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crowfeatherquill · 8 months

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First Blood

Obligatory Astarion Bite Scene Fic, DEPLOY. Also, because I'm not sure I ever mentioned it, y'all are allowed to reblog and comment on these. I like seeing people's screams and flailing thoughts.

Being surrounded by enough spilled blood to feed a small army of spawn and having to watch it cooling and congealing on the floor of a defiled temple rather than make use of it strikes Astarion, in an almost hysterical sort of way, as funny. It strikes him that this is precisely the kind of situation he’d expect to end up in at the palace, but that it hadn’t crossed his mind that the novel freedom to sate himself whenever he pleased would be quite so short lived. Perhaps, he considers, it should have.

Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, his reality remains all too clear. In the wake of their lovely little massacre, the smell of blood hangs heavy in the stagnant air of the inner sanctum, taunting him. He is famished, and there’s nothing he can really do about it other than pretend that he isn’t -- at least while his traveling companions are still awake.

Tathlyn -- their intrepid, de facto leader -- has insisted they take a rest while still safely sealed into the inner sanctum before they attempt to face what remains of the camp outside, which in any other circumstance, Astarion would take as a fine bit of pragmatism, but as things stand -- hemmed in by the enemy, tensions running high enough that every one of his companions’ pulses rings in his ears like war drums while his stomach twists inside him and his fangs ache and he pays more consideration than he should to the thought of wandering off to lick cold and quickly-spoiling blood off the rocks if it gets him what he needs -- well. In a word, it’s torture.

He counts himself lucky they don’t seem to pay him much mind as he sits apart from them at the campfire. Disguises his eagerness when he offers to take first watch by plastering it over with the shallow fussing they’ve come to expect from him. Says he’d much rather stay up a couple extra hours than be woken in the middle of the night, and anyway, that’s liable to result in someone getting stabbed. Practiced steps in a dance he’s been rehearsing for two hundred years. And if the hunger makes his footwork a little clumsy…no one seems to notice.

It’s agonizing how long it takes them to fall asleep. He hears them shuffling about, tossing and turning for an hour or more between them. The same pulses that taunt him with their song of vitality slow in rest, one by one, until finally, he feels assured that he is alone. As alone as he’s likely to get in this place, anyway.

His first thought is to prowl for any stragglers they may have missed, but this, as perhaps he should have expected, is a non-starter. Tathlyn has the thoroughness of an old hand at warfare -- no loose ends; no witnesses. It’s another thing about him that Astarion thinks he’d find compelling -- possibly even impressive -- if it weren’t the very source of his current discomfort.

In the absence of any still-living veins to tap, he returns to the somewhat less appetizing option of licking the floor. It sends a cold upswell of disgust through him to think that he’s no more than a tenday removed from his life of groveling at Cazador’s knee and he’s already reverting to debasement to get what he needs. He should be better than this. He wanders back to the priestess’ audience chamber -- one of the places that collected the most carnage as they went. The stone here is slick with bloodshed. It’s everything he wants if only he’s willing to get on his hands and knees like a starved dog hunting for scraps.

The thought of it makes him ill. He picks up a loose bit of stone, sticky and red, and eyes it critically. He’s so hungry.

He can’t.

He’s far enough away from their little campsite that he allows himself the satisfaction of hucking the stone across the room as hard as he can. It doesn’t travel nearly as far as he’d like. He’s getting weak. He folds his arm across his mouth and nose, burying his face in the crook of his own elbow to try to escape the oppressive smell. He can’t think like this. He needs to think.

His mind drifts back to his companions, sound asleep at camp under his watchful protection. If he could just get a taste…enough to hold him over until they can leave this wretched place and he’s free to stalk the woods again, he’ll survive. The thought consumes him as he retraces his steps back to the secluded little corner they’ve found. Their sleepy breathing taunts and tantalizes him, overwhelming in its presence at the front of his consciousness.

Another thought seizes him, locking him in place at the edge of camp. One of Cazador’s rules, seared into his brain through centuries of torture. First, drink not the blood of thinking creatures.

It’s not meant to be a spur, but for the first time in his undead memory, it feels like one. If he can do this…all the more proof that he’s truly free of Cazador’s yoke. Suddenly he needs it. More than just to sate his hunger, he needs to know whether he’s capable of such a fundamental defiance.

He creeps through camp on a predator’s light feet. In the moment, he doesn’t notice himself making a conscious choice of what tent to enter -- he picks the one that seems the closest -- but later, he will justify the obvious risk with the claim that Tathlyn was the most likely to afford him a quick, clean death if he was caught.

(Even later, still, he will come to find that what really led him to Tathlyn’s tent over anyone else’s was the thought that out of all their assembled companions, Tathlyn was the least likely to hurt him. But for now, that notion is buried deep along with all the other precious little remnants of hope and innocence Cazador couldn’t dig out of him.)

He comes to a stop over Tathlyn’s sleeping form, hovering in momentary hesitation. He no longer has a beating heart but he can feel the ghost of it hammering against his sternum, alight with anticipation and unacknowledged fear.

He’ll be quick, he reasons. Just a taste. Tathlyn will wake none the wiser, and he’ll be rid of this godsdamned hunger, and everyone wins. It’s simple. And still, he hesitates. Lingers. The iron bands of Cazador’s fucking rules hold him fast, though he feels none of the bastard’s magic in the air. He struggles. He wants.

And Tathlyn stirs.

“Shit.”

They make eye contact, briefly, before Tathlyn starts to sit up and Astarion scrambles away, hands up in a sign of peace. Tathlyn’s expression is…well it isn’t anything yet, and that might be more pants-shittingly terrifying than if he’d just jumped straight to anger. At least then, Astarion would know what he’s working with. As it is, he flails for any foothold he can get.

“No no - it’s not what it looks like. I swear.”

He’s not able to iron the panicked desperation out of his voice quickly enough -- and even if he had been, what a stupid thing to say -- and Tathlyn clearly notices. He decides to lean into it instead, pushing his expression of fear just a little more and hoping it covers everything else.

“Enlighten me.” Tathlyn’s tone is just as cool and unreadable as his face. Astarion is a rat scrabbling for purchase on wet slate shingles.

“I- I wasn’t going to hurt you, I…I just needed-” he cuts himself off with disingenuous bluster, trying to find the angle he thinks will keep Tathlyn from driving a stake through his ribs. He remembers the way the man softened when faced with all those desperate, pathetic tieflings and their petty little problems and lets a bit of pleading leak into his tone. Perhaps if he plays the sad, wounded animal, Tathlyn may forgive him, even if he doesn’t deign to feed him. “Well- blood.”

He watches Tathlyn scanning him with a critical eye. Sees the recognition dawn over his face in degrees. It feels the same way watching the sunrise used to. Inevitable and terrifying.

“So you were the one that killed the boar, then.”

It’s the absolute last thing he expects Tathlyn to say, and he has to bite back a hysterical bark of laughter at the absurdity of it. He’s playing a part here -- a pitiful creature, groveling for scraps -- and he can’t afford to break character. His living to starve another day hinges on coercing Tathlyn’s acceptance. He latches onto what he hopes is a lifeline and not a noose.

“Exactly. I’m not some monster -- I feed on animals. Boars, deer, you know- wildlife. Whatever I can get. I just…haven’t had the chance, since--”

“Since we made our move on the camp. Not much wildlife stupid enough to get close.”

Ordinarily, he’d bristle at being interrupted, but he needs Tathlyn to come to a favorable conclusion here, and if finishing Astarion’s sentences is how he’ll do it, Astarion can’t find it within him to complain.

“It’s…been some time, yes.” He lets himself sound humble. Woeful. These, too, are familiar dance steps. If he gives Tathlyn all the power -- bends and submits and makes himself pretty and pitiable -- that lovely little hero complex will rear its ugly head. All he has to do is keep the act up long enough to slip away, sufficiently cowed and likely with a promise to keep his fangs to himself that he does not intend to keep.

Tathlyn is still eyeing him with that look of impartial calculation. It’s not the reassurance Astarion would prefer, but it’s also not a condemnation. His gums throb and saliva pools in his mouth. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t press his luck, but he is very, very hungry, and Tathlyn doesn’t seem at all perturbed. He decides to take a gamble.

“It’s made me…slow. Weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. I’d…I’d be far more use to you when we make our way out of this wretched place tomorrow.”

Tathlyn studies him, expression unchanging. Astarion thinks he might be about to go insane. He throws one final stone on the scale and hopes it’ll tip in his favor.

“Please.”

He lets the syllable come breathy and wanting from his chest. It’s a flirt. A temptation. An excuse for a victim to feel like they're fawning over him -- doing him a service -- instead of giving him exactly what he wants. He’s never used it for this before. He only hopes it measures up to the task.

“...If you had asked me, I might have said yes, you know.”

Again, Tathlyn’s response takes him well and truly by surprise, but he shoves it down into his hollow core and doesn’t let it show. The implied rejection stings, and he lifts his chin, arch and defensive.

“Ask you? And what reason would I have to do that, hm? At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs -- and if not you, Wyll, certainly. No, I needed you to trust me.”

Tathlyn arches an eyebrow in clear disbelief, and Astarion alters course, trying to stay ahead of Tathlyn’s displeasure.

“And you can. Trust me.”

He brings the fear back up. The desperation. Tries to obfuscate his annoyance and pander to Tathlyn’s desire to be helpful. Tathlyn seems to chew on it for a moment, but not to savor. He’s assessing, still. Like a wary animal trying to sense for poison or a trap. Much as he doesn’t want to find reasons to relate to any of these people, Astarion can’t really find it within him to begrudge Tathlyn that particular bit of caution. He’d do the same, if their positions were reversed.

“Alright,” Tathlyn says, eventually, “I’ll hand it to you. You haven’t given me any reason not to…up until this, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Astarion sighs, and his relief is not entirely fabricated.

He hesitates. He could walk away now while he’s ahead and leave the whole thing behind him. He’s fairly confident he’s managed to skate by without doing any irreparable damage to Tathlyn’s trust in him and that in itself is more than he should have expected, getting caught like this. But the fact remains -- he’s ravenous, and Tathlyn is right here. So close he can practically almost taste it. All it would take is another little push.

He needs to taste it.

“Do you…think you could trust me just a little further?” He tilts his head in a passable impression at guileless innocence, which is undercut only slightly by the fact he can’t take his eyes off Tathlyn’s throat. The rest of the words spill out on instinct, but they’re little more than an absent murmur. “I only need a taste. I swear.”

It takes less thought than Astarion expects for Tathlyn to respond.

“Fine.”

For a moment, Astarion feels a bit like he’s just been punched in the chest.

“Really? I-” the words are out of his mouth, dripping shock, before he can stop them. He only hopes his recovery is quick enough to finish the job. “You have my thanks. And my word I won’t take a drop more than I need.”

Perhaps the unprompted reassurance is a bit of overkill, because Tathlyn lifts his brow again and Astarion wants to kick himself. He can’t lose this. Not now that it’s so close.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

He gestures to Tathlyn’s bedroll, hoping repositioning will be enough of a distraction. It seems to work. Tathlyn breaks eye contact for the first time since the conversation started -- and it’s only after his gaze is gone that Astarion realizes how heavy it was -- and returns to the ground, reclining against the spare pillows he’d managed to commandeer from the bandits they’d run across on their first day of travel.

Astarion descends after him, returning almost exactly to the positions they’d assumed before Tathlyn woke. With Tathlyn’s throat this close -- living, flowing blood mere inches of air and delicate skin away -- all thoughts of preamble vacate Astarion’s mind and his focus narrows to a pinprick. He needs this, but more importantly, he wants it. He is going to have it and Cazador can’t stop him.

He closes the distance and bites, and has to fight not to moan as Tathlyn’s blood coats his mouth. Reflexively, he brings one hand up -- the one not bracing against the ground -- to cup the back of Tathlyn’s head; to bring him closer -- get the angle just right. This is different than drinking from animals. There’s power here. Vigor. Is this how Cazador felt, drinking from all those pretty little creatures he’d bring home to his master? He can only imagine it must be.

It’s intoxicating. He can’t bring himself to stop. The hunger rears up in his gut like a living thing -- like a beast -- and demands. More. More.

He doesn’t hear Tathlyn call his name. He’s lost in the sensation of it -- the bliss of giving his body what it so desperately needs. He follows his impulses, lapping at Tathlyn’s neck until the wound dries up only to bite down again, spilling fresh liquid life. Tathlyn’s hands find his chest and for a moment it feels like a lover’s caress.

Then there’s an arm across the base of his throat, pushing against him, and despite the way every cell in his body screams defiance, he breaks away with a gasp. He stumbles back, breathing heavily as he realizes he hasn’t been breathing at all -- too focused on consuming. Tathlyn props himself unsteadily on an elbow, covering the wound with one hand.

He looks…unsteady. Woozy. Suddenly Astarion’s irritation at being cut off shrivels and fades. He can construct a defense for getting a little overzealous while he’s starving, but he doesn’t think the rest of the crew will take too kindly to him killing their fearless leader -- incidentally or otherwise.

“Sorry, Darling,” he pants, “I think I may have gotten a little…swept up in the moment.”

“Get what you need, at least?”

Once more, that strange flutter of warmth alights in Astarion’s chest. With each new visit, it makes itself more and more difficult to ignore.

“I…yes,” he says, keeping things as simple as he can manage, “I feel…good. Strong.”

Tathlyn looks up at him, dazed, and for a moment, Astarion could almost swear he sees a hint of a flush in his cheeks. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the sweet drow looks almost starry-eyed. And wouldn’t that be a treat?

“I’m…looking forward to seeing you fight,” Tathlyn says, enunciation loose and a little stunned.

Astarion can only smile.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he says, “We’ll be slaughtering our way out of this little hole come morning. Speaking of which…I won’t keep you from your beauty sleep any longer. I think it’s about time I woke Shadowheart for second watch, anyhow.”

“...Right. That.” Tathlyn falls back against his pillows with a sigh.

Astarion turns to leave, but pauses at the flap of the tent, one hand on the fabric.

“This is a gift you know,” he murmurs, “I won’t forget it.”

He turns over his shoulder to see Tathlyn already still, eyes closed, either fallen into the grips of his trance or doing a damn good impression of it. It’s possible he hasn’t heard Astarion’s parting remark at all.

It’s possible it’s better that way.

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blackjackkent · 1 month

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Yet another case of Rakha wandering over somewhere and finding people shouting at each other - in this case, several teeth-lings and the druids in the grove.

"Let my daughter go! Right now!"

"She's a thief, hellspawn. And you will wait for Kagha's judgment! Now get back!"

That, thinks Rakha, who didn't even want to be here in the first place except Wyll insisted on it, is the beautiful sound of Not My Problem, and stalks straight on by, ignoring one of the druids turning into a bear and roaring at the refugees.

The druids try to stop her too, of course, but she doesn't think much of it ("If it weren't for me, you'd be overrun by goblins by now," she says curtly. "I'll go where I please.") and it's quite likely there would be a fight, except that one of the druids pipes up with a message from their leader, the aforementioned "Kagha", who apparently wants to speak with them.

Rakha's really only interested in the healer, but the leader might know something about the Halsin that Zevlor mentioned. So she allows herself and her companions to be led into the stone structure that sits at the base of the grove.

As they walk, she looks with considerable interest at the ritual taking place at the grove's center.

The sense of magic here is intense. It moves in pulses and waves across her skin, resonating with her own power, but with a slightly different texture.

"Why is it different?" she asks Gale matter-of-factly.

"The distinction between arcanic and druidic magic is a matter of some academic debate," Gale says, perking up instantly at this question. "Certainly druidic spellcasting draws upon the Weave as surely as you or I do, but the focus of the casting is considerably different, drawing on natural forces as opposed to a learned intellectual understanding of the Weave's facets. In truth it is closer to a school of divinity than arcana - as evidenced by the presence of that idol of Silvanus at the center of this ritual. An elven deity of the wilderness."

It is the most he's said to her since they found Alfira this morning, and she finds she relaxes a little to hear him returning to his usual loquaciousness, even if most of the nuance is lost on her. "Interesting."

"It is, isn't it?"

-----

The inner sanctum of the grove is dark and cool, a sharp contrast to the warm spring brightness outside. Inside... once again, people are shouting, and one of them, unfortunately, is the person Rakha was sent in here to see.

"Please-- I'm sorry!" A young girl - probably the daughter of the refugee outside - is crying out in terror, faced down by an enormous serpent with fangs as long as Rakha's tusks.

Two of the druids are standing next to her.

"This is madness, Kagha!" one of them is saying, with a placating air. "She's just a--"

"A what, Rath?" Kagha snaps back. "A thief? A poison? A threat? I will imprison the devil--" Her eyes flick past Rath's shoulder to lock on Rakha walking into the room. "And I will cast out every stranger," she adds pointedly.

Rakha halts. She barely notices Kagha's pointed glare at first; her eyes are fixed intently on the snake.

Memory - a deep, thick flash of it, unbidden, unexpected. A creature like this, held between her hands, twisted at the mouth delicately against a clear empty glass. The spurt of a dark, stinging liquid.

Narrator: A death viper. You have milked their poison before. A single drop of it could kill that child in a heartbeat.

The beast in her mind stirs curiously, but does not quite rouse. The viper's poison is a clean kill, she remembers. There is no blood. Simple, effective - but uninteresting.

"One of your guards outside said you wanted to see me," she says, not moving her gaze from the snake though she speaks to Kagha. "Here I am."

Kagha shrugs dismissively. "We will speak soon enough," she says curtly. "First, judgment must be passed." She folds her arms, speaks with relish, evidently quite satisfied with the judgment she has decided on. "The parasite eats our food, drinks our water. Then steals our most holy idol in thanks! Rath - lock her up. She remains here until the rite is complete." She bends a little to the girl's eye height and smirks coldly. "And keep still, devil. Teela is restless."

Rath struggles to protest. "Come, Kagha. We took back the idol. Surely--"

"Do it!" Kagha snaps. Her force of personality is overwhelming; Rath is lost by comparison. His shoulders slump, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Rakha's eyes have not left the snake during this entire interchange. She is fascinated by the thread of memory that hangs from it, fragile, indistinct.

Narrator: The snake's hiss of approval reveals its intentions. Should the child struggle, it is poised to strike.

The beast stirs again, stronger this time.

Narrator: The death of a child. A timeless tragedy that never grows old...

The moment hang's on a knife's edge, and it would be so easy to push it over into chaos. A sharp flick of the eyes, a tacit encouragement to the child - run, run! And she would run, but the snake would be faster. Rakha can see images of the serpent striking, the quick impact like lightning, the two matching circles of dripping red... and death, inevitable as the breath that preceded it.

Her heartbeat quickens to think of it. The beast gnaws at her skull. Why do you hesitate?

She realizes that she is caught on another, much more recent memory as well. Wyll, in camp, telling her gravely the story of how he took the name the Blade of Frontiers. A lost child, an orphan, surrounded by goblins who fell under Wyll's blade to save the boy. "But what of the others?" Wyll said then. "The children never saved, the cries never heard? The frontiers demanded a blade, and so I heeded."

It is the only conversation about a child she can remember having, ever, before this one.

Wyll, she is certain, would not wish this child to die. The beast, equally certainly, wants to see her writhe as the poison takes her.

What do I want?

The question is... surprising. Up to now, her every decision not driven by the Dark Urge has been rooted squarely in survival, in the avenue of least resistance. But in this case... whether the child lives or dies has no bearing on her.

So answer the question. What do I want?

What she wants is control. Last night, the beast rose up and fed on Alfira's guts, and she had no choice in the matter before it was all over. But she is awake and aware now. She has a choice here, to ignore the beast, to ignore a death that will not serve her.

And Wyll, who thinks she carries a light alongside her darkness, would not want the child to die.

Your mind wants the snake to kill the child. But your heart doesn't. Snap out of it.

Narrator: Her life matters more than satiating your dark fantasies. You focus... and they're gone. But clearly, this child's life is still in danger.

Her breath catches. The moment of focus... and the beast recedes, grumbles back into silence. She has never stood against it before. She is not sure she knew it was possible.

She realizes she has been standing there with her eyes closed, forces her gaze open. The others can see she looks abruptly shaken in a way they have never witnessed before.

[PERSUASION] "Release her," she rasps out sharply. "I'll see that she stays out of trouble." The words surprise her as they reach her own ears. But it is the fastest way to end the situation, and she wants suddenly nothing more than to be gone from this moment, to have time to think over what just happened.

Kagha glares at her, a muscle working in her jaw, clearly gauging whether she would win, should this come to blows. And something she sees in Rakha's eyes frightens her just enough that she submits.

"Very well," she hisses, like an echo of the snake she commands. "She may go. Break your word, and my serpent shall feed." She snaps a hand out. "Ssifisv - Teela, to me!"

Obedient, the snake crawls from its perch to curl around Kagha's boot. The girl whimpers with fear, watching it curve past.

"Out, thief!" Kagha snarls at her. "My grace has its limits."

With a noise of pure terror, the girl rockets to Rakha's side, taking up a position behind the half-orc's robes.

Rath relaxes visibly. "Thank you, Kagha. Master Halsin would--"

Kagha rounds on him with sudden fury, one hand lifting as if to strike him across the face. "Halsin isn't here," she snaps. "Keep his name off your tongue, lest Teela pierce it."

-----

Arabella, for that is the girl's name, peers up at Rakha as they walk towards the sanctum door. "I-- I didn't think you were gonna help me," she says unsteadily.

Rakha says nothing. She has withdrawn deeply into herself; as they move out of Kagha's line of sight, she pauses and leans against the wall, her eyes half-closed.

"Hey." Wyll halts as well, and without thinking, reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. He's surprised when she doesn't jerk away. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't answer, but gives a short, sharp shake of the head.

None of them know quite what to do with that. After Rakha's cold-blooded murder this morning, none of them are quite in the mood for empathy towards her... and yet she pulled this child from danger, too. And something in all of that has thrown her terribly.

Wyll frowns uncertainly, then withdraws his hand and instead takes Arabella's. "Come on, lass," he says quietly, casting an uncertain look at Rakha. "Let's let her be a moment, and go find your parents."

Rakha does not look up as they walk away. Her gaze is fixed inward, staring at the black place in the back of her mind where the beast lurks. She can feel it staring back at her, cowed for the moment but not beaten. She can feel a shiver down her back as it laughs.

Let the girl live, then. There will be others. There will be so many others...

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #eyyyyyy our first active resist choice! :D #got an inspiration for it and everything #might have to have her and wyll have a chat tomorrow XD #bjk writes her own party banter

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draconscious · 3 months

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TRANQUIL LIGHT.

(DRAGON CYCLE DIARY | STONE FANGS → SHATTERED HEIGHTS → CALM WATERS → TRANQUIL LIGHT → ?)

An untroubled mind Dwells in perfect harmony With a peaceful heart.

Aside from the waves slapping against ancient rock--a primordial, natural heartbeat--the Dragon's Den rests in shadowy silence, its wyrms slumbering deeply beneath the oily-black waters. Torches and lanterns throughout the sacred expanse have all been extinguished for the evening, except for one.

The lantern illuminating the dragon shrine flickers resolutely amidst the murk, maintaining its timeless watch over the Clan's sanctum. Wicked mountain winds scream from outside, but this insulated space has long maintained its warmth even in the harshest Blackthorn winters. (Tiny hot springs dot the cavern lake's isolated perimeter, little pools that steam and bubble and contribute to the Den's mystical atmosphere...)

Clair lets out a groan of relief as she sinks into one of these springs, the water almost burning her shivering shoulders. The temperature is intense, but--right now--it's just what she needs. A torch flickers beside the natural basin, revealing a sopping-wet cape and snow-caked boots...

Mountain patrol was hard today. The range ate them all alive, a maelstrom of ice and gusting snow and tragedy. Dratini are so helpless. They don't know any better. Those who do not hibernate simply freeze, or slither into forgotten traps...

Clair feels every ache, even as the tension and knots drain from her overtaxed shoulders. The prideful Gym Leader trains all year for this moment--the ultimate test of Blackthorn's dragon stewardship--but it's never easy. She is so tired. Always tired these days, but pushing onward. She has to.

This winter has been brutal, blinding conditions making travel almost impossible. Clair has withdrawn into herself, prior plans withering on a frostbitten vine. She hasn't spoken to non-tamer folk in months, and their collective attitude--it weighs and grates on her. So much arguing. So much arrogance.

She'd yelled at Mike and Paolo today, up on the mountain. A simple disagreement turned into something more feral, and Clair felt the familiar snap of dragon's rage within her psyche. Suddenly, she was screaming herself hoarse against the bitter winds, and two of her strongest Gym Trainers wasted little time abandoning the patrol in a huff. She spit after them, primal and ferocious. Good riddance. Never needed you. Not strong enough to keep up.

Clair curses under her breath. Fran is going to give her such an earful tomorrow...

The spring bubbles away, the Den is near-silent, and Clair can feel herself healing within this rare moment of solace. Within this slice of time, she doesn't hear any bickering voices, doesn't feel the weight of a Dratini wriggling in her arms, doesn't have to bear the Blackthorn wind cutting into her features...

The heiress has never felt more at peace. She has also never felt more lonely. Another double-edged sword, bestowed upon those who dare to stand tall against the untamable storm...

Winter shrieks outside, and in a few hours, the Den will once again be at the mercy of its temperamental inhabitants.

In this fleeting moment of tranquility, Clair will take what she can get.

#dragon cycle drabble #(felt so good to write another entry to this. been three years since the last hehe)#(hope the wait and read are worth it to some!! felt like i had to sit down and just WRITE it. the longform stuff is always special to me)#(clair is having a tough winter. but with this...i think shes back :) )

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tabitha42 · 9 days

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The Wizard's Apprentice - Chapter 4

Saffron is just a lowly apprentice with barely a successful firebolt to her name. So what chance does she have with the arch mage she's slowly falling in love with?

Gale x Tav, slow burn, eventual smut

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The grove had quite a charm to it. It probably would have been a beautiful place, if everyone there didn’t have such an uneasy air about them. Wyll explained the situation further as he led them deeper into the grove - how the druids had become less welcoming of the tieflings since Halsin left with the adventurers, even before they’d known he’d been captured. Kagha was quick to sink her claws in, and now because of her they didn’t let any outsiders into the heart of the grove. That was why he hadn’t been able to seek this healer himself yet, he wasn’t allowed in. But he hoped now that they’d fought off a goblin attack, maybe they’d be granted an audience. The whole thing seemed very off to Saff - most druids were very welcoming of visitors, and would brave the dangers of helping those in need. This Kagha seemed to go against all that.

As they descended the stone steps, they heard shouting. A couple of tieflings demanding to be let in - seemed the druids had their child. The whole argument ended with a roar of a wildshaped bear. Again, an unexpected turn of events for druids - holding children captive wasn’t usually an approach druids would take.

At first they were denied entry, as Wyll had suspected. That was, until it transpired that Kagha wanted to see them. They headed further in, past a group of druids performing some sort of ritual. Saff paused and watched the flow of magic from the druids’ hands to the statue, wondering what it was they were doing. She quickly hurried to catch them up though as they approached the great stone door into the inner sanctum.

The breath caught in Saff’s throat as she saw the scene playing out inside. A terrified child, cowering as a snake coiled its way towards her.

“Please, I’m sorry!” she begged the two druids standing over her, a man and a woman. “This is madness, Kagha!” the man insisted. “She’s just a-” “A what, Rath? A thief? A poison. A threat?” The woman spat back. “I will imprison the devil. And I will cast out every stranger!” The snake hissed as it moved towards her. Saff knew well enough what that snake was, and what would happen if it bit her - which it looked poised to do if the child ran. As she looked back to the child a terrible realisation came over her as she saw the child’s eyes darting round, looking for an exit, ready to run.

“Wait!” she called out, before even realising what she was doing. Then all eyes in the room were on her. “Th-this isn’t right. Druids should cherish harmony. Imprisoning a child, that’s not right, that’s not balance!”

Tension hung in the air. All eyes fell to Kagha now, who seemed to stare into Saff’s soul… til finally she relented.

“Very well, you’re right. Go, child - tell them how merciful I’ve been to you. Teela, to me!”

The girl nodded and quickly scurried out of the room as the snake returned to Kagha’s side.

The three of them breathed a sigh of relief, especially Saff. Wyll walked forward to talk to Kagha while Gale hung back and spoke to Saff.

“Nice one! I’m not sure even I could have convinced her out of that,” he said, prompting a laugh and head shake from Saff. “And you said you wouldn’t be able to talk us out of fights,” he added, giving her a smile and a playful nudge. He then looked back at Kagha as Wyll spoke to her. “That woman has more venom in her heart than a snake does in its fangs, but at least the child is safe. What is youth if not a time to be forgiven for one’s transgressions?”

“Or if not forgiven, at least not imprisoned and potentially killed!” Saff agreed. “That snake… it was about to strike, I swear. All for what? Some idol?” She shook her head. “It’s ridiculous…”

“Couldn’t agree more. The girl wasn’t innocent, but she didn’t deserve all that.” Saff looked over as Kagha spoke, noticing as she glanced up at her for a moment, before looking back to Wyll. “I don’t get it,” she said quietly, not wanting to be overheard. “This isn’t… right. Druids aren’t like this. There’s something strange going on here.”

“Hmm… we’d better keep our eyes and ears peeled then, look out for any signs of strange goings on,” he said, watching now as Wyll left Kagha and headed back up to them. “So? What did she want?” he asked as Wyll reached them. He sighed deeply.

“She plans to kick all the tieflings out and wants us to escort them to Baldur’s Gate. I told her we couldn’t possibly escort them all, she said then the tieflings shall die on the road.”

“Gods, she truly is a monster,” Gale muttered. “There’s gotta be some way to convince her…” Saff started, but Wyll shook his head.

“I tried, she’s not hearing it. She did say we can see Nettie now, though,” he said, the one piece of good news in all this.

Unfortunately the good news didn’t last long as they soon learnt Nettie couldn’t help them. But she did at least decide against secretly trying to kill them, as she had apparently been planning after hearing they were infected.

The three of them looked at the bottle of wyvern poison in Wyll’s hand as they headed out, given to them under the promise they would use it if they started to feel themselves transforming.

“A bleak outlook…” Gale murmured.

“Guess we’re back to purification,” Saff said, realising Lae’zel’s words earlier had come true. Wyll sighed and put the bottle away.

“Let’s think about that later. For now we’d best speak to Zevlor about Kagha’s offer. He may have some ideas about what we can do.”

On their way out they ran into the girl’s parents. They thanked them dearly for saving Arabella, particularly Saff. Gale watched proudly as they presented Saff with an enchanted locket as thanks. He knew Saff had critically low confidence in her adventuring abilities, and he hoped this might boost that a bit. It hadn’t been combat, sure, but being a good adventurer meant more than just fighting. Saff happily put it round her neck, looking at Gale with a big, proud smile. The enchantment may be of little use to her, but the locket had a far deeper meaning to her, a symbol of her first victory as an adventurer. Soon they were on their way again.

It turned out Zevlor did have some ideas, but they didn’t sound much more doable than escorting the whole tiefling group all the way to Baldur’s Gate.

“Take out the goblin leaders??” Saff gasped as they headed back to meet up with Lae’zel and Astarion.

“That’s what he said,” Wyll answered with a small shrug. “And he’s right. If we take out the leaders the goblins will scatter. It’s probably the most viable option we have if we are to help them.”

“A tall order, but I think we’re up to the task,” Gale said confidently. Wyll seemed to match his confidence, but Saff less so.

Lae’zel and Astarion were waiting for them by the time they got back. Astarion was the first to speak as they approached.

“Judging by the grim looks on your faces, I’m guessing the healer couldn’t help?”

“Sadly not,” Wyll confirmed. “Ch’k, just as I said. Do you believe me now when I say purification is the only way?” Lae’zel demanded. There was a moment of silence.

“Nettie said Halsin might be able to help…” Saff suggested, but that was met with a scoff from both Lae’zel and Astarion.

“Well it’s too bad he’s not here right now,” Astarion said, sounding bitter that everything seemed to be adding up against them.

“And even if he was, he wouldn’t be able to help,” Lae’zel added.

“What about you two then? Did you find out where this creche is?” Wyll asked, and finally a smile came to Lae’zel’s face.

“Yes! North east, near the mountain pass. We should head there at once.” “The mountain pass? That’s a good few days’ walk from here,” Wyll warned.

“Then we’d best get started now,” Lae’zel replied, undeterred.

“A dangerous walk, too,” Wyll continued. “Particularly with all these goblins running round…”

Gale and Saff glanced at each other, realising where this was going. Lae’zel narrowed her eyes at him, sensing a hidden motive here.

“What are you getting at, istik?”

“The mountain pass is miles from here. But the goblin camp is close. If we take out their leaders and scatter the goblins, it will make our journey safer.” Lae’zel looked shocked and Astarion nearly gagged at the suggestion.

“You want to take on a whole horde of goblins??” he gasped, but then paused and reconsidered. “Actually, that does sound kind of fun…”

“Fun?? We are not here for fun!” Lae’zel spat angrily. “And we are not here to take out goblins or help refugees. We should focus on the tadpoles.”

“If we kill the goblin leaders, we may also free Halsin. And like Astarion said earlier, we should consider all avenues,” Wyll argued, gesturing towards Astarion, who was now receiving another glare from Lae’zel.

“Kaincha! We will transform while the lot of you waste our time with these pointless endeavours!”

“You can head to the mountain pass yourself, if you prefer,” Wyll offered, sure that would be enough to get her on side. It worked, though she wasn’t happy about it. She had half a mind to go it alone, but she knew navigating these lands and facing their threats on her own wouldn’t be easy.

“Very well, but this better not take long. We only have a few days.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to become a mind flayer any more than you do,” Wyll assured her. “We should gather supplies and head to your camp, we can make plans there.” “Ah yes, then you can meet Shadowheart,” Gale said. Wyll looked at him and paused.

“Sh… Shadowheart? That’s… someone’s name?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Astarion agreed as the group began to head towards the trader to get supplies. “Her parents never gave her a chance…”

They purchased what supplies they needed and had one last look round the grove for anything useful or to see if anyone else had any other leads. They found out about a relic called the Nightsong that the adventurers had been searching for, met a group of siblings and convinced them to stay and help the rest of the tieflings and helped a bard write a song. Sadly though, no more leads on potential tadpole cures.

Back at camp, Shadowheart sat in front of her tent, turning the artefact over and over in her hands.

“There must be some way to… open it…” she murmured to herself, frustratedly pulling at the corners and tapping at the faces. She’d been fiddling with it all day and nothing seemed to make any difference to it. Finally she heard voices in the distance and quickly hid the artefact away, standing to greet the others as they returned. Her eyebrows raised as she saw another member with them. “I see our group has grown,” she commented as they entered the camp.

“Ah, you must be Shadowheart! I am Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers,” he announced proudly. Shadowheart didn’t look too impressed.

She also wasn’t impressed by their suggestion to take on the goblin leaders, but ultimately agreed to it when it was pointed out there may be a druid there who could help them. It seemed she didn’t have very much faith in this creche idea at all. She was at least happy with the supplies they’d bought back with them, allowing them a bit more comfort in their otherwise meagre camp. The group kitted out their tents a bit more and drew up plans over dinner. Everything was going quite smoothly, until the decision of who should go and who should stay at camp.

“The way I see it, the solution is obvious,” Gale said, his tone firm enough to break the arguing that had been happening up to that point. “Wyll has to go, he is the only one who knows the way. Astarion has to go, he is the only one stealthy enough to make a good scout-”

“Ugh, another day on the road? My feet could barely handle today,” Astarion moaned. “Come now Astarion, you said it would be fun! Plus, believe me, my feet are hurting more than yours,” Gale argued. Astarion huffed and folded his arms.

“I suppose killing some goblins will be fun…” he relented after a few moments. “That’s the spirit! Now, Shadowheart should go as we need to swap everyone out each day to make sure people are rested, and you will need a healer. Finally, Lae’zel should go as she knows the most about our condition, should Halsin need more information.”

“So you two conveniently get to stay at camp together all day?” Astarion teased, nodding to Gale and Saff.

“We will both join the day after. You can rest then, Astarion,” Gale offered, trying to deflect from the obvious implication Astarion was making.

“How kind of you,” he gushed, even more sarcastic than usual.

“Enough. The plan is made,” Lae’zel declared. Quite honestly she was glad for Gale’s suggestion - she’d seen what happened at the goblin fight, and she didn’t want to be taking on such a dangerous task with someone who couldn’t hold their own in a fight. She hoped Gale might take the time to teach Saff some useful spells. Astarion was pretty sure Gale was planning to take the time to do something quite different.

With that the group finished dinner and went their own ways for the night. Gale, Saff and Wyll chatted together as they did the washing and prepared any leftover food for storage, not noticing Astarion looking just a bit annoyed that there didn’t seem to be any interesting drama between them. Once they were done Wyll said he must be off to get some rest for the day to come, leaving Gale and Saff alone together.

“Now, don’t go thinking I’ve forgotten my promise earlier,” he said to her. “Time for our first lesson, if you’re still up for that?”

“Been looking forward to it all day,” she replied with a playful smile.

#gale #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav

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halsinsbiceps · 8 months

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A Great and Sudden Change - Chapter 3

AGaSC Chapter 3 is up on AO3!

I'm taking the next several days to recover. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!

As always, feel free to comment or send me a message.

Fic under the cut.

A Great and Sudden Change

Chapter 3

The worst thing about most druid circles, Enelya thought, was that there were rarely any doors to slam when one was angry.

The large door in front of them slowly sank into the ground, stone grating against stone. The druid who hit her - Jeorna, she had heard someone harshly whisper - glanced back at her anxiously as they waited. Enelya kept her mouth set in a grim line and stared at the stone door, willing it to open more quickly.

Finally the opening became wide enough for her to pass through without tripping. A gust of cool, dank air met her as she surged ahead of Jeorna. It was customary for guests to be announced when entering the inner sanctum of any circle, but given the circumstances, Enelya decided that custom had already been forsaken here.

The harsh words of an unintelligible argument reached her as she descended a staircase into a dimly lit sanctum. A group of druids stood gathered around a large stone table, pointing fingers and bickering. Enelya reached behind her to pull her quarterstaff from her back as Jeorna stumbled past her.

“First Druid Kagha-” Jeorna’s announcement was cut short by a sudden crack as Enelya struck the butt of her quarterstaff against the stone floor. All eyes were on her then. Some were confused; most were annoyed.

“Who among you has invoked the Rite of Thorns?” Enelya demanded. Her voice echoed through the stone chamber. She searched the faces around the table, and when no admission came, she pounded her staff on the floor again. “Speak!”

A slender red-haired woman stepped forward then, her pale green eyes narrowing at the intrusion. A scar trailed over the bridge of her nose onto her right cheek. “I am First Druid Kagha,” she said, her voice pitched low in anger. A red snake slithered around her ankles and bared its fangs at Enelya with a hiss. “Who do you think you are, bursting into our chamber like a petulant child? Have you no decorum?”

Enelya stepped forward until she was nearly toe-to-toe with Kagha. The viper at her feet reared back to strike, but Kagha stayed its attack with a wave of her hand, her eyes never leaving Enelya’s face.

“Decorum?” The word practically dripped with the disdain in Enelya’s voice. She cocked her head as she crossed her arms. “I have no obligation to decorum for those who commit sacrilege against the Oakfather and his creations. What is the meaning of your actions?”

“And I do not need to justify the protection of my people, my home, to a stranger.” Kagha tipped her chin up in challenge; Enelya noted with some satisfaction that the woman stood several inches shorter than her.

Jeorna appeared at Kagha’s elbow. “I present Enelya, agent of the Emerald Enclave, druid of-”

“Ah.” Kagha sneered and stepped back on one foot, a move that made Enelya bring her staff in front of her defensively. “Halsin mentioned someone from the Emerald Enclave would be arriving. He also said you would not be here for a ten-day or more.”

Enelya paused as she realized the precarious nature of the situation, and chose her next words carefully. “I was able to arrange…alternative transportation.”

Kagha's eyebrow arched slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but Enelya cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"My business is my own; yours is not. As an envoy of the Emerald Enclave, I find you in violation of the tenets set forth by our order. What have you to say in your defense?"

Kagha threw her arms out from her sides angrily. "Look around you! Our grove is infested with parasites, and not only that, they have brought danger to our doorstep! Harpies, goblins, bugbears, worgs…they benefit from our generosity while we wallow in the mire they leave in their wake. What more defense do I need?"

"The tieflings are not to blame for-"

Kagha laughed; a dry, humorless sound that gave Enelya pause. "These are no mere tieflings. They come from Elturel, a place dragged down and touched by the Hells.Their presence here is a scourge.” Kagha’s scowl deepened. “You know the teachings of Silvanus. 'A disease of the flower must not reach the root. Pluck the petals. Sever the branch if you must. But cut out the rot before it infects the whole of the wood.' How do you not see?"

"Even the hardiest of plants face disease from time to time, yet they are able to overcome without interference,” Enelya replied. “This rite will disturb the balance. We’ve seen it happen time and again!"

“Balance is a myth!” Kagha spat. Her eyes took on a frenzied sheen. “Where any clan treads, nature struggles.”

Icy dread slid down Enelya’s back at Kagha’s declaration. She’d read those same words herself, enough times that they were etched deep in her memory - the doctrine of the Shadow Druids, words as dark and twisted as the methods they used to keep civilization at bay. Her palms itched at the sudden realization, willing her to use her magic against the woman in front of her.

She’s one of them, a tiny voice whispered from the deepest recesses of her mind.

Kill her.

Enelya swallowed thickly and gripped her staff until her knuckles stood out white against her skin, pushing the murderous thoughts away. She spared a glance at the other druids as Kagha continued to rave. Most nodded their heads in agreement with Kagha's words; only two did not. One, a man wearing an antlered headdress similar to Jeorna's, locked eyes with her. She could sense his unease even from across the room, his eyes boring into hers with what could only be disapproval. Next to him stood a tattooed Gold Dwarf, her hair bound back by a thorny circlet. Her eyes remained fixed on Kagha.

Enelya regained her composure and shook her head. "You may twist His words into whatever meaning you wish, but the tieflings are not to blame for these attacks. I am not unsympathetic to your fears, Kagha. My own circle is hardly a paragon of acceptance, but this is madness!"

As if to punctuate her statement - or perhaps condemn it - angry shouting rang down from above. Enelya turned to see two druids dragging a young tiefling girl down the steps by her arms.. She twisted in their grasp, her bright orange eyes flashing indignantly.

"Let me go!” she exclaimed. “It's just a stupid chunk of wood!"

They pushed past Enelya and threw the girl at Kagha's feet. "This little wretch just tried to steal the Idol of Silvanus," one of them said.

Enelya’s gaze snapped back up to Kagha. The woman was looking directly at her, a smug smile warping her lips.

Dammit.

"Is that so?" Kagha reached down and snatched the girl's chin into her hand, squeezing hard enough to make the child gasp in pain. "I hope a 'stupid chunk of wood' is worth losing a hand over, thief."

"Kagha!" The man in the headdress stepped forward. "If you harm her, the tieflings will rise up against us. Tensions are-"

Kagha rounded on him, eyes blazing. "I dare them. The viper is ready to strike, Rath. I will protect my brood." An idea seemed to come to her then; she straightened with a frighteningly calm smile.

"In fact, that's what I will do. Teela, come."

The snake slid up Kagha's leg, around her waist, and twisted onto her arm. Kagha knelt back down to the tiefling girl, whose eyes widened in fear as the snake poised itself over Kagha's open palm.

"This is Teela," Kagha said softly. Her eyes glinted coldly. “Be still, devil, or she will sink her fangs into your flesh.”

The girl whimpered, her eyes fearful as she gazed up at the snake.

“Enough of this! Kagha, she’s terrified!” Rath dared not step closer.

“As she should be!” Yet Kagha stood, murmuring to the snake around her wrist. Teela slithered back up her arm. “The devil will remain here until the rite is complete. We will cast out the others, and then we will decide her fate.”

“Oh, the Hells she will!” A ball of flame licked to life in Enelya’s palm as she glared at Kagha. “You have worn out my patience. If you or that serpent touch a hair on her head, I swear to Mielikki, there will not be anything left of you to bury.”

The guards flanking the tiefling girl pivoted to face her; behind Kagha, there was a sudden scramble as daggers were pulled from their sheaths and staves were snatched from their resting places.

For a long moment, no one dared breathe. A heavy blanket of tension dropped over the room, threatening to smother them all. Kagha’s eyes pierced into Enelya’s, brimming with anger. The tiefling, sensing an opportunity, scrambled backwards to hide behind Enelya. She could feel the child’s warm hands grip her robes.

Finally, Kagha spoke.

“Get out,” she spat. “Take the devil with you. Spread word of my mercy.” She fixed her gaze on the girl cowering behind Enelya. “Tell your devilkin they are no longer welcome. You have until sundown to leave. Any stragglers will be pierced by thorns.”

Enelya extinguished the fire in her hand and reached behind her to grip the girl’s shoulder, keeping her eyes on Kagha. “Come,” she said softly. The child grasped her hand as they moved toward the stairs. Before they were out of sight, Enelya shot one last look at Rath. She could see everyone’s eyes were on her, but he and the woman next to him did not look angry.

They looked fearful.

Outside the sanctum, Enelya breathed deeply. The child still clung to her hand, silently looking up at her with flame-filled irises. Enelya smiled and crouched in front of her, taking both her small hands into hers.

“That could have gone better. Are you hurt?” she asked quietly. The girl shook her head, the braids in her auburn hair shaking back and forth.

“No.”

Enelya gave her a once over anyway, turning her face this way and that and raising her arms above her head. Outside of a couple fresh bruises and days-old scrapes, she was physically fine. The tremor in her limbs gave away the state of her nerves, though.

“You must have been very scared.” Enelya passed a glowing hand over the girl’s face. Her eyes widened in surprise, but the tremor in her small body ceased. Enelya grasped her small arms.

“Better?”

The girl nodded.

“Alright.” Enelya stood, gently guiding the child to the stairs leading out of the grove. “Let’s get out of here…”

A frantic scream pierced the air, a blood-curdling shriek that nearly made Enelya’s heart stop beating.

“ARABELLA!”

The girl pulled free from Enelya and ran ahead. “Mum!” she cried.

A mother’s cry; a sound that was the same in all walks of life. Enelya placed a hand over her chest to calm her heart as it hammered a staccato beat against her ribs.

At the base of the stairs, a tiefling woman struggled against a druid guard’s staff. “Get off me! Arabella!”

A tiefling man with dark hair pulled the woman back just as Arabella slipped between the guards and crashed into her legs. The family collapsed into each other in a tangled heap.

As Enelya neared, one of the guards scoffed. “They just let her go?!” they said incredulously.

She shot them a withering glare. They returned the look, but moved away, pulling the other guard along to continue their conversation elsewhere.

“What were you thinking?” Arabella’s mother was holding her at arm’s length now, her cheeks stained with salty tear tracks. “You could have been killed!”

“I’m fine, Mum! I just wanted to stop the ritual,” Arabella replied. She wriggled out of her mother’s grasp. “You said you wished the idol would just disappear!”

Her mother closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “That didn’t mean I wanted you to make it disappear! Gods, Arabella…some things you don’t need to take so literally.” She looked up at Enelya as she stood. “Thank you,” she said. Her eyes flickered with relief. “If you hadn’t been there…”

Enelya raised a hand and gave her a reassuring smile. “Please, it was no trouble.” She paused. “A bit intense, but I’m glad it worked out in our favor.”

The woman shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. “That’s Arabella in a nutshell. Intense, but it usually ends well enough.” She held out her right hand. Enelya took it in hers; the skin of the woman’s palm was warm and damp. “I’m Komira. This is my husband Locke.”

The man nodded and gripped Enelya’s hand in turn. “Thank you for getting our girl out of there.”

“I’m Enelya. And truly, I'm just glad I could help."

Just then, Zevlor came hurrying down the path, sighing with relief when he saw Arabella standing next to her father.

“Thank the Gods. I feared the worst when I heard what you did, Arabella. I hope your parents give you a good talk about how your actions can affect others.” He gave Komira and Locke a pointed look before turning to Enelya, his face grave. “I didn’t think anything else could go wrong, yet here we are. Aradin and his team are back. Goblins followed them, but we were able to fight them off with your crew’s help.”

“I’m afraid my news isn’t much better,” Enelya admitted. “You have until sunset to leave the grove. Arabella’s…antics were well intentioned, but poorly timed. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, Zevlor.”

Zevlor nodded. “I see. It’s not what I’d hoped, but I appreciate your efforts.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I doubt the goblin attack will win us much favor.”

"Highly unlikely.” Enelya sighed and rolled her shoulders. “Well, no use in standing around then. Let's rally the troops."

Zevlor hesitated. "There's…more."

"Of course there is." Enelya couldn’t help the bite of frustration that tinged her words. Zevlor gave a grim chuckle, then grasped her arm and gently led her away from Arabella and her parents.

Once they were out of earshot, Zevlor released her elbow. Enelya crossed her arms and looked at him questioningly. His brows knit together in consternation as he returned her gaze.

"Halsin didn't make it back."

*****

Enelya found her companions just outside the Grove's gate, sifting through goblin bodies and piling them against the cliff. The metallic scent of blood was thick, lingering where it had soaked into the soil.

She approached them as they finished. "Seems I missed the excitement," she said. Shadowheart scoffed as she tossed a helmet onto the pile.

"The tieflings wouldn't have made it if we weren't here. They are definitely not fighters."

"Indeed," Lae'zel agreed. "I was nearly inclined to fight against them, to put them out of their sorry existence.”

"Ah, but you didn't!" Gale appeared next to Enelya. He was stripped down to his undershirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His purple robe was carefully folded and laid on a nearby rock. "After some light encouragement, you joined the fight against evil, albeit a bit grudgingly, and we prevailed. You’ll be brought to the light yet, Lae’zel."

The gith made a disgusted noise in her throat.

"Well, thank you, in case Zevlor hasn't said so already,” Enelya said. “These people have a rough road ahead of them, I'm afraid."

"That doesn’t sound good. What happened in the grove?" Shadowheart asked. Her bangs stuck to her sweaty forehead.

Enelya filled them in on what happened with Kagha and Arabella, as well as her discussion with Zevlor afterwards. "I told him about the ruins we found last night. We think it would be a good place for them to hunker down for a few days."

Astarion eyed her suspiciously. “What happens after a few days?”

As disinterested as he might seem at times, Enelya was beginning to realize Astarion was incredibly perceptive.

“Hopefully, Halsin’s return,” Enelya said. She scuffled her shoes against the stones at her feet. “I’ve volunteered to infiltrate the goblin camp, find Halsin, and get him out. The rest of you are free to do whatever you choose. But the tieflings need a safe haven, protection from the goblins, and that’s not going to happen unless Halsin is here. So…I’m going to get him.”

“That’s suicide!” Shadowheart exclaimed. “Halsin could be dead for all you know.”

Enelya nodded, her eyes still focused on the ground. “I’m aware of that possibility. Aradin said he fell behind…but I find that incredibly unlikely. Halsin is an experienced fighter, and he can shapeshift into whatever form he chooses. Even if he was overwhelmed, he could have easily gotten away.” She paused briefly before continuing. “I think he got captured on purpose.”

The group stood silently for a moment, taking in the gravity of her words.

“Well…shit,” Astarion muttered.

"....why, though?" Shadowheart wondered aloud.

Enelya sighed - Gods, she'd been sighing a lot lately - and dragged her eyes back up to look at them. “There’s no point in speculating his reasoning, if that's even what happened. Right now we need to get the tieflings out of the grove. That is, if you’re all willing to help.”

Gale immediately stepped forward. “What do we need to do?” he asked.

Enelya looked at him in surprise, then at everyone else. Shadowheart frowned, but nodded thoughtfully.

"They did help us. I suppose one good turn deserves another."

Lae’zel and Astarion both looked less than pleased, Lae'zel's eyes narrowing at Shadowheart's words.

“What makes you so keen to help these ‘teeth-lings’?” she asked.

A sudden, undignified giggle slipped free from Enelya's mouth before she could stop it. She clapped a hand over her mouth as the others stared at her. Lae’zel’s frown deepened.

“I’m sorry. That was…” Enelya's apology was interrupted by another giggle, this time not her own. Shadowheart pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Her green eyes sparkled with mirth.

Gale chuckled then as well. “You do know it’s not nice to make fun of others for lack of knowledge, don’t you?” he asked. His tone was good-natured as he turned to Lae’zel. “It’s ‘tieflings’. Ffff.” He placed his upper teeth on his lower lip and blew through them to make the sound.

Lae’zel rolled her eyes. “Regardless of the pronunciation, my inquiry stands.” She fixed her gaze on Enelya again. “Why are we helping them?”

Enelya tried to think of an eloquent answer; something to inspire her companions and stir their hearts. Words came slowly, and her bones began to ache with weariness. She shrugged and said, simply,

“Because they need help.”

Gale clapped his hands together. “Hear hear! Nothing like a little charity work to strengthen our bonds! Now. Where would you have us?”

They all looked at her expectantly. Enelya realized they were waiting on her instruction, as if she were in charge.

….she was in charge, wasn’t she.

“Right…" She hadn’t given orders in months; the command in her voice felt strange as she spoke. "Shadowheart, you and Astarion go scout out the ruins by the beach. Make sure they’re safe. Gale, Lae’zel, and I will stay here and get the tieflings packed up.”

Astarion held his hands up in protest. “Now, I never said-”

“Come on.” Shadowheart gave his shoulder a push. “You heard the boss.” She shot a smirk back over her shoulder as the pair made their way down the path, Astarion's complaints fading. Lae’zel wordlessly strode away towards the gate. Enelya swore under her breath and moved to follow her, worried how the tieflings would react with her stalking about alone, but a gentle force at her elbow held her back. She turned to find Gale grasping her elbow.

“The tieflings will be fine for a few minutes," he said. "Are you okay?”

Standing this close, Enelya could see a faint mark under his left eye. It swirled down his cheek, through his beard and onto his neck before conjoining with a circular mark on his chest. Flame-like wisps trailed from the circle. It wasn’t a tattoo like her own; it seemed deeper, somehow. Part of him.

She tore her eyes away from his chest with a jolt. “Yes, fine. I’m fine…how are you?”

Gale smiled as he released her elbow. “I’m doing quite well, I believe. This has all been a bit of a whirlwind, hasn’t it? Tadpoles and tieflings and goblins, oh my!” He threw his hands up with a laugh.

Enelya also smiled, but it faded as she felt the tadpole slithering behind her eye. It felt like it was stretching, reaching out for Gale. She focused her attention on the sensation and, using her mind, gently pushed into it. It felt like opening a door that had been shut for years, warped and stuck in place, slowly dragging open.

The connection was severed almost before it was made; the door suddenly slammed shut. Her tadpole retreated into her skull as Gale raised a hand to his temple.

“Ahaha…hmm. Please don’t do that again.” Annoyance flashed across his face.

Enelya’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…"

Gale sighed and waved his hand dismissively. "No real harm done," he said. "I apologize for my brusqueness. I'm an old hand at blocking my thoughts from intruders, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating when they try. Just so you know, you need not fish around in my mind for the truth. I will always be honest with you, and in return, I hope I may expect the same from you."

His eyes held an earnestness that Enelya had yet to find that day; perhaps in months. It soothed her worried mind to be told she could trust him…but her past whispered to her to be cautious. Trust was earned through actions, and while she believed Gale, she did not trust him fully.

She nodded. "Of course, Gale. Thank you for understanding."

"Think nothing of it. Even I have been tempted to peek in on other's deepest secrets in my past, using my arcane abilities. This though…" He tapped his forehead. "We should tread carefully."

Enelya nodded in agreement. As they turned to follow Lae'zel, who had disappeared from view, she touched her hand to Gale's arm. "Actually, there is something else you might help me with,” she said as he turned to face her again. “Do you happen to have a Sending spell prepared?"

"I do," Gale said. He sounded a bit wary. "To whom do you need to send a message?"

"A druid in the inner Grove," she replied. "During my run-in with Kagha, I may have discovered something…nefarious that he needs to know about, and I doubt I'd be welcome to go waltzing in there again."

Gale rubbed the back of his neck. "I see…Sending doesn't quite work that way," he explained. "If I'm the one sending, and I don't know the person or what they look like…"

"...then it won't work. Dammit." Enelya sighed. "I could try a bird, I suppose."

"You could also try describing him to me," Gale suggested, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Although I'm not very good with faces. Or hands. I can never get the fingers right…wait." He steepled his fingers against his mouth, suddenly deep in thought.

Enelya waited, shifting from one foot to the other as Gale's eyes glazed over. He was murmuring to himself so quietly even her sharp hearing couldn't pick up the words. After several minutes Enelya was starting to worry the wizard's mind had broken - was that possible? She’d heard of people going mad from magic. She was about to interrupt when he looked up, a beaming grin splitting his face.

"I think I've got it!" He took her hands and led her to the rock where his robes were still folded. Guiding her to sit, he cleared his throat.

"Now, this is just a hypothesis. But, I believe I can use our little passengers to link our minds and send a message to this druid through you. This way your vision won't be muddled by my poor imagination."

Enelya was skeptical. "And you're sure this will work?"

"I am not. There is a non-zero chance that your brain will melt."

She glared up at him. "I don't love those odds, Gale."

"Nor do I, but if it is as important as you say….perhaps you should tell me what you discovered, in case this goes awry. Then I can attempt to contact the druids in your stead."

Enelya pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Gale had a point, but airing her suspicions to an outsider did not sit well with her, well-intentioned as he might be.

Gale sensed her hesitation. “Let me ask you this: whatever your suspicions might be, are they worth risking your life?” His voice was gentle; he knew what he was asking her, and he knew she might not be willing to face such an end.

Her mother’s face rose unbidden from her memory, cold and gray against the flowers surrounding her head as she was lowered into the earth beneath the Grandfather Oak. Her father’s body, burned beyond recognition, was turned to ash by the priests of Mielikki and placed in a carved oak box and placed in her mother’s hands.

An ache blossomed in Enelya’s chest. She had already risked so much, and lost even more, in her fight against the Shadow Druids. But could she allow them to take even more good from the world; more lives?

‘Balance is a myth.’ Kagha’s voice echoed in her mind.

Enelya swore to protect that balance years ago, under the same tree where her parents now lay in eternal rest. She remembered their faces that day, alive and flushed with pride as their daughter took her oaths. It was not a myth. Whether it was the balance of hope and grief or that of nature and civilization, the balances must remain in check.

And she would uphold that oath.

Enelya nodded. “It is,” she whispered.

Gale crouched in front of her. “Alright,” he said softly. He reached out and took her head in his hands. “This is going to be uncomfortable.” He took a breath, then closed his eyes.

She closed hers as well, and felt that same squirming, stretching feeling behind her eye as their tadpoles connected. The sounds of the world around them became muted, as if she’d dunked her head underwater. She felt Gale’s curious presence slip against hers, his voice penetrating her thoughts.

Are you alright?

A shiver ran through her. Yes.

Outside her mind, Gale took another steadying breath.

Good. Now, focus your mind. Picture the person you want to receive your message. When you’re ready for the next step, let me know. His voice fell silent to allow her to concentrate.

She pictured Rath - his gray-green eyes shone against his dark skin as they bore into hers, antlered headdress weighing heavily on his head. His brow was furrowed with fear and anger. Her brain tightened uncomfortably with the effort. Her face contorted against the pain.

Okay, she thought to Gale. I’m ready.

Excellent, Gale’s voice replied. His body shifted closer, his forehead nearly touching hers. The pressure on her brain mounted as the connection between them strengthened. Enelya gasped. Her hands flew up to grip Gale’s arms.

Almost there, Enelya. You can do this. Gale pulled her closer, one hand slipping into her hair to grip the back of her head. Go.

Enelya’s head began to pound as she frantically worked to draft a message. Words sluggishly flew to and from her like drunk bees on a summer wind. A warm wetness gathered in her ears before spilling onto her neck. Gale’s hold on her head tightened.

Finally, she pushed the message into the forefront of her mind.

Rath - meet me at the hollow by ruins after sunset. Bring your dwarf friend. Suspicions about Kagha and Shadow Druids. - Enelya

As quickly as it was done, Gale sent it out of her brain and severed the connection between their tadpoles. Noise rushed back into existence, and Enelya’s mind felt suddenly empty and cold without Gale’s presence swirling around inside it. As she adjusted to the loss of his presence within, however, she became more aware of his physical presence. His body was pressed nearly flush with hers, arms encircling her as if to protect her. His hands still cradled her head. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and she shivered as a wave of weakness came over her. Gale finally pulled away.

“It worked!” he exclaimed triumphantly. Then he swore as Enelya slumped forward. Her hands remained wrapped around his wrists as her head came to rest on his shoulder. “Enelya?” A tinge of panic colored his voice.

“M’okay,” came her muffled reply. Gale heaved a sigh of relief.

“Come on, let me take a look at you.” He gently laid her back on the rock and peered into her eyes. They seemed to roll around in her head as she tried to focus on him, pupils blown wide. Then he gently turned her head, as she’d done with Arabella barely an hour ago. He frowned when he saw a trail of drying blood running down her neck from her ear. He found the same thing on the other side.

“Interesting. A bit of trauma; hopefully nothing a spell and some rest can’t fix,” he said. A blue light pulsed from underneath Enelya’s head as Gale cast a healing spell. Her eyes regained their focus and the pounding in her head stopped. He smiled down at her.

“Well done, you.”

She struggled up onto her elbows. “And you,” she said groggily. She wiped at her ear and examined her bloody fingertips. “Let’s not try that again.”

“As you say.” Gale helped her sit up before running a hand through his dark hair. "It was certainly enlightening, you must admit. I'll have to record our findings, if you wouldn't mind sharing your experience at some future juncture. I’m sorry we couldn’t wait for a reply, but I don’t think you could have lasted much longer without permanent damage.”

He dug around in his robes for a moment before producing a flask. He uncorked it and pressed it carefully into her hand. When she raised it to her lips, she was relieved, but a little disappointed, to feel cool water run into her mouth. She guzzled it down and pulled the bottle away with a satisfied smack of her lips.

“Thank you,” she said. “For the water, and for making sure my brains didn’t completely dribble out my ears.”

Gale chuckled.

“It’s the least I could do.”

She could already feel her strength returning. She slid off the rock, but wobbled as her feet made contact with the ground. Gale steadied her with a strong hand at the small of her back.

“It would be best if you sat for a while. I’ll go find you something to eat.”

“Tsk'va!"

They both looked up to see Lae’zel approaching, carrying a crate.

“Less dawdling, more helping,” she growled. The crate rattled when she dropped it. She crossed her arms and leveled an annoyed glare at them both. Gale’s hand made a hasty retreat from Enelya’s waist.

“Right,” he said. A blush made its way across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Erm…I’ll be back.”

Lae’zel watched him leave, then turned back to Enelya. One eyebrow arched questioningly.

Enelya sighed. “It’s…a long story.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 halsin #halsin #halsin x tav #gale #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll #karlach #astarion

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valthu-um · 1 year

Text

TES Aethestic Playlists (ESO Content Edition)

Do I have too much time on my hands? No, definitely not. Anyway, here’s a continuation of the Elder Scrolls Mixtape project available on Spotify. Pt. I Pt. II (WIP) Dungeons:

Scalecaller Peak

Fang Lair

Lair of Maarselok

Moongrave Fane

Black Drake Villa

The Cauldron

Depths of Malatar

Frostvault

The Dread Cellar

Red Petal Bastion

Icereach

Unhallowed Grave

Ruins of Mazzatun

Stone Garden

Castle Thorn

Bloodroot Forge

Falkreath Hold

Moon Hunter Keep

Trials:

Aetherian Archive

Hel Ra Citadel

Sanctum Ophidia

Maw of Lorkhaj

Halls of Fabrication

Asylum Sanctorium

Cloudrest

Sunspire

Kyne’s Aegis

Rockgrove

Dreadsail Reef

Arenas:

Maelstrom Arena

Vateshran Hollows

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fantasy-so-far · 1 year

Text

Day 7 - Terrible Twos

In the weeks following the Grimm Twins’ second nameday celebration, Lily and Rataskr had their hands full. Not only was Violetta now tall enough to reach the front door’s lock without lifting her brother, but Valerian had taught her, in their own special language, how to disengage it quietly. Even with predatory improvements to his senses, twice Rataskr did not realize the twins had gotten out of the barrow until their echoing giggles resounded from the exterior hallway. He was fast enough to catch them each time, but where he was frightened and frustrated, the twins measured their success by the obscure milestones they explored during their brief escapes. Often, they would return chewing on some foreign bit of lichen or a stone they picked up as they made a run for it.

There was accounting for taste, just as there was no reasoning with two-year-olds.

Rataskr, though able to stay awake and alert without tiring, was not always able to remain home. It was during one of his night trips that he received the most distressing call from his wife.

“Rataskr!” Lily rasped as she ran through the halls of the compound. “I need you to return. Violetta’s gone. She slipped out with Valerian while I was cleaning up baby sick. I found him, he was stuck in a drainage gutter, but no one had seen Violetta. Everyone’s looking, but no one wants to breathe a word of this to Our Patron. Please, return as fast as you can!”

Though still unfed, Rataskr transported himself back to the subterranean compound with little response. He had been mortal long enough to remember fear. His heart shuddered in his chest, unable to pound, and his breath was ragged even though he wasn’t panting. He scented the air near the kitchens, seeking his daughter’s aromatic presence, but found there was nothing. He felt genuine fear at that.

Violetta never voluntarily left her brother’s side.

Frantically and with no regard for the comfort of witnesses, Rataskr tore through the halls, searching ferally for his daughter. Lily offered progress reports, listing off the people she had talked to and the lack of sightings, between weepy sighs and sobs, but the Rataskr was only half aware of her. His search was swiftly becoming a hunt, and his mind was slipping into all the darkest parts of his twisted adaptation.

After exhausting every public space in the inner sanctum and residential tunnels, Rataskr turned his attention to the three unguarded exit tunnels. Though there were no patrols regularly posted in these tunnels, the local parasitic fauna and decaying state was often enough to keep people from traversing the routes. If no guards saw Violetta toddling along, he was left with only those decrepit paths to tread.

And it was at mouth of a webbed mite lair that Rataskr finally found his daughter.

“Violetta!” He shouted.

This call was answered with a squealing giggle as Violetta barely glanced back at him before wobbling faster toward the predator’s cave. A roar of frustration was cut with the chorus of dark magics crackling through space around her. A spray of blood and void buffeted the toddler as Rataskr appeared before her. His eyes glowed and he bared his double set of fangs at her, causing her squeals to become gasping shrieks. Never had she seen her father in such a way.

Was he even her da at all?

His sudden appearance scared her enough that she fell roughly onto her padded backside, scraping the hand that tried to catch her. She raised the other to shield her face as she started to wail and howl in terror.

“What do you think you are doing!?” Rataskr snarled.

He thrust a clawed finger back at the mite cave entrance as he yelled at his daughter, not registering her fear as anything more than a distraction.

Because that is what it was when he hunted.

Fear was a distraction presented by prey who were in denial.

He took a stalking step forward and, finally, when his daughter weakly scrambled to retreat, he recognized himself. He saw himself, as if reflected in the wide, tear-filled eyes of his beloved daughter.

“Oh…Violetta,” he said softly as he dropped to his knees and opened his arms. “Violetta I am so sorry. I was so scared.”

Being only two years old, Violetta didn’t understand his remorse. She didn’t know forgiveness or apology yet. She only knew those primal, instinctual reactions that were practically automated.

For several breaths, Rataskr was sure that once his daughter got her feet under her, she would run again. He knew that he’d have to catch her. Until that moment, though, he was resolved to sit in prostration before her. He couldn’t know if she would remember this trauma, but he knew he would.

When, at last, Violetta managed to get to her feet, she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. She blinked and whimpered as she managed to rub mud over her face. This new struggle and distraction bought Rataskr a few precious seconds.

“Violetta, come here. I will wipe your tears,” he offered, his voice a desperate whisper.

To his genuine surprise, his daughter opened her eyes and immediately walked to him, wailing yet again. She dropped herself into his arms, seemingly still frightened by some monster, but no longer aware that -he- had been that monster. She buried her face into his chest as he closed his arms gently around her and took solace in what he represented. If Lily was the face of guidance, he was the bulwark that kept his family safe.

“Oh, Violetta…I am so sorry. I was so scared,” he repeated.

As promised, he cleaned up Violetta’s face. He peppered her dark crown and stubby ears with kisses, and then finally picked her up to make the trek home. On his way, he called to Lilly.

“Lily-my-love, I have her. She’s alright. A bit scared and likely tired, but I found her. I will be home soon.”

Lily stemmed a tide of questions that rushed in with the wave of relief, and agreed to have a bath run for the twins. Rataskr took his time getting back, dividing the time and his thoughts evenly between comforting his daughter and reflecting on his condition. This only solidified his future self-sacrifice, because in his eyes, he was not fit to be a father to his children.

Monsters didn’t deserve precious things like family, love, or forgiveness.

[Master Post]

#Violetta #The Twins Grimm #An Anthology #2022

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smxmuffinpeddling · 3 years

Text

The first time Benja officially met the infamous Princess Namaari (infamous through his daughter’s repeated grumblings about said princess of Fang), she placed a blade in front of him with her head bowed. Her face is somber and her strong shoulders weighed down by an invisible force.

Chief Benja had sensed this sort of presence before from old warriors or generals that have overseen countless battles. More recently he has caught this presence on his daughter in moments where she thinks he isn’t observing the woman she has become. It made him sad to see these haunting expressions on people so young. The princess of Fang appeared to be burdening herself with more ghosts than most.

“And what would you have me do with this, Princess Namaari,” Benja asked in his most patient tone as he eyed the blade placed on the ground before him. He had a sneaking suspicion based on rumors and Raya’s own stilted recaps of what transpired before and after he was turned to stone. There was a lot to process, but Benja could only make judgments based on what he could see before him.

“As the Chief of Heart, you have the power to punish war criminals,” Namaari responded, eyes still on the ground. Chief Benja sighed from deep within his bones and set aside the tea he brought to share when the princess requested a private meeting with him. She continued, “The talks of peace would go much smoother if the people of Heart received justice for the wrongdoings committed against them by Fang. It would mean the most coming from you.”

“And you think the best way to do this is to offer yourself up for persecution?”

“Healing can't begin if the other tribes feel Fang hasn't paid the price," Namaari reasoned, almost casually. As if she wasn’t offering her young life to him on a platter. "If it helps the people of Fang… of Kumandra,” Namaari corrected herself, resigned to the fate she envisioned for herself. “Then yes.”

“Does Raya know you are here?” Benja inquired out of curiosity. Namaari’s gaze snapped to his for the first time. They held gazes for a moment, guilt creeping up in Namaari’s expression as she looked away.

“No, she doesn’t.”

Chief Benja hummed to himself, stroking his beard in thought. "What you say is not without merit." He busied his hands by setting out the cups for tea. It would be a waste to let it grow cold after all. "I admit, I have been approached by some of my people regarding this very topic.”

Namaari nodded, unsurprised. “Would you prefer to do it publicly then?” Her shoulders seemed to slump even more at the thought.

Benja couldn’t help chuckling morbidly as he poured tea into two cups. “Now you’re just laying it on thick.”

Her brows knit together and her mouth twisted, ignoring the cup he offered her. “I’m serious about this, Chief Benja.”

He responded with a look conveying that he was taking her gravely seriously. “Drink. I made it myself.”

The princess seemed to notice the offering for the first time and accepted it hesitantly. He politely took a sip first and she followed. He allowed his Fang guest to breathe for a moment. “What do you think?”

“I think I should pay for the hurt I’ve caused,” Namaari was quick to answer.

“About the tea, Princess Namaari,” he corrected with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh.” If the princess deflated anymore in front of him, she’ll blow off on the breeze before their meeting concluded. “It’s excellent.”

The smile on his face grew warmer. “Glad to hear it.” They continued to sip until he poured them a second cup.

“Raya told me that you came together to save Kumandra.”

“I did not make it easy for her,” Namaari said, the tea turning bitter on her tongue.

"You were only a child."

"Not the second time," Namaari confessed with a pained expression. The tightness of her knuckles threatened to shatter the cup in her grasp.

He reached for the sword and she straightened at the gesture. The sword matched the one on her other hip. Beautifully balanced, and a lot lighter than what he was accustomed to, he held it respectfully in both of his palms.

“To hate and blame is the easy path. The hardest thing is change and forgiveness.” Namaari’s eyes widened in surprise when he handed the sword back to her. She took it instinctively, a frown pulling the corners of her mouth down.

“Princess Namaari, the punishment you seek will not be carried out by me.”

“I don’t understand,” Namaari protested.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” Benja’s gentle expression crinkled his eyes. The look on her face made it clear she expected insults and then some. “Someone who understands better than most the consequences of their actions. Of how important it is to our people that we come together or we’d fall apart. When I look at you I see hope.”

“Hope?” Namaari tilted her head as if the concept eluded her.

“Hope that the future of Kumandra will be safe in the hands of someone who changed, and grew. Kumandra was a dream of mine, one I realized might have been a naive one that night,” he admitted. “The real work comes now, and we need examples like you to inspire hope in others and lead.”

Namaari opened her mouth to say something but she merely looked down into her reflection on the sword instead, eyes growing wetter. He could see her cheek jump from her gritting teeth and he reached out to lightly grasp her shoulder.

“That is what dragons do,” he made sure to look into her eyes reassuringly. “They inspire light in humans to be better, and in turn, that light spreads to others. I will not extinguish the light growing in you, Princess.”

At that moment, the Fang warrior simply looked like a little girl again, barely holding in her overwhelming emotions. “But how will I atone for my mistakes?” Namaari whispered, lost.

Benja squeezed her burdened shoulder before leaning back, finding his tea grew cold. “My daughter has already passed judgment on you, and I trust her.” His pleasant smile turned into a sly grin. “And something tells me she would not be too happy if she found out you came to me for your punishment.”

At that, Princess Namaari finally made a sound of amusement and her gaze grew a little warmer at the thought. “I suspect not.” The sword was fastened back to her hip and her shoulders did not look as heavy as they did when she approached him. Hands forming a circle, she bowed towards the Chief of Heart and muttered a shy thanks.

The second time Chief Benja met Princess Namaari, her hand rested on her blade’s hilt as they stared each other down.

“I think you have some explaining to do, Princess Namaari.” His grin was sharp, particularly enjoying this. She did not look as amused as he did.

“I’m sorry, Chief Benja,” Namaari’s grip grew white-knuckled but her resolve flashed in her eyes. “But... I’m in love with your daughter,” she said it like it was her greatest sin to date. A sin she looked ready to die for.

Earlier that day as Benja was taking a stroll through Heart’s gardens in a rare moment to himself, he stumbled across quite the sight. He spotted his daughter in an intimate embrace with the princess of Fang. He was surprised but managed to not make a noise, slowly backing up to allow them privacy. However, before he could slip away, he locked eyes with Namaari over Raya’s shoulder. He might’ve laughed at the size her eyes grew in panic, but he was already gone. He felt glad that his daughter was letting others into her heart, even as he tried to push the image from his mind.

The princess evidently did not forget, charging up towards his sanctum with determined steps.

“I know you’ll want my head for daring to overstep my welcome in your home. But I’m serious about her and I don’t care if you doubt my intentions. I won’t ever back down again when it comes to her!” she declared fiercely.

Benja finally broke character when a laugh escaped him and he gave into it. Namaari was visibly confused that Raya’s father wasn’t trying to strangle her right now as he doubled over laughing. It took a few seconds for him to calm down, facing the young woman while wiping a tear from his eye.

“Have you told Raya that you love her?” he asked with genuine curiosity. Namaari’s demeanor quickly changed, from ready for a fight, to flushed and stammering.

“I- no. Not yet.”

A few stray chuckles were still escaping him as he moved towards his weapons chest. “You should. And all that other stuff you just said.”

“You’re… not angry with me?” the other woman sounded surprised. He perused through his collection in an unhurried fashion.

“I’ve told you before that I trust my daughter’s judgment.” He selected one of his new swords made for him after his daughter inherited his last one. “Though there was always one thing that bothered me.”

Namaari brought her guard up again at those words, taking a fighting stance once Benja made a few test swings with his new sword. “What would that be?”

“Raya once told me you were the most skilled fighter she’s ever faced.” His shoulders popped as he rolled them, loosening his muscles. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper challenge besides my daughter, and I’d like to remind her who the fiercest warrior in her life is,” he said with a confident grin.

Namaari visibly gulped but she squared up, drawing her dual-wielded swords to face him. And he felt proud of the fire he saw in her, glad that his daughter chose someone who was not only willing to die for her but to live for her.

The next time Chief Benja and Princess Namaari met in secret, thankfully there were no blades involved. They were sipping tea together in companionable silence, though the Heart Chief could tell the woman was nervous about something.

It wasn’t often she was nervous anymore. Over the years she’s grown to be a capable and charismatic leader, accepting the love that was given to her and giving love in return. Intricate Visayan tattoos spread over her arms and shoulders highlighting the assured way she carried her burdens. Her hair, once asymmetrical, was evenly shorn on both sides of her head, with the hair on top braided down the center. (Raya had told him in her smuggest tone that Namaari mimicked women she admired, even while Raya stared at her beloved from across the room with her dopiest grin. They were so in love Benja had to laugh at their expense.)

“Jade for your thoughts,” he nudged before she lost herself in her thoughts.

She put her cup down and cleared her throat. “Chief Benja,” she started before he waved at her formalness.

“That's Benja to you,” he reminded her not for the first time.

“Chief Benja,” she stubbornly asserted with a smirk. He smirked back. “You’ve always been kind to me. More than I deserved at times, and I have nothing but respect for you.” She took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact with him. “It would be the greatest honor of my life if you extended another kindness and allowed me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Benja regarded her, feeling misty-eyed and bursting with sentiments. His little girls have grown up so fast.

Namaari continued, growing nervous at his silence once more. “In return, I can offer fifty serlot kittens, copies of Fang’s most sacred dragon scrolls, and as much gold and metal every cart in Fang can hold, as well as-” Benja cut her off with a deep laugh and a hand on her shoulder.

“Does Raya know you’re here?” he inquired with a raised brow. This time, she matched his smile.

“She does, actually,” Namaari tilted her head knowingly towards the door, where they promptly heard a muted curse and feet hurriedly walking away at being caught. They shared a chuckle at Raya’s antics.

“Namaari,” Benja’s voice dripped with pride. “There is no one else in Kumandra I trust more with my daughter’s heart.” Namaari’s eyes widened at his words. Even after all these years of fighting for approval, she was still surprised when it was imparted to her. “You have my blessing.” He raised his glass in a toast to them. “I’m only surprised it took you so long to ask!”

Namaari was as relieved and light as he’s ever seen her, glowing from the inside out. “For a long time, I didn’t feel worthy of her. I still don’t sometimes, but…” She placed a hand over her heart. “She still wants me, and I think that’s finally enough.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Benja approved warmly. He rubbed his beard suddenly as a thought occurred to him. “Oh, because I suspect you’ve been dying to hear me say this,” Benja’s expression went from overjoyed to deadly serious in the span of a breath. “If you hurt my daughter I’ll kill you.”

Namaari was surprised for a moment before she smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” They clinked their cups together in agreement.

#i actually did some writing today #raya and the last dragon #ratld #rayaari #namaari #i forget what my writing tag is lol #fic rec

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mtg-cards-hourly · 2 years

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Sanctum of Stone Fangs

Renounce all limits, False chains binding potential. Power knows no bounds.

Artist: Johannes Voss TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$1.32 #johannes voss #sanctum of stone fangs #core set 2021 #legendary #enchantment #shrine

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strxngemxgick · 2 years

Text

@shieldagentnatasharomanoff asked: Natasha leaned against the doorframe of the Sanctum Sanctorums library, watching Dem Strange do whatever sorcerers did. "Did you have a leak? Wong let me in, most of this place looks like a blizzard the Sahara had a pretty terrible date." She quipped. But the Widow wasn't just here to make idle conversation. “If you're finished with what you’re doing, I might need your help or at least a consultation on something."

She set down a jar infront of him, several strangely colored insects flying about. "Shield can't register them, Stark Industries can't either. They just appeared out of nowhere according to an eyewitness a rift opened up and they just flew through it. Could you have a look at them?"

(Hi :) I hope this was alright :)

Meme Random Asks /// Always Accepting

Stephen stilled, startled enough by his unexpected guest that he nearly dropped the hefty pile of snow he had been about to chuck out of the library. His magic faltered, just enough to nearly dump the mound of ice and snow atop Romanoff’s head, a handful of loose snowflakes dropping onto her shoulder. He gave her a look, exasperation bleeding into the mounting frustration he had felt, before he chucked the snow out the door and into the lobby. He drew his hands up to his mouth, blowing into his cupped palms to chase away the chill that tried to seep into his bones before tucking them into the pockets of his threadbare college hoodie. “Something like that,” he mused, regarding her with growing confusion before sending the Cloak her way. The relic, ever considerate, settled on Natasha’s slim shoulders to help provide a barrier from the cold.

It wasn’t often, anymore, that one of the Avengers came to see him. After saving the world from the threat of Thanos, and the Time Stone gone, he didn’t exactly have much to offer in aiding them against their particular brands of chaos. And it was even more rare that they were confronted with his.

He quirked a brow, stepping carefully over ice patches as he met her halfway. “I can make a bit of time,” he assured her, watching with growing interest as she presented her, undeniably, unique issue. Stephen leaned down, taking a peek at the odd little insects flittering nervously in their prison. One of them stopped, plastering itself to the glass. It was no bigger than his pinky nail, but it was still bordering on ferocious when it hissed at him, baring disproportionately large fangs in a threatening, hungry display.

He recognized them almost immediately, if for no other reason than they were completely out of place. “Well, they’re definitely not native, to this universe or even the next over. The feed of the natural radiation of biological entities, and they’ve got a nasty temper.” He frowned, straightening up again before regarding Natasha curiously. “You said they just... popped out of some rift? Suddenly?”

#shieldagentnatasharomanoff #summoned /// answered #across the multiverse /// rp #its wonderful hun #thank you!#i hope this works for a reply :)

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troublesometrollhunters · 3 years

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I had a cool dream last night and so now i’m turning it into a prompt: Trollhunter crew need to journey to a Greek cavern for an important artifact and end up meeting a Gorgon(medusa style)!reader. Gorgon is pretty mellow until Blinky decides now is a time to talk about chopping their head off and not looking in their eyes... so Blinky is the damsel of the day while the others have to calm the diplomatic chaos (over Blinky’s exclamations of ‘please don’t eat me!’ From within the snake coils).

"Do not look directly into my eyes Hunter." You state from the saftey of the shadows.

Feeling the boy jump you laugh feeling the Daylight armor being summoned. Stepping closer to him keeping your eyes down, your snakes hiss flicking out yheir tongues as thet become your eyes. Humming your tilt your head. A human hunter... so the rumors of Merlin loosing his mind were true.

"Jim!" You feel more feet coming, more people and you watch curiously.

Jim the human hunter turns his head away quickly and you snicker.

"I will not hurt you child. And you don't have to look away, I'm not looking at you but I do sense you." You state shifting from the shadows so he can see your writhing hair of snakes. "As long as you do not gaze directly into my eyes you and your friends will be fine." You state and you hear an audible sigh as Jim calms down. Chuckling you turn as you his friends get closer to your cavern.

Your home was under an abandoned temple. There were miles of tunnels but you'd left signs in Greek and Trollish so people could naviagte the labyrinth and not get lost. You didn't like people getting lost in your home. It was bothersome to find them and try to escort them out.

Keeping your eyes to the ground the boys laughs nervously.

"So uhhhhhh... (Y/N)? Right? That's what the locals called you. What the signs say." Nodding Jim seems happy he got your name correct. Smiling at his sincerity you listen closely as he continues. "We... we really need something from the cave your guarding. Can... can we take a look inside?" He asks.

Hissing softly, you ponder if that is wise. Your tongues reach out and you hum. Three humans. Three trolls.

But none of them smelled guilty. Jim seemed to be telling the truth that they seeked something and the air felt calm depsite their fear. Humming softly you move from your post at the caverns opening allowing them to go into the treasure room beyond. You bow your head as a sign of good will and decide to keep it bowed until they left.

You would allow them to take whatever they needed. You trusted the Hunter. And so far you had no reason not to trust his friends as well. They let Jim do the talking but you had a feeling they were out of breath from exploring the catacombs as you were pretty deep underground and a long walk from the surface.

"master jim gorgons are tricksters, wild beasts from a forgetten age. we must take the relic we need and leave post haste." Hissing at the insult you weren't meant to hear, you let it slide and keep your head bowed to keep your guests safe.

A loud gasp is heard and you hum before closing your eyes and lifting your head confused. Your snakes squirm and you pause seeing the four armed troll look aghast.

"They've frozen trolls! Humans! Jim summon Daylight take their head before they surely freeze us as stone forever!" Turning in anger snakes hissing viciously as they squirm in every direction you bear your fangs at Blinkous. He backs away from you looking anywhere but your face as you glare stalking forward.

"You dare insult me in my own home than threaten me?" You demand. He shakes and you frown claws extending from your fingertips as you get closer.

Standing in front of him as he looks the other way eyes shut tight your snakes lash out and begin wrapping around the troll, trapping him. They couldn't bite him as he was stone but you could freeze him forever if you could just get one of his six eyes to open.

"I call you out on your misdeeds and now you feel too ashamed to look at me? Look at the one you call monster. Stare into my eyes and suffer the same fate as those who badmouth my name. For every statue here has no innocence." You hiss and the troll whines squirming as your snakes wrap around him tighter.

"Hey put him down!" Jim begs and you hum listening as Daylight is summoned. He holds out the sword but he doesn't strike he waits to see what you'll do as his friends pull out their own weapons waiting.

"Daylight is meant only to hurt trolls young Hunter. To kill creatures of the night. I am a gorgon, I am (Y/N).

Borne centuries before that blade was crafted, I am not bound to your rules nor your weapon and I could walk in the sun if I so chose. Daylight would not hurt me boy." The hunter pauses and you feel through your snakes that his friends seem panicked. They shift and you sense them move. You keep your eyes down as you talk focusing only on sound to guide you, this troll had said fowl things but the Hunters other companions hadn't caused any trouble.

Blinkous shuffles in your coils and you hiss at him in warning but he ignores you.

"That's it Master Jim! Claire! Tobias stomp and you shall confuse them!" Tightening your coils around Blinky to silence him your snakes hiss lowly. You had many senses, many strengths. Stomping may make it harder to tell where they were but you'd be able to feel enough to avoid them until this troll was frozen to solid stone for his transgressions.

"Silence." You demand. "I let you into my home. My sanctum. I keep my head bowed my eyes closed to keep you all safe. I show you respect and you dare speak of beheading me?" Your coils tighten as your blood boils scales scraping against rock.

"Please don't eat me!" He begs sobbing and you scoff rolling your eyes.

"I do not eat stone." You respond flicking out your forked tongue. Your grip tightens and the troll calls out feeling pain. You could squeeze him til he pops or you could make him another statue but your not quit sure which one you want more.

"Wait please don't!" The Hunter begs and you pause. Huffing as you close your eyes you drop the troll and pull away letting your snakes hiss as they loose their kill.

"I gave my word that you could take what you need. So take what you need and leave." Feeling Blinky back away from you, you let out one last hiss before disappearing into your treasures.

You were no monster but perhaps the Hunters friends were. You wished him the best as you hid amongst your gold waiting for them to take what they needed and leave.

"Thankyou!" He calls and you chuckle. What a strange hunter.

#monster reader #monster ask #gorgon #blinky #blinkous #jim #gorgon reader

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sylverstorms · 4 years

Text

Forbidden Fruit

Pairing: Priya x MC (Rose) x Kamilah

Warnings: Heavily! NSFW aka pure sin. Minors, avert your eyes. The rest, prepare to be tainted.

Words: ~1800

A/N: Another request fic, I hope it’s everything you wanted. Enjoy!

Prompt by:

Loud bass. Strobe lights. The comfort of alcohol.

Questionable choices.

Those were the only things Rose was aware of as she raised the forth shot of the night to her lips and downed it in one go. A trail of fire slipped down her throat, its burn more tolerable by the minute. The empty glass was pushed towards the bartender with a vague gesture for a refill. The handsome man regarded her cautiously for a moment, the ‘you sure this is a good idea?’ type of look, before complying.

Of course, Rose was sure.

She was certain going to Priya’s club to drink, dance, let loose and forget how shitty her life had gotten within the last months was most definitely not a good idea. Adrian had warned her to stay away from ‘that place’, Kamilah had pretty much forbid it. Which was exactly what made Rose go, in the end, against all common sense.

Defiance was as sweet and toxic as the tequila slipping down her system.

Perhaps Kamilah would know –she probably would and Rose was counting on it— the following days and be irritated over it. The secretary dared even hope upset, but that was a long shot for the stone-faced ancient. She was fine with getting even just a mild rise out of her. Anything, other than the cold-shoulder treatment the queen had been giving her, as of late.

‘This won’t work for us. It’s too dangerous. It was a mistake.’ Kamilah had said. Only she’d said it a tad too late, after the human had gone and developed feelings for her she was stupid enough to think were returned.

“Ah. I thought I smelled something delicious.” A familiar voice came from behind, light and throaty.

Rose made to turn around to meet its owner, but a cold, unyielding body blocked her movement. Priya, as always, had zero regard for personal space. Rose hated that she never quite hated it. The designer’s expensive, chocolaty perfume and subtle hair conditioner were impossible to ignore, even over the many scents of the club. Impossible to dislike. The human caught herself breathing in a little deeper.

“And what are you doing here, little bird, so far from the safety of the nest?” Full, dark lips leaned tantalizingly close to her ear.

“Well, it is a club…” Rose gestured, greatly appreciative of the liquid courage in her veins. She couldn’t push Priya off if she tried, so she didn’t even attempt it. Merely turned back to her drink, trying –failing— to ignore the fingers playing with the very tips of her wavy hair. Come on, Rose, you’re drunk enough to focus on the shot…

“That it is.” Priya slipped from her back to her side, casually leaning against the counter, never too far.

Rose shouldn’t feel the loss of contact so acutely. She willed her eyes to stay glued on her drink, but they didn’t obey, turning of their own volition to the designer, in awe of how good her silver dress looked against her caramel skin. She glowed like an angel. Or, more accurately, like a demon in the guise of one.

Priya raised her long fingers in a deliberately slow motion, knowing, too well, she held every bit of Rose’s attention. She took a sprinkle of salt between them, then turned to lick at her other wrist, never breaking eye-contact with Rose. The secretary had to hold her breath, while an ache settled low in her stomach. She pressed her thighs a little tighter together. Priya dropped the salt onto her wrist and held a lime between her teeth with a sexy little wink.

Her arched eyebrow was a challenge; ‘do you think you can play?’

Rose shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. Indulgence with Priya was fatal, but she made temptation so difficult to resist. The secretary did not shy away from the hunger in her eyes. She leaned in, licking the salt off the designer’s smooth skin, lingering just a tad over non-beating veins. Then she downed her shot… and went for the lime.

Priya smirked as the secretary sucked on it, both loving its sourness and loathing the fact it was between them. The vampire fixed the problem for her, taking the lime off her mouth to replace it with her lips.

Oh. Rose’s brain halted.

She didn’t think it was possible for a kiss to feel so slippery and so good, but the way Priya moved, the way her tongue coaxed hers only to leave her wanting more, proved otherwise. Cold hands once again framed her waist, crushing their bodies together, sharp nails digging in.

Rose hissed from the sting, but Priya only chuckled, following her for another prolonged liplock. By the time she pulled back, the secretary could barely stand. She was pretty sure there would be crescent marks on her skin the next morning, but they were not as insistent an ache as the one between her legs.

The vampire seemed to notice, her gaze an abyss as she stared at Rose, ready to devour her. Her fingers closed around her wrist in a vice grip, pulling, too fast, towards the back room.

“Stop right there.” A growl came from behind them, halting their steps.

Rose whipped around to see Kamilah, far more agitated than she’d ever imagined. There were ominous shadows around her eyes, a petrifying coldness to her aura. She was furious, like a wildfire about to burn everything to the ground. Holy…

Priya, however, only laughed. Her chin dropped to Rose’s shoulder, an arm around her waist. “And why would I, stick-in-the-mud? Have you forgotten this is my kingdom?”

“It’s my human you’re laying hands on.” Kamilah took another step forward, a clear warning. Rose gulped. That was terrifying…ly Hot, her horny brain added. “Drop them before you lose them.”

“Yours?” Priya smirked challengingly. “I don’t see your mark on her.” she guided her hair out of the way to make her point. “I don’t smell your scent.” she said it against Rose’s neck, just to anger Kamilah further. “But she’s a big girl. If she doesn’t want to have fun with me, she can walk away before it begins.”

“Come, Rose. Let’s go.” Kamilah said.

But the secretary… wasn’t so sure. “You can’t just toss me and pull me back on a whim.” she stated. “If you’re going to let go, then let go.”

Priya smirked victoriously and began leading her to the next chamber with deceptive gentleness. Backward steps, so she could gloat at Kamilah’s look all the way.

The vampires feeding on their every desire in the Red Room looked up with hungry eyes when the pair passed them by, but the look their clan leader gave them was an order in itself –‘this one is for me alone’.

The final room was a decadent space filled with dark tiles and black sheets, a wardrobe Rose wasn’t sure she wanted to open out of fear of what it contained and a four-poster, queen-sized bed whose purpose was clear. There were no windows. No means of escape.

“Welcome to my sanctum, doll.” Priya spoke by her ear, from behind. A cold finger traced across her shoulders, to the zipper of her dress. The human shivered. “Now come, let me see you.” The fabric pooled, crimson as blood, at Rose’s feet. The designer’s lips latched onto her neck as though they couldn’t wait to drink from it. “Let me taste you.”

Rose could only moan at the feel.

Half a second later, the room was spinning; she was pushed onto the bed and harshly pinned there. The vampire, out of her own dress and clad only in black, lacy lingerie, pushed up between her legs, biting underneath her jaw with blunt teeth. Rose bit her lip not to cry out, but she was certain she’d already stained through her white underwear and her control over her body’s primal cravings was fading fast.

Priya pulled back to regard her with glowing red eyes. Rose wanted to commit the wild beauty to memory, though wasn’t given time to. The designer moved fast, ducked, pushed twin needles into her skin.

Rose really did cry out, then.

The sensation was different with every vampire, but no less addictive for both parties involved. Priya hurt, at first. A lot. Enough to drive the human to tears. Then all the cutting chill and pain shifted into boundless pleasure, mind-numbing, toe-curling, deep and so very dark. Rose wanted to push her fangs deeper into her veins, as far in as they would reach. She was already on the edge of her orgasm…

When Priya’s head was extracted from her neck.

Rose was shocked to see Kamilah there, fangs bared and hissing, followed by the younger vampire’s animalistic growl. And yet, somehow, even the sight of Priya with her fangs stained red and trails of blood down her chin only served to ignite Rose further.

It occurred to her they were one step away from pouncing on each other, so she did the only thing she could.

She pushed herself up and between them.

Priya’s eyes flitted from her body, to her wound, to Kamilah. The elder queen leaned down to lick the blood as though she couldn’t help herself. Rose groaned. Then the designer was pressed to her front once more, tipping her chin up to kiss down her throat, a slender finger hooking into her panties and pulling them to the side.

Rose had no time to wonder what was happening. Everything was touch and slippery chill and heat and she couldn’t tell who was caressing her where. Kamilah’s nails moved up her thighs. Her fangs barely prickled at a lower spot on her neck. Priya was toying with her center, lips and tongue at her breast.

“I –ah!— I can’t—!” she panted –cried?— one hand finding purchase on Kamilah’s hair, the other on Priya’s shoulder. She was burning with the need to crumble into pieces in their arms. To come all over Priya’s fingers while Kamilah was biting her, but she wasn’t even certain if she could take that—

Both vampires moved, then. Two sets of fangs sank into opposite sides of her jugular and Rose lost her mind, her body, the bed beneath her knees. She screamed against the tidal wave of pleasure, coating and clenching around Priya’s fingers. It was too much, otherworldly, enough to shatter her mind.

Her orgasm felt never-ending… until the world started to grow dark.

Kamilah was the first to pull away, then pushed at Priya to stop. The designer leaned back with a satisfied hum, licking her full lips. Her sexy smile and red eyes were hypnotizing in the blur settling over Rose’s mind, the exhaustion crawling across her limbs…

Her eyes began to droop. Her body to fall. Kamilah’s hand curled around her head and gently guided her to the plush pillows. Rose fought down the urge to surrender to sleep, yet it was overpowering.

The echo of Priya’s soft, insistent mouth and Kamila’s caring, firm touch followed her to the land of dreams.

#BloodBound #pixelberry #priya x mc #kamilah x mc #priya lacroix #kamilah sayeed #fanfic #request #SIN #YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED #Priya is absolutely a LI don't even lie to me about it #the potential for the true villain unhealthy-to-mostly-healthy romance cannot be wasted #fanfiction

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