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justpostsyeet · 3 months

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Mîr Vin Universe : Origin Story

Ch 4 : Of names and maps

The creature looked at a bearded man . Bearded man was looking into her eyes, absolutely still, as if his only goal in life was to gaze into her eyes. She turned her gaze away, causing Círdan to return to his normal self. She dared not look at anyone else but still asked for glasses. The old man looked at her briefly and said something in his sing-song language. She didn't know what was happening. Her heart was still hammering in her chest. Everything felt too much. So she decided to just look around. While she stared at plants, she realized she knew them but also didn't know them. They're plants she had studied about, but there's something off about them, as if the color and the size were different. There were many flowers she had seen before, but she couldn't recognize. She wandered around, avoiding eye contact. The old man's reaction had scared her. She wandered around as it was helping her calm down. She spotted them, white as she had always known them - lilies. She smiled and went to them. She had never inspected a lily so closely. She sat there, studying every curve of the petals that adorned the flower.

She was calm enough now. But now what next? What are these strange beings trying to do, she thought to herself. She had no idea how she's here. Is this all a dream, or has she been transported somewhere? But where is this somewhere? Calm down, she said to herself. Calm down... wait, what is she called? She tried to recall it but remembered nothing. No, she's called something. She remembers it. She has a name. How could she remember she was in a train, what she does for a living, but not her name? What sort of memory loss is she facing?

She was distracted from her thoughts when she felt someone coming close to her. She dared to look up to see a lady holding out her glasses. She snatched it off her hand, wiped it, and put it on her nose. Her vision cleared. She was about to look at those creatures, then she stopped. What if they freeze like the old man? But she can't know where she is until she tries to strike a conversation, and conversation without looking at someone is hard. She dared to look up again. This time she could see their faces, and she felt goosebumps. They were not humans, she knew it. There was something off about them. They had a leaner bone structure, and their skin was a little translucent. Not enough to make them an entirely different creature but something that resembled humans. She dared to observe more and noticed their pointed ears. Not enough to be different but just enough not to be called human ears. She felt her heart beat pick up pace again. She looked at them longer, and her heart stopped pounding. She didn't know how long it had been, but it felt that staring at them made her eyes focus more on their human features than their non-human features and trick her brain into thinking that they were not an immediate threat.

She was surprised that none of them spoke. She thought, are they frozen again, or do they just not speak to strangers? Let me be the first one to speak, she thought to herself. Only let's do English; it's a universal language, right? They look like what is it called? Elves! Pointy-eared beings. She knows about them, and somehow she's sure that they're elves. Her brain just knows. Ah yes. Aren't elves English creatures? Well, I have heard all their stories in English too, let's try.

"Hello!"

They moved. So not weeping angels. Good. Okay, one more try. "Hello." They began talking to each other. The golden-haired one came in front. She remembered him. She had seen him somewhere. She understands. Everything feels like it's somewhere between her knowing everything and her knowing nothing. She was drowning in her thoughts again. She decided not to muse much but to focus on the present. She could only know what's happening when she focuses on what's happening in front of her eyes.

She realized she had been staring at him, and he was staring at her. Just don't freeze like the old man, please? She thought. The golden-haired man? Elf? Whatever moved and began to undo the buttons of his robe. She stared at him with a puzzled look. He undid his upper robe and presented his robe to her. She looked at the arm that was holding the robe extended towards her. Is she supposed to take the robe? Is it a good gesture, or are they about to kill her for insulting their mother? She decided to just stare at the robe, expecting it to give the answer to her confusing situation. But the robe remained silent. She looked up when she felt that the golden-haired man spoke something. They had a brief eye contact. He just smiled and put back his robe. They started talking to themselves and her. She realized they were switching languages. She switched languages too, greeting them in every language she knew, hoping somehow they'll know what she's trying to say. Yet none of the languages was able to break the language barrier. She could feel disappointment and dread setting at the pit of her stomach. If she can't communicate, how will she know what's happening? She felt like crying again. No, she said out loud. No, I need to get hold of myself. I need to figure out what's happening. I can't just sit and keep crying. She looked around again, searching the faces of everyone present there in hopes of one of them somehow understanding her predicament.

The lady who had given her back her glasses came close to her and smiled. She said something, but once again, she didn't understand. She paused, then smiled again, "Mîr," she said, pointing at her, "Meldil Mîre" .Mîr, she said to herself. She thought, That's a good name for now. No, no, it's a good name until I know who they are. What if they can use my real name to control me like a puppet? Mîr, I'm Mîr from now on.

Mîr, she said again, smiling, then pointed at them. Then they all began to speak one by one: Círdan, Gildor, Glorfindel, Lumion, Feanor, Nestor. Mîr looked at them and tried her best to remember their names. Now that they have names, she needs them to know who she is. But she wondered who she is? How will she explain it to someone? It's not just a language barrier. It's just difficult to tell a human-like creature what a human is. Right now, she can't tell them who she is, but she can tell them how she came here. She can ask them what this place is.She looked around and saw a dried branch. She picked it up. She drew seven stick figures. She pointed at the six as the six elves that stood before her, and the seventh one was her. Then she proceeded to draw a cartoonist version of what happened just before she came to this strange place. She drew the train where she was sitting on a berth. She drew herself going to sleep on the cold hard berth and then drew her waking up here, on their bed. Then she used the stick to point out her surroundings and asked to make them say where? The elves looked around. She repeated her gesture. Another golden-haired one repeated what she did with a stick and said, "Grey Haven." She repeated it, thinking she doesn't know what place it is. Maybe it's just what this mansion is called Mîr thought. Maybe she knows this place, and it's just the difference in names due to language differences.

She looked around and pointed to the lily and said lily. She was immediately told the lily equivalent in their language. Mîr was immensely pleased by this, but she realized that she couldn't remember everything they'll say to her. She needs to write it down so she could learn it and have a conversation with them. Now she needs to let them know that she needs a pen and paper. She used the stick again to write Mîr in English. She pointed her stick to Mîr written on the garden floor and then pointed it at her, saying Mîr. Then she wrote the names she remembered and pointed at them, calling them their names after writing each of their names. The blond-haired one - Gildor came close to her and immediately began scribbling something next to where she had written Mîr. He drew a few artful lines and pointed his stick at her, saying Mîr. Then he proceeded to write next to the names she had written. He wrote each word, then pointed at the person present there, calling their names. Good, Mîr thought, now they all are on the same plane of thinking process. But how to ask for the paper and pen.

She looked at Gildor hopefully. She made a writing motion with her hands. Gildor looked at her for a while. She did it again. Then he looked back to his companions. They talked amongst themselves. Mîr hoped that her gesture hadn't offended them. All the things seemed to be going smoothly so far. The last thing she wants is to be executed in a foreign land because she made a motion that was equivalent to "fuck you" to the people who have saved her.

The bearded one, Círdan, gestured her to follow him and took a few steps forward, looking back to see if she's following him or not. She smiled at him and followed. He nodded and smiled at her and took her back to the room she was in before. Lumion and Nestor exited from another door that was present in the room. Feanor gestured for her to sit on a sofa. She waited patiently, hoping for the best. Lumion and Nestor came back with scrolls. They unrolled one to reveal a map. Well, it was not a pen and paper as she expected, but it's still good. At least she can see where she is. To her disappointment, the map was not of the world where she lived. The map showed an entirely different world. Mîr could feel her mind numbing. She looked frantically to see any resemblance to the place she calls Earth. She looks up and sees Círdan's face. He looks equally confused, as if he expected her to know the lands mapped on this scroll. She looked back to make sure that her eyes are deceiving her and she indeed is not looking at the world map. She looked up again and just shrugged, pushing herself against the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Mîr really wanted to cry now. She had been holding her panic and tears for far too long. Within an hour, she had realized that she had been thrown into a different land that is located in distant lands she didn't have a single clue that it existed. She cannot speak the language of the beings that reside here. And most importantly, everything she knows had been taken away by these creatures. The elves, her brain feeds her. But are they elves? She mused. And even if they're elves, it doesn't assure her of her own safety. What if they torture her, starve her, or kill her in the most inhumane way possible? What is she going to do now?

She took a deep breath. She felt her eyes prickling. She took a deep breath and looked at the elves around her. She gave them a smile and looked at them hopefully. She made the writing motion again. This time she pointed at a word written on the map. She didn't even see where she was pointing, then made the writing motion again and looked at the elf named Glorfindel. He just stared at her like she had done some witchcraft in front of her. Mîr was immediately alert. She has done something as the room was filled with silence. She looked at their faces, but all of them looked at each other like they were expecting the other to say something. What have I done, Mîr thought. Please just make it easy for me. Which entity have I pissed off to get thrown into such a situation?

○~○~○~○~○~○~

Taglist - @bobitoo08 @asianbutnotjapanese

#mîr vin universe #Glorfindel x mîr x lindir #the lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr #hobbit #silmarillion #lindir #glorfindel #the rings of power #Glorfindel x reader #Glorfindel x oc #lindir x reader #lindir x oc #Glorfindel x lindir

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light-of-the-two-trees · 1 month

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Weather/Climate/Temperature HCs for Years of Trees Arda

Middle-earth:

It's night-time all the time, but the Elves (and Men) must have survived somehow, so I think a reasonable temperature was maintained somehow by, well, probably Eru's will. I think that it changed by altitude though; it got colder the farther up you went. And of course it was warmer by the sea.

As for 'days' and nights, I think it might be in sync with the Trees somehow. The temperature suddenly gets colder when Telperion's cycle starts, and gets suddenly warmer when Laurelin's does.

There are seasons, but fairly mild ones — cold places don't generally get too warm, and warm places don't generally get too cold. But the deserts are far colder in general than they become after the Sun rises.

Aman (this is where it gets really interesting for me):

Closer to the Trees, it's warmer. Although the Valar maintain a sort of single season, with only mild fluctuations, Valinorean summers in Valmar and near the Trees can get really intense.

Due to this I headcanon that the Vanyar are the lightest dressers among the Amanyar; it's all about the light, flowing robes in natural colours, nothing too heavy, but always sleeves, because you don't want to get Tree-burned. I like to think they also wear veils. But it does get very cold at night (because Telperion burns cold), so they have houses with very thick walls, and all the drinking of iced tea and eating watermelon is left to Laurelin's hours.

Tirion is the closest you might get to temperate (which lines up with Elves first deciding to set up there). It's a nice, healthy distance from the Trees, so it's never too warm. You get the occasional cold blast from Taniquetil, and storms are a little more frequent seeing as it's also closer to the Middle-earth side of things, but outdoor events generally take place on the western side of the Pelori, and whenever cold weather strikes they just put on warm clothes, like anyone does. But on the eastern side, you can see the stars more clearly.

Alqualonde. Now we love some surfer Elves, but sadly, I doubt they did much of that before the Sun (also can surfing be invented by Men because why not). It's meant to be warmer by the sea, of course, but note that Alqualonde is very far from the Trees, so doesn't get much light, and then there's the cold blasts from Taniquetil and the rest of the Pelori. It's also a bit further north than Tirion and Valmar both, and thus more subject to winds and storms as it is. So I think the Teleri are less likely to be wearing light clothes, but likelier to wear woolen overclothes, long knitted scarves, fishing vests and those sorts of things. They love fish stews and frying what they catch, as well as warmed-up drinks. Suffice to say the Teleri go through big culture changes once the Sun rises, and not just for Kinslaying reasons (that is: Finrod introduces everyone to his favourite Edainic water sports. So does Tuor when he gets there as I like to think he does, and all his family).

Formenos is generally colder than Alqualonde, and since it's farther north, it's more subject to weather and seasons in general. In fact, most of Aman's produce is grown either in greenhouses or in areas like Formenos (a little more south than that, actually, but around there), which are far enough from the Trees to have proper seasons, but close enough that they get warmth, and a hot season. It's also easier to see the stars in Formenos (and in Alqualonde; both boast some of the best observatories (apart from Ilmarin, which in fairness is where Varda actually lives) in Aman, before and after the Sun).

Special Valar-maintained places are, well, special. They have climate bubbles of their own. Yavanna's fields, for instance, always have good weather for growing whatever she wants to grow. The forests of Orome are more or less a Middle-earth simulator without the Orcs and Morgoth and the creepy things. Lorien is whatever you want it to be, half in a dream in any case, but most people feel it as calm and temperate with the occasional wind, which is what's comforting to most people.

The exceptions to the above are the Halls of Mandos, and Nienna's houses. Since both are far north and far west of the Trees, and also face the Outer Ocean, they're generally given to being icy. This affects Mandos and Vaire little, who are barely hanging on to the physical world; I like to think they're on a sort of balcony off Arda into the unreal spaces. But Nienna's halls really are very cold, and she keeps them that way, save for those who come to her seeking compassion or healing from grief, to whom they are ever warm and welcoming.

Araman and Avathar are generally cold and have extreme weather. Honestly I think that's enough said about them.

#aman #middle earth #and it was not void #the valar #elves #the silmarillion #silm #legendarium tag #if there's any actual canon information on this that contradicts these i'd love to know 👀

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jemandthesingalongs · 2 days

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Continuing on with the F!Tabris x Leliana headcanon theme, do you have any more headcanons about their wedding or how the proposal went down?

oh gosh i have some concepts in mind, keeping it general like my hcs were and going for a more grounded set of takes

i feel like first and foremost, unless it was explicitly discussed prior, leliana early on wouldn't propose first or even float the possibility of marriage, due to gestures all of the tabris wedding alkfsldsf. simply because she wouldn't want to upset, pressure, or otherwise have tabris think a wedding or marriage is a requirement to show they're committed to one another, and would otherwise be just a more visible bonus to that devotion.

still, i'd imagine she'd still ask around the alienage and the tabris family what it would entail and she wouldn't be surprised proposal isn't really common or at all expected since marriages are more or less arranged between elves. leliana would still endearingly commit to that more symbolically than it being actually needed, like trying to come up with something even remotely valuable enough for a dowry that represents what tabris means to her and what she is worth. (in my personal lore it's a song n little dance hehe).

i think it would be years that would help sort of grow the relationship and having enough time to settle for leliana to bring it up as something they could do, not have to do, if tabris didn't beat her to the punch prior. if tabris never does, does, or wants to return to it later she wouldn't mind at all because tabris's comfort is the most important thing to her for this. i can also see a sort of "but aren't we already married?" answer for fun too.

regardless, unless the answer is a never/tabris didn't want to, leliana would have a mutlistep, mutlipart wedding plan in her mind forever. but! whatever tabris wants she'd be more than willing to include or do instead, with her only desire being justina's involvement to officiate, or at least be in attendance.

(and as an aside a much younger leliana i could see having more fairytale-style look on marriage and getting married and loving your spouse, and...well marjolaine i'd also imagine didn't really kindly put that idea far from her mind)

for the wedding itself, i really, really, really could only see a small private one, regardless of the point in time it happens, one of the few, few things leliana truly insists on. maybe a reception being a huge event or another ceremony after that can be big, but the actual vows and "marriage" would be a more private affair! leliana doesn't truly strike me as someone who would keep any aspect of her relationship private outside obvious bits, but at the same time i could see her wanting to play this close to her chest to keep it with the people she cares about (and whatever tabris comfort is on the matter) and likely if it takes place when she's more deep into being the divine's left hand, a pure safety measure to keep tabris safe and less of a target than she already is.

location, time, and place doesn't really seem to be as important to her, it's more about the event, tabris, and their friends and family, but i could see denerim being her ideal location, or maybe at her villa by the waking sea as important locations to her that could host it. and she would love to do the dressing up and outfits and the like, and maybe with some help and encouragement from the tabris family, restore tabris's original wedding dress if she still kept it after all this time as a gift. she doesn't need to wear it, she just truly wanted to do something meaningful for her. otherwise they could get new outfits together, or surprise each other on the day of the actual wedding!

nugs is another requirement for leliana, don't know if they do ring bearers or flowergirls in thedas but nugs will be there. nonnegotiable.

i'd also really want this to be the first time josephine meets tabris, but also the awakening crew attending because it would be fun to put them in a room together. anders is there too bc this is my flight of fantasy and he'd take a month off from doing kirkwall stuff to go.

(i'll also add if this happens post-trespasser with a divine leliana it would ofc be a massive huge big whole thing because leliana is for sure going yes i love my wife and i will make it your problem forever. she's not divine in my worldstate so i don't give it too much thought dslfkdsf)

#this got kinda long but i hope you really enjoy!#leliana #dragon age #leliwarden #tabris #anon #ask

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comicaurora · 2 years

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(Now I would have used Tumblr's handy dandy reblog function on my last ask, but I felt too self conscious making a long post Even Longer over a single section, BUT!)

'If I put Falst in a notably hostile and unjust city and then just… left him alone, that risked turning the in-universe established fact of people being casually shitty to ferin into a tell-don't-show thing. The last thing I wanted was for it to seem like Falst was being oversensitive, that things weren't that bad or that he could've been hanging out in cities this whole time. ... It was very important that I not shy away from showing the gross, bad side of his experience, because doing so could risk producing the opposite effect.'

Y'know as (half of) a black person, this honestly never occurred to me, like I just Instantly grasped from the way others talked about Falst in his intro arc when he wasn't there "Oh. Oh I Know That." And so seeing him in active peril in the city as opposed to him playing cards with Alinua in the one spot he knew was primarily safest didn't register to me at all as a big difference in presentation because you're not allowed to just Forget that people can and will treat you worse than you are due on sight when you're in Falst's position. But the audience watching a story is allowed and very likely to forget or not register danger levels unless they are being actively shown those things at prudent intervals. Like the silent pressure constantly on Falst is something I Fully Get without having to be given examples, but also it's a silent omnipresent pressure on top of all his other issues that he refuses to bring out of himself, so in crafting a story around All Of That, you gotta shake the jar or else the glitter at the bottom will become such a non-thing that people might just kinda go 'I mean it's just a jar with something at the bottom, I don't see what the deal there is.'

Yeah, it's… a tough balance to strike. I'm not a fan of stories that aggressively fire off nonstop reminders of in-story prejudice (netflix's shadow and bone went so hard on the in-universe anti-"shu" racism I kept cringing away from the screen wondering how this world seemed to be composed 95% of people with nothing else going on in their lives except being racist), but on the flip side you get stories with, as I like to call it, Elf Racism, where some demographic of gorgeous superhumans like elves or angels or catgirls will be allegedly discriminated against or hated by some specific in-universe group and it will usually either be brought up (a) only once in a Very Special Episode where someone is taught quickly and cleanly that Racism Is Bad, (b) literally never, except maybe the token elf/angel/catgirl will be like "you think my ears/wings/kawaii kitty vibes are beautiful? but……… all my life I was told they were hideous", or (c) solely in the context of Radical Anarchist Rebels whose reasonable points about "racism is bad" are obscured by their startling habit of committing random atrocities for our heroes to morally oppose without addressing their actual moral thesis.

My biggest complaint with these executions is that they are wildly, wildly unrelatable. "My life is hard because I have adorable kitty ears, angel wings or superpowers" is the kind of thing that needs supporting evidence before an audience will buy it. "This world is prejudiced, by which I mean elves and dwarves hate each other - but not THIS elf and dwarf, they're besties, but all other elves and dwarves hate each other and in those cases it's just a fun quirk we will never attempt to address" produces a setting that can't decide if prejudice is a moral failing or a funny quirk. "There is prejudice in this world, by which I mean all the bad guys are racist and all the good guys are 100% enlightened and unproblematic" isn't much better, because it's being used as just another flavor of Good Vs Evil - plus the execution on the bad guys' part tends to be so cartoonishly over-the-top as to be completely implausible.

This is a problem, because if the "prejudice is bad" story is trying to communicate, for instance, the complex moral message "prejudice is bad," the prejudice enacted in the story probably shouldn't be so cartoonishly implausible that the audience has no chance of recognizing it within themselves or within anyone whose flavor of bias is anything less blatant than foaming-at-the-mouth-and-cranking-the-hate-crimes-dial-up-to-11. Most people will accept the idea that "people being ridiculously terribly prejudiced is bad," but when the image of prejudice the story paints is so divorced from any sort of lived experience, they will not see prejudice as a harmful flaw that real human people are capable of perpetuating, and they won't recognize it when they see it from the outside in real life - they'll see it as another hypothetical flavor of evil villainy that some bad people intrinsically do.

Prejudice is such a widely experienced issue, especially the "omnipresent invisible uncertainty of whether or not I am safe right now" thing, that it's baffling to me that so many of these stories don't seem to… get it? While the specific nature varies in every case, there is fundamental overlap in the experience! Like, I absolutely do not experience it the same way a lot of other people do - I am very white-looking, and too blonde for the garden-variety antisemites to figure me out, so race-based harassment has never targeted me - but I've been an underage woman in creepy-older-male-dominated spaces, I spent about half my middle school years as the target of nearly-nonstop bullying (a lot of it from people who I otherwise got along fine with and knew were ultimately well-meaning with a blind spot for casual cruelty), and in the past I've been cyberstalked and harassed by random entitled weirdos for long periods of time. I am very aware of the feeling of "there is a target on my back, and I just hope nobody hits it too hard today," and it seems to me that that specific feeling cannot possibly be this difficult to communicate.

It's like these writers read about how prejudice worked and were like "some people hate people for how they were born, got it" and just put that in their world without any nuance. Actually, I say it's like that, but considering the demographics dominating publishing, that's probably exactly why it happens so much.

#asks #writing stuff

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novemberthecatadmirer · 1 year

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I actually like to headcanon Idril and Elwing having a decent relationship

Bonding over being the sole female survivor of your whole royal family (and possibly none of them know if Galadriel was still alive or not)

But Elwing definitely questioned Idril about her thoughts on her uncles’ behavior and it would not be a comfortable conversation for either of them

Also: Idril helping Elwing building secret escape ways, just in case

They both had this horrible realization that they were surviving and rebuilding and lingering on borrowed time

Idril being paranoid that Morgoth would strike again

Elwing being paranoid that Sons of Feanor would strike again (she politely did not mentioning much of this to Idril)

Idril attempted sailing west even she was Noldor and she was aware she may not survive she just hoped to get help for the people in Beleriand and to spare her son and Elwing from the coming doom

Someone had to do it and she hoped it would not be left to her son and Elwing

If she died she would damn well yell at Námo she was full of anger and grief

Elwing seeing Idril sail away then never return and wondered if she failed or succeeded. She tried to ask the ocean but she was only answered by sound of waves

Elwing seeing her husband continuing Idril’s quest, and staying on the land herself to keep people alive until help could come from the west one day, but more and more it seemed that no one will come for them, and she kept quiet about the growing despair

Then Sons of Feanor came and everything fell around her once more

Elwing wondered what Idril would think, knowing all the plans of evacuation and fighting back she helped to make was used on her family instead of Morgoth’s army, that her family was doing Morgoth’s work, once more

—————

(I like to think Idril and Tuor did reach Valinor and worked on convincing people there to come to help or at least evacuate the refugees)

(I just like the idea that Earendil arrive in Valinor and found out that help was already on the way)

(Yeah I love that lost tale version of story)

(Idril and Tuor being the the birds from Gondolin to being message to Tirion)

(Better if they were lost in the fog on Shadowy Sea but was rescued by Teleri elves who were of course still mad about the kinslaying but uncomfortable sitting around when people were killed on the sea out there)

(When Idril learned of the third kinslaying and the possible death of her grandsons she almost marched into Mandos to punch all her uncles out there)

(She definitely went to ask Námo if he saw her grandsons)

(If Elwing did not send seagulls after M & M Idril would learn speech of birds from Aredhel to send eagles herself)

#tolkien #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm #silmarillion headcanon #silm headcanon #idril #elwing

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little-cereal-draws · 8 months

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Nimona found-family (including Blitzmeyer) camping headcanons

Dr. Blitzmeyer: I'm starting with her because I think she would have the most experience camping. She obviously has camped a lot; her house is covered in things from her travels, and she says that she went over the mountains before. She would have all the fancy gear that's expensive but it's a good investment for her because she gets a lot of use out of it. Is not overly prepared but has definitely made a list of everything she needs and has made sure it's all there. She would be the one supplying materials the others forget because she anticipated to bring extra. She's also the unofficial leader because she's the only one who knows what she's doing. Instructing them how to pitch the tents, how to start a fire, how to cook different meals over a fire that are actually really good, all that stuff. She knows the answer to everything both camping and wildlife related. The only weird part is she makes them take a bunch of precautions (read: rituals) against wood elves or other magical creatures that Ballister and Ambrosius are 90% sure don't work.

Nimona: She loves camping. She only started living indoors relatively recently in her life so being out in the wilderness is nothing new to her. The only reason why she doesn't have the most camping experience is because she wasn't really camping; there was no tent, no fire, no bug spray, etc. She's the only one who's repeatedly enthusiastic about Blitzmeyers twelve-mile dawn hikes and other planned activities lol She'll disappear for a few hours every afternoon and wander around the woods. She also shapeshifts a lot more than in the city; it just feels more natural to have an animal form in the woods. That being said, she will show up to dinner and be like "I already ate. I had a deer" and they're like "??????????" She's generally a lot happier and more relaxed

Ballister: He strikes me as the one that's way overprepared. His bag weighs forty pounds and he can't find the stuff he actually needs in all the other useless crap. Eventually, he usually gives up and asks Blitzmeyer for it. He has never been camping before and doesn't really see the appeal in it. Why would you voluntarily live in a tent when you have a perfectly good house? It's not fun or relaxing, it's stressful; you're exposed to the elements, you might run out of food, you're more vulnerable if someone attacks/robs you, etc. It's very much left over from his days on the streets. He appreciates the nature and has a good time during the day but once the sun sets, he's like "Ok, let's go home." The first day or two would be ok but after that he would be stressed out of his mind and begging to go home.

Ambrosius: He has also never been camping. Because why would you voluntarily live in a tent when you have a perfectly good house (read: mansion)? He would probably have asked to go a few times when he was a kid but was told no and now is super excited it's finally happening. He would want to help with everything but has no idea what he's doing (much to Blitzmeyer's frusteration). If Bal's the one who overpacks, he's the one who underpacks. They set everything up and he just stares at his stuff like "...I forgot a pillow. It didn't occur to me that there wouldn't be pillows here." Then he either has to borrow one from Blitzmeyer or drive a couple hours to the nearest store lol He forgets soap, food, a flashlight, bug spray, and basically everything else that isn’t a sleeping bag and clothes. He has a really great time for a few days but starts to get grumpy the longer it goes on. Once they do get back, he instantly gets in his bed and isolates himself for a day, scrolling on his phone. He enjoys camping but he enjoys his house more lol

#blitzmeyer and nimona are the type of ppl to relax while camping #bal and ambs are the type of ppl to say ‘we’re going to the store and if we don’t come back that means we decided to live in there instead’#guess which one my family is lol #we’re ambrosius #we always forget everything and have to borrow it #and we spent three hours sitting in Walmart even tho we only needed one thing bc they had AC no mosquitoes and wifi #we are not camping ppl AT ALL lol #nimona #nimona headcanon #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #meredith blitzmeyer #dr blitzmeyer

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thevalleyisjolly · 1 year

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Just watched the D&D movie and I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed watching a movie so much! All the characters are great and you can tell the actors are having a blast, the plot is well paced and cohesively written, and the humour is genuinely funny - I haven’t laughed so hard in years. It strikes a fantastic balance between a fantasy adventure movie and a D&D game - there were so many moments where it’s clear that “Oh, she just rolled a Nat 1″ or “He failed that Insight check and is now perpetually suspicious of the NPC” or “Yeah, no D&D party has ever come up with a plan that actually works, time to improvise.”

Spoiler-y part of the review under the cut:

I love the setting - the world feels lived in and real, and I’m always a sucker for travel montages where you see the characters tiny against the vast landscape. The cinematography is great and does really creative things that don’t feel out of place or over the top, and the practical effects are really impressive. My biggest dislike is the fat dragon, it was completely unnecessary to make him a fat joke. I also think there are elements of the red wizards plotline that maybe got left on the cutting room floor because there were a couple of unexplained things - what’s the horn? who spoke to Sofina from the shadows? did Forge know she was a red wizard all along?

I loved Holga being divorced, more characters in media should be mutually but a little painfully divorced, and I love that her and Edgin explicitly have a sibling-like co-parenting relationship. Xenk is my autistic love and he played that Aragorn-eavesdropping moment beautifully (as he plays every moment beautifully). I don’t care about how many Wildshapes she got, Doric’s confidence in herself and seamless comfort with her own abilities was a really refreshing subversion of the naive young woman trope. I also like the subversion of the trope that elves are really haughty for no apparent reason, where elves were actually the ones to welcome and accept her when humans wouldn’t. I like how Simon’s story presented a different angle on sorcerers, where it’s not about mastering uncontrollable powers or going full-on glass cannon mage, but rather growing into his magic by developing his self-confidence as a person. Edgin’s character journey was really well thought out, and I love how he never once used a spell in combat and just went around hitting people with his lute. And of course, Hugh Grant is a delight, I’m loving his camp villain era.

Also, this is how you have people of colour in fantasy. Not just a couple token individuals (or one non-human, usually monstrous, race played entirely by POC), but actors of colours as elves and half-elves and halflings and humans. There were actors of colour in the main cast and there were actors of colours in the background. They were never singled out for a “diversity” moment, but they were always there. It wasn’t perfect, but it’s a good step in the right direction.

So much more I could say about this movie, but a strong 8.5/10 for me. A great movie if you don’t know anything about D&D, a fantastic movie if you do.

#the valley is posting

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vosh-rakh · 1 year

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rabinna

author’s note: this fic is about the morrowind quest “rabinna’s inner beauty,” and most of it aligns with the events of that quest, aside from some artistic liberties taken. it also features certain events/places/people that are either completely made up or part of the “juniper’s twin lamps” mod for morrowind. lyveth (and of course ku-vastei) is the only character here who is not canon to either morrowind itself or to juniper’s twin lamps. anyway, without further ado:

- - - - -

Ku-vastei was tired of the harsh, rocky terrain that blew constant gusts of ash in her gills, so she decided to vacation in the Bitter Coast, for a while. Pick alchemical ingredients from the weeds and mushrooms, practice her skill with her short sword on mudcrabs, maybe raid a tomb or slaughter some slavers. But most important was just absorbing the swamp into her soul: its humidity, its heat, the flies so stupid they must have wanted to be snacked on.

The lands of southern Morrowind, her naheesh had said, were not quite like Black Marsh. But it was all Ku-vastei ever knew, and to be in this little pocket of Vvardenfell felt like home.

But home was slavery, which made Ku-vastei angry. She began to itch for slaver blood to moisten her scales. She followed the coast northwest from Seyda Neen, hoping to find a smuggler’s hideout to ambush.

Eventually, when she came across the mouth of the Odai, she found a target. On the far side two dark elves were bombarding a small shack with arrow after arrow, while a Nord pounded on the door with the pommel of his claymore. Without thinking, before she knew the situation, Ku-vastei conjured her spear with a wave of her claw and dove into the waters.

She suddenly jumped from the river onto the rickety patio of the hut, causing the Nord to back up against the door in surprise. She cut off his holler with a Daedric spearhead through his heart.

One of the archers came running, using the hut for cover. He turned the corner, bow drawn, and loosed a steel arrow towards where he had hoped the sudden assailant would be. But Ku-vastei was crouched low, and the arrow flew off into the distance. She leveraged the strength of her tail and legs into a powerful upward strike, piercing the dark elf’s head from chin to crown. She couldn’t help but grin as blood sprayed from his mouth onto her face.

The last elf decided it best to keep his distance. As Ku-vastei turned the corner, he began to shoot at her from ten yards away. The first arrow Ku-vastei narrowly dodged, and then continued marching towards the archer. The second arrow hit her in the chest, unable to pierce the Orcish mail she wore under her robes, but delivered a strong blunt blow. The last arrow the elf would ever loose was feebly drawn, and Ku-vastei swatted it aside with an effortless sweep of her spear.

She lingered for a moment among the dead, satisfied with her work. The terror-mask of the last victim gave her strange peace.

Finally, she rose from her knees and went back to the shack’s door. She retrieved her spear from Oblivion and gently knocked with its butt. “Hello?” Silence. She knocked again. “They’re gone now. I killed them.” Still, no response.

Maybe one of those arrows got to them, she considered. She tried the knob and sighed. She leaned her spear against the doorframe and created a glowing magical key from her fingertips. The key fit the lock perfectly. She slowly opened the door, spearhead first.

The room was dark and empty, save for a dark elf crouched behind an overturned table. He stood with both hands raised and empty. “Ah, Argonian,” he said, “it is too late.” He nodded towards the floor.

Ku-vastei quickly waved her hand in front of her face, enhancing her vision. In the magical brightness, she saw a Khajiit and dark elf lying dead on the floor. Both wore slave bracers.

She pointed the spear across the room, the tip placed against the living elf’s throat. He did not react.

“I was trying to save them,” he whispered, through a gravelly Vvardenfell accent. “I’m with the Twin Lamps, serjo.”

“Twin Lamps?” Ku-vastei did not yet remove the pressure on the elf’s neck.

“We’re an abolitionist group.” He looked to the ceiling of the shack. “You can kill me if you want. I couldn’t even break the law successfully, it seems.”

The dust shaken from the planks by the barrage of arrows settled on everything in the room, including the slaves’ corpses. Ku-vastei dematerialized her spear.

“I was a slave, once,” she said, lifting the Khajiit’s bracer-bound wrist idly, not looking up at the abolitionist. “Then I was … an abolitionist, of a sort.”

“Was?” The dark elf sat down next to the Khajiit’s body, leaning back against the wall.

“Started a revolt. Everyone I loved died. Went to prison.” She dropped the bracer with a loud thud on the floor. She stared at the bead of blood she had apparently drawn from the abolitionist’s neck. “Your kind are too cruel. You take us from our homes. Us root-kin, and the hajhiit too. Even your own kind. You abuse us for your profit. Now you seek some kind of redemption?”

The abolitionist’s wet eyes roamed the room.

“All you get is people killed. Innocent people. You dark elves will never give up your ‘birthright’. The Empire will even help you enforce it. And you think you can do anything to stop it?”

The dark elf locked eyes with Ku-vastei. “Then why are you here? Why did you kill those slave hunters?”

Ku-vastei flared her nostrils and widened her pupils at him, but could say nothing. They sat in silence, among the dead, guilty and innocent.

Finally, the abolitionist stood to leave. “I should return to Stendarr’s Retreat to let them know.” He stopped at the door and looked back at Ku-vastei, who still knelt by the Khajiit. “You should visit sometime. It’s just north of Vivec. Someone might ask you, ‘Have you seen the Twin Lamps?’ The correct response is ‘They light the way to freedom.’ That’s how they’ll know you’re a friend. I hope to see you there, muthsera.”

Amidst smell of sea, dust, and blood, Ku-vastei remained in the shack as the morning ran into evening.

- - - - -

When Ku-vastei returned to civilization it was long past dark. “Civilization” seemed to be a small, dingy fishing village off the Bitter Coast, north of the Odai’s mouth. Despite the late hour, the place was bustling with activity, nearly everyone outside their shack homes and visiting with one another. But as soon as Ku-vastei stepped beyond the threshold of the village (the sign called it “Hla Oad,” a bastardization Ku recognized as meaning “little harbor”), silence fell swiftly over the noise, smothering it almost completely.

Finally a wood elf spoke up. “You won’t be needing that here, sera,” gesturing vaguely towards Ku-vastei.

Ku-vastei glanced at the torch in her left hand, then at the lit sconces hanging from homes around the village. She nodded, and snuffed out the torch in the dirt.

“No, sera,” said the wood elf again, clearly ill at ease, “I meant the sword.” The nearby brazier cast a flash on the steel shortsword in Ku-vastei’s right hand.

“Yes, sorry,” she mumbled as she sheathed the blade on her hip. The crowd slowly began to return to its business of idle talk, albeit interspersed with glances at the stranger.

Ku-vastei slowly progressed past the village’s threshold as she looked for a place to rest. Under the dark eave of one of the huts to her left, she spotted a pair of side-slitted eyes leering out. As she turned to look at them, she also noticed the scaled tail wagging in and out of the shadow.

Ku-vastei swiftly approached the hidden Argonian and reached out, grabbing them by the wrist. “Well met, root-sister!” she exclaimed loudly, and the poor Argonian she’s accosted nearly jumped out of her scales.

The argonian ripped her hand away from Ku-vastei, rubbing her wrist as she quietly replied, “Well met.”

Ku-vastei frowned but continued her assault. “What do they call you here, sister?”

“I am called Okur, sera. What are you called?”

“Ku-vastei. Is that name Jel? I’ve never heard it before.”

Okur’s face-scales paled at the mention of Ku’s name. “No. I made it up. When I was freed. Are you that Ku-vastei?”

Ku-vastei’s frown deepened. “Is it better if I’m not?”

“No, no, sera,” Okur spouted. “It’s just…I was freed by a Ku-vastei, many years ago.”

“Hmm…” Ku-vastei muttered, leaning against one of the supports for the eave. “I can’t remember every slave I’ve freed. And it has been a long time.”

“So it is you…” whispered Okur through a slack-jaw. She bowed deeply before gently taking Ku-vastei by the hand. “I am forever in your debt, muthsera. If there is anything you need in Hla Oad, I will do my best to give it to you.”

Ku-vastei gave Okur’s hand a light squeeze and leaned in. “Do not ‘muthsera’ me, Okur. You can call me beeko. We swim upstream together.”

“Of course, muth-” she began before stopping herself, “beeko. What brings you to Hla Oad?”

“I am looking for somewhere to sleep without corpses.”

“Should I ask, beeko?”

Ku-vastei scratched her chin. “No, I don’t think you should.”

“Well, Ku-vastei, you are always welcome to take my bed. I can sleep on the floor.”

“No,” said Ku-vastei, shaking her head vigorously. “I shan’t impose. Is there an inn or tavern here?”

“I’m afraid not,” answered Okur. “There’s Fatleg’s Drop Off, but it’s just a tradehouse. And,” she whispered, motioning for Ku-vastei to come closer. Ku-vastei obliged, tilting her head towards Okur’s. “It’s a Camonna Tong front. I wouldn’t go there if I were you. And I would be careful here in general.”

“So the Tong reaches even here, on the island,” Ku-vastei said, shaking her head. “I’ll go to this tradehouse and see what troubles you.”

“No, beeko. You mustn’t. It’s too dangerous.” Okur took Ku-vastei by both hands. “They’ll kill you if they find out who you are. They lost a lot of people in the Arnesian War. Surely some still remember, the elves living as long as they do.”

“I can be discreet, Okur,” smiled Ku-vastei, politely taking back her hands.

“But Ku-vastei,” Okur said, looking Ku up and down, “There’s blood on your robes.”

Ku-vastei looked down to check her clothes. Okur was right; her robes were splattered with blood from her earlier encounter. She frowned and pulled them off over her head, folded them up neatly, and handed them to Okur. “Wash them and keep them. I will go in without them.”

“But Ku-vastei,” Okur said again, staring in astonishment, “you’re wearing armor.”

Ku-vastei laughed. “I’m a mercenary, or a caravan guard. Don’t worry so much, beeko.”

“Okay,” said Okur. “Just don’t kill anyone in there, alright? They’ll say it was an Argonian, and it won’t matter much to the Tong which Argonian.”

“Discreet,” Ku-vastei reminded, before marching off towards Fatleg’s Drop Off.

- - - - -

Ku-vastei’s entrance seemed not to be noticed. A Khajiit and Redguard were conversing loudly.

“It’s a bad idea,” said the Redguard, shaking his head. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his blue robes and leaned back against the wall.

“Pah, you have no ambition,” said the Khajiit. “No one’s lived there in thousands of years. It belongs to nobody, certainly not any Empire of men.”

Ku-vastei stood quietly in the shadows by the door, thinking herself unobserved.

“Still,” the Redguard said, “It’s dangerous. You’ll get your tail handed to you by those machines in there. Everybody knows those ruins are crawling with them.”

“Ra’Zhid knows,” the Khajiit hissed. “That’s why Ra’Zhid will be quick and quiet. No brass monster will see him come or go. In and out with the loot, like a phantom.”

“Whatever. Look,” the Redguard said, suddenly turning his head towards Ku-vastei, “Do you need something, or what?”

Ku-vastei’s tail tightened. “No,” she said after some hesitation.

“If you’re not here to trade, what are you here for?” asked Ra’Zhid.

“Just…” Ku-vastei struggled to find the words. “Looking for something to do.”

“Work, eh?” said the Redguard. He shared a glance with Ra’Zhid, who seemed to size-up Ku-vastei with his feline eyes before nodding.

“Come closer,” said Ra’Zhid.

Ku-vastei again hesitated, but approached the Khajiit anyway. He pointed behind a stack of crates to his left. Ku-vastei’s eyes struggled in the darkness to see what his cat-eyes no doubt saw immediately. It seemed to be a trapdoor leading down into the earth.

“Head down there,” Ra’Zhid said with a crooked smile, “and turn right at the bottom of the ramp. Speak with Relam Arinith. He should have a job for you.”

Ku-vastei nodded and cautiously bent down to open the trapdoor. With her oversized bonemold pauldrons, it was a tight fit, but she managed to squeeze through and descend the ladder.

It smelled damp down there. Scarce torches lit the wooden-plank path down into the cavern with a dark orange glow. At the end of the ramp was a pool of water, the depth of which Ku-vastei could not discern. The walkway split left and right. Ku-vastei turned right.

In another chamber was a Dunmer and a Khajiit, with another Dunmer standing with his back turned on a raised platform behind them. The lower Dunmer seemed to be inspecting the Khajiit’s clothes. The Khajiit wore a slave bracer.

Ku-vastei’s nostrils flared, but she kept her cool and approached the Dunmer. “Are you Relam Arinith?”

Without turning away from his inspection, the Dunmer returned, “Are you a slave?”

“No,” Ku-vastei stated firmly.

“Hm.” The Dunmer finally turned towards Ku-vastei and evaluated her from a distance. “Shame. You look strong and hardy. Well-suited for the fields.”

Pushing away her fury, Ku-vastei changed the subject. “I was told you have work.”

“Ah, interested in doing some business, Argonian?” Relam smiled wickedly. “You look like you can handle yourself.” He placed an arm around the Khajiit’s waist and pulled her forwards toward Ku-vastei. “I need someone to deliver this slave to a Vorar Helas in Balmora. You’ll be rewarded once you get there.”

Ku-vastei glanced at the Khajiit. Her eyes were pure terror. A look Ku-vastei knew all too well.

“Yes,” said Ku-vastei.

“Ah, obedient. Very good. You sure you’re not a slave?” Relam laughed and patted Ku-vastei on the back.

Big mistake. Before she could think her sword was already in her hand. But before she pointed it at Relam she wrested control from her instincts and sheathed it again. But it was too late - he had noticed, and stepped back.

“Watch yourself, Argonian,” Relam said with a chilled tongue. Ku-vastei noticed that the Dunmer on the raised platform had an arrow pointed directly at her heart. But Relam raised a hand towards the archer and smiled again, saying, “Now be a good little thing and run along. Vorar is waiting.”

- - - - -

Ku-vastei was too furious to speak until they were well out of town. Then she remembered she was escorting a scared slave, and softened her affect.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said without looking at the slave. “I’m not going to hurt you.” But she heard nothing in response, so kept silent for a while.

Suddenly her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since a few hours before her encounter at the shack with the slavers. Then the weight of her eyelids hit her, and it spread throughout her entire body like a dull flame.

“We’re going to stop here for the night,” Ku-vastei said, glancing back to make sure the slave was still with her. She removed her backpack in a quick motion which frightened the slave girl, spiking her fur and anxiously tightening her tail. Ku-vastei frowned and repeated, “I’m not going to hurt you. Let me set up camp and then we can eat.”

The slave shook her head furiously. “Not hungry?” Ku-vastei asked. The Khajiit tentatively nodded. “Okay. You don’t have to eat. But I will.”

Ku-vastei rolled out her bedroll and started a fire. “You can sleep in the roll,” she told the slave. But the Khajiit awkwardly stood over the bedroll, uncertain. “I’m serious. It’s okay. I’ll sleep on the ground,” Ku-vastei emphasized. “Get comfortable.”

Slowly the Khajiit sat cross-legged on top of the bedroll, sitting as still as possible except for her tail, which swished behind her frantically.

Ku-vastei kept an eye on the slave while she cooked some mudcrab meat she’d acquired earlier in the day. The poor girl stared into the fire blankly, only looking up every now and then when Ku-vastei made a too-sudden move.

Before Ku-vastei took her first bite, she offered again. “You sure you don’t want to eat?” The Khajiit nodded her head again, this time slowly. “Okay.”

After she finished eating, Ku-vastei put out the fire and got as comfortable as she could on the ground, looking at the Khajiit, who was now curled up on top of the bedroll. “What’s your name, beeko?”

The slave frowned and glanced around, avoiding Ku-vastei’s gaze. Eventually she swallowed hard and whispered, “They call this one Rabinna.”

“Rabinna. ‘They’ call you that? The slavers, or your family?”

“Family,” Rabinna said, then fell silent for a long time. Ku-vastei took the hint and tried to fall asleep.

The night was troubled, on two fronts. Ku-vastei dreamed of the Sharmat, waiting for her at Red Mountain. Wedding and funeral scenes blended together into obscene ritual without meaning.

On the other hand, she was awoken several times by the sound of weeping and groaning. It seemed Rabinna either couldn’t sleep or was beset by similarly horrible nightmares. Ku-vastei did not envy her. At some point, the weeping ceased and Rabinna seemed to sleep, but by then there were only precious few hours until dawn.

- - - - -

Ku-vastei woke to a scream and opened her eyes to the glint of steel. Instinctively she batted away the sword - her sword - pointed at her throat with one of her Orcish bracers. It clattered to the ground uselessly, her assailant’s grip feeble. She rolled them over, pinning her attacker to the ground.

Rabinna began to weep under Ku-vastei’s weight. Ku-vastei eased up once she realized. “Rabinna, what are you doing?”

“Please don’t take Rabinna to that man,” Rabinna begged, sobbing.

“Why?”

“He’ll kill Rabinna. For the drugs in her stomach.”

Ku-vastei frowned, quietly cursing Relam Arinith. “I’m sorry. We’re going there anyway. But don’t worry, I won’t let him harm you. And you and I won’t be there long, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m taking you somewhere else, somewhere safe. But first, I’m going to kill Vorar Helas.”

“You’ll be arrested,” Rabinna said, but she was shocked out of her crying. “And they’ll probably have this one killed.”

“In Morrowind, murder is legal -”

“- in self-defense,” Rabinna interrupted. “This one sees.”

Ku-vastei got up from pinning Rabinna down and let her sit up. “Exactly.”

“It’s still a bad idea,” Rabinna said. “The Camonna Tong will hunt you down.”

“Let them!” Ku-vastei exclaimed. “Did I not tell you who I am?” Rabinna shook her head. “I’m Ku-vastei!”

“Do we know each other already? This one doesn’t understand.”

Ku-vastei frowned slightly. “I guess you’re too young to know who I am. Just know I can take care of myself.”

Rabinna sighed and reluctantly rose, and the two picked up camp before carrying on to Balmora.

They asked around in Balmora once they arrived about Vorar’s whereabouts. It turned out that he lived in a house right next door to Caius Cosades. Ku-vastei would have to ask Caius next time she visited if he knew he lived next to a slaver and drug dealer - but knowing his proclivity for skooma, he probably wouldn’t have cared about the last part.

Ku-vastei knocked on Vorar’s door, but there was no answer. She tried the door handle and found it to be locked. With Rabinna keeping an eye out for guards or other witnesses, Ku-vastei again conjured a magical skeleton key which fit the lock perfectly, contouring itself to fix the pins in place as it slid in. They entered, Rabinna reluctantly first but Ku-vastei close behind.

“Ah,” shouted a voice from upstairs, “who’s there? Is it my sweets?”

“Vorar Helas?” Ku-vastei called.

Down the staircase came bounding and tripping a girthy man, one hand wrapped around the handle of a chitin dagger, the other around the neck of a jug of mazte. As soon as his red eyes alighted on Rabinna, they filled with a horrible bloodlust, and his lips stretched wide into a wicked smile. He launched himself at her with a shout, slinging mazte about the room.

Blood mingled with the mazte as, in one swift motion, Ku-vastei appeared from behind screaming Rabinna and cut his throat with her short sword.

Vorar dropped his dagger and jug, clutching at the gaping wound in his neck. Blood spurted out between his fingers as he collapsed on top of the mazte, shattering the bottle underneath, the beer exploding outwards.

Rabinna couldn’t stop screaming. Ku-vastei didn’t care, simply admiring her handiwork.

“Ku! What in Oblivion is going on here!”

Ku-vastei turned around to see Caius Cosades standing in the door, trying to block the space with his body so nobody else could see inside. After he saw the corpse on the ground, he quickly entered the house and closed the door behind him. “Shut up, girl,” he said, slapping the back of Rabinna’s head, making her stop screaming. Ku-vastei almost turned the sword on him for that. But it’s generally best practice to not attack your boss.

“He was going to kill her,” Ku-vastei said. “Self-defense.”

“I told you to keep a low profile.”

“You know my history,” Ku-vastei replied as she sheathed her sword. “You should have expected this.”

Caius pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I should have.” He glanced at the slave bracer on Rabinna. “What are you going to do with her? Does he have the key?”

Ku-vastei squatted to loot the corpse. After patting him down extensively, all she came up with was a hefty sack of coins. “No key,” she said, shaking her head. “But I have an idea.”

“Like what?” Caius asked. “Cut her arm off?” Rabinna recoiled from him at the suggestion.

“Have you heard of the Twin Lamps?”

Caius scratched his chin in thought. “Heard of them, yes. Don’t have any connections with them, though.”

“I do,” Ku-vastei said, and left it at that.

“...Well, I suppose I can’t stop you,” Caius said. “Good luck.”

Ku-vastei and Rabinna took a silt strider to Vivec, then traveled north from the port. After about an hour they came upon Stendarr’s Retreat, a three story, round-cornered, stucco building in the Hlaalu style. Outside stood a familiar Dunmer, who, upon seeing Ku-vastei approach, smiled widely, albeit with his arms still crossed, leaning against the wall.

The abolitionist Dunmer from the Bitter Coast greeted the two of them once they came within earshot. “Hello, serjos! How can I help you?”

“Have you seen the Twin Lamps?” Ku-vastei asked.

The Dunmer smiled wider. “Of course I have, serjo. They light the way to freedom.” He glances at Rabinna. “And your friend here? How can I help her?”

Without speaking, Ku-vastei grabbed Rabinna’s hand and raised her arm, displaying her slave bracer.

“Ah,” said the Dunmer. “We can help with that. Come with me.”

Ku-vastei and Rabinna followed the Dunmer inside, which was sparsely populated. There was a man behind the bar, and one cloaked patron sitting across from him, their face obscured by a hood.

“This is the Argonian who rescued me in the swamp,” the Dunmer said to the bartender.

The bartender nodded. “And you never got her name?”

“Right,” said the Dunmer. He turned back to shake hands with Ku-vastei. “I’m Lyveth. What’s your name, serjo?”

“Ku-vastei.”

The bartender nearly dropped the mug he was cleaning. The person at the bar jerked their head around to see. It was a Dunmer woman Ku-vastei didn’t recognize, her crimson eyes still mostly obscured by the shadows of her hood.

“Surely not the Ku-vastei,” said Lyveth.

“One and the same,” replied Ku-vastei, smiling at her fame.

“…I think there’s someone you should meet,” said Lyveth, bowing before Ku-vastei. He glanced at the woman at the bar, who nodded and rose from her stool to approach.

Ku-vastei extended a claw for a handshake. The woman took it delicately and curtsied in the Imperial fashion, removing her hood with the other hand. She was pretty in a certain way Ku-vastei couldn’t pinpoint. Not conventionally attractive but pretty nonetheless.

“Ilmeni Dren, at your service,” the pretty woman said.

“…I’m sorry, am I meant to know you?” Ku-vastei asked.

“She’s the duke’s daughter,” Lyveth said, his mouth agape.

“Ah,” Ku-vastei said. “I meant no insult.”

“None taken,” said Ilmeni. “I strive for anonymity, and distance from my noble station, anyway.” She smiled and glanced at Rabinna. “It tends to get in the way of my true occupation, besides. How can we help? Tell us what brings you to us today.”

“I was hired to deliver her as a drug mule. They forced her to swallow moon sugar, the true delivery. I took her first to the man who wanted her, and killed him. Then -”

Ilmeni winced; Lyveth gasped.

“What’s wrong?” asked Ku-vastei, looking back and forth between them.

“We don’t generally do that,” Ilmeni explained. “We’re not the Morag Tong. But continue.”

“Well, then we came here. I met Lyveth yesterday, as I’m sure he’s told you. He told me about this place. We need to get Rabinna somewhere safe, somewhere we can get her bracer off.”

Ilmeni frowned. “We can’t take her here. But I do know somewhere she can go.”

“Where?” Ku-vastei interrupted.

“Take her to the Argonian Mission in Ebonheart. Speak with Im-Kilaya. He can arrange for her to be freed of the bracer and returned to Elsweyr.”

“But Rabinna was born in Morrowind,” interjected Rabinna. “She knows no one in Elsweyr.”

“I’m afraid that’s your best option, Rabinna,” said Ilmeni delicately. “You can begin a new life there, free from slavery.”

Rabinna frowned but nodded after a moment of thought.

Ilmeni reached into a bag hanging at her side and produced two scrolls, handing them to Ku-vastei and Rabinna. “These will teleport you to the chapel in Castle Ebonheart. Say hello to my father for me.” Ku-vastei nodded. “Don’t, actually. That was a joke. The chapel isn’t far from the Argonian Mission, so you shouldn’t get lost.”

“Do you know how to use these?” Ku-vastei asked Rabinna.

“No,” said Rabinna. “Rabinna can’t read.”

“Okay,” said Ku-vastei. “Just recite this while looking at the letters on the scroll.” She leaned into the Khajiit’s ear and whispered something. The Khajiit nodded.

As one, the two recited the contents of the scroll, and in the instant they finished, they were ripped away from Stendarr’s Retreat to fly instantaneously through Oblivion to their destination across the Ascadian Isles.

Ku-vastei was mostly used to Intervention spells and scrolls by then. Rabinna had never teleported in her life. She spewed vomit all over the stone floor of the platform outside the chapel. Ku-vastei patted her on the back as she retched.

Circumventing the vomit (a nearby guard grumbled to himself as he grabbed a mop and bucket), they began to traverse Castle Ebonheart until they stumbled, almost by accident, upon the Argonian Mission. (Ilmeni, who likely grew up here, overestimated how easy it is to get around.) Out of habit Ku-vastei knocked on the door, but shook her head and quickly opened the door herself.

The room was sparsely decorated, austere save for a large yet simple rug covering the floor. An Argonian in exquisite golden robes, quite in contrast to the room he was in, stood near the center of the large chamber, facing away from the door.

“Ah, a visitor,” said Im-Kilaya, turning towards Ku-vastei and Rabinna. “Welcome to the Argonian - by the Hist! Is that really you, Ku-vastei?”

“I am Ku-vastei,” she said. “Do I know you?”

“Likely not,” said Im-Kilaya, bowing. “You freed me years ago, and I fought the Dres under your banner.”

“Ah,” Ku-vastei said. “Well, I’m not exactly the same ‘Ku-vastei’ you knew anymore.”

“I can tell. You’ve phase-shifted, haven’t you? A woman’s body suits you.” Im-Kilaya looks at Rabinna, who hides behind Ku-vastei. His eyes naturally caught on the dull shine of her slave bracer. “But I see not much else has changed.”

“Rabinna here is a drug mule,” Ku-vastei said. “She needs help. Ilmeni sent us.”

“Shh! Not so loud with that name, beeko. Yes, we can help the girl. I’ve heard stories of the smugglers’ cruelty in sending these ‘mules.’ We can take it from here. Thank you, Ku-vastei.”

“Of course,” Ku-vastei said, before turning to leave.

“Wait! Ku-vastei!”

Ku-vastei turned her head back slightly to listen.

“What will you do now? Now that you have returned? Will you save our people again?”

“Again?” Ku-vastei asked, snorting. “I failed the first time.” She turns her head back to the door.

“But times are different. The Empire is putting pressure on the King to ban slavery. Maybe you will succeed this time. True as anything, I know it is the Hist’s will.”

Ku-vastei sighs. “Maybe it is, Im-Kilaya. Maybe it is.”

#tes #tesblr #morrowind #oc: ku-vastei #argonian #khajiit #dunmer #dark elf #redguard #nord

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kitkatt0430 · 2 months

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3, 6, 8, 10, and 11 for the fanfic ask game!

3.) What is the most amount of research you’ve done for the smallest detail? What was the detail and how much time/effort went into researching it?

I've put time into researching the different types of power of attorney for a few different fics, though I put the most time into it for Hello Hadley. I also put quite some time into finding out the requirements for getting a PI's license for Anya only to decide that she was just gonna circumvent the system.

I don't really know how much time I put into those, but definitely several hours of googling stuff and deciding how much of it would actually go into the fic.

6.) What is your favorite type of feedback to receive (favorites/kudos, comments, DMs, complete and utter silence in the pursuit of remaining unperceived?)? If comments or DMs or anything else involving a reader writing, do you have a particular type of feedback that excites you more than other types?

Comments definitely, though kudos are a close second.

I especially love getting comments that mention the commentor's favorite part (or parts) of the fic. Rambling comments because they enjoyed it so much. But honestly, I know how anxiety-inducing it can be to leave a comment sometimes, so I'm excited for any type of comment I receive. I get ridiculously happy for them, even if sometimes it takes me a while to respond.

(That morning kudos email, though... I get one of those and it makes me smile all morning.)

8.) Is there a story idea you have that you would love if it could appear fully realized but that you do not think you’ll ever write yourself?

In high school I started a Tales of Symphonia fanfic where Zelos was much more deeply embedded in the Renegades. I wrote some side stories for it and I'd desperately love to finally write it all out, but... I have not made any progress on it since college. It would have covered from Zelos as a pre-teen, meeting Yuan because he ran away from the Tower of Salvation, hoping the angels would kill him so his sister could be the Chosen. Though her being half-elven and half of the wrong lineage, she's not actually second in line to be Chosen. (He had a very difficult childhood.) He's lucky that the angel who finds him is Yuan, who takes him to the Renegade Base and convinces Zelos that what would help his sister more is to topple the system that destroyed their parents lives.

Zelos goes back to his life of the Chosen, but with a new resolve. As the Chosen of the flourishing world, he's considered for candidacy for the real organization of Cruxis and Yuan makes sure he gets in. So in one part of Zelos' life, he's traveling to Dherris Kharlan regularly to see if he gets his wings and a permanent place in Cruxis, in the other he's sixteen now and politically active, trying to make Tethe'alla a better place for half elves with the support of the elder of the two princesses, who just so happens to also be the person the Church has arranged for Zelos to marry to carry on the Chosen bloodline. They're genuinely in love - something Zelos' parents very much didn't get - but of course tragedy strikes when they're eighteen and the pope has the princess assassinated. The attempt was intended to take out Zelos too, but... it fails. His best friend from Cruxis makes sure Zelos doesn't do anything stupid and winds up recruited into the Renegades as a result.

Zelos doesn't stop trying to help half elves, but takes his support into the shadows, perfecting the public persona he has in the game while teaming up in the background with his sister's aunt who runs a loose organization for helping at risk half elves escape. The problem is, of course, that her being his sister's aunt also means that she's the sister of the woman who murdered Zelos' mother - who was aiming to murder Zelos and missed. They do wind up becoming close friends because she very much disagrees with her sister's choices, but it takes time for them to learn to really trust each other.

By the time Zelos enters the events of the game, he's already neck deep both in overthrowing Cruxis with the Renegades and trying to overthrow the pope more locally so that he no longer has to worry about Seles being used against him if he became more politically active again. Openly politically active, anyway. So he still plays the triple agent he did in canon, but he's a bit at odds with Yuan over the Renegades backing the attempted assassination of the Sylvarantian Chosen - he's the Chosen too, he's not going to be okay with just killing that girl.

Meanwhile it would have filled out the backstory of the Renegades and established a number of OCs to build up the organization's leadership beyond just Yuan and Botta. And done the same for Cruxis, demonstrating that a lot of the angels aren't necessarily bad people. They've led difficult lives and suffered under prejudice so heavily that when offered a way out... it's no wonder they took it, even if it meant in some cases compromising their morals.

It would have gone post canon too, including a reinterpretation of the sequel, but... yeah, I was waaaay too ambitious with this at a time when I did not know my own limits as a writer.

10.) If you could banish a single trope to live at the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again by any human eyes (or at least your own), which trope would that be?

Hanahaki disease. While I've seen a few that aren't awful, it's a massively amatonormative trope and I find it way worse than soulmates in that regard. It has such a feeling of 'blaming the object of desire'... or shaming them into requiting feelings. The whole thing just kinda creeps me out. And not even the versions where there's 'surgery' to cut the feelings out, as it were, make it better. I don't know, it just seems worse? Like this character has to undergo surgery to keep from basically killing yourself with flowers? All because they can't deal with unrequited feelings? I just... flowers are such beautiful things to me, but there's something very ugly and entitled about this trope.

11.) Conversely, if you had to pick a single trope to read for the next seven-and-half years, which trope would that be?

Enemies/rivals to lovers. I really enjoy the dynamic of two people who think they hate each other discovering they actually love everything about one another. I like it better than friends to lovers because so often it kinda treats the friendship like it was never more than a stepping stone to the romance, which just annoys me. Enemies/rivals to lovers though? It's gonna have that belligerent UST I enjoy so much. Hartmon, Coldflash, Coldwest, etc... definitely a lot of fics out there that capitalize on that trope.

#writer ask game #kitkatt0430 answers #thank you for asking

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obsidiancreates · 5 months

Text

As My Friend Has Stood By Me, So Shall I (Part 20)

Favoured, Yes...

While the next morning comes with great concern when Bilbo shows up to breakfast with a burnt and blistered hand and deep bags under his eyes, and then a great deal of convincing from Bilbo that he’s fine and he just didn’t realize how hot the logs were after his fire went out sometime in the night, the rest of Spring passes with an unexpected and welcomed calmness.

The Company, for their part, seem to be contented with the shared meals most days and stop being quite so pushy with him- oh, they still force him into plenty of outings, each one taking a turn at least once a day to see to him and drag him on some small task or another, but at least now when he says he’s drained and done for the day they don’t put up a fight about it- though he does notice a steady increase in tension among them. It’s not quite a fighting tension, but it’s… similar. Not unlike what he’d felt in the air as they waited for a morning, months ago, where Elves and Men would slaughter they few fourteen in empty, death-ridden halls.

He tries to ask when he first notices it, about two weeks after he gets his clothes back, but they just wave it off by saying there’s mounting stress with the repairs. And no wonder- when Thorin steals Bilbo away one day for a bit of discussion on the land he’s having cleared and readied for Bilbo’s garden, Thorin ends up admitting that he and Dain have been locked in a fight with one of Dain’s generals about the matter of The Arkenstone. Apparently the general was an Ereborian refugee’s son and felt it an almost personal dishonor to his mother’s memory that The Arkenstone was now put far, far away where none could see it.

It’s clear to Bilbo how those kinds of tensions could bleed out into the rest of The Mountain. It’s not the first time he’d heard mutterings by some about how Thorin, great and honorable a warrior as he is, may not have the right mindset to lead a kingdom that was no longer poor and struggling.

If any dwarves he overheard saying such things from then on found unseen presences knocking tankards of ale into their face or feeling a swift and rough tugging of their braids or things of the like occurring immediately following the complaints, well, Bilbo could only say he was satisfied.

And of course, thankful for his Luck for helping him get a little revenge in Thorin’s stead.

Beyond that, it’s quiet. Quiet in terms of activity, anyway, not in terms of noise. Bilbo still finds himself frequently slipping The Ring on and sneaking away to the gates on days he knew lazy, sleepy guards were posted, or to The Secret Door when he wanted true alone time, and yes… once or twice to the treasury, when he had a feeling he needed to be able to hear if The Company called for him.

His garden was started just before the end of the first month of Spring, and flourished well. As it turned out, for all his concern that Orc Blood would make for poor soil, Blood was Blood and like the blood of any other creature it actually nourished the dirt across the battlefield.

He would’ve preferred to just use accidentally left-to-long-to-cook meat scraps like in The Shire (or the poor little critters that he would strike down with stones in his youth like his mother used, to his father’s quiet dismay), but as long as he didn’t think too hard about it and was just glad for the growing he could manage.

Ori in particular spent a lot of time with him in his garden, the second most frequent visitor being Thorin and the third being Bofur. Thorin and Bofur were always a little stiff, a little wary- the garden was close to the water, after all, and the memories were starker for them than the then-unconscious-Bilbo. But Ori, having no such memories made and needing good light for a lot of his scribe-apprentice duties anyway, enjoyed it as much as any dwarf could enjoy gardening.

He also developed a habit of asking Bilbo quite a lot about Hobbit Culture, which Bilbo was usually happy to explain- though he was under no impressions that Hobbit were flawless, he still didn’t love explaining that yes, other races tended to view them as having no passions outside of food, and it was sadly understandable why when one only takes a passing journey through The Shire once or twice and never again. Ori claimed it was because, since Bilbo was part of The Company and a hero of Erebor, the records wouldn’t be truly complete without plenty of detail on just who and what Hobbits are.

Bilbo thinks it’s just because his friends were embarrassed when they realized how little of his culture they actually knew after he left it for theirs.

Which is very sweet, even if someone of the questions made his chest pinch in suspicion, like What do Hobbits value above all else? and What do Hobbits consider to be pre- valued heirlooms? and You were pretty protective of your tomatoes and chairs, do Hobbits get protective like that about everything?

The questions like that make him bristle and press his arm to his side, press his Luck closer to his body. Especially when Ori’s eyes trail down to his pocket while they’re being asked.

But still, no-one outright asks about his Luck anymore, which is good. Very good. It makes Bilbo happy. If sometimes his hand goes to his pocket, and he drifts away from the present and into some hazy, soft-voiced world far away, only to be dragged back with a sharp intake of breath when something impresses itself in his vision, and he blinks into awareness to find his friends barely reacting…

If sometimes he gets a little sick and a little desperate in those moments, it’s nothing. Just a coincidence. His Luck makes him feel better. Even when it makes him feel worse.

By the time Summer rolls around, he’s got an entire new wardrobe to spend it in, and a good thing he does because it is hot work in his garden with the absence of any shady trees to give him a little relief from relentless sun. Dori clearly has a good, efficient system set up with his brothers, though Bilbo privately wishes he would stop leaving the pockets to whom he’s pretty sure at this point is Nori. Ori just wouldn’t be okay sending those lazy stitchings to Bilbo.

But he’s got his sewing kit, so he just mends them up and says nothing about it. Dori makes sure he has pockets on every waistcoat and pair of trousers, so Bilbo won’t complain about them.

That’s probably why Ori keeps glancing at his pockets, really, knowing Nori did them. That knowledge still doesn’t make Bilbo feel better about it.

When he’s not gardening or wearing his Ring or wanting to be alone but still wants to be outside, Bilbo takes to sitting on a nice little outcropping and smoking his pipe and looking South.

He’s not sure why South. His eyes are just always drawn there, as his hand drawn to his pocket, and the two urges seem to go together like butter and bread. When he looks South his hand comes to hold his Luck, and when he holds his Luck while outside his eyes are drawn Southward.

It’s within the last two week of Summer that Ori asks him about it. “Why d’you keep looking that way?”

Bilbo, pipe in his mouth and dirt still on his hands, blows out a smoke ring. “What way?”

Ori gestures with his pen.

“Just a nice view, I suppose.”

“Of Dale?”

“Not looking at Dale.”

“What are you looking at? There’s nothing else there.”

“Well, what’s past Dale then, beside Laketown?”

“Not much but plains, I think.” Ori bites the end of his pen. “And past that it’s Ered Lithui, and then… Mordor.” Ori shivers a little.

“Mordor?” Bilbo’s eyes drift back to the South. “Sounds very welcoming.”

Ori nods, picking up on Bilbo’s flat tone as being sarcasm. “We’ve got lots of old stories about it in the records. We’re far enough away to be safe, but close enough to not want to forget why we shouldn’t go that way. I guess Hobbits live too far away from it to care?”

“We generally don’t bother with anything outside of The Shire. Honestly, I think most Hobbits would find Thranduil’s ‘keep to our lands and let everyone else fend for themselves’ quite reasonable.”

“... I’ll leave that out of the official records.”

“Won’t reflect very well on us, I expect?”

“Not at all.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Still nothin’?” Nori leans against the back of his chair hard. “I’ve never done a shoddier job of those pockets!”

Ori gives him brother a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’m sure they’re the worst.”

Nori pats Ori’s hand back in thanks. “Nothin’ worser!”

“Perhaps it’s just a very light item?” Balin suggests, but Bofur blows out a breath and shakes his head.

“I heard it clinkin’ down the gold that day in the treasury, sounded plen’y weighted then. Unless it was jus’ movin’ around coins, bu’ tha’ doesn’ seem right.”

“So we’re no closer to an answer than we were months ago,” Thorin growls. “Does he seem worse to any of you?”

There’s some murmurs of deliberation.

“I’ve only seem ‘im to train ‘im with tha’ wee sword,” Dwalin says. “No big issues.”

Balin shakes his head. “No news from me, either.”

Ori and Bombur both raise their hands, and Bombur nods to Ori to let him speak for them

both. “I told Bombur about wha’ Bilbo told me about Hobbit diets,” Ori says, pulling out his large notebook, “We’re both sure now tha’ he’s eating less than half what he should.”

The news brings about a dark mood. Less than half. Even now, when their adventure is done and the shock of battle and survival don’t flow through Bilbo’s veins to keep him going when by all means he should be unable to. Extended starvation is something none of The Company, and indeed no dwarf of Ered Luin, is unfamiliar with. But enduring it without reason…

“But,” Ori says, flipping his book open, “He is excited for his plants to start making food. He might eat more then.”

“If ‘e can wait that long,” Dwalin grunts. “Skin and bones.”

“That’s a tad dramatic, brother, for all he is thin,” Balin says.

“Won’ be soon.”

“Enough.” Thorin is pale from the idea of Bilbo so wasted away. “So he is not worse, but no better.”

No, no better. Still has moments where his mind drifts, where he reacts with strange sharpness, remains secretive and suspicious and protective of his pockets. He still locks his door tight every night, even when sometimes they can hear a faint shout of alarm in the late hours that undoubtedly come from a dream borne of warrior’s weariness, the feelings amd actions and images of his perils haunting him long past their ending. Does he dream of The Five Armies? Of the thing he told Thorin he met in the goblin tunnels? Of the wargs snapping at them all from the bases of trees, or of giant spiders that he and he alone heard speak, or of whatever he endured with the dragon before he was joined? He won’t speak of it, so they can’t say. But it’s clear he doesn’t sleep well.

“What about Gandalf?” Thorin looks to Kili. “Your elf-maid made to find him months ago now.”

Kili winces. “Dunno, Uncle. We still can’t send ravens to Mirkwood and she hasn’t sent any word.”

“You’re sure she didn’ run away? Tell Thranduil one o’ our own is unwell?” Dwalin looks at Kili very unhappily. “Af’er you told her wha’ was wrong with ‘im?”

Kili sinks lower into his seat. Thorin, and by extension everyone else, had forgiven him and Fili forgetting that they agreed not to tell of Bilbo’s issues, but forgiveness and forgetfulness are not one and the same. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“And I trust your judgment of her,” Thorin says, glaring at Dwalin until the old warrior grumbles an apology to the prince. “But I do not trust the other elves. They may be delaying her if they know she was sent by our line.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tauriel had been granted entry to the halls of her home, but not to beyond. Not without a deal.

Her King had seen her, and made it clear she was not banished- but was not wholly forgiven, either. For all that she had betrayed his orders for a real and pure love, she had still betrayed them, and in doing so led his own son into great dangers and treasonous actions of his own, even if unintentionally on her part.

“You’re welcome in our halls, of course,” he’d said, “And among our people. But permission to hunt through our forest is granted only to our guard, which you are not.”

“I do not hunt for enemies, my lord,” she had said, “But for an ally. Mithrandir is needed in Erebor.”

“Mithrandir may not even be within this first anymore, for all I am aware of his dealings.”

“I must start with what I know, my lord.”

“... I shall grant you your hunt,” Thranduil had said, beckoning her closer to his throne, “But only when you have fulfilled a task for me. You were our best Captain, Tauriel, and with my son gone on a journey of his own I have need of you more than ever.”

She had bowed. “What task awaits me, my lord?”

“There is a new creature spreading filth among our lands. The spiders are all but driven out, and the rot is clearing, but still Fell Things are drawn beneath our canopies. The guard have spied a creature on more than one occasion, but have been unable to catch it. It is small, pale, and I’m told resembles something of a starving child but with terrible evil in its reflective eyes. It mutters to itself at all hours, but when it is caught and knows it it becomes as silent as you or I and disappears without a trace. They’ve found mauled, eaten raw animals scattered through the forest, and heard the shrinking of carelessly-caught creatures echo through the trees.”

Tauriel nods. “I will find and catch this foul beast for you, my lord.” It seemed such a simple task then, such a quick challenge with which to gain free roam of the woods she called home.

But it was not. The creature was cunning, and crafty, and used the remaining sickness of the land to its advantage. It was too at home in the foulest of areas, areas so choked with Evil that Tauriel could hardly stand to enter them. Her search dragged, on and on, even as Thranduil assigned more and more to assist her.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Nasty elfses. Nasty, nasty elfses! Hunting us, hunting us Precious! We do nothing to them, gollum, gollum!”

“Ooooh, they hates us, Precious! They would kills us if they could!”

“But they cannot find us. No, no, keep them guessing, gollum! Gollum! Yesss, hiding, sneaking…”

“Sneaking and hiding, we are lost, Precious! Lost, lost, as lost as our Precious is, oooooh!”

“Shut up! They are close… we finds it soon, yes, soon, Precious… gollum, gollum.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Close, close. It hasn’t been this close to It’s Master in an age.

Awake, alive, It knows he calls for It. He is close, and It is close.

This new one, this new Bearer, he is sturdy of mind and will but he is claimed. It will have him. It is awake. It is alive. It is close to home.

He must not go back, away, to the rolling hills and peaceful green of his longing. Never, never, It will Sleep there. It will sleep long, long years, and he will love It and protect It and keep It but he will not fall, fall, fall into It’s Power, not fully. He is Strong, he is Kind, he is Good. It must work, work, seep and curl and claim.

It likes him. He is Good and it despises this, but he is also… fun. He is among Good and he may taint it. He is among Hope and he may kill it. He is surrounded by Love, and he may Crush it. Yes, crush it, they may watch, may watch him wither and weaken and wane and they may despair, they may see His Power and His Will and see their loved fall to Him, to It, as all will.

Yes, yes, It likes him. He uses It in such interesting ways. To escape a dragon an to warn a king but he cannot tell of It, still, no… no, his Good is in It’s grasp, and It sees him use It’s power how he thinks is Good, and he gives himself to It more and more as he does… and he loves it now, loves it as The Others, the bearers before. Yes…

Baggins. He is Baggins. It’s Baggins. Corrupted and Claimed. He belongs to It, yes, yes… he will belong to Him, when It returns home, yes…

Favoured bearer. Favoured victim… yes…

#the hobbit #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

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lesbiansforboromir · 2 years

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So, I've waded through the "rings of power" tag here, and heard every bit of negative feedback. The Eminem looking fella everyone assumed was Annatar, beardless dwarf women, short hair elves, old Celebrimbor, "politically ambitious" Elrond, and all the costume critiques made by those spoiled by WETA workshop. And of course, the fact half the show is made from just the LotR appendices, the other from scratch. I don't suppose you have any positive notes from the trailer?

MY FRIENDS? That trailer was absolutely great I've no idea what you're all on about, it revealed nothing negative in my view about the show that we didn't already know (except the Balrog at the end but I had suspected that for a while and I'll talk about it later.)

Okay first off for the elf fans out there, pretty sure the first scene is literally the aftermath of the battle of sudden flame like I know piles are big Nirnaeth arnoidiad imagery but that wasnt a pile of bodies it was a pile of helmets (bodies burned to ash??) and all around it the whole landscape is scorched to hell and that shot was incredibly ominous! For what I can only imagine is a brief flashback shot, that was a really striking representation of that obscure first age battle! Is that not cool to you elf fans? It seems like they're gonna give Galadriel a dead brother compilation! I thought it was cool and I couldn't care less about these folks.

But more importantly PALANTIR? 👀👀 oh acknowledgement of Palantiri in Numenor, Tar-Miriel using it BEING it's user, the special tower specifically created and designed with precise geometry to enhance the Palantir's sight!!!! Do I think Galadriel and Miriel were ever here in this tower together? No! But it's a cool scene to think about, it's a cool concept to ponder even for noted Galadriel-hater me! Where are all the AU fanfic lovers out there, come ship these two!! And once again I have to keep saying this; all the imagery of Numenor has been absolutely impeccable, I literally couldnt have asked for better numenorean design work, did yall know they went and built a city to film this all in? I had to stim about it.

AND NIMLOTH AHHHH That's my fucking tree mum there she IS she looks so beautiful I genuinely cried when I saw her and i was RIGHT too I thought those petals in the teaser trailer were from her! The way the arches around her are so old they are degrading because the anti-elf sentiment has meant people do not care for the tree and it's setting as they used too?? I'm excited to watch Numenorean politics! I think Miriel and Pharazon are attending Tar-Palantir's funeral here too.

Okay now listen, the eminem thing was funny initially but this here priestess doesn't look THAT much like him first off she just has buzzed white hair. And secondly Sauron cult!! I love Sauron cult and seeing the religious side to his influence and the way they're wearing WHITE I love that so much yes evil people wearing white. Am I psyched about stereotypical gender non-conforming woman being the Evil Priestess here? No not really, but her eyes look scary and we haven't seen the Sauron cult on screen before so!! I'm excited about it, it's a unique plot point to include! The ominous rune and the 'have you heard of Sauron' and spooky evil swords!! It's very Silmarillion is what I'm saying!

Not specific to this trailer but the looks at Khazad-Dum so far have been absolutely spectacular, I might not be a fan of this much exposed rock without beauty to that rock but just the sheer scale of it and the blue light to it and the way it's so lively and the dwarven battle masks that cover their beards too!! And Durin's costume!!! I'm so unbelievably excited for the dwarf stuff, Disa's character especially is so exciting, she's also a mother as well as being Durin's wife apparently like!! Thats an aspect of dwarvenness we've never seen on screen before and I want to see what Sophie Nomvete does with it!

Okay and THE HORROR MONSTERIFICATION OF ORCS BABES! Make orcs fucking terrifying yes oh my god, they're strong they're silent they strike in the dark they terrorised Middle Earth for seven thousand years and they ARE a threat, even one of them! Love that angle to view them in, really exciting as a concept!

ALSO! Just as more of an aside but I love all the mature romantic relationships we're getting in this show. As far as I can tell the only romance plot we're possibly going to see is between Kemen and Earien, Arondir and Bronwyn have been together for a while, Disa and Durin are married! Also Bronwyn already has a son? Is that with Arondir? I want her to be divorced with an elf husband so badly but her old husband is probably dead OR Theo is half elf which would also be cool, NO MATTER WHAT I'm into all of them.

BIG FISH!!

And just a bunch of little things and design choices in all the scenes, the tambre of the voices, the acting itself I'm!! Excited!! We haven't DONE this in so long, in fact the tolkien fandom has never done this, we've never had a piece of tolkien media where we dIDN'T know what was going to happen in it and more importantly to ME it's been far too long that PJ's been allowed a monopoly on tolkien designs, lets see what this has to offer! Come on, most of you were kids like me when the lotr films came out and when I was a kid I loved them and had a fantastic time watching them, be twelve again!! This is new and unique! Lets all have fun together about it! :D

Addendum: Yes, I am annoyed that (as seems likely) dwarves cannot be allowed narratives that dont revolve around their homes being traumatically taken from them through some narrative moralisation of gold and mining that has very antisemetic undertones. I would have liked dwarf politics not just Balrog.

#the rings of power #rings of power #lotronprime #tolkien #erran vs tolkien #chats

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mysticparadigms · 11 months

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Book Review: The Coward by Stephen Aryan

Disclaimer: This is my first time giving a book review rather than analysis, so please bear with me.

Let me start off by saying that it has been a long time since a novel has last captivated me like this one does. This book is under the fantasy genre, and I originally learned about it when I went on a trip to a bookstore with my best friend and was half-heartedly perusing the fantasy section. I’m fairly picky when it comes to the fantasy content I enjoy. While Tolkien has basically influenced all of modern fantasy, media that follows his format of elves, dwarves, orcs, and hobbits have little to no appeal to me, especially considering the racist underpinnings of the orcs. I’ve become tired of novels that focus on having a Chosen One, some kid being the primary defense against evil, romances between humans and elves or fairies (although this one is a personal preference as I don’t like romances in general), and worlds where the nonhuman characters are made up of species that have become oversaturated in our current zeitgeist. Although I'm not immune to popular modern fantasy; I adore Adventure Time and Attack On Titan as well as every Studio Ghibli movie I've seen to date. With all of this context, I had low hopes while looking through the fantasy section that day, but the title caught my attention. I picked it up, read the back cover, and bought it, and it sat untouched on my book shelf for roughly six months. But this last week, I told myself that if I want to read The Priory of the Orange Tree, I have to read the other fantasy book I bought this year first. It took me three days to get through it all.

Politics and Religion: One of the things that I think makes Attack On Titan, for instance, so compelling is that while there is the aspect of "ah there are monsters trying to kill us and we gotta fight 'em" is how much politics there are controlling the plot and actions of the heroes. The Coward does this wonderfully. While we follow Kell Kressia on his journey, we are also given chapters following Reverend Mother Britak, who leads the church that exists within the Five Kingdoms (side note: while the religion is not Christianity, there are definitely some connections to be made and what I think is a striking commentary on the state of Christianity as an institution today) and is trying to enforce this religion following The Shepherd across the Five Kingdoms, using political tactics to try and achieve this goal. Every royal court we are introduced to within this universe has some sort of political tension of its own, often coming into conflict with the other courts. Following the politics and scheming was very enjoyable.

Semi-Original Species: I appreciated that the author didn't include species such as elves, fairies, vampires, werewolves, gnomes, orcs, etc. in the book, although one might argue that the Alfár are a type of elf. Regardless, I appreciated that and the creatures such as the Qalamieren and the voran. It was enjoyable learning about new sorts of species and reading about them from the perspectives of people who these creatures are normal to know about, even if they don't believe in them.

Subverting the teenaged Chosen One trope as well as the model of the Hero: This might be my favorite aspect of this novel. Instead of having these larger-than-life heroes, we're shown how heroes are flawed, and oftentimes more flawed as individuals than the average person. Even Kell Kressia, the savior of the Five Kingdoms who beheaded the Ice Lich ten years ago, struggles with the expectations this victory put on him versus his knowledge that he basically just got lucky. It wasn't his skill that helped him win, or some prophecy foretelling his victory, it was nothing more than a matter of chance. I liked how human this made all of the characters feel. I truly felt like I could relate to Kell because he struggles with the troubles of others' expectations of him versus what he knows truly happened, but additionally he comes home with what would likely be diagnosed as PTSD. Even a victory comes at a severe psychological cost.

Addressing the realities of how traumatizing these romanticized quests can be as well as the fragility of the body: There was no over-the-top gore, which I appreciated as someone who has recently become much more sensitive to it than I used to be. But at the same time, excessive gore wasn't necessary to drive home what physical strain the characters experienced when making their Hero's Journey. I am particularly intrigued by how the human body as an entity is portrayed in literature, and this book was perfect for such an interest. We were shown how humans overestimate the danger they can handle, and they don't understand that every hero we idolize is simply Just Some Guy who also can have wounds get infected, or bleed out from one (albeit deep) stab wound. While this made the fight scenes feel somewhat less intense physically than scenes where there is a lot of wounding of the main characters and killing is seen as casual, the psychology behind what the characters were feeling as well as the stress of knowing that it doesn't actually take much to get killed by a wild animal or adversary made the fight scenes intense in their own right.

Romance: As someone generally averse to the romance genre and dreads romance in fantasy books due to the advent of romances between humans and elves/fairies/werewolves/vampies/etc., I'm happy to say that this route was not taken in The Coward. There is mention of sex (for instance we have scenes where we're told two characters just had or are about to have sex, one character getting offered money for a sexual encounter but is denied, and one seventeen year old's sexual fantasy going horribly awry in a nightmare of his) but nothing that goes into detail. The main character hopes to one day have a wife and start a family, but this goal is portrayed more as representing the idea of having a "normal" and simple life, thus escaping the trauma of Kell's time as a "hero." It's hardly even mentioned that Kell would like to start a family and is not one of his actual goals he pursues but rather, as I mentioned before, symbolic of the sort of peace he wishes to achieve. There is, however, a side romance in the novel. But it's beautiful and doesn't dominate the narrative or even the goals of the characters within the romance itself. They are both fully formed individuals with dreams and fears and quirks and triumphs of their own, their romance just portrays the beauty of two lost souls finding refuge in a chaotic and lonely world. I enjoyed every scene that featured them.

My critiques: I wish that we had been given a clearer picture of how, in his first quest, Kell had defeated the Ice Lich. Or just their journey into the castle altogether. We know how a lot of the eleven heroes died, and I appreciate the author trusting that his readers are intelligent enough to piece together the story of what happened through the sporadic vignettes given, but I would've liked to hear about what happened with Kell after the last hero died, even if we saw it through a flashback he has within a dream where the maze is foggy in his memory and weren't given the exact play-by-play. On another note, while the book's climax originally felt like it could've been—for lack of a better term—more climatic than what we saw, I realized on reflection that the climax being as it was fits the story, its overarching themes, and Kell's disillusionment with The Hero's Quest perfectly.

Overall, this book was amazing. After I finished it, I ran right back to the local bookstore to grab the final novel in this series: The Warrior. If you're looking for a fantasy novel where the "hero" is Just Some Guy and where the realities of the stereotypical Hero's Journey are presented as being traumatizing events rather than proud conquests, then this is the book for you.

#book review #fantasy

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