Little Bursts

Donate Here! Message me via your chosen media and I will give you a personal little burst of fiction.

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For a donation I take a picture of you and Intergrate you into a universe of your choice!

Message a picture of yourself and make a donation of pennies or coins and I’ll turn you into a character within the universe of your choice, eg, dragon age, mass effect, lord of the rings, Harry Potter, supernatural, literally anything.

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The sun was setting on the horizon, giving her the advantage of shadow yet causing more problems as the creatures weren’t as nocturnal as she’d wish, but this was not her first hunt nor the last, she was blessed with trust, the trust of the clan and the forest. She had earned it with her skill with a bow and wisdom of the ancestors and gods. Her markings upon her brow showed a great importance bestowed on her, she was the best hunter in the Brecillian Forest. She never took more than the clan needed and never gloated over her kills, the forest provided so much for her people it would be rude to upset any of the balance. Then the gods would not be pleased.

She had found her mark whilst keeping to the shade and drew her bow soundlessly to her chin exhaling to steady her aim, the world stood still and she revelled in the eerie calm of it. Her fingers eased and the bow string sang, it was the only noise the deer had before an arrow was embedded in its flank stilling its heart and giving it an instant death.

She offered her prayer of thanks and took out her knife to salvage every piece keeping to the traditional cuts and slices. Her pack full and her hands cleaned she stood proudly at being the one to supply the clan with such rich materials.

Her gaze spotted a snapped twig a few branches higher, she usually would chalk that up to forest critters frolicking, how ever news had recently reached the clan of the blight extending from Ostager and the wilds. This was a dangerous time. Usually the blight never effected the Dalish but this was always because of their traditions; fight the Shem, flee from the blight.

Besides, it was only a single twig, but the thoughts wouldn’t disappear from her mind. And being a curious elf she sought a trail and to her dismay found one easily, Darkspawn weren’t subtle.

She dropped her pack, hidden from view and continued on the path scouting their whereabouts. Her ears caught the sounds of fire crackling and the balking of nearby Grenlocks. Stopping her tracks she followed the invasive sounds which lead her to an embankment overlooking a bright glow. She dropped to her knees and peered over the ridge to a stunned view. She pulled back in shock and had her hand over her mouth to quell the scream she felt rising up at the scene below her.

A Darkspawn scouting party eating the remains of her kin.

Her rage was palpable, building she walked away from the edge to, plan to strategise, she must warn her clan! She must return with the warriors and the keeper.

It was no use, her mind knew the right path to take, her feet did not. She had turned back to embankment her hunting knives in both hands her rage on her face. Her sorrow in her cry. She left from the edge right before the fire giving the enemy no warning. Her kin would have fought with honour and would of announced their prensence but Darkspawn fight with deceit and tricks befitting filth. She gave no such notice and struck out at the two nearest laying on their sides a third had stood behind her so she span low and sliced his tendons revelling once more and the sounds of pain and the gurgle of suffocation. She wasn’t done, two remained and stumbled at arming themselves and this gave her the time she needed to jump above them and fall behind to gut one in the side and the other in the neck spraying the black poison all over her leathers and skin dying them with more filth. She had missed one she spotted him run off in the distance and with heaving breathes she dropped her knives and unhooked her bow, notched an arrow and took aim. She exhaled once more and let her rage carry the death blow.

It missed. Never before had she missed since her coming of title she dropped her bow he was too far for her to reach she could see his realisation as he turned and laughed his victory, she nearly gave chase when a ginormous foot squished him flat to the ground with an echo’d crunch that even reached her.

She looked up to the tree beast and saw his nod. The forest had provided for her again.

Finally she had time to mourn. She looked around her for something to carry the remains of her brethren the tears trailing a path down her face and leaving streaks in the black that covered her.

They were young not long into their titles and no doubt had at least one love waiting for them at the encampment. She gathered them up, a pitiful amount and secured them to her, picked up her blades and thought of the deer in her pack. It could wait. Or be consumed by the forest.

She made her way back and felt the stares from her kin some clutching other and more than one touching their weapons. Only one looked glad to see her return.

She fell to her knees in front of the keeper her good friend and ally. She placed her hands upon the huntresses head and softly spoke.

’It is time to leave.’

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He was slobbering on her hand, she barley contained her disgust at the oaf of a man but still managed a smile to placate him. He was the host of the nights ball after all, and she was obligated to dance the first with him both being bachelors. ‘Milanthe, your snow skin positively glows under my chandelier and may I compliment you on your choice of colours? Divine inspiration indeed pairing a celestial blue and silver. Her ears had been tipped with silver dust to accentuate the points, her jewellery delicate silvers, but her gown was that of a deep blue form hugging in the middle to a flare at the hips with deep intricate weaving waves of silver inlays. ‘Thank you sire, you look extremely dapper yourself this eve. Shall we?’ Motioning to the dance floor with a gloved hand he took it in his own. Her grin was slipping, she had no time for simpering males, for grand balls showing status with materials, she long to be at home with- ‘Careful my dear, least your pretty neck breaks!’ A saying in Orlais, but still a rude one. She found her shoe under her skirts and replaced the offending foot. Smiling apologetically to her inevitable partner for the evening, she took her position hand pressed against his mirroring his stance and waited for the barrage to begin. Oh but of course he was light on his feet, a flippity man intent on embarrassing her further within the elite circles gathering to watch. This wasn’t her upbringing, but she had no choice now. She didn’t suppose she ever did really, being the ward of a wealthy dignitary the estate and riches had gone to her. Her introduction to the circles had been swift brutal and very unkind. Hearing the phrase knife ear was more common nowadays than when they had thought her a lowly serf. The song had sped up, she was in danger again of loosing a shoe. Thankfully it abruptly ended. She had spun about and pirouetted in time with the music and felt her first test complete. Now she needed air lest her corset burst. Curtsying for the host she made her way to the gardens kept immaculate by talented hands of course and sat on the centre fountains edge alone gathering her thoughts. ‘Do you wish to be alone?’ Her shock at hearing someone speak was negated by her shock at seeing who did. ‘You should not be here! What if you are caught! What are you doing?’ She brought upon herself worries and concerns that the intruder just smiled away and thumbed her cheek. ‘And what,’ his accent very thickly antivan, ‘miss the opportunity to see my love dressed as such?’ If not for the silver dust her ears would be red from the blushing. ‘You couldn’t of waited a few hours?’ She felt her hands being tugged to stand ‘If you knew how painful a wait that would truly be...’ Her eyes closed as he drew her closer hearing the host call her name from the balcony.

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Not since her voyage from Orlais had she ever seen the splendid silks and cloth fluttering past her eyes as they landed at a heap on her desk in front of her. ‘You understand don’t you miss, that these clothes are worth more than your life!’ His accent antivan and his posture orlisian gave a colourful picture into his upbringing but she cared not a bit for the posh fru fru man, not when she was already running scenarios for more clientele of the same calibre for her steady job, that of a seamstress and travelling merchant. ‘Of course not sire! Why I’ll treat them better than I would myself.’ She smiled reassuringly and he grimaced. She took no offence to it mind, she knew what she was doing, she grew as familiar with this role as she did plaiting and weaving the hair on her head every morn. Her mother once told her to smile and the whole world won’t notice a blemish. She smiled a lot but not to hide a blemish. ‘But tell me sire,’ she stood with her hands on her desk,’ are these garments worth more than yours?’ In a flash she produced two daggers hidden under the desk and held one to his throat and the other to his groin. Before a look of confusion could become him. ‘It might take a little more than silk to persuade my blades away.’ He moved a slight as if to try and make a run from it, skittish foreigner. ‘Ah ah ah! It’s poisoned, can’t have a accidental nicking right?’ His mouth had begun to tremble looking at odds with the mask stoically sitting over his eyes. ‘How much?’ Her eyes gleamed at the answer yet there was a need to be answered here. ‘Well sire, how much do you have?’ ... At the end of the day she had made a great sum sewing for the masses and selling her cloths. Her pouch all the heavier for the orlisian snob. Poor thing, did he hear about Rivain and think he could handle it? Mayhap he thought the women kind? Or gullible? Not like she knew about it growing up away from these streets but to have a head that far up in the clouds? She sat and wrote her missive: -idiot dead in few days, thanks for tip he was a gusher- She attached it to her carrier crow and watched it fly across the closing market. Bet even after all the pomp and prattle about state of clothing he never even noticed a hole on his thigh...

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His face was black again, viewing this from the nearby water feature he inwardly groaned. ‘She will not be pleased.’ He received many slaps on the back from those that had also been hard at work manning the billows for the forges. He knew he was to be a blacksmith there was no doubt from birth the talent and the pride flowed through his veins and he loved every sweat drop spent and every new burn in addition to the next. News had come from far within the deep roads war was brewing. He laughed out right at the messenger, when wasn’t war infesting the underveins of the earth? If it weren’t darkspawn it was a warring faction, and if not them then thieves from the surface world plundering dwarven rightful history. Pah! The natures of beasts are the true blights. His thoughts were interrupted by his assistant Dremer, who carried a large tome in his meaty hands and as he slammed it on the table in-front of him began poking at it with a carrot stick he seemed to produce from his pocket. ‘Eah, what you after this fer eh? Bit late ain’t it?’ From what could be heard from the dwarf behind the cracking of carrot. ‘Nothing that concerns you, it ain’t none of your business you hear?’ Giving a grunt for good measure he hefted the book under his arm and turned and faced the exit forgetting his face was blackened with oil, grease and flames from the days work. He continued in that direction heading past the tavern and his underlings blaring coaxing bribes hands already filled with swill not fit for a nug. He continued past the tournament bridge feeling the coin in his pouch getting heavier from wanting to be gambled with. He continued all through the markets and stalls not once stopping and ignoring all greetings and shaking a of heads until he reached his own dwelling. A modest beautiful home fit for king, as what made it so was the queen inhabiting it. Smells tantalising his senses greeted him as he entered and he discarded his boots in the ‘muck square’ as she called it and slammed the door to the outside closed. ‘Et-Han! I know I didn’t hear that door slam!’ A dwarven lass appeared from the doorway to the kitchens wiping her hands on her pinnyfor. ‘I have told you before about cleaning your face before even thinking about setting foot in this house! Get to the wash rooms! No supper otherwise you hear!’ He grunted in return and peered into the rooms she had come from. Empty. ‘I gave them the evening off, I wanted to cook tonight anyways in celebration!’ She seemed happy enough. He kissed her head and followed his feet upstairs and proceeded to scrub off the days wear as best as possible then fell into the nearest room and spied the chair placed there especially for this moment. Perching down and crossing his legs at his ankles he opened the book and started to read. Aloud. ‘Sanna, was THE paragon blacksmith, he created legendary weapons and armour that won countless wars and bore a son Sannadan this tradition continued down the ages, and now my boy, is time for yours to continue,.’ he looked over the railings of the cot where his young one slept. A brawny healthy little one that Et-Han could easily see wielding a hammer at the forge. He penned in his sons name to the family records. He had a blessed life, his son will too.

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She placed the crown a top her head and ignored the continuation of snores from the bed beside her dresser. A smile formed on her fair face whilst her sunshine coloured hair tried to escape the self-updo and fall in waves over her collar bone. Her dress had to be taken in again by the palace seamstress as it seemed even if there was now a dwarven queen the attire was still being assembled. Her gaze rose to the head of the bed, a coat of arms with her axes crossed underneath, polished and at the ready should any need arise. *knock knock knock* Such as now ‘Your majesties, a missive from your former companion.’ She sighs as she rises from her stool and kicks the kings foot over hanging the mattress. ‘Stop drooling and wake up! Or I set the hound on you!’ This rouses the blonde man now wide awake and sporting a scared expression. ‘That wasn’t funny then and it sure as adraste’s tits isn’t now!’ remembering the slobbery mess created, a laugh comes from her mouth before she can hold it in and opens the door. ‘It’s from Morrigan,’ she opens the letter and falls to the floor cross legged and utters a curse a noble caste lady would never speak. Alistair snatches it from her and reads for himself before squeezing his wife’s shoulder. ‘I have a son...’

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When looking upon the mirror in her room she couldn’t help but notice her hair appear inflamed in the morning sun as she repositioned her piercings. Her fingers brushing the colourful strands over her delicate pointed ears. This was the day, the day of her harrowing. Feeling nervous beyond belief she donned her black robes the colour giving her confidence and let her markings appear above the neckline in a final act of defiance. She will show obedience, she will show contrition, she will never show fear. She draws the lines as war paint around her eyes. She is ready...

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The light smattering of freckles gives the look of youth into the elf. The deceptive smile the inkling of an impish nature. But to a Shem? The Dalish are not your friends. Her raven hair hides her in shadow, her blades hidden about her she turns and and shows you once more, that smile is not for you, but the prey insnared in her trap.

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She was lacing up her armour in her tent when the first ‘oof’ Was issued by her mabari standing up from its bed. ‘Go’ she simply said and tied her hair up grabbing her sword and shield, she followed the hound the mabari in lead as trained. Her face was wearing a look of glee and masked marks of ash. Her armour a shade of dried blood proudly worn and boasted about over ale. As the tent flaps parted and the sounds of unsheathed weapons sounded, the enemy had underestimated her skill. But mostly her rage. She rallied herself with her cries to take on the fools who dared impose on her warriors camp. She’d take this lot by herself, along side her companion of course for what is an Ash Warrior without their hound?

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She preferred it here, alone seeking solace in the tomes surrounding her. Away from the politics, away from the glares, the passive aggressive remarks from both Templar and Mage. She was happy loosing herself in stories and research, history and geography, not that she’d see much in person if at all really. She didn’t mind, books took her to places sometimes not of this world and what more could a caged bird ask for? She had survived her harrowing, she had survived her youth she will survive her surroundings now. Drawing her knees to her chest she balanced her recent read in the groove of her legs and pulled down her dark gown, her pointed ears free of her short hair as the current heroine brandished a sword at her oppressor and gave a war cry to shudder the mountains. Howe gave a sigh, if only she could be so brave, so bold, so sassy! ‘Lookit Sawain a mouse caught in a trap’ She closed the book swiftly with a start and hid it in the folds of her skirts. And bowed her head, keeping silent. ‘What are you reading mouse? Apostate propaganda?’ Her eyes widened, the plot could be seen as rebellious material! ‘Ahah! We do have an apostate on our hands! Filthy knife ears, filthy mage!’ She felt the kick before it came. And the next one and the one after that. It took a few more blows before the background screams became loud enough to pull the attention from her and back to duty. Out of breath they looked at each other in concern before turning and disappearing from view. Movement was slow at first she didn’t want to but there was an urgency in the air a panic and warrant for action. Her ribs hurt her legs felt wrong her face was numb, but it wasn’t the time. This wasn’t unusual but dammit it wasn’t her fault! A familiar and extremely loud scream sounded a few rows behind her. Agneta a student like her slammed into the shelf rows at Howe’s back, her screams turning into a gurgle as a spray of blood found its way through the gaps in the shelving. She was in a daze she didn’t fully understand. As she heard Deep breaths sounding to the right of her and creeping closer she drew on her courage and engulfed herself in flame. It was instant. She had never known or shown such power before. Her pain increasing her urgency her fear making it potent. She felt alive, she felt free, she felt... powerful. She knew what needed to be done, she knew who needed to die. As long slender fingers tipped with claws wound their way around the corner of a row to appear in full view, it also became her first target. Heaving deep breaths of rage and pain she got out one word of ‘abomination’, Before she let it all out in a war cry.

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