#vestige-of-thorns

[vestige-nan]

The Thorn in my Side, the Pebble in my Shoe: Ch 9

Summary: The main quest line in Mannimarco’s perspective, except that he falls chaotically in love with the vestige just as much as he chaotically hates them.

Fun stuff: Small violent imagery warning, it gets a little gory in Manni’s head.  As always, vestige is gender neutral and physical features are not described.

One of the many benefits of lichdom included sleep, at least not in access, was not a necessity for me. Though even when I was alive, I had cast a spell here and there to bend my physical limitations and wave off timewasting slumber. That fool, Trechtus, worried that the prolonged sleep deprivation—even by magical means—might have a negative effect on my psyche. But there was always so much work to be done, experiments to perform, ancient lore to study, unsuspecting victims to murder and then raise.

However, this didn't mean I couldn't sleep. Just that I didn't need to often and for much less time than a lowly mortal. But while sleep was more of a recreational pastime, dreams very rarely came to me. This, I assumed, had less to do with my status as a lich and more to do with Vaermina not wishing to catch the attention of Molag Bal.

As such, my confusion was appropriate when I woke up with a start from my dream. Details didn't slip from my mind, nor did I scramble to rack my brain for specificities. I remembered it wholly, vividly, and its' palpability sent chills dancing down my spine as I sat in my bed.

I sat on the throne in an empty hall of cold harbor. Only one other living being (if you could call them living) was in the hall with me. The vestige, flush with exhaustion and trepidation, gripped their weapon with spent desperation, their breath heavy and their legs trembling. Bones, rotten flesh, and all manner of decay littered the floor around them. I didn't carry the same exhaustion as they had. If anything, I was more bored than spent as I crossed my legs.

"Do you surrender?" I asked, inspecting my nails with passing disinterest.

The vestige swallowed and attempted to slow their breathing. I could see how their eyes wavered with uncertainty. They had resisted so fiercely before, but now, surrounded by fallen enemies and not having landed a single scratch on me, I could tell they were no longer so sure.

However, no answer was not good enough for me. I wanted an admission of defeat.

"Very well," I yawned with a flick of my wrist, and in a black swirl of flesh and bone from the vestige's fallen enemies, a great flesh atronach crawled from the remains and the mort. It let out a horrifying roar, its' whole face unhinging to bellow, and—as if they could take no more—the vestige collapsed to their knees, their weapon dropping beside them and the hands falling to the rot beneath them.

"I surrender!" Their voice was hoarse with exhaustion and stretched with desperation. They kept their head lowered, as if they couldn't bear to look me in the eyes as they succumbed to my power. "I surrender..."

A thrill of pleasure traveled my veins like lightning. What lovely words that would sound even better in a tortured chorus of agony.

I waved my hand and—to my delight—the vestige flinched when the atronach collapsed into blood, bones, and death. The vestige's breath left their quivering lips in relief, but the tension remained in their shoulders as I uncrossed my legs and stood. Step by step, I descended my throne, treading unconcerned through the carnage. When I reached the vestige, their form trembling in anxious anticipation, I circled their kneeling form as I inspected them. Their eyes unable to meet mine, the sweat of exertion trailing down their neck, their chest rising and falling in steady acceleration under my scrutiny.

To have the object of my ire in front of me so was sweeter than moonsugar and more intoxicating than skooma.

As I rounded about them, I straightened my back in a poise to feign indifference, "Again."

The vestige stuttered only for a moment, "I surrender."

"Again."

"I surrender!" Their desperation seeped into their voice.

I inspected my nails, "To whom?"

"To you! I surrender—" The vestige inhaled sharply, finally gaining the courage to meet my eyes, and I was filled with a familiar hunger to bask in that gaze. "Please, King of Worms, have mercy—!"

I couldn't help but laugh, "You level my armies, steal my chancellor, attempt to foil my plans, and you have the audacity to beg my mercy?"

The vestige opened their mouth, as if scouring their mind for an answer to respond, but ultimately could not speak.

"Are you too weak from my risen forces to respond?" I mocked as I knelt to their level. "Pathetic."

The rotten blood and flesh oozed between the vestige's tightened grasp against the floor as they looked away in shame, their brow knotted and their eyes cast down. I couldn't stop myself from grabbing their jaw and pulling their gaze back on me.

"Do not." My voice echoed in the hall, louder than I willed. "Look away from me."

The vestige's eyes flitted through a medley of emotions, each more tantalizing than the last. Visceral fear. Broken will. Reluctant obedience. And somehow, despite the thrill of seeing the vestige defeated and submitted, it was their look of captivation that filled my head with delirium. Eyes so trained on me, mesmerized by my presence—my power, that they couldn't pull away if they wanted. Attention entranced with deep, fervid interest restrained by tentative fear, the vestige was mine.

They were mine, and they did not have the will to oppose that.

What an exciting thought! The vestige, the unabashed nuisance in my machinations; the single obstacle between me and godhood, was mine! Mine to own, mine to maim, mine to torture, mine to kill, mine to resurrect, mine to mold, mine to command, mine to use— They were mine.

I suddenly became very aware of my hand holding their jaw. The warmth of their skin was radiant against my cold, lifeless fingertips. How strange it was that a soulless being could be filled with so much warmth, and that they could smell so sweet in a room full of corpses, and that they could look so tempting after being so irritating.

I loosened my grip to just a few fingers tilting their chin up, and they did not dare turn away from me. I forced my voice to soften, a voice I used often in my calculative manipulations, "I must admit, no being in Tamriel has bested as many of my forces as you have."

Their throat bobbed as they swallowed.

"Nor have any slayed foes as powerful as you have. Are you proud of this?" My eyes twinkled in a patronizing glimmer, "Be honest."

The vestige bit their lower lip, "Yes."

My eyes were drawn to their lips, "You should be. You will make a valuable tool..." My fingers lightly traveled along their neck, gliding to across their collarbone. "After I take you apart and reassemble you."

The vestige was shaking under my touch and I could feel their pulse quicken. I would enjoy draining the blood from their body, slowly, and making them watch as I replaced it with venom... But I enjoyed the warmth I could feel from their blush much more. "I— Please, King of Worms, there... there must be something I can do for your mercy? Anything!"

I laughed again. "I haven't even began your torture and you're already trying to bargain with me? How charmingly naïve..." I grasped their chin once more and they gasped at my abrupt movement. "Don't worry. You will have plenty to do once I am done with you."

With a snap of my fingers with my other hand, chains of magicka snapped around the vestige's wrist. A new and exhilarating panic swept over the vestige as they tried to pull from the chains in vain. The dread in their eyes as they looked at me made me dizzy and I was overwhelmed with the desire hold their heart in my hands; to feel the pulse of their heart quicken between my fingers and to see the horror in the vestige's eyes as I bring it to my lips to take a bite. I wanted to simultaneously hold the vestige so full of life, feeling their warm hand against my cheek and to bathe in their boiling blood, singing as I let their marrow sink into my skin. I wanted to swallow their cries in a kiss and lick the blood from their wounds and I wanted the vestige to love and hate every moment of it.

There would be plenty of time to indulge my madness later.

"Please! King of Worms, you don't have to hurt me! I'll do what you want!" The vestige cried, their voice taut with terror and their hands pulling at the chains.

"Oh, I believe you." I held the vestige's face in my hands and relished the captivation that never left the vestige's gaze. Even in their terror they couldn't resist me. "I want to hurt you."

With the vestige mine and their expression consumed with dread and panic, I pulled their face to me, pressing my cold lips against their warm ones, reveling in the taste of victory and the vestige's tongue. I could feel the vestige heat up beneath my hands, their warm blood a charming tell. I pulled away just as quickly, my smile as bewitching as the chains.

"Do try to last long." I cooed, "I don't want to fix your broken mind more times than I need to."

I downed three stamina potions in succession just to give me the energy to deal with whatever deranged dream Vaermina and Sheogorath must've crafted together as a sick daedric joke (surprisingly less violent than most daedric jokes go).

I leaned against my desk with one hand and rubbed my temple with the other, groaning low and exasperated. It was almost the perfect dream, and I would have even thanked the lesser daedric prince for what I would've assumed would be a glimpse into the future, save for the end.

How insulting! Degrading! To think I would lower myself so—so—low! As to kiss, or even to think about—!

I heard the vestige stir in their sleep through their visage and my head snapped to it. I watched them, holding the breath I don't take, with furious disgust. Then, the end of my dream began replaying in my mind and I could feel my face turning orange at the thought.

"Disgusting!" I said, not to anyone in particularly, but mostly to the vestige. I went to close the visage with a wave of my hand, but stopped when the vestige began to stir again.

Were they having a nightmare? Were they having the same nightmare?

My face burned brighter.

My eyes were melded to the visage as the vestige's brow furrowed and their breath quickened. Something cracked underneath the pressure of my grip but I didn't care enough to notice what it was. The vestige looked troubled by their nightmare, maybe even pained. Would they hate it? Would they be disgusted by it like I was? Would they wake up with fear? Glancing at every shadow with nervousness? What if they woke up flushed and unsure? What if they liked it? What if they sought out the mundus stones—sought out me? They did say I was pretty.

The vestige's lips parted and the ending of my dream replayed and replayed and replayed; the taste of their lips, the trepidation in their eyes, their breath on my skin, their warm blood beneath my cold cold hands.

"Hey, you alright?" Some young breton shook them awake, pulling me from my own personal oblivion. The vestige inhaled softly as they woke, turning to the man, slightly disoriented. "Looked like you were having a nightmare."

I ground my teeth. Did he wake them up before they reached the end of the dream? I couldn't tell if I was relieved or furious.

The vestige groaned, rubbing their neck. "Yeah, I was... It was really weird..."

I furrowed my brow. "Weird"? What did they mean by "weird"? "Weird" as in "I was disturbed by the intimate nature of the dream and I don't want to be tortured" or as in "I was intrigued by the intimate nature of the dream but I don't want to tell this breton that out of bashfulness"?

"I know this is going to sound insane but..." The vestige sat up, stretching, and I was too transfixed with how their bones popped. "There were dragons all over Elsweyr!"

I blanked.

"Dragons?" The breton man laughed, "Come on!"

"No, really!" They asserted, "And one of them was good!"

I waved the visage off, evaporating it from existence. I downed another stamina potion while wishing I had picked up a bottle of sylph-mead somewhere. I didn't care if the vestige was bedding Molag Bal himself, a few days not having to listen to the ramblings of that halfwit vestige would do me well.

In the meantime, sending a legion of undead after Vaermina's cult seemed appropriate.

#tes #teso #The Elder Scrolls #The Elder Scrolls Online #Mannimarco #mannimarco x vestige #the thorn in my side the pebble in my shoe #the vestige #this the part where it goes from 0 to 100 and it only took us 9 chapters

[kastalani123]

(if you prefer Ao3)

They learn about it in the slowly bubbling, uncertain high of victory.

She died a hero, Clarisse says, repeats, convinces, closing Drew’s hands around a bracelet far too innocent to make everyone’s hearts sink with just a glance. Its silver colour is barely visible beneath the blood. Drew’s hands were already long slick with crimson. She doesn’t say anything.

(The daughter of Ares tells them the story as they pick up their other fallen siblings. Nobody responds)

Fuchsia with an apple for Anders, seventeen and the loveliest relationship advisor. Lacy only manages a few words through her sobs and tears, her hair still in the intricate but effective braid he had put it in before battle.

Coral with a conch shell for Khalid, twelve with a love for anything one could find at the bottom of the ocean. Valentina grips his stuffed anglerfish so tightly that she almost tears it while making her speech about him.

Salmon with a thorned rose for Ina, fifteen and the best fighter in the cabin. Mitchell can barely stand while talking, choked by having been unable to retrieve more of her than a gnarled arm, recognizable only through the heart-shaped birthmark spanning the back of her hand.

Magenta with a dove for Sawyer, fourteen with the kindest eyes in the world. Drew lays the sword they had never wanted in the fire and watches it melt into perfumed smoke without a word.

Cerise with flowering myrtle for Jasmin, sixteen and the craftiest painter around. Aminah bites her knuckles to the blood in a failed attempt not to cry when the burning paints colour the fire in impossible hues.

… Hot pink with an electric spear for Silena. Clarisse sets the fire with a blank face, dried tear tracks gouging grooves down her cheeks.

(A grief-stained title of cabin counsellor for Drew, fifteen with the weight of her world suddenly on her shoulders. Cabin Ten cannot keep her from turning her head high, eyeliner sharper than it’s been in years.)

----------

It’s not Drew who orders all signs of Silena Beauregard to be scrubbed from the insides of Cabin Ten. 

Instead, Mitchell passes through the cabin while the others haunt around Camp like the ghosts they had avoided becoming. Carefully, carefully, he folds up Silena’s fashionista posters, picks pictures of her off the clothing clips on the strings strung up throughout the cabin, strips her bed of the flower pillows they’d all collaborated to get for her last (final) birthday, collects clothes from her section of shelves and drawers, and packs everything with even a trace of her into the suitcase under his bed. Grief echoes off the bare spaces, sandalwood perfume soaking into the walls, a vestige of one of the many lives struck short these past several days.

His siblings don’t say anything when they finally come and find him curled up on Ina’s bed, clutching her morning star plush like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to his body, the entire cabin missing key elements. Drew starts to get ready for bed, Aminah throws herself onto Jasmin’s bed and shatters, Lacy tears her hair free of Anders’s braid with a wail, and Valentina screams into Khalid’s pillows until her voice is hoarse. Mitchell swears he hears similar sounds from the other cabins.

(Rory comes the next day, backpack full of clothing designs he hadn’t bothered to unpack in his rush upon hearing about the strange happenings in New York. He takes one look at his siblings’ hollowed faces, at the bare beds, at the empty spaces, and breaks, begging for forgiveness for not being there to fight along their sides, for not protecting them like an older brother should, for working on his college projects while they fought and died for the world. Drew scoffs, lips perfectly painted, and says there’s a reason they didn’t tell him war was brewing over their last Iris Message. The others pile onto him, cursing and crying and trying to keep themselves from falling into pieces.)

----------

Officially, Silena Beauregard is a hero. She had been burned with laurel wreaths, and offerings were tossed into the fire to aid her journey to Elysium. Her photo has been put up in the Big House alongside many others, and even Mr D managed not to butcher “Silena Beauregard” for once, prompted by a centaur kick. Her name is whispered under the topic of the ultimate sacrifice, of the power of love, of the bravery of unexpected leaders.

Unofficially, the only one who speaks her name with pure reverence is Clarisse La Rue, and no one says it with such vitriol as Drew Tanaka. Her spy bracelet, still drenched in blood, has been hurled against a wall and remains hidden and gathering dust under her bed. Her cabin has been scrubbed clean of any mentions of her, her name unspoken in fear of Drew’s newfound cruelty.

(Drew builds back up the walls her siblings had dismantled with so much care, taller and thicker than ever before.)

(Mitchell retreats back into himself, the skittishness he had worked so hard to shed shrouding him in full force once again.)

(Lacy melts into the crowd like never before, burying her voice beneath a blanket of sorrow.)

(Valentina ditches her soft colours and loose wardrobe, forcing attention onto her new tastefully torn jeans and bold shades and away from her wail-wrecked throat.)

(Aminah tugs her grief tight around herself and leaves with the summer, her goodbye lacking a definitive “see you later”.)

----------

Two boys, adorned in pearls and guided by geese, arrive in a cabin full but hollow, plagued by dead siblings and a traitorous hero. Twins, they are, nine years old and unknowing of the carnage of war, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Drew scoffs and scolds but leaves them to her remaining siblings, for her sharp tongue has never been suited for introductions, and even in the wake of her death-stained rule, she will not dare shut children down so soon after arrival.

Names of all the ghosts haunting the cabin become unspoken, none willing to explain them and blemish the twins’ innocence.

It does not work.

Not when Lev walks in on Lacy sorting and resorting dozens of vials of perfumes with shaking hands and trembling breaths. Not when Ren asks Valentina about the night sky painted on the wall over an empty bed and she shuts down entirely for the rest of the day. Not when Lev holds up a mirror to help Mitchel neaten up the impulsive haircut he had given himself after a game of Capture the Flag. Not when Ren catches Drew in a screaming match with another camper over a girl he had never heard about.

Not when something weighs heavily over the empty spaces in the cabin, over the necks of their newfound siblings.

So they ask someone else.

Clarisse La Rue. Will Solace. Connor Stoll. Nyssa Barrera. Malcolm Pace.

Slowly, slowly, they collect pieces, find ways to fit them together, compare conflicting accounts. They get the story of clashing metal, raging fire, slithering scales. A frightful fairytale, starring their fellow campers as the main characters. The missing limbs, the overabundance of scars, the paranoid glances — it all clicks together, and the uncomfortable hollowness of Camp Half-Blood is suddenly apparent.

(Eventually, they ask about their own Cabin’s side of the story.)

(They receive no answer beyond solemn looks and half-hearted shrugs.)

----------

Piper McLean falls from the sky, crashing straight through the fragile roof of the system Cabin Ten has established for itself the moment she bursts with pink light.

She is… argumentative. Unwilling to cram herself into the tattered tapestry of their Cabin the war had left behind. Determined to be different, to stand out, to raise her hackles at those around her. Filled with an anger towards the paints and ruffles her siblings wrap themselves in, and unconcerned with not letting it spill over and burn them.

She challenges Drew, and they cheer.

(Will the sister-that-never-left finally come back to them?)

Drew scoffs and huffs, sharpens her nails on the sound of Piper’s voice, but does not fight.

(They have fought for so long, and she is tired, and maybe an older kid with none of the wounds that mar the rest of them is needed in Cabin Ten.)

(Within a month, Drew wrenches permission for them to leave Camp for a shopping trip out of Chiron, and they know she is coming back.)

#pjo #rick riordan #hoo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #pjo series #pjoverse #pjo spoilers #drew tanaka #silena beauregard #silena pjo #mitchell pjo #lacy pjo #valentina pjo #valentina diaz #cabin ten #aphrodite cabin #piper mclean #basically just snippets of Cabin 10 between TLO and TLH #me looking at Rick's portrayal of Cabin 10: #I recognize that the council has made a decision but given that it's a stupid-ass decision I have elected to ignore it #my characters now

[therightrighthand]

Fae Hive - Court of the Laughing King

Following from my previous Fae-Hive piece I thought I'd give it another swing and really lean into it.

~Court of the Laughing King~ In the lowest depths of the under-dark, in a chasm known as Light's Grave, a fowl spawn from the Shadowfell dwells in the darkness, The Laughing King. A giant who cackles and laughs at kingdoms above as he amasses his vast Hive army to one day consume the world for little more than the novelty of war. Guided by his two generals, Vestige, the first blade (kight on the right), and Thorn, the second blade (Knight on the left), to lead his armies, and Maar (Witch in the middle) to spawn his monsters, the Laughing kings steal away whatever poor adventuring party who feel brave enough to wander deep enough where alight goes to die. 

-- Find my discord and other sites: linktr.ee/The_red_right_hand Do not use, repost or claim (rp) my art/character  Art © The-Red-Right-Hand

#my artwork #fantasy #destiny 2 #the hives #dungeons and dragons #d&d art #destiny

[sofoulandfairaday]

i can't decide which i like more:

the idea - very much canonical and in the author's original concept and view of magic - of the dark arts taking a toll on one's exterior and looks. tom riddle sacrificing his beauty willingly in the name of eternal life, black magic as something that innately corrupts. bellatrix escaping from azkaban with the barest vestiges of her ancient beauty. going from one of the most beautiful women in england to a shell of her former self and no amount of dark magic being able to fix it. and she just. doesn't care. goes from pretty, proud and vain in her youth, to the feverish, fanatical glow harry sees in the department if mysteries. finally she sheds the petal of the rose - look like the innocent flower, her master had once said - and only the thorns remain. the parallel with voldemort himself. the idea that they like each other better now, the only ones to like their respective new appearances better. bellatrix because she can taste the power radiating off him, because she knows how resentful he was of his old face. (oh, he's never said anything explicitly, he would rather be flayed alive than speak of his filthy muggle father to her, but she knew he didn't like himself, took no pride in his aesthetics, it was most unusual, really.) the dark lord because he's reminded of her sacrifice - she was the only one who didn't denounce him, who tried to find him - every time he looks at her. she gave up everything for him: her reputation, her family, her freedom, her health, her beauty, her youth.

or.

the horcruxes are an isolated case. not all prices to pay for power are physical. some dark magic sucks at your humanity, your emotional regulation, your empathy and gives back superficial little gifts. its roots are far from the deep anger, desperation to cling to life of an horcrux. these are ancient witches' remedies to be the most envied in the village. the idea that rotten cores hide behind the prettiest faces. and bellatrix was always vain, always took immense pride in her beauty, her black, pure features. when she escapes from azkaban she tries everything in her power to be herself once again. she still drips with obsession but gradually regains all of her beauty too. cruel people can still be beautiful. gorgeous people can still be inhuman. and yet there is something so human about a woman making her way through the ranks of a very militarised group and still caring so much about what she looks like, still having insecurities, being preoccupied with mundane things like age and decay - and hating it because he would hate it, he hates weakness, and still not being able to help herself. the dark lord was always a collector of shiny things, was he not?

#sorry for the ineloquent stream of consciousness. it's midnight i am exhaused and once again in a bellamort brainrot #better yet - bellatrix and her relationship with her gender is something that i find so fascinating and that few people explore properly #and the differences between bellatrix and voldemort and how they would perceive certain things (e.g. physical beauty) #being a children's book hp uses the very common trope that ugly = bad #the villains are all deprived of their good looks somehow #except in lockhart's case where he literally loses his wits (the whole point of his character - very dante-esque as a punishment) #and dark magic clearly takes a toll on your body #i like characters that are described as imperfect and that are forced to make sacrifices. would bella give this up for her master? yes. #would it be painful? i find that i like both versions of her. #bellatrix lestrange #lord voldemort #bellamort #bellatrix black

[itsmaferart]

My possible END of Spy x family. Part 1

In the past I've already talked a bit about what I think the possible enemies of Spy x Family could look like, however, I haven't talked about the possible resolution of the characters, and that's where I see several scenarios.

For starters, let's start with the WISE conflict and the war. I've always believed that agencies can have parallels to their respective agents peace and war. And, like many, I think the best case scenario is that Yor and Loid can retire from their jobs or perhaps take positions where they are less at risk. I sincerely believe that Endo will not give us a rosy ending in which peace is achieved indefinitely and all vestiges of war are eliminated. In fact, a constant message in SxF is that peace can only be achieved through hard work and effort to try to understand each other, just like Loid who constantly struggles to understand his daughter, in the end he knows that although Anya and he are totally different, he always knows that with a little effort both can understand each other.

Both WISE and Garden pretend to be fighting against war and protecting their respective countries. But the truth is that both organizations are trapped in this endless circle of violence, and without realizing it, they continue to promote it. Twilight himself knows that the peace they have is illusory and ephemeral, just as the lies between the Forgers maintains the bond.

Which, is a parallel to the Forger Family:

What keeps the peace in Forger family together is the lies, the marriage agreement, is what keeps the peace in the home because it was 'convenient' for both sides, a woman from Ostania and a Man from Westalis. While both hide under the table all the violence in their lives.

Yes, Thorn Princess and Twilight fight to keep the peace, and avoid war to maintain a fragile peace. Sacrificing their entire lives and yet they have not been able to avoid it. Anya is a reflection of how vulnerable peace built on lies is. Anya is vulnerable as a child, and has been the byproduct of an experiment, and the lies are what allow her fake family to stay together and not be abandoned. While generations like Yuri a government agent, university terrorists whose heads are filled with garbage and hate speech; or Anya who was an experiment, or the children of Eden who are exposed to kidnappings and terrorism. As long as the lies continue the violence will continue.

That is why, even if Westalis and Ostania sign a peace treaty, but underneath it, hatred, lies and personal ambitions continue. Things will remain the same and there will always be the possibility of a war again. Just as the Forger family is fragile to disintegration as long as they are hiding their identities.

With this in mind, I see it possible that in a scenario where eventually one of the outcomes is that both WISE and Garden will have to disappear and, perhaps, transform into other types of organizations. I am not suggesting that they necessarily go public, but that the way they operate is different from what has been established. In that way, both countries must work in a different way than they have been doing if they really want to achieve something resembling peace..

Destroy all the lies and start from scratch, just as the Forger family will eventually have to do.

This opens up several scenarios:

If WISE is to disappear or become another type of pro-peace organization, this may begin a process of reintegration of the agents, in which case, Twilight will have to decide whether to remain an agent or decide to retire. Which leads to two options, Twilight decides to join, but under a less risky job.

In this case, Twilight decides to retire from WISE and start a new life with his family. And while I think it is unlikely that this will happen easily given the state of WISE and its agents. What I assume, is that agencies like WISE may end up changing or restructuring, and this allows Twilight to leave.

Another possible idea for Twilight to leave is that he suffers a significant loss. A slightly old theory is that Twilight may come to suffer from the loss of his left eye, due to Edo's constant referrals, as he twice came close to losing it. This could cause WISE to decide that he is no longer a fit agent for the field.

Another possible route would be for Twilight to decide to remain with WISE but in a different role:

In this scenario I would like to think about Sylvia's possible fates. One in which Sylvia is the one who wants to retire and be able to spend the rest of her life resting because she got tired of taking care of the faces of so many dumb rookies and wants to spend the rest of her time with her good friend Aaron.

Another idea is that Sylvia occupies one of the higher positions and is promoted, and Twilight is her successor, being the one who has the role of the Handler.

In both cases, Twilight would leave the field, and since he already has experience training disciples like Nightfall. Twilight takes less physical risk and can use all that experience to train better agents who work in peace.

And now that I mention Nightfall I think an interesting ending would be that whether or not Twilight decides to continue being a peace agent, it would be Nightfall who succeeds his position as the best agent.I feel that would be a good developmental ending. I know that at the current point, Nightfall is someone who acts unable to let go of her love for Twilight, however, she is also the person who most understands that Twilight is very much in love with his family.

Considering that Endo has made reference to Nightfall admiring Twilight's dream of fighting for peace and wishing to obtain it for himself. It would be interesting, if at the end her master can talk to her and tell her how proud he is of her and her effort, and that he hopes she will take better care of herself.

I think it would be a bittersweet ending of Nightfall accepting that her mentor loves his family, while she follows that promise of love by fighting for peace.

#spy x family #twiyor #yor forger #loid x yor #loid forger #anya forger #yor briar #twilight #sxf #spyxfamily twilight #spy x family theory #spyxfamily #sxf art #sxf manga #sxf spoilers

[tarnishedinquirer]

Stormveil Gate Courtyard

I went through the back walkways of the castle for a bit before I came out overlooking the entrance. There was a fog door here, but no imp statue in sight. So, there was only one way to go.

Now that I was above and behind them, it was easy to take out the ballistas. There were a good dozen soldiers in the yard, at least, but through careful use of chokepoints I was able to take them out one by one.

I'll be honest, standing on a mountain of dead soldiers like this was a little bit scary to me. I was never a master swordsman nor mage. Just a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Now, all of the sudden, I was cleaving through trained soldiers like it was nothing. I could justify that maybe they were weakened by whatever was covering their armor in thorns, but no... this was me. This is the strength of runes.

In the gatehouse, I found a commoner's garb, and the voice filled me in on something I'd already guessed.

Modest garb made of cloth. Standard wear for commoners of the Lands Between. The board hung from the neck depicts a sprawling tree, its roots and branches forming two holes. This is a self-imposed shackle, a voluntary display of allegiance to the Erdtree that increases faith.

All you have to do is look at the commoners to understand what this does. Over immortal decades, even centuries, it depresses the collarbone and makes it look like their neck is unnaturally extended. Even some of the skeletons I've fought have that long-neck look.

It says this is voluntary but the alternative must be death, exile, or worse to keep people wearing this shackle. And you don't put shackles on slaves. Are there any actual commoners in this land? No wonder you have brain-dead nobles digging in the dirt with their fingers.

Gostoc was directly below me, but I had no reason to talk to him right now.

There was just one thing left to clear in this courtyard, and that was a massive, sleeping beast in one corner. It seemed to be guarding the promenade leading to that giant bridge.

I didn't have to get very close for it to spring into action. An immense grey-skinned lion, it had an equally immense blade chained to its paw. At first I thought it was like the mutilations Godrick had inflicted on the hawks, but it didn't seem to be mutilated at all, just chained. There was also something almost human about the lion. It's proportions were just a bit off...and were those stubby horns poking out of its mane?

It was hard for me to get a good look at the thing as it was constantly moving. The thing had incredible speed and energy for a creature its size. It was all I could do to keep up. Fortunately, I had Aurelia to draw its attacks away. Once its attention was divided, its attacks became more manageable, and I was able to bring it down.

Just when I start getting concerned about the potential power-madness of runes, something like this appears to keep me humble.

The voice told me to pick up a strangely deformed fang that had been knocked loose from its mouth. It said

These multiple, overlapping fangs grow from a single root. Perhaps they're a vestige of the primordial crucible.

Interesting. So the crucible can also cause mutations like this, beyond just its incantations? Maybe the horns, grey skin, and odd body shape were also part of the Crucible?

At any rate, while the bridge looked interesting, I should save it for later. I have a job to do in this castle.

Was the lion a crucible creature?

Why did it have chains and blades attached?

Why was it guarding the bridge?

#elden ring lore #elden ring #in character #in character blog #in character post #let's play #crucible elden ring #st trina #exiled soldiers #stormveil

[wxnheart]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐎𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐨𝐝 (???!!!) 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

You may be asking yourself how Morgott got here, and the answer is, uh... there is no answer.

Morgott is convinced that Fate will never let him have a break and experience normalcy. If he isn't beset by the greed of his wayward family, it's the greed of those damned Tarnished and their ineffective weapons. And if it isn't those damn Tarnished, it's his... consort.

His consort who has made his lap their resting place. His consort who... well... he can't describe it. He can't describe anything really, because Fate wouldn't even let him have a normal courtship. By the Erdtree, HE was the one being courted. Not the other way around. Their initial relationship went a little something like this:

When Morgott first met his spouse, he was convinced they were a fallen God, something that managed to elude Radahn's mastery over the stars. Or perhaps a vestige of his mother's warring years.

And of course, his consort wouldn't say. They were too busy staring at Morgott with wide, luminous eyes. Or something like that.

Morgott was too busy being his judgemental self as usual because why do their eyes look like a Full Moon?

He later found out that his otherworldly lover's eyes reflected the phases of the moon, which was actually fueled by their emotions. For example, when they were excited, their eyes were luminous like the Full Moon. When they were angry or saddened, their eyes were similar to the New Moon. Interesting.

The stranger was instantly taken by him, if only because he was unlike anything they'd ever seen. Morgott was not amused. Actually, he was really taken aback.

And soon, they, like the Tarnished and Godrick's maniacal laughter, became a thorn in his side. One that wouldn't really go away. Not that he really wants them to.

Morgott was inundated with questions about his origins and the Lands Between.

His horns and tail were of special interest and yes, he had to keep it lifted up more often than not because they would. not. stop. rubbing it. It felt good, yes, but he would rather be cast aside yet again that admit that.

They practically turned his silent, lonesome days upside down. They even asked questions while he was doing work. As in looking at actual paperwork. Of course, this is when he realized that their hair was like the cosmos, deep and dark and... are those stars?!

Of course, Morgott became used to their presence over time and became very intrigued by his now-consort's physical appearance. ("Thou'rt certain thy origins aren't... cosmic?" "...No more certain than you are. ❤️" "...That is not an answer.")

And then they dropped the bombshell of all bombshells: "I want to court you." ("What?" "I want to court you, Morgott." "Cease such nonsense." "It's a date then! 🌟" "....")

It wasn't even a true courtship. It was really just his... now-lover (?!!?!?!?) presenting him with a wedding band in the shape of... were those stars?!

So yes, Morgott is now married. Yes, he said yes. No, he doesn't care to elaborate. Yes, his consort is... different. But so was he. And they showed him the beauty of that every day.

And so if he had to choose between dealing with a foul Tarnished and their puny weapon, his wayward family, or his insanely curious spouse, he'd choose them every time...

#cutie 𝓠. #request fill. #morgott the omen king #elden ring #elden crack. #morgott universe. #or something like that lmao.

[kiliinstinct]

The Forbidden Woods

A Genshin Impact Au Pairing: Aether/Xiao Urban Fantasy and Supernatural Romance Find on A03: [Here] Special Thanks to @genavere: My beta. Unsure how I forgot to update this by two chapters, but expect chapter 5 to also drop soon because I posted 4 over a week ago on a03. Whoops. Chapter 3: / Chapter 5:

---

Chapter 4: He Who Lingers

Aether's first conscious thoughts were of a memory. Or something resembling  a memory, old and faded with time.

He had fought with Lumine over some small thing he  didn't recall. Nothing life or death except to a seven year old. They shouted and smacked, tackled each other into the dirt and wrestled through a pile of multi-colored leaves until Lumine called him something that came out as white noise.

It had hurt, whatever the name had been. Nasty and crude, but he couldn’t remember it.

Rather than attack his sister further, he sprang up from their tussle and ran. Fat tears pricking his eyes. He thought he recalled her shouting for him, but chose not to hear it. He rushed to the altar stone, ignored the makeshift chairs they had painstakingly put together and went further still.

He ran and ran, towards the forest line separated by a wooden fence he clambered over with tears obscuring his vision. When he landed on the other side, the world felt as if it had taken a plaintive shift that made Aether dizzy. 

Lumine’s shouting echoed mutely in the distance, and the skies above felt darker, casting everything to purple tones. He rubbed the tears from his eyes and hiccupped, still engulfed in emotion as he processed the world around him.

The woods were quiet; the sounds of his steps echoed as branches snapped beneath his feet. His thoughts of anger and hurt slowly bled away to nervous wonder as his fingers brushed along the leaves of a large fern. He inspected the moss covering the nearby flora, making careful note of the nearby tree covered in large thorns. 

One glance behind him showed the fence still there, paces away, and he nodded. While his heart threatened to beat out of his chest, determination filled him as he took another step, then one more. He shouldn't be here. He knew this, but where else could he go to be alone? Maybe Lumine would feel so bad she'd be in tears once he returned, begging his forgiveness. 

One more step passed those sharp trunks and he sucked in a watery breath, eyes still blurry from his earlier outburst. 

“You shouldn't be here,” A voice, not unlike his own, whispered in his ear and he jumped, a surprised yelp echoed through the quiet wilderness. 

When he tried to run, a hand smaller than his grabbed his wrist, holding it tight. He whirled around to face this stranger with an enraged, terrified shout-

“It's not safe,” the voice urged. 

-Only to meet the gaze of a boy his age, bearing down on him with the brightest, piercing gold eyes he’d ever seen. 

Aether's eyes shot open, the echoes of the dream-like memory fading as fast as they had hit. Bits and pieces of it faded away until all he could remember was the small fight with Lumine, running away and- he let out a pained sigh, feeling a headache behind his eyes. How long had it been since he'd thought about those old fights? Strange how he’d forgotten about them. Groaning, he rolled to the side in his small nest of blankets, gripping his head. 

He felt hungover. And though he hadn’t drank a single alcoholic beverage the night before, it was on the fast track to being the worst he’d ever suffered before. With mouth feeling dry and full of cotton, Aether whined as he shook the last vestiges of the dream off his shoulders, refusing to think on it further. 

Mechanically stretching his body until the sheets exposed his heated skin to the cool air, Aether shuddered and considered balling himself up to sleep a little longer. But another shiver ran down his spine at the thought, fearing more nameless memories coming to haunt him. Instead he reached for his phone to check what little notifications he could see, flinched at the brightness and quickly fought with the phone to lower its settings. After a few failed attempts, he cursed the demon bird for the umpteenth time and attempted to move on to Lumine’s messages. 

Instead, the image gallery from the night before swam into focus, blaring that photo back at him in full brightness. Surprised, the phone slipped from tired fingers and smacked against his face.

“Ow! Son of a-”

Egregious curses filled the house, signaling the official start of his day. 

After what felt like hours, he finally found him with a cup of coffee in hand, bags under his eyes, and a fierce stare at the phone which wounded him.  More specifically, the image that had haunted him since the day before. As much as he wanted to call Lumine, the urge remained paralyzed in the back of his mind, quietly festering as his headache persisted.

Yellow eyes glared at him: narrowed, angry, judging. He sipped his coffee and glared back, as if that alone would solve the mysteries popping up in every corner of his life recently. When nothing obviously happened, he sighed and covered the offended eyes with his finger.

It still didn't make him feel any better hiding them, but it allowed him to try and piece together the rest of the image without being distracted by the intense gaze behind the broken glass.

Squinting, he tried to differentiate between dead pixels and the image. A second later, his cheeks turned red as he realized the man was very naked, legs bent in the perfect position to censor the bits that would have sent Aether into an embarrassed coughing fit. It was odd how long it took him to realize it, as if it took every ounce of focus to translate what his retinas were viewing. 

He could have sworn there were clothes yesterday, but the sight of firm muscles and toned abs said otherwise, leaving Aether to quietly drool from the pixelated visual. The rest of the details were too grainy and glitched, making the man’s skin look off-colored in many places. And was that a tattoo on his shoulder? Not only there but along the hip bones and - He cleared his throat and forced his eyes back up the screen.

Lifting the phone to his face, nose practically pressed against the screen, he tried to visualize what he was missing. The hair was wild, unkempt and uneven, but the teal streaks practically glowed in the sunlight and the eyes-

Crap, when did he stop covering the face? The gaze was back and suddenly he felt exposed, dropping the phone back to the table in discomfort. What was wrong with him?

“It's just a photo,” he muttered in a vain attempt to console himself. “Nothing bad ever happened just looking at a photo. Even if there's a guy looking hotter than-” 

He paused, nose scrunching at his train of thought before quickly squashing it. “Anyway, what I should be focusing on is the fact that there was a guy here and I completely missed it because of a damn bird!”

Yes, that's how he decided to explain it. Obviously, someone was trespassing and he just miraculously hadn't noticed because of a cute bird that he couldn't even see in the image. It made no sense, but the alternative made even less. 

Because, if he didn't tell himself there was a strange hobo living in his backyard, that meant the bird wasn't a bird, and that was insane.

The throbbing in his temple reigned him back in as he slowly sipped his coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. Somehow, he'd forgotten to bring cream and sugar and was suffering the consequences. That, or Paimon had decided to play a prank on him.

Rubbing his eyes, Aether muttered quiet curses beneath his breath, wondering just what he'd done to feel this horrendous. He wasn't getting sick, was he? Vowing to dig through his bags for excedrin later, he turned his attention back to the phone, gnawing on his lip.

He was on the verge of a realization, that he knew. Even from a distance, the eyes were still intense, but the face shape, the wild, silky-looking hair and downturned lips, all of it was familiar. Like an old friend he hadn't seen in years, or an old dream he'd long forgotten. The feeling he knew this person kept his attention drawn to the rectangular surface far longer than he wanted to admit.

“...Who...are you?” The question fell into the air. 

He thought he heard a voice from his dreams calling back to him in answer. It echoed into his mind like a faded, distant memory.

‘It’s not safe. You have to leave.’

Where had he heard that before? 

A feeling of nausea flooded through him like a wave and he covered his mouth. Bile and stomach acid rose into the back of his mouth as he knocked the chair over in his haste to rush to the bathroom, practically choking on his own spit.  

He didn’t notice the gold eyes peering through the hall window, or the rustling of feathers as he ran past. 

Retching and coughing up what little contents he had in his stomach, Aether quivered over the toilet bowl. Thankful he made it in time, shifting to his knees, he rested his head against the outer porcelain. A conscious part of him was disgusted by the action, but his quaking, overheated muscles refused to move an inch. Another wave shot through his body and his eyes watered from the strain. 

He'd have to get more than headache medicine, he realized. When his stomach finally settled, enough time had passed for the sun to shine directly into the nearest window, heating his back as he shivered. 

Slowly, Aether found the strength to open his eyes again and was stunned to realize the migraine had ebbed away. Even the dizziness that had assaulted his senses since he woke was gone. 

Mumbling weakly, he quietly wished he'd let Lumine and Paimon come with him. Being alone in a large, empty house full of dead memories was eating away at him, and the lack of familiar support left him ungrounded. He missed their laughter, his twin's affectionate teasing and stubborn nature as she stayed by his side. Even Paimon's black hole of a stomach as she begged for a third breakfast.

He missed all of it, and the intensity of those feelings, coupled with his present confusion and sickness, broke through his calm exterior, leaving him sobbing on the floor. “...Why did I even come here?” 

Why didn't he let Lumine sign those papers the day they were asked to sell? Why was he adamant in seeing this forsaken place one last time? What could have been so important? Lumine and Paimon were his family, his little sister had never set foot in this place, being born long after they had left. 

Laying there, listless and exhausted, Aether considered returning early, the broken phone and mysterious image be damned. He could ask Draff to collect his new phone and ship it to him. He could arrange a flight and be back with his siblings in a matter of days. 

With those thoughts forming a quick plan in his mind, Aether finally managed to stand, legs wobbly as he balanced by the sink and quickly began to wash his face and teeth. He flushed the toilet–even gave it a quick scrub for good measure, and sighed, staring into the bathroom mirror with an empty gaze.

The nausea was gone, but the dull tremors of his migraine threatened to return. The person looking back at him barely recognizable and pathetic looking. 

Why was he so sick? No one he had met yesterday seemed ill, and nothing he ate seemed bad. “...I'll just ask Draff to drop me off some flu medicine.”

Now that he was thinking clearer, getting a plane ticket while sick was probably not the greatest plan. In fact, he could imagine the lecture Lumine would give him just for attempting it. 

No, as much as he missed his family, it was better to wait it out and leave when he wasn't a possible contagion to those around him. Deciding to fill his stomach with toast in hopes it would stay down, he left the bathroom and steeled himself to suffer through the rest of the day.

Entering the kitchen with weak stumbles, he stopped when he noticed something on the counter that hadn’t been there before.  Standing proud and alone was a blue pill bottle labeled for flu and day time colds.

When did-? 

He looked around for signs of anyone having gone through the house. The bolt was still on the door and the windows were sealed. Once he was satisfied no one else was in the house, Aether approached the counter and examined the bottle.

“...did I just forget I had this?” No, surely that wasn't right, but what other explanation was there? 

Instinct screamed to trust himself. Aether wasn’t crazy. Not for this. And who in their right mind would take suspicious medications they didn’t remember purchasing themselves? Under normal circumstances, he would have thrown the bottle out, but his mind circled back to the photo on his phone and realized he couldn’t call any of this normal. The bird. Draff’s ability to be oblivious to the strange things around them. The supposedly old Zhongli and Venti–the latter whom he’d yet to meet, and the weird sensations he’d had since approaching their home. 

While he would have chalked all this up to a tv show he’d binge watch back with Lumine and Paimon. The reality, however, was much harder to process and Aether struggled to accept the facts: this wasn’t his imagination. No matter the kind of media he’d once consumed, this was real. He wasn’t imagining any of it. That realization would have probably concerned most people, but Aether realized he hadn’t felt unsafe once. Whatever was out in the woods, he was safe, welcome even. A feeling he quietly admitted he hadn’t felt in a long time. Which is the exact thought that led to him popping two of the pills into his mouth and swallowing without another thought.

As he cleared his throat and returned to his coffee, he thought he heard a familiar warble of a bird, but when he turned to the sound, nothing was there. He wiped his mouth and peered out the window a little longer, eyes narrowed in thought. 

Maybe he really was crazy. 

Or…

Setting the thought aside, he returned to his sleep space with coffee in one hand and the phone in the other. The screen was dark, but he knew what would be looking straight at him the moment it lit up once more. That could also wait until later. Instead, he nestled himself in his blankets and waited for the pills to kick in…or worse. 

It would turn out, Aether was lucky. The worst case scenario failed to happen. In fact, the pill’s he’d taken worked better than he thought. When he next woke after a short rest, the nausea was nonexistent and the headache that once pounded behind his eyes was a distant memory. He stretched under his blankets and smiled, surprised his muscles weren’t sore from his earlier vomiting. 

It was prudent to not expect to be a hundred percent so soon, but Aether felt closer to normal than he had in days.

The busted phone in his hand shined with a blue light around the edges, signifying a notification and he was more than happy to examine it. He smiled as a video message from Paimon and Lumine popped up on the cracked screen. “Let’s see how well you see us with a busted phone, Aether!” Paimon shouted, voice so shrill it pierced his ears even through the machine, “You really are hopeless without us, huh?”

“You haven’t answered your phone or called us back,” Lumine followed behind Paimon, her golden hair a stark difference from their younger sister's platinum, but both of their eyes reflected the same amber as his own, despite the worry. 

“If it’s not too jacked up,” she said tersely, “can you call us back?”

“Yeah! We’re worried about you!”

How the sound of their voices put a song in his heart and lifted his spirits in an instant. It was almost enough to completely forget about the image still opened in the gallery. While the image played out across the screen, slightly chopped and glitched in parts, he smiled and studied their faces. He missed them dearly, but this seemed just enough to chase the looming loneliness from his mood. 

Just when he was about to return the missed call, he heard the same warble of a bird from earlier. It called his attention, pulling him to glance out his window towards the branches of the large oak in the front yard. He almost expected nothing to be there like before, but was surprised to find the demon bird itself peering back at him from the thinnest limb. It was as if the fowl was trying to press itself directly against the window as its head tilted to the side. Another chirp and Aether lifted up his phone in response and waved it with a raised brow. “I got it back, you lil’ gremlin,” he boasted, but was surprised when the bird merely hopped to the outer ledge and pecked the glass in a gentle rat-a-tat-tat, and cocked its head yet again. Aether got the strange impression it was waiting on something. Trying to discern the gaze of a bird, Aether looked around and spied the pill bottle he’d brought with him. It couldn’t be…could it? Logic would suggest that an animal wouldn’t understand the point in a bottle of medication, but after the last few days he’d had, he was starting to run with whatever wild conclusion popped into his mind. He set the phone down, replacing it with the bottle and held it up, stunned to see the bird’s head moving about as it followed the movement, eyes zeroed in on the object. He shook it to the left, then the right, marveling as his little terror kept it in its sights at all times. When he tossed it into the air, attempting to see if the bird would also jump, it squawked indignantly and puffed out its feathers, eliciting a sharp laugh from Aether. 

Too cute, he thought, feeling far less angry at the bird than he was the day before. How could he stay mad at something so adorable? “All right, I’ll stop making you dance. Are you checking in on me?”

How silly, he thought, of course it wasn’t. It’s a bird, Aether, he told himself, yet again, ignoring the quiet reminder towards the image suggesting otherwise. But if his instincts were correct, no matter how insane they might be, then he couldn’t resist testing the theory. “I’m feeling much better now…Thanks? I don’t know how it could have been you, but if it was, I appreciate the help.”

It was just an experiment. That’s all it was. That’s what Aether told himself. One to prove his logic correct once and for all. There was nothing truly weird happening. He didn’t receive medication from a bird and it certainly hadn’t defied physics to deliver it to him. 

The man in his phone was a hacker of some sorts and not the actual bird, and whatever happened at Zhongli’s was just social jitters. This bird didn’t know what he was saying, it probably didn’t even know he was talking to it to begin with. Now that he’d said his piece, the bird would continue not reacting, just as a real bird would and he’d chalk it up to delusions caused by stress. Yes. That was it. Mission a complete suc-

The bird bobbed its head and flapped its wings, brandishing the beautiful golden flight feathers that gleamed in the light. It twirled in its spot, like an actual dance and nodded its head before it took flight, leaving behind a shaking branch as the only sign it had been there in the first place. 

-failure. Mission failure. Aether stared, nonplussed at the window, jaw wide open as his mouth went dry. It looked as if the bird had celebrated the news. That’s exactly what that was, right? He wasn’t crazy? No. He was crazy. Had to be. “...what was in those pills?”

Fresh air, Aether decided, after staring at the window for a ridiculous amount of time, to pay attention to a bird that was no longer there. When he gathered his wits, he realized he must have been in the dusty old place for too long. It was messing with his brain. That had to explain it.

Making a mental note to google what connections there could be to dust and hallucinations later, he sprang from his makeshift bed and rushed himself out the back door. 

His intention was clear. A fresh clear breeze would be just what he needed to battle the old dust of the house and give him a better outlook on the situation. When he stepped out, a gentle wind rustled through his hair, brushing along his face in a gentle caress and the immediate change in temperature eased the tension in his shoulders. The old wood of the porch groaned at every step, but he ignored it. He had more pressing matters to attend to. 

Like the fact he had a perfect view of the stone altar along the border of his land, standing proud and clean and was not helping his train of thought.

Once upon a time, Aether believed in the concept of the unknown: Ghosts, Fairies, Magic and Demons. These weren't just stories to him or Lumine. In this backyard, all stories felt as if they could come alive at any moment. It made their home a wondrous place. And while that feeling of wonder had faded as they grew older, the two of them worked hard to keep that magical feeling alive in their little sister.

These memories, thoughts, and feelings, they warred with each other in his mind. Frivolous, childhood fantasies that were nothing more than a young boy's imagination–he thought he believed that, but now Aether wasn't so sure. 

He wondered if his sense of nostalgia was causing him to see the world differently, but the more he dismissed his experiences as a flight of fancy, the more it churned in his stomach like a sickness. Maybe there was still a part of him that wanted the magic of childhood to be more than silly memories.

There was no sight of the bird. A fact that filled Aether with quiet disappointment. He had hoped its nest was nearby, giving him more opportunities to observe it. Inhaling deeply, he sat on the steps of the decaying wooden porch and frowned. 

The fogginess that plagued his mind that morning was long gone, but he was no closer to escaping his muddied thoughts than he was before. Rather than continue to circle through each moment and consideration, he chose instead to lean against the rails, gazing between the runs as he enjoyed the evening air.

The sun was just starting its downward descent, a testament to the passage of time while Aether was lost in the clouds of his own mind. He shut his eyes, opened them again, and clenched them shut once more, as if expecting something to change with each blink. 

Nothing did. 

The backyard remained the same with the grass almost on the verge of being too high, the debris he cleared off still littered by the large oak, and the stone altar–a staunch difference from the modern world. 

He remembered asking why it was there once, but his Father had merely shrugged and stated it had been there long before they were and would still be there after they left. Now older, it was clearly a fancy way to say, 'I don't know,' but Aether had enjoyed the reasoning regardless.

It sounded...mystical back then. And even now, with the stories and myths echoing in his skull, it still felt beyond the world he knew beyond Springvale. 

Keeping his eyes closed for longer, he immersed himself in his senses. The wind was still gentle, a cool brush along the back of his neck in the late spring air while the scent of the nearby woods and wildflowers eased his nerves. Taking a deep breath, Aether basked and allowed himself to imagine the world as he did when younger.

While he knew the world would remain as it was, once he opened his eyes again, he enjoyed pretending it wouldn't. That there was truth in the old tales and that the stone altar was more than just an ancient relic of a culture long lost. It could be a place where birds, plants, and even the elements could appear more than they were. Where they could walk next to Aether just as any other person could.

It was a nice thought that was soon interrupted by the familiar, distant sound of flapping. 

Another bird? Aether wouldn't be surprised if a whole flock made their nests somewhere nearby, but the lone flapping was gone as fast as he heard it, followed by the crunching of undergrowth and twigs in the distance.

His eyes shot open, startled by the sound as if it occurred beside him, but his gaze trailed further off towards the treeline. The world remained the same, but his earlier consideration towards an intruder slammed back into him like a bag of bricks. Someone was out there. In the woods. They were close. He heard it loud and clear, Aether was certain. 

Not a bird. Not an animal. Human footsteps. 

Aether jumped to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness it caused as he held fast to the railing and leaned forward, eyes narrowed in earnest. 

“Who's out there?” he called fiercely, already planning his escape back into the house. And if that didn’t work? What other places would he hide? The options weighed heavily in his mind.

He had no weapons. If a hunter was poaching nearby, Aether was defenseless. He didn’t see the familiar orange vest of a hunter exploring through the thickets, nor did he see the silhouette of a gun or compound bow. In the past, these were the staple of all legal hunters in the area and the locals were good at following the hunting laws to the letter. Was it the same still? Aether squinted his eyes, attempting to see further into the wood.

Another step, quieter, and Aether realized everything was just as quiet. No birds sounded and the wind had stopped just as suddenly. As if the world had paused in an instant all around him and left him spying the tree line for anything.

Someone was there.

And finally, he saw them; Their yellow eyes pierced him through the distance. Just like the photo on his phone, the man that should have been a bird, stepped behind a collection of trees with only the hint of teal and black hair dispersing into the shadows. Aether felt his heart tighten as the air left his lungs.

He'd seen that before. Not in a photo or in the identical coloring of a bird dancing in the tree limbs, but from a dream that felt like a memory. He exhaled sharply, recalling the small boy that had once urged him to never enter the woods, and who often joined him and Lumine in their childhood games.

An imaginary friend, his Mom had called it, having never seen the boy for herself. Eventually, Aether had convinced himself the same, but the taller, older proof had slipped into the shadows of the darkwood as if he'd belonged there. 

Aether's mouth ran dry, his fingers shook. A bit of fear bled into excitement as he launched himself off the railing and dashed off towards the fence. His bare feet smarted when he tripped over a root and stepped on a twig, but he hastily moved onward, wincing briefly as his earlier dizziness sprang upon him like a tsunami. 

“Wait, wait-!” he called, desperately , eyes blurring once he'd slammed himself against the fencepost nearest the treeline. He glanced through every gap in the trees, desperately wanting to see what he was so sure he knew now. 

It couldn't be real, and yet it was. That was the man in the photo–who was also a bird, who swam in his memories as a quiet, gentle reminder from an old friend, to never step into the forest.

Recklessly, he climbed over the fence and grunted when another twig snapped beneath his feet. Logic no longer bound Aether in place as he looked for the safest path into the trees. He didn't know just how far he planned to go, only that the intense need to see the truth up close spurred him onward.

Three steps forward, however, and the world flipped on its head. Aether toppled to the earth with grass and leaves filling his mouth and tickling his nostrils. Coughing, he pushed himself up, body shaking as a wave of illness struck him just as hard that morning, as if it had never left.

“...s-shit!” He cursed, weakly looking onward as the world grew hazy. A strange fog swam into his vision, tinting the world around him as he struggled to sit up. 

Stupid. How could he have been so stupid!

'You can't come here,' the voice, Aether now recognized as an old, forgotten friend, whispered in his ears. 'Never again. Stay safe, alive and happy, far away from here- please.'

He thought he saw someone approach as his head hit the dirt, darkness covering his vision yet again. 

In this new dream, he felt strong arms lift him securely and carry him out of the woods, voice muttering words he could not understand quietly in his ear.

When Aether woke up, he was back in his room, body sore from head to toe, and stomach feeling inside out. A cool rag sat atop his head and a fresh glass of water sat on the nightstand beside him.

Right beside it, the mysterious medicine, sitting atop a long, golden feather.

#xiaother #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #xiao x aether #Xiao Genshin Impact #Aether Genshin Impact #fantasy #supernatural romance #gi fanfiction

[bigsnaff]

YOU CARRY THE VESTIGE OF GLINT

The last remaining power of Kralkatorrik's scion, endowed to you, Aurene's champion, that you might better defend her.

...So were the words of Glint when spoken to you from remnants of the past.

You feel the power pulse through you in rhythm with Aurene's own, both facets of one another. A lesson of the past and a hope for the future. You don't know where whose power ends and another begins.

Even your own strength, embedded into your heart as a Thorn and clutched in your right fist an unmatched fury, strung together to form a tool - or a weapon?

You are an amalgamation of echoes.

The Thorn whispers with the beat of your heart,

press on

press on

press on

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #my writing #my characters #cyna crystalclaw #gw2 fan submission

[thevioletscout]

"You're on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a vestige. You're here to slay her. If you don't, it will be the end of the world."

What happens when you're hyperfixating on Elder Scrolls Online (specifically your VestigexCanon ship) and Slay the Princess at the same time? Why you mash em together of course!

So yeah, long story short, I did some trace-overs of Slay the Princess screenshots with my character Lytta as The Princess. A lot of this was also just general practice because I'm trying to learn how to do actual art. (Fun fact, I had to go back halfway through this project and change the shading because I finally started shading like a normal person.)

(Tbh the Thorn's was the only one I actually bothered with the background on. The others were just kinda me being lazy.)

Maybe I'll post more about this silly little AU sometime or I'll never bring it up again. We'll see. Feel free to drop any questions you might have in my inbox.

Oh and OG pics

#If you're wondering why the dresses are so drastically different #do you guys have those OCs you love to dress up in as many different outfits as possible? #yeah that's Lytta for me #most of these dresses were based off pretty gowns I found on pinterest #oh and ten points to whoever can guess who's the MC in this AU #The Elder Scrolls #Elder Scrolls #TES #Elder Scrolls Online #ESO #Slay the Princess #OC #Vestige #Lytta Furor #my post #my art #<- preemptive tag for if I actually start doing and posting more original artwork

[ashen-silver]

Cathedral of Sacred Blood - Code Vein

A beautiful white cathedral stands at the end of a complex labyrinth. This hauntingly stunning maze is filled with dangerous teleporting lost. Only the truly determined will find their way past the many dead ends and cliffs. Along the way is a frenzied member of Cerberus, behind them lays a unique vestige cradled within a bed of thorns. The boss awaits within the cathedral and below a woman surrounded by a large blood spring.

While the Cathedral can be annoying to navigate this area is one of my favorites to look at, I find it utterly beautiful.

#code vein #code vein screenshot

[vestige-nan]

The Thorn in my Side, the Pebble in my Shoe: Ch 12

Summary: The main quest line in Mannimarco’s perspective, except that he falls chaotically in love with the vestige just as much as he chaotically hates them.

Fun stuff:  As always, vestige is gender neutral and physical features are not described.

The vestige waved at a bosmer working the vineyard, who gave a small confused wave back. "Are you sure you don't want to stop just for a quick wine tasting? I've heard good things about the vinery."

I pulled my lips up in a sneer. "If we stopped at every passing fancy you had, the war would finish before we reached Alinor."

The vestige's smile grew just a bit at my quip. "There's so much to do and see, can you blame me?"

"Yes."

The vestige laughed and it startled me. I supposed it was a good thing they seemed to like my thorny nature, because I couldn't pull myself to sweeten it even in deceit. "No time to enjoy things, only time for work then?"

My eye twitched, "I enjoy my work."

They hummed as they held their arms behind their back in a way that was both irritating and endearing (as were all things with the vestige), "How lucky for you."

I nearly laughed. Yes, it was quite "lucky" for me, thought quite "unlucky" for the denizens of Nirn.

"Tell me about your work." The vestige said.

"Wouldn't you like to guess?" I said, a smirk on my lips. "You seem the type to like such games."

The vestige's eyes sparkled and my non-beating heart froze, "Maybe so." The vestige tilted their head as they thought, holding their chin and humming. "You're obviously a mage."

"Obviously." I mocked their tone.

"But you're not in the mages guild," The vestige continued. "And you look way to fancy to be a contract mercenary, but not fancy enough to be a sapiarch."

"Ah, yes," I rolled my eyes. "The quantifiable scale of "fanciness". How astute."

The vestige wasn't hurt by my barb, to my disappointment. "Hmm... My guess is your undercover."

I faltered for only a fraction of a moment. How did I keep underestimating the vestige? I didn't let my expression shift, saying cooly, "And what's your reasoning for that?"

"The vagueness in your "business in Alinor". My guess is you might be some secret psijic or agent for the queen, or maybe you're apart of the dark brotherhood." They said with confidence, before their expression paled just slightly. "Uh, if you're apart of the dark brotherhood, you can pretend I never said anything."

I couldn't help the smirk on my face, "If I was undercover, don't you think it would be unwise to accuse me of it? What if I was meant to kill anyone who found me out?"

"I'm realizing that now. But!" They grinned, "I was just taking a guess. So if you are undercover, your cover technically isn't blown. And I'm great at keeping secrets."

I rolled my eyes again. This was the obstacle of Molag Bal, the hindrance of domination, and they're brashness was grating. "You are living in a fantasy."

They chuckled at my annoyance, which only made me more annoyed. They leaned closer to me and my mind was wiped blank. I didn't need to breathe, but it still felt like I was holding my breath. "Is there a place to stay on the way to Alinor?" They asked, innocently.

I couldn't move away from them even though I knew it would've been better to do so. "Rellenthil. We should reach it by nightfall."

"That soon?" They furrowed their brow just slightly, unaware of their presence, their heat so close—so close—to me. "Isn't that where the House of Reveries is?"

I tore my eyes from their neck. I hadn't realized I was staring at their neck, but fortunately they didn't either. I narrowed my eyes at them, certain where they were leading with this.

"We should see a show."

"Did you just ignore me when I spoke about your passing fancies?" I snapped.

They laughed. "We're already going to be in Rellenthil, it's not like we'd be wasting time."

"Nobles wait weeks to attend a show, and you believe they'll just let you attend without any notice?"

The vestige grinned and leaned in even closer to me, their warmth emanating from their skin. "I bet I could sneak in. I'm pretty sneaky." They teased.

Their expression was that of a conspirator. As if I was in on something secret. As if we shared a secret together. The thought threw my mind and heart into a frenzy, that they would give me something so hidden from the rest of the world. They didn't, they only shared a bit of fun, but the very fantasy of their secrets being mine pumped the venom that was my blood through my veins. I wanted every last one of them. I wanted no soul or being on Nirn, Oblivion, and Aetherius to know the vestige like how I did. I wanted to use a scalpel on their soul and extract the secrets the vestige refused to share with me. I wanted the vestige vulnerable with transparency in front of me.

This time, the vestige didn't miss my expression. Their eyes widened, but they didn't pull away. I was glad they didn't. If they had, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from grabbing them. Then, after my madness, my mind began to race. Were they repulsed by my hunger? Confused by it? Impressed by it? Did they gain further insight into me or were they enraptured with me? Did they recognize me? With all of my years in imperial politics, the vestige's true thoughts were hidden from me, and the fact that they were hidden from me filled be with an undeniable rage. Rage that I swallowed.

"I have no interest in attending such frivolity." Somehow, in an act with the strength of a deity, I was the one to pull away. My voice didn't sound like my own.

"I..." The vestige reluctantly pulled away as well, eyes still trained on me. Their attention soothed my anger just slightly. "..."

They were at a loss for words. Because of calculation? Fear? Longing? Confusion? I wanted to strangle the truth out of them. Instead, I just snapped at them, "You what?"

"I don't mind seeing the show alone, but you'll be missed." They smiled, and it was as if I hadn't stared at them as if I wanted to eat them alive. For some reason, I found myself growing annoyed that they moved on so quickly. It was better for me, but it left me uneasy. Were they going to try to escape from me the first chance they could? Or had they thought they just imagined it? Or perhaps they hadn't thought anything of it at all? I felt I was going mad. "But do you want to get dinner together?"

What? "What?" What?

"I don't know the cuisine here very well, so you'll have to decide what we get." They said, and I didn't trust them for a moment. "I imagine the seafood here must be divine."

"I didn't say yes." Were they going to attempt to poison my food? It wouldn't work, I was dead, but I would still be offended by the action.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." They said simply, and I was frustrated they didn't push harder. Weren't they at least going to ask again?

"Well, I didn't say no either." I sneered through gritted teeth.

They're grin widened, and I hated them so much.

#tes #the elder scrolls #eso #elder scrolls online #mannimarco #mannimarco x vestige #vestige #the thorn in my side the pebble in my shoe

[aria-ashryver]

Scents in Starlight

ive noticed this super helpful list of scents for writers popping up on my feed a lot today and it got me curious about what specific scents I have mentioned so far in my SICSIG descriptions, and whether i was making good use of scent in my scenes to create a sense of atmosphere.

Turns out I have mentioned at least 80 different scents so far, so uhh,, i'd say im doin alright on that front!

Here's a few favs ✨✨✨

The trio's individual scents

Gabriel (Cas's POV)

Golden Boy always smelled like chamomile. Chamomile and licorice and vanilla ice cream with a hint of bourbon. Sweet, but not too sweet. It was a scent so delicately fragrant that every time Cas smelled it, it made him want to punch something. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a cologne or anything — Golden Boy just smelled like that. Not that Cas spent an inordinate amount of time sniffing Adalhard, or anything.

Luca (Cas's POV)

Cas couldn’t say he’d never thought about it. Some days he’d catch a hint of Luca’s scent, the cinnamon-caramel-brandy-laced heat of their skin making him think of baked goods and decadent desserts. It was only natural for some instinctive part of him to perk up and wonder if Luca’s blood would taste as rich and sweet as they smelled.

Cas (Gabriel's POV)

Gabriel was standing in the circle Cas Harlow’s arms, his chest solid and warm against his back. This close, he could smell the vestiges of Cas’s cologne clinging to his skin.

Bright mandarin, woody cedar, the earthy spice of patchouli mixed with notes of leather.

Cassius permanent-thorn-in-his-side Harlow had no business smelling that good!

A few descriptions I like!

The rain had stopped in the time that he’d been gone; the world smelled of wet pavement and gasoline, and the air outside had a thin kind of quality to it. An empty, sucking thing. Grey. The pause before an intake of breath.

--

Flakes of off-white paint speckled their fingers as they climbed, the smells of rust and tractor oil comforting to Cas in an odd kind of way.

--

When Gabriel arrived at Luca’s house after a tiresome first day back at school, it was to be met with the homely smells of sugar and vanilla wafting through the air. He breathed it in deep, something nostalgic tugging at his heart.

--

The earthy smells of bursting pollen and damp moss lifted underfoot with each step of his heavy boots. A finch took off from the treetops, snapping a twig as it went.

--

Cas had smelled of melancholy when he’d arrived at the coven meeting last night. Of the hoppy, frothy tang of cheap beer and spray paint.

--

He’d dreamed of them last night. Memories so clear he could all but smell the paint thinner as his sister Michaela rinsed out her paintbrushes at the kitchen sink, her easel set up in the sunny bay window where their grandmother liked to read the mail.

--

Notes of bourbon clung in the air, cloying and sweet; then there was the saltier, muskier smell of sweat and leather; older scents of gasoline, concrete, and dust; smoky, electrical heat from the dim hanging lights; the bright florals of Val’s perfume cut through with notes of coffee where she stood next to him; and there, on Luca’s other side, a wild, masculine, mouth-watering scent that could only be Cas.

I'm certain I've missed several, but here's what I've described so far in Starlight!

Green / Natural

Damp earth

Pollen

Moss

Mud

Wet bark

Rain

Smoke

Cedar

Juniper resin

Pine sap

Fruit / Vegetables

Mandarin

(apparently I don't describe the scent of fruit much)

(which is criminal, bc my fav scent in the world is nectarines)

Florals / Herbs / Spices

Orchids

Lilies

Lavender

Patchouli

Cinnamon

Turmeric

Paprika

Saffron

Star anise

Fennel

Parsley

Garlic

Parmesan

Urban / Industrial

Blood (death / copper / iron - its a vampire fic, there are a lot of iterations of this one lol)

Skin

Sweat

Antiseptic

Lemon dishwashing liquid

Cold night air

Smoke

Gasoline

Leather

Diesel fumes

Wet pavement

Warm rubber

Dust

Paint thinner

Hot, old electronics

Concrete

Candle smoke

Bubblegum scented gel markers

Shampoo

Nail polish

Moisturiser

Mist of a freshly-used shower

Floral perfume

Musky cologne

Damp carpet (post-flooding)

Pine-based cleaning products

Plastic

Cotton sheets

Spray paint

Rust

Tractor oil

Cheap beer

Weed

Bong water

Food

Coffee

Freshly-baked brownies

Burnt toast

Vanilla extract

Baking cupcakes

Sugar-scented air

Caramel

Churros

Brandy

Bourbon

Chamomile

Vanilla ice cream

Licorice

Beef stew

Black pepper

Bacon

Pancakes

Sourdough pizza

This list was so fun to put together! And it just makes me want to describe scent even more; its so very evocative in establishing mood and making scenes feel more immersive.

#And to think #i was sure this list would mostly be baking lmao #im actually quite proud of how extensive this is! #SICSIG #writing tools

[six-improbable-things]

I've been homebrewing SO MANY THINGS lately. Here's the current list of stuff I've made in the past week:

Ring of Greater Protection (general use)

Bracelet of Thorns (made for my thorn-themed melee ranger concept)

Abyssal Grimoire (made for the wizard in my Saturday party.)

Full Moon Shotgun + Magma Drake Shotgun (two items made for the gunslinger in my Saturday party.)

And also some 3-tier scaling magic items based on the structure for the Vestiges from EGW and TCSR.

Caia's Thorn (rapier, made for the same thorn-themed melee ranger as above)

Fyren's Quarry (longbow, made for a gloomstalker ranger.)

Moriata (pepperbox/revolver, made for a gunslinger who also has one or two levels in warlock.)

#some day I will post all the homebrew things I've made. #I'd love to share them and let other people use them. #Since I'll never use most of these myself. #morrigan.text #dnd #morrigan plays dnd #dnd homebrew #homebrew magic items #I wish I had the skills to make pretty item cards like some amazing artists on here do. #cause I have some very clear visions of what some of these items look like. #but I am unfortunately broke as shit #and I can't afford to commission someone for all these item designs. #maybe someday I'll partner with an artist and make some homebrew cards. #that would be the dream tbh.

[sleepysigh]

On the Air

I recall disembarking

The last train I'd ever take from London

Snatching newspapers for my nest

From the rows of empty seats

A convenience, a kind gesture

Uncomprehended

Just another confused pigeon

Who wandered in from off the street

You took me home,

I think about it now and then

Fed me pork belly and halloumi

Doubt I'll ever have it again

Snuffling through your kebab boxes

In the morning, by the bins

Just another fox who managed to sneak in

And isn't it your home

Here where I am home, I thought,

How has it sprung up around me,

How did this place come to my feet

And when I go,

Will it be as some visitation

Some strange happening, some vestige

Near forgotten, bittersweet

In the night when I couldn't help myself

I lay snoring in my sleep

Just another man

Who didn't know who he was

And you woke in the teeth of a dream

You looked down at me, screaming,

Striking at my face,

Seeing a nest of worms beside you

And I, ever faithful to a bit

Writhed in surprise

cried for you

When I fled back where I came from

I chattered at your window

My voice so shrill and cracking

Another bastard squirrel

Revealed at last, cornered,

Afraid and attacking

Where I have been

I know I left a wreck,

Or maybe just a bit of mess to sweep away

The path of least resistance

Was not the path of none

But I am a creature, come to see you,

Who neither lost nor won

But battered myself at an open door

And in my panic

bit you to the bone

~

Now in some stranger's driveway

I think of three pound cider

And shame myself,

That drink is all I think to miss

But in truth it's just the safety catch

And unlatched, I remember

Walking tipsy on the pathway

With my arm around your waist

Swaying, up above me,

Like a flagpole where I clung

Hoping to be raised,

You lowered to me for a kiss

How I regret, my darkling lover,

The errors that I held to

Never admitting to you

I was more than I could give

And what you gave me, if you miss it

I hope the hole healed smoothly

Inside me still are jagged edges

For me to cut myself against

But it's an old snare

I have grown around it now

It bites me to the quick,

I don't resent it

Didn't I capture myself in it,

Glad of it, with every squirming gasp?

But when I think of you breathing

Upstairs somewhere, typing,

I hope the line I tied around you

Turned loose so long ago

Or never kept you fettered in its grasp.

It's an unkindness to one of us,

I don't know who,

To hope I fade like insects

In the winter

But all I thought to give,

I gave you as a pest

My famine love,

my trash woven nest,

The clumsy beats of this heart I told myself

Bled only on your thorns

and not my own.

You are a place now where home lived

Breathed around me as I was,

Scraping at my chrysalis with claws of molten bone

I do not miss you;

as you are now

I doubt I will ever know,

But who you were, I wear,

Tagged as a wild raptor,

Everywhere I go.

#poem #poetry #writing #creative writing #over ten years since I met you #but not since I spoke to you last

[darkhearthorns]

Maverick's Past || Drabble

Once upon a time, two kingdoms existed, each residing in entirely different realms. The Moorlands, a land abundant with enchanting creatures and the home of Maleficent, a solitary Fae of dragon-blood lineage, provided her with a peaceful childhood. The Moorlands boasted lush forests adorned with vibrant flowers, meandering rivers, majestic lakes, and towering mountains. Though similar to Earth, it was a realm where peculiar yet endearing flora and fauna thrived. In this magical land, beings from different species could understand one another, fostering harmony and unity. The border between the Moorlands and King Stefan's Castle was marked by statues, standing tall outside the forest, but not significantly far from each other. Stefan, who had frequented the forest since childhood, developed a close friendship with Maleficent, unaware that she was destined to become the Queen of the Moorlands. The border between their kingdoms was merely delineated by shrubbery, which the creatures respected but could cross if they so desired. Stefan's absence during his adventures remained a mystery to others, even though his escapades spanned years.

One night, Maleficent invited Stefan to a grand Fae party, an event of great importance to her, as she believed she was in love with him. Hoping to solidify their bond, she planned to offer him a Promise Rose, a sacred symbol of unity between their kingdoms. However, the following morning, Stefan left behind a note, revealing that he was engaged to another princess due to a prearranged betrothal. The queen's heart shattered, but she immersed herself in her coronation ceremony, believing she could rule the Moorlands without a consort.

Maleficent hoped that would be the end of their story, but Stefan's visits persisted, albeit bearing a different aura. He appeared sullen and quieter than usual, piquing the queen's curiosity. He brought a drink, claiming it was a gift for the new queen and a token of their old friendship. In a vulnerable moment, he confessed that he had never forgotten her and desired to spend one more night together, cherishing it as a fond memory. Lured by the prospect of closure, Maleficent agreed.

Unbeknownst to her, Stefan harbored ulterior motives. Influenced by the ruthless King Henry, his father-in-law, he became corrupted by the allure of power that awaited them if they opened the doors to the Moorlands fully. Possessing extensive knowledge about the realm, he shared everything he knew and became convinced that they needed to bring down the most powerful being in the Moorlands—Maleficent herself.

Tragically, the Moors faced an imminent threat from an invading army led by King Henry. Maleficent, now the land's fiercest protector, suffered betrayal and the loss of her wings. Determined to safeguard her kingdom, she embraced her role as the Queen of the Moors and veiled the Forest Kingdom from the outside world, encircling it with a formidable wall of giant thorns.

Despite the challenging circumstances, Maleficent soon discovered that she was with child, a shocking revelation as she believed it was impossible. The impending arrival of her son, Maverick, further intensified her protective instincts, fearing that Stefan might harm his own child. Raising Maverick alongside her loyal shape-shifting raven aide, Diaval, she imparted knowledge of incantations and their dragon blood heritage.

On Maverick's eighth birthday, the impenetrable wall of thorns was breached by the relentless machinery of King Henry's forces. Maleficent, assuming her dragon form, fought valiantly but was eventually subdued and imprisoned in an iron cage, enduring unspeakable torture until her tragic demise. With her last vestiges of magic, she sent a message to the dragon army, beseeching them to protect the cherished land. The army valiantly fought to strengthen the thorn wall, further dividing the kingdom.

Ever since that fateful day, Maverick grew up as the prince of the Moorlands, with Diaval serving as his guardian and mentor, imparting all he knew. Maverick grew to believe that all humans were evil, distancing himself from them until he reached the age of 24. It was then that he learned the truth about his father and set out on a path of vengeance.

Thus, the tale of Maverick, the Prince of the Moorlands, began, as he embarked on a journey to avenge his mother's tragic fate and protect the realm she cherished.

#maverick; about #lore tales and memories;;