R A H 😫

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Chapter 6!!! Is here!!! A direct continuation from the previous chapter, May is tasked with saving her new housemate only to realise she's being faced with than more than she'd first thought, MUCH more than she could've prepared for.

Definitley trying to add more bits and pieces of wolrdbuilding throughout, as well, so let me know if it flows well!

tw: blood, gore, fire, burning, mentions of war, death, bodily horror

Ch. 6

The laceration on May’s arm throbbed as blood gushed from the wound, only fueling her desire to cut down the man responsible for it.

There were no shouts of warning as the first volley of arrows was released into the main courtyard of the manor. The whistles of easily a hundred arrows arching with grace over the main wall, many hitting the cracked cobble at their feet and too many more sinking deep into flesh. A score of men downed in but a moment; she was caught with her backed turned. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

Her sword bit home in the neck of her opponent, sending a hot spread of blood back at her. Her men had started surrounding the outermost section of the courtyard, working their way towards the center and slaughtering everything in their paths as tight units of fifteen to thirty men. They were efficient; May trained her men to be deadly.

Her sword killed one man after another, the rage she felt becoming the passion of the Winds. Her heaving breaths of unbridled anger became the steady breaths of a woman singing in the Gods praises. Her feet were weightless underneath her as she spun and ran through entrails, the death rattles of the fallen a prayer to her victory.

Time both slowed and flowed faster, men seemingly growing old and dying as May severed an arm here and slashed across a chest there, a whirlwind of honed chaos. She continued pushing forward, a large group of her men now rallying behind her as they met the center of the courtyard. Their main advance would be towards the contingent of archers that managed to huddle towards the manor’s gate.

As May lifted a dead man’s shield from his corpse, instinctively blocking arrows as they headed towards her, she caught a glint of something from the corner of her blood-red eyes. Off in the corner, towards the right of the manor, smoke started to bellow from the peaked roof.

The attic.

She was smart to have listened to her instincts those few weeks back, vacating the few valuables from the room and cleansing it in whatever means necessary. Putting the remainder of the old texts and records either in the vault or the archives, the room was merely a little secret hiding space that made for a good saferoom in this particular instance, where Oryn’s safety was in danger.

Oryn? Why would this be about Oryn?

It didn’t matter. She needed to protect them—hide them—and Demetrius was the only other living person who knew of it’s existence.

Something much larger was at play here. Someone deeply connected to May and Ilucia had infiltrated the system she fought so hard to build, making her seem a fool. As she watched the first soft licks of orange cascade across the eaves decorating the attic, her resolve quickly returned.

“Squads four and nine, come with me! Everyone else,” she turned, her throat already horse from breathing in smoke and screaming as she killed, “Kill the rest of these bastards!”

Although she’d already seen more than a squad or two lying dead on the cobble, the morale in her remaining men didn’t waiver. They stood tall, weapons ready, in the exact formations they’d practiced. They stomped their feet in time, yelling their war-cry as praises for their Duchess.

She started towards the side door of the manor, the two squads called for quickly falling into a defensive formation around her. As they ran, May couldn’t keep her eyes off the roof being enveloped by the flames.

The manor itself was hardly damaged but for a broken window here or a scuff along the mortar there. It’s as if the goal here wasn’t to destroy, only to kill—and to do so quickly. The fact that the fire was now reaching towards the sky in only one part—specifically from one room—There must have been another motive, a plan…

Sprinting through the side door and running straight for the closest set of stairs, May noticed just how quiet the manor was now that all who are usually patrolling it took up arms to fight out in the courtyard. This is my fault, she thought to herself, but not because of the weight all of her fallen men; because Oryn was sat in a burning cage and it was May who had put them there.

Out of breath but nowhere near exhausted, they arrived at the top floor, May ripping the door off the closet. The heat was nearly unbearable, the immediate wash of newly born flames reaching from what was once the sealed entrance. May’s blood rushed through her, her heartbeat loud and persistent in her ears as the hum slowly started seeping into her skull.

The men behind her stood back, staring at the soft blaze set before them.

The clang of a desperate fight could be heard over the roar of the flames, someone battling for their life.

“Get me up there!” May screamed, turning to her men with her jaw set and eyes ablaze.

“But—”

Without thinking—without even a second to blink or take a breath—May’s sword cut deep into the abdomen of the Squad Four Commander, the hilt meeting the soft leather of his armor as the blood seeped onto May’s hand. Her eyes were dark, determined.

She turned to the other’s, their eyes wide and mouths slack.

“Get me up there,” she repeated, her breath low and hot.

Without a second thought, she was all but thrown by her men off the floor and up into the searing flames of the attic entrance.

The pounding hum resonating beneath her skull got stronger as she hoisted herself up on burning beams into the center of the alcove. The smoke burned her eyes and left her in a wake of dense fog, unable to see much of the world around her besides the roaring flames slowly dissolving the wooden room. She gasped and hacked as the ash entered her lungs, burning her insides with a fierceness she hadn’t ever felt before.

“Oryn!” She called, her voice horse and meaningless amongst the raging fire. The fighting continued, the clanging of steel just barely making itself heard. She stepped forward, her own bloodied sword held in front of her.

She was getting closer, the battle sounds growing louder, her vision fading with each step she took, her skull vibrating as the pressure of the pounding built. She cried out, falling to her knees, the flames seeming to edge their way closer and closer to her with each passing moment.

There was a shriek of pain, something almost animalistic in nature. The ripping of skin, grinding of bone, tearing of sinew and blood coursing through changing veins.

Fuck, May thought, heaving up smoke as tears rolled down her cheeks Not here. Not now!

The pounding in her head slowly turned from raging, meaningless rumbles into the staccato beats of something being beckoned forth. She didn’t feel any pain, but the soft mush inside of her skull slowly separated, something new emerging from the inside. Her eyes snapped open as the rush of something powerful washed over her. She lifted herself from her knees, her vision steady and clear as she saw what unfolded before her.

Demetrius was fighting neck and neck with two soldiers May had never seen before, wearing the livery of a duke or duchess she didn’t recognize. Their faces were covered in what must have once been white linen, now burnt at the edges and covered in soot. Their skin had been scorched in places and was completely barren in others. How they continued to wield a swords was beyond her comprehension.

With a new weightlessness pushing her forward as the thrumming became a hymn in the back of her head, May threw herself alongside Demetrius, her own sword flying in beautiful arches over her head as she tried to even the odds.

Demetrius was worse off than those they were fighting, a large slash across his face leaking a garish trickle of blood. His leather plate was slick and oily, his hair plastered to his head as he swung his sword ruthlessly. There was nothing but the power and flow of the Wind behind his eyes, the battle rage holding his spirit.

As May ducked under a slash from the enemy, she quickly brought her sword behind the legs of him. As his tendons were cut deep and a spray of blood hit May’s hands, she stood and turned towards the hulking creature behind her. She made a final puncture to the soldier’s throat, killing him.

May could barely make out the full shape of the beast, her vision clearer than it should’ve been in the smoke but unable to focus on whatever Oryn’s form was. She could just hardly see Alec peeking out from behind what must have been the right shoulder of the beast, clearly hanging on to the protruding thorns and masses of skin running down its back. As it steadied itself on its two legs, finally meeting eyes with the fight between Demetrius and the other soldier—flames roaring just barely behind him— Oryn let out a deep, guttural cry.

Oryn leapt into the fight, Alec hanging on tight, trying to hide his face in whatever he could find to block out the smoke. The pads of Oryn’s feet hit the smoldering floor like a clap of thunder, sending shudders through the attic and bringing both May and Demetrius to their knees. It was instinctual: cover your ears. As Alec did the same, the pounding in May’s head ceased. She watched the remaining soldier bring his sword up above Demetrius’s bowed head as he knelt, readying himself for the killing blow.

His arms, strong and lean and glistening in the light of the fire—were steady, the linen finally falling from his face and being devoured by the flames. Then, something changed.

The silence finally enveloped May’s skull once again as she lifted her head to meet the eyes of the man ready to kill her most valuable soldier; one of her closest friends. Holding his glowing sword high above his head, his arms began to shake. The veins in his arms started to bulge, his skin draining to become a ghostly white. His veins started to move, the blood inside of them seemingly thick and collecting in places. As a slow drip of blood started to leak from his nose, his head exploded.

May couldn’t tear her eyes away. Blood and chunks of brain matter and shards of sharp skull bits flew with force from the viscera, a loud hisssss being heard as the fire licked the liquid into more smoke for them all to choke on.

She was yanked to her feet by something that wasn’t a human’s hand and lobbed over the beast’s shoulder, feeling a scared hand reaching out and holding on to hers as Oryn then picked up Demetrius, who was just as stunned by the scene that unfolded before them. Alec squeezed May’s hand, Demetrius gripped the monster’s ever-moving flesh, and Oryn barreled through the outermost wall, letting the group of them fall into the courtyard below.

sorry BETA MALES, but this is what PEAK MALE PERFORMANCE looks like

ALRIGHT!!! Ch. 12 :) i know it's been awhile since the last post, but this is where I've left off since the beginning of the semester! Everything post chapter twelve has yet to be written ajskakksks and may take a while longer... I'm hoping to keep the general motivation going for it though so !!! Wish me luck lmao

May and Oryn have decided it's time to end the siege, when Jonas makes an appearance.

Tags: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

tw: mentions of death, abuse, murder, war, stabbing, blood, harsh weather

Ch. 12

            “Open the doors, Demetrius,” May’s voice was sharp and clear.

            “My Lady?”

            “Get Alec,” she said, “and open the doors. Send him out in the camps to help gather and shift everyone indoors.” Their steps were in sync as they climb the stairs from the basement.

            Demetrius nodded. “Whatever you say, My Lady,” he breathed out a light huff.

            May stopped in her tracks on the next step, putting up a hand and turning to face him. “You only ever listen without complaint to my stupid plans when your vehemently against an even worse one I’ve hatched. Out with it.”

            He moved past her, continuing up the stairs and gesturing for her to do the same. “It wasn’t smart to leave him down there.”

            May’s jaw tightened as she followed, now in his wake. “He needs answers. There’s no one else who can provide them.”

            “You don’t think he’ll kill the old sot?” Demetrius laughed, opening the hatch that led from the basement back up to the main manor.

            May shook her head, rolling her eyes. “What makes you think I don’t already plan on doing that myself? Besides,” The two of them stepped out of the shadows and back into the torch-lit halls of the manor, “He need answers. I’d like some, too.” She pushed in front of him with a slightly faster pace and headed towards her office.

            Demetrius nodded, letting the subject drop. “Tell Alec to start bringing in the men, and then what, my lady?”

            “Meet me here,” she called down to him, “the siege needs to end. Tonight.”

-

            “You remember me?”

            The room was dank, full of moss that had started to overtake the forever damp stone floor and walls, creeping white vines pushing through the cracks to make homes amongst them. Oryn could swear they heard the scuttle of rats in the rooms beyond, but was too busy with the task at had to force themselves to look further.

            “I remember,” they said, circling the man as if they were stalking prey. He sat upon a ratty wooden stool, legs bound to the legs and hands tied behind his back. May had requested that Oryn leave him here when they were done with him: she had her own questions to ask.

            “Good, then,” he said, sighing as his posture sunk further in on himself. They had cleaned his wounds and dressed him in slightly cleaner robes, providing a meal of whatever bit of food they could had on hand. “I’m sure you have many questions,” he coughed for a moment before catching his breath, “and I hope to provide some semblance of an answer for you.”

            Oryn stopped pacing to look Jonas up and down. With his face washed, feet bandaged, and beard properly braided, they could tell now that he must have been a man of status at one point. Alec had done well in teaching them the ways of local society and religion and they could recognize the symbols they saw floating amongst the books and scrolls; the large eight-point star representing the Siblings of Chaos was embroidered on his tattered undershirt, the same symbol with a circle enclosing it tattooed on the man’s chest. They hadn’t recognized that before, the one time they’d met that Oryn could remember.

            “They branded you for making Chaos?” they said, motioning towards the tattoo.

            He nodded. “But wouldn’t strip me of my status.” He shrugged his shoulder forward, once again showing off the pin. He’d carefully taken it off of the tattered robes he previously bore and attached it to the new ones provided him.

\           “You wear the High Councilor’s pin of the Sanctum,” they all but verbatim repeated from some thick tome or another.  

            “The Lady of Ilucia has been teaching you, I assume?” Despite the circumstances, the man laughed once again.

            “The witches never told me,” Oryn muttered, eyes becoming slits as their jaw twitched. They didn’t want to defend those who had sheltered them from the world, and yet…

            “They never told you much of anything, child,” Jonas said, looking up at Oryn from where he sat. “And yet, here you are. Making your way nonetheless.”

            Oryn shook their head. “I’m not going with you.”

            Jonas sighed. The look in his eyes suddenly became something dark and heavy, a deep pit holding all the answers anyone could ever seek and the horrors that come with them.

            “You can’t change my mind,” Oryn’s voice was calm. They counted their breaths, steadying their heartbeat as it started to rage in their ears.

            Jonas’s mouth hung open for a moment, his rotting teeth browning at the gums. “Your mother,” he whispered, his old and quivering skeletal body becoming still as his gaze bore into Oryn’s soul.

            They felt the blood draining from their face as they contested his gaze with their own, taking another step further towards the precipice. “I want to know of her.”

            He sucked in a fresh breath of air with force. “The Forgotten Princess, to be married to the Forgotten Prince. The stories they tell…”

            The text they’d read said nothing about any of that.

            Jonas could read the confusion clearly on Oryn’s face. “Not up to recent years in your lessons?” He choked on another short laugh, but his features remined hard and serious, his eyes lacking their jovial grandfatherly nature they’d carried before he’d mentioned…

            Oryn shook their head. “Speak plainly.”

            He sighed. “I find it a great shame,” he mumbled as he caught his breath once again, “that three women of such intelligence would keep such knowledge from you.” He hummed a bit to himself, scanning the small room he found himself in.

            “My… Tutor,” Oryn started, “told me that knowledge is how average men hold power. How they cope with never being allowed to Mend the sewn Chaos.”

            “Do you believe that?”

            “Not completely,” they said, their gaze hard. “It’s powerful, yes. I am strong in knowing,” they started slowly stalking around Jonas yet again, one slow step being taken after another. “But men are strong in other ways. With swords, axes, bows… they are all so weak when they’re leaking blood.”

            “The church,” Jonas mumbled, “the Sanctum. Do you think that’s power? Or the King?”

            “It is so easy to die, so easy to kill,” Oryn mumbled, “that it’s hard to look at an old man in a chair far too large for him and decide that’s the image of power.” They shook their head, stopped their pacing.

            “Men work in ways only the Gods may understand,” Jonas said, the legs on his stool creaking as he shifted his weight.

            Oryn let out a sly laugh under their hot breath. “I am angry with the witches for never teaching me,” she laid a gentle hand on Jonas’s frail and bony shoulder, “And yet grateful to never have known. I can look upon the societies that man has built and see how uncouth it all is; how seemingly barbaric and unestablished.” She shook her head as she lifted her hand from the man’s shoulder and walked to be in front of him, crouching down to meet his gaze with her own. “And your Gods…” they scoffed.

            Jonas looked upon Oryn with more than mere anger; the disgust was laid upon them with his unrelenting gaze. “You do not know of what you speak, child.”

            Oryn eyes narrowed as they looked deeper into Jonas’s soul, into what he’s done and who he was and where he’s been. They swallowed hard and took a deep breath as the drone started humming at the back of their head.

            He started to struggle against his restraints. “You don’t know what made you!”

            “Then tell me, old man,” they spat, “for my patience is growing thin.”

            His face contorted as the thrumming in his own skull started hammering harder and harder, begging to break free. “Demon!” He screamed, his hoarse voice echoing against the cold stone walls surrounding them while he strained against his restraints.

            “What am I, Councilor?” Their skin crawled with the potential of another kill, more blood spilled atop old stones that would forget the death as it was washed away. And yet they continued to hesitate nonetheless. Although this man would never get the pleasure of taking them alive, he was possibly the only person left alive who knew what they were.

            “Demon,” he repeated, his eyes still burning hot and wild as he coughed and caught his breath, trying to contain his fear.

            Oryn shook their head yet again, standing and resuming their pacing. "I may not have a very deep understanding of your Gods, but I can tell you that if they’re real, they’ve either left your sorry lot or have died.” She scoffed. “I find it horrid how you all can believe in something so… untouchable.”

            The man’s features changed, suddenly showing a deep and sudden pity for what must have been someone but a child in his own eyes.

            “I hope, dearest Oryn, for your lovely mother’s sake, that the God’s choose to have mercy on your dying soul.”

            He stoked the fire burning inside of them even more.

            They stood behind the chair he was strapped to, gripping the back of the chair as they watched the wood crack beneath their knuckles. They leaned down, their neck creaking with the strain of their spine shifting inside of them, their skin pulling itself taught as the muscle shifted.

            “Tell me of her,” they whispered against the skin of his ear, sending a shiver through his body as he mumbled a prayer, trembling in his seat.

            The creak of bone on bone rang through the small room, mixing with the squeaking of dusting rodents and the soft drip of condensation running down the walls. Their breaths created a harmony, Oryn’s staunch snout spouting steam into the air as Jonas’s fear sucked it deep into his lungs.

            He whimpered as the ropes dug deep into his wrists while he tried to break free and run from the beast lurking behind him, seeking answers only he could give. His eyes were shut tight as he felt the foul drool drip thick and heavy onto his shoulder.

            “Leandra,” he whispered.

            Silence.

            The crack of a shot from a bow rang out, an arrow piercing Jonas through the heart.

            Oryn’s face lifted quickly, standing on two hind legs and stretching themselves to reach against the stone ceiling, flexing against the restraint of their own skin.

            May stood in the darkened doorframe, crossbow positioned at her chest, pointing towards the dead man’s body.

            “Oryn,” she said, panting and wiping her brow. “We need you.”

The way (and I love her so much) my therapist is LITERATE?!?! I sit down with an I Feel statement and this warm and kindhearted woman smiles at me and READS ME FRONT, BACK, UPSIDE DOWN, AND FUCKING BACKWARDS like I know it's her job to Explain the Things to Me but she has just read, reread, annotated, and written an analytical essay on my emotional intelligence and mental health. When she hits me with the "I think we should unpack that :)" i KNOW I'm about to get the spark notes on the last three chapters fed to me like a baby bird.

HI!!! Back with chapter three!!! All feedback welcome 😌

tw: mentions of death, murder, depressive symptoms

Ch. 3

May sat at her desk, her head weighing heavy in her hands. She didn’t need to look towards the paintings and sculptures adorning the walls and mantle; every inch of this room was known to her like the back of her own hand. She spent hours upon hours here, possibly entire lifetimes. After her father fell, the duchy of Ilucia rallied around her, looking to the only remaining legitimate heir. They loved her father—revered him, almost. There was a strict way about the man when it came to keeping things running, making sure jobs were filled and trades were made. They would say he was a kind man who knew how to speak in a way that made other’s listen. He ruled here through a combined force of love and fear, managing to balance the two in a way that allowed their family to remain influential in a time when Dukes and Duchess’s were finding their heads rolling across the wooden floor.

As she lifted her head, laying it back on the chair behind her and taking a deep breath, she found herself looking at the chair across from the desk. How many times had she sat there? How many glasses of brandy did she watch the man down? How many bruises had faded over the time since his death?

Her mind didn’t travel here often—at least, not anymore. There was no use in thinking of all the things you’d never be able to speak of. Gripping the arm of the chair until her knuckles turned white, May found herself wondering what a man like him would have done in a situation like this.

He’d never allow himself in a situation like this to begin with, she thought, toying with the idea of a monster prowling the halls of the manor while her father was still above ground. If only.

There’s something to be said of the burning urge May felt regarding her rule of the duchy. It had nothing to do with pride; she wasn’t proud of what her father built, nor his father before him. The countless hours of preparing in the feminine arts and learning to be the daughter her father required of her. It was like she wasn’t meant to be spoken to or asked questions but only looked at by prospective husbands to further the financial stability of the Ilucia. It was a simple life.

Simplicity was a gift May was never to receive again. The day she found herself groveling at the feet of a witch in the mud was the last time she would ever know what that word truly meant, even if she didn’t know it at the time. By the Winds and Waters, though, did she know it now.

There was a lot she had to learn in quite a short period of time, her motivation pushing her with a desire she hadn’t ever felt before. There was a certain weight that came with responsibility, one that she found herself becoming comfortable under. Finally, there was a purpose for her, one beside what her father had created.

But this isn’t where she thought she’d end up. There was very little about life that May understood, even after years of serving her duchy; she felt like something was still wrong. The trade was going well, bolstering the economy, creating plenty of work for all her people. The militarized approach to running the area has taken quite well over the last few months, as well, with all of her men supporting the change. There would always be the problems of ruined crops or overdue taxes, but things were well and stable, thanks to May.

But something was wrong. Something had been wrong since the day of her coronation: this pounding that never seemed to dissipate, but got quieter the less she focused on it. This screaming force begging her to follow it’s sound, only for May never to locate the source. Something was deeply wrong, and she didn’t know where to start looking when it came to fixing it.

Running her hand against the smooth grain of the desk, she felt more aware of the feeling of the chair beneath her, the seat of what came before her now cradling what was once a scared little girl. Looking upon the office that had barely changed since it became hers, she found herself wondering what it all would be like if they knew; if they really knew of what had happened to him, what she had done. No matter how many times she played it again in her mind, she never stopped feeling proud of it, even when every fiber of her being was telling her that guilt was the only way forward.

She was beside herself as she slowly came to her feet, shuffling over the creaking floor towards the door. As she looked back behind her, towards the hearth she was just moments ago sitting before, she felt rage being stoked within her. Things were starting to crack in a way that everyone else could see. And what of when they started asking questions? No part of the truth would ever escape her lips. It couldn’t.

She couldn’t tell you how long she stood there wrestling with emotions she felt she shouldn’t have, and yet as the sun started to peek over the horizon, bathing the office in shades of oranges and pinks as it shone through the window, May’s throat constricted and sweat started to bead on her brows. Her fists clenched at her sides, breath hitching behind her tongue as she struggled to get the words out.

Quiet squeals left her lips, the whimper she made doing nothing but embarrassing her in the empty room. It didn’t matter how hard of a breath she put behind it; it didn’t matter how hard she prayed or to what God. There would be no answers where she searched for them; there would be no voice when she dared to scream.

~

The sun was bright, bouncing from each full leaf and meeting the ground with a kiss. The birds sang along with the babbling rhythm of the brook, lulling May into a calmness she hadn’t felt for too long. Someone so young wasn’t meant to bear the things she wore, and yet she wore them nonetheless.

“Do you think they’d ever let me come to the manor?” Oryn quipped, tossing a stone from the bank off into the river, watching the waves swallow it.

May sat a bit straighter, looking towards her. “The Witches?” she scoffed. “Absolutely not.” She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, struggling to hold it in.

Oryn sighed, shoulders sinking low. “It was a stupid question,” they said, picking up another small stone.

May scooted a bit closer to her friend, taking off her shoes and letting her feet dip into the river. “You aren’t missing much, anyway.”

They nod, taking a moment to think before speaking again, voice heavy with something May couldn’t quite place. “I won’t know that until I see for myself. Besides, you talk so much of your brother, I’d like to meet him, eventually.”

May found herself laughing. “My brother? You and him… you’re different,” she smiled, meeting Oryn’s gaze. “I don’t think he would… well, I don’t know. I won’t say you’ll never meet him, but I’ll never take him here. He’d never come.”

Oryn nodded. They didn’t take offense; the way they lived here with the Witches wasn’t something that everybody would understand. Maureen told them that time and time again.

“Would he want to kill them?” Oryn asked, cocking her head the way she’s seen May do when she asks a question with a nonchalant air.

May’s brows furrowed as she turned her gaze down, watching her feet in the water. “Probably,” she said, “People don’t really know the Witches.”

“What do they call them again? Out in town.”

“Hags,” May said, meeting Oryn’s gaze again. “But they’re not.”

“I know.” And she did know that. Truly.

“They’re good. Good women, good people.”

“I know,” Oryn said, their voice ringing clearer with conviction. “Do you?”

May caught herself staring off into wherever the river went, down towards the horizon and off into some land somewhere that she didn’t know, off to an ocean she’d never see. “I trust them.” she finally said, looking for something she’d never find.

“But your brother wouldn’t,” Oryn stated.

“No, he wouldn’t. But it’s because he doesn’t know them. He is… strict in his convictions. I doubt he’d let himself.” She sighed. “People are afraid of things they don’t know.”

Oryn nodded, letting their hand sit softly atop May’s. May let a content smile splay on her lips, still staring off into nothing and everything.

“He was thinking of leaving, actually,” May said, letting herself speak about something she’d been holding in for a while. She took her feet out of the river, the cold water making her feet numb for a moment, grass and mud sticking to them as she tucked them under herself and turned to face Oryn.

“Leaving?” Oryn turned, too, meeting May’s serious gaze.

“Oryn,” May started, “Do you know what war is?”

~

There was a distrust in May’s men. It wasn’t against her, necessarily, but against what they knew she didn’t say. Standing behind her and glorifying her name was something none of them had ever thought of twice. But Alec, feeling a new sense of bewilderment, found himself asking more questions than he had answers to.

The dank cellar was full from floor to ceiling with books bigger than he’d ever seen. As he made his way from one row to the next, he saw words he didn’t recognize bound by skin in colors he’d never seen. He didn’t know specifically what May wanted him to search for besides some sort of mention of a monster like the one they saw that night

“No,” Alec said to himself, “Not monster. That man,” he mumbled, letting his fingers trail along the spines of the tomes, leaving a line amidst the dust in his wake. There was knowledge hiding here that no one knew, and the boy didn’t know how he’d go about finding it. He wasn’t even sure what it was.

He was young to handle any guilt, but not so young that he didn’t understand it. He thought of death more often than not in these passing days, wondering how responsible he should feel and whose fault it was and what he could have done differently, if anything at all. He didn’t think he’d find any answers for any of those questions here, but the others… maybe.

He didn’t sleep the following night, nor the night after that. It was harder to sleep when he’d close his eyes and see that thing hiding in the darkness, ready to rip another door from its hinges. First, it scared him. He knew his father hated that he harbored so much fear, but his mother made sure he knew that he was still just a boy; it was more than normal, but expected. A boy didn’t become a man overnight—he wouldn’t be able to conquer those fears from a meagre month in the militia. You don’t just grow up, all at once.

The fear turned into something else, though; the other thing his father told him never to harbor. Curiosity. He’d been on enough hunts with his brothers to know what beasts lurk in the shadows, and this certainly isn’t one that they’ve ever heard of. It didn’t matter how long he wracked his brain of the stories of great hunts and beast slayers, there was nothing about this thing that could point to its origin. The scouts of the area have an extensive list of any and all beasts that they’ve been able to track and hunt locally, making sure to dispatch of any of the less… safe species. But this wasn’t a beast. It was a man.

When the Duchess had made her announcement to the staff of a prolonged guest taking up stead in one of the unused rooms, there was a stifle of what could only be excitement amongst her men. There hadn’t been a single visitor to the manor since she’d become the standing Duchess.

There were very few who opposed her. Although not in direct opposition, Alec’s father wasn’t one to take his dismissal lightly. May shed her father’s cohort quickly, making it her first proper action when she became standing Duchess. They all thought she’d come crawling back to the group of old men, looking for some sort of guidance in what to do next and how to help her people. Their anger was mellow at first, masked by their grief for their former duke and, not too long thereafter, his proper heir.

Alec didn’t find much of anything on that first day in the archives. He looked from one book to another, trying to find the ones that would talk more about beasts and monsters and where they come from. Everything he found terrified him, but none as much as he originally had. His thoughts ran rampant with the things the Duchess could be planning or where she could have picked up someone like him in the first place. Why, of all the things she could do—of all the men she could recruit—would she go searching for something like that?

She must be planning something. Something big.

He concluded that whatever it was, it must be something worth more than the lives of all the men she could lose trying to tame it.

-

“I’ve no idea what the fuck to do,” May mumbled, her foot bouncing with anticipation as she starred upon the idol, sat shiny and untouched upon a shelf nothing else would ever grace. She didn’t pray often, and never in the way she was supposed to. There was meant to be a certain etiquette to prayer; quiet and unadorned speech, modest robes, offerings, the list could go on and on. Most people of May’s generation and those that followed disregarded more and more of the rules and regulations with each passing year, finding themselves making their own relationships with Gods that many barely knew, if ever making a relationship with any of them at all. May’s father was a man of appearances, hiring gardeners and masons and carpenters to add constant flourishes to his gardens and shrines. After his death, her brother slowly forgot about all the groundskeepers and by the time May was the standing heir, they were all dismissed.

She found herself sitting in front of a shrine shrouded with natural growth. The thick branches of the bushes held themselves tight against the rotting wooden ornamentations, the stone platform and shelves encrusted with years of mildew and moss. The thick pool of algae swam atop what used to be a fountain that sprayed scented mist, eating whatever fell amongst the scum. She found a beauty in the disheveled look; admired the strength of nature reclaiming something that was once so carefully manicured.

She crouched over a wooden stump that was so old it had started to petrify here in the shade, hands clasped tight and brows furrowed. She looked towards the idol, lessons of the Great Winds flashing through her mind. Her father made sure she was schooled properly, even if only to make her a good potential suitor. Although the masculine arts were out of her reach until she found herself the standing Duchess, May liked to think that, in another life, she may have been a true scholar. Not here, though. Not now.

As she gazed up towards the polished clay vase, she wondered if something made in a man’s image—in a man’s hands—could ever truly be a vessel for communicating with the Gods. All the questions in such nature started occurring not long after her mother’s death, but with the beatings she received when she voiced them, she thought it best to push them far from her mind. Now, though, the doubt and uneasiness of not being an honest believer started to nag at her.

This was stupid, she thought, remembering the times she prayed for first her mother’s soul, and then her father’s. She didn’t bother to pray for her brother’s—she sullied his soul far beyond repair. There was nothing prayer could have done for him.

She sat up straighter, sucking in a deep breath and setting her feet firmly on the ground. She tried with everything in her to think hard enough of something that would help her, something to steer her in a direction that would tell her what to do with Oryn. What to do about the trail of death that seemed to follow them; the responsibility and guilt not weighing on her the way she knew it should. She bought them here. She is the one who has her men’s blood on her hands. So why did she feel so relieved?

She’s not unused to blood. Her own, her men’s, her family’s… But those all carried a weight to them that she could feel; one that kept her in a state of hostility, never knowing whose death she’d be responsible for next. There was a numbness that came with it, the last several years serving to alienate her subjects from her more and more. It wasn’t the way she was supposed to think. The value of life is something she used to cherish; something the Waters and Winds were supposed to help spread throughout mankind, if we would accept them into our lives. Feeling the guilt and pain was all a part of the Natural Way, molding them—the meagre supplicants of their Gods—into a warrior that was fit to battle the Natural Chaos that the world had to offer. There was a balance to be maintained.

Her prayer was bitter and full of a vain desire to understand oneself—a prayer the Gods most likely wouldn’t answer. And yet as she held the idol in her gaze, the sun glinting off the glaze of the vase, she felt like she had finally admitted something long overdue.

She closed her eyes, letting the few rays of sun sneaking through the overgrowth caress her skin, before grabbing a pebble from the long-forgotten footpath beside her and hurling it at the vase, the stone hitting the ceramic with a satisfying clunk as it split and shattered to pieces. Whatever birds were lounging in the nearby bushes and trees took that as their cue to depart, leaving her feeling alone in a forgotten shrine that no longer had a purpose.

She stood, stretching her arms and taking a few more big, deep breaths. Good throw. She knew she wasn’t going to find any answers here. Hell, she wasn’t going to find any answers anywhere. She had that little boy—what was his name? Alex? Alvin? —rummaging through what must be years and years' worth of tall tales and nonsense. She knew he wouldn’t find anything useful, but she needed to make all of her men feel as though they were doing something that was. The last thing she needed was a reason for her men to fall apart and start rallying against her. It was up to her to give them purpose, no matter how unimportant it truly was in the end.

May started making her way down the stone steps and back towards the manor, her shoes hitting the ground with purpose. He needs to learn.

Oryn had spent the past week sulking in their room, blinds drawn, and door locked. As May walked from one side of the manor grounds to the other, it was determination fueled by anger that flooded her veins. There was too much being hidden, not enough known. She found herself thinking back to her first brush with death. She understood what it meant long before her mother died… a childhood cat, maybe? Or was it her grandfather? She didn’t remember. When was Oryn’s?

Send this to all your favourite moots and pass the pumpkin round! KEEP THE PUMPKIN TRAIN GOING 🎃🖤🎃🖤🎃

♡♡♡👻 🎃 ♡♡♡

only other blue guy i know is an alien (megamind) so i think theory is sound

I do not care (I care very deeply 😌) about the cyclic pattern of toxic ascendantxspawn relationships because, AT THE END OF THE DAY, the story is about two people who deeply love each other. SO deeply that they allow themselves to fall victims to their worst fears by bringing each other's deepest desires to fruition. AND THE FACT THAT all of this can be happening and he can still look at his partner and go "you're right. But I love you still, and I'll protect you for everything you've given me. Just give me time."

IM SO NORMAL ABOUT A!A 😫 I DONT CARE--

Shared this rambling with some server friends the other day, but I was rewatching some Ascended Astarion dialogue (swimming in the brainrot, as one does), and was struck by one of the dialogue options in the conversation after he turns Tav. I hadn't really given it much focus/attention previously.

You can say something like "You've seemed distant since the ritual" and when he responds, he owns it, saying something like "huh, maybe you're right," before going on to wax about how everything seems so much slower because his new instincts are kicking in, and he's still riding the tide of that change.

I thought it was sweet and sort of telling that while he doesn't apologize for it, he acknowledges his SO's feelings/assessment of it as a fair one, and offers them insight into his own current feelings of acclimating to this monumental change he's going through.

And I think this gets glossed over because yes, he's a bit arrogant here, he's still Astarion after all, but he doesn't rebuke his partner for pointing this out. There's a level of care and responsibility he shows his partner by accepting their assessment, offering his own feelings on the matter, and clarifying that any distancing between them isn't intentional or out of lack of love. It's in his own Astarion sort of way, but I see it as an attempt to reassure his partner all the same.

And, as a friend pointed out to me, his insistence that his powers will come with time could be out of want to reassure his SO they made the right decision, and that Astarion will be their protector here on out instead of the other way around (see also: "You need not fear anything.")

It might not be the most popular interpretation, but interactions like this make me feel like if his consort was like "hey you seem upset" or distant or angry or anything like that in the future, he would listen earnestly and attempt to assuage those concerns/admit to his role in them.

It's the implications that his SO is being deprived or left wanting for something (like freedom for example) that provoke the angry reactions from him, as he feels very strongly that he's providing everything for them and sees himself in that provider role, I think he takes that as more of an insult than an observation.