until none would be left.
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It is a wintry day in the village of Winter Town. You and your people prepare for another beautiful day full of hunting, preparing sacrifices and cooking food and making fires to survive the cold winter.  
One of your commanders of the wolf army, named Sterk, calls for attention by blowing on a big horn. You and all the other villagers pay attention to what your leader is about to tell you. ‘’My good people! Today marks a wonderful victory. We have received word, and the final tribe of heyksen has finally left these lands!’’ You feel your smirk increase as you let out a whoop, together with others. 
Your best friend Kef smirks, leaning in closer to you. ‘’Looks like when they can’t attack harmless children or women, these monsters don’t like sticking around.’’ 
‘’They will pay for what they did to us in blood.’’ You murmur, looking at the single finger bone you carry around your neck. ‘’As long as any Heyks is alive, they will keep breeding, they will keep spreading.’’ You murmur.
Sterk does not hear the two of you over the cheering of the other members.  ‘’The Water-heyksen are cowering together with the Fire and Earth and Air heyksen in what they call the upper lands of this cursed infidel country!’’ He shouts so that even the gods can hear them. ‘’But we won’t give them rest or peace there. They tell stories, stories of an almighty heyks who will rise one day, an almighty heyks who will doom us all. Their armies, their kings are looking for this heyks.’’
Two boys close to you start talking in hushed tones, excitement getting the better of them. ‘’What do you know of the powerful heyks?’’ One of them asks you. You shoot him a glare. ‘’They said you met a Heyks.’’ He rudely points at your scar, by your chin. You cover it with your scarf, annoyed.
How dare he bring up that day. You were just a child, so was your brother. They ripped you from your mother’s warm embrace, slaughtered her like cattle and dragged you and your brother to the place where they worshiped their seven gods. ‘’Just that he can likely bend blood and revive the death.’’ You lie, absently.
For a moment you are back in Yi Ti, your whole life ahead of you and your heart pure, unaltered by hatred. ‘’Can he really?’’ The little boy asks, gasping.
You shrug. ‘’I don’t know, I never met him.’’ You reply, dryly and uninterested. ‘’Do you two mind shutting up, I want to hear what Sterk has to say.’’ You push them aside and sit closer to Sterk giving him a smirk. When the Waterheyksen still remained here, he was one of the first to slit their throats, setting fire to their villages. The original heyksen were burned alive in their castle, the castle they named ‘’Winterfell.’’ The Heyksen seem to learn from their environment. Most Heyksen you caught and killed here were water heyksen. They drowned your people. 
And now you will return the favor. Stark comes close to the bridge of his speech. ‘’We shall never bow under the terror of these freaks! We shall never surrender!’’ You applaud as people around you break into cheers, hug each other and drink to his words, honoring the gods.
You approach Sterk, a cheeky grin on your lips. ‘’Excellent speech. But I found it a little predictable.’’ You say, keeping your walls up around him. Sterk pushes his soft blond locks behind his ears, grinning madly at you. ‘’I thank you.’’ He nods to the two little boys. ‘’Did they give you trouble?’’
You turn your head and notice a tall girl staring at you, her green eyes mirroring anger and hatred. You wave at her, smirking. ‘’Not like Nax has.’’ You say. From the very start, Nax has told you to ‘’return’’ to your lands, and called you a ‘’Monkey-tail.’’ You kindly shoved her into the river for that comment, and someone had to save her before she drowned.  Yi Ti was once your home, but now the Heyksen have taken it from you. You left when you were a child, and you doubt you will ever return.
Stark glares at Nax as she pretends to be busy studying her nails. ‘’Nax can go fuck herself, another won’t do it.’’ He means himself as he pulls you closer with a wink. ‘’She is just jealous of you. You are brave, strong, and gorgeous. All things she lacks.’’ He tells you. Yet you remain uncertain. You have the feeling too many don’t want you here. Too many don’t trust you and too many don’t like you. Sterk reads you easily, holding you by your wrists. ‘’I told you before, I don’t care where my fighters are from. From Yi Ti to the Dothraki sea, fuck, even the Crown Lands…We all have our reasons to want these Heyksen dead.’’ You nod, touched, as he caresses your face. 
Even Nax has her reasons.
You remain by the fire, creating traps by binding ropes together and cutting wood with your favorite ax. 
A horse approaches out of the wastelands, carrying a scout of the hunters. ‘’Nik. What news do you bring?’’ Sterk asks the moment Nik has jumped off his horse.
Nik looks around the campfire. ‘’Good and bad. The Crownlands have sent a patrol party our way. They are here likely to spy on our numbers, to count our people before they send the full army. There are perhaps ten of them.’’ That is bad news. They must not know you and another part of the army split up. The majority remains in the North, while the other, a small portion sails around Westeros, to attack via Dorne, once Dorne has been weakened. 
Sterk briefly twirls his dagger, likely recalling the moment these monsters invaded his home and kidnapped his sister. ‘’Let them come. I’m hungry for them.’’ he grins at Nik. Nik nods.
Sterk runs back to the stone he uses to preach, before climbing on top of it. He shouts and his voice carries miles. ‘’The moment we waited for has arrived! The Goddess has granted us more Heyksen to slaughter! More innocent souls to liberate and more territory for us to grow grain, to grow old and to grow strong! Are you with me?!’’ He yells at his people and you hide a proud smile. You could not be any prouder of your friend.
People respond by raising their swords, daggers and other weapons in the air. You join in, raising your ax sky high. ‘’Then what are we waiting for?! They will learn that their reign of terror is over!’’ Sterk jumps off the rock before marching the crowd towards the horses. Men and women climb the horses, while children remain in the village. Elderly people watch over them, when chanting blessings over the weapons of the departing warriors.
You follow Sterk. ‘’Can I ride with you?’’ He grins. You hop onto his horse, holding onto his waist. 
But he does remind you of your duties. ‘’One day you must learn how to ride horses.’’ He tells you. ‘’One day, you must take the saddle and ride. It might save your life one day.’’
You scoff. ‘’I don’t trust horses. They are like people. You never know what they are up to.’’ You tell him as the two of you ride towards the smoke on the horizon. The horse picks up speed as you hold on for dear life, your ax in your left hand ready to wield it at whoever comes at you two. 
You finally notice a ship that is docked to the side of the cold waters, and people in red and black colored armor enter and leave. The horses of your troops have the ship surrounded, with the woods giving clear you all an advantage of the shelter and hiding. 
‘’Are you with me? 'For Freedom!’’ Sterk cries and charges with his sword swung at the soldiers leaving the ship. 
A different, much bigger war cry is answered by the enemy as they attack from behind the horses, behind trees, and storm from the ship to the place you gathered. You are pushed off the horse by Sterk and watch as two fireballs hit him at once, burning the flesh of his face, as he cries out in pain and horror. You scream, clutching your legs as you crawl to him. 
All around you, friends and family are murdered within two seconds, blasted and fried on the spot as chickens trapped in a fiery coop. Two soldiers hold a girl and melt her armor into her skin, when making comments about what they will do later to her. You weakly lift your ax, your whole body hurting. You release a war cry before rushing at one of them, placing the ax right at his head and you just chop.
His head breaks free with a satisfying crush, rolling on the floor as his body shatters. 
His friend is furious, heartbroken, and upset. He fires a series of fireballs at you, and while you dive out of the way, some of them end up hitting you, burning your hair and blackening your face slightly with ash and smoke. The goddess protects you, as you fall to the ground and manage to avoid most of it. 
The girl that was attacked has turned around and lifted her sword before decapitating her tormentor, before falling to her knees and going into shock.
You look around at the corpses of your friends and loved ones, and realize that Nik was wrong about the amount of people. They never stood a chance. You climb on a horse, trying to get it to listen to you. The horse is terrified and bucks you off him before rushing off to the place of the camp. You end up in a worse shape than before, likely with your hips or legs broken.
A man with silver long hair emerges from the beach area, carrying a golden edition of the normal red and black armor. ‘’Status?”’ He barks at a nearby soldier following him closely.
‘’24 out of 28 killed.’’ The man informs him.
This must be an officer. ‘’Excellent.’’ He says, simply, looking around the blackened corpses gleefully. He takes in the remaining survivors. His soldiers kick and spit at the burned remains of your family, but he does nothing to stop them. ‘’The gods will eat well tonight. 24 witch-hunters. That is a victory, your Highness.’’ The man tells the officer.
So he’s a prince. A royal. Perhaps a good hostage. If only you could get to him.. ‘’This is pathetic. Burn their remains.’’ The prince comments.
He is stopped before he can. The girl you saved jumps in front of him, blocking his path. ‘’No! They should be buried.’’ She demands justice for him. ‘’Their remains will find the skies.’’ She believes they will find peace. They murdered and pillaged. The goddess has no mercy for that, even you know that. 
The prince pretends to think, but you can read his body language and see how furious he is. ‘’You know what? You’re right. Bury this one alive.’’ He tells the officer, pointing to the girl. The officer nods as two other soldiers grab the girl and start digging a grave.
One of them grins as they throw her in it. ‘’Yes, Prince Aemond.’’ You remain frozen, praying that your luck won’t wear out. But once his blue eyes have found yours, you know you are done for and they won’t let you go ever again. ‘’And what do we have here?’’ He mocked. ‘’You’re far from home.’’ 
You grin, smiling despite your pain, putting up a brave face. 
‘’We come from hell itself to kill your kind.’’ You stand on your injured legs. You see he misses an eye.
Prince Aemond rolls his good remaining eye. You wait for him to be distracted. And that distraction comes. Sterk fights himself free, standing up and swings his ax at Aemond. ‘’Let her be!’ He cries, but an arrow hits his heart before he can kill Aemond, and he drops dead in front of you.
‘’Sterk! No!’’ You weakly crawl to his body, ripping the arrow out of his heart. You hear someone scream in the distance as you cradle his soft blond hairs and whisper him goodbye. ‘’I'll see you soon.’’ You mutter.
Nik runs out to the fields and instead of being fried, he is welcomed by prince Aemond. ‘’Cregan Stark. Good to see you.’’ 
You hear something snap inside your brain. You don’t hear anything as you rise from your injured legs, that seem to have healed. You pass the water that boils, as your eyes have become a glowing bright yellow. 
This man has lied to you.
This man has slaughtered you all.
He is a heyks. He is Cregan Stark, his family is Heyks, he is Heyks. A water Heyks  The earth around you starts to shake as the prince is escorted to safety, quickly pulled away by Cregan. Water pours down from the skies, creating massive waves you control, but you don’t at the same time. Something takes hold of you as you bend the waves around the forest clearing, putting out fires and throwing soldiers into the sea. They drown because of their heavy armor, and the waves you keep splashing over them. Fire is thrown at you again, by new soldiers that have come out to defend their prince. You simply raise your feet with precision before slamming it back down, creating an earthquake that destabilizes most of them, before you bring your hands together, and separate them, digging a grave. The bodies are stacked up inside the grave and you hear the men scream as you throw the earth on them, burying them alive. Your fingers work next and with the tip of your tiny finger, you can lift a man into the air before smashing his head open against a stone, smearing the blood everywhere. You are no longer there. What remains is this ancient source, this ancient slumbering power that has been awakened. A power that was always there. 
The air is sucked from lungs as they choke, and finally it is time for fire. You turn your head to a terrified Cregan Stark, before lifting the traitor into the air. You bend your index and middle finger down, and finally bow your hand as if retrieving something from him. He falls to the floor, screaming and crying as blood pours from his eyes, ears, and mouth. You bend the blood in his veins, twisting the veins until Cregan becomes a wailing crying mess. And the worst part is you like the fear you are seeing. You should be feared. 
Men are crushed like bugs under stones you control, tortured by waves until they beg their gods for death and their eyeballs receive so much pressure that they pop.
That is until someone rushes up from behind you, grabbing you by your throat, and pushes a necklace around your neck, collaring you. You gasp briefly for air as you crash back down on earth, your power fizzling out. You try to recall what has happened but nothing makes sense. Your healed legs, the man you drowned and burned and buried. None of it makes sense. Your brain repeats one word over and over again. 
Heyks. 
You are one of them. 
‘’No!” You scream as the necklace touches your skin. The prince holds you by your throat, his wet hair revealing you almost had him too.
‘’O, yes. You’ve killed enough.’’ He grits out, choking you for a brief moment as well.
You weakly gawk. ‘’Hurts doesn’t it? Your kind uses it on people like me. It blocks your summoning abilities.’’ He is right. It burns Heysk. And now, it burns you.
‘’You mean your witchcraft? I-I’m not a witch. I’m not evil.’’ You mutter disoriented and afraid. Afraid of him, perhaps. Afraid of yourself? For certain.
‘’From what I just witnessed, I’m not sure of that.’’ Aemond comments before chaining your hands together. ‘’I will bring you to my father. To the capital. You will be dealt with.’’ The bodies of the remaining men are collected and even dug up. You buried them deeply and they need the rest of the day and a small part of the night to find all those who you buried. Only a few have survived.
They are escorted back to the ship. One of them glares at you. You lift your chained hands at him, spitting in his direction and yelling a made up phrase. He and the other soldiers take off running as you cackle. ‘’Idiots, where did you find these idiots?’’ You wonder to the prince who remains at your side as his men are collected, and finally wrapped in black with red cloth. ‘’Do you plan to give them to someone?’’ You joke.
The prince has folded his hands on his back, ignoring you.
‘’I do. To their mothers, to their fathers, to their loved ones.’’ You become silent, as you realize what you have done. But they tried to kill you first.
‘’You were planning to kill us first.’’ You tell him indifferent to it all.
He nods. ‘’I agree, that much was true. Cregan and I set the trap much earlier.’’ You watch as bodies are dragged from the sea and put on the ship.
‘’We lost eighty-seven men, my prince.’’ The officer tells Aemond as you remain his captive.
Aemond shrugs. He does not care. You are worried for your safety.‘’We gained a weapon. A powerful weapon.’’ He looks at you, and you spit in his direction. He simply tugs the chain so you are choked. ‘’The last of her kind, the last Jaesa.’’
‘’I thought they were all killed centuries ago. Jaesa are dangerous.’’ The officer says as if you are not with them. 
Aemond nods, recalling what you had heard as well. ‘’Hm. When Valyria met her doom, they assumed all Jaesa killed. But this is no ordinary Jaesa. This one can control all four elements. This girl will be our salvation….And the doom of our enemies. She will gives us Dorne, she will give us the North, she will give us the known damn world.’’ He adds when painfully grabbing your chin. ‘’And she will bring an end to her kind.’’ 
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world building and notes
Worldbuilding.
The terms of summoners are from Valyrian words for the elements.
Fire=Dracary
Earth=Tegonry
Air=Jedary
Water=Nykeerdary
Jaes=God/goddess
Certain families and bloodlines have the elements born into them for example the targaryens. We dont see him use it, but Aemond is a very good Dracary. Certain places are also more likely to have more people who can summon a certain element than others. The North is said to have a lot of Nykeerdaryies because of their huge amount of snow/ice. At least before our story starts, because the witch hunter have killed them.
The word Heyks is literally a play on the dutch word Heks, meaning witch. Sterk means literally strong, another dutch word i used. 
The racism our mc deals with: The racism, im white as f so i dont know what poc experience or go through, at all, and i cant relate to your pain at all, but i tried keeping it still fun for people to read, but at the same time it felt important to be there. to be present. Mc feels alone there, mc feels like her fighting doesnt matter, but sterk tells her to believe in herself.
Another reason why i kept it: Because that happens to people, sadly and we must continue to talk about it to avoid it, to stop it. there is nothing so fucked up as hating someone for something they cant control and just for being who they are.. I went with the classic ‘’go back to your own land’’ because It shows the stupidity of the bully, she does not understand, our mc cant return and doesnt want to return. this is her land now, she will fight for it. and i went with the monkeytail insult because apparently according to the wiki, merchants from yi ti wear them.
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Yeah, obviously the necklace aemond captures oc with is a very zukatara moment excuse me for that.
The au is more a war between the witch-hunters and the summoners. Some part of the known world have fallen into summoners and into witch hunters. I really hope to show you guys that you got assholes on both teams.
I think we cleared the most important parts out.
Thank you for reading.
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goldenheart-supremacy · 7 months
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Outcast of the Realm, AU Part 2
Part one
Nimona is the 'young girl' Nimona from the movie in this AU, so expect a meeker personality...
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Nimona is mostly compliant to the director because they understand how it's only cause they're under her protection that aren't being haunted down.
The Director told Nimona how she saved her from the rest of her kind who are nothing but monsters.
The Director also lied about Nimona's parents; she told them that Nimona's parents would've eaten her alive if she hadn't saved them.
Nimona still shifts to whatever they want, but only when the director isn't around.
The director lets Nimona shift, but she usually instructs them to practice shifting into dangerous things and trains her to fight.
Nimona complies, but they don't really want to hurt anyone.
Nimona knows that the Queen was working on a way for people to accept shapeshifters more, however this confused them because they met the Queen once and they thought they were nice, and like the director told them, Shapeshifters were evil.
"That's why I want you to learn how to fight. Some people don't like this, and they could be violent. You need to help protect the queen, understood?" This was the frame of thought the Director tells Nimona.
Nimona was hoping that if the Queen was successful in "changing shapeshifter's for the better" that the Director would allow them to explore the world more themselves. They don't know, of course, that the director's just lying to them and how humans were labelling the "slave shapeshifters" as the good ones, and the "free shapeshifters" as the ones with evil intentions and needed to be hunted down.
Unless the shapeshifter allowed themselves to be slaves and servants, they would be executed once caught.
The director was still working on a way to kill the Queen.
Plot twist: Ballister is a half-shifter and half-human. This meant he could shift, but only to one thing; a black panther.
Plot twist: The queen is the reason for him being 'half-human' Plainly said, she's the mother. The 'human half'
The father was sent away as an order of the Queen. He only found out later that the document that sent him away was fake and Valerin never wanted to them to leave.
Before his death, he gave Ballister a sword with a secret crest that Valerin gave him before the night they conceived Ballister.
His dying breath was 'Show this to the queen... She will lead you to your mother.'
Ballister's goal in life, apart from protecting innocent humans and shapeshifters alike, is to find his mother.
Ambrosius is still a knight here. His job entails leading hunts and/or help build relocation sites for the "slave shapeshifters".
While people wanted the shapeshifters as slaves, they didn't wanted them living with them in their homes.
Ambrosius was still a Gloreth descendant, except Gloreth's backstory is just being one of the most well known shapeshifter hunters in history.
Gloreth's a hunter that's well respected by everyone in the realm, even the director.
The director has an unhealthy obssession with Ambrosius because of this. [Yeah, you know... She is judge Frollo in this AU, too.]
This is why Ambrosius also volunteers a lot to head into field missions; to avoid being alone with the director.
He already confronted her about it, but Ambrosius is certain she would try something crafty if the opportunity presented itself.
However, Ambrosius couldn't actively go against the director so this was the best thing he could do.
After returning to the main city from another finished construction of a shapeshifter village/slum, Ambrosius reported to the director.
It was something he begrudgingly did every time. Luckily, a briefing session with her always meant her advisors had to be in audience so she definitely couldn't try anything then.
Ambrosius's latest assignment would be to track down a particular 'black panther.'
This specific 'black panther' is presumed to be a shapeshifter that they couldn't confirm for sure yet.
They are assuming it's a shapeshifter because it's seemed far too intelligent to be a simple animal.
However, they are also aware that some animals can be intelligent.
If it was a shapeshifter, the director wanted to get something from it. Even if they couldn't capture it once confirming it is a shapeshifter, the director instructed Ambrosius to do their best to get something from it; a limb for instance.
This was so she could leave it somewhere to frame the shapeshifter after she finally got around to killing the Queen.
Cutting off a limb doesn't usually prove fatal for a shifter, because the limb could just regenerate.
But of course, Ballister's half a shifter so it wouldn't regenerate. He still has fast healing, though.
That's all for now. Need to figure out other things for more later.
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rheusia · 5 months
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"I have only loved once" pt1
A story of how Olrox lost his past lover (and I made him my oc :D)
tw!! character death, suffocation
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   As she entered the town, which looked more like a village, with tents everywhere and a few campfires around. People were laughing, some of them sitting by the fire, warming their hands and holding them right next to the yellow flame. She was walking in absolute silence, moving only where the shadows were, trying her best not to get caught by a group of Native Americans.
"One of them is a vampire; remember that, Julia." She remembered the words, which belonged to the baron of Massachusetts Town. It wasn't the first vampire she was sent to kill, but she still had to learn a lot about them and their behavior. How they mixed up with human societies and lived there unnoticed is sometimes the reason why locals disappear and never return. Julia Belmont, the daughter of Juste Belmont, possessed magic powers and trained hard to become a well-known vampire hunter, as all Belmonts were. Her ambitions, however, were set way higher than her father's, pushing her through excruciating training and days spent acknowledging the vampire species.
She slowly reached for the whip she had attached to her belt on her right hip. Watching closely, the woman noticed movement in one of the tents. Curious about who stayed there all alone, she walked up closer. Then she spotted another shadow figure inside, right behind the fabric wall.
Then Julia heard two different male voices, and she knew immediately that one of them must be the vampire she was searching for. She waited for them to leave the tent, so she could wrap the whip around the victim's neck and drag him to the nearby forest. To her surprise, right after she grabbed the whip with her hand, one of the men left the tent. His long black hair, reaching his elbows, parts of which were braided nicely, was lying on his shoulders and back. He was smiling, not knowing the terrible things that were going to happen to him in the next few seconds. Judging by his pointy ears, she knew. It was him.
Without even a bit of hesitation, she threw the whip, which swirled around the man's neck. She pulled it toward her and watched as the vampire fell to the ground, desperately trying to loosen the whip's grip.
The woman dragged his body toward the trees, hoping the other man didn't notice. Unfortunately, right when she entered the forest, he walked outside and looked around in a rush. And then he noticed them. Julia tightened the grip on the vampire's neck, and to her surprise, he hadn't even tried to fight her; instead, he was only trying to free himself. The horror he had in his bloody red eyes as tears started dripping slowly down his cheeks. The man couldn't get rid of the whip on his neck, which was getting tighter and tighter with his every move. It crushed part of his hair underneath it, hurting his scalp.
Belmont noticed the other man getting closer and closer, faster than she expected. His tall and muscular posture moved quickly toward her, his hair as black and long as the night sky, and her victim's hair.
"Something is odd about this man. Is he a vampire too..?" She asked herself in her thoughts when the other man's glowing, bright green eyes met hers. He saw her. She was one hundred percent sure she was going to end up dead, as well as the vampire under her feet. And while Julia was thinking of how to escape, the vampire was slowly losing consciousness, his eyes closing as more tears streamed down his face. He was suffocating, dying in agony, only wishing at the moment for her to drive a knife down his chest to kill him so he would not suffer anymore.
"Kwahu! Kwahu, are you out there?!" The calls full of pain she heard made her brain freeze. Something was telling her that both of these men were vampires, even though people only talked about one. Only then did she notice that the vampire she wanted to kill stopped breathing and lost consciousness.
"I did it... And he didn't even fight, what a coward..!" She thought. As soon as she noticed she had done what she was supposed to, the whip's grip let go of the vampire's neck. Julia disappeared in between the trees, leaving the dead body behind her.
And then the green-eyed man found his lover deceased in the forest.
His red eyes lost their color. A deep, bruised mark on his neck, signaling he suffocated to death. Some blood ran from his nose, staining his lips and pointy teeth. The look on the dead man's face completely devastated the other man. The warrior, his good friend,  boyfriend, his lover was dead.
Olrox felt tears stream down his defined cheekbones. His heart was hurting so bad that he felt like it was dying by itself. He dropped to his knees right next to his lover, grabbing him with his hands and shaking him, hoping he was alive.
--
"You know nothing is going to happen if we stay here, Olrox?" The red-eyed vampire said, his hands holding Olrox's forearms, not letting him walk away.
"My dear, I think it would be better if we went socializing with your community and your family." His lover answered.
"Olrox, please. I have a gut feeling that-"
"Alright, alright... Me too, Kwahu, I also feel anxious about going out there. Let's stay"
They were both lying down on the ground, cuddling with each other, wrapped in tons of warm and thick blankets. They talked about things that weren't really important. Both Kwahu and Olrox enjoyed each other's company, feeling safe next to each other. They felt like they'd been together since childhood.
The Aztec vampire traveled all the way to Massachusetts for some reason he wasn't really aware of, wishing he would return home as soon as possible. Little did he know, he would stay there for over five years, living the best life he could've ever imagined. At first, he was afraid of judgment; he was looking way different from the locals. His skin was much darker, he was tall, and he had muscles as a warrior should. His black hair was shiny and long, the left side of his bangs and part of the hair before his pointy ear were braided neatly, revealing silver earrings.
While the man he fell for was a bit smaller than him, skinnier and more feminine, even though he also was a warrior. Kwahu was native to America. He also had long black hair with parts of it braided, and two hawk feathers attached to cords on the ends of two of the six braids he had. His skin was decorated with sun-kissed freckles and red marks he painted on his shoulders, chest and face.
--
The memory of the only person who really understood Olrox made him cry himself to sleep next to his lover's body in the woods. He didn't know if hours or days passed before he finally left his man's side and walked back to the village.
Olrox promised to kill the woman who took away his soulmate.
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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 8 months
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I have decided our OC is a girl now in the Feral Neighbours AU. Her name is Haru. And she’s… weird.
-She grew up in a tiny village and like from a young age she was Odd. I mean she’s a reincarnation of an adult from another world who remembers shit.
-her parents died when she was 8 and she ended up fucking off with a Hunter. Hunters being those who roam the lands going after chakra enhanced animals because they’re an invasive species.
-Her teacher was a Uzumaki man who told her about caches containing Uzumaki things after making her promise to pass this info on if she ever meets a Uzumaki while dramatically dying.
-Haru “This is dumb I’m avoiding them all but okay since it’s his dying wish.” Ten years later: “FUCK”
-Haru is just… not normal. It’s partly the reincarnation thing. Partly cause her life has been fucking weird since she was born. She was raised by loving parents, her mother the local coroner and her father the local chemist. Her grandfather was probably a retired missing nin. She doesn’t know. She got raised by these three before getting swept up to roam the world while hunting with a Uzumaki who had no idea how to parent or teach.
-Haru’s dog is named Barkspawn and is the offspring of a summon and a normal dog that got abandoned cause he’s a bit different then normal pups. Haru found him and they’ve been besties ever since. He’s the only one who knows everything. He thinks the whole ‘oh god my neighbour is Kakashi’ thing is funny.
-Haru has no idea how to be civilian. She just doesn’t. She’s a Hunter who went after very dangerous animals (and sometimes minor bandits or mercenaries who needed a quick death) and has been on the move for years. She is a very good buisness woman but being a normal civilian? Ha. She would have always fallen in with Shinobi.
-Haru is 100% bisexual as fuck. She does not hide this. Which the Shinobi folk accept because ‘I might die tomorrow who cares’. The civilians… Konoha is very progressive and not everyone cares to much but there is still: expectations and shit and most assume it’s strictly until she settles down. *deranged laughter*
-Haru and Kakashi only get along cause of their dogs at first. Haru is Busy with her business and Kakashi is like ‘strange person’. It is 100% the food that draws them together. They also bond because both are just… odd. Both had Uzumaki influences and dog in their lives that affected them a lot.
-They have never thought of each other romantically and never will. Kakashi is also bisexual but Haru is just his feral neighbour/best friend.
-Shinobi get it. Civilians don’t. Or well most Shinobi who are at a certain level get it.
-Haru 100% met Kisame at a bar once and decided to hit that. She does not regret it and brags to Kakashi about it. Kakashi is amused.
-Actually I like the idea of Haru just sleeping with like most of the Akatsuki somehow. Not like Sasori or Pein but everyone else? No she doesn’t know how. She finds it funny as fuck.
-Shinobi don’t care whom you sleep with but have expectations to produce. Kakashi point blank asks Haru to have his kids in a ‘not weird way’ when they’re like 25 cause they’ve been friends since 22. Haru is fine with it but ‘let us wait for a few years dude. I am not in the right space’. Kakashi can now go: Haru is my future surrogate and ignore people bugging him.
-Haru is an Akimichi bastard but her stepdad is her dad. That’s what she cares about. She makes it clear to everyone that it’s true and people accept it. But she does learn she’s Chouza’s sister cause I like the idea of her being Chouji’s aunt and like having the future Ino-Shika-Cho running around.
-Haru is a sealing master cause I like the idea and I like the idea of her (after groaning cause fuck why is this happening) sitting down to teach Naruto her Sensei’s seals.
-Haru isn’t a ninja but has a lot of tricks of chakra and the such from being nomadic and her Sensei. He 100% taught her some ninja shit.
-Haru cannot fight. No legit she sucks at fighting unless it’s with her bow. Kakashi once tried to teach her to throw a punch. She broke a chair.
No they do NOT know how.
-Haru has ‘written’ (aka shamelessly stole and plagiarized) multiple books from her old world, edited for Naruto land. She has a photographic memory passed down from her first life…
-… is it to much if it turns out her grandad was a Uchiha who fucked off instead of join Konoha?
@anastasian-dreamer IS IT?!
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fareehaandspaniards · 7 months
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Hi, could you share your interpretation for Maria & Gehrman relationship and backstory? How they meet, grow closer etc
I am happy to answer!!! (I love being asked soooo)
As always - I hope it's readable!
First of all I should mention, that for me they are a romatic pair, lovers. I am aware of different versions of their relationship, but my headcanon is about their mutual love.
I think that they met when Maria was living in Cainhurst. She wanted to serve as a knight, but was not allowed to this business,
since her fate was completely controlled by relatives. Once the castle was visited by Laurence, who wanted to negotiate with Cainhurst peacefully for the time being, and Gehrman accompanied him (I think he was about 30 years old at that time) as a personal bodyguard.
Young Maria was very interested in an adult and stately man, very pleasant in communication, despite being a commoner. Word by word, they learned more about each other. Maria envied him, his freedom, his skill - he could hold a weapon and use it so easily as if it was his hand. So Gehrman got into her heart, capturing her thoughts and desires, and she turned out to be very interesting to him, but he diligently pushed these thoughts out of his head - despite his formidable appearance, he was a very shy man. But Laurence and Gehrman left Cainhurst Castle, while Maria remained there. Thoughts tormented her, she dreamed of running away from life in the castle and live like Gehrman does. It was a serious step - compare the betrayal of the noble kin, but she didn't care - she even started training, prying about knights and trying to repeat their movements. A long separation did not cool couple's heat. And so, another visit from Laurence happened. Gehrman did not know about the plans of the head of the Church and took the visit as a diplomatic mission. When a young girl asked him to kidnap her, he was shocked. As an adult, he knew that this would entail the consequences that it may be considered as a crime if he takes her away with him, but lady was insistent and stated that if he refuse her, she will leave the castle herself. When their plan came to fruition, the two were overjoyed (although Laurence did not appreciate the undertaking. For the most part, he did not care about Gehrman's intrigues, only it was unpleasant that his bodyguard was thinking not about him, but about the girl).
Gehrman and Maria became a teacher and a student, without overstepping the bounds of this relationship, although both were overcome by feelings. Gehrman was afraid that he would scare the girl - she was too young, and Maria was simply shy. The training went better than ever - Maria turned out to be incredibly talented and quickly caught up with the rest of Gehrman's students in terms of skill. For her Gehrman found a sword - Rakuyo, which does not require blood magic, since Maria did not want to recall her homeland and have with Cainhurst anything in common. Their confession of mutual feelings occurred shortly before the events of the Fishing Hamlet. Gehrman and Maria were happy.
When the hunters arrived to the village, Maria was horrified - of what Byrgenwerth did, what SHE did herself. She had to go home with the others to Yharnam, while Gehrman lingered. But for her rebellious disposition and desire to be near him, Maria would never have seen why he stayed there, would not have seen Kos's cut stomach and Gehrman, trembling from the manic interest. Maria threw Rakuyo away and stayed in the Clock Tower forever in death. Gehrman couldn't handle it - guilt and grief drove him mad, and the only thing that kept him from killing himself - Laurence needed him. Gehrman stopped training hunters instructing only a few closest to him and locked himself in a workshop.
Over the years, he created the Doll. At first he was delighted (in a painful crazy way) - he had an exact copy of Maria, his love immortalized by him. She could be with him forever.
He even chose for her the best outfit he could sew. But she was just a lifeless copy. An empty shell. The doll was thrown away. When Moon Presence fulfilled Gehrman's greatest desire to reunite with his love, the Doll came to life. Speaking with Maria's voice and showing her manners. But it wasn't Maria. Her echo. Her desecrated remains, raised from the grave because of his selfishness. Gehrman felt horrible. He hated his own creation.
Time passed, he even tried to accept her. When the Good Hunter, our protagonist, comes to Hunter's Dream, Gehrman has got used to her. He still had outbursts of rage and anger, but he never even thinked about laying a hand on the Doll or something like that. He treats her coldly detached but respectful. He even talks to her, tells things that she will never understand, Gehrman believes that Maria can hear him through her.
That's it. Very chaotic. I wonder if my headcanons contradict the lore of the game? (I hope they don't lol)
And some more headcanons:
Book "How to pick up fair maidens" - is a jesting gift from Maria, after Gerhman tried to flirt (it was veeery awkward)
Despite their age difference, they felt comfortable with each other. Maria always wanted the company of a more mature person, and Gehrman adored her sincerity, easiness and, frankly, liked to gossip.
Laurence didn't say a word about their relationship, hiding his jealousy for Gehrman's attention. He didn't stop Maria when she followed Gehrman in Fishing Hamlet. No evil intentions. He didn't even know what exactly she might find there. He guessed that Gehrman overcomes with curiosity, his vice. And Laurence wanted her to be disappointed.
Cainhurst did not react in any way to Maria's departure. All their ties were cut off, and neither side regretted it.
Gehrman was going to propose to Maria. The ring remained with him until the end.
The grave next to Gehrman's house is Maria's grave. Admitting how terrible it is, but the Gehrman created a doll, looking at her corpse.
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techs-stitches · 5 months
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The Hunter and the Monster
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A Monster!AU fic for Thrawn and Ava’lera
Happy Halloween everyone!! (Pt. 2)🦇🎃💀
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A small quaint village was nestled between two large hills in a very small valley. There were rumors about it. Some said it was a ghost town while others claimed it was ruled by an evil monster.
A monster hunter was determined to see this village sand destroy whatever held the people under such torment. His name was Thrawn, and he was one of the best. No one ever said otherwise. The Emperor of the lands had commissioned this monster hunter to seek out the legendary village and bring them into his empire.
Thrawn had searched far and wide for someone who could guide him to the village. After months of searching, he finally had been given instructions to the village by someone who claimed to have lived there. Thrawn was not very trusting of the information, but he went along with them anyway.
His travels did not fail him.
He was soon surprised to see a large valley beneath him where he had ridden onto a mountain fold. He maneuvered his horse around. He was going to get down there somehow.
Unbeknownst to the man, shining blue eyes observed him from a distance. A woman-like creature with large wings sat calmly in a tree finding the man to be odd. He carried many weapons, wore a long white coat, had his hair neatly trimmed, and wore a pair of dark glasses that shielded his eyes. Curious…
The man had to be a hunter. She had seen them before, and none had come close to her yet. However, this one appeared to be not as human as the others as he was very pale almost looking blue.
Observing the hunter riding away, she dove from her hiding spot and down to the village. She knew she could handle this little man…he didn’t look that tough.
-//-
The village was as small as Thrawn had heard. People turned wide eyed when they heard his horse’s steps on the cobblestone.
An outsider…
“Who are you?!” an elderly voice cried out causing Thrawn to look around. His eyes met the figure of an older man who was glaring harshly at him.
“I…am a humble traveler looking for work,” Thrawn replied cautiously. He didn’t want the people to attack. They seemed…loyal. Why?
“Traveler? You look more like a hunter!” another voice called out. Murmurs spread throughout the growing crowd around him.
“A hunter?” he looked around seeing the crowd coming closer. Thrawn gripped the reigns tighter in his hands.
“A monster hunter! We know your kind! And we don’t need like them here!” the older man from before shouted angrily.
The crowd began to shout in agreement making Thrawn understand what they meant. This “monster” protected them…Thrawn now really wanted to meet this monster.
“May I meet your ruler?” he asked calmly. The people murmured again coming closer. This was going to go great…
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“If she does what she’s done to the other hunters, you’ve sentenced yourself to death…” one of the men said reaching out for the gate that the large mob had opened. He closed it signaling the others around him to leave.
Thrawn had not expected the villagers to react how they had. He was expecting perhaps a calm guidance to the castle, but no! They ripped him off his horse and dragged him up here!
He sighed standing and brushing his clothes off. Reaching up to the glasses on his face, Thrawn noticed that they were pretty shattered. He huffed stuffing them away in a pocket of his coat rummaging around for another pair. Finding one, he placed this new pair on his face and calmly walked up to the door of the castle.
It was much smaller than the Emperor’s palace in the capital city of Coruscant. Thrawn reached up a hand and was about to knock when the door opened. No one stood there however.
Interesting…
Cautiously, Thrawn stalked into the castle taking in the surroundings. He was surprised by how…normal it was. No lavish chandeliers or furniture. The only thing that was rather expensive looking was the marble support pillars.
“So you…are a hunter?” a feminine voice with a thick accent suddenly said making Thrawn turn around harshly towards it.
His breath hitched when he saw a woman. She calmly stood at the top of a stairwell with a clawed hand draped over the railing. Her skin had spots of pink, and her ears were pointed, like an elf’s.
“Bat got your tongue?” her voice sounded again almost dauntingly. A smirk came to her face revealing a few fangs.
“I have come to liberate the people of this village from your tyranny,” Thrawn calmly said standing at full attention.
“Tyranny? Me? Why not you look at the man who rules you,” the woman said cocking an eyebrow. She soon began to walk down the stairs revealing a large set of wings.
She was a gargoyle!
“He does what he has to…he is my emperor,” Thrawn replies watching the gargoyle carefully as she stopped at the foot of the stairs.
“If that is what you believe, then that is the belief you will die with,” her words were cold and bitter making Thrawn’s skin crawl.
Thrawn was about to say something else, but when he blinked and opened his eyes once again, the female gargoyle was gone. His eyes widened as he looked around.
A maniacal laugh echoed throughout the room. Great…a laugher…
“Perhaps it will be you who dies by the hand of one of the Emperor’s hands,” Thrawn said in return listening carefully.
He turned just in time to see the woman rushing up behind him, a large knife in her grasp. Thrawn grasped the woman’s hand that held the knife and twisted it. Her face morphed into one of confusion.
A small smirk stretched across Thrawn’s face at the gargoyle’s expression. However, she wiped it off by head butting him square in the nose. His glasses clattered to the floor.
He let go of her hand and clutched at his nose feeling liquid coming from it. The woman chuckled before going silent seeing the man’s eyes.
She had been right…
He wasn’t human!
His eyes were red…a glowing red. She smirked flexing her wings a bit and picking up the glasses she had broken off his face.
“So…you aren’t human,” she said softly looking between the man and his glasses.
He stayed silent…Thrawn couldn’t let this get out. His body swiftly moved grasping the gargoyle by the wrists and forcing her to the ground. He hovered above her glaring with this glowing red eyes.
The woman barred her teeth rolling them over. Now she hovered above him.
“I won’t say anything. You see me…I see you. You’re…a vampire?”
“Yes…and you a gargoyle?”
“You know your creatures.”
“I do…it is my profession.”
“It wouldn’t be if your Emperor knew what you are.”
“Perhaps…”
The pair looked at each other for a moment before settling into an awkwardly relaxed silence. The gargoyle pushed herself off of Thrawn and slowly stood.
“What is your name?” Thrawn asked standing fully and looking around the woman’s home. She tilted her head slightly before walking away.
“Ava’lera…Ava’lera Nimitz…come, I’d like to understand you,” Ava’lera replied while beckoning the man to follow.
Thrawn slowly followed. Either he was going to make a grave mistake or he was going to find answers.
He had to take a chance…
Plus, this gargoyle was pretty. The worst that could happen is that he’d fall in love. Thrawn highly doubted he would.
Oh how wrong he would be…
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Dividers by @saradika and @sunshinesdaydream !!!
Desolation Row Taglist: @kimiheartblade @t3mpest98 @starrrgazingbunny @raevulsix @coraex
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digitalsatyr23 · 7 months
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WIP Intro: Arachnia Fables
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Genre: Dark Fantasy, Horror, Science Fantasy Setting: Arachnia
Tropes/Features: Introspection, violence, bloodshed, gore (occasionally), wilderness, survival, adventures, old ruins, spirits, monsters, animal people, vampires, shapeshifters, demons, angels, unreliable narrator, varied POV, flawed deities, grey morality, world building/history, magic, alchemy, technology mistaken for magic, the familiar and alien co-existing, eldritch horrors, monsters that look like people, people that look like monsters, melancholy, tragedy, and little things that give the protagonist hope.
What are the Arachnia Fables?
The Arachnia Fables are a series of mostly unconnected short stories that take place in the dark fantasy setting of Arachnia. There are some reoccurring characters, but many of the short stories and novelettes are one-and-done type fables. An Arachnia Fable can take place in virtually any part of the world setting in any time period, though I will generally not comment on the when and where except in the text itself. There is an underlying, broader narrative going on behind the scenes, but there is no harm in simply reading one of the stories and moving on.
Who are the reoccurring characters?
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Vernar and Sonja
Most often written as a pair, Vernar met Sonja in the Summer of 1180 AC (After Cataclysm). Sonja lived in a village that had been taken over by a cult that performed profane acts in order to keep the famine and drought at bay in their land. Sonja, who lived most of her life locked in a cage in her family's basement, was eventually set to be burned at the stake in order to bring the rain. However, Vernar happened upon the village and decided to save Sonja, slaughtering anyone who got in their way. They summoned a rainstorm to quench the flames around Sonja, but the girl's feet were badly burned and it was likely that she would suffer a slow, miserable death due to her injuries. So instead, Vernar gave Sonja a little of their cursed blood, forever changing the girl into what are known as Accursed (which are sort of like lycanthropes, though different Accursed often change into things besides wolf-men). Having taken Sonja under their wing, Vernar and the child travel the land of Besalbrie in search of a place they can both call home. Vernar, who was once the second-in-command of the infamous Black Hand organization, is an extremely capable hand-to-hand fighter and assassin. They can also use lightning to empower their body, strike foes from a distance, or even control them via the electrical signals in their nervous system. Sonja had her magical abilities unlocked by a fey at one point in her adventures and uses ice magic, though she is still learning how to best utilize it. Both Sonja and Vernar are capable of regeneration - though as Sonja has learned, scars do not always heal.
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Reah Fenae
A plucky adventurer from around 512 AC. The daughter of the famous Toma Fenae, Reah took to adventuring and combat like a fish to water. Reah loves to travel and experience new things. This is partly because Toma used to tell Reah all sorts of stories about his adventuring days, which gave Reah a great deal of comfort and inspiration when she was a child. She hopes that by traveling the world, she can eventually bring back her own stories to tell, and with luck, these tales will give her father some degree of comfort as well. Reah is known as a beahuil, a kind of human-like shapeshifting race that draws power from animals in subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) ways. A hunter and warrior both, Reah uses her dual-bladed weapon Bonespur, which has the jaw bones of a dinosaur she once slew in a rite of passage ritual.
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Gaap, the Pillar of Curiosity
One of the 72 Pillars of Creation, Gaap is a mischievous being that can travel through space and time at will using interconnected portals. A demon thousands upon thousands of years old, she rarely takes her true form, and instead will shapeshift into a variety of different appearances she's grown fond of over the millennia (such as the one pictured above). As a Pillar of Creation, Gaap acts as something of a supernatural agent, helping transport other beings from place to place, though occasionally she gets a "vacation" which tends to end in disaster for everyone involved. Because of her unique position and abilities, she rarely gets into fights, and if she does feel like fighting, she'll either use her portals (known as the Mouths of Mundus) or a shotel she enchanted to be indestructible.
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Rosalina, the Saint of Hope
A sort of child of destiny that experienced ultimate sorrow. She crawled out from the ashes and was reborn as a saint, thanks to the help of a certain band of heroes. Rosalina uses her divine magic to vanquish evil and save the innocent from harm. Rosalina was most active between 491 AC - 500 AC, after which she lost her saintly powers and created an orphanage for children left as orphans by the Black Sky War. Even without her saintly powers, Rosalina is still possessed of immense strength and magical might, as well as a great deal of longevity, aging very slowly over the centuries. Rosalina has a moss-covered staff that was made from her own grave marker. She transforms this staff into a variety of weapons, most commonly a longbow, which she can shoot arrows of golden light from. Rosalina and Gaap have an unusual friendship, and have both helped and hindered one another many times over the years. They also bear a striking resemblance to one another, though only a handful of people know the reason why...
Additional Information
This WIP has an irregular upload schedule, as each fable is its own short story. However, many have already been uploaded to this blog and can be found on my master list if you'd like to read some of them. I also have uploaded bits and pieces of world building info and will continue doing so, mostly to have it up online somewhere for those who find that kind of thing interesting. You can find anything related to it using the Arachnia and Arachnia Fables tags on my blog.
Art Credit
Banner (sunshinememoir), Vernar pic (aortic-inkwell), Sonja pic (_Harleequeen), Reah and Toma pic (VoksMoth), Gaap pic (mihke). All the art featured on this post are commissions drawn by the artists listed, and they're all very skilled, wonderful people. I encourage you all to check out their stuff.
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rowenna-887 · 1 year
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Halloween isn't over yet! (at least not for me)
these event was really fun. The illustrations,the clothes,everything looks great.
but anyway,lets go to some headcanons!:
" When i jump in that horse with her
for a moment,i forgot about the end of the world.
we were running in the woods,fast,like nothing matter anymore. "
Rowenna:
At first,them run away for the old wood house that the Vanhouters have.
it is a very big house,with a lot of space,it was great.
they plant,take care of the cows that had there,put fences with barbwire, and tried to survive the best they could.
it belong a good place,very calm. a zombie or two sometimes tried to entry there,but them killed the creature in a minute.
until after 3 years.
a invasion of zombies managed to pass the fences.
Rowenna and Priya think they were lost.
until Priya saw the horse behind the house.
the horse was calm,eating grass.
"that is our chance to survive!" Priya screamed and take Rowenna's hand.
they get on the horse and run away.
that was the moment of their lives.
after this event,they stayed in simple house that was a miles away from the old wood house.
Priya put the name of the horse of Hefestus.
a few months later,Rowenna saw Hana passing close there and screams to her.
when they see each other alive,they hugged it other and cried,as Priya and Castiel.
Hana and Castiel take Rowenna for the base them construct.
they leave there now.
💀🧠
" I saw the death close to my face.
At first,i got scared,but i get used to this as that feeling continued to become more and more present.
like feeling happy,or sad. it was something that i get used to this.
until the day that feeling past to the love of my life.
that i couldn't permit. "
Charlotte:
Charlotte did no how to react.
she was paralyzed.
but Rayan was very chill about it.
he take all the care they need to survive,and run away for the city as fast as they could.
they find a abandoned cottage,and decided to stay there.
Rayan and Charlotte live a chill life there,training in case of zombie horde.
Charlotte became a good sniper and Rayan became a very good hunter.
after two years,the big zombie horde that they was always preparing in the case of this happen,came.
it was...much.
they thought they were going to die.
but that didn't happen.
an group of survivors saved they.
and,for they surprise,the leader is Hana and Castiel.
they leave there now.
💀🧠
" I never thought in bacome a leader.
neither in high school,or the university.
but suddenly,i became one.
at least my love is with me on that. "
Hana:
Hana and Castiel was in the studio when this happen.
everybody was in panic,but Hana was strangely calm.
she analysed the situation and decided the best way of survive to that.
and she and Castiel put the plan in pratice.
the started to live in shed that was very far away from there.
Castiel and Hana used to go to this place to get some peace and have some inspirations to compose.
so the shed was equipped with a lot of thing they had.
they put traps close to the sheds,making trips to find provisions and training.
after an year,they find other survivors and started a group.
Hana,of course,became the leader.
and in the past four years,Hana,Rowenna and Charlotte met each other again.
everyone was living there,construing new houses,establishments and soon they are a village.
bonus:
it was Hana and Rayan that find the cure.
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majesticenbypancake · 6 months
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I had an idea earlier this evening and it turned into a headcannon and now into a fic. I haven't written in a while so don't look too close at grammar and stuff. I hope you like it anyways😊
Under the full moon
You wouldn't think it but Roronoa Zoro actually liked the full moon. He liked it for a sentimental reason, as surprising as it may sound.
During his childhood, he didn't care much for the moon, much less the full moon but it all changed one fateful night.
A promise was made under the full moon, to become the strongest swordsman in the world. A shared dream between two kids that they both knew was gonna push them to their best.
But fate was a cruel beast that took Kuina the very next day. It took some time for the realization to sink in and when it did, it hurt. More than any physical wound Zoro had experienced until that day. Kuina was supposed to be there, training and getting stronger alongside Zoro until they could finally decide wich of them would beat Mihawk and become the strongest.
When Zoro asked his master for Kuinas sword, it eased the pain a bit. In a way she was still at his side now. And she still was when he joined Luffy and his crazy dream of becoming the king of pirates. Now there were two with wild ambitions again, even tho Zoro couldn't tell Luffy about Kuina just yet. Every time he tried, the words died on his tongue and he felt his throat tighten in an embarrasing way. Luffy didn't seem to mind the simple explanation of "I promised someone".
As their ragtag group grew bigger, he was surprised how easily the others seemed to talk about their dreams and who motivated them. Yet when he tried to tell the others about Kuina once again, he couldn't get the words out other than "I promised someone".
No matter how far back her death was, it still hurt like the first day whenever he thought too much of it. That's why he buried all of his emotions about this topic years ago. It worked for most of the time, unless it was a full moon. Every month he looked at the full moon and remembered the night of their promise. Every month his buried emotions came back. Every month it hurt even more.
Until one day he had enough. As he once again stared at the full moon, feeling the familiar pain inside his chest he hugged Kuinas sword closer and started talking. He imagined her looking down from the moon, listening as Zoro told her about how much stronger he got and wich of the older students he beat. Of course he never got an answer or acknowledgement from her but he didn't mind. "Just you wait, one day I'll be the strongest and you'll even hear about it in heaven!" he told her instead of a goodbye.
It became a habit, an outlet of sorts. He still couldn't talk about her but he'd always talk to her. Even when he left his village. Even during his time as a bounty hunter. Even when he joined the Strawhat Crew. Every full moon he offered to take the night watch so he could talk to Kuina.
"I met this weird guy at the marine base, he asked me to join his pirate crew and guess what, he wants to become the king of pirates. I guess I'm a pirate now" he'd tell her with a smile.
"There's this girl travelling with us, I think you'd like her. She takes no shit from us guys"
"We have another crewmate now, he's a bit of a scaredy cat but I think he can get stronger just like me. At least we have an actual ship now"
"I lost against Mihawk. I'm still too weak, but trust me I will become stronger and beat him one day. We also picked up a cook on the way but he's an idiot"
"We finally made it to the Grand Line, that's a big step towards all our dreams I guess"
"We finally have a doctor on board, oh and a princess. Would you believe me if I told you the doctor is a reindeer and the princess actually really tough?"
"Now we had to leave our princess but we have an unexpected new crewmember. I don't trust her because she was one of Crocodile's people...."
"It kinda feels like I'm a little bit closer to where you are right now"
"A lot of stuff happened but we have a new ship and a good shipwright too, a cyborg. This crew really is full of weirdos and dreamers"
"And now we have a skeleton too...our captain really manages to find the weirdest people"
But the thing that always stayed the same during his conversations was: "I wish you were still here to see it with your own eyes. I miss you"
He still hadn't told his crew about Kuina. He felt readier to do it every time he talked to her. He really wanted to tell the Strawhats about her, show them how much he trusted them by showing his own vulnerability.
But the words still got stuck in his throat no matter how hard he tried.
The days after a full moon, Zoro always felt a bit drained. A sobering feeling taking over and the dull pain coming back. He never quite got used to it, no matter how many times.
But something changed after he met Luffy. He didn't notice at first because, well Luffy was Luffy after all, but he'd hug Zoro a little bit longer and tighter than usual after a full moon.
Another time the shitty cook wordlessly pushed a plate of rice balls in his direction, even tho he didn't explicitly ask for them. Chopper snuggled closer to him if they napped together on deck, extra careful not to dislodge the swords leaned against Zoro's shoulder. Nami never teased him about the money he owed her on days after the full moon and he's pretty sure the amount got less in general.
Everyone seemed to be nicer to him after a full moon and it took him an embarrasingly long time to figure it out. Did they hear him talking to Kuina? Should he finally tell them? Should he yell at them for listening to his embarrasing private conversations?
He decided to finally tell them. It was the first time in years he was actually afraid of something and embarrassed all the same because it was about something ridiculous like emotions.
So after dinner, while everyone was still gathered in the galley he gripped Kuinas sword a bit tighter, took a deep breath and started talking.
"Guys....I wanna talk about something with you..."
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deathdxnces · 5 months
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The first thought she has is that he does not look as frightening as she remembers. Not as tall, either. The admiral is taller than she is, and clad in dark iron he cuts the impressive figure of a dangerous foe — but not as dangerous as the one who had haunted her nightmares for years, robbing her of peace at any moment of possible rest. He had always seemed insurmountably large, a shadow behind the soldiers he ordered to do his dirty work. Now he looks less a monster and more a man; a scared one at that.
She looks at him and sees the last name on her personal list; her family's murderer. What does he see when meeting her gaze? Death, Irelia would wager from his frightened looks; his near future and the fact nothing lay beyond it. The thought fills her with some sort of vicious pleasure, the delight of the hunted turned hunter.
Dig another grave and get rid of her. His voice is what she remembers more clearly, the words as clear in her mind as the day she heard them. Even that doesn't sound quite the same. He had been barking orders and threats, but there is a shake to it now, an uneasiness. He is afraid and she lingers on it, dwells longer than she ought to, savors the taste of satisfaction she will only get once. He will die afraid. It's not enough, but it is still the best form of justice she can offer to those she lost.
"I know who you are, girl," Irelia can see recognition in his gaze, and for a moment that too pleases her, before his words make clear where it stems from. "The one from the Placidium — the one who cut off Swain's arm." Of course. He has yet to realize the little girl from a small village in Navori is the same now in front of him, the same who had fought his High Command in the Placidium, the same who would now take his life. Maybe he doesn't even remember that happened, she considers, frown deepening at the thought. Why would he? It had been just a little girl, just another family killed and buried in their own gardens. How many others had he killed? How many Ionians had met their end due to the orders of this man, who didn't even have the decency to wield the blade himself?
"We don't have to be enemies — under Noxus' banner, Ionia would have the strength to defend itself from anyone — and you! You're strong, a natural leader. The empire values such talents. The Hand himself hails from one of the annexed territories. If you join us —"
"You disgust me." She understands his words (learned to, as most Ionians did, out of need); her retort is viciously spoken in her mother tongue, nonetheless, dripping with venom and bitterness. "After all this, to think I would join you?" A scoff, blue eyes as sharp as the steel she is armed with. "Pathetic."
A fluid hand motion and he reaches for his sword, though the man still does not use it. Her blades, hovering in the air between them, return to their original shape, her family crest reformed.
"You said you know who I am, but you don't, Admiral Duqal. Do you recognize that crest?" He does not reply; instead, the noxian finally leaps to action, an attempt at attacking her that is as predictable as it is simple to dance around. Irelia spins away from his edge, the careful formation of her blades undone as they flow into action. As she twirls, so do the weapons match her rhythmically, meeting their target not in her opponent's weapon but his flesh. The dancer needs not to block a blow she can easily dodge; instead her blades replicate a blow she had become famous for, the man's arm severed while he screams. At sixteen, the sight is far from unusual. She had seen enough battle that severed limbs were nothing anymore. She had cut off enough of them that even the sight of her blades wet with blood makes her feel nothing.
Well, not nothing. That isn't entirely sincere. There is an ugly satisfaction to it, dark and shameful; he is in pain, suffering, and she is the cause. This should be a grim task, but it isn't. She likes that it was her brutal blow that left him like this.
They would be ashamed of her, Irelia is certain. If they had answered his violence in kind they would still be here, a part of her retorts bitterly. But they are dead and she is not and outside thousands of people look up to her to lead them — to save them. She can't do it if not by fighting back. She wouldn't want to do it without fighting back.
Noxus deserves no mercy. That is for beings with hearts and souls and spirits. The monsters deserve nothing.
"I asked if you recognize the crest, Duqal." The inquiry is repeated sharply, the form of her blades now stained with the man's blood. His face is pale; whether from the blood loss or fear she is uncertain. The noxian replies with a shake of the head, confirming what she suspected. To her, it had been years of fear and nightmares, years of dreaming of revenge; to him, it had been nothing. Her family died because of him. How could that be nothing? How could it be so insignificant it eluded his memory entirely?
"You killed the family who bore that crest — all of them, from an elderly woman to a boy of not even four. All of them but one. The girl who stole this back from the hands of your soldiers survived. The one you would have killed for her defiance," She watches horror and realization bloom upon his face, knowing full well where this leads. "The one who will kill you now."
There is no time for a reply; a single swift motion and his throat is slit, despite a pathetic last effort to raise his arms to shield himself from her blades. For a long moment, Irelia stares at the man's fallen form, the blood pooling beneath him. She wonders if it would be enough, if this night she would not have to fight troubled sleep, if her family would rest more easily now.
It won't bring them back; the ache of grief and loss unmoved, no matter who she killed. And yet few things could have left her more satisfied. No, this would not bring them back — but it still felt good.
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elliemarchetti · 2 years
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Wretches and Kings
This is my fill for @steverogersbingo for the square Beta Steve 
Plot: Captain Steve Rogers is part of an elite group of werewolves tasked with capturing as many witches as possible, but when he meets Dania, some doubts begin to work their way into his beliefs.
TW: mentions of rape, slavery and murder; strong language
Words: 3069
Dania slipped through the heavy front door as quietly as possible, careful to not alert the innkeeper, who was muttering to someone in the kitchens. She knew it had been a long time since she last paid rent, but being a spy didn’t allow for constant remuneration, and the little magic she casted to entertain travellers at the port barely covered the cost of a hot meal for dinner, therefore she had to climb the steep wooden stairs quite quickly, careful not to make them creak, and once in her dusty room, get at least a couple hours of sleep, the bare minimum to have the energy needed to repeat that same routine the following day. In less than a week, Heimdall would reach her with new orders, and once she reported her discoveries, he would give her two, very useful things: enough money to pay off her debt and a new task, hopefully far away from the misty town of Bonduar. Born and raised in the small and sunny Republic of Witches, where winters were mild and summers perfect for swimming in the crystalline sea, Dania struggled to adapt to the dull climate of the Mortal Kingdom, but she used the thought of being able to return to her usual attire as a reward, a finish line that would help her endure what she had to undergo in order to mingle with the locals and not attract the Hounds. Every witch knew the story of the first werewolf: when a handsome and charming man was rejected by the woman he loved, he took her by force in a field; looking at the full moon through the tears, the sorceress cursed him to an endless torture, transforming him into a monster in disguise, unable to distinguish friend from foe, blinded by an insatiable hunger for human flesh and scourged by the thought of corrupting everything his teeth touched. The man paid no heed to those words, until the following month something horrible happened to his mind and body: on the next full moon, his nails became claws, and his eyes blood shot with pain; his teeth turned into fangs, while bones and ligaments broke and lengthened, only to find a new and unnatural shape. This soulless beast yelped and howled in the night, as it ran desperately away from the city, the witch watching from the very hill she was raped on how the once beloved man massacred and poisoned all his fellow villagers. Taking refuge beyond the Vanbalt Mountains, the first werewolf made his curse a blessing, as he was now the perfect predator, able to build the strongest army in the continent, endless battalions made up of his best subjects, poor wretches whom he and his followers met during the wrong night. In that sea of murderers, some excelled for their skills as hunters, so the Hounds were born, and specialized in finding witches powerful enough to be the one who casted the spell and who, in the blink of an eye, could’ve taken away all the Alpha’s power. Those who were captured were transported in the Land of the Alpha, an impervious and perpetually snow-covered region, where they were interrogated and summarily tried. Few returned from those frozen holdings, but none unchanged, and they were all considered traitors anyway, for only important information led to an effective release. The other option, the one many preferred, was death, even if it involved ending up at the stake with hands tied and eyes and mouth sewn up, for greater safety. If only the werewolves knew the witch they sought was able to perform magic only by thinking about her target, they might’ve stopped those cruel shows, but sometimes the journey was the only hope for the captured, and if they had know, Dania was sure they would begin to exterminate her race without rules nor mercy, reducing their already small population to the point of no return. Sure, they still had their protected borders, but how long would it take for the enemy to knock on their doors? And what would happen when a bunch of powerful being would start doubting the safety of their gilded cage? Anarchy, something the Council couldn’t afford. So there were people like her, who did dangerous jobs, even as baits sometimes, and perpetuated a century old cold war. The mortals decided not to take sides, dependent on both the great power of the witches and the metals werewolves extracted from their mountains, which made them untrustworthy, so unreliable when someone was in debt that Dania recognized the harsh and cruel language of the enemy even from the hall. One of them was shouting, but there was a group climbing the stairs, and she had little to no time before they smashed the door, which landed on the floor with a thud. Four men entered the dark room, all dressed in bare and rudimentary heavy clothes. Their faces were dirty from the long journey, but they didn’t look tired, their unnaturally golden eyes gleaming eagerly at the sight of the witch. Despite their physical strength, they were all armed and didn’t care to hide it, long daggers and throwing axes hanging from the thick belts they sported over the black coats. Before she could speak, two rushed to catch her, but she quickly dodged, knocking one upside down with a spell and hitting the other with her elbow square in the face. The third, a bald, long-bearded mastodon, punched her in the stomach, hard enough to throw her onto the bed. At her command, the window exploded into a thousand fragments, and although she heard a couple of pained moans, she didn’t have the time to check what damage she caused, too busy fighting against one of the first attackers, equipped with a pair of rowan handcuffs, able to at least partially suppress a witch’s powers.
“Shut her mouth,” said the older one, when they finally managed to subdue her. Although she was proud of the fight she put up, Dania would’ve liked to be that dangerous, to be able to cast the Grimoire’s spells without using her hands as catalysts, but it was an advanced level of study, time and effort they would never waste on a spy and, given the situation, something she would probably never learn. Those were the only gloomy thoughts flooding her mind as they dragged her toward the harbour and finally onto one of their ugly ships, dark and big boats made to last and endure even the coldest winter, and the mood didn’t change when she saw the damp hold smelling of mould, dry blood and old excrement. Other than the logs, hung from rusty chains set to the ceiling, there was no furniture, only the wooden walls, soaked wet and populated with lichens creating disturbing abstract designs. One of the Hounds was now waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his handsome shaved face illuminated by the depressed flame of a lantern. He had short blond hair, and a few strands fell over his pale forehead, crossed by a single wrinkle, caused by his slightly furrowed brows. He watched her with his human eyes, the same blue as the spring sky, but didn’t move when his companion pushed her down the stairs, letting her land with her face on the worn wood, Although she was never happy to tumble like a sack of potatoes, the fall freed her of the rudimentary gag, and she decided to immediately take advantage of the opportunity to speak. Looking around, she saw two other prisoners, hanging by their arms like lifeless puppets waiting for the master to pull their strings. One couldn’t have been older than sixteen, and Dania’s heart squeezed in her chest.
“Maybe you’re not the infamous Hounds,” she growled, trying to get on her knees. She tasted blood in her mouth, and she was sure she had at least a chipped tooth, but she would never give him the satisfaction of seeing her suffer, to the point she held back a sob even when he yanked her to her feet.
“Maybe you’re just slavers selling women. Do you choose them young because you hope to meet them at the next port where you will dock?” she asked, even though she knew it was a lie, just a provocation to get a reaction, whatever it was.
“I’m not a slaver,” he merely replied sardonically, while making sure the handcuffs were properly attached to the chains. 
“And it should make me think better or worse of you?” she hissed, never looking away. She noticed her jailer was avoiding her gaze, she saw that in hearing her speak, something was stirring inside him, but after all, that was why most witches were silenced, not in fear of their power, but to minimize the personification of the prisoner. Dania, however, didn’t intended to be just a number, a notch on the belt of those assholes, she had fought, and she would’ve continued to do so, even if at the moment the most she could do was throw a few kicks. If her ribs hadn’t hurt so much, she might’ve even hit him in the face, but for now she had to be content with aiming for his shins, and dirtying his shiny black boots as much as possible. Let him bring Bonduar’s mud home.
“You’ll face a regular trial, as the law requires,” he replied, walking away to check on his work.
“How many of us are found innocent in your alleged trials?” she continued, even though she knew her time was running out. The Hound did a good job, she tested it herself, so soon he would be off to celebrate with his companions, leaving her to wonder if the other two girls were strong enough to try to free themselves as she intended to, although she still didn’t have a plan.
“Your laws are a farce,” she yelled after him, as he turned his back on her, “just like you and your friends. Big, bad Hounds, four grown men against a young women! How honourable, so noble! I thought you respected your women!”
“But you’re not a woman,” he replied, already on the stairs. She couldn’t see his face, but his tone was as cold as the ice of his land, therefore she could imagine what disgust bore his piercing blue eyes. “You’re just a witch.”
In all honesty, the one you can only have with yourself, he hadn't said it because he really believed it. If it had been a catch like any other, it would’ve been true, but she resisted not only with her powers, she even fought like a mere mortal, and continued to do so even when she had evidently lost. She hadn’t given up even as he tied her to the chains, and she hadn’t complained, she hadn’t shown pain for even a second. She must’ve possessed considerable fortitude, but it was her courage that stuck him, the fact that despite he could’ve made her suffer the worst pains, she insulted his pride anyway. Besides, she was beautiful, all over the Rift, the region he came from, he didn’t think he’d ever seen such a gorgeous woman. It was probably something in her eyes, dark, observant, in such stark contrast to the vital, rosy skin of her bruised cheeks. Little did he know of lively things in the Land of the Alpha, with everything covered in snow and moss. Sure, there were the forests, with their ancient evergreens so high they could touch the sky, but it too was always gray, cloudy, and the sunlight rarely reached the mining villages unfiltered. However, it was evident he was the only one with thoughts of that kind, his companions content in their noisy drunkenness.
“Always serious, Captain Rogers,” teased the Sergeant Major, a huge man several years older than him and too empty-headed to step up through the ranks. In fact, Steve already considered it a miracle that he made it this far, but given his fondness for violence, he had no doubt he might’ve killed his superior to get there. The thought of being his next target didn’t bother him, as he knew his fighting style by heart and it was full of flaws both on the defensive and offensive side. Being a malnourished kid who barely survived the bite taught him a lot, and analyzing what and especially who was around him was perhaps the most useful skill.
“Were you hoping to fill the hold again in just one week?” asked a Private, the latest addition of the team, with widened eyes. If he considered him valuable, Steve would’ve learned his name as well, but from how the witch hit him first, he had no doubt his stay would be too short to be worth it.
“Undoubtedly,” he lied, but no one noticed, and not just because of the amount of dark beer ingested. He honed that sardonic tone for years, starting when he was just a tall, thin kid getting ready to go through training as a Hound, and now that he was high ranked and as big as the others, it was even easier to use it. Surprisingly, the Alpha appreciated it too, but after all, under his control, there wasn’t much room for feelings and free will: his every word was an order, and those who didn’t respect it had no option but to walk away, become an Omega, destined to die alone, one way or another. Some whispered rumours of minor packs, who lived on the edge between the Land of the Alpha and the Mortal Kingdom, but Steve could hardly believe them, given the attention their master put into tracking witches and deserters alike.
“Do you think one of those we caught is the right witch?” the boy pressed him, and for a brief moment Steve wondered if he shouldn’t have growl to make him stop talking. It would’ve been obvious even to a blind man that none of the young women in the hold were the sorceress they were looking for, but each of those damn bitches could have useful information, something that would bring them closer to breaking the spell, so it was those same words he said to the Private, and without further explanation, he disappeared into the dark room, where the prisoners dangled like sausages waiting to be smoked. For some reason, the youngest looked ill, while the other, the first they captured, was dozing with her head resting on her right arm, stretched beyond belief, just the tips of her toes touching the floor. He didn't care about their comfort, and no one would’ve worried much if they all died on the journey, but he really wanted to do a good job, and armed with a crust of bread and a flask full of water, he walked over the only one awake, who looked at him with eyes full of terror, even if she tried to dissimulate it. As useful as it would’ve been, Dania never spoke to anyone who survived the trip or the captivity under the werewolves, so she just didn’t know what to expect when the young man came close enough to feel his breath on her face, but she would never, ever dreamed of hearing him say he brought her something to eat. Her stomach had been rumbling for a while now, and although she was much more concerned about her dry throat, she certainly wouldn’t say no to the shadow of a meal, poisoned or not. Of course, a kindness from one’s oppressor was never just a kindness, which she didn’t fail to point out,  but to her utter amazement, her jailer told her it was just good manners, though probably a creature accustomed to deceit like her couldn’t know what they were.
"Strange to hear of good manners from someone who kidnapped three girls, chained them to the ceiling and left them for who knows how long without water,” she snapped, and for a moment she wondered if she hadn’t gone too far, if her sharp tongue didn’t sign her own death sentence, but seeing the food wasn’t removed from her reach, she relaxed and listened to her tormentor’s questions without saying a word or give any sign of understanding. The men wanted answers, but different ones from what she expected from an interrogation.
“What exactly do they teach you, apart from the fact we’re evil and should burn at the stake?” she finally asked, suspicious. Over the years, she developed a theory, but she would’ve never thought she was so close to the truth: the Alpha didn’t instruct its subjects, he kept them completely in the dark, feeding them sip of propaganda that vaguely tasted of reality. He wasn’t the leader the witches believed they were fighting, but a dictator, and while she couldn’t be sure that all Hounds were so naive, civilians certainly were.
“That you kill us whenever you have the chance,” he replied, coldly.
“Because you persecuted us for almost a century!” she exclaimed, exhausted. If he wanted to give her food she was more than eager to accept, but she had no intention of arguing much longer, knowing nothing she could say would change his mind. He didn’t care specifically about her, he was just doing his awful job, but then why did he have that wrinkle crossing his forehead again? Why didn’t he leave, or hit her, as any other Hound would’ve done? Maybe he was just curious, or maybe their interrogations weren't as cruel as the witches', but it surely was strange to bite into the bread he held between his fingers, her dry lips lightly brushing his fingertips. She chewed for a long time, slowly, trying to savour the taste of rye as much as possible. Though she doubted there might be anything better awaiting her north, she prayed this wasn't her last meal.
“Give some to the other too,” she whispered, her tone pleading. She didn’t think either of the young witches was capable of practicing the same magic she hadn’t been taught, but maybe if they’d been a little stronger they’d be able to come up with a plan.
“I can’t risk it, I’m sorry,” he murmured, but before he disappeared on the deck again, Dania swore she saw a hint of regret in his blue eyes.
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mvaljean525 · 2 years
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                           Then out spake brave Horatius,                               The Captain of the gate:                            ‘To every man upon this earth                                Death cometh soon or late.                            And how can man die better                                Than facing fearful odds,                            For the ashes of his fathers,                                 And the temples of his Gods,
I
LARS Porsena of Clusium    By the Nine Gods he swore That the great house of Tarquin    Should suffer wrong no more. By the Nine Gods he swore it,    And named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth, East and west and south and north,    To summon his array.
II
East and west and south and north    The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage    Have heard the trumpet’s blast. Shame on the false Etruscan    Who lingers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium    Is on the march for Rome.
III
The horsemen and the footmen    Are pouring in amain From many a stately market-place;    From many a fruitful plain; From many a lonely hamlet,    Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle’s nest, hangs on the crest    Of purple Apennine;
IV
From lordly Volaterræ,    Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants    For godlike kings of old; From seagirt Populonia,    Whose sentinels descry Sardinia’s snowy mountain-tops    Fringing the southern sky;
V
From the proud mart of Pisæ,    Queen of the western waves, Where ride Massilia’s triremes    Heavy with fair-haired slaves; From where sweet Clanis wanders    Through corn and vines and flowers; From where Cortona lifts to heaven    Her diadem of towers.
VI
Tall are the oaks whose acorns    Drop in dark Auser’s rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs    Of the Ciminian hill; Beyond all streams Clitumnus    Is to the herdsman dear; Best of all pools the fowler loves    The great Volsinian mere.
VII
But now no stroke of woodman    Is heard by Auser’s rill; No hunter tracks the stag’s green path    Up the Ciminian hill; Unwatched along Clitumnus    Grazes the milk-white steer; Unharmed the water fowl may dip    In the Volsinian mere.
VIII
The harvests of Arretium,    This year, old men shall reap; This year, young boys in Umbro    Shall plunge the struggling sheep; And in the vats of Luna,    This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls    Whose sires have marched to Rome.
IX
There be thirty chosen prophets,    The wisest of the land, Who always by Lars Porsena    Both morn and evening stand: Evening and morn the Thirty    Have turned the verse o’er, Traced from the right on linen white    By mighty seers of yore.
X
And with one voice the Thirty    Have their glad answer given: ‘Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;    Go forth, beloved of Heaven; Go, and return in glory    To Clusium’s royal dome; And hang round Nurscia’s altars    The golden shields of Rome.’
XI
And now hath every city    Sent up her tale of men; The foot are fourscore thousand,    The horse are thousands ten. Before the gates of Sutrium    Is met the great array. A proud man was Lars Porsena    Upon the trysting day.
XII
For all the Etruscan armies    Were ranged beneath his eye, And many a banished Roman,    And many a stout ally; And with a mighty following    To join the muster came The Tusculan Mamilius,    Prince of the Latian name.
XIII
But by the yellow Tiber    Was tumult and affright: From all the spacious champaign    To Rome men took their flight. A mile around the city,    The throng stopped up the ways; A fearful sight it was to see    Through two long nights and days.
XIV
For aged folks on crutches,    And women great with child, And mothers sobbing over babes    That clung to them and smiled, And sick men borne in litters    High on the necks of slaves, And troops of sun-burned husbandmen    With reaping-hooks and staves,
XV
And droves of mules and asses    Laden with skins of wine, And endless flocks of goats and sheep,    And endless herds of kine, And endless trains of waggons    That creaked beneath the weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods,    Choked every roaring gate.
XVI
Now, from the rock Tarpeian,    Could the wan burghers spy The line of blazing villages    Red in the midnight sky. The Fathers of the City,    They sat all night and day, For every hour some horseman came    With tidings of dismay.
XVII
To eastward and to westward    Have spread the Tuscan bands; Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote    In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia    Hath wasted all the plain; Astur hath stormed Janiculum,    And the stout guards are slain.
XVIII
I wis, in all the Senate,    There was no heart so bold, But sore it ached, and fast it beat,    When that ill news was told. Forthwith up rose the Consul,    Up rose the Fathers all; In haste they girded up their gowns,    And hied them to the wall.
XIX
They held a council standing,    Before the River-Gate; Short time was there, ye well may guess,    For musing or debate. Out spake the Consul roundly:    ‘The bridge must straight go down; For, since Janiculum is lost,    Nought else can save the town.’
XX
Just then a scout came flying,    All wild with haste and fear: ‘To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:    Lars Porsena is here.’ On the lows hills to westward    The Consul fixed his eye, And saw the swarthy storm of dust    Rise fast along the sky.
XXI
And nearer fast and nearer    Doth the red whirlwind come; And louder still and still more loud, From underneath that rolling cloud, Is heard the trumpet’s war-note proud,    The trampling, and the hum. And plainly and more plainly    Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right, In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of helmets bright,    The long array of spears.
XXII
And plainly and more plainly,    Above that glimmering line, Now might ye see the banners    Of twelve fair cities shine; But the banner of proud Clusium    Was highest of them all, The terror of the Umbrian,    The terror of the Gaul.
XXIII
And plainly and more plainly    Now might the burghers know, By port and vest, by horse and crest,    Each warlike Lucumo. There Cilnius of Arretium    On his fleet roan was seen; And Astur of the four-fold shield, Girt with the brand none else may wield, Tolumnius with the belt of gold, And dark Verbenna from the hold    By reedy Thrasymene.
XXIV
Fast by the royal standard,    O’erlooking all the war, Lars Porsena of Clusium    Sat in his ivory car. By the right wheel rode Mamilius,    Prince of the Latian name; And by the left false Sextus,    That wrought the deed of shame.
XXV
But when the face of Sextus    Was seen among the foes, A yell that rent the firmament    From all the town arose. On the house-tops was no woman    But spat towards him and hissed, No child but screamed out curses,    And shook its little fist.
XXVI
But the Consul’s brow was sad,    And the Consul’s speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall,    And darkly at the foe. ‘Their van will be upon us    Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge,    What hope to save the town?’
XXVII
Then out spake brave Horatius,    The Captain of the gate: ‘To every man upon this earth    Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better    Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers,    And the temples of his Gods,
XXVIII
‘And for the tender mother    Who dandled him to rest, And for the wife who nurses    His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens    Who feed the eternal flame, To save them from false Sextus    That wrought the deed of shame?
XXIX
‘Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,    With all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me,    Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand    May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand,    And keep the bridge with me?’
XXX
Then out spake Spurius Lartius;    A Ramnian proud was he: ‘Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,    And keep the bridge with thee.’ And out spake strong Herminius;    Of Titian blood was he: ‘I will abide on thy left side,    And keep the bridge with thee.’
XXXI
‘Horatius,’ quoth the Consul,    ‘As thou sayest, so let it be.’ And straight against that great array    Forth went the dauntless Three. For Romans in Rome’s quarrel    Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,    In the brave days of old.
XXXII
Then none was for a party;    Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor,    And the poor man loved the great: Then lands were fairly portioned;    Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers    In the brave days of old.
XXXIII
Now Roman is to Roman    More hateful than a foe, And the Tribunes beard the high,    And the Fathers grind the low. As we wax hot in faction,    In battle we wax cold: Wherefore men fight not as they fought    In the brave days of old.
XXXIV
Now while the Three were tightening    Their harnesses on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man    To take in hand an axe: And Fathers mixed with Commons    Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, And smote upon the planks above,    And loosed the props below.
XXXV
Meanwhile the Tuscan army,    Right glorious to behold, Come flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright    Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded    A peal of warlike glee, As that great host, with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, Rolled slowly towards the bridge’s head,    Where stood the dauntless Three.
XXXVI
The Three stood calm and silent,    And looked upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter    From all the vanguard rose: And forth three chiefs came spurring    Before that deep array; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew    To win the narrow way;
XXXVII
Aunus from green Tifernum,    Lord of the Hill of Vines; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves    Sicken in Ilva’s mines; And Picus, long to Clusium    Vassal in peace and war, Who led to fight his Umbrian powers    From that grey crag where, girt with towers, The fortress of Nequinum lowers    O’er the pale waves of Nar.
XXXVIII
Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus    Into the stream beneath; Herminius struck at Seius,    And clove him to the teeth; At Picus brave Horatius    Darted one fiery thrust; And the proud Umbrian’s gilded arms    Clashed in the bloody dust.
XXXIX
Then Ocnus of Falerii    Rushed on the Roman Three; And Lausulus of Urgo,    The rover of the sea; And Aruns of Volsinium,    Who slew the great wild boar, The great wild boar that had his den Amidst the reeds of Cosa’s fen, And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,    Along Albinia’s shore.
XL
Herminius smote down Aruns:    Lartius laid Ocnus low: Right to the heart of Lausulus    Horatius sent a blow. ‘Lie there,’ he cried, ‘fell pirate!    No more, aghast and pale, From Ostia’s walls the crowd shall mark The track of thy destroying bark. No more Campania’s hinds shall fly To woods and caverns when they spy    Thy thrice accursed sail.’
XLI
But now no sound of laughter    Was heard among the foes. A wild and wrathful clamour    From all the vanguard rose. Six spears’ lengths from the entrance    Halted that deep array, And for a space no man came forth    To win the narrow way.
XLII
But hark! the cry is Astur:    And lo! the ranks divide; And the great Lord of Luna    Comes with his stately stride. Upon his ample shoulders    Clangs loud the four-fold shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand    Which none but he can wield.
XLIII
He smiled on those bold Romans    A smile serene and high; He eyed the flinching Tuscans,    And scorn was in his eye. Quoth he, ‘The she-wolf’s litter    Stand savagely at bay: But will ye dare to follow,    If Astur clears the way?’
XLIV
Then, whirling up his broadsword    With both hands to the heights He rushed against Horatius,    And smote with all his might, With shield and blade Horatius    Right deftly turned the blow. The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh; It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh: The Tuscans raised a joyful cry    To see the red blood flow.
XLV
He reeled, and on Herminius    He leaned one breathing-space; Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds    Sprang right at Astur’s face. Through teeth, and skull, and helmet    So fierce a thrust he sped, The good sword stood a hand-breadth out    Behind the Tuscan’s head.
XLVI
And the great Lord of Luna    Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Alvernus    A thunder smitten oak. Far o’er the crashing forest    The giant’s arms lie spread; And the pale augurs, muttering low,    Gaze on the blasted head.
XLVII
On Astur’s throat Horatius    Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain,    Ere he wrenched out the steel. ‘And see,’ he cried, ‘the welcome,    Fair guests, that waits you here! What noble Lucumo comes next    To taste our Roman cheer?’
XLVIII
But at his haughty challenge    A sullen murmur ran, Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread,    Along that glittering van. There lacked not men of prowess,    Nor men of lordly race; For all Etruria’s noblest    Were round the fatal place.
XLIX
But all Etruria’s noblest    Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses,    In the path the dauntless Three: And, from the ghastly entrance    Where those bold Romans stood, All shrank, like boys who unaware, Ranging the woods to start a hare, Come to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear    Lies amidst bones and blood.
L
Was none who would be foremost    To lead such dire attack: But those behind cried ‘Forward!’    And those before cried ‘Back!’ And backward now and forward    Wavers the deep array; And on the tossing sea of steel, To and fro the standards reel; And the victorious trumpet-peal    Dies fitfully away.
LI
Yet one man for one moment    Strode out before the croud; Well known was he to all the Three,    And they gave gim greeting loud. ‘Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!    Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay, and turn away?    Here lies the road to Rome.’
LII
Thrice looked he at the city;    Thrice looked he at the dead; And thrice came on in fury,    And thrice turned back in dread: And, white with fear and hatred,    Scowled at the narrow way Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,    The bravest Tuscans lay.
LIII
But meanwhile axe and lever    Have manfully been plied; And now the bridge hangs tottering    Above the boiling tide. ‘Come back, come back, Horatius!’    Loud cried the Fathers all. ‘Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!    Back, ere the ruin fall!’
LIV
Back darted Spurius Lartius;    Herminius darted back: And, as they passed, beneath their feet    They felt the timbers crack. But when they turned their faces,    And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone,    They would have crossed once more.
LV
But with a crash like thunder    Fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck    Lay right athwart the stream: And a long shout of triumph    Rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops    Was splashed the yellow foam.
LVI
And, like a horse unbroken    When first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard,    And tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb and bounded,    Rejoicing to be free, And whirling down, in fierce career, Battlement, and plank, and pier,    Rushed headlong to the sea.
LVII
Alone stood brave Horatius,    But constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before,    And the broad flood behind. ‘Down with him!’ cried false Sextus,    With a smile on his pale face. ‘Now yield thee,’ cried Lars Porsena,    ‘Now yield thee to our grace!’
LVIII
Round turned he, as not deigning    Those craven ranks to see; Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,    To Sextus nought spake he; But he saw on Palatins    The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river    That rolls by the towers of Rome.
LIX
‘Oh, Tiber! father Tiber!    To whom the Romans pray, A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms,    Take thou in charge this day!’ So he spake, and speaking sheathed    The good sword by his side, And with his harness on his back,    Plunged headlong in the tide.
LX
No sound of joy or sorrow    Was heard from either bank; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes,    Stood gazing where he sank; And when above the surges    They saw his crest appear, All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany    Could scarce forbear to cheer.
LXI
But fiercely ran the current,    Swollen high by months of rain: And fast his blood was flowing;    And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armour,    And spent with changing blows: And oft they thought him sinking,    But still again he rose.
LXII
Never, I ween, did swimmer,    In such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood    Safe to the landing place. But his limbs were borne up bravely    By the brave heart within, And our good father Tiber    Bare bravely up his chin.
LXIII
‘Curse on him!’ quoth false Sextus;    ‘Will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day    We should have sacked the town!’ ‘Heaven help him!’ quoth Lars Porsena,    ‘And bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms    Was never seen before.’
LXIV
And now he feels the bottom;    Now on dry earth he stands; Now round him throng the Fathers;    To press his gory hands; And now, with shouts and clapping,    And noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River-Gate,    Borne by the joyous crowd.
LXV
They gave him of the corn-land,    That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen    Could plough from morn till night; And they made a molten image,    And set it up on high, And there it stands unto this day    To witness if I lie.
LXVI
It stands in the Comitium,    Plain for all folk to see; Horatius in his harness,    halting upon one knee: And underneath is written,    In letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridge    In the brave days of old.
LXVII
And still his name sounds stirring    Unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries to them    To charge the Volscian home; And wives still pray to Juno    For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well    In the brave days of old.
LXVIII
And in the nights of winter,    When the cold north winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves    Is heard amidst the snow; When round the lonely cottage    Roars loud the tempest’s din, And the good logs of Algidus    Roar louder yet within;
LXIX
When the oldest cask is opened,    And the largest lamp is lit; When the chestnuts glow in the embers,    And the kid turns on the spit; When young and old in circle    Around the firebrands close; When the girls are weaving baskets,    And the lads are shaping bows;
LXX
When the goodman mends his armour,    And trims his helmet’s plume; When the goodwife’s shuttle merrily    Goes flashing through the loom; With weeping and with laughter    Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge    In the brave days of old.
----
Horatius
Thomas Babington Macaulay, 1st Baron Macaulay, PC, FRS, FRSE  1800–1859
----
Graphic - Follower Of Giovanni Battista Tiepolo  1696-1770
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prayersofthepeople · 1 month
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CARIUS; a priest of the granas church ( in training ). Gentle and kind, Carius still believes in the power of good over evil, though he has periods of depression and a reduction in faith owing to the recent, tragic death of his parents. In battle, Carius is a WHITE MAGE, carrying the HOLY mana egg. He wields a STAFF as his chosen weapon.
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VYX; a young geohound, or mercenary & monster hunter. Vyx is brash and audacious, seeking an audiance with his actions. he doesn't seem to know too well how to be quiet when the moment counts for it, but will serve as a party's principle WARRIOR, wielding a CUTLASS. He does not initially carry a mana egg.
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CAIN; a holy knight of the granas cathedral, stoic Cain is the best friend of Carius, and is known to rarely smile. Nonetheless, he is a firm defender of all that is good and innocent, though he takes life overly seriously and struggles to let his hair down. He serves as a PALADIN, wielding a LONGSWORD, and carries the SOUL mana egg.
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MELINA; a beautiful but cynical singer and performer originally hailing from the prosperous city-state of Cyrum, Melina carries a medal with mysterious properties which may or may not be the key to an ancient secret. Wielding the MIST mana egg, she serves as a BARD, using her voice and her DAGGERS as weapons.
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SANDRA; the youngest member of the party, Sandra is just eighteen. A bright-eyed young forest ranger and herbalist from Mirimu Village, Sandra is met by the party at St. Heim Papal State, wherein she has been sent in the hopes that she'll train as a priestess and healer. Optimistic and full of joy, Sandra possesses the GRAVITY mana egg, and wields a BOW.
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ELMO; a mysterious automaton possessing unworldly intelligence and an emotionless way of speaking, Elmo considers himself a 'librarian' and 'archivist', and has lived an excessively long life. He professes not to have a 'heart', but remains concerned for his companions nonetheless, though he takes things they say literally and struggles to understand metaphors. He fights with two CHAKRAM rings, and wields the DRAGON mana egg.
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3katanas · 6 months
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Age: 319 Species: Kitsune (Three-Tailed) Powers & Abilities: here Occupation (Legacies): Self-Defense and Combat Teacher Verse Heacanons
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Growing up in a secluded area of ancient Japan, Zoro didn't have a normal childhood. For his small town was hidden in the mountains not because it was merely rural and far from other villages, but because they were Kitsune. The art of the sword came naturally to him, the drive to become the best pushing him as he learned the skill of duel wielding. Challenging Kuina, his childhood friend, daily. Their promise to each other to become the greatest guardians in the world his main motivation. For his town, the families there, and all who came to them, had formed an ancient promise to protect those of the supernatural world from threats both human and from within. When Kuina was killed by a vampire their childhood promise became his life's purpose.
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Leaving Japan at the age of three hundred and nineteen he traveled the world, growing in power and fame until he was known to all as the Demon Hunter. The one that would hunt down the supernaturals who threatened their communities' safety.
Finally, he was drawn to America, where signs of supernatural activity seemed to be growing stronger in the wake of the Originals movements and the trail the vampire he'd hunted for hundreds of years had left lead. Tracking the small leads and mysterious deaths to a town in Virginia called Mystic Falls he finally slew the vampire that had killed Kuina. Protecting an innocent human in the process, Elena Gilbert.
It was threw Elena that he met the rest of the growing supernatural community in the town. His instincts told him to remain even though his original prey had been slain, for something more was going on in this small town.
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Zoro leaves Mystic Falls and travels to New Orleans upon the request of Hayley. The young, soon-to-be mother, realizing that she was far in over her head and her growing fear for her unborn child drove her to reach out to him. Gaining from him a promise to protect her daughter above all else, for only he had no loyalties to any factions within the supernatural communities of the city.
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When Hope was sent away to school Zoro followed, not only because of the promise he'd made to her mother, but because the school had only just been founded and was home to the supernatural young. His promise all those years ago, to be a guardian to those that could not defend themselves, driving him to join Alaric in creating a safe place for the young to learn how to control their gifts. That and well, Hope was rather like the little sister he'd never had at this point.
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a dhampir and a vampire meet at a bar...
cn: alcohol, illness mention, toxic relationship
[haven't shared anything in a while, so might as well finally post this. I wrote this before our Death House run finished, so this isn't canon because Ivory actually met Lupa during the run. but it's a nice character study.]
In the first inn she could find in Barovia, Ivory sat hunched over a bottle of the cheapest liquor they would sell her, trying to forget… whatever happened over the last 24 hours. The people she had left behind, the things she had seen and heard. She knew there was still a job to do, but right now all she wanted to do was spend what little money she got from the lady at the brothel and drink her trauma away.
The seat next to her creaked. “Ivory, is that you? What a coincidence!”
Ivory jumped at the milk-smooth honey-sweet voice beside her. She jolted around and saw a pale woman with long strawberry blonde hair take the seat next to her. She smiled at Ivory, showing her fangs for just a moment, then leaned over the counter to call over to the barkeeper in a higher pitch like a little girl: “One peach schnaps with cream please, and a cherry on top if you have that. Her treat.” She nodded her head at Ivory.
Ivory cleared her throat. “What makes you think I’ll pay for your drink, bitch?”
Lupa smiled at her. “Oh, did you forget already? You offered to buy me a drink after we got done with your job back at my village.”
Ivory’s face twisted into a grin that was closer to a grimace. “Well, I thought we got that one handled already.” She pulled on her neckerchief, revealing the pale scars beneath only to Lupa and only for a second. Not the two cute points that were the stereotype (and which Lupa herself sported beneath the colorful necklaces she wore) but a wide and ugly gash like someone took a whole bite from her neck.
“Yes, and you could show a bit gratitude for me not outright murdering you.” Lupa’s drink arrived, and she lifted the tiny glass in the air for cheers before sipping on it.
“Not for lack of trying, I assume.” Ivory took a sip as well, without returning the cheer.
Lupa smiled. “I really did think you were gone for good. But then I heard that Ivory Umbra, vampire hunter, was traveling the land again, and more famous and esteemed than ever. I must admit, I was positively surprised. You are interesting, Ivy.”
Ivory flinched. “How do you know that name?”
Lupa laughed. “It was simply a nickname derived from Ivory. But from your reaction I’m guessing it is your given name? Ivy Nicolescu, then?”
“How - ”
“You had some of your identifications in the purse I took from you. The one sewn hidden in your coat? Irene Finch, Iris Bluejay, Aileen Bruckner… lots of the same starting sounds, now that I think of it.”
“Makes it easier to react to a new name,” Ivy said. “And to explain why you reacted to one you’re not carrying right now. So you were the one who stole my wallet! You know how much cash I had in there? Fuck it, of course you know. You could have at least bought me dinner before sucking my blood and disappearing with my money and certificates while I was passed out.” Why did she ever let it come to that? And why had she reacted to her given name like that? It was a rookie mistake, laying her cards on the table like that. She had to be more drunk than she had thought. “Besides, you can’t tell me Lupa is your real name. What, you chose that after turning into a bloodthirsty monster to deal with the emotional anguish that comes with it, like a wild wolf?” Not her best comeback by far.
“It is, in fact, my given name,” Lupa said, way too calm, and for a moment Ivy considered throwing the half-empty bottle at her, but she already knew Lupa was stronger than her, and by a lot. “I must say, I was a bit disappointed when I found out you went right back to posing as a hunter.”
“What, you thought I’d change after you almost kill me.” Ivy chuckled. “Turn over a new leaf. Take up some honest work?”
“A bit, maybe.”
“Well, here I am, right back where I started.” She took a sip, looking over the bottle at Lupa. “At least I don’t kill people.” That was true. She only drank blood from animals, and except for vegetarians and vegans and the owners of said animals, nobody should have an issue with that. The few times she had taken blood from humanoids, she had exerted self-control to only weaken them – and to return in the morning to promise to slay their attacker, for a small fee of course. Worked every time.
“Well, how do you know I do?”
Ivy pointed at her neckerchief.
“Oh, but that was self-defense,” Lupa pouted. “You were a vampire hunter threatening to slay me, after all.”
“Did you believe that even for a second?”
Lupa just smiled, and Ivy took another sip of her sweet sweet alcohol.
“I have killed a lot of people,” Lupa said then, still smiling, but with a threat in her eyes now. “All of us vampires have. That is the way we are.”
“Well, I haven’t. That’s something I’d never do.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ivy, did I make you feel like I included you.” The tone of her voice was begging her to punch her in the face. “You are barely a vampire, after all, a dhampir, and not even one born of vampire blood.”
“Yes, and not a murderer,” Ivy said. “So morally, I’m above you.” She shot Lupa a teethy grin.
“Don’t act all high and mighty.” Lupa’s smile was getting icy now. “You’re meaning to tell me you’ve never harmed anyone?”
“Never said that.” Ivy gulped down some more whiskey. “Just I didn’t kill anyone. A con artist isn’t a murderer.”
“What about all the people whose money you took for taking care of dangers without ever doing so?”
Ivy waved her hand in dismissal. “Made-up dangers, made-up fears.”
“The people lost in the woods trusting the “vampire-bone” talismans you sold them to protect them? You think they make it home safely? Oh, but they are such easy victims. You wanna know how many vampires own your pendants after they took them from your victims?”
“Not my fault they lost their common sense over some necklaces I gave them.”
“But it is your fault if a mother spends all her money on Madame Iris Bluejay’s Miracle Elixir instead of saving it for some real medicine for her deadly ill son. Or if some poor soul spends their last savings on a speck of land that a Miss Irene Finch promises is filled with gold. Need I go on? You might not have killed anyone directly, but do you seriously think your scams have never cost someone’s live? You’re not a vampire, you’re worse and lower than that: You are a leech. You may not take lives, but you ruin them.”
“That is not murder,” Ivy said through gritted teeth. “Those people chose to believe me, they have only themselves to blame.”
“So, do you have yourself to blame for me attacking you after you fell for my lie of being a sweet innocent village girl?”
“You know what?” Ivy slammed down her bottle. Lupa actually flinched, and Ivy grinned in satisfaction. "Yes. Yes, I do have myself to blame. I was stupid to trust you. But you know why I did? Because I was trying to scam you. I wanted nothing more than you treating me like that heroic figure, that dark and mysterious vampire hunter, so I could bang you and then leave in the morning. So when you treated me exactly like I wanted you to, I didn’t question that. The best scams are always the ones played on wannabe scammers themselves. People who think they’re paying less than you’re worth. Who think you don’t know about the gold buried on the land you’re selling. You think those people are so innocent? Well, they’re not. They always see something in it for themselves, or they wouldn’t respond to such an obvious scam.”
“The way you sound so much like one of us when we’re just turned,” Lupa hummed. She finished her glass – how in the world could she take that long for a shot glass – and then licked the cream from her lips. Ivy felt herself blush at the sight, and then took another swig to keep Lupa from seeing it.
“We all tell ourselves we don’t have a choice, and anyways, it’s our victims’ fault for not being careful,” Lupa continues. “Life’s not fair, not for us, and not for them.”
“Well, it isn’t.” Damn, why did she sound so whiny right there? “I mean, listen, I never had any real chance in life, no education, no money, no nothing. Other people got a head start. Call me a liar and a cheat, but rich people are cheating at life.”
“And your parents never had time for you, always working, so now you get the attention that you crave by pretending to be all those big personalities.”
Ivy stared at her, and something in her expression made Lupa laugh out loud. “Oh, Ivy, you are so easy.”
“Fuck you,” Ivy murmured into her drink.
“Oh, now don’t be all sulky.” Lupa laid a hand to her shoulder. Ivy pulled away, a bit too quick, a bit too revealing, and Lupa noticed, judging by the fire in her eyes. “I wanted to tell you something else. My friends, they are actually quite happy with what you’re doing. As I said, they noticed your talismans, and they heard about you. There was some fear at first, but after I told them about you, they were very relieved. So, you see, you are actually under some protection now. They like having a fake vampire hunter on their side.”
“Who says I’m on your side?”
“Like I said, you’re under my protection now.” She smiled, wide, baring her fangs, and even through the daze of the alcohol, Ivy understood.
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Lupa chirped. “And until then, you just have to do what you always do, little leech.” She lifted her empty glass. “What do you say? Another one of those and then you could pay for a room for the two of us?”
Ivy tensed. She couldn’t help but look at Lupa again, her pale skin, freckled face, intense green eyes, her loose dress showing more of her chest than was probably decent. The alcohol didn’t make this easier.
Finally, Ivy tore her eyes away. “Pay for your own damn drink.”
“Fine, then.” Lupa got up and walked over to another lone traveller at the other end of the room, no doubt enticing them to get something more than schnaps from them, leaving Ivory once again alone with her bottle and her fears.
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