#and i think that would be a big moment for Delver as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thekytchensynk · 3 years

Text

The Eternal Excavation

Prompt number: 16

Fanfiction Fandom: One Piece

Rating: G

Warnings: No Warnings

Read this story on AO3

“Nico Robin?”

She looked up from the tome she was perusing in a quiet bookstore in the port city they lay anchored in for the next day or so. The speaker stood a little shorter than Robin herself, with unkept blonde hair that she’d tied back into an equally unkempt ponytail and blue eyes that stared at her with wide-eyed intensity.

“Yes?” Robin said cautiously.

The woman’s face lit up. “I thought so! I’ve been trying to track you down ever since I heard you’d escaped from the World Government years ago. Followed rumors. But I never actually thought I’d catch up. It was like chasing a myth. The fabled daughter of Ohara, and … oh, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Not bothering to suppress a small smile, Robin nodded.

“Oh gosh, I do that all the time. I’m so sorry. Do you have time to hear a request? We can grab something to eat. I’m not a bad person, I swear, I just have a request and I want you to hear me out. But I get it, if you can’t. I know you are doing big, really important things and I don’t want to get in the way.”

Robin considered the book in her hand. Then the woman. She reminded Robin a little of Soran. Anxious and dreamy and not quite sure what to do with herself. It could be a trap, but Robin thought it felt more like a plea. And if it were a trap … well, she wasn’t that worried.

“Allow me to buy this,” she said. “Then we can talk if you like.”

Ten minutes later, the pair were sitting in a small, shady park, nibbling on surprisingly light, airy pastries covered with cinnamon and sugar. The stranger held hers in both hands and bit into them with relish, while Robin tore pieces off with her fingers to eat.

“So,” she said after a couple bites of the snack. “What is your name?”

The woman’s eyes widened as she stared at the ground, then looked up at Robin. “Ohmigosh,” she said. “I never … how rude, I’m so sorry!” Robin waited in silence a couple more seconds, until the woman added, “Oh! Rose. Rose Delver. Second in command of the Eternal Excavation.”

This caught Robin’s attention. “I understood the Eternal Excavation to be as much of a myth as the artifacts it sought to uncover,” she said. “How fascinating.”

“Um, yes,” the woman said, clearly unsure what Robin was referring to as fascinating. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of us.”

“It was a common tale where I grew up,” Robin said carefully. “An endless expedition exploring new islands for artifacts. Sometimes returning them to the descendants of the people involved. Sometimes taking them to a secret vault where they could be protected from all prying eyes. Roche, in particular was fond of the tale. Though Clover always told him to stop spreading tales. He advised us to ‘look for the stories of the real world, it has quite enough for any taste.’”

The woman’s smile turned into a broad grin. “To think I’m part of something that the famous archaeologists of Ohara talked about,” she said with a little sigh. And then, as though the name itself had cast a reminder, she added, “I am sorry. For what happened. They say when we heard, we went to see if we could help. But it was over by then, weeks and weeks over. My captain was on the Expedition even back then. His face, when he talks about it…”

She trailed off for a few seconds, looking across the park, where several children chased one another. “He doesn’t much talk about it,” she said after a bit. “He just gets sad.”

Robin schooled her face to a careful neutrality. “It was very sad,” she said. “Much was lost.”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, so, I get it,” she said. “If you say no, I mean. But will you listen to a selfish request from the Expedition? From us all?”

Well, she was here. And it was a nice afternoon, and the pastry was pleasant, and they would not be leaving until the morning. “Very well,” Robin said, nodding for the woman to continue.

Smiling in relief, she said, “Well, you know about us, so that makes it easier. We’re wondering if we could persuade you to join us. There is so much we could learn from you. And we’re exceptionally good at evasion. If anyone would ever come after you again from the government, we can hide you. They would never imprison you again. And we could finally seek out the poneglyphs.”

The woman said the last word with a kind of breathy reverence, as though she were referring to a god beyond her reach instead of physical, historical records. Robin could understand that. She’d seen several of them now, read their stories, and she still felt it every time -- that shivery feeling down her spine, raising goosebumps on her arms as she stood before something carved, so purposefully, centuries ago by someone who was likely long dead. They stood all these years later as a defiant memorial to the fact that history must be preserved, that no one should be allowed to obliterate it from the world.

The very existence of the poneglyphs said from the past that what had happened to Ohara was wrong.

“You love history, don’t you?” Robin asked.

“Yes ma’am!” All hesitance had gone from Rose’s voice now -- she was sharing something she loved, and it animated her whole being. “I think there’s nothing in the world as interesting as learning about things that once were. It’s like you bring them through time for a moment, so you can try to connect with them.”

“That’s a lovely way of putting it,” Robin said.

Her words startled Rose out of the reverie she’d fallen into. “Well,” she said, self-consciously smoothing her coveralls. “In addition to everything we can learn, we thought you might miss it. I mean… the camaraderie. Of being around people who feel that same joy in the same things.”

Robin smiled down at her own clasped hands for a moment. “I appreciate you seeking me out to ask me this,” she said. “But I don’t think I can accept your kind offer.”

Rose’s smile fell. “Was it something I said? I can be a bit of a fool sometimes and-”

Robin looked up at her, a gentle smile on her lips. “No,” she said. “It’s not that. It’s just that I have the camaraderie you speak of. Even if they don’t find their joy in history, the way you or I do, they find joy in the joy I find there. They don’t have to understand it to understand it’s important to me. And they show me how to see their joy in so many other things.”

“Other things?”

“In food. In music. In creating new things. In finding new places, new sights.” Robin let out a little laugh. When had she gotten so wordy with strangers? Maybe it wasn’t Soran this woman reminded her of. “Traveling with the expedition looking for history would be fascinating. But my crew lets me do that and so much more. They help me be my best. To grow.”

“It sounds like an amazing group to be part of,” Rose said, clearly trying to sound upbeat despite her clear disappointment. She couldn’t keep it off her face.

“They accept me for all parts of me,” Robin said by way of answer. “And I never wanted anything else.”

#fictober20 #16 #one piece #robin #fanfic

1 note · View note

jaywrites101 · 5 years

Text

Excerpt: A Treasure Made of Death

A Light In The Darkness (full novel here)

He trudged along the dirt road in determination. The cold night bit at his nose under the hood of his cape. His eyes were focused on the dim circle of light in front of him. The darkness pressed in around him. It was heavy. The lantern held out in front of him against the wind was his only lifeline. If it went out he could easily wander off the path and be lost in the night.

A dragon's roar echoed on the wind. The damned nuisances ran rampant up here in the mountains, he knew. But not even the threat of a dragon attack could keep him from his task tonight.

He couldn’t feel his legs. In some ways, it was a blessing. His whole body was sore from riding earlier in the day. Just a little bit further and he could finally put his poor body to rest. At last! A light appeared in the darkness in front of him. It’s dim yellow glow brought tears to his eyes, tears that the wind would freeze to his face. The path at his feet widened out. What few trees dotted on either side of him dispersed altogether as he approached the promised drinking hall. The light solidified into a square pane of glass set into a rough oak wall. Little things flirted in and out of the lantern-light. Steps! A door! Oh, he was so close. One step away. One turn of the handle. His hands felt disembodied. He needed to get in fast before frostbite set in for good. His hand on the handle, the traveler paused. Music! Hearty laughter and well-natured guffaws warmed his heavy heart. He knew before entering he’d found the right place. With a renewed vigor the traveler opened the door and stepped into the hall. “What in blazes!” Exclaimed a burly man of middling ages. Seated as he was against the fire his shadow covered most of him except his long fine mustache which was at least one foot on either side. The other patrons of the hall looked up from their ale mugs expectantly. Some assessed him; seasoned veterans, no doubt. Others simply bored of him and returned to their bantering. Except for the youth in front of him and the man by the fire, no one seemed to think he was of importance. The youth in question approached the stranger. He was dressed in a simple leather tunic and rough woolen breeches. But the sword at his hip marked him as a fighter. “State your business, stranger,” he said in a voice meant to be threatening, but a slight squeak betrayed his age. “Is this the guild hall of the Ancient Magics Delvers?” The newcomer asked, pulling a flyer from his coat. “It is,” replied the youth. “What does that matter to you?” “My name is Drake Mundus. I’m a client.” The man by the fire took interest at this. “Goodness gracious man!" He exclaimed. Do you have any idea what time it is?" The youth, after a nod from the older man, guided the stranger to a roughly hewn stool by the fire. Drake accepted the seat with a gracious sigh. Warmth couldn’t seep back into his limbs fast enough. “I judge from your clothing you’re not from around here.” The mustachioed man chuckled. “From the city?” “I’m an archaeologist,” Drake answered. His own inquisitive glance didn’t tell him much about the man in front of him. Clearly, he was in charge here, the fabled guild leader Erik Musen. But from his garb, nothing could be discerned about his temperament. He was a tall man, easily seven feet and more. He wore no shirt except some kind of leather brace which showed fine workmanship. On his legs was a workman’s hardy leather pants. His arms and chest were well developed and bulged majestically from his muscles. His skin was dark and tanned. There wasn’t a hair to be found anywhere on him save his elegant mustache which was bound on either end and painstakingly maintained. “Ha! So you need a bodyguard little man.” The big man japed. Drake was no stranger to being belittled by men like him. It was standard procedure for experienced mercenaries to puff out their chests like they’re in charge. It got them better wages from more foolish clients. Drake was no fool. “Ordinarily? No,” he said sternly. “But if you know of the temple I’ve been contracted to investigate, I dare say you’d want a bit of steel behind you as well.” “We’re the Ancient Magic Delvers!” The man boasted. “We’ve been in and out of every temple in these lands. HOOAH!” He called across the hall. “HOOAH!” Everyone called back. Some of the more festive drinkers downed a mug of ale in a toast. “Haha,” the guild leader grinned as he settled back in his chair. “So tell me, what dungeon cave does your king want you to crawl through now? The Green Pyramid? The Meadow Reserve? Are you lads finally gutsy enough to take a peek inside the Haunted Hollow?” “The Temple of the Dragon Knights.” The guild master’s face paled. “That’s not funny.” “It wasn’t a joke.” “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “No wonder you came to us. Anyone else would've refused out of principle.” Drake fetched a bundle of papers from a hidden pocket in his coat. Of them, he selected three and placed them on the bar next to his stool for the guild master to examine. “These are the official declarations. The King himself has issued one hundred thousand gold pieces to any man who can go to the center of this labyrinth and return with whatever treasure lies there. I also have the authorization to loot any rooms we come across for valuables and offer that as a bonus reward for your services.” Erik Musen looked over the papers with a hesitant eye. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” “Of the fifty-seven unmolested temples in this country, it is considered the most dangerous. Thirty and four times expeditions were sent into the ruins and only once did even a single person return.” Drake pulled out one last paper, a clipping from the news archives praising the adventurer who returned alive. “Erik Musen, 19. The sole survivor of the 29th investigation refused high honors from the king. He has returned with an unconfirmed artifact, now his by right of law. Wherever his future lies, Godspeed,” he read aloud. Laying the article on top of the others Drake witnessed the transformation of the guild leader into a sad old man. “Is that really you?” The youth asked, pointing at the article. His face equal amounts of shock and awe. “Aye! That’s me,” came the gruff reply. “You’re mad to have even accepted this task in the first place!” “I have my reasons.” “Are they worth your death?” “They are.” “I fail to see any reason strong enough to willingly enter that nightmare.” Erik huffed. “I’m afraid there are things I cannot afford to divulge,” Drake replied. “I’m sorry, but if you mean to test my resolve, you’ll find it is as hard as steel on this.” “To enter the Temple of the Dragon Knights you’ll need a will much harder than steel,” Erik said while the bewildered youth stood agape watching the two of them. “My will is strong enough to break reality.” “A mage, eh? That sword peeking out from under your cloak says otherwise.” “Forgive me,” Drake said with a small bow to punctuate the other man’s win. “But you’ll understand why soon enough.” “I want to go,” chimed in the youth. “Absolutely not !” Erik roared. People from around the hall were taking an interest in their proceedings. No doubt, unused to seeing their guild leader in a troubled spot, his outburst at the youth’s eagerness turned heads and brought an audible gasp out of those nearby. “Father! You were a year younger than I when you set foot in there.” “And I lost my friends! All twelve of them. It was a nightmare from the very moment we crossed the threshold. I found the Knight’s Tear. Aye. It was a treasure unlike anything anyone had ever seen. It was one rock found tossed in the floor like rubbish, and yet it’s discovery opened the doors to Machination and Automatons. "Sure, I single-handedly developed those schools of magic and craftsmanship, but look at the cost! It’s not worth risking you too boy. Or any of you!” He roared to the onlookers who were sitting at the edge of their seats. “I volunteer!” A girl called out from the back of the room, much to the chagrin of the guild master. She was dressed in dark blue flowing robes. She wore a pointed hat that was embroidered with gold runes. In one hand she carried a staff, in the other a thick bound book. Her piercing blue eyes glowed with power. “Danger and mystery is my cup of tea,” She said excitedly. Drake shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but this is highly dangerous, and it’s certainly no place for a lady. Or,” he added, turning his head to the youth, “for amateurs. My intention was to hire Erik and Erik alone. There are no two people on this continent more capable than the two of us-” “Except for the two of us ,” the youth insisted. “Dela, there is no lady.” “And Junior has been adventuring since he was in diapers!” Dela added, giving the youth a playful poke. “Stop this nonsense immediately,” Erik cried. “We’re not going to chase down that deathtrap after some vague sense of treasure and glory.” “Don’t think of the treasure, father! Think of your pride!” The youth implored. “Think of your honor and the honor of your friends. You see, don’t you? This is your chance to blot out that stain! To give their deaths meaning. And to give meaning to all the people who’s died since then. This is a chance to bring closure to their legacy. Surely you wouldn’t want to be remembered as the man who refused to do the right and noble thing?” “Hell, No!” Erik spat. Drake knew the look of a man steeling himself for something hard. Erik was not happy. His bluster and confidence had run out. He was scared of that temple. But he’d been a boy himself when he went in there last. The guild watched their leader anxiously. Since it’s foundation no one had ever seen Erik backed into such a tight corner. His face was drawn, and his arms shook slightly. Even his own son looked uncertain about his father’s intentions. Erik looked at all the expectant faces in the hall and sighed. “Alright lad,” he said. “You got me on that one. It goes against me gut, but you’re right. We can’t let that ruin be the better of us. The Ancient Magic Delvers have a reputation to uphold. HOOAH!” He roared at the guild. “HOOAH!” The guild grunted back. Even Drake was caught in the moment and grunted alongside the others. It was happening. It was finally happening! All those years of research and crawling through ruins looking for clues was about to pay off. “But,” Erik said so quietly only Drake could hear. “If a single one of them gets hurt on this quest. I’ll kill you personally.”

#books #my writing #writing community #excerpt #amazon

10 notes · View notes

annihilyza · 6 years

Text

MEET THE MUSE (repost, don’t reblog)

Tagged by: @eternal-blessed (ty~ <3) Tagging: --

► Name ➔ “I’m Lyza! Lord of Annihilation, at your service!” ► Are you single ➔ “That’s a complicated question... But no.” (Verse Dependent) ► Are you happy ➔ “...I think I will be.” ► Are you angry? ➔ “The placid will never conquer the Abyss.” ► Are your parents still married ➔ “Don’t give a damn.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “eh, slums of Orth, probably.” ► Hair Color ➔ “Blonde!” ► Eye Color ➔ “Blue!” ► Birthday ➔ “Dunno, but I’ve taken to celebratin’ right after the summer solstice! You gettin me anything?” ► Mood ➔ “Let’s go with relaxed.” ► Gender ➔ “Female, rigorously.” ► Summer or winter ➔ “Summer every time.” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Do I look like a morning person to you?”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Yes... I am.” (Verse Dependent) ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “Yes and no. Not love, but a connection. I know it’s there. It wasn’t wrong.” ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “The abyss.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “In ways I’ll never be able to atone for.” ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “I was, once...” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “I haven’t even seen anyone in the last week!” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “I’m a public figure, I would be shocked if I hadn’t.” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “....Deeply.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Lust is simple. Love is messy.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Gonna go with Iced tea here.” ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Both! Give me all the pets! In a big soft pile!” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “Many regular.” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “I can go out any night, but I’ll stay in when I can.” ► Day or night ➔ “Nightlife’s always fun.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Very painfully.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “I tripped down some alley stairs and cracked my arm when I was a kid.” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “…Yes.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ “And I did it, too....”

FIVE PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “You can force a smile, but eyes always are always honest.” ► Fat or skinny ➔ “Fat. A bulky delver is a well fed delver!” ► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Tall women, short men.” ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “Sometimes stupid and cute is enough.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Hook-ups, usually.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “Which family?” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “My life has not been clean, but I am proud of every moment.” ► Have you ever run away from home ➔ “More than I care to admit.” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Literally. Flew about 20 meters. Didn’t learn my lesson.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Sure. If it became a problem, they’d find out.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “No.” ► Who is your best friend ➔ “Ozen.” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ “The depths of the Abyss.”

#ic #dash meme #dashboard meme #((Thanks <33))

5 notes · View notes

determinedbuns · 6 years

Text

Cold Stare; Emberheart

@lunar-leader

Climbing up from the fourth layer, how the heck does someone with zero delving experience and training manage to attain such a feat? Between the Wildlife, erratic ecosystem, and the Curse of the Abyss, those faint of heart may as well pay their farewells to any hope of seeing the upper layers of the Abyss. Novices who wind up going further than the second layer are often considered suicides, leaving them for death and putting a sad, lonely end to their adventure...

Samga wasn’t faint of heart.

He had lost track of how long it’s been since he woke up in this strange place called ‘The Abyss’, but he certainly had no time to think on that at the moment. Despite not being an official delver, the adventurer showed a surprising amount of knowledge in survival, though the curse would give him no quarter.

All throughout his climb from the Cup of Giants, the Fourth Layer of the Abyss, immense burning could be felt coursing through his body, scorch marks adorned his once pristine, green jacket and the pack that had been borrowed from a certain other Rabbit also saw its fair share of burns.

Against all odds, however, he had made it... Samga had managed to barely touch the third layer...

A vast, circular chasm extended seemingly endlessly upwards above Samga. As he looked up, his heart was barely keeping itself from sinking at the thought of how much more he has left to climb up...

“Damn... So much left to climb, this place... gives a whole new meaning to ‘Uphill Battle’...” He thought aloud to himself, though he would quickly look around to see if there was anyothers.

The sound of eerie silence lingers in the air, broken by the Bun’s relieved sigh. His thoughts buzzed amidst his mind.

‘Nanachi warned me that those Delvers would try to beat my brains or try to sell me if I get caught, I gotta start acting stealthier... Just climb up to the Third Layer and look for some.. uhh.. what’re they called again? I’ll prolly recognize’em when I see’em.. Now they said the Curse gets less painful as I go higher so it should be a little bit less hellish from here on out..’

After a brief round of wandering aimlessly, a cave would show itself to Samga, offering an entrance to the many networks of tunnels that laid hidden within the walls of the hollow chasm...

The tunnels were dim, lit only by a small lamp that Samga was fortunate enough to remember to pack, the glow crystal shined brightly, piercing the darkness in his path and scaring away what looked to be small puffy squirrel-like flat creatures. His eyes widened when he saw them, realizing those were what he was supposed to get! Quickly he would run after the scampering meals on the run, not realizing until halfway that the tunnel he was running through was ascending.

‘What did she say the strain was now..? I can’t re--’

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of a very familiar voice.

“Big Bro..?”

His running halted and he turned to see a small, tan Rabbit wearing an oversized orange sweater sitting against the cavernous wall. Those aqua eyes gazed into Samga’s own as he was filled with a sudden sense of confusion and felt his sense of balance leave him.

“Big Brooo!”

“I.... Ikki...?!” The name slipped out of his mouth instinctively, “H... How did you get here?!” His exasperated question came out but the other Rabbit acted like she didn’t hear him.

“You’ve been climbing so hard, you must be exhausted!” The cheery voice stated, and Samga’s loss of balance began to make him realize... just how achey he really was. The strain of ascent from the fourth layer had left him burning and exhausted. He moves to approach Ikki carefully, trying not to fall over himself. He falls over ultimately, causing him to thump against the wall and slide down next to Ikki.

He tried to move his head to look up at Ikki but the vertigo assaulting his vision only worsened and he leaned against the wall, struggling to keep himself composed...

Unbeknownst to him, the small creatures from earlier that had ran from Samga initially were now running the opposite direction, signalling another’s imminent arrival...

#rp #Samga #Abyss Verse #Lunarleader #Cold Stare; Emberheart

6 notes · View notes

theunwrittenman · 7 years

Text

How to build a dungeon, part 5.1

Bit of a change in format, all the same great content with none of the clutter. If you’re interested in finding more tips, please check my HTBAD tag for more.

Art is Return of the Knight by Raphael Lacoste

When people talk about a dungeon crawl, they tend to be thinking about a high pressure adventure involving the navigating of a controlled environment with limited resources, often underground, usually involving some kind of monster. The crawl however invariably refers to how slow and arduous the whole event seems to be. The party plods about from one empty room to the next overcoming soft challenges like traps or riddles and being generally lost. In between, they get to participate in combat encounters that exchange the frustration of not knowing where you’re going for the tedium of spending an hour waiting for your turn in yet ANOTHER meaningless fight.

The IDEA of dungeon combat and the IDEA of exploration are present in these scenarios, but without any technique or structure both of these ideas end up as boring time sinks. I know I’m guilty of it, and I’ve played in my share of games where it’s happened. The point of this whole series of posts however is to have a framework in which I can work out some guidelines and then share them with you. As such I’m going to be spending my next few HTBAD posts describing ways you can make your delving more efficient.

First up: encounter design and choosing the right sort of challenges for your party to face.

Brainstorming a dungeon:

Before you start anything else, start filling pages with ideas. Literally every monster, item encounter and scenery idea you can think of should go onto one page. Don’t worry about splitting it up into encounters just yet. Next, figure out your setpieces, the things you want to spend the most time on/build towards. Depending on the size of your dungeon, there might only be one of these, or you might split them up into multiple dungeon zones. This will help keep you focused and give you a skeleton upon which to build the rest of your dungeon. While much of a crawl can be improved, if you know certain things are coming up ahead of time it helps to maintain a sense of progression and theming.

Once you’ve figured out the major scenes you want to occur within this dungeon, you can start building scenery and encounters outwards, using your earlier brainstorming to supply props and events leading up to the big, flashy moments.

Before I go any farther, I’d like to get one thing out of the way: truly threatening, mandatory combat encounters should be in the minority. Most of the others should be optional ( able to be bypassed by stealth, persuasion, or simply not being a jerk), or against far weaker foes, as these will not eat up time that should be spent on more important/interesting threats.

At the same time, different sorts of challenges can be a great way to foreshadow the eventual encounter with the dungeon’s resident bruser, highlighting the monster’s habitat and abilities. if you have a monster that the party will be fighting in a pool, be sure to have them encounter a swimming challenge earlier in the zone. Have walls of rubble that are near impossible to clear, only for your monster to bash right through them ( creating a convenient shortcut between two previously unconnected rooms), Flying creatures can take advantage of scaling cliffs or sudden drops, ambush monsters often attack from the dark or hidden places, so force the players to think about their lighting.

Art is Old Castle Corridor by Silentfield

Finding our way:

By and large the majority of your encounters should be some kind of navigation challenge, meaning that they revolve around exploring the dungeon as their primary method of progress. After all, what’s the point of setting your adventure in isolated, dangerous location if you’re not going to ahve your players plunge face first into that danger at every opportunity? Using this philosophy, we can keep combat as something dangerous and risky, a looming threat to ratchet up the tension when needed, rather than expending its shock value early.

A navigation challenge can be anything from requiring your players to search other sections of the dungeon ( looking for a lost key), to providing an optional dangerous shortcut towards the player’s goals ( leaping down a pit to get to the next level as opposed to looking for the stairs later on).

The simplest way to structure navigation challenges ( and your dungeon at large) is to decide what it is your party is attempting to do, and then throw up a few roadblocks between them and the easy path to it. Just how many roadblocks will determine the length of your dungeon, so it’s all a matter of preference.

A lot of a dungeon’s navigation puzzles can be created by answering some of the following questions:

What does the party most need in this instance? What could stand between them and it?

What outlandish or little used abilities does your party have at their disposal? Do you want to encourage or discourage them to use it?

Are we trying to avoid combat ( infiltrating a manor at night to steal important documents) or are we seeking combat ? ( confronting a great beast in its lair)

Skill Challenges:

There’s not much I can say about this topic that hasn’t already been said by the brilliant Matt Colville over on his channel.

In summation, skill challenges are a bit of cooperative problem solving that lets each character show off what they can do creatively. If you have an overly large puzzle or chase sequence, I can’t recommend using this sort of thing enough.

Art is Black Dragon by Nordhimer

Failure and consequences.

For a game built on chance, D&D seems to have no idea what to do when it’s players fail. Oh sure, a natural 1 during a simple check can be good for a few laughs, but I’ve never seen any DM or game guide really address the fact that failure is an inevitability and an important dramatic tool

There’s a little used scale when it comes to failure in RPGS: On one end of the spectrum you have the infamous Tomb of Horrors, which has well earned it’s reputation as a meatgrinder of would be delvers, and on the other end of the scale, you have waterslide dungeons like in Skyrim, which lead the player by the nose through their winding corridors and patiently wait for them to reload if ever they manage to die.

For our purposes, both of these extremes are unacceptable: A good adventure is built upon a multitude of recovered failures.

A party who opens a tomb without translating the inscription required to bypass it’s guardian spirits is going to get into a fight. A party that misses the hidden passage by not investigating that odd bit of statuary is just going to have to take the long way round. If the party fails in combat encounter against sapient foes? Have them wake up in an actual dungeon later on without their gear, now it’s a stealth and escape mission. Presume that your party can fail every encounter you throw at them and have backups prepared accordingly. It’ll add dimensions to your dungeon that could never be there if the party could only succeed.

Art is Daily Sketch 21 by Maximum Laptev

I think that covers a good chunk of what I wanted to talk about for now. Next time I’ll talk about ways to make the most out of your time running the game, and later how to make cinematic monster fights.

Till then my friends,

Happy delving~

#HTBAD #Dungeons and Dragons #dungeon design #d&d #d&d 5e #dungeon master #DM advice #dming #Dming tips

94 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 7 years

Note

heyy you're still accepting prompts right? so I was thinking... what if jesse woke up during cassidy's fight with fiore and deblanc and watched most of it happen unnoticed by any of them - bonus points if he watched cass lick the blood off the floor *wink* - and then confronts cassidy the next day about it

Title: Five Second Rule

Summary: Same as above prompt

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 3,060

Warnings: Blood, dismemberment, disgusting fetishes...

Pairings: Jesse/Cass

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

Five Second Rule

“You’ll experience shit in your life, son,” Jesse’s daddy had said, stirring a pot of cheap pasta and letting the words hang. “Real god-awful, gut-wrenching, soul-searching, testicles-drawn-up-between-your-ass shit. But nothing, nothing is gonna compare to a Grade A hangover.” He’d looked down for the first time, marinara staining his clerical collar and a bright sheen to his eyes. The Reverend took a swing from his bottle. “Us Custers can deal with anything, Jesse, except the shit we bring on ourselves,” and he took another massive, endless drink.

Jesse had believed him. Through all the fights and bad runs, missteps and bouts of stupidity, he’d always come back to the bottle. Not just for some kind of solace, but for comparison as well. Broken bones would never be as bad as the pounding that came after a night of drinking. Broken promises couldn’t compare to drinking alone.

Nothing was worse than what they did to themselves. He’d somehow taken comfort in that.

Now though? Now Jesse knew his daddy to be a goddamn liar. Because nothing compared to this.

His head didn’t just ring or pound, it was splitting, and oh, he’d used that expression before sure, sure, but never to describe the literal, impossible cracking open as his forehead got the messiest divorce in recorded history. It was a life changing kind of pain. The sort of pain that either drove you mad or threw you to new heights, and Jesse hadn’t been experiencing it long enough to figure out which was which. Hell, who could think in all this? Not him. He was nothing but pain, pain of the head, pain of the mind, the soul, and Jesus Mary Joseph that must reside in the intellect because his heart was thrumming just fine.

About a thousand miles a minute, but otherwise fine.

He wanted to groan about it, maybe scream if that would drown out some of the pain, but all Jesse could manage was the tinniest, most pathetic whimper, something he wasn’t even sure made it past the back of his throat. It gave him something else to focus on though— small as it was—and slowly, so goddamn slowly, he started taking stock of the rest of his body. Because he did have a body. He existed somewhere outside of this pain.

His legs, for example, had gone tingling cold after...however long he’d been out. His feet felt like concrete blocks nailed down to the floor. His arms were similarly heavy; his head might as well have been the weight of the world. Cracking his eyes open was a Herculean task that nearly sent Jesse back down into the darkness.

What the hell had happened to him?

Something big. Something awful and changing. Lost amongst his own attempts at thoughts, it took Jesse an indeterminate amount of time to realize that the sounds of pain he was hearing weren’t just byproducts of his own mind. Someone was suffering nearby.

Someone other than me, he thought, inner voice dark with the humor. It was enough though, and with that final push Jesse was able to open his eyes, taking in the sight of his church around him.

A church covered in blood.

The word ‘contradiction’ came to mind. As well as ‘fitting.’ Somehow they both seemed right and were able to exist cohesively, side-by-side. Bleary-eyed and cotton-headed, Jesse catalogued the smears of blood along his pews, tiny splatters on the far wall, the growing pool that was quickly spreading towards him. It seemed to be coming from something over there and—oh.

Oh. That was a leg. Not... attached to a body.

Well fuck.

That more than anything told Jesse to get the hell off his ass and move. Fight. Run. Whatever needed doing. That seemed an impossibility though given the weight of his limbs and how exhausting it was just keeping his eyes open. Jesse was used to painful exhaustion, but he’d never experienced anything quite like this. He had a vague, fuzzy memory of someone opening the doors and plowing into him...then darkness. Was that who he was hearing now? Had he been attacked?

“You filthy fuckin’ gobshite,” a voice said. It was gravel, a mouth full of sand.

And Jesse knew that voice.

“That’ll teach you to play with gardenin’ tools, stupid little asshole.”

Oh my god.

It was like some bad special effects. One moment Jesse just had a gory display of blood and leg to stare at, the next Cass flew into view, bearing down on a tall and gangly man who—huh—also seemed to be covered in blood. There was a chainsaw involved (so that was that sound) and by the time Jesse realized Cass was freaking dismembering the guy it was already over. There was a torso and limbs and half a head decorating his floor, and Cass stood amongst it all with the cheekiest grin on his face.

A dim part of Jesse, roughly labeled ‘common sense,’ told him that this was a Not Good thing he was witnessing. The larger part, accurately labeled just ‘Jesse’ thought,

Holy fuck that’s hot.

Jesse knew he’d always been attracted to power. It was Lisa Delver back-talking their eighth grade teacher, then pulling up her skirt and flashing them all in a manner that was more ‘don’t fuck with me’ than ‘fuck me.’ It was the nameless man from out of town, taking him out behind the bar like a goddamn cliché, but making Jesse give instead of take for once in his life. Most recently it was Tulip; Tulip with her hard fists and sharp words, with a thrill for danger and addiction to power that ran even deeper than Jesse’s. They fed off of one another like two mirrors facing each other: a reflection of a reflection of a reflection.

Now though... now there was Cassidy.

Cassidy, with a chainsaw in his hands. Cassidy, drenched head to toe in gore. Cassidy, looking like a goddamn kid in a candy shop as he surveyed the damage he’d laid out on person and property. The irony (unbeknownst to Jesse) was that he’d just been granted the greatest power ever known and he still looked upon Cass with dilated eyes, something obscenely untouchable about him in that moment.

Which of course made Jesse want to touch all the more.

His body was having none of it though. He still couldn’t move his legs or his arms, let alone get something going that was worth offering. Even his eyes were growing heavy again. Cass was a red slit that kept disappearing momentarily and Jesse realized with a pang that he was slipping back under. He hauled himself to the surface with a massive breath that went entirely unnoticed.

“What a waste this is,” Cass was saying. Jesse caught him shaking his head. “Bloody fuckin’ waste. Hmm... that kinda fight takes a lot outta a guy. You don’t mind if I forget my manners for just a moment, do you, padre?”

What Jesse would given to be able to answer, because at that moment Cass made words so fucking obsolete by slipping to his knees and scooping up a handful of the still fresh blood. It was deep enough for that, a steady stream, and Cass titled his head back, pouring it down his throat like a mortal finding ambrosia. It coated his teeth and slipped down his chin. His shirt was a ruined mess and Jesse watched, hypnotized, as that Adam’s Apple worked overtime. Cass was a dying man drinking by the handful until suddenly even that wasn’t enough. Jesse lost all breath as Cass dipped his head directly to the floor and licked a long strip parallel to the man’s broken wrist. Cass hummed in the back of his throat then, pleased, and Jesse felt an answering ache thrumming within him.

I have to remember this, he thought, as Cass kitten-licked blood from the crevices of the wood. I’m passing out, but... gotta remember this.

Jesse’s eyes slid shut. He could still see Cass behind them though: a bright red outline in the darkness.

He had just enough time—and this was an afterthought, now—but just enough time to think,

Oh. So the bastard really is a vampire.

It didn’t put Jesse off at all and he finally, finally slept.

***

Jesse woke up seven hours later in a slightly better state than he’d fallen asleep. That is, his limbs were no longer bent at unnatural angles, his head wasn’t beating on a collection of drums, and the church was miraculously clean. Jesse stood staring out over his domain for a long minute, wondering if everything he recalled from last night was just one messed up, fever dream.

Then Jesse shrugged. “Don’t think I care if it was.”

Nope. He was making this a reality. Whether it would be for the first time or a repeat didn’t rightly matter.

“No, sir. Doesn’t matter one bit…”

Decision made, Jesse made a beeline out of the church, his pace more akin to a bloodhound than a man suffering from the hangover of the century. And heh, bloodhound, wasn’t that just hilarious? Jesse let out a dry laugh as he passed the ‘Open Your Holes to Jesus!’ sign and wondered if he hadn’t suffered some sort of stoke the night before. His eyes were crusty from sleep and his shirt was already sticky with sweat—and Jesse felt his physicality more than he ever had before. He raised his arms above his head as he walked, stretching, rolling his head like a boxer preparing for a fight. His pace was light and quick and he made it to Joe’s in record time.

Joe’s was a run-down, dingy sort of place. The kind of establishment that didn’t deserve the name “restaurant.” Just call it a “dive” or a “hole” and give a warning to all your pals that they were likely to shit out whatever it was they chose to put in—quickly too. Still, it was a part of Annville history, for better or for worse. Little Joe had inherited it from Joe Jr., who inherited it from the first Joe way back in the 60’s. The family would serve you greasy burgers and fries for a better price than the chains and all the soda you could want to wash it down. You didn’t insult the food and didn’t comment on the hygiene, and they’d feed you at any hour of the day, no shirt, shoes, or manners required. It was a system that benefited pretty much everyone.

Jesse had no reason to believe that Cass was there, except for the fact that he wasn’t at the church, the bar wasn’t open, and he quite literally had nowhere else to go. Sure enough the hunch paid off because Cass was lounging in the furthest booth, munching on a meatball sub.

He had tomato sauce all over his chin and Jesse’s stomach tightened; stained white skin like a clerical collar.

Walking forward was something straight out of a dream. He was well aware that it was a decent crowd for a Thursday afternoon, with more than half the spots filled with familiar faces, all of them hailing him with some sort of greeting. It meant that part of Jesse was on autopilot, raising his hand and shooting smiles at random. It also meant that Cass was given plenty of warning.

When he looked up he didn’t seem particularly phased, like he hadn’t dismembered two men last night and presumably hid the evidence while Jesse slept. Cass just gave him a sunny smile and a sweeping gesture to sit.

“Padre,” he said, all syrupy sweetness.

“Cassidy.”

“You’re lookin’ well rested.”

“Mmm, not so much.”

It was a game they were playing, though Jesse was the only one in on the rules. Cass knew damn well he’d been splayed out on filthy wood all night, but he wasn’t meant to know that... and he didn’t know that Jesse already knew. It was one of those stupid, convoluted moments that him splitting a grin ear to ear. Jesse made himself comfortable in the booth across from Cass, sneaking a hand over the table to drum his fingers near Cass’ wrist. He pictured the severed hand from last night and breathed deep.

“You’d never believe the dream I had,” Jesse said, keeping his voice just this side of innocent. “Remember drinks the other night? You telling me you were a—ha!—vampire, of all things?”

Cass had slowed in his eating. He paused entirely now, mouth pursed, before resuming and stuffing a couple chips into his gob. “I remember,” he said. “Finally gonna believe me then?”

“Oh well,” Jesse dodged that with a wave of his hand. “It’s just, it kinda got to me, you know? I ended up with this crazy-ass dream of you tearing these two shucks limb from limb, bleeding them dry, and then, would you believe it? You were licking the blood straight off the floor, like some sort of animal.”

Cassidy froze. Jesse went for the kill.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you good manners?”

And there it was, that wonderful point of confusion, where Cass wasn’t sure if Jesse knew or really thought it had all been a dream. That right there was power and Jesse reveled in the brief expression of panic, Cass’ tongue poking out to nervously trace his lips.

“Sounds like quite a nightmare,” he settled on, finally meeting Jesse’s eye.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it that,” and Jesse scooped up some of the sub’s sauce, rubbing it between his fingers.

Cass’ eyes blew wide.

“That so?”

“Yep.”

Jesse loved all of it: the realization spreading across Cass’ face, the sticky liquid between his fingers, the hustle and bustle of so many others around them, acting as a constant reminder that this wasn’t a private space. Nonetheless, Jesse sucked the sauce off his fingers, slow and steady, then reached for a spoon without pausing to wipe them down. Cass followed every movement as Jesse scraped down the bun and brought the spoonful over his lap.

“Don’t the kids call it something? The five second rule?” Jesse kept his movements slow, giving Cass plenty of time to see what he was doing. “Tut, tut. You waited far longer than that.”

The sauce was thick and came off the spoon in one glob, falling between Jesse’s spread legs and hitting the floor under the table. All he had to do was tilt his head—a single look—and Cass caved, shucking his skinny frame off the seat and sliding to the floor. He was gone in a flash. Nearly fast enough that someone might think he wasn’t human.

“Good boy,” Jesse said.

He couldn’t know if vampires had enhanced hearing as well. A squeeze of hands on his calves said they did.

Jesse was careful though, hesitant even, scanning the restaurant for signs that they’d been noticed. It looked as if everyone was just going about their business—Davey working through a mound of cheese fries, Alice and William Becker arguing about that goddamn mortgage again, a gaggle of kids running screaming between the counter and the door—and Jesse took a chance, spreading his legs to take a peek at the sight he’d created.

Cass was on all fours in front of him, ass high enough in the air that it brushed the underside of the table. If Jesse had been the bloodhound earlier than Cass was the starved, mangy mutt, licking the sauce straight off of Joe’s filthy floor with neither disgust nor pause. Jesse was equally revolted and enthused with the image.

When he was finished—when the spot was cleaner than it had probably been in years—Cass’ mouth latched onto Jesse’s leg instead, sucking a strip there that was somehow burning straight through his jeans. Jess tensed, shifted just slightly, opening his legs all the wider. He didn’t know if he’d actually spilled any sauce on his pants or if Cass was just coming up with excuses now, but once again, he didn’t really give a damn.

So Jesse snuck a hand down too, fitting it into Cass’ hair and tugging hard. They couldn’t go too far here, not even oblivious Jenny at the side table would fail to miss her Preacher’s face if it started twisting in rapture, but he needed a little something more. Hand trembling, Jesse scooped up some of the excess sauce and brought it down with his left, uncaring as he hit more strands of hair and what felt like Cass’ nose. Jesse just needed Cass’ mouth on some appendage of his body before they moved on to...whatever the hell this was becoming.

“Not blood,” he whispered. “Sorry about that, but—”

Cass sucked Jesse’s finger into his mouth with reckless abandon, giving just as much, more, than what he’d offered in the church. Jesse got to see before and now he felt, resulting in him letting out a noise so strangled and helpless that it brought a mortified blush up to his cheeks.

“Preacher?”

Aw, hell.

Young Sasha trotted over, pink-cheeked in her first week on the job. She gave Jesse a sunny smile that only faded as she caught sight of the other empty booth. “Oh, where did Mr. Cassidy go?”

A sharp pain shot through his knuckle at ‘Mr.’ Jesse kept his own smile fixed in place.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s...taking care of some business.”

A swirl of tongue in appreciation; a gentle scrape of teeth.

“...okay. Were you, um, gonna take care of his check?”

“Mmm hmm. I’m used to looking after him,”—the reverberation of a growl.

“Great! Did you want anything else first?”

“No, no. I’ve got everything I want right here.”

Sasha left again, Cass dug unforgiving nails into Jesse’s legs, and he whispered directions to a nearby alley that had catered to him more than once. Jesse pocketed one of Joe’s knives as well. Dull, but serviceable for their needs.

“Here’s your check, preacher.” Jesse felt Cass’ bite in time with Sasha’s smile.

Oh yes, life was gonna give you shit sometimes, none more so than what you made for yourself. His daddy had taught him that. But this?

This right here was not a part of that heaping pile.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jessidy #prompt #preacherfic #another prompt fill WOOO!#*deliberately does not look at the still massive list left of things to write*#Anonymous

21 notes · View notes

canyoufeelalone · 7 years

Text

Laid to waste

Maybe telling a story would be easier if I could fly within the winds and speak out the story as loud as I can to the whole wide world as they hear nothing because my voice would dissipate in the air as they hit the clouds. Even if no one heard me, I think that would be a pretty satisfying way to tell a story, specifically, my story. For all the darkness I knew came to my life I think I was glad this form of darkness came to consume my heart as of now. In a time where I just felt maybe slightly contended with life as I was lost with the stagnant phase of growing up and graduating school, I felt the evermore needing to find a goal to set up for the upbringing of my life. Truth be told, I was looking for fun and a purpose all at once. Because isn’t that what you and I would do as human, seeking purpose and fun. All I ever wanted or needed in this world seemed really non-existent at that duration of time. I had filled myself with fun in playing a fantasy game of another world where I had mad many friends, fought creatures, and lived countless lives over and over again. It felt complete for a short-long moment in time. But as time of youth felt like a fleeting thing I knew I had to find another reason to live my life. In a way that I would have loved to live. In the back of my mind I thought that living underneath a mountain in the meadows under a cottage home would be the best thing ever, where I would live my days in peace writing a book, not alone, with a family of my own. In such fantasies I thought that such a thing could be a reality for someone like me who’s head is always aired with dreams and motivation of the world. I think it’s great, that I had a moment to have thought about life in such a beautiful way. If not beautiful at least it was a calm thought. I had regrets not knowing what to do later on as I got older and dreams slowly fade away becoming nothing but a clouded mess inside my head but I always try to find peace and hope for the best in this world. I just need to know that in the end I will find peace and all will be good. As my young self-had thought that the world was a beautiful place, filled with joy and potential of happiness for ever after for everyone who had inhabited it. Because what’s the point of living in this world if you’re only going to feel upset about anything. There is no point no matter what religion or what race you side with. It has nothing to do with what you are, but if you don’t find it a peaceful thing to be alive or you feel you’ll never find peace being alive, then who’s going to save you from that feeling even if they managed to convince you for a moment to keep on living, only you can convince yourself to stay. You’re a wonder worth living, there’s no point in me saying it unless you’re willing to believe and know that I’m saying the truth for you. The world is as charming as we all think. It’s a small, humbling place to be living in Earth. I once thought that I’d be dead if I stood outside of my home and never came back, then I grew older, and realized that the world isn’t all that big nor that scary. I mean sure, the world can be a terrifying place if you don’t open up to the horrors that it can give and provide to you, but nothing’s laminated forever in the shadows, you can find freedom and tie the world together when you’re ready for it.

Once upon a time, a rhythmic darkness passed onto me in the shape of an angel. It was playing a tone in my heart. The heart of mine back then was strong, wild, fierce, and unshaken by anything the world would have been wanting to throw at me. But this form of darkness, this strange and funny form, took me into a realm that I never had experience yet. Not yet in my life at this duration has it ever affected me to change on into something else, that is better or worse, as it has revealed many sides of me that not even I knew had existed within the deepest parts of me. And that is the feeling of your heart being infatuated by another. Long ago I would call it love, at the hands of cupid. Funny, Valentine’s Day always seemed bleak even when alone. But now I would call it a demonic feeling. A feeling that will torment you to the rings out of existence if you were to fail at playing the game. I would wonder what would happen to someone if they lost all the heart strings that they succeeded in gathering in life. To have many of their loved to just one day, fade. Tremble as they may go, the sad feeling of having something solely attached to you latched and gone forever. How many tears would it convince you to yourself that you’re alright? Everything will get better. Everything is okay. Everything is but a myth in the order end. And you know it all too well. What would happen if I had let you gone by sooner I asked myself. Not once has it nailed on me that if I had quit sooner, I wouldn’t be feeling anything like this as I was. The thing about human nature is that, we don’t give up so easily. And so regrets keep on happening whether we want it or not, because it is in our nature. How I wish I could have been born a mere caterpillar. To have become something so beautiful at the start where everything seemed roughed and unforgiving unless endured with patience and time, to fly. What angers me, in my chest, is that I dint have to play the game. I dint have to let the game overtook me, but I did. Because I wasn’t prepared with how it should have been played. Maybe my darkest hours in time is when I misplayed a few steps that I knew I shouldn’t have played. Some would argue with me that it’s better to have played than having regrets of not playing it at all. While I agree to some extent of that statement, I do have my own opinions on that. We’re human and we’ll feel regret no matter what. We’re just human, and we’re everything important to our race. We’re people. I can’t stress how bad it is to have made a mistake and regret about it, or how to have not make a decision and then regret about it. But inevitably that is our outcome, we have nothing we can do about it so let it sit in regret all we want, or we can let go a little of that self-contained pride regret and let go of what’s killing us on the inside. We need to understand, we need to understand a lot of things. Being mistreated by the world is one thing, but being mistreated by ourselves is another problem worth fixing over and over until it’s done just right for us, only us.

Why the world is important and why I love you. It’s simple right for me to make statements like that without having an actual answer. I think for one asking those questions is the first step to answering them, even if we don’t know where to start. It seems dumb and foolish when you look at it at a stand point, but you can’t help but agree that many of life’s greatest mysteries were answered by asking questions. I can’t fathom living in a world where you don’t know what to say about your own self because you don’t want to know about you more and more. You have to wonder what brought you here, other than your parents, what is your purpose for being here in the first place. I like to believe that we were born and given a chance over here without anyone ever having a plan for us. We have to make our own plans, and I like to keep thinking of it that way. Maybe you have someone else making a plan for you, well, that’s good, at least you have a plan and I hope it’s a good one. So far the only plan I think I’ve ever succeeded in life at this point is to just stay alive, as long as I did. Because when you’re floating in the oceans of doubts and regrets, you sometimes wonder how amazing you are to have made it through everything life hurdles at you, and how much you fought back. When someone is on the verge of death, you don’t really think they’re giving up. They’re probably not giving up. If they are, then, that’s really sad. Final moments however should only be filled up with thoughts of you. Your last hour should be filled with your thoughts of however you wanted it to be. To either make sure that you’re done in with no regrets, or done in without remorse. The chaotic feeling of ones despair is converged never easily with anything in life. That’s why depression was more attracted to death as more so as illness is. The shadow of the world is quaking terror behind a person’s mind cloud. That’s why they need to open their eyes. Never give up. Be angry, be crazy, be anything. Never give up to that darkness that foreshadows the lust of angry fear behind the clouded judgment of your eyes, your mind, where all is bleak and shadow. The world may not be perfect but neither are we. That’s something to talk about. Something new to learn everyday so we should never give up and hold on. Hold on tight because I swear to you, it’ll be a bumpy ride but it’s also one hell of a joyride.

It’s cold. Cooling as much as the last snowman, you wonder if you’d ever melt in the grace of kindness. I for once thought that kindness needed to happen as we helped one another. Getting from one edge to one point in life. You’re the most important living thing there is so why not be selfish and lavish yourself with kindness. World seems un-logical, random as it is erratic to live in, but we keep on living with the same notion everyday with minor change in algorithms. Something a new arose everyday but with pattern he do routines day and night, all year long forever ever till being alive is no more a task that we have to fulfil every day. That’s when we move on to something new. Unknown to man. Delver has it written in passage of time that the world is economically small and large all at the same time. Only when you know its worth a lot will you know it’s a lot. Else, it is small, no value. Back then the universe was worth nothing it meant everything to us. Because without it we wouldn’t really be an existence now. It’s hard to say this, without regret. The world has no meaning unless we gave it meaning. From one passage in time the world has low value and now its value rises up so high it’s hard to wonder if it’s alright for such things to have meaning at one point in time and no longer at another point. It’s so hard to control mundane human existence and thoughts because we try to set everything with a goal and a value for it to be something as important as we hoped it’d be but never have we thought it’d be something so much as a tragedy to keep things with value and meaning. Should nothing or something prosper as we’d hope it should or would, or nothing but damnation should be awaiting for us hoping and valuing something too much as we soon realize, there is no meaning. Having no meaning to life a part from breathing and living. Can you not be as graceful as you did.

I wished I gave up on everything. Well, not really, not anymore. I’m glad I’m still here to have existed. I want to go back to the way I was, but that seems slightly impossible because we keep changing. It’s in our nature. Even if I am filled with regret of everything that has happened, I’m glad that maybe, a little maybe, I can move on without too many regrets. It’s hard to just be who we are let alone be who we wanted to be, so never forget who we used to be. They’re different people, different us. All so amazing people with different stories to share at different points. Cry, be afraid, and be alone. It’s okay, I guess. Whatever gets you through the night, hold on to it very tight.

�a `�Zj��

#alonetime #alone #encouragement

0 notes

thereluctantinquisitor · 3 years

Text

OC Kiss Week 21

I arrive with a humble entry, dedicated to my lovely @frenchy-and-the-sea. Thank you for letting me borrow one of your Seven Cities characters!

This turned out a lot longer than expected because of who I am as a person. Anyway I hope you like it, and I apologise in advance for any wild inconsistencies with the Captain of my Heart and Soul.

~2000 words, original fiction (a hearty blend of Stonebreaker and Seven Cities)

_______________________________

There weren’t a lot of things to be said about sailors. Well, other than the conclusive fact that they were all utterly insane. But there was something about that cocksure Captain Alex, with her big hat and big ego to fill it, that had been keeping Sylda up later and later into the night. Before, she would just lie in her makeshift pallet, entertaining increasingly ridiculous ideas; the kind that scythed their way through her skull to the rhythm of the rocking ship. This time, partly out of desperation, she had opted for the aid of fresh air to clear her mind.

Perched on the wooden taffrail, her gaze - and left leg - swung out over the ocean’s dark oblivion. For the first time in over a week, she was finally alone. Thinking.

Just... thinking.

How Delver had managed to find them passage on a remotely seaworthy vessel was nothing short of a miracle. Sylda hadn’t asked any questions - she certainly knew better than to look the proverbial horse in the mouth. But the fact that they hadn’t been gutted and keelhauled the second they lost sight of land still hadn’t quite sunk in. She’d heard stories about the mad seafarers of the east. About their obsession with dark water. About their greed and cold steel. About the way they used people as bait to lure creatures from the deep...

Well, she supposed she should be grateful they hadn’t ended up on one of those vessels. Delver was a lot of irritating things, but at least a decent judge of character appeared to be one of them.

The sound of a door suddenly creaking open earned a carefully languid glance, the motion at utter odds with the lurch of surprise in Sylda’s stomach. Relax, she chided herself. This wasn’t some ale-soaked back alley. It was probably one of those twins - Fin or Din or something - wandering out to take a piss.

Her rational side’s attempt to assert dominance crumbled the second she realised who had actually stepped out onto the afterdeck.

“Captain Sheffield.” Sylda wasn’t about to snap to attention, but she gave Alex what she felt was a suitably deferential nod. “It’s a nice night. Out for a stroll?”

Alex’s nose wrinkled slightly. “Some fresh air, more like. Not much strolling to be had back here.”

That was true enough. There were far better options for an evening walk than the stern, after all. Letting the door swing shut behind her, Alex groaned softly and moved forward, hands on her lower back, stretching as she went. From her vantage, Sylda swore the line of Alex’s spine had fixed itself into a slight bow, ready at any moment to diligently curve itself over a desk. Whatever she and Delver had been up to, it seemed to have gone far longer and far later than expected. He probably drove her half-way mad, rambling on the way he does, she thought, smiling slightly to herself. At least someone else got to experience the uniquely infuriating pleasure of his company.

As quickly as the smile arrived, she shooed it away with a start. No - she would rather die than admit to even an ounce of fondness for the insufferable man. He was a means to an end, and she was exactly the same thing for him. That knowledge - that truth - had served them well over the seasons.

A sharp clearing of the throat pulled Sylda from her thoughts. Alex had stopped a few steps from the door, and something about the hawk-like intensity of her gaze made Sylda feel very much like a mouse on a platter. “Do me a favour,” Alex began slowly, as though each of her words required careful and deliberate measuring. “If you’re plannin’ on tipping yourself into the sea, kindly do so when I’m not close enough to feel obliged to go in after you.”

That startled a laugh out of Sylda. “Oh? Is that something captains do?” When Alex’s stern expression didn’t waver, she cocked her head and smiled. “C’mon - don’t give me that look. Are you trying to tell me that daring rescues aren’t actually part of the job description?”

It took a moment before Alex responded, and when she did, it was strangely like a confession. “It’s... more a personal habit than a demand of the position.” She snorted softly. “An unfortunate one at times, if you ask Tahir. Reckon that particular impulse has had a fair hand in turning him grey over the years.” The brief moment of levity, however, vanished as quickly as it arrived. “But let me be clear; I've no intention of feeling guilty tonight.”

There was no mistaking the unspoken command. And frankly, with those piercing eyes leveled at her, Sylda didn’t feel particularly keen to risk disobedience. That was a strange thing all by itself. Divider, she’d cussed out bandits with a knife to her neck - spat in the face of guards hauling her off for a week in the pit. But now, she found herself sighing and swinging both her legs ship-side. Without even a trace of her usual malicious compliance, she slid smoothly until her feet were pressed safely to the wooden deck. “Well, I wouldn’t want to cause you any grief, Captain.” Her eyes flicked up and she flashed a half-smile. “You know, I’ve actually got a pretty steady set of legs under me. Been running rooftops since I was tall as your waist.”

“That so?” Alex folded her arms, but something about her posture had shifted. Loosened. “Well, when rooftops start pitching in a swell, make sure you pass on word. I’m sure plenty of folk will be keen to know another viable application for their sea legs.”

“Alright, alright. Point taken. I’ll keep my arse off the rails.” Still chuckling, Sylda turned, leaning her forearms on the lacquered wood instead. “Can’t imagine a stiller night than this one, though. Can a ship even move in this?”

The sound of boots against the deck heralded Alex’s approach. Arriving beside her, the Captain mirrored her pose, allowing her weary back to settle into a more familiar position. “Aye, it can, but not at any particular speed.” She motioned at something in the dark, her finger tracing a line over the water. “The current here runs south-east. We’ll just let her drift in that direction until the wind picks up.”

“That won’t take us off-course?”

Alex shrugged. “Not far enough to be worried, unless we’re becalmed for days on end. But I can’t say I’ve had that happen out here. The Pale’s not a quiet sea. This is...”

Alex trailed off, closing her eyes, as though to better feel the strange stillness. There was no real need for her to finish her sentence; Sylda simply allowed herself to lapse into the same peaceful silence. The sound of the water lapping against the hull was a soothing rhythm for tired souls. It had been a long few weeks. Seasons, even, if she were being truly honest.

“Hey... can I admit something?” Sylda eventually asked. That, it seemed, piqued Alex’s curiosity. The Captain turned away from the water, arching a brow to indicate her approval. Maybe even her curiosity, if Sylda felt like flattering herself. “Coming out here,” she continued, “out on the open water... it kinda scared the shit out of me.”

To her surprise, Alex snorted. “And here I thought you’d be telling me something I didn’t guess the first hour out of port.”

Sylda cringed. “Was it that obvious?”

“Finn reckoned you were wound tighter than a tenday clock.”

Groaning theatrically, Sylda made a show of hanging her head. “Alright, alright, laugh it up. At least I kept all my meals down.” They shared a glance at that, and twin smiles slowly spread across their faces. Who would have thought that the image of Delver, green-faced and dramatically clinging to the rail, could actually bring people together? For a moment, Sylda almost forgot where she was. Who she was with. It was like being back in Yelen. Back in the Nest, sitting across from someone she knew. Someone she trusted. Respected, even. Someone with eyes of steel and a liberal dusting of freckles.

Someone she might just want to lean towards and...

As quickly as the feeling had taken her, Sylda remembered that everything she knew about Alex Sheffield could comfortably fit into a thimble - with her thumb already in it - and the smile drifted away. Clearing her throat, she did her best to hide her burning cheeks, turning back towards the quiet, dark ocean. The Pale. An ironic name if ever there was one. “Anyway... I heard a lot of stories. About the deep water. I’m not sure if any of them are true, but they were enough to convince me I wouldn’t let myself anywhere near it. Just in case.”

Alex turned as well, the folds of her shirt shifting softly as she leaned backwards against the rail, her weight resting on her elbows. With the stillness of the night and her head tipped slightly skyward, Sylda couldn’t help but picture Alex as a kind of statue, her sight forever set on the stars. She supposed anyone willing to sail the open water had to be a bit like that. A bit in love with things distant and unknown.

“But, despite it all, here you are,” Alex said after a moment. Her voice was suddenly soft. Thoughtful. Somehow, Sylda got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t just talking about her anymore. That was alright. It was a night for quiet contemplation, apparently. That could be nice, sometimes. Calming.

Leaning into the moment, Sylda exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders dip. Feeling the weight of her feet pressing against the deck, of her arms on the rail. “But here I am,” she replied, then playful smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Fuck me, right?”

Alex snorted. Confused, Sylda turned to discern the source of her amusement, and when it hit her a half-second later, she let out suffering groan. “Oh come on. You’re better than that.”

“Am I? You’ve seen the kind of company I keep.”

It was Sylda’s turn to laugh. “Okay then, maybe not. But if we could side-step the gutter for a moment, I’d like it known to you and anyone eavesdropping nearby that I expect at least a kiss first.”

“That so?” A gentle breeze stirred - just enough to tease the curling locks framing Alex’s face - before quickly falling away again. For a second, Sylda’s words stuck in her throat, and she realised just how close they were. Just how alone they were.

Then the playful gleam in Alex’s eyes - as though she somehow knew exactly what she was doing her - tugged Sylda back to the present.

“What can I say? I’m an old fashioned kinda gal.” Sighing in mimicry of the high class ladies whose purses she liked to pluck, Sylda arched her back and mimed demurely fanning her bosom. “I require courting.”

“Really?” Alex raised a brow, her lips twisting in what Sylda quietly hoped was amusement. “With just a kiss?”

Sylda grinned and mimed tossing the fan into the sea.

“Well, I never said a lot of courting.”

Laughter seemed to carry further on still nights. It was as though, in the absence of wind, it sought to fill the sails all by itself. For the first time since leaving port, Sylda felt lighter. Not without burdens - never that light. But at least, for a few moments, she could flit and flirt and pretend it was something a person like her just got to do. Without guilt. Without worrying about all the things standing in her way. About all the ways she would inevitably fall short.

And for her part, Alex proved surprisingly open to the game. Maybe it was just because she was tired, and her walls were lower than usual. Despite her curiosity, Sylda hadn’t expected to even catch the Captain alone, yet alone rope her into a starlit conversation. After all, she knew - acutely well - how much of a time-siphon Delver could be. Particularly when his passions were piqued. It was a miracle he hadn’t shackled himself to Alex’s ankle like the ball and chain he was.

No. That's not fair. Closing her eyes, Sylda pulled in a long, slow breath. When she opened them again, Alex was regarding her quietly, her arms folded once more, her head cocked ever so slightly. Sylda knew when someone was sizing her up, but this... well, it wasn’t quite the same. A step to the left of it, perhaps, where she knew something was being measured, but she just wasn’t sure what.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Sylda asked eventually. Alex blinked, then reasserted herself, her arms unfolding as she hummed and levered herself from the rail.

“Just committing some things to memory. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

At that, it was Sylda’s turn to arch a brow. “Oh?” She reached up absently, her fingers twisting the ends of her hair as Alex smirked and headed back towards the door. Then, finally, she decided to be brave. “Well, before you head off, here’s another thing for your memory. I wouldn’t mind, ah... worrying myself.” She paused, then hastily added, “Over it. That.”

She swore she heard someone snort from somewhere in the rigging, but she was already too mortified to pay it any real heed. Well, that was smooth as fucking gravel, Sylda thought, cringing inwardly. It took everything in her power not to flip herself over the rail and into the sea. Idiot. This is why you don’t do this. This is why...

Again, maybe it was the product of weariness, or perhaps the strange stillness of the night, but Alex Sheffield, Captain of the Ranger, actually turned back. Her hand rested on the carefully carved doorknob. Her hair, untouched by wind, curled loosely at its ends.

“Well,” she said, then graced her with a quick, sly smile. One that went straight to Sylda’s knees. “Suppose I’ll go ahead and add that, too.”

#OC kiss week 21 #dskjadsjakld I APOLOGISE FOR THE LONG #this is what happens when i type directly into tumblr drafts and dont have a word count to keep me humble lol #alex sheffield #sylda #other people's ocs #reluctant writes #<3 #Frenchy-and-the-sea #sylda has a bit of a crush okay? and she is Not Coping lol #someone save her from herself

11 notes · View notes