FELLAS, IS IT GAY TO BE GAY @homogrimoire - Tumblr Blog

Aug 6

Phoenix

Summary: Dismas' party discovers a strange weapons vendor while exploring the farmstead. The weapons bring nothing bur curses, but one will grant Dismas a wish. Though, nothing is ever free.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Suicide Ideation, Implied Sexual Content, Vulgar Language, Canon Typical Violence, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape (Not mentioned in story, skip photo at top of full work.)

Excerpt:

“The Light has judged thee!” Reynauld shouted, raising the blade above his head and slamming it down. Vvulf let out an inhuman scream as his shoulder was crushed under the force of the Iron Will, bone breaking, skin tearing crudely, flesh torn asunder. The crusader leered at the sight, giggling as if he were entertained by the sight. For as awful as it was, snatching life did bring him satisfaction. At least now, unlike in his Crusades, he was strictly killing vile things such as this brigand. “I’ll see you in hell.” he told the Crusader, eye to eye with him. He could see the eyes of a murderer through the ocularium. He knew the eyes of sinners well. Boom.

AO3 Link

The Farmstead was an awful place. Dismas certainly thought so. Being thrown all over the Estate and into different times was disorienting, to say the least. It reminded Reynauld of his time before becoming a Crusader. A simple life. Pure, honest, innocent. But, it wasn't enough. Reynauld pitied the Farmer for what he had become, and envied him for his success prior to that god damned evil crystal thing. So, Reynauld liked to take expeditions there, and that meant Dismas getting dragged along.

The Heir liked sending them on expeditions together, and the Highwayman and Crusader preferred it that way too. They got good results together. Their teammates came back alive more often than not. Their haul from expeditions averaged below the median, but, the Heir was willing to let it slide if it meant a good expedition.

Dismas knew why. Their Crusader was a klepto. The Heir probably thought it was his Highwayman, considering his prior profession. The blackmail was too valuable to give up though, so Dismas made no attempts to change the Heir’s mind.

He'd hate to see his Crusader be sent to the Sanitarium and come out a better person. He'd put in a lot of work soiling the Crusader’s soul by “defiling” him in lewd manners. Dismas had always figured that piety holy men had was paper thin as a blade of grass. Reynauld loved their trysts, and even the simple yet sinful touches they shared.

Having a klepto Crusader as a close friend certainly had its benefits too. In the midst of some exploring, they wound up finding a weapons vendor, a strange woman with an even stranger collection of wares. They had no gold to give, but since she was a collector of sorts, she agreed to trade their current weaponry for one amongst her collection.

For Junia, she exchanged her weapon for a short, vicious looking blade that the vendor said was named Virginal Sin, and belonged to a woman who died of old age, honoring her vow of chastity. Her two friends had taken this vow with her. One died on a battlefield with her beloved servant, and the other threw herself into the sea with her commoner lover. Obviously, it struck a chord with the holy woman. Such beautiful fates. Which would she meet?

For Sarmenti, a beautiful, sickle-like blade by the name of Eternal Voice. It belonged to a pair of songstresses that never seemed to age, and sung an ancient song in a long forgotten language. As a bonus, the vendor gave him the lyrics and a music sheet for it.

Reynauld traded his weapons for a large hunk of metal called the Iron Will. A thing that was satisfied by the snatching of life, and had a deep, unfulfilled dream of a butterfly, dancing wildly in the rain. It was more hunk of iron than blade, but a Weapon all the same, and nothing more.

As for his spear, Dismas had asked about a rather simple looking spear out of curiosity. Its plainness stood out amongst the menagerie of wild armaments. It was called Spear of the Usurper, and belonged to a thief of sorts. Dismas snorted at the coincidence, the Crusader snapping his head to the Highwayman, his helmet hiding a glare Dismas knew was there. Perhaps as a jest, Reynauld took it, citing that he admired its simplicity and weight distribution. Twas a respectable spear.

Lastly, Dismas got nothing. No amount of flashy looks or silly, made up stories, or semblance of quality would make him give up the weapons he knew and trusted and cared for with his own hands. They were as family. And quite frankly, he didn't trust this vendor. That was just his nature, so no one batted an eye away from the shiny toys when he said they should just keep moving.

“We thank thee for thy time and generosity, Lady Accord, but we must away now. Our contractor demands results in a timely manner. Light upon thy soul.” Reynauld said with a bow and hands clasped at his chest before leading their party onward.

“Of course, a pleasure doing business with you!” she replied with a cheery smile that looked… artificial, to Dismas.

Reynauld was walking faster than usual as they left. Dismas knew what that meant. At least his kleptomania was getting them something this time, as opposed to taking from the Heir. Dismas found it funny. If he were caught stealing, he'd get corporal punishment. When Reynauld was caught stealing, he'd just get a slap on the wrist and told to return his loot. The only difference was that poor Reynauld was a grand Crusader suffering from an unfortunate mental affliction called kleptomania, and Dismas was just a dirty, greedy, good-for-nothing thief who should be hung from the gallows. It's certainly unfair, but Dismas has ways of making sure Reynauld’s sins didn't go unpunished.

With a few more thanks and goodbyes. They eventually found their way somewhere, sometime else. Dismas wanted to ask what he stole, but knew Reynauld would deny anything in front of the others, especially with “Sister Junia here. No way around it too. Definitely stolen goods. Everyone was there, making their deal with the vendor in front of the others.

The next waves of foes proved a good warm up with their new weaponry. They worked as good as any other weapon. At least, that's what they said. The new weapons got them out of Farmstead with nothing that a trip to the healers and some time spent destressing wouldn't fix.

It was in the middle of some destressing that Vvulf attacked again. Dismas had alerted the Heir of an eventual attack. The Hamlet didn't have much, but it had something, and that was enough to make it a target. Dismas being a turncoat and killing some of his former coworkers on the Old Road also made the Hamlet more enticing. Another target on his back. Just what Dismas needed. The other times he was out on an expedition when Vvulf attacked. Now that he was here, he'd see Vvulf dead. Not everyone can be as skilled as himself, evidently. He’s also expecting a bonus for this.

It was a horrible brawl. Dismas cursed his luck, he was about to get drunk when it started. He drank all the time during expeditions, and he's still alive. What difference does it make that it's a fight against Vvulf and company? None.

First thing’s first, find Reynauld. Near the church, swinging the massive hunk of iron he traded for. It's heavy and large enough to cut brigands in twain despite a dull edge. The strength it must take to wield it made Dismas swoon. Between Reynauld's display of strength, the adrenaline, and his pent up stress that needed relief, his lust for the man grew. After this, they were gonna find a nice, filthy alleyway and sucking and fucking.

Dismas pushed the thought away for later. Now was the time for battle. Firing some shots, he helped dispatch some fodder, clearing the church of enemies.

“What shall be our plan of attack, Dismas?” Reynauld asked.

“Let’s find Vvulf. We take him out, the rest will cower and scurry away like rats.” Dismas answered, trying to listen for the sound of the leader’s bombs.

Finally pinpointing them, he and Reynauld advanced. Dismas couldn't wait to fill that man full of lead and slit his throat. He was greedy as hell, took a lot of what Dismas had earned while he sat around, barking left and right. That, among other things Dismas detested.

As soon as he could get a good shot, he fired. The shot rung out, echoing against the shield Vvulf carried.

“The turncoat finally shows up!” Vvulf grinned.

“Shove a bomb up your arse!” Dismas yelled back, reloading behind cover as Reynauld threw his spear.

It grazed his wolf coat, striking a random brigand in his chest, making him slump over. Reynauld tried to rush in with the Iron Will, but Vvulf was quick to ready another bomb. Seeing the attack, Reynauld implanted the slab of iron into the ground, using it as a shield. It landed at the base of the sword, exploding and sending the Crusader and the blade tumbling back. Dismas fired another shot, piercing one of Vvulf’s elbows. The brigand leader yelped in pain and shock, cursing the traitor.

Then, a spear pierced his other shoulder from behind. The Spear of the Usurper had turned his fallen ally against him, the brigand eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

“What!?... Witchcraft…” Vvulf growled with disgust.

“The Light has judged thee!” Reynauld shouted, raising the blade above his head and slamming it down.

Vvulf let out an inhuman scream as his shoulder was crushed under the force of the Iron Will, bone breaking, skin tearing crudely, flesh torn asunder. The crusader leered at the sight, giggling as if he were entertained by the sight. For as awful as it was, snatching life did bring him satisfaction. At least now, unlike in his Crusades, he was strictly killing vile things such as this brigand.

“I’ll see you in hell.” he told the Crusader, eye to eye with him. He could see the eyes of a murderer through the ocularium. He knew the eyes of sinners well.

Boom.

The sudden explosion knocked Dismas off his feet, disorienting him and making his ears ring. He looked to where Vvulf was and saw a pile of black ash and a small hole. Scattered around were pieces of gore. There was a wolf head somewhere, Vvulf’s head right next to it.

Rey.

“Reynauld!” Dismas yelled.

Frantically, he looked around for that shining metal, soon finding it pinned against a wall with a slab of iron penetrating him. From the force of the explosion, the blade had torn through an arm, the tip of it embedded midway through his torso. On the other side, his leg and arm were bent at an unnatural angle in two places, and his armor looked like it had caved in on itself.

“Fuck! JUNIA! ALHAZRED! SOMEONE!”

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

It didn't seem like a lot of blood. Reynauld has survived worse. He's got The Light’s blessing, Junia can work miracles, Alhazred can do miracles of a different sort. They're of a dark nature, but they work well. And there's others who can do something.

Then he notices that awful slab of iron, it's drinking Reynauld's blood.

“I fucking told you lot to not even touch these things!” he berated as he tried to pull out the blade from the wall, and Reynauld's body. Amidst Reynauld's pained cries, with one last heave Dismas pulled it free, sending the blade clattering to the floor with dust and gunpowder flying up before descending back down.

“What the fuck did I tell you, you dumb arse!” he yelled as he carefully lowered Reynauld to the floor. Even the ground still seemed to drink Reynauld’s blood. He just realized that always happened when someone was felled. Their blood never stayed for long

“I am cold, Dismas. Please, hold me close, as thee did in our bed of sin.”

“Quiet, save your energy. Someone will be here soon to help you.” Dismas ordered, obeying Reynauld's command to hold him close.

His blood was soaking into his clothes. Dismas lowered his kerchief, looking down at Reynauld and removing his helmet after. His face was pale, and blood streaked his beard and lips. It… Things were bad.

“I took this for thee.” Reynauld spoke, barely above a whisper, weakly pulling out a golden dagger. “A blade like a Bird of the Holy Flame. To protect thee.”

“I hate that stuff…” Dismas said, voice threatening to crack as his eyes began to water. “I hate you.”

No holding back now. He leaned into Reynauld, sobbing into the crook of his neck.

“Sorry, Dismas. I love thee.”

The Crusader's body went limp, and the dagger slid onto the floor, quietly. Dismas’ anguished cries tore through this small corner of the Hamlet.

Dismas didn't show up to the funeral. He was still drunk. If he were lucky, his liver might finally give out and he can die the slow death he deserves. He's not a lucky man.

He's alone in a ditch right now. He's not sure where exactly, just that it's daytime and still within the town. He always imagined dying in a ditch like this. He turned over, staring at the sky as some birds flew above.

“I'm not dead yet.” he told them.

It's an awful world they live in. How is it fair that someone like him lives while someone like Reynauld is dead? Such a stupid death too. Felled by a brigand boss’ final fuck you. Not in fighting for The Light as a Crusader does, not in protecting the innocent, but in killing a thief.

Maybe he did deserve it. Reynauld wasn't some sinless saint. But that made him love him. So what if his Crusader wasn't perfect? He loved him. Couldn't the universe respect that? No. It isn't fair. Even The Light promises suffering on the earth as they live. Whenever he remembers he didn't tell Reynauld he loved him, he wonders why he couldn't have been just a little bit better of a person and told him so instead of saying he hated him.

“I curse this world. I curse the dark gods. I curse the light. I curse this wretched place most of all. I hope you become nothing.”

Dismas felt a pit in his chest. He'd never known such malice and hatred to be within himself.

The light around him seemed to grow brighter, warmer. Perhaps it was The Light preparing to smite him. Good. A winged being descended down, majestically flapping its wings as Dismas lay there, accepting his fate with scorn running though every fiber of his being.

“Allow me to grant you your wish.” it spoke, once close enough. Dismas noticed the dagger Reynauld stole for him. He quickly snatched it from the holy bird's clutches.

“Wish upon this dagger, and never forget the hatred in your heart.”

“I won't. Not ever. I wish this evil in this world to be destroyed, to see it with my own eyes, and do it with my own hands.”

Dismas never let go of the dagger. He was merciless in the expeditions. He talked less, drank less, stressed out less. He just needed to kill the evil within the world that lay here.

The Heir liked the results. However, when the opportunity to pull Reynauld back from beyond the grave arose, it was an easy decision to make. Reynauld was a valuable asset despite his thievery, and his results with Dismas had yet to be matched by any other pairings.

The man had only been dead for about two years. Plenty of time to get him back into top form before expeditions into The Darkest Dungeon. And well, seeing the two together did warm The Heir’s otherwise cold heart.

Dismas sat motionless, slumped down on his knees. Everyone was dead. He couldn't tell where Reynauld's remains even were. He'd lost him again. He couldn't hold him like last time. He didn't have the chance to say “I love you.” He would have said it this time.

“I would have said it this time…” he agreed.

The Heart Of Darkness lay in front of him, near death, waiting to be finished off. All Dismas had was his bare hands. Their weapons had broken, and were lost amongst the “debris” and “remains.” For two more years, he was happy with Reynauld. They were on the path of atonement, and were going to see it though together. And now he was gone again.

He broke down, sobbing and wailing. It was ugly. It's never pretty, hearing a grown man cry. It almost didn't sound human. It almost didn't sound sad. When it didn't sound like pain, it almost sounded like celebration. His face contorted with despair, wet with tears. The end was nigh.

His lamentation echoed in this “place.”

Suddenly, after his cries fell to sobs, Dismas felt a warm light beneath him. He sniffed and downgraded his sobs to whimpers as he looked down. The holy bird was descending towards him again. He stared at the holy bird, and it stared back. It was holding the dagger. He wondered where it vanished to one day. He presumed it was Reynauld’s doing and never thought about it again.

“Do you remember your vow?” it asked.

Dismas didn't answer. He didn't remember.

I won't. Not ever. I wish this evil in this world to be destroyed, to see it with my own eyes, and do it with my own hands. his voice spoke. He’s not sure if he said it now or then, here or there, but he said it.

Dismas’s eyes focused on the dagger, seeing his reflection in the blade. Then, he looked at the Heart Of Darkness again. It seemed to have labored "breathing." He looked down at the bird and blade again.

“How long will your hatred burn this time?" it wondered, looking at Dismas, then at a pile of scrap metal and flesh with brown hair sewn in, then at the dying god, and finally at Dismas again. The sound of the flap of its divine wings rung in Dismas' ears.

Dismas reached down and gently took the Phoenix Dagger into his hand, then gripping it tightly.

“For the rest of my life.”

#darkest dungeon #i love angst so much