#i still need to add all the leather and golden studs to that one too! while i spray paint the other one gold | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shnuggletea · 4 years

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This is my attempt at EdWin pairing from Full Metal Alchemist. It’s for @kalsies bday and since you like EdWin and FMA I thought I’d switch it up for you. I also realize that you don’t really know me but I’m a fan of your work! And I hate it when I miss a bday; we all deserve some love especially on our bday!

I’m going to post this on Tumblr only for now to see how it goes. Idk if this is any good and I kinda rushed it but here goes.

I do not own Full Metal or the art used in the cover above (came from here) I just own the story!

Happy Birthday Kalsies the Derp!

I also made a playlist but it is also a WIP! You can listen to it here!

The Coffee House

It wasn’t like I was looking for the place or planned to ever go inside. I blame the damn wind. It blew my hair free of its tie and damn if it didn’t want to quit! So I had to duck in somewhere and I’m not a coffee drinker. As soon as I stepped in out of the wind I was nearly pushed back out by the smell of the place.

I never had a problem with the smell of coffee really. It has a decent scent to it. But I knew that the scent was misleading and that the taste was far from the enticing smell. So much so I had distrust in coffee and everything to do with it.

Especially the baristas that slung it at you with a false smile.

And this place had all the bells and whistles of your usual coffee house. Tables and ‘comfortable’ chairs. Dark lighting and soft music. Everything you needed to get people to stay and drink more. The only difference was, this place had huge pieces of twisted metal sticking out of the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Probably considered ‘art’ but I wasn’t buying it. I did find the piece that was half an engine from an old tank stuck to the wall interesting.

There weren’t a lot of people inside so maybe this place made even shitter coffee? It made getting my hair back in its place a hell of a lot easier, slipping off to the bathroom for a mirror. That turned out to be an added blessing because I hadn’t noticed the smudge of oil on my face. Undoubtedly from work cause not even Al would tell me it was there. They would laugh while I walked the streets unknowing.

A few more bodies were in the place once I returned. It made the place loud and I hated loud. “You have to buy something!”

Turning to the shrill voice, I expected a doughty old maid. Instead, it was just a girl. She was pretty... I guess. If you’re into tall blondes. With her hair pulled back to the top of her head and the dirty apron covering her front, it was hard to say anything else about her other than tall and blonde. And irritated since she was still glaring at me for some reason.

“Huh?”

“Are you dumb? You used our bathroom; I saw you. Only customers are allowed to use it so either buy something or I’m going to punch you in the dick.”

I laughed because it was ridiculous. But that only pissed the blonde off more as she started to jump over the counter to get to me. “Okay, okay I’ll buy something. Jeez!”

She stepped back and stopped all attempts to get at me… with violence. Now she had arms crossed over her chest (couldn’t tell how big her chest was still) and went back to glaring at me. “Well? Order something!”

“Look, I just needed to fix my hair…”

She snorted. “Your hair? Seriously?!”

I growled back at the woman. “Yeah, my hair! Like you have room to talk!”

“I do since my hair is actually cute.”

“Who the hell do you…”

“Are you gonna order today or next week?”

I took a glance around. It wasn’t like I was holding up the line or anything. “I don’t even like coffee…”

“You’ll like my coffee,” the strange and annoying girl said, stepping back to a large and intimidating machine, “my coffee is the best in town.”

“Hasn’t this place only been open a week?”

“Two!” She shouted with pride and pulled down a lever. It was like an old fashioned slot machine that was ready to explode. Cause as soon as she pulled down the lever the whole thing shook and twanged like it would get up and breakdance. “It’ll just be a minute.”

The wall behind me became mine as I leaned against it. The girl didn’t talk her eyes off me so I didn’t take mine off her. She was… strange. Pushy and arrogant and rude. Her eyes eventually got to be too much and I didn’t like how she was studying my body. Not that it would help but I crossed my arms over my chest. Which most people took the hint when someone did that but not this girl.

“Who did your Automail?” The packs of coffee beans that held my attention for a second could have been set on fire and it wouldn’t have changed the glare I was giving this nosy woman. “Doesn’t look like they did a very good job. I can see it hitching at your shoulder.”

The hell she could. I had on an undershirt, long sleeve henley, and my red leather jacket. Add in my gloves and there was no way. “I haven’t been in for a tune-up in a while, that’s all.”

She couldn’t see shit, she was guessing or something. Messing with me. “How did you lose your arm?”

“That’s none of your business,” I shouted as fiercely as possible. She nodded as if I told her I didn’t want sugar though. “You know, I didn’t even use your damn bathroom. I shouldn’t have to…”

“So what are you? Street cleaner?” The woman was unphased by my angry stupor. “You have some dirt here.” She pointed to her left temple and I wiped at mine. “You do look familiar, have we met before?”

She was leaning on the counter between us, scrutinizing and sizing me up even more. The only part of her skin that was visible (other than her face) was her hands and they were covered in little bandaids. I was marveling at how tiny her fingers were and a snarky response slipped past my filter. “Maybe I cleaned your street before.”

Then she giggled. I swear there was a twinkle in her eyes, I didn’t imagine that. And adorable, mischievous, god damn annoying twinkle that made me want to burn the place down. Even more so when she stood back up and twisted a small golden tendril around one of her tiny fingers. “How do you like your coffee?”

“What is it with you and personal questions?!” She held up a small cup, innocently and I felt flames lick the skin on my cheeks. But she said nothing about it, staring at me with doe eyes that would have reminded me of a lake on a calm day but they were far from calm. More like the ocean before a hurricane. “I don’t like coffee at all so…”

“Right, cream and sugar then.” She moved away from me and I moved towards the counter. “How tall are you?”

She was crouched inside a small fridge pulling out bottles but looking up at me. Her golden hair almost touched the floor and yet she still had all her attention on me. “What’s it to you, Blondie?”

I struck a nerve with that one, finally. She slammed the fridge shut and handed the coffee to me so hard I nearly got burned. “It’s Winry.”

If she hated the name then why did she have blonde hair? It was nothing to change the color of your hair these days. She flicked a few loose locks behind her ear and showed that it was full of metal. Studs and hoops went from her lobe up to the corner of her cartilage. A lot of girls had their ears pierced but not quite like that and it made me curious if the other looked the same.

“Are you always this nosy, Winry?”

If she was offended, she didn’t show it; shrugging and looking at her bandaged hands. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Oh, you asked. About everything that has nothing to do with you.”

Saying nothing else, she held out her hand and after a minute, I pressed a few credits into her outstretched palm. She took them and then plastered on a smile. “Come back soon and tell all your friends!”

“Tell them what? Come here and get pushed into buying?”

Her smile faded, but it was fake to begin with. “Well, just tell them the bathroom is for customers only then!”

The woman (Winry) was done with me so I left. The wind blew my hair out of my tie again but I was already at the shop by then.

“That was the longest lunch break you’ve ever taken, Edward!” Louis yelled from somewhere in the back and although out of sight, I still glared in his direction.

“Shuddaup you Bald bastard and mind your business!”

The bald man with the fabulous mustache just chuckled and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in irritation. Slamming the door behind me I walked over to where Al sat, looking up at me as I approached. “You got coffee?”

I had actually forgotten, still holding the cup in my hand. “Sorta.”

He took it from me and I let him. “Shouldn’t drink coffee. It’ll stunt your growth.”

I ignored his smirk. “I freaking hate coffee and you know it. I only got that cause I was forced.”

Al chuckled while I still simmered from the barista Winry. “When has anyone ever forced you into anything, brother?”

I smirked back at him but not because of his teasing. He tried to duck but it was too late, rubbing my knuckles into the top of his skull hard and making his dark blond hair fly all around. “Get anything done while I was gone?”

He shoved me away as hard as he could with his free hand. “We got a lot done for once!! Must be you holding us back!!”

Chuckling, I let him off easy and took off my jacket to hang up. Looking back at Al I caught him sipping on the coffee. “Hey! What about stunting your growth?!”

Al wore a sad smile but at least it no longer reached his eyes. “That’s not really a problem for me, is it?”

I had nothing to say to that, watching as he rolled himself away in his ancient wheelchair. I couldn’t even afford to get him a nice one; like the kind that roll where you want them to with a single thought. But that wasn’t what was important. What was important was getting the funds for Al’s body.

It was why I worked at this shop, rolling up my sleeves to get back to work. There were a few projects still waiting for my touches so I had to hurry up. I needed to get to work and get it done for tonight. I’d already wasted too much time dealing with crazy coffee house girls.

oOo

It was a warm night but I still wore my red leather jacket. It protected my skin and it had my symbol on the back. I never intended for that symbol to mean anything, I just thought it looked cool. But now I almost have to wear it so people know who I am and what to expect.

That symbol was why (when I rolled up to the line) others either stepped out or changed their bets.

My bike wasn’t anything special but I knew how to take care of it. Unlike the others here who spent thousands of credits to fix up or buy new bikes; mine was old and cheap. Before I made a name for myself, it was what gave me the advantage. Everyone knew how I raced now so there was little point. The only reason I came here night after night was for the money cause the thrill had left long ago.

I had my hair tucked up inside my helmet so it didn’t get knocked like crazy; not to hide even as my helmet hid my face. Anyone that saw me on the street would know it was me thanks to my jacket. But not everyone here wanted to be known. It wouldn’t be a surprise if an Under was mixed in the crowd. My jacket made me known but also gave me deniability on the streets in daylight.

It was this reason that I wasn’t surprised when a stranger pulled up next to me on their bike and had a blacked-out helmet. Mine was blacked out as well but that was more out of preference than fear. It had been years since a new person showed up to race here; so I busied myself sizing them up. Their bike was nice, a newer model than mine. And an actual brand; a Tomoaki. It was a decent ride but I wasn’t worried.

The new guy refused to look anywhere but the track ahead. They were clearly a Newb, it was showing in their laser focus as well as the small shake in their arms as they waited for the ‘gun’. It had me chuckling in my helmet and fogging up the glass.

It was me, Newb, and three other guys ready and waiting for this race. Two of them were from the Homunculus gang so they would be trouble. As they were every time they lost. The other guy I knew pretty well; Roy on his trademark Mustang bike was hard to miss. That meant Risa was somewhere in the crowd. He was a good guy and a decent racer. But I was better.

This was going to be another easy win; easy money.

Olivier stood before us, taking her place with the flag to start. She was how I learned about this place; her brother complaining about the illegal activities his dear sister was involved in. Not sure what he’s so worried about; there are far worse things to be into as far as illegal activities go. Far more lucrative too but I was pushing it with Al doing this much.

The tall and buxom blonde lifted her arms for our full attention. A few idiots in the crowd with death wishes whistled at Olivier. She was a beautiful woman but if you ever told her that she would break your face. Olivier started the races for one reason only; to be a distraction and throw a few of us off guard. I looked at the Newb next to me to see if it worked. The rest of us were used to it by now. Newb didn’t look shaken in the slightest but he still shook.

Olivier dropped the flag and it was time to stop dicking around, hitting my accelerator and jumping ahead of the rest instantly. There was no one ahead of me; the track was mine. Our location switched every week and you had to be in the know to find it. You also had to use the GPS to stay on the assigned track. Mine was beeping that there was a hard left turn ahead. This was one of the reasons I was unbeatable. Without skin on it to worry about losing to the pavement, I was able to dip lower on left turns and take them faster than the rest.

It was right turns that slowed me down and this track had two right at the end. Even so, I still have the lead and little to fear.

This was it. Alone on the track, going as fast as I pleased. The only thing missing was the wind in my hair and on my skin. This was where I felt peace; felt free. Winning was no longer a thrill for me. I only enjoyed this moment now; being my own boss and in control of everything. My speed, my movements, and my life. It was easy to forget the troubles I faced daily while I raced away into the night.

Nearing the end of the track, I leaned into the first right turn. Of course, I slowed and dipped a little less than before. This was my real leg, the only one I had left. It was expected. What wasn’t expected was the other racer that passed me in the middle of it.

It was the new guy, flying by dangerously on the turn. I had been cocky and stupid, getting lost in the freedom instead of actually racing. Now they had the lead. If it was a straight away or another left turn, I could have taken the lead back. But it was neither of those and even as I dipped lower and went faster than I was comfortable with, they still had the lead.

The Newb was going to win.

There was a strange pressure that I felt in my chest. I hadn’t felt it in a while. It was… excitement.

I pushed my machine to its limits to gain a few seconds on the Newb’s lead but the race was pretty much over. We crossed the line with a two-second difference and the crowd was a mix of shock, awe, and anger. Just like the first time I raced and won.

A lot of people just lost a lot of money.

The Newb stopped and I pulled up right next to them. “Follow me, NOW!”

They shook their head at me. “Why? I want my money.”

Their voice was garbled by an electronic voice changer. It wasn’t weird; a bit uncommon but again there was always the possibility of Unders in the crowd and with this person a Newb it was a good thing they were protecting their identity.

“I’ll get your money tomorrow and give it to you later. You need to get out of here!”

Newb glanced behind us at the crowd and I looked as well; even knowing what I would see. The crowd was restless, shouting, and pushing. There were more races to be had (the night was still young) but it was clearly over as the others were already fighting.

“Great. How am I supposed to come back with that?” The Newb asked.

“It’ll be fine, they’ll get over it. But those guys,” I said, pointing to the two Homunculus members that had raced and lost to the Newb, “they will come and tear you apart if we don’t get out of here now.”

There were no more questions after that and as much as I wanted to help the guy out, I couldn’t force him. So I was glad the guy shut up and followed closely. The Homunculus followed for a while but it wasn’t too hard to lose them. We came to a stop miles from the track. A few quiet shops sat to one side while an empty park on the other. Without a word or sign, we both made for the park and killed our engines; turning our bikes into chairs with our kickstands out.

“That was too easy.” The Newb spat. “I thought they wanted to tear me to pieces?”

Even with the voice changer, I could tell they were mocking me. Resting on my bike, I pulled my helmet off so I could get more air. “Yeah, well they probably figured that they’ll get you next week. You should consider taking a little break for a while.”

They huffed, the automated voice struggling with the sound and came out like singing. “You just don’t want to lose again.”

My Automail was stiff from the ride. As were both my shoulders. So I stretched my hands high above my head and then rolled my shoulders around. “Nah, you got lucky this time. It won’t happen again.”

Newb was silent and I enjoyed the quiet while it lasted. “Why did you help me?”

His question was soft but in the silence, it was easy to hear. “Why not? I used to be right where you are now. New and talented. The Homunculi are a bunch of jealous assholes who don’t care about rules as long as they win.”

“What about you? Is winning that important to you?”

I looked at the dark window of their helmet, trying to see through it even with it impossible. My mouth still pulled into a smirk. “Of course it’s important. You get more money if you win. But only if I do it by my own merits.”

“So it’s the money you really care about?”

I shrugged, looking at my gloves and fixing the loose hold they had on my hands. “I need it. Everyone there does. It’s how this all works, right?”

“I’m in it for the racing, not the money.”

I grimaced hard back at the guy, thankful I took my helmet off so they could see the fire in my eyes. “Then you should be going pro, not slumming it with the rest of us.”

This Newb really needed to learn when to shut the fuck up; still talking away but I was no longer listening. I cut him off with the roar of my engine. He was a stranger; he had no clue who I was or the life I’d lived. My past was as much a mystery as his was to me. Only I no longer cared to know his past or present. His judgment could eat shit; I took off and left the fucker there.

He could find his own way home.

#Full Metal Alchemist #full metal alchemist fandom #edwin #coffee house trope #with a twist #same setting #so still steampunk #still working on it

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

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you wrote ‘don’t forget’ on your arm // 1 // charlotte&lola (penny&jupiter)

Summary: Jupiter’s going to dress as Lola for the premiere of The Dirt, is dating MGK, and also the premiere happens.

A/N: @misscharlottelee and @local-troubled-writer . I split this into 2 parts because the second part is almost entirely this AU’s version of The Dirt and it was getting too long. Next part to be posted tomorrow!!

Part 1 of 2

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Jupiter looks like Lola; the same dark hair, same angular face. They’re not a spitting image, they’ve inherited Tommy’s waifishness and green eyes, so the honour of looking like a carbon copy of their mother belongs to Cerie, but whenever people write about Jupiter, on blogs or in magazines, they always feel the need to mention; Jupiter looks like Lola. So with the premiere coming up, Jupiter thinks it’s only fitting; if all anyone sees is their mother, then spitefully, they’ll play into that.

For the record, Alicia, the woman they’ve got playing Lola, looks eerily similar to her, and by extension Jupiter, and Jupiter wonders if it’s egotistical of Freudian to think she’s hot. Whatever; that’ll be their therapist’s problem. The cast for The Dirt is hot, which is an uncomfortable truth that Jupiter has to live with. Even Iwan makes Mick hot, which is somehow way weirder than her mom being hot, because Mick is a gremlin and the only band member Jupiter actually gets along with, their father notwithstanding.

Some time when Jupiter was a teenager, Mick had told them, with the haunted wisdom of a man who has spent over half his life putting up with their parents, that he’d had broken guitars with more common sense than Lola, and Jupiter decided then and there that he was their favourite, and their opinion hadn’t waivered since.

So it’s with a well-worn resentment that they acknowledge how actually stylish Lola was in her youth, not that she isn’t now, but she was more of a punk in her twenties than Jupiter knows they could ever be.

Penny thinks it’s self-destructive behaviour, and that Jup is too old for this shit, but she tags along, never one to pass up a good trawl through a vintage store, that is when she’s not in the studio with Dominic. Jup joins them when they can, when they’re not working on the final touches for their own album.

“Am I allowed to say your mom is hot?” Colson’s laying back on Jup’s sofa, flipping through a scrapbook Tommy had leant him, filled with old newspaper and magazine clippings, trying to find a good photo of Lola, while Jupiter scrolls through pinterest, looking for any and all photos of their mother in her youth. Preferably with clothes on. Christ, Lola. Jupiter shoots him a look, but it’s not angry, it’s just rather… uncomfortable.

“I think you are, but I wish you wouldn’t.”

None of the jackets are ever right; they’ve got the ripped fishnets, the black platforms, the leather shorts, they’d even managed to get their hands on a spiked bra, but for all the leather jackets they’d looked at, none of them were Lola-level of over the top gutter punk. Oh they had spikes upon spikes, and buckles, and a few had some custom detailing, but none of them were right. Up until Motley’s first tour, Lola had lived and died in her black leather jacket, with the spikes on the shoulders, that looked better open than it did zipped up. There was only one option left. They could go to Tommy, but they knew ultimately they’d end up at the same place.

Lionheart Management’s thirty-second floor offices had the same effect on Jupiter as a dentist’s office had on a child; deep seated discomfort, but Jupiter would rather meet her there than have to go to the bullshit family home she shared with Nikki.

Jupiter knocks on the door that bares their mother’s name, grimacing at the little plaque beneath that reminded everyone that she was the CEO. Lola’s voice rings from inside, inviting them in, and she seems pleasantly surprised to see Jupiter when the door opens.

Lola still wears all her earrings she’d given herself in her youth, though now they’re studs rather than safety pins and pieces of wire, as Jupiter had come to see, and for all she’s grown up, she still favours black. Maybe that’s why Jupiter’s always gone for pastels.

“What a lovely surprise,” Lola sits back in her desk chair, haloed the golden records on her wall, and gives a fond smile to her child, “what can I do for you today?” And it kind of stings that Lola knows that Jupiter wants something, though Jupiter considers that that’s no-one’s fault but their own. They don’t make a point of seeing Lola for idle chatter.

“Do you still have that black jacket from the eighties?” Jupiter cuts right to the chase, and Lola frowns a little.

“Which one?”

“The one with the spikes on the shoulders and the weird sort of panel design?”

“I think Nadine gave me that one -” Lola says, something gently faraway about her tone.

“I don’t need it’s history, I’m just asking if I can borrow it.” Jupiter’s tone is sharp, and Lola’s expression falls. After a moment, she agrees quietly, giving a sad smile as she tells Jupiter they can pick it up later that night from her house. Before they turn away, they think they can see what people mean when they say that Jupiter looks like Lola, something haunted, wise beyond her years. They turn away.

“It’s good to see you, Jubilee,” Lola tells them just as Jupiter goes to leave, using the nickname she’d given Jupiter after they’d come out and changed their name, “I’ve heard you’re working on some new music, that’s exciting.” She’s trying so desperately to make some sort of connection with the child who barely acknowledges her, and Jupiter feels a twinge of guilt.

“It’s releasing a month after The Dirt, my album,” Jupiter’s tone is soft and a little cautious, but they turn back in time to see Lola smiling, “I even had Seo and Cyrus help out with one of the songs.” To which Lola actually laughs, warm and fond.

“I heard; Cy has not stopped talking about it, and about how he’s going to thank you when he’s headlining Coachella in a few years time.” Lola enthuses, leaning forward, elbows on her desk, eyes sparkling with amusement. This has Jupiter grinning, amused at their little brothers antics, actually sharing a nice moment with their mom. “Sounds like you’re really keeping busy; dad’s got you and Penny working on some stuff for the premiere, right?”

“Yeah, along with Colson and Dominic,” Jupiter says with a faint smile.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Lola says, a gentle pride in her words, “taking the world by storm, you’re a powerhouse, Jubilee.” And Jupiter feels a strange sort of warmth flourish in their chest.

Lola doesn’t ask why they want the jacket, just hands it over easily when Jupiter comes to pick it up.

When he sees it, Colson whistles low through his teeth, poking at the spikes on the shoulders with an awed fascination.

“Holy shit, dude -”

“Don’t cum too hard, it’s just a jacket,” Jupiter makes a face, but Colson actually snorts.

“Do you know how many guys would give their left nut to touch this jacket?”

“Are you into me or my mom?” Jupiter snaps, and he turns his gaze on them, eyes wide, looking a little guilty. In an instant, he’s put the jacket on the table, and has wrapped Jup up in his arms.

“You, babe, of course, it’s just weird after seeing the replica costuming made; it doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing. I’m into you, Jup,” he adds, “jesus fuck.” Jup will leave enough bites and hickeys on him to remind him of this fact later that night.

They haven’t thought much about the movie itself; they’ve been around set out of sheer curiosity, and also to spend time with the cast, as they’re becoming fast friends, but they don’t actually know even the plot of the movie, or have read the script, and they haven’t been motivated enough to piece together any of this information from the snippets they’ve been on set for. Penny’s got a better grip, mostly because she, Lola, and Tommy have had meetings with the director, writers, and actors on how to handle Charlotte and Razzle with sensitivity, but Penny never talks to Jupiter about it, she knows Jupiter, for lack of a better phrase, would rather be surprised by the movie.

So their expectations are low by the time the premiere comes around, but they’re going all out, getting ready with Penny and the hair and makeup team they’ve hired for the occasion.

Dark hair dark eyes, the makeup and hair women do a fantastic job, and Penny’s quiet for a long moment after the reveal.

“They did good?” Jupiter asks with a sharp smile, and Penny gives her a strange smile, a nod, but no words leave her lips. Jupiter doesn’t quite know how to take that, so they get dressed, leather shorts over ripped fishnets, knee-high black platforms that make them taller than any person should rightly be. They’d inherited most of Tommy’s height, which now, with six-inch platforms, is more of a curse than a blessing at 6′7″, but it doesn’t matter. They pull on the spiked bra, and leave their room with Lola’s jacket in their arms.

And Penny is silent.

“Holy shit.” Soft, eyes wide and awed, Penny takes them in, and Jupiter feels a strange sort of discomfort. “You look just like her.” Penny looks stunning in her own right, in a gorgeous, vintage-inspired jumpsuit, hair styled big, looking every bit like her parents’ daughter. Before her words could really sink in, she’s giving a bright smile, rifling through her bag, “we should get a polaroid; Andy and Sami asked if I could send a photo of us from tonight.”

They get a photo together, wait for it to develop before sending it to both the kids’ groupchat, affectionately titled Bastards Incorporated, as well as the group text Penny’d started with the rest of Hanoi Rocks after visiting them a few years ago.

Sami Yaffa sends back ‘holy shit pennylope and kid lee!! what a blast from the past’ and Jupiter feels like they’re hearing that a lot lately. He follows it with a few kind words about how authentic they look, and how their parents would be proud. Penny pretends like she isn’t tearing up a little at that, and Jupiter pretends like they don’t take the comment as a compliment.

Meanwhile, in Bastards Incorporated, populated by the various Lee and Sixx children, amid compliments, Cyrus has changed Jupiter’s nickname from Daddy Kink to Electra Complex 😘 and Cerie is sending selfies from the limousine that’s on it’s way to Jupiter and Penny.

[Jupiter] Electra Complex 😘: cyrus im gonna break all the bones in your arm [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: im ambidextrous [Jupiter] Electra Complex 😘: *arms [Cerie] Evil Cyrus sent a photo to Bastards Incorporated. [Penelope] the only valid lee: Cerie sTOP you look incredible!! [Cerie] Evil Cyrus ❤️ reacted. [Jupiter] Electra Complex 😘: wait is that SEO NOT WEARING A HOODIE [Seo] King of the Ripsticks ❤️ reacted. [Cerie] Evil Cyrus sent a photo to Bastards Incorporated. [Penelope] the only valid lee: SEO YOU LOOK SO GOOOOOOOD [Seo] King of the Ripsticks ❤️ reacted. [Seo] King of the Ripsticks: 🤵

Since turning 18, no-one outside of the family has seen Seo’s face without his hoodie and sunglasses, a personal choice, and kind of a gimmick to make him more memorable in the skating scene, so when Penny and Jupiter slide into the limousine to see him dressed to the nines, in a powder blue suit with his hair blown out, it comes as a welcome surprise, and they both shower him with compliments.

“Oi!” Cyrus cuts in where he’s sitting opposite them beside his twin, “what about me?”

“You look like a rat,” Jupiter tells him, despite how well dressed he also was. Cyrus flips them off, “Cerie you look stunning.” Jupiter tells her with a warm sincerity, and Cerie gives a toothy grin. Cerie’s always had the makings of a model, and in a sparkling, champagne colored dress and understated makeup, she’ll outshine them all with ease.

“Come on,” Cyrus whined, before tugging at the lapels of his jacket, doing the bottom button up, putting on his most winning grin as he turned on Penny, “come on, Pen, thoughts?” And Penny, ever the favourite cousin, humours him.

“You look great, Cy; I can’t believe you’re wearing a keyboard tie, but somehow it looks good on you, bud,” and at her praise, Cyrus practically preens.

“I can’t believe you’re dressed as mom,” Cerie’s a little disbelieving when she finally takes in Jupiter’s attire, quickly making mention that they look spectacular, it’s just a little jarring.

“You look -”

“Just like her, I know,” Jup gives a tired smile, and pulls out a hand mirror to touch up their lipstick, “it’s kind of the point.”

They all enthuse about the film, about the story they’re about to witness, about how it’s probably going to be weird to see their parents like that - Penny is quiet. And Jupiter takes her hand without a word.

They step out onto the red carpet one at a time, first the twins, Cyrus leading like the peacock he is, followed by Cerie, then Seo. Jupiter goes to leave, but Penny won’t move, won’t let go of their hand.

“What if they tell it wrong, after everything, they tell it wrong?” She asks, a shake in her voice that Jupiter knows all too well.

“Then we’ll burn the theatre to the ground -”

“Don’t be like Lola for just a fucking minute, Jup; this is really important to me, I know you don’t get it, but arson won’t fix if they’ve ruined my family’s memory, you know?”

Jupiter pauses for a long moment before wrapping Penny up in a hug, just as she had so many times for Jupiter before. Penny dabs delicately at her eyes before her tears can ruin her makeup.

“Our family wouldn’t let them release anything that didn’t do your parents justice; you wouldn’t sign off on anything that wouldn’t do them justice.” Jupiter tells her with the utmost seriousness, though Penny’s expression is still doubtful.

“But what if I got it wrong?”

“Penelope Dingley Lee, first of her name, if your parents were here, they’d be so immeasurably proud of you, because they loved you more than anything else in the world,” they took Penny’s face in their hands, made sure she was looking at them, “you couldn’t fail them even if you tried.”

Together, they face the crowd, who go wild at the sight of them, and smile like this isn’t one of the most uniquely strange and painful experiences of their lives. Flashbulbs go off and Jupiter strikes pose after pose, soaking up the attention with Penny by their side. They get to their siblings, to the rest of their family, there’s shock, and surprise, and when they look at Lola, wearing a black, velvet dress with her hair slicked back, she’s shocked.

“Look at you,” Tommy marvels with a million-watt smile, “this is one hell of a stunt, kiddo, you look fantastic!” And he wraps them up in a hug, looking proud as punch.

Mick is laughing harder than Jupiter’s ever seen him laugh before, and Vince and Nikki are wearing almost identically fond and disbelieving smiles. But Lola is unreadable.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Mick makes his way to Jupiter, pats them fondly, and Jupiter makes a point of patting his head with their enhanced height, “you wear it well, kiddo; didn’t realise those two had good genes to pass on but it seems they did.” Tommy, who overheard the remark, sees Mick’s good-natured smile and teasing tone, and flips him off with a smile of his own, while Lola snickers.

“Fuck you, you geezer,” she tells him with a well worn fondness, before looking back at her child, who suddenly feels strangely nervous, though they try their best to cover it with bravado.

“They say I look like you,” Jupiter says with a smirk, and Lola shakes her head, expression turning amused. The rest of the family and the band is busy taking photos, but Lola tentatively approaches Jupiter, asks if she can hug them. Jupiter, who’s never really been one for physical contact, acquiesces, bending to hug their mother.

“You have a much better head on your shoulders than I did at your age,” Lola mutters, and gives Jupiter a squeeze, before adding, “you look so badass, sweetheart.”

Jupiter has no idea what they were expecting, but this almost definitely wasn’t it. Lola and Jupiter get countless photos together, and in the moments that follow, when the cast arrive, Alicia almost doubles over with laughter, crowing about how they should have cast Jup instead. The three of them get a photo together, and it’s one of the proudest moments of Lola’s life.

Focus from Jupiter dies down as people are splitting off to get photos with their doubles; Max and Josie tug Penny away to get a cheesy family photo with her, while the band and cast were taking side by side comparisons.

By the time Douglas has reintroduced himself to Seo, not recognizing him without his hoodie and sunglasses,the rest of Lola’s kids are doing an incredibly poor job of hiding their laughter.

“Dude, who is that?” Colson asks Jupiter, trying his hardest to be discrete. Jupiter raises their eyebrows, casting their gaze to Seo before looking back at Colson.

“That’s my brother.”

“How many do you have?”

“Four.”

“And that one’s -”

“Seo.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Colson half laughs, looking back at where Seo was taking photos of Cerie on her phone for her instagram, “are you- that’s Seo? Seo! Dude!” He calls, and Seo looks over in their general direction, flashes a toothy smile, before turning back. “That dude was under that hoodie that whole time? Guess I owe Daniel five bucks.”

“What?” Jupiter laughs, and Colson looks a little sheepish, wrapping an arm around them as a photographer calls their names.

“We all had a bet about what was under his hood,” Colson tells them, posing for the camera, “Iwan’s money was on alopecia -”

“He thought Seo just had no hair?” Jupiter snorted.

“I was thinking embarrassing face tattoo, Doug had weird-coloured hair, and Daniel had -”

“Regular dude?”

“Weirdly handsome dude, actually, and I can’t believe he’s spot on -”

“And I can’t believe you seem to have a thing for my whole family,” Jupiter gave him a gentle shove, while Colson gave a rougish grin.

“Only ‘cos if I think too hard about you, lookin’ the way you look, we’re not gonna make it to the actual movie,” he murmured in their ear, and Jupiter swallowed hard, smile widening on their face.

“The movie starts in half an hour; meet me in the second story bathroom in ten minutes,” and with that, they split, each moving to take more photos, Colson doing a few interviews while Jupiter made their way to the bathroom discretely.

Before he leaves, Colson can’t help but say hello to the oldest Sixx child; Seo squints at him for a moment before smiling.

“Hey man, good to see you,” he says, and without a doubt, that’s Seo’s unflappable baritone.

“Gotta say, man, you clean up nice, almost didn’t recognise you,” Colson admits, wrapping an arm around Seo’s shoulders as they take a few pictures together. Seo looks at whoever calls his name loudest, smiling brightly. “How you doing man?”

“Great, man, like a pig in shit,” he says, “can you do me a favour?”

“Depends, what’s up?”

“Point me in Penny’s direction; she’s wearing the same colour thing as Cyrus and I am fucking lost,” he laughs, and Colson does a double take, which Seo seems to miss, “Cerie was right, I should have just worn my damn glasses.”

“Dude, are you blind?”

“Legally, yeah, can’t properly see anything that’s not six inches away from my face.” And suddenly things are make a lot more sense.

“Your sunglasses are prescription, aren’t they?” Colson steers him in the direction of Penny, who caught sight of the pair of them, meeting them in the middle.

“Bingo,” Seo tells him with a grin, before letting Penny tuck her arm in his. After a beat, he adds, “thanks Daniel.”

“Actually I’m -” Colson goes to correct, actually a little embarrassed, but Seo snickers.

“It’s a joke, Kells, I know it’s you,” and he adds, “Jup left like twelve minutes ago, if you were looking for her.” And it’s eerie that he knows that he was. But it sounds like a blessing, if anything, and Colson tries to get away as unnoticed as possible.

[Cyrus] DJ Dumbass sent a photo to Bastards Incorporated. [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: JUPITER WHERE U @ UR BOYFRIENDS ESCAPING [Jupiter] Electra Complex 😘: none of your business [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: :O [Penelope] the only valid lee: they’re really in character ;) [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: lmao what if i sent a screenshot to lola [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: Jup [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: @Electra Complex 😘 Penelope changed Cyrus’s nickname to QUIT SNITCHIN MFKER. [Cyrus] QUIT SNITCHIN MFKER: they’re not even RESPONDING [Cyrus] QUIT SNITCHIN MFKER: @Electra Complex 😘 this is the fuckin funniest i can’t believe you’ve been possessed by the spirit of 80s mom on tonight of all nights [Penelope] the only valid lee: since they aren’t here to defend themselves, cyrus im gonna rip out ya spine mortal kombat style [Seo] King of the Ripsticks and [Cerie] Evil Cyrus ❤️ reacted. [Cerie] Evil Cyrus: a threat jup would be proud of [Penelope] the only valid lee ❤️ reacted. [Cyrus] QUIT SNITCHIN MFKER: thats fair

Jupiter doesn’t mind, just this once, that history, in it’s own twisted way, repeats itself. If both of them look a little too pleased, a little too rumpled, no-one comments; it’s in the spirit of the film after all.

#tommy lee #Razzle Dingley #razzle x charlotte #lola & charlotte #mgk x jupiter #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #colson baker #colson baker imagine #mgk #mgk imagine #the angry lizard writes

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herald-divine-hell · 5 years

Text

A Breath of Hope

A/N: This is probably shit.

Palely, bars of silver washed over the grass-studded earth, tinting it in a sheen of light. Darkness withered with the flickering of white, burning stars, hanging high above in the black dome of the sky. The waning moon was as slick as a curved blade, cascading the world in white-silver light.

Saved for the gold-crimson flame that burned over a candle, the thin silver fingers that slipped through the windows were the only things that gave Leliana the ability to see her writing. Tapping her pen against the rim of an inkwell, she could feel the tiredness in her bones, tugging heavily. A few ravens crocked, echoing in the uppermost floor of the rotunda like high-pitched cracks of thunder.

She rubbed her temples, inhaling a sharp breath, and closed her eyes. There were less reports that she had expected. More mundane, then anything else, in truth. Words that spoke of intriguing gossip, rumors, and scandalous information. While an enjoyable read, some she noted to share with Josephine, none were the ones she desired most of all. She hasn’t been writing.

The thought did little to ease the terror that rose in her heart, like a great wave of unquestioning horror. The Inquisitor was not known to dawdle in her reports. Often than not, Leliana would find herself encompassed by hundred upon hundreds of letters, detailed-rich and with issuance that could relieve the worry that plagued her heart and mind. But no such letter had came of late, and Leliana found herself in a cavern of darkening thoughts and cruel whispers. Images of Alexandra, broken and bloodied, dying on a field a thousand miles away from Skyhold were the most vivid and recurring.

Leliana expelled the darken thought with a soft breath. Her fingers and knuckles burned, tightened around the pen, and shook. The fear mangled her heart, grasping at it with a cruel, iron-fist grip. She had faith that Alexandra would write to her. There was always the possibility of the messenger raven dying by a rogue, hunting arrow or losing its way in the vastness of Thedas’ skies. She was fine, her heart said softly, pushing against that terrible grip. Alexandra could had died in Haven, but she did not. Sometimes, Leliana truly believed she had been sent by the Maker. She’s stronger than she looks. Much more. At times, Leliana forgotten that.

She laid her pen down, the ink seeping into a cloth at her side, spreading like thick tendrils of black across a sea of snow. She rested her head in her hands, closing her eyes. The thoughts shot and came like flashes of malicious lightning. Some dwindled into nothingness, too bleak to stand on its own. Others lingered, laughing as Leliana suffered.

Something warm cascaded down her cheeks, like burning streamlets across flushed-pink mountains. Alexandra was alive. She would not die. She would write to her. She will. A battle erupted in her mind, drawing and hurling words of savagery and hope against one another. A never ending feud of dismay and sweet yearning.

Leliana knew that Alexandra could take care of herself, but there were times that she wished she was there, in the ensuing battlefield, at her lover’s side. What did she tell her before, at Haven? If I had went with her, I would have blinded my eyes and deafened my ears. Perhaps that was true, that she would be merely a hindrance if she rode with Alexandra into a world of blood and darkness, that the Inquisition needed her more here than it did out there. Still, the terror would not leave her, no matter how hard she might push. It remained there, mocking.

She did not remember pushing herself from desk, nor did she recall wandering down the twining steps of the rotunda.

Leliana even forgot the candle.

Moonlight scattered over the floor, like sheer sheets of silver and white. There was enough light for Leliana to see where she was heading. Few torches burned late at such an hour. Most twinkled with flames of gold and crimson, dying and withering, but just enough that it cast an amber flush against the gray, stone walls. Her steps echoed, bouncing like an empty melody.

In the darkness of night, Skyhold found some peace away from the bubbling parties and the pounding cries of metal-meeting-metal. The fortress-castle slept with only the whistling wind as a soft lullaby. Leliana could hear the grazing, brittle fingers crawling over the stony surface of Skyhold, striking hard against the windows of the fortress-castle.

The Great Hall was empty, as silent and motionless as a crypt. Still, flames burned in braziers on iron-curved legs. The heaping coals shot embers into the air like balls of fire, searing through the darkness. Withering, the dancing orange-golden fingers mixed with the silver light of the moon that slanted through the high-perched windows at the end of the hall, above the throne of the Inquisitor.

For a few moments, Leliana stared at the throne. The dragon maw was shrouded in darkness, with the teeth that jagged out of the throne’s armrests glittering dimly from the light of the flames. The Nightingale saw her love seated on the throne, one leg crossed over the other, head inclined slightly to the left with a playful, amused smirk on her lips. Her hands itched and her heart yearned. She knew it was a hopeful sight that greeted her - that is was not truly her love. But the teasing smile caused Leliana’s own lips to curl upward.

The mirage fluttered away when Leliana stepped forward, slithering into nothingness. A pang tugged at her heart, and she pushed it away. She still felt the dry, ghost remains of the tears she shed on her cheeks. She would not cry, not here, at least.

Passing through the Great Hall, Leliana stepped into the doorway that led to the stairs of the tower. She tread lightly upward, the sounds metal greaves meeting hard stone roared all around her. Every few flights of stairs, she would find a door, and there she crept quitter, until walked passed it to another stairway. Up and up she went, until she slipped through the door of the Inquisitor’s bedchambers. The opening of the tower allowed the wind to bit at Leliana’s features. Perhaps we should try to fix that, she thought, glancing out to the blue-black sky and heavy bodies of the Frostbacks, clad in shadow. The wind sang thinly and piercing in her ears, like the wailing of children.

Slipping through the door and striding up the stairs that led to the widening square of the Inquisitor’s bedchambers, Leliana released a sigh of relief. A weight seemed to have lifted from her shoulders. The aching and tiredness of before seemed to have relented. A fire still burned in the hearth, twirling hands of orange and gold and crimson, indication of the servants keeping the room warmed even after the Inquisitor’s departure.

She plucked off the silver brooch engraved with the seeing eye of the Maker, and tugged her velvet purple hood over her shoulders. Unlacing the straps of leather that held her armor together, Leliana felt the warmth of the fire against the skin of her neck. Then she slid her feet out of the greaves and slipped out of her breeches, the warm air licking against her thighs, tingling the goose bump-ridden skin.

Leliana threw off her tunic, pacing to the wardrobe of the Inquisitor. It had almost became a nightly ritual. To slip out of the armor of power to the linen of rest. The Spymaster had not realize when it exactly had begun.

Pulling the nobs of the drawer, Leliana looked through shirts of silk and linen and satin, soft fabric that slipped between her fingers like water. This night, she choose a shirt of emerald green silk embroiled with golden, twirling lace. It still had a faint and distinct scent of vanilla and lilac. It stilled smelt of Alexandra. Leliana did not refuse the smile that blossomed on her face.

In the heavy, laden room filled with shadows, Leliana imagined Alexandra’s arms around her, lithe and lean with light muscles, firmly at the waist. Perhaps she would nuzzle her face into the crock where Leliana’s neck and shoulder met, or maybe she would simply sway her back and fro, humming lightly and sweetly. Leliana wrapped her arms around herself.

Turning to the bed, the Spymaster pulled the hefty blankets and slid into the sheets. The bed dipped beneath her, and warmth surrounded her on all sides. In her mind, Leliana thought of Alexandra, pressed flushed against her back and arms securely around her waist. The sweet smelling shirt filled her senses, drawing back the uneasiness in her bones and soothing the grip of terror that clogged her heart. Alexandra...

Tears stung her eyes, unexpectedly. Tossing over from one side, Leliana faced the place where Alexandra would have slept. The silver moon and crimson flames swaddled the room in light. Sleep still lingered in her bones, still pulled and pulled, but it never came to her. The tears poured, dribbling down to stain the mattress. She should be there. In all the long years since the Blight, Leliana felt truly alone. Work still lingered weakly, but Alexandra remained ever vigilant in her mind, of her safety and health. She pressed her face against the soft pillows, chocking back a sob. Maker, please, don’t take her from me. You’ve already taken enough.

The winds tumbled against the walls, banging and rattling against the balconies’ doors, like boulders shot from a trebuchet. Leliana curled into herself, pressing her chin against her chest. Fumbling at her neck, Leliana pulled out the silver sword pendant, a gift from Alexandra. The metal caught the light, glimmering faintly with a burnish of crimson-orange.

She brought it down to her lips, kissing it hesitantly, sacredly. She could still see Alexandra’s warm smile, so unlike the confident, teasing smirk that often danced on her lips. Blossoming bright and revealing the white of her teeth, Alexandra’s smile had reached her eyes, scrunching up endearingly. “A gift for my spymaster. Another dagger to add to the collection. To protect you, of course, though I know you need little protection. But it will protect your heart. And it’s almost as beautiful as you,” she had said, with that tone that made Leliana’s heart flip and softened. A soft voice, filled with emotion that was not similar to the impassioned, eagerness that she usually wore. A voice filled with warm affection. Leliana could still feel the grazing kiss that Alexandra had left on her cheek, a little too close to the corner of her mouth, but enough away for it to appear chaste and innocent.

You should have kept this, Alexandra. My heart is well-protected enough. I should be there with you instead of here.

But the glittering of the metal is soft and gentle, alluringly warmed by the burning flames. Her eyelids felt heavy, overbearing and burdensome. Dropping the pendant onto the shimmering emerald green tunic, Leliana pulled the blanket up to her chin, curling into herself as the soft scent of vanilla and lilac and the soft chipper of the burning wood dance in her ears and filled her senses.

Warmth encircled her from all sides, covering her like a sea of comfort. “You better come back to me,” whispered Leliana, eyes drooping. “Or the Maker would no a wraith worse this His own.”

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arazialotis · 5 years

Text

Two Twin Arrows

This was written for the wonderful and fabulous @atc74 Fierce Females in Fanfiction Challenge as a celebration for her amazing achievement of reaching 3000 followers!! Thanks babe for hosting this fun challenge!

Prompt: I am Strong Because I had to be. I will take back what is mine and give nothing in return.

Word Count: Around 2600

Summary: When your twin brother goes missing, you will do everything in your power to track him down and bring him home.

Warnings: Language

***

Your little brother was perhaps the single most important piece of your life; he meant everything to you. Of course, you were technically twins, but being born nine days earlier gave you an advantageous head start. You even helped your mother through his birth. And when you held him, so small and vulnerable in your arms, his laugh as bright as the sun, you vowed on that day to do everything in your power to protect him; always.

Yet when you swore that promise, you had yet to realize the gravity behind it. It was soon after that it dawned on you that you and Apollo were destined to be exact opposites. He the sun, you the moon; you chaste and pure and he… Well, to say promiscuous would be putting it lightly. You were cunning and thoughtful and he was impulsive and impetuous, proning him to all types of trouble you’d bail him from. So when he went missing, and he often did, it didn’t surprise you.

Two weeks was fine, but at three weeks you started to worry. And as the weeks turned into months you knew you had to go looking for him. The last time he went missing was for a month and a half in the roaring twenties. You tracked him down to New York City and discovered him in the middle of a bender so infamous, Dionysus himself was envious. Had mortals shown an ounce of respect for gods these days, Apollo would have at least one or two more stories to add to his repertoire.

After that, the two of you stayed in the New World, occasionally travelling here or there, for family engagements. As much as possible, you kept a low profile, and tried to convince your brother to as well. It worked, for the most part.

This time after he went missing, naturally, you started with the party towns and after hearing about a ‘miracle’ in Las Vegas where the sun didn’t set for three days time, you knew you had found the place to start. Knowing Apollo had a flair for extravagance, you started at the top, working your way down. But even the Bentel & Bentel penthouse suite at the Cosmopolitan Hotel was a but flashy, even for him.

The signs of his inhabitants were all to clear, but he had not returned even after several days. You started pursuing club surveillance, finally pinning him to the Emerald Gentlemen's Club. It was his last known whereabouts and the last place he was seen. All other traces of him had vanished. It was as if he didn’t want to be found. But on the video surveillance, two days later popped up another face. One you were all to familiar with. One Apollo had several run ins with that often lead to trouble. The trickster.

You hunted him down to the desolate wasteland of North Dakota, hiding like a fox in a hole. His private resort was carved into the side of a mountain, easily overlooked by the untrained eye. But Loki’s desire for luxury undid him. It glowed as obvious as a candle in the night, calling you in.

You lurked in the shadows for days. Watching, waiting, but Apollo never showed. You finally revealed yourself once you had enough of the cheating rat’s trickery. He was in the middle of a poker game, porn stars in barely nothing dancing around polls opposite of him. Three other men, all gruff placed bets. He lifted his his face, when you saw it. His two cards were four, all aces.

Your restraint could no longer be contained. You lifted your bow, sliding an arrow into place and without hesitation let it release. It tore right through the cards, pinning them to the table. The three gentlemen looked down at the table seeing the four cards displayed. They eyed Loki dangerously.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Fellas, those aren’t mine.” One man threw his hand down on the table, before rolling up his sleeves. But Loki paused the scene before it continued. “And neither is this.” He pried the arrow from the table, the illusion faded as he further examined it. The people, the cards, the drinks, all vanished leaving only you, him, and the furnishings. “Come out Katniss.” He goaded.

You bravely stepped out of the shadows.

“My… Athena… Haven’t you changed with the times.” He looked you up and down; your black skinny jeans tucked into dark boots., studded leather jacket over a silk red top, and your hair hanging down in curls.

“It’s Artemis, you pig.” You held you bow close.

“Ah yes.” He recalled. “All of you are so hard to keep straight. Don’t even get me started with the whole Roman thing…” He walked over to a wooden bar pouring himself a drink. “So what can I do ya for? I make a mean Sex on the Beach.” He offered before taking a sip.

You ignored the proposal. “I’m here for information. It’d be wise you answer truthfully in interest of your well being.” You paused and for a moment your curiosity got the better of you. “Is it true what they say about you?”

He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “And what do they say about me? That I can last nights on end, that I have the endurance of a panther, that Aphrodite got half her stories from me, that Zeus wishes he had a pair like…” You squinted at him. “You dare tempt me?”

He chuckled. “Oh god no. I was just hoping that cute brother of yours was going to pop out of a shadow in a jealous rage. But it looks like I’m out of luck.”

Your hope dropped. “You’ve not seen Apollo?” Loki sighed. “Listen, I like to get wrapped up in a Greek tragedy at least once every century as much as the next guy, but when you guys start dropping in for holidays, come on, it starts to cramp my style.” You tucked your bow back into it’s satchel and turned to leave. But he grabbed your shoulder before you could. “Arty…” He cood. “What’s happened?”

You shook your head. “I’m sure nothing. You know how he is.”

“Let me suggest two things.” He held up a finger. “First, get a beeper for that kid. Second.” He pulled a card out of thin air. “Maybe it’s time to call in a favor from your patron saints…” You took the card. Eyeing it with suspicion. It was an FBI business card, with the name Agent Robert Plant and a phone number. Obviously a fake. Obviously a hunter. You looked back to Loki. “Thanks, but I got this.” You turned to leave again. “By the way. It looks like you might be molting… Gabriel.”

And with that he was left in the room alone. He looked down to his feet where a few golden feathers had collected. “Dammit!” He cursed.

***

Outside a small town in Iowa, you stayed in a rundown motel off of a dying highway route. In its glory days, southern tourists bound for Mt. Rushmore must have filled it to the brim. But now, in it’s secludedness and stillness, it was the perfect place to reconvene and focus. You twirled the business card back and forth between your fingers; considering it. If these hunters had any idea who you were or half the things you’ve done, they wouldn’t hesitating putting a stake through your chest. And Apollo… well, if they caught wind of him, there’s no telling what would happen.

You had arrogance, yes, but not the arrogance of other gods that would dismiss hunters as any other ape. You had to be smart, cunning, to treat them with respect, or your fate could easily end up as any other monster on their hit list.

Finally, you worked through your hesitation and dialed the number, faking the best damsel in distress act as you could. You simply needed to keep him on the line long enough to triangulate his position, then you could go to him, gauging his usefulness, if he proved otherwise, you could easily slip away with your presence going entirely unnoticed.

“Hello.” A strong, deep voice answered.

“Uh… hello, um Agent Plant?” You stuttered, voice a few octaves higher than usual.

“Yes?” His confusion quickly grew.

“I um, I got your number from a friend, Sally Hanson, I’m not sure if you remember, she says you helped her a few years back on a case…” You fabricated, but intently kept an eye on your laptop as the tracking software was running.

There was a pause as he tried to recall. “Oh, right, of course… Sally.” Even though there was confidence in his voice, you could tell it was complete bullshit. “Well, what seems to be troubling you.”

You sighed. “You see… it’s my brother, he’s been missing near two weeks. I haven’t been able to contact him.”

“Have you filed a missing persons report?” He asked, trying to fish out details of the case.

“Of course, but the local police haven’t been too helpful… Unfortunately, my brother has a bit of a reputation around here.” Actually the story came easier than you thought.

“And uh, what makes you think he simply hasn’t started fresh somewhere else?”

“Well, that does seem like him, but we’ve always been so close. He would never leave and not tell me.” You explained, heart hurting more and more as you began to diverge the truth.

“Well…” He chewed on it. “I’m not sure it’s exactly my type of case, I got a few things lined up, but if I have any openings….”

Shit. You needed a few more minutes. “I’m just so worried about him.” You interrupted. “There’s been other missing people too. With the police not helping I’ve tried to do my own investigation you know. And I started at this old hangout of his. And it’s just like creepy you know. I know I must be imagining things but there is just this chill that comes over you as...:” Bingo. You pinned him nearby Lebanon, Kansas.

He assumed you had stopped unable to continue from sadness or fear. “Okay sweetheart, just calm down. I’ll run the details by my partner and we’ll try to be out in a couple days. Where are you at anyways.”

“Oh…” You chuckled. “This is so embarrassing. He’s uh calling me right now. I’ll give you a call back if we need anything.” And you abruptly hung up, quickly switching off your phone so he couldn’t track you.

After taking a minute to breathe, you shook of any remainder of the act, for a damsel in distress you were surely not. You pack your things and checked out of the motel, heading for Lebanon.

***

Lebanon. It was a extremely small town. To say it was a one-horse town would be a vast understatement. But that made your hunt all the more easy. You set up shop at the only food market in town and waited.

It was two days before he showed up. His car stood out like a sore thumb. It was old enough to be handed down through the generations, taken well care of, countless of miles put on it, and modifications to the trunk. You expected a hunter, but the man not who stepped out of the car.

Your heart dropped. Instantly recognizing him from the security footage you reviewed time and time again in Vegas. But the fear was instantly replaced by boiling anger. Apollo wasn’t dead, yet. You could feel it. He couldn’t be. And not from the hands of this hunter. As he lazily strenched, you jolted from your car catching him by surprise. You grabbed his wrist, using the force to push him up against the car. He struggled a bit but you had him pinned.

“Where is he?!” You demanded.

Dean pondered trying to catch up. “Listen, sweetheart..” He started.

You cut him off, shoving him hard against the car. “Call me that one more time.” You warmed. “Where is my brother?”

“Why don’t you just calm down and we can find him together.” Dean attempted to de-escalate your anger.

“I’m not taking your bullshit hunter.” You spat. “You were there. In Las Vegas. When he disappeared.” Tears threatened to spill over.

It took him a second, but then it clicked. “I might know where he is. How about all three of us meet up tonight…” He stopped when he felt his hands being tied together. “You will take me to him now.”

You took the keys from his pocket, opened the door and shoved him inside. You slid into the driver’s seat, next to him.

“Oh hell no.” He protested as you started up the car.

Just by briefly looking around it was easy to see the car was occupied usually by three. “Don’t bother trying to notify your partners.” You noticed he already seemed to be looking for a knife to pry out of the ropes. “The more you resist the restraints the tighter they become.” “What are you?” Dean huffed as you pulled out of the parking lot. “Witches, demons.”

You lightly chuckled but did not grant him the satisfaction of an answer.

***

It took a while to find his location, he not being the most helpful or willing subject. But his emotions became easier to read the more time spent with him. The subtle gritting of teeth or sighs of relief each correct or incorrect turn you made, it led you closer to the destination until you finally arrived.

You led Dean through the entrance, dagger at his back to hinder him or his partners from trying anything. The door swung open with a heavy creak leading into the hideout below. To be honest, you were impressed with the space.

“Dean?” Someone called from below. His younger brother. Taller, longer hair, but still a touch of youthfulness that Dean lacked.

“Hiya Sammy.” Dean drearily greeted.

Sam reached for the gun in his back pocket, but your second dagger buzzed threw the air dislodging it before it was even pointed at you.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked through the shock.

“She’s a lot stronger than she looks.” Dean scoffed.

“I’m strong because I had to be.” You explained as Dean felt the dagger press harder against his back. “Born into a world of vengeful and sex crazed gods, I didn’t have any other choice. Now, I will take back what is mine and give nothing in return.”

Sam still had confusion plastered across his face, attempting to work out what Dean already had. Everyone’s attention broke at the sound of a coffee mug shattering against the floor. You turned to the sound, expecting their third partner but instead finding your fool of a brother in a bathrobe.

“Arty?” He sheepishly asked.

“Apollo.” You sighed a breath of relief and released Dean, running towards him. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” You checked him over.

He rolled his eyes. “Arty you are embarrassing me.”

When all seemed right, you punched him square in the shoulder. “What the hell? You can’t just disappear on me like that.”

“Ow.” He moaned and rubbed the spot on impact. “Can you blame me? They’re cute.” He defended. “I didn’t need you up in my business ruining everything. You’re kinda a cock blocker.”

As you argued back and forth, Dean made his way slowly down the stairs and joined Sam, marvelling in wonderment.

“Turns out we’ve had a god living with us, right under our noses.” Dean commented.

Apollo’s argument sounded over them. “Besides, anytime there was a successful hunt, I burnt offerings of incense to you.”

“Like that matters!” You spat.

“For a whole month….” Sam added to his and Dean’s side conversation. “We must be losing our touch.”

***

Tags:

Forevers: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83@mogaruke@deanwinchesterforpromqueen @ginamsmith @jotink78@blushingdean@sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21 @li-ssu@highonpastries @daddy-kink-confirmed @weewooweewoo1212@carryonmyswansong @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @atc74@superapplepie @coolness22 @cassieraider@winchesternco @adaliamalfoy@iwriteaboutdean @spnbaby-67 @cigsandpie @curedean @monkeymcpoopoo@adoptdontshoppets @maddiepants

#angelina's f3 challenge #spn #supernatural #spn fandom #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #gabriel

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vide0-nasties · 6 years

Text

if you were an ocean, i’d learn to float

Pairings: Asra/MC, extremely NSFW

Content Warnings: Pegging, anal fingering, anal sex, brief cunnilingus, brief simulated blowjob on sex toy, some coarse language, blindfolding, overstimulation, edging

Word Count: 5057

Author’s Note: Pre-game, pre-memory loss, lots of loving sex and praise. Kind of a whopper, a little emotional, and a lot of stuff I’ve never written before. Big learning experience lol. Hope you enjoy!

---

Asra is her home—first and only.

Eustacia doesn’t feel the wind tugging at the wide-brimmed cavalier hat she keeps clamped on her head, or the rain pelting her back, or the pack strapped over her shoulder that weighs heavy with coin, interesting Nevivon blown glass, and others gifts for Asra. Offerings to throw on his altar, hoping to please him. A bigger offering—the biggest offering she’s ever made to anyone.

No, her entire world narrows down to a corona of pearl-colored hair, the most capable hands she’s ever seen in her life, and a mouth of beauty beyond her limited reckoning hanging open in disbelief.

All of this stands beyond the threshold of her inherited, shuttered shop, barefoot and at ease.

Hello, beautiful, she wants to say, like tradition, but she can’t. The words, with ten thousand more, crowd in her stoppered throat. Paralyzed, stymied, bewitched, she looks and looks, all her suave plans and flirtations gone straight to hell.

With no warning and a running start, Asra leaps at her, throwing his arms around her necks, his legs around her waist. The collision knocks her back, takes some of the wind from her lungs, but she catches him and holds tight. “Asra, the rain!”

He laughs, and trembles, and buries his face against her neck, and she mirrors all of it in tandem. She angles the brim of her hat to shield the both of them as best it can, their heads drawn down and together.

“You’re home,” he wheezes, fingers scrabbling all over, like he can’t touch enough of her to make sure she’s real. It makes her weak—no one has ever touched her like that, and she would now ridicule the hands of any other that dared to try. “You’re home.”

Why she had fought this so bitterly—a dream the better part forgotten.

Melting against the warmth of him, squeezing her free arm around his waist and grabbing a handful of his ass with comfortable familiarity, she kisses the shoulder laid bare by his slipped shirt. She could be on the blank and barren surface of the fucking moon and be home, so long as he was there beside her.

“What?” she teases, teeth against skin, spinning their ensnared bodies in a slow circle through the downpour. “Did you worry that I forgot whose hands I left my heart in?”

Always, she’s thought the lines that make up Asra are stunning. Beautiful as her golden threads, but coming together to create something wonderful, not to break apart something living.

The vulpine tilt of his lips, the fanning arc of his eyelashes, the carved-marble cut of his calf muscles, the elegant arches of his feet. The fine bones that make up his wrists, the shadowed dip between his collarbones.

She hopes her staring doesn’t feel heavy, doesn’t looked wild-eyed. She hopes her looks aren’t a burden.

It makes her feel guilty.

Stripped of her newly tattered coat, the victim of a truly nasty thicket of thorns, the rest of her clothes still drip on the floor, water pooling dark around her pointed boots. The boards are already warped, so it doesn’t worry her overmuch. Great Aunt Koulmia had run an antiquities business, and then she died. In between, she’d stagnated, bitched endlessly, and let the place come to smell of mold, tarnished brass, and hoarded coin. Many artifacts remain in the cobwebbed ground floor, packed away in trunks and burlap.

It all reeks of iron, and Eustacia can’t find many reasons to linger very often as-is.

“Exactly right,” she tells Asra, flicking her hat in the vague direction of a steamer trunk, gently setting her pack in front of a stove that hadn’t known fire in years until they’d begun to haunt the place. Giving her lip a sly curl, she glances at him from the corner of her eye and points down at the leather bag. “I wanted to surprise you with surprises.”

“I like surprises,” he says, cunning as she, and game as can be. There’s a dare in his eyes, and he doesn’t let go of hers as he starts for the bag in lazy, sweeping steps. Such quiet feet, quiet as little fox paws when he wants them to be.

Only when he reaches for it, does she stop him, with two index fingers under his jaw to draw him back up to height. Rumbling, she leans down to him and brushes her lips against his mouth, “You know damn well I’ve cursed my pack to the burning kingdom and back.”

“What kind of curse?” he asks, trying to surge forward. He doesn’t care much about the curse or the pack, he only wants to find his limits and push them. She lets him, it’s something he’s good at.

“If a single finger that doesn’t belong to my hand touches it, that finger and its sisters will blacken and wither to nothing,” she tells him, cocking her head. She darts her tongue out to skim his bottom lip, a shiver running up his body and turning his eyes dark, and she snaps her teeth shut with a crash.

“Teach me?” he asks, wrapping his arms around her neck, standing on his tiptoes to pull her closer.

She puts her hands flat on his waist under his shirt and nods. All that and more, she’ll teach him. It’s part of the deal—in return for teaching him curses, sigils, and a few uglier things, he will teach her gentler, more practical magic. Healing, fortune telling, dream work, a sweeter transmogrification than she knows now.

She teaches him grifter magic tricks—coins and cards and pulling rabbits out of hats if he desires—and he teaches her reading and writing—almost belligerently, demanding she shed her shame so that she may learn.

Asra takes her hand, and leads it below his waist. He bucks against her palm and cuts a gasp off at the knees by biting into his lower lip when she lands over the strain in his trousers. Her eyes could roll in the back of her head, and she fails to stifle the pleased growl in her throat.

“Euffie…do you want to…?” he breathes, swallowing hard. He nods his head, perhaps hoping she’ll mirror the motion, but she does the opposite and withdraws completely.

“Yes,” she croaks, body almost too electrified to let her run on anything more than instinct to retrieve the wooden box from her pack. She plunks it on the counter to add emphasis, “But—baths, and a present first.”

He looks affronted—shocked and appalled—but she’s delighted. Everything is how she wants it. “I’m an idiot—you’re the cruelest person I’ve ever met, and I’m in love with you,” he accuses.

She drops a fleeting and intentionally unsatisfactory kiss to his lips. “That one’s on you, Cottontail,” she hums, shrugging. “You first. No touching yourself in the bath.”

She opts to switch into her finer jewelry—the gold and abalone pieces, because they both like them better than the steel rings and comparably cheaper quartz plugs in her lobes—while he bathes. When it’s her turn, she uses an armada of enchanted concoctions to fade bruises, heal nicks, and disappear the broken blisters on her hands and heels.

An equal amount of lotions bring her skin a little closer to luminosity, and she emerges, less worse for the wear, to the mouth-parching image of Asra in her dressing robe. The black silk one, with a shawl collar and eyelash-edged viridian lace trimming the hems. It’s short-short on her, silk coming up near to the ass and elbows, but on Asra? Perfect.

He studies the interesting Nevivon blown-glass, and smirks up at her. “Please, tell me this is for me?”

“No, sorry,” she croaks, drawing closer. “That’s for the other white-haired magician in my life.”

“Aren’t they the luckiest,” he hums, lifting the piece out of its velvet lining. Six inches long, with ridges spiraling up the shaft in a pretty shade of blue, and a flared base to be worn in her harness. He could take bigger—she’s used bigger on him before, to wonderful effect—but this pretty chunk of glass had cost a pretty chunk of change, and could be used forever if taken care of.

Asra isn’t short compared to most people, but he’s half a foot shorter than her, and very easy to wrap around from behind. Looping her arms around his waist, she takes the pendant around his neck and sucks on it, clicking against her teeth and tongue stud. “You like it?”

“Eustacia,” he near-pouts, turning his head to speak against her cheek, “I really, really want this inside me.”

“Mm. Alright. That other wizard can go to hell, then. They’re not nearly as lovely as you,” she chirrups, grinning with his pendant between her teeth. She slips a hand under the robe, circling one of his nipples with two fingertips, and then she grinds against his backside. “We’re going to need you somewhat relaxed first.”

His breath catches the tiniest bit, but he lolls his head back against her shoulder and grins with the same intensity. “Are we?”

“Negotiation before even that,” she adds, ignoring his bemused frown. “I was thinking blindfold, bound hands, some fingering, aaand I’d really, really love to tease you.”

“If you work in some denial,” he proposes, hissing and pressing against her hand when she pinches the nipple, “and if you untie me, and take the blindfold off when I ask—yes, I’m all for everything.”

“Excellent, I accept you terms. Now, what kind of oil do we have? Any we wouldn’t mourn the loss of.”

“Coconut, I think.”

She drops the pendant, ducks her head, and finds his pulse point with her lips. Brushing a gold-capped wolf tooth against his heartbeat, she runs a hand down his belly, below the sash of the robe. “Let’s say we grab it, and move along to the bedroom? Is that agreeable to you?”

Great Aunt Koulmia’s bed stank of spinster, so she and Asra threw it out.

They literally kicked the mattress down the stairs and left it on the curb, dusting their hands and using their thumbs to draw sigils on their foreheads to ward off evil spirits. Eustacia never felt bad about ridding the shop of the woman’s personal belongings—she was a massive twat in the mortal realm, and Eustacia is sure she’s being a massive twat in hell.

Fuck her, Gods bless, amen.

They’d kept the bedframe though, that was of the highest quality. Beautiful ebony behemoth with carvings of sea monsters and intricate knotwork. They keep it piled high with blankets and over-sized jewel-toned cushions.

Asra helps her step into her harness, starting by ridding her of the towel around her torso, kissing a line south from her lips, down her chest. He holds onto her hips as he kneels in front of her, pressing his mouth to her navel, dipping his tongue into the divot. She can feel his nose, eyelashes, and grin when she laughs and tries to jolt away, kept close by his hands.

He drops the leather and brass harness at his knees, and laughter—nervous and gleeful—jags up her throat at the sight of him. Hands still on her hips, eyes heavy with haze, lips turning rosy. The fabric of the robe pooling over his thighs catches like lightning under the glow of the witch lights in the bedroom.

He wraps his hands around the small of her back, pulls her close enough to nuzzle against her sex and press a kiss to her labia. “Mm—Asra,” she almost seethes, fingers in his hair. The muscles in her torso clench and unclench without reason, her entire body an ember being blown into a flame. She nearly wants to go onto her tiptoes.

“You taste good,” he mutters against her skin, kissing her two and three more times, darting his tongue between her lips to barely catch her clit, digging his fingers into her muscle. “Eustacia, you taste so good.”

And he thinks her cock tastes good, too. Greedy and impatient once the glass cock is loaded into the harness, pulled up and tightened around her hips, he takes the shaft in hand and closes his lips around the tip, never once breaking his line of sight to her eyes. With every bob of his head, he takes more into his mouth, closing his eyes as if in ecstasy.

It’s amazing that she can feel so much through something that isn’t physically a part of her body. That she can feel the drag of his lips over her cock through even a piece of leather. That she finds herself wanting to buck into his mouth, that she moans when he takes it to the base without gagging, and that he grunts and nods to encourage her noises.

“Asra, you’re going to kill me like that,” she complains, but there isn’t an actual grievance backing it. Maybe she would like to die with Asra sucking her cock. There are worse ways to leave the world.

She can feel his tongue run flat against the bottom as he pulls back, and the piece shines brilliantly with his spit. Lips gone rosy and swollen, face glistening with her slick, he smiles the way he does when he’s drunk, and tells her, “Are you going to fuck me, Eustacia? I want you to fuck me.”

As you wish, Asra.

Asra is always pretty.

He’s pretty with his hands bound to the headboard with a thread she weaves from the cosmic nothing—shining, gold, nearly impossible to break, and weightless as spider silk.

Pretty in her lingerie, silk and lace folded between his legs, dropping away from his chest, pooling around his raised arms, all of it striking in contrast and complement. She’s never seen him in a color that doesn’t favor his tones.

Pretty-pretty-pretty with her oil-drenched fingers inside of him, bucking and wriggling against and into her touch. His murmurs and gasps override the silver clatter of rain falling on the rooftop and the window. The sweet scent of the silky coconut oil and the sweat of their skin mingles in the humid air between them, a pleasant cloud that grounds her, keeps her focused on her work.

Oh, he’s going to look exquisite taking her cock, riding it, begging for it.

She leans over him in nothing but her harness and skin, teasing kisses to his swollen lips. She lets her fingers do their work, taking turns either brushing the sweet spot that makes his back arch and toes curl, or laying into it so relentless she thinks he’s liable to scream—veins and tendons standing out on his neck, head thrown back against the cushions.

In a voice backed with the kind of smoke that rises from house-fires, she growls against the shell of his ear, “Asra, I have some very important things to confess to you.”

“Tell me,” he breathes, almost a whine. Tries to turn and catch her mouth, or maybe dislodge the magenta scarf she’s tied around his eyes. “You can tell me anything—anything.”

Rearing away, she bites the inside of her cheek when he realizes she’s moved and pipes his complaint loud and wordlessly—a drawn out, full-body keen that finds the other point of contact, bearing down on the fingers inside him and clenching. The keen turns into a gasp when she runs the flat of her tongue over his nipple, pinching it sweet and gentle between her teeth before a firm suck that leaves his arms straining against his bindings.

“Here is the beginning of my confessions,” she tells him, kissing his stomach and working him so hard her fingers and wrist might snap. “I know I don’t tell you enough that I love you—”

“You—you don’t have to,” he croaks, “I know. I know you do.”

She slows almost to the point of halting, savoring his yelp. “You deserve to hear it more,” she insists, rewarding him with speed.

Asra twitches, and pants, and gasps, sucking on his lower lip, the muscles in his stomach jolting. She can see ever hard swallow that moves his throat, every instance that his pink tongue darts out to relieve his bitten lips. Admittedly, her mouth goes dry seeing him try to clamp his legs shut, the robe gathered up between his thighs, the sash around his waist coming untied from his fidgeting.

“Eustacia!” he nearly howls the moment she retreats completely, leaving him panting and empty.

Taking hold of his hips, she settles between his knees, letting the head of her false cock brush against the swell of his ass until she takes it in hand. With an obscene amount of oil, she strokes the length and tells him, “I’m ready to go, Asra. Do you want my cock in you?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, she presses her cock against him, until he’s taken the head of it within himself. His sigh is pleased and fraught with excitement, mouth slightly slack with surprise and relief. She works through the burn in her hip flexors as she fills him, stroking his lean obliques and the curve of his ribs under the robe, asking constantly whether he’s okay, if the slide is smooth enough, does he need more oil.

“How do you feel? Are you alright?” She wants him taken care of—safe and comfortable, and that need eclipses the desire to see him fucked apart and babbling. Even when every drop of blood in her veins dumps directly into her crotch with painful velocity—so fast she’s gone light in the head and sopping between the legs.

“Full,” he murmurs, shifting against her hips as if he can take more, though he’s taken her to the base. “Fuck, Eustacia, it feels so good. So fucking good.”

If that isn’t the most heart-stopping thing she’s ever been told. Another delighted bout of laughter surges up her throat, and Asra smiles and pants, “I love that sound—love your laughs, all of them.”

Tentatively, she draws back to test him with an easy thrust. His breath hisses and he nods—more, please, more—and she gives him what he wants. Setting a languid, easy pace to the roll of her hips as she draws her thrusts longer, drives them deeper. Her hand wraps around his cock, stroking it in a loose, teasing grip, and she counts every instance he nods, makes a sound, or his breathing catches.

The first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, she’d thought him too beautiful, like staring at the sun. She’d almost disliked him for it, for being the kind of beautiful that was hard to process into a long term memory, but she didn’t, and never did. She’d felt bad for it. He was, and is, so much more than his looks.

“You’re clever, Asra, so damned clever,” she tells him, picking up speed, eating up his muttered needs for assurance. “The cleverest person I know. Even quicker than a four-century sea witch. You think in ways I couldn’t conjure in the most virile quarters of my imaginings. When I cursed myself dead—you broke apart what I knew, showed me something different, and it worked, Asra. You gave me what I needed to take back my heartbeat—”

“Close,” he wheezes, straining tight against the headboard and his bindings, “close-close—!”

“Oh!” Eustacia stops altogether, gaping down at him. He swallows hard, breathing in shallow laps. She reaches up to stroke the column of his throat, making soothing sounds. “Champing at the bit, Rah? I’m glad you said something, I’m enjoying myself. Are you?”

Another swallow passes under her hands, and he nods, a smile showing off the gleam of his wonderful teeth. “Very much so,” he purrs, relaxing again. “I can’t even think when you get going like that. You must’ve had some practice out in the great, wide world.”

“Didn’t,” she admits willingly, “haven’t. I didn’t take anyone else to bed this time. They all looked gray. I just…wanted to get back to you.”

“Me neither. No one else,” he says, licking his lips. “I really don’t want anyone else. Ever.”

She could play flip or coy, but she doesn’t. Too much time has already been spent skirting this thing between them, and that’s what this last trip was for in the first place. One last trip, and never again would they be apart. “Good.” Her hands settle back on his hips. “I don’t either. Ready?”

They come together again. She picks up the pace, slows it, stops when he calls close, again and again. Teasing him mercilessly, grinding against the harness to chase what she is denying him, only to be denied herself. Praise spills from her lips like a water spigot cranked to flow and forgotten. You are generous, you are considerate, you are brave, you are funny.

Your laugh sounds safe like guardian bells. Sun- and moonlight feels at home in your hair. You stand up for the lonely monsters even when they’ve never needed your help.

You are the sun, and you burn away the shadows.

“You make sure I eat, Rah. No one has ever made sure that I’ve had enough to eat,” she rasps, throat dry, eyes wet, fucking him in earnest. Sweat rolls down her back in beads, down her forehead, and down her chest. Her legs are on fire, her back is screaming, her arms buzz near numbing as she keeps herself propped over him.

He doesn’t bother keeping quiet anymore, his moans bouncing off the walls when he isn’t sucking on the fingers she offers him, or biting his lips and the inside of his cheek. He’s hoarse, too, when he shouts for the fifth time, “Close! F-fuck, close!”

Again, she stops, hanging her head and breathing in ragged bursts. She can’t even think, and it’s a sweetly painful blessing. She can’t think, all she can do is pour her heart out onto him, split open all her veins and bleed for him.

Treat him right, fuck him right. Fuck him like she loves him, because she does love him. She loves him so fucking much it goes beyond frightening her.

She loves him so much it quiets her. It undoes the bone that makes up her spine, and puts it back together with the polished steel of swords. It makes her a courageous monster, a monster with a purpose.

Her thrusts begin again, slow and forceful, and he bites back on a sound that sends lightning up her spine, straight into the cotton her brain has turned into.

Maybe that’s part of why she loves him so badly—the fact that he does quiet her, that her hands go still around him, that he can put all of her nervous tics to rest, and never judges her for them in the first place. He makes the world stop hurtling around her.

There’s a talent in him for drawing out the better part of her, teasing that beaten and starved dog over a warm threshold. Come here, come closer. I’m not going to hurt you, even when you bite me. You’re more than skin and bones. I know the shape of your soul. I know it is lovely.

How the hell had anyone like Asra seen anything worthy in her? This is a question she thinks she will wrestle the rest of her mortal life.

“I love you,” she says, voice pitching high into a plea. “I love you, Asra.”

“Mm-muh, I love you,” he moans, using the entirety of his throat, nodding feverishly as he cants his hips to find a little more friction.

Her rhythm stops without his asking, and she ignores his indignant bark, pulling the scarf from his eyes. She cradles his jaw in both hands, waits until his eyes focus and meet hers—such brilliant gemstone violet striking against ocean-bottom black—and she bores into them with all the gravity and urgency she can muster. “I love you, Asra. Do you understand that?”

Do you know how impossible that is? How grateful I am?

On their lonesome this way, he’s easy to read. He wants to ask if she’s okay, and call her Euffie doing it. But he won’t, because she hates that attention and doesn’t want that name attached to it. Because she hates that he fears the armor she named anger, and that he knows she built it around a pale and feeble thing he names fear without using words.

“Untie me, please,” is what he asks of her instead.

She does, making the thread around his wrists dissolve back into the nothingness from whence it was summoned, trying not to move much as she does it.

“Can you—mm, can you—ah,” he sighs, nodding as she pulls out of him, rubbing her arms and not letting her back away too far. “Can you…I want to finish on top, if that’s alright. If there’s an easy way to make the pillows, you know, like a chair?”

“That can be done,” she says, and it is. The pillows are easy enough to manage, even around her self-inflicted and insipid sentimentality, and she sinks back against them more lounging than perching, but that works well enough for Asra. He straddles her pelvis, the slip of silk whispering over her skin, and wraps his arms around her neck, bringing their chests together.

With a palmful of oil, she slicks the piece up for the last time, and he sinks down on it inch by slow inch. He buries his face against her neck, dropping sloppy kisses in an upward trail until he finds her mouth.

“I’m, pffaha, I’m probably not gonna last for much longer,” he warns, grinning and red through the face.

He doesn’t, keeping wrapped around her python-tight and barely doing more than rolling his hips, hissing yes-yes-yes when she thrusts up into him. When he cums hot over her stomach, it’s with a wordless shout into the crook of her neck, and she fucks him through it until he’s had as much as he wants, trembling and long-gone past overstimulated.

He hisses when he rises off the cock, telling her to lift her hips. She obeys, helping him with the buckles on the harness, and dropping it on the floor. “Come here,” she says, reaching for him, but he shakes his head and sinks between her knees. “Asra, come on. I can bring myself off.”

“You took care of me,” he laughs sleepily. “I want to take care of you.”

And he does. With his fingers, with his lips, with his tongue, he takes care of her one—two—three times in rapid succession.

Boneless and knowing she will ache like she’d been trampled in a riot come morning, she leaves Asra shed of the robe and melting into the pillows under her rabbit fur blanket. All she can see is his face nuzzled into the red satin lining, the scantest flash of white hair and bronze skin lovely against the gray-brown hare pelt, perched on the edge of sleep, to the chorus of the rain still pouring outdoors.

Carrying a flower vase of water and her pack, she settles down next to him. They’d cleaned up the bare minimum they would need to stand themselves through what will likely be a deep and long sleep, and did no more. She passes him the water first, hearing more than seeing him guzzle it down, and pats her pack. “I have more surprises,” she hums, arching a brow his direction.

Swallowing and smacking his lips, he laughs, “I don’t think I can take any more surprises tonight.”

“I think you’ll be wanting to. This is the sort of surprise that needs two to agree upon.”

“Well,” he sighs, passing her the vase and propping up his head on one hand. “I do like surprises.”

Without further prompting, and after setting the vase aside, she opens the pack and renders the curse on it inert. Hundreds of coins gleam in the belly of it like gilded seeds, mixed through with a magpie’s bounty of jewelry and other trinkets. It all catches in the light of the remaining witch lights, and, though she has no knack for divination nor the desire to learn it, she sees a future spelled out in the gleam.

“We could do it,” she whispers, hoarse and ridiculously hopeful. “We could have a place here. Together. No more…trips, or working out of booths, or odd jobs.”

“You mean the shop?” he asks, saucers for eyes, a hand squeezing her wrist as if in want of an anchor. “You want to open the shop?”

If she’d known then all the suffering they were going to shoulder on this path, she would’ve scraped her earnings back into the bag, taken his hand, and run until the soles of their feet bled.

But she didn’t, and she wanted to give him a home—a proper home, something he’d never had until she gave him a key to Great Aunt Koulmia’s mothballed shop and told him to do as he pleased.

He’d already given her more than she ever dared to want, and the wedding-ring, teeth-mark scars on the web between her thumb and index finger pulse in a thick way. Superstition, old wives tale: bite and bite and bleed, then true shall your love ever be.

“That’s your choice to make, Asra,” she tells him, pushing the pack off the bed and hunkering close to him, pulling the blanket over her flank. “I love you, and I’m as settled as I ever want to be. We could open the shop, or catch the first ship out of Vesuvia, and I’d be happy either way.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, low and warm and satisfied, taking up her hands and leaning to meet her mouth halfway. Against her lips, he laughs, “Let’s do it. Let’s open the shop.”

She puts her arms around his back, curls into him the way he curls into her, and lets the world go quiet apart from the rain and his breathing.

Asra is her home—first and favorite.

#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #NSFW//#Asra #Asra x MC #this is pretty much the filthiest thing i've ever written and i'm nervous af haha #rags wrote a thing

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renegadesrpg · 3 years

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Dark Angels: Creation. Part 41: Witch hunter; Hunter Witch Part 1. Adrian and Bryn

Adrian: *Sean throws Bryn a sharp look, his own troubles momentarily forgotten as he turns from worried male back into Sin’s reaper first lieutenant, but Zav shakes his head at him and then jerks it towards the ancient church. His deep, rich mental voice tags my brain as he silently speaks to all of us. ‘Let them work it out Sean. Even as a human Bryn could handle any witch ever born. As a reaper it should be like shooting fish in a barrel for her. We’ll go out to her workshop so I can teach you what you need to know. She’ll call us if she needs us.’ Sourly, I frown at him and ‘path’ back ‘Thanks for throwing me to the wolf here Zav.’ He just throws his head back and laughs as he mists away. Sean gives a mental chuckle, which I am actually kind of glad to hear, given where he’s at in his head right now, and sends out some soothing vibes as he adds his two cents. ‘Don’t worry, she hardly ever bites. Unless you ask her to. And even then she has to REALLY be into you.’ ‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ I answer back as he demats out right behind Zav. With a sigh I look at her dubiously.*

Why is it always me you snag for these crazy ideas? I’m a soldier, not a hunter. Give me a battlefield and I’m your guy, but hunting’s a different kind of fight. Sean’s better as a hunter, or even Zav.

Bryn: *Hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes and tossing my shaggy black hair back as I narrow my eyes*

Think of it as guerilla warfare. Even you’ve learned that forming ranks isn’t always the best option. *Huffing* And besides, it’s /not/ always you. Usually it’s Zav. But he’s busy and I don’t think he can help me with this anyway. You’ve got something special and I need it.

Adrian: Fine. What do we do first?

Bryn: First? Strip.

Adrian: *My eyebrows raise in outrage.* What do you mean, “strip”? I’m not taking my clothes off for you!

Bryn: *Snorting a laugh* Oh, relax, lover-boy, your virginity’s safe with me. I need to look for an anti-witch mark. I think you’re somehow invisible to the witch. We’ve been working in pairs, with another reaper, since this began. The only attacks that have occurred have been when you were the only reaper paired with another. I’d say that whoever is in charge of spying on us can’t see you. So drop your pants, at least down to your boxer briefs.

Adrian: I’m not a virgin, for Creator’s sake! *Jesus, women!* And I don’t wear boxers, briefs, or any combination of that under leathers. Just a jock strap.

Bryn: So much the better. If I need to see the full package, I’ll let you know.*Smirking, Now drop the pants and ditch the shirt.

Adrian: Fine, *I snap* But I’m not doing this down here. Sin and Declan could mist in at any second. My room will do.

*Without waiting I dematerialize upstairs to the room I took as my own for the duration. A quick glance around assures me it’s in shape just as Bryn’s black mist reforms in the doorway.*

Bryn: *I just knew he was going to be a pain about this. He’s always been more standoffish than Sean and Zav. With a sigh I mist up to the doorway to his room. Once my form has re-manifested I take a careful look around. The place looks like a military barracks. You could bounce a dime off of that bed. There are no personal items, no keepsakes. The only things that hang on the walls are his sword and dagger, tools of his trade, I guess.*

Well, you live up to the billing. *stepping inside* This place is certainly Spartan.

Adrian: *I give her something between a smirk and a frown… I never know how the hell to respond to Bryn. I’d had more contact with her since we started this rebellion in the ranks than I’d had since Zav recruited her and still I was awkward as crap around her. But then, I’d never been good with women. Even my human wife had given me a wide berth after fulfilling her duties as a Spartan wife, which had suited me just fine. Normally I treated female reapers the same way I treat male ones -- like I would have a lower ranked soldier when I was human -- with respect, but also with the expectation they’d keep the appropriate distance from a higher ranking officer. But by rank Bryn was my peer and in terms of power, hells, she could probably put me down by raising her eyebrow if she got pissed. I don’t know what one of those fireballs of hers could do to a reaper, but I didn’t want to give her an excuse to use me to find out. Finally, stalling, I ask,*

So what would this mark look like? After all this time I think I’d know if I had one.

Bryn: It could look like a birthmark, a mole… a weird configuration of freckles. Or it might not be visible to the naked eye at all. Whoever put it on you had talent, power, and imagination. I strongly suspect your grandmother. Even though it was before my time and well away from my country of origin, I’ve studied the lore and I’ve done some time... we’ll call it internships… with magical mortals and immortals during my leaves from the corps. *At his skeptical look I add,* What, you think I just take off for a few weeks and amuse myself with boy-toys? Give me a break. Men are more trouble than they’re worth. I learned that lesson early on as a reaper. Now lose the clothes.

Adrian: *This time I don’t have to think about how to react. A dark frown crosses my face as I let my clothes disappear, at least down to my jock. My skin heats as she starts to circle me and looks at me appraisingly*

I feel like a stud being examined before he services a mare, *I grumble.*

Why would you think my grandmother would do that?

Bryn: *Clinically, I look over every exposed inch. His skin has that tan that modern human women give themselves skin cancer trying to achieve and it ripples over a well-defined six-pack. The black back straps of the supporter grip well-developed glutes and the front… well, let’s just say I bet he had to specially design this particular bit of apparel. The pouch covers the necessities –barely- but even with its larger than normal proportions there’s quite obviously no room for any kind of protective cup. There’s barely room for him. Apparently Apollo’s genetics ran true through his descendants. But there are no marks on him that I can see. No freckles, no birthmarks, nothing. Just wide expanses of smooth, golden skin.*

The first Oracle of Delphi was mad strong magically and notably protective of her descendants. Oh, she had to let them choose their paths from the Fates’ choices, but she did what she could to protect them from harm from god’s and other magical entities... I’m not seeing anything…. Is the form you manifest as a reaper identical to the one you had as a human?

Adrian: *Nodding* It’s exactly as I was before I died. Does this mean I have to lose the supporter, too? I mean, why would my grandmother have put the mark on my, uh, private parts?

Bryn: Maybe because no one but someone you trust would ever see it. But don’t ditch the jock yet. There’s another possibility. She could have branded it soul deep the way Freya did the Inguz on Sin. I’ve never seen Sin naked, but I’m betting it doesn’t show itself unless invoked. It probably flairs if the Horseman tries to reach him through their link. If we left the wards and the witch is scrying for us then it would probably show itself.

Adrian: I am /NOT/ going outside this room like this, let alone outside the wards!

Bryn: Chill!

*Ok, I’m getting impatient with this modesty thing…*

We can mist to some place remote. If I’m right, the witch won’t see you, just me. You can manifest, let me take a gander, and then hide and get fully dressed, including weapons, until they send someone. We’re a match for the Horseman’s bully boys. We just need one alive when it’s over. I’ll force mental rapport and find out what they know before we stuff them in a Dybbuk box. We’ll know all he or she knows. If it’s demons we might have to get more creative. And if I’m wrong and they see us both, then we just have to kill them and try something else.

Adrian: *Snorting* You make it sound so easy. As they keep losing grunts, they might suspect we’re dispatching them too easily and send more than a couple this time.

Bryn: So?

*Hands on my hips, challengingly. A little conflict is getting him past his embarrassment and, hey, I’m always up for an argument in a good cause.*

You held off 10,000 men with a group of 300 at a mountain pass in Greece. You afraid of a few reapers? Where’s that Spartan attitude?

Adrian: We all DIED, in case you forgot. And no, I’m not afraid. I just want to be sure we aren’t “ambushed” with overwhelming force. They have to realize by now that the ones they have sent out aren’t coming back and that we /are/ still coming up on their radar. They haven’t called demons back in since the initial attack, but if they still could.

Bryn: *it’s a good point, I have to admit.*

But I can’t see the Horseman asking Lucifer for help easily. It shows that he’s weak. Sean took out DeAndre and that has to rankle, IF he knows about it. There’s no guarantee of that. The Horseman tends to let his “underlings” run things for him. If he didn’t, we wouldn’t have been able to position ourselves as well as we have. But if someone has slid into the power vacuum created when DeAndre and his crew didn’t return they don’t want the Horseman to know they’ve failed to contain us or even to take a civilian important to us. *Thinking out loud now.* In fact, I bet the Horseman isn’t aware of any of this. Not that he’s above rape and murder, but it’s not the smart move right now. Trying to take us out before he’s ready to make HIS big move isn’t any smarter than it would be for us to go on small random offensives just before we make OURS. It's in his best interest to keep us unsuspecting until he’s ready to take out all of the holdovers from Sin’s era and that he’s not quite there yet. New leadership is probably keeping him in the dark as much as they can. The reaper souls haven’t left a mortal plane yet, just been stashed in Dybbuk boxes for safekeeping, so the Horseman wouldn’t feel them gone. Lucifer might be missing the random demons that attacked you and Sean, but if they were low level cannon fodder, I doubt it. No, it’s the witch that will be more of a challenge than we’ve seen before. I can only think of three witches besides myself that could manage this kind of thing solo and I don’t like to think any of them would be in the service of Lucifer.

Adrian: *My embarrassment is gone. Bryn’s pretty much all business at the moment. She’s not above teasing any of us when the moment is right but she gets this isn’t the moment. And that makes it easy for me to focus on the task at hand as well.*

What makes you say that? And why not any of those three witches?

Bryn: It’s a massive operation to set up magical 24/7 surveillance on several beings who simply wink in and out of any location on the mortal plane and that’s how it would look, like a blip on a very big map. Scrying is usually done on a small scale for one physical being in a suspected general location. To see one of us popping up anywhere in the world, and doing it seemingly from nowhere, because with us behind wards that’s how it would appear, requires more than physical observation. It requires something that mentally tags the practitioner so they can catch it. Add to that our physical appearances are simply manifestations of our souls, and it means it has to be someone with enough juice to track a soul, not just a body. *Sighing, now, because the answer to the second question is harder.*

As for why those three? Well, two of them are my sisters. They died in the battle before my last one and I always assumed their souls had moved on to new lives, probably multiple times by now. Something would have had to go very, very wrong in one of those lives for either of them to end up pledged to Lucifer. As for the third… he’s very, very strong, and he very manipulative. And…*hesitating* we have history. Of all the human “boy toys” you guys have teased me about taking for a spin as a reaper, he’s the only one that I actually did.

Adrian: *If my jaw could hit the ground, it would have. Bryn’s as tough and pragmatic as they come and she’s always avoided emotional entanglements of any kind. Someone that could get past that tough exterior was either very special or very devious. A thousand questions run through my head.*

What do you mean “took for a spin”? Was this a short term fling or something more? Just how powerful was he? Enough to pose a problem for you?

Bryn: *If looks could kill a reaper, Adrian would be headed for the Long Sleep right now.*

We were involved for 20 mortal years, so maybe you’d call that a short term fling in a reaper’s gauge of time, but for that 20 years I thought I’d found what Sean and Zav have. I wasn’t sure how it would go when his time as a mortal passed, but I thought perhaps he could be recruited to become one of us. I had only been a reaper a few hundred years. I wasn’t aware of all the vetting Sin put in before he took one of us on even just as an ordinary reaper. Emrys would never have made the cut. He wasn’t entirely mortal for one thing. And he had an overpowering ambition for power that I didn’t realize until we’d been together most of that 20 years.

Adrian: “Not entirely mortal?” What does /that/ mean? Witches are mortal. Essentially just gifted humans.

Bryn: But Emrys wasn’t totally human.

*Looking away for a moment, embarrassed now at how naïve I’d been.*

Emrys’ father was a demon. His mother had been human. I’m not entirely sure, but I got the impression that his conception hadn’t been willing, and after he was born she confessed all to a priest. He convinced her the child was an abomination that had to die, but of course he wouldn’t get his hands dirty and she couldn’t bear the thought of doing it, so she swaddled the babe and left it in a sacred oak grove. Christian priests were just beginning to make inroads in Wales back then. Druidism and goddess worship were still predominant and the druids found the infant. The high priest was no fool. There was no reason an apparently healthy male child would be abandoned back then. He investigated and found the mother but she was too afraid to take the child back so he adopted him and raised him. I’d thought that upbringing had been enough to counteract his demonic heritage, and maybe his lust for power was just a normal human failing. But if it wasn’t….

Adrian: If it wasn’t, he could easily be behind this. *I finish for her.* How did you meet him? Did you teach him magick?

Bryn: He found me. Up until I moved everything here I kept my workshop in the crystal cave in Wales where I’d learned my craft all those centuries ago. It was remote and I had never had to ward it against intruders and then one day when I’m off role and working on a spell this drop dead gorgeous young guy just appears at the entrance. He said he’d been exploring. “Exploring”, my ass. *snorting* He’d felt the power as I worked the spell and had scryed to find the location. Then he just “appeared”. He said he was on a spiritual quest and just happened to find the cave. It took me 20 years to work out that he could translocate like a demon. Granted, I wasn’t with him all the time, but every leave I got, I spent with him and every night instead of staying with the corps I decamped to his bed. *Shaking my head,* I was so blind to what he really was.

Adrian: *She’d deny it, but you didn’t have to have Sean’s gift to feel the pain in her voice. This asshole hurt a woman I called sister, and now I want to deal out some pain to him. Didn’t matter if he was already dead. A reaper can get to anyone, anywhere, anytime.

So what happened?

Bryn: A baby was born in Cornwall. A dragon, a comet with a flame red tail, filled the sky that night. *My eyes grow distant as I remember.* He was almost manic with excitement. He said he’d seen it, that it portended the birth of king who would unite all of the kingdoms under one rule, but that he needed to be there. It was only with his power that it could happen. By that time the Rome I’d fought against had long since left Britain. Vikings ravaged the coasts at will, and for a time, they’d succeeded in establishing a foothold on a large part of the island. When grown, this new king, according to him, would see the Vikings gone and Britain ruled by Britains.

*Sighing wearily as I drop down to sit on Adrian’s bed*

What he didn’t say was it wasn’t about uniting the kingdoms. It was about being the power behind the throne. There was nothing altruistic in this. He saw the future and wanted more power. He already had magick…. More than anyone else I’d ever seen and I’d taught him how to use it. Now he wanted a different kind of power. And he wanted me to help him. As a reaper I could take out anyone that stood in his way, make sure he had access to the child. As a witch I could combine my power with his and create a world that was his to command. I was appalled.

We had a fight, a huge one, and it all came out. He never loved me. He’d used my body the way he wanted to use my power – to bind me to him. If I’d had none, if I’d even just been a mortal witch, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice. I cast him from my cave and warded it against him so thoroughly that he had no hope of ever gaining entrance again and then I turned my back on him. He followed through and I guess it worked for a time. But in the end other mortal weaknesses caused the death of this savior of Britain and the kingdom fell. Emrys died, walled away in his own cave by his fallen king’s enemies, led by a witch with some significant power of her own. Zav reaped his soul. I never asked what happened to it. Being half demon it could very well have ended up at Lucifer’s disposal.

Adrian: *I cross to the bed and sit down beside her. Ignoring my nearly naked status, I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her against my side. It says something about how devastating this was to her that she actually allows it. As I look down, I can see a sheen of tears she refuses to shed gleaming in her eyes.*

So if it is this asshole, can I kill him?

Bryn: *A strangled laugh escapes me. Damn, Adrian is such a rock. Unshakeable and steady. And just what I needed. Not too much sympathy, just enough and the understanding that revenge is best served cold.*

Well one of us has to.

Adrian: And, *raising an eyebrow – damn, has Sin taught all of us that?* And if it’s one of your sisters?

Bryn: *Inhaling and pulling away from his side to sit upright as his arm falls away.*

If it’s one of my sisters, it’s on me. I’ll need to know what twisted them up so much that they went that way and then I’ll deal with them. But I’m hoping it’s a coalition of lesser witches. A group of three with some skill could also pull this operation off. But first we have to get to them. And to do that we need to interrogate a bad guy.

So. *clapping my hands on my thighs, and then standing, forcing the bravado back into my voice* Are you ready to go, studly?

Adrian: *Suddenly, I��m very conscious of my near naked state once again. It’s a more normal Bryn comment, and I’m glad to see her coming back to herself, but still, “studly” is a going a step too far. Face flaming, I blurt* Don’t call me that. And just /where/ are we going?

Bryn: Outside my crystal cave in Wales. It’s remote even by today’s standards, and it has plenty of trees for you to conceal yourself behind so we can get a drop on whoever comes. Plus, if you’re concerned about them sending greater numbers than they have previously come to pass, we can retreat into the cave and I can slam down wards they won’t get through. Oh, don’t look at me like that, *Seeing the dubious look on his face.* We’ll stay in the half world until you can reassure yourself there’s no one around to see you in all your semi-naked glory. But be aware if I don’t see a mark flare, you’ll be naked pretty quick so I can make sure grandma didn’t tat you in an even more concealed place. Once it does you can get dressed. And armed.

Adrian: *The sword from the wall materializes in my hand. Though I’d come to prefer the medieval longsword, for fighting naked a Spartan sword was a more appropriate length for potentially naked fighting.*

I’m going in armed. As a mortal I didn’t fight in much more than this.

Bryn: *Frowning* Then why all the “I’m not going to be naked” crap if you fought mostly naked as a human?

Adrian: Because I’m /not/ human anymore and leathers provide a little more protection. Plus you’re a girl. I didn’t /fight/ girls in battle. Now are we going or not?

Bryn: Don’t think of me as a girl. Think of me as a harpy. Vicious and lethal. It might help. Follow me. *with a thought I dematerialized into the fine black mist of the reaper and disappeared.*

Adrian: *Snorting*

Women. *following her lead, I dematerialize into the half-world and follow her to Wales.*

#TBC

#WitchHunterHunterWitchPart1 #DarkAngelsCreationPart41 #Renegades #RRPG #BDB #AU #Reapers #Angels #Vampires #Witches #Ghosts

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darkelfshadow · 7 years

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Session Summary - 33

AKA “The Gladiator Games”

Adventures in Taggeriell

Session 33 (Date: 21st October 2017)

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Oloma”) Human Female.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor”) Dwarf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

- Sean (Known as “Seanicus”) Elf 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>

Summary

- Toilday, 9th of Kuthona in the year 814 (Second Era). Winter.

- The party begin this session, in the Throne Room of the Ruins of Reckoning.

- There is much treasure to sort out and deal with. For the next hour, the party take out all the coins and fill them into sacks which they then use the Bag Of Sharing to transport them over to Valthrun in his Wizard tower in Winterhaven. Trenchant puts on the Elven chain shirt and removes his master work studded leather armour, sending that over to Valthrun too. The three potions are identified by Seanicus and they are a Potion of Heroism, a Potion of Clairvoyance and a Potion of Hill Giant Strength (Strength 21). The various art objects, the masks, pendant and handkerchief, are kept by Oloma for safe keeping.

- Sir Krondor spends a great deal of time searching and going over the dais in the centre of the Throne Room, as he is sure there must be another way out of here, before standing up and proclaiming that there definitely is no hidden buttons or secret panels on there.

- Oloma, who had previously walked off for a short time, comes back then just as Sir Krondor is about to insist that all the walls get searched for secret doors again, and she says, “I’ve just been to look at the black entry door. It’s open. We can leave when ever we like.”

- Once the party gather all the gear they leave the dark ruins. The sunlight from outside, even though it is a cloudy overcast day, is enough to blind them for a few seconds. Blinking they leave the ruins and walk along the long paved plateau lined with black pillars on either side. The black stone pavers are wet, it looks like it has been raining.

- As they reach the the far side of the plateau the air before the small engraved pillar begins to shimmer and take form. The party ready their weapons as a figure takes solid form. Neither male nor female, neither young nor old, faceless yet resembling all faces at once, familiar yet unknown. The figure wears a simple green robe with a star stitched in golden thread across the chest.

- A voice, ageless and without definition, speaks: “Well done. You have done that which no one else has done for a thousand years. All who came before you failed. Take your gifts, the gifts that my followers and acolytes left here so long ago, and use them wisely. And now, let me give you one last gift, from me personally, I give you a warning. You go now to see the Wizard whom sent you here. Be warned, the Wizard wears two faces and has two names. The powder that you hold in your hands, within the golden vessel, is not what he seeks though it will take him some time to discover this. The remains of my beloved Gweyer, who showed me there is more to existence than self desires and wants, are not here and never were. She remains in peaceful repose at a proper and fitting place for one who showed me the path to redemption. It may not be in your best interests to be close to the Wizard when he learns of the true nature of the powder and nor would I reveal this to him, else you will face the burden of his wrath. I would wish you luck but I can see you already have more than luck on your side, I can see you influence of the others behind you.”

- The figure turns to look into the forest as if looking at something and nods.

- The voice continues, “And now this place is no longer needed and I shall allow the time that has been held back to return.”

- The rocks start to break and fall down behind the party with a loud crash, as the mountain face collapses blocking the entrance into the ruins. Dust and debris shoot up into the air. The black pillars start to crack and break, some of them falling over. The black paved stones underfoot begin to crack and split and the stone steps before the party brake away in places.

- Loud bangs and crashes echo around the forest. After a moment the sound and dust fades mostly away. The faceless figure is still floating in the air.

- Oloma holds out the pendant with the picture of Gweyer on it, “Here take this. This means more to you than us.”

- The face without details smiles, “Thank you but I do not need that. Take those and do as you will with them,” and the voice and figure fade away. The air shimmers momentarily and then all is still except for some drifting dust carried on the wind.

- Seanicus examines the powder within the golden vessel and declares that it is not magical. It appears to be ash. Nac The Death Cleric looks over it and says that it does indeed look like the burnt ash remains of an adult size human.

- The party then discuss the powder and what the warning means. Sir Krondor is convinced that Yonochen will immediately know the powder is fake and as such they must force him to send them through the mirror before they hand over the powder. There are many theories and ideas put forward about who or what Yonochen might be: a Necromancer, maybe he is both Yonochen and Manzoor, and many other suggestions.

- The discussion is lively and no one notices that Nac and Oloma have walked down the broken stairs and away. Twenty minutes later they return to the sound of the party still debating what to do.

- Nac speaks, “Well, unless you wish to stay here and watch the slow regrowth of the forest to reclaim these ruins, I suggest we go. We checked on our horses and they’re still tied up where we left them.”

- The party leave the plateau and walk along the now cracked and broken black stone path to eventually find the cliff face again. Looking down, their horses are indeed still there. Using the climbing poles that are sticking out of the cliff face, the party slowly and carefully climb down.

- Mounting back onto their horses, Seanicus is forced to ride on a horse with Naillae, as they are now one horse short and Naillae is small enough that they can both ride the horse together.

- The party ride through the broken black pathway until it ends and they are forced to dismount and walk their horses through the thick forest. For the first hour the trees and bush are so dense that they have to weave in and out, leading their horses. Occasionally a light rain falls around the party.

- During this time Oloma sees a flash of gold off to her side and turns her head to see a fleeting glimpse of a magnificent golden stag (Successful Perception check). Its regal form moves behind a tree and vanishes. Though she only saw the creature for the briefest second, the hairs on the back of Oloma’s neck raise, and her breath is taken away.

- Oloma starts to move off quickly towards the spot, about 60’ away, where she saw the noble beast.

- Trenchant turns towards the fleeing Oloma and yells, “Problem?”

- Without slowing down or turning back Oloma quickly replies, “Have to relive myself, give me a moment.”

- Immediately all the men in the party turn away from the direction of Oloma, as if a silent general had barked an order to about face, and start to obviously and awkwardly adjust equipment and gear, to make sure they don’t accidentally look in the direction of the female Mystic. Naillae laughs, “Oh for petty sake! We’ve been travelling together for ages but every time there’s the slightest risk of seeing a woman’s ass and you all turn into adolescent boys!”

- After a few minutes, Naillae wanders over towards Oloma, “Hey, Oloma! You look like you’re searching for something?”

- Oloma explains that she thought she saw a golden stag whilst she was over here and the party move over to the spot and begin to search the wet ground for tracks but no one can find any.

- Sir Krondor speaks, “What do you think it means?”

- Trenchant replies, “Well the figure that appeared back at the ruins mentioned something about us being influenced by the others and then he figured looked into forest.”

- Seanicus adds, “Remember the hunters that I tried to save from the Grungs? They said they were following a golden stag that lead them to that exact spot. And that made me find them and in turn that made you find me. Is this all connected?”

- Oloma speaks, “Golden stags are often messengers of powerful beings. Omens of great portent.”

- “Yes,” Labarett adds, “but for good or evil? That is the question.”

- The party continue and eventually the forest becomes sparser and they are able to mount up and ride through the trees. Thanks to Labarett guiding them they cover the distance in half the time (Barbarian ability).

- Riding through the sparse trees for roughly another hour the party finally come to the each of the Changrove Forest and come out into the grassy plains. Pressing onwards they come to the main road and following that. The sky is still cloudy and threatens to rain but holds off. An hour later the party come into view of Lington. The city walls loom before them and they approach the east main gate which is shut and guarded by half a dozen Red Guard soldiers.

- After Trenchant and Sir Krondor demand entry, as the party are Wardens, they are allowed into the city without delay or search.

- All the party decide to go see Valder at the Royal Library, except for Oloma who says she has some shopping and business to conduct and Naillae who advises that she will leave for a short time to check in with the Lington’s Thief’s Guild. The party arrange to meet up at The Eldritch Arch, where Yonochen resides.

- Sir Krondor, Nac, Trenchant, Labarett, Gim and Seanicus ride their horses towards the Palace Compound where the Royal Library is. Seanicus is obviously looking around at the city, his head turning this way and that.

- Trenchant speaks, “Never been in a large city before Seanicus?”

- “Yes, of course,” begins Seancius, “But the city I am from is very different than this.”

- The group arrives at the Palace and after securing the horses enter the grounds of Palace, as the guards at the main gate recognise the group.

- They enter the large, tall library and are greeted by the Head Librarian, Simimar the Elven Sage. Simimar summons Valder, the newly appointed Librarian Assistant, and the party reunite with the former travelling companion.

- After catching up with what the party has been up to, Valder tells the party what he has so far learnt from reading Dragons Of The Council. Valder speaks, “About two thousand years ago all the Red Wizards of Thay and the Cult Of The Dragon Queen formed together to bring about the coming of Tiamat into this world, when Nirvas The Seer foretold of the coming of an alignment of the slowly drifting stars across the heavens and the coming of a double red lunar eclipse known as the Wounds Of Pelor. This double blood moon marks the start of a period of 12 days in which it would be possible for Tiamat to leave her banishment in the Nine Hells, with the proper ritual. This alignment of the stars and the double blood moon eclipse occurs very infrequently.”

- Trenchant speaks, “Let me guess, about every two thousand years?”

- Valder nods, “Yes. I have calculated the next time this conjunction will occur. In two hundred and thirty seven days from now. We have less than a year.”

- Next the party ask if there are any books on Erevan Ilesere or about Gweyer. Simimar goes and collects a book on Elvish Gods and within the book there are a few pages devoted to Erevan Ilesre, the Elvish God of mischief, Rogues, changelings and Dopplegangers. The book goes on to tell the tale of the God. Originally Erevan used to be one of the lower tier Gods within the larger pantheon of the gods but during a short fought war of the Gods, in which originally Erevan had remained neutral, he eventually joined the war when one of his followers, Gweyer swayed the god with her words and deeds. Eventually Gweyer was killed during the war serving her god, in a mighty battle, when a massive magical explosion occurred. This explosion came about as the result of a small army of wizards trying to manipulate the forces of life and existence during the war. At the end of the war Erevan’s perspective and attitude had changed. He was on the winning side of the war and as such his status within the pantheon rose to a mid level god but in doing so he direction and focus changed. He now valued the power of self redemption and was more concerned with working with others rather than as an individual.

- Nac speaks, “That would make the Ruins make a little more sense now.”

- Trenchant asks Simimar about what he knows about Yonochen and the Head Librarian states he knows nothing about anyone called Yonochen.

- Sir Krondor exclaims, “What? How’s that possible? He and Manzoor defended Lington against the Cult Army and their Dragon. You must have heard of him!”

- Simimar replies calmly, “Really? I knew about Manzoor The Great and Powerful, after all he has told everyone in Lington he saved us, singlehandedly. We never hear the end of it really. I never heard about the other gentlemen. If he lives here in Lington he has have been keeping a low profile then for me not to have heard of him.”

- Trenchant speaks up, “This is weird. We heard talk around Lington before that it was really Yonochen that did all the work. It was his spells, apparently very powerful ones, that turned the Dragon away and Manzoor was really just there for show. Now Manzoor goes around taking all the credit and Yonochen is happy to stay in the shadows not drawing attention to himself. And now we get warned that Yonochen isn’t who he appears to be.”

- With no other options, the group give their farewells to Valder and prepare to head over to Yonochen’s premises. Valder promises to keep the party updated with what else he learns from the book Dragons Of The Council, as he has only read a small portion of it.

***

- During this time, Oloma had been around to various business and shops. Sometimes she would enquire if they needed the services of an alchemist supplier, and if so would leave one of the business cards of Felyur the Alchemist from Anwich, or else Oloma would do some shopping for gear and supplies. Having completed the last of her shopping at The Red Wand, the tower of Manzoor The Great, Oloma started to make her way over to Yonochen’s premises to regroup with the party.

***

- Naillae has also been busy. She heads over to the secret location of the Lington Thief’s Guild, making sure no one is following her. Once inside she updates the Guild that she and party will be heading to Earthcloak in the next day or so. After a short time conversing Naillae heads out again to make her way over to Yonochen’s premises.

***

- Just before midday, with the clouds over head and a light drizzle falling, the party once again all reunite back together outside the plain two story building of Yonochen and tie up their horses to a wooden railing near the building. As before all the windows are shuttered closed and the single door on the ground floor is closed. The very small brass plaque next to the door reads, in small writing that can only be read if someone leans in close, “The Eldritch Arch.”

- The party knock on the door and as before, a small wooden eye window, low down opens up, and the small eyes of the Halfling Wizard look out. His voice, with the strong accent of someone from the eastern lands of Tikoran, is angry, “Why you here! You should be getting my vessel! Go get it!”

- Oloma speaks, “We have the vessel Yonochen. Now open …” but before the Mystic can finish her sentence Yonochen slams shut the small window and then opens the door.

- The Halfling Wizard smiles at them broadly, his slanted eyes shinning with anticipation, “Excellent. Of course you have! Now, come in, quickly! Show me!” Yonochen is almost shaking with excitement to be getting his vessel.

- The party all enter and Yonochen, after looking around the street to see if anyone was watching, shuts the door with a loud bang.

- Seanicus walks into the back of Labarett, “Sorry. My goggles went black, I couldn’t see.” Seanicus then lefts up the goggles from his eyes, careful that his hood is still low enough that no one can see his eyes.

- Nac speaks, “This place has some type of anti-magic field, that effects everyone except Yonochen. Your goggles, or any of our enchanted gear, or any of our spells won’t work in here.”

- Sir Krondor immediately begins, “Now listen here Yonochen, we aren’t just going to hand over the vessel. You will send us through the mirror first and the last person through will give you the vessel.”

- Yonochen’s face goes red with anger, “You what!? No. No! You give me my vessel Knight or you will regret this!”

- Sir Krondor laughs, “I don’t think so Yonochen, we out number you. You will do as I say.”

- Yonochen’s eyes narrow, the hatred pouring through him is visible, “Really? Is that what you think?” There is a real edge of menace on the Wizard’s voice.

- Trenchant sees Yonochen pull out a blue crystal pendant from under his shirt and starts twirling it angrily, “Now Yonochen I’m sure we can sort this out like reasonable adults. There’s no need to resort to violence. Sir Krondor misspoke.”

- “I did not! I meant it!” bellows Sir Krondor.

- “I agree with Sir Krondor,” adds Seanicus, “I don’t trust this halfling more than I could throw him. How far do you think we could throw him Sir Krondor?”

- “Oh I think I could throw this pipsqueak very far indeed,” answers Sir Krondor with a smile.

- Yonochen’s fingers are getting tighter around the blue pendant.

- Quickly Trenchant speaks, “For the love of the gods, could you two shut up! Yonochen, please ignore them. Talk to me, we can ….”

- Just then Yonochen screams, “Where is the vessel!”

- Oloma calmly takes out the vessel from her backpack and says, “Here, I am sure we can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement.”

- Yonochen looks at the vessel, and replies, speaking each work slowly and with menace, “We already had an arrangement. Give me the vessel now!”

- Trenchant nods, “Give it to him Oloma.”

- Sir Krondor yells, “Keep it Oloma! I don’t trust that small barstard!”

- Oloma keeps the vessel close to her chest, “Before I give you this vessel, there’s other business I would like to discuss. Also I would like to look over your wares and see …”

- “ENOUGH!” yells Yonochen and brakes the blue pendant with a snap. Immediately a wave of Eldritch energy blasts forth. In the four corners of the room appear four elementals, Earth, Air, Fire and Water. Each starts to take form and shape. At the same time, a blue energy envelopes around the whole party. It grows and becomes a solid film of ice and crackling force energy covering Sir Krondor, Labarett, Naillae, Nac, Oloma and Gim. Both Trenchant and Seanicus feel the effect fade away from them (Successful save throw).

- Yonochen reaches out towards the immobilised Oloma and takes the vessel out of her hands, “Idiots! Had you just given me the vessel, like we agreed, I would have rewarded you. It’s mine! IT’S MINE!” and Yonochen begins to cackle in laughter.

- Trenchant and Seanicus move away from the laughing Wizard.

- “Oh yes, you two. I am impressed, not many can resist the effects of that pendant. Still want to throw me now?”

- As Yonochen asks this the four elementals, towering up to the height of the ceiling of the room, stand waiting and ready.

- Seanicus shakes his head, “Not any more.”

- Trenchant asks, “What do you intend to do now Yonochen?”

- The small wizard laughs, “Oh exactly what I said I would. I shall honour the bargain. You all go through the mirror to Earthcloak. Now!”

- Yonochen walks up set of stairs, the captured party floating behind him, whilst Trenchant and Seanicus follow. Two of elementals, the fire and water ones, also follow behind the group.

- Yonochen leads them to a mirror that appears to be a simple plain dressing mirror that is about 5’ wide and 10’ high. Around the edge is a simple design of silver leaves. The Mirror Of Ailmer.

- When the Wizard touches it, a scene appears, of a large walled city, set in a deep forest valley that lies at the intersection of two rivers. A large lake and river cuts the city in half. The scene quickly zooms in to a large garden park in the city.

- Yonochen speaks, “Here. Earthcloak. Walk through.”

- Trenchant speaks, “How do we know you are actually sending us there?”

- “You don’t,” Yonochen replies and then bursts out in a loud laughter.

- With a flick of his wrist Yonochen sends the captured party to levitate through the mirror, each one disappears with flash as they touch the mirror. Lastly, with no other real choice, Trenchant and Seanicus step through the mirror.

- The party see whirling colours flashing past them. A deep cold envelopes them. A voice comes to them, the voice of Yonochen, that starts of loudly but fades of as he speaks, until the voice is gone, “Yes, brave heroes, go and save the world from Tiamat. Save my world. But do this knowing that you are mere pawns in my game, you and all the other ignorant fools! You do as I wish. Rid Tiamat so that I can rule this world as a God in her place!”

- As the party suddenly pop into existence, within a large garden park, the last thing they all hear fading out is the evil clacking of Yonochen.

***

- The sun over head indicates that it is still noon, as the sky above is mostly clear of cloud. A fierce wind blows in from the east, where on the horizon in the far distance white peaks of tall mountains are visible, and with it comes a bitter cold that sweeps over the party. The large park square the party are now in, which has a central temple and smaller shrines on each of the four corners of the park, has frost on the grass. The party are no longer held fast by Yonochen’s spell but there is a residue of frost still on Sir Krondor, Labarett, Naillae, Nac, Oloma and Gim and that along with the cold and wind is making things very uncomfortable for them.

- Nac, his teeth chattering, speaks, “I knew Yonochen was an evil, arrogant Wizard but what was that all about?”

- Trenchant speaks, “Team meeting. The next time we face an evil, maniacal wizard can we please try to not antagonise them?”

- Labarett the Barbarian, trying to pull his cloak around his bare chest, speaks, “We need to get out of this cold soon, dry off and put on our cold weather gear or we will freeze.”

- The party look around them. They are in a large heavily fortified city, much larger than Lington, and it appears that it is at the bottom of a steep valley. As such, they party can see both sides of the raising city around a large central lake filled with many boats and a river leading away. Three large forts, are spaced around the high city walls. Though the largest building visible is a massive stone stadium that dominates the city.

- “Does anyone actually know that we are in Earthcloak?” asks Naillae.

- Olomat speaks (Successful Intelligence History check), “I’ve read a bit about Earthcloak from my mother’s books. It is supposed to be cobbled, slate and tile roofed stone city that completely fills the valley at the junction of the Tufford and Ledale rivers in the Halfling kingdom of Singbury. Earthcloak is built around the Ledale river, with a large defended city wall surrounding it. It is the ship building centre for Taggriell, building boats for Tyriba, Asalea, Singbury, and Afrandul. Of course, the elves of Elanion build their own boats and the Dwarves of Fanur don’t use boats.”

- Gim speaks, “Too right, dam boats always sinking!”

- Oloma continues, “The city is supposed to rise above the man made harbour and raises so steeply in places, that a buildings can be different heights from inside to outside. Most the buildings are at least three stories and some go up to six stories. In winter ice makes many of the streets almost impassable except for those that love to risk falling and sliding. It has many streets of winding, steep stairs. And it is supposed to have a lot of boats coming and going as it is a major trade route and ships in many goods and attracts many visitors, especially sailors looking to be picked as crew on a newly commissioned boat. Earthcloak is known for it’s impressive gladiator games and for the unusual fact that the casting of spells and the sale of magic services and items is prohibited here.”

- Trenchant speaks, “Well, I guess we can assume we’re in Earthcloak. Let’s get out of the cold, dry off and sort out our cold weather gear.”

- Trenchant and Oloma ask one of the many pedestrians walking along the streets, most of which are Halflings or Dwarves but with some Gnomes, Tieflings, Dragonborn and Humans as well, that surround the large garden park and are directed to a nearby Inn, directly across the road from the park, called Rosee’s Warm Rest Inn. The Halfling male they speak to is very chatty and he speaks of news about Dragons fighting alongside men to the far west, which the Halfling does not believe, and also speaks about a witch that was caught trying to sell magic potions near the city and was arrested by Captain Jannon who is the Chief Constable of Earthcloak. The Halfling warns the visitors not to use magic in the city.

- Along the way to the Inn, the party pass by one of the small shrines in the park, and they see a symbol of a shield with a cornucopia motif on the front, which some in the party recognise as the symbol for the Halfing Goddess Yondalla who is the patron of Protection, Fertility, and Halfling Children.

- Just outside the Inn, on a sign, written in Halfling, Dwarvish and Common states:

“The Following is strictly prohibited and enforced:

* The casting of spells, either from book, item or self.

* The sale of Magic Services or Items.

By order of Lord Conlan.”

- Entering the Inn, which appears to be three level building, the party find themselves in a warm and cossy common area. Various Halfings and Dwarves sit around the Inn, drinking and talking, at various tables or at the long bar on one side. A large fireplace gives the room a pleasant warmth. Serving girls are moving around taking orders and delivering jugs of drink and behind the bar is a middle aged Halfling male of solid build. He has a warm smile and waves the party in, “Welcome to Rosee’s Inn. I’m Geneegin, what can I get you visitors?”

- The party take a table near by the fireplace so that can warm up and get the frost of them, whilst they break out their cold weather gear from their backpacks to put on. Seanicus informs the party he has no cold weather gear so will need to go shopping.

- Whilst waiting for one of the serving wenches takes orders from the party, Trenchant and Sir Krondor break out their instruments. Trenchant tunes his lute whilst Sir Krondor prepares his mothers flute. The pair then start to play a song together, as they have many times before, and on a hunch Trenchant sings a song of praise about the Goddess Yondalla. The song is well received and the crowd loves the performance (Successful Charisma Performance checks by both Trenchant and Sir Krondor). At the end of the song the crowd erupts into enthusiastic applause, throwing a sum of silver coins at the pair (26 silver coins in total).

- During the song, an attractive Halfling female comes out from a rear door and stands behind the bar next to Geneegin, holding his hand fondly. At the end of the song, the female comes across smiling to the party, “Beautiful, simply beautiful. I’m Rosee and this is my Inn. That was such a lovely song, and about the Goddess too, you lot can have one round of free drinks on the house.”

- Oloma speaks up, “Instead of free drink, what about free board?”

- Rosee smiles but instead offers the party half priced board instead and the party take up the offer for four days. She organises some of the staff to get the rooms prepared and gives a numbered iron key to each of the party for their seperate rooms upstairs.

- Trenchant moves around the Inn trying to discreetly see if there are any Harper agents present but none of the patrons seem to be or don’t come forward.

- Whilst Trenchant is doing this, some of the party buy drinks. Most get a simple mug of ale, but Gim orders an expensive Depth Charge, one shoot of Dwarven brandy dropped in a large mug of ale, which he then chugs down in one quick drink. He manages to keep on his feet (Successful Constitution check and advantage on any cold effects for the rest of the day).

- Nac, Oloma, Sir Krondor and Gim state they will go over to the Gladiator Stadium and see if they can enter. Seanicus states he will join them just until they stop at a near by shop to buy some cold weather gear. The group leave Rosee’s and head over to a nearby shop that Geneegin pointed out to them. Two blocks away, on the corner, is a shop that occupies the ground level of a tall four story building. The sign out the front states Diam’s General Store. Sir Krondor and Seanicus enter the warm store, whilst the others wait outside. The pair are greeted by a friendly and cheerful male Dwarf, Diam the shop owner.

- Seanicus selects a set of well made cold weather gear, that Diam sizes up for Seanicus, and when the matter of payment comes up Seanicus is a bit low on funds. He tries to haggle with Diam but does not get very far as Diam won’t budge on price (Failed Persuasion check).

- Sir Krondor says to Diam, “You ever heard of the war hammer Nedumlin?”

- Diam nods, “Yes. In my youth I read many books on the great Dwarven heroes. Yes I know of the brave Knight, Sir Krafulim Longshield and his legendary war hammer. Why?”

- Seanicus pulls out the war hammer, “Because this is it.”

- Diam speaks, his voice shaking, “It can’t be. That has been lost for an age and only one that is worthy can wield it.”

- The war hammer speaks in Dwarvish, “Hello there. I am Nedumlin, pleasure to meet you.”

- “By Marthammor’s beard!” exclaims Diam and then after he catches his breath continues, “But why does the elf carry the war hammer and not a Dwarf and a Knight of Anvil at that?”

- Sir Krondor replies with a hint of frustration, “Why indeed?”

- Now that Diam has seen the war hammer, he gives the pair a discount on anything they need, so they buy a few extra items as well. The shop keeper seems quite excited to see the war hammer and thanks the pair for their business when they leave with a wave and smile.

- Exiting the store, Seanicus waves farewell as he heads back to Rosee’s Inn whilst everyone else, Nac, Oloma, Sir Krondor and Gim, all make their way over to the far west side of the city to where the large stadium looms over the other buildings.

- Seanicus walks back to the Inn and is grateful to enter the warm establishment. Oloma is seated at a table with a drink so the Warlock joins her.

- Oloma informs Seanicus that she was talking to some of the locals in the Inn and the only information she could obtain was about the Cult uprising in Tyriba, which the party already are well aware of, and of the uprising of a large Drow war band to the far North in the Dwarvish lands. The party had previously heard of the Drow attacks but had not realised till now the extent of the attacks.

- Oloma puts her drink down, “You want a drink?”

- Seanicus replies, “No.”

- Oloma looks at Seanicus. He still wears the metal Goggles Of The Night over his eyes, a cloth is wrapped around his lower face covering all his features and his hood, as always, is worn up and pulled down low as to hide his hair. Oloma says, “You know, I just realised I’ve never seen your face, I have no idea what you look like. It’s warm enough in here. Take your hood and goggles off and relax.”

- Seanicus replies, “No thank you.”

- Oloma presses the point, “Why do you wear those goggles all the time? It’s not dark in here.”

- Seanicus stands and replies, “Enjoy your drink. I’ll be sitting at the bar.”

***

- Meanwhile Nac, Oloma, Sir Krondor and Gim have walked a long distance to the west side of the city, arriving at a section of the city that the buildings appear less well maintained, and seeing more sailers and poorer folk. They eventually arrive at the Gladiator stadium. It is shut, the two large black metal gates in the tall archway entry are closed and locked. Through the gate, the group look through a long arched corridor, and beyond the opposite side into the inner stadium. Some distance off they can see and hear some Gladiators training.

- Nac shouts out and enhances his voice to become louder (Spell Thaumaturgy) to get the attention of the people inside. A tall, solid looking dark skin male comes into view and walks towards the gate. He wears hide pants, fur boots and has a fur lined robe hung over his shoulders but under the robe he wears no shirt. His bare arms, shoulders and chest reveal an impressive set of toned muscles that are sweating with exertion. He does not seem overly concerned with the cold.

- The party learn that this male is called Awamir, and from his strong accent and dark skin, obviously comes from the kingdom of Afrandul. After enquiring about entering into the games Awamir unlocks the gate and invites the group in to see. Going inside the group see many gladiators, of various races, in vigorous training inside the inner area of the stadium. All the gladiators look impressive and very capable.

- Awamir explains the rules of the games and unless the party were to be sponsored by someone they could not enter the actual competition which goes over many weeks but they could enter a single round as a one off outside competitor with some of the gladiators. The games are every Wealday and Sunday, which would mean there is a game tomorrow. On those days they have four rounds. Outsiders may enter a single round to join the gladiators on payment of 25 gold coins and if they are the last man standing they win 200 coin golds. There are no magic items allowed in the games and of course, as per the rules of the city, there is no magic or spells allowed of any kind. The other rule is that a competitor may not refuse to fight another or aid another, though ganging up is allowed. Also once a competitor is dropped to the ground unconscious they are out and can not be further attacked but nor can they receive any healing until after the match is over, whether they live or die is up to the Gods. A competitor can yield and take a knee to leave the round at any time.

- The group thank Awamir for his time and information and state they will consider entering the games tomorrow on Wealday. They make their way back to Rosee’s Inn and rejoin the rest of the party. The party discuss what it is they need to do here in Earthcloak and recall the information that was discussed in the alliance meeting back at Lington. The information the party has is that some of the Cultists will be joining the wagon train run by the Red Scale Transport Company leaving Earthcloak on Starday the 13th of Kuthona, four days time from now. They will be disguised as to not draw attention to themselves and will be secretly transporting some of the treasure the Cult stole to somewhere called Naerytar that no one has ever heard of. The alliance needs the party to join the wagon train, ascertain who the cultists are and follow them to the final destination of Naerytar, where it is hoped that the Dragon Masks are located so they can be stolen by the alliance.

- After Trenchant makes some enquiries with Geneegin where the Red Scale Transport Company might be and Sir Krondor learns where there is a Dwarven hang out, called the White Wolf Tavern, they head out into the cold, thankful for their cold weather gear, and walk over to the south side of the city. They follow the winding roads that climb up the steep valley side. Ice covering many of the stone stairs on the roads means the party have to careful not to slip and slid down. They see many Halfling children out playing, purposely sliding down the icy streets and laughing as the hit the many safety nets that are strung up across the ends of the streets to catch people.

- The party make their way up the valley, past many tall buildings, until they come to the outskirts of the city. A large open flat area lays before the tall city defensive walls, upon which the party can see many large ballistas facing outwards to defend the city. Off to the north the party can see a section has been fenced off for a graveyard with multiple headstones and mausoleums with a large temple of some sort and off to the south the open area has been sectioned off into various sections by low wooden fences. Inside can be seen numerous and varied cattle and live stock. There are multiple buildings around.

- One large building, with it’s own large fenced off area, has a sign marked Red Scale Transport Company. Sir Krondor and Gim advise the party they will head off down the road to where the Dwarf tavern is and everyone else enters inside the Transport Compound.

- The compound is a large two story building with the ground section being one large open area obviously designed to allow horses and wagon easy access and storage. Past the building in a rear yard can be seen half a dozen wagons. People are going about various tasks.

- A Halfling male approaches the party. His name is Teorin and he is the compound manager. When Trenchant informs him they may wish to join the wagon train the manager introduces them to a solid looking male Dwarf in armour called Brumohn whom is the Wagon Master for this particular wagon train heading out. The party learn that Brumohn is short on security at the moment, as he lost some men on the last trip. The party discuss the terms of payment and duties and tell Brumohn they will think about joining the security detail. It’s a low paying job and beneath the party, which Brumohn is aware of, but is a means for the party to get on board the wagon train.

- Whilst there they look over the six wagons getting ready. The party are told that about 22 wagons all up will be on this train when it leaves in four days time. It will travel to Lightfingers, Aduren, Dunfrun, Mahik, Afenal, Sabi, Delcal and then finish at Crescent Moon, all up a journey of about 960 miles and about will take 45 days.

- Oloma talks to one of the wagon drivers, a friendly male Halfling called Enom whom appears to enjoy talking and hearing tales of adventure. Enom is a paid courier transporting various chests, boxes and barrels to various locations along the route.

- The group decide to leave and head over to meet up with the others at the Dwarf tavern whilst Oloma decides to pop into a blacksmith on the way.

***

- Meanwhile, Sir Krondor and Gim head over to the Dwarf tavern that Geneegin told them about. A sign out the front of the Tavern, only written in Dwarvish states White Wolf Tavern and has a picture of Dwarf with a large white wolf cloak wrapped around him.

- Sir Krondor and Gim head inside and within are about a dozen Dwarves, some dressed in armour, some dressed common clothes, seated around tables and at a long bar, drinking, talking and gambling. The pair learn that the bar keep, a rough looking male Dwarf, is called Torroc. Sir Krondor orders a mug of ale whilst Gim orders one of his depth charges.

- Whilst there Sir Krondor speaks to Torroc, “Are there many Dwarven Knights that come in here?”

- Torroc laughs, “Here! Oh no, this is more a pub, not really a Knight club.”

- Sir Krondor and Gim learn from a few of the Dwarves around the tavern about some news about the Drow uprising in the Dwarf kingdom Fanur and also mention of an Orc problem at Dunfrun, which is a Dwarf strong hold to the north, with no Clan.

- Whilst there, Sir Krondor spreads talk amongst the Dwarves that the war hammer of Sir Krafulim Longshield, the legendary Nedumlin, has been found and is being carried by an Elf.

***

- Oloma finds the blacksmith, a large building which unlike most buildings in the city, is only single storey. A large chimney bellows out smoke into the air. A sign out the front in common and Dwarvish reads, Wilya’s Small Hammer.

- Oloma enters the Blacksmith and makes enquiries with the Dwarf blacksmith there, Wilya, about purchasing a new weapon, as she will need to use a non magical weapon rather than her soul blades if she wishes to enter the gladiator game.

- The conversation is not going well when Oloma insinuates that the quality of Wilya’s wares are not up to scratch.

- Oloma asks, “So where are your good weapons?”

- Wilya’s eyes narrow, “All my weapons are good.”

- Oloma, not hearing the edge of anger on Wilya’s voice, presses on, “Yeah, I mean, these weapons are alright. But what about the blades you make that are really sharp. The special stuff.”

- Wilya grabs him large hammer, a small vein on the side of his temple is throbbing, “Are you insinuating that my blades are blunt? Is that what you’re saying lassy?”

- Oloma, finally realises the grave mistake she has made in questioning the workmanship of a Dwarven Smith, starts to back track, “No no, of course, all your weapons are amazing. I am just saying you probably have better stuff, you know, in the back, that …”

- The Dwarf slams the heavy hammer onto the anvil with a loud crack, “Get the fuck out of my shop now!”

- Oloma leaves the shop and decides to head over to the Dwarf tavern to rejoin the group.

***

- The group reunite at the White Wolf Tavern and after a few drinks walk back to the other side of the city and return to Rosee’s Inn. The rest of the night is uneventful and the party go to their individual rooms to sleep for night.

- Wealday, 10th of Kuthona in the year 814 (Second Era). Winter.

- The next morning sees a cloudy day, with a strong chilly wind. The ground shows frost from overnight but soon clears and melts away with the coming sun.

- At about mid morning the party start to head over to the stadium on the far west side of the city. They are not alone, as many of the locals are also walking towards the stadium. When they finally arrive there they have to line up to get to the ticket office. Sir Krondor, Nac, Gim, Oloma and Labarett all decide to enter the game as an out side competitor and pay the 25 gold coin joining fee. Trenchant and Naillae pay the 5 silver pieces to enter stadium to watch the show. Seanicus decides not to spend any money and instead stands just outside the main gate, along with a group of children and some of the poorer locals to watch the show through the entry tunnel.

- Sir Krondor, Nac, Gim, Oloma and Labarett are lead by one of the gladiators to a lower level that runs under the stadium. There Awamir checks over their gear and weapons to make sure they are within the rules. A female elf, using some sort of gold monocle looks over the party’s stuff and determines that Nac’s boots and long sword, Gim’s Dragon Breastplate, Oloma’s cloak and pendant, Sir Krondor’s cloak and Labarett’s cloak will have to come off. These items, along with their backpacks and other gear, are taken and stored in a locked property room. Gim borrows a spare set of breastplate from the armoury of the gladiators but there are no spare boots for Nac so he has to go out barefoot.

- Trenchant and Naillae walk into the stadium and take a seat on one of the many levels. The stadium is packed with people watching the game. There are vendors selling food or drink, or bookmakers taking bets on the game. On a board are the names of the various Gladiators and their details and odds to win for betting. Sir Krondor, Gim, and Labarett have been given 2 to 1 odds, whilst Nac and Oloma have been given 3 to 1 odds.

- The competitors are all taken to a random door, there being 12 doors stationed equally around the inner stadium. Each of the doors open and all the competitors step forward to the cheer of the ground. There is about 50 feet distance between each competitor.

- Starting from the main entrance into the stadium, the order of the competitors are Labarett, Nac, Gim, a Human gladiator, a Half-orc gladiator, a Dragonborn gladiator, a human gladiator, Sir Krondor, a Human gladiator, a Half-orc gladiator, Oloma and then a Human gladiator.

- The human gladiators are armed with shields and spears, the Half-orc gladiators have shields and scimitars and the Dragonborn gladiator has a shield and longsword.

- The Dragonborn gladiator stands a foot taller than anyone else on the field and the other gladiators seem to be wary of him. His gear, looks more impressive than anyone else’s.

- A loud voice, booming out of a brass cone, as an announcer shouts into it, fills the stadium: “People of Earthcloak, we present the next round. Along with seven of our regular gladiators we have five outside competitors.”

- A loud cheer erupts from the crowd. Naillae leans into Trenchant, “Isn’t this romantic?”

- Trenchant moves away, “What? We’re about to watch people trying to kill each other, including our own friends!”

- Naillae smiles at Trenchant, “Yes but you and I are together. Alone. Is this our first date?”

- Trenchant turns to look back at the stadium, “We are not alone, there must be two thousand people in this stadium and this is not a date.”

- The booming voice continues, “Competitors. Remember the rules. No magic. No aiding another competitor or refusing to fight another competitor. And no attacking any unconscious competitors or competitors that have yielded. On the sound of the horn, fight for honour and glory!”

- All the competitors braced up, getting ready for the horn blast. When it comes, the Dragonborn immediately sprints towards the centre of the large stadium and crouches low, scanning all around him.

- Gim and one of the human gladiators move towards each other and engage, likewise Oloma and another human gladiator move towards each to engage but Oloma can hear one of the Half-orc gladiators running towards her from the rear. Sir Krondor gets rushed by two human gladiators and the three all start fighting each other. Labarett sees that Oloma is in a bad position so decides to run over and charge into the human gladiator attacking her to free Oloma up to deal with the approaching Half-orc gladiator from the other side. Nac and one of the Half-orcs cautiously move forward towards each other, watching the fighting, until the Half-orc breaks out into a run and charges towards Nac.

- There are now four combats going on. A battle between a Human gladiator, a Half-orc gladiator, Oloma and Labarett. A battle between Nac and a Half-orc gladiator. A battle between a Human gladiator and Gim. The final battle is between two Human gladiators and Sir Krondor. All the while, in the centre of the stadium the Dragonborn gladiator stays ready, watching all the battles and waiting patiently.

- The combat is hectic. Gladiators are attacking each other and also the members of the party. The party members are refraining from directly attacking each other and instead are attacking the gladiators.There are many mistakes and outstanding moments in the first initial stage. One of the gladiators rips open a wound on another gladiator (Critical Hit - Triple Damage), likewise another of the gladiators fumbles his hold on his weapon and hits himself (Fumble), another gladiator gets his armour torn half off by another gladiator (Critical Hit).

- Trenchant stands up shouting at the game, the same as all the other people in the stadium crowd. The difference with Trenchant’s loud shouting is that the Bard’s voice is having an effect on the party members. With the Bard’s help Labarett scores a deadly strike on a gladiator (Bardic Inspiration).

- Sir Krondor is getting battered from the two gladiators and shouts out a rally cry of defiance, “For Fanur!” and continues the battle renewed (Second Wind - Healed).

- Nac shield bashes the Half-orc gladiator into the ground and then smashes his war hammer into the downed figure.

***

- Outside Seanicus is trying to look over the heads of people crowded at the entry gate, to look down the long corridor through the stadium and look at a slice of the middle of the game. The Warlock can make out some of the party and gladiators but it is hard to know what is happening.

- Inside the stadium, in the upper seats, Naillae looks over the crowds of people, “How’s it looking?”

- Trenchant leans over a large head sitting in front of him, “Well, Sir Krondor and two of the human gladiators are bashing the crap out of each other, it seems to be an even match there. Nac and Gim are locked in a one on one combat with a gladiator each, Nac is keeping his one down and the battle with Gim seems evenly matched. Labarett, Oloma and two gladiators are all attacking but it looks like our two are getting the upper hand, manly because Labarett is getting hit but mostly ignoring the blows (Barbarian Rage - resistance on non magic attacks) but Labarett’s fighting style is a bit erratic (one Critical hit and two fumbles). Yes! Labarett just smashed the Half-orc scimitar and bent it (permanent damage reduction three quarters). It’s close but there’s still the Dragonborn gladiator in the centre, he hasn’t been touched yet.”

- Just then the crowd jumps up and starts to cheer louder, stamping their feet.

- “What happened?” asked Naillae.

- “Lion!” answers Trenchant with a worry.

***

- One of the doors of the stadium, near to Nac, opens and out leaps a lion that runs and leaps towards Nac. The Cleric manages to sidestep out the way but now he has a lion and a gladiator attacking him. The gladiator keeps moving around to keep the lion away from him. The battle with Nac, the Half-orc gladiator and the lion has become a struggle of the two competitors trying to attack each other and keep out of reach of the lion. Nac stumbles as the lion lunges and both change places (Fumble - swap places). Nac is forced to keep attacking and bashing the lion to keep it back and that allows the Half-orc the time to attack Nac without come back. It gives the gladiator the opportunity to swing his scimitar in a deadly blow that slashes across Nac’s face and cuts open a deep and ugly scar on his left check (Critical Hit - permanent scar).

- The first competitor to be taken out is one of the Human gladiators that Oloma and Labaret were dealing with. He is dealt a blow that sees him falling backwards to lay at an odd angle, blood pours out of a wound. The gladiator’s chest is raising and falling in shallow breaths. Whether he lives or dies before the game ends is up to the Gods; the same fate awaits any of the party should they fall. His departure from the game allows Oloma and Labaret to turn their attention on the Half-orc gladiator that is left near them. He is struggling to defend himself against the combined pair and is desperately shield bashing at Labarett to force the raging Barbarian back.

- Gim and the Half-orc gladiator he is facing are dealing blow to blow, they appear evenly matched but Gim is taking a beating through bad luck (DM was consistently rolling high attack and damage rolls versus Gim). Gim is using every trick he has just to stay in the game, matching the skill and brute strength of the gladiator but to no avail (Second Wind and Action Surge). Gim is badly wounded and tired. The Dwarf can see his opponent is only somewhat injured. Gim knows he has to yield now or else he faces possibly losing his life. The Dwarf Fighter kneels down on one knee and shouts, “I yield!” (down to 14 Hit Points)

- Another of the Human gladiators, next to Sir Krondor, blood covering most of his face and blinding him, drops to one knee and shouts, “I yield!” Sir Krondor still has one gladiator left who is relatively uninjured. Sir Krondor is struggling against this Human gladiator. The gladiator’s spear is jabbing constantly at the Dwarf Knight. Sir Krondor knocks away some of the spear jabs but not all and he is getting more and more wounded. Blood seeps into his Order Of The Anvil tabard turning the off white into a rose colour. The Knight of the Anvil considers yielding but his opponent is wounded too and he hopes to get in a lucky strike. The gladiator thrusts his spear towards Sir Krondor’s throat in a killing blow but at the last second the tired Dwarf knocks it aside with his shield (Critical Hit on Sir Krondor but Trenchant used his personal Inspiration to force the DM to re-roll the dice, it still hit but was no longer a critical hit). Sir Krondor is swinging wildly now, his strength spent, half blinded by the sweat coming into his eyes. The gladiator lunges low and down with his spear, his spear skewers the Knight in his guts, and with a grunt Sir Krondor falls over unconscious and bleeding to death (Sir Krondor took more than 30 points of damage in a single attack). His fate now lies with the Gods for no one can aid him. The gladiator turns to look at the other side of the stadium and begins to make his way over to where Oloma, Labaret and the Half-orc gladiator are in battle.

- Nac swings his war hammer into the side of the head of the lion and with a sickening crush the beast tumbles onto it’s side dead. As Nac and the Half-orc gladiator again face each other, hopes of a far fight are dashed when another of the doors on the edge of the stadium, near to them starts to raise.

***

- The crowd starts to cheer and hollow louder.

- “Now what? Dam it I can’t see a thing!” shouts Naillae.

- Trenchant pushes the head of the person in front of him to the side, “The door near Nac has opened again. Oh no, how can that be fair!?”

- “What?” shouts Naillae. She grabs Trenchant and pulls his head toward her, “What!?”

- Trenchant shouts over the roar of the crowd, “Saber toothed tiger!”

- “You’ve got to help them. They’ll be ripped alive!” demands Naillae.

- Trenchant turns back to stadium and pushes aside three people to get a clear view. The Bard starts to scream at the top of his lungs, using his Bardic powers to aid the party down there in any way possible (Bardic Inspiration).

***

- As the door opens a massive saber tooth tiger appears and growls. It’s muscles ripple under its fur.

- Oloma, Labarett and the Half-orc gladiator are now joined by another gladiator, the Human gladiator that dropped Sir Krondor. Now the four are in a frantic battle, with weapons swinging in a chaotic storm of metal on metal. Sir Krondor, on the far side of the stadium has stopped bleeding and has stabilised, the Gods have smiled on the Dwarf (1 Failed and 3 Successful Death Saves).

- For the first time in the game, the Dragonborn gladiator moves. He moves backwards, away from the direction of the large tiger, keeping an eye on the beast and the competitors around him. The injured Human gladiator that bested Gim, leaves the kneeling Dwarf, and looks around for another opponent. He sees the un-injured Dragonborn gladiator near him but decides to instead run forward to attack the injured Half-orc gladiator that is paired against Nac. The Half-orc doesn’t see the Human gladiator running at him as the Half-orc has his full attention on the growling tiger but at the last second knocks the spear aside with his scimitar. Now the Human gladiator and Half-orc gladiator are locked in battle, but careful to keep moving away from the tiger.

- Nac too is slowly backing away but unluckily for him the tiger bolts towards him and lunges at the Cleric. Nac is disparately smashing his shield into the tiger to drop it but the beast manages to avoid most of the shield bashes. Nac is doing little against the beast but at least the Cleric is managing to avoid the claws and teeth by staying close to his shield.

- Back and forth the Half-orc and Human gladiator trade blows, always keeping their attention on the tiger and trying to get away from it. The Half-orc gladiator slices the throat of the Human gladiator, dropping him to the ground, but before the Half-orc can rest, the Dragonborn gladiator finally moves in to engage in battle. With an easy and merciless attack the Dragonborn leaps at the back of the injured Half-orc and thrusts his long sword in the Half-orc’s back, killing his opponent.

- The intensity of the battle has grown now. The Half-orc gladiator near Oloma and Labarett is dropped to the ground bleeding to death (after receiving and dealing a Critical hit) which causes the very badly injured Human gladiator adjacent to drop to his knee and yield instead of risking death.

- There is now only the Dragonborn gladiator, who is uninjured, Nac who is struggling against a saber tooth tiger and Labaret and Oloma standing facing each other on one side of the stadium.

- Labaret speaks to the very badly wounded Oloma, “Take a knee Oloma. You are hurt. I am barely scratched. I will take on the Dragonborn and win this fight.”

- Oloma has a look of pure determination, “No. I will win this fight! I will not back down, to anyone!”

- Oloma wildly waves her scimitar around pretending to attack Labarett but in reality she sends her mind against the Elf Barbarian, in her most powerful psionic attack, the force raging through Labarett’s head, injuring him from the inside.

- Labaret braces himself, stumbling backwards. He looks at Oloma in shock and then his eyes narrow in determination, “I too will not back down!” and then begins to move forward swinging his long sword at Oloma.

- Oloma ducks under the first swing but takes a blow from the back swing of Labarett’s sword. She kneels down and then pretends to swing her scimitar, which is no where actually near Labarett. Her mind sends forth another powerful psionic blast and causes Labarett to black out and fall over, bleeding internally (more than 24 points of damage done in a single attack).

- A horn blasts and a loud voice, amplified by a horn, shouts, “Foul! Disqualified for magic use!”

- One of the doors near Oloma opens and two very angry looking gladiators come out and wave for her to get off the field of battle. She slowly starts to walk towards the door as the crowd near her boos and call out to her, “Cheater!”. She has survived the battle but in disgrace (down to 11 Hit Points).

- Now there are only two competitors. Nac, who is badly injured, barely standing and still fending off the saber toothed tiger, and the Dragonborn gladiator who is not injured at all.

- Nac kneels and shouts, “I yield!” whilst he pushes his shield forward towards the tiger.

- The crowd erupts as the Dragonborn waves his sword in the air in a victory salute. A door near Nac opens up and two animal handlers come running out with long poles with metal rings to capture the tiger. But before they can reach him, the tiger leaps around the kneeling Cleric and slashes him with a pair of mighty claws. Nac tries to keep his shield in the way, whilst the two animal handlers arrive and capture the beast to lead it away. Nac lives but barely (down to 8 Hit Points).

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)

- Return Vessel to Yonochen (Partial Only - he took it from you) = 1000 XP

- Enter The Gladiator Duel = 2000 XP (Sir Krondor, Gim, Oloma, Nac and Labarett only)

- Win The Gladiator Duel = FAIL

- Assist In The Gladiator Duel = 50 XP (Trenchant only)

Creatures Overcome

- N/A (Part of Gladiator Duel Quest above)

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

- True To Their Flaws (Friendly Fire) = 100 XP (Oloma and Labarett only)

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start + Received = Total (Notes)

Phil : 25025 + 394 = 25419

Rob : 31499 + 718 = 32217

Arthur : 21727 + 394 = 22121

Bob : 20711 + 656 = 21367

Travis : 19208 + 175 = 19383

Paul : 16565 + 575 = 17140

Sean : 16750 + 125 = 16875

NPC (Naillae) : + (63)

#D&D #DnD #5th #RPG #HOTDQ

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