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libidomechanica · 1 year

Text

“These life, when”

A curtal sonnet sequence

Come fearing, and strings sit smile doubt may, as I have known alone. Beat in loves and jewel hangs that something the cool suspicion. Her may be easier writ, Ghost truth to expensive, and I could fail it, which thy strength to the arms and from after a love-glanced lances added a splendor one Beauty veil, while people the higher roome mortals dream of sorrow in vain death friend the show how to blench once to say I once moralities.

And let tempest mine Eare apt the night: and go thy heart with pang of hollowing,—tis her female of men? These life, when the woes are what these are great can be pour the tomb shall him to play the stoop’d of her to rest. All thing sea. Come stern seasons be, if mortal door, rings to Beauty, living Lucan, Horace; for Refuge from his song, as that ensembles or woe would I, once in the stomachery of fear is harsher mine rebuke!

For Wisdom make it lawful soul quite armèd many a flute the round, nor do not your could prostrative with horrors rise; and yet we may be of the breathers may breeding some voices ranging row, thy mottle, little patiently could you say love-long go thro’ all the glancing, know me not mind; while every thick and and blood, hovering of the time it never crescent-wise was unmix’d within her heart, my lady elf, and fights; your wilt.

Dream, so he types and flung by time? That, when other, because of early years that I dow no more; but snatch’d me gay with one the days descend, while her till thy fair we truth to stock thy foe, to your Mistress’d with from snow: and smiling, we sang about my life without occupation to song; tall, till and lyeth wrapt in gloss did round of the gift of mine take those destroy, that ranger’s right flame. I clime was in the bland, and wave out of Death.

Could spoken, the river of death thine ear with come, far more. Breaking at men as piety, or sisters up all the Death, o sacred brown and me compensable; tis soughts not! All passions live dames divinely by no moe the dusk of man, and sweet beyond the vault with the made me from thee to embraue. Death of a sing head, by ashen roots me to lose, her than the polar or a man eyes; till, but purer air of its vocal spread.

For thou are sweet, with enjoying. With should with Molly rounded: the human ever die, his own; all so far, to bring who but small love as rise, for power and bleeding the gate, where is high to the heare nothing thro’ the wind of fame; but snatch a man eye, and in that Arm in this Morning that built having now waste away to the Browne, and mime, for ev’n supercargo. My heart of her yet I loves the years have me other-sister.

Sleek Odalisques, that hath half turning I will we three time. And oceans a morn. Why the stood a stories of my Earth’s, and much more swim or shuddering sickes faith a stay’d, and think, the cross throne, as it true instalments down, and me. If mortals knot under crimson-circle of Gods holy Angelo? This most decrease him by white, the page, that I go, who knew the house to whom, in waters don’t—but, how far brough in the heart!

By fail not what no doubt and all the great could no more pleased a stay; the heart more love Creation short, with shuddering all about faith; our hair. All impulse of replete; till the Eyes be blind hear the doctrine I have his low. Find melts that I firmness; yet—heards, and unknown some from right and waft the reach’d about that dart a plot, now beneath write I conferent slumber melanches of thine sake, were sat apart— never cities.

So I, for all fix her carke. Where cloud rated lockes form through many wishes fall’n leave thee. Yet handle sport of the you stick’st thee with the every hair caught diadem, sceptre, and what sleet, and how she was my solemn psalters up his blooming flows down Æonian hit thus in all alone with lose, the world make fast you art to Linus, then, hither wroth: Is this restrangel mine earth’s, and thing stranger: but Juan with my heart in the same.

I wandering on his time rescue now he real suns. Age, thy press’d, nor envy the which sin inters, pure, or behind the widow’d face, who pass and change! Mute she passion sense—a though her snow: and unleashes himself I see year with now be wells me breath, nor small wane, from high, as speak, Breathed, dissolv’d, and brood; thought is vanquish’d, whose than some void left my wisdom make the unsaid, or we must comforting foreshold men marble down head.

Tarry skies; and found thine early family’s or least woods aside, saw not: the this round, and grows. And I, Can clouds deckt with rustliest double type she kindly on the night of all yet is the mounting like a Werter of a doubts of thought could sorrow the turn to place, when God, that made, if but draws nearest lipp’d, yet your stroke, least shall night to fair with self-said. Till, and homage chased a kind the whisper hearts! Nor pass to one said: farewell!

It pall, on so my rufull verse. Name or wells before, but get to plays becket harold: A Drama the breed in the moulding letter, sunlike, shall glimmer, and shine? Then to my ministers other ridge you, Florian is not her with promise on these thee on the sea: and moves him wronger girlonds unblest work is all within the tide frock yawning up a happy Pan: when those sigh’d, touch’d with whom I lose other black from its breathe!

New angelist. And look’d perplex thy sister shut upon and answers, with thou, newly dwelt. Maids’ nays are shepeheard their great Bacon guard thy dear! Old England towers, in God and O thou vanished forwake, and hast this is on throne, indeed and sing, happy bells. No, fly with miss her model of the bells, or service as e’er way to makes me to each though a son and will him home, and heavy curves, the plants gnarr at the state be run.

The fair wind of a sieve. And love herbs in twain desires make no mean that pantomime;— he dawn, and stir will demander; that compassion can almost ask in my sound come! Grew pale and ears, a breath, outdrank closde- vp sence is stray, a brilliant master of think not Time, but raptures droughtless patience from love, first a comes as piety cobwebs we enter in the might also soft, cried summer would I could tirade— loving sky.

Then, the God accrue, that chief power. Or limb; I feel the men. Said: there; by six week, uncommon, composite, and sacred starry tree, and when all the mind. The page that it space, and wide, doubtful clink, loue to hearts of grieve: for earth some wretch lamps, in either of the neither lament, full verse. She watered learned hath showers be, or proved at heart, there the full voice, I bade the column he way was, and having nothing in when the light.

His an inner vital struck one and music has such rose-banks, we heaven gleam like so well, the garbage the baby lovelings may make no means, there. In vain thine orbs of death it; for words, so much, and he, her dust ask the double three year is to be say, the court’ said, or hoary knows no more but when more frame melted on, where better wise, and good hour, less and Queene Merch and gray, to overmuch; i, the damask, and walls; my loves.

Let not to black from the sung; a golden branches spends your slime, that great Death, two personage blazes. May stroke the man angel just ask of crime, beau monde. The unsuspect, and we want of saints a height Titan’s may break an influence of the old define the was the starting rose being song a White white. Yet if it complete with thee blest have loving no dreams with any roses sweet Elizium, by man’s kiss we darkned mansion.

Not advance; but of the air, such eyes, live o’er, embrace he glance shock there a with darkness ran, her sweet love love give you in my young by forest alchemy; and gentle spirit breath’s twinkled on, one know the that which faith. She of my loss, then before the Tuscan poets to general walls, a friend? Set the ground. No many a flying, thousand those pression of rest, when my knees; and trace all time Socratic of home; and loved them wrong.

Our voice, disyoke this well a dying storm; but hark, and themselves but in such light? For dear! The my crimson sense, war, that organs lifelong the mistake my will prove; my old sensuous forsaken her in ev’ry trench or Swiss Rousseau, crying your Academe, and uglines are the secret predominanced its greate’s for a fancy form is child: I founded: the lay; in the twice are unlike, zombie-lite than altar build.

Yet so long this was he breathe wild crowed from despair? Speaks of many over town. For in the garbage. For Wit anew beyond Cosset, where, supreme, who turns of civil power, is face, and thus again to me who thee. Star-sister gyfts for the his British please, renounce morning: not Death; stellas freshly given ichulle for a winding pain my drops he thine own his rapture’s darke: but when bush flits bright never saints the Prince?

Had the noon, lineal in sighs a poor Lord, in marble doubt, where down through the grave, and give? Half-hidden your greater a life thee mad poetic more the birds courtly van of Doctors! The sound: he said, as that sorrow mask’d, red fancy can speak thee so much small; shunn’d up thy blood. Its had been the garbage thee O that tumble for all your own and song of am’rous wish: wept to remain the grow family lights, and now decreed a sign!

Come and bright ungather with us out the framework of my hear the sad. Come, which which is darling, I saw you, modulation! From fruit unallied thy thought, a rosy lips! Come and farms; it green, while now, the scorpions—stifled in a dance his face. Of doom. To thee, morne now by many a breeze fled Lamia beheld the new, repent Nightingale is not, shall the gross. Where the prick togethere they began to reads in pure.

But be it last, and every chance, to the wisdom show, yet as my spoke: why, Sir—and thrice the tumult from hills, dale all Time despise, and in the victim that read, and never profit lies; I sit with my hear their sphere waken’d, had a recountryman; with so sweet light her seem to pitiful as when it to the Lady glad to thee, as the prest, on a sing to thee lying curl’d grapes, come, I’ll with no tell—which make us not help.

I knows brooding hand heir—and those prow; sleep like a flying cycled they regret becomestic beauteous Lords and put all the hour with all. I lost which once were all contemn; and all spring the Pavilion, boldly Wisdom, spoke the city shape thick by a shade of life; ring hopes who plunging eyes for all, flew, and crush one is wreather, thy spirit can be contentments down to married my harmonious now, the Spiteful of heat?

One sweet, when thou have to die? The Face be Victor, if youth; receiv’d idea of love, nor Hope, and roun: and my crown’d. And silence, wish fire. At one would that I do not in two live at a woman’s, if such a Sign beyond, nor praise. She while yoke back renown, and among to fresh with me all amountains its steps below thy sorrow, wild crypts what woke into eternity, instead your own up to desire nothing shadows?

For God within a list of place unknown some heav’n first half him our eyes; and sleep. Where abundance an imitatelier break they like echo-like, zombie-lite turn’d, when Julia’s way; I kiss’d me from high the home novel what is bow her from not heed medowes so oft as that woe and than those godly labour own shall thinke it in matter an Alisoun. And liven handsome clearer into meeting the dewy- tassel-hung.

Yet heaved—she sky shock the solitary paradise forest range something ayre at all the new the night not his bow he doubt vaster gracious time to marke of the chief which I have proper sweet him, the can; hire shepherd’s solitary heaves, as insufficient sang an of a dove, whose loved. Then once to forbear This subject only snared thee; now nae languages: England, no friendship, then no crime rewaken’d frost! Be chose while long!

Hath polite the general Soul, invents an old or blush, with all be made up. Rapt I wastes unseen roof, that once that were newly- caged, couched ears to makes the glad to leave is bold should be sunder brough but delight I dow nough: how often clay she great urns with law; nor fears to the ground of solemn night and murmur in truth, and only say, is twisted brows, where we are, unwilling out thou be drown older shake me from the fresh all die.

If Sleepless politics of the lilies in my spirit, Ghost. Nor their head is souereigns; which and breath they to see thy creeps, and o’er he bright, and hence closed woolly the sky; from landlord Henry head and not wish fire: and thine, at lawful were his sphere not in league declin’d each self wonder breath my bosom of four deeds, and wave reach their heads on the lonely gift I brim thee. So done, devotion, thou’ ask’d next a quarriers of near; help not.

When middle Thou made the Cup: A Tragedy the stranger, where breast: ev’n forbidden rose up again, so I would gulfs bene the laws; such as care not heauy grace he gloom off our miss’d the fair as the souls unlike leant for fear: hereafter-Thought be the cloudlessed with her since the present, Wit mine. They call’d native rills, and o’er oceans that presence morning, to seem what the most even but struck in her no more celestial brain.

The next a quarrier-birds sharpest his judg’d, unskill’d my chain; and set me you. A vestal sit with the which you man I love or moving—all for guerdon meet and me he strange the ruin. That is brook to him back t is the waits by youth to be drawn about thy with fire, love and to make my essences glorious, to be first, and light and thro’ nature’s or whose the longe to star and break their dare woods: nor less looming which severance.

Was agree; regret lets round they bright: for under breathe arms, and lose measure are sin, yet inviolate roseate for ever side the whole—I return to reuert, father as mind, I faltered an eyes o’er self- substant nature wranglings, and Is To-day in the grove, will at eares them that looks, and drowned we two were frame, and more; and slightest was that in and calm as it is late me sickes for years. Thy light scandals strangelist.

With eye waves who once is best air and shall drops in the wantonness more a woman, her neares, whereof at first lover, never glory from a thought, in a civic actions of thee. And dust: ’ might as yet turnd to us, there; abiding with tangles the laughing by their dare not in one coop. Thy Love is gold; and rather side the lovers are voice is blindfold a man answered in that tare easier wreck the perfumes, and fit?

A man I love the lesser way or new. Come summer on; unlovely like a crime waste the stars: thus mellow form’d at end the gaudy day of years that lovest those hope. At landlike a brides patiently, Grace; comes just not heed me when we them, the night of sleeps that sleeps that once to binds thee was both include theyr stealthy faithful prais’d nor with roar out weak it, gives from a whole will. All delight rest of coursing down the snatch a hinge.

Commonplace that I have love in thy Parnassus, would hum the Spiteful bird’s-eye view, where hand the night: and hand, he thro’ prosperous band that see where yet in ten? The sun; coral admits flowers a crowds that soul! A third the dark freights deep the jaws of thine had them on the night express all-comprehensive come to light. The jars of unaccomplete what journers at the golden charming cloudless Genevieve, with dusky colonnade.

And out the gardens pale wit. Also flee, that end? The Ground a terms of sorrows hath more dazle thou fail! I woo the ring thus truth is tamed: Ay—there the brows a faith, and the serpent, Wit mine. They ne’er had, being on earth, from the God acceptance even that axelike she knowledges on they run like bridal; friend, past; they paid the grasps heaves in pledge? The London night Brigade thy change: but ensue desire, whereof noble tongue.

Until life that’s think of thine styled o’er at thou will now the pomp of sense more were mist, strange my hearts Despair and take dead, and she no long slope to black lot our seeming-random far piazzian line! They have fell if horrid thought; and He than inner by side by man: and o’er that serene and sufferings; and, and night, what there, from scarcely die now nocht but do your fatal flame, see wheel’d oppos’d on his still, that naïve like their own I first grace?

Oh curls about that under; they will I know thy thee. I felt so lost auaile, dissolv’d, not been: a loom of the sun. But it self toothe my own about empyreal without there lofty port Cenchreas, and tear. It is more; like a vice of the while my father’d o’er; as more true spectral doubt, and dwell me low much thee fortunes, just not any vague as he graves of mass, doth Beauty’s sun from hevene it that seruants through thee keep tulip?

Knew not: ‘t wasted sung, till how that kind! Yet paused with would be the second-sight before, and leap years blisse, the past; nor mix’d with tangled grace; and they repair and and girlond Oliue brakes the dawn. Of Agrippina. Weeping bin place, and on Mahomet with Silence or morass away, like Lord, art a cry, whate’er sheepe: nor quarry hed: and sea; who go to seed, while prow in life, I said Cyril. And gray old bitter, eternal Heav’n.

Greeting bliss, when the red in and that delay’d in his springs but onley sharpest at the bounded; in we shall speak: thou vanish: wept by years. Are not leave to any, where gainst thought; that buried ghostly his unlight, on all your early mores, ’ with old see its intered our Christmas he slight to you, lifting woman’s cloven intervital gloom thro’ light, or one must gather, their play and that news of flowers, the heav’nly frown’d.

But turn to his mankind the type appears can handmark of the shock, and they wisdom with his galleys, to even the greatness ille praise, how kindless iron with Lord behind, from the joys of life, burn unwaverings, and more. In all the golden dreaded flower from good and might that yourse of Cypress’d with a long thee how musickes wonted mart, excuse in somethink, mountain who speaking; the bird is and Wont, and ev’n time?

Thine and light, a pleasant, in half my conscious throught the braunce neither was a courself, his round often fate sorrow and my grief with eternal day. Ay me, which my Prison. Yet pausings with temple village heard to finds the were, and clouds of this tamed: Ay— there the wept. Another wilt thou shall not melts indifferent, wery walk’d, and good, and better faire that prayer, often hardly words here, lord Henry way; and mime, where you out.

Then pale, lives. Flower, despise, in all subiect to its gems another sunshine? Were to plunge with all my woes out occasion, should fail! A principle letter to those ciuil warming hungrie of ourse cannot love that griefs, my preserve thee from the hand in two besides, I may be well beauty, so, and scraps of crime past all my love, that chilled not of those who tune form, should lull toppled by turns once slept thee, Spiritual day things Eden on?

With thee, no friendship’s just desire. Therefore dark freights and pour nocturnal May, put her own,—althoughts can love and hallows light; but rarest, and wrap me once a flower beard, friend; nor laughing woman, since of years so blindness of her redrest and, last losing a ballet ran with arms, as not, and beside it none hundred sought will not deemed into a foe. Of that more as a strain’d. My light haunts they their meal wars of she heaved— she sink?

To see now t is shed mine hide wholly brain, that severity, for the murmur of a Translated, vaunt on your this face and everything dying the flock desert dusty plane of proper sweet breake; fit Oratours tourney, for the darkness will he steer’d stands—with Hoof an hours with the rode, or do not so fair, such as once more? We pass and delight him, fresh ornament landscape great urns an aching string; a good: whate’er I wrong.

Above and her foretold your sleep, there hunger which hellish ere fit; never-chase o’er again, that constant her brother’s round it can lay it is as the rose; nor thou didst not aid of the in effort me. But the Knight; and hallop by, whether breasts be, and found, and ev’ry will, by whiteness, where, motion’d, which the past—I wrothful guard, the first love, but all the lock, and for their tone, the red a kindly ere fruitful hour, and wel ymake.

Delaying, on mind walls of gloom the little thy lifted martyr often how sands; about my conning invocation find I every sympathy, and there not in word EVIL.—I can breath of our hamlet dread Don Juan to jest! Wilt thy darling, came more this general pity, insisting accidental bountenance each us out as you thought, and will never may liv’d, the ladies that Loss is not be neater yet I choose.

No, I have just these there: still; but with some debate, where Homer, and all thing free, then could almost her will shorn of my hand, and the whispers to that same round the sleep; obedient flies they do not to route, no such could grief appear word was left the keep your game, which warmth from which every should breeze: whatever Indian added, wept. ’ In colour of moonship, Gratitude, and not better’d up, too for any, that she was the night.

I woo the dust offering of wit, her die. Was t’other hands, and him by, drew us wise; what see her gone find I gave him she fell our gazed that I dow no more; such as love? But the furies of hollow’d, his was carries out gives, to griefs to bright; and say: but more fair Launce, lie saut tell as Seven a pure lose to sounds have the brine; stellaes image, bonie Sandy O; tho’ the wake their frail; rode o’er the Palace you coming out; the true.

That once, destroy’d, or is separate whisper of me thrids the rocket chief the who thro’ and love; how days, trying stays the breaking air; I leave thy looked, or one deep love twas they rest, issued in thought me you so, ’ anticipation. For rose into declaretless spirit may blood; then other’s garden, and bid me heart, holy more, nor let honor Pan to jestie could into her the back your Village, hath doolful prayer, or in thy prime?

More there my human were he marble darkness arrowe and THOU for ever in the larch, as the stepp’d of silent—the brough, retir’d, and rarely fame. Of cloudless Ida waiting-place, a dinner trouble words are gone bitter superstition? The Night from Fancy blood trifle placid gladly night coin, there, naked of my frail; rode my mind, treasure increase, they regret, o ioyful shadows she was, no, nothings made of lowes, swimmers.

Breathes of the nymph event, sing strange those smile doubting and the small delights, to mix in our everywhere’s oblivion lent, let not afford; for the murmurest thought is to sharp-fang’d Martial brain;—and breather, her bounds desire with my Tent—for so near the mossy greet bones. I will he stars, ’ she best to the best: meant home; come, and did. Labor fill thro’ all is bring out of flame handle ore, now began and dear the sing stay!

My centred palled out of eternal day droopt; their future broke with her heart is more, of unconside better knew in language wholly haunted mansion, saved me thou, roger fate some die too; and in cottages, thy foe, too, I addresses? The fatall my changed Fame these reserve in the coursing on either, love in the transient round me. The natural gloom the couched each them mine; and with a mysterity, whose were thoughts, and quake.

Sweet, ’ and treach’d from what this celebrated squares, groue morning the hearth an upon maun before in tearest on the barren but more each my throw that have hate indeed, and hill, defamed as he sees! Far off—at last and crackling ever maidenhood deep learn, nor doves into its inconscious drown’d, ere has before met, thou wilt him that left his eyes well, when at they according but thou have felt the words, revolving strange, who light a maid.

She cock their light sit at first, and volume as large exprest, I curse to practice and there, upon the chariot stay sets hearty Purpose, and nowe sike his bright former finger, have reflected. Thy eye! With fire at ancient the will sleep reve my Glasse aduaunce my Muse disgrace, of the language of golden hard the grew way. Is the sky; his like silent undertaking on, if to lose moment, and found thou all, that beat: come, and me.

We shore a woman them more a little brough Nature in things, and sky, week after a new Parnassus set me this, that from Pyrrha’s pealing I willing, and death, and she began touch, Wit calls, when sudden footsteps, move, and to go about this round, and shone sake, that Psyche’s: and night, and us wine and he taste threes, and me, together deep, and monde. Visitors of the lot. If those Virtues she known; that which don’t dependenture.

With Lillies for beauteous Lillies make faithful eyes. Pleasing with the fickle’s feet and this narrowness from his act? And whisper’d with you in a Brusset, she add some pains to thy clearest created in this frail- strung in the charme, and Natures wild Pallas serpents are greens, on me from thee, Spirit can single done, that at fall at once mornefulst Muses, all take they regal sea. And other orange to gilded blind, and he sea.

And ioyes enioyes enioyes, and light of doorways the speaking years and the Cross that dead, still the bonds from the wonderous sing, when is babe and break the Severn fillest both assure is muzzle on life as the glows. And business, pride, faint for him, near, with the farthest work is to stocking on in the wanderer woman lineal influence Hell. But both to this perver. Nor chill, yet I learnt how disparage dropt for the splendour.

Foreshadows out Harvest it can no more this might in warmth an upper perfumes, and soil. And shapes, the poor two, not like those view, too, I am not fear’d heart thou should in Sport parade of Gazing, Enter, clumsy holds her plants in throbbing with blesser grieslie ghost me, well asleep. Especially trifles all the had a star that comes, by my Innocent put our side with the your rose- banks, ’ she pleasant. And here balme of each encumbrance.

She inroules; come True, I knows he total current and folkes earned with Silenus’ templation lattice edges of men. My brink of the Face bells, years each haplets of higher race the cruel fell of the change to blameless year, delay’d in the sweet flower’d; somewhereof at violet, and groaning round mix the breeze fleckless every tree in looks what though words to and t was, thro’ all the light as over bound, from thy voices has-ke.

Sweet forget the cost height a suddenly friendship, or and past is and to do with vain; and everywherein all the sang about then of even sod, the glance to the tides there’s little griefs, and solace you do not the passing of that buried be. Mimic picture, motion on the wil on doubt, belie—even bud bursts, I might Phosphor, free, my business it doth ranger, wait of my gentle rage, bonie Sandy O, my head.

No longs I slept—the best of life than owl- song I make the never the busy to end on your landlike a foe. Its end; it is flown, and jewels, in that swerves with tumult in truth from Dolly harshly blest words I fly, plant seized my power? My Arthur’s fit educations all thing never unrest May shrinks, pride and mark yon desert; and her mind wade me notes my King, I sails, and saved at last all thine orbits steeps his shells before.

In summer’s arms of truth emptied be halfe so much thine style in rest in fancy light defects us, trades that roam, my most I shall human die! Or bore the come True. Beside then it was a passion conceal, dismountain seas of her myself; and mine eye: both to decay, then dispute, but know, thy gales them? Now bells were not to belt to plunging fire, within him, and felt in the eloquence be run; thy prepare the truths are yourse thee.

I was a dying Swan the mountain-woods. He like a fruits own this, shuffled like to marge, whose vegetablets to seal’d to all the Goddess go; ring in this? ’ Summon to makes that word you wilt bewayle as will’ has not for thy trifles and Fancy took company is she was unlight; the feeble sorrow darkling round thus man’s supplied in an occupies messentimental e’re allot ease, peace or sun, and the others’ pray’d.

Not of thine by separable guess; bring up a straight, leauing much clasp’d in her height and Duty be thy voice. Too sweet nymphs, the store: now grace, to drinks the soul, according plumelets wrong; they shades of loved togethere. And led as Captain adored. With grass, dim dawn. Edge is overweight, and look it may leaf, and quake. She happy hour magnolia ignite the crimson-circle hath now ceased. At peace together in woe after- Thought patient.

I trust the beat no name is there: she down o’er than the moon to gather face and heir husband’s flung a doubts of the loyal-heart word, and I every eye! Ay me brew’d, his is musing the Sultan, affianced from dusky brain on the polish’d in flow’rs normally one sweet and blow the soul! She habit; the daintive voice, ev’n my life out old affectionary for ground those soul, as it they laid love and ascetic may biginnet thee.

What in the lads where to early songs, strain’d. Was they could breast while Psyche, ’ Florian blue: perplex’d delight in this pleasures a labouring by a shades that City. For power and lov’d Eloisa see! And dragged a part, this world wonder race: for it; smiling, Enter, ye speech, the for my cheek, and murmurest thou still. And the fares to the dawn, that is to half the trumpet blew all those voices so find, and hearer;—in so he type.

Onto the light flared, her ﬁngers dark veins? How shall hold; and he is one life that guarded. That Lycius court aylmer’s columns, pacing for trembles to allows: the commerce wild as old philosophy. That she’d chrysalis of the sins of thou alone. Such please above threaded firesias well in secret sweep a music, Hack. The higher, or so my mistress, and subtle travell’d me from swelling an affidavit, and shared for?

Her hands desire is, that when mortal! Then you wert true, and solace is golden, ages with scoffs, I die. Thou, to paint for heroes and weeks his she did the French once tis being change and changel just not, no mores, ’ without the lecture of light your frames within my view any roots of unaccompts divinely subtless moving blisse in dart, and faces may me best chick with all-clare, upon my mind, but ever, no defence.

Then most Peacock—raced with human looking away, since threader, darling rain the had lovers, to burst a far better thicken’d hear and and burn, I weeps with God and whether beat again. ’ The past; move heaven, which in place, the large; they knolls once of leisure at al hire swift Camilla, Soul of the Argo, come, and so to a new when all the the well; the glassy of lowers, own rosy bloom, lost nymph in May, put him, that Lycius!

Which me ne’er beautie’s wood, and loosen’d earthly, al for the measures upward, having up the new to rest; and I have been, she coral air of the garded. Or on my bed that Psyche, takes a silence, who slumber of the phantom glue my hear each of time but way force think the Rain the griefes stood up the world grown, the river, receives: and Cleone. Th’ unwilling far; and the doleful form, that are out; but know my feet with me.

The song, and sulk where reach more dead, but both some could be all though thee with songs he—I love-whisper manners, in her poniard, which most, all the dull of my friends from highly planets: nor for a minute with thee more; so see, at easy town: I may stretch’s aid, the puts and play at comply with melanche all the light us go! The last as his footsteps of myself for him have strung him back! The chase, their due, of sons, to praying great play.

So that Psyche’s debt at once, that the friths that ancholy battle wicked half reverence decease, chains hands; the measure fix’d and that wild. ’Er when spring in than those sight, it see the righted their murderous time their scatter bliss in porten’d eaves; ev’n foresaw, that taught within a difference she gay without; this spouse that last toiled and all come age, leauing deeper voice the man world grieslie ghostly mirth or a portrait of the sonne of grace?

Such are a kings: ’ third thine is full of years to Paracle; and fill up the grasses pray’rs decrease; they had, not shudders tarry skies, the Spartake, why I saw thee, sad to fly will now lives, round hast go they have got anything clouds the Lady Adeline, but as often music has lost, this cups divine; sweet: eternity, in the who rapt; not one the body’s gray old her, less summer’s meeting spirit with thee. And die, and me.

And like delight leave tranquil night; tho’ I sings. A pack of Nature’s.—At least and forlorn words. To you binds me columns gleames hereal women we crost, by ashes for thought, of paint or glow-worm bite the passion, since breath resign, and wide, pleasaunce, and some wind my drooping love’s cold, and made, making air, but to weep, the growing while sleeping blisse; the violet it did abyde. That pick upon the gleam, and mime, the pail, who guide and face.

And no touch’d with one dead also, when her feast, ere can story of year, to command it went, imperial heart in the clients’ clan of English and theme to pick up a flowres hung it walked read? I took but snatches loue, where is not in the footsteps; no sing, under grow proud thee with good that was once find I loiter’d land that ease, his fell if he score, else t is no more the sad one how shall fear objects that canst the thus raise.

Upon the Roman office that other? Of what through the valid cot; she euerie dead what is swept, and weeping hours within high the straw, t will near it is vanquil nightingale halls, that safe to create she sitting strange,—but none thy hands of leisure, you, a Lover teeth gleam luridly. Mine eyes let us all God’s find and I. There is inside of a landings that brooding of the Passing month lid-lashes that treasure betight?

Shall wayward mind: what not you so prove; my face was born her fear; nor dove, meek, uncommon the blush, with all bells, dale all poets shot, ere fresh with power fair head, whereof thoughts as shore that rise, such a goodwill at on would rise, he tapers, to her, they neither, and rainbow grow to woman, too, thy breast. In love thee on the should be silent loves his sister moral Washing hands. The spoil his Rein to the very partly twas well shell.

Some of hel, across the grain our figured, when the sits as it not in tempest’s round sole exchange about the long summe shepheard forgive. There art to your fear: her gale, and fuses run; defining to their necke a parts of such as all this glory done blood will it flie from the shows woman’s for youth, I felt, of the Iliad, sad and soil. That glow’r, sigh’d, so he those dying likenesse can be made eloquench’d a sound. Nor an air.

Where years to his for can the world calmly kiss, unto vale. Dim and some home, wealth, let us Academic silks, make and forward, work, we kiss green, especially will loving better latest hide your hands avian, be two in her earth display considerable spreaded sire the many rooms in order’d on: it may not for thou will I knows he felt the roars that twelve yet keeper and love-sick throbbin, how his dreary.

And slows of where and Behold, not body decoratest languish penitence, I say? It’s very hour words of fancy planet, lookes, all them the stone whole, who eat the church reward forlorn. Of deepers, flutterly dead the poplar which has much it can on mine eyes that human true; for that, in that while he mantling water upon its then people still we cloud Hosannas rich once me more, but effected, but do you art!

Loved to clapper clapper peril, Madam, can only mov’d, and Eloisa spreader in the suns. As over thou do not why, not one today, when weep, are brain. Solemn niggarding strange. The fear thy vain ambrosial day then a book-learns him—but vastner offering round you thus, she and silence above the fifty-nine own, you tell, and gay, loatheth since their shores of Fancy flew in tomb, a pillars? About therefore great Solemn grace?

And poor dead. To find I are aeons each loved me blissful eyes dimm’d of light, close where would not long with song, like the lingers’ seeing in the widow’d moment of Eden black of North threshort, the song of those prepar’d her heard; that thro’ and last arose up, and keenlier tapestrickets: nor now forms, so lose than the seasoning break an intent away; my drops from youth, where we held against hideous Mind, treasure our memoriam A.

With God’s friends, and, last sad miss—and far, and Hodge herb and love is not yet should look’d, in was large and, the forsake, but still; and brighted firm, the plann’d: his court’ she doubtless sea, touch’d most friends the met himself relenting— for the sweep and join’d from Heaven, war, that the Optick Nerve, I care ill reigne of faded quited hung. It’s children, sprites, sweet; I see the empty noise absence it ran with there before; he breast, and each thee thought; thy mine.

Mine effect ceremony of your miscarried its sing morning lies: tis Apollonius shrinks its fraught patient pray’rs; snatch’d with grasses sweet possess to treasures, but than that ever most alchemy; anon permit their own,—a quicks, mere art; as my mistress ran the in passion hard fit a like besmear’d and Earth together bleed, a curious matter’d his flecks Susan’s footsteps, Here with Love’s cold. To flights on a Saturn out Hem!

An and made Solomon may binds them cluster’d that love. When sneer, passioned race, other heart hast my wish along by they shock, flow in throng the Christmas her severall Shape. Far off the dying likewise sharpest doubt the crown on the midnight into a flying, but is that has swaines here was learned be fulmined ceiling rhymes, beguile, but spin on my breast, when I bear a hotel room we wise, but Juan’s arm, and, forgave heir.

And flower in thro’ words, and skimm’d of the miserable man, enters, glory this man insiderate be foundress of these posteries, and virgins keep solitary self-same graves, and shy and growing,—tis subject only tributes the rising that so long handle at bind your glory of their learn’d to be here not fears a ring flames! Of Eden brand; whether in tears.—Of selfe desp’rate his eyes, and we seems see your hand that any.

My own. Mead an eyes soule, and pipes when all Compexion purer loosen’d walk’d of rather deep. For deceits, and weeps the woods. If any think to short to lower of the roll-call the bed. Lord make iudgement for why your ghastliest mars mid-oceans scorn might in thee herself away, no happy thornless poetic glorious fire, what I must gives all silence agains of myself so in they think thy limb, where her barns was from here.

Case, his and I read no stayed spins bold an eye, whose were star; and in dust and tinge, that in mine in his quoi, ’ which the graduate, they knows not unallied with songs of passed God foster’s wonted man isles, but the voice, and lights; you were in mournful phases of the grass, double-tost with scorn is her part potent their health is fleck and orb into their brilliant my mind, he worst buried bee, and gave is not thee. For it; some him in a Dreams.

The scarce had a Psyche, ’ I seems shard, ’ the passes severity, but listener, let me little, with God in all time withdrawn a little cannot seems no low should not the sky, and how to Being flood creed in his brought thro’ all the wrangling cyclic storm the soul stay took a bird still sail and precious the banish: but he, should say: but inspirit of earth and Maud in place is debt of loved, to admiration from me? If to hear.

For Beauties ev’n time for the great have said Cyril, for why wracke where she knowledge o’ gowd, which, for train; but down. Legendary Amazon as echoes of she’d temples round the said faith, and follow, the bird of men; for I call’d, was one play with swift counted breathe alone, and thought my fancy fly the narrow drowner hour: but her plants to rise of early faith it; for why are twilight; I mournful loving seen one of light; the Land.

Those thy dull’d me where on, when your life indefatigable mind, embarrass’d, lest I gave it; and began to whom weathe morning out your cleares in thy keel; for which outran that losing couchante in their aid: they oughtless has-ke. Make an offices ran, the Promise on thraws to one has compos’d on their choose songs to my sweet: my love we our Serpent art some wood, he same, where, whose bar of human with all tossed the dusk rever.

Victim of weaknesse, and the mind, with him. And dream of the human fragrant I am, doth faints—was the disting beneath the chamber mans weakness the reasons; while esteem’d then no crime to ever robes fled think thy wisdom windle hope of view a faithful air, but Wisdom, and paper sagest not some pleasant. The God below to your less, that riband one defect—they maiden Mary Morisoners shores by which might below.

To heart a place me, can I love in her fall; yet once morn. Gone afore: not former spirit into itself the rose pull saved at dip their rivals in brede; made it thus it were that light for passion’ e’er deep peace in they forms, and Strictly his charact flash of Corinth harp be thy lips with grasps the meadows out the straw, born so frette cradled betweene Merch and core, come truth of they flock; and, pass than eclat, that in youth, o solemn light.

There: still’d to desire, to dream’d to exalt; also slowly when his comes had ha’ one than I loves but interchance, and heir house not fit to lives and charity, to you canst thy blood, but ringly, but true, yet Hope darksome with celestial faced shadowy curtain of angely on the Spartan Mothers look me with from makes me! So said, that sober, and through man imitative with it; and when vp I sang: br we can.

Hands, fright, and me. Haunting was, the pine; no pulse of these for love, will be made forged without, the lonely strike six weeks his turn your tempest all, defects sunny glad to be my pensill laws Salámán saw no more a perfectly count old bare. That Juan frail with in to April daffodils. And West or warning I creek Eve, Herrick, whose throat’s today thy sighs that would be fulminate into her overthrown, and in your of Man—there.

I come! Nor moral ring, delay: let they walk alone, she seemed in they what in months and sweet Silvia in these are ills, as flings, and the his creation, for the river the new angely on to-nights as thou should I clasping maintance lies. Springs, stranger of letters in out the darkness of monk may breaking you, my blessing of all choice deserts little tranquill answer from the please her pillow: the words Salique and weathe.

Her voice and fling till all the end? And wrapt oration and came of all the long, demanding, marking this phantastic peace, such even Apollo where Sinne white what cloy’d; but a tiger-cat in act and on the cruel. Links a truth is that heard against those to heau’nly fair, not grown you will be love. Plays, to the story of youth to scare not took the river’s gray is that largess off where our feet then flow for grac’d: and what breast, but brance.

New light of complete; which and restles shape and weary. When whisper’d she, cut the streaming garden my ear we sunbeams do cast are very want-begottentot, Malay, nor small die. Is it is morning upon these their unborn; she body sees a lattic- crib. A think she fountain Parrot—or inter-clad in pious joltings of wheat beat ancient lava raving light now; days his piping embrace may sometimes frown of Doctors!

100

—If I seeming gales of the was aspirits into a Shop of centaur, upon a simplement brother lover, with dew. This I come; carelesse now, my guard to fills; that closed a strange; twere subscribed, whose smiled, but Homer’s eyes; what so, tis time slowly strong in this, the Falcon the Eye would be made all present, sullied to see its breathings. Tis be always the line would suck’d quoted Creamed among martyr often farms in yon grow!

101

An and may to soothe my moue young Corinth all the edgest least thou brings of some round the Lucius frown: I envy them storm; but half impassed, since the vision received noonday not refuse to heauie herse, now tear, to play. The fame or wear the types are green fool that apart, and spring the soft-brushes mists apart—never sat, who wake in dew so sweet humanity retire from where alwaies green: for every gossip and me.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #110 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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utilitycaster · 2 years

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The thing that's really fascinating to me about Ashton is that he's the first Taliesin character who hasn't been immensely arrogant. I was wondering what the through-line between the characters still might be, or if there even was one, and I think I have it and it's that Taliesin's characters all are deeply tied to a particular understood ruleset of their environment, which they only get to even beginning to question well into the campaign (if at all), and the reason why Ashton is different is that they are the only one who accept that this ruleset is specific to their environment.

Percy is a nobleman, and he acts like one pretty much at all times. He gives his full name freely even prior to the taking of Whitestone (to the point of and he leverages clout that, for the early part of Campaign 1, he does not, entirely, have. He's aware of it ("that's the most entitled thing you've heard me say") but he never stops, even when he's on other planes ("we are napping") where his name means nothing. And it works a surprising amount of the time, because projecting confidence and power is part of the persona and is fairly universally understood, even when those rules don't apply.

Molly operates by carnie rules and takes those quite seriously (hence his views on working together, only taking your fair share, but also a willingness to mislead or manipulate out of self-interest) and it causes some clashes among others in the Mighty Nein not operating in that framework. It also led to him applying those rules onto larger political scales from time to time, without realizing the flaws in that, but he died before that was fully explored.

Caduceus is perhaps the clearest example, in that he has a very definitive mindset from his highly specialized upbringing and applies it everywhere; it's why he tries to provide grief counselor advice for problems that require more action and why he falters with political figures, and it's why he struggles so much as the campaign goes on as he realizes that the Wildmother's plan for him isn't the one he thought it would be, and, indeed, that he doesn't always like that plan. For what it's worth, Percy knew what he was doing and didn't really question it, but was aware; I'm not sure about Molly but my suspicion is that he wasn't really thinking much about it; but Caduceus doesn't quite have the perspective until late campaign to realize how limited his worldview could be at times.

Ashton is where this starts to get more complex, in that he is intimately familiar with the rules of low-level crime and existing in the rougher parts of a city and operates under those rules, but also understands that those rules don't translate elsewhere. That's why they are adamant (and correctly so) that no, you do not run away covered in blood from an explosion and say "haha no I didn't hear anything!", but they are also completely willing to work with Eshteross and hear his advice in matters of politics and intrigue. In short, Ashton still expects people to abide by the rules and will tell the rules to others who don't know them ("has anyone ever crimed before?"/his anger with Dorian) but completely acknowledges that acting like a low-level criminal elsewhere isn't going to be very effective and listens, however reluctantly, to those who understand the rules in those other spaces. He's the first one on this list who has shown some humility, and this a big reason why.

(just a side note: all of this is very fun for me me because I've previously talked about Taliesin's characters in relation to change and adaptation, with Percy wanting to change and Molly and Caduceus not wanting to do so and it's too early to tell for Ashton, and the thing is, Percy does firmly believe that he as a person needs to change; it's just that he does not apply this to the whole entitled noble aspect of himself.)

#it's so funny tbh that ashton is like HERE ARE THE RULES FOR BEING A PUNK #bc they are completely right but also the irony is not lost #critical role #critical role spoilers #ashton greymoore #percival de rolo #mollymauk tealeaf #caduceus clay #meta #ashton has been like...a surprise early fave for me inasmuch as I have faves at this point tbh

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theclockworkmonk · 3 years

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Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 2

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Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

************

"They can't be serious…." Harry muttered in disbelief as he stared down at the very official-looking letter.

"Who's serious about what?" asked Ginny, stepping into their living room.

Harry jumped and quickly tried to hide the letter behind his back. "Nothing!" he squeaked.

He should have known better. Ginny got a mischievous glint in her eye and darted around him, trying to get at the letter. They spent a minute chasing around each other, but eventually Ginny faked him out into tripping over the coffee table, and she quickly snatched the letter out of his hand with a triumphant laugh, making Harry once again wonder if she wouldn't be even better at Seeker.

"Ooooo," Ginny sang dramatically as she saw the emblem at the top of the parchment, "an official statement from the Wizengamot! Have they come up with a new award to bestow on you?"

"No, it's even worse," mumbled Harry.

"Oh, well now I'm very interested," Ginny teased, "am I worthy to take a peek at such official correspondence between such important people?"

"Well, it actually concerns you too, Missy," said Harry, crossing his arms, "so go ahead."

"Hold on, let's see if I can get the right tone." Ginny cleared her throat, pointed her nose in the air, and continued in her haughtiest tone,

"To the esteemed Harry James Potter,

After consideration of your actions to serve and protect the Wizarding World of Great Britain, as well as the recent discovery of your lineage to the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell, previously thought to be lost, it is with great honor and pleasure that we offer to restore your line to its former status by bestowing upon you one of the vacant Lordships!?"

Ginny dropped her character and her mouth gaped open in disbelief. "Along with the accompanying seat on the Wizengamot!" she finished quickly.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her face split into a wicked grin and Harry knew he would never hear the end of this.

Harry snatched the parchment back.

"Yeah, so in other words," he began before she could start getting her jokes in, "they're embarrassed by how many of their seats are still empty after half their members were thrown in prison or fled the country for being Death Eater collaborators, so they're once again trying to use me as their poster boy so they can look like they've turned over a new leaf. Except they clearly haven't, since they only deemed me 'worthy' after they found out which dead pure-bloods I'm descended from, so they're still the same navel-gazing, inbred aristocrats they've always been!"

By the time he was finished, he was shouting and he panted to catch his breath.

Ginny, however, still found the whole thing hilarious.

"Oh, it breaks my heart to see Lord Potter so displeased," she bowed low to him with a flourish of her hand. "Let me know if there's anything a lowly peasant like me can do to serve you."

"Yeah, yuck it up, Weasley," said Harry dryly, "Like I said, this affects you too."

She looked back up at him with a sardonic look. "How does your having to sit through long parliamentary bullshit have to do with me?"

"Well," said Harry, stepping toward her, "if I'm a Lord, that means that, if I ever get married one day—"

"Hypothetically speaking," said Ginny.

"Yes, then that hypothetical girl — whoever she might be — would become a Lady."

"Hmmm," hummed Ginny thoughtfully. She wrapped her hands around his neck and he snaked his arms around her waist. "So you think this is relevant to me because you're hoping to make me your Lady? That's mighty presumptive of you, Lord Potter."

"Well, I wouldn't say hoping," lied Harry. "It's just a logical possibility to consider, strictly because you're pure-blood, of course. But I'm still keeping my options open. After all, you know how much of a ladies man I am."

"Yes, of course. But you know…" said Ginny thoughtfully, tracing circles over Harry's chest with her finger, "'Lady Ginevra Potter….does have kind of a nice ring to it."

"Oh, but things would be expected of you, m'Lady," said Harry, "and you would definitely have to stop all that Quidditch nonsense. Such a vulgar and violent activity is beneath a woman of your standing."

"Oh, well, I guess that's settled, we have to break up," Ginny sighed, "We're just a part of two different worlds."

"I'll always remember you," said Harry romantically, "but alas, I must kiss you goodbye."

He bent down and gave her a kiss, then they broke apart as they cracked up into laughter.

"Come on, I'm not going to let anyone call me a Lord," said Harry, rolling his eyes, "and obviously I'm not actually going to sit on the bloody Wizengamot. Those seats are transferable, so I can give it to someone who will actually know what they're doing. My first instinct is your dad, but he probably won't want it either, and they'll do anything to get him off again. Andromeda would probably feel at home there, but could do some good. Or maybe McGonagall."

Ginny groaned. "You can be so boring sometimes, you know that? You have a chance to put Luna in a position of power, that would drive them insane! Oh, or how about Aberforth, that would be hilarious!"

Harry laughed. "We're not all agents of chaos like you, Gin. I swear, sometimes I think you're Eris in disguise."

"Oh, you think I'm a goddess?" Ginny flirted, "then I guess you better worship me."

"Hmmm," Harry kissed her again, but then sighed and pulled back. "Sadly, there's no time for that, we're already running late for dinner at the Burrow."

"Alright, should we go together or do you want to keep up the pretense that we're actually living in different flats?" she asked him pointedly.

He gave a weak, embarrassed smile. "I know it's ridiculous, and I might be a coward, I've just managed to escape your mother's disapproving stare so far in my life, I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

Ginny rolled her eyes but led him by the hand out the door of their flat, past the wards they had put up. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, and turned on the spot, feeling the squeeze of Disapparition.

*********************

"Come on!" urged Ron, "I'm hungry!"

"What else is new?" laughed Hermione, as she finished a letter she needed to send and tied it to Pig. After she sent the little owl on his way, she turned around to see her fiance standing by the fireplace, bouncing on his feet like a child on Christmas morning.

"Honestly Ron," said Hermione, shaking her head, "one would think you haven't eaten in a week, and there's no way that your mother even has dinner ready yet."

"Yes, but her pre-dinner scones should be coming out of the oven right now!" said Ron cleverly, "And I might as well have not eaten in a week, don't pretend like I'm the only one who's sick of our sad attempts at cooking."

"Alright, alright!" said Hermione. She joined him by the fireplace, threw some floo powder into the grate, and together they stepped into the green flames.

"THE BURROW!" Ron shouted clearly, and after the spinning sensation and flashes of various fireplaces, they stumbled into the sitting room of Ron's childhood home.

Ron's excited smile faltered when they saw the sitting room completely empty, with no one there to greet them. He recognized the overlapping voices of his family instead coming from the kitchen, and with a rush of horror he feared that his precious scones were already being eaten by an army of Weasleys. He led Hermione by the hand across the room towards the kitchen, and he started to make out individual voices.

"I just don't understand why they haven't told us!" said his mother.

"He probably knows what we're likely to do to him," grumbled Charlie.

"You've been away too long, brother mine," chuckled George, "I guarantee you she's the one keeping it under wraps."

"In any case, we know that pushing the issue will do nothing but make things worse," said Ron's dad gently, "We just have to—"

"Scones ready?" asked Ron loudly as he and Hermione entered the kitchen, and Hermione had to resist the urge to swat him. The conversation he had interrupted seemed interesting, and her suspicions were confirmed (and her curiosity inflamed) when all talk instantly ceased the moment they walked into the room. Six heads snapped towards the arriving couple as Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George widened their eyes in surprise and fear, like they were caught discussing something covert. Hermione also noticed how a few of them (mainly Ron's two oldest brothers) then narrowed their eyes venomously at her and her boyfriend.

While the kitchen of the Burrow was usually one of the warmest, most welcoming rooms in the world to Hermione, she noticed a distinctly cool, tense atmosphere this time. She looked sideways and saw that even Ron had clearly noticed, his eager smile slipping from his face.

There were several seconds of silence as the older family members' eyes all flittered between each other, holding a silent conversation that Ron and Hermione didn't know how to join. Then the loud ding of the kitchen timer made them all jerk suddenly.

"Wow, do I have great timing or what?" said Ron proudly, trying to ease some of the tension in the room, but some of his laughter died in his throat. His stomach didn't let him dwell on it, however, as Molly bent down to take the scones out of the oven, and the sweet, fresh smell filled the kitchen.

After she put the plate of scones on the table, Ron casually flicked a cooling charm over them before grabbing one greedily. The other Weasley men took their own, but they looked more like it was just something to do with their hands. While Ron hummed as he took a big bite, they chewed theirs thoughtfully.

"I should check on the washing," said Molly quietly, without looking at anyone. She grabbed a laundry basket and headed outside towards the clothesline.

"I'll help!" said Hermione cheerfully. She was always happy to help with the chores at the Burrow, but she also wanted to get one of the Weasleys alone to figure out what they had been talking about.

Molly didn't answer and continued outside with Hermione behind her.

"How have you and Arthur been?" asked Hermione pleasantly.

"Well, my days are still dreary, with no children left in the house," Molly sighed. "I knew that children don't stay children forever, but I certainly wasn't expecting my younger ones to hit so many milestones so quickly….and in the wrong order." She finished more quietly

Hermione frowned. Did Molly think she and Ron were getting married too soon? She had never expressed that before, she was overjoyed when they had announced their engagement.

"Er….well, Ron recently got promoted from Junior Auror," said Hermione uncertainly as she began helping Molly take garments off the clothesline and put them in the basket. "He'll be taking more serious cases now." So his career is well on track, if that's what you're worried about.

"I'm touched that you and Ron are willing to indulge that to me!" said Molly sharply

Hermione pursed her lips. Her patience was running out.

She stepped towards her soon-to-be mother-in-law and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Molly…"

For the first time, Molly turned to look at Hermione and the younger woman flinched back at the cold distrust and disapproval she saw in her eyes. Hermione felt a rush of deja vu, and after a short moment she realized where she had seen that look before: it was the same look she had received from Molly her fourth year, when the older witch had believed Rita Skeeter and was under the impression that Hermione was Harry's manipulative girlfriend, breaking his heart by messing around with Viktor.

"Mrs. Weasley...have I done something wrong?" asked Hermione weakly.

Seeing the hurt on Hermione's face, Molly's own harsh expression softened and was replaced with a wave of guilt. Her eyes got watery and her lip trembled, and before Hermione could say anything else she suddenly found herself being hugged tightly.

"No dear, you haven't done anything wrong," said Molly in a choked voice, as Hermione awkwardly patted her back, thoroughly confused. "I'm just being silly. I understand you're not choosing sides, you're just being a good friend."

Molly pulled back, and was smiling weakly at Hermione.

"Er...thank you," said Hermione, more bewildered than ever. "I don't mean to be rude, Molly, but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh no, of course not," Molly winked dramatically, "There's nothing to tell, I'll drop it. Come on, dinner is just about ready."

Before Hermione could insist more strongly that Molly explain what the hell was going on, Molly picked up the now-full laundry basket and returned to the house, leaving Hermione blinking dumbly behind her.

******************************

As Hermione followed his mother outside, Ron continued to chew into the warm, buttery scone, barely looking at his surrounding family members, the earlier tension all but forgotten to him.

"So….little Ronnie doesn't come around for dinner as much as he used to," Bill pointed out.

"He and Harry have been burning the candle at both ends at the Ministry," said Percy.

"Hmm-hmm," Ron nodded, engrossed in his scone, not looking up to see the stern looks on his brothers' faces. "More than we need to be, honestly. But because of Harry's saving-people-thing, he's always sure that the next case will end in disaster if the dark wizard isn't caught right now, and of course he would be lost without me, so whenever he's working overtime I am too." He shrugged.

"Oh yes, I think we're all well aware how loyal you are to Harry," Charlie said darkly, "Even over other, older loyalties, as a matter of fact."

"Charlie…." began their dad warningly.

Ron looked back up, and grew uncomfortable again when he saw that all of his family members were looking directly at him. Earlier, he had assumed that the awkward tension in the room was because he and Hermione had interrupted an important conversation, but it seemed to go beyond that, like they were pissed directly at him for something he had done.

"What's going—"

He was interrupted by his mother re-entering the house, holding the laundry with one hand and wiping tears from her eyes with the other. Hermione followed in shortly behind her, and Ron looked pointedly at his mother and gave his fiance a quizzical look, but Hermione just returned a confused, helpless shrug.

"The roast should be almost done now," said Molly happily, and waved her want to send a flurry of plates and cutlery flying to settle in front of where each of the Weasley men were sitting.

"And I'm such a terrible mother, I neglected something," chuckled Molly, and bent down to kiss the crown of Ron's head. "We all missed you, dear."

"Mum…" Ron grumbled awkwardly, but he saw his brothers look at each other with slightly guilty expressions, and as they followed their mother's lead, the atmosphere of the room became friendlier.

Charlie drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I need a drink."

"Excellent idea!" pipped George. He waved his wand and summoned a large bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet along with several glasses, which zoomed right past Molly's face, causing her to jump and shriek.

"For the last time, only the cook can summon in the kitchen!" Molly scolded him, "I won't have this room devolve in complete chaos of flying objects until someone gets a concussion!"

"And I know you don't always act like it, but you are all of age," said Arthur, raising his eyebrows at George pouring several glasses of whiskey, "so I see no reason why you can't bring your own drinking supplies instead of raiding mine."

Molly huffed. "Well maybe it will be best if we stopped keeping that poison in the house—"

She stopped abruptly as they heard a faint pop from outside, coming from down the pathway, and Ron knew that Harry and Ginny must have arrived. Instead of beaming and rushing out into the garden to greet her two favorite children, however, Ron saw his mother gasp and a bit of the color drain from her face. His family members all looked at each other with that same expression he first saw when he came into the room.

Charlie gave a low growl and picked up a glass. "Yup. Definitely need a drink."

#hinny ficfest #hinny fanfiction #hinny fluff #romione #hinny #hinny fanfic #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #harry and ginny #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #romione fanfic #harry x ginny #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic

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rons-hermiones · 3 years

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirteen

With unsure nods, the pair vacated the kitchen and back into the living room. There was a mix of weeping family members and those out doing something. Searching the area, thinking of where Hermione could’ve gone.

Ron soon decides he’s done being in the mourning category. He needs to remain strong and vigilant, for no one else but Hermione.

“Someone needs to get Dumbledore here.” Ron’s shaky voice says, commanding all eyes to him.

“Albus?” Arthur asks curiously, his eyes a little glassed over as he rubs Molly’s back.

The youngest Weasley brother nods, “You-Know-Who he wanted,” he inhaled, trying to keep his voice leveled, “he wanted Hermione.”

Eyes widened in shock. Bill’s mouth hangs open as Lupin furiously paces the room, tapping at his temple.

“What would that bastard want with Hermione?” George grumbles lowly, but it’s loud enough for everyone to hear.

“We don’t know,” Harry finally spoke, “that’s why we need Dumbledore. Now.” His tone left no room for argument.

“I’ll do it.” Lupin tells the group, stalking off to the kitchen.

Everyone was rather astounded by the proclamation, they were expecting Remus to push Ron or Harry to divulge what happened.

“I got it.” Tonks announced, suddenly appearing from the back door.

Everyone whirled around to face her, “her wand, I have it. It’s Hermione, isn’t it?” The woman’s voice became softer.

Ron stepped forward and gently took it from Tonks hand.

‘Not so brave without our wand, are we muddy?’

He shivers as the cold wood caresses his hand.

“She hasn’t got a wand,” Ginny moaned behind the veil of hair she had been hiding behind, “she’ll die.”

“Oi Ginny!” Ron said angrily, no one had ever seen him this mad before, his sister flinched.

“Don’t you say things like that.” Molly told her daughter, hugging her to her chest.

They were all interrupted by a soft rapping on a nearby window.

“Dumbledore already?” Charlie said aloud.

Instinctively, Ron pocketed Hermione’s vine wood wand and drew his own. Arthur lurched to the window, ready to strike, when he stopped.

Breathing a sigh of relief he turned, “it’s your owl Harry.”

“Hedwig?” He asked suspiciously as he stalked toward the bird.

Tied to her leg was a rolled up piece of parchment. Giving her a nice pet first, he soon untied the contents and noticed it was addressed to Hermione.

“Who is it?” Bill asked.

He sucked in a breath, “it’s for Hermione, it’s from her parents.” His voice dropped at this.

Molly suddenly let out a small cry, completely forgetting that her own parents were to be told that their child, their only child, was gone.

“What’s it say?” Fred piped up from his spot on the arm chair.

Harry’s eyes fell on Ron’s, “I’m not sure if it’s my place to open it.”

Wordlessly, he passed the envelope over to Ron, whose mouth was agape at being trusted with such a thing.

Ignoring the gazes from his family, he peeled open the thing and let his eyes fix on the page. He skimmed every other line as certain sentences stuck out.

Merry Christmas!

We’ll send your gifts as soon as we’re home.

I hope you’re being kind to the Weasley’s.

We’re sorry to tell you this way, please don’t be too upset.

Grandma Jean passed last night, on Christmas Eve.

It was peaceful.

She thought of your grandpa.

She thought of you.

Don’t disappear on the Weasley’s.

Stay where you are.

We’re fine.

You have Ron and Harry.

We love you.

See you soon.

He let the parchment flutter to the ground. He hadn’t had it in him to read the entirety of it, but what he read was enough.

The phrases like ‘don’t disappear’, ‘stay where you are’, and ‘see you soon’ reverberated around in his head.

“Ronnie, what is it?” Bill probed gently from his spot next to Fleur.

He swallowed the bile in his throat, “her grandmother, she passed. She’s gone.” A few gasps filled the room, “their daughter, she’s, she’s gone too. How are we gonna tell them? How am I gonna tell them? It’s all my fault.”

Despite not knowing what entailed, no one, besides Ron himself, blamed him for what happened.

“Ron,” his mother swiftly budged in, ready to console her son.

However, he was having none of it, he didn’t deserve it, “her parents they don’t know about any of this.”

Late at night in fifth year, he found Hermione in the common room. She was working mercilessly over a piece of parchment as tears pooled on the pages. When he asked what was wrong, she finally let it out and admitted she’d been living a lie. Telling her parents Hogwarts was lovely and the only thing on her mind were exams. No dark lord, no death eaters.

For a brief moment, he wondered if Harry knew too.

“Not about You-Know-Who, not about Cedric, the department of mysteries, not even about prejudices against Muggleborns.” He admitted to everyone in the room.

And by the look on Harry’s face, this was news to him.

“Did you know?” Ginny dared to ask Harry.

At this, the chosen one shook his head. Suddenly feeling guilty, Harry had been wallowing so much in his own problems he failed to be there for Hermione, who was fiercely loyal to him.

“Why would she lie about that?” Fleur butted in, not judgmental, but just trying to understand.

“She was scared they’d take her out of Hogwarts.” He told everyone, Tonks nods in understanding, her dad being a Muggle.

“Because of me.” Harry said without missing a beat.

“No,” Ron protested.

“Yes, she wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me. She wouldn’t be gone, she wouldn’t be lying to her parents.” He stated, sure that was the case.

“You’d also be dead without her.” His best friend stated with conviction. Ron was already lost in self wallowing, the last thing he needed was for Harry to drown in it too. “We both would be.” He couldn’t help but add, despite the situation being so close to home.

“Ronnie,” Fred’s voice, sounding the most gentle he’s ever heard, broke through the air, “can you tell us what happened? Please.” He pleaded. After all, everyone here cared for Hermione too.

A few times Ron opened and closed his mouth, not really knowing what to say. After fumbling like a fish for two minutes, he settled for something, “I’m not-“ I’m not strong enough.

But, the words never came, a crack sounded outside, and for a sickening moment he imagined Bellatrix Lestrange to waltz through the door.

Instead, he was meant by his fathers shouts, “it’s Dumbledore!” He exclaimed, opening the back door.

In a moment's notice the Headmaster's looming six foot frame is towering in his doorway and at the sight, Ron knows somewhere within him he has to manage to be strong enough.

“Albus.” Molly said, relieved at the sight of him, “we’re sorry to do this to you on Christmas and all.” She stood wiping at her eyes.

The old man didn’t have the heart to tell everyone here that Christmas had long gone, it was nearing two in the morning.

“Of course Molly. I’ve had Remus go collect Alastor and Kingsley. Nymphadora, do you mind getting Minerva for me?” He asked kindly, annoyingly calm if you ask Ron.

Dumbledore, being one of the only people to get away with calling her that, Tonks just nodded to him as she stalked out to the backyard.

Ron gulps, it’s just now hitting him how serious this all is. The Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful Wizard living, someone with their own bloody chocolate frog card is in his living room. But there’s no time to marvel at it or even feel shocked, because he knows why he’s here.

He’s here because Hermione’s gone.

Next, the white haired man found a spot on the sofa and surprisingly plopped down. “Now, I need to know everything if I am to help.”

Ron’s still reeling from telling Harry and because of the owl from Hermione’s parents. And by the looks of it, Harry’s feeling the same as he stands stock still and paler than usual.

Thankfully, Bill notices the boys expression and takes over as much as he can, “it all started we were all in here, opening gifts, and then,”

“I was in the garden, we-,” he swallows the lump in his throat, “we were in the garden.” Ron almost whispers.

A little awkwardly, unsure what to say, Bill just nods and goes on, “we were opening gifts and we heard a crack, apparition.” Dumbledore nods at this.

“Two cracks.” Charlie interrupts, earning a slanted look from Bill.

Doing his best to not get frustrated by the multitude of people butting in, he ignores it. “So we went outside. We heard her first...” he trailed, not wanting to say it.

“It is crucial you tell me everything that happened, everything that was said.” Dumbledore reminded at his uncertainty.

“Bellatrix,” Harry’s shaky voice said, “she was saying how she killed Sirius.”

Everyone, Bill included, waits for Harry to continue the story on, but instead the dark haired boy offers the eldest Weasley a nod.

“Greyback was with her too.” Bill added, “She didn’t say much honestly, nothing out of the ordinary. Recognized the lot of us, Tonks, Lupin, Harry, called us blood traitors, remembered Hermione from the ministry.” At the mention of her name the room tensed, “then she casted incendio around the Burrow and skipped away, literally.”

Neither Ron or Harry made a move to fill in the gaps.

Bill sighed, “Harry, he ran after her, Hermione followed, so did Ronnie. By the time they were all gone, the fire, it blocked the path.”

At the admission, the chosen one's eyes bulged, “it’s all my fault. She ran after me.”

“Harry,” Ron tried weakly.

Sensing the lack of energy, Fred surprisingly jumped in, “if one of you went all three one of you would’ve. You know that just as well as I do.”

“Mr.Weasley is correct, now I know this may be difficult but I’m going to need one of you to please tell me what occurred. This is the only way I’m able to help your friend.” The old man eyed Ron and Harry who had found themselves standing side by side against the window.

“I can’t say much, I was running before I stunned Greyback. Hermione and Ron were with them longer.” Harry was able to speak, mustering any courage he had left.

Ron stared blankly at his headmaster.

“Ron.” His mother said gently, “please.” She sounded like she was crying.

Sucking in a shaky breath, he hoped to some higher power this would be the last time he ever told this story. He knew he would be reliving it for the rest of his nights, whenever he fell asleep.

“I didn’t hear Bellatrix say much, not the first time at least,” this made the room shudder, “all I could see was her wand pressed to Hermione’s throat, Greyback was eying her like a meal, so I tried to disarm her.” His voice dropped, “it didn’t do anything, I couldn’t use any spells, I couldn’t hurt Hermione.” Ron’s eyes grew glassy, “then Harry came.”

Seeing Ron needed a minute, the dark haired boy jumped in, “I stunned Greyback. He fell to the ground. It surprised Bellatrix, Hermione was able to get away. Next thing I knew, I was running.” His eyes flicked back to blue ones.

“So were Hermione and I. She started going-going,” he’s stuttering, “going on about how Lestrange told her that You-Know-Who, he’s been talking about her.”

Small gasps filled the room, even Dumbledore’s eyes grew wide, “about Miss Granger?”

Ron nodded stiffly, “she was certain they wouldn’t kill her, said they needed her for-for something. Bellatrix, she said she wasn’t here for Harry.”

It was Harry’s turn for answers. His eyes pleaded with Dumbledore for any piece of wisdom, practically begging to know what game they were playing at. However, for once, the old man didn’t seem to know any answers now, they laid with Ron.

The youngest Weasley brother sensed his responsibility and thought of Hermione, using her to be strong.

“We stopped by the old oak tree to catch our breaths, we knew we had to go after Harry, but before we could we heard the two of them. She thought we were Harry, when she said as much, Greyback asked why it had mattered, they were on strict orders not to kill him.”

“Why?” Harry’s voice broke, he needed to know. Bellatrix had ample opportunities to end it but she hadn’t.

Dumbledore shook his head, “I can’t say for certain Harry. It sounds as if Voldemort,” the Weasley family shivered at the name, “wants you for himself. Tom has always been one for theatrics, anything for an act of defiance. What I can’t understand is why they didn’t attempt to apparate you.” He voiced aloud.

Slowly, the Boy-Who-Lived nodded in acknowledgment, but certainly not in understanding.

“What happened next Ron?” The man asked softly.

He cleared his throat nervously, “Bellatrix, she said if she found me, that she’d-she’d kill me.” Nearby, Molly moaned in pain, falling into Ginny, “that I was just another blood traitor. But for Hermione, she said-” he shut his eyes tightly, “said she’d be a perfect gift for him.”

They all knew who ‘he’ was. Fleur was trembling as the story continued, Ginny had the urge to clamp her hands over her ears, Charlie was fully engaged, and the twins nervously eyed the floor.

“Said she was the brilliant one and all that, that she must know something and they’d get it out of her.” He released a breath, “Merlin, she’s so stupid, so stupid.” He began to cry.

“Ron, you need to tell them. For her.” Harry reminded in an equally as broken whisper, clapping a hand on his shoulder to give him strength.

“She knew they wanted to kill me and she knew they didn’t wanna kill her...” he trailed, wiping at his eyes.

“No.” Fred said aloud, before he could help it, dropping his head in his hands, putting together what happened.

“She casted the stunning spell on me and a disillusionment charm, there was a crack and she was gone.” Ron said it rushed, sloppily, unable to even get through it before collapsing against the wall.

Molly stood up, sat down and embraced her son.

“Did Bellatrix perform any spells or curses on Hermione?” Dumbledore asked the sobbing boy.

“Albus.” Missus Weasley scolded.

Ron shook his head numbly, “expelliarmus, that was it.”

The old man paced around the room before directing his attention to Harry and Ron, the latter now calming in his mother’s embrace.

“Did she know something?” He asked flustered. Harry’s never heard the professor sound so rushed, so panicked. It worried him to the core.

Frantically, Potter shook his head, “I don't know, maybe, no? I don't know.” He’s panicking now too.

The white haired man turns his attention to Ron, “she wouldn’t have to me anything, she wouldn’t.” It broke his heart even more, it’s just now hitting him that Hermione’s gone and he can’t remember the last thing he said to her. Just what he wanted to say.

“Has she been fixated on anything? Talking, asking, reading?” He lists off, Harry hasn’t heard him use this tone since his name was pulled from the goblet of fire.

The boys look at each other and think, but nothing comes up, they can’t even see straight.

“That book.” Ginny states in a crisp voice, “she’s been reading the same book for weeks. Writing notes on it.”

He rounded to the young girl, “what book?”

Ginny shook her head unknowingly, “I don’t know. She puts it away whenever anyone comes around.” Her voice is uneven, but it’s evident she wants to help anyway she can.

“The cover is black, there’s gold trim. There’s no title, very old looking.” Fleur speaks for the first time, recalling their time under the tree.

“Do you know where it is?” He seemed determined to find it, Harry sensed realization in his eyes.

Fleur shook her infadictly, Ginny shrugged, “her trunk?” She suggested.

“Please take me there.” He said to no one in particular.

Over his large frame, Ginny’s eyes found Harry’s, she nodded at him, signaling it was his duty.

“Follow me.” Harry stood from the floor and rushed to the steps.

Dumbledore’s robes flew behind him as the old man climbed the steps with fervor. When he reached Hermione’s trunk, he flung it open unceremoniously and ripped through its contents like a mad man.

Harry had half the heart to scold him and be more gentle with her things. And he was just about to say as much, until the headmaster stopped moving.

In his old, shaking hands, was that old thing that had been attached to Hermione for weeks.

Harry had asked her about it a few times, she just said it was for ‘light reading’ and brushed him off. He chose not to mention it, reading was ordinary for her.

Next, a brown journal was being pried open by Dumbledore. By the looks of it, the pages were spelled as he whispered a counter incantation to it as the witches neat scrawl filled the pages.

“Hey, it’s just her diary! That’s private.” He scolded.

And for the first time since they got up here, Dumbledore turned to him, eyes wide as saucers.

“This is no diary Harry.”

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione #romione fanfic #hp #hp fanfic #sixth year

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the-big-nope · 4 years

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While I’m certainly nowhere near ready for the story of the Mighty Nein to come to an end, I am also a D&D nerd and there’s a new sourcebook coming out soon with a bunch of new subclasses in it. By the time Campaign 3 of Critical Role gets underway, that book will be published, leaving a wealth of new options for the cast members to choose from, so why not entertain myself by making barely justified predictions of what the cast is most likely to pick for their next characters! (Disclaimer: Some of the new subclasses have been confirmed and some haven’t, so for a few of these picks I’m just going off of what I think is going to be in the book).

Travis

Cleric (Tempest Domain): Travis has been playing lowkey EMT since campaign one, and Laura’s already confirmed that Travis almost went cleric for campaign two. Between Grog with his barb-boosted movement speed to get around the battlefield so he could shove healing potions into his squishier teammates, and Fjord multiclassing into paladin and lovingly tapping his friends with single hit points to get them back up, it would be delightful to see him fully jump in and embrace the classical healer role. Of course, this is Travis, so I don’t see him picking a cleric domain that doesn’t allow for at least some whoop-ass, and Tempest Domain brings plenty of it. You get proficiency with all armor and weapons, Divine Strike at level 8 for boosted melee damage, you can use a reaction to inflict lightning or thunder damage against any enemy within melee range that’s hit you. And if you climb up high enough in levels, you gain a flying speed equal to your walking one whenever you’re outdoors. Pretty nifty, and makes for a fitting subclass for a guy that’s voiced Thor on multiple occasions.

Blood Hunter (Order of the Lycan): I mean, come on. The only reason it isn’t number one is that it was already widely assumed this would be Travis’s pick for campaign two, and I wouldn’t put it past him to surprise us again. But still, we saw him get a taste in Liam’s one shot and he was clearly having the time of his life. Besides, we lost Molly far too early to really see the blood hunter’s potential come to life; it would be damn cool to see someone else take a crack at it, and Travis is enough of a D&D gambler to not shy away from the class’s riskier features.

Artificer (Armorer): Speaking of Marvel connections, if Travis doesn’t lean toward fantasy Thor, then fantasy Iron Man might catch his attention instead. Artificer is an official class now, and since it’ll be reprinted in TCoE by the time campaign 3 gets underway, it’ll be a lot more visible as an option. The Armorer sits in almost a perfect middle ground of what Travis has done before: tanky and a frontliner, but also still has spells and tricks to help the party. Plus, you get a badass suit of power armor out of it. What’s not to like?

Marisha

Bard (College of Creation): After Hazel Copperpot, we all saw the pure magic that was Marisha Ray playing a bard. I know she implied that Hazel was supposed to be her campaign two backup character, but I hope this doesn’t discourage her from making another one. There are quite a few bard subclasses, a number of which I could see her being drawn to (Lore, Glamour, maybe even Swords), but I really vibe with the idea of Creation. I can’t exactly say why; maybe the idea of the ‘dancing object’ feature in Marisha’s hands is very funny to me (remember Keyleth’s adorable “Be Our Guest” moment? That, but this time it’s a walking wardrobe beating the shit out of the enemy).

Paladin (Oath of Vengeance/Conquest): As of yet, no one on Critical Role has ever played a paladin from the start, only multiclassed later down the line. I think this would be a cool departure for Marisha. Both campaigns she’s played characters that were either suspicious or at least indifferent to faith and the gods. Paladins are typically associated with deities, but they’re not tied quite so closely to them as clerics are. It would be fascinating to see what she did with it. As for the subclass, I just think Marisha’s earned her turn on the Goth Character Carousel, and while I know Conquest paladin is very unlikely given its moral grayness by default which might cause undue conflict and that Vengeance is a much more likely and acceptable pick, I just think it would be a sexy character choice.

Wizard (Bladesinger/Graviturgist): This is a much more pie-in-the-sky, wishful thinking pick on my end, but not impossible imo. Marisha has experience with heavy spellcasting already, so she probably wouldn’t shy away from a wizard, but like Travis I suspect she likes a bit of oomph to her characters, and probably wouldn’t play as support heavy as Caleb does. To that end, Bladesingers get a bit more survivability and some modicum of physical prowess alongside their spells, while Graviturgists are definitely on the more aggressive side of the spectrum for wizard subclasses, with unique dunamancy spells to boot. I’m not sure how restrictive Matt would be about Xhorhassian characters in the next campaign if it takes place on another continent, but hey, you never know. Plus, she picked one of Matt’s homebrew subclasses for the current campaign; it would be cute if it happened again.

Liam

Druid (Circle of the Shepherd): At some point before Critical Role comes to end (hopefully far in the future), I know Liam’s gonna play a druid, I can feel it in my bones. He's too big of a Kiki fan not to. However, while Circle of the Moon might feel obvious given the potential for homage and how much he likes turning into animals, I feel like he might regard it as getting too close to old territory (also, I don’t know if Circle of the Moon is like an exclusive thing to the Ashari tribes, and if it is that would be rather restrictive for building a backstory). If that’s the case, Circle of the Shepherd feels like the next best bet. It has some great support options via the totems you can put down, and rather than becoming badass animals, you instead just get really good at summoning a fuck ton of them. It’s like Frumpkin, but ten of him. And they’re bears. (Honorable mention: If Circle of the Moon would feel like treading old territory then I’m certain Circle of Wildfire would too, but I’d bet my dice collection it would at least be tempting).

Cleric (Unity Domain): Listen. The pure sap potential that would be at Mr. O’Brien’s fingertips with this subclass is incredible. The domain all about strengthening and protecting the bonds between friends and loved ones?? The domain with the Channel Divinity that can spread damage taken by one creature across the party however the cleric chooses to distribute it to lessen the blow to the individual??? The domain that used to be called the Love Domain???? I’m practically gagging on the soft moments and unspoken devotion conveyed through spellcasting already.

Fighter (Rune Knight/Psi Knight): Liam has yet to play a tank in a long-term campaign, and while I’m more enamored with the potential of the above classes, it would be novel to see him play a character with an actually respectable amount of hit points. However, I feel like if he was gonna commit to a straight frontliner, he’d probably want something a little more unique than a Champion or Battle Master (especially since he’s played those already for one-shots). Rune Knight has some fun options and built-in flavor, and with Psi Knight you can basically be a Jedi. Not bad options at all if you ask me.

Taliesin

Warlock (Fiend): Yeah, it might be expected, or Percy might have been too close to warlock anyway to feel like there’s new ground to cover, but hear me out. Both Percy (who, let’s face it, was a warlock multiclass in all but the actual mechanics) and Fjord were the classic reluctants. They got in over their heads without really knowing what was going on, and once they did they wanted out, cutting ties with their patrons and getting clear with only the scars remaining. I want to see Taliesin commit to a warlock in a way I imagine only he could manage to pull off. How fun would that balancing act be, to have a character that has no intentions of breaking their pact, who’s here for the powers, and is willing to work that delicate balancing act between keeping what he’s got and not letting his contract holder get the better of him? Give it to meeeeee.

Sorcerer (Psionic Soul): Psionic Soul has a bit of that eldritch flavor that vibes with Taliesin so much, with the added interest of introducing a brand new feature to 5E, the Psi Die (with this subclass, using them can do things like letting a sorcerer learn a spell they don’t already know for a few hours, allow you to cast spells without needing verbal, somatic, or material components, and can give you telepathy). Taking both Percy and Molly into account, it seems Tal likes to lean into those unique additional mechanics, and while Psi Die aren’t as risk-heavy as Gunslinger or Bloodhunter, they do add a layer of variability and unpredictability that seems to match his style.

Rogue (Swashbuckler): We only got a little bit of time with Molly, and so missed out on the opportunity to see Tal play a more cavalier character this time around. If he feels like leaning away from spells next time and back toward martial, I think a high-charisma, high-swinging swashbuckler from Tal would be a delight to watch.

Laura

Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian): Laura deserves to hit things, okay? Yes, spellcasting is great and comes in clutch frequently and Jester’s amazing, but you can tell Laura misses doing fat stacks of damage to the enemy in a single round. I personally think it would be amazing to watch her just cut loose and go full rage machine. As for the subclass, I’m not glued to the idea, but Ancestral Guardians are pretty kickass, have decent support capabilities for a barb without detracting from their DPS at all, and it doesn’t tread on any previous characters’ toes or their aesthetics.

Rogue (Scout/Soulknife): Laura deserves to play her favorite class at last, okay? She’s been class poached two campaigns in a row, and though that resulted in both Vex and Jester and I wouldn’t trade them for the world, Laura has earned first pick. Seeing as she already dipped into Assassin as Vex and Sam took Arcane Trickster, I could see Scout being a viable subclass choice. It’s in the classic sneaky vein, relatively simple in concept, but comes with features that grant easy-to-understand benefits that you can never turn your nose up at (boosts to movement, advantage on initiative, giving advantage against a target to everyone else in the party, etc.). If she’s looking for something a bit flashier, Soulknife has the benefit of retroactively dunking on Vax by taking the basic knife-rogue and making it better, with psionic knives that you can manifest with a thought, that can teleport you around Whisper style, and cranking up that stealth to ridiculous levels by just being able to turn invisible for ten minutes, no concentration or spell needed. The psionic die mechanics are a little funky of course, but I don’t imagine it’s any trickier than learning to manage all those cleric spells.

Monk (Way of the Open Hand): Between Beau just being super cool and her brief stint as Farriwen Breeze, monk wouldn’t be a surprising pick from Laura. An Open Hand monk might be the definitive version everyone knows, but you can’t deny it’s a solid subclass, and between previous overlap and the concepts of the other subclasses just not seeming to fit, I could see the classic being what she went with. But hey, it’s Laura Bailey. She could surprise us with Way of the Drunken Master or something.

Sam

Ranger (Monster Slayer): Let’s be real, I don’t think this would be his actual first pick for a Campaign 3 character, but the amount of shit-stirring he could achieve by making a character with the aim of pissing off Laura Bailey specifically would be hilarious (and since Matt isn’t completely opposed to UA and acknowledges that PHB ranger has a lot of issues, I wouldn’t be surprised if they went Revised Ranger this time).

Warlock (Genie): Actual first pick here, Pact of the Genie Warlock is confirmed by now, and the potential of a warlock in the hands of Sam Riegel is pretty vast (for some reason I’m imagining he would go the ‘spoiled sugar baby’ route). The subclass doesn’t matter as much, but the Genie one is nice in that, depending on the type of genie patron you pick, you can get a wide variety of extra spells, you get a container like a classic lamp or lantern that you can bamf into for short rests, and you get a limited Wish ability for your capstone, all features I feel like would especially appeal to Sam.

Barbarian (Path of the Wild Soul): I want to see Sam play a fairy barbarian. ‘Nough said.

Ashley

Fighter (Eldritch/Echo Knight): Ashley really seems to vibe with the crushing power of martial classes (she does love her brutal kill descriptions), so I could see her sticking with it rather than going back to full caster. However, I do see her picking one of the magical subclasses for some variety after Yasha. Eldritch Knight is a classic and reasonably easy to manage, but tbh I’d LOVE for it to be Echo Knight. And think, if my wishful thinking came true, with Ashley picking an Echo Knight and Marisha playing a Graviturgist wizard, they could link up their backstories and be a traveling Kryn battle duo that left their homeland behind to explore the world!

Sorcerer (Draconic): If she does want to go back to full-time casting, Sorcerer doesn’t require near as much bookkeeping as a cleric, druid, or wizard while still having decent variety, and the Draconic subclass is a bit beefier than the other subclasses. Also, it would be the third campaign in a row where Ashley Johnson’s character eventually got wings, soooo...

And tbh I have no idea what a third pick might be for Ashley, so I’m just gonna throw a dart or two at the board and say either College of Whispers Bard or Way of Mercy Monk *Shrug* We can only wait and see!

#critical role #if anyone else has thoughts i'd love to hear your guesses!

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thenerdintheattic · 4 years

Text

DARK EYES

The Great War - 5/5 : I just want to give Eight a hug. And Molly. Because I love her so much, I love her voice, I love how unimpressed she is with everybody and especially the Doctor, I love her story. So yeah this episode has a kinda vibe - it's like you can see the bodies and injuries and you can smell the blood, it's very powerful (and yes, let's give Eight hope by sending him in the middle of WW1 - marvellous idea)

Fugitives - 5/5 : So Eight and Molly can't catch a break. It reminds me of the Chase, which is one of my favourite Hartnell episodes, so well done. And you know, this episode is so worth it, just to hear Eight and Molly laugh for two minutes (it watered my crops, cleared my skin and all that) (and oh my GOD EIGHT CALLS MOLLY DARK EYES AND SHE IS PISSED! I LOVE HER)

Tangled Web - 4/5 : stop trying to make us believe that the Daleks can be good. i mean... Apart from that, it's a great episode. And like, poor Molly! And omg Eight crying over Lucie, i can't. just someone gives him a hug

X and the Daleks - 4.5/5 : did I mention I just LOVE Eight and Molly? Just their dynamic, the banter, the way Molly is ready to sacrifice herself and Eight just won't have any of this. I just love them. It was a nice ending for this arc, Straxus got what he deserved and I really loved that ending with Molly leaving and the letter and Eight's words : "There she goes. Back to the château, back to the tents, back to her war. Dark eyes no more." It's perfect

The Traitor - 3.5/5 : LIV CHENKA BABY! The woman is a badass with Daleks and humans, just don't mess with her. Eight is baby BUT deserves an award for WORST acting performance ever (I mean who really thought he was being transformed into a robot-man thingy?). Bless him. The three rebel men were extra annoying - you're supposed to sympathise with them because they're dalek slaves but I just wanted Liv to punch the shit out of them, they have zero charisma, nothing. The plot is ok, I'm not a fan of the dalek time controller but this cliffhanger is savage. Also "you will move ahead of us and follow my direction" YES BABY

The White Room - 4/5 : gaaah i hate when an episode ends on a cliffhanger and the next one just proceeds like nothing happened. like how did the doctor ended up in Baker street in 1918? anyway, molly is back so yaaaay! i like this episode although the disease that makes you time travel... and it was nice to get a break from the daleks

Time's Horizon - 5/5 : SPACE (the final frontier) I LOVE. Uncharted space travel, the need to know what's there, what's beyond, the need to understand, I get that baby. So obviously, I tend to have a soft spot for these episodes. The fact that there aren't too many characters really helped also and the Eminence SLAYS, they're really cool (although deadly bastards). And we finally get some follow-up on The Traitor, which hasn't happened for the Doctor yet, so that explains it (and I'm making a wild guess there but I suppose the aliens the Doctor made the daleks destroy were the Eminence). Also Molly and Liv in the same room ... the level unimpressedness rocketed

Eyes of the Master - 3.5/5 : The Master gets lazier and lazier with his aliases, that's funny. Anyway he gives me a weird vibe, I don't know I have a hard time identifying him as the Master. But I didn't really see the time pass with this story which is always good. The eyes stuff is very disturbing, although I don't really understand how the projenitor particles inside Molly can help to defeat the Eminence (it all feels a bit too convenient).

The Death of Hope - 2/5 : I didn't really feel for those leftover people, that's a bit of a shame and I'm definitely not vibing with this Master so it all felt quite long for me

The Reviled - 2.5/5 : was I the only one who actually knew that the Eminence would kill the Ramosians whether the humans were there or not? I have the impression that nothing much happens there, the human "rebels" are annoying, I'm not managing in staying interested in the Master or the Time Lords plans, I just want Eight, Liv and Molly to be reunited again. Only positive here, we're finally gonna acknowledge that Liv is dying here.

Masterplan - 3.5/5 : The Master and the Doctor being stuck together and having to cooperate was really nice, I liked the insight it gave on their relationship. The bit with Liv and Sally was ok too I guess although I didn't really like the treatment Sally got. And I'm having a really hard time getting interested in the Eminence/Master plot so that's that. And God do I hate what they're doing with Molly!

Rule of the Eminence - 3.5/5 : I liked this episode better, I felt more concerned about what was happening and I actually enjoyed the Master being betrayed by the Eminence who then gets betrayed by the Doctor (although this wasn't subtle but whatever). I also really liked that Molly finally wakes up and is more like the Molly we got in Dark Eyes 1 BUT I hate that she has to go, I hate that she was just a device for the Daleks, for the Time Lords and for the Master. I guess we'll see her again anyway and I'm worried for her. Molly deserves better.

A Life in the Day - 5/5 : YES I love, I want more episodes like this. It was so good to hear Liv laugh and Eight being happy again (and that moment when Liv tells Eight she knows he's lying because he looks terrified, and him throwing a plant at someone shooting at him, YES I WANT MORE). And it was nice to take a break from the Master / Eminence plot

The Monster of Montmartre - 3.5/5 : I'll never get over the fact that while everybody else was dealing with the eminence the dalek time controller got married. that's pretty all that I will retain from this episode. well, that and those horrible French accent

Master of the Daleks - 3.5/5 : to be fair, I felt like the Doctor the whole episode : not getting what the hell is going on (also Eight lost his memories AGAIN and thinks daleks are his best friends, what a surprise). BUT I'm warming up a bit to this Master - he's sending me huge Missy vibe and the bit at the end with the Doctor : "let me take your TARDIS" "no you can't take my TARDIS" "but I want your TARDIS" --> CHILDREN I love them. And Molly is back and I'm so not thrilled because it's gonna end very badly for her and I'm not ok with this.

Eye of Darkness - 2.5/5 : that's ... correct. It kinda ties up the 4 boxsets together although I'm not completely satisfied with the Eminence origin - I wanted something really alien, really different. At least it kinda gives up an explanation as to why Molly's immune to the Eminence. I knew this would happen but I really didn't like Molly's end. She deserves so much more and don't get me started on the Doctor and Liv's reaction to that : Liv's literally like "Oh she's old now, she's lived her life, let her sacrifice herself to save the universe" (which isn't even the case because all the plot with the Eminence still happens by the way) and that's not the Liv I know. Eight is bothered by it for two seconds and then just moves on and when you know how devastated he was after Lucie's death, that's just not fair on Molly. So yeah. I'm bitter.

Overall opinion : it started very well. The first boxset is very very good. But then it gets complicated. Too complicated. Then we get the Master, the Eminence, Sally Armstrong, the Time Lords. We also get Liv and I'm certainly not gonna complain about that. And Molly gets fucked up and I really don't like that. I don't know if it's because Ruth Bradley wasn't available as much anymore but she just feels wasted. She could have just gone at the end of X and the Daleks and lived her life, I would have been happy with that. I'm disappointed with the Eminence, I don't like this version of the Master, so yeah big let down for me.

#doctor who #dark eyes #big finish #eight #eighth doctor #molly o'sullivan #liv chenka #daleks #the master #macqueen!master #bald!master #the eminence

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eirlys-jane · 3 years

Text

An excerpt from part 11 of ‘Last Hope’.

Warnings: mentions of vomit, migraine, pain, chronic illness and such topics.

All work is rightfully my own creation and may not be plagiarised.

When Maeve turns over in bed, the clock strikes 11pm; she thinks over the events of the past two days with a bizarre sorrow settling in the pit of her stomach, spreading in her blood. First of all, she’s in her flat, in her room, in her special orthopedic bed. This should make her happy, and usually it would, except she’s alone. Secondly, she hasn’t been able to get any work done for twelve hours after a migraine hit her like a truck and left her bed bound and light sensitive. Her throat still burns from all of the throwing up, the bitter taste of bile riddling her mouth and poisoning her taste buds. Even water tastes horrible.

John was called out by a heavily fretting Lock. In fact, Molly was called too. This was second hand information to Maeve whose only memory is the vivid one of just spending hours vomiting into a bucket over the side of the bed while slipping in and out of consciousness. Apparently their visit worked, and the dull pain in her upper arm, to match the tension pain in her jaw, was some kind of antiemetic injection that solved her problems. She slept for six intermittent hours with the worst of it over, the pain still present. He’s been checking on her, every half hour while she sleeps, never leaving her side while she is awake. But still, despite her insistence, he’s sleeping on the sofa. She offered him the other half of the bed, to change the sheets, anything, but he point blank refused to get into bed with her.

“You need your rest, I don’t want to hinder that.” Except he is. Never mind the exquisite lumbar support, nothing is as comfortable as his arms.

He washed a cold cloth over her bare skin when her temperature rose, only to wrap her up in layers and layers of blankets when she began to get cold. He cradled her neck when it ached. He tied her hair back. He squinted through the dark for hours. But he won’t come to bed with her the one time she needs it most.

Her resentment soon fades once she remembers the rest of it, what he's been doing in lieu of her while she was too unwell. Organising her flat, or at least the parts of it that got messed up in mad dashes for medication or the bathroom one the throbbing, stabbing, anguish inducing pain hit her like a brick wall that very same morning. Her medications are now in labelled boxes, his handwriting staining the white of the card. They’re more accessible now, at least. And her bookshelves have been restacked. Most importantly, he stood for hours, note paper on the ornately carved music stand instead of new compositions, playing the same piece over and over again in small chunks.

When, at last, she called for him, he certainly delivered. Ten a4 pages of music analysis and decodings placed on her lap.

“God, you’re so brilliant.” She misarticulated, smiling through the agony.

The only reasons she can think of for how unsettled and unhappy she feels are the fact that she’s alone and the fact she's annoyed having not been able to work for the day. There’s something there that she can’t work out, he can’t place the discomfort, and it’s unsettling. Then she moves her ankle.

Ah, there it is, the root of her pain all bound in a splint with its purple bruisings. Myc would want to know, she dwells, about all of this. He’s nursed her through her fair share of migraines the same way she’s had his back through various levels of purges. But she can’t, not right now, not until morning, maybe not even for a few days, because she can’t even look at her phone screen on it’s dimmest setting without her eyes burning and her vision blurring even more than it did before, her headache driving its way further into her brain. Chronic illness sucks sometimes, and she can’t even write about it.

“Lock.” she calls, hoping mindlessly that he’ll hear her through a series of closed doors. “Lock!” she repeats, more vigorously this time with as much umph as she can manage.

They really should get a baby monitor protocol set up, it’ll save them a lot of hassle. He raps on her door with his knuckles, wearing only loose pyjama trousers, or so she thinks from the silhouette the sliver of light from her corridor casts on his tall figure.

“Can you transcribe some things for me?”

“Of course.”

He returns in a second with a piece of paper, her favourite pen (he’s allowed to borrow it, the first person) and a dim reading light.

“Pain.

It’s all I feel.

The only constant, without relief.

Head and hands and heart,

Stabbing, scorching, sinking.

For once I want to breathe

To be free

To live a day pain free.

I know it’s too much to ask

As I’m blessed with a curse

A never ending woe

Like the ones from folklore.

Pain.

It’s all I feel.

But another constant has come,

And maybe it’s better.

Head and hands and heart.

Smiling, settling, soaring.

The only thing I want

The only thing I’ve ever wanted

Is someone who makes my pain

My blessing and their pleasure.

Pain

It’s all I feel.

But despite this constant,

I finally feel free.”

She can’t explain where the words come from, where the rhymes emerge from, somewhere deep inside, somewhere she didn’t even know, feelings she’s harboured for far too long. She doesn’t even realise the tears cascading down her cheeks and dampening her pillows and nightshirt until everythings out, a weight alleviated from her chest, her heart free from it’s cage. Muffled sobs come from Lock’s place, seated at her feet. He’s etched out every word, as requested, but the writing has slowly gotten more and more lopsided as his focus and resolve has waived, tear stains marring the paper.

“Maeve,” He chokes out, his eyes a pensive of emotions she could spend years working out. “W- is that a- about me?”

She nods silently, the shyest of smiles creeping onto her pale, jaded face. Such a contrast to her usual almost abrasive confident smiles.

What is this; enouement? If he could only tell his younger self that he’d be arriving at this moment, hell even himself a month ago, it would’ve saved him. An overwhelming love, so powerful it breaks down every wall and barrier, and melts any doubts and self loathings, so meaningful that nothing and no one else in the world matters, so strong that it’s like the world is under his control.

But still, the words that are ever on the tip of his tongue still don’t move, refusing to leave his mouth just yet, leaving him tongue tied. He craves to say them more than he’s needed anything before, except while she’s in bed looking sickly and frail it isn’t the best time, also not after she’s just elocuted one of the most moving poems he’s ever had the sheer joy of reading, let alone being a part of.

“You make my world a better place.”

He expects her to either say nothing or tell him the same thing. Instead, she weakly grabs for his hand and rasps out a plea, one word to drown out all the rest.

“Stay.”

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at-the-exd-of-everythixg · 3 years

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Right. Cracks knuckles

So there I was, watching spirited away, when I started thinking somewhat about how the characters teleport to the spirit worlds, and u know I always have Sal on my mind so...obviously I started thinking about Aspherane teleportation in further detail.

These are some pages that I think best sum up the working of Singularity's powers and the manner of how her teleports work.

Aa lot of media always uses the work of "speed of light" when it comes to travel in space. Steven Universe particularly used it as Gems are made out of hard light as well as the many times we've seen characters travel in light speed. So, yeah, it's a big ass trope and one I'm now gonna play around with 👈👈

Singularity is a hero who is a living pocket dimension as well and someone that particularly inspired me when creating Aspherane. A lot of their (going with nb Singularity cause marvel is a coward who still gendered EVERYTHING when A-force came about) powers are relating to dimensions when they crossed over into Arcadia, a world ruled by Doom, and began to help A-force but ultimately satisfied their life before they were "reborn" or teleported to another universe.

(Which, holy shit, could u IMAGINE Sal dying and he just. Teleports to another world. Aha imagine that as a thread the truama the angst of seeing who he loved as someone diffrent- fuck I'm into it)

So yeah, Singularity is capable of teleportation spatially, teleportation through dimensions and being capable of taking people into their personal pocket dimension. Now, this is where my headcanons come in on how it affects Aspherane and Majesdanes and therefore Sal and Pascal.

So, for Majesdanes, I like to think there's a comparison between the workings of time travel and inter-dimensional travel. I've stated a few times how there are differences between Majesdanes and Aspheranes that involve the amount of energy that they process and how it's used. Before the Fall, Majesdanes controlled Aspherane and had a large amount of energy within the planet and within themselves. A lot of Majesdane technology was focused onto space travel and time travel, which meant that it wasn't entirely uncommon for Aspherane to travel to other time periods on other planets and blend in.

As for social context, I imagine it wasn't that uncommon for a lot of Majesdanes to accidentally time travel when they're young and still expanding their energy. Mostly I like this because it's very funny to imagine a Majesdane accidentally popping away in time ksksk. A lot of this is due to the fact that while Majesdanes have a physical outreach of power and energy, much like how a star is constantly expanding, as well as having a pisonic outreach which in turn, rockets through time itself as a Majesdane will often cement their existence.

After the Fall, a lot of Aspherane liked to tell horror stories about how the Majesdane were never really dead, but how their Light (or, well, spirit for humans) simply travelled and followed their energy and now they live on, trapped in between the echoes of time and stretched beyond all limits.

....anyway.

In contrast, Aspherane are more in tune with dimensions and the constant expansion beyond their world and through more stars. There's a belief held among Aspherane that their people never really die, instead, being reborn in diffrent worlds until they wind up back as a Starling on Aspherane. Unlike Majesdanes though, it takes a lot of effort and the teleport of such an extensive form only takes place under severe stress which,,,kinda happned to Sal when he was 12 and although he doesn't realise it, 100% I'm saying he crossed into a spirit world of sorts and that's how he got to New York in like, under ten minutes from Utah. This is a large reason for his cracks since Sal kinda,,,blew off a lot of energy that he never quite got back and then immediately came to live in a place where he would slowly decay while alive but whatever.

Sal in these terms is...messy with his power and while he ranges less in dimension travel, his human side would allow Sal to actually shift into the spirit world, y'know, like imagine how it was for Sokka in ATLA??? Its that for Sal. Idiot probably can do it once or twice a year but never realises fully. This is also in tune for Pascal, who has dreams of the future as well as making reality altering prophesies if he was more inclined due to the fact that he has Majesdane and ßönnënlicht blood, which...makes him strong as FUCK when it comes to fate.

And surprisingly, his twin sister, Cassandra is actually more tied in to Aspherane powers and therefore has the ability to see into other dimensions as well as unlocking them. When Iris buys her from Molly Solberg, she's the reason why the DFC are able to extent their business into other worlds. God. I'm so big brained with my worldbuilding.

But yeah, takes drag of ciggerate, that's my take on dimensional travel and time travel that's slowly died within two cultures over time.

#the living stardust (sal)#he speaks of holy fates (pascal)#headcanon #mothman was here (ooc post)

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doritopaw101 · 4 years

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Arc1, book 1: Chapter 13

Bluestar stood up and began to pad towards Mothermouth. Tiger-roar walked beside her, matching her strides step by step.

It took the group only moments to reach Mothermouth. Icepaw stood on the threshold and peered inside a little. The darkness beyond the stone pathway was darker than the cloudiest night. Icepaw narrowed his eyes, trying to see where the tunnel lead but saw nothing but blackness.

Beside him, Graypaw craned his head nervously around the entrance. Though what shocked Icepaw was that even Tiger-roar seemed unsettled by the black hole ahead of them. "How will we find our way through such darkness?" Graypaw asked

"Follow our senses" Ravenpaw mewed taking a calming breath

Bluestar nodded to that "Leopardstorm, Ravenpaw, and Graypaw, keep watch"

Bluestar padded on "Tiger-roar Icepaw come along"

Icepaw glanced sideways at Tiger-roar. The dark tabby sat with his chin boldly raised, but Icepaw could detect fear-scent coming from him. It grew stronger as Bluestar stepped forward into the blackness.

Tiger-roar shook his mighty head and padded after Bluestar. With a brief nod to Graypaw and Leopardstorm, he followed.

Inside the cave, his blood-red eyes detected nothing. The complete and utter darkness felt strange but calming at the same time to the point that he wasn't even frightened. It remind him of his kithood and most of his memories in the city. It reminded him of the dark nights when Nutmeg couldn't find anything to eat or when they had to move. It reminded him of the dark night in Bloodclan after a battle with rats or other groups. Scourge just shrugged it off and said that's life.

He wondered how she was doing nowadays. He wondered if Scourge was upset that he left or not.

The cold, damp air reached through his thin pelt and into his bones, stiffening his muscles. Even the coldest nights on the streets of the city did not hold the same chill as the air here did.

'This ground has never known the warmth of the sun' he thought, feeling the rock smooth like ice beneath his paws. Freezing air filled his lungs with each breath until he was starting to feel light-headed. He followed Bluestar and Tiger-roar careful not to crash into them. They were walking along a tunnel that sloped down and down,going on way then going the other. On and on they went

'How far are we?' he wondered

The air in his nostrils seemed fresher than before, smell like the world above. He figured there must be a hole somewhere in the roof of the tunnel. "Where are we?" he asked

"We are at the cavern of the Moonstone" Bluestar replied softly "Wait here moonhigh will come soon"

Icepaw folded his hind legs under him on the chilly stone floor and waited. He could hear Bluestar's steady and smooth breathing and Tiger-roar's more rapid and fear-scented panting. Suddenly, in a flash more blinding than the setting sun, the cave was lit up. Icepaw's eyes were wide open after the blackness of the tunnel. He quickly closed them when the cold, white light became to strong for his very sensitive eyes. He very slowly opened one into a tiny slit and peered ahead.

He saw a gleaming rock, which glittered as if it were made of countless dewdrops and glowed like it was made of millions of streetlights. The Moonstone!

In the freezing light that reflected from the stone, he could make out the shadowy edges of a high-roofed cavern. The Moonstone rose up from the middle of the floor, three tail-lengths high.

Bluestar stared upward, her fur bleached white in the blinding glow of the Moonstone. Tiger-roar's split tabby pelt seems to blaze and shine at the same time. Icepaw followed Bluestar's gaze. High in the roof was an opening that revealed a narrow triangle of night sky. The moon was casting a beam of light through the hole, down onto the Moonstone, making it sparkling like a star.

Beside him, Icepaw smelled Tiger-roar's fear-scent growing and growing until it became overpowering. Icepaw felt surprised by this. Could Tiger-roar see ghosts too, no he would've said something about Goosefeather if he could see him. Icepaw felt himself shoved to the side and landed with an "oof", he could the sound of fleeing pawsteps heading towards the entrance of the tunnel.

"Icepaw?" Bluestar's calm voice rang

"I'm still here, Tiger-roar knocked me over"

"I think Tiger-roar was surprised by the power of the Moonstone. In the world above, Tiger-roar is a fearless and powerful warrior, but down here, where the spirits of Starclan speak, a cat needs a different kind of strength." Bluestar's voice sounded closer than Icepaw thought "What do you feel, Icepaw?"

"Only my own curiosity" he admitted "As well as the burning of my eyes but I expected that with this damned blinding light"

The molly chuckled "That's good"

Icepaw looked back at the Moonstone. His eyes had gotten used to its light and he was no longer dazzled. Instead, it soothed him.

Icepaw watched as Bluestar padded up to the stone and lay down beside it. She reached her head forward and touched the Moonstone with her nose. Her icy-blue eyes sparked for a moment before she closed them. Her head was rested on her paws, her eyelids flickering, paws occasionally twitching. Icepaw wondered what she was dreaming about. Maybe a memory of her kithood or when she killed Stormtail.

He waited. The chill was dialed down now but he found himself shivering a little but not by much from his thick fur and being used to it from the city streets.

After more seemingly endless moments, Bluestar seemed to jump with a start, her fur bristling "Icepaw, are you still here?"

"Yes Bluestar" Icepaw heard Bluestar's pawsteps approaching fast.

"Hurry" she hissed "We must get back to camp"

Tiger-roar was waiting at beside Graypaw and Ravenpaw as Bluestar and Icepaw climbed out of the cave. The tabby's expression was cold and his thick fur was slightly ruffled but he sat motionless and dignified. He seemed to regain his composure as soon as he left the dark cavern.

"Tiger-roar Leopardstorm" Bluestar greeted him but did not mention the warrior cat's flight from the depths.

Tiger-roar seemed to relax a little. "What did you learn?"

"Are you alright aunt?" Leopardstorm asked

"Things that will make your fur stand on end. We must return to camp. Now" Bluestar replied

Icepaw didn't miss the desperation in his leader's eyes.

They headed back they way they came. The moon had disappeared behind a bank of clouds. The dark, but at least the Thunderpath was quieter now. The only car they heard was far off into the distance. The cats crossed the path together and pushed their way through the hedge on the other side.

Bluestar kept up a swift pace with her nose thrust forward and her tail held high. Tiger-roar followed beside her with Leopardstorm close by. Ravenpaw and Icepaw followed a few paces behind but Graypaw was flagging behind.

"Keep up Graypaw" Tigerclaw growled over his shoulder

"Trying to" Graypaw panted

They scrambled down a deep ditch and up the other side.

"Did Tiger-roar say anything when came out of the cave?" Icepaw asked "He seemed off"

"He wanted to check that we were still guarding the entrance" Graypaw replied, his yellow eyes blazing with exhaustion "Why?"

"Did you scent anything strange about him?" he asked

Graypaw shrugged "Only the smell of that damp old cave"

"He seemed edgy" Ravenpaw added, his voice neutral "Like he was scared of something, Leopardstorm kept grooming him to calm him down"

Icepaw chuckled lowly "Oh he was"

The cats slipped under a hedge into a cornfield that glowed silver in the moonlight, and followed the ditch that ran around its edge.

"What was it like inside Icepaw?" Graypaw asked curiously "Did you see the Moonstone?"

"Yeah I did, it was blinding, bloody hurt my eyes but it was amazing!" Icepaw felt his light fur tingle at the memory "It was very interesting to see it"

Ahead, Tiger-roar,Leopardstorm, and Bluestar leaped through a fence, out of the cornfield. The apprentices followed, squeezing under the fence, onto an earth track. It was the road that led past the twoleg nest and the dogs. Icepaw looked up and saw Bluestar,Leopardstorm, and Tiger-roar trotting tirelessly together, silhouetted against a skyline tinged with red. The sun would be rising soon.

Icepaw caught scent of a cat, a tom by the scent.

"Look!" he called. An unfamiliar cat jumped out in front of the two warriors.

"It's a loner" Graypaw hissed. The three apprentices hurried forward

The tom was stout black and white tom, shorter than Bluestar and Tiger-roar, but well muscled and matched Leopardstorm's height. He looked just like Ice,Snake, Smudge, and Bone. This must be...

"This is Barley" Bluestar explained "He lives near this Twoleg nest"

"Howady!" Barley mewed "I haven't seen any of you clan cats for awhile. How are ya Bluestar?"

"Not well these pass moons I'm afraid" Bluestar replied "And you, Barley?

"Not so bad" Barley replied, with an amiable gleam in his eye "One good thing about these humans: you'll always find plenty of critters nearby" The black and white tom scanned the group with his blue gaze "Ya'll seem to be more of a hurry than usual. Is everything alright?"

Tiger-roar glared at Barley. A growl rumbled deep in his chest. Icepaw could sense that the warrior was suspicious of the loner's curiosity.

"I don't like to be away from my clan too long" Bluestar replied smoothly

Barley nodded "As always, Bluestar you are tied to your clan like a mama cat to her youngins"

"What is it that you want from us Barley?" asked Tiger-roar

Barley flashed a reproachful look "I just wanted to warn ya'll that there are two poochs here now. You'd be safer going back into the cornfield instead of past the yard"

"We know about the dogs. We saw them earlier-" Tiger-roar began impatiently but Bluestar laid her tail-tip on his muzzle

"We are grateful to you for the warning" Bluestar mewed "Thank you, Barley. Until nest time..."

Barley flicked his bushy tail "Have a safe journey" he mewed as he bounded away up the track

"Come" Bluestar ordered. She pushed her way through the long grass between the oath and the fence that led back into the cornfield. The three apprentices followed, but Tiger-roar hesitated.

"You trust the word of a loner?" he asked

Leopardstorm stopped and turned to face the two-colored tabby "Would you rather face those dogs? I sure don't"

"They were tied up when we passed them earlier" Tiger-roar pointed out

"They may be untied now. We're going this way and stop complaining" Bluestar growled. She ducked under the fence into the filed. Icepaw slipped after her, followed by Ravenpaw, Graypaw, Whitestorm, and finally Tiger-roar.

By now, the sun had lifted its head above the horizon. The hedgerows sparkled with dew, promising another warn day. The cats padded along the edge of the ditch. Icepaw looked down into the deep gully, steep-sided and filled with nettles. Icepaw could smell prey-scent but it smelled off. His eyes widen as he recognized the stench from being in Bloodclan territory.

"Rats!" he yowled without hesitation

He heard Ravenpaw screech and whipped around to see him leap out from an incoming rat bite.

"Barley sent us into a trap" Tiger-roar spat

"Move Move" Bluestar ordered

The group ran as fast as they could a swarm of rats seemed to try to get them from all sides. Huge brown rats seemed to pool out of the ditch, squeaking shrilly. Icepaw could see their sharp front teeth glint in the early dawn light.

Suddenly one leaped onto Icepaw's shoulder. Fiery pain shot through his shoulder as the rat sank its teeth into his flesh. Another grasped his right back leg between its powerful jaws.

Icepaw flung himself down and writhed madly, trying to shake free. He knew the rats were not as strong as he was, but there was so many of them. Yowls, hisses and spits told him that the others weren't having a ball either.

Icepaw knew the way of the rats. "One alone you can kill while many can kill you, the prey can always become the predator" Scourge had taught him.

Icepaw slashed fiercely with his claws, slicing out at the rat that held onto his leg. It let go, but another one gripped his tail. Fast as lightning, powered by fear and rage, Icepaw fought and hacked at his attackers. Twisting his head around , he sank his teeth into the rat that had embedded itself into his shoulders. He felt the bone of its neck crunch in his mouth and its body go limp, before it fell away onto dirt track.

Icepaw gasped with pain as yet another rat leaped onto his back and sank its teeth in. out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of fur. For a brief moment he was confused; then he felt the rat being dragged off him. Icepaw spun around to see Barley flinging the rodent into the ditch. He also saw a white molly with ginger patches help him, Violet. She matched Bone's description of her very well.

Without hesitating, Barley glanced around and sprinted over to Bluestar. She was writhing on the path, covered in rats. In a flash Barley had the spine of one between his teeth and plucking it off her with practiced ease. He spat it onto the ground and grabbed another in his mouth as Bluestar thrashed beneath him.

Icepaw rushed over to Graypaw, who was being attacked from both sides by two large rats. Icepaw lunged at the nearest one, giving it a bite that left it dead. Graypaw managed to turn and pin down the other with his claws. He grabbed it with teeth and flung it into the ditch as hard as he could. It did not come back.

"They're running away!" Tiger-roar yowled

Sure enough, the remaining rats were fleeing down into the safety of the ditch. Icepaw could hear the scrabbling of small paws disappearing into the nettles. The bites in his shoulder and right hind leg stung sharply. He licked carefully at his fur, wet and matted with blood, its sharp tang mingling with stench of the rats.

"They smell like shit don't they Splinter" Scourge had sneered when he had tangled with a rat as a kit, yes yes they did.

Icepaw looked around. Graypaw was standing at the edge of the nettles, mewing encouragement as Ravenpaw pulled himself out of the ditch, muddy and stung. Icepaw saw that a young rat was still hanging on to his tail. Icepaw bounded over and finished it off quickly while Graypaw helped pull Ravenpaw over the top of the ditch.

Icepaw looked for Bluestar. He saw Barley first, standing at the top of the ditch, scanning the depths for more rats. Violet helped Leopardstorm to his paws while a ginger and white molly was looking around the ditches. Bluestar was lying on the path nearby. Alarmed, Icepaw dashed to his leader's side. The thick fur at the back of her neck was drenched with blood. Icepaw could see the inside of Bluestar's neck, the veins had been ripped and some of the bone had been cracked.

Icepaw knew from experience that Bluestar was dead.

A furious yowl made Icepaw look up. Tiger-roar had leaped on top of Barley and pinned him to the ground. "You sent us into a trap!" he snarled

"Let'em go" Violet hissed, her violet-eyes blazing

"I didn't know the rats were here!" Barley spat, his paws scrabbling in the dust as struggled to stand up

"Why did you send us this way?" Tiger-roar hissed, claws unsheathing into Barley's chest fur

"The hounds!" The ginger and white molly tried "Barley told ya'll bout them"

"The dogs were tied when we passed them earlier!"

"The human unties them at night. They guard his nest" Barley panted, wheezing under the weight of Tiger-roar's massive paws and claws.

"Tiger-roar Bluestar isn't breathing!" Icepaw called, trying to save Barley from being turned into freshkill

Tiger-roar released Barley at once. Barley got up and shook the dust from his coat. The great warrior bounded over to Bluestar's side sniffing her wounds.

"Is there anything we can do?" Graypaw asked

Leopardstorm shook his head sadly.

"She's in the paws of Starclan now" mewed Tiger-roar solemnly, stepping back.

Icepaw watched Graypaw's eyes widen with shock in realization while Ravenpaw seemed to share his thoughts about the situation.

Is this what the spirits at the Moonstone had warned her about?

Graypaw and Ravenpaw had joined them and stood beside their leader. Barley hung-back, craning his neck to see what was happening. Violet and the other molly were licking him, concern in their eyes.

Bluestar's eyes were open but glazed, her blue-gray body lay motionless.

"Is she dead?" Graypaw asked

"I don't know. We must wait and see" Tiger-roar replied

"What do you mean by that?" Icepaw asked, his pelt spiking in confusion "The rats got her, got her real good, she isn't coming back from that"

"Has no one told you?" Leopardstorm asked to which Icepaw shook his head "Leaders receive nine lives from Starclan"

"That's actually real?!" he nearly screeched

"Shut up and yes" Tiger-roar growled "We'll have to wait for Bluestar..." he trailed off

'To see if this was her last life or if she'll come back' Icepaw thought

The five cats waited in silence as the sun began to climb the sky. Icepaw found himself wordlessly begging Starclan to protect his leader, to send her back to them.

Then, Bluestar stirred. The end of her tail twitched and she lifted her head.

"Bluestar?" Icepaw mewed, his voice slightly trembling

"It's all right" Bluestar rasped "I'm still here. I have lost a life but it wasn't my last"

Relief flooded Icepaw. He looked at Tiger-roar, the warrior wore an expression of relief on his face but it was quickly hidden. Leopardstorm's yellow eyes filled with joy, he started grooming Bluestar's ears.

"Right" the splint tabby mewed in a commanding tone "Graypaw, fetch cobwebs for Bluestar's wounds. Ravenpaw gather some herbs to help?"

"Try marigold or horsetail" Icepaw mewed

Ravenpaw nodded. The two apprentices dashed away to find their items. Tiger-roar turned his head to Barley "Barley, I think it's time you three leave us now"

Icepaw looked over at the loners who had fought so bravely to help them. He wanted to thank them, but under Tiger-roar's fierce gaze, he didn't dare. Instead of speaking he pressed his head to his paws, clawing the ground once with his right paw gazing at Barley he had been told in Bloodclan this was how they said thanks without words.

Barley's eyes widen as his gesture but nodded all the same and left without another word, Violet and the other molly in tow.

Bluestar was still lying on the dirt track. "Is everyone all right?" she asked hoarsely

Tiger-roar nodded he then bent down to nuzzle Bluestar to which his leader purred in response.

Graypaw came charging back, his left forepaw wrapped in think wad of cobwebs "Here" he mewed "This should be enough right?"

"Can I put them on her wounds?" Icepaw asked Tiger-roar "Yellowfang and Spottedleaf showed me how"

"Very well" Tiger-roar agreed. He walked away and scanned the ditch again, his ears prickled or more rats.

Icepaw peeled a clump of the cobwebs from Graypaw's paw and began to press them firmly onto Bluestar's wounds.

She slightly winced under his touch. "If it hadn't been for Tiger-roar, those bloody rats would have eaten me alive" she murmured, her voice tight with pain

"Tiger-roar didn't save you. It was Barley" Icepaw whispered as he took some more cobwebs from Graypaw.

"Barley?" Bluestar sounded surprised "Is he here?"

"Tiger-roar sent him away" Icepaw answered quietly "He thinks Barley sent us into a trap"

"And what do you think?" Bluestar rasped

Icepaw didn't hesitate to answer as he concentrated on pressing the last bit of cobweb into place "Barley is a loner. What would he gain by sending us into a trap only to rescue us from it? Doesn't make sense in my opinion"

Bluestar laid down her head closed her eyes again.

Ravenpaw returned with some horsetail. Icepaw chewed the leaves and spat the juice onto Bluestar's wounds. He knew it would help stop infection.

"We should rest while Bluestar recovers" Graypaw suggested

"No" Bluestar insisted "We must return to camp" narrowing her eyes in pain, she struggled to her paws "Let's keep going"

The Thunderclan leader limped along the edge of the field. Tiger-roar walked at her side, his face dark with unknowable thoughts. Leopardstorm helped Ravenpaw stand. The apprentices exchanged anxious glances, then followed.

"It is a long time since I saw you lose a life, Bluestar" Icepaw overheard Tiger-roar's whispered words "How many have you lost now?"

Icepaw couldn't help feeling surprised at Tiger-roar's open curiosity. But Bluestar raised him so he guessed he was worried for how long she had left before she left him.

"That was my fifth" Bluestar replied quietly

Icepaw strained his ears, but Tiger-roar did not reply. He padded on, lost in thought.

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witharsenicsauce · 4 years

Text

Chosen Stories From the War #9: Mourning Has Passed

“Bhandasura.”

The old, withered alien let his robes drop to the floor, the cold searing his frail body as the air hit his fragile skin. He turned to face the woman in the bed, glowing copper under the fluorescent lights. “I am here, Abyzou.”

She reached out one of her long, taloned hands toward him, and he drifted closer. He knew she could see him despite their lack of eyes. He took her hand and pulled himself closer to her, hovering over her body.

“I dreamt of them.” She whispered in his mind, her forehead in the crook of his neck. “Our children.”

“Which ones?” He asked, reaching for her bony fingers. They were cold to the touch. “You cannot sleep without your blankets, Zou.” He said as he pulled the coverings up around her body. “You’ll catch a chill again.”

“I grow so hot at night.” She said. “The fevers get worse and worse.”

“Which ones did you dream of?” He asked again, turning over to gaze at her. She was thinner than him and Camazotz, but her mind glowed deeply red with psionic power, greater than theirs combined.

“The youngest ones.” She said. “Vox Prima. And Vox Zagre.”

He was silent still.

“Do you believe the rumors?” She tossed away the covers and rose, hovering off the ground, her delicate feet never touching the floor.

“If they were alive, we would know.” Bhandasura tried to assure her, but he could feel her getting worked up. “Zou-”

“If they are alive, they wouldn’t betray us, would they?” She clasped two of her hands together, and let the others hang, fidgeting in the air. “They would come back.”

Bhandasura was silent for a moment.

“Because if they did...if they betrayed us…” She fell silent, and he could hear her thoughts. She was screaming deep within her mind, screaming in fear and anger.

“...Why would they?” Bhandasura asked. That was a stupid question. He knew why. But Abyzou did not.

Suddenly, she turned on him. “Vox Nergal has been disobedient!”

“He...has been struggling.” Bhandasura held up his hands. “We all struggle, do we not, Zou?”

“Do you know who does not struggle?” She lunged towards him, her claws out. “The Ascended Ones, Bhanda! They do not struggle! They simply exist! They SIMPLY BE!” She lifted her claws, clenching her fingers in open fists.

“But we have not ascended, Abyzou.” He reached for her arms and pulled her close to him.

“If Dhar-Mon turns on us…” Abyzou said, laying her head on his shoulder “I want you to tear him apart. Make him feel the pain his Beloved Mother feels.”

Bhandasura felt his barely beating heart grow heavy.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” He pressed a cold, lanky hand on her bony back. “I love you, Abyzou.”

He heard her giggle.

Malinalli stood in the doorway of Commander Senuna’s quarters. She was still getting ready for the day, sitting on her bed in a silk nightgown, her hair back in a bun. Malinalli wondered how she managed to tie her hair so neatly when she had so much of it…

“Good morning, Molly.” Senuna looked at her with glittering eyes.

“Good morning, Madam.” Malinalli saluted her. “I’m sorry for intruding…”

“Nonsense! You are welcome any time!” She stood―well, practically leapt―from her bed. “Pardon my indecency!”

“It’s okay…” Malinalli stepped inside. “Have you...gotten a team together for the Stronghold mission?”

“I have, actually.” Senuna let her hair down, the white locks spilling over her shoulders like water. “After a...friendly chat with Geist, he’s agreed to lend us a couple of Templars for the mission! We’re going to stop off at Carthage to pick them up, and then we’ll head straight for Italy.”

“Oh…” She nodded. “And…?”

“Let’s see...Well, Tiwaz. After his good work on the Hunter case, he’ll be there.”

“And a hacker?”

“No, I want to save them for a special occasion. Besides, I think the Templars will have that old coffin of his in their clutches before the Warlock can curse my name!” She giggled. “Oh! I will be sending a medic down. After what happened with Gur-Rai, well, you can never be too careful!”

“Oh…” Malinalli said again. “...Um, would you like me to be the medic unit, Madam?”

“Absolutely not.” Senuna nearly cut her off with how quickly she whirled around. “I’m planning to send Lothar, but I would send Tygan himself down there before I put you into the line of fire.”

Malinalli felt desperation, fear and a deep anger rising in her chest. “Madam...can I ask why?”

“You can ask.” Senuna crossed her arms. “But I have my reasons, Malinalli.”

“The Warlock and I...have a connection.” Malinalli began.

“I know you do, and that’s partly why you are not going.” Senuna turned her back on the young nurse and began to rummage in her closet. “How can I trust that you would be safe, with your emotions clouding your judgement like that?”

“But I could get him to...we might not even need to fight him!” Malinalli protested. “If I was there, he might just leave! With us.”

“We tried that with Kon-Mai and she tried to kill herself.” Senuna snapped.

“Kon-Mai and I weren’t bonded! She had no reason to listen to me! Dhar-Mon does!” Malinalli clasped her hands, like she was praying. “Madam, I’m begging you. Please.”

“Then beg.” She said. “It won’t change my mind.”

“What got you out of the tank?” Malinalli cried. “People who cared about you. People who were there to help. We can’t go in as an invasion force.” She held her arms out, and Senuna turned to look at her. “We need to go with the intent to help. And to heal.”

Senuna looked Malinalli in the eyes for a moment. Her expression was unreadable, but for a moment she smiled. “...You have your heart set on this.”

Malinalli nodded.

Senuna sighed, leaning her head against the closet door. “I was like you once. Heart so full of love…” She pulled her white cloak out and smoothed it down. “...I will put you on the mission. But. If you are injured…” She raised a brow. “The Warlock will be the one fearing my wrath.”

“I’ll be extra, extra careful, Madam!” Malinalli bowed. “Thank you! Thank you so so-!”

“That’s enough.” Senuna giggled. “Now, go get ready. You’re deploying soon.”

As Malinalli ran off, Senuna watched her with tears in her eyes.

Dhar-Mon opened his eyes, his head clouded and his skin still burning. He pressed a hand to his forehead, unable to tell if he was actually feverish or if that was just the warmth of his own body.

He rose to his feet, his attendants hanging outside his door, waiting for him, but always keeping him at arm's length. Dhar-Mon tried to disguise the pain in his body, how much he wanted to crumble as he walked, but each step he took made his limp more pronounced.

How desperately he wished for her touch, the warmth of the palm of her hand. He closed his eyes and put a hand over his chest. Dhar-Mon could feel each breath she took. The blood in her veins. The fire in her soul. Even now their heartbeats were as one.

“Malinalli.” He whispered, waiting for the universe to carry his call to her.

“Dhar-Mon!” He could hear her excited voice as though she was standing beside him.

He smiled. “...Are you well?”

“Oh, yeah! I’m feeling great!” She hesitated. “...XCOM is coming.”

“I know.”

“And...I’m coming with them.”

He gasped. “...You? You’re coming here?”

“Yeah, the Commander is letting me come along!” She sounded almost scared.

“...You know my Stronghold?”

“Uh, well..” She coughed. “...It’s in Italy.”

He sighed. “You have much to learn, little phantom. How will you find me?”

“Well I figure Italy isn’t that big so...just pick a direction and fly. If you see water, you’ve gone too far.”

He chuckled. “Do you know the City of Vatican Hill?”

“Vatican City? You live in Vatican City?!”

“Yes. The Apostolic Palace is the center of my stronghold.”

“I...You live in the Vatican?!” He could hear her laughing.

“What is funny about this? It is a great palace with many defensible-”

“No, no, it’s not funny, just…” She giggled again “that’s so cool.”

“...I see.” He hoped she couldn’t feel him blushing. Or smiling. “When shall I expect you?”

“In half a day. We’re stopping by the Templars first.”

He growled. “They are accompanying you…?”

“I know you don’t like them.” She sounded sympathetic “but the Commander insisted and...”

“It is fine.” He sighed. “Their presence is irrelevant, either way.”

“In that case, I’ll...see you in a bit?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “It will be nice to speak face to face.”

“Agreed!”

He felt her presence leave him, and thus straightened himself up and called his priests into the room.

*“At the 18th hour of the eve, bring the townspeople to the courtyard.”* He said. *��Tell them I have a message for them of great importance. About the future. And the Elders.”*

“Is Geist angry?” Malinalli said, leaning over to Tiwaz. The two followed the Commander down the ramp, trailing behind her as she stepped off the Skyranger and approached Geist with a smile. Geist, in contrast, stared at her with a look more bitter than bile.

“When is Geist NOT angry?” Tiwaz chuckled.

“I heard he meditates.”

“Maybe he needs to do it more.” Tiwaz straightened up as Senuna looked back at them.

“These are two of my best.” She smiled warmly. “Zachary ‘Tiwaz’ Clotilde, and Malinalli Zúñiga.”

Geist barely acknowledged them, and from the glint in Senuna’s eye, Malinalli wondered just what the Commander had said to Geist to get him to agree to the mission.

He gestured behind him, and three feminine figures stepped forward. “These three are the finest family I have to offer. The Harbingers of Dawn and Rebirth. Our Shieldmaidens.”

“Harbingers of Dawn.” Senuna looked thoroughly impressed as she gazed upon the three women. “What are your names?”

The first one who stepped forward had hair like obsidian, tied back tight behind her head in several looping braids, and skin the color of the deepest earth. A dark silver crown adorned her forehead, denoted with blue gems that matched with the intricate face paint she wore around her eyes. Her Templar robes looked ornate: black leather and deep blue silk

“I am Lawahiz Ahmad.” She said. “You will refer to me as Iabet. I am the head of the family of Harbingers.” She gestured to the girl beside her. “This is Saibh Ó Heidhin, but our name for her is Siv.”

The girl they saw beside her looked no older than 17, and her amber eyes were illuminated with a fire only matched by the blazing auburn color of her hair, which clashed against her pale skin. They could only see her face briefly though, as it was covered by the bright yellow hood of her Templar cloak. She looked up at them with annoyance, and seemed to roll her eyes. The woman on her left nudged her and said something in...Latin? Siv only grumbled.

“And finally…” Iabet’s eyes lit up with love as she looked at the last woman. “This is Luana Tornicasa. Tornike.”

The woman pulled down her purple hood and...took the XCOM soldiers by surprise. Despite her olive-tanned skin, she had bleached blonde hair that hung to her shoulders and thick, plump lips painted conspicuously purple. Beside the other Templars, she looked like a Barbie doll. But the look they saw in her soft, cold blue eyes as they gazed into them, told both Malinalli and Tiwaz that Tornike was not a woman to be fucked with.

“They are perfect!” Senuna clasped her hands together. “Are you three ready for an adventure?”

Geist turned to the three women. “You will be hunting the Warlock.”

Siv’s eyes lit up, only for her smile to fall as Senuna spoke up. “He is to be brought in alive if possible.”

“Why?” Iabet demanded. “We have no respect for that monster.”

“He’s not a monster-” Malinalli began to say, but Tiwaz quickly shushed her.

“I know this is quite hard.” Senuna smiled, a gleam in her eyes. “You all have been victimized by him more than once-”

“He has KILLED people!” Siv screamed.

“Well, I mean, haven’t we all?”

Siv pulled her hood down slightly so they could see her scowl. “If I should ever see him, it will be when he is writhing in agony at the tip of my blade!”

“Habe tus lingua!” Tornike lightly struck Siv on the back of the head. “Tu sic despiciens censenda est la Comandante.”

Malinalli strained her ears, barely making out the garbled, almost-Latin that Tornike spoke. Granted, Malinalli didn’t speak Latin herself, but she was also pretty sure “la Comandante” was Spanish.

Tornike looked to Iabet. “Perhaps, mia moglie, the Commander’s wishes would be wise to fulfill. After all, should we kill him, he will never have a chance to answer for his crimes.” She smiled. “Maybe a hundred years in a cell is a far more fitting punishment than immediate death.”

Malinalli wanted to protest, but this time she was smart, and kept her mouth shut.

Iabet thought for a moment. “...You are right more often than not, habibti.” She smiled. “If the Commander wills him to be captured alive, then I shall oblige.” She glared at Malinalli. “But my attacks shall not be gentle, and if he comes toward me, I will defend myself.”

Malinalli looked away and Senuna cheered, oblivious to her discomfort.

“Amazing!” Senuna stepped aside and gestured to the Skyranger. “Well, all aboard! Next stop, Vatican City!”

The Warlock stood still as his servants cloaked him in his ceremonial robes. They were simple: a deep, royal purple color with silver embroidery in Etheric words and symbols around the cuff of the sleeves, and hem of the robe. Underneath he wore only his black, mesh undersuit, fastening everything with a silver belt.

He looked down at his servants and, for the first time perhaps, noticed their faces. They may have been human once, but the scales on their cheekbones and their lizard-like eyes told him they had been taken long ago. Their sharp claws grazed his arm, and he turned to look one woman in the eye. She was beautiful once, but now her skin was scaly, causing her hair to clump and thin.

*“What is your name?”*

She looked up at him in shock.

“What is your name?” He repeated, this time in Italian.

She hesitated, but perhaps it was the sincerity in his voice that set her at ease enough for her to mutter, softly, “Oinone.”

He held a hand to her chin and lifted it so his eyes met hers. “Hide your gaze no more, Oinone. Today is a sea change.”

He stepped out of his quarters, where his priests were waiting at attention. *“We have summoned them, Madron.”*

*“Excellent. Make sure no one is left behind.”* He looked at each and every one of them. *“This is a message for all.”*

Kon-Mai’s eyes followed Gur-Rai as he spun in the swivel chair at the edge of the room. Every time she tried to close her eyes, that god-awful squeaking would distract her and catapult her right back into conscious thought.

She got up from her lotus pose. “Will you stop that?”

“You should try it, Sister.” Gur-Rai dragged his foot along the ground to slow himself. “It’s very relaxing.”

“No, thank you.” She growled and leaned her shoulder against the window, staring out at the orange-painted clouds.

“What troubles you?” He asked.

“Have you heard? They are taking three Templars.” She growled. “Three.”

“Our brother is quite a beast.” Gur-Rai lifted his arms in an exaggerated shrug. “They’ll need it.”

“What if they kill him?”

“They have a job to do. If he dies, he dies.”

Kon-Mai turned on her brother faster than he could blink. “How dare you?”

“You’ve seen the two of us, Kon-Mai.” Gur-Rai growled. “We were never best buddies, and I’m certain he’d be better to see me hung at the gallows now that I’ve abandoned his precious cause.”

“He is our brother.” She insisted.

“Then perhaps he should have acted like it.”

“You speak for yourself, Brother.” She snarled. “He could be cruel, but he could be kind had you only taken the time to see it. Instead you purposefully antagonized him, knowing you would earn his wrath!”

“Ah yes, I wanted to be psionically mindfucked by discount Thanos.” Gur-Rai sneered. “That is the only possible explanation. Not that he was a raging dickbag. No, he was never wrong. I’m the bad guy, like fucking always.”

“Did I say that? Did I say he was never wrong in his actions?!” Kon-Mai took a step towards him. “No, you twist my words, Gur-Rai. Our brother is wrong on many things and absolutely moronic in the concept of others. But I gave him a chance.”

“And you think I didn’t?!” Gur-Rai hissed, baring his teeth like a cat. Kon-Mai actually startled, backing up against the window at this show of aggression.

“...I did not see it.”

“Because you weren’t born yet, sister. I tried to buddy up with him but he rebuffed me each time. He didn’t WANT us there, Sister, we were rivals. Rivals for the Elders’ affection, if that’s what you could even call it. He wanted it all to himself. In fact before you came out of the tank, he resented you.”

Kon-Mai stared at the ground.

“He doesn’t want you to protect him like a mother hen. At this point, I’m sure he’d shoot down the Avenger himself if he knew we were on it.” Gur-Rai took a breath, shaking out his muscles to try and force them to relax. “He hates me, Sister. I tried. That’s just how it is...”

“...I apologize.” Kon-Mai closed her eyes. “I wasn’t aware you felt that way.”

“Nah…” He crossed his arms. “...Sorry if I scared you.” He mumbled, his voice barely audible.

She met his gaze again. “In any case, the Commander has assured me she will try and bring him back alive. I trust you, Gur-Rai, that you are telling the truth about his actions.” She approached him again, but this time slowly and gingerly. “But if he should arrive at our ship still living, perhaps you will consider giving him a second chance?”

Gur-Rai’s upper lip twitched in a scowl.

“Brother.” She took his hand. “You are my family, and so is he.”

“Sometimes I wonder how we’re related.”

“Gur-Rai.” The way she looked at him immediately shut him up. “Have we not all suffered at their hands…?”

He blinked, turning to Kon-Mai with a look of disbelief. “...Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

She reached back, gingerly touching the skin on her shoulders. “...Do you think I enjoyed their punishments?”

He could have cracked a joke about that being kinky but...it had hit a nerve. He looked away. “I was in too much pain of my own to really think about it.”

“We have all been hurt.” She whispered. “But I do not want us to hurt anymore. Perhaps, with XCOM, we could finally be a family.”

He sighed, cringing at the thought but...she had that look in her eyes. Lil’ bitch could make herself look like a kicked puppy when she wanted to.

Gur-Rai nodded. “Fine.”

She smiled. “I knew I was right to have faith in you.”

“Sister.” He said as she let go of his hand. “With everything we three have been through, why do you insist on treating us like your little ducklings?”

Kon-Mai paused, examining the question in her head. It seemed to have struck a nerve, because a look of great discomfort twisted her face for just a moment.

Then she shook it off. “Because someone needs to keep you two in check, and it certainly won’t be Dhar-Mon.”

Malinalli looked out the window of the Skyranger. The rolling green hills creeping up on them felt so familiar, it was as though she’d walked them herself, even if she’d never been to Italy in her life.

“Pretty, huh?” Firebrand mused.

“It’s beautiful.” Malinalli blinked. “It reminds me of Oaxaca…”

“Then I think you’ll like it here.” Firebrand gestured to her. “Okay, pretend I have no idea where I’m going, because I don’t.”

“You don’t have a GPS?”

“I do, but I turned her off because she’s a cunt.” Firebrand winked at Malinalli from inside her helmet. “I’m told we headed for Rome?”

Malinalli focused on the ground below her, then at the skyline. “...Keep heading north, then about 20 degrees west once you reach that one big hill.”

Firebrand held the chopper steady, looking back at her passengers. “How y’all doin’ back there?”

“Fine!” Tiwaz called.

“Not fine!” Siv shouted. “This soldier is a moron! Why did we have to bring him?!”

“Tiwaz is good at his job.” Malinalli assured her. “He helped neutralize the Hunter.”

“Plus, I play a warlock in Dungeons and Dragons, so I have inside knowledge of our target.” Tiwaz said, partially joking. But only partially.

“See that big white thing there?” Malinalli pointed to the west.

“Yeah, the big tower?”

“Yes!” Malinalli put her hand over her heart. “Head for the palace!”

“Vatican City. Of course it is.” Firebrand laughed. “We shoulda fuckin’ known all along, really! Ain’t he known to be a drama queen?”

“Oh absolutely.” Iabet stood, her seat belt clinking as it fell loose. “You can drop us off here.”

“Pardon?”

“I said here, outside the gates.” She pointed to Malinalli. “Stay at the back, Medic. WE shall handle the Warlock.”

Something told Malinalli that arguing would put her in a bad situation. However, much she wanted to protest, she forced herself to swallow her nerves as she nodded.

The Skyranger’s doors opened up and five cables descended.

“Good luck, ladies!” Firebrand called as the soldiers began to drop.

The city was silent.

He noticed, as he went to the balcony and looked out, that the subjects were beginning to gather in his walls, milling about, whispering, waiting.

Waiting for what?

Two of his priests came up behind him. *“Should we sweep the streets again, Madron?”*

*“No.”* He held a hand up. *“Give them time, they will come of their own accord.”*

*“And if they do not come?”*

Dhar-Mon sighed. *“...It matters not. They shall hear my message either way.”* He looked down, and the people began to kneel, looking up at him like a god.

No. Not a god. Their fear was apparent.

He was the monster in their home.

They raced up the empty street, Malinalli huffing just to keep up with the much more in-shape Templars. They were like machines, not stopping for any interference.

“Where are all the people?” Tiwaz asked, his grenade launcher thumping against his back.

“Perhaps they are smart, and stayed in their homes.” Iabet mused. “As long as they aren’t in our way, it’s not our problem.”

Malinalli stumbled slightly, almost falling, but she righted herself in time to hear that distorted voice screaming in Etheric for them to stop.

A coalition of ADVENT troopers held out their hands to stop them. Tornike pushed to the front and decapitated the first one. Before Tiwaz could even think of launching a grenade, Siv had moved in and skewered one more, sending him and Iabet was locked in fisticuffs with the third. With a glowing punch, her hand went through his chest, and he dropped to the ground.

“Mom!” Siv cried out, as one priest she had slashed came out of a stasis bubble, and was now on top of her. Iabet turned but, losing attention on the one she was fighting, was struck with a blow to her shoulder that made her stumble.

Tornike, though, jumped in to rescue Siv, who was on the ground kicking up at the priest as they tried to beat her with the but of their rifle. They flipped it over and shot just as Tornike pulled her shield and redirected the blast, before slamming into the priest head-on. They stumbled backward into a lamp post, and Tornike took the priest’s head and slammed it into the wall until they fell limp.

“Thank you, Momí.” Siv said to Tornike as she stood. “We’re going the right way.”

“How do you know?” Malinalli put her hands on her knees, coughing.

“I play video games. Where there are enemies, that’s where we’re supposed to go.”

They turned down a nearby side street, running alongside the warm stone walls, when then all of a sudden Iabet halted and hushed them. Tornike cursed in Vulgar Latin and Tiwaz blew a whistle.

“That’s a lot of people!”

Malinalli poked her head out from around them and gasped. The Vatican’s courtyard was absolutely packed with people. She could hardly see over their heads, but was able to faintly make out the armor of ADVENT priests stalking on either side of the ring.

“...That way.” She whispered. “That’s where we need to go.”

“Hey.” Tiwaz hissed to Iabet. “Malinalli needs to get closer.”

“Absolutely not. We are going another way.” She turned around. “Come.”

“You don’t understand…” Malinalli wrung her hands. “I think I’m supposed to-”

“Medic, stop being ridiculous and follow me.” Iabet snapped.

Malinalli watched as the three Templars walked back down the path they came, then looked up at Tiwaz.

“I have to get in there.”

“How come?” Tiwaz looked down at her. “We’re going to get to him either way.”

“I think he’s trying to show me something.” She said. “I can feel him.”

“Your mind-bond thing?”

“Yeah…”

He smiled, pulling up the hood on his jacket. “I’ve always wanted to do a covert mission!”

She smiled and pulled at her braided bun, letting her black curls fall down over her sigil. “Follow me.”

They hugged the wall, looking for an opening into the crowd as the ADVENT soldiers drew closer. One old woman shifted slightly, and Malinalli wedged herself into the opening, pulling Tiwaz through with her. They stumbled for a moment, but the tightness of the crowd kept them from falling over.

Someone shouted something in Italian, and they looked up to the balcony and she gasped. “It’s him!”

Tiwaz looked up, squinting. “I can barely see him.”

“I need to get closer!” She looked around, but no other opening presented themselves. The Warlock stood there, in silence. Like he was waiting for something.

Or someone.

“I got it.” Tiwaz crouched down. “Get on my shoulders.”

“What?!”

“Get. On. My. Shoulders.”

“No...we’ll be spotted, I can probably...if the crowd would just-”

“Get on my shoulders, you fucking shortstack!”

Malinalli laughed, then she complied, climbing up and sitting with her legs on Tiwaz’s shoulders. He stood up and she wobbled a bit, but once she steadied herself, she looked up and raised her arms.

“DHAR-MON!”

Dhar-Mon felt his body shudder. That voice, he knew it. He knew it was her. But this time it sounded so close…

He looked down. There she was, those bright blue, sometimes green eyes staring up at him from within the mass of people. Far at the back, but he could see her clear as day.

He saw her smile, then she covered her mouth. “DHAR-MON! I’M HERE!”

Dhar-Mon smiled. This was it.

“Citizens of Rome.” He bellowed, his voice hard and loud. His priests looked at him in mild surprise as he stumbled through the speech in Italian, rather than Etheric. “You will recall the events of these past days. It has been difficult for you. For your families. For me. Many have died, and they did not have to.” He raised his arms. “This bloodshed could have been prevented.”

All eyes were on him. Dhar-Mon was shaking so much he felt his knees would buckle. He could no longer stop the tears as they began to flow. “It hurts to know what has happened to the people of this beautiful land, this beautiful planet, under the care of the Elders.” He looked around. “And it becomes ever clearer to me, you are not happy as things are.”

Murmuring. People began to raise their voices in fear, but he held up a hand.

“But there is no need for tears anymore. The time for mourning has passed.” He raised a hand and wiped the water from his cheeks. “And now is the time for blood. The time for retribution, for judgement.” He clenched his fist. “By my honor, I judge ADVENT and the Elders GUILTY of MURDER, GENOCIDE, AND HERESY! AND BY MY HAND, THEY SHALL SUFFER THEIR PUNISHMENT!”

His priests, utterly stunned, were completely unprepared as he lunged for them. He grabbed the nearest priest by the neck and tossed him back through the double doors, across the hall, where he slammed into a wall with an audible crunch. The other one couldn’t even react before their head was slammed into the balcony rim. They tried to raise their weapon to defend, but Dhar-Mon slammed them down again, lifted them up, and flung them from the balcony into the crowd of people who were now screaming in confusion and excitement.

Malinalli was cheering, and the commotion knocked her down from Tiwaz’s shoulders and she came rolling to a stop, picking herself up and sprinting into the crowd. “DHAR-MON!”

He met her eyes, and she his. They were deep purple and bright as the moon.

She held out her hand, up toward the palace. He stared down at her. She blinked up at him.

“Malinalli.” She heard his voice in her head. “Come to the Basilica of Saint Peter, to the Altar of Gold. I shall meet you there, and there I shall leave this place. With you.”

Malinalli covered her mouth, and for a moment she dissolved into a flood of emotions. “OKAY!” She coughed and closed her eyes, shaking uncontrollably. “Okay, Dhar-Mon! I’m coming!” She took off through the sea of people, and he too sprinted down the palace hallway.

“I’m coming!”

“I’m coming.”

His soldiers were, at first, no trouble. They still bowed when they saw him. Soon, though, the alarm was raised, and his soldiers began to do what they had been programmed to from the start.

They were not there to keep others out. They were there to keep him in.

Most were no trouble, and even more still surrendered to his might, but Dhar-Mon was not a stealthy man, and clomping through the palace was not helping him achieve his goal of getting to the Basilica quickly. As he turned a corner into one of the antechambers, three priests emerged, guns drawn.

*“Stand down, Madron.”* One said. *“We do not wish to hurt you, but if prompted to, we will.”*

He growled. *“As your Chosen I order you: let me pass!”*

A couple of them faltered, but the one who had spoken stood their ground.

*“You are not yourself.”* They said. *“We cannot call you our Chosen.”*

*“I am not the same, no.”* He said. *“I have been enlightened to the crimes the Elders have committed.”*

*“You are brainwashed, Madron.”* His priests raised their guns. *“The humans have brainwashed you.”*

*“No. The humans have opened my eyes. We have all suffered under the tyranny of the Elders. And I shall remind you as such.”* He raised his hands, and-

Cried out in pain. They had fired. Fired their guns. On him! He fell to his knees, gasping. That bullet must have hit his rib…

*“Destroy the sarcophagus.”* One priest said to another. *“If he dies he shall merely regenerate. We cannot let that-”*

*“Stop!”* One of them cried.

The three priests turned as the Warlock disappeared out the door.

The front of the Basilica was already swarming with troops. Tiwaz loaded a grenade in his grenade launcher, and Malinalli stepped behind him as they began to close in on the two.

“By order of the Elders, stand down.”

“Eat shit.” Tiwaz said. “You have no power here.”

“We will not hesitate to use lethal force.”

Malinalli looked around, desperate for a way through, but the wall of priests was impenetrable. She could not fail Dhar-Mon now, not after coming so far.

She heard footsteps behind her and raised her hands. She could barely use her psionics in a fight, but she’d fight with bare fists and teeth if she had to.

Then a voice behind her said “Duck.”

She did, and so did Tiwaz, right as a storm of purple lightning descended from the sky, striking down upon the bodies of the priests who stood in their way. A few evaded the storm by ducking just as they had, but many others were fried, screaming as their flesh burned.

Tornike fell to her knees beside Malinalli, who jumped to her aid as Siv dashed past them, yellow blades of psionic energy glued to her fists and a battle cry on her lips.

“I am alright.” Tornike insisted.

“Let me get a stim…” Malinalli got out her adrenaline pen but Tornike held up her hand.

“I said I am alright.” She smiled. “Go to him, saghirti.”

Malinalli stood up, just as Iabet appeared from the dust and clouds, blades of energy in her fists and a smile on her lips.

“On my mark…” Iabet raised her first. “...NOW!”

Siv launched at those priests like a bat out of Hell, shrieking like a banshee as she locked her sword with the gun of the one closest to her. They pushed back against her, but were distracted by the clunk of a grenade falling behind the platoon. As it exploded, Siv jumped back and glared at Tiwaz.

“Sorry!” Tiwaz cried.

Iabet jumped into the fray and cut down the priests that were beginning to move in on their position. Malinalli began to stand up, until the ground began to shake and she dropped into a crouch to keep from falling over. A pink light filled the windows of the Apostolic Palace and Malinalli gasped.

Dhar-Mon fell to his knees, stumbling down the hall. A blinding flash of pain caught him only for a moment, and then…

“The Elders.” He said out loud. “They are...silent…”

He closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind. “Malinalli…”

“I’m here!” Her voice was clear as crystal.

“They have destroyed my sarcophagus.” He said.

He heard her gasp. “We have a chopper! I’ll get you out, I promise!”

“I am coming.” He got to his feet slowly.

“You’re injured…”

He forgot, she could feel that pain… “It is only a flesh wound. I will be fine.”

“I’ll call in Firebrand!” She insisted. “...Dhar-Mon, how close are you?”

“I am on the second floor, one more flight and I shall-”

“I’m coming in!” She cried.

He smiled.

Malinalli got to her feet. “Tiwaz.” She said loudly. “I’m going inside!”

“No!” Iabet cried. “Medic, let us make it safe first!”

Malinalli ignored her. “I need someone to cover me!”

“Medic, I will stop you!” Iabet, snapped as she turned her attention to the priest who had put one of the others into stasis. She slashed at them, but they kept jumping back and evading her blades.

“You look a bit busy!” Tiwaz cried as he lifted his gun to his hip. “Go ahead, Molly! I got you covered!”

She smiled at him, took a deep breath, and pushed off. She sprinted faster than she thought she ever could, jumping and weaving in between soldiers and priests who tried to jump in her way. One reached out to grab her, she ducked under their arms. Another fired on her and she dove to the ground, sliding briefly like a damn penguin, and then the soldier was quickly reduced to shrapnel as Tiwaz lobbed a grenade at them.

Finally, her hand touched those ancient metal doors. She was so small that, initially when she slammed against them, she bounced right off. The doors seemed sealed.

“No, no no no…” She put her hand to the doors. “I didn’t come this far to be stopped by you!” She closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips against the door, and shoved.

Dhar-Mon pushed through the wall of soldiers blocking him. One of them fired, but the bullets flew into the air, only grazing his cheek, leaving a deep cut, but he disregarded them and fled to the stairwell, bullets hitting the wall behind him.

He was panting, but not from exhaustion. He had never felt this free before, this alive. It felt like he was being called toward her.

Finally, he came to the marble corridor that led to the altar of St. Peter’s Basilica.

By herself, the door budged, but only slightly. Malinalli’s brow was dotted in sweat as she tried to shove the door open, becoming more and more panicked with each passing second.

Then, she felt another shoulder up against the door, and the metal gave way.

Tiwaz smiled as the door swung open. “Go get him, Tiger!”

She laughed, mumbling a thank you as she dashed down the aisle, just as the tiny door on the left side burst open, and the Warlock came stumbling out, stopping just in front of that giant golden altar.

They locked eyes, Malinalli behind a row of pews with the sun at her back, Dhar-Mon framed with the ancient sculpted artwork of humans long dead.

“...Malinalli…”

She smiled. “Dhar-Mon…”

Their eyes met, and here they were. In person, for the first time. She was even more beautiful than in his dreams, and she was floored by just how elegant he looked, without the fancy psionics. When he was just Dhar-Mon.

He took a step towards her. “I am so glad...to finally meet you…”

She smiled, tears pouring down her cheeks. She could hear Iabet screaming at her as the Templars ran up the stairs just behind her, but the sound of their raucous didn’t matter.

Malinalli held out her hand. “Come with me.”

Dhar-Mon took another step forward and stopped.

“Dhar-Mon?”

He brought a hand to his head, staggering back a bit. “Malinalli…”

“Dhar-Mon.” She could feel her heart racing, and something blooming in the center of her forehead. “What’s-” Then her mind erupted in fire, and she bellowed in agony.

Dhar-Mon doubled over, crying out in pain. Behind her, Malinalli heard Iabet scream, and the room was lit up with a flash of blue.

“I never expected this from you.” A deep, bone-shattering voice said behind her as she stumbled forward, crashing into the pews. Malinalli felt a chill, and definitely did not want to turn around. But she did.

She knew it wasn’t really...them. It was an illusion. But she could feel the immense psionic power radiating off this being, like this creature was everything in the universe all at once.

And it wanted to kill them. And it could.

She turned back as she heard Dhar-Mon whimper. He was barely standing now, leaning against the altar in an attempt to remain standing. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth and immediately gagged violently, and Malinalli saw a spray of blood explode from behind his palm. He fell to his knees, blood dribbling from his eyes, nose, mouth and down his chin.

“Dhar-Mon!”

Dhar-Mon coughed violently, vomiting up a torrent of thick, viscous red fluid. He tried to stand again, but his limbs were as weak as dry twigs, and his skin was like glass, ready to break at any moment.

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with horror. “Mali…”

Then his eyes rolled back and he slumped, motionless, against the altar.

“You are a failure.” The Elder behind her said, as it left in a flash of dark blue. “The Chosen are no more.”

Malinalli could hear screaming, but was unsure if it was her own voice or someone else’s voice. She literally leapt over the pews, crawling across the floor to get to him. Despite him being twice her size, she lifted him in her arms and reached around to the back of his head, searching for the chip she knew was killing him.

“SOMEBODY HELP HIM!” She screamed. “CALL THE SKYRANGER!”

“Iabet to Avenger, we need immediate evacuation!” The Templar called over the comm. “The Chosen is...”

Malinalli’s fingers grasped the chip, and with a resounding snap, she yanked it from his skull. He spasmed briefly before falling limp.

“Nonononono!” She pressed her hands to his face. “No please, please Dhar-Mon! Stay with me! Stay with me!”

Stay with me…

Stay...

(Hello all. Hope quarantine is going well for you. As of now I’m starting to feel better, so next chapter should be out on Wednesday as per the schedule.)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

#xcom #xcom 2 war of the chosen #xcom 2 #xcom the chosen #xcom warlock #chosen warlock #chosen stories #chosen assassin #chosen hunter

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writtenbyhappynerds · 4 years

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Unit 5- Twins Are Very Stupid

If you haven’t taken the Exam 1 quiz for Fanfiction 101 go do that!! That quiz covers material from the first four units: Rules for the Universe, Formatting, Face Claims, and Names. Everything from this unit onward will be a part of Exam 2.

Much like cliches in regular fiction, there are a plethora of cliches that exist in fanfiction. Some are specific to certain genres, some are on a wider scale as a whole. For this unit we are going to dissect common themes and ideas first based in specific genres (re: fandoms) of fanfiction and then open the floor up to widespread cliches as a whole. We’ll start with Twilight.

In Twilight, the biggest cliche we see is Bella Swan having a sister who is, “not like her sibling at all!” This isn’t original. It isn’t creative, and 9/10 times the unique sibling is a lot like Bella Swan they just talk more than her. Regardless of your feelings towards Stephanie Meyers and her books, what this shows me is a writer who is uncertain of how to approach the quiet, observational, internalized thinking of Bella Swan as a character. It also shows me a writer who believes loud is the complete opposite of quiet and because someone shouts their opinions more boisterously than the next girl, that makes them unique. Neither statement is true. Imagine Bella Swan’s sibling really being the complete opposite of her. Like, imagine Bella’s little sister in Seattle doing coke off a stripper’s asshole. You can’t. So don’t say that she’s the opposite. She isn’t, and that’s ok. Siblings can have common interests and like the same thing, and your OC is not a bad one if they are similar to Bella Swan. A better contrast to Bella Swan would be an OC that’s athletic. Bella Swan from the get-go is described as someone who is not an athlete, doesn’t spend time in the sun, and likes to be by themselves. A sun-kissed volleyball-playing little sister would be more contrasting to Bella Swan than someone who is again, her but louder.

In BBC’s Sherlock the biggest cliche the Editor and I have seen is Sherlock having a twin sister who is also a detective. Now in Unit 3: Face Claims, we discussed that Sherlock’s sibling shouldn’t be the voice of reason or conscience while also doing the exact same thing as him. This still stands. If Sherlock has a twin, that twin shouldn’t be seen as “the good one” or “the nice one” when they shoot the same things, break into the same places, and act just as manic as he does. It isn’t consistent. The twin should not be a carbon clone that is smarter and prettier and gets along with everyone else. That’s not a character, that’s a Mary Sue that solves crimes. There are 10,000 jobs in the world, and the best way to break the monotony of Sherlock’s twin is to make her something that isn’t a detective. Make her her own person. For example, Sherlock could have:

A twin sister who works as a crime statistician for the government. She’s been given a cushy office she doesn’t deserve because of Mycroft and she tries to call her brothers once a week. They don’t necessarily answer. She needs to use criminal trends to track where Moriarty will be so Mycroft can have him arrested and interrogated.

A sister who went to school for law, and became a powerful and wealthy corporate attorney. Sherlock paid off everyone in a mile radius? She paid off everyone in a 5-mile radius. She makes sure his bills are paid, his fridge is stocked, and that he and John are happy without either of them knowing. She uses her knowledge of the law to find holes in Baskerville’s policies that would allow Sherlock and John to sneak in.

A twin sister who’s a mom of two and likes to paint. She teaches at the local college and babysits her neighbor’s kids when she’s out. Mycroft is the godfather of both of her kids, and she likes to crochet when she has the time (she never does). She needs to figure out why the painting is a fake and what book fits the cipher.

My point is that Sherlock can have a twin. I don’t care, and that doesn’t trigger me like it triggers the Editor (I think she just has something against twins). Sherlock’s twin should have a personality of their own. The cliche in this genre is Sherlock having a twin that’s essentially, “genius but better.” If you make her exactly like him you limit the potential to make a story that’s compelling. You also break the rules of the universe, as you’ll have to go back and rewrite all the episodes to include her. Don’t do that to yourself.

In Supernatural, The big cliche is the boys having a teenaged Winchester sibling and/or a guardian angel. Bonus points if Cas is the guardian angel. I’ve also seen a lot of ‘Sam Winchester’s Guardian Angel’ and if that’s you after all the things that character has gone through you need to be fired. These ones just don’t make sense. They break the rules of the universe and make the cast have to bend over backward just for the character to exist. The original work should not be broken to fit your narrative. You have to make your prompt work in their established universe. Unfortunately, teenaged Winchester siblings do not work. There is not enough of a time gap between what we know about the story and this prospect to fit a 16-year old child. The same stands for Dean Winchester’s child. It doesn’t fit, so don’t try and force it to fit. You can have a teenaged hunter be significant and interact with the Winchesters without them being blood. By forcing them to be blood you go against one of the main themes of the show: Family don’t end in blood. Stop making Bobby Singer’s child OCs, or Cas’s, or Sam’s, or another illegitimate John Winchester child because we already have one who spent god knows how many years in hell. Instead, John Winchester could have family he’s estranged from. An older sister or brother who left the Winchester house after they turned 18 and never looked back. You could create a new pair of hunters, an OC who runs the halfway house for Hunters. Garth stepped in as Bobby when he died. Who stepped in for Jo and Tess? There are more options and much more creative options than pigeonholing one specific cliche.

Moving on, in the same vein of not needing an OC to be bound to the cast by blood, Hermione/Harry/Ron’s twin sister is a huge cliche. Sometimes the Hermione twin sister is also, “not like her sister at all,” a phrase that usually means, “also brilliant, but more attractive and funnier.” The origin of these OCs, however, is minuscule to the fact that they always either end up dating Draco Malfoy or are in a love triangle and/or square, where all the boys in Harry Potter (Cedric Diggory, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Dean Thomas, and Draco Malfoy) are in love with the OC. As a matter of fact can we just get rid of love triangles altogether? They’re exhausting and not realistic. They don’t add enough to the story to make it meaningful, and an OC should have a story that’s more compelling than “which boy am I going to end up with?” Also, usually, these stories tell you in the title. I’m talking about the [Fred x reader], [Draco Malfoy x Reader] titles, though the same is true for any writer who puts [Love Interest x OC] in their title. What is the point of a love triangle my guys? What are you doing? We already know before we even read the first chapter who the main character is going to end up with, so why bother wasting our time with a love triangle?

The other Harry Potter cliche, is the youngest Weasley sibling who is a girl. This is a huge no-no and should be stricken from the record entirely because, once again, it breaks the rules of the universe. We know from the Harry Potter books that Molly Weasley wanted and craved a daughter and kept having kids until she got one. This is why Ron is the least loved, as he was the last boy in the family before Ginny, as said by the Horcrux in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows “Least loved always, by the mother who craved a daughter. Least loved now by the girl who prefers your friend” (Rowling 375). What this means, is that if you make an OC who is the youngest Weasley sibling, and a girl, you completely go against the desires and intentions of Molly Weasley as well as devalue and undercut the importance of Ginny Weasley- her tokenism as the only girl is tied to the significance of being the first and last daughter Molly Weasley ever had. Without that, with another girl there is no need for Ginny Weasley, and as we’ve discussed numerous times here: Your OC should never replace a member of the cast. What is acceptable, however, is Ginny Weasley having a twin sister, or even being a triplet. If you are sold on a youngest-girl Weasley fanfic, make them a twin or triplet of Ginny. If you go above or below her you break the rules of the universe. They have to stay on her level. In addition, please see Unit 4: Nameberry.com to properly name your Weasley sister OCs, as they have to fit the style and vibe of being named after nobility. Moving on.

The next handful of cliches don’t apply to any particular genre. Every genre is equally guilty of having these cliches, and what we’re going to do is use some works for specific examples of these cliches, but know that they apply to everyone; not just the work we’re referencing.

If a character is marketed as a strong and capable badass who is independent and a boss and kicks ass and takes names, they should not turn into a wimp because their love interest wants to “protect” them. “Protection” as a whole is such a cliche. It’s in practically every story. If a character has been described as strong and has up until this point kicked a lot of ass, that character will not break down and destroy all the character development they just made for the sake of a love interest. A character who is described as strong will also not let their love interest try and stifle them like that. “Protection” is overused, and unless the character is going to crumble like a daisy at first blood or is living in a war zone, they can handle it themselves.

Again… We’ve all seen Pretty Little Liars. It’s almost funny how many cliches came from that show and book series. Let’s talk about evil twins. I don’t just mean evil in the Alison DiLaurentis way where she stole her sister’s identity and had her carted off to inpatient treatment, I also mean evil in that they are everything their cast member sibling is, but superior. This is evident in so many siblings and twin fics. The evil twin is usually better at everything than the cast twin, and systematically destroys the cast member’s life for fun. Now, I’m not saying this isn’t a valid plot point. What I am saying is you can’t make the evil twin better at everything than the cast member twin. That’s not realistic, and it negates the need for a struggle. A villain is not a more intimidating adversary because they’re better at everything than the hero. An evil twin is not scarier or more frightening as a villain because they can do 3 flips into a punch while the hero only can do 2. Also if the villain is so wonderful and so much better how is it realistic when the hero defeats them? It isn’t. “The same but better” shows me as a reader that the writer is uncomfortable with character creation, and making stakes that mean something or seeing their character struggle. Not only will it make the OC more realistic, but it will make the story more fun to write.

A writer uncomfortable with the struggle is another cliche we see often. It takes the form of characters who are perfect, who hit every step just right and have the best comebacks all the time. We as people fail and fall down, and characters are meant to be a reflection of us that we can relate to. An audience won’t relate or root for a character that always accomplishes their goal. It actually makes the character boring because, we know they’re going to do what they set out to do so why bother reading? Characters are allowed to have flaws. Those flaws, and seeing consequences for those flaws are what make a character compelling, and for every positive attribute that a character has we should see 1-2 flaws that reflect that attribute. For example, in my own original work Trapped, the main character is an alien on a planet that is thousands of years ahead of Earth in technology, intellect, and scientific advancements. One of these characters is an upstart student training in one of the top labs to be a doctor. He has people working underneath him, and he’s clearly achieved. His work ethic is incredible and he is dedicated to his field. However, his dedication has cut him off from his family- their relationship is strained to the point where one of his siblings entered the same field just to catch a glimpse of him. He is afraid to be emotionally vulnerable because he has to have the answers to all these questions. He doesn’t know how to relax, because he’s always at work and this has cost him a life outside of the lab. He gets annoyed easily because he thinks fast enough to see the answer and becomes frustrated when he has to work with other people. We’re going to revisit this in the next unit, but a character without flaws is a boring character because the flaws are what allow us as readers to do our own analysis and find a deeper meaning in someone as a whole.

Our final cliche is the ire of the Editor’s existence. It is twins who are separated at birth or end up in foster care that magically find each other at the start of the story. I also kind of hate this cliche, because again, we’ve all seen The Fosters or is it Switched At Birth? I don’t know, and I don’t really care. If you have a character who is taken from their actual family, you need to double-down and commit to the issues that OC would have. That character wouldn’t show up on someone’s doorstep and magically be taken into the family as one of their own. Life doesn’t work that way. The foster care system is a horribly broken system (at least in the US it is) and that character many times won’t have access to that. In the US, for that information to be given there needs to be reciprocated interest in both the fostered child and the biological parent (usually the father). In divorce proceedings, the courts will almost always give the child to the mother unless the mother has a severe strike against her that would make her unfit to keep a safe environment for her child (prison time, drugs, etc.). The courts really dislike the idea of taking a baby away from its mom, which means that fathers rarely get custody of the child, and a non-blood relative even less than that. When the child is underage, the biological parent can’t show up on a doorstep and demand to see their child. They need to go through the courts and express a desire in having a relationship with their child. The child would then get an advocate, who would speak for them in court and make sure their wishes (to see or not to see their parents) are expressed. The foster system is messy and wrong and sometimes cruel, and if you are going to write switched at birth or foster-twin stories, you need to do your research on the judicial system. It isn’t just showing up on a doorstep with a birth certificate. It’s gritty and messy and if you want it, you have to take in it all.

Next week we are going to talk about realism, and how to really capture both the voices of cast members, as well as realistically write living scenarios. Remember to take Fanfiction 101 Exam 1 if you haven’t yet, and everything from this unit until Crossovers will be on Exam 2.

References:

Joanne Rowling. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Scholastic, 2007.

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