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malue-505 · 6 months

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Operators

(Just like my other posts, the info below are my headcanons! These headcanons are inspired by Slenderman’s original and contemporary Mythos, Slenderverse, The Necromancer from the “Creepy Frozen Pasta” comic by LostWight, the Slenderman in “The Seer” comic by Madame Macabre, @the-catcake’s character Red Spider and Slender Doll Ally by @the-slender-doll! I am very open to questions about this species, I am sorry if some of the info below is worded weirdly or I’ve missed a typo. This post does not indicate the final product of the species as it’s still in long development. This serves as a semi-detailed overview and introduction to the Operators.)

(Anyone can use this whole species for their AU as long as credit is given to me. Credit should not be given to me if it is something I based it off of such as the hybrid aging, the Influence, the name “Operator” and the Slender and Necromancer Class. Keep in mind that this info is subject to change as it has changed a lot over the course of the years I’ve worked on this.)

(Side Notes: The Classes, Influenced and hybrids will, hopefully, get their own dedicated posts in the future. Most of the info here is simplified for the post.)

“An Operator’s thirst is never fully satisfied. Even the ones who wish to live in peace with their Influenced are not satisfied but they do not notice due to their ignorance. Our kind is not from this world but we don’t know our true home, perhaps we don’t have one and we keep looking for it.”

- Lord Luxult, a Shifter Operator

In the presence of every Operator lives an uncanny amount of mystique and an other-worldly aura. They are often seen as symbols of power, dominion and control.

Operators are a species that are most known by their psychic capabilities to control other beings via their minds. They generate their own force, known as the Influence, that is regarded as their most defining trait.

Through their iron will and their Influence they conquer their way through the Realms and fight against other Operators for territory, servants and vanity. When an Operator is at the center of operations, others become wary as they have been given a sense of the possible scale of the operation when an Operator is in charge.

Operators come in different types, or Classes, requiring Influenced to fulfill certain specialized roles. Because of this, certain Classes of Operator require their Influenced to be specific species. These species are called Influenced Species, which are tailor made for Operators to use.

Classes

Classes are the way Operators are identified and categorized. There is no “original class” or “main class.” Subclasses exist whenever genetic mutations happen within a Class to the point where they can split off. Subclasses of Subclasses can also exist.

Hundreds of Classes exist and have various differences such as: appearance, birth procedures, behavior, abilities, symbiotic relationships, complexity and Influence control. Each Class has a Base Bloodline that originates from the first ever born Operator of the Class, beings that converted to Operatorism may start their own bloodlines within the Class they got converted into.

Attributes

Operators tend to share common characteristics, mind control being the most prominent. Mutations in the gene pool are also common amongst the species, this leads to variations in a species that asexually reproduces a lot and leads to powers that are unique to an individual. Specialized sicknesses are also common amongst Operators, specifically the parasitic Classes. All full-blooded Operators cannot talk in Human Realm and instead use their Influenced to talk for them or use telepathy.

They are immune to most stimuli but every Class/Subclass have their own weaknesses. Every Class has their own type of “6th sense” that allows them to be psychically in-tune with their surroundings. All Class Senses can detect any physical beings or objects around them.

Every Operator has a drive to control and feed. This drive is simply named as the “Operator Hunger” and it is practically impossible to fight back against. The Operator Hunger is like an urge or an itch that they have to satisfy. If not, it becomes barely livable to linger with. The only way to satisfy it is to control over beings and to continue to feed and hunt. This solution is only temporary as an Operator needs to indulge more and more. The more they give into the Operator Hunger, the more likely an Operator will lose themselves in it. It’s a vicious cycle that sees no end.

Shifters & Slenders

Slender is a Class of Operator that are most known for their extreme parasitic nature towards their Influenced. Slenders used to be known as Shifter Operators (short for Shapeshifter) until roughly about a thousand years ago when the then new generation became stuck in a slender humanoid form. Slenders should technically be considered a Subclass but the fact that they have fully replaced the Shifters has led to the entire Class being renamed. Their past Shifter bloodline still spiritually lives on in more ways than one.

Slenders are the most versatile and adaptable of all the Classes, making them particularly dangerous. Traditional Slenders usually lead lavish lifestyles often expressed through their attires and their residences.

Necromancers

Necromancer is a Class of Operator that are most known for raising undead corpses to be their Influenced. They are Parasitic Operators. Necromancers are also very sensitive to temperatures due to being made of “organic ice” that is essentially their skin.

Necromancers have to live in extremely cold temperatures which is why they are usually found on snowy mountains, giant ice caverns and frozen valleys.

Recluses

Recluse is a Class of Operator that is most known for being the most reclusive Class of Operator. Recluses become blind once they reach the age of twelve. Most, if not all, Recluses are unaware of the world they live in, much less their own bloodline. These Operators are also known for their camouflage since they coated in plants and flowers that belong to their respective habitat. Recluses are sensitive to extreme weather and climate changes due to them having actual plants on them that become a part of their skin. They are Mutualistic Operators.

Sirens

Siren is a Class of Operator that is most known for having a lot of Siren-like qualities from mythology. Siren Operators are beings that live in the saltwater oceans. These Operators don’t usually claim any territory as they keep searching for prey just above the surface.

Similarly to Sirens in mythology, Siren Operators spread their Influence by using their alluring voice to lure in prey with hypnosis to attack and to feed off of. They are Parasitic Operators.

Elves

Elf is a Class of Operator that is most known for having a lot of Elf-like qualities from mythology. They are also known for being the Class that is the most friendly with their Influenced. Unlike most Operators, Elves gather together in a group and build their own small neighborhoods known as a “community.” They are Mutualistic Operators that spread their Influence by recruiting humans to their community.

Influence

The Influence is an invisible force that is only generated and manipulated by Operators. Its main purpose is to mind control other beings to benefit an Operator. However, the Influence is quite versatile and has since been applied in other ways for different situations. The Influence can also act as an “applier” or “relay” for Operators to use their abilities whenever, wherever and on whatever is needed. Another common usage for the Influence is more marking permanent territory, both for keeping out trespassers and luring in prey.

Influence generating occurs whenever an Operator comes of age, some Classes can’t generate their Influence until later on in their development. Their Influence grows stronger the more they grow and the more they utilize it.

Influenced

Influenced are the beings that are mind controlled and/or connected to an Operator. Depending on the Class of Operator, an Influenced may experience certain side effects. Influenced of Parasitic Operators face erratic symptoms such as migraines, insomnia, dissociation, and feral outbursts. Influenced of Mutualistic Operators may experience similar symptoms but at a much milder rate. An Operator can sense where their Influenced are, what is their mental state, what caused that mental state, and (in the case of a foreign Influenced) detect what Operator is influencing them.

There are certain conditions that stops an Operator from sensing their Influenced. These conditions include: being too far away, resisting their Operator’s mental will, or a change in brain chemistry. The change in brain chemistry is usually caused by certain types of medication and drugs that can affect the brain.

Two Operators, or more, can fight for control over an Influenced in the Influenced’s mind however this will cause extreme discomfort which would result in painful migraines depending on how many Operators are fighting for control and how strongly.

As a side effect, an Influenced may start gaining some of their Operator’s abilities overtime if they aren’t an Influenced Species already.

Aging

Operators are biologically immortal, meaning that they can’t die from old age but by being killed. The more they grow up, the slower they age. Operators as old as 12 are considered children and Operators in their 90s are considered to be in the last years of their adolescence. Through their years of adulthood, they age even slower when they reach 500 years of age.

Operators are considered full-grown adults at the age of 100. This is the age when Operators are able to reproduce. Most Classes can generate their Influence earlier in life however Slenders can only generate theirs at this age.

Only full-blooded Operators from birth properly age like this.

Operatorism

Operatorism is the phenomenon of a being stepping into Operatorhood as a different species. Only full-blooded Operators can turn others into Operators. How the conversion works and how it happens is shrouded in mystery.

The current age of the being that’s being converted dictates how many years they skipped and have to catch up on when they convert. A 20 year old human that has been turned into a Slender Operator will look like a 100 year old Slender since that is the age equivalent. In this example, the former human will have to wait 100 years in order for their body to continue aging. They would also have to wait those 100 years to be able to reproduce.

Operatorism only applies to beings that turn into full-blooded Operators.

Hybrids

Operator hybrids can be a complicated situation. Considering the complicated nature of Operator genes, their hybrids can get very unstable. The only types of Operator hybrids that aren’t unstable are the Operators that are hybrids of other Classes or Subclasses of Operator since it is of the same species. They also have all of the abilities from each Class/Subclass they are, they don’t experience near any negative side effects. They exhibit all the usual Operator attributes.

Operator hybrids are at times difficult to predict when it’s a hybrid with a different species. Human/Operator hybrids are amongst the most hard to predict as well as the most unstable usually. Operator abilities are usually too much for the human soul and will cause the soul to split and develop two or more forms based on the Operator genes. This also causes them to have weak copies of Operator abilities, even then they get very few of them. Operator hybrids with other species cannot generate an Influence nor do they suffer from the Operator Hunger.

Some hybrids suffer from constant necrosis and various other side effects, every hybrid is an individual case. Some are more similar than others.

Aging when it comes to hybrids are also a one-by-one case. If they are undead, it further complicates things. Unlike beings who became full-blooded Operators, how a hybrid ages depends on if they were born or made a hybrid. Those born as a hybrid will age like how their other species would and stop aging when they reach adulthood. Beings who are not hybrids at birth will, similarly, stop physically aging when they reach adulthood. Undeads, who were not hybrids at birth, will slowly age according to how Operators would normally age albeit a bit delayed.

Operator hybrids all have one thing in common: they must possess Operator blood in their body.

Origins & Reputation

Even after existing for thousands, possibly millions, of years, Operators are still regarded as being mysterious. It is suspected by the older members of the species that they are alien in origin. Others don’t know what to make of their origins. To some, they have either always been here or just appeared with no explanation.

Over the millenniums, Operators, particularly the parasitic ones, have dominated over a lot of other species. Slenders especially have gained a fierce reputation. Due to shallow beliefs, many apply the standards and expectations they have for Slenders to the entire species.

This has made them gain their reputation as nothing but malevolent beings who want nothing but everything to themselves and to claim everything they see as their property.

Trivia

Since Operators have the tendency on getting out of control and any individual can possible be a threat, the Council decided to use the same system of identifying individuals with surnames as human society does. Their Class name serves as their surnames to further be specific on what Class of Operator they are. This only applies to the Base Bloodlines.

Operators, particularly Slenders, practice Proxism quite a lot since they use it to further gain control over their Influenced. It also helps them establish hierarchies between their servants.

There are many ways for Subclasses to be made. One of which is experimentation through dissecting and changing a Class’ genes.

Operators cannot impregnate other species through intercourse. Beings born as a hybrid Operator with another species usually happen through weirder means.

For Operators that are hybrids of other Classes, they are only made from birth. Usually by combining the blood of Operators of other Classes and combining the reproduction procedures from each Class involved.

Operators have no known creator. Their origins are completely unknown.

The name “Operator” refers to how Operators, through the mind, can potentially operate an entire being. They used to be known by other names such as “Conquerors,” “Psionic Rulers” and “Masters of the Mind.”

Operator blood is quite unique. They are often named after elements or ingredients of alchemy such as Azoth for the Slenders’ blood.

There is only one species representative for them at the Council which is Councilor Nathaniel Slender, Slenderman’s oldest brother.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta au #creepypasta headcanon #slenderman #slenderverse #creepypasta slenderman #slenderman headcanons

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phantom-z0ne · 4 months

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Kingdom Come - Part 1

"A bright flash of light blinded him as he landed on his feet, bending his knees to brace for the impact. The first thing he noticed was the sound of wailing and the wetness beneath his shoes. There were small, child sized shades reaching toward a group dressed in black robes, hoods obscuring their faces. The hooded figures whispered between themselves after he arrived, seeming delighted when they saw him. Their souls ballooning in anticipation and fervent joy. Distantly, he could tell the robed figures were asking something of him in excitement, but Polka was focused on the group of shades crowding around him. They latched onto his clothes, crying thick black tears. ‘Help us’, they asked, pawing at him, ‘Save us!’" Or, Polka and Corpse God are summoned into the DCU and give more than a few heroes headaches.

WC: 4160

CW: Minor Character Deaths, sacrificial murder, cults, blood and ghosts

The faint tugging sensation in his gut was what tipped him off that something was wrong. Even the real Polka seemed to understand something was off, his plush body moving from side to side, seeking out what he previously detected. Polka scanned his surroundings, Takumi typing away on his computer while Misaki chatted away with Sayo. He could sense Xiaoyu toiling away in the kitchen, Civil and his friends training in the basement. Nothing was out of place and yet he still felt apprehensive.

A sharper tug stole a gasp from him, the background noise of talking paused as his friends turned to look at him. It was as if there was a string tied to his ribs and someone pulling, trying to attract his attention. The longer it went on, the more painful it felt.

The soft body of his brother rubbed against Polka’s cheek, aura conveying the real Polka’s worry and slight curiosity. He softly petted the shark body in reassurance, turning to his friends to do the same when a harsher yank arrived, shoving him to his knees. He turned his gaze down, noticing the magical circle beneath his feet that definitely wasn't there a moment before. Was he being attacked again? By who?

Takumi and Misaki stood with a shout of his name, beginning to approach him. He splayed his hand in front of him, “Don't get closer!” They paused.

Who knows what this magic circle would do, he didn't recognize what its purpose was and didn't want his friends to be caught up in it. How he was connected to it was a different story.

Turning his gaze inwards, Polka took a good look at his soul. His soul was standard looking for a necromancer, a grayish silver color, almost like mercury. There was a thin yet steadily growing thread binding him to the magic circle. It didn't appear to have much power over him but the little it did wanted him to complete its purpose. From what little of the archaic runes he could interpret, this was a type of transportation array. It would bring him to a specified area the creator designed it to.

Unfortunately, there was little he could do in this situation. He couldn’t shake this circle off with what little magic he had remaining after the fight with Civil, but he also didn't want to just go wherever he would be transported.

The circle pulled more insistently, Polka sinking slightly into the magic circle. He wouldn't be able to resist much longer at this rate. The real Polka wiggled frantically, his friends also in various states of alarm.

“I’ll be back soon.” Polka reassured his friends. He wasn't planning on sticking around the area he would be transported. It would be better to conserve his magic and use it for defense then just use it up resisting. If he had more magic, he would have been able to sever the connection between him and the magic circle.

A shout of ‘Wait—’ hit his ears as Polka let go of his tight hold on his magic, letting the magic circle overwhelm his form, encasing him in thick black strands. It pulled him into the circle, darkness surrounding him on all sides.

Weightlessness came over him before he was quickly pulled downward, his clothes whipping around in the non-existent wind. It felt as if he was falling down a vertical tunnel. He had to grab the shark plush his brother was housed in before it was blown away. It stayed like that for a while, Polka falling for an indefinite time, waiting to finally land.

A bright flash of light blinded him as he landed on his feet, bending his knees to brace for the impact. The first thing he noticed was the sound of wailing and the wetness beneath his shoes. There were small, child sized shades reaching toward a group dressed in black robes, hoods obscuring their faces. The hooded figures whispered between themselves after he arrived,seeming delighted when they saw him. Their souls ballooning in anticipation and fervent joy.

Polka pulled his attention back to the spirits. They were new, probably created at most an hour ago. Their expressions were full of grief and confusion. They solidified the longer he stared, likely realizing he could see them.

Distantly, he could tell the robed figures were asking something of him in excitement, but Polka was focused on the group of shades crowding around him. They latched onto his clothes, crying thick black tears. ‘Help us’ , they asked, pawing at him, ‘Save us!’

Looking around the shades, he saw a small pile. In the dim lighting, it was hard to make out. Taking a step closer, his shoes squelched from the sticky floor. He was stepping in a dark puddle, the overwhelming scent of iron revealed the liquid as blood. Tracing the blood with his eyes, it led to the pile. The pile of deceased children. Oh. The shark plush on his shoulder shivered, obviously unsettled from the image.

“Oh Great God of the Dead, Corpse God, Devourer of Souls. We summoned you here today to ask of you to fulfill your glorious purpose.” Polka snapped his attention back to the robed group. One of the figures was a few steps ahead of the rest, speaking as the head of the group.

“My purpose.” Polka said flatly. The shades gathered around this person the most, anger and sorrow warring in their auras as they clawed at the figure’s robes.

“To rid the world of impurities, of course!” The robed figure responded, clasping their hands fervently. The other members of the cult—it was quite obvious that it was a cult now that he took a closer look—bowed behind their leader, rubbing their hands together in prayer.

Polka narrowed his eyes, scanning the scene before him. The cultists surrounded him semicircle as he stood in a summoning array made from the blood of children. It was sickening.

One of the spirits, this one slightly older than the rest, lightly poked his shoulder. When he turned to them, they pointed to the side of the room. A young boy dressed in bright colors lay motionless, tied to the pillar. A steady stream of blood was dripping to the floor from a head wound.

He would have let them go had they not harmed children. Had they not sacrificed them in his name. He wouldn't kill them but let them live in agony. Let them think about what they’ve done, Polka thought vindictively.

“I see.” The leader’s hood rode up, showing an ecstatic smile that dropped when Polka lifted his hand towards him. Behind Polka, an unnaturally white skeleton arm came through a black dripping magic circle alongside a duplicate of it.

The arms crushed the leader, twisting his body into knots. A shrill scream signaled the rest of the cult to run for safety, Polka looked on unbothered as he gave the cult the same treatment as their leader. Eventually, the only sound in the warehouse was the faint breathing of the injured boy and moans of pain, though many of the cultists had already fallen unconscious from pain.

The spirits swarmed him after he dispelled the skeletal arms. Their aura’s lightening, some giving him a quick smile and a ‘Thank you’ before fading. He had gotten their revenge for them, it wasn't surprising that they decided to go to the beyond.

A few shades held their hands out to him, feeling satisfied. He grasped their hands, feeding on their staying energy as they said their goodbye to him. The staying energy he just gathered replenished the magic he used earlier from his small reserves. Finally, it was just Polka, his brother, and the injured boy in the warehouse.

The boy’s dark complexion was covered by the blood pouring from his head wound. Polka wouldn't be able to heal it without turning that part of his body into a corpse and he wouldn’t do that without the boy’s consent.

Though the boy felt different from a regular human, a heavy sense of death covered him. He was most likely a revenant, he could still feel the aura of life in the boy. The energies were twined, both life and death mixed together in his aura.

Polka untied the boy, catching him when he fell onto him. The boy blearily opened his eyes, unfocused as he asked, “Grayson?” The shark plush looked away from the mess made of the cultists and towards the boy, finally taking the time to observe the young boy. He was worried, the feeling emanating from his aura. There was also a faint recognition.

“No.” Polka answered calmly.

The boy was alarmed, Polka noted, sluggishly struggling to extract himself from Polka’s hold.

“Rest.” Polka placed his hand over the boy’s forehead, the boy’s eyes going wide before he slumped back into Polka’s embrace, eyes fluttering shut.

Polka took the time to assess the rest of the boy's wounds, checking him over and finding that the head wound was the only injury the boy had. It was sluggishly bleeding still.

Polka conjured a roll of gauze, applying to the boy’s wound and taping it closed. Now, he needed to figure out what to do with the boy. He couldn't just leave him lying unconscious in this warehouse for anyone to find.

The buzz of a comm answered that problem, a deep voice questioned “Robin, report. What is your location?” He paused, likely waiting for a response before repeating the message. Clearly, the boy, Robin, knew this man which meant it would be safe to hand responsibility of Robin over to him.

Polka plucked the comm from the boy’s ear, asking, “Is this comm trackable?”

“Who are you?” The voice demanded, on the edge of hostility.

“You can call me Polka. I'm not sure of the location but Robin is unconscious. We are in a warehouse.” Polka responded calmly, not taking the hostility to heart. The man was clearly worried about Robin being in the presence of a stranger.

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there shortly.” Polka shrugged and sat down against the pillar, placing Robin’s head in his lap. He fiddled with his brother’s plush boy, speaking with him. He wondered what the relationship between the man and Robin was. Were they father and son? Related? Or just had a mentor-mentee relationship? He shared his thoughts with his brother, who responded as best as he could.

In no time at all, a large man cloaked in black emerged from a shadowy corner of the warehouse. If he didn’t know better, Polka would have thought the man was using shadow magic. He was a bit surprised that the man was another revenant. The way life and death swirled around him was similar to Robin’.

He could sense the presence of four more people surrounding him, but couldn't see any of them. They hid themselves well, but unfortunately for them he could see their souls. They were obviously worried about Robin and wary of him.

Polka stopped stroking Robin’s hair as the man strode up to him, looming over him menacingly. The man was quick to scoop Robin up and distance himself from Polka. Although Polka couldn’t see his eyes, he could tell that they bore into him intently. Polka stared back at the man impassively, tilting his head slightly.

He felt a strange aura surrounding the man, a mixture of malevolent and benevolent emotions. Stretching his senses, he could feel it from the other four presences, though there was a higher amount of malevolence surrounding two of the presences. Had someone cursed them?

“What intentions do you have with Robin?” the man asked.

Polka shifted to his feet, placing the shark plush back in his hood as he stood, “None, I just happened to find him. Who are you?”

The man gave him a long look and said curtly, “Batman.” Polka felt his brother perk up at that.

“Happened to find him?” A voice behind him asked, a man in a skintight black suit with a blue emblem stood behind him, smiling as he rolled two escrima sticks in his hands casually. “How exactly did you find him? We can't be sure you weren’t the one who abducted him, after all.”

Polka hummed, thinking on how to explain this. He can't expose his magic, that would be disastrous, but he isn't sure how to say he got here without magic. Plus, he was a terrible liar so he couldn't do that. But what he could do was shift the blame and tell the truth. Only, he would be omitting some details.

He pointed to the blood, balled up cultists, “They kidnapped Robin, me, and a couple other kids.” He pointed at the mountain of bodies, “They killed the others. Who are you ?”

The two men slightly softened at that, grief and guilt coming off of them in waves once they saw the children’s bodies. He sheathed his weapons as he walked to stand closer to Robin and Batman and asked, “I’m called Nightwing. Can you tell us why you and Robin are unharmed?” Polka’s brother was clearly excited, did he know these people?

“They already summoned the God of the Dead, or Corpse God, by then. It wasn't needed.” Polka replied evenly.

“They summoned what they called the God of the Dead?” Batman asked, his voice softer than before.

Polka nodded, “That's what they called him. He’s the one who did that to the cultists.” He mimed balling up a paper. The man frowned while Nightwing looked thoughtful.

“Did you see where the God of the Dead went?” Nightwing asked after he plastered a warm smile on his face and bent down to be closer to Polka’s height.

Polka bit his lips, thinking of a way to phrase it without lying. Polka slowly nodded, eyes darting around as he feigned nervousness. He leaned towards the younger man and cupped his hand to his mouth, loudly whispering, “He’s still here.”

Alarm filled the warehouse sharply, the two men tensing. In contrast, his brother was gleeful, probably finding humor from him lying by omission to these people, though he was a bit apprehensive with the situation.

The interrogation was broken by Robin stirring. Robin quietly uttered, “Father…?” His voice was hoarse. So Polka’s theory was right, they were father and son.

“Robin—” The man began, maneuvering Robin to a more seated position.

“Can I go now? I was with my friends before this. They’re probably worried.” Polka interrupted, sticking his thumb towards the exit.

“Sorry, you’re coming with us.” Nightwing said, giving him an apologetical look. Polka pursed his lips, not wishing to stay any longer. He had to get back to Takumi and Misaki. They were undoubtedly searching for him and probably worried out of their minds.

“Why?” Polka asked, crossing his arms.

The three presences exposed themselves, walking towards their colleagues(?). One of them, dressed in a red and black suit with a long cape, answered, “We need more information and to verify your story. And for your protection.”

The other two hovered around Robin and his father, one dressed in a full black suit, her mask stitched together over the mouth. The other was dressed in a leather jacket and had guns holstered on his thighs, a red helmet covered his head. It was clear that he had killed many, the heavy stench of death covered him. From what Polka could feel, he had probably taken hundreds of lives.

What Polka wasn’t expecting, though, was for him to be a zombie. Was there another necromancer around who resurrected him? It would be troublesome if they turned out to be his enemy. What was the coincidence that three people, probably family from the looks of it, all died and came back? Not to mention all of them having some connection with death?

If he went with them, the holes in his story would be blown wide open. He couldn't have that.

Polka tore his eyes away from the zombie and towards the one in red and black who was looking over the cultist bodies. “Won't that be kidnapping? Since I don't want to go to a secondary location with strangers? Kidnapping is illegal, you know.”

“Well, it's a good thing the law is more like suggestions to us.” The zombie huffed, his voice coming out distorted, likely from the helmet. Polka paused, worried about what he got himself in. He should have just left the moment they arrived.

“What do you—” Polka started.

“They're alive!” The one dressed in red and black exclaimed, claiming the room's attention.

“How.” Robin’s father growled. Robin looked on curiously, though obviously still out of it.

“I'm not sure. Their limbs are broken and twisted into knots but they’re obviously still alive. From the amount of blood spilt, they should be dead.” He replied, poking one of the cultists' body and earning a groan in return.

That's true, a regular body shouldn't have survived. Polka had just made sure that they would survive and face the consequences for their actions. They shouldn't have slaughtered so many children, Polka thought coldly.

“Black Bird, call the hospital and alert the police of what happened. Let's go.” Robin’s father barked.

Black Bird nodded, quickly typing away at what appeared to be a small computer embedded in his glove. Once he was finished, he stood and walked towards Robin's father and the one in blue, talking in hushed whispers with them. They gestured between him, the pile of children’s bodies, and the cultists as they spoke.

Polka was left standing near the other two strangers, studying them once more as gestured towards one another. “What are your names?” He asked, looking between the one in a red helmet and the one with a stitched mouth mask.

“Never been in Gotham, kid?” The zombie questioned, sounding a bit incredulous. Polka shook his head, earning a huff from him. The one in black tilted her head curiously.

“I'm Red Hood and that's Black Bat.” Red Hood stuck his thumb at Black Bat who waved at him. Polka waved back.

“What's its name?” The zombie pointed to the plush his brother was stored in after a lull in the conversation.

Polka paused. He hadn’t ever thought of a name to present to others when asked. He blurted out, “Polka Jr.”

His face heated, a little mortified that was the first thing he thought of.

The zombie snorted, or at least what Polka thought was a snort. It was hard to tell with the helmet's distortion. “You name all your plushies after yourself?”

“No. Just this one.” Polka answered as he was led towards the back alley behind the warehouse. Robin’s father said earlier to ‘Report back to the cave’ after a couple minutes of casual conversation.

Polka was surrounded by the strangers, the zombie and the one in all black behind him and Robin, Robin’s father and the one in blue walked in front of him. If he wanted to escape without ruining his cover, he would have to take a chance soon.

They walked down the winding alleys, anyone standing in the alleys would scramble away the moment they saw the group. He could see a sleek black car parked just around the corner. If he used his magic at the right time, he could conceal himself and make a run for it.

It was when he turned the corner and the ones behind him had yet to do so that he had the chance. He deployed his magic, covering himself in shadows and augmented his body. He dashed towards an empty alleyway and stuck to the shadowy walls, hearing shouts of surprise behind him.

It was only after evading the group for twenty minutes straight that he slowed down, reasoning that they were likely off his trail already. He came to a stop near the opening of the alley, leaning on the wall after he dispelled his magic, panting as he let himself regain his breath.

He had noticed this already, but there seemed to be a higher amount of mana here than in the real Polka’s world, almost rivaling his homeworld. Not to mention the amount of spirits he passed along the way. There were way less spirits in Japan than wherever he was now.

Even now, he could see a ghost across the street from him, haunting an apartment building. What had happened in this city for there to be so many spirits?

Once he had finished resting, Polka raised his hood, gently pushing the shark plush to his shoulder.

He spotted a payphone not long after he joined the rush in the streets, and was reminded that he didn't have his phone on him. It was on the table back home and he didn't have the time nor energy to grab it before he was taken.

What he did have, though, was his wallet. He should have enough money to be able to make a call with Takumi or Misaki. Polka entered the booth and followed the instructions printed on the wall. Entering Takumi’s number, Polka waited for the call to connect.

What came instead was an automated message that said ‘The number you have tried to reach does not exist. Please check the number you have typed in and try again.’ When he tried Misaki’s number, the same message popped up.

Polka frowned, he’s called both Takumi and Misaki’s number with different phones before and this had never happened before. Which means it wasn’t a problem with their phones, it was a problem with where he was summoned.

From the feel of the mana in the air and the strangely large amount of spirits, it was safe to assume that he was in another world. If this had happened before he was reincarnated, he wouldn't have come to such a conclusion. It's only because he was reincarnated that he knew that other worlds were possible.

Polka looked to the sky after he exited the booth, it was getting late and he’d need a place to stay for the night. Not to mention a large reservoir of magic to create a gateway back to his home. With the amount of spirits around, he doubted he would have much of a problem with gathering magic.

He decided to follow the largest signature of negative energy, there were most likely going to be spirits there. Usually when there are a large amount of spirits, the building is typically abandoned.

He was right, pursuing it led him to an abandoned warehouse next to the docks. The amount of spirits was a bit astonishing, the last time he saw such a large quantity of ghosts was when he visited the mass grave of a town murdered by demons.

Entering the building, the ghosts crowded around him, some begging for help while others simply curious. Many of the ghosts were on the younger side, young adults and children, their faces bleached and mouths forced into a bloody smile.

He gave them a sympathetic look and asked, “Who did this to you?”

A cacophony of voices answered, many simply saying ‘Him’ while others repeated one name over and over. Joker.

One man killing this many people was troublesome, especially when they were so young. Polka hummed, coming to a decision and raising his hand towards the ghosts, “I’ll find him and avenge all of you. In exchange, I need your energy.”

Many of the ghosts wailed, their aura fluctuating between happiness and wariness, obviously overjoyed that someone would avenge them but not quite trusting him yet.

“It's a promise.” Polka said, stretching his hand out more. Many of the ghosts looked between each other. Some came to him quickly, accepting his offer and passing on to the other side. Others deliberated, hesitant to believe him yet yearning to trust his promise if not him.

Eventually, Polka grasped their staying energy, watching as the final group of ghosts faded. He closed his eyes and let out a breath, letting the converted magic flow through him. He made a promise and he would act on it, he never broke a promise.

But first things first, he needed to rest, he was tired. Polka searched the warehouse and found a secluded room, no one would be going in without him knowing.

He conjured a mattress with a couple of blankets and pillows and placed them in the center of the room. Setting up a protection and surveillance array, Polka flopped onto the mattress and placed his brother next to him.

Polka is lucky that the world he was summoned to was so similar to his new world. Having to navigate a completely unfamiliar world would be really troublesome, he didn't want to deal with that again.

Polka turned to his side. He needed to rest, he’ll have a busy day tomorrow. He had a killer to hunt down after all.

──── ∘°❉°∘ ────

Happy (very late) New Year! Enjoy the chapter!!

Masterpost | Part 2

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bangtanloverboys · 9 months

Text

the pet whisperer // kth

summary - after receiving a ghost egg as a reward from a quest, you go looking to help get it hatched. but instead of finding the doctor, you find his assistant

pairing - pet trainer!taehyung x pet owner!reader

genre - fluff; wizard 101 au

word count - 1.5k

warnings - dip’s made up lore, friendships, quick mention of fear but nothing bad

guide - conjury = myth school; necromancy = death school; divination = storm school; marleybonian = british cat person

author’s note - this one is a tad short, as i just like the interactions and building up of the pet world. it’s just a little cute thing

the seven schools of ravenwood masterlist

Growing up there was one thing you would always ask your parents for every year for your birthday: a pet. It didn’t matter what type, it could’ve been a piggle, an imp, a dragon, a firecat, anything! All you wanted was your own buddy to train and hang out with. Unfortunately, your parents never liked the idea. Your father was allergic to feathers, your mother wasn’t fond of the idea of taking care of yet another thing on top of you and your siblings, and it was a lot of responsibility that you simply couldn’t handle at such a young age. So you shelved the childhood dream of having a pet, going through school and only gazing longingly at the other students as they brought their pets to school for show and tell or for dueling practice.

Only after you’d moved out of your family home in Olde Town and gotten your own apartment in Firecat Alley did you finally revisit the dream. You had started doing oddball errands and jobs that other wizards refused in order to save up to help purchase a pet. It was by pure chance of luck that one of those little excursions had you being rewarded with a pet! A ghost egg, how fitting considering you’re a necromancer.

With the egg tucked safely into your pack, you approached the Pet Pavilion. You’d been down the street before as a younger student, watching some of the traveling animal shows that passed through. But now as a new pet owner, you felt a bit out of your depth and a tad nervous.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” A voice pulled you out of your thoughts. The voice belonged to a (very attractive) blond man, no taller than you, dressed head to toe in blue and yellow; he had to be a conjurer.

“Hi, I uh- I just got this ghost egg and I’m looking to hatch it.” You pulled your pack to the side, lifting up the lid to show the grey shell to him.

“First time pet owner?”

You nodded.

“Alright! So for hatching we’re gonna set ‘em up in the Hatchery then, it takes a couple hours but it’s sooner than waiting. This way,” he said as he started leading you up the stairs towards the large building at the end of the pavilion. “My name’s Taehyung Frogtamer, by the way.”

“Y/N Redwraith,” you responded as you followed him. Inside the Hatchery, sounds of electricity buzzed and lights flashed, catching you off guard for a moment. Along the side of the room were small seats where various eggs were placed, hooked up to a machine. On the floor was a large insignia for divination, leading you to believe storm magic must’ve helped power it all. Despite it being layered in magic, you couldn’t help but think it all looked like something you’d seen in an old book on Marleybone, a world filled with electricity and machinery rather than magic. You must’ve looked a tad unsettled as Taehyung pulled your attention away from them.

“Don’t worry, this is all very humane and safe. Unordinary, yes. But all pets are healthy, trust me.” Even under Taehyung’s assurance, it was still a tad nerve wracking. The Pet Pavilion was still fairly new, so having egg hatched under assistance was still a relatively new practice. Especially for Wizard City.

“You’re the doctor, so I’ll trust you.”

Your words visibly shook him, as his mouth fell open to say something but before he could respond a new voice interjected.

“Frogtamer is not the doctor.” You turned your head towards the voice, and on a platform was a Marleybonian dressed in a lab coat and other medical tools. “I am Doctor Purreau.”

Heat gathered in your cheeks, embarrassed at your assumption. “I’m sorry, he seems very knowledgeable and I’ve never quite been in here before,” you confessed, scratching at the back of your neck.

“Hmm,” Dr. Purreau regarded you with a disinterested look. He didn’t say anything else before turning his back on your, looking back towards an egg that was strapped to a chair, watching it as it cracked and came to life.

Turning back to Taehyung, he gestured for you to follow him to the other side of the hall room. “Dr. P is. . . he is a character, but a good doctor. Trust in the science. Now, I can still help you, if you’re interested?”

“Yes, thank you.” Taehyung looked to you then to your bag, slightly nodding to it. “Oh, right!” You reached into your pack, carefully pulling out the large grey egg. Slowly, you placed it into Taheyung’s hands. You watched as he delicately placed it into the chair, strapping it in. You gnawed on your lower lip as he began to hook it up the machine, lowering the metal headset down to the crown of the egg. The blond approached the side of the machine where a large lever was on display.

Wrapping his hands around the handle, Taehyung looked over to you. “You might want to shield your eyes.”

Doing as he said, your hands came up to your eyes as he lowered the lever. Bright flashes of lightning and claps of thunder filled your ears. You swore, it was so loud you feared you might’ve lost your hearing. But in a matter of moments, it was done! The room went quiet and you peeled your hands away from your eyes. Seated in the remaining bits of shell was the head of a ghost, its ghoulish hood looking around its new surroundings.

“Oh my stars!” You gasped as Taehyung removed the straps from its remaining bit of shell. It floated away from the chair, making a beeline for you.

“Already knows their owner!” Taehyung cheered, smiling brightly at you as the small ghost did circles around your legs. “Do you have a name for ‘em?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?” You couldn’t take your eyes off of them, smiling so hard your cheeks began to ache.

“Well I have a cyclops named Sir Noodle, a piggle named Avery, a dragon named Stormfly, and a serpent named Shadow. So I’m not the best with name ideas as they’ll just sort of. . . pop up in my head and I just go ‘good enough’.”

“Hmm,” you got down on your knees, reaching out to the ghost. They reached out for your hand, a cool chill rushing through you as their disembodied hand grasped against yours. “Jeffery?”

You watched as Taehyung gave you a cheeky smile at that. “Just Jeffery? No titles or anything?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “They’re just Jeffery.”

“Just Jeffery it is,” he said as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper before handing it to you. “Certificate of ownership and hatching certificate.”

“Thank you,” you smiled as you took the papers from him.

“I’ll walk you out?” He asked, phrasing it as a question.

“Please.” And so the two of you walked side by side out of the hatchery, Jeffery trailing close behind at your heels.

“Ghosts will eat any food that other pets will eat; but they have preference for foods like penne dreadful, square watermelon, and dastardly radish,” Taehyung rambled as the lead you out of the darkness of the Hatchery and into the bright sunlight of the pavilion.

“Duly noted, thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure, I love pets and animals. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of doing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, Dr. Purreau says I’ve got a knack for it.”

“And you being a conjurer has no impact on your ability to help hatch?” You asked, remembering how even though it’s a machine, it’s half powered through storm magic, opposite of conjury.

Taehyung stopped dead in his tracks, a confused look on his face. “How did you know I was a myth student?” You looked down to his robes, yellow and blue, the colors of the myth school before meeting his eyes again. Following your gaze, he caught on. “Oh! Sorry, I’m a fool, ignore that. But no, it doesn’t surprisingly. Guess it only impacts the battlefield.”

User fluidity amongst opposite schools was rare, but not unheard of. You nodded, accepting the explanation. But you weren’t quite ready to say goodbye yet. “Hey uh, since Jeffery is new and stuff. Maybe you’d like to. . . I don’t know. . . have a pet playdate sometime? It’s alright if you don’t-”

“Yes!” He cut you off, his voice almost breaking. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. “Yes, I’d like that very much,” he said, his voice slightly deeper and more controlled.

Smiling, you nodded. “Okay, meet in the Commons tomorrow? Noon good for you?”

“Perfect, I’ll bring Sir Noodle. He’s the most sociable. Him and Jeffery are gonna be fast friends, I know it.” He rested his hands on his hips.

“Okay, see you tomorrow then.” You smiled as you started stepping away from him. “Say bye Jeffery!” The ghost made a small groan as they followed you. Carefully, you glanced over your shoulder, seeing Taehyung watch you leave. Once you were enveloped in the darkness of the tunnel, you turned around to see the conjurer doing a small happy dance. Cute, apparently good with animals, and a little goofy? You definitely were starting to like him.

#btsghostie #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #kim taehyung x gender neutral reader #taehyung x gender neutral reader #bts x gender neutral reader #bts wizard au #wizard taehyung #bts fluff #kim taehyung fluff

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felassan · 1 year

Text

Dragon Age: Absolution Episode 2

some random bits and pieces on Episode 2. under a cut due to length

Episode 1 post

It looks really cold down there! You can see their breath

The various glyphs and circular spells in this show really have the feel of similar glyphs and mage spell symbols from the games

The chained dragon reminded me of Ataashi trapped in Trespasser and the chained dragon in Dark Fortress

Is this ruin they're in the aforementioned sealed temple to the Old Gods? In Episode 1 we're told that part of the Summer Palace is built on top of a sealed temple to the Old Gods, and when Rezaren and Tassia exit that place they travel upwards from what looks like underground. that's interesting - it's the place where the Circulum was crafted by Magister Amelia Pavus. Was that so far back in time that it was during the time of Old God worship in Tevinter, or was Amelia an [underground] Old God cultist or simply conducting research of/in an old temple?

^ draconic figure pattern on the chamber walls

New lore: Tevinter Divine Marconius IV built the vault in the Summer Palace in Nessum as a last resort; its security system is designed to kill everyone in the palace in order to stop a full-scale coup, rather than a few intruders. sounds like a safe room tbh! also new lore: this Marconius put the bodies of dead slaves in the walls of the palace

Since it seems from a later normal conversation Tassia "has" with Neb's body later in this episode that Tassia doesn't realize Neb is dead, my reading of the 'Don't you have someone you want to bring back?' exchange between Rezaren and Tassia was that Tassia herself in her own backstory lost someone important to her

New lore: an ancestor of Dorian's, and a member of House Pavus, Magister Amelia Pavus, created the Circulum Infinitus as her last and greatest work. It brings people back from the dead - she'd be proud that her great-great-greatx9000 descendant is a Necromancer

On Memory / Enmity: aaah the highlight of the episode. Honestly I think there is soo much that could be written about this character, on themselves and as a commentary on broader things etc, even though they only appeared for a brief time. "Memory / Enmity" is how they're listed in the credits. they're a spirit of Wisdom called Memory, like how there's a Pride Demon called Audacity and a Desire demon called Caress. these are like, types of or possible aspects/things relating to the 'umbrella noun'. I think sometimes these are things it's focusing on, like how an anger demon that 'focuses on' [angry] retribution is more powerful as that kind of anger is more powerful and complex than simple anger. why memory.. There's knowledge to be found in memories, and they can help inform wiser choices in the future.

Memory has observed and remembered everything that happened in that chamber since its very founding, which as a temple to the Old Gods (from long ago) means that they've been doing that for a very, very long time and seen a great many things. this was in service of Tevinter; we already knew that in Tevinter mages bind spirits and use them as servants, so here's an example of that practise.

When Memory says they "sense" that the artifact has never been used, I get the impression that rather than sense that they just straight up know that, but were being coy about what they knew in a holding some info close to their chest kind of way. When they said that by name and nature mortals are doomed to die, I was reminded of the immortality of ancient elves, how the construction of the Veil changed elves' very nature and sundered them from themselves, and the theory that elves were once spirits/have spirit origins

Memory's descent into Enmity is also interesting. they already had multiple blue eyes, but at certain times when they're tempted, annoyed, sus etc they're drawn with additional, demonic black eye slits. there's also multiple triggers which contribute towards their corruption into Pride/Enmity and twisting away from/perversion of their purpose. Rezaren arrogantly states that just because something hasn't been done before doesn't mean it can't be done, and boasts that Magisters don't frighten easily. here, it's exposure to Rezaren's pride, like how in this Codex sonnet the spirit of Love was transformed into Desire by exposure to the lover's desire for them. Memory is further twisted when Rezaren harms them in an attempt to force/compel them to comply with his demands (forcing them to comply with something out of keeping with their nature). this is apparent from their expressions of pain (grimacing, hunching etc), and this twisting feels more like an animal's defense mechanism against being attacked, like if you keep pushing and pushing someone they may lash out. they're twisted when their own innate (hidden) sense of pride is insulted by the way that they're being treated and essentially being compared to a common shade. and they're twisted when exposed to the powerful artifact and find themselves coveting it and its power. When they say "revealing that would be unwise" it's a bit meta, as at that time Memory themselves is trying to avoid becoming their opposite (unwise... no longer Wisdom).

^ the multiple eyes + blue eyes is self-explanatory ofc, but here I was also reminded by the way the Dread Wolf's face in this mural is twisted and 'frowning'/snarling

Also poor Memory .. MEEEEEMOREEEE noooooo（；へ：）way to go Rezaren you corrupted a spirit other Magisters had been compelling and consulting without ruining for literal Ages

"Power like this draws... many... eyes": obviously referring to Meredith and likely also to get you to wonder who else, what other beings are after this artifact or want it. but it's also self-referential: Memory is drawn to the artifact, Enmity wants it believing that only beings such as they should get to hold such power, their many eyes are fixed upon it

Memory is bald under that there hood. this reminded me of bald ancient elves in wall paintings such as these and the obvious, which in turn brought to mind the theory on Solas' origins, that Mythal once called Solas (a spirit of Wisdom) out of the Fade to serve and advise her ("He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face")

The Memory/Enmity dichotomy is also interesting, it's not the 'simple' kind of axis like Justice-Vengeance or Love/Desire. we already knew it wasn't always fixed and 'linear' and or exclusive (Faith and Wisdom can both become Pride etc) but yea Spirit/Demon stuff is just soo interesting hh :D according to Professor Google there are some ideas in some types of religious thinking on enmity as it relates to pride:

"Most of us think of pride as self-centeredness, conceit, boastfulness, arrogance, or haughtiness. All of these are elements of the sin, but the heart, or core, is still missing. The central feature of pride is enmity—enmity toward God and enmity toward our fellowmen. Enmity means “hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition.” It is the power by which Satan wishes to reign over us. Pride is essentially competitive in nature. We pit our will against God’s. When we direct our pride toward God, it is in the spirit of “my will and not thine be done.”" [from a random site]

"the heart and core of pride is enmity - "hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition" - toward God and fellowmen. Enmity toward God has certain labels: rebellion, hard-heartedness, stiff-neckedness, unrepentant, puffed up, easily offended, and sign seekers. Enmity toward others is manifest in daily temptations to "elevate ourselves above others and diminish them."" [from a random site]

"“But Pride always means enmity -- it is enmity. And not only enmity between man and man, but enmity to God.”" [apparently a CS Lewis quote]

the Tevinter Chantry holds services in the evening (the evening chant) which have four bells, singing of the Chant and the congregation/people assembled looking for salvation

^ one last time indeed. F （；へ：）

I thought/speculated/worried that one of the gang wouldn't make it out of the heist alive, but I really did not expect it to be Fairbanks, Newly Ascended Extra and Inquisition Representation. wew!!

When Roland is rolling around on the ground like 'oh the pain' this is probably the bit mentioned here in the showrunner & cast interview from Netflix Tooned In:

Mairghread: “You get a file [of auditions]. A lot of people could bring the badass, but she really brought the warmth, and really, your voice and performance was so warm, in like, this, quieter moments where you could feel a person instead of just a phenomenal killing machine. I knew instantly when I heard your audition, I was like 'that’s it, that’s absolutely it’. […] Phil’s audition was so smooth and sexy, I was like 'oh this is so nice’, but actually what clinched it is there’s a moment where he has to like, act badly, and it’s actually really hard to get actors to act badly. A moment where he has to do a bad job of acting. And you went for it 100%, it was hilarious.”

"tell my wife I loved her" lmao

Levitation? in Last Flight there's the floating aravels and I think in the core rule book there's a bit about levitation of small items

the girl and the cook reminded me a bit of Briala and the chatelaine and Rilene the cook in The Masked Empire, only a lot darker

here's "bat" again, this time bat-eared.. is "bat" a Tevinter thing, like "rabbit" in Orlais? :|

"sky-sucking" lol

^ lockpicking looks fun and also the opened lock is a dragon!

The Fairbanks/Hira thing was a cool twist and clever misdirect. I originally thought Fairbanks was evil, a traitor/compromised or somehow not really Fairbanks in that scene

The Circulum absorbs some of Hira's spilled blood

Also I think Rezaren's mom's name is Enrichetta. That name is listed in the credits as Sumalee Montano, his mom sounded like Sumalee and it can't be the name of the cook or the girl as they're listed as "cook" and "girl", so by process of elimination and lack of who else it could be.. ^^

#dragon age #dragon age: absolution #dragon age: absolution spoilers #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #solas #hope these posts are interesting to someone hh :')#feels #gpoy #mj meta

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lordfabian · 1 year

Note

if there was a Tumblr sexyman type of competition but for necromancers from various media, would you want to be added to the roster?

It would be amusing to be sure, but I fear my name does not have the recognition levels that most other internet necromancers would bring to the table, so I would only expect to be disappointed when nobody knew who I was.

Better for me that way of course, less of a chance of being hunted down (again) but alas, humility has its price.

#ask #yeah humility sure mlord

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koh-er142 · 10 months

Text

Touchstarved Game Original Character (1)/DLC MC

Origin: Ruthless Magus

Name: Alexis (Belinsky) Pronouns: He/Him Birthday: October 10 Age: 22 Star sign: Libra

Height: 175 cm / 5’ 8”

Occupation: Freelancer Magus/Part Time Enforcer

Personality: Brooding Advocate

Likes: Card Games, Board Games, Sweet Foods, Taking walks

Dislikes: Heretical Mages, Necromancers, Dark Mages, Evil

Fatal Flaw: Willing to commit some villainous acts to achieve his goals.

Others: Despite being inexpressive (most of the time), Alexis is surprisingly friendly with neighbouring stall owners and helps them out at their shops. He learns how to bargain with people as a result.

Appearance: Alexis has very light blond hair and rarely shows any emotion. He has heterochromatic eyes as his left eye is green and his right eye is blue. He wears a black suit with a red cloak and armour.

Background: Alexis settled in a fishing village with his parents and his sister. However, the fishing village was hit by a plague, and his sister fell ill.

A visiting mage who researches in necromancy and vampirism, disguised himself as a doctor and distributed medicine to the sick villagers. The medicine was a potion that turns people into mindless vampires.

The entire village is eventually infected and cleansed by Kronos mages. Alexis was the only survivor. He was saved by Gretta, the exiled mage who eventually took him in as a child and raised him as an apprentice alongside Natalia.

After the tragedy that befell his village, Alexis swore to seek revenge on the mage responsible for the destruction of his home. He will resort to any method– including becoming a test subject. This inevitably causes conflict when Natalia tried to get him to leave. Natalia eventually had no choice but to leave without Alexis.

Abilities:

Alexis is skilled in magecraft, spellcraft, alchemy, tracking, assassination, the usage of all types of weaponry. He can summon a water-based familiar which appears as a monstrous wolf.

Alexis can perform emergency treatments and is capable of channelling power in his hand to electrocute his opponent. His specialty is utilizing high-speed attacks and manoeuvrers. Alexis is also able to infuse his attacks with elemental energy to deal more damage.

Equipment:

Alexis was trained to use various weapons, ranging from swords, bows, and axes. His most used weapons are knives and pistol.

#TouchstarvedGame #touchstarved oc #touchstarved game #touchstarved game oc #touchstarvedgame oc #touchstarved mc #touchstarved game mc #touchstarvedgame mc

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fox0war · 3 days

Text

Okay pspsps come one come all I finally m going to make a proper intro for some of my cerifikn characters so y'all can meet them!! ------------ Also please consider joining the group! It's an ARPG (Art Role Playing Game) with several species, easy to aquire MYOs, a Semi-Open species for any and all newbies, and great community! Plus various other things I love! It is 16+ to join though so keep that in mind ------------ Anyways, now that we're done with that lil bit, are you ready to meet my lil cast? ;D (all refs here will be the most recent as of posting! Some may need to be updated in the future do to lore or just being outdated lol)

First off: My first character! It feels only appropriate to shine a light on her! Say a proper hello to Moss! She is a Smog-Imp! A type of Abyss demon which is also a very large single cell organism! She, in particular, is a 'Tundra' form one! Which means she's quite fluffy, has teeth on her mask (the bird skull looking thing), and unlike other Smog-Imps can consume meat! Though, she tends to stick to the standard plant diet anyway. She's also a serial adopter! She has much too many kids for me to list ATM but who knows, maybe she could adopt you too!

She's also in a relationship with the mysterious NPC named Vlad! Who while technically an NPC, is also a character owned by @pikku-peruna! A good friend of mine who is also the group's owner! (Say a friendly hello to them for me!) Moss was gotten through a 2021 MYO event! She's one of my most used characters :D ------------ Now you all, if you've been following me, have met Pho'Bous before via his stories! And while his ref is somewhat out of date, he is also quite darling to me! Also gained through that 2021 MYO event (Which is what spurred me to join in the first place, fun fact!) it took me ages to get his design down on paper (or well, screen?) in a way I enjoyed! His design only being fully settled a year and a few months later! Fun fact, this sad little man was originally going to be a dragon themed guitar player, but I like this sad little we cat way better XD

He is also one of my most used characters! If that wasn't already evident in how many posts I've made writing stories for him lol. He's currently on track to become a necromancer but shhh.. nobody tell him that <3 ------------ Ah yes a more recent one! Pri'tas was designed in 2023 as part of one of the group's design challenges! (Yet another free way to gain characters) Blessed with all of the "Master's Traits", mysterious features gained from an even more mysterious and unknown "Master". Pri'tas, himself, never met him, the Master just owed his parents a favor, but Pri'tas is now very dedicated to him. The Master didn't know what he was signing up for I guess, eh?

The government is currently looking for him too, no not because of all the murder, silly! But because having all of the Master's traits gives you mysterious powers, powers that they want to research. So uh, maybe don't tell anyone you saw him here, k'ay? (; ------------ I have tons of other characters too! Such as a traveling trader, a harpy-like Smog-Imp trying to escape the same cult Pho'Bous loves so very much, and did I mention the several demigods? Well, I have those too! Feel free to ask about them or any of these characters! but the best place to ask is in the group, where I post about all my characters much more often! ------------ One more time, credit to @pikku-peruna! Owner of the group and species here! Go say hi to her for me <3 (And respect their pronouns or else I'll punt you)

#cerifikn nation #cerifikn #Smog-Imp #Giglin #Nameless #oc #my ocs #oc stuff

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naviculariis · 1 month

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Guess who finally finished Vasille's biography? you can find it in this nifty link here, and if that doesn't work, the important bits can be found below the cut.

[ art by charrtastrophe on twt ]

STATS

NAME: Vasille Albescu

NICKNAME / ALIAS: Vas, Vassy; Necromancer

AGE: 28 [ Debut ]; 30 [ Timeskip ]

DATE OF BIRTH: September 25th

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Male, he/him

ORIENTATION: homosexual / demiromantic

RACE / ETHNICITY: Human / Devil Fruit User / White

NATIONALITY: Crescent Moon Island, South Blue

PHYSICAL

HEIGHT: 6’1” ( 185.42 cm )

WEIGHT170 lbs. ( 77.11 kg )

HAIR: Blonde

EYES: Hazel

SCARS: Numerous; distinctly, his fingers are black from the tip down to the first knuckle. This isn’t paint; it’s an effect of his Devil Fruit.

PIERCINGS: Both ears twice in the lobe

TATTOOS: A black band that wraps around his right forearm with “As Above” above the band, rightside up, and a matching black band around his left forearm with “So Below” beneath it, upside down. This references the belief that there will always be some sort of correspondence between the laws of life and death. This also references the practice within Paganism ( and various other religions ) that in order to take something, something must be given ( a sacrifice of some sort, an offering, etc. ). This correlates with how his Devil Fruit works: in order to use it, he must give something up. Balance.

Vasille is a tall, lightly muscled man in his early thirties. His hair is a natural silvery blonde tone, which he typically wears long and free; though on occasion, he will braid it back, in which it falls to the small of his back. His eyes are a clear hazel tone. He holds scars along his biceps resembling ropes from an accident a few years back, as well as a large burn scar on left shoulder blade from a work-related injury. The tips of his fingers are gray- it isn’t noticeable unless one really studies it. It’s a side effect of his ability; the beginning stages of decay. It will continue to progress as he uses his ability unless he can find a way to cease the growth. Due to this, he has begun to lose feeling down to the first knuckle on each finger.

BODY TYPE: Endomorph

COMPLEXION: Clear; scarred

SKIN TONE: Limestone / Beige with grey undertones

CLOTHING

Vasille tends to wear black or dark red “pirate” / poet laurent shirts paired with black cargo-esque trousers, and black leather boots that end slightly above the ankle. These boots are reinforced in the toes with steel, and have specialized grip on the soles to allow him traction when on a wet deck. Around his neck, he wears a golden crow skull on a gold chain; his right ring finger has braided gold band with an onyx gemstone sitting in the center, which belonged to his mother. Both ears are pierced twice in the lobe.His sword belts hold one bag of cut up cloth that is used to staunch bleeding when he needs to cut into his palm for his ability to activate, two daggers ( one short, one long ), a flintlock, and a coin purse.If the weather trends colder, he pulls out a heavy coat that dusts the floor. Black in color, with black wolf fur lining the interior. Embroidered with a golden filigree along the edges of the cuffs, only. High collared. On the back holds his personal Jolly Roger: A hand holding a skull upon the palm, fingers gripping the jaw.

BACKGROUND

PARENTS

Vladimir Albescu ( Father )

Maria Albescu ( Mother, Deceased )

SIGNIFICANT OTHER

[ VERSE DEPENDENT ]

OTHERS

CREW OF THE TOMBSTONE PIRATES

*Captain Iris “TOMBSTONE” Karim

*Second Mate: John C.

*Navigator: Orion Karim

*Gunner / Carpenter: Roy H.

*Sails Master: Nemeria “GRAVEDIGGER” Karim

*Doctor: Ronan O'Byrne

*Crew: Raven, Dream

OCCUPATION: First Mate, Pirate, Tarot Reader, Fortune Teller, LYING THIEVING SCUM.

HOMETOWN: Crescent Moon Island, South Blue

CURRENT RESIDENCE: N/A

LANGUAGES: French, English, Spanish, Arabic

ACCENT: Southern with Cajun influences

PERSONAL

POSITIVE TRAITS

Talkative

Charming

Polite ( well, as polite as a pirate can be… )

NEUTRAL TRAITS

Mischievous

Self-Sacrificing

Mildly hotheaded

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Gossip

Power driven

Manipulative

Good at lying

ASTROLOGY: Libra Sun, Aquarius Moon, Gemini Rising

TEMPERAMENT: Vasille is a quiet individual, preferring to keep to himself more than speaking openly, freely. He’s been described as being a cold individual, outright walking away mid-conversation at times. He avoids talking about his past, outright avoiding speaking of the events that lead him on the path he’s chosen to follow.Despite this, if one were to stick around enough to cause him to break (which is relatively easy, really), he’s quite the chatter box- especially about the arcane magics. He also keeps an ear out for Marines- after all, being the son of a former Captain means you know a thing or two.He is quite the charmer when he wants to be- especially if he knows it will get him information- or into a place he knows he shouldn’t be. But that’s why he lays on the sugary sweet words and plays into the “dumb blonde” trope. Works like a charm.

Men are weak creatures.

OTHER

NEURODIVERGENCIES & DISORDERS

Insomniac

Depression

PHYSICAL DISABILITIES

-He was gradually losing feeling in his fingers until Nemeria “Gravedigger” Karim brought him back to life, after he was pierced through the abdomen by Commodore Fujihara. Since then, he has regained sensation in his hands, but the black, necrosis-esque pigmentation continues to spread.

POWERS / ABILITIES

Shinda Shinda Fruit — A Logia type devil fruit that allows the user to to raise the dead and use them as both offensive and defensive ‘puppets’, bending their will to the user’s own.

TYPE: Ranged combat

Vasille is a unique case. Coming from Crescent Moon Island, which has a nickname for being the City of the Dead, Vasille had already been well aware of the Shinda Shinda fruit. However, he hadn’t been on the lookout for it; rather, the fruit seems to choose its user. Prior to eating the fruit, he had already been dabbling in the arcane arts, researching dark magics and relatively banned practices. He has himself a form of an infamous book, one that he had created and continues to write.

With this ability, he is able to raise up to 6 bodies at once, though it is dangerous for him to attempt this. As with all things tied to the balance between life and death, it is give and take: he must first offer a blood sacrifice via his own blood before the bodies can rise. Due to this, his palms and forearms are covered in scars from doing this. More often than not, it is humans who rise, though occasionally, an animal will join the ranks.

Mild Telekinesis — Once the dead are above ground, a telekinetic connection is formed, and Vasille is able to control them with his mind alone, giving directions on where to move, how to move, and what actions to take.

Binding (Blood Variation): Caging: surrounding an object with barriers or otherwise restricting their actions, so they can move inside but have no way of getting out.

Entombing: Surrounding an object completely by a substance or another medium, so they can't move at all, or at best wiggle slightly. In this case, Vasille’s coffins that he creates, using a mixture of a wood stain and his own blood to create the bind rune needed.

Enhanced Strength: Vasille is stronger than the average human. Having to, occasionally, not only lift but carry deceased bodies requires strength.

Enhanced Agility: He is flexible, having always been so and continuing to train with his flexibility. It aids in his line of work, having to squeeze into awkward places at times.

Skilled in Hand-to-Hand Combat: He trained in hand-to-hand combat, specifically in aikido, mainly in the event that his devil fruit is rendered useless. However, he is also adept at boxing.

EQUIPMENT

Knife: He carries a pocket knife with him in the event of needing to raise the dead.- Gauze: He carries a roll of gauze with him to staunch his bleeding when he performs a blood sacrifice.- Clawed Ring: he wears a ring that doubles as a claw on his left middle finger. This is both a fashion statement as well as a weapon; he keeps it sharp enough to cut through skin, whether that be his own or someone else's.- Gun: He carries a flintlock as a last-ditch effort.

WEAKNESSES

Sensitivity to Light: His mutation causes his skin to be more sensitive to sunlight. While he won't burst into flames while in direct sunlight, after spending an hour in the sun, his skin will start to get a rash. He carries sunblock on him at all times due to this.

Sea Water: As with any Devil Fruit user, Vasille’s Devil Fruit ability will be rendered useless when doused in sea water.

Sea Stone Prism: As with any Devil Fruit user, Vasille’s Devil Fruit ability will be rendered useless when touched by Sea Stone Prism.

Body Count: He can only raise six bodies at once, though this is dangerous. His body will start to overexert itself, pushing itself to the limits to keep the reanimated bodies upright and in control, even if it means breaking down its own muscles and tissues. This causes his nose to bleed, as well as coughing up blood.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

POWER: 3/5 C

SPEED: 3/5 C

TECHNIQUE: 4/5 B

INTELLIGENCE: 4/5 B

COOPERATIVENESS: 2/5 D

#tw: pet death #[ it's briefly mentioned i'm so sorry i promise its not graphic or anything of the sort ]#𝕸𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕻𝖔𝖗𝖙: [ portrayal notes ]#𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗: [ vasille albescu }

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dailycharacteroption · 5 months

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Hallowed Necromancer (Pathfinder Second Edition Archetype)

(art by JohnathanChong on DeviantArt)

And here we go with another Second Edition Archetype, and this one is actually a callback to a 1st edition archetype of the same name!

Originally a wizard archetype, hallowed necromancers were specialized in harming and destroying undead, using the necromantic arts to protect the living rather than create and control the dead, seeing the latter as a twisted perversion of their discipline.

Second Edition, however, opens the archetype up to all casting classes, allowing for divine, primal, and occult options as well from any casting class.

What remains the same, however, is their dedication to using their arts to put the dead to rest, rather than controlling them.

Some might be divinely inspired by the gods that watch over the dead, regardless of discipline, or they might simply have strong moral codes associated with the sanctity of the dead.

The dedication to becoming a hallowed necromancer grants the caster the ability to create a blessed area that harms the undead and prevents their creation or conjuration in the area. However, it comes with it the edicts of the philosophy, preventing the caster from creating or aiding the undead.

Initiates in this path often learn other magic, typically either a ray to sicken the living, or the ability to draw vitality from the loss of life, especially unlife.

Many learn various spells that either have additional or greater effects against the undead, adding them to their arsenal in such a way as to cater to their style of magic.

Plenty also develop a strong resistance to negative energy as well.

Others learn advanced focus magic, either absorbing a bit of life energy from their own necromancy spells, or unleashing waves of positive energy to destroy undead en masse.

Some learn to supercharge their bodies with raw positive energy, harming undead that attack them, and letting them build it up and release it to heal the living or harm the undead.

The most powerful among them can learn to exude a constant aura of positive energy that unnerves and disorients the undead, making it hard of them to willingly be near the mage.

While this archetype mostly caters to destroying undead, it also builds upon many of the applications of necromancy that don’t have anything to do with the undead, such as healing or debilitating the living. Regardless of what your base casting class is, anyone with a desire to use necromantic spells for good and put the dead to rest can make use of some or all of the abilities of this archetype. I recommend a healthy selection of both these undead destruction and debuffing spells alongside more diverse selections to handle other types of foes, as well as whatever sort of magic and powers your class is known for.

Opening this archetype to all spellcasting classes is interesting, because it asks all sorts of questions of their origins. Is a sorcerer naturally inclined to this sort of magic, or have they trained the wild spark within to deliver such spells? Do druids eschew the stark brightness associated with positive energy for waves of color that cause flowers and plants to blossom even as they reduce the wretched undead to mulch? What sort of patron offers this power to a witch? The list goes on and on.

On a distant red world, the ikesti have their own traditions regarding the dead, especially when some of their kind turn into beastly forms. Such raw emotion sometimes causes them to rise again, even more dangerous, and some some of their mystics are dedicated to laying them to rest, one way or another.

Vaknepi the Twinned Serpent is known for being dually poisonous, being both vishkanya and viper-beastkin. However, he’d rather be known for his arts as a psychic and a destroyer of the undead, bringing death to the deathless.

The Gravefells are patrolled by white necromancers seeking to put and end to the constant undead threat that rises from that cursed place, be it old battlefields or desecrated tombs. Normally such patrols would be no problem for the party, but their current employer is one of the undead, a benign and well-paying old corpse, who does their best to do good with their unlife while they have it.

#pathfinder second edition #archetype #hallowed necromancer #ikesti #vishkanya #beastkin #Book of the Dead

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1-50thofabuck · 6 months

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During playtesting of the Ignota RPG in 2018, the PM(Planet Master, the game's cute term for GM) ran an adaptation of Dungeonland and The Land Beyond the Magic Mirror. The picture, above, was commissioned to celebrate the conclusion of the adventure. I was playing a character named Lili, a namail - a fish person. Lili was a necromancer, of a type the game calls a necrokis. One of her magic items was a pretty pink bowler that gave her the appearance of a skeleton - you see her to the left, on one of the giant crabs with two skeleton guards. The giant crabs, too, were undead, raised by Lili as mounts. Quills are a unique series of magic items in Ignota, granting various bonuses based on their color when placed in a hat. The necrokis is the "dark" version of the necromancer, since they animate dead bodies as servants and feed off of souls for mana. However, Lili only fed off of evil individuals, and generally only animated the wicked, unless she was animating the victim of an enemy to use against that enemy, in which case she justified it by stating that she was giving them the opportunity to avenge their own deaths. Lili went off on a journey and it has not yet fallen into the knowledge of the wise what became of her afterwards. So far as is known, her home is currently in the care of her friend Daayan, a rakshasa witch. On Ignota, rakshasas are not inherently evil and can be of varying cat types.

Daayan, Lili, and Kratr were my favorite Ignota characters. Sandiga Backen, a gurdte(rodent) martial artist who eventually became the Benevolent Dictator and Queen of Oz(seriously!) certainly gets a runner up status. Note that she gave herself the title ironically(though she really did take the Wizard's place), as she was a rather comical individual. If you figure out who she was modeled after, you'll know why...!

#original game #original rpg #ignota #dungeonland #land beyond the magic mirror #homebrew #oc #original character #necromancer #fish people #fish person #skeleton #original art #giant crab

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brightwingedbat · 9 months

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Calypso looks like a nice Charr - ya want to share some information about her? Headcanons and stuff? I'd love to learn more about her! (@wilsons-journey)

Ooh, I sure can. She's not as fully fleshed out as some of my other characters but I have various details set with her.

Calypso Fellstalk, or 'Cali' as she goes by with friends and family. She's an Ash Legion soldier, and twin sister of Vithgar "Chip" Ironwelder. And by extension of that, half sister of Commander Nastazya Ragewelder. She's just as short as Chip is too.

She's quiet and rather shy for a charr, but that fits her as Ash. Aside from her job, she enjoys admiring and making fashion, as well as collecting feathers. She likes to use feathers in her outfits too.

Despite how she appears, she's actually a necromancer. Taught by her primus in fahrar. She tends to be a minion type necro, and prefers to stay in the background and use her minions as bait. Useful for being Ash. Her magic has a flourish of black feathers akin to how Reaper magic forms.

At some point Ash Legion sends her to join the Priory, as Blood and Iron legions had some rising names as dragon-slayers, and given she's the twin sister of one of them. Well, she was the first choice.

Despite that she mostly sticks around as a researcher and explorer, she was part of the assault on Maguuma where she protected Chip from some attacking mordrem. But she never directly fought any dragons.

At some point after the fall of Jormag & Primordus, she returns back to the Citadel to her warband. Leaving her role in the Priory. Around this point, she ends up encountering a fellow Ash soldier by the name of Sabina Duskmeld, who flirts with the shy charr and ends up becoming her mate after some time.

That's about it for now, she could do with more fleshing out. But for now I'm happy with my shy lil necro who loves feathery fashion.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #charr #calypso fellstalk #answered

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mdhwrites · 1 year

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Concept Pitch: A Story With Magic through Bonds

This actually comes from someone asking me on my community Discord what I’d do with a concept where magic was derived from emotions. I saw the pitch while I was out grabbing lunch and fifteen minutes later got home and typed this. That’s literally all the time it took for me to come up with the concept and the like because brain go brrrrrrr. Yes, the choice to post this is because of what I said in the last post. Also yes, this is a Lumischa idea (I’d write this original though because besides the archtypes it has literally nothing to do with TOH) even though I strictly made myself not use the names because of... *gestures to the rest of what his blog has been as of late* Also, I literally have a channel dedicated to asking me what I’d do with various concepts on my Discord because brain is fast and I like making concepts almost as much as working on them. Really wish I’d gotten more of that latter one done so far this year. ----------- So actually, I think this was the reason I wanted to go back to Fairy Tail because this being loosely the concept of a magic system, or an element of it, is not new at all. The power of friendship is one of the oldest tropes out there. Fairy Tail doesn't even really do anything new with it outside of screaming Nakama a lot. BUT. Making it the explicit magic system is interesting to me. I would admittedly likely mix it with a magic system driven by emotion. That usually, dependent on the type of person you are, you have two main types of magic. Someone who is happy and caring might be light and healing. Shy and anxious might be darkness and lightning (one to hide, one channeling the frantic energy). If you're calm and analytical, you might be ice and spatial magic. However, the strongest spells and many spells that dip into secondary elements can only be done by being close to others. Have a good relationship with a fire and water set of parents while you yourself make barriers because you're protective? Suddenly you can summon walls of fire and water, or even steam by combining all three. A spatial mage who is besties with a light mage might be able to suck the light out of a room making it quite literally impossible to see because there's nothing for your eyes to grab onto. Love in this would be incredibly powerful but unpredictable. It isn't connected to a single type of magic but instead an amplifier, and so able to do the greatest good or greatest evil. A healing mage in anguish for a lost love is one of the only ways you get necromancers as their entire magic is cursed and warped by love to raise the dead. A fire mage trying to get rid of a threat to their loved ones may cast Flare instead of Firaga and let out a flame so powerful that it blows up a quarter of the town, even if the magic also is incapable of harming the one they love. A light mage and spatial mage may be able to cast Wish but only if their goals are in alignment. So what would the story be? Well, it's me so...

You have two mages, likely the spatial/ice and light/healing mages that I've been using mostly for examples. They live a small, quiet life as one gets ever better at their magic, hoping to enter the lucrative business of being a teleporter mage (because even if it's connected to emotions, high level magic is high level magic) and the other helps them deal with the stresses of school and training while giving out healing magic and potions for money. Actually, I would likely have it be that mixed with a spatial or water mage is the only way to make potions as only they can trap the magic, making what types of potions any mage can make incredibly limited.

They're given a quest to get something, or they find out about something that they themselves want. Possibly an artifact even (Incredibly rare because to inscribe magic requires magic itself to be a core of who you are which mostly comes from sociopaths who emulate emotions as them being lost in the emotional tide leaves them just having a nugget of magic in them that has no direct correlation to anything else.) that could help the spatial mage reach her goal of being able to cast teleportation magic on a regular basis. One problem is that neither are adventurers and where they must go is a rain forest so wet and muggy and full of life. This makes the more combat capable of the two at a severe disadvantage as spatially affecting living things is just a problem so the more likely you are to have an extra fly in your spell, the more likely it is to tax you more than it should have or just fizzle. The ice magic is... Obvious for why it would fail. They could have ways around that but the easiest way is to get an adventurer. They can't afford a the extra tank, rogue and melee DPS though so they have to go cheap. Luckily for them, spatial magic can just obliterate locks and there's an offer at the adventurer's guild from a peculiar person: A fire mage claiming to be strong.

Most mages, those who really decide to focus on their magic, aren't the strongest because of how much energy the spells can take from them. That isn't the strangest part though. She is listed as ONLY a fire mage. That is, to put it lightly, bizarre. She has emotions so where is her secondary? Or is she only anger?

Upon meeting the mage... Well, she doesn't seem like an eternally pissed vortex of hate so the question is still there which she'd shut down and say it just let her focus on her one magic. She's mostly practically trained so don't expect anything fancy but she can burn hot enough that in a forested environment, the ice magic they already have will come in handy for if the flames get a bit out of control. Otherwise, she'll be perfect for helping them cut through. She even demonstrates incredible control with her flames, burning a hole through one of theirs shirts but somehow not even touching the skin beneath with the heat.

Then the adventure part which I wouldn't have down immediately, it's the most nebulous, but this is of course where the relationship, and the issues with it, start forming. Combined magic becomes more unpredictable as both in the couple start falling in love with the fire mage and wonder what that means. The fire mage keeps having to save them which isn't normal for one who should be all anger, though she claims to just be doing her job. The magic being added to the other two's magic back though isn't fire though. They're not sure what it is because their internal conflicts over getting close to the mage are causing so many issues in them.

And then the fire mage gets her surprise. Going to save one of them, she raises her arms to take the hit of an attack that will kill her... And a barrier appears. Her second magic: Protective magic. She doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't even try to keep casting it (except privately where she can't) and eventually admits she doesn't know why it showed up or how it works. She has never used it.

This makes the fire mage more vulnerable and emotionally compromised and in that opening up comes opportunities for all of them. Opportunities to talk, to work together, to share and to confide. For the couple to finally talk about their conflicted feelings and how they definitely love each other still, deeply and truly, but that there's a reason why they're being pulled towards the fire mage. Towards the one they are questionably wanting. The fire mage challenges them after all. Adds a spice to their life neither could before with her feisty attitude. However, she's also been more dependable and brave than either of them. A rock that is only now showing the need for support. Support she's taking for some reason despite obviously not wanting to or normally being against it.

The real question adventure wise is what sort of threat to make the finale that requires a combination of all three of their magics in order to overcome. Not just in a combined fashion but also individually. Something only their relationship and bond can triumph over.

But yeah, that's the concept I think I'd go with for that. I'll also pin the suggestion so I can easily refind this for inspiration down the road when I'm feeling better and trying to find something new to type! I also just hope you all like the concept! -------- And yeah, like I said, this was come up with in like 15 minutes plus whatever time it took for me to type it up. When I say you can throw ideas at me and get a lot back... You can get a LOT back very quickly. And I hope you liked this and I hope to maybe do something with it someday honestly.

#Concept Pitch #Bond Magic #Discord

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wild-houseplant · 2 years

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Have Warden, Will Travel-- Chapter 8

Well! Nothing to show for WIP Wednesday for how many weeks running? I can’t keep count-- a few, I’m sure, but here’s another chapter of HWWT which hopefully will make up for it. No content warnings that I can think of. Hope you bunch are doing ok and drinking your fluids! :D :D :D Link to the chapter here, otherwise here’s the chapter, most of which is under the cut (another long one!). As always, I have language and cultural notes on the AO3 chapter so do consider looking there if that sort of bizzo interests you!

“So who do you think is behind all this, then, Morrigan?” Alistair asked over his shoulder.

To Zevran’s right, the Warden gave a tiny sigh.

“Why do you ask me,” the witch snapped, “when there are two mages here?”

“Oh, come on. Isn’t it obvious? Rhodri’s spent the last twelve years in the Circle, while you’ve been out and about your whole life.”

“And you suppose all mages in Ferelden outside of that pestilential cage you call a Circle know each other?”

Alistair shrugged. “Your mother’s the Witch of the Wilds. That must have attracted a certain type of… well…–”

“I would be very careful about the next words I chose were I you,” Morrigan cut across him icily. “Especially if you believe I keep company with someone who has an army of undead.”

Zevran stifled a snort as Alistair gulped.

“You know what? Never mind.”

Rhodri hummed pensively. Zevran looked up at her; she was squinting and counting on her fingers. One, two… she shook her head. Three– slight pause… she shook her head again, smiling into the bargain. She gave a rather satisfied-sounding sigh and dropped her hands back down.

“Erm… Rhod?” Alistair broached uneasily from behind. “I don’t suppose you’d know… anyone?”

She shook her head. “I did wonder for a moment, but it turns out I don’t know many necromancers, even distantly. Most mages hate it because it has too much abstract mathematics, and necromancy has a bad reputation anyway. The ones I do know wouldn’t do something like this.”

The Templar’s eyes widened a little. “Oh. Right. Well, that's… good to know."

Silence fell, and the party descended the hill. The mid-morning sun, and the heat that would have offset the chill in the air, was shrouded behind a dense layer of wretched Fereldan cloud that Zevran cursed all the way down to the stretch by the Redcliffe windmill.

From further down the hill, Bann Teagan shouted out to the Wardens and waved. He jogged– that pace was enough to turn the man red– uphill and Rhodri guided the party to him until they met in front of the windmill.

“Bann Teagan, good morning again.” She inclined her head politely. “I have gathered some of my party and we intend to enter the castle now to examine the source of the undead.”

The Bann nodded, panting noisily.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, I– I’d planned to enter the castle myself. I can help you there.” He pointed at the windmill behind him. “Inside the windmill is a secret passage into the castle that only my family knows about. I have a– Maker’s breath!”

Zevran had already turned before the man’s index finger could finish crudely extending (again), and caught sight of a frazzled noblewoman running toward them all, accompanied by a handful of guards mired in various degrees of exhaustion.

“Teagan!” she hitched her skirts up and bolted the last way until she was close enough to touch the man. “Thank the Maker you’re alive!”

The Bann pressed a hand to his heart. “Isolde, are you all right? What’s happening?”

The woman named Isolde shook her head. “I do not have time to explain. I slipped out of the castle as soon as the battle was over, and I have to return now. You must come back with me, Teagan!” She glanced over at the rest of the party and then pointedly added, “Alone.”

Rhodri clapped her hands delightedly and strode over to them. “Oh, this is most convenient! We were about to go into the castle as well to investigate. Shall we venture forth together?”

The noblewoman's eyes narrowed as they drifted over to the Magewarden.

"Who is this, Teagan?" Her voice was soft and dangerous, and in the absence of an immediate reply from the Bann, a noise of confusion issued from Rhodri.

"Wh-? Oh. Oh!" She gave a loud, jovial laugh. "There is no need to be jealous, Madam! Rest assured, I'm not trying to steal your husband." She smiled warmly and gestured at the astonished man in question. "Bann Teagan here is old enough to be my father!"

Zevran turned just in time to see Alistair clap a hand over his mouth, and a hushed silence fell over the group. The woman stared like Rhodri had slapped her-- or, and it struck Zevran as the more likely case, like she was going to slap the Warden.

"Teagan is not my 'usband!" she hissed.

Zevran bit his lip as Rhodri’s face fell into a pensive frown.

"Oh," she said blankly. "Really? My apologies, I thought because you were standing so close to him, but you must just be good friends or– well, never mind-- agh!”

The Warden stumbled back, clutching a freshly-smacked left cheek and sporting eyes like saucers.

“Maker’s tits,” she exclaimed at the party, “she just hit me! Did you see that?” Rhodri gaped at the woman, who had slipped out of the Bann's grasp and appeared to be moving in for a second go until Alistair darted over and put himself in front of her.

“Don’t you remember me, Lady Isolde?” Alistair said urgently. His enormous body made it impossible to see the woman’s expression, but the contemptuous tone to her reply said quite enough.

“You?” she spat. “Alistair? Of all the… why are you here?”

Rhodri–carefully- moved Alistair to the side and stepped forward. "Madam, I ask you to mind your tone when addressing my party," she barked warningly.

The Templar looked at her with a pleading weariness.

"Rhod," he murmured to her. "Just… let me handle this one, all right?”

The Warden’s face softened. She nodded once, firmly. “Of course. I’ll be here if you change your mind. Please go ahead.”

Rhodri went behind him and resumed her place beside Zevran, not speaking again while the Templar carried out short, quick talks with Isolde and the Bann.

Zevran caught mentions of yet more monsters (were they related to Lady Isolde?), and someone by the name of Connor who had supposedly gone mad but was, according to this woman, absolutely not responsible for the goings-on in the castle or its jurisdiction. What an unhappy coincidence.

When they separated with a nod, the Bann approached the Warden and held out a ring to her. It looked remarkably similar to the trinkets the Antivan newly-rich bought by the fistful– in this case, like someone had welded a sovereign onto a wedding band. Perhaps the finery targeting that uncouth demographic was all the Fereldan nobles could afford.

“Here, Grey Warden,” Teagan said. "This ring will unlock the secret tunnel into the castle. I must go with Isolde.”

Well, at least it had a use. It certainly wasn't cut out for a career as an ornament.

"Not to be rude," Rhodri began, cautiously sidestepping away from the noblewoman as she spoke, "but safety is in numbers. Surely it would be better if we travelled together."

"Connor does not do well with new company at present," Isolde sniffed. "We should keep our numbers small where we can. You will be safe enough entering via the windmill."

The Warden waved a hand. "I'm not worried for us, Madam. My party is highly proficient and ready for anything. Unless you and the Bann are secretly mages, however, you do not appear well equipped to deal with unrest."

The noblewoman's fists clenched. Alistair waved– or rather, flailed his hands– to get their attention.

"They'll be fine," he said to Rhodri quickly. "Let's just get out of here and we'll meet them inside."

The Warden sighed. "This really seems very unwise, amicus, but you know them best. If you're sure, I will take us through the windmill."

He nodded fervently. "I'm very sure. Lead on."

“Well,” the Warden said slowly, peering around the dingy, dripping tunnel. “This is certainly… an interesting place.”

Zevran kept his mouth firmly shut. Especially as the party passed a cluster of cobwebs forming a silken lean-to against a broken crate. Could the troublemaking entity summon an army of spiders if it ran out of corpses? Surely it was better to let the nobility deal with insect woes on their own, especially when insects were so often filled with nasty fluids that stained brand new gloves. Like Zevran’s spiffing leather additions, for example, boasting simple but wonderfully neat stitching, and lined with a toasty wool blend.

And, Rhodri had assured him as she paid Mr. Bodahn, acquired at a substantial discount.

Zevran ignored the glaring fact that he had nearly died from both laughter and shock at the mention of the original price.

In the tunnel, though, where the paid-for gloves were and Bodahn's exorbitant prices were not, Alistair hummed low under his breath. “It’s been a while since anyone’s had to use it. I only came here once, myself, back when I was small.”

“A pity you had not simply stayed down here,” Morrigan said off-handedly. “There was a dank, isolated spot a short way back that would have suited you very well.”

“Ugh,” Alistair groaned. “I’d pay good money to stuff you into that little gap and leave you there. Or in the prison cells up ahead… mmm, actually, if there’s a spare cell, I might just–”

“You think I would not imprison you first–”

“If it’s all the same to you both,” Rhodri walked backwards, fixing them with a playfully pointed smile, “I’d rather we kept the cells free for any offenders we find. Assuming we don’t kill them in self-defence first, anyway.”

The matter settled– or rather, put on hold with a series of glares and eyerolls between the squabblers, Zevran looked to the front again. They had almost reached the end of the tunnel, and if his ears didn’t deceive him, there was life in the room ahead. His flesh creeped; the sound of footsteps indicated it was people in motion, and the unnatural shamble-lurch gait was unique to the horde of undead from last night.

That explained the foetid stench, too. It was, at least, cooler underground than it was up on the surface, but nothing stayed pristine at this temperature for long. Or even halfway bearable, if the smell was anything to go by.

He chuckled weakly. “More of those creatures ahead, I think. This place is full of them, no?”

Rhodri spun back around, staff at the ready, and strode ahead of Zevran.

“Stay behind me, please. Carefully does it… Formator, but it smells like the morning after a Nevarran house party in here.” From behind her, he could see the Warden waving a hand in front of her face. “This place would do well with a little soap and water, or at least some incense. My stars!”

They opened the door into the first room, and the stink in its fullness would have made the mabari weep. Even Alistair, whose body odour rivalled that of Jeppe’s, had started to gag.

The sight wasn't much better, come to that. The corridor was a boulevard of prison cells, and square in the middle were some ten or more of the revolting corpses, who had become very aware of the intrusion. The polluted air filled with cries and whistling as flaps of grey skin whipped (and occasionally blew away entirely!) in the breeze that their veerings made.

Toward them, no less.

It was quick, at least. Between the five of them, the beasts were down to one within a minute flat. The last one lingered up in the front of the room, and by the sounds of it, it was giving the occupant of the farthest jail cell quite the fright. Suddenly the crying made much more sense.

A lightning bolt– Zevran wasn't sure which of the mages had summoned it– killed the beast dead, and he, being lightest on his feet, made it to the prisoner first.

Haggard as the fellow was, he couldn’t have been much older than twenty, wearing what Zevran recognised to be apprentice mage robes. Filthy ones, caked in dirt, blood, and given the lack facilities in the cell, substances that Zevran didn’t care to identify.

“Dorian Ishal Pavus,” Rhodri’s voice rang down the hall behind him as she approached the cell, and a stream of Tevene followed which he knew to contain the words ‘arse’ and ‘head’ and sounded rather threatening.

The relief on the man’s face evaporated. He gasped like he had taken a knife to the chest, watching at the newly-arrived Warden with an open mouth.

"By all that is holy, Rhodri! I can't believe it! And--and you've--" His gleamless blue eyes didn't stop widening until the whites showed on all sides. "Maker, you're huge! Taller than me, now! And your shoulders... how--?"

The Warden looked every bit the disdainful noble, her shoulders back and head high as she looked down at him with unconcealed contempt. She held herself so stiffly Zevran could have sworn he heard the scrape of bone on bone as she twisted her head to look his way.

"Looks like I owe you a story, Zev," she muttered to him. The nervous urge to laugh was there, but Zevran couldn't force so much as a smile. He flicked his eyebrows and nodded; she turned back to the captive. "Explain yourself, and the magically-summoned undead.”

"I didn't do it," he pleaded. "You have to believe me, Rhodri! I would never--"

She shook her head and held up a hand. "I'm not obliged to believe anything you say, Jowan. It's on you to give a compelling argument, and I would advise you to make this one truthful."

"I'm not behind any of this, I swear," he gasped. "I was hired by Teyrn Loghain to poison the Arl, and that's why he is sick, but I never started this! I was already imprisoned when all this began."

Zevran bit down on his lips. Some drama at last! It was all he could do to keep an 'ooh' from escaping him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhodri squint exasperatedly, and a furious noise from Alistair drew his gaze back a little further.

"Listen," Jowan entreated quickly, "I think I know what's causing this." He seemed to take Rhodri's lack of an interruption as an invitation to push on:

"When Teyrn Loghain hired me, I was sent to the Arlessa under the guise of being a tutor for her son, Connor. He started showing… signs,” (he said the word so meaningfully his head bobbed a little) “and she wanted a mage to teach him how to keep it all quiet.”

Alistair let out a string of disbelieving noises. “Connor’s a mage?” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe it!”

“She was terrified the Circle was going to take him away-- and they would have, of course. But Arl Eamon had no idea at the time, and she thought this way he’d never find out.” Jowan sighed and shook his head. “I hadn’t taught Connor much, but it’s possible he did something to tear down the Veil and let spirits and demons get into the castle. They probably killed and possessed all these poor servants.”

"These are servants?" Rhodri closed her eyes and shook her head. “Venhedis. I thought they were already dead. That poor child has been killing people he knows. Ae-ae-ae, Jowan…"

Zevran felt distinctly ill at ease as he cast an eye over one of the greying, rotten corpses by his feet. Its tattered clothing, with the dark red sash and darkwood buttons, resembled the garb he had seen Loghain's housekeepers in. Without thinking, he shuffled away from it and knocked into Rhodri, who had still been conversing with the prisoner.

He froze, still half-bent as Rhodri turned sharply in his direction. Her harsh expression melted away, and she gently put her hands on his shoulders.

“Easy there,” she murmured, righting him with the carefulness one might have afforded a toddler. “Are you all right?”

Zevran ignored the strange pleasure of being regarded completely differently to Jowan and gave her a debonair smile. “Indeed I am. Forgive me, my Warden, I was not watching where I was moving.”

Though Rhodri did not smile back, she gave his shoulder a small pat before turning back to Jowan. Zevran caught the prisoner looking at him in bewilderment, and he feigned nonchalance.

“The Arl is a decent man,” Jowan continued after a moment. “But Teyrn Loghain told me he was a threat to Ferelden, and, well, I had no reason to doubt him. You know they don't tell us about anything that goes on out here in the Circle! And he promised me if I went ahead and poisoned him that he’d arrange for me to go back to the Circle, no questions asked. I never saw any sign that Arl Eamon was a danger, but I poisoned him anyway.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m such a fool.”

Rhodri heaved a sigh and folded her arms. Zevran knew that sympathetic look she sported now, having seen it in so many Crow recruits before it was either beaten out of them or they died of it. A quick glance at Jowan revealed that he had seen it, too.

“Listen, I never meant for it to end like this,” he entreated. “I swear. Let me help you fix this.”

Morrigan, who had been quiet for the entire exchange, surprised everyone when she spoke up.

“I say this boy could still be of use to us, Warden. But if not, then let him go.” She shrugged. “Why keep him prisoner here?”

“I think I could at least help, if not completely fix things,” Jowan said quickly, while Rhodri's silence permitted it.

Alistair rested a hand on the Warden’s shoulder.

“He’s your friend, Rhod," he murmured, "you know him best. Even if he is a blood mage, this is an unusual situation…”

"Jowan is not my friend," Rhodri answered, not unkindly (though Jowan winced in the background anyway). "But thank you Alistair, your opinion is noted."

The Warden turned to face Zevran.

She spoke gently, “What do you think, then, Zev?”

“Oh.” He chuckled uneasily. “I’m afraid my opinion will not help you much. I am no expert in such matters.”

“You don’t have to be,” she replied. “You’re a member of the team. Your opinion counts equally.”

It took some effort for Zevran to contain his surprise, but with the aid of another chuckle, he stayed on track.

“As you like. Perhaps we need not be too hasty to kill him yet.” He glanced at Jowan, who was staring at him intently. “If he truly meant us harm, I imagine he would have done something by now.”

She nodded to the party and turned back to Jowan.

"This area is safe for now," she said. "You’ll stay here until we’ve cleared out the rest of the castle. You may be able to assist later."

Jowan nodded miserably. “Then I’ll wait. If you need anything… well, you know where to find me.”

The Warden had already turned away, and as the man's face started to crumple, secondhand embarrassment forced Zevran to look away as well.

They were halfway to the door, weapons at the ready, when Jowan called out again.

"Rhodri, one more thing. Please."

She looked over her shoulder. "Speak, then."

The pitiful man gripped the iron bars with his fingers. "What became of Lily? Did they hurt her?"

Zevran had already stepped away from the Warden before he'd fully noted the shift in the air. He ignored the disappointment blooming sick-cold through his guts as she spun around, nostrils flaring and hard eyes fixed on the cell she’d left behind.

The pang of sympathy for the rest of the party, though, he allowed to remain. The bloody fools stood there– right in front of her– like effigies, watching her inquisitively and being the perfect targets for the assault that would shift them out of her path.

Zevran smiled to himself with a grim sort of satisfaction as he reclaimed his knife from between the man’s ribs. Since he had forced himself to stop fighting against the Crows and accept his lot, the voice in his head that screamed distractingly loudly on kill assignments had grown quieter. He couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

A good thing at this moment, perhaps. The other recruit he had been paired off with, a spring-loaded bundle of elbows with the worst timing known to man, was no help. The rooftop jump ended up with her landing on a pile of crates, knocking herself unconscious and alerting the mark and anyone near the alley. And, of course, only awakening now, after Zevran had done all the work covering for her, cornering the mark, and neutralising him.

Teacher Giuliana’s voice from behind had Zevran standing upright and turning to watch her with a smooth grin. She was apt to reward a good kill, and this had been his best so far, especially given the circumstances. His thoughts drifted to a cask of wine, perhaps even a few silvers for supplies to mend his boots.

Zevran didn’t move out of her way as she strode over with that snarl on her face. Why would he? She always strode, always frowned, always punished when someone did the job wrong. His partner was in for it, no question about it, but not him.

She was still like that by the time she got to Zevran, and he had barely finished inclining his head to her when her hard, scarworn hand belted him hard enough to send him sideways.

He peeled his back off the cobblestones and rubbed his cheek. The shock stung more than the pain of the blow itself, and the anger that he hadn’t expected it stung even worse than that.

Zevran forced looseness in his muscles on the party’s behalf, a part of him wishing even Alistair would take the hint and relax before the fist– or spell– came. He watched the hand of Rhodri’s he could see, scanning for the first twitch of motion.

… No?

Nothing at all?

Rhodri’s face softened briefly as she redirected her gaze from Jowan to the listless blockade in front of her. Her hand hung unused at her side.

Zevran allowed himself one single moment to enjoy the relief when the Warden quietly, calmly said, “Excuse me, please. I need to pass through.”

Oh, they got out of the way fast enough at that, but what entitlement! Not even Jowan was shrinking away! No hands brought up to protect themselves, no flinching. Built from head to toe with the expectation that she wouldn’t harm a hair on their heads.

He realised his jaw hung slightly agape behind his sealed lips, and replaced it.

The Warden stood in front of the prisoner with a curled lip and a good half a hand’s height on him.

“Well, Jowan,” she said silkily. “You did trick the poor Chantry sister into helping you destroy your phylactery. And then, upon being caught in the act by the First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander and several Templars, you proceeded to use the blood magic you swore you'd never dabbled in to crush everyone to the ground.”

Her nose wrinkled in a snarl. “You selfish brute! What do you think has become of her after your behaviour? I hope you were lying to me when you said she has a weak constitution, because if she isn’t in Aeonar, she is undoubtedly dead!”

Jowan’s eyes, which had been looking watery for the entire confrontation, had now advanced to pouring. He clapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders crashing down into a mighty, heaving sob when Rhodri’s loud ‘AH-AH!’ and insistent finger-snapping brought it all to a halt.

“Don’t you weep,” she growled. “Don’t you dare weep. You swore to me, in front of her, that you loved her. That she was the one you’d marry and escape with to live… ugh…” she waved her hand dismissively, “some magic-free, bucolic fucking wet dream in the arse-end of the country.

“But when it came time to prove your devotion to her, or at least take responsibility for your actions, you left her– and others you had tricked into helping you,” she added in a clenchjawed hiss, “to die like dogs! You have no right to cry for her. No right to think of her. Nothing.”

Rhodri tipped her chin forward and spat at his feet. “Disgratia. You shame me.”

Zevran was moving, somehow, back out of the way as the Warden turned on her heel and left the tear-streaked prisoner. To their credit, Alistair and Morrigan were far quicker at clearing a path this time. Not swift enough to avoid the wrath of the Crows, but standards were evidently lower on the outside.

Given the evidence of the last few minutes, it would likely have been perfectly all right to depart the room walking beside Rhodri. Optimal, even: the Warden liked sameness, and sameness was Zevran on her left.

At the same time, though, it made sense not to seek opportunities to be made into a punching bag, which could happen at the hands– or fists, rather– of even the most unlikely candidates. Perhaps that was why she had equipped him with healing potions galore.

When the indecision felt worse than choosing one way or the other, Zevran strode after her until he was walking at her side– with an extra step’s distance between them. The other two– one smirking and the other wide-eyed– trailed after them without a word.

“I hope Redcliffe Castle isn’t usually this full of such nasty things,” Rhodri remarked as they made short work of yet another drove of enraged corpses.

“I will certainly be leery of any invitations I receive from this establishment in the future,” Zevran quipped.

Rhodri’s jovial laugh quickly turned to a loud yelp as she opened one of the doors off to the side and a blood-curdling scream came out. She recoiled violently enough to stagger a few steps, clutching her ears and grimacing like she was being flayed alive.

“Enough,” she shouted, voice climbing with each syllable. “Enough-ENOUGH-ENOUGH!”

The source of the noise– a young human woman who, it seemed, was hiding in the room– fell silent immediately.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” she begged. Already cowering, she sank to her knees as Zevran and the other companions stood peering over Rhodri’s shoulder in intrigue.

Rhodri peeled her shaking hands off her ears and held one up. “Calm yourself, Ser, we're not going to hurt you,” she said weakly.

“I’m s-sorry,” she stammered wildly. “I-I’m just so scared! There are monsters everywhere!”

Rhodri nodded. “Well, you’re safe here with us. We are two Grey Wardens," she indicated herself and Alistair, "and our fellow party members are also most formidable.”

The woman let out a shuddering sigh and let Rhodri pull her to her feet. “Thank you. I'm Valena, the Arlessa's maid. Is she all right? Where is everyone?”

The companions’ eyebrows raised collectively at the mention of her name.

“Valena? Ah! The blacksmith’s daughter!”

Her eyes widened. “You know my father?”

Rhodri beamed and nodded. “This is very convenient. I promised him I’d find you! He’ll be so pleased to know you’re all right. We've cleared out everything up to this point, so you can safely escape through the dungeons. The Arlessa is in the castle, and we will speak to her directly, but for now you need to get to safety. She can come and find you when all this is over.”

Valena nodded quickly. Gasping her thanks, she bolted away down the corridor. The companions (sans Morrigan) shared a satisfied nod as they proceeded into the hall.

Zevran wasn’t sure where his eyes should stay when he was greeted with the sight of Bann Teagan gyrating and handwaving like a jubilant drunk in front of a small, surly-looking boy. Lady Isolde was standing behind the child, blanched and visibly trembling even from a distance.

When the child caught sight of them, Teagan’s body went limp and he dropped to the floor, awake but lying still.

Rhodri raised an eyebrow, looking nowhere near as perturbed as Zevran felt.

“I… see,” she said slowly. “So we've been re-murdering your staff while Bann Teagan thrills you both with a dance number.”

The child looked less than impressed. “Are these our visitors, Mother? The ones you told me about?” His voice was harsh and menacing, and not at all natural for a person of his age or stature.

Isolde flinched a little. “Y-yes, Connor.”

Connor? Oh, dear.

“What are they, Mother?" he hissed. "I can’t see them well enough!”

“They are humans, Connor,” she replied softly. "Like you and me." She glanced at Zevran and added, "And an elf. We have them here in the castle as well.”

The boy gave a high, cruel laugh and clapped his hands.

“Oh, I remember elves,” he crowed, “I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs. The dogs chewed for hours! Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?”

Zevran had heard similar threats before, but it was the first time he had been sure it would have occurred (and at the command of a child, no less), had the party not actually culled the poor, necrosed beasts on the way upstairs.

He almost jumped as Rhodri turned around and forced him behind her with one hand. Her four fingers wrapped tightly around his arm, and were all that kept him from stumbling altogether.

"Nobody and nothing will put a finger on him," the Warden barked the pronoun forcefully, "or any other member of my party, demon."

She reclaimed her hand, and a throb preceded the blood pumping back into the rest of his arm.

“Please stay behind me, Zev,” she murmured to him. Easily done; it hadn’t occurred to him to do anything but stand there, resisting the urge to check his ears were still attached.

At that moment, the child’s head snapped back as though he had just been struck across the face. Isolde ran to him, and he watched up at her fearfully.

“Mother?” he gasped. “W-what’s happening? Where am I?”

Isolde snatched the child into an embrace and looked pleadingly at Rhodri. “Grey Warden, I know how this must look, but he is not responsible for his actions!”

Zevran heard Rhodri tsk loudly.

“Wonders never cease,” she snapped. “A young child who is possessed by a demon is not responsible for his actions. Were you a town crier before you became the Arlessa?”

She shook her head, not addressing Zevran and Morrigan’s snorts of laughter or the reproachful “Rhodri!” from Alistair.

“How long have you been keeping this a secret, Lady Isolde?" the Warden demanded. "Your castle staff are dead twice over because of your negligence! The only survivor we found was your maid, Valena, hiding in a broom cupboard!”

“Connor didn’t mean to do all this,” Isolde insisted tearfully. “It-it was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon! He started it! He summoned the demon! Connor was only trying to help his father!”

As Rhodri scoffed, the boy, newly enraged, growled and shoved his mother away. The assembly of guards in the room about-turned in synchrony, as if responding to an unspoken order, and made for the party, leading to a high-pressured scuffle that ended quickly when Rhodri and Morrigan both cast a spell that sent the guards to the floor in a deep, paralytic slumber and Zevran and Alistair finished them off.

Zevran looked around, frowning. “Where did the boy go?”

“He is hiding in his room,” Isolde said quietly. “He is afraid.”

Alistair went over to Teagan. “This is a dire situation. The demon possessing Connor could easily lay waste to all of Redcliffe if we don’t take action right now.”

Isolde let out a cry. “You’re going to kill my boy?”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t see any way around it, Lady Isolde. He’s an abomination, and a dangerous one at that.”

“I would be inclined to disagree,” Morrigan spoke up now. She smirked as all eyes went onto her.

“There is a way, but it will not be to your liking.” She shrugged with one hand. “The prisoner is a blood mage, is he not? He would have the means to send someone–” she gave Rhodri a meaningful look– “into the Fade to kill the demon and free the boy.

“Such magic has a high price, however. The caster would require a significant amount of blood to carry the spell through.” Morrigan turned to Isolde and ran her eyes up and down the woman. “By my estimate, one adult human would suffice.”

“Then let Jowan do it,” Bann Teagan said firmly. “His punishment was coming. Let the spilled blood have a use, for once.”

“The prisoner will be casting the spell,” the witch retorted, rolling her eyes. “How do you suppose he will keep the volunteer in the Fade once dead?”

As the Bann scowled, Isolde spoke up again.

“Then use my blood,” she said resolutely. “There is no question. Kill me and save Connor.”

“No, wait.” The Warden slowly raised a hand.

Morrigan’s lip curled. “Warden, if the woman is willing to die–”

“She need not.” Rhodri retrieved two flasks of lyrium from her satchel and held them up. “This is almost enough on its own to enter the Fade. I’m not sure how much blood would be needed when supplemented with this, but surely not enough to seriously harm anyone.”

She waved to get the Bann’s attention. “Have someone fetch Jowan, if you please.”

Teagan waved a hand at one of the guards, who disappeared and returned several minutes later with a subdued Jowan. In the relatively bright room, his cheeks looked even more sunken than they had in their encounter downstairs, and his huge eyes floated in their sockets.

“Rhodri? Did you get me out of here?” Jowan asked as the guard shoved him toward her. The forcefulness made him stumble a little, and Rhodri reached out and steadied him with the tips of her fingers.

"I did," she replied curtly. "Your chance has come to put some of this right. I need to enter the Fade, and you’re going to help me get there.”

Without another word, she turned to Zevran. He snapped-to.

“Bellissimo?” He smiled and nodded attentively.

“Zevran, if you would be so kind, please take Bann Teagan and Lady Isolde out to the terrace for a walk in the fresh air and wait for someone to come and bring you back inside,” she requested, gesturing at the pair he was to escort.

“Why? What will you do?” Isolde asked, half hysterical, half suspicious.

Rhodri raised an eyebrow at her.

“I will be doing what needs to be done to enter the Fade and kill the demon possessing your son,” she said shortly. “It will be a confronting scene and the less likely we are to be interrupted by emotional outbursts from spectators, the better our chances are of succeeding. Please leave and let us do our work.”

Isolde looked displeased, especially by the term ‘emotional outbursts,’ but made no motion to object. After a moment’s silence, she nodded gingerly.

“Very well,” she relented. “Please do what you can.”

“I will, Madam,” Rhodri replied with a nod. She looked over at Zevran. “I know the dogs are dead, but if you have any concerns for safety, amicus, come back indoors. Just… keep them away from this room unless it’s an emergency. I doubt this will take more than half an hour.”

He nodded smoothly, and couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of irritation as his curiosity built. Repellent as blood magic sounded, there was an undeniable intrigue to it. No doubt there was quite a spectacle to witness if he had to keep people away from it.

“Certainly,” he said with a smile, turning to Teagan and Isolde. “Shall we, my Lord and Lady?” He gestured at the huge doors.

The nobles shared an uneasy look.

“Y-yes, I suppose so,” Teagan accepted, offering his arm to Isolde and leading her out of the room.

Zevran turned back and saw Rhodri give him a wan but appreciative smile.

His eyes drifted down to the lyrium flasks in her hand, and the words came out before he could stop them.

“You… are sure you do not need anything, my Grey Warden?” He opened a small purse hanging off his hip and started digging into it. “Perhaps you might take some of the healing poultices in case the lyrium–”

He paused as a long, thin hand came into his periphery and hovered near his. He looked up and saw the Warden watching him with a rather firm smile.

“Thank you, Zev, but those are yours. And as I said before, my lyrium affliction is not for you to worry about. I mentioned it at the time to fully assure you that my staff was safe to touch. Nothing more.”

It was hard to know if ‘not for him to worry about’ was one of those embarrassing attempts at martyrdom to avoid inconveniencing others, or if it was simply a polite way of saying it was none of Zevran’s damned business. For the interim, it felt wise to at least presume the latter.

He nodded with the tiniest flourish. “Of course. Do please excuse my presumption, my Grey Warden. I shall wait for your signal to return, then.”

She nodded back; the finality to her smile had ebbed now. “See you in a little while,” she said with a wave.

“Count on it, my Grey Warden.” He waved back, sauntered out behind the nobles, and closed the door behind him.

A part of Zevran wondered how anyone could stand to be rich when it meant they had to suffer the company of people like the Lady Isolde. A handful of minutes strolling around the grounds revealed her, and Bann Teagan to a lesser extent, to be a vapid pair, fixated on the counterintuitive social mores that allowed them to blend in among the rarefied few in their echelon.

But really, what a thought. How anyone could stand to be rich? Truly? The clever majority of Zevran scoffed at his own ponderings, all too readily recalling the life of deprivation that had been his only weeks prior.

He was forgetting it already, it seemed, if this was the line of thinking he had. Oh, that wasn’t good. Weak Crow, fed fat on a salary and gentle touches. What would he do when they found him again? Use his tears to clean the festering wounds after a month or two in the oubliette? Or would he simply pine away in there before the first day’s end, his soft little heart crushed to bits because nobody had made him tea that morning?

He swallowed hard, shaking his head to unstick the thoughts, and turned his focus to the outside world. Teagan and Isolde were neck-deep in conversation-- or perhaps it was an argument; it was hard to tell with these Fereldans at times.

“We will not have any choice now, Isolde,” Teagan said wearily. “If Connor even survives--"

"Do not say that, Teagan!"

The Bann held his hands up in a peacemaking gesture. "Very well. But he will still need to go to the Circle. It will not be so awful as you think, I am sure." He quickly turned to Zevran.

"You… ah…" Teagan whiffled a hand in that way people did when they were trying to summon information out of thin air. Zevran chuckled inwardly.

"Zevran, my Lord," he supplied helpfully.

"Yes– Zevran," the nobleman butchered the pronunciation with his flat vowels and flaccid tongue, but Zevran overlooked it almost reflexively. One could expect nothing better from these cultureless people. "You travel with the Magewarden, do you not?"

"I do indeed."

"Perhaps you would tell us a little of what you know about her life at the Circle? It is not often we hear things from the side of the people living there."

Zevran nodded, a reflex built on decades of never saying no to a master, and he fished around for some snippets of information to feed these people. Ideally the truth, if he could manage it, but he hadn’t known Rhodri for long, and it seemed things could be rather… hostile in there for children at the best of times.

"My Grey Warden is a mysterious one, but what I know I will gladly share. While she was there, the mages would ease into their early starts with a cup of sweet tea."

The beginnings of tentative ease appeared in their faces; he pressed on. "They walked the halls in soft, warm robes" (hardly a lie given how sweaty the Warden could get) "and devoted themselves to study." He raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I do not suppose they were coddled or blessed with a light workload, but the clever children did well enough for themselves. I take it Connor is a bright boy?”

Isolde and Teagan both nodded fervently.

“Oh, very much so,” Isolde near-exclaimed. Of course she did; all the nobles with an inch of fondness for their children were convinced these little people were nothing short of prodigious.

Zevran smiled in spite of himself. “Then I imagine your son will cope very well."

The way Isolde and Teagan hung off his words was remarkably gratifying. It was very comfortable, if foreign, to have such an effect on human nobles, and with any luck, being in their good books might keep him out of the firing line should anything go wrong.

After a moment's silence, Isolde nodded. "Mmm. Perhaps, then."

The untalkativeness they slipped back into was comfortable enough, with Zevran being called on occasionally to answer questions about the situation in the castle. Though the answers undoubtedly troubled Teagan and Isolde, they seemed reassured by his calm, easy reminders of the attending members’ excellent qualifications.

Some time later– how long precisely was a mystery– a guard appeared and ushered them back into the castle. Or at least she would have, had Isolde not scrambled inside ahead of her. Teagan gave Zevran an embarrassed look that Zevran returned with an untroubled smile.

"Perhaps we should follow her, no?" he suggested, motioning to fall into a jog. Teagan nodded vigorously, seeming pleased Zevran had said it, and they hurried in after her.

In the hall, Rhodri and Alistair stood patting the back of the boy, who looked rattled but remarkably whole, and certainly not any more demonic than most children his age. Morrigan had her back turned to the whole scene, fiddling away with some of the trinkets she had tied to her staff, and Jowan stood off to one side with one tattered sleeve rolled up, nursing the exposed arm with his other hand. The only sign anything untoward might have happened were two sprays of congealed blood on the floor, one in deep red and the other almost black. Beside the latter of these lay the two lyrium flasks, and as the sound of the Warden coughing drew his attention, he caught a little of the same dark blood sitting in the corner of her mouth. Zevran decided then and there, as per Rhodri’s own request, to put it out of his mind. Why his stomach continued to plummet despite this verdict was beyond him, but before he could redouble his efforts to distract himself, Isolde let out a nerve-peeling shriek and ran over to her son.

It was almost funny, the way both Wardens caught sight of this stampeding woman and immediately fled from the boy’s side to give her a comically wide berth. Maker’s breath, she was a short, dainty Orlesian, not a bear. Her ancestors were the people who cried exhaustion when their arms tired from flogging their servants, and no doubt half her energy had been spent on the one slap she delivered to the Magewarden earlier.

Rhodri ended up orbiting out and around until she was standing beside Zevran. Accompanying her was a curious smell; more odour than fragrance, and metallic enough that it settled on his tongue. Lightning-struck earth, iron, and singed flesh, if he had to pin it down to something in particular.

He glanced at the Warden’s face; her mouth had been wiped clean. He shelved all thoughts of lyrium and its related afflictions as best he could and breathed through his mouth.

“How was it for you, Zev?” she asked after a moment. Her voice had a soft rasp to it. “Were you safe out there? No trouble?”

Zevran gave her a broad, smooth smile. “Not a hint of a problem, my dear Grey Warden. I was the very picture of the charming host, and our charges were kept entertained for many a minute.”

“Hah. And here I was getting ready to apologise for giving you the worst job.” She gave him a skewed grin and shifted her weight from foot to foot like a duck.

He chuckled softly. "It made for an interesting change from my daily tasks with the Crows. Far easier work, too. I am in no hurry to complain."

“Mmm, I can imagine. Well, hopefully they’ll let us go now. There’s nothing more to do, and I’d trample the First Enchanter for a bath.” The Warden paused and added, “Not really, of course. Just a figure of speech, you understand.”

Surprising as it was to be notified of such a thing, it seemed less so given the person who had issued it. Zevran nodded. “Naturally, my dear Grey Warden.”

She looked relieved (she often looked that way when he made it clear he had understood her), and had opened her mouth to say something else when Bann Teagan spoke up again.

And of course, in keeping with the insatiable need nobles had for ordering people around, he had barely gotten his thanks out before putting the Warden on the spot with another request: to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes (surely that was a myth?) and take a pinch of said ashes in a last-ditch attempt to drag the Arl back from death’s door. ‘Nothing more to do,’ indeed.

Morrigan rolled her eyes so hard at the Bann’s entreaty that it was almost audible, and Alistair was hardly looking very confident about the whole thing either.

Rhodri, however, gave a shrug and nodded.

“We can keep an eye out for an urn as we travel through the country to rally troops to fight the Darkspawn, certainly. I don’t suppose you could give us any more information on where we might find it, or what it looks like?” She tapped her thigh. “I hate to put too fine a point on it, but urns are everywhere, especially now.”

The Bann proceeded, once he had gotten hold of a pen and paper, to write out the contact details for one Brother Genitivi, based in Denerim, whom Teagan guaranteed would have plenty of insights (never a good term when discussing a concrete need) on where the mysterious urn might be.

With their next moves made clear, they were almost ready to leave, until--

"Bann Teagan." Rhodri glanced at Jowan and then to the nobleman.

"Warden?"

"I am invoking the Right of Conscription against Jowan."

"What?" Alistair gaped at her.

Rhodri looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "He’s a blood mage, Alistair," she replied flatly. "Grey Wardens need non-Warden blood mages for certain tasks, and if they can’t find one, they will often take a regular mage and make them practice it against their will." She pursed her lips. "My uncle was one such victim. Jowan, however, has already chosen his path. He will be of use to us."

Mmm. She sounded harsh, but was there a shred of sentimentality there underneath it all? Or was he wrong, and she was being purely practical? Zevran kept his eyes on Rhodri, scanning her for some indication of what he suspected underpinned all this.

"I-I see," Teagan said with a stiff nod. "There is nothing I can say to that, but I do not imagine my brother will be pleased to be deprived of the chance to deal his punishment."

A wide-eyed Jowan turned to the Warden and began walking over to her. "Am I going with you, Rhodri?" he asked softly, hopefully almost.

Rhodri looked around sharply at him, and he immediately scuttled back again.

"No. You will remain here for now. You aren't going anywhere without speaking to Arl Eamon first."

She abruptly turned away from him again and faced the Bann. "We may have need of his skills at any time, and at very short notice. Please do not kill him, torture him, or deprive him."

Teagan's astonished look grew disapproving; apparently there was a limit to his upper-crust politeness, and no doubt the nature of the request itself was an unwelcome one.

Rhodri held up her hands in a calming gesture. "He need not be pampered, but he must be at his best. I would ask that you look past your anger for now, and if you are not motivated by the treaties to comply, recall that we helped you when we need not have, and are about to do so again.” She gave him a pointed look. “It would be very well received if you did not make our task any harder than it already is."

With an inclination of the head, her attention went back to Jowan. She eyed him gravely. "This is your second chance. Don't even think of breaking my trust again."

"N-no, I promise--" he began to stutter, but Rhodri held up a hand to silence him, shaking her head.

"Your promises mean nothing now. Prove it."

Without another word, she beckoned to the party. As Zevran and the others followed her out, he caught a glimpse of weariness on her face that shuttered into that familiar harshness as he drew up beside her.

Was it better to pity her, or simply be pleased that her attachment to the mage swayed her? That weakness was likely the only thing that had stayed her hand when Zevran had tried to kill her himself. No, if ever there was a time to withhold the scorn usually due such things, it was now.

The party left.

AO3 link if needed: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35465686/chapters/102278355

#In which Rhodri Amell gets as near to persona non grata with the toffs as damn it is to swearing #or rather Rhodri 'Are you sure this man isn't your husband? because it sure looks that way to me' Amell #And in which Zevran watches all this in stunned silence. All of it. Poor Zevvo #this bloke needs a holiday #Rhodri Amell #Dragon Age: Origins #HWWT #Have Warden Will Travel

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