#trait: holy dragon
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Goldramon EX3-035 by GOSSAN from EX-03 Theme Booster Draconic Roar
#digimon#digimon tcg#digimon card game#digisafe#digica#デジカ#Goldramon#Godramon#EX3#GOSSAN#digimon card#color: yellow#Lv6#type: vaccine#trait: holy dragon#trait: Four Great Dragons#num: 02
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You know how I said that in Dragon Age, Anora was basically Princess Leia in that Denerim quest and that Loghain was Vader? Well, I'm actually starting to think he might be Macbeth. Here's why:
- They're both given titles by the King after repelling invaders and/or internal enemies (this happens to Macbeth at the beginning of the play, and to Loghain in the book prequels).
- Speaking of the the book prequels, Flemeth's prophecies made me think of the Three Witches (plus, she does live in a creepy, misty marsh).
- Even their last names and titles bear some resemblance (they have a similar 'rhythm' and a few identical consonnants which are placed in the same position): Mac Tir/ Macbeth, Teyrn of Gwaren/Thane of Glamis
- People’s opinions of Loghain (Aemon's surprise at Loghain's actions or the fact that he of all people might want power, Alistair's pre-Ostagar opinion of him, what his soldiers say about him, etc.) are also quite evocative of the way Macbeth himself used to be perceived by the characters in the play (i.e. an honest man, deserving of the honours bestowed upon him etc. etc.). They can’t quite reconcile the hero he used to be with the tyrant he has become.
- Lady Macbeth seems to be split into two characters: Howe as the one who prods him further into the mire and his paranoia, and Anora as the one who may reap the benefits of his actions/become the rightful Queen.
- MacBeth is responsible for Duncan's death, and Loghain... is responsible for Duncan's death (see, I didn't even need to change the names). Now, it is true that, in Dragon Age, Duncan is not the King (Cailan is, but he does die in the same circumstances), but he definitely is a father figure to Alistair, who may later be avenged and crowned King depending on the player’s choices (which I suppose makes him an equivalent of Malcolm?).
- Both of them alienate a good chunk of the nobility, which results in violent conflict.
- Both are perfectly aware that what they are doing is messed up (see that cutscene of Loghain in the palace after the first main quest is completed, or just how placid he is if or when the player decides to execute or sacrifice him... this isn't something you'd expect from someone with a clear conscience...) but, since they're both embodiments of the whole 'the end justifies the means' saying, they just double down and hope it doesn't backfire (which, of course, is exactly what happens).
In the end the difference between the two is that Loghain is (arguably) a tad less depressed and more ‘idealistic’, for lack of a better term (he thinks he's doing it for Ferelden, as opposed to Macbeth’s personal ambition, but that doesn't change the fact that he is completely willing to sacrifice personal integrity to reach his goals) which may explain why he can get a redemption arc, but that's basically it. I don’t know if I’m going anywhere with this, but I thought it was funny (well. sort of.)
#heck he might even be based on Macbeth for all I know#well#he may also have some of Lancelot's traits in the Stolen Throne#(also while we're talking about Arthurian stuff: the parallels between the Holy Grail and the Urn of Sacred ashes anyone?)#but still#loghain mac tir#dragon age#macbeth#am i reading too far into this? probably#but i'm having fun
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Rating: Explict
Tags: ANGSTFEST, infidelity, Baratheon!reader, Targaryens always have a seat in the cuck chair, Sorry Aem you'll get big titty goth gf soon not big titty disloyal gf, pregnancy sex, WHO IS THE FATHER?, Criston’s delulu and the biggest baby in the world, tiddy sucking, lap riding, the chain and short hair is sexy, pnv!sex, crispy cremepie, crying, sad ending :(
Song in title - ‘Days Go By’, Sean Nicholas Savage
Taglist: @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @bambitas @elaratyrell @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @starogeorgina @sugarpoppss2 @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose
“Was it worth it?”
Criston frowned. He thought you looked at home astride his lap. Your ringed fingers ran across the chilly golden hands clasped around his neck. He shivered— as if the sigil of his station were attached to his body. Everything felt wrong in this quiet moment.
Aegon was nearly dead and forced through one dreamless poppy sleep after another. The maesters were not sure he could survive the Dragonfire. The Green army made a clear statement and killed a formidable foe at Rook’s Rest. Aemond took on the title of Prince Regent, living out his dreams of ruling the kingdom.
Yet Aemond’s fiery Baratheon wife, you, were here in Criston’s arms. Your hand didn’t move from the chain, eyes locked onto his own. Criston swallowed, guilt rising in his throat. He knew you should be attending to your husband, the Prince who was the closest thing to a son he had. Instead, you sought him out.
“I asked was it worth it?”
Criston huffed, “I don’t know…yes. We still have Vhagar, the Hightower host with Daeron and Tessarion from the south. The Westermen are trying.”
You smiled without mirth, petting his shorn hair, hand on his bearded cheek. Criston looked agonized, weary, almost fearful. His wide brown eyes flicked away. Perhaps you should be attending to Aemond. You liked him too, but you’d long fallen for the marcher between your thighs.
A brief period with Criston as your sworn sword during the engagement had linked the pair of you on a frighteningly deep level. His presence was constantly at your side, a handsome man at your beck and call. You’d grown enamored with the knight— regardless of the strife at court, his oath, and the fact you were promised to another. There was a kinship in lacking a dragon, Crownland outsiders, and mutual feelings of bondage by station.
Aemond took many a trait from his mentor— imposing warrior, sharp of tongue, and never forgot a slight. Both men were regimented and pious, devoted to their faith, and their duties. Yet they’d play dirty, and crawl outside the lines of morality to get their way. Somehow that helped you bond with the serious prince.
You languished in the engagement period, Ser Criston informing you that the prince took your maidenhead seriously. At the time you were hoping enough complaining would drive Ser Cole to action.
Aemond had discarded you after a…heavy session of kissing and petting. He ended up gasping and holding a hand out, declaring he took his vows to the heart. On the other hand, Criston folded after a month or two, sturdy hands up your dress, fingers sliding into your neglected cunt. The kingsguard was guilty and mopey, yet desperately craved your touch, as much as you desired his.
It was a vicious cycle. Feeling guilty from deviance, fucking it out, coddling each other about said deviance then ending up fucking again.
You’d thought he’d break away once you were properly wedded to Aemond, discarding you out of shame and fear. The marcher was moody for a couple of days, eventually being seduced when you knelt and swallowed his cock in an alcove after your husband had upset you. Criston was a sight with his lean thighs trembling, sculpted lips hung open with soft noises, praising you helplessly.
Aemond’s guttural grunts and muffled curses had you satisfied in a vastly different way. He did the job, rough and thorough, the possible evidence laid between you and Criston. It was the subtle swell of life in your stomach. Alas, Aemond had begun filling your womb at the break of war. Likely before the horrid death of Prince Lucerys.
Criston’s dark expression softened as one of his gloved hands palmed your stomach, covered in regal yellow velvet. You stuck to your house colors, preferring shades of yellow to green. The Lord Commander asked, “Do you think…?”
You weren’t sure. He didn’t quite do a good job pulling out before the wedding. He was jealous and angry, especially if Aemond had spent some of his time with you. The kingsguard was reassigned back to Queen Alicent, now severed from constant contact. You remembered Criston’s hands bruising your hips as you barked for the man to ‘pull out, on my stomach!’ He made it about halfway, frantically painting half inside and out of your cunt.
“You’re mine, mine, mine,” he’d half-sobbed.
“You’re changing the subject. There is no telling. Likely anyone would know until they got older. Baratheons come out with black hair. The queen has brown eyes, and Borros is the same. It wouldn’t be shocking,” you looked down at his hand, “There’s more of a chance of my babe being yours if that is what you’re wondering.”
Criston’s eyes didn’t match his slight pout. The man was proud deep down, under all those layers of remorse and responsibility. You placed your hand over his and gritted, “I fear the outcome of this war. I’d more like to end up with a dead lover and husband. A child with no father.”
He snatched your chin, brown eyes shining with unshed tears. Criston growled lowly, “Don’t speak of things like that. We shall win this damnable war. Rhaenyra and that vile Daemon shall die,” the marcher added in a softer tone, “I will be there for the child.”
“Do you not think of absconding?”
His rough hand swept back to caress your inky hair, lips twisting uncomfortably. Criston bit out, “No. Not anymore. My fate relies upon the family that saved me.” His lips moved to your neck, kissing softly, battle-worn hands holding your neck.
“I think of absconding, ah, lest they send me to a black cell.”
Criston murmured angrily against your neck, “Then you ‘retreat’ to Storm’s End. I know your father has no love for Rhaenyra’s claim. Stop. You’re going to make yourself go insane.”
“You make me insane, Criston Cole.”
“I love you,” he pouted, that delicious pity filling his pretty head. You leaned forward to kiss him, soft tits and that slight bump pressing against his loose garments. He wasn't wearing his armor— a simple shirt and dark pants. Criston sighed, head tilting, one hand in your hair, the other sliding down your back.
He groaned soft and sweet, sharing innocent kisses that turned deeper and darker as desire grew. You readjusted on his lap, annoyed with the damn bump. Custom murmured, “When I return, I'll get to see my darling doe all buxom and glowing with my child.” You shivered, pressing your lips into his, lapping into a warm mouth.
Criston’s hands wandered freely, caressing your belly, moving up to grope your tits. He pulled away to breathe teasingly, “Mm- your tits will be gorgeous, you're already blessed as is. He pulled down the hem, exposing your sore chest. You couldn't help but moan and grind on his thigh, squirming with the lavish attention.
“What shall you name the child?” He hummed before sealing his lips around your nipple. Your hand grabbed his shoulder, heaving a soft breath at the flicking of the marcher’s tongue. You stammered, lashes flitting, “Some-thing Valyrian I, fucking smith’s balls, suppose. If it’s a girl, she shall have- Criston! Shall have my mother’s name.”
The man pulled off with a wet pop and smirked, moving to the other budded peak. You cursed and moaned as his fingers plucked at your slick nipple. You gripped at that damned chain of hands, arching into his eager mouth, rutting against his hard thigh. Your shift wedged between your legs was growing damper by the second, sticking uncomfortably to your folds.
Criston groaned and squeezed to the point of pleasure-pain. His soft brown eyes gazed up, mauve lips swollen. The knight still held your tits, thumbing idly. He croaked, “You’re beautiful. I love you,” tears welled up in his eyes, “We shouldn’t do this anymore.”
You knew Criston wasn’t wrong, thumbing a tear from his pretty face. It had been on your mind too. Exhaling softly, you kissed his other fallen tear, tasting the salt. You spoke in a low tone, fearful you may cry, “I know. We shan’t. I just want you to be there.”
Both of you knew Aemond’s pride would be shattered. He was erratic enough to have both of you beheaded and then fed to Vhagar. The prince’s wife fornicating with his surrogate father. It would be another blight next to his title of ‘kinslayer.’ This had to end before they marched to Harrenhal.
“I’ll be there, I promise.”
“Then let us enjoy ourselves a final time, hm?”
Criston inhaled sharply, nosing up along your throat, hands raking up your dress. He muttered, “I suppose if the bitch did it with no repercussions, you can too. To think how much I hated her bastards.” You let him ramble on, hands working off his loose shirt, eyeing the way his gold chain and necklace glimmered against olive skin and dark chest hair.
You shushed the man as your hands grabbed the strings of his breeches. In a soft voice, you replied, “Fate has a way of coming full circle. Do come back alive at the least.” He frowned again, nibbling on his lip when you eased his stiffened prick out. “I will miss this though, do you truly think we can stay away from one another?”
The knight moaned as you pumped him a few times, index finger swiping off his pre, your lips closing around the pearlescent drop. He blabbered, blinking dumbly, “I don't know. For now, this is the last time. C’mon love, you're all wet, need you.”
You smiled as he held up the dress— your hand guided the blunt head of the cock to your dripping entrance. It was an easy slide downward as your hands clasped his strong shoulders, gasping as his cock stretched and filled your cunt.
His dark lashes fluttered, thighs flexing underneath you as he groaned long and low. He held your waist, one hand periodically resting on your tummy. You took his swollen mouth, gently lifting and dropping your hips. The pair of you panted and desperately grabbed at each other, tongues intertwined, whines leaking out of tight throats.
Criston’s hips began to meet yours at a faster pace, fucking moans out of you. He grunted, “Gods— I fucking love you. Thinking about you, us, even if from afar. I shall crawl back if I have to.” You rolled up tight against his frame, forehead plastered to his cheek.
It was barely a whisper.
“I love you too. Very much.”
You realized you were wetting his skin, tears falling as you rode him harder. Criston gently moved your head up, hips stilled while peering in concern. It was an odd occurrence for you to shed tears. His face twisted in sympathetic pain as he asked ”Doe, what are you fretting for?”
Criston’s breath hitched as he took your lips again, both hands cupping your face, calloused thumbs swiping away tears. The chair creaked as you found leverage on your knees, riding him faster and faster— escaping the pain in your heart. He cried out, lips sliding against one another.
“J-Just, don't stop, make it feel real,” came the breathless beg.
The Hand, the Lord Commander, the Knight, the steward’s boy from Blackhaven. Criston Cole sorely missed being the young Knight from the Marches right now. He whimpered at the clenches around his pulsing cock, silky cunt gripping him as you bounced. He felt the hard bump of pregnancy, cock twitching at the visceral reaction it gave him.
You tossed back black hair as Criston pinched and squeezed at your nipple, wetly panting as you took the reins. The man’s eyes scrunched shut as he whined throatily, hand slinking under all that yellow velvet to circle your button. The electric stimulation and his swollen girth had you whining and choking out his name, arms locked around the tan neck.
“Fuck…jus’ like that, close Criston,” you mewled.
He was babbling lowly, likely sonnets of praise and devotion. The pair of you were much too gone to properly kiss— more panting and pressing messy lips wherever possible. Criston bucked up as he thumbed upward roughly on your pearl. You bit down on the meat of his shoulder to keep from howling.
Only the sound of heavy breath, the chair squeaking, and the tell-tale slaps of two bodies writhing filled the room. His free hand dug into your cheek, glossy dark eyes watching your furrowed brows and flushed face. You could feel his prick twitching and swelling more, Criston was close.
You were along with the knight on that razor-thin ledge, thighs and cunt quivering. His incessant touches to your bundle brought more pricks of hot tears to your eyes, mournfully whining, “I love you, fill me up this time, wan’ it.”
“Ah- nuh- love you- oh fuck yes,” he groaned.
He snapped first, hot breath fanning over your cheek as he curled forward, hips and chest following, thick ropes of spend filling your already stuffed pussy. The feeling had you shaking and clinging to your lover, thighs given out as he thumbed you over the edge.
You came apart in teary inhales and erotic little sobs on the exhale— sharp and whiny. Criston growled under his breath as your pussy milked him some more, balls forced to push out just a little more, toeing that painful pleasure. He felt ragged, bleak, spent. He wanted to carry you to bed.
You smoothed out his hair, eyes brimming with tears, a painful smile on your face. You needed to leave now and get cleaned up before bed. Before Aemond barged in here asking to discuss the battle. It would have been better if he carried you to bed or a bath.
He took your lips once more as his bigger hands eased your frame off of his softening dick. Your lover’s molten seed leaked from your sore cunt. Ever the protector, he fussed over your state, hands fixing your dress, asking little questions. It stung like a manticore when you pushed Criston’s lovely hands to get him away.
“No more sweet knight, I need to get going. We must refrain now. I can't go around looking like this.”
Criston frowned and repeated himself, “I will be back. I promise.”
“I love you.”
He watched your trembling form exit his chambers in the Hand’s tower. He got up, stepped to the door, then stopped. Criston stifled his sob, locking the door instead. The knight would drink and sit with his thoughts. It was only right for a sinner destined to fail and take others down with him. He grit his teeth and swallowed down the nearest spiced rum bottle, fingers curled around those damn gilded hands.
#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#ser criston cole#ser criston cole x reader#criston cole x reader#big Pookie hours on this rainy day#criston cole smut
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there are a lot of tragic characters in elden ring (pretty much everyone lol) but godwyn exudes a kind of Shakespearean tragedy that just makes me feel so bad for him
godwyn the... betrayed
do you guys remember that trend? jupiter was supposed to be a star but failed?
alexa, play the old doll audio
i'll be talking a lot about godwyn so uh big words trigger warning i guess
Godwyn the Golden, the first child of Godfrey and Queen Marika the Eternal and also the first Demigod known to ever perish.
He was the first descendant of the Golden Line and one of his traits is *literally* being friends with dragons.
Whenever he's mentioned, grief is involved. Both the grief of a Mother and the grief of the people.
He was part of the Golden Order, but we know for a fact he was no maniac for its fundamentals, given the genuine bond he had with Fortissax, for example.
I know we can't really Know this stuff but come on, Godwyn seemed like a certified Big Bro™. He gives the feeling of how pure a person should be. Royal blood – of the purest kind! From the lore we have of him, it appears that he really was The ideal prince.
I like to believe he was particularly fond of the Omen Twins and that, even though they grew up in completely opposite worlds from each other, he was always sort of There. Better than Marika, that's for sure. Just imagine big bro Godwyn taking his baby bros for a tour around the capital. They spend the entire day running around and Godwyn looks so peaceful that the twins can't help but feel that too, if only for a moment.
Not to mention the tender relationship he probably had with the cursed twins.
When Godwyn's spirit was slayed during the Night of the Black Knives, he received a fate worse than death itself: the curse of living in Death.
He who should be crowned golden as the Lord among them all was crowned in ruin as the Prince of Death.
Godwyn will not only never die, but he will never live again. His existence is a terror that punishes the roots of the Erdtree, a thing that not even Miquella was able to stop or help in any way.
This once sweet and kind and beautiful lord is now nothing but a creature spreading across the land.
When both Miquella and Fortissax failed to give him a proper death and rest, what then remained of his body was laid under the roots of the Erdtree. A bit fair, isn't it? First of the Demigod, ruined and buried under the Erdree, where he will slowly but certainly cause destruction and despair all across the land, bringing death to all it touches.
It kills me that the place where he's buried is so dark and lonely and scary. The Godwyn before the Rune of Death was assured to have dozens if not hundreds of statues and paintings and churches and whatever to honor him.
But Godwyn the Golden ceased to exist. There's no one left to adore or admire or cherish. The only thing left is Godwyn the Prince of Death.
He's now worshipped by the undead, Those Who Live in Death, as D calls them. Is there a more tragic end for a royal who was once beloved all across a golden capital?
The only way to change his fate is to make things even WORSE.
Restore the Elden Ring with the Rune of Death and he supposedly comes back again, but. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I would literally go fucking insane if I first opened my eyes to the world I cherished and grew up on completely destroyed by MYSELF without my damn consent.
If he became Prince of Death by his own choice? Fucking sexy. I would support him. SLAY (literally).
But this? My man was ROBBED.
Imagine being "reborn" (in death) and realizing that EVERYONE from your life is dead. The place where you ran around as a kid? Fucking demolished, DIRTY with ashes. ASHES OF DEAD PEOPLE.
AND YOU'RE THEIR MONARCH.
There's NOTHING to rule and most of all THERE'S NOTHING TO PROTECT.
Literally the worst thing that could happen to a dude.
look what the fuck they did to my baby holy shit there truly wasn't enough room for a blonde twink in the lands between was there
Ohh... Oh, Lord Godwyn... Such cruelty, such humiliation... My poor, sweet lordling should have died a true death. As the first of the demigods to die. As a martyr to Destined Death. But why must it yet bring such disgrace? A scion of the golden bough, sentenced to live in Death...
i really only have two things left to say:
1. godwyn was too sexy to be in the game so miyazaki gave him the worst fate known to humanity (godhood?)
2. this happened to my buddy eric
#elden ring#elden ring dlc#elden ring shadow of the erdtree#shadow of the erdtree#elden ring godwyn#godwyn the prince of death#godwyn the golden#GODWYN PLEASE COME HOME#im really having godwyn feels if you cant tell#he just seemed so nice#no *pat pat* like yk#elden ring miquella#miquella the unalloyed#game theory#lichdragon fortissax#elden ring fortissax#godwyn please
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Why are Bulma and Piccolo your favorite Dragon Ball characters?
It might sound weird, but I love Bulma because of her very glaring flaws. She is loud, short-tempered, vain, self-centered, arrogant, too-clever by half, and extremely bossy, all of which are traits that are generally given to villainous women so that we hate them. But Bulma's not a villain - she's a hero, and for all her faults, she's also incredibly smart, resourceful, and resilient. Bulma never says die, never gives up, always tries to come up with a solution to whatever shit gets thrown her way, and goddamn, she manages to pull something together more often than not! In fact, most of her virtues are connected to her flaws - that arrogance pushes her to defy the odds and succeed, her tendency to overshoot when showing off her smarts will lead to situations where she can apply those smarts under pressure to more spectacular results, and you know what, she is really fucking pretty, so why shouldn't she be proud of it? Like, I've said before on a few occasions that I love it when a hero has villain coding, and Bulma has all the same villain coding as Jessie from Team Rocket - but she's a hero, she's unambiguously a hero, and a hero we need more often than not, and that's so damn cool. I love that she gets to be this loud, bossy, arrogant, vain person who's nonetheless a good friend and incredibly reliable and resourceful ally, that for all her abundant faults she's still a lovable and iconic hero. Girl characters don't get to be those things often enough! We need more Bulmas in the world.
My love for Piccolo is a bit simpler/more obvious. One, he's got a kickass character design - he and Aku from Samurai Jack cemented my love of costumes with big fucking shoulder pads/pauldrons. Two, as a person who had never seen Dragon Ball and found out about the series when they aired Dragon Ball Z on Toonami back in the 90's, Piccolo was the weirdest thing that first episode threw at me, and it threw a LOT of weird shit at me in that episode. Talking turtles, cats, and pigs, a lady with blue hair, a guy whose kid has a monkey tail, aliens, all sorts of shit. But then there's this big green guy who everyone is terrified of for reasons the episode doesn't really explain (because there's a whole series you're supposed to have watched before it) who asks the father of the monkey tail boy to team up with him against the monkey tail alien, and the green guy has these weird pink ridges on his arms and the coolest fucking outfit I had seen at that point in my life, and when he takes off his weird purple ball hat thing it turns out he has antenna under it, and his teeth are sharp like a vampire, and he blows a hole through the dad guy's chest, like holy shit what an icon, I loved him immediately.
And then Piccolo proceeds to train the monkey-tail kid, claiming he's going to use him to take over the world, but as the show goes on it's clear that Piccolo is not as evil as he claims to be, and clearly cares for this kid despite claiming to only be using him as a tool, all leading up to the big battle with Nappa where Piccolo, that ruthless green slug vampire motherfucker, takes the killing blow to save the kid he stole. Blew my goddamn mind. There were almost no other characters in the media I had consumed as a child up till that point who matched Piccolo's moral complexity- about the only ones I can think of that compare are Dinobot from Beast Wars and Hexadecimal from Reboot, and, well, I'm also obsessed with those two, so here we are.
Piccolo had a great character arc and defined so much of what made Dragon Ball Z instantly special and unique in my eyes as a kid. There was no one like him, no one who did what he did, no one who looked as cool as he did. What a fucking legend.
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ALAICE DEVERAUX
Nicknames: Not applicable.
Age: Twenty-one.
Nameday: Twenty-Seventh Sun of the First Astral Moon (apparently I gave her my birthday, so that might change!)
Race: Duskwight Elezen.
Gender: Cis female.
Orientation: Straight?
Profession: Lady of the House of Deveraux and Dubois, last remaining survivor after the Dragonsong War; apprentice baker and occasional confidant to Firelight Trading Company.
PHYSICAL ASPECTS
Hair: A light blue, leaning more into teal. She tends to style it in loose curls around her shoulders.
Eyes: She is heterochromatic! One eye is teal, the other is a steel grey.
Skin: Pale with a silvery undertone; it tends to reflect whatever light hits it, rather than possessing it's own distinct colour.
Tattoos/Scars: None of any note.
FAMILY
Parents: Lord and Lady Deveraux, dead by Alaice's sixteenth year. It is said that Lord Deveraux attempted to defend his wife from the dragons before he was engulfed in flames. No remains of her mother have been found.
Siblings: Not applicable.
Grandparents: Not applicable, more unfortunate souls lost to the war.
In-Laws and Others: Alaice has a child from her first marriage, a daughter called Alyna. Her husband, Draeir Dubois, died under mysterious circumstances in the months preceding the Ishgardian/Dragon peace treaty, bringing no end of speculation from gentry and smallfolk alike. Some suspect his desire to expand his house beyond Foundation's spires drew ire from the High Houses and he was made an example of. Others suspect a more... intimate cause. Without a murder weapon or obvious intent, none can deduce a proper suspect.
She is particularly close to @riftdancing's Siyoh Mari who, whilst not understanding a lick of Ishgardian gossip, will happily entertain the confusion over a cup of tea as Alaice dramatizes. This leagues better than Elandervier who told her she'd 'rather chew on a voidsent's ass' and leaves at the very mention of anything to do with the city. She has an extremely complicated relationship with the other Elezen due to their mutual upbringings, trauma and reconciliation.
When Firelight is conducting business in Ishgard, she can be seen at its patriarch's side helping him navigate the intricacies of the city.
Pets: Unless you count the many birds that have taken residence in her gardens, not applicable.
SKILLS
Abilities: Alaice is ice-aspected to a dangerous degree, and it's an element she has always tried to keep under wraps for fear of heresy and expulsion from the Holy See. As a result, the magic is unpredictable and emerges as a by-product of extreme situations/emotions. Only a select few people know she possesses such an ability.
Hobbies: Like all ladies of her standing, Alaice was given a proper education including tutelage in deportment; music, song and dance; needlework and painting — among other gentle pursuits. She has a particular affinity for bird watching and, in the advent of her husband's death, has sunk herself readily into her little business as a baker.
TRAITS
Most positive trait: Alaice possesses a remarkable capacity for trust despite her confinement and husband's abuse.
Worst negative trait: Her naïvety. As a woman constricted by the societal expectations of Ishgardian women, Alaice knows scarce little about the world around her — or even Ishgard proper. It is something she is working constantly to undo.
LIKES
Colours: Blue, white, silver, gold and shades of brown. However, given Ishgard's proclivity to the cold, any colour that can break through the sheen of snow is a welcomed addition in her eyes.
Smells: Anything floral and/or citrus. These are not necessarily smells she will wear, but remind her of a time before the Calamity when the climate of Ishgard was better suited. She's also partial to vanilla, almond and loves the smell of rain.
Textures: Knitted wool and smooth glass (or ice, though she tries not to think too much about it), the gentle prick of pine and the grooves in wood and stone.
Drinks: Champagne, white wine and mead. She's also discovering some enjoyment of red wine, stay tuned if she gets more extreme!
OTHER DETAILS
Smokes: Rarely. She smoked recreationally after her parents died, a sort of 'dare' from the other ladies in her company, and took it up in secret as a way to release anxiety in the early days of her marriage — away from the prying eyes of her husband. Alaice quit after becoming pregnant with Alyna and hasn't taken it back up due to associating it with those negative experiences.
Drinks: Semi-regularly. Much like smoking, she quit entirely when she got pregnant and tends to only partake as a social nicety. She can acknowledge where she was falling into unhealthy patterns when she was married and tries not to go back to those places.
Drugs: Not applicable.
Mount Issuance: Not applicable. Alaice was fed on the indoctrination by her husband that is not a lady's place to traverse, but that men should come to her. If she is needed for Firelight Business she will be escorted by their couriers, but she has no vehicle of her own.
Been Arrested: No. Being a suspect was traumatic enough. Why would she kill her lord husband?
Tagged by: @eriyu — at least for this one! I'm going to try and do one character per tag.
Tagging: @thefreelanceangel, @hythlodaes, @piyopikamika, @sealrock, @thevikingwoman & @yloiseconeillants! If you'd like a chance of being tagged, you can like my permanent interaction call here!
#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea speaks#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 : alaice#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea answers things#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — character answers / memes#look how cute she looks in the screenshot my little BABY#i have so many more to do from the tags#so#i'll be here all day SDFKJGHSDF
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What are those: Side Story: How does Saphron and Terra react to their son being a Dragon Faunus just like his father?
He’s What?
Jaune: Okay… (Sniff sniff!) Hmm… Seems like i’m all alone this time… Like make the call…
Jaune: …
Jaune: …
Jaune: Pick up, come on please pick up…
(Click~!)
: Cotta Arc Residence, to who… Oh! Hey, Jaune!
Jaune: Hey, Saphron.
Spahron: How’s my favourite little brother doing?
Jaune: I’m lright, most things considered. Is, Terra there?
Saphron: Yeah, one moment; Terra?!
Terra: Yeah?
Saphron: Jaune’s calling, he wants to speak to you!
Terra: Jaune’s calling~! Jaune? Hi, Jaune!
Jaune: Hi, Terra. And, hello, Adrian, hows my favourite little nephew?
Adrian: Bwua~!
Jaune: Sounds like he was trying to say my name.
Terra: Sounds like he was.
Saphron: Mommy should be his first words, not, Jaune you little rascal~!
Adrian: Ah-haha!
Terra: No he’ll be saying, Mom first.
Saphron: We’ll see… Nice outfit by the way.
Terra: And, horns? When did you get those?
Jaune: Oh, well my teacher wanted to test my capacity to breath fire; So he had me push my flame to the limits, and well, these happened. I’m not sure why, or how, but they did. As for the clothes, well they set me on fire…
Saphron: They set you on fire?!
Jaune: It was to test my ability to withstand fire. They incinerated all my clothes… I lost my, Pumpkin Pete’s hoodie in the fire…
Saphron: Not the hoodie?! You spent months trying to get that!
Jaune: Yeah, luckily my girlfriend is, Pumpkin Pete’s poster girl, she told me she would get me a replacement. One with a zipper, I can’t wear anything that is an overhead shirt because of these things. Hehe.
Saphron: Girlfriend?
Terra: And, it’s that girl on the cereal?
Jaune: Yeah, her name is, Pyrrha Nikos. She actually my partner here at, Beacon. She basically claimed the spot as first chosen.
Terra: First chosen?
Jaune: If a faunas develops a harem, there is this hierarchical set up in it. It doesn’t mean anything, bar she was the first picked.
Saphron: Harem? Jaune, are you making a harem?!
Jaune: Uhh… Yeah… I am. It wasn’t my plan to, I would have been more than happy for it to be just me, and Pyrrha. But, since I can, and dozens of faunas are chasing after me…
Terra: You started a harem.
Jaune: There’s only the three of us. Honestly I haven’t done anything, Pyrrha is actually the one who started it. I was just teasing a girl, Pyrrha was the one who pulled her into a supply closet.
Terra: And, suddenly she in your harem?
Jaune: No… That… that happened after our little tryst in a changing booth…
Saphron: A changing booth? That reminds me of our times in a changing booth. Spending all that time ‘trying on’ clothes was so much fun~!
Terra: I had more fun ‘trying on’ those clothes as home~! So, Jqune, since Pyrrha is your, ‘First Chosen,’ what does that make me?
Jaune: W-What are you talking about?
Terra: She’s your first girlfriend, first chosen, harem member, whatever you want to call her. I’m the mother to your first child, what does that make me?
Jaune: O-Oh… T-T-That… I don’t know… I’ll have to ask around…
Terra: Please do so, I would like to have a title that better then, ‘Baby Mommy.’
Jaune: Don’t say that again.
Saphron: But, its true. She is your baby mommy.
Jaune: Quit referring to your wife like that.
Saphron: But, it’s hot!
Jaune: Okay… So speaking of, Adrian. I wanted to call to see if you had any news if, Adrian is a… is a faunas?
Terra: No, no he isn’t.
Jaune: He isn’t?
Terra: He has, nor will have any faunas traits in the future.
Jaune: Haaa… That’s a relief.
Saphron: What’s was the problem with, Adrian potentially being a faunas though? You are a faunas, I wouldn’t care if my son was a faunas, I only care he is a healthy baby boy.
Jaune: Because, I have the wife of the chieftain of Menagerie hovering about me, High Leader to the White Fang breathing down my neck, a fantical faction of the, White Fang who wants to start a ‘holy’ race war in my name, and lastly I have the knowledge that a group of zealot faunas have started a cult worshiping me as a god. Do you have any idea how scared I am, how worried I am if they learn about my son? I may be putting on a smile, and easily accepting my place as some sort of messiah figure, but, Saphron… I’m scared as all hell about what the future may bring. It’s spiralling out of control, and I have no idea what’s happening, let alone what may happen. And, that’s not saying it will be the faunas that hurts my family, could be the, Schnee Dust Company, Jacques Schnee has had a beef with me for years. Atlas is a bunch of paranoid lunatics so they may try something. Being paranoid myself is the only thing I’ve got to defend myself against what may happen. I’m scared… There’s nothing else to it.
Saphron: Oh… I didn’t know.
Terra: I’m sorry to hear that, Jaune. If there is anything we can do to help you?
Jaune: Just stay safe, and make sure nothing bad happens to, Adrian. Okay?
Saphron: Don’t worry, Jaune; I’m a, Arc, and I’m a mother. You know how we, Arc’s get when it come to protecting our young. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe.
Jaune: That’s all I can ask for… But, if you need anything, anything at all just let me know. You know I’m filthy rich, so money won’t be an issue.
Saphron: You already payed for this house as our wedding present, we don’t need any money.
Terra: But, there is something else we do need… Well, it’s more of a want than a need really.
Jaune: And, what is…? (Sniff, sniff!) Oh no…
Saphron: What is it?
Terra: Is that person who was spying on you, are they back?
Jaune: No, I dealt with her, but this is worse.
Terra: Worse…?!
Saphron: What is it?
Jaune: It’s…
: Jauney~!
Jaune: It’s mom…
Juniper: There you are, I’ve been looking…? Oh, Hello, Saphron, Terra, wittle Adrikins~!
ST: Hi mom~!
Adrian: Bwah-haha!
Juniper: Why are you calling your sisters, Jaune? Something faunas related?
Jaune: You could say that.
Juniper: Does it have to do with, Adrian being your son?
ST: WHAT?!
Jaune: You knew?!
Juniper: I’ve know for years. Especially now since, Adrian looks just like his father when he was his age.
Jaune: He does?
Juniper: Of course. Here, look at this photo.
Jaune: Oh shit, he does look like me…
Saphron: Aww~! He’s adorable!
Terra: They look like splitting images of each other.
Juniper: Yes, so you don’t need to hide this, at least from your family anymore.
Terra: Oh good, because there is something we, mostly I want from you, Jaune.
Jaune: And, that is…?
Terra: Do you… Do you want to give, Adrian a sibling?
Jaune: What?!
Juniper:
YES!!!
///
Haa… At last, I’m free…
This has been stuck in my draft box for months. It just wasn’t continuity appropriate to do it. But, it’s finally done.
Do enjoy~!
#rwby#jaune arc#saphron arc#terra cortta arc#adrian cotta arc#juniper arc#pyrrha nikos#jacques schnee#jaune x pyrrha#pyrrha x jaune#rwby arkos
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When the gate opens, love and beauty will return to the world, and we will once again live in his perfect light. He's been gone for a long time, but his return is upon us. Let us praise his name and rejoice!
The Elder Crystals is a fantasy game set in the world of Sekherion, and its story begins in a place known as the Secluded Valley. The valley has been your home for nineteen years, and you have always seen it as a safe place.
All of that changes when you wake up in a forsaken cavern, right next to a large Crystal Gate, and you realize you were kidnapped and left for dead. Thankfully, you're not alone. There's a black cat with you, and he/she seems to be trying to lead you to safety.
As you explore the cavern, you uncover traces of suspicious activity. There are books and scrolls dating back to the Second Age, there are notes speaking of strange, dark rituals, and then, there is the Crystal Gate itself. You've never seen anything like it in the valley, and you can't help but wonder why it's there.
Is the Crystal Gate keeping you from what's inside, or is it keeping whatever's inside from getting out?
Play as male, female, or nonbinary.
Play as a member of one of eight races, with each one having a unique racial trait.
Customize your appearance, personality, and sexual orientation.
Romance a wizard astronomer, a dutiful monk, a quirky witch, a noble archer, a mysterious mercenary, or an arrogant elf from the outside world.
Build your stats and develop your skills, and see how your choices change your experience.
Choose your weapon and collect different types of equipment.
Explore three different types of magic.
Customize your dragon familiar.
Complete quests and track them in your personal journal.
Collect books to unlock a unique scene at the end of the game.
Protect your town from bandits, cultists, and the undead.
Join forces with an old wizard, an ancient lich, or a talking tree.
Learn the truth about your mother and her unusual connection to the Elder Crystals, and discover what happened when the valley was cut off from the outside world!
THE ASTRONOMER
Amedu (m) or Ameda (f) | Islander, human | 19yo | Wizard
Trope: MC's childhood friend.
Personality: relaxed, open-minded, esoteric, calm.
PINTEREST | BLURB
THE MONK
Nelfas (m) or Nelfasu (f) | Saryel/Southerner, human | 22yo | Monk
Trope: Voice of reason.
Personality: calm, detached, rational, unemotional, wise.
PINTEREST | BLURB
THE NOBLE ARCHER
Darion (m) or Daria (f) | Southerner, human | 20yo | Archer
Trope: Arranged engagement.
Personality: sarcastic, rebellious, cunning, evasive, cocky, loud.
PINTEREST | BLURB
THE WITCHLING
Cerien (m) or Cerina (f) | Northerner, human | 18yo | Witch
Trope: That strange person no one knows anything about. Someone with a secret crush.
Personality: obsessive, quirky, individualistic, unorthodox, shy.
PINTEREST | BLURB
THE MERCENARY
Xarien (m) or Xarina (f) | Northerner, human | 25yo | Battlemage
Trope: New person in town. Someone with a lot of inner demons.
Personality: deceitful, cunning, daring, jealous, ruthless.
PINTEREST | BLURB
THE GUARDIAN*
Qen (m) | Primeval Elf | 5506yo | Guardian/Holy Warrior
Trope: Someone with a connection to MC's family.
Personality: dutiful, arrogant, lawful, tactful, lonely.
PINTEREST | BLURB
*Unlike the other five love interests, Qen's gender is set to male, and he can only be romanced by male characters.
Art credits: Izabela Oliwia.
FORUM | DEMO | TUMBLR | PINTEREST | PATREON
#The Elder Crystals#TEC#TEC Synopsis#darielivalyen#IF#Choice of Games#Hosted Games#Synopsis#Choicescript#Interactive Fiction#Announcment#WIP
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actually i wanna post about one of my random OCs, who is a play on the "child character who is ACTUALLY an adult, no really" trope because im a firm believer in that trope being funny if its used properly. (when its NOT used properly, that is when i get Annoyed. fire emblem awakening my beloathed...)
ANYWAYS. The gist of it is that she's a mid twenties college student and low-key weeb. She gets killed/isekai'd by Truck-kun, everyone's favorite plot device, and then shows up in limbo with a disembodied voice talking about reincarnation and she's very excited because "holy shit this is just like konosuba" and immediately agrees halfway through its monologue. And then she's like, hey, if you're already going to the trouble of reincarnating me in a new body, does it have to be this one...?
She doesn't get access to a character creator screen or anything but The Voice is like "I don't see why not...?" and lets her make suggestions.
So she starts asking for things like "red eyes" and "waist-length hair" and "pointy ears" and "able to use lots of cool magic" and "ooh, can i be an elf or a half elf or whatever" and so on until she catches herself mid-rant and goes "ah, sorry, that's probably a little bit chuunibyou, huh?"
NOW, THE IMPORTANT BIT: the Omnipresent Divine Voice is not actually speaking english. It does not understand english. It doesnt even have context for language. It just "says" concepts and her brain interprets it as english. So anything she says back to it is translated back in a way it can understand. Normally this isnt a problem! It's like using machine translation for a simple conversation. A little clunky, but it works.
So, it doesn't hear the term chuunibyou as it's understood, it hears "中二病" and translates it as "middle schooler disease", after she spent several minutes listing things she'd like for her new body. It can't tell the difference between a request for traits and her admonishing herself for being lame.
She realizes her mistake when she wakes up in the new world and realizes she looks like a fucking eighth grader. Just the absolute worst. And THEN she realizes that, because she requested being an elf, she's going to look like that for a long, long time. (Longer than she thinks, even - it interpreted the "disease" part of that as "stunted growth" . Not that she figures that out until she actually meets other elves..) A key part of her outfit are boots with really big heels just so she can try to eke out just a little more height and respectability.
And the real kicker? Because she interrupted it mid-explanation, she didn't realize that the world she got isekai'd into wasnt a dragon quest-esque world with demons to defeat, it's like. Recettear. Atelier. Low stakes slice of life fantasy nonsense. She has enough magic capabilities to knock holes in a mountain, but there's no fucking use for it. (She's so overtuned that she makes runic glyphs and stuff appear in the air while firing spells. Not because magic requires it or anything, but because "it looks cooler". She makes illusions of special effects happen because she thinks magic should look like that.)
Instead, to make her way in this new world... she runs a shop. Because even though she's living in a fantasy world; she still has to work retail.
#important background lore: there have been several other reincarnees before her.#there WAS a demon overlord it was just defeated several centuries back by the REAL hero - a middle aged plumber#at this point the Disembodied Voice is just playing animal crossing and picking up people that it thinks are Neat#OC - Morgiana
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So...so everyone knows how I started that headcannon that Leg has purple eyes, right? Well.......
There's something I noticed in TotK, and also in the TotK fanart.
Zelda's eyes.
After turning into the Light Dragon, her eyes go from blue to purple (mostly purple anyway) and while I guess this might not track super well, it sprung to me that, hey, haven't Hylian's who've transformed before her had the same eyes at least? Like, Twilight's eyes were so unique for a wolf that it earned him the nickname "the blue-eyed beast", so why did Zelda's change?
I guess we can chalk it up to holy magic.
But it got me thinking. If Legend and Zelda are twins, like everyone says,a nd Identical twins, like so many people also say, than why would Legend have purple eyes instead of blue like his sister?
Except, legend has also changed into a divine beast by light magic, and if he's Hylia's son, than unlike Twilight, it's not just shadows working on him.
What if it's more than just his hair that changes? What if, once upon a time when he started traveling, Little Legend's eyes were blue as the midday sky, but after his transforming so much in the dark world, they were turned purple? What if he, like Twilight and Time, bears the mark of his adventures on his face, but in a way few would know to see?
Just rambles I guess.
I also like Legend having purple eyes just because, and obviously having it be an inherited trait is a fun plot point *ahemfeatheredahem* but this has been rotating in my brain like a rotisserie chicken, so I thought I'd spit it out and share it already :)
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Spoils of War: 6. The Stars Above
Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader
Spoils of War Masterlist
House of the Dragon Masterlist
Synopsis: The pieces of the chessboard begin to move.
Word Count: ~10,292 (holy shit)
Warning: 18+. Targaryen uncle/niece incest (lite, nothing truly weird other than they are both Targaryens), starvation, force feeding, torture, blood, murder, imprisonment, anxiety, psychological trauma, ptsd.
AN: I'm cryin' at the response to Ch. 5. Thank you to everyone who reached out! We get to see a bit of everyone in this one. Is Cregan a lil ooc? Mayhaps. Is Aemond heading into WackyTaffy territory? Mmmmmyeah. Do I care? Nohaps. I create my own false realities, babes. It's just past 1am where I am and this has taken 2 days to edit, so I hope you all enjoy it. Also, my Cregan Stark faceclaim is 100% Arnas Fedaravičius as Sihtric from The Last Kingdom. Season 3 specifically. You're welcome.
Likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.
It had been three days since Jace landed in Winterfell. It took him no less than half a day along his journey to garner the support of Lady Jayne Arryn within the Eyrie, just as his mother had said. Lady Jayne had apparently laughed Aemond out of her keep more than a week prior, her threat of sending him through the Moon Door not subtle, before he made his rounds to other Houses of the Kingdom.
Jace had been welcomed to the North by Lord Cregan Stark nearly a week later. They had taken to each other like ducks to a pond within moments of meeting. Jace felt familiar to Cregan; he held a striking resemblance to the brother he had lost and Jace's earnestness was not lost on Cregan. Jace spoke truth with every word he shared, and it was a trait that the Lord appreciated greatly.
Cregan welcomed the Prince into his Keep, introduced him to his family, and supped with him at his table. The North was nothing like the young Prince had imagined. It was wet and gray, cold and dreary, but the people fascinated the young Prince. He went hunting with the Lord, bonding even further as if they were already brothers. He introduced Cregan to Vermax, and told him of Maestron. He described how the dragon’s pale scales would blend in with the snow and how the beast would create his own legend up North.
It was equal parts terrifying and fascinating to Cregan. The prospect of having a dragon in the North was daunting. The cost alone to feed it caused a spike of anxiety, not to mention just how safe his people would be with it roaming the countryside freely. There was also the thought of security. The North was a formidable enemy to have without a dragon, but with one…no one in the seven Kingdoms, or elsewhere, would dare to make them their enemy.
The topic of a betrothal to the Princess had been brought up a few times in passing, and while Cregan was not completely for it…he was receptive to the idea. Jace only spoke kind words of you, praises that only went higher and higher. In the end, his words seemed to win over the Warden of the North. If you were only a fraction of what Jace had described in the few days he had been in Winterfell, you would make a fine Lady of the North.
All of this brought Jace to this current moment in time.
He walked next to Cregan through the grounds of the Keep until they reached the Godswood. The vibrancy of the weirwood trees, their blood red foliage a stark contrast to the grays and browns surrounding him, caught his breath at their beauty. Cregan stopped him as they reached the raised and twisting roots of the first tree. He put a large hand upon Jace’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, but his face was serious. His dark brows were furrowed as he looked down to Jace.
“The fact that the Princess has not made her way here yet has not been forgotten by me.” Cregan said with a sigh as he dropped his hand. He could see the panicked thoughts racing through Jace’s eyes as he spoke. “You have been honest with me thus far, Prince Jacaerys, and for that I will give you the benefit of the doubt regarding the Princess’ absence.”
“I thank you for your hospitality and your courtesy, Lord Stark.” He said with a sigh of relief. “I assure you that this is quite unusual behavior with respect to my sister. She was supposed to be here yesterday at the latest.”
“She was.” He agreed. “You are worried?”
“I am.” Jace responded truthfully. Cregan seemed to respect the truth, even if the truth was not appealing.
“And you are sure she has not fled? I can’t imagine the prospect of living in the North would be appealing to a Southern Princess.” It would’ve sounded like a baited question had it been anyone but Cregan Stark. He knew it wasn’t a stretch for a Princess to shun the idea of relocating her life to live in the cold, wet, harsh climates of Winterfell.
“She would not flee.” Jace reassured Cregan, though the crease between his brows let Cregan know that the very idea that she would flee was a slight against his sister. “My sister is a great many things, Lord Stark. Dutiful and punctual are amongst her greatest attributes, I assure you.”
“I meant no offense, my Prince.” Cregan bowed just the slightest bit in respect. “If it would ease your worries, I will have the maester send a raven to Dragonstone. Worry not, Prince Jacaerys. We will get to the bottom of this.” Cregan extended a kind smile that just barely tilted at the corners of his lips.
“I would appreciate that, Lord.”
“Aemond,” Alicent greeted softly as Aemond let himself into her Solar. He allowed himself some time to clean himself up before seeing his mother so he at least didn’t look as he felt. Anxiety swirled in the pit of his stomach and he knew she could see it in his eye. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to rip the bandage from the proverbial wound. He stood with his feet a shoulder’s width apart, his hands clasping tightly behind his back.
“Lucerys is dead.” Alicent’s jaw dropped, as did the cup held within her hand. “As is the Princess.” It felt like the rug had been pulled from beneath her feet.
“How do you know this?” She whispered, taking slow, measured steps towards Aemond. Her breaths quickened, dread filling her chest.
“I was there.” He replied simply. An understatement, perhaps.
“Where?”
“Somewhere between Bronzegate and Stonedance.”
“They were at Storm’s Landing?” She questioned as she stood before him.
“They were.” He swallowed thickly, not able to meet his mother’s eyes. He looked just over her head and out the window. Darkness had since fallen over King’s Landing, shrouding it in shadow. “For the same reason I was.”
“What happened?” Her jaw was clamped tightly, anger rising as her son refused to meet her eyes. He was involved, she concluded. “You will explain yourself now!”
“Vhagar took them from the skies.” The lie was only partial. A gasp fell from Alicent’s parted lips.
“What have you done?” She grasped Aemond’s face in her hands harshly, pulling him down so he would look at her. Aemond could feel his mother shaking with rage. “What have you done?!”
“I could not stop her.” He whispered. “I gave chase to both of them, for that I am guilty. Arrax drew dragon fire onto Vhagar and she did not let his action go unpunished.” He explained. “She went after Arrax and I was unable to stop her.” Alicent could read between the lines. Young Luke, though she held no love for the boy, died horrifically. She let go of her son’s face, stumbling back.
“And the Princess?” She mumbled, shell-shocked.
“She tried to save Lucerys and perished as he did somewhere along Massey’s Hook.” Aemond lied.
“The Massey’s are aligned with the Blacks, Aemond. Surely a raven has reached Rhaenyra by now.” Alicent hissed, angry, frustrated tears welling in her eyes.
“I would assume so.” His tone was indifferent, but inside he was screaming.
“There is no way your beast was not seen. They will know this was you. Daemon will kill you for this, you stupid boy!” Alicent shouted.
“Daemon would kill me for less if given the opportunity. I am not sorry for what has transpired. Neither would’ve made it through this war.” Alicent looked at Aemond like she did not recognize him. “It was a mercy, if anything.”
“War is brutal, mother.” He explains. “Boys like Luke -soft- do not last long, and the women who create that softness survive even less.” Alicent shook her head, her loose curls bouncing in the light of the fireplace.
“The Blacks will strike with everything they have!”
“They have little!” Aemond assured her.
“And now more will flock to them!” Spittle flew from her mouth. “You’ve killed two of Rhaenyra’s children! Your niece and nephew! How could this happen, Aemond? How?!” Alicent screamed, tears falling down her cheeks. “If any House was on the fence that could've swayed to us, we’ve surely lost them!”
“I shall not lose sleep over it, I assure you.” Aemond fronted with a roll of his eye. “They took their chances against Vhagar and got as they deserved.” Still his stomach twisted at his own words. Alicent stared at Aemond, her lip trembling.
“You loved her!” She said in confusion. “Just one month prior you were asking for her hand, and now she is dead?” Alicent sobbed, holding a hand to her chest as she held herself against the high back of a chair. “There is no forgiveness in the eyes of the Seven for this, Aemond.”
“She is better off dead than in the hands of a lord that isn’t worthy of the air she breathes. Mmm,” Aemond hummed. “I suppose it is fortuitous that war is upon us to shield me from further judgment.” He spat. “I’ve secured the bannermen of Storm’s End as I’ve been tasked to do. I shall be wed to the Baratheon girl in a week’s time. I’ve done my duty, mother, and I’ve managed to kill two birds with one stone to keep my brother on his throne. Sacrifices must be made. You said those words yourself.” Alicent had no response. Her lips tilted into a deep frown, her eyes glassy. Her shoulders had hunched as she watched Aemond turn on his heel and leave.
What’s done is done.
Three more days had passed in Winterfell and the weight of your absence felt heavier and heavier upon Jace’s shoulders with each passing day.
A maester quickly approached Cregan and Jace, who were showing off their skills with archery -Jace moreso showing just how un-skilled he was with a bow. The Lord was trying to keep the boy occupied until he got word from Dragonstone. He had other duties to attend to, but something did not feel right in his gut. It was an instinct he learned to trust early on.
“Lord Stark!” The elderly man called, waving a rolled parchment in his hands. Jace let an arrow loose and it did not hit within the circular target, but it did lodge itself just to the right within the wood.
“Progress!” Cregan commended. Jace smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. He was ready to notch another arrow when the maester stopped him.
“My Lord, my Prince,” He bowed, completely out of breath. “I have word from Dragonstone. May we converse somewhere privately?” Cregan looked down to Jace, whose face dropped instantly. The raven the maester sent to Dragonstone still had days before it would reach his mother, so if a raven was here from Dragonstone…something had to have happened.
Cregan took the scroll from the maester and began walking to his council chambers. He unraveled the parchment and read it as he walked with haste. Jace had to nearly run to keep up with his gait. The maester trailed behind both, panting furiously. Once the door to the council chambers was closed, Cregan turned to Jace who looked at him with fear shining in his eyes. His own eyes held a deep sadness, which did not bode well for Jace. Wordlessly, Cregan handed the scroll to the younger boy.
The room was silent as Jace read the message.
He had to sit, lest his legs give out from beneath him. Cregan helped lower the shocked young man, his hand never leaving his shoulder.
“My most sincere condolences, my Prince.” The baritone of his voice vibrated to Jace, who let the parchment slip through his fingers and fall to his feet. He could not feel. He could not think.
Jace dropped his head to his hands in utter agony.
Surrounded by darkness, you did not know if your eyes were truly open or not. Were you alive? Were you in a purgatory of sorts? Was this the afterlife? Hell?
The back of your head pounded angrily and your back felt stiff. You reached to touch the tender flesh, but a weight around your wrists stopped you.
Alive, it would seem, you thought. but Hell all the same.
Chain links clinked together as you moved your hands to where you thought your face was, but even inches from your own eyes you could not see through the void. Your thumbs rubbed over the scabbed skin of your palms. The skin was taut and each stretch of it caused you to hiss in pain. Sighing heavily, you rested your hands back onto your stomach and closed your eyes to let your mind spin.
Lucerys was truly gone. Never would you see his young face mature into that of a man. Never would you hear his voice, his laughter. Never would you see him grow, and learn, and change. He would never become a father or an uncle. He would never be.
Tears cascaded down the sides of your temples with renewed fervor as you sobbed into the darkness. Your stomach clenched as you let the raw emotions take over. Gone was your strength. Gone was your fight. Even if you lived through this -whatever your current situation may be- you would never be able to face your mother again. Guilt began to fester insidiously within your brain. Had you simply kept your mouth shut, would Aemond have given chase? Had you not thrust your own proverbial dagger into his heart and twisted without remorse, would Luke still be alive?
Has Luke’s death been your own doing?
Blame encumbered you like a thick, suffocating blanket that left no air to fill your lungs.
The thoughts of what could have been no longer mattered. The reality was this; Luke and Arrax were dead. Maestron was dead. You were held prisoner somewhere. Luke’s death and your disappearance would surely be the start of a kingdom-wide catastrophe; a deadly dance of dragons that would leave no survivors in its wake.
You did not know how long you had been in your cell before you woke. You did not know if word had reached your father yet. Would he believe you dead? Or would he think you left with Aemond willingly to not marry Cregan Stark? No, you berated yourself. He’d think me dead before believing that I’d willingly betray my family. Still, if they thought you dead, would they have reason to look for your body? One they wouldn’t find? Or would they assume Vhagar had consumed you as she had Luke? A million thoughts raced through your mind. With only the darkness and the rats for company, there was nothing to stop them.
When your eyes opened once more, they shut just as quickly as you buried your face in the itchy wool of your blanket. A hiss left your lips as the light of a torch burned your eyes mercilessly. You re-opened them slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light. Your head throbbed at the intrusion.
Aemond placed the torch into the holder that was fastened to the wall just to the right of the staircase he descended from. This was the first you had seen of your surroundings and they were just as desolate as they had been in the dark.
Your cell was a small rectangle, six feet wide and twice as deep. The foot of your cot faced the bars of the cell. There was a bucket in the furthest corner and that was it. You were in a dungeon, that much could be deduced. The silence that filled your time let you know that you were the only poor soul down here, wherever here was.
Aemond stood at the bars, a tray of food in hand and a cup snugly held to his chest with the crook of his elbow. Your stomach growled loudly at the sight. He pushed the plate through the gap at the bottom of the bars and put this hand through the bars to place the cup next to it.
“Do you fear what I would do to you if you opened the cell door?” Your voice cracked as you spoke. Still you taunted him. You had nothing more to lose.
“I could never fear you.” His voice was soft and his words were not arrogant.
“You should.” You hissed, standing on your bare feet to pick up the plate and cup. Your blanket fell to the dirt floor in a heap. Aemond watched as your chains clinked with your movement until you sat back down on the cot, legs pulled up to sit under you. You tore a piece of bread from the roll on the plate and stuffed it into your mouth. “If I ever get out of these chains, I’ll pluck your remaining eye and make you eat it.” You said it so plainly as if you were discussing the clouds in the sky. Aemond sighed heavily.
“You are in pain. I know you do not mean your words.”
“You know not of the pain I feel.” You snapped, dropping the bread back onto the plate. “You’ve murdered my brother and you think I know not of the words that fall from my lips? This is a betrayal that I will never recover from, Aemond.” Aemond let your words permeate the dungeon for a few moments before he leaned against the bars.
“I did not mean for this to happen...” His voice was just above a whisper. He did not look at you as he spoke. Aemond did not have it in him to truly face you.
“If you’ve come down here to apologize, don’t. There is nothing you could say to me. Nothing.” You shook your head, burying your face in your blanket.
“I do not seek your forgiveness.” Aemond’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“Good.” You hissed. “Because you will get none from me.”
“I do owe you an explanation.”
“You owe me my freedom.” He finally brought his eye to look at you. Your hair was in a rat’s nest, nearly completely free of the braids they were in when you got to Storm’s End. Your eyes were red and swollen, your face blotched with irritated skin and dried blood. You had removed your leather jerkin, leaving your undershirt, riding pants, and smallclothes as the only garments you had on.
“Be that as it may, I cannot let you go.” Aemond sighed and started pacing in front of the cell. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he settled on his next words. “I tried to stop her.”
“Shut up!” You pressed your hands to your ears as best as you could within your shackles. Aemond only spoke louder.
“I did not intend on killing him! I meant to scare him, to scare you and give you both chase. Him for being a little prick and you for my heart! Vhagar did not heed my commands once Arrax had set fire to her.” You brought your hands down and set Aemond with a beastly glare.
“You thought Vhagar -a dragon so vast and old, so battle-hardened, so deadly -does not do as she wishes? That you command her?” You scoffed, leaning back against the stone wall. “No dragon can be tamed, Aemond. She’s bonded to you, not for you. You were stupid to think otherwise.”
“She has never disregarded me-”
“-You goaded your dragon who has fought wars -who has killed men and beast alike- to kill once more and you are surprised she did it?!” You shouted from your cage.
“Had Arrax not attacked with fire he and Luke would be alive! Maestron would be alive!” You stood suddenly, shuffling towards the bars of the cell. Flames would have burst forth from you if they could.
“Had you not given chase in the first place, they would be alive! You’ve done this, not Luke! Not Arrax! My brother’s blood is on your hands, Aemond, and still you play the weak man. Putting blame to anyone’s hands but your own!” Tears had risen once more to your tired eyes. “You were man enough to take flight, to taunt and chase! You will be man enough to take responsibility for what you’ve done!” The rage would never leave you, you vowed. If it took until your last breath, you’d make Aemond pay for what he did. “Vhagar felt your disdain for Luke through your connection. You’ve wanted him dead since we were children, Aemond! Do not lie to me!”
“Yes, I’ve wanted him dead, but not like this.”
“He died for nothing!” You screamed in High Valyrian. Depredation filled Aemond’s very core and overfilled into his soul as he stared down at you. There was nothing he could do or say to put this right. Nothing could fix this disaster he had caused, putting you at the center of the crossfire and Luke as the first casualty of the impending war. “He died for nothing.” You repeated in a whisper, dropping back onto your cot. Your head dropped to your shackled hands and you pulled at the roots of your hair to feel something, anything, other than hellfire within. It was all-consuming. A few moments of still silence passed before Aemond spoke again.
“I am undeserving of any kindness from you, but that does not lessen the blow of each hate-filled word you’ve thrown my way. It felt the same in the Pits, at Storm’s End, and it feels the same here. I will never forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused, the nephew I’ve slain. That is something I must live with until my final breath. And I will.” Aemond sniffed and you knew then that he was shedding tears, or close to it. “I love you...so deeply. If I could rip my own beating heart from my chest, I would if it meant an end to this torment. I’ve been broken my whole life…but I’ve never felt completely broken until the day you denied me in the Pits. I felt the ground crumble beneath me and I fell into an endless misery.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I am still falling.”
You did not respond to Aemond. You could not take a single word more from him. With each word that tumbled from his lips, your stomach flipped. Pulling the itchy blanket over you, you turned your back to him and faced the wall in the fetal position. Aemond granted you the small mercy of rest, but he also took the torch with him, blanketing you in darkness once more.
The passing of time was impossible to gauge accurately. Aemond hadn’t returned to see you in what you assumed were days. In his place a young woman of -at maximum- six and ten visited your cell to leave you a tray of food and a cup of water. An estimated six days had passed, based off this timing assumption, and this was the seventh.
A week.
The news had to have reached your family by now. You couldn’t imagine the devastation that would ravage them. Your mind went to Jace first, who always tried to be mature and brave. He would be absolutely gutted. To lose both of his eldest siblings was going to be the most trying thing he had ever encountered, and you didn’t want to think of the psychological breakdown he would inevitably have over this. Young Joffrey would surely miss you and Luke, though he was just young enough to not fully grasp the situation. The same went for Aegon III and Viserys II.
Next you thought of your mother. You hoped this would light a fire so deep within her that she’d lay waste to everything the Greens held dear. If there was any good to come out of this, it was the hope of more support would gather for her within the realm. You felt genuine fear in the pit of your stomach at the thought of seeing her again. Would she blame you for what happened to Luke? Would she resent you for living? You would not blame her if she did.
You knew the prospect of your death would send your father to the brink of no return. He truly loved Rhaena and Baela, but you…you were his firstborn. You were his pride and joy, his near likeness. You were everything he could’ve hoped for from a child. He loved you from the very second he lay his eyes on you, and much like the bond your lineage had with the dragons, you had one with your father. You hoped the connection hadn’t been lost to him, that he held hope. Without it, you would surely perish in this dreaded darkness.
“You finally grace me with your presence.” You spat as Aemond set his torch down in the holder. He did not have a tray with him this time around, and you wondered if you would be eating this night. “I’m flattered.” Your tone stated the contrary.
“You asked me a question…down in the Pits. The answer seemed obvious until now.” Aemond’s hands were clasped before him as he spoke. You did not bother giving him your attention.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Would I choose you?” Aemond stared at you as you finally looked at him, and it felt unnerving. “I did.” He whispered. “I chose you when I made the decision to take you. I know what the question implied. Love does questionable things to the brain, I suppose, but in the end I chose you.” All you could do was shake your head as tears built back up, your throat constricting.
“You do not love me. You may have…once, but not anymore.” You choked out. “You’ve killed my brother and I am caged like an animal. You do not extend your love with the likes of brutality.”
“This is not a kind world, Princess, and I am not a kind man. Still, my affections remain.”
“Before all of this madness, you have been kind to me!” You reasoned. “You cannot stand there and tell me otherwise! You can be a kind man but you choose not to be! You can fix this, Aemond! I’ve known you to be a great many things, but stupid is not one of them. This…this is stupid.”
“In that you are not wrong.” He relented. “My love for you will never die, this is true…which is why you are still alive. I could have let you run off that cliff. I could have. You are here for your own safety.”
“You cannot keep me locked down here in the dark with the rats forever! This is a fate worse than death!” You shouted from your cot.
“Once my sister and uncle have fallen, there will be no more need to keep you hidden. You shall be placed on a pedestal for all to see; my spoils of a war won. We shall live out our days peacefully.”
“You will not win this war, Aemond. To believe so is a naïveté that I did not believe you of all people capable of harboring. You have taken two of my mother’s children from her. I know she believes me dead. You will not live to see the end of this, she will make sure of it. My father will make sure of it. Jace will make sure of it. You’ve signed over your own execution is all you’ve done!”
Aemond breathed in at the mention of Daemon. He knew the road ahead would not be easy, and if there was a foe that would be hardest to best, it would be him. His will to persevere would surely bring success. It had to.
You stood, inching your way over to the bars of the cell. The shackles on your ankles left little room for steps, but you made due. Your shackled hands grasped at the bars, iron clanking against iron as your face pushed between them to get as close to Aemond as you could, eyes pleading with him to see reason. “Free me and we may be able to stop this! If they know I am at least alive-”
“I’ve killed one of her sons. I have done the unforgivable. Returning you will not change that fact.”
“My return will lessen the blow!” Frustration laced your voice.
“It will not. Regardless, no one knows you’re here with the exception of my Shadow, and no one else will know. Once this war is won,” Aemond reached his hand through the bars to cradle your cheek in his palm. A nimble finger delicately traced over the bridge of your nose. The slight bump was a reminder of what his brother did to you during the last time your families would ever join together as one, of what started the whole domino effect that led you both to where you stood currently. “We shall marry as we intended.” His grip on you tightened. “I will love you, honor you, give you all the children you wish. All that you desire, you shall have.” You sobbed openly, though they were cries of devastation and not happiness as they would’ve been previously. The life you once dreamed of, would have sacrificed anything for, was being given to you in a way you did not bargain for nor want.
“And your marriage to the Baratheon girl?” The look that overcame Aemond’s face was unsettling, his thumb stroking the apple of your filthy cheek.
“My duty has been fulfilled.” His voice was just above a whisper, a tone used between lovers, not of a hostage and her captor. Your eye twitched as tears continued to well. You looked up at Aemond. “But do not fret; There are ways to end an unwanted marriage.” Anger filled your heart once more as your jaw clenched.
“Delusions.” You spat. “Any love I have harbored in my heart for you died with Lucerys, and my Maestron, you fool!” You pushed yourself away from the bars, Aemond’s hand falling back to his side. The chains imprisoning you rattled as you pulled them with you to the back of the cell, as far as you could be from Aemond’s searing eye.
“I have loved you truly!” You screamed, “I have loved you willingly!” Aemond’s chest tightened at your confession. His brows furrowed as he looked to the ground. He bit his bottom lip then rolled his eye back up to meet yours. “Instead of happiness, this is the path you’ve chosen! One of cruelty and viciousness! Death and destruction! Murder and blood! Of treachery and devastation! You may have me physically, but you will never truly have me, Aemond. Never. Not after what you have done.” Your chest heaved and you felt much older than your years. Aemond stared at you for a moment, taking your feral appearance in.
“We shall see.” The corners of Aemond’s lips tilted up just slightly before he turned, taking the flame of the torch with him.
You had no idea what time had passed since you last saw Aemond. Your conversation must’ve sat heavily with him if he could not face you. The coward, you thought. Scratching in the distance caught your ear, as it had the last couple of nights. It was grating on your nerves as it continued night after night. Damned rats, you thought with a scowl.
You could only time your days by the meals that were brought to you by a mouse of a girl -his Shadow, Aemond had called her. She was the only human that you interacted with besides Aemond.
No matter how much you begged upon your arrival, the girl would not sway in releasing you. There was a reason she and she alone attended to you. Her devotion to Aemond was baffling.
By the third meal cycle since you saw your captor, you refused to eat. Each meal after that was left at the foot of your cell and was taken away hours later just the same as it had been brought, some bits picked at by the rats that scuttled in the darkness. It was four more meal cycles before Aemond himself reappeared.
“You are starving yourself.” You were huddled in the furthest corner of the cell on the ground, your knees bent up to your chest. A clean woolen blanket was cocooned around your body as you shivered in the darkness. “Why?”
Your voice was hoarse from the minimal water you consumed, and underused from lack of speaking. You did not beg the Shadow for help after the third meal cycle.
Your dry lips cracked and bled as you moved them. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your dry mouth.
“What need do I have of food? I will die down here, I am sure of it.” You didn’t bother looking at him. “No need to prolong the inevitable.” Your strength had left you as your body started to waste away.
The bright flames of the torch burned your eyes as you tilted your head from your knees to look at Aemond. He placed the torch snugly into the holder in the wall as you pushed your face back down into the blankets.
Aemond crouched down on the other side of the bars, hands clasped together as his forearms rested on his thighs.
“You may eat willingly, or I will force it into you. One way or another, you will consume it.” You did not look up as he spoke, just let your silent tears soak into the wool. You did not know how many more you had left to give. “You will live.”
The two strangers, a man and a woman, looked nervously between Daemon and Caraxes, who stood menacingly on the shore’s cliff behind his rider. The winds of Rosby’s shores were fierce as they blew around the trio standing in the sand.
“We thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Prince Daemon.” The woman spoke first. Daemon merely held up the scroll that was sent to him, the information within it was either damning or a true revelation.
“Speak plainly. You do not give this information out of the goodness of your heart, I’m sure.” Daemon’s already short fuse was nearly non-existent now.
“She lives.” The woman spoke earnestly. “The Princess lives.” Daemon took slow, deliberate steps to her, eyes squinting against the wind. The large man next to the woman was quick to draw his sword, but a warning snarl from Caraxes was all he needed to stand down.
“For your sake, the words you speak better be the truth.” Daemon warned.
“They are, your Grace.” The woman assured Daemon.
“What proof do you have?”
“The Princess is locked in a cell beneath the Red Keep. She has none of her own belongings with her. If I could’ve brought something to you, I would have. To stand before you, empty handed with naught but my own word, is terrifying -I will not lie, but alas -my word is all I have.”
“Is it silver you’re after? Money? Land? What would you have me give you for your word?” Caraxys chittered behind his rider, sensing the irritation flaring in Daemon. “You wish to be fed to my dragon for a ploy?”
“N-no, your Grace! We are f-firm supporters of Queen Rhaenyra,” The man spoke, trying not to stutter. “Just as our Lord is.” The thick accents had caught Daemon’s attention when the woman had spoken initially. Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “What has happened to Prince Lucerys and the Princess was a travesty, my Prince. This is why our Lord sent us here.”
“Your Lord?” Daemon pushed.
“Lord Cregan Stark.” The woman answered. Daemon made a face at the pair.
“Cregan Stark does not bother with matters outside of his own land, especially of those so far South.” The woman nodded and explained further:
“Lord Stark initially accepted the offered betrothal to the Princess, even if that acceptance was known only to Prince Jacaerys. This treachery by Prince Aemond is an affront to House Stark as it is to your own House.” The wind blew her auburn hair in a tornado of red. “As you know, our Lord is a man of his word. To break an oath is an offense met with the swing of a sword. Lord Stark accepted the betrothal and feels it is his duty to do all he can to ensure the Princess is returned safely.”
“He has never met my daughter. He holds no love for her. He has nothing tying him to her other than a botched betrothal and he sends spies to King’s Landing?” Daemon could only feel suspicion towards the pair before him.
“Prince Jacaerys was not convinced that Prince Aemond would kill the Princess.” Ah, Daemon thought. Of course Jace was involved with this nonsense. “Not after their shared…history.” She treaded softly around her choice of words. “It was by the Prince’s request to our Lord that we be sent to infiltrate the Red Keep. We did, and we found her, your Grace. Truly.” Daemon stared at the pair, gauging their words carefully.
“Is it a reward you are looking for in return?” He questioned. The woman shook her head.
“The only payment we are requesting, your Grace, is that you keep your end of the offered betrothal to tie the Houses of Targaryen and Stark together as promised once she is free.”
“If you deliver my daughter to Dragonstone alive, I will supp with Cregan Stark myself to complete the terms. If my daughter is alive, there is no telling what condition she will return in.” Both strangers nodded, relief evident on their faces.
“We return to King’s Landing tonight. Should all go according to plan, we should reach the shores of Dragonstone in no later than a month’s time, your Grace.”
Weeks -or what you thought were weeks- had passed. Aemond and his Shadow watched over you diligently after your failed hunger strike. You gave most of the food to the rats, who had made themselves comfortable in your cell with you.
There was one rat in particular who kept you company most days. He had a healed stump where one of his front paws should’ve been. Simon, you had named him. A simple name for a simple creature. He was a curious little rodent, and had an easy temperament -as easy as a rat’s could’ve been. His brown fur was soft the handful of times he allowed you to touch him with the tips of your fingers. You’d gained his trust with pieces of bread, fruit, and the occasional marzipan cake that was on your tray.
I know they are your favorite, Aemond had told you the first time he brought a tray with one down.
A small comfort, he said.
Not once did you eat the cakes out of principle alone. The little rat, however, loved to pick at the pomegranate seeds and dried fruit that usually topped the cakes before dragging the sweet confections off into the darkness.
Simon lived like a little King of the Dungeons thanks to your offerings.
Still, you only picked at the food on the tray enough to stay alive as of recent. Aemond had made good on his promise of force feeding you after nearly ten days on your hunger strike, and you wished to never experience that horrifying series of events ever again. Drinking water was enough to trigger you on some days, your gag reflex not allowing the liquid to go down without choking you.
What an agonizing existence.
The creek of the iron door was the only warning you got before you were pulled up on your cot by rough hands. Your arms were pulled up and the shackles around your wrists were attached to a hook above the cot, leaving you incapable of using your arms.
Aemond was furious when you looked into his eye. Your confusion and exhaustion did not give you the proper mindset to ask what was happening until it was too late. His body was draped over yours on the cot to hold you still, a calloused hand held your jaw firmly, his fingers bruising your gaunt cheeks as he held your mouth open with painful force. The fingers of his other hand pinched your nostrils closed.
“Now.” He ordered, tilting your head back causing you to cry out in pain. You didn’t even see his Shadow until she was pouring warm broth into your mouth. You choked and sputtered, spitting it all over yourself and Aemond before he could push your mouth closed. He held his hand over your lips, fingers still holding your nostrils closed to force you to swallow. Tears fell from your eyes as you begged silently for air and pulled at your chains. The raw skin of your wrists ripped open as you fought against the irons. The warm trickle of blood only caused you to panic even further.
Once Aemond saw the bulge of liquid go down your throat, he freed your mouth just enough so you could cough and draw breath for a mere moment before he held your jaw painfully once more.
“Again.” He ordered, and the Shadow poured more broth into your mouth as you cried out. “I told you.” He spat as your eyes bulged, tears cascading down your bruising cheeks. “I told you and you did not listen.” He removed his hands from you completely, but he did not move away. You fell to the side, gasping for air and coughing out the broth that snaked its way to your lungs. Your brutal coughs echoed in the bare dungeon, the chains of your shackles rattled with each pull of haggard breath. You pushed your face into your arm as you sobbed hysterically. Aemond grabbed your chin once more to make you look at him.
“Though it pains me, I will continue to do this…or you will eat on your own.” He gave you your choices once more. You merely nodded, unable to look at him.
You stopped speaking to him entirely after that. You spoke to Simon when something needed to be said aloud. The rat’s company was much more preferable to Aemond’s, too.
Aemond hadn’t been down to see you in days, though his Shadow was diligent. It was equally relieving as it was troublesome when he was absent. It was a relief to not see him, or hear him speak to you. It was troublesome because the Gods only knew what terrors he was unleashing upon the realm.
Sat on the ground, cocooned in your blanket, you watched as Simon carried little bits of bread in his mouth to a hole in the wall of your cell. After so long in the darkness, your eyes had adjusted just enough that you could spot his small black mass moving about the cell. He stopped before you and you reached your fingers out to give him a pat on his little head before handing him a grape. He took it greedily within his mouth and hobbled back into the hole with his bounty, surely building up quite the store to snack on later.
“My Princess,” A voice called out, a whisper in the vast nothingness of your dungeon. “Please hear my words,” I’ve finally reached madness, you thought. Words without a mouth had reached your ears. “You are not alone. You have friends in the darkness of the Red Keep, Princess. The black flames will bring life to you once more, you must hold fast.”
Was it Simon that had spoken? Your eyes watched as his hefty little body scurried up to your feet. Your cellmate looked up at you, standing tall on his two back feet. “Have faith. You will be free of this wretched place soon, but you must first gain your strength. Eat.” Simon’s tiny mouth did not move as he looked at you, but you heard the words nonetheless. “Wait for my word and look to the stars for guidance.”
“Targaryen madness,” You mumbled out loud, burying your face into your blanketed knees dejectedly. Your eyes closed as the rat scurried away.
The sound of metal clinking together made your head perk up. A small sack was tossed into your cell from the darkness outside of it. You stretched your arms as far as you could without moving your aching body and took it within your bound hands. You winced with each rub of the irons against your already raw and torn skin.
The sack was not large, and it was not weighty. Undoing the drawstring and poking a hand inside, your fingers caught a keyring. Pulling it from the sack, a single rusted key dangled from it. Placing it carefully on your lap, you felt around the sack once more and was met with the handle of a small dagger. Its blade was sharp, the end pointed dangerously. Your breaths quickened in anxiety.
Shakily, you know unwrapped your bare feet from the blanket and tested the key on the irons around your ankles. To your surprise the latch popped open with a creak.
Testing the shackles on your wrists, the same happened. The relief you felt with the irons fell away from your raw flesh brought tears to your eyes.
Soon, you thought. Just a little bit longer.
Stuffing the key and dagger inside a small slit on the side of your mattress, you re-shackled yourself and wrapped the blanket around you once more.
There truly was hope yet.
Each day that passed you slowly ate off the trays, little by little.
It was three meal cycles before you heard the voice again. It had awoken you from your dreamless void, a hopeful whisper in the darkness.
“The dragon flies tomorrow, Princess. Do what you must. I will be waiting.” Do what you must. Your hand felt the side of the mattress for the dagger that hadn’t moved since it was thrown into your cell. Feeling the solid butt of the handle, you resigned yourself to what would surely be a point of no return.
You would escape or you would die trying.
The Shadow brought your tray of food the following day, just as she always did and as she was putting it on the ground to slide under the bars, you stopped her.
Your ankles and wrists were unshackled, but the chains still led underneath your blanket so anyone who looked into the cell was none the wiser.
“My bones ache,” Your voice sounded like a crack of fire. It startled the Shadow enough to nearly drop the tray of food to the ground. You hadn’t spoken to her since your first week in the cell. There was no reason to.
Your eyes burned as the light from the torch on the wall glowed brightly. “I cannot so much as stand to crawl onto my bed. Please bring it in. Hunger burns my belly and I cannot move to reach the tray. Please.” You feigned absolute weakness, burrowing your face back into the blanket. You took a few deep breaths, stealing yourself for what was to come should she take the bait.
She studied you, deeming if your change of heart was a ploy. It seemed that she harbored some pity towards your dwindling existence by the look on her face.
“I will live,” You spoke again. “Out of spite, I will live.” Your words held a double meaning, though she wasn’t privy to that. She will be soon.
The Shadow sighed before opening the cell door and cautiously took steps towards you. It seemed poor judgment was a trait she had with all things, much to your good fortune.
The dagger was grasped tightly in your shaking palm beneath the blanket.
The girl kneeled down to set the tray down softly next to you and as her eyes rolled up to meet yours, hers widened in fear. Your very alert, lucid eyes were glaring back at her furiously.
Before she could make a sound, you tackled her with the little strength you had built. You pushed your filthy blanket over her face to muffle her screams and plunged the dagger anywhere it could find purchase. The Shadow’s nails scraped across your face and neck as she swung blindly, doing everything she could to get you off of her until she did not have the strength to flail her arms any longer.
Blood splattered across your face and body, the walls were streaked with it. The Shadow’s sick gurgling slowly faded as blood seeped through the blanket via her mouth. The twitching of her legs continued for a moment until it too stilled.
You stayed leaned on her placid body, continuing to push the blanket into her face for good measure as you tried to catch your breath. The blade felt heavy in your hand and it felt as if your lungs would collapse from the adrenaline coursing through you.
Knowing you had to move quickly, you gathered your courage and stood. Stealing the bread from the tossed tray, you stuffed half in your mouth, then tossed the other half to Simon’s hideaway for him to find later. You would miss your little friend.
Taking your first bare step out of the cell, it felt like the weight of the world had fallen from your shoulders for the briefest of moments. You grabbed the torch from the wall with a shaking hand, the heat like nothing you’ve felt since your capture. You felt like a moth to its flame. The dagger was clutched firmly in your other hand.
Looking in all directions, you didn’t have the first clue on where you should go. The only direction you knew you couldn’t go was up the staircase that Aemond and his Shadow used.
“Look to the stars,” She had said. Your eyes rolled up to look at the stone above you. Raising the torch with a weak arm revealed small x’s that had been scratched into the stone.
ScratchingScratchingIt wasn’t the rats scratching at the walls, driving you to madness night after night.
The trail led you down a corridor that housed a row of more empty cells. This wing had been long abandoned, if your own imprisonment told you anything. Your head stayed on a swivel to make sure you were alone in your travels.
The x’s stopped at a nondescript cell. You held the torch in front of you, trying to see what was inside. By all accounts there was nothing to behold. It was just as your cell was, bare but for a cot and a bucket, and a hook to hold shackles.
Curiously, you stepped within. You held the torch as close to the walls as you could to inspect. There was nothing on the ceiling, nothing on the walls. Becoming frustrated, you kicked at the cot, sending it skidding across the dirt of the floor. Your eye caught it just as you were turning to leave. An x marked in white just inches above the ground.
You fell to your knees as you brought your trembling hand to the stone. It shook loosely causing you to gasp. You dropped the torch, using both of your hands to pry at the stone. Your malnourished nails broke and splintered as you tried to claw the stone from where it sat. It finally came loose and with it came your first breath of the fresh ocean air outside of the walls of the Red Keep. A sob tumbled from your lips as you tasted freedom. Your hands were bloodied as they pulled stone after stone from the hole to make a space big enough to squeeze through.
Sunlight did not filter through the hole, and as you peaked through it you saw nothing but the moon illuminated over the ocean. Night. How many moons have passed since your capture? How long have you been living in torment?
Please, please, please, you begged the Warrior. This was not a battle, but it was certainly a war for survival. Please see me to safety under your protection, I beg.
“She is here.” A voice said in a hushed manner as you were halfway through the hole. “Pull her out. Quickly!”
A pair of hands grabbed you by your biceps and tugged you from the dungeon. You lay on your stomach for a moment, the touch of wild grass on your skin was nearly too much for you to take.
“We must hurry, my Princess.” The voice from the dungeon called to you softly. Looking up, you saw two people shielded by their cloaks under the cover of darkness. “You need to change,” She handed you breeches and a tunic before motioning for the other person to turn around. “I apologize for how untoward this is, but you must redress. There are boots here,” She pointed next to the hole in the dungeon. You did not care for your modesty. You were outside of the walls of the Keep, outside of the dungeon. You’d do just about anything to leave this place.
You ripped the soiled and bloody clothes from your body and redressed as quickly as you physically could. The woman helped you keep your balance and let you go once you were upright with the boots slipped onto your feet. She grabbed a cloak from the second stranger and draped it over you with the hood covering your hair.
“We are to head down to the port. A boat will be waiting for us and will set sail the second you step foot aboard. We do not have much time, so we must act with haste.” You could only nod as you allowed her to lead the three of you through a broken grate that led you back into King’s Landing. It would be far more difficult to pick you out in a city of people than it was to take your chances on the outskirts of the walls.
The muscles of, or lack thereof, your legs screamed with each step. After weeks of not using them, the muscle had begun to deteriorate. Had you not had adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you don’t think you would have made it even halfway through the city.
“We must push forward.” The woman encouraged you with a gentle hand on your back. “We are almost there.” You were not almost there, but you were getting closer with each step you took and that was encouragement enough for you.
You pushed yourself for maybe fifteen more minutes before your legs collapsed. The second stranger, a man, caught you before you hit the ground.
“My legs. I cannot go any further.” You were close to tears from pain and frustration.
“We are close.” The woman noted, taking a look at their surroundings. “On your back,” The woman ordered the man. He nodded and lowered himself so she could help you climb onto his towering form. His hands were firm around the backs of your legs and you held onto his shoulders with shaking arms. “Fear not.” The woman’s voice was light so as to not worry you. You had heard that tone enough from your mother growing up to recognize it.
Resting your head against the man’s back, you trusted both of these strangers to lead you to safety.
A little over a half hour later and the jostling of going down a set of stairs woke you. Your grip on the man’s shoulders tightened as you came to. Ships met your eyes, and even at night the docks were bustling. The woman went ahead, slipping a coin pouch to a shipmaster who was documenting which ships were coming and going from the port. He simply took the pouch and looked the other way as they hurried down the dock.
All three of you loaded onto the ship, and just as the woman said, it was undocked immediately and set sail.
The voyage to Dragonstone did not seem real. Paranoia seemed to settle deep within you, waiting for Vhagar’s gargantuan Shadow to descend upon the small vessel at any moment, plunging it to the bottom of the bay to rest eternally in the briney sediments below.
You could feel every fiber of muscle, every tenon, ligament and bone within your body. Every nerve sang in pain. The sun, that you hadn’t seen in months as it would turn out, hurt your eyes. Its reflection upon the water’s surface made it worse.
“We are nearly there, Princess.” The woman assured you with a kind smile. Nearly two weeks in the boat had nearly killed you. The first two days you could not keep food down between the rocking of the waves and the anxiety of being found. By the fourth day you could keep bread and water down. Your stomach was still shrunken so it did not take much to satiate you.
Halfway into your second week, you were gaining your strength. You weren’t a fraction as strong as you used to be, but it was a step in the right direction.
Even aboard the boat as long as you were, you knew nothing about the group that rescued you. They would not give you any details other than they knew who you were and where you belonged, and that they were tasked with getting you home.
Home, you thought as you looked out over the open ocean. I’m going home.
Menial conversations were had between you and the woman who spoke to you from the Shadows of the dungeon. In your mind, you nicknamed her The Rat for the mistaken identity you had given her at your lowest point within that cell. The real Simon had never spoken to you as it turned out, but she did. It was a silly association that you’d keep to yourself. The last thing you wanted was to offend the person who stuck their neck out to release you. Even still, if she would not give you a name, she’d keep the one you silently gave her.
The Rat would answer your questions in such a roundabout way that it wasn’t worth asking them after a certain point. You’d get no answers from her, nor the three others aboard.
The blurred sight of a dragon against the sun in the distance caused your stomach to turn violently. Panic took hold of your mind and you started to hyperventilate. Your breaths were shallow and uneven, the air not filling your lungs entirely. You felt lightheaded within moments, ready to faint.
He found you. Was the only thought you had. Aemond found you.
Now, surely, you were going to die and so were the people that aided in your escape. In true fight or flight fashion, or delirium as the Rat called it after your first freak out early on in the voyage, you made ready to jump from the side of the boat as the beast got nearer.
You would not return to the cell, nor would you meet the fate your brother did. You’d gratefully take gulps of the sea until you sank to the ocean floor before you let Aemond put his hands on you ever again.
“My Princess! No!” The woman yelled, pulling onto your arm with all her strength so you could not jump. Your other held firmly to the edge of the ship, your legs in a wide stance as she pulled.
“He’s come!” You shouted frantically. Your eyes were manic and could not remain still as you looked upon her. The Targaryen Madness was still present, the Rat thought with sadness. She cursed the Prince for what he had done to you.
“You must jump too!” You tried pulling her with you. “All of you!” Tears fell steadily at the thought of more death that was surely to befall these poor souls who did not deserve it. “He will show no mercy to conspirators!”
“Princess, I beg you! Look!” She held you tightly, grasping your chin to look towards the dragon that came closer into view. The red scales and signature long neck of Caraxes came into focus and you fell to the deck of the boat. The Rat fell with you encircled in her arms, holding you tightly between her legs. You held onto her arms, nails digging into her skin.
Hysterical sobs overtook your body as Caraxes flew over the small ship, causing the vessel to rock. You could see your father atop him, though he was only a speck. His long hair flowed in the wind valiantly. This was one of the things you thought you’d never see again in this life.
One of the men in the boat waved a banner with the emblem of a gray direwolf on it to let Daemon know exactly who they were and who they had with them. Your mind could not piece together the banner with the people, your confusion only causing a dizzy spell to overcome you.
Daemon circled the boat a few more times to make sure your vessel hadn’t been followed by man or beast. The Blood Wyrm’s screech filled the air, blanketing you in safety and security as he made his way back to Dragonstone.
“I told you, Princess!” The Rat held your face in her hands as she spoke with a toothy grin. “I told you we were almost there! You are home!” You sobbed into her chest and she held you to her like a mother would her child.
You made it.
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#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#hotd#x reader#spoils of war fic
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I wanna talk about Tailmon, Angewomon, and Holydramon for a moment.
All three of them debuted in Digital Monster Ver. S for the Sega Saturn back in September 1998. The game functions mostly like a V-Pet, with 4 slots for Digimon to raise. The game also featured the rosters of the V-Pets Ver. 1, 2, 3, and 4, as well as 14 new Digimon, including these three.
Now, the Ultimate (Dub: Mega) stage didn't get introduced to the franchise until the release of the Pendulum 1.0 Nature Spirits in October 1998. This was only a month later, but Digital Monsters Ver. S had likely been in development for a while.
So, in their debut game, Holydramon wasn't actually the evolution of Angewomon, but one of the possible Perfect evolutions of Tailmon, alongside Angewomon.
成熟期 seijukuki Adult (Champion) | 完全体 kanzentai Perfect (Ultimate)
Not much later, with the release of the Pendulum 1.5 Nature Spirits in January 1999, Holydramon was promoted to Ultimate level. However, despite this, and both Angewomon and Holydramon being featured in this V-Pet, it was still not possible to evolve Angewomon into Holydramon.
As I mentioned in my post about the history of Adventure's Tailmon's Ultimate level, the Digivice Version 2 is the first instance of Holydramon as an evolution of Angewomon. It is also weirdly the only Ultimate in the toy, with neither WarGreymon nor MetalGarurumon being included.
Anyway, I think it's interesting to look at their origin and to consider the perspective of them as different directions for Tailmon to take in evolution.
Magnadramon EX3-036 by Takase from EX-03 Theme Booster Draconic Roar
#digimon#digimon card game#digimon tcg#digica#digisafe#デジカ#Tailmon#Gatomon#Angewomon#Holydramon#Magnadramon#lov rambles#Takase#EX3#Digimon card#color: yellow#Lv6#type: vaccine#trait: holy dragon#trait: Four Great Dragons#num: 02
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I think why I dislike Zelda’s story in TOTK is that on paper it initially reads as a do over of her arc in BOTW. She finally meets supportive parents who encourage her to research instead of sacrificing herself. Rauru sacrifices himself so that Zelda won’t have to. But instead of Zelda researching a way to help her kingdom in the future, she sacrifices herself again. What’s the takeaway? She learns to kill herself better? To me, she basically reaffirms Rhoam’s toxic beliefs that her intelligence, curiosity, and desire for knowledge were all worthless and embodies a misogynistic holy maiden archetype.
There are parallels, meant to show how much Zelda has grown, but I disagree that the point is to reaffirm Rhoam's teachings and disregard her own mortal strengths.
Zelda was allowed to explore the ways her knowledge, curiosity, kindness, and intelligence can help her kingdom. That was the nearly earliest things Zelda did. It was those traits, not any powers, that made everyone in the kingdom love her. Being herself and walking her own path. It was her love of recipes and ancient ruins and animals and hiking and painting and teaching that built her a home in Hateno and in post-calamity Hyrule. All the peoples of Hyrule see her as she is, no holy powers, and they use her title of 'Princess' as a sign of love and respect, not because of societal scaffolding of the monarchy. Link searches for Zelda because of who she is, because of the relationship they are shown to have through Zelda's diaries, and that's why Zelda's not found until she's in his arms with all her memories, because finding the source of the holy power to help him defeat the demon king isn't enough.
If the sacrifice to restore the master sword was enough, where the holy maiden archtype ends, the quest to find Zelda would end when Link saw the memory of her turning. If Link was a new hero, a blacksmith, a boy raised by forest spirits, it would be enough to honor Zelda's sacrifice by defeating the demon king. If a new hero had nothing but the memories and the dragon. But by looking at everything Zelda did during the time skip, by seeing mortal Zelda for who she is, by looking at the relationship between her and Link then it is in no way enough.
It's kind of funny that you limit Rauru's purpose to a father figure in Zelda's arc. Rauru does not sacrifice himself not so Zelda won't have to, Zelda sacrificing herself to contain him a la botw isn't even on the table.
Rauru's arc is one of humility. He welcomes Ganondorf and the Gerudo into his castle because he believes that it is better for him to be there so Rauru can keep an eye on him. Zelda warns him that Ganondorf is dangerous, but Rauru's arrogance lets him in. Why shouldn't Rauru be arrogant? He has secret stones, his people are worshipped as gods, he's built a kingdom, his wife controls time itself (though in a limited capacity compared to Zelda, who is also on his side). Like every other king of Hyrule before him, Rauru ignores Zelda's knowledge of the future and doesn't trust her word, being Zonai does not change this fault among the kings of Hyrule.
Rauru underestimates Ganondorf. We can fill in some of the blanks that Ganondorf was able to replicate Zelda because he had interacted with her, that he knew the layout of hyrule castle because he had been invited in. Both things that allowed him to kill Sonia. Even to the end, when Zelda tells Rauru of the future (you're going to die in this battle, it's how I got your secret stone, you seal him not defeat him). Rauru still has a shadow of that arrogance when he tells her not to worry, Zelda changed the past by coming back, we'll kill him for sure. We see Rauru accepting his fate to die being the lock on Ganondorf, accepting that Zelda was right, accepting that his role is not to be the one to avenge his wife, and he has to do that for HYRULE, even though he himself doesn't want to. A theme of self-sacrificial love. If you label Zelda's sacrifice in botw as the holy maiden archetype but don't label Rauru the same way, that's misogynistic btw.
Zelda's kindness and ability to bring people together, her mortal traits, are what keeps the sage's spirits tied to their secret stones until the time comes again for their successors to use them against the demon king. They swear themselves to help someone based on Zelda's faith in Link, because they trust her as the leader of the sages (a role that would more naturally fall to Mineru, but Zelda takes it instead because that is part of who she is as well.)
In botw, Zelda unlocked her powers because she had learned to love one person: Link. She locked herself with the Calamity so Link would have a chance to live again and come rescue her. Hyrule distinctly does not love Zelda in botw, her own court gossips about her failures and Zelda presumes that everyone hates for her failures just as much as she hates herself.
In totk, Zelda swallowed the stone because she had learned to love more than just Link. She had learned to love all of Hyrule, and she because she was once again taking up her mantle as Protector of Hyrule (not Link) and so would sacrifice herself for it, something she could only do because she had come to love it as she had and because Hyrule had loved her in return.
The take-away from Zelda's story is that with great power comes great responsibility. That in being a good leader means sacrificing for your people. (Can you imagine if politicians today had a fraction of this kind of self-sacrificial love?) That love comes when you are yourself and reach out to others. That there will be times when you are the only one capable of acting, and that action requires a leap of faith because you cannot achieve great things alone. All these themes are unique to totk and present in more stories than just Zelda's character arc, which is part of good writing. If you reduce her to a sacrificial maiden, that's your misogyny, not the writing.
Stories are often about giving up the things that you want so you can achieve the things that you need. And if you have a problem with a story presenting self-sacrificial love as a need that people must give up the things they want to achieve, that's a personal dislike, not a sign of bad writing.
Zelda has almost ALWAYS been connected to her role as a leader/protector that must give up her own wants for the greater good of her people, which might be where the sense of misogyny is actually coming from. That it is Link that gives the final sword stroke and Zelda that needs to be rescued, but the fact that the story of Zelda and Link overcoming evil is told over and over again doesn't mean its bad writing, the story telling basic blocks are the same to connect the games within the greater franchise. Self-sacrificial love is always a part of Zelda's theme because of her role as a leader, just like exploration and growing up are always a part of Link's themes as the player character of humble origins.
The Kingdom must fall to have a story about saving it. Zelda must demonstrate what a good leader is supposed to do when the kingdom falls. Link must leave home and find a way to conquer evil to have a story about saving it and because we all have to find a way to save our homes when something in life threatens it, and the solution to the problem is found outside and from the courage within yourself.
OoT gave up her identity, then gave up Link (the story acknowledges this when you need silent princesses to upgrade the sheik mask AHHHHH!). SS is literally based upon a goddess giving up godhood for the sake of preserving Hyrule against Demise. TP gave up her kingdom to the shadows of Twilight to preserve it, then gave up her body to help Midna. Tetra gave up the freedom of being a pirate to rebuild her kingdom. It's about what it means to be a good leader, what it means to love, and yeah, what it means to touch divinity. I find Zelda inspiring.
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A piece of lore in the aus is that celestial have difficulty recognizing the difference between a reincarnation and their original selvws/the self they knew and I really like that. I also like the idea that Wukong would be one of the few capable of recognizing that difference since he, technically, is neither a Celestial nor is he a true demon, being a stone monkey and all.
yup! Immortal species are pretty bad at understanding reincarnation in my au ideas.
Like they can *sense* the markings of a soul from when it was someone else, and it freaks them out. To them its like your buddy died, and then they show up a few years later with their look all messed up.
Its partly why the reincarnations of certain figures are punished for the actions of their previous lives. ie; Golden Cicada fell asleep in class once, and it cursed him to live out ten pious lives on earth where his incarnations were super holy-liscious to any demon that saw them. If Zhu Bajie honestly didn't remember being Marshal Tianpeng, he'd just be a very confused pig demon wondering why his breakups are so bad.
Wukong is so... odd to the Celestials partly because they can *sense* his soul belonged to someone before, but they aren't sure. The Dragon Kings seem to sus that Wukong has a connection to Wu the Great - who once used Ruyi Jingu Bang to measure the great flood waters - but they don't stew on it for long.
It may even be a trait special to Stone Monkeys. They live for so long that it's hard for them not to recognise changes in the soul. It's like a tree that has weathered many seasons and can tell the insects that crawl upon it are a new generation.
#lmk theories#lmk aus#lmk#lego monkie kid#the monkey king and the infant#the monkey king and the infant au#reincarnated!lbd au#jttw theories
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Far Roofs
Playtesters haven't really dug that deep into the first complete draft of Nobilis yet. It's ... a large book, and most of the newer stuff isn't actually needed in playtest games. So I've mostly been waiting there and letting the project sit a bit.
In the meantime, I've been laying out the Far Roofs, which has been basically done for a few years. Also holy heck is it cool.
I just kind of forgot about it because I got distracted by Nobilis and then neck issues meant Nobilis took an extra year it really shouldn't have needed to finish (plus a lot of time that it did need) and everything has been terrible but geez
It's a diced game with my standard 5d6 system and a river, an order-of-magnitude upgrade to the CMWGE/Glitch quest system (a bit too experimental and casual to flow forward into Nobilis, probably, but still), and I should be fitting the loose equivalent of 16 CMWGE Arcs/Glitch traits/Nobilis traits, a setting book, and a Glass-Maker's Dragon length campaign into a ~230 page book.
(It may be obvious that small books are not always my goal, or at least do not always win the scrimmage of goals, but it's my priority here. It bugged me that I could ultimately only give digital, ephemeral goods to the people who needed the hardship tier on the Glitch crowdfund.)
Oh! It also has talking rats. Lots of my games do these days tbh at least in the background somewhere but this one heavily features them. You do not play them (usually at least) but you do usually have one for each PC archetype you don't take.
(My last playtest had the grandmother rat Sascha De Rosa, the bard DIY “Dee” Smirnov, the warden Thalia Opera Minerva Alphabet Primorsky III, the reckless prinxe Utena Borgias, and a bunch of miscellaneous shieldbearer Kimuras as its mischief.)
Anyway more soon? I guess?
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The Salem Song
Salem: Oh, Zwei~! I heard there's a song about me, and I want to hear it!
Zwei: Are... Are you sure?
Salem: Zwei, put the song on!
Zwei: It's... It's not very nice.
Salem: Zwei, put it on!
Zwei: Alright. (Presses scroll)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Music plays to the musical tune of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch")
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You're a mean one, Ms. Salem~.
Salem: That's me~.
You're a fugly piece of shit~!
Salem: What?
You bring bendy straws to bathrooms 'cause you like the taste of piss, Ms. Saleeeeem~!
Salem: No. No, I- No, I don't.
I wouldn't suck your tits if they were dipped in honey and could cure cancer.
Salem: Monty Oum! Who wrote this?! Who wrote this song, Zwei?!
ALSO YOU HAVE NO TIIIIIITS~!
Salem: Zwei, stop the song.
Zwei: I can't.
Salem: What do you mean you can't?
Zwei: It's broken.
Salem: What's broken?!
Zwei: I dunno, it's jammed.
Salem: What do you- Fine! Can you at least turn it down?
Zwei: I can't. I... I'm a dog.
Salem: ZWEI!
You're a dipshit, Ms. Salem~.
Salem: (Sighs) Okay?
Even babies want you dead~!
Salem: ...Wow.
You've never bring home a man 'cause you're scared you'll wet the bed, Ms. Saleeeeeeem~!
Salem: I wish they weren't so good at rhyming.
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote:
BITCH!
Salem: I'm not.
DUMPSTER!
BITCH!
Salem: No, no, no, this is not how it goes! Like, I knew they changed it, but I thought it would be like a key change, or maybe a guitar solo! But this is... This is just degrading. This hurts.
Zwei: It's pretty detailed, yeah.
Salem: What happened to the Beowolf part? I actually liked that part! It was kinda funny!
Zwei: It was a Beringel.
Salem: No, it was a Beowolf!
Zwei: It was a Beringel.
Salem: Was it a Beringel?
Zwei: Yeah, "Two Left Foot Beringel".
Salem: Oh.
You're poor, Ms. Salem~!
Salem: Didn't leave a stone unturned.
You can't afford the bus~!
Salem: Lower middle class, maybe!
You're deathly allergic to treenuts, and your exact address is thus,
Ms. Saleeeeeeem~!
Salem: What? Nonono! I-!
1482 Black Dragon Island Blvd.
Salem: Holy shit...
Remnant, Nevada.
Salem: That's my address! Wh-What are you gonna do?!
I MAILED YOUR BITCH-ASS A BAG OF NUUUUUUUUTS~!
Salem: This is a song that kids sing? Every year, they sing this same song around the Non-Descript Winter Holiday decorations?
Zwei: Yeah
Salem: A song that says "bitch"?! It has said "bitch" three times!
Zwei: Yeah, that's... That's too much.
Salem: They know I saved humanity, right?! Like, at the end of the series, I saved them all! I'm a good guy now! I pay my taxes! I go to church! (Epic solo) Oh, there is a guitar solo. ...Okay, that actually is a really good solo.
Zwei: Yeah.
Salem: Just a shame about the rest of the song.
It's not just that you are inbred~!
Salem: I'm fucked.
Miss Salem~!
Salem: This feels bad...
You don't know how to read~!
Salem: This feels really bad...
I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW MUCH YOU LOVE TO SUCK DOWN PEE, MS. SALEEEM~!
Salem: ...
According to an anonymous poll, with a sample size of more than three thousand people of Remnant who are asked to rank you on a scale from one to a hundred...
Zwei: ...Ms. Salem?
Salem: (Gone from her seat)
...based on variant traits such as likeablility, general odor, and your physical attractiveness...
Salem: (Standing over a cliff, Music muffled)
...THE HIGHEST NUMBER WE GOT WAS THREEEEEE~!
Zwei: What's wrong, Ms. Salem?
Salem: ...You ever feel like no matter how hard you try, people will always see you as your past self. Just as this one thing. This one, unchangeable thing.
Zwei: ...Like a dog?
Salem: (Sighs) I guess no matter what I do, I'll always be this black, white, and red monster.
Zwei: You're red?
Salem: Yeah, I'm red.
Zwei: Oh. I always thought you were gray.
Salem: You didn't know I was red, too?
Zwei: No. Dog.
Salem: (Smiles) That's right.
Zwei: ...I love you, Ms. Salem.
Salem: (Pets Zwei) I love you, too, Zwei.
Zwei: Happy Non-Descript Winter Holiday.
Salem: Happy Non-Descript Winter Holiday.
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