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gottawritesomething · 3 months

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Cry 'Havoc!'

Chapter 3 of Pride cometh before the fall (Gale FIC) (3/9)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 4.5, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Isabel breaks into Gale's Tower for tea, that's it. Send Tweet.

TW: Allusion to Mystra

Wizards of the Coast and I are nemeses, so there is a lot of non-5e-compliant magic stuff

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"“I cannot believe her. How dare she? She, she…ugh!” Gale threw up his hands.

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The day of tea arrived faster than either Gale or Isabel had expected. Gale, for his part had made a valiant effort in cleaning the tower; the selected rooms almost looked like a conventional place someone might visit. The morning of, he’d decided to concentrate his attention on the food for the afternoon. Tara lazily watched him from her perch on a kitchen shelf as he bustled back and forth between the pantry and the oven.

“Forgive an old tressym for prying further, Mr. Dekarios, but this does seem like an awful lot of effort for an acquaintance. I know you do like to put your best paw or, in your case foot forward on impressions, but certainly, this woman must already know of you and your many talents. Why such a fuss?”

“I think you mean why such a fuzz, Tara.” Gale retorts, his head inside the oven.

“I certainly do not!” Tara looked peeved. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you’d made a friend. A proper mortal friend.”

Gale smiled knowingly; Tara had been particularly insistent about him branching out recently. The more time he spent in Mystra’s presence, the less in-common he felt he had with the mortals going about their day-to-day.

“I don’t know if I’d describe her as proper…And I have only just met her; I will remind you.” Gale had returned to his erratic darting about.

“All the same, I am thrilled for you. Furthermore, we’ll get to see her magical prowess on full display today.” Tara looked strangely smug

“What are you referring to Tara?” Gale asked suspiciously

“Oh, I assumed you’d intentionally left the tower wards in place.”

Gale’s face drained “Why didn’t you say something? What time is it? What if I don’t have time to disarm them? Tara!”

“If she is timely, she should be arriving shortly,” Tara said, licking her paw absent-mindedly.

Isabel had found the tower with relative ease. Though ‘tower’ seemed to be a bit of a misnomer, it looked more like a very tall townhouse. Though the location was lovely, right along the water facing the ports. As she neared the base of the building, she noted a glowing purple figure next to the entry door.

“Good afternoon, Gale of Waterdeep would like to welcome you to his illustrious home. He greatly regrets being unable to greet you in person, but I can assure you he will come to fetch you shortly once he’s contended with a minor predicament.” The Project Image of Gale remarks cheerfully.

“May I ask what the predicament involves?” Isabel knew she was overstepping, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. As it often did.

“Suffice to say there were some ‘barriers’ to making the tower a more welcoming place for visitors.”

At that point, Isabel didn’t need much more information but decided to push further to confirm her suspicions.

“Did he leave the protection wards in place on the tower?” she asked.

The projection looked at her warily.

“At this time, Gale of Waterdeep is ensuring you have a safe and enjoyable visit.”

“While that is extremely thoughtful of him, tell him to leave them in place. I will find my own way into the tower.” Isabel knew she was being impertinent, and she also knew that Gale could see and hear through this projection as though he was standing beside her.

The smile on the project had become strained. “I must strongly advise against this course of action. The protections placed on this tower were hand-crafted by Gale of Waterdeep, Waterdeep’s foremost archmage. Any attempts to breach the tower will be met by your inevitable failure and possible harm. Please wait here for Gale.”

“I appreciate the forewarning, and IF I fail, he’s most welcome to sweep in to save me.” Isabel gave her most charming smile and turned on her heels.

“Again, I must insist -” The project started; Isabel waved her hand coating the figure in darkness.

“I cannot believe her. How dare she? She, she…ugh!” Gale threw up his hands.

“Not to state the obvious, but this is what happens when you invite a stranger to your home,” Tara replied simply. At this point, Gale couldn’t help but feel she was right. What did this girl think she was doing? He’d thought she contained many traits but blatant stupidity was not one he’d noted. He knew, as he’d thought she did, that however talented she was, they were not matched in ability. Attempts to break his warding could cause her harm, if not worse, for some of the more complex ones. She’d blinded his Project Image, so she was at least clever enough to know the spell allowed him to see her. But some spell trivia was not going to save her. No, that would have to be him.

He stood up from the table where the tea had been carefully laid out. And stalked to the window, glancing out, hoping to see her walking away from the tower if good sense had won out. He blew air from his nose, frustrated. He’d find her, probably a step or two past his door, and send her promptly on her way. He cursed himself for being so trusting. Mortals did like to test their luck.

Behind him, the scones in the oven began to burn.

Isabel did in fact, know that there was no way she could break the wards Gale had put in place. She had instead decided to rely on what had gotten her through school with wizards. Creativity, an encyclopedic knowledge of spells after-effects, and most importantly, a considerable understanding of how wizards thought. It wasn’t their fault, she reasoned. Their casting necessitated linear procedures and clear rules. As a result, they tended to assume others would approach problems and solutions as linearly as they applied them. She suspected that were that ever to change en masse, rogues might be out of the job.

She stretched, checked the darkness was still covering the projection and began to wander around the bottom of the tower. First, she had to pinpoint where the kitchen was most likely to be. He likely had wards against teleporting, mist, and phasing, she’d reasoned, so those were out. As she gazed up at the tower, she noted a window near the top that appeared to have steam or smoke rising out of it. She cast fly and took off towards the window, hoping very much for her sake that it was not laboratory smoke. As she grew nearer, she hugged the wall as close as she could, not wanting to be spotted, and recognized the smell of burning pastries. Excellent.

She had surmised that, like most, wizards expected attempts to breach their towers to come from the entry or the roof. As such, most wards would be oriented in such a way to reflect that mindset. Additionally, (she very much hoped) they had been calibrated on the direct impact of a spell. The appearance after a teleport spell, the mist form solidifying, etc. Cast, result. Most wards she’d encountered focused on those two steps. She was angling exclusively for the third step, resolution.

Gale had sent out Tara and an Scrying Eye to look for Isabel when he hadn’t immediately found her in the entryway. He still maintained hope that she’d perhaps given up and gone home. He was stewing in self-pity when he heard a great grinding noise coming from his kitchen wall. He swung his head, seeing the edges of a corridor attempting to open up in the side of his tower.

“Did you honestly think I didn’t ward against a Passwall?” Gale shouted through the layer of wall still remaining.

“I was positive you had, actually.” He heard a muffled response. He considered peeling away the ward that was preventing the wall from fully opening, but the embarrassment he’d suffered was already too grievous. Gale was feeling exceedingly vindicated, with just a touch of relief that she’d not been skewered on a trap below.

“So shall we have tea through 3 feet of stone for the next hour until the spell fades?” He asked smugly. Again, a muffled shouted response.

“No need; I’ll be with you shortly!” With that, Gale watched the edges of the corridor fade, marking the dissolution of the spell. She’d given up. As Gale had suspected, she would. He stood, leaned out the window to call to Tara, and turned back to the wall. Where Isabel now stood leaned against it.

“That is not possible,” Gale said incredulously.

“Not to argue, but clearly, it is as I am here.” Isabel was clearly at war with herself as her smugness seeped through her attempt to placate him with a smile.

Gale strode forward. Was this an illusionary copy of herself? Had the corridor been an illusion?

If he had not been so incensed, he might have noted that the woman looked vastly more put together. Her copper curls pulled slightly back, framing her face; she’d traded her plain black serving robe for a deep green velvet robe corsetted with brown leather. He might have allowed himself to notice those things if he wasn’t containing his fuming.

“How?” He asked simply; other words may have been harsher than he’d liked.

Isabel’s eyes betrayed she’d realized she’d pushed him too far.

“When the passwall spell resolves, it was designed to prevent people from being caught inside the generated tunnel. So it deposits them to the nearest safe surface. I had also ended my fly spell, so outside the tower would have sent me plummeting down, so as far as the spell was considered, inside was the safest place it could place me.” She carefully explained.

Gale was impressed. He didn’t particularly want to be. But as he considered her plan's mechanics, he felt the anger slowly draining away. He wondered if he would have thought of such an approach. He breathed out slowly, letting the tension slide from his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Isabel mirror his relaxation.

He allowed an uneasy smile to return to his face.

“That was an unorthodox approach, but you did manage to gain entry. However, I must insist in the future, if I ask something of you, know it is for your safety and not my vanity, and please comply.”

She looked down at her robes, brushing them off. She nervously met his eyes again.

“That seems like a fair request. I apologize.”

Gale gestured to the seat across from him. Isabel strode across the room and took the place indicated.

Isabel still felt a bit like she was buzzing. She knew that sometimes she pushed the boundaries of rules or flaunted authority, but she rarely felt poorly about doing so. She liked to think she often did it to prove a point, highlight a hypocrisy, and only occasionally to prove she could. But she felt genuinely terrible. He’d invited her to his home, and she’d immediately beset him. She was somewhat shocked that he’d allowed her to stay. They had been chatting for a few minutes about her time in Waterdeep and his time at Blackstaff, and the anger seemed to have faded. Her nervousness, however, had not. She glanced around the kitchen, which was gorgeous and well-stocked. Dark cabinets lined the walls, and a lovely brick oven warmed the room. The smell of the burnt scones (which Gale had apologized profusely for) had faded leaving a woody, old library smell. She suspected he might have a few in this tower. As she turned back to him, she heard a soft rustling from the window. And glanced over.

She’d heard of tressyms before but had never gotten the privilege of seeing one in person. Isabel rose to her feet careful as to not startle it. She assumed it was Gale’s familiar but despaired at her lack of knowledge on Tressymspeak. She knew the tressym would be able to understand her but they could not converse. Carefully she bowed to the cat perched on the window.

“Ah yes, Tara this is Isabel, and though I am sure she appreciates the notion there is no need to bow.” Gale chirped cheerfully

“I showing deference to the owner of the tower.” Isabel whispered, testing the waters on teasing.

“Hmph, it appears she hasn’t died. So that is an improvement over what I expected.” Tara said, eyes narrowing.

Isabel took a step back startled, she didn’t think tressyms could speak common.

“Don’t be surprised dear. Some of us, are capable at conveying our intentions and communicating properly. Present company excluded.” Tara mimed a swat at her.

At this, Isabel looked properly ashamed. Meanwhile, Gale looked pleased that Tara could scold even this tempestuous influence of a person.

The rest of the lunch continued enjoyably, Gale confessed to some of his wilder days at Blackstaff as Isabel relayed incidents of Wild Magic gone awry. She’d gotten a hearty laugh from Gale by describing an unfortunately timed surge at a friend's wedding resulting in a displaced best man and an invisible ring bearer.

Gale had gone on to describe his connection to the Weave. That there was nothing else in the world he could ever imagine himself doing. That it consumed his every waking thought and motivation. That every form of art paled in comparison, that at any given moment he could feel the essence of the arcane whispering in the breeze. At that point, he’d looked expectantly to Isabel.

“I understand you cast with the Weave so you must be familiar. But does Wild Magic feel the same?”

There was such a shine to his eyes that Isabel couldn’t bring herself to dampen his perception of her relationship with the Weave. In truth, she had extreme respect for the Weave as a structure and infrastructure of which magic could be accessed but she’d prefer a physical painting to a conjured one. And Wild Magic was nothing like the Weave.

“I think the clearest explanation I’ve seen is Wild Magic feels like standing in the center of a raging river. Everything moves fast and with such power, your focus is always on preventing being swept away. Everything around you changes with the rapidity of the current, there are no landmarks to commit to memory, no rocks to cling to.” Isabel began.

“Fascinating. I’ve read that particularly skilled Sorcerers can harness Wild Magic in a manner of speaking.“ Gale prompted her, seeking more details. His enthusiasm was incurably contagious. Isabel felt a smile forming as she leaned in to match his energy.

“It requires extreme self-knowledge and trust in your ability while knowing your limits. You’re never going to shift the current but you know how to angle yourself to impact the flow downstream. Not getting bowled downstream alone takes a strong sense of identity and an unwillingness to lose yourself.”

Gale leaned back in his chair musing.

“For myself, the Weave acts as a brush dancing upon the canvas, a concert between the corporeal and the ineffable, unreplicable in feeling no matter the consistency of the result.”

“If you’re not a wizard what is your occupation then Isabel?” Tara interrupted, and both Gale and Isabel turned to look at her.

“Oh, I am… an Archeologist. Of sorts…”

“Mhm, and you don’t live in Waterdeep? Where do you call home then?” Isabel knew an interrogation when she saw one.

“I tend to travel, I seldom stay in one place for long. My research tends to be fairly hands-on, so I go where I am needed. I actually procured a Pradler's Portable Room rather than continuing to maintain housing in all the cities I visit.” She offered. Pulling a large gold key from her robes.

“If I recall you simply place a tiny doorway down and use the key to grow it to full size. Then unlock a door into a demi-plane. Am I correct? I’d considered an attempt to create one for traveling. You must give me a tour on your return to Waterdeep.” Gale’s eyes glistened. Isabel smiled encouragingly at him. With a start, she realized how late in the day it had become. She rose from the table.

“Speaking of visits, this was a lovely one but I’m afraid I must prepare for my departure tomorrow.” As she prepared herself to depart, words began to tumble from Gale’s mouth in rapid succession.

“Of course, apologies for keeping you. Though I insist if you would be interested in a full-time position in Waterdeep, I would be happy to assist you. Perhaps another teaching position at Blackstaff? The curator at the Piergeiron Museum owes me quite a favor, I could introduce you. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a spell exhibition by the Sorcerer at The Field of Triumph perhaps they’d be interested in your talents.” He took a quick breath in. “Regardless, feel free to alert me when you’re next in town.” His tone had smoothed out returning to it’s normal cadence. Tara perched on his shoulders as they led her to the entry.

“And here is the landing which you miraculously missed visiting.” Gale smiled cheekily. Isabel shook her head.

“Thank you for tea. Good evening to you both.” As the door swung shut Isabel heard a whispered indignation from Tara.

“Did you think to mention she was a beautiful, this ‘friend’ of yours?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Gale whispered back. With that, Isabel took off into the night.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, (Next Chapter)>Chapter 4, Chapter 4.5, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

#gale x tav #baulders gate 3 #baldur's gate fanfiction #fanfic #gale x oc #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #baldurs gate gale

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mybg3notebook · 3 years

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Does Gale love Mystra?

So far in EA, we have been shown that this is complicated to answer: human love is complex as well as the delirious lore of Forgotten Realms.

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

The number between brackets [] represents the topic-block related to (this post), which gathers as much evidence as I could get.

The narrative is clear until the party scene which, as I stated many times across these posts, it's a scene that feels a bit inconsistent for me (reasonable since it's EA). But if we follow what the game explicitly shows us, we know that if we send Gale to sleep at the beginning of the Weave scene in which he is watching the incantation with the shape of Mystra, he will say:

Gale: Long days, yes. And long, lonesome nights.

If Tav knows that the incantation on his palm is Mystra, Gale will explain:

Tav: [insight] You don't have that look on your face when you're looking at “no one” / There's more to it than that. The figure I saw: she means something to you. Gale: [...] I can’t quite describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her – to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence. [...]

Dev's notes: Passionate. [...] He was recalling Mystra as a lover, but doesn’t say that out loud. [...] Narrator: The Weave evaporates, and as it does so, you realise the night feels suddenly cold and lonesome.

This allows us to infer that, at this moment, Gale is feeling alone and probably very anxious with the oppressing feeling of the "orb" in his chest. The tadpole only increased the number of problems he has, so he resorts to seeing Mystra melancholically. We notice later in the Weave Scene that not having Mystra around increases this feeling of loneliness. The whole scene seems to give us the idea that he still loves her. There is yearning and loneliness in his current situation.

After a moment of passionate description of magic, Gale invites Tav to experience the Weave. The Weave has a particular effect on Gale: "The moment feels intimate. You realise the Weave is making you one." Considering how Gale was feeling while conjuring the incantation, this moment touched him deeply (the narrator implies that this feeling is mutual).

If Tav expresses their romantic interests, Gale will be surprised:

Gale: I.. I didn’t think.. Narrator: You perceive quick-fire gusts of embarrassment, trepidation, and finally.. elation Gale: Sorry, I wasn’t expecting… But it is a pleasant image to be sure! Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome. Dev's notes: Warm, with real affection.

The narrator is giving us meta-knowledge, we can trust in what she says, and we can see that the situation was truly shocking for Gale. These emotional stages described here made me suspect that Gale is a character who has focused for too long on healing his condition, ignoring any chance for romance. His surprise here may confirm that, in my opinion. He feels embarrassment, a feeling that one can interpret as a sign of the surprise of being thrown into a situation he had not seen beforehand (the death protocol and Gale’s conversations show us that he is a character that thinks ahead). It follows trepidation: fear or anxiety about something that he is going to do or experience. Gale is scared of the possibility. Maybe because he is thinking in the danger he is, maybe because he was already burnt by Mystra's attention and having someone else's attention now makes him feel a bit anxious. And then, the final resolution of the process: elation, which is a feeling of great happiness and excitement about something that has happened. Gale is suddenly excited by the possibility. Something he will be thinking about, many times, for the rest of the EA.

Tav: So what did you think about what I pictured when we were connected by the Weave? Gale: Oh, I was surprised. But pleasantly so, just like I said. Amid the madness that has befallen us, it seems almost out of place to think of a kiss/ of a romantic walk. And yet... now more than ever, it's important to recall what makes us human. [if Tav is not human] Well- you know what I mean. A stolen glance- that sudden heartbeat... Sometimes the little things are worth more than kingdoms. They promise things to come.

So romance was not something he had even considered until the opportunity arose (this is why he won't pursue a Tav who didn't show romantic interest towards him). I think that, since he is a character always living on the edge of death, he will take this opportunity to feel “human again”: after all, he follows the concept of "living life to the fullest".

During the Loss (see the post of the "Loss Scene"), we know that losing Mystra was a big blow for him. He regrets his decisions of the past in this scene, and it reinforced the idea that he is the only one to blame for Mystra's loss. There is a yearning for the lost Chosen powers, but Gale's context in the majority of his scenes seem to reinforce the idea that he sought power not as a means, but as a goal itself to be closer to Mystra and Magic. Since we are talking about a wizard, his passion lies in magic itself, in being one with the Weave/Magic/Mystra. A Chosen of Mystra is so entangled with the Weave and magic that when they die, they are part of the Weave itself. This is the level of passion that Gale has for Magic, and since Magic can only be performed by most mortals via Weave, and the Weave is Mystra, the whole three concepts are, in fact, one; and it makes it very difficult from a lore point of view to separate them.

Tav: There's something I don't understand. If Mystra abandoned you, how can you still cast magic? Gale: The Weave is still here, all around us – inside of us too. As long as the goddess lives, magic is a tangible thing for those who know how to touch. I've studied magic for many years, and in as many ways I am still a more than capable wizard. It's just that I'm no longer able to perform those feats even arch wizards would marvel at. To have one hand on the pulse of divinity. You have to remember that the Weave is a living thing, both the embodiment and the extension of Mystra herself.She can give and she can take away. I'm afraid I'm still very much on her naughty list. Consider yourself lucky you're not.

I personally think Gale will never stop being devoted to Mystra (and won't stop loving her in many ways), because his passion for magic and knowledge is his own life, and Mystra IS those things. He loves magic for the sake of it. So losing this unique contact with magic itself that only Chosen of Mystra have was a terrible punishment for him. His abandonment issues are not just the result of a “guy being left by a girl”. They have an extra complexity because of the nature of Magic in this world and how its deity behaves with her chosen. Gale was not only abandoned by Mystra, but was also removed of a good amount of his capacity to perform magic. If magic “is his life”, the abandonment removed a part of his life away. I think some people miss this point, because, once more, it's related to Forgotten Realm lore and not Dragon Age. Many of these people keep constantly comparing this situation with Dragon Age, which has nothing to do with it. Dragon Age has no wizards, their relationship with Magic is natural, it’s sorcerer-like if we want to compare it, and the relationship with their deities (mostly absent, silent ones) are nothing alike the ones in Forgotten Realm. The context is key, as I repeated several times in these posts and in the one about "Context, persuasion, and manipulation".

Tav: I don't know what to make of what you've told me, but I sympathise. Gale: Thank you. [no romantic weave] I want you to know that you’re a good friend. [romantic weave] I often think of that moment we shared together – one under the Weave. I hope you think about it too. /I'm glad to know you think about it too.

Narrator: You sense a moment of unspoken affection. You want to know where it may lead. Gale: I consider myself very lucky to have found you Tav: I think perhaps we could be more than friends Gale: Perhaps.

Tav: You said you think about the moment we shared under the weave. Do you think about it often? Gale: Do you? 1-2-Tav: Yes / From time to time. Gale: So do I. 3- Tav: Not really. Gale: And yet you ask. I do, as a matter of fact.

Gale: You see. I'm not a big believer in fate, but I do believe in serendipity. Life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace. You're one such event that one day soon perhaps I'd like to embrace.

So after sharing this regret during the Loss scene, Gale will show affection if Tav remains friendly during the Weave (but Gale will never directly engage it, he is waiting for Tav to give the first step; understandable if we consider he also has a dangerous bomb in his chest, so he may be torn between wanting to, but knowing he should not to). If there is no interest in pursuing romance, he will show a gesture of gratitude for being a good friend during that night of regrets.

If pursuing the romance, we can interpret that Gale, at this point, even though he is still struggling with all the emotions that Mystra inspires, wants to experience something more “human”, a romance with a mortal. We know for sure that Gale is getting interested, slowly, while thinking about it, since in each of the following scenes he will ask (or Tav will ask) about that “moment in the Weave”. He has been thinking about it for many nights, and he is “embracing” the idea.

If Gale is treated with judgement (despite not knowing his whole story) or allowing him to keep the secret of what or who he lost, we will obtain lines likes:

Gale: Good. Goodnight. And thank you for your patient understanding. // And try not to think too poorly of me. A cat can look at a king. A wizard can look at a goddess.

Tav: Another fool pays for his arrogance. A tale as old as time. Gale: Arrogance? Ambition, rather. And ambition is a fine thing – until suddenly it no longer is. Then again, if that is how you judge me, there’s little I can do to change your mind. But know that I have this ambition still. First to save myself, and after that, the licence to dream. (Gale Disapproval)

We could interpret these lines as the only ones so far that may suggest that Gale is still wanting something from the goddess. We know due to the tadpole dreams that Gale’s desire is Mystra. On the comments of the second tadpole dream we know more details about his major desire: it is not just Mystra, but her forgiveness.

Tav: Gale, who is the apparition in your dreams? Gale: She's... It doesn't matter. I just know her to be unreal. Tav: What's impossible about what you're been shown? Gale: Forgiveness Tav: Gale, who is the apparition in your dreams? Gale: It's indeed Mystra I see. And yet it cannot be her. There was a time when I would have believed - but no longer. I told you that I lost her. Lost her favour and lost so many of the powers I took for granted. What magic I can still weave is met only with undercurrents of disappointing silence. Mystra has not changed her mind about me. That's how I know our dreams are delusions.

I think this scene shows the difference between a standard desire for power as a means, and power for the sake of power itself (since this power allows Gale to be one with the Weave). The scene is ambiguous enough to see it as Gale wanting to return to Mystra’s side as well as remaining as an ardent devotee of her (because she is magic herself). I keep repeating that these scenes show that Gale’s most important thing in his life is Magic, which is Mystra: the extension and the embodiment of magic. So his desire for her seems impossible to be extinguished completely. In previous scenes we saw that he certainly had thought through the idea of loving her more like a devotee than a lover, but certainly the weight of being his first love will remain, especially since she is deeply related to magic itself.

During the Party Scene we find some information about his feelings for Mystra.

I personally ponder the book of Amn’s description as very important because, from a narrative point of view, it's a lot of lines/content that, if they were not important, tend to be removed from the script. If they are there, they are meant to be interpreted. For this reason those lines mean to me that Gale has finally embraced the idea of having something important with a mortal. In my post of the "Party Scene" I go into details, but here I will stick to the interpretation related to Mystra: all what Gale numerates in that book are things that he could not access to with a Goddess. Curiously, part of those descriptions are things that make humans human, so I personally think it reinforces Gale's intention in heading into this romance with the eagerness of finding some shelter (never forget the “orb” has a constant oppressing effect in him, increasing his anxiety and fears) and to experience (maybe for the first time) the love of a mortal.

So, for some assumptions made in the post of the "Party Scene", we suspect that Gale needs to share a night to feel confident enough to speak the details of his “orb” condition. Since he wants this relationship to be strong (after all, he implied commitment during the description of the book) he speaks about the true origin of the “orb” immediately after that night, starting with Mystra (which is, after all, the true origin of his folly). Depending on the version that Tav picks, we have extra information provided by Gale about his emotions for the Goddess:

Tav: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love. Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. [...] One day all too soon, the whispers stopped. The goddess spurned the mortal. [...] and the wizard was left behind heartbroken. Tav: I hate to say it, but he really could have seen this coming Gale: He was blinded by love. Good stories are rife with lovers’ follies after all.

[Short Version] Gale: Before long Mystra tired of me. What was I after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands? You have to realise I was heartbroken. I was a young man, she was my first love. I thought it would last forever. I vowed to win her back.

[after explaining the mistake of the “orb”] Gale: It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through.. After the night we spent together. Surely we can brave even this side by side

Gale is giving a very detailed context about his love for Mystra: she was his first love, and the first love tends to have a special weight in a person's life and their memories. That doesn't mean the person has become unable to build more relationships for the rest of their life. If we add the fact that he was very young when all this happened (more details in the Post "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1") we find him under two effects: the impression of the first love and the naivety of the youth. Both elements made him believe it was a love that was going to last forever. With a Goddess, no less.

Besides, Gale expresses this, highlighting his naivety and foolishness: he is aware of how silly he was back then, and how impossible it could be for a mortal to keep the love of a goddess. He is a pragmatic and realistic character, after all. He recognizes in the end that he was just a mortal plaything for her.

I think these pieces of information give us a very clear context of his emotional state: he is still nostalgic for Mystra because of all the reasons I enumerated above; she is also more than just a woman, she is Magic itself. But he is aware that those emotions were the consequence of a very naïve and young self that has awakened by the burden of his own mistakes. There is also a reinforcement of “forever”, which recalls the concept of commitment that Gale pursues so much in his romance: he is not there just for the sex “intimacy”, he is there for serious commitment, maybe because he doesn't want to experience another abandonment. After all, we are talking about a character with a profile that shows abandonment issues (see the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1", section: "Abandonment Issues")

[If rejected] Tav: No. This is too large a betrayal. GALE: I see. I am sorry. I am sorry that it had to come to this. All that’s left to say is farewell. Dev’s notes: hurt but understanding Gale: Farewell. (Leaves) Dev’s notes: A slight hesitation, hurt but understanding. He makes a polite little bow, then we see him walk away.

[If accepted] Gale: I don’t know what I did to deserve the magic that you do.

Despite being terribly cheesy, this last line shows that Gale was more than convinced that Tav would abandon him because he doesn’t deserve Tav. This is why he doesn't put up much fight if Tav chooses to tell him to leave. He will try to make Tav listen to his story, and once it's done, the verdict will fall and he will accept it. He learnt his lesson with Mystra. This line also shows how everything important around Gale is or has to be worded with magic, even a silly metaphor like this is related with the word “magic”: Tav's acceptance is like magic. For him, as important and good as magic itself.

As if that were not enough, after the scene there is a comment in which Gale will reinforce his gratitude for Tav's acceptance:

Tav: If you ever feel the netherese magic overtaking you, what will you do? Gale: If it should ever come to that... if I ever know I am no longer able to stop it... I will do anything I can to ensure no one but me pays for my mistakes. I will find the remotest place on the surface of Faerûn, or perhaps far below in the depths of the Underdark. I will await that death alone. [*] I promise I will not betray your trust... You kept me by your side despite the menace that I am. If worst comes to worst, I will be gone long before the curtain falls. [*] If romanced, Gale will say here "I cherish you."

Which makes me suspect that Gale can disappear at any moment (in full game) if for some game mechanics we are unable to get magical artefacts but the deal with Raphael did not happen (if that’s even possible). But that's just me speculating. Nothing in EA seems to suggest this. What i's clear is that acceptance—that strong concept in the book he put so much emphasis on—is really important to him, so he shows gratitude for that: he promises to protect Tav (and many innocents) from his own mistake. He also says pretty soon an equivalent of “I love you”, in a more formal/meaningful way: “to cherish” is not just to love, but to care/protect as well.

Finally, in case someone lost those hints, or maybe as a consequence of this unpolished scene, we have a direct question with a direct answer:

Tav: Gale, are you still in love with Mystra? Gale: I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know. She is my muse still, the embodiment of magic, but the embodiment of love? Only if we ever meet again will I know

Gale simply says what we have been inferring so far with all the previous information: Gale reinforces the idea that he will remain as a strong, loving devotee of Mystra, because she is magic. I personally don't even consider it possible to remove that love from him. He may not be a cleric, but he loves his deity as one. But he also learnt his lesson that loving gods has its own dire consequences for mortals. He is very aware of it during the discussion about Karsus:

Tav: Nothing good ever comes from mortals wanting to be gods.

Gale: Loving them has its side effects as well. Now, so many centuries later, I tried to follow in the footsteps of Karsus, not to destroy Mystra, but to prove my love for her. It tried to control only a fraction of the magic that was unleashed that fateful day. I merely sought to return one tiny diamond to an imperfect crown. Gale's Folly one might call it. History. Repetition. It's the way things go.

Once more, there is no scene where Gale doesn't reinforce that what he did was a mistake, a foolish action, a Folly.

Finally, if talking about a previous lover immediately after awakening with a new one was of poor taste, Gale acknowledges this, giving an honest apology:

Gale: Before we go on though, do first let me apologise. To share such a night with you only to tell you of a previous lover the next morning... It wasn't the most gentleman-like behaviour. But I had to finally tell you. Silence would have been far worse behaviour still. Nevertheless, I am sorry.

He accepts any rude response or lash-out from Tav without approval penalties. This is an interesting meta-knowledge that speaks about owning up to his mistakes. Unlike the Loss scene, where rude responses made Gale disapprove because Tav was judging him without knowing the whole story [16], in this scene he doesn’t. Now Tav has the whole picture, and he accepts whatever reaction Tav shows. Of course he will approve a forgiving Tav, since Gale is a character very related to forgiveness [12, 12b].

Conclusion:

So, answering the question that gives title to this section: yes. In my opinion, Gale loves Mystra. But it’s not a white-and-black love; it has the complexity of human love mixed with this crazy lore of deities in Forgotten Realms. I believe Mystra will always be part of Gale's life, because the Weave and magic are his life, and she is both. He will always love her as a devotee, even though he now understands the mistakes of his young self and seems more aware of how naive he was when he was a “very young man”. The comments on the second tadpole dreams explicitly show that what Gale wants the most is Mystra’s forgiveness, but at the same time, he knows that he does not deserve it. And this raw realistic view of himself is what makes him understand that those dreams are illusions. During the party scene he is uncertain about his emotions, but still he emphasises that there is a big chance for him to not see Mystra as the embodiment of love any more but reinforces that she will always be the embodiment of magic to him (a very important concept in his character design).

Whether Gale is romanced or not, I don't see a difference in the information he shares on this matter in EA.

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

#bg3 meta #gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale

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imreallyloveleee · 3 years

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Hi I recently read your story We tumble to the griund, THG au and was really captivated. Will there be a chap 3? ~❤️

Hey anon - thank you! I’m so happy you enjoyed it! <3 <3 <3

I’m not writing THG fic anymore so unfortunately that story won’t be finished. However: I dug around a little and it turns out I did write about 1,000 words of the 3rd chapter, back in 2016(!). I’ll put it under the cut for you! (But fair warning, most of it is a scene between Katniss & Gale. Peeta shows up at the end.)

Gale is waiting for me at our usual meeting place when I arrive in the woods the next morning, hidden behind a tall oak tree about fifty paces from the fence. But instead of tossing me my bow and teasing me for my tardiness like he would any other day, he wraps his arms around me in an embrace.

He smells like woodsmoke. “I’ve been wanting to do this since you got back,” he says, his voice muffled against my hair.

My heart beats in an erratic rhythm in my chest. Gale and I…we don’t hug. But after this, and the way he held me as we danced last night, I can’t deny it any longer: something must have changed for Gale while I was gone.

I force a smile onto my face when I pull away, hoping he won’t notice how off-kilter these sudden hints of affection have made me. But even if my expression betrays nothing, my terrible aim this morning is a dead giveaway. I miss shot after shot, managing to hit just two squirrels through the neck after two hours on the hunt. My cheeks burn with frustration. On a normal day, I’d already be heading home with an even dozen in my pack.

“Maybe they messed up your balance when they fixed your ear,” Gale says, flicking my earlobe with his finger.

I shoot him a look. “You know about my ear?”

I remember vividly the rush of panic that had surged through me after the explosion that burst my eardrum, and how quickly I’d forced myself to tamp it down. At the time, I’d prayed that the Gamemakers wouldn’t make it too obvious that I could no longer hear on my left side; no one wants to sponsor a Tribute who’s half-deaf. “I didn’t think they showed that.”

“They didn’t.” Gale shrugs, his dark eyes scanning the underbrush for game. “I could just tell. You moved differently.”

We fall silent as he lines up his arrow for something ahead of him in the grass. He lets it fly, but curses softly under his breath a moment later. Something brown flashes by in a blur from the corner of my eye – probably a rabbit. “A bum ear couldn’t have been any more of a drag on you than your fellow victor.” He says the last few words with an edge to his voice, trudging away through the grass to retrieve his arrow.

“Peeta wasn’t a drag on me,” I say immediately, though it’s not quite the truth. He was the very definition of a drag, what with his mortally-wounded leg. But I feel compelled to defend him nonetheless.

Gale snorts. “He’d be useless out here,” he says dismissively.

“So would any other person in District Twelve. We’re only here because our fathers taught us.” Gale merely rolls his eyes, and I find myself growing annoyed. “Why do you even care?”

Gale crosses his arms over his chest, staring me down. “Because the idea of you and him, it’s – it’s a fucking joke, Catnip.”

I stare back at him. He’s never been one to hide his temper. But he’s also never been one to be cruel. “You don’t even know him,” I say.

“Neither do you,” he snaps. “It’s been, what, four weeks? And now you’re in true love? I’m not buying it.”

My cheeks grow hot. I knew Gale would see through the act. He knows me too well. But if my romance with Peeta really comes across as laughable as Gale is suggesting now, we have bigger problems to worry about.

“You can’t say anything,” I say, taken aback by the desperation in my own voice. “We have to…people have to believe it’s real. Please.”

Gale’s eyes widen, then narrow. “So are you saying it’s not?”

I hesitate. Logically, I know there’s no way President Snow can see or hear me out here – if anyone in the Capitol knew that I sneak out into the woods to poach, I’d already be dead. Even so, I’m afraid to say it out loud.

And there’s another reason I don’t want to confirm what Gale suspects; one that’s just as frightening, but in a completely different way.

I’m frozen in place, trying to form an answer when Gale crosses the distance between us and takes my face in his lean, scarred hands. He kisses me.

It’s not like the kisses I’ve shared with Peeta. His lips are bigger than Peeta’s, and his thumbs feel rougher against the skin of my cheeks. His taste – his smell – is different.

I don’t like it half as much as I like kissing Peeta.

When he breaks the kiss to suck in a breath, I turn my head to the side. He drops his forehead to my temple, his fingers tracing a gentle path down my neck. But when I don’t relax beneath his touch, he draws away, his hands falling to his sides.

“Alright,” he says quietly. My eyes stay trained on the ground, even as I hear the soft crunch of his footsteps on the first fallen leaves, even as the silence of the forest wraps around me, finally alone.

---

I shoot another handful of squirrels before returning home to Victor’s Village, where I run into Peeta as he’s leaving through the gate. He’s heading into town to have lunch with his family. “You should come,” he says, eyeing the bag slung over my shoulder with curiosity.

“I’m all dirty,” I protest, plucking a stray leaf out of my braid. “See?”

Peeta laughs. “Just the way I like you,” he says, and the comment sends an unexpected rush of heat through me.

“Ha,” I say. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?” Ever since he confessed to me how lonely he is in his empty house, I can barely stand the thought of him eating meals there alone.

“Sure,” he agrees easily, and he kisses my cheek before we part ways.

#anon #thg #everlark #fic #i love hearing from people who are just now reading my thg fics but then i also feel very bad that so many of them are unfinished lol

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therainbowwillow · 3 years

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Part 3, TW: Death

Hermes marches again through the snow, deeper now. The winds are colder too. A looming sense of dread hangs over him. No mortal could survive for long out here, not even the son of a god. He wonders what he’s looking for... Orpheus or a grave.

The longer he walks, the lower the temperature seems to drop. It’s been days. Days, without so much as a hint of his lost son. And what he had found, some four days into the search, was only a scrap of cloth, frozen solid long before he’d found it. It was white, though, like the nightgown Orpheus had worn, so Hermes had told himself it was a sign that the boy had come this way.

The sun is no longer visible beyond the blinding blizzard when Hermes finds a strange mound of snow in a clearing. He brushes away the drift and discovers a face staring up at him, frozen in shock. He stumbles backwards, horrified and fearing the worst.

He forces himself to investigate further, crawling over to the bank. To his slight relief, finds that this poor soul is not his son. How long, he wonders, before Orpheus meets a similar fate? He rises to his feet, draping a blanket over the woman. Her shade, he hopes, will take solace in the warmth of the underground.

He carries on with new urgency, the bitter cold stinging his face. The wind howls through the trees, rendering all other noise nearly inaudible. Over the gales, Hermes hears it. A single note, plucked on a guitar. He runs for the sound, as quickly as his divine feet can carry him.

The notes draw nearer and nearer and the air only colder. His foot lands upon something beneath the snow, finally halting him. Glass. Red wine oozes from where the bottle has cracked, freezing almost instantly.

The song is close now, undoubtedly sung by Orpheus. Hermes looks up. He stands in a glade. Or what’s left of a glade, anyway. The wind has whipped the branches off of every tree in sight. The pelting ice crystals have torn the bark to bits.

But it isn’t the trees Hermes notices. Rather the people. Frozen like statues on their feet. He remembers the stories he used to tell his son. How Perseus had found Medusa, surrounded by the men she’d turned to stone with a single glance.

He spots Orpheus next, his eyes closed, leaned against a tree in the center of the clearing. The air hums with his music, the lyrics nearly indistinguishable from the howling of the wind. Hermes calls out, loud and desperate, but his cries are whisked away by the gales.

He stumbles as near to the boy as he can get. The song peaks with strange notes, as if its singer is frightened by his approach. Hermes shields his face behind his coat. He’s so close he can nearly reach his son, shivering in his torn nightgown, stained with blood. “Orpheus...” Hermes falls to his knees. The wind rips his coat off his shoulders. “Orpheus!” The boy doesn’t look up. He strums his guitar and the wind rushes faster. The world of pure white turns black.

Hermes wakes, slumped against the frozen figure of a woman, a knife in her hands. He drags himself away from his son, away from the sculpturesque forms of Orpheus’s would-be attackers. He pulls himself to his feet and sprints, faster with every step. Orpheus will not hear him, no matter how loud he calls. Hermes can only pray that perhaps he’ll hear a different voice.

...

“Hades?” Persephone’s husband starts at the sound of her voice.

He blinks in disbelief. “You’re early. Too early. Seph, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she snaps, stomping at the ice underfoot. “The winter’s reached all the way down here. What have you done?”

He recoils at the accusation. “Nothing.”

“You expect me to believe that my husband plays no role in this?”

“Why would I?” he growls. “Nonstop work. Triple the usual number of shades coming in and it’s only August.”

The train whistle blows, as if on cue. Hades takes his wife’s hand. “Look.” He guides her to the train station. “This is not what I want, Persephone. Thousands of shades, every hour.”

But rather than shades, Hermes stumbles out of the nearest train car. Persephone shakes off her husband’s grasp and hurries to his side. “You shouldn’t be here,” she tells him. He nearly collapses into her arms. “Hermes?”

“I found him,” he mutters.

“What is this?” Hades approaches the exhausted god carefully.

“Orpheus. He’s doing this,” Hermes says.

“Hermes, are you sure? Gods, you’re freezing.”

“He couldn’t hear me. I tried to stop him. Persephone... I wasn’t the first to find him.” She drapes her coat over his shoulders.

“Let’s go,” Hades orders. “Somewhere warm. We’ll discuss this once you are capable, Hermes.”

“No, we’ll discuss this now,” he argues.

“Let’s talk on the way,” Persephone compromises.

Hades guides them to his office, lined wall to wall with space heaters. Persephone sets Hermes in a chair and bundles him in blankets.

“You say this is the boy’s doing?” Hades inquires.

Hermes nods, seeing no way to lie.

“And how did this happen?”

“He disappeared over a week ago,” Hermes explains. “I went looking for him. I... wasn’t the first to find him. He was hurt, I couldn’t see how badly. But his attackers... they never left,” he mutters, uneasily. “I don’t know how he did it, but I felt it too. The closer I went, the colder it got. I almost touched him before I passed out. If I’d been mortal, I doubt I would’ve woken. He froze them. His attackers, I mean... like statues. Or his song did.”

Hades sighs. “I’ll send Thanatos. Put a swift end to this.”

“Like hell you will,” Hermes snarls. “He’s still my son. I didn’t come here to ask you to assassinate him.”

“Then pose a better idea.”

“We get through to him,” Hermes offers.

Hades rolls his eyes. “You tried and this,” he gestures to Hermes’s shivering form. “Was his response. Any mortal would be dead before they reached him.”

“Not every mortal. He spared me because he knows me,” Hermes says. “Send someone he knows. Someone he loves.”

“No.”

“Hades,” Persephone pleads, “He could be right.”

“He sings of his sorrow for her. His words are hard to comprehend, but I’m sure her death is what he laments,” Hermes adds.

“He lost her,” Hades reminds them.

“You could fix this, husband,” Persephone says, firmly.

He narrows his eyes. “A deal, then. If she fails, they’re both mine.”

#when hell freezes over au #hadestown #hadestown au #therainbowwrites

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lelitachay · 4 years

Text

Post Frozen 2, part 2:

Here is Part 1 for those who want to read it:

Elsa watched the door close behind her sister, and realised she didn’t have an alternative. Olaf waddle towards her and stood by her side, smiling. He looked happy he was supposed to stay with her and talk. She knew she had neglected him the last few weeks. Abdicating had been a little bit harder than she imagined, it didn’t only affect her life, but her sister’s and the whole kingdom. And so, she hadn’t had much time on her hands to spend time with the little snowman.

"What do you want to talk about Elsa? Books? I found a new encyclopedia in the library. I was trying to find information about how sleeping in long journeys prevents insanity, but I can’t seem to find anything."

"No. That’s n- not want I want to talk about." She felt silly stuttering in front of Olaf. He had always been a comforting presence in her life since she created him and she knew she could speak freely in front of him, but this time she didn't quite know how to start the conversation. She chose to start with information Olaf already knew. "You know Anna is going to be Queen of Arendelle, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," he nodded eagerly. "She told me. I think it's great!" He then scratched his head. "I don't know why you don't want to be Queen anymore…" He thought for a moment, and before Elsa had the chance to answer, he said, "Is it because people have been decapitating Queens in recent years? I'm not sure what decapitate means, though."

Elsa paled at the thought, and suddenly felt the need to cancel Anna's coronation and her abdication altogether, and stay in the castle. Leave it to Olaf to make her reevaluate her life decisions.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Olaf continued, "but I read people are angry with their monarchs before doing it, and people like you and Anna. So I don't think that's it."

Coming back to the conversation at hand, and trying her best to leave her new unfounded fear aside, Elsa said, "Well, I'm stepping down because I realised I was not the right person for the job."

"Don't you like being Queen?"

“It's not I don't like it.” Truth was she had always felt inadequate for the position. But she didn’t feel like discussing that with Olaf. She had just recently confessed it to Anna. “It's just… It's not who I'm meant to be.”

“What do you mean?” he seemed interested. Elsa was glad he was following the conversation and asking questions. It was easier for her to talk that way.

“I was born to be someone different. I'm supposed to be out there, with the rest of the spirits,” she answered. “Do you understand?”

He pondered for a few seconds what she said. "And being Queen forces you to stay here in your study all day?"

"Yes." She felt relieved Olaf understood her reasons.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'm going back to the forest…" she was surprised she was able to say it so easily.

"For a few days?"

"No." She sighed, knowing he was not going to like her answer. "I'm going there to stay."

He furrowed his brow. "You are leaving?"

There it was. The question she knew was coming. She nodded and caressed the top of his head. "I won't live here anymore. That's what I wanted to talk with you," she said in a small voice.

"Why?" A dejected look on his face.

Elsa hated being the reason their happy snowman felt that way. She hated always being the reason her family suffered. But she couldn't keep pretending. She had found herself that day in Ahtohallan, and she knew she couldn't go back to the way things were. "It's where I belong. It's where the magic of nature belongs."

Olaf opened his eyes in surprise, making Elsa wondered if she had said something wrong. “What about me? I'm made of magic snow. Should I go too?” he asked with concern.

Elsa felt his worry and soon tried to calm him down. “That's up to you.”

He raised his head to meet her eyes and asked, “Up to me?”

Elsa leaned in so it was easier for him to look at her in the eye. “Do you want to come to the forest with me?” She needed him to understand it was his choice completely.

“I don't know…” he ruffled his hair twigs. And after thinking for a few seconds he confessed, “I don't like the forest.”

“You don't?”

“I think it's scary.”

Elsa tried to remember the forest. She had been so captivated with the land, she couldn’t think of it as scary. “Scary?”

“You know, full of potential threats…”

She chuckled at his answer. Olaf’s vocabulary had changed so much in such a short time. “Well,” she said remembering Olaf’s worry after she had brought him back to life. “I promised you I wouldn't put you through mortal danger anymore. So, you don't have to come with me if you don't want to. You can stay here with Anna and Kristoff.”

“I can?” His spirits seemed to raise with his question.

“Of course.” She smiled tenderly to him. “I want you to be happy, Olaf.”

He sighed and walked the short distance that separated them. He rested his head on her lap and said, “I don't know what to do.”

Elsa felt guilty once again. Here she was forcing Olaf to make a decision that surely was hard for him. He always said he loved his whole family. Wanting to make him feel better, she picked him up and sat him on her lap. She gave him what she hoped was a warm hug and asked, “What do you feel here?” She pointed to his chest. Even if she knew Olaf was not human, she liked to believe he felt things in his chest too. She also knew he understood what she meant. “What do you think would make you happier?”

“I think,” began Olaf but he hesitated, as if the answer was going to be incorrect. “I would like to stay in the castle with Anna, Kristoff and Sven…” Before Elsa had the chance to tell him it was okay to feel that way, he continued, “but you built me. I don't want you to go.” He looked at her with sadness. “I don't want things to change.”

Elsa didn’t answer. She couldn’t promise him things were going to stay the same. She knew that once she left the castle a lot of things were going to change. They were changing already. “Are you mad at me?” she asked.

“No. I'm just…” He made a pause trying to understand how he felt. “...sad. Do you have to go?”

Elsa hugged him once again and nodded. “I'm sorry I'm leaving. But I'm sure you'll be happier here.” Without detaching herself from him, she tilted her head and said, “But you’ll have Anna; she was always better company than I was. And Kristoff and Sven.” Then she remembered his new found passion for books and said, “you also have all the books you can read here…”

Instead of lifting his mood, the comment about the books made him sadder, puzzling Elsa. “But you won't be here to tell me what the difficult words mean.”

“No, I won't…” She sighed. Then an idea came to her mind. “But you can send me letters. You'll have someone to write to.” She remembered Olaf sending letters to everyone in the castle, when he first learnt to read an write.

“Oh, it's a good thing I learnt to write then!” he said with excitement.

“Yes, it is.” Elsa tighten her embrace, happy to know he was finding something to look forward to. “You can send me all the letters you want. And if you ever need me, you could just send a message with Gale and and I'll be back as soon as possible.”

He then turned his head to look at her. “Can I visit you too?”

Elsa smiled. “I'd love that.”

They both stayed in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying their company. Elsa felt bad for not spending more time with Olaf in the past. She had always worked too much or worried too much to enjoy the simple moments like the one she was living at that moment.

He distracted her when he asked, “when are you leaving?”

“After Anna's coronation.”

She watched him count what she guessed were the weeks before the coronation and he then said, “So, we still have a few weeks to spend time together.”

“Yes, we do.”

---

The following day, Anna and Elsa were in the study once again, this time arranging the guest list for Anna’s coronation. The most important kingdoms and allies had been told about the event, but they still needed to figure out some things.

Both sisters were discussing Arendelle relationship with a Kingdom Anna didn’t remember ever reading about, when Olaf entered the study running with a map in his hand. “Elsa look! Look what I found in the library!”

Elsa turned around, surprised by the sudden visit, and knelt in front of him. “What is it?”

“It’s an old map of Arendelle. Look! It has all this marks and circles in it. What do you think they are?” He opened the map to show his creator.

Elsa picked the map and tried to identify what each circle marked, but she couldn’t think of anything. She recognised her father’s handwriting on the left margin. It said something about water.

Anna stood behind her and looked at the map too, she recognised one of the marked places. “That’s the oldest well in Arendelle. It’s near the town square,” she said pointing to it.

“I think father was thinking of building more wells,” said Elsa. “I can’t believe I didn't come up with the idea of checking the water supply in Arendelle before…”

“Do you think all the ‘new wells’ he marked in this map were built?” asked Anna.

“I don’t know…”

“Uh! We could go explore the town and find out!” said Olaf with excitement. Before Elsa knew what was happening, Olaf grabbed her hand and ran in the direction of the door. Elsa looked at the twig arm in her hand as she watched Olaf run out the door.

“Olaf wait! You forgot your hand!” said Elsa aloud, shaking his arm in the air.

Anna laughed as she watched her sister kneeling on the floor with his arm in her hand. “He wants you to go with him.”

“Come on, Elsa!” said Olaf from the door, when he realised his arm and his creator were missing.

“Olaf, I’m helping Anna with the coronation right now.”

Anna shook her head and helped her sister raise from the floor. “Go explore the town with Olaf,” she said. “Besides, I could use the information.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’.” She interrupted. Anna got closer to Elsa and whispered, “go play with him. You’ll miss these moments.”

Elsa looked at her and smiled. Anna had already taken her role as Queen and was offering her the chance to go out and enjoy her new found freedom. She whispered a thank you to her younger sister, and walked out the door with Olaf. --- Tagging those who were interested in reading the second part: @ swimmingnewsie, @the-magic-one-is-you, @britishchick09, @mike5579-t3a, @frozenlover2005, @elsaannasnowqueen, @bigfrozenfan-archive

#frozen #frozen 2 #frozen 2 fic #frozen fanfic #frozen fic #elsa #anna #olaf #post frozen 2 #my writing #frohana

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songbird-of-the-rain · 4 years

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Tales from the Forgotten Era

Because I’m an absolute sucker for worldbuilding and storytelling, and drink my own kool-aid like some sort of sad heathen, I started writing nonsense tangentially related to my main RP character, Eru’a, and the history of his ancestors, largely focused upon his Great, Great, Great, so many generations back, grandfather - a miqo’te named Aelua, his right hand man, Kahja, and their adventures during the great miqo’te migration of the Fifth era.

Now I know what you’re thinking: But we don’t know anything about the fifth era, so how on earth are you going to write anything about it?

To that, I offer a hedonistic giggle, curl my fingers inward, and maniacally declare that in an age of lost information, the possibilities are endless, and it’s all in good fun anyway or something, so I really don’t think the fantastic staff at Square-Enix is going to mind if I indulge in a pocket adventure and extrapolate that into bad novella proportions.

Still, for the all of two people who accidentally opened my blog and landed on this page, I hope there’s some enjoyment to be had from my nonsense endeavors when they find their way here.

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The barren fields of the great ice plains stretched a thousand malms in each direction. No matter which way one were to look, the endless sea of blinding white stared back with a dreary emptiness. It was beautiful in a way, poetic, he thought as his feet crunched against the hardened snow. Would that it offered more of a view than buried trees and long forgotten memories of a world spoken of in fairy tales.

Kahja adjusted the collar of his thick coat, drawing it tighter about his neck. Even if he'd grown into a young man amidst the howling winds, the feeling of chill nipping against bare flesh never proved comfortable. In truth, he loathed the long walks he took in the open air. Like wisping water ripples, the wind wove throughout his hair and battered the woolen feline ears nestled upon his scalp. Snow clung to his body, right to the very tip of his long tail. He supposed it was a blessing that his people were gifted with such assets, for without them, he was certain he and his would have faced a similar fate to those forgotten souls at the start of what had come to be known as the Fifth Umbral Calamity.

The gods could be kind, even if they had seen fit to scorn the mortal realm and bury it beneath the frost.

With a flick of his lengthy tail against the ivory powder, Kahja began the trek up the hillside, patting his boot against the ground once, and then twice, to be certain the ground were stable. The heaviness of his breath pooled before his face like dense fog, leaving behind puffs of clouds the further he trekked.

"Aelua!", he called over the gentle breeze when he reached the top of the hill's curve. His ears perked forward and he waited, listening intently to the silence about him. When no response came, he cursed, spitting a heated drop of saliva upon the ground before lashing his tail from one side to the next.

"Gods damned manic.", he grumbled. "Can't simply stay put like he's asked to do. Watch the hunt. No. Always galivanting off like some---"

As Kahja turned to descend the hilltop and continue along his journey, his feet slipped upon a patch of loose ground. His feet fumbled with the powder, and, giving a yowl one could not hope to describe, he promptly slid along the edge of the hill until he tumbled feet over head from top to the very bottom. The mist of snow plumed up in a puff, twirling about the gentle breeze before it deigned to carry it on and into the endless empty.

"That's certainly one way to make your presence known.", a voice lilted within his ringing ears. Soft and gentle as it was, Kahja could not help but turn himself towards it in an attempt to lay eyes upon its bearer. Lyrical and crisp as it was, it carried with it a certain quality that somehow both soothed and boiled the blood within his very veins.

Not unlike the face it accompanied.

Standing before him was a miniscule young man, much like himself. Like all miqo'te, brilliant feline ears coated in fur pointed and perked towards him, and a tail so long it settled upon the ground sat before his face, tickling the tip of his nose with each strand of obsidian hair. Kahja shoved it away and blinked the snow from his eyes until his vision had grown clear enough to focus upon a pair of mismatched ones, azure as the blue glacier and black as the night herself.

"Aelua." Kahja breathed a weary sigh. Each of his hands pressed down against the ground, seeking out the solid points so that he might hope to place his weight upon them. "Stars grant me strength, have you any idea the trouble you've caused tonight? And now you show up here, as if---"

"I seem to recall hearing you calling for me, not the other way around." The young man, Aelua, smiled. Nimble fingers brushed a few strands of long hair from his face before he offered a hand to the fallen man before him, waiting patiently for it to be taken. Once it had been, he leaned back with all of his weight, straining to drag the other up and onto their feet. "As for the trouble, you'll accept my apologies, won't you?"

Kahja staggered two steps forward, until he were balanced. The ears upon his head levelled out, finding themselves lost amidst his own choppy hair. He narrowed his eyes at Aelua, then promptly proceeded to brush the loose bits of snow away from the dark fur and heavy cloth of his clothing. "Even if I accept them, Yahana might not, you know... We lost two bits of game to the beasties without a pair of eyes on the store and she's more red faced than the second moon."

Aelua's thin lips quirked into a grimace. He hummed a low note while brushing a bit more snow from Kahja's garments, staring listlessly at the air.

A long moment of silence passed between the two men, broken only by the whisper of the gale. It was not until the quiet became uncomfortable that Kahja spoke to shoo it on its way:

"Did it happen again?" He trilled a bit of air upon his lips and ran his hands throughout his choppy hair.

Aelua offered a small nod in turn, then tore his eyes away to look back over his shoulder. The ears upon his head followed suit, turning slowly before settling on a point in the far distance. With a shake of his head, he returned his gaze to Kahja and feigned a weary smile. "I heard it. I swear I did. If I hadn't, I'd not have left the game unattended. You know that, don't you?"

Kahja rolled his head back, pointing his nose towards the sky. His brown eyes closed, shrouding the world in comfortable darkness.

"You don't believe me."

Aelua's voice sang within his ears. His eyes promptly opened, returning to gloss over his companion and then the area about them. Without a word at first, he closed a bulky hand about Aelua's shoulder, urging him to walk forward and towards the trail of shallow footsteps he'd left behind upon his initial journey into the empty wastes.

"I don't know.", Kahja answered simply. "But you can't go wandering off like this. Not without saying anything."

"And if I said something, they'd not believe a word of it, you know that!"

Kahja shook his head, knocking away flecks of snow that clung to him with arrogant persistence. "Nevermind it, now. What's done is done, and I need to bring you back before the Sixth Umbral Calamity befalls us all." With a puff of air from his nose, he huffed and continued onward, occasionally shoving his companion as if to ensure the pace did not slow to a crawl. He was cold, after all, and the less time he needed to spend in the open breeze, the happier he knew he would be. Nevertheless, as their stride slowly began, he took a moment of pause to watch Aelua trudge forward. "Tell me about it tonight, would you? What you heard?"

A brightness sang within Aelua's eyes when he looked back towards the other. Thin lips curled into a wry smile and he nodded his head once, then twice, for good measure. "Home, then. And hopefully Yahana won't be too cross about the game."

#FFXIV #Final Fantasy #FFXIV RP #Final Fantasy XIV RP #Miqo'te #Miqo'teRP #Miqo'te RP #songbird-of-the-rain #Eru'a Rainsong #FFXIV Stories

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happywitch416 · 3 years

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Chapter 24

“Dexion?”

“I trust your journey was successful?” His hands clasped behind his back and Elena wondered if he had been injured with the rag wrapped around his head.

“We've brought the Elder Scrolls.”

He slumped. “I'm sorry, my friend. I can no longer be of use in this matter.”

“Why? What's happened?” She crossed the room to him and before she could touch him, he turned.

“It's my fault.” He shrugged, the bandage covering his eyes. “In my haste to read the first scroll, I neglected the careful preparation required. I thought I'd be able to allay the aftereffects, but I was wrong. Now I'm paying for it.”

Elena swallowed back her horror and she stammered softly. “Are you--?”

“Blind? Yes. I'm afraid so.” He sighed, touching his head briefly.

“Can anything be done to help you?” Serana joined them, already wondering if between her mother and Elena’s alchemy resources if they could find a way.

He shook his head. “No. It'll have to run its course, and there's always the chance I may never recover.”

Elena let out a short, derisive laugh as she half fell into a chair. “Then we're finished, all of this for nothing.”

“No, there's another way.” He was quiet a moment before he continued softly. “The question is, how much are you willing to risk finding Auriel's Bow?”

Elena prayed for guidance, and all she felt was Serana’s hand in hers, how she had looked the past few mornings at the breakfast table with her girls. How empty life would be if something happened to her. Elena rolled her shoulders and got back to her feet, if the gods weren’t going to intervene with her fate then her heart was. “What do I need to do?”

“I can't guarantee you'll be free from harm. Becoming blind could be the least of your worries.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Elena cut him off and began to pace, ignoring Serana’s pointed look.

Dexion nodded. “Scattered across Tamriel are secluded locations known only as Ancestor Glades. There's one in Skyrim, in the Pine Forest. Performing the Ritual of the Ancestor Moth within the glade should provide the answers you seek.”

Elena’s brows knitted together, she would need to check a map and hope it was noted. “What is the ritual?”

“It involves carefully removing the bark from the Canticle Tree which will in turn attract Ancestor Moths to you.” He pantomimed with his hands. “Once enough of the moths are following, they'll provide you with the second sight needed to decipher the scrolls.” He raised a single finger and pointed vaguely in her direction. She found herself impressed, sudden blindness would have made her insane and he seemed so at peace. “In keeping with tradition, you must use a specific tool in the Ancestor Glade, an implement known as a Draw Knife. Every Moth Priest is taught this ritual, but few ever get the chance to perform it. You should consider yourself fortunate if it works for you.”

“And that’s why you are moth priests.” She nodded, thoughtful and pensive. “Do I need to read the scrolls in any particular order?”

“From what I saw in the vision, the Elder Scroll which foreshadows the defiance of the gods with the blood of mortals is the key to the prophecy.” He smiled then. “You've come this far, and you've found several Elder Scrolls. Whether you believe it or not, the scrolls have a mind of their own. If they didn't want you to find them, they wouldn't allow it. Because of this, I strongly believe you were meant to hear the ancestral chorus. Only one way to find out.”

Elena took his hands in hers. “Thank you, for everything, Dexion.” She said fervently.

“It's not often that a moth priest has an adventure.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “Now go, so you can tell me what you learned. I will not be leaving your temple's care anytime soon.”

Serana tugged Elena into a darkened corner once they were out of Dexion’s room. “You can’t risk your sight.” Elena shrugged causing Serana to give a disgusted sigh. “What of your girls?”

“I’d find a way.” Her eyes flashed as she hissed. “The risk that your father would send this world into darkness, people no more than cattle? I am thinking of my girls.” Her voice softened. “And a world without you in it. Serana, it’s a risk I am willing to take.”

Serana was quiet a moment. “If anything happens, I will reanimate your corpse out of spite.”

A huff of laughter left Elena. “I wouldn’t really expect less.” She stepped away and tugged on Serana’s hand gently, neither of them having let go yet. “Come on, I know you don’t like temples, but I do need to speak to my mother before I leave again. The garden is always open.”

“I think I would like to meet her.”

Elena led the way up some stairs and down some halls before knocking on a closed door and gently opening it, her pulse near flying and throat dry. “Ma?” There was some mumbled cursing and the slam of something heavy. Elena sighed and let them into the room. “Better be decent!”

“The girls aren’t that quiet!” A male voice yelled.

Elena quietly fidgeted. “You’ll get to meet them both.”

“Meet who?” An older woman came through the door, wiping her hands on her apron. Elena was a younger copy of her mother. Maga’s red hair was streaked with white, but her smile was kind. Elena was made of more sharp edges but perhaps Maga had been too at one time. She clapped her hands together gently. “Oh, you have finally found someone!”

Whatever Elena had been expecting that had not been it, Serana guessed easily. Her mouth fell open and closed several times before her voice came strangled out. “You are as bad as the girls.”

“There’s more to life than work.” She brushed a kiss against Elena’s cheek before offering her hand to Serana. “Maga Silver-Gale.”

“Serana.” The older woman had a firm handshake, her blue eyes clear and considering. She gave a slight nod at whatever she had decided and Serana let out a soft breath of relief.

An exceptionally large orc joined them. “Daughter!” He roared and held out his arms. Elena shook her head wildly, which he promptly ignored and picked her up from the floor in a hug. When he set her down, she was about 500 shades of red and staring at the floor. “Magurn Khargum.” He inclined his head toward Serana and studied her a moment. “Ah.”

Elena gave herself a good shake. “Ah?”

“Vampires.” When Elena didn’t answer he tapped a finger under her chin. “Both of you.”

The silence drug before Elena finally answered. “Aye.”

“Da know?” She shook her head and he let out a tired sigh. “I will tell him, best keep your noses clean.”

“Actually, I am leaving town again.” Elena was already wincing before her mother spoke.

“Again? You just got home!” Maga’s eyes flashed, her slight frame puffing up.

“I know, I know. But-.”

Maga ignored her pleading, she was livid. “When you took in those girls it was to be a family.” Elena’s face turned dark as Maga shook her finger in her face. “You’ve been gone more than you’ve been home, between the damned Legion, sorry dear.” She added when Magurn made an offended noise. “And whatever adventure you are on that's taking you all over the province.”

“She’s helping me.” Serana interjected as Elena was wilting into the floorboards. “If we don’t take care of it, the girls would be in danger. And everyone else.”

Maga stared at Serana before her gaze moved to Elena. “Big things then.” Elena nodded glumly thumb pressed hard enough against her wrist it hurt.

“Dragon things?” Elena blanched entirely at that. Maga let out a tired sigh. “You won’t be able to hide from Kyne’s call forever, Elena, the sooner you go the sooner it would be over.”

“I have no interest in it and you know it.” She said flatly. “They can summon Odara.” Serana’s gaze flicked back and forth between them before Magurn caught her eye with a shrug. Whatever it was, it was apparently only known between Maga and Elena.

“Where are you headed?” Magurn asked, cutting through the tension.

“Ancestor Glade, to read the elder scrolls.” Elena’s voice was clipped, eyes still boring holes into the floor.

Maga nodded, worry further creasing her face. “Be careful. I don’t want you blinded too.”

Chapter 25

Elena grimaced as they approached the town. "Falkreath"

"What’s wrong with-?" A dagger blazed past them embedding itself in a tree.

"Down!" Elena had her bow strung before her feet hit the ground, the growing dusk no longer a hindrance to her sight. The man was quick but not quick enough. She set her foot to his chest and ripped the arrow from him. Fangs blunt lines across his lip. She swore loudly.

"Die!" Elena ducked the axe, crouching low before launching herself at her attacker. She felt the surge of Serana’s magic at her back as she pinned the woman with her body, knees slamming into her assailant’s elbows before reaching out and snapping her neck with a vicious twist. Elena froze, heart thudding in her chest before she fell back, scrambled to the side of the road, and was sick. Shaking she stared at her hands, knowing the death she had just caused was no different than all the others. But she couldn’t convince herself of that. Not with horror and revulsion twisting her insides, not when death had always been at the end of an arrow or blade.

She jumped at Serana's hand on her shoulder and let out a shaky laugh. "Any idea who that was?"

"My father’s friends."

"Great." She smiled brightly, ignoring her still heaving stomach. "Let’s get through this damned town. The faster, the better."

"What’s wrong with Falkreath?" Serana asked as Elena calmed their spooked horse. Ajax had been a vital companion, and Serana knew how much Elena had come to love the beast. She smiled a little as Elena checked him over for injuries.

"Nothing that they can help." She sighed. "It’s the graveyard." They were finally at the gate. "Hail."

"Hail, traveler! Inn's ahead, general store too." He sobered a moment. "Graveyard past them, there’s a service going."

"Another warrior?"

"No." He shook his head, gaze growing steely. "A little girl, ripped to shreds by a werewolf."

Elena blinked away her shock. "Kyne will call her home."

He brightened again "We’ve not seen a priestess of Kyne in a long time. We needed a healer to visit but with the war." He trailed off at her stricken look.

"When was the last time a priestess came through?" She hissed.

He blinked several times before answering, the woman’s teeth were no longer then they were. That didn’t happen. "Two winters past."

She snarled. "By the eight, why hasn’t your Jarl done anything?" He sheepishly stared at his boots. Elena took a deep breath, nose flaring. "Is there a courier in town?"

"Due to leave tomorrow."

"Good.” She nodded. “Good." She was already working through what she was going to write.

"We’ve written." His voice was sullen.

Elena reached out a strong grip on his shoulder. He was barely into his adulthood she saw now, a childhood among the honored dead couldn’t have been easy and would never be forgotten. "They will come, unless they wish to feel the wrath of the high priestess in Solitude."

"She’s a far league from here, traveler." Hope began to shimmer in his eyes anyway, and her heart wrenched. Someone he knew needed a healer then, the poor boy.

"Oh, my mother is not above coming herself and then paying them a visit. But more importantly." She dropped her hand and her smile. "Kyne's Champion bids them to."

His stammering thanks, his relief was still in her thoughts after she entrusted the letters to the courier, even after they had left the walls of town.

"So, you are a champion of Kyne?"

Elena’s smile was more a grimace. "The Champion of Kyne, there is not another in Skyrim."

"Is it why the winds talk to you?"

Elena turned her brows arching. "Here I thought you hadn’t noticed them."

"It’s hard not to sometimes." Elena gave her a cheeky grin. "Is it hard being..." She trailed off unsure of how to ask.

"Sometimes? I don’t know really." She pulled forward the amulet Serana had never seen her without. "I was young when the wind called me to the trials. My mother had a fit that I disappeared."

"Before the Legion then." Elena nodded and they fell into an awkward silence.

"You do know I’d never even suggest you believe right?" Elena came to a halt. "Just because of this." She gave a vague wave of her hand at herself. "I’m still just me. And gods are always different, for everyone, or nothing."

Serana had a half-smile on her face that made Elena flush and stare at the ground. "I never thought you would."

"Well, that’s good. That you. I." She stammered a moment and shook her head. "That Glade won’t find itself."

Chapter 26

"This must be the place. Not very impressive, is it?" Elena matched Serana's frown.

"I expected more too." Scraggly plants were scattered about the stones. The cairns were well stacked but that was the only impressive thing about it. "No moths. Maybe further in?”

“I still think you should let me read them.” Elena gave her a drawl look but refused to have that argument again. Serana huffed, brushing past her and her stubbornness.

Elena let out a low whistle. The actual Ancestor Glade was beautiful, moss-covered rocks and flowers bordered the broken path that led down to the spring. The air itself was soft, warming along her skin like an early summer day. She let her eyes flutter closed and took a deep calming breath, anchoring herself to her center.

"Look at this place. It’s beautiful." Serana looked about in quiet awe. "I doubt there's any other place like it in Skyrim."

"I can think of one." Elena opened her eyes with a smile. "Once this is done, I think I’ll take the girls." Her lips widened into a grin. "You too if you want. It’s not even a temple."

Serana chuckled. "Does your goddess have temples?"

Elena hummed a moment leading the way down the to the spring. "There’s several in High Rock and Hammerfell." She made face. "There’s one in Whiterun, it has the Gildergleam but."

"But?"

"It’s dead." She said softly. "The temple there is little more than a field tent with walls. War only makes injuries." She shrugged at Serana’s look. "Kyne has witnessed this war, invoked over and over both sides, only for it to scar the land and the people equally."

Serana was quiet a moment. "Does she not favor war then?"

"She gives strength, the Mother of Nords. You can ask for her aid to bring victory."

"You don't sound convinced."

Elena laughed quietly, bitterly. "How do you pick sides between your scabbling children?" Elena offered her hand when the rocks grew unsteady. "She takes the dead to Sovngarde, she must be busy. Or bored. I don’t think any of us are worthy anymore."

"Your time with the Legion, it wasn't good was it?" Serana pulled her gently to a stop and Elena gave a single nod staring past her shoulder. "I think." She continued quietly. "Your goddess would be a fool to not find you worthy."

Elena gave her a pale smile that didn't meet her eyes, but she kept her disbelief to herself. "Come on. These scrolls won’t read themselves."

Elena ran her fingers gently through the leaves and flowers of the trees as she made her way to the pedestal. The drawknife was simple, unornamented but sturdy settled within its circular altar. It was warm in her hands, thrumming gently. "Now all we need to do is track down one of those Canticle Trees."

"Up there." Elena pointed.

"How can you tell?"

"See the flowers?" A grin broke her attempt of seriousness. "But it’s the moths that gave it away mostly." Laughing she scrambled away from Serana’s halfhearted swat and shimmied up the ledge. She set the knife to the bark, brows furrowing as she tried to bring up the thinnest amount, she could, not wanting to damage the tree. Her whole body twitched when the bark fell into her palm, nose crinkled in revulsion. "It smells like old dust."

Serana stared up at her moths already forming a gliding swarm around her. "Dexion didn't give us a lot to go on, but they've definitely taken a liking to you."

Elena gingerly shimmied down, boots splashing in the water. "I wonder how many moths we need?" More swooped down to join them, several swarms from every direction. Elena’s head felt fuzzy and was growing warmer. She tugged on her shirt laces, the one arm falling from her shoulder even. The bark was glowing softly in her hand.

"Unless I'm seeing things, you're starting to...glimmer." Elena finally looked up, gold weaving its way through her red hair, freckles gleaming across her skin, a wind began to swirl about her. "You’re beautiful."

Elena grinned self-consciously with a soft cough. "Magic is an unfair advantage." The glow from the bark spread outward forming a sphere of golden light around her. She reached out gingerly, fingers passing through it easily, the glow extending with her hand. Something pulled at her and she moved to the column of sunlight shining down into the spring. "I think I should try reading them now."

Serana nodded and handed her the scroll of blood, holding it a moment as she searched Elena’s face. "Nervous?"

Elena shook her head with a winning grin. "Not at all." Serana stepped back, she was nervous enough for both of them.

Elena unfurled the scroll and felt her mind explode outward. A dizzying array of images flashed through her, words she barely understood roaring and echoing and whispering. A map spiraled out before her a bright spot appearing and its name burning itself into her eyelids. She didn't remember opening the second scroll, a bow appearing. Golden her waking mind pinning it as elven make before its name ripped through her and the world fell dark.

A Warrior’s Heart Master List

#the witch writes #elena songschild

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questions-within-questions · 6 years

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Gale Reads Warlocks of the Sigil: Flashforward and Chapter One

I’ve been meaning to read this book for AGES. But, I don’t have a kindle, I fell out of love with novels as a medium, I had too many other things to read, and I hate reading digital copies of texts. But I promised myself I’d start reading at Christmas and here Christmas is, good timing too because I’ve been feeling nostalgic for all the YA Dystopias I was addicted to in my youth, things like the Wind singer and Mortal Engines. Anyway I’m doing a let’s read. Warlocks of the Sigil is by Peri Akman and is available for Kindle on Amazon and is currently on sale (!?) for £3.07 Disclaimer: I’m good long time internet friends with Peri, so I’m biased and I like to believe I have some (some?) understanding of how she thinks about literature. ++++++++++++++++++ Here’s a round up of what I think I know about the book. I’ve spent an agonisingly long time trying to avoid big spoilers, while maintaining a healthy interest. YA book, part one of three. Non-generic fantasy setting. Non-binary character. The working titles for book two is either Heroes of the Sigil or Monsters of the Sigil, so that tells me something about the sigil? Probably really self aware because Peri started this project for fun to play around with the YA genre. ++++++++++++++++++ I like good opening lines. I’m a real sucker for them, and “There were many times that Quinn had almost died” is a corker. This preleude is titled Flash Foreward, so I assume this prelude is going to be filled with mentions of events which are not going to happen the way we think they are. One of the times he almost died was when he stared his former hero down? Well the hero’s not named so I’m sure that’ll come up and possibly wont be the most obvious person. But dang, what ever is actually currently happening at the future is BAD. Quinn is pretty much wishing he could have had any one of those nasty horrible deaths and be forgotten. This is all very eldritch, big twisted impossible monster, two of his friends are dead. There’s a traitor, but it’s left for us to discover who that will be. And we’re at Chapter one,

Holy shit it’s less than a year earlier? Quinn might have been younger in that prelude than I pictured. “I dunno, what are you afraid of? Bears? Is it bears?” Mackie, I like you already, on the condition that you’re being silly on purpose. Kay is the coolest though. They’re sneaking out of school under pain of being a criminal, Quinn’s never left the school in a decade. And honestly, seeing kids escape their world for the first time ever is a pretty cool way to introduce me to their world. Things tell me that this school and it’s government is really messed up by how regulated these kid’s lives are. I bet none of the towns folk care. I bet warlock kids sneak out all the time and the muggles just don’t have any reason to wish punishment on them. Take that government with you’re stupid laws. Quinn really hates personal freedom, even if he clearly wants it, this school has messed him up. I don’t hate him though, how can I hate someone who just wants to go back to bed rather than start the story they’re staring in? Quinn you capture the spirit of our generation. So school system, nasty as it is, seems cool. Kid shows magic some how, gets sent to school and looses all ability for independence, even gets branded with a hyper visible tattoo, your latent magic will try and express what kind of domain your magic is about in your tattoo shape, but everyone’s bad at interpretation tattoos. (I get magic looks at this human race says “Are, they have language, let’s use this language to tell this kid they have door magic.” Magic types door into human language, and gets five thousand results and no frame of reference, has no frame of reference to understand them and pics one at random. Kid ends up with a pictograph of a character named “Duhr” from a book that no longer exists from a civilisation no one remembers. I bet one kid ever actually gets “Can summon cats” on their face and all the warlocks decide to take the rest of the week off. Anyway, once they reach a certain point in puberty (?) the kids can start testing to be accepted as an apprentice by a Warlock from where ever, and the Warlock has until the kid becomes an adult to teach the kid stuff, and then the government allocates the kid a job. Probably a job the kid is very poorly equipped for because they have limited knowledge for how other humans experience life. If you don’t get yourself an apprenticeship in time you are banned from magic forever and Quinn is terrified for this idea. The kids do a really poor job of sneaking around and instantly bump into the most Warlock-y Warlock ever. Asim. Gosh I’m fascinated by this guy. First off he wears his “I’m a government sanctioned warlock” brand on his face. But apparently in protest? Wonder what context exists that putting a brand on your face is protest. Apparently a culture exists where it’s rude to ask about it? Makes me wonder if he received the brand willingly. He clearly has no love for the governments rules. At no point did I feel like he’s going to turn these kids in. At one point he’s juggling the kids through the air, and he’s just “Guys this is super illegal, so you’re only allowed to scream bloody murder a maximum of three times or else the townsfolk will tell on me.” His boots are clean because I bet he walks in an inch of air all the time. He says that being a farmer is just as noble as being a war hero like him. Instantly tells loads of kids that this job they’ve been sold into is going to be hard and they’ve been sold a pack of lies. But, he scares me a little bit. It’s a little early to say “He’s the traitor from the prelude!” or “He’s the former hero who Quinn has to face down!” but adults asking so many questions of kids puts me edge, especially when the power dynamic is so imbalanced by this guy being really very respected and these kids being on the wrong side of the law. His eyes glint strangely when Kay mentions something to do with her fantasy puberty. Speaking of the kids, I imagine this group are characters worth remembering. We know two of Quinn’s friends are dead in the Prelude. Really I hope a fair few of the kids survive, and or we meet the other kids Quinn graduates with. Something that’s been on my mind recently is that mild horror of growing up and seeing people you went to school with now running the country. Not sure if the future books time skip or not. I hope so. I like it when I see YA protagonists age. Anyway that’s all I’m reading for tonight. Quinn has his testing tomorrow, and I kind of hope he’ll find himself in the ward of a warlock other than Asim. If only because that means he’ll have two adult contacts in the world rather than one. This kid has spent his entire life under a single administration, I’m not keen for him to swap one administration for the next. Asim would be more useful to Quinn as someone he could maybe contact in times of need than an actual supporter. Oh wow I have protagonist focused morality already. I guess I should care about who these other kids get as their warlock, and I guess I’d rather they all got not-Asims and kept Asim as a contact, but at the same time, I’m afraid any alternative to Asim isn’t going to be as clearly critical of this government. ++++++++++ Find my let’s read of Chapter Two here

#Warlocks of the Sigil #Gale Reads

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