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gamecrag · 9 months

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Boarding Patrol armies are those that focus on deploying small squads of troops onto enemy ships in order to capture them or destroy vital systems within them. These armies tend to be highly mobile, with lots of special rules that allow you to move around quickly and strike hard from unexpected angles. 10) Ultramarines Model contents: – 1x Captain in Gravis Armour – 5x Heavy Intercessors – 10x Assault Intercessors The Ultramarines are one of the oldest and most well-respected Space Marine Chapters. They were founded by Roboute Guilliman, who is often referred to as "the Emperor's right hand." Their specialty is boarding actions, which makes them great for taking down enemy ships in space battles. The Ultramarines have access to some unique equipment that other armies don't have: The Master of Signal - This model allows you to reroll failed Reserve rolls for units arriving from deep strike or outflanking (aka moving across the board). It also gives any unit within 6" +1 LD! This guy is a must if you're going with an Ultramarines army because he can help ensure that your units arrive where they need to go when it matters most--on their enemies' doorstep! The Honour Guard - These guys come equipped with power swords and storm bolters but also have 2 wounds each and Feel No Pain 5+. This means they're pretty tough compared with other characters in 40k games; however, they do cost around 200 points per model so make sure not only that this unit survives but also performs well enough on its own merits before adding more expensive models such as Terminators into your list! 9) Agents of the Imperium Model contents: - 1x Assassino Eversor - 10x Elucidian Starstriders - 20x Imperial Navy Breachers with 2x CAT Units and 2x Gheistskulls If you are a fan of the Warhammer 40K universe and are interested in playing with these secretive operatives, buying miniatures for the Agents of the Imperium can be a lot of fun. These operatives are known for their unique abilities and playstyles, and can add a lot of variety to your army. For example, the Inquisitors are powerful psykers with access to a range of psychic powers, while the Assassins are deadly melee combatants with a range of special abilities. Additionally, painting and customizing the miniatures can be a fun and rewarding experience. Warhammer 40K miniatures are highly detailed, and many hobbyists enjoy spending time painting and customizing them to make them unique. This can be a great way to showcase your creativity and artistic talent. 8) Tau Empire Model contents: - 1x Commander Farsight - 3x XV8 Crisis Battlesuits, which can alternatively be built as Crisis Bodyguards - 10x Fire Warriors, which can be built as either a Strike Team or a Breacher Team, plus 1x Support Turret - 8x Tactical Drones The Tau Empire Boarding Party Box's focus on mobile and heavily armored infantry makes it an excellent choice for players looking to take on the Boarding Action missions detailed in the Arks of Omen series. The box includes a new plastic model of the legendary Commander Farsight, who is a popular character in the T'au Empire lore. 7) Grey Knights Model contents: – 1x Castellan Crowe – 5x Grey Knights Terminators, which can alternatively be built as Paladins – 10x Grey Knights, which can be alternatively be built as Interceptors, Purifiers, or Purgators Overall, the Grey Knights boarding patrol box is a great way to start collecting this iconic Warhammer 40k army. It includes a good mix of models and gives you everything you need to start playing, including rules, background information, and reference materials. Whether you're a new player or a seasoned veteran, this set is a great value and a great addition to any Warhammer 40k collection. 6) Leagues of Votann Model contents: - 1x Einhyr Champion - 5x Cthonian Beserks - 5x Einhyr Hearthguard - 10x Hearthkyn Warriors

Clad in bulky exo-armour with a rune-etched RAM shield and Autoch-pattern combi-bolter, the Einhyr Champion leads the charge with impunity. Alongside him are five elite Einhyr Hearthguard, plus a squad of Cthonian Beserks, brandishing powerful mining tools that double as weapons of war, and ten Hearthkyn Warriors armed with a variety of powerful hulk-scouring wargear. 5) Aeldari Model contents: – 1x Jain Zar – 5x Howling Banshees, with 1x Banshee shrine icon marker – 20x Corsair Voidscarred, which can alternatively be built as Corsair Voidreavers The models in this box are compatible with other Aeldari armies, including the Harlequins. This allows players to expand their army with ease and adds further versatility and strategy to gameplay. The Aeldari can be played in a variety of ways, including as a fast and mobile army, a psychic-focused army, or a balanced army with a mix of units. This allows players to tailor their army to their preferred playstyle and strategy. The Aeldari Boarding Party box makes a great gift for Warhammer 40k players, whether they are new to the game or experienced veterans. It offers a flexible and competitive force of Aeldari warriors, unique units, great value for money, and a fun and challenging gameplay experience. 4) Chaos Space Marines Model contents: – 1x Abaddon the Despoiler – 10x Chaos Space Marine Legionaries – 20x Chaos Cultists, armed with brutal assault weapons and autopistols The Chaos Space Marines have unique rules that set them apart from other armies in the game. They have access to powerful psychic abilities and special weapons, as well as the ability to summon daemons onto the battlefield. One of their key features is their unique faction abilities that allow them to manipulate the battlefield in various ways. These abilities include the ability to corrupt objectives and summon daemons to the battlefield. Such an awesome box sells out quickly, making it highly collectible. It is a great addition to any collection and a must-have for fans of the Chaos Space Marines. 3) Adeptus Mechanicus Model contents: - 1x Tech-Priest Dominus - 3x Kataphron Destroyers, which can alternatively be built as Kataphron Breachers - 5x Sicarian Infiltrators, which can alternatively be built as Sicarian Ruststalkers - 10x Skitarii Vanguard, which can alternatively be built as Skitarii Rangers The Skitarii are elite troops of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the Boarding Party box includes 10 of them. These troops can be built as Rangers or Vanguard, which means players can customize their army based on their preferred playstyle. The Boarding Party box also includes three Kataphrons, which can be built as Destroyers or Breachers. These machines are heavily armed and armored, making them formidable opponents on the battlefield. The Adeptus Mechanicus army is known for being both fun and challenging to play. The mix of Skitarii troops and Kataphron machines offers a great deal of strategic depth and variety, making each game a unique and enjoyable experience. 2) Death Guard Model contents: - 1x Lord of Virulence - 3x Deathshroud Bodyguard - 10x Plague Marines The models in the Death Guard Boarding Patrol Box are highly competitive and can be used in various game formats. Players can use them in casual games, tournaments, or even in narrative campaigns. The Death Guard models have a rich backstory and lore that adds depth and character to the army. The Nurgle-themed models are a unique and interesting addition to the game, making them a popular choice among players. The models in this box are designed to be easy to paint, with plenty of tutorials available online to help players achieve great results. Even beginner painters can create a stunning army with the right tools and techniques. 1) Necrons Model contents: – 3x Ophydian Destroyers – 1x Canoptek Plasmacyte – 10x Necron Warriors – 3x Canoptek Scarab S

warms – 10x Lychguard, which can alternatively be built as Triarch Praetorians The Necron Boarding Patrol Box is an excellent choice for Warhammer 40,000 players who want to expand their Necron army. Here are a few reasons why it's the best to buy: In terms of cost-effectiveness, the Necrons box has the perfect balance of money saving and army power. The models in the box can be used in a variety of ways. For example, the Necron Warriors can be used as a core infantry unit, while the Immortals are excellent ranged attackers. The Cryptek can also provide valuable support to your army. Easy to build and easy to paint, making them perfect for beginners or those who are new to the hobby. Perfect for beginners who want to get a solid headstart in the game. It's an excellent starting point for players who want to build a Necron force or add to an existing army. Overall, the Necron Boarding Patrol Box offers excellent value for money and is a great way to expand your Necron army.

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sometimesiwrite · 3 years

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Steady As She Goes

Part 1

Fandom: The Witcher

Characters: Essi Daven/Lambert

Summary: Lambert begrudgingly insists on escorting Essi through Velen on her way to Novigrad. On their three days' journey, an unexpected bond is formed as the unlikely traveling companions encounter one another in new light. But will they get through unscathed?

Warnings: Lambert-typical language; pragmatic killing of a small animal (not a pet, for food); sexual assault (groping, not Lambert); reference to gore, head trauma; lethal self-defence; shock/trauma response, adrenaline crash; cliffhanger

A/N: A little while ago, I wrote a little letter to Lambert (you can read it here if you’re so inclined—mind the TW). I wanted to thank him, but more importantly, I wanted to offer him a place in my heart and my brain along with his brothers. This story started from a small prompt and has since turned into a 12+k proper-ass Story. This is part 1. Please join me in joyfully welcoming Lambert to the ranks with a wordcount he deserves with a character who has also become very dear to me.

MASTERLIST

@morethangeraskier

Essi eyed the back of her travelling companion with curiosity as they rode North toward Crow’s Perch: the tight swing of his hips still keeping tempo with his horse’s cadence; the sharp alertness at the nape of his neck as his eyes scanned their surroundings; the subtle forward tuck of his shoulders; and every muscle in his body fine-tuned and ready for action in the blink of an eye. Even his silence seemed to radiate a low buzz that tingled the air around him and made Essi wonder how many thoughts and calculations were crammed inside his head at once. She’d found it charming rather than off-putting how irritatedly he’d suggested accompanying her through Velen. There was a genuineness about his prickly outward demeanor—she felt like a detail worthy of practical consideration rather than a damsel on the road and she appreciated it. Better than most alternatives.

The fact was, Lambert had insisted. Not because she was attractive (yeah, yeah, big blue eyes, blonde hair, yadda-yadda, who cares), not because she seemed helpless (there was something keen behind those big blue eyes, and he’d known better than to ignore it), but because it seemed like the right thing to do. She’d explained she was an experienced traveller, knew the roads well, had good relationships with the innkeepers along the way. She would be fine, and didn’t want to take him out of his way.

“Sorry. Not happening. I’m coming with you.” Why? “Bandits.”

He would know. He’d spent the last few days doing nothing but clearing out Nekker nests and trashing bandit camps all over Velen, and the last thing he needed was the innocent blood of some wide-eyed woman-bard on his hands. “Back to fucking Novigrad,” he’d grumbled, turning his horse back North. He sighed heavily and waited for Essi to catch up, “Fuck me, I need a drink—alright, stay close on my tail for the next little while. We’re taking a shortcut.” As they rode, Lambert gave his new companion a rundown of “ The Rules”.

“No chit-chat, I’ve gotta keep focused, plus I don’t like excess noise. If I say ‘duck’ you duck. And I mean get the fuck down and stay silent. If I say run, run and don’t look back. I’ll find you later. Do your best not to panic or freeze up on me, I need you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say.”

Essi nodded earnestly beside him, her big blue eye fixed on his lips, taking in every word. He wasn’t used to actually being listened to. It was nice. A little off-putting the way she stared, but it was... nice.

On that topic, “One last thing,” he said, turning away to watch the road and check their sides, “Don’t get any ideas. I’m only doing this because no one deserves to die at the hands of heartless assholes except other heartless assholes. I am not Prince Charming, I am not a knight in shining armour, and I absolutely have no intentions of sweeping anyone off their feet. Capisce, bard?”

Essi smiled elusively, turning her own eyes back to the road. “Good. I’m no princess or damsel, and I’m hardly looking to be swept off my feet. As far as I’m concerned, we’re merely travelling in the same direction at the same pace.”

An agreeable grunt from Lambert signalled the end of the conversation and the beginning of “quiet time” which Essi did her best to honour. It was difficult at first. The poet was accustomed to conversation with strangers she met on the road—where they were headed, where they were coming from, how their journey had been. But Lambert was a witcher. Her usual litany of questions were either already answered or were none of her business to be asking in the first place. She was more or less quite content to travel in silence on an average day. But this was not an average day and her mind was bursting with curiosity, which made for a restless start to their journey.

“What’s your horse’s name?” Essi finally asked as they stopped briefly at a stream for water. She decided it was an innocent enough question with a short enough answer to risk breaking the rules.

Lambert gave her a disapproving look, a scolding reminder about ‘no chit-chat’ perched on the tip of his tongue. To her credit, she'd surpassed Lambert’s expectations for what he’d learned to expect from bards in the category of Not Talking. She’d only hummed a little and only then when she was lost in thought, large blue eye staring into the distance. She was an odd one, this woman, with her deep eyes that blinked too slowly sometimes. But his medallion was still and he didn’t have that gut feeling that usually told him when something was off. It was a harmless enough question, anyway…

“Royal,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Never met a noble that wasn’t a horse’s ass.”

Essi let out snicker, flashing her pearly teeth with an open grin. He was abrasive, sure, this witcher, but he was quickly proving himself to be animated and clever. She also believed him to be kind, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise. Whether or not Essi would earn a glimpse of his full capacity remained to be seen, but regardless she found his particular brand of panache refreshing.

"Yours?" he asked with a nod back at the small Icelandic gelding currently occupied with nibbling at some honeysuckle.

"Ginger," Essi replied, kneeling to take her turn at the stream, refilling her waterskin and drinking from her cupped hands. She stared at her saddlebag. “Wait here,” she said, striding to her horse and extracting a bundle of fabric.

“Whoa, hey, where’re you going?”

“It’s alright, I’ll only be a minute,” she assured him as she headed for a thicket.

“Nuh-uh, can’t let you just wander off and get yourself killed before we even reach the first signpost. What’s the plan, Goldilocks?”

“I’m just…”

“Just…?” Lambert gestured impatiently.

Essi squared her shoulders to him, “Going to change my dress. It’s too hot, and I would like to feel Just Right.”

Her sharp-witted comeback earned her a raised eyebrow. It was rather warm, the witcher had to admit. Early summer’s heat glared down with the midday sun, tempered only by an occasional cool breeze from the West. Lambert himself had pulled off his gauntlets, opened his jerkin, and tied a damp kerchief around his neck—witchers were less susceptible to heat stroke or hypothermia, but they were no less vulnerable to discomfort. It was only fair to allot his companion the same opportunity.

Lambert did a quick sweep of the area. Looks fine, sounds fine, smells fine… “Fine. Three minutes.”

He stood guard in front of the only gap in the dense bushes and waited for the sounds of rustling fabric to subside. After two and a half minutes, Essi emerged, hitching up her linen sleeves. She returned her former dress to her saddlebag and extracted two slender, ornately-carved whale bone sticks which she used to scoop her long, thick hair off the back of her neck and secure it in a twist.

Essi squatted back down beside the little brook and let the cool water trace over the tender undersides of her wrists, cooling her veins and refreshing her as the breeze fluttered the light fabric against her skin. Much better, she thought, glancing up at Lambert. This new garment was more loosely-fitting, he noticed, save for the cinch that tied around her waist.

She looked nice—comfortable. She looked comfortable. The dress looked comfortable.

Essi smiled up at Lambert as she stood, pressing her damp hands to the sides of her neck and ooooh it felt nice. She thought she caught the smallest hint of a smile as the breeze wafted a bit of honeysuckle their way. He still looked tired, but he seemed lighter. Something new had come into his rugged, sun-tanned face. Boyish, maybe?

“Better?” Lambert asked. He barely waited for her to answer before he continued, “Let’s get moving, I want to make tracks before we lose our light.” Essi mounted without protest and they were on their way again, quietly riding single-file until they reached an acceptable spot to settle down for the night. Lambert left the travelling poet to make camp while he hunted for some dinner. Essi went about setting things up. She dug a small fire pit with a trowel she kept on hand, gathered kindling, and stacked it neatly to the side where it could be easily reached. Finally, she dragged two logs from the underbrush and placed them on either side of the small hole. It was, perhaps, a little domestic, but the witcher still seemed tired, and he was going out of his way to give her a safe escort through dangerous territory. She’d wondered earlier about offering him some coin for his trouble, especially seeing as he was doubling back and wouldn’t have any opportunity for new contracts. Then again, she’d thought, perhaps that might insult him, make him feel like a hired bodyguard. In the end, the very least she could do was help make the experience a little nicer. She could ask about payment when they arrived in Novigrad.

A loud whistle caught Essi’s attention and she turned to find Lambert approaching with what looked like a squirming ball of fur. Upon closer inspection, it was a rather fat grey squirrel. “Dinner,” Lambert announced, looking pleased with himself. He held the creature toward her, “Care to do the honours?” He waggled his eyebrows facetiously. The witcher had always prided himself on his capacity to read people, to pick up on the little things that others might miss, second-guess, or excuse away. So far, after nearly five hours on the road with Essi Daven, Lambert still couldn’t get a clear read on her, and he decided (for whatever reason) the quickest way was to hand her a small animal.

Essi looked down at the wriggling creature cupped in Lambert’s hand, her eyes devoid of any specific expression. The poet could have been feeling anything: shock and horror, stony rage, remorse, awe… casual hesitation. In fact, the only feeling that wasn’t in the running was glee, and while Lambert hadn’t expected it in the first place, it was still a relief to know he wasn’t sharing his camp with a psychopath. But what was she going to do with it, this wide-eyed, innocent-faced, prim young traveler? Probably some tree-hugger shit like let it go.

Essi lowered her eyes to the wriggling rodent. It had been a while since she’d had to procure a live meal. She could have declined, easily, graciously, and her witcher companion would probably have shrugged and thought ‘no surprise there’. But she knew a schoolboy’s smart-assery when she saw it—the audacious victory behind his bright citrine eyes told her everything she needed to know about what he was expecting from this brief-but-loaded exchange. A shriek, a gasp in horror, perhaps a distressed stomp of her feet and fitful shake of her gilded head?

Essi reached a slow, dainty hand towards the squirrel, enveloping the soft, furry body as Lambert mentally prepared himself to go set another snare. There was no way this bard would ever be the type to—

Crunch.

—Lambert’s face went slack as the now-very-limp squirrel was handed back to him.

“I wouldn’t’ve thought a witcher would be so squeamish,” Essi remarked, casually wiping her hands on her skirt. Lambert said nothing but stared at her with a look of defeated befuddlement. She fired again, her sweet, melodic voice dripping with offhanded superiority, “Was that all? Or do you need me to clean it, too?” She blinked blankly once again as Lambert gaped, even less sure what to make of the young woman who had just snapped a rodent’s neck.

“No,” he answered petulantly. “I can do it.” He pulled his buck knife from its sheath on his thigh and went about his business. He was quiet and brief with her for the rest of the evening, and she was beginning to feel her own irritation mount. She had half a mind to bite back the next time he snapped at her for asking a simple question. Though, she admitted, he didn’t seem the type to back down easily. If she prodded at him, he might decide to leave her, and they were on a different route, completely unfamiliar to her. She’d be as good bear food without his directions.

No, she decided, it was best not to go digging and let whatever it was that was eating at him subside on its own. With no assurance of peaceful conversation and nothing but the crackling of their small fire to drown out the distant howls of wolves, Essi asked if she could play quietly on her lute—not too loudly, she promised, remembering what all she knew about a witcher’s senses, how sensitive they are. She’d asked in her usual straightforward way, her big blue eyes blinking slowly at him from across the fire. A simple request, and one that he couldn’t very well deny at the risk of being a Grade A Jackass.

Ordinarily, he would have jumped at the opportunity to claim that title, but Essi didn’t deserve that. Stranger or no, she’d been quiet and courteous, and had shown herself to be witty and good-humoured to boot, laughing at even his crassest jokes. So what could he do but bob his head from side to side and relent, reserving the right to end it if he deemed it necessary. He’d met enough bards in his time to know that his and their definitions of “quietly” were rarely on the same page of the dictionary.

But Essi kept her word, and took up a slow, gentle melody that drifted airily through the fading twilight. The witcher might even have called it pleasant, as the dusky grey shifted to darker and darker shades of nighttime. Lambert took out his whetstone and, after a few strokes along his dulled steel blade, found his mind wandering. The poet’s voice was captivating without demanding attention—sometimes clear and bright, but never piercing or imposing; occasionally breathy, but always expressive. His eye drifted to the instrument in her hands, no longer content to merely hear the music, but wanting to watch its creation. The taut catgut strings pressed divots into thick calluses on her left hand as she fingered the fretboard, her hands flexing no differently than if she were playing at full volume. But how was she strumming so quietly? Shit, gotta keep focused. Stay on task. The whetstone once again returned to steel as Lambert pulled his mind back from its daze.

It wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of him and he glanced back to the instrument cradled against the musician’s midriff. It looked delicate. Like something that could shatter if he held it wrong. Glancing to the hand nearest him, he could now see she was using the soft pad of her thumb to strum rather than her fingernails, which were long and carefully-shaped; well-honed in that sense, Lambert mused. He’d never paid attention to a musician this closely. They always drew crowds in the cities and experience had taught him that performers on the road were just as likely to pick a man’s pocket as they were to put on a show. But this was different. Essi wasn’t performing—on the contrary, she almost seemed to be in some kind of trance. She wasn’t even looking at her hands most of the time, and from the lyrics, Lambert began to wonder whether she was making it up as she went along. It was impressive, the way she knew her instrument so well. Despite his previous feelings of irritation at having had his ass handed to him, he couldn’t deny skill when he saw it, and Essi was clearly a master of her craft.

The whetstone had been silent for close to a full verse when Essi looked up, wondering if perhaps the witcher was growing tired of the noise. She found Lambert closely examining the hone of his blade, and so, thinking nothing of it, went back to her playing. It took him longer than usual to sharpen his swords. Longer still to replenish his potions and oils. He should’ve made quick work of it. Would have, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that he found the music so… pleasant. It was difficult to meditate. Not because he couldn’t relax, but because he didn’t want to stop listening. He just—there was something about… It didn’t matter. It wasn’t important. Get the shit together for tomorrow, go to bed, get up, and hope you don’t have any trouble on the road.

Lambert laid out his bed roll and the music silenced abruptly. “Oh, are you turning in? I’ll stop now,” Essi gently lay down her lute next to her saddle bags and started to get her own sleeping mat. It was thin, Lambert noticed, as he watched her set up. His long, tired body stretched out, hands beneath his head, as he stared up through the dense oak canopy above them.

“Thank you,” Essi said, now standing by his head.

Lambert craned his neck to try and see her properly and resorted to propping up on an elbow. “Yeah? What for?”

“For finding us food and for letting me play a little,” she said with that same matter-of-factness that made Lambert feel both comfortable and uneasy.

“Yeah, well,” Lambert flopped back down on his bedroll, “Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep, we gotta keep moving in the morning. I don’t want to be out here longer than we have to.” He waved a dismissive hand in Essi’s direction, and she took that as her cue to leave him alone and be quiet.

“Goodnight, Lambert,” she murmured softly before turning and crossing back to the other side of the fire. She settled under her blankets and, after some drawn-out negotiations with a few poorly-located lumps in the ground, she was able to lie still and close her eyes. The insides of her eyelids flickered orange with the fire as it danced beside her. Before sleep took her, she heard a muffled voice from across the flames.

“G’night, Essi.” ---- Essi rose early, but not early enough for her travelling companion. The fire had already been doused and buried, and Lambert’s things were all neatly packed away and ready to be loaded onto Royal. Both horses were still hitched, and sleepily nibbling on some dewy crabgrass as the grey mists of early morning lingered. The sun hadn’t risen high enough yet to burn away the moisture, and Essi bundled her blanket around her shoulders against the chill. Lambert, she presumed, was off doing something witcher-y—taking a leak more like, she wagered as her own bladder complained. The moment he returned, Essi shot up from her log and headed into the trees.

“Just where do you think yo—”

“I have to piss!” she called back over her shoulder as she traipsed into the dense wood.

“Heh, good morning to you, too!” Lambert scrubbed his hand through his scruffy brown hair and ambled back to the fireside to begin packing and saddling the horse. When he arrived, he saw Essi’s things were also neatly packed away and stacked by her own mount. He offered a brief nod of approval before stowing his things, making quick work of the well-practiced process. By the time Essi returned, not only was Royal fully-prepared and Lambert armed and armoured, but Ginger was also mostly packed with the exception of one bag and the lute, which was cradled in the witcher’s hands as he crouched near the ground. She paused a little distance away and waited, observing as she listened to the faint sound of strings being delicately plucked.

Lambert looked up, embarrassed. “I uh… sorry.”

“What for?”

Lambert stood carefully as Essi approached and dropped his gaze, holding out the fragile instrument for it to be angrily snatched back. The musician paused for a moment, observing this gesture of cowed humility. It was a habit, she suspected, born from decades of harsh punishment without explanation, frivolous harm without justification. Essi could sense the shame as it rolled off his shoulders, the prickly-heat of defense building under his skin. She took the lute and a swell of sadness washed through at the stark evidence of the world’s cruelty—that a man should be ashamed for a little harmless curiosity only told one story: pleasure’s not for you.

Lambert looked up to find Essi still standing there, staring at the lute in her hands. “Did… did I…?” he pointed to the instrument.

“No,” she smiled softly, “not at all. And I’m not bothered that you looked at it. If you like, you can look at it again. I can even show you a chord or two?”

“Ah,” the witcher scratched the top of his head, “that’s okay. It’s, uh… I mean it seems like it’s good—well-made. Never seen one up-close like that.” There was a lull in conversation as Lambert ran out of things to say. But Essi just stood where she was, smiling her little enigmatic smile and blinking at him. He turned back to the horses, and motioned for Essi to do the same, “I, um, packed up your stuff, well most of it.”

Essi took the hint and followed suit, strapping the few remaining things to Ginger before mounting. After a brief survey of the area to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, the two were off, Essi following behind as Lambert continued on his shortcut through what mainly seemed to be wilderness for the first several miles. They finally emerged at a small footpath, though, and Essi finally got her bearings. They were back in familiar territory, at least for the time being, and it was proving to be a beautiful morning. Even Lambert seemed to be in a better mood, offering her things to eat along the way, and even starting his own little snippets of conversation.

It was an hour or so after midday that Lambert’s ears pricked at the sound of hooves in the distance. Could be soldiers, could be travellers… could be bandits. After a few minutes, they seemed to fade, and the witcher relaxed a little as the path took them into a wooded area by yet another stream, though this one was deep and flowing quickly. Better keep my ears sharp, Lambert thought as they rode along. Water’s too loud. Can’t hear for shit. They stopped next to the water to stretch their legs and replenish their drinking vessels again. The rest of the journey would take them mostly through high ground without much shade, and swampland. Any water they wanted to have with them, it was now or never until they reached Novigrad the next day.

Lambert relieved himself against a nearby tree while Essi washed her face and, having determined the coast was clear, gave her the go-ahead to have a squat in the underbrush. He was still on the alert. It wasn’t a high-traffic area, so in theory bandits would be less interested in diverting from the main road. On the other hand, a less-trafficked area meant less chance of a hideout being discovered. But it smelled okay, although the wind was coming across the water. And it sounded okay, although the water was so damn loud. And things looked okay, aside from the fact that there was only so far even a witcher could see without trees getting in the way.

A twig snapped in the woods behind him and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled, his hand mechanically finding the grip of his steel sword. He chanced a glance back into the woods—Fuck it, what’s the point of modesty if you’re dead? Another twig, this time from another location beyond the line of trees. There was a flash of golden hair as Essi finished her business and stood up, straightening her skirt. She turned to Lambert, ready to scold him for looking until she saw his hand on his sword. Somewhere in the near-distance, a horse whickered. The witcher lifted his finger to his lips and the poet stood stock-still, her hand slowly reaching for the small dagger at her waist as her heart beat heavily in her chest. Something rustled to Lambert’s left, and he turned, stepping quietly as he stalked in the general direction of the sound. It wasn’t wolves or Endregas, they were too high for Drowners, too woodsy for Nekkers.

Essi watched with interest as the witcher’s body went on full alert, his senses sharpening, his posture shifting, muscles coiling to accommodate any number of reflexes. She scanned the trees in front of them then looked back out to the road, marking the location of her horse in the event Lambert told her to run. A large horse came to a standstill beyond the edge of the woods somewhere and Lambert froze, listening carefully for sounds of footfalls or rustling clothing.The gears started to click a little faster as Lambert entertained the possibility they were being surrounded. He flicked his left hand at Essi in the direction of the road: get out of the woods. Quietly. Without a second thought, she began to carefully make her way back to the road as silently as she could, Lambert following, his eyes still searching.

Just as Essi’s feet met the smooth dirt path, a beefy arm wrapped tightly around her waist. But the brute was foolish enough not to cover her mouth first, and Essi let loose a loud, powerful scream that a witcher would have heard at least a mile away. Lambert abandoned his methodical retreat from the woods and came crashing onto the path, fixing his eye dangerously on his target as he circled his sword around his wrist. The witcher felt a rush of angry heat flare under his skin at the sight of Essi kicking and clawing in the bandit’s sweaty grip. He was large, reeked of booze and the funk of cured meat. Essi fought the urge to gag at the stench of his clothes as she did her best to keep her mind sharp, or else risk becoming collateral damage. Her best bet: keep her eyes on Lambert.

“Hands off the bard and you might keep your head,” the witcher barked as he approached. “Can’t make any promises about your other appendages, though.” He wanted to lunge, run him through, gut him and leave him to the wargs... but it was too risky. He was holding Essi too tightly, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t snap her neck if Lambert took a wrong step. To make matters worse, the trees were full of footsteps. Eight, maybe ten men. Hmmm.

“Oh-ho-ho, look what we got, lads!” the bandit called to his approaching comrades as they began to filter out from the woods. “Your plaything still any good, witcher? Or have you ruined the fun for the rest of us?” The man grasped roughly at Essi’s breasts and Lambert felt his stomach drop as her eyes met his. He knew the look that was waiting for him behind those eyes, that broken terrified look of “I trusted you.” But the look never came. Those big beautiful blue eyes were steely and determined in spite of the fear he knew was churning in the background and he felt a thrill of triumph. Essi was still with him in whatever this was about to turn into. Not only that, she was thinking something, devising a plan. Lambert hoped to Gods it wasn’t something stupid. What is it, Essi? What are you thinking?

As if in answer to his question, Essi tilted her head, seductively baring her neck to her aggressor as Lambert’s options quickly decreased, the other bandits starting to close in, clearly in no rush, confident that they could easily take one man even if he did have two swords on his back and eyes like a cat. Sure boys, that’s going to go real well for you. He did a quick circle, taking stock of their exact locations before turning back to Essi, watching carefully as her hand traced up the outside of the bandit’s right leg. Yes, Essi, come on, come on, come on…

The man rasped something foul in her ear, but all she could hear was the sound of her ears ringing and her own heart beating out of her chest as she did her best to focus on the task at hand. She barely knew what she was doing, but the witcher was watching her every move intently, and that somehow made whatever she was about to do feel possible. She felt her thumb brush the cool handle of her dagger, and Lambert nodded almost imperceptibly. Do it.

With a swift, fluid movement, she plunged the short blade into the man’s side and he roared in pain as his compatriots mulled around in confusion, their fisstech-addled minds still catching up. Lambert took the opportunity and sliced through the three nearest him with swift, clean strokes, focusing back in on Essi just in time to see her take a right hook to the face. She fell to the ground and blinked heavily, her vision blurry and head spinning. Her fingers found a large rock as a pair of meaty hands grabbed her legs, pulling her across the rough dirt road. She scrambled and turned, bringing the heavy rock squarely to the side of the man’s head with a sickening crack. He fell limply to the ground as the poet found her way to shaky legs, the makeshift weapon falling limply from her hand.

From out of the chaos of grunts and screams and clanging weapons, Essi heard her name, “GET OUT, GO, GO!” It was Lambert. Without a second thought she stumbled the short distance to Ginger and mounted, bolting across the river and holding on for dear life. She rode until the horse slowed, until she wasn’t sure where she was or whether the river she’d stopped beside was the same river or a different one. Essi dismounted and only then noticed that her hands were shaking. Interesting, she thought, as she was overcome with trembling and heaving sobs. I suppose this is what they mean when they say ‘fear catches us later’. She sat on a boulder and listened to the clear water, waiting for Lambert to find her.

#Essi Daven/Lambert #Lambert/Essi #rarepair #thank you Lambert #and I'm sorry #more to come!#Stay tuned #The witcher #Lambert #Essi Daven #Bardcore: dark mode

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maskedlady · 4 years

Text

things people who haven’t read/studied the homeric poems should know

the iliad isn’t about ten years of war. it’s about fifty-one days from the last year of war. more than nine years have passed since the beginning. neither the recruit of achilles or odysseus nor aulis nor the sacrifice of iphigenia nor the trojan horse and not even achilles’ death feature in it. it actually ends with hector’s burial.

similarly, the odyssey starts during the tenth year of odysseus’ travels, when he leaves the island of the nymph calypso who had kept him there for eight years. while the story of his travels is actually there, it’s a massive flashback that odysseus himself narrates.

odysseus actually only travels circa one year, if you subtract the seven years spent on ogigia, the one year with circe, the various months and bits they camped in other places.

part of the odyssey is actually about odysseus’ son, telemachos, and his quest to find his father. also another part is about odysseus returning to ithaca and killing a bunch of princes who were trying to usurp his throne.

the aeneid is not a homeric poem. it’s styled on the homeric model, but it was written in latin by a roman poet, and the protagonist is technically one of the antagonists from the iliad.

homer never existed.

he isn’t a historical figure, he is a name with a legend attached, to whom these poems are attributed. the poems were written—no, not even written, composed orally by a series of unnamed aoidoi (hm... ministrels?) through the ages.

in fact this is quite obvious when you read the iliad. there are a lot of inconsistencies, like frequent style changes, chapters that have nothing to do with anything else and no influence on the story whatsoever, strange time lapses—at some point it’s midday twice the same day

it is thought that all of these separate fragments were then collected and organized by one person, and this version was then handed down, orally, until the first written edition around 520 b.c.

the mycenean civilization that these poems originate from ended in 1200 b.c. circa

the odyssey was initially part of a whole group of nestoi, aka “return poems”, that were basically the tales of the return of each hero from troy. the odyssey is the only one that remains, though we do know something about the others too from other pieces of greek literature

a warning for the interested. these poems are a pain to read. they are delightful but they are a pain. they were composed orally so they are full of epithets, descriptions, metaphors and similitudes. these acted as fillers to help the aedo of turn reach the length of the verse, make the various characters more recognizable, and also make the poems more comprehensible to the general public, composed mostly of common people who had never actually been in a battle—so battles and duels are often compared to more familiar scenes, like fights between animals.

no i’m not joking

there is one in particular where the screeching army of trojans coming down the hill is compared to cranes migrating over the oceans.

also, the duel between hector and patroclus is one of the “compared to animal fights” scene

when odysseus is about to drown, he talks to his own heart. possibly because it sounds slightly less crazy and more Romantic than just directly talking to oneself.

helen insults paris real often. hector berates him both internally and publicly. in fact everyone insults paris. paris is the local coward and scapegoat. deservedly. i rejoice

everybody loves patroclus. all the kings hate each other but everyone loves him—so much so that they risk their lives over his corpse

which, mind me, wasn’t something that special in and of itself. it was important to retrieve comrades’ corpses because if the enemy got ahold of your body he’d leave it to rot and be devoured by dogs and crows, which was a huge dishonour (and also possibly barred you from entrance to the afterlife)

so much so that the ancient greek version of “go to hell” is eis korakas, “to the crows” (“may you die, lie unburied, and your body be eaten by crows”)

at some point they hold a truce (possibly several times) so they’ll have the time to collect, burn and bury all the fallen soldiers.

back to patroclus because i got sidetracked: still. this time it is kind of a big deal because the literal centre of the fighting after patroclus dies is all the major greek heroes playing tug-o-war against hector and his brothers with patroclus’ corpse. the centre of the fighting, people, this is no joke

at some point someone is sent to tell achilles that his lover’s body is in danger so he better get out of your sulk, hurry up and come help the rest of us

achilles going armour-less to the battlefield and screaming for patroclus is enough to send the trojans running.

i am sure that all of you know this but the reason achilles doesn’t have armour is that when hector kills patroclus he takes achilles’ armour, that patroclus was wearing, as spoils of war

so an entire book after that is devoted to hephaestus forging achilles new, better armour so he can actually fight again

look, it is not actually stated that they were lovers, but it’s obvious. in greek culture especially. that was the norm and italian school teachers can get over it and stop omitting it from lessons and school books any time now

odysseus isn’t actually an asshole. sure, a lot of his misadventures were caused by him being too curious and disregarding his comrades’ advice *cough*cyclops*cough* but most of the most destructive events were caused by them disregarding his orders.

“do not kill and eat the sacred cows of apollo! he’d kill us.” guess what they did. guess how it ended

or when they stopped by eolos’ island. eolos, god of the winds, gave odysseus a flask with all the adverse winds imprisoned inside, leaving free only the one that he needed to take him to ithaca. they got so, so very near, and then odysseus fell asleep and the others opened the thing because they thought there was more treasure inside it, and all the winds came out and blew them halfway across the mediterranean

athena often glamours odysseus to look younger and prettier or older and then again younger. it’s amazing because he always looks either like an old beggar (for camouflage) or like a young and handsome man.

do some maths. at the beginning of the war he must’ve been at least twenty. + ten years of war. + ten years of travel. at the end of the odyssey he is at least forty. by ancient standards that was not young.

odysseus’ whole voyage is basically a pissing contest between poseidon and athena. actually between poseidon and the rest of the gods. poseidon hates him and all the other gods take turns helping him.

odysseus is not an asshole, but the greeks probably considered him a shitty character, because he was clever, shrewd, and the only survivor of his community. the greeks really insisted on the concept of community, the individual doesn’t have worth in and of themself but as a part of society. this is particularly evident when he gets to the cyclops, who are the very antithesis of the greek man, described as uncivilized and living in isolation without assemblies or laws. a lot of emphasis is put on the fact that they live outside of a community.

alternatively, the difference between the iliad and the odyssey (and their respective heroes) signifies the change in greek culture, from the warrior myceneans to commerce and voyage: odysseus represents the victory of intelligence over force, and his qualities are the characteristics, for example, of a merchant

i should perhaps point out that the odyssey was composed much later than the iliad, which is also the reason it has a more complex structure (begins with the gods + telemachos’ quest, we first see odysseus on ogigia, then he recounts his whole voyage in a long flashback triggered by a bard at a feast singing about the trojan war)

oh look i got sidetracked again

back to the trivia!

do not be fooled by madeline miller. patroclus was indeed a warrior, and a very good one at that. and briseis was indeed achilles’ lover, and loved him (that is explicitly stated).

odysseus might have loved penelope but that does not mean he did not sleep around with every woman he met

circe. calypso (by whom he is imprisoned for seven years). and nausicaa princess of the phaeacians falls in love with him. this is engineered by athena

i don’t think he actually sleeps with her but athena does make him look younger and prettier so she’ll be smitten and welcome him at the palace and give him a bunch of gifts and eventually a ship to take him back to ithaca

in the poem named after him, his own poem, odysseus is always the stranger, the guest, or the beggar.

or all three.

or all three, but it’s a lie and he’s actually at home, the king returned.

despite the iliad being about one and a half months and the odyssey being more than a year + more time taken up by other characters, the iliad is about one and a half times the odyssey.

more to come (maybe)

#if i can think of anything else #eden rambles #iliad #odyssey #homer #this is half actual stuff i learned in class half things i find funny

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jackdawyt · 3 years

Video

youtube

Well, punch me in the teeth and call me the Dread Wolf! BioWare have already revealed another trailer for the next Dragon Age this year! The Game Awards 2020 premiered a beautiful-cinematic trailer that showcased many locations, factions, characters and foes we’ll witness in the next instalment. As per usual, we have many thoughts, theories and tinfoils on everything this trailer revealed!

However, before we break down the trailer, we have two descriptions of the next Dragon Age game shared separately on YouTube and Twitter.

On YouTube, the trailer’s description said:

“The world of Dragon Age needs a new hero – someone who can take on the evil forces threatening Thedas. Get a first look at some of the new locations you’ll discover and the factions fighting by your side in the next chapter of Dragon Age.”

And shared on Twitter, the post said:

“The world of Thedas needs you, a new hero. The next #DragonAge will see the return of Solas… and an old friend.”

https://twitter.com/dragonage/status/1337198092957839365

Of course, the old friend no doubt refers to Varric who narrated this brand-new cinematic trailer. That’s right, the one, the only, our storytelling-chest-haired dwarf is coming back in the next Dragon Age, so we’re already going to have some familiarity in the next adventure.

With that said, let’s breakdown the entire contents of this new trailer and what it means for the next Dragon Age!

Meredith & Corypheus

The trailer started by revealing the first piece of a brand-new stone-etched mural.

Knight-Commander Meredith was shown, infused with red lyrium, holding her sword “Certainty”.

Followed up with Corypheus holding Solas’s orb towards the heavens. During this point, Varric said: “I’ve faced tyrants and would-be gods.”

These two shots clearly showcase the previous events of Dragon Age that have somehow circulated towards Solas’s scheme to destroy the Veil and deal with the Evanuris.

Meredith took the Red Lyrium Idol and forged it into a sword, the idol itself apparently belongs to Solas, and he cares for it and recognises its depiction. Meredith was turned into a thawed red lyrium statue, and the red lyrium idol was found and retrieved inside her statued body. The idol’s current whereabouts are unknown.

"The Dread Wolf wants that idol, and he’s not afraid to get his hands bloody to get it." (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 490). “He intends something for the Fade, and if he wants the idol, then whatever he intends will be terrible.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 498).

Whereas Corypheus intended on using Solas’s orb to usurp the throne of the gods for himself. Solas, banking on the magister’s failure, sought out to regain his orb after Corypheus unlocked it, and died doing so. In this ideal situation, Solas would then use his orb and destroy the veil.

However, that didn’t happen. Instead Solas’s orb was destroyed by crumbling rocks with Corypheus’s defeat. The elven god strives to find alternative ways to destroy the veil.

Both these foes at the start of Solas’s new mural show that what’s coming next will be much worse than any catastrophe in Thedas and that these events have always been set in stone for the Dread Wolf. It’s like he’s drawn Corypheus and said, you thought he was tough, wait till you see what I can do.

Two Evil Gods

The trailer continued with the next pieces in this mural, two carvings of very enigmatic figures. The first engraving has an arched headpiece, red eyes, a spiky torso, and wavy lines coming from their head, with a haloed sun or moon behind them.

Immediately, this spooky figure reminds us of the evil god shown in BioWare’s Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development. However, we believe the figure shown in this book resembles the elven goddess “Ghilan'nain, the Mother of the Halla” who created giants, monsters, and beasts that spanned across the sky, water, and earth.

While this depiction of an evil god is concept art, there is one key difference between the two figures - the evil god in the concept art has four arms, whereas the mural figure has two arms. So, are they depicting the same god? We’ll certainly come back to this figure later on.

The next figure has a very curved headpiece, elven ears, and clawed-looking shoulder pieces. With another haloed sun behind their head, this leads us to believe this is yet another evil god.

Personally, this figure reminds us of Dirthamen’s statue we saw in Inquisition, but this could honestly be anyone... And we’ll touch on that when we get to the finished mural.

While these two figures are shown, Varric said: “Seen friends lose life and limb, but there’s always someone bent on breaking the world.”

Obviously referring to allies previously lost, like potentially Hawke, and even the Inquisitor’s anchor. However, the enemies bent on breaking the world paint the figures shown as evil and malevolent. Of course, it’s not Dragon Age without someone trying to destroy the world.

BioWare Logo

In the next sequence, a golden BioWare logo appears with a sun behind it, perhaps this relates the previous figure to Elgar’nan considering Elgar’nan was said to be born of the sun?

Anderfels/Grey Warden

Taking our minds away from the mural for a moment, the trailer began to explore iconic locations and factions that are going to feature heavily in the next Dragon Age.

The first location is a blazing desert with rough sands, cobblestone, and huge puddles. We think this is the Anderfels, Thedas’s blighted western lands. Over the horizon are multiple, huge reptile creatures. They look like turtle monsters similar to the Ankylosaurs, which is a kind of armoured dinosaur with a clubtail.

During this sequence, Varric said: “It’s time for a new hero.” As grey boots entered the shot. No doubt, referring to the next protagonist. The boots are instantly recognisable as a Grey Warden’s. You can see a dark blue tint on their leggings, as grey and blue are the Warden’s colours.

Not to mention, the biggest indicator that this character is a Warden, is the location. A Grey Warden being in The Anderfels makes complete sense considering Weisshaupt, the Warden’s headquarters are located there.

More importantly, the fact that Varric said: “it’s time for a new hero” while showing this Grey Warden, and the trailer continued to show different factions, while still talking about the idea of a new hero. We think this indicates to the overall message of this trailer, being that perhaps this time around we can choose the faction our new hero belongs to. Like origin stories, our hero can choose between at least 4 or more different factions within Thedas.

While the Grey Wardens and many other factions will join our fight as key roles in the story like “Davrin” who was hinted at in the Gamescom trailer, having the choice to choose where your hero is from would make for an epic RPG, and a great callback to the series' roots.

Antiva/Antivan Crow

The next location revealed the most elegant nation of Antiva, looking absolutely stunning with its gold accents, and regal aesthetic. When compared to the Behind-the-Scenes concepts, we can certainly see the similarities between the early concepts and the CGI reveal. Most notably, the Disney-like palace that encompasses every shot.

Still sharing about our new hero, Varic said: “No magic hand, no ancient prophecy.” As a zoom-in shot of Antiva City revealed an Antivan Crow stirring a goblet of wine. The palace behind the goblet had magical energy emerging into the skies.

The shot pulled back, and revealed an Antivan Crow sat on the rooftops of Antiva, looking over the city. With Varric talking about the next hero being a nobody, with no magical anchor, and no ancient prophecy, can we choose to play as an Antivan Crow?

If this Crow is not showcasing the option of a new hero, then perhaps this is a Crow who will join our journey, like one of the Antivan Crow Talons. I see a lot of similarities with this cinematic shot and the recent short story - “The Wake,” which was all about the Talons mourning their lost friend.

Antiva as a whole, looks astonishing, from the rivers flowing through the city, to the picturesque sky, the city looks like a delightful place to take a love interest. However, we’re most curious about the magical energy emerging from the palace. Perhaps Antiva City prepares for the imminent Qunari Antaam invasion?

Tevinter Imperium/Siccari

The next location revealed the most prideful, gothic nation known as the Tevinter Imperium. This beautifully macabre shot is most likely showcasing Tevinter’s capital city, Minrathous.

Once the motherland of the ancient elves before the veil’s creation, Tevinter was founded on the ruins of the elven kingdom, we can see many magical marvels and wonders in this cinematic shot. For instance, we have magical neon lighting guiding you through the city and the floating structure that stands in the centre.

Perhaps this haunting structure is the Magisterium, or Minrathous’s Circle Tower? Regardless, the ferocious architecture and dark themes truly define Tevinter as a remarkable, and otherworldly nation. A lot of these undertones look similar to one of the concept art pieces shown at Gamescom.

Followed with this shot, Varric said: “The kind of person they will never see coming.” As a new hooded-character was revealed pulling out a winged-dagger ready to attack a blurred figure in a Tevinter alleyway. Not to sound like a broken record, but again, Varric is mentioning the new hero, so is this character one of the potential factions we can choose, and if so, what faction?

Well, because it seems like we’re in the streets of Tevinter, we think this character represents the Tevinter Siccari. This faction was recently introduced in Tevinter Nights, they are the Imperium’s best shadow network, made of highly skilled and secretive agents who each come from slave families, they are formidable and honourable warriors.

“I have heard many things of the Tevinter Siccari,” the Mortalitasi added, “but I have never heard them called cowards or traitors. Most of them come from slave families, and those families are kept safe as both promise and threat, ensuring the Siccari never flinch from their duties. (The Dread Wolf Take You, page 503). ““Tevinter’s intelligence network declined to answer our request.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, page 485).

This hooded-figure has what-looks like keys on their chest, along with a very golden logo on their shoulder, which looks like an owl? The dagger also looks to have a winged bird on its helm.

If this figure doesn’t represent a faction the player can choose between, then perhaps they’re a shadowy Tevinter character from an unknown faction, or they could be someone like Neve, who was introduced in Tevinter Nights as a private investigator working out of Minrathous. However, we feel like Tevinter Siccari is the best bet, because they’re literally the Imperium’s spies.

Executor/Ancient Elf?

Followed by that, a most intriguing character appeared walking through a snowy forest. The figure has a three-horned headpiece, with trims of red on their outfit, holding a bow made of floating triangles.

The location of this area is the exact same as the sexy tree we witnessed at EA Play, the gloomy, midnight snow graveyard, with infected red lyrium and Ferelden architecture. The tree appeared on the right, as this mysterious character shot their enigmatic bow. With the location being the same as the tree, it can be anywhere close to the equator where it can snow, like southern Tevinter, northern Nevarra, or it could literally be anywhere in the mountains. The Ferelden architecture really throws us off though.

This new character is also a mystery, who exactly are they, and what faction do they represent? Well, we've never seen anyone like this before, so they could totally be something brand-new.

However, we can piece a few things together, like the magical, triangle bow. We saw this exact design in a concept piece at Gamescom, with many thinking that this design was ancient elven. On top of that, in the “Ruins of Reality” short story art piece that featured the Starkhaven elf known as Strife, he wore a red cloak with floating triangles on it.

However, even more intriguing, his cloak had the Executor’s logo on it - “a downward-pointed triangle with two wavy lines drawn through it.”

So, does this new character represent either The Executors, or an ancient elven clan? The Executors are mysterious beings who come from beyond the sea, they’ve been described to wear “dark robes of Vyrantium samite, with a thin mesh dropping down to cover the hood.”

I see a gold trim covering their face, but I don’t know if that headpiece constitutes as a hood? Even so, we don’t know what Executors look like.

If this character represents an ancient elven clan faction, that would explain why they have this magical bow that fires as if projected with Fade magic, also illustrating the more alien look to this character.

Regardless, we think this character is quite the enigma, they could just as easily represent a Tal-Vashoth clan, a new Nevarran faction, or something brand-new that hasn’t been explored in the games yet.

Varric Tethras

During this entire sequence, Varric said: “We’ve got your back, I’ve got your back.” By, “we’ve got your back” we assume he’s speaking on behalf of the Inquisition’s remnants like the Divine, Scout Harding, Charter and company, who’re pursuing after the Dread Wolf. However, even more than that, Varric said, he’s got our back. So, Varric is coming back in the next game as a pivotal role it seems, hopefully, this time around we can romance our chest-haired friend, please?

Fen’Harel

Varric followed that up and said: “Demons, dragons, darkspawn, even the Dread Wolf.” As the next sequence revealed a very familiar Fen’Harel...

Solas is pressing one of his hands on this fresco that depicts him as the Dread Wolf rising. He’s touching the mouth of the Dread Wolf, as the beast’s teeth appear red, most likely to resemble red lyrium? Does Solas’s plan involve ingesting red lyrium? The substance does weaken the veil after all, so is Solas going to become blighted in order to fulfill his scheme?

As Solas approached, we can see he has clothed himself in ancient elven robe-like armour with varying tints of green. He looks very stoic, but also a little bit sad.

New Mural

The cinematic mural that featured behind Solas was posted as a painting on the Dragon Age website, so we can take a greater look at it, and decipher its meaning.

https://twitter.com/Nthornborrow/status/1337521623084093440

Straight up, we can see the Dread Wolf with six blazing blue eyes, previously the Dread Wolf was depicted with red blazing eyes, however, this time around, his eyes are blue? This clearly has something to do with lyrium Maybe the Dread Wolf’s eyes will turn red once he has become tainted? Or Perhaps there’s a chance we could stop him from becoming tainted before it’s too late?

As stated, the Dread Wolf has six eyes, exactly like his description in Tevinter Nights. A Mortalitasi mage witnessing the Dread Wolf explained the description of a lupine, monstrous six-eyed Wolf the size of a High Dragon.

“Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 496).

With the proportion of his eyes, there could be some significance to them, or it could honestly just be an art style. However, I wouldn’t deny anything relating to Old God souls or the amount of Evanuris left. But we feel the size of each eye shows us that the Dread Wolf is dealing with some sort of distortion with his appearance, like absorbing Mythal’s power metamorphosing him to become more draconic.

The Dread Wolf is bursting through the Black City which is imbued in red lyrium.

We can see the Dread Wolf has destroyed the Veil by the representation of the spheres that have exploded with a roaring fire. With its destruction, the Fade and the waking world of Thedas have become one. With the world burning in the raw chaos, Solas could then restore the time of the elves.

Two Evil Gods Identity

These statues are old. Better shape than anything I've seen on the surface. Many of them are for Mythal, though. And Fen'Harel. Not in a spot of honor, but guarding, attending.

Protector and All-Mother, why are you honored here, so far from the light of the sun? And why was the Dread Wolf at your side? — Torn Notebook in the Deep Roads

The two evil figures on the left and right side look like the eluvians and statues from the Vir Dirthara, the ancient elvhen Library. And according to Tevinter Nights, there are many elvhen libraries throughout the land of Thedas like the one near the Imperial Highway. These ‘headpieces’ the figures have are slightly different and differentiate each member of the Pantheon from one another.

it’s honestly hard to tell who these figures could be Pantheon-wise, but here are some of our tinfoil bits that can correlate to their appearance:

When we reacted to this trailer live, we stated that these two figures could resemble the elvhen twins Falon’Din and Dirthamen. Their statues look very similar to these figures, but now that we have studied it, the figure on the left looks more feminine with long hair so this could be Ghilan’nain who has been mentioned a lot recently in the Dragon Age’s short stories and Tevinter Nights. If that figure on the left is Ghilan’nan, then the right still has to be Dirthamen who we know has a closer relationship with Ghilan’nain through Dalish and ancient elvhen legends.

"His crime is high treason. He took on a form reserved for the gods and their chosen, and dared to fly in the shape of the divine. The sinner belongs to Dirthamen; he claims he took wings at the urging of Ghilan'nain, and begs protection from Mythal. She does not show him favor, and will let Elgar'nan judge him." — Old Elvhen Writing

On the other hand, these figures could represent Elgar’nan and Mythal, who are closely related to Fen’Harel’s redemption to break the Veil.

“Long ago, when time itself was young, the only things in existence were the sun and the land. The sun, curious about the land, bowed his head close to her body, and Elgar'nan was born in the place where they touched.” — Codex entry: Elgar'nan: God of Vengeance.

“And that night, when the sun had gone to sleep, Mythal gathered the glowing earth around his bed, and formed it into a sphere to be placed in the sky, a pale reflection of the sun's true glory.” — Codex entry: Mythal: the Great Protector.

We could say that the masculine figure represents Elgar’nan who is represented as a sun. And Mythal, who represents the moon. If these two gods are side by side with Fen’Harel, then the Emergent Compendium’s reference could come true:

‘Two shadowed spheres among stars, an eclipse as Fen’Harel stirred’

However, this could be a stretch knowing that Solas already has the remaining power of Flemeth, and Elgar’nan also has barely been mentioned, it is worth knowing that these figures have a similar reference to these gods either way...

Another connection these figures could resemble are the remaining old gods that bring forth the blights.

In our Dread Wolf Rises mural breakdown back in 2018, we talked about the centrepiece of the artwork, with the massive moon that had two golden circles still lit, while 5 of them were greyed out. Most certainly referring to the past and future blights.

In our new mural, behind these two figures there are the same golden circles. If we are comparing these two murals together these figures could be the two remaining Old Gods left who aren’t blighted, Razikale and Lusacan.

According to Solas, if there is any chaotic event in Thedas, spirits will pull against the Veil, weakening its forces. So, if Razikale and Lusacan were to become Archdemons at the same time, that could potentially tear the Veil hence the Dread Wolf rising in the moment to change the world once again.

Razikale is the only Old God to be confirmed female, so according to the mural, this theory might not be far off from this depiction. These Gods have not been tainted and have been left somewhere sleeping for centuries, to awaken them will require most of Thedas to become blighted in order to escalate the timing of two Blights happening at once.

However, that’s just a theory, as we know, evil gods have Thedas in their sights, it really just depends which gods we’re talking about. We lean more to the Evanuris in this mural, however, the old gods are not out of the picture yet, as shown in The Dread Wolf Rises mural. We feel a double blight is in store for the future of Thedas.

Dragon Age New Font

Anyhow, the trailer ends with a new Dragon Age font and colour, I wonder if gold is going to be the main tone of the next game.

Varric ended the trailer, and said: “This is your story.” No doubt referring to the fact that the narrative will be shaped by your choices and consequences.

Regardless, this trailer was amazing, and we’re so happy we actually had another look at the next Dragon Age game! We want to know all of your thoughts and speculation down below, how excited are you knowing that Varric is coming back?

#dragon age 4 #next dragon age game #next dragon age #dragon age game awards 2020 #dragon age next #The next Dragon Age #antiva #tevinter #anderfels #grey warden #tevinter siccari #Darkspawn #dragon age spy #dread wolf #mural #solas #solas next game #solas cgi

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ao3feed-sixofcrows · 3 years

Link

by ineffableteddy

He sat the cups down. “What are you doing on my phone?” Wylan asked sceptical.

“Oh, I’m just making you a tinder profile.”, she replied casually.

“Why?” he tried to grab it from her, but Nina held it out of reach before he could get it.

“Because you can’t sit around and expect a knight in shining armour just bursts through your door and takes you to his castle.”

Nina creates a tinder account for Wylan. At first, he's not amused, but until he meets someone

Words: 4601, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar

Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, they meet over tinder lol i'm sorry, Idiots in Love, first meeting (in real), Getting to Know Each Other, Wylan and NIna are besties bc i said so, this is so random i'm sorry

#soc fanfic #six of crows fic #six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone

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laurelsofhighever · 4 years

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 69 - Denerim

Chapter Rating: Teen Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Fereldans, Demisexuality, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read on AO3

Twenty-third day of Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon

Spring flowers bloomed along the western road to Denerim, but the column of riders and infantry that approached was no proud company in parade shine. They were bedraggled and muddy from weeks of fighting along the coast, tired from the day’s march, and while Rosslyn and Alistair straightened in their saddles as they waited at the gate to be let in, they had to roll their shoulders beneath their armour and hide yawns behind their hands. The decapitated heads of traitors watched them sightlessly from hooks set into the walls above them, many of them fresh enough to still be recognisable despite the depredations of the crows. Mother Berit wasn’t among the number, perhaps saved by her Chantry connections, but Bann Loren was, and next to him a younger man with blond hair and a crude green sunburst painted onto his forehead.

“That was Vaughan Kendells,” Rosslyn said, noticing the direction of Alistair’s gaze. “I can’t say I’m sorry.”

He glanced at her, remembering what she had told him, and the lift of Tabris’ chin as she spoke of her escape from the city. “Me neither.”

Before she could do more than smile at the reply, the gate opened and an officer waved them through. The market-day traffic was thinner than it had been the last time Alistair had visited capital, and he saw more beggars on the streets, but those who stopped to watch them pass did so with open, curious gazes instead of the harried suspicion that had met them in Amaranthine. On impulse, he nudged his horse closer to Rosslyn and held out his hand. Gaze soft, she took it and linked their fingers together as she had in Uldred’s dream, only this time they bumped knees, and there was a smudge of dirt under her eye, and all of his bones ached from days on the road to tell him it was real. People cheered, and it made her blush.

Her smile still lingered when they reached the palace gates and dismounted to hand off care of the army to the officers, and their horses to the grooms that had appeared from a side arch as if by magic. In the momentary confusion, he stepped close to her so he could distract himself from their formal welcome by brushing away the smear on her cheek.

The last time he had been brought to the palace, as part of Teagan’s entourage, he had been all but smuggled in under a helmet to hide his resemblance to the various portraits of Theirin ancestors hung in almost every room; there hadn’t been two flanking rows of guards waiting at attention as they walked up the steps, nor an announcement by a herald. Rosslyn’s titles outnumbered his, and it gave them a moment to pause before they were ushered through.

“Relax,” she told him. “You’re not heading to an execution.”

He only pouted. “This is just as bad as Summerday.”

“Is it really?” she asked, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Well. Maybe some things are better.”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at the wry look she tilted at him, but before he could say anything else, the doors to the great hall swung open to reveal not just Cailan and Anora sitting on their thrones on the dais, but also Rosslyn’s grandparents, straight-backed and magnificent in their finery.

“So here ye are,” the Storm Giant boomed. “At last! We were starting to worry ye’d upped and run off with her.”

Anora shot him a peeved glance. “Your Highness, my Lady Cousland, be welcome in our hall.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Rosslyn replied as she sank into a graceful bow.

“I trust your journey was not too eventful?”

“Given your track record, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a slew of rescued damsels left in your wake,” Cailan interrupted. He was frowning, and a bitter, sullen note coloured his voice. “Perhaps you stopped by Soldier’s Peak to rid it of all its ghosts?”

“Not quite,” Alistair supplied, with a careful glance to the woman beside him.

The king seemed to shake himself out of his bad humour. “A jest, of course. It’s good to see you both unharmed.”

Rosslyn adjusted her stance, folding her arms behind her back as if she were delivering a report from the field. “Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine proved difficult to convince of her allegiances, Your Majesty. We are sorry for the delay.”

“We are glad of your safe arrival, of course – especially given the happy tidings you bring with you,” Anora said easily, without looking at her husband. “My congratulations to you both.”

“Indeed.” Lady Lileas, who until that point had merely watched proceedings unfold before her like an augur scrying bones, swept forward and pulled her granddaughter into a hug. “It’s good to see you, mo chridhe. And as for you,” she added, turning to Alistair with a stare that made him shrink away like a mouse, “You bested An Sgòrnan Aigeinn. I am satisfied.”

“Uh…”

“Can we be away now?” the Storm Giant interrupted with impatience. “My oald joints are starting to creak like a mizzen in a hoolie.”

“You’re not staying in the palace?” Alistair asked.

Lady Lileas smiled. “My grandson has kindly granted us use of his estate while we see to the preparations for your wedding, and we are still Rosslyn’s guardians.” Her expression darkened. “That swine left it in a terrible state. His death was well deserved. Come, granddaughter, you must wish to change out of armour, and there is much to discuss.”

A frown creased Rosslyn’s forehead. “It’s almost dark already and we’ve been travelling since dawn. I’m sure Their Majesties would not begrudge their hospitality – any discussion can wait until tomorrow.”

“You are not staying here,” her grandmother replied, as if the suggestion were absurd.

“I’m Commander-in-Chief of the army,” she pointed out. “I’m needed to plan the spring advance – the war isn’t over yet.”

“You are also not married yet.”

“This is because…?” Her eyes flew wide. “What do you think will happen? It’s not like we haven’t –” Faltering, her gaze flashed to Alistair and skittered away again as crimson bloomed across her cheeks. “We’ve been together on the road for weeks, what difference does it make now?”

“This is how things are done in the joining of two houses.” Lady Lileas drew herself up. “You know this.”

Behind his wife, the Storm Giant cleared his throat and said something in Clayne that Alistair failed to catch, but instead of lifting Rosslyn’s expression it only served to set her mouth in a line of petulant defeat. It was adorable.

“My things will need to be forwarded,” she said. “And I’ll require a schedule for meetings with the army’s officers and outfitters.”

“It will be done,” Cailan told her, having watched the whole exchange from behind steepled fingers. “And the sooner you get married, the sooner we can move your things back, eh?”

With nothing left to say, and a last helpless glance back at Alistair, Rosslyn was chivvied from the hall less like a war hero and more like a child caught shirking lessons, taking their plans for a quiet, shared evening with her and leaving him to wonder at just how quickly their fortunes had been turned around. Anora and Cailan’s gazes itched on the back of his neck, and he only barely remembered to turn to ask their leave before running after her. The clanking of his armour echoed ahead of him, and he found them already waiting just inside the entrance hall at the top of the steps. The looks being levelled at him were not favourable.

“Uh – can I have a moment to speak to my betrothed?” The word still sparked on his tongue. He doubted he would get used to it before he was calling her his wife instead, but thinking about that too closely made him dizzy. “In private?” he added, as he slipped his hand into Rosslyn’s.

The Storm Giant nudged his wife with his elbow. “Ach, go on.”

The clan leader of the Mac Eanraig pursed her lips at him, but it didn’t quite hide the twitch of her amusement. “We will wait in the carriage.”

He didn’t dare breathe until Rosslyn’s grandparents had reached the bottom of the steps, and then, spying an unobtrusive side door leading off the hall, he tugged on their joined fingers and pulled her after him with only the thinnest veneer of patience. The door swung open easily onto a small room lit by a single arrow slit, and the latch clicked back into place behind them an instant before he dropped her hand so he could take her face instead. She giggled as her forehead pressed against his.

“What is this place?”

“A storeroom – something – I don’t care,” he answered. “How long do you think it will be before they come looking for us?”

Gently, she shook her head and nudged a kiss against his lips. “Nowhere near long enough for all these layers of armour, my love.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he purred.

“I’m sure.”

One gloved finger traced the line of her jaw. “I told you we should have stayed in bed this morning.”

“Soon, we’ll be able to stay in bed every morning,” she reminded him.

“In our bed.” His breath stuttered.

“No sneaking away back to separate rooms.”

“Then…” He steadied himself and found her hand again. “This is just another reason why Guardian can’t come fast enough. How am I going to last without you for so long?”

She laughed, lightly pushing him away so she could get to the door again. “I’m not disappearing off the face of Thedas, and it’s only a few weeks. We’ll see each other every day – we’ve been through worse.”

“I’ll dream of you,” he promised.

“My grandmother would be scandalised.” She pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth as she turned to leave. “Everything will be fine.”

It was not fine.

Aside from the wedding plans – fabrics and food and guest invitations and the small feud that erupted between Anora and Rosslyn’s grandmother because of it – they were kept ridiculously busy organising for the march south, and assisting in the city’s rebuilding efforts. They saw each other only in snatches for daily meetings, and barely exchanged two words that were not about policy or supplies. In addition to the schedule, Rosslyn had to drag herself across the city every morning to oversee the army’s drills, which meant most moments she had to herself during the day were spent trying to catch up on sleep.

To keep himself from missing her too much, Alistair took on oversight of the alienage. Nobody else seemed to care about the damage done to the elves, and while Cailan indulged him, or perhaps lacked interest, many of the other nobles already in attendance for Wintersend muttered that he was wasting both time and money on a worthless cause. They quieted after he pointed out that having to contend with an uprising would only add to the strain being faced by all of them, but having to appeal to their self-interest left a bad taste in his mouth.

Anora, at least, offered support for his efforts. As the time went by and Cailan’s preoccupation with finding Loghain took up more and more of his thoughts, the day-to-day politics of the palace fell to her. For this reason, relations with her continued to be fraught, especially in regards to military matters. She didn’t like people stepping on her toes. She didn’t stand for breaks with decorum, either, but she was fair and even-handed in her judgements, and for the sake of peace, Alistair tried his best to follow her lead and stay out of her way.

The only bright spots in all the blandness of days passing too slowly came in the notes he and Rosslyn managed to smuggle to each other during meetings and meals, the only times they got to touch, or even stand next to each other. She had passed the first to him in a chance encounter in one of the corridors, a brief press into his hand and she left with just the flash of her smirk tossed over her shoulder, and a glance down to where a neatly folded square of paper sat in his palm. Before anyone could call him away, he had slipped into a nearby empty room and pored over the lines, just a few sentences written in her elegant hand, but more than she had been able to say to him since they had arrived in Denerim.

I’ll not trust any messengers this time save our own hands, my love, and the time cannot come soon enough when I get to hold yours. When I get to be alone with you. When I can fall asleep beside you once more and never again worry about how long it will be until we must part. I love you.

He passed her his reply with the salt cellar at dinner.

I love you too. I wake up thinking of you. I miss curling around your body and waking you with kisses, even if your hair so often gets caught in the middle. I miss the sound of your voice and the brightness of your eyes. I’d write poetry about them, but you haven’t married me yet and I don’t want to risk it.

It became a game between them, this sly exchange of notes, each one a tiny rebellion at the strictures of propriety, a private conversation when no privacy was allowed.

My hair would not get so wild if a certain someone didn’t take such delight in tangling it the night before. In case you start to worry, that was not a complaint. I miss your voice as well, and your hands, and what both can do to me, although one benefit of distance is that I get to admire my future husband from afar without him noticing. Your footwork showed great improvement when you were sparring today, though you still drop your elbow too far when you block.

You enjoy making me blush, don’t you? Perhaps I can return the favour, Wife-To-Be. There was a moment in the gardens yesterday where you were wandering among the shrubbery with no idea that I was stuck only a floor above you, listening to Brantis drone on about the advantages of a trade deal Cailan has already agreed to. My attention may have wandered, and my hand was nothing but a thrall to the vision before me. I’m sure you can guess the subject.

I will treasure this likeness, my love, if I am allowed to keep it? I ought to admonish you for not paying more attention to Brantis, given how hard he tries, but I find I do not have the heart. The expression you captured here, is this truly how I look? Rest assured that I am blushing profusely, though I made the mistake of opening your offering for the first time while in the same room as my brother. Fergus seems to have taken it upon himself to stuff a year’s worth of insufferable brotherly affection into a few short weeks, though in hindsight I should not have told him your note included a sketch. He also says if we want to keep these messages secret, you ought to do better containing your grin in the exchanges. I told him to boil his head.

I am glad you like the sketch. It’s yours. I might never do you justice, but maybe in the future we’re to have together, I might practice? You looked tired when I saw you today (yesterday, by the time you read this), and you cannot tell me Wintersend isn’t preying on your mind. I know you too well. I cannot tell you how to feel, but please remember that I love you. So much.

As the holiday approached, Rosslyn’s sombre mood grew more pronounced, and she withdrew into herself. In the palace, the time was marked for celebration, and the festival spirit was upheld by an army of harried servants made busy decorating and preparing guest rooms for the visiting nobles – but it had also been a year since the sack of Highever, since Fergus and Rosslyn had marched away to war and returned to find a ruin. Alistair did what he could to bolster her spirits, but short of slipping his night guard and breaking into the Cousland estate like a common thief, there was little remedy for the nightmares she refused to admit were plaguing her again.

On the morning of the feast he spent an extra hour in the lists, trying to beat out his nerves on practice dummies. The usual meetings had been put on hold for the day, which meant he wouldn’t see her until she arrived with the rest of the guests just before sundown. It would be their first public appearance as a couple, the only one before the wedding, and that meant extra fuss in his attire lest the assembled nobility find him lacking either as a prince or as a prospective husband. Besides, he wanted his betrothed to be impressed.

While he bathed, Marten lay out the same rust-red doublet he had worn for Summerday, with the addition of the mantle made for the voyage to the Storm Islands, and the bracers Rosslyn herself had given him to meet her grandfather. He traced his fingers over the embossed leather as his valet fussed with his collar, remembering. He had almost kissed her after she helped him put them on the first time. Looking back, at what came later, he was glad he hadn’t but he wondered if she knew. Even during the darkest part of his time in Orzammar, he had worn the gift, too stubborn and too hopeful to give them up, and now he couldn’t stop smiling, and the day when he would become her husband rose barely a week away on the horizon, a lighthouse guiding all his thoughts to safe harbour.

“You’re all set, Your Highness,” Marten pronounced, bushing an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulders.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Alistair fiddled with a sleeve.

“You know her better than me, milord,” the valet pointed out. “I wouldn’t dare presume her taste in outfits.”

“Right.”

Marten licked his lips. “No one’s in doubt that she loves you, but if you stand up here all night worrying – well, that’ll hardly do you any good, now will it? I’ve done the best I can for you.”

“And you have my eternal gratitude for it,” he replied.

With one last glance in the long mirror, and a deep breath to steady himself, Alistair nodded and left the room. When he reached the door to the king’s chambers further along the corridor, it was a maid who answered his knock, and she told him both Cailan and Anora were still indisposed. Then she shut the door again with a decisive click, before he could say anything else. He shifted on the balls of his feet. The light outside the window was fading from the brightness of late afternoon, which meant a good number of the guests should have arrived. He didn’t want to lurk in the hallway, awkward and bumbling and gossip-fodder for any servants who happened to catch a glance of him in all his worried finery, but he also didn’t want to make a nuisance of himself in the hall – Isolde had always sneered that he got under people’s feet, and however much he tried to block it out, the contemptuous echo of her in his mind remained persistent.

But Rosslyn would arrive soon, if she wasn’t already waiting for him. He could make small talk pretending to oversee the final preparations for the feast until she arrived, and then, he reasoned to himself as he walked, he could talk to her. He could spend the whole night talking to her, and nobody would be able to stop him. Maybe he could sneak her away, to some shady corner where he could hold her hand, and run his fingers through her hair, and kiss her. His thoughts wandered far enough in imagining it that his foot slipped on the first step of the landing and he only saved himself from tumbling all the way to the bottom of the stairs by snatching his hand out for the banister.

“Ow,” he grumbled, massaging his shoulder. “I really hope nobody saw that.”

Allers, the royal guard stationed in an alcove a little way away, made no response to his suspicious glare.

“Alistair?”

His face heated. It was Rosslyn. She stood at the base of the stairs with one hand on the banister and the other lifting the hem of her gown to keep it out of the way of her feet, frozen in the act of rushing up to meet him.

“Huh?”

She was in deep blue damask, the folds of the sleeves and the low, broad dip of the neckline richly embroidered, the fabric outlining the curve of her waist. Her hair fell in a thick black curtain down her back, braided and pinned with the aurum laurel wreath she had worn in the Storm Islands – and around her neck, bare on her pale skin for all to see, his amulet hanging at the end of a delicate silverite chain.

“You fell,” she said.

“I –” He swallowed. “Only for you, dear lady.”

She rolled her eyes, but waited as he skipped down the stairs to meet her, and smiled when he caught her hand to press his lips to the knuckles. Close to, the elegance of her dress didn’t quite hide the slump of her shoulders, nor the brittle fatigue that tightened the corners of her mouth.

“You’re early,” he murmured, still holding her fingers.

She shrugged. “There wasn’t much left to do at the estate, and I wanted to see you.”

“I’ve wanted to see you, too.” He leaned forward. “And I’ve wanted…”

Before he could finish the thought, she reached up and pressed a halting finger against his lips. “I had to drag Fergus with me.”

Fergus. Of course. He followed the tilt of Rosslyn’s head to where her brother stood not even that far away, with one eyebrow raised and his arms folded across his chest, the very picture of a concerned guardian who had just caught someone nefarious swooping down on his charge. Alistair, preoccupied with other things, had completely failed to notice him.

“Ah – um. Your Lordship! You’re looking well.”

“Your Highness,” Fergus answered mildly. “Please, do carry on with my sister. It’s not like our grandmother is in the next room, wondering where we’ve snuck off to.”

“You could go and stall her if you like,” Rosslyn suggested, and when her brother only returned her a flat look, she frowned. “Please, Ferg? I did it for you – for weeks.”

“Only because I bribed you,” he retorted, but his face softened. “Fine, I’m going. But don’t do anything too outrageous.”

“I think that means you’re not allowed to spirit me away to somewhere nobody can find us,” she huffed as he ducked through the door, already looping her arms around Alistair’s neck.

His hands found her waist. “Damn, that’s my plan foiled, then. Please tell me I can kiss you, at least?”

“You may,” she giggled.

“Good.”

His heart thundered more than it should for such a simple brush of lips, but before he could sink too far into the feeling, he pulled away so he could see her expression. Her eyes were still closed, her head turned into his palm like a flower angling its petals towards the sun.

“How are you?” he asked.

A sigh, and her eyes fluttered open to focus on his chin. “It… hasn’t been a good day. I’ve tried to keep myself busy, but it hasn’t really worked. It’s been a whole year, and yet all I’ve been able to think is that they should be here. That it’s –”

“Not your fault,” he interrupted firmly. “I wish I could have been with you – I mean, not that I don’t every day, but today especially, I wish I could’ve been there to make it easier.”

“I had your notes,” she reminded him with a weak smile. “That kept the worst of it at bay.”

He grinned. “Did it now? In that case, I’ll feel a little better giving you this.” With the flourish of a showman, he reached into the end of his sleeve and pulled out a folded square of paper. “For later,” he explained. “When you don’t have an audience. There’s words in it that I hope are reassuring, but also – since you liked the last sketch so much, I thought as a distraction…”

Their fingers brushed as she took the note from him. The blush rising in her cheeks chased away the wan tone of her skin, and for a moment Alistair allowed his mind to linger over all the other scandalous ways he might prompt such a reaction.

She smirked at him. “If it needs to be so private, I had best keep it safe.”

Before he could ask her what she meant, she folded it once more and with nimble fingers slipped it down the front of her dress. Alistair stared. She smoothed her hands over the silk to make sure nothing poked out where it shouldn’t, unconcerned. It was a perfunctory gesture, businesslike, and yet far too thorough to be innocent.

“Are you alright?” she asked sweetly, once she was finally satisfied that everything lay in its proper place.

He managed a strangled sort of noise. “Nothing a long soak in Lake Calenhad wouldn’t cure.” When he caught her expression, falling from a smirk into true concern, he shook his head and pulled her closer, until they were standing hip to hip. “I’ll manage. And don’t think I won’t get you back for that little performance.”

“You started it.”

“You like tormenting me.”

She laughed at that, and darted a quick kiss against his mouth that he was too slow to return. “Shouldn’t you be going to greet your guests?” she asked. “Where is the king?”

“Applying the finishing touches, I think.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on Cailan or his moods, not with Rosslyn in his arms. “We should be safe from disgrace, in any case. One is only late if one arrives after royalty, after all.”

“You are royalty, my love,” she murmured, smiling wider as he waggled his eyebrows.

“And soon you will be, too.” The reminder stole his breath. “Uh… shall we?”

The eyes of every guest turned to look at them as he appeared in the doorway with Rosslyn on his arm, but for once, he didn’t mind the attention, or the wave of movement that swept through the room as people bowed to him in greeting. Her grandparents stood in one corner with Fergus, given their own deference as foreign dignitaries, and while the back of his neck heated under their knowing gaze, there were enough distractions elsewhere to keep him from too much embarrassment.

He even managed to avoid glancing lower than Rosslyn’s collarbones. Mostly.

“Aye, and don’t they make a handsome couple?” Bann Ferrenly preened once he caught them into his orbit. “I predicted this, you know. I said to my dear Raina, ‘We can’t have these two in such close quarters without them falling for each other. Mark my words,’ I said, ‘There’s much to admire in him, and he would be a fool not to see the quality of such a lady!’”

“Of course,” Bann Aldubard agreed stiffly. “Who could have predicted otherwise?”

At the other side of their circle, Arlessa Élodie of South Reach laid a delicate hand on Rosslyn’s arm. “I, for one, am glad that this war has not been all tragedy – we must move forward, must we not?”

When Cailan and Anora eventually joined the gathering, even Bann Ferrenly was almost out of anecdotes, so it was a relief to follow the line of torches the servants had lit in the darkened gardens, to where a troupe of mummers had set up a stage in front of an open-fronted pavilion furnished with a long table that was already groaning with food. As the nobility were directed to their seats, the troupe master welcomed them and announced a performance of Dane and the Werewolves. At first, Alistair kept his eye on his brother and the carafe of wine placed by his elbow, but though Cailan looked tired, he was dressed in fresh clothes and his hair had been brushed and braided, and he was minding Anora’s voice in his ear.

Rosslyn slipped her hand into his. In the distraction offered by the players she had nudged her chair close enough to his to press against him to the knee. They could do little more under so many watchful eyes, but with every moment counting time down to the wedding, still so many days away, it was enough.

“To us?” she suggested when the servers had filled their goblets and everyone else was preoccupied with the strut of the warpainted hero onto the stage.

He touched his cup to hers and leaned across with a kiss. “To spending our lives together,” he agreed.

It was only the following morning that he spotted the note she must have slipped inside his tunic. He picked it off the middle of his bedroom floor with his head still ringing from his hangover, his thoughts whirling about the one he had given her, whether she had opened it yet, what she thought of it, if the ink had smudged against her breasts after spending so many hours pressed to her skin. Perhaps going beyond words into illustrations was a step too far, and even now she was marching through Denerim’s streets to out him as a lecher and declare there wouldn’t be a marriage after all. If it were so, at least he’d have one last message from her to remember her by.

Today I cannot help but think about the past, but the weight sits less heavy on my shoulders knowing my future lies with you. We have fought through so much, together and apart, and it is strange to think how I ever managed without you. What if we had never met, or if our paths had crossed in some other way? Would I still miss waking up without you? Would you miss me?

His worry vanished. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed the paper to his lips, wishing it could be her instead, that he could put his arms around her and drive out all her doubt.

He was at his desk and finishing his reply before he had even changed out of his smallclothes.

I would miss you. I do miss you. There is an empty space in the bed and the pillows don’t smell like you. You make me better, and make me want to be better. If someone could knock me out so I can wake up on the morning of our wedding without having to endure the torture of not being able to hold you, I would be very grateful.

My love, if you lie unconscious, who will distract me with such delightful correspondence? Who will smile at me as you do? And what if whoever it is hits you too hard on the head and kills you? No, it cannot be risked. You must continue to suffer, as I assure you I do as well, but only for a little while longer.

For you, perhaps I might make it three days, and believe me, I am counting every moment until you become my wife. I cannot wait to be your husband. I love you.

Two days, my love. I can barely eat for nerves.

I haven’t slept – can’t until I have you in my arms again. I’ll see you tomorrow.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #cousland #f!cousland #rosslyn cousland #the falcon and the rose

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mrneighbourlove · 4 years

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Scarlet Contract: Part 2

The Screaming Predator sailed through out the sea for a over a month now. Captain Kerrigan, Pirate Cheiftan of the Gerudo, whistled for her first mate to get to the poop deck. Before they left for the sea, she and her crew took a job in transporting a crate of 'unidentified goods'. Easy good money. They were just instructed to not look inside the box. Or touch the damn thing apparently. Every since they picked up the cargo, a contagion was being spread among the crew, leaving girls incredibly sick. The symptoms were pale skin, rashes, and vomiting blood near the end. It seemed physical contact spread it around, and when the first bodies started to stink up the place, Kerrigan became paranoid that the sickness might spread other ways. Best she deal with that effectively.

"Coco."

"Yes Captain?"

"Give me a list of the sick."

"Yes Captain." The Gerudo pulled out a chart, straining her eyes to read. It would take at least an hour for the sun to come out. "Dorethea. Padme. Rav. Anura. Evelyn."

"Alright. Bring them to the deck." The second mate did so, carefully ushering them to the deck.

Sleeping in the crows’ nest, Scarlet, 15 years of age, yawned loudly. She hated waking up before the sun was up. Peering down, she saw some of the girls being lined up next to the edge of the ship. What was going on? Weren't they put into quarantine? The more experienced crew mates lined up with the captain. "I'm sorry. There are no signs of you getting well, and treatment is unavailable. For the sake of the crew, I have to take actions to ensure the rest of our health."

Scarlet was awakened quickly as the flash and bang of gunfire went off. There were four thick splashes of water, and down below, she heard Coco swear. "Great. Now we have to throw Rav overboard ourselves. Some one pass me a pair of gauntlets and help me throw her overboard." Scarlet stayed in the crow's nest, stunned by the event that unfolded. Her own sisters executed to preserve the rest.

With another splash, Scarlet waited a full ten minutes before crawling down the crow's nest and heading into the cabins. Word was already being spread around by the officers on the fates of the sick. That it was a brutal, heartbreaking, but necessary evil. Crawling over to her best friend, Scarlet scared the crap of her at a touch.

"Fucking hell Redd! Don't sneak up on me."

"Sorry Adda."

Adda shook her head, quikly tying the back of her hair into a ponytail. "You hear what happened?"

"Worse. I saw what happened."

"Oh god. I'm... fuck Scarlet." Adda threw her smaller frame around Scarlet, hugging her close. "This whole situation is messed up. The Captain should have never taken the job. Box smelled like crap from the get go."

Scarlet knew Adda as of late loved to challenge Captain Kerrigan's role as leader. It was close to treason, but she let her vent. "I know."

"Making a quick buck instead of making smart choices. And killing our sisters? This is all so, so fucked."

"I know Adda."

"We have to-" Adda interrupted herself with a cough. Grabbing a handkerchief, she cleaned herself off by dabbing her gums. Blood was staining the blue cloth. "We have to get the piece of junk off the ship. Get the younger girls somewhere safe from Captain Kerrigan."

Scarlet winced at Adda. Dear god. She was sick. Must have been early, but the bleeding was there. Did Adda even notice? "Yeah. You're right when you're right." Scarlet watched Adda smile brightly. Although she was only ten months younger than her, she loved to take charge.

"Hell yeah I am. I'm a little tired, so I'm going to sleep until the sun is nice and out. I hate rude awakenings."

Walking away from her best friend, Scarlet rubbed the back of her neck. How many other girls were sick? When their symptoms worsened, the Captain would have them join Davy Jones locker as well. That thought terrified Scarlet. They deserved better. She would help give them better, like Adda wanted for her them. Running to the cargo hold of the ship were no one was, Scarlet grabbed a stick of dynamite. Cargo hold was reinforced with steel walls. Should contain one little explosion. She hoped.

As Captain Kerrigan was ready to steer the ship further into sea, a massive explosion sore into her ship. The back side of her boat was blown wide open. Spectacularly, no one was killed in the blast. "Everyone man your stations!!! Coco! Report to me the damage!"

Five minutes later everyone was scrambling on the ship. She could float, but if any other pirates saw them, all they'd have to do is give them a mean look and the Screaming Predator could sink. "Captain! The cargo bay was completely annihilated. A freak accident with a single stick of dynamite. We need to head into land and start repairs immediately!"

"Ey!" Captain Kerrigan took out her compass and map, looking for a chatter that'd get them off the sea as fast as a possible. Soon enough, she had her heading. "There's a land known as Omisha not too far away. We'll head there and make repairs immediately. Drop the forward sails and make ourways east!"

The Gerudo crew made it to the mainland in about fourteen hours of intense labor on the ship. When it hit the shore line, the Screaming Predator practically came apart. Would take at least a week of everyone working together to fix the damage. For Scarlet, she was relieved. Least this way the sick could live the rest of there lives on land, perhaps even run off further inland. And for final sights, this Omisha wasn't a bad sight. For the next three days, the Gerudo didn't stray far from the boat. They cut down trees and set to work, but everyday, from 1pm-2pm, the Captain was kind enough to give them time off to relax. Most of the women loved to patrol the beachside and swim.

Adda was taking a walk with Scarlet during such a break. Stripped down to light pants and a bra, Adda was just glad to have the sun on her face. "You been feeling alright these past few days?"

"Yeah? Why? You not?"

"The physical labour around the ship is abit straining, but other than that, I'm all good."

Scarlet laughed when Adda laughed, but she knew her sister in arms was growing unwell.

"Adda. You know, we could just leave right? If you aren't feeling good..."

Her eyes glistened with surprise, and she waved her hand off at Scarlet. "I told you. I'm good. Besides Redd, it's not my place to run. If I'm not feeling too good, I'll just chat it over with Captain Kerrigan. We can get real antiquated with each other over my problems."

Running up the beach, a pair of older Gerudo women caught up with Scarlet and Adda. "Adda. You get back to the ship. Scarlet. You're going to join us on a recon mission to search deeper inland."

"But it's not the end of our break."

One of the women immediately slapped Adda across the face. "Captain's orders. Now get back to the ship runt."

Scarlet patted Adda's back as she lowered her head and did as she was told. The reason Scarlet was asked to go into unknown territory was simple. She was one of the few Gerudo on board with magical capabilities, as well as trained in the arts of the Iron Knuckle. Scarlet wasn't skilled enough to summon armour onto her, but she was capable enough to transport her battle axe to her. "Should we go back to the ship to suit up?"

"No time. Captain wants us to go search now. Food or treasure is the objective. Need to make up for the lost cargo." Nodding, Scarlet took off over the hillside and into the jungle with the older Gerudo.

The shaman was certainly enjoying the view of the beautiful ladies naked in the ocean. From his spying, he was able to come to a few conclusions. The ship ran aground due to structural problems, the women were trying to fix it, and a handful were very sick. Some were only little girls, it seemed. He pitied them, having to play adult at such a young age. Yet, there was still the present problem of the women actually being here. Mother did not allow humans in her land, at least, not anymore. Usually, humans were devoured on sight. Though, these women did not seem to be causing any trouble, other than trying to chop down part of their forest. He decided to leave them be unless curiosity got the best of them.

And unfortunately, it did.

As the women progressed further into the jungle, Bonegrinder knew he had to act. Too many Echidnans had lost their lives to humans. If this beach became known as a popular spot to store treasure or take a pit stop, the risk would increase. Humans were naturally curious creatures, and that would result in their demise in this land. Mother said that he could either scare them away or kill them. Two choices, and he decided to try the less messy alternative first. In a rather dramatic way.

The first woman he slipped his tail around her ankle and pulled her into the bushes, earning a terrified scream. She tried firing at him, but he snapped the gun in half and threw her into a muddy pit. Now, she'd be focused on getting away with no weapon in hand. The second lady, he pulled her up from a tree branch with his long body, hanging upside down. Yelling, she thrashed wildly to get free, trying to take a shot. He dropped her, swatting her with his tail into a tree, just enough to hurt. Hissing, he was successful in scaring the two women away... but now, there was the issue of the kid. To her, he was horrifying.

"Child..." Bonegrinder growled as she held up the axe, shaking a finger at her. "Don't play into the hands of stupidity. Leave."

It happened so fast for Scarlet. Out of the cover of the jungle, it came alive and threw them about. Felicia was the first to get thrown about, falling into the mud. Grekal was injured in the attack, scampering away to leave the others to themselves. Scarlet snapped her fingers and a giant battle axe appeared in her hands, ready to chop down on this jungle predator. The appearance of this monster was chilling to bone, and Scarlet was shaking in her boots, yet she stood tall. Her eyes were careful to watch the monster's tail, as well as his face. "Back off you scaly abomination!"

"He really doesn't want to eat you, but Kasdeya, Mother of the Monsters, the Many, she wants you gone from her lands." Bonegrinder slithered closer, not bothered by her trembling threat. "He can't really blame her either. Humans are pests. Now, are you going to run back to your shipmates and inform them to leave?"

Scarlet wasn't expecting it to speak. Taking a stance, when Bonegrinder drew too close, she swung her axe. "Back. Off. We'll take what we need to repair. And I'm not letting a monster hurt anyone else."

This was annoying. Was he really going to have to dispose of a tiny, weakling child? She acted fierce but her heart rate begged to differ. When the girl tried to strike him with her axe, Bonegrinder moved swiftly, wrapping his tail around the handle and yanking the weapon away from the young one.

"He told you to leave. Mother does not want you here, humans are a plague upon this land." The shaman snarled, exposing his fangs and unlocking his jaw. "We will not let them kill anymore of our brethren. He will not repeat himself again. This snake is giving you a chance to escape with your life like the other two."

Scarlet screamed and closed, scrambling about. Instead of running towards the beach, she ran deeper into the jungle as a way to get away from Bonegrinder.

"Ah! Idiot girl, that is the wrong way!" Bonegrinder exclaimed, running a hand down his face. "He swears Mother gives him these tasks just to get a rise out of him. Why can't more children be like that Mortuus child in his catacombs?" He stopped for a moment, realizing how foolish that made him sound. "On second thought, she is considered odd compared to other children." Grumbling, the shaman muttered, "Now, he has to play babysitter before she gets swallowed by a Jawstalk Mantrap. Mother doesn't want any skeletons lying around. No evidence."

Scarlet was falling down hillside, getting branches smacked in her face, and tumbling through bushes. Finally, she thought she made enough distance between herself and the monster and hid underneath a fallen log.

This was akin to children hiding under their beds in Hyrule. Bonegrinder sighed, exasperated. This was going to take some drastic measures. Finally, he yanked her out from underneath the log, his coils wrapped around her so she could not escape, arms and legs pinned. "You are very annoying."

Scarlet screamed so loud it rang Bonegrinder's ear drums and rattled his skull. "Dear god no! Please, no, no, no, no, no!"

Slapping a hand over her mouth, the shaman held the side of his head.

"Good Mother Goddess, girl! Shut up!" Bonegrinder snapped. "Why are children so damn loud? Either that, or have a pair of lungs that could pierce eardrums, by Kaksa." The shaman started slithering back in the direction of the beach. "You are idiotic, girl. He told you to go back to the beach, but no, you run into the jungle. There are some other kin of his who might not be so kind to a human child." He took another sniff of her trapped form. "Hrm. You've got the scent of womanhood, but still not mated. Thus, still a child, like he deuced." Once he was finally at the line of the jungle, he uncoiled his body from around the young girl. Giving her a shove with his tail, Bonegrinder told her, "Stay out of the jungle. Mother does not care for humans, and this snake is not fond of them, but he doesn't like to hurt children." Then, he tossed the axe at her feet. "And quit playing with dangerous weapons unless you really know how to swing that thing. Magic or not, it won't do you any good unless you stop doubting yourself." Muttering to himself, the snake started to slither back into the jungle. If the women trespassed again, then he would have to cause actual harm. Or eat them.

Scarlet whimpered as she sauntered back to the boat. "Captain needs to bomb this place. Need to get Adda on the ship..."

Bonegrinder watched as the three women swore up and down of the existence of the devil, firstly, then shadow creature, secondly, and last but not least, a mutated snake creature. He thought it was amusing, the young kid begging the captain to believe her. Humans had long forgotten the residents of Omisha, yet there were plenty of tales to keep them from entering the vast jungle. Hopefully, this would keep them at bay.

"Captain, please! There be monsters in the jungle!"

"Fine. We can repair the ship, then dump the last of the sick here."

Scarlet's eyes widened. "No captain! No one else is sick!"

"Unlikely. Everyone knows the risk. I won't infect the healthy members Scarlet. Now, you've had a long afternoon. Get your ass back to work on the ship."

Scarlet did so, trying to think of a way to save Adda and the others.

It was getting dark with the sun setting. Maybe a night or two left until the crew was finished. When they were alone on the ship, Adda hugged her from behind, careful to only have clothing on clothing contact. "Scarlet. I appreciate all you've done for me. Really. But I'm not gonna risk the rest of the crew. When the time comes, I'll lead the sick into an island expedition. It should be fun."

"But Adda..." Scarlet turned to her, feeling like a failure of a protective sister. They weren't bound by blood, but they were sisters in arms, bound by sea, sweat, and tears. "I can't stand the thought of you out there in that jungle alone."

"Hey. We could always take over the ship the-" Her smile shattered as she suddenly coughed.

As Scarlet stepped away, Adda finished her fit. Turning her head back up, she smiled with blood in her teeth. "You should probably go get some fresh air away from me Scarlet. I'll be fine on my own for a bit."

Crying, Scarlet ran off. She wanted to be anywhere but the one place she felt helpless. Getting off the ship she ran to a tree on the beach where she could cry her thoughts away.

The women were still here. Bonegrinder considered just storming the camp to scare the daylights out of them. Perhaps that would prove a point. Was his warning not enough? Then, he saw the girl from before. Now, she was crying for the sake of her sister. Bored, this caught the shaman's attention. She was too preoccupied to notice him, already up in the palm tree. "Girl." Bonegrinder spoke, flicking the tip of his tail back and forth. "Is he really going to have to eat someone to prove a point? He told you and your like to leave."

"Majora on high!" Scarlet backed away on her hands and legs. "Please don’t hurt us! We need to make repairs to our ship!"

"That he has observed by you taking trees from our jungle." Bonegrinder picked at his teeth with a claw. Dinner was rather chewy. Wild deer was not his favorite, but it would do for now. "Though this captain bitch of yours has talked of leaving some humans here and this is not acceptable. Omisha is a land for monsters, and only monsters. Humans have wrought enough here." The Anagari's redd eyes were glowing in the dark. "Why haven't you used your magic to speed along the process? You have it. He can sense it."

“We don’t have that kind of magic. And speed along what? The construction of the ship, or the deaths of the sick?”

"The construction of the ship," Bonegrinder was definitely explaining things to a child. "By healing the sick."

“We can’t! We don’t have that kind of magic! Why do you even care?” Scarlet didn’t even realize she was yelling.

"Are humans really so fragile?" Bonegrinder mused as he slithered down the tree. "He cares for the safety of his kin. Yet, he supposes that children are innocents." He glanced at the young ones separated from the group because of the coughing. "Little ones who have yet to see the horrors this world offers."

“You care? What can you do that we can’t?”

"For one, he can fight." Bonegrinder chuckled. "And for two, he can use magic."

"I can do both of those things." Scarlet stood up, adrenaline cutting through her fear. "How can that help us?"

"Child, you've yet to learn of what you need to survive, much less ways to help others." Bonegrinder was crass, but truthful. "You are naught but a little girl." He then stated less harshly, "This snake needs you all to go, yet, he does not wish to harm anyone if he can help it. Most of you are children. Merely, scare you away from these sacred lands." He then asked, "If you wish to learn to fight, then you have to be brutal and be willing to take down one before a strike is allowed at those you care for." The snake eyed the heartless captain. "If you wish to learn how to control your magic, you must let go of your doubt. Magic is tied to the soul. You do not have confidence in yourself and must overcome the fear of failure." He extended his tail to Scarlet. "If he aids you, you must leave and tell no one of this place."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. If you think you're so great, then tell me. Can you heal my sisters? I don't have that kind of magic in me. No Gerudo has the magic to heal."

Bonegrinder actually laughed at the girl's statement. This was certainly more fun than having to swallow a human whole. Perhaps there was a deal here he could take advantage of for the future. Ah, yes, he could see it... "Oh, little child, you are quite bold to insult this snake." The shaman then twirled a single finger in the air, allowing a line of magic to flow. "You wish for him to heal your sisters? Then you must know his magic will come with a price."

Scarlet thought to Adda. Thought about how she never had family she could love until she met her. She was the face that she wanted to see smile properly for years to come. As much as this monster terrified her, perhaps he could be a source of salvation. "Anything."

"Anything could lead you to ruin, little one. Yet, Bonegrinder will venture to be merciful." The shaman held up his massive clawed hand, magic shimmering around it. "Years from now, you will be loved. You will have a family. You will not wish to leave them for an upcoming battle against discord." He knew she would not understand the implications until later on in her life. "You will pledge yourself to the queen of dragons and fire, host of the one who will bring back Balance. You will fight for her and become a queen in your own right." The snake's tail flicked in anticipation. "In return, this snake will heal your sisters and... dispose of the captain. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal! We have a deal!" Scarlet was clamoring to shake his hand.

"Then the deal is struck." Bonegrinder took the young girl's hand and a line of text traveled down Scarlet's arm. It wrapped around her upper arm, tattooing itself into her skin, in the shape of a snake. Once again, he had the opportunity to add to the advantage of his side for the future battle. "Now... drug your ill sisters with these after you lure them over here." He held up a bottle of sweet tasting coconut juice laced with poppies. "It will lull them to sleep and he will heal them."

Scarlet frowned, looking at the tattoo. "I'm not into ink."

"Don't worry, they won't see it." Bonegrinder then instructed Scarlet. "You better hurry. With that sickness, there will be permanent damage if you don't act fast."

Scarlet ran back down to the ship. Supper was being prepared for the whole crew. Clam soup. Realizing what Bonegrinder wished for would be impossible, she didn't know what to do. Adda saw Scarlet with the bottle and pulled her to the side. "What do you have there?"

"Huh?!" Scarlet hid it behind her back in a flash. "Nothing."

"That's a crock of shit and you know it."

"Fine. It's to help the crew relax."

Adda raised a brow, and a cheeky smile filled her face. "Scarlet, you minx~ Why didn't you tell me you wanted to have some fun." Grabbing the bottle from her, Adda carefully danced around the crew and poured the contents of the bottle into the soup. "This is going to be fantastic. You steal these drugs from the Captain?"

"Something like that." Scarlet patiently waited for everyone to have supper and go on there way. Within the hour, everyone who had eaten, except her, well deep asleep. The teenage pirate made her way to the deck of the ship and waved Bonegrinder to come over. As she waited, she cradled Adda next to her.

"You, little child, are quite devious." Bonegrinder climbed over the side of the ship, his weight causing the wood to creak loudly. "Goodness, and he thought he snored loudly." He noted a few females with mouths open, louder than hogs. "Lay the sick flat for him on their backs. It's easier to access the lungs that way."

"I didn't know what to do to get them away from the ship. Adda here actually thought of spiking the soup." Scarlet lugged all the crew members who were sick and did as she was asked. Finally, she prepared to lie down herself. Didn’t know if she was sick too.

"This one..." Bonegrinder looked at Adda, and frowned. "Is trouble." He told Scarlet as he started on the first ill lady, his hands pulsing with a white glow. "You should stay away from her."

"She's my best friend." Scarlet frowned back.

"She will cause you nothing but trouble and pain." Bonegrinder would not reveal too much, and halted when he arrived to Adda. He tapped her forehead with his tail. "Something tells me this one is half conscious." He stated dryly. "Loopy. She might mention something along the lines of a demon or a snake when she wakes."

"Whooooos that?"

"A doctor Adda."

"Yeah? Helloooooo nurse~"

Scarlet wasn't surprised. Adda was able to handle her substance abuse.

"Shaman, not doctor." Bonegrinder arched an eyebrow. "You need to quit squirming so he can help you clear your lungs."

"Noooo that tickles. He's going to hurt me."

Scarlet held Adda down, rubbing her back gently. "It's ok Adda."

"I don't want him to hurt me."

"I won't let him. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Stop being such a crybaby, you'll be fine." Bonegrinder snapped at Adda. "He told you to hold still." As Scarlet made sure to hold her friend steady, the shaman worked his healing technique. It was not long before the disease was out of Adda's lungs. "She should be fine, but he will warn you, this one will only cause you trouble."

"And I'm not listening. Thank you. You should go now."

Scarlet carefully set the crew back into non-suspicious positions. It took any hour of heaving people back and forth. Finally, she crawled into bed, exhausted from the haul. The very next morning, Captain Kerrigan called the crew to a meeting. It was a miracle among the heavens as she called it. Every girl reported clean and healthy across the board. Captain Kerrigan didn't pry too much into it. Meant less people needed to be killed. Once the ship was fixed, she stabbed a flag into the beach, a symbol for danger at your own risk.

Sailing out, Adda poured Scarlet a drink of cheap rum. "Too health and getting off monster island."

"Adda, it's a continent."

"And all land is surrounded by water. Hence an island."

Scarlet's face turned into puzzlement at that. "Hmm, I never thought of it. I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right. Now, lets drink."

"And so, that was the closest Adda came to death at the time. It was only a year later that I helped her in a mutiny against Captain Kerrigan. The crew loved Adda, so we were more than happy to appoint her Captain."

Greta pulled on Volcania's shirt to pay more attention. "That's cool momma."

"... a giant snake monster, Momma?" Lovisa looked puzzled. "We don't have any snake men here, do we, Mama?"

"Not unless one has been hibernating for a very long time." Borghild shook her head. "The closest thing to a snake here is probably an ice salamander. They freeze during the winter and thaw in the spring."

"Why did they pick Adda and not you? You saved them." Greta asked.

"Because I didn't tell anyone I saved them. And because I'm not a leader Greta." Scarlet rubbed her hands together. "Adda was the one with the charisma, drive, and brains to lead. As for the snake monster, it lives only in Omisha."

Rat, however, was beginning to sweat buckets. Corsaire worked with Orana's brother, the nefarious Ralnor. The blonde prince gave the ex-gladiator the creeps and more than once, Corsaire had mentioned something in passing about Ralnor working with... monsters. At the time, Rat thought Corsaire meant the scum of the earth, mercenaries, or humans with cruel tendencies. Now, he was beginning to think Corsaire meant in a literal sense. Many times, his captain had mentioned meeting a giant... he gulped. A giant snake.

"Did you ever meet this giant snake again?" Scarlet looked at Lovisa and glanced at Rat with a tell she was about to lie. "No sweety. I didn't need to meet that terrifying monster ever again. Any other questions girls?"

"What was the deal about? It sounded like he was talking in riddles." Lovisa questioned her stepmother. "Do all monsters really talk like that? Or was he just like... tricking you?"

"Probably just needed some money from me in the future. Or good food. Monsters are fickle things."

"Did Adda ever meet him? Or remember him?" Lovisa was still full of questions.

"Yeah, after all, she was a little loopy, but could still recall bits and pieces." Greta remarked.

Scarlet shrugged. She knew it would endanger her family to mention the Hive. Rumours still flew around that made her skin crawl. "Not that I know sweety."

"How big was he? Did he have fangs bigger than Mama?" Lovisa pointed to her mother.

"What color were his scales? Why did he talk so funny? Did you see any other mons-"

"Lovisa, me darling, stop asking your Momma so many questions." Rat picked up his daughter and gently sat her on his knee. "Me knows you're curious, love, but not all these questions have answers."

"Sorry." Lovisa seemed a little bashful after that. She loved a good story.

"Momma?" Greta looked at Scarlet. "... if he knew Adda was going to be trouble, why did he save her?"

"Because I asked him to."

"But he didn't have to."

"Greta, lassie, please, don't pester your mother."

"Well, I gave him a mean, stern look that shook him to his bones to do so. Kind of like this." Scarlet gave a mean, silly scowl to Greta to show off.

"... Momma, that won't work on me, I'm your kid." At that statement, Rat and Borghild had to hold back a stifled laugh.

"Well. Fine then. He had to keep his word or our deal would be void. I wanted Adda healed and that was that."

"Magic seems complicated." Lovisa remarked with a yawn. She was definitely a grizzly bear like her mother, cuddling into her father. It was time for a nap after riding around on the ship.

"Well, do you regret saving Adda?" Volcania asked.

Fuck. Scarlet rubbed her hands again, anxiety filling her. "Should anyone regret sparing a life?"

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you regret saving Adda."

Lovisa and Greta were quiet when Volcania asked her mother this question. It seemed... pretty harsh.

"You've been talking with Revy and Liz again haven't you." As Volcania opened her mouth, Scarlet spoke first. "No. I don't. If I didn't save Adda, none of you would have been born."

Lovisa and Greta exchanged glances, the girls knowing that Adda was generally a taboo to speak about in the family. Yet, they also understood some of Volcania's curiosity. After all, her father was Bomba, Captain Corsaire's first mate and demolitions expert. He could make some of the finest gunpowder in the world from what the younger girls were told. But, thanks to Adda and that evil dragon, she never got to meet him.

"Adda was my best friend....” Closing her eyes, she decided to end this conversation. “Rat. Raise the anchor. I want to see you girls put the boat parked back into the harbour."

It took a little longer than expected, but the girls managed to get the ship back into the port. It was quiet on the way back. Borghild kept the girls occupied so Rat could talk to Scarlet. Bomba was always a touchy subject. "Me lovey..." Rat approached Scarlet once the girls and Borghild disembarked the ship. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Do you think I'm a bad seed or stupid in the head because I still care for Adda?"

"No. It's hard to a-forget the good memories even with bad ones still present, lassie." Rat told Scarlet with a sigh. "Me still loves me brother Renegade... well, tis Faris now. We were separated long ago, but reunited. Dere's nothing I would a-do for him. He's got a good life now with Teb and his little wee one, Skyla."

"But Faris doesn't have people calling him a bastard, a bitch, a monster. Or anyone that worked for him a cu-" Scarlet paused, stopping herself. She needed to breathe and calm herself down. "It's not the same."

"Aye, you's right, lassie, tis not the same." Rat put an arm around Scarlet and pulled her in for a close hug. "You's done stuff you's regretted, so has I. You's doing good now with the girls, me, Borgie, we all love you. If you hadn't of done what you did... me doubts you'd be here with us."

"I know. I know." Scarlet sighed, as she hugged him close. Suddenly, a stone in her pocket was shaking. Pulling it out, a voice echoed out to her.

"Hey ma. We still having dinner together?"

That was today? Scarlet spoke back into the whispering stone. "Yes Revy. We'll be over in an hour. You and your bird won't have to wait for long."

"Maybe tis do you good to go see Revy and Seija." Rat kissed Scarlet's forehead. "Go see her. Don't worry, we'll care for the girls."

"What? You don't want to join us?"

Rat did not have the heart to tell Scarlet that his back was hurting. Getting old really sucked. "Borghild was going to go hunting and someone needs to watch Lovisa and Greta." He gave her a smile. "Go on. I don't want you to a-miss the fun."

"And Volcania? Growing worried. She's old enough to be approached by men now. And you know how Direnor heat can be. Maybe she should come with me."

"You think her father didn't teach her how to swing a mace?" Rat chuckled. "She a good fighter like her old man and her mother. But if you want her to go with you, then take her. I'm sure she'd love to see her big sis for a while too."

"Volcania!"

"Yeah?!" She shouted back. "We're visiting your big sister!"

Volcania sparked up. "Awesome!"

Scarlet sighed, glad that was dealt with and started brushing her hair back. She stopped cutting it a long time ago, gone the days of shaved down sides. It felt good to just get her hands in there at times. "Anything you need from Revy Mousa?"

"Just tell her to come visit her old man soon." Rat assured Scarlet. "We'll be fine at home. Just have a good time with our lassie, yes? And tell her we want grandkids."

"You have the whole orphanage."

________________________________________________________________

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse

#Crossover #Flashback event #Scarlet #Captain Adda #Bonegrinder

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unseelieofficial · 4 years

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Fate Cards

All Fate Cards we’ve encountered, and who pulled them. Bless Feo for compiling this here.

The Angel

Description: It depicts a being floating among golden clouds and arcs of dark red flame, shadowed face turned upward, silver halo shining bright around its flowing black locks. It’s dressed in brilliant blue robes, two dark grey wings outstretched, both hands planted firmly on a brilliant sword the colour of the sky. There are numerous vibrant golden eyes dotted across its wings, looking to the heavens, lined with black. Meaning: Divine intervention, guidance Victim: Wally

The Bluebird

Description: The card is a simple design- a small blue, red breasted bird on a branch of a white tree with black leaves and purple berries, a gorgeous red sun setting behind it. Meaning: It represents having to leave a part of yourself behind for the sake of your freedom. (Jasper) Victim: Sadie

The Caretaker

Description: The card shows a light grey figure with curly white hair and a brilliant gold tunic on a pale green background. It's hunched over its work- one hand in the air holding a black needle, pulling taught a red thread keeping its project together- a patchwork quilt. Every square is another dazzling colour, a different pattern, seeming to change every time you move your eyes over it. The quilt takes up the bottom half of the card completely. Meaning: It represents relationships where people rely on you to look after them. Deepening a bond with someone you care for deeply or like... Adopting another teen or something I guess. Victim: Poppy

The Chessboard

Description: The card depicts a battle scene, blocky silver and gold soldiers frozen in the middle of a scene of battle, spread out on a long expanse of black and white checkered territory. All the pieces are in full armour, some wield bows, some swords or axes, but all of them are bleeding, looking weary, standing under the same blood red sky choked with black smoke. Some lie dead by the feet of their comrades. Meaning: It represents being thrown into a dangerous struggle between opposing forces. The outcome is up to you. Victim: Poppy

The Cinders

Description: The card depicts a somber scene, dark ash spread mingled with snow, a single jagged, charred cross poking up through the salvageable wreckage around it. Embers still glow faintly, dotted around the burned wood like Christmas lights, red smoke spilling up into the dark sky above. Meaning: Victim:

The Clairvoyant

Description: This card has a dark skinned figure draped in gold, standing in a similarly golden archway emblazoned with eyes. The figure has their blue kohl lined eyes closed, one silk draped arm over their chest and the other held out, palm open like a pledge. In the place of their mouth is a purple aster, beneath their sandaled feet a set of stairs leading into a dark blue river. Meaning: Bring some much needed insight to someone. Resolve a bad situation with that insight. (Poppy) Victim: Poppy

The Clock

Description: The card shows golden grandfather clock with a silver face, both ornate black hands pointing towards the 12. White lilies grow around the base of the dark mahogany wood, red roses bursting out from inside it. Meaning: A repeat of past events. Or something from an alternate future. Victim: Dorian, Saorise

The Clover

Description: A small, green shamrock pushing up through a blank field of snow, light sparkles of it still clinging to each of its four leaves. Meaning: Good Luck (Saoirse) Victim: Poppy

The Crow

Description: The second card depicts a large black bird, perched on the skull of some sort of canine creature with blood on its sharp, jagged fangs. The bird looks serene, with a small red button trailing red thread in its beak, eyes empty and white. Meaning: A loss of someone, or something, that is tied to you by fate. (Character?) Victim: Jimothy, Wally

The Crown

Description: The second card depicts a large black bird, perched on the skull of some sort of canine creature with blood on its sharp, jagged fangs. The bird looks serene, with a small red button trailing red thread in its beak, eyes empty and white. Meaning: It's an intrigue card. Put loosely, it means a sudden, tremendous power is coming your way. Maybe snatched from someone else's possession. Whatever it is, it will be a great responsibility! That's a lot of pressure... Victim: Sadie, Calypso

The Devil

Description: The card shows a dark green figure on a dark red background. They're slender, clad only in black chains, a spaded tail curling around one leg and up across their chest. Two small, triangular horns poke up through their thick hair. There isn't much detail other than their grin- white, sharp, twisted, dripping blood. Purple flames dance on their skin in the light. Meaning: An encounter with something evil. Something that makes you question your morals- whether it be through trickery, or something stronger. It's a problem that's almost impossible to overcome, Much like an ex lover. Tough break. (Cosmo) Victim: Isaiah, Saoirse

The Eye

Description: The card depicts a large black eye set in a pale silver face. Golden tears pool by the bottom, black lined lid, spilling down the drawing's porcelain cheek. There's a reflection of something in the dark iris, something that seems to change as Jimothy looks at it. Meaning: An awakening. Finally seeing something that was hidden- or something that you were hiding from. Figuratively or literally seeing things in a new light. (Feli) Victim: Jimothy, Sadie, Jasper

The Fallen

Description: The card shows a figure, falling through the twilight sky. They're splayed, silver hands stretched out to the heavens, mutilated, feathery stumps where wings used to be still streak blue blood across their battered body, shed black feathers as they fall. Their white robes are shredded, one arm shielding their eyes and face from whatever's up there. Meaning: Usually means a run-in with demons, or dark magic, or a corrupting force. Victim: Isaiah

The Fighter

Description: The image depicts a sort of soldier in dark blue armour, cracked and falling apart in places. His exposed golden skin is dirty, scratched, smeared with violet blood. He's slumped over, down on one knee, arm braced on his shining silver sword propped against the ground. Behind him is a purple pentagram- the right side up. Not a satanic symbol. Meaning: It represents bringing the end to a conflict. Could be war, could be a relationship problem. (Wally). Victim: Jimothy, Wally, Poppy

The Glacier

Description: This card is entirely black, with outlines of the stormy sea, and the tip of a giant chunk of ice etched into it in silver. The iceberg is much larger below the water, but this outline is in red. Meaning: This is... trouble. This card is big trouble- trouble that is way more than it seems on the surface. Victim: Othello

The Hero

Description: A single figure, half its body green, the other half blue. Adorned in a very fancy uniform covered in a pattern of white sunflowers, a cape swirling off to the left side, right arm bearing a shining silver sword. A crown sits atop a tangle of curls, made of silver snowdrop flowers woven together. Meaning: It represents coming into the roles of your ancestors. (Fionn) Victim: Calypso

The King

Description: The card depicts the white silhouette of a man seated on a black throne in a clearing of silver trees with black leaves, and the purple twilight sky behind him full of stars. Both his gloved hands are on the pommel of his sword, which is stuck in the ground and giving off beams of golden light. Two red, moth like wings stretch from his back, emblazoned with white roses. Meaning: Getting meddled up in politics. Whether that's good or bad is up to how you handle it. (Oberon) Victim: Isaiah, Wally, Sadie

The Legacy

Description: A card with a rather grisly scene- a white sky with a blood red moon over a black plain, blocky, eviscerated corpses littered across the field, pools of dark red blood and disembodied limbs littered between them. A single red rose is blooming from a particularly detailed corpse in the middle of the card, from the pool of golden blood dripping from its chest. Meaning: It represents the inheritance of the sins of your ancestors. (?) Victim: Jimothy

The Legion

Description: The card has a tall dark skinned figure in white and blue armour with long black hair holding two banners, one in each hand. In the left is a black banner with a white rose and in the other is a white banner with a black sunflower. The white banner is half burned, the black one torn almost in half. Behind the figure stands an army of gold and orange armoured figures in helmets, in a black field under a dark red sky. Meaning: This is a good card. It’s like, the aid of many or something. Victim: Dorian, Wally

The Lover

Description: The card shows woman in a long violet dress, standing in a field of dark red flowers as the sun rises behind her. Her face is turned away, long auburn hair covering her features. Her arms are outstretched, covered by the white wings of the dark blue heart pierced by a silver sword in the foreground. Meaning: Self-sacrifice. When the time comes, you'll have to make a choice between yourself and someone you love. (Mack) Victim: Poppy

The Magpie

Description: A strangely geometric black and white bird on a light grey background. It has red eyes, and red smeared over its beak and unusually long talons. Ruffled feathers seem to be falling out of its ragged wings. An arrow sticks out of its back. Meaning: A fight for something that you love dearly in the future Victim: Jasper, Calypso

The Mirror

Description: This one is just... a reflection. Isaiah sees their face, looking back at them, with the writing down by their chin. Meaning: Self reflection! Fucking hate that. It's about dealing with your problems. Victim: Isaiah

The Mist

Description: This card is... Hard to read. It's almost blank, but if moved, it shows off other colours- faint ones. Almost holographic. Meaning: This is you losing yourself- or donning some sort of... mysterious persona. I dunno. It's hard to read. Victim: Sadie

The Moon

Description: The third card depicts a simple silver crescent moon in a dark black sky. There are no stars in the depiction. Meaning: A symbol of serenity. A slow change of pace from what you're used to. A total transformation into something entirely different. Lucky you! (Max) Victim: Othello, Dorian

The Psychopomp

Description: The card shows a dark blue figure on a black background, standing tall and proud, hands folded behind its back respectfully. It's got on a top hat, and where its face should be is covered by a white skull, bright blue liquid streaking down from the holes of the eyes. Its finely tailored violet pinstripe suit has a bright red feather tucked into the lapel. Meaning: A bargain with death itself! Getting through a near-death experience, sometimes too. (?) Victim: Othello

The Prodigy

Description: This one looks a little more hopeful- a dark blue figure hunched over a black desk covered in brightly coloured scrolls of parchment on a white background. Colourful notes of music scroll across the blank background like bursts of light. Jimothy can almost hear a familiar tune in his head when he looks at it. Meaning: It's a triumph. Finding a new talent, or succeeding at one you've been working on for a while. (?) Victim: Jimothy

The Queen

Description: The card depicts the black silhouette of a woman sitting on a black throne in a clearing of golden trees with white leaves. The red sky of dawn shows the golden sun slowly rising behind her. Both her delicately gloved hands are resting on the sword in her lap, a long silver rapier. Two butterfly-like wings stretch out from her back, emblazoned with black sunflowers. Meaning: The queen is a responsibility. A sacrifice you make for your people, when faced with an unbeatable force. Whoever your people are. --- This card says you’ll be getting into some trouble soon. A power struggle between you and a force you can’t beat. A sacrifice will have to be made for the good of your people. Whoever those people are. (Titania) Victim: Isaiah, Saoirse

The Quill

Description: The card depicts an unreasonably large feather, like that of an albino peacock, resting in a violet bottle of ink, that's spilling its red contents over the side, on a black background. Meaning: Rewriting some aspect of what's past- or what's to come. Victim: Jasper, Wally

The Reaper

Description: A self explanatory card, with a dark hooded figure on a horse made of black bones, pawing at the ground. The cloak seems to be made of the night sky, stars winking in the fabric. In its hand, it holds a scythe that seems to glow with golden light, carved with hearts and moons, and little skulls. Meaning: Some other death thing? Maybe it means you'll die? Maybe see someone else die? I'd ask someone who's better at this. Victim: Jasper

The River

Description: The card shows pale blue river, white crests of water sloshing up against the green grassy banks, swarms of purple flowers choking the green out, dangerously close to the water. Meaning: Moving past something that's been holding you back. (Athena) Victim: Othello

The Saint

Description: The card depicts a tall man with his hands extended, black blood dripping from holes in his dark palms. He has long, dark curls that cover most of his face, dark blood dripping from his golden eyes, down to his gold and white robes, covered in patterns of angels and demons. He has a red halo, shining silver beams into a dark sky. (Zach) Meaning: Martyrdom or divine intervention. Victim: Poppy

The Scales

Description: The card shows a set of ivory scales, perfectly placed in the middle of the card with a blue background. On one side is the dark red skull of some sort of ram, black liquid dripping from the void of the eye sockets. On the other, the black skull of a wolf, dark red blood dripping from its horrific fangs. Meaning: The Scales represent a deadly balancing act. Tip too far one way, there'll be consequences. Victim: Wally, Dorian, Calypso

The Spy

Description: The card shows a green figure, dressed in a black tunic and hood with a dark red mask over their eyes on a golden background. two dark red branch-like antlers come up off their head, covered in flowers. Black roses, red sunflowers, golden snowdrops, strings of green ivy curling up like spider's webs. Meaning: Someone in your life can't be trusted. Either that or you're gonna learn a big secret about someone else's identity. (?) Victim: Saorise

The Stars

Description: Every time Poppy moves the card even slightly, it seems more silver dots appear in the dark violet sky shown on the card. It would take a while to count them- there's so many, in familiar constellations, in patterns none of them have seen before. Meaning: Absolute truths - Clarity through interference from otherworldly forces. Something to keep you grounded as you try to find what you're looking for. Victim: Poppy, Sadie

The Storm

Description: The card depicts something... it's hard to tell, really. Every time Wally moves it, it seems to change colours, a flurry of cool blues that seem like they could be a tropical hurricane, then a dark storm cloud, then a windswept canopy of lush forest. It's inherently chaotic. Meaning: Something on the horizon for you - Something big. Something that will sweep through your life, changing it forever. Might be good, might be bad. Whatever it is, it'll hit hard. Victim: Wally

The Sun

Description: The card depicts a dark gold sun in a cloudless red sky, the rays reaching towards the golden edges of the card. Meaning: A good development. Something breaking new grounds and beginning anew. Victim: Othello

The Tower

Description: This card shows a tiny, far off lighthouse, up on a rocky, storm battered shore. It's small, white and red, shining silver light into the inky blackness of a dark sky that bleeds into the white capped sea. Meaning: A great effort! May result in a mighty climb- or a mighty fall. (Ledge) Victim: Saoirse

The Trickster

Description: This card depicts a hooded figure against a gold background, standing on one foot on a dark floor as their dark green cloak billows behind them with both their amber hands outstretched. Playing cards are flying everywhere, floating around them in a circle. Looking at it too long seems to make golden, animalistic eyes appear in the darkness of the hood where their face should be. Meaning: This one's... Well. Tricky. Multifaceted. It's an unexpected happening- mostly a new power, or a new ally. Could be a revelation- something terrible, or something joyful. Something to make you feel like you're the plaything of the gods. Exciting! (Ori) Victim: Jimothy

The Troubadour

Description: The card shows a figure standing at a music stand. It seems they're addressing an orchestra, both arms in the air, notes of music bending and shifting around on their lines, dipping to weave through their fingers. They're in a ratty coat, however, plain brown clothes contrasting with their copper skin and mousy brown hair. Meaning: A self made hero from humble beginnings. The resolution of a problem in a peaceful way. Power and prestige. Not bad! (Character?) Victim: Othello

The Vulture

Description: The bird depicted on the card is really just the skeleton of a vulture, black and red bones with dingy, dark orange feathers still clinging to them. There's a silver dot in the otherwise empty eye socket, and black smeared over its beak. Meaning: An opportunity to gain something from someone's death. Victim: Jasper

The Wanderer

Description: The card shows a silhouette in a cloak that only reaches to their shoulders, face covered in shadow. They have a billowing cloak, rainbow in hue, primary colours on one side, secondary on the other. Half of their body is white, the other is red. On the red side, they hold a bag, brimming with... something. On the white, they hold a sword, golden and glowing. Meaning: A vagrant. This one’s new! Huh! Well. This is something big wandering into your life. Or wandering out. Could be good, could be bad. That’s the spirit of the wanderer. Sometimes it’s both. (Jimothy) Victim: Saoirse, Poppy, Jimothy

The Wasp

Description: The card depicts an wasp, curled up into a perfect circle. It's black and yellow, stinger long and gold and engraved with the same symbols adorning its blue metal armour. Its face is covered with an ornate helmet, angular and sharp, all its legs covered in plates. The background is white. Meaning: Victim:

The Witch Bottle

Description: The card depicts a green glass bottle. There's an assortment of items at the bottom, warped, with their colours mottled by the colour of the glass. There seems to be a bird skull, resting on a bed of dry grass and dark flowers with big, heart shaped petals. A faint lavender smoke comes from the open top. Meaning: A brush with a very old, often forbidden sort of magic. Victim: Poppy

The Wolf

Description: A wolf- an old one, by the looks of it, thin and lean and battle scarred, walking through a forest of silver trees and black grass. Patches of fur are missing from its golden coat, mottled with dark black scars, stained with purple blood, wary red eyes downcast. More blood blooms from its coat where arrows have pierced through it, and there is a hole in its chest dripping violet in a pool on the ground, possibly because it’s missing its heart, which it carries gingerly in its blood streaked jaws. Meaning: It represents breaking free of a relationship that was holding you back. Victim: Calypso

#Fate Cards

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this-is-a-love-story-fleabag · 4 years

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The Wedding Planner (2/4)

An AU in which Fleabag is a wedding planner, and Klare and Claire have found the perfect Catholic church to get hitched in... 1461 words. Chapter 1.Also on ao3.

"That's... interesting, wow," the priest was saying, looking both polite and extremely uncomfortable. The bride's godmother was clinging tightly to his bicep. The father of the bride was standing mildly in the background with his usual level of understanding of the situation, namely none.

Her dress was voluminous, lacy, and pure, brilliant white.

Nonchalantly, the wedding planner made her approach, swiping the glass of merlot from the table as she went.

With a practised ease, she managed to trip when she was a foot or so away from her godmother, and sent the dark red wine flying straight over the front of her dress, miraculously missing the priest.

"Oops," she said, very convincingly.

"I prefer the last one," said the priest, putting down the bouquet on the florist's counter.

The wedding planner was inspecting the peonies in minute detail, her nose crinkling in a way that he was trying very hard not to find adorable. "Me too."

He ran his eye over the other flower arrangement, the soft purples of the freesias soothing and pleasant. "It's a bit more subtle."

"Elegant, yeah." It would be so easy just to reach out and kiss her.

"I just think the baby's breath is a bit..."

She nodded. "Yeah. Definitely that one."

The florist took careful note of their choices and disappeared into the back of the shop without a word.

The priest examined the pollen coating his fingers and did his best to wipe it off on his trousers. "Has my knowledge of flower arranging made me seem more cool or less cool?" he asked, fairly certain that he could predict the answer.

"Much more cool, obviously."

"Knew it."

Hillary was making herself quite at home on the priest's shoulder as he made himself comfortable with a drink in the desk chair. "Do guinea pigs even get married?" he asked. "Are they monogamous?"

"I think they mate for life," said the wedding planner, pouring herself a generous glass of the Business Rum she kept in the bottom of the filing cabinet.

"What about hamsters?" He nodded to where Stephanie was trying to climb inside a coffee mug.

"Female hamsters sometimes kill the male partner after mating, so I'd say they'd be a less appropriate mascot."

He shrugged. "I don't know, if you want repeat customers I guess you've got to break up the marriage somehow."

"That's beautiful, Father, you should put that in your speech at the wedding."

Hillary began to nibble politely on his ear and he manoeuvred his head to get away from her teeth without dislodging her from her perch. "If you were getting married, what would you want the priest to say?"

"I'd want you to say, 'Stop the wedding! Let's go and fuck in a hotel room instead'."

"Come on, you must have thought about it."

"I've thought about it a lot." She gave him a lascivious look over the top of her glass.

"I mean your wedding."

Crossing one long leg over the other, she threw her hands up in surrender. "I genuinely haven't. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

He leaned forwards on his elbows, drawn towards her like a flower to the sun, and laughed. "You really are a fucking enigma."

"I try to cultivate an air of mystery. How about you? Did you used to plan your big day? Get your Action Man dolls to dress up and hold hands?"

He wriggled a little, feeling uncomfortably exposed. She crowed with laughter.

"You did!"

"It wasn't my Action Men."

"Uh-huh."

He winced. "I used my brother's Care Bears."

"What's the opposite of an enigma? You're that."

"I'm Alan Turing?"

"Oh god, I fancy a nerd."

"Fuck off."

"Does your alarm clock work? You haven't taken out the batteries to use in your vibrator again, have you?"

"Claire! I'm a professional adult."

"Sorry."

"My vibrator is mains-powered these days."

"I really need you to take this seriously."

"I will."

"No, really, there are very important people who will be attending."

"It'll be fine."

"Just don't be... you."

"Am I ever?"

It was the morning of the wedding and the priest was pacing around the church, anxiously checking on all of the preparations.

"Is there supposed to be a glass of red wine on this table?"

"Yes," said the wedding planner, smoothly steering him away. "I'm going to need it later."

"You and me both," he mumbled.

"Nervous?"

He wrinkled his nose and squinted adorably. "A tad."

"I'd recommend a quickie in the broom cupboard to take your mind off things, but..."

He looked for a moment as though he were considering her suggestion, wild eyes focusing helplessly on her lips.

"Yeah, no, best not," he decided, unconsciously running a finger up and down the spine of the bible in his hand.

"Ungh!"

"Unf!"

"Ah! Fuck!"

"OK, I think that's got it."

A pause. "Are you sure?" asked Claire.

"Yeah," panted her sister, tying the laces of the corset in a final knot. "They should really consider getting a hitching post installed if they're going to carry on doing weddings."

"At least this one's a sensible length," said Claire, inspecting herself in the mirror. She cut a lovely figure in her blush-pink calf-length dress, the gauzy fabric lending a softness to her austere frame. "Do you remember the poofy skirt on the last one?"

"I remember having to help you go to the toilet."

"Don't remind me."

"You were all-"

"Don't remind me," she said, more sharply. "All right?"

"OK, OK, Jesus."

"That's Maria and Johan," she murmured into Claire's ear, pointing out a couple on the other side of the room and consulting the family tree on her phone. "Klare's first cousins, once removed."

"All right, and who's that one in the green dress?" asked Claire in an undertone. They were hiding in the organ loft while their friends and family filed into the church, scoping out the crowd.

"That's our cousin Charlotte."

She squinted. "Fat Charlotte?"

"She lost weight."

"Obviously. God."

Claire sipped her champagne nervously and tapped her foot. Her sister laid a hand on her arm to give it a comforting squeeze.

"It's all under control," she reassured her.

"Aren't you just so dreadfully chic!" shrieked a voice from below.

"And that's my cue."

Her dress was voluminous, lacy, and pure, brilliant white.

Nonchalantly, the wedding planner made her approach, swiping the glass of merlot from the table as she went.

With a practised ease, she managed to trip when she was a foot or so away from her godmother, and sent the dark red wine flying straight over the front of her dress, miraculously missing the priest.

"Oops," she said, very convincingly.

"You-" started her godmother, rage building through the syllable. "You-"

"I actually happen to have another dress in your exact size right through here," she said smoothly, laying a hand on the small of her back and steering her towards a side room. She spluttered and fumed as the door was closed firmly in her face.

"Hi, Dad," said the wedding planner, kissing him on the cheek.

"That was very naughty," he said mildly, looking unperturbed.

"I know," she said with no contrition whatsoever. "Claire's in the organ loft, go and bring her downstairs and wait for my cue."

"All right, darling. You look, er, very... yes," he tailed off, wandering up the stairs.

"I can't believe how fucking smooth you made that look," said the priest in an undertone, leaning close, his eyes wide and twinkling with mirth.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, and reached out to straighten his purple vestment.

As she ran her hands over the smooth fabric on his shoulders, he let out an exhalation that was unsuited to a man of God. Bringing up one hand to cup her cheek, he trailed a thumb over her red lips before stealing a kiss, just one swift, close-mouthed press of the lips. She made a soft little sound and pressed her body closer to his, winding a hand into his dark hair.

The approaching sound of Claire's heels clicking on the wooden staircase broke them apart. He spun away and wiped the lipstick from his mouth while the wedding planner tried very hard not to look too smug.

"Right," said Claire between her teeth, tension evident in every line of her body. "Let's get this over with."

"Claire," said her sister softly, holding her by the upper arms. "Take a deep breath in... and let it out... OK?"

Claire did as instructed, and some of the nervous energy seeped out of her. "OK."

"You're marrying the man you love today," said the wedding planner, her usual armour of ironic detachment giving way to something startling in its sincerity, her eyes gentle as she connected with her sister. "That's the only thing that matters."

Claire smiled at this, a tight, guarded little thing, but a smile nonetheless.

"Alternatively, I've got a getaway car right outside if you want to blow this whole thing off and elope to Hawaii."

That elicited a laugh, and finally Claire squared her shoulders and raised her head high, ready to march on.

#fleabag #fleabag/priest #my fics #the wedding planner #phoebe waller bridge #andrew scott

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