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vinciwolf · 2 years

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Art Appreciation

Arcane Silco x fem!Reader

Synopsis: this is a continuation of this post from @astudyincontrasts

Warnings: Explicit, nsfw, mishandling of paint, MDNI

Word Count: 1,863

A/N: I highly recommend checking out "Blasphemia" by Eliran Kantor (their Instagram). Don’t forget to reblog!

Today you wore a skirt and simple blouse under a heavy coat to mask your Piltover status as you rode the shaky elevator into the bowels of the Undercity.

Your nostrils flared to calm the racing wallop against your ribcage when you thought of your client’s recent letter for your presence.

It wasn’t intended to be this way at all, not that you were complaining. You indifferently suggested to attend a viewing of an old painting that had built a reputation for its audacious nudity, or so you had heard, but never in your wildest thoughts did you believe The Eye to be interesting in acrylic erotica after he had made it very clear that he preferred more physical interactions instead.

Remembrance of the desecrated bathroom counter made your legs wane and tongue lap forward along the dryness of your lip before the ding from the elevator signaled the doors to slide open into a neon lit world.

Walking up the lavish staircase to the pillared museum entrance felt like a marathon runner beating inside your chest, not from the exercise, but from the way Silco, again, never let his hand falter away from the small of your back, as if to lead you like he did the other time you both were here.

When inside however, his demeanor changed to a more collective stance, hands swinging behind his coattail in his regular poised manner – leaving you to mentally pout at the absence of his palm along your lower spine.

Everything he did had purpose, and today he wasn’t going to give you an inch until he decided when. Suddenly, your coat felt too tight so you removed it for some oxygen and gave it to the coat attendant at the entranceway.

As you approached closer to the area that housed the painting of interest, both sets of footsteps stopped when you saw a sign that stated:

Viewing closed for the evening. Gallery under maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience.

You tsked and rolled your eyes as you looked around annoyed before your neck turned back to Silco standing a little too close to the tape blocking off the section under care.

“Well?” Silco inquired with a straight look, an eyebrow raised, and the edge of his mouth pointing up just a bit at his subtle request to misbehave.

A single index finger lifted the tape, giving you the quick decision – looking around briefly – to bend over and sneak under it, your client also slipping past the cautionary tape behind you.

Passing by rows of artwork littering the vast hallways, you finally found the room with the erotic painting.

On entering the spacious gallery, there were multiple buckets of paint and tarps that lined the floor. Carefully maneuvering past the mess and the ladders where the walls would be made anew with a fresh coat of paint, some of the walls already finished, you and Silco approached the canvas of both your curiosity.

It was a small painting, maybe no larger than a twelve-by-twelve canvas, but the subject matter helped gravitate the eye and amplify the piece across the room.

Your eyes widened; heart galloped.

The woman was leaned over a table, her head craning backwards over the edge, hair drooping and tangled, while her jaw was slack and eyebrows stitched together. Her expression was a mix of pain and pleasure and one could only imagine the noises she cried from that open mouth. The source of her pleasure had your blood flushing to your groin, making your throat bob from how the painting left you desiring the same pain this woman was experiencing.

A man’s torso could be seen, but his head was cut off at the edge of the canvas. His waist spread the woman’s thighs apart. Despite the fact that his groin could not be seen, any viewer concluded what he was ploughing into this woman, beckoning such an expression from her.

An ache pulsated between your legs when your mind drifted into a filthy flashback of you hunched over and stuffed full over a bathroom sink.

The aftermath dripped onto your skirt while eating your meal across from the man who left you to soak in the mess he made of you, leaving a trail on your belongings you had to scrub out the next morning before it stained.

Your world tilted from the flush in your cheeks.

Walking to calm your beating pulse, you tried to brush the skin of your thighs together to ease the pool of moisture that had gathered along your slit.

Then a wave of shock hooked you by surprise when a hard tug of your elbow pulled you face-to-face with the man responsible for your mess below.

“Having to walk away?” Silco’s cool voice breathed against your cheek then next to the rim of your ear, sending another buzz through your nerves.

Your throat hitched from the deathly close proximity, flaring the heat already overtaking your limbs just as your knees didn’t feel like working.

Then it finally clicked together why Silco drew away this evening. He was collecting data, observant as ever, desiring to witness your undiluted reaction for his own curious amusement. Now he had what he needed.

“It’s what makes this painting so infamous. For some viewers to have an… adverse reaction to such a lude sight of a woman being fucked senseless,” he puffed directly along your neck, “Oh, I did my research, lovely. Now I know why you wanted to inspect this one out,” and smiled when you desperately clung to his shoulders for support from the unbearable spike of arousal being driven deeper into your body.

“Do you want me to take you again,” he teased his breath on the length of your throat this time.

“Do you want me to have you crying like that whore in the canvas?”

A bated whimper ghosted Silco’s hair, hands shaking from the tight grip on his coat, as you bore the fatigue of your edgy limbs anticipating his next indulgence on your body.

His eyes locked with yours when he moved a hair’s length away from the apple of your cheek before tilting his chin, lips brushing, your breath hitched, and palmed the nape of your neck.

Your whole body buckled when his mouth crashed into yours, foot taking a step back, all the while your skin hummed with electricity about to combust into a thousand nuclear explosions.

The pace of the kiss was rough and breathless. Tongues swirled exchanging saliva, his lapping the inside of your cheek and swallowing your moans with every consumption of your mouth.

A hand glided to the side of your hip and had you pacing backwards until you collided with the museum wall. You were too occupied to notice the sticky substance pinning your shirt to its barrier as white paint coated your backside.

Releasing your mouth with a pop and navigating himself, nose dragging along your skin, to claim a piece of your neck, you braced the wall with a hand, the other clutching raven locks, when long fingers split through your nether lips and harshly indented your pulsating nub making you churn and pant from the fireworks cramping your inner thighs.

Fingers scratched the wall having you gasp audibly when you could feel liquid sticking to the tips and your palm. Peeling your hand away and examining the white now pressed into the print of your palm, you tapped Silco’ head and called his name to get his attention.

He peered up, hair disheveled, face looking so sexy from his lust-filled haze, as you showed him the mess on your hand.

“The wall its—”

“If that is of more concern then we can leave now to wash up,” he chided flatly then leaned into the lobe of your ear and growled, “or I can fuck you against this wall and make a mess so the workers tomorrow know a slut ruined their hard work.”

Coat was shed and thudded on the ground while legs spread apart with the hoist of your body onto a lean waist. Your skirt was lifted by large fingers above your belly as you undid the buttons to Silco’s silk shirt. It parted open for you to explore the expanse of his bare chest, eyes wandering to the now split trousers below revealing trimmed bush encircling a hard cock resting on the visible skin of your stomach.

Your hole clenched in excitement when you realized you could relive the fullness you felt the day of the bathroom incident.

Silco took his cock in hand, pulling hips away from yours momentary, and gradually, your mind going faint, fed the length inside until it disappeared completely into your cunt.

The white mess on your palm splatter across the clothed space between Silco’s shoulder blades when he thrusted hard once which knocked the hasty breath from your lungs. Then he began a merciless pace up into you that had you crying desperately at the ceiling.

The paint on the wall smeared your clothes clinging to the wet barrier as your body was being shoved up and down wickedly fast, ‘fucks’ and ‘shits’ panting down the curve of your shoulder which made you spin even more, hole clinging tight to the penetration below.

Then, to stay true to the canvass, Silco shoved you onto the tarped ground now scrunching under your weight, crashing a bucket forward and causing a splash of white to leak across the unprotected marble floor.

His haunches were used to lift your rear off the tarp and get a better handle on your hips, fingers indenting the soft flesh as he railed your cunt, having your breasts bounce inside your bra from the brute force of being hammered just like the woman mutely echoing your cries on the wall.

You tipped your head back, hands loosely on the ground, as echoes of your keening flooded the gallery in time with every thrust against your bottom, legs swaying.

Every grunt-filled plow of his cock had you wailing. Silco got his wish to see you disheveled underneath him and you got your wish to be spread like a whore, walls painted filthily with the thick brush of the cruel artist that wielded it inside you.

You pinched yourself around Silco harder as the fire snapped in your lower half.

Silco’s curled forward and stood on his knees, pinching your body, penetration sputtered as he vocally released himself in thick ropes. Vision blurred, your mouth dropping open in a wide oval with one last tapered moan, as your cunt was filled up.

Relaxing back down onto his calves, the man above you stretched his neck up to the ceiling and huffed down his fill of well needed air.

His shirt was drenched at the armpits and collar while his rolling stomach glistened with a sheen of sweat, a few drops crawling down the space of his chest. Then he peered down and took in the blissfully disgraced sight laid below, cock still shoved inside pussy.

“Was that what you imagined in the painting?” he exhaled.

You were too spent, so a brief nod would have to do.

#silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #silco x fem #silco x female reader #arcane silco x reader #arcane silco x you #arcane silco x y/n #arcane silco x fem reader #arcane silco x female reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #arcane fanfics #arcane fanfiction #silco fanfiction #silco fanfic #my writing

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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tunnelofdusk · 1 month

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arcane ficlet: jayvik, possessive behavior

These men born in the sun carry its unrelenting intensity. Jayce’s hands, large and calloused, are hot brands on Viktor’s shoulders. The comforting weight of his hands have transmuted into something unsettlingly possessive. His fingers dig in, warning of a fresh bloom of bruises that Viktor will later touch in remembrance—remembrance of how the sun can shine upon life as easily as it flares out to destroy.

“I’m doing this for us,” Jayce pleads. “For our dream!”

Victor shakes his head and looks away from the fervor in Jayce’s eyes. It burns to look at him, so bright and so convinced of his righteousness. He thinks of the boys of his Undercity cohort—burning bright and burning out. The way they either succumbed to illness and death or joined gang life. The way those boys who joined the gangs were at first so proud and drunk on their own power until they crossed the wrong people. Or until they destroyed themselves in their greed—transforming their characters for the worse. Those boys forgot why they wanted power in the first place.

“How,” Viktor begins heavily, “will this serve our dream? Councilor Talis, you say! So proud! And of what? So you can make us warmongers and merchants?” He tries to lean on his cane for support but Jayce pulls him in. A palm on the back of his head, fingers tangling in his waves, and another palm splayed across his back.

Jayce’s body engulfs Viktor with the heat and destruction of a furnace. Viktor does not want to be casted in the mold of Jayce’s fantasies. And if Viktor is to be molten metal in this crucible of sickening desire, then not even Jayce’s sweet cajoling can prevent his wetting; Viktor resists and he loses parts of himself.

“You told me,” Jayce says, “that if we were to change the world, why ask for permission? Isn’t this what you wanted? What we wanted?”

“War will not make the world a better place,” Viktor says as his hands claw at Jayce’s arms. “Now, let me go!”

“I can’t,” Jayce says with a wretched tenderness that Viktor can no longer appreciate, not without debasing himself even further.

#arcane #jayce talis #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #fanfic

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roxnpens · 1 year

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Firefly

Chapter Two: Smokes to Ashes

TW: [child abuse] [gore] [description of psychological abuse]

If those are triggers for you please be careful or wait for the next chapter. Thank you bunnies 😘

Thanks to @deny-the-issue and @juniper-sunny for beta-reading. 🥰

__________

Chapter summary:

We take a deep dive into your past. A past full of darkness… and pain.

Taglist: @juniper-sunny @deny-the-issue @fantadym @mmartos @astudyincontrasts @averagecrastinator @ace-of-zaun @artwithvivien @zaunitekiwi @x-amount-verbs @chaoticlicense @silcosentropy @silcoitus

All the good girls go to Hell

'Cause even God herself has enemies

And once the water starts to rise

And Heaven's out of sight

She′ll want the Devil on her team

My Lucifer is lonely

There′s nothing left to save now

My god is gonna owe me

There's nothing left to save now

Your encounter with Vander left a serious impression on you. Just from his looks, you would have never thought that he would be a gentle giant. But he seems to be a good guy and you kinda liked that you pulled the gig on the enforcers together without even the need to exchange words.

While you were walking the streets heading to the Last Drop you were caught by the impressions around you. The rain stopped pouring like floods from the sky and was now more like light summer drizzles. The mud under your boots began to recover from the flood treatment it received and slowly began to dry. You walked by many little alleys with old and crumbling buildings… if you were honest with yourself the name “shacks” would describe it better since it's just building ruins that received an “Undercity treatment” of metal plates, nails and a LOT of good hope. The noise of children playing before the shacks pulled you out of your observations and captured your every ounce of attention. The tiny humans played catch and their laughter echoed from the metal surrounding them and you enjoyed the sound it made.

The next thing you encountered were other children who didn’t play but instead stood around a metal bin from which a fire rose steadily into the air. A certain smell got up your nose - rising further and further up your nose like vines crawling up a house wall to reach the shining sun. When the smell reached your brain it triggered a mechanism that reopened a long-forgotten memory - pushed so far down the well of remembrance that you could physically feel the monster sinking its claws into your flesh again.

The smell that caught up in your nose was the scent of burning oak, mixed with burning metal. You kept walking down the gloomy streets, but your demon caught up with you and they brought you back to your childhood, where the monsters had human faces…

You were what - 6, 7 years old? When the Enforcers brought you to Piltover. Away from your family and into a world you could have never even imagined. For the first time in forever, you had your own room, and your own bed… but no family.

Right from the beginning you were put aside, like the cast out that you are - or as the other Piltover kids said with their noses high up in the sky: “The amphibian from the Undercity”. It hurt a lot every time they said that but your dad could land harder punches than that, and while those roaches thought about new ways to hurt you, you learned and learned and learned everything you could get your hands on. In the end, you were the one with the best grades and the best results overall in school.

But after school… oh… you hated the time after school. Every day you had to train your arcane magic in the well-known academy of Piltover… which didn’t work at first. In the first months, you couldn’t even ignite a spark in your hand, while in the Undercity you could throw fireballs the size of your head and as hot as the sun. Your overseer was a grim and cold-hearted Junior Sheriff Enforcer and his name was Jackal Sparks. A name that will burn itself into your memory, never to be lost in the fog of oblivion that clouds many minds with increasing age. Junior Sheriff Sparks was a tall and expansively broadly built man, who was brimming with strength that you couldn’t help but imagine that he would break your neck like he breaks matchwoods in half. He has black well styled hair in which he took a lot of pride - measured by the frequency he touched it. All of his subordinates feared him and his rage tantrums - which he mostly unleashed upon you. True to his name, he mostly used electrical run weapons on you like his beloved Long-Rod-Taser he named “Tickler” … for obvious reasons. During one of your lessons on using your magic, there was this little, hairy, doglike creature standing at one of the windows of the academy. He was watching as you tried your best to perform something that was praised to be outstanding and world-changing. Yet - you couldn’t help but notice a steady sad glance in his eyes - like he was pitying you for what you have to endure. Many months later after your first exchange of sights, he found you crying and shaking, leaning on a wall in the academy. You recovered from one of Sparks’ treatments to bring out your magic, where he burned your back so horribly that it was covered with large burn bubbles, hot and wet as a sauna. You remember crystal clear how he reached for your hand, petting it without words as you cried your eyes out. He said not a single word so that your wailing was the only sound that echoed through the corridors.

After some time - you couldn’t say how long it took for you to finally adjust a bit to the pain, he spoke to you with the most calming voice you heard so far.

“Now dearest, is it a bit better?” Fascinated by the voice and still hoarse from your everlasting cry episode you could only nod in consent. The little creature put on the sweetest smile which gave you a feeling of security like nothing had in a long time.

“Good, very good. My name is Professor Heimerdinger and what’s yours, little butterfly?” he asked, his voice still soothing your physical wounds. With a trembling voice, you tell him your name and strangely enough, it feels good to do so. Professor Heimerdinger seems to be one of the nicer people on this planet, so you ask him the one thing that you wanted to ask him since you first saw him watch your “training”.

“Professor Heimerdinger… Why did you watch my training back then? You always seem so sad while watching…”

Heimerdinger clears his throat and gives you what you would classify as an unsure look. “I…”, he clears his throat again, “… was accidentally walking by one of the windows that led to one of the training halls. When I saw what they did to you… I couldn't avert my eyes from it. The sight was simply horrific - to see a young beautiful girl getting tortured to the very brim of her existence…and knowing I can’t intercept this malice.”, he explains.

You couldn’t understand much of what he said because he used strange words you had never heard before, but it sounded like he was not fine with the way you were being trained. So you asked, “Professor - it is training like it should be isn’t it? So you don’t need to be sad about normal things.”

Heimerdinger sighed, “No dear… what you have to endure… nobody else has to and it shouldn’t be `normal` for it is not.”

He suddenly takes a look behind him where heavy footsteps could be heard. “Now dear, you need to see a doctor or your injuries will get worse,” he informs you and you stand up slowly. He takes your hand again and you both quickly leave the corridor into another one to avoid the approaching footsteps which could only be Enforcer boots. Heimerdinger takes you down endless corridors inside the academy, past boards for students who study mechanics, history, mathematics, even art, and past laboratories for chemical experiments until you reach a huge iron door. Your newly acquired skill of reading tells you that here is the academy's sick wing. Heimerdinger reached for the handle of the door but unfortunately was too short for it. You reacted immediately and pushed the handle down yourself.

Again with a smile on his face, he said, “Thank you dear - unfortunately Mother Nature didn’t expect that people from my species will have definite problems in a ‘bigger world’.” You smiled for the first time in a long while and it felt good - like a little spark that warmed your chest. Together you walked through the iron door and closed it behind you.

You stood in one of the largest rooms you've ever been in. The ceiling of the room was so high, that you had problems seeing the exact pictures and statues at it. You kept walking - your mouth wide open from astonishment, watching everything that your eyes could lay sight on. Unfortunately, your astonishment couldn’t last very long, because a new wave of pain leaped through your body - making you bend your back backward in an attempt to release the pain. Heimerdinger flinched a little in your direction and waved to an elderly woman, judging from her clothing, a nurse, to come over to him. You stopped a few feet from them still caught in the wave of pain, but a small clear of his throat broke the focus of the pain on you and your head turned to him.

He called you to his side and introduced you to the nurse. “Little butterfly, this is Madame Wonders - as her name suggests: she can heal your every wound like magic. Not real magic like yours, but something equally impressive. Now why don’t you go with her and let her patch you up?”, he suggested and his hands directed you to Madame Wonders.

A little unsure if you can trust her, you put one foot after another. Madame Wonders extended her hands to you and spoke with her warm elderly voice, “Come, dear, let's get you fixed up so that you can play with the other kids and go to school again.”

“I don’t want to play with the others - they’re mean and I don’t want to practice the stupid magic anymore. That’s what got me here and I don’t want it anymore - I don’t want to get hurt anymore…”, everything that you’ve been carrying in your little heart just started floating out your mouth and you couldn't stop yourself. You wanted somebody to hear what you have had to bear throughout the last months. Madame Wonders and Heimerdinger listened patiently to every word you said and only the Madame’s hands on your shoulders stopped you from crying again.

A brief exchange of glances between them and Heimerdinger said just one tiny sentence that put your mind to rest, “Never again - I … will … find a way so that you don’t get hurt anymore.”

After Madame Wonders put you on a padded treatment table with your back to her, she started to treat the burns on your back. She cut your shirt open and removed it as carefully as she could, then she examined the burns which had already started to blister. Every time she started to do something, she explained it and you could always ask further questions. This way you learned how to classify burns and how to treat them. Plus your pain wasn’t that present during the procedure, because Madame Wonders always kept your brain on the subject. At the end of the treatment, your back was covered in a cooling ointment and bandaged completely.

“Now dear…”, she said, sitting right next to you, taking one of your hands. “… your burns are bad, which is why we need to change your bandages every day or the burns will stay for a long time. So for the next time, you will just go to school and do no training.”

Your eyes began to shine and the fire inside you started to flare out again.

You felt it again - the “Amber of the Undercity” as your mother called it. The power within you creates the heat on your skin until a thought ignites it into a raging flame. You could feel how the fire magic once again made its way through every fiber of your body - breathing new life into every cell of your body. ‘What a bit of safety can do‘ you thought to yourself and concentrated your magic to the palm of your right hand. At first, just heat rose from your open palm, so you concentrated more and a little amber ignited. It was tiny, very tiny and that was not enough for you, so brought your thumb and index finger together and snapped them. A full-grown flame ignited high and hot from your palm - illuminating the room with a new source. Heimerdinger and Madame Wonders watched you invoke magic - full fascination and on Heimerdinger’s site with a little bit of fear.

Your eyes began to shine and you looked at Heimerdinger full of joy like a kid on Christmas Day “I … I can do it again. Professor - I can do it again. I can summon the fire again,“ you said with tears of relief in your eyes.

At this moment, a loud clapping startled you out of your euphoria. Sparks stood at the door, clapping his hands with a wide smile on his face. Instantly the flame in your hand went out and fear painted your face in every shade of horror.

“Well done little one, well done. Finally, we can train you properly and for what you were brought here,” he said while walking towards you.

In an attempt to get away from him, you jumped behind the treatment table and crouched. You know it was not effective, but you just needed to buy some time to find a physical weapon, since your fear cut off your magic. On one of the tablets you could spot a scalpel, so you dashed toward it, grabbed it, and held it against your tormentor. A look of amusement graced his face and he walked towards you while holding his arms outstretched beside him.

“Now, now, little rat - don’t get feisty with me. Be a good little rat and come to the cat.“

“That is enough, Junior Sheriff Sparks,” said Heimerdinger with a serious voice and walked in your direction.

“Careful now, yodel. You were allowed to watch the training session because the sheriff had a liking for the little rat. If you get in my way, I will teach you a lesson and if somebody asks how you got yourself the treatment - I will simply give them a lie,”, the smile on his face widened as he looked at Heimerdinger from the corner of his eyes.

What a bad man. What a truly devilish creature. Like a nightmare that climbed off an old Undercity fairytale. The kind of fairytale, which was used to teach you to fear the Enforcers and all of Piltover - like the thing your mom told you - about the boy and the dream.

The boy that stood on the bridge to Piltover looking at the waves of the river imagining a better life, when an Enforcer walked up to him. The Enforcer asked the boy why he stared at the waves and the boy answered that he wanted to go to school and become an industrialist. The boy said he wanted to make the life of everybody better and proof that the Undercity also has things to offer people would want. The enforcer said 'You wish’ and pushed the boy over the railing of the bridge into roaring waves. You never got to know what became of the boy, but you don’t want to end up like him. Ever.

Sparks chuckle ripped you out of your memory and you focused on him. In a desperate act of fear, you ducked away under his arms and stabbed him in the stomach with the scalpel. He howled in pain as his face contorted in anger. He grabbed the handle of Tickler when the iron door burst open and a new wave of enforcers entered the room including a young woman who looked very important with the way everybody made way for her.

“Sparks - what are you doing? Where is the girl?“ she asked in a harsh tone.

“Sh-, Sheriff Grayson, ma‘am,“ Sparks stuttered - holding his midsection where the scalpel was still in place. The fear of Sparks was still turning your face into a grimace, but the young sheriff walked to you slowly and reached out a hand in your direction.

“It’s alright, little one. Nobody will harm-“

“Liar!!“, you screamed in her face and Sheriff Grayson involuntarily shrieked back.

Salty streams ran down your cheeks as you stood in shock in the sick bay. Sheriff Grayson came closer, but it was too close for your hurt soul. You fell on your knees cowering on the ground and hoping, praying to Janna that they would finally leave you alone.

As if “the Amber” could finally detect the danger surrounding you - it activated itself and surrounded you in a wall of flames. They covered your body completely, without burning you. The flames tore off the bandages within the first moments of the flare and revealed to everybody the damage you had taken. Yet only Sheriff Grayson grimaced in shame and sympathy, while from the other enforcers, only whispers could be heard. Things like: “What an abomination of nature.”, “We should kill her before she can kill us.” Or “Sparks was right - the rat has no worth beyond her fire shit.” The flames licked over every single wound, every single bruise, and as if by magic they disappeared, leaving little scars on only the worst. Sheriff Grayson could only watch - her eyes a mixture of fear and fascination. When you were exhausted beyond your physical limits - your vision blackened and you sagged sideways. Whatever happened now was beyond your control.

“My my. Poor child,” said Sheriff Grayson with her eyes on you. You looked like a miserable bundle of meat. Now rage sparked in her chest and she turned ferociously towards Sparks and gripped the handle of the scalpel. Face to face she asked him, “What have you done with the girl that she is so afraid - huh?”. She shakes the scalpel a little in the wound, which got Sparks howling in pain.

Quickly his eyes shoot back to Grayson with a devilish smile and an emotion behind those eyes that can be described as hell's gates in his eyes - dark, sinister, and all bad. And with this smile, he answered her: “You wanted me to train the little rat, only that she refused to follow my orders and didn’t train at all. So I got the lazy rat running. And… all it should take… was a little… encouragement…from Tickler.”

Sheriff Grayson couldn’t believe what message her ears and head just received. It felt like a call to arms, where you know that you march into a fight that can not be won, no matter how hard you fight. “Sparks… you are hereby demoted from your rank as ‘Junior Sheriff’ and I’ll order an investigation with subsequent legal proceedings against you. Let your wound be treated and report to the Council representative for any further questions regarding legal consequences. Dismissed!"

Spark kept smiling while he walked past Sheriff Grayson only answering a short, “Yes Ma’am”, and walking to Madame Wonders to let his wound be treated.

Meanwhile Professor Heimerdinger walked up to her and they both walked outside for a little private conversation. “Well done Sheriff, well done. Justice prevailed once more today!”, said Heimerdinger with an unknown happiness in his voice, but Grayson knew it better.

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Professor. Sparks has friends in high places and to make matters worse: the council hates the Undercity and its people even more than all of the Noxian legates who are present in Piltover right now. This action just now could also be me sailing against the wind… who knows…”, she held her head down, lost in thought if she really made the right decision.

“Nonsense dear.”, cuts Heimerdinger's voice through her fog of thought. “Your decision was right - no matter where we come from or under which circumstances we are born, everyone deserves a chance to reach the very top of their abilities.”

Grayson was downright impressed, she never really thought about it that much, but she agreed with Heimerdinger. With a smile on her lips she asked, “Did you make that up right now?”

“No dear…”, now Heimerdinger smiles too “… it is a part of my ‘Back to school speech’. It’s as old as these hallways.”

You awakened in your room again. But surprisingly your back didn’t hurt anymore - but your whole body was kind of sore. Moaning and groaning, you sat up and were greeted by a letter on your nightstand. You grabbed the fancy-looking paper and opened the envelope.

“Meet me in my office, when you’ve rested. Be dressed for training, and don’t fear Sparks - he won't be there for a while.

~ Sheriff Grayson”

You had to read the letter three times over before you could really realize its existence in your hand. The Sheriff orders you to come to her office… fear crept up in your chest again. Opening up a pitch-black hole which eats everything light and happy. You dropped the letter like it burns your skin and crawled into the far corner of your bed. You couldn’t go - they would kill you as soon as you opened the door, for what you did yesterday… and then you would end up like the boy… buried in the river waves.

‘No, no, no, no, no!‘, you said to yourself like a mantra to command the evil demons from you that want to devour your heart and mind. Eat you alive and drag you to the deepest depths of Janna‘s punitive prison for all the wrongdoers and criminals. Because that's what you are by birth - a criminal… a rat from the Undercity. Worthy of nothing but the dirt under someone else's boots. You fold your hands protectively over your head - reliving the torture of Sparks in your head for the God-knows-how-many times. You cried, cried even more, cried until you ran out of tears and further. The demon wouldn’t let go of your heart and body, squeeze it, twist it, tormenting itself. Then all of a sudden you heard a scream outside of your window. You shrieked hard but at the same time your attention shifted fully to the scream. There was another and another and another - not screams of pain… more like battle cries. While standing up from the bed you dried your tears with the tip of the shirt you wear for sleeping and slowly walked to the window.

The moment your eyes peeked outside of the window, you could see the rising sun, and standing in the rising sun were men bathed in sweat, training. You saw people doing hand-to-hand combat - fists flying so fast you could barely follow them until one of them landed on the ground hard, a cut on his face. In the other corner of the training field, you could see people training with long sticks - they were as long as two third of their body, so you guess. Swinging them like athletes in a circus the men hit each other with the stick parrying, blocking, dodging, and landing blows. You could barely hear the whistle on the outside of your window, but the men suddenly stop and give their sticks to other men and, then started the stick-fighting.

In the down left corner was a separate space, which was marked and only walkable through a single entrance. You see Enforcers with pistols and rifles aiming at drawn silhouettes of people.

You hear someone shouting “Ready…Aim…FIRE!!“ and then you hear countless bullets fly, hitting the silhouettes in various places, hitting the wall behind them, flying into the red to blue drawn sky.

“CEASE FIRE!!!“ and every person shooting immediately stops and secures their weapon. Now they all walk to the tattered papers and seem to discuss who’s bullet flew where and why. You roll your eyes - totally boring. Then you see her - the sheriff standing on the side, watching her soldiers like a shepherd does his sheep. Her eyes wandered over the training ground - watching every move, every behavior between the soldiers. She seems lost in thoughts for a moment and her eyes climb up the house walls like sunbeams illuminating the world and she spots you at your window. You can only vaguely see her smile, but she waves at you and gestures for you to come down to her.

Her smile was as warm as the sun and the warmth filled you inside out, blasting away all the demons that had held their deadly grip on you. With the sunlight making your feet fly, you got dressed for training and flew out to the training grounds.

You stormed out of the front door to the grounds only to be met with angry men looking at you like you’re yesterday's toast. So you stopped dead in your tracks, terrified. But you stood your ground, didn’t flinch, didn’t move a bit.

“It’s ok boys, let her go - she’s going to train with us for a while now.“, said a female voice. A big ‚OH‘ made its round among the men and everybody went back to their training. You saw Sheriff Grayson making her way to you, just casually walking between the men like she is on a stroll in the city center. She stopped right in front of you and smiled. “So little one, are you better now?“

You nodded because your voice just had the idea to make itself comfortable in your throat and not come out of your mouth.

“Does your back still hurt?“ You shake your head to say ‚no‘.

Sheriff Grayson tilted her head to one side. “Can you still speak or did you snore so loudly in your sleep that you lost your voice?“ she said and her smile now changed into something challenging. You could hold yourself from giggling. “Now little one, I don’t want to call you ‘Little One‘ all day - so please tell me your name.“

You tell her your name and hold out your hand to Sheriff Grayson like your mother taught you. Grayson bows down to your level takes your hand and gently shakes it.

“It’s very nice to finally meet you properly.” she said. You began to really like Sheriff Grayson - she never talked you down all the time and treats you like an actual human being with dignity.

She signals you to follow her and the both of you walk to the area of the training ground she calls “the martial arts mats“. You had no idea what ‘martial arts‘ are - but you were sure that you would soon find out. On arriving at the mats you saw an elderly man, shouting orders at the Enforcers and them obeying as their life depended on it. He turned to the Sheriff once you were close enough, saluting.

“Vise, I give our new recruit to you - train her in everything she needs to know for our job. About her other…“ she stumbled a bit on how to describe something, “… ability - we will find out how to train it. So please focus on making her a model Enforcer - I know she has the capabilities to be the best in our core.“

The old man's face showed an expression that you could mistake for a smile of excitement and happiness - you really couldn’t say for sure. Sheriff Grayson grins for a moment before walking away. Then all of a sudden Vice grabbed your left wrist and dragged you right into the middle of one ring. There he stands opposite you, fists his hands, and takes the position of a heavyweight boxer. The front fist is at his shoulder level and the second fist provides a cover over his chest.

“Try this, grasshopper.“, he says with a smile, his eyes pointed directly at you. Without an answer, you try to mimic his position and when you had a good stand, he quickly threw a punch at you. Your eyes widen your heart rate increases, and the fear of being hurt rattles your entire body. In an attempt to protect yourself, you step backward and by a hair's breadth, you dodge it.

“You are a natural, grasshopper,” says Vise and motions for you to attack him. You are y so scared you could shit yourself, so you step now forward, close your eyes, and hope to land the punch. A fist lands in your face so hard that you are thrown off your feet and painfully land on your back.

“NO GRASSHOPPER, NEVER CLOSE YOUR EYES. NOT UNLESS YOU WANNA DIE,“ Vice yells at you and his face starts to glow red in rage. He has the same commanding voice as Sparks and every brain cell in you engages unknown defense mechanisms within you. You step back in fear, every fiber in your body screams fire, and on your shoulders, flames start to flare up. You hold your hands in front of you as a defense against your opponent. Now all eyes are on you in a mix of fear and fascination for the unknown. Vice steps back - rather than fear, confusion painted his face. Sheriff Grayson came running towards you but stopped dead in her tracks when she sees you’re unharmed- also watching you in fascination.

“Don’t hurt me…“ your voice cracked and you started crying again. Your body started hurting again, which only fueled your fire. The mats around your feet began to crack open, change colors and burn up slowly. Know you can hear weapons being drawn and pointed right at you from various directions - all with malicious intentions.

“Stand down!“, Sheriff Graysons’ voice echoed through the tense air but yet nobody intended to follow her orders. “I SAID STAND DOWN!“ she yelled.

After that incident and after you calmed down Vice apologized for his temper and that he yelled at you and the Sheriff explained that Sparks tortured you for your fire powers. That his treatment probably caused trauma inside you. Vice didn’t answer - he instead took you by the arm again and you got into the ring again. This time he explained the steps more patiently and you quickly adapted to them. You trained all day until the sun went down - you didn’t even notice how time flew.

“That’s enough for today, grasshopper. We will continue tomorrow,” Vice said and he made a proud face. “You did well on your first day of training. Have you had to fight before?“

“Well…“, you tried to remember when exactly you fought for the first time. “… I had to fight a lot in the Undercity. There is never enough for us - I was hungry a lot of times because other kids stole my food. So I had to show them that they shouldn’t do that. Then there was that thing in the mines…“

Vices brows shoot up. “You were in the mines? Children shouldn’t be there!“, he said and you just shrugged - did he have no idea what’s going on in the Undercity?

“Yeah I was in the mines. It’s the only way to get money to buy food.“, you shrugged again - he really had no idea how things run down there. “It’s actually not that bad, but thanks to my special ability people thought I could withstand the toxic gas better than others. I couldn‘t - but in time I could breathe the air in the mines more easily. And so I could earn more money for more food - easy math right?“ The next hour you both stared into the sundown until the sky was covered in dark blue and sprinkled with the prettiest of stars - shining like diamonds in a light beam.

The whole team was shocked to hear Vice apologizing to somebody at all - he was not exactly known for having any feelings. But after training together - you and Vice became very close on a professional basis and of course, Sparks returned after the “internal investigation“ went by “without any recognizable misdemeanors“. So of course he was responsible to train you again. This time under close supervision of Vice and the Sheriff. But whenever Sparks was alone with you - the torture continued until you graduated and got a job as a special force enforcer. After that Sparks couldn’t get close to you anymore, but every time you met him, he had this… absurd behavior of staring at you with his slimy smile and a disgusting shine in his eyes.

During the rest of your training, you learned everything an Enforcer needed and perfected every skill to the highest level so that you became a model among the Enforcers. You know every martial art style from Piltover (Vice even trained you in the martial arts style of Noxus - the country where he was born), you learned how to spy, how to silence your target from the shadows, how to shoot with any kind of short distance weapon, how to sharp shoot people in the distance and how to squeeze information out of people to and use it against them. They called you a “Model rat“ behind your back. Just like in school, it hurt - but your father still could hit harder.

Yet ever since that moment of self-defense nobody except Vice and Sheriff Grayson looked at you like a person but more like a real-life monster…

End of Chapter 2

Billie Eilish „all the good girls go to hell“ (end of chapter)

#silco x aurelia #silcoxreader #silco fanfic #silco x you #silco x oc #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco fic #silco x f!reader

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artofbeans · 1 year

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Oh hey, I wrote a thing:

Progress Day in Zaun is a day of remembrance wherein the citizens of the undercity sacrifice something in the hopes the next iteration of progress will be better. But sometimes it's about letting go, and sometimes it's about holding on.

#silco #powder #jinx #arcane #arcane fic #arcane fanfic #silco fanfic #powder fanfic #jinx fanfic #fanfiction

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azerothpeacecouncil · 4 years

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During the Remembrance of Undercity, we had a segment titled The Ceremony of Embers and Spirit in which Forsaken (and allies) were welcome to toss that which they want left behind to burn in a symbolic fire and help them move forward in their unlife or life. Anything from mementos from long past, banners or tabards or anything that they feel no longer belongs with them and no longer represents them. All were allowed to do this, but focus was put on Forsaken first. We had all who wanted their items showcased fill out a doc so we can share and forever view these small, but impactful, character moments. Down below is everyone who chose to have their moment showcased and what their feelings are that went with it as well as the item itself.

Due to the length of this post, please hit the Read More to view all items that have been tossed into the flames.

Caleb Mcswain Item: A blue star moss boutonnière. This item represented resentment, hatred for Caleb's undeath, and fear of the Horde. Shandras Korpus Item: A stuffed animal "...I can't possibly atone for the murderous rage my Dark Lady once inspired, but I can surely commit to do better." Silffred Queen Item: A patched and beaded Undercity tabard. Silffred leaves his spot, a ratty, patched tabard of the Undercity draped in his hands. He tries to steel himself, and fails. From the crowd, a death knight comes to his side; a -Night Elf- death knight. She whispers something to him and, together, they drop the tabard onto the smoldering bonfire. The Knight puts her hand on his shoulder, and Silffred raises his head to address the crowd. "I cast off my tabard for the final time, and with it... The piece of me that could end up no where else... But the flames." Jarisold Acridwell Item: Wedding ring Jarisold steps up quietly and pulls out a ring. He looks at it with a solemn expression, signing slowly with his free hand. "I have little to say here except I'm sorry. I wish I could have protected you." He grips it one last time, looking over it as he casts it into the fire. Nicolai Wyther Item: A Leatherbound notebook full of old alchemical research. Nicolai looked down at his old leatherbound book. Inside were a mix of notes, research and alchemical studies he had done many years ago for the Forsaken cause. Some were helpful, but many used for harming those who dared to mess with the Forsaken. "I was naive. I didn't know any better." he muttered under his breath as his veil covered his sorrowful face. "Years of my life were written down in this book I used to be proud of it...but when I see this book on my mantle, I don't think of the time I spent with my old Order or the happy memories." his voice trembled. "I only see regret. Anguish!" He opened the book to take out a dried out Arthas Tear, holding it between his skeletal fingers "And I must...move on." As he tossed the book into the fire. Donovan Morris Wightborn Item: A Forsaken insignia of excellence and a medallion with a red soulstone in it. Donovan pulls up a faded insignia from his bags. "Today, I burn two pages of history from my present so they may join the ashes of the past. First, an insignia of excellence given to me by the Dark Lady during the Gilneas campaign. With this, I burn what little respect I had for the Banshee... Along with a deep resentment for the people of Gilneas." He drops his insignia into the flames "And then..." he grasps at a silver necklace with a cracked red gem around his neck and pulls, snapping the chain as he removes it. He stares at it for a moment, in his hand, and holds it up "A soulstone medallion which was once used to twist my soul into undeath, and that I then used to imprison and punish the necromanceress responsible. With this, I let go of an old bitterness and drive: Vengeance. I slew her and her soul is long gone. No need for this to remain and remind me of her. I am Forsaken, driven by the glory and growth of our people, not unfocused hatred of an old witch." with that, he tosses it into the fire and watches it burn. He thought 'Donovan Morris died for Lordaeron. Donovan Wightborn claimed vengeance for him. Now we both live, in this glorious dark rebirth, as Forsaken.' Nettie Ka'an Item: Insignia of a Forsaken soldier Nettie steps foward and takes out a small, shiny object. "This insignia represents my time as a soldier on the Gilnean-Forsaken front. I had just been raised, and unlike many of you, felt little loyalty to the Banshee Queen."She pauses. "I joined to try to preserve my home, Gilneas, despite the Forsaken's onslaught. Since then, I have met and bonded with more Forsaken than I had thought I ever would. This insignia is a reminder of a past era, of distrust towards my own people." She continues. "We have all lost our homes, in one or way another. It is time to move forward." She gently drops the insignia into the fire, where it glows, and rejoins the circle. Geniya Zigzy Item: Old Undercity military ID card Geniya tosses the card into the fire, and it quickly flares up and away. "I used this only once since the fall of Undercity, as a way to pass myself off as the officer in Sylvanas' forces that I once was, for the purpose of sneaking some dissenters to safety. We are now ALL safe. We are free to be whoever we are, with no one watching over us from above. I will never need to use this card again." Benemus Crungey Item: Wedding Ring & Silver Dagger Benemus steps up, twisting a tarnished ring off of his finger and dropping it into the fire. "The last trappings of when I was alive," He said simply. "Attachment to someone who has spoken of her hatred for what I have become. I do not need this reminder that only makes me upset." Then he removes a dagger from his pack, and drops it in as well. "Be well on your journey into the shadows." Édouard Chaudron Item: Old Academy Frying Pan Anger at his Father who didn't support his culinary pursuits nor his soup kitchen for the poor of Lordaeron. His father would be the ghoul that sent him to his unlife, something which he clung to in anger prior to this event. Tossing it was to help let go of his difficult feelings in regards to his relationship with his father and to move past the guilt, doubt and other painful emotions that had him second-guessing his chosen path in life + unlife. Canthar Item: Remains preserved in jars. "I no longer have need for these. That competitive abomination assembly were a thing is disgusting. That I got caught up in it... Regardless. Dead should only be raised willing. These morbid cadavers no longer fascinate me..." Hylden Caspian Levanthorpe Item: An amethyst sphere (a speakstone) Hylden holds in his hand a stone. A beautiful amethyst sphere. Staring down at the thing, the storm of emotions that brewed on his features, in his eyes spoke to something deeper than he could express in words. He closed his fingers around it, and took a breath, staring down at the flames. “This was a gift, from a man I loved more than anythin’. Anythin’ I ever could have described, anythin’ I thought I could have felt. In that awful darkness, he called me a sweet thing. A mouse. That man would have had us believe that he was a snake. A serpent. Clever and connivin’. ...but snakes kill their prey quickly. No.” His eyes flicked upward, burning brightly, focusing directly on the man. “That man was a glue trap. Unfortunately for him, this mouse didn’t stay stuck. His grip was far too weak.” He glanced back down to the fire, opening his hand and staring back into the depths of that sphere, glowing with a life all its own. As his eyes turned from the fire, he lifted his hand and tilted it to the side, letting it roll from his palm as he said, “Goodbye. I’ll always love you. Though I’ll never know if it was my choice or not, will I?”

Vynaendra Highwood Blood Elf Item: Insignia of Sylvanas Vyn feels anger seeing the image of her face. Anger and disgust and sadness. Bagorpagork Mok’nathal A very old tome containing warlock spells and rituals Gork was clutching onto an old tattered book. A black cover with fel green demonic lettering and symbols. He held it out, giving it one last look before tossing it into the flames. "As time passes, sometimes you learn that the things that made you strong, the things that help you win, come at a price. The Alliance may have essentially lost that day. But it cost a great price for the Forsaken. I think uh, Mr Eralos put it quite really... I have begun to question my own power, the price I may someday come to pay. I have decided I do not need this power anymore. It is time to move on" he ended with a small smile. Lembri Vulpiana Shal’dorei Item: Menagerie Insignia Lembri removes an insignia from her satchel, bearing the mark of Suramar's Royal Menagerie. It's been battered with age, and no longer shines like the rest of the silver that adorns her. "I used to be afraid... I thought that I had to help protect the creatures of the outside from their own h-home... I'll never be able to forgive myself fully for the animals still trapped in that sick circus but... T-This is the start of redemption." The nightborne tosses the medal into the fire, feeling great relief as it disappears amongst the flames. Sorrel Silverblade Kaldorei Item: A rosary; an innumerable amount of red strings Sorrel approaches the fire, holding a rosary befitting a priest or priestess of the Church of the Holy Light. Its beads are made of dark, worn wood and yellowed ivory, the strand of silk they're strung on yellowed and brittle. At the end is a truesilver holy symbol, tarnished with age. He opens his other hand, filled with tiny red strands of string, curled and folded as if they'd been tied into position for a long time. He clears his throat a bit. "...you deserved better. A better life. A better son. I killed in your name, as if death or life were a game I could succeed in." He lowers his eyes and ears, gritting his teeth. "...I know better now. Life and death mean much more to me, in each of their forms. To the Light I pray you find solace." He lets the rosary fall into the fire. Sorrel stares intently into the flame. "To the Shadows I pray that they may guide my hand so that I may serve my fellows honourably. To learn from the mistakes of my youth." He lets the red strands fall. "To move past my sins." With that, he returns to his friends. Geniya, on behalf of Gornagh Starcrusher Undead Orc Item: Ebon Blade Warbanner Gornagh gave Geniya the banner to toss into the flames as a way of finally severing himself from the Ebon Blade, an organization he left very abruptly after realizing that his morals no longer aligned with theirs. He wishes to feel free of reminders that make him angry, for a group that he believes is no longer worth his energy to think on. Kuyr Driftwood Tauren Death Knight Item: Decaying old Saronite gauntlet Said: "Watching time pass me by...I should let go of this and work on my bonds. What it will bring with my new tribe. I don't know. But it's better then being alone." Thought's: *The pain and suffering is still unbearable. I can't break free fully. Maybe this will help me fight more to be myself. But I still wish at times just...release.* Litharial Solstar Sin’dorei Item: A single, grey arrow with raven fletching. Approached the bonfire that blazed with the ashes and memories of those that fed it before her. She drew a single, grey arrow with raven fletching, so unlike her golden ones. Examining the arrow a moment, she spoke quietly, "This belonged to my sister, Asarial. We fought together at the battle for Lordaeron when the Alliance broke through the gate, she told me to go first to make sure the wounded were well cared for. Her selflessness cost her her life. And it nearly broke me. Fast forward to the relevancy of this story, I found myself before the city of Ogrimmar, ready to liberate the city. However, it became apparent that loyalists were sabotaging the weaponry." Takes a moment to sniffle, a lone tear falling down her cheek. "It was then that I found the thing of my nightmares. My sister, who was raised as a Dark Ranger to serve the Banshee Queen. It was my duty to defend Saurfang's army and I did so, quickly slaying the two other Dark Rangers with her, and after a terrible duel...her." Her eyes grew ever luminescent as they reflected the warm light of the bonfire. "She lost..." Looking at the arrow once again, she turned it over in her hands, "I understand this ceremony is to honor our Forsaken brothers and sisters. But I can never truly hate the Dark Rangers, for what became of them. I cannot even hate Sylvanas, for she will always be remembered as a hero to Silvermoon for her sacrifice. So it is my hope, that the Dark Rangers and Sylvanaas find their way into this pyre. My sister, at least, shall find hers." Litharial placed the arrow gently, almost reverently, in the consuming fire. The flashed quickly licked the arrow, turning a dark purple where the arrow touched the flames, before blazing a righteous orange again. "Al diel shala, Asarial. Elor bindel felallan morin'aminor, Belore'dorei. Shorel'aran, sister." Dragway Orc Item: An old royal crest banner of the Rally family, it's dark blue banner with a falcon holding a mason hammer and pickaxe in its talons Dragway said this about the banner "This was the crest of Baron Danton Rally, who was a warden to many internment camps for the orcs, I spent my childhood as a slave under him, he was slain when Thrall came to liberate us. I toss my grieve for the child who was living in dirt and mud, and give hope to the adult still standing here. May the orcs...no...no other races, never be put into chains ever again!” Gotosh, on behalf of Katamar Orc Item: A red hair ribbon Gotosh clutched the red hair ribbon in his palm, looking down to it. He thought of what it meant to his friend, a connection to people who are long gone and their souls lost. Part of him didn’t want to toss it into the fire, feeling the weight it carried. But he promised to do this and with one toss the ribbon joined the other items to be burned away. May they rest, he thinks, may he rest too.

#Undercity Remembrance #APC events #Items of Ashes #IC events

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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leviiattacks · 3 years

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Two Faced | Chapter Five

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 3k author note :: just got diagnosed with covid so i have a lot of spare time on my hands so ummm send in any requests you have into my ask box i’d love to try doing headcanons!! → next part is here!!

Erwin sees the confused look you have and now he too seems lost as he shifts his line of vision to Levi. At that moment your husband slams his heel and grinds it onto your foot. Squirming around in your seat dealing with the stinging pain you catch on that you can't let Erwin think you're clueless.

Quickly, the look of confusion washes away from your features and you return his smile. "I'm willing to do what I must."

You think you've ruined this entirely because Erwin's eyes dart suspiciously between you and your husband. However, Hange intervenes, the interference seems to be enough for him to shake off any skepticism he senses.

Two hands hold onto your frame and squeeze your shoulders. Hange is standing up and seems ecstatic."You two are just so evil." they cackle to themself and you play along laughing too. You are not giving Levi the opportunity to ram into your foot again. Hange who is practically a personified ray of Sunshine at all times does still seem a little down, you did pick up on it when you entered the room. Maybe it was just you overthinking, that's what you assure yourself with.

Then it settles in your bones. Evil? Blinking you turn to look at Levi hoping for some sort of indication about whatever is going on.

"She wouldn't listen to me at all, said she felt the need to step in and help the Empire in some way." His tone is monotonous, still not sparing you a glance and you want to kick him in the shins. He's usually much more affectionate and you're afraid Squad Leader Hange and Commander Erwin will figure out this is all a facade.

"It's a noble commitment to put yourself forward for such a risky position, I see why you and Lance Corporal Levi are a sound match." Erwin isn't smiling this time but his tone is content.

Mind now buzzing with ideas you want to fall face first into the carpeted floor of the office spread out like a starfish. You would prefer that instead of being left in the dark. Could they simply mention the name of whatever it is you've apparently offered to do?

Levi's clearly grimaces but then he moves to hold your hand rather boldly. Shaking him off isn't an available option because of his strong grip. "She wouldn't listen to me at all. If I had it my way she wouldn't step anywhere near enemy soil." He grumbles.

The fake concern he's trying to lace in his voice is having an effect on his two colleagues, they're eating it up and believe this act.

Enemy soil? Risky position? He has to be stealthily plotting your death because you see no other reason for why you would be sent off to venture anywhere near the enemy. You aren't even apart of their regime, or any regime for that matter, you're itching with nervousness and want to free your hand from his desperately.

The only emotion this man is good at feigning is straight boredom, he ignores the way your hand shakes and squirms, ignores how your palms are dampening with sweat, instead the way he holds onto you only strengthens. It's surprising that no one has said a word about the lack of chemistry between the two of you.

Suddenly Hange looks down at their pocket watch and hurriedly gets to their feet dragging Erwin up with them too. "Y/N, I have something to tell you later on, please do stop by HQ when you can, I expect that will be soon." They then tell Erwin that there's no time to loiter and that there are more important meetings to attend to.

Erwin leans into your ear and whispers. "He seems disturbed that you're putting yourself at risk. He means well." You wish that were the case but it isn't. Despite that the way Erwin tries to explain Levi's behavior is sweet.

Hange gives you a cute thumbs up but makes it a point that you need to speak later on, even as they're both walking out the door Hange keeps reminding you to meet up later on. The abnormal behavior between you and Levi may have been noticed but you know if that were the case Hange would have been more vocal about it.

"Combat classes start soon. We know this will all be difficult, building you up from scratch is hazardous but all in good time you will serve a key role in the liberation of Paradis."

Erwin's parting words are gracious.

And then both the Commander and Squad Leader leave, the room is empty but Levi doesn't even wait for the door to shut behind your two visitors.

He makes it a priority to throw your hand away from his, he's now methodically using his handkerchief to dust his fingers off. It's oddly ironic and enrages you because he's the one who grappled your hand into his grasp. What's the point when those same hands until recently looped around your waist in the middle of the night?

He thinks your hand is filthy, that you yourself are filthy and disgusting. At least that's what you think he thinks.

Crossing your arms over your chest you make your feelings known to Levi. You're frustrated beyond the way words can describe, it's not about how he refuses to touch you. Admittedly that does hurt you, makes your chest swell in remembrance of the old days but you really just want to know what he's put you up to without your permission.

Not speaking you wait for him to take the hint but he doesn't get it or he refuses to acknowledge your existence, something tells you it's the latter because all he cares about is sanitizing his hands.

He always had been a clean freak but when he was enchanted it didn't take much for him to touch you. Part of you wonders if it's the nature of the touch that he wants to exterminate or the fact it's your skin he's come in contact with which is bothering him.

"Care to explain?"

"Touching someone such as yourself romantically gives me the urge to retch." The confession is as acidic as the after taste one has after a late night of drinking, but he has no problem telling you the blunt truth.

"I see." You shortly reply, you weren't asking about that, your question was directed more towards the conversation which just took place with his colleagues but now knowing he doesn't want to touch you has an emptying effect on your chest.

A silent minute passes, maybe two minutes, you're not sure all you're doing is eyeing the carpet thinking about how you would like to be asphyxiated and brought to your end, you can't handle this for much longer.

"Sign these papers, we need your written consent." His voice shows no hints hints of Lev. Last night may have been the last time you had a chance to witness him.

A stack of documents is thrown in front of you and then you see it right at the top of the pile. A sheet filled with general information, eyes skim over the "Purpose of employment" section and you don't know what churns in your stomach. Is it Exasperation? Nerves? Grief? It can't be pinpointed, it could be a mix of all three.

"An Informant."

Rereading the title you hold the paper in disbelief between your palms. "You told your regiment that I would be willing to spy in on enemy kingdoms?"

His hands rub at his forehead, he's not perturbed at all. "Is it in your blood to be ungrateful?" Brutally cynical his tone is rocky.

He moves - not even towards you but for some reason you flinch stopping him in his tracks almost immediately. Narrow ice cold eyes trace your face carefully for any signs of manipulation or deception. Gulping anxiously you know you have to be careful with what you say or do. Getting too comfortable or casual around him is a risk you are not willing to take.

"I don't think you understand. I do not have the abilities nor the skill to do this. I would cause more issues." You cautiously move to grab his arm but before you get there he takes a wide step back. He's clearly defining that there's a boundary. You won't step into his territory not when you've already invaded a large portion of it for so long.

"I am no witch. I still don't understand what happened." You mutter hoping he believes you or at least tries to.

"Then die." Levi hisses. He fixes you with his poisonous stare. "Make it quick."

Curse yourself to a life with this man who every step of the way is hoping for your death - maybe he'll even push you towards it purposefully one day. The alternative choice available is to die by the hands of that same man right now.

Guilt and regret are what you feel, you can't look death in the eye proudly. Not right now. If you can't commit to the promise you made mother then there is truly no point in making your way to the afterlife.

Cowardice is not the cause of death you want to present her with.

With a heavy heart you sign the papers.

It's been a few days since then, you've received training from some of Levi's squad, at first the combat is nerve wracking but you get to a level where you feel comfortable in terms of defense.

Oluo is slow, you've picked up on the way his stance predicts every move he's about to make. You're thankful for that because it makes training easier, he's oblivious to just how easy it is to read his movements and you snigger at that. Today he's trying a new technique, it consists of attempting to dive in the direction of one of your shoulders and suddenly darting at the other. It catches you off guard for a second but it's simple to block him. Jumping back from another surprise attack you lunge forward as if you're aiming for his face. He lights up thinking this is his chance unbeknownst to him you've already seen the open opportunity you've been waiting for. You can change the wager in this brawl. Swiftly ducking you undercut him with one of your legs, his balance has been knocked and he stumbles teetering by a thread.

A solid kick to his stomach is all it takes for him to collapse to the ground grumbling in vexation.

Mikasa has been helping you with one on one combat and the extra hours of training behind the stables has clearly been of benefit.

Thinking back to your training sessions with Mikasa you frown, not because of the way she flipped you and shoved you into the dirt, no that part was quite exhilarating. It's Sasha. She's been on your mind. She has to be feeling left out, that's your fault you've kept her in the dark about joining the regime, how could you attend training with her? Your maid waiting on you whilst you were training? Impossible.

The last problem you wish to arise is everyone finding out you're Duchess Ackerman. No one has to know about that minor detail, in fact when you informed Hange and Erwin of your decision they strongly agreed it would be best to hide it.

"I think we should get you strapped into some gear. See how good you really are in the dexterity department." Oluo is spitefully mumbling under his breath red faced.

Offering him your hand he looks like he wants to smack it away, You don't have time for this, you were planning on dropping by and paying Hange their more than overdue visit after training hours were up.

ODM-gear doesn't look too hard, you're sure you can work out the mechanisms if given some time. Calculating and shifting time blocks in your head you can come to an end at Six, if and only if you're able to rush past ODM training.

"Okay, I admit you were tired today I could tell. I'll strap myself into some gear."

At this new new challenge Oluo willingly takes your hand and you heave him up.

He's got a cocky shit-eating grin sprawled across his face as he pats your back enthusiastically.

"Good luck, you're in for one hell of a ride."

Three dimensional ODM-gear, a contraption that is very different to a sword or dagger. Most soldiers find it difficult to master the balancing of all their body weight whilst simultaneously gliding through the air with the grapple hooks. This is why introductory lessons in balance, momentum and effective weight distribution are a must.

It's been instructed that you won't be using ODM-gear nearly as much as other members of the regiment, you're training to become a spy after all and ODM-gear is very obviously visible when a person is strapped into their uniform. Nevertheless it's still a requirement to be able to use it. It's a hurdle because it's not your forte by any means but you can't continue avoiding it.

When living as the Duchess you deemed it pivotal to only interact with a limited number of Levi's colleagues, those who worked at the estate couldn't be avoided such as Mikasa but apart from that Hange was the only outsider you spoke to (Before Erwin had come along). You don't know if you regret that decision because it's definitely why everyone is cackling as you thrash around, they have no idea he has a wife and if they do they show no inclination of knowing you are that woman.

Sniggers can be heard as you struggle to center your strength fully, your instructor bellows at you. "No, come on. STOP FLAILING AROUND!" Particles of his saliva fly in your face and that only feeds into your embarrassment. Paralyzed you don't know what to do, he tells you to not move around then the next minute barks at you to not give up, repeats that you have the agility level equivalent of a sick child.

You've been stuck in this upside down position for more time than you can imagine, at some point a large majority of the scouts including Oluo double down in laughter whenever you make a mistake - they berate you when you are trying your best.

Legs kicking out you're panicking and want to escape the harness you're in.

Oluo was right, nothing could prepare you for this.

Mikasa when she isn't busy assisting Levi is a part of the regime too, that's why she's grinding her teeth this morning when she walks into the training grounds and sees the whole scene play out right before her eyes.

She wants to desperately step in and stop this because you being forced into ODM training without having your core strength developed is unfair.

Then a yell is heard from the crowd "GO Y/N!! LISTEN TO ME ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS KEEP CALM!" Both you and Mikasa turn to see Sasha standing next to her.

Sasha? Mikasa knows very well how you forbade her to follow you today, you gave her the day off to visit her family.

"I thought Y/N warned yo-"

"I am dedicated in my service to the Lady, if she chooses to do this I will be by her side to support her. She does not have to feel embarrassed."

Members of the corps are eyeing her weirdly when she says "Lady" she doesn't know you're keeping your identity secret, that was the reason for giving her time away, you were afraid she'd slip up and expose you but simply hearing Sasha proudly announce her commitment for you in front of all these people knocks the wind right out of your chest. You've never felt this much importance before.

Sasha's motivation is all you need because by a miraculous turn of events you manage to steady your breathing pattern and find it within yourself to focus on your core. Wobbling shakily the transition is far from smooth but you flip yourself right side up, the muscles in your calf ache and throb with pain but you've done it.

Grinning from ear to ear at your two friends you feel light-headed with relief.

"Took her long enough." Levi sneers. He's made his way to the front of the crowd, you wonder when he got here. Beaming at him you think your presentation might be enough to discourage his usual response. You're incorrect.

"She's a shame to this squad, there is no need in motivating someone of her rank." Shallow breaths puffing out of you it comes to your attention that he's addressing Sasha.

She ignores what he has to say about you and stays silent, any normal person would have their head hanging down in shame but she looks into his eyes with a determination that takes your breath away.

He pays her no mind after that and turns back to where you're still struggling to keep steady. "Don't think you're hot shit." Your bottom teeth dig into your lip, and your throat suddenly clamps down on you restricting your breath. "She's no good at combat, no good at using her gear. Do you only excel at spreading lies, Cadet?" The way he's now completely indignant in the way he speaks stings. He doesn't even bother to sound normal in front of Mikasa or Sasha anymore, it makes you manually hollow your cheeks trying to keep your tears at bay.

Lies, you know what he's referencing. You want to grab him by the collar of his shirt and throw him to the muddy ground. That's what he deserves for prodding and poking at your vulnerabilities.

He doesn't understand the degree at which all these sudden changes are affecting you, in his eyes this is light work and shouldn't impact you at all, that's why when you feel a muscle contraction and reel backwards, rapidly falling back into that cursed upside down position. He scoffs, doesn't even move to check if you're okay.

Whispers circle around you and even some of the cadets who participated in ridiculing you step forward to take you out of your harness. However, Sasha and Mikasa get there first and shoot them with their intense glares, the both of them work on hoisting you out of your gear.

Levi takes one last look at you before he storms away convinced you're faking, what else would a runt like you do to escape the situation?

In his mind you lost your momentum and your ship capsized because of your own self sabotage.

Little does he know all that has truly lost momentum is the inner-workings of your heart and that is all thanks to him.

#levi ackerman #levi #aot #snk #attack on titan levi #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #duke levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi smut #levi angst #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #leviiattacks

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inventors-fair · 3 years

Text

Class Act

For a while back in 2020, I was out of a job. As we slowly return, I get to do the things that I love the most: beating children half my age at card games.

Middle-school students, some of the younger enfranchised players, have much different relationships to Magic than enfranchised adults. There are kids with the love of their game that ‘get it’ and will definitely be playing into adulthood, and some who merely enjoy it as a hobby. One of my students doesn’t know what a typeline is. And another one built an Alela deck with Blood Funnel because he knows how to stack his cast triggers, and is in the process of debating a casual Jund Reanimator vs. Rakdos Steal’n’Sac deck. They’re at different parts.

But also, different students have different ways of working with the game. My middle schoolers basically save it for playdates and the after-school program. In high school, we played in the mornings and at lunch, sometimes instead of eating. In college, we actually went to FNM, worried about budgets, had a club where we talked about GPs.

Magic has its own interactions with teaching and learning. The most prominent school is, of course, the Tolarian Academy where Teferi studied on Dominaria. You have Jaya who taught at Keral Keep, the entirety of the Jekai monasteries and their paths to enlightenment. But you also have the Dimir and their undercity secrets, the way that Garruk learned from his wild partners, the Abzan and their teachings of remembrance. And there are scriptures no eyes should see.

How does each color combination learn? How does each color teach? What’s a good flavorful representation of education?

> This week’s homework is to make a card that represents or is related to education or learning.

This contest is open-ended, intentionally so. You may choose to make a powerful bottom-up card based on concepts of learning/iteration/teaching with an educational flavor, or a top-down card based on the above concepts.

Possibilities include:

Lessons learned

Teachers of a craft

Scholarly discoveries

Students or lackeys

Teachings of the past

Magical books or scrolls

Revelation and ideas

Universities and schools

...and much more!

And, if you’re interested:

Bonus internet points if your card is both easily grokked and could teach new players about something in the game! This is optional and more if you want to challenge yourself; it will not impact chances of winning.

This week’s schedule:

Later today, I plan on making a pinned post as a general welcome to the Fair, for people who may be joining us.

Tomorrow, I plan on making a post talking about commentary and scheduling.

Tuesday, we’ll have a couple of judge designs.

Wednesday will be the usual self-reblog, Thursday will be the usual 24 hour warning, Friday will be entries/winners, and Saturday will be commentary.

Class dismissed! —@abelzumi

>> Your homework can be submitted HERE. >> Join your fellow students on Discord HERE.

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #contest #announcement #school contest #inventor's fair

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onwesterlywinds · 4 years

Text

PROMPT #26: When Pigs Fly

Features Madelaine Lachance, a character from @sammishspook on Twitter.

Set during the events of 3.0.

The Merlose was known throughout Abalathia's skies for its specific method of dealing with Garleans: getting them to walk the plank from thirty thousand fulms.

The practice had first come about during Zeema's tenure as first mate; she had dubbed it "reeducation," and certain intrinsic factors - mostly a lack of space in the hold and an unwillingness to deal with Ishgardian authorities - had made keeping prisoners an unsensible proposition. In the years since, their relations with Ishgard had only grown worse - and the practice, now tradition, had been dubbed "flight training."

Sigrid had expected the newcomer to balk at the prospect, but the force with which the young woman gripped the pilot's bound arms spoke to her intentions. Others in the crew had gossiped of her storied history as a pirate of the sea - including a stint with the Sanguine Sirens, no less - but she had taken to the clouds with little trouble, and best of all, she had become a valued part of the crew without antics. She wore a serious demeanor at most times, and her face as she hoisted their Garlean captive to the plank was positively stormy.

"Wait," Sigrid called from the wheel. All turned to face her, awaiting orders, but it was Madelaine's gaze she sought and captured. "...You know this one?"

Madelaine stared up at her, and her hold upon the Garlean pilot only tightened. "No," she said. "But he's XIVth Legion."

They had seen far more ships of the VIth in free Eorzean skies in the past year, many of them bearing construction materials available for plundering. Their most recent prisoner had carried no such resources - only a rusted bucket of a ship too loose-screwed to make it much further than the Gyr Abanian border. Still, he was no defector: he had been desperate to relay some bit of intelligence or another, up until the moment Cicely dashed his communication device against the deck.

They had no further use for him, and letting him go would have repercussions for Eorzeans they would never meet.

To signal her pre-emptive approval, Sigrid offered Madelaine a single nod.

The Elezen permitted her voice to carry as she stepped her captive closer to the open air. "Where were you stationed? Tell the truth, now."

The pilot mumbled something. When Madelaine gave him a rough shake, he spoke up. "The Shroud."

"As I figured. There's still soil on your boots." There was no pride in this admission, no amusement - only a detached sort of curiosity. Sure enough, when next Madelaine spoke, her tone might have seemed conversational in almost any other circumstance. "Your patrols are still getting picked off, aren't they. It's impossible to keep the ranks filled."

"How do you-"

"It's those forestborn. They're plaguing you like rats." A smile crossed Madelaine's face for the first time. "I'm glad to hear it."

With a hearty shove, she pushed the pilot backwards, and he fell head over heels toward the mountains below. This one went without a single sound; if he cried out, he did so well after he was gone from their sight.

***

"We had a forestborn deckswab once," Sigrid said to Madelaine, much later, when they were alone in the captain's chambers. "Not Elezen, though. Highlander. Hailed from East End; left on account of the war."

On account of the war. Such pointless words to leave her, especially given the horrors she'd heard described. The poor lass had been from Bittermill, a place she had once traveled to with her father to pick up a relic dating back to Cotter's dynasty; the Garleans had turned it into a testing site for some monstrous new weapon of theirs, and the girl had escaped only by leaving her brothers behind.

But the wry twist of Madelaine's mouth made Sigrid suspect she grasped at least some of what went unsaid. "I had a forestborn friend who was a ranger," she admitted. "A damn good one. He and his were all exceptional with a bow."

Sigrid permitted herself to mull over that thought with a sip of whiskey. "And they're fighting back against the XIVth?"

"They are now, it seems."

"What became of your friend?"

Madelaine shrugged. "He's still alive, if that's what you mean." She stared out at the circular porthole window, toward where the stars shone bright in the east. "I haven't heard heard from him in months. Even so, I think I would know it if he'd died."

In a rush of remembrance, another flight training flitted back to her from so many years ago: a time when she had given death to an undeserving Garlean pig. I killed her. Your Undercity contact.

Sigrid leaned back in her chair, heaved a sigh, and set down her empty glass with a heavy finality. When she looked back across the table, her heart ached to see Madelaine sitting across from her instead of young Élodie. "It's so easy think so," she muttered. "...In my experience, it's rarely the case."

#FFXIVWrite #FFXIVWrite2020 #Sigrid Keane #Madelaine Lachance

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xantchaslegacy · 4 years

Text

Forgiven, Ch 2

Chandra had seen plenty of strange sights on plenty of different worlds; it came with the territory of being a career planeswalker/renegade/aspiring hero. She’d had days full of zombie hordes, days where she’d defied gods (with mixed success) , and days where she clashed with everything from dragons to giant demon frogs.

Today seemed set on one-upping all of that.

She’d expected to see some interesting things when Vraska asked for help with the reactivated eternals terrorizing the undercity. It was new territory, even if the foe was an old one. Still, the sewers of Ravnica were a bigger and more tangled maze of tunnels, caves, and entire districts than Chandra expected, stuffed with more variations of fauna, flora, and fungi than she had seen in one place. The izzet cyclopses who’d come along to assist in the clean-up were some of the oddest allies she’d ever had (their voices were so high pitched...and how were their heads so tiny?). The eternals, their blue lazotep now covered with an additional layer of fungal plates and clinging moss, had looked strangest of all-

-at least until an imp with a bow-tie offered her dinner.

“I insist, it would be shabby in the extreme if Pivlichino’s accepted so much help without offering a hot meal in return.” The imp, Pivlic, wrung his hands together imploringly. He hovered just in front of Chandra, taking conspicuous care not to drift close to the grimy walls or knee-deep filth of the undercity tunnel.

“It’s fine, really.” Chandra glanced back at Samut, who just shrugged. “We’d have to clear out the eternals here even if the tunnels didn’t run under your, uh, restaurant?”

“Ravnica’s newest, grandest restaurant, club, and bar,” The imp exclaimed with a bow and a flourish. “And please. Consider it a gift on behalf of the entire city. These metal monstrosities have been a blight on our streets, and to think there are still a few lurking about...”

Samut tensed in the corner of Chandra’s eye, but said nothing. Quietly, efficiently, she continued to lay out the still bodies of eternals along the dry side of the tunnel.

“...it’s truly a blessing to know such capable mages are seeing to the elimination-”

“Thank you,” Chandra cut the imp off. “And sure, we’ll take a meal. We should be done with for the day in an hour or two.”

“Excellent!” Pivlic clapped once, the crisp sound echoing down the tunnel. His attendant, a stooped ogre with a collar and bow-tie pressed crisply against his bulging neck, stepped forward, holding out a small silver tray Chandra. On it were two silver-embossed slips of paper, which Chandra took with a furrowed brow.

“What are-?”

“Show those tickets to the maitre d’ and she’ll see you sat at one of our best tables. We’ve got genuine Gruul folk musicians playing this evening; the perfect compliment to a hearty meal!” Pivlic bowed, spun in the air, and flew off up the service tunnel that led back to the streets. His attendant followed, ascending by ladder slowly, grumbling under his breath.

“Are we getting a feast in our honor?” Samut was sitting up against the sewer wall, next to the neat row of eternals, a tired smile and a raised eyebrow aimed at Chandra.

“Fancy dinner.” Chandra waved the tickets and slumped down next to Samut. The ground was filthy, but they’d gone through waste up to their shoulders several times already that day, so the added grime barely registered. “Um, I hope that was alright that I accepted the offer for both of us. If you’d rather not-”

Samut waved the apology away. “I was going to ask if I could buy you supper for all your help and your company anyways, so all the better.”

“All the better,” Chandra echoed. She tucked the tickets into a satchel on her belt. “So...what do you think so far? One last bit of Bolas’ magic keeping them going? Maybe he had another necromancer waiting in the wings with the Golgari?”

“Either. Both. That would make sense if the false god is half as clever as all who know him claim. I wonder though…It doesn’t seem as if touching them endangers our sparks any longer. If it was the false god, well you’d think those enchantments would still be in effect.”

Chandra nodded. She had bare-handed grappled at least two of the eternals that morning, and gotten away with nothing but scrapes. “Maybe. Must have been a pretty exhausting spell to maintain.”

“Probably. Either way, one less spell desecrating my sisters and brothers.”

“Oh yeah, about that...” Chandra looked across Samut at the broken Amonkhet warriors. “Should we, um, say anything? Do you have some kind of burial rite or…?”

“I’ve said what needs to be said.” Samut leaned her head back until it rested against the stone. “You know, I don’t have a clue what burial customs my ancestors had. The false god left our viziers with the practice of mummification, but none of our proper rites of remembrance.” She sighed. “Nothing to be done but to say goodbye to them as warriors.”

Samut lapsed into silence. They sat listening to the rush and gurgle of the sewers for several long minutes before she shrugged and stood.

“My comrades and I have a lot to re-discover, if we survive the coming years.”

“Yeah,” Chandra nodded and stood as well, “I uh...I can imagine that’d be, uh...” Her mind grasped for the right words to continue this conversation she’d started. “Actually, I guess I couldn’t. I am very sorry, though.” She pointed at one of the growths on the nearest eternal’s armor. The fungus was grown in the patterns reminiscent of the Golgari undead, with spongy masses and plates forming crude, partial armor. “Do you want me to burn any of that off, at least?”

“It’s no worse than the lazotep,” Samut laid a gently hand on the smashed skull of the closest metal-coated zombie. “And since we haven't seen any partial eternals moving under the control of the growths, I don’t think it’s much of a danger anymore.

“Thank you, though,” She added.

Chandra nodded. Her hands fell back to fiddling with the cool wrist of her gauntlets. One of the eternals had cast a volley of arrows through a gas line, puncturing it in over a dozen places. Chandra had resorted to fire-free means of fighting for the rest of the day while the izzet cyclopses struggled to fix the ruptures. She could still hear them further along the tunnel, stomping through the muck, sifting for any remaining zombies in the area.

Vraska had approached each of them separately about the renewed eternal problem. While Bolas’ death had brought the entire force to a standstill, the vengeant ravnicans had not destroyed all of them. A significant number had made their way into the sewers and waterways before they’d been deactivated. Some, for whatever reason, had congregated in dead-ends and abandoned shafts, where they had simply hunkered down and seemingly waited for the war above to end.

That would have been easy enough to clean up. Then a blue-metal hippo had attacked Zonot, killing three researchers before the guard-krases could put it down. The Simic had assumed the fungal growths were the result of some rogue project gone awry. A week later, a squad of spear-wielding eternals attacked an underground Rakdos poetry slam, and this time there had been no mistaking the Golgari fungi covering the attackers.

“Which is a bad look for the swarm,” Vraska had explained. “I could point to the half-a-dozen attacks on our own undercity territory as counter-examples, but no-one wants to hear it. Even if my guild wasn’t at war with itself regularly, other would just say I sent those attacks as plants to throw suspicion off of myself.”

Chandra had agreed to help immediately, just for something to distract from her latest bout of restlessness. She had almost even turned down the gold Vraska offered for the job.

It was quite a lot of gold. The gorgon seemed to still feel bad about how things had gone with Baan, as if that creep’s fate had been anyone’s fault but his own. Chandra hadn’t asked yet if Samut had been offered the same price for her help. It was clearly personal enough for Samut regardless, and ambivalent as Chandra felt about payment, she couldn’t imagine offering Samut the same without it being at least somewhat insulting.

“So just, uh...leave them for the Izzet grunts to move?”

“Yes.” Samut nodded. “I’ll trust the natives do what’s best for their own plane.” She looked over the line of fallen warriors. “A whole lifetime perfecting our bodies for the afterlife, and it turns out the best we can hope for after death is that we lie still and unused by evil.”

“I...I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you said that.” Samut smiled faintly. “I’m not much for being sorry about what’s past. I’ve lost a lot of my life already...I need to focus on making the future better.”

“Better life...” Chandra stared across the tunnel at the opposite wall. “What do you have in mind?”

Samut nodded, lips pursed.

“Dinner would be a good start.”

* * *

Pivlichino’s (or Pivlichino’s IV, as the sign outside read, for some reason), was spacious, crowded, and loud. Chandra adored it. The tables were laid out in a patterned sprawl, built to every size and shape needed for accommodating the different bodies of Ravnica. Groups of goblins shared drinks at long, short-legged benches. Minotaurs and elves and humans wolfed down meals at an array of middling tables. Chairs with legs the size of tree-trunks loomed large against the near wall for the odd giant diner. Waiters bustled among the diners, hefting barrels of bumbat and platters of every kind of food. Plates of steaming intestines. Sliced fruit arranged over sweet ices. Bowls of beetles drenched in vinegar.

The maitre d’, a harried-looking Viashino, had taken one look at Chandra and Samut, and escorted them to a small side room before they’d made it ten steps into the building. There, they’d been presented with a huge selection of fancy clothes to change into.

“Seriously?” Chandra had asked, pointing over the maitre d’s horned shoulder at a troll lumbering into the restaurant. “She’s covered in spiders.”

The maitre’d had sniffed. “They are not sitting at our best table.” She waved her arm at the tiers of clothing covering the walls “You may have your pick of the lot. Our thrulls will even clean your current...garments. If you would like.”

Samut had picked a tiered red-and-gold formal dress, then replaced the skirts with a set of pale white trousers and fancy riding boots. Her stride through the dining room was confident and fresh, and not at all like someone who had been trudging through sewer-muck all day. Chandra, on the other hand, was very much showing the day’s labor as she ambled beside Samut in a hastily-thrown-on set of Selesnya robes that reminded her of Ghirapur-style dresses, in cut if not in color.

Still, despite the fatigue, the heads they turned and eyes they caught were definitely aimed at her as much as Samut, and Chandra felt a little swagger sneak into her walk, even as she gawked like a tourist at the main dining room.

Pivlic practically glowed with delight at Chandra and Samut’s reaction as he escorted them to their table. He needed no encouragement to show off every detail of the establishment, from the “authentic Gruul wall-art” to the “specially Simic-grown kelp-thread carpets.”

“-and of course, our mealtime entertainment for the evening.” Pivlic gestured toward a group in Gruul hides dragging instruments into the main dining room by a side door.

“Real...real popular place you’ve got, huh?” Chandra commented, consciously restraining herself from stopping and watching in awe as a trio of demons devoured a tower of chocolate ice the size of a small house.

“Patrons from every guild and guildless walk of life enjoy the fine food and facilities of Pivlichino’s,” Pivlic beamed. “Paid for with Orzhov gold, of course, but co-owned and run with the best cooks, entertainers, and brewers of the Rakdos and the Golgari. A true symbol of collaboration and goodwill among guilds.”

“Impressive,” Samut replied, absently. She was glancing all over, at every diner and dish and decoration in sight. Chandra would have thought it just enthusiasm of the newly sparked if she hadn’t been gawking herself.

“We have a few private rooms, but I can tell you two will be happier with a full view of the action.” Pivlic gestured to a set of tables on a raised dais, right next to a small balcony. There was a clear view of the setting sun down a long boulevard through the window, and a panorama of most of the dining area on the other side of the table. The chairs were made of wicker and resin, and the cushions looked suspiciously like Simic oozes, but were soft as silk, and Chandra felt every bruise on her shoulder slide away as she leaned back and peered at the pedestrians walking a few stories below.

“Start our dear friends with a round of Appetizers Allegiant,” Pivlic dictated to a waiting minotaur waiter, standing at blank attention with a red cloth draped over his forearm. “Our special until the end of Seleszeni,” He added with a wink. “Variation without spoiling your appetite for more.”

The band started setting up as they waited for water and appetizers. The Gruul had brought several large drums, carved horns, and a massive string instrument that had clearly been carved out of a six-foot chunk of rubble. They hauled everything onto a raised stage in the center of the dining space. A serviceable place to play music, though something about it made Chandra think of a fighting ring.

“Do you like music?” Samut asked, nodding at the stage.

“Some of it. We have the best dancing music on my home plane. You have to come listen to Kaladeshi qawwali singers someday.”

“I think I’d like that. Anything you can move your feet to is best.”

“Yeah. I bet Gruul music is good for dancing” Chandra eyed the band. The largest of them, a towering centaur, had wrestled the rubble-harp upright, and was plucking at it experimentally. “Though I guess even if it is good to jam to, there’s not much of a dance floor.”

A quick glance around the massive room confirmed this. Chandra frowned.

“Huh. I thought Pivlic said this place was a club too.”

“What does that mean, ‘club?’”

“Oh! Ummmm….” Chandra bit her lip. “I guess they can change from place to place, but like...I guess I think of a place with music where you can dance. Sometimes fancy, sometimes not. I prefer the latter.”

Samut nodded. “We’ll have to incite some dancing tonight.”

Chandra accepted a glass of water from their returning waiter and raised it to Samut. “We should hang out more often.”

The ‘Appetizers Allegiant’ arrived on five small plates, each showing off a fusion of tastes each guild was known for. The Golgari slow-roast slider with Rakdos pepper sauce was fantastic, as were the thin slices of thrull pate with a minty Azorius-inspired jam.

The band started playing as they worked through the dishes. The first song was a low, slow-building rumble of a song. The lead singer, a barrel-chested goblin, rasped out lyrics about the setting sun setting the world on fire.

“Interesting,” Chandra nibbled on a bite of toast points made from Boros rations and an organic mash of Gruul vegetables. “I was expecting more smashing-themed songs.”

“I like it,” Samut said. “Reminds me of the training songs from back home. Most of them are about the sun.” She made a slight face. “We’ll have to come up with some new lyrics now, I suppose.”

“How...how are things back home?”

Samut frowned. “Better than we feared, but harder than anyone could have imagined before...well, before. We’ve scraped together an outpost at Hashep, but just about every stretch of the desert is hostile even without the dangers of starvation or exposure. It’s about all Hazoret can do to keep the horrors at bay.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.” Chandra looked down at the table. “I, uh, went back to Naktamun, a few days ago. I hadn’t even thought to look for the survivors.”

“We’re a plane of fighters,” Samut replied, low. “No need for you to feel bad about having other concerns. It seems like every plane has its share of horrors. And things aren’t so dire that I can’t spare time to see to matters here. To try and find help for my plane on other worlds.”

“Have you had any luck?”

“Vraska has put me into contact with one of the guild leaders here. Ral Zarek.”

Chandra nodded. “I’m familiar.”

“He’s come twice so far to survey the land. The land and what equipment we’ve been able to scavenge from the ruins. He’s confident that we can construct a device to bring the rains more frequently, which, basically, is to say at all.” Samut sighed. “But we persevere. We are strong. I find that I am able to best serve my people by assuring them our betrayed comrades and ancestors have been put to as honorable a rest as I can make for them.”

“If I can help at all...I can’t imagine the hardships your plane is going through, but whatever I can do...”

“I was actually going to ask if your lover was still around,” Samut replied. “-and if she would have the time to visit Amonkhet. Our excavator mages have made immense strides in re-discovering connections with the plane, and using them to coax new growth, but it would help to have someone of her talents who can travel with her own reserve of mana.”

“My…? Oh.” Chandra’s ears got hot, and the looked away, out the window. “That’s not...you mean Nissa. It’s um, it’s not like that, anymore. I mean, I could definitely ask, but...” She trailed off.

“Oh? Oh. Oh, I’m very sorry, I had just- will, I saw the two of you when she joined the battle, and afterwards, well, I just thought...”

Chandra jerked her shoulders in a small shrug. “Sure. I guess I thought so too.”

“It can be hard, when a fight goes wrong,” Samut offered. “It was the same in the trials. Even in training. The closest crop can feel disunity when faced with an overwhelming trial.”

“We’re just not right for each other,” Chandra said. She picked up a mizzium fork from the small plate in front of her, its tongs woven through with some kind of...blue roasted worm? “That’s all. We talked about it.”

“Didn’t like each other as much as you thought?”

“No, I...” Chandra set the fork down and frowned. “I’m still working that out.”

“Mm. Didn’t work it out when you talked?”

“Well...it wasn’t that long of a talk, I guess.”

Samut grimaced. “You ended your relationship before you knew why you wanted to end it?”

“Would you believe I told myself it was because I didn’t like girls?”

“The way I saw you look at her when we first met in Naktamun?” Samut’s grimace twisted into a smirk. “The way you two looked at each other when we felled the false god? No, I don’t think I would believe that at all.”

“I mean, she might have been the only one, for all you knew.”

“Only one?”

“Only, you know...” Chandra twirled her hand through the air, not quite sure what sort of gesture she meant to make. “The only girl I liked.”

Samut raised an eyebrow. “Was she?”

Uh...” Chandra’s hand fell to her lap. “No. She wasn’t the only one. She isn’t the only one, I guess.”

“Oh?” The smirk widened. “Well, who could blame you? When there are women like me in the world...” Samut shrugged, throwing both hands up in the air and tossing her hair.

Chandra rolled her eyes. “Anyways, I guess I was just grasping at reasons, so I told myself anything.”

“Are you though? Pansexual?” Samut asked, with a straightforwardness that caught Chandra out of nowhere.

“Uh, bisexual, I guess?”

“Bisexual?”

“Yeah, guys and gals. Love ‘em both.”

Samut tilted her head. “Ah. There’s so much more than just men and women in the world, though – oh, I shouldn’t have assumed-” She flushed slightly. “Is it just humans on your home plane?”

“What…?” Chandra tilted her head as well, quizzically. “Oh! Oh, no we’ve got plenty of – I don’t have a preference of genders.” She shrugged. “I mean, I’ve got a type, but, you know, it’s just one of many types.”

“I’ll toast to that.” Samut nodded. She raised her glass of water. “Here’s to everyone.”

“Yeah!” Chandra knocker her cup against Samut’s, spilling a few drops on the tablecloth. “The whole buffet!”

Samut burst out with a sharp laugh. “Buffet?”

“Okay maybe it’s not a perfect metaphor, I just mean...you know, curry is all well and good, but sometimes you want a-a mango, you know?”

“I’ve not tried either of those things, but I take your meaning.” Samut wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye.

“My guests!” Pivlic flapped up to the table, the minotaur waiter in tow. “Enjoying everything so far?”

“So far,” Samut replied. Chandra nodded, guiltily stuffing the last small plate – a Simic-bred eel-shrimp on a bed of selesnyan lettuce – between her lips.

“Is womderfulf,” she managed through her full mouth.

Pivlic beamed. “Splendid. And any thought on your entrees for the evening? I’m happy to go over the specials.” The waiter moved up and offered Chandra and Samut several crisp sheets of fine parchment. “We also have an extensive house menu, new to this iteration of Pivlichino’s.”

Samut looked both overwhelmed and delighted with the wealth of options, and listened eagerly as Pivlic listed the special dishes. Chandra zoned the imp out, and flipped through the sheets, which listed options for hot dishes, vegetarian dishes, and dishes for undead patrons.

“Errr...maybe just a steak...” Chandra scanned the meat options, looking for an animal she was familiar with.

“Mmmm, that does sound good,” Samut said. “Not very balanced though. Hardly the whole buffet.”

Chandra looked up from her menus. Samut was peeking over the edge of hers, grinning. Chandra stuck her tongue out. Pivlic looked between the two of them, a politely puzzled look on his face.

“I mean, if you only want the meat menu.” Samut extended her hand and beckoned with her fingers. “I’m happy to look at the rest.”

“Well it just so happens I am in the mood for a steak tonight,” Chandra shot back, a smirk of her own twisting the corner of her mouth.

“But just look at all these options!” Samut held up her stack of menus dramatically. “Greens and grains and all kinds of sweet treats! A whole world of food in front of you!” She gestured at Pivlic. “And the soups of the day, Chandra! Did you hear about the soups?”

Pivlic nodded graciously.

“I like meat just fine,” Chandra shot back. “Look at this: ‘side of beef with raze-boar bacon. Who could want more than that?”

Samut made a mock-offended face, and clutched a hand to her chest “Well, people with taste, for one.”

“I know what I like!” Chandra said, trying to stifle another laugh, but shouting instead. Thankfully it was only a little loud, the diners in the closest tables only gave her slightly affronted looks.

Pivlic coughed into his hand. “If I may, miss Nalaar, I don’t think your friend here is suggesting you aren’t interested in the, ah, side of beef. I believe she is merely suggesting that’s not the only menu you’d order from.”

“Oh, we covered that bit already,” Samut said, then turned aside and smoothly transitioned from the beginning of a belly-laugh to a feigned coughing fit.

“Right, right.” Chandra buried her face in the menu. “Um, a few more minutes, please.”

“Naturally.” Pivlic bowed and fluttered backward from the table. “No rush at all. I’ll be back shortly.”

Chandra fanned herself with the inside of the menu before setting it down.

“We were just talking about dinner just now, right?” Samut was straining visibly to restrain an even bigger smile than the one already stretching her cheeks.

“You’re awful.” Chandra rolled her eyes. “Sometimes a meal is just a meal.”

Samut held up her hands. “Fair, fair.” Her smile faded slightly. “Does it make you uncomfortable? I don’t mean to joke if it does.”

“It’s fine.” Chandra looked out at the band, taking in the current tune. “Thinking I was straight was a pretty ridiculous thought to have. I’d laugh at it if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

The new song was slow, with more focus on the percussion. The singer was speaking in some language Chandra couldn’t recognize. Guttural, but with the instruments it was, admittedly, a very pleasant sound to close the day with.

“Still not much to dance to,” Samut remarked, engrossed again in the menus.

“Mmm.” Chandra’s gaze wandered from the band to the nearby tables. A few patrons were engaged in watching the band as well, but most were well into their meals. Trolls. Humans. Vedalken. Centaurs. Goblins.

Elves.

A spot of blue among the tables caught Chandra’s eye. Jace was walking across the dining room with Vraska, Pivlic leading them along. He had caught sight of her as well and waved. Chandra grinned, pumping her own arm in the air. Jace said something to Pivlic, and the imp looked to Vraska, who nodded. The three of them changed course for the raised seating area.

“Chandra.” Jace surprised her by offering a hug when he reached the table, which she jumped into. Vraska she exchanged a handshake with. It was nice being on friendly terms with the gorgon, but she still felt more like Chandra’s employer than a friend.

“You clean up pretty good, Mr. Belts-and-Cowls,” Chandra teased, landing a light punch on Jace’s arm. He was wearing his customary blues, but instead of a cape and hood, he had a neat pair of trousers, boots, and a wide-collared shirt with gold buttons up the front. “Is that a loaner from the restaurant, or just a good illusion?”

“100% Ixalan threads.” Jace patted his thigh. “and I could say the same to you. Looking very sharp for someone who’s been in the sewers all day.” A look of concern flashed across his face, and he looked from Chandra to Samut, who was introducing herself to Vraska. “Is this – we’re not interupting a date, are we?” he asked, suddenly whispering. “I mean, I figured you and Nissa were still - I mean, that you had...”

“It’s fine,” Chandra whispered back. She could feel the smile slipping from her face despite her best efforts to keep it in place. “I’m happy to see you. Both of you,” she added, louder. “Would you like to eat with us?”

“As long as my wonderful date doesn’t mind?” Jace threw an unbelievably cheesy-looking grin at Vraska, and Chandra, once again unable to control her face, felt her eyes roll back a bit. Vraska just smiled, and actually blushed a bit.

“Yes, let’s have some tables pushed together then,” her golden eyes scanned the nearby settings. “If there’s one to spare…”

“Naturally; how fortunate to have so many friends of Ravnica joining us this evening!” Pivlic snapped his fingers and their waiter appeared seconds later, a table cradled in his hands, and a chair slung over each horn. “And have we decided on an entree?”

“Krovod steak and beans,” Chandra said, handing the menu back and shooting a defiant glare at Samut. Samut just rolled her eyes and ordered a vegetable stew, ogre-style.

Jace’s eyes glowed blue very faintly as he sat down. “Chef’s soup, please.”

“A very excellent choice, sir. Our most-”

“-popular dish this evening?” Jace finished. “Yes, I noticed.” He winked at Chandra.

“Rat roast,” Vraska said, not even glancing at the menu as she sat. “As rare as your chef feels up to.”

“Splendid all around.” Pivlic signaled another waiter to bring forward a pitcher of water, and bowed. “Your meals will find you shortly.”

“And the spirits for the evening, please!” Vraska called after the minotaur as she settled into her seat.

“So, um...” Jace looked between Chandra and Samut. “What were you both talking about before we got here?”

“Diet preference,” Samut said, raising an eyebrow at Chandra.

“Oh?”

“The conversation was wrapping up, actually,” Chandra said. “What have the two of you been up to?”

“Guild work.” Vraska rapped her fingers against her cup of water. “We’re trying to integrate the Kraul fungal farms with our larger food supply network, but there’s quite a lot of internal faction-fighting to put to bed before that can happen.

“To say nothing of the undead invaders you’ve been so helpfully taking care of,” she added.

Chandra and Samut both accepted the thanks with a nod.

“Leadership is, ah...rather stressful?” Chandra ventured. “I hope you’re getting enough down time. I can’t imagine being in charge of that many people.”

Vraska smiled back at Chandra. “I’m sure you did you’re best, Abbot Nalaar.” There was something very sad in her eyes, despite the grin, just as there had been when Chandra had first volunteered to help with the eternals.

“Abbot?” Samut asked.

“Like uh,” Chandra rolled her hand, looking for the right words. “Like a religious leader.”

Samut failed to stifle a laugh. Jace grinned broadly as well across the table, and Chandra presented them both with a flaming middle finger.

“Sorry, sorry.” Samut took a pull of water to settle herself. “You were a religious leader? You just...well, I suppose every world is different.”

“Speaking of worlds,” Jace said. “How is Nissa? Is she still on Zendikar?”

“Oh, uh, I think so.”

Jace frowned. “Is everything alright? Have you seen her recently?”

“Nissa is one of your planeswalking companions, isn’t she?” Samut interjected. Jace turned to her, and hopefully missed Chandra’s smile falling away a second time. “What has your crop been doing since the invasion?”

“Oh, um...” Jace started counting off on his fingers. “Kaya and Teferi are both back on their home planes at the moment; they’ve got matters they wanted to settle on their own, but they’ve promised to check in if they need a hand. Chandra, well you know what she’s been doing, and me…well, I’ve been making sure the esteemed Golgari guildleader takes some time off-plane to relax when she needs it. Um, as for Nis-”

“What sort of relaxations?” Samut asked.

“Oh, the usual silly couple things,” Vraska said, squeezing Jace’s hand on the tabletop. “Cafe dates. Visiting bookstores. Some off-plane piracy here and there, and of course-ah! The food!”

The waiter strode up to the table, a tray and folding table loaded with steaming plates in one hand, and several bottles cradled in the other. The food set Chandra’s mouth to watering, and she was immensely relieved when Samut started on her own dish right away, so she had an excuse not to wait while Jace and Vraska picked out a bottle for the table.

The steak was about two inches thick and incredibly tender. A pepper gravy coated the cut, and a large helping of butter beans sprinkled over with bitter herbs filled the rest of the plate. Chandra ate through almost a third of the plate before Jace and Vraska settled on a wine; a round blue bottle that they turned over in their hands, exclaiming about its color (and...viscosity?) in excited whispers.

“You two have a lot of interests in common,” Samut observed. “Books, piracy, wine?”

“Yes, well.” Vraska speared the cork with her knife and ripped it out. “We’ve been exploring many more common interests since we started therapy, haven’t we?”

“Cheers to that,” Jace grinned, holding out his glass. Vraska tipped the bottle and a blue, sweet-smelling wine splashed out.

“Therapy?” Chandra asked through a mouthful of beans. “For real? You guys are like...well, Jace acts like he’s a hundred years old sometimes, but you guys are a little young, right?”

“What’s a therapist?” Samut asked.

“Well, apparently it’s never to early too protect your investment in another person.” Jace exchanged a glance with Vraska, and they both grinned. “Tomik said that. He was the one who recommended an Orzhov specialist to us. Same one he and Ral see.”

Chandra wrinkled her nose. “Orzhov? The ones who were basically keeping Kaya captive?”

Vraska nodded. “I was about as enthusiastic as that. But it turns out it’s about the one service the syndicate offers that isn’t just part of an extortion machine. I mean, sometimes it is, but we’ve been lucky enough to take advantage a genuinely good specialist through the guildleader’s professional connections.”

“So you go and tell a ghost about your relationship problems?” Chandra turned aside to Samut. “Therapy is like...well I don’t know how it is on Ravnica, but they have people in Ghirapur who like, help people who have problems with their lives, or sometimes they help people who have problems with relationships.”

Samut nodded. “A confidant, or something like that?”

“Yes, though usually someone who’s trained to listen and give advice.” Jace sipped his wine. “Ours, for example, is an Orzhov advokist trained in mediation and dispute settlement.”

“And do they help?” Samut leaned in. “When you tell them about your problems?”

“So far,” Vraska said. “It’s funny. There are things you don’t realize are causing problems.”

“Or things you do recognize as problems that you just never talk about until someone helps you see the need for it.” Jace reached out a hand and took Vraska’s. “Sometimes it’s nice just to have good advice.”

Dinner rolled along with an ease Chandra hadn’t felt in months. They laughed, shared bites of their meals, and swapped stories. Chandra related her mother’s recent accomplishments with the Ghirapur consulate. Vraska dropped bits of low-level guild gossip. Jace and Samut engaged in a minor debate over the use of illusions in combat. Chandra tried a glass of the wine, and found it about the same as she did most other wines, but enjoyed the soft buzz in the back of her head to accompany the warmth in her stomach.

When the last ray of sunlight slipped out of sight, the band fell into a soft, almost wistful song, mostly focused around the huge flute-player, who swayed and pushed out a long, rolling stream of notes while the singer threw himself into a raspy spoken-word bit about a cyclops falling in love with the moon.

Pivlic re-appeared as the dishes were cleared away, bearing slices of cheesecake dripping with drizzled lines of jam and honey, and hot mugs of ogrish coffee. The hot, bitter drink snapped Chandra out of her post-meal drowsiness enough to enjoy the end of the Gruul set. The band had set their instruments aside, and for a moment it looked like they were packing up. Then they began dancing around one another in tight circles, beating their breasts. The big flutist started up a chant. One of the drummers, the viashino, began clapping out a sharp, precise rhythm, and the flutist took center stage, weaving his arms through the air with slow, jerking movements. The chant became a call and response tune that some of the patrons seemed to know, and were enthusiastically singing along with. Jace even knew a few of the words, and pumped his fist in the air each time he called out.

“Gruul riot anthem.” He whispered to Chandra between calls. “Very popular at Rauck-Chauv.”

Applause and a chorus of hoots filled the dining room at the song’s conclusion. Pivlic fluttered over to loudly and grandly thank the band. Vraska tapped Jace’s cheek.

“Not too shabby, blue-boy. I want to hear that much enthusiasm next time the crew does drunk shanties.”

Jace grinned sheepishly. “Are there other kinds of shanties I don’t know about?”

“Shanties?” Samut exchanged a look with Chandra. “A piracy song?”

Chandra nodded back. “A pirate song. It’s important that you know how funny it is to me to imagine Jace singing one.”

“Jace has many fine pirate qualities.” Vraska ruffled his hair with a free hand, sipping coffee with the other. “You’d both be welcome to join us sometime. If that sort of thing interests you, of course. It’s mostly taking gold from vampires, which is as noble a cause as you can find in the multiverse.”

“That could be fun.” Chandra rubbed her hands together thoughtfully. “I like the sound of Captain Nalaar, in hot pursuit of gold and adventure.”

“Hot pursuit?” Jace smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a phrase, blue-boy.” Chandra snapped her fingers, lighting a single flame on her index finger. “But since you mention it, just imagine the terror of being pursued by fire on the open sea.” She twirled the flame around, then doused it in the last bite of her cheesecake. “Uh, not that I would make an open flame on your ship, Vraska. Well, not without permission.”

Vraska laughed. “That’s fine. Glad to see you’re burning with enthusiasm. It’s a good trait for a pirate.”

Chandra rolled her eyes as Jace chimed in. “Yes, Chandra has a lot of good qualities that could, uh, light a fire under a reluctant crew.”

“Mmm...” Samut’s eyes glittered. “Like her warm personality.”

Chandra stuck out hr tongue and stood up from the table. “Beltwurms eat you all. I’m going to go get another drink.”

A second group of musicians were setting up on the stage now, and the waiters were clearing away a large swath of the tables around them, creating the dance floor Chandra had wondered about. She skirted the growing space while checking out the new band. They were a mixed group: two women wearing Rakdos colors with no instruments, an grey-bearded Izzet mage, hooking up his gauntlets to a large device that crackled with electricity, and two vedalken, on the drums and lute, respectively, that didn’t seem to be wearing any guild colors at all.

A number of the patrons from dinner had clustered around the bar that ran along one long wall of the dining room. New patrons were slowly filing in to add to the small crowd; a noisier bunch than most of the dinner crowd, and more eager for drink.

Chandra ordered an Uzvar and gin from a half-demon bartender, then perched up on a stool to bask in the crowd and the chatter of ravnican voices. Groups of guildless youths toasted clay mugs of pale ale. Two Azorius officials, looking out of place in their white robes, sipped green liquor from shallow glass cups. A centaur trotted past as the bartender slid the cocktail across the bar, and the look she flashed Chandra nearly made her drop the glass.

Damn it’s been too long. She almost followed after to ask the centaur her name, but an elf, also in conclave garb, greeted the centaur as soon as the thought occurred to her, and pressed her own lips against the centaur’s.

Taken. Figures.

The Gruul band was lounging just as short distance down the bar, laughing and chattering with a clutch of other patrons. The singer was entertaining a pair of young women in Orzhov robes with some kind of impression, and the drummer was in a hot debate with a vedalken and two older humans. Chandra’s eyes slid past them to the musician who’d been playing the huge flute, a tall, long-haired hunk whose arms were on full display under a vest of woven vines and bones. She lost herself in a stare as he reached over the counter with one arm and easily hefted a tankard of beer half as tall as he was.

Definitely into girls , Chandra thought faintly, sipping her drink and vaguely aware her feet were carrying her in the direction of the band . But that’s alright too.

“Play here often?” The words were out of her mouth before Chandra could fully think through her approach. She compensated for the lack of planning with her winning-est smile and a smooth slide against the bar toward the Gruul hunk.

He blinked and looked down at Chandra, and for a second said nothing. Chandra held up her smile for that second, wishing she had a smoother come-on. Then, mercifully, the hunk grinned.

“Ah, first time, actually. I, uh, only joined a few months ago, but Skelly-” He gestured with his drink at the goblin on the bar, who was doing puppetry for the Orzhov fans using a pair of mouse skulls “-plays all over. He’s even did a set at the Juri Revue once!”

Chandra wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but grinned and nodded all the same. “That’s a big gig, I guess?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, pretty big. Plus Rakdos himself did the encore that night. Or so I’m told. I, Uh, wasn’t really in the scene back then but-”

A muffled burst of sound cut the hunk off mid-sentence. The new band was jamming, the beat was quick and exciting, but it sounded oddly faraway.

“Local enchantment,” the bartender said, catching Chandra’s confused look. “So folks can talk at the bar. And so I can actually hear orders.”

“Oh...makes sense.” Chandra threw back her drink and tapped the hunk on the arm. “Wanna dance?”

“Hm?” The hunk looked from Chandra to the dance floor. He set his tankard down on the bar, grinned, and cracked his knuckles. “Absolutely. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

The band boomed louder as soon as Chandra’s boot hit the floor, raising goosebumps along her shoulder. This music was sharp, rapid, and loud. Perfect for dancing however wildly and badly you wanted to.

Through the other patrons, Chandra caught glimpses of Samut coming down the few steps from their table to dance floor She paused right at the edge of the crowd, watching them for a few seconds before diving in, and Chandra lost sight of her. Jace waved from the table, behind the spot she’d disappeared.

Want me to keep an eye on you two? Maybe check in a little later? He kept his mental visit brief, but Chandra was happy to hear his voice. She flashed him two thumbs up and turned back to dance with the hunk.

She had to laugh. The big guy had looked totally natural bobbing and pounding to the Gruul music, but whatever dance you were supposed to be doing to this more hectic, energetic Izzet-Rakdos stuff...well this definitely wasn’t it. He looked like he was having a good time at least. Chandra moved in closer and the hunk winked at her before making an absolutely absurd motion like he was hula-hooping with his shoulders. He was doing it on purpose.

Chandra hooted, and they danced close circles around each other, dodging and weaving through the wild thrashing of the other dancers.

Samut flashed in and out of sight through the crowd. She had already mastered the jerky new dance form, and was adding her own spins. A small ring of other dancers formed around her about seven songs in, howling and clapping as Samut threw a daring backlip into the routine, and cheering as she landed perfectly on her feet. Jace and Vraska were just beyond that, sitting at the table and overlooking the dance floor. They were both seated, but leaned up against each other, swaying to the music and whispering in each other’s ear.

The hunk finally started to look winded after a few dozen songs, and signaled that he was going to go sit for a while. Chandra followed him off the floor, and pretended to slip a little on the edge of the bar area so she could fall and steady herself on his side.

Solid, and just a lil’ soft. Awesome.

All good? Jace asked in her head.

All good. Chandra waved back. Now shoo; gonna work my moves.

“SooOoooOwO, what do you say you and me get out of here and go hang out at your place, big guy?” Chandra forgot about the muffling enchantment, and shouted slightly louder than she meant to. A vedalken just behind the started, and knocked over a (thankfully bare) drink table.

“Uh, why don’t we sit for a while. I’m still a bit dizzy from dancing.” He stooped and picked the table up off the floor one-handed, and sat on one of the stools. Chandra hopped up on another to join him.

“You’re pretty...pretty strong.” Chandra slammed her elbow on the table and flexed her fingers. “Let’s see what you got.”

The hunk chuckled, and laid his own elbow down, taking Chandra’s hand. The rough leather of his gloves was rough, but made it easy to get a grip around his palm.

“Alright.” Chandra squinted in concentration. “Three, two, go!”

A few seconds later, it was over, and Chandra was massaging the back of her hand.

“Sorry,” the hunk said, with an apologetic, almost shy smile. “No mercy is the Gruul way, after all.”

Chandra beckoned for the bartender to bring them over another round, then pouted into her hands, both elbows on the table.

“If Nissa was here she would have totally kicked your butt.”

“Who’s Nissa?”

“An elf. We um...we used to work together. Really strong.”

The hunk laughed. “A strong elf? We had a lot of those in the conclave. Still do, I guess. Some of my toughest friends were elves.”

“Mmm, not strong like Nissa, I bet. She was depcep...decepticaly...deceptively strong. Like a slender tree, but strong like an oak.” Chandra took a pull of her drink and slammed the cup on the tabletop for emphasis. “Do any of your elf-buddies have eyes that glow like they’re magic?”

“Uh, sometimes.” The hunk sipped his drink thoughtfully. “Usually when they cast spells.”

“It’s really cool, right?”

The hunk chuckled. “I suppose. I’ve got a couple eye-glowing spells myself. Should ask around if I look cool enough when I use them.”

Chandra snorted into her drink, and set it down. The hunk did have nice eyes. Thoughtful and fierce like Gideon. Playful like Liliana. Kind like-

“So, uh, your elf friend-”

“Girlfriend,” Chandra blurted out. “Um, I mean ex-girlfriend?” she looked down at the table. “I uh, I’m not sure. I think I might have messed things up with her. I mean, I for sure did, but...”

“Oh.” The hunk nodded, a different sort of apologetic smile on his lips. “That’s...I’m very sorry. That’s um...that’s always very hard to go through.”

“She was like, really my type, you know? Big strong pair of arms to hold you. That’s like, the hottest thing someone can have, honestly. But she’s really gentle, you know? Like, treat you like you’re a flower gentle, but not like a delicate flower because all the plants she works with are as strong as she is.”

“A nature mage?”

“Yeah! Oh, you should have seen the gardens that she kept while we were here on Ravnica...they would have made every nature guild jealous. She’s like...one of those people who always smell like their work, right? And she’s always working with flowers and plants so she smells like paradise.”

“I’m sorry she couldn’t come tonight,” The hunk said with a smile that almost looked...sad? “I hope I’m not prying but is she, uh, is she not from Ravnica?”

“Huh? Oh. no.” Chandra waved her hand in front of her face. “I mean, I’m not either. We all came back here for the war, you know?”

The hunk look puzzled for a moment, then his eyes went wide, and he nodded. “That is impressive then.”

Chandra cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well. I mean, uh, that is, I’ve heard about the ones who walk from other worlds...there’s a lot, I’m told? Of worlds. If there there are dozens of worlds that each of you could be on.”

“Hundreds,” Chandra corrected, raising her drink and eyebrow for dramatic effect. “Thousands. No one’s counted them all, even.”

“Meeting a...a friend that’s precious to you? Over infinite worlds? That sounds like something special.”

“Yeah.” Chandra set down her glass. She heaved a breath, and realized she wasn’t feeling nearly as wired as she had been a few minutes before. “Um...I guess that’s how I felt when I first met her. Like, I’d been to so many places in the multiverse. That’s what we call it,” she added, “and, well...have you ever looked at someone and just thought, like, ‘that’s it, that’s the person that feels real?’”

The hunk nodded. “I think I know what you mean. Sometimes something new in your life is just obviously right for you.”

“Right!?” Chandra put her glass up for a toast, and the hunk obliged with a clink of his tankard. “And like, it was really great with her because when we traveled together after that...well, she made me feel that way no matter where we went.”

“Comfort and constancy.” The hunk leaned back on his stool. “Sounds like a very special person.”

“Yeah.” Chanda looked blankly at her glass, vaguely offended at the absence of any more liquor at the bottom. “You know, maybe I don’t want to, um, hang out after all.” She looked up at the Gruul hunk shakily. “N’offense or anything; you’ve been real fun to talk to.”

The Hunk put his hands up. “None taken, miss. I uh, think I’m a bit too old for you anyway.” He picked his own tankard up and swilled it in his hand. “No offense.”

“Pffft, sure.” Chandra slumped in her stool, elbow on the table, chin in her hands.

“I spent a long time living a very different life than the one I have now,” The hunk offered “A life I thought was the only right path for me. When I finally had my moment of clarity, the moment that brought me to the Gruul...” He bit his lip. “...I don’t regret the life I led before that, and I don’t regret my choice to live a life that would’ve been unthinkable for me before. I guess...you’re young. Don’t be afraid of trying things you’re unsure about. Life’s too short.”

Chandra stared up at the hunk, blinking.

“Sorry; too corny?”

Chandra snorted. “A bit? But point taken.”

They lapsed into silence.

“Your friend looks awful concerned for you.” the hunk’s eyes flicked up and over Chandra’s shoulder. Samut had come off the dance floor, and was lounging by the bar, eyes on Chandra and the hunk. She had a few other dancers hanging around and talking at her, but she didn’t seem to be paying much attention to them.

“Better get back to the gang.” Chandra slid off the stool, and offered her hand to the hunk. “Chandra, by the way. ‘S been fun.”

“Ghired.” The hunk’s grip was solid, and the bones sewn into his sleeve rattled slightly as they shook. “Hope we meet again, Chandra.”

“Yeah.” She mimed a swat at his midsection. “Keep working on your dancing til then.”

Ghired laughed. “I’ll think about it. Come to the stomping grounds if you ever improve your arm-wrestling prowess.”

Chandra stuck out her tongue and trotted over to Samut.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on me.”

“I trusted you could take care of yourself,” Samut said with a shrug. “But it’s always good to have some solidarity on the battlefield.”

“That what this is?” Chandra leaned heavily against the bar. The warm buzz in her head and the thrum of the music felt like a blanket. She didn’t much feel like dancing again, but right now it was enough to watch the other ravnicans having fun.

“Life is.” Samut perched up next to Chandra. “All of it.”

Chandra laughed. “What are you? 18?” She put an arm around Samut. “You’re way too young to be so down on life.”

“We’re not that much older, grandma Nalaar.” Jace heaved himself up onto a stool on Chandra’s other side. He sighed and rubbed his thigh. “Though I sure feel pretty ancient right now.”

Chandra shot an outraged glance at the dance floor, then back at Jace. “Don’t tell me you were dancing and I missed it. Did you turn yourself and Vraska invisible??”

“No, she’s not the dancing type either,” Jace sighed. “Just a lot of standing around and talking to people we’d rather not talk to. “Guildmaster PR, that kind of thing. “She told me I should go sit down.”

Sure enough, Vraska was standing up on the dais, near their table, having a hushed (or as hushed as the noise in the room allowed) discussion with a frog-faced mage in Simic biomancer robes. Long, elvish ears poked out from behind the frog-mancer’s eyes, and they didn’t appear to be having nearly as much trouble as Vraska hearing over the music.

“Ah.” Chandra bumped Jace with her shoulder. “Boy-toy blue-boy banished while the adults talk?”

Jace laughed. “Oh, nothing like that. Vraska knows I don’t like the extended standing and talking. She’s...very good at recognizing when I’m uncomfortable. I guess we’ve both been very good at that, and now we’re working on acting on it more often.”

Samut cocked her head, quizzically. “Was that a problem before?”

“Not at first,” Jace replied, pursing his lips. “but it was hard for a while after what happened here. I think it took more out of us than we wanted to admit, and it was affecting how we acted. That, and Vraska does so much for her guild. It’s like...well, it’s like a dozen full-time jobs, and I wasn’t supporting her as much as I should have.” He smiled at Chandra and Samut, and the smile, small and tired as it was, reached all the way to his eyes. “It’s been tough but, well I really think whatever we have is worth it.” He blushed a bit, and a second later Chandra recognized the signs of a minor illusion fluttering over Jace’s face, hiding the red in his cheeks.

“Still working a little on being honest though, huh?” Chandra elbowed him in the side, then threw her arms around Samut and Jace.

“A little,” Jace laughed. “I’m lucky to have friends who still call me out.”

They sat together and watched a while. The Rakdos musicians showed no sign of slowing down, nor did the dancers. Samut nodded off on Chandra’s shoulder after a few minutes.

“So, uh, it’s helped, then?”

“Hm?”

Chandra looked at Jace out of the corner of her eye. “The therapy? Talking to someone?”

Jace nodded, slow, then reached into his cloak. “I don’t know if they take clients still, but I can put in a word through Ral if you want.” He scribbled an address onto a scrap of parchment and handed it to Chandra.

Chandra nodded. “Thanks. I think that’d be good. I’ll um...I’ll let you know.”

Jace just smiled and took Chandra’s hand. They remained a while longer, as midnight slipped away into the early morning hours.

The above is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

#mtg #mtg fan fiction #forsaken #Gruulfriends #forgiven

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duraxxor · 5 years

Text

Prelude of Myotis - Part 2 Dathuro Deathcleave

The combination of hammer slammed across metal possessed many meanings. For some, it was no more than a consistent percussion. To other's, it was a telltale sign of labor in construction. There was something rhythmic from that silent delay to clanking collision of metal against metal, whether it be iron or steel. But for other's it was the tidings of war production, something that was quite common amongst the denizens of Azeroth. And for a lone, orc death knight, it was a means to calm the storm within his plagued heart.

CLINK! CLINK! CLINK!

Dathuro Deathcleave. A name that had occasionally graced the lips of Daevara himself for several circumstances. A Blackrock clansman that had chosen not to partake in the demonic blood like most of his kin. However, this did not save him from a future associated with death as he fell to the Lich King's grasp. Despite his unlife, Dathuro continued to uphold his art of craftsmanship, evolving further and further. And if not for a pact made with none other than Duraxxor many moons ago, he may not have the pleasure of continuing his work. Now, the time has come for Dathuro to rejoin his ally as Benjamin Lewinters seeks out Deathcleave. . .

Even in the warmest times of the year, Icecrown's winds chilled deep down to the marrow, shelter or not. And while Bolvar has chosen to remain inactive in most cases, the restless dead speak otherwise. Yet, Deathcleave had found refuge within one of the destroyed spires upon it's northern most gate known as Aldru'thar. Accompanying him was none other than a pack of geists that the death knight commanded to assist him in his endeavors. Many weapons and armor pieces were on display and most appeared to be quite the professional take. However, Dathuro was not satisfied in even his best work. Each clash represented his inner frustrations as he sought the perfect combination to his work. Each grunt and growl resonated within his hallow throat, occasionally spooking his accomplices who occasionally peered back as a reassurance this orc would not go on a rampage.

CLINK! CLINK!

" Slaughter them all. Take up our axe and cleave their souls in twine. You know you want to, Dathuro. " A sinister thought plagued the orc's grizzled features. Hog-like tusks clenched tightly at the gnawing irritation that began to bristle. Blackened veins began to sparkle with the runic magics that were infused deep within the orc's flesh. " Cease this endless work. Remove their head's and drink the blood straight from their socket. . . " The whispers grew louder, only dulled by the sound of the hammer that struck the runeforged metal upon the smith's table. The geists all began to stare directly at the master as his anger began to boil over. Some already retreating to hide their bodies while other's froze, bearing witness to a war veteran's torment. . .

CLINK! CLINK! Clunk. . .

The rhythm of Dathuro's toll ceased, interrupted by the orc’s poor strike against the piece of metal, creating a crack upon it's surface. Oh how that imperfection infuriated Deathcleave to the point that the lichfire eyes ignited much like the azure flames of the runeforge before him. And without a second thought, Dathuro grabbed ahold of the weapon table and picked it up off the ground, tossing it across the entire hall to clash directly at the doorway. The very act was reminiscent of the primitive ogres tossing boulders to crush their foes. Geists scattered, murmuring in cacophonous distraught as they fumbled for safety. Their was the even the rancid scent of soiled drawers that clearly needed proper disposal.

" Do you always make such a fuss when you make a mistake, Deathcleave? " A ragged voice called to him just beyond the remains of what was once a table and Dathuro's mistake. The hooded creature looked at though his tattered sleeves dangled with icicles from Icecrown's frigid cold. The chill itself suited the hobbling man as he began to make his approach within this hideaway beneath the saronite ceiling. " Honestly. You can't be getting upset from such a miniscule thought. Otherwise Lord Daevara will see you as nothing more than a blundering behemoth. " The mockery in his voice was as clear as the crystalline ice that began to fall off of his form. " You are much bigger than I was told though, I'll give you that. "

The orc instantly grinded his teeth with great disdain as the man's smell coated his nostrils. " Either one of my geists fell into a batch of acid or I smell embalming fluid. " The orc's retort was clearly meant to strike at the Forsaken's disposition. It was true that other than the obviousness of his condition, there were dribbles of formaldehyde mixture that were practically amber-like from the dropped temperatures. Even the geists began to slow crawl from the dark hideaways as their master ceased his primal rage. Curiosity claimed one as he stepped in closely to examine the figure with his single stare. " And you speak of a dead man, have you come seeking some sort of offering. Well you can forget it, corpse. I'm not interested in anything except war and craftsmanship. "

Lewinters sighed heavily as he brought one of his boney digits to caress a pairs of spectacles in readjustment beneath the hood. " The pot calling the kettle ebony, aren't we? Actually, Duraxxor Daevara is very much alive. Well, as alive as someone who has died twice can be. And he has sent me to bring you to him while he attends to his own business. And trust me, friend. . . " A brief delay in his sentence was graced with a disgusting grin which contained crooked, rotting teeth with degrading gums. ". . . I wouldn't keep him waiting. Clearly he needs a beast of your talents. And for your information, it's nothing personal, but an orc was responsible for my death so I'm not particularly fond of the kind that go around beheading people. "

As if it wasn't bad enough that the orc himself could hardly contain his own echoing laughter, the geists joined in the merriment, creating an orchestra of humor in the process. There was even one who giggled like some sort of choked goose. " You fear me, dead man? You are wise in doing so. " With a instant reach of his powerful arm, he grasped the handle of his runic axe and anchored it upon his massive shoulders, slowly bringing himself towards this individual with heavy, metallic bootstep. The very sound familiar to the orc and his minions who organized themselves beside and behind their creator. Dathuro came to a halt two paces in front of Benjamin, narrowing his lichfire eyes with questioning. " Do you have history with elven warlord? "

The Forsaken's exposed jaw grew slack on the left side, showing a hint of intrigue that the brute would even consider asking such things. " In a time where I'm guessing you, Daevara, and I breathed, you could say that we helped one another out of some tight situations. But after his fall, I came across him when he was in a state of his own confusion, much like you and I experienced. Undeath is not kind to anyone. And Daevara was reborn as one of the worst creatures Arthas had conjured into existence. " The mandible of his jaw creaked occasionally with every other word. The mention of Arthas brought distaste to the other party however as the geists grumbled alongside their master. " When I found him, he was quite the emaciated mess. No memory. He had nothing but a body and an empty heart. With a few pulled strings and a fresh meal, I guided him back to his family. Or at least what's left of it. Now, that debt has been heavily paid for considering he once again saved me from the sacking of the Undercity. " The wooden cane tapped the saronite floors twice before he gave the orc the floor. " And you, Dathuro Deathcleave... forgive my manners, I am Benjamin Lewinters. But, what about you? "

Deathcleave brought his chin to raise as the name rang familiar in his head, remembering a time where Duraxxor himself had mentioned such a name. " Throm'ka, Benjamin Lewinters. As for the story of how the warlord and I became allies, well. . . It once started as a rivalry. The Blackrock clan came into contact with the elves a few times and there was something about how the wars occasionally brought his blade and my axe to collide. Each Mak'gora, one might say, always ended in a draw and we always carried a battle scar from each one. But those times came to an end when the Lich King claimed us both from segregated events. " The iron gauntlets tightened around his mighty weapons handle, thankful that it was reinforced by an even stronger substance. The deathly stare gazed across the halls of Aldru'thar in remembrance for the souls that cried both in agony and battle the day the Ashen Verdict alongside the Horde and Alliance clashed with the Scourge. It was when Deathcleave gestured to the battered cage in some remote corner that the story began to connect. " For some reason, Duraxxor was imprisoned within those bars of reinforced saronite, left by his brothers and sisters to rot. I was tasked with another group of the Ebon Blade to make sure there were no survivors that would ambush us. And just when the bloodthirst began to settle in my eyes without a single thought of mercy for the prisoner, he pointed a sharp talon behind me as one of the other knights had attempted betrayal. " Blood still stained the floors around them even after all this time as one of the geists whimpered. " The traitor had killed my comrades and decomposed them with insidious plague magic. If Duraxxor had not of motioned in that moment, my own head would've endured the fate you spoke of. So when the scum was disposed of, I released him. I told him to run and find his path. I told him to not be like the rest of the San'layn filth. And so he did. "

Silence descended upon chamber as if there was a brilliant respect tethered to the two creatures of death. To which, Lewinters had his own commentary. " So because of you, he was given the opportunity to find me. What a small world after all. So how did you reunite with him and why are you not under the wing of the Ebon Blade? "

A good question, indeed. One that Dathuro had no issue explaining. " During the Siege of Orgrimmar, We both were deployed in the same unit. He was posing as a death knight under the decree of your Dark Lady while I was a Horde Ebon Blade. After Garrosh was dismantled of his father's legacy, I decided it was time I pulled myself away from the faction conflict, much like Daevara had. I called him a warlord because him and I share a similar regard to battle. We would rather continue to fight a powerful adversary rather than end the fight in an instant. " Behind the large, right tusk, a faint smirk could be seen from the dark-skinned orc.

Benjamin huffed at that obvious statement. " By all that is unholy, it's true. The man could go on for hours about how he embraced through the pain and the iron will of those that were worthy of his slow deaths. " A single tap was given from the cane as the wayward geist had attempted to grab upon the object with wonder. " So will you come with me and assist him? Do you believe me? " He sounded as if he were truly exhausted at this point from all the constant acitivity as of late.

The orc considered it for a moment before he brought one of his thick, sausage like fingers to prod the Forsaken's face. " I believe you speak with truth. And while I would normally rather fight one to see if they truly speak from their honest mouth, you seem to b- " The orc was suddenly cut off as his finger caused Benjamin's jaw to snap open even further. Never had anyone seen those yellow orbs turn violet so swiftly as this Forsaken brought his cane to beat the larger being upside the head.

" Gerd ferking dom-it! Your ooverpoowered oof! " The forsaken shouted with anger as the geists began to cackle like a pack of hyenas at their master's punishment. His other limb reaching to support the mandible back in place so he could at the very least speak more clearly. " Son of a... Hrngh. We're leaving now before you sever my head with a simple push! " Never in the undead's life had he created such a fast portal to their next destination. Arcane tethers fizzled, causing the geists to jump up and down as if they were a pack of monkeys that had found some sort of shiny object. " Get the hell in there before I change my mind about you, Deathcleave! " And so, with a series of grumbles and a caress of his forehead, the death knight and his minions stepped through the portcullis to the next rendezvous point. But before Lewinters made his own departure, he couldn't help but wonder, what exactly did Duraxxor have planned? " Project Myotis, aye, Daevara? I hope you aren't going in over your head this time, friend. " The forsaken turned around and slowly began to materialize as the particles of his small rift began to fade away, leaving the Deathcleave hideout silent other than the chilling winds that never ceased deep in the heart of Northrend.

#Project: Myotis #Benji #Deathcleave #memoirs of Daevara past

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