#its the herb from monster hunter rise

[lunarbard]

When Capcom revealed that Monster Hunter Rise was removing hot & cold drinks and automatically tracked monsters, quite a few people got worked up about how they were "removing the hunting from monster hunter." Despite the fact that the drinks were mostly just busywork in new monster hunter, and "tracking" has only ever been running around like a chicken without its head until you either spot & paintball the monster or, in world, find enough glowy tracks the game skips the pretense and just lets you follow it.

I finally got around to playing through Freedom Unite earlier this year with a friend (having started with 4U and played every game P3rd and later), and had a ton of fun with it despite a rather different experience from 5th gen.

That experience fully elucidated that Monster Hunter exists in a sort of tension with itself, between "preparation matters" and "co-op boss battler." Recent games, especially 5th gen, have leaned hard into the latter, especially with the massive boost to player options & monster health to compensate.

Every 4th and 5th gen game has made managing items less important, with automatic farms, item loadouts, and 5th gen's in-quest restock. Power & defense charms/talons are just small speedbumps you're waiting to pick up (Rise tried to make this somewhat interesting by making you constantly starving for funds so being them had an impact), but once you have them you stick them in your inventory and never worry. 4U added item loadouts so you rarely needed to check your inventory; I remember going back to 3U, I hated the lack of item loadouts, and would constantly forget to restock stuff.

Freedom Unite I was checking my box before every quest, and the only times I forgot items were because I wasn't thinking ahead when I did so. You have 24 inventory slots in that game, with no field or gunner pouch. My friend and I started carrying herbs around with us for additional healing, and in high rank added combo books so we could make mega potions without worry. Eventually they became rarely necessary, but it was still an active choice for how we used those inventory slots.

Traps, flash bombs, and tainted meat took up precious inventory space, but, if used well, could make our hunts far more successful. Bombs weren't just a thing we carried around for when a monster went to sleep, but saved for breaking parts like shogun ceanataur claws.

Every fight felt like a ticking clock on our available inventory, and it was riveting. Since monsters generally died without too many hits, we had less of a rush to just do damage like in 5th gen but rather were focusing on surviving while getting in the occasional necessary blow.

4U approaches the feel of the latter element, but inventory doesn't play as large a part. And the health bloat of 5th gen monsters, plus longer tells allowing for more reactive, rather than proactive, play is a completely different feel. Iceborne Fatalis gets the closest to that feel, but that's one fight in a massive game.

5th gen is fantastic to play with friends and just cycle through fights without much worry, and Sunbreak is the most fun I've had as a lance main in the heat of a fight, but there's just that little bit missing to achieve that.

I would love to see 6th gen try to revisit that feeling, but a big part of "preparation matters" is allowing monsters to get locked down with good prep. I remember in 4U with an SnS I could fully lock down a g-rank rathalos for 90% of the fight to help with farming. With sonic & flash bombs getting their capacity & effectiveness reduced (though sunbreak at least made flash bombs always work but provide fewer free hits, which I appreciate) and monsters falling / getting exhausted less, preparation can't really matter as much. And Rise's Endemic Life, "prep" is just running around the map before you run at the monsters; it approaches that feel, but you have the whole map at your disposal, instead of making choices.

I think the game could really make prep matter again by taking Rise's endemic life and instead making equivalents in hunting equipment you bring with you to hunts, in a similar slot to mantles. Provide a few big, punchy options that have specific effectiveness and reward knowing a monster & how to exploit it beyond just when it'll do which attack.

#monster hunter #monsterhunter

[triskhellion]

Hunter, Dragon, Wolf

I've been wanting to try second-person POV, so here's this. (I feel like this is Mature, but put both just in case.)

Rated: Mature/Explicit | 1k | Teen Wolf

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Chris Argent, Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale

Tags: Second Person POV (Chris, Stiles, & Derek,) Major Character Death (Not Sterek,) Alternate Universe, Non-Graphic Violence, Injury, Dragon Stiles, Getting Together, Mature/Explicit Sexual Content, Top Stiles/Bottom Derek.

Summary: The one where a dragon takes care of a werewolf's Hunter problem and they get together.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Equiknots: Harvest & Hunter's Moon prompts: Between, Flame, Hunter & Travel

The Hunter

Every decision — theirs and yours — has led to this. Your mother taking your father’s hand. Initiation and the knowledge of poison and steel. Days and nights spent on rooftops and underground chasing abominations.  

And if the oaths were corrupted, silver tarnished and steadily dimmed by recklessness and cruelty, well, it was still bright enough beside the dark. The things that should not be. Your spine still strong enough twisting to look the other way. 

You track your quarry through forest and over rocky inclines, a lucky shot to see through to the end. It is your purpose to rid the world of monsters and while you do not feel joy at the trail of heavy prints and splotches of blood there is a grim satisfaction.

You are skilled, you are tenacious, you are confidant. It will take quite some time to make it back to headquarters, but there will be proud looks when the report is made and proof offered. Some small trophy to be displayed with the others. 

There is a deep slash in the hillside large enough for a man — a man-sized creature — to slip through. Drops of black near the entrance. Carefully you venture in, heart pounding as you pass through winding stone until light finds your eyes once more. 

Slack-jawed, you step into the warm, amber-lit chamber and set down your bag. There is no sign of the Were or anything else, only piles of books surrounded by rich tapestries and flickering lanterns upon the walls. Thin layers of gold spread across the ground as if a puddle from a spring. You wander closer and reach to touch a bejeweled tome. 

At a scraping from above you lift your head to see a great, metallic bronze head with spiraling black horns descend from the shadows on a sinuous neck. Nostrils flare and eyes of fire narrow meeting yours, dilated. A rumbled hissing grows and its maw of knives opens wide. 

You feel a momentary chill as night fast approaches. Before you is the sun.

The Dragon

You were disturbed from your slumber by the sound of gasping and scuffing feet. The scent of fear and weariness, of blood and pain, from something born of earth and moon. A changing-wolf. One scrabbling at the fissure before staggering on. Sensing you or perhaps not willing to risk being trapped.

Interest piqued, you uncoil and rise from the bed of soft gold that soon forms wherever you rest in this shape. The only one you’ve lived in these past several years, your slender body the length of a cottage, long neck and tail with massive leathery wings of dark sienna. Yawning, you stretch and twist — popping your spine with satisfaction — and then move about your lair. 

To seek out the stranger or not? It’s been a long time since you spoke to another. What if it only led to disappointment? Trouble. Refreshed the loneliness and grief. 

But they were injured, needed help. You could try.

A different set of footsteps approaches quietly, the odor of old blood faintly clinging to stalking boots. Killing herbs. Once more there’s a pause, but no retreat. You quickly take to your hidden perch near the ceiling and wait. 

The human — the Hunter — is amazed. Curious. Careless. Did he never read of dragons in one of his peoples’s little books? Hear stories around a childhood campfire? No matter. He came to the wrong place chasing the wolf, to the child of murdered “monsters.” Up close he reeks of destruction and emptiness and you end him where he stands with molten flame. 

There’s no time to waste making your way to the larger opening on the other side of the mountain and then coming around to find the dying one. Concentrating, eyes shut and jaw clenched, you recall the trick and begin to shrink. To change. You stop at your in-between, man-shaped, but more. 

You grab the Hunter’s bag and drape more delicate gliding wings around yourself, rushing into chill wind and bright of day. 

The Wolf

For days you traversed the land weakened, grieving, and alone with death trailing after. At forest’s end you took the rightward path, which led you twisting high along the spine of the mountain. Foolishly (helplessly) you fell asleep and he caught up.

Wolfsbane bullets burning in your gut, you run until you cannot. Shifting back upright you stumble, searching for your final resting place. Somewhere you can see the sky, but the Hunter cannot reach. This is all you have left. 

Your legs give out. 

The chill spreads through your body and a young man smelling of coal and clay appears. As he approaches you can make out short dark horns and a whipping tail. His sand colored skin sparkles with tiny scales. Before kneeling his strange cloak flies backward. Wings. You only realize he isn’t a hallucination when clawed fingers dig into your belly.

You stop snarling when he removes the first bullet. After the second he breaks open more from a pouch, breathing upon the contents before slapping them over the wounds. You pass out screaming. 

Waking atop a nest of tapestries is a pleasant surprise. 

You exchange names with your stranger — a dragon — and he sets food and drink beside you. He offers you his home.

Days pass and strength returns, but you have no desire to leave. He is beautiful and clever, humorous and attentive. Post-broken and alone with fire in his eyes. You offer him yourself. 

He crawls onto you, his body running even hotter than your own. Skin against skin, you kiss and caress, frotting and fondling each other. He uses his long tongue and your thick fingers to prepare you, producing a more viscous saliva. You moan when he spreads your legs wider, coating himself and easing inside. Together you move and breathe and cry out, spilling when he floods you with warmth in a rhythmic crescendo. 

After, you rest with satisfaction under the blanket of his wings. Entwined.

#sterek #sterek fanfic #it was going to be a random argent but I kept imagining chris so it became chris. sorry chris lol #flash fiction friday #fff221 #sterek & stuff events #equiknots #equiknots between #equiknots flame #equiknots hunter #equiknots travel #equiknots trisk #trisk

[eated-a-soap]

☘️ 🌱 ☘️ | 🌱 🌱 | ☘️ 🌱 ☘️

#I'm a simple man. i like vido gam plants. small clover good. #its the herb from monster hunter rise #green #hands #plants #stim #stimboard #stimmy #stimming #sensory #mine

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 13

Stoneheart woke to a damp pelt and cold limbs, and it took him a long time to figure out where he was.

For a moment, he thought he was still on the journey, stuck on some rock in the mountains. That’s what it felt like, at least. The stones and hard earth beneath him had sucked all the warmth from his body during the night.  

His dreams had not helped, either. Once again, he’d found himself wandering that strange dark forest where he’d seen his mother, aimless and unsure. He thought many times that he could hear voices between the trees, cats crying out in pain... but he wasn’t sure who they were, or if they were real. He even thought he had scented Mistyfoot in the foggy woods, but when he had tried to follow her trail, he’d only gotten himself more lost.

Blinking sleep from his eyes, Stoneheart remembered where he was – Sunningrocks, on ThunderClan territory. Dawn was breaking over the boulders, and the sun was shining, but the air was still cold. Worst of all, the Twoleg monsters had revved up, and their smoke was rising above the trees.

He pushed himself up, feeling his limbs burn with soreness. Running around Twolegplace and then scrambling to evacuate his Clan within such a short time made him feel like he needed to sleep for a moon; but his stomach growled, and the ground beneath him did not look like an appealing nest.

Stoneheart opened his jaw in a yawn, but had to shut them almost instantly. The scents of ShadowClan, ThunderClan, and WindClan together was so cloying and strong, it made his throat feel like closing. He shivered. It won’t be for long, he thought, peering over the edge of the ditch. The three Clans were milling about, trying to go about as normal a day as they could. We’ll be leaving soon.

A wail rose from the rocks.

Stoneheart pricked his ears and readied himself to spring, but others were quicker. Warriors from all three Clans crowded around a tall boulder near the center of the camp that was currently the nursery. Stoneheart scrambled out of the elder’s ditch and pushed his way through the crowd as another wail bounced off of the stones.

Snowstep, ThunderClan��s deaf warrior, was padding sullenly out of the makeshift nursery. A kit dangled limply from his jaws, and Stoneheart felt sorrow well up in him – the kit was nothing but fur and bones, and very clearly dead.

“Not Hollykit, too,” whispered Sorreltail, her eyes round.

“StarClan, help us,” mumbled Dustpelt. Beside him, Cinderpelt raised her muzzle to the sky, as if beseeching their warrior ancestors.

A WindClan apprentice was hunkered down, her shoulder blades poking through her pelt. “W-We’re all gonna die!” she stammered, watching Snowstep silently walking towards the forest, his dead kit bumping against his chest.

The apprentice’s words made Stoneheart’s pelt prickle, and his stomach clenched. The last season of her life had been nothing but suffering – why wouldn’t she think that death was all that awaited her? Stoneheart’s mouth went dry, unsure of how to comfort the young cat.

“Thornpaw, don’t talk like that,” Crowpaw snapped, glowering at his Clanmate. “We’re going to be fine.”

“Crowpaw is right,” rasped Mousefur. The small ThunderClan warrior stepped forward, twitching her tail towards the WindClan apprentice. “Come hunting with me and Spiderpaw, youngster.”

Thornpaw rose to her paws, shaky; but she obeyed, following Mousefur and Spiderpaw as they headed into the forest. Smokewillow, Thornpaw’s mentor, followed a moment later, after Mudclaw turned and snapped at him to move.

Ferncloud’s next cry drew Brackenfur through the crowd. ThunderClan’s medicine cat leaned into the nursery and, after a moment, pulled his head back with a sigh. Silverstream came out with him, her tail-tip flicking anxiously.

“She’s so upset,” the silver tabby murmured. “I don’t know what to do.”

Brackenfur’s muzzle pulled into a frown. “Too many herbs will spoil what milk she has,” he said. “Is there any queen that can take Larchkit while she mourns?”

“Tallpoppy has milk,” Finchsong reported, slipping out of the nursery behind Silverstream. “But she’s got three kits of her own. If Larchkit is eating solid food, I think I can take him in with Willowkit and Rushkit.”

“Do it,” Silverstream meowed, without hesitation. She turned to Finchsong with grateful eyes. “It’s early, but I think Larchkit can handle it. Bramblefur and I will do our best to calm Ferncloud.”

“Playing with kits around his own age might be good for him, too, after losing his sister,” Brackenfur surmised. The medicine cat turned to the crowd, his face drawn with remorse as he announced: “StarClan has taken another from us this day. We will sit vigil for Hollykit tonight. Excuse me.”

Brackenfur left, limping through the crowd. Stoneheart craned his neck, peering around the boulders – the golden-brown medicine cat was heading for Tinystar, who was in conversation with Tallstar and Russetstar, but Sandstorm met the medicine cat and turned him away. The solemn look in the ginger she-cat's eyes told Stoneheart that they had already gotten the news.

“Everyone else, get back to your duties!” snapped Mudclaw. WindClan’s deputy stalked through the crowd, his tail lashing. His eyes pierced uncertain-looking warriors as he growled, “Don’t want to see another kit die? Hunt!”

“We need to leave,” muttered Poppyfoot as she drew Rainwhisker and Tornear close. “There’s not much time...”

Stoneheart could hear similar worried conversations going on all around him, their words bouncing off of the Sunningrocks like honey-drunk bees. Stoneheart sighed – he wished it hadn’t taken so many lives to come this far, but at least it seemed like everyone was on board.

He felt a pelt brush by, and turned to see his father by his side. Oakheart had a thin mouse in his jaws, half-eaten already, and he laid it down by Stoneheart’s paws.

“Eat,” he rasped. When Stoneheart hesitated, he added, “Don’t worry, I’ve had my share already.”

Stoneheart devoured the mouse as if it were the only food in the world – which didn’t feel too far off, with the forest as it was. He barely tasted it, and it hardly filled him, but it was something and that was far better than nothing. His stomach ached for the days during the journey, where he could eat his fill and still have leftovers.

“Poor Ferncloud,” Oakheart sighed as Stoneheart ate. “No mother deserves to watch her kits die.”

Stoneheart lifted his head, cleaning the mouse from his whiskers. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Leave it to the queens,” Oakheart told him, flicking his tail. “Come, sit with me.”

Stoneheart shifted, feeling awkward. He was aware of Mudclaw barking orders not two fox-lengths away. “Shouldn’t I hunt?” he wondered.

Oakheart shook his head. “Believe me, the forest is full of hunters,” the older tabby mewed. “If there’s something, anything, they’ll find it.”

“What about border patrols?”

“What’s the point?” Oakheart wondered, his whiskers twitching with amusement. He gestured at the river with his tail. “That’s the only border that needs looking after, and who’s going to pick a fight with RiverClan right now?”

Stoneheart supposed his father was right. After quickly burying the bones of his meal, they padded over to an unoccupied boulder, and Stoneheart helped Oakheart up onto its smooth surface. Stoneheart scrambled up and laid beside him, pressing their pelts together tightly to get any sort of warmth out of each other.

“Oh, would you look at that...?” Oakheart sighed. His gaze went over the river, hardening as it did. “Speaking of RiverClan...”

Stoneheart saw a pelt flash on the other side of the river. It was Falcontail, RiverClan’s temporary deputy – Leopardstar followed, her eyes blazing and her dappled fur blazing in the sun. Stoneheart searched the reeds, wondering if Feathertail was coming, too, but his hopes were dashed. It was only Leopardstar and her son.

Leopardstar and Falcontail waded into the river, tails lashing. Neither looked particularly happy as Tinystar, Mudclaw,and Russetstar met them on the shore. Tallstar trembled on dry land, Sandstorm by his side. Mistyfoot, Crowpaw, and Nightpaw prowled over, ears pricked; but Shadepaw was kept behind by Brackenfur, much to her annoyance.

“I was just about to relax with you,” Oakheart complained. “Go on, see what it’s about.”

Stoneheart dipped his head to his father and slipped off of the rock, trotting up to his sister’s side. He wasn’t the only cat curious, either – any cat who hadn’t been assigned a patrol or nursing kits or dealing in medicine had their eyes turned towards the river, and more than one had the fur along their spine bristling warily.

“What is the meaning of this, Tinystar?” Leopardstar began, her lip curled. Water lapped at her belly as she stood in the center of the river. “First WindClan, now ShadowClan, too?”

Falcontail looked just as annoyed, and Stoneheart guessed his claws were unsheathed in the water. “If you think to invade, you’ll find enough resistance for ten Clans!”

Stoneheart peered closely at the RiverClan cats, and had to suppress a scoff. Falcontail was blustering – something must have happened in RiverClan territory. Not only was the water low, but the two RiverClan cats looked far skinnier than usual.

“Explain yourself!” Leopardstar demanded.

Tinystar drew himself up, wrapping his tail around his paws. “We pose no threat to you, Leopardstar. ShadowClan’s camp was destroyed yesterday – they had nowhere else to go.”

Russetstar lashed her tail. Stoneheart guessed she was annoyed at Tinystar talking for her, because she meowed curtly: “ShadowClan has no interest in RiverClan territory.”

“We were just discussing how best to leave for the lake, actually,” Tinystar added. “... and whether or not you were joining us.”

Leopardstar flattened her ears, and Falcontail hissed: “We’ve already told you – RiverClan is going nowhere!”

“Not without our missing,” Leopardstar said quickly, glancing at Falcontail. Her gaze was sharp on her son, but even sharper when it turned back to the gathered leaders. “Surely you’re not planning to leave them behind, either!”

“Of course not,” Russetstar huffed. She glanced back, locking eyes with Stoneheart behind her. “My warriors have learned where our missing cats are being kept. We’ll be mounting a rescue before leaving for the lake.”

“But regardless,” Mudclaw swept on, lashing his tail, “whether those cats come home or not, and with or without RiverClan – we're leaving the forest.”

“Good!” Falcontail grunted. His pale-yellow eyes flashed at the WindClan deputy.

“I don’t know what you think you’ll gain,” Mistyfoot meowed, stepping forward. Her tail-tip was flicking back and forth as she stared down at Falcontail. “Our lands will be useless to anyone but Twolegs, and from the looks of things, your land isn’t faring much better. Why be so stubborn and let RiverClan starve, when you could follow StarClan’s will to a better place with all of us?”

Falcontail bared his teeth. Whatever he was about to say, Leopardstar interrupted, splashing a step forward to meow, “If you’re sending cats after the missing, RiverClan will send a warrior with you... and if Tawnypelt comes back in one piece, leaving is something I would be willing to discuss.”

“Good,” Tinystar decided. His pale eyes brightened, and Russetstar and Mudclaw glanced at one another with a hint of relief. “Sandstorm will be leading the patrol – send your representative and the mission can proceed immediately.”

Stoneheart did not miss the spark of hope in Leopardstar’s eye as she gestured with her tail to Falcontail. “Falcontail will accompany you,” she meowed.

“That's it?” Mudclaw sneered.

“I’m more than enough,” Falcontail declared, his lips drawn in a snarl. His neck fur bristled as he stepped forward a pace. “I’m willing to show you right now, fox-breath!”

“Enough,” Russetstar snapped. She stood on all fours, glaring down at the deputies. “If Falcontail is going to help, he is welcome to come along; but if he’s going to be obstinate and sabotage the mission, he can leave well enough alone – RiverClan wasn’t willing to cooperate with us before, we can do this without you now.”

Stoneheart felt Mistyfoot wince beside him. “Too strong,” his sister murmured.

Crowpaw rolled his eyes. “ShadowClan!” he complained.

Stoneheart, though, saw that Leopardstar’s hackles fell. He twitched his whiskers with amusement – sometimes, being as direct as a ShadowClan cat was necessary. It gets more done, he thought proudly. That’s what I love about ShadowClan!

Falcontail and Leopardstar muttered to one another for a moment before Falcontail splashed his way across the river, coming up a tail-length away from the other Clan leaders and shaking his pelt. Instead of looking annoyed with the thought of having to listen to enemy leaders, he held his chin high, as if he were proud to be the only representative RiverClan needed for this mission.

“I will remain,” Leopardstar decided, pulling herself up onto the shore with her son, “but don’t think I will be discussing this lake business until Falcontail and Tawnypelt are returned!”

“Fair enough,” Tinystar mewed. Both Russetstar and Mudclaw looked annoyed, but said nothing. Stoneheart wondered just how much Tinystar was suppressing his temper towards RiverClan’s leader right now – it must be taking some great effort.

“When are we leaving?” Falcontail asked.

“Now,” Sandstorm declared, waving her tail. She nodded to Mistyfoot, who drew close to her deputy. “Fetch Wolftooth, Swiftfoot, and Onewhisker.”

Mistyfoot nodded and sprang away, her paws scattering stones as she headed deeper into Sunningrocks. Sandstorm turned her gaze to Stoneheart and Crowpaw, and she nodded to each of them. “You two are coming, too.”

“What about me?” Nightpaw asked, drawing forward, his eyes bright.

Sandstorm’s gaze darkened with sympathy. “I need the fastest cats, my son,” she said. “And those that have experience with the type of traps that Twolegs use. Moreover, I need cats that are accustomed to working together.”

“But...”

Sandstorm laid her muzzle on Nightpaw’s head. “There will be so many chances for you to show us how brave you are,” she said. “For now, I want you to gather the available apprentices and help the medicine cats – we’ll need all the traveling herbs we can find in the forest for when we leave.”

Nightpaw opened his jaws to protest, but closed them. He purred into his mother’s pelt, and meowed, “Of course,” before he turned away, bounding up the slope.

Just as the black tom left, Mistyfoot reappeared, with Wolftooth, Onewhisker, and Swiftfoot behind her. Stoneheart was shocked at how thin Onewhisker was – but the skinny WindClan tom looked just as determined as Swiftfoot, whose eyes were blazing at the idea of rescuing his mates. Wolftooth, too, looked ready, his tail-tip twitching.

“Be careful,” Tinystar meowed. He drew forward, pressing his muzzle against Sandstorm’s. “Whatever you face, StarClan watches over you, my love.”

Sandstorm kept herself as close to Tinystar as possible for a long moment, and the she pulled away. “Let’s go,” Sandstorm meowed. “There’s no time to waste.” The pale ginger she-cat observed her gathered patrol, and nodded, satisfied. “To Snakerocks!”

Stoneheart followed Sandstorm up the slope and through Sunningrocks, feeling his heart lift. With Mistyfoot on one side and Crowpaw on the other, it felt almost like the journey again, even if some of his friends had to be left behind. As they pushed through the ferns and into the forest, breaking into a run, Stoneheart was able to push aside his fears.

I’m coming, Rowanclaw!

#tb au #tb dawn

[ladynightmare913]

Red Rose, Blood Moon

Welcome to Chapter 9! This is an Original Story inspired by the tale of Red Riding Hood. I would like to say a special thank to my best friend and co-author Olivia ( @asunshinepuff​ ) for joining me on writing this world onto paper. 

CW: There are mentions of death, blood, and gore. You have your warning!

This story contains only original characters created by Olivia and myself. For those of you who want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask to me or Olivia on her blog. If you have any questions, theories, or curiosities about any of our characters or how the story will progress, send them to the ask box! I know this chapter is shorter than usual but I promise to make up for it in the next chapter! 

I recommend listening this song while reading. I was listening to it while I wrote this.

Now without Further Adieu!

Chapter 9: Bardolph

1000 years ago

Red collapsed to the snow covered ground, hands reached to grab anything as the searing pain surged through him, he choked and gasped for air. At last when the trills of sunlight warmed his freezing body, did the pain finally cease until there was nothing. Exhausted and starving, he laid there. 

Ice blue eyes opened slowly. Heavy eyelids tempted Red to fall back into his deep slumber, but the scent wouldn’t let him. He turned his head to  get a better look at his surroundings. He blinked slowly, he wasn’t in the forest, or laying on the frozen ground. He was on a bed, in a room with wooden walls, lined with shelves full of books. 

Red swallowed thickly, his throat dry. He shifted his arms, but they were heavy like lead.  He lifted his head to see what kept him bound, but there was nothing restraining him. Only thick fur blankets. His chest however, was bandaged. He glared at the wolf on his chest, he sighed as he laid his head back down. He tried to fight out sleep, but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. 

The next time he woke, his hand rested upon his chest, his eyes didn’t struggle to open. His ears picked up the crackling of a fire. The scent of light smoke and warm broth flooded his newly sensitive nose. He found that he could move his arms at last, and slowly sat up from the bed. Catching the attention of his savoir. 

“Hold on there now, you were nearly dead when I found you.” A man’s voice.

Red looked to the stranger. The man was tall, his hair was a soft curly brown, lightly tanned skin, and the most striking pair of hazel eyes that seemed to have speck of gold in the sunlight. 

Red felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the wolf on his chest moved, shifting to a stance with its jaw closed into a growl. But not a sound was heard. Red felt the stranger prop a pillow behind him. He cleared his voice.

“Thank you…” His voice croaked. 

Wordlessly the stranger handed him a cup of water with a smile. “Call me Bardolph.” 

“Thank you Bardolph.” Red craned his neck to look around him. “How long have I been here?” 

“Four days, found you up on that snowy mountain while I was hunting for the Golden Doe.” Bardolph chuckled. 

Red snorted, “That’s just a legend.” 

“Maybe, but I’m a dying man. Can’t help it if I’m desperate.” 

Red paled. “I apologize, I shouldn’t have-”

“Pff, it’s alright. I’ve been hunting it for months now, never caught sight of it.” He clicked his tongue. “What were you doin’ out there anyway, in this bitter cold with nothing but the skin on your back?” 

Red sighed. “It’s… a long story.” 

Bardolph leaned back to his seat, crossing his arms. A smirk on his face. “I’ve got nothing else to do, indulge me.” 

Red merely shook his head in amusement. He relaxed, leaning his back to rest on the headboard. His eyes caught a leather journal resting on the self next to him. Herbs littered the shelves as well. 

“You’re a healer?”

Bardolph gave a small chuckle. “Of sorts.” He grabs the journal, opening it to a page and handing the journal over. 

Red accepted it, gently handling the book with great care. His eyes skimmed over the text, how to treat small cuts on the chest. He frowned at the date. 

“773?” He asked, his throat suddenly dry.

“How hard did you hit your head? Of course it’s 773” Bardolph looked over Red.

Red paled. His hand rising to cover his eyes, tears streamed down his face. “Three years. I’ve been trapped in that state for three years.” he choked out.

Bardolph said nothing as he only watched the young man before him weep at his apparent gap in time. When Red calmed, he offered the bed ridden man broth. 

They fell into a routine, Red was a skilled hunter, so it became his responsibility to hunt for their meals. Bardolph would collect herbs, and leave often to the city. And whenever the moon would become full, Red always left for the woods. Bardolph grew suspicious. 

“Where do you go?” He asked. But Red always evaded his questions. 

Bardolph frowned. “You’re hunting for the Golden Doe aren’t you? What does it only come out on the full moon?”

“No, I am not hunting the doe and I honestly doubt that.” Red lifted his cloak over his shoulders. “I’ll be back in the morning. Do not leave this house until then.” 

“Alright, alright you say the same thing every time.” 

“I mean it every time.” Red deadpanned. 

Without another word he left. Unaware of Bardolph following his tracks from a great distance. Hidden behind a tree, Bardolph watched in fascination as Red screamed in agony, his skin fell apart, his bones cracked and twisted until he became an unrecognizable beast. The beast nearly caught him, in an act of desperation, Bardolph climbed up a tree in great haste. And there he stayed until morning. The beast was nowhere to be seen, so he took his chance and hurried back to his home. There he waited for Red. And just like Red said, he returned in the morning. Haggard and half dead. 

Bardolph nursed him back to health, as he always did. On the third day, he spoke at last.

“I saw you become a beast.” He spoke eveningly. Red froze. “You could cure me.” 

“Bardolph, whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong. I cannot cure you. I would only condemn you.” He spoke tiredly. 

“So what’s a little pain? You’re fast, and strong. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how easily you catch your quarry.” Bardolph’s eyes brighten. “You’re unstoppable.

Red paused, sighing as he lowered the dagger he was cleaning. 

“I am not, silver burns me,” Red looked to Bardolph, “I lose my sanity every time. I was trapped in that state for three years.”  

Bardolph stepped closer. “Are there more of you?”

Red shook his head. “No, I am the only one.” 

Bardolph frowned. “You have the chance to cure many people and you just keep it to yourself?” 

“I do not even know if I even can transfer the curse onto another. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I would never wish this curse upon anyone, not even my worst enemy.” His eyes hardened.

“You know I am dying and you won’t cure me?”

“This is not a cure, Bardolph, I was cursed to become a monster every full moon. The first time I transformed, I stayed trapped in that state for three years. I could not control anything the monster did, I am grateful it stayed in the forest.” Red explained. 

“You’ve been transforming a whole lot more now.” 

“At the cost of my sanity.” 

“You look sane to me.” He snapped. 

Red glared. “You do not understand, I am driven by bloodlust. I have no sense of reason, I could only watch in horror as the monster in me tore apart its teeth with no remorse. If I had stayed here when I transformed, I would have killed you!” 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I cannot recognize my own family in that state…” Red lowered his gaze. “... I know because I couldn’t recognize you. You were only prey.”

“You didn’t know I was there.”

“Yes I did, but to the monster inside of me, you were nothing to me.” 

Bardolph frowned, he turned back to his knives. Red frowned. “Bardolph, promise me you won’t go after me again. I don’t want to hurt you, it’s not my nature, but it is the wolf’s.” Bardolph only nodded his head. 

The next full moon, Bardolph kept his word. And then the next, and the next, until Bardolph decided not to. He followed after Red. 

The monster charged at the man, but Bardolph did not move, and the wolf bit his entire arm. Bardolph screamed in agony. The monster left him for dead when a group of deer caught it’s attention. Bardolph dragged himself home. Red returned in the morning and smelled the blood. 

“I told you. You promised!” Red growled out. His eyes glowed gold.

“Think of it this way, you didn’t kill me!” 

They didn’t speak for weeks, and when the full moon arrived, Bardolph screamed in agony, transforming into a monster. When morning came, Red dragged Bardolph back to the house. Bardolph was overjoyed that he had returned human, and soon his senses began to grow. 

Red only watched in silent horror as his friend became overcome with bloodlust in his human form. Craving live chickens and pigs for food instead of cooked meat. Liking the blood clean off the plate. He grew more violent, and tempmental. Bardolph had left for the city, the night before a full moon. He assured Red that he would control himself. Red didn’t believe him. 

Bardolph had killed an innocent woman. Red was too late to save her, Bardolph had lost him in the dizzying streets. Red watched in horror as Bardolph begane to feast upon her. 

“Bardolph.” Red pulled the man off of her. “We’re leaving now.” Red ordered, Bardolph whimpered, as if a scolded puppy before he snarled.  Breaking free of his hold, he ran. Red chased after him. 

The full moon rose to its peak, Red clutched his clutch his agony.  The curse mark of the wolf, the wolf was the darkest black, its jaws began to close on his heart. Red refused to turn just yet. “Bardolph please!”

But Bardolph couldn’t stop the transformation, and screamed in pain. Red panted for breath, he couldn’t hold on much longer. Right before his vision faded to black, he saw a large chestnut brown wolf stalk towards him. 

The city was filled with screams in horror as two giant wolves fought each other for dominance, the smaller of the two landed a large wound across the larger wolf’s back, over his right shoulder. Three slash marks from it’s claws. The larger wolf, wounded and in pain, managed to grab the smaller wolf’s jugular, ready to tear it apart. Just as they both began to whimper in pain as the sun began to rise. 

Red left the city, returning to the snowy mountains. Where he recovered from his wounds for a year. He returned to the human world in search of Bardolph, to take responsibility for what happened. How his curse turned a man into a monster in both mind and soul. But he never found him. 

Years went by, how many Red wouldn’t be able to tell you. Only that he would search for Bardolph. But only come across more people cursed to be like him. Red noticed that he didn’t age. He couldn’t die. No matter what he tried swallowing silver, he tried everything. But he would not die. Red grieved for those who didn’t survive the turning, and grieved even more for those who did. And for those who were born with the curse. 

Red started into the large puddle. His face was covered in black fur, his ears were alert, and his eyes glowed gold. For the first time in a century, Red’s consciousness finally broke through the insanity. He finally saw himself in what he had become, he wasn’t angry or bloodthirsty. The eyes that stared back at him were his own, even if they were gold. For the first time in his cursed life, he accepted the wolf as part of him. They were one and the same. Luara’s curse brought the worst in humans, she didn’t turn him into a monster. It was always a part of him, she only brought it out. He growled at his reflection. There was no denying it anymore, He is the wolf. 

Tag List: Let me know if you wish to be added!

@spookypotato @purple-amaranthe @violetatapiamills

#Original Story #Red Riding Hood #asunshinepuff ocs #Our ocs #Red #Bardolph Sinclair #Luara #CW death #cw gore #cw blood #werewolves #curse #ladynightmare ocs

[yumkiwidelicious]

every step that i ran to you

Beom-pal wasn’t quite sure what to make of his old friends once they returned to Hanyang. They were taking a much needed break from what the Second State Councilor fondly referred to as ‘Monster Hunting’ in order to visit the capitol and check on the young king. That they deigned to stop in and see him as well warmed Beom-pal’s heart more than he could describe without quite a few servings of drink. 

Beom-pal counted himself lucky that enough time had passed that the three could enter the city virtually unrecognized. Many who had fought beside them were dead or moved on now. Seven years had obviously seen some differences among them; His Highness and Yeong-Shin Jein had facial hair now. However, some things remained devastatingly unchanged; Seo-bi was still beautiful as ever and still completely uninterested in Beom-pal as anything other than a beloved friend. Still, he was happy just to see her.

The four of them talked casually of all they had seen in their travels. Seo-bi was becoming a better and better physician the more exposure to new herbs and remedies she came across. Yeong-shin was their primary breadwinner, using his skill with a gun to hunt as well as impress noblemen out of their wealth all over the nation. The Crown Prince was as stoic and serious as ever, but he praised the others fondly and asked after his late best friend’s son with doting interest.

The absence of Mu-yeong around the table was a somber reminder of all they had lost in the plague. More than what could ever be returned, but not than what could be rebuilt. Beom-pal made a concentrated effort to speak of all the good that was happening in the palace these days. Mu-yeong’s wife was well looked after and had recovered from her harrowing experience while in labor. The council members still living from the plague spread the story Lee Chang had dictated so that all believed the former King and Queen had died honorably. The young king was healthy and well liked and curious and kind. 

“He takes after you in that way, Your Highness,” Beom-pal chortled, stumbling to his feet on his way to grab another tankard of liquor. Behind him Seo-bi and Yeong-shin chuckled and teased the former king, but Lee Chang only waved them away, in better spirits now that he knew his kingdom was in good hands.

As Beom-pal prepared another tray of drinks and food, he wondered how long his friends would be able to stay. His Highness and Seo-bi had spoken rather seriously of a desolate village, ravaged by the plague, that they had found when Yeong-shin had been in Hanyang last. Someone was intentionally harvesting and selling the resurrection plant along the countryside to the devastation of its inhabitants. The person or people’s end was unclear, and the former magistrate knew that soon his companions would need to wander back out into the world to find answers and save all of Joseon. 

He wished he could accompany them, if only to remain in their presence. It was not as if he’d be of any great help on the mission; even after seven years, Beom-pal knew he was no brave hero. If not for all three of the people sitting in the next room, he would have been dead several times over during the outbreak. Still, he wanted to go with them, even if the journey would be perilous, but he knew he could never abandon the young king. His Majesty was a lonely child and the relationship Beom-pal fostered with him was what he had to imagine the relationship between Lee Chang and Lord Ahn had been. No, he could not abandon his king.

Beom-pal nodded his head resolutely with this thought -he would not beg to tag along on their next big adventure- and moved to reenter the sitting room where he promptly dropped the entire tray of food and beverages he’d been carrying.

He had seen so many things at once.

Seo-bi had had food on her face. Just a smear of some sauce or another right in the corner of her mouth. Common courtesy would dictate one of the men she was with would inform her of this mess so she could excuse herself to tidy and then return perfect. Instead Beom-pal had watched as Yeong-shin reached over in blatant view of the Crown Prince and the gods and brushed the imperfection away with his thumb. He had been smiling and so had Seo-bi though the quirk of her lips and eyes spoke of fond irritation. The tiger hunter had only smiled more roguishly before sticking his thumb in his mouth to taste the food off her face. 

Beo-pal had frozen in the doorway, none of them noticing his return. 

The physician had promptly turned to her Crown Prince, playful pout marring her pretty face as she’d tugged on his sleeve. A punishable show of disrespect that Lee Chang had responded to with nothing more than a raised brow. In a voice lower and lazier than Beo-pal had ever heard him use, the young man asked his companion, “What, my flower?”

The tray had slipped from Beom-pal’s sweaty fingers-

“He’s teasing me,” Seo-bi had whined.

-and shattered onto the floor.

They all jumped as food and wine and dish shards flew in all directions. There was a rush of bodies to clean up the mess before anything was permanently ruined, but the Second State Councilor had merely stood there in shock as his friends moved all around him. He was trying and failing to categorize what he had just witnessed with his own two eyes. The scene was broken now, shattered along with the dishes, but he had seen it. 

He had seen Yeong-shin and Seo-bi flirting. 

That was all it could be, but then…

He had heard the Crown Prince call Seo-bi ‘flower’. An obvious term of endearment and an intimate one at that given their behavior once alone, but that just couldn’t be.

It was forbidden and what was more it just didn’t make sense. 

The fact that Seo-bi traveling alone in the company of two unmarried men was scandalous was a given, Beom-pal knew that and staunchly ignored such givens all the time. It mattered little. One of the men she was with was the Crown Prince and rightful heir to the throne of Joseon and as such was bound by his title and duty to uphold a strict moral code. Yeong-shin was free of such burdens and Beom-pal had playfully called him a man of ill-repute several times, but this was just unprecedented. 

If Seo-bi and Yeong-shin had begun a romantic relationship while in their travels that was their business. It was shameful and unheard of, but their business none the less and Beom-pal couldn’t judge because Seo-bi had been correct all those years ago when she’d assumed he had gonorrhea and he hadn’t come by it innocently. He would never think less of his friends for being tempted, but what about the Crown Prince?

Lee Chang clearly had feelings for Seo-bi as well and Beom-pal hated to think that Yeong-shin was flaunting their situation. Or maybe it was the other way around? Maybe Seo-bi was secretly involved with the prince and Yeong-shin was the one left pining and unfulfilled. Either way, someone had to be hurting here besides Beom-pal.

“Beom-pal, what is it?” Seo-bi was examining his eyes closely, thin fingers already grasping down around his wrist to check his pulse. He had frozen out of nowhere and dropped a whole platter after all. “Are you alright?”

“Ah!”

“My prince!” The physician and the councilor both looked over. Lee Chang had cut his hand on a bit of glass from the liquor and Yeong-shin was there. Blood dripped to the floor in steady drops and the tiger hunter was crouched on his knees besides the other man, cradling his arm gently. “Is it serious?”

“No,” the former king assured, placing his good hand on the juncture between Yeong-shin’s neck and shoulder. He caressed the skin there subtly. “Just a scratch.”

Or maybe…

“Ah, ah, a-ha!” Beom-pal pointed and shouted and backed away from Seo-bi as a wave of clarity washed over him like a bucket of cold river water. The other three looked at him concernedly. “It’s all of you! You’re all together!”

“What are you talking about?” Yeong-shin grouched, rising to his feet but not releasing his grip on Lee Chang as Seo-bi came over to assess the wound. “You’re drunk.”

“No, no, no, don’t try to hide it!” the councilor insisted, voice raised in his panic. He continued to point accusingly. “You’re all together! Romantically!”

A hush fell over the room so smothering that Beom-pal was sure he would start to choke. There was still clutter all over the floor from his shocking accident, but it went ignored as the three people across the room just stared at him as if not sure what to do next. Seo-bi looked frightened, Yeong-shin looked angry, and the Crown Prince just looked tired. The silence between them was deafening until Seo-bi finally seemed to come alive again and stepped forward into no-man’s land. She gave Beom-pal her back as she quickly bowed to the other two men.

“I will speak with him,” she informed before turning and grabbing Beom-pal around his wrist once more. 

He was powerless to resist as she pulled him from the room and from the vacant home they had agreed to meet in. So many homes were still vacant after the plague. She hurried them out into the street, empty now as night had fallen, not even letting them slip their sandals back on. She didn’t release him until they were in the middle of the dirt road, practically flinging his arm away as she rounded on him, eyes bright. 

Even after seven years, Beom-pal knew he was no brave hero. He was a tremendous coward, keenly aware of his own cowardice, and as such held a deep respect and admiration for people who were brave. Seo-bi was without a doubt the bravest person he knew and so it pained him, in a completely different way than her continued rejection, to see her look so terrified. 

“Seo-bi-”

“Will you report us?” she bit out, not crying, but eyes suspiciously wet. Beom-pal put a hand to his chest, honestly hurt by the question. 

“I would never-”

“You’ve done it before.”

The words cut like a knife between his ribs and he staggered back. They didn’t talk, ever, about some of the horrible things they each had to do to survive all those years ago. That Yeon-shin had brought the plague in by forcing cannibalism. That Lee Chang had very nearly killed an innocent infant. That Seo-bi had defected, albeit unknowingly, with Mu-yeong. That Beom-pal had, several times, switched his loyalties and betrayed his friends to stay alive. Such things were too painful and could tear their foundation apart at a time when they needed to be strong. That Seo-bi would throw Beom-pal’s cowardice in his face now only proved how dire their situation truly was.

He fell to his knees before her.

“Seo-bi…” He bowed his head over the dirt. “I have always cared for you and always will. You saved my life seven years ago and I swore I would repay you for what you did. Until all the hair on my head turns white, I will keep your secret!”

The night air grew quiet then and Beom-pal remained kowtowing in the dirt until a pair of slim fingers slipped down to touch the bottom of his chin. Seo-bi pushed his head up until they could look into each other’s eyes clearly. She had lowered herself to her knees as well. Her eyes were dry now.

“Thank you, my friend.”

When they returned inside the room was cleaned and Yeong-shin was pulling his fingers through Lee Chang’s hair. Beom-pal blushed, feeling like he shouldn’t be witnessing such an intimate display as Seo-bi called their attention away from each other. The two men looked sceptical when the physician assured them they could trust the former magistrate, but she made it clear the matter was closed for discussion. She took the tiger hunter’s place and began fixing the Crown Prince’s bun herself, complaining openly and good naturedly about how she was the only one amongst them that could keep them looking decent.

Beom-pal did not approach the situation, still standing in the doorway when Yeong-shin came to his side. The two assessed each other with guarded eyes before merely standing side by side and watching the other two. Of the three, Beom-pal had probably grown closest to Yeong-shin throughout the years and he couldn’t deny that the young man had never mentioned their arrangement in his visits hurt. 

“Are you angry?” The question was asked in a way that let Beom-pal know the other man would understand this emotion if it were present, but would do nothing to quell it. 

“No,” he insisted, shaking his head lightly as he looked across the room at Seo-bi. She was beautiful there, wrapping a tight tie around the Crown Prince’s hair after she smoothed all the stray strands off his neck. He was jealous; he wanted her to touch him like that, but she never would. “No, just…”

Take care of her.

He couldn’t say it.

He cared deeply for Seo-bi. He loved her. And Yeong-shin was his best friend and Lee Chang was his true king. He cared for all of them, but he couldn’t speak desires into their situation. It was not his dictate and make demands of. However, when he turned to look at the tiger hunter, he knew his wishes were understood and the young man merely nodded, clapping a hand firmly on Beom-pal’s slumped shoulders.

“We will.”

When they left the next day, they stood far enough apart to be decent and each smiled genuinely at Beom-pal. Seo-bi even deigned to kiss his cheek ever so lightly after they said their goodbyes. Yeong-shin and Lee Chang were waiting for her a little ways up the road, all their worldly possessions carried on their backs. The physician lingered a moment longer, not knowing when they may lay eyes on each other again. Beom-pal was making a rather manly effort not to cry.

“Be careful,” he murmured, not wanting to say too much more lest he lose all dignity. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank you,” the woman intoned, eyes bright as she bowed to him once more. He was a very important official after all. “You’re very brave.”

She departed, safe between the shoulders of two great men, and Beom-pal was left behind. He had no idea when he would see his friends again; what the world would be like when they could finally return. He hoped it could be a place where they could live however they pleased so that the magic that had sparked between them on their journey would not need to be snuffed out. Beom-pal returned to the palace and to his king, a secret heavy on his shoulders, but eased with the fact that the woman he loved believed him to be brave.

#kingdom 2019 #seo-bi #yeong-shin #beom pal #prince lee chang #throuple #ot3

[whimperwoods]

The Drowner 11 - Druid

The Drowner series is based on the first Witcher game, but really just requires that you know Geralt is a chemically-enhanced monster hunter nicknamed the White Wolf (Gwynbleidd in the elder speech) and the Drowner is a humanoid water monster. There’s an index! Also, have a link to Part 10!

Part 11: Healing is fine, but strangers are scary. Some chapters just need to be fluff, y’all. She deserves it.

[I think next chapter she’ll finally get her name, so... fingers crossed for that? I have to get irl work done to be allowed to write it. If it’s not next chapter, it’ll be the one after that.]

tag list: @inky-whump (Thanks for encouraging me to write the next bit!)

tw: referenced drug use (fantasy illegal/recreational drug used as anesthesia)

*****

The drowner slept in Geralt’s arms, half slumped, half propped at a slightly awkward angle so that he could feel her breath gusting softly against the hollow of his throat in a slow, even rhythm. She fought him every time he tried to give her more fisstech and knock her out again, but she was also still slightly feverish, and if he let her stay awake, she made almost constant small noises of pain, in spite of her best efforts to hide them.

It was almost dawn, and he’d made good time, the two of them quiet enough to avoid most of the trouble lurking in the night, and what he couldn’t avoid easy enough to dispatch with a little magic before it could reach them.

They were farther from the druids than he’d thought they were - or, if he were honest with himself, than he’d hoped they were. The drowner’s breathing was easy and she’d stopped shivering, her fever still apparent but no longer blistering when he pulled his glove off to feel her forehead. He’d made the right choice, as hard as that was to embrace when every time she saw her stump of a leg, she was surprised all over again and had to be prevented from trying to touch it.

She was still out when he finally stepped into the druids’ clearing a little over an hour after sunrise, drooling softly under her blanket.

He walked through the clearing, ignoring the tamed wyverns, the handful of dryads, and anyone who didn’t look like the group’s elder, and being watched only casually in return.

The drowner twitched slightly in her sleep, and he knew the fisstech had worn off. There was no way to know how long she’d stay out without it.

The elder stepped from the shade of the large tree in the middle of the clearing to meet him. “Gwynbleidd,” he said, and Geralt nodded deeply to acknowledge him, even though they’d never met in the time he could remember. Maybe they’d met before he’d lost his memory. Maybe word had just gotten around about him. Either way, it seemed like a good sign.

“To what do we owe this visit?” the elder asked.

Geralt rearranged his grip on the drowner and pulled the blanket away, revealing her poor, bandaged form. “I need healing. Magical. Should have come sooner, but I’d hoped she could heal on her own.”

The elder raised a bushy eyebrow. “Hmm. Change of heart, Witcher?”

“Long story, Elder. She needs help I can’t give her.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

The elder gestured sideways with his head, his long white beard swinging slightly with the motion, and Geralt followed him to a small herb garden, set into the edge of the woods at one side of the clearing.

“Go ahead and set her down. What are we looking at?”

Geralt spread the drowner’s blanket out before he laid her down, the elder raising an eyebrow again as he helped smooth the cloth across the ground, and stepped back, out of the way. He couldn’t stop thinking about how afraid she’d been each time she woke up, how hard she’d fought when she woke up in the middle of the amputation. It was best to give her space. It might even be best to leave her here, but the thought of that sent another spike of feeling through his chest that didn’t bear too much thinking about.

*******

The drowner woke up with an intense but not unpleasant tingling in her side and the bottom of her thigh, and opened her eyes to see a human face staring at her, the corresponding hands extended toward her. The human had long white hair coming out of his face, instead of the top of his head, and he was not her human.

She let out a high-pitched keen and tried to scramble backward, before remembering her missing leg and looking desperately around for her human instead, a half-choked sob cutting off the other noise.

Her human was behind the stranger, several feet back, and she couldn’t get to him without getting nearer to the stranger. She chittered at him, panicked, and wriggled backward as well as she could without jostling the end of her not-leg.

The stranger shushed her, and she bared her teeth, hissing at him.

Her human stepped forward, still behind the stranger, but closer, and she called out to him, a screech that rose into a question.

“It’s alright,” he said, “He’s helping.”

She screeched again, this time turning the noise into a whine that trailed pleadingly off into nothing. She started shifting sideways, hoping to circle the stranger and make it to her own person, but both men made disapproving noises and she whined a second time, confused.

Her body felt - better. The pain at the end of her not-leg that had been a constant, intense presence since she woke up without her leg was down to a vague, sore ache, and the cracked rib that she was used to twinging every time she breathed seemed not to be doing that anymore.

She didn’t remember the last time she’d felt the right temperature, like she did now.

She still couldn’t make sense of any of that with the stranger between her and her human. He’d picked her up after her leg was gone, and she’d been in his arms in all the strange, frightening snatches of time since then, fighting to keep him from putting the gritty stuff in her mouth, but never to get away from him. Being so far away, and separated by someone else, was terrifying enough to fill her mind and shove everything else out of it.

The threat of the grit that made her head go light was much, much smaller than the threat of the stranger. She chittered again, the sound rising up into a frightened screech.

The stranger’s fingers glowed as he reached toward her again and she snapped at the air between them, threatening him with a yowl.

Her human sighed heavily. “Oh, come on.”

He sounded like he had at the beginning, and she flattened herself down instinctively into the ground with a whine.

“Fuck’s sake,” he said as he pushed in front of the stranger and moved to pick her up.

She held her arms up, wrapping them around his shoulders as soon as she was in his arms again and burying her face in the side of his neck with an apologetic whimper.

He ran a hand gently up and down her back as she nuzzled into him, and she realized for the first time that her bandages were gone.

She whined again, confused.

“Yeah,” the man said softly, almost at a whisper, “He’s helping.”

She sniffled and then whined, an apology this time, but he just kept running his hand up and down her back, his fingers tracing along the edges of her fin.

“Yeah,” he said again, “I know.”

When the stranger put a hand on her side, she flinched heavily, her body breaking out into a shiver, but she held herself back to just a single squeak of surprise and nestled a little more tightly into the man’s chest, letting the stranger continue to touch her.

The tingling feeling came back, all of her old pains and injuries continuing to dull into a more minor, healing ache.

Oh. Oh.

The man’s head shifted slightly, pressing gently into the side of hers, and she whined again, another apology, and went lax in his arms, her tight muscles easing and her shaking stopping.

She still didn’t like the stranger’s hand on her, didn’t like being touched by someone unfamiliar, but as her human answered the apology with a gentle hum, deep in his throat, it suddenly felt alright. She relaxed even further, her head sliding sideways to rest against his shoulder instead of up against his neck. She shivered lightly again, but this time it felt alright.

“I don’t think the things we know about wyvern taming are the things you need anymore,” the stranger said, his voice confident in spite of a little quaver that seemed a natural part of it. “But we’ll do what we can for you. This is a new one, but I think it’s good.”

The man’s arms were solid and comforting around her. His chest rose and fell with another sigh. “She is. Damn complicated going into town, though.”

The old man laughed. “Well, you weren’t built for cities any more than we were, Gwynbleidd. Who’s to say that’s a bad thing?”

“You’re the ones who raise monsters on purpose.”

“Mmm, and I suppose that’s something different to doing it on accident?”

“Aren’t you meant to believe in miracles and destiny and all that bullshit?”

The old man laughed again. “You’re thinking of clergy.”

Her human hummed, conceding the point.

The stranger removed his hand from her side. “That’s the best I can do. Magic has its limits, as I expect you already know. We’ll make some potions up for her. Something better than that half-poison witcher nonsense you’re always brewing up. You’d better stay a couple of days. I’d have expected better of you than the shape she was in, if someone had asked me.”

“Hmph.”

“It’s not an insult, Witcher, just an observation. You saved her life, and it’s no great feat to see she loves you, even as torn up as she was.”

“Silly little thing.” He sounded affectionate, and she chirped sleepily at him, her head still pillowed against his shoulder and her vision going hazy as she felt her body drag her toward sleep, being suddenly healthy turning out to be just as exhausting as being hurt.

“Maybe,” the stranger said.

“You know, she used to let me put her down.”

It was the old man’s turn to snort through his nose. “Perhaps you do need to know about wyvern taming. We might have to change your name, Wolf.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The old man laughed.

Her man shifted his weight slowly from side to side, shaking his head at the stranger with no real vigor to the movement.

She drifted off to sleep.

#whump #fluff #creature whump #creature whumpee #monster whump #monster whumpee #witcher whump #healing #fear #cuddles #separation anxiety

[unholyhelbig]

Bechloe Prompt: In a world filled with monsters and dangerous creatures, there are hunters to counter them. Beca is a skilled hunter that is hired specifically by an anonymous wealthy client to take down a legendary demon. Unknowingly to Beca, it was the legendary demon herself that hired Beca.

SEND PROMPTS HERE | READ MY WORK ON AO3 HERE. 

A/N: Okay, so I am more than aware that this is pretty bad. BUT I wrote over 2k words of my half-baked idea before giving up and didn’t feel like scrapping that much work. So I suppose, enjoy, or don’t because I don’t have an explanation for this.

Beca had shut off the engine and it bathed them in nothing but stark silence. An instant cold crept through the windows and into the cab of the car. Still, she didn’t reach for the silver keys with a little metal chain in the shape of a palm tree on it. Her fingers were wrapped around the wheel, thumb tracing over the leather grooves.

“This is an awful idea.” Emily broke the silence, breath forming in short puff of condensation.

“It’s not.”

“Then why haven’t you moved?”

The older woman pursed her lips and adjusted her hold on the wheel. Usually, there was a process for this type of thing. They would sit idly by until a call would come through on a phone they would just have to destroy later. Something Beca had picked up at a gas station with nothing more than a few bucks of recycled cash. This was a different type of connection, though. This had been through a private site and private contractors.

“They haven’t called in months, Emily. How else are we supposed to pay rent?”

“I don’t know, get a real job?”

She snorted at that, finally moving her hands from the wheel long enough to feel the heat of her palm against her jeans. She had tried normal jobs before- flipping burgers and sorting through racks of clothes until her fingers lost feeling. Even delivering food to rooms in a nursing home, but normal had never been her thing. Even now she would risk walking into this suburban nightmare instead of putting on a monochrome shirt to mop dirty floors.

Emily made a face at her own suggestion and let out a breath thick enough to cut through the ice that was collecting at the base of the windows at this point. Beca had never pried as to why her partner had given up her high paying position at a recording agency for a life like this. Maybe it was the adrenaline or the family calling that came with the last name. But that was barbaric now. It was a profession you chose now, completely optional if not secretive.

“We can’t sit in the car forever-“

“I know.”  

She didn’t wait to hear, or even see, the look of annoyance that Emily carried before she pushed the creaking door of the El Dorado. It was black like the night and stood out among the brightly colored cars that lined the street. A silver convertible for the man next door, and rose bushes waiting for spring. A yellow hummer for the woman that didn’t’ know what to do with money- her lawn just as pristine, even as snow coated every inch. Beca noticed the statues of the angles.

She slid her jacket on and grasped the leather book that rested against the edge of the door before she closed it. Emily flattened the collar of her own jacket, tucking her book under her arm with the slam of the passenger side door. They both sported ties and white button downs- looking the part, as Emily would so kindly put it. Beca wouldn’t even open the door for herself.

“This is all a little domestic, right?” She spoke when Beca joined her at the end of the walkway. They both stared up at the yellow house that stood out against the white of the snow. The shutters were painted forest green and a makeshift light pole was fashioned in the middle of the yard. It was a lawn ornament, never lit but always resting. “People tend to notice a missing housewife.”

“She’s not a housewife.” Beca pointed out. “She’s not even human. It’s just like any job we’ve ever done before.”

Emily swallowed but nodded nonetheless before taking the first steps towards the green door. And Beca half-expected the mail slot to open and ask for a password. Neither of them would know it. But she tightened her grasp on the leather book regardless.

Beca was the first to knock, her hand cold against the surface as she took a generous step back. Emily adjusted the white collar of her shirt like any of this mattered. It made Beca flush and glance down at the black tie that was up to her neck.

The door opened with a long creak and they were welcomed with the warm smell of fried apples. It reminded Beca of Cracker Barrel, or at the very least, the little shop with the overpriced cards that everyone walked through while faux southern comfort coursed through their veins. The woman who opened the door was an exact copy of a step ford wife.

Her strawberry locks were shaped with hairspray, crystal eyes popping against the snow. She wore a dress despite the cold, an apron tied around her waist. Her features were sharp and dark all at once and Beca lost her nerve to talk for nothing short of a second.

“Hi,” Emily took over, her own smile broad. “Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”

The woman adjusted her hold against the door and shifted it against herself. Beca got a better look at the house. It was quaint, filled with pastel colors and potted plants that somehow caught every ray of light that the January day had to offer. There was a throw against the back of the leather couch and stairs leading up to more of the picturesque middle-class home. The scent of cinnamon tickled at the back of her throat and almost made her eyes water.

“Oh?” She pulled back and the door creaked with it. The woman eyed Beca with a certain intent. It was laden with lust and the young hunter reached up to her neck, fiddling with the knot at the top of her tie. “well… I don’t see why not. It is a bit cold out there. You two are liable to catch your death.”

Emily let out a little chuckle as the woman stepped aside, and suddenly Beca wasn’t so confident, and that was a rarity. She had slain a cockatrice in the alleys of Baltimore single-handedly- and that was something that could kill her with a single stare. But she was sure a legendary demon like Aggath wouldn’t’ go down without a fight- but Aggath also happened to live in the suburbs.

Her partner nudged her shoulder and was the first to take her steps into the house. Beca crossed the threshold and gained some confidence back- it was just like a normal living area. There was no alter dedicated to a lower power or blood dripping down the walls- in fact, there were a few family photos. This woman looked like the youngest of three sisters.

Was this something she always was? Or something she traded to become?

Either way, she was suddenly sitting on an uncomfortable leather sofa with a plate of steaming chocolate chip cookies placed in front of her. It made the pit in her stomach grow fonder. She ignored that too and politely declined the tea that was offered in its place.

“So, what church do you two work for?” She had settled herself on a patterned chair across from them. The pillows on the couch matched the deep scarlet.

“The church of… Christ?” Emily said.

“Ah, you don’t seem so sure of yourself. You can take off your jackets if you want. Make yourselves at home. It doesn’t look like the snow is slowing down anytime soon.”

Beca shifted in her seat. Large flakes had started to fall from the sky. It was cold enough for it to stick to the already coated grass. It collected at the corners of the windows and made her younger companion draw in a sharp breath. There wasn’t a chance of snow today. Cold, but clear skies.

“No thank you, we’re fine.” Beca struggled to voice. “You know, I think I will take you up on that offer for tea if it’s not too much trouble?”

Indigo eyes scanned her once more and this time Beca felt her stomach twist and heat up. They looked like they were rimmed in gold. A deep color that was usually reserved for the rich. “Of course.”

As soon as the woman was out of earshot Emily grasped hungrily at the corner of her jacket and pulled her close enough to feel the heat of her breath. “We have to get out of here. Now. I’m not comfortable with murdering her. She’s got a family. Whoever called you must have been wrong.”

“It’s all fabricated. It has to be, Em. Remember- she’s a demon? We kill them for a living and-“ She stopped, grasping the nearest photo. The woman with the icy eyes stood with a man. His arms were around her and she looked a bit younger than she did now. They were in front of a waterfall. “I’m not about to get swayed by a few portraits.”

“Niagara Falls, 2014.”

Both women snapped their heads up. She stood, leaning against the doorframe- She was holding a tin tray with two mismatched mugs and a little cup of sugar. There was steam rising into the air.

“That’s my brother, actually. He’s in the service now, been on tour for the second time in the past five years.” She smiled fondly and placed the tea down in front of them. “He’s got a lot of faith though and I think that’s what gets him through- either of you take sugar?”

“Please,” Emily said. Beca nodded.

They watched transfixed as she tilted the kettle and two streams of hot water filled the mugs before she placed darkened bags of herbs. The strings hung over the side.

“That day was nice; it was pretty cold. But we stood close enough to the edge of the railing to actually feel the mist and it was… I don’t know, once you see something like that it’s hard to forget. You just kind of have to feel it. To live it.” She let out a breath “He told us that night that he enlisted.”

Beca stared at the photo, squinting at the way they looked so happy. Thinking about how he hid it so well- the anxiety of talking to his family about something so utterly life-changing. She thumbed the gold picture frame before placing it back on the side table where it belonged. Emily squeezed her leg, one brow lifted.

“You know, we’re just trying to meet a quota here,” Beca said, glancing back up at the woman. “I feel like you have enough faith to last a lifetime- you don’t need to hear what we have to say.”

The demon, the thing that was supposed to be a demon anyway, was staring at them curiously. The hunter had heard tales of this before: regular people catching wind of what they did only to hire them as some hack job hitman instead of a trained professional who dealt with so much worse. But that didn’t make them hero’s- it made them killers. Hired killers.

“We should really get going,” Emily said, “Thank you for your hospitality….”

“Chloe,” The woman said finally. “It’s still snowing pretty hard. You won’t be able to see a damn thing.”

Beca stretched over the back of the couch again. All she could see was pure white. Her back ached from the chill that seeped through the window. Though she would personally feel better waiting in the car with her fingers hovering over the heater, they certainly didn’t’ have the gas to spare. The darkened liquid had dripped through the tea bag in a splayed mess. It colored the water thickly and lapped at the edge of the mug.

“What about the two of you, any siblings?”

“I have a little sister,” Emily said cautiously. “She actually just started kindergarten in the fall. Absolutely hates it. She begs us to put her back in preschool at every family dinner.”

Beca listened to her partners’ story fondly and wondered once more why she would choose this life over the one she had culminated for herself. She reached forward out of habit- and maybe even courtesy and took three even gulps of the sugary tea that was offered to her moments ago. It was floral and reminded her of her grandmother’s house. Tasting like the daisies plastered on the white walls.

“She’ll get used to it though. I never liked school when I was a kid either and she’s got this infectious personality. No trouble making friends at all…”

Emily’s voice began to fade away from her as she leaned forward and placed the half-empty mug back on the metal tray- her fingertips drifted along the cooling edge of the leather couch as she blinked away the fuzzy feeling in her mind.

“What about you, Beca?” The woman was suddenly asking her, and she shifted her gaze up. Trying, and trying to focus on the way her lips moved and the way her blue eyes darkened. “Do you have a brother? A sister?”

“An older sister- I’m sorry, but what kind of tea is this?”

“Herbal.” Chloe waved her off. “A mix of jasmine and honey, I think. Tends to mix the ketamine well. Don’t you think?”

Beca straightened up and glanced over at Emily. The hunter was leaning against the back of the sofa, her eyes glossy and her chest moving up and down in a rapid motion. She was staring past their host. Beca felt drowsy. Then she felt nothing at all.

She awoke to a heat. It clung to every inch of her, making it hard to breathe, hard to pull an inch of air into shaking lungs. A thick layer of sweat coated every inch of her body, soaking through the stained white button down that hugged her figure. The book she had clutched so strongly to her chest was just barely out of reach of twitching fingers.

Beca was on a hardwood floor that reminded her of a sleepover. More splintered and rotted through. The dull orange hue from a flickering streetlamp streamed through a dusty window. The outline of a cross was molded into the faded wallpaper.

There was no furniture aside from a broken rocking chair in the corner, aptly covered in a shifted white sheet that was as stained as her attire. A tin tray was coated in rust, shattered mugs scattered around it with a simple metal spoon perfect for sugar.

She let out a groan as she sat up, eyes flicking back to the window. No snow- just heat, the sound of crickets chirping and the black El Dorado sitting idly by. Crimson roses decorated the once vacant bushes, clipped like the wings of a bird.

“Illusion is the first of all pleasures.”

Beca turned quickly to face the voice. The woman who had so kindly offered them a drink. The one that had pictures scattered across the walls of her family. Niagara Falls and a brother who served. She looked different- still pristine and clean, still sporting a nice patterned dress. Beca settled on the fact that it was her eyes. Darker. Meaner.

“L'illusion est le premier Plaisir” Beca scoffed “They made us read The Maid of New Orleans my junior year of high school.”

She turned completely, listening to the way the floor threatened to buckle underneath her. Chloe, Aggath, whatever it was, stared at her fondly. Just like the smile she had pushed earlier. Beca felt like a toy, something to be played with.

“That’s quite a dark choice for an intermediate English program.” She walked closer, dragging her finger over the end table, collecting dust. The paint was peeling and the photos that were once there simply weren’t. “Do you know who hired you to kill me? Or at least had you make a feeble attempt.”

“It was anonymous.” She found herself saying glancing around the room as the summer heat bit at every inch of her. Her temple ached. Burned as her skin pinched around dried blood. “They didn’t’ say much. Just an address, just a name.”

Chloe was close now, and she still smelled of cinnamon. The only thing from the illusion that hung in the air morosely. Beca had questions- so many questions that she knew would go unanswered. Her partner. The absence of snow. The heat the built up in the pit of her stomach like rolling lava.

“This is the part where you beg for something.” The demon said, smile dark. “Your life would be the main compensation, but I’ve heard everything at this point. Anything to keep me from mutilating a young hunter such as yourself.”

“If you’re going to kill me, you would have done it by now.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Beca lifted her chin, felt a bead of sweat drip down the center of her back. Her tie hung low and her breath was shallow, yet she didn’t’ back away. Not from this. “You hired me yourself, didn’t you? Like a twisted game shrouded in illusion. A witch in a candy house.”

Chloe laughed loudly then, and it was nothing short of angelic. “Grimm’s Fairy Tales is a far cry from Voltaire.”

“I’m well versed.”

“So, it seems.” She glanced around once more. “I thought you would put up more of a fight. Your companion did.”

Beca swallowed thickly. L'illusion est le premier Plaisir. “Emily had more to fight for, I’m afraid.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fic rec #bechloe au #demon au #fanfiction #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction #request #idk what this is

[antevalia]

poison ivy | act: one

➳ Summary:  He thought he was done for, after attempting to chase down a suspect in his investigation, a mercenary ends up getting trapped the dead weight of his horse in the depths of the forest. Fearing for his life when the unknown suspect returns back to tie up loose ends, an unexpected savior comes to his rescue. However, he might find himself having to make a tough decision between his flame, his coin, and the good of the people.

➳ Word Count: 1.9k+

➳ Rating: Teen

Thick leaves and branches whipped and slapped, cutting at his cheeks and his exposed arms. He’d know he’d come to feel the effects of this endeavor once it was all over and the excitement of the chase wore off. Yet he was almost upon them! Swiftly, the young hunter chased after the cloaked rider on horseback, leaping and crashing through the thick forest. One would have already abandoned their horse after being taken off the beaten path and lured deep into the woods like this. It was so thick with moss and nature, there was hardly any place for walking or trotting without a struggle. Yet, for the bounty hunter, there was no time to waste. Almost within range, the hunter took arm with his dagger. If he could get close enough, he’d throw the lousy mongrel from his horse and from there it was easy pickings. If he could. The cloaked figure was only in range for mere seconds before turning and vanishing into the thickness of the forest yet again. On and on this went until the two were back on a clear dirt path again leading straight ahead. With a clear path, the hunter grabbed a rope from his hip, swinging it to his side. Steadying himself he raised the rope and just as he swung it forward, the cloaked figure jerked his horse to the side and in one quick moment the hunter’s horse found itself entangled and suddenly tumbling down a muddy and rugged hill, it’s rider tumbling with it. Feet firmly clasped in their hatch, the hunter’s leg twisted and turned, his side and back colliding with the dense mud and stone before being launched in the air, then back down again. Twigs poked at him like dull swords and his knees began to tear and crumble. Out of breath, the hunter choked on his screams, mud slammed against his face as he slid and only came to a stop once a tree stump blocked his path. 

Groaning and writhing, the hunter looked hesitantly looked down, fearing the worst. His knees were bruised and bloody, a twig of sorts lodged into his calf, and his right leg had almost entirely been trapped under his horse. The pressure was agonizing and even more so when he began to struggle to remove himself. He muttered a curse and laid back with a grunt in defeat, but sat up almost immediately once he heard rustling in the distance that seemed to draw nearer by the second. Grunting, the hunter frantically searched around him for his knife, his dagger, his bow, anything to defend himself from what he assumed might be wolves coming to tear him limb from limb. To his surprise, what emerged was no wolf but rather a figure dressed in a dark cloak. The one he had been chasing. Groaning, the hunter, tried desperately to free himself as the figure stalked ever so closer, unsheathing a unique looking dagger from his cloak. He was to die here, he was sure of it. Yet as the masked person was just upon him, something zipped through the air, and the assailant drew back, gripping his arm. Blood.

“Away with you!” A voice yelled. From the top of the hill stood a woman, her glare and her arrow fixed. “Away now!” She yelled again and loosened another arrow. As quick as it flew, the masked rider vanished back into the depths of the forest and the hunter let out a shaky breath. Quickly, the maiden archer slid down the hill with ease, though dirtying her boots, and bent down, surveying the sight before her. Through the pain, the hunter felt mild embarrassment at his predicament. Here before a woman, a man of his stature lays crippled in pain, crushed under a horse that was no doubt beyond saving as its neck bent in an unnatural position. A horrible shame he’d feel even more later, for that was a horse he’d been given by a good friend of his. “Your leg,” the maiden said, pointing to it. “I’ll need to examine it… But first, we ought to save the other one.” The hunter only grunted and watched her carefully as she shifted towards the fallen horse. 

“You cannot lift it, its too heavy,” the hunter said, though the woman just ignored him and held her hand out. In one swift motion, the maiden guided her hands upwards and the hunter felt a tremendous weight taken off of his leg. His eyes looked on in shock as the maiden directed the horse’s corpse to the side and gently placed him on the ground. “You--You’re a mage!” He let out. Again, she barely acknowledged him and only hummed a response, and began shuffling around in her pockets.

“And you’re a mercenary,” she said blankly, nodding towards all the fallen papers surround them from his horse's satchel. They were nothing but bounties, official letters, and treasure maps. All of which he’d certainly need later. It was a dead giveaway. Before he could respond, the mage removed a small vial from her pocket. “Drink this,” she said, shoving it towards his mouth. He had no time to protest before she placed the vial between his lips, and tilted it, the vial’s contents spilling awkwardly in his mouth. It was a horrid taste that seemed to linger on his tongue as he swallowed. Gods, why did he swallow it? She was a stranger!

“What is this?” The hunter said, spluttering. “What poison—”

“It’s not poison,” the archeress interrupted. “It’s to help with your affliction.” Before he could even think, she quickly removed the twig from his calf, a sharp pain shooting up his leg and making his heart race once again. It was so sudden, he didn’t even register that he’d been howling out in pain for a few seconds now.

“You’ll kill me,” he whispered in between ragged breaths. It hurt like hell and the stingy pain after she removed it made it all the worse. She only glanced at him, but he could have sworn he saw her roll her eyes as she began to bandage his bleeding calf.

“I cannot treat you here,” she said suddenly. “We’ll need to go to my hut. It’s not far from here.” For a second the hunter had wondered how exactly such a thin and frail-looking woman was to carry him, a heavy with muscle mercenary, to her hut. That was, until he found himself suddenly a foot above the ground, floating behind the woman who marched through the forest like it was her own, bow firmly in hand. Glaring eyes darting from side to side. 

“This is—I’m flying!” 

“You’re a mercenary who’s probably fought countless monsters of different variety and worlds and yet you’d marvel at simple magic?” It was the most she’d said to him thus far. Her voice was smooth and quite deep. Maybe a bit of rasp to it. Nevertheless, she struck him as a woman of value. 

“Fighting creatures and mutations is nothing to compare to taking flight.”

“You’re but only a foot off the ground, sir,” she said as a matter-of-factly. She scoffed at him and he could tell she thought him an indignant fool. 

“The pain,” the hunter said. “It’s not there anymore. What did you do?”

“The tonic I gave you,” she replied simply. To that, he let a small ‘ah’ and let her drift him along after him in silence. When they arrived at the hut she set him down gently atop a long wooden table, simultaneously moving the herbs and other assorted plants off of it and placing them elsewhere. Then she turned to him and began ripping his pants around his wounded legs.

“Well, this isn’t how I imagined I’d be undressed by a woman,” the hunter said and the archer only shot him a look and continued. The hunter hadn’t noticed before, but his wounds seemed pretty grievous. His knees were all mangled up and swollen, and his ankles looked like crumpled paper. Nevertheless, his right leg had seemed like it’d been crushed entirely. He let out a sigh and laid back, letting the woman do her work on his legs. “Is it bad?” He said hesitantly.

“Well, your legs are done for,” she said and look of horror spread across the hunter’s face. “For now.” He relaxed but still looked equally disturbed. She took a few glances at him before a small smirk graced her lips. 

“Oh, that amuses you?” The hunter said. “Poor wee crippled me,” he said and the young archeress only slapped his leg, causing him to yelp in pain, before rising to her feet. 

“And what if it does?” She retorted. “Can’t a healer get their fair share of amusement every time some big idiot in distress falls down in the forests and needs assistance?”

“Ah, so you’re a healer?” She turned to her table and began to mix together a concoction. “Yet you carry that fine bow and clearly know how to use it.”

“Indeed… These tonics don’t brew themselves,” she said. “I have to fetch them and as you can see one must have the means to defend themselves if they’re to roam these dense parts of the forest.” She’d thrown away her cloak when they arrived and the hunter started to know the small little scars littered on her shoulder blade. He wondered if defending herself was where she’d acquired them from. “Though, I must say I haven’t had the pleasure of saving a mercenary from the clutches of death from an unknown assailant.” 

“Ah, the pleasure is mine to be saved by a young maiden in the forest and even to be undressed by her,” the hunter said, a sheepish smile creeping on his face. “Perhaps this young maiden would like to tell me her name?”

“Maybe she would,” she said, turning back from the table holding a cup with an odd colored liquid inside. “Or maybe she’d rather just get on with it.”

“Then I’d have to wonder why this young maiden didn’t just leave me in the forest to die.”

“Mmm, perhaps she thought the hunter was a pitiful sight to behold, crushed under a horse, with no means of defending himself against the masked assassin!” She was dramatic yet kept that callous type of speech about her. 

“Ah, so you have a sense of humor.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She said finally and shoved the cup to his lips. “Drink,” she ordered. She was far from tender, but her roughness seemed to only make him pine after her words even more. She was a beauty too, of brown locks kept up and secured by a golden band. Her skin was pale and flushed pink and light freckles adorned her nose and cheeks. Her lips were colored a deep red, her eyes were a shade of blue, no, green, no gray. She was memorizing to behold, at least to him, in all her natural northern beauty. 

“The names Aiden,” he said, wiping the residue from his lips. She only smiled with half-lidded and mischievous eyes, before pushing the boy back on the table. As soon as his head fell back he felt an incredible weight weighing him down.“What’s happening to me?” He asked softly, strength fleeting from his body. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’ll feel weird at first, but I promise you this is better than the alternative,” the woman said, but Aiden could barely hear her before his eyelids shut and his mind seemed to collapse, all thought fleeing from the forefront. Yet before he succumbed into complete darkness he managed to hear one last thing uttered from her lips.

“Alyssia.”

#1000 words #mine #words #spilled work #daily writing #writing #writblr #literature #creative writing #short story #short stores #fiction #writer #writers #original fiction

[storytimewith]

Sloth, Lord of the Flies

The end is near.

The demon lord has risen and his armies are growing. The generals are being put in their rightful spots among the rankings. The humans wage war against those that threaten their peace or profit. The elves stay in their strongholds of the forests, The dwarves continue to forge in mine their meaningless lives away. The end of the world and the breaking of the peaceful times is upon us.

The demon lord sends his armies and generals on a certain mission to ensure their victory

“Find the Seven Sins of man and awaken their vessels”

So the generals and their battalions to scourge the planet for the sins and the vessels they inhabit. Each sin is defined by their own sins through the vessels, the vessels never show the sins since they cannot be awakened without the help from a being of superior power and only a handful of beings outrank the seven sins. The demon lord was one such person so he created crystalized orbs of his magic and had them enchanted to indicate when someone was close to a vessel and which sin it was.

A vessel is not an object yet a person or an animal. A “creature” praytell and they have inherited the soul of the sin from their ancestors who were the original seven. The original seven were not demons or evil by any means though had strong emotions and and grandeur magic power. Eventually each of the original seven were cursed by the maker and it’s followers that they shall be controlled by their emotions and that it will pass on through generations. They original seven despised the maker because of this and formed alliances with those who sought to undo the maker. Though it was all for not for they lost but made a pact with the lord of demons that they shall be allies whenever the need arises and if the time comes he shall awaken them and allow the cursed to watch the fall of god.

Rhodan the demon general of the 12th seat is currently searching through the realms of man looking for any vessel. His battalion and seat ranking is second lowest his army only having 5,000. Marching through the mountains and forests with no reaction from the crystal, Rhodan was getting bored and his troops were becoming agitated from the lack of war. The lord sought to avoid war at the beginning else all will be for naught. Though desperate times called for desperate measures. So Rhodan started invading villages and towns leaving none alive while finding no reaction whatsoever. The troops were pleased with the bloodshed though they all felt the coming dread from the anger of their commander. Then finally on the 5th village there was a low glim of the orb very faint yet the colour of light blue was distinguishable from the normal white orb. Rhodan was ecstatic finally this boring journey would stop and he would get a handsome reward from the lord for finding one of the seven. 

“Bring all of the humans in the village too me, no killing!!”

In the village there were a small number of people numbering less than 100. The people all knew each other and helped one another. They found peace and comfort in their lives in the kingdom. The news of the rise of the demon has not yet reached the village’s ears. In the village children were playing outside their houses yet there was one not playing he was taking care of his sister and trying his best to treat his sisters illness that plagued her. So far his father has gone searching for herbs for her treatment in the forest and his mother was changing sheets and  rags for her. The little child was clutching his sisters hand at this point sobbing thinking she was going to die .in reality it was a persistent cold that her father wanted gone, though he was right about something. 

As the day continued to go on tension in the air grew yet no one knew why. The hunters in the area where on guard children brought inside and livestock moved to barns. The chief of the village saw the change in the winds as an omen of disease and an impending hoard of monsters from the forest invading the village. Though with the rumbling of the ground his theory changed from monsters to an invasion of an army and they were the ones to create the first signal of war for the country. 

The ground vibrated and rumbled and through the forest emerged hoards of daemons and most were of higher rank. Building after building was torn to sunder no wall can hold back their rampage the wood was torn apart like paper. Each daemon had a goal and they went to accomplish them thoroughly. Each person that met the daemons were kidnapped or beaten until they were unconscious. All of them had no chance to defend themselves the hunters were out gunned and the guards of the village hasn’t met an actually threat since the last war which was over 100 years ago. They were all taken to Rhodan per his orders yet in the house of the child taking care of his sister a commotion was going on. 

“ Come here you brat!!”

“Never!!!”

There was a demon chasing the child around and around the house somehow just a little slower than the child. He was saving time for his sister, who upstairs was facing a dilemma herself. She noticed the lack of anyone outside and the explanation from her brother was hardly sufficient “There are demons i’ll distract them you run, ok. Hey Katherine you listening?! Time is of the essence your big bro has got this!” he was full of himself and didn’t give a proper response only something involving demons though from the noise downstairs and the people not being around actually proves her brother wasn’t insane. 

Though she didn’t get a lot of thinking time a few seconds later a long limbed creature saw her through the window and pulled her through breaking the glass and causing cuts all around her body. The boy heard this upstairs he started panicking this gave enough time for the demon chasing him to catch up and snag him.

“You *huff* little twerp *huff* HOW ARE YOU SO FAST!!?”

“Let go of me you foul demon i’ll kill you all for hurting my family”

“Sure you will” the demon exclaimed as he was leaving the building

All the towns were in a giant row in front of Rhodan one by one no one in front or behind the other. He was going down the line one by one checking to see if the orb had a reaction. When he reached the end there was still no reaction though the glow was getting brighter and brighter slowly yet surely. Over the hill two demons carrying two children appeared. The ball reacted glowing a bright light blue with the symbol of a sloth around an archaic rune. Rhodan was elated he found the sin of sloth, though from his face not much emotion could be seen.

“You two bring both of them here!” ordered Rhodan. The two demons brought the two children over one bleeding out slowly and the other one gaged to stop his ranting. From the perspective of the boy a giant bird like creature covered in scales yet no mouth was peering over him. Of course he would be scared he actually fainted. Rhodan pressed the orb against the two, almost too hard, when the orb neared the boy it shined brightly displaying a symbol of a sloth in the air above the group. 

“Don’t touch…. Him...demons”

“Little brat I found what I needed the rest of you are no longer needed”

“STOP!....please...stop” the girl collapsed from the laceration around her body from the broken glass. The other villagers noticed what was happening from the scream of the girl including their parents. “Katherine! Isaac!!” they both screamed their last words. Rhodan gave the kill order to the demons around. All at once the villagers and the little girl were all killed within moments. Leaving the boy alone with the creatures. 

“Wake the vessel of lord sloth”

“”Yes sir”” two demons said at once.

 With both of the two demons fervently slapping the boy to wake him he finally woke.

“What...What did you monster do!!”

“You don’t need to worry about those cur much longer lord sloth will be awakened so shut it.. And WAIT!” Rhodan yelled at the boy then began a process that just by watching the boy understood was complicated,if not weird looking, Rhodan was chanting while moving the orb around the boys body to different points all were specifically handled to were the orb never strayed from a certain path. Soon the orb began to glow and brighten and brighten it eventually became a beacon emanating the symbol of the sloth around the archaic rune. A wave of power flowed from the horizon in a predestined path seeking the beacon created by the crystallized mana of the demon lord acting as a homing device for the lord’s power. The power struck Isaac but instead of it blasting him away it entrapped in blistering heat while what felt like his soul was being extracted. Soon he fell, he collapsed with the only hint of him being alive is the slight movement of his breathing. Power began to surge from the boy encircling him like a cyclone growing bigger and bigger then … nothing it dissipated without the slightest trace of it ever existing in the first place.

“What… What HAPPENED?!” Rhodan screeched the gift and benevolence he envisioned receiving from the lord evaporated in an instant. His chance of gaining power dissipating, he began to kick the downed child to calm himself. Kicking and Kicking and Kicking and Kicking and Kicking and Kicking and Kicking. The boys chest at this point was caved in broken the child previously known as Isaac was beyond recognition. The chest was crushed the skull caved in and the legs were bending in the wrong direction. The orb in Rhodan’s hand no longer glowed it seemed complacent like it completed its job. The army marched off at the word of their angered lord all a bit frightened by the scene in front of them. Even they thought this was brutal.

#Story #Writing #Sloth #Death #Seven sins #The Beginning #Fantasy #part 1 #Demons #my story #my writing #writeblr #magic

[tipsycad147]

100+ Pagan or Witch names and their meanings

Posted by Michelle Gruben on Apr 11, 2019

Looking for the perfect Pagan or witch name? Check out our list of over 100 magickal names drawn from the realms of the occult. Whether it’s for yourself, an animal familiar, or a fictional character, have fun perusing these delightfully witchy monikers.

Christian names have usually honoured Biblical figures and saints, but Pagans prefer to name themselves after nature, folklore, and the gods of antiquity. Many names are drawn from ancient stories and are charged with mythic power. Some of the names on this list didn’t start out magickal, but got that way in modern times through association with famous witches. (This is admittedly a Eurocentric list, since my own background is in classical literature and Western magick. If you are the bearer of a witchy name from another tradition, I’d love to learn about it!)

Many witch names are unisex and others can be adapted to any gender. Creating compound names are one way that Pagans pay homage to sacred objects, spirits, and concepts (e.g., Raven Moonflower or Amethyst Dragonfyre). Try mixing and matching these first names with your favourite nouns and adjectives to create your very own Craft name.

Adelinda - A Germanic name meaning "noble serpent." A variation is Delinda.

Aine – “Radiance.” Queen of the fairies in Celtic lore.

Airlia – “Ethereal.”

Aislinn – “Dream or vision.” Irish female name.

Alcina – A Greek sorceress. Title character of an opera by Handel.

Alita – “Winged one.”

Althea – “Healer.”

Alvin/Alvina – “Elf.” Many "Al-" names related to elfkind, including Alfred/Alfreda ("elf counsel") and Albert ("bright elf" or "elf ruler").

Ambrosia/Ambrosius – “Food of the gods.”

Amethyst - Lovely purple stone, known to the ancients for bringing sobriety, wisdom, and protection, especially to travelers.

Angela - “Divine messenger.”

Aoelus – “Wind.”

Aradia – Legendary Italian Witch, one of the principal figures in Charles Godfrey Leland's 1899 work Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches.

Ariadne – “Most holy.” Mythical figure associated with mazes and labyrinths.

Ariel – A Biblical name meaning “Lion of God.” In Disney, a little mermaid. In Shakespeare, a shape-shifting spirit who aids the wizard Prospero. Also the name of the famous poem cycle by Sylvia Plath.

Artemis – Greek virgin goddess of the moon and wild animals.

Arwen – An elven princess in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Arwen is derived from Welsh and means “fine” or “fair.” A masculine form is Arwyn.

Asteria – “Star-like.” Variations include Aster, Astrid, and Astra.

Aura – “Wind,” in Greek. In metaphysics, the word refers to the energy field surrounding the body.

Avalon – Legendary final resting place of King Arthur. Also the setting of a series of fantasy novels by Marion Zimmer Bradley.

Awen – “Inspiration.” Symbol of the well of creativity and of the bardic arts.

Bran – Means “Raven” in several Celtic languages. A great historical name with connections to Welsh mythology and Arthurian legend.

Breena – “Faery place.” Variations: Brinna or Briana.

Brigid – Celtic goddess of the forge, healing, and poetry. Beloved in Ireland and around the world, variations of her name include Bridget, Brighid, and Bride.

Calypso – “Hidden.” A nymph who detained Odysseus for many years.

Cassandra – Ill-fated soothsayer of Troy. Cassandra incurred the displeasure of Apollo, who cursed her so that her prophecies would never be believed.

Cedar – An ancient tree associated with wisdom and protection.

Celeste – “Heavenly.”

Cerridwen – “Fair as the poem.” May also derive from the Celtic word for “cauldron.” A powerful enchantress of Welsh legend, identified with the Wiccan mother goddess.

Charon – As the boatman on the River Styx, Charon ferries souls across to the Underworld. The modern Greek equivalent is Haros.

Chimera – “Dream, phantasm.”

Circe – Greek demi-goddess or witch renowned for her knowledge of herbs and potions.

Corvus – Latin for “raven” or “crow.” A literate alternative to becoming yet another Raven.

Crystal – A name that became popular in the 1980s and 90s. (Witches love crystals!)

Delphine – “Woman from Delphi.” The Delphic oracles were priestesses of Apollo.

Devin – “Musical poet.” A Gaelic boy’s name, now unisex.

Diana – Roman name for the moon goddess, known in European lore as the “Queen of the Witches.”

Draco – “Dragon.” One famous bearer is Draco Malfoy of the Harry Potter series.

Eartha – “Earthly.” From Old English.

Endora – The magical mother-in-law in the TV sitcom Bewitched. Her name comes from the Biblical Witch of Endor who counseled King Saul.

Eris – Greek goddess of Chaos. Patron goddess of the Discordian magickal tradition.

Erzulie – A spirit (or family of spirits) in Vodou. She has many forms and rules over love, beauty, health, and sexual passion.

Fabula – “Legend.”

Faye – “Fairy.” From Old English/Old French. Also Fay, Fae, Faeryn, Fayette.

Fiamma - "Flame." This Italian word carries the same connotations as "flame" in English, meaning either a (literal) fire or a (figurative) lover.

Foster – “Forest guardian.” From Old English.

Freya – “Noble lady.” One of the most revered of the Norse deities.

Gaia – The personification of Earth, and one of the Greek primordial gods.

Glinda – “Fair” or “good.” The Good Witch of the South in the Oz novels of L. Frank Baum.

Gwydion – Master magician and trickster of Welsh lore. His name means “born of trees.” Famous bearers include the American witch and bard Gwydion Pendderwen (1946–1982).

Hazel – “Hazel tree.” Hazel branches are the traditional material for divining rods.

Hecate – Crossroads-dwelling goddess of witchcraft. Her name may mean either “power” or “far-reaching.” The Greek spelling is Hekate.

Hermione –  “Messenger.” A female name derived from Hermes. Popularized as a Witch name by the Harry Potter series, but also appropriate for a Hermetic magician.

Herne – “Horned.” The lord of wild things, identified with the Pagan Horned God.

Holly - This cheery girl's name is shared with one of the sacred trees of Celtic lore. A male or family name version is Hollis.

Isis - Mighty Egyptian goddess of magick and healing.

Jasmine – A delicate and aromatic flower known for its mystical and aphrodisiac properties. The name is Arabic in origin.

Jinx – “Trick” or “curse.”

Lamia – The Lamia is a child-devouring serpent or monster in Greek mythology. She was once a Libyan queen, but was cursed by Hera for her trysts with Zeus.

Larissa – A Greek sea nymph, also the name of an ancient city in Thessaly.

Leo – “Lion.” Also a sign of the zodiac.

Ligeia – “Shrill” or “whistling.” The name of one the Greek sirens, revived by Edgar Allan Poe in his short story by the same title.

Lilith – Adam’s first wife, according to Hebrew mythology. Lilith is associated with various night demons and flying goddesses.

Lorelei – Freshwater mermaid of the Rhine River. The Lorelei is a temptress who delights in the destruction of fishermen.

Lucia – A Latin name meaning “light”. The masculine form is Lucius.

Lucifer – A provocative name associated with the Christian devil. Lucifer means “light-bringer.”

Luna – “Moon.” Luna Lovegood is a minor character in the Harry Potter series.

Maeve – “Intoxicating.” An Irish warrior queen. Also related to Queen Mab, faery ruler of British folklore. Variations include Mab, Meave, Maeven.

Marisol – Beautiful Spanish name meaning “sea and sun.”

Medea – A Greek witch, the subject of a play by Euripides and a later opera. Medea was of divine descent and used sorcery to defeat her foes.

Melusine – A water spirit from French medieval folklore. Also written as Melusina.

Merlin – Legendary sorcerer of Old Britain.

Minerva - Roman name for the goddess of wisdom. A well-known bearer is Minerva McGonagall, the headmistress of Hogwarts in the Harry Potter series.

Miranda – “A marvel.” This name first appeared in Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

Morgan – Morgan le Fay is a (usually) adversarial figure in the Arthurian legends. Variations include Morgaine or Morgana. A similar-sounding name belongs to Celtic warrior goddess Morrighan.

Morpheus – “Shaper.” Greek god of sleep and dreams.

Nerissa – “Of the sea.” From Shakespeare.

Neve – “Bright.” An Anglicized version of the Irish name Niamh.

Nissa – A Scandinavian name for a brownie, sprite, or friendly elf.

Oberon – “Elf ruler.” A Faery king in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  Famous bearers include Oberon Zell (b. 1942).

Ondine – “Mermaid or “Water spirit.”

Orion – A prominent constellation named for the hunter from Greek mythology. One notable Orion is author Orion Foxwood.

Pagan – “Country-dweller.” The most straightforward Pagan name there is.

Petra – “Stone.”

Peregrine – “Traveler, foreigner, pilgrim.”

Phoenix – Mythical bird that would incinerate itself every 500 years (by most accounts), then rise from the ashes.

Puck – A mischievous forest spirit in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Origin of the adjective “puckish.”

Pythia – One of the traditional titles of the Oracle of Delphi. The Pythia was originally a serpent monster defeated by Apollo.

Raven – One of the most widely-used Pagan/witch names, in various spellings and combinations. Ravens are associated with death, cunning, and secret knowledge.

Rhiannon – Welsh goddess associated with horses. Made popular as a witchy name by the Fleetwood Mac song “Rhiannon.”

Rosemary – “Dew of the sea.” The name refers to the small blue flowers that appear on Rosemary bushes.

Rowan – “Red-haired.” A unisex Celtic name shared with the mystical Rowan tree.

Rowena – A Germanic name, possible derived from the words for “fame” and “joy.” Another name revitalized by the Harry Potter series.

Sabrina – Latin place-name meaning “from Cyprus” or “from the river Severne.” Teenage witch of comics and television.

Sage – “Wise redeemer.” Also a widely-used herb in witchcraft.

Salem – Historic Massachusetts city known for its 17th-century witchcraft trials. The feline familiar of Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

Samantha – In Hebrew it means something like, “God heard” or “told by God.” In Greek, it may mean “flower.” Samantha owes its witchy cred to Samantha Stevens, the protagonist of the TV sitcom Bewitched.

Sedona – A town in Arizon famed for its energy vortexes, n­­ow a thriving New Age community. This pretty name has no known meaning and was probably invented by an early settler in the area.

Selene – Greek goddess of the moon. A variation is Selena, and belongs to Pagan elder Selena Fox.

Shadow – A spirit, ghost, or illusion.

Shasta – An active volcano in California, renowned as a spiritual pilgrimage site.

Shayla – “From the faery place.” Many spellings and variations.

Silver -  A magickal metal, sacred to the Moon. Famous bearers include author Silver Ravenwolf.

Sirena – “Mermaid.”

Sirius – “Glowing, burning.” Also known as the Dog Star, Sirius is the brightest star in Earth’s night sky.

Sophia – “Wisdom.”

Stella - "Star." Variations include Estelle and Estrella.

Strega – “Witch” in Italian.

Sybil – “Prophetess” or “Divine counsel.” This name, from ancient Greek, also belonged to the famous English witch Sybil Leek (1917-1982).

Sylvia – “Of the forest.”

Tanith – Phoenician moon goddess whose name means "serpent lady." Famous Taniths include science fiction and fantasy writer Tanith Lee (1947 – 2015).

Tara – In Irish, a rocky hill. In Sanskrit, a star.

Thurston – “Thor’s stone.”

Titania – “Great one.” The queen of the fairies in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Variations include Tatiana and Tanya.

Umbra – “Shadow, ghost.”

Urania – “Heavenly" or  "daughter of the Sky.” An epithet of Aphrodite and Isis.

Vera – “Truth”

Vernon – “Alder tree.”

Vesta – Roman hearth goddess. Priestesses of Vesta tended the sacred flame in her temples.

Willow – “Willow tree.” Willow is a popular witch character in the TV series Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Zephyr – “West wind.”

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/100-pagan-or-witch-names-and-their-meanings

[that-bog-witch]

"A Story of Somnos,” a Fairytale

(Hey, so this isn’t terato stuff but I wanted to post some of my writing. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! -Aksel)

"A worn, thin storybook sits on a shelf. It's handwritten by a gnome by the name of 'Theadric Drunser-Abalind Pallens-Sarn'. The gnome has a short segment where he talks about how he researched the fairytale and determined what parts of it were later fabricated and what parts actually belonged in the original story. He has reliable sources. Several of his notes are stuck between the pages. It appears as though he wasn't finished writing it, and the original copy appears to be defaced in several places. An ink spill- likely accidental- covers up an illustration of a map inside."

Long ago, or perhaps not long ago at all, there was a fey lord by the name of Wandros. [A note jammed between pages reads: "I say that it wasn't so long ago because it's difficult to tell with the Feywild. Any given place could have a time distortion of mere seconds or entire years. To be entirely certain, I'm not even quite sure the lord's name was Wandros. You see, fey go by many names. At least in most tellings of the story, the fey is Wandros."]

[This appears to be written after the rest of the text "So, let me restart. An indeterminable amount of time ago, a fey lord that may have been called Wandros ruled over the Miststep Pines."] The Pines were a glorious sight on the border of the Material and Fey. So glorious their name ought to be capitalized. Every morning, the grass and stones brimmed with frost. It was like walking through a world of silver. In the afternoon, this frost would melt into a gentle mist that ran like a river across the landscape. Great mossy stones were piled along the trails in the Pines. Runes were carved into them, blessing travelers with protection and haste. By all accounts, Wandros was considered a benevolent lord. Dryads spoke of his name in their songs to the birds, and mortals thanked him for providing them with safety and a bounty of herbs that could be used in medicine.

It was no surprise that some mortal groups worshiped Wandros. He enjoyed the attention. Particularly devout followers were blessed as clerics of life, so that they could spread his blessing to blighted lands. [A note between the pages reads: "It helped Wandros to fight back against unseelie fey. In fact, many of his clerics did such a good job working against the unseelie that many mortals view seelie and unseelie as 'good' and 'evil', respectively. The truth is that the seelie court is more based in tricks and illusion of beauty, while the unseelie is based in power. The politics of it aren't of much mind, right now. The point is that Wandros was popular, in the area."]

One fine summer morning, a traveler came across a town on the border of the Miststep Pines. They said to an innkeeper, "Ma'am, this is quite a fine town. May I know its name?"

"Oh, you mustn't know the name," she said. As all villagers knew, names held great power so close to fey realms.

"Then how may I return here?" The traveler asked, "Your town appears on no maps. It was an accident I arrived here at all."

"An accident? It was no accident. Travelers come upon our town when they need it, like all of the other villages in the Miststep Pines," the innkeep said, "If you want to return here, again, you must merely want to find us."

"I'm sure that will work," the traveler didn't sound at all sure. They spent the night in the inn, and woke up on solid ground. They cursed under their breath and prayed. If they were devout, they should find the town again. So they prayed, and so there was a town over the next hill between two summer pines. [A footnote is written in pencil: "I use neutral pronouns for the traveler because there doesn't appear to be any consistency between tellings. The surviving pages of the original text don't have any pronouns to reference."]

"This is amazing magic," they said to a priest in the town, "What makes your town come and go?"

"Wandros," the priest replied, "A lord of travelers and medicine. He is the fey that brings us our life."

"That's wonderful," the traveler said. So they went about their business in the fine little town, and rested the night in the inn. Again they woke up on the ground. It was a nice enough day, and they continued their hike through the woods. Now, they weren't sure that they wanted to continue their journey to the coast, as they had planned. They wanted to become part of the town. Part of it that it could not leave on the forest floor. So again they searched for the town, and again it left without them. Every day, they prayed to the strange fey that made it possible.

On a warm morning much like the one when they first discovered the town, they found a tower. It was more moss and ivy than stone, and appeared to be rising out of the mist. A stained glass window cast colorful light in front of them. With little else to do, they approached the tower and knocked gently on its oaken door.

"I've heard your prayers," the creature that opened the door was of ethereal beauty, cloaked in river mist, "And I wanted to make you an offer, dear traveler."

"An offer? Surely a lord of your power could bend me to your will."

"I do not know your name. In fact, you have forgotten your own name," it said, scrutinizing them with silver eyes.

"I have?" The traveler had forgotten when their name had slipped away from them.

"Yes," it said, "I know you were jealous of my priest, the second time you discovered my town. I can give you power like that."

"What's the cost?" The traveler knew better than to make deals with fey, or so they told themself.

"Nothing."

"There has to be a cost," they insisted.

"Not to be a priest. But you wouldn't be content in these woods without a purpose. For you, I would offer a pact."

"I shouldn't make a deal with you," they wanted to believe themself.

"Is it not exactly what you've been seeking, to show others what you've found? That is what you would do, as my warlock," it showed no expression. It was like the mist and pines, itself- a piece of the scenery more than a being.

"I suppose it is," the traveler conceded.

It only took a few years for the traveler to gain power they had only dreamed of, in their months wandering the forest. They fought back against unseelie fey and brought medicine to those in need. They shepherded travelers along winding trails and collected fruits for them to eat. They felt like they had a purpose. All the years before this felt like a dream. Like they had been asleep for their own life. The sensation was unnerving to them, so they continued to serve the Miststep Pines.

Two decades passed since the traveler had made their deal, and yet they seemed no older. The nameless town was exactly the same. The only tell of time was the moss that grew up the tree trunks and the rivers that ran dry. The landscape changed around them, but the traveler was the same. Again, they felt like they were asleep. They needed the same rush they had gotten when they first made their pact. They needed more power. They returned to Wandros, who merely chuckled.

"You have been doing an excellent service. I will reward you in due time," the words were like harsh bells to the traveler's ears. They left into the woods.

The Miststep Pines appeared more grey than silver. The mist was more fitful that cloudlike. The town was more disorganized and muddled. The tower in the woods creaked in the wind. Wandros was sick. Wandros had been sick for quite some time. Many mortals believed fey couldn't be sickened, and they might be right. It wasn't exactly sickness, not quite.

The traveler was not receiving their power from Wandros. The traveler was siphoning it. The process was so slow, over so many decades, the fey paid no notice. Not until now. Wandros couldn't feel every forest path beneath its feet as it once had. It couldn't maintain the frost, the town, and the trails. It was unraveling. It asked its warlock to do something- anything- to help. It was completely unaware that its 'warlock' was the cause.

[Another note is jammed between the pages: "Because this tale is quite old, many can't agree on its ending. Most stories say that Wandros passed quietly into an eternal slumber, and its warlock took over its position maintaining the forest. I know this to be false. The original story has the traveler leaving."]

Wandros knew what the warlock had done before it fell into its slumber. It wasn't enraged. It was impressed. It, a fey lord, had been outwitted and bested by a mortal over nearly forty years. A mortal it had regarded as a friend.

"You're too strong," Wandros had whispered, almost proudly. The traveler didn't say a word, "That's why, I will give you a name. Mortals will sometimes give names for achievements, yes?"

"Yes, though they are mostly titles," the traveler responded.

"I will call you Somnos. Because of all fey who have tried to kill me, and of all monster hunters who sought to put me to an end, you are the one that did it. Not by claw or sword, but with my own energy. You haven't killed me, you've spared me. I will be asleep in this woods for all time, thanks to you. And that is why you should be called 'Somnos'. That is why you should be called 'Sleep'."

With the last of its power, Wandros gave the traveler a true name. They thanked their patron and left the forest to its innate nature. No one heard from them, again. Some say they are hibernal state, watching and waiting. Others say they are still abound, and more dangerous than any fey. That is why Somnos' story is told. To tell their name, so that anyone who hears this tale might stand a chance.

#long post #story #writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #fairytale #fairy tale #fae #fey #fairies #magic #fiction

[dndeviants]

Madame Eva’s prophecy

Aric and Jeeves made their way into the Blue Water Inn close to the center of town. They entered the Inn... it was empty except for Ruki, who was sitting at a table casually sipping wine, waiting for them it seemed. Aric looked at her. Her demeanor gave no clues as to how long she was waiting. He and Jeeves were about to settle in when Vasili, Linda, Ismark, and Ireena entered in discussing the upcoming Wolf’s Head Festival... which Vasili admitted knowing nothing of, despite him being a native of this place and having residence in Vallaki...

"It must be something the burgomaster is throwing together,” Vasili conjectured, “He is allowed to do that, but I agree... mandatory festivals are... odd."

“Jeeves and I thought the same thing when we arrived,” Aric agreed, “Since we are all gathered, while we were with the Vistani, we were approached by a Madame Eva; she has requested all of us go and speak with her soon. I suggest we go before we leave the town.”

Ismark and Ireena looked to each other with a puzzled expression. Vasili betrayed no emotion at the mention of Madame Eva.

“Madame Eva?” Linda questioned.

"The Vistani's leader?" Ireena asked.

Vasili sighed, "What is it n- Whatever for?"

“It seems she... or rather the cards want to speak to us to help us on our journey here and hopefully return home,” Aric looked to Vasili, puzzled, “You seem bothered by this request Lord Holtz?”

"Forgive me, but I have my own... superstitions,” Vasili folded his arms, “I've had my fortunes read before, and no good of it has come... no ill either, but certainly no good. But perhaps this time will be different, no?"

“Perhaps... should we go ahead and go see this Madame Eva?” Linda turned to the rest of them.

Aric held up a hand, “She said she wished to rest, but she also said to let her know when we all arrived...” he shrugged, “Perhaps we should go now.”

"I agree,” Vasili nodded curtly, “The sooner we get this over, the better."

Ismark gestured to the bar, "I think I will stay in the Inn for a bit. Carriage ride was a bit much."

Ireena curiously began to walk around in the common room, "Do you think we could walk around Vallaki? I'm so excited to explore this new place!"

Ismark sat at the bar, and made a dismissive gesture, "Sure, after a quick drink..."

Jeeves stood, and clasped his hands, "Alright. I believe I remember the way to the encampment."

Linda nodded at him, "I'll follow your lead then."

Jeeves rose from the table and helped Aric up. He lead everyone outside of the town, passing the people with plastered grins placing decorations across the buildings. They made it outside and followed the dirt trail to the encampment. Young Vistani children giggle at their arrival and run past the group into the woods, talking of playing games of hide and seek around the guards... despite their people being banned from the town. The adults work on their chores and converse in their own tongue as they examine goods.

To most of the party, the goods do not seem out of the ordinary... but Linda spotted various charms that warded against undead, holy symbols of various faiths, charms against detection...

Some very powerful stuff on the table, she thought. As a monster hunter, she grew to know a few of them herself.

Madame Eva hobbled out from a colorful wagon and raised her cane in acknowledgement to the party, "Very good to see you again, young Pasha... Greetings, Lord Holtz. It is good to see you as well..."

She turned her gaze to Linda, her eyes twinkling, "Ah, and miss Sharaden, all grown up... Tacklemeyer now, right? You look better than before..."

Linda was puzzled that the woman knew her birth name- and even more puzzled that she was so... familiar. 

"Before?" Linda questioned.

The old woman smiled knowingly, "Oh, think nothing of it. It means almost nothing now..."

Madame Eva turned to a tent, "I have the cards set up in here. Let me fix you tea. We can have a nice chat. And I know better than to fix you anything, Vasili. Come, come..."

Madame Eva hobbled on her cane into the tent. Linda raised a brow before following, everyone else falling in behind her.

As they entered the tent, they found it to be cozy, but cluttered. Various tomes and books are piled on the ground, on top of ornate rugs and overstuffed pillows... Aric wrinkled his nose as the smell of herbs assaulted his senses in a way it failed to earlier... He could smell lavender, rosemary, calendula, belladonna, wolfsbane... 

Wolfsbane... it unsettled his stomach. He figured it had to do with his oncoming curse, but managed to ground himself and ignore the scent... but was still wary of its presence.

Madame Eva sat at the table, splaying out cards with macabre designs. She took a tea kettle in hand and began to pour cups for all gathered, save Vasili. Everyone sat at the table.

She handed out the cups, “You all are here for a purpose. Each of you have a quest, a mystery of your own to solve. Betrayal, kidnappings... murder... the past, the present, the future... Foul beings afoot, and old enemies giving rise to the new... the stability of Barovia... and maybe even your own world may depend on your actions here."

Linda sniffed the tea. Sweet and black. She looked up to the old woman, "So why did you want us all here?"

"Because you are the future, children..." the old woman’s blue eyes glinted. She gestured to Aric and Jeeves, "Here, we have a young Pasha, fire in his soul, and justice in his heart... set against his rival, a man of greed and self-righteousness... both of them desire to be King... but only one may rule... What happens in this land will shape that."

Madame Eva pointed at Linda, "You too may also rule... reclaim a throne to which you belong, and perhaps you will find the answers you seek here, and return a boy to his family."

She gestured to Ruki,  "And she is the future of our people. All of you here, are rulers in your own right... even Vasili,” the old woman cackled.

Linda quirked an eyebrow and looked to Vasili, “I don’t really see Vasili and I being rulers...”

 "Agreed,” Vasili said hastily, “I don't think I am well suited for that anymore."

The old woman continued her cackle, "Disagree all you like. Despite what I See, the future is ultimately in your hands. All I am is a guide..." She took her cards in hand,  "Now, children... are we ready?"

Madame Eva waited for them to give her their approval before drawing the first card... the Tax Collector. 

 “This card tells of history, knowledge of the ancient will help you better understand your enemy... The Vistani have what you seek. A missing child is the key to its release... But this is only the first of many… Only after the child is saved, will your allies help you to complete the ancient puzzle.”

She laid down the card for all to see, then drew another, “This card tells of a powerful force for good and protection, a holy symbol of great hope...” She laid down the Philanthropist. “Look for a giving man, one who follows the teachings of the Sun. Coming to his aid will give you what you seek...” 

She continued her prophetic reading,  "This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight..." The card that was drawn was the Warrior. "Look for the warrior’s tribute… an abandoned shrine touched by sun has the artifact you seek."

"This card sheds light on the one who will help you defeat your enemy…" Madame Eva revealed the Beast, "A werewolf harbors a secret grudge against your enemy, find her and use her hate to your advantage."

"Your enemy is a creature of darkness, a being beyond mortality...” She shuffled her deck, “This card will lead you to him!" She laid down the final card: the Artifact. She tapped her finger on the macabre skull in a cloche, "He lurks in the darkness where morning light once shone, a sacred place…"

Madame Eva examined all the cards, then nodded to herself, "That is what the cards wish to tell to you, these things bind you together... but if you have questions about your own endeavors... I may answer those as well," she began to pull the cards back into the deck.

 "I have questions,” said Linda, “How does all this, relate to me trying to find Timothy?"

The old woman shuffled her cards. Executioner was drawn. "The boy's life is in peril... held hostage by the very same enemies you all are working against..."

"I see...” Linda thought about the other reading, “So to rescue him we have to follow what the cards said.... Is there any other things I should focus on here other than finding Timothy? Do I keep researching this place?"

The Bishop appeared. "You have to be methodical...” Eva explained, “Search for clues, and discover the truth... Truth will appear to you in the dark of the once holy... In Krezk."

"There's Krezk again..." Linda mused.

Madame Eva shuffled her cards, "Are there any more questions?"

"What do you think of Strahd?" Linda blurted.

“Yes, is he someone to be trusted?” Aric jumped in.

Madame Eva cackled and shrugged, "Well, he has been good to the Vistani, leaves something to be desired on... management of relations with his people. But Strahd can at least always be trusted to follow his own word... you just have to pay attention to his wording. His is a born cunning man... But he will always follow whatever is in his best interests... so my advice to you is to prove that his best interests lie in trusting you..."

Vasili clears his throat, "Well, that is astute Madame, but I can guarantee you that there are no games this time, and that Lord Strahd's best interests do lie with this particular group of individuals, and has already made concessions on their behalf."

She laughs at Vasili, "Oh? What a wonderful change of pace. Feeling cornered, is he?"

"You certainly don't make things any easier for me in regards to him..." Vasili muttered through gritted teeth.

Aric raised his hand, “Madame Eva, I was told by another Vistani that I could find another lost treasure with a man who seeks to restore his village to order and faith , but we are unfamiliar with the villages of Barovia, is there anything more you can tell us?”

"I can..." Madame Eva shuffled the cards again and drew the Wizard, "This man you seek who wishes to restore order and faith to his village is a learned man... In a village that has suffered most from the Shadow of Ravenloft, and all of it's magics on the land."

Madame Eva drew the Myrmidion and laid it before Aric, "He is a man who has served with others, preserving order and peace... and now leads them. Find a captain of the guard, in Barovia village... you will know him, for he will be wearing what you seek, unaware of the treasure's true value."

She shuffled the deck of cards once more,"You may always ask me for insight, even when having your fortune told by another Vistana. And for you, these services are free of charge...” She smiled at them, “I enjoy the company"

“Thank you, Madame Eva,” Aric said.

 "Much appreciated," Linda echoed the sentiment.

"No questions today, Vasili?" Madame Eva grinned coyly as she shuffled her deck.

"No, madame. Thank you," Vasili easily replied.

"Pity,” Eva grunted, “I enjoy our talks..." she placed her deck within a silk bag, and then set them within a wooden box, "Well, children. I wish you luck, and may fate be on your side. I have a feeling that this time... things may actually go right..."

The old woman stood and began to organize the tomes gathered in the tent, "You should be heading out. There is an entire world for you to discover... and secrets to uncover."

Linda sipped the last of her tea and stood, "Thank you for your insight."

Madame Eva turned to her, "You are welcome. Safe travels... and remember that All is Well..." she returned to her books.

Linda turned to face everyone, “Shall we go meet back up with Ireena and Ismark?"

Vasili stood, all too eager to leave, "Of course. We've been gone long enough already... and I don't know, I just have the feeling something isn't... right."

Vasili exited the tent. Linda raised a brow, following him. Aric and Jeeves shared a look of puzzlement before falling behind.

The demeanor of the entire camp had changed... no longer were the children playing about, but rather, were speaking to adults of the camp. The children spoke frantically...

“Papa! Arabelle! I don’t know where she is! We were playing, and the rest of us knew to come back, but we’ve been searching for an hour, and she’s not come back!“

The man paled with worry, "Oh no, we have to tell Luvash!"

Linda blinked, “A girl is missing?”

Ruki’s heart lurched... Arabelle was her cousin. She recalled the fortune Eva gave, and knew that rescuing Arabelle would be the key to unlocking the first part of the prophecy... and should not be delayed... She could sense that her cousin was in danger...

Ruki’s eyes glazed over as she received a small vision... A tied bag... voices of men... “She will be perfect wolf bait...” “...use her for the festival...”

Nothing about where her cousin was held.

Ruki snapped back, “My cousin.. they plan on using her for the festival.”

“Using her how, exactly?” Aric asked.

Ruki gripped her staff, “I do not know...”

"The more I hear about the festival, the less I like it," Vasili murmured. 

“Agreed,” Aric placed a hand on the hilt of his dagger, “Let’s not wait to find out what they have planned.”

Linda matched the gesture, putting a hand on her revolver, "Let's help find her."

"Wolf's Head Festival, I recall?” Jeeves rushed ahead to scout, “Do you suppose it has something to do with real wolves?"

The group made their way back to Vallaki, quickly, wasting no time dawdling. The guards allowed them to pass, no question... they began to head back to the Inn to regroup when they came across a rally of some kind in the town square...

A squeaky male voice shouted above some unenthusiastic cheering,  "Wolves are agents of the Devil Strahd! I am going to offer one HUNDRED gold coins to whoever can deliver the heads of the most wolves by the 17th! Not only that! But the winner of this festival game gets to ride on the float! Next to me! The Parade will last hours, rain or shine! Remember citizens, ALL IS WELL!"

There was a little hesitation, before some fake enthusiastic cheering rings out through the square.

Vasili steepled his fingers and quirked a brow.  

Aric looked to him, “Does Strahd even employ wolves?”

“This is dumb!” Linda fumed, “Even if he employed them, wolves are just animals, minding their own business."

“Well said, Linda...” Vasili acknowledged her before nodding to Aric, "They are as loyal as dogs to Strahd, but he can only call on their support when he is nearby. It isn't like all the wolves in the land are actively working for him... “

Vasili looked to the square with distaste, "What a morbid and dismal occurrence... so close to my birthday of all times. Honestly, it seems that Vargas only does these things to spite..."

"Your birthday?” Linda mused. She took Vasili’s arm, “Well we can't have them doing all this cruelty to animals on your birthday! Let's go." 

Linda marched toward the square with a very startled Vasili in tow... when Ismark, with a bloody nose, cuts and scrapes... and burns on his clothes ran up to her, panic stricken.

"Linda! Everyone! You have to help!" Ismark shouted.

Linda dropped Vasili’s arm, horrified, "What happened?"

Ismark panted and huffed as he clutched his knees, “Ireena!” He choked, “He took Ireena! Some man with a flaming arm! I-I tried to stop him, but he was too much...”

He clenched his fists, “And he had his posse of thugs beat me up for good measure! We... we gotta find her, heavens know what he’ll do to her!”

#story update #linda tacklemeyer #ruki von holtz #aric rein #vasili von holtz #strahd von zarovich #curse of strahd #writing

[dicecast]

Intro to Vampires

Throughout the world, there are many different forms of blood sucking creatures who prowl in the night, so many that many suspect there might be some  larger link between them all.  If such a thing is true, the default though is vampire, creatures who are so legendary that other creatures are regularly mistaken for them.  These undead creatures are a scourge on the world, and even a single one can destroy an entire community through their transmutable bite. 

Strengths of all Vampires

Increased Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution.

 Vampires are extremely strong and fast. Claws: Vampires gain vicious looking claws which they can use to murder you. 

Undead; Vampires have all the immunities that vampires have, they can’t be affected by mind effecting spells, they are immune to poison and disease, resistant to cold, supernaturally tough. 

Can See Perfectly in the Dark: Vampires, regardless of what they were in life, are incredibly skilled Regeneration:

Vampires heal extremely quickly from most wounds, which makes defeating them extremely difficult. They can regrow limbs in a matter of mins. 

Damage Reduction: Normal Weapons don’t do much damage to Vampires, their flesh is supernaturally strong.   Powers (not all vampires have access to all these powers

Blood Drain: Vampires can heal themselves via drinking blood, and the more powerful ones can use blood to resemble enhance their own powers. They must drink blood from a living target and the process, while not painful for the victim, will leave them extremely exhausted at the end of it.

 Dominate: Vampires can mind control somebody by making eye contact with them, though the effect is temporary. How powerful the control is varies on the vampire in question. 

Slave: The most powerful vampires can have a specialized slave, called a Vorlog, a mortal who is utterly devoted to serving them. Vorlogs gain some special powers of their own.

Shapeshifting: Vampires can turn into a bat, a wolf, or a rat, more powerful ones can turn into Dire versions of each, or even swarms. Children of the Night: More powerful vampires can summon swarms of bats, rats, or wolves to serve them. 

Spider Climb: Vampires can climb on walls like spider man

Silence: More powerful vampires can suppress any noise that they make. 

Advanced Shapeshifting: The most powerful vampire vampires can turn into a shadow form or into a nightmare which can enter your sleep. 

Senses: Most powerful vampires have a freakishly good sense of smell, hearing, and smell. Weather Control: The most powerful vampires can control Mist Forms: Some vampires can turn into mist

Coffin: Some vampires when killed, don’t truly die, but instead take on a mist form when they die and return to their coffin. The coffin must have soil from the land of their birth scattered inside it, and if it is destroyed then the vampire will simply die. If They return to the coffin, they will be able to restore themselves in 3-9 nights of rest. To kill them permanently, you must go to the coffin, stake them, and burn them at least. 

Energy Drain: The touch of some vampires can drain peoples abilities (Stats) per hit, requiring a restoration spell to get them back. Every time they drain from you, the vampire gets more powerful

Life Drain: The most powerful vampire can drain life itself (Levels) from a target with a touch, becoming much more powerful in the process. Anybody killed from this power rises as a vampire Thrall. 

 Dust Form: Vampires can turn into Dust and harm everybody around them for a short period. Necromancy: More powerful vampires can create armies of zombies and ghouls as lesser undead bound to serve them

.Spells: The most powerful vampires can cast necromancer spells 

Weaknesses (More powerful vampires might not have all of these weaknesses)

Sunlight: Sunlight is universally damaging to all vampires, beams of light will burn their flesh and direct exposure will kill them in a matter of seconds. All but the most powerful vampires can last no more than a few mins in direct sunlight before being destroyed

.Fire: Vampires are extremely weak again fire, and their skin burns much easier than human flesh, due to their decayed form. Damage taken via fire cannot be regenerated.

 Silver: Silver is a holy metal and burns vampires in particular. A weapon with some silver alloy will hurt then just like a normal weapon, but a weapon made of silver is devastating to them (Deals double damage). The more powerful ones can’t be killed by this method but disabled.  Damage from silver weapons cannot be regenerated. 

Undead: They also have all the weaknesses of undead, positive energy, or Holy/Radiant/or Sacred damge. Future undead hunters be warned, they are resistant to Clerics ability to Turn undead. They also heal from negative energy. Holy, Positive, Radiant, or Sacred Damage cannot be regenerated.

 Stakes: A stake through the heart will kill lesser vampires and paralyze the more powerful. However getting a stake through the heart is difficult, and usually requires them to sit stii so you can hammer it (aka not like in buffy) 

Heart: A non stake weapon hrough the heart will paralyze any vampire, though only until it is removed.

 Deprecation: The weakest vampires can be killed if their head is cut off. 

Garlic Repels them but doesn’t harm them 

Mirrors: They lack a reflection and it’s a sure sign of their true intention. Invitation: They cannot enter a house without invitation from its owner. Doesn’t apply to public buildings

Water: Water burns lesser vampires like acid, more powerful cannot cross rushing water. Even vamprires who can shrug off having water splashed on them will die if totally submerged. 

Rest: Vampires must rest one day for every three full days they are active, for at least 12 hours. More powerful vampires might make this one day for every week, but Vampires do still need rest Blood addiction: If vampires cannot access blood, they slowly start to break down until they transform a feral monstrous vampiric creature. 

Holy Items: Holy Water, Holy Oil, holy wafers and holy symbols all burn their flesh

.Crosses and Crossraods: Crosses can drive a vampire back and vampires can be paralyzed at a crossroad. 

Sacred Music: It is said that there are some songs composed in the Heavens that when performed cause vampires to slowly burn from the inside. It is known that any chime made with a silver bell will hurt vampires, though not kill them. 

Roses: White Roses can burn a vampires flesh. 

Herbs: Healing herbs harm vampires. Vampires cannot easily pass a line of mustard seed, hawthorn can force them to reveal themselves, Holly bushes prevent a vampire form rising, and Foxglove can cure a victim of dominated. 

Moonlight: While not as harmful as sunlight, the light of the full moon can disable some vampire powers. Iron Spikes: If driven into their body, it causes them to slowly become paralyzed unless removed. 

Society and Reproduction

Vampires are undead, powered by Negative Energy and the spark of the Neverborn, and thus don’t have a true society as such. Instead they are pale imitations of the person they once were, and like most undead are extremely limited in terms of their psychology. As a rule, they don’t really grow as people and are usually trapped in the same mental framework as when they died, or they degenerate further into some sub human characteristics. Most vampires can put on a façade of humanity, but it is just that, a façade, and underneath that appealing looking mask is a soulless monster that exists only to feed. Unlike other vampire like creatures (Kindred, Cainites, Opir etc), “true” vampires are rarely subtle about their nature, as they are walking corpses kept moving by negative energy, with red eyes, corpse pale skin, and dark energy emerging from their pours. Vampires almost always dwell in hierarchy, each vampire usually has a group of lesser vampires serving it. Vampires are bound to serve their ‘sire’, in a general form of slavery. How vampire relate to humanity and servitude depends on the type, which will be summed up here. Vampires are created in one of four way, life drain, feeding, curse or  necromancy.  Sadly, vampires aren’t just limited to their bite in creating minions, those killed by their life drain power in combat will rise again as vampire spawn, semi-feral vampire slaves who exist only to serve their masters. Spawn aren’t mindless, but they effectively exist as extension of their masters, lacking even the self awareness to realize how horrible their own existence is. Should their sire die, spawn will go into a seizure, and they will either be destroyed or ascended to a full vampire Thrall. 

Vampire Thralls:

These are the least human of the vampires, created not through feeding but instead through direct exposure to negative energy. IF the “Create Greater Undead” spell is cast on a corpse, the soul is dragged back from the afterlife and trapped inside the body against their will. However to their horror, the negative energy that animates them takes on a life of their own and controls the body, leaving the soul trapped forever as the negative energy spirit pilfers through their memories and force them to witness their body being used for ill purposes. Any good person wishes to destroy thralls, as the spirit is trapped in what is their own form of hell forever without hope of release. Thralls are effectively a new personality, module on the most negative feelings of the host, and while they are intelligent, they are hardly subtle, appearing utterly inhuman. They lack any of the sophistication or charm of their greater brethren, instead they are openly dedication to the elimination of life.  Thralls actually don’t need to feed very frequently and can go into periods of hibernation that can last decades if they choose too. 

Standard Vampire (Sometimes called Master Vampire or Greater Vampire):

When one imagines a vampire, this is the standard. These vampires are created by having their blood drained by another, and are bound to their power.  When they are being drained, they have a choice, they can resist the process, or accept the vampirism. Those who resist become these, the original soul has been twisted against its own will to become some mirrored horrific version of itself. They can look superficially human but they can only maintain this disguise for a short period of time. They tend to come off an extremely unstable when they aren’t held in power by their masters, usually hunting down and torturing their loved ones to death in the most horrific way they can. However if one of them hasn’t drunk blood yet, a greater Restoration spell can cure them of their affliction. 

Elder Vampire

(an elder vampire and 2 vampire spawn)

These creatures embraced their curse and thus are the only vampires who still possess their own soul. Once they are transformed, they have some time to renege on the choice either through a greater restoration spell or suicide, but once they consume the blood of an innocence (Usually a child) they are toughly damned and can never be cured. Their existence is one of constant pain, only finding temporary reprieve when they drink the blood of the living, but this physical pain is nothing to the self-loathing that dominates their existence. This self-hatred is usually spat out upon the world and they are usually bitter, cruel, and egomaniacal, hoping to make mortals suffer as they suffer inside, for they hate mortals. Looking at the living, they can only see what they lost, and what they desire. In theory, Elder Vampires are Free Willed, though few take up this choice, instead choosing to embrace their curse by making sick “families” of other vampire slaves and ruining all that mortals value. These creatures have a reputation for being needlessly ego maniacal, and making mistakes that allow others to destroy them (monologue, letting enemies go) for perhaps, deep inside, they hope to be destroyed and hate what they have become.

Ancient Vampire

Most vampires are created by others, in a parasitic cycle of undeath and sorrow. Some however, embrace Vampirisms willingly. Though necromantic magics or dark pacts with entities, whatever the cause, these creatures knew sought out vampirisms and embraced it. It is they who first brought the curse and it is they who stand at the center of the worse vampire nests. Their goals vary but it almost always involves the mass enslavement of the living. Legends speak of an ancient ‘Empire of Night” where the Ancients ruled over mortals who existed only to provide blood for their masters. These creatures are toughly damned and seek to destroy goodness itself, raising themselves in opposition to any form of justice of righteousness. 

Other Species:There are other Forms of vampires who exist in the world, not tied to the hierarchy

Vampire Mist

If a vampire is staked for centuries without blood, their body rots away but their “essence” becomes a sentient hostile mindless mist which seeks out others in hopes of destroying them. Vampire LordAny time of vampire (Except spawn) who lives long enough will come to possess the powers of a vampire lord, as the negative energy within them grows more powerful. Not really a form of vampire so much as a greater version of what already exists.

Nosferatu

Nobody knows what creates these horrific monsters, but they the epicenters of diseases and plague. Hideous and utterly alone, these creatures dwell in dark places, resenting the world until they and their rat servants emerge to spread epidemics. They lust after the most virtuous of mortal women, but fear them, and it is said that the blood of a pure hearted women can destroy them (does not refer to virginity). 

Dracula

Legends speak of an ever older species of vampire, created before the Ancients themselves. These creatures are created by a Curse, one uttered in the time of greatest sin. The most powerful form of Vampire it is said (except maybe Nosferatu) these creatures are simply more hideous version of what they were in life, cursed to embody their own sins forever.

Final Notes

For any want to be vampire hunters, beware.  The world is vast and its mosntesr many, and there are many creatures who resemble vampires that are something else entirely.  Opirs for example might resemble vampires but they aren’t undead, instead they are exemplars who have taken over the hosts body, and are much weaker.  Kindred are cursed creatures who have an alien psychology and body from, while Vamypires are simply mortals afflicted with a disease.  Nothing is simple and the world resists reduction, always be wary about what it is your are truly fighting.  

#D&D stories #Vampires #Elder Vampire #Ancient Vampire #Vampire Thrall #Vampire Spawn

[ultimatebellarke]

can you write something with the bellarke + madi fam?

Hey Anon! Here’s something super quick. Hope you like it!

Speeding past the barren trees, Clarke’s fingers are blistering from the metal canister. They hurt almost as much as her wrists, scalded from all the broth she is spilling. Damn it. At this rate, there’s going to be no soup left for Madi. Which would be just the best way to apologize for not visiting for the past six hours. Clarke Griffin, she thinks bitterly, caregiver of the year. 

Logically, Clarke knows she shouldn’t be worried. She knows exactly where Madi is – quarantined in the Rover with plenty of paper and ink to keep her occupied – and kids break bones all the time. But it’s the first time she’s not there to braid Madi’s hair while she takes her herbs. To wrap new bandages on old wounds. To lull her to sleep with tales of monsters and princesses. 

Clarke grits her teeth, walking faster. She can’t even blame the Council for holding her back. Not entirely. Since, for the last hour, Clarke had interrogated 800 people on the whereabouts Bellamy Blake. He has been back less than a week and already Clarke has lost him. Literally. He had disappeared around lunchtime, and not a soul knew where he was. 

Almost impressive, really. Five days in and Clarke is on the edge of her sanity.

Clarke finally catches a glimpse of the Rover through the bare trees. The metal, despite years of grime, gleams in the moonlight. Instinctively, Clarke’s shoulders loosen. Somehow, despite all chaos, the Rover has been a constant. A reminder that not all things have to change. 

A peal of chime-like giggles cuts through the stillness. Clarke stumbles, spilling yet more broth on herself. That’s Madi. Why the hell is she laughing? 

Then she hears it: the muffled sound accompanying the chortles, much lower in pitch, yet a voice as familiar as her own. Bellamy is in the Rover with Madi. And whatever he’s saying is making her laugh—truly laugh, in a way she hasn’t since the day their worlds flipped. 

Curiosity wins over any ounce of logic. Slowing her pace, Clarke treads on hunter’s feet. Two feet away, distinct words filter through the closed doors. 

“It’s true,” Bellamy is saying. “That’s why the moon is out. Selene is riding the moon as her chariot.” 

“You’re a liar!” Madi says. Some part of Clarke notes the lack of pain her voice. Thank God. The herbs are working. 

Bellamy asks, “How do you know Selene doesn’t make the moon rise?” 

“Because the moon is a rock. And it goes around the Earth all on its own. Clarke said so.” 

Clarke nearly hears the smile in Bellamy’s voice. “She did?” 

“She did.” 

“Alright. Then I guess I’m wrong. But Selene did make a man fall asleep forever once.” 

“No way!” 

“Yup. His name was Endymion the Shepherd.” 

“Hakom? Em trip raun?” 

Clarke bites back the urge to encourage Madi to speak English. Yet Bellamy responds without missing a beat. “No, it wasn’t ‘cause she was angry. She was in awe of how he looked when he was asleep. She couldn’t bear not watching.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Like how you watch Clarke?” 

Clarke nearly drops the canister. Her cheeks scorch as hot as her fingers, and she hears the choked, “What?” 

“Every night,” Madi says, her voice very matter-of-fact. “When she sleeps, you stare at her.” 

Another pause, through which her heart hammers. Bellamy’s voice is quieter when he responds. “Just making sure she’s still breathing.” 

“I know,” says Madi. Her voice is quieter, too. “I do the same. I can’t imagine…” Her voice trails off, leaving the thought ominously unfinished. 

Clarke’s chest clenches. Madi’s biggest concerns should be what colour ink she’s used up or if her favorite fish stops swimming upstream. She shouldn’t have to worry about these things. She shouldn’t have to worry at all. 

“Hey.” Bellamy’s voice is loud once more. “You don’t need to worry about that. I won’t let anything happen to her. Or to you.” 

Clarke’s chest tightens again, but this is different. The pressure no longer feels suffocating. In fact, for the first time today, Clarke remembers to breathe. 

Madi murmurs, “I’m glad you’re here. You make her really happy.” 

A soft chuckle. “You got it backwards.” 

She could stay out here the whole night, basking in their voices, but her fingers begin convulsing. The heat is too much for her fingers, and it’s all she can do to not release the canister right on the ground. 

Clarke fills the remaining distance to the rover with crashing stomps, making enough noise to send insects skittering. “Madi! Dinner!” 

The Rover’s door opens to Madi’s grin. She is snuggled in so many layers of tarp that she takes up more space than Bellamy. “Did they roast the bird?” 

Clarke hates to break that smile. “Not tonight. We’re saving the meat for later.” 

“Oh. That’s alright.” Her smile, thank God, does not falter. 

Bellamy reaches forward, taking the canister from Clarke’s hands, as if he can sense that her fingers are going to fall off. “Smells amazing,” he says, “Nearly as good as Monty Green’s Green Goop.” He sends her a sly smile, and automatically, she feels her lips pull in response. 

She forces her face to remain neutral. “We’ve been looking for you. We have walkie-talkies for a reason.” 

That smile does not fade as he lifts a shoulder. “Needed a break but I lost track of time. Sorry, Princess.” 

Six years – countless moments apart, a myriad of unfathomable changes – and yet that word has the same effect as it did since she was a teenager. Maybe, six years from now, he will have the same effect. Or, maybe, Bellamy Blake will affect her for all of eternity. 

Clarke looks away before she goes crazy from the thought. She turns to Madi, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “No fever. How’s that wrist?”

“Broken.” 

Clarke ignores Bellamy’s responding smirk. “It’s going to stay that way if you keep climbing those flimsy trees.” 

“I wouldn’t have to if the regular ones were still around.” 

The regular trees. The ones under control of Diyoza. Clarke softens her voice. “I know. But you have to be careful.” 

“Can we go back when I’m better? I won’t climb as high, I promise. I want to show Bellamy how to make the dye.” 

Clarke can’t help but smile. “Only if you promise to color his hair.” 

“Wait a minute,” Bellamy says, but he is drowned out by Madi’s squeal. She asks Clarke, “His beard too?” 

“Of course.” 

Bellamy’s calls of protest can’t be heard over Madi’s delight, the excited sputtering of plans which follow. His eyes meet Clarke’s, wide in panic. Clarke only smiles. If she’s learned anything about Bellamy Blake in these years, it’s that he looks good in goddamn everything. 

A sharp burst of static cuts over Madi’s elation. The radio, buzzing against Clarke’s hip. “Clarke. We need you back here. Now.” 

Clarke sighs. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes. Maybe she should just ignore it. Throw the radio outside, cuddle with Madi, listen to the story of Selene and— 

“They have Abby. They’re using her as a bartering point. Hurry.” 

All of the warmth in Clarke’s chest is snatched, replaced by ice. No, no, no. The thought of her mother, gaunt and trembling, makes it hard to form thoughts. Hard to breathe. What are they doing to her? What the hell can Clarke do? 

“Clarke.” Bellamy’s voice brings her back. His eyes rest heavy on Clarke’s, rooting her to reality. “You need to go. I’ll stay with Madi. Join you as soon as I can.” 

Clarke manages to nod. Madi is safe, and Bellamy is with her, and for now, that has to be enough. Stumbling forward in the cramped space, she lands a kiss on Madi’s forehead. Then, without thinking, she turns her head and does the same to Bellamy. 

She only realizes what she’s done when Bellamy becomes completely still underneath her. Yet her mind is racing with too much fear to make sense of anything. Clarke jumps out of the Rover with a final look back. Already, she is counting down the minutes until she is back to her constants. Until she is back home.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #The 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #madi #sorry this is a bit rushed #blame biochem #hope you like it anon!

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Through a Magicked Mirror

Few have the opportunity to dine with a real monster.

Nora pretended to sip from the silver wine goblet in her hand and stared at the creature sitting at the other end of the long table. Unlike her usual attire, she wore a dress for this occasion, complete with an elegant veil. She had gone through the trouble to put her hair in a fancy bun. Being a rare occasion for her, the huntress had even made an effort to move and speak as lady-like as she could muster when the manor’s butler granted her entrance.

A far cry from her usual life.

She placed the goblet back down by her dinner plate. The dish consisted of a slice of roasted pheasant, arranged in an exquisite composition with a smattering of a delicious-smelling brown sauce and slices of verdant herbs sprinkled about. The huntress had not taken a single bite out of her meal yet.

It was not every day that she could speak like this to prey.

The man who sat across from her was no man, though his appearance would fool anybody not in the savvy. Dressed like the aristocracy of Crimsonport, his expensive clothing looked like it was tailored directly onto his body by the finest masters. With his legs crossed and lounging in his tall-backed chair with the velvet upholstery, he had the air of a king about him. The dim but warm illumination from the fireplace and candlelight clashed with the cold blue glow from the foggy twilight outside the windows, painting his face in an otherworldly light.

By all metrics, Lord Wilkins possessed an unearthly handsomeness. A tall, well-toned body of an athlete and a chiseled face that would fill flawless statues with envy. And eyes that intensely stared back at Nora over the brim of his own goblet.

Whatever he sipped, it did not look like wine. A drop escaped the corner of his mouth and ran down his chin at a languid pace. While it left a trail, Nora suppressed a shudder as she observed it. The way it trickled was far too viscous, and it was far too dark.

With the grace of a gentleman, he dabbed the mishap away with his napkin, but it left a subtle splotch. A bloodstain.

“Miss Morrissey, I would not have expected you to take me up on my invitation after all—after all that has transpired,” he finally spoke, breaking the silence that had blanketed the large room in this spacious manor since the corpse-like butler had escorted Nora to her seat at the table.

She had exchanged smiles with him. Hers had been born from wonder over this curious situation. His had borne the likeness of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A hungry, leering wolf.

“You failed to keep your ghouls in check. A guildsman paid good money for someone to dispatch the scoundrels who had killed his brother. I happened to be that someone, and it was nothing personal,” she said.

Before she could lose her cool and smirk at him, she managed to produce a sleek object from her handbag, from a spot where it had rested in next to the oak stake she had brought here with her. She flapped the object open to conceal the lower half of her face behind it—a fan. A beautiful painting of an exotic vista of a mountain and tree covered the fan’s surface—on a whim, she had paid good coin to purchase this vanity piece, for it had been imported from the far east. She finally saw some utility in it now, for the first time.

“And like the charming bloodhound you are, you had one of the Giovetti family’s mystics scry on a sample of a ghoul’s blood to find your way to me. But you did not act upon it,” he added to her explanation.

“I was just curious,” Nora said from behind her fan. “How did you notice?”

“The Giovettis answer to me, my dear. They know who I am. What I am. They know better than not to report such an event to me. Your inaction led me to wonder. Other hunters ply your trade on principle. They hate the creatures of the night, seek revenge for the horrors we have inflicted upon their loved ones, or are on a crusade for some misguided religion. But you are different. You seem to work only for hard currency. Tell me—would you have come here on different terms, had there been a price on my head?”

Nora folded the fan back up and clumsily fiddled with it before she fastened it back together by its clip. She cleared her throat and then could not help but look back down at the pheasant on the plate before her.

“Yes,” she lied. Her stomach growled, but she refused to eat anything being served to her in this majestic, yet dark abode. She swallowed air, looked back up at her host, and raised her chin high. “Well, no. I would not have come here at all. I would have sought out your coffin, flooded the crypt with daylight reflected off of mirrors, and butchered you while you are resting and helpless, while the sun rises high on the firmament.”

Lord Wilkins nodded and folded his arms in front of himself.

“You are lying. I can feel it,” he said. His speech rolled into a deep chuckle that cascaded into confident, hearty laughter. It then stopped abruptly, and his eyes flashed with something that reflected admiration. “But I like it. I cherish your brazen insolence. I have never met a human who knew of my nature and would sit at my table like this. So fearless. It is refreshing. You are indeed—unusual.”

Having become a stranger to flattery over the past five years, the intonation of his words sounded so much like a sincere compliment that it flushed red color into Nora’s cheeks. When she realized what she must have looked like because a wide, wolfish smile crept across the vampire’s face, she blushed with embarrassment.

She pouted in a way that plunged her into a sea of nostalgia, making her feel like the innocent girl she used to be before she had become the woman she was now. Lord Wilkins’ smile widened at this sight.

Nora regained her confidence and centered her mind on the here and now. She reminded herself what kind of creature she sat across from, and asked, “Now I am curious, Lord Wilkins. Why would you invite someone of my reputation and trade to your noble estate? Why all the pomp? Why pay for this dress, why the meal? Am I here to amuse you before you sink your fangs into my flesh? For this entire situation we are in now—it, too, is unusual.”

He leaned in over his empty plate—when the butler had served their courses, it had been empty to begin with. The butler had only served blood from a separate decanter into Lord Wilkins’ goblet. The vampire rested his elbows on the table, folded his hands before his face in a flowing, graceful movement, and stared intently into Nora’s eyes.

Even though they sat almost five paces apart, a sense of vertigo overcame, her and it felt like he drew closer by the second without budging from his seat. The intensity of his dark eyes, staring back at her, began to give her tunnel vision. She saw an endless abyss in his eyes.

“I can see them, you know,” he said, ignoring every single question she had posed. “The ghosts that haunt you.”

Shivers ran down her spine, and her hands went ice-cold, but her heart beat faster and a red-hot rage welled up inside her.

“What do you see,” she asked, though it sounded less like a question. Anybody could tell that she did not want to hear the answer.

“I can hear their whispers,” Lord Wilkins said, not answering that question, either. “Whispers that would be screams. They demand blood and retribution. The wrong you have inflicted upon them. The dead never sleep, Miss Morrissey.”

Lifting a single finger from the fold of his hands, he pointed past her, in the direction of the barred window behind her, but she refused to follow and turn her head to look. Part of her was truly afraid that she would see the dead Red Banner Furies standing behind her there, the ghosts that robbed her of her sleep at night, calling out for her death—for revenge.

“I wanted to see a monster in the flesh, Nora. You do not disappoint,” he said. Lord Wilkins leaned back in his lavish chair, resting his elbows on the armrests and keeping his hands folded in front of him. He never broke his eerie eye contact with her, and his smile was now as cold as deepest winter.

He had rendered her speechless. No spell, no hex, no unnatural force was behind it. She found herself awash in guilt and realizations, thoughts that had never crossed her mind before. Frozen in her own mind.

“All the witches and warlocks, the shapeshifters and beastkin, the animated objects and undead. Even the regular people that served them. You have killed so many that you have lost count, have you not? All for the coin, never wondering what existences you ended, what could have been had you not interfered.”

Lord Wilkins unfolded his hands and steepled his fingers before continuing in a lower, even more accusatory tone, “I know where you came from, Nora. Or Nora Mirsad, I should say, a girl from Wealdstone, adopted by the good Morrissey family. You have always had an affinity for us creatures of the night. And I know why.”

“Why,” she asked, though it came out flat and more like a statement—she had wanted it to be louder than a whisper, loud enough to channel her anger into the world, to wipe the smug smile off of Wilkins’ face.

“Just as your blood calls out to us, our blood calls out to you. Ever since that witch touched your soul, from before the blight that swept over Wealdstone, where you were among the few survivors.”

“So you are saying I am one of your kind? I am not like you, you monster,” she said. Her voice shook with impotent rage and plummeted into the void where her confidence had gone mere minutes ago.

“No, you are indeed not one of us, though you are cursed in more ways than you admit to yourself, Nora Mirsad. You are a murderer and a thief. You have the gall to dub me a monster?” He suddenly lurched forward and slammed a fist onto the table, causing the dishes and cutlery to shake and rattle. He snarled as he continued to speak, baring inhumanly large fangs among his otherwise normal teeth. “I feed to survive. You callously slaughter the denizens of the night without batting an eye. How stupidly self-righteous are you that you dare use that word to describe me? You are not one of us. You are a different breed of monster. A human monster. The worst blight upon this world, a disease that cannot be cured.”

Nora’s chin jutted out in defiance. Her nostrils flared, and she gritted her teeth, but her mind reeled, and she could not find any witty remark, any glib retort to throw back at him. He grabbed his silver goblet from the table and took a sip, but she now read rage in his own demeanor—his hand clenched around the goblet like a vice, and it looked like it was bending under the sheer pressure of strength that only a beastly grip could possess.

“This world—this dying world. It belongs to us. The nights grow longer. Our strength will prevail over the weak human cattle, they will bend to our will. But we can say that we rule over you out of necessity. For the sake of our own survival and because your kind is weak. But you—only avarice and blood-lust guides you. You run away from the truths that hound you, from the ghosts that haunt you, and hide behind your blood-riddled trade. You perhaps even tell yourself that you are doing mankind a favor while lining your own pockets with gold.”

The smile was long gone from his face, replaced by a grim frown. The eye contact between these two figures never broke. The door to the dining hall opened, and the pale, emotionless butler peered inside. Neither Nora nor Lord Wilkins paid attention to the servant. They stared daggers at each other. The murder in their eyes was palpable. As the butler saw the intensity of this scene wordlessly unfolding before him, he disappeared again, quietly closing the door behind himself.

“You speak with a forked tongue,” Nora finally said. “How many people left their lives so you could believe yourself immortal? How many throats have you ripped out and drank from like an animal to quench your thirst?” Her voice grew louder with every word. Some words sounded almost like growls. Her confidence returned to her. And something else.

Unbridled fury.

She leaned over her end of the table. The grandfather clock in the room suddenly ticked to the next hour and sent loud, gonging sounds to echo throughout the manor.

“I will show you how much of a monster I can be, you fiend. It will be the last thing you see,” she said.

“I do not think you have wrestled with vampires before, child,” Lord Wilkins replied. His face darkened and his eyes began to glow in a deep crimson. The shadows in his vicinity seemed to solidify, like they were absorbing and devouring all light, and the darkness itself around him came alive and reached out towards her.

Nora bit her tongue till she drew blood from the tip of it in an attempt to dispel the illusion, knowing he would use it to distract her. Her hand had long crept into her handbag, to the oak stake she had brought with her. Her cold fingers clutched it with a new-found fierceness, and in the violent burst of movement between the two adversaries that followed, she knocked over her goblet.

Before the item even hit the soft carpet and stained it with splatters of dark red wine, the two were at each other’s throats.

Long before midnight arrived, the manor’s front doors swung open. Nora emerged from the building, chest heaving, and stumbling forward on a sprained ankle while clutching her broken left arm. Her beautiful black and white dress now torn and sullied with blood, both from the slain Lord Wilkins, the butler she had killed with a poker from the fireplace, and her own injuries that the vampire had inflicted. She had even killed the poor wretch of a street urchin being held in the basement for Wilkins to feed on.

Crackling and glowing in a warm orange behind her, a fire burned inside the manor’s bowels, a fire that would consume the edifice before dawn, with the first plumes of smoke emerging from some broken windows. A dozen people among the neighboring cityfolk who had heard the fighting and glass shattering and shouts from Nora’s and Lord Wilkins’ past struggle now gawked at the disheveled-looking woman standing outside the manor’s entrance.

They did not recognize her nor would they render any useful description when the constable eventually showed up and asked eye witnesses. Because Nora would never dress like this again, even reliable reports would not help identify her.

She looked at her right hand, the hand with which she normally wielded her cutlass and flintlock pistols. She felt a sense of loss. She felt like she had forgotten something, then recalled that she had plunged the stake into the vampire’s heart before she beheaded him with a meat cleaver from the kitchen.

Her hand was stained with blood. In more ways than one.

Elsewhere, another creature of the night observed these events through a magicked mirror, overjoyed by all the grisly details and cackling, drinking in the excessive display of violence and carnage that the two had wrought in Wilkins Manor as they had struggled to end each other’s existences.

Cracked blue lips formed a sinister smile baring rotten black teeth on her face as she watched the distorted images in the mirror, observing how Nora staggered off into the night, fleeing from the scene of the crime. She had high hopes for Nora. She had never had a daughter, but deemed this young woman to be the closest thing to one.

What a masterpiece she had created all those years ago in Wealdstone.

What a beautiful monster Nora had become.

—Submitted by Wratts

#spoospasu #spookyspaghettisundae #horror #short story #writing #my writing #literature #spooky #fiction #submission #Nora Morrissey #magicked mirror #Crimsonport #gaslight #gothic #vampire #blood #monster #manor #Victorian #fantasy #Wilkins #Red Coast #hunter #creatures of the night