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oumaheroes · 5 months

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My soul cries out for Scotland and England being siblings; I love those two and their stormy sense of brotherhood. I may or may not be biased cos my favourite period is medieval, which is ripe for England and Scotland conflict and shenanigans.

Congratulations on 1000 followers! You deserve it!

Thank you so much, Ballad!! And to you too Nonny, that's a high compliment indeed <3

I got a few requests for UK bros and England and Scotland as a pair, so there will be more than just this. I hope this quick little story fits the bill in the meantime!

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Currency

Alba nodded in satisfaction as he tilted the horse's face slightly to the side, its rubbery lips soft and warm against his bare palm.

'Teeth seem fine.'

'Let me see.'

Alba bent to hold Albion up to the animal, settling his weight against his hip.

'Careful.' He warned as his brother reached out for the horse's nose, 'Slowly. Or she'll bite.'

'I know.' Albion said sharply, but paused his hands in mid air before lowering them carefully down on the short fur, 'I'm not stupid.'

'Sure.'

'So what do you think.' The horse's owner, a traveller from Gaul unusual this far up north, peered at them with lowered brows. His accent was thick, more used to the Brythonic dialects of the south than the midland ones now quick on Alba's tongue. 'You take her? She's strong; good for distance.'

'She seems healthy.' Alba agreed, 'Perfect for the winter.'

'That what you need her for?'

Alba didn't reply.

The stranger raised his hands, conceding, 'Well, she is yours if you want. She can't have more foal so she no good to me, and no war mount either.' He patted his other horse on its thick neck, the creature a good few hands taller than the smaller female they were discussing. They were tied together with a long rope, the smaller horse further tethered to a loaded wooden wagon.

Alba ignored this comment too. 'What do you want for her?' He asked, switching to what he hoped was the man's native tongue, a language from Northern Gaul he had picked up from some sailors a few years ago. It was useful to know the closest ones from the mainland and he was rewarded for his rusty troubles with a wry smile.

‘125 denarii’, The Gaul said smoothly, ‘Or equivalent, if you have other currency.’

'Coins?' Alba shifted Albion's weight, his brother slipping from his grip in his attempt to lean closer to the horse, too interested in stroking her to pay any attention to the conversation. 'What about in trade?'

'I trade in coin for horses.'

'We don't use coin here.' (1)

'Then you don't trade with me.'

Alba silently cursed. They did not need a horse, not in the way they needed food or shelter, but it would certainly be useful. Winter was tightening its grip on the land and a horse would make tracking across snow and icy terrain between clans much easier. Alba and Ériu could cross the distances fine enough, but their brothers were too young to make as many long treks without either numerous breaks in between or long stops in settlements. Summer, with its days of generous light and warm weather, made the amount of travelling Alba wanted to do easier, but as soon as the days grew short it became more and more difficult to move safely at any decent speed. Mama always had them more settled at this time of year, but even Albion could feel a new restlessness in the air that hadn't been there in her time.

A mare would help.

Alba placed Albion down and felt discreetly for the pouch of assorted coins against his leg. 'Why do you want coin?'

The Gaul shrugged, 'Much of the mainland uses coin. It's common.'

'Not here.'

'Here is not the main land.'

'Why for horses?'

The man spread an arm in an arc over his wagon, the thick waterproof cover high over whatever was piled underneath, 'Everything else, I'll trade for in these parts. But horses are worth their weight in gold, here as much as anywhere else. The value is not tradeable.'

Albion tugged at Alba's trousers, 'Let me back up.'

'We have quality things to trade.' Sticking to the stranger's language, Alba kept the Gaul's gaze. Albion tugged at him again and Alba gripped the shoulder of his cloak to hold him still, fingers digging down firm. 'Cloth, dyed. Jewellery, skins, meat-'

'I only trade horses in coin.'

The man spoke politely enough but Alba could hear the note of finality in his words.

'Adair-'

'Shh!' Alba pushed Albion away towards the horse, noting that she was still patient and calm despite the child by her feet. 'Go away.'

From his inner pocket, he lifted out the pouch which held their meagre collection of coins. They were all different: various sizes and colours, with different pictures on their sides. They found them along their travels by the sides of worn and well walked roads, usually in the south around port settlements and trade points. Albion and Ériu had a keen eye for them in the mud and grass and they had amassed a fair few.Alba selected the biggest one and held it out.

The man blinked at him.

'For the horse.' Alba said.

The man laughed loudly. Alba felt his cheeks flush and brought his hand back down, feeling wrong-footed. 'What?'

'You are serious?' The man shook his head and grinned, 'One coin?'

Alba frowned. 'You said you wanted coin. One horse, one coin.'

'By the Gods.' The man ran a hand through his hair and laughed again, 'If I didn't know you were serious, boy, I'd beat you for the cheek of it. One horse, one coin; my my.'

He huffed in amusement and gestured for the pouch, 'Show me those.'

He took the collection and tipped the contents into Alba's palm, moving the coins around with a thick index finger. 'You see the different faces and sizes? They all have different worth.'

Alba stared at them.

'They're not like pots, or furs, where the value is unique to what you’re trading.' The man continued, flipping over one of the coins, 'If one if shiny or newer, it doesn't change value. So long as it is the same weight. And the different sized coins represent different value, as well as what they’re made of.'

‘But some are gold.’

The man patted Alba hard on the shoulder, 'You need to learn money, boy, if you want to do proper trade.'

Alba forced his face to stay expressionless, 'Is it enough. For the mare.'

'No.'

Alba scoffed and tipped the money back into the pouch. 'Then this has been a waste of both our time.'

The Gaul sucked at his top lip behind his moustache and jerked his head over Alba's shoulder, 'They all yours?'

Ériu and Cymru were further away behind them on the muddy track, kicking a small rock back and forth between them. Ériu caught the rock between Crymu's feet and kicked it free with a shout of victory, dashing away to gain a clear advantage.

'Yes.' Alba said, watching them.

‘Parents? Clan?’

‘No.’

The man nodded. 'That's a lot of you. You’re all young to be alone as you are.'

Alba didn't reply.

‘Tell you what.’ Before Alba could react, too quick even to register exactly what happened, the man hunkered down and gripped a hand around Albion’s upper arm. He tugged him closer, hard enough so that Albion tripped over his feet, ‘I’ll take this one as payment. We’ll do it your way and make it a trade.’

He cupped a hand around Albion’s head to stare into his eyes, critical and cool as if assessing an animal, ‘He seems strong enough to grow into something worthwhile.’

‘Get off him!’ Alba’s voice cracked, surprise rendering him younger, and stepped forwards, one hand going to the dagger by his side.

The man put up a hand, eyes still on Albion, ‘Calm down. I’m only looking.’

‘He’s not for sale.’

‘You want to trade rather than pay? This is at least a fair exchange.’

Albion, the shock of being tugged about by a stranger finally having worn off, twisted sharply and bit down hard on the man’s wrist. The Gaul reacted in kind and stood with a yelp, sending Albion flying back with a wet thud into the muddy ground.

‘Vermin!’ He kicked out at Albion where he lay sprawled, catching him in the stomach.

Over Albion’s cry of pain, Alba heard Ériu shout something from behind him, then the sound of running.

The man returned his attention to Alba and cradled his wrist, his eyes flashing, ‘It was a true offer, made in kind faith. He would have had a better life with me and you’d know it, if you weren’t so damn foolish. Food, shelter; not this.’ He gestured to Alba’s worn clothes, travel stained and haphazardly repaired.

‘We don’t want the kindness, sir.’

‘Then by your own death be it.’ The Gaul shook out his hand and swung himself up onto his horse. Clicking his tongue, he kicked at its flank and moved them off without a look back.

Alba lunged forwards and quickly dragged Albion out of the way of the wheels before they could clip him, hoisting him into his arms.

‘You’re alright.’ He told him, more to make it true than anything else, ‘It wasn’t that bad.’

‘What happened?’ Ériu came panting beside him, looking from Alba to Albion and then at the retreating caravan, ‘Did he-‘

‘Leave it.’

Ériu reached for his dagger as Cymru came breathless and horrified by his side, ‘Who does he thi-‘

‘Leave it.’ Alba, grabbed his arm. ‘It’s not worth it.’

He felt Albion press his face into his shoulder, arms tight about his neck, and swallowed back something hot and bitter, ‘He’s not one of ours.’

Ériu’s expression soured into disgust, ‘I don’t think that should change anything.’

‘Doesn’t matter what you think.’ Alba turned away so that Ériu couldn’t see the shame and anger on his face, ‘It fucking does.’

--------------------

‘Adair.’

Alba opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling of their makeshift shelter. The campfire Ériu was guarding outside made the shadows jump, the outlines of the branches supporting the skins above their heads jumping and lengthening into nothingness.

‘Ad-‘

‘What, Arthur.’ Alba turned his head to find Albion, wide-eyed and watchful between him and Cymru.

‘What that man said earlier-‘

Alba turned away. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘Is that how people see us now?’

Albion’s voice was quiet, smaller beyond trying not to wake Cymru fast asleep on his back. Alba rolled back to face him, ‘See us like what.’

Albion shrugged, a small movement under heavy furs, ‘Alone.’

More than simply alone, Alba knew he meant. ‘Alone’ as something bad, something less than. Something to be pitied. He cracked the knuckles of one hand with his thumb under the covers as he thought of what to say, ‘We are alone.’

‘Mama was alone.’ Albion said quietly, ‘She used to say so, before we were here. But-’

‘Mama was grown.’

‘She wasn’t always.’

‘Before then, there were more. Mama was the last one of her family before we came along.’

‘It wasn’t a bad thing then, though. For her to be alone.’

‘Were you born?’ Alba raised an eyebrow even though Albion likely couldn’t see it, ‘How do you know.’

Albion stayed silent. Alba thought of his belly, the purple bruises they had found bloomed into his pale skin from the boot that caught him earlier, and reached for his brother to gently pull him closer, ‘We are alone. That’s our fate now. Believing it to be good or bad won’t change it. It just is.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Nothing wrong with being alone, anyway.’ Alba tucked Albion’s head under his chin, his hair cool from the chilly air, and closed his eyes, ‘We’re alright on our own.’

‘We need to get better at it.’

‘I’ll take your advice when you can stay awake through a watch.’

‘...That was one time.’

‘The only time we let you try.’

Albion huffed and shifted closer. ‘I don’t want to go on watch anyway.’

‘Then I don’t want your advice.’

Albion fell silent, and Alba listened through Cymru’s snores as his breathing slowed and deepened. Every experience had something to learn, Mama had always said, and the day’s teaching was a valuable one, as hard as it was to take. The world beyond their lands was unknown, and something they’d need to learn to read and understand if they wanted to work with it successfully.

The next day, Alba spread the illegible coins of foreign kings onto the ground and began to learn.

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AN:

(1) Celts and trade. Celtic peoples used a bartering system of trading goods, rather than using money. Coins were used to store or show wealth but were also just as often used in jewellery. Celtic nations on the European mainland did eventually start minting their own currencies, followed by the British Celts much later, but it was a system quite late to take compared to their contemporaries

You can read more about it here, though as always please do your own research!

#aph england #hws england #hws scotland #aph scotland #hws #hetalia #historical hetalia #aph brit bros #aph uk bros #hws british isles #aph #heroes writes #longbow anon

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sunmoonjune · 1 year

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Whelp, we've arrived a Yunho. I want to do this guy justice, because he's obviously one of the kingpins in this series when it comes to Bug and I want to honour that.

His name can mean a lot of things, actually. 'Yun' seems to mean 'the eldest (son)' and every word usually connected with it, like dependable, trustworthy and all that jazz. The second part of 'ho' simply means 'broad' or 'vast' or 'plentiful'.

I've taken the liberty of interpreting his name as 'to be immensely dependable and trustworthy'. I believe this sums up LTM Yunho (and irl Yunho as well tbh).

He's always been there for anyone, especially for Bug (before you ripped them apart and tore my heart out with it XD). He got hurt for her, fought his (very terrible) people for her and fought tooth and nails to stay with her.

I think he deserves some recognition and for that reason I chose the Gladiolus flower as his symbol. I think a skilled craftsman like Hwa should be able to simplify it enough to make it fit on a bow, but it's intricate enough to be Yunho's symbol.

This flower represents strength. It has a tough stem that doesn't easily waver and is very dependable. The flower also means 'sincere' which is something Yunho has been this whole time.

Even when he broke down, because he was insecure Bug never tried to follow him. A flower is still a flower after all... the stem can still bend, but with a bit of water and love it bounces right back.

I think that's the last symbol, for now! I hope you like them, dearie :)

PS. I have one last message after this! I'm sorry for the spam, girly XD

Sending the good vibes, and taking any bad vibes <3

xxx- Lotus anon

yunho :"))

the symbolism of the gladiolus flower for yunho fit well! however I ended up switching it with mingi for backstory reasons ;)

however! your analysis had me deep-diving into other stories and such for a symbol that would fit hopefully as well! yunho and bug were soulmates of a kind that were forcefully separated under cruel circumstances and he definitely fought like hell to stay with her (and get her back)

so! that brought me to the story of Vega and Altair :')) two star-crossed lovers who were separated in the stars after their deaths, unable to be together except once every so often -- when they can cross a bridge of magpies to be together once more <3

that's where I got the idea of the magpie :D

after that, the symbolism of magpies mating for life was a factor in that decision too xD there's some stories of a single magpie being an omen of bad luck since magpies mate for life, so one on it's own could have been parted from it's mate :(( and I thought that fit yun kind of well after he was separated from bug D':

I haven't written all of their backstory quite yet, but yunho was definitely a force to be reckoned with after he lost bug :( so I thought that symbolism fit kind of well <33

thank you for all your inspo my love <33 you fr carried this lore!! I love you so much <3

#moonie speaks #like the moon #the semiotics of a longbow #moonie's 🪷 anon #moonie's anons #moonie's favs <3

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hasarjunadoneanythingwrong · 7 months

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Why is FGO not using Gandiva as the bow for Arjuna?

Hey anon quick question uhhhhh what bow do you THINK the huge weird white longbow wreathed in blue flames that’s his primarily weapon that they refer to as gandiva in and outside of the game is if it isn’t gandiva

#im ???????#like I’m not trying to make fun of you this is just #no that’s definitely gandiva that’s definitely their take on gandiva did you…miss it somehow?#my asks

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celestialholz · 11 days

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What's an interesting yet not very well known Forgotten Realms fact that you would like to share?

Hello, dearest anon. I'm about to do to you what I've done to many people over the years and deeply disappoint you 🤣 I'm not especially familiar with the D&D setting outside of BG3 - I actually play WFRP in some of my spare time.

But in lieu of a Forgotten Realms fact, a handful of BG3 facts you may not know and that I think are very interesting, learned from my three and a half playthroughs. :)

1. Minthara's battle phrase 'sussun egg oloth' is Drow for 'light slays darkness', which is funky and appropriate for a paladin who has been exiled from her Underdark hometown. This is also written on Isobel's tomb - and Aylin is the source of both Ketheric's immortality and, potentially, his downfall.

2. Astarion's Persuasion check to stop him ascending is literally half of Shadowheart's not to kill Nightsong, provided you have to use her Persuasion check anyway. Which is absolutely wild to me.

3. A Storm Sorceror using Chain Lightning on a Wet target with Destructive Wrath and the Killer's Sweetheart auto-crit will do 320 damage in one turn if it isn't saved, assuming a 'normal' hit - i.e. lack of resistance/not being vulnerable.

4. Gortash's name is a play off the theme of radiance, hence his crossbow doing Radiant damage when he's my favourite bastard. :) His Hellfire Watcher-in-chief also carries Gontr Mael, the legendary longbow of this game that also does Radiant damage.

5. Gale is the only one of the tadfools whose guardian has a specific gender - he refers to them as she/her.

6. There's a second Dark Amethyst for the Necromancy of Thay in Mystic Carrion's basement.

7. There's a really cool axe behind the Illusion door in Sorcerous Sundries, but only if you destroy the door.

8. If you take one of the Drow twins in Sharess' Caress with you upstairs and Minthara is your partner, she will threaten to kill them if your sordid act goes ahead. Ignore her and go anyway, and Initiative will roll the second you speak to them in their quarters. (On god this is the funniest shit I've seen in a game crammed full of really funny shit.)

9. On arriving in Baldur's Gate, if you speak to a romanced Gale he'll tell you he's happy to support you if you're finding city life a bit overwhelming. This is supremely cute.

10. The Light of Creation doesn't stun you if you're naturally immune to Lightning.

11. An Embrace Durge can be targeted successfully by Hold Monster, even in humanoid form.

12. The Sunwalker's Gift doesn't work on console. My githyanki and dragonborn disapprove.

13. Ketheric's Netherstone is pink, the colour of feminity and adoration - presumably because he turned to the darkness after losing two women he loved.

14. If given free choice, even as a Selûnite Shadowheart will choose to kill her parents in the House of Grief.

15. Lorroakan keeps the best staff (and arguably the best robe) in the game in his basement, and uses a reasonable variant of both himself instead. A delightful showcase of his incompetence.

16. In Balanced, the Steel Watch are weak to lightning, and default Durge is a Storm Sorceror. This one's just fun. :)

17. Tactician Raphael has 865 health. Ew.

18. If you fight Gortash whilst the Steel Watch are still active, and try to give yourself an easier life by Arcane Locking the door to the three Watchers outside so they can't help, when the fight starts all three of them will be inexplicably surrounding Gortash.

19. You can pickpocket Withers. And he does not care how many times you fail it.

20. If you're struggling with the House of Grief fight, a Light Cleric can dispel magical darkness up to four times in the fight with the Amulet of the Devout.

#fun facts with celestial #bg3 #ask #answered

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krabkrab-wontshutup · 10 months

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hey! anon cuz i'm a little shy but i saw your post about your genshin impact d&d campaign and was wondering if you had ever posted the notes for it? i'm working on my own campaign right now and would love to take a look and see if anything speaks to me!

OH FUCK I NEVER POSTED VISIONS AND VERBATIM NOTES-

thank you sm for sending this ask holy fuck i totally forgot!!!

Visions and Verbatim- a genshin-inspired homebrew dnd campaign for 3-7 players (not including lk(lorekeeper))

Weapons-

I was bored of how few weapon types there are in genshin. here’s my takes!

Bladed: Sword, Claymore, Greataxe, Daggers, Knife

Polearm: Spear, Bowstaff, just a big Stick (mostly for child characters)

Ranged: Longbow, Shortbow, Crossbow, Dart gun, Slingshot

Catalyst: Wand, Blaster, Spellbook, Crystal Ball, Scroll, Any floaty thing tbh

Instrument: Lute, Lyre, Guitar, Flute, Clarinet, Trumpet

Visions

Visions work similar to druid magic. I guess technically everyone is a druid multiclass? idk man.

Archons

i made my own, but you don’t have to do that. you can absolutely use the canon ones.

Pyro- Eyota | Goddess of War

Hydro- L’ocean | Goddess of Justice

Geo- Zhiqiang | God of Contracts

Anemo- Johan | God of Freedom

Electro- Nakada Yuji | God of Eternity

Dendro- Nilam | God of Wisdom (theyre agender)

Country Biomes

most of these are the same but i made some changes

Sumeru- Desert/Sunken Forest

Snezhnaya- Tundra

Mondstadt- Taiga/Mountain

Fontaine- Island

Natlan- Volcano

Liyue- Rocky Hills

Inazuma- Cluster of Islands

Different Species

Elf

Human

Youkai

kitsune

oni

tanuki

tengu

Half-Humans (Gorou, Tighnari, ect)

Adeptus

Special NPCs

Most of the characters are the same as the characters in genshin, but here are some buddies I added for fun!

Nali- The youngest half-human daughter of Nilam. adores the attention she gets from the people of sumeru, unlike her older sister. She enjoys running around, saying hi to her people, and playing with the avidya forest cats! er- when she has the rangers to keep an eye on her, that is. Nilam specifically asked them to keep an eye on her when she wasn’t in the akydemia. She has a habit of taming wild animals, even those deemed “dangerous” by the rangers.

Rukka- The eldest half-human daughter of Nilam. Cryo vision. doesnt enjoy the attention being on her all the time. she prefers it to be on her little sister, in fact. A scholar by day and a swordswoman by night, in her quest she ends up taking a seat with the fatui harbingers under the name Brighella.

this took so long jfc

#genshin impact #genshin impact dnd #dnd homebrew #visions and verbatim #genshin dnd #pinned post

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fallout-lou-begas · 2 years

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i tried playing elden ring but felt like i only kept dying for no reason. it seems like everybody else is having fun but there's something i'm just missing. i was playing as a bandit, is that just a bad class?

hello! i have some general advice before here but here's some more:

If you're coming to Elden Ring from Elder Scrolls or something please know that you absolutely cannot just try to out-damage your opponents by mashing the attack button in their face. Combat requires more strategy, so get good at isolating and prioritizing targets, evasion and dodging, and more advanced guard techniques like guard counters or ripostes.

If you're struggling against enemies with shields, or struggling with enemies shrugging off your attacks, it's because you're not hitting them hard enough. The heavier the weapon, the more likely it is so stagger your opponent, especially with more powerful attacks such as charged attacks or jumping power attacks. Trying to just out-damage an opponent with a flurry of weak attacks is just going to get you hit back, but a hit-and-run style of play with fast and light weapons is especially good if you can get a hold of weapons that cause blood loss (like the bandit's great knife) or other dangerous afflictions.

Archery is not very powerful in this game. In most other games you can be a supercool stealth archer or sniper character but this game is not balanced to make archery particularly powerful, because range is so inherently such a large advantage. Where archery especially shines is at luring single targets away from a group or applying afflictions with arrows that cause blood loss, poison, etc. Longbows deal much more direct damage per shot and also have much more range than shortbows, but shortbows can be fired from horseback as well as immediately out of dodges and jumps, so I personally prefer shortbows for that fast-paced gameplay they afford.

If you're insisting on playing a bandit, you should try to get good at parrying, the default skill on your starting shield, the buckler. The buckler has the best default parry in the game, and parrying weapon attacks can open enemies up for devastating critical hits, which are the main advantage of daggers. Backstabs are also great, too, and you can get them against any humanoid foe with their back turned, even in combat, not just against unaware targets. I personally never vibed much with parrying but you may get the hang of it.

If playing as a bandit isn't too important to you, then I genuinely recommend starting over and trying a few other starting classes. Your starting class isn't actually that important, since you can acquire so many tools so quickly and customize your stats so much in the long-run, and eventually reallocate your stats entirely after beating the shardbearer in Liurnia of the Lakes, but each starting class has a very distinct feel and set of starting tools that you'll either like or you won't. My husband actually started as a bandit and struggled a lot, then tried the prisoner and also struggled, before things finally clicked when he played as the warrior. I recommend trying Vagabond, as in my experience having such heavy armor and investing well into vigor and strength gave me the resilience and the tools I needed to learn a lot of fundamentals.

I've yet to truly enjoy sorcery myself but the Astrologer class and the abundance of ranged glintstone spells may appeal to you if direct combat is too difficult or otherwise unenjoyable. Incantations are a lot of fun and more versatile than sorcery, but your options are a lot more limited in the early game unless you know exactly where to beeline.

I hope you find something that works for you, anon!

#asks #anon #elden ring

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strawberrytalia · 6 months

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the talia anon here!

thanks for that reading list! I think I might start with the arrowfam bc I'm very intrigued by Dinah's character. honestly, the reason why I didn't ask about the mystics is bc I have never encountered them with whatever DC content I have consumed (which is not a lot) and I want to expand to something I'm familiar with first

I'm currently going through both preboot Talia and postboot robins which are drastically different with its talia (like SOTD Talia giving up her son for adoption so he can be something more and won't have to grow up the shadow of The Demon and The Bat vs Tomasi's Batman and Robin Talia that purposefully raised Damian in the league). honestly give me the ick.

unfortunately, the existence of Damian really did ruin what Talia could have been, but I wanna ask (you can totally ignore this portion of the ask if you're too uncomfortable, I'm just intrigued by what you have to say) how do you think Damian and OG talia can co-exist in current canon?

i know there's a person writing a fic about how while talia has her whole lexcorp era ra's kidnaps damian and raises him. Once Talia finds out she gets Damian out and brings him to Bruce (I haven't read it, but I know of its existence). I honestly prioritize Talia's character over Damian's since she was created first and I am 100% ok with Damian's characterization being mellowed out a bit, so it doesn't show Talia horribly, something to show that Talia did try to protect him (it'll be like that quote that said "just because you mother didn't break all the generational curses doesn't mean she didn't break any") talia knows how bad it is to be raised in LOA, so she needs something to make her stay IMO. maybe Ra's promises to be a better grandfather than he was a father, maybe there are external threats to Damian that talia really can't deal with without LOA's resources or something to do with Nyssa (I am so intrigued by the sisters. i want to see the mess of emotions that comes with them interacting. i really do think Nyssa would hate Talia because of Ra's, but talia would just like to hang out with her like the youngest child she is)

now im just rambling but you get the gist

Hello again!!!!!

Ahh so with Dinah, I would recommend Longbow Hunters, then jump into GA Vol 2 and then maybe Birds of Prey (where she shines outside of the family)!! There are other appearances but unfortunately they’re not the best representation of her character (cough GA/BC)

Also yeah totally understandable with mystics!! They really do have a VERY different vibe than majority of the DCU, and it is super enjoyable, but also a little complicated and difficult to get into at first.

Yeah thinking about Talia’s deterioration upsets me a lot. In addition to raising Damian, there were a lot of really gross, unnecessary changes that undermined what she had gone through. Like she was a canon SA victim, and then they have the audacity to make her a rapist herself in the most uncharacteristic way possible. It’s so so so gross.

I agree with you though, I absolutely do prioritize Talia’s characterization over Damian’s. She was a fully fledged character created before him with so much relevance to not just Batman, but the DCU. I love Damian!! But he was also essentially an OC created for a storyline with an agenda that has grown to invalidate adoptive relationships. I’m NOT saying I wanna get rid of Damian, but if I had to choose between them, I’m picking Talia personally. 100%.

THAT is an interesting question because I don’t quite have a solid answer myself yet. I know what AU you’re talking about, and I like that idea a lot! But something about it also rings hollow to me?? If that makes sense??? In a personal sense, I feel like it also absolves Talia of a lot of agency and action, and I would rather her character be in a more proactive position.

And I also think Talia would be a lot smarter and more clever in making sure there was absolutely no way Ras would ever find her baby. So the AU does undermine her a bit, in my personal opinion.

However I think the most integral part of Damian’s character is the way that he revolves around the concept of redemption, especially as an abused child. So it also feels very wrong to take away from that, since it’s such a core aspect to him.

So there’s the conundrum.

GAHHH it’s hard thinking of ideas that will do both of them justice, unless you completely revamp Damian’s character.

Maybe Talia stays in the league with Damian and under the guise of being loyal to Ras, she’s actually secretly plotting to take him and the whole League down. She keeps as much of a watchful eye on Damian as she can, but she’s not perfect and she also wants him to be able to fend for himself. So if he has to learn the harshest ways of survival and combat, so be it. (Talia logic not mine). Talia doesn’t raise Damian to be proud of the League or his Grandfather. She keeps him aware of what she’s planning and why they have to do that. She tells him about Bruce (just like in canon) but makes sure Damian knows until the time is right, he can’t meet his father. Plans get messed up, Talia’s big idea goes haywire because of an outside party, and nowhere near her is safe for Damian. Except for Bruce.

So kind of adapted from canon except less evil weird eugenics rapey storyline, and something that gives Talia a bit of autonomy. Damian would also have less of a brainwashed League personality while still carrying trauma and mixed feelings towards his family. I don’t think Talia would be a perfect mother. I think she’d try her best in the way she knew best, and unfortunately, her way is not that great. But most importantly, she would want Damian to have a better future than she did. If it meant enduring 10 years of the League, she’d make that sacrifice.

Other possible idea: Talia was a med student going to University of Cairo in her early appearances. I kind of like the idea of her becoming a traveling medical personal bringing Damian alongside her, except they’re both hiding their identities. Again, it wouldn’t be picture perfect, she’d still make sure he was aware of the dangers in life. But I feel like they’d have an interesting story that way.

Or maybe she kills Ras, escapes the League, the new leader of the League is like whatever and just leaves it alone, and she just openly raises Damian in the realm of Lexcorps business and politics lmao. Little baby Damian wearing a suit and attending meetings on his mom’s lap while she verbally assassinates men.

#asks #this was hard to think about #lmaooooooo #batfam

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bluebudgie · 1 year

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So I'm curious, and I've sort of been asking around because I am indecisive and lack a main favorite class... why do you love ranger? What are the factors that make it the best to you over the others?

Anon I am so sorry this is going to be the most boring answer you could possibly get but...... I just like having an animal companion around haha. That's the main reason. Animal friend.

As an addition though, I am very much a ranged combat person in most games that allow it, so... longbow ranger plays decently into that.

I enjoyed core ranger a lot until we got specializations (since we... didn't have anything else) and ever since HoT I've been a Druid main. I love the potential for tanky heal support. I like healer classes too so a hybrid ranged healer was perfect. Ironically I don't care much for the other ranger specs, Untamed seems alright but I haven't done much with it yet, and I cannot for the life of me stand Soulbeast.

TL;DR Pet good; range good; healing good. Also it's simple to play, that might either be good or bad depending on how much you like to commit to playing the keyboard piano.

Good luck finding your favourite class!

#checks out that my second main at this point is a deadeye? no pet but the range is there haha #budgie plays gw2

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aardvark-123 · 8 months

Text

~How Minh Reclaimed the Sword of Fire from the Castle of Burning Steel~

Many years in the future, in the sundered realm of Massachusetts, the people of a small steading near the eastern coast had come into danger. To their aid came Lady Minh the Dauntless of the Order of the Minute, riding hard upon her fiery yellow steed.

"Every girl's dream! Every girl's dream! Oh, &$@% off," spat Minh, kicking the refurbished Giddyup Buttercup in the shin. "Stupid tiny metal and plastic horse, everything aches down there."

In spite of the... disagreement with her noble steed, Sir Minh came anon to Finch Farm, where the local headman, Abraham of Finch, beseeched her for aid.

"Ours was a happy, peaceful hamlet once. We had little compared to the city people in the south, but we had enough." Abraham wiped a tear from his eye. "But alas, black smoke now rises from yonder Saugus Ironworks. Cruel men have established themselves in there, dwarves and orcs calling themselves the Forged..."

"Dude," said Minh, "what the %£&@ are you talking about? What's an orc, and do you not know women can be raiders?!"

"But alas!" Abraham cut in. "My fearless, foolhardy son Jake, he always seemed to tire of our peaceful ways. He went to them, good knight! He took our clan's ancestral sword, the Infernal Blade of Shish'kebab, and I fear he plans to face those brutes himself... Or what if-?!" Abraham's voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "By the Sun Goddess, if he means to join them?!"

"Well, that wouldn't be great." With a sigh, Minh checked her map. "Saugus Ironworks... I guess can pay them a visit."

With courage in her heart and the light of Lady Evetora shining down upon her, Minh rode to-

"No I DIDN'T, dumbass! I walked! Well, ran. I'm a video game character, we run everywhere."

Oh, Minh, can you at least try to work with me? *sigh* With courage in her heart and the light of Lady Evetora shining down upon her, Minh trekked at a gentle jog to the ancient Ironworks. Lord Saugus, father of the dwarves, had once blessed the castle with his shining hammer, but Minh felt a trickle of fear when its smoking spires rose above her.

An imposing figure in broad, spiked metal armour met her at the gate. "Halt, stranger!" he bellowed in the guttural tones of a Bostonian orc, banging his halberd against the flagstones. "None may enter the seat of the Forged who have not yet been tempered."

"Oh, I'm not here to enter anyone's seat, I'm here for the Dungeons and Dragons game at six. Minh Vu? You might know me as Debbie, um, Xiao Long... The half-elven paladin?" Minh said sweetly.

"Those who steal cool-sounding surnames from cartoons are not worthy!" bellowed the guard. "Your weak flesh will become food for the Forge. Prepare to die!"

The guard surged forwards, but with a swipe and a flick of her nailed baseball bat, Minh had him drawing his last breath upon the ground. Her troubles were only beginning, though, for the warriors of the Forged were charging out to the gate. Tall, well-built orcs and short, well-built dwarves, shouting battle cries and raising a din with their twisted metal armour.

Minh stood her ground. With her longbow, enchanted by the elves of Sanctuary Hills, she opened fire on the enemy ranks, wounding many. Yet the Forged were no mere rabble, and they pressed upon her with bombs and gouts of flame, conjured by some foul, arcane engineering.

Poor Minh so nearly was roasted in her jumpsuit, but she was not to be defeated by overwhelming power alone. Fleeing into the shadows, Minh called upon the mystic aim-taking magic of the Vault Priests, and one by one she picked off her pursuers with burning red arrows. Exhausted, she fell upon the cold, muddy grass and into fitful dreams.

When she awoke from her impromptu nap, Minh found herself in unfamiliar surroundings. It was hot, although the jagged stone bricks and the faint morning sun through the stained glass windows suggested it should not be.

"Ah, the good lady of Sanctuary Hills awakens."

Minh sat up with a gasp, reaching for her bat. "Who are you?!"

"Fear not, Sir Minh. I am a servant, but I can assure you that I am no ally to Lord Slag and his Forged."

Minh's eyes were wide with amazement. Before her stood a heavy-set metal creature, an orange crystal glowing upon their head. "A Protectron? Juuuuust great. Where the Hell am I, exactly?"

"You are in the Saugus Ironworks," the good-natured atronach replied. "I carried you here, to a room where few warriors tread, that my masters would not discover you outside when dawn broke."

"The %&£$'s an atronach? I mean, thanks for..." Minh cleared her throat. "Did you dip my hat in white paint?"

"Your helmet is being washed, good sir knight. But we have more pressing matters," said the atronach. "Lord Slag is about to execute young Jake of Clan Finch, on the flimsy reasoning that the Infernal Blade of Shish'kebab was too easy a tribute to give."

"Tribute... Ugh, so he DID want to join up!" Minh groaned. "Why do people have to become Raiders? I mean, I guess it's fun, what kind of LIFE are they gonna have?!" She paused. "A short one. Thanks in part to me. I'd better go and talk him out of it."

Thanking the noble atronach for his aid, Sir Minh alighted from the bowels of the fortress. With cat-like tread, she snuck through the keep, feeling all the while as though the air was growing hotter around her...

Lord Slag had been waiting in the heart of the castle, on a gilded balcony above a lake of molten steel. His armour was like nothing Minh had yet seen, thick pieces of metal tied and riveted together into a tower, a scrapheap of fury and might. And kneeling at his side, trembling in a battered old rain coat, was Jake of House Finch.

"Ahh! At last, the great hero approaches!" Slag crowed in a voice like thunder. Not an orc but a man was he, and a formidable one at that. "Sir Minh of the Minute, what a fine name for a fine warrior. It seems my Forged had not the means to keep you away..."

"Cool," Minh lied. "I'm here for Jake and that sword. Do you wanna do this the hard way, or-"

"I am not an unkind man," Slag lied, "so hear my offer. By slaying my warriors, you have proven yourself a worthier man-"

"Woman!"

"Shut up. You have proven yourself a worthier man than all who fell before you. Worthy, perhaps, to be Forged! I offer you a test, Minh, one final show of loyalty." Grinning savagely, Slag picked Jake up by the collar and threw him to the floor below. "Kill this useless mongrel. Take his head and become my right-hand man!"

Minh smacked her forehead. "Do you even know what 'woman' means?!"

"Of course I- Er...?" Slag squinted down at her. "Oh! M-my apologies, good lady. I, er, that is to say, your hair is so short..."

Minh chucked a grenade at him.

Sound and heat filled the chamber, yet when the smoke from Minh's flame spell faded, Slag still stood. He strode, laughing, towards her, stepping on Jake in the process. Narrowing her eyes, Minh unsheathed her baseball bat and advanced on the dread lord of Saugus Ironworks.

"You had your chance, Minh," Slag laughed. He unsheathed a bright metal sword that caught fire when its blade met the air. "Now you will learn the truth of the Forge, that the strong are tempered by fire and pain, while the fate of the weak is but to melt!"

The Infernal Blade of Shish'kebab...! Minh fought to keep surprise off her chiselled face. "The Order of the Minute taught me this, Slag. The strong are not only the iron bars who become shields and axes! Sometimes the strong are the kind hands who weave cotton into a bed, coax good crops from the earth, and give comfort to the sick. But today, the strong is I, who shall deliver your evil unto its end!"

The thought ocurred to Minh, What the Hell am I saying?! No, seriously, what WAS that?!, but the time for words was past. Burning steel met wood and nails as she gave battle with Slag, beating away his savage strikes and scoring scratches into his armour. But Slag was strong, and rallying well he forced her back towards the wall.

Drinking a vial of Psycho Jet, the elixir she had been given by a witch from the Cambridge Institute of Thaumaturgy, Minh leapt over Slag's head onto the upper balcony. The mahogany shuddered beneath her boots, but it held, and she raised a hand alight with magic.

"Eat bottlecap mine, screwball!" roared Minh, and she threw her, um, arcane rune at Slag's feet. Mystic energy and the tops of around ten Nuka Cola bottles filled the chamber as Slag's armour was reduced to dust.

"Gaaahhhh!" Slag cried out in pain. "Such power...! You should have been mine, Minh. You should have been Forged! But I am lord of Saugus Ironworks, and only I will see the next dawn. Behold the true power of Lord Slag! Behold dragon fire!"

While Slag had been making his grand speech, Minh had been scampering down the walkways until she saw him directly overhead. She pulled from her bag a mystical staff of Lexingtonian make, the powerful Double-Barrelled Shotgun, and took aim at Slag's feet.

"&%£$ yeah! How d'you like them holes in your feet, asshole?!" Minh rejoiced. She could take no pleasure in vanquishing this great foe, for near him lay young Jake of Clan Finch, coughing his last few breaths with a footprint pressed deep into his chest.

"Jake..." Minh sighed. "Tough break, kid. I can't believe he trod on you!"

"Nor can... I..." groaned Jake, dying.

It was a solemn moment when Minh bent down over the body of her slain foe, his heart silent, his feet bleeding through their socks. Slowly, carefully, she untied Slag's belt from around his stout waist and took the Infernal Blade of Shish'kebab's asbestos sheath.

She picked up the discarded sword and sheathed it, cradling it in her hands for a moment before she slung it from her own laden belt. As Minh headed out of the castle, her footsteps echoing in halls now cold and silent, she thought only of the poor Finches, down one son, and how Abraham was probably going to want the Infernal Blade back before she'd even got to try it.

"I-I get to keep the sword?! Thank you, Todd!" squealed Minh, kissing Abraham on the lips.

"I-I'm not Todd! I'm Abraham!" gasped Abraham, furiously wiping his mouth.

"And he's married!" cried Abigail. "To me!"

"Oh, I know! Don't worry, I could never compete with you," Minh lied. "Sorry about your son, guys. I was... too late for him."

"Dear Jake... The pain of his loss will remain with us forever," sighed Abigail. "But know this, Sir Minh. Thanks to you, a dark cloud has lifted over the land today, and perhaps... Perhaps now someone else's son will keep his precious life. You and and your order have our gratitude."

"Will you stay for the night?" asked Abraham. "We have mead and Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, surely not the fare you are accustomed to, but..."

"I do believe I will." Minh smiled. "Thanks, Abraham, Abigail, and the other one. Give me a minute, I need to get my stupid horse watered..."

#Fallout #Fallout 4 #my writing #fun with pixels #gaming

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weatheredpileoftomes · 2 years

Text

true-fix’d and resting quality

For FFxivWrite2022 Day 25, a free day, for another take on Day 20, “anon” (got the idea of playing with the soon/later/now meanings too close to the deadline to do it right, and even as it is my perfectionism is still screaming at me). Ambiguously onesided Frydlona/G’raha, post-A Realm Reborn, ~4400 words. Spoilers through the end of the Crystal Tower raid series; attendant warnings. Overlaps with (and gives a little more insight into) this fic from last year.

He had never expected the Warrior of Light to be quite like this.

Raha hears about Minfilia Warde’s new protegée from Krile, initially. Minfilia liked her; Krile trusts Minfilia’s judgment; he himself trusts Krile’s judgment. And thus, he knows that this Frydlona Merlgeimwyn is courageous, considerate, and talented. She is an asset to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, who have a much, ah, broader pool of talent than the Students of Baldesion to consider.

By her name she’s almost certainly a Roegadyn. They do have a tendency to use their size and strength to best advantage, in Raha’s experience, often maximizing their natural assets by focusing on drawing attention to themselves in combat to allow their companions to work freely.

The Frydlona that Minfilia described is reasonable and scrupulous; while he can hardly picture her waving an axe wildly, the thought of her standing with sword and shield at the forefront of an attack seems reasonable enough. Heroic, as well, like a knight in an Ishgardian chivalric romance. He considers the image of a primal’s attack blunting itself against her shining armor, of her shield outstretched between some smallfolk and a Garlean blade, and nods to himself in satisfaction.

Well, it should be a great pleasure to meet her and learn about all her adventures if he ever happens to find himself in the area—Minfilia had only been able to tell Krile so much, and of course they had had their own things to talk about. Raha is hardly going to demand Krile interrogate her on his behalf, but there is an archaeological expedition he had already had some interest in at Saint Coinach’s Find in Mor Dhona, and perhaps…

He had had that vague image of Frydlona Merlgeimwyn as silver and gold, all armor and resolve. And, perhaps, he was curious, and wanted a good look at her on his own terms before she got a good look at him, and he knew Rammbroes would be sending someone after him if he didn’t turn up promptly with the aethersand, and whom but the adventurer now helping the expedition (thank you, Minfilia; thank you, Krile) would he send?

The air shimmers with summer heat. No sunlight strikes clean down to the thick mosses of Urth’s Gift, but the whole secret place is softly aglow as light from sun and sprites alike filters gently through the trees and the haze.

Frydlona Merlgeimwyn is green as the Twelveswood around her is, no remote silver or gold about her. She had come prepared to mine the ore herself, and that is where the rest of Raha’s thoughts slide out of his grasp to crash against the forest floor.

She wears a miner’s shirt in plain muted brown, her arms bare from the tops of her worker’s gloves clear up past her shoulders. The misty light gives no contrast, and still when she lifts the pickaxe with the grace of long familiarity Raha can see the muscles shift in her arms. He needs to say something, quickly, especially when she sees the hog’s corpse and draws the—oh, that’s a longbow, Minfilia hadn’t mentioned that to Krile.

He finds himself so distracted by the thought that the Warrior of Light uses the same weapon he does that he actually manages to sound reasonably impressive. He thinks. He would like to see her use that bow before he has to speak to her face-to-face, though, and perhaps a little hunt through the Shroud might prove entertaining to them both.

And annoy her, of course, but what’s to be done? He’s curious.

Fortunately, it is not until after he dismisses her—a fine jest, if you like, him dismissing her—that he notices the other thing. It’s stifling hot for him, after spending so long in Sharlayan, and even the Gridanians and the adventurers have noticed that summer is here. Frydlona’s miner’s shirt is open what feels like halfway down her chest, and—and he’s not looking. He is not looking, he isn’t.

With a whistle to her chocobo, she takes off before his resolve can fail. Again.

Well, he is the one who decided to tell her it was a race. He had best not lose it completely, after that.

She is dressed ready for combat when he sees her again in the North Shroud, but he was, if possible, even less prepared for that. Her arms are covered with a mail so fine and light it fails to slow her movement at all, and her tabard covers her almost up to the collarbones, but she passes through the Ixal like the wind: sometimes avoiding them completely, sometimes bringing them down, quick and smooth as thought—smoother than Raha’s own thoughts, stuttering as he watches her draw and nock and shoot in what seems a single motion.

Raha has known a few bards who barely deserves the name before, skilled archers who wanted to provide utility in combat but had no particular gift for music, and quite a few more who needed an instrument built into their bow to work their magicks.

When Frydlona gets close enough to where he’s waiting, he can hear her singing, and he almost falls out of the tree. Her voice is warm and sweet, deep as fine velvet and shockingly clear for its pitch; it melts his bones like honey, even as she shoots three arrows on three successive notes and twists away from an Ixal warrior’s sweeping talons without fumbling either bow or song.

Not until she snatches up the aethersand and looks around, bow still drawn, does he remember that he was supposed to be racing her.

Very well. Very well, if he simply gives her the other aethersand, maybe that will…distract her? It will be well, Raha tells himself. He can still salvage this. When he meets her properly in a little bit, at least she can have been the one to bring both of the remaining varieties to Rammbroes.

He can already hear Krile laughing at him.

Jumping off a scaffold to try to impress the Warrior of Light was a terrible mistake, not least because she must know he was trying to impress her, but also because even once he straightens back up she is still so much taller than he is. There’s a sliver of bare thigh between her skirt and the top of her boots that he is desperately trying not to look at.

“Frydlona Merlgeimwyn,” she says coolly in response to his introduction. “…A courier, as you say.”

He did this to himself. She is just—she is so— For just a second, hearing himself confess to her that he had forgotten their race entirely just watching her, he’d felt as if the air itself had gone electric, and ever since then he has found himself tripping over his own words in a panic.

Well. He cannot entirely rule out the possibility that if when he actually met her properly she had smiled at him, and spoken to him in a voice as warm as it is when she sings, he would have collapsed to the ground at her feet babbling his admiration, and if that had happened someone most certainly would have told Krile. He does have to work with all of these people here, besides.

He can strive to earn her good opinion, and then, much later, once he has hopefully managed to earn it, then it will be time to remember how to talk to people he admires.

Raha was not speaking merely to hear the sound of his own voice when he said he intended to improve his martial skills while the expedition worked to gain access to the Tower, nor that when the time came he meant to venture into it with Frydlona and the others. He practices, earnestly.

Things are even going reasonably well, giving him faith that he might, once they do venture on another foray, be able to accompany them. And then he makes another mistake.

“Frydlona!” he calls, when he sees her heading, armed, toward the same section of shoreline he himself has found well-suited to archery practice. “Might you be willing to spare me just a moment of your time?”

She stops and turns, letting him catch up.

“In addition to your innate talent, you obviously have much more experience with the bow than I do,” Raha begins, as flatteringly as he can. Asking for a favor usually goes better when he sweetens it with compliments, but Frydlona is once again not impressed. “I was…wondering if, perhaps, you might be able to offer me a word or two of advice.”

“You’re really interested in Allag, aren’t you.” Frydlona sounds thoughtful.

Raha has no idea whether this is a good thing or a bad thing—he is, of course, interested in Allag, not only because of the Allagan Eye but also because of the staggering scope of this civilization that still overshadows their own. He wants to enter the tower and discover whatever secrets it holds for himself, and that would be true regardless of any other circumstances. Without understanding the past, how can one seek to improve the future?

However, he is also interested in being of use to the expedition itself, by sharing the knowledge he has accumulated before coming here. And he is furthermore interested in not saying yet more incredibly stupid and embarrassing things in front of Frydlona herself, when he would so much like to be able to accompany her on her next adventure.

She shrugs. The opalescent light glints off her mailed arms. “Sure. Get your bow and show me what you’re having a hard time with, and I’ll see if I can think of anything that might help.”

He was not inventing the difference in their experience, though he may have exaggerated a little. He had picked up the bow in the first place because it is well for a traveler to have some means of defense, and some way to be of use, and he has a fondness for music. He is hardly someone who would even attempt to cut through a Garlean castrum and help bring down the Ultima Weapon itself with his bow, let alone succeed.

Still, he does his best to show her his form, and not to be self-conscious as she watches.

“All right,” Frydlona says, sounding even more thoughtful, when he’s taken a few shots with moderate success. “There are a few things, I think. I’d like to take a look at your arrows—I think I can make them a little easier for you to nock at speed—but your angle is a little off. Here, watch.”

She lifts her bow, nocks the arrow, starts to draw it, and then stops.

Then she sets the bow down and starts unhooking her tabard. Raha opens his mouth to—question, or protest, or something; even he isn’t entirely sure—and stops because he has no idea what he might say. She shrugs the tabard off and drops it in a clinking of leather and chain, leaving her in a close-fitting camise.

“Okay,” Frydlona says, shrugging her quiver back on and picking up her bow again. She is not wearing even so much as an armguard, only a pair of fingerstalls on her right hand. He knows more about her now: not just archery and collecting her own ores, but smithing and forestry as well. Her arms are finely sculpted, from bare shoulder to wrapped fingertip, for both power and skill. “Aim and power are really both centered in the shoulder. So if you watch mine…”

Instead of watching her settle the arrow, Raha fixes his gaze to her shoulders. It is hardly a struggle, especially when she draws the bow. The string snaps free, the arrow flies, and she asks, “You see?”

“Er,” Raha says.

She pulls another arrow from her quiver. “All right. This is what you’re doing.” This time she holds the draw longer. It is a heavy bow, as befits a woman of her height and strength, but there is barely a tremor in her muscles.

The string flies forward and the arrow sings.

“If you turn your elbow a little more down,” Frydlona says, “it’ll take a little bit of practice to get used to the release, but you’ll have better control over the shot. Like this.”

She is turned away from him, the better to show off the archer’s position. He watches her right shoulderblade draw back toward the left when she draws the bow and ease forward when she takes the shot.

“You might need a lighter armguard,” she says thoughtfully, setting the bow down and turning back to him, which leaves him once again staring directly at her breasts in that tight undyed camise. “Could I take a look?” She holds out a hand.

Raha fumbles the buckles on his armguard twice trying to get it off.

The breeze off the lake is mercifully cool on the newly-bared skin. He picks his own bow back up while Frydlona is looking at the armguard and nocks an arrow with shaking fingers.

He hesitates for just an instant at full draw, knowing this is going to hurt but unable to think of a better way to jar himself out of this melting haze, and then lets go. The bowstring snaps against the unprotected skin of his inner forearm; he hears the crack before he feels the sting, and then it hits, burning acid-hot all along his arm.

“Oh no.” Frydlona actually sounds guilty. “No, that was—a little too far, I’m sorry. Here, hold on, I’ve got my wand—”

“Please,” Raha says quickly, “there’s no need for you to go to the trouble.” He can hear the strain in his voice—it has been some time since he last hit himself with the bowstring, and he had managed to forget just how much it hurts—but the pain is already beginning to fade. It will, admittedly, bruise.

The Cure sinks into him, washing the rest of the pain away, before he can make another protest.

“Can I show you?” Frydlona asks.

She still sounds guilty, and so Raha doesn’t dare tell her that he would actually prefer to practice quietly on his own after all. “If you wish,” he says instead.

”Aim at that one, just past the rock shaped like a chocobo beak.” She points at a dead tree along the shoreline, a little further than the one he’d been aiming at. Its crystallizing bark glitters in the shifting light. “Hold the draw as long as you can.”

He has no idea why, but he does. Nock the arrow—more slowly, this time, and without looking at her. Draw the string, and aim, and hold the draw—

Frydlona’s hand settles around his arm, warm even in the summer heat, and he only barely manages not to release the arrow with the shock of it. “Like this,” she says from so close behind him that surely if he leaned back just a little they would be touching, and turns his arm, just a little, changing the angle of shoulder and bow together before she releases him.

This time when he hits himself with the string it’s entirely by accident.

She makes a soft sound of distress and Raha blurts, “It seems today is not my day. You may be sure I will find the time to practice again later, though!”

“I can make you a thinner armguard, if you’d like,” Frydlona says, picking his up off the ground and handing it back to him. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to rattle you by having you try shooting without one. Let me know if you’d like to practice again someday, if I’m in the area.”

“Certainly,” Raha says, more or less without thinking. It is, at least, better than correcting her assumption.

The worst of it is that, as far as he can tell, Frydlona Merlgeimwyn is simply like that, all the time. She is kind and helpful to everyone, she is a tremendously skilled artisan—the armguard she makes him is half the thickness of his old one yet barely takes a scratch when he swings at it experimentally with a meat knife—, and she combines the two by spending every moment the Scions can spare her helping resettle refugees in Revenant’s Toll.

She doesn’t like fighting. She likes archery, and if he were brave enough to ask her if she might have any interest in a performance (perhaps even a duet) he suspects she would say she likes singing as well, but she is always more animated and enthusiastic speaking of the resettlement than she is speaking of her adventures.

It is…not what Raha expected from a hero, but it is, unfortunately, better. She clearly has no interest in or experience with governance, but he suspects that if there were more people like her who were placed in positions of power, everyone’s situations would be vastly improved. To have more leaders, and more heroes, who see violence as a necessary evil when it cannot be avoided, and devote the greater part of their time to plain everyday things that bring peace and comfort…

Raha is still thinking about peace and comfort some few moons later, as he realizes that the Crystal Tower, that beacon of hope, is somehow still obeying the commands of that revenant of Xande that they all believed Frydlona had vanquished.

He is still thinking about it the next day, when Frydlona answers Rammbroes’s summons and Cid Garlond makes ready to call forth a voidgate. Heroism weighs heavy on his mind—the helpless struggle of mighty warriors against Xande, the futile clashing of sword and spell, the sheer and sacrificial cost of their struggle. The courage it must have taken, to fight when so outmatched in the hopes that someone, later or far off or perhaps even right then, would benefit even if you fell.

The memories feel almost like Krile has described her Echo, though not quite: thoughts gleaned not from study but from…elsewhere, somehow.

He is still thinking about it when he asks Frydlona to let him accompany her into the rift, and when she agrees with only a little hesitation. He has been practicing, in truth, even if he had been prepared to stand out of the way when she ventured into the Crystal Tower. He knows her well enough that he knows she would not ask anyone to follow her into the World of Darkness itself, that she will go alone if no one volunteers, and no one else here can volunteer.

He thinks about it the whole time the two of them fight their way through this shifting, dreamlike world.

Xande’s bargain was made with a dweller in a palace not unlike, and yet nothing like, his own. Instead of sky-blue crystal, it is made of opaque dark stone, with carven balustrades and crumbling archways. They travel as quickly as they can, staying in the shadows, avoiding as many of the palace’s denizens as they can.

There are beasts not unlike some of those in their own world, and revenants, and creatures Raha has never seen and Frydlona seems not to recognize either. Some of them respond to sound; some seem to sniff the two travelers out with no help from the breeze.

All seem ravenously hungry. Frydlona had thought to bring dried fruit and meat, both more flavorful and more toothsome than archon loaf. Raha tries offering one of the denizens a strip of the meat, but it lunges for his arm instead; he and Frydlona have to kill it.

Their foes here all dissolve into bruise-black fog, with no corpses to be sure of. Raha strongly wishes it were otherwise, but after the first few, or few dozen, fail to chase them down again immediately he lets himself start to believe that they are in truth dead. Still, this is nothing like any fights he knows, and Frydlona seems as uneasy as he does.

They take turns singing, as is only sensible. Frydlona’s voice is shocking, here in this unnatural gloom surrounded by mists and monsters. It reminds him of nothing so much as late-afternoon sunlight, something to curl up in.

When one of them is hurt, Frydlona has potions.

“I thought you were a conjurer!” Raha whispers, watching the unnatural stiffness of the way she holds her injured right arm and the awkwardness with which she lifts the potion vial with her left.

“Not a very good one yet! If we get ambushed while I’m trying to heal I’m a liability, especially since this armor dampens my healing abilities instead of enhancing them.” She hesitates, corking the bottle clumsily and one-handed. “I did bring my wand, in case…in case.”

In case potions aren’t enough, Raha finishes for her. In case she needs to risk her own life to save his. He will not be allowing that.

When they tire, they find an alcove and huddle against the wall. “I’ll take first watch,” Frydlona breathes.

The sky above is starless, but bright with aurora like the skies over Old Sharlayan. “Wake me up after,” Raha says, and wraps his tail around himself and goes to sleep at her side.

Doga and Unei’s sacrifices have illuminated something Raha would rather not see.

“Are you all right?” Frydlona asks. While he has been brooding, she has found a plain dress to replace her blood- and ichor-soaked armor with.

He manages a smile for her, he hopes. The sun is setting over Silvertear Lake, flooding all of Mor Dhona with copper and gold. “I had planned to go for a brief walk in thanks before I return to help Rammbroes. Have you a moment to join me?”

Her frown is purely concerned, now, warm and without irritation as once it might have been.

More and more often over the past few moons he has thought: perhaps someday, perhaps in a little bit, perhaps even now she might be coming to return his affections, when she listened to him tell her about Allag or let him help wind yarn. But perhaps ever he was only imagining it, and in any case it is too late. Best for both of their sakes if he has been wrong.

He would still like to walk along the shores of Silvertear Lake with her one last time, even so.

“Of course,” she says.

Summer is fading into autumn, and the afternoon light is the color of fire. She slows her steps to keep pace with him.

“I wonder what Cid intends to do next,” Raha says, almost at random. “The Ironworks…” The sentence slips away from him. “It is a good organization.”

“It is. He’s a good man.”

Raha nods.

A breeze stirs his hair and tugs at Frydlona’s skirts. The water laps gently at the shores of the lake, its sound almost too soft to hear.

Frydlona is watching him again, and he can think of nothing easy to say. “And what of you? What are your plans, now that the mysteries of the Crystal Tower have been revealed?”

“Hope Moenbryda’s plan to deal with the Ascian threat works, I suppose,” she says with a sigh. “Find out what Severian’s mysterious project is. Alphinaud and the Crystal Braves have their own troubles, and I’m sure Ishgard isn’t done with us yet either.”

“But what of you,” Raha presses. It is suddenly, terribly urgent. “For yourself. More work with the Domans?”

She brightens a little at that. “The construction is just about done, but I’ve been invited to help teach some of the older children about how to get started in a trade in Eorzea. Fufucha is working on a project that needs botanists to travel around every region learning about how common crops have adapted to grow in slightly different climates. I’d love to help with that. And I’ll be visiting my family again soon, as well.”

It does sound wonderful, and more than that it sounds as if it would suit her. He is glad she’ll have all that.

She asks, “And…what about you?”

Far out over the water, a bird cries into the deepening gloom. Twilight is falling fast, now, the sky already past orange and into a muted red. If he turned he would see the Crystal Tower gleaming at them, an unwinking eye. “Ah, well,” Raha says. “If our paths should happen to cross again…”

He cannot, quite, bring himself to finish the sentence. He knows his voice will not be steady for it.

Frydlona stops and looks down at him. There is no moon to brighten her, but he could draw her face from memory in the dark, let alone read her features in this blood-tinged dusk. “I’d like that,” she says. “I…”

For an instant, for the length of one sharp-drawn breath, he thinks she might mean to reach out for him. If she does all his resolve will crumble.

“Let me know, if you happen to be in the area,” she says instead. “Just leave word at the Adventurer’s Guild, or send me a letter here at the Rising Stones. I’ll tell you all about crop development in the area, and you can tell me about the ancient empires that have been ploughed over to grow them.”

It sounds wonderful. Raha hopes her eyes are not as good in the dark as his are. He swallows and says, “Of course.”

There will be no later. This, right now, is all he can have, and when they turn to walk back to the Tower he walks as slowly as he dares.

#if I want to give the Warrior of Light Karen Carpenter as a voiceclaim #Yoshi-P is going to have to come to my house and tell me no himself to stop me #IT'S 2022 BABY CRINGE IS DEAD #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #my fic #my fic: frydlona #my fic: frydlona: ship #my fic: 2.x #frydlona merlgeimwyn #g'raha tia #frydlona x g'raha #title is from julius caesar #regular things to say about the north star. “regular” things to say about a person.

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