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vrishchikawrites · 3 years

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You know what would be interesting?

JC never lost his golden Core.

And Wei Wuxian did not lose his.

But he still gets dropped into the Burial Mounds. And like I dunno how, but he comes out of there having mastered the new form of cultivation.

Jiang Cheng acts like a dick that's par for cannon. And this Wei Wuxian who has survived the burial Mounds with his golden core intact has no time for his drama.

He definitely confesses to Lan Wangji o ce he is out of the burial mounds.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in the Sunshot campain would be brilliant. Cultivating and * *wink wink nudge nudge* * dual cultivating.

JC is seething with jelousy. He has everything. The gentry name, the money and sect leadership but the whole world is only speaking about Wei Wuxian and his like awesome cultivation. Both the sword style and with his flute.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning- Wen Ning convinces his sister to join the war. Wen Ning wants to be on Wei Wuxian's side.

What would JC throw a tantrum over if he doesn't have anything to throw a tantrum over??

Like for example he blames Wei Wuxian for Lotus Pier burning. Obviously it's not his mistake. But one day he is yelling at Wei Wuxian about it and sect leader someone maybe XiChen, maybe Sect leader Nie. Whoever. Comes and like defends Wei Wuxian.

What would he do then faced with the facts? Cling all the more to his warped world view? Or apologize?

It will be interesting to see.

You don't have to take this prompt if it's too messy or whatever. I love you and your writing.

Also, thank you for choosing to write my previous prompt.

XOXO.

(this is a little similar to trapped and patient but also quite different. Hope you like it! The format is a bit different because this is a lot of time to cover in a short prompt)

When he stumbles out of the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian is stunned. He can't believe he made it, that he was able to survive it, without his sword.

Wei Wuxian walks forward shakily, one unsteady step at a time, putting distance between him and that wretched place.

He feels weak, drained, devastated in small ways.

But he is free.

---

Yiling offers shelter in unexpected ways. He's able to hide in a temple to recover. His condition is wretched enough that he's mistaken for a beggar. A few people take pity on him and offer fruits and buns.

It takes him a week.

That's all it takes for him to recover.

Wei Wuxian washes all traces of Burial Mounds off him, soaks in icy river water for hours on end until he feels purified and reforged.

Now, he's ready for revenge.

---

Wei Wuxian has only tried his cultivation method on the dead. He has used it to repel the fierce corpses, fierce ghosts, and spirits soaked in resentment.

When he tests the method on the Wens, it proves to be even more effective. They scramble like mindless beasts, driven by fear and confusion. The sounds of his Dizi pierce the air and induce madness.

He watches from a distance, indifferent as the Wens turn on each other, swinging their swords, shouting at phantoms, all sense and intellect gone.

He turns away.

---

Jiang Cheng's arms wrap around him and the fog around his mind starts to slowly recede. He stands stiffly, blinking a little before looking beyond his martial brother.

Lan Zhan is there, staring at him with wide eyes. There's so much open concern on his usually stoic face that Wei Wuxian wants to turn away.

"Wei Ying,"

It is only then, under the power of that golden gaze, that his fugue state dissipates. He sees Lan Zhan step forward, almost reaching out only to pull back at the last moment.

Jiang Cheng pushes him away and punches his shoulder, "Where have you been? How dare you abandon us and just frolic off somewhere?"

Wei Wuxian swalllows with difficulty and answers their questions with his habitual dismissive charm.

But that honest expression of open concern on Lan Zhan's beautiful face doesn't leave.

He meets those golden eyes and feels something shift within him.

Shaking his head, he dismisses the feeling. There's no time for sentimental reunions. He turns his attention towards Wen Chao, unsheathes his sword, and kills him in one clean strike.

There. Done.

---

The war is already in full swing by the time he joins it. His martial brother and Lan Zhan are quick to take him to Qinghe, not even letting him ride his own sword.

"Wei-gongzi, I'm happy to see you safe," Lan Xichen greets, running a discreet eye over him. The older Lan brother's concern is well hidden but Wei Wuxian senses it nevertheless.

The man looks like he's just about ready to banish him to the healing halls.

He opens his mouth to reassure Lan Xichen but Nie Mingjue intervenes, slapping his back solidly, "I hear you're responsible for the devastation at Yiling. Good work!"

Wei Wuxian smiles brightly, hoping to banish that increasingly familiar look from Lan Zhan's face. "Thank you, Nie-zongzhu." He smiles up at the man, "I can give you a full report of what happened if you wish it."

The Chifeng-zun's expression shifts into one of approval and he nods, "I do wish it."

"I would like to know as well, if you don't mind," Lan Xichen says and Nie Mingjue nods before he glances at Lan Zhan.

He chuckles, "Lan er-gonzi can join us as well."

---

Wei Wuxian doesn't realize he's been spending more time with the Lan brothers and Nie Mingjue until Jiang Cheng angrily points it out.

"You're too good for us, are you?" He demands, "Abandoning us in favor of your new friends! Even in the battlefield, you and Lan Wangji are inseparable! Have some shame! How dare you abandon your responsibilities and mess around with that man?"

"a-Cheng," Shijie reprimands gently but her voice is weak.

"Aiya, Jiang Cheng, who keeps track of such things amidst a war? They're all our allies. It's not like I have abandoned everyone." He still trains with the Jiang disciples and leads them in battle after all.

"Wei Wuxian!"

"Jiang Cheng," His voice makes his irritation clear, "Is this really the right time to worry about such trivial matters? Who cares about appearances during war? Are were not all one when on the battlefield?" He asks, narrowing his eyes on the furious Jiang, "We don't know whether we'll live or die when we ride out and you're concerned about who fights alongside me? Just who are you speaking of?"

"Who I am speaking of?" Jiang Cheng snaps in return, "Your obsession with that man is unseemly and reflects poorly on the sect! You know it and yet you carry on shamelessly-"

"My obsession?" He demands, "Just what are you trying to imply, Jiang Cheng? You're going to be a brat just because Lan Zhan happens to be the only one able to keep up with me?" It is no secret that his three month stint sharpened his cultivation in ways people find hard to fathom. He didn’t just develop a new cultivation method, he grew. Surviving the Burial Mounds is a feet beyond the skill and endurance of most cultivators.

Wei Wuxian has earned his already formidable reputation.

Jiang Cheng reels back at the reminder, his face twisting with rage.

Never let it be said that Wei Wuxian takes things lying down. He has spent a lifetime appeasing Jiang Cheng and dealing with his insecurities.

He no longer has the patience.

---

He reaches out instinctively, pulling Lan Zhan out of a blade's path, spinning around to block the strike with his bare arm.

His thick leather brace manages to minimize the damage and he doesn't lose his arm but it is a near thing.

With a hiss, he crowds against Lan Zhan and brings Suibian down in a sharp slash, cutting the Wen before him from left shoulder to right hip.

"Reckless." Lan Zhan says later as he carefully stitches the cut.

"I couldn't let you get hurt." Wei Wuxian says softly, peering down at the kneeling figure before him. He has seen Lan Zhan in various states of indignity, covered in blood, robes soaked in the disgusting sludge of a war-torn field.

Nothing diminishes his beauty.

Wei Wuxian's heart races, his head spinning as he smells the scent of sandalwood. He swallows as Lan Zhan shifts closer, carefully snipping the excess thread and studying his neat stitches.

This close, he feels overwhelmed and realization dawns.

"I love you," He breathes, stunned.

He loves Lan Zhan. The knowledge strikes him now, suddenly, without warning. "How did I not know?" Wei Wuxian feels strangely dazed. How could he not know? It is so obvious to him, his constant need for Lan Zhan's attention, "I hate it when you ignore me." The feeling of those snapping golden eyes on him when he finally manages to gain Lan Zhan's attention, "It's thrilling when you don't."

He has never met anyone more beautiful, "I find you better looking than any maiden." Lan Zhan's proximity now makes him feel-, "Breathless," He says, "When I'm close to you I feel- how did I miss-"

Lan Zhan grip is like vice around his wrist.

Wei Wuxian stops, going pale as he realizes how brazenly he had just confessed love to a man. If Jiang Cheng were here, he'd definitely gut him with Sandu, "Lan Zhan, I-"

Lan Zhan surges forward, eyes blazing and expression dark.

Warm lips slide over his and his mind goes silent.

He doesn't think a single thought that night.

---

War doesn't wait for anyone and Wei Wuxian doesn't say anything in protest when Lan Zhan pulls away from him. He watches with heavy eyes as Lan Zhan shrugs on his discarded outer robes and glances at him.

"Is your body alright?" He asks and Wei Wuxian feels a blush crawl up his neck.

“No! Of course it isn’t,“ He complains even though his body is buzzing with lingering pleasure. He pouts up at Lan Zhan, who studies him with careful golden eyes, “Really, going on and on, taking your pleasure without any care for my virgin body.“ Lan Zhan’s ears are delightfully red, “Who knew er-gege could be so bold?“

“Wei Ying,“ Lan Zhan’s expression is flat but his voice carries a hint of a waver. Wei Wuxian just grins in response, “Be serious.“

In all honesty, his body is already back to its regular state of being. His Golden Core is still spinning furiously and the lingering energy from Dual Cultivation has healed any aches and pains he might have.

“Fine,“ He says in a petulant tune, inwardly delighted that Lan Zhan is now his, “But er-gege must kiss me to make me feel better.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate, leaning over him and gently tipping his chin up for the demanded kiss.

Wei Wuxian sighs, sinking into it as a curtain of silken black hair forms a private cocoon around him.

---

The war ends but Wei Wuxian’s problems don’t end with it. Three issues stand before him; helping the Wen remnants, helping rebuild YunmengJiang, and figuring out how to marry Lan Zhan.

One obstacle stands in the way of two of these three goals. Jiang Cheng absolutely refuses to lift a finger to help the Wen remnants, even though Wen Qing’s assistance helped them win the war. Jin Guangyao may have killed Wen Ruohan but Wen Qing prevented thousands of casualties.

Wen Ning was also responsible for rescuing Jiang Cheng from the Wen capture before he lost his Golden Core. It was fortunate that Wen Zhuliu had been called to visit Wen Ruohan and Wen Chao had to wait to enact that punishment.

Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian managed to steal Jiang Cheng away just hours before Wen Zhuliu returned.

And yet, Jiang Cheng chooses to side with the Jins on the matter instead of listening to Lan Xichen or Nie Mingjue. Wei Wuxian knows it is partly because their sister is marrying into the Jin clan and they can’t afford to make things difficult for her, but still.

Jin Zixuan will obviously protect shijie. There’s no need to be so cautious, especially if three out of four sects oppose imposing any sort of punishment on innocent people.

On a personal front, Jiang Cheng’s disapproval of his relationship with Lan Zhan is blatant.

Jiang Cheng can’t really stop Wei Wuxian from marrying whoever he wishes. He doens’t need the sect leader’s permission as he’s not really the member of the family. But his shidi is making things difficult with his sneering disapproval and contemptuous comments in public.

He has already alienated Lan Xichen completely by calling Lan Zhan’s honor in question (boy did he earn the punch Wei Wuxian had leveled at him - sect leader or no). Nie Mingjue will never side with some upstart over Lan Xichen.

Lan Zhan himself doesn’t care. He has never liked Jiang Cheng and he never will. He only retaliates when Jiang Cheng tries to attack Wei Wuxian.

His protective er-gege as no tolerance for anyone trying to harm him.

Which is what, ultimately, breaks Wei Wuxian’s ties with YunmengJiang.

The confrontation is embarrassingly public. He doesn’t mind Lan Xichen or Nie Mingjue being present but feels upset about Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao being there as well.

“Twin Prides of Yungmeng, isn’t that what you promised me?“ Jiang Cheng demands, “Where will your pride be if you break all of your promises and get into...” He waves his hand at Lan Zhan in disgust, “Is this how you intend to repay us? My father raised you to be the Head Disciple of the Jiang Sect and you would rather be some sort of deviant?“

“Jiang Cheng-“

“And you would side with the Wen dogs too! Was this always your intention? Did you always want to bring down my sect and support its enemies?”

“The Wen remnants have helped us. They’re not our enemies.“

“They’re not our enemies now,“ Jin Guanyao interjects calmly, his voice soothing and patient, “But surely you see that it may not remain so? We cannot risk another war.”

“They’re barely a few hundred people and we have already taken most of their resources. They’ll live as poor peasants. How can they be a threat to us?“ Wei Wuxian asks.

“You’re indeed naïve, Wei-gongzi,“ Jin Guangshan says in a gentle, placating tone, “Perhaps your fondness for Wen-guniang is making you turn a blind eye. Beautiful women have a tendency to do that.“ He chuckles indulgently.

The sly implication in his tone isn’t lost on anyone. Lan Zhan’s expression turns frosty and Wei Wuxian feels a surge of fury strong enough to make his blood boil. There are so many things wrong with that statement that Wei Wuxian, for once, is rendered speechless.

“You question the honor of Wei Wuxian of all people?“ Nie Mingjue demands, taking a step forward, “I have stayed silent because Jiang Sect business isn’t my business but I will not have you slander and belittle a proven warrior in my presence!“

“Indeed,“ Lan Xichen says calmly but there’s no mistaking the sharp look in his eyes. Lan Xichen rarely reacts to provocations or interferes in sect matters that don’t concern him. But he’s not going to let anyone upset his younger brother carelessly, “The matter of the Wens is easy to resolve. Let us give them a small piece of land, let them set up a village, and forbid cultivation among them.“

“Er-ge,“ Jin Guangyao begins but Lan Zhan is out of patience.

He steps back and bows to all assembled before placing a hand on Wei Wuxian’s back, “Wei Ying will choose his own path. Wens will remain free. Wei Ying and I will marry.“ He meets Jiang Cheng’s furious gaze, “Jiang-zongzhu must decide whether his brother’s happiness matters to him.“

Wei Wuxian winces.

“My brother’s happiness?“ Jiang Cheng demands, “All everyone has ever cared about is his happiness! What about me? What about our Sect? A sect he nearly destroyed because of his loyalty towards you.“ Jiang Cheng looks at him, “Did you forget my mother? My father? How do you intend to repay the enormous debt you carry, Wei Wuxian?“

Wei Wuxian stares back at him, “What is my repayment, Jiang Cheng?” He asks softly, “What will it take for you to consider that debt repaid?” It has been over five years since the fall of Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian has bled and slogged through war to restore that place to its former glory. He has kept Jiang Cheng safe, helped renegotiate shijie’s marriage, and used his name to draw skilled cultivators to YungmengJiang.

What more can he give?

“Loyalty.“ He stills, “You devote your life to YungmengJiang and nothing else.“

Lan Xichen makes a faint, alarmed noise while Nie Mingjue huffs in disapproval.

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, feeling Lan Zhan’s fingers flex on his back. He levels a flat look at Jiang Cheng and thinks on the matter of debts. He thinks about Madam Yu’s refusal to bend, of Jiang-zongzhu’s passivity and lack of planning. He thinks about the Wen’s unprovoked attack on Cloud Recesses and the inevitability of war.

He thinks of his Lan Zhan and shijie’s Jin Zixuan, without swords and facing an armed group of Wens under Wen Chao’s orders.

He thinks of love. Of what it means to be truly, unconditionally loved.

No sorrys and no thank yous. No debt owed for simply being a part of someone’s life.

He thinks of acceptance that comes with an older brother’s amused smile. He thinks of an uncle’s gruff admonishment to behave followed by a stiff reminder to eat, you’re skin and bones already.

He takes a deep breath and decides.

“No.“

#short prompts #Wei Wuxian #Lan Zhan #no golden core transfer #anti jiang cheng

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all-sortsa-stuff · 7 years

Text

This life, part 2

(This beautiful image does not belong to me!)

Pairing: Reader x Eventually Loki

Word Count: 2362

Warnings: None

Part 1

The stars looked down upon you as night drew further along. You had returned to that field as you had many times in your life. It was the place you had trained, as a child, with Loki and Thor to fight. The large tree had been your refuge when your father had told you; his daughter would never battle alongside his Defenders. That you would be queen, to rule and bring forth the next heir of Asgard, as of you were nothing more than the vessel to bear a child. It was Loki who comforted you when your cried, believing that your father thought you weak. He had promised he would train beside you, so that one day you would show your father how strong you truly were. All the memories long forgotten were slowly returning to torment you once more. Since the time Loki disappeared and thought dead, everything in your life had changed. Some of it for the better and some for the very worst. All of those troubles and discord had lead you to the place in life you now were.

Your skills as a fighter were so much more than they ever had been. Utilizing dual swords with a confident style few had ever seen. Those skills were not the only thing that had developed in the past years. You also had other abilities that had manifested in a violent display, which if Frigga had not aided you in gaining control, would undoubtedly have killed yourself and those around you. All of these thoughts were haunting you now as the days had come and gone, without the return of Thor. Tomorrow would make the seventh day. Seven days he had sent not a word as to whether he had succeeded or if Loki had made good upon his plans. Today had been a day of preparation. Your armor was ready as were your weapons, laid out waiting for your departure.

It should not feel any different from the journeys you had since joining with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors in the protection of Asgard. Nevertheless, something felt off. A feeling that something was going to bring about change to your world, whether you were ready for it or not. With a long released breath, you stood from the grass walking back to your grazing horse. He butted you with his nose, resting his head on your shoulder. You smiled leaning your head against his neck, petting him gently. “I know my friend. Something is coming. I know you feel it as I do. We better prepare.”

Lifting yourself onto the saddle, you encouraged him forward towards the palace. The King and Queen requested you leave from the palace in the morn, so that they may see you off and bless your journey. Though you believed, it was more the Queen who made the request. Odin had spoken few words to you since your last meeting. However, he allowed you to share chambers with Sif so you would be well rested before parting. Sif was sharpening her sword when you entered late that night. She looked troubled as you pulled off your boots setting them with the rest of your gear. “What is it, dearest Sif?”

It took a moment for her to answer. Setting the sword and stone beside her on the bed, she walked towards you. “You may not return from Midgard. I know you are strong and fearless. But tell me you will come home.” Her words sounded like those you had said to Thor the week prior. Sif’s concern made you smile. You moved across the room embracing her.

“I will return as will Thor. I refuse anything less.” There was so much more she wanted to say, you could see it in her eyes, but Sif nodded quickly, turning back to her bed. No more words were said between you before laying down to rest. You stared at the ceiling for hours before sleep finally took hold. Even then, you were still up before the dawn. Watching the sunrise over the city, felt as though the Gods were infusing you with their strength. The golden light touching and blessing ever point on the horizon before waking for the day. Your eyes closed, as the light finally reached the window where you stood, warming your face. It was time.

Sif woke as you were pulling your hair back. Half up off your face, tied into a waterfall down your back. She watched you silently from the edge of her bed as you prepared. Darkening around your eyes and blood red color applied to your lips. Your leather coverings slipped on first followed by the metal armor, which left your right shoulder and armor bare. The last piece was your helm. It fit around your face and looked similar to those the Valkyries wore as they brought warriors to Valhalla. Their wings on either side to protect you. Once in battle you would slip the faceplate into place leaving only your eyes visible.

Your friend did not follow you to the Bifrost, but you were met by the King and Queen. Odin watched you closely as the Queen held you tight. “Bring them both home, my dear. I need all of you safe. Remember what you were taught and you will prevail.”

“Yes, my Queen. My Lord.” Bowing towards the King before you stepped towards Heimdall.

“Lady [Y/N], you look as though you are prepared to conquer all the realms.” Heimdall smiled from behind his golden helm.

“Good. I may need to do just that. Send me to the Prince, Heimdall. Seems I need to save his ass once more.” You could hear a laugh from the Queen behind you.

“Of course, my Lady.” As you stepped into position, you slipped the faceplate on. Your heart, felt like it would be pulled from your chest as you were sent towards Midgard. The colors and light were almost blinding, but before there was the moment to get used to the travel, you had already landed. The city before you was in panic. Screams and sirens heard from every direction. Buildings were badly damaged, there were large vehicles traveling through the crowded streets extinguishing fires. Chitauri vehicles were flying through the sky terrorizing where they could.

You found yourself on the top of a building looking over much of the fighting and destruction, not far from a device that opened the portal allowing more Chitauri to enter the realm. You could see someone, a woman close to the device. If she was aiding Loki then she had to be stopped. One of the Chitauri vehicles was flying close to the roof where you stood. Vaulting yourself over the edge pulling one of your swords free, you landed behind the being with your sword slicing through his body. Kicking him off, you sped over towards the device and the woman. The vehicle crashed close to your targeted area as you jumped out of the way. The red hair woman stood there with Loki’s scepter pointed towards the device.

“Don’t even try it. I am destroying this thing. You and the rest of Loki’s army aren’t stopping me. Come on Stark.” The woman edged closer to the device though seemed hesitant to cause it damage, looking up to the sky.

“I am not part of Loki’s army. I am here to assist Thor in stopping this madness. Destroy this machine. Stop the Chitauri from invading the realm further.” Stepping closer to the woman, you sheathed your sword. It was then the Chitauri started falling from the skies. You heard a voice come from the piece in the woman’s ear. Close it. She pushed the staff through the field surrounding the device, destroying the beam that opened the portal. Just before it closed completely a body passed through, falling at an incredible speed. The woman smiled beside you, looking relieved to see it. “It is far better that you have closed the portal but we must get Loki. Where is he?” The woman held a finger up to you as she pressed the piece in her ear.

“Hey Cap, seems we have a new friend here. Says she knows Thor.” There was a moments delay before an answer was heard.

He knows who it is. Both of you meet us in the tower. We have to get Loki.

“Will do. Follow me; it’s time to get the bad guy. I’m Natasha.” She rested Loki’s scepter on her shoulder extending a hand out to you. Looking at her hand a moment you offered yours in return, shaking firmly.

“[Y/N] of Asgard. By ‘bad guy’ you mean Loki?” Your words muffled by the faceplate. She nodded as she walked towards the interior of the tower.

“Yeah he is definitely the ‘bad guy’.”

The pair of you met up with the rest of the group minutes later. Thor grinned seeing you with Natasha. “It is good to see you my friend. You missed the battle.” He rested his hands on your shoulders.

“The battle perhaps, but Loki is still not caught.” The others in the group watched the exchange. A man looked to be made partially of metal took a step towards you.

“We have him; Big Green here left him broken upstairs.”

“Lead us, then Metal Man.” Upstairs you found Loki trying to crawl away, obviously in pain from whatever the large green being had done to him. You stayed towards the back of the group not wanting him to see you right away. Though he would probably only recognize you as Asgardian since you still wore the helm and face plate. Never would he think you would be here to return him home. He had a look of defeat on his face and spoke little as the group escorted him to a cell at the compound of the group Thor called S.H.I.E.L.D. Since he considered everyone below his station, Loki paid little heed to the extra person who joined along with the group. At least until he saw you speaking with his brother. He was locked in one of the clear cells with her arms still bound in front of him. The exchange between you and Thor had him curious.

“Tell me brother; is this your new pet? Does she follow behind, pining for you as you are oblivious to her wants?” Thor stepped forward with a growl, but you placed a hand on his chest stopping him. Shaking your head, you looked up to him whispering.

“No, he wants to antagonize you further. As he always has.” You turned back to face Loki narrowing your eyes. The others in the room quieting as you took a slow step towards the cell. In one swift motion, you pulled off your helm and mask, staring into Loki’s eyes. Your chin raised in defiance, as you had his father. “You know nothing of my wants, Loki.”

His face paled and his mouth hung open. “[Y/N]…”

The Man of Iron stepped forward laughing. “Oh look Reindeer Games is speechless. We need to keep her around.” The insult brought Loki back to reality. The former sour look appearing as he recovered.

“So brother, you brought your wife. Is she here to ensure you take no other to your bed? We would not want any heirs to Asgard diluted with Midgardian blood.” Loki sneered knowing he would hit a chord with the both of you. You could feel the anger rolling off Thor behind you as you clenched your fists. Those gathered around stared wide-eyed at Thor. He had never told them of a wife. The energy gathered inside your chest spreading throughout your body until it glowed over your skin. Your boots echoed over the grating of the floor as you stomped towards the enclosure. Loki’s eyes wide as your glowing form moved towards him. With the exception of Thor, who knew you best, everyone thought you would stop at the clear wall of the cell. However, you simply walked through it, melting it completely around your form as you stalked up to him. Sending as much energy as you could through your hand you punched Loki in the face as hard as you could. He flew back against the wall causing quite the dent, and then crumbled to the floor.

“You know nothing of which you speak. I would caution you against speaking again. For I would enjoy doing that once more.” Turning without another word you left the enclosure and the room, releasing the pulsing energy from within you.

“If she isn’t your wife, Thor, does that mean she is single?” Clint asked from the back of the group, receiving an elbow to the gut from Natasha.

It was another day before the Tesseract was contained safely in a casing, ready for the return to Asgard. During that time, you had gotten to know some of Thor’s Midgardian friends and found that you enjoyed their company immensely. Captain Rogers, was very handsome and found yourself talking to him often. It was endearing that he blushed frequently when you spoke. Loki had been muzzled earlier in the day, though it was more for his protection than anything else. While Thor enjoyed watching you send Loki across the room, he thought it best not to test your patience further. The group of Avengers gathered once last time in the center of the city to say goodbye. You had promised Captain Rogers you would return sometime in the future with Thor to visit.

While Loki could not speak, he watched you intently whenever you were near. You could feel it even when you were not looking. When you would turn to look at him, you would not back down. Staring at him until he finally turned away. Never would you let him make you feel less again. You were no longer the same girl he turned away from all those years ago. Thor and Loki grabbed either side of the Tesseract and you laid a hand on the casing itself. With a nod in parting to all gathered, the three of you were transported back to Asgard.

Part 3

@feelmyroarrrr @bolontiku @aquabrie @malindacath @mysteriouslyme81 @independentgirl @frenchfrostpudding @lokislonelylady

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realmsherald · 7 years

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Day 3 - The Ancient Warlord

A rhythmic thumping stirred Lyliath from her meditation with the World Roots, her call for aid answered, but oddly, and weak. The dust of the abandoned building her warband took shelter in from the night shook with each thud that reverberated through the ruined city, falling upon their leaves from the gutted alcoves above, the remaining shards of stained glass shaking in the narrow gothic window frames.

She turned to one of her malevolent stalker kin, already the Spite was smiling mirthlessly, his fangs bared and eyes glinting like cut amber, he could feel an approaching battle as well as she and the Branchwych bade him to climb the heights of their shelter and discover what came.

As he left Lyliath thrust her hand into the dry earth, questing for a touch of the roots. Within a moment the broken tile and grave dirt floor swelled and cracked as thick viney roots burst out. Ghyran had answered her plea and the wave of life giving energy in this death parched land revitalized the seedkin like a second wind. Breathing in the heavy aroma of pollen and warmth Lyliath opened them to see a flower quickly bud, it’s yellow leaves filling with vitality and blooming within an instant. Nestled in the center of the flower wasn’t a Sylvaneth like she was expected, but instead a small turquoise scaled lizard, it’s eyes glowing with the same life giving amber as her own. Clutched in its clawed hands was a long shaft of wood, festooned with feathers and beads. This was one of the Rootborn’s spawn and although starlight did not course through his veins like the Seraphon rumoured to stalk all lands in anathema to chaos, this mortal creature of old was just as fierce and loyal to life.

“Despoilers, brutes, Orruk.” whispered the Spite Revenant from above.

Lyliath grimaced, memories of axe wielding destruction to her land and people running through her ancestral memories. Bolstered with a new ally, no matter how meak, the warband strode out of the ruined building and into the street to meet the oncoming enemy.

Pounding down the narrow avenue came a ravenous band of Orruks, breaking the city’s funeral silence with their glotteral chanting and stomping, either by ironclad boots, foul bare feet or massive boar hooves. Charging in their forefront was a boar riding berserker, followed closely behind by an odd mix of iron plated and wild body painted savage Orruks, the former wielding massive blades that looked capable of chopping through a tree in one strike, the latter, carrying crude stone tipped bow and arrows, screaming and shouting incoherently to the trailing Warchanter. He ran behind his warband, shouting out prayers to his dual gods while holding aloft a stone sarcophagus, trailing graveyard dust.

The greenskins had not seen the silent seedkin or the nimble skink that climbed for a better vantage point, until an oakstone arrow sailed through the air wounding one of the warpainted savages. Screaming her own warchant the Sylvaneth charged forwards to meet the incoming brutes, slamming bark to iron and green flesh.

The treekin flowed seamlessly around the heavy bladed swings of the Orruks, lashing out in turn and finding little purchase against their hide. The noble hunter unleashing arrow after arrow to lay low the beast while Lyliath blasted the mortal off it’s mount in a blast of verdant energy. Though the swift Sylvaneth kept their foe at bay the Warchanter marched on under strain of his prize and would escape past Lyliath’s wooden clutches if she could not end his followers lives. It had seemed a sure thing until the Ironjaw Brutes cut deep into her Revenants, the skink above it’s addersap darts proving ineffectual against both iron and hide.

Desperate with the fear of more slain kin, Lyliath stirred the life within her, awakening the multitude of crawling slithering spites and fanning their malicious ire with the malignant rage the Branchwych felt while in this cursed city of the dead. Raising her head to the slate grey sky dozens upon dozens of spites swarmed out of her mouth, crawled from the cracks in her skin and poured from under her leaves and branches. The little beasts, struck out at the ironclad brutes, crawling beneath their armor, shredding into flesh, eyes and mouths. Before long the hulking Ironjawz collapsed all around her, their bodies ravaged and the swarm returning to hers.

Breathing heavy the Branchwych lifted her scythe to the Warchanter.

“Drop it, despoiler.”

With mouth agape, the bottom tusks protruding like the slain boar still bleeding out on the street, the Warchanter snarled, slamming the stone sarcophagus into the street’s cobblestones. He raised his Gorkstikk (or Morkstikk) in kind “Wood for cooking meat, soon witch.”

He then turned and stomped down a side alley, talking to himself in an incoherent grumble.

While Lyliath bade the skink to scout out for more perils awaiting them the remaining seedkin approached the sarcophagusand gazed upon it’s carved effigy, an armored woman in stone, with one hand grasping a sword that reached down to her plated feet, the other a scale, her eyes cut shadeglass but the spirit within dead and gone like the rest of the city. Ancient runes were carved around her, some in billowing scrolls surrounding the scale, others wrapping around the blade of her stone carved sword.

“Can you read this?” she asked of Oakenson, the wounded Kurnoth Hunter, oldest among her kin, his hand to his side holding in the leaking blood amber.

“No my lady, this mortal tongue escapes my knowledge.” he furrowed his brow at its arcane text.

“I know of it!” exclaimed a Tree Revenant, rushing to peer closer, “Or at least I have memories...of...knowing…” He looked inwardly with confusion at this, Lyliath knew of the ancient spirits that sung in the souls of her Tree Revenants, not truly Sylvaneth, not truly mortal they stood upon both shores of life and found moments of enlightenment from times from the World that Was, without truly grasping how or why.

Running his bark-flesh hand over the inscribed runes, “Those that encircle the blade tell of Duchess Nephasus glories in purging the Ghoul hordes east of this once-empire...But surrounding the scale, these runes tell of her exploits as a master merchant, dealing with denizens from all realms...as...investor...in the guild masters...of the Ossific Swamp!”

Lyliath felt her rage abate with the fluttering of hope, bending down she rested her own hand on the stone and felt a thrum of power unlike any other she felt in this parched land. Maybe she had spent already too long in this land of death, but the power within this sarcophagus felt powerful enough to waylay all others in her warbands path. With both hands her sharpened talon-like fingers prodded the edges of the lid, and before she could lift a light descended like an arcing comment and blasted her and her kin off their feet.

Blinking away the sudden light, the brightness almost alien in this gloom filled land she saw through sappy tears a golden angel lifting the sarcophagus effortlessly through the air on wings of light.

Roaring like a thousand leaves caught in a gale the Branchwych railed at her Hunter to lay the thief low.

As arrows flew through the air, striking off the Sigmarite armor or through the misty air more golden clad warriors broke into the streets. A Lord Relictor, just the same from the mad battle only a day before, slammed his bone festooned banner into the ground and called out to his god from under his skull crafted helm, looking to belong in his deathly realm more than any other.

“By Sigmar’s light! Smite these tree spawned demons!”

An answer to his prayers was quickly called and the sky opened to the white fire of Sigmar’s wrath and under lighting and hail the two warbands ran at each other, hammers to oakstone blade, sigmarite to bark.

While the two groups battered and fought, Oakenson continued to fire at the fleeing Prosecutor. With miss after miss the Kurnoth Hunter reached down to his Quiverling and plucked the last of the arrows, hearing the little beast whimper in failure. Last arrow notched, bending back the snapvine he let loose his shot and watched it connect with a resounding crack.

The golden Lord Relictor watched his winged brother plummet to the ground, his heavy body leaving a crater of debris, the sarcophagus slamming into the earth, miraculously unopened and still thrumming with power. Yelling out with a rage only brotherhood could muster he laid into Lyliath, his hammer slamming against her scythe over and over in ever quickening strikes, trying to block the incoming attacks the Branchwych tiring with each limb breaking blow.

Her body moving to slow to intercept a thundering barrage the hammer of silvered Sigmarite slammed into her chest and threw her out, leaving her senseless in the bonedust. Her remaining sisters and brothers fought on gloriously, sharpened talons and blades scoring hits and sending the Stormcast’s souls back into the the grasp of their god until only the Lord and the great noble Oakenson remained.

Bereft of any remaining arrows the Kurnoth Hunter ran at the immortal and the two exchanged titanic blows, all alone in a street devoid of life and hope.

With one last prayer to Sigmar on his lips a shaft of lightning broke through the heavens and struck Oakenson not unlike the tallest tree in a storm.

Falling senseless like his lady, the seedkin were devastated and covered in the dirt and dust of the streets while the goldclad warrior stepped over their near dead forms.

With a sliver of an opened eye Lyliath watched the immortal reach down and lift the casket’s lid, a dark unlight cascading over his leering skull mask, and though the Branchwych could not see it, she felt as well as any sense the Lord Relictor smile beneath his deathmask.

Her eyes then closed to unfeeling oblivion.

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