#but I AM keeping the dwarf. you can pry the dwarf from my cold dead hands tbh
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This has been in the works for several months only due to work, and it’s at a state I now want to share; My D&D PC Character References (all now the CORRECT heights, thank you past me for not doing that) now redone!
I lost the original file on my old drive, so I decided to remake them. Aside from Irina (in need of being redrawn anyway), Tempest (in need of some updates to his outfit), and Selgy (I could not find a version of her with most of her visible to reference from), here’s the full and current list! I will be adding in exactly one more - Lady Joy, a character I have decided to pull out of Blaze/Carrion’s backstory - and then I get to design more from scratch for fun!
Under the cut will be an alternate version of the image and updates to each of these morons from left to right based vaguely on where their heads are.
Oooooh you clicked on the read more, you’re invested in this long-ass post now.
Note: I did end up deciding to drop Zekiel, Azure, and Eddyn for different reasons: Zekiel was an uninteresting character build so I’m going to drop him to OC status and possibly make a new Aasimar in future, Azure made for a better NPC than PC, and Eddyn did NOT work in D&D and worked better in-line with my standard OCs. Either way, they’re still about, just not in the D&D zone.
Now, for the less important bit - the alternate image and the updates!
Welcome to hell, smartass! Anyhow...
-AXEL MEVIAS - Not visible here, but has +3 different outfits for 5 total; Standard, Winter, Fancy, Underwater, and Underwater2. The latter three are based on his Miitopia outfit (complete with cat ears/tail), and the two underwater ones are based off the Mermaid!Axel design I made after my DM allowed me to have him transform into a mermaid when getting his improved swim speed.
-ZARRIS “ASH” ATTREYU - A new guy!! He’s based on a concept I dropped from Blaze’s original design - a Colourblind Tiefling with a frankly OUTRAGEOUS outfit whose magic is only in greyscale. He has two forms; Colourful and Greyscale. Self-explanatory what they are.
-SERAPHUS - Incomplete as he is, the only changes to D&D!Seven is I made his horns bigger and changed the tip of his tail from a triangle to a diamond.
-TORI KING - The only change to D&D!Vic is I made her bandages more dense. That’s barely even an update in all honesty...
-TAIO ETRAL - Slightly updated D&D!Theo’s hair and shifted his eyes to be looking to the right instead of straight ahead. I’ll decide if his tattoos will change when I do his colours.
-CECILLIA - She has a LOT to mention... Updated her horns again, fixed some issues with her shirt/jacket, modified her jacket at the back, added a tail as she IS a tiefling, and fixed her hair length. I’ll be adjusting some of her colours too, so stay tuned!
-VERDA DEI’ILYA - Fixed a wonky face on her default look, fixed her rabbit tail/ears to just look better, and added bows to her shoes. She also now has a second form (not visible here) of an actual Harengon form as opposed to just a bunnygirl which has plenty of new stuff to look at, so stay tuned.
-MONA QUIXOT - Only change to D&D!Mona is I removed several eyes of the Somnovum because having seven of nine of them seemed a bit much. Now she has three.
-KRESS DARKLAW - Adjusted the colour of his pants (nice), and added in a new form of his halfling disguise Linos where he has wings.
-GOLDEN SHADOWS - Added an “S” after his name because it sounds better, and fixed the lines on his rapier to be thicker because they were bothering me.
-KAU - Eyes adjusted to fit the rest of the D&D refs. That’s... that’s it!
-BLAZE/CARRION “IFRIT” GOLDSHARD - Two new looks added, which are two Clown/Circus outfits for him beyond his normal look. All forms of his have the Ringleader’s Mask at his hip.
-RANRAN - No changes. She’s perfect already. <3
-LAYLA JAEST - D&D!Lailah now has a slightly different thingy-doodad on the sleeve of her jacket by her shoulder that looks a little nicer and is easier to draw.
-KARA SUNDANCE - Adjusted the look of her sword’s hilt so it made more sense, and removed the random orange underskirt to her tunic. I have no idea why it was there.
-MIRI EVENWOOD - Shortened her hair to be more reasonable, and adjusted the look of her bow so it made more sense.
-RASHA - Adjusted the colours of his tunic-thing to look slightly better. He now is looking to the right.
-URSINIA - Added ‘veins’ to her wings to make them look more like flower petals, added a charm to her belt-sash, gave her sandals less detail, and gave her shorts so she’s slightly more modest. Her dress is, however, further off her shoulders, so... Hey, you add shorts, you gain more boob I guess.
-MELIA OF THE AUTUMNAL FOREST - Mouthful of a name remains, no I will not change it. Adjusted the look of her freckles and changes some colours around so she didn’t have three shades of brown on her attire... And added a cocky grin.
-ELLANA JAEST - D&D!Ender’s scar that was taking up real estate on her face is now completely covered so she looks 10x better. Also I fluffed up her hair and moved her tail in behind her person.
-ORINA - Lost her last name in the divorce from my old drive, but modified her tattoos to look better. They are now a dark grey instead of black to better view the lines of her character due to the modified tatts.
-ILDAN KILARN - Separated the collar of his cloak from the rest of the cloak so it looks better, and fixed the bottom part of his armour (the skirt bit?) to look much better. Also gave him a slight haircut.
-REVEREND EZRA MASON - Gave the Reverend back his cross so he can ward away the demons, and he now has his alternate Werewolf form as a reference (not visible here, obviously). His pants are also white now because the vague colours of Kress and Ezra were too close and giving him white pants felt like a good idea at the time.
-ALLISTER DAL���THALOR - D&D!Alpha now has a better looking battleaxe and his last name changed from “Ethereal” to “Dal’Thalor” to better match him. Actually, all the D&D!OCs other than Mona have changed names to better match the D&D world, but Alpha’s the only one where the last name completely changed.
-OLIVER ENOIR - D&D!Alren has a better looking cloak and that is IT.
-LIXORI - Arm and tail bands added, as well as some additional details to her dress to make it look better. Adjusted the Plum-to-Red hair progression to be more plum than red because it looked better.
-INSPECTOR - Added an actual mouth and gave additional beef to his lower jaw, belt buckle now a ram skull, and the bottom of his jacket is now torn. Some slight adjustments to the feet, hands, and neck to look a little better. Eyebrows now ANGY.
--
Aaaaand that’s it! I can give some previews for the three I’ll be redoing and one I’ll be adding though...
-LUN TEMPEST NOBLESONG - Modified pose to fit better with his personality, adjusted weapon size to be larger, adjusted coat to be the correct length.
-SELGY STONEPELT - Redone pose completely to remove limp wrist wave, added detail to the belt/bracelets, added flowers to her tail to match her hair.
-IRINA - Lost her last name in the divorce from my old drive and in the process of getting a new one, redid pose to match the style of the rest of the refs. Added some detail to her corset and skirt, removed cloak, shoes now visible.
-LADY JOY - New addition now with two forms; Original and Dark Carnival. Original has additional alts of Masked and Full Uniform, as well as an added alternate of being in a clown-like outfit.
Enjoy trying to work out those details, future-me!
#the disappointment speaks#drawings by me#OCs#D&D#big project AHOY!!#local moron creates big project and forgets to make a backup and has to make everything again#thats me with LITERALLY EVERYTHING from my old drive#like mannnnnnn all my old sketches I didnt upload are now bjorked and I no longer have my original stuff in chronological order#so my january stuff is gonna be wack possibly#possibly also my february stuff? march-onwards should be fine tho#Thats a problem for end-of-the-year me making a yearly art thing#I do have a dwarf and aasimar/tiefling idea I want to add into this list but I may also just drop those too#but I AM keeping the dwarf. you can pry the dwarf from my cold dead hands tbh#I need more beefy short people#but let me not get ahead of myself - I have like 7 characters more to finish before I can do those ones#well. its 15. but yknow#I currently have 28 D&D PCs to pick from#and give me a new game and I'll make that number go up by at LEAST two#maybe three. possibly four. but absolutely five.
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Krayt’s Teeth
Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 3 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)
The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead of you, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 6.7k
Content warnings: Canon typical violence, killing in self defense, headcanon angst, FLUFF, sensory deprivation, body worship, oral sex (f receiving).
A/N: These are my headcanons regarding Mandalorian culture in terms of sex, I didn’t find much lore on it so whether it’s accurate or not idk but I like them and that’s all that matters! Enjoy~
<-Previous Next->
You could have slept forever, even on that horrible little cot you were so comfortable that you could have been out for days, but the only one on it was you. You did’t know when Mando got up from the tiny space you both shared through the night, or how he managed to get out from your tangled bodies without waking you up. You opened your eyes to tiny green baby hands tugging at your fingers.
“Hey booger, is it time for breakfast? Where’s your papa?” You started to sit up, but the horrible sticky mess underneath you made you reluctant to move, a mix of passion and pain from the day before. “Yikes. I’m gonna run all his water out if I have to keep using the fresher. Come on, let’s get scrubbed up.” The baby gibbered excitedly at you, though you weren’t sure how much of what you said he actually understood. You scooped him into your arms without looking back at the sad little cot and all its stains. “You’re water proof, right?”
The ship’s engines were rumbling away, so you guessed tin man was up in the cockpit flying you towards your next bounty. Or Nevarro. You would have to find Mr. Mystery later, the grossness that was you had to be dealt with. Between you and the child your shower took forever, the two of you getting water and soap bubbles from top to bottom. You didn’t care. You had been on Tatooine for months without having a real shower, being consigned to the sonic freshers that vibrated the sand off of the moisture farmer’s bodies; and this was the second real shower you’d gotten to have in twice as many days. You spent a good deal of time trying to get your chatty friend to hold still long enough to be dried off, the little fart squealing with joy every time you went for him with the towel.
An ordeal later you were both fresh and presentable, but your host was still nowhere to be seen, though the ugly sheets had thankfully disappeared from view. The ship was quiet now, without the engine running you knew you had to be back on the ground, and you could hear a distinct hum of activity coming through the walls. Space port? He flew us into town? The thought was replaced immediately with a rich, savory smell coming through the air vents: FOOD! Your gut grumbled loud enough to resonate through the cabin and earn you a confused look from the baby. When was the last time you really ate? You’d been living on ration packs for the last couple of days. That was going to change right now.
“Ya hungry buddy? Me too! Maybe that’s where your dad is, hmm?” Grabbing your old backpack and hooking the baby under your arm you started punching buttons on the wall to get the door open, sending walls sliding and cabinets opening before you got one of the access ramps open. Bright double sunlight nearly blinded you, and on reflex you covered the baby’s giant googly eyes. It took a moment for your own to adjust to the radiant light of the Tatooine morning, and the smell of cooking food hit you like a ton of bricks, making your mouth water. As your eyes adjusted you were able to take in your surroundings: though it was bright outside you were parked low inside a maintenance bay, the walls of which soared high above you; littered with engine parts and humming with droid activity. Sound was the last input your hungry brain could process, but when it did you didn’t like what you heard. The sounds of an argument echoed around the hangar, high and shrill.
“I already told you, you can’t park here! You’re bad for business!”
“I just need to park here long enough to get supplies.”
“Well you’re gonna have to pay up, Mando! I’m not running a charity here! You got credits for supplies you got credits for parking! Up front this time!”
Oh no.
Of all the mechanics and docking hangars in Mos Eisley he had to pick this one. The fireball of a woman barely came up to your partner’s chest, but she made up for it with unbridled fury; and the giant cooked animal leg she was swinging around like a club between bites made her look even more formidable. She noticed you coming down the ramp and stopped grilling your comrade long enough to glare daggers through your skull.
“Oh NO! No nope nuh uh! You can turn right back around and get back on that ship, missy! I knew it! I knew you were bad for business, Mando! What’re you doing running around with her? I hope she’s your bounty because she’s your problem!”
“Peli.” Your words were cold as ice, but the squirming baby in your arms took all the malice out of your stance. He wiggled until you set him down, and he ran towards the mechanic with open arms.
“Baby! You can stay but your dad’s gotta take the mean lady somewhere else! She cheats at sabacc!”
“You lost fair and square, Peli! Try playing a better hand next time!”
“Ladies please!” Mando cut through your bickering, holding his arms up between the two of you like he was trying to corner a pair of wild blurgs. “If I let the child stay with you for the day, will you let me park the Razor Crest here? Just for a couple hours?”
Peli bounced the child on her hip, offering him a bite of her breakfast. The baby squealed happily while he sank his little teeth into the mighty snack, though the size of it comically dwarfed his itty bitty hands. “I’ll tell you what, you let me keep him and then maybe I’ll let you park here in a week.” Mando cocked his helmet at her with disdain and she huffed loudly, “Well if you put it that way, I guess you can park here, but you gotta put five hundred credits down, and not a cent less!”
Mando reeled, stabbing his hands to his hips with indignation. “Five hund- absolutely not! What am I going to buy our-” You interrupted his tirade with a hand on his shoulder, waving a slew of credits in front of his eyes. Peli snatched them out of your hand, fanning them out like cards to count them.
“Who’d you cheat these outta?”
“Don’t worry about it.” You leaned casually against your metal man, eyeing Peli with a smug look on your face. “Let’s go, Mando. Bye baby green bean, have fun with Auntie Cheats-at-Sabacc!” You spun him around by the hand and dragged him towards the exit, ignoring the insults being slung at your back. “We are getting breakfast and that’s final!”
The Mandalorian allowed you to pull him along a few feet before grinding his heels into the sand, shaking his head. “You have to stay here.”
Now it was your turn for sassy head tilts. “I just paid for your parking, buckethead, that makes me in charge and I’m hungry! I’ll buy you breakfast too if you want.” He didn’t budge, fixing you with that intense stare of his and grabbing you by the shoulders.
“You are still being hunted. Mos Eisley isn’t safe for you.”
Ah.
You knew you could look after yourself, and he himself had compared you to a ferocious rancor just yesterday. You groaned loudly, “Shit balls of hell. But dad, I’m huuunngry!” The man bristled at your paternal harassment, sighing heavily and letting his helmeted head fall to the side like the world was ending. He glanced around the hangar exit, his shiny beskar snapping to each object of interest until he located a protocol droid corpse that was missing everything from the waist down. He strode over to it and held it down with one boot, yanking it by the head until it popped off. He began prying the droid’s vocorder apart at the mouth, pulling it wide until the droids face plate broke off with a snap! Tossing the rest of the logic processing unit to the ground, he held the face plate up to the light, inspecting the clarity of its photo receptor casings. He bent back down to the junk pile and fished out a stray wire to thread through the ruined audio processors, then tossed the finished creation to you.
“Put that on.”
You turned the makeshift mask over in your hands to check for sharp edges before you pressed it to your face. The bug eyes on the front were dirty, but you could see well enough. Before you could clean them more thoroughly you felt the weight of fabric on your head, his cloak now worn as your own. The thought of how you must look made you giggle. “You make me take my clothes off, now you want me to put clothes on. It never ends with you, Mando. Next you’ll be forging me beskar. Now can we eat something, please?” Without a word the armored man turned on his heel and walked out the hangar exit. I’ll take that as a yes.
Mos Eisley buzzed with life, people and animals and things you couldn’t explain made their way up and down the bustling streets. The smell of food led you to a vendor selling something that could have been a root vegetable, covered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. You couldn't wait, all thoughts of self-preservation went out the window as you hauled ass to the stand, waving two fingers in the air. When you had both of your prizes in hand you stuffed the savory veggie under your mask, sighing contentedly at the taste of real honest-to-Maker food. “Hey tin man, I hope you like... whatever this-” You turned to offer your partner something to eat, but he had disappeared from the crowd. “Alright... more for me.”
Taking a newspaper from the vendor you wrapped the extra snack up tight and threw it in your pack for later, continuing to chow down on your own. You would find Mando eventually, and you had credits to spend. You had held onto your hush-money for months to avoid suspicion, but now it was burning a hole in your pocket. Wandering the streets of Mos Eisley from merchant to merchant you began accumulating a small hoard of supplies, ranging from bacta to hand tools, and food. Whatever you could get your hands on that would survive hyperspace when you inevitably left this fucking dirtball for good; though you still weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t be making that flight in carbonite. You picked out new clothes and underwear, a much-needed bedroll, and some soft bantha-wool blankets. Something further down the marketplace caught your eye, and you made your way to the fancier items that glittered in the double daylight. You didn’t wear jewelry yourself, a poor choice of attire for a hunter, but the way the trinkets caught the light still made you wistful. Your hidden eyes danced over the glittering treasures; jewels and geodes that had been found deep in the sands and polished to a radiant shine.
You spotted something opalescent at the end of one table and found a pair of krayt teeth, each about the size of your palm. They had been sanded to a smooth, flat finish and carved with intricate desert patterns. The backs of them had tiny fittings that could be sewn on as buttons, or pulled off to reveal magnets. Something about their shape seemed familiar, though you couldn’t imagine why in that moment. You purchased the unique pieces anyway, something to remind you that even the harshest of places could hold hidden beauty. After a while you had so much junk piled in your arms that you could barely see over it, and tin man was nowhere to be found. You spotted a courier droid and paid for it to deliver your treasures back to Hanger 3-5, though you kept the pricey teeth in your pockets. With your arms free you started looking for your missing comrade.
The streets were busy with people, you would have to get somewhere out of the way in order to scan the crowds. Your eyes went from shimmer to shimmer, looking for his reflective chrome dome. “Big jerk,” you mused to yourself “‘Mos Eisley’s not saaafe...’ If he’s so worried then where the hell is he? Bah!” The scratched-up photoreceptor casings of your mask made it a challenge to see through the crowd, and you took a moment to adjust the iris apertures so you wouldn’t have to keep squinting into the double sunshine when you felt a hand on your back. Finally. “Mando, where have you-”
“Mando? Whos’sis man-do? Nah sssweetheart, I think you got me confused wi’ sssomeone elssse.” The slithering voice in your ear made your blood run cold. Not Mando! You rocketed your elbow backwards, connecting with the gut of the stranger on your back with an -oof! The hand let go long enough for you to make a run for it, and you tore off down the streets of the busy spaceport, smashing into bystanders in your wake. You cast a quick look behind you to see a large reptilian body flying after you, brownish scales catching the reflection of the noonday suns. Though you had your blaster, the risk of hitting a civilian was too great, so running would have to do. You were thankful for the courier droid that had freed your hands just minutes before as you barreled down the busy streets.
Market stalls flew past you, your boots kicking up sand and dust. The mask on your face, as dirty as it was, kept the debris from your eyes as you raced through the sunburnt city. You had to lose this fucker and fast. You turned down an alley, left, right, another right, leaping over supply crates and low fences like a lothcat. You turned to see if you had lost your chaser, breath heaving and heart pounding. Behind you was clear, but you took your eyes off your path for just a second too long, and were taken by surprise when a heavy weight fell on you from above.
The Trandoshan had gone over the low sandstone roofs, chasing you easily through the alleyways of Mos Eisley while you were none the wiser. He pinned you under him quickly, ripping your blaster off your hip and pointing your own barrel in your face. “Tha’ss enough, princesss! Nice n’ quietlike now. You gonna make me a pretty penny you are.” The lizard’s words dripped with metaphorical venom, though you were sure by the look of those fangs that real venom was probably right behind. “Ahm gonna cart yer arse right back to th’ Guild’n I’ll become th’ most famous hunter in th’ galax -urk!” With a sickening gag the hunter above you grew a shiny new fang in the back of his throat before falling down dead on top of you, a vibroblade protruding from back of his skull.
“Took you long enough!” You hollered at your chrome companion, who was stepping forward to kick the carcass off of you. “Where the fuck have you been? Getting your rifle polished?” He pulled you to your feet, handing you your blaster while readjusting the mask on your face. You swatted at his fussing hands, but when you looked at him you were shocked to see not one but three blinking bounty fobs dangling from his belt. On the ground by the dead lizard was a fourth, flashing rapidly in the sand.
“I told you you weren’t safe! We need to leave right now.” You were barely able to grab the remaining bounty fob while you were being tugged away by your allied hunter. He had a death grip on your hand, pulling you along behind him towards what you hoped was the docking hangar. You would have to cross the main street to get there, and as the pair of you plowed across the dusty, busy road there came shouts from either side. More hunters, fucking Guild! You didn’t have a single second to assess them before you were lead through an alley on the other side of the street. These were darker than the ones you had run through on the west side of town, and shady bodies moved quickly out of the way of your living locomotive.
At the end of a narrow alley you both burst through a door leading into an abandoned building. The darkness was almost worse than the blinding sunlight, you would need time for your eyes to adjust but the Mandalorian had enough sensory detection equipment that he ghosted through the ruinous building with ease; never once letting go of your hand as you tripped and stumbled through the dark. The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.
“There! Get down!” Mando pointed at a pile of rubble, probably big enough to hide behind, but that’s not how you handled business.
“Fuck you! I’m not going down without a fight!” You pulled your blaster out and aimed at the incoming assailants. He growled at you and stepped closer, putting his body in between you and the door. The reptilian hunters burst from the darkness of the warehouse, firing rapid shots of blaster charges that bounced off of Mando’s beskar. You fired over his protective arm, taking out the first one and tripping up the second, who fell over his cohorts limp body. Mando took shot after shot to the chest, reeling with each impact. His other arm cocked back and shot out, sending a wall of fire into the last of the Guild’s hired guns.
Both of you were panting, shaking and sweating from flying through Mos Eisley, but the sound of blaster fire would draw attention and you knew there was no time to waste. You stepped over the incinerated corpse, making sure the fob it carried was melted, the second body still squirmed in the dirt, and you weren’t going to let it get a second chance, firing your blaster through it’s scaly skull. You picked the remaining two fobs and stuffed them in your pockets, making a run for it back through the building with Mando right behind, the blaze of his flamethrower lighting your way.
You took a different door out of the building and were relieved to see the words ‘HANGAR 3-5′ painted in bright blue Basic straight ahead. You skittered through the entrance, rounding the corner and dropping down behind the edges of the hangar doorway. Mando did the same on the other side, both of you pointing your blasters back towards Mos Eisley’s dark heart. Bootsteps behind you made you snap around, and you nearly shot your mechanically inclined host.
“You kids have fun out there?” Peli stood over where you were hunched, and you lowered your blaster to the ground. At her feet your little buddy was holding onto her pant leg, making big puppy dog eyes at you. You looked over to Mando to make sure there weren’t any more coming, but he still held his blaster out ahead. After a few tense seconds he lowered it down until it was back in its’ holster, then pulled himself to his feet.
“We can’t stay any longer, we’re putting you in danger. Time to go, kiddo.” His charred beskar still shimmered when he bent down to pick up his adopted son, who chirped with delight. “Thank you for watching him.”
“He can stay any time! Oh and thanks for all the snacks you made that droid bring me!” Peli called after the three of you as your party quickly boarded the Razor, making you turn around and stick your tongue out at her. She happily flipped you off and started closing the ground entrance to the bay, letting you board the ship uninterrupted. Fortunately, the courier droid’s delivery had made it to the ship, though you couldn't help but notice a few of your most carefully picked snacks had been taken as collateral. Fucking Peli. As much as she infuriated you, there wasn’t another person on all of Tatooine that you would rather play sabacc with.
The old rust bucket rumbled to life, taking off into the midafternoon sky and pointed towards the stars. Finally! Bye motherfucker. The hazy atmosphere of the outer rim planet fell away below you until the light of the bright yellow world illuminated the Crest’s stern. The pre-Imperial scrapheap started howling with noise, and you were almost thrown to the deck when it blasted into the safety of hyper space.
Your heart was still racing and you struggled to catch your breath. Once you had yourself in order you started busying yourself with putting the supplies away, filling the food larder to capacity. The child was contentedly telling you about his day with his auntie in his cute baby gibberish, and you picked him up off the ground to give him a much needed hug, pushing your stolen identity onto the top of your head to give him kisses. You almost wanted to ignore the sound of heavy armored boots hitting the floor panel under the ladder, their wearer opting to jump down from the cockpit rather than climb. You could feel the fury coming off of him as he stalked over to where you were sorting your treasures.
“You could have been hurt! I knew it was a bad idea to let you go wandering around, even with your face covered. What if they’d caught you? I picked three of them off before you even saw one!”
“I had it under control, Mando! I’m not some princess that needs you coming to her rescue at every sign of a struggle. And you don’t get to let me do anything, you don’t own me!” The man under your scrutiny paced the cabin on stiff legs with his hands on his hips, helmet snapping with rage.
“I know you can handle yourself, but I need to protect you.” He said with a huff, “And that lizard was... he had you pinned down, had his filthy, scaly claws on you... Nobody should touch you like that! What if.. what if he... I- I- didn’t like that he was...” Listening to the sound of the gears jamming in his head made you realize the ridiculous thing he was trying to say.
“Are you.. Mando are you jealous?”
“No! I- I’m.. Cyar’ika I... ”
Oh no, you don’t get to be cute right now. “I don’t know what that means, Mando! What is that, some kind of sexy little pet name you use on all the girls you take underneath of you?”
“NO! I didn’t- I would nev- I’ve never had... There’s never been- no!” Oh how you wished you could see his face, watching him flail trying to defend himself from your accusation, he was probably white as a sheet under all that armor.
“Never what, Mandalorian?”
“I’ve never had anyone in this ship before!” The Mandalorian’s confession lost steam halfway through as embarrassment and fear crept into his throat, threatening to choke him with his own secrets.
“Wait.. wait wait. Never? You’ve never had anyone in this ship or...” You started approaching him, analyzing his visor for hints of meaning. “Or you’ve never had anyone at all?” The Mandalorian stopped his pacing, but his shoulders looked like they were carrying the weight of the galaxy. His silence told you everything, and the last piece of his puzzle fell into place. “Mando...was I your first?”
“Y-yes.” His visor tilted up to you, hands fidgeting at his sides. His voice was faint and sheepish, a stark contrast to the thunderstorm you were arguing with a moment ago. Your eyes were full of questions, all racing through your mind so quickly none of them made it to your mouth. The metal man answered them all for you in one singular motion, raising his fist to knock a couple times against his beskar helmet. His creed.
“So, what, you guys aren’t allowed to have sex?”
He sighed his heavy, trademarked sigh and plopped down on the nearest supply crate with a defeated thud, cradling his head in his hands. “No it’s not that. Not... not exactly. In Mando’a the word we use is me'dinuir. It means ‘to give’, specifically to give yourself to another. And... when you give yourself away to someone-“ He turned the black gloss of his single eye up to you, “-you belong to them. That is The Way.”
The weight of his words made your blood cold. He was jealous, but not just because that other hunter had put his scaly hands on you. Everything about his attitude around you suddenly made sense, the way he had looked at you when you were presenting yourself to him that first day, why he never threw you in carbonite when he probably should have, and how he had stayed with you through the night after you nearly died hunting his bounty. His mysterious way of life decreed that giving his body to you meant that he had also given you his soul, and that made you just as important to protect as his foundling.
Mando reached out to pat the fuzzy green head of the baby you were still holding, who gibbered sleepily up at his armor plated papa. “I’m sorry to put that on you, and I’m sorry for how I acted. You’re not my bounty anymore, and I shouldn’t try to control you. I understand if you don’t want to continue with me to the next bounty. You can take whatever you want from the armory when we land next. I’m.. I’m so sorry.” The monolithic man looked so tiny now, sitting on the edge of the crate with his shoulders hunched. He reached his arms out to take his infant son from you, hugging him to his blast-burnt chest and smoothing his massive ears. "I didn’t get to thank you for washing him earlier, he smells really good.”
You desperately needed to know more, though the sight of him fawning over his sleepy son made your heart swell. “I kinda got the feeling that you were rusty when we met, but that was actually your first time? And what does that mean ‘you belong to them’? How can you belong to me? I don’t even know your name.”
"It means that I’m now sworn to protect the one that carries my soul. I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian.”
His words made you feel sick, ashamed that you had taken something so sacred from him without a second thought, but how could you have known? He could have stopped at any time, you were the one in cuffs that day, not him. No, out of trillions and trillions of sentient beings in the galaxy he chose to give himself to you, knowing full well what his heritage decreed. Why you? Arms crossed, you dug deeper. “You’ve never seen another naked body than your own?”
He shook his head. “Just... holo-vids...”
You were going to have to ask him about those later. “Nothing? You’ve at least kissed someone before though, right?”
“Kissed?”
Maker fucking help you. “Yeah you know, kissing? The thing you do with your... oh, right." You reached up and tapped him twice on the beskar. “You need your face to do it.”
He cocked his helmet at you. “Can you show me?”
The innocence of his question made you melt. Fuck you, tin can, you’re not supposed to be cute when you’re in trouble. You reached your hand out, demanding he give you his, and shyly he obeyed. You pulled his hand to your lips, unsure of how much he could actually feel through his thick leather gloves. You pressed his hand to your lips and watched his whole body snap straight. “Kiss, like that.”
He was staring at his hand like he’d never seen it before, and after a moment he pulled your locked fingers to his head, tapping his forehead with the back of your hand. “Kov’nynir, But we do it with our helmets.” At this rate you’ll be speaking Mando’a in no time. He still held your hand gently, running his thumb over your fingers. “I think I like your way better. Could... Could you do that again?”
So polite, maybe having him stuck with you wouldn’t be so bad. You pulled his hand back to you, giving him another soft kiss on the side of his thumb, and you heard the sound of his breath catching in his modulator. Your lips pressed to each of his knuckles, and then you turned his wrist to kiss his palm. “How’s that?”
“That’s amazing.”
“You like that? Watch this.” Addressing the bantha in the room would have to wait. You tugged his glove off, revealing the warm bronze skin underneath and kissed him again. The hitched breaths coming out of his modulator were honey to your ears, and you turned his wrist over to kiss his bare palm again, hunting for more sweet sounds. His body was so stiff, so tightly wound you thought he might snap. “Are you ok? Do I need to stop?”
“I- I- want to... Can... Can I try?” You nodded, your heart jumping to your throat at the thought of him removing his helmet in front of you, but instead he gently reached up to the busted droid face you still wore on your head. With a twist of a knob the armatures inside of the eye casings coiled shut, and when he slid the mask down into place you were thrown into total darkness. “Can you see?” You shook your head. “Promise?”
You sighed, long and frustrated. “I promise, dark as a sarlacc’s backside.” You were met with only silence. Then, after what felt like an eternity you heard the sliding sound of metal as the child’s pram shield slid closed, then the shuffle of armor being removed, and lastly the dull thunk of something heavy being set down on the crates. His hand found yours again, and he pressed his lips against your skin. They were hotter than you were expecting, and soft, almost plush. You understood right away why he was so rigid when you were doing the same, it was amazing. Gentle kisses made their way over the back of your hand and made heat flood through your veins. He moved slowly over each joint, following the same pattern you had shown him, then turned your hand over and kissed at your fingertips. Something fuzzy brushed along with his lips, and you imagined that he might have a mustache. The shivers that crept their way up from your captured hand knocked all the strangeness of your conversation out of your mind, but when he reached your wrist he stopped.
“Where else do you kiss at?” You nearly fainted at the sound of his unfiltered voice, a rich baritone that dripped with dark intentions and stole all the words from your mouth. You could only point with your other hand at the forearm attached to the hand he held. Again you felt his lips on your wrist, then slowly, inch by agonizing inch he made his way up your arm, each kiss slower than the last until your toes were curling in their boots. When he reached the edge of the tunic’s sleeve that hung at your elbow he paused again. “Where else?”
“Everywhere.” Your tormentor hummed at your consenting words and let go of your hand to run his palms down your clothed thighs. When he reached your knees he pulled on their joints, bidding you to bring your legs up over his lap. When you were seated on him he resumed his trek up your arm, kissing at the crease of your elbow and then upwards over your tunic until he reached your shoulder. When he got to your neck you almost buckled over, but his hands were at your back in an instant, wrapping heavily around your waist. Your own hands made their way to the nape of his neck, and your fingers found the edge of his hairline that you had felt before. To your delight you felt that the tousled curls went all the way up, and you tangled your fingers in them, exploring their softness while he explored you.
His journey led him up your neck to the base of your jaw where he nipped gently at the sensitive skin like you had done to him last night, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps from your head to your toes. When his nose bumped the edge of your mask you were suddenly aware of how silly you might look with your big bug eyes. “Can I take this thing off?” you asked in a whisper. “I won’t look.”
“I have a better Idea. Hold on tight.” You dug your hands into his shoulders and felt his arms wrap under your legs as he stood up, lifting you with such ease that you wondered if he felt your weight at all. His boots echoed through the cabin until he stopped at the other end. You hung on for dear life while he climbed the ladder with you still wrapped around his front. When you both reached the top you let yourself unwind from him and scooted on your butt over the floor, listening to the sound of him pulling himself all the way up. You remained seated as your host fussed around the flight deck, the noise of buttons pressing and switches being thrown the only input to your deprived senses.
You were only unattended for a moment, then his hands found your waist, fishing for the edge of your shirt. The tunic was pulled up and over your head, taking your mask with it, and you squeezed your eyes shut to protect his modesty; unsure of what his unconventional oath to you included in the fine print. Your diligence was rewarded with a kiss on your forehead, then down to kiss both of your closed eyes, and then lastly to your lips. The searing heat of his mouth on yours threatened to throw your eyes open, but when they fluttered all you saw was darkness. The transperisteel’s blast shielding had been closed, and the only light in the cockpit came from a handful of illuminated buttons on the dash.
He was lying over top of you on the metal floor, one arm wrapped under your neck for support. The cold decking under you was uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to care, letting yourself be consumed by his kisses and becoming drunk on the scent of leather and adrenaline. The soft fuzz of his facial hair tickled slightly as he pressed into your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile. Your hands went to his face, running your thumbs over his cheeks and feeling what you weren’t allowed to see. His face was scruffy but not unkempt, and the bristles went all the way from his jaw up to the bottom of the defined nose that bumped against your own. You felt the creases on the corners of his eyes, wishing you could see his smile lines and all the stories they would tell.
You kissed him back, letting your tongue glide over his plush lips and making him inhale sharply. You licked into him again, and this time you were met with his tongue as well, just the faintest touch of its tip. He hummed in your mouth, and the sound of him so close made your belly pool with heat and your kisses bolder, sending your tongue deeper into his mouth until he was almost vibrating with the sensation of you exploring something as forbidden as his human body. He mirrored you as best he could, rolling the smooth muscle over your lips and the edges of your teeth until you were both lost in each other’s taste. He pushed his forehead against yours, pulling his mouth away with frantic breaths that spread fire over your skin. “Everywhere?”
You pushed your lips against his again, giving him an ambitions ‘Mmhmm’ as an answer. His growl made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you realized where his goal was. He kissed and nipped his way down your throat, letting his tongue glide over your skin. He made his way to your breast, taking its’ tender tip between his teeth and making you gasp. He sucked at it gently, rolling his tongue around it while it grew harder for his efforts. The hand not under you groped at your free breast so it wouldn’t be ignored.
"Beep!”
An urgent chime echoed in the tiny space, the hyperdrive indicator was flashing its countdown warning: 10 minutes remain.
The Mandalorian’s growl on your breast made your blood turn to ice and your core flush with heat at the same time. He wanted to devour you, taste every single inch of your exposed skin, but time was not on your side; and he became a man on a mission to prove himself worthy of you. Bristles dragged over your skin as he slid down your belly until he hit the edge of your pants. They were yanked off so fast you briefly worried about the krayt teeth that were still in their pockets, but you didn’t have long to think before Mando was poised over the apex of your thighs, kissing at each leg to make his intentions known. Those must be some good holo-vids you’re watching, tinman. You let him push your legs apart with his chin, receiving a soft kiss on each one once they were far enough apart for him to stuff his face in between.
Your back arched, hard, followed by the most ragged moan you‘d ever heard escape your throat. The grip on your thighs kept you in place as he lapped at your clit, sucking and teasing in an experimental way. His inexperience didn’t seem to matter, his hunger for you fueling his efforts and making you squirm in delight. Your hands sought desperately for something to grab onto to keep yourself grounded, finding his lovely curls to bury your fingers in deep. It was all you could do to hold on for dear life, tangling in his hair and struggling to breathe as he worked you into a frenzy.
The noises coming from below your waist were heavenly, wet and greedy in between his hums of contentment. It took you a while to realize they weren’t hums at all, but alien words of worship being prayed at your sinful altar; but the blood pounding in your ears and the gasps from your throat were too loud for you to hear his devotion.
“Beep beep!” Five minutes remain. Fuck.
The Mandalorian’s efforts doubled, running his tongue almost too quickly in his attempt to eat you alive. You let your hips grind into his mouth, begging him to bring you your release, and it wasn’t long before he succeeded. Stars flashed behind your eyes as you came into his hot open mouth, but he refused to leave until he had drank his fill of you. Eventually he pulled his face away from your spent heat with agonizing slowness, as if he would rather drown than address the impending drop from hyperspace. He kissed at your shaky thighs, your soft belly, and each breast before pressing his lips into your panting mouth, pushing the taste of you onto your own tongue. His breath was ragged, and you could feel the sweat of his brow where it was pushed against your face.
He lifted away from you, and the weight of the handmade mask was draped over your face, making you groan with the displeasure of your passion being cut short. However, once it was in place, it was almost immediately pushed under by strong fingers to lift its edge, and you were given one last kiss to swear his promise of return to you.
“Din. My name is Din.”
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TAG LIST @mrsparknuts @cookiejuicedesu @mandoinevarro @kaermorons
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Homesick
Ok. This is my addition to @panicfob‘s 25 Days of Christmas!
Day 7: Ice Skating.
I picked Steve. This one was really fun to write, but also very personal to me. It’s based on some real events, and clearly not the ones with Steve. Anyways! I hope you like it, let me know what you think.
Pairing: Steve X Reader
Summary: You’ve been Tony Stark’s intern for a while now, and you’re having a hard time making friends at Stark Tower. Which only adds to your melancholy of being away from your family during the holidays. Steve does his best to take your mind of everything that’s going wrong
Word Count: 6269
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cancer, slight depression
Tony Stark is a madman.
Insanely generous, and so nice that it makes you melt. But fuck, he never sleeps. And that means that you never sleep.
He doesn’t mean it, he gets so involved in his projects, unaware of time passing. So, he’s calling for coffee, made paint-thinner strong, and it’s 2AM.
You knew this would be hard. Moving away from your home, your parents back in Chicago. Everything you know left behind for a cold, unwelcoming city. You had yet to find a friendly person.
No one in your apartment building even knows what you look like. And most of the people you see on a daily basis in Stark Tower aren’t friendly at all. They tend to avoid you, averting their gaze as they pass you in the hallways and you can’t figure out why. It’s certainly not because you’re assistant to one of the most powerful men in the world; because they definitely have no problem greeting Tony.
He doesn’t hear half of them, his head always a million miles away. And what’s worse, the people you’re sure would be welcoming and friendly haven’t been around in months.
The rest of the Avengers.
They come back to shower, sleep, debrief and then they’re gone again. You’ve only been able to greet them a few times in passing.
Steve was genuinely kind, welcoming you to the team. Sam thanked you for keeping Tony out of their hair, even though you haven’t done anything but rush around after the lunatic.
Natasha stopped in front of you, hands placed lightly on your shoulders as she looked you dead in the eye.
“There’s a number to call in case Stark starts harassing you too much.” She deadpans, tucking a business card into your pocket.
“Romanoff, leave my intern alone!” Stark called and she dropped a sultry wink at you before stepping around you.
That was the first time you’ve seen them. And the only time you’ve been able to actually speak more than a ‘hey’ as you rush past them.
Safe to say, your last ten months in New York have been lonely.
This is leading up to your current situation: the dreaded phone call with your mom. You love talking to her, but she was supposed to wait for you to call later when you had a little free time. But in typical mom fashion, she had to do it on her own time.
“Sweetheart, why don’t you just come home? The holidays are just around the corner. Just two weeks away.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t. Mr. Stark needs me around. Trust me, I miss you guys. You’ll have to send me pictures of the tree.” Your voice wobbles like a traitor, and you clear your throat harshly.
“We will, sweetheart. Do you need anything?”
“No, Mom. I’m okay. How’s Dad?” You ask, the struggle to force back your tears is a true fight.
“He’s okay. Making sausage bread right now.” She gasps loudly. “I know! We can send you some. How would you like that?” She asks happily, and you just have to crush your eyes shut and nod, the lump in your throat making it nearly impossible to actually talk. But your mom doesn’t need you to say anything. She knows.
“Alright, my sweet girl. Don’t cry. Maybe your dad and I will take a trip out to see you. We’ll come out for New Year’s.”
“Mom, I can’t ask you to spend money on me like that.” You croak, your voice thick with emotion. Talking around the lump hurts and you feel like you can’t breathe.
“You’re not asking, dear.” She reminds you. “And we would love to come to see your fancy new life out there.” There’s mumbling in the background, your dad’s deep voice, but you can’t really make out what he’s saying.
You have no trouble picturing him in your cramped kitchen, the cutting board that’s half the size of you taking up almost all of the kitchen table. Flour, big bowls of browned sausage and hard-boiled eggs and olives scattered around it. You can almost smell the loaf baking in the oven and you feel your entire chest twist.
You sniffle, feeling your whole face screw up as you try to fucking hard not to cry. Your lips are mashed together and you don’t dare inhale because you just know that that’s gonna set you off. You open your mouth to try and tell your mom you have to go so you can sob in peace somewhere that isn’t a public stairwell. But you can’t make yourself say the words.
Just to listen to their lives, going on the way they always have, so constant, so loving and generous. You don’t want to stop listening even for a second, no matter the tears blurring your vision or how the lump in your throat now feels like you’re trying to swallow knives.
Christ, you miss them.
“Mom,” you choke.
“Oh, hold on, Y/N. Dad wants to talk to you. I’m gonna put you on speaker-phone...as soon as I can figure out how.”
You give a watery chuckle but offer no help. As mean as it sounds, you like listening to her struggle with it. Your mom, who can’t even manage to sign in to Amazon without help.
“Oh, got it.” She says proudly.
“Hey, kiddo.” Your dad greets happily and you fucking lose it.
“Hi, daddy.” You choke, your voice barely more than a strangled whisper.
“Are you crying?” He chuckles and you could just smack him.
“No, don’t be stupid.” You grumble.
“Why are you crying? Honey, we’re fine, there’s nothing to worry about.” He says and you have to cover your face because you’re crying so hard.
“Mom said you were making sausage bread.” You try and it comes out as a sob, but at least the words were audible.
“I am. Want me to send you some?” He asks.
“Yeah. Just put it in a box with you and mom and mail yourselves to me.” You rub furiously at your eyes, even though it won’t do any good. You’re a fucking waterfall now.
“I’m not sure we’ll all fit, but I’ll try.” He jokes and your knuckles dig into the fleshy softness of your eyes. “I know you miss us, trust me, we miss you, too. But we’ll see each other soon. There are so many things to be happy about. You have a good job, you’re healthy, I’m making you sausage bread that you don’t have to share, you have all your teeth.” He lists, knowing one of them is going to make you laugh.
“I know. I’m just worried about you. And, I don’t really have anyone to talk to here.” You sigh.
“Everyone still being cold?” He asks.
“It could be summer here and I would still be feeling that frigid breeze.” You wipe your eyes. “But, hey, at least I still have my teeth.” A noise on the stairs makes you hesitate. “I have to get back to work. I’ll call you guys later, okay?” You say softly.
“Alright, kiddo. We love you. Call us if you need anything.” He says gently.
“Bye, Y/N. I love you.” Your mom chimes in and you manage a mumbled return before you hang up, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes.
“Ugh. Idiot.” You grumble, trying to wipe them dry. A hand reaches out in front of you, holding a soft white square of tissue. You follow the tissue up to the masculine hand, up the well-defined arm to Captain fucking America’s perfect face.
“Thanks.” You mutter, taking the tissue and wishing you could die quickly.
“Everything okay? I couldn’t help but overhear...” he has the nerve to fucking look bashful. “Sorry, I shouldn’t pry.” He shrugs.
You wipe your eyes dry, wishing you could do something about your eyelashes so they wouldn’t remind you how much you can’t stop crying.
“I’m okay. Just homesick.” You shrug, mimicking him without even realizing it. “My parents are still in Chicago, so the holidays are especially hard.” You unlock your phone to text your mom to keep you updated on your dad’s tests.
“I understand.” He nods, offering you a hand to pull you to your feet. You slip yours into his big one and it dwarfs it. “Tell me about them.” He prompts, following you back towards the door.
“Oh, well...” you start uncertainly.
“Y/L/N, get in here. I need a target!” Stark calls to the hallway.
“Sorry, duty calls.” You mutter, ducking into the large workspace, leaving Steve Rogers watching after you, hands shoved into his pockets, a frown on his face.
Steve
“Hey, Sam.” Steve greets, coming into the kitchen.
“Hey, man.” Sam glances at him. “Everything okay?”
“Just ran into Tony’s intern.” He rubs the back of his neck, the encounter still hanging in his mind.
“Oh yeah. How’s she doing? It’s been what? Six months?”
“I think so. I think she’s having a hard time. She was crying while on the phone.”
“Stark finally got to her, huh?” Sam jokes.
“I’m not sure. I might ask around and see if anyone’s noticed anything strange.” Steve says, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. “She said something about her parents, but she also alluded to it being cold here, even in the summer.”
“You think Stark’s being vicious again?”
Steve shrugs. “I hope not.” He pictures the girl’s face, unchanged since the last time he saw her, perhaps a little more tired. Still beautiful, though.
Natasha walks in, digging the milk out of the fridge. “What are you two love birds talking about?” She grins.
“Stark’s intern,” Sam replies.
“After ten months, can she really still be an intern?”
“I’m sorry, ten months?” Steve frowns. Can it really have been that long? He still remembers the first time he saw her face like it had just been a week ago.
“Rogers, you need a better calendar.” Nat laughs.
“Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark needs you in his lab.” FRIDAY comes on the overhead.
“Thank you.” He gives a wave to the other two, heading for Stark’s lab. People greet him with a warm smile, a friendly nod.
He swipes his card at the door and enters. “Hey, Tony. You needed me?” He says, looking around, hoping to spot Y/N somewhere.
“I saw you making eyes at my assistant,” Stark says, elbows deep in a machine up in the high corner.
Steve rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t making eyes.” He mutters.
“Big, disgusting, doe heart eyes. So, I have a job for you.” Tony says.
“I already have a job. And I’m confused. Am I here for you to yell at me?”
“No. I’m not an idiot. Blind sometimes, sure, but I’m not dumb. Something’s wrong with her. She won’t tell me, says she’s fine. I want you to find out what it is. You’re trustworthy. People tell you shit.”
“And why would she tell a complete stranger instead of you?” He asks, ignoring the pathetically obvious attempt at a language joke.
“She wouldn’t tell a ‘complete stranger’ but I bet she’d tell Steve Rogers. Genuine, heartfelt, romantic sap who just loves to help a damsel in distress. Also. She, probably like every other hot-blooded woman in the last 90 years, thinks you’re attractive.” He shrugs, the wicked smirk is back. The one Steve daydreams about punching off his face.
“What are you even talking about?” He sighs, keeping his hands dutifully by his side.
Tony returns to the ground level and picks up a box, thrusting it at Steve. It’s filled about three-quarters of the way with letters of all different colors. “Fan letters for Captain America. I read some of them, but after the one-hundredth one describing you as the sexiest golden retriever, I gave up.” Tony says. “Needless to say, women like you. I’m not asking you to marry the girl. I just want to know what’s wrong with her.”
“There’s nothing wrong with her, Tony. She’s a person with emotions.” He snaps.
“You have your marching orders, Rogers.” Tony waves him away.
He drops the box back on the counter. “Where is she?” He sighs.
“I sent her to get me coffee. I stopped vibrating, so I need more.”
Steve rolls his eyes and walks back outside, heading back for the kitchen. He stops someone on his way, one of the friendliest people he knows in the building.
“Hey, Mike. Have you noticed anything strange with Y/N?” He asks.
The bald, stocky man frowns. “No, but I don’t really talk to her.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.” Steve mutters and keeps walking.
Everyone he asks all seems to have the same answers. ‘I don’t talk to her.’ ‘She doesn’t socialize with anyone.’ ‘I’ve never even spoken to her.’
All of these statements are swirling around his head as he turns down a hallway. Maybe he just happened to find all the people that you’ve never spoken to-unlikely.
In ten months, you don’t appear to have made a single friend in Stark Tower. That’s concerning. It also doesn’t give him much hope for you wanting to talk to him.
“FRIDAY? What’s Y/N’s location?” He calls.
“Approaching the Tower front doors. Mr. Stark likes his coffee from a shop eight blocks away.” The AI reports. Steve bolts for the stairs, taking them two or more at a time, knowing it would be faster than the elevator.
He skids to a stop just inside the front doors only slightly out of breath. You’re standing outside, glaring at the handles with undisguised frustration. He rushes forward and opens the door for you.
You blink up at him, surprised. “Captain Rogers.” You start, your hands are full of coffee cups, eight in total, all labeled with Stark’s name.
“Please, it’s Steve.” He says, holding the door wide for you to step through. You have to pass close to his body, your perfume swirling around him. There’s something else, but he can’t quite detect what.
“Thank you, Steve.”
“Want me to carry those for you?” He offers, standing back and letting you decide.
“You can carry the top one.” You nod and he lifts it gently.
“How are you feeling? From before?” He asks as they head for the elevators. The doors open and it’s full of people headed up from the basement. They all immediately stop talking as they spot you. The scrutiny, the hostile feelings emanating from them was something Steve hasn’t felt directed his way in a long time. Not since his days as a showgirl for the USO.
He wants to do something to ease the tension, to put you and the others at ease, but he doesn’t even know what’s going on! One of the occupants reaches forward slowly and presses the button for the doors to close.
“Sorry, Cap. Maximum occupancy.” He says, meeting Steve’s eyes apologetically.
Steve doesn’t even manage to nod in response before the doors slide shut in his face. He turns to look at you, his face is frozen in confusion.
“I should get these to Mr. Stark. He doesn’t like it when he can start to feel his face.” You mumble, taking the tray back from his hands and heading for the stairs.
“Please explain!” He practically shouts after you. But you don’t stop. “Y/N!” He jogs up the stairs, easily catching up with you. “What was that?” He asks, taking the second tray from you.
“Nothing.” You shrug.
“Didn’t look like nothing.” He looks down at you, but you’re carefully watching your every step. He can feel you fighting yourself, some sort of internal battle. Or maybe he’s just hoping you’ll tell him instead of pretending to be deaf.
“It’s nothing,” you repeat. And then quietly add “new.”
“This happens a lot?” He asks.
“Can we talk about something else?” You mumble.
He works the muscle in his jaw as he looks at you. “You never answered my question. Are you feeling better?” It’s stupid. Of course, you’re not. Everyone is treating you like some sort of leper. God, he’s a fucking idiot.
“Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t mean for anyone to see that.” You sigh, but your shoulders have relaxed noticeably.
“You were talking to your parents, right?” He asks.
“Yeah. I told my mom I would call her later, but she just can’t wait sometimes.” You shake your head, leading him off the stairwell and across the fifth floor.
“Where are they again?” He asks softly, not eager for you to start crying again.
“Chicago. They’re getting ready for the holidays.” You reply, voice remaining mostly calm.
“And what does that include these days?” He asks and you blink up at him before you make a small ‘o’ with your mouth.
“Right. Well, my parents have a pretty big family and some really close friends. So, they make cookie trays as far as the eye can see.”
“What kind of cookies?” He asks as you nudge him up a different set of stairs.
“Oh gosh. So many. Let’s see, there are Russian tea cookies, peanut butter blossoms, snickerdoodles, hermits-“
He laughs loudly. “What are those?”
“Peanut butter, cocoa powder, and I think butter and sugar melted in a pan and then you mix in some oats. They’re a no-bake cookie.” You explain easily, pausing to lean against the railing.
“They sound good.” He admits, feeling his sweet tooth taking over.
“They were my favorite when I was little.” You smile fondly. “Then, of course, chocolate chip, and there’s another kind that is peanut butter with fork impressions in the center, but I can’t remember what it’s called.” You push off and start walking.
“You’re making me hungry.” He laughs.
“I haven’t even told you the best part.” You grin, a delighted sparkle in your eye as you talk.
“I’m listening intently.”
“He makes his own dough and then he makes sausage bread. Mozzarella cheese, olives, eggs, Italian sausage all rolled up and baked.” You pause for a second, breathing hitching in your throat and you’re silent for an entire flight of stairs as you struggle.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.” He frowns.
“It’s not your fault.” You mutter.
“It’s hard being away from them.” He guesses.
“Yeah, but it’s more than that.” You stop on the floor with Tony’s lab and swipe your card. The door beeps and you step inside.
“Ah, perfect timing,” Tony says, glancing over at you. “You know, the elevators work just fine. You don’t have to keep taking the stairs.” He gestures to the table.
You set the coffees down and pick up a small wrench, placing it in his outstretched hand. “I like the exercise.” You say casually.
“Gross.” Tony glances at Steve, his dark eyes seeming to catch something. “Y/N, you’re dismissed. I won’t be needing you for the rest of the day.” He says briskly, and your face visibly falls.
“Did I do something? If I took too long with your coffee, sir, I’m sorry. There was a long line and-“
“Y/N. Stop.” Tony says, setting down the wrench and gripping your shoulders tightly. “You didn’t do anything.” He frowns, looking you up and down. “Are you holding your breath?” He asks and you shake your head, but Steve can clearly see that your chest has stopped expanding.
You’re fighting more tears.
“I’m perfectly satisfied with your work. But I honestly just need peace and quiet right now. Maybe Steve can show you around. He has nothing to do.”
“But what about your lunch? It’s barely noon.” You protest.
“FRIDAY, order me a pizza,” Tony calls, never looking away from your face. “There. Problem solved.” He smiles, turning you around and nudging you towards Steve.
Obediently, you follow the Captain out into the hallway, the door locking behind you. Steve looks at you, feeling the bomb clicking down to detonation. Plump bottom lip caught between your teeth, eyes look, unseeingly, straight ahead. He watches as they fill with tears, but you refuse to blink. Your chest stutters as your breath comes close to hyperventilating.
“Wanna go get cookies?” He asks awkwardly.
The tears spill over and you close your eyes. “Shit.” You mutter, voice is thick with emotion as you brush them away roughly. Steve doesn’t know what to do, so he holds his big arms open offering you a hug. Never in a million years did he think you would actually accept.
You almost crumple against his chest, small hands gripping at the back of his shirt as you try to stop crying. He wraps you tightly in his arms, rubbing your back slowly.
“I feel like I just got fired.” You gasp into his shirt.
“He’s just giving you the day off. Y’know... being nice?”
You’re quiet for a long second, pulling away and wiping your eyes. Honestly, he would have let you stay there for as long as you wanted.
“You said something about cookies.” You mutter.
“I did.” He chuckles. “There’s a good bakery a few blocks away. Wanna go?”
You nod and he gestures towards the stairs. “The elevators should be empty now.” You mutter, heading for the bank of elevators.
“Do you wanna talk about that?” He asks.
“Only when my mouth is full of cookies.” You reply and he chuckles.
“That’s fair.”
***
The bakery is warm, smelling of crystallized sugar, chocolate, and melting butter. Your eyes close slightly and Steve very gently touches your elbow to guide you over to the counter. As soon as you start walking, he drops his arm, respecting your space.
The lady behind the counter is nice, smiles at Steve in a friendly sort of way. “Your usual?” She asks, already reaching for a set of tongs.
“Actually, not this time,” Steve says, glancing towards the display case. “Pick anything you want.”
You look at the glass, perusing over the cupcakes, brownies, cakes, and cookies. They all look so good, how does he expect you to choose?
“Um,” you fidget, glancing at Steve, his lovely blue eyes watching you curiously. “Can I get a chocolate chip cookie?” You ask and the woman nods, grabbing a plate.
“You know what? Let’s just get two of all of them.” Steve says, and you look at him, feeling your forehead pinching together. “Yeah. You need to try them all, and I’m certainly not about to share mine with you.” He grins effortlessly and you feel your face moving in kind.
“That’s fine. I’m not that good at sharing, anyway.” You reply.
“Two glasses of milk?” She asks, watching you.
“Decaf coffee, please? Enough space for a lot of creamer.”
“You got it, sweetheart.” She looks at Steve.
“Coffee, black.” He replies.
“Boring.” You mutter. He rolls his eyes and shoos you away.
“Find a table.” He says, heading for the counter. You select a table toward the back, a little more privacy for what was sure to be a very difficult conversation. You make sure you grab a pile of napkins, getting prepared. Steve joins you a few minutes later and eyes the stack of napkins, but doesn’t comment on them.
The woman brings a tray over; two plates of cookies, two mugs of coffee, one already with a spoon, and a small pitcher of cream.
“Spoon is yours, love.” She says, nodding to you as she sets everything on the table. You pull the mug towards yourself and begin to make your coffee.
“Thank you so much.” You say softly. You wait until she walks away and your coffee is made before your hands curl around your mug and you sit back.
“Okay, where do you want to start?” You ask, letting the porcelain warm your hands.
“The elevator.” He says carefully.
“It’s not unusual. I take the stairs more often than not. I don’t know what I did to make everyone act like that, but they definitely don’t like me. No one but Tony and Pepper. You guys were really nice, but you’re not here all the time.” You shrug, breaking apart the chocolate chip cookie. It practically melts on your tongue and you stop talking to savor the buttery sweetness.
“Oh man.” You hum. “This was a good decision.” You close your eyes and he chuckles slightly.
“No one’s said anything? When did this start?”
“Immediately.” You sigh, focusing on chewing slowly.
“Shit.” He mutters, rubbing a hand down his face.
“Are you allowed to swear?” You ask, peaking at him and he rolls his eyes.
“Yes. Tony needs to knock that off.” He grumbles and you give a little laugh.
“He’s put swear jars on every floor in honor of Captain America. FRIDAY keeps everyone honest.” You say, watching the most adorable blush creeps up his neck.
“I’m gonna kill him.” He mutters.
You polish off your first cookie, shaking your head. “Nah. He loves you. He donates the money to a VA hospital downtown.” You say and he blinks in surprise.
“I definitely didn’t see that coming,” Steve admits.
“What else do you wanna know?”
“When we walked into Tony’s lab, you were saying something about it being more than just being away from your parents.” He prompts.
Your stomach plummets, and you set the next cookie down. You know you’re going to cry, again, and you hate it. “My dad went to the doctor’s a week ago for a colonoscopy and they found some polyps that turned out to be cancerous.” Your voice breaks and your vision goes blurry again. Steve quickly hands you a napkin and you crush it to your eyes.
The thought of your dad not being around anymore is what terrifies you. He’s indestructible, he has to be here forever. No less is accepted.
You take a deep breath, trying to finish. “He’s gone back for a PET scan and now we’re just waiting for results.”
“Do you have a picture of them?” He asks and you’ve never been more grateful for the big man across from you. You dig your phone out and pull up a picture of your parents.
“How long have they been married?” He asks.
“Almost forty years.” You sigh wistfully.
“How’d they meet?”
“High school. But they didn’t date until after he got out of the Navy. He said that he came back and saw her in the bowling alley and everything else just disappeared.” You say, remembering the way your dad’s whole face changed when he talked about that moment. A big, dopey smile and heart-eyes as big as his face. “And the first time he kissed her; he saw fireworks.” You hang your head, feeling totally inadequate compared to their love story.”
You’ve had a few steady boyfriends, but none that have made you feel that way. And none that have looked at you like you were the only thing in the room.
“That’s really sweet.” Steve smiles and you nod. “Y/N, what are you thinking about?” He asks, taking your hand gently.
“Kind of like I failed compared to them. I don’t have any friends here. They had everything so... so together by the time they were my age. Already on their way to buying a house and starting a family.” You press another napkin to your eyes.
“Just because it happened like that for them, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you for taking your time. Some people are born lucky that their soulmate is so close. Others have to search a little bit longer. It definitely doesn���t mean you’re a failure.” He says, squeezing your fingers gently.
“Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about you.” You say and he launches into an enthusiastic story about the Howling Commandos getting into a drinking contest in a French bar.
He’s a good storyteller, has you gasping for breath as you laugh to his memories. He tells story after story as you both work through your cookies. You realize that this is as bittersweet for him as talking about your parents was for you. He misses them just as much.
It’s late afternoon when he finally sits back, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. You take a long sip of your refreshed coffee and your phone rings. You jerk unexpectedly, digging in your pocket. Your mom’s face is on the screen and your stomach plummets, twisting uncomfortably.
“I have to get this.” You whisper. He nods, pulling out his own phone as you stand up, hurrying outside. “Mom?” You answer nervously.
“Hi, my lovely.” She says, using her serious mom's voice.
“Oh no.” You mumble.
***
Steve finds you out there a few minutes later. He pauses, watching you the same way the first time he found you crying. Hands over your face, shaking from trying to hold your sobs back.
“Bad news?” He asks softly. His hand is soft and gentle on your shoulders, breaking your resolve to stop fucking crying. He pulls you against his chest and you absolutely crumble, letting yourself just get it all out for a minute.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He mutters, rubbing your back gently.
“His tests came back clear.” You manage to mumble into his shirt.
“Wait, really??” His voice perks up and you nod. “That’s great!” He scoops you up and spins you around. “We should celebrate.” He says, setting you back down and using his shirt to wipe your eyes.
“You would want to?” You ask, looking at him.
“Of course. Anything you wanna do.” He nods.
You tilt your head, thinking for a minute. “Can we go ice skating? It’s cold enough and I haven’t been in forever.”
His fingers tighten around yours for a second. “If that’s what you wanna do, absolutely! Let’s go back to the Tower to change and then we’ll go, okay?”
“Deal. Thank you, Steve. I promise I’m not usually such a mess.”
“You’re not a mess.” He promises. “Come on.” He offers you his arm.
***
Steve
“FRIDAY? Where’s Agent Romanoff?” He asks, pulling on a sweater.
“She’s in the kitchen on this floor with Sam.” She replies. Steve heads for the small kitchen to find out what Nat found out. He had texted her when you had gone outside at the bakery.
He just had to know.
“Hey.” He greets as he walks inside.
“Hey, man.” Sam waves with his spoon. “How is she?”
“Tough. Nat, did you do what I asked?” He looks at the small redhead.
“You didn’t give me much time, Rogers.” She sighs dramatically. “But, yeah. These people would not last one second in enemy hands.” She scoffs.
“And?”
“And apparently, Stark’s personal slave is a highly coveted position for some reason. And she got it over someone who supposedly deserved it ‘way more’ so, everyone decided to be a bunch of children and ice her out.”
“I don’t think it worked,” Sam smirks.
“Definitely not.” Steve agrees. “Do I even wanna know how you found this out?”
“Spy trick.” She shrugs. “I sidled up to someone and complained about her. The rest was easy. They couldn’t wait to bitch about her.” She rolls her eyes.
“Thanks. I’m not sure if I should tell her or not.” Steve sighs.
“Where are you going?” Sam asks, eying him suspiciously.
“She wants to go ice skating. She wants to celebrate some good news she got.”
Sam looks at him for a full minute before cracking up. “Oh man, I think I love this girl.” He wheezes.
“Laugh it up, Wilson.” Steve rolls his eyes.
“You won’t even need your hat and sunglasses disguise.” Nat grins.
“Not you, too. I thought you were my friend.”
“You might be in the wrong business, Rogers.” She winks.
“Miss Y/L/N is approaching,” FRIDAY warns. Sam straightens up and they all peer at the doorway Steve had come through just moments before.
“What are you staring at?” Your voice behind them makes them jump.
“Waiting for you,” Natasha says brightly. “We hear you’re going ice skating.”
“I haven’t been in a long time and Steve was nice enough to let me choose.”
Sam stands up and drapes his arm around your shoulders like you’re old friends. “I, for one, wholeheartedly approve.”
“Ready?” Steve asks you, trying not to notice how cute you look in your coat and hat and gloves.
“Ready.” You glance around Natasha and Sam. Steve can see the words before they can escape your pretty lips.
“They already have plans. Looks like it’s just the two of us.”
“Maybe next time?” You look hopefully between the two of them.
“Definitely next time.” Sam grins with a wink at Steve.
***
You were right about it being cold enough. Your face is already feeling the effects of it, flushed and a little wind bitten. You hope you don’t look too ridiculous.
Skating comes back to you easily and you glide around, turning in small circles as you get the feel for it again, smiling to yourself. You can feel Steve watching you from one of the entrances, leaning against the frame.
“Come on, Steve. The ice is great.” You taunt and he chuckles.
“Alright.” He slowly puts one skate to the ice, tentative, testing. You glide to a stop, watching curiously. He slowly pushes out, hands outstretched for balance, knees bent slightly.
“Steve?”
“Yeah, I got this.” He says, completely focused.
“Mhm.” You hum, watching as Captain America wobbles on ice skates. “Have you ever been ice skating before?
“Once or twice, recently...on a mission.” He admits.
“And how did it go?” You ask and he looks up at you, promptly losing his balance and falling on his butt.
“About like that.” He sighs. “Sam still laughs about it.”
You glide over and offer him your hand. He pulls himself up unsteadily. “Well.”
“You don’t have to wait for me.” He says, shooing you away.
“Nope. You were here for me all day today. I’m not leaving you now.” You say firmly, taking his hand again. “By the time we leave, Sam won’t have anything to laugh about.” You guide him forward slowly, giving him time to adjust.
“What are you thinking about?” He asks after a minute.
You glance at his face, finding his bright blue eyes on you. “Oh, I was actually thinking about how nice it is to know that you’re not perfect at everything.” You say with an impish grin.
“Oh, thank god. I can’t live with that kind of pressure.” He grins, starting to lose his balance again.
“Also, I’ve seen you fight. You’re so graceful. How is this so different?” You ask, pushing him a little faster.
“Not sure.” He huffs, squeezing your fingers a little more. “How do I stop?”
“You drive a motorcycle, right?” You ask and he nods. “Isn’t there a brake pedal you push down with your heel?”
“Yeah.”
“Same concept. Or if you turn your bike sideways, you don’t go forward anymore, do you?”
“Right.”
You carefully let go of his hands and do a lap around him, demonstrating how you side stop. “Tada.” You grin.
“Tada.” He sighs and you laugh, skating back over to him.
“You’ll get the hang of it. You’re a fast learner.” You say, leading him around some more.
***
Steve
He does pick it up quickly, but not as quickly as he would have liked. He’s fallen half a dozen times and his ass is sore.
You’ve been so fantastic, so patient. He can easily see why you got Stark’s intern over anyone else. He would need someone patient.
“Are you having fun?” You ask, keeping next to him now that he’s gotten somewhat better.
“I am.” He smiles, pulling you close without thinking. It bumps him off balance and you tumble with him, a yelp ringing out as he takes the impact on the ice and you fall on top of him, arms and legs tangled together.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.”
You free your arms, but you’re still half laying on him. “It’s okay.”
How are you so warm after being out here for so long? Your eyes meet his and then his hand is brushing your hair back out of your face, cupping your cheek gently.
The rest of the rink disappears as your face drifts closer, pulled in by some kind of magnet. He couldn’t care less that they’re on the floor as people skate around them. Those people no longer exist.
You tilt your head slightly and then your soft lips are pressed against his, shy at first until he pulls you closer and you melt into him. Your hands cup his face and he’s struck with bright multicolored lights flashing behind his eyes. The world seems to vibrate with sounds and time seems to have frozen, just for a little bit. His senses dialed to ten, his nerve endings are alive with every soft press of your lips. His pulse booms in his ears.
You pull back slightly and he watches you, face flushed.
“Hi.” He whispers.
“Hi.” You reply quietly. “You probably wanna get up.” You say, slow to pull back more.
“I’m definitely fine right here.” He mumbles, his arms around you.
You chuckle. “Wanna go get hot chocolate?” You ask and he nods.
“Sure.”
You kneel back and pull him to his feet. Your hand linked in his as you skate towards the exit. He watches you unlace your skates, thinking about the story you told about the first time your dad kissed your mom.
He wondered at the time what that would have sounded like.
Now he knows. And he can’t wait to do it again.
Tags:
@panicfob @everythingisoverrated @dsakita @shreddedparchment @bitsandbobsandstuff @after-avenging-hours @alexblrus @thinkingsofamadwoman @i-dont-want-to-be-called @thefridgeismybestie @fortheloveofallthatsholy @crazychaotic @pleasureoftheguiltiestvariety @redstarstan @septic-boye @justreadingfics @themistsofmyavalon @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @wkemeup @thiccbinch @glide-thru @moli1497 @ellaenchanted91 @part-time-patronus @janeyboo @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @thirstybitchqueen @xxloki81xx @stuckonjbbarnes @browngirlmagic @geeksareunique @nicoleplacee
#panic's 25 days of christmas#marvel#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers#mermaidxatxheart writes#romance#ice skating#fanfic#fanfiction#writing#writing challenge#christmas fanfic#avengers fanfiction
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haha my hand slipped oops
consider this sort of a teaser for the big Beast Machines fic that I am publishing later this year (or early next year). don’t worry about it. it’s fine. yeah. everything is f ine.........
- - -
“Rain”
In the years following Megatron’s takeover of Cybertron, pollution from the mass production of Vehicons had choked the life out its atmosphere— far more than what was to be expected for a planet that was just a hunk of metal.
When the sun did manage to come through the clouds, it was always in a haze that clogged your intakes. Cleaning your vents was mandatory maintenance if you wanted to avoid accidently cooking your internals on a hot night. Visibility was throttled through the smog on the best days, thick like smoke on the worst. It was amazing that the organic-half of the Maximals managed to survive as long as they had… maybe the whole techno-organic spiel that Primal constantly spat wasn’t so organic after all. The few humans that managed to survive the initial siege were dead by the end of the first year of Megatron’s not-so-little uprising— suffocated by the air they had tried so hard to improve when the Pax Cybertronia was first passed. If they were lucky, the Maximals would go the same way. Eventually. Hopefully.
But the rain. The rain. Not quite concentrated to the point where it was pure acid, but that slag was awful if you let it stick to you for too long. It seared white streaks on Cybertropolis’ skyscrapers where it chewed away paint and eroded just about everything else that wasn’t glass or metal. Jetstorm’s wings always tingled in the worst ways after the sky decided to start spitting. The sensation stayed for days after even after a good chemical wash if he wasn’t careful.
So how the frag Thrust could tolerate it was a mystery. Acid ate through rubber way faster than it tore through anything else on Cybertron, and the cycle-general had been driving laps for the better part of the hour on exposed tires.
In a torrential downpour.
Like a goddamn maniac.
Maybe he was just a glutton for punishment?
Jetstorm kept himself tucked under the overpass as he watched the other general start another lap. It was a rudimentary figure eight pattern, taking the freeway entrance going southbound and exiting at the next mile marker before looping back down. Over and over again. Something just… wasn’t right with ground-pounders. How the frag could they manage to keep their sanity following the same roads all the time? The smaller mech was dwarfed by the eight lanes he was weaving between, skirting past obstacles as he came up on them. For the most part Thrust travelled in the same lane, practicing drifting off the exit whenever they came up. Tightening the turns every time. The sound of the mech’s engine revving up and down popped like individual gunshots.
The echo was particularly obnoxious with the acoustics surrounding Jetstorm’s current perch. The flier pulled his wings tight against his body as he leaned as far in as possible out of the rain. So much for a “quick” run. Five cycles, Thrust said. Five! What a load of scrap this whole thing was.
The jet scowled when the other general swerved to purposely hit a puddle on the next lap back. Then, as to be expected, Thrust immediately spun out and ended up hitting the dividing wall to the opposite highway. The maroon mech transformed in time to catch himself on the barricade and let loose a string of swears on impact. The resulting crunch wasn’t pleasant sounding, but Thrust was still cursing when he bounced off the wall and went down. Alive… good! No need to rush out in the rain to pick up his partner’s body, or something.
Jetstorm waited for the sky to stop dumping before floating down. Thrust had rolled onto his back, arm raised to shield his face from spare droplets still coming from the low hanging clouds.
The blue mech leaned over him. “You finished, biker boy?”
“Nice of you to harp on my rescue,” Thrust said. He reached up with a clawed servo, finally revealing his face. The mech’s visor was cracked. “You gonna gawk at me all day, or am I actually gonna get a leg up from you?”
Jetstorm held out his servo, yanking Thrust upward when they made contact. He pulled the other mech up— and kept pulling. The momentum brought Thrust upward too fast for him to regain his balance. He immediately pitched forward and ended up face first in the asphalt again. The sound of armor on concrete was grating.
“Aurgh! Storm!”
“You said you needed a leg up. Not that you needed to stay up.” Jetstorm scoffed at the streaks in his partner’s armor. He crossed his massive arms in disgust. “Eugh. You look hideous.”
“Don’t be so blue about it.”
“Did you just... use a pun? On me?” Jetstorm kept sneering, but this time he couldn’t help but feel a little stupid about it. "I could just— I will beat you to death with my bare servos. You know that, don’t you?”
“Cute.” Thrust propped himself back up on his own. He was a little less helpless when he wasn’t stuck on his back. As he turned, Jetstorm could see that the treads on his tire were almost bald. There was no way that wasn’t going to be sore. “I’d like to see you try.”
“I’m cold and wet, and I want to go somewhere that isn’t dripping with anything that’s gonna corrode this paintjob!” Jetstorm bristled at the sound of thunder. “I am not letting myself get caught in another— urgh! How can you stand that?”
“Eeh. The tingling’s not so bad once you get used to it. Rain wasn’t even that concentrated this time.” Thrust shook his head where it was still dripping with excess water. Then he allowed the shuddering motion to carry into his shoulders and downward. Water flew off his armor. Jetstorm recoiled to avoid being hit, raising his taloned hands in self-defense. The cycle-general swayed but otherwise kept himself from falling over again when he was finished. “Just gotta pop yourself into a working CR tank. Buffs everything right out.”
“That stuff is gross. You’re gross. Stop it. You will never get me into one of those things.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’d rather have me buff out your wings. I remember.” Thrust rolled past, wincing. He’d visibly damaged one of the shock supports in his suspension on the right side, giving him a tilted “limp” that looked even more sore than his tire. “You keep overloading whenever I do, though.”
“Mmm, speaking of which...” It was a nice subject change. Jetstorm let Thrust pass him before turning to follow, keeping close as a precaution— just in case the damaged support gave out. He wondered if he had aggravated the injury by allowing him to fall that second time. Not that he was worried or anything. That would be… “Well. Never mind.”
“What? You not in the mood for anything?”
“You’re not exactly in good working condition, biker boy.”
“I can take my fair share of hits.”
“Why did you even aim for the puddle, anyways?”
They made it to the shadow of the next overpass when Thrust leaned into him in the dark. Right where no prying optics could see them. Just for balance. Yeah. Jetstorm, being the superior mech he was, allowed the temporary contact as a show of good faith. No other reason.
“You’re warm,” Thrust muttered.
“You’re drenched, and you still didn’t answer my question.”
The cyclist hummed. The answer was exactly as dumb as he expected for the grounder. “Why not? Looked like it might be fun. You should try it sometimes. Y’know. Stuff that’s actually fun. Not just goading the she-spider or shooting the rest of the Paw Patrol.”
Jetstorm sighed, turning around. He aimed his primary weapons, allowed time for a sufficient charge, and fired off a single plasma round. The shot warbled as it singed the humid air, striking the original underpass where he had been sheltering. The bridge immediately collapsed in an upheaval of debris and fire. It cleaved through the highway below and destroyed the bridge suspension. All eight lanes converged in a crumbling twist of shattered asphalt and bent titanium beams.
Thrust shouted and reeled back as the ground shook, catching himself on the closest barricade again. As the crumbling structure tore through the road, water sprayed upward from thousands of puddles now ruined.
“Huh. Whatcha know? That was kind of fun,” Jetstorm said.
Thrust buried his face in his servos and muttered something about needing to find him a hobby, or literally anything other than goddamn feral vandalism.
#beast machines#mccadam#jetstorm#transformers#boxy does fanfic#thrust/jetstorm#HEY IF YOU GUYS WANT MORE I WILL TOTALLY PUBLISH MORE DRABBLES MAYBE#this is a good ship and I will throw hands with blackarachnia personally#jetstorm voice: get me wet and I will BLUDGEON YOU to DEATH with my MASSIVE BASTARD HANDS
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Tell Me You Love Me Anyway (rough draft - tease)
A/n: This probably has a billion errors but I feel like posting it anyway. This is only a tiny bit of what I have in mind. I could use as much feedback as possible for this.
---- [Act 1] ----
Maker, did Anders miss being drunk.
Justice hasn’t let him sway under the influence since their union. He sees it as a waste of time and senses.
But to lose one's senses was such a beautiful and intoxicated mess to be a part of.
Can you stop speaking nonsense?
It’s not nonsense, it’s passion.
It is a waste of time.
Anders chuckles, nearly spilling his useless drink in the process.
“What’s so funny, mage?”
It’s Fenris. He held a drink also, now flirting with drunkenness that will soon take him fully.
The two have only met not too long ago through a mutual friend, one Garrett Hawke. Anders liked Hawke enough. He was a fellow mage and Fereldan refugee who suffered loss before reaching Kirkwall. He came to his clinic a month ago asking for maps to the Deep Roads.
It sounded so ridiculous. People who went to the Deep Roads voluntarily must have a death wish. To want to walk in a place full of darkspawn and deepstalkers. A place with rocky terrain and putrid wet air. It was dark and in some places you could hardly see your own hand in front of your place. He could light a torch but it wasn’t worth accidentally burning someone.
He never wants to go there again. Especially not without Pounce.
Things changed though. For a favor, he asked for a favor himself.
Karl……..
He did love him…….and to see him like that……...made tranquil…….
It broke more than just his heart, it shattered his entire being.
Oh Karl…..
Back in the Circle, the two had agreed between kisses in a quiet nook away from prying eyes, that if either of them became tranquil, they would not want to live like that. There was no known cure. It was either be made a thoughtless pet of the Templars and the Chantry or death.
It wasn’t actually a plan that would happen. He didn’t think this would be an actual choice that he would make.
Oh maker, Karl…….
It has been a month since he had to kill him. He still feels the blood on his hands, the sound of his last breath, and how empty he felt when he fell upon the floor.
He still yearns to get a letter from him…..anything from him.
Despite everything, he had Hawke to thank. At least Karl has peace now. He can have the maps and himself for the expedition if needed.
Though he resented it at the time, he was glad he went to have drinks with Hawke the night after. Hearing his and Aveline’s story of loss before reaching Kirkwall brought him back from the pain.
Hawke had asked him to join him on another night like that.
“But you know, in much better spirits,” he said with a hand on the back of his neck. He swore he saw him turn a shade red underneath that smile and beard.
And here he is now.
He sat at a table with Fenris, Isabela, Varric, and Merrill. The women were giggling and whispering, Merrill turning pink and covering her mouth while Isabella said something too low for him to decipher. The men were talking about one of Varric’s tales.
“No, dwarf. I have never read any of your stories.”
“Have you ever thought about it?”
“No.”
“And why is that?”
“Varric, I can’t read.”
Well, that’s news…….
Wait, where’s Hawke? He was here just a second ago.
Anders spots him at the bar. Talking with someone, a human woman.
He’s never seen her before. She was short, maybe the same height as Merrill. She had deep warm mahogany skin, short dark curly hair, and wore a shirt opened at the neck and chest tucked into the tightest pair of trousers he’s ever seen.
Sweet Andraste, what an arse!
They speak for a short moment before they each grab a drink and walk over to wear the rest of them sat.
“Maker, Hawke!” Isabella yells, “How did you find this fine lady? Tell me, are you seeing anyone. Do you have a sister?”
Hawke’s friend laughs loud and boisterous, covering her mouth half way before she sits herself down.
“I’m not interested, I'm afraid. If I have a sister, I wouldn’t know. But I know some ladies who would love to give some company to a humorous and attractive lady such as yourself.”
“You’ll have to tell me all about them, kitten.”
She sat next to Anders and Hawke sat on the other side of her.
Now closer to him, he gets a good look at her.
Fine lady indeed. She had deep dark wide eyes like the night’s sky. Lips pursed as she took sips on her drink. Lots of skin covered down her naked neck and chest, teasing the swell of her breasts where her shirt is undone by the laces. She had small hands with gentle fingers tapping on the drink and the table. She wore no makeup and no jewelry.
Not that she needed them.
“Friends!” Hawke stood up, hitting and shaking the table on the way. “I want you to meet my friend, Valentine. Val, these are my friends. This is Varric, and that’s Merrill and that’s-” He introduces everyone by name and they all exchange words and greetings. When Anders’ was introduced, he said “hello there.” She replies with only one word.
“Pleasure.”
*******
I have no idea where I am.
It’s green all over. The grass is green and long and being blown by the wind. And the sky is blue and cloudless.
It’s not cold. But it was cold? There were clouds and snow and cold. And now…..not anymore.
I don’t understand. I was in the car with Jackson. Where is he?
I remember something. When we were driving…...I saw lights. Like headlights and then…….
Am I dead? Is this a dream? Am I in a coma? I don’t understand at all.
My suitcase is here. It has my stuff still in it. Didn’t expect that old vintage thing to hold up. My clothes are there, but it’s too warm for them. I’m wearing the only pair of shoes I brought. My notebook was also there, and I’m writing in it right now.
I don’t know what to do.
*******
The next time he meets Hawke’s friend is when they get ready for the Deep Roads expedition.
They were all together meeting with Bertrand in Hightown. He had to give credit to Hawke for making a colorful group of friends. He sees her near him, dressed in leather armor and carrying a long thin sword in a scabbard by her side.
Her eyes catch his and she waves a hello to him. He waves back.
Hawke and the dwarven brothers are discussing something when someone cries out.
It was from a woman with tied back greying hair, running towards the group with a worrisome look in her exhausted eyes.
“Excuse me, but I need to talk to my children”
Oh, that must be Hawke’s mother. He’s only heard nice things about her whenever Hawke opens up about his family.
He sees him and Carver walk over to the lady and he’s too far to overhear.
Some sort of disagreement starts and Carver is yelling and Hawke and their mother try to subdue him. There’s a lot of head shaking and hand waving. At last, Carver appears to accept whatever was that was said. Hawke walks away and his brother and mother stay where they stood.
Hawke walks over to his groups of friends looking lost in thought. A moment passes and then with both hands he waves over the group to come over.
“What happened?” Merrill asks.
“Nothing,” Hawke sighs. “Mother just wanted Carver to stay. He…..eventually agreed.”
“Now what?” Fenris crosses his arms, a knot between brows form.
“We have to decide who I am bringing on this expedition.” Hawke sighs once more. He takes in a good look at his companions and bobs his head side to side as if he’s rolling die to choose who he’ll bring.
“Alright! Besides Varric, I shall bring Anders and Valentine. Do you two agree?”
Fuck no.
“Of course, Hawke,” Anders instead says. It was inevitable.
“Sure,” Valentine nods with a small smile upon her lips.
“The rest of you can go about your business. We’ll be gone for a while in the meantime.”
Some murmurs of “alright,” “be careful,” and “see you soon,” were heard before the others left their separate ways.
Anders watches Hawke go back to the dwarven brothers, no doubt to wrap up a few things before they head out.
“So you were a grey warden, correct?” It was Valentine.
“Yes, I was.” She really was quite short. She was a whole head short of him, couldn’t look like she could put her head on his shoulder if she wanted.
“That’s a lifelong joining, isn’t it? I imagine they’re not happy having you…..displaced.”
That got a chuckle out of him.
“Yes, you could say that.”
“That’s too bad,” she kicks a pebble with the tip of her boot, her eyes looking into the sky and nowhere in particular. “I’m sure they’re doing fine without you. You have more important things like spelunking with us losers in demon infested caves.”
That got him to laugh out loud.
“Well when you put it like that, I’m even more grateful I left the wardens.”
When she laughs, she laughs with her being. She bends forward with her arms wrapped around her abdomen as if she was a tree swaying in the wind.
She’s kinda cute, isn’t she?
I do not see what this has to do with the task at hand.
Relax. It’s just an observation.
*******
I am in a country called Ferelden. I have never heard of this place before. Is that old English or whatever the fuck? I don’t know, my head hurts and I’m tired from all the travel.
It took me days by foot, but I eventually reached a small village called Draycott. I asked around for a place to stay and work. And luckily I did. Their innkeeper/pub owner was looking for someone to help clean and keep order in their establishment. He seemed like enough of a nice guy to trust for now. Everything is ancient. There is no electricity or indoor plumbing. Everyone uses candles, gets water from the well, and shits in a pot. I’m afraid to ask why that is.
I am currently writing in my journal in a room of my own by candle light in the late evening. I’m even using a quill and ink. It’s much harder than I thought. Hope I can read this later.
This place is so much more strange than I first thought.
This country and land is certainly beautiful. I believe it's either mid to late spring to early fall. Grass is long, the hills roll, mountains are tall, and the trees high.
But then I noticed the plant and wildlife. I have never seen these herbs or flowers or whatever the hell they are. They look like something out of a story book. And the animals. I’ve seen wolves and bears from a distance. Luckily, I haven't bothered them enough to attack me.
But then I noticed a crow. It had such a large beak with ruffled feathers and splashes of red?
And spiders. The most gigantic ones I have ever seen. They look like the size of horses! What the fuck??
I must’ve been hallucinating. I should get some rest. The people here like to wake at daybreak.
Farmers are insane.
*******
They have been in the deep roads for a few days.
It’s as claustrophobic and dark and all things awful as Anders last remembers.
He wished the warden commander was here. She must be so warm and cozy now being the queen of Ferelden.
And Pounce. His little mews and purrs was what really kept him going.
Well, that and screwing around with Nathaniel was also fun. He had the best expressions.
The company he has now however wasn't too bad. They certainly made an entertaining crowd.
“Garrett, if you had to choose, would you rather eat your shirt or your trousers?”
The echoes of Hawke’s belly laugh lasts almost a minute as they trek along. He had to hold on to his staff to keep himself upright. It was quite contagious and made himself, Varric, and Valentine laugh along with him.
“Maker Val, I knew I wouldn’t regret bringing you. I think I would eat my shirt. My shirt in particular today looks rather tasty.”
“I swear no one wants to eat their pants, it’s always the shirt.”
“Who the hell wants to eat their pants?” Varric raises a brow.
“I don't know, but I’m waiting for someone to tell me.”
Without daylight, it’s impossible to tell when it's dawn or near dusk. After crossing corridors and making quick work of darkspawn that lurked, they all agreed to make camp and rest.
Spare food and drink are brought out, bringing out better spirits for the exhausted party. Bottles of wine and flasks of water. Wrapped packs of dried fruit, meat, and nuts.
Words start spilling and conversations follow.
It never ceases to amaze Anders how well Hawke carries himself in social situations. He held a poise like a noble yet spoke like a child raised by pirates. Held confidence in his chest and said things like “Anders, can you help me get my hand out of this jar?”
He was like an affectionate pet.
“Val,” Hawke said. He sat next to Varric while Anders and Valentine sat opposite them. “Did you know that our friend Anders runs a clinic in Darktown?”
Valentine laughs.
“That’s very all of a sudden, Garrett. That would make you a healer, yes?” She looks at Anders now.
“That’s right,” he smiles back for politeness. “I just try to help the sick as much as I can.”
“That’s incredibly thoughtful of you. You must make decent coin as well.”
“Oh, I don’t charge.” Valentine nearly spits out as she drinks from a water flask.
“You don't?” Her eyes wide and brows raised. “That’s insane. How do you get by?”
“I get by by getting by. Also being dragged around by Hawke helps.”
“And you are incredibly welcomed!” Hawke laughs, so does Varric, Valentine, and Anders.
The group would soon pack their things and move on.
*******
NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE GIANT SPIDERS ARE REAL I HATE WHERE EVER THE FUCK I AM AT
ANYWAYS....
Life in the village is peaceful. I can’t complain.
Yeah sure, the food could be better and I have to shit in a pot but overall, I like it.
Not shaving is a big plus for me.
I’ve made the mistake of asking too many questions. Some of the things I don't know are common knowledge, causing people to look at me weird. Someone even asked if I had brain damage.
And then I realized having amnesia is a great excuse. Everyone now believes I have suffered such an injury. That’s my life now.
The innkeeper offered me a position to keep his rooms cleaned and naturally, I accepted. He also asked me to watch and possibly teach his young daughter to read and write along with watching her.
She is the dearest thing I’ve seen in a long time.
Her name is Wenona. She is nearly four years of age, has light brown hair that is always braided, has a freckled face, and wears homemade dresses.
She is mute. I have never heard her talk or make any noise. Her father says she’s only shy, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was on the spectrum. She is nice nonetheless and gestures when she wants something like food. I speak to her with simple words but not any different than to the others i have spoken here in the village. She understands me just fine.
We have so far spent days outdoors, picking herbs and flowers and laying in the grass and staring at the clouds. Indoors I help her learn how to write, have tea parties, and cook and bake . I read to her every night before bed and sometimes I sing to her.
I’ve also realized that this girl has no friends. I’ve seen a few other children here, but they never go up to here to talk or play. I asked her myself and she nodded. I told her that she was my friend and the look in her eyes…..
Learning about the world through her is an amazing experience too.
They have a religion here called Andrastanism. It sounds similar to Christianity, but instead of God, they have a maker and instead of a son, the maker has a bride named Andraste. I’ve read their biblical stories to Wenona.
I still have so much to learn.
****
#i honestly dont know if my writing is good anymore#but thats not gonna stop me from being self indulgent af#hopefully ill finish this in the future#anders is a cutie fight me#my writing#anders x valentine#anders#valentine volk#da#da2
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How I got into farm life: with pictures!
Here’s a little ramble for y’all. People ask me from time to time “Why goats?”, so here’s my long-winded answer! Rated ? for turkey sex (you bet your ass I’m gonna tell THAT story).
2011 was probably the worst year of my life. I was living in Boulder at the time, on the cusp of dropping out of my first bout with college. Side note, mental illness fuckin’ blows, fam. After a couple separate hospital stays, I received various diagnoses and medications and found myself living in a cramped apartment with three other women. I was broke af and had no idea what to do with my life. I spent many an afternoon wandering around Pearl Street, or even up and down the aisles of the nearby Goodwill and Whole Foods. My head was full of fog and in between the crazy shit I did just to -feel- something, I was simply lost.
This lostness found me in Whole Foods one day, staring at the dairy section. There were these fancy glass bottles with “Cream-Top Milk” and I was intrigued. I’d been a vegetarian since I was 13 and always considered myself savvy in the way of soy and rice milks. This was cow’s milk, but a kind I’d never heard of.
When I got back to the apartment, I was engrossed in learning all I could about milk. There was a LOT I didn’t know. Pasteurized vs raw, homogenization, the differences between skim vs 2% vs whole, even that different breeds of cows could produce either richer milk or higher quantities than others. It was the science of milk and it was fascinating. But if this was interesting... what else could I learn about basic foods?
Eggs were just as exciting. Who knew their were so many fucking labels on eggs?! Organic, cage-free, vegetarian (life protip: never trust a vegetarian chicken), pastured... It is COMPLICATED. I started wondering... why not just do this shit myself? Then I could know first-hand how the chickens were raised! The one drawback came from my vegetarian brain: what am I supposed to do with any boy chicks that hatch? Roosters can be assholes. Not everyone wants or needs a rooster, and at a 50/50 male-female ration, keeping all of them would lead to disaster The answer was simpler than I thought. If I knew how these chickens were raised, and knew they were happy and didn’t live suffering lives... why shouldn’t I eat them?
It was chickens that made me finally admit defeat in Boulder. I told my mom I’d be willing to move back to Maine... if I could get chickens.
As I saved up money to afford a coop, I volunteered on various farms, took classes, and read memoirs of people who gave up a “normal” life to farm. I read books about eating local and taught myself to bake bread from scratch. In Maine, raw milk dairies are legal, so I bought a bunch and taught myself how to make butter and cheese.
My mental health improved as I dabbled in farming. I’d found a focus.
I applied for and got an apprenticeship on a small farm. There, I learned the basics about growing vegetables in Maine’s cold, rocky climate. I only worked there for a couple months, but I learned how to truly care for livestock here, and decided that I would never be a sheep person. The woman who ran this farm was batshit crazy (I found out she was an anti-vaxxer, a homeschooler who didn’t really homeschool, and that she was a mess of a person altogether), but I wouldn’t trade the actual experience for anything. This was also where I met Jerry.
Have you ever been mounted by a turkey? I legit had no idea that it was happening until he was literally on top of me. Apparently, I’m a beautiful turkey hen. At least I’ve got that going for me.
After the apprenticeship ended in disaster (I had the nerve to tell crazy’s son that type I diabetes is not, in fact, caused by vaccines), I set to work on building my coop.
This little makeshift coop was replaced a couple months later by one that I helped my step-dad build, but I finally had some goddamn chickens. I did my best to get only pullets (young females), but it’s hard to tell sometimes what you get. When I heard the gurgling crow of a young cockerel going through the throes of puberty, I knew nature had gotten the better of me.
My new and improved coop was fuckin’ rad. I could have lived in it.
Chewbacca was alpha hen. She was a dinosaur, but she had a softer side. I stuck seven chicks under her fuzzy butt one day and she adopted them.
She loved them, and they loved her.
Anyway, back to goats.
After talking with a farmer who owned Jersey cows for milk, he told me that since I was just getting started, it would probably be more economical to start small. It made sense. Who knew if I’d even like milking twice a day? And it would be a good trial run to start with something that didn’t make so much milk. That’s how I found a wonderful goat dairy with an amazing woman who taught me basic goat care, including milking. She also offered cheesemaking lessons on a regular basis, which I signed up for. I fell in love with the little beasties.
Nigerian Dwarf Goats are fucking adorable. They never grow taller than a couple feet, and their milk is among the richest of all goat milks. If I wanted to make cheese, I couldn’t go wrong with a Nigerian Dwarf.
But life gets in the way. Fencing was expensive, my car was a money pit, and then my mom signed me up for a dating website. I actually met someone and liked him enough to move down to west Texas to live with him. West Texas is oil country. It’s a fuckin’ desert and there’s tumbleweeds and cacti and shit. It’s also drowning in conservative white Christians. My now-husband is an African Muslim (an immigrant, heaven forbid!), so he had no hope of finding a partner through traditional means in the area.
He liked that I wanted to be a farmer! So shortly after we got married, we moved to the outskirts of town and I eventually got my heckin’ goats. I make cheese and it’s REALLY good. Though I had to leave my chickens behind in Maine, I’m hoping this will be the year I get more. I’m starting to get into meat rabbits and I’m hoping this year, I can grow tomatoes without fuckin’ cooking the plant in this heat.
But look at this, I’ve got goddamn goats now. I make cheese.
BTW anyone who’s tried my cheese knows it’s fucking awesome and whenever I visit the sibs out in California, I usually always bring a little tub of it. Maybe I’ll bring some to RTX Austin this year (though you’ll be prying it out of my cold dead fingers).
Goat farming is heartbreaking sometimes, not gonna lie. You have to have nerves of steel to pull a dead baby out of a mama goat, and I still kick myself over the death of a mama and two of her babies last year. Each setback has taught me so much more than books or classes ever could.
But this is the life I want. I’ve been through hell to get here, but I’ve got my focus, and I’ve got my goats. Everything will be okay.
Welcome to Sweethaven Farm.
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Sorry to load on the numbers.... but 1, 7, 12, 20, 38, 39, 40, and 46 for Sidni?
Don’t apologize!!! I love this and answering questions about Sidni so thank you for all the numbers!! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long!
In fact, I rambled so much, I’ll put these under the cut.
1.What does your character’s name mean? Did you pick it for the symbolism, or did you just like the way it sounded?
Okay, let me explain something: Sidni was my very first Inquisitor and she was supposed to be my kind of throwaway, learn the game/character creator/wtf I’m doing character. So I stuck my name on her (because sometimes I like the default names) just so I knew those saves were my mess around ones.
Flash forward to this punk going “look how cute I am, now let me tell you about my backstory and how I romance this character WHO IS NOT ACTUALLY IN GAME ROMANCEABLE and make you fall in love with me.” Because I did. I fell in love with her and everything about her.
So, as I start to write about her and learn more, I keep thinking she needs a different name. I cannot tell you how many names I stuck on her nor how many name generators I went through and nothing fit. I even asked for outside input. No name worked. (And because she’s a little butthead, she was very proud of this and just waited for me to give up.) But I refused to let her just have my name so I turned to heritage and found the Gaelic version of my name. Surprisingly, that one FINALLY fit. The rest is history.
7.Is there a catchphrase or sound that they tend to make a lot (likely without being aware of it)?
She hums without realizing it. It’s very quiet and happens most often when she’s content. She’s never been quite so happy until she’s with the Inquisition which is why it’s not a thing she realizes she does frequently. Once the others figure out the pattern, they don’t point it out because they know it would make her self conscious.
12. Is there some particular talent, skill, or attribute that they simply could not give up?
Sidni is quite good at sneaking into places or being unseen. She honestly can’t give it up because she enjoys slipping past people, especially once she becomes Inquisitor. She also takes great joy in sneaking around. In fact, she uses it to annoy her companions once she realizes most of her tasks don’t include covert work.
Many of them can be heard begging Leliana to give her something so she stops popping up and scaring them all the time.
She’s also an expert with her knives, and you will pry that skill from her cold, dead fingers. Assuming you survive.
20. Does your character like animals? What are some of their favorite animals? Would they want pets? What about mythological creatures?
Sidni loves animals! She’s one of those “animals are better than people” people. She’s always wanted a Mabari (guys, just imagine her excitement when Cullen finds the one in Halamshiral because it’s so freaking ADORABLE), but she honestly would be happy with anything. When she winds up with her own horse and one of Leliana’s ravens is given to her, she nearly explodes with excitement. And you can bet those animals are pretty spoiled. All the Skyhold animals know the dwarf with the glowy hand will always give them treats and a scratch.
It breaks her heart to kill the dragons when they do. She recognizes the reason, but hates it anyway.
38. What kind of weather does your character like? Cloudy skies, rainy days, sunshine, etc?
She loves cloudy days, perhaps with a bit of drizzle. Just as long as the sky is clear at night so she can see the stars.
39. When people look at your character, is there some assumption they might make about them just by appearance? Is that assumption correct?
People see her, see her brand, and automatically think “thug.” And for the most part, they’re right. It’s what she’s always been.
But she’s also learned to be still, to be threatening, dangerous, and to do it all without being obvious. Even once she’s made Inquisitor, this lingers. So people look at her and their instincts make them uneasy because they recognize that she’s dangerous. Maybe not consciously, but it’s there. And yes, she’s dangerous. Always has been. And always will be. Just for different reasons now.
40. Does your OC have any guilty pleasures they enjoy? Hobbies, pastimes, music, etc that they wouldn’t want known by others?
I actually recently answered that here. Y’all just want to know her deepest secrets!
But she also really enjoys stories and songs. Whether it’s verbally passed along or found in a book, she devours them. Of course, it’s hard to keep hidden from Dorian and Cullen. And eventually Cassandra and Varric. But she does her best.
(She’s also excellent at telling stories, which you can see here.)
46. What is some random affectionate thing that your character always does to their lover?
Without realizing it most of the time, she’ll bring Cullen’s hand to her mouth and kiss his palm. Gloves or not. His hands are her favorite and it’s the easiest for her to reach when he’s not expecting it.
Get to Know My Character
#thank you!#no seriously this was so much fun#sidni cadash#sidni x cullen#ask meme#anon anon#Anonymous
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AN: This is my volunteer contribution to the Tomarry Dark Spring Exchange for @darklordtomarry! I saw someone else volunteered and even picked the same prompt! Well, I was already 10k words in so I hope I am not stepping on toes for posting it. Also, because this fic is 56 pages, I will be posting the rest on AO3 and will tag the link accordingly!
I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it :)
Warnings: Graphic depiction of Violence, Gore, Explicit Torture, Manipulation, Character Death
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Harry scrunched his nose when the strong smell of mildew hit him, the stench enough to draw an unwilling sneeze from Harry as he maneuvered his way through the cluttered space. It should not surprise him that the room was in such a state, there was a reason it was called the Room of Hidden Things in the first place.
He could see the towers of junk dwarfing him in their grandeur, sturdy despite the obvious wear and tear of some of the pieces. He could see where moths had eaten through some of the fabric, where termites had nibbled their way into the wooden frames of some dressers he passed as he moved. But it was not at all surprising that the mounds of lost things managed to keep themselves together. It seemed that there was little magic could not do―even for items long since abandoned and forgotten by their owners.
There was something about being lost among these items that gave Harry some sort of peace. Sure, it was chaotic and smelled rather offensive to his nose most of the time, but this room was one of the many that Harry visited when he needed time to himself.
He had found the room when he had been stuck in a particularly prickly situation―out past curfew and Professor Snape hot on his heels. Harry had made the mistake of taking Malfoy at his word when they had agreed to settle their score in the Trophy Room. Only to find that the slimey professor had been waiting there instead of the equally as slimey student of his.
It was a miracle in and of itself that Harry had managed to survive that chase unscathed, but he had lived to tell the tale.
He was quite the survivor when he put his mind to it.
Harry turned his attention back to the bleak room, noting that the room had not changed since the last time he had been there. The same items were still piled on top of one another. The more valuable ones, still very much neglected, but tucked away in their own corners.
The sight of the chaos of the room should have been enough to deter Harry from coming back, but really, it was just so bloody cool and he had the room all to himself really. He had mulled over the idea of telling Ron and Hermione about it, but knowing Hermione, she would most likely tell a professor about his find. He loved her, truly, but she was too by the book at times. It was near impossible to pry her away from her books and from the framework of rules she clung furiously to.
Harry could have told Ron, but Ron was horrid at keeping secrets. The ginger-haired boy tended to shove his foot in his mouth more often than not―so much worse than Harry when was stuck in the same room with Malfoy.
So it was really only Harry’s secret room, even if the room was not ideal.
He paused when he saw something flash at him from a tight corner, the light forcing him to blink furiously to melt away the spots that danced across his vision. Harry was not used to things flashing at him from the dim light of the room―the few once pretty trinkets were so tarnished from disuse that Harry had yet to see anything glimmer.
Until now.
It was curious that there was something in there that still had some light to it, and like a moth to a flame, Harry chased after the source. He almost tripped in his haste to reach it, eager to learn just what the object could be.
After tripping countlessly over some small piles of clutter on the floor, Harry was finally rewarded with the source of the light.
He stood before a flat square object, the width and length of it so grand that Harry had to step back for a moment to take it in completely. It was hidden underneath a gray rag, but there was no mistaking that this was the source. Harry could make out something glittering through the moth eaten holes in the fabric, and he tried to breathe in deeply to calm the excitement he was feeling. He could see something smooth and clear from behind one of the larger holes, and it was with great eagerness that Harry finally tore the offending fabric away from the object of his desire.
He did not know what he was expecting when he unveiled the object, but it was definitely not a mirror. Harry was frozen with disbelief, annoyance quickly overtaking him when he realized he’d almost killed himself tripping over rubbish for a mirror.
Nice job, Harry.
Though admittedly, the mirror was rather beautiful. Its frame looked sturdy, the patterns carved into the wood intricate and unlike anything Harry had ever seen before. He was familiar with runes after spending years training in Hogwarts, but none of those symbols were engraved into the wood―the patterns looked more like squiggles than an actual design. Harry could not help reaching out to touch them, a jolt of something shooting up his arms where his fingers made contact with the mirror.
It felt smooth to the touch, the varnish relatively intact despite how old the mirror had to be. Everything in the Room of Hidden Things looked like it was ready to break to pieces, to melt into tiny puddles of sand if it were breathed on too harshly. But this mirror was nothing like any of the other items in the room.
When Harry tore his gaze away from the carvings on the wood, he was met with his own reflection in the glass. Not a speck of dust to be found.
The glass was immaculate. As if decay was not permitted to touch it.
It made him pause, unsure and pensive as to how this particular piece was left untouched by the atrophy that had consumed every other thing in the room. Golden lanterns and silver jewelry had all been made the home of tenacious bugs and vermin―forgotten by owners long since dead, but not abandoned by the whims of decay.
But the mirror was unspoiled, radiating a kind of elegance that made Harry’s lungs feel tight with awe.
Harry was seized immediately by curiosity, his fingers reaching to touch the glass. He didn’t care that he was most likely going to smudge his dirty fingers on the glass. It was a habit his mother often chastised him for when he could not resist sticking his fingers on all the pretty things at the markets. It was a dangerous habit―one he should have kept in check after one of the girls his year had been cursed when she had found a beautiful necklace. But he could not help himself, there was just something about the mirror that spoke to him.
He sighed at how cold the surface felt against his fingers, the ice of it chilling him to his core. But it did not deter him despite it.
His hand grew numb from the frigidness, but it was hardly a concern for Harry. No one could come upon him and see him touching the mirror. This was a private moment for him to satisfy his own curiosity. And give in to the strange compulsion squirming in his gut.
“Harry.”
The boy jumped, snatching his hand quickly away from the mirror to survey just where in the room the voice had come from. Harry was sure he had been alone; no one knew about the room, save himself. He was absolutely sure of it.
He was tempted to search the room to uncover just where he heard the voice, but there was a nagging in the back of his mind that begged him to remain where he was. It was that strange sensation again, a tingling that reminded him that there was something of interest behind him that he should be more interested in than who could possibly be in the room.
Harry waited with baited breath for the voice to speak again. But the seconds that Harry waited stretched to minutes, and those minutes stretched to an indeterminable amount of time without a single sound. Harry was wary of the room now, distrustful even of the space he had only moments before been savoring.
It left a bad taste in his mouth, but something had said his name.
It was with great reluctance that Harry turned his attention back to the mirror, his own reflection staring back into his own. Harry could see the suspicion in his own eyes, a tenseness to his shoulders that had not been there moments prior.
Harry was afraid to admit that he was unsettled, but he refused to let it show. To let the voice in his mind dictate how he should conduct himself.
Nothing could be dangerous here. Dumbledore had made sure of it when he had defeated Grindelwald and saved the wizarding world from chaos. It only made sense that his protection would extend to the school as well.
Though Harry was not sure that also applied to hidden rooms too.
But that did not mean that Harry was going to leave.
Harry reached out once more, pressing his fingers against the glass as he had been earlier. It still felt cold, but it was somehow warmer? Harry knew there was something different this time, his fingers still felt numb, but the glass was not a glacier.
“That’s odd…”Harry murmured to himself, concentrating on the room reflected by the glass rather than himself. Everything looked the same.
It made Harry wonder if the mirror was somehow enchanted. It had to be if time refused to touch it. In some way, all of the items in the room were magic, so it only made sense that this mirror would retain its own glamour too.
But what kind of power could it have?
“Is there a particular reason you are touching me so? It is quite rude.” Harry froze, snatching his hand back as if he’d been burned. There was nothing reflected in the mirror, but Harry was quite sure he had heard something speak from it. The tone had been soft, curious even, but not one Harry had ever heard before.
“...You can talk.” Harry managed to choke out, but only just. Looking for some sort of person behind the glass, to see his own self speak to him as the enchanted mirrors in Hogwarts often did. Except he had complete control of his own reflection and there was nothing in the clutter reflected that revealed anyone else.
Harry was alone. Or at least, he seemed to be.
After a long pause, the mirror spoke again. It felt like it was trying to gather enough to strength to speak.
“…yes. It has been a long time since I have had the strength. You are the first person to come across me since I came to be here.”
Harry pursued his lips at that, drinking in the rich sound of the man’s voice. It was beautiful, almost like a melody Harry had long forgotten. It was odd though, because Harry was sure he had never heard this voice before, in both his time in Hogwarts and on the radio.
“How did you come to be here?” Harry was curious, plopping his arse on the dirty floor to wait for the mirror to speak. He wanted to hear its story, charmed by the idea of an object somehow retaining some sort of sentiency.
He faintly recalled the warnings of his own parents when he was a young boy, even of the Weasley’s, urging him to steer clear of objects that seemed autonomous. Very rarely did good things come out of it, but what his parents didn’t know would not hurt them.
The mirror was silent for a moment, just as it had been earlier when it answered, before the rich sound from it came again. Harry wanted to close his eyes to listen, but he refrained. It was embarrassing how a voice could make him feel so at peace and intrigued.
What would Ron say to that? Harry almost snorted at that thought.
“…I used to be a student just like you. I had dreams and aspirations. Plans prepared for when I would graduate and set out to explore the world…” Harry’s breath hitched at how sad the voice sounded, the melancholy clinging onto him like a second skin. The mirror had grown silent, but Harry somehow knew that the mirror was not finished telling its tale.
“…I was an avid scholar. I wanted to learn the secrets of the world. But then, I made a mistake when conducting one of the many experiments I did in pursuit of knowledge.” Harry listened avidly, drinking in the words as they were said. He did not understand why he felt so empathetic. It was almost as if he himself had been trapped in the mirror, his own dreams crushed through no will of his own.
“The experiment went wrong. And I somehow ended up here, in this mirror. No one knew I was here…this room was my haven from the prying eyes of my peers.” The mirror’s voice sounded strained at the end his phrase, and Harry felt an unexplainable fear coil in his gut at the prospect of the voice never speaking again. “Lost… forgotten. Until you found me.”
The voice sounded happy then, and Harry could not help smiling in response. Harry was surprised at how much he wanted to help the mirror then. He didn’t know a single thing about this sort of magic, but he had to help. He couldn’t just leave this person trapped in the mirror for Merlin knows how long. He steeled himself for the difficult task and sat up from the floor, careful not to touch the mirror after being admonished for it earlier.
“I’ll help you get out of there.”
Harry spoke with conviction, his eyes staring into the mirror as if to convey just how readily he’d act. He could not help that he was a bleeding heart, often picked on by the Slytherins for his habit of helping those in need. His parents had taught him the importance of helping others, and this mirror was not any different than Neville when Snape was particularly cruel to him.
There was no ifs, ands, or buts. He was going to help even if the mirror did not want it.
“…you would help a perfect stranger? I could be dangerous.” The voice sounded almost amused, and Harry grimaced at the wisdom in the mirror’s comment.
“Stranger or not, you need my help! I can’t just leave you like this.” Harry was stubborn, lifting his chin despite the likelihood that the mirror could not actually see the gesture. “You used to be a person, I'm sure there is a way to bring you back.”
The mirror was silent once more, but Harry knew it would respond. It just had to.
Even if it did not agree, Harry was simply going to help it anyway. He’d get Ron and Hermione here post haste to get started on their plan.
They’d probably call him an idiot, but they’d help him all the same.
“…You’re too kind. It seems that you are bent on helping me regardless of my wishes. Then please, help me. But I have a few conditions.” Harry nodded his head eagerly, pleased that the mirror did not put up a fight.
“You are to tell no one about me…my predicament is one of its kind. I might be carted away to the Ministry to be experimented on, otherwise.” Harry was shocked, understanding dawning at the reality that that would definitely be his fate. The Ministry was at peace now, but that did not mean the same thing for a lot of magical items. Harry recalled the many raids into wizarding homes for dark objects---for things that had been a part of generations of families, to be dissected and never to be returned to their true owners.
Harry did not want that for the mirror. He refused to give it up to the wolves when Harry had only just found it.
“Okay, I won’t.” Harry almost nodded his head before he caught himself, recalling again that the mirror could probably not see him.
“What was your name before you became trapped in the mirror?” Harry almost kicked himself at not asking earlier, feeling rather rude that he had practically forced his help on the object but did not bother to ask the most simplest of questions.
“…Tom Riddle. I was a seventh year…what is the name of my savior?”
Harry melted at the sound, intrigued by the name.
It suited the mirror. It was definitely a riddle.
“My name is Harry Potter, and I am also finishing up my last year here at Hogwarts.”
Harry grinned back at the mirror, entirely too trusting of the mirror he had found.
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Session Summary - 27
AKA “The Dragon Eggs”
Adventures in Taggeriell
Session 27 (Date: 22th July 2017)
Players Present:
- Rob (Known as “Oloma”) Human Female.
- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor”) Dwarf Male.
- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.
- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.
Absent Players
- Phil (Known as “Nac”) Half-elf Male. <Played by Rob>
- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Bob>
NPC
- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by DM>
- (Known as “Valder”) Elf Male. <Controlled by DM>
Summary
- Starday, 19th of Neth in the year 814 (Second Era). Winter.
- The party begin this session, in the hour before midnight, in a large cavern in the caves of the Hatchery, having just survived a cave in caused by a fight with a group of Kobold Alchemists.
- The party, who are all badly injured decide to take a short rest, as both Sir Krondor and Gim believe that the chances of anyone hearing or feeling the cave in from the upper levels is very remote.
- Trenchant spends a little time searching around the cave in area but soon realises that most of the fallen rocks are too big to move and thus he can not find anything. The three dead Kobold Alchemist bodies are searched, the other two Kobold bodies are under the fallen rock and gone forever, but nothing of value is found. Labarett spends the time pulling bits of dried glue off his body and trying to comb down his hair to cover the missing patch of hair from his run in with the exploding alchemical bombs.
- During this short rest Nac appears to be trying to pray but does not seem to get the response he would like.
- Valder, seeing the expression on Nac’s face asks, “Something wrong?”
- Nac replies with a tired voice, “No. Yes. I don’t know. I am trying to pray to my Goddess, Tahakisis, but I am getting confusing images I can not understand.”
- Valder replies, “Don’t force it Nac. Keep trying and it will come.”
- After an hour passes, the party stop their short rest, thankful for the break and get to their feet. (Most of the party spend Hit Die to recover much needed Hit Points)
- Deciding that they need to go to the lower section of the cavern, Trenchant comes up with a plan to deal with the six Guard Drakes that are down below. Nac starts to cut one one of the dead kobolds into edible chunks of meat and bone. Naillae pours the entire contents of the poison vial she took from a previous killed Kobold Alchemist they dispatched back at the Temple of Chauntea in Anwich, to poison all the meat. The meat is then thrown down into the lower section where all six Drakes race towards and begin to devour the poisoned meat.
- It takes a few minutes for the Drakes to eat the meat, the occasional sickly crunch of bone heard along with the snapping of the Drakes powerful jaws. After all the meat is devoured the six contented Drakes lay down. A minute later the six beasts start to cough and vomit as the poison takes effect, the Drakes are visibly shaken and weaker from the poison.
- Taking advantaged of the weakened state of the Drakes all the party launches an attack at the Drakes in the lower section, except Naillae who is at the base of the entry stairs guarding against wandering patrols. Along the wooden railing on the upper section stands Oloma, Sir Krondor, Labarett, Valder, Gim, Trenchant and finally Nac who stands closest to the collapsed section of the cavern.
- The party’s attack catches the poisoned Drakes by surprise. Spell, arrow, bolt, psionics and hand axes are hurled at the Drakes. Trenchant makes a particularly good shot with his crossbow and fires off two quick bolts in succession (Critical Hit - Maximum damage and Another follow up attack).
- Some of the Drakes, already badly injured from poison, are dropped dead by the sudden attack and a few others are badly wounded. The enraged beasts leap towards the lower wooden gate and start to claw and bite at it, desperate to make their way up to the party. It would appear that there will not be enough time for the injured Drakes to break their way through the gate before they all get killed.
- Nac smiling as he sends his Chill Touch hand to claw at a couple of Drakes shouts, “This is like taking a rattle from a new born baby. This is easy!”
- The smile from Nac’s face quickly disappears when the closest rock column in the lower section suddenly starts to move. One large orange eye snaps open in centre of the column and then a mouth larger than a grown adult opens up. The mouth is filled with 6” long teeth. Suddenly four tentacles shoot out from the thing and fly towards the nearest members of the party. Gim, Valder, Labarett and Sir Krondor all start to duck and dive as the tentacles try to grab them.
- Nac shouts out, “What is that thing!”
- Oloma shouts, “It is a Roper! A dreaded creature of the underdark. Do not let the tentacles grab you, else it will drag you into its mouth to eat you!”
- Valder dives to the ground, the tentacles barely missing him, and then continues to run all the way back to the far wall to try to stay out of the range of the tentacles. Sir Krondor and Gim soon find they each have a long, hard tentacle that has wrapped around their waist with considerable strength. Quickly before the pair can be dragged away they both drop their weapons and use their hands to pry themselves free from the tentacles (Successful Strength checks).
- Labarett hurls one of his javelins at the Roper and hits it dead centre but the weapon bounces off.
- Oloma shouts, “Their skin is very hard. You’ll need to hit it harder than that!” (Roper’s AC is 20 from natural armour).
- The combat becomes frantic now and what was a simple battle has turned into a life and death struggle. Most of the party are trying to either attack the tentacles directly or hurl attacks at the large body of the Roper itself. Naillae abandons the stairway and comes over to help throw daggers too. Each time someone in the party gets a tentacle wrapped around them and manages to free themselves, they soon find themselves attacked and grappled again. Each time the rough tentacles rip open their skin and cause bleeding wounds.
- Nac concentrates his attacks at the Drakes as they continue to try to break through the gate which is now only half hanging up.
- Trenchant is shouting encouragement at the party (he gives one Bardic Inspiration die to both Sir Krondor and Labarett who are trying to attack the tentacles directly).
- Sir Krondor decides to change tactics and rather than using his strength to force himself out of the tentacles, smashes his silver war hammer into one of the tentacles and breaks it in half. The removed section of tentacle drops to the ground motionless whilst the other remaining half, retracts into the body of the Roper. The large orange eye swivels towards Sir Krondor and the large mouth opens wide with a roar.
- Sir Krondor shouts, “I think I’ve pissed it off!”
- Labarett swings his Masterwork long sword at another tentacle but his grip is wrong and he accidentally lets the weapon fly out of his grip and it lands 10’ away and below in the lower section near the Roper. (Fumble) The Elf barbarian pulls out his second Masterwork long sword.
- Another of the Drakes falls dead, leaving only two now, but the gate is now torn off. Before the Drakes can rush up the stairs the party hurl attacks down at the pair, killing one of the Drakes off and injuring the other. Labarett races down the stairs and charges directly at the last Drake and kills it with a single swing of his weapon.
- Gim, finding himself once again wrapped in a tentacle, swings his lion battle axe and cleaves the tentacle in two (Critical Hit - Max damage and sunder) and then cuts another tentacle down. The Roper’s eye turns immediately to Gim and the beast howls.
- Gim looks worried, “Bugger. It’s looking at me now!”
- Suddenly two more new tentacles shoot out from the Roper and now Gim has three tentacles trying to attack and grab him. The Dwarf manages to duck under one tentacle but he soon finds himself with two tentacles wrapped around him. Gim and Trenchant desperately start to swing their weapons at the tentacles and manage to cut both the tentacles off before they can pull the Dwarf in.
- The rest of the party are throwing everything they have at the Roper. Arrows, bolts, daggers, javelins, hand axes, spells and psionic thrusts all take chucks off the large beast.
- With only one tentacle left near the trio of Gim, Trenchant and Labarett, the last tentacle is cut down.
- Sir Krondor fires an arrow at the Roper and the arrow manages to lodge in the mouth of the beast as it was closed. (Critical Hit - “In The Kisser”). The mouth is now stuck shut until it can break the arrow.
- Labarett seeing the mouth is now shut charges at the body of the Roper, his weapon pointed directly ahead. The Roper is trying to force its mouth open, the wooden arrow is starting to break apart but before it can release itself, under the combined effort of all the party attacking from the upper section and Labarett bravely fighting it in close melee, the Roper suddenly stops moving and begins to topple over. With a loud crash the large heavy beast hits the ground.
- The party are victorious but with many injuries again. Thanks to some luck they managed to survive the Roper and Drakes.
- As Labarett bends down to retrieve his Masterwork long sword he notices that the ground in this lower section, which is soft black sand, has small slightly raised mounds all around it. Some of the party come down to search the lower area, and to retrieve their thrown weapons, and all up they count twenty small raised mounds around the lower section.
- Oloma scrapes the cold black dirt from one mound and finds a hard round object about an inch under the surface. She continues to dig and pulls out a large egg, about 10” high, that is very hard and has a scaly surface.
- Valder looks at the egg, “Unless I’m mistaken, that is a Dragon Egg.”
- Quickly the rest of the party get to work to dig out the twenty Dragon Eggs. Once all the eggs are out Valder looks them over. He thinks they are of different Dragon types but he can’t be sure which are which.
- Trenchant checks his Bag Of Sharing but it still has the notes he placed in it before. The Bard looks up, “It appears that Valthrun has not checked the Bag on his end yet. We’re on our own.”
- The party divide the Dragon Eggs up and each member takes two eggs, except Labarett and Nac who take three eggs, and places them into their backpacks. Trenchant places four of the eggs into his Bag of Sharing.
- As the party are now injured from the battle with the Roper they decide to take another short rest. Naillae sits near the stair way to listen out for possible patrols. Everyone else takes the time to simply rest. Nac once again sits down, eyes closed, and prays to his Goddess.
- The hour passes and luckily for the party they are not disturbed (Once again some of the party spend Hit Die to recover Hit Points. The party are getting close to the point of running out of Hit Die, Healing Potions and Healing Spells).
- At the end of the short rest, Nac’s eyes snap open from his prayer, “My prayer is not strong enough! The images, they are stronger now but still eluding me. I saw the statue of Tahakisis in the Dragon Shrine with the silver chest. I believe if I were to pray in that room I will have a stronger connection to my Goddess.”
- As the Dragon Shrine room is just near by the party leave the Dragon Egg Chamber and return to the where the statue of the Dragon Goddess looms tall in the room. The silver chest, engraved with dragons, stands just before the statue.
- Nac states that he will need to perform a prayer ritual for ten minutes and the Cleric of Tahakisis goes over to kneel in the front of the statue.
- Sir Krondor and Gim move over to the long 100’ stairs to guard it. Valder and Labarett look over the carved and engraved wall of Dragon motifs. Naillae crouches near the silver chest, looking carefully over it but not daring to touch it.
- Meanwhile Trenchant, Valder and Oloma move over to the dead end section to look at the tall vertical natural shaft that extends beyond sight. The rope hanging down from the shaft is thick and sturdy with regular knots tied into it to make climbing with it easier. Valder summons his owl familiar and sends it to fly upwards in the shaft and concentrates to see through his familiar’s eyes. Valder reports that the shaft extends about 80’ up and then stops. There is a rug or mat covering the top of the shaft, little specks of light shine through the covering, and the rope continues all the way to the top.
- After ten minutes, the rest of the party move over to see Nac has finished his prayer. Standing up, rubbing his tired eyes, he speaks, “My goddess has spoken to me. I asked her more information about the Dragon Mask that would summon her into this world. She warned me that once a mortal places the Dragon Mask on they can not take it off. Only their death would release the Mask and in doing so The Dragon Goddess would be returned to the Nine Hells, until someone else placed the mask on.”
- Valder asks, “Is that everything?”
- Nac replies, “Yes, I have told you everything you need know.”
- The party now take some time to discuss what to do. Sir Krondor is very eager to see what lays inside the silver chest. Trenchant believes they should just leave now with the Dragon Eggs and not risk setting off the trap they know is there. The party take a vote and most want to try to open the chest.
- Naillae suggests that she could make a visual examination of the chest to discover the nature of the trap. She spends a few minutes to carefully look over the chest, avoiding touching it. She then informs the party that she can see a small wire inside the key look and another small wire underneath the chest. She believes that the trap is set to go off if the lid were to be forced open, or the chest moved, or if the wrong key was turned in the lock or if the lock was picked opened. The only way to open the chest safely would be to use the right key or Naillae could attempt to disarm the trap and bypass the wire to the key lock. She states that the wire underneath the chest is not accessible and she could not disarm it.
- Most of the party decide to have Naillae attempt to disarm the key lock trap. Trenchant follows the lead of the party, and then offers advice and encouragement to Naillae in her disarm attempt (Bardic Inspiration gives plus d8). So too does Nac who casts a Guidance spell upon Naillae to help guide her hands in the attempt (Guidance spell gives plus d4). After a rope is tied around the waist of Naillae, in case she sets the trap off and they have to drag her out, the rest of the party leave the room and wait on the main stairs in.
- Naillae begins to work her Thief’s tools on the complicated key lock wire. She begins to sweat as she realises that this trap is perhaps beyond her ability and she is about to set the trap off. (As this is an important roll, the DM suggests that he should not roll for the NPCs disarm attempt. So after a bit of discussion, the roll is done by Bob (Sir Krondor), and he rolls a 4 so even with the extra d8 and d4 the attempt will fail and the trap will be set off. However, Rob (Oloma) uses his Inspiration to allow a reroll. This time Travis (Trenchant) decides to make the roll and he rolls very high, and that along with the extra d4 and d8, gives a final result of 23.)
- As just Naillae is sure she is about to fail, she cuts the wire, and nothing happens. She slowly pulls her tiny tools out of the key hole and looks up with a smile, “I’ve disabled the trap.”
- She then goes about picking the lock and with a satisfying click, the lid pops up half a centimetre, “The chest is unlocked. Who wants to open it?”
- The party, still unsure the chest is safe, ask Naillae to examine the partially open lid for further traps. She does so and states she can’t be sure but she can’t see any wires or other mechanisms and thinks it safe.
- Oloma strides over to the chest, whilst everyone else tries to come up with a way to open the lid remotely, and the Mystic boldly opens the lid.
- Inside the chest is a string of pearls, a gold and sapphire ring, and a small open leather pouch containing half a dozen well cut gems, a larger leather pouch with writing on it that is tied shut, four lightning rune stones, and a 3” wide silver heart shaped jewellery box sitting atop a folded note.
- Trenchant speaks whilst pulling out a small note, “I think those are the items referred to in that note we found in Frulam’s command tent.”
- Trenchant then reads out the note again, “Everything must be freighted north, through Singbury, and around Asalea, towards Naerytar. Avoid attention. Use the roads only and do not use river barges. Rezmir allowed us to keep some pearls, a ring, and a handful of stones.”
- The Bard points to the items in the chest, “There is the pearls, the ring and stones. They must be part of the stolen goods from Anwich.”
- The items are taken out. The lightning rune stones are three Tier 1 stones and one Tier 2 stone, which is divided out to the party. The larger leather pouch is opened and inside is ground up rose petals which gives a strong sweet smell. Written on the outside of the pouch in rough common is, “Throw some of this up into the air when entering the lower section to check on the Dragon Eggs. The Roper is trained not to attack when this scent is used.”
- Sir Krondor speaks, “Well, that would have been handy to have BEFORE we went into that dam cavern!”
- Next the party examine the small 3” wide silver heart shaped jewellery box. On the lid is a masterfully engraved scene with such detail as to be almost life like. A brave knight stands, his broken long sword lays on the ground, so too does his shattered shield. He stands in front of and protecting a cowering maiden, whom he holds in his arms, shielding her from the view of a dragon. To the side is a large pile of treasure. Looming over the pair is a massive dragon, with one broken horn, the other half of the horn lays on the ground. The beasts jaws are open with flames flickering and it is obvious the beast is about to kill the pair in its fiery breath.
- The lid of the jewellery box is unlocked so the party open it. The inside of box is lined in plush red velvet. A small, egg sized object, dark red and with rough sides is the only object inside.
- Valder looks at the odd object, “I think that is a shrunken, dried heart. Looks like a human heart.”
- The note that was under the jewellery box is opened and read out by Oloma, it is in common, “Langdedrosa, Keep this heart secure until we can figure out how to make it work. There must be a way that is alluding us.”
- Trenchant the Bard of Valour then speaks (Successful History Check), “I remember an old song taught to me long ago. It was the tale of Sir Gillan. He was a brave and noble Knight and performed many great deeds but the song was not about his many quests but about his end. Sir Gillan, single handedly went to a cave in a tall mountain, as a Dragon there was attacking a near by village and they had asked for the Knights help. This Dragon however proved more of a match than Sir Gillan anticipated. Sir Gillan managed to inflict a serious wound on the Dragon and cut off one of its horns but the battle went badly for the Knight and when his long sword and shield lay smashed on the floor he had no choice but to turn and retreat. The Dragon did not follow and Sir Gillan could have left to save his life but then he heard a faint, desperate cry of help from a female voice back inside with the Dragon. Sir Gillan, with no weapon, went back inside and saw that the Dragon had not only a hoard of gold and treasure but a prisoner too, a young maiden in tears sat in the shadows at the back of the cavern. Sir Gillan ran over to the maiden and stood in front of her. With no weapon and no shield the Knight knew he could not save her nor himself but he would not stand aside. Not even as the jaws of the Dragon opened with flames visible, did the Knight falter, and as the Knight held onto the maiden to speak calming and reassuring words to her that he knew where a lie, the Dragon engulfed the pair in flames. Sir Gillan lost his life that day, to save a girl he did not know, in a noble and selfless sacrifice befitting a hero. The Dragon, after eating the burnt maiden, grabbed the burnt body of the Knight and flew to the near by village where the Dragon dropped the body as a warning. The villagers took the body and gave it proper burial. The song does not tell what happened to his body.”
- Naillae looked over to Oloma whilst the tale of Sir Gillan was being recounted by Trenchant. She noticed that Oloma appeared to be talking silently to herself. Concerned Naillae quietly asks, “You ok?”
- Oloma replies softly, “Yes, I was just giving a silent prayer about the tale. Do not concern yourself.”
- The party then move over to the far vertical shaft and get Naillae to use her expertise as a thief and burglar to climb the rope. She does so easily and quickly. She climbs up about 80 feet and finds the exit to the hole is covered with a rug. Little speckles of light can be seen from the rug, so a light source must be on the other side. She can hear the sound of someone writing on paper with a quill, and also the sounds of near by snoring.
- Naillae climbs down and tells the party what she has seen and heard. The party decide it is now time to take on Frulam and her guards. The party guess that the covered hole must come out somewhere around where they know Frulam must be. They get Naillae to climb back up and cut the rope about 10’ down from the exit. They have her wait near the upper exit, hanging onto the rocky walls of the shaft, hidden, to wait for sounds of combat. When she hears the battle start she is to come out from the rear and start to sneak attack. Naillae says she’ll do this but if she doesn’t hear anything she’ll wait for 2 hours and then she’ll go back down to see what has happened.
- The rest of the party now leave Naillae behind, walk through the Dragon Shrine Room, up the 100’ long stairs, through the Kobold Sleeping Chamber and then through the Drake Hatchery cavern where they left the tied up and gagged Kobold Chieftain hanging on the wall; the Daylight spell of Nac has long since ceased to work in this cavern. As they walk past they see that the Chieftain is dead, a single small wound on his chest, as if someone slipped a dagger into his heart.
- The party look at each other and finally Trenchant speaks, “Ok, who is responsible for this?”
- Everyone looks at Nac and the Cleric responds with a smile, “Don’t look at me. I was with you guys.”
- As no one takes responsibility for the killing the party move on. They move into the large cavern with the bat filled ceiling. They once again ignore the descending stairs that smell of blood and death. They move over to the far side of the cavern where the unexplored ledge going down is. With the benefit of light and dark vision now, the party can see the ledge goes down 10’ to another smaller section of the cavern before it descends again into a very low section of the cavern that is filled with rubbish and garbage. There is a smell of rotting food here. There is the occasional glint of metal in the large pile of rubbish but as the pile and cavern is so large, they can not even see the far side of the cavern, they decide not to go down to search it and instead carry on to where Frulam is as per the plan.
- The party proceed on through the cavern filled with fungus and over the trapped stairs to return to the large entry cavern of the Hatchery. They start to search the area where the now dead Kobold Chieftain had indicated there was a secret door.
- They search for ten minutes but come up empty handed even knowing the rough spot the door should be (Advantage on Roll thanks to the information gained by the Chieftain).
- Trenchant huffs, “You know what would have been handy? If the Chieftain was still alive we could have grabbed him to show us exactly where the dam secret door is!”
- No one responds to the comment. Again the party spend about ten minutes to search the area desperately looking for the door but can not find it.
- Sir Krondor now speaks, “Dam it! Surely someone in the party is skilled at finding secret doors!”
- Nac speaks, “Yes and she is currently hanging in a vertical shaft waiting for us to get through and start a battle from this side.”
- With no other choice the party search for the secret door for a third time. Taking another ten minutes to search, this time Nac casts Guidance on himself (+ d4 bonus) and Trenchant gives him some verbal encouragement too (+ d8 bonus) and with that, along with the knowledge gained from the Chieftain (giving advantage on the roll), Nac does indeed find the very well hidden secret door (required a DC 23 check to find).
- Prying open the secret door can be seen a corridor that goes forth. About 30’ away a dark side passage goes off to the right but the main corridor continues around in a slight bend to end at an opening, about 60’ away, to a lit chamber.
- Trenchant pulls up his Elven Cloak and walks forward to investigate. He reaches the side passage and enters it. Ahead is a dark chamber, he can just make out some coins and a broken box on the floor at the entry way, but the human Bard can not see well enough in the darkness to see the rest of the room. From the dark room he can hear snoring. From the lit chamber he can also hear the sound of snoring, a lot of it, and the sound of rolling dice too.
- Trenchant goes back and tells the party what he saw and heard. The party decide to send up Oloma, Labarett and Gim to the dark side room to investigate. Labarett and Gim take the lead as their dark vision makes moving about easy where as Oloma has to use the dim light coming from the lit room to navigate the corridor. Labarett steps on a piece of broken wood on the floor that breaks with a snap.
- Oloma hangs back at the junction as she can still see well enough there and Labarett and Gim move over to the entrance of the dark room to see that it is a large chamber with broken wooden boxes and broken bits of wood are all over the floor, a handful of coins are on the floor, and a body in the corner to the far right is asleep under some blankets. The figure is snoring and has not apparently heard the approach of the party.
- Just then Oloma hears the sound of walking footsteps coming from the direction of the lit room. She leans out to take a look and is confronted by the sight of two surprised guards who look directly at the face of Oloma which is only a few feet away. Both guards are in armour and hold a shield and spear loosely at their sides.
- Oloma quickly and quietly springs into action before the guards can react. (Initiative won by Oloma). She calls forth the twin Soul Knives of light from her hands and bounds around the corner to slice one Soul Knife across the throat of one guard, who silently falls backwards clutching his open bleeding throat, and plunges her other Soul Knife into the heart of the other guard. Both guards lay dead on the floor.
- Labarett silently moves over to the sleeping figure and plunges his long sword twice into the chest of the reclining figure. With a gurgle the figure stops breathing and lays dead. Two empty wine bottles near the body and the reek of liquor would suggest the male was quite drunk.
- Labarett and Gim search the dark room with the darkvision and only find 20 silver coins, 4 gold coins and 10 small gems.
- A voice yells out from the lit room, “Eron, hurry up and come back, it’s your turn!”
- Another voice, sounding sleepy and angry, shouts, “Shut ya dirty mouth! We’re trying to sleep!”
- The party quickly come up with a plan. Nac and Valder will hang back at the open secret door to wait in ambush and to provide covering fire with spells. Gim and Sir Krondor will move to the dark side passage to wait in ambush with their melee weapons. Trenchant along with Oloma and Labarett will boldly walk into the lit room to try to convince them they are Dragon Cult reinforcements sent to ask for a small number to go back to help with a task; at which point the other party members waiting in ambush will attack the split up forces.
- Trenchant, still disguised as a cultist, walks into view into the lit chamber. It is a large chamber with a few lit torches on the walls. About twenty sleeping bodies lay in bed rolls all around the chamber. To the left is a side passage leading to somewhere else. Trenchant quickly scans the room but can not see any rug or mat, this is not the room where Naillae is waiting. To the right on the far wall, seated around a round table are six figures gambling with dice. One of the figures, dressed in impressive armour, stands up, “Who the fuck are you?”
- The other figures start to grab the nearby shields and spears.
- Trenchant speaks calmly, “We’re reinforcements. I need some of your men to come with me to help Lord Frulam with a task.” (Failed Deception check)
- The tall and solid looking man bellows, “Like fuck you are! I’ve never seen you before. UP YOU DOGS! TO ARMS!”
- The bodies on the ground start to stir but before most can do anything, Oloma pushes past Trenchant to move to the side of the entryway and concentrates her mind. A Physic Blast races towards the line of bodies on the ground and in an instant elven of the guards stop breathing as their minds are torn asunder.
- One of the bodies of the far wall, sits up and points a heavy crossbow at the party, releasing a crossbow bolt. At the same time, the standing veteran soldier races across and starts to swing his sword at Oloma. The first swing misses, thanks to Oloma’s cloak that makes her appear just off to the side of where she actually is (disadvantage on combat rolls) but the second back swing swings true directly where she is. Just before the veteran’s blade strikes her Oloma suddenly vanishes and teleports 10’ away.
- Trenchant tries to swing back at the veteran but he times his swing poorly and hits himself in the jaw (Fumble). The Bard will not be able to speak for a short time, thus can not use any of his Bardic abilities or talents!
- Sir Krondor and Gim come running up together, still in corridor. Sir Krondor yells out, “Hold them all here. Langdedrosa is killed and our other group is taking the Dragon Eggs now!”
- Gim shouts too, “Yes we should have all the Dragon Eggs soon!”
- The veteran soldier hears this exchange. (Sir Krondor failed his Deception check but Gim was successful in his Deception roll). Quickly the veteran soldier snaps, “Warn Frulam the eggs are being stolen NOW!”
- One of the guards closest to the left passageway sprints down and out of sight yelling, “The eggs! The eggs are being stolen!”
- Meanwhile the five guards, in full armour, that were at the round table, sprint towards Trenchant and surround him; their spears lunging at him.
- Trenchant realises he is alone at the entry way surrounded by guards but the Bard can’t use any of his special abilities due to his injured jaw preventing him from talking.
- Valder though sees the danger the Bard is in and sends forth the Fireball that he has been saving all this time. The small orange speck flies over the party and lands in the middle of chamber. The speck explodes into a ranging fireball of intense heat. The flames go around the Bard, thanks to Valder’s special evocation mastery of shaping, and kills all five guards around the Bard, and another three guards around the room. The flames have also badly burnt the veteran soldier near Trenchant and the other soldier across the room with the heavy cross bow.
- As the flames die down, Labarett runs in and engages the veteran soldier in armour.
- Just as the party are thinking they have the battle in hand, two robed figures appear from the side passage, Cult Fanatics. One of the Fanatics points at Labarett and the Elf barbarian feels his muscles start to stiffen; he is now Held by magic (Failed save roll). The other Fanatic points at Trenchant but has no effect on the Bard (Successful save roll).
- From the side passage a loud female scream is heard, that quickly fades away and then suddenly stops.
- “That better not be Naillae,” shouts Nac as he fires off a spell.
- “No, that wasn’t her voice,” shouts back Trenchant, as he lunges with his rapier.
- The soldier on the far wall drops his heavy crossbow, and as he lifts himself up, dressed only in a loose undershirt, he grabs a long sword and approaches the immobilised Labarett. The Elf barbarian is helpless against the attack and the large soldier carves two deep wounds into Labarett’s torso. Instantly the barbarian falls over, unconscious and bleeding to death.
- The rest of the party see Labarett drop and rush into gear to save him. Gim, Oloma, Sir Krondor, and Trenchant all move forward engaging foes. Sir Krondor and Gim smash lightning runes onto the their weapons, causing lightning to erupt along each of their weapons.
- The two Fanatics again cast spells and suddenly floating spectral weapons appear next to Gim and Sir Krondor, swinging at them. The combat is frantic now as the party know they have to get to Labarett before he bleeds to death and the remaining foes are fighting to the death too.
- Nac points at the two Fanatics and sends forth his Chill Hand at both and the spectral ghost hand grabs each of their throats bringing the pair to the ground dead (Spell Critical Hit). As the two Fanatics hit the ground dead both of the spectral weapons they had conjured disappear into mist.
- The rest of the party press the attack at remaining foes, giving enough room for Sir Krondor, who takes a swing at a foe on the way through, to rush over to the downed figure of Labarett.
- The Dwarf Knight grabs his backpack hurriedly and opens it searching for his Healing Kit to stop the bleeding on the barbarian. As the battle rages around him the Dwarf Knight starts to apply salves and bandages to Labarett, Sir Krondor has stopped the bleeding and saved Labarett.
- The final foes drop one by one, just as Naillae comes walking into the room from the side passage, casually wiping the blood of her rapier, “What took you so long?”
- Naillae informs the party that when she was waiting in the shaft, Frulam has raced over, pulled aside the rug covering the hole, and started to climb down. When Frulam got 10’ down and noticed that the rope had been cut off, Naillae left her hiding spot in the shadows, grabbed Frulam and pulled her off the rope before she even knew what was happening. Naillae watched the Cult Commander, fall screaming to her death, and hit the ground hard; her limbs and head bent back at weird angles that could only mean she had meet her death.
- Then Naillae saw a guard leaning over the hole to look down, so Naillae who was still hidden in the dark shadows of the shaft, threw a single dagger at the guard. The blade struck him straight in the left eye and the guard fall over onto the floor dead.
- After that Naillae climbed up out of the shaft, retrieved her dagger and came over to the party who had pretty much just dispatched the lost of the foes.
- Whilst Naillae is explaining what happened, Nac and Trenchant are casting healing spells onto the unconscious but stable Labarett. Soon the Elf barbarian sits up coughing, he is alive. Seeing Sir Krondor crouched next to him, putting away his Healing Kit and supplies, the Elf barbarian thanks the Dwarf Knight solemnly, “You risked your life to save mine friend. Thankyou.”
- Sir Krondor smiling, just slaps the Elf barbarian good-naturedly on the back.
- The party move straight into the side passage and into Frulam’s room. This large room is sparsely furnished and has no decorations of any sort. There is a wooden table near one wall with a single seat, a large and nicely made bed in a corner with a nearby open chest (filled with clothes), a rug has been thrown to the side of the room revealing a large hole in one corner of the room and a sturdy rope attached to a metal ring in a wall going into the pit, and a small side room to the north where two rough sleeping bedrolls are which are presumably where the two Cult Fanatics slept to guard Frulam.
- The writing desk is searched on the table is found a solid silver key with a small black dragon on the end of the key made of black onyx.
- Sir Krondor bows his head down and moans, “The key for the silver chest! I think we’ve pretty much done this cave in the wrong order.”
- Most of the letters and notes on the desk are mundane, simple accounting or inventory requirements of the camp or books with bad dragon poetry. However, one note gets the party’s attention:
“Lord Galvan The Blue Wyrmspeaker.
The camp is running well. Raiders from the Anwich attack have returned with suitable treasure. It has been counted and sent forth. Solana Venrel needs to learn her place and duties; her lack of respect for my position and orders are interfering with our plans. We had some issues with a group lead by a Dwarven Knight Of The Anvil and Solana was not up to the task of dealing with them; resulting in her Dragon, Lennithon, taking a grievous wound. To salvage the situation she caused, I sent forth my second in charge, Langdedrosa Cyanwrath, Dragonfang, and he has killed the meddling Knight.
Rezmir The Black, along with one of the fool Red Wizards, came to ensure the tribute was sent. Curse Rezmir the arrogant fool. He along with Severin The Red think they are the most important of the Wyrmspeakers! Ha! I shall bind my time, as you request, and humour him. His time will come soon enough, he and all the other Wyrmspeakers will bow down before you my great and wise Lord, the one who truly speaks for Tiamat.
Interrogations with that dam Harper have revealed little. I will kill him soon.
The Hatchery is running smoothly and the Dragon Eggs are safe.
Your humble servant, Frulam Mondath, DragonSoul
Tiamat, Our Mother and Strength"
<And as the party stand in the private room of Frulam, within “The Hatchery”, and wondering how they are going to get out alive, past the hundreds of troops outside, that is the end of the session.>
XP Allocation
Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)
Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)
- Locate The Dragon Eggs = 500 XP
- Open The Dragon Chest = 200 XP
- “Cut Off The Head” - Remove Frulam from Command = 300 XP
Creatures Overcome
- Guard Drakes = 2700 XP
- Roper = 1800 XP
- Guards / Cultists = 550 XP
- Veteran Guards = 1400 XP
- Cult Fanatics = 900 XP
- Frulam Mondath = 450 XP
Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)
Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)
Nil
XP Levels and Player Allocations
Player : Start + Received = Total (Notes)
Phil : 20709 + 825 = 21534
Rob : 24902 + 1375 = 26277
Arthur : 17774 + 825 = 18599
Bob : 13846 + 1375 = 15221 (Level up to Level 6)
Travis : 14749 + 1100 = 15849
Paul : 11920 + 1100 = 13020
NPC (Valder) : ??? + 550 = ???
NPC (Naillae) : ??? + 550 = ???
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The Trial of Stone
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The stay in Swiftperch was longer than she expected. With the town coming under attack by slavers, Hali found herself pulled toward the fight to capture them after the town was cleared and she had recovered from her previous trial. Though the battle left her beaten and bloodied, having very unwisely engaging in close combat, but also being caught in the Captain’s last-ditch effort to kill his would-be captors, she was healed and after another day of rest, set out again, the crystal beckoning her to the far north.
She headed back toward Gridania, where she set off on foot for the highlands of Coerthas. Though she enjoyed Vylbrand’s cool, rainy weather, this was a whole new treat. Snow was ever her favourite, the quiet of snowfall, the crunch under her boots as she trekked through the drifts, the faint whipping of wind, and even the biting, bitter cold bringing her a strange kind of joy.
The crystal pointed further west, taking her through the snowy central highlands, and up across the mountains toward the western highlands. It took her the better part of a day, staying awake and moving through the better part of what might, if not for the perpetual snowfall, be daylight, to reach the other end.
Of course, the time it took her to trudge across the frozen land was partially owed to her wish to take her time through Coerthas, enjoying the weather, even stopping to play in the snow from time to time, making snowballs and practising her Ruinbolt spell by tossing them into the air and blowing them to bits, often with a gleeful giggling following the crack of thunder that often followed.
Though it saddened her, she eventually made her way through the mountain pass that led toward Dravania, and the crystal’s destination. When she emerged on the other side, she was thankful that the cold was still present, at least, but stood in wonder at the strange, foreign beauty of the Forelands. Everything was different: the trees, like great spiders that towered over her, the sky, dotted with what she could have sworn were floating rocks and islands, and even the very ground, which, despite the cold, remained covered in foliage.
Something got her eye as she walked the path toward what appeared to be a settlement, seeking shelter and a place to rest. With a roar, a dragon passed overhead, dipping down into a clearing in the trees, and snatched up what looked to be some kind of cross between a coeurl and a bear - a creature she’d later know to be a bandersnatch. The creature, easily twice her size, was dwarfed by the massive dragon, and she stood, transfixed, her mouth hanging open in awe and fear.
It wasn’t much further down the path that she happened upon Tailfeather, happy for the hospitality of its chocobo-hunting inhabitants, but less for the cloying stench of the birds that was ever present. Nonetheless, for some coin, she was offered shelter and a bunk to rest for the remainder of the day, and come the late evening, with enough sleep to set her in motion again and a bit of tea to help her along, she set off again.
The crystal’s direction was one of unfortunate difficulty, however. As she neared the nearby mountain, the dragons’ sacred summit of Sohm Al at the peak and home of Anyx Trine at the base, she realised that passing them to her destination would likely be the most idiotic decision she could make. However, she was equipped to bypass such an arduous and likely deadly encounter, and, nearing the base of the mountain outside Anyx Trine’s great stone walls, she began to concentrate,
The ground beneath her shifted with a crumbling noise, and, as through it were water, she sunk into it, the Burrow spell that she had learned carrying her through the mountain’s stone and earth until she reached a shaded area among its cliffs, safe from prying Dravanian eyes.
The cave mouth nearby seemed to radiate heat, and an odour akin to sulfur, marking it to Hali as a volcanic mountain, and that gave her pause. This would be a difficult trial, indeed. She focused, creating a pocket of breathable, cooling air around her with her conjury as she headed further into the cave, and, though it didn’t help to keep her senses clear of the choking fumes and smoke, it kept her safe from breathing too much, the worst of it being an acrid burning at the back of her throat.
Further into the cave that she later knew as Mourn - the final resting place of dragons - she encountered a shrine, with two of the men waiting, one before the shine, peering up at it, and the other staring off into the depths of the mountain. The shrine itself was a towering figure of a dragon, cut from stone, with glowing crystals to either side that radiated heat.
Before she could speak, as she approached, the man to the side turned to her and spoke up, “The Vessel has questions.” Hali blinked, then nodded.
“I... do,” she said, taken aback for a moment, not expecting to be offered answers already. She thought on the best ones to ask, not sure of how long the man might humour her.
“Who or what are you?” she asked, “What do you call yourselves?”
“We are Immortals,” came the simple answer. She wasn’t impressed with it, and she rethought the question.
“Okay. What is this magic you use? What’s it called...?”
“It is power,” the man replied with an arrogant tone and a scoff, “Nothing more.”
Hali’s brow furrowed and she grew irritated, beginning to think of another question that might get the answer she wanted.
She was, however, cut off, “The Vessel has one more question.”
“Mh,” she grunted, annoyed. She thought hard on that last question. She could ask them what they wanted from her, what their plans were for her, but if it was ill intent of some kind, they wouldn’t tell her. As it was, all she had been given were cryptic half-answers for the most part.
“What is a Vessel?” she finally asked, frowning.
“An empty soul. Weak, to be fed with power that it may grow strong,” was the final reply, and, without another word, the man turned to gaze out over the thick smoke rising from the depths of the mountain again, silent.
“What is this place?” asked the man before the shrine, turning to face her fully.
“Um,” she shrugged, trying to recall what the residents of Tailfeather had told her, “It’s a gravesite for dragons. A final resting place.”
“And what is this?” the man motioned to the statue behind him.
“I... assume a shrine, maybe to some god. Or a memorial of sorts.” She truly had no idea, but hazarded her best guess, shaking her head in uncertainty.
The man looked irate, furrowing his brow behind the veiled turban, the white paint around his eyes crinkling with his face as he asked, “What is the point? Do all of your people do this?”
Hali blinked rapidly for a moment, as if trying to comprehend what she’d just been asked, then shook her head to the negative, “N-no. I mean, the dragons are hardly my people in any event, but... some do. Where I was raised, it was viewed as a waste to mourn the dead overlong. It made us vulnerable. We didn’t have many enemies, per se, but there were those who would take advantage of it. We buried our dead, paid our respects, and then moved on. And... that was the end of it.”
“Our people have no such regard for the weak.” Weak. Not dead. Even the strong could, and would someday, day, she thought, but it was best not to challenge that notion.
She was distracted by the thought by a vision that raced through her head mere moments later. Hundreds of cloudkin, dead, on the ground, looking much like the beast she first slew at the behest of the strange men, and hundreds more people, marching over the corpses, all dressed in the same manner as the three she had seen time and time again.
Think...
The vision cleared, and she saw the man now facing the statue and he asked, “Would you feel anything if I destroyed it?” She furrowed her brow. Her immediate reaction was to question why she should even care - after all, it wasn’t hers - besides angering the dragons. However, the feeling inside her, that which had caused her immeasurable pain time and time again, stirred in anger, causing her to become annoyed.
“I don’t care,” she shrugged, then sighed, “But something does. I want it to be silent. I don’t understand these feelings it’s trying to force on me, and I don’t much appreciate them either. It’s annoying. I want to hurt it, to make it just shut up already.”
She detected the faintest trace of a wicked grin behind the man’s veil, his eyes crinkling around the edges slightly, and with a turn, he drew in aether and sent a beam of energy across the statue that cut it in half, the top half sliding off and crumbling to the depths.
When the statue was attacked, it was as though it targeted her very soul, and something cried out in agony, forcing her to double over in the existential pain that it had forced upon her before on multiple occasions. She hissed in pain, wincing, her whole body tensing as she fought back. Another vision overtook her.
A land much like the Dravanian stone around her spread out, red and volcanic. A longing began to crush her soul, a sadness of something forever lost. Countless statues and monuments, much like the one just toppled, crumbling into ruin beneath her. It made her want to scream in anguish and despair. No. Not her. The thing within her. These were not her feelings...
Feel...
The man turned back to her, and, without a word, withdrew a small bag, from which he drew an amulet, ever careful to hold it away from himself, not daring to touch the gem. When it was revealed, she felt as though her very soul was being pulled from her, and she drew back, eyes widening and teeth bared.
“If the Beast is too much for you,” he said, “It can come to an end here.”
Hali sneered in annoyance and pain, “Hells no. I’ve come this far, done this much, and I refuse to just give up over an annoyance. This is something I will master, so put that damned thing away. I am not making all this time and effort wasted.”
The man in blue looked satisfied, and he tucked the amulet back in its bag, the bag going beneath his robes, and the feeling disappearing as the Beast within her calmed, either for fear or from the miqo’te’s insuppressible willpower and the wall that was her absolute determination that kept her soul safe. Or... was it something else that helped her? She had felt another presence, unlike this “Beast” before, but it was gentle, comforting, steeling her against the assault on her very soul. She shook her head. It was of no consequence. She’d learn in time if it was another product of this magic.
“Your will is like stone, but how long until it begins to crack? Your final trial awaits,” the man before her said, turning and disappearing, the other nearby doing the same.
She was left alone in Mourn, but decided not to linger, making her way back to Tailfeather by way of another, longer Burrow spell that had her emerge just before its gates. Checking the crystal again, it had already begun to point to the southeast again, a hard pull, making her think of the Shroud. She resolved to rest for the day, then set off in the early evening the next day.
Back to where it all began, to the final trial... but she felt as though she still had fewer answers than questions.
#hali naras#ffxiv#final fantasy xiv#rp#roleplay#balmung#aegir hlerson#bragi odinson#g&g#gold & glory#im blUE DABADEE
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