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#{ stoic guardian; lance }
pinky-in-blankets · 2 months
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"Oh dear.. it's almost February and I still haven't the faintest idea of what to gift my little scaredy cat.."
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"It's rather irritating.. what do you even get a Popstar? She receives gifts from her subjects all the time.. So something usual is out of the question. None of my subordinates have any decent gift ideas for a Conjunx Endura, so I'm placed in an annoyingly compromising position."
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"Ha! That sounds more like a You problem. I know exactly what I'm gonna end up doing for Cottontail. She'll never see it coming~☆"
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"Really..? Because I just overheard you speaking with The Maren about how you have no clue what to do for such a 'Mushy Holiday'. Or was that just my imagination..?"
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"Might wanna take abreak from stewing in darkness. All that negativity must've gotten to your brain, big guy. You're totally crazy if you think i had no idea what im doing."
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"Funny, Because is that not exactly what you said to me five minutes ago?"
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" Shut It Reala-"
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eggofritts · 1 year
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The Vanguard
The first of three D2 acrylic charm designs! I will be making these semi-transparent 2.5 inch charms and limited stock since I’m not sure if there’s anyone else interested in these as well.
My current impressions of the three below! (Spoiler: I like all of them.)
When I first played, I did not care for Zavala or Ikora. They both seemed like fairly boring and serious people who gave me objective instructions. I was not even aware of Cayde’s existence since I first started playing Sept 2022. 200 hrs and much offline lore reading later, I still haven’t read everything regarding these three but I am so much more invested in them now.
When I went back to play Season of the Haunted, I got to learn so much more about Zavala. That felt like my first real impression and crack into who Zavala really was beyond the stoic facade. Lance Reddick delivered such an emotional performance!! I really do need to get to his lore books with Safi and every other lore pertaining to him. I especially love that his faith in the Traveller has waned so much, but he is still holding on for the people he actually knows and cares about. I personally did not connect with “protect the traveller at all costs” as a motive. So, I enjoyed seeing a much more relatable, down to earth, and selfish conclusion to Zavala’s true motivations to keep marching on.
I was a bit more interested in Ikora because I like Mara Junot’s performance for Evelynn in LOL and she was the first person I interacted with when I came into the WQ campaign. I didn’t get truly invested in her until I read the Witch Queen Collector’s Edition lore though (which was last night lol). I was a fan of Seth Dickinson’s books already so seeing his writing again is always welcome. Truly the lore did NOT disappoint. Her manic doubts, conversation with Chalco, banter with Zavala, ruminating about Eris, Mara, and Savathun, and the general themes behind lies, truths, and secrets. She was so vulnerable and introspective! I love that!!! When she explained why she always ask the guardian to meditate, I was very pleasantly surprised that there was an actual personal reason as to why she did that. Every time I mediate for new aspects now, I think about how she wants us to reflect on our past actions. After reading that, it made me feel more proud of choosing warlock as my first and main class even though I initially chose it on a whim and for gameplay reasons.
Of the three, I still know Cayde-6 the least. Since he’s dead and I haven’t actually interacted with him in-game (very sad about Forsaken being in the vault), I haven’t felt particularly motivated to get to know him for who he is. I like the snippets I get about his meaningful interpersonal relationships with the others so I’m sure I’ll like him. Plus, Nathan Fillion and the writing team do a fantastic job of making him charismatic and infectiously cheerful. The first time I heard his voice in old strikes, I was a little confused as to who this guy was but I also definitely had a smile on my face. He really does stand out from Zavala and Ikora in his own way.
I cannot wait to learn more about them all! If only I wasn’t so busy with everything else sigh
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miss-1ng · 3 years
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Dimiclaude kiss prompt no. 55?
this turned out... longer than i intended lmao
also hope you're okay with a soulmate au, because this is the only idea i had for this lol! thanks for requesting <3 <3
(also a warning for spoilers about claude's backstory and maybe dimitri's a little bit but otherwise i'm pretty sure everything is spoiler-free!!)
--
His name is Khalid, is what Dimitri’s mind - wide awake from the searing sting of finally gaining his soulmark - says, barely a whisper while when Ingrid got hers, she screamed with joy the moment she found out her soulmate was Glenn.
That was a year ago, on the fourth of the Guardian Moon, precisely the day of her birth, which was celebrated with her family and friends.
It’s legend that you become of age to receive a soulmark from the day you turn twelve to the day you turn sixteen. Sylvain, two years older, had, unsurprisingly received his two years prior to Ingrid and Felix who both received theirs when they officially became of age.
Dimitri however, while not exactly a rare case, though not a complete normality, had received his a year later than which his childhood friends did, at age 13.
Her mark glistens a glittering gold on the inside of her left wrist, corresponding with Glenn’s which is on the inside of his right one. Dimitri remembers her gushing how when the first time they held hands, their marks shone when they touched.
He also remembers Felix gagging and glaring at the two lovebirds for the rest of the day, completely enraptured with one another and nothing else.
As of that day, their betrothal was made official, now that Ingrid had her mark to confirm the one Glenn owned.
That was a while back now, and today, an exact year later, is Dimitri’s birthday. The mark on his arm stings, but as his eyes really take in the word in beautiful script on his wrist, he begins to ignore the pain.
Exactly three hours later, he’s at the Felix and Glenn’s home, sitting outside on the grass with the two of them, having recently abandoned the wooden training swords. Glenn is a full four years older than all of them, except Sylvain, who is only two years older. Yet despite his age Glenn still treats them the same.
When Dimitri finally shows the two his soulmark after lots of nagging, he notices the way Felix bites his lip and averts his gaze.
But before he can question it, Felix teases “You’re going to have a boyfriend!” before bursting out into laughter.
Dimitri hadn’t even thought of that, fully focused on the fact that he has a soulmark and not on the fact that his soulmate has the name of a boy.
He… isn’t too sure what to feel about that.
“And you are too,” Glenn calls in a sing-song voice to his younger brother, only to get fiercely elbowed in the stomach. A scowl has found its way onto the bright-eyed boy’s face.
Dimitri doesn’t say a word. Felix has been oddly secretive about his soulmark ever since he got it a month after Ingrid’s, while she had been flouncing it around whenever she got the chance and wasn’t with Glenn. Though at the same time, even at thirteen, Felix has been secretive, spending more time by himself than with the group unless he was absolutely forced too.
“Shut up!” he snaps, folding his arms and pouting. “I hate you.”
“So kind, Fe,” Glenn teases with a grin, ruffling his younger brother’s hair.
Silently Dimitri wonders what it would be like if he was in Glenn’s shoes, and he had a little brother of his own.
The silence Dimitri’s indulged in gets broken with a familiar call, and Dimitri turns to see Sylvain, even taller than the last time he saw his friend, standing alongside Ingrid who immediately rushes to greet Dimitri with a hug before running over to Glenn.
“Happy birthday, Dimitri!” Sylvain hollers the second he closes the door, separating the kids from the adults indoors. He joins the group. “How does it feel to no longer be the only soulmate-less one?” He adds a wink as if the very phrase itself wasn’t terrible enough.
A collective group of groans reverberate around the circle they’ve formed.
“You’re an idiot,” Felix grumbles to the older teen, averting all eye contact and instead vouching for a heated glare at the grass. Oh, if looks could kill.
“Aww, I love you too, Fe,” Sylvain teases, still grinning merrily as if he nothing is wrong with the world.
Felix’s face flushes. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Ingrid laughs. “I can say it too, if you’d like.” She clears her throat, as if beginning some long and important speech. “Aww, I love you too, Felix.”
“Now that’s left is Dimitri,” Glenn notes, looking at him.
The younger Fraldarius looks just about ready to bolt as Dimitri says “Aww, I love you too, Felix.”
Instead, he just mutters “It’s your birthday so I’ll take it. Just this once though.”
Sylvain leans close to Dimitri and whispers in a not-so-quiet voice “A little birdy told me you received your soulmark!” Bold black cursive writing stares up at him with non-existent eyes and he feels his heart start to thud.
Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.
He doesn’t reply, instead peeling his sleeve a little higher above and shows Ingrid and Sylvain his soulmark.
The taller of the two squints at it, as if it’s hard to see. Ingrid’s reaction is more surprised, by the way her eyes widen, and her jaw goes a little slack. She fixes it when she sees his eyes on her with a small smile. “That’s great, Dimitri! It’s so pretty,” she gushes in a very un-Ingrid manner, but the twinkle in her eyes is all the same. “I wonder when you’ll meet your soulmate…”
“Khalid’s not a Fódlan name,” Sylvain offhandedly comments. Dimitri frowns at him, and he hastily continues. “I mean it’s not a Fódlan name I’ve heard. Who knows? You could get some hottie from Duscur or Brigid.”
“Of course, someone from Duscur or Brigid would come all the way over for our Prince,” Glenn drily says, pecking Ingrid on the cheek at her wide-eyed smile. “We’re not getting rid of him that easily.”
--
His soulmark was something Dimitri was very focused on for a while.
Then Duscur happened and everything seemed to fall apart.
His family, his friends… everything changed. The mark on Ingrid’s wrist faded to a black splotch, and the golden writing had completely disappeared.
Felix had shut himself off completely, not leaving his room unless he was training and not talking to anyone unless he was yelling at them.
Sylvain… seemed more closed off – more subdued. Dimitri saw him less and less as the months ebbed on.
And Dimitri… Dimitri couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus, couldn’t even think. His dreams being haunted by the dead, his father begging for revenge, Glenn hissing in his ear, taunting him, his mother, crying at his feet.
“You should’ve saved us,” they hiss. “Kill them for us. Kill them all!”
It’s not the first time he wakes to a cold sweat, a scream hanging on the edge of his lips.
He’s sent to live, along with the Duscur boy he met, Dedue, at Rodrigue’s place, and there Dimitri finds it frequent where he gets the full brunt of Felix’s verbal abuse. He wants to talk back, to say it wasn’t his fault, but he can’t find the words, can’t even find the motivation to speak. Instead, he just nods, silent, and Dedue finds him, concern lingering in his gaze.
It’s like that for a while.
Then the rebellion happens, and Felix seems to hate him even more.
--
It’s almost a relief when he arrives to the Officers Academy.
There he meets Edelgard von Hresvelg (or reunites, perhaps, if his hunch is in fact correct), heir to the Empire, and Claude von Riegan, heir to House Riegan.
Claude is… well… Claude is a lot of things.
In their audience with Rhea, he is stiff and stoic-faced, though the second they’re released from the chamber, he introduces himself properly to Dimitri. “So, you’re the prince,” he says with a wink. “Nice to meet you.”
“It is good to meet you too,” says Dimitri in return, dipping his head. He offers a small smile.
It’s not the only time they talk. As the year ebbs on, Dimitri gets to know Claude, should it be through sparring together, or even tea times Claude has insisted on. Claude is… well, first of all he’s nice and he’s kind, and he’s also very funny. He seems to bring a smile to Dimitri’s face whenever he’s around, and not only that but he’s…
…he’s beautiful.
Maybe it’s his smile, Dimitri supposes, his genuine one, or maybe those piercing green eyes. He’s also been good looking.
Sometimes when they train, Dimitri catches himself staring, and Claude’s caught him too, offering a wink and a teasing comment without any heat.
Not only that but Dimitri’s heart flutters whenever he’s around Claude, and he has to remind himself constantly that this isn’t okay because Claude is not his soulmate. The mark on his wrist proves just that much.
“You’re staring, your Highness.”
Dimitri flinches, almost forgetting that Sylvain is opposite him, lazily twirling his lance. He smirks at his childhood friend. “Got your eyes on someone?”
It would be great if he was immune to Sylvain’s teasing, but he is only human, and heat rises to his cheeks. “No!” His voice sounds a few pitches higher than it usually is. He clears his throat, averting his gaze from Claude who turns away from Hilda who he’s sparring with (how he got her to do so remains a mystery to the school) to offer a questioning brow. “I mean, uh, no. Of course not.”
“Sure, sure.”
Sylvain doesn’t sound at all convinced. He leans closer, whispering in Dimitri’s ear, “I mean Riegan is pretty hot. I don’t think even your soulmate would blame you for checking him out.”
Dimitri splutters, “W-what?”
“I have to go,” Sylvain says. “Pick up some of the ladies- oh, hey, Fe!” He runs off towards the direction of Felix who enters the training ground, and Dimitri doesn’t stop him, staring into the distance as his cheeks turn redder and redder as the seconds pass.
--
Nevertheless, Dimitri still goes out of his way to spend his time with Claude, pointedly ignoring his soulmark whenever he does.
“Your princliness!” Claude calls, waving in greeting as he runs over to him. Dimitri tries not to blush when he yet again winks.
“Claude!” He tries his hardest not to sound too surprised. “What-what are you doing here?”
He looks amazing. Dressed in a sharp suit he’s seen many of the other students wearing, his hair tousled and falling in front of his eyes. “I think the proper question is what are you doing here? Dedue’s worried about you. Says you haven’t even showed up to the ball and-”
Dimitri’s brain seems to shut off, his mind not listening as he surges forwards, closing the distance between them with a kiss.
It lasts two seconds. Maybe three.
Because immediately after their lips touch Dimitri lets go, eyes wide. “I- that was out of line,” he rushes. “I’m sorry, Claude, I shouldn’t have done that-”
But Claude pulls him back in, and Dimitri feels the mark on his wrist burn and-
He stares down at it, watching the white handwriting shimmer to gold. “What…?”
“I have been waiting so long to do that,” Claude breathes, oblivious to Dimitri’s confusion. He raises an eyebrow, clutching his hands. “Hey, what’s wrong…?”
“Khalid,” Dimitri breathes. Claude’s eyes widen. “That’s your name?”
“I-” Claude pauses, before nodding. “Yes. It is.”
Dimitri pulls him close, arms wrapping around him. He kisses Claude – or is it Khalid? – again, and again, and again. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“Mmhm.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Their night ends not in the ballroom, but outside under the moonlight, the memory of soft kisses and warm embraces never to leave Dimitri’s mind.
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drachenblood · 2 years
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@maicstas​: The  large  dog  barks  excitedly,  rushing  towards  the  elezen  and  doing  a  quick  circle  around  him.  He  is  much  skinnier  than  the  first  time  they  saw  one  another  and  his  fur  is  dirty,  his  collar  tearing  in  places,  but  he  is  unable  to  contain  his  excitement  nonetheless,  bumping  his  nose  against  the  man’s  hand  in  a  polite  yet  firm  request  of  affection.
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        ‘𝐓𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬.  From  the  very  first  had  he  eschewed  such  attempts  at  remembrance  in  favor  of  aught  of  further  import.  What  was  a  name  to  him  when  such  time  could  be  devoted  to  the  way  one  is  meant  to  hold  a  lance  or  to  map  the  weaknesses  of  a  dragon’s  form?  What  were  these  transitory  beings  who  were  no  more  than  shadows  to  darken  his  path,  coming  and  going  and  like  to  disappear  for  good  whether  it  be  by  fate  or  elsewise?  He  has  known  too  many  to  bother  and  been  content  enough  not  to  change.  
                    Though  he  has  changed.  Changed  too  much,  as  he’s  come  to  realize  with  not  a  trace  of  bitterness  to  such  revelations.  Changed  enough  that  names  have  come  to  matter.  Even  for  those  he’s  met  but  once.  And  such  that  he  had  no  trouble  recalling  the  beast’s  name  as  it  tears  through  the  camp.   ❝ Victor! ❞  ‘Twas  what  Gaius  had  once  called  it  upon  encountering  the  creature  within  the  palace  and  nigh  on  befuddled  his  senses  to  see  a  man  so  commonly  stoic  soften  at  the  sight  of  the  creature.  Such  a  wretched  and  ugly  thing  and  yet  to  behold  it  now  does  naught  but  fill  his  heart  with  joy  he’s  not  allowed  for  others.  
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      Immediately  is  he  on  his  knees,  hands  working  through  the  beast’s  fur,  scratching  this  and  that  and  laughing  as  though  a  boy  once  more  when  slobbery  jaws  begin  to  gnaw  on  his  sleeve.   ❝ You  mangy  beast. ❞  He  marks  with  some  disquiet  at  the  ribs  he  feel  beneath  his  palms,  how  the  fur  he’d  once  brushed  through  within  the  palace  seem  more  coarse  than  he  remembers.  Bereft  of  home  and  guardian  both,  yet  does  this  ill-bred  pup  still  delights  in  life.   ❝ For  a  certainty,  you’ve  more  manners  than  I,  come  on  then.  Let’s  fill  your  belly  and  brush  out  your  fur. ❞
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wedded souls.
A/N: I keep watching the Great Gatsby and I had a brain worm because the soundtrack is fire. 
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Inspired by Hotel Sayre instrumental.
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The pearls were a heavy collar around the slender column of her neck when they should be a treasured gift.
Yet the weight of them felt more like a curse.
The Xaela considered this, sitting in front of the ornate vanity mirror in the shared bedchamber of herself and her intended. The man who “swept her away” in Ishgard, the Lord Commander himself. 
Aymeric was a gentle man and anyone would be blessed to be his wife. Shuri should be happy, should be in love with such a devoted, soft-hearted man who took the mantle of Lord Commander to defend Ishgard and her people to his core.
And yet the Xaela couldn’t find herself to love him, despite his dedication to her, with how he courted her, lavished her with luxuries she could only ever dream of. Yet Shuri found no joy with the Borel manor, with its lavish decor and the retainers willing to wait on her when Aymeric had to leave her to attend to his duties. He always seemed so reluctant to leave her, sapphire blue irises shimmering apologetically at the very idea to leave her alone. 
Why couldn’t she muster the same feelings for a man so willing to be dedicated to her?
The answer came on the heels of that question. It came accompanied with the sensations of the rough fingers that traced her every curve; the lips that devoured hers belonging to a man starved; at how their bodies melded together until she didn’t know where they began and ended. 
The dragoon that Aymeric knew well, a man she met long before Aymeric whisked her away. 
Estinien Wyrmblood.  
Shuri remembered when they first met. It was within her first year of being Ishgard. Estinien was just returning from his mission, entering within the city walls and removing his helm. Quicksilver locks spilled from within the helm to reveal a sculpted face, worn from time and scars that lay within his soul. His demeanor was stoic, and yet something drew them inexplicably together.
At first, they merely circled one another, seeing without getting too close. Without touching. 
It wasn’t until they collided together, immeasurable infernos, with the dragoon’s arms around her and she was able to look up at him, hidden away in a study wthin her own ornate home. Estinien caressed a hand to her cheek with a gentleness one may have never seen him display, sharp, ice-blue eyes gazing into her own mismatched irises. 
“Such odd eyes you have. Like the very winter itself. How did you come by them?” he asked her all those seasons ago. 
“The Goddess gave them to me,” she answered him, leaning into his touch. There was a heartbeat of silence between them...
...before their lips met in a furious passion, Estinien gently easing her against one of the overstuffed chairs, his fingers loosening her gown for Shuri to blossom for him as though she were the rarest of winter roses. They indulged in their passions in the way lovers do, bare and honest to only one another, their souls wedded through such intimate acts that would be unbecoming for even the most hardened of Ishgardian maidens and knights. Yet they could think of nothing and no one but each other, their truths sealed between them with such acts. 
And yet when Estinien had to go away again, to fight the Dravanian horde, Shuri waited day after day, week after week, season after season for him. 
And it wasn’t too long after that her guardians had her swept away by Aymeric de Borel. The Lord Commander who rose above the ranks, despite the rumors of his lineage, who earnestly sought her hand. 
Shuri wondered if she loved Aymeric during his courtship of her. Of whether she felt something genuine for him. She must have, to be so pliant to accept his proposal, to let him kiss her, make love to her.
Yet the kisses were hollow. When they made love, it was hollow. 
The pearls that adorned Shuri’s neck became more of a noose every day, with no intention of Aymeric’s. Nay, it was a shackle of circumstances. Even Aymeric must have noticed, he was ever so attentive. He must have known Shuri’s heart was not his to claim, for he barely touched her after the first time they made love. 
Because every time they did, she thought of another. 
So lost in her musings, that Shuri barely registered that a maid was calling out to her. “M’lady, a visitor for you.”
“A visitor?” At this hour? Shuri stood up, the pearls against her chest; the skirt of her nightgown billowed about her legs as she was led to the main foyer, bare feet barely making a sound against the marble floors. When the maid stepped aside...
A gasp left Shuri’s lips at the presence before her. The familiar form of Estinien Wyrmblood stood before her, without his armor and lance. He donned attire one may find on falconer’s. There was no need to pretend, not with them.  Shuri lifted a hand in a sign to dismiss the maid, waiting until she could no longer hear the clack of low-heels against the floor before she took one, shaking step toward Estinien, watching his movements. When the Elezen opened his arms just slightly, the Xaela dashed to him, throwing herself into his embrace. Her arms banded around him, keeping herself close and feeling his arms around her in turn, gripping her as if she were his only lifeline.
“Where have you been?” Shuri whispered, her voice trembling, teetering dangerously into a sob as tears began to prick at her eyes. She could feel Estinien’s fingers threading through her hair, could feel him burying into the locks to inhale her scent. He did that before, when they were ever so intimate.
Estinien was the portrait of coolness, his composure never cracking, even when his actions conveyed the desperation of holding her in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against her horn. “I should have returned to you sooner.”
Fingers tangling further into her snow-silver hair, Shuri could feel Estinien exhale a breath. “In my absence, your guardians offered you to Aymeric, I see. He’s treated you well; I know he has.”
“He’s not you.” The truth left Shuri instantly, confidently, that Estinien pulled back just enough to take in her features, gazing into her eyes. “He does treat me well. He is devoted, though not to one who can return his affections. He is not you.” 
It was as though the tether of control Estinien had over his emotions had snapped. It mattered not that this was the home of his longtime friend, that the woman he so loved was soon to be wedded to him. He crushed his lips against Shuri’s with ruthless passion, devouring her mouth hungrily, the fingers of his free hand finding the string of pearls that shackled her neck and pulled the string taut until it snapped. 
Millions of little pearls fell from the broken string and onto the floor, the collision ringing so hollow in the wake of the passion of lovers long reunited. Two wedded in their souls even in the wake of the circumstances that currently availed them, that threatened to split them raw from where they were forever joined.
The rest of those pearls fell around their feet when the kiss was broken and Estinien swept Shuri into his arms, carrying her as though a bride. There was no need to tact, no need for perception. If they were to take any instance to run away together, this was it.
And so they left. 
When Aymeric returned to see the remains of the pearls that once adorned Shuri’s neck, seeing his frantic maids trying to sweep them up, speaking so hurriedly of how the lady of the manor just left with the Azure Dragoon. It was though they expected him to be angry, to curse her in Halone’s name. 
Instead, they found their lord smiling in soft affection, his eyes reflecting just as much in the same light the pearls shimmered. “You’d never find two souls more entwined, more in love, than theirs,” he murmured. “Her heart was never mine to claim.”
He knew this. He knew his betrothed’s eyes were seeking someone else on the horizon, knew that her heart would never be free to claim when it was so tethered to another’s. The Lord Commander would never forgive himself for keeping the Xaela from the one she loved so desperately, the one she yearned even when gazing into his eyes.  
It was fitting to see the pearls scattered about. 
It meant that he made the right choice in telling Estinien to steal Shuri away, to free her from the circumstances she never truly wanted.      
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nitewrighter · 2 years
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fe3h au for the fankids? Where do you think they would be in it?
Golden Deer House
Jaime: The ward of an estranged son of House Shimada and his lover who clawed his way up through Leicester's black market. Wily and cunning, but good-hearted. Pretty well-rounded between brawl, axe, and archery, but with a surprisingly high evasion/dexterity stat. Shares a paralogue battle with Rei that makes him super-easy to recruit to the Blue Lion house.
Faustine: The daughter of a prestigious line of nobles who, following a tragedy, has come under the care of an esteemed merchant--who certainly didn't adopt her so he could use her crest to raise his own status, perish the thought! A little stuck-up and fussy, but very hard-working and loyal. High stats in reason and authority.
Rajeev: A crest-bearing himbo with a heart of gold. Always eager to cheer on his teammates, but bears a quiet guilt that he was born with a crest while his cleverer and more hard-working brother was born without one. High stats in Heavy Armor and axes, but can be an excellent Wyvern knight.
Blue Lion House
Rei: The product of a marriage of a crest-bearing noble house with a bloody history (Shimada) and an upstart family of merchants that have been elevated to surprisingly high status by the Church of Seiros (Ziegler). Spirited and loyal. Skilled in sword and faith, training to be a pegasus knight. Shares a paralogue battle with Jaime that makes her super-easy to recruit to Golden Deer house.
Samir: Rajeev's twin brother, but born without a crest. While their parents showered both with love, Samir has strived to prove himself as a capable strategist and warrior. His hard work has made him a remarkably flexible unit able to quickly develop high skills in lance, authority, archery, and faith.
Andrea: The daughter of a distinguished knight with an intense and inexplicable grudge against the Knight Morrison who serves at Garreg Mach. Stoic, brusque, and mysterious, Andrea has a high skill in lance and dark magic, and can make a pretty brutal dark knight.
Black Eagle House
Seye: A crest-bearing noble from a house as famed for its chivalry as its ruthless ambition. Charming and gallant on the surface, but with a smoldering intensity and vulnerability beneath. One of those guys whose B-and-up supports makes the fandom ride-or-die for him. High stats in brawl and authority.
Marti: A calculating commoner who, for all intents and purposes, is more capable of passing herself off as noble than 75% of the nobility. Marti was an orphan taken in by a a colorful group of traveling performers, whose beauty, grace, and cleverness (as well as the charms of her guardian) soon landed her and her guardian a place in the house of a lonely noble widow. Despite all her shrewdness, Marti has a gentle heart and can bring out the best in any team she's on. High dexterity and authority starts. Excels in the assassin class.
Aedan: A crest-bearing heir to house O'Deorain whose paternity remains a mystery. Sensitive and a little gawky, but also if you fuck up his approval/character arc enough you can turn him into a total nightmare. High faith and reason stats. Excels in warlock, bishop, and dancer classes. His approval shoots through the roof if you give him flowers, and he's almost embarrassingly easy to recruit if you already have Rei on your team.
DLC and Other Recruitable Units:
Akasha: A mysterious and haunted girl of apparent Brigidean ancestry who can be rescued from a dungeon of Those Who Slither in the Dark. Seems to have some kind of corrupted crest and adds +2 Divine Pulse to the team when recruited. Surprisingly favors cute girly gifts to raise approval. high skills in sword and faith with a scary high dexterity stat.
Phospho: A recruitable bandit with a terrifying proclivity for fire magic. High skills in axe and reason.
Guillaume: A self-proclaimed noble who insists he's a relative of Rei even though Rei swears she's never met him in her life, but there's no denying he bears an uncanny resemblance to the Shimada line. High skills in archery, reason, and riding.
Annie: A charming noble who seems just as mixed up about who and where she is as Guillaume, but seems considerably more flexible about it. High skills in brawl, lance, and reason.
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featherwriter · 3 years
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CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains depictions of extended torture and medical experimentation, as well as an implied, non-permanent suicide of a Guardian. If the rest of the fic has not prepared you for the kind of dark content in this story, this chapter is probably the heaviest point.
<< Read from the beginning! >>
The torture began in earnest the next day. Sylvanni had initially believed the extent of her 'service' to House Kings would be gladiatorial entertainment in their arena and the harvesting of her Light, but Erxaris, it seemed, had crueler plans for her. The Fallen were so terribly curious about her kind and now they finally had a Guardian on hand to satiate that curiosity.
The room they took her to was simple, with walls of smooth concrete and a long since shattered window which had been replaced by an energy barrier. The only real feature was a simple iron ring in the floor to chain her down. There was no slack in her restraints, forcing her to hold an awkward kneeling position with her arms behind her. Then it began.
The objective was simple; they wanted to know what it took to kill her.
They started with their own weapons first. Shock daggers, then lances, then swords. She was cut, stabbed, and sliced in all variety of ways, until they found something lethal. Sometimes it was blessedly quick, such as the time a lance found her heart on the first thrust. Others were agonizingly slow, as her healing factor—weak though it was—continued to try to mend her, keeping her clinging to life through wounds which would kill a non-Guardian. 
Her main tormentor was a burly Captain, but Erxaris watched over everything, with the canister trapping Sylvanni's Ghost in stasis clutched in her lower arms. Whenever Sylvanni died, her Ghost would be released to resurrect her, and then Sylvanni would give him up again. At first, they'd tried to communicate in those brief moments before she had to turn him over, but every time they did, it got a little harder to let go.
Eventually Sylvanni had to turn that side of herself off. She couldn't bear to acknowledge him at all, couldn't think of him as hers. The motions of letting Erxaris trap him once more became rote, empty, meaningless. At least, she told herself, he couldn't see or feel anything in the stasis. He didn't have to watch what they did to her, just fix her in the aftermath. 
Erxaris and the Captain tried every method of wounding her with their Fallen melee weapons, even 'docking' her arms a few times, a punishment Sylvanni assumed was meant to be humiliating. After one such time, Erxaris held up a hand, curiously watching as Sylvanni's meager healing tried to seal over the amputation. 
When the wounds healed new skin over a stump, the Judgment Vandal frowned. "Doesn't grow back? Such… pitiful things, your kind. Without Machine, is nothing."
They moved on to firearms: shock rifles with their lazily homing bolts, wire rifles with quick precision, a Captain’s shrapnel launcher. They even brought in that accursed Servitor in and watched it blast her from close range. She was shot in the limbs, in the chest, in the head, from the front, back, and sides. Every way they could think of to destroy her, they did.
Then they tried more. They sealed the room and watched from the other side of their barrier as they pulled the air from the room and watched her try to suffocate. That one—agonizingly—didn’t even work, her scraps of Light managing to keep her clinging to life even as her lungs burned for oxygen, but Erxaris and her hateful assistant watched Sylvanni gasp and writhe in the airless chamber for the better part of an hour before giving up on that one. At full Light strength, she’d routinely run missions in the vacuum of space with only mild discomfort, but down here with so little, it was cripplingly tortuous. 
The Fallen picked up what alien technology they had on hand to try as well. They flushed  the room with Hive Witch’s poison, though how they’d managed to distill that, she couldn’t fathom. They had a few Vex weapons on hand, a few severed Goblin and Hobgoblin arms grafted to external power sources to make them fire. Cabal slug rifles, no doubt scavenged from a firebase somewhere. The Fallen were nothing if not thieves and scavengers at heart. 
The torments were endless but Sylvanni said very little through it all. At the start, it was pure determination which held her tongue. She was a Guardian with centuries of battle to her name; she was no stranger to pain and death. She could muster the will to force her way through this without giving her captors the satisfaction of seeing her break. Or so she had believed.
The relentlessness of the torture was something far beyond the violence of battle, however. When connected to her Ghost, her deaths were always quick, sparing her painful ends more often than not. The deaths she received at Erxaris’ command were anything but. The agonies were ever-changing and endless, broken only by the dark, blank stretches of disconnected death. There was nothing she could do, there was no end in sight, no escape from the hell. Dying was only a temporary reprieve, for they always brought her back to suffer again.
Her stoic resolve could only endure so long, but rather than breaking down, begging for mercy, crying, pleading, Sylvanni found her mind drifting instead. It started with that mental break of her Ghost. She couldn’t think of him as himself, couldn’t acknowledge what he really was to her. What she handed back after each rez was only an object, a thing, meaningless to her. It had to be, because if it wasn’t, she’d never be able to give him back, and then they both would die. 
Then she began to disconnect from herself. Each time she resurrected, she felt a little further, her mind gently drifting further and further from the reality of her situation. It was reminiscent of being tethered during a spacewalk, drifting in the abyss of space, floating further and further from her anchor. What would happen if that tether was severed, when the tether was herself?
After all, could pain truly be considered pain when it was simply a constant state of being? There was no end to it, it was just the way things were now. Her nerves kept firing those signals, kept screaming at her to do something to stop this, but there was nothing to be done, and so her mind stopped listening. These things could happen to her body, but she consciously observed herself as though on the other side of thick glass, until it was almost as though she felt nothing at all. 
Just as her Ghost was only a thing, an object, so too was she a thing herself.
Time was meaningless: there was no way to tell how long between her deaths and resurrections anyway and the monotony of pains simply blurred together. It wasn’t as though there was anything which required her attention. They weren’t torturing her for information, making demands, or asking questions of her. They didn’t care about making her talk. They just wanted to see how she might be killed and enjoy the satisfaction of tearing her apart again and again.
At some point, Erxaris’ torture assistant was replaced by a team of King Splicers. These, unlike those of the House of Devils, hadn’t endowed themselves with SIVA augmentations, but they were interested in biological information. Her anatomy, alien to them, was a secret they wished to unravel, and they opened her up, a live dissection. They poked and prodded and rummaged about her body until they’d cut or stabbed something they shouldn’t have, collapsed a lung or compromised an organ, and then they wrote that down and started again.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Sylvanni just drifted through it all, mind so very distant from the endless horror, barely making a sound. She was increasingly certain nothing would ever matter again. Time was meaningless, not even the barest circadian hint in this bleak, crumbling ruin, and she had no way to tell how long they left her dead each time before bringing her back. It might have been days; it might have been months. They never offered her food or water anymore, as they’d realized they didn’t need to. Just pain, in endless, infinite, multitudinous, myriad forms. 
If there was one relief, it was that the Servitor didn’t come to drain her again. The constant wounds were such a drain on what meager Light she could get, there were no reserves for the Kings to siphon off. 
After one resurrection, back in the smooth stone room, she was left alone, still chained to the floor. They brought her back from death, took her Ghost away, and simply abandoned her. As time passed, heartbeat after heartbeat, that drifty, floaty little piece of her at the edge of her distant mind could have laughed. Were they hoping to study the effects of isolation, glean some psychological insight? She simply sat, staring at nothing, absently noting as her body slipped physically closer to dehydration, until she was lying down, back to fluttering on the edge of life, burning through those sad little wisps of Light within her to stave off death. This one, she decided emotionlessly, was at least not as bad as the endless suffocation had been.
In that fragile limbo, she found herself thinking of Osiris of all people. It had been centuries now, she realized, since the last time she’d seen him, but she’d once been new to immortality, foolishly enamored with her Vanguard Commander and the dangerous ideas that would lead to his eventual exile. 
Dangerous ideas that were… not entirely unlike this. He’d encouraged thanatonauts, who thought they could glean secret wisdom or insight from death. Warlocks who intentionally lingered on the edges of death, or flung themselves into its depths repeatedly. Perhaps one of them could have found this torture useful. After all, it was practically what those kinds did to themselves anyway. 
She drifted in the haze of memories, of imaginings, of dreams and nonsense. Maybe visions like these were what thanatonauts sought, or maybe it was all just the hallucinations of a mind and body pushed far beyond their breaking points. If there was thanatonautic wisdom among it all, she couldn’t summon the mental effort to try to remember any of it. She couldn’t really believe any of it mattered.
Somewhere in that fugue state, something must have killed her again, because at some point, she was brought back to life yet again, no longer alone. Erxaris stood in the chamber, lower arms crossed over her Judgement-green tabard, upper arms holding the stasis capsule. Her only weapon was a shock dagger at her waist, but the power Erxaris held within House Kings wasn’t truly martial anyway. 
By rote, Sylvanni held out her Ghost, offering him back once again. Had Sylvanni been herself, she might have noticed how he still turned to look back at her, every time he was taken, she might have recognized the mix of pity and fear in the tilt of his corners before the capsule froze him again. 
But she didn’t register any of that. She couldn’t. She was adrift, and the Ghost was just a shape, just a thing to hand back as part of the routine.
Erxaris clicked the container shut with a small click, then handed it back to someone waiting outside the chamber for safekeeping. When she turned back, she tipped her head as she regarded the blank-faced Warlock standing before her. “Wish tests to stop?”
Sylvanni didn’t answer. A part of her couldn’t really believe that there would be an end to the pain they put her through. She just stared straight forward, unmoving, waiting until the suffering started again.
Erxaris chittered a laugh. “Stoic, it becomes. Answer, Machine thief. Opportunity not to be offered twice.”
“What.” Sylvanni forced the word out, her own voice a foreign rasp to her ears. “Do you. Want.”
“Fealty.”
The word was so surprising, so out of place, it shocked some part of her back to enough awareness to look up, meeting the Vandal’s four eyes with her two. 
“Renounce Machine-right. Your Tra-vel-er.” The drawn-out emphasis of each syllable couldn’t be anything other than mocking. “Swear to House Kings. Loyal donor of ether.”
In the distant drifting, a piece of Sylvanni could hardly see the point in answering, couldn’t muster the will to care about what happened to her. A smaller, desperate, animal part of her, the shreds of her self-preservation, begged for a respite, willing to give Erxaris anything she demanded if it would mean an end to the suffering. 
Neither of these were capable of a real decision, neither were capable of true survival. The Void, as ever, held her salvation. What Light she held was faint, but within it she found that calm stillness, the centering of self she needed. A singularity around which to gather herself once again for just a moment, long enough to think. 
House Kings wished to make their Guardian prisoner a Guardian slave instead? There could be opportunity in that, she realized. So be it. If she was going to find a chance to escape and retrieve her Ghost in truth, it wouldn’t be done in these passing, powerless moments of life between endless, captive deaths. She didn’t expect they’d be sloppy in this, but it only took one moment of lapse for this to work. 
As for the oath, the renunciation? Meaningless. She didn’t think Erxaris was foolish to believe endless, repeatedly lethal torture had inspired anything resembling loyalty within her for her captors, but that wasn’t what this was really about. They both knew that. It was about the power of forcing a Guardian through the shame of saying such a thing. But what did Sylvanni care about shame, after what she’d been through? Whatever dignity she’d thought she had was long gone in the eyes of these Fallen, and she wouldn’t have let something as worthless as pride keep her from seizing a possible advantage, anyway. 
She was, for just a moment, cold clarity once again, the void’s resonant reassurance within her. The decision made. Sylvanni let out a long breath, then forced the words out. “I… accept.” 
Erxaris drew herself up, a sense of triumph clear even in her alien posture. “Renounce.”
Sylvanni fixed her eyes on the floor and swore the lie. “I renounce the Traveler, and my right to its gifts.” Even saying it felt like poison, but she’d endured far worse toxins recently. 
“Swear,” Erxaris said, punctuated with anticipatory clicking. “Swear loyalty to House Kings, its great and regal Kell. Swear your stolen ether to the service of your House.”
“I swear… loyalty to House Kings and its Kell. I swear my Light to its service.”
The rebreather hissed as Erxaris drew in a full draught of ether, her lower hands clasping together. “You will be lowest of House, beneath dregs, beneath shanks. Silveks, Kings Slave.”
The butchered eliksnization of her name felt like a final insult, but Sylvanni gave no reaction, no response. From this point forward, she followed orders, nothing more. This void-drift she’d cultivated could serve her in this as well, she thought. These Fallen would surely seek further ways to humiliate her, new ways to hurt her, but now she would feel nothing of it, give them no satisfaction of a reaction from her. 
The shock dagger clanged to the ground between the bowed Awoken and the looming Vandal, sliding into Sylvanni’s still-lowered gaze. Sylvanni didn’t reach for it, though she had a sinking feeling she knew what was coming next. 
“Prove loyalty,” Erxaris hissed cruelly. “Your Kell demands more than Machine-ether. Demands blood. Demands life, Silveks. Then, oath accepted.”
Sylvanni slowly reached forward, picking up the small dagger. For the barest moment, she considered turning on Erxaris, but as satisfying as the idea might have been, the other Fallen outside this room would surely turn out in force to put her down permanently. In the end, there really wasn’t much of a choice. At least when she was the one holding the knife she was able to make it quick.
After all, what was one more death after everything?
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jaegertango · 4 years
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Contract
I return to Tumblr after almost two years because fuck learning how to do Ao3 and Twitter puts me in a rancid mood. Have some OC writing with a goblin.
Quel'thalas, home of the High Elves, was a region of legendary beauty and stupendous magics. Its radiant forests and mana-filled skies made it a haven to all spellcasters, as well as made sure every child of the Quel'dorei bore the boon of magical prowess. Being such an effervescent garden of study and bastion of delight made it most of everyone in Azeroth's number one wish to visit – but it was not so easy to travel towards. The High Elves, massively proud of their homeland, were also infamous for their xenophobia, and barred all outsiders from “defiling” their blessed region and taking what was theirs. Not one member of the Alliance, traveler of the Horde, even splendorous mages from Dalaran, were allowed passage to the golden land. For many years, only a scant few outsiders were given permission to enter the borders of Quel'thalas, and even fewer returned back from those woods.
And their xenophobic ways only grew more paranoid after the assault of the Scourge.
Arthas' crusade to the Sunwell, the crown gem and source of power for the Quel'dorei, had left the capital of Silvermoon and much of Quel'thalas in ruin. Their eternal font of magic had been corrupted into an amalgamation, capable only of poison, and the city had been sundered into two razed sides. Most of the Quel'dorei perished horrendously, only to be brought back as wretched shadows of their former selves, seeking only to appease their baser instincts. Only in the recent years, with the arrival of the Alliance and Horde banding together against the greater evils of the Scourge and Legion, could the newly dubbed Sin'dorei – the Blood Elves - attempt to heal their devastated lands and rebuild their ruined city. Despite their fears of outsiders, they demanded help, desperate for even the aid of “barbarians” to return themselves to their former glory once more.
“Mister” Jashuo Blasternut knew better, but he also understood their plight. As he sat in his Shredder, the Goblin was amazed at the sheer magnificence of the city of Silvermoon. He had seen plenty of tall buildings before in his time, but never could he have expected the spires of the Quel'dorei to lance the heavens so proudly, nor enjoy the tidy stone of the streets. Gadgetzan prided itself on its own technology and access to buildings made of metal and stone over wood and mud, but in comparison to how Silvermoon stood, he would've been breathless – were it not for the literal black scar ripped into the capital of utopia. It was the most obscene comparison, as the pilot gazed from extravagant splendor in the shapes of gold, scarlet and emerald – to a twisted artwork of unholy soil and desecrated treasure. It was almost laughable how obvious the comparison was: Jashuo could see a Magister walking in his silk robes of glorious azure, promptly ignoring the wicked burn lashes scorched into the streets not far from his right. Rather than try to admit that their city had been sacked, they instead hid away in what remained of the city, and refused to look at what had been destroyed. Perhaps it was too traumatizing, or perhaps it was an eyesore; perhaps it was both. Mister Blasternut would've understood either one, but that was why he was there: to make sure that Silvermoon City got the supplies it needed to repair itself.
So he waited on the streets in his Shredder, which was continuously coughing out smoke from its double exhausts thickly. Combined with the meaty grumble of its engine, every single Blood Elf in the city was giving Jashuo a wide berth. He definitely stood out among all of the glitz and glamour, and they refused to give such an obnoxious blemish to their amazing city. The Goblin frankly didn't care, though he was annoyed that they weren't giving his crisp suit the time of day. He dressed up for this! The least that the Sin'dorei could do was accept that he was there to help them and not “embarrass” them. At the same time though, it didn't matter. All that did matter was that his contact showed up and recognized that he was there to plot this contract with them properly. Being a benefactor still demanded the proper respect, and the pilot could only hope that the pride of a noble would not get in the way. It certainly would not be the first time...
Eventually though, he was greeted with a small contingent of Sin'dorei riding upon their daintily-decorated hawkstriders. The only reason that Mister Blasternut recognized them from any other clique of elves was due to them walking straight *at* him, definitely showing that they recognized his presence. The Goblin counted five of them – four guards surrounding a fifth. Too many for him to fight; rather, too many for him to fight and get out alive. His Shredder was equipped with enough state-of-the-art weaponry and thick armor to get him out of (and into) any scrap comfortably, but fighting five well-trained Mages would take too much time for him to make a victorious escape. At the same time, this was making the Goblin somewhat nervous: he had neglected to hire any goons himself. The Blood Elves might have been affiliated with the Horde, but he had a hard time trusting uneven numbers. Regardless, he was there to do a job, and all he could hope was that these Sin'dorei weren't trigger happy. Keeping his sidearm pistol tucked into the back of his pants, Jashuo smoothed out the front of his suit and tie, swept his brown hair back and adjusted his aviator glasses. With an easy step, he moved forward to make the drop from his Shredder-
-only to hastily dart to the right as a fireball exploded a foot in front of him. Even if he hadn't made the dodge, the sparks wouldn't have touched him, but the Goblin still yelped and made the effort to move away.
“Not another step, greenskin!” One of the guards growled, his staff held aloft. “Where you stand is already close enough to the Magistrix.”
“Close eno-  I'm twenty feet away!” Jashuo hissed, his hand behind his back in a clumsy attempt to snatch at his hidden weapon. He was unable to do so, and now it was obvious that he was reaching for something without actually drawing it. This only made the Sin'dorei more irked, and the other three were now drawing their respective staves and swords. With every second, the Goblin was highly regretting this meeting: these guys were thirstier for blood than Orcs!
“Perhaps once you've tossed away your weapon, we can assume you can be closer,” the first spoke again, his gaze tempered on Mister Blasternut. The woman in the middle merely sat silent, her eyes clearly concerned as she leered at Jashuo. It was not an argument that the Goblin wanted to lose, but he didn't have much of a choice. If it got bad, all he could hope for now was to scramble back to his Shredder before he got too ablaze. Surely they wouldn't do something so brazen though, right? Despite his instinct demanding that he not be that stupid, Jashuo once more paid them no heed, sighing as he pulled out the pistol and set it onto the ground. He held his hands up, trying to pass off his face as stoic, but he could feel his brows knitting together.
“Ya know, ya ain't makin' the best first 'mpression here!” He retorted back, flipping his hands back and forth to show he had nothing in his sleeves either. “I'm just a businessman here!”
The captain of the guard scoffed, but nonetheless nodded as he looked towards the Magistrix. She nodded in turn and began to dismount, her guardians following suit and forming up around her. While they all wore the garb of Spellbreakers, clad in intricate platemail, their lady wore a brilliant yellow dress definitely not for combat's usage. The fabric fluttered and glittered in any ray of light that touched it, giving it an ethereal appearance like that of the sun. She wore a mask in the shape of a phoenix's beak, but Jashuo could easily recognize she was a woman. Her hair was long and brown, a definite mane of well-kept locks in comparison to the Goblin's scruff. The two could not have been more different, the Blood Elf's tall and graceful to Jashuo's short and sleazy.
“Pray forgive the aggression,” she spoke in a polite, but curt tone, keeping her hands folded in front of her. “It is hard for anyone to trust outsiders, especially after our Ranger-General has seemingly returned from the dead.”
“...Seemingly?” Mister Blasternut grunted, and was luckily able to bite back any more sarcasm he had. He didn't need to give these Sin'dorei any more ammo to use on him. “I'm guessin' you're uh... Lady D'anthius then?”
“Indeed – and you hadn't even butchered the name! Consider me impressed,” the Lady D'anthius spoke, and even though she claimed it a compliment, the Goblin was somewhat annoyed at her words. Her tone could have sounded as pleasant as she wanted: it did not change the toxin her words meant.
“Yeah yeah yeah, I'm honored. Let's cut to the chase: you need metal for your city, aye?” Jashuo grunted, folding his arms over his chest. His bluntness seemed to take the Magistrix aback, for she visibly recoiled and responded quickly.
“Yes well I... ahem,” the woman spoke, and instantly the Goblin knew something was wrong. Those three words, combined with how she cleared her throat, wasn't like her previous tone. It sounded unsure and hasty, as if quickly being taken off-guard. Mister Blasternut was oh-so familiar with such a state of being, and even that cough was reminiscent of the many times he had to clear his head to properly talk. Yet, what most astounded him was how natural it sounded, as if the Lady's voice had only just started to make its arrival. When she spoke again though, it was with that same level volume and politeness.
“Indeed. The Scourge brought forth nightmares that have devastated our homes and left our people divided – but not broken,” she spoke firmly, keeping her eyes on Jashuo. “To that end, we need only the supply to return our people to grandeur once more.”
That tone returned, and the Goblin wasn't sure what to make of it. Now that he heard it again, something about her voice didn't sound correct. The words made sense, and they were definitely admirable, but now her tone sounded wrong. The Goblin kept quiet for a handful of seconds, trying to process what he could make of her statement to no avail. Maybe he was just overthinking it.
“Right... so metal for buildings and weapons and all that. Well, bulk's what I specialize in, so ya came to the right Goblin,” Jashuo replied finally, looking towards the destruction of the city to his left. “So uh... how much are we lookin' to buy here then?”
“Buy...?” the woman murmured blankly, though she instantly lit herself up to try and hide that question. “Oh! Well, that is what the contract is for, pray tell!”
There it was again. That tone of voice. It was striking the pilot in such a bizarre way that he couldn't put his finger on. Despite Lady D'anthius having spoke three times the amount of words in that “usual” tone of voice, hearing these other words was ringing in Jashuo's mind. Something was “off” about this woman, like she was putting on a different face and attitude. For some reason, this was gnashing hard against the Goblin, strongly enough that it was only when one of the guards cleared his throat that the pilot finally realized what the Magistrix had said.
“Aye, contract – y'know. Usually has cash to it. Ya are plannin' to pay for this, right?” Jashuo grunted, unable to stop himself from being somewhat snarky towards the Blood Elf as he raised an eyebrow at her. However, despite his own aggression, the woman nodded easily, and motioned for one of her protectors.
“Indeed! This legally-binding contract will confirm that, in exchange for your goods and partnership, Silvermoon shall pay you warmly for your services. The parchment requires only your signature!” Lady D'anthius spoke up as the guardian walked towards the Goblin with a roll of paper and a quill. After reaching upward quite a bit to actually snatch the contract, Jashuo unfurled it, and instantly heard a murmur through the Sin'dorei. He ignored it, quickly scanning the document.
“Er... that is to say, at the bottom,” the Magistrix continued, and it was only when she spoke that the Goblin looked up curiously at the group. They quickly silenced, and it was because of that sudden quiet that Mister Blasternut felt the disturbance in persona once more. This time though, he could see flashes of concern in all of their faces, namely the protectors, and a cruel thought entered his mind. Did they not think he was going to read it?... or did they not think he knew how?
“...Seems all in order,” Jashuo answered lamely, and he could feel a plan forming in his head as he read more of the contract. Any of his former cowardice was quickly being melted out in favor of spite. If there was any way to give him the bravery to do something, it was entirely out of implication that he couldn't. He raised the quill to sign, and now that he was more aware, could sense the tension as thick as the smog belching from his Shredder.
“Yannow, actually...,” the Goblin spoke up as the quill touched the paper, and he looked up just in time to see one of the protectors inhale slightly. Instantly, that reaction made it worth being shot at. “I gotta quick question here, Lady D'anthius.”
“You... do?” She asked, at first trying to keep up that air of significance, but quickly deteriorating back into that gentler tone. Now there was no denying that false attitude, and it brought a genuine grin to Jashuo's face, full of shining, sharp teeth.
“Ayup! Ya'see, I ain't just a goblin of fortune here – I do what I do for a good cause, ya'hear me?” He spoke idly, gauging their reactions curiously. Lady D'anthius seemed unsure of what to make of him right now, but seemed to be agreeing with his words.  “When I heard that I could be helpin' rebuild one of the greatest empires ever been 'round Azeroth, I knew what I had to do, see?”
“...Indeed?” The woman replied uncertainly, that fake tone trying to return, but the smugness of the guardians already coming back in full force. She seemed to be catching on that Jashuo was plotting something. He had to admire her thinking so quickly on her feet.
“Aye! So I'm here to help, I'm even here to take you tryin' to hose me with this cheap payment of a 'contract.' But here's the thing, Lady D'anthius,” Jashuo continued idly, then coldly insulted just quickly enough for him to segue into the next part of his explanation. The guardians instantly looked angered at the statement, but the Magistrix kept steady, seeming to predict the Goblin's tone as he kept talking.
“I ain't here to bullshit ya, so I'll make ya a deal. I'll leave ya this supply as goodwill, not a gold piece charged! But it ain't gonna be 'nough to fix even a tenth of what's busted here, or any of that crap I had to pass just gettin' here!” Mister Blasternut stated firmly, his bespectacled gaze now burning into Lady D'anthius' mask. “So I'll be here next week, with more metal for what ya need, and if ya play ya cards right, ya'll be back here next week with an actual contract that assumes I'll read it. I ain't here to bullshit, babe, so ya better not bullshit me back. 'Cause ya should know the first rule of business, Lady D'anthius:”
Jashuo took off his shades, his crimson eyes boiling into the Magistrix's mask as he leered at her.
“If we don't see eye-to-eye, there ain't even a copper to be made here outta yer Silvermoon.”
It was deathly silent as the Goblin glared at Lady D'anthius, and he was surprised in himself that he wasn't fidgeting or squirming under the collective gazes of all five Sin'dorei. Yet he managed to hold on, keeping his eyes fiercely on the woman as he waited for her response. She seemed to be scrutinizing him carefully, as if debating whether to even bother replying to him or simply sending her guards after him. Finally, after what seemed like months, she reached up to her mask to take it off softly, revealing her extremely attractive face, and very piercing green eyes burning back into Jashuo with laser focus as he was somewhat taken aback by her reaction. When she spoke, it was in a capable, natural tone of voice:
“Very well. I... graciously accept your donation, Mister...?”
“Blastanut! Mista Blastanut, please,” Jashuo smirked toothily, getting over himself as nodded in return. “I think we'll be getting 'long just fine, Lady D'anthius!”
“Then I hope that next week marks the... proper start of our agreement,” Lady D'anthius paused, then smiled as she bowed her head politely. Jashuo managed a short bow of his own back before clambering back into his Shredder and closing the lid. With a loud sigh, he felt his nerves instantly relax, but not nearly enough to stop him from making as quick of an exit as he possibly could from the city. It was only when the Shredder had turned the corner that Lady D'anthius shook her head, her captain gazing at her.
“It was probably wiser to detain him, milady,” he grunted, looking supremely tired suddenly.
“He caught our ploy. It was a mistake on our own parts, and thus should I pay the price,” the Magistrix replied, that “familiar” tone of curt politeness returning once more. “These Goblins have proven more cunning than expected: we will be smarter for next time.”
The captain looked satisfied with the answer, but as the woman placed her phoenix mask about her face, she looked back in the direction of where the Shredder had departed, and felt a soft twinge in her chest.
He was a curious one, that Blasternut...
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cruxcrescent · 5 years
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Lone Camellia.
“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then, it can never be your weakness.” – George R.R. Martin
It was a misty morning that first brought her to him.
He was treading the lands as he always did, moving as if a ghost through the forests that he had called home then. She approached him from the fog that wove between the trees, though he had caught her scent long before she appeared. Witless and lanced through with the sweat of determination, the distinct twinge of someone looking for something. It made his nose wrinkle in disdain. 
When her verdant eyes settled on him, he had stopped while standing aloft the roots of a great tree. It provided the height from which he towered before her, not that he wasn’t already so tall. Yet, she had more height than he had expected for one so meager in figure. She’d dropped to her knees in deference to the Great Dog Prince, reducing herself from the gazelle-like stature she held.
“You are Lord Sesshoumaru, are you not?” she’d said simply, swallowing hard against her innate fear. Indeed, he conceded she was brave to approach him; he was sure her instincts were screaming out against her choice.
He didn’t answer her right away, golden eyes slanted downwards to appraise her through the morning mist, and darkness of the forest. She didn’t move, didn’t dare to raise her face to him again after she had taken her vulnerable position.
“What do you want with me?” he said curtly. 
“Please, o Lord of the Western Lands. I’ve sought you to train me,” she proclaimed, finally lifting her head to beseech him properly. He could now clearly see the green markings that stood shockingly vibrant against her tan skin. He’d already known what she was when her scent met him, but the gentle, light freckles that sprinkled their way over her shoulders and face identified her as a deer youkai. Strange that one should be this far in the mountains, he mused idly.
“What for and why should I?” 
She swallowed again. 
“My family has been slain by humans, my lord. Not one is left of them but me, and I wish to be powerful, like you,” she stopped to let herself grimace as if struck by the memory. “Please, I do not wish to die. I am tired of being weak.”
A low huff.
“That is none of my concern.” 
With that he’d sprung off the roots of the tree, sailing over her folded figure to land behind her. His landing barely shifted the moss beneath his feet. She’d frozen, as her kind were wont to do, and now did not turn to face him again. He’d started walking away, determined to move on in his patrol, when a vine caught his foot. That vine had not been there before, he’d thought, as he sliced it away without preamble. More of them started to manifest from the same spot to cling like the worried hands of children to his boot as if their kin had not just been cut down in its prime but seconds ago. 
He growled his disapproval as he turned to glower at the culprit, knowing well who was daring to show such disregard for their own life. The deer appeared more spirited now as her youki thrummed from her hands that were planted firmly to the ground in front of her, pulsing towards him. Defiance colored her expression. 
“I apologize, my lord,” she said as her energy waned off into the passive force it had been previously. “Please forgive my insolence, but I wish nothing more than to become strong! I know I have not fangs or claws – but there must be some way,” she grew quieter as she spoke, voice breaking as a shudder ran through her. Yes, it was as he’d thought earlier. Her instincts were wisely rebelling against her very unwise decisions. He continued to glare out of the side of his eyes at her. To his surprise, she spoke again as he assessed his next move.
“Are you not the protector of these lands? My lord, will you truly allow these humans to get away with the slaughter of other demons when our numbers dwindle so?” 
It was then that whatever small, fragile pity he had for her had worn out. He stalked forward to grab her by the collar of her furisode, anger flashing in his amber gaze. Hauling her up to face him, he dug his claws in the silk fabric of her clothing. Poison mingled at his claw tips, singeing the delicate material where it touched. The hind flinched away from his eyes, but not his grip. 
“Your clear lack of self-preservation proves that you serve no use to me,” he rumbled low in his throat before letting her go harshly. She caught herself, refusing to stumble before him it seemed. “The plight of lesser demons does not concern me. Do not question my honor as such.”
He turned on his heels away from her. He had grown tired of this meeting and its sole occupant. With long strides, he began back into the forest, hoping to leave the deer behind this time.
As he walked along, he scowled to himself. He turned over her words a few times in his mind, marveling on it like a small pebble. Her comment had rankled him. He was indeed the guardian of the Western Lands as his father had been before him, however, the times had changed. Humans encroached, and more and more their distaste of demons grew palpable. Their gunpowder burned his nose, their settlements stole his territory, their noisiness irritated his hearing. He had resigned himself to the fact that the burden of his duties that his father had passed to him had transformed itself into another beast that dug its claws deeper and deeper into his back as the decades passed.
He did not need reminding by a lowly doe of that which he was well aware.
He continued deeper into the trees, but he was aware he was being followed. Low anger simmered beneath the surface of his stoic appearance. The hind was light on her feet, well adapted to masking her youki, and was keeping downwind of him and his nose, but she could not escape his notice. At this point, he was determined to ignore her. She would falter eventually. All those that were not him always did with time.
However, he, for one of the rare few times in his life, had been mistaken.
The hind tracked him for days beyond their meeting. Days turned into weeks, then into months. She was intelligent enough to keep a fair amount of distance between them, but she dogged him as he patrolled what remained of his lands. She settled when he took up a temporary den, watched from on high when he hunted with hard, glassy eyes. He, in turn, was stubborn enough to pay her no heed. If she put this much effort into training instead of following him, she might have what she wished for, he mentally grumbled. The nights he could sense her slumbering aura in the surrounding wood, he contemplated slitting her throat in her sleep. 
A dusty corner of the dog’s mind offered him a blithe metaphor of the hunter becoming the hunted, that their roles were reversed in this game. It was not true, of course, and he could have, at any point, stopped her foolish mission. Yet, he allowed it. 
After all, it was not his time, nor his endurance being wasted.
When it had been fourteen turns of the moon’s cycle, he finally halted in the middle of his patrol. It was a quiet summer night, only cricket song broke the tense silence that it held. A breeze worried the long pampas grass in the field he’d chosen to at last confront his uninvited follower. Sesshoumaru drew in a soft breath of her scent, holding it before letting it go silently. He could hear the doe coming up behind him. She took no measures to conceal her presence this time. Even she seemed to understand that he was at the end of his very long patience with her. 
“Doe,” he said without turning to face her. The wind carried the bass of his voice along with it, causing her to stop but a scant few meters away from where he stood. “What do you call yourself?”
“Tsubaki. I am Tsubaki.” He could not see her, but he was certain the weariness was beginning to make itself noticeable. Her voice was hoarse with disuse but stronger than he thought it would be. The steady wind ruffled the fur that clung to his shoulder. A lengthy pause proceeded his next thoughts.
“Tsubaki, you have told me you possess neither fangs or claws,” he addressed her. He caught the shift of her furisode against itself as she adjusted her stance. 
“Yet, do you not possess hooves, nor antlers?” 
“I do, my lord.” Her breathing grew errant. She was anticipating a fight, or perhaps something more.
“If you truly grieve enough for what you have lost that you desire power, I suggest you sharpen them instead.”
The night grew still around them, silence resuming its oppressive pall that was broken only by soft chirps of the insects hidden amongst the grass. At the edge of his hearing, the doe’s pounding heart settled like the previous breeze had died away. He allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment.
“Continue to give chase, and I shall kill you,” he turned his head to pin her with amber hues. Green stared back at them, and the Moonlit Prince noted that a different gleam took the place of the one he had seen when they’d first encountered each other; this one he could not place. His gaze returned forward. 
He walked on.
This time, she didn’t follow.
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silverrenagade-blog · 4 years
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Marks of changes -Chapter 1
Appearance
Keith’s knife clattered to the ground, bouncing off the pristine white floor. It all happened so fast he even moved to bring the luxite blade up to defend himself agenst his attacker. Luckily he noticed with seconds to spare and vaulted to the floor to avoid the blue blade of the castle’s training robot, set to difficulty 9. Highest it’s ever been set to.
Highest anyone has ever reached still alive.
“Stop training session!” Keith gasped before the robot could round on him and take his head. The blue and white guardian froze midstep before evaporateing back into the rooms code.
Keith rose on shaky legs from his defensive position on the floor, moving unsteadily to where the purple blade lay in contrast to the shining white that took the whole room. He had strode through the doors of the training room hours ago, itching to blow off steam since he couldn’t take his anger out on the one who caused it.
Lance.
Moronic imbecile that he was decided it was a good idea to start prying at the fact that Keith was part Galra. Making fun of Keith had been one thing, but when he had the audacity the relate what happened to Shiro, Keith’s brother in every way but blood, to him being Galra? Keith lost it. If Allura hadn’t been standing right there waiting for him to do something, anything, slightly close to the behavior of a Galra, Keith would have driven his luxite blade right through Lance for ever comparing him to the monsters that held Shiro.
So Keith stormed out, his mind full of anger and self loathing. Truth be told the anger had diminished well before he had reached the training room, but his mind had wondered to the fact that Lance may not have been wrong.
The Galra did those horrible things to Shiro, enough to make him lose himself sometimes. Shiro was always terrifying when that happened, nothing but pure rage and an animalistic focus to kill, but the most horrifying thing? That came when they brought Shiro back and he fell apart at the memories of being experimented on and forced to fight in an arena. Yes the Galra did that to him.
And Keith was part Galra.
With his mind lost in the dark thoughts he started his training at level one. The way the room was set up you eaither beat the guardian or survived an hour. Keith had only beat the first three.
Keith’s right shoulder flared in burning pain as he reached down to retrieve his knife. Strange, he pondered wondering where the sharp pain was coming from, he didn’t remember being hit by the guardian’s blade but it was entirely possible he was so focused he didn’t feel the skin get torn.
Tentatively Keith reached his left hand over his right shoulder and gently traced the area. More pain erupted, worse than before, but when he pulled his hand away there was no blood covering his finger tips.
Keith didn’t have time to question his pain as Hunk’s ever cheery voice came over the loud speaker or intercom or whatever Altean device ran through the castle, alerting the castles residents that dinner was ready and to report immediately to the dinning hall.
He stood there in that pristine white room wondering if training and possibly causing more pain was batter than having to sit though the concoction that Hunk and Coran had created, but ultimately decided agenst it.
Sheathing his dagger with his injured arm proved to be difficult but he managed before walking out of the blinding training room and down the hall, his boot clicking agenst the flooring the whole way.
Dinner was... awkward. The air around the table was heavy, almost suffocatingly so. Hunk , Pidge, and Coran ate happily not noticing the atmosphere that hung over the others, each giving off a slightly different emotion to add to the ever growing storm.
Lance had his head down. He sat abnormally still and quiet while he pushed his food around the plate in front of him. Lance always, Always are like truck. No matter what it tasted like he ate as much as he could as fast as he could all while blabbering endlessly. Not tonight though. Tonight he just sat quietly and listened to the small conversations that had begun on the other end of the table.
On Lance’s right, Shiro seemed nervous. His shoulders were tense and he looked like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should. He kept looking between lance and Keith, his gaze lingering on Keith longer than Lance as if he was worried.
At the head of the table, Keith could feel Allura’s gaze burning into him refusing to let him out of her sight while the others were around. She hadn’t reacted very well to him being part Galra. Her hands were clenched tightly around her silverware making her normally dark knuckles turn pale. She wore her armor as if she was expecting a fight and wanted the upper hand.
Keith was just trying to not be noticed. The occasional pain in his shoulder had transformed into a throb and every few minutes it would spike again sending agony throughout his body. His hands were shaking badly and he didn’t even try to eat knowing it would be impossible with the tremors in his fingers. He kept his eyes trained on the table trying desperately not to show he was in pain but as the seconds ticked by it was becomeing more challenging. He was sweating but he could blame that on the training. Keith was always quiet but he at least ate most days.
Dinner ticked by with agonizing speed but eventually people started to wander off, Hunk going to the kitchen to clean, Pidge heading toward the green lions hanger, Allura, Coran and Shiro heading to the bridge. Keith tried to make a B-line to his room but was cut off by a certain blue eyed Cuban.
“Keith, can we talk?” Lance came up beside him before curving in front of him, effectively making Keith stop in the hallway. “Look Keith I’m sorry about what I said earlier. That was totally upt of line and if I had been thinking strait I would never have said it. I didn’t even realize what I was saying before it was coming out of my mouth and I regret every second of that fight. I’m so sorry. You know I dont think of you as a monster right? Because I don’t think of you as a monster! You know I always got your back right buddy? I mean we’re Paladins! I’ll always have your back! I’m just so sorry that any of this happened, I’m sorry I said that, it was totally uncalled for especially in front of Allura who already kinda hates you-”
Lance babbled on about how sorry he was but Keith was in so much pain he didn’t even listen. Lance had said he was sorry wasn’t that enough? It had been a stupid comment and now it was done. Keith wasn’t mad but he was starting to lose control over his stoic facade, he knew he couldn’t take this much longer without showing his pain. “Lance! It’s ok. You don’t have to apologize. It was a stupid comment that you obviously didn’t mean to say.”
“So we’re good?” Lance asked. This wasn’t like Keith to just forgive and forget. Something was off here. Now that lance was really looking Keith looked paler than usual, if that was even possible, and he kept looking past Lance to his room. “Hey, dude, you ok?”
Lance reached out a hand and set it down on his right shoulder. Keith tried so hard not to flinch when the hand settled on his right shoulder but he couldn’t help it. It Hurt. Lance retracted his hand almost immediately, “Keith, your freezing” That wasn’t exactly what Keith thought he was going to say but he took the opportunity.
“We’re good, Lance” Keith muttered before pushing past Lance and making his way to his room. One he got inside he immediately shut his eyes and let out a pained sigh. He was freezing, he hadn’t even noticed until lance had said something but he was cold.
He stumbled farther into the bare room and all but collapsed on the bed. Keith placed his head in his hand for a moment trying to regain even a little bit of his normal composure, but he couldn’t ignore the sweat collecting on the back of his neck, or the way his entire body what shaking both from mindless pain and the fridgid tempature of his body. Wait, he was sweating and shivering? That can’t be right.
Keith rose from the mattress before he slowly made his way towed the bathroom, his vision we swirling with dark and light spots as his hip bone collided with the sink, that thing was at a dangerous height. He gazed into the mirror shocked by how pale and tired he looked. Lance must have though he was dying... no wonder he tried to be nice. They may have been “rivals”, as lance would say, but apparently he still cared if Keith was healthy or not.
That was the question, what was wrong with Keith? Why was he in so much pain?
As if being summoned another shap stabb of pain exploded in his shoulder, so painful that his knees gave out. Keith wildly threw his hands out and caught the edge of the sink before his head did.
A sob wrenched its way up his throat as he used both arms to steady his legs again. Keith looked back up in the mirror, tired, painfilled,amethyst eyes gazed back at him.
Keith gently grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it slightly, he was immediately met by more pain. Determination setting in, Keith griped the fabric hard and wrenched it over his head trying desperately to ignore the scream of agony that rose from the action.
When the gray shirt was removed it left Keith looking at his bare chest, almost to scared to turn around, but he had to! He had to see what was happening! He had to see... didn’t he? Keith closed his eyes,took a deep breath and turns so he was facing sideways to the mirror. He knew he should open his eyes but he was terrified of what was happening to him, mostly because he didn’t know what was happening. Shaking Keith opened his eyes and his breath hitched.
What the hell?
Just below his right shoulder blade was a patch of pale purple. Tiny purple tendrils spread out from every direction causing th skin around the purple to become red and irritated. It looked like some kind of disease. The darkest section of it was a mix of a dozen different shades of purple and was centerd on the cloud shaped bruse. Was it a bruse? If it was it was the strangest bruse he had ever seen, and Keith had seen his fair share.
He didn’t know how long he sat there staring at his back, But eventually his shivers had disappeared and he knew that was a bad thing. It took him ten minuets to get his shirt back over both arms, it gave him time to think. He knew he needed help but he didn’t know who he should go to.
Allura and Coran were obviously not a choice. He didn’t know what was happening but he bet it had something to do with him being Galra. Allura would rather shoot Keith before even considering helping him, and while Coran didn’t say anything he had distanced himself from Keith tremendously since his announcement.
Pidge wa vetoed almost as quickly seeing as she would help by running tests. Lots of tests. Keith didn’t like tests he hated needles and the thought of being strapped down. Plus Keith wasn’t sure if Pidge actually had emotions, he was convinced she was a robot like the training gaurdians.
He considered asking Hunk for help but out of all the paladins Hunk k ew the least about him, and was more likely to get scared or sick than to be truly helpful.
That left Shiro and Lance.
Shiro was like a brother to him. He had taken Keith under his wing when Keith’s father had died. They always looked after each other no matter what. That was all before the Kerberos mission. Things had changed quite a bit from when it was just them racing speeders in the desert. Things like the Galra. And while Lance had admitted he was out of line Keith couldn’t help but think about what he had said. Keith was part Galra. Part the race that tourtured Shiro for a year! The thought of asking Shiro to help him with this immediately made he feel sick. Keith had not right to put Shiro through that.
That left only one person
Keith exited his bathroom and glanced at the clock by his bed. On earth it would be close to three in the morning. Everyone would be asleep. It took Keith by surprise that he had been in that bathroom for hours , but a stab of pain brought him back from faxing off again.
He left his room quietly. He wasn’t to worried about waking people up as he snuck out of his room in the middle of the night most of the time and become quite skilled at moving silently. His destination was just around the corner, it took him to time to get there. Every step he took jostled his shoulder causing it to take much longer to get to the door than he would have liked. He knocked on the door so he couldn’t talk himself out of asking for help. The door opened seconds after to reveal his choice of help.
“Lance-“
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shurtisiscanonking · 5 years
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Hey, so- I heard Shatt Prompts and I came as soon as I could! Prompt: Matt and Shiro are both finally back on Earth at the same time. After reuniting with Kuron, Matt is weary but Shiro is determined to see him finally. Truly. Alternatively? When Matt is with the paladins and Shiro is stuck in the Black Lion, everyone starts to notice that Black has taken a strange fondness/protectiveness of Matt
Everyone knew the lions could roar and growl and snarl. They were near sentient beings with their own personalities and quirks. Blue loved to be washed while Red would put up her barrier until Lance was practically red in the face. Yellow and Green generally liked to land facing the stars. Black was their stoic guardian. He sat regally and his eyes almost seemed to follow the action around them.
And he could purr. He could purr so loudly that the Paladins had been convinced they were under attack the first time it happened. The rumble had occurred not long after Pidge had brought her brother back from the depths of space. The reunion between Matt and Shiro had been...Lackluster. A firm hug and then nothing more. 
According to Keith, after much prodding, Matt and Shiro had been close even before the Kerberos mission and maybe even closer once Shiro was single again. Even Matt was deeply confused by the sudden change. Shiro barely wanted to be around him and almost seemed to avoid him on purpose. 
But Black... Black purred louder and louder. The hangar shook and Coran worried that the ship might even suffer damage. It was only until Matt stepped into the hangar to inspect the lions did Black’s purrs lower to a pleased rumble. He lowered his massive body down to greet Matt with a low, grumbling purr and the most gentle of touches along his body. The great beast then raised himself back to watch over the hangar. 
The low purr seemed to always trigger when Matt was in the hangar. However if Shiro dared enter the room at the same time Black slammed his massive between the pair as they leaned in for a kiss. 
Months later Shiro was himself again and Black grew silent. “I was only trying to protect you.” The man whispered. “We were trying to protect you.”
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pinky-in-blankets · 6 months
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"I see, and I know. I know how much it hurts.. but also know that I am here with you. And it will get better. I promise."
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cloudofdarkness · 6 years
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At your service chap 1
“What do you mean, you’re leaving?!”
The quiet was broken by Sir Gawain’s outburst, and Sonic watched as he slid his visor up. His lavender eyes were filled with doubt, as if he sincerely hoped that the blue hedgehog- their newly appointed king- was surely joking when he’d announced his departure to the three. Sure, perhaps they saw it coming. He was from another world, after all, but there was a kingdom to rule here!
Gawain was hushed as Sir Perceval held up her hand in silence, wishing for Sonic to continue in his announcement.
“Our sincere apologies, your highness. Please continue.”
Sonic simply nodded, placing a hand on his hip in a relaxed manner. He’d contemplated how he’d tell them. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, seeing as they had no other apparent leader, but it wasn’t like he could just abandon his friends at home. They depended on him! That’s why he had a plan.
“It’s totally okay, I understand it’s kinda out of nowhere..but I decided on someone to take my place for when I leave!” Sonic could see even Lancelot raise his head in interest, though his expression was hard to read from behind his helmet. “Since the three of you have shown a lot of awesomeness and valor, I thought..maybe all three of you could rule! I mean, you all seem to deal with problems so well and-“
Sonic was quiet as he heard a soft sigh from Nimue, who was trying to come to terms with the situation herself.
“As generous as the offer is, Sonic, it won’t work that way. There can only be one appointed as king or queen. That is the safest option.” She tried to explain, though half-heartedly, as she knew this was already a lot to place on his shoulders.
All Sonic could do now was think. He never liked favoritism, but he could only think of choosing between the three knights that stood before him. Gawain was very emotion driven, very loyal, though he did have a problem with the dramatics. Still, if he was anything like Knuckles, his knowledge and intuitiveness would make him worthy. Perceval would be a just ruler. She was always calm in the face of danger, very cunning..though if she were anything like Blaze, she wouldn’t accept the title of the throne. Her loyalty merely lay in her knightship. And then there was..Lancelot. He was nearly Shadow to the core. He was a good leader, he’d held his team well and they listened to his commands. Though he was also inquisitive and just. However, it was hard to say how well he would take the throne. It wasn’t like he himself was any better.
All three choices to think about, and it was very narrow as to whom it would be, but he had to think fast. He couldn’t dawdle at a time like this! He calmly collected himself, placing a hand on one hip in a calm fashion.
“So just one, huh?”
Nimue nodded, smiling softly, as she knew he had his answer, and what a good choice it was.
“..then..I think it should go to the most loyal of knights, one of who will follow their king into battle, but can determine right from wrong..and I see that spirit in Lancelot. You’re a true leader.” Sonic watched as Lancelot brought his full attention to Sonic, scarlet eyes gleaming beneath his helmet. He was shocked, to say the least.
“Forgive me for my confusion, but..I do not understand how I am your best choice.” Lancelot attempted to keep the calm tone in his voice, as to not disrespect him, but like Gawain, he could not believe what he was hearing! Him? King?? It was preposterous! And yet..Sonic had decreed it so..perhaps there was something more he was meant to do? Was this what years of training had prepared him for? Sonic’s laughter shook him from his thoughts, staring in awe. How could he laugh at a time like this? Was this not the most important decision in his life?
He watched as Sonic approached him, the usual relaxed sway to his walk kicking in before he turned on his heel and leaned against the ebony hedgehog. “Are you kidding? You’re Lancelot! From what I hear, people tell stories about you from all over! I’m sure what with all the dragons you’ve faced, and towns you’ve saved, this is probably nothin’! Besides, you’ve got two great friends here to help you out! From what I’ve learned, you should never be afraid to ask for help if you need it, and I know Gawain and Perceval are your friends! They’ll be there for you!”
Lancelot knew Sonic was just trying to assure him, but the overwhelming thought still lingered in his head. How was he to be king..? He didn’t have much time to think however, as Sonic and Nimue exchanged glances, and the haughty sword, Caliburn called forth Merlina to summon a return portal. She did rightfully so, and everyone wished Sonic well before departing the scene. They had much work to do, bringing the kingdom back to order, after all. Though Lancelot remained, not wanting to return right away. He was still lost in thought, and he had to do something while Sonic still remained.
“..Sir Sonic?”
Sonic paused, the tip of his shoe just touching the portal. He watched as the dust circled around him somewhat calmly. He almost hadn’t heard the other, he spoke so gently. Though he knew immediately what this meant, hearing Shadow’s voice mimic this. He hated leaving like this, but he knew it had to be done. Still..he hated hearing how lost the brave knight was. He hated it enough hearing it in Shadow’s voice, but at least he could be there for him. Once he left, Lancelot would be left to his own. His calm smile returned, turning to the remaining knight.
“What’s on your mind, Lance?”
The knight was taken aback by the nickname, though quickly shook it off. He approached him hesitantly, now only a few feet away.
“I asked before, and I must ask again..what is your reason for choosing me above all others?”
Sonic contemplated his answer for a moment, his ears twitching in thought before finding it.
“Well, honestly? If I’m gonna be real, nearly everyone here is someone where I come from. You three knights are actually all my friends! You act a lot like them too. Gawain is a renowned protector of one of our greatest artifacts. He’s smart, but can sometimes be hotheaded. Perceval is actually a princess! Though she prefers to not be referred to like that, so we call her by her other title, ‘The Guardian of the Sol Emeralds.’ If Perceval is anything like she is in my world, then she wouldn’t take up the throne. But you..” Sonic paused, his thoughts returning to Shadow. He stepped closer to Lancelot, watching the other remain as still as a statue.
“Your place in my world is an important one. You’ve helped me save our world multiple times. You’ve saved my life too..more than once. I’ve seen that same spirit in you from just being here for a week! So..call it dumb, but I trust that you can be my shadow.”
Lancelot was silent for a moment, before finding the words to speak, he almost didn’t realize that during his speech, Sonic had taken hold of his hand. He looked down to their bond, before back up to his emerald gaze. He felt his visor slide back, noticing Sonic’s other hand placed on his helmet.
“..I can trust you, right..?”
Lancelot swallowed hard, his free hand brushing his thumb and forefinger together nervously. He simply nodded, keeping his gaze.
“Sir Sonic, you can trust me to be your shadow. I will do everything in my efforts to revive Camelot so that it’s stories may see a happy end.”
Sonic tilted his head with a smile, his usual cheery demeanor returning as he leaned back from their close little moment.
“Well then! I guess this means you’re officially King Lancelot!” Sonic chimed, though one last thought pulled at him before he would turn to leave. As much of a storybook nerd he was, he couldn’t let this opportunity slide.
“..and since you’re King, may I part with you formally before I go?”
Lancelot was all too quick to nod.
“Of course.”
Before he knew it, Sonic had swept him off his feet, leaning him back into a kiss. Hey, if it had worked with Shadow, why not him?
Lancelot had held his shoulder for support, shocked at how quick the azure hedgehog was. It took him a moment to register what had happened, but when he did, he merely leaned into the warmth that his body provided. His lips were soft, but he felt a small cut near the bottom, perhaps a small bite mark. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but rather a quick goodbye, and yet, Lancelot longed for more when they separated. Sonic was still holding him, staring back as wide-eyed as he knew he was too.
“Sorry I caught you off guard, but my 8 year old self would kick my butt if I hadn’t done that.”
Lancelot attempted to remain stoic, though his doe looking eyes and the slight green hue in his cheeks did nothing to hide the fact that he’d enjoyed their small moment. When he finally found his voice, Sonic helped him back to a standing position.
“No need to apologize. If I had a pence for every time someone tried to do that, I’d be a rich man. I hope you’re satisfied.”
Just as he suspected, he was snarky like Shadow as well. It caused Sonic to laugh, a soft snort escaping him before he turned to the portal.
“Well, at least now I can happily say I was kissed by a king and Lancelot. But hey, on the real? Good luck with the king thing. I know you’ll do great.”
Lancelot regained his confidence now, folding his arms across his chest and returning the small smile.
“Enough of the flattery, Sonic. Your friends miss you. Don’t keep them waiting.”
“..Right. Well..I’ll see you around, Lance~” Sonic finger-gunned to him, watching him stare back in confusion before simply bowing.
“I wish you a safe journey, Sir Sonic..the Knave~”
A laugh resonated between them, before Sonic pushed himself through the portal, and it closed in front of him.
Now, there was much work to be done.
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pkmnsdarkqueen · 3 years
Note
💣 + Kanjo elite 4 and Lance
Send 💣 + a name and I'll come up with 2 races, and classes from d&d for your character
-Original ask open-
Lance
Kobold, Druid: Wildfire Unlike alot of kobolds you’re smart and crafty, and hold a place of high ranking among your brethren. You also understand the benefit in destruction, how sometimes it is necessary to clean up the world for new life. You commune often with nature with almost all of it’s walks of life always having a nack for being able to speak with them. You aim to give kobolds a reputable name though may grow a disdain for society. (this is all from manga where lance was weirdly similar to N)
Dragonborn, Paladin: Oath of the Ancients Like many of your family before you, you are a dragon born proudly wearing the name of Paladin. Rumored to have a direct line to one of the first dragons there is a great deal of weight on your shoulders to maintain your oath. You have left home saying you are in search to further the family name however the longer you are away the less you find the inclination to return home as you have grown fond of being out on your own away from such strong pressure found at home. 
Karen
Tiefling, Blood Hunter: Lycan You find it funny in a way how folks fear tieflings thinking that they are small in mind for being so narrow minded. You often used to roam the night finding the still of the night beautiful along with the many secrets lurking in it. You planned on studying something, something of the night likely, but instead the stars had a different plan as while out one night a curse transferred to you through a bite of some creature. You have been handed what you will study, not only feared for your race you are feared for your profession however this distrust only swells your confidence and gives you strength to push past that, to become greater than how you are viewed to strive for the freedom adventure and heroism brings. Taking the form of your attacker, a large hound, but with the addition of your tiefling horns the night is yours hunter.
Shifter, Warlock: Celestial Following manga plot line. A strange man promised you home and a family as you were used to roaming the streets. Things seemed alright, he trained you to fight though, and steal, and.....eventually you were wrapped in a horrendous world of crime. The most influential moment being when you were given powers. Apparently you have a connection to some greater being. Using artifacts he forced the being and you into a warlock contract which after being involved in crime a few more years you finally escape realizing the horrors you’ve done. Still tied to this greater power who is also upset by this you’re on a quest to fix this tell the average person you’re a paladin if asked.
Bruno
Half orc, Barbarian: Path of the Ancestral Guardian Ok so you’re a barbarian, congratulations. You follow a long line of them which is cool, but the only thing is that your line of barbarians while terrifyingly strong have an odd rage. Instead of all out loud screaming like alot of barbarians you uh, yeah no you get super calm, and trained on battle with such stoic determination it is terrifying. Your style of combat is second to none though, and no one can deny it’s strength. As for being a half orc you’re truly proud of it with a long family line to be proud of.
Minotaur, Fighter: Champion What you did....you didn’t mean to, really. You hardly even know where you are. Waking up in a very strange world. You were locked in combat, you have been for so long now, but something snapped finally. The chain someone had around your mind finally broke, and you have regained your free will, and consciousness to the world around you. With the person you saved, and had previously been fighting in hand you have run far until to finally catch your breath. That is where this stranger explains you’ve been fighting as someone’s champion for a long time, and aren’t like minotaur in their world. You’re distressed, but optimistic now trying to figure out where on earth you are and what hapend to you. 
Koga
Yuan-Ti, Monk: Tranquility  In your youth you were rambunctious and thirsty for combat, but as you have aged you see the value in peace. However the actions of being involved with a mafia still haunt you often especially if you linger too long. When you defected you were almost killed for your actions, and are ever thankful the minotaur that attacked you was able to break free of the one mentally controlling them. This event woke you to your senses, and all of your energy has changed into refining your body and mental resolve.
Human, Rogue: Assassin You have a certain set of valuable skills to people that you have manufactured over the years. While some people see humans as average you use that to your advantage appearing very simple and unassuming of any danger to get close to who you need to. Your greatest skill is your alchemy kit ironically enough full of poisons to take out even the toughest of targets. 
Will
Halfling, Sorcerer: Psionic Soul You developed your psychic powers suddenly and unexpectedly. Worse you found them out while doing your bard entrance exam to join your brother, and the chaos caused cost you the chance to get in. Feeling ashamed, and scared by what had apparently awaken you’re on your own, running from home to get a handle on what abilities you’ve suddenly gained. It’s odd being on your own for the first time, but you have high hopes something good can come of this. Something good has to come of this right?
Arakocra, Warlock: Seeker Following manga plot line. A strange man promised you home and a family as you were used to roaming the streets. Things seemed alright, he trained you to fight though, and steal, and.....eventually you were wrapped in a horrendous world of crime. The most influential moment being when you were given powers. Apparently you have a connection to some greater being. Using artifacts he forced the being and you into a warlock contract which after being involved in crime a few more years you finally escape realizing the horrors you’ve done. Still tied to this greater power who is also upset by this you’re on a quest to fix this tell the average person you’re a cleric if asked.
(Dream team: Lance: Dragonborn paladin option, Karen: Tiefling Bloodhunter mutliclass with Twilight cleric , Bruno: Minotaur Fighter, Koga: Yuan-ti monk with mult-iclass in rogue, Will Arakocra sorcerer.) 
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crijoh · 7 years
Link
So. I play the game a little differently than everyone else (it seems). I LOVE the artistic design of the game, especially with the outfits, clothing options, dye options, and all the various combinations. Rather than going efficiency though, I always equip myself with whatever I think looks great and change my playstyle around that. I've have spent more hours than I care to admit dyeing different variations and options.As a result, I've put together my top 19 combinations (and some extras); click on the names for an Imgur gallery. And if you'd like to submit your own ideas please include screenshots and pictures.Here we go :)The PaladinThe Hoods color matches the armour's trimming and hopefully brings it all together. Paired with a Knight's Shield and Red pommel of the Knight's Sword (to match the crest on your armour) and you're good to go. Good for some classic righteous Knight-ing. Also, dye the armour crimson red and swap out the Hood for a Diamond Circlet for royal, princely look.Head: Hylian Hood (Light Yellow)Body: Soldier's Armor (Blue)Legs: Soldier's Greaves (Blue)Equipment: Knight's Sword + Knight's Shield[Alternative: The Royal Knight with a Diamond Circlet and Crimson Armor and Greaves)RoninA wandering Samurai of sorts, I love the look of this but remember: no shields. Samurai didn't have shields. The Eightfold Longblade's special charging strike really makes this one come alive.Head: Desert Voe Headband (Black)Body: Stealth Chest Guard (Black)Legs: Sand Boots (Black)Equipment: Eightfold Blade / Eightfold LongbladeHighlanderInterestingly enough, the brown Snow Boots' light blue trimmings match the Light Blue Armour perfectly. Coupled with a Ruby Circlet gives this a Conan the Barbarian-esque look. Grab a two hander and off you go with this all-or-nothing, battle-in-your-face, who-needs-a-plan class that practical speaks for itself.Head: Ruby CircletBody: Barbarian Armor (Light Blue)Legs: Snow Boots (Brown)Equipment: Claymore / Double Axe / Traveller's Sword + ShieldRangerProbably my longest used outfit (hence all the pictures). I love how this looks worn and practical but still very cool. No fancy bows, though - Rangers are hunters, survivalists and scavengers; their weapons are often of their own making and more often than not wood. They favour Quick Draw bows and use them even in close range combat. No metal, no shields or sword. They stay light, move quietly and fight from a distance with planning and strategy.Head: Hylian Hood (Brown)Body: Hylian Tunic (Brown)Legs: Hylian Trousers (Navy Blue)Equipment: Deku Bow, Wooden BowEx. KnightMy favourite outfit in the game; a retired, veteran knight. The white and blacks might seem pretty simple at first but with the bright blues of the Knight's Sword's scabbard and the Hylian Shield, it all comes together (along with the red highlights in the shield and on his vest). Very cool look, and high defensive rating as well. Tiny climbing boost to boot. An all rounder gear of a last knight in a world without knights. (Threw in some other color variations as well!)Head: Amber EarringsBody: Climbing Gear (White)Legs: Soldier's Greaves (Black)Equipment: Knight's Sword + Hylian ShieldDragoonInspired by the famous Final Fantasy series' class, Dragoons are elite soldiers with very distinct armour sets and who specialize in spears, lances and polearms and a piercing style of combat. Dragoons also benefit from slight lightning resistances and increased swimming speed, though they don't wield bows/arrows. The various colors represent the various brigades who each favour a particular kind of pole arm that (wouldn't you know) matches their outfit...Head: Rubber Helm (Light Blue)Body: Zora Armor (Light Blue)Legs: Soldier's Greaves (Black)Equipment: Spears, PolearmsGhibli HeroOne part a reference to Prince Ashitaka (from Princess Mononoke, one of the game's inspirations and references), one part civilian clothes. The blue in the shirt matches Link's eyes and offsets his hair nicely; it just oozes Ghibli. This has always been my go-to town-wear and the quiet white, blue and blonde seems to come right out of the hands of Miyazaki and his 3-color approach to simple, memorable character designs.Head: NothingBody: Old Shirt (Blue)Legs: Hylian Trousers (White)Equipment: None, Wooden BowOnion KnightA stoic (if somewhat bumbling) knight who's heart is in the right place but trouble seems to find him as often as adventure. He's not shy about using his patented retreat strategy (sprinting and screaming) but when he stands to fight, it's often for a noble cause. Unfortunately, we can't change the color of the Flamebreaker Helm's main components so I went with brown to draw everything together. An alternate version with a Brown Soldier's Armor also works, although it tends to slim him up a bit when I look him more Seignmeyer and...oniony.Head: Flamebreaker Helm (Brown)Body: Flamebreaker Armor (Brown)Legs: Trousers of the Wild (Brown)Equipment: Cobble Crusher, Boulder Breaker, Spring Loaded HammerBokoblin EnthusiastHead: Bokoblin MaskBody: Climbing Gear (Red)Legs: Trousers of the Wild (Red)Equipment: Bokoblin weaponsUndercover LizalfosHead: Lizalfos MaskBody: Radiant Shirt (Green)Legs: Radiant Tights (Green)Equipment: Lizalfos weaponsMoblitHead: Moblin MaskBody: Climbing Gear (Blue)Legs: Barbarian Leggings (Light Blue)Equipment: Moblin weaponsKing of the WildHead: Lynel MaskBody: Barbarian Armor (Purple)Legs: Snow Boots (White)Equipment: Lynel Weapons, FiercenessTime TravellerA lost time jumper who looks like he's straight out of an 80's movie and I wouldn't have it any other way.Head: Topaz EarringsBody: Rubber Amor (White)Legs: Rubber Tights (Blue)Equipment: Ancient Weapons, Guardian WeaponsBlue Tunic (Link to the Past)You know it. I didn't expect it to work so well but, surprisingly, these colors work together really nicely (though the red tunic colors don't translate quite so well.) Once I decided to give this a try, I haven't really gone back: I love the look. No Hylian Shield here; the Gerudo Shield (instead) looks closest to the kind of art design in the shields of that game and the Feathered Edge is short, wide and squat enough to make the outfit really feel like it should.Head: Cap of the Wild (Light Yellow)Body: Tunic of the Wild (Blue)Legs: Trousers of the Wild (Light Yellow)Equipment: Feathered Edge, Gerudo ShieldShinobiOne of my favourite looks; the Demon Carver rims the Soldier's Shield near perfectly and all the colors match a deep midnight and gray look that I just love. I never tire of unsheathing these weapons; the way Link just pulls apart what looks like a contraception into distinct weapons is just so cool. Plus, it's a Ninja in modern sneakers with a Tron vibe; what's not to love?Head: Stealth Mask (Navy Blue)Body: Rubber Armor (Navy Blue)Legs: Rubber Tights (Navy Blue)Equipment: Demon Carver, Soldier's ShieldThe Night's WatchRight out of Game of Thrones (warning: heavy GoT spoilers). And, like the men of the Night's Watch, they are underfunded, under equipped and overwhelmed. Weak bows, no shields, and very low defence on the outfit. Even the Warm Doublet isn't enough to stand the colds North of North. Luckily, our Hero here is Azor Ahai reborn, and his great flaming sword not only fells most cold enemies in one blow, but helps to warm him when things get really bad. This is a risky outfit that makes the world dangerous (your weapon is also what's stopping the cold from consuming you) and as the white walkers close in around you, all you've left to fend them off is a burning sword and the knowledge that you are the shield that guards the realm of men...Head: Hylian Hood (Black)Body: Warm Doublet (Black)Legs: Snow Boots (Black)Equipment: Flamesblade, Wooden Bow/Soldier's BowOne Punch HeroI don't think I need to explain this one. You either get it completely or you don't at all. And yes, the Stealth Mask could have also worked but it just doesn't feel as Saitama with his face covered...Head: Hylian Hood (White)Body: Radiant Shirt (Yellow)Legs: Radiant Tights (Yellow)Equipment: Spring Loaded HammerPostmanThe classic sprinting hero of Hyrule messaging. A red Zora Helm probably works better as a cap but the Ancient helm just feels more official. I tried a variety of spears to try and get that flag look and, in the end, decided the stem of the Guardian Axe just worked. Plus it matched the helm. I love this outfit because it gives me the urge to just start hand people anything and everything. And sprint. Lots of sprinting.Head: Ancient Helm (Red)Body: Climbing Gear (White)Legs: Trousers of the Wild (White)Equipment: Guardian Axe ++IcarusOr Hermes, if you like; you'll get the look I was going for when you see it. There's no other weapon to go for other than the Falcon Bow and the Lightning Rod (though the Thunderblade and Radiant Shield make sense too); you're a demi god after all. Just equipping this outfit makes the game feel different; like you're lighter, can move faster, shoot further, jump higher. I've experimented with a bunch of colors and felt these worked the best and I really like how it came out in the end.Head: Snowquill Headdress (White)Body: Desert Voe Spaulder (White)Legs: Barbarian Leggings (Light Blue)Equipment: Great Falcon Bow, Lightning RodBonus - ExtrasHyrule Warriors Link (Green Hylian Hood, Green Hylian Tunic, Standard Hylian Trousers) - meant to resemble Hyrule Warriors' version of LinkLinkson (Light Yellow Climbing Bandana, Standard Climbing Gear, Pink Hylian Trousers) - inspired by the lovely Dodson and Co. You can go Light Yellow Trousers and Pink Bandana if you like but it feels less prominent that way :PEl Capitano (Light Blue Radiant Mask, Light Blue Trousers of the Wild) - for when the only weapon you need against Calamity Ganon is a flying elbow.Researcher/Scientist (Thunder Helm OR Brown Flamebreaker's Helm, White Hylian Tunic, Navy Blue Flamebreaker Boots) - for when you need to study animal patterns, collect samples or fill out the Compendium.Classic (Updated) - (Green Cap of the Wild, Green Hylian Tunic, Standard Hylian Trousers) - for an updated, adult version of the classic look.Punk - (Standard Climber's Bandana, Standard Climbing Gear, White Hylian Trousers) - maybe not the most creative outfit but one I loved wearing; the colors work wonderfully and if you're going to equip a mop or go snowboarding/sand surfing, this is the outfit to do it with.Bonus 2 - The Stoic Guardian of HatenoEdit: Bonus 3! - /u/RafaSnows adds his own additions to the list! via /r/zelda
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pinky-in-blankets · 1 year
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[* Giving Flowers to your little s/o is always important.. at least in my opinion. *]
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