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tapewormzz · 7 months

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EXCLAMATION: YAPPING !!!!

Hi. This is where i start being cringe and do ocposting. ^_^

Ok so let me introduce U all (the three of you! Wow! 3 follower milestone! Im popular!) to my oc realm. It is called The Divinity but the planet is called Hicothea.

Created and ruled by the Divine Three (managed by little sets of demi-gods, servants of the Divinities, and their kingdoms and whatnot), Hicothea is a vast planet, with many different species inhabiting it. (It is also pangea-like...)

Ermmmm... So. I do have a whole thing written out for the beginning. So read it. Or dont:

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The beginning was as vapid as the winter snow was cold and as the deserts ran parched and dry. Solitude was a cage of His own design, each of His crevices plump with skill of constituent birth uncomfortably squirming and seeping through the bars of the prison. He had both the key and yet He fastened the lock and gulped it down into the pit of His stomach. His Divinity would sit there unused, tortured, rattling the confinement of His predicament. It burned a hole through His chest and soul, the matter curling inwards as were His capillaries and veins and messy barely-human guts. He drowned in the nothingness of the black sea before Him, He could only breathe and fill the silence with meaningless echoes of His thoughts. The biology seeped into the fissures of the cage, dark matter engulfing Him entirely, His gracious palms worthlessly grasping at the bars He had grown used to, pulled and stretched into something He was meant to be. He was unafraid of creating life but afraid of living. The idea of a singular divine being was chewing the sockets of His eyes and the gums of that jewel-filled mouth.

Marbled floors appeared before Him, decorated to His liking; the very way He imagined temples of His soldiers for their upheld worship of Him, pillars sprouting from the nestled cracks in the polished stone, taking root against the dark. It stuck out against the bruised space, a saviour's humble palace, awaiting His return as He swam through the violent sludge. Grasping at the marble, He observed His tainted palms, sanguine light sparking before Him and eating away at the revered flesh. The smell filled the empty silence as it spattered honey-magma against the rock below, growing in fury; the blaze growing in size equal to Him, the spur of heat taking form of another Divinity, feeding on the First's energy until it was His counterpart.

The First stared as the Second burst in laughter, ringing the ears of His holiness, choking His throat and burning His chest. The scorched God-meat took its rightful place against the ivory bone, skin writhing over the raw flesh until it was returned to its originating state. The laughing reverberated in the Second's lungs, His creation choked the First, squeezing metallic fluid through His tear-ducts, through His gaping mouth, through His ears; the liquid-metal bit away at His flesh and tore its way through His veins. He cupped the elegant chaos into His hands, letting it drip onto the floor as the steady stream continued from His innards. It gorged on the Second's light and the First's power, the unbalanced darkness beckoning to become part of It. As It spilled against the floor, It rose, shadowing both the First and the Second. Their holy body took footing and sprouted as did the pillars, silence radiating once more. The First sputtered out a cough as the final drops of mercury made its way to its God.

The First rejoiced. He was no longer alone; tortured into creation.

All three rejoiced. They were meant to be Creators.

The gleeful cheer suddenly spit itself onto the floor, violent water crashing against the three as it pulled their Divinties and swallowed them whole. The fluid stripped all three until it gained its rightful power, seafoam congealing into the gentle figure of the Fourth, throwing all three back to their feet as tears traced Her cheeks, solidifying into valuably fresh pearls, knocking against each other atop the marbled floor. Her creation was an overwhelming crest of emotion.

Then, there were four.

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Ok to boil this down.

The First - ???

The Second - Solis Arevik (God of the Enlightened) all prns but most frequently uses HE/HIM

The Third - Lune Speculiy (God of the Shadowed) THEY/THEM

The Fourth - Opthalina Vudya (Goddess of the Drowned) SHE/HER

Will make a more clear post on each of these buggers later ^

Solis, Lune and Opthalina were all created by The First.... From his own power. It is not like he birthed them, they are not related. They are kind of like... If u took every aspect of the First and tore it from him to create personas of these aspects, they no longer belong to the First and the First cannot wield their power anymore.

Lune, Solis & Opthalina were craving to create. They knew The First would suggest they split their power until they created something marvelous, but why ruin oneself just to create? Why make something marvelous if you will not be there to marvel at it? This sparks controversy.

They live among the dark matter - rot, energy, whatever you call it. It is living, breathing, but not really human or god or otherwise. Just matter, that is controlled by the interactions between Gods. It is able to destroy anything created by the Gods (including them).

Lune suggests killing the First.

Solis agrees.

Opthalina eventually does as well.

And so i wrote a little poem. To explain it. Look at me being studious. This is really old btw

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Waltz of the Divine

sweet song rang through rot,

lungs full with sweet air,

they sang their songs and drunk their drinks

the sweet nectar of creation seeping through

their fat, their skin, their muscle, their meat.

'twere the centuries of jest,

their laughter spread, from tooth to tooth,

but jesting grew tiresome when you were the one they called 'king'.

the ubiquity was not nearly enough to chew,

there was nothing to gorge on. No feast to be celebrated.

the placenta of creation was denied,

their birthright.

exclamation struck at the air,

the whip leaving deep fermented gashes,

as the rot began to pull them apart, it feasted so lavishly it could almost grow teeth.

it did not leave any bit untouched, not even the worms in their hearts and heads.

and so, as their last act, to please the rot,

they performed, each foot after the other.

once more they jested,

this time with sour tongue and playful song.

the room of dance, lively and colorful,

sparked anew, until their entertainment was satisfactory.

now, wings free from clipping,

they placed the fertile seed of army,

their followers - playthings - concoctions, experiments,

it all grew on one soil, one body.

but to grow was to sacrifice power,

their bodies were far too holy to split for barbarians, their servants.

fuel was needed and fuel there would be.

So, then, there were three.

————

Ummm so ya. And bc of this the entire planet celebrates the yearly solar waltz where those three dance n celebrate. If it goes well the planet bodes well. If it doesnt wellll... Not so much

Also i have to mention that every person is created using souldust. Erm. It is like . Idk. A soul. Gods have the most, demi-gods after that, then normal ppl and animals and what not. Souldust has a fate and is created by the person's respective patron god. And so on.

My Next post is about territories Ok ok. Ok ^_^

I will b using the tag #DivinityTpwrm to tag whatever I post about my ocs just because im soooooooooY Organised *_*

If u steal any od this I will find you... And i will ... Do unspeakable things. Yeah. But i hope this is unlikely. I am a bit of a jittery cat when it comes to sharing my thoughts but I hope tumblr is nice to me about it

#divinitytpwrm #oc posting #ocs #new #fiction #original character

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ginwhitlock · 4 years

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Shotgun

“An empty parking lot, a rusted out Chevy, & a cowboy. What could happen?”

oneshot

warnings: smut! 18+ only

I heard my underwear rip before I felt it. The cotton lying in shreds below the seat. The hand at my hip ten degrees colder than the metal shielding us from prying eyes.

My mind was cut short at the action, temporarily frozen at the bottom of my spine. My breath hitched. The halo of curls at the hollow of my throat shook at the action.

“Sugar, do you really want me to stop?”, Jasper drew out against my heated skin. His voice smooth like beaten gravel. The bravado in it forced my hips to buck up against his palm, searching for the challenge he implied.

The scene laid out before me was almost enough for me to shutter in his grip. The only skirt I owned, a plaid number that barely reached below my ass, was hiked up to my waist. My feet pushed up against the foggy passenger window. My truck, barely large enough to house his towering frame. The blond hovered menacingly over my body-- close enough to feel the chill of his from underneath his jacket.

His knees split my legs wide enough to run his knuckles over the, now bare, center of my heat. The band of his wedding ring dragging over my dripping folds.

“So doll? You want me to stop this? You want me to leave you here all alone?” One curved finger slowly pressed into my cunt. “Or do you want me to fuck you so deep and so hard this junker shakes, hm? It's your choice Darlin’.”

I could feel the temptation in his speech, the overflow of lust seeping into my chest from his subtle gift. His face angled up to rasp his teeth in the curve of my jaw. The sentences refused to form in my throat. The condensation on the glass only seemed to thicken.

His golden eyes, which had turned pitch black from the parking lot to the cab, skirted over the pale flesh of my covered breasts, over the rise of my collar bone, and up to the crease of my lips. He had taken his time earlier to raise the blood to the surface. My flesh turning beet red under his teeth. Jasper’s marble lips pressed into mine with a lost sense of delicateness. Another digit joined the one pumping in and out of my entrance.

Sucking in a much-needed breath I managed to mumble against his lips, “I want- I- want-”

His pace quickened.

My lips disconnected from his cold ones as I threw my head back, stopping my train of thought.

The blond’s fingers withdrew from my pulsing cunt. My face snapped up to his smirking one. I wanted to bite the grin off his lips. His canines lowered from his mouth.

A quip of his brow completed the look. “Oh now you better behave yourself missy. I asked you a question. Do you want me to fuck you,” His hand made a fist at my roots, “or not.”

His tone forced a squeak out of my chest. His eyes held no room for argument-- not that I wanted to.

“Yes, Jas-as-pe-r. I want yo-u.”

My hips started to grind down on nothing. His scarred hand clamped down on the boney curve, stopping my ministrations in its tracks.

“Say it.”

“I--”

“I said, say it little girl.”

My eyes flashed with a desire that scorched. The red hot path of venom swirling behind his eyes reflected in mine. He must have caught the emotion as it boiled over, as the hand holding my hair went to unbuckle his belt. His fingertips perched, waiting, over the worn leather.

My eyelashes fluttered as I whispered, “Fuck me Jasper.”

A growl ricocheted around the bare metal, fueling the knot in my stomach. Jasper’s belt unfastened in an inhuman flash, hanging off the belt loops of his jeans. With a shove, his pants and boxers were pulled down in sync. His rock-hard cock stood well in front of his hips.

Despite seeing it’s impressive girth before, my eyes went wide.

His grin stretched even farther across his beautiful face. The curls hanging around his chin reminded me of those old renaissance paintings. My personal angel. Or maybe, not quite an angel.

Both hands, shining with the soft crescents of bite marks decades old, grasped onto my hips in a steel grip. His own lowered to be level with my dripping center. Slowly he pushed in, inch by inch, pulling me deeper into the fire. I could feel the flames licking my shoulders, my palms, the hips he was digging into with vigor.

Fully seated, he pulled out almost completely. I could see in his face how he was savoring the feeling, the wet heat only I could provide. The crease between his arched brows deepened as he inhaled the cramped air-- his head almost touching the roof. His grip got even tighter.

As his eyes reopened he pushed back in further. A jolt ran down my spine at the motion. Jasper squared his hips, planting one foot on the floor of the cab. With a clench of his teeth, he started to set a pace no human could try to replicate. My breasts bouncing as he pounded into me. I could feel nothing but him, his emotions being pressed into my flesh. The world went babydoll soft in under his palms. My mind could only think of him: his onyx eyes gazing into mine, the scratch of denim around his arms.

As one pale hand slithered to my clit I could feel the haze of emotion start to cloud over. The sun and all its light was nothing compared to the man between my legs. He had brought lightning and I was useless to stop it. Wet circles came faster and faster as his pace started to falter.

The knot in the center of my hips started to tighten, wrapping itself in layers of electricity. With one certain flick of his knuckle-- my sight went white. His hand clamped down over my mouth as my ears rang.

His pace became frantic, fucking me through the tide. I could feel the stutter of his hips as my eyes snapped shut. With his cock shoved in the pit of my cunt, he bent to his elbows. His hand dropping from my mouth as he curled around me. The aftershocks worked through us in tandem. Jasper’s back rippling.

His face met mine in a tangle of tongues and whispered praise. My fragile wrists reaching up and cupping his cheeks.

I spared a glance at the place we were still connected. His cock pulsing inside in rolling waves. My hand trailed down his cotton T-shirt to his hips. Fingers wrapping around the shaft in a soft caress. His breath caught in his windpipe.

Slowly, he pulled out, my delicate fingers following its movement to the tip.

“God, darlin’ you’re gonna make me have to take you all over again if you keep up with that.” A lazy smile spread over his teeth. A blush rose to my cheeks as I realized my actions.

My hand returned to my side slowly, as if still recovering itself. His own replaced mine as he tucked himself back into his wranglers.

I went to shift forward and Jasper’s arm shot out to stop me. He tilted my chin to look in his eyes. Confusion bubbled up my throat.

Before I could ask, he answered my thoughts, “Don’t even think about going for those panties in your glovebox, I want you bare, you hear me?” The blond pulled my skirt back down and straightened my sweater.

“But I’ve got English after this Jazz, it’s not like I can hold it in.”

His ring finger, clad in silver, languidly ran through my folds.

“I want you drippin’ sweetheart. C’mon, you gonna be a whore for me darlin’? My little whore?”, he drawled out, soft and teasing.

A nod ran through my head before I could think any deeper about it. His words were soaked with something like comfort, and I wanted to drown in them.

One boot pushed open the passenger-side door as he scooped me up in his arms and set me on the asphalt. The parking lot was deserted as the bell had a few minutes to ring from lunch.

As the sun broke through the clouds I could see how the creases in the truck bench had allowed my sweat to collect in the bottom of my sweater. Before I could grumble about it, Jasper hooked his jacket over my shoulder and brought my arms into the sleeves. The denim was refreshingly cool to my heated flesh. The lapel, containing a clipped lining of wool, was bathed in his scent. Cinnamon and firewood, still burning.

The blond wrapped his left arm around my waist, curling his face into my scalp. His toothy smile could be felt all the way down to my sneakers.

Walking to Mr. Mason’s classroom only solidified how much Jasper had managed to load between my thighs. I could almost smell the spent arousal as it threatened to simper down my legs. I could’ve sworn I felt a chuckle vibrate through the chest pressed to my side.

Ushered to our own seats, our bodies separated in the small classroom. Forks had no need for more than twenty-five desks in a single room-- and still the space felt overcrowded.

As I sat, listening to the teacher explain the intricacies of Scout’s upbringing in To Kill a Mockingbird, I could start to make out the sticky pool creating a wet spot on the plastic. My face went white at the thought. Sneaking a hand under my skirt, I felt the unmistakable slip of cum dripping out of my cunt.

My head whipped around to the back corner of the white-walled box. There sat Jasper, wearing his favorite shit-eating grin. Fingers hanging out of his mouth.

#jasper/bella #jasper x bella #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #bella swan #twilight #twilight one shot #twilight oneshot #twilight fanfic #twilight fanfiction #thetwilightsaga #mine #my writing #writing #smut

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sasorikigai · 4 years

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With a Tone of Ruthless Authenticity; Hanzo Hasashi as Scorpion in the Netherrealm

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The magnificent firebird dances within the barricades of his ribs, and how the magnanimous hellfire bursts open his heart, floods his body, overwhelms him, and yet he cannot help but wonder as he wanders the expanse of the Netherrealm; do they miss him at least as much as he misses them? The halo of his radiant sunshine as his fundamental colors, and he treats the Oni with such invalidation; a constant drum, echoing of inferiority. They don’t belong, the voice within himself repeats. Like a calloused sore as it festers in the bowls of his mind until the pristine world as of what he used to know paints with dark bruises tinted with reds and purples and blacks of majestic sunsets. There may be certain looming unknown and uncertainty painting him white, as the weight of their memories makes his eyelids come crashing down. The length of time in-between running across his cheeks, dampening the image that tries to restore life to the cremation of his own existence as the General of the Shirai Ryu, the once ferocious warrior in the name of Sasori.

The stagnant sea of putrescent blood surges and bombards his senses, only to end up intimate in the surface of Hanzo’s skin. Nothing feels different now, in the absent revenue of the stars which no longer grants his streaming radiance, the Netherrealm is nothing more than a dreamy dilapidated mansion of a graveyard. He cannot be more reducible as a starlight or fainting fragrance which forsakes the past or certain innumerable decline. No longer, Hanzo Hasashi’s eyes remained smeared glasses, and perhaps he even could pretend they are divine, seeing ablaze matches and not ashes, even capable of seeing through smudges and charred marks. The injustices and unscrupulousness will bleed into sanguine watercolor, gazing upon swirls and not division, the harrowing screams of the suffered only dampening the sparks of his nerves.

The Netherrealm’s might was a cruel master of heat indeed; pouring down in buckets, disgusting blotches of perspiration collaging his garb and dripping still as he would fight to trudge through the endless desert as the stifling geyser becomes the void; the place of infinite want. A foggy bargain for the unknown. Perpetually stuck in-between the sharp edges of reality between death and unlife, where he could nestle his torn, serrated frame into for a moment. He merely wanted to find a piece of the darkness that felt more comforting than encroaching. Somewhere that he doesn’t feel like he has always been on the edge of running from. smears of blood covering the walls and floor of the terrain, as blood drips from his being to the earth below. The bloodstained hands, the coarse sands of his well-trained hands hunger for more, as perfectly severed heads with red rubies rupturing out of the decapitated bodies continues to pile. How his unleashing comes undone with the ultimate abandon, to forgo the oblivion of his grief, the senseless tears letting the charred ashes scatter over these covered cheeks instead. The truth of his ruthless viciousness manifests as the numbing palpability, as his heartbeat grows still. Seeping out the loss and the despair as Hanzo’s heartbeat grows still.

Voices that echo from the past break into a landmine of words, underneath each sentence lying a final step in setting off all emotions. Flashbacks of the lifetime that seems never-ending, as the gruesome recollection of sanguine mantra continues to drench and saturate his being, as the magmatic lick of their splattered blood solidifies the reality of forever. For all the pain and the wear and tear moments; it makes Hanzo Hasashi resilient and obstinate. He may only be a human in the Netherrealm’s razor-sharp talons that may split vulnerable human flesh, releasing him to incessantly bleed, but to never meet his gruesome end, as he would continue to observe the principles of reincarnation everywhere in life.

Through the cyclic nature, absent day and night, the motion that continues to grow, die, and release its seeds, burrowing and sprouting, new life reborn once again. Beneath the cerebral, tangible dream that continues to unfolds the reality as the trenches of the Netherrealm’s arid earth paints in thickening splatter of sanguine spectacle, the blood and thunder of his heart continues to beat and he finds himself arising from the ashes, stronger than before with the kusarigama in his hands. It’s time to go home, and his unlife may never constitute as cozy warmth and beaming radiance filled with flowers and tranquility, but as long as the memories remained as the remnants of a lost hope, then the released lacerations from the torturer’s chained sickle will heal, and no longer, Hanzo Hasashi will be scattered and disjointed in the futile pursuit of his liberation, as sadness manifests as familiar pain, as does his loneliness. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ obsessive cathartic (headcanon)#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ hellfire fibrillating beneath his skin (iv)#scorpion's revenge #(I need to do a rewatch soon)

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earthstory · 5 years

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Heavens Below - The Beauty of the Natural Wonders of Caves

Whoever said the underworld was a bad, scary place? These formerly hidden natural wonders are finally revealing their beauty to those who always thought heaven was someplace above.

Lets get basic, a cave is a cavity in rocks large enough for a person to enter, we all know that right. Most underground caves are formed by the action of water. As rainwater seeps downward limestone rock is dissolved, while water flowing along joints and fractures widens them. Other caves take shape when molten rock solidifies, or are formed from spaces between blocks of fallen rock. Caverns deep below ground attract explorers and, once they are declared safe, visitors. They may feature narrow tunnels that open into vast chambers, subterranean rivers and lakes, glittering crystals, and fantastic rock forms. They are places of wonder and often of spectacular beauty. Many large limestone caves are still growing. There are so many unbelievably amazing caves systems all over the world and some not even yet discovered.

About 240 meters (787ft) beneath the New Mexico desert there is a natural tunnel, and at the end of it there are bats in their hundreds of thousands and ghostly albino bugs that dwell in the permanent darkness. With no light to see by or be seen, there is no need for camouflage. Entire species found nowhere else on Earth exist in this cave. Humans are like invaders in an alien world. Continuing on from the tunnel, a chamber, so vast that an aircraft carrier could park in it with room to spare. This is the Carlsbad Caverns, a world heritage site. The chamber is nearly 25+ stories high and over 500 meters (1640 ft) wide. There are 100+ known caves that comprise the national park. Formed as acidic rainwater dissolved the Permian limestone, the caves include some of North America's largest. The crystals of calcite drop from the ceiling, drip by drip, where it accumulates to form stalactites and stalagmites. A process that took as long as 100 years or more to grow just 2.5 cm; made from long dead sea creatures, crushed, dissolved and mobilized to form giant columns that finally join together in a beautiful embrace.

One of my personal favourites - probably because they are the only one's that are nearby and can be visited regularly are the cave systems in the Margaret River region here in southwestern Australia. They offer visitors some of the most unique and stunning cave experiences in Australia. Along the spine of the Leeuwin Naturaliste Ridge and beneath soaring karri forest lie more than 150 caves. These caves belong to a series of complex and fragile karst systems, which are landscapes, formed by the rapid drainage of water underground. Karst systems are characterised most often by caves, dolines (large holes), blind valleys, sinking streams and springs. The main road that travels along the Leeuwin Naturaliste Ridge is aptly named ‘Caves Road’.

Just imagine what other marvels are waiting to be found in the depths of the underworld.

~ JM

Photo Credit: Main, http://www.discoverruidoso.com/Carlsbad-Caverns Photo Credit: My own. Here are some pictures from my last visit to the Margaret River Cave systems and I think you will agree that they are indeed stunning to look at, but so much better in the flesh.

If anyone has any awesome pic's of caves that they have visited, post away in the comments! We would love to see them!

More Info: Carlsbad Caverns: http://www.nps.gov/cave/index.htm Carlsbad Caverns National Park: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/721 Carlsbad Cavern 2-minute tour: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ob9WFa6FGDo Mammoth Cave, Western Australia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIFF4WZHRQU Caves in Australia’s Southwest:https://www.australiassouthwest.com/Things_to_See_and_Do/Caves This is an amazing video on the ‘Devil's Eye Cave’ (Cave Diving in Florida), really worth a watch too. http://vimeo.com/63611049:

#cave #geology #erosion #margaret river cave #the earth story

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ansu-gurleht · 5 years

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an idea i had for a fantasy creature almost as soon as i woke up: stone snakes.

these giant snakes, thrice as wide as a man and several times as long, are usually only distinguishable from any other snake by their size, seeming to have no other special qualities. however, whenever they eat a Volci fruit (from the magical Volci cactus, native to the eastern Wastes), their entire body becomes wrapped in molten, rocky material. this material drips in small amounts as they move across the desert, creating a special kind of magical glass in the sands.

when the lava has mostly cooled and solidified, the snake “molts”, leaving a long, sturdy casing of stone behind. the heft of the molten stone can anchor a serpent so that it can even cross large gaps, such as canyons or fault lines, leaving behind strange natural bridges that baffled the ancients.

there are few stone snakes left in the wild, as they have been mostly domesticated for construction purposes by the Sesserai people living near the border of the Wastes. these snakes are fed alchemically-produced alternative solutions of Volci juice, and seduced into forming specific shapes for the purposes of their breeders. they are used to create bridges, walls, homes, and even statues, by breeders of artistic inclination.

the Sesserai venerate the stone snakes as blessings from the Fire Below, the benevolent antagonist to the Fire Above. stone snake formations are sacred, and their glass byproducts are used to make valuable and powerful enchanted artifacts.

#fantasy #creature #worldbuilding #alchemy #probably will incorporate this into my personal setting #my setting

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culturalmishap · 6 years

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"Close your eyes, Adede. May the Twelve have mercy on us."

Five years had gone by since the red moon crashed into Eorzea. Five years had gone by since rivers of blood washed the grounds at Carteneau. Five years had gone by and the people had rebuilt. Those who wandered the city states looked up in awe as banners bearing the symbol of a meteor were unfurled from the ledges of buildings and blue and gold decorated the streets. In Ul'dah a great stage was erected at the intersection of the Ruby Road Exchange and Emerald Avenue. A crowd swarmed around it as performers took their places and began their dramatic recounting of the Calamity that snuffed out the young life of the Seventh Umbral Era.

Standing back from the crowd watching the hubbub was a tiny Lalafell. From a higher perch on the steps that led towards the side entrance of the Quicksand she took in the sights and sounds of the event. While the actors gave their show, others chatted among themselves, sharing their own stories and memories of that dreaded day. Some boasted about how they braved the fields of war. Some shivered as they described the monsters that had wandered the lands, empowered by the proximity of the red moon.

Hearing their stories made Adede's mind drift back to those days, so many years ago when she was only in her mid teens. She and her parents, Cocoade Totoade and Mayaya Maya, resided in a village in Eastern Thanalan, near Thal's Respite and the border to the Black Shroud. Many of the inhabitants of the village filled their purses with coin earned by farming, fishing, and other labors. It was a peaceful area with cool forests to the north and long winding pathways that led to the jewel of the Thanalan desert, Ul'dah, to the southwest. Ul’dah’s tall, pointed spires rose high enough in the distance that even from their home Adede and her parents could see the beautiful city-state that they frequently traveled to.

The peace the village felt slowly ebbed away as a bright red dot appeared in the sky. Some believed it to be a new star, others a natural phenomenon. They continued on with their lives, toiling each day in and out. But that red dot grew larger as it descended closer. Along with this celestial body looming over them, the threat of the Garlean Imperials increased. Every now and again one of their airships hovered across the skies. One farmer, upon seeing three great vessels fly overhead, spat on the ground in annoyance and dug his plow into the dirt with a vulgar word hissing across his lips.

The next day that farmer would have something to truly curse about. The creatures of the land had been manageable. Every now and again Adede's parents would withdraw their staves and go to work laying low the pests and beasts that trampled the fields or chased the workers. It was all in a day’s work. But the frequency of their attacks increased as the moon grew closer. Larger monsters made their way into the village and on that particular day, a pack of huge Ziz came barreling through. The mouthy farmer had been digging up a crop of onion and noticed too late as one of the great creatures brought its beak down into the soft skin of his shoulder.

Adede had been sitting on the steps to her family's house, polishing some stones alongside her mother as her father stood smoking a long pipe and watching Dalamud. All three of them turned their heads as the farmer let out a petrified shriek before being destroyed by the Ziz. Adede's mother quickly clapped her hand over her daughter's eyes, trying to shield her from having her mind branded with the horrid sight they and the other villagers were all witnessing. It had only been a split second but Adede would never forget the memory as blood splashed from the farmer onto the Ziz's feathers and the huff the great bird made as it drew its heads back to strike again. Cocoade immediately dropped his pipe and withdrew his staff, running quickly towards the farmer's field to slay the beast and the pack it had come from. Adede was whisked inside by her mother and told to remain there until things were clear. Her mother retrieved her own staff and joined the fight alongside her husband.

Attacks like those became more and more frequent. The farmers and fishers soon had to abandon their work for fear of losing their lives. Many remained indoors, many also fled. Mayaya and Cocoade joined forces with the others that were able to wield weapons in frequent defense of the village. Even the nearby Amalj'aa fought alongside them from time to time, the beastmen falling victim to the attacks of monsters too. Adede wished she could help but had only just begun her studies in Thaumaturgy and knew very little of combat. She would have to remain inside like the others.

In hushed conversations at night Mayaya and Cocoade would discuss if they should remain in their village and hold their ground or if they ought to risk the journey into Ul'dah where the tall walls and armed forces could better protect them. Adede would lie in bed and listen to them and tense every time she heard the cry of both monsters and their victims in the distance. In the morning a decision had been reached and their necessities were packed.

The chocobo porter that arrived to collect them had retrieved many others who were fleeing to Ul'dah for sanctuary. The driver looked about nervously as he waited for them to climb in. He muttered that the Imperials had been seen encroaching ever closer to the city and they would need to hurry if they wanted to avoid being stopped and... who could really know what else would happen to them if that were to happen.

The ride was quiet and tense. As they pulled past Camp Drybone a strange creature Adede had never seen before hovered above an aetheryte that glowed a sickly orange. The cart slowed as the driver rubbernecked past the queer view. Suddenly, the creature moaned and spat out other bizarre creatures. Cocoade immediately straightened in his seat, laying his hand on his staff.

"Voidsent," he whispered.

Once the driver realized what he was seeing he snapped the reigns to his chocobo, urging them to hurry on. The birds made no protest, their own instincts alerting them that the things that had come from the gaping maw of the monster above the aetheryte were deadly. Many of the passengers remained on the alert as they continued their journey. Once the gates of Ul'dah were visible, Adede's mother craned her neck and furrowed her brows.

"Are those... goobbue?" a passenger asked.

"Are they attacking the city?"

"I think I see people riding them."

The wall of goobbues parted once the porter drew close. The passengers quickly filed out and made their way through the tunnels and into the city. Adede took a brief moment to look up at the darkened sky at the huge red moon and the lightning that crackled through the air. Mayaya tugged at her hand and they hurriedly went to the Hourglass Inn and booked one of their last rooms.

Her father breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled the hood of his cowl from off his head, "I'll go get us something to eat and bring it back. You both stay here."

"Are you going to check on the boys as well?" Mayaya replied as she dropped the bag she was carrying onto the small table. She was referring to Cocoade's nephews, five boys that had been studying at the Ossuary. They had received no word from them in the last week and concerns were mounting.

Cocoade nodded. He was so serious. Adede had only ever known him as being carefree and boisterous during her life. Seeing him the way he was now only solidified the severity of the present situation in her mind.

"Be careful, Dad," she urged him.

He smiled his signature grin and put his hands on his hips, "Don't worry, Adede. Your mother is scarier than those creatures. Those nasties are no match for me."

Mayaya rolled her eyes but made no quip in response. She was worried about splitting ways even for a brief amount of time. Right now there was no telling what could occur, even within the walls.

Mother and daughter waited, apprehensive. Thunder rumbled and the sky continued to take on poisonous red glow as Dalamud continued its descent. For a split second their eyes met and Adede could see the fear in her mother's eyes, Mayaya making a pitiful attempt at covering it up with a smile. They were still in danger and Adede could sense it even if her mother said nothing. The dread in the air was palpable.

"Mom," she began, hands trembling and voice shaking, "...Are we going to d--"

Before she could finish her question screams began to echo from the streets. Cautiously, Mayaya and Adede approached the window of the room and gazed down at the chaos below their inn room. Beasts had invaded the city and among them were huge chimera, tails whipping through the air and ferocious howls bellowing from their throats. Their eyes were locked on the scene. Adventurers, Brass Blades, and members of the Immortal Flames launched attacks on the creatures, trying to drive them back but only carnage ensued. For each beast slain it seemed ten or twenty men and women fell alongside it.

Mayaya began to pace the floor and held her staff in her hand. Adede turned to watch her only when she felt she might begin crying in terror of the monsters that rampaged outside. Her mother wanted to run out to find her husband. Was he one of the many that were being slaughtered in the streets? But how could she leave her daughter alone and helpless.

She was unable to make the decision before the door to the room swung open with a bang. There stood Cocoade, breathing heavy and sweat dripping from his forehead. He had run all the way back when he realized what was happening within the city. He quickly shut the door and locked it.

"They're everywhere... The voidsent and the Imperials."

There would be no sleeping that evening. Commotion from the streets and the steady rumble of the ground signaled impending destruction. It was when the noises ended and an eerie silence filled the air that Mayaya pulled her daughter close to her, wrapping a protective arm around her. She could sense it. Cocoade slid in beside them, joining in the defensive embrace. He could sense it too. The family of three stared from across the room at the window.

With a deafening crack, the walls shook and light burst across the sky. They all jumped in surprise. Adede's eyes widened as streaks of fire flew past the window, shaking the building as they made impact. Shouts and screams filled the air once more and Adede clutched her mother's hand. Her shoulder shook as she shivered in fear.

"Close your eyes, Adede," Mayaya breathed, "May the Twelve have mercy on us."

Adede pinched her eyes shut and waited for the end.

It was a terrifying memory but looking around at Ul'dah now, it would be hard to convince anyone that hadn't lived through the Calamity what this place and her people had endured. Her family had survived. Much of their village had been demolished with the upheaval of land during the aetherial imbalance caused by Dalamud’s impact. Huge branches of crystal had stretched out from the ground at the Burning Wall completely changing the horizon line.

Over the next year and a half they joined the rebuilding efforts for both their village and back within Ul'dah. As miserable as the circumstances were, Mayaya's business as a goldsmith prospered to new heights as people sought new furnishings and decorations for their homes. Life settled and they all found a new sense of "everyday" in the aftermath of the Calamity.

"Miss? Are you alright?"

Adede turned to look at who was speaking to her. It was a Hyur child, only an ilm or two taller than she, a girl perhaps five summers old at most. Innocence sparkled in the child's eyes and her hand held her father's fingers.

Adede smiled and nodded, "I'm just remembering, but I'm alright. Thank you."

The little girl tipped her head to the side but then turned to continue watching the show. Adede smiled to herself. There was no way that little girl had been alive during the Calamity. She had not had to experience those dreadful days and Adede wondered what it must be like to participate in a day of remembernace when you had no memories of the events themselves.

When the lalafell looked away from the child she felt herself make a tiny plea to the Twelve in her heart:

‘May that little girl only ever wonder what the Calamity was like and never see one firsthand. Please, let there be peace.’

#ffxiv #ff14 #Final Fantasy #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #writing #sketch #calamity #dalamud #drabble #Got inspired by The Rising event #didn't expect to write so much....#adede ade

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itskateak · 4 years

Text

Oceans and Stars - Chapter 2

Story Summary: A story of how Bucky Barnes falls in love with oceans, stars, and the woman who gave him the reasons to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Velika Dante King (Fem!OC)

Chapter Summary: After a year of being with the team, Velika has really solidified her place. She and Bucky are sent on a mission to the Caribbean as recon for an abandoned Hydra base.

Words: 1.9K

Warnings: Mild language, mentions of sexism

A/N: It's just cute. That's what I'm hoping. Not beta read. We die like men.

Masterlist

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𝓡𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓴?

Bucky chopped through the dense, tropical brush with a large machete, sweat dripping down his temple. The Caribbean climate was warm in a cling-to-your-skin-like-a-wet-towel way. The humidity was almost suffocating as he cut a path. It had been an hour since they had to divert from the main trail and he had been cutting through plants the whole time. It made him miss the Siberian tundra.

He could handle cold. The serum made him produce body heat like he was some kind of human space heater and all his gear was designed to insulate for the frozen climates. The heat was another animal to deal with. He couldn't exactly just remove all his gear in the middle of the jungle. Regardless, his teammate didn't seem to be bothered by the temperature at all.

Velika was a few feet behind him, watching their GPS to make sure they were on the correct route. Well, at least heading in the right direction. The helicarrier couldn't take them any closer than a mile off-shore, and their bikes could only take them so far into the jungle. The rest of the journey had to be on foot. Which meant a day's worth of hiking through the Caribbean jungle.

"Adjust to the right four degrees." She called over the sounds of birds chirping.

"Can't we just keep going this direction and adjust later?" Bucky responded, hacking at a particularly stubborn bush. He stopped, panting. The physical exertion in the heat was starting to get to him, but it didn't help that his bag was heavy. "I need a minute to catch my breath."

"I can hear a river about forty feet ahead of us. We can rest there." Velika appeared at his side. She didn't look the least bit disheveled or even sweaty. She even looked like she was in her element. Velika held her hand out to him. "Bucky, give me the machete."

"I'm fine. Just give me a second," He waved her off, taking deep breaths through his nose. It felt like someone had laid a hot rag over his face in a sauna and expected him to run a mile at a dead sprint. In other words, he was choking on his breath.

"Give me the machete," Velika demanded with a look on her face similar to one a mother would give her child when they were misbehaving. She pushed her hand closer to him. "I can handle forty feet of underbrush. I won't break."

"Fine." He grumbled, handing over the sword. She passed him the GPS and pushed in front of him. She stretched her neck out and rolled her shoulders back. The underbrush was no match for her as she started to swing at it, easily cutting a path for them. "You're gonna regret that in the morning."

"You already regret it, you dork," Velika said through gritted teeth. A small tree was giving her issues and after a few rough hacks, she cut through it with a short grunt of effort. Bucky had been faster than her, but she was at least efficient so they moved at a steady pace.

"I'm not massaging you when you wake up stiff." He teased. A light breeze blew through the underbrush, helping ease some of the extreme heat he was feeling. At least the trees were sheltering him from strong rays of the sun. That was a small blessing of being in a tropical forest.

"I won't return the favor." Velika laughed breathlessly, her shoulders already beginning to ache from the new movements. It was working a different muscle group than she usually used daily. "How far?"

"Uh, twenty-five feet." Bucky wiped the sweat from around his mouth, rubbing it off on his thigh. Tony needed to make this up to him. He knew how much Bucky hated extreme heat and yet he sent him on the recon mission anyway.

"Great." She muttered, continuing to hack at the flora. She hadn't broken a sweat even after half an hour of chopping. Step by step, swing by swing, she cleared a path down to the river.

The river bubbled through the jungle, bouncing over rocks and chasing some unseen path around the bend. The water was clear in places it moved slow but bubbled into white froth where it collided with stones and fallen trees. A pair of birds took off as they stepped onto the shoreline.

"Your highness." Velika bowed exaggeratedly, her platinum blonde hair shining in the sunlight that filtered through. She straightened up with a smile.

"I'll throw you into this river," Bucky threatened, dropping his bag on the ground. He kneeled by the river's edge, the cool breeze blowing through drying some of the sweat on his forehead. "Do you have a spare hair tie?"

"Yeah, here." Velika pulled a black band from around her wrist and passed it to him. He nodded in thanks and pulled his hair into a low bun. "Are you okay?"

"I spent seventy years being in cryo intermittently. Heat is not my friend. How are you not overheating?" He asked, dipping his right hand into the cold water and resting it on the back of his neck. He was so sweaty and it was disgusting.

"I did a survival tour during basic training in the jungles of South America. Then I did one in the Sahara Desert with a sergeant of the warriors. Hot temperatures don't bother me anymore after that." Velika shrugged, crouching down next to him.

"Damn." Bucky shook his head. "The sun's going to set soon. We should find a place to make camp."

"I think this river might flow out to the ocean. The aerial shots I saw in briefing had a river and this is the only one we've seen since we got here." Velika leaned forward to look down the bend of the river, watching where it disappeared.

"Sounds good to me."

"Best get moving when you're ready." Velika stood, spinning the machete around in her fingers.

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Velika took the lead as they followed the river, her footing sure on the rocky shoreline. She glanced up at the sky occasionally, taking in the setting sun's light. It was significantly cooler by the water, the breeze drifting across the surface and swirling around them.

Just as she'd thought, the river spilled out into a shaded cove and tumbled into the ocean. On their side of the river, boulders and stones broke the waves. The opposite side was a wide-open sandy beach.

"Wow." Velika breathed, eyes wide. She smiled slowly and took in the scenery. "Think we found our campsite?"

"Yeah. Looks great." Bucky grinned, taking the machete from her hand and sheathing it on his back. "How're we gonna get across this?"

Velika toed her shoes off with her socks and rolled her pant legs up. "Easy. Just wade through it." She scooped up her shoes and started through the bubbling creek carefully, making sure not to slip on any stones.

"Or I could just jump it." Bucky backed up and got a running start.

Velika watched him, shaking her head in amusement. He landed solidly on the other side. "My legs are shorter than yours, Buck. I wouldn't have made it without falling on my ass."

Bucky laughed and offered her his hand, pulling her into the soft sand. "I would've caught you. Don't worry."

"Oh, sure. Like you caught me in training last week?" Velika wiggled her toes into the soft sand. It stuck to her skin, but she didn't mind. She didn't have to put her socks and boots back on until the morning.

"Your hands were sweaty and my hand is metal!" Bucky said, tugging her forward. During a free-running lesson, Bucky had tried to help her climb a wall. When she'd grabbed his hand to haul her over, she slipped from his grip and fell onto the safety mat below. "Come on, Veli. Let's make camp."

Velika dropped her shoes into the sand, quickly followed by her bag. She sighed and stretched her back out, raising her arms above her head. "You're on tent duty this time."

Bucky groaned but dropped his heavier bag onto the ground and started to dig through it. He found the compact tent that Stark had packed and tossed it down the beach to a wider space.

"I'll get a fire going."

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"There's no way. You're lying!" Bucky shouted, shoving Velika's shoulder as she laughed. The fire crackled in front of them, providing light in the twilight of the Caribbean. "You're so lying!"

"Nope! You can ask my brother and he'll tell you the same thing!" Velika fell onto her back, cackling loudly and freely.

"I refuse to believe it. You took on an Archangel and won?" Bucky stared at her in bewilderment, eyes wide. "No, you didn't do that. Nope."

Velika continued to laugh until tears streamed down her face. Her arms wrapped around her waist and she rolled onto her side to look at him. She stifled her chuckling by biting her lip, but amusement was still lighting up her eyes.

"You're pullin’ my leg. This has to be a joke." Bucky shook his head, eyes shining in the firelight. It cast shadows over the fine lines of his face, making everything appear sharper.

"Okay, maybe it's a small joke. It was a rigged match." Velika admitted through giggles. "Just to prove to everyone that I was strong enough to be a lieutenant to the Archangel."

"I knew it!" Bucky started to laugh, falling back into the sand with her. "Did they actually contest that you were worthy enough?"

"Some of the men were not exactly...fond of a woman beating them out. So, my commander staged a fight and let me win. He admitted later that it wasn't hard to let me win. Just a misplaced foot and it gave me the opening." She explained, propping her head up with her elbow. She smiled softly, eyes flickering over his form.

"I knew you were full of it." He turned his head to look at her, grinning slyly. His hair fell across the sand, fluffy now that it was sweat-free. The roots were still greasy, but she was certain her hair was a disaster as well.

"You totally believed me for a minute," Velika said. "Don't tell Steve, though. He still completely believes I bested my ex-commander fairly. Sam, too."

"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." Bucky winked and looked back up to the sky.

The night sky was clear of clouds and light pollution, which allowed the full beauty of the twinkling stars to shine bright over the sheltered cove. The moon was a mere sliver, allowing the smaller lights to have their moment. The waves washing against the shore filled the comfortable silence between them, accompanied by the crackling fire and the chirping of nocturnal bugs.

"Tell me about another constellation," Bucky whispered, meeting her gaze again. She held it for a moment, smiling gently.

Velika rolled onto her back and looked over the map of the sky. She was familiar with the Northern Hemisphere constellations off the top of her head, but the Southern Hemisphere constellations were something she needed to see first. She gained her bearings, identifying which ones were visible.

"There's three that I know well. They're there, there and over there."

"How about that one?"

"Scorpius, or the Scorpion, was the enemy of the hunter Orion..." Velika began. Her eyes shone like the stars and her voice washed calmly over him like the ocean.

𝓞𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓽 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓪𝓷 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓹?

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Taglist- Still open! Drop into my inbox :)

#oceans and stars #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x original female character #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original character #velika dante king #my writing #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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divine-colossus · 7 years

Text

One-shot: Relics

Hello there!

This is the first thing I’ve done in a while, but I wanted to write Div and Marthus actually meeting, and I realized that they don’t really age like humans do, so I felt the need to actually complete Marthus’ story. Hope you enjoy!

Until next post!

-Divine Colossus

An army of thousands massed in front of a local lord’s castle. The mud that churned beneath them was a mix of the pouring rain, the dust of the battlefield, and the blood of their opponents. Few moved past the front shield-wall, either because they knew they would be targeted if they did, or couldn’t care anymore. Rain dripped from the General’s helm, but her eyes were focused on the light that gleamed from the other side of the valley. It flashed for a moment, and then was gone.

The enemy army had set siege engines there, on the opposite bank of the river that cut the valley like a raging rift in the land. The armies had clashed in those torrential waters, and it was there that the General had lost most of her men. Nevertheless, the enemy was losing morale, and their engines of war had been crippled. A cold smile spread across her face. They would either turn and run, and be cut down, or throw themselves against her shield-walls and be slain there. The Moon King’s army was finished. Unless... No, they have not brought the Bulwark. It is hundreds of miles away.

“General? Are we to wait for their action? Prepare the troops as we discussed?” The General of the Triaam Host’s tactical brilliance was well known, and had led her to victory over many of their Emperor’s rivals.

“Indeed. Make it so, and then we shall wait.”

The glint came again, and this time there was no mistaking it. The General felt fear for the first time in years. We are all doomed.

“Pull back to the castle! Now!”

As the Triaam Host turned their backs to the enemy, argent scythes of radiant energy leaped across the valley, burning their way deep into the army. Hundreds died instantly, and the rest scattered, fleeing east and west down the valley, their discipline broken. The General lay in the churning mud, attempting to staunch the bleeding from her severed left leg. What a disgrace, to die like this. But she survived long enough to tell her tale to the Emperor’s messenger.

“The Bulwark... will destroy us all...”

==O==

In a dimly lit tavern, a bard strummed gently on a lute and sang a song of the Silver Shield. The story had been told many times, and the ancient man in the corner, who wore his graying hair up in a messy topknot, had heard it even before this bard was born. But it was always a good story. Once a spirit from another world, the Shield was made when a legendary hero tricked the spirit, and plunged it’s burning heat into the depths of a holy lake, solidifying the spirit and trapping it’s power within the newly forged buckler.

The bard strummed on, now telling of the hero’s great exploits, before his unfortunate and untimely demise at the hands of his own wife. The old man in the corner leaned forward, listening intently for any hint of the detail he was looking for. Not many knew it, but there could always be a new take.

A final chord faded as the bard wrapped up the tale. “The Aegis was lost to time, sealed in the same palace that Catara was slain in. No one has seen it since, and personally, I believe it better lost than found.”

As the bard slithered around the edges of the room, jingling a hat already heavily laden with coin, the old man stood and approached him. A sword hung lightly at the elder’s hip, and he moved deceivingly quickly for his age. The bard turned, and began to scoff at the thought of the old man actually having something valuable to offer, but shut his mouth when he saw the fire in the man’s eyes.

“Who taught you the story of the Aegis?”

The bard grinned nervously, raking reddish hair back with slightly trembling fingers. “My master, elder. His name was Jareth, but he’s long dead now. You want something from me?” As if realizing how ridiculous it was to be scared of an old man, the bard straightened up. “Or are you here to start something?”

“You’re lying, lad. I knew your master, knew you when you were but a babe. The only thing that man would never tell me is whether he found the Aegis when he went hunting. There’s an end to every legend, and that thing hasn’t reached its own yet.”

“Damn you I am not lying! I know nothing! And if you think otherwise, seek an answer from my knife!” On the last, the bard drew a wickedly sharp dagger.

“You’ll cut yourself with that. Watch your back.”

The bard’s eyes flicked towards his left shoulder, questing for whatever this old man was warning him of. It was only a moment, but in that moment the knife disappeared from his hand and went directly into the center of a target placed on the opposite wall for darts practice.

“W-who are you?” The bard asked in a quavering voice, doing his best not to wet himself.

“Another legend without an end.”

With that, the old man walked out. He hadn’t even touched his blade.

==O==

As the sandstorm abated, a cloaked figure rose from the side of a dune, their beige cloak matching their environs. An ancient blade, tempered by worse conditions than this, hung on their back. In the distance, a temple shimmered half out of view. Likely a mirage, but maybe not. And it was the “not” that the traveler was hoping for. A sigh emanated from within the cloak, and the trek began. Sand slid under their boots in dry, cascading waterfalls, and the sun cast it’s fiery gaze down from the sky above. After a few minutes, the traveler reached inside their cloak and pulled forth a lengthy piece of metal, shaped like a long oval. Upon reaching the top of the next dune, the traveler ran a gloved hand over the underside of the metal, leaving glowing runes engraved there. A scroll was produced, and the traveler made a few strange whistles before tossing the scroll into the air, where it disintegrated quickly. Peering over the edge, a glance revealed a sharp drop and a steep slope below. Winds began to blow hard from behind, threatening to push them over the threshold.

Without further inspection, the traveler threw down their sheet of metal, climbed on top and pushed off down the hill. Sand whipped past, carried on the wind, and the wind itself snagged the traveler’s hood and pulled it off. An old, scarred face, complete with gray hair tied up in a messy topknot, now faced the elements unprotected. A quick spell, however, and the sand diverted around the man, leaving a massive wake of particles behind him. As the slope leveled out, he continued to slide forward, carried on the front of the sandstorm that had formed behind him.

Scudding along at the front of a massive storm that stretched across the plain, the traveler approached the ruined temple quickly. He smiled grimly. This would be a fitting end to this great story. As the plain began to shake, massive coils of some ancient beast writhed beneath the sands. The old sword was unsheathed, brought forth from an age-old scabbard, and wielded by a warrior older still. In his other hand, he held a necklace with a cracked and worn pendant.

The great sand drake spiraled up, it’s intertwined heads corkscrewing up through layers of sediment and sand to explode outwards and upwards in a gorgeous spectacle of glass-like iridescent scales and shimmering granules of white sand. The sun faded behind the man as the sandstorm caught up to him, and the winds began to circle the pair in a vortex of sand. The board of metal was cast aside, now useless.

“You have come to fight my master, old warrior. I am posted to ensure he does not fall to you. Marthus Starslayer, I hold no fear in my eye when I gaze on you.”

“I killed one of your kin once. His name was Aberos.”

The dragon’s rumble contained an almost audible raised eyebrow. “You slew Aberos?” A low purr emanated from the left head as it weaved back and forth in, always opposite it’s fellow. “He was once my rival, a firedrake without compare. But he was torn between worlds by a great sorcerer.”

“He ended up in mine, slain first and then brought by to life by higher powers. I slew him on the second, and his master, as you already know.”

At this point the two were circling, the titanic creature dwarfing the ancient warrior, who seemed tiny in comparison. Sun glinted off of talons and sword alike, and in the blink of an eye, the sand drake charged. In the split second before they collided, a shimmering husk of gilded armor formed around Marthus, shielding him from the deadly piercing talons. They tumbled end over end, with the drake eventually pinning Marthus by the pauldrons of his armor.

“So you are one of the avatars.” Despite their battle, the drake kept a calm tone, as if this was nothing more than a friendly chat. Both heads, glassy scaled and yellow-eyed, drew close to the faceplate of Marthus’ helmet. “Why do you seek my master, then, if not for power?”

“I was an avatar. I am not anymore and I am not a hero now. I no longer serve a purpose in these worlds, except to fight.”

At this, a spear of light lanced out from the horns of the helmet, refracting in the scales of the drake but forcing it onto its back. A quick leap upwards, fueled by adrenaline and a gust of wind, left Marthus with a sword at the drake’s leftmost eye. With the sun beaming down from behind his attacker, the dragon gazed upon one who had once fought at the will of a god.

“I shall leave you. My quarrel is not with you, great beast.” At that, Marthus leaped off the sand drake’s chest and landed upon the metal disc from his earlier approach, pushing off again towards the temple.

==O==

Inside, among the great pillars, the atmosphere was cool. The scorching heat of the desert outside was no more, instead giving way to the sheltered chill of the temple interior. The architecture reminded Marthus of a long lost religion’s temples, back in his homeworld, 500 years and universes away. High arches were fitted with geometrically carved stone buttresses, and the same patterns laced the windows to the outside. No easy way out. Surprisingly little sand made it inside, given the checkered quality of the outer walls. A musty smell suffused the air, matching the atmosphere of the ruins. For the most part, the floor was clear, huge polished slabs taking up the bulk of the space. Good. Less chance to slip. At the end of the long hall of descending arches, an altar sat.

A silver set of armor sat there, kneeling before the altar. A massive, delicately engraved halberd floated next to them, hovering in midair. The armor itself was made up of many overlapping plates, likely unimaginably heavy but also incredibly strong while allowing good mobility. If you can even stand for longer than a minute, that is. The white metal, probably Heaven’s Joy, glistened in the light filtering in from some invisible skylight above, a beam that also illuminated a ring around the altar. Motes of dust and sand drifted gently through the air like butterflies, settling on the floor and around the figure, but no grain marred the fervent shine of the armor. It was as if an invisible shield deflected anything that could mar the beauty of the silver metal.

“Bulwark. Aegis. Div.”

“That’s my name, Marthus. We met, a long time ago. Victubia, if your ancient mind can even remember that place.”

“It was my birthplace. Please, Div, one last battle. You already knew this was coming.”

“You are too old for this.” The Bulwark rose, turning and hefting the great halberd.

The air sang as test strokes were taken by both sides, and Marthus sank into the familiar warmth of the divine armor, golden light suffusing his scarred features and sending a great bell-like chime ringing throughout the temple. The golden sheath of sharpened light condensed, turning the longsword into a one-handed greatsword. Opposite him, silver lines fractured the air as the halberd made piecemeal of the atmosphere, even slicing single grains of dust in half. The warriors shifted into the circling guard, so common among fighters in all worlds.

The Bulwark made the first move, a charge with halberd leveled, propelled by a massive gust of air behind him. Marthus’ eyes widened as the point drew close, and the former Islingr was forced to cartwheel towards the edge of the room to avoid the deadly tip of that blade. Div slammed headlong into the wall, the halberd sinking deep into the stone, as if it was putty rather than granite.

“You’re faster now!” The tinny voice of Div sounded from inside the vaguely avian helmet.

“We’re both getting old!” snapped Marthus, bringing his sword back in front of him.

Div pulled the halberd out of the wall as easy as picking a blade of grass, and set his guard again, a diagonal line bisecting his body with the shaft of his halberd. The dust danced around the warriors as they traded blows, sparks flying as the blades clattered and glanced off of one another. Parry left, loop overhead, leap back. Launch a blast of light, dodge right. Marthus had learned much in five hundred years, but Div was infinitely more experienced. Even so, Div had not needed to fight in a human form in his last life, and it seemed to have him disoriented.

“Tired... yet?” the Bulwark inquired, panting but unfazed by the lightning fast blows that rained on his guard.

“Hell no, I’m just... warming... up!” A series of triple overhead slashes battered Div to the ground, Marthus grinning triumphantly above him, his expression hidden under his horned helm.

The towering halberd skittered across the floor, coming to rest at the foot of the altar, where it lay, it’s splendor lost without it’s ancient wielder. Div lay with the point of Marthus’ blade at his chest, the sword point hovering centimeters above his breastplate. The Islingr was hesitating, unsure of himself. Behind the faceplate, a single bead of sweat made a lazy track through the dust that had filtered in through the eye slits.

“Godsdamnit. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” Marthus sighed, almost sounding angry.

“What do you mean?”

Marthus gestured with his free hand, leaving the sword tip near Div’s chest, although it was more of a symbol of victory than an actual threat, given the hero’s distraction. “All of this... wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to die gloriously, fighting another hero created by the gods themselves.” He turned back to his fallen foe. “I thought my story ended long ago, but then I heard about you.”

“We shared much the same journey, you and I. How much do you know of my tale? Understanding mine will help you understand your own.”

At that, almost as if Marthus knew this was coming, the grizzled warrior began pouring out both his own story and the saga of the Bulwark. Amidst the floodtide of ancient epics and traveler’s tales, Div could begin to find the threads that tied them together. The Bulwark had held for many eons before his betrayal, and while Marthus had held his vigil for a fraction of the time, they fought the same threats. Both left their post, by force or by choice, and they had wandered in search of new purpose, until finding each other again.

“Do you see how our paths run side by side, Marthus? You have purpose still, but your soul will perish before your duty is done. Such are the lives of mortals, and to my greatest regret, I cannot save you from this fate.” Div pulled himself to his feet, reclaiming his halberd as Marthus walked by his side.

“I know. It is why I wished to end it here, and save myself those twilight years of wretchedness. I didn’t want to be useless.”

They stood beneath the altar now, the sunbeams pouring down, illuminating the upturned helmets that gazed upon that star’s radiance. The armor melted away, slowly, dissipating into energy that dispersed on the slight drafts crisscrossing the inside of the temple. Two scarred and ancient faces gazed on one another, one a divine creature in human form, and one a human touched by the gods. They stood like that a while, white eyes to green, before Marthus spoke.

Marthus smiled, the wrinkles of his cheeks exuding an expression of great contentment. “All this time, I thought I would fall to the darkness. Never did I think I would fall to light.”

That last was almost a whisper, a final breath as the warrior laid down his blade for the last time, the sword sticking into the sand. The light dissolved him, incandescent particles of energy pouring forth from Marthus’ eyes, ears, mouth. A brief pause at the Sigil on his neck, but even that talisman became radiant. The light condensed and formed a gem, one that Div plucked from the air, and set gently into the pommel of his halberd.

“We will serve our purpose, friend. You have not fallen to light, only become more pure within it. Rest well. Your vigil is done.”

Within that temple, two legends died, and became one.

#my writing #the mythos #i'm semi back #i guess #i'll see where i go from here xD

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hendratds · 4 years

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Wings of Fire: The Iceborn Chapter 1 Rewrite

So I decided to rewrite the first chapter of my Wings of Fire fanfiction: The Iceborn. I most likely won’t re-write the entire story, but it was fun seeing the difference between my old style that stuck with the Wings of Fire themed writing and my personal writing style, as you can read here. You can read the original book on her Wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/84033461-wing-of-fire-the-iceborn-fanfiction

Chapter 1

The blazing, scorching sun of the vast desert was, in contrast to her kind, a welcoming anguish on her scales. The heat weighed on every fiber of her being and yet, despite the furnace, Blizzard found it to be something she would pick over her homeland.

It tempered down the uncontrollable cold trapped within her very scales, making her feel somewhat akin to normal. Was this how normal dragons felt, day by day? She would not know, but she figured this would be the closest she would get to such a feeling.

Days in the sun made Blizzard wonder, briefly, if this was how ice felt when it was melting in the sunlight. But alas, she was an entity not made of solidified water and was, instead, a living, breathing dragon. An IceWing in the desert would almost be a good start to a joke, Blizzard thought, if it were not for the fact she was running for her life.

The light of the sun woke her up from her daze as it filtered in through the cracks of the rocky, riverside den she had erected for herself. The den was crude and unstable in the shifting sand, fashioned from slabs of river rocks and parched logs from long dead trees.

Emerging into the daylight, Blizzard yawned and stretched out her too big wings, blinking her unnatural blood red eyes to clear them from the drowsy spell of slumber. But not too soon after she shook her body, rattling her strange singular line of silvery spines, did the sound of a collapsing den jolt her to attention.

“Oh, you moon-forsaken bitch,” Blizzard hissed at the now collapsed den.

Approaching it to assess the damage, she pinpointed the culprit almost instantly. Line of jagged frost and ice, growing up the dead logs and feeding off of the humidity from the nearby river. Upon the arrival of the sun, the ice melted, leaving gaping holes and leaving the supports weakened.

“Well, there goes that den,” Blizzard paced to the river, her heart aflame with irritation that dripped on her every word. “Moons are telling me to keep moving, I guess,”

But her rumbling stomach said otherwise, warning Blizzard of the dangers of flying on an empty stomach. Especially when that stomach has had no real food to eat in days. Following the instinct of appetite, the IceWing crouched next to the river’s edge, her snout almost skimming the surface as she waited for a fish, fresh and unsuspecting, to swim close enough for her to snap up.

However, her eyes focused on her own reflection more than the wriggling shapes below the surface. Her diamond shaped snout, her horns that looked to be made out of pure ice, and the sunken cheeks of someone struggling to survive.

Oh, how weak you are. Said her father’s voice in her head. She swore she could see him walk up behind her in her reflection, sneering down at her with those eyes of malice. What IceWing can’t survive on their own? We should have fed you to the leopard seals long ago.

Blizzard sniffed and attempted to ignore it to the best of her ability, but the voice of another demon echoed in her head. The darkened face of her mother loomed by her father. Maybe if you weren’t iceborn, you could be a normal IceWing. She said. Something other than a beast. Your betrayal was only a matter of time.

With a roar of spite, Blizzard slashed at the water to shatter the illusion. To make it stop, anything, to get their voices to silence themselves. In her fury, she felt something sticky latch onto her talon, snapping her out of her frenzy. A silvery fish, twitching in pain and fading in death as frostbite and ice spread across its body, was snagged on her serrated, icy claws.

Blizzard proceeded to yank the fish off and lay it on an exposed rock in the sun, allowing the ice to thaw. Watching the fish slowly gasp for air as its blackened gills hung limp was a rather disturbing, but welcome distraction from Blizzard’s inner demons. With a snap of her head and a quick swallow, the fish was gulped down and sent to become nourishment.

With her stomach settling for now, Blizzard turned to the sky and watched the clouds for any figures that may be flying towards her. Figures of white, she would either run from or dispose of. Any other color, she would plead for guidance.

With no other dragon in sight, Blizzard launched into the sky and began following the river downstream. Just as she had been doing for days. The land to her right was a vast and seemingly unending desert, with harsh dunes rolling across the landscape and wisps of sand and dust snaking their way around with the breezes that did grace the land. The lone cactus cluster added spots of green and shriveled shrubbery added texture to the smooth yet gritty terrain.

To her left, jagged peaks colored like rust rose from the land and created a maze that Blizzard dared not venture into. The mountainous badlands would grow and morph into the mountains of the Sky Kingdom, a place that would do well to hide Blizzard given how vast it was.

But the Sky Kingdom, as vast as it was, was not a place for her. Not with the tensions rising with the Council of Destiny after the murder of that undocumented SeaWing animus. SkyWings had always been rather oppressive towards those with powers beyond normal dragon attributes, despite Queen Garnet being rather neutral towards them. It was a shame she could not say no to her own subjects.

Options for safety were limited in modern day Pyrrhia, Blizzard kept reminding herself. It was a slap in the face with a reinforced IceWing tail each time she recalled it. The SkyWings would most likely join the IceWings on their hunt for her with gusto, though the two are on differing sides in the growing argument between the dragon nations.

The SandWings would be the first to hear about her once Queen Hoarfrost’s scouts made it to Queen Sidewinder’s Stronghold, meaning any sanctuary she would be granted would be short lived.

Farther east, the domain of Queen Braken of the MudWings would pose as viable. If it were not for the siege of forced “diplomatic” interactions the SkyWings were pushing for in the animus argument. The SkyWings had strong presence in the swamps, and Blizzard could not risk that.

The Sea Kingdom was one of the biggest territories. Surely, she thought as she glided on the drafts of wind that blew south, she could find a singular island to call her own. Maybe set up camp in the eastern most reaches of the territory. Gather resources, pledge total allegiance in return for Queen Tsunami, an animus herself, to enchant Blizzard’s frostscales away. But the SeaWings, her mind cursed her with, were ones to always follow law. Once they heard of Blizzard’s deed, they would turn her in no matter their thoughts on her.

The Rainforest was expansive, something she could hide in. Fugitives from all over Pyrrhia always flocked to the jungle to hide there. Despite the rainforest holding the mixed kingdom of Night and Rain, co-led by Queen Extravagant and Queen Dreamcatcher, they barely turned anyone in. Blizzard concluded that it was her best shot until that tiny voice in her head, the one she could never ignore, told her of a scenario of which the frost and frozen foliage would lead a curious dragon to her, leading her to be turned in to one of the Kingdoms and, subsequently, turned in to the IceWings.

No place was safe for her. Not even the ruins of the ancient NightWing kingdom, which had long became a research center for dragon history.

If only she had not killed Frigid.

Blizzard flexed her claws as she remembered her damned deed that landed her in her situation. An act of impulse she both regretted yet felt no remorse for. The feeling of time slowing down as her gaze landed upon the sight of Frigid, a dragonet in the First Circle, dunking the head of Blizzard’s stunted twin brother Permafrost into the pools from the Gift of Sustenance.

Blizzard recalled the pained gasps for air Permafrost kept yelping out, his feeble body unable to fight against the relentless tirade of attacks from Frigid as Frigid spouted nonsense about teaching Permafrost how to properly catch a seal.

Her body had moved on its own, racing forward and breaking away from the group she was accompanying. The group that consisted of her mother, her father, the Queen, and a few other First Circle officials. It was a blur as Blizzard grabbed Frigid by the neck, yanking the dragonet off her brother, pinning her by the back, and shoving Frigid’s own snout into the water. As Permafrost fled, Blizzard stayed, Frigid’s neck and spine turning black with frostbite as she struggled for her life. But it was in vain, as the mix of Blizzard’s biting scales and the lack of air brought Frigid to a slow and relentless death.

The audience that was once Blizzard’s family all cried betrayal. The IceWings rushed to apprehend her, her mother being the first in line, but Blizzard’s scales carved a path of escape for her. But her brother could not follow, wherever her had run off to.

Blizzard briefly wondered if her mother ever recovered from the frostbite on her chest and arms.

Shaking her head to free herself from the past, Blizzard focused on the flight ahead of her. The reality of her life was heavy. But if she had learned anything from the IceWings, it was to never falter. Lest you fall victim to the woes of life itself.

“Think, Blizzard,” Blizzard said out loud, speaking in her raspy voice as she dived down to the river to drink on the fly. She gulped down a few mouthfuls to keep herself hydrated. “Pyrrhia is a big continent. You have so many places you can go. Places you can hide,” She a blink and a pause, she sighed. “And I’m talking to myself again…”

Blizzard spiraled down and landed under a palm tree to gather her rampaging thoughts. Runaway feelings of anguish, regret, and all those akin to them made her heart feel like it was inside out and pulsing in every wrong way. Scenarios of everything going wrong, of everything falling apart no matter where she went, caused her to roar and tear into the bark of the palm tree in a frenzy. It was the only way to keep her claws from her own flesh.

“Stop thinking about it!” she growled at herself, dragging her head back and forth across the rough palm trunk. Anything to get the sensation of splintering ice out of her head. “Survival! Survival and finding a place to live a new life!”

Tearing her claws out of the tree, leaving splinters in her fingers, she began pacing. “So, what if you left your brother for dead in a society where imperfection is punishable by death? It’s not like you could have done anything, right? Right. Very logical Blizzard,” she paused. “Again with the talking to myself…”

The fluttering of an uneven wind broke Blizzard out of her thoughts, her keen IceWing trained senses picking up on an irregularity in the air. Whipping around, she spotted two shapes flying down the river. They flickered like white stars in the day turned sky, revealing themselves to be IceWings.

“Shit,” Blizzard cursed, shuffling under the leaves of the palm tree and searching, frantically, for a hiding spot. There were no rocks, no alcoves, nothing big enough for a dragon of her size. Her first thought was to hide in the sand, but a cold spot in the desert would raise suspicions. In her panic she turned and dived into the river, swimming to the very edge pressing her body as flat as she could manage on the bank’s wall.

The sounds of the world became distorted, louder yet synchronized, in the water as she held her breath and froze in place. The sound of the two dragons landing made her heart clench, but neither of the IceWings peeked into the river, meaning they had not seen her jump in. Tilting her head, she saw an open spot between the rocks the lined the bank, allowing her to see the two as they landed.

“You saw a dragon?” asked one of them in the voice of one of the IceWing generals, a First Circle military figure named Subzero. He wore the shining, decorative armor that military officials used in place of political garb, his moon white scales and tinted pink claws and horns flickering light into Blizzard’s eye. “You’re sure?”

“I saw them!” roared the unmistakable form of her father, Iceberg. His hulking figure of silvery grey with eyes of blue aflame with rage. He marched up to the palm tree and slammed a talon onto the trunk. “Look at these claw marks! A dragon was here. It could be the iceborn,”

“Well, I don’t see a dragon here now, Iceberg,” Subzero rolled his eyes, shaking his wings out. “Plus, there’s no ice on that tree. It would’ve left frost on it,”

“The heat of the sun would melt it fairly quickly,” Iceberg shot back. “Maybe it’s hiding in the sand!”

Iceberg took a leap into the sand, sending up a cloud of dust and grain. Subzero hissed as he flapped his wings to keep the dust cloud away from him.

“Compose yourself!” Subzero barked, yanking on Iceberg’s tail. “Look at you, acting out on impulse. I wonder where the iceborn got its own impulsivity from,”

“Shut your trap,” Iceberg growled before he stood straight and breathed in deeply. “But you are right. No IceWing should have acted like I just did. How disgraceful,”

“At least you are self-aware,” Subzero said. “Now if you are done playing in the sand like a SandWing, I am rather unacquainted with the desert. Probably because I, and in turn we, belong in the snowy tundra. Like normal IceWings. Let’s not waste time and get to the stronghold so we can warn Queen Sidewinder,”

“Yes. Of course,” Iceberg said. Subzero lifted into the air and out of Blizzard’s line of sight. Iceberg hesitated, casting one last scan of the area before he followed suit. Blizzard allowed herself to lift her head out of the water just the tiniest bit, allowing her nostrils to break the surface so she could gasp in a much-needed breath of arid, barren air.

Once the wingbeats had faded, Blizzard climbed out of the river and onto the sand once more, the water on her scales crystallizing and turning her into a walking ice sculpture. Shard of ice fell in wake of her movements, littering the riverbank with quickly melting shards.

“Well…” Blizzard heaved a breath, a plume of sparkling mist seeping from her nostrils and from between her gritting teeth. “That gives me the time limit of no,”

Scouts had been sent out. And they were fast, meaning they had already been sent to the Sky Kingdom and beyond. Given the distance, the likelihood of Queen Garnet having already been notified of Blizzard’s existence was high.

“I need to figure something out now,” Blizzard hissed to no one in particular. But she wondered, what could she do? She had barely scratched the surface of the Kingdom of Sand and the alert was already underway. The possibility of her survival was-

“Wait,” Blizzard realized with a jolt. “Possibility. That’s along this river!”

With a heaving flap and the scattering of the last of the ice that was on her body, Blizzard took to the sky and began flying towards the city she now viewed as her last hope. The flight took until the sun began to lower itself in the sky, meaning Blizzard caught sight of the city’s perimeter in mid-afternoon.

The city was tall, expansive, and bustling. Towers of SkyWing architecture reached high into the sky while SandWing labyrinthian strongholds snaked around the ground. Archways framed the streets and the river that cut through the middle of the city, bridges connected the two sides of the city and even some buildings. From the distance it was easy to imagine Possibility as the biggest city in Pyrrhia, but history and geography lessons told Blizzard that that title was gifted to the Pyrrhian Capital.

For a moment, Blizzard froze. She hovered in the air as she watched hundreds of dragons flutter about like a swarm of butterflies on a field of flowers. In the crowded streets, how safe was she? How long would she last before the screams of frostbitten victims of her curse gave her away?

There were vendors and smaller markets that spotted the outskirts of the city, framing the river’s edge. Landing on the streets would end with her standing in the middle of a pile of freezing dragons. Flying would leave a trail of them dropping from the sky behind her if she ran into any of them.

Looking down to the river, she concluded her best course of action would be to swim. She dove down into the river, using her trained arctic diving techniques to keep up the speed from flight. SeaWings, MudWings, and subsequent hybrids were her current obstacles. But they all seemed rather content to either stay near the edge of the river or to be few and far between when it came to the inner parts of the river.

Swimming into the city, Blizzard’s annoying little blip of curiosity made her gaze around. The city was busy as it could be. Hanging lanterns, unlit for the day, hung between each building along with drapes and unused wire lines. Shops and businesses seemed to be finishing up their last rounds as the day began to end. The smell of cooking food filled the air and made Blizzard’s malnourished stomach rumble.

I need to start asking around. Blizzard remined herself. She swam up to a bridge and called up, catching the attention of a passing SkyWing.

“Can I help you?” the SkyWing asked. “Not every day you find an IceWing in the water,”

“I… was raised by SeaWings,” Blizzard scrambled for an excuse. The SkyWing nodded slowly, resting their arms on the edge of the bridge. “Would you happen to know of any animus dragons in the city? Or anyone who may know of one?”

“Whatcha doing looking for an animus?” the SkyWing inquired, a haze of suspicion gracing their features.

“It is merely a personal problem. My body… isn’t right,” Blizzard tried to explain as vaguely as she could manage. “No doctor has been able to fix it, so I’m getting desperate,”

“Well, I don’t know of nay animus dragons,” the SkyWing answered with a shake of their wings. “Can’t say I’m disappointed in that, though. Ask some SeaWings, you know they love animus dragons soooo much,”

“Yes…” Blizzard drew out. “Thank you for your time,”

“Good luck!” the SkyWing called, unaware of the truth as to his interaction. Blizzard continued to swim, quickly finding a SeaWing group and approaching.

“Excuse me,” she called, gaining their attention. “May I ask a question?”

“I don’t know, IceWing,” said the closest SeaWing, who was a deep green in color with hints of lime-yellow on their wing membranes and webbed claws. “What business you got?”

“I just wish to know if you know where I can find an animus in the city, if you know of one,” Blizzard asked them.

The SeaWings turned to each other, shaking their heads or shrugging with bemused expressions that made Blizzard want to scream in frustration. The green SeaWing shook their head.

“We got nothin, kid,” they said.

“Thanks anyway,” Blizzard turned and swam away, meeting with each SeaWing group she found that dotted the river. Each story was the same or similar to the last, with confusion and lack of answers. It bled Blizzard of the rest of her time, and soon the afternoon turned to dusk. The sky was a deep amber, and dragons were turning in for the night and becoming few and far between.

The sky was unobstructed and less crowded as the sun set and the moons rose, opting for Blizzard to take to the air for better view of the city streets. The few dragons she did encounter were easily dodged, her elite training in flight allowing her to make quick turns and pivots. But even so, from the other dragons she spoke to, she was met with nothing.

Exhaustion was beginning to settle into her bones and muscles. Every beat of her wings was getting harder and harder to do, so Blizzard flew up to the roof of a building and landed, resting with her legs tucked under her chest and her wings folded tightly to her sides. Frost and ice spread over the surface of the sandstone bricks, the unforgiving sun weakened by the late dusk and allowing its presence to remind Blizzard of her hexed existence.

Her options were beginning to become limited, she realized. With the lack of an animus to take away her scales and the ever growing threat of being discovered looming ever larger, Blizzard’s hopes began to dwindle down to nothing.

So, she did what she found was something she apparently did best. She talked to herself.

“I’ll need to flee the city one way or another…” Blizzard told herself. “I just need to figure out where to go. Maybe I could try the capital next? They would definitely have powerful dragons there. Plus, there is the IceWing Animus Seminar. Argh, no, that place would be a death wish… The SeaWings? They have animus dragons. Queen Tsunami is one. But they’ll most likely know about me before I get there… That’s out,”

To occupy her gaze, Blizzard scanned the streets and city around her as she spoke. She fiddled with a shard of ice that she formed with her talons as she watched the dragons come and go. Following a particularly colorful RainWing, Blizzard saw a night market a couple blocks away, the lanterns for the night lighting the way.

The chance of an animus touch object was slim, but the chance of a disguise, food, and survival tools were high. Blizzard recalled a time when stealing would be something she would scoff at, but now she saw it as salvation. She took to the sky and stayed in the sky, hovering above the market as she watched vendors market and sell goods.

“Get your roasted scorpions here! Freshly caught and ready for your stomach!”

“All the jewels you could want! We got an assortment!”

“The one… the only…! SandWing Sceptor! It could be yours for only…”

Blizzard rolled her eyes at the blatant scheme, her attention diverted for a split second. And said split second was just enough time for Blizzard to slip.

The feeling of a body, smaller than hers, smashing into her snapped Blizzard’s mind into a whirlwind. Her first instinct was to jerk away, but their wings quickly got tangled and the two plummeted to the ground behind some vendor stalls. Blizzard shut her eyes taught, preparing to hear the blood curdling screams of pain from the dragon that ran into her. But the screams… they never came.

Upon impact with the ground, Blizzard rolled off the dragon and focused her attention to the stranger in question. It was a SkyWing, a young dragonet in age, with ruby red scales and charcoal horns and claws. He had shades of tawny and rust highlighting his wings and underbelly. And when he opened his own eyes, they were a set of deep mahogany.

“Oh, moons! I’m so sorry!” the SkyWing gasped, scrambling to his talons and grabbing Blizzard’s own to help her stand up. The help she needed, less from the fall and more from the shock as the lack of frostbite and ice that should have been spreading from the young SkyWing’s claws.

“How-“ Blizzard started, but the SkyWing kept going as he let go of Blizzard’s talons.

“I should’ve been looking where I was going,” he said. “But you know, I just heard that one dragon talking about the Sanding Scepter. I didn’t think it was legit, but I had to look, you know? Not that I would buy an artifact like that,”

“You-!” Blizzard choked on her own words as her brain scrambled to find a way to articulate her thoughts.

“Let me make it up to you,” the SkyWing continued on, fiddling with the gold jewelry he had on. “We can find my dad Sandstorm and go get you something from the market! Anything you want! Er, within reason, of course,”

“Will you shut up?” Blizzard hissed out. The SkyWing flinched and froze in place, looking back and forth as if he were searching for an escape route. Blizzard shook her head and continued. “I- Look, how are you… alive? Like this?”

“Uh…” the SkyWing drawled out, looking rather awkward. “I mean, I would hope I’m alive? I’m not too sure what you mean?”

“Your scales!” Blizzard barked. “Er, I mean my scales! No- Or- ugh, look!”

Blizzard grabbed a nearby object, a glass orb, and shoved it into the SkyWing’s direction. Frost slowly began spreading across the surface of the orb. The SkyWing’s eyes widened as he watched. His gaze flicked from the orb to Blizzard’s talons, then to her chest. He squinted his eyes as his face contorted into one of uncertainty.

“Huh, weird,” he said as he scrutinized Blizzard up and down. Blizzard withdrew the orb and dropped it back where she found it, hoping the vendor didn’t mind a frozen piece in their collection.

“Weird? Weird?!” Blizzard stamped a talon into the ground with a gasp of exasperation. “That’s all you can say to this scenario?”

“Hey, what else am I supposed to say in this situation?” the SkyWing shot back. “So… You have frostscales?”

“Yes, if that wasn’t obvious,” Blizzard rolled her eyes. “Wait… You haven’t heard of me?”

“Am I supposed to know you?” the SkyWing suddenly tensed.

“My hatching was a big deal,” Blizzard tilted her head in her own scrutinization. “The iceborn IceWing? First in over a couple centuries? Blizzard the IceWing?”

The SkyWing pursed his snout and looked away, his wings tucking in at his sides and under his arms. Blizzard’s jaw drew open as she stared at him.

“What rock have you been living under?” she asked him.

“A rather… obscure one?” He more asked than stated. “So… your name is Blizzard? I’m Cloud,”

Cloud have a respectful bow in greeting, allowing Blizzard to catch sight of the flame shaped marking on his forehead.

“I would say likewise, but I’m rather more curious as to how you’re immune to my scales,” Blizzard took a step forward, a glimmer of hope flaring up and filling her being. “Was it an animus? Something else? Tell me!”

“Uh, unfortunately I am obligated to say it’s classified!” Cloud said quickly, waving his talons. “Hey, would you look at the time! Look at those moons, I better get going. It was nice meeting you!” Cloud quickly turned and ran out into the street from between the vendor stalls.

“Hey!” Blizzard barked, launching forward to give chase. The smaller SkyWing was nimble on his talons, slithering around the spread-out crowd like a viper while Blizzard lost time and distance as she dodged every dragon she came across.

Cloud zipped around a corner and disappeared from Blizzard’s sight. The IceWing turned that same corner long after and spied Cloud a few blocks away, standing next to and conversing with a large SandWing the color of brass and onyx eyes, black diamond markings flitting down the sides of his neck and flank as brown freckle markings decorated his wings. As Blizzard approached, the SandWing sported the same fire marking as Cloud did.

Blizzard attempted to follow them catching their conversation as she approached.

“There you are, Cloud,” the SandWing greeted as Cloud reached him. “Where did you run off to?”

“I wanted to see some SandWing vendors,” Cloud responded, his voice heavy with his panting. “But I flew into an iceborn IceWing, and she… wasn’t the nicest of dragons,”

“An iceborn, here?” the SandWing chuckled. “You’d expect them to be in the IceWing Kingdom, not in this city,”

“I thought that, too!” Cloud beamed.

“Cloud!” Blizzard barked, pushing through the crowd and gaining the fire marked dragons’ attention. “I said wait!”

Cloud and the SandWing turned as just Blizzard charged passed a MudWing, whose scream cut through the air in the next second. Blizzard’s common sense kicked back into gear. She jumped away from the MudWing as soon as she could, assessing the damage. A brush of angry ice along the shoulder of the MudWing was spreading quickly.

“Oh moons, no no no!” Blizzard chanted as dragons turned to see what was happening. The SandWing rushed forward, pushing through the few dragons that tried to step forward.

“Move it! Expert coming through!” the SandWing barked as he rushed to the MudWing’s side.

“I didn’t know you could do that!” Cloud exclaimed as he shifted his gaze from the MudWing to Blizzard and back, back and forth.

“I’m a walking IceWing death breath! I told you I was iceborn!” Blizzard hissed as the SandWing enveloped both him and the MudWing with his wings to shield them from view.

“Don’t squirm,” the SandWing said. “This will… tingle, and maybe sting. Just hold still,”

“What are you-?” The MudWing’s voice trailed off. After a few moments of tense silence, the SandWing closed his wings and took a couple steps back. The first thing Blizzard noticed was the faint glow his flame marking seemed to be giving off, as faint as a firefly’s light but still noticeable. The second thing Blizzard’s eyes rested upon was the MudWing’s shoulder, which was completely free of frost and was only missing a few scales that the SandWing dropped onto the ground, unable to salvage them.

Blizzard looked up at the SandWing with wide eyes, along with many other dragons in the gathered crowd.

“Who are you?” Blizzard asked the moment she found her words again.

“Sandstorm,” the SandWing answered, turning his full attention to Blizzard with eyes that were boring down onto her very soul. “And who are you?”

Blizzard stood tall, though she felt anything but. “I am Blizzard,” she told Sandstorm, her voice echoing over the crowd. “I’m the damned iceborn monster that the IceWings love to boast about,”

“What are you doing here? In Possibility?” Sandstorm asked, approaching Blizzard and tilting his head down to meet her level of height.

You. She thought. You are my salvation.

“I’m looking for an animus,” she told him, watching as his eyes widened as she continued. “So, I can be free of this curse. I’m looking for someone to take these moon-forsaken frostscales away,”

Sandstorm stared into Blizzard’s eyes for the longest time, enough time for the crowd to start whispering. Blizzard cursed her own mouth for revealing who she was. Any IceWings in the city would find her in no time. But Sandstorm reached out a talon to Blizzard as Cloud stood by his side.

“Come with us,” Sandstorm told her. “I think I know how to help you,”

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fabiankingfmp · 7 years

Photo

Using the Model Paints

Here I’m solidifying what process I want to use to create my final piece, carving into the foam board to get deeper details and using watered down filler to seal it with straight filler to get a thick texture. When everything was dry I started painting. I used matte black spray primer over the whole piece to get a good base for the outside, in case any of the other coats are a little thin it’ll just appear darker and add depth, and the inside being black to give it a more hollow effect. For the next coat I used a spray can of model paint, from a company called citadel, of the colour Zandri Dust which is a desert yellow brown. I used another Citadel paint for the bricks which is labelled as a bone colour, I like it because of the how well it blends into the other colour while still being distinct.

They both apply very easily and dry within 15 minutes of being put on wet meaning they're very quick to work with too. After the base colours are dry I used the wash I bought from a model shop, called earth shade, to add a dripping effect below the windows. A second coat was added all over, seeping into the recesses and drying dark and also darkening the first coat of details.

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

Carding knelt down awkwardly and felt the floor gingerly. He signalled to Spelter to do the same.

Spelter touched a surface that was smoother than stone. It felt like ice would feel if ice was slightly warm, and looked like ivory. While it wasn’t exactly transparent, it gave the impression that it would like to be.

He got the distinct feeling that, if he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to feel it at all.

He met Carding’s gaze.

‘Don’t look at, um, me,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what it is either.’

They looked up at Coin, who said: ‘It’s magic.’

‘Yes, lord, but what is it made of?’ said Carding.

‘It is made of magic. Raw magic. Solidified. Curdled. Renewed from second to second. Could you imagine a better substance to build the new home of sourcery?’

The staff flared for a moment, melting the clouds. The Discworld appeared below them, and from up here you could see that it was indeed a disc, pinned to the sky by the central mountain of Cori Celesti, where the gods lived. There was the Circle Sea, so close that it might even be possible to dive into it from here; there was the vast continent of Klatch, squashed by perspective. The Rimfall around the edge of the world was a sparkling curve.

‘It’s too big,’ said Spelter under his breath. The world he had lived in hadn’t stretched much further than the gates of the University, and he’d preferred it that way. A man could be comfortable in a world that size. He certainly couldn’t be comfortable about being half a mile in the air standing on something that wasn’t, in some fundamental way, there.

The thought shocked him. He was a wizard, and he was worrying about magic.

He sidled cautiously back towards Carding, who said: ‘It isn’t exactly what I expected.’

‘Um?’

‘It looks a lot smaller up here, doesn’t it.’

‘Well, I don’t know. Listen, I must tell you-’

‘Look at the Ramtops, now. You could almost reach out and touch them.’

They stared out across two hundred leagues towards the towering mountain range, glittering and white and cold. It was said that if you travelled hubwards through the secret valleys of the Ramtops, you would find, in the frozen lands under Cori Celesti itself, the secret realm of the Ice Giants, imprisoned after their last great battle with the Gods. In those days the mountains had been mere islands in a great sea of ice, and ice lived on them still.

Coin smiled his golden smile.

‘What did you say, Carding?’ he said.

‘It’s the clear air, lord. And they look so close and small. I only said I could almost touch them-’

Coin waved him into silence. He extended one thin arm, rolling back his sleeve in the traditional sign that magic was about to be performed without trickery. He reached out, and then turned back with his fingers closed around what was, without any shadow of a doubt, a handful of snow.

The two wizards observed it in stunned silence as it melted and dripped on to the floor.

Coin laughed.

‘You find it so hard to believe?’ he said. ‘Shall I pick pearls from rim-most Krull, or sand from the Great Nef? Could your old wizardry do half as much?’

It seemed to Spelter that his voice took on a metallic edge. He stared intently at their faces.

Finally Carding sighed and said rather quietly, ‘No. All my life I have sought magic, and all I found was coloured lights and little tricks and old, dry books. Wizardry has done nothing for the world.’

‘And if I tell you that I intend to dissolve the Orders and close the University? Although, of course, my senior advisors will be accorded all due status.’

Carding’s knuckles whitened, but he shrugged.

‘There is little to say,’ he said. ‘What good is a candle at noonday?’

Coin turned to Spelter. So did the staff. The filigree carvings were regarding him coldly. One of them, near the top of the staff, looked unpleasantly like an eyebrow.

‘You’re very quiet, Spelter. Do you not agree?’

No. The world had sourcery once, and gave it up for wizardry. Wizardry is magic for men, not gods. It’s not for us. There was something wrong with it, and we have forgotten what it was. I liked wizardry. It didn’t upset the world. It fitted. It was right. A wizard was all I wanted to be.

He looked down at his feet.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘Good,’ said Coin, in a satisfied tone of voice. He strolled to the edge of the tower and looked down at the street map of Ankh-Morpork far below. The Tower of Art came barely a tenth of the way towards them.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘I believe that we will hold the ceremony next week, at full moon.’

‘Er. It won’t be full moon for three weeks,’ said Carding.

‘Next week,’ Coin repeated. ‘If I say the moon will be full, there will be no argument.’ He continued to stare down at the model buildings of the University, and then pointed.

‘What’s that?’

Carding craned.

‘Er. The Library. Yes. It’s the Library. Er.’

The silence was so oppressive that Carding felt something more was expected of him. Anything would be better than that silence.

‘It’s where we keep the books, you know. Ninety thousand volumes, isn’t it, Spelter?’

‘Um? Oh. Yes. About ninety thousand, I suppose.’

Coin leaned on the staff and stared.

‘Burn them,’ he said. ‘All of them.’

Midnight strutted its black stuff along the corridors of Unseen University as Spelter, with rather less confidence, crept cautiously towards the impassive doors of the Library. He knocked, and the sound echoed so loudly in the empty building that he had to lean against the wall and wait for his heart to slow down a bit.

After a while he heard a sound like heavy furniture being moved about.

‘Oook?’

‘It’s me.’

‘Oook?’

‘Spelter.’

‘Oook.’

‘Look, you’ve got to get out! He’s going to burn the Library!’

There was no reply.

Spelter let himself sag to his knees.

‘He’ll do it, too,’ he whispered. ‘He’ll probably make me do it, it’s that staff, um, it knows everything that’s going on, it knows that I know about it … please help me …’

‘Oook?’

‘The other night, I looked into his room … the staff, the staff was glowing, it was standing there in the middle of the room like a beacon and the boy was on the bed sobbing, I could feel it reaching out, teaching him, whispering terrible things, and then it noticed me, you’ve got to help me, you’re the only one who isn’t under the-’

Spelter stopped. His face froze. He turned around very slowly, without willing it, because something was gently spinning him.

He knew the University was empty. The wizards had all moved into the New Tower, where the lowliest student had a suite more splendid than any senior mage had before.

The staff hung in the air a few feet away. It was surrounded by a faint octarine glow.

He stood up very carefully and, keeping his back to the stonework and his eyes firmly fixed on the thing, slithered gingerly along the wall until he reached the end of the corridor. At the corner he noted that the staff, while not moving had revolved on its axis to follow him.

He gave a little cry, grasped the skirts of his robe, and ran.

The staff was in front of him. He slid to a halt and stood there, catching his breath.

‘You don’t frighten me,’ he lied, and turned on his heel and marched off in a different direction, snapping his fingers to produce a torch that burned with a fine white flame (only its penumbra of octarine proclaimed it to be of magical origin).

Once again, the staff was in front of him. The light of his torch was sucked into a thin, singing steam of white fire that flared and vanished with a ‘pop’.

He waited, his eyes watering with blue after-images, but if the staff was still there it didn’t seem to be inclined to take advantage of him. When vision returned he felt he could make out an even darker shadow on his left. The stairway down to the kitchens.

He darted for it, leaping down the unseen steps and landing heavily and unexpectedly on uneven flags. A little moonlight filtered through a grating in the distance and somewhere up there, he knew, was a doorway into the outside world.

Staggering a little, his ankles aching, the noise of his own breath booming in his ears as though he’d stuck his entire head in a seashell, Spelter set off across the endless dark desert of the floor.

Things clanked underfoot. There were no rats here now, of course, but the kitchen had fallen into disuse lately - the University’s cooks had been the best in the world, but now any wizard could conjure up meals beyond mere culinary skill. The big copper pans hung neglected on the wall, their sheen already tarnishing, and the kitchen ranges under the giant chimney arch were filled with nothing but chilly ash …

The staff lay across the back door like a bar. It spun up as Spelter tottered towards it and hung, radiating quiet malevolence, a few feet away. Then, quite smoothly, it began to glide towards him.

He backed away, his feet slipping on the greasy stones. A thump across the back of his thighs made him yelp, but as he reached behind him he found it was only one of the chopping blocks.

His hand groped desperately across its scarred surface and, against all hope, found a cleaver buried in the wood. In an instinctive gesture as ancient as mankind, Spelter’s fingers closed around its handle.

He was out of breath and out of patience and out of space and time and also scared, very nearly, out of his mind.

So when the staff hovered in front of him he wrenched the chopper up and around with all the strength he could muster …

And hesitated. All that was wizardly in him cried out against the destruction of so much power, power that perhaps even now could be used, used by him…

And the staff swung around so that its axis was pointing directly at him.

And several corridors away, the Librarian stood braced with his back against the Library door, watching the blue and white flashes that flickered across the floor. He heard the distant snap of raw energy, and a sound that started low and ended up in zones of pitch that even Wuffles, lying with his paws over his head, could not hear.

And then there was a faint, ordinary tinkling noise, such as might be made by a fused and twisted metal cleaver dropping on to flagstones.

It was the sort of noise that makes the silence that comes after it roll forward like a warm avalanche.

The Librarian wrapped the silence around him like a cloak and stood staring up at the rank on rank of books, each one pulsing faintly in the glow of its own magic. Shelf after shelf looked down[14] at him. They had heard. He could feel the fear.

The orang-utan stood statue-still for several minutes, and then appeared to reach a decision. He knuckled his way across to his desk and, after much rummaging, produced a heavy key-ring bristling with keys. Then he went back and stood in the middle of the floor and said, very deliberately, ‘Oook.’

The books craned forward on their shelves. Now he had their full attention.

#Sourcery

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