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barricadebops · 3 years

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I NEED A WHOLE BOOK THIS IS A M A Z I N G I'd sell my soul for mummy au snippets I love you oh my hhhhhhhh *screams in adoration*

The Mummy AU verse, you can find the first fic here.

"One year ago, you were chained to a table and was nearly sacrificed in some demonic summoning ritual, I was nearly sucked dry of my everything, and Courf nearly killed us all by summoning guards who were hell bent on killing us until he muttered the right incantation. And where are we a year later?" he muttered as he trailed behind his fiance, a hand poised near the gun in his holster, ready should anything go awry. Which, considering their previous experience at Hamunaptra, wasn't too unlikely a possibility.

In front of him, Enjolras hummed. "The mummy's gone Grantaire, we took care of that. There's nothing to worry about." He stopped walking for a moment and turned around to face him. "The pyramids are open to explore! Who knows what we may discover next?"

"Another creepy book that'll end with nothing good?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Remind me to keep you away from those."

At his comment, Enjolras didn't even spare him his signature huff or roll-of-his-eyes, which Grantaire thought was pretty rude. He lived to see the way Enjolras face scrunched up in a way that couldn't possibly look cute on anyone's face and yet managed to do on his, the least he could have done as payment for dragging him here once more would be to give it to him.

(Or, well, Grantaire says dragging. In reality, he would have readily followed Enjolras to the ends of the Earth if he asked.)

They turned down a narrow passageway, the dark flickering to life where they held their torches as Enjolras felt along the notches of the wall, looking for...whatever it was he was looking for, his trusty kit wrapped safely around his waist.

"If you're quite done complaining, Mr. Grantaire," he said absentmindedly, addressing him the way he once did when they were first acquainted, out of teasing, "perhaps you could help me?"

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Help exactly how?"

But Grantaire knew exactly how. It was clear to anyone who could see Enjolras straining on his toes to reach an indented groove in the wall next to another relief, too far out of his reach for him to strike with his chisel as a result of his rather short stature what he needed help with. He just liked hearing him ask.

And as predicted, Enjolrad turned his head and glared, huffing that signature huff Grantaire loved so much.

"Grantaire, I swear if you don't get over here and help me, this time I'll actually summon the mummy through my 'heiroglyph' notes. And this time I'll become his true faithful lover while you mope over the engagement ring I throw back at your head."

The mention of the heiroglyph note-scare was enough to have Grantaire turn pale and rush to his side to help. It certainly wasn't a feeling he wanted to relive again; revenge for an offhand comment by Grantaire about the illegibility of Enjolras' handwriting--that they looked like heiroglyphs and that he was no Egyptologist like his fiance was to decipher them--led to a barrage of notes this time truly in heiroglyphs, and made suspicious and mysterious enough to rouse his suspicions that Enjolras was trying something that might have them pursued by an unholy monster once again, and it certainly didn't help that Enjolras acted well enough to allow him to believe those suspicions.

"Two weeks," he complained as he crouched low enough to allow Enjolras to climb onto his shoulders. "For two weeks you let me think you'd been possessed by some spirit trying to summon the mummy again. You made me look like a fool when Combeferre and Courfeyrac finally came back only to see me panicking at their doorstep."

Enjolras hummed as Grantaire straightened and he found himself lifted off the ground, boosted high enough on Grantaire's shoulders that he could now reach the spot he had been straining to toucn earlier. "Maybe you shouldn't have insulted my writing then. Besides, you should know that heiroglyphs doesn't equate to demonic writing."

"Given my experience with them, you'll have to forgive me if I think they're symbols straight outta hell," he muttered, swaying slightly on his feet. Enjolras patted his head.

"Stay still, Grantaire, I'm trying to hold my chisel steady."

He smiled up at him. "You may be an angel, but you certainly have no way of touching the heavens without help."

Abruptly stopping his chiselling, Enjolras glared down at the top of his fiance's head, and deadpanned, "No, but I'll drag you to hell if you keep it up with the short jokes."

"Hey, come on now, don't get short with me."

"Grantaire."

He remained standing still as Enjolras began to chisel away at the notch in the wall, dust falling around them. "Will you at least tell me what you actually wrote on those notes."

A smirk on his face, Enjolras peered down at him and smugly answered, "I guess you'll never know."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I could just ask Courf."

Enjolras' smirk only grew. "He'll never tell--I've got too much dirt on him."

If he could, Grantaire would shake his head. Siblings.

However, given his current position, he was in no means to do so as Enjolras continued to chisel away at the wall. "What exactly are we looking for again?"

Above him, Enjolras hummed. "Well, we found enough jewels and riches enough to prove that the claims of Hamunaptra being the city of gold for the Pharaohs was real." As an aside, he murmured under his breath, "Take that Bembridge Scholars," which surprised a rumbling laugh out of Grantaire, which on any other day Enjolras might have appreciated, but seeing as how Grantaire's whole body shook and he was sat upon his shoulders, instead he yelped and gripped tight onto Grantaire's hair, which threatened to turn his laughter into purring.

"Gr--Grantaire! Stop!"

"I'll make it a deal to stop laughing if you stop pulling," he grit out in attempt to reign in any embarassing noises that threatened to spill from his tongue.

"Huh? Oh!" his hair was released, Enjolras wincing in sympathy. "Sorry."

Grantaire was of the thought that he didn't have to be sorry if he did the same thing, just when they got home.

"We're--stop moving, I'll fall--we're looking for one of Seti I's pendants--his most prized pendant of all."

He snorted. "And this requires looking through his walls?"

Enjolras peered down at his head, frowning as if it were obvious. "Well, yes. It was stolen from him, and many archaeologists believe it was hidden in the ground or put in a wall."

"Well," he watched as his fiance continued to chip away at the notch in the wall, "there are a hundred walls here. How do we know which one it is?"

"The thieves confessed to hiding it near a relief," Enjolras murmured distractedly. "Such as this one." He pointed to the relief carved next to them.

"How'd they get them to confess?"

"Oh!" Enjolras grinned down at him. "They had them tortured until they spoke. Then they killed them!"

He squinted up at him. "You know, I may call you angel, but the way you speak about this kind of stuff as if it's just common practice to torture and then execute really has me on edge."

"That's just what studying Egyptology does to you, dear." He delivered one last strike to the wall before the surrounding area started to crack. Uneasily, he crouched low so Enjolras could get off as he grabbed for his hand and pulled him back slowly, as if their subtle movements made a difference on the rate of the wall cracking.

The wall eventually ceased its sounds of whip-like cracks as the lines made a halt. Cautiously, Enjolras stepped forward and pressed a hand to the surface, before turning his head to give Grantaire a smile.

"It's still intact, let me just get out my chisel again--"

CRACK!

Grantaire had time only to dart out to grab Enjolras' hand and yank him backwards as the wall shattered and something heavy came toppling out, nearly crushing Enjolras had Grantaire not pulled him to safety at the last second.

Both panting heavily at their narrow escape, Grantaire pressed a light kiss to the top of Enjolras' head as he tightened his arms around him, all the while musing, "Every time we come here it's like your disaster mode is activated, hey Angel? How many times do I have to pull you out of way of falling objects?"

At this point, it wasn't as if Enjolras was even trying to deny it. "As many times as we're out here to discover."

He delivered another quick kiss to his head before he let him go to inspect the fallen object.

A sarcophagus.

Grantaire groaned.

Not this again.

"Grantaire," Enjolras' voice was hushed in awe and his eyes were wide. "Grantaire it's--well it's a--"

"Yeah," he wrapped his hand around Enjolras' wrist and pulled him back once more, drawing a noise of protest from his fiance. "No, we're not doing this again."

Enjolras wriggled his wrist free. "Grantaire, we can't just leave it! Imagine what could be inside!"

"What could be inside, huh?" He muttered. "We all saw how well that went."

"That was one curse," Enjolras said dismissively.

"A curse that nearly brought the end of the world--"

"Besides, you need an incantation to bring the dead back, and since we don't have the Book with us..." He shrugged innocently. Raising his eyebrows, he said, "Please?"

Grantaire looked at his hopeful expression, down to the ground beneath them, up to the dim ceiling that trapped them, before groaning and burying his head in his hands.

"Fine! Fine!" He looked back to Enjolras and sighed. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Enjolras simply beamed and leaned up to peck his cheek, one soft hand cupping his face. "You wouldn't have been able to stop me even if you said no, dear."

He brought his own hand up to hold Enjolras' as he leaned further into his touch, rubbing his stubbled cheek on his hand and turning to deliver a quick kiss to its palm. "Yeah, I know."

They both approached the sarcophagus slowly, working to lift it up vertically and set it against the wall. Grantaire set off to prying open the lid--this one unimpeded by any sort of a lock--as Enjolras leaned forwards in anticipation. He paused for a moment to glare back at him until Enjolras rolled his eyes and conceded by way of taking a step back; safety wise, it really wasn't as if that one step would truly do anything were anything to actually pop out alive from it, but it provided Grantaire with a sort of ease, even if unfounded.

The lid of the sarcophagus began to give way, and Grantaire knew that with one last heave he would be able to pull it free. Both held their breaths as Grantaire gave one final tug, Enjolras leaned forwards, dust was expelled in a massive cloud as the lid popped off and out came--

Grantaire jumped back and yanked Enjolras back too, gasping, only to see--

Nothing came out. Not even the skeleton of what would have been one buried inside. The sarcophagus was completely--

"Empty?" Enjolras shook his head in disbelief. "It's empty! How can it be empty?"

Grantaire shrugged, a bit relieved at the result of their findings. "Shit, Angel, I don't know? Maybe they just wanted to bury an empty sarcophagus." Even as he said it, he knew it was a stupid thought.

Enjolras scoffed. "Yes, because it's not as if that would take time and effort they couldn't be spending someplace else." He looked hesitant before voicing that little thought that had popped up in Grantaire's mind--one he would have previously written off as being stupid were it not for his recent adventures in the past. "Do you...do you think that maybe... whatever was in here somehow, well, somehow got out?"

And despite the fact that their experiences taught him that it was very much possible, Grantaire shook his head. A little bit of denial was never a bad thing, right? A man's gotta cope somehow.

"No, Angel, that's not possible."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Enjolras opened his mouth to argue that they both well knew that Enjolras could be right, but before he could do so, Grantaire continurd, "Now, what I think we should do is get the hell out of here and back to camp, and then go home next morning and sleep until we die."

"But! But Grantaire! We haven't even found the pendant!" Enjolras protested as Grantaire took him by the hand and started leading him out. "We didn't find what we came here for!"

"Trust me," he grunted. "Maybe the pendant should stay buried."

"Grantaire we can't--" he cut himself off at the sound of shuffling echoing somewhere from one of the passageways.

Both went rigidly still.

The noise made itself heard once more, and Grantaire looked at Enjolras as he raised a finger to his lips and began to ease his hand towards his gun.

The sound disappeared for a moment, in which Grantaire could only discern both Enjolras' and his breathing followed by the slight click as he began to draw his gun from his holster.

Then he felt Enjolras hand wrenched from his own as he screamed, and Grantaire, panicking, drew his gun up, swivelling to try and find where Enjolras disappeared to and fingered the trigger--

"Wait wait!" a laughing voice called. "Don't shoot, it's just me!"

Cursing, he slid his gun back in holster and glared at where Courfeyrac had his arms wrapped around a pale Enjolras.

"Honestly, fuck you Courfeyrac, what is your problem?" he asked, annoyed.

Courfeyrac seemed to be trying to catch his breath as Grantaire tried to slow his own racing heart. "Oh don't be like that. My brother dearest and I act like this all the time!"

Enjolras smacked Courfeyrac's chest. "Yes, at home!" he hissed. "Not somewhere you could give me a heartattack!"

Courfeyrac ruffled his hair. "But this just makes the fear even more delicious."

"Remind me why we brought you along again?"

"Well who else is going to keep you on track? If I weren't here, you two would probably forget all about the pendant in favour of more, ah, hands-on experiences."

"Courfeyrac!"

#annie writes stories #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #les mis fic #courfeyrac #les miserables #les miserables fic #ExR #have some more Mummy AU verse stuff #in which enjolras is our beloved archaeologist and egyptologist and librarian #and grantaire our swashbuckling adventurer #and courf our kickass adventurer who can also read heiroglyphs brother to our librarian #also thank you 🥺 I love your writing and that means a lot to me

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cassandraclare · 4 years

Photo

Cassandra Jean’s illustration for this month’s Chain of Gold flash fiction — this one’s about Will and Gideon, and features James, Thomas and Jesse as little kids. It’s a two-parter, so here’s part one!

LONDON, 1889

Will Herondale was full of Christmas spirit, and Gideon Lightwood found it very annoying.

It wasn’t just Will, actually; he and his wife Tessa had both been raised in mundane circumstances until they were nearly adults, and so their memories of Christmas were of fond family memories and childhood delights. They came alive with it when the city of London did, as it did every year.

Gideon’s memories of Christmas were mostly about overcrowded streets, overrich food, and over-inebriated mundane carolers who needed to be saved from London’s more dangerous elements as they caroused all night, believing all trouble and wickedness was gone from the world right up until they were eaten by Kapre demons disguised as Christmas trees. Just for example.

Born and raised a Shadowhunter, Gideon, of course, did not celebrate Christmas, and had always borne London’s obsession with the holiday with bemused indifference. He had resided in Idris for most of his adult life, where the winter had a kind of Alpine profundity, and there was nary a Christmas wreath or cracker to be found. Winter in Idris felt more solemn than Christmas, so much older than Christmas. It was a strange facet of Idris: where most Shadowhunters ended up celebrating the holidays of their local mundanes, at least the ones that spilled out into street decorations and public festivals, Idris had no holidays at all. Gideon never wondered about this; it seemed obvious to him that Shadowhunters didn’t take days off. It was the blessing and the curse of being one, after all. You were a Shadowhunter all the time.

No wonder some couldn’t bear it, and left for a mundane life. Like Will Herondale’s father Edmund, in fact.

Perhaps that was why Will’s Christmas spirit annoyed him so. He’d come to like Will Herondale, and consider him a good friend. He hoped that when their children were older they too would become friends, if Thomas was all right by then. And he knew Will deliberately presented himself as silly and rather daft, but that he was a sharp and observant Institute head, and a more-than-capable fighter of demons.

But when Will insisted on taking them all to see the window displays at Selfridge’s, he could not help but worry that perhaps Will had a fundamentally unserious mind after all.

“Oxford Street? Days before Christmas? Are you mad?”

“It will be a lark!” Will said, with the slight lilt into his Welsh accent that meant he was a little too excited for his own good. “I’ll take James, you take Thomas, we’ll have a stroll. Have a drink at the Devil on the way back, what?” He clapped Gideon on the back.

It had been a long time since Gideon was last in England. As one of the Consul’s most trusted advisors, Gideon not only lived in Idris but rarely found opportunity to leave. He also remained so that his son Thomas could breathe the healthy air of Brocelind Forest, and not the air of this filthy, foggy city.

This filthy, foggy city, his father’s voice echoed in his mind, and Gideon was too weary to silence his father’s voice as he usually did whenever Benedict crept in. More than ten years dead, yet he had not shut up.

His brother Gabriel lived in Idris, too, and for less obvious reasons. Perhaps it was not only the bad air; perhaps they both were happier with a good distance between them and Benedict Lightwood’s house. And the knowledge that its current resident would barely speak with either of them.

But now Gideon had come to London, with Thomas, just the two of them, leaving Sophie and the girls behind. He needed advice about Thomas, people with whom he could discuss the problem discreetly. He needed to talk to Will and Tessa Herondale, and he needed to talk to a very specific Silent Brother who was often found in their vicinity.

Just now he was wondering if that had been a good idea. “A good bracing walk” was exactly the kind of English nonsense he’d half-expected Will to suggest for Thomas, but “a good bracing walk down the most crowded shopping street in London three days before Christmas” was a level of nonsense he had not been prepared for. “I can’t take Thomas through that crowd,” he said to Will. “He’ll get knocked around.”

“He isn’t going to get knocked around,” said Will scornfully. “He’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” said Gideon, “we’ll get looks. Mundane fathers don’t usually walk their babies in prams, you know.”

“I shall carry my son upon my shoulders,” said Will, “and you carry yours on yours, and Angel protect anyone who complains about it. Fresh London air would do all of us some good. And the windows are meant to be a spectacle, this year.”

“Fresh London air,” said Gideon dryly, “is thick as molasses and the color of pea soup.” But he acquiesced.

He had left Thomas in the nursery, where Tessa kept a watch over him and James. A full year older than James, Thomas wasn’t always good at understanding what James could and couldn’t do or understand. Tessa had been concerned that James would end up hurt. Gideon, though, was more concerned about Thomas, who was still smaller than James, despite the difference in their ages. He was paler than James, too, and less sturdy. He had only recently recovered from the latest of his terrible fevers, which had brought a Silent Brother, unfamiliar to them, to their house in Alicante to examine him. After a time the Silent Brother declared that Thomas would recover, and left without any further conversation.

But Gideon wanted answers. As he picked up Thomas now, he couldn’t help but think about how the boy was hardly any weight at all. He was the smallest of all “the boys,” as Gideon thought of them – of James, and his brother’s son Christopher, and Charlotte’s son Matthew. He had been born early, and small. They had been terrified the first time he caught fever, convinced it was the end.

Thomas hadn’t died, but he hadn’t fully recovered either. He remained delicate, weak of constitution, quick to illness. Sophie had fought harder than anyone to drink from the Mortal Cup and become a Shadowhunter, but now she was forced to fight a far worse battle against death by their son’s bedside. Over and over again.

Sighing, he took his son to fetch their coats for their bracing Christmas walk.

As expected, Oxford Street was a madhouse of pedestrian shoppers, carriages, gawkers, and menacing groups of roaming carolers. Gideon would just as soon have glamoured them all invisible from mundane eyes (although one of the groups of carolers were obviously werewolves, who had exchanged Acknowledging Looks with Gideon), but Will of course wished to bask in the experience.

James also seemed mostly intrigued by the noise and lights, giggling and yelping at the merry scene around them. A London boy from birth, thought Gideon, and then thought, well, but I was a London boy from birth, and this is too much commotion for my liking. For his own part, Thomas was quiet, watching with wide eyes, clutching onto his father’s shoulders. Gideon wasn’t sure how weakened Thomas still was from the last fever and how much he was overwhelmed by the crowds. In some ways, when he wasn’t sick, Thomas could be guilt-inducingly easy to care of; he rarely made a fuss, just looked out into the world with those large hazel eyes, as if aware of his own helplessness and hoping not to be noticed.

Will waited until after they had already joined the crowds at the windows of Selfridge’s and Will had made a number of nonsensical exclamations of delight of the “By Jove!” variety. He had held James right up to the glass to examine the scenes in detail, which seemed to revolve around some blond children ice skating on a river. Gideon had pointed things out to Thomas, who had smiled.

Only once they had stopped to purchase some hot cider from a man hawking it down a side street did Will say, “I heard about Tatiana’s son Jesse. Dreadful business. Have you spoken to her?”

Gideon shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to Tatiana in nearly ten years, or been back to the house.”

Will made a sympathetic noise.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” said Gideon.

“What?” Will said.

“A coincidence,” said Gideon. “That both her and I have children who are—sickly.”

“Gideon,” said Will reasonably, “forgive me for saying so, but that is a load of codswallop.” Gideon blinked at him. “For one thing, you have your beautiful daughters, neither of whom were more than usually ill when they were babies. For another, all of what happened to your father was his own doing, and happened long after you were born, and neither you or Gabriel were sickly.”

Gideon shook his head. Will was so kind, so eager to spare him the consequences of his family’s sins. “You don’t know the extent of it,” he said. “The extent of Benedict’s experiments with dark magic. They were ongoing, from as long as I can remember. The demon pox just sticks in the memory, because it is rather lurid.”

“And also we were there,” said Will, “when he turned into a giant worm.”

“Also that,” said Gideon grimly. “But two sickly sons, small and frail—I cannot say with certainty that it is a coincidence, that it has nothing to do with the depredations of my father. I cannot risk the possibility.” He looked at Will imploringly. “It took Jesse years to become ill,” he said, “and Thomas has been ill so much already.”

There was a profound silence. Quietly, Will said, “You sound as if you mean to do something.”

“I do,” said Gideon with a sigh. “I must look at my father’s papers, his records of what he called his “work”. They are at Chiswick, and I must go and ask Tatiana for them.”

“Will she see you?” said Will.

Gideon shook his head again. “I don’t know. I hoped her anger would cool, over time, and her resentment. I hoped the fact that the Clave gifted her with all my father’s wealth and possessions would help her find peace.”

“Well,” said Will, “if you go, you absolutely must leave Thomas with us.”

“You wouldn’t want him to meet his aunt?” Gideon said innocently.

Will looked at him seriously. “I wouldn’t want him, or any of my children, on the grounds of that house!”

Gideon was taken aback. “Why? What’s she done to it?”

Will said darkly, “It’s what she hasn’t done.”

Gideon could see Will’s point. Tatiana hadn’t done anything to the house. Nothing to change, or clean, or preserve it in any way. Rather than restoring it or redecorating it to her own tastes, Tatiana had simply allowed it to rot, blackening and collapsing in on itself, a ghastly monument to Benedict Lightwood’s ruination. The windows were clouded, as though fog were seething indoors; the maze, a black and twisted wreckage. When he opened the front gate, the hinges screamed like a tortured soul.

It did not bode well for the emotional state of its resident.

When Benedict Lightwood died in disgrace from the late stages of demon pox, and the full history of his infamy was revealed to the Clave, Gideon laid low. He didn’t want to answer questions, or hear false sympathy for the damage done to his family name. He shouldn’t have cared. He’d known the truth of his father already. Yet it stung his pride, when he shouldn’t have had any pride left in his besmirched name.

The houses and the fortune were taken away from Benedict’s children by order of the Clave. Gideon could still remember when he had found out that Tatiana had brought a complaint against him and against Gabriel for the “murder” of their father. The Clave had first confiscated their possessions, and finally laid out the situation: Tatiana Blackthorn had petitioned the Clave for Benedict’s fortune to be given to her, as well as the Lightwood’s ancestral house in Chiswick. She was a Blackthorn now, not the bearer of a tainted name. She made many accusations against her brothers in the process. The Clave said they understood that Gideon and Gabriel had had no choice but to slay the monster their father had become, yet if they were to speak of technical truth only, Tatiana might be considered correct. The Clave was inclined to give Tatiana the full Lightwood inheritance, in hopes of settling the matter.

“I will fight this,” Charlotte had told Gideon, her small hands tight upon his sleeve and her mouth set.

“Charlotte, don’t,” Gideon begged. “You have so many other battles to fight. Gabriel and I don’t need any of that tainted money. This doesn’t matter.”

The money hadn’t mattered, then.

Gabriel and Gideon discussed the matter, and decided not to contest her claims. Their sister was a widow. She could live in the former Lightwood manor at Chiswick in England, and at Blackthorn Manor in Idris, and welcome. Gideon hoped she and her son would be happy. As it was, Gideon’s memories of the house were, at best, ambivalent.

Now he waited at the front door, its paint mostly peeled off, with deep gouges here and there, as though some wild animal had tried to get in. Maybe Tatiana locked herself out at some point. After a time it swung open, but waiting behind it was not his sister but a ten year old boy, looking somber. He had the midnight black hair of the father he’d never met, but he was tall for his age, willow-thin, with green eyes.

Gideon blinked. “You must be Jesse.”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Yes,” said the boy. “Jesse Blackthorn. Who are you?”

Jesse, his nephew, after all this time. Gideon had asked so many times to see Jesse when he was a child. He and Gabriel had tried to go to Tatiana when she had the child, but she turned them both away.

Gideon took a deep breath. “Well,” he said. “I’m your Uncle Gideon, as it happens. I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last.” He smiled. “I was always hoping for it.”

Jesse’s expression did not improve. “Mama says you are a very wicked man.”

“Your mother and I,” Gideon said with a sigh, “have had a very…complicated history. But family should know one another, and fellow Shadowhunters, as well.”

The boy continued to stare at Gideon, but his face softened a bit. “I have never met any other Shadowhunters,” he said. “Other than Mama.”

Gideon had thought about this moment many times, but now found himself struggling for words. “You are…you see…I wanted to tell you. We have heard that your mother doesn’t want you to take Marks. You should know…we are family first, always. And if you don’t wish to take Marks, the rest of your family will support you in that decision. With the—the other Shadowhunters.” He wasn’t sure if Jesse even knew the word Clave.

Jesse looked alarmed. “No! I will. I want to! I’m a Shadowhunter.”

“So is your mother,” murmured Gideon. He felt a slight twinge of possibility there. Tatiana could have disappeared like Edmund Herondale, abandoned Downworld entirely, lived as a mundane. Shadowhunters did, sometimes; though Edmund had done it for love, Tatiana might do it out of hatred. That she had not gave Gideon hope, although, he was sure, foolish hope.

He knelt down, to be closer to the boy. He hesitated, then reached out for Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse stepped back, casually avoiding the touch, and Gideon let it go. “You are one of us,” he said quietly.

“Jesse!” Tatiana’s voice came from the top of the entrance stairs. “Get away from that man!”

As if prodded with a needle, Jesse leapt away from Gideon’s reach and retreated without a further word into the shadowed recesses of the house.

Gideon stared in horror as his sister Tatiana drifted down the stairs. She wore a pink gown more than ten years old. It was stained with blood he well knew was more than ten years old as well. Her face was drawn and pinched, as though her scowl had been etched there, unchanged for years.

Oh, Tatiana. Gideon was flooded with a strange amalgamation of sympathy and revulsion. This is long past grief. This is madness.

His little sister’s green eyes rested on him, cold as if he were a stranger. Her smile was a knife.

“As you can see, Gideon,” she said. “I dress for company. You never know who might drop by.”

Her voice, too, was changed: rough and creaking with disuse.

“Have you come to apologize?” Tatiana went on. “You will not find exoneration, for the things you have done. Their blood is on your hands. My father. My husband. Your hands, and your brother’s hands.”

And how was that? Gideon wanted to ask her. He had not killed her husband. Their father had done that, transformed by disease into a dreadful demonic creature.

But Gideon felt the shame and the guilt, as well as the grief, as he knew she intended him to. He had been the first to cut ties with his father, and with his father’s legacy. Benedict had taught them all to stick together, no matter what the cost, and Gideon had walked away. His brother had stayed, until he saw proof of their father’s corruption he couldn’t deny.

His sister remained even now.

“I am sorry you blame us,” said Gideon. “Gabriel and I have only ever wished for your good. Have you—have you read our letters?”

“I never was fond of reading,” murmured Tatiana.

She inclined her head, and after a moment Gideon realized this was the closest she would get to inviting him in. He stepped across the threshold nervously and, when Tatiana did not immediately shout at him, he continued inside.

Tatiana led him to what had once been their father’s office, a sculpture in dust and rot. He averted his eyes from the torn wallpaper, catching a glimpse of writing on the wall that read WITHOUT PITY.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Gideon said as he took a seat across the desk from her. “How is Jesse?”

“He is very delicate,” said Tatiana. “Nephilim like yourself wish to put Marks on him, because they are intent on killing my boy as they have killed everyone else I love. You sit on the Council, do you not? Then you are his enemy. You may not see him.”

“I would not force Marks on the boy,” protested Gideon. “He’s my nephew. Tatiana, if he is that ill, perhaps he should see the Silent Brothers? One of them is a close friend, and could come to Jesse at our house. And Jesse could know his cousins.”

“Mind your own house, Gideon,” Tatiana snapped. “Nobody expects your son to live to Jesse’s age, do they?”

Gideon fell silent.

“I expect you want Jesse to marry one of your penniless daughters,” Tatiana went on.

Now Gideon was more confused than offended. “His first cousins? Tatiana, they are all very young children—”

“Father planned alliances for us, when we were children.” Tatiana shrugged. “How ashamed he would be of you. How is your grubby servant?”

Gideon would have struck any man who spoke of Sophie so. He felt the rage and violence he’d known as a child storm within him, but he’d desperately taught himself control. He exercised every bit of that control now. This was for Thomas.

“My wife Sophia is very well.”

His sister nodded, almost pleasantly, but the smile quickly became a grimace. “Enough pleasantries, then. You came to Chiswick for a reason, did you not? Out with it. I know what it is already. Your son is like to die, and you want money for filthy Downworlder remedies. You’re here as a beggar, cap in hand. So beg me.”

It was strange: Tatiana’s obvious, undeniable insanity made her insults and imprecations undeniably easier to bear. What was she even saying? What Downworlder remedies? How could remedies be filthy?

Had Benedict destroyed Tatiana as well? Or would she always have been like this? Their mother had killed herself because their father passed on a demon’s disease to her. Their father had died of the same sickness, in disgrace and horror. Will Herondale could dismiss it all as nonsense, but could it be a coincidence that Tatiana’s son, and his son, were both sickly? Or was it some weakness in their very blood, some punishment from the Angel who had seen what the Lightwoods truly were and passed his judgment upon them?

“I need no money,” Gideon said. “As you well know, the Silent Brothers are the best of doctors, and their services are always freely available to me. As they are to you,” he added with emphasis.

“What, then?” Tatiana said. Her head cocked slightly.

“Father’s papers,” Gideon said in a rush of expelled breath. “His journals. I think that the cause of my son’s illness might be found there.” He found he didn’t want to say Thomas’s name in front of his sister, as though she might decide to conjure with it.

“A man you betrayed?” Tatiana spat. “You have no right to them.”

Gideon bowed his head to his sister. He had been prepared for this. “I know,” he lied. “I agree. But I need them, for the sake of my child. You have Jesse. Whatever our differences, you must understand that we could both love our children, at least. You must help me, Tatiana. I beg you.”

He’d thought Tatiana would smile, or laugh cruelly, but she only gazed at him with the impassive, mindless stare of a dangerous snake.

“And what will you do for me?” she said. “If I do help?”

Gideon could guess. Get the Clave to leave her alone, to let her do as she wished with Jesse, for one thing. But in Tatiana’s madness, who knew what she would come up with.

“Anything,” he said hoarsely.

He lifted his head and looked at her, at his mother’s green eyes in his sister’s pitiless face. Tatiana, who would always break her toys rather than share them. There was something missing in her, as there had been in their father.

Now she did smile. “I have just the task in mind,” she said.

Gideon braced himself.

“On the other side of the road from this estate,” Tatiana said, “is a mundane merchant. This man has a dog, of an unusual size and vicious temperament. Quite often he lets the dog run free in the neighborhood, and of course he comes straight here to make mischief.”

There was a long pause. Gideon blinked. “The dog?”

“He is always making trouble on my property,” Tatiana snarled. “Digging up my garden. Killing the songbirds.”

Gideon was utterly positively sure that Tatiana did not keep a garden. He had seen the state of the grounds on his way in, left to crumble as a monument to disaster no less than the house itself.

There were definitely no songbirds.

“He’s made a disaster of the greenhouse,” she went on. “He knocks over fruit trees, he throws rocks through windows.”

“The dog,” Gideon said again, to clarify.

Tatiana fixed her piercing gaze on him. “Kill the dog,” she said. “Bring me the proof you have done this, and you will have your papers.”

There was a very long silence.

Gideon said, “What?”

#gideon lightwood #will herondale #tlh #the last hours #chain of gold #cassandra jean #flash fiction #cog2 #november

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trashmenofmarvel · 3 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 31

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The memories come to an end

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

It didn’t matter that they dragged him, restrained with glyphed chains and shackles, through a glowing portal that had looked very similar to the one he’d first gone through.

It didn’t matter that their headquarters seemed to be an old manor filled with strange artifacts and old furniture.

It didn’t matter that they told him, after throwing him into a basement cell lined with glyphs, that they were a group called the Masters of the Mystic Arts.

They were HYDRA and they were going to use him like they always used him. Bucky expected Colonel Vasily Karpov to walk through the door any moment, but his only visitor was a soft-spoken bald woman. She was pale, unnaturally so, and had a very precise way of speaking. She apparently knew who he was but would only refer to him as “James.”

He hated it. Hated her sweet words given through iron bars. It was no different than how Fairbanks had treated him. Tricked Bucky with promises of hot meals, warm baths, and protection from the guards if he would just cooperate with Fairbanks’ vision.

But that’s not what the woman asked of him. Bucky didn’t know what she wanted. She would visit him, talk to him, ask him questions about his life before HYDRA. His captors had never done that before, had never encouraged him to talk about his past as a human before they managed to burn away his memories and trick him into believing he was a full-fledged demon.

It was confusing, even more so when he was moved out of the cell and into a proper room. He still had to wear the bespelled shackles that left him weak and harmless, but they didn’t beat him or taunt him or force him to feed. In fact, the woman, who called herself the Ancient One like it was an actual title, gave him a tonic that would make the hunger go away.

Bucky didn’t believe a damn word she said. He remembered the last time he’d been offered something like this from Lukin. It had been a salve that had artificially induced his next heat, and he’d been mocked cruelly before Lukin would allow his men to sate Bucky’s cursed hunger.

And now that same hunger grew so strong that eventually Bucky drank the liquid, because nothing could be worse than the agony twisting through his body. To his eternal shock, it helped. Made the searing desire in his gut vanish into a dull ache.

That was when Bucky had finally begun to believe her. This wasn’t HYDRA, and he wasn’t going to be used as a weapon again. When he’d told the Ancient One of his conclusions, she had smiled and said, “I know that must have been very difficult for you, James. I appreciate your trust.”

Bucky wouldn’t go that far, he was a long way from trusting his new captors, but when she returned the stuffed cat to him with the strange advice that he should “take care of precious things,” he was well on his way to tolerating her.

For the next few months, Bucky spent his time relearning how to be a person. He rediscovered his love of knowledge, and the Sanctum provided much of that. The books, especially. He was fascinated by the large, bound tomes that smelled like dust and forgotten time. Focusing on consuming as many books as possible was a way for him to adjust to living as a… well, as a human again.

The Ancient One had encouraged his time in the library once she trusted him with having more access to the Sanctum. The other sorcerers had wanted to keep Bucky contained in the glyph-warded cell, but she told them, “If you cage a man like an animal, expect him to act as a beast.”

Bucky was growing quite fond of her.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky wasn’t hypervigilant and waiting for the next attack, whether from HYDRA soldiers or other demons. He was healing, very slowly recovering from the decades of traumatic memories he had to sort through. It was even more confusing with the “time dilation” he’d experienced in the demon realm. Forty-eight years had passed for him when only four years had passed on Earth. It was 1995, he was in New York City, and his only acquaintances were a sect of secretive sorcerers who kept him locked up in an ancient manor.

Things could have been worse, all things considered.

Something did happen one day to dampen his spirits. It was a warm early summer day, and they were enjoying the sunshine within the Sanctum rooftop garden. The Ancient One was training him to extend his guise around his clawed feet to make them appear as if he was wearing boots. She insisted it was possible, that Bucky had already shown an affinity for magic with his ability to take away, and later they learned, share memories.

But making his demonic aspects disappear was one thing, trying to create illusionary clothing was another, and he was growing frustrated with his efforts, or lack thereof.

“Fairbanks told me my transformation was complete,” Bucky grumbled, staring at his clawed feet as if they’d done him personal wrong. “There weren’t supposed to be any more changes, but now I have to lug these things around.”

He flexed his talons to demonstrate his meaning, grimacing at the animalistic shape of them. At least with his other changes, he’d managed to guise himself enough to look human. Now, with this…

“As if I didn’t already look like a monster,” he muttered.

“Evil men lie. You know this more intimately than most.” The Ancient One seemed almost distracted, staring over the rooftop and toward the city skyline. Then she turned toward him, her smile muted in sadness. “You’re no monster, James.”

Bucky looked away, unable to look at such sincerity for too long. She really did believe what she said.

“This isn’t working.” He sat back with a huff. “I can’t do it.”

Instead of her mild chastisement for giving up so easily, the Ancient One remained silent. Bucky looked up to find her staring off to the side again, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t there.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked and turned back to him, giving him one of those small smiles.

“Nothing, James. Why do you ask?”

“You seem distracted.” She was never distracted. Thoughtful and meditative, sure, but never unfocused like she’d been all day.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I thought I heard a voice.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, mired with guilt. He’d forgotten all about his own mysterious voice. He experienced the same shade of guilt and grief whenever he remembered what had happened to Steve. Died saving the world, not long after Bucky had been imprisoned. And here Bucky was, alive and whole, and he hadn’t bothered to think about the entity, real or imagined, that had kept him from going insane in the demon realm. It had helped him remember who he was and kept at bay the devastating loneliness.

He could barely remember what the voice sounded like.

He opened his mouth to ask her to explain what she meant, but the Ancient One clapped her hands together and said, “Let us try again. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you. Focus on what you desire and shape it into the world.”

Bucky sighed and unwillingly turned back to his lessons, the weight of loneliness still lingering at the back of his mind.

***

“This isn’t working.”

You watched Bucky struggle, unable to help or communicate with him. Not like you’d done before. Trapped on the demon world, Bucky had somehow been able to hear you. Even talk to you.

You’d almost forgotten who you were in that place. It had been so easy to just be with Bucky, to sink into his mind and be so close you weren’t sure who was who. And then you’d been jostled awake when he’d had leapt through the portal. It had been agony, split in two, and you’d been torn from Bucky and forced back into your own non-corporeal state.

And that’s where you’d remained. Seeing yourself as a child lose your memories. Forced to watch Bucky feed and suffer and then be captured, but when you’d realized who had him, you’d been relieved for the first time since being trapped in Bucky’s memories.

Now that you knew the Ancient One, had witnessed firsthand how kind and gentle she was with Bucky, you were shamed by your previous jealousy. She grew on you, and after a time, you felt like you knew her just as well as Bucky did.

Perhaps that explained what happened next.

“I can’t do it.”

Bucky’s frustration was aimed at the Ancient One, but she paid him no attention. Her eyes were focused directly on the spot where you stood.

The world grew quiet and still. The wizards around you, moving to and from their tasks, were now frozen in midstride. The water bubbling up from a nearby fountain hung in the air like a glass sculpture. Bucky sat half-hunched on the stone bench, glaring at his clawed feet.

Cold fear washed through your non-spine as the Ancient One smiled.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced around just to be extra sure she was addressing you, but the world was still frozen. Even the air was a dead weight against your skin.

“You…” Your voice trembled, unused in so long. “You can see me?”

“Of course,” she said, addressing you by name just to make the moment more surreal. “I sensed James had a passenger. How long have you been attached to him?”

Horror, hope, terror, all of it vied for control. Your next words were a messy jumble.

“I… I don’t know. I was, we were just. He was showing me his memories, but they were the wrong ones, and I got stuck—Please, you have to help me!”

The Ancient One raised a hand, palm toward you in a soothing manner.

“It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid. Take your time, for we have plenty of it.”

You closed your mouth and took a deep breath, allowing the tension to leech from your muscles.

“That’s better,” she said, her voice smooth and her smile kind. “We shall start with something simple. Have we met before?”

“I… no. I don’t think so.” That was something simple? “I mean, I thought you were…”

Your voice trailed off into silence. Were you supposed to tell her she was dead? Or… would be dead. How were you even able to speak to her? Wasn’t this just a memory? You couldn’t affect a memory, right?

“Ah.” She gave you a knowing look. “I see.”

Her gaze drifted down to where Bucky sat, her expression fond. She didn’t seem to be very upset with the fact she would be dead sometime in the future.

“I take it you are important to James? You must be, for him to willingly share his memories with you.”

“I… yes,” you said, following her gaze to Bucky. Even now in a strange, frozen moment, you ached to touch him again. Hell, you ached just to speak with him, for him to see you and know you again. Being a stranger to Bucky was unbearable. “He’s important to me, too.”

“I sense that is true. Perhaps more than you realize.”

After a moment of quietness, she met your eye again. Something had shifted within her, and her tone grew serious.

“To answer the question you wish to ask, this is James’ memory, but it is also your present. You are untethered from reality and trapped in a time-loop.”

“A… a what?”

“It’s very fortunate I found you at this moment, in this place,” she continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “I suspect you would have been trapped, until such a time you would have caught up to the place you had become untethered, and time would have repeated itself.”

Her eyes darkened and the smile was gone. You wanted to retreat but your feet, as they had been from the start, were unable to move.

“Journeying through time is extremely dangerous.” There was thunder in her words, quiet but frightening, and you wanted to recoil. “Who is your teacher? Surely they would not have been so negligent with your education.”

“I—“ You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. A teacher? For what?”

She stared at you for a hard minute, expression never changing, and in that moment you could sense the vast, unknowable power that lingered within this seemingly frail-looking woman.

“Listen to me well, young one,” she said. “When you return to your present, seek out the Sorcerer Supreme. I will not gaze forward to see who it is, as one should not know too much of their own fate. But when you return, go to the leader of the Order, and tell them I said…”

Her gaze dropped downward, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Even though you didn’t technically had lungs, you could breathe easier now that her dark gaze was gone.

“Tell them it’s their responsibility to shape the future of our kind. No matter what tests they’ve conducted or conclusions they’ve come to, you must be taught our ways. Neglecting to do so will result in consequences like these. Or worse.”

The Ancient One clapped her hands together again, the oversized sleeves pooling at her elbow to expose her thin arms.

“Now, it’s time I send you back, yes? Oh, one last thing.”

“Oh. Uh, y-yeah?”

“When the moment comes and the obvious choice feels wrong…” She looked you directly in the eye, a piercing gaze that went right through. “…trust yourself to find a different answer. Do not doubt yourself, even while others will. Your life, and James’, both depend on it. Do you understand?”

“Uh—no,” you stuttered. “No, I don’t understand—Wait!”

Your protest went unheeded as the Ancient One moved toward you while also remaining firmly in place. A shimmering second copy of her walked across the stone, raised a palm, and shoved you hard in the chest.

Gasping and clutching your shirt, you bolted upright with a cry. You were back in your bedroom, sprawled out on your bed and panting as if you’d run a marathon.

And Bucky was staring down at you with complete and utter horror.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

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jackdawyt · 3 years

Video

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So, Tevinter Nights released a year ago, and you bet I’m still talking about this magnificent book that’s setting up the future Dragon Age title. For those who haven’t read the book, heavy spoilers are ahead as I rundown each story and the major characters mentioned and introduced in Tevinter Nights.

For those of you who’ve already read the book, well, hopefully I’ve noted and discovered things that, perhaps, you may have missed or forgotten about regarding certain characters in this novel. For the sake of this video’s length, there is an emphasis on major characters, by that, I mean the ones who took centre stage in these stories - appearing most relevant for potential future ties.

With that said, In the book’s chronological order, let’s delve into the many characters that were revealed and mentioned in Tevinter Nights.

“Three Trees to Midnight” by Patrick Weekes

Myrion:

Myrion is a Tevinter mage; not a Magister, from the city Ventus that was recently destroyed during the Qunari Antaam’s invasion in Dragon Age: Deception.

“Myrion of Ventus didn’t know much about Qunari. Until last week, they had been an annoyance, something young soldiers went off to fight while everyone else grumbled about the taxes they paid to defend the Imperium from the savage ox-men.” (Three Trees to Midnight).

Myrion comes from a slave family, and only became an official Tevinter citizen when he started showing signs of magic, as of which, the owner of the factory where he worked adopted him into his family.

“I’m not a magister!” Myrion glared, his eyebrows about the only thing Strife could make out in the darkness, then sighed and shook his head. “Magisters come from important families! My family were slaves. I only became a citizen because after my magic came, the owner of the factory where we worked adopted me into his family.” He swallowed. “I’m nobody. You know the glowing lamps in the streets of Ventus? I light those with magic. That’s my job.” (Three Trees to Midnight).

During the Antaam invasion, Myrion was captured by the Qunari and was sent to chop wood for the Qun in the outskirts of the Arlathan forest - while chained to an elven male.

Strife:

Strife is a tall Starkhaven elf with silvery hair and a strong build. He’s at-least fifty years old and has no vallaslin.

“Then chain me to a man, not this knife-ear,” Myrion said, glaring at the silver-haired elf.” (Three Trees to Midnight).

Strife left the Starkhaven alienage after hitting a guard who was beating elven children, he was living in the woods when the Dalish found him and let him join their clan.

“Hard to believe, I know. I hit a guard who was beating elven children, and he came back with more guards, and I ended up living in the woods. The Dalish found me and let me join up with them. I’ve picked up what I can from them, but . . .” (Three Trees to Midnight).

Strife ended up chained to Myrion, after butting heads, the two prisoners worked together and escaped the Qun’s grasp, they fled into the Arlathan forest and were able to make their way to a Dalish clan with the help of Irelin - Strife’s shapeshifting elf companion.

Irelin:

Irelin is a Dalish shape-shifting mage who saved Strife and Myrion from Qunari imprisonment, and even worse, a potential Qunari lobotomy. Before the Qun were defeated, Strife told her to warn the clans that the Qunari plan on moving into Rivain, she returned later having told the clans, and saved Strife and Myrion. The group then decided to head to their Dalish clan.

“The halla looked at Myrion, his breath heaving and his leg throbbing from the shackle, and then at Strife. Then, with a shimmering sparkle of magic, the halla slid into the form of a young elven woman.” (Three Trees To Midnight).

Saarbrak/The Huntmaster:

The Huntmaster is a Qunari tracker in charge of chasing down and punishing would-be runaway slaves. After he killed one of the Qunari Antaam leader’s known as Bas-taar, the Huntmaster revealed to Myrion and Strife that he's actually Saarbrak of the Ben-Hassrath. He was sent to confirm the rumours about the Antaam in Ventus not acting in accordance with the Qun. After confirming these rumours to be true, he took command of the remaining Qunari, and let Strife, Myrion and Irelin go.

“Now weaponless, the Huntmaster raised his hands, and then, as though they stood at a fancy ball, he placed a hand across his waist and bowed politely, his stoic expression melting into a polite smile beneath the face paint. “I am Saarbrak, of the Ben-Hassrath.” (Three Trees To Midnight).

The Dragon Age Day short story “Ruins of Reality” furthered Three Trees to Midnight’s plot. Set in the Arlathan Forest, Strife witnessed an illusion of himself as powerful magic cursed the forest. Him and Irelin braved the dark magics at play and retrieved a figurine of the elven goddess Ghilan'nain, for whatever purpose.

“Strife was looking at it now. On the other side, so was his double. Both transfixed by a statue of elven goddess Ghilan'nain holding a crystal halla figurine, exactly as the journal described.... Irelin swooped in and snagged the figurine with her talons, tearing it from Ghilan'nain's grip.” (Ruins of Reality).

The short story’s artwork revealed Strife wearing a mysterious cloak with floating triangles that bear similar to the Executor’s logo - “a downward-pointed triangle with two wavy lines drawn through it.”

So, are Strife and Irelin working for the Executors? Or is something else at play here? Hold on to that thought for the future.

"Down Among the Dead Men” by Sylvia Feketekuty

Guardsman Audric Felhausen:

Audric Felhausen was a Nevarran guardsman before he was killed on duty by Lord Penric Karn's possessed corpse, however, he was brought back to life, caught between two spirits: anger and curiosity. A conflicted Audric awoke inside Nevarra’s Grand Necropolis as the Mortalitasi’s Mourn Watcher’s questioned Audric’s attack and began an inquest into the matter.

“Audric would always remember the moment a withered hand grasped him by the shoulder, and a corpse in jangling gold crunched its teeth into his neck.” (Down Among the Dead Men).

With the help of Mourn Watcher Myrna, one of elite guardians of the Grand Necropolis, Audric decided to confront the Pride Demon who possessed Lord Karn’s corpse. He later discovered that the ‘real’ Audric died during this attack, and he is, indeed, caught between two spirits.

“Guardsman Audric Felhausen died of his wounds after Lord Karn’s funeral.” Myrna sounded apologetic. “His body arose the next morning, and went to his old post. Your captain was at a loss. As you were intestate, she sent you to us to ease your passage.” “I’m not dead,” Audric said as he grabbed at the blade in his chest. “I’m myself. I’m not a spirit, I’m . . . I’m me! (Down Among the Dead Men).

In order to find a balance between anger and curiosity - and to resolve his conflicted nature - Audric faced and challenged the Pride Demon that possessed Lord Penric Karn’s corpse.

“You brought me here to watch me,” he said, quietly bitter. “The Mourn Watch assists both the dead and the living. We wish to help you resolve what you are.” (Down Among the Dead Men).

After Myrna helped Audric defeat the demon, he felt a sad relief, like he had fulfilled his purpose. Myrna offered him a choice - Audric could rest in peace with his death, or work under the auspices of a Watcher. With much excitement, Audric was given the position to be in charge of the Necropolis’s library.

“What position were you thinking?” “I thought it was obvious.” Audric felt a slow excitement as he heard Myrna say: “We have a great need for someone to take charge of the library.” (Down Among the Dead Men).

Mourn Watcher Myrna:

Myrna is a young Mourn Watcher mage with pulled-back hair, she is a guardian and keeper of the Grand Necropolis. It has always been the Mourn Watcher’s responsibility to assists both the dead and the living, and that is why she helped Audric uncover his true nature.

“The younger mage, a woman with pulled-back hair and a severe gaze, sipped her own tea and regarded the guardsman silently.” (…) “Within the Mortalitasi was a group of select mages invited into an old fraternity called the Mourn Watch. The Watchers served as elite guardians, keepers of the Grand Necropolis and its sacred repository of the dead.” (Down Among the Dead Men).

"The Horror of Hormak" by John Epler

Grey Warden Ramesh:

Ramesh is a Senior Grey Warden who’s been with the order for over twenty-three years – with his older age, his calling is almost upon him.

“Twenty-three years Ramesh had been a Warden. His Calling was nearly upon him—and if he’d been alone, if only he had felt the palpable sense of dread that filled the woods, he might have thought it was that. It reached every Warden differently. But Lesha had only been a Warden.” (The Horror of Hormak).

Along with a small rescue party, Ramesh led an exhibition into the Nevarran forest to search and find Senior Warden Jovis and his recently missing group. Jovis, in particular, meant everything to Ramesh at one point, however, the Wardens are called to a higher purpose as death walks with every Warden. Grief is often buried beneath their duty, and it’s easier to do that then care for another with love and friendship.

“Jovis had meant everything to Ramesh once, but he’d pulled away. Death walked with every Warden, and you learned to bury grief beneath duty. Easier to do that, it seemed, before grief ’s edge had been honed by love and friendship.” (The Horror of Hormak).

The Warden’s discovered an entrance to the Deep Roads with the name ‘Hormak’ encased in a Dwarven rune. As they explored the thaig, they unearthed entirely elven ruins filled with twisted, mutilated creatures and a massive pool with a viscous gray fluid. The same symbol of the horns of a halla were repeated on each column.

“This, however, was exclusively, entirely elven—there were no dwarven works interspersed throughout, not even any sign of the darkspawn that filled so much of the underground. And this chamber was nearly pristine.” (The Horror of Hormak).

Ramesh approached one of the mutilated monsters, it was an enormous centipede that had hundreds of legs and a humanoid face, he recognised its face as a bloated and broken Warden Jovis attached to this diabolical creature.

“Before him, twisted and broken, was Warden Jovis. It was him from the waist up, but bloated, grotesque, and his flesh flowed into that of the massive creature.” (The Horror of Hormak).

Jovis was able to recognise and communicate with Ramesh, even in this state, he told him that ‘they’ made the Warden’s drink from the gray pool, explaining his twisted nature. He added that they can't let "her" have it again and the pool chamber must be destroyed. Jovis lost control as the creature regained itself and took over.

“Ram . . . esh?” The voice came slowly, as if across a great gulf of memory, and possessed of an almost insectile buzz that tore at Ramesh’s tattered nerves.” (…) “Can’t let this out. Got to . . . bury it. Bury me.” The words came even more slowly, each one being forced through whatever will battled Jovis’s for control of the creature. “She cannot have it. Not again. Locked for a reason.” (The Horror of Hormak).

Grey Warden Lesha from Ramesh’s search party sacrificed herself so Ramesh could leave and warn the rest of the Wardens about the horrors witnessed at Hormak. Ramesh reluctantly escaped, remembering that this mountain he’d brought down, encased with all of its nightmares, was not the only one to which the aravels brought their prey. There had been, before the images repeated, eleven others. His task was clear, warn the rest of the Wardens.

“The rain started to fall—a soft drizzle, the water mixing with the tears that streamed freely down Ramesh’s face. Tears of mourning, of grief. For Lesha. For Jovis. For the rest of the Wardens, whatever doom had taken them.” (The Horror of Hormak).

"Callback" by Lukas Kristjanson

Donal Sutherland & Company:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Donal Sutherland, now a landed knight known as Ser Donal of the Hinters returned to Skyhold with his company to investigate the recent inquiries made by the caretakers about restoring the rotunda’s fresco. Donal’s company included the elven mage mercenary Voth and the human rogue Shayd.

“The three of them had arrived at first light: Ser Donal of the Hinters, Crosscut Brother, namesake of Sutherland’s company; Ser Shayd, Lady of Evesol, bard of secret distinction; and Ser Voth Dale’An, free mage by special commendation.” (Callback).

Upon arrival, the group discovered that Skyhold’s caretakers had been brutally murdered, some dismembered. The culprit of which emerged from the plasters of Solas’s painted mural – a regret demon in the shape of a wolf and dragon.

“What in the—!” yelled Shayd, waking to find a dismembered foot in her lap.” (…) “Regret raised itself unnaturally, its body simply re-forming into a standing position, like a shadow rising without a wall. It looked at Sutherland, but there was no smile this time. It snarled a toothy growl, a sound that—like its shape—was somehow between wolf and dragon. Regret touched the wall, and more plaster from the fresco joined its mass. The wound in its chest remained, but it filled and discolored with new material.” (Callback).

The demon revealed that it was the regret of a god. The unfinished, final panel of Solas’s fresco revealed an outline of a beast that stood over both dragon and sword. This mural was drafted by Solas to represent his exchange between himself and Mythal after Corypheus was defeated.

“But here, unfinished, was the outline of a beast that stood over both dragon and sword. This was not the battle, or the victory. This was after. And the beast was not a dragon. The outline alone might have allowed that assumption, but now, filling with black and red, it was something other. The creature was reptilian, but also canine. The snout was blunted and toothy, but edges came to a point in houndlike ears. As the mass of plaster filled the shape, it began to rise, revealing scales and tail, and paws with talons. It looked like two figures painted on either side of a pane of glass, then viewed together, their forms confused. A wolf that had absorbed a dragon, and now stood crooked over all.” (Callback).

As Sutherland faced the demon alone, he regretted acting alone and using his friends, as the demon drew closer to Sutherland’s regrets, the rest of the company plus Dagna, Rat, Harritt, Morris, Cabot, and Elan Ve'mal attacked the demon and sent it back to the Fade.

“And then it hit walls made of flames and runes and a half-filled cart. Dagna and the others blocked its escape. They were the little people, who supposedly didn’t matter. But inspiration had once made them the heart of Skyhold. And now they were again. Regret stood no chance. The doubt it fed on had evaporated. It flailed and gasped, and its legs crumbled beneath it.” (Callback).

Their victory was regarded by Divine Victoria herself.

“By order of the Most Holy, Her Divine Victoria, you who have served are to be commended. And though the Herald guides you no more, and legion and name are retired, know that you served good and true. Change comes, both to and because of the Inquisition. And we are blessed with the ability to accept and move on, to leave dread and regret behind.” (Callback).

"Luck in the Gardens" by Sylvia Feketekuty

Hollix:

Hollix is one of the many nicknames of a mysterious Lord of Fortune, a new-faction introduced in Tevinter Nights. The Lords of Fortune are a renowned guild of treasure hunters and dungeoneers based out of Rivain.

“One of the famed Rivaini Lords of Fortune. A guild of treasure hunters and dungeoneers, they specialized in pulling gems from the eyes of statues and, for added cost, protecting the softer people who hired them to do so.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Hollix, in particular, is a master of disguise and can pass as, pretty much, anyone when needed with their extensive use of make-up, accents and plenty of outfits.

“I’ve been called many things—a liar, a knave, a scoundrel—even a hero, once or twice. I don’t like being called lucky, though. That comes and goes, and it’s best not to be superstitious about it. “Oh ho! A Lord of Fortune, shunning luck?” Very funny, you wits.” (Luck in the Gardens).

While in Minrathous, Tevinter’s capital city, Hollix was hired by Dorian Pavus, last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition and Maevaris Tilani who was introduced in Dragon Age: The Silent Grove. The two hired Hollix to hunt down a wicked, tentacled monster that lurked in the city’s gardens. The creature was known as the Cekorax because it beheaded all of its victims.

“Dorian produced a map. It was a wonderful piece of work: crisp letters, bright inks, and a master’s eye for details. “There’s been nine people killed so far, here, here, and here. Each was found decapitated. The criers and balladeers have charmingly dubbed our killer the Cekorax, which is a rather suspect kludging of the old Tevene word for ‘headsman.” (Luck in the Gardens).

A young girl by the name of Mizzy witnessed some of the monster’s attacks. With her help, Hollix, Maev, Dorian and Mizzy headed to the monster’s lair in the sewers of Minrathous.

We digested the picture in silence. “So you didn’t see anything?” I eventually asked. “Not much,” she answered. “But I know how the monster got in the house.” (Luck in the Gardens).

The group lured the Cekorax to the city’s garden as the monster peeled open at the top to reveal a ring of dozens of eyeless heads. It spoke in the voices of its many victims.

“There was a ring of heads. Dozens, not just nine. Their eyes were plucked out, their flesh otherwise whole and healthy. Squeezing tendrils ran inside, caressed the cheeks. A crown of the blind, lovingly carried inside that atrocity. When the Cekorax spoke, their silent mouths formed the dripping words. “Come inside and see.” (Luck in the Gardens).

They killed the monster together as Dorian recalled what the Mortalitasi said about beasts of this nature, that it may be past the Veil of the world, neither demon nor spirit.

“I was at a party with one of those necromancers from down south a while ago. Five cups in, she went on about things ‘past the Veil of our world,’ neither demon nor spirit. Perhaps it wasn’t the tipsy nonsense I assumed it to be.” (Luck in the Gardens).

Hollix extended an invitation to Mizzy, if she ever wanted to join the Lords of Fortune, she’d be more then welcome. Bidding their farewell to Dorian and Maev, Hollix set sail for Rivain.

“I had told Mizzy, she might learn something from the Lords of Fortune in Rivain. “I’ve got loads of aunts and uncles and cousins south of here,” she had said reproachfully. “I’ve got to take care of them now that I’m a rich lady. But when I grow up,” she’d concluded, “maybe I’ll visit. Don’t forget me!” Then she hugged me for a moment, and ran into the crowds and was gone.” (Luck in the Gardens).

"Hunger" by Brianne Battye

Grey Warden Evka Ivo:

Warden Evka is a dwarf born and raised in Orzammar, she is a profound member of House Ivo, one of Orzammar’s many noble houses. She’s been living on the surface as a Grey Warden for three years.

“Warden Evka Ivo had grown up in Orzammar. The dwarven city was what it was: stone floors, stone walls, stone ceilings. It never changed much. Her three years with the Grey Wardens had brought her to the surface and she’d found a lot to love about life aboveground.” (Hunger).

Following orders directly from Fortress Weisshaupt to escort new Grey Warden recruits to the Warden headquarters, Evka and a newly-joined elf Warden called Antoine stop in a supposedly cursed village called Eichweill in the Anderfels. Some of the town-folk had suddenly began disappearing.

“After a hasty recruitment in Orlais, Evka was charged with taking the new recruit to a quiet outpost. They weren’t halfway there when the messenger caught them. The summons called available Wardens to Weisshaupt Fortress, the center of their order, located in the heart of the Anderfels.” (…) “Because Eichweill’s cursed,” Mina said. “That’s what people say. And we’re either too far out or too Maker-damned for folks to bother with our bad luck. Or they show up and die, too.” (Hunger).

The two Wardens agreed to help the villagers uncover the truth. They discovered that a wayward son of a noble who was kicked out of the town for poisoning a Chantry brother, starved in the woods, which attracted a demon of Hunger. The noble’s son was turned into a werewolf and had started infecting the towns-folk. Evka and Antoine defeated the werewolf and saved the town.

Grey Warden Antoine:

Antoine is an elf from Orlais who was recently recruited as a Grey Warden. It was Antoine’s belief in the Order’s heroism that compelled him to help the villagers of Eichweill.

“Antoine held his bow loosely in one hand. This was it. His other hand hung by his side, fingers twitching. Ready. The last and only time he’d fought darkspawn, it hadn’t gone well. He’d barely survived and lay near death for days before the Grey Wardens rescued him. He hadn’t been a Grey Warden then, but he was now. And Grey Wardens stopped the monsters first.” (Hunger).

While unearthing the town’s mystery, Antoine was bitten before the werewolf was slain. However, they killed the werewolf soon after his affliction. Antoine and Evka believed that with the werewolf defeated, the curse of the bite was also dead.

“He grinned. He hadn’t died—they hadn’t died. They had beaten a werewolf and Antoine was still breathing. And Evka was standing very close to him. “We should . . .” “Make sure it’s dead?” Antoine touched his shoulder where Renke had bitten him. Ending the night as a werewolf was not how it was supposed to work.” (Hunger).

Having saved lives and resolving the curse, the Wardens headed for Fortress Weisshaupt, this time with no side-tracking or detours.

“What now?” he asked. “Weisshaupt Fortress?” she said. “The part of being a Warden where we report where we’re supposed to and get told what to do without being sidetracked.” “Bien sûr—on y va! No detours!” His grin said he didn’t believe the last part. She wasn’t sure she did either.” (Hunger).

In the hushed whispers of the village, the hunger demon endured - ready to pray on its next victim.

Small, banished. Powerless. But if it waited, it would sense the knot that twisted its victim. The weakness that followed. The opening. The longing. And just before the blackness fell, when they would do almost anything, it would whisper . . . Are you hungry? (Hunger).

The Dragon Age Day short story “The Next One” revealed Evka’s recruitment to the Grey Wardens.

Evka was rescued by Warden Lawrence, she was attacked by a blighted creature with two mouths while in the Deep Roads. Lawrence’s perseverance to save Evka was so insistent that he attracted a spirit of Perseverance to keep him fighting despite his fatal wounds. Evka ordered the spirit to release him, and to tell him that she'd save the next one for him.

“The ghouls were dead. “Who are you?” Evka asked, grip tight on the hammer. “A spirit,” it said through Warden Lawrence’s mouth. “I could hear him.” Drawn to the dying, then. After all he’d done... “Release him,” Evka snapped. She wouldn’t leave him like this.” (The Next One).

"Murder by Death Mages" by Caitlin Sullivan Kelly

Sidony:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition’s multiplayer component, Sidony is a Mortalitasi mage from Nevarra. She voluntarily became an agent of the Inquisition when she witnessed the Breach first-hand, her sole purpose was to research and study Thedas’s biggest magical mystery of the age for her own advancement - nothing and no one will stand in her way of reaching her full potential as a mage.

“And what better way is there to achieve a great understanding of magic, and thus grow more powerful, than to observe the biggest magical mystery of the age?” (WoT. V2).

After Corypheus was defeated, Cassandra Pentaghast instructed Sidony to return to Nevarra City to investigate claims of a Mortalitasi plot that involved assassinating a member of Nevarra’s already unstable line of succession.

“They could not easily overlook claims that a Mortalitasi—one of the influential and highly respected mages charged with tending Nevarra’s dead—was planning to assassinate a member of Nevarra’s already unstable line of succession. Especially when those claims came straight from another Mortalitasi, one that Sidony once knew.” (Murder by Death Mages).

Reluctantly, considering her hatred for her home country, Sidony agreed to this assignment and headed to Nevarra City. She was handpicked by Cassandra because of her intimate knowledge of the Mortalitasi.

“None of the other Nevarrans have your intimate knowledge of the Mortalitasi,” Pentaghast reminded her.” (Murder by Death Mages).

Upon arrival, Sydony attempted to make contact with her previous mentor, Lord Henrik, the one responsible for warning the Inquisition regarding this plot in the first place. However, Sydony found his lifeless body in a city alleyway.

“The more she looked at them, the more they twisted and contorted until all she could see was the vacant face of Henrik’s lifeless body.” (Murder by Death Mages).

With her former mentor dead, Sidony contacted Antonia, a Mortalitasi mage who Sidony met as a child. Antonia told her to head to a party hosted by Nicolas Reinhardt, a minor family, but one of the oldest in Nevarra. Nicolas, in particular, enjoyed shouting accusations that the death mages were ruling the kingdom through manipulation.

“House Reinhardt: a minor family, but one of the oldest in Nevarra.” (…) A man drunk enough—or stupid enough—to shout accusations that the death mages were ruling the kingdom through manipulation was a man who might let slip rumors about a Mortalitasi assassin’s plan to remove a noble from play . . . if he wasn’t a target himself.” (Murder by Death Mages).

At the party, Sydony made acquaintances with Cyrros, a very dapper elf who’s accepted among many members of the Nevarran elite considering he knows everyone’s dirty secrets and scandals. After more nobles were killed, Cyrros and Sidony decided to work together to find the assassin.

“An elf in such finery, mocking and touching a member of old Nevarran nobility, and no one batting an eye—this was someone welcomed with open arms and stacks of gold in circles fueled by secrets and scandal.” (Murder by Death Mages).

Lady Reinhardt, Nicolas Reinhardt’s wife was killed as both Cyrros and Sidony stood over her deceased body. Nicolas walked in to see the two over his dead wife and believed they had killed her. He shouted at Cyrros and claimed that he hired him to kill his rivals and blame the Mortalitasi for their deaths, not to employ a death mage and kill his wife.

“What would you have me believe?” Reinhardt roared. “I hired you to kill my rivals and take the Mortalitasi down with them, and now I find my wife slain by the assassin I employed—and one of the damn death mages herself!” (Murder by Death Mages).

After Cyrros explained that someone must’ve killed Nicholas’s wife before they arrived, Sydony, frustrated at Nicholas’s attempt to blame the Mortalitasi for these deaths, killed Nicholas and Cyrros.

“She thrust her arm forward, tearing away her bonds, flinging the siphoning spell and hitting him square in the chest. The skin on his extremities turned dark purple, then black, as the curse drained the very life from his body.” (Murder by Death Mages).

Sidony returned to the Grand Necropolis to attend Lord Henrik’s funeral, she spoke with Antonia who revealed that she was the one who killed Henrik and Reinhardt's wife in an attempt to give the Mortalitasi control over the Nevarran elite. She used Sydony to expose the corruption of the elite, so the Mortalitasi could rule without question.

“So many people tell me they’re ready for change, for the kingdom to be taken in a new direction, without the uncertainty of the old royal blood and their constant struggles for control. With the line of succession in such disarray, maybe it’s time for the Mortalitasi to intervene . . .” (Murder by Death Mages).

Sidony killed Antonia for murdering Lord Henrik, and later returned to Cassandra Pentaghast having dealt with this Mortalitasi assassination plot.

“And in the time it would take for someone to discover the Mortalitasi’s body, Sidony would be too far from Nevarra City to hear their screams. They had met in an alley, and in an alley, they would part.” (Murder by Death Mages).

"The Streets of Minrathous" by Brianne Battye

Neve Gallus:

Neve Gallus is a human private investigator set up in the streets of Tevinter’s capital city, Minrathous. She is a mage and has a single dwarven-crafted prosthetic leg.

“My one leg may be dwarven-crafted metal below the knee, but that doesn’t keep me out of a chase.” (…) “I channeled a bit of magic, ready for whatever he planned to do, then let it fade back.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Neve accepted a contract by a man called Otho Calla who wanted her to tail and pursue his nephew, Quentin Calla, to see if he was secretly working with the Venatori. She witnessed Qunetin assassinated in an alleyway by a figure in white and beige robes with a full-face mask of polished bronze. The figure escaped the scene by using blood magic and reflecting one of Neve’s spells onto herself.

“A figure in white and beige robes approached from the shadows.” (…) “The figure that stepped into the light wore a full-face mask of polished bronze.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Before Quentin perished, he told Neve that It was ‘almost the hour’. Neve returned to Otho Calla and informed him of his nephew’s death.

“It’s almost the Hour,” Quentin said. The words sounded forced, as if they pained him more than the knife. His hand sank back. (The Streets of Minrathous).

She reported the crime to Knight-Templar Rana Sava and the rest of the Templars who shared that Quentin Calla wasn’t the only one who was ominously murdered last night, Lady Varantus was also killed, uncoincidentally another person with connections to the Venatori. Both Calla and Varantus had brutal neck marks as if necklaces were forcibly removed from their bodies.

“No,” Rana agreed. “A person in a bronze mask was seen in the street. The timing works out.” (…) “A thin line of bruising arced across the exposed skin, suggesting a fine chain once sat there—one that had been forcibly removed. I bet Quentin Calla had the same marks.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

To inquire about the necklace’s stolen, Neve met up with a con artist she’d turned in the year prior. His name was Elek Tavor – the two met in a tavern called the Lamplighter. Elek confirmed that Quentin Calla was looking for quiet ways to leave the city, perhaps connected to the antislavery movement, or even for himself - he knew something bad was about to happen and made plans to leave.

“I don’t know who Calla thought he was meeting at the docks,” Elek continued, “but I know why. He turned up a few times, asking about false papers, places to buy horses or hire a boat with no one noticing. That sort of thing.” (…) “The way he’d toyed at the chain around his neck . . . he’d known something was coming.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Neve left the tavern, and was ushered by a strange, robed Tevinter man with bloodshot eyes who inquired about Calla and Varantus’s deaths, explaining that another was killed last week - someone by the name of Paxus. He shared further that the assassin was called Aelia, and she took round clay discs that were encased in necklaces from their bodies. He then gave Neve one of the discs so she could inspect it for herself.

“The man shook his head. “Paxus was killed last week. No one noticed that one. Well, almost no one.” “This Paxus. Venatori?” I asked.” (…) “Do you want to know what Aelia took?” He’d changed tacks again, this time emphasizing the new direction by shoving a round clay disc into my hands, although he kept hold of the chain attached to it. “Aelia’s the one who killed them?” (The Streets of Minrathous).

As Neve continued her investigation and reported her findings with the Templars, she was attacked by the Venatori cultist Aelia in-between narrow streets of the city’s lower market. Aelia drained power from Neve to unfold the necklace’s enchantment, and fled the scene with parts of the necklace having almost killed Neve.

“Our lives for the glory of Tevinter reborn.” “You’re Venatori,” I said. “Why—?” “Minrathous has forgotten its way,” Aelia said. “It falls to us to put it right. To make it rise.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

With the help of Flavian Bataris, Neve uncovered that the Venatori planned on unleashing a demon that dwelled below the city. The eight necklaces were blood-bound between members of the Venatori, they would be used to free the demon from its prison, restoring Minrathous to the Tevinter Corypheus promised. However, Calla, Varantus and Paxus refused to give their necklaces, thus explaining their deaths.

“Not like this,” Flavian said. “I’m not even sure demon’s the right word. It’s something only a god could summon.” At the look on my face, he added: “If not a god, Corypheus was close enough.” (...) “And the plan was as well. Until Aelia took over. The Venatori still want the Tevinter Corypheus promised, whether he’s around for it or not. All she needed were the seals.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Neve faced Aelia and her Venatori alone in the city’s catacombs until Knight-Templar Rana Sava and the rest of the Templars joined the fight. They stopped the summoning ritual and Aelia was incarcerated. Minrathous, for the moment, was safe from the evil clutches of the Venatori.

“Minrathous is broken,” Aelia spat at me. “I know,” I said. “But you aren’t the one to fix it.” I left Aelia to the templars. I wanted sleep more than anything, but there was one more stop I had to make.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Neve returned to Otho Calla and told him that his nephew had left the Venatori, so he could treasure Quentin’s memory. She then walked away back into the streets of Minrathous.

“For what it’s worth, you weren’t wrong to give Quentin a second chance,” I said. “He’d left the Venatori. There’s nothing ‘unsavory’ in his last days either.” (…) “I don’t know,” I said and walked away.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

"The Wigmaker Job" by Courtney Woods

Lucanis Dellamorte:

Master Assassin of the Antivan Crows, Lucanis Dellamorte is the favourite grandson of Caterina Dellamorte - the First Talon. As of which, Lucanis is the heir to the First Talon of the Crows considering he’s Caterina’s favourite. But we’ll talk more about that later on, when we get to the story - Eight Little Talons.

“For years, he’d hated her. But his time as a Master Assassin had since taught Lucanis that Caterina’s cruelty was her way of making sure that he was prepared for this life—that he survived.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Lucanis is lean with dark hair and umber eyes, he’s focused and intense. The kind of man you couldn’t look away from—until he looked at you.

“Both men were lean with dark hair and umber eyes.” (…) “While Lucanis stared ahead, focused and intense. He was the kind of man you couldn’t look away from—until he looked at you.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Along with his cousin Illario Dellamorte, the two Crows were on their way to the Tevinter city, Vyrantium, both contracted to assassinate Ambrose Forfex, Tevinter’s premiere wigmaker and high-ranking Venatori blood mage.

“Ambrose threw down the matted mess. “Lucanis Dellamorte, I presume?” “Sì,” Lucanis answered, knowing even a single syllable of a foreign language would disgust the Wigmaker. It had the desired effect—Ambrose recoiled as if he’d stepped in urine. “Is this your handiwork?” “Sì.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Disgusted with Ambrose’s method of feeding slaves red lyruim to create wigs, Lucanis and Illario executed Ambrose, freed the slaves, and destroyed an elven artefact that allowed spirits of vengeance that once lingered to return to the Fade.

“It was Ambrose’s turn to laugh. “I thought a Crow could stomach anything—for the right price.” Lucanis leveled the Wigmaker with a pointed look. “Not red lyrium.” (The Wigmaker Job).

After fulfilling this contract, and stacking up to around 40 deaths, Lucanis was known by the rest of the Venatori as ‘the demon.’

“Lucanis Dellamorte is responsible.” Crispin licked his lips. “We won’t be able to keep this one from the public.” He and Felicia exchanged a nervous glance. “They’re already calling him ‘the Demon.” (The Wigmaker Job).

The two cousins spoke about Lucanis becoming the First Talon, however, Lucanis didn’t believe that, and instead wanted Illario to become the First Talon.

“Even if it kills you,” Illario whispered. “Death is my calling,” Lucanis stated, matter-of-fact. “Just as yours is to become First Talon.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Illario Dellamorte:

Like his cousin, Illario is a Master Assassin of the Antivan Crows, as well as one of Caterina Dellamorte’s grandsons. He’s lean with dark hair and umber eyes, however, Illario is all smiles. He’s got a calculated handsomeness from his smooth skin to his perfect, white teeth. And, according to Lucanis, Illario has a silver tongue. Illario would love to be the First Talon, he believes it’s his calling however, that is not his call to make. Only Caterina Dellamorte can decide who takes her place.

“Both men were lean with dark hair and umber eyes. Illario was all smiles. His was a calculated handsomeness. From his smooth skin to his perfect, white teeth, everything was contrived to be enticing. As they walked through the crowd, he basked in the appreciative glances he received.” (…) “My talents lie elsewhere,” Lucanis said, gesturing toward the arsenal around him. “You’re the one with the silver tongue.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Magister Zara Renata:

Venatori Maleficar Zara Renata is a Magister of the Imperium who seeks the death of Lucanis Dellamorte along with her Venatori agents, Crispin Kavlo and the sister of Livius Erimond, Felicia Erimond. They plan to exploit everyone of Lucanis’s flaws until ‘the demon’ is defeated.

“Freeing Ambrose’s slaves already tells us this Crow has a heart. He will reveal other flaws. And we will exploit every last one of them.” (The Wigmaker Job).

"Genitivi Dies in the End" by Lukas Kristjanson

Brother Genitivi:

Last witnessed in Dragon Age: Origins, however, his literature has spread throughout Thedas in all games, infamous Chantry scholar brother Ferdinand Genitivi gathered legendary scholars Philliam, a Bard and Sister Laudine together to write a manuscript about their experience finding the true history of the elven pantheon. Each writer used a pseudonym to protect themselves from the Qunari Antaam.

“You want me to find the true history of the elven pantheon, in a piece of a library that doesn’t exist, beneath the Imperium, deeper than the Deep Roads?” Philliam tossed the scroll back to his publisher. “I don’t do fiction.” His host started to laugh, and then didn’t.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Philliam, a Bard!:

Philliam Bernard Aloicious Trevelyan, more commonly known as Philliam a Bard is a Free Marcher known for plenty of literature spread throughout Thedas. However, Brother Genitivi thinks Philliam is a thief considering he reduced his five hundred-and thirty-six-page book to a twenty-page collection of cautionary-yet-enticing executions.

“Philliam knew the name before he felt the sting. Five hundred and thirty-six pages of leather-bound Ferelden heraldic history—not including epigraphs and appendices—slapped across his face. It was a book he’d reduced to a twenty-page collection of cautionary-yet-enticing executions. “Thief!” yelled Brother Ferdinand Genitivi, honoured Chantry scholar and respected historian, on the eve of the longest—and last—month of their lives.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Sister Laudine:

Formerly a sister of the Chantry, Laudine is a young writer in her late twenties with long blonde hair. She has published many works, particularly about Orlais which have been officially denounced by the Chantry.

“Formerly Sister Laudine, ex of the Chantry, documenter of all things sensual and denied in otherwise falsely prim Orlais.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

The three scholars ventured on an expedition that took them to the Silent Plains with the help of a hired Lord of Fortune.

Mateo:

Mateo is a Lord of Fortune, he’s a broad-shouldered man covered with many trinkets that he’s discovered throughout his years. He has a genuine appreciation for history, because of which he was hired for Genitivi’s expedition as a driver and delver.

“Their hired driver and delver was a broad-shouldered man called Mateo, one of the famed Rivaini Lords of Fortune.” (…) “The Lords wore their expertise, and the sash around Mateo’s waist was heavy with ancient coins and other trinkets from beneath the plains. He had a genuine appreciation for history, but didn’t claim to know the works of his current charges. Which, all things considered, probably made him the best fit for the expedition.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Rasaan:

Tamassran Rasaan was last seen in Dragon Age: Those Who Speak, as a female priest of the Qun, Rasaan’s role has been to determine what is done with captives of the Qun, she will interpret the Qun with regards to how it applies to those outside of it. Rasaan has served directly under the Ariqun and was long ago chosen as the Ariqun’s eventual successor by the rest of the priesthood.

Recently, Rasaan has taken great interest in Fen’Harel and his scheme, as of which, she led the Qunari Antaam unofficially In Tevinter to search for Fen’Harel’s true name. This has been an unsanctioned operation considering the Arishok is the only member of the Qun who leads the Antaam.

“Fen Harel,” she lectured, “is a name given by enemies. Its translation, ‘Dread Wolf,’ isn’t true.” She turned, considering one of the tomes now piled on the slab. “The name given when he lied to us—and to your Inquisition—was chosen by a self-styled martyr. ‘Solas’ is also not true.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Therefore, Rasaan revealed to Brother Genitivi that “her” Antaam are in Tevinter unofficially.

“Rasaan stopped him with a raised index finger. “I know your work,” she said. She knelt again, her eyes dead-straight with his. “My Antaam are in Tevinter as officially as you are. Does that change your tone?” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Rasaan uncovered that Fen’Harel’s true name isn’t Solas, but actually Pride. With this true name, she could track the best and worst of him, find flaws, exploit weaknesses and know what he had failed to be. Rasaan believed that there is no greater advantage than to know an enemy’s true name.

“With this “true name.” You could track a person back through the best and worst of themselves. Find flaws. Exploit weaknesses. Know what they had failed to be.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

And so, Rasaan’s quest continues to uncover Fen’Harel’s scheme while hunting Genetivi, Laudine and Philliam a Bard!

"Herold Had the Plan" by Ryan Cormier

Bharv:

Bharv is a Dwarven Lord of Fortune. He has spent decades of his life as a treasure hunter, consequently, he has a lot of long scars over his body, and a crooked back. Be that as it may, Bharv enjoys the life of a Lord of Fortune, it has provided all the thrills he’s ever craved.

“The dwarf clawed back up to the dry riverbank and looked around.” (…) “The Lords of Fortune provided all the thrills he craved, but decades in their service left him with long scars and a crooked back.” (…) “Still, despite the pain, he’d always slept better as a Lord of Fortune than as a creeping thief in his younger years. Through decades of treasure hunting.” (Herold Had the Plan).

After a botched robbery job at the Grand Tourney went sideways, Bharv and his elven Lord of Fortune companion, Elim, fled into Starkhaven’s forest. Herold, Bharv’s partner, was killed during the escape. However, they were able to successfully retrieve their target – a powerful and ancient amulet.

“They’d recovered the amulet from the lockbox at the Grand Tourney like sneaking the sugarcake from a child’s lunch. No one spotted them. No one at the tournament even sneered in their direction.” (...) “Bharv shrugged. He was told it was ancient and powerful. That was all he needed to know.” (Herold Had the Plan).

The two Lord of Fortune’s located Panzstott, their hired guard from Tantervale. The Tournament knights caught up and surrounded the group, they claimed that one of them had stolen the Celebrant – the legendary greatsword granted to the winner of the Grand Tourney. Panzstott had stolen the blade on behalf of Lady Lucie, in exchange, Lucie would help find Panzstott’s sister who was headed to the Anderfels to become a Grey Warden.

“We only want the sword.” It was a man’s voice calling. “Though we will take your thieving lives all the same.” (…) “Never.” Even Panzstott’s voice was different. “It’s what Lady Lucie wants. It’s not yours. You got your thing, I got mine. All square.” (…) “Lady Lucie, yes. She’s sure my sister might be found. Says so all the time.” (…) “Lady Lucie says she can find anyone. Her husband is also a warden.” (Herold Had the Plan).

After a rambunctious fight, Panzstotts was killed, Bharv and Elim were fatally wounded, the knights retrieved the Celebrant and Lady Lucie was imprisoned. Bharv only survived death because he wore the mysterious amulet that restored his wounds, however, Elim was killed.

“Collect the sword,” the captain said. “Bind the widow’s hands.” “The thieves, Captain?” The captain clucked disgustedly as he considered the question. “Leave them to die.” (Herold Had the Plan).

Having picked himself up, Bharv made his way to the nearest village downriver, to the place where Herold used to get drunk. He handed a very familiar elven squire the amulet and finished the job.

Vaea:

Introduced in Dragon Age: Knight Errant, Vaea is a Ferelden elven rogue who serves Ser Aaron as his elven squire. Bharv’s partner, Herold had contacted Vaea specifically to take the amulet to Northern Tevinter. Accompanied by Ser Aaron, the two toasted to Herold’s memory with Bharv before setting out on their next adventure.

“Vaea nodded. “He contacted me and said a job of his had turned into a charity run. Asked me to bring the amulet back north with me, to Tevinter. The chaos there has left many in desperate need, a lot of families torn up. He said you’d understand.” (Herold Had the Plan).

"An Old Crow's Old Tricks" by Arone Le Bray

Lessef/”Old Nan”:

Lessef is an old member of the Antivan Crows. She has a kind and wrinkled face, and her eyes are of someone who has lived a long life.

“Kind and wrinkled in the corners. They were the eyes of someone who has lived a long life.” (…) “Lessef of the Antivan Crows has fulfilled the contract.” (An Old Crow's Old Tricks).

In the middle of the Tevinter Imperium; over the Nocen Sea, Lessef made herself known as “Old Nan”, a trading merchant who was known for selling fine wares. However, her actual intention was to fulfil an assassination contract on the Tevinter centuri who recently murdered Dalish children for control of resources in the area. Tevinter solider Chencel had chased down and killed a twelve-year-old Dalish boy under the order of Magister Bicklius, the Oranavra clan purchased Lessef to kill the remaining centuri, as of which, Lessef tricked and suffocated Chencel with a scarf made of halla leather.

“Chencel remembered. On their way to set up camp here, the centuri had encountered some Dalish children from an aravel. Her centurion, Magister Bicklius, ordered the whole group wiped out so that the centuri would have no competition for resources in the area. Chencel had to catch the child who started to run, so that he would not warn the rest. “His mother called him Sil. He was twelve. You held him under the water.” Chencel still struggled, but the older woman’s grip was too strong. “Did he fight back? While his breath left him, and you held his shoulders to keep him still, did he thrash? Kick? Try to scratch or bite?” The soldier’s arms started to go limp. “Did you know that the Oranavra clan also sold their goods? They even made enough to purchase a contract from the Antivan Crows.” (An Old Crow's Old Tricks).

As the Tevinter centuri discovered an Antivan Crow was in the midst, Lessef assassinated Magister Bicklius. She evaded the rest of the army by having Tainsley, her seven-foot, elf-blooded human servant, dress up and pretend to be a Qunari.

“Reaching his full seven-foot height, he stretched his arms and legs, kneading the muscles with his aged hands to start the blood flowing again.” (…) “He knew he might look like a monstrous apparition, seven feet tall and wrapped in wiry, taut muscles, but he still felt every bit of his seventy-six years weighing him down.” (An Old Crow's Old Tricks).

The Tevinter soldiers retreated as Lessef and Tainsley celebrated by eating cookies, revelling in their victory having redeemed the Oranavra clan.

“Onward, to cookies!” (…) “Thanks to his mistress, his uncle’s clan would at least have their halla statue back.” (An Old Crow's Old Tricks).

"Eight Little Talons" by Courtney Woods

Caterina Dellamorte:

First Talon of the Antivan Crows, Caterina Dellamorte leads the Antivan Crows. She has silver-white hair swept up into a bun and an impressive collection of rubies hanging from her ears and neck.

“Her silver-white hair swept up into a bun to divert attention to the impressive collection of rubies hanging from her ears and neck.” (Eight Little Talons).

Her two grandchildren are Lucanis and Illario Dellamorte, however, Lucanis is her favourite – she intends on promoting him to First Talon when it’s his time.

Caterina Dellamorte called for a summit and invited each of the eight Antivan Crow Talons together in one location to discuss the impending Qunari threat. The summit was held in a villa on an island at the centre of the lake called the Verdant Isle.

“To that end, First Talon Caterina Dellamorte insisted her colleagues put aside their differences and attend a summit to concoct a plan of action.” (…) “The summit would be held in a villa on an island at the center of the lake called the Verdant Isle.” (Eight Little Talons).

Dante Balazar:

Second Talon Dante Balazar was eliminated and betrayed by Emil Kortez, the fourth Talon.

“That you were right. Dante was poisoned—with the Quiet Night.” (Eight Little Talons).

Lera Valisti:

Third Talon Lera Valisti was also eliminated by Emil Kortez.

“We know Lera died before dinner, but after her argument with Dante in the garden.” (Eight Little Talons).

Emil Kortez:

Fourth Talon Emil Kortez decided to betray the Antivan Crows. He stuck up a ‘peaceful’ deal with the Qun, Kortez agreed to eliminate all the other seven Talons with the assumption that the Qunari would honour their deal and occupy a peaceful conquest of Antiva and its people. As a trade-off, the Kortez family would be the only house leading the Antivan Crows.

With this machination in play, Kortez killed the second, third and eighth Talon before Viago, Teia and the rest of the Talons unmasked Kortez’s conniving plot, and then defeated their brethren.

“Emil squared his shoulders. “The Qunari are many things—brutal, rigid, merciless warriors—but they are also honorable.” (…) “Under one Talon, we might actually get something done.” (…) “Following Teia’s lead, Viago, Bolivar, and Caterina all raised their blades. The steel glinted in the fire’s light.” (Eight Little Talons).

Viago De Riva:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Deception, Fifth Talon Viago De Riva helped thwart Emil Kortez’s scheme. Viago and Andarateia have since headed to Antiva City to inform the royals of Antiva in preparation for the Qunari war. The Crows also plan to recruit more Talons for their ranks, as they just lost four leaders thanks to Kortez’s scheme.

“To brief His Royal Fatherliness?” She balanced the stick on the tip of her boot. He reached for it. “Why are you asking?” With a kick, she flung the stick onto her other foot. “To see if you had a place to stay.” (Eight Little Talons).

Bolivar Nero:

Sixth Talon Bolivar Nero helped the rest of the Talons against Emil, after killing him, Bolivar was the first to leave the scene. Viago believed it was for the best, Bolivar didn’t have much to offer the war effort.

“Bolivar refused to speak to anyone. He simply grabbed a bottle of wine and barricaded himself in his room until the boats arrived. Viago thought it was for the best. Bolivar didn’t have much to offer the war effort.” (Eight Little Talons).

Andarateia Cantori:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Deception, Seventh Talon Andarateia Cantori, otherwise known as Teia helped uncover Emil’s scheme alongside Viago. She’s since headed to Antiva City with Viago to warn the Antivan nobles and recruit more Talons.

“Is that an invitation?” “Is that a yes?” He reached out again. This time, she let him have the walking stick, but held on to the end. Viago drew her close, until they were a breath apart. “It’s a definite maybe,” he murmured. Teia beamed up at him. “My favorite answer.” (Eight Little Talons).

Giuli Arainai:

Eighth Talon, Giuli Arainai was eliminated by Emil Kortez.

“Dead,” Bolivar spat. “Like Dante and Giuli and Lera—and us if we don’t leave this cursed place.” (Eight Little Talons).

Since Kortez’s agreement was foiled, the Qunari are heading to Antiva with a full invasion in mind after their ‘peaceful’ contract went sour. Should the Qunari decide to attack, the assassins must present a unified force.

The Dragon Age Day short story “The Wake” furthered Eight Little Talon’s plot.

Illario Dellamorte, Viago De Riva and Teia Cantori mourned the loss of Lucanis Dellamorte, the heir to the First Talon.

For reasons unknown, Lucanis has mysteriously died, perhaps the Venatori Maleficar Zara Renata discovered his flaws and murdered him, or perhaps Lucanis is pretending to be dead. Regardless, it seems the next heir to the First Talon is Illario Dellamorte, if Lucanis is truly died.

“He was my cousin, but we were more like brothers, really. Always getting himself into every sort of trouble. And I was always right behind him, you know? Always.” Illario’s voice suddenly grew thick with emotion. “Now there’s nobody for me to follow.” (The Wake).

"Half Up Front" by John Epler

Vadis:

Vadis is a former Tevinter Altus, she left her life of nobility behind to peruse a romantic relationship with Irian Cestes, her father’s elven servant. Vadis has since built a reputation as a crafty thief.

“Altus, not magister. I’d never been a magister—my father filled that seat for our family. And I’d left the nobility behind, so even altus was past tense. “My one rule is no names. You don’t know a damned thing about me.” She arched an eyebrow. “The disgraced daughter of Magister Mareno Vadis. Lover of an elven servant.” (Half Up Front).

In Minrathous, Vadis was hired by a mysterious elven lady to find and steal a relic called “Dumat’s Folly” - supposedly it was a piece of the Black City itself.

“Then you know the significance of Dumat’s Folly.” She gestured at the rubbing I held in front of me. So that’s what it was. “Supposed to be a piece of the Black City itself. A ‘reminder of man’s hubris, and of the unique and glorious divinity of the Maker.’” I snorted. “Seems like a bunch of nug shit to me.” (Half Up Front).

Together, Irian and Vadis infiltrated the Archon’s palace, they discovered a centre case where “Dumat’s Folly” had been, however, until recently, the glass display was empty. They found large footprints and a blood trail that led down a tunnel with Qunari Ben-Hassrath instructions regarding the relic. They pressed on through the tunnel and found a fake model of “Dumat’s Folly” believing that the Qunari had the real relic.

“The center case where Dumat’s Folly had, until recently, sat was empty. The glass in its display case was missing.” (…) “It’s orders—well, instructions. Ben-Hassrath. Locations and names are in code, but it’s telling them to get the item and return home. Not to be seen either.” (…) “I nodded. “The Qunari have the real one.” (Half Up Front).

The pair headed to the Qunari’s new Darvaarad, a ship headed to Rivain. Vadis uncovered the real “Dumat’s Folly” on deck, when suddenly her patron, the mysterious elven lady revealed herself. She approached from the shadows and claimed to be an agent of Fen'Harel.

“I opened the crate. Dumat’s Folly. I smiled. All right. I reached into my satchel and pulled out the rune that my client had given me. I wanted to make sure the artifact was the real thing before I took it back—not that I had any reason to believe otherwise, but I’d promised my client I’d verify first. I moved the rune toward the object and it started to vibrate, to glow.” (Half Up Front).

She declared that she acted freely for the Dread Wolf, to bring back what was once theirs, and what must be theirs again. She wore a simple robe embroidered with an unknown symbol. Her plan was to trick and frame Vadis into stealing a powerful and dangerous artefact that was integral to Fen'Harel's plans.

"The agent replies that she acts "freely. For the Dread Wolf. To bring back what was once ours—what must be ours again.” (…) “One of our agents spoke of Dumat’s Folly. Suggested it was an artifact of great power and danger, integral to Fen’Harel’s plans.” (…) “She’d traded her thick winter clothing for a simple robe, embroidered with an unknown symbol." (Half Up Front).

This relic was in-actuality a magical bomb, that was supposed to be used by Vadis, destroying the Qunari’s Darvaarad. This would’ve created a calamity feud between the Qunari Ben-Hassrath and Tevinter kinsman, if each party had discovered that an Altus thief attacked Qunari lands using this bomb, it would cause immediate chaos for all of Thedas.

“It is an ingenious device. Not a piece of the Black City, like the true Dumat’s Folly, but taken from the same time. It draws magic into itself.” “A Tevinter altus, striking at a Qunari settlement that had yet to enter hostilities? Ben- Hassrath wouldn’t be able to sit the war out anymore. Utter and complete chaos.” I felt nauseous. What I’d almost done, almost been responsible for. (Half Up Front).

Fortunately, this wasn’t the case, the Agent of Fen’Harel committed suicide to avoid future interrogations. Vadis used magic and forced the Darvaarad out to the sea where it exploded, with few casualties. One of the Qunari Ben-Hassrath agent’s took Vadis and Irian to a tavern in Kont-aar.

“I thought I could see the dreadnought, the burning deck a distant speck on the horizon. A moment passed. Another. And suddenly, a flash of light, a second sun on the horizon.” (Half Up Front).

Gatt:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Gatt is an elven agent of the Qunari Ben-Hassrath, he shared the Qun’s knowledge on the agent of Fen’Harel’s scheme with Vadis and Irian. He then asked that if they wanted revenge against the Dread Wolf, they should seek a dwarf in Kirkwall, because he will want to hear what they’ve got to say about the agents of Fen’Harel, even more than that, he’ll have work for the two of them.

“You cannot stay with us. Nor, I imagine, would you want to. But we have other allies. A dwarf in Kirkwall. He will want to hear what you have to say about the enemy. And more than that, he will have work for you. Something more than survival—a chance to strike back. A chance to matter.” (Half Up Front).

Vadis and Irian decided to head to Kirkwall, but first, took a stop to see Val Royeaux together for the first time.

“We’ll go to Kirkwall. Eventually.” I looked at Irian again and my smile widened. “But first, any chance we can go to Val Royeaux? (Half Up Front).

"Dread Wolf Take You" by Patrick Weekes

Charter:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Charter is an elven agent of the Inquisition who worked very closely within Leliana’s spy network.

In Hunter Fell, Nevarra at a tavern called “The Teahouse” (the same name as my private Discord server that you can join if you become a channel member). Charter invited the best spies in Thedas for a roundhouse meeting to discuss the Dread Wolf and his scheme.

A Carta Assassin, Orlesian Bard, Mortalitasi Mage, and an Executor Agent presented themselves at Charter’s summit. The Tevinter Siccari and the Qunari Ben-Hassrath both declined their attendance at this meeting.

“The lamps were dim and the walls bare of both windows and any painting where a peephole might have been concealed, but a fireplace against the wall crackled merrily, and seated around the fire in comfortable overstuffed chairs were four figures.” (…) “As did the Ben- Hassrath.” She grimaced. “The latter is especially disappointing. They had more knowledge of Solas’s movements than anyone else.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

As each faction-representative shared their slightly fabricated perspectives on the Dread Wolf and his red lyrium idol, the group grew tired of each other’s white lies and false truths, they began to argue until their truths were finally revealed. By which point, the Orlesian Bard had already killed the Executor before they could share their insights. The Bard then froze the Mortalitasi Mage and the Carta Assassin, he took off his mask and revealed himself as Solas.

“That’s a good story,” the Assassin said, cutting into the silence, “but I’d rather hear the truth.” (…) “The Assassin and the Mortalitasi were still where they stood, their skin and clothes suddenly the gray of dead, dull stone.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

Solas:

In a desperate attempt to understand what the Inquisition and a few other high-profile factions knew, Solas disguised himself as an Orlesian bard. He understands that the powers against him in Thedas are not fools, and there are many who oppose him.

“I wished to know what you all knew,” he said, gesturing at the table. “There are many of you, and you are not fools. As for me coming in person . . . the Inquisition was involved.” He returned to his seat. “Why did you come?” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

When he revealed himself, Solas looked tired and sad. He said that telling the Inquisitor what he intended to do in Trespasser was a moment of weakness. He admitted that he’s prideful, hot-headed and foolish. He then told Charter to tell the Inquisitor that he’s sorry.

“He sighed. “It was a moment of weakness. I told myself that it was because you all deserved to know, to live a few years in peace before my ritual was complete. Before this world ended.” (…) “I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor . . .” His voice faltered. “Say that I am sorry.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

The Dread Wolf:

Whether a separate being from Solas, or his own shapeshifting form, the Dread Wolf appeared in the Fade with wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons. He’s lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon. The Fade is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him willingly.

“It was no elf, no mortal mage. It was a beast unlike any I had ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon, and it came to us on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons as the Dread Wolf landed before us.” (…) “But whatever fear the name Dread Wolf carries, he has earned. While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

The red lyrium idol belongs to him and he wants it back. The Dread Wolf declared that if anyone ever binds a spirit, then your life is his. This is particularly difficult for the Mortalitasi considering their entire culture is dependent on binding displaced spirits to corpses.

“YOU USE MY IDOL CARELESSLY TO VANDALIZE THE SEA OF DREAMS. NOW FEEL THE PAIN OF WHAT YOU HAVE CREATED.” (…) “FROM THIS MOMENT, SHOULD YOU EVER BIND A SPIRIT, THEN YOUR LIFE IS MINE.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

From this moment, the Dread Wolf has a ritual in the Fade, binding spirits and using blood magic undoes his work, therefore, he has abolished these types of magic and will eliminate anyone who dares use them in the future.

"And as clear as the Dread Wolf’s anger at what we had done— the Mortalitasi binding spirits he considered his own, the Tevinter mage using forbidden blood magic— was the feeling that we had disrupted his own work." (The Dread Wolf Take You).

For now, his ritual and future plans are largely unknown, in any regard, the Dread Wolf has risen and is preparing his scheme to destroy the Veil and reclaim the elvhen kingdom.

With that, there’s all the major characters mentioned and introduced in Tevinter Nights that I feel are paving the way forward, and may potentially have some involvement in the future Dragon Age game. Let me know your thoughts, which characters did you like the most, who would you like to see in the next game, who appealed to you and has the most plot potential?

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pengiesama · 3 years

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A Ring for a Ring, a Sweet for the Sweet (Fic, TGCF, HC/XL)

Title: A Ring for a Ring, a Sweet for the Sweet Series: Heavenly Official’s Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Pairing: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian

Summary:

Just as Hua Cheng once gave him a ring to pledge him his life, Xie Lian gives Hua Cheng a ring to pledge him his hole.

Link: AO3

Read on Tumblr!

Xie Lian was going into this birthday prepared. He had a plan in his head, a wish in his heart, and many thoughts cursing his dick.

This plan, this wish, this curse; it all started one fateful morning about a month ago. You see, the married life came with innumerable pleasures, and one of these was the comfort of a regular morning routine. Summarized, and truncated for length, it went a little like this:

Step 1: Wake up.

Step 2, Scenario A: San Lang pretending to be asleep, and refusing to break character until Xie Lian provided anywhere between seven to ten morning kisses.

Step 2, Scenario B: San Lang already awake, and distributing morning kisses to Xie Lian’s lips, neck, cock, and other such body parts that would benefit from the application of his tongue.

Step 3: The irrepressible cosmic consequence of either scenario outlined above.

Step 4, Scenario A: San Lang big spoon.

Step 4, Scenario B: Xie Lian big spoon.

Step 5: Helping each other wash, dress, and get ready for the day.

With Step 1 through Step 4, Scenario B completed, Xie Lian was helping his husband get ready before he had to scurry off to do a few errands. Check on the vegetable garden at the shrine, draw up a few new charms, pop over to the village’s market to see if there were any deals on, put an end to the demon who’d taken up residence in the hills two towns over and who was demanding maiden sacrifices…Xie Lian of course would answer the cries of those in need, but he did wonder, at times, why people were calling upon the God of Scrap-Collecting to slay evil (or at least rough up evil, followed by a stern talking-to). Shouldn’t they be calling upon him for blessings in happening upon excellent and thrifty finds? Ah, well. Always in service of the people.

The lacquered black comb sank thickly into Hua Cheng’s hair, and slid through like a ship through water. Silver chimed with the motions of Xie Lian’s arm. Lately, he’d taken to warming up Hua Cheng’s silver accessories before helping his husband put them on…underneath his sleeping robe, against his bare skin, he was currently sporting one of Hua Cheng’s heavy necklaces and silver belts. Xie Lian never liked the initial cold shock of jewelry against his skin when he was young; brief as the feeling was before his body heat warmed the metal, it was a petty annoyance he always dreaded each morning while still cranky and disoriented from sleep. His poor San Lang had no such respite, with his body’s ghostly chill. Thus, Xie Lian wanted to save his husband such an unpleasantness before a long day of managing his city.

There was, of course, the minor matter that Hua Cheng tended to wear quite a lot of accessories. (And he seemed to only be expanding this tendency after Xie Lian took up the warming habit.) After the necklace and belt were taken care of, he still needed to warm up the bracelets and rings (unthinkable to wear those while tending to San Lang’s beautiful hair), then the earrings and hair accessories, and then the vambraces; these were tricky, and required one-on-one attention. The silver butterflies nesting within the vambraces got excited very easily when Xie Lian touched their home, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d have an armful of butterflies and no vambrace to warm up.

Xie Lian could very easily spend the whole day at this, though his schedule didn’t allow it. Distracted by the movement of the comb through Hua Cheng’s hair, distracted by the low sounds of pleasure Hua Cheng made when Xie Lian absently ran his fingers through the strands, Xie Lian reached out to fumble for one of the many nearby jewelry boxes. Rings, San Lang did need rings to wear with his choice of ensemble today…

Xie Lian’s questing hand came back with a ring; that it was a ring was no question. But…Xie Lian’s brow furrowed as he examined it, turning it this way and that, the silver glinting in the bedroom light. Beautiful, with delicate engravings of blooming flowers across its surface, the quality silver thick and heavy in his palm. But this ring was much too large for his San Lang’s elegant, slender fingers, was it not? Though Xie Lian’s hands were smaller, they weren’t that much smaller, and he could fit both his thumbs inside it easily…

“Gege,” Hua Cheng purred, allowing his hair to fall over his shoulder in an alluring and altogether deliberate manner. “Did you find something you’d particularly like to see me in today?”

Hua Cheng’s gaze fell on the ring that Xie Lian was examining, and his confident, sly expression dropped all at once. His hand twitched, then fisted in his robes; as if he wanted to snatch away the ring but didn’t dare do so. Xie Lian blinked, confused.

“Is this a ring that San Lang wears while in a different skin?” Xie Lian asked. “It’s lovely, but seems much too big for San Lang’s…fing…er…”

Xie Lian trailed off, and the truth of the matter took root in his mind as his cheeks began to burn with a familiar heat. And oh, did those roots find eager and fertile soil.

Now, Xie Lian was inexperienced in bedroom matters, this much was true. But he was not stupid, and he also knew what his husband’s dick looked like at this point. This ring was indeed too large for Hua Cheng’s slender and elegant fingers. But it was just the right size to fit around the base of Hua Cheng’s thick, heavy cock.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng croaked. “This one apologizes for leaving such an item in—”

“This is a cock ring,” Xie Lian murmured, as if in a trance state, approaching a level of enlightenment not yet seen.

Hua Cheng’s physical form briefly flickered; hearing His Highness say such words so bluntly, with such an irresistibly flushed face, was very much like being struck by a divine force, staggering in its power. He took a deep breath to regain control of himself, and nodded.

“Yes,” Hua Cheng admitted. “This one is much ashamed to not be able to please His Highness as he deserves, on some nights. I crafted such a crude instrument in hopes that it would help with control, but it still is not up to the task, nor is it worthy of the honor of being used in His Highness’ bed…”

Xie Lian was brought back to reality long enough to refute such a self-abasing statement.

“San Lang always pleases me!” Xie Lian stated firmly. It wasn’t always about lasting for hours! It was about both of them enjoying the experience! First off, his San Lang lasted a perfect amount of time; secondly, even when he did come too fast, it just meant that Xie Lian had that much more come in him, and one of Xie Lian’s primary goals in his immortal life now was to be filled with as much of Hua Cheng’s come as physically possible. And if Xie Lian had to wait hours each time before Hua Cheng would finally come inside…

…but perhaps it was about the challenge. This was something a (formerly) martial god could understand. This was something that could overcome Xie Lian’s shyness, could reach deep within him and seize him by the heart and make him rise to the occasion. The buildup of his husband’s frustration and need, the challenge of overcoming the restriction of the ring, of riding Hua Cheng and filling him with so much pleasure that he would burst forth and break through – just as Hua Cheng had once done to free him from the bonds of his cursed shackles. (But like, with less dying afterwards. And with waaaaaay more come filling up Xie Lian’s insides.) Yes. Yes, this was a challenge Xie Lian was ready to help his San Lang face. They would do it together.

“I’m going to borrow this,” Xie Lian said. “Is that okay?”

“…as it pleases His Highness,” Hua Cheng replied, with no little confusion.

He’d find out soon enough.

Xie Lian worked tirelessly, during every free moment, to perfect this most important of spiritual relics: the Incorruptible Chastity Cock Ring. Although last year’s birthday present proved that his sewing skills left something to be desired (and his dear, sweet husband still insisted on wearing that ridiculous belt any chance he got), his metalworking skills, again, proved much more polished. Polished enough to make this ring even more of a sight to behold.

He’d amassed enough followers, and enough donations, to permit him to spend on sourcing quality metal for the project – he of course would not dip into Hua Cheng’s own art supplies, nor his purse. Though both were open to him at all times, that was hardly the spirit meant for a birthday gift! And thus, with silver that was not dug up out of his own grave this time, he’d set to work.

The expertly engraved ring now sported four fine silver chains, from which many chiming seed-shaped silver beads dangled. These silver chains were meant to drape alluringly across Hua Cheng’s muscular thighs and lean hips, and chime with every movement. The chains could be attached to any of Hua Cheng’s silver belts, which Xie Lian considered a very clever foresight on his own behalf. It would be very convenient, this way. (Though it would, of course, mean that a bit of warming up would be needed before he could dress San Lang for the occasion.)

The day of Hua Cheng’s birthday came, and the rush of adrenaline that was warding off Xie Lian’s shyness was beginning to wear off. What was he doing, presenting his husband with such a gift!? My darling, my one and only, my San Lang, here’s a cock ring that you made yourself because you come too fast in bed. Happy birthday! But Xie Lian tried to remember the goal here, the challenge, the pursuit of excellence. Those who ascended were ones who were capable of seeing beyond the limits of what was thought impossible. And Xie Lian so loved dressing Hua Cheng up before a hard day of work.

The moment the midnight hour struck, Ghost City was bright with cheers and fireworks. When Hua Cheng next stepped out of his residence, he would be greeted with a thousand congratulations and well-wishes: Lord Chengzhu, happy birthday!

Great Lord Mayor, happy eight-hundred-twenty-third! If’n I could count that high, I’d lop off the hands of eight hunn’erd twenny third sinners and deck these streets with ‘em!

What a waste of hands! Ya know you can fry those up, doncha!? Or sell them to tourists!

And an occasion such as this calls fer decadence! Like scattering hands all over the streets!! But, for now, Xie Lian had Hua Cheng all to himself.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian whispered into his ear, before kissing it. “Happy birthday. Would you like to open your present?”

Such an offer was a surefire way to get Hua Cheng to stop pretending to be asleep. In an instant, Xie Lian was tackled onto his back on the bed, and pinned in place by the press of Hua Cheng’s lean body and the insistent lips against his own.

“Gege is too kind,” Hua Cheng sighed between kisses. “Too generous. For days I’ve been thinking of nothing but the birthday dinner you promised me, and now gege is telling me that he’s got more gifts up his sleeves?”

Seizing upon the opportunity provided by the wording, Hua Cheng’s greedy hands snuck up the sleeves of Xie Lian’s sleeping robes, squeezing and groping at his arms as he went. The right idea, but the wrong direction…

“It’s…um…” Xie Lian trailed off, his cheeks flaring red. He had a planned script for this. Something about a ring for a ring, sweets for the sweet. The lines were lost to him now. But the intent certainly was not.

Slowly, shyly, Xie Lian slid a hand down the front of his own robes. Hua Cheng’s eye followed the movement raptly, and his touch grew heavier on Xie Lian’s bicep. Taking a moment to steel his courage, Xie Lian ran his fingers along the tie of his robe once, twice, before tugging at it to loosen it and let his robes slip open.

“I wanted to make sure it was warm enough for San Lang to wear comfortably,” Xie Lian explained softly.

Silver glinted through the part of his robe. One of Hua Cheng’s silver belts hung around Xie Lian’s hips, flush against his bare skin. Chiming silver chains dangled from it, leading the eye downward to where they joined at that thick, heavy engraved silver ring. It really was much too big for one’s finger, and still a bit too big for Xie Lian’s own cock. He feared it looked a bit silly – even half-hard as he was, it was clear that there was no way he’d fill it out. Of course, Hua Cheng would have no trouble.

Hua Cheng stared openly, blatantly; hungrily and open-mouthed. His grip on Xie Lian’s bicep was bruising.

“…Your Highness,” he eventually managed to say. His voice was low and raw enough to send a shiver through Xie Lian’s limbs, to make those silver beads chime with the motion of his bare legs sliding against the silk sheets. “Your graciousness knows no bounds. This humble follower doesn’t deserve such a magnificent gift.”

Xie Lian took Hua Cheng’s face in his hands, cradled his cheeks between his palms. He leaned in to press a kiss between Hua Cheng’s brows.

“My husband,” he murmured against Hua Cheng’s skin, his breath warm. “Deserves many such magnificent things.”

The kiss that followed was deep and slow, and full of a wet heat that took Xie Lian from half-hard to fully rigid. The ring still slid off with ease, though Hua Cheng’s fingers were so careful and gentle and slow in their ministrations to remove it that Xie Lian could have cried (or laughed, really) in frustration. Hua Cheng was equally slow and deliberate while undoing the belt tied around Xie Lian’s waist, taking his time, dipping his fingers underneath the belt while he worked to feel the heat radiating off Xie Lian’s abdominals.

“San Lang,” groaned Xie Lian.

Hua Cheng chuckled weakly, and kissed Xie Lian’s throat in recompense. “Gege’s patience is appreciated. I have to wait for my blood to cool before I can wield his gift.”

Xie Lian blinked, curious. “Oh? Is that how it works? Much ashamed, I’ve not much experience. But that does make sense, considering the intent…”

It was Hua Cheng’s turn to groan, and he punctuated it with a dramatic collapse into the pillows next to Xie Lian’s head.

“Gege is not helping with the blood cooling,” Hua Cheng grumbled, with affection clear in the accusation.

“My sincerest apologies,” Xie Lian replied, not sorry at all.

It took some long, painfully and deliciously slow minutes – drawn out by their refusal to stop kissing for the duration – before Hua Cheng’s cock softened enough to slide the ring on. Xie Lian, too, went slowly, carefully, guided by Hua Cheng’s slightly-trembling fingers and the glide of oil to ease any discomfort. When the work was done, Xie Lian squirmed out from under Hua Cheng to survey his handiwork.

His San Lang looked so lovely. The sheen of the oil on his cock, the glinting silver decorating the thick base and draping artfully across his strong thighs. The delicate chimes looked ticklish against his balls; Xie Lian reached out a hand to brush his knuckles against the velvety soft skin there and was rewarded by a delicious groan and squirm.

Oh, before he forgot…there was indeed one more surprise that Xie Lian had for the birthday boy. When he’d set to work on this precious spiritual tool, he’d added some features...

Xie Lian traced both hands along the silver chains, and they shivered with spiritual energy. Hua Cheng wore a priceless expression of shock on his face for a brief moment as he felt the pulse of energy, but had no further opportunity to react before the cock ring itself pulsed once, twice, thrice, more. It continued to pulse around Hua Cheng’s cock in time with the racing beat of Xie Lian’s heart. With each pulse, Hua Cheng’s hips jerked upward involuntarily; with each jerk, those silver chimes rang melodiously. Hua Cheng’s mouth hung open wordlessly, his eye glazed with pleasure that stole his sight and sense.

Very convenient, indeed. Xie Lian could probably just leave him like this and go about his daily errands, secure in the thought that his husband would be waiting for him in bed at home, desperate for relief after hours of tension that threatened to snap him in two. But that wouldn’t be particularly kind to do to him today. The birthday boy would have his release in due time, with only as much teasing as Xie Lian could bear.

“Did I warm it up well enough for San Lang’s comfort?” Xie Lian asked, stretching himself out along Hua Cheng’s side as he jerked and twitched. He stroked his palm along Hua Cheng’s lovely pectorals, down his stomach. He pressed the back of his hand to the silver belt to test its temperature. Xie Lian hmmed thoughtfully and moved to toy with one of the silver chains. “I suppose it’s still a bit chilly. Will you ever forgive me?”

“H…Hhh-highne…ssss…” Hua Cheng managed to slur out, then let out an animalistic moan as the pulses around his cock grew in intensity. Xie Lian made a comforting noise, and kissed Hua Cheng’s temple soothingly. His poor San Lang. It couldn’t be helped; the cock ring’s pulses were tied to Xie Lian’s heartbeat, and there was no controlling that when he was with Hua Cheng.

Xie Lian decided, there and then, that it was time to test the integrity (and the Incorruptible Chastity) of this spiritual artifact. He’d prepared himself before waking Hua Cheng; he thanked himself profusely for this foresight, as he doubted he had the patience to do it now and could hardly ask Hua Cheng to do all the work today. He already had enough to deal with right now.

Hua Cheng’s hands, previously fisted in the silk bedsheets in a vain attempt at controlling himself, flew to seize Xie Lian’s waist as Xie Lian moved to straddle him. Any protests died in his throat as the tip of his cock pressed into Xie Lian’s entrance, already warm and willing and ready. Xie Lian sighed in relief at the stretch and the fullness, and bounced and wriggled his hips until Hua Cheng’s cock was in him fully. He could feel the slight coolness of the silver ring against the rim of his hole, could feel the pulsations of the ring inside and out. Xie Lian gave a full-body shiver, and almost absentmindedly lifted the crystal ring around his neck up to his lips to kiss. The gesture grounded him, it soothed him, it—

“Your Highness…”

The warning growl of that title came too little, too late. Driven mad by the beat of Xie Lian’s heart and the burning heat of his body, Hua Cheng’s grip on Xie Lian’s waist became completely ungentle. His fingers gripped with bruising force, and he bounced Xie Lian on his cock with harsh, fast motions; endlessly chasing a release that would not come, to the tune of chiming silver chains. He pounded as deep into him as he could reach, and seemed as if he could hardly stand having even an inch of him not inside. It was all Xie Lian could do to hold onto Hua Cheng’s shoulders, to hold himself steady even as his thigh muscles began to burn with the strain, to let Hua Cheng fuck into him and use his body as a tool for his pleasure.

The first time Xie Lian came, it only left him hungry for more. The fifth time left him lying limp and slack, sprawled on his back as Hua Cheng’s cock continued to relentlessly fuck him, in and out, with no signs of stopping or slowing. Xie Lian’s insides ached to be soothed by the rush of Hua Cheng’s come. After the eighth time, with his face now pressed into a pillow and Hua Cheng’s cock still tirelessly pumping his prone body, chimes still jingling as brightly and eagerly as they had at the start, Xie Lian himself began to beg for that as well.

“S-s-sssan Lang…” Xie Lian could hardly get the words out, his tongue felt thick and heavy and useless in his mouth. “S-san Lang, need…need it…”

Hua Cheng moaned against Xie Lian’s neck, and briefly paused in his efforts to cover every inch of it with bite marks and hickies. His mouth moved to Xie Lian’s ear; biting it once before he spoke into it, sounding rich and low and just as wrecked as Xie Lian.

“Anything His Highness needs, anything, anything, I’ll give it – mnnnhh, mmm – oh, Your Highness, Your Highness is so good to me, so good to this San Lang…mmh, feels so perfect inside, does it feel as good for gege? Is he ready to come again for me?”

Xie Lian let out a desperate moan as Hua Cheng expertly adjusted his angle to aim his thrusts against that spot inside of him. He wouldn’t last much longer, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, and he didn’t think he’d be able to stay conscious for round ten. And Hua Cheng still hadn’t come even once inside of him – Xie Lian could endure many hardships, but this was too much, too much!

“San Lang! I want it, I want that!” Xie Lian wailed with the desperation of a dying man. “Ah-ahhhh, I need it, I need you to give it all to me, please, please, won’t you please – ohh! Please, please have mercy, San Lang-gege, please have mercy and fill me up…”

Xie Lian’s heart was racing like a parade drum. He could only imagine the mayhem being wrought upon his husband’s dick by the cock ring’s enchantment. But he trusted his husband – he trusted him to break through, break through with him and see the limits of the highest heavens –

Hua Cheng let out a shout and a shockwave of spiritual energy strong enough to blow back the curtains on the bed, and released into Xie Lian enough come that Xie Lian felt his stomach grow taut with it. He felt his eyes roll back into his head, and let himself pass out midway through his ninth orgasm.

His conscious mind swam back after some time, and he found himself bundled against Hua Cheng’s strong chest. Morning was just breaking outside the window, but today was a day for sleeping in. Xie Lian breathed in his husband’s scent and let himself be lulled back to sleep. He still had to make that birthday dinner today, and needed to regain his strength.

“Oh? Did something happen out here?”

While things were stewing, Xie Lian needed to make a quick run to the market to pick up some supplies he’d forgotten. Outside of Paradise Manor, he found Yin Yu with a broom, sweeping a path through the severed hands that had been scattered on the road outside. If Xie Lian were to make a rough estimate, there were approximately eleven hundred sixty-seven of them. There was also a crudely written banner hung in the blossoming trees on the roadside, that read: HAPPAY BARTH DAY LARD CHENGZHU.

“They do try, don’t they?” Xie Lian said to Yin Yu, fondly. “Once I’m back from the market, I’ll help you clean up out here.”

“They do try,” Yin Yu agreed. “And no, no, Your Highness has business to attend to.”

Xie Lian smiled and gave a grateful bow. “Your Highness Yin Yu is welcome to join us for dinner. I’ll save some stew for him! Please don’t hesitate to drop by later.”

Yin Yu watched as Xie Lian expertly stepped around the hands littering the streets, then disappeared into the bustle of the Ghost City market. He gave a deep, resigned sigh and returned to sweeping.

#天官赐福 #tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hualian #a tenderly crafted fanfiction

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collegeburnoutsuperstar · 4 years

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Social Distancing Book Recs

I’ve been getting tons of book recommendations from friends and family to help get through social distancing/self-quarantine, so I thought I should share some of my favorite books with everybody!

Horror/Apocalyptic: *all books are ADULT*

- The Stand by Stephen King “This is the way the world ends: with a nanosecond of computer error in a Defense Department laboratory and a million casual contacts that form the links in a chain letter of death. And here is the bleak new world of the day after: a world stripped of its institutions and emptied of 99 percent of its people. A world in which a handful of panicky survivors choose sides -- or are chosen” (Goodreads Summary).

- Inferno by Dan Brown “Harvard professor of symbology Robert Langdon awakens in an Italian hospital, disorientated and with no recollection of the past thirty-six hours, including the origin of the macabre object hidden in his belongings. With a relentless female assassin tailing them through Florence, he and his resourceful doctor, Sienna Brooks, are forced to flee. Embarking on a harrowing journey, they must unravel a series of codes, which are the work of a brilliant scientist whose obsession with the end of the world is matched only by his passion for one of the most influential masterpieces ever written, Dante Alighieri’s The Inferno” (Goodreads Summary).

- World War Z by Max Brooks “The Zombie War came unthinkably close to eradicating humanity. Max Brooks, driven by the urgency of preserving the acid-etched first-hand experiences of the survivors from those apocalyptic years, traveled across the United States of America and throughout the world, form decimated cities that once teemed with upwards of thirty million souls to the most remote and inhospitable areas of the planet. He recorded the testimony of men, women, and sometimes children who came face-to-face with the living, or at least the undead, hell of that dreadful time. World War Z is the result. Never before have we had access to a document that so powerfully conveys the depth of fear and horror, and also the ineradicable spirit of resistance, that gripped human society through the plague years” (Goodreads summary).

- It by Stephen King “It’s a small city, a place as hauntingly familiar as your own hometown. Only in Derry the haunting is real... They were seven teenagers when they first stumbled upon the horror. Now they are grown-up men and women who have gone out into the big world to gain success and happiness. But none of them can withstand the force that has drawn them back to Derry to face the nightmare without an end, and the evil without a name” (Goodreads summary).

- The Shining by Stephen King “Jack Torrance’s new job at the Overlook Hotel is the perfect chance for a fresh start. As the off-season caretaker at the atmospheric old hotel, he’ll have plenty of time to spend reconnecting with his family and working on his writing. But as the harsh winter weather sets in, the idyllic locations feels ever more remote... and more sinister. And the only one to notice the strange and terrible forces gathering around the Overlook is Danny Torrance, a uniquely gifted five-year-old” (Goodreads summary).

- House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski “[House of Leaves] focuses on a young family that moves into a small home on Ash Tree Lane where they discover something is terribly wrong: their house is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Of course, neither Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Will Navidson nor his companion Karen Green was prepared to face the consequences of the impossibility, until the day their two little children wandered off and their voices eerily began to return another story -- of creature darkness, of an ever-growing abyss behind a closet door, and of the unholy growl which soon enough would tear through their walls and consume all their dreams” (Goodreads summary).

Comedy:

- Good Omens by Neil Gaimen and Terry Pratchett “People have been predicting the end of the world almost from its very beginning, so it’s only natural to be skeptical when a new date is set for Judgement Day. But what if, for once, the predictions are right, and the apocalypse really is due to arrive next Saturday, just after tea? You could spend the time left drowning your sorrows, giving away all your possessions in preparation for the rapture, or laughing it off as (hopefully) just another hoax. Or you could just try to do something about it. It’s a predicament that Aziraphale, a somewhat fussy angel, and Crowley, a fast-living demon now finds themselves in. They’ve been living amongst Earth’s mortals since The Beginning and, truth be told, have grown rather fond of the lifestyle and, in all honesty, are not actually looking forward to the coming Apocalypse. And then there’s the small matter that someone appears to have misplaced the Antichrist... “ (Goodreads summary).

- Dad Is Fat by Jim Gaffigan *PG-13* Dad is Fat is a comedic memoir that details Jim Gaffigan’s life growing up in a large Catholic family to his experiences as a husband and father (specifically parenting his five young children while living in a tiny walk-up apartment in New York). I highly recommend the audiobook (which is narrated by Jim Gaffigan), my family and I always listen to it during road trips. It never stops being funny.

- Bored of the Rings: A Parody of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings by The Harvard Lampoon *ADULT* “A quest, a war, a ring that would be grounds for calling any wedding off, a king without a kingdom, and a little, furry ‘hero’ named Frito, ready -- or maybe just forced by the wizard of Goodgulf-- to undertake the one mission which can save Lower Middle Earth from enslavement by the evil Sorhed… Luscious Elfmaidens, a roller-skating dragon, ugly plants that can soul-kiss the unwary to death-- these are just some of the ingredients in the wildest, wackiest, most irreverent excursion into fantasy realms that anyone has ever dared to undertake” (Goodreads summary).

Middle-Grade:

- Percy Jackson and the Olympians series by Rick Riordan (book 1: The Lightning Thief) “Percy Jackson is a good kid, but he can’t seem to focus on his schoolwork or control his temper. And lately, being away at boarding school is only getting worse - Percy could have sworn his pre-algebra teacher turned into a monster and tried to kill him. When Percy’s mom finds out, she knows it’s time that he knew the truth about where he came from, and that he go to the one place he’ll be safe. She sends Percy to Camp Half Blood, a summer camp for demigods. Soon a mystery unfolds and together with his friends-- one a satyr and the other the demigod daughter of Athena-- Percy sets out on a quest across the United States to reach the gates of the Underworld and prevent a catastrophic war between the gods” (Goodreads summary).

- The Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan (book 1: The Lost Hero) “Jason has a problem. He doesn’t remember anything before waking up in a bus full of kids on a field trip. Apparently he has a girlfriend named Piper, and a best friend named Leo. They’re all students at a boarding school for ‘bad kids.’ What id Jason do to end up here? And where is here, exactly? Piper has a secret. Her father has been missing for three days, ever since she had that terrifying nightmare about his being in trouble. Piper doesn’t understand her dream, or why her boyfriend suddenly doesn’t recognize her. When a freak storm hits during the school trip, unleashing strange creatures and whisking her, Jason, and Leo away to someplace called Camp Half-Blood, she has a feeling she’s going to find out. Leo has a way with tools. When he sees his cabin at Camp Half-Blood, filled with power tools and machine parts, he feels right at home. But there’s weird stuff, too-- like the curse everyone keeps talking about, and some camper who’s gone missing. Weirdest of all, his bunkmates insist that each of them--including Leo-- is related to a god. Does this have anything to do with Jason’s amnesia, or the fact that Leo keeps seeing ghosts?” (Goodreads summary)

- The Children of the Red King series by Jenny Nimmo (book 1: Midnight for Charlie Bone) “Charlie Bone has a special gift-- he can hear people in photographs talking! The fabulous powers of the Red King were passed down through his descendants, after turning up quite unexpectedly, in someone who had no idea where they came from. This is what happened to Charlie Bone, and to some of the children he met behind the grim, gray walls of Bloor’s Academy. His scheming aunts decide to send him to Bloor’s Academy, a school for geniuses where he uses his grifts to discover the truth despite all the dangers that lie ahead” (Goodreads summary).

- Things Not Seen by Andrew Clements “Bobby Phillips is an average fifteen-year-old boy. Until the morning he wakes up and can’t see himself in the mirror. Not blind, not dreaming. Bobby is just plain invisible... There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to Bobby’s new conditions; even his dad the physicist can’t figure it out. For Bobby that means no school, no friends, no life. He’s a missing person” (Goodreads summary).

Science Fiction:

- Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick *Adult* “It was January 2021, and Rick Deckard had a license to kill. Somewhere among the hordes of humans out there, lurked several rogue androids. Deckard’s assignment-- find them and then... ‘retire’ them. Trouble was, the androids all looked exactly like humans, and they didn’t want to be found!” (Goodreads summary).

- Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton * Suitable for Young Adults* “An astonishing technique for recovering and cloning dinosaur DNA has been discovered. Now humankind’s most thrilling fantasies have come true. Creatures extinct for eons roam Jurassic Park with their awesome presence and profound mystery, and all the world can visit them-- for a price. Until something goes wrong...” (Goodreads summary).

Fantasy:

- The Magicians trilogy by Lev Grossman *ADULT* (book 1: The Magicians) “Quentin Coldwater is brilliant but miserable. A senior in high school, he’s still secretly preoccupied with a series of fantasy novels he read as a child, set in a magical land called Fillory. Imagine his surprise when he finds himself unexpectedly admitted to a very secret, very exclusive college of magic in upstate New York, where he receives a thorough and rigorous education in the craft of modern sorcery. He also discovers all the other things people learn in college: friendship, love, sex, booze, and boredom. Something is missing, though. Magic doesn’t bring Quentin the happiness and adventure he dreamed it would. After graduation he and his friends make a stunning discovery: Fillory is real. But the land of Quentin’s fantasies turns out to be much darker and more dangerous than he could have imagined. His childhood dream becomes a nightmare with a shocking truth at its heart” (Goodreads summary).

- The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater *YA* (book 1: The Raven Boys) “What do you know about Welsh kings?” This incredibly atmospheric story centers on a seemingly random group of teens as they uncover the mysterious and magical secrets of their small Virginia town.

- A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab *Suitable for Young Adults* “Kell is one of the last Antari-- magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black. Kell was raised in Arnes-- Red London-- and officially serves the Maresh Empire as an ambassador, traveling between the frequent bloody regime changes in White London and the court of George III in the dullest of Londons, the one without any magic left to see. Unofficially, Kell is a smuggler, servicing people willing to pay for even the smallest glimpses of a world they’ll never see. After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. She first robs him, then saves him from a deadly enemy, and finally forces Kell to spirit her to another world for a proper adventure. Now perilous magic is afoot, and treacher lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they’ll first need to stay alive” (Goodreads summary).

- The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien *Suitable for middle-grade through adult* “In ancient times the Rings of Power were crafted by the Elven-smiths, and Sauron, the Dark Lord. forged the One Ring, filling it with his own power so that he could rule all others. But the One Ring was taken form him, and though he sought it throughout Middle-earth, it remained lost to him. After many ages it fell by chance into the hands of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. When Bilbo reached his eleventy-first birthday he disappeared, bequeathing to his young cousin Frodo the Ruling Ring and a perilous quest: to journey across Middle-earth, deep into the shadow of the Dark Lord, and destroy the Ring by casting it into the Cracks of Doom” (Goodreads summary).

- The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss *Adult* “Told in Kvothe’s own voice, this is the tale of the magically gifted young man who grows to be the most notorious wizard his world has ever seen. The intimate narrative of his childhood in a troupe of traveling players, his years spent as a near-feral orphan in a crime-ridden city, his daringly brazen yet successful bit to enter a legendary school of magic, and his life as a fugitive, and his life as a fugitive after the murder of a king form a gripping coming-of-age story” (Goodreads summary).

- The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch *Adult* “An orphan’s life is harsh-- and often short-- in the mysterious island city of Camorr. But youge Locke Lamora dodges death and slavery, becoming a thief under the tutelage of a gifted con artist. As leader of the band of light-fingered brothers known as the Gentleman Bastards, Loke is soon infamous, fooling even the underworld’s most feared ruler. But in the shadows lurks someone still more ambitious and deadly. Faced with a bloody coup that threatens to destroy everyone and everything that holds meaning in his mercenary life, Locke vows to beat the enemy at his own brutal game-- or die trying” (Goodreads summary).

Fiction:

- The Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich *ADULT mystery-thrillers/romance* (book 1: One for the Money) “You’ve lost your job as a department store lingerie buyer, your car’s been repossessed, and most of your furniture and small appliances have been sold off to pay last month’s rent. Now the rent is due again. And you live in New Jersey. What do you do? If you’re Stephanie Plum, you become a bounty hunter. But not just a nickel-and-dime bounty hunter; you go after the big money. That means a cop gone bad. And not just any cop. She goes after Joe Morelli, a disgraced former vice cop who is also the man who took Stephanie’s virginity at age 16 and the wrote details on a bathroom wall. With pride and rent money on the line, Plum plunges headlong into her first case, one that pits her against ruthless adversaries - people who’d rather kill than lose” (Goodreads summary).

- The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown *Adult* “While in Paris, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon is awakened by a phone call in the dead of the night. The elderly curator of the Louvre has been murdered inside the museum, his body covered in baffling symbols. As Langdon and gifted French cryptologist Sophie Neveu sort through the bizarre riddles, they are stunned to discover a trail of clues hidden in the works of Leonardo da Vinci-- clues visible for all to see and yet ingeniously disguised by the painter. Even more startling, the late curator was involved in the Priory of Sion-- a secret society whose members included Sir Isaac Newton, Victory Hugo, and Da Vici-- and he guarded a breathtaking historical secret. Unless Landon and Neveu can decipher the labyrinthine puzzle-- while avoiding the faceless adversary who shadows their every move-- the explosive, ancient truth will be lost forever” (Goodreads summary).

- Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle *Adult* Sherlock Holmes stories are always fun when stuck at home.

- 11/22/63 by Stephen King *Adult* “Life can turn on a dime-- or stumble into the extraordinary, as it does for Jake Epping, a high school English teacher in Lisbon Falls, Maine. While grading essays by his GED students, Jake reads a gruesome, enthralling piece penned by janitor Harry Dunning: fifty years ago, Harry somehow survived his father’s sledgehammer slaughter of his entire family, Jake is blown away... but an even more bizarre secret comes to light when Jake’s friend Al, owner of the local diner, enlists Jake to take over the mission that has become his obsession-- to prevent the Kennedy assassination. How? By stepping through a portal in the diner’s storeroom, and into the ear of Ike and Elvis, or big American cars, sock hops, and cigarette smoke... Finding himself in warmhearted Jodie, Texas, Jake begins a new life. But all turns in the road lead to a troubled loner named Lee Harvey Oswald. The course of history is about to be rewritten... and become heart-stoppingly suspenseful” (Goodreads summary).

Non-Fiction:

- The Men Who Stare at Goats by Jon Ronson *Adult* “In 1979 a secret unit was established by the most gifted minds within the U.S. Army. Defying all known accepted military practice-- and indeed, the laws of physics-- they believed that a soldier could adopt a cloak of invisibility, pass cleanly through walls, and, perhaps most chillingly, kill goats just by staring at them. Entrusted with defending America from all known adversaries, they were the First Earth Battalion. And they really weren’t joking. What’s more, they’re back and fighting the War on Terror. With firsthand access to the leading players in the story, Ronson traces the evolution of these bizarre activities over the past three decades and shows how they are alive today within the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and in postwar Iraq. Why are they blasting Iraqi prisoners of war with the theme tune to Barney the Purple Dinosaur? Why have 100 debleated goats been secretly placed inside the Special Forces Command Center at Fort Bragg, North Carolina? How was the U.S. military associated with the mysterious mass suicide of a strange cult form San Diego? The Men Who Stare at Goats answers these and many more questions” (Goodreads summary).

- Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert *Adult* (I recommend listening to the audiobook, which is narrated by Elizabeth Gilbert) “To recover from [an early midlife crisis, divorce, and depression], Gilbert took a radical step. In order to give herself the time and space to find out who she really was and what she really wanted, she got rid of her belongings, quit her job, and undertook a yearlong journey around the world-- all alone. Eat, Pray, Love is the absorbing chronicle of that year. Her aim was to visit three places where she could examine one aspect of her own nature set against the backdrop of a culture that has traditionally done that one thing very well. In Rome, she studied the art of pleasure, learning to speak Italian and gaining the twenty-three happiest pounds of her life. India was for the art of devotion, and with the help of a native guru and a surprisingly wise cowboy from Texas, she embarked on four uninterrupted months of spiritual exploration. In Bali, she studied the art of balance between worldly enjoyment and divine transcendence. She became the pupil of an elderly medicine man and also fell in love the best way-- unexpectedly” (Goodreads summary).

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chiefbelieverstarlight · 3 years

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“The Garden of Janus”

I The cloud my bed is tinged with blood and foam. The vault yet blazes with the sun Writhing above the West, brave hippodrome Whose gladiators shock and shun As the blue night devours them, crested comb Of sleep's dead sea That eats the shores of life, rings round eternity! II So, he is gone whose giant sword shed flame Into my bowels; my blood's bewitched; My brain's afloat with ecstasy of shame. That tearing pain is gone, enriched By his life-spasm; but he being gone, the same Myself is gone Sucked by the dragon down below death's horizon. III I woke from this. I lay upon the lawn; They had thrown roses on the moss With all their thorns; we came there at the dawn, My lord and I; God sailed across The sky in's galleon of amber, drawn By singing winds While we wove garlands of the flowers of our minds. IV All day my lover deigned to murder me, Linking his kisses in a chain About my neck; demon-embroidery! Bruises like far-ff mountains stain The valley of my body of ivory! Then last came sleep. I wake, and he is gone; what should I do but weep? V Nay, for I wept enough --- more sacred tears! --- When first he pinned me, gripped My flesh, and as a stallion that rears, Sprang, hero-thewed and satyr-lipped; Crushed, as a grape between his teeth, my fears; Sucked out my life And stamped me with the shame, the monstrous word of wife. VI I will not weep; nay, I will follow him Perchance he is not far, Bathing his limbs in some delicious dim Depth, where the evening star May kiss his mouth, or by the black sky's rim He makes his prayer To the great serpent that is coiled in rapture there. VII I rose to seek him. First my footsteps faint Pressed the starred moss; but soon I wandered, like some sweet sequestered saint, Into the wood, my mind. The moon Was staggered by the trees; with fierce constraint Hardly one ray Pierced to the ragged earth about their roots that lay. VIII I wandered, crying on my Lord. I wandered Eagerly seeking everywhere. The stories of life that on my lips he squandered Grew into shrill cries of despair, Until the dryads frightened and dumfoundered Fled into space --- Like to a demon-king's was grown my maiden face! XI At last I came unto the well, my soul In that still glass, I saw no sign Of him, and yet --- what visions there uproll To cloud that mirror-soul of mine? Above my head there screams a flying scroll Whose word burnt through My being as when stars drop in black disastrous dew. X For in that scroll was written how the globe Of space became; of how the light Broke in that space and wrapped it in a robe Of glory; of how One most white Withdrew that Whole, and hid it in the lobe Of his right Ear, So that the Universe one dewdrop did appear. IX Yea! and the end revealed a word, a spell, An incantation, a device Whereby the Eye of the Most Terrible Wakes from its wilderness of ice To flame, whereby the very core of hell Bursts from its rind, Sweeping the world away into the blank of mind. XII So then I saw my fault; I plunged within The well, and brake the images That I had made, as I must make - Men spin The webs that snare them - while the knee Bend to the tyrant God - or unto Sin The lecher sunder! Ah! came that undulant light from over or from under? XIII It matters not. Come, change! come, Woe! Come, mask! Drive Light, Life, Love into the deep! In vain we labour at the loathsome task Not knowing if we wake or sleep; But in the end we lift the plumed casque Of the dead warrior; Find no chaste corpse therein, but a soft-smiling whore. XIV Then I returned into myself, and took All in my arms, God's universe: Crushed its black juice out, while His anger shook His dumbness pregnant with a curse. I made me ink, and in a little book I wrote one word That God himself, the adder of Thought, had never heard. XV It detonated. Nature, God, mankind Like sulphur, nitre, charcoal, once Blended, in one annihilation blind Were rent into a myriad of suns. Yea! all the mighty fabric of a Mind Stood in the abyss, Belching a Law for "That" more awful than for "This." XVI Vain was the toil. So then I left the wood And came unto the still black sea, That oily monster of beatitude! ('Hath "Thee" for "Me," and "Me" for "Thee!") There as I stood, a mask of solitude Hiding a face Wried as a satyr's, rolled that ocean into space. XVII Then did I build an altar on the shore Of oyster-shells, and ringed it round With star-fish. Thither a green flame I bore Of phosphor foam, and strewed the ground With dew-drops, children of my wand, whose core Was trembling steel Electric that made spin the universal Wheel. XVIII With that a goat came running from the cave That lurked below the tall white cliff. Thy name! cried I. The answer that gave Was but one tempest-whisper - "If!" Ah, then! his tongue to his black palate clave; For on soul's curtain Is written this one certainty that naught is certain! XIX So then I caught that goat up in a kiss. And cried Io Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan! Then all this body's wealth of ambergris, (Narcissus-scented flesh of man!) I burnt before him in the sacrifice; For he was sure - Being the Doubt of Things, the one thing to endure! XX Wherefore, when madness took him at the end, He, doubt-goat, slew the goat of doubt; And that which inward did for ever tend Came at the last to have come out; And I who had the World and God to friend Found all three foes! Drowned in that sea of changes, vacancies, and woes! XXI Yet all that Sea was swallowed up therein; So they were not, and it was not. As who should sweat his soul out through the skin And find (sad fool!) he had begot All that without him that he had left in, And in himself All he had taken out thereof, a mocking elf! XXII But now that all was gone, great Pan appeared. Him then I strove to woo, to win, Kissing his curled lips, playing with his beard, Setting his brain a-shake, a-spin, By that strong wand, and muttering of the weird That only I Knew of all souls alive or dead beneath the sky. XXIII So still I conquered, and the vision passed. Yet still was beaten, for I knew Myself was He, Himself, the first and last; And as an unicorn drinks dew From under oak-leaves, so my strength was cast Into the mire; For all I did was dream, and all I dreamt desire. XXIV More; in this journey I had clean forgotten The quest, my lover. But the tomb Of all these thoughts, the rancid and the rotten, Proved in the end to be my womb Wherein my Lord and lover had begotten A little child To drive me, laughing lion, into the wanton wild! XXV This child hath not one hair upon his head, But he hath wings instead of ears. No eyes hath he, but all his light is shed Within him on the ordered sphere Of nature that he hideth; and in stead Of mouth he hath One minute point of jet; silence, the lightning path! XXVI Also his nostrils are shut up; for he Hath not the need of any breath; Nor can the curtain of eternity Cover that head with life or death. So all his body, a slim almond-tree, Knoweth no bough Nor branch nor twig nor bud, from never until now. XXVII This thought I bred within my bowels, I am. I am in him, as he in me; And like a satyr ravishing a lamb So either seems, or as the sea Swallows the whale that swallows it, the ram Beats its own head Upon the city walls, that fall as it falls dead. XXVIII Come, let me back unto the lilied lawn! Pile me the roses and the thorns, Upon this bed from which he hath withdrawn! He may return. A million morns May follow that first dire daemonic dawn When he did split My spirit with his lightnings and enveloped it! XXIX So I am stretched out naked to the knife, My whole soul twitching with the stress Of the expected yet surprising strife, A martyrdom of blessedness. Though Death came, I could kiss him into life; Though Life came, I Could kiss him into death, and yet nor live nor die! XXX Yet I that am the babe, the sire, the dam, Am also none of these at all; For now that cosmic chaos of I AM Bursts like a bubble. Mystical The night comes down, a soaring wedge of flame Woven therein To be a sign to them who yet have never been. XXXI The universe I measured with my rod. The blacks were balanced with the whites; Satan dropped down even as up soared God; Whores prayed and danced with anchorites. So in my book the even matched the odd: No word I wrote Therein, but sealed it with the signet of the goat. XXXII This also I seal up. Read thou herein Whose eyes are blind! Thou may'st behold Within the wheel (that alway seems to spin All ways) a point of static gold. Then may'st thou out therewith, and fit it in That extreme sphere Whose boundless farness makes it infinitely near.

-- Aleister Crowley

#aleister crowley #poems #poetry #art #culture #dark academia

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lo-55 · 3 years

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Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 7

Fourteen Days to Conspiracy

Ichigo sits by the river again. The day is dawning, pink in the east.

He can’t see the sword any longer, not since he stumbled back into his body from his inside. His inner word, Zangetsu had called it.

Even still, he can feel it’s phantom weight, familiar and comforting in his palm. It feels like all he has to do is wrap his fingers around it and pull and the sword would be in his hand, gleaming and ready to swing, to block, to guard him. Holding Zangetsu had felt like coming home.

Despite that, it had also felt like there was something missing. Like his other hand was empty.

Was that what Diarmund had felt whenever he put one of his swords or spears down?

He could hear all of Achille’s dumbass bisexual jokes at his expense.

Ichigo leaned back on the damp grass, drawing in steady breaths, one after another. Up the incline he could see people waiting for him. Elmelloi, and a happily familiar face and pale hair.

Waver Velvet, or Lord Elmelloi II and his apprentice, a phenomenal mage and prodigy Flat Escardos. Waver had said there was something strange about the town, and now Ichigo has to wonder if he’s not partially to blame. Because of his fight with Uryu and massive monster had tried to crush the city. Because of him and Rukia some high class shinigami had come to visit and started causing trouble.

Ichigo wants to help. Really, he does. He likes Waver even if he is grumpy. He’s one of the few people Ichigo knows who’s just as shit at actual magic as he is. Waver, like Ichigo, makes due with other means.

He’s an alchemist, and a detective. With no magic lineage to fall back on, and no innate talent for mage craft he uses outside forces to get things done. He draws his power from ores and reagents and uses reason to puzzle out what the best course of action is. Without the ability to fight head on Waver relies on other people for combat, and merely acts as their guide and support.

The one thing Waver truly excels at is teaching.

It takes him no more than a glance to understand how a spell is cast, and minutes to figure out how to teach someone with the right type of circuits how to use it as well. And how to strengthen and improve it.

Waver cannot perform his own magecraft, but he can strengthen and support others.

He, above all others, is one person who understands Ichigo’s abilities.

They are peas in a pod, and it’s almost scary.

Ichigo lifts himself up from the banks of the river and picks his way up to the pair. Flat is as exuberant as ever. Even in snow, surrounded by recovered corpses of Chealdeas, he’d been delighted to be there.

What a weirdo.

“Hey,” Ichigo raises his hand to them. Waver grunts. His long red scarf shifts when the wind changes direction. The breeze comes with the smell of smoke and cardamom.

“Ichigo. You disappeared.”

“Sorry,” he’s not, “Something came up. I’ll be gone for about a month.”

Waver scowls at him.”We need you here. We’re investigating changes of ley lines around the city. Your city. And you know how I feel about this place.”

Yes, he does. Ichigo’s never gotten the full story, but he knows ten years ago something happened that left Waver embittered to the entire country. The fact that he’s standing on japanese soil in the first place is frankly bewildering.

Ichigo doesn’t say so out loud.

“A friend of mine needs help,” he says instead. “So I’m sorry, but I need to go to her first. I appreciate your help with the house, but this is important to me.”

Waver frowns at him, and even Flat’s smile tilts sideways, like he’s not sure he understands. Ichigo doubts that he does. This child is a freaky innocence that isn’t innocent at all. Somehow he can look at pain and suffering and still thing its ‘cool’.

Ichigo does not envy Waver.

Waver must know Ichigo well, for he looks at him and his stubborn jaw and his hard eyes and he grunts irritably.

“Fine then. There’s no changing your mind,” he knows. “We’ll handle this matter. You help your friend.”

“Not like I needed your permission anyways,” Ichigo points out, but it’s not really angry. For all he’s a cantankerous old guy in the body of a man not even thirty Waver is good natured and nurturing in his own way. Even when he was summoned a servant (and Ichigo still doesn’t understand how exactly that happened) he’d been the same. Maybe that’s why Ichigo is so biased towards him.

“Good luck,” Waver says instead of anything else.

Ichigo nods to him, ruffles Flat’s hair, and makes his way to the Urahara shop as promised.

By the time he comes too, Ichigo feels less like a mage and more like a pile of recently tenderized meat.

The sky is burning pink and purple and night air is slow to fade to day. There’s dew settled into his bangs that glistens when the newborn sunlight hits it.

It would be lovely, if it wasn’t for the fact that ichigo could barely lift his head to shake the moisture off.

It’s a bone deep ache.

A lightness in his body that makes him feel like if he isn’t careful he’s going to go flying off into the sky, an empty void of a man.

Mash’s worried face poked in from the side of his vision.

“Master?” her voice is terribly soft, tumultuous with worry. Worry for him.

Ichigo pushes himself up slowly, only his own pride and stubbornness keeping him from falling right down back into the dirt.

Mash rushes to him to help, and her strong arms around him help to ground him back down. He still feels drained and hollow, but the warm hands that hold him steady are a help. They make his body feel more reel. And less like he’s not tethered to reality.

“Hey Mash. How long was I out?” He can’t quite remember what happened. There was a swarm of demons, and Kyo couldn’t handle all of them. Ichigo had-

What exactly had he done again?

Right, he’d shoved all of his reishi into Kyo, so he could cast a spell and destroy the monsters that had been coming at them. Where is Kyo, anyhow? Where are any of the others?

“Mash?” Ichigo asks, touching her side. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Oh,” Mash slowly lets him go, looking off to the side. “We got a cart to carry you in, since we can’t really stop right now. We’re in that now, and the others are laying down outside.”

Ichigo looks down to see that it’s not dirt he would have fallen into, but a scratchy brown blanket.

“How long was I out?”

“The rest of the day and all of the night. About eighteen hours in total. Nightingale wasn’t happy,” Mash grimaced. “She couldn't do anything to help you. No one could.”

Mash suddenly scowls at him and tightens her hold to the point of pain. “You could have been hurt! Master, you need to stop being so reckless!”

Another voice joins in. “Master is awake?!”

The cart rocks and Ichigo finds himself being shaken back and forth by hand so strong they could break his shoulders. “What did you do that for! You could have died! You fool!”

“Me-du-sa. Can’t. Breath.” Ichigo choked. She didn’t loosen her hold but she did stop shaking him so he could catch his breath. He put his hand on her elbows and looked at those ethereal golden eyes. “Sorry. I’m not going anywhere, promise. I just got overzealous. Are you okay?”

“Are we-?!” she bristled. “We’re fine! You were the one that almost shoved your soul out of your body!”

Ichigo blinks at her.

“I did what?”

“You almost shoved all of your reiryoku, your spirit energy, into me.”

Ichigo looks to the side, where Kyo is perched on the edge of the wagon. His dark eyes are fathomless, searching for something in Ichigo that Ichigo isn’t sure he has. There’s a light in them too, one that Ichigo can’t for the life of him decipher.

(Years later he will recognize it as hope.)

“Okay,” Ichigo takes Medusa’s hands from his shoulders and guides her to sit next to him. She looks into the seemingly empty air, but they are all beyond questioning him when he talks to nothing. “It still worked, didn’t it?”

Kyo’s brows furrow minutely. “It did… It was still reckless. I’ve never seen someone do something so utterly foolish in my life. You could have more than died. You could have destroyed your own soul doing that. Feeding your energy into spirit beings is dangerous, there is a reason it isn’t done. Even these heroic spirits contracted to you are a risk. Whether drawing on your life energy or your spirit energy, you put yourself in tremendous danger.”

“I know,” Ichigo tells him truthfully. Kyo is closer than he ever has been, like some wall he’d set up is starting to crumble. His mask is cracking. “I know it’s dangerous. Everything we do is dangerous, but if I don’t do it then everything will end. Everyone will die. All of my friends, all of my family will be gone. I can’t fight on my own. All I can do is strengthen others, even if I have to pay a price for that I will.”

“That’s very noble but-”

“Don’t make me into a saint,” Ichigo cut him off swiftly. “I’m not. If you want one of those you’re in the wrong singularity. I’m doing this because I want my sisters back. I’m doing this because I want to stop fighting and go home already. Every motivation I have is entirely selfish, Kyo.”

Medusa smacked the back of his head.

“Hey!”

“He may make you into a saint but you make yourself a sinner!” She snapped. “In Fuyuki we were on opposite sides of a war. You should have killed me. Even if we weren’t enemies I was, am, darkened by the cursed mud of a corrupted grail. In stead you told me to stop being a lunatic and poured your power into me, so I could stand at your side. You trusted me with your back when I could have easily stabbed it.”

“Medusa-”

“No! You may not be a saint like Jeanne but you’re a good, stupid man!”

Ichigo is so stunned by the fact that Medusa of all people has called him a good man that he doesn’t even notice the fact that she has heard Kyo as well.

It tops as one of the weirdest days of his lives.

* *

Ichigo finally finds himself standing in front of the Urahara shop, the old sign hanging above the doorway. It’s out of the way, stuffed between two towering modern buildings. If one didn’t know what they were looking for they would never find it. It was just an old shop tha hadn’t been converted yet. They’re not common but they’re also not so out of place that anyone would bat an eye if they happened to see it while out and about.

It’s exactly how mages run things and not for the first time does Ichigo wonder just what in the world it is that Urahara is. A mage? A shinigami? Something between? Ichigo can’t get a good read on him, but to be fair he hasn’t really been looking.

He knows his half hidden eyes and he knows he’s willing to help Rukia and help Ichigo. That’s enough for him for now.

He raises his hand and knocks firmly on the door. On the third knock the door slides open, revealing the tall man from before. Tessai.

Ichigo can’t get a good read on him. His glasses bar him from seeing his eyes and the eyes are the window to the soul. Never the less, Ichigo can still see his strength. A hundred times stronger than Ichigo, and now that he’s of a clearer mind when he looked past the man to Urahara he realizes that he’s stronger still.

They aren’t as strong as someone born in the Age of Gods, but they’re at least on par with weaker servants.

How had he missed that before?

Whatever. It doesn’t matter now.

“Hey. I’m here for my training.”

They let him inside. Underneath the shop there happens to be a massive chamber, stretching out in all directions. A mockery of the sky spreads across the ceiling, painted with fluffy clouds that almost seem to move across the sky.

Whoever this man is, he’s not a mage. A mage would never have something so cheerful in their home. Mages were creatures of darkness and shadow. Lonely beings of solitude.

Urahara was no such thing.

He had children, for one thing, and his assistant (husband?) seemed utterly devoted to him. He did not have the cold air of a mage obsessed only with legacy and the enhancement of his crest. No. For all Urahara reminded him of Merlin, he was certainly not a mage.

“So. What do we do first?” Ichigo asks, turning his sights from the sky to the man in front of him. His hat shadows most of his face, save the strange smile beneath that darkness.

“First, we would need to return your shinigami powers to you-”

“Yeah. I already did that part. What’s next.”

Ichigo was treated to the sight of Urahara tilting his head and blinking rapidly at him. It’s the only real sign of surprise on his face.

“You… already did that?” he repeated. He lifted his cane, exposing the flaming skull on the underside, and drives it into Ichigo’s chest.

Ichigo pops out the other side, in a familiar shihakusho with a sword strapped to his back. Zangetsu is actually less of a sword and more of a giant cleaver as long as his body. The curve of the red mark that sits above his heart just barely crests over the white folds of his clothes

Urahara’s mouth opens but no sound comes out for a few long seconds. Ichigo scowls at him.

“You said I needed to get my shinigami powers and I did. Now hurry up already. We’ve only got ten days before I have to go save Rukia. So what’s next, huh?”

Urahara recovers (not very) gracefully, clears his throat and stands straight.

“I see. So you managed to do that all on your own.”

“Not really,” Ichigo isn’t one to brag, or take undue credit. He touches Zangetsu’s hilt lightly, fingers running across the bandages. “Zangetsu helped me out.”

“You know his name as well? Then I suppose we can skip three whole lessons.”

Ichigo doesn’t like the sudden, calculating look in Urahara’s eyes, but he can’t say anything about it. He understands he’s just done something expected, but doesn’t he always? He’s used to the staring, to the incredulousness of people who are just meeting him.

He misses the familiar presence at his side, at his back. Guarding and guiding him. But with Zangetsu in hand the void where his friends had once been is lessened, even if it’s not entirely gone.

Zangetsu has always been with him. That’s what he’s said, isn’t it?

“Then we’ll move on. Ichigo, your first task is to knock this hat off my head.”

“...huh?” Seriously? What kind of bullshit is this?

Ichigo squinted at him while Urahara drew a sword from his cane and pointed it towards him. A straight blade, thin and deadly he can feel the barely restrained bloodlust from here.

“Awaken, Benihime.”

The air sings with danger and a thrill shoots up Ichigo’s spine. Red light flickers, bloody and dangerous, across the blade until what’s left is no cane but the unmistakable sight of a zanpakuto. The hamon is straight, the tip is sharp and straight instead of tapered.

“There’s no timelimit. So try as hard as you can to knock this hat off with your sword.”

“That sounds like a good way to loose an eye, and if you do I can’t fix that,” Ichigo warns even as he pulls his sword from his back. The ribbon flutters off, wrapping drawing back to reveal the deadly curve beneath. It’s not the type of sword ichigo is used to holding. He’s used to something shorter, but the blade is as light as his own arm in his grasp. Is’t a part of him, he knows for certain. His instincts flare and he dodges just in time, avoiding a strike that leaves a deep gauge in the rock behind him.

“You should really be worrying about yourself,” Urahara says. His voice is deceptively soft, his smile is just as mild, and the shadow of his hat hides his eyes.

As if that would hide from Ichigo the singing his sword does for his blood.

“Fine,” Ichigo adjusts his grip, bounces on the balls of his feet and swings.

Their swords come together in a clash of metal against metal and power against power. Ichigo is raw strength poured forth and an unbending will, straight forwards and unyielding.

Urahara is swift and sharp and takes jabs at any opening, no matter how small. He is powerful, stronger than Ichigo, and when he’d released his sword that strength had more than doubled. There’s no doubt that he could go toe to toe with Diarmuid.

That’s fine. Ichigo meets him blow for blow.

He doesn’t run. He won’t wear scars of shame upon his back. He can’t go backwards now, not when he’s set his sights on his goal. Not when Rukia needs him.

Even with all that, he’s not winning.

He may not run but he’s being force back, further and further with Urahara taking every inch given for his own, eating the ground as he cuts at Ichigo’s defenses.

Ichigo keeps an eye on his unused hand. He knows these men are tricky. He knows shinigami can use kido, and he won’t be taken by surprise again.

Urahara shifts his stance and Ichigo lunges for the opening. Too late he realizes it’s a trap.

He takes a hard blow to his side, and blood drips down into the white fabric beneath the black.

Ichigo jumps back, a hand on his side, and hisses with the pain. It’s shallow. Not even enough to pierce into anything important. When he looks to Urahara he sees not the man but a predator stalking towards him. He’s not even close to running out of energy. Neither of them are, but now Urahara has drawn first blood.

Ichigo remembers red. He remembers the red of Fuyuki, the terror of the grail and the fallen kings. He remembers the blind desperation of the fight with Lev, and barely keeping Olga Marie from being dragged into the red earth. Red was raw destruction, blood and death.

Ichigo is beyond being afraid of it.

“Zangetsu,” the name comes to his lips. Zangetsu. He’s always known it. He’s always had this sword at his back, and now a phantom hand lays upon his shoulder. His partner. His weapon. The means by which he will protect all he loves.

“Forget fear,” his words echo, and a second hand touches his on the hilt, “ Look forward. Walk forth. Never stop. If you look back you are lost. If you are afraid you’ll die. Swear, Ichigo.”

He does.

“I’ll never run. I’ll never be afraid. Even if I have to tear the heavens apart, I will win! Zangetsu!”

Power swirls around his sword, Zangetsu squeezes his shoulder and falls into the blade, still crossed with Benihime. They sing together, a song of the hunt and a refusal to die. A cat and the moon, Ichigo pushes everything he has into the sword. Into Zangetsu. He trusts him.

Silver light rips out of the blade. He can see the moment of Urahara’s briefest panic and the last-second switch of his sword. From offense to defense, but it’s not enough to save his hat from the wave of raw energy that shreds from Zangetsu.

Ichigo catches the hat as it falls to the ground, a good sized chunk now missing.

He can’t help the grin that splits his face when he sees the land past Urahara’s red barrier has been torn into a fissure that stretches all the way out to the seemingly endless walls of the room, and cracks it’s way up towards the ceiling.

He lays Zangetsu back along his back and walks over to Urahara, twirling his hat around one finger. It feels good. Fighting with his own power, nothing has never compared to that. Nothing ever will.

Ichigo eyes the cracks and crumbling edges of the red shield Urahara has erected to guard himself, and eyes the sword in his hand. The bloodlust isn’t gone, but there’s something else in it. Ichigo touches that blade, drawing Urahara’s attention away from the new canyon in his basement. The touch is all Ichigo needs for a proper reading. Confusion, curiosity, and off all things hope.

There’s definitely something weird going on here.

Urahara pulls his sword back from ichigo delicately and sheathes her again. “You should be careful,” Urahara warns. “Benihime isn’t nice.”

If zanpakuto reflect the soul of their wielder, does that mean Urahara is also ‘not nice’?

Ichigo hands him his hat. “I think I passed your little test.”

Up close, Urahara isn’t nearly as old as Ichigo first thought he was. He almost looks young, somewhere in his later twenties. Most questions, no more answers and no time to ask them.

“I’d say you did,” Urahara takes it from him, futility knocking dust away from it. “Ichigo, you are one scary kid.”

* * *

“Do you know where you are?”

“Are you going to ask me that every time?”

Ichigo isn’t surprised to see where he is tonight. There’d been a creeping dread that had begun crawling up his throat the closer and closer they came to the day he was to leave.

Merlin toys with a strand of Ichigo’s hair. It’s finally grown past his shoulders these days, and Merlin seems to take some small pleasure in the tactile sensation.

If Ichigo was trapped at the edge of the world for over 1500 years he’d probably be starved for new sensations himself. Or even something as simple as the presence of someone familiar.

He is reminded again that he has sworn to free Merlin from his prison, even if he has no idea how he’s going to do that. He’ll figure it out.

“Perhaps. It’s consistent if nothing else.”

“Everything here is consistent,” Ichigo retorted. “You’ll stop once you get tired of Westworld.”

“Maybe I’ll start with the Game of Thrones references then,” Merlin teased. Ichigo shot him a scowl.

Merlin laughed it off easily.

“Okay, something else then. In the meantime, how has your training been going?”

“My training? It’s fine. It’s mostly been Urahara fighting me. He hasn’t taught me much of anything, but I’m catching up to speed with my new sword at least.”

“Ah yes. And how does he fight?”

“Urahara? I dunno. Sometimes he moves like Kojirou, sometimes like Mordred.”

“Those are very different fighting styles,” Merlin mused, tapping his fingers along his staff. Ichigo nods his agreement.

“It is. More than anyone though, he reminded me of Okada,” and you .

“A man slayer?” Merlin pretended to startle. “A man equally capable of saber and assassin techniques. What a terrifying concept.”

Merlin didn’t know the half of it.

“Do you fear him?”

Ichigo paused. “Huh? No. I probably should but… he doesn’t mean to hurt me, or my friends.”

“My, my. You always have had a knack for judging people.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m some kind of mind reader,” Ichigo groans, falling back into the flowers that perpetually bloom aroun Merlin. It really is a very pretty prison.

His gaze wanders to Merlin’s staff.

“Those ribbons,” he says suddenly. “Are they soul ribbons?”

“Hmm?” Merlin follows his gaze and delights. “Aha! No, not quite but they are very close. They’re designed to keep my staff from being stolen or abused. I suppose, in some ways, they’re the essence or the soul of my staff. They work a bit like command seals.”

Merlin was being weirdly forthcoming.

That only happened when it was something Ichigo really needed to know. Why would he need to know that much about Merlin's fancy magic stick?

If he tries to ask, he’ll just be brushed off, so he doesn’t. Instead he engages Merlin in a game of twenty questions, to pass the time until he must leave again.

“Are you worried?” Merlin asks abruptly, breaking their game and starting a new one called ‘try to get Ichigo to talk about his feelings’.

“Why would I be?” Ichigo replies, narrowing his eyes.

Merlin holds up his hands placatingly. “This will be the first time you go alone into something like that. I would think you would be frightened.”

“I’m not alone,” Ichigo says evenly. “I have my zanpakuto, Zangetsu. Besides. This way I don’t have to be so careful. I won’t be leading anyone except for myself, and anyone who inevitably joins along while I’m there.”

“Your charisma is the stuff of legends.”

“I’m not charismatic!” Ichigo argues, scowling again. “People just like to glue themselves to me, it’s not my fault.”

Merlin laughs and Ichigo shifts uncomfortably in his seat, crushing more flowers around him. They’re replaced in second by yet more.

“Will I see you while I’m in the soul society?” Ichigo asks, peering at his friend.

Merlin considers this. “Most likely not. It’s a different world, and the realm of the dead at that. I don’t think I can reach you there.” There’s sadness hidden in his eyes. Ichigo scowls at him for a long moment before he gives in and hugs the grand mage.

Merlin stiffens in his grasp, his air leaving his lungs for the long seconds before Ichigo starts to fade away, back where he’s come from.

If he doesn’t come back, he won’t have Merlin doubting their friendship.

* * * *

Seven days. Seven days, and Ichigo is on his way out of the house.

There had been a festival earlier, and he’d wanted to go with his sisters and give them one last memory, before he potentially ran off and got himself killed on a rescue mission for a girl they didn’t even remember exists.

The fireworks stopped him.

He’s already on edge, already gearing up for a fight, for an infiltration (for a war). He doesn’t want to know what the sound of the sky cracking open and lights and fire roaring over his head will do to him at a time like this.

Instead he’d waited for them, and tucked them in when they’d been too exhausted for anything else. He left breakfast in the fridge so Yuzu didn’t have to worry about it in the morning, and when Urahara’s creepy ass blood message came through the window he switched bodies with Kon and was on his way.

Along the way, he bumps into Orihime.

And at Urahara shop Chad is waiting.

Uryu shows up last and when the door opens he grabs Urahara by the collar and drags him inside. The door shuts soundly behind them.

Ichigo spins them around and shoves Urahara against the wall, baring his teeth at the man. “What the hell are they doing here?!”

Urahara is completely unaffected, and it kind of pisses him off.

“What do you mean? They’re you’re friends, they’re here to help you. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Yeah, I know what they came. I wanna know why you let them?! I’m not letting them come along. They’ll be in danger. I’m not taking them with me!”

“Then what was your plan?” Urahara asks, his playful voice overturned with one that Ichigo has never heard. Dark and serious, with the same edge as his blade. The hat tilts and Ichigo can see his eyes. Old, and intelligent. He’s reminded, once more, of Merlin.

“They’re not strong enough for this,” Ichigo insists. “I would have made friends while I was there to help me. At least three.” Usually closer to ten or twelve.

“That’s the most naive thing I’ve ever heard. Why would anyone turn their backs on their home, on their captains and friends, to help a stranger like you?”

Ichigo bristles. “I don’t know.” But they always do, for some reason. “Rukia has to have friends. I can’t be the only one who thinks this is wrong and people will fight for what’s right if you push them to it-”

Urahara catches his hands and pushes him back. “You can’t rely on a strategy like that. You can’t count on peoples ‘better natures’ or you’ll always be disappointed. Your friends have come to help you, and they are stronger than you’d expect. Likely they’ll be the ones you can rely on. Do you understand?”

Ichigo narrows his eyes at Urahara. “I’m relying on you, aren’t I?”

The air crackles with tension between them, until the door slides open and his friends step inside. They freeze at the picture; Ichigo looming over Urahara, who’s got pinned to the wall.

“Uh.” Says Ichigo eloquently.

“Oh dear!” Cries Urahara, snapping his fan in front of his grinning face. “Whatever shall we do, now that we’ve been caught. Oh Ichig -ow!”

Ichigo elbows him in the side and lets him go. Fine. They were already here, and Ichigo can see their own stubbornness. Chad and Uryu aren't going anywhere, and Ichigo knows even Orihime can fight. He’d been there when Tatsuki was training her. Even with her ability, her personality will be the biggest problem.

Already he feels himself shifting. This is no longer just about him. This is the team he’s been given, and he reads over their strength as best he can. It’s not as clear as a servant, but he’s working on it.

Chad he knows is a brawler, brute strength and fierce dependability. Close rang, and he’s got an insane pain tolerance and durability. He can tell by looking, Chad is stronger now than he was even a week ago. Fine.

Uryu is an archer, through and through. Long rang, he’ll be at a disadvantage if they have to fight up close and personal. He also knows basic first aid. He’s maybe the best person to counter Ichigo, to bring with him. The biggest problem might be his hatred for shinigami. People do stupid, impulsive things when they’re filled with animosity.

Your anger keeps you warm now, but it will leave you cold in your grave.

Orihime.

“Orihime,” he speaks to her for the first time, startling her out of whatever daydream she’d been having. “What exactly can you do?”

“Huh? Oh well I guess I’m pretty good at math, and I get good grades in gym class too. I won a volleyball game last year and-”

“I think he means your powers,” Chad corrects quietly. Powers. Good god, what have they gotten themselves into?

“Well?” Ichigo presses. Orihime touches her hair clips, the ones she always wears.

“Well um. I can make barriers that bounce things off of them. And I can shoot Tsubaki at people like a laser light beam. And I can heal too!”

Ichigo doesn’t know who or what a Tsubaki is. He doesn’t know what powers Chad has.

Fuck he hates this.

But healing and shielding are something he can work with too. That’ll make Orihime their third tier, a support class.

Damn it.

And damn Urahara for not telling him about this!

“You need to calm down,” says someone new. Ichigo looks down, and finds the cat from before peering up at him. Golden eyes, and black fur.

“...Oh. You’re Urahara’s familiar.”

The cat shakes her head. The masculine voice throws him off for a minute.

“No. I am Yoruichi. Kisuke is just an old friend of mine, and asked me to train your friends. The only person here who might have a familiar would be you, Ichigo.”

“I see,” Ichigo says. He looked at the other three, stronger than he’d ever seen them but so inexperienced. He doesn’t want to bring them to this. He doesn’t want them to have the paranoia, the nightmares, the noose around their neck that comes with constant fighting and desperate attempts to win. But there’s no going back now. They’ll follow no matter what he says.

Ichigo bows shortly to the cat.

“Thank you for helping them, then, Yoruichi.”

The feline preens and licks at her paw. “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when we get back with Rukia.”

“Right…”

He still doesn’t know exactly what he’ll do once she’s safe with them. Probably he’ll have to call in one of those favors from the clock tower. So be it.

“Okay,” he shot one last look at Urahara. “Let’s go.”

Urahara leads him down into the training grounds. The fissure Ichigo had created has been fixed by now, leaving the ground flat and dusty once more. There are conspicuous stitches across the ‘sky’. Everyone else is to busy marvelling to comment.

Tessai goes to get a large square of hollow stone set up in the corner, while Ichigo’s friends watch on. He can feel Urahara come to stand behind him. He’s good, but he’s no King of Assassins.

“You seem to be thinking awfully hard there, Ichigo,” Urahara says. If he expect Ichigo to jump, he’s disappointed.

Ichigo presses his lips into a line before he answers.

“It’s heavy,” He says at last.

“Heavy?”

“The weight of their lives.”

Urahara is silent when Ichigo leaves him behind to stand at Chad’s side.

* * * * *

Ichigo is confined to the cart for the rest of the day, regardless of how he’s feeling or how stubborn he is. No one can outstubborn Florence Nightingale. Not that even Ichigo is stupid enough to try. Not after Medusa offered to chain him to the cart if he didn’t behave himself for her.

He was at the mercy of the nurse. Rama looked smug at the fact that it was finally someone other than him that she was fussing over. When Nightingale’s back was turned Ichigo made sure to flip him off.

The only person who rides with him is Kyo, his legs cross with a his sword in his lap.

Ichigo eyes is speculatively.

“Why don’t you draw your sword when you fight?” he asks at last.

Kyo looks up at him, his brown eyes startled. “Well,” he considers his words, “Mine is not a sword for combat.”

“...what the fuck does that mean?”

“My sword, this zanpakuto, is capricious, and not always friendly towards those that are even my allies. My Kido serves me well enough, and if I’m honest I try to keep her abilities a secret.”

“Oh,” Ichigo says, looking down at the sword. He can’t help being curious. Kyo is such a walled off person, even if he pretends to be friendly.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” Kyo says suddenly. “You’ve proved that you’ll go to great lengths to help me, even if it to save your own skin. And whatever you say, I can tell you’re loyal and your morals are rigid.”

“It’s fine,” Ichigo waves his hand in dismissal. “If you don’t want to tell me, don’t.”

“Ichigo…”

“It’s fine,” he says ago. “You’re not in the wrong. Everyone has secrets, and you’ll only know us until we return to our own time. In 2018.”

“I’ll still be around then, if I’m not killed,” Kyo tells him swiftly. “Shinigami age much slower than humans. At least a tenth as fast, if not slower than even that.”

“That’s great,” Ichigo says, “But honestly it won’t matter if you’re alive or dead. Truth is, you won’t remember us.”

“What?” Kyo’s brows furrow and he sits up straighter.

“You’ll forget about all of this,” Ichigo says again, “When we set the world to right, everything that we’ve done here will be erased from history. Including your memory. There’s nothing we can do for it. We’ve seen it in people we knew before. We met Nero when she was still alive, but as a servant she’s forgotten all about us. The same will happen to you.”

“No,” Kyo shakes his head, narrows his eyes. “No. I won’t! And if I do, you must remind me!”

“How would I do that?” Ichigo asks, leaning back lazily. The idea makes his chest clench and ache. No one will ever remember him or Mash. They aren’t in this for glory. They won’t find any. All that will happen if they succeed is he will return to his family and Mash will return to Chaldeas.

“Find me. Tell me.”

“Tell you? Tell you that I’m a time traveller and I met you two hundred years ago but you can’t remember because we stopped the apocalypse?”

He doesn’t say aloud that if they fail it won't matter. Kyo won’t remember them because Kyo won’t even exist anymore.

Kyo narrows his eyes in thought. He runs his fingers through his curly hair, brushing it away from his face where a single strand likes to fall nearly to his chin.

Finally, he snaps his fingers.

“I’ll tell you something no one else knows,” he announces abruptly. He leans forwards, grasps Ichigo’s hand and brings it to his blade before he whispers into his ear a truth that Ichigo will not fully comprehend for centuries.

Not until he stands on a cliff and looks upon his once friend, flanked by a man with silver hair and a person whose eyes are hidden with thick glass.

* * * * * *

#Ichigo Kurosaki #bleach fanfiction #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #bleach/fate grand order #mash kyrielight #kyo (SCoF)#Merlin Fate/Grand Order #Urahra Kisuke

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tlhnetwork · 4 years

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NOVEMBER’s Chain of Gold Flash Fiction by Cassandra Clare

A Lightwood Christmas Carol, Part 1

LONDON, 1889

Will Herondale was full of Christmas spirit, and Gideon Lightwood found it very annoying.

No wonder some couldn’t bear it, and left for a mundane life. Like Will Herondale’s father Edmund, in fact.

But when Will insisted on taking them all to see the window displays at Selfridge’s, he could not help but worry that perhaps Will had a fundamentally unserious mind after all.

“Oxford Street? Days before Christmas? Are you mad?”

“He isn’t going to get knocked around,” said Will scornfully. “He’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” said Gideon, “we’ll get looks. Mundane fathers don’t usually walk their babies in prams, you know.”

“Fresh London air,” said Gideon dryly, “is thick as molasses and the color of pea soup.” But he acquiesced.

Sighing, he took his son to fetch their coats for their bracing Christmas walk.

Only once they had stopped to purchase some hot cider from a man hawking it down a side street did Will say, “I heard about Tatiana’s son Jesse. Dreadful business. Have you spoken to her?”

Gideon shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to Tatiana in nearly ten years, or been back to the house.”

Will made a sympathetic noise.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” said Gabriel.

“What?” Will said.

“A coincidence,” said Gabriel. “That both her and I have children who are—sickly.”