#why do we never see HIS warband?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ascalonianpicnic · 3 years

Text

Hey! Y’all want a salty essay about the bullshit treatment Caithe gets from the fandom at large that compares Rytlock and Caithe’s characters? Cause I wrote one!

Warning: this essay is incredibly bitter and salty, and that bitterness and salt is directed at people who hate Caithe. I swear in it. I’m mean to Rytlock in it. I heavily imply people who hate Caithe are sexist in it. This was written in the middle of the champions releases, but doesn’t focus on s5 or past pof in general.

A morally grey assassin, jaded from a traumatic past who thinks they have to do everything themself to ensure it's done right. They had to kill someone close to them for the greater good, were deeply hurt by a former partner, no longer work with their old crew due to a tragedy they could not prevent and blame themself for. The two people they care about are their brother whom they love and understand despite his quirks and oddities, and their new young mentee who they have mixed feelings about and who they don't want to admit they care for for fear of losing them. They have a blood soaked past and make mistakes, but they're learning and growing thanks to their young mentee and the hard work they're putting in at reflecting on their past actions and accepting they don't have to bear the weight of the world alone.

Y'all would like Caithe if she was a man. She's built on several tropes so commonly seen in male protagonists and mentor figures. Mistakes she's made that people claim are unforgivable are made by other, less apologetic, male characters who are forgiven and still held in high regard. And I know these archetypes are popular among the guild wars 2 fandom, considering the high crossover with dragon age fans, and how many dragon age fans love Zevran the assassin who regularly hides his true feelings and bears so much guilt, and Duncan the former thief who sees little crime in what he views as rightful murders and views death as an acceptable cost to protect some secrets for the safety of the world. The guild wars 2 fandom in general would love Caithe so much more if she wasn't a woman.

But because she's a woman, killing Wynne, killing a few courtiers during personal story, keeping the secret of the sylvari to protect her people from a massacre at the hands of the other races, and taking the egg to ensure it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands are all seen as unforgivable sins. She's learning and growing every step of the way. She's taken the time to look back on what she's done. She's apologized for not trusting and betraying the commander (who she has a complicated relationship with regardless of race, that person stole her wyld hunt because she was somehow not good enough to kill a dragon alone), she's learned she can rely on others to have her back and doesn't have to do everything alone, she's realized bloodshed isn't always the answer. She's come a long way, learned to let herself trust again, and is working so hard to grow. Yet loads of y'all still hate her for her past mistakes, and some of y'all think it's okay to wish death on her fucking openly with no warning.

And yet, so many people who hate Caithe and wish death on her, citing her actions during Living World Season 2 and Heart of Thorns as the reason why, will in the same breath mention that Rytlock is one of their favorite characters in the game. As I said, y'all would like Caithe if she was a man.

Rytlock has made the exact same mistakes as Caithe during the story. Alright maybe not exactly the same, but his mistakes parallel hers very cleanly. He isn't an assassin, but he is a born and raised soldier who has killed countless people in his rise to the rank of Tribune. He didn't steal an egg, but he did jump into the mists and free a clearly powerful and dangerous figure for the sake of getting his sword back. He didn't keep the secret of the sylvari, but he did, in fact, keep the secret of Balthazar. And he had his own mentee who he had a fraught relationship with. Let's take this one by one.

If you play through the blood legion story on a charr, you probably remember overthrowing the legionnaire of your warband and taking over. In this segment, Rytlock not only encourages you to challenge your Legionnaire, he forces Urvan Steelbane to fight you. Then, at the end of the fight, he gives you the option to kill your superior. Rising through the ranks in charr society is a mixture of proving yourself a reliable soldier and proving yourself superior to your superiors through combat so you can take their place. As a tribune, Rytlock has risen high through the legion, spilling lots of blood and putting those around him at risk. It is noted that prior to his promotion to tribune, Rytlock got in serious trouble more than once for risking missions and endangering his own warband for the sake of his own fame and glory. While not an assassin, much like Caithe he has a very bloody history and a habit of trying to do everything himself

One of the biggest events held against Caithe is when she steals Aurene's egg from the dying Master of Peace as he tries to give it to the commander. While especially true for the sylvari commander, Caithe has a lot of her own reasons for not trusting this incredibly important egg in the hands of the commander. At the same time, her calling as one of Aurene's guardians, her wyld hunt to protect this egg, and the poundings at her mind of mordremoth are all overwhelming her and leaving her confused. Feeling she has to do everything herself, as she often struggles with, Caithe takes the egg to protect it from falling in the wrong hands. She later admits this was the wrong move that put people around her in grave danger and risked the world and apologizes for it. The way Caithe acts about Aurene's egg is pretty similar to how Rytlock acts towards the sword Sohothin. The first time he sees it, he jeopardizes the mission he and Crecia are on to steal it, putting her in extreme danger and blaming her when she has to act to protect herself. Later on, when he loses the sword through a mists portal during a ritual to try and cleanse the foefire ghosts from Ascalon, he abandons the ritual, ensuring it fails, so he can pursue his sword, leaving the commander and the iron legion imperator to face the danger of Barridin's ghost army alone, much like how Caithe left the commander to face the Shadow of the Dragon while she fled with Aurene's egg. While in the mists, seeking his lost sword, Rytlock frees a very clearly powerful and dangerous figure (who we'll come back to) in order to reclaim Sohothin. Like how Caithe put the world at risk by trying to protect the egg alone, Rytlock puts the world at risk trying to reclaim his sword.

Let's take a brief moment to talk about Caithe and Rytlock's mentees, before we get on to the biggest similarity the two share. Caithe's mentee, if she has one as it depends on the player, is the sylvari commander. The sylvari commander is a decently young sylvari, who only a few years earlier emerged with a parallel wyld hunt to Caithe herself. Caithe is a loner in general following the pains of Wynne's death, Faolain's abuse, and the breaking of Destiny's Edge. Now she's handed a youth who was created to help her with her Hunt that she was always told she had to do alone, basically saying she is no longer trusted to perform her hunt alone and now she has to train her replacement. She does seem to care for the commander, but the relationship there is always going to start off complicated, and it leads to her betraying the commander, leaving them to fight the Shadow of the Dragon, and taking the egg she doesn't trust them to handle. Later on, once she realizes her mistakes, she reaches out to the commander to apologize, and repeatedly puts her trust very clearly in them, acknowledging that she does need them and she did in the past. How that relationship ends is of course up to the player, but she makes an attempt at reconciliation after the fallout. Rytlock's mentee of note here is Rox. He takes her own as a promising young woman who he thinks would fit well in his warband and takes a hand in helping her train and find her place again in the legions. In order to join the Stone warband, Rox is given the incredibly difficult and definitely not soloable task of killing Scarlet Briar. Rox, when it comes down to it, chooses to put Braham's life and safety over dealing the killing blow to Scarlet herself, trusting the commander, whoever they are, and Kasmeer to get the job done while she stays back with Braham and Marjory. Following the victory over Scarlet, Rox is too afraid to face Rytlock. She didn't kill Scarlet herself, meaning she failed, and she's afraid Rytlock will kill her for it. This is itself a sign of a deeply unhealthy relationship between Rytlock and Rox. On top of that, Rytlock has as of yet never tried to reach out to Rox, to check up on her or apologize or do anything to repair the relationship between the two of them. (A note from replaying s2, Rox does join for the barradin keep mission with Rytlock there, but Rytlock doesn't really check up on her, and he sure as hell doesn't offer her the more than earned position on his warband despite everything.)

The last point is the one I believe I've seen held against Caithe the most. During Living World Season 2, Caithe keeps secret from the commander and from her own brother Trahearne that the Sylvari are purified minions of Mordremoth, leading to Trahearne's attack against the dragon ending in a massacre. Caithe, when she was incredibly young and impressionable, learned the truth from Wynne before having to kill her to keep Faolain from learning the truth as well. She has, for years now, been the only one to know this secret, and she believes that if it were to get out, the world would turn against the still young and fairly defenseless sylvari and slaughter them. As she sees it, she has to bear the burden of this secret alone, as she has to do everything alone. While dealing with her duties tied to Aurene's egg and struggling with the growing voice of Mordremoth as well, she may not even know of Trahearne's plans to fly an army into the jungle. She has every reason to keep this secret still, it's for the good of her own people. Yes it is a mistake, but she didn't know this at the time. She believes, as she keeps this secret, that it is the only way to prevent the sylvari from dying off as they're just coming into the world. She regrets the loss of life, but she can't go back and change it now.

Now Rytlock also keeps a very important secret, from the commander and everyone else. He refuses to share details of what he saw and did in the mists during his hunt for Sohothin. While in the mists, Rytlock meets an old man in chains. The man, recognizing Sohothin in Rytlock's hands, unlit, says he can reignite the sword if Rytlock frees him. Rytlock accepts the deal and frees the man, returning Sohothin to its original glory and gaining access to a portal out of the mists that the old man makes. Now, Rytlock grew up while the war between humanity and the charr was still growing strong. He spent a lot of his early years in Ascalon, exploring the ruins, likely fighting humans trying to reclaim their land, and definitely fighting the ghosts of humans. That alone should have been enough for him to recognize the human god his enemies worshipped while waging war against him and his people. Beyond that, after Rytlock came into possession of Sohothin, he researched the sword's history. The sword, originally crafted and wielded by Balthazar, is one Rytlock is familiar with. It stands to reason Balthazar himself is at the very least a familiar figure to Rytlock. So when Rytlock encounters a large, powerful figure in the mists who recognizes Sohothin in a state very few have ever seen it in, and has the power to relight the flames that the god Balthazar had originally created, Rytlock has to know who he is talking to. He knows who he freed in exchange for Sohothin's flames. He may say otherwise, but there is no way he doesn't know who he freed in the mists. Even if we give him the benefit of the doubt and say he didn't know who exactly he freed, he still should have told the commander about the man with very powerful fire magic and the ability to make portals who he followed out of the mists. Rytlock caused the tragedy that is Path of Fire and almost caused the end of the world, because he decided to keep the fact that he freed Balthazar a secret from everyone until it was far too late and Elona was already burning. Caithe's secret may have resulted in the failure of the Maguuma campaign and the loss of lives of many soldiers, but Rytlock's secret resulted in the near destruction of an entire civilization and the deaths of countless innocents.

Yet Caithe is still hated deeply for keeping a secret that she thought was for the good of the world, while Rytlock is quickly forgiven for keeping a secret to protect his pride. Rytlock has made all the same mistakes Caithe has and has arguably handled all of them worse, yet he is still a fandom favorite while she is hated by the community. It's pretty clear that Caithe isn't hated for her actions and mistakes. That's just an excuse.

You would like her if she was a man.

#gw2 #my essays #caithe #not tagging cat man #building my mean lesbian niche of essay content 😊🔪#last one was for the eir lovers this ones for the caithe fans #also sorry for referencing da origins 😔

97 notes · View notes

feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Video

youtube

‘today’s silm vocaloid song: clear sky engine (クリヤスカイ機関) by nyanyannya and hara ft. rin kagamine and zunko tohoku

this one’s about elrond, maglor, and the sudden non-ending of the world. you know that thing where you build an elaborate fandom video in your head for a completely unrelated song, but you don’t have the most basic art skills you’d need to make it a reality? yeah, i square that circle by writing them out. here, have an extremely long songfic/filk/commentary/thing

It was just another day, beneath a black sky

The bustle of camp churned on around me

I wasn’t paying attention to what my hands were doing

Dreaming of a shining star-lit sky

we open on elrond, living in a world about to die. the fëanorians were forced to abandon amon ereb years ago, and now the last of the host ekes out a precarious nomadic existence, raiding deserted villages for food and losing more people they can’t replace with each battle. they’re still doing better than everyone else on the mainland, though. their blades, at least, remain sharp

(the smoke from the fires of angband has risen to cover the whole continent in dark clouds. some of the sun’s warmth still gets through, and on good nights the star of high hope is still faintly visible, but the light-filled skies of old are little more than memory. all the survivors know that the end is near. it’s only a matter of time)

He’d broken a promise he’d made to us

So I was a little more annoyed at him than usual

He chatted with me while I worked to make up for it

And I made all my usual complaints

elrond and elros are at this point... i’d say very early teens? not that they had much of a childhood; the fëanorians are so short-staffed the twins have been doing odd jobs around camp pretty much since it became clear they weren’t going to run away. today elrond is taking stock of the medical supplies, less because he has any interest in the healing arts than because it’s a job that needs doing and everyone else is busy

maglor is hovering within talking distance, doing elrond-doesn’t-care-what. the twins’ relationship with maglor is extremely complicated to say the least, their mercurial hellbeast protector who scares the shit out of everyone else they’ve ever met and who has stood between them and the darkness for as long as they can remember. recently, he promised to stay with the twins while they did something difficult, but he failed to do so for a whole host of reasons, including getting into a two-hour shrieking match with maedhros at the last possible moment. elros shrugged it off, like elros shrugs everything off, but elrond is a simmering cauldron of adolescent rage at the best of times

which is why maglor’s checking on him, giving him an outlet for his anger before it can turn into despair. because what would be the point, in the end? they’re all going to die anyway. one of the reasons maglor’s resisted sending the kids to balar so hard is that no matter where they are, eventually morgoth will sweep down and destroy them all. there’s nowhere safe left, nothing they can do to protect them. none of this is even new, it’s a shadow that’s hung over them all since the twins grew old enough to understand this

so maglor and elrond chat, or rather elrond grumbles incessantly and maglor snarks as upliftingly as he can remember to. it’s a day like any other, nothing about it to distinguish it from the hundreds that came before or however many will come after. that is, until one of the lesser minions comes over, yelling, ‘boss! boss! you have to see this!’

elrond turns around. for the first time ever, he sees true hope on her face

“Have you finally grown tired of us?” I hissed

But in that moment excitement ran round the campsite

And someone cried out with joy

“The hour we thought would never be, the return of the light, has finally come to pass!”

far, far away, the hosts of the valar are landing on the shores of beleriand. disembarking from their luminous ships, clad in radiant armour and carrying blessed weapons, their brilliance pierces the dark fog that has settled over beleriand for so long. shining like the stars come to earth, the hallowed army of valinor begins its long march towards the gates of angband. far above, ships riding jets of light slice open the smog

this news - this unexpected, unbelievable, impossible miracle bestowed unto doomed beleriand, this chance that their enemy might actually fall - is the greatest thing anyone in camp’s heard all century. maybe in more prosperous times the host would have groused about the valar finally seeing fit to get off their asses, but in this world turned to ash any chance at victory is to be celebrated. the minions throw a massive impromptu party, of the kind they haven’t since before sirion. elros is right there with them, singing off-key and laughing as loud as anyone else. even maedhros cracks a tiny relieved smile

maglor watches the festivities from the outside, more genuinely optimistic than he thought he was still capable of. elrond joins him, brow furrowed as he tries to comprehend it all. they talk

“It feels like a dream I’ll never wake up from”

“What are you blabbering about now?”

elrond is voiced by zunko, maglor by rin. the song’s more of a dialogue than a duet, so i’ll be bolding maglor’s lines

The sheet of paper I held in my hands read

“The hosts of the West have come! Our world is saved!”

the letter’s from gil-galad, or at least his administrative apparatus. it’s not even that hostile; apparently the armies of the gods showing up out of nowhere to save them all from certain doom has him in a magnanimous mood. there’s some drivel about surrendering and eärendil and all wrongs being forgiven, but neither maglor nor elrond is paying attention to it

“Hey, do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Love and justice and valour and hope”

“I remember the sea of blood you drowned everything in for them”

elrond didn’t really have any formal schooling - nobody had the time - but he has managed to pick up a lot of stuff from the stories the people around them tell. that the fëanorians came to middle-earth for high noble ideals, and that it was trying to fulfil those ideals that led them into darkness, is something maglor told him once, when he was in a darkly honest mood

“Haha, that’s just details, everybody makes that kind of mistake when they’re young”

“Why are you like this?”

a mood maglor’s obviously not in at the moment, if he’s laughing off the kinslayings like this; elrond knows this isn’t how he actually feels about them. normally elrond would just roll his eyes and move on with his life, but things are different today

The camp was full of laughter, as if everyone had lost their minds

elrond’s not used to happiness. not full, unironic happiness, untainted by the shadow of their inevitable death, not from the fëanorians. the sheer jubliation suffusing camp is fundamentally alien to him, a child of a world about to end. he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that maybe they won’t all get eaten by dragons. he doesn’t know what to do with the hope in everyone’s eyes

so instead, when maglor wanders away from the party, elrond catches him with a song

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! For certain”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the fears I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine songs I can give to you”

maglor’s been teaching elrond how to do this, how to snatch someone into a world of music and throw your voice at them until one of you can’t take it any more. maglor wins this one, as usual; even if his song is incapable of anything but violence he’s got centuries of experience on elrond, enough to turn the sharp edges of his voice into blades in elrond’s hands. and that is what he’s doing, clumsy and harsh as he is; he’s trying to give elrond a reason to hope

elrond is the one who breaks the spell, dropping the melody, letting the music dissolve into the air. maglor flashes him a grin and walks off, humming merrily. elrond just stands there, still unable to understand

I’ve heard it before, it’s all anyone can talk about, even if I try to avoid it it stabs into my ears

cut past a decade or so, to well into the war of wrath. elrond and elros are in their mid-teens now. they’re still with the fëanorians, but these days the fëanorian warband is effectively an auxiliary unit to the amanyar army, skirting around the edges of that much larger force. for the first time in a long while, elrond and elros have regular-ish contact with people outside the fëanorian sphere of influence, mostly peripheral edain and the sindar who run messages between the camps. it’s different, talking to new people

(the sky is still covered with smog, but it’s gloomy grey, not oppressive black. the sun is faintly visible through it, most of the time. the rain is much less poisonous than it used to be, and on good nights you can almost see the moon. the closer they get to angband, the darker the clouds grow)

“It is as the gods have decreed, soon the darkness will be swept away and the Enemy will be cast down

And after the war in the purified world, we will all live happily together

Building new homes in a land unmarred by evil”

the people outside the host are much more optimistic about the future, for one. the fëanorian minions are happy morgoth is getting trounced but they don’t really talk about what comes after that, like they can’t imagine a world without war. the sindar, and especially the edain, on the other hand, have all these plans about the cities they’ll build, the arts they’ll perfect, the children they’ll raise in a world without danger. elros is super into this; he barely spends time with the fëanorians any more, he’s so busy going between different edain camps, making friends, planning for the future. elrond, though...

Even my twin knows what future to reach out for...

elrond doesn’t know what to do with any of this. the very concept that someday the war will end and the sky will clear and he’ll have a bright future is still something he doesn’t fully understand. even more, he’s defined himself for so long as not-a-fëanorian, now he’s regularly interacting with people who doubtlessly aren’t he’s having trouble figuring out what else he is. he’s stuck between people who are lowkey hoping they’ll die gloriously in battle and people who have been dreaming about what they’d do in a world without darkness all their lives, and he doesn’t know what he even wants, not really, not yet

so he keeps on living, just like he always has. he’s been promoted to sick tent dogsbody and is learning how to heal with song from the last minion who can kind of still do it. he acts as a proxy between the fëanorians and the more timid outsiders they keep running into. when he goes (or elros drags him) exploring in other camps, he keeps track of every new detail he comes across, in case it’s somehow useful later

and he keeps talking to maglor, with anger and spite and sarcasm and whatever other emotion he’s covering his uncertainties with today. maglor always listens, usually offers to help, and sometimes elrond even lets him. the fëanorian camp settles into a rhythm of buildup-fight-recovery-buildup-fight-recovery, so regular it lulls elrond into complacency. he takes the future he still doesn’t quite believe in one day at a time, until suddenly the ground crumbles beneath his feet

You say it’s to ‘fulfill our ideals’ but what you mean by that is ‘to sate our bloodlust’, I know

With their blades and teeth sharpened for battle, the kinslayers broke away from the light and disappeared into the shadows

there’s a whole mountain of reasons why, as they draw near to angband, the dregs of the fëanorian host abruptly peel off from the valinorean army and vanish into the night. they know they're more effective as a stealthy shock ambush unit, they’re somewhat concerned the amanyar will turn on them the second morgoth is no longer a problem, they're making one last desperate rush for the silmarils, all that and more. it’s not the first time they’ve suddenly packed up and left before their enemies can react, probably not even the first time they’ve done it to the hosts of valinor. there’s just one little difference

Leaving us behind? Leaving you behind

they’re not taking the twins. said twins only find out about this, like, the day before they decamp. maedhros’ justification is something about them not being able to support noncombatants on the march, but the twins believe that about as much as they believe that the fëanorians are doing this for any kind of hope. elros, of course, was half-planning on leaving anyway, going off to chase his own ambitions with his new edain posse. he copes with it pretty well, relatively

but elrond’s mind goes blank. once he thought the day they let them go would be the best day of his life, but now it’s come it feels so wrong, and this horrible coldness is seeping into him. in a flash of what feels like foresight, he suddenly knows the people who raised him will never come back. how dare - why - he can’t -

with a sharp desperate burst of sound that’s a surprise to even himself, elrond lashes out a song to catch maglor

“For ten more minutes, one more week, half a year, please, let me stay with you!”

“In a year’s time, ten years’ time, a hundred years’ time, we’ll see the starlit sky together”

“What if one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight times I begged you not to go?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine of your other wishes I’ll hear”

and elrond just stops. he lets the song trail off, staring at maglor. he’s in an incredibly weird mood, with something that could almost be compassion in his eyes

there’s only one way he can find out what’s happening, elrond realises

“In that case - !”

maglor was never really demonstratively affectionate with the twins. it would never have come off as real on his part, and they wouldn’t have believed it in any case. still, he supported them. he let them trail behind them, all but cling to the backs of his legs, in those first horrible weeks when they were terrified of absolutely everything. he taught them to ride and he taught them to read, how to reinforce a blade with nothing but song and close a wound with needle and thread. on the darkest nights, when all the world was filled by the howling beasts of morgoth and the wailing of the unhallowed dead, he held them tight and flared his own fires high, a warm smoky bonfire between them and the void. he answered their questions, and told them stories

and sometimes, he tried to be kind

“Sing me a lullaby like the flat of a blade”

“Which one would you like?”

“I want to see a flower that will still bloom”

“I know just the one”

“I don’t care what kind of monster you are! Just please stay with me, for even one more tomorrow...”

“...I’m sorry”

“What do you mean?”

“You were given your name because your parents wanted you to see the stars someday”

it was easy for maglor to justify keeping the twins when they didn’t have a future. the shadow of death blotted out the sky, so why not hold them close for whatever little time they had left? no matter where they were, the void would soon claim them all

except it didn’t. in the end they were not forsaken. the sacred light came out of the west to burn away the darkness and finish the war he once thought they could never win. the hosts of the valar have gotten farther in decades than the noldor did in centuries, and soon enough they’ll cast the enemy down and release the world from his terrible maw. and then the future the free peoples dreamed of will stretch out before them, full of possibilities beyond measure

and that’s why maglor has to let them go. the magnificent people that elrond and elros are already becoming will only wither among hopeless kinslayers who have nothing left but the sword. to flourish into their full glorious selves, they need to be with people who dream, who can travel towards the future alongside the twins with light hearts and songs on their lips. maglor refuses to let his own darkness drown the last people in the world he does not hate. elrond deserves so, so much better than maglor is capable of giving him. he deserves to see the stars

hearing all that, there’s only one thing elrond can say

“You can’t even keep one miserable promise! Don’t pretend like you’re my father, kinslayer!”

and that’s the last elrond sees of maglor. the fëanorians vanish in the middle of the night, leaving elrond and elros (and about half a dozen minions who are taking their last possible chance to get out) behind. elros takes up with his edain buddies and starts making contacts and forging alliances. elrond winds up in gil-galad’s orbit, surrounded by people who are very understanding about how awful his childhood was, which just pisses him off more. he doesn’t throw tantrums or refuse to work, those aren’t luxuries he was raised with, but he spends a fair bit of time spurning every bit of sympathy and aid he’s offered and trying not to cry himself to sleep

with time, though, he finds a place. it starts with círdan, the first person who believes elrond about what his time with the fëanorians was like. then he befriends erestor, and then gil-galad starts actually respecting the way elrond feels, and then he gets officially taken on as an apprentice healer. he starts learning about his own ancestors and their peoples, and reaching out for stories he never knew could be his. as the final battle of the iron hells begins, elrond is doing... better

and soon, the hope that no one in beleriand once dreamed would be fulfilled becomes a reality

And then, as if it had never held power, the darkness was cast down...

they win the war. the armies of angband are crushed. the peaks of thangorodrim are torn down. the prisoners of the deepest pits of the iron hells are freed. the forces of evil are scattered to the four winds. morgoth, the fallen vala himself, is defeated and captured and bound with great chains, unable to ever hurt anyone again. the precious remnants of the light of the trees, the remaining two silmarils, are recovered. the dark clouds evaporate, and for the first time elrond can remember, the sky is perfectly clear. the war of the jewels is finally over

elrond has grown so much since the day he first heard that the hosts of the west had come. he still can’t quite believe it

They held a great celebration beneath a star-speckled sky I’d never seen before

“The world is saved and we are freed! Evil has been vanquished forevermore”

The triumphant voices of the generals poured out over the victory feast while the stars shone true above the happy ending

the soldiers of valinor and the people of beleriand (what’s left of them) throw a truly massive party. it’s still tinged with their grief over everything they’ve lost, but the atmosphere is primarily one of ecstatic relief. they’re alive, and they’ve come out the other side. dwarvish tailors dance with high maiar, humans who don’t remember the moon get drunk with elves who remember cuiviénen. even after the official festivities die down and people start hashing out what they want to do next, the general mood remains buoyant and cheerful. at long last, they live in a world without danger

none of it feels real to elrond. gil-galad’s talking about building a kingdom on the other side of the blue mountains, elros and his grand edain alliance are trying to bully the maiar into letting them set up on tol eressëa, and elrond feels so disconnected from it all, like he’s watching someone else’s life. he’s happy the enemy has been overcome, of course he is, but he’s not feeling the overwhelming joy everyone else is. he can’t let his guard down yet, something is still wrong -

Except he hasn’t come back, they haven’t come back, where did they go, what have they done?

The word raced around as fast as the wind, giving me an answer I never wanted to hear -

where is maglor? the fëanorians broke off to fight the war their own way, but the war is over now, where are they? they were so happy to hear that the amanyar had arrived, he can’t imagine them not thrilled to see the enemy they hated more than anything else fall. in the warm afterglow of victory, it feels like even their sins might be forgiven, and they could finally go home. they have nothing else left; why wouldn’t they take that outstretched hand?

but nobody’s so much as glimpsed their flag since some time before the final battle. elrond quietly assumes, perhaps even hopes, that they all died fighting, and yet he can’t shake the cold dread crawling up his spine

elrond has mixed feelings about the silmarils, and doesn’t particularly care to be near them. by the time the news of their theft reaches him, maedhros and maglor have already fled into the night

Still driven on by their oath, they turned their blades on their kin one last time

“And stole away the hallowed light”

Yes, that light which sank all of our lands beneath a deep dark layer of corpses and ash

all elrond sees is the aftermath, the blood sinking into the ground. it’s far from the first time he’s seen people killed, but somehow now it’s all hitting him, all at once. he sees the bodies and it knocks the breath out of him. all he can see is the dead, from finwë on down, the rotting carcasses of every last person who was slaughtered for these gems, a whole continent bleached with death. they call the silmarils the most beautiful things in the world, jewels shining with the very light of creation, but elrond can’t see it for the blood they’re dripping with

that’s the immediate thing that has his hands shaking and his breath running cold. by morning it’s had a chance to sink in a little, and -

He lied he lied he lied he lied

maglor regretted the kinslayings! elrond knows he did! it was never even something he actually said, it was obvious from the way he talked about them. every single one was a complete disaster, nothing the fëanorians ever got out of them was worth what they lost in the process, and afterwards things always got worse in ways they never expected. and maglor hated the person the kinslayings had turned him into, elrond spent enough time around him to pick up on that much! surely he’d do anything to not have to commit another one?

apparently not! apparently all that regret, all that loss, the arguments and the nightmares and the coldly determined efforts to stop them following his path, it all meant nothing! he still gave in to despair or maedhros or whatever, killed yet more people, stole from the army whose return he said was like a dream come to life, spat in the face of his last chance to go home, and vanished! gil-galad’s people were right! he really is nothing more than a monster!

the shock of it all makes something snap in elrond, whatever fragile optimism he absorbed from the people around him draining away until he feels completely hollow. hundreds of years of suffering and death, and for what?

Smeared with the blood of untold hundreds, untold thousands, untold millions of people

Did they buy us peace for even half a year, even a week, even ten minutes?

Noooooooo!

Even the very land we lived on crumbled and drowned

What was the point?! What was the point?! What was the point?!

I feel like I’m going insaaaaaaane

morgoth may have fallen, but beleriand is dead! nothing remains, not the lush green lands of the stories, or even the dessicated forests of his childhood, just desolate earth and the devouring sea. almost everywhere he’s ever known, almost everyone who lived and fought and dreamed there, are lost forever. nothing was saved, everything was destroyed, what good is a clear blue sky when there’s nothing beneath it?! how can they call this a happy ending?!

elrond can’t see any light here, all the great battles and heroic deeds seem absolutely pointless in the face of everyone and everything immolated in the endless grasping for these gems. the hosts of valinor leave the continent they shattered, the remnants of gil-galad’s people escape the raging forces of nature, and the survivors bicker and fight over resources just like the fëanorian minions elrond grew up around. the world is never going to get better, he realises. the dream of a paradise will never come true

and then one night, running a message down the craggy still-turbulent coastline, he hears a snatch of a distant, familiar voice

I can hear a voice whittled away to a weapon singing what could almost be a lullaby -

elrond leaps off the ridge and onto the rocky beach, scrambling over the uneven ground. he’s heard the rumours about where maedhros and/or maglor went - all of them, there’s dozens of them, he didn’t pay any particular heed to the ones where maglor wandered the coast, but if they were right, if he’s here -

his own voice has grown strong over the years, solid and forceful and mature. elrond screams his song into the emptiness, hoping against hope it will be heard

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! Isn’t that so?!”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the griefs I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine days for you to live!”

“That must be it...”

the impression of a hand touching his cheek, the ghost of a smile. for a moment someone else’s voice slips into the ebb and flow of his song, a shadow reaches out to wipe the tears off his face. live, it whispers. you who i held dearest last, live

elrond’s breath catches in his throat, and the song, and the shadow, vanish. it’s just him on a forsaken beach, the only sounds the waves crashing and the gulls calling. the sky is completely overcast, the clouds dull and grey. he watches them drift along for a while, as his pulse slows down and his airways clear up. live, the word echoes in his mind

he waits until his breathing is back to normal and the churning emotions inside him have settled into a form he can handle. then he wipes his face and clambers back onto the ridge

(life. it’s not much, but it’s enough. it has to be. his home is destroyed, but he is alive; his family is broken, but he is alive. he is alive, and they want him to live, as much as he can while he still has a chance. the world he lives in will never be perfect, but he knows how to work with that)

(and besides - elros, círdan, gil-galad, erestor, the other healers, the small knot of elves of all stripes who seem determined to follow his banner. he hasn’t lost everything, not yet, and he won’t let the world take away what he has left. he’ll never abandon those he loves)

the clouds are lightening. soon the stars will be out. elrond takes a deep breath, and starts running towards his future and the person he’s going to be -

thousands of years later, a memory resurfaces

“Two million, two hundred and forty-one thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine days... Ah, yes. I know I forgot to say it earlier, but you did a very good job”

a smattering of notes are lifted by the ocean breeze. they travel inland, across the worn-down mountains, around the weathered hills, above the tangled forests, up the untamed rivers, and finally into the hidden valley

in the gardens of imladris, lord elrond hears a voice he hasn’t for millennia. a watering can slips out of his hands, and suddenly he can’t breathe

It was just another day, beneath a dark sky

The ocean and the wind roared on all around me

I wasn’t paying attention to how my tears were falling

Trying to remember a clear star-lit sky

that youthful dream of a world free from evil never came true. the shadow came back, and it kept coming back, taking his people, his friends, his family, his wife. everything they built after the defeat of morgoth has been reduced to dust by the weight of time, and every year more of it slips through his fingers. elrond doesn’t know how much more of it he can endure. he doesn’t know how much more he can lose

he chases that scrap of music all the way to the seashore

I ran down the path between the rocks and the spray following that voice I never knew why I loved

But in the end I could only stand weeping

elrond searches up and down the coast, scouring the shoreline for clues, asking the locals, listening. sometimes he hears whispers of song, long wailing lamentations that make his heart ache all the more now that he understands how that despair feels. occasionally it’s loud or consistent enough he can track it, trying to pinpoint the singer’s location in the intense storms of bitterness and grief

but he never finds anything

“You fool, he’s already gone. Like he was never there at all...”

all that’s left is a voice on the wind

15 notes · View notes

queer-as-used-by-tolkien · 3 years

Text

Storyline Study: Order Mentor

When you joined your Order at level thirty and met your mentor at level forty, each of the three was instantly revealed to be a different person altogether from the other two.

Tybalt Leftpaw, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers, was on his first-ever field mission. He was very blatantly calling for you in a sort of undercover way, and simultaneously panicking when you tried to mention the full name of the Order. Your supposed mentor was as new to this as you, had a (sometimes very human-teenager) sense of humor, and had a rather sad backstory balanced by his good nature. You knew he liked apples.

Sieran, Magister of the Durmand Priory, was full of reckless abandon, disregard for authority, boundless curiosity and a heart for the little things. She was confident in her role and her ability, and unhesitatingly took you into dangerous places for the sake of exploration and adventure while brushing off rebuke like a tree sheds sap - even when it was heartily deserved. You learned to be rather frightened for her.

Forgal Kernsson, Warmaster of the Vigil, was an archetypal gruff, stern old mentor whose every drop of praise spoke volumes. But he also carried a sort of wildness to him, that rough edge from growing up a hunter in the Shiverpeaks, coupled with every willingness to say it like it was if it was true. He could be surprised, he could observe calmly when something was new, he could snark like the rest of them and even say things he didn't mean from time to time.

They all fought the dragons - they each more or less took it seriously. But Tybalt was a partner and friend, you were keeping Sieran in check, not the other way around, and Forgal trained you mercilessly.

You all grew together - they had each changed for the better by the time they died. Tybalt had learned that he was worth something, Sieran had learned friendship was worth everything, and Forgal had learned... well. He'd found a student to be proud of, a partner to fight with, a friend to trust... a child to carry on his legacy. But I'm not sure, exactly, what Forgal learned - what the point of his story was.

Sieran was more-or-less well suited to her role in the story; she symbolized innocence and cheer and optimism and the beauty of the world - so you could recognize what was being lost by the dragon's onslaught. Tybalt's story was one extremely well-suited to his character; he taught you that working together was vital to survival, even when neither of you knew exactly what you were doing - a valuable lesson as the story progressed. Both of their stories fit well enough into the three-mission story sequence concluding in their death.

But Forgal was different. He was the mentor who dies partway through. He was the one who trained you and taught you all he could, who died imparting one last gem of wisdom. Or, he should have.

I am not attacking Forgal. I am attacking ArenaNet. We had too little time with Forgal for the story Anet was trying to tell with him. He was like Obi-Wan but without showing up again as a ghost, without the prequels, without being able to send Luke to Yoda - without, most significantly, being able to explain why he'd said Luke's father was dead.

We don't know Forgal. We don't understand him. We only know his family died to Icebrood... but why is he with the Vigil, specifically? Why is he a good friend of Almorra's - allowed to butt in and insult a diplomatic ambassador with barely a reprimand? Forgal is the character that tells me the Vigil has been around decades, not a mere five years. Was he in another military? Forgal was over a hundred years old. You don't join a military at that age and, five years later, are a highly self-disciplined warrior such as he was. Maybe he was Lionguard? Hear this: Forgal is actually older than Lion's Arch. If he'd survived, he would have been old enough to bear witness to all three incarnations of that city. But, apart from being able to recognize the Orrian Scout on sight, this is only a trivial piece of lore.

After he judged us worthy, we should have had long training sessions with him - sparring matches wherein he would easily fend off our blows while simultaneously teaching us about the world, all the wisdom he'd gathered, expounding just a bit on the history of the Elder Dragons (perhaps customized for player's race!) - and then we go off and have a real Vigil mission. Perhaps remove the racial sympathy 'choice' and have all five! A sparring match before each one, with a different lesson (the racial sympathy missions were awfully short anyway). And if you want to keep the idea implied by the term 'racial sympathy,' you could change the tone of some of them, make the player more reluctant and Forgal more impatient, have a middle-of-mission lecture on why it's important to work with everyone - this way you joining an Order feels less 'oh you've always been sympathetic to other races' and more 'wait who are these people.' But you know the real kicker? These training sessions would have made us actually feel like we were a treasured part of his life, the kid he never had, that he takes the effort to train us and takes the time to correct us when we're wrong, that he shares his history with us.

And then, at Claw Island, he would place a hand on our shoulder and tell us - hey - don't worry. You did good. You tell my tale and you take my lessons and put them to good use, you hear me? Listen to Trahearne over there - I've told you a bit about him - he's a good kid, he's smart and he knows what he's doing. And - partner? Partner, I need you to put me down if that blasted dragon raises me.

And we're in tears and Trahearne standing there also puts up a fight and tells him not to go, but Forgal goes anyway, roaring his defiance at the dragon - and his famous line, "you may win the battle, dragon, but you will never defeat our spirit!" And maybe he adds - "you may defeat me, but I will be avenged!" like some cartoon villain only you know - you know that means you.

That is the storyline Forgal deserved. (I selfishly also fixed it just a bit with regards to Trahearne, but...) I don't care if we add an extra ten or twenty levels to the game to account for the four extra racial sympathy story chapters.

And see, now you'll argue that that's biased in favor of Forgal, to do all that with him but not the other two - and that's part of the idea.

Forgal isn't like the other two. He shouldn't be compared to the other two. The storyline we have is good for the other two. Extending their stories would feel... false. Yes, there are supposed to be parallels between the three Orders, but... in that case, ArenaNet should have done something entirely different with Forgal.

How about this: Almorra assigns us to someone else for a mentor, but we show such epic promise she switches us to Laranthir. His storyline? It's right in his idle dialogue at the Vigil Keep - he's always sought love. This puts his storyline on par with Sieran and Tybalt. What about Forgal? He's a Lionguard that all three Order mentors know well. We do racial sympathy with Forgal plus our Order mentor (doing those with only one ally is kind of absurd anyway). This can help set-up and foreshadow the tactical significance of Claw Island, too - and hey, maybe Forgal can even survive that! Or maybe he doesn't survive it but our Order mentor does! (Yeah, that fits better, since Laranthir is important in HoT.) And then, once the Pact is formed, their stories end more naturally without regard for the Order parallels, which would keep the story unique - where your choice of Order still matters even when it doesn't anymore. Tybalt didn't have to die - in fact, it's kind of absurd that he did since his story was about finding his own heroism, and then he dies. He can die later, perhaps, after he's thoroughly proved himself. (And hey, throw in an encounter with his old warband! Bonus lore points!) And Sieran 0 maybe Sieran could go through a heartbreaking transformation in Orr, the land of the dead - you see something far more heartbreaking than her death as she loses her spirit, and you and Trahearne both resolve that even if you're super-busy with the Pact, you can still cleanse Orr together to save Sieran. (This makes cleansing Orr a personal thing for you as well as Trahearne!) And Laranthir - well, I don't know what he was doing originally. Maybe he stayed back at the Vigil Keep to manage things, but you still see him now and then and he gives good advice and (since his storyline was about falling in love or something) you get to tease him about whatever's going on in his life, and then later he shows up again in HoT.

I'm going to stop - I already just presented a rough outline of a whole rewrite of core PS, I'm not going to step into HoT territory. (But since his storyline was about falling in love - ? Anything could happen really. Maybe his love died in the crash (we don't actually know of any characters who died in the actual crash. Awful shame) and that's why he takes the lead against Mordremoth. That would give him a cool motive.)

Anet I want this now.

I only wanted to say how unfair Forgal's story was to him, and then I came up with this whole thing - ? Some of it included a few helpful fixes for the Trahearne hate - this isn't something I can write out into a whole fic since I have a main fic and while this is a significant AU it's not quite enough for a whole fic but also far too much for just a headcanon - maybe I'll invent a new Commander.

35 notes · View notes

how-about-you-rogal-dont · 3 years

Text

Wrote a thing, felt like sharing

some background:

I'm an aspiring writer, and I have a collection of CSM, CU, and general Chaos OCs do not steal blah blah blah (feel free to steal). I decided to write a bit about how their most recent addition joined the crew! Specifically, a Sororitas Meleficarum of the Order of the Verdant Chalice called Zethra. This bit of writing is a bit long, so I'll put it under a read more. TW for: violence, nurgle shit, space marines. Enjoy, feedback appreciated.

The inner halls of the Seventh Hell were a maze of lush gardens and fetid swamps, overtaken by the crawling filth that marched with Norvegicus’ every step. This ship had been under his sway for a very long time. Hives of unknowable daemonic parasites honeycombed the walls, squeaking rodents scuttled underfoot, and the buzzing of flies threatened to drown out any spoken communication. I could feel disgust rising in my throat with every step we took further into this despicably lush realm. It was difficult to read the other’s faces, sealed as they were beneath layers of steel and ceramite. None of us dared to bare an inch of skin in this place.

I looked over my shoulder, Cataphractii plate growling with killing instinct as my eyes fell upon Zethra. Despite her desertion from Norvegicus’ host, my skin still crawled at the thought of having my back watched by a member of the Plague God’s chosen. How much further? I did not bother holding my disgust away from the sending.

There was a slight click as Zethra tuned in over the vox. “Two hundred meters ahead, then we’ll be in the welcoming hall.” If she noticed my contempt, she did not care to remark on it.

“What manner of warship requires a welcoming hall?” Came Kalus’ voice a moment later. The duelist-marksman was walking with a casual gait, baroque bolt rifle slung over one shoulder. His helmet, like his armor, was the deep amethyst of his birth legion, with an obscenely loud crest of white feathers running down the middle. In all things, ostentation. Kalus never changed.

Djehouti spoke next. “This vessel was not always solely an implement of destruction. During the great crusade, when it still bore its original name, it would be host to all manner of dignitaries. Visitors from other legions, surrendering leaders of target systems, the like. Though I am surprised they have kept it for its original purpose.” Djehouti walked briskly, clearly struggling to keep up with the lumbering gait of my terminator plate. A brush against his mind revealed a certain distance in his thoughts, as though he were not entirely paying attention to the situation. I closed my mind off from the others, sending my thoughts to him and him alone.

Are you well, brother dearest?

Zandros. Yes, all is well. Forgive my absence. This ship brings back memories. Of course it did. It reminded him of our time aboard the Endurance during Horus’ rebellion. It stank of the same decay.

You are remembering our time as Ahriman’s emissaries to the Fourteenth. It was not a question. With my brother’s memory fading more with every day as the Wych’s toxins worked through his mind, any memory he could manage to grasp was worth ruminating on.

Djehouti’s response came slowly, tinged with more emotions than I could name. Yes.

We were younger then.

Young. Foolish. Power-hungry. A nostalgic smirk tinged his thoughts.

We might not have changed as much as we would like to think.

At this, he gave a single, forceful exhalation. After a moment of silence between us, with only the trudging squash of our armor against the filthy deck to break the monotony, he sent again: Zandros, should we survive this excursion, I have something to ask of you.

Anything, brother. What would you wish of me?

Djehouti smiled beneath his helm, coloring his thoughts with a whistful sadness. It can wait. I nodded.

“We’re here.” Zethra’s voice came abruptly, with a fuzz of static. I returned my gaze to the corridor ahead of us. It open up as we stepped forward, widening in size from a hive street to a grand causeway large enough to admit a Warhound Titan. It was here that Norvegicus’ touch was most evident. The ‘welcoming hall’ did not resemble the gilded splendor of an Imperial-built spacecraft. Instead, it was covered, every inch, in growths of flora both natural and empyrean. The room was lined with twisted, pale mangrove trees, drinking greedily from shallow pools of green scum that spread beneath their shade. A thick coating of mud covered the floor, with mushrooms of every color and shape sprouting from beneath the diseased soil. The walls were covered completely in snaking alien vines, bulbous pustules of ichor pulsing at irregular intervals. The ceiling was hung with lichen, smothering the lumiglobes almost completely. Cackling Nurglings stalked and butchered each other for sport in a twisted mockery of children at play. All in all, the room was so overgrown as to leave only a single foot path traveling down the center clear of the grove’s touch. But the centerpiece of the room was undoubtably the warrior standing sentinel at the far edge.

He was an astartes, and massive even for one of the XIV. Like I, he was clad in Cataphractii plate. That was where the similarities ended. His armor was a rich green, the trim a burnished bronze. He carried no visible firearm, instead leaning on a massive two-handed chainscythe. What singled him out amongst his brethren of the death guard was the total lack of decay visible on his armor. Not a single fleck of rust could be seen, not a single dribble of pus or twisting bone growth. Indeed, to the naked eye, he seemed completely devoid of Nurgle’s taint. But beneath that clean exterior, there was a certainty. A fear. Where other champions of the Seventh exemplified to terror of rotting flesh, the pungent smell of blight, this man seethed from within with the hushed fear of infection. Held breaths, averted eyes, a populace knowing there was disease among them, but not knowing when or from who it would come. He was the knowledge that every breath you take could doom you, that shaking your neighbor’s hand would have you dead within a week, the simple truth that you were not safe and that the threat could not possibly be fought against. His helm swiveled to meet our gaze, red lenses glinting in the sickly light.

“Miscreants. You walk the halls of hallowed ground. Your unholy sanitation is an affront to the beauty of these luscious halls.” His voice was deep and harsh, with the barest hint of a Barbarusii accent. The vox-grille of his helm rendering it a predator’s growl.

Mizi’s mind connected with mine in an instant. I’ve got a shot. The sending came with a series of images: Crosshairs held steady over a green helm, the kick of a rifle thumping against a shoulder, the red smear of a head bursting.

I stepped forward, my external vox opening with a barely-audible click. “I am Zandros Lucarian, and I speak for the Ashen Hunters. State your name, that I might know whose death I command.”

A series of sharp barks escaped the warrior’s helm. After a moment, I realized he was laughing at me. “You speak for a mongrel warband of bastards and thin-bloods. But you shall know my name. I am Holgius, seventy-seventh scythe of the Deathshroud.”

The minds of those at my side sharpened instantly. Before us stood a member of the Deathshroud, the chosen blades of the lord of the Seventh Legion. This was no petty champion, no pit brawler elevated above his brothers by savagery alone. His deeds had been enough to draw the attention of the Rotten King himself. To face him would be to invite ruin in a thousand different forms.

And so, of course, it was Kalus who stepped forward, twinned cutlasses slithering from their sheaths with a crackle of energy. “I’ve always wanted to kill a Deathshroud,” he purred. “Never thought that one would volunteer.”

Holgius did not turn his gaze from me. “Does this wailing peacock speak for you, Zandros Lucarian?”

A poorly-contained snicker distracted me as Mizi’s aura smeared with mirth.

“In as many words.” The challenge had been issued. Kalus knew this dance. Like the Samar-Hai of ancient terra, warbands were fond of sending champions forth to duel to the death before the commencement of a slaughter. It was clear that the rotting creatures that served as crew aboard the Seventh Hell understood the significance of Kalus’ headstrong challenge, too. Obese nurglings crowded the fetid canopy above us, clamoring for a better look at the contest. Through my sixth sense, I felt other, more ethereal eyes lock on to our plight.

The Gods were watching.

Holgius stepped forward, revving his chainscythe in a squall of tortured metal. Kalus did likewise, his blades twirling in lazy, lethal arcs. The Deathshroud regarded him for a moment, then rolled his shoulders into a hunched combat stance. My champion crossed his blades over his sternum, lowering himself into a catlike stance. “You seem confident.”

Holgius’ response was a husky, rasping laugh like a knife scraping the rust from ancient metal. “When set against such a meager creature as you? I see no reason why I should not be.” He had begun to pace their arena now, his boots trudging puddles in the floor.

Kalus raised his blades to compensate for his foe’s movement. “Now you seem overconfident.”

The first blow was struck faster than the eye could follow. With a snarl of servos, Holgius swept his weapon towards Kalus. Kalus was already ducking below, spinning into a strike that was both parry and riposte. The scythe roared harmlessly over his head, guided further upwards by a flick of his left blade. His right was already lashing out like a silver viper to bite into his opponent’s knee. There was a flash as the strike connected, but the armor held. Kalus danced out of engagement range, and I did not need my psychic gifts to see the wry smile spreading below his faceplate.

Holgius was already spinning, keeping the momentum from his first missed stroke into a crushing downward blow. I watched frantic realization bloom in Kalus’ mind as he realized that the warrior had guessed his plan, and was already striking towards where he stood crouched. Even he could not evade in time, and so he crossed his blades over his head, braced to take the strike. It impacted with a scream of micro-engines. Pain flooded Kalus’ aura as greenstick fractures began to spread down his arms. He was holding the blade, mere inches from his marble helm, but the clash of weapons was straining his swords’ power fields to their limit. Thousands of miniscule impacts from the teeth of the chainscythe built until the haze around the blades began to flicker and dull.

Kalus spun aside, letting the natural weight of his opponent’s weapon buy him precious nanoseconds as its tip ground against the muck. Two more flashing strikes thudded into Holgius’ side, opening deep gashes in the ceramite. Holgius lashed out with a hand, thudding a fist against Kalus’ helm. Kalus soared through the air, landing with a splat against a pale, warp-touched tree.

Holgius did not pursue his quarry, instead looking down at his dented armor. The gashes opened by Kalus’ strikes had not penetrated his plate. Neither had my champion angled his strikes for the weaker joints in his opponent’s hide. Holgius raised his gaze to Kalus, now standing with defiance in his eyes. “You are mocking me.” The barely-controlled rage beneath his voice shone like a beacon to my sight.

Kalus was rising from where he had fallen against the fetid flora. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” His breathing was ragged and labored; the pain that smeared his aura evident of a punctured lung. Still he stood, mischief painted across his stance as it was his face.

Holgius gestured to the rents in his armor. “Three strikes against me,” he said accusingly, “All of them botched. Every one could have been fatal. You are mocking me.” The grating fury in his voice had been restrained to a dull seething just below his skin.

Kalus shrugged. “Well…” He struck again, faster than we could see. Holgius swept his blade upwards, but too slow. Like lancing a boil, the blade in Kalus’ right hand plunged into Holgius’ forehead with terrifying ease. As his opponent wavered, not yet realizing he was dead, Kalus met his eye, their faceplates inches apart. “…Maybe a little.”

What happened next is difficult to describe. Not in terms of the physicality of the matter, for what took place was simple, if incredible. Holgius went slack, held aloft by misfiring nerves, hands twitching in the final throes of a death rightfully earned. And then… he bloomed. His armor split apart, ceramite shearing away and peeling back like the petals of a diseased lotus. In its place, bloated, pestilent flesh swelled and bulged outwards, throwing Kalus’ sword free. Knots of warped bone split forth from his shoulders, piercing skywards with the promise of infection. Row upon row of greenish fangs crowded his human teeth. While all of this happened, he was growing. We watched on in horror as he swelled from a giant of a man to a corpulent, heaving mass of filth. The Daemon within him, so well camoflauged until now, had been forced into the open by its host’s death.

What my sixth sense saw was altogether more complicated. In his human form, Holgius had been choked thick with the warp-spun false memories of a population terrified of the plague in their midst. Now, with his possessor revealed, those emotions took on a whole new context. Before me stood a daemon born of realization. For so long, the fear it gorged itself on had been limited to the sight of one’s neighbors covering their face, the scent of decay on the air, the primal certainty that something was terribly wrong. But here was the terror of a society advanced enough to look within, and realize that it was dying. The full extent of the infection revealed, and there was nothing to do but watch.

The thing that had been Holgius was on Kalus before my champion could react. Bloated, sore-pocked fists pummeled into Kalus with preternatural strength. A horrific shriek of tearing metal shuddered through us as Kalus’ breastplate split, caving inward under the force of the daemonic assault. Holgius grasped the broken pieces and hauled the cavity open even wider, exposing pale flesh to the diseased air of the Seventh Hell. A weak gurgle escaped from Kalus, carried to us over the vox. Holgius raised his fists to finish the job.

I commanded his death with a single word, spoken clearly and calmly over our group’s Vox.

“Mizi.”

The cracking report of a las-fusil accompanied the split-second in which the entire chamber was washed with red light. When the momentary blindness had cleared, Holgius stood slack-jawed over Kalus. Mizi’s shot had scorched a deep, blackened pit into his misshapen head. Steam curled from the crater as his dying mind struggled to comprehend what was going on. The daemon riding within his veins howled in rage as its handhold on reality began to slip away. As his spirit began to fade, Holgius met my eyes.

“C-co… ward…”

An insult that had long since lost its bite. I informed the Deathshroud as such, before tossing his limp corpse aside with a whim of telekinesis. I pulsed my orders throughout the chamber, calling my bound to follow.

Forward.

I was nearing the far end of the chamber when Kalus spoke. He was a ruin, his helm torn off to allow him to breath through a mangled face, his torso a bloody ruin, bone protruding near his pectorals. Still, he stood, swaying back and forth as he forced words out.

“I… would have… had him…” I smirked at that. A rudimentary scan of his mind revealed he truly believed it, too. He began to waver, and his legs would have given out if Mizi had not arrived at his side, steadying him. “I would have had him.” He repeated, firmly this time. Mizi shot me a look. I didn’t need my second sight to register the exasperation in her thoughts.

I am sure you would have, cousin. I extended a hand, willing his riven flesh to reknit itself. Kalus winced as the psychic impulses began to do their work. I am not so naïve to believe I can be rid of you that easily.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #chaos space marines #fanfic #mine

8 notes · View notes

thecandywrites · 3 years

Text

The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 4 Finale

Ok, so unless you haven’t figured it out, Butternut- is my version of a Shae Nut, But the nuts are in this lovely fruit pictured above, that in my mind tastes like a creamy mango with hints of melon and papaya. And this lovely red apple looking fruit on the right is Dragon Heart Fruit which in my mind has the flavor of Lychee, mango and pinapple, still very tropical tasting. Also the lovely ladies above, on the top row on the left, that is Grat, Drad and Sarg’s mother, and on the left is Shari, Rhos’ and Esri’s mother.

Part 4

It took over a week of going back and forth to the dragon’s lair to get all the scales and usable leather, sinew and good bones along with the dragon’s small horde of gold, jewels and other precious items, which when divided evenly between Rhosland, Esri, Drad and Sarg along with equal portions allotted to their mothers and Orcoth in addition to Rhos and Esri’s already gathered pearls which Rhos and Esri gave a portion of the pearls to their mother, Grat and Orcoth so that all seven of them would be richer, despite the failed raid while Esri and Rhos kept all the beautiful shells to keep to make jewelry later.

Drad and Sarg happily ground down the good left over dragon bones into a fine powder back at camp while they rested and healed at remarkably fast rates, thanks to the dragon bone. By the time they had managed to forage all they could and the suits of armour for all four of them and three breast plates at least for Rhos’ and Esri’s mother as well as Orcoth, were done, they decided to head back to Skull Screamer, the four of them in the little row boat with extra large rafts tied to the boat behind them, that Sarg and Drad had built to carry all the smoked and preserved meat and fish and other foraged goods along with a few cuttings of the tree in the dragon’s cave and baskets that Drad and Sarg had woven themselves while they hung out at Rhos’ and Esri’s campsite out of the tall grasses to hold all the fruit from the tree and others and all the seeds left behind from the tree that had fallen in previous years that had been in a heap under the tree along with the fruits of the Butternut bush and hundreds of wild rose buds to make rose soap along with the ash from the smoker to get the lye to make the soap needed.

However when they came rowing back up Skull Screamer’s main river Rhos and Esri looked worriedly to Drad and Sarg as everyone in the village looked at them like ghosts before they noticed that once they came upon Drad and Sarg’s mother’s house both of their mothers and Orcoth came out of the house as both their mothers were so happy and overjoyed to see their children come back as Drad and Sarg pulled the boat and the rafts up onto the shore as they were immediately surrounded by everyone.

“You’re alive!” Shari cried as she embraced her daughters as her daughters embraced her in turn.

“Of course we are alive, why did you think we were dead?” Rhos asked her mother.

“Because Zash and his sons, got lost in fog and attacked Hurricane Breaker. And when Drad and Sarg’s horses along with many others came back without their riders and blood on their saddles, we assumed the worst and imagined that you and Esri had camped too close to the accidental battlefield and got caught up in it.” Shari cried.

“We heard the battle but it was at a distance and we stayed inside the tent until the sounds of the battle stopped, and after the battle ended we were approached by Captain Tilge of Hurricane Breaker and her warband of shieldmaidens. But once we explained what we were doing there and that Skull Screamer must have gotten lost in the fog and had no intention of attacking and thus, we had no intent to harm them or their clan and they believed us and believed that we were younglings because of our size and saw that we were unarmed and therefore not a threat, they had no quarrel with us and left us in peace and safety and even discouraged anyone else in Hurricane Breaker from coming to us and to leave us alone. In fact they happily shared a meal with us and struck up a friendly peace with Esri and I and to signify that peace, I gave her the tribute necklace I had given to Shadi and Esri gave her the bracelet that she had made for Baka as tribute that they gave us as bride gifts when we left but when they said that Tar had been killed, we knew we weren’t going to be marrying him and when Drad and Sarg found us and we healed them from their own wounds. And when they were healed enough to walk on their own we came back.” Rhos explained to her mother and others who had come to see her for themselves.

“What happened here while we were gone?” Rhos asked her mother.

“Well after Zash unwittingly got lost in the fog and accidentally attacked Hurricane Breaker, he and his men died in the raid. As did all of Zash’s sons, we thought only the few men of the other warbands survived and came back and reported that everyone else had died. So almost all the people who came to deliver bride gifts before you left, came and demanded them back since you would not be brides to Tar. And it’s only because Grat opened up her home to me that I had any place to go. The whole clan thought that you and Esri’s joining Tar’s family was a bad sign of disapproval from the gods and would confuse them and thus sent the fog that caused us to lose everyone that we did, so Shadi and Baka, they burned down our house in retribution for losing Tar and in the commotion they gave birth only a few days ago, both to girls.” Shari revealed as Rhos and Esri gasped in horror as they stared at their neighbors in outrage who by now were lowering their heads in shame and backing away.

“What kind of madness is this?! No! It was Zash’s and Tar’s own stubbornness and confusing leadership that led to us unwittingly attacking Hurricane Breaker and if it had not been for Shaman Orcoth who gave me prophetic advice that I and Sarg listened to his words and survived. And it was Rhosland and Esri who took us in and healed us and concealed us from Captain Tilge and did so in such a way to keep themselves and us above suspicion. Which takes courage and faith and loyalty. They have been blameless and Sarg and I both saw over the last week or so how Esri and Rhosland have been nothing but blessings for us. They healed us with medicine they instinctively know, they fed us from the game they were able to kill all on their own and they even shot down a bear and had victory over it. And then they found the hissing rocks which they realized wasn’t actually a cursed place but discovered that it was an old dragon’s home, the dragon had been trapped inside and had a tree growing from it’s chest to the roof of the place and when they investigated it, they collected the dead dragons scales and leather and made us these exquisite suits of armor and these weapons that have no compare and even used the bones to heal our own broken bones. Which is why we are at full health after only a week of sustaining almost fatal injuries. They are not a curse, they never were, they are our blessing and salvation and I am more than honored to have Rhos as my mate as is Sarg to have Esri. And just look what they were able to capture when they were given the right tools- they were more than successful.” Drad pointed out as he gestured to his suit of armor and then gestured to all the food and other supplies on the boat and on the rafts for emphasis as proof of what he was saying.

“So Mother Shari- I would be more than happy to build you a house of stone and timber to replace the one of bricks that you lost. And don’t worry about anything that you lost, I will see to it that you are given at least twice what you have previously lost. Thank you Mom for doing the right thing by taking her in.” Drad declared as he grasped her hands and comforted her.

“So, I have an announcement. Since Shadi and Baka had girls and that no one from Zash’s male line survived, as Tar’s First Commander of Captains, I hereby take the position of Warchief and I appoint Sarg as my Warlord and we will claim the neutral land that is just south of Hurricane Breaker and North of here since Rhosland and Esri are in a peace treaty with them. Since that land already gave us so much, it will give us more- still. And all those who did not get to take back their bride gifts to Rhosland and Esri are free to do so now that they are back. But know that if you do, you will not be welcome in Stormbreaker which is the clan I will be starting there, and all those that did and had a hand in burning down Shari’s house, will also not be welcome in Stormbreaker either and you will reap such unforgivable disrespect and never again will such things ever be permitted let alone tolerated.” Drad announced as Rhos had never been more proud of him as Esri and Rhosland put the tanned bear hide over their mother and comforted her and gave her, her fair share of the dragon’s horde.

Then Shari told her daughters exactly who had come and wanted what they gave back and remembered still who had given what before Esri and Rhosland spitefully got all of it out of their row boats and rafts and forced it back into the hands of those who had given it in the first place and wanted it back even though the others, out of fear of Drad and Sarg and their new announcement had tried to go back on their word and their previous choices before Rhos and Esri simply let the gifts fall to the ground at the giver’s feet and wanted nothing to do with them before they unloaded everything else into Grat’s house which she didn’t have that big of a house to begin with but all of them did their best to squeeze themselves and all that they had foraged and hunted into it as Esri and Rhos gave Orcoth, Grat and Shari some of the dragon bone powder as it healed Orcoth immediately so that he did not have to limp as Shari and Grat both seemed to regain some of their youth and vigor and soundness of mind and body.

“I tried to tell the clan that all of you were still alive and well but they didn’t believe me, but I think they will now.” Orcoth noted to Drad and Sarg who had readily accepted Sarg as his father also while they feasted on the smoked and preserved venison’s tenderloins and backstraps, the best parts of the venison along with the mushrooms and other foods that they had managed to forage for.

“You should take Rhos home with you and prove to the whole clan that you’re verile though Warchief Drad.” Orcoth suggested to Drad.

“Oh he already did.” Rhos laughed as she blushed prettily and beamed happily.

“But he needs to prove it to everyone else. Here, burn this in the fireplace. It will help Warchieftess.” Orcoth said to Rhosland as he gave her a small sack of incense.

“Come on, let’s show Shadi and Baka how it’s done at least.” Drad grinned giddily with a wink that made Rhos blush even harder.

“Ok fine.” Rhos agreed before she hugged everyone goodbye and took what meager possessions that her mother was able to save as Drad carried their portion of the food and other belongings to his own home that was close to Shadi’s and Baka’s house since he was the First Commander of Captains, he had the “privilege” of having a house close to Tar’s as they noticed that Rhos and Esri’s boat was now empty boats and rafts getting filled with the previous gifts that they had been given along with even more gifts and notes of deepest and most sincere apologies before Drad built a good fire in his stone fireplace before Rhos threw in small handful of incense into the fire and noticed the smell was heavenly as her whole body immediately reacted to it and she felt her whole body relax and her spirit soar and become happy as Drad then reverently made love to her with so much love and passion that Rhos lost count of how many times she had accepted her pleasure from him as the incense helped her forget all about the clan around them and Drad encouraged her to not hold back but to moan and keen and cry out in ecstacy as loud as she wanted so that he could make no mistake if he was truly pleasing her and quietly made her promise and swear to never fake her pleasure with him which she was all too happy to do as she was so overwhelmed with bliss she would have agreed to just about anything he asked of her.

Come morning, Shadi and Baka were disgusted that they had to endure the sounds of Rhos’ and Esri’s love making and demanded that Drad and Sarg take all who wanted to follow them with them but that they needed to leave sooner than later, while anyone who wanted to stay true to Skull Screamer was welcome to stay but that anyone from Skull Screamer that left to join Stormbreaker were never going to be welcome back again when Stormbreaker failed and imploded as Rhos readily agreed to those terms as an equal Warchieftess to Shadi with the stipulation that any from Skull Screamer who wished to come into Stormbreaker would first need to make their peace with herself, her sister and especially their mother before they would be welcomed into Stormbreaker as this was announced in Skull Screamer’s town hall for the whole clan to hear.

It took another week for everyone to pack all of their things and break their houses down to reuse the lumber and load them onto new boats they built themselves but over three quarters of Skull Screamer left to join Stormbreaker as Drad and Rhos used the stones from the Dragon’s own old lair as the foundation stones for their own house since just nearby was the wild rose bush that would take up the front yard of the home and easily pushed the stones over to make a large, surprisingly flat and even foundation that had plenty of space to dig down to make a root cellar and have a lovely inner courtyard where the original tree that had been growing from the dragon’s chest still stood.

Others in the clan followed suit, using the very large but smooth stones from the rivers and streams to first dig down to set the foundation stones securely then build up with more stone and motar made from the clay from the little islands as they redirected all the little side streams into the main river and used the forrest of stone timbers to use for their houses before they all happily made new markers and marked out their territory, leaving a little space between Hurricane Breaker to the North, and Skull Screamer to the South and Bone Crusher to the East.

Rhos and Esri were pleased to learn that Captain Tilge was now Warchieftess Tilge since she led the victory over Skull Screamer and between Tilge and Rhos, they made their own peace and alliance that Drad and Tilge’s husband Warchief Murzol agreed to as well as Rhos readily offered a good sized cutting of the wild rose bush to Tilge and a cutting of the Butternut Bush as well as a cutting of the tree that was in the dragon’s cave and gave them to Tilge to plant in her own home’s garden so that she could continue to have the wild rose scented soap and the fruits of the tree as Tilge taught Rhos how to make it herself and many other kinds of soap as well which Rhos readily learned and took to heart as Tilge and Rhos exchanged seeds and seedlings and saplings for the gardens of Stormbreaker and Hurricane Breaker.

While Rhos and Drad were still living in Drad’s re-erected home on Stormbreaker’s territory next to their new home that they were building on top of the dragon’s lair, while they both worked on cutting down stone timbers to construct their new house over the stones. No sooner had they fell the first tree before a storm blew in but didn’t topple any tents or other homes but when the storm cleared, they found a fleet of ships moored and marooned on the shore of their beach that they had claimed.

The crews of the ship were sick with scurvy and other ailments and close to death, had all the older commanding officers die from the sickness, just leaving the younger, newer orcish sailors who were barely bigger than grunts left alive. Drad offered them a choice, give up the vessels and all their cargo and they would be welcome into Stormbreaker’s clan and Rhos and Esri would use what was left the fruits and bone powder to heal them. Which the younger orcs readily accepted but they immediately knew that the fruit was known as Dragon Heart Fruit. It usually only grew on the islands that were the birthplace of dragons in the world after the convergence of the spheres and that dragons often came back to the islands to mate every so often and always had at least one seed of the fruit in their gut and when they died somewhere in the world, often the seed would sprout in a dragon’s dead guts, close to it’s heart so that it always looked like the tree sprouted from the dragon’s chest and the fruit was vaguely heart shaped and did best when planted in a gut pile of another animal when not planted as a cutting or sapling. And was famed for it’s taste along with it’s nutritional value and it’s ability to heal as well.

The sailor orcs did not know where they were, only where they were from and have a vague where they were going and had lost their maps in the storms and their cargo was actually the goods to go into a palace of a king. And so Rhos and Drad got the first picks of all the cargos as Rhos put a special piece of paper with a mark to tag all that she wanted from all the holds, then Esri and Sarg were given their turn to stake claim to what they wanted, then Orcoth, as Stormbreaker’s shaman was given his pick of what he wanted and then Shari and Grat were also given their picks of whatever they wanted from the holds and the rest was given to the rest of the clan including the young orcish sailors who were excited to claim the goods they had coveted all this time, especially the large barrels of spices that were distributed to everyone in the clan evenly, except for Drad and Rhos who each got a triple portion, being Warchief and Warchieftess. Sarg and Esri, Orcoth, Shari and Grat were all individually given double portions as well to signify their high status as Orcoth happily claimed Grat and Shari as his wives, each of them equal in his eyes and in his heart and loved and cared for them the same way Drad cared for Rhos and the same way Sarg cared for Esri as both Shari and Grat were happy to finally have a husband who cared for them and took care of them they way they had always wanted and needed but never could manage before.

Drad insisted that the first house to be built and finished should be Orcoth’s as his father and shaman which Orcoth happily accepted and Drad made good on his promise that both his mother and Shari both received more than double of whatever they had lost, the replacements being of much better and finer qualities than what Shari had previously lost as their house was built right next door to Drad and Rhosland’s house, Drad and Rhosland’s house being the second house to be built and finished and furnished and thanks to som ingenuity on Rhosland’s part, the foundations were stone, the floors, tiled, the walls were of stone timbers but covered in special oil and tar to preserve the timbers and then covered with a special plastar that had been in a powdered form in barrels on the ships. That once it mixed with water- became a white paste that she and others used to coat the walls and the cielings and then used the paint powders to mix special batches of plastar to paint all the rooms inside and outside the room, the most beautiful vivd colors as the house was now large enough to have dozens of rooms and a courtyard with it’s own special garden on the inside and a medicine garden and food garden on the outside, the wild rose bush being cut into two, so that she had wild rose bushes on either side of the front porch of her house and even used the special glass domes that were on the ships as skylights in her own house and even made a second story and a roof with walls and ledges and built in benches and the little stream that had been flowing into the original dragon’s cave served as her home’s own personal plumbing line to get water in and out of the house. Happy that her own years of having a mud and mudbrick house serving as the finest teacher to help her build her new house to exactly how she wanted it as Drad was only all too happy to help her realize her dream and fell in love with the sheer beauty of it all and it only served to show off how much of a beautiful person inside and out that he married and once it was done, it was just as much of a work of art as it was a home as others took what was left to decorate and build their own homes in such ways, happy to have bright, beautiful colors to decorate their homes that the warm tones of wood only accented and accentuated as they noticed the homes now had naturally warming properties in the cooler weather and cooling properties in the warmer weather.

Sarg and Esri claimed the best captain’s quarters on the best ship as their home as once all the cargo was unloaded and the ships renovated into big fishing boats and docks were built on the beach so that the ships could anchor and be pulled up to the piers and decks and helped build a lighthouse and then the whole clan helped everyone else build their own homes all while Rhos’ and Esri’s baby bumps grew in size every day as the Shaman was adamant that Rhos and Esri were both definitely carrying sons.

Meanwhile Shadi and Baka were fighting a losing battle. More and more of the remaining few clan members of Skull Screamer stayed because Shadi and Baka ruled and behaved in the same way they had always done which now that they didn’t have the Clan Cheif and his eldest son backing them, now others did not hide their offense to their behavior and when Shadi and Baka tried simply taking what they wanted and what they felt they were owed, for the first time in their lives- it was denied to them.

Especially once the fleet of ships ran aground in Stormbreaker’s territory and Stormbreaker had effectively more than tripled in size and multiplied in wealth and success, to the point that the young sailors happily took on the widows and previous children of the fallen warriors of Skull Screamer after they grew bigger into full grown adults and after the widows had made amends to Rhos, Esri and especially to Shari as the widows were happy that instead of daughters being seen as a disappointment, but instead that every child was precious, they had no desire to go back to Skull Screamer.

Plus Rhos and Esri were the opposite of Shadi and Baka. Where Shadi and Baka were domineering and demanding, Rhos and Esri simply asked how they could help each family be successful, from having full gardens with all the medicinal and flavorfull herbs and other produce to each house having at least one if not several dragon heart trees growing. Using the gut piles of the all the kills of the game to plant the seeds themselves along with Butternut saplings and wild rose saplings and to never take whatever they wanted but only when the family’s needs and wants were met, if the family truly wanted to give anything as “tribute” they would accept it but never demand it and such behavior endeared them to the whole clan as Drad, Rhos, Sarg and Esri all encouraged each family to really pursue their interests and passions and took to fishing and trading instead of raiding as almost every woman in the clan now had at least one necklace of fine pearls each woman had collected from the shellfish in the waters of the river and the sea.

The sailors especially took after Drad’s example, along with Sarg’s and Orcoth’s and cared very lovingly and respectfully of their wives and adopted children since Drad always treated Rhos with the utmost care, respect and dignity so that all that was left of Skull Screamer now was Shadi, Baka and their mothers and their daughters, all living under Zash’s old, and by now, very leaky roof as all that was left was now their home and the clan’s old townhall, which had stood empty, unused and now forgotten as it was abundantly clear that the old prophecy was true, that Skull Screamer would fall when under the guidance of a lone Clan Cheiftess or Warchieftess with no Clan Cheif or Warchief.

Once Rhos and Esri both went into labor at about the same time and both gave birth to sons- who Drad and Rhosland named their son Brock and Sarg and Esri named their son Cugas as both boys were almost identical and had heard that all who got to see them praised how big and healthy and handsome both baby boys were before even more babies were born the clan and much rejoicing took place.

Shadi and Baka had to humble themselves and admit defeat. They were almost out of food, soap, clothing, wood for their cooking fires and hearth even after taking down the other remaining houses and using them as fuel for their fires and what was left of all the gardens and thus- out of options. And came for Brock and Cugas’ birth festivals when they were one month old and out of danger and came wearing the best garments they had left to offer Rhos and Esri congratulations and to see Brock and Cugas who were themselves the most handsome baby boys they had ever seen because they both took after their mothers but they could still clearly see some of Drad’s and Sarg’s strong and handsome features in their sons.

“We have come on this most blessed day to offer our congratulations and a truce.” Shadi began.

“What was wrong with the agreement we agreed on a year ago?” Rhos asked curiously as she sat in her rocking chair on her porch and rocked Brock who slept blissfully away in her arms as Esri was next to her and also sitting in a rocking chair doing the same to Cugas, each woman having special puffed quilts over them and their sons.

“Skull Screamer has fallen, all that is left of it is us. And if you do not help us, we and our daughters will die of starvation, we can find no fish or any game or anything to eat on Skull Screamer’s lands. And all those who had at first agreed to stay true to Skull Screamer have left it to join the greater Stormbreaker and seeing it’s success, we can not blame them and we hold no grudge against them or you. In fact, if you will agree to help us, we give up all rights to all of Skull Screamer’s lands to Stormbreaker, and all we ask in exchange is a place in Clan Stormbreaker. And a space to have a home.” Shadi explained as she bowed her head submissively.

“But since we are the warchieftess’ and warlordess’ won’t you take us into your home? We will happily submit to Rhos as Warchieftess and or Esri as Warlordess and be second and or third wives to them, just like they were going to be to us had Tar survived.” Baka pleaded as Rhos gave Drad a meaningful look as he gave her a reassuring smile from his place next to her before he got up from his chair and stood on his porch above them and crossed his arms over his chest, still wearing that dragon scale armor proudly.

“I, Clan Chief Warchief Drad of Stormbreaker do accept all of Skull Screamer’s lands from your hands, and since you all have humbled yourselves to come and ask, you are now welcome to stay as clan members of Clan Stormbreaker. However, I will never let you into my home or my household because I will never tolerate any disrespect to my Clan Cheiftess Warchieftess Rhosland, who is my wife, my mate, my better half and my greatest friend and ally. Because lest you forget, I was there, sitting in the grasses when you came to Rhosland a year ago, to offer her- her own tributes to you- as your bride gifts to her - when Tar had announced that he would have her then but never got a chance to fully claim her. And I listened as both of you threatened Rhosland with death by drowning if she ever tried to usurp you or come between you and Warlord Tar. And I will never tolerate any threat or disrespect in any way, shape or form to her. And I honestly do not trust either you or your mothers to not harm Rhosland or her mother or sister or especially our son or Esri’s son who are still young and could still fall victim to you.” Drad leveled as Shadi and Baka both balked at him and stared in terror at him and flushed with shame or embarrassment.

“We did no such thing!” Shadi insisted.

“My girl is a good girl, she would never do that!” Shadi’s mother insisted.

“Really? Because I was there with Esri, also sitting in the grasses, out of your sight but well within hearing range, as you came and put those bracelets on her wrists and threatened her with similar things, are you calling the Clan Cheif Warchief and the Warlord of Clan Stormbreaker liars?” Sarg challenged angrily as he stood up and stood next to his brother and took a similar stance, with his arms crossed over his chest, standing between them and his own beloved wife.

“Shaman Orcoth, would you please shed light on this matter and make things clear for the whole clan?” Drad invited as he looked over at the other rocking chairs on his porch which Orcoth, Shari and Grat had taken up as Shari and Grat were still knitting baby clothes for their grandsons.

“Of course Warchief Drad. It would be my pleasure.” Orcoth grinned as he cast a spell and showed the whole thing, including all the cursing Shadi and Baka had done on the way too and from meeting with Esri and Rhosland as the whole clan gasped and murmured as they watched in horror the way Baka and Shadi were so domineering and just awful and led the attack on Shari and her humble old house and Grat’s kindness and compassion in saving Shari and what meager possessions she could before the show ended before Shadi and Baka’s mothers took the babes from their daughter’s arms and forced Shadi and Baka to kneel and bow down on their hands and knees with their foreheads touching the ground and started yelling and berating their “wicked” daughters for behaving so indecently and disrespectfully and pleaded for Drad and Sarg to show mercy and leniency on account of Baka’s and Shadi’s daughters who had started to cry by now which woke up Cugas and Brock and got them to start crying as well which upset Rhosland and Esri along with Drad and Sarg as Esri and Rhosland did all they could to comfort and console their sons as they brought their sons into Rhosland’s house to take a rest on the wonderfully comfortable couches that had been put there.

“What do you think we should do?” Drad asked Rhosland.

“Well now that everyone effectively knows that they are a bunch of liars. No one will trust them not to fall into the same pattern of behavior. But at the same time, their daughters have no choice in who their mothers are and they are still young and they shouldn’t have to suffer on account of their mothers. So let’s let them stay, but a very far distance away from our home, let them keep their old home, and they can turn it into a brothel for all I care.” Rhos answered him.

“Agreed.” Esri grinned.

“Agreed.” Sarg grinned too.

“Very well.” Drad nodded before he came back out to see that everyone was still there, waiting to see how Drad would react and how he would respond.

“On account of your daughters, who should not have to suffer on their mother’s account. You are allowed to be members of Clan Stormbreaker and you are allowed to either remain in your old house, or you may choose to rebuild here, that is your choice. But I warn any man in Stormbreaker from taking either of you as a bride, for no man would want such a wife as what you two have proven yourselves to be. Use whatever talents you have to earn your living here. And if you have none, then you can always turn your old home into a tavern which would be helpful, or possibly a brothel which in that case, neither Sarg or myself will ever use, your choice.” Drad announced as Baka and Shadi gasped in horror before their mothers slapped their hands over their daughter’s mouths to keep them from saying anything more.

“A tavern it will be then, thank you Clan Chief Warchief Drad.” Shadi’s mother graciously accepted on her daughter’s behalf as their old friends agreed to help build them before Drad went back into his house to be with his family and disbursed everyone so they could go about their day.

“So, a tavern it is.” Rhosland grinned since she could hear from the window in the wall.

“Yup, the first, of hopefully many.” Drad smiled before he sat next to his wife and enveloped her in a hug and kissed her sweetly as they both looked down at their son who was now awake and cooing softly to both of his parents.

“Just one thing, you’re not allowed to marry Shadi’s or Baka’s daughters when you grow up unless they are nothing like their mothers and you really, truly love them.” Rhosland told Brock which got Drad to laugh before Esri repeated that to Cugas too before there was a knock on the door and Drad got up to answer it before he found one of Sarg’s first mate.

“Warlord Sarg, there is a small merchant ship, that is trying to go up river to a city further up river, it’s requesting assistance in help guiding the ship up the river to the next clan’s lands, they are headed to the mountains in the east, said that there are towns called colonies in the mountains that they are trying to sell their goods to and are willing to pay us a fee of gold now and another fee in gold on the way out if we are willing to do it.” He reported before Drad and Sarg shared a meaningful look and both nodded to each other.

“Hell yeah, that’s an easy yes.” Sarg easily agreed before he got up and left the house to direct the other sailors on the shore to guide the ships using ropes on the shoreline to maneuver through the twisting and winding river before more and more merchant ships came to do the same, grateful that there was now a settlement here so that they could simply pay these orcs a small fee both to and from the mountain colony of Suchi as they brought in their vessels full of goods and would leave, having the boats laden with heaps of gold, happy and grateful that they didn’t have to use Hurricane Breaker’s river because Hurricane Breaker was bigger and stronger and demanded to inspect them and their cargo and demanded a portion of the goods, usually the best ones and half of all that they had, and a half portion of the gold the remaining half of the goods sold for at Suchi’s sister colony Twilla that their rivier eventually led to. And for just a flat fee, they could now make more money using this new clan of Stormbreaker and sell whatever didn’t sell at Suchi as part of their fee too.

And thus was the beginning of Stormbreaker.

#Of Heaven and Fire Prequel #The Beginning of Stormbreaker #Tada!#See? Wasn't that cute?#Orctober 2021

6 notes · View notes

illustrator-dani · 3 years

Text

The Legionnaires Cub

On ao3 soon!!! But on tumblr now :)

"Is Elliot feeling alright, Primus Runaan? Callum and I have noticed that he hasn't been reporting to training lessons this week." Legionnaire Rayla Stormpaw said after saluting her uncle and former primus, Runaan Moonshadow. Her mate and fellow member of the Storm Warband, Callum Stormclaw salutes as well beside her. "He hasn't even responded to our letters we've sent him in weeks either."

Runaan nods in understanding. He bows his head after he takes a long sigh. That only worried the two parents more. "Elliot has been vanishing to the fields north of here. Close to the midnight desert. We have sent a scout to observe but they haven't returned yet. Elliot has been growing distant from his warband and to me, his primus, as well."

Rayla looks over at Callum and the two nod in unison. Whatever happened to their cub, rather for the good or the bad, they need to find out what.

For Callum, he knew checking in with Runaan was the best call and would do anything for his mate.

But for Rayla, this was a punch to the gut. If she hadn't left Elliot as an infant for Runaan to take care of- if she hadn't gone on that mission that took her away from the life she made. This would've been avoided or at least prevented from getting out of claw like this.

"We'll find him and the scout, Primus. We'll leave as soon as we can." Rayla salutes her uncle and goes to leave but a claw on her shoulder stops her.

"Just be careful, Rayla. There are dangers rising every day around the midnight desert. Dangers that you and Callum won't be able to face alone." warns her uncle as he steps away from them and heads up towards his office.

Callum doesn't speak about the warning until after they are safely back in the barracks and packing up for their adventure.

"Are we bringing the rest of the warband with us? You heard what Runaan said about the dangers-" he shuts his mouth abruptly when his mate turns to glare at him.

"I know about the dangers. We faced them head on before, just the two of us, and we never failed our mission. But this mission, Callum, is personal. It involves our cub." she says, sighing as she sits on his bed and rubbing her eyes with her paws. "It also involves a scout. I can see why you mentioned the warband, but it's still personal."

Callum goes to sit next to her and puts an arm around her while giving her a little smile. "I understand, love. Claudia, Soren, and Nyx have seen you with Elliot before. They're worried about him too and they're worried for you as well. Hell, I am more worried for the two of you than anyone else combined." He says, putting his head on top of hers while listening to her hum in agreement. He continues softly, gently, "I know you don't like mixing our warband into our personal lives, but they're our family too. They will understand and Soren will keep his mouth shut. Otherwise, I'll grant Nyx and Claudia permission to beat him up if he hits a nerve."

That made Rayla snort and she squeezes his paw that rests on her shoulder. The guardian had a way with words. She wouldn't lie but she found him using his charm on her super attractive. She knows that she's being stubborn. This mission is personal but she knows her bandmates won't object to rescue a cub they all helped raise.

Storm Warband is and forever will be a family.

Even the future generations will be storm warband bound.

Forever.

Rayla tilts her head up towards Callum's and he rests his head against hers. They haven't had time to just be with each other. Alone. Intimate. The only other time was… when they had Eliot. That was years ago. It felt like forever since they were allowed to be in the same barracks. Sometimes in the same bed when the other had nightmares or couldn't sleep.

I really need to ask for time off so Callum and I can visit Ezran in Katolis. Maybe visit my parents stationed at the Storm Spire. Thought Rayla as she pulls away from a flustered Callum who wasn't expecting a kiss at all. They haven't kissed in a while or even hugged. It was almost like the world was keeping them separated until now.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, looking at her with those emeralds that trapped her even as a cub. He still feels warm when she puts her paws on his cheek which he leans into subconsciously. As if his body missed her more than he did.

"About how we're going to explain to the others that we're horrible parents? C'mon, soldier, let's go reunite with the Storm Warband." she says, leaving him on the bed and packing the rest of their supplies in her bag. She stops when she feels a pair of paws wrap around her waist.

"We're not horrible parents, love. Our cub just has a mind of his own right now. He's a teenager. It's what they do."

"Yeah, I know. I just miss the little cub he used to be."

"We all do. Let's go make sure we find our cub and make amends with him then." Callum says kissing his mate's ear and letting her go to get into his armor as well. Once he was in full armor, the staff he held was brighter and had made Rayla's fur glow like a halo. He finds himself slowly falling in love with her once again.

"Why are you giving me that look?" Ever the observant one in the warband and the guardian shrugs. "Let's move out."

"Yes, sir." Callum follows the thief out of their barracks and couldn't help but smirk at the back of her head. He sees the blush on her ears. He gets her every time.

And it never gets old.

#its not long but its a good start #the legionnaire cub has two parts but part 2 won't come out until late #later*#I hope you all enjoy this little oneshot for now and stay tuned for part two #the legionnaires cub #charr rayllum #Legend of the Storm Warband [Series]#Rayla Stormpaw #Callum Stormclaw #gw2 au #my fic #delicate fanfics

8 notes · View notes

brightwingedbat · 1 year

Text

A first person styled story of my 76 year old blood legion primus Tonold Cubguider. Life as a blood legion primus was not easy.

Tonold - Laments of a Primus - 1335 AE

---

Here I sit, an old grey charr, crippled with a stump of a tail. Can't even walk without my staff, and all I can see is this dusty room that all us elderly get. Nothing to do, no one to really talk to, just me and my own thoughts. Some would think after the life I've had, this'd be a relief.

It's anything but. My own sighing is barely enough to get rid of this quiet. At least this chair is comfy enough, the only solace I'm getting. I don't like people hearing about my past, and yet I can't stop myself thinking all the way back, like it needs to come out.

What a life it's been. 'Tonold Cubguider.' I chose that name over forty years ago, back when my fur was as black as a raven's feathers. My primus, Gaia Swordguider, she was a strong old charr. She had to be, I had quite the large warband, we were a handful.

She wasn't strong enough though, I was still a plain Blood Legion soldier when I'd heard that she fell in battle. That stung like hell to hear. The cubs she was taking care of were fine, but without a primus now, young teens the lot of them. Still, they needed someone, and I ended up being that someone. I knew how she taught, I knew how to lead in her place.

I'll never forget all their names. Remus, Albin, Celsia, Nerva, Rexi. Their legionnaire, Neomenia. Ended up calling themselves the Cleave warband. They were good cubs, strong, fast learners. Wouldn't be surprised if I learned a lot from them too, I knew from my time with them I had found my calling.

If only their time were as long as mine. Why did that have to happen?

At that point I had another set of cubs to watch over, real young ones this time. Nastazya, Dinky, Howl, Graw, Faust, Clio and Tullia. The Rage warband they'd end up. Was in a lesson with them, trying to teach… something. Can't remember anymore, not that it matters. One knock on the door, some scout was there asking for me, something urgent.

Told the cubs to sit tight, I'd be back soon. Went to see what all the fuss was about, only to hear the harshest words a Primus could hear.

'The Cleave warband's been killed in action.'

Burn me, just thinking about those words. It strikes almost as hard as it did then. I was stuck silent, before I roused the courage to ask how, and why tell me? It was humans, they sprung a trap, slaughtered them all but Neomenia. She managed to get away to the camp, battered and bloody.

She told them to let me know what happened, because she didn't want me wondering why they didn't visit anymore, and that she was sorry.

She died that same day.

I couldn't teach with the way I was, so I put on the strongest face I could, told the cubs that something important came up and they'd have the rest of the day off. Most of them cheered, whatever I was teaching them must have bored them. But then Faust, that little black and white striped boy. Came right up and looked into my eyes.

'Are you alright? Your eyes look sad.'

Caught me off guard, didn't know what to say. Faust was a lot sharper than his warbandmates, all the others were too busy planning what to do to notice he was worried about me, to notice me. I remember just kneeling down, patting his head. 'I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. You go enjoy your day off.'

He was hesitant, but scampered off soon. Still saw him glancing back over to me though, kept doing it until they all left. Until I was alone, no one around to hear me break down.

It wasn't just that day, I'd remember those first cubs I raised from their teens and it'd come back. Never once let them see me cry, every time I'd be sure I was completely alone, I couldn't let them know. I couldn't.

From that day on, I despised humans even more than before. Even made sure that when I trained the Rage warband they would know everything they could on how to fight humans, I did not want to lose my cubs to humans again.

I got my wish, in the worst way. Another twenty years on, after the Rage warband graduated and my duty as primus continued. Howl sent me a letter, of all charr. Needed to talk to me privately, of course I couldn't turn down one of my cubs.

I was not prepared for the look on his face, the utter sadness in voice. Graw, Clio, Tullia… And Faust. They were gone, either turned into branded and killed, or killed by branded.

I had to keep myself strong again, definitely not breaking in front of Howl, he looked burdened enough. But what he really wanted was for me to console Nastazya, he couldn't get any response from her. Dinky at least was taking solace that he had two of his warbandmates left. So I promised him I'd do what I could, I left him with my condolences, before he could see how shattered I really was.

And then there was Nastazya, little Naz as I called her. Strong, bossy, wouldn't take no for an answer. I found her in the barracks, alone, saw myself in her like this. She didn't respond to me, nothing. So I just sat down beside her, and waited. I waited, and waited.

In that silence, that dreadful silence, came a sob. In all the years, I'd never expected. It was Nastazya who broke, the first time I saw tears on her face. As I tried to console her, place a paw over her shoulder, she hugged on to me. Not unlike a cub begging for comfort from a parent. I suppose as a primus, I was the closest thing to a parent she had near.

She wasn't the only one crying now, no, to see her like that was crushing. She was the first of my cubs who ever saw me break down, but it gave me that chance to talk to her properly about it. When all the tears were dry, I told her about the first cubs I raised, and lost. I knew that feeling, and did my best to encourage her to stay strong.

I know her, I know she could get through anything.

This was tested again five years later, where she lost yet another warband. And Howl too, at least Dinky still survived. But I always lose more and more cubs as days went on, was I training them right? Was I really meant to be a primus? Out of all the cubs I raised, only two were still standing.

It was too late to worry about, I'd already had another group of cubs to raise. Aurelius, Nero, Iunia, Lox, Flavia, Otho and their leader Vindictus. The Shred warband they ended up. More promising young Bloods, though poor Flavia was unusually frail. In the end, she couldn't graduate fahrar and ended up becoming a gladium. Would that I have had an answer to her illness, my elemancy can't cure all. I never did see her again, I only hope she is doing well.

The rest of them, they took on to my combat lessons expertly. Especially when it came to humans, after all the stories of Ascalon these cubs seemed more bloodthirsty than the others I raised. This came to be an issue, as the treaty with humans began, as much as I resented it at first. I had no choice but to accept it, Nastazya had not only advanced far outside the legions, she became the commander of an all-race army that took on Elder Dragons.

That I was proud is to say the least of what I feel about her, after all my losses, she was a star shining above all. To know that even she could forgive humans after what I told her, I had no place in being an unmoving old man.

But the new cubs, they'd already been brought up on human hate. Despite my attempts to try fix anything, they weren't having it. Their attitude about me changed in their later teen years, rebellious. They graduated well enough, but I was concerned about them to no end. I heard them say things I never taught them, I couldn't help but wonder if someone was feeding them info without me knowing?

I never truly found out, but I'll always think that's the case. Not long after they graduated, Nastazya came to drop off her twins, Vita and Galvar. Could hardly believe my ears that she was mated with Marcus, back then a cub raised by a good friend of mine, Vena.

Nastazya wanted none other than me to be their primus, so sure of my ability, that I could raise them right. I was getting real old at this point, but I couldn't turn her down. These would be the first I raised without a shred of human hate, these ones, there would be no war with humans. I dearly hope this will stay true to this day. Three other cubs would join them, Lorranu, Patia and Allius.

But during their first year in fahrar, a civil war erupted, lead by my own imperator. These cubs were safe here with me, but I heard plenty of tales from the war. I kept tabs on the Shred warband, whenever I could. Some days I wish I never did.

They betrayed the legions, joined Bangar's Dominion. Of course they would, they hated humans, and I taught them that. But it wasn't humans who killed them, it was other charr, their own. For all I know, Nastazya could even have been the executioner. I dare not let her know about them, that is something I take to my grave. It's better if we both move on, without dwelling on it. It's… better for me. I mourned them, but I've lost too much already to obsess over them.

I've lost too much already. I've lost too much, too much. I need to stop thinking about them, I need to…

Burn me, why did I teach them so much hate? If I hadn't they could still be legion, still be here. I failed them, I failed Neomenia, I failed Vindictus. I failed Howl. I should never have been a primus, I even lost Vita and Galvar to a damn separatist and only got them back because Nastazya was here-!

I should never have-!

The door of my room clanks open loudly, thrusting my thoughts away. Before I even get a chance to say anything I hear a familiar booming voice, and the sight of a charr I least expected.

"Tonold! I found the right room this time! Haha, yes! I- Huh?"

Dinky, he actually came to visit, but he starts pointing at me? I can't get my head around why.

"Faust was right! You do get sad when you're alone! Ohh, and I never believed him, and I can't tell him now! That's not fair."

As I watch him scratch his head in some frustration, it's now I feel the wetness around my eyes, my cheek. A cursory press of my finger to my face, the tears must have escaped as I was thinking about all my cubs. But that mention of Faust, all those times I thought I was alone, did he see me? Was he… Worried about me all that time? Thoughts for later, why is Dinky here? "Dinky? Why did you come to see me?"

"Hum? Oh, right! Well, you stopped being primus, so you don't watch cubs anymore. And I thought, does that mean you'd be on your own all the time? And then I remembered what Faust said. Naz is too busy, and the others aren't here anymore. So I'm the one left to come see you!"

Such a cheery grin on his face, he's not even one bit focused on the fact I've been crying. This joy, I've missed it. The chair beside me is soon taken, and what a great feeling it is, to have company. Especially one of the cubs I raised, still here, still strong. "You… Still care about me?" I ask, and receive quite the shocked look from him.

"What! Of course! My dad just left me at fahrar and gave me nothing, so you're like- My real dad! Not real real dad, but real dad! Ooh, this makes my head mushy…"

Burn me, if I'm not careful I'll start tearing up again. I never knew Dinky saw me like that, but just at that mention, I know what I have to do. "…And you'll always be my cub. Always. You don't realise how much this means to me… Here I was, on my own, thinking my time as a primus was a waste…"

"No, that's not a waste!! I wouldn't have Naz if you didn't! And I had a lot of good times with Graw and Howl and Clio and Tullia and Faust and you too! I got sad when they were gone, but I still had Naz, and now I have new friends too like Soure!"

A lot of good times… Yes, I did have those. Even though I outlived most of the cubs I raised, I still gave them the best life I could while they were growing. The Cleave and Rage warbands, they all visited me, they all checked up on me. Nastazya trusted me with her own cubs, to say I should never have been a primus is to throw away everything I had with them. That's not me, that's never been me. Why did it take until now to see this? "Thank you. My mind was being… Nasty to me. But not anymore."

"Is that why you were sad? Then I'll keep coming back so it doesn't do that again! Oh! Nasty reminds me, there was a big nasty wurm on the farm. It was attacking the tasty cows, and I didn't like that. So I smashed and bashed them!"

This is all I need to know, to truly know that my time as a primus wasn't a waste. Even as I grow older and more frail, I still have those I raised coming to keep an eye on me. There's worse ways to be, and few better. "Haha, did you? Tell me more, I'd love to hear about what you've been up to." It's always heartening to hear how Dinky is just like he always was, I want nothing more than to keep speaking with him.

He can sure talk an ear off, but I wouldn't have it any other way. For as long as I have left on Tyria, I'll look forward to every day with those who care for me. I spent most of my life as a primus, and that part is over. Just an old charr now, but still with plenty of knowledge to share and plenty of free time to spend. And I'll gladly spend the rest of today engrossed in Dinky's stories.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #charr #Tonold Cubguider #primus #death #writing

2 notes · View notes

axe-trio-commanders · 3 years

Text

OC Interview: Zori Sunblade

Draw (or use an old drawing, don’t worry!) or take a screen of your character in an interview setting and make them answer the following questions!

INTRODUCTION

Can you introduce yourself?

"That, uh... depends- this isn’t going on public record, right? I mean- not immediately?” [redacted] “Okay, yeah, after my death is... well- no, maybe Seremnis’ death. Or whenever she wants- okay, give it to her after my death and she’ll- yeah. Okay.” Shuffling and creaking of leather. “Zori Sunblade, member of the Sun warband, magister of the priory, pact commander by title, uh... oh- leader of Dragon’s Watch. And uh. Charr. Ranger. Uhm... hi?”

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

“...Uh... I think...” mumbled “...burn me I hope I remember the meaning of these right, been a while-” regular voice “Uh- she/her... lady friends, so far, and- actually been married for a while.” [She shows of a ring around her left-hand ring finger. Its gem gives off a faint glow.] “Still sort-of figuring out what that means, but I think I’ve got most of it down.”

Where and when were you born?

"...I, uh... hm. Lend me some paper and quill?” [Paper and quill is lent.] “...So it’s... 34, and that was... 25, when I was...” [She nods and taps the pen affirmatively on the paper.] “1306 AE, at, uh... all I remember or have been told is growing up in a fahrar around Rin.”

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

“That depends. I can snipe pretty good with a longbow, but torch and axe are my go-to for close range... sometimes a dagger if I need to be a bit less conspicuous.”

Lastly, are you happy?

“...Well, that uh. That escalated quickly, huh?” laugh “Ah... sometimes. Sometimes... it’s- I guess I don’t clearly remember now if it’s harder than it used to be, but... I’m working on it.”

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

“Dragon’s Watch is my family. As is my warband, Aurene... Canach’s in there somewhere, too. It’s... I dunno. Some of them... still look up to me, I guess, after everything- some of them know me to well, some of them... I don’t know. Warband’s... complicated, right now, and I’ll probably always worry about Aurene... the people that know the most want to help, I know they do, it’s just... it’s hard to believe things will get better sometimes.” laugh “Probably not the best thing to hear from the charr you’ve put in charge of saving Tyria for the past nine years, huh?”

Have you ever ran away from home?

“...I... I don’t know. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now- burn me, I... really don’t think I can go back to the legions now, regardless of if things are changing or not. Don’t really think there’s been another... place I’ve ever called home.”

Would you consider marriage or having children?

“I mean- kinda too late to have second thoughts on marriage, huh? Ah, not that I would. I don’t think I’d want to live without her at this point, being honest...” Tapping of claws “...Cubs, though... I don’t know. Not now, definitely. If I’m going to be taking care of cubs, It’s not going to be at a time where I can’t do it myself. Be there for them. Burn me, I’ve had far too many examples of what happens when you don’t.” Pause “...Have sometimes fantasized about a quiet house somewhere in the woods, though. Whenever the disaster’s over.”

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“...Why would you call them your friends if...? No, if that was even a question. I’ve made it very clear who I hate, and... burn me, I guess... yeah, the only one who isn’t dead is Phlunt. And... Bengar, probably. Not sure if he’s, uh. Stable, right now? Not- I mean I don’t go out and murder whoever annoys me, that’s not- it’s a short list. It’s a very short list. I’m not going to murder someone over, like... burnt toast or something. That sort of thing is reserved for endangering my family.”

Which friend knows everything about you?

“...I- mm... I... some of them know more than others. Definitely, people in my family know more than people outside of it- ...burn me, I... I think, alltogether, if everyone I knew pooled knowledge they’d have everything, but... not any one. It’s... it’s habit, I guess.”

ASKED BY FANS

“Please tell me you’ve filtered these beforehand.”

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

"Okay, good start, uh... I mean, I’ve been through the fahrar, obviously, and I’m also a priory magister- I learned a lot more about the... being literate there, but at this point in my life I’m writing-fluent in New Krytan, old charr pathfinding symbols, ancient orrian... in the process of learning a couple others, too. Can’t hurt.”

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

Snort “I’m not allowed to die. I mean- burn me, what else am I supposed to take away from the fact that I died- actually went-to-the-mists died, and got told by the messenger of a human god that I, of all people, could go back? Had to, in fact? ...Burn me, I should probably be happy about that, but. Implication’s aren’t great there.”

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

“...That I’m... that there are people who’d miss me. Not- not miss the commander, but... I expected people would- mourn, write songs or whatever once I actually kicked the bucket, but it’s all a bit... hollow, when most of them don’t even know my name- and to some degree, that’s purposeful. They can- they can mourn the role I filled, the stuff I did, that’s fine, that’s not going to destroy them, not going to hurt for more than a... week, maybe. And everyone else- even the closest people- burn me I’m supposed to be dead. Not only was I, but there’s no- there’s no logical reason I’ve survived all this. Gods and Elder dragons have wanted me dead- entire factions, powerful people- I’m not allowed to die by- by fate, or whatever, but nothing else in Tyria wants me here, so I- you expect people to expect it, at least. To be prepared for it. I want them to be, for their own sake, but...” long sigh “...I... tried to get my warband to leave. Now that they knew... where I’ve been. What I’ve been doing, and... it really shouldn’t have been such a shock that they were worried about me. That... that they, and... everyone who knows how bad it’s gotten wants me to get... better. That I even have that option.”

Do you have mental health or physical issues?

quiet “...I don’t think any of us came out of this unscathed.”

What is your current main goal?

“...I think... I think I will just- just focus on getting better, now. I- burn me, it’s going to give me anxiety like nothing else to leave this to anyone, but I’ve- ...guess this is the first I’ll say it outside of closed circles, but I... I think I’m giving up the title of commander. I don’t think- that’s not going to mean I’m not around, I’m... probably not even leaving Dragon’s Watch, but... it’s time to hang the regalia up, at least. Leave the final say to someone else.” Laugh “Definitely not gonna miss the politics. May I never have to see Phlunt’s face again.”

CHOICES

Drink or food?

“...Oh, the hard questions are over now? Er- sort of? ...I mean, you need both to... live, so... Hm. I mean- I’ve had some really good food, Dragon’s Watch has one of the best chefs, but- if you’ve ever had an entire jug of water past the height of the moon, you know exactly my dilemma here.

Cats or dogs?

“This is what we call a ‘false dichotomy’. Both. Duh.”

Early bird or night owl?

“...I, uh. I’m not sure I’ve had a steady sleep schedule, for... five? Years? I guess if you do want to wake me up without either food or news of immediate disaster that needs fixing, I might consider physical harm, so... whichever one that is.”

Optimist or pessimist?

“That depends. On the subject of how good today’s food will be? Optimist. On Phlunt ever caring for anything other than his own pride and wellbeing? Pessimist.”

Sassy or sarcastic?

“...There’s a difference? Everyone I’ve met has both or neither.”

HAVE YOU EVER-

-been caught sneaking out?

“Nope. I was raised Ash, and I was good at it.”

-broke a bone?

“...I... I don’t think I have, actually. Probably got just about every other possible injury, but... not that yet.”

-received flowers?

“...I, uh. Eheh... The, uhm. The first time my, uh- now-wife sent me flowers, I... didn’t know what they were for? And sort of. Ate them.” pause “...They were... definitely not meant to be eaten. They were anonymous- she told me about it later- so I thought someone was trying to poison me until a close friend explained what getting flowers meant.” pause “...Burn me, I have no idea how long she was trying to flirt with me until I managed to catch on.”

-ghosted someone?

“...Have I mentioned the time I burned to death?”

-pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“...Wait, that’s- that’s a thing? I could have been telling terrible, incomprehensible jokes this whole time and I have no way to even know?! I- ...no, I haven’t, I guess. I just sort of... sit there confused...”

“...That’s the last one? Really? Sort of an awkward way to end it. Well, uh... remember the release protocol we agreed upon. Whole buncha people are gonna be upset if you don’t- most of which know how to hide bodies. Not... not sure why I know so many of that type of people, to be honest with you.”

#zori sunblade #oc interview #icebrood saga spoilers #path of fire spoilers #yes i did do the math on those years. yes i am making this cannon.#yes zori is 28 years old as the current story stands #there's a good reason most of the charr she knows think of her as a cub

3 notes · View notes