Almost Forgot To Post This
Fire rippled over Melusine and burned away most of the skin from her front—she’d had worse, yes, but not in a while. Pain blotted out everything else, but she focused on the ground underneath her, the pebbles showering down on her, and rose above it.
If Agni were here, this never would have—
Wow, way to make the lack of skin the more appealing misery. At least the physical pain began to fade, but the more she was aware, the less she liked. Her hands had been twisted behind her and shackled in metal, which would take Resh about five seconds to undo. She tried to lift her head and find the other Knight, but her body was numb, ice water freezing her veins. It wasn’t the first time she’d been paralyzed, though it never lingered in her muscles like this before. She wriggled her fingers and they twitched.
“This one’s coming around,” a voice said.
White shapes danced in her vision, the color slowly bleeding back into them. A sharp point punctured her back, high up, near her neck, and there went the color. What the fuck were they doing to her?
Something like sleep washed over her and she fought it, though she couldn’t do more than that, except maybe berate herself for how stupid she was to allow them to defeat her. Many bodies floated around her during the battle, most in the midst of escape, and she had focused her energies on the ones who were steady in their approach. Clearly she had missed one and he nailed her with the poison. The next thing was aware of was Resh radiating magic, darkness, a shower of soil dusting her face. The explosion had probably killed her again, she wasn’t sure. Damn it, she had never seen anything like that before…
No, wait. The Forge before the volcanic eruption. The explosions there had been similar. Fuck, she kept forgetting the technology she was fighting.
Her eyes twitched open, and this time the world was a faded gray. Long, dark hair tickled her face, and she had to assume Ereshkigal was draped over her, as benumbed as Melusine. Her arms twitched, crawling down her leg to the knife in her boot. A needle pierced her shoulder and the world began to swim.
“No one can survive that much,” came a voice, different from the last one, higher and tighter.
“They can, trust me.”
Then she couldn’t hold on any longer, she slipped into a pool of icy cold water, her element, she could sink to the bottom and had no fear of death, except this was no water under her domain.
You do need to fear death, she reminded herself. You aren’t supposed to, but they took Agni from you. There is much for you to fear. This is the first time in a long time you’ve had to deal with it, but deal with it you will. You have no choice. You are the Waters Of Life. Now wake up.
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Day 28: Witch’s brew
an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022
previous days: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27
now available on ao3 too
Witch NOUN - a woman thought to have magic powers, especially evil ones, popularly depicted as wearing a black cloak and pointed hat and flying on a broomstick.
* * *
Don't care for the critics
My words are like physics
A force that they can't stop
They just don't get it, I think they forget
I'm not done till I'm on top
I know I was born for this
I know I was born for this
-- Born For This by The Score
A man in a robe claimed communication with the divine and a man in glasses claimed to teach her the intricacies of nature, and they both insisted that all women are witches and most of all those who show defiance of their role. It’s the Light’s will and in the woman’s sacred part to be fertile and make increase, preached the first in a smoke-filled box stinking of tallow and unwashed bodies of other citizens. It is only natural to reduce them to their reproductive role, for this was the natural way of things, argued the latter, hinting that she had no business staying in the halls of learning despite – or maybe precisely because of – her scandalous theories.
To her, in the end, they both were full of hollow words and nothing else of worth. Just irritating buzzing at the outskirts of her brilliant mind.
She couldn’t forget the only time she was one-upped, though. The pain and the wailing of her professor Celsus never stopped haunting her nights, yet with enough dedication and the right type of concoctions that, too, was a struggle she overcame with time and dedication.
Witches of the old were covered in dirt and mud, hunched and vile, mutated by the word of mouth just as much if not more as they were by their craft. They had no idea what they were doing, repeating whatever worked once in the past, mindlessly, traditionally. But she was not one of those. She was the witch of the newcome era, the era of science and education, completely opposite from those repulsive misconceptions – yet hated and shunned just as much.
Currently busy with her research, she was in the clean atrium, sterile as the dilapidated room would allow her, with bad miasma firmly chained and at bay by the incense with her most potent, perfected blend of fume-destroying substances. Freshly sharpened scalpels lined on her right in the tray of purifying solutions, and the table in front of her was covered in water-tight skins so that not a drop of potentially infectious substances would remain there after she was done.
This was her domain, her “kingdom come” of brightly lit lamps and the stench of rubbing alcohol so potent it was felt even through the smell of warding herbs in the beak of her trusty mask. She was a general leading her assault of knowledge and scientific approach against what feeble minds had called “the unfathomable” – because to her, it was merely “yet uncharted”.
Paracelsus gazed upon bits and pieces presented to her by the bloodsucker hunters, the vast shimmering planes of glistening wings and fleshy tubes of cut-off proboscis, ripped-out needle-like fangs and barbarically butchered organs, black orbs of eyes and dark-glass bottles.
A repulsive heap of flesh which already started to decompose and potentially dangerous trash to a passer-by.
A treasure trove of possibilities that held keys to their salvation, to someone of her intelligence.
The Heiress lowered herself to the concerns of her hired goons for once and called forth those she deemed most capable of solving the Crimson Curse issue that encroached on her lands after some unfortunate villager stumbled upon the entrance to the once-grandiose Court. Paracelsus was an obvious choice – along with a few other, less noteworthy candidates. Despite the wounds she obtained during expeditions, her mind was even sharper than back at the Academy.
She was tasked with the impossible, yet again, but unlike the last time, that single failure that still haunted her troubled dreams, she had the experience to back her bold claims and dozens of successful (and one not so successful…) expeditions to the cursed Estate to know what she was supposedly dealing with. Thus, she cut and she carved and she sliced and she divided tissues, determined to reach this new frontier, forfeiting sleep and sustenance in her single-minded pursuit. To her left, another table was laden with distillation setups, vats and vials of previous batches deemed passable enough to keep and record the results.
It wasn’t a proper woman’s work they said.
It wasn’t the divine plan for her, they said.
It wasn’t the natural order of things, they said.
She must have been a witch, they said.
And indeed, she was seen as one. She was the witch of the new era, and it mattered not if she used the ladle of the previous noteworthy herbalist of this Estate in her current research. A useful tool was a useful tool regardless of personal history, and the notable non-corrosive properties of the cutlery proved most valuable when dealing with the infected blood and the blood of the infected. The bubbling of round-bottomed flasks and the clanking of scalpels were her chants, the tables of reagents and reaction times were her Black book, and the oozing flesh and cursed teeth were her herbs. Once proficient at tests on the blood-soaked battlegrounds, now her battles were held on reagent-drenched autopsy tables as well as constantly updated chemical composition tables.
Because Paracelsus was going to brew her own batch of “Blood”, cracking the recipe of the cursed brew and opening Hamlet’s very own madness-tinted vintners, or kill every bloodsucker in the vicinity for ingredients while trying to achieve that.
Either way, what a glorious day to be considered a witch by barbarians.
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Hello!! How would tf141 react to a very sassy reader? Like sassing them out for no reason what so ever?
Hey! Like this, I think!
TF141 with a Sassy Reader
Price: He can appreciate some good sass, as long as it’s appropriate. God knows how often he’s been sassed by one of his soldiers, especially Gaz, so he doesn’t mind it, to some degree. You can sass him if you want, he’ll sass you back if he can think of a comeback that’s fitting. However, if you sass him for the sake of being mean to him instead of trying to get a good chuckle out of something, or maybe making a situation less dire, then he won’t be as appreciative of it. Don’t get me wrong, Price could shout at you if he really wanted to, but he’d much rather make you feel some guilt and remorse for inappropriate behavior. Although it’s fairly rare that happens, it will happen if you get on his nerves too much. Will then ask you if you think what you said was really appropriate in such a situation. You can then apologize still and all will be good as long as you keep your mouth shut. Once he’s calmed down, you can crack a joke at his expense again. Again, he’s used to such things as a captain, but keep it professional and stay polite, for the most part, and you won’t have a problem with him.
Gaz: He sasses you right back. He’s not particularly afraid of authority as long as they’re up for some good natured fun. So it really doesn’t matter if you’re above or below him rank wise. As soon as you open your mouth and some sass leaves it, he’ll immediately have thought of something to say in retaliation. I wouldn’t be surprised if you small sass battles could go on for a while. It’s a game to him, the first person that doesn’t know how to respond anymore simply loses, end of story. Will slightly mock you if you did lose, though. After all, you use such big words, and then you lose to him of all people? Surely, you can do better. It’s not impossible to out-sass Gaz, but he always has something stupid to say if he can, so it would take a while before you could properly beat him at his own game. He doesn’t give up easily either. Even as the conversation is about to be over, if he can think of something to say he’ll just say it. Sort of ends up looking forward to talking with you, sometimes he just needs to be a little shit who runs his mouth without any consequences. Sassing Price sometimes brings consequences with it, but not with you. With you he’ll be as lightheartedly mean as he can be.
Ghost: He’s been shit talked so much, he doesn’t really care anymore. He’s a scary and intimidating guy, so naturally people have something to say about him. However, most of them usually don’t have the courage to say anything like it to his face. So yeah, he would be a bit surprised if someone actually did sass him for a bit. Would go quiet for a moment, processing that someone just said something mean to him. When he wants to be, even Ghost can be a bit sassy himself, though in his case he usually just ends up sounding mean more so than anything else. Will “sass” you back when he can. It’s a bit intimidating from someone like him, especially since his sass borders on threatening, but you can be sure he won’t go through with it. He just really wants to see how far he can push this entire thing and what he needs to do in order for you to stop running your mouth and cower in fear as well. That never comes, however, so he ends up sassing/threatening you a bit as well. I could see you becoming buddies over this, it’s really rare for someone to talk to him like that. It makes him smile when you can think of an especially good comeback. Might sass someone alongside you, if they really deserve it.
Soap: He definitely has some fun with you. Although he can be quite sassy himself as well when he wants to be, he usually just hops on the jokes of other people. Sees you sassing him as some kind of challenge, so you can be certain he’ll challenge you right back. After all, if you can run your mouth then surely you can prove yourself as well, right? It’s all a competition in his eyes and he’s somewhat of a sore loser. Though, if you really are all talk and there’s nothing behind what you’re saying, then he’ll get Gaz involved as well, thinking that, because his buddy is very sassy himself, there will be some fun sassing going on. He’s usually right, but he still stands by what he said: You should be able to prove yourself after everything you have to say. Soap doesn’t take too kindly to being sassed for no reason whatsoever. He will take you up on what you said and will have you do it better than he does. If you are better than him, fine. You get to run your mouth as much as you want, he can’t really complain then. However, if you end up being worse at something than he is then he’s earned every right to sass you to hell and back instead. It’s all fair in his eyes. If you improve you get to sass him again, but good luck.
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