#righteous cloaked vengeance and all
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Eddie's Education, Chapter 28
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Minors DNI
Chapter 28
Eddie, Robin, Steve, and Dustin rose slowly to unsteady feet, already feeling the bruises beginning to form from Vecna's repelling attacks. Their throats were hoarse after screaming for Leia to stop crossing the threshold, but to no avail.
Eddie could barely stumble forward as the earth seemed to spin beneath his unsteady feet, nevertheless, he heaved himself up and strode on with a dark glare of vengeance written across his face. Dustin intercepted him with a firm hand to his chest though Eddie just winced and kept pushing toward the vermilion gate.
“Eddie...Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Okay...not ideal, but listen...LISTEN. We have a contingency plan. We have to follow it. Alright?”
Eddie heaved and shuddered silently, furious and wild-eyed as a bull. That glowing portal was his red flag and its reflection smoldered in his eyes. After a long moment of Dustin's white-knuckled grip on his shoulders, he relented with a pained and furious scream that made every one of them jump.
Nancy spoke, quiet and measured, “We have to wait, just a little while longer. Mike has to tell us when El makes contact. She can tell us if Vecna is distracted or not. We have to be sure before we go in to drag him out.”
Of course, they all had been over this dozens of times by now, but in the heat of the moment, with threadbare nerves, they all needed Nancy's cool voice of reason to remind them.
-----
Let's go somewhere more comfortable, shall we?
The deep raspy voice rippled through the psychic plane like undulations over black water. Leia's awareness of Vecna's rough physical clutch slithered away as she found herself in a black empty void, alone and suspended in the mental ether.
The darkness began to shiver and take shape, into the grimy, smoky shadows and uneven angles of The Hideout. It was empty. No patrons, no bartenders. Just the dingy floor creaking with her cautious steps, and the stark beams of stage lights making columns of the smoke. On-stage, a single white-clad figure stepped out from the deep shadow, into the spotlight. His blond hair made a halo as he lowered himself off the platform and stalked towards her, penetrating eyes never averting, like a bird of prey; hyperfocused. The glare of him hurt her eyes.
Henry put his hands in his pockets and cocked his head in a suddenly casual gesture as he said, “You know, Leia. I really miss this form in the waking world. I was rather handsome, wasn't I?”
Leia only grimaced in his blinding glare and looked away. She had just been thinking that he glowed like an angel. Of course it's a deliberate image...megalomaniac, she thought, and he heard her.
He smiled. “Hrmm...you know, Lucifer was supposedly the most beautiful of the angels, before he was cast into hell. All for daring to question God...all for wanting free will.”
He bent over, his shadow eclipsing the soft round moon of her face. “Sound familiar?”
Finally, she spoke. “You make it sound so innocent and righteous and poetic, Henry. You murdered people...children...in cold blood. Your own family, other victims just like you...”
“Not like me!” he suddenly bellowed and Leia felt her pulse skyrocket at the sudden fury in his voice. A vein rose beneath his fair skin and his lips twitched around gritted teeth. He was suddenly an animal again; a hungry one. Then he softened abruptly, cradling her cheek in his cold, bony hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. “And soon...not like us. It's only a matter of time.” As if on cue, she heard the warped chiming of a grandfather clock, echoing incongruously through the rundown hall. He paused then added, “Besides, who said I was only talking about me?”
----
Eleven stood back. She had watched the scene unveil itself from the cloak of darkness at the edges. She listened carefully gathering her strength before striding forward and saying in a loud clear voice, “Number 1! We have unfinished business, and you're out of time.”
El brought her hand forward sending an invisible shockwave of force against his skull, forcing him to stumble back. El gestured to Leia to say back, and she obeyed, scuttling behind the psychic prodigy, allowing her to do battle with her greatest adversary.
As Eleven fought, she distantly registered the crackling of a walkie-talkie as Mike hissed out, “Guys, she's in! El's inside.”
------
The ragtag band jerked their heads up in a flurry of renewed energy as the set crackled into life and Mike's message fizzled out to them on the night air.
Nancy ran up to take the lead. She surveyed them as calmly as a battlefield general. She ordered, “Steve, Eddie, we go first.”
As she stepped toward the tear, she placed her shotgun nearby on the grass and handed off molotov cocktails and lighters to Dustin and Robin; blades for Eddie, Steve, and herself.
She nodded and pointed forward and her soldiers obeyed.
------
Between blows from Eleven and his own telekinetic blasts, Vecna felt the pull of the others entering the upside down. The message vibrated through the spiderweb of his physical lair and into his mind. He chuckled, the sound deepening with a menacing bass note as he returned to his monstrous countenance. He flicked his hand, dragging El up and suspending her in the air, splayed like a pinned insect. He held her there, and came close to her face, while his gigantic clawed hand snaked its way around her throat.
“Oh Eleven, I can feel your friends coming to play. You couldn't possibly think I would be surprised? I know what you're planning...and it's no better than the plans you had as children.”
Eleven panted for breath as blood trickled from her nose with the psychic exertion. Mike watched it nervously from his post beside her. Her sleeping eyes twitched and the red stream fanned out into the saline water.
She twitched in Vecna's grip, finally blasting herself free in a great burst of energy.
“Yeah? Well, I've gotten stronger and I have strong friends. You're weak and your alone, Henry.”
She swiped her arm, sending the monster hurtling against the rickety floor. His head hit with a sickening crack, and he roared in a pain. The strike ricocheted through his psychic form to pierce his physical body with agony. Vecna felt his iron grip on the puppet strings falter, and he roared in frustration.
“Eleven...” he growled, eyeing the now wide open double doors and the glaring red exit sign above it. “You've let my pet escape. That was very very rude. It's time for you to learn better manners.”
-----
Leia's head ached as she tumbled, landing with a jolt back into the waking watery world of the upside down. Vecna's dormant wiry form still locked around her, and the stream of fiery air still blasted down her throat from where he had bound their lips together. She writhed and twisted, nearing a panic, wondering if it was too late, if she had already been morphed into a creature of the upside down. The syrupy fluid, though heavy and dense, was surprisingly easy to see through. Twisting her head as far as it could go, she spotted figures, human figures far below, where the portal gaped; her friends.
She doubled her efforts. As she watched her friends taking hurried kicks to swim to the distant surface for air she also kicked and fought to travel with them. Eddie met her eyes for a pained moment, about to swim towards her on his way up, but Steve grabbed his arm to drag him back, towards the surface.
Good. Thanks, Steve. You need air first, scoundrel, or you can't help me. God, he looks so afraid but he's here anyway.
Seeing the desperation in Eddie's eyes gave her a burst of energy to resist the stiff branches tangled tightly against her. For all her work, only a minuscule gap formed between her arm and Vecna's tentacles. Though her arms were pinned to her side, she now found space to wiggle her elbow back and forth and roll her shoulder. With a sinking dread, Leia realized what she would have to do to get out.
She took several deep breaths, though the fire scorched her lungs, and steadied herself to pull. A snapping sensation radiated down her arm before the pain slammed into her, now dislocated, shoulder. Leia tried to muffle her scream, still acutely aware that it would echo directly through Vecna's own mouth, alerting him out of his trance. Her left arm was in agony at the slightest movement, and yet she had to move it; squeeze it closer against her body to become small enough to slip from his grasp. Little by little she wiggled herself free, terrified that any moment those cruel, milky eyes would snap open.
Leia was finally free, all accept for the latch of her mouth against his. There was only one way to do this that she could think of, and only one chance, and of course, without his life support she wouldn't be able to breathe until she surfaced...if she surfaced.
She stole one last deep breath from his lungs and slowly drew a dagger from her bandoleer. In on swift motion she plunged the blade into the side of Vecna's head. Leia knew it wouldn't hurt him much. She just needed him to wake up and flinch away from her mouth.
It worked. He screeched and reeled back, releasing her; shriveled lips and tendrils writhing away from their attacker. The horrible sound reverberated through the liquid as Leia swam up and up and up (as best she could with one useful arm) towards to glimmering sheet of the surface.
@veemoon @sweetsigyn @little-wormwood @elegantkoalapaper
A/N: Thank you all for your patience with the long pause. Life was doing a number on me, but I'm back with what I hope will be a satisfying endgame. Still thinking of making an "Eddie and Leia's Anti-Vecna Playlist". If you're interested in a mixtape of songs from the story, let me know. I love you all! Thanks for reading.
Peb
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A Taste of Amontillado
Word Count: 3072
Tags: soft vore, oral vore, micro vore, implied fatal vore
Author’s note: I really went and did this huh. Man. Wild. Sorry @novorehere I stole ur idea, I got too hyped up on writing juice. Apologies for typos and what not, I finished this and got too excited to not post.
I tried to mimic Poe's style, but he is simply so verbose that it was kind of killing me a bit? So it's probably a bit more modernized, though I did steal some lines/phrasing here and there (mostly in some of the dialogue) but for the most part it's an attempt at mimicry.
I don't usually write fatal but like... y’all know what the source material is, there was no other way for this to end. It’s non explicit, really only vaguely implied, so hopefully that isn't too off-putting because I think it came out well enough.
The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne best I could, but his venture into insult was when I vowed revenge. You knew so well the nature of my soul, I could not fathom that you would imagine me foolish enough to utter such a threat; however, that same intimate knowledge, I imagine, will let you know that my conviction in vengeance - a vengeance so through and lengthy that Fortunato would know each and every depth of the misdeeds and misfortunes he had forced upon me - was resolute. My actions would, of course, go unknown, for he did not deserve the satisfaction of any retribution in his name.
You must understand, I ensured he would have no pretense to suspect this. In all word and deed, I was as well-mannered and courteous as I had been before; it would do no good if Fortunato came to realize the smiles I gave him now held beneath them the righteous fury of the archangels themselves.
My plan would have to be of the utmost cleverness, and of the utmost thoroughness. You see, he had a weakness, this Fortunato, though he might be respected - and perhaps even feared - in other regards: he prided himself as a connoisseur of wine. Very few Italians have this trueness of virtuoso spirit; most have their enthusiasm of the fine arts derived not from a passion, but from expectation, an attempt to match the effortless opulence of their British and Australian peers. As it came to painting and gemmary, Fortunato was no different; but with wine, he was one of the foremost experts. I did not differ from him in this fashion, either, having a palette similarly refined and a cellar stocked with the finest Italian vintages. Indeed, it was this palette we shared which coalesced in my mind the seed of the perfect act of vengeance.
I found my way, after this strike of inspiration, out of the comfortable villas in which myself and Fortunato made our homes, and into the darker, crowded slums of the less fortunate. I took great care to disguise myself, lest word spread to Fortunato or his cohorts of a man of my status mingling in with the beggars. I donned a ragged cloak of rough, beige fabrics borrowed from one of my newer servants, one who had yet to put to use the salary I offered to him. From another, I procured a dull white shirt and simple dark pants, to ensure I would look no different than those around me. In this dress in the late hours of the evening, carrying with me some wealth concealed in a small sack, I wove into the winding, silent streets.
My destination was to be a shack dull, rundown even by the standards of the neighborhood in which it lived. Within lived a man whose identity I shall keep vague, for purposes that will become clear to you by the end of this letter. I had met him a lifetime ago, when I lived in these very streets, before my name joined the ranks it had now. He was eccentric, enough to be avoided even by the dull-eyed, weary working class for whom very little could phase through the exhaustion of the daily toil for their bread, but not for me. Then, I held close the little bit of vitality that led me to my current station, and this man drew forth a curiosity I had thought almost gone from my spirit.
Through observation, I learned of a science so curious that it might be likened to magic. He carefully crafted elixirs for every occasion, ones that would give a man the strength of an ox, or the swiftness of a falcon. His wares were not cheap, and I had seen more than a few men and women scrape together the last of what they had seeking a cure for their ailment of poverty. What I carried with me was more than enough to cover not only typical costs, but the cost of what I suspected was to be a particularly tricky concoction to make.
There were few pleasantries between us after my arrival. He recognized me, and I him, but we did not acknowledge it. A lifetime of difference has made me into little more than another customer to him, though within my heart I still held some of the curiosity I had developed as a boy, which had matured to an odd fondness in adulthood. "I require a drink that will change the size of a creature," I said, not impolitely. "I wish them to be only a few inches tall, able to fit in the palm of a hand."
Typically, the man did not ask questions for those he provided services for, and it seems I was no different. Instead, he simply wished to know the specifics of what I needed made. "Permanently?"
"One to shrink, another to restore to previous size," I answered. I had no intent on using the latter, but I did not need him considering what I might do. If I asked for both, his assumption would most likely be smuggling - not that he was likely to tell anyone of this encounter at all. He had many secrets given to him by many people, and he would no doubt take all of them to his grave.
He told me the price, which was well within what I had budgeted for, and asked for my patience as he prepared it. This was to my shock, as I had expected such a spell to take far more time and resources, and yet in hardly 30 minutes he was handing me two small vials. One, a dull, deep sanguine, nearly the color of blood, he said was to shrink; the other, a deep, tarrish black, was to grow. I placed them both securely within my pouch and turned to exit.
As I left, he spoke to me. "Montresor," he said, voice thin and wispy. I had not expected to be addressed, least of all by a name I imagined he had long forgotten. "Take care that this rage does not drown you."
"I do not intend to," I replied, voice again not unkind, and took my leave.
It was during the dusk hours some months later, during the frenzy of carnival season, that I encountered my friend. Fortunato accosted me with a gregariousness only gotten from drinking very much in little time. In place of his usual fine silks, he wore motley, a tight fitted, parti-striped dress, and upon his head rested the fool's cap, tipped with bells. I was so pleased to see him, I had nearly wrung his hand dry.
"My dearest Fortunato! How wonderfully well you look today! I am in great fortune to have found you this evening. You see, I have received a pipe of what I was told was Amontillado, but I have my worries."
"How?" he demanded. "Amontillado? A pipe? In the middle of the carnival?! Impossible!"
"I have my doubts," I replied, "yet I was silly enough to pay the full price Amontillado without consulting you in the matter. You could not be found, and I was fretful of losing a bargain."
"Amontillado!"
"I have my doubts."
"Amontillado!"
"And I must satisfy them."
"Amontillado!"
"As it seems you are occupied, I am on my way to Luchesi. If anyone has a discerning taste, it is he. He will tell me-"
Fortunato sneered, an ugly, exaggerated contortion of his face. "Luchesi could not tell Amontillado from Sherry."
"Yet some fools will have it that his taste is as much a match for your own."
"Come, let us go." Fortunato's tone changed abruptly, from a drunken rage to a drunken focus.
"Where to?"
"To your vaults."
"My friend, I could not! I will not impose upon your generosity. I see that you are engaged. Luchesi-"
"I have no engagement. Come."
"No, my friend, you do not understand. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you to be afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp, encrusted with nitre. I do not wish for you to fall ill."
"Let us go. The cold is nothing. Luchesi cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado, and I will not have you fooled." Thusly, Fortunato took my arm, placed upon his face a mask of blackened silk, drew a roquelaire closely about my person, and hurried me to my plazzo.
I had ensured that there would be no attendants home, releasing them to make merry at the festivities. The kindness was not an unusual trait for me, and in fact was what made me desirable as an employer to many, as I did not have the cruelty endowed from birth into wealth as the others around me had been. They did not need to stay out the entire night, but I knew that they would jump on the chance to relax from their duties and would not return until they had thoroughly sated their carnal desires.
I pulled from my pocket the red elixir. "Here," I said, offering it to him. "It is a drink that will warm you from the inside, better than wine. I acquired it intending to use it during cold winter nights, but I feel it may suit you better now."
Fortunato took the vial from me, and, without hesitation, removed the top and drank it all. He shuddered a moment, face contorting again in response to what I could only assume was an unpleasant flavor. "Next time, ask your friend to make something that tastes more akin to the wine it is meant to mimic."
"I shall be sure to inform him," I replied, then waited just a moment. Though I didn't know what exactly to expect, I came to realize that Fortunato's quivers had not ceased, and instead had increased in strength. "Are you alright, friend?"
"That liquid you gave me... what was in it?" Fortunato doubled over and dropped to his knees. I swiftly dropped with him.
"It should have just been some herbs," I said. "It should not have-"
I cut off in shock as, beneath my fingers, Fortunato's frame began to dwindle. His back dropped from my touch as he shrank in stature, falling from a man taller than I to hardly a few inches tall. With him diminished his clothing, leaving him with the appearance of a life-like jester doll. "My god! Fortunato!" I cried.
Fortunato seemed to be in just as much shock as myself, frozen stiff and staring down at himself as if he had never seen himself before in his life. I imagined my face was similar, but unlike Fortunato, I recovered quite quickly as I had expected exactly this result and had only been shocked by the process itself.
"Montresor! What on earth was in the vial you gave me?!"
"I truly do not know. I have used them many times in the past, including from the very batch I gave to you." I offered my hand, for Fortunato had begun shaking quite badly in what I believed was not a transformation, but of chill. "Here. You are trembling, and it was not particularly warm here before. I do not wish you to freeze tonight."
Fortunato stumbled forward, obviously unsure in his body at this size, but managed to pull himself into my palm. Now, with my hand to provide scale, I could see that he was roughly 4 or 5 inches tall, and there was a weight to him which one would not expect from such a small frame, and an odd sort of density to him that my experience with animals of a similar size did not prepare me for.
I rose and adjusted my grip to securely hold Fortunato about his middle, tilting him upright and allowing his hands to come and rest upon my fingers, legs left to dangle beneath him.
"My god..." Fortunato muttered, doubtless staring at the fall he would have if I let him go; I was not particularly tall, but at his stature it would surely end in death. "Montresor, you must fix this!"
I considered, for a moment, if I would continue to play along with Fortunato. I did have the whole night to do so, but did not want to test whether or not one of my servants would return at some point during the night. Further, the front with which I had maintained the illusion of care had become more and more burdensome to maintain as revenge grew closer to my grasp. Now, with him at my mercy, I did not wish to pretend as if I was going to help him.
No, instead I said, "I will, my friend. However, you continue to shiver. We must get you warmed."
"We must get me fixed!"
"You mustn't fight me, friend. I am only trying to help you." I lifted him higher, to my face, and opened my mouth. From here, there would be no more taunting, but I did not find myself so inclined to verbal cruelty as to be bothered - truly, I would follow in Fortunato's footsteps in causing pain in deed, not word.
He, however, would not follow in mine, choosing instead to resist his fate rather than accept it silently as I had for so long. I lowered him onto my tongue, and his boots kicked upon it in the most peculiar way. They tasted of dirt and rubber, as one might expect, but I had not gone into this concerned with ensuring Fortunato tasted pleasantly.
At this point, I knew that Fortunato's intoxication had worn off in great measure, for he was moving with greater fear than that of a dulled drunk, and seemed to be growing more aware of the peril which he was in. From his throat came a low wail, a cry that came coupled with writhing against my grip. Then, as I continued to lower him, now curling my tongue about his legs to ensure they would not catch my throat.
He was about half way into my mouth when I found myself needing to readjust my hold. I paused, pinning him with my lips. I pinched his sides, ensuring that his arms would be pinned, and found myself supporting him upwards much akin to how one would hold a canape. During this, his moans subsided, and he began to struggle with a renewed vigor, a vigor that went largely unappreciated as he was so weak and frail at this size.
With my hand positioned properly, I pushed him in further, until I could just feel his feet scraping the back of my tongue. It was at this point, in which he was chest deep into my jaws, that shrill, loud screams burst suddenly from the depths of his throat. Of course, at his size, the volume would have never been heard by anyone but myself and perhaps another within the room, but he was most definitely shrieking himself hoarse.
I removed my hand, now focused on ensuring that Fortunato was thoroughly soaked. His clothes tasted of little, and I found myself only observing that they became drenched quickly enough. Within the tight confines of my mostly closed mouth, his struggles were all but negligible. Certain now that he would not cause me to choke, I flicked my head back and swallowed very strongly.
For all of his resistance, Fortunato's small body slid very easily into my throat, and his head slipped out of view with a similar alacrity. Instinctively, I swallowed again, and just barely felt the dusting of metal upon my tongue before it slipped downwards. I placed a hand to my throat, beneath which came a sizable bulge, working steadily deeper into my body.
Evolution crafted a finely effective machine in the body of a man, and very swiftly Fortunato had disappeared from view beneath my collarbone. Soon, borne from the same efficiency that had begun his journey, I felt a tightness within my chest, and then Fortunato spilled into my belly. I gasped, for it was a feeling I had never conceived possible.
The same odd density I had felt with my hands had turned into a weight within the pit of my stomach that I had never felt with any meal I had in the past; I would liken it almost to swallowing stone, but be not mistaken in the concept that it was somehow uncomfortable. Rather, it was intensely pleasurable. It was a fullness that I did not think any traditional food could ever match, and the predator that had long been dormant within my hind-brain rose from its slumber to express as such. It felt that, now that I had fed so thoroughly, I should swiftly find a place in which to rest and process what I had eaten.
Within me, Fortunato began to move, and yet again I found myself with an experience no other man had been privy to in Earth’s history. I did not imagine a stomach was exactly meant to process the sensation of food moving within, yet I could place, with some level of uncertainty, the directions and intensity with which he threw his limbs about. With time, however, his movement subsided.
Muffled, yet audible, I heard his voice. It was a sad voice, one so laden with sorrow that I would not recognize it as Fortunato if I had not the absolute certainty that it was his. “Ha! Ha ha! A very good joke, Montresor! An excellent jest! It will be a fond memory, one we will have a rich laugh of over our wine when you release me!”
“The Amontillado!” I said.
“Ha! Yes! The Amontillado! But it surely must be late. Will they not be expecting us at the palazzo, Lady Fortunato and the others? We should be gone.”
“Yes,” I said. “We should be gone.”
“For the love of God, Monstresor!”
“Yes,” I said. “For the love of God!”
To these words, however, I got no reply. Impatiently, I waited, then gave my middle a firm probe. I called, “Fortunato!”
No reply. I called again, “Fortunato!”
Still, no reply. Indeed, he did not respond to my ministrations either. My heart grew sick, no doubt from the chill of the night. I left Fortunato to be, and closed the door to my cellar. Softly, soft enough that not even Fortunato might have heard, I whispered, “In pace re quiescat.”
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so, when it comes to jaime’s kingslaying, obviously most of us agree it was justified and jaime had good intentions, but that doesn’t mean all characters in-story can be expected to understand that, no questions asked. we know that ned stark, robert-apologist and sometime-cersei-sympathizer, is not as rigidly self-righteous and judgmental as jaime imagines him, so maybe we should think outside jaime’s pov to consider ned’s perspective.
never once does ned say or think aerys should never have been killed, his problem is thinking jaime had no right to be the one to kill him, and ned has no reason to assume jaime had a good motive to do so. imagine if the tyrells/tywin had not been there to save the day during the battle of blackwater and then joffrey was killed by one of his own kingsguard after it was clear the battle was inevitably lost. that would be somewhat equivalent to what ned thought he found after/during the sack of king’s landing, that the kingsguard (who theoretically would be the regime’s most loyal supporters by their own chosen membership) all stayed loyal til the very last minute when one of them killed the king, only after it was clear the city was lost and the rebels would have soon gotten the king anyway.
as far as killing the murderer of ned’s father and elder brother goes, ned can only be ungrateful for that if jaime killed him just for that reason and ned knew that’s why he did so. jaime admits to catelyn he had his own reasons and was not acting as the starks’ avenger, though he does not elaborate on his actual reasons to such an unreceptive audience. it’s not as if anyone acted against aerys as rickard and brandon were being tortured to death. if a kingslaying had happened then, yeah ned would be an unnatural son and brother not to be happy about it and instead condemn the kingslayer. but a kingslaying however many months later under seemingly unrelated circumstances, without knowledge that anyone else’s lives were in danger from aerys that day? that could feel more like ned losing the chance for justice for his kin if he’d never get to see aerys made to answer for his crimes against house stark. (i’m reminded of jaime’s cousin daven thinking robb stole his chance for vengeance by killing rickard karstark, who killed daven’s father at oxcross. a bit of a more unreasonable position than ned’s considering robb publicly executed karstark for murdering lannister kids while ser stafford died “honorably” in battle just like karstark’s lost sons. yet jaime does not judge his cousin’s dissatisfaction, so at the least he is aware that killing an enemy who killed someone else’s kin will not automatically win you the appreciation and friendship of said surviving kin. or maybe it’s just different standards for lannisters.)
and ofc we cannot ignore the tywin factor, bc ned finding jaime in the throne room did not happen in a vacuum. jaime’s dad, a guy who already had his own mass murder theme song, had just taken the city by treachery and let his army brutally sack it. that same day, or maybe one not long after, tywin would present robert with the corpses of elia and her babies gift-wrapped in lannister cloaks. tywin’s own men were not surprised to find jaime on the throne as a kingslayer bc “Jaime had been Lord Tywin's son long before he had been named to the Kingsguard.” is it any wonder ned stark saw him in the same terms? (i’m convinced anyone else would have been questioned by ned in a shocked reaction.) and it’s not like jaime being tywin’s son had nothing to do with the kingslaying.* the mad king’s last order to jaime and his last words with jaime were about killing tywin. as jaime sat on the throne, being found first by lannister men, he gave them commands as a lannister which he really was in no position to make without being part of their army. he gave them good orders, yes, and he had other reasons for killing aerys besides his father, and even if he didn’t betraying a tyrannical king rather than murdering your own father is pretty understandable, but the point is, jaime as a kingsguard can never be neatly seperated from jaime as tywin lannister’s son.** by what right does the wolf judge the lion? maybe papa lion’s bloody teeth and claws gave others a little right to judge. (just as ned later claims the right to judge the lannisters and robert both bc he’s the only one of them with relatively clean hands.)
however, it’s not just lannister pride which makes jaime assume the worst of ned’s judgment, thinking he’d condemn jaime no matter what he said, just as ned assumed the worst of jaime’s motives, never imagining they could be much different from his father’s. jaime had spent his entire early kingsguard career being told that his moral impulses were wrong. it was wrong to want to protect rhaella when she cried out in pain if aerys was the one hurting her. wrong to even show discomfort as aerys burned men alive bc it was not jaime’s right to judge the king. (hmm, it’s like there’s a pattern here.) and i’m sure there were numerous other instances like that in the daily shitshow that must have been serving aerys. then jaime finally breaks free of that learned helplessness and acts according to what he feels is right when he kills the king. and he’s still judged! by a guy who wasn’t even in the kingsguard, one of the leading rebels, no less! it must have felt to jaime like he couldn’t win either way. so jaime reverts to his standard response to kingsguard trauma: shutting up about aerys and trying to bury that shit. (he wasn’t entirely wrong when he told brienne he still had to keep the king’s secrets) and from then on he decided there was no use in doing the right thing, no matter which knightly vow you wanted to keep, and it wasn’t worth it even to try. we know he was wrong about that, so it’s not a leap that he was wrong to group ned in with the likes of gerold hightower and jonothor darry. just as it wasn’t accurate to liken roose bolton to ned back at harrenhal, however valid jaime’s feelings were enduring all of those cold gazes.
was ned unfair to judge all lannisters for tywin’s sins? yes. was it unfair of anyone to think a 15yo choosing to swear his life away fully knew what he was doing and could never question his loyalty the way others without those sacred vows could have limits to theirs? yes, ofc! just as it was not justice to kill a man for running in overwhelming fear from unstoppable monsters nobody had faced in thousands of years, nor is it just to kill a “madman” who ran with hallucinations brought on by trauma (which is basically what ned thought he was doing with gared). ned can take too many things for granted without questioning enough in his society, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have thought differently if he knew jaime’s story about the wildfire plot or if he knew gared was telling the truth about the white walkers. this is a guy who thought “oh no, what have i done?” when he realized the full significance of killing sansa’s wolf. the same guy who committed treason multiple times against both of his kings, including betraying his bff to protect the frickin’ lannisters. ned was not as harsh and unyielding as say, stannis, nor was he such a hypocrite to think only he could break laws to save innocents. he and jaime just did not have the knowledge to understand each other and both assumed the worst.
*and while ned was laughably wrong to think jaime sitting on the throne was due to jaime’s own royal ambition, he also wasn’t totally wrong to notice the position and be unable to forget it. everyone talks about how damned uncomfortable the iron throne is so i’d say any one of all those steps leading up would make a more convenient seat. jaime sitting there was not a thoughtless choice. when he’s asked if he wants to name a new king, he considered it, not declaring for robert or his father, but knowing he did not want to allow another targ king, and waiting for someone else to claim the throne from him. it’s like trying to take responsibility for the political aftermath trapped him with the kingslayer reputation.
**no, jaime, nobody cares that you weren’t actually wearing the white armor during the kingslaying when you never left the kingsguard. all the obvious symbolism in jaime’s story would be a bit too on the nose if it weren’t there for jaime’s sake as much as ours.
#asoiaf meta#valyrianscrolls#Jaime Lannister#Ned Stark#eddard stark#asoiaf#(c)lsb#i only really care about ned when it relates to other characters but then i feel like an expert#i already had this started in my drafts for some reason and finished it when i saw the topic on my dash again#(not totally unrelated: there's actually a certain character who makes me defensive for both ned and jaime.
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claire de soleil
Ironically, the tactics you used to destroy the warehouse on the city outskirts makes a return here, as “freedom fighters” native to Sparagmos infiltrate your captured Chalkos stores and cause an explosion. A number of your allies have died, familiar faces among them. When rumors of a planned second attack reaches you, the commanding officer gives you a chance to take revenge however you’d like.
Grants 3d3 Chalkos per post, 1d10 chance of obtaining Orichalcum.
THE SUN, HOWEVER PALE, IS HARSH IN HER LOVE— SHE SPARES NONE WHEN SHE bathes the world in her endless, beaming light. Perhaps Tiki would have reveled in it on a better day. Warmth ought to be cherished in climates such as this. However, that day seems so far away to her now. Today, the light only mocks her. With her head hung low, all she can feel is the way it sears into the back of her neck. With her eyes drawn downwards, all she can see is how her shadow is cast and how it seems to grow longer and longer beneath the glare. With the grimness in the air, the sun is hot and blinding, like a flashbang stuck in mid-explosion.
"Chin up, soldier!" she can hear the barking voice of her commanding officer behind her, and flinches as she follows his rule. The man, his face obscured by the shadow of his hat, sighs. "We're getting close to the nest of those damned freedom fighters, but we won't stay on pace if you keep mulling around like that. Stick with the rest of our group and keep moving. Understood?"
Tiki closes her eyes. Her vision is red from the sunlight. But shadows dance within its depths all the same. In this moment, she sees bodies atop bodies; ruins upon ruins. A cloud of chalkos and smoke rising from it. Among the wreckage, the broken faces of cherished friends. She recalls searching desperately for a head of blue, or a cloak of red… though she doesn't know why. They wouldn’t be here... would they?
Tiki shivers.
And she recalls the anger— so much anger. Enough burning fury to rival a cloudless sun. She'd always been a gentle creature, defaulting to peace above all else. But in that moment, she had seethed with a righteous wrath. As though an ancient desire for retribution had awoken within her. But as her anger grew, so too did guilt come quick to marry it. For she knows that none of this would have happened had they not destroyed the city's warehouse to begin with.
It was a cycle of anger for anger; hate for hate, with the clouds of shame swirling above them. And there she stood in the center of it, allowing herself to be taken by its flow. She is not made for violence— is she not?— and she is not made for war. But vengeance feels like an obligation, now. A responsibility she owed to the dead. Nevermind how awful it felt to her.
She takes a deep breath. "Understood."
Then, she marches, her boots sinking into soft snow as she heads towards the rest of her group. Her face holds no smile when she speaks. As though the sun had robbed her of all her warmth.
"Right…" she sweeps her gaze across her group, "How are we all holding up? The commander says we're quite close to the enemy's base. I hope you're all prepared. I fear we won't leave this place without a fight."
roll: 3d3 = 3, 3, 3 (9 chalkos!)
#THREAD. claire de soleil#KEBattlefield2023#((mom says its my turn on the ultrakill reference))#((anyways!!!!! i hope you get what i'm trying to Reference here))#((i think the thought of devoted tiki and vengeance is just so.... yum))#((coupled with medeus' Whole Thing... yeah....))#((anyways))
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You’re a scary shadow monster who adopted a child- Part 7
If you’re new, you can start from the beginning here!
If you haven’t read it, you can find part 6 here!
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Gerald was so, so screwed.
The monster’s enraged, blood-curdling screech echoed throughout the stone walls that made up the many many corridors that many had ventured to but never returned.
Any decent warrior knew of the dungeon and the treasures it housed. Gold and jewels and precious metals, as well as weapons and artefacts blessed by the Divine Light, prophesied to have the power to dispel darkness and purge all evil from anything the wielder wished.
They always said that the greater the treasure, the more dangerous the challenge. Rumours spoke of a monster that lurked within the dungeons, a being of talons and claws and teeth, with a bloodlust that rivalled a thousand Vikings freshly picked from the battlefield. All who entered the dungeon were viciously slaughtered, never to be seen again.
Shadow Demon, they called it, the Dark Angel, Devil's Incarnate.
He was given the same spiel they gave to everyone else. Claim vengeance for the lives already lost, save the townsfolk from being terrorised by the monster prowling within their neighbourhood, blah, blah, blah, a speech that any righteous, self-sacrificing, knightly warrior would lap right up and go charging straight into their deaths.
Not him. He just wanted to get his hands on the treasure. Just one piece would be enough, at least to sustain his Ma and himself through the rough patch that they were experiencing right now. Winter had not been kind to their crops, and the prices of basic household items had only crept higher and higher despite everyone’s hardships.
Which was why he had brought his invisibility cloak and cast soundless charms instead of barging in in full sword and armour. Not that a sword could do much to this particular enemy. Not to mention magic had always been more fun anyway.
When he first saw the child he’d done a complete double take, casting a see-all charm to make sure it wasn’t an illusion. It wasn’t. There was an actual child in the grips of the frickin’ Shadow Demon, running around the hallways without a care in the world, and he wasn’t sure what exactly a monster would want from a child but it couldn’t have been good.
So he’d gone ahead and saved them, yanked them out of the monster’s hold and bolted before its frickin’ tentacles- tentacles, the thing had tentacles- could tag him, and now the monster knew he was there and was out for blood. Curse his idiotic, self-sacrificing, virtuous warrior instincts. Curse them.
The child struggled, squirming to escape the hand he’d clamped over their mouth. He swore vehemently in his mind, checked if the soundless charm was still intact, and took off his hand.
“Listen, kid. If you make too much noise and the monster hears us, then it will find us and it will kill us, you understand?” he hissed at them before they could speak.
The kid just stared at him with wide, frightened eyes and he swore internally again, once again double-checking his invisibility cloak to make sure all the charms were still in place. “Look, just follow me, be quiet, and stay under this cloak, and you’ll be fine, okay?”
They nodded, and Gerald felt a wave of relief that of all the kids he could have rescued from a shadow demon, at least this one was sensible and wouldn't do anything reckless that would get them both killed, like start crying.
He peeked into the next corridor, whipping his head back when he spotted a piece of darkness moving near the ground, the runes and enchantments over its surface glowing under his see-all charm. Shadow demon. Bad idea. Try another path.
They carried on in silence for the next five minutes, ducking through the long and empty hallways while huddled beneath his invisibility cloak. It was a tight fit- the cloak was meant for one person- but they managed it. Idly, he marvelled at the fact that they were still alive. The stories he’d heard always implied that the monster’s shadows were so numerous that they could permeate every single corridor, locating their prey within seconds to minutes. The shadow tentacles Gerald had seen so far had not been as overwhelming in volume or number as the stories had suggested, so either the stories had been complete hogwash designed to scare people, or… well, he couldn’t think of another explanation, so the stories must have been complete hogwash.
“Sahdo isn’t a monster,” the kid suddenly spoke up, causing Gerald to stumble and very nearly fall out of the invisibility cloak’s cover and into certain death.
He whirled around and pinned them with a withering glare, “You tryna get me killed, kid?”
The kid seemed to shrink under his gaze, “No.”
“Then stay quiet and don’t spook me like that again.”
“Okay.”
The kid looked so dang forlorn that he immediately felt bad, and because Gerald was a weak person with stupid, stupid morals, he ignored the fact that they were in the middle of a goshdarn lair of a shadow demon and could be discovered and eaten at any moment, sighed, pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and said, “What were you trying to say to me, kid?”
“Sahdo isn’t a monster. Sahdo is my friend.”
Gerald spent a whole minute trying to comprehend the insanity of having the Shadow Demon as a friend before deciding that maybe he did rescue one of the reckless kids after all.
They were both going to die, weren’t they?
Edit: part 8!
#writing#creative writing#writing prompts#writing something every day for the entirety of July#July writing challenge#Gerald is so precious I love him already even though I literally just made him up two hours ago#Sahdo the shadow monster#I had fun writing this one#Day 9
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[ EMBRACE ]: sender quickly wraps the receiver in a protective hug and turns so the sender’s back might take on the brunt of an on-coming attack.
𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.
An overpass of aqueducts and clotheslines floated overheard, busily levitated objects that caught his interest, outnumbered by the curious dirt-streaked faces that peered down from above over the spectacle of the captured Hero-King. Emperor Hardin’s most celebrated prisoner, brandished at the head of his joyful parade of rebel captives. Marth would have liked to stop and stare back, but whenever he did the foot guard spurred him forward with the pommel of his sword. Though he didn’t say a word at the maltreatment, after the third time- a sore dimple forming in the pit of his lower back- he stopped looking altogether.
He marched through capitol streets with an army like he said he would; like he promised Nyna and the millions that lied cold in fresh graves across the whole of Archanea, putting faith and penny in the hands of their hero... Except he did it in ways he never dreamed. War wasn’t at all simple, of course. Never black and white like the libels and propagandists made the battered spirit firmy believe, but when you lost, victory and defeat were all the colors it came in- and Marth was dyed in that ugly, ugly black ink across the streets of Pales.
History wouldn’t remember how hard he fought, it would remember how hard he failed. He knew that was the message when the stones flew. Most missed their mark to strike the cobbles at his feet but others were lucky. When he looked to the guard for some semblance of authority, the man looked away. At that point a pebble struck his temple, so hard he nearly stumbled into the row of prisoners- Cain and Abel, he thought- behind him. So hard a crosscut formed, dribbling his blood into the grout lines of the stone path below.
“....!”
He was straightened and set to march again as the hail of stones continued, but that moment had struck the match for another. Marth didn’t notice the cloaked woman who approached him from behind. He felt her fingers as she gripped his arms with the uncanny strength of a trained knight, spinning them around to take the mob’s vengeance, and then he saw her beautiful face beneath the shadows of her hood. Framed by long hair, a sliver of his favorite shade of blue poking out- terror lighted up his eyes then extinguished in the flinty raise of his voice, the shove of his manacled hands.
“Get your filthy paws off me, peasant! Crazy woman. You dare touch Naga’s chosen!”
To the average onlooker, he’d worn the righteous anger of a prince who held faith in his own outrageously inflated sense of self-worth. It was a convincing display. He hoped it was. Caeda needed to survive and not even the gods could save her if she was discovered here.
Marth kept his head down as he passed, but his eyes never left her for as long as they could. The guard noticed, of course, with his sword, and after the third time- a sore dimple forming in the pit of his lower back- he stopped looking altogether.
#◜ ╰ ♕ ◦ › royal mandate ‹ ASKBOX. ◞#arcaediaen#hiiiiiiiii byun#bad ending curveball :'^)#aka marth & the altean army got captured but caeda got away#fully by intent ofc because he'd rather die than watch caeda suffer execution#it really mirrors the time elice let caeda escape altea castle huh#kissy kissy
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The spirit of vengeance (wip)
I tried to write a shorter text :D
-> The plastic concrete of one of the foyer pillars burst with a crash just a few centimetres from Elfriede's head. She routinely removed the empty magazine from her Balana, retrieved a new one from the dome rack and inserted it into the assault rifle with a clack that was barely audible in the din of battle. The hail of bullets around her did not subside at all, but only intensified. Building material flew in all directions, leaving behind a greyish mist of plastic stone dust as the only evidence of its existence. The deafening rattle of heavy machine guns filled the entire entrance area of the orphanage, whose only line of defence it was. How long this would last was hard to say, but so far her cover - one of the two main pillars right by the large portal - had bravely withstood the fire. In contrast, her cloak was a shadow of its former self and the expensive BSD armour had already taken a number of scrapes. Damn bastards, that stuff was expensive! Elfriede cursed inwardly as she scanned the battle report data on the left side of her field of vision.
The weak, artificial intelligence in the armour's computing core had detected fifteen enemy network participants, which meant everything and nothing. It could well be that only foot soldiers were still facing the damn blue line or a tank. Sighing, she glanced at the other side of the display, where she learnt that neither the lockdown nor any of the main systems of her protection had been damaged. Moreover, she still couldn't see any message from Dante, which made her worry that he was still late. What the hell, I'll just have to give them the rest... She would rid the grounds of the filth that sought to desecrate them like a vengeful spirit.
At that moment, between the bullets, the screams of mercenaries and the screeching of heavy fighting equipment, a voice she recognised all too well rang out: "You don't stand a chance, 79! We'll raze your little domicile to the ground with bombs! Surrender and you can save her!" She knew, of course, that every single word that bastard said was a lie. They would neither destroy the orphanage nor spare the children - at least not as long as she could still be captured alive.
Another hasty glance revealed that Dante still hadn't reacted. Where the hell is this guy? Slowly, an unaccustomed nervousness spread through Elfriede, caused by the fact that her brother in arms had still not contacted her. That was simply not his style and...
Crash boom!
The pillar to Elfriede's left shattered with a huge explosion, which only made the mercenary smile thanks to her armour. However, this was her chance to strike back. The fog was so thick that the helmet visors of the lower units were unable to penetrate it with their sensors. The pitiful remains of her cloak billowed out behind her as she stepped out from behind the pillar, for unlike her enemies, she could see.
The vengeful spirit had awoken and followed the Huntress into battle. Through the display extension of her helmet camera, the mercenary could see that two faceless enemies on her left were coughing and trying to regain their bearings. With hatred fuelled by righteous anger, she took aim in a split second and ended their lives. The thought that raised the questions: 'what could they have been called, which mother would cry for them and why they were shooting at each other instead of throwing their weapons into the dust?
Out of the corner of her eye to her right, in the slowly settling dust, she noticed a woman aiming at her. Before the bullet could fly, the huntress slipped behind the cover of her nameless victims. She casually noticed how the bullets missed her by a hair's breadth. Her ignorance of this fact was like ignoring a gust of wind, even if it had killed her. She was no longer Elfriede, for the spirit of vengeance was not an existence of this world, as the mercenary had been. She was a force of nature, for like a wave, she would drown these castaways in the sea of this unjust reality. Like the ocean - which the spirit had never admired, but the woman had - she was unable to pity these poor souls. Nor could she offer them mercy, for she was a weapon forged by the Blue Line.
The sensors of her armour's artificial intelligence warned her of the next shots, allowing the huntress to dash over cover. Her feet had barely touched the ground when the enemy fell into the dust.
Quick as a flash, she turned warned from her helmet's display to the nearest enemies, whose fate was the same as a crushing blow threw them backwards. She desperately tried to make her retreating right shoulder withstand the impact, but she had no chance against the laws of nature.
Elfriede lost her balance and fell to the dust as the pain set in, almost taking her mind away. The vengeful spirit had vanished into the night-black darkness of her subconscious. She tried to move, but before she could truly realise what had happened, Elfie lost and the Blue Line won...
Elfriede opened her eyelids and saw a familiar image as her toes dug into the warm, greyish sand of the black desert. Her gaze was not fixed on the figure she had seen so many times before, but on the sky. There, where stars usually performed their luminous dance over millennia, everything happened simultaneously and yet the universe was already at its end. In phantasms of myriad colours, galaxies exploded, stars collided and supernovae devoured their home systems. An untrained eye would have attributed a purely destructive purpose to this planned chaos, but the vengeful spirit knew that the truth was different, for only from stellar ash did what was, what is and what can be arise.
She took a deep breath and savoured the warm air for a seemingly endless moment, which smelled gently of primroses and carried a wondrous hint of summer. She closed her eyes for a moment, or perhaps for a lifetime? It was hard to tell here in Aster's domain, as she knew from her numerous encounters with the star guardian. Elfriede lowered her gaze to her old friend, who smiled at her. At least the mercenary liked to imagine that Aster was smiling. It was hard to tell with a bare skull, but she returned the gesture by lifting the left corner of her mouth. She was unable to hide the misery that resonated in it.
In a voice that sounded like the song of a nightingale, she greeted the skeleton: "I had hoped that we wouldn't meet again too soon, Livia."
"That's not my name and you know it, Aster."
"He's not there yet, you're right, and I can only hope that you'll find him one day."
"Not in this life. A new name would mean I've been forgiven..."
She swallowed in dismay as her gaze drifted away from the skeleton woman dressed in a wicker dress.
"Those like me must not be forgiven," said the vengeful spirit, who was now clad in her orange light-emitting armour. Through the helmet camera, she again watched the spectacle in the empty sky, which was not empty.
"You're being too hard on yourself..."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, I do, and, as I'm sure you do, I tell you every time I see you. You're one of my biggest worries, Livia..."
The daughter of the corporate magnate, wiped the moisture from her right eye and snorted.
"Don't pretend you care about us. You took him from me..."
That was the reason why Dante hadn't come. With epochal force, the repressed memory made its way into Elfriede's consciousness. Dante had been shot a month ago on Gallindo-One by their former captain. In the manner of the Blue Line, which had been her home for so long, the mercenary had refused to recognise reality and relied on her brother to save her. After all, he had always run round some corner at the last second to protect her.
"I had no choice. You know I don't decide..."
Angrily, the bounty hunter jumped up from her chair with her right hand clenched into a fist. "Stop giving me this lecture!" she shouted furiously.
"I couldn't care less if you decide it or if the stars hate us. What do I bother who took him, all I can do is shout at you, you miserable..."
With her last words, both the ghost's voice and her legs collapsed. The first tears welled up in her eyes as she fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands. Her forehead touched the warm sand as her broken voice croaked, "Can't you finally take me with you? Why do you keep torturing me, Aster! What have I ever done to you!"
Silence was the answer Elfriede had not expected. At this point in their constantly repetitive conversation, Aster actually interjected that she was allowed to do so. Eons-old laws forced her into inaction, but at that moment the star guardian fell silent, leaving only the soft sound of sand and the sobbing of one in the black desert.
The ghost couldn't say how much time had passed, but at some point in the distant future, or perhaps right now, Aster spoke up again: "Would you like to go with me?" Elfriede opened her eyes and looked up. The table that usually stood between them had disappeared - or had never been there. In its place, the bone woman sat cross-legged in front of her and looked at her with a sorrowful expression.
"You are my greatest defeat, Livia Stardust. I had hoped so much to show you the right path that would lead you to happiness and love. A path that will put you out of your misery. That's all I want for you. My only concern is that you are not alone. That is my only task - not to kill you and not to rob you. What I have to do is help you. With you, I have failed and I hope she will forgive me," the star guardian explained in a tone that would bring tears to the eyes of the dead. "What are you talking about, Aster?" Elfriede wanted to know, carefully rubbing the tears from her eyes. Only now did the woman notice that she was wearing a grey hooded jacket with the words: University of Thelmon - Year 3045 on the front. She had never landed on the core world, Tolvin-Three - whose capital was Thelmon.
"There is little life left in you. If you want to come with me, you can, but I can tell you that the futures I have seen have more in store for you. Dante is a patient star, Livia."
"Can you promise me that?"
"No, it's up to you. I don't decide for you. I'm just guiding you to the empty sky."
"What do I have to do?"
"It's simple and yet almost impossible."
At these words, Elfriede stared mesmerised by her words into the eye sockets of the star guardian in which two green stars blazed.
"What do I have to do?"
"You have to live, and I can't tell you how to do that. Living is beyond my understanding. I am the end and not the beginning, but I can tell you this for certain: only that which lives does not have to fear death, Livia. What will you decide?"
"I can't. No one has ever shown me how to do it. How can I be sure that I'm up to the task?"
"You can't, but believe in yourself," Aster replied in a velvety voice. Elfriede cried her last tears, she was sure of it, because what else was keeping her in this miserable world? Her brother was dead, she herself was a shell, and no one would weep at her grave. It was pointless, but among all the harrowing, imploring thoughts she heard a voice she recognised: "You can't do it and you don't want to! You're not scum. The only thing you are is Elfie: my star, my guardian spirit and my friend!"
She couldn't tell who was haunting her mind and didn't want to know. Whoever this wonderful voice belonged to, Elfie wanted to be with her. With the power of all that was just, she longed to see the owner and embrace her. With a determination reserved for the stars, she knew she had to find this woman.
"Can you promise me one thing? When I come back, we'll talk about the weather because I made it, okay?"
The star guardian placed one of her bone hands on Elfriede's blonde hair and stroked her as gently as only a mother could. A primal trust was written in the expressionless features of the skull as she spoke: "I promise to wait for you and hope with all my eons-old existence that you succeed. Tell me about her the next time we meet and always remember: The empty sky is only dark from afar, for those who walk in it see all the stars whose light is so slow that you have never seen it dance." Elfie closed her eyes and found herself in the darkness of the empty sky, and with a cry she returned to reality and saw shadows distorted by pain before her eyes.
They moved her, although she couldn't tell where. The only thing she could tell was that the figures were carrying her. Elfie tried with all her might to free herself from their grip, but her limbs refused to listen - only the pain that pulsed through her body was willingly passed on. With a new wave of burning agony, she lost consciousness.
"One Ijd: Red! Situation: safe! Return in 15min!" barked a man's voice as Elfie's eyes snapped open. She couldn't see the person speaking because she could only recognise individual images in the flash of lightning before her eyes, which had no clarity. She felt the pain with the force of a locksmith's hammer, which seemed to hit her. With each pulse, she cried out heartbreakingly, causing the unknown voice to command: "Hang on! You're almost there." Not turning to her, the bloke added: "Filthy dogs - a sagehouse of all places!" What she could perceive between everything, although it took all her strength, was that they were moving faster and her incapacitated limbs were hanging lifelessly. She felt like a doll whose strings had been cut.
"Hang on!"
That was the last word she heard before the pain took over again.
Like a dull hammering, her heart desperately tried to fulfil its task, causing the mercenary to awaken once more. The blood, which was pumped through her body with hurried determination and impregnated with adrenalin, burned like a thousand fires in her veins.
She lay, or at least stopped moving, screaming hoarsely while her completely exhausted lungs tried to get new oxygen. With each stinging breath, it became harder to get the vital element when suddenly her helmet was removed. A blurred figure made a grab for her neck and with the agility of the Huntress, who had suddenly regained control of her left arm, she swung at her attacker. Hit, she staggered back, but was now held fast by the second shadow. Elfie desperately tried to call out to Dante and Aster, who had to save her, but there was no answer. Only the mantra of the man's voice echoed in her ears along with a terrible ringing, before her world sank into blackness once more.
"Hang on!"
The pain had given way to a pleasant daze that made her thoughts swim. Only the throbbing in her shoulder remained, reminding her that she still seemed to be alive.
"How is she, Dr. Winter?"
There was the voice that had told her not to die. The answer, however, was given by a woman whose tone reminded Elfriede of the doctors at the Blue Line camps: "She will survive, Captain Liamson. It wasn't an easy operation, but I managed to stabilise her."
"Good work - let me know when she regains consciousness. As you know, anyone who messes with the Blue Line needs to be protected - don't you thinks so too, Maria?"
His last words were obviously not directed at the cold doctor, because a much softer voice replied: "I think it's much more important to protect anyone who gets in the way of the line in order to protect an orphanage that nobody within a thousand kilometres cares about. Besides, she reminds me of Zoey. Maybe she's a good sign."
She was a good sign because she had thrown herself head over heels into a hopeless fight?
She of all people was one?
How could a person who had done such indescribable things that not even her own thoughts dared to give words to her deeds be a good sign?
Her arrival was doom and not salvation, so how could this woman not recognise the evil that she was?
Her fogged senses had no answers to these questions, but they were not needed, for Elfie, who had received a promise from Aster, the Star Guardian, felt safe for a reason she could not fathom.
For the first time in her life, she was okay with keeping her eyes closed, not peering over her shoulder for enemies and letting herself fall into the cradling arms of the sleep she so desperately needed. There was no logical explanation for what her being was feeling at that moment. Only a vague supposition of a mother's embrace and a father's guiding voice could adorn this moment with a hypothesis. Elfie didn't care why this place and these strangers felt like the shelter she had always wanted. Ever since she had been weaponised in the Blue Line camps and no longer bore the name her mother had given her, she had longed to return home.
Could this be her home? Was it possible that this was the safe harbour Aster had so often promised? If the stars would honour this question with an answer, Elfie would not. What she did do was swear to herself that she would never give up that feeling again. No amount of money in the world could outweigh that warm feeling, and so she fell blissfully asleep surrounded by Captain Arthur Liamson, First Officer Maria Antonia Richter and Dr Med Algea Winter in the Abyss Crusher's sickbay, knowing that someone would weep for her when she went to the empty sky with Aster one day... <-
#writing#booklr#books#books and literature#books and reading#writerscorner#author#books & libraries#writers on tumblr#random text#random#Abyss Crusher#Captain Arthur Liamson#Dr Med Algea Winter#Officer Maria Antonia Richter
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Dragon Ball Legend Part Two
The Dead Zone Part Two,
"We better get going if we're going to stop them. I'm itching for some payback." Piccolo grunted as he stood up. Ocarin stood up as well.
"Very well. Grab on." She held out her hand. Piccolo stared at her. "You want to get there fast, right? This is the only way." Piccolo slowly reached out, pausing for a second and took Ocarin's hand. Ocarin closed her eyes as she focused on the assailants' energy. "Found them!"
The two quickly vanished into thin air as Ocarin transported them.
"Sir! You must come quick! We've got the last two Dragon Balls!" Two of Garlic Jr's henchman ran inside Garlic's castle carrying the two Dragon balls that they've found in their hands. They placed them along with the others. Sitting on the floor, crying was a small boy, who had a long tail like a monkey's, wearing a yellow turban with green sleeves with a kanji in the center of it. He was wearing a red hat and on top of it was the four-star ball. The group had kidnapped him for his ball. It had belonged to his late grandfather. He was the one who had raised Goku as his own and in return Goku named his son after him.
A small turquoise alien with pointy ears and green spots on his head walked over to them. He was wearing a white hooded cloak, black cassock with a golden castle emblem, black pants and blue shoes. Garlic Jr made a dark chuckle as he looked down at the Dragon Balls gleefully. "Now that the Dragon Balls are complete, I can summon the eternal dragon and have my wish granted. Eternal Dragon, come forth!" Slowly, the Dragon balls began to shake, glowing. A bright blinding light filled the dark cloudy sky. The winds began to pick up roaring loudly as a lightning bolt shot down, hitting the balls. A large green dragon emerged from them, floating over the evil group. Shenron.
"You have awakened the dragon. And so you have been granted one wish. What is your desire?" The dragon's deep voice bellowed out, echoing, as he waited.
"I ask to be made immortal!" Garlic Jr. shouted his wish to the dragon.
"As you wish." Shenron's ruby red eyes glowed brightly. Garlic Jr. was engulfed in a beam of light. His body began to wrap and become painfully contorted as the dragon granted his wish.
"The people of the universe better hear my voice now! From this day forward, I, Garlic Jr. will rule over all! I command all evil spirits to come forward and take on their physical forms once again. You are free to walk! A new dark age has finally begun! Vengeance will be mine! And all who live shall fear my wrath! Let this world be drenched in the blood of the righteous. Now, that I am immortal, I will rule the universe forever. All creatures will obey me or perish. With every power I possess, my reign of terror will be everlasting!" Garlic Jr. declared as he laughed evilly.
"Your wish has been granted. I bid you farewell." The great dragon disappeared as he transformed back into the balls. The Dragon balls rose straight into the sky, each flying separate ways as they disappeared.
"I have nothing to fear anymore. No one can defeat me now. I will avenge my father's death by destroying all of our enemies. Then I will rule the universe with the fury of the blood that runs in my veins!"
"All hail Garlic Jr. Master of all that we witness!" Garlic's henchman cheered.
"Give me back my son!"
"Give back his son!" The group blinked in confusion. Garlic Jr. stopped in his tracks as Goku flew down landing in front of them, narrowing his eyes as he glared angrily at them. Garlic Jr. glanced at him from over his shoulder.
"You must be the famed Goku." A green alien like creature with red eyes shouted at Goku.
"That's right. And you must be the guys who thought you could mess with my family!" The young warrior shouted.
"Soon you will be crying too!" Garlic's green henchman snickered. Goku's eyes widened a little.
"You think so?" A voice called out. The group looked up, seeing a bright ball of light hurling down towards them as Kami, landed beside Goku. Goku stared at him surprised to him. Garlic Jr. quickly turned around, shocked as well, along with his henchman surprised to see him alive.
"What? Kami?!"
"Does this mean that Piccolo isn't dead?" The green henchman questioned.
"Kami...this isn't your fight." Goku spoke.
"Goku, you haven't changed one bit." Kami retorted. Garlic Jr. smirked, looking at Kami.
"Kami, how are you?" The guardian of the Earth frowned, as he stared back angrily at the small alien.
"Garlic Jr. Back here after three hundred years, I should've known you'd do anything possible to get what you want. You're exactly like your miserable father."
"I'm what?" Garlic Jr. spatted out at kami as he gritted his teeth, angrily.
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I competed with your father for the throne of Kami. By the end, I was the one chosen to ascend to greatness. The one who sat on the throne before me saw your father's evil ambition. But your father wasn't satisfied with the decision and decided to take the throne by force. And so, my predecessor had no choice but to seal Garlic and his dark power away for eternity. Your father vowed that within three hundred years, he would have his revenge. Even if he told me then, I never would've believed that he'd be so tenacious as to seek revenge through his only son." Kami spoke.
"Then you should have passed by father the throne. It would have saved me the trouble of having to kill you myself." Garlic Jr. chuckled darkly.
"I only came here for one reason. Where's Gohan?" Goku demanded.
"Don't worry about him. He's dead tired." Garlic's second henchman, a tall lean alien with greyish skin pointed ears and white hair pointing upwards, wearing a white cloak. Goku glanced over at the entry way of the castle, behind the group.
"Is he inside there?" He quickly sprinted, jumping to the side off from a beam and launched himself over the group, rushing inside. The three-henchman charged after the warrior.
"Stop him before he gets too far!"
Goku began to clash with the three henchmen, Ginger, Sansho, and Nicky, inside while Garlic faced down with Kami.
"You're a fool if you expect me to give up based on your word." Kami said. Garlic smirked.
"Wait, didn't I tell you? I was granted immortality by the eternal dragon. Now nobody can kill me, not even you." He laughed. Kami didn't take his eyes off of him, concerned by the news.
"You're just the arrogant child of a fool."
As Goku continued to clash with three of Garlic henchman, two fired beams of energy at the warrior from above. However, they were deflected a round blasts, shaped like saws. Goku turned around to see that it was Krillin as he stood on top of the staircase. "Krillin! Hey!" He smiled.
"Looks like you could use some help." Krillin smiled back. The three henchman jumped back, staring down the two Z warriors. Goku frowned. "It's still three on two."
"Goku! Why don't you allow me to even those numbers." Goku's eyes widened along with Krillin's as they saw Piccolo walking up behind Krillin. Krillin stepped away from him, nervously, running over to Goku.
"Piccolo?" Goku questioned, shocked.
"Piccolo?!" Ginger exclaimed, shocked as well to see him.
"What are you doing here?" Goku asked Piccolo.
"Keep cool. I didn't come here to help you. I got a score to settle with these three." Piccolo told him. Then something wet fell on Krillin's head. Everyone looked up to see Gohan standing on the banisters, peeing. Krillin quickly moved out of the way, cringed in disgust.
"Gohan?!" Goku shouted at his son.
"Great! That kid's loose!" Ginger groaned.
Garlic Jr. fired multiple beams of energy blasts at Kami. He tried to jump out of the way as he backed away from them. Kami fired eye beams at the Garlic Jr, who quickly dodged them. He lunged at Kami and headbutted him in the stomach and fired a energy blast, knocked Kami back. Kami was slammed hard into the pillar as he fell to the ground. Before Kami could recover, Garlic Jr. quickly charged at him and began to punch Kami repeatedly, bashing him against the pillar.
Goku ran over to his son, seeing him jump down from the banister, landing on the top floor. "Gohan!" He shouted at Krillin. Krillin ran up the stairs, keeping his eyes on Piccolo, heading up to the the boy. "Krillin, take care of my son!"
Krillin squeaked as he saw one of Garlic's henchmen, waiting for him at top. He charged at Krillin. "You're dead!" The floor crumbled beneath him as Piccolo fired a blast, making the alien fall through it. Krillin quickly ran over to Gohan, picking him up, running to find somewhere safe for cover.
Piccolo glared down at the alien, who trembled at his angry stare.
"You're going to pay through the eyes for what you did." Piccolo growled. He fired another blast at the alien, blasting him through the wall. Piccolo stepped through, inching closer. "Well, well, it seems you don't have near the power you do in a group."
"You should never judge a fight on his first fall." The henchman growled as he got up, glaring at Piccolo. He lunged at Piccolo, throwing multiple punches at him. Piccolo dodged his every attack with ease.
"You can't hit anything!" He caught the alien's fist with his hand. Piccolo threw back his own, punching him, sending the alien flying back. He began to repeatedly punch him throwing another powerful punch, sending the alien crashing through support beams of the castle.
"He's a monster!" The alien cried out, fearfully, slamming into the wall.
"You and your pals are nothing but talk." Piccolo fired a blast of energy at him, finishing the henchman off. He turned and left to meet up with Kami and Garlic Jr, who was still fighting.
Garlic blasted Kami back, sending the guardian over the edge of the castle. Kami's staff fell out of his hands into the ocean below. Garlic Jr. grabbed Kami just before he fell, raising Kami up to him. "Once I finish with you, I'll be free to realize my father's dream of washing this world with evil. Now it's time for you die." Kami growled. A bright light blinded Garlic Jr. knocking him back as he slammed into the wall. Kami landed in front of him. "You'll pay." Garlic Jr. sneered as he got up.
Goku fought back against the last two henchman, finishing them off with his Kamehameha.
"So, Kami, I see you still got some fight left in you. It's just not enough to save you." Garlic Jr. smirked as he stood over Kami, who was pinned against the column. His body was getting weaker and growing tired. He was not going to be able to fight much longer. He needed to finish this once and for all.
"It is my duty to protect this planet. And you've made it clear the suffering you would cause in your reign. I cannot allow that. No matter what...I will stop you." Kami slowly sat up and wrapped his arms around Garlic Jr. pinning him in his arms. Kami's body began to glow and flicker as he was going to self-destruct himself.
"You old idiot, you'd die to save this planet?" Garlic Jr. cackled.
"Yes, I would." Kami replied.
"But you won't! You'll die and I'll live still!" Garlic Jr. laughed.
"No, he won't. I won't allow that to happen." Kami's eyes widened as he stopped his attack. He looked in front of him to see Ocarin, approaching towards the two.
"When I'm finished with you, Garlic, you'll wish you were dead." Kami's eyes widen even more when he saw Piccolo with her. Garlic Jr. frowned at the two. "You'll be completely helpless. Try to imagine how it would feel to live on forever, unable to do anything with all of your power. An eternity where there's nothing but you."
Goku jumped down, landing beside the two. "Piccolo! Ocarin!" Garlic Jr. pushed Kami off of him and the guardian fell back on the floor.
"Long time no see, Goku." Ocarin smiled at him.
"About time you showed up. What took you so long?" Piccolo grumbled.
"Teleportation really takes a lot out of me, you know! Especially two in one day. I needed to recover." She shouted at him. Garlic Jr. growled at the three as he stood up, glaring at them. Goku, Piccolo, and Ocarin braced themselves.
"Krillin, get Gohan out of here!" Goku shouted at him. Krillin nodded.
"You got it, Goku!" He ran, carrying Gohan on his back.
"Look at this. Goku. Piccolo. Two truly great fighters sacrificing themselves for the inevitable. What a waste." Garlic Jr. scoffed at the two then he set his eyes on Ocarin. He smirked before glancing over at Kami. "Kami, is she important to you?" Kami narrowed his eyes at him, saying nothing. Garlic Jr. laughed. "I'm going to enjoy watching your face as I crush her under my foot."
"I'm going to make you eat those words." Ocarin retorted. Suddenly, the group noticed Garlic's body beginning to form and twist itself, growing larger and more muscular. Piccolo's eyes widen along with Goku's and Ocarin at his transformation.
"His power level is growing fast." Goku warned. Garlic Jr. quickly launched at the three before any of them could react. He shot straight past them and punched them from behind, knocking Goku, Piccolo and Ocarin back over to Kami.
"He's fast!" Ocarin shouted. Garlic Jr. fired at beam of energy at the three. Piccolo and Goku jumped out of the way while Ocarin quickly grabbed Kami moving out of the way as well. She landed a few feet away, crouching on the floor, setting Kami down. "Kami, stay here and take cover. I'm going to help Goku and Piccolo!" Kami quickly grabbed her wrist stopping her.
"Ocarin, no! He's far too powerful. Garlic Jr, made a wish on the dragon balls to make himself immortal." He warned her. Ocarin stared at him, realizing the serious news. She nodded.
"I'll figure something out. So, in the meantime, stay out of this fight." She told him. Kami let out a tired sigh.
"This isn't your fight to begin with, it's mine. And I've dragged you into this." He told her.
"It's what I've signed up for as your protector isn't it, Kami?" Ocarin joked, smiling. Kami's eyes widened, looking at Ocarin in shock. His grip on her wrist began to loosen. Ocarin managed to break out of it before he could stop her again.
"Finish him."
"With pleasure. I'm ready for a little work out." Ocarin smirked. She ran over to Goku and Piccolo who were clashing against Garlic Jr. Goku jumped over Piccolo trying to land in a few punches. As Ocarin was a few yards away from the two, Garlic Jr. released an energy blast.
"Watch out!" Ocarin shouted. The three jumped out of the way as the blast fired everywhere, shattering the entire castle. The ceiling began to crumble from above, falling down on Krillin, knocking Gohan out of his hands. The boy fell into a pit as more ruins crashed down, landing on top of him. Goku, Piccolo, and Ocarin were separated from each other as they tried to recover from the blast. Ocarin's eyes widened when she heard something coming at her from behind. A hand shot out and grabbed her head as Garlic Jr. charged with her, heading towards Goku and Piccolo. He slammed into the two along with Ocarin, knocking the three out of the castle.
Garlic slammed Goku, Piccolo and Ocarin into the ground. The three managed to break free out of the alien's hands, jumping away from him, landing a few feet away.
"If you haven't figured it out yet, you can't win."
"There's got to be some way to stop him." Ocarin said.
"Well talking about it won't work. We've gotta fight." Goku replied, taking off his weighted clothes and tossed them on the ground.
"You seem like you're serous. But with the power he's producing, you'll have to fight harder than you ever have." Piccolo replied, taking off his weighted clothing as well.
"I hope planning on taking your own advice." Goku glanced over at him.
"I've been training harder than you could ever imagine, Goku." Piccolo spoke.
"I can't believe we're fighting on the same side." Goku smirked.
"I talked him into it." Ocarin smiled. Piccolo growled.
"Don't get too comfortable. After this fight, you're next, Goku."
The three charged at Garlic Jr. starting to clash against him. Garlic Jr. tried to throw a strike on Piccolo, who quickly teleported out of the way. Goku teleported trying to land a hit on the alien, who jumped out of the way. Goku yelled and kicked Garlic Jr. in the chin, knocking the alien back. Piccolo punched him in the stomach, along with Goku, making Garlic stumble backwards a little. Ocarin teleported behind them, readying a blast.
"Guy's move out of the way!" She panted as she warned the two. Piccolo's and Goku's eyes widened and jumped out of the way as she fired the blast at Garlic Jr. Garlic Jr. screamed as the blast engulfed him until it diminished. Ocarin's eyes widened along with Goku and Piccolo's seeing the damaged the blast had made a large hole in the alien's stomach.
"It didn't mean to get that carried away." Ocarin cringed at the sight of it. Piccolo's eyes widened as he saw Garlic's wound starting to heal. Goku and him fired another blast at Garlic Jr. sending the alien back as he was engulfed in it. The blast sent Garlic crashing into a tower of the castle, making it fall down on him. Goku and Piccolo panted, sweat dripping from their face.
"We've won!" Goku cheered.
"That was too easy." Ocarin frowned, concerned. Kami slowly approached the three, walking over to Piccolo.
"Piccolo...nice work." He hesitantly spoke to Piccolo.
"Keep your distance. Goku and I have some unfinished business." Piccolo glared at Goku, who blinked in confusion. He frowned, getting ready as well to fight Piccolo.
"If this is how you want it..."
"Come on. Do you two really need to do this right now?" Ocarin asked.
"We had an agreement, remember." Piccolo said. "Don't interfere." Ocarin sighed, tiredly.
"What agreement?" Goku asked. Piccolo charged at him as the two clashed with each other. Garlic Jr. growled as he busted out from the ruins of the tower. Kami and Ocarin eye's widened seeing that he had still survived.
"I told you...I will never die!" Garlic Jr. declared. He let out a loud roar. The castle began to crumble away. The winds began to pick up and the clouds in the sky began to swirl and warp together, creating a black hole as it started to suck everything in. Piccolo began flying straight at the vortex when Goku grabbed him by the ankle, as he held on to a pillar.
"Piccolo!" Goku glanced around worriedly, not seeing Krillin or his son.
"Gohan!" Krillin woke up when he noticed that he was being dragged into the vortex. He quickly grabbed onto a pillar.
Ocarin panted as she raised her hands in the air, encasing Kami and herself inside of an energy bubble rooted to the ground, to keep from getting sucked in.
"Ocarin, you are exerted way too much energy. Stop!" Kami shouted at her. Ocarin shook her head and glanced over at Garlic Jr.
"He's insane. He's going to suck everything in, including himself. Doesn't he realize that?" Garlic Jr. began laughing manically.
"Garlic! This is for you!" Piccolo growled and fired a blast at him. He hopped onto another pillar, grabbing on to it. The blast bounced off of him.
"You cannot stop me! Everything on Earth will be sucked into the dead zone I've created. Including you. You will all be locked away in darkness for the rest of eternity. Just like you did to my father!"
Ocarin groaned as she fell to her knees, feeling her energy slipping away. A piece of the castle crashed into the bubble, shattering it. Kami and Ocarin were now hurling towards the black hole. Kami grabbed onto a pillar. He reached out to grab Ocarin, only for her to slip through his grip.
"Ocarin!" He shouted. Piccolo looked over seeing Ocarin heading straight towards the black hole. He jumped off the pillar, landing next to Goku's then grabbed her. He roughly tossed Ocarin back over to Kami, who collided into him. Piccolo grabbed onto a pillar to save himself.
"Piccolo!?" Ocarin cried out.
"Consider us even for now."
"Gohan!" Gohan cried out. A large rumble shook the ground as Gohan pulled himself out of the the crumbled ruins of the castle. He had a strange look in his eyes.
"What the...!-" Piccolo's eyes widen in surprise.
"Do it, Gohan!" Goku shouted.
"What is this? You gonna stand there, or are you gonna fight?" Garlic Jr. shouted at the boy. Gohan growled angrily at him. "He's as strong as I thought...I knew there was something unique about him. I'll show you real power!" He unleashed more energy trying to suck Gohan in. Gohan planted his feet into the ground. He let out a loud yell releasing a large burst of energy. Goku, Piccolo, Kami, Ocarin and Krillin's grip slipped as they were getting sucked towards the vortex.
"Daddy!" Gohan cried out, firing the blast at Garlic Jr. It slammed into him, sending the alien straight into the black hole getting sucked into it.
"They haven't beaten me! I cannot die! I've been given immortality!" Garlic Jr. roared. Gohan collapsed on the ground. The sky slowly began to grow calmer and black hole started to diminish until it disappeared, and everyone fell on the ground. Krillin stood up, looking around, seeing the destroyed ruins of the castle. Everyone one else got up as well.
"Kami, what happened to Garlic Jr.?" He asked.
"He fell into the dead zone of his own creation, and he will live forever there. I can assure you now, he would rather have wished for anything other than eternal life. How ironic Garlic Jr. suffered the same fate as his father." Kami spoke. His eyes widened as he looked around for Ocarin until he finally found her lying on the ground, sleeping and completely exhausted. He sighed in relief and picked her up, resting her arm across his shoulders. She groaned, slowly opening her eyes.
"Nice to see that you're okay." She smiled.
"Don't ever to that again." Kami frowned.
"No promises." Ocarin chuckled, softly. The three walked over to Goku to find him holding Gohan in his arms. The boy began to wake up.
"Atta boy!" Goku smiled. Gohan eyes widened happily seeing his father.
"Daddy! I knew you'd come to rescue me." Goku blinked in confusion. He sat Gohan back down.
"Wait a sec. Don't you remember what happened?" He asked Gohan.
"I remember my dad's the strongest fighter in the world." Gohan smiled. Krillin and Kami and Ocarin, smiled at the two. Goku smiled back at his son.
"Well...you have been through a lot, Gohan. Let's go home. I know your mommy misses you a lot." Gohan quickly nodded and took Goku's hand and the five left. Ocarin looked over her shoulder, noticing that Piccolo was nowhere to be seen. She was too tired to wonder where he went. But she knew one day she'll see him again.
Piccolo watched them leave as he stood on the ruins of the castle.
"So... our battle will have to wait for another day, Goku. I hope you're ready." He frowned as his eyes darted over towards Ocarin and Kami, focusing on Ocarin as he thought to himself.
There was something strange about that girl. She was far too powerful for any normal human.
He will have to keep a closer watch on her.
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at the edge of town stands a tall handsome man, in a dusty blue coat, with a red right hand...
#percy de rolo#critical role#vox machina#criticalrolefanart#tw blood#not literally but implied#i am once again asking for the animated briarwood arc to be released#please i am starving#i need to see my white boy of the week commit egregious atrocities#as always guy who sucks will forever be the most superior character concept#also red right hand should be counted as an honorary official percy song#righteous cloaked vengeance and all
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365 DC Comics Paper Cut-Out SuperHeroes - One Hero, Every Day, All Year…
October 1st - The Specter
The grim hero known as The Specter is the earthly embodiment of the spirit of righteous vengeance against evil. One of its earlier hosts was the police detective James Corrigan. Corrigan was murdered by criminals whist on his way to visit his fiancé. The extreme rage Corrigan felt over his murder prevented his soul from being able to ascend to the afterlife and he was sent back by mystical forces to act as the ‘voice of justice.’ Corrigan’s body was resurrected and he could now transform into a ghostly figure with a flowing green cloak and near omnipotent bevy of supernatural powers.
Now known as The Specter, Corrigan hunted down evil-doers and disposed of them in a range of gruesome and macabre fashions. The Specter would go on to help form the first iteration of The Justice Society and also served with The All-Star Squadron during the Second World War.
The Spirit would later relinquish his guise as Jim Corrigan and continued to act as an agent of justice and revenge up through the modern age. His soul eventually tired of his quest for vengeance and Corrigan was allowed to move on to the next plain. At this point the role of The Specter was handed over to Hal Jordan, the one time Green Lantern who had finally freed himself of the deadly influence of the entity Parallax. Jordan acted as the new Spirit for a brief time until he too found release from his desire for vengeance and was allowed to return to life in his previous form.
At this point the spirit found a new host in Gotham Detective Crispin Allen who had been deceived and murdered by a colleague. Allen became the new Specter and continued on the endless fight against evil.
Jim Corrigan has once more become The Specter in the rebooted post ReBirth DC Universe. This new version of The Specter is less powerful than his previous form, but still an extremely powerful magic user and frequent aide to the Justice League Dark.
Versions of Jim Corrigan have featured in the television series Constantine (portrayed by actor Emmett Scanlan) and in the Arrowverse (where he was played by actor Stephen Lobo). The hero first appeared in the pages of More Fun Comics #52 (1940).
#365 DC Comics Heroes#DC Comics#The Specter#Justice Society#All Star Squadron#Constantine#Arrow#Emmett Scanlan#Stephen Lobo#cut-out#paper art
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first trip
ships/characters: Pepper, Phantom Blot, Bradford, Pepper/Blot
words: ~1200
summary: Pepper muses about F.O.W.L. before going on her first big assignment with The Phantom Blot.
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708827
full fic under the cut:
It’d been a long time since she’d had a real job.
Though the newspaper ad she responded to was a bit misleading, Pepper didn’t mind the work. She did everything she was asked to do with no questions asked, just as Director Buzzard demanded. And for her loyal service, she made twenty dollars an hour and got health insurance! If her yaya was still alive, she’d be so proud. Or maybe she wouldn’t. But she’d be impressed, at least!
The costumes were a bit odd, and getting all of her giant curls under that helmet was definitely a struggle at first, but at least the colors were flattering! And she liked feeling like such a unified team. It wasn’t her first time wearing a uniform, either - and these were much better than the little hats they wore at Hamburger Hippo.
She also got along great with everyone! The other Eggheads didn’t have as much to talk about as she did, but they didn’t seem to mind when she couldn’t stop talking. Or, well, they didn’t seem to mind too badly. Occasionally she’d start rambling and when she opened her eyes, everyone was gone. But that was only every once in a while!
It was on one of the days that she repeatedly reminded herself to listen, don’t talk that she noticed how all of the other Eggheads seemed very concerned about one of the higher ranking members of F.O.W.L.:
The Phantom Blot.
They were complaining about how creepy and intense he was - how he was always grumbling things in another language and blasting holes in the walls of his office and having random bursts of anger. Pedro swore one time he was cleaning near his office and suddenly he just heard loud crying out of nowhere. Keisha said he had an entire drawer filled with weird childish drawings of a dog family. Alabio said he was confident that the guy did not eat or shower or ever take off his cloak - but he didn’t stink up the place, so Pepper thought that one probably wasn’t true.
She didn’t have any problems with Mr. Blot. He was very intense, and a little bit scary, but she didn’t mind. Her life was filled with intense people! In her experience, they had good reason to be like that. And if people were hearing him burst into tears and collect weird, sad drawings, he probably had very, very good reason.
Besides - she had health insurance! How could she complain about her work with benefits like that? A loud, scary superior was nothing compared to the fear of getting sick while uninsured.
It was that attitude that led her directly to Director Buzzard’s office when he announced that he needed a recruit to travel with Phantom Blot on a special mission to Scotland. Scotland! She’d never even been out of the country before! And not a single other Egghead moved a muscle, so Pepper proudly stood up and made her way down the hall.
When she opened the door to the director’s office, she saluted as Black Heron exited with a sway of her hips and a wink behind her. Director Buzzard grumbled and Pepper didn’t move her arm as she walked the rest of the way inside.
“What do you need?”
She continued to salute and smiled. “I’d be happy to accompany Mr. Blot on his mission, Sir!”
“Really?” The director shuffled some papers around. “Good. What’s your name, again?”
“Pepper, Sir!”
Bradford leaned over to squint at his laptop screen and did some quick typing and clicking before looking back at her. “Alright, you’re all set. Go to Blot’s office and let him know - he’s planning to leave in about an hour.”
“Yes, Sir, Director, Sir!”
He grunted and waved her out the door, immediately going back to filling out the paperwork on his desk.
Pepper held back a squeal of excitement as she exited the room and did a perfect cartwheel as she made her way to Mr. Blot’s office. He was probably going to be really excited about having a partner! No one ever volunteered to work with him if they could help it, not even for shorter assignments, so an international field trip with a new buddy was definitely going to make him happy!
----
He was not happy, Pepper noticed. He actually seemed pretty annoyed that she was in his space.
But it was her job to help him out! She wasn’t just assigned to work with him, she wanted to! Wanted to learn more about him and his goals and the righteous justice of destroying evil witches!
(She knew most members of F.O.W.L. didn’t have righteous justice in mind when it came to their life goals - in fact, some of them were definitely supervillains. But Pepper didn’t mind that, either, especially not with her track record. With all the candy bars she’d stolen in her life, how could she possibly judge them?)
“Don’t touch anything!” Blot grumbled at her while tinkering with his giant fancy glove thingy.
“Yes, Sir!” Pepper said with another salute as she leaned back on the balls of her feet and whistled quietly. She didn’t have anything to pack or anywhere else to be, so she’d stay right there and help Mr. Blot get ready. Anything he asked of her, she’d get it done!
Two minutes passed and he had yet to ask for anything. Another five minutes and the only thing he asked for was “peace and quiet” so she stopped her whistling and started looking around the room instead.
There were definitely scratches and holes in the walls - the other Eggheads didn’t lie about that. Other than that, his walls were lined with photos and drawings of Magica De Spell - the evil witch he’d sworn vengeance against. Pepper didn’t know his history with De Spell, but everyone knew her work and all the trouble she’d caused in Duckburg back in the day. Though she’d disappeared for twenty years or so, her grand return was very destructive and everyone in town had the displeasure of dealing with her magic.
He also had tons of books and scrolls related to anti-magic - a concept Pepper had never thought about before. But it was really neat! She didn’t care much for magic, it definitely created more mess than it helped, so she was happy to contribute to whatever was happening.
Mr. Blot opened one of his desk drawers and shuffled through the mess of papers - Pepper paid close attention to what she could see and she could clearly make out some crude pencil drawings that looked like they were made by a child. Keisha was telling the truth! Well, either that, or Mr. Blot was very bad at drawing. Pepper was pretty bad at it herself so she didn’t want to assume.
After another minute, he stood up and Pepper strained her neck to keep her eyes on his as he towered over her. She gave him a big, toothy grin and clasped her hands together behind her back.
“Ready to go, Mr. Blot, Sir?”
He sighed deeply and clenched his gloved hand into a fist. “Yes. Let’s go destroy Castle McDuck. ”
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❝ come back to bed, it’s barely sunrise. ❞ ( One smol wizard to one tol fiery boi )
Sensual/Romantic Sentence Starters || @swordsxandxshadows || accepting
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Dying is overrated; Scorpion’s human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Dying for someone isn’t the hard thing, for the Hanzo Hasashi that died escaped, as death itself became a portal to another possibility as centuries of alienation of true life’s purpose had him to be entrapped beneath the scorching swirl of hellfire. Now, the afflicted wraith finds himself stargazing to map constellations, akin to the scars etched on his skin; white lines in milky moonlight, an unspoken confession as he embraced his own sanguine-streaked squelch to his utmost chagrin and steeled resolve that refused to sink into quagmire of motionlessness and irreversibility of death.
The setting of the sun dwelling within Hanzo Hasashi’s Arcana had been a mighty lie, for what was never truthfully born could never die in the first place. He finds his mindscape wandering in the marshes leading up to the Hasashi Compound, as once picturesque beauty of life has been eternally permeated with only death which he could not prevent, as the mortality’s shallow life became the sinking deathbed upon all the Shirai Ryu, and he sees only misery and despair in this painful, yet a wonderful lie.
Fate has a way of stepping in and guiding him the direction he needs to go even when he himself has no intention of creating that path, and yet - Scorpion struggles with the paradox of his entirety. That his heart may be as pure as gold, yet his eyes and hands are as black as coal. How could he ever let another door to his life open when one door closes behind him? But would the buried chain of his grief and despair ever burst from the earth in order to vanquish his existential threat? In another life, Scorpion might have had a chance to kill the demon, kill his adversary in one single sweep, as it stands, he will lose not just his life, but privacy, freedom, and utmost importantly, all the possibilities that would fill him with effulgent joy without filling himself with the wrong things.
How he finds himself empty and weary as the construct of time stills, freezes, and entombs beneath the hollow abysmal void. His shoulders, now constantly curve inwards as the vehement erect broadness of his shoulders slouch. His heavy bones hurting by the unnatural bending, his skin suffocating as it clings onto his bones in agony. As he continues to idly gaze onto the skies above, in the vulnerability and openness of his corporeal and mental nakedness, his mind, a graveyard of thoughts no longer relevant, but persistent as its demands to be entertained with sickly seeds of discord sown in deep, unable to be unrooted as his head remain fixed into a spot. His shadows are just a constant darkness lurking in the dark, waiting for the chance to cloak everything that it knows, in eternal darkness, never to see the sun again.
“Let me find my own way back to earth, while I wander like a vagabond, like a lost spirit with nowhere else to go, but of my chimerical imagination and withered memories which continue to disintegrate inside my memory reserve,” in the end, Scorpion has to find his own way, as his lingering touch grazes over the raised white lines of his scarring, directly over his heart and then presses hard, as if his throbbing heartbeat would eject out of his adamantine ribcage if it weren’t for the saddest tragedy of meeting his own death without having to enact vengeance and righteous justice. “I doubt if I could ever face the harsh reality of a cruel, unforgiving world on my own, without all those whom I have loved.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||
#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ hellfire fibrillating beneath his skin (iv)#(mortal kombat 2021)#(relationships; aku)#swordsxandxshadows
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A Song of Mischief and Shit-Stirring: Tell me what you want.
If the Martell-Sands were seeking justice for the offenses that were committed against their family, I’d sympathize with their cause. That’s not what they’re doing.
If they wanted to punish Tywin Lannister for what he did to their family members, the red cloaks on the bodies would be enough. Oberyn Martell would not be set on hearing someone announce that Tywin gave the orders. He would not be hijacking Tyrion’s trial by combat for Elia’s Revenge Theater. If they wanted justice for what Tywin and his goons did, then Oberyn would’ve simply killed the Enormity That Rides and gone home to his family. They’d be satisfied that Clegane was dead. They’d be satisfied that Amory Lorch was dead. They’d be satisfied that Tywin Lannister was dead. They would not be setting the realm up for another war.
If they wanted to punish Tywin Lannister for what he did to their family members, the red cloaks on the bodies would be evidence enough because Oberyn wouldn’t be trying to sell a motive that wasn’t applicable. The facts of their deaths would’ve been statement enough.
If they wanted justice for the violence done to their family, they would acknowledge that Tywin and his goons were the assholes who got there first. Nothing more. They would not be orchestrating another conflict in which other lords will be the assholes who got there first and more soldiers will rape and kill more women and children.
If they really wanted justice for the violence done to their family, they would acknowledge that the Targaryens hurt them more than anyone else. They would acknowledge that Rhaegar treated Elia and the children carelessly and Aerys used them callously. They would acknowledge that Dorne only kept to the royalist side of the war because Elia and the children were held hostage by Aerys-the-Second-Freaking-Targaryen. They certainly would not be trying to restore the Targaryens to power.
There could be a valid case for backing a Targaryen restoration. “Justice” and “vengeance” for the murders of Elia and her children are not that case. Has the text given us any indication of the Martells having taken a hard look at how their family was treated by the Targaryens? I don’t think so. We have Arianne fantasizing about the marriage pact with Viserys, but no sign of anyone taking an honest look at the behavior of Aerys and Rhaegar.
Why would Oberyn try to drum up support for installing King Viserys III in place of Robert Baratheon? I can see why they’d want to oust King Robert; that much makes sense. But how would Viserys seems like a better option? Granted, Oberyn understood that a family is not a monolith, and Viserys at the end of the rebellion was just a little boy and he was not responsible for the actions of his father and brother. But there’s the question: Viserys was just a little boy. What made anyone think he’d be all that much better than his father and brother? They didn’t bother to ask whether he’d be any better because they didn’t stop to acknowledge that his father and brother had been garbage to the Martells.
No, nobody stopped to ask those questions. That’s how we get Arianne thinking Viserys died because he made his sister jealous of his marriage pact with Arianne. I’m sitting here saying, no, princess, Daenerys was not jealous of you. She didn’t know the first thing about you because Viserys never mentioned you. Viserys died because his sister was the only thing he had to offer and he treated her abominably. He was never going to be Lord of the Seven Kingdoms because he was already King of Ain’t Shit Mountain. You dodged a bullet, now move on. Go sneak off to Highgarden and elope with Willas Tyrell.
This is why I’m critical of the Martell-Sands’ quest for “vengeance” and “justice”: they will not admit to themselves what exactly the Targaryen restoration is meant to accomplish. I would respect a Jonos Bracken-style argument of inevitability and pragmatism. They’re not thinking like Jonos Bracken.
What they’re really trying to do is tell a story of the Martells’ place in the realm. In their story, they were the Targaryens’ favorite and that made Tywin Lannister murderously jealous. They had a great thing going with Rhaegar until Tywin came for his revenge.
I’ve said it before: Tywin Lannister was a monster. It is known. That doesn’t mean 1) that everything he ever said and did was wrong, 2) that every single accusation against him was accurate, or 3) that every vendetta against him is righteous.
The accusation of Tywin’s motive for the murders of Elia and the children is not accurate and the vendetta against him is not righteous. It is desperately misguided and self-defeating.
What actually happened was more like the Martell spear was just one more stick the Mad King used to poke Tywin in the eye. Tywin had many, many more reasons to hate the Targaryens than the Martells. He didn’t give a shit about the Martells.
The Martell-Sands’ backing of the Targaryen restoration is effectively their standing up and screaming at the realm, “WE DEMAND TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.” My problem with that is not that I think less of the Martells. It’s the opposite. Who gives a fuck what those jumped-up blond deviant clown-wigs think? The Martells can be awesome regardless of their relationship to the royal family. Their worth does not depend on the Targaryens’ affection or the Lannisters’ enmity. Stop throwing your lives away helping the dragons eat the lions. The dragons do not recognize the value of your sacrifice.
#asoiaf meta#a song of mischief and shit-stirring#nobody screwed the martells harder than the targaryens#house martell#house targaryen#house lannister#revenge is bullshit#oberyn martell#elia martell#prince raggedy trashgaryen#the mad king#tywin lannister#viserys targaryen#doran martell#arianne martell#tyrion lannister#the sand snakes can bite my ass#gregor clegane#amory lorch#robert's rebellion#sack of king's landing
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PETRICHOR — PROLOGUE
the last he sees of nataliya
also available on wattpad here
(in continuation)
Kursick is a grey town. Dump town. Dull and morose. An air of sickness hovers over everything in an ever-present shroud. Houses are dirty and squat and made of crumbling brick, slumped against each other as if huddling for warmth against the cold too. Everything around them acts as a reminder of how depressing this town is. Dead trees, black leaves, the ground steeped in shit and piss. No wall is ever too pristine to be fully white. Even the snow that descends lightly around them is tinged grey with a polluted quality to it.
At this age, Nataliya is smart and sharp. She’s a pair of beady black eyes darting back and forth, scanning her surroundings and drinking in information. As much as he hates to admit it, she’s the backbone of the two of them. She’s the reason for their escapades’ success, the sole cause for their survival. It’s been a few months since they’ve settled into this rhythm, uncertain at first, then slowly growing steady as they acclimatize to the newness of each other’s presence. They steal together and flee together. They split the profits of their latest raid between them equally and revel in the flush of their victory. They’re good together, able to match each other without much effort. Quick and efficient like a good set of hands. But for all the time he’s spent with her, Nataliya remains an enigma, shrouded in mystery. The inner workings of her mind are a puzzle. She’s a tough read, or not a read at all, and Thomas has always prided himself on knowing what people want.
“Here,” she signals. The two slink across the street, the cover of night protecting them like a cloak. The only source of illumination is a street lamp emitting an orange glow. The streets are empty, save for the stray vagabond who clutches a coarsely cut knife in his hand threateningly.
The house belongs to a military officer from the city center, Azus, who is stationed in Kursick to monitor the ruined village, no doubt another out of the hundreds of men populating the rich capital with an overabundant belly and grubby fat fingers. He stands in a long line of victims. Anyone from Azus who comes to Kursick are buffoons. They’re essentially positioning themselves like low-hanging fruit in the reach of a town full of ravenous people, just waiting to be plucked. While the people of Kursick stole and fought and killed for something to sustain themselves, these officials lined their tables with roast chicken and attested to their generous helpings of food with their big potbellies.
It is important that they do this. It is important that they take from the selfish and the privileged. The city people are scoundrels to allow them to survive like this, cold and haggard and starved to the bone, while they drape themselves in tapestries made from finer material that people from this town could ever imagine. Stealing from them is an act of vengeance that barely paid a morsel of the price.
East Kosenyka is the affluent neighbourhood. It’s a gated estate with houses built on either side of a road that stretches throughout the plot of land. It opens at a metal gate, where a guardhouse is situated. The street is heavily surveilled, which is why hardly anyone tried to steal anything from the residents here. It’s only Nataliya who looked at the gold window of light from where they crouched in the dark one day, with a look in her eyes that told him the plan was already forming in her head. Turns out that that plan was the thing that would feed them better than anyone ate in this stupid town. This time, though, it seems that there is an entire battalion parked outside the street. It has to be someone important, then. Nataliya narrows her eyes.
In this distance, Thomas can see several more soldiers pacing outside a house. The lights in the house are all switched off.
“What the fuck is this?” Thomas hisses. In all their time spent raiding, he’s never seen such security for a single official before. “How do we get in like this?”
Usually, they will scale the gate to get into the neighbourhood, but they can’t now.
“There has to be a way in.”
Nataliya scrubs a hand through her hair in frustration. It’s black and cropped at her shoulders. Thomas remembers when it used to be long. They were on another one of their righteous escapades, just about to slide through the cracks of the estate and escape, when the end of her hair got caught on the gate. Without a moment’s hesitation, she sheared the entire lock of hair off with a paring knife. There was no emotion in her eyes.
Thomas swears. “Damn it, Nat. I’m fucking starving.”
“Shut up, Thomas. I didn’t say there wouldn’t be food tonight.”
Nataliya stalks off in the opposite direction. Thomas trails behind her. They circle the perimeter of the street, careful to remain hidden. The moon hangs like a silver orb in the sky. He wishes it didn’t. The night isn’t potent enough. It’s not dark enough to keep them hidden. Plus, it doesn’t help matters that the entire city center’s supply of soldiers has been emptied out in this street, right in front of the house they are going to rob. Anxiety prickles in him, flooding his senses.
“Nat. Nat,” Thomas snaps. “We shouldn’t. It’s too dangerous.”
Nataliya’s back portrait doesn’t falter. The cadence of her footfalls still goes strong. “We can find a blindspot. I know we can.”
“We can starve for a night.”
A sigh. “It’s not about that. Didn’t you hear when we were in the marketplace this morning?”
“What about?”
Thomas tries to recall the moment but can only remember the gloss of a green apple staring back at him. He was ravenous then. He’s ravenous now.
Though he can’t see her, he can imagine her shaking his head.
“There’s a new king. Military officials are going to be sent back for the coronation. No one’s going to be coming to Kursick for a while. And in between everyone fighting for the apples in the orchards and the food in the shophouses, I already know there’s going to be a food shortage. We need to gather a supply of food now.”
“We can steal the reserves from the apple orchards now. We don’t have to steal from here.”
“It’s apples,” Nataliya says. “We’re gonna rot in between the time in next official comes. Think about it, Tommy. Rich chicken breast, sweetcorn, sugar bread. Don’t you want that kind of feast again?”
Thomas can feel himself salivating, but dread pools in his stomach. “If we get caught, they might kill us.”
“They won’t.” Nataliya sounds so sure, Thomas wants to believe her. Because if there is one thing that he has learned about her during the course of their time together, it’s that he should put all his faith in her and trust that she knows better than him. She has never failed them and she wouldn’t now. She has always been the smarter out of the two of them. He remembers their first encounter —the feeling of his father’s meaty fist curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him over the water before letting him plunge in. He thought that that was it for him, the end of a sorry life of an insignificant boy, but before he could even comprehend what was going on, he felt himself rising to the surface and being dragged to the bank. Once he finished shuddering and gasping and spewing out water, he found himself staring into curious black eyes. His first thought went to organ harvester. It was not that uncommon. Many people might have seen a scrawny, helpless kid and thought to make some use out of him, but she just fought away his hostile hands and patiently fended off his bite. When the fight finally seeped out of him, they’d stared at each other with a kind of uncertainty and a knowing that this, this thing between them, was something that did not belong in a place like Kursick.
They walk until Nataliya stops in her tracks. She’s looking at the back of the estate, where a young soldier fumbles with his rifle. In total, there are three soldiers along the perimeter. Two at either ends, and the young one, squarely in the middle. He’s standing in front of their usual entrance, the section of loose bricks which they have come to find with detailed scouting will give way with a slight push. The young soldier is still pockmarked, with the faintest trace of hair at his chin. He carries the rifle like he still doesn’t know how. This time, Thomas knows what Nataliya is thinking without her having to say it aloud first.
“Distract the other two,” Nataliya tells him. “I’ll deal with that one. After that, join me through the hole. I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”
Thomas makes a noise of assent.
“Done and dusted,” he replies, and slinks away to the side of the street. Neither of them looks back at the other.
Heart thumping a lopsided rhythm against his chest, he picks up a rock and dashes it across his skin. The stinging pain follows more as an afterthought. He’s weathered worse. A rivulet of blood leaks out from the gash. He composes himself. Then he bursts out of the undergrowth, yelling: “HELP! HELP ME!”
There are sounds of a rifles being cocked. So many shutters all at once, like a flock of birds taking flight. He collapses onto the ground, holding out his bleeding hand for everyone to see.
“There’s a wild boar chasing me. Help me, please!”
He keeps yelling until he’s sure it reaches the four corners of this street. There’s the heavy sound of footfalls as soldiers run over to see the commotion. The line of soldiers along the back of the estate draws nearer to him as planned. Thomas doesn’t dare look up. He keeps his eyes trained on the ground because he’s sure if he does so, he’ll see a million gun barrels pointed at him and his stomach will go lurching. He just hopes Nataliya makes it in.
Cold metal forces his chin up. He has to open his eyes. The stern visage of a soldier is outlined in silver in the moonlight. This is a soldier from the city center. Azus’ own army. He hates them. He hates them so much, though they are generally harmless. They’re the claws of a buffoon king, a fat man who has grown complacent and idle on top of the throne while his kingdom withers, and so it comes as no surprise that the army has all the efficiency of its leader. They’re all bark and no bite. Usually they will make fun of him, shove him around, spit on him, but in the end let him go more or less in one piece, because even for the luxurious city center the morally decrepit place is masquerading as, they still have appearances to upkeep. The life of a small Kursick boy is still a life, no matter how insubstantial.
But this night a red beret rests atop the soldier’s head, a new addition. Realisation dawns on Thomas. The new king and his army. This is completely different threat they were used to dealing with.
“What do we have here? A street rat?”
The man’s voice is slow and rumbling, like a thunderstorm.
“Please, sir, help me. I was searching for food in the forest when a wild boar started chasing me.” Thomas clutches his injured arm harder for emphasis.
The soldier smiles. It’s horrifying. Skin pulls away to reveal a set of gleaming white teeth. He looks like he’ll eat Thomas alive. A sudden flood of regret fills him. He should have just insisted to Nataliya that they leave. Now the bad feeling is real and alive, beating inside Thomas like a second heart. He needs to get Nataliya out of there. This is far more than either of them anticipated.
“Look at the poor boy,” the soldier murmurs. “He can barely help himself. This is why I hate Kursick. No one can seem to fend for themselves. Always complaining about how the capital doesn’t feed them when they don’t even want to do the work themselves.”
Thomas opens his mouth to respond, but a dull thwack across his jaw sends his mind ringing. The force of impact is so great and filled with such brute strength that death flashes before his eyes. This is not the first time he’s experienced this, in fact he’s well-acquainted with it by now, but it still sends adrenaline coursing through his veins. His heart batters against his chest furiously. His vision blacks out for a split second, and it returns just to catch a glimpse of gold before it flickers out of view. The soldier signals to another soldier. “Get him out.”
With only those words, he’s picked up by his arms and thrown out at the front of the street. Pain explodes on his body. His shoulder joints pop and squeal. The thought of Nataliya pulsates frantically in his mind. The moment he lands in the dirt, he sprints back to the spot where he and Nataliya stood minutes ago to find the young soldier standing the same way they find him, still pacing about with uncertainty. Thomas turns his eyes up to the house they are protecting, where a single light that wasn’t turned on a few minutes ago now is.
If he knew this is the last time he will be seeing Nataliya, what would he have done? It will be months of waiting by their usual spots, of surveying the crime scene over and over till there’s nothing more to make out of it, of sitting by the freezing lake waiting for her familiar presence to make itself known to him before he finally understands that she’s never coming back. In time to come he will find out she’s right. Food will turn scarce and everyone will be fighting, man against man for that last apple in the orchard. There will be nights when Thomas will circle the perimeter of East Kosenyka but will never actually steal from them again because it’s simply not the same without her. He will grow cold and hungry and alone. Not that he wasn’t these things before, but it’s just that there used to be the warmth of her presence, her always-there presence, to stave them out of his mind. He will have nowhere to go. Home has nothing but fire and fury and bloody fists. He will press up against the dirty cinderblock, shivering and alone, feeling like a stranger in the only place he has known as home. But it won’t always be like this. He shouldn’t underestimate the lengths that his honed survival instinct will bring him to. In time he will come to love this place, this terrible, shoddy town, like a parent learns to love the face of an ugly child. He will learn what it means to survive and what one will do. Kill or be killed. It will come to be the thing which he finds the most true in this world and the governing principle of his life. He will learn to make a name for himself. He will adapt to the loss of an important limb — the most important limb — and traverse through the grey snow with ease as if he has never lost something crucial to him. He will never think of Nataliya again. Never, except in his moments of piercing sobriety, which he finds will be incredibly rare, when he is held ransom to his wandering thoughts.
But for now he is thirteen and stupid and cold. Always cold. It occurs to him that the last he sees of her is her back. Her small, scrawny frame, the dogged set of her shoulders, the jagged crop of her dark hair. The portrait burns its way into his memory forever.
taglist: @noloumna @cinnamonboba-writes @apricotwrites @atbwrites (ask to be added or removed)
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Lunar Eclipse: Chapter One
Chapter One: The Betrayer’s Cage
AO3 Link
7490 words.
After thousands of years of playing warden, Maiev and Illidan come to know each other in a particular way. But what is the feeling between them and is it strong enough to overcome their circumstances and their fate? Who will break first if either of them breaks at all? How will Maiev fare after her time with the Betrayer? How will his time with the Warden change Illidan?
Notes:
This was inspired by a piece of art by AlexaelArtworks on Twitter and Instagram. It's amazing. 10/10. Highly encourage you to check them out!
I thought it would be interesting to approach this from the angle of Maiev once being a priestess and how that would still have lingering influence over her. I also thought it would be interesting if Illidan at least knew of her from her time in the Sisterhood with Tyrande. This explores Illidan's motives a bit in an attempt to reconcile his two seemingly incongruent lines of lore and how they wrapped things up in WoW.
This may get more spicy in the future so additional tags may be added.
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A single drop of water fell from a gap between two stone blocks in the ceiling. The room was small, wide enough for an average sized Night Elf to barely miss the walls if they reached wide. It was slightly deeper from the barred door to the back wall. A single torch crackled to the left of the door, but it did little to illuminate the dark space. A ragged breath followed the drop, almost a growl from a feral animal. Maiev’s eyes burned with anger as she stared at the hunkered form before her. Leather bound fingers curled tighter around the leather binding of her chakram handle. “You feel nothing for what you did…” She hissed under her breath before backhanding the prisoner with her free hand.
“With your narrow sense of virtue and justice you could never hope to understand…” The prisoner answered in a mocking tone even as blood trickled from his busted lip.
“Do not speak to me of justice,” she yelled losing her last bit of composure. The chakram blade flashed to his exposed neck. “You killed so many innocent lives in your pursuit of power! Then endangered us all with your recklessness!”
“Lives that would have been lost to the Legion. I did them a… service,” he answered nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders as best he could.
“Or they may not have died at all,” she seethed as she pressed the blade just a bit harder into his flesh. “But do go on about how our brethren sing the praises of Illidan the Merciful.” Her voice lowered to a growl as she leaned in just a little closer, put just a bit more weight on her blade.
“Does anyone truly survive a war like that? Clearly you came out the other side unscathed, Priestess. A model of the goddess herself.” A cocky smirk quirked one side of his lips up as a small trickle of blood seeped from the wound on his neck.
“Elune forgives all for those who seek it. She’ll forgive me leaving her temple to protect her people.”
“Do you really think such things as gods exist and they care about us?” His voice drawled on sarcastically to the sound of leather clenching around leather filled the room. “If they do exist, surely they abandoned us. Why else would this have happened?”
“Perhaps because the foolish abandoned them first.”
“And yet the faithful suffered in measure with the faithless.”
“The faithful retained their original forms. That is more than I can say for the faithless.” She grabbed one of the horns at his forehead and pulled his face to meet her gaze head on.
“I really thought too highly of you, Priestess. Blinded by the radiance of your baseless faith you cannot see the darkness of this world. All you “Sisters” are alike in that…” He maintained eye contact and every part of his cockiness as he spoke.
“Do not confuse me with HER.” Maiev’s voice took a much more even tone of hate as the blade drew a long, thin cut across his neck. Deep enough to be noticeable but shallow enough not to kill him. “Tyrande isn’t coming to see you, to tell you all the pretty words you want to hear.”
“Do you think bringing HER up will give you any sort of advantage?” For the first time his façade cracked in the form of some disdain in his voice.
“No… just reminding you how alone you are. How no one thinks you a hero, a savior, or whatever it is your delusions would lead you to believe. All you have left to look forward to is me. For… a… very… long… time…” She gently tapped each side of his face. Then, with a smirk of her own she healed the wound on his neck, but still left him weak enough to remain restrained. There she left him on his knees cocky smile still on his face.
“You think to comprehend what I’ve seen. What I’ve come to know. There is nothing you can do to me worse than the Legion.”
“Perhaps not.” The cell door closed with a dull thump before a magical barrier surrounded him. “But I have far more time with you than they did.”
Days passed and ran together in darkness and quiet. The only light the faint glow from the fel-scar tattoos covering his body and the light of his eyes. It had been so long since he had anything to eat or drink and weakness was starting to dull his senses. He pulled on the blessed chains that secured his arms. They rattled dully but did not budge. His reward for his efforts a burning sensation on his skin. Though, he had to admit, the burning had lessened recently. He couldn’t be sure if that’s because he had become numb to the feeling or the blessing was weakening.
The chains on his ankles and wrists were the same. The chains on his wrists running through a massive ring anchored deep in the wall before wrapping around his ankles. The more he tried pull the more he only hurt himself. Standing was impossible. So there he kneeled, for so long her had lost any sense of time.
“I wonder why they didn’t just kill me.” He said it a loud but he didn’t expect an answer.
“The High Priestess and your brother thought it in ill taste to kill you.”
He looked up to the bars only to “see” Maiev there in no armor and apparently weaponless. The hubris to presume she could enter the cell of the Betrayer as if he were nothing more than a saber kit. He kind of like that bold confidence. Perhaps he could use it against her.
“I thought it foolish myself. But I do not lead the Kaldorei. So here we are.” She sat a wooden tray with bread and water in front of him just far enough away that he couldn’t reach it for the chains.
“Something we can agree on. No robes today? No sacred armor to mark your false righteousness, Priestess?” Illidan scoffed at her turning his head away from the sustenance his body clearly craved.
“I’ll give you a little lesson.” Maiev sat a stool down inside the cell before closing the door and the barrier came back up. “Perhaps the hardest lesson to accept as a priestess or druid is that life and death are not separate entities. One cannot exist without the other.”
“Then we agree some must die in order for others to live.” He interrupted her with an air of vindication in his voice and that same smirk on his face.
“Likewise, there are two sides to the moon. The bright side we see and the dark side we cannot.” She sat down on the stool and leaned against the bars completely ignoring his statement. “Up until now all we have ever seen, all we have ever known, is the bright side of the moon. The side that promises life and hope. But the old texts speak of a way to invoke the dark side of the goddess. A warrior cloaked in shadows and driven by vengeance. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”
“Because you want me to know you still prescribe to bedtime stories told to children?”
“Tyrande is the light side of the moon. The side that believes in life and hope. But someone has to be the dark side of the moon and do that which the light side cannot.”
“And that’s you. The lapdog doing the dirty work so she can keep her righteous hands clean.” The words tumbled from his mouth as if he had been given poisoned food by a trusted friend. The betrayed and not the betrayer.
“As you said, no one truly survives a war the likes of which we’ve seen.”
A long silence settled between them. Illidan finally glanced at the tray but quickly looked away.
“Answer my questions truthfully and I’ll give you some food and drink.”
“We could do this for a thousand years and you’ll never understand my motives.” He scoffed and looked her in the eyes.
“I don’t give a shit about your motives. I want answers.”
“What good are answers now? Answers won’t change anything.” Defiant even now, he challenged her. “Why don’t you just kill me and tell them I starved to death?”
“Shall I give you the same mercy you gave the innocents you killed?” Maiev donned her own cocky smile. “Sorry, I’m not feeling very merciful today.” She got up only to crouch in front of him. “I have a different kind of mercy in mind.” She grabbed his dirty ponytail and yanked his head back.
“I had no idea you harbored such proclivities, Priestess.”
“Disappointed you outlived my chastity, Betrayer?” She didn’t give him the opportunity to answer. Instead she poured the water down his throat as soon as he opened his mouth again.
He only managed to swallow part of it, the rest falling down his dirt caked face and chest. He choked and coughed causing some of the water to spit back in her face.
“The bread won’t go down as easily, but I’m willing to try if you are.” She forced his head to one side.
“I’m not hungry.” He managed as defiantly as he could through continued coughing.
“Funny your stomach growling earlier would suggest otherwise. Luckily for you, I thought this might happen so I took the liberty of liquifying the bread for you. She reached to the tray for the other wooden cup.
“I won’t fall for the same trick twice…”
“I counted on that…” She smirked as she released the matted strands of hair from her hand. A balled fist struck him in the side. He gasped just enough for her to force the cup to his lips and force the contents down his throat.
After another coughing fit that left him covered in bits of bread she leaned in close and whispered an incantation he didn’t recognize. The chains around his wrists, neck and ankles felt burning hot against his skin eliciting a muffled scream.
“This is your idea of mercy?” He attempted to mock her through grit teeth.
“I never said it was a mercy for you.” She took up the tray as the bars opened for her and the barrier fell. “Until next time, Betrayer.” She kicked the stool out the opening and the bars swung shut behind her.
“I look forward to it.”
Days bled together once again until Maiev finally returned. Dim eyes met her as the blessed shackles drained more of his strength each day. No greetings were exchanged as a group of wardens came in and cleaned up the cell. Once it had a modicum of cleanliness, they left Maiev and Illidan alone with a tray of food and a stool. After a long silence Maiev forwarded an ultimatum.
“Food or a bath?”
“Is this some kind of joke?” He couldn’t hold back the indignation in his voice.
“Both it is.” She moved to take up the liquified bread.
“There will be no need for your previous tactics.” Illidan’s voice was weak but still maintained a certain level of cockiness despite it all. “Just do what you came here to do and…” His voice trailed off as his brow furrowed in anger, nostrils flaring. “Satyrs. The true betrayers of our people.”
“The Watchers and I cleaned up a group of them several days ago. I bathed since then…” She sounded almost impressed.
“It is a stench I will never forget. The smell of cowardice and shamelessness.” More and more disdain seeped into his voice. Despite his long imprisonment, speaking of it seemed to give him strength. Or his rage did, eyes flaring brightly to emphasize it. He pulled against his restraints in a show of his desire to be free to fight the demons he once hunted.
Maiev plunked the stool down in front of him and pressed a cup of water to his lips. “What makes you any better than a satyr? You sold yourself to demons to become stronger.”
“But I did not become one, contrary to what you may believe.” Illidan answered her only after he had drunk all the water she offered him. “I pretended to serve them only long enough to understand them. Understand how to use their own weaknesses against them.”
“What did you really accomplish in doing that? Who did you save?” Maiev’s voice was tired, there was no hiding it. It lacked all the usual bite from the previous times she had come to see him.
“If the Sundering had not happened it would have saved many more. That blood is not on my hands.”
“No… I suppose it isn’t. But we are also assuming the Highborne could have abided by not continuing their ridiculous machinations that started all of this in the first place.” She sighed outwardly as she tore a piece of bread off and offered it to him.
“It’s more than just satyrs you’ve been fighting.” He almost sounded thoughtful before taking the bread in his mouth.
“It is none of your concern.” She tried to sound more awake and sharp but it came off as forced.
“I can help you.”
“You’re not leaving this cell.”
“I can help you from this cell.” He smirked just a little bit.
“I’m not some naïve fool as to trust you.”
“Then I’ll answer one question as a show of faith.” The smirk got just a little bigger, hidden only by chewing the next piece of bread she offered him.
“Why did you take water from the Well of Eternity?”
“The Well of Eternity was the most powerful weapon we could have wielded against the Legion going forward. The power it contained would have been more than enough to help us destroy them.”
“Destroy them going forward?”
“That’s a second question for another day.” His cockiness turned grim signaling something unsettling.
Maiev sighed again, with frustration this time. “That isn’t enough for me to trust you.” She pushed his cheeks together forcing his lips to part for the last piece of bread.
He smiled as he chewed it. “Never let your guard down, do you?”
“I can no longer afford to be complacent.” She offered him one last drink before getting up.
“Heavy is the burden of the strong to protect the weak.”
“How very ignoble of you,” she mocked as she cleaned up the tray. She muttered the same incantation again before turning to leave the cell and Illidan’s pained groans behind her.
“You need a bath and you’re getting it next time whether you want it or not.”
“Does the smell offend your delicate senses, Priestess?”
“I haven’t been able to smell anything but death in weeks.”
Illidan didn’t have a comeback for that. Instead he looked thoughtful a moment through his pain. “The Well was our greatest weapon against the Legion going forward.” He repeated what he had said earlier. “You possess something those foolish Highborne do not.”
“Oh? What might that be?” She leaned lazily against the bars while she waited for him to answer.
“A noble purpose.” There was no sarcasm in his voice. No cocky attitude. Just sincerity for the first time.
Her brows furrowed harshly and she pushed off the cell bars. “There’s nothing noble in bathing in the blood of demons and traitors every day. It’s a job that needs to be done. That’s all.” With nothing left to say that day, she left him.
After she left, he shook his head. “It is not what you do, but why you do it that is noble…” He let out a long, frustrated growl accompanying a stiff tug on the chains. “I should be the one out there fighting them… not you…” One more strong, but futile, pull and every muscle in his body relaxed on a ragged breath.
It took much less time for her to return again. As promised, she came with buckets of water and other various bathing supplies. Once they were all arranged, she sat down on the stool and got to work on his hair.
“I fail to see the point in this,” he muttered as she sat behind him cutting the binding from his ponytail.
“It’s psychological.” Maiev was clinical in her response, tiredness still creeping in her voice.
“I fail to see how making me look and smell pretty will change my attitude,” he scoffed with the same damnable smirk.
“I know. I know. You cannot fathom the horrors I have seen. I am not so easily broken,” she mocked him as she worked a brush through the ends of his hair giving it a solid yank in a particularly nasty knot. “I never said it was for you.”
“I overestimated you, priestess, to have been so easily swayed by my charms.” A teasing swagger filled his voice now but it was quickly replaced by a grunt of pain.
“I am well and truly aware of your status as Azeroth’s biggest ass,” Maiev hissed as she lodged the comb in his hair and pulled with a great deal of force. His head tilted back as a result to meet her sharp gaze. “But the others will start to doubt the threat you pose if they continue to see you in this decrepit state.” The knot untangled and his head shot forward again. “You deserve no sympathy and so you shall receive none.”
“A poor excuse.” There was something in Illidan’s voice that she had never heard before and couldn’t quite place. It was cocky as ever, and yet there seemed to be something else there.
“I told you before, didn’t I? You have no one to look forward to but me.” Her subtle way of telling him no one put her up to this was not lost on him.
Silence fell between them again as she continued to work the comb through his hair until all the knots were gone. She set to work wetting and cleaning his hair next.
“Do you have a family?” Illidan finally broke the silence as she blocked the soap and water from getting in his eyes with a hand to his forehead. He went on when she didn’t answer. “Besides your Brother.”
“No.” She ran her fingers through his hair making sure all the soap was out of it.
“Yet another thing your faith denied you.”
The cynicism in his voice elicited a sigh. “It was not forbidden, clearly. But my duties kept me too busy to pursue such frivolities.”
“Duties such as washing the hair of prisoner of war?”
“The sick and injured.” He was starting to raise her ire despite all her best efforts to not let him get to her.
“Ah yes… the grace and mercy of Elune bestown upon the faithful through the hard work of her devout priestess.”
“You would mock such experience even when it benefits you?” She grasped one of his horns and gave his head a yank to one side.
“I… did not… ask for you to do this.” Defiant as ever, he gritted his teeth to speak through the pain. The pleasantly scented soap did nothing to hide the smell of searing flesh filling the cell.
She finally released him and went back to the task at hand. She braided his hair to keep it out of the way so she could wash the rest of his body. When she stood and released the shackles on his ankles he gave her a momentary, questioning look over his shoulder. “I can leave your ankles restrained and cut those filthy rags off but then you’ll get to sit here naked for the rest of your miserable existence.”
“Is that the only reason?” Cocky Illidan was back again.
Maiev started to close the shackle around his ankle again.
“I don’t think I can stand on my own.” Illidan pointed out more seriously this time. “It has been too long.”
“Then sit on the stool.” She pulled him back on to the stool with seemingly no effort at all. As she handed him a tray of food and water, he could appreciate for the first time her physique.
“You’ve been training.” He grabbed her wrist and held her fast.
“Of course I have. You didn’t think I could wield a blade so well from lifting sacred tomes, did you?” She snapped trying to yank her arm free.
He held fast to her arm and traced one of the scars with his thumb. He seemed fixated on it for some reason. “You could have healed this easily, yet you still have it and others.”
She finally wrested her arm free and rubbed her wrist with her free hand. “They are a part of my past and so a part of me. These scars are a reminder of what is required of me. A reminder of the sacrifices I made so they will not be forgotten. A reminder of what will happen if I fail.” She turned away from him after she explained this.
Illidan touched a glowing scar on his chest lightly. “You are your scars and your scars are you.” He seemed thoughtful as he said this. His hand came back to the edge of the tray he was no staring at. “Perhaps we are not so different in that regard.”
“Perhaps not.” Maiev went back to work cleaning up her prisoner. "I suggest you eat quickly." Maiev's skilled hands cut a swath down the middle of his back. She didn't seem the least bit put off negotiating around his slumped wings. In fact, she picked one up and made quick work of cleaning it.
"In a hurry to be rid of me? Where is your virtue of patience?" Though he teased her, he couldn’t deny he felt the slightest bit touch starved after so much time feeling nothing but decaying clothes, burning irons, and cold darkness.
"I'm in a hurry to get you locked back up again. Besides, it'll be difficult to clean everything with a tray in your lap." She was completely nonplussed as she said it, not even hesitating as her hands wiped the last diaphanous pane of a wing.
"You were serious?"
"Have you known me to be anything but serious?" She moved on to the other wing.
In another time, he did. Back when she was a priestess. There was a time when she could even laugh. Now he wondered if she even knew how. "I had no idea you harbored such proclivities, Priestess." Illidan cocked his head to the side as a wash cloth slid across it. The wet cloth wrapped tightly across his throat.
Maiev leaned in close to one ear. "Let's be clear on one point. If I wanted to have my way with you, I could have at any time. All your suggestive comments would lead one to believe you would like me to have my way with you."
"Only someone denser than a moon festival cake would assume that from my comments." He sounded almost offended as he scoffed at her assertion. "Besides... you are far too refined to handle the beast inside me."
"Big talk for the chained tiger." She stood and glanced down at the tray in his lap. "And coming from the man who seems hell bent on keeping his pants on."
Illidan looked down at the tray of uneaten food. He huffed out a chuckle in the face of her challenge. “I’ve underestimated you in more ways than one, Priestess.” He took his time eating and drinking while she finished washing his other wing. Staring at her every move intently in an effort to throw her off. Without saying a word, he sat the tray aside and waited for her to crumble.
“Lean back.” It was an authoritative command.
“As you wish, priestess.” He lounged back on the stool casually, invitingly.
Maiev rolled her eyes momentarily but didn’t break eye contact for a single moment. She stared directly into the burning green lights as she bent down next to him and worked off his dirty pants and underwear. Not once did she look away while she washed his waist and legs. Especially not when she finally got around to cleaning THAT. All with an expression of absolute seriousness. When it was all said and done, she got up and dumped a whole bucket of now ice-cold water all over him.
“You almost made it.” He teased with a smirk. “You almost convinced me you could keep this professional.”
“If I didn’t think you needed to cool down, I wouldn’t have a reason to do that.” She crossed her arms over her chest in triumph as the bucket dangled suspiciously over his crotch.
“A physical reaction to stimuli is hardly cause for celebration.” He picked the bucket up and sat it aside leaving no further way for her to avoid seeing him in all his glory, or lack thereof, as the case may be.
Her eyebrow quirked momentarily, but otherwise she bore no outward reaction to the sight. Instead she looked away quickly to pick up the change of clothes she brought. A strange noise behind her made her turn quickly. Illidan had managed to stand and was using his wings to maintain balance on unsteady legs. But he had his back turned to her.
“Suddenly feeling embarrassed?” It was a tease more than anything.
“You said you had no family. Not that you didn’t want one.” He was uncharacteristically serious. “One day you may have one and I wouldn’t want to ruin that for you…”
For a moment she thought he was trying to say something, trying to make her understand something more. Then she remembered this was the Betrayer and he was trying to play mind games with her. Every word carefully crafted and deliberate to get her to let her guard down. After realizing that, she started to laugh. It wasn’t the same laugh he remembered, but it was a laugh nonetheless. It sent a wave over his very being almost like happiness.
“One steamy night of passion with the Betrayer and I’ll be ruined for life? Is that what you’re getting at? The evidence would suggest you are in far more need of me than I am of you.” She threw a long tunic over his head, one that laced together at the sides to accommodate his wings.
He grabbed her wrist again when she came to the side to tie one set of laces. He looked down at the scars that riddled her arm again. “You deserve to be someone’s first thought, not enjoyed for a moment then lost to eternity.” He slowly released her arm. “I haven’t been capable of giving anyone my first thought in a very long time.”
“What are you trying to say?” She cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously.
“Nothing… nevermind…” He let go of her arm completely and stared straight ahead. “I grow tired of this game, Warden. And time is not on our side. Do what it is you came here to do and leave.”
Maiev was thrown by this sudden change in attitude but didn’t let it deter her from the task at hand. Without any further distractions, she was able to reclothe Illidan quickly. He kneeled down again and allowed her to clasp the shackles without a struggle. Before leaving, Maiev uttered a different incantation this time. The chains rattled violently as they changed configuration to force Illidan to stand. Chains crisscrossed his torso, arms and legs. Now chained to the wall he had to use his legs or face the burning blessings cutting into his whole body. He growled louder than usual to suppress his pain this time. It wasn’t clear if it was from his unused legs revolting or the new blessing.
This was the rhythm of Illidan’s life in the Warden’s prison. Long periods of darkness punctuated by Maiev’s succinct deliveries and reinforcing the bindings on him. More often than not, they said nothing. Every once in a while, she would be in a mood to talk about things other than extracting a confession from him.
On one such occasion, his hands were shaking from atrophy as they had been secured behind his back for some time. The bowl of soup slipped from his hands and splashed all over his face and hair. Something about the scene caused Maiev to crack just a fraction. She couldn’t help the slight smile on her face. Seeing it made Illidan smile a bit.
“Is my plight amusing to you, Warden?” There was a playfulness to his voice where there would have been harshness otherwise.
“I suppose it…” A piece of potato that had been stuck in his hair suddenly dropped back into the bowl sending more soup flying into the air. Maiev tried to hide her smile and laughter behind her hand.
“Yes, take joy in the suffering of your prisoner. You will pay for this transgression in time, Warden.” Though Illidan made a big show of the threat, it felt more than somewhat hollow.
Maiev cleared her throat and tried to put her serious mask back on. It was still smiling a just a little. “I’ll bring something to clean that up.” She left the cell and Illidan could hear laughter echoing off the stone halls just before the barrier closed.
If it had been anyone else seeing him like this, let alone laughing at him over it, he would have been mad. “It’s your fault I have grown incapable of even the most childish of tasks as feeding myself!” He would growl at them with fierce eyes. But for some reason, he was rather pleased to have seen that smile for the first time in so many years.
“I had forgotten how beautiful she is when she smiles.” He muttered a loud to him himself. “She always did rival Tyrande in her own way… To see her like this now.” He lifted his face towards the ceiling. “I had hoped to save more…” His fingers wrapped around the chains at his wrists until his knuckles turned white. He yanked at them as hard as he could, arms trembling under the force he was suddenly exerting on them. His efforts yielded no results. “I will escape this accursed prison and I will finish what I started. Complacency is no longer an option…” He brought his head down and stared at his reddened wrists.
The bars opening again did not draw his attention. He didn’t stir as Maiev started to clean the soup off his face until she reached for the tie to his blindfold. “Do not touch it.” He grabbed her wrists as he growled out the warning.
“It’s disgusting. Thousands of years with the same piece of cloth over your eyes.”
“It is for your protection.” His hands tightened around her wrists.
“Then close your eyes.” She started working the blindfold again. “I… I can’t kill you, you know. Tyrande and Malfurion would likely remove me as leader of the Watchers if I did.” The last bit felt like it had been added as an afterthought.
He heaved out a sigh as his hands slowly, hesitantly slackened. Eventually, he let out another tight breath before his shoulders relaxed. The green light that once seeped through the blindfold disappeared and she knew it was safe to proceed.
“I have seen everything more times than I can count and the one thing you can’t stand for me to see is your eyes. Is that because of the abomination you’ve become?” She removed the blindfold and tossed it aside. She ran the wash cloth over his face and into his hair gently.
“All power comes at a price. One I have paid is to see many things you could not even begin to fathom. Things that would drive weaker beings mad.”
“Are you suggesting I’m weak?” She couldn’t help but challenge him at the merest suggestion he was stronger than her.
“You would survive the visions of that I have no doubt.” He took her hand when she got too close to his eyes. “But you have already lost enough in this life. I would not presume to take more from you.”
“How very noble…” She scoffed as she turned for a new piece of cloth to put over his eyes.
“This is…”
“It was a scrap the tailor had left over. Don’t think too much of it. Silk is more durable anyways and will stand up better to the conditions in here.” She retreated after the explanation so she could hand him another bowl of soup. “Try not to wear it this time.”
He chuckled and smirked as he pondered how much of her explanation was truth and how much was a cover. He didn’t say anything though. Once he finished eating, she took everything aside and prepared to leave.
“This cell cannot hold me forever. I will escape and continue my work.” It was a declaration, gravity etched into every word.
“If that ever happens, I will hunt you down and bring you back here. As many times as it takes for you to see justice for what you have done.” Also a declaration.
“It is unwise to make promises you cannot keep.” A ghost of a smirk.
“How many times have you said you’ve underestimated me?”
Illidan’s smirk grew a fraction wider. “Thank you for the bath.”
He couldn’t deny he looked forward to her irregular visits. Especially taunting her during bath days. But she became increasingly less fun as the years wore on. He watched as her once vibrantly colored hair and bright eyes faded. A tinge of regret wheedled into the back of his mind that she had to keep fighting and caring for him. She could just as easily torture him for the information she wanted. Yet, she had not. That was the puzzle he kept coming back to over and over again. If she truly was the dark side of the moon, to Tyrande’s brilliance, surely she would not be above torture. Had she been forbidden from its use?
He had plenty of time to think about that later. It was time to focus on his mission and how to escape the prison again. One thing at a time. First the blessing, then the chains, then the magic barrier. Then… her. He surmised Maiev would be the most powerful deterrent of them all. As well she should be. Death wasn’t an option, but perhaps he could fight his way out. The sense of urgency within him grew stronger each day as he felt tendrils of darkness seep into the very earth beneath him. He started to formulate the thousandth plan, the millionth contingency, when Maiev appeared before him. She stood tall as ever, but there was no hiding the blood-soaked bandages all over her body.
“You are… injured…” He sounded genuinely surprised. It was clear she had just freshly bathed. Hair loosely tied and still dripping onto the linen shirt made the many bandages underneath even more apparent.
“It is no concern to you.”
“You wreak of demons.” He growled.
“All your friends are dead.” She replied flatly as she sat the tray down. Today he had his hands bound behind his back as he sat crossed legged on the floor. She released his hands so he could feed himself and made to retreat to her stool by the door.
“I would not starve to death in a day or two.” He grabbed her arm before she could leave and pressed his other hand to a seeping wound on her arm. Felfire danced from his fingers incinerating the bandage and cauterizing the wound.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Maiev growled painfully between clenched teeth as she wrenched her arm away. The act a painful reminder that he was dangerous and she always needed to be on guard. Her hand reached instinctively to the dagger she always wore hidden on her person. For a moment she chastised herself for being so foolish as to come here in her current state.
“An open wound is apt to fester.” Illidan’s flippant response was accompanied by a slight shrug before he started eating.
“How long has it been now?” She sighed as she stared up at the ceiling while clutching her burnt arm. “Still you refuse to answer any real questions.” Maiev tiredly let her inward thoughts spill from her lips. Feeble rays of light radiated from her palm to heal the wound.
“You would have a much better idea of that than I. There are no days or nights down here.” A casual enough response but the bitterness couldn’t be ignored.
“Several thousand years of this same song and dance has grown quite bothersome.” The bars rattled gently as she settled against them.
“Then change the cadence.” Illidan smirked up at her for the first time in centuries.
It was more attitude than the weary warden could handle. She vaulted from the stool and threw a fist into the stone wall right next to his head. The impact splintered off a piece of rock and sent it shearing into the hair that exploded from its binding. A few cut strands wafted slowly on to Illidan’s hand.
“JUST TELL ME WHY YOU DID IT! Why did you steal water from the Well and open up the possibility of them coming back?! Just what did you hope to do?!” There was a wild desperation in her voice as if the last strands of her patience, or sanity, were about to snap.
Though she had nearly hit him and screamed in his face, Illidan looked completely unfazed. But the smirk on his face drifted to something listless.
“Have you ever loved something so much you would give up everything, even your very soul, to protect it?” Illidan’s question was sincere in tone, his face a vision of seriousness.
Maiev’s eyes shifted back and forth rapidly as they searched his face for the meaning behind the question. Unable to determine it, she answered truthfully. “I would die to protect my people.”
“That’s not the same.” The chains rattled softly as he pushed a hand against her cheek. “You have given so much of yourself to everyone else are you even capable of loving as deeply as…?”
Maiev’s eyes narrowed as Illidan trailed off. She wrenched his hand away and slammed it into the wall. “You cannot hide what is already well known. And your pretty lies won’t work on me. You said it yourself centuries ago, you haven’t been able to give someone your first thought in a very long time.” She pushed herself back and slowly stepped away, never taking her eyes off him.
He just shook his head and looked back to the tray. “I also seem to remember telling you your narrow sense of virtue and justice could never hope to understand my motives.”
“I can’t even begin to understand them if you never tell me!” She roared with her whole body before grabbing the now loose hair at her temples. “All you seem to allude to is that you did it for love. I call saber shit on that.” She pulled on the hair for a moment then abruptly pulled her fingers free of the strands.
“Even though it’s been thousands of years, you still don’t seem to realize we are two sides of the same coin.” Illidan’s low voice harbored no cockiness. Only straight forward truth.
“I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU!” Maiev roared with her whole body again this time punching the wall adjacent to the one Illidan was chained.
“We both gave up all the comfortable and good things in our lives to fight an endless war.” He gestured to the cell. “We sacrificed our bodies, a very piece of ourselves.” He gestured to his eyes. “We gave up on old paths to pursue ones that would better serve us in our battles ahead.” He tapped his arm where the wound he cauterized on her sat. An indication that he understood she was growing incapable of using the Light to heal herself. To say he knew she had been away from the Sisterhood too long to remember its lessons. “We both chase after an illusory dream to lengths others cannot understand. But we do so with complete conviction in ourselves.” He pulled the blindfold from his eyes of his own accord for the first time since he had been imprisoned though he kept his eyes closed to shield Maiev from the dangers that lurked in their depths. “And it would seem... we both gave up any hope of happiness in this life.”
Maiev’s hands fell heavily at her side. Her weight grew too much for her tired legs to hold. She sank slowly down with her forehead to the rock wall she had just maimed. She breathed in the stagnant air of the cell on heaving breaths.
“You wasted so much time and strength running from this truth. But the moment you stepped into the shadows you stepped closer and closer to it.” There was a soothing quality to his voice as the chains rattled gently. “But there is one crucial thing that separates us.”
Maiev twisted her head to look at him from behind a veil of hair. Her heavy breaths caused one section to move in and out in time. “I can think of plenty, but what did you have in mind, Betrayer?”
“The only person you were willing to sacrifice for your noble cause was yourself.” Illidan gave her a pressed smile as his head tilted to look at her better.
Maiev’s eyes narrowed slightly as the acknowledgement of his confession settled over her slowly. “Then you admit your sin of using the lives of innocents to further your goal?”
“I will not apologize for what I did.”
She rolled her eyes at the expected response. “Why are you suddenly so forthcoming with information?”
“Because I have been thinking about you a great deal lately, Maiev. Let me go so I can help you put an end to all of this.” Illidan reached out and brushed the hair out of her face.
For a moment the way he said her name and not some teasing title made her feel… something. But it was short lived as the voice in the back of her mind screamed danger. “Do not toy with me, Betrayer.” The dagger she kept hidden found its way to his throat. She muttered an incantation and Illidan’s body was sucked back against the wall. It sent the tray clattering leaving the remaining contents splattered on the floor. “I know… I know the only thought on your mind is how to escape this place.” She approached him on slow, purposeful steps. “And the only name in your heart is Tyrande Whisperwind.”
“It is true, I will never love someone else as much as I love Tyrande. But…” He pulled against the chains with all his strength. They seared into his flesh twisting his face in pain but he still didn’t relent.
“There are no buts with you, Betrayer. You lost the right for me to trust you millennia ago and I will not ever trust you again.” She shook her head as if she was trying to convince herself of the words. “Struggle all you want, all you’ll do is hurt yourself.” She set out about cleaning up the dishes off the floor.
“Your hair at least…” Illidan finally relented and stopped pulling again the restraints. “Let me fix it for you.”
“You?” Her eyebrow quirked up slowly. “You know how?”
“I do not profess to have the skills of Azshara’s handmaidens but I can braid hair.” He dangled the blindfold in one hand.
“The what about your eyes?” She sounded unsure, but not unwilling.
“You can bring it back to me next time.” He drew a sly smile, despite the burns on his body.
Maiev let out a long sigh. “It would do me no favors for my subordinates to see me like this.”
“As a leader you should inspire confidence. An unkempt appearance would sow doubts,” he offered encouragingly as he swayed the blindfold again. When Maiev didn’t answer or make any move he frowned and sighed. “You let yourself very open multiple times. Did I ever make a move to hurt you?”
“Yes. Just a few minutes ago.”
“That wound was bleeding far too much.” That was true at least.
Maiev sighed again and walked over to him, dagger in hand. “I will know if you try anything suspicious.” She gave a word and the chains loosened. “Can you stand?”
“So considerate. Yes, I can stand.” He gave her a coy smile.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” Finally, she turned around. “You can open your eyes.”
#world of warcraft#warcraft fanfic#maiev shadowsong#illidan stormrage#enemies to lovers#slow burn#denial of feelings#angst#solitary confinement#nudity#bathing/washing#hand feeding#power dynamics#emotional hurt/comfort
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cupids arrow
“In Nordic/Scandinavian countries, "taking an arrow to the knee" meant that you are getting married/already got married” ... basically cupid has Bad Aim
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She had such warmth and softness to her; such a mercy in her touch, that Amon couldn’t help but drag his eyes to her. It was a force; the echo in his ribcage, the blind man seeking the light, an inevitable moment like the tug of gravity but on his heartstrings. There was cascading hues in the way she said his name; tender and compassionate, that was only in wavelengths he believed the angels spoke. Something about her; the aura of life, the vibrancy of colors he’d never felt, what she held in her smile and eyes and in her very being seemed to burn away his every ache and doubt.
She was artful. The very incarnation of love. How her fingertips grazed his clothing left his very skin humming with awareness. Memories reflected not in visions, but in touch; it made his fingers clench tighter to the coolness of his blade’s handle longing for the protective sheath of her digits curling against his.
Then he looked at Essätha. Caught her eyes; the shining glimmer of gold and the quirk of her half-smile and the knit of concern in her brow. His heart stammered; the adrenaline from battle waning rapidly. The cold he usually felt after such fights; the numbness, did not come. The nobleman saw her face, and felt warm. All the racing in his mind, the anger, the twinges of fear, they vanished. The aches did not, however. Neither did the fall to reality, where suddenly the odor of sweat and blood met his nostrils. When the world came knocking once more, he realized just how tired he truly was; how his bones ached, how his jaw hurt from clenching, and the bloodstains on his clothes and matted mess of him must look.
But still she smiled at him. Her other hand reached for his face, caressing his cheek. The racing of his heartburn returned anew; caught alight by the streaks of dazzling fire where she touched him.
“Are you alright, m’lord Amon?” Essie inquired quietly.
Alright, he wanted to question with his parched throat and dry lips. He felt like he’d aged a decade in the span of a few minutes tussling with these criminals. Yet as sore and battered as he felt, it wasn’t the aftermath of the fight that left him dizzy and desperate for rest. It wasn’t the walloping he’d received that made him want to collapse to his knees before her, or beg for her bedside if only to wrap his arms around her and bury his face into her neck.
Why are you so good to me? He wanted to shout, his throat constricting around the question and so many more words he wanted to say. Instead Amon felt himself leaning into her touch, and into her glowing atmosphere. She was beautiful; wild eyes, tangled hair and all.
Her puzzled expression grew as the silence between them did. He was trying to find something to say on his lame tongue; a grunt even would suffice if he could only damn muster it. No one knew what he’d give just to hear her call to him again. It scared him; shook him to the core to understand that he had no limits when it came to her.
Then, with a suddenness, the innocence of her concern; the half-moon shape of her eyes, shifted in a fraction of a second. A pained hiss escaped her. The alarm seized him; tightened his muscles to see how her pupils became dagger-edge shards and her mouth contorted as she convulsed in a rippling motion of agony.
Her footsteps staggered uneasily to the right, and he shot out a protective arm on instinct to steady her.
Essätha swore quietly, her mouth contorted and face glazed over with anger and torment. From her side a bolt jutted out, but the width of it gave a very ominous indication of its depth beneath flesh.
Gasping, the nobleman’s vision tunneled. He whirled her to the side; a bit sudden from the way her teeth gritted and the way her breath caught unsteadily. With his teeth bared more animal than man, his gaze shot in a few predicted paths such a shot could come from.
There. A flicker of movement, briefly.
Instantaneously he was torn. The righteous vengeance; the fury of his hate and his anger frothed and rose up from its silent grave. Like a waiting old friend, it crept back in unexpectedly and held him. He wanted to see their blood spill. He wanted to see the fear in their eyes when they realized just how terrible of a mistake they made. He wanted them to suffer in agony for what they had done; for their last gasping pleas to be washed out by terrible screams as he crushed their windpipe and broke their bones to dust.
Let them feel true suffering. Their last thoughts would be their biggest regret for having ever raised their weapon with a whisper of a thought to hurt her.
Then his heart tore; pulling him in the opposite direction. The injury wasn’t likely to kill her. Their allies were nearby and she was not unconscious; a few mending words and prayers and she would be whole once more. But to leave her side; to leave her exposed to something else he may not have seen… To leave her perhaps feeling discouraged, as though his anger was more justifying and holy than to be by her side and comfort her…
“Nng- I’m fine,” Essie insisted, dragging his attention back to her. A well of red stained her lips and teeth; dribbling down her chin. A quivering hand clutched at the steam of the shaft, where a rapidly spreading dampness began to expand on her clothing.
Part of him was always going to regret not following through with his wrath, but between that or the choice of regretting leaving her trembling as she was now, only one of those he could bare a lifetime.
“Don’t pull it out yet,” Amon insisted; his voice thicker than he expected it to come out. Whirling his arm and by his extension, his cloak around her in a protective wrap, he ushered her gingerly towards the cleric beelining in their direction.
“Fuck.”
“You’re okay; I’ve got you Essie.”
Watching the way her eyes squinted, or how she grimaced in pain with each shuffle, made his gut wrench horribly. He could feel the boiling acid in his stomach. Fear and spite left a venomous taste in the back of his throat. He wanted to hit something.
With a trill, the cleric finally bounced up to them the remaining distance. Whatever they said first, the nobleman couldn’t hear from the furious roaring ringing in his ears. Then they reached to lay a hand on Essätha, and for the shaft of the bolt.
He grabbed Essie’s hand, and felt her fingernails bite and claw into the back of his hand as she hissed. A nauseating amount of blood came spilling out with the broadhead; tearing through more skin even as it exited the wound. Her expression grew paler. Amon grabbed her once more to keep her from collapse as the injury began to restitch itself beneath the clerics careful magic; healing even as blood gushed and bubbled to the surface.
“You’re okay,” he soothed, feeling the familiar jolt of life overtake his soul as she pressed her face into his shoulder. The heat of her breath fanned against his neck as she nuzzled her face against him, an agonized groan escaping her.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, and pulled her into the security of his arms. A promise. An unspoken vow.
She succumbed to his embrace with an unnerving amount of ease. She threw her arms around him, and allowed herself to be vulnerable. It allowed him a moment to catch his own breath, while resting his cheek upon the top of her head. It helped to hear her own breathing and heartbeat, even if both were still a little erratic.
“I’ve got you Essie, you’re safe.”
A faint whimper escaped her, and she nestled her face into his collarbone.
He kept his word, and held her, and her gentle heart, as carefully as he could in his calloused hands.
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