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shieldmonokuma · 4 months

Text

Day 1.

I remember the sensation of falling as I slid the nerve gear over my head, as though my restless mind was trying but unable to fully escape. I could feel sparks run down my arms as I waited in anticipation for the black screen to turn to the game menu, and then finally, a new world.

Finally I can have a piece of the life I’ve always wanted. To think that I might not have bought the prerelease if it wasn’t for her. In fact, I almost stopped myself from joining right there, due to the bitter feeling in the back of my throat, the lightheadedness that I felt as I looked at the package. Still, I took a deep breath and started.

It’s just my nerves. I’ve never had this chance before, and I can’t afford to hesitate now.

I looked at the menu as it booted up. It scanned me and told me to enter my personal information, everything that it couldn’t gather by itself anyway. It displayed my in-game avatar-an image that I couldn’t even distinguish from myself-and allowed me to edit it from there. I tentatively entered the settings, then finally joined the game.

As the screen loaded in, I saw her waiting for me at the spawn point.

“Ah, hi Izuru!” ChiakiX3, as I had known her online at least, called out.

“I’m glad to see you again too,” I laughed a little. Was it due to my amazement, or just the awkwardness of meeting an online mutual in well, almost real life? It really was surreal. She was a girl who looked to be about my age. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see her walking through the halls of my highschool. It was almost eerie, how closely she seemed to match up with her online persona. She had a calm face, framed by taupe bangs and roughly shoulder-length hair. She wore the same uniform that all players were given, but had chosen to make her tunic a shade of dusty pink that matched her eyes.

To be honest, I felt like a poser recalling the effortlessly cool persona that I could keep up online. Like my attitude, I had only slightly altered my avatar in game, giving it a slightly longer hairstyle. My classmates would definitely call me an e-boy if it was like that in reality.

I choked back the sub-par remarks and unnecessary compliments that came to mind. “Would you like to try fighting something?”

She pressed a finger to her chin, and looked towards the horizon “Well, I actually signed in early. I’ve already learned the base fighting mechanics…” She paused and looked back towards me, the prior excitement returning to her voice, “I’d gladly show you the ropes though.”

“If you’d like to, then of course I’d be up for that.”

“Good. We just need to head to the plains then.”

I watched the scenery go by. An old fashioned village you might expect to see in a tourist town, plains with grass just slightly too green to be real. Finally, we found ourselves in a meadow surrounded by giant rats and wild boar. This was clearly meant to function as the tutorial. I unsheathed the dual short-swords I had selected in the startup menu. She already had her long sword in hand and was gazing at our opponents, apparently lost in thought.

“Okay, so you should start out by getting an idea of how fast your opponent moves, and their movement patterns. These ones are slow enough that you should be able to build momentum and focus on offence, but later on, there will be enemies that pose more of a threat. To perform a power attack you need to hit the opponent as hard as you can. I’d recommend running towards them before attacking to accomplish that, like this.”

She ran to a boar and sliced it across the side, so calmly she made it seem effortless. I tried to focus on copying those movements exactly. I ran forward, readied my swords and…

“Your technique is quite impressive,"

An unfamiliar voice caught me off guard. I missed, and the boar stayed up to charge me. Damn it! I took five damage (a quarter of my hit points) and slashed wildly, hitting the boar near its eye.

I felt a dull kind of pain in my leg, where the boar had hit me, but I reasoned that it was probably nothing. I looked around myself In attempt to find the source of that interruption. Chiaki was standing next to him. Another teenager? Probably a highschool student, but possibly just starting college. He was tall, with white hair that took on a slightly reddish hue at the tips. His silver eyes were hidden in shadow and he seemed to look past me as he watched my approach.

Looking back at Chiaki, he asked in a tone that emanated reverence, "You're the one with that five minute speed run of Monokuma Pizzeria, right? The one that blew up online?"

"Who are you?" I asked, trying not to sound annoyed with the newcomer.

"I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I? Not that it matters, but my name is Nagito. You just have to linger on my avatar if you happen to forget. As to why I'm here, I simply admire talent."

Nagito_the_ultimate_stepping_stone_for_hope… I think I've seen weirder… probably on Reddit, at least.

"I'm Chiaki Nanami, but it seems you already know that."

"I'm Izuru."

"Since we've been introduced, would you mind teaching someone as worthless as me?" Said Nagito. Now I honestly couldn't tell if this dead-eyed stranger was messing with us or not.

“I was already training Izuru, so I don't mind."

"Sure," I agreed in the most polite tone I could muster, then sighed and resumed practice, killing several more enemies while Chiaki coached Nagito. By the time we decided to stop training, it was late evening, about an hour after I had first logged in.

“We could try searching the town," Chiaki suggested, "I mean, since we have some items we could sell now."

"I was actually thinking about heating up dinner, but I guess I could stay for a little longer."

"It would be an honour to continue playing together." Nagito insisted as he stared directly into my eyes with that strange, placid smile on his face, “I mean, not that I’d want you to put your evening on hold for us.”

I wasn't sure if I should laugh or not, "Well, when you put it that way!” I moved to a more comfortable distance and continued, “It’s really not like I have anything better to do."

Wordlessly, we walked back through the fields until we reached town. The main street was full of other players; talking, breathing, living. I was still a bit stunned by the sheer number of people here on release. We walked into the store following Chiaki, but unfortunately this excursion would come to an untimely end.

Suddenly, the sky changed to a bright crimson. The announcement blared "ALL PLAYERS MUST MEET AT SPAWN IN 5 MINUTES."

Is this some sort of entrance ceremony?

"It's probably to thank the people here on launch." Nagito said, casually brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"...Yeah, that sounds right." I agreed as we started walking towards the entrance. "Still, this seems a little excessive."

He shrugged, and spread his arms as if to gesture at the world in general, “Couldn’t you say the same for all of this?”

"4 MINUTES…"

There were thousands of people gathered around the spawn point. Everyone looked uncertain. The incoherent buzz of their whispers only added to the tense atmosphere. My friends, or at least, my current company, had gone silent. We waited there like students about to hear their exam results, or kids about to open gifts. 3 minutes, 2 minutes, 1, finally it appeared. A towering, cloaked figure whose face was hidden except for a single, glowing red eye.

It spoke in a grating, nasal tone, too much like machinery to assuredly be called a voice, "I hate to be this cliche about it, but this game is designed for a higher purpose than just your entertainment. In fact, it would be completely accurate to say that this game will become your life."

The ghoul paused to let those words sink in, or perhaps, to relish in the audience's disbelief at what was to come next.

"You may have noticed that the exit button is curiously absent. That is not a flaw but a feature of this experience. I want you to live out your action hero dreams, so that was a must. There have to be stakes afterall, so your health and your avatar's health are one and the same. If you want to escape, though, I was generous enough to provide an escape route: just complete all one hundred floors, or… there is always the easier way, …isn't there? To keep it short and sweet, I hope you’re grateful for the wonderful opportunity I’m granting you. Fare-well.”

I froze. Those words were now burned into my memory. They were a dream, a killer’s speech in some movie. Nothing like that could happen to someone like me, a completely average, boring nobody-

"Are you okay?" A familiar voice said to me. I blinked. Something about the world around me had changed. We no longer even appeared to be the perfect avatars of ourselves we had created, but flesh and blood, …and yet he seemed unchanged.

"N-Nagito?"

He smiled with relief, "Ah, you're conscious. That's good. You stood there for a while without moving."

"What I heard back there… did you hear it too?"

“Yes, it appears that we’re stuck here.” His eyes shifted downwards, but his voice remained level, “I already checked, the no exit part is accurate at least.”

It is true then. It wasn't just in my head. Then there's no denying it. Still, I tried my best to fight that deranged conclusion. "This could be a publicity stunt, right?"

My companions looked doubtful.

“Even if that is the case, wouldn't it be better to stay here for the time being, in case the safezone rules hold true?” Chiaki asked.

“...You know there's only one way to test that hypothesis, right?” Chiaki and I looked straight at him, he raised his hands defensively in response, “I mean, you can hit me if that gives you peace of mind.”

I sighed, “No, I don't think that'll be necessary. We’ll figure it out sooner or later anyway.”

“At least we still have each other.” Chiaki pointed out, eyes still fixed on the point where that thing had stood. “That must count for something.”

The silence that followed said everything. I wanted to muster a smile, to tell her that I believed we’d be okay… but this was the beginning of a deadly game, we didn’t even know what we were in for yet. That was just the beginning of our new lives, our new reality.

#happy birthday hajime! oh #and happy new year #i've never posted a fanfiction online but I hope you like it #no content warnings #danganronpa #danganronpa online au #hajime hinata #hinata hajime #chiaki nanami #nanami chiaki #nagito komaeda #komaeda nagito

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aurathian · 3 years

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I saw that your requests were open. Being inspired recently by the Queen's Gambit, what if there was a chess board in the library and (pre Knight Attendant) Link walked by one day, noticing that one white pawn has been started. After much curious speculation, he moves a black and goes about his day. Unbeknownst to him, his opponent is none other than Princess Zelda. I'll leave the exposition and dramatic reveal to you, my friend :)

This was really so much fun to write and a very unique request! Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy what I came up with.

Checkmate

Link was often assigned the boring task of patrolling the castle while his fellow knights ventured out to Hyrule Field to slay monsters. It's not that he was a bad fighter—it was quite the opposite, actually. He was too good and often left the other knights behind, slaughtering any and every monster in his way and leaving none for them. Eventually, their commander decided that Link was "hogging too much of the fun" and chose to put him on castle patrol. Despite the prestige of the job title, it was more embarrassing than anything. When put on castle patrol, a knight had to wear the royal guard attire: a blue and red tunic, white boots and gloves, and a beret everyone but the royalty of Hyrule found ridiculous and humiliating. Still, he tied up his hair and put on the beret and the gloves and the tunic in the morning before heading off to the main part of the castle from the barracks. He was never one to voice his dissatisfaction; or voice anything, really.

While he strolled around the outside of the castle, right along its stone brick walls, it began to rain. First lightly, and then it gradually became heavier. When he heard thunder in the distance, he chose to retreat to the inside of the castle under the guise that he had completed patrolling the outside.

He walked into the library, a long and grand room lined top to bottom with bookshelves. Tables dotted the open space in the center of the room, books piled on top or papers scattered over the surface. The second level of the library was a balcony that wrapped around the room before meeting at a grand staircase. Small tables were placed against the railing on the edge of the balcony, usually covered with books or loose papers. People—servants, royal knights, castle staff—walked around the library, their noses buried in the pages of books, some sitting at tables and discussing the contents of the pages before them.

Link wandered aimlessly up to the second level. He didn't really care where he went as long as he kept moving and it looked like he was doing his job. Hands behind his back, he walked along the balcony, between the bookshelves and the tables, glancing at the spine of a book every now and then. The sheer amount of content the library had was baffling. It completely dwarfed the little shelf they had in the barracks that carried twenty or so books.

He was surprised that most of the tables on the upper level were empty or rather clean, boasting almost dustless surfaces and maybe a singular book. He thought it was peculiar when he came across a table with a chess board on top, the pieces all neatly in their place except for one white pawn. He strode over to it, his boots clicking neatly on the tiled floor, and leaned over the board. Why was there a chess game in progress when nobody was sitting at the table? He rubbed his chin and squinted in thought.

He knew very little about chess. Of course he knew the small pieces were called pawns and the term "checkmate," but besides that he was clueless. He'd watched his father play it many times when he was younger, but those memories were faded and distant. Curiously, he fingered the dark wooden piece shaped like a horse and after a moment of contemplation, he moved it over the pawn in front of it. He heard footsteps fast approaching him and he looked up to see a royal knight striding toward him, a serious look on his face. Link immediately straightened and walked away quickly, stiff and panicked, hoping he wasn't about to getting scolded in the room where everything echoed. It'd be more embarrassing than the beret on his head.

Finally out of the library and out of sight from the royal guard, he relaxed and carried on with his patrolling of the castle.

When he returned to the library the next day, once again on castle patrol, another white piece had moved—another pawn forward one space. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. His foot brushed against something solid below the table, and he peered down to see a book titled How to Play Chess. Picking it up, he opened the book and was displeased at, despite its tiny structure, the even smaller font. He navigated to the section about how to move pieces and, after reading it, chose to just move a pawn. The information from the book simply refused to translate to his brain. He never quite understood chess. There were too many rules and technicalities and it seemed too complicated for him, but he was committed to this game of chess and was determined to finish it. He grabbed the pawn by the small bulb on top and shifted it forward.

He followed the same routine for days—wake up, get dressed in the silly uniform, make his way to the library, move a piece, and continue patrol.

On another dark and stormy day when he chose to retreat into the library for cover from the rain, he made his way straight to the game of chess on the upper balcony. It was a challenge trying to navigate the library due to the fact that the light from the sconces and candles didn’t travel very far and he had to rely on his own vision to find his way. He was puzzled when he saw a slowly swaying flame hovering over the chess board as a silhouette of a hand grabbed a piece and moved it. It grabbed another piece and moved it off the board.

Cautiously, he approached the table. The flame floated up to illuminate the face that owned the hand that so expertly shifted the chess piece. Almost immediately, partly out of habit and partly out of respect, he knelt on the ground and lowered his head and his gaze to the tile floor. His heart raced as he thought about who stood before him, about who so confidently moved that white chess piece and took his off the board.

“Hello,” Princess Zelda said, stepping closer. “You can stand up.”

So he stood up.

“Are you the one I’ve been playing chess with?”

Shyly, he nodded.

“Well, that’s wonderful.” Her eyes and her smile were soft and kind, contrary to the image he’d painted of her before—uppity and snobbish. “What’s your name?”

She was wearing her deep blue dress and a crown rested atop her forehead. Her blonde hair rolled down her back in thick waves and her green eyes sparkled in the firelight. “Soldier?” she called, trying to reach him beyond his thoughts, beyond his admiration of her noble and clean appearance.

“Uh... Link. My name is Link.” Like a fool, he stumbled over his words, but he assumed she must’ve been used to it. Someone so intimidating must rarely receive neatly and confidently said words. His voice was quiet, as it was rare for him to speak, and he figured there must be something illegal about unknowingly playing chess with the princess of Hyrule.

“Well,” she sighed, gesturing to the chess board next to them. “Checkmate.” His gaze followed her hand to where his dark wooden king was sitting to the side of the board.

“Oh.” Link said dumbly. He didn’t understand what was happening at all during the weeklong game, and the book only helped him to understand how the pieces moved and what they were called. The rest of its contents were too wordy and technical for him to grasp.

“Do you... know how to play chess?” she asked, but he could tell that she knew about his incompetence at the game. He shook his head silently.

She hummed thoughtfully as she sat down at the table and began to reset the pieces. Thumbing a white pawn, she looked up at him and held her hand out to the seat across from her.

“Sit down. I’ll teach you.”

He shuffled into the chair across from her.

“I’ll go first.”

She moved her white pawn forward and the game began again.

#the legend of zelda #zelda #nintendo #loz #link #zelink #fanfiction #loz botw #botw #breath of the wild #my writing #requests

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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Is that a Cinderella AU part I see? Yes, yes, it is! And one hopefully not as dark and devoid of hope as the last part...

Charlie’s castle carpenter tunic is based on this design; Bill’s castle guard uniform, referenced in a previous part, is based on this real uniform from 16th century France, though with a Royaumanian-worthy blue/red color scheme. My headcanon is that Charlie (who’s described as stocky in the books) is 5′5″, only two inches taller than his “unofficial twin,” Carewyn, while Bill is a friggin’ giant the tallest of the Cursebreaking squad at 6′1″ (one inch taller than Ben Copper at full height and the same height as his actor, Domhnall Gleeson!). The entire Cromwell family is on the smaller side, with Charles as the tallest at 5′10″. Oh, and yes, the Cromwells are all a piece of work, but Charles is indisputably the worst apple in the bushel. 😒

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn was discovered outside by her aunts Pearl and Claire and uncle Blaise and brought inside. When they interrogated her about why she had returned to the estate in the middle of the night, however, Carewyn was unable to answer them. She was unable to speak at all -- nor was she able to eat, drink, or sleep. Instead she simply settled down in a huddled ball on her old cot by the fireplace and stayed there, her arms around her knees and her eyes devoid of all light or awareness.

Whatever had happened, Charles seemed to have determined Carewyn would be of no use to him in the palace, the way she was -- and so, at dawn, he sent a messenger to the King and Queen, telling them that she’d taken ill and would have to remain at home in the interim.

Carewyn’s cousins at first took some vindictive pleasure out of bullying her, now that she was back under their roof. Arsen and Kain actually picked Carewyn up off the ground and pushed her around like some human-sized doll while Elmer sang a mean little song he’d written about her --

“Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn, the finest of her class --

The duchess of the dust and soot, her kingdom’s made of ash!

She went to court; oh, did they chortle, snicker, and guffaw --

So Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn ran home, crying, ‘Mama!’”

Before long, though, her lack of a reaction seemed to make it not so fun of a game. Within two days, Tristan, the youngest of Carewyn’s cousins, actually threw a tantrum because Carewyn completely ignored him splashing his paints all over her.

“What’s wrong with you!?” the boy screamed, beside himself. “Why won’t you get mad at me?! Why won’t you run away and cry?! Why are you so -- so -- WEIRD?!”

Blaise was most perturbed when his son actually burst full-on into tears. Clenching his jaw furiously, he brought an arm around Tristan and swept him back inside and away from the vacant-eyed Carewyn. Then he went straight to the dining hall to speak to Charles.

“Father, something must be done about Winnie,” he hissed. “This is not normal.”

Pearl leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Her behavior is shameful. To think the Cromwell blood runs through the veins of that girl...”

“It’s pathetic, that’s what it is,” said Claire in sycophantic agreement.

“Winnie may be a pathetic thing, but she is our thing,” Blaise shot back fiercely, “and she’s practically dead as she is.”

He turned to Charles.

“We’ve already lost Lane and sent Jacob off,” he said in a quiet, cold voice. “Are we to simply let Winnie waste away?”

Charles had his hands folded in front of him on the table. At Blaise’s words, his own almond-shaped blue eyes -- identical to his children’s and nearly all of his grandchildren’s -- narrowed.

“I must admit, it is a shame that Carewyn has stopped being useful,” he said lowly. “Iris may still be a set of eyes for us inside the palace, but she’s hardly clever enough to do much of anything on her own that’s useful.”

Claire actually looked hurt. “Father...Iris just sent us a letter this morning. Was it not useful to you?”

Charles’s eyes were very cold upon his daughter. “Hardly. She spent a good chunk of it complaining that Carewyn did something to the Prince, before leaving the palace...clearly trying to make excuses for her own failure to hold Prince Henri’s attention.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with shame and she hung her head.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that Iris has blamed Winnie for stealing one of her suitors’ attention,” said Pearl seriously, “but we have yet to get any explanation about why she’s returned to us against your instructions. And Claire and I did hear a horse galloping away, that night. Could it have been Prince Henri?”

Blaise scoffed. “Doubtful. You think a Prince would ever favor a plain girl with no dowry or status?”

“You warned Winnie yourself that the Prince could want her as a conquest,” Pearl said darkly. “Heartbreak would more than explain her current state...”

The idea made Blaise flush with rage.

“Whoever rode that horse, it was not the Prince,” said Charles very smoothly. He rose to his feet, picking up his dragon-headed cane and strolling over to the window to look out. “From what my informants have told me...Prince Henri was at the Royaumanian army camp that entire night.”

His children all straightened up, taken aback.

“At the war front?” said Pearl, shocked.

“Yes,” said Charles. “It quite upset their Majesties. Even more so when he returned to the palace in the morning dressed like a commoner and declared to them and the entire royal court that he intended to open up peace talks with the soon-to-be King of Florence.”

“Soon-to-be King?” said Blaise, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Then the old one kicked the bucket?”

“Yes...and it turns out the replacement Crown Prince is something of a populist. From what I’ve heard, his very first decision as future monarch was to ask every Florentine nobleman to -- should they wish to remain at court -- donate a portion of their wealth to him, so that he could then use it to buy a feast and custom-tailored clothing for his soldiers.”

Charles was clearly offended by the idea. Blaise was too.

“Uppity brat,” he sneered. “I guess that’s what’s you get, when you choose a bastard peasant as your future king...”

Pearl, however, looked a bit more cynical. “Seems rather unwise, to antagonize those who come closest to you in status...”

“On the contrary,” said Charles. “It’s most shrewd. As Blaise said, the boy was the King’s illegitimate son. That would offend the standards of just about anyone of good breeding...thus it would be foolish to try to court them for approval. A rat can communicate best with other rats -- and sadly, a swarm of rats is just what you get, when they gather: a band of filthy, hungry, disgusting creatures who will eat away at what we hold dear.”

His blue eyes flashed.

“And now our Prince fancies becoming allies with such vermin.”

Claire looked uncertainly at Pearl and Blaise. Both of them looked perturbed.

“If the War ends, there’ll be less money in the future for us,” Blaise growled. “Our investments in armaments built this estate...”

“My investments, Blaise,” Charles said in a very cool voice. “Do not forget that even the ones done in your and my son-in-laws’ names were still orchestrated by me.”

He pushed his palm down into the top of his cane, his long fingers trailing over the metallic snout of the dragon-head handle.

“It’s far worse than that, however. The Royaumanian royal family’s financial troubles was what has lent me their ear from the beginning. Gave me access to their decision-making -- gave me some leverage in coaxing them to join our two families. Should the King and Queen become friends and allies with Florence’s new royal brat, they may get the idea to redistribute their courtiers’ wealth as he has, to alleviate the nation’s debts...meaning we not only won’t be bringing in as much money as before, but that we’ll also have to submit to parting with what we already have, just to indulge in petty charity.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed upon his reflection in the ice-trimmed window.

“Our family’s chance at ascending into royalty...at the absolute, irreversible power owed us...is slipping away.”

Claire got up and tried to comfort her father by taking hold of his shoulder. “But Father...surely there’s still some hope? If Iris -- ”

But Charles warded Claire off with the back of his hand, sweeping across the room.

“If your daughter thinks that a mere maidservant was able to captivate the Prince more than her, then perhaps it’s the maidservant who I should enlist in getting our family what we deserve.”

He shot a look over his shoulder at Pearl. “Fetch Carewyn and bring her to me.”

Pearl dragged Carewyn up to the dining hall by her arm. The ginger-haired Cromwell hadn’t changed clothes or washed since she’d returned home, so her face was covered in cinders and her forest green and white dress was still splashed with the paints Tristan had thrown on her.

At the start, Charles feigned concern, saying he hated seeing his granddaughter looking so ill and unhappy, but his words barely penetrated Carewyn’s mind. They were just more lies -- just like everything else out of his mouth. She should know...being a liar herself. So she didn’t say a word in response. She made no response at all. And soon enough, Charles did come around to what he really wanted.

“His Highness is set to make a fatal error...but you have his ear. We need you to return to your duties in the palace and ensure that he does not trust the Prince called Cosimo.”

Carewyn’s lightless, empty eyes ran over her grandfather’s face for a long moment...but she did not answer.

“This is a noble duty, child,” said Charles. Although he put on a smile, it did not touch his eyes. “This is your chance to protect both your family and your country. The Florentines have been our enemies since before your mother was born...and now they seek to feign honor long enough to lure our Prince into their jaws...”

He brought a hand down onto Carewyn’s shoulder.

“Jacob would be proud, knowing you were helping him in his fight against them.”

Carewyn stared at Charles. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were as dark and turbulent as two miniature hurricanes. And yet, she did not speak.

Charles tilted his head, raising his eyebrows and considering her expression with that cold, detached smile. “Come now, my dear...will you not speak to your grandfather? I do so hate to see you like this.”

Carewyn’s gaze drifted away as Charles’s eyes bore into her -- and yet the silence dragged on with neither breaking it.

Pearl, Claire, and Blaise, for their parts, were becoming all the more unsettled by Carewyn’s lack of a response. Blaise actually strode forward and shouted at her.

“You will speak when spoken to, you ungrateful little -- !”

He made as if to strike Carewyn, but Pearl grabbed his forearm and held it back, flashing him a warning look before turning her righteous anger onto Carewyn.

“Your grandfather requires your services, Winnie,” Pearl said very sharply. “Don’t you have something to say to him?”

Even with this, however, Carewyn didn’t say anything. Then, with as much energy and emotion as a ghost, she stepped back and out of Charles’s grip and turned to go.

Something flickered in Charles’s expression.

“I did not give you permission to leave,” he said very softly.

But Carewyn didn’t answer or turn around. Claire had to block the doorframe to keep her from leaving the room.

“Your grandfather said you’re not allowed to go,” Claire said, her voice trying to be sharp but instead sounding rather unsettled.

Carewyn stared at Claire with those hollow, empty eyes in silence as Charles approached her from behind.

“You will do your duty to this family, child,” he said. It was striking how much scarier his voice sounded, when it was quieter -- Charles Cromwell was the sort of man who didn’t need to shout in order to be intimidating. “After all...that is the pact we made when I took you and your brother in, is it not?”

He took hold of Carewyn’s shoulder, whispering in her ear.

“Do not forget that everything you have is because of my charity. I have no desire to punish you...but I shall withdraw my kindnesses, if I must.”

Carewyn was very still. Then she once again broke out of Charles’s grip and tried to move past Claire.

Before she could get far, however, Charles snatched her up by the hair. With a strangled cry of pain, Carewyn was thrown to the ground with astonishing force, Charles’s fist clenched fast around her hair.

“Your head is not the only thing in my hands, Carewyn,” he reminded her very coldly. “I hope you remember that.”

He wrenched her up onto her feet by her hair, and Carewyn had to clench her teeth to keep herself from crying out again.

“I have been very patient with your theatrics...but I grow weary of coddling you. Should I send some message to Jacob, so that you behave? Perhaps if your head is not one you will defend, perhaps his is...”

“Liar.”

The word escaped Carewyn’s mouth as a wispy, hollow rasp, and yet it was enough to make everyone in the room stiffen. Somewhere out in the hall, one might’ve caught a quickly stifled intake of breath.

Carewyn’s eyes, although so dark, seemed to have gained an odd gleam in the back of them, like flaming cinders in a dying fire, as she stared up at Charles.

“You’re a liar,” she said again, her broken voice as rough as sandpaper in her throat as it rose in volume. “I know your life isn’t bound to Jacob’s. Any spell you could’ve had cast on him would have broken at midnight, the very night you sent him away -- the very night you ripped him away from me and sent him off to War against his will!”

Her blue eyes flared with hatred.

“That’s why you’ve never once gotten word from him -- because there’s no word you could receive from him at all! Admit it!”

There was a horrible silence. Pearl, Blaise, and Claire all looked from Carewyn to Charles and back.

Charles bore down upon his granddaughter, his face as cold as some ivory mask with hard, diamond-like eyes.

“So that’s what this is about,” he said softly. “Assigning blame. Very well, Carewyn...let us discuss this. You came to me as a child, sobbing and distraught beyond words...begging me to save your brother’s life when he was already on death’s door. You had nothing to offer me at that time, nor did your brother -- and yet I, out of the goodness of my heart, agreed to take you in. All I asked was that you show proper gratitude...a term you accepted at the time, and yet now have seen fit to break.”

He yanked Carewyn up by her hair and threw her into the table with a WHAM. Carewyn cried out in pain, before crumpling to the floor in a heap.

“I spent a good deal of my own money and discarded my own honor to try to find someone to save your brother’s life, if only to bring the light back to your eyes. Jacob was brought back to health and you were reunited with him, just as you’d hoped. And yet now you seek to demonize my wish that you show gratitude? That I collect on the debt owed me?”

He brought the heel of his shoe down on Carewyn’s shoulder with force, slamming her face down against the floor.

“And worse,” he whispered, “you wish to demonize the fact that, all these years, I was too grief-stricken to tell you of your brother’s passing?”

Blaise, Claire, and Pearl all stiffened. Only Claire, however, looked shocked.

“Jacob is...dead?” she whispered shakily.

“I knew such a revelation would be crippling to a fragile, weak heart such as yours,” said Charles, his diamond-like eyes very hard upon the back of Carewyn’s head. “I knew that the knowledge that your brother died the morning after his departure, and that his body had to be burned with every other prisoner in those barracks instead of receiving a proper burial...would break your heart.”

Carewyn had started to shake. Her face had lost all of its color, and the flicker of rebellion she’d shown mere moments ago had gone out.

“You’ve never been a stupid girl, Carewyn. You really should have figured it out years ago...and yet, like a child who believes in Yuletide gift-givers, you latched onto your brother’s memory even when all logic said you shouldn’t. I’m certain everyone else in this family saw through my pretense -- knew that it was merely something to placate you, soothe your temperamental emotions. They always have made it difficult for you to see things clearly.”

Charles's eyes narrowed.

“You were the one who disregarded your duty to the man who put a roof over your head, clothed you and fed you. Perhaps the truth wouldn’t be so crippling if you had simply done as I wished...rather than chase after a ghost.”

Tears streamed down Carewyn’s face. Although her eyes were so hollow and she shook so badly, however, the grief inside of her was not just numbing. It had grown to such an extent that it for a moment made her lose her head completely. In a violent move, she wrenched herself off the ground with a mad scream and threw a fist right at Charles’s face. Unfortunately Carewyn had never been particularly strong -- and so Charles was able to seize her wrist, twisting it away from him and holding her back with little difficulty.

“Blaise,” said Charles icily. “Fetch the whip.”

Blaise looked stricken. “Father -- ”

“The child requires discipline,” he said without looking at his son. “I will not have her thinking that following her brother’s example is acceptable behavior.”

Blaise closed his eyes and bowed his head. Then, with a grim look on his face, he swept from the dining hall.

When he entered the hallway, he found all of Carewyn’s cousins (excluding Iris, who of course was still back at the palace) huddled up against the wall. They’d clearly been listening to every word...and for once, none of them looked the least bit amused. Their faces were all very pale.

Blaise considered them all for a moment in silence. Then he brought an arm around his son and led him away.

“Come, Tristan. You will return to your room and stay there until I come fetch you.”

Everyone at the Cromwell estate tried to block out the screams of pain that echoed out of the dining hall. After just under an hour, Charles finally stopped, whether out of physical tiredness or just having finally spent his temper, and bid Pearl and Claire to carry Carewyn up to the tower room at the back of the estate. Charles didn’t want her to leave that room again until she was prepared to behave appropriately.

Carewyn had expected Pearl and Claire to simply throw her on the floor and leave her there. Instead, however, Pearl sent Claire to go fetch some towels and cold water, and she hoisted Carewyn up onto the worn feather cot on the far end. Her aunts then removed her torn dress so that they could clean the open gashes Charles’s whip had delivered to her back.

As far back as Carewyn could remember, her aunts had never liked her. Her mother Lane had even told stories about her siblings and how Charles had pressured his children to compete against each other their whole lives. When Carewyn had moved in, Pearl had refused to look her in the face for over a month...and thanks to her daughters’ dislike for Carewyn, Claire had always treated her niece just as coldly. And yet, now...for some reason, they sat with her.

“...Why are you doing this?”

Carewyn couldn’t see either Pearl or Claire’s faces while she was lying on her stomach, but she heard the mattress give a light squeak, as if Claire had shifted slightly to look at Pearl.

“Don’t you think you’ve questioned your elders more than enough already?” said Pearl in a very hard voice.

She brought a cold cloth up to the largest gash on Carewyn’s shoulder, dabbing at it lightly.

“You may be a stupid, arrogant, pathetic girl, Winnie,” she said quietly, “...but I know the pain of losing one’s sibling.”

Carewyn felt some pity in her heart despite herself.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Pearl scoffed. “Thank me by doing as your grandfather says.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. Then she turned her head away from her aunts and didn’t reply.

Taking her silence as a refusal, Pearl withdrew quickly and hoisted herself up off the worn mattress.

“Come, Claire.”

Claire hesitantly inched herself up off the mattress too, fetching the bucket of water from the floor as she went. Carewyn could see her glance back at her, when she reached the doorframe.

“Your grandfather bid you stay in here until you behave,” said Claire, and her voice sounded almost reproachful. “Please don’t make him punish you further.”

But Carewyn did not make any move or sound. And so Claire closed the door behind her, and Pearl locked it with a loud CLACK behind them.

Once Pearl and Claire descended the stairs of the tower, however, they caught the sound of raised voices from outside the open manor door. One of the voices they recognized as Blaise’s -- the other, they couldn’t have known, belonged to Charlie Weasley.

When Carewyn’s friends learned that she would not be returning to the palace, they all reacted with concern. They knew how crippling the revelation of Jacob’s death had been, but the knowledge that she was back with her family, rather than at the palace where they could help her heal, well...that only made the whole affair worse. Clearly, as KC pointed out, the King and Queen probably wouldn’t have been that lenient toward a servant who was unable to work and had no reason to suspect anything malevolent in Charles wanting to “take care” of his granddaughter. After all, Andre himself had also presumed Carewyn was well-treated by her family, before he’d been forced to conclude otherwise.

“I’ll tell them the truth -- ” Andre had said forcefully, but Badeea only shook her head sadly.

“It won’t help, your Highness,” she murmured.

KC nodded grimly. “Carewyn is Lord Cromwell’s ward, Andre. Her only possible legal guardian and benefactor. That means she belongs to him, whether we like it or not. No matter how badly she’s treated, or what she’s told you about him, he’ll still have that power over her. And as long as he’s a Lord with more financial capitol than our entire family does combined...the King and Queen won’t want to discipline him.”

Bill and Charlie, however, just couldn’t accept this. So after their scheduled duties, they visited the Cromwell estate themselves, requesting to see Carewyn. When Blaise tried to turn them away, the exchange got more heated.

“I’ve already told you that Winnie will not see you,” Blaise said, his blue eyes flashing at the two brothers.

“We’d like to hear that from her, please,” said Bill, but his politeness had a noticeable edge to it.

“She is in no condition to entertain anyone, least of all a pair of peasant boys who presume to trespass on our land and make demands. Now get out.”

“We’re not leaving until we see Carey!” Charlie said fiercely.

“You will leave now, or I shall see to it that you are thrown out,” snarled Blaise.

“Go ahead and try it!” said Charlie, getting right up in the blond man’s face.

“What’s all this now?”

Charles Cromwell had emerged from the open door of the manor. Dashing out after him were Pearl and Claire.

Blaise’s eyes flared. “A couple of troublemakers who’ve come looking for Winnie. ‘Westley,’ they call themselves -- ”

“Weasley,” corrected Bill. His eyes were narrowed as he faced Charles. “Bill and Charlie Weasley. We worked in the palace with Carewyn -- we heard she was sick and came to see her.”

Charles glanced at Pearl and Claire out the side of his eye, before his eyes swiveled back over to the two Weasleys.

“...I’m afraid my dear Carewyn is resting upstairs.”

“May we see her, please?” Bill said. Once again, his words were polite, but his voice was very firm and pointed.

“No,” said Charles. “You may not.”

His eyes narrowed upon Bill’s freckled face. One could wonder what he saw in Bill that day -- whether it was the protective “big brother” affect that reminded him of his deceased grandson Jacob, the sincere devotion Bill felt for his granddaughter Carewyn, or simply the pure distrust and dislike toward him -- but whatever it was, it served to make the Lord’s face that bit more mask-like as he considered the ginger-haired castle guard.

“‘Bill Weasley,’ you said your name was? Well, Mr. Weasley...you can be rest assured that Carewyn is being quite well taken care of, here with her family, where she belongs.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Charles raised his eyebrows very coolly.

“We know all about what you did to Carey, Cromwell,” said Charlie. “We know full well how you ‘take care’ of your family...unless you think Jacob would actually speak on your behalf, if he were still alive?”

Charles, amazingly, didn’t react at all to this, but it only served to make his mask-like face that much more unsettling.

“No one feels Jacob’s loss more than I. And I should thank you not to question that, boy.”

His eyes flickered from him to Bill.

“I don’t know what Carewyn has told you...but I’m afraid I must apologize for it, all the same. The child has always had a difficult relationship with the truth...she’s often spun tales to...try to make herself seem more appealing, to the people around her.”

“Takes a liar to know one, I guess,” spat Charlie.

Pearl’s eyes flared. “You have some nerve to speak to a nobleman thusly -- ”

“Pearl,” Charles soothed her, but his voice was hardly warm or comforting. Instead his eyes bore into Charlie with a darker glint. “You do yourself and your brother no favors in insulting me. I could have been kind and offered to send word, when Carewyn was well enough to see you...but I can see clearly that the both of you would be a toxic influence on my granddaughter, should I allow you to associate with her.”

“Toxic?” repeated Charlie, his voice rising. “You son of a -- !”

“Noble bloodline, unlike you,” Charles Cromwell said in a very low, foreboding voice. “One with enough money and influence to force you to comply with my wishes, if I must.”

Charlie wasn’t intimidated. “You do that, and we’ll tell the whole world about what you did. Reckon you won’t have quite so much respect from everyone, once they learn you used magic to trick Carey into staying under your thumb -- ”

“A dangerous accusation for anyone to make,” said Charles, his foreboding voice deepening further. “More still for a boy relying solely on the flawed testimony of a maidservant...and belonging to a family so impoverished by its size that they’d have no means to rebuild, in the event of some unforeseen tragedy...”

Charlie’s eyes widened dangerously. He looked like he wanted to punch Carewyn’s grandfather right in the face, but Bill took hold of his brother’s shoulders from behind, in a gesture that seemed to be both holding him back and expressing support.

Charles’s eyes -- the same color and shape as Carewyn’s, but infinitely crueler -- flashed up at Bill.

“I can tell that you -- like me -- are the sort of man who wishes to protect his family, Bill Weasley,” Charles said coldly. “If you wish to do so...then you will ensure that neither you nor your family comes near mine again. Do I make myself clear?”

Bill and Charles glared at each other for a very long moment, silently burning brown on icy, diamond-like blue.

“Crystal,” Bill murmured at last.

Charlie looked up at Bill, horrified. “Bill -- ”

“Come on, Charlie,” Bill cut him off quietly. “Let’s go.”

Bill steered Charlie away and off of the Cromwell estate. Once they’d cleared the gate, Charlie whirled on his brother.

“Bill, you can’t be okay with this! If old Lord Cromwell won’t let us see Carey, then something’s gotta be wrong! We can’t just -- ”

“I know,” said Bill.

Glancing over his shoulder, he walked with Charlie a few more feet to make sure they were out of earshot. Then he said quietly,

“Charlie...make up an excuse for the King and Queen about why their carriage is going to need more time to fix than you thought. We’re going to need it.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #bill weasley #charlie weasley #charles cromwell #blaise cromwell #pearl cromwell #claire cromwell #my art #my writing #...okay originally this was going to be two parts BUT #I figured you guys needed a bit more hope after how bad of a part the last one was #so I decided not to cut this in half #going back to work tomorrow~!!#so next part might take a little longer but I'll try to finish it soon #please keep liking/reblogging/commenting if you're enjoying! xoxo

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jashasedai · 4 years

Text

The Taking- Character Notes

I worked up some character descriptions to use as reference for the characters that appear in the Taking. Pictures of creatures are references for bodyshape/conformation, not for exact appearance. The guys all have their own face, hair, eyes, except where noted.

Character Descriptions so far:

Linnea- Vampire. White skin, short pink hair cut into the shapes of magpies, white cableknit tunic, black velvet looking pants, leather overcoat, battle axe

Saskia- Human specially trained to hunt otherbeings Blonde hair, blue eyes, blue silk patterned shirt under a wool peacoat, black leather pants, over the knee leather riding boots

Alain- Dryad *winks at IA*

Valentino- Satyr. Montechristo goat legs, black hoodie sweatshirt over a tank top with the VR46 logo, sneakers designed to fit hooves.

Colin- Naga. Rattle Snake from the waist down, blue leather motorcycle jacket, grey concert tshirt No Shoes, just a sexy tan coloured rattle the size of your fist and forearm. 6 Rattles, and one small one forming(one for every seven years.)

Credit: https://www.redbubble.com/i/art-print/The-Naga-by-Bammelsan/35613939.1G4ZT

Aron- golem, jasper green skin with kintsugi instead of all his tattoos.

Wears a black cocktail dress and sneakers with his socks pulled up.

Skin is this type of green, tattoos are gold instead of black

Pippit- Mage who works with the Gatekeepers. Short woman, young faced but with a grandmotherly attitude.

George- Paperwight, looks like he’s made of newspaper origami, with strips of paper for hair and big, glowing, tennis ball sized yellow eyes. His newspaper skin reports on what he is doing.

Not Pictured

Robert- Emperor Eagle Harpy

This shape (but Robert has a noble eagle beak, and his own hair)

This bird

Credit: https://twitter.com/vvisti/status/1084682754095308800

Jorge Lorenzo- Sphinx, Anthro human face, dark furred wings, dark furred mane, goatee, red stripe in hair and red x on chest.

Credit: Pathfinder Games

Andre- A gargoyle. During the day he is stone and sits on the roof of the Gatekeepers’ station, as the sun sets he becomes a flesh creature with clawed hands and feet and wings.

Buemi- The Gatekeepers’ weaponsmith/gunsmith. Has a workshop in the basement of the station where he designs and manufactures weapons for the various creatures who guard the gates to the Hedge. The same type of gargoyle as Andre.

Jev- A handsome human ghost, appears normal except for having been decapitated. His body functions under the control of his head and often carries his head under its arm. If set down his head leaks ectoplasmic blood.

Zephyr- The spirit of the mechanical age. A huge green steam locomotive. Currently sealed in stasis by a powerful spell. Founder of the Gatekeepers.

Sebastian- Vampire, human passing. Redbull beanie and a racing jacket.

Kimi- Ice Giant. Has a size spell that fits him into human spaces. Really 15 feet tall with white hair and eyes and glacier blue skin. Wears biker boots, jeans, and a parka to keep the cold in.

Alex Albon- Stoneskin changeling, carved soapstone statue appearance, angular features.

Jenson- Tall, beautiful pale vampire. Since he’s been taken by the Fae his eyes have turned from totally red to totally black.

Teddy Bear- Appears in Arcadia to be a knee high stuffed bear with round black eyes and lots of seams and stitches where his limbs have been sewn back on.

Dani Pedrosa- Dani shaped when human, scars and seams over his joints.

Shaped like this when bear

Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/gweeb/35329294

Marc and Alex Marquez- Harvestman. Appears in traditional grey robes with scythe or, in his more modern iteration, as a human man in a black on black three piece suit with his face covered in black greasepaint except a white painted skull

Credit: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/nQY5G6

Rinsy- Muskox-taur. Rams horns on his head, his own long brown curly hair, and the same wooly kind of hair on his muskox lower body. Wears a vest spun and knit from his own quivet(muskox wool).

Lando: Appears perfectly human, but with a malign air about him. In his illusions he appears as a small boy with bright curly hair. Without illusions, he appears as himself, though younger.

Joe Roberts: Appears human until his emotions are up, or he’s done his trick of stepping through one painted door and out another somewhere else, then he appears to be human, but leaves streaks of paint on anything he touches. In his shed he has a painting that looks something like this, but the scene is of a farm family.

Credit: https://www.sothebys.com/en/auctions/ecatalogue/2017/old-masters-evening-l17036/lot.48.html

Guanyu: Guanyu is a twelve year old faun. He has water deer hind legs, a little darker and redder than they will be when he grows up, and spotted with white fawn spots. When he grows up, instead of antlers, he will grow a handsome set of fangs.

Pedro: Pedro looks like any other fourteen year old human except, because he is a curupira, his feet face the opposite direction.

Andrea Iannone: A tall, broad shouldered vampire.

Antonio Giovinazzi: Formed similarly to a harpy, Antonio has bird wings instead of arms, bird legs that end in hunting talons, and a lustrous, flowing tail. His feathers are scarlet and form a red mane and crest around his human face, but when he is ready to fly, his full bird form makes it’s appearance.

Checo: Another of the harpy style people, a Huitzilopochtli, with hummingbird feathers. He travels with Esteban Gutierrez, who is his Xiuhcoatl, or Fire Serpent. A feathered serpent, he has an elongated torso, though he does have legs, unlike a naga, and arms, which have flight feathers along them.

Esteban Ocon: 8 Feet tall in human spaces, though a great deal of that is his sinewy neck. He walks upright on his hind legs and is smooth scaled, bottle green. He doesn’t have this horn/whiskery arrangement, but it was hard to find a picture of a dragon where it doesn’t look like they’re half cheese grater.

Lance: The Trickster Raven, he can choose which parts of his body to manifest as a bird, but his most common is the traditional-

Credit: White Wolf, World of Darkness

Max Verstappen: Max was always a frogman, but since he got back from Arcadia, he seems to have an extra tick in his step. When he works at the multicultural center he wears a double breasted uniform jacket that reminds Saskia of the toy nutcrackers from the Nutcracker Suite.

Helmut Marko: Most cyclops are giants, but this one is small, wizened, and runs a museum for people of all species to learn about one another’s cultures.

The Fauns:

In addition to Rinsey, the leader, there is another member of the gang who is not technically a faun. Andrea Migno is a hind- similar to a centaur, but instead of a horse body, he has the delicate legs and hooves of a mountain chamois, a deerlike creature from his native Italy. Unlike the rest of the Fauns, he wears his hair short, and the fur on his legs is short as well, and his legs are dyed with gold and blue stripes that make him look like he’s wearing socks.

Marco Bezzecchi, Enea Bastianini, Lorenzo Baldassarri, Pecco Bagnaia, and Matia Pasini are also members of the gang. They are all true fauns, with wooly goat legs and long wooly hair to match.

If I was a better artist, you’d all have a better idea what everyone looks like. Sorry.

#motorsport fanfiction #motogp fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #alternate universe urban fantasy

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snootysith · 5 years

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Summary: Ru’s first encounter with the Voices of Nerat and Graven Ashe comes long before the events at Vendrien’s Well.

Fine etiquette was expected for all vassals under the Adjudicator’s banner. Even court pages like Ru. Scratch that, especially court pages like Ru. He'd been left to his own devices before he could count his age on one hand, making a living stealing anything that wasn't nailed to the ground. He still wasn’t sure what stayed Tunon’s hand after The Incident but there must have been something worth keeping if he had him learning letters and numbers and parading him around in trappings fit for a noble's son, not a street rat.

Rhogalus told him this was what it meant to be part of Kyros’ Empire. Nunoval told him to make the most of the cards he’d been dealt. Calio told him Tunon must be challenging himself.

(Ru liked Calio best. Not that he'd ever give her the satisfaction of knowing that.)

Court life ran like clockwork but today was different.

Today marked the Overlord’s victory over the Northern Kingdom, and petty strife in the Capital let up to make way for celebration.

From up a high window, Ru watched revelers stream past, laughing and chittering among lantern lights and music as Kyros’ emblem fluttered overhead. Vendors lined the street peddling their wares to everyone, sometimes a dazzled visitor from a far-flung corner of Terratus, sometimes a curious Archon surrounded by their retinue. Tunon was, officially speaking, obligated to attend certain social functions to exert his authority and maintain relations with other Archons. It was strictly political, and Ru suspected it greatly annoyed him to be dragged out his courtroom. He went and sent nearly every able-bodied Fatebinder out to keep the peace and the dormitory was notably quieter for it.

Court pages were excused from their daily lessons but that was all Tunon was willing to permit, expressly forbidding them from leaving palace grounds and partaking in festivities. Naturally, a few brave souls snuck out when the guard rotation changed. They invited Ru along but the lingering ache in his palms from a few hard swats of a ruler was a keen reminder of the price for playing hooky again. It wouldn’t be long until a Fatebinder caught them, rendered due punishment, and dumped them back here anyway. They'd content themselves with a board game or something until a more sympathetic Fatebinder smuggled in toys and treats and that was that. The holiday would come and go, and court would resume as usual.

Life was hard being ten-years-old.

Something soft and heavy dropped on top of Ru’s head. He pulled it off with a frown and stared at the rich, pinstripe red tunic in his hands for a moment before he looked over his shoulder. Calio leaned against the bedpost of his bunk bed wearing her best uniform and a wry smile.

“Spruce up,” she said. “We're putting those court manners to the test.”

Calio was on track to succeeding the Fatebinder of Balance and Ru looked forward to seeing her every day when she became a fixture under Tunon’s dais. For now, she navigated the ballroom with the ease and grace of a Fatebinder twice her age, engaging all manner of conversation with a clever quip and pacifying any argument before it escalated. She and Ru were only a decade apart but the disparity was enough to make him feel hopelessly out of depth.

That Tunon let him roam outside the Palace of Justice should be exciting but this place, with its shameless opulence and its dignitaries who, like Tunon, were Not-Quite-Right, made Ru’s stomach squirm anxiously. He hovered by Calio’s elbow for a time, scraping and bowing, suffering pats on the head and pinched cheeks, but it soon became clear that he was the only non-adult in attendance. The shadows were welcome reprieve and, hoping against hope, Ru waited for them to contort into Mark's familiar shape, but they never stirred. Disappointed, he latched to the banquet table, content to stuff his face with candied nuts and fruit until he got sick.

Then something caught his eye.

A handkerchief poking out from a woman's purse, shimmering silk, the color of the deepest sea, ripe for the taking.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

Ru popped one last candied nut in his mouth, sharp spice bursting on his palate, and chewed slowly, letting the idea steep in his mind while the sensible part of him (that curiously possessed Tunon’s voice) railed desperately against it. Tunon floated slightly above the crowd but that could work to his disadvantage with Ru’s short stature. Even if Tunon wasn’t preoccupied with a gaggle of courtiers, it would be easy enough to slip behind a pillar or duck under a table if he altered his line of sight. If Ru tackled each area cross-wise from Tunon’s position at all times, then surely he'd reap the most rewards with minimal danger. Calio wouldn’t mind— unless he got caught. She liked him but not that much.

Ru swallowed and smirked.

The evening passed without a cry of alarm, just a few mutters of clumsiness and forgetfulness so far. Good. There was always a small thrill in giving people the slip, like he'd won a game. The opponents used to be district guards and, admittedly, he'd lost a few rounds to them but he always wriggled free one way or another, so it never counted. But as he targeted his next mark, he felt a prickle down the nape of his neck, a pin of a stare almost identical to Tunon’s, and he whirled around to find its source, noticing a strange... something lurking just beyond the crowd.

Never once did it occur to him that this thing, green incandescence wrapped in tattered red rags, was anything more than another eccentric Northern decoration. Some cantrip given human form. Maybe a novelty lamp. It stood in the shadow of a crumbling statue completely motionless save for the bronze helm that swiveled lazily above the flaming cavity of its neck. Hanging from its threadbare belt was a small pouch of curious marble balls that glittered like stars.

No would notice if one disappeared.

Ru approached the strange apparatus, curiosity compounding his intent as he looked it up and down, puzzling over how the inferno did not consume the very fabric that contained it. It was a passing fancy, however, and he made a swift grab towards the pouch.

Only for a hand to clamp on his wrist, flames biting at his tender skin.

Recoiling with a yelp, Ru clutched his arm to his chest and stared up at this thing— this person incredulously.

“A bold stroke! How charming. How terribly stupid.” Its helm snapped in place on the smiling visage and it bent low until they were face-to-face. A chuckle echoed in the chamber of its head when Ru scrambled backwards into a pillar. “You would have fared better pilfering another Archon. One with less eyes. Might we recommend Graven Ashe? We hear whispers he hides a treasure trove in that beard.”

“A-Archon?” This was it. This was how Ru died. A wet smear across the face of Terratus with pulpy bits of him still clinging to Tunon’s gavel. His eyes darted to the dark shape of the Adjudicator hovering across the room. Mercifully his back was turned to him but it wouldn’t be long until he sniffed out guilt like blood in the water. Getting caught robbing an Archon a second time wasn’t going to end with him pledging fealty again.

“You’re one of Tunon’s!” It emitted an odd, reedy laugh as it took notice of the object of Ru’s attention. “Surely not! You actually have character. Does he know how naughty you are?”

Ru played along. He must. Even if this Archon made his skin crawl it had yet to drag him before Tunon so he'd take what small mercies he could. “He does,” Ru admitted. “I’m... a work in progress.”

“Ah... he seeks to fix you. Such a waste. Were you under our care, you would have been allowed to embrace your talents. As it is, they need refinement. Don’t think your misadventure around the ballroom escaped our notice. Your pockets must be bursting at the seams! You even managed to lift a vial of Bane essence from the Archon of Entropy! Not that you really knew what it was, of course. You wanted it only because you liked how the cut of the bottle sparkled in the light.”

How did—

“We collect voices.” It flicked a finger against Ru’s forehead almost playfully. His skin stung. “Especially those unheard. Your mind is still young and untrained. We will forgive your ignorance just this once but you ought to know your betters. The Voices of Nerat do not answer to ‘it’.”

Ru’s face warmed. "Forgive me, my lord. Please don't tell Tunon about all this. I'll stop. I'll put it all back, I swear.”

“Oh? But he’s just over there...” Nerat took a step in Tunon’s direction and Ru’s heart leapt to his throat.

“Please! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Nerat’s voice positively oozed with vicious glee. “Have a care with your promises, court page. Were you any older, we’d have asked for something far beyond the pale. However, our recommendation still stands.”

"What?"

“Ashe’s beard! We want you to plunder its mysteries!”

“What?”

Ru found himself drifting towards the Archon of War as if in a daze. He was in over his head. It would have been easier to fall on his own sword than doing this. Faster even. There couldn’t possibly be anything in Ashe’s beard but beard and more beard but what was a court page to do? Confess his crime to the Adjudicator and hope for the best? There was a limit to Tunon’s mercy and Ru had no intention of overstepping it.

How was he going to do this? Good evening, my lord, might I search your person? Purely professional, I swear. You see, section twenty-three of article one of the fourth chapter of Kyros' Law mandates all beards must be inspected for contraband. We understand each other, right? Ru wouldn't be surprised if he met the business end of the Archon’s mace for that.

Ru glanced over his shoulder and flinched away from Nerat’s leer. Had to be quick. Had to look like an accident. He bent and surreptitiously plucked loose one of his bootlaces, keeping an eye trained ahead on Ashe's position in the center of the room. He needed to face him directly and find some way to bypass the ring of Iron Guards surrounding their great general. Figured that they'd selfishly hoard his attention even here, but they were still only human under all the glossy purple armor and it wasn’t long until a platter of finger food compelled them to break formation. That was all he needed.

“Whoops!” Ru stepped hard on his shoelace and propelled himself forward, reaching for that mighty beard with both hands. Time seemed to slow on the descent. Ashe turned slightly at the sound of his voice, his brow furrowed. An Iron Guard shifted in front of Ashe to shield him, but Ru grit his teeth and awkwardly angled his body to the side, dodging them. He was so close he could practically—

Without warning, Ru’s momentum stopped dead and he hung in the air like a puppet with tightly wound strings. Heat crept up his neck as Ashe and his Iron Guard stared at him but the humiliation was short-lived. There was a sound of approaching footsteps behind Ru, and Ashe’s expression darkened.

“Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy!” A familiar voice rang out. “How fortunate that we caught you when we did. Wouldn’t that have been terribly embarrassing!”

Ashe scowled. “What are you doing here? Come to slander my name again?”

“You do that well enough yourself,” Nerat drawled, coming up beside Ru’s stock-still body. “Such cheek! One would think you’ve no arrogance left to spare after the Overlord put you in your place. You see, court page? Look at what a bit of poking will get you.” The power gripping Ru’s body abruptly relented, and he well and truly fell over, sprawling on cold marble with a grunt of pain. The Iron Guard eyed him as if he'd gone and pissed on their boots on the way down. Ru blew a lock of hair out of his face and favored them with a glare as he pushed himself off the floor.

“Leave it up to you to poach a child from the Adjudicator.” Ashe hardly so much as glanced in Ru’s direction.

Nerat crossed his arms. “Please. The two of us are bosom friends! Isn't that right, boy?” Uh. “What’s wrong with a perfectly innocent game between us?”

Ru wasn’t entirely convinced at this point and apparently neither was Ashe. No sooner did Ru find his footing when he found himself directly in the warpath of Ashe’s advance, bouncing off his gleaming armor and narrowly avoiding the scalding blaze of Nerat’s form as the distance closed between both Archons.

“Whatever scheme you’ve concocted to ruin me, to involve this foolish child—” Ashe growled.

“Oh, it’s always about you, isn’t it?”

“— remember just how I came to earn my place. Were it not for Kyros, I would have put you in the ground right next to that savage beast, Blood Echo.”

“At least your predecessor had a sense of humor. You’d think we’d gone and gobbled up your children the day we met.” Nerat’s helm wiggled in amusement. “Hm... did we? So difficult to keep track of all these voices from time to time...”

Ashe’s face turned a brilliant shade of red.

Their heated argument stirred to a frenzy, Ashe practically roaring over Nerat’s collective voices and shrieks of laughter, and Ru found himself in the unfortunate position of being wedged directly between them. Neither Archon paid him any heed as he squirmed to avoid flames and callous iron alike. He attempted to speak, to beg their leave or even one iota of their attention, but he would have been better served screaming into a hurricane.

It was a cold comfort when the commotion finally attracted the whole ballroom’s attention. Everyone gave them a wide berth but circled around them as if they were nothing more than a sideshow spectacle and it was starting to feel that way. Ru spotted Calio at the edge of the crowd, her expression alight with surprise, but she vanished before he could call out to her.

Then she returned with Tunon.

A hush fell over the crowd and they parted before Tunon as he glided towards the center, black smoke billowing in his wake, Calio flanked at his side.

“Archon of War. Archon of Secrets. Have the terms of Kyros’ directive been made unclear to you? All hostilities must be suspended until morning’s light. You would subvert her will so brazenly?” Tunon’s voice remained perfectly level but it reverberated in the room and down to Ru’s very bones. Power crackled in the air, setting his teeth on edge. Ashe and Nerat haven't failed to notice either. They stared up at the Adjudicator in the stretch of silence that followed and Ru seized the opportunity to break free, nearly stumbling into Tunon as he did but Calio was there to snatch him back, keeping an almost painful grip on his shoulders.

“Hostile is such a strong word, Adjudicator!” Nerat’s voice dropped to a cajoling simper. “We were having a spirited conversation! We do so love children and may have gotten rather excitable about the prospect of meeting one of your own. Isn’t that right, Ashe old chum?”

Ashe’s jaw clenched but he nodded.

“Have you anything to add to these claims?” Tunon asked, turning slightly to face Ru.

Ru awkwardly stood at attention under the room’s scrutiny. “I... um...” His gaze slid away from Tunon to the other Archons behind him. Ashe’s fingers subtly tightened around his mace but his face was otherwise impassive. Nerat’s spinning helm came to a stop on a scowling visage only briefly but his warning was clear as day. Whatever the outcome, neither Archon would forget this.

“I am addressing you, Xiaoru.” Darkness rose from behind the Adjudicator, a silent warning.

“I...” Ru wavered, uncertain and fearful. His education didn’t prepare him for this yet.

“Your Honor, perhaps it would be appropriate to move this discussion to a private venue,” Calio interjected.

“Your objection is noted,” Tunon said coldly. “However, I would collect his testimony without granting him time to embellish it.” Damn. The Adjudicator clung to a grudge tighter than a miser with rings. “Speak plainly, court page.”

The combined weight of Ashe and Nerat’s stares pressed even harder on Ru’s consciousness.

Ru took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd do what he did best: skulk around. “The Voices of Nerat introduced me to Graven Ashe after I fell down. Both were worried I would be taken advantage of, which led to a... passionate discussion in defense of children like me. I didn’t mean to start trouble but if I have then I humbly apologize.” Calio squeezed his shoulders only once and he remembered himself, pulling free to bow deeply at the waist like a Good and Proper Court Page, hoping Tunon didn’t notice how he trembled or how his pockets jingled. "I submit myself to your mercy, Your Honor." Again.

Tunon contemplated the matter in total silence and the ballroom seemed to hold its breath. “Do you both accept Xiaoru's apology?” he asked at length.

Ashe opened his mouth to speak but Nerat beat him to the punch. “But of course! Let bygones be bygones.”

“And you, Graven Ashe?”

The Archon of War gave Ru a long look with that impenetrable scowl on his face. “I am satisfied, Adjudicator.”

“Very well.” Tunon lifted his gavel and Ru braced for it to strike down upon him but a singular note resonated in the room as he merely tapped the floor. “I will deal with my page accordingly but do not forget: Kyros does not suffer dissidence in any way, shape, or form. Be mindful of your place. All of you.” His gaze swept across the crowd and it dispersed in a flurry of nervous mutters. Somewhere, a lute tentatively picked up the dance number again and other instruments gradually followed but for all the gaiety in the bouncing notes, there was a heaviness in the air that refused to budge.

Ashe retreated to a balcony outside with his Iron Guard in tow but Nerat lingered. He considered Ru with a curious tilt of his helm and dared to draw near. “Children can be terribly fickle but truth will out, yes? It'd be such a shame if something were to happen to this one. He made for a splendid diversion.” He aimed his words at Tunon, but Ru felt heat lick the inside of his skull and it made the hair on his neck stand on end. A voice not his own insinuated itself into his thoughts. Now wasn't that exciting?

“I did not expect to find you on familiar terms with my page,” Tunon said slowly. Ru swallowed nervously around the lump in his throat and kept his eyes trained somewhere above Tunon’s mask, silently pleading for a miracle as he felt the intensity of Tunon’s gaze boring into his skull.

“The holidays are a time for camaraderie,” Nerat crooned. “Don't you agree? We wished to bestow a token of our appreciation before we depart.” He plucked a marble ball from his pouch with two fingers and pressed it into Ru’s cupped hands, lingering there perhaps a few seconds longer than necessary. “Keep us in your thoughts, court page. We will most certainly keep you in ours.”

On the ride back to the Palace of Justice, Tunon prodded Ru for a more thorough account of what exchanged between him and the other Archons, but words failed Ru. He rolled the marble between his fingers, finding calm in the simple, repetitive motion and the rumble of Tunon’s voice. Calio said something in response to Tunon’s question but Ru had long shut away complex thought for the evening. The caravan bumped and rattled along the road, but he rested his head against Calio’s shoulder all the same and stared listlessly at the floor where air dragged the tail-end of Tunon's smoke out past the floorboards.

It was only once they finally arrive home that Ru realized the marble ball in his hands looked back at him.

#tyranny game #tunon the adjudicator #voices of nerat #graven ashe #obsidian entertainment #fatebinder #my fic #fic: archon's favorite #oc: xiaoru #hint hint for those who read my tags: ru almost got away with stealing evidence from tunon #but his escape plan went awry #and by awry i mean mark startled him as he was climbing down a rope and ru fell and broke his leg #mark never lets him forget this

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taylorsmiththeauthor · 5 years

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An Empath, A Psychic, & A Human; first chapter

I’ve decided to take some advice from the tumblr writing community and build my empire, so to speak. So here is my first post about writing, despite the fact that I’ve been on this website for over a year lol. Feel free to check out my wattpad, @Real_Taylor_Smith. I’ve also just put up instagram where I’ll be posting news, extra content, and excerpts as well as here! It’s @real.tay.smith and soon I’ll have a website up. A little heads up, this story has a fair amount of foul language, so be warned. Until then, happy reading!

HUMAN

The air in the truck was tense.

No one had really been sure of what we were supposed to fight. The best that had been offered to us were a few blurry pictures of a massive scaly beast with wings, and audio of a terrible scream that seemed to come from the beast. The world quickly claimed that a dragon had somehow come to be – and we were supposed to fight it.

I glanced around me at the faces. They were all of my friends who had signed up to be in reserves, which was part-time military. We all had our reasons; money, benefits, looking good on applications, or whatever. We wanted to serve from the comfort of our homeland, not fight dragons in downtown Toronto, the biggest city in Canada and seventh most populated in the continent.

I took out a picture I always kept in my pocket near my heart; a photo of my girlfriend. It was one of my favourite photos of her, because it captured her almost completely. She was standing on top of a crazy old Mayan ruin, overlooking an ancient plaza, the jungle, and a large river. She grinned at the camera, hands on her hips, smile lines crinkled around her blue eyes, blonde hair escaping from her bun pinned back with a hairpin made by locals. She looked incredibly happy and in awe of the place she was standing on. That had been taken about two years ago on her last March break trip of high school when she went to Belize with the school. I liked to carry the photo in my uniform, remember that she was waiting for me back home.

“Alright pansies, listen up!”

The sharp command from our sergeant had me scrambling to put the photo away as he stood up and handed out new pictures.

“Now I can’t say that I’ve ever fought dragons before, nor have I been taught the protocol, so I don’t really know what to do. But that’s fine because there is one thing I do know – it is our duty to keep this place safe. Toronto has yet to be fully evacuated and the beast is not contained. We still have no idea where the hell it came from or what the hell it is, but we gotta stop it.”

A photo came around to me and I looked at it, my heart plunging into my feet. The thing gripped the top of the CN Tower, green leathery wings spread wide, head open in a snarl, mouth full of jagged teeth. The thing looked huge, at least the size of a T-Rex. I passed the picture.

“Because we have no idea where this fucker is going to go, we’ve set up a perimeter along the Harbour Front, Bloor St, Bathurst, and Don Valley. We’ve got about fifty platoons stationed around to stop wherever this thing decides to go. We’ll be down on King, by the Princess of Wales Theatre. We’ll be there soon so start your praying, because we’ve got a one in fifty chance of being stuck with this beast.”

I looked over to my left and met eyes with one of my oldest friends, Donovan. He, another friend of ours, and myself all joined together. The other friend, Kaiah, was exceedingly lucky as her family had all gone to another city for a funeral. So, Donovan and I were about to face a dragon.

“What’re the odds it has a video-game weak spot?” Donovan asked quietly, “Like, a soft spot on its belly?”

I shrugged, “With your luck, no.”

“Don’t speak of my bad luck, because then we will have to face the damn thing.”

“Knock on wood I guess.”

“Everything near is us metal, so we’re all fucked then.”

We laughed quietly, the impending doom still very much a real threat. We talked for a little bit but soon fell silent and felt the seconds tick past. Far too soon, the sergeant stood up.

“File out in formation!”

We followed, hopping out of the truck and getting into two straight lines, facing east where the monster would be. To my left was the theatre, and I vaguely remembered going to see a play with Hazel. The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Nighttime, I think. Now, all the signs read Hamilton, which I knew Hazel had been dying to see. She said I would like it, but she felt bad because she had already promised Mackenzie she would take her because she was already a huge fan. I smiled, grateful for the memory.

However, I was violently ripped back to reality when I heard a screech. The videos didn’t capture it. Nothing could.

It was as if a T-Rex and a lion roared while someone scraped their nails against a chalkboard and it shook us to our core. I didn’t pray nor did I believe in a god, but I found myself asking that it wouldn’t be us, please let it not be us.

“And just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

My back straightened automatically and I opened my mouth to make an explanation, but it wasn’t me the sergeant was talking to – two weird civilians had wandered into the area.

One of them was Hazel.

She wore a long white dress with bronze breastplates, shoulder pads, arm guards, and gladiator boots. Her dress was styled like an Ancient Greek chiton, and the blonde hair piled up on her head sported a style from the same period. From her back sprouted a massive pair of dove wings, the feathers an opal-esque shade, shining dozens of colours, the edges of the wings covered in bronze. At her hip was a woven belt on which hung several drawstring pouches and a dagger.

The person beside her was dressed just as weirdly, but very differently. Their entire outfit was made of brown leather and bronze plates, and it kind of looked like a rogue from D&D. Like, 90% of the pants were extremely tall leather boots with straps and holsters for knives and other things. The top was a green tunic that went just above their elbows and brushed the top of the boots, under which seemed to be brown hide. They had a brown cloak on top with a hood, a green cloth pulled up over their nose, the same pine green as their eyes. They had a mask on their face seemed to be made of moss, covering the area around their eyes. Little flowers sprouted from it as well as small branches with blossoms out the top, making it look like they had antlers. From what little I could see of them, I could tell they had dark brown skin and a very thick afro. I had no clue whether it was a guy or a girl.

“We’re ordering you to evacuate the area,” Hazel said calmly, arms crossed and hip out to the side. That meant she didn’t want any fooling around.

“Except for you, there aren’t any civilians downtown.”

“As far as we’re concerned, you are civilians.”

“Hey, Crybaby, aren’t they militia?” The other asked.

Hazel looked at them and then at the platoon before turning back to her partner, “No, this is the reserve force, it’s part-time military. Civilians, technically.”

“Oh shit, right. Is that thing you were worried about…?”

“Yes.” Hazel spoke curtly and it seemed like she glanced at me, but it was so fast I couldn’t tell.

“We are official military,” the sergeant said angrily, “and you’re civilians! You need to leave immediately, or I will remove you by force, which I do not wish to do.”

“Just try it,” the partner scoffed, but Hazel shot them a look and they rolled their eyes, maintaining quiet.

“I apologize, but you are unfit to deal with this problem,” Hazel said cooly, “We are, however, very well-versed in dealing with wyverns.”

“And just what the fuck is a wyvern?” The sergeant spat.

“What you’re planning to fight,” the partner said, “and my pal here knows that it’s going to be coming this way, so you better get a fucking move on.”

“How in the hell do you know this?” The sergeant asked, seeming to be unsure.

“Classified.” They spoke in unison.

“So please just leave it to us and get your soldiers out of here,” Hazel said, seeming to be losing her patience.

“I can’t do that!” The sergeant was losing his too, “You’re just a couple of wackos who’ll get yourselves killed and land me in a world of trouble.”

“Quite the opposite, I assure you.” Hazel glared at the sergeant and her partner narrowed their eyes, which made him apprehensive.

“Who the fuck are these people?” Donovan asked beside me.

“You serious?” I said, turning to him, “That’s Hazel, I can’t tell who the other is though because of the mask.”

“What?” Donovan asked, looking at them, “How do you know it’s Hazel? She’s wearing a mask too. And what’s with the wings?”

I opened my mouth when another screech ripped through the air.

“You have three minutes before the wyvern gets here,” Hazel warned, danger in her tone, “So either you let us do our jobs or you die and make it a lot harder for us. But one thing is for sure, we will do what we need to do to take this thing down.”

The sergeant shifted, “Well just because you wear weird clothes and know what this is doesn’t mean that you can defeat it.”

“Look, man,” the partner spoke, “we can’t do anymore than is allowed for the situation so how about this – let me fight your best fighter. Whomever wins can kill the beast, old honour style.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the sergeant scoffed.

“Well, your attitude calls for it.”

“Appy,” Hazel warned, “be careful.”

“But you’ll ref, right?” The partner asked, “Fae rules and all?”

Hazel sighed, “Yes, I’ll ref.”

“Great. So good sir, get your best fighter.”

The sergeant scowled but turned to us, “Jackson! Front and centre!”

We all watched as Tyler Jackson, a big muscular prick of a guy, stepped forward with a grin. He was proud and self-centred, and by far the best fighter we had. He had yet to be beaten in hand-to-hand, even from the sergeant. The small person didn’t stand a chance.

“What’re the rules?” Tyler asked, “And do I get a prize?”

“If you lose, you live. If you win, you die with honour. Pick a blade.” The small person didn’t seem to give a shit that Tyler was twice their size.

Tyler grinned and pulled a knife from his pocket. He was deadly with it, and everyone had at least one scar from it.

“Let no blood be spilled,” Hazel said as she and the sergeant stepped back to give the pair space, “Appy, I’m serious.”

“You’re no fun,” the partner complained.

“Where’s your blade?” Tyler teased.

The partner, evidently called Appy for some reason, reached for a bronze armband on their upper arm and pulled it off, glowing as it extended into a massive broadsword. Appy grinned like a maniac and Tyler looked scared shitless.

“Appy,” Hazel warned.

Appy sighed and the sword shrank down to a dagger, “Just wanted to scare the guy,” they complained.

“Make it quick, let no blood be spilled, and may the winner have the honour of defeating the Wyvern. It hath been spoken, thus let it be.” Hazel raised her arms as she spoke, saying it like a chant. A heavy weight settled in, as if the words themselves really carried a spell.

As soon as Hazel finished speaking, Appy lunged for Tyler, but he saw it and dodged. Yet Appy was too fast. They caught him by the middle and flipped him over, causing the blade to fly from his hand. He made an oof as he hit the ground, the wind knocked from him. Appy sat on his chest and pinned his arms with one hand, the other holding a knife to his throat.

“One...two...three. And that’s match. We shall fight the wyvern,” Hazel announced, glancing at the street beyond them, “and just in time. You need to take your soldiers and leave, get as far away from here as possible. But if you see the wyvern, freeze – they like a moving target.”

“What the hell is that?” The sergeant barked, “There had to be some trick!”

“No, trick, I assure you,” Appy said as they got off of Tyler, turning their back to him, “I just guess that military training doesn’t match up to a Knight’s.”

Tyler was enraged, and it was obvious. He had never lost a fight, especially not to someone so weird and small. He snatched his blade from the ground and thrust up on his knees, aiming for Appy’s side.

Appy sidestepped easily and sliced their blade across Tyler’s arm, causing him to cry out in pain and drop his blade.

“That’s one angry dude,” Appy said as they slid their dagger, now an armband, back into place.

“I said no bloodshed,” Hazel huffed as she knelt down next to Tyler and pulled out a roll of gauze.

“The fight was over!” Appy argued, “Besides, he was wanting to give me a scar, everyone in this damn platoon has one from him. Thought I would return the favour.”

“God, you’re like a dumbass Batman villain,” Hazel complained to Tyler as she bandaged his wound, “With less honour than the Joker, you piece of shit.”

“How did you know I was thinking that?” Tyler asked, scared, “You psychic?”

“Term is telepathic,” Hazel said matter-of-factly, “I’m psychic, Appy’s an empath. Now that that’s cleared up, leave.”

The sergeant bristled at the last word as he had watched everything unfold.

“Just because you won one fight-”

“I’m sorry,” Appy snarled, suddenly rounding on the sergeant, pulling their blade out and holding it dangerously close to his face, “Do you not understand basic combat rules, let alone fae? I won, so you leave. You can’t break a deal, or the fae will fuck you up, if I don’t get to you first. Feel fear.”

At this, the sergeant scrambled back, visibly shaken and sweating.

“Appy!” Hazel scolded harshly, “Fear won’t help this, only make him worse. Besides, it’s too late now.”

“Too late?” Someone asked.

“Yeah,” Appy said coolly, “blame these two assholes.” Their head jutted towards the sergeant and Tyler, “If they had only let us do their jobs then y’all’ight’ve lived.”

“No one is going to die,” Hazel assured, taking the sergeant by the arm and picking Tyler up, leading them to where the rest of us were standing. She pushed Tyler off on someone and sharply told the sergeant; “Stay behind this line.” Then she produced a piece of blue chalk from her belt and drew a curved line in front of all of us, chanting quitely all the time. Once she finished, she bent down and kissed it, making the line glow a faint blue. A shimmering wall formed in front of us, Hazel standing on the other side. Then she turned to us, “Don’t move, don’t make a noise, only breathe if you need to. Disobeying any of these will get you and everyone else killed.”

“Crybaby, E.T.A.?” Appy called, a longsword suddenly in their hand as a shriek cut through the air.

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

As soon as Hazel finished saying ‘one’, she pulled something from her pocket, watched by the wyvern as it rounded the corner.

“Oh, we are so fucked.”

#original works #EP&H #my writing #original writing

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