As always, I do my best to keep my tags organized and any triggers labeled. If I missed anything though, please let me know so I can fix it. Enjoy!
Intro post here
Recent Updates:
4/30/21: Both Captain Physalia and Crushjaw have been added, and can be found below in their respective sections!
7/14/21: A new installment for Destrier has been added, and a new character arrives! Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae has been added to the masterlist, and can be found below in her respective section!
4/19/22: A new installment has been added for Elanor, and can be found below in her respective section!
Trigger Key:
🍆 = Explicit Elements
💧 = Emotional Elements
💢 = Violent Elements (abuse and/or canon-typical violence)
⛔ = Nonconsensual Elements (explicit and/or alluded to)
✔️ = Complete
💚💚💚
~🔥DESTRIER REVEL:
Burn The Wicked (Destrier-centric) Rated M for canon-typical violence and character death. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧💢 ✔️
For Leofore (Leofore-centric) Rated M for canon-typical violence and character death. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧💢 ✔️
Light And Home (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated G for emotional duress. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧 ✔️
So Little Time (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated M for smut. Trigger warnings listed inside 🍆💧 ✔️
A Choice (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated M for canon-typical violence and smut. Trigger warnings listed inside 🍆💧💢 ✔️
Worth The Wait (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated M for smut. Trigger warnings listed inside 🍆💧 ✔️
The Most Important Part (Destrier Revel x Illeria Stennas) Rated G for fluff. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧 ✔️
💚💚💚
~💙CAPTAIN PHYSALIA:
At Your Own Peril (Physalia-centric) Rated M for canon-typical violence and character death. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧💢 ✔️
💚💚💚
~🦏RUMON ‘CRUSHJAW’ THAERSKAINE:
Rearmed (Crushjaw-centric) Rated M for canon-typical violence. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧💢 ✔️
💚💚💚
~🦄ELANOR AMROTH-RUBIACEAE:
The Dark Secret of House Amroth-Rubiaceae (Elanor-centric) Rated M for emotional duress. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧 ✔️
Further Misadventures (Elanor-centric) Rated G for fluff. ✔️
The Nightmare (Elanor-centric) Rated M for emotional duress. Trigger warnings listed inside 💧 ✔️
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.
Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter
Inspired by: Ola Gjeilo: Before Dawn
Elanor's Backstory: The Dark Secret of House Amroth-Rubiaceae
Further Misadventures
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional duress. Stay safe!]
Elanor settled down at the table, still shivering. The steaming tankard hit the scarred wooden surface in front of her and she jumped, looking up at Auguste.
He was just as wet as she was, the older man fit to be tied. "Drink that. It'll warm you up." He muttered.
"What is it?" The mage asked warily, wrapping her hands around the tankard and sighing in relief at the heat that seeped through the metal.
"Spiced brandy."
Auguste only realized his blunder while he was in the process of securing them a room and something to eat. Food first, then drink. He swore under his breath. Gods damn it all.
Elanor's face was already beginning to flush when the older man returned to the table with two bowls of thick stew. Baal and Haethon were camped beside her, Baal tearing into some mutton while Haethon picked delicately at an assortment of hardy local fruits and cheeses.
Auguste did his best to not be put out by the fact that the others had taken the only seats alongside Elanor, simply placing the hot bowl of hearty stew in front of her and then sitting across the table. His companions had at least left him a spot where he could observe both the front door and the hallway that led deeper into the inn. Elanor, polite as ever, thanked him for the stew and then tucked in ravenously.
She didn't seem overly tipsy despite the drink, her eyes simply roaming the room a little more boldly than her usual propriety would have allowed her to previously. Auguste was bemused by a smear of grease on her chin from her indelicate eating and he was quick to lift his napkin to daub at the area. The soft "thank you, Sir Auguste" was barely audible over the din of the room, but she may as well have shouted it. The older man felt his breath hitch even as he brushed it off, offering her a simple nod and then returning to his own dinner.
Dissatisfaction wrenched at his core. He should not be dwelling on these things, these flights of fancy. He tried to reassure himself that he knew nothing would come of it, tried to claim that there was no harm in it, but…ah, there truly was no point in thinking on it, was there?
Elanor clung to his arm when they left the common room for the evening, her steps a bit less than steady and her voice taking on a soft sing-song from the strong drink. Auguste found the whole thing rather entertaining; she was so used to imbibing watered wines or various fruity cordials that a simple hot brandy had her head spinning.
Once she had changed into her dry things she seemed almost unbearably sleepy, hardly able to keep her eyes open long enough to hang up her damp skirts and cloak to dry. Auguste finally ushered her to bed even as she protested, the young woman putting up a vague semblance of a struggle at being treated like a child.
"Sleep, damn it. You're already three-quarters of the way there." The older man ordered with a scowl, pulling the coverlet up to her chin.
Elanor squinted up at him narrowly, catching his hand as he turned to hang up his own wet things. "Wait." She protested. "Wait."
"Yes? What is it now, El?" Auguste asked, a bit cross at being kept from his rest.
"Wait." Elanor's voice had softened, and she pressed his hand to her cheek. "Don't leave me here, Sir Auguste."
The plea caught him off guard. Auguste's brow furrowed. "El, I'm just-"
"Please." She begged softly, gazing up at him. "I don't want to be alone anymore. Please don't leave me."
"Woman," Auguste huffed, his mind racing with thoughts that he did not need right now thank you. "I'm moving to the other side of the room to hang my damn breeches to dry. Calm yourself."
"Will you come right back?" She asked timidly.
Auguste allowed his tone to gentle for the barest instance. "Yes, El."
That seemed to satisfy her enough to relinquish her hold on his hand. Auguste may have taken a bit longer than he needed to while he hung up his personal effects, mentally reminding himself that she was drunk and this was not how she would behave normally, his own wishes be damned. Her words had held a certain tremor in them that did make him a touch curious, he would grudgingly admit that much. But there was no point in thinking about it, none at all.
Elanor had shifted onto her side once he returned, the young woman clearly dozing in and out. "Sleep, El." Auguste muttered, placing a hand on the crown of her head. "Sleep."
"You came back." Elanor breathed, smiling blearily up at him. The older man nodded, his throat having gone strangely tight. "Thank you, Sir Auguste."
He gruffed out something noncommittal and retired to his own bed, unsettled by the naked gratitude in her tone. It was not usual for someone of polite society to be so frank or honest. He reminded himself once more that she was a bit drunk, so perhaps it was to be expected.
The man wearily tugged out his journal, intending to log their progress before dousing the lamp for the evening. Sleep, however, seemed to have other plans.
×+×
"Sister Elanor?"
The young woman started, looking around the shadowed courtyard wildly. Her guimpe seemed to tighten down around her throat, constricting her breath.
The reverend mother 'tsk'ed, appearing disappointed. "Lost in prayerful contemplation, Sister?"
"I…" Elanor cast her mind back over the last events she recalled, panic welling up in her chest. "Where is Auguste?"
"Sir De Verley? Why, he hasn't returned since he escorted you here years ago." The older woman paused. "What ails you, my child? You have gone pale."
Years ago. Elanor's hands balled into fists in the modest black tunic she did not recall donning. Years ago? "That cannot be right," she replied weakly, "we had just gone to bed in the inn, when did…?"
The reverend mother's stern expression softened slightly. "You were daydreaming again, my child. Another echo of the past for you to ponder upon."
Elanor's vision swam with unshed tears. A daydream. Was that all the time had been? Just a dream, a passing fancy? Had she lost hold of herself so thoroughly that reality and fiction could meld, could fool her into believing her delusions were her life? "I…I'm afraid I feel unwell," she said, her voice faint.
The reverend mother helped her rise and straightened her wimple about her face. "All will be put to rights, Sister Elanor. Fear not, my child. It is just another one of your spells." The older woman reassured her with a kind smile. "You know your health has always been so fragile."
Fragile. Fragile. Fragile.
"I suppose it has." Elanor acquiesced. But the words felt wrong, as if she was willfully lying.
The matron took her arm, gently steering her towards a somewhat-dilapidated archway. Through it, Elanor could see the convent's central garden and the other sisters passing through it in pairs. Somehow she knew it was time for vespers, even without the low, doleful toll of the bell that echoed through the still air to alert her.
She noticed the last golden rays of daylight grazing the top of the crumbling stone arch above her, and Elanor hesitated and closed her eyes to let the warmth rest on her cheeks for that fleeting moment. Her face was damp with tears, yet she could already feel the sunlight drying the tracks to tight lines down her face. It reminded her of the one time she had been to the seaside as a child, scrambling over the rocks and sand with the single-minded intentness that many a youth possessed. She had tasted the bitter salt on her lips over and over again as the wind whipped the spray into the air…
A deep melancholy took hold of her heart, gut-wrenching in its certain finality. Auguste was not here. There had been no travels with Baal and Haethon, or Cortland and Nectarine. There had been no adventure, none at all.
She was alone.
×+×
A hand shaking her shoulder made Elanor flinch awake, her eyes flying open. The convent of her dream dissolved, its decayed edifice replaced by rough-hewn pine clapboards bathed in the soft yellow hues of guttering lamplight.
The young woman released a sob of relief when she saw Sir De Verley hovering over her, his look one of concern, and she wasted no time flinging her arms around his neck to pull him close. "Auguste," she wept into his shoulder. The man had stiffened somewhat at her touch, but then proceeded to relax a bit. She felt his hand gingerly cradle the back of her head.
"Whatever it was," he murmured after a few moments of silence, "it's gone now. Only a dream, El. I'm here. You're safe."
Perdita 'Aurelezra' Gentle's Backstory: From Elsewhere
Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)
Pairing: N/A, Perdita-Centric
Rating: Holy shit M.
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Perdita Gentle. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.
Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: The Little Mermaid Score: Bedtime and sleepmakeswaves: One Day You Will Teach Me To Let Go Of My Fears
[Perdita Gentle is a Warforged celestial warlock utilizing the Pact Of The Bastion homebrew, and her appearance can be found here!]
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including vivid depictions of violence and brief mentions of character death. Stay safe!]
It came from elsewhere...
Amidst the hail of shooting stars peppering the landscape from the tail of the near-passing comet, something else arrived.
It was frail, fragile, spindly fingers clawing for purchase on the walls of the crater it emerged from. It did not make it much further than that, and it was discovered the following morning by two children surveying the damage in their family's garden.
Between the two of them, they propped it up, marveling at the chipped red gilding that coated its limbs. It stirred and they fled in a panic, running back towards the large house and calling for their parents.
×+×
Brand stared down at the crumpled mess of Warforged on his front terrace, an eyebrow raised. His two young children danced around his legs, alternating between pulling him forward and tugging him back. "This is the cause of all the fuss? This?" He asked incredulously.
"It moved by itself!"
"Aye, just as you move by yourself." The former captain commented dryly, ruffling his daughter's hair and utterly destroying the complex tangle of braids her mother had labored over. "You two lubbers have seen Warforged before, or have you forgotten?"
"Testin doesn't look like that!" His son protested. "Testin has a face!"
"You know how your hair is different from mine, pup? And how your sister's nose is less prodigious than this beak I sport? Warforged have such varied traits as well."
The head on the thing looked like an old Thanatonaut relic, just a smooth dome. It also bore archaic equipment for off-Flow navigation on the inside of its arms. Brand heaved out a sigh, smoothing a finger over his brown mustache in a meditative manner.
"Well, we can't just leave 'em out here. Ceere, have your mother ring Testin. And you, Kamer, are going to help me settle this poor rattler into one of our chairs out here." Brand rolled his eyes at how pale his son went, while Ceere stuck her tongue out at him. "Oi, chit, stop taunting your brother. Now shoo, and make sure your mother knows to tell Testin that it's important!"
×+×
Brand Gentle had made his fortune in his younger years as the eventual captain on a deep-space excavation platform. He had seen many odd things in his day, unearthed strange and unusual artifacts from times long gone by. Thanatonaut helms that predated mankind's fumbling into Flow travel, monoliths to terrible and forgotten powers; the refuse of man's advance into the stars.
Yet he had never seen anything quite like this. A Warforged birthed of a meteor, trimmed in battered red and gold like the veils of the Vespertine Order.
The former captain sat on his patio across from the mysterious Warforged, finally leaning forward in his chair after he collected his thoughts. "What is your name?" He asked quietly.
The thing ticked and whirred, and a hoarse voice answered, "I have no designation." A female voice.
Brand sighed heavily. He should have known it wouldn't be so straightforward. Beside him, Testin Awe cleared his throat. "Think back. Can you remember what happened before you woke in the Gentle's prize rose garden?" The hulking Warforged's tone was dry, blue eyes darting to Brand when he touched upon the sensitive subject. Brand was exceedingly protective of his roses.
More ticking. "Darkness." An odd shimmy of mechanics long unused as she tipped her head to the side. "I fell."
"I bet you did." Testin replied, then muttered under his breath, "Captain, she's battier than the Bakhroma Green."
Brand waved him off, giving the faceless Warforged across from him a tight smile. She cocked her head to the side again, and he got the unsettling feeling that he was being studied.
"I hurt your flowers. How can I fix them?" She queried.
Brand blinked. Testin, despite lacking an actual throat, seemed quite intent on clearing it today.
×+×
Calling her Perdita seemed to be a given. She was lost, constantly, wandering the grounds of the Gentle estate at all hours of the night and day. She had no physical needs, as was the custom of her race, so Brand saw no harm in her roving. She certainly didn't seem malicious, just curious in a blunt way.
Libertia, Brand's wife, took an odd shine to the spacey automaton. The former captain often found the woman chatting to her, trying to help her expand her ability for speech. Perdita was minimalist in her words, though she did eventually begin to speak more as the years passed.
Testin thought Perdita was a bit touched. "Still a little battle-rattle in that one." He had remarked privately to Brand, his craggy face oddly sympathetic for a Warforged. "Hard to shake sometimes."
Brand knew better than most folk that Warforged were more than adequate matches for their fleshy counterparts, and he took everything his old first mate told him as gospel. Testin was in agreement with Brand that the red and gold Warforged was decidedly not a threat.
"She just likes the flowers?" Testin asked suddenly one evening as he and Brand sat on the terrace. Brand nodded lazily, the smoke from his cheroot cigar twirling and arching through the air. "I don't get it, but...well, I guess you did have a penchant for gathering up the misfits." The gray-green Warforged allowed, his sidelong grin making Brand chuckle. "She's happy here, y'know. She mentioned it to me earlier. She thinks she's helping when you let her trim the bushes." His laughter was a rusty noise.
"She loves talking with Lib. Er, with may not be the right term. My wife could talk the legs off a table." Brand smiled fondly and Testin rolled those glowing blue eyes.
"Have you heard from Kamer at all?" The large Warforged changed the subject, frowning when the former captain sighed and shook his head.
"I'm not sure I should have sent him away for his schooling. What with the Empire gaining ground steadily, I'm uncertain how long the boarding schools will be safe."
"Hey, Kamer's smart. You know that. That kid won't get himself tangled up in anything. Besides, what the hell would the Empire want with a kid who's sole aspiration is to be an architect?" Testin tilted his head. "Now, Ceere-"
"Don't remind me, she's apprenticed to the Facturers now. Hopefully, by the grace of the gods, she'll put her tinkering tendencies to good use and stop destroying my beautiful skiffs." Brand groaned, putting his head in his hands.
"I mean, she's got great potential. Engine ripped itself apart in three different places."
"I'm well aware, you mechanical menace. It was my favorite Screamer class!"
×+×
Libertia was the one to suggest that Perdita consider taking up the habit of the Vespertine Order.
"You seem at peace whenever you come with me to chapel, Perdie." She commented one afternoon over tea. Brand raised an eyebrow at his wife, then glanced at the featureless automaton across the way. "Have you ever thought about joining the convent?" Libertia queried.
Perdita hummed thoughtfully. "I like the chapel. It's quiet. Makes me feel like I can stop moving." She offered a shrug. "I know I'm not...quiet." She was a much older model than Testin and her body tended to rattle or squeak at odd intervals.
"You don't feel like you can be still here?" Brand asked curiously.
"I am restless." The Warforged admitted quietly. "Some things help. The garden. The chapel."
Brand grunted, settling back in his chair and lapsing into thought. The Vespertine sisters were a formidable bunch, for all that they resided on this backwater planetoid. They seemed to have their proverbial fingers in a multitude of pies. He wasn't sure if he trusted them with his Perdie.
His mustache quirked up in a wry grin, realizing that he was thinking of the Warforged like she was one of his own children. "Do what you think is best, Perdie. Perhaps the quiet will help you sort yourself out. Gods know we tithe enough to the church, maybe in exchange for our continued generosity they'll accept someone a little less fleshy than their usual ranks."
He got the faintest impression that Perdita was beaming at him, her whole body haloed with a strange golden light. But Brand blinked and the light was gone. He shook his head at himself, vowing not to spike his afternoon tea so strongly next time.
×+×
When the Empire came to the planet years later, they struck without warning.
Evening prayer had just finished, the last fleeting rays of sunlight peering through the simple leaded glass windows of the chapel. Perdita sat docile in the pew, her head bowed beneath her veil.
"It makes me glad to know that you've found some sort of peace and purpose." Brand commented, the now-elderly man ambling up alongside her. "Never put much faith in this church business, myself. Give me the Flow and a nimble craft and I'm a content man."
"Captain." She inclined her head. She had heard his sentiment many times before.
"I'm surprised you haven't gone out to chart the world, my dear. Your cartographer's gear will get rusty!" The former captain teased, settling down into the pew and patting her arm. "Surely, the Vespertine sisters ought to be spread?"
"It is dangerous." Perdita sighed. "I am trying. The Ferrarium Empire-"
"Bah, belay that codswallop here." Brand groused. "Bunch of nobles in stuffed shirts with too many guns and not enough good sense. Stole my good boy away and turned him into a simpering buffoon." He bowed his head, touching his thumb to his left cheek and then his sternum. "Thank the gods his mother passed on before he made that terrible choice."
An odd whistling caught his attention, and Brand cocked his head. His hearing had been shot for years, maybe he was imagining the sound-
The windows abruptly exploded inwards as an impact rocked the ground. Sisters scurried this way and that in panic, their veils fluttering like butterfly wings as they ushered the last few stragglers out of the structure. Brand, his ears still ringing from the first bombardment, felt a second one strike outside. Perdita was stiff, unmoving in the pew, so he seized her hand and made haste for the doorway.
"Perdie, we cannot linger in this place!" He tried to snap her out of it, her deceptively-heavy form slowing their flight. "It's the Empire, Perdie, we have to--" Through the haze of dust rising, the former captain caught sight of a massive dreadnought's keel flying low overhead. Rage burned at his soul; why would they come here of all places? This was a planet of agriculture, not manufacturing!
Perdita tilted her head, and Brand knew that she must have noticed the ship. "What is that?" She asked, her voice ticking up slightly in query.
"That is something that should not have turned its eye upon us!" Brand snapped. "Why the devil would they-" There was shouting up ahead, and scattered pistol fire. "Martyr's malfeasance," the elderly man swore, "I ought to have known."
The Inquisitors had arrived, bearing overpowered arms and causing chaos as was their want. Brand managed to slip around the edge of the advancing line, searching the crowds for Testin's large form. His old first mate was nowhere to be seen and Brand's heart sank.
An Inquisitor loomed up out of the smoke in front of them, halting the former captain in his tracks. "Identify yourself, civilian." The armored man droned.
"Or what? You've already blown the chapel and convent to pieces!" Brand spat. "What could the Ferrarium Empire possibly want from a sleepy little colony planet?"
The Inquisitor's baton met the side of the elderly man's head with a dull thud, felling him with ease.
×+×
Brand started awake, hacking and wheezing as he inhaled ash. He sat up, ignoring the throbbing of his head. Where is-
"Perdita!" He yelled, struggling to his feet and cupping his hands around his mouth. "Perdie, where are you?"
The cobblestones underfoot had been broken and scattered by the mortaring, making the footing uncertain. The former captain stumbled forward over the rubble, continuing to call for the Warforged.
A shimmer of red and gold flickered through the hellish smoke up ahead, and he fancied it might be her habit. His suspicions proved correct as her frail form solidified out of the clouds of billowing dust and ash.
"Perdita!" Brand exclaimed gladly.
She turned slowly at the sound of his voice, that damned veil still flapping fitfully in the turbulent air. Beneath the gauzy shroud where her domed head was, the former captain saw something blaze to life. Eyes, hundreds of them, glowing through the fabric. Brand stopped in his tracks, uncertain of what he was seeing. That blow to the head must have rattled him, now he was hallucinating!
Her hand pressed to her chest over the long habit. "I am the bastion." Perdita said calmly, as though they weren't being bombarded by low-flying aircraft. "I am Vespertine, I am Alizarin, I am reborn. My name is Aurelezra, and I fell to defend."
A shell plummeted from the sky and with a single motion, she obliterated it. One moment it was there, the next, she simply pointed at it and a shimmering golden manifestation that resembled an enormous rose blossom appeared directly in its path. The shell struck it, the impact sending foiled shrapnel flitting listlessly to the ground.
Brand was wholly bewildered. The only other time he had witnessed such power was when-
The thousands of eyes swiveled to stare at him, blinking rapidly. Brand swallowed hard. "What did those blasted nuns do to you, Perdie?" He asked, his voice so low he wasn't sure if she would hear it over the pandemonium.
Perdita tipped her head to the side, those eyes writhing and teeming nauseatingly over one another, flickering through the habit in a way that made Brand exceedingly glad she was wearing it. "I am the bastion." She repeated. She sounded hideously serene. "I am Alizarin."
Rifle reports barked through the air and Perdita turned towards the noise, setting off over the debris with sure steps. "Wait, Perdie!" Brand protested, fumbling after her as best as he could. "Perdie, are you mad? These are Inquisitors, you can't just..." He trailed off as he watched her simply walk through the line of gunfire. "Or perhaps you can." He muttered.
A strange golden haze shone around her body and every time a bullet struck the haze, a malevolent eye roiled to the surface to fix the attacker with a blazing stare. More shells rained down and each one was foiled or thrown off-target by shimmering, sunset-hued roses, blossoming riotously to life in midair like some grand fireworks display at a midsummer fair.
"Captain!" That was Testin's voice, thank gods. The elderly man turned this way and that, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally spotted the towering mass that was Testin.
"Testin my boy, you're a sight for sore eyes!" Brand said with a wry grin, taking in the small cluster of nuns that were teeming anxiously in the shadow of the massive automaton. Among them was the Mother Superior, her black veil a stark contrast to the usual red. "You've got some explaining to do, woman! What the hell have you done to my Perdie?" Brand thundered, itching to shake her until her teeth rattled.
"Sister Perdita has spent many, many hours reading the scriptures and studying our texts, Captain Gentle." The woman replied, almost infuriatingly calm. "She was brought to this planet for a specific reason."
"What are you on about? Look at her! It's like she's possessed!" The elderly man shouted.
"She has become more, Captain. A vessel for something that we mere mortals have only glimpsed. Alizarin, the Red Saint."
"There's a thousand blasted eyes all over her and she's sending out starbursts of roses that intercept cannon fire!" Brand roared. "I'll only ask once more, what have you done to her?"
"She willingly accepted this power, Captain. I suggest you calm yourself. I know you do not believe or trust in the power of the Red Saint, but Sister Perdita does." The matron retorted haughtily. "And when Libertia was alive-"
"Keep my wife's name out of your mouth." Brand snarled, his hand instinctively twitching down towards his hip for the piece he had carried in his younger years.
"Easy now, Cap." Testin intoned, raising a hand. "Easy."
"You planned this from the start." Brand accused the woman, a sick sense of realization blossoming in his gut. "You put the idea in Libertia's head, didn't you? Why Perdie?"
"Warforged make excellent vessels." The Mother Superior said simply.
Testin rumbled in threat overhead, one large hand settling heavily on the woman's shoulder. "I suggest you choose your next words very carefully." The Warforged paladin's tone was one of extreme irritation. "Unless you'd like to find out how bad of a vessel I can be."
"She has become a warlock of exceptional power." The woman hurriedly continued. "The Red Saint is pleased with our offering, and he will-"
"The Red Saint, aye? Unwilling martyr himself." Brand scoffed. "You've gone and turned my girl into a nightmare for the glory of that flayed demagogue."
"A nightmare that can go toe-to-toe with Inquisitor gunsmithing." The Mother Superior shot back smugly. "You knew as well as I did that it was only a matter of time before the Ferrarium Empire turned their gaze to the Fringes. Their grasping for resources is ceaseless."
"As interesting as your bickering is, we're wasting time." Testin growled, gesturing vaguely forwards. "She's gaining on their dreadnought. We following her?"
×+×
Everything was so loud.
"It is time, Aurelezra." His voice was like smoke, like whispers. He drew her attention upwards to the ship, He guided her hands as she wove the spell and He found her the suitable target. "They will not take this planet. They will never take again."
Perdita nodded shakily, power dripping and sparking from her fingers. "Never again."
"You have done well, Aurelezra. You easily outstrip the mortals." He praised as she raised her hands. "I shall do such wonders through you."
×+×
Without warning, a bolt of red light shot from Perdita's hands and arced up at the command ship. Testin swore loudly, the Warforged's face twisting into an approximation of a grimace. "Oh, that's not good." He said hoarsely, leaving the cluster of nuns behind as he moved forward.
"What, what's happened?" Brand asked frantically, trying to keep up.
"That was something that uh, I wouldn't have used. A little too spicy for me." The Warforged grunted, readying the hand cannon integrated in his left forearm. His heavy, elephantine feet easily crushed the rubble beneath him, clearing the way for the former captain. "If everyone on that ship isn't dead after that spell hits..."
"What?" Brand gasped.
Testin shook his head mournfully, not finishing that trail of thought. "We need to figure out where the ship will go down. Figure out whether we can break it apart ahead of time or whether your Perdie has a few more Red Saint tricks up that veil." Testin's sigh was heavy. "I'm sorry, Captain."
The command ship began rapidly losing altitude, listing slightly to the right. Perdita pursued it doggedly and Brand watched her raise her hands again. "Perdie!" He shouted, heartened when she paused. "Stop, Perdie!"
"Stay put!" Testin yelled, then said, "Cap, either get onboard or get left behind, we don't have time for your old bones."
Brand growled something uncharitable about his former first mate, then swung up onto the pro-offered arm.
Testin sprinted forward, easily catching up to the waifish Perdita and grabbing her around the waist with one massive hand. "I'd like to shake the marbles clean out of your chest right now, but we don't have time for me to be pissed off at you." Testin snarled at her, still at his full sprint. "You got anything else in that arsenal of yours, or are you gonna' let that ship crush someone's farm?"
"I can do it."
"What, exactly?"
Perdita pointed upwards at the ship and simply said, "shatter." A massive golden rose exploded into being on the keel, blowing a hole in the hull the size of the town square. Splinters and beams rained down, Testin barely managing to dodge a few of the larger chunks.
"Martyr's malfeasance, you're a menace!" The larger Warforged said in disbelief, the cannon in his left arm whirring to life as the ship sank within his range. "I mean, keep it up, but saint's blood you are an absolute terror." His cannon glowed, shoulder tight when he fired and sent the projectile rocketing upwards to erupt in a radiant blast. "Not fancy, but any port in a storm." He huffed, trying to chamber another round without releasing Perdita.
"There's so much." Perdita was shaking in Testin's grip. Molten gold trailed from her fingertips and every eye that shone through the veil was wide open.
Brand clambered across Testin's shoulders, the elderly man reaching out so he could grab one of her hands. "Listen to me, Perdie." He said loudly, trying to make sure she could hear him over the rapidly-approaching creak of timbers and warning system alarms. "You've got some kind of hellfiring power now, right?"
Perdita nodded slowly. "He's so loud." She breathed, and Brand knew with crushing certainty that she wasn't talking about himself or Testin.
"Aye, I'm sure he is. But if he wants to have you as his vessel, he needs to understand that you're the captain." Brand reasoned fiercely. "You bite back at that freeloader and you tell him you're the damned captain, you hear me girl?!"
×+×
I'm the captain.
Perdita clung to the thought, staggering through the red haze of her subconscious.
I'm the captain.
Alizarin nodded in acquiescence. "That you are, Aurelezra. For now. For this moment. What will you do?" He chuckled. "You are unfamiliar with such power. You have already overdrawn yourself. What will you do, Defender?"
It doesn't matter whether I'm tired. I'm the captain. Me. Not you, she thought stubbornly.
×+×
Perdita clawed her way up Testin's arm to his shoulder, the larger Warforged rumbling in confusion. "What the hell are you doing now?"
"I'm the captain." Perdita said sharply. Blast after golden blast was flung by her hand, the ship groaning under the assault. Timbers cracked and creaked like the ship was caught in a ferocious gale. "I'm the captain!" She yelled, "I'm the captain!"
The dreadnought rent itself apart at the scuppers with one final impact, briefly looking like the massive ribcage of some eldritch horror. The engines tore free of their mooring, the shriek of metal heralding doom for the trio as they plummeted downwards. Testin tried to backpedal, but he had built up such a head of steam and the engines were so enormous-
Brand fumbled to catch Perdita's hand once again, closing his eyes as he heard Testin grit out what he assumed was his final swear.
Looks like I'll be home soon, Lib.
"A Bastion for my faithful." That was not Perdita's voice. It was barely a whisper, smooth as silk and light as a favorable breeze. "Blessed are you, Brand Gentle, for you have seen my power once before. Blessed are you, Brand Gentle, for you have survived my power once before. Blessed shall you be, Brand Gentle, though you do not believe."
A golden dome sheathed the triumvirate of individuals, millions of eyes scattered across it opening and closing at random. Brand gripped Perdita's hand as tightly as he dared, uncertain if he was the only one seeing this...wonder.
"Fear not, Brand Gentle. She will not be harmed."
The dome vanished and Testin fairly seethed with curses, the gray-green Warforged reeling back a step from the flaming wreckage of the engine that surrounded them. A neat circle had been sheared out from the dome, the edges still molten and smoking.
"That's it. Whatever's gotten into you, I'm tearing it out of you!" the paladin announced, grappling Perdita around the waist again. "Send that cosmic bastard back to the Deep Reef where it belongs, I-" He paused when she went limp in his hold, lowering his glowing right hand after a moment. "Uh...Perdie?" He asked warily, shaking her until she rattled. "Perdie?"
"I'm the captain." She responded, her voice reedy with exhaustion. Perdita reached out to Brand, and he carefully laced his fingers through her own. "I-I'm the...captain..."
"Aye child," Brand murmured, "that you are."
×+×
The whole colony banded together to scuttle the dreadnought's bones. The Vespertine sisters made themselves marvellously useful when it came to putting the dead to rest.
Most of the ship's crew had been slaughtered by whatever Perdita had done with that spell, and the few left alive had perished on impact.
Testin had grunted in satisfaction as he surveyed the red veiled sisters scurrying to and fro in the wreckage. "I think your Perdie just fired the galaxy's largest warning shot."
"Aye." Brand had agreed wearily. "Now all that's left to see is whether the Empire will take notice."
"Their dreadnoughts aren't usually...destroyed, Captain. Once word gets back to them, all hell's going to break loose." The Warforged predicted grimly, his arms folded over his chest. "You'd better make sure she clears atmosphere before they come back around."
"I don't think I could make her stay!" The former captain chuckled. "She's always been on the move, Testin. High time she did something with all that energy."
×+×
"The Gotengo has been moored for years, Captain. You think it can still hold up?" Testin mused, poring over the old schematics.
Brand sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "It's the finest craft I have at my disposal, dusty or not. And she'll need something nimble if she's planning on trekking out there through the blockades." He meandered to the window of his study, staring down at his rose garden without actually seeing it. "I've already gotten in touch with Squire Deering, and he claims he's found a slew of candidates for her crew."
Testin snorted in disbelief. "And you trust that penny-pinching miser? Guy probably trawled through three different wharfside taverns and asked for able-bodied seamen."
"Deering may be a...bit tight fisted, but he's a good man. I have great faith that when Perdita arrives, she'll be shown nothing but courtesy." Brand assured the gray-green Warforged, stroking his mustache.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I distinctly remember that waistcoat-wearing ponce saddling you with a ship that had a rotted out mainmast." Testin deadpanned. "What did he blame it on? Moths?"
Brand coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Regardless, he will treat her right. Warforged or not, she's the captain."
"A new Captain Gentle." Testin shook his head ruefully. "Never thought I'd see the day. Bodes pretty shit for the Empire, if you ask me."
"All I hope is that she and that blooded saint first mate of hers give them hell."
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.
Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Piero Piccioni: Amore Mio Aiutami (main theme), Orison: The Butterfly and Séamus McGuire: Captain O'Kane
"El, get down!" Auguste's voice sounded oddly far away.
Elanor ignored him for the time being, continuing to hug the trunk of the tree. Just out of her reach overhead was a small nest, and in her smock pocket rested a bewildered, pin-feathered denizen of said nest. "Almost there, little friend." She promised the bird, her muscles burning with the unusual effort of climbing a tree. But she was nothing if not determined!
Elanor had stumbled across the baby bird while out looking for kindling for their morning fire, her rumbling stomach falling by the wayside in favor of returning the poor thing to its nest.
Auguste must have come looking for her because he too was hungry, she reasoned, scooping the chirping bird out of her pocket and stretching as high as she could. No sooner had she deposited the chick in its nest, however, than the branch she was tentatively standing on gave way.
Elanor yelped in a decidedly undignified manner, scrambling for purchase on another limb before she took a fall. There was a snort from beneath her and then Auguste called, "are you alright, El?"
"Yes." The woman squeaked, her eyes shut tight as she clung to this new limb for dear life. "Sir de Verley, I don't suppose I could ask you to lend me a hand? I...I'm afraid I'm stuck."
She cringed at the sigh the man unleashed. She must look absolutely ridiculous. "Step down with your left foot." Auguste instructed after a moment.
"Your left or mine?"
"Yours, I--El, it's the same damn thing." Meekly she obeyed, fumbling blindly until her boot rested on a solid surface. "Good, now move your left hand down. Then your right foot."
Gingerly the dark-haired woman descended the tree, her face burning with embarrassment. Once she was safely on the ground she took a moment to collect herself, untucking the skirt beneath her smock and straightening the wrinkled fabric. She then dared to glance up at Auguste's face, but he looked as stern as ever. At least he wasn't outright laughing at her. "Thank you, Sir de V--er, Sir Auguste." Elanor mumbled, reaching into the other pocket of her smock to present him with the small bits of kindling she had collected.
Auguste simply inclined his head in reply. On his shoulder, Muffin yawned insolently wide at her. The white cat made no bones about how he felt regarding small animals, having left several deceased creatures at the flap of her tent over the course of their travels.
"He doesn't want you to starve." Auguste had remarked when she came to him in a panic about the dead mole on her proverbial doorstep. "He thinks you're helpless."
I suppose he's not far off, Elanor mused ruefully as she followed Auguste back to their camp. The bow at Auguste's hip caught her eye and she idly watched it swing to and fro with his steps, her pace slowing as a thought took root in her mind.
Auguste seemed to realize she was falling behind, the older man turning his head to give her a quizzical look over his shoulder. "Something wrong, El?" He still said the nickname stiffly, as though it didn't sit right with him.
Elanor chewed on her lower lip, mustering up the courage to ask what she knew would be a futile question. "Sir Auguste, I know our time together will be...limited, but I was...would you be able to--er, teach me how to shoot?"
To think, she had spent years training in the ways of etiquette and the manner of the gentry, only for it all to fall flat the moment she left the Amroth estate. Elanor stared at the toes of her once-dainty riding boots, now caked with mud and scuffed grey from use.
Auguste was silent for what felt like an eternity, empty air yawning uncomfortably between them. "Why?" He queried finally.
"I...w-well you see, I've never learned much in the way of practical things. I can plan a party for seventy guests, but I'm at a bit of a loss when it comes to--" she gestured around at the trees. "--this."
"Miss El, you're heading to a convent. The only thing you'll have to battle there is boredom."
"I know!" Elanor snapped, her annoyance giving her the backbone to meet Auguste's gaze once more. "I have seen so little of this life, Sir Auguste. Before I am locked away from it forever, I would love dearly to learn what I can."
"And you think learning how to shoot will help ease the grief of being closed off from the world?" Auguste's words were blunt.
Elanor's heart sank. "No." She admitted softly. "But I...I still believe the skill may be useful to me."
Muffin mewled and Auguste hushed his familiar, scratching him under the chin while he studied the woman in front of him thoughtfully. "How far can you cast?"
Elanor blinked. "Oh, well...I'm not certain." She admitted. "I've never cast anything outdoors, you see."
"You've only ever done your casting inside?" Auguste was clearly incredulous, his eyebrows meeting his hairline.
"My family is...unaware of my ability, I didn't wish to-"
"Unaware?" The archer interrupted rudely. "You light up like a bonfire, from what little I have seen of your work."
"I'm afraid I was a bit of a black mark on the family name, so I haven't had nearly as much training as I should have." It wounded her to state the truth aloud and she hurried to continue, "certainly none out in the open."
De Verley muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously impolite. "We will start your lessons after breakfast, then."
×+×
The morning of their arrival to the convent came all too fast, it seemed. Elanor's heart felt like it was settling into her boots the closer they got.
She had read many a book about daring escapes, heard many a tale of heroes arriving just in the nick of time to save their charges from some mortal peril. Her head had been full of foolish ideas, she supposed sadly. There was no one in this world who might rescue her from this fate.
No one at all.
The sun beat down on them as they crested the final hill before the valley the convent nestled in. Staring down, Elanor could see several of the sisters working in a small field, while others appeared to be enjoying their simple breakfast in the main courtyard.
Her breath caught in her throat and she felt panic welling up, threatening to make her lose her composure. So this was it, then. This was the sleepy little haven she would be shackled to.
"I can go on alone from here, Sir Auguste." Elanor said faintly after a moment, certain that she had gone white as a sheet. Auguste was silent on his horse beside her, the man giving no indication that he had even heard her speak. She tried again, "thank you for taking such good care of me, and for showing me a few things. You've been very kind."
Still no reply. It was as if he was made of stone! Elanor hiccupped once, then straightened her shoulders and nudged her knee into her mount's side to urge him onwards. Onwards to this safe, sterile existence.
Auguste's gloved hand seized her horse's bridle, halting the beast. Elanor started, glancing over at the older man in confusion. He still wasn't looking at her, instead glowering down at the nunnery with a thunderous expression.
"You do not wish to go." The archer observed ponderously.
No, no, a thousand times no! "It is what my family has requested of me." Elanor knew it wasn't an answer.
"But you do not wish to go."
"I...I do not, I'm afraid."
His glove tightened on the bridle, making the leather squeak before he gave it a gentle tug, leading her horse to turn with his own. "Then I'm pleased to inform you that you're being abducted, El."
"W-What?"
"Got some kind of hearing trouble? I said, you're being abducted." The rare grin Auguste shot her was downright mischievous and she couldn't help the hysterical laugh that slipped out, nor the relieved tears she managed to blot away.
"Oh it's abducting, is it? Doesn't that imply that I'm an unwilling party?" She teased while their horses raced away from the rise.
"Fine, Miss El, what would you call it?" Auguste huffed.
Elanor knew her smile was improperly broad. "An adventure, Sir Auguste."
×+×
"Boots of what."
Elanor deflated a little. "Boots of...false tracks?"
"No." Auguste denied her flatly. "Look at them, they're gaudy as sin. And snake oil, I'll wager. Who's to say that they'll make your footprints that of someone else? If you encounter someone who can track you by nothing but the uneven indents of your hobnails, you'll need a lot more than some supposed fae boots to get you out of that predicament."
"Gods, you're as chipper as a funeral dirge this morning." Elanor retorted, sulkily depositing the gold-toed boots back on the merchant's counter. "It was just a suggestion."
"Well I suggest you recall that we are here for something practical," Auguste reminded her tartly. "A sturdy pair of normal boots, and an oilcloth cloak to keep off the rain. It'll do neither of us any good if you catch your death from wading in a swamp."
"There was a frog--" Elanor began to protest, but the older man was already holding a cloak up to her shoulders to gauge the size. She fell silent instead, letting him do as he wished.
Oh, she knew full well that she was being unreasonable! Pouting like a child when she didn't get her way. She hadn't slept much the night before, and her poor boots were still damp with mud from the swamp. Adventuring certainly seemed like a far messier business than the books had made it out to be.
Sir De Verley, bless him, had been doing his level best to instruct her despite the trials. Perhaps it was because he rarely smiled, but she was a bit fearful that he thought of her as a burden he regretted taking on. That worry hovered anxiously every time she managed to fumble up the simplest of tasks, though Auguste had never raised his voice in anger or berated her for mistakes like her tutors had. If anything, he was immensely patient with her.
Stricken with guilt at her behavior, Elanor desperately struggled to think of something to discuss. Her eyes landed on a familiar instrument tucked away on a high shelf, and she couldn't help the way she gasped. Auguste was instantly on guard, muttering, "what?" and sliding a hand surreptitiously to his side.
Elanor scurried across the store, leaving the confused archer in her wake. "A violin!" She exclaimed with delight, bouncing up onto her tiptoes in an effort to reach the shelf. Alas, she fell short by an inch or two.
A hand landed on the small of her back and then Auguste was looming over her, the man easily taking the instrument down. He deposited it into her waiting arms, looking bemused. Elanor couldn't bring herself to care, overjoyed at finding such an instrument so far from home. Just holding it recalled the few fond memories she had of her childhood, of music lessons with Uncle Artan and the parish ensemble.
In the midst of her happy reverie, however, the reality of her situation came crashing back down on her. Sturdy boots, an oilcloth cloak. Practical things. There was no room for such a frivolous instrument in this new adventuring life she had chosen.
Sobered, the woman began to ask Auguste to return the violin to its lofty perch, but he had apparently left her side. Concerned, Elanor looked around until she finally spotted him at the counter conversing with the Dwarven proprietor.
As she approached she caught the tail end of whatever conversation they had been having, the Dwarven woman bemoaning the fact that the violin hadn't made a sound when she tried to play it. "I love the fiddle, but what's the use if it refuses to be played? I keep it there as a conversation piece."
"I'll give you thirty gold for the damn thing." Auguste offered gruffly. "It's in decent shape, right? Has all the pegs and frills?"
"Well yes, but I never got it to work." The woman looked thoughtful, stroking her chin. "I'll tell you what. You can take it, the boots and that cloak you need for twenty-five. I won't be called a swindle by the likes of you, Sir De Verley." She said with a wink, chuckling a little.
Elanor's heart felt light as a feather, her body warm all over. Even though it's impractical…
×+×
"Thank you."
Auguste looked up from his bow, fixing her with his lone eye from across the campfire. "Excuse me?"
"I said, thank you." Elanor repeated.
"For…?" The woman gently thrust the violin in his direction and he waved her off, clearing his throat. "I knew I wouldn't hear the end of it if I didn't indulge you a little. Don't get used to it."
"It is appreciated all the same." Elanor insisted, smiling while she tuned the instrument.
Auguste scoffed, looking away. "Just don't blame me if it's broken. She did warn us, after all."
Elanor didn't deign to reply, applying some rosin to the worn horsehair bow and getting to her feet. The violin's neck felt oddly warm in her hand as she tucked the low bout beneath her chin, but she chalked it up to her proximity to the fire.
The first draw of the bow issued a long, low note, the sound resonating in the quiet night. Elanor had her eyes closed so she didn't notice the way Auguste flinched at the noise, the woman taking a few moments to experiment with the pressure of the bow.
Once she was content, she opened her eyes and gave Auguste a smug look. "Well now, Sir Auguste, we will see what tunes I can coax from this unruly instrument."
Her one-eyed companion snorted, "oh I'm certain you shall." His tone was dry as a desert. "What I'd like to know is why it refused to cooperate with the shopkeep."
"I couldn't say! Perhaps it's magical." Elanor laughed, settling the violin back into the crook of her neck.
"More likely it's cursed, shouldn't have bought the damn thing at all." Auguste griped. "I'm a fool for that, I'll…" he trailed off mid-sentence when Elanor slid into a half-remembered tune from her younger years. It was an odd recalling of half-sound, half-sensation, and the woman closed her eyes again to better focus on it.
The woods around them seemed to melt away, and she nearly forgot that Auguste was even there, so taken was she by the song. When she opened her eyes however, she found herself surrounded by a swath of tiny lights. Like fireflies that danced in time with her music, ebbing and flowing with the notes. "Oh…" Elanor breathed, surprised. Then...
"It's assuredly cursed." Auguste's grim statement broke the spell, and Elanor laughed until she cried.
Elanor's Backstory: The Dark Secret of House Amroth-Rubiaceae
Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)
Pairing: N/A, Elanor-Centric
Rating: Holy shit M.
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.
Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Josh Groban: She
[Elanor Amroth-Rubiaceae is a level five Aasimar divine soul sorcerer and her appearance can be found here]
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including mentions of character death, emotional neglect and infidelity. Stay safe!]
The family tree of Rubiaceae had many branches, and Amroth was one such branch. Known for their legacy of powerful Aasimar sorcerers with ties to draconian bloodlines, it was no wonder that there were many bids for the heirs of the Amroth house.
Duke D'Arnaud and his wife the Duchess Celeste were a loving couple in naught save the records of the kingdom. Fueled by greed, their union was one of shrewd calculation and cold practicality in order to strengthen their individual hamlets.
The two lived in separate wings of a grand and characterless manse, and were only ever seen together at festive events. Despite this distance, they bore five daughters in somewhat rapid succession. There were, of course, salacious rumors that the Duke was actually sterile. It was popular opinion that his title-less younger brother, a clergyman in the family parish, had accepted a certain allotment of finances to the church each month in order to 'stand in' for matters of the bedroom. Unfounded as the rumors were, the Duke and Duchess had remarked that they found them, 'an amusing diversion', and thus made no effort to confirm nor deny the claims.
The daughters were platinum blonde, the hallmark of House Amroth, and all but the eldest showed signs of their draconic blessing at an early age. The eldest, named Elanor, did not appear to have any magical ability at all, and as such was foisted aside in favor of grooming the rest of her siblings for the greatness they were surely destined to achieve.
Elanor spent much of her younger years alone. That is, when she wasn't being educated in the ways of etiquette and poise. Her parents insisted that even though she may not be as useful as her sisters, she must still be trained up as a potential wife for a lesser lord or lady.
"All to strengthen our house, little Elanor." Her father had told her many a time, always toying with the triangular pendant she had been given on her naming day.
×+×
On the night their fifth daughter was born, Elanor (who was only eight at the time) had taken refuge in the family chapel. There in the peaceful silence of the chancel, the little girl wept herself to sleep for want of the love of her parents.
She awoke to someone stroking her hair. "Little one, what troubles you?" Her uncle (formerly D'Artan, now simply Artan after he had joined the chantry) had enquired softly, his eyes kind in the flickering candlelight. "Do you fear for the new babe's health, perhaps your mother's safety?"
Selfish as it was, Elanor was a child, and as such had erupted with a colorful string of barely-coherent vitriol about her parents and sisters. Father Artan listened patiently, waiting until it seemed like her words and tears had finally run dry.
"You truly believe you have no magic, little Elanor?" He mused, tapping her forehead. "No skill or inclination? Or is that merely what you've been told all these years?"
Elanor had shook her head angrily. "I don't have any at all! Not like Mama or Papa or Nessa or...or anyone!"
"Oh, Elanor," Uncle Artan sighed, a sad look crossing his face. "There is so much I wish I could tell you." Gentle hands straightened out the necklace she wore, his expression turning serious. "You have always kept this on, correct? This chain with your naming-day pendant."
"I can't take it off." The child had answered sulkily. "It's too hard." The chain bore no real clasp, but she of course did not know that. She just assumed that it was difficult to find.
The priest had tipped her chin up, offering her a smile as he brushed away the remainder of her tear stains. "Come visit me when your new sister is seven. We will have much to speak about."
×+×
Her hair was as black as midnight.
Fifteen year old Elanor stared at herself in the looking glass for a time after her uncle had helped her remove the pendant. Her fingers rose to stroke through the strands, the young girl not fully believing her eyes.
Uncle Artan cleared his throat. "It has been such a color since the day you were born, Elanor." His free hand absently fiddled with his own shaggy black hair, now interspersed with shocks of silver. "I'm afraid I may have passed on a bit more to you than my dear brother would have cared for."
"Passed...so you are my…?" Elanor's words trailed off when he nodded yet again.
"I am sorry to have kept this from you, little Elanor." The remorse was thick in his voice. "I am afraid I robbed you of much happiness in your younger years. Perhaps I was a fool to believe you would be looked after in the same manner as your sisters." Artan sighed, shaking his head. "Truthfully, I wish that I had mustered up the courage to claim you as my own child when it would have meant something to you. Now, I fear it is too late."
Elanor clutched his hands. "No! Tell me everything, tell me why I'm like this--please!" She begged. The stained glass windows in the chapel rattled, as if in reply to her outburst.
Artan seemed a bit perturbed, his eyes darting to the windows and then back to her face. "Little Elanor, are you certain this is what you want? Once you know, there will be no returning to the way things were." The cleric warned. Elanor nodded furiously and Artan sighed. "Very well. But promise me one thing," he requested, the chain of her necklace still dangling in his grip. "You must put this back on. You have been lied to in order to protect the family's reputation. It is not your fault, I must stress this fact, that you will not be able to rein in your abilities at first. You were never taught."
"I understand." Elanor, brave, quiet Elanor, had been on the receiving end of her siblings' wrath many a time before. Of course she understood the danger of unchecked magic.
Artan looked as if he would much rather be doing anything else aside from this, his hands trembling slightly as he clasped the necklace around her throat once more.
×+×
She was twenty when Artan died. One day he was there, and the next...
With 'Uncle' Artan gone Elanor retreated wholly into herself, constantly running through the lessons he had taught her about their shared method of divine spell casting. Her parents had no idea that she knew of their betrayal, the now-elderly Duke and his wife more concerned with securing marriages for their 'better' daughters.
This suited Elanor just fine. She spent her days reading in the salon, and her nights were full of wondrous rituals. The eldest daughter honed her spells like a secret blade, unsure of why she felt such urgency to do so but more than willing to continue her training alone.
Her only respite was her music, or the occasional adventuring mercenary band that her father would hire to ensure the peace was kept in his small domain. Rough men and women who always had thrilling tales, ones that left Elanor sighing wistfully whenever they would inevitably depart. Oh, she would give anything to trade places with those fine folk!
×+×
Her twenty-fifth birthday brought with it silence and a letter from her mother. It stated simply that in three days' time she would be sent to a convent in the countryside, where she would live out the rest of her life in pious service to the church.
She had been deemed too old to marry and, as such, was no longer of use to the family. Truthfully, this was not so abrupt as her mother seemed to believe; the Duchess' most recent suitor had voiced his disapproval of the spinster Elanor continuing to live in the family home numerous times.
It was still a stark shock to the young woman. Twenty-five and sent to the nunnery, cloistered from what little she had seen of the outside world! Elanor took a moment to collect her thoughts, steeling herself to read the remainder of the letter.
Auguste will escort you to ensure you arrive safely. Your dear father, may he rest in peace, always spoke so highly of him. I know you shall fear for nothing with him by your side.
The vellum in her hands began to wrinkle as her grip tightened. Auguste De Verley, the peerless marksman. He was not well-known for his mercy, or sympathy towards the plights of title-less spinsters.
Elanor sighed heavily, then shook her head. It was a foolish idea, to think that she could sway De Verley to her side! No, she must resign herself to her new Spartan lifestyle.
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.
Applicable trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Edgar Meyer, Mike Marshall and Béla Fleck: Sliding Down
Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked
For Leofore
Light And Home
So Little Time
A Choice
Worth The Wait
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional turmoil and ruminations on infant developmental milestones. Stay safe!]
Destrier's head jerked up and he stared at the child. "W-What?" He stammered after a moment.
His little boy, hardly able to walk on his own, blinked wide brown eyes.
"Did you just…?" The former Knight-Captain trailed off, shaking his head. "No, I must have imagined it." He heaved a sigh, shifting his weight to and fro. Destrier hoped to soothe his son back to sleep via the motion, praying the child was just fussy instead of hungry. Illeria needed her rest!
The day had been long and Destrier knew that he was still, at best, a minute help in the kitchen. Greeting customers was out of the question; it drew too many old soldiers and rough types to his wife's inn and he didn't want Illeria or little Leo inundated in the folk he had once commanded. Too many wounds were still fresh and he was more than content to leave them be, let time do its work.
The military had taught him how to feed many with little. How to water down and spread, offer the illusion of a feast to hungry troops. What the military hadn't taught was how to make things look appealing to the average traveler. Not everyone would be dead on their feet when they arrived, nor would they be on the brink of starvation. Destrier could no longer rely on hardship or gratitude to make his attempts at cooking visually enticing, and he was humbled by his wife's willingness to teach him even the smallest of tasks.
To think, Illeria had no magics to speak of! No pact with dark forces, no souls surrendered in forgotten temples, and yet the dough rose like clockwork and the common room was always free of cobwebs. In a way it was as if she had her own magic, the ebb and flow of the crowds in Maplecrest her domain. She knew from the scent of the previous evening's petrichor that they would have more bedraggled folk seeking hot breakfast, and she could plan a menu up to a month in advance with nothing but the MidPort almanac and a schedule of trading shipments.
Clever child, Garuda's voice crackled in Destrier's mind. Odd name. Strong, sad. A heavy name.
"He is named after my commander. A man who saved my life in my youth, only for me to repay his kindness many years later." The paladin replied aloud, smiling down at the child in his arms. Leo mouthed over the toggle of his nightshirt, drooling on the fabric. "It is a good name. Did you know Illeria chose it?"
We were there, faithless paladin. Amused now. We were always there.
Revel didn't deign to respond this time, still swaying gently. Leo's eyelids drooped, the baby yawning wide. "I thought he spoke a moment ago." The paladin whispered. "I thought he said...I suppose it was just my fancy. Maybe I dozed off standing up again. He hasn't said a true word yet." He frowned thoughtfully. "Though the midwife did say it might be any time now. I should be more patient! It is difficult when they are so young."
Leo's tiny fists dug into his nightshirt, the child raising his head yet again. He started babbling quietly and Destrier's frown faded into something softer.
"It's alright, little one. You will speak when you're ready, and not a moment before!" He chuckled, tousling the baby's still-sparse hair. "No parent has ever predicted their child's speech, after all."
In the bed across the room, Illeria stirred and murmured his name. Destrier held his breath, but she seemed to still be asleep. He released the breath after a moment, gusting out over his son's downy curls.
"Little Leo, already causing mischief!" The whisper was laden with fondness, and Destrier moved to place the child back in his bassinet. "I love you dearly all the same. I'm afraid I shall be no good at this." The paladin confessed, "I have never had a strong hand with the ones I love."
"Wuv."
Destrier stilled, confused. The baby gripped tighter at the front of his nightshirt, sleepily repeating that word. "What is it, Leo?" Destrier felt a bit foolish for asking, of course the little boy couldn't respond!
Leo reached up, one hand on either side of Destrier's face, and bumped his head into the paladin's nose. "Wuv." He stated sternly. "Wuv."
Tiny fingers pawed at the day's worth of stubble on Revel's jaw, but he couldn't bring himself to dissuade the child. "Love?" The large man breathed. Leo bounced in his arms, a drowsy grin breaking out on his face as he repeated the word again and again.
Destrier was unashamed to admit that he made no effort to stop his tears, cradling the little boy to his chest and heaving a deep, shuddering sigh. Love.
Expected. Aetros' crackle mellowed to embers. Sentimental, faithless paladin. But...We understand. We have known this joy, this grief.
"Destrier?" Illeria mumbled his name, this time louder. The former captain whirled, knowing he must look like a lunatic. Reduced to tears over his son speaking! Foolish. "Is everything alright, my love?"
"Wuv!" Leo continued to bounce and Illeria sat bolt upright in bed. The woman's eyes had gone wide and Destrier failed to stifle a sob. Their son had her eyes. True, he had made the observation many times before, but everything felt so weighty and wondrous at this moment that he feared his heart would burst.
"He speaks." The former Knight-Captain managed to say to his wife, offering no protest when she extended her arms to take the child from him.
Illeria cradled Leo to her chest for several moments, the child babbling softly. "It is too late for you to be awake, my little Leo." She said finally, her own voice suspiciously tremulous. "Rest, sweetheart." Her fingers stroked over her son's face, lulling him into his dreams with enviable ease.
Destrier climbed back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his wife and child. He kissed Illeria's forehead after several moments, smiling down at the woman. "It is fitting that love would be his first word."
"I suppose it is." Illeria agreed, her own teary smile threatening to blind him. "I love you, Destrier."
"And I love you, Illeria." Destrier tried and failed to stifle a wide yawn, making Illeria giggle.
"Beloved, you must rest. Tomorrow will come faster than you think." She remarked pragmatically, giving him a peck on the lips. "And then we shall need to scour the pots, change the curtains in the main hall, pick up the napkins from the washerwoman…" Her list continued on as Revel drifted back to sleep, his body wrapped around his wife and child.
Oh certainly, the morning would bring hard work, as ever! But they would face it together and, with that knowledge, the former Knight-Captain could rest easy.
AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Crushjaw. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Black Hill: Low Force
[Crushjaw is a level zero barbarian, and his appearance can be found here.]
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including semi-graphic depictions of gore and mentions of bile/vomit. Reader discretion is advised. Stay safe!]
He would have loved to claim he had been goaded into it. Would have loved to say that it wasn't his fault or explain that it hadn't happened like he remembered. Except Rumon knew all too well that responsibility didn't work like that. His memory may be faulty, but the proof was in Krae's testimony.
Himself and his childhood friend Krae had both been interested in the same individual from a neighboring clan, the two of them butting heads over the object of their affections more than once. So of course when Krae came to him with news of an enormous ogre that had set up its stomping grounds near one of their trade routes, Rumon fairly leaped at the opportunity to fight the beast and claim victory over it. After all, what better way to prove his worth and earn a name from the clan leader than with an act of heroism?
Krae naturally came along, saying that he feared the ogre may be too tall an order for even Rumon to handle. This just made Rumon all the more determined to manage the creature single handedly.
They set up camp near where Krae claimed to have spotted the beast, the two goliaths joking and swapping drinks from a canteen of strong spirits. Truly, until both of them had set their sights on the same person, they had been brothers in all but blood. Rumon still regarded Krae as such, trusting to a fault, and thusly he missed the shifty glances the older goliath kept aiming at the treeline while the sun set.
"Come, Rumon! The moon is high. With its light, surely we shall find the ogre." Krae had cajoled after Rumon was fairly drunk, "unless, of course, you are afraid of a night hunt?"
"I fear nothing!" Rumon had boasted, "the gods are with me this night. You shall witness my triumph, Krae!"
Bold words. His grandmatron had always said that pride went before a fall.
Rumon recalled very little of the hunt after that, his memory muddied with drink. Despite Krae's insistence that the moonlight was sufficient, Rumon's recollections were oddly dim. He vaguely remembered stumbling around beneath the thick spruce canopy, his warhammer clumsy in his hands.
He remembered swinging with all his might and striking something that gave under the assault, the liquor Krae had plied him with steeling his ringing blows to something that rivaled even Varandur's mountain shapers.
He remembered when the weight of his weapon suddenly vanished, and there was a rancid gust of seethingly-hot air that blew his hair to the side. The roar was strange to his ear, far-off and faded. Emptiness rang too loud for him to hear as he wondered where his weapon had gone.
Rumon remembered realizing that he was flat on his stomach on the ground.
Where the memory became razor-sharp once more was when he tried to push himself up onto his elbows, and found his body woefully unbalanced. The goliath searched for the source of the problem and quickly located it, the sight of what was left of his mangled right arm more than enough to jerk him back to stark sobriety.
It had been severed at the elbow, though the term was a bit too kind for the injury. The appendage looked more as though it had been crushed with something that might have had an edge at one point.
Rumon had raised his eyes, mind grinding to a halt when he spotted his warhammer several yards away with his right hand still gripping the haft. Past that, along a trail marked by shattered tree trunks, slumped an enormous ogre clutching a slab of a sword. It seemed closer to a chunk of masonry than a true weapon, and Rumon's stomach had churned as he realized what had happened.
Mercifully, the agony had struck him and he promptly vomited before losing consciousness.
×+×
Gods only knew how long he had slept after that. It was a miracle he had even made it back to their healer; apparently Krae had all but carried him home. The embarrassment from that instance alone would have been enough to kill Rumon, never mind the fact that his dominant arm was now nothing but a bandaged stump.
The grandmatron would have none of it though, her craggy face somehow even more stern when Rumon managed to finally rouse himself.
"You have been named Crushjaw, little pebble. A worthy title." Her tone was icy. "I have gone through much trouble to save you. I am indebted to our chieftain."
Crushjaw. Rumon's face fairly burned with shame. "The ogre-?"
"Krae slew the beast. He brought one of its tusks back as proof. The chieftain was quite flattered by his offering, praising Krae for his accomplishment and naming him Tuskclaimer. As for his name for you..." The matron bowed her head, her expression one of grief.
"Grandma…"
"Don't you grandma me, little pebble!" The elderly goliath erupted, glaring fiercely at Rumon. Her eyes filled with tears as she went on, "you are anathema now, dear Rumon. Once you are able to walk, the clan leader has declared that you are to leave. I am no longer your grandmother. This place is no longer your home."
"'Leave'?" Rumon repeated stupidly. It felt as though everything was crashing down around him, his mind racing to comprehend. Their clan hadn't had an expulsion in his entire lifetime, wariness and confidence found too equally amongst their ranks. Compounding his confusion was the claim that Krae had killed the ogre. Rumon had been certain... "I understand." He said finally. "I am unworthy of your kindness. Thank you."
He couldn't comprehend why his grandmother wept harder at his acceptance. This was the way it had always been.
×+×
Crushjaw.
It certainly felt as though he was being crushed to death. Loneliness was a miserable traveling companion.
Rumon, very nearly unable to fend for himself, resorted to setting small game snares in the uncharted wilds. It was a child's way of hunting, but he was too hungry to be bothered by the prick to his already-bruised pride.
The few people he did encounter seemed overly wary of him. After all, a one-armed, exiled goliath would be the type to resort to petty theft.
But he wasn't a threat. He had never been a threat before, aside from just being large. Rumon couldn't understand the sudden shift in demeanor; he couldn't possibly fathom the air of desperation that his injury gave off.
It began to get easier when the weather cooled, the bulk of the thick cloak from his grandmother concealing his missing arm. The wound had not healed prettily, but Rumon knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He hadn't died. That was all he could hope for.
He wandered alone for most of the cold times, his only companions the booming pines that fractured from the weight of the ice and snow. His thoughts had a habit of straying to Krae, and he wondered what had truly transpired that evening more than he would care to admit. Had he imagined killing the ogre? Was his mind that addled by the strength of the drink they had shared?
Surely Krae wouldn't have lied. Nothing good ever came of lying or taking the credit for someone else's accomplishments. Rumon eventually settled on the assumption that his memory must have been faulty.
After that, the whole world seemed a gray and unforgiving place, and the goliath could feel himself fading into something of the same type. Something ragged and harsh, no longer a proud warrior but a lamed animal with a crushed jaw.
That is, until the day he encountered an old elf hanging by the leg from his horse's saddle.
"You there!" The elven man shouted once he seemed to notice the large individual sauntering up through the trunks of barren maples. "Don't suppose you'd be able to lend me a hand?"
Rumon, for whatever reason, found himself throwing his mantle back over his shoulder to reveal the stump of his arm. "Good thing you only need one hand, sirrah. It's all I have to offer." He remarked.
The elf nearly died of laughter, already beet-red in the face from being stuck hanging upside down for so long. To Rumon's shock however, when he circled around the horse to help the elf dislodge himself, he realized that the leg that wasn't caught in the stirrups was severed at the knee. The fellow's pant leg was neatly pinned at the joint, padding sewn into the area as if to mimic a kneecap.
Before Rumon could say anything though, the wiry elf explained, "I lost my leg a few miles back, and this damned animal dragged me along until she got bored. Don't suppose you can accompany me a little ways until I relocate it? Thing is worth its weight in gold."
The goliath easily hefted the older fellow into the saddle before his words caught up with him. "You...lost your leg?" Rumon blinked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I was unaware that elves could regrow limbs."
The elf looked at him a little sideways, muttering something about still waters running deep before he just shook his head and laughed, "no son, it's a genuine Chuck original. A fake leg."
A fake leg. Rumon seized the horse's bridle, desperation giving his voice a new level of gravel as he begged for more information. The elf shrewdly bargained with him: in exchange for help in reclaiming his prosthetic, he would gladly share what information he had.
"My name is Shawell." The elf introduced himself. "And you are…?"
Rumon hesitated for a moment. "Crushjaw." If people were to know his name, they would serve as a reminder of his foolhardy pride. A constant warning to heed in the future.
"Pleasure to meet you, Crush." Shawell tugged on the reins, turning his mare back in the direction he had come from. "We'd better hurry. We'll lose the daylight."
Crush. Rumon cracked his first smile in months, positioning himself on the elf's left side to steady him in the saddle.
AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Captain Physalia. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Dragon Age; Inquisition: In Hushed Whispers
[Tieliaths are the result of a union between a tiefling and a goliath.]
[Captain Physalia is a level eleven Triton Ancients paladin, and her appearance can be found here.]
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including violence, mentions of slavery and implied character death. Stay safe!]
Captain Physalia, at the helm of the Karyth Delta alongside Jupiter, finally gave a single nod of approval once they had cleared the shallow harbor. "You're getting better."
Jupiter went bright blue at what was lavish praise from the normally-stoic captain, trying and failing to hide her smile. "Thank you, Captain."
The other Triton merely nodded again, continuing her walk to the main deck. Her thoughts were preoccupied with their latest acquisitions, a troubled bunch to say the least. They had already been deposited to the safe haven of one of the many communities these islands fostered, but that community would in turn need extra supplies while the refugees recuperated.
A little human girl, barely in her fourteenth year, huddled beside a coil of rope. She believed she had stowed away and Physalia had humored the delusion until they had left the harbor. "What is your name, girl?" The captain queried, her hands clasped behind her back as she stood beside the rope and stared out at the darkness.
There was a beat of silence where Physalia could feel the panic rushing off of the little one in waves. Then, the child slowly got to her feet, head hung low. "Lara."
"Lara." The name was unfamiliar, difficult for her tongue. It hissed between her teeth. "Why did you sneak back aboard the Delta, little Lara? I had assumed that your last boat ride was sufficient."
"B-Because I...I know what you're going to do and I wanted to see it." The girl answered without guile.
"Oh? What is it that I'm going to do?" Physalia asked, feigning curiosity.
"You...Y-You're going to attack the ship of the flesh traders."
The captain gazed back out at the moonless night. "Perhaps. Does that trouble you?"
"No." Lara snapped, angry, young. She didn't know any better; she had been purloined from everything familiar and crushed into the hold of a ship with fifty-odd other women to be sold elsewhere. "You're the Triton captain of the Verdant Keen, the ghost ship that strikes the wicked from the fog."
The razing of the fishing village that occupied the lonely peninsula to the north had come as a shock to Physalia. Perhaps she had been optimistic to think that the legends would keep flesh peddlers away. More than mere legends hunted these waters though.
The Karyth Delta plowed through the waves, sending shocks of spray up around the figurehead. "I am no hero, little one. There will be no glamor in this." Captain Physalia warned. "Whatever you've heard about in stories, put it from your head. I know how much you land folk love to romanticize the sea, but she is as rebarbative and changeable as the men who plunder her waves."
"I understand."
She didn't, not yet. She was much too young to understand. But she would someday.
Atoll came to perch on the captain's shoulder and Physalia sighed. "Have our fog at the ready. Weislanda willing, the wind stays becalmed. According to the rest of the women, the ship will be empty aside from the crew and the shattered remains of their valuables." The captain gripped the railing when she spied the far-off twinkle of yellow lanterns close to the water's surface. "Lara, I need you to tell Atoll and N'inesmuch exactly what the ship looked like. Any and all details."
The girl looked up at the brightly-colored bird with a bit of confusion, but obediently held out her hand so the druid could swap her seating.
"You'll find N'inesmuch in the galley, I'm certain. You can't miss her." Physalia said dryly. The second mate was a large Tigris Tabaxi with a black circle around her right eye. She had a well-documented penchant for sweets that was encouraged by the quartermaster, who was a sharp-tongued Halfling named Spoon.
Once the girl had left, Rannock 'Broadside' sauntered up alongside the captain. "You'll send me in first, right boss?" He asked eagerly, making the Triton chuckle.
"Of course. I know how much you love a good fight. Just don't get too out of hand. Belle stayed behind and I don't need you and your half-brother butting heads again over your scratches." The captain reminded him sternly. "The captain of that vessel, whoever they may be, must pay for their crimes."
"And they will." The Tieliath swore, his eyes flinty with anger.
The Karyth Delta was not a particularly speedy ship. She was covered in moss, barnacles and vines and, for all intents and purposes, did indeed resemble a ghost ship far more than a seaworthy vessel. However, she possessed a singularly useful structural feature: her keel draft was exceedingly shallow.
This keel allowed the unwieldy-looking ship to easily maneuver over reefs and through channels that ought to beach it, giving her and her crew the tactical advantage in many a coastal fracas. It also made the vessel more responsive at the cost of stability, for if they came about with a full head of power she threatened to capsize. She was a touchy craft, scabbed together with the boney flotsam of other, less fortunate slavers and schooners. Much like the majority of her crew, the ragtag bunch scavenged from the waves.
But none had to endure. Physalia would force no being to remain aboard the Karyth Delta, and she demanded no such boons of loyalty from any innocent man who did not wish to stay. Her sailors were ever-changing, which suited her just fine. Though she had managed to gather a bit of a steady rogue's gallery.
First had been the surgeons, Livesey the Gnome and Ailsyuh the Goliath. They were a crotchety old couple with a bent for bickering that almost eclipsed their affection for one another. They were natives of the crown of islands, and were intimately familiar with the surrounding territories.
Closely following on their heels was Ailsyuh's younger half-brother Rannock, a Tieliath who had been raised by his Tiefling mother to prevent a scandal from occurring in the Shuliezka family. He was headstrong and mouthy, but possessed keen instincts and a sound tactical mind.
Spoon Mulberry (of the Castakay Mulberry family, not those thinbloods in Fhisklos, thank you very much) had been a strange case. The diminutive woman had just showed up at the docks one day, asking around for anyone that needed a cook on their next charter. By the grace of Weislanda, she had found the Karyth Delta and the rest was history.
Atoll had literally fallen into Physalia's lap while they were sailing around the cape of the mainland, the mermaid druid plummeting out of the sky after a wild scuffle with a larger bird had rendered her unconscious. While she lacked the affiliation of a larger clan of mer, she had a certain noble authority that could not be discounted. Physalia freely admitted her bias when she invited Atoll to stay on as first mate, the Triton just pleased to have another water-inclined individual aboard.
N'inesmuch had volunteered her services out of gratitude when the Karyth Delta rescued her from the wreckage of her forlorn little sloop, and over time had risen through the ranks to Boatswain. A formidable force in her own right, with the help of Atoll she had begun to master the green magics that ran deep within her bloodline.
Jupiter was their most recent acquisition, a juvenile Triton expelled from the deep reefs. She had clung to a rocky shoreline for the better part of two days before she was spotted by the returning Karyth Delta. Livesey had nursed her back to health and upon learning of her impeccable ability to decipher men's star charts, Physalia offered her a permanent position as her navigator. Being podless herself, the captain knew all too well how lonely the seas could be.
Tendrils of fog began to swirl as the preparatory orders went out and Physalia shook herself from her reverie to give Jupiter their heading. After that, the ship fell silent.
Atoll flew high overhead, out of the fog and towards their target. Far below beneath the waves, N'inesmuch and a few other crew members sped along in the form of sleek sharks or dolphins. Broadside paced the deck, sharpening his handaxe absently. The waiting was always the hardest part of any raid, but Captain Physalia preferred to have any and all advantages she could get. Added onto that was the benefit of knowing for certain that this was indeed the vessel of the flesh peddling captain.
/x\
The fog rolled in thick off the coast of Karyth, like it always did before the first storms of autumn. This wouldn't be particularly concerning aside from the fact that it was early spring. The young captain squinted upwards, pulling the collar of his peacoat a bit tighter around his throat.
It was a moonless night and the wind was faint, leaving the ship barely in motion through the dense miasma. "Helmsman, steady on." The captain called, trying not to let his nerves show.
Even if he was putting on a brave face, the same could not be said for the rest of his crew. They had been sullen all day, watching the waters with large, wary eyes. The more superstitious of them spoke in hushed tones of the Kraken, the many-armed Hafgufa and his terrible brother Lyngbakr, the impostor island who lured sailors to their doom.
Never mind that everyone was on edge due to them needing to jettison a majority of their plundered cargo so the overloaded ship would not sink in the squall they had run into. The storm had blown them a bit off course, further south than anyone would care to be. It was easy enough to dismiss such things as old wives tales during the bright light of day, but now the captain found himself at odds with what he sincerely hoped was his own imagination.
The vessel was still in deep waters, too far out from Karyth and the small belt of islands that it wore like a crown to be concerned about running aground. Yet he swore he heard the soft crashing of waves upon the shoreline.
He realized his mistake a bit too late to save them, regrettably.
An impact echoed from the prow of the ship and there was a loud cry that went up, "beast sighted!" The captain swung around, seizing one of the shuttered lanterns and raising it high as he heard the sounds of a short-lived scuffle break out. The light reflected off the fog, casting disorienting shapes in the black.
A shadow rose up, up, up, and a pitiful curse left the captain's lips when he caught sight of the massive, steer-like horns. The creature towered over him, looming luminous gray out of the fog with a devastating-looking handaxe gripped in one massive paw. Every man on deck was frozen, simply staring at this...hulking apparition.
"I seek your captain, boy." The creature spoke after a moment, its voice a rumbling threat. "Be a good lad and fetch them for me, would you?"
At that, the captain bristled. Drawing himself up to his inconsequential full height, he spat, "I wear my rank upon my shoulder, sirrah, and I see no such rank upon your own! Who's asking for the captain?"
"I am." The beast snarled, and the captain's burst of courage flagged almost immediately. "You're the captain? Suppose I should have expected it, you standin' there all puffed up like a peacock." It sighed heavily after a moment, nonchalantly pitching the axe to bury itself in the main mast just above the captain's head. "Disappointing."
The captain found himself abruptly snatched up by the collar of his jacket, dangling helplessly a foot or so off the deck as his men gawked. The creature was even more terrifying up close, pointed incisors sharpening its smile to a hungry leer.
"My boss seeks permission to come aboard your vessel, flesh peddler." It didn't seem to have any other tone aside from rumble. "I'd advise you to acquiesce before I snap your neck."
A new form solidified out of the fog behind the brute, one hand resting on the large creature's shoulder. It was a female, one of the sea folk. Triton or Mer the young captain could not say, they all looked grotesque to him.
The man opened his mouth to speak and the fish woman snapped her teeth at him. "Captain whelp." She addressed him through those sharp teeth. "Flesh dealer, human trader. Was it you and your sailors that sacked and pillaged the peninsula?"
"And what authority do you wield, sea beast?" The young captain retorted, a little taken aback that she knew of his ship and their shady dealings. But how? The Governess Of Bresh had a clean bill of sale and no record of unsavory practices! Even if this fish woman fancied herself an inquisitor of some kind, they had tossed all of the human cargo during the storm. She had no evidence! "Your behavior is absolutely piratical, and if you do not depart my ship at once I'll see you brought before the assizes!"
There was nothing but a breath and suddenly the woman's hands were wrapped around his throat. He hadn't even seen her cross the deck-!
"We will try again." She hissed in his face as he struggled against her hold. Her palms, cold and covered in a fine mesh of scales, heated briefly. "Was it you and your sailors that sacked and pillaged the peninsula?"
The captain opened his mouth to lie and instead the truth fell out. "Yes." The woman smiled slowly, sending a cold chill of certainty down his spine. "You're the captain of the Verdant Keen, aren't you?" He asked, muted horror washing over him. "The witch who stalks the Kraken's hunting grounds?"
"A witch, he calls me. But then, you men have many names for myself and my ship. You and your kind are warned off from this place, are you not? At your own peril, they mutter in port." The woman mused, her chuckle devoid of mirth. "You are very lucky that we were following you in the first place. I can only imagine how many more souls would be waiting to drag you down to the hells had we not collected your...abandoned spoils." Pitch black, fathomless eyes bored into his own. "This ship is ours now, whelp, and the fate of your men belongs to the sea."
"What?! That is inhumane, you cannot-"
"Inhumane?" The woman seethed, "or monstrous? Perhaps vile? Unbearable, unconscionable, barbaric? Tell me, flesh peddler, how many women have you widowed? How many children have you stolen from their homes? How humanely have you behaved, o righteous mariner?" She leaned in close, her grip tightening on his throat. "You are compelled to tell the truth at this point in time, Whelp Captain. Squirm all you want. Tell me who sent you."
The confession surged at his tongue, the young man pressing his lips together tightly to keep from revealing who his employer was.
The witch sighed heavily after a moment. "Broadside?"
"You want me to separate his head from his shoulders, boss?" The horned creature queried, cracking his knuckles before addressing the young captain. "You can either open your mouth or I'll rip your jaw off. No matter what you're dead, so it's understandable if you don't want to speak up. I don't blame you." His tone had gone alarmingly friendly. The captain got a sinking feeling in his gut even as he shook his head. "Right! I'll make it quick." The gray beast rumbled cheerily.
/x\
N'inesmuch had everything documented within two hours, the Governess Of Bresh stripped to her bare bones. The crew had all fled after their captain met his untimely demise, and if the waters churned a bit more aggressively than before, well…
Such was the nature of the sea.
Physalia and Atoll folded the last of the spare sails, the captain offering her first mate a weary half-smile. "It is good, yes?"
"You are too lenient." Atoll sniffed, their long-standing argument reignited once more. "Leaving them to the sea is too merciful. We should have tied them all to the mast before we set the craft ablaze." Her purple eyes sparkled like she was telling a joke and Physalia was reminded once more that Merfolk partook in certain diversions that Tritons did not.
"I am not a tyrant." The captain replied calmly. "Land is not far from here. Allowing someone to live is often a far better form of punishment." She leaned in, idly gathering Atoll's messy curls back from her face and fashioning them into a quick braid. "Killing them outright would have been the lenient option, my merciful first mate."
Atoll huffed, crossing her arms. A purple flush dusted her cheeks. "Oh, very well Captain. I suppose you could be right." She allowed after several moments. "Besides, we've gotten what we came for. That's all that matters."
"Aye." Physalia murmured, watching Broadside scoop the body of the arrogant young captain up and deposit it over the railing. "Lara and the others will be pleased to have their valuables back, I'm certain. Though it will not cure the loss of their homes, husbands or sons, they can rebuild." The crest that ran down the center of her head began to flare upwards once more. "And I will not allow such a thing to happen again." She muttered through her teeth.
"We will not, you mean." Atoll corrected.
Physalia inclined her head. "Of course, forgive me. We will not."
/x\
The flames that devoured the Governess Of Bresh lit the horizon long after the ship itself had faded into the distance. Captain Physalia stood beside Jupiter at the helm, her thoughts miles away. Belowdecks she could faintly hear Lara squeaking with delight as she helped N'inesmuch sort through their spoils.
The Governess had carried a great deal of foodstuffs as well as the ill-gotten gains they had pilfered from the peninsula. Far more food than they would have needed were this not a planned endeavor. Physalia had hoped against hope that they had simply been men who made a single terrible choice, but the amount of supplies they carried pointed to premeditation.
That complicated things. More would come. And if more came...
The captain's brow furrowed. More traffic, more ships, more activity would certainly stir the leviathan from its centuries of lethargy. A freshly-roused Kraken was good news for no one.
She shook her head after a moment. They would just need to be more vigilant, that was all. They could still put an end to the new trade routes. There was still time.
Physalia mustered up her usual half-smile, tilting her head. "Don't fret, Jupiter. Your captain is prone to brooding." She said by way of apology. "You have our heading. I trust you'll bring us safely home?"
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.
Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Josh Groban: When You Say You Love Me and Michael Shynes: The Slowdown
Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked
For Leofore
Light And Home
So Little Time
A Choice
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains body dysmorphia, pregnancy, emotional duress, triggering terminology and sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]
It had been two months.
Technically, sixty-four days.
Sixty-four days since Destrier and the rest of the King's Elite had departed on what the king claimed was, ' the last hurrah .'
Sixty-four days since Knight-Captain Destrier Revel had promised her with an easy, confident grin that he would be back.
Sixty-four days since Illeria had desperately tried to convince Leofore to let Destrier stay behind. She had gone before the stern senior paladin, refusing to be cowed or to resort to an emotional outburst even as her hands trembled.
Knight-Commander Leofore had set his jaw, the lines in his face deepening while she explained her current situation. " I understand that you are his wife, Illeria, but I cannot show favoritism among my men. The amount of spouses and partners that have thrown themselves at my feet to beg for leniency over the course of this war… " he had trailed off, turning Illeria's fragile hope to dust that clogged her throat.
" He does not know, Knight-Commander. I did not believe it would be fair to tell him and distract him further ." She managed to say.
Leofore had looked surprised, then grateful. " You are a strong woman, Illeria. You have made my former charge the happiest man alive, and I thank you for that. Should anything occur to Destrier, I will personally see to it that you are well taken care of. "
" With all due respect, Knight-Commander, " Illeria had replied, perhaps a bit more tartly than was proper, " that is my husband's responsibility ."
It had been simpler then, like putting on a performance. But her life had become so deathly quiet in the absence of the bright beacon that was Destrier. It was as if winter had descended over the land early, sapping the color from everything and leaving it lifeless and dull.
More than once she succumbed to weeping, cupping her abdomen as if to shelter the innocent life that currently grew within her. The midwife had told her that her emotions would run high, that she would be sick and changeable. Destrier hadn't seemed to notice before he left, his easygoing nature more than able to adapt when she snapped at him.
Illeria smiled sadly down at the shirt she was mending. Truly, the man could be so incredibly oblivious when he was off the battlefield.
The ring he had given her caught the light of the fire in the hearth, the recessed stone seeming to glow in the amber illumination. Illeria hadn't removed the ring since Destrier had presented it to her, and often found herself absently toying with it during quiet evenings as her mind wandered. This was apparently one such evening.
"All I can do," the woman sighed aloud, "is simply continue to hope and pray for his safe return."
/x\
Destrier was wracked with impatience to the highest degree. He knew that it was not prudent to urge their remaining troops to march home any quicker, but his mind was ablaze with concern for his wife.
His pregnant wife.
"I still cannot believe she didn't tell me." He huffed at Leofore for possibly the hundredth time.
And for the hundredth time Leofore replied, "she did not wish to seem as though she was using the child to barter, Revel. Indeed, had you not been so reckless, you would still be unawares!" The older paladin knocked a gauntlet into Destrier's right elbow teasingly, making the younger man wince.
Destrier's right arm was bandaged to the shoulder and rested in a ramshackle sling against his chest. A Kull laying in wait to ambush them had nearly ripped the limb from his body when it had hurled him through the air; even their most skilled healers had their hands full with repairing such a wound. Mainly due to the young man staunchly decrying the aid, claiming that he was fine , there was work to be done!
It wasn't until Leofore had shouted at him, upbraiding the knight for being foolhardy, do you wish for your child to grow up fatherless, Knight Revel?! , that Destrier stopped in his tracks and permitted his wounds to be tended to. Partially out of shock, of course, but also because he knew that Leofore would not lie to him.
Now, every second that they were away was another second he didn't have Illeria in his arms. To say he was 'startled' by his body's reaction to her absence would be a lie. He could barely contain the desire to spur his warhorse to a gallop.
As the first scattered outlying farms of Mid Port came into view, Leofore finally took pity on the other paladin. "Go already! I'm about to crawl out of my skin just watching you!" He urged, giving Destrier a wink. "Go to her, lad. She's waited long enough to tell you."
/x\
As the seasons were waxing into fall, travelers were few and far between. Far better to travel during the warm summer months than to endure the raw, rainy atmosphere of the current times.
Illeria had decided that Maplecrest would be closed for the week to offer her the ability to properly scour the establishment clean and swap the bedding to thicker articles. Between cycling the linens, sweeping the floors, cleaning the chimney, washing the curtains, dusting the rafters...the young woman had been so busy she didn't even have time to think, which had done wonders for her emotional state. It was so much easier to cope with the uncertainty when she wasn't actively thinking about it, when she could just collapse exhausted into bed at night and sleep undisturbed.
She was in the middle of hemming some old linens to use as cleaning rags when the sharp sound of the front door hitting the wall caught her attention.
The awkwardly mumbled apology also caught her attention.
Illeria jolted, her eyes flying to the doorway where her husband stood.
Her husband. "Destrier!" She cried gladly. "You're back!" Heedless of the linens, she bolted from her chair by the fireplace and pitched herself into his arms.
The large man cradled her to his chest, pressing his face into the kerchief covering her hair. She heard him inhale deeply and then Destrier gave a long, heavy sigh. " Illeria , I've...I am so…it's good to be home, my love." He suddenly sneezed violently. "I see you have been busy! You are coated with grime." The blond laughed, running a finger down the bridge of her nose and across her cheekbones as if to dust her off.
Illeria floundered, her face going hot at his teasing and at the realization of the state she must be in. The woman took a step back to observe him and she realized suddenly that his right arm was bound to his chest in a sling. "Oh, what happened? You…"
"It's nothing, my love. Nothing at all." Destrier tipped her chin up and gave her a soft, tender kiss. "I'll be fine once I can get you alone once more." His words were bold, so bold, brown eyes alight with mirth as he watched her try to regain her composure. "Don't let me keep you from your work, my love."
Illeria, still overcome with relief at his safe return, returned his kiss in a manner that was incredibly improper. Her tongue stroked his own in a lascivious echo of what she would love to do to him, right here if he wished.
"Iller-Illeria, please, mercy." The knight murmured against her lips, his gaze heated when he reluctantly pulled away. "Mercy, for a time. There are a few matters I must tend to, but I will return in the evening."
"You're leaving? Again?" Illeria's emotions roiled uncertainly, tipping between sadness and joy.
Destrier seemed to notice, his hand gliding over her cheek and cupping the heated skin. "Aye, only for a few hours. What is a few more hours for us, my love?" He reasoned. "I am certain we will have much to discuss!"
Oh, if only you knew! Illeria thought mournfully, wondering if this was the last time she would be on the receiving end of his affection. Many men said they craved children, a family, but when confronted with the reality…
Destrier had given her no reason to doubt his intent, she scolded herself. Now who was the fatalistic one? Illeria forced a melancholy little smile for him.
" 'What is a few more hours' , indeed. Hurry back, love." Her panic set in once the door closed after him. "Oh Goddess ," Illeria swore, "I need to bathe! " She scrambled for the door of her quarters, nervous nausea bubbling in her throat while she stripped nude.
Her stomach was becoming more obvious by the day. Soon enough she wouldn't be able to hide it, even with her heavier homespun skirts. Illeria sighed unhappily, running a hand over the still-small bump. Perhaps...perhaps Destrier would want a family. Perhaps now, they could be simply husband and wife.
But did she have it in her to tether him so blatantly? Despite the burden it would put on her, Illeria was loath to clip his wings. Would he grow to resent her? Hate her even, for coming between himself and his pursuit of martial superiority?
The young woman set her jaw firmly after a moment, willing her lower lip to cease trembling. Surely he would not have married her if he intended to flee at the first sign of their activities bearing fruit, she tried to reason with herself. The memory of their nights spent together before his most recent departure was tinged with a bittersweet melancholy, the echo of his touch haunting her in his absence.
The realization that she may still have such a lonely life ahead of her left Illeria clinging to the washstand for support.
It was a long time before she could rouse herself to continue to prepare for her husband's return.
/x\
"She does not know that you know? Why did you not tell her you knew?!"
Destrier blinked, absently nodding his thanks to the young cleric who had tended to his arm. The appendage still ached, but at least he could move his fingers once more. "I...If it is her news to give me, Knight-Commander Leof-"
" Lad , you vex me endlessly!" The older paladin cut him off in exasperation, whirling on Destrier so sharply that his mantle cracked! in the still air of the throne room. "I love you like you are my own brother but gods , you are dense! This woman, your wife , has the patience to rival any saint. 'Tis bad enough that you came here instead of staying with her to allay her fears."
"I did not wish to stand on ceremony with our monarch, Leofore. King Jonathan deserved to hear my resignation as soon as possible, that he may find a suitable replacement." Revel replied stiffly. "Illeria understands that I have a responsibility to His Majesty and His subjects."
"She is your wife , Revel! She cannot, should not be second to your responsibilities!" Leofore retorted.
King Jonathan, observing the two men with more than a fair share of bemusement, nodded his head in agreement. "The knight-commander is right, Destrier. I appreciate your care in this matter and we will attempt to expedite the process as much as possible, but the eve of your return is not the time to discuss such weighty matters." The king took his wife's hand, his eyes growing distant. "You must cherish what you have, Destrier. Life is an immeasurably precious thing." With a wave of his free hand, the monarch dismissed the two paladins.
Leofore appeared ready to seize Destrier by his gorget and haul him bodily along, the older man escorting his blond subordinate to the nearest washroom. Forty minutes later, scrubbed pink and unruly hair plastered down, Destrier Revel emerged sans armor. His ascot was untied but Leofore assured the other knight it would not be improper for him to return to his wife in such a state of undress.
And if she was waiting for him…
Destrier couldn't help the impatience that took hold of him, his stride lengthening to devour even more ground. Across the courtyard to the stables where his mount rested serenely, anticipating his return. "Aye, you know where we're headed." Destrier murmured to the beast once he settled into the saddle, gathering the reins in his good hand.
The white horse tossed its head as if to agree, taking off at a brisk trot. Truly, Destrier knew he could have simply walked; the distance was reasonably short. But this would be even quicker still.
Illeria's belligerent plow horse didn't even look up when Destrier rode into the barn, the swaybacked animal too absorbed with its nightly feed. The knight rushed through the motions of stabling his horse clumsily, the weakness of his dominant hand making the task more challenging than it needed to be. But finally, finally , it was done.
Destrier's boots felt impossibly light as he strode across the sodden courtyard. Gods , being apart from her was torturous. "Illeria?" He called as he opened the door, raising his hand out of habit to graze the wood carving overhead.
"The bedroom, love!" Her voice met him and he struggled out of his boots, certain that tracking mud across her floors would be grounds for expulsion.
Her bedroom. Their bedroom. His heart ached. How long had Illeria known that she was with child? Keeping the secret so that he could fulfill his duties without distraction…
He didn't deserve her selflessness.
Destrier closed his eyes momentarily, attempting to regain his composure. Deep breath in, slow exhale out. The blow always hurts more if you're bracing into it. Relax , Revel!
It was now or never. The blond man squared his shoulders.
"Illeria, we must discuss-" he began to say as he pushed open the door to their bedroom, but the words left his mind the moment he saw her. No matter how many damned times he had been graced by the sight of her nudity, Destrier still found himself a bit awed. "Ah." He finally managed to say.
He was not so far gone that he didn't notice how pensive she seemed, the young man taking in the way her teeth worried idly at her lower lip. "You don't wish to touch your wife, Knight Revel?" Illeria teased after a moment, but an odd tension was in the air. "I have been remarkably patient, wouldn't you say?"
"Beloved," Destrier murmured, "you are the most patient woman alive. However, be patient for a moment longer. There is an important matter we must discuss."
"It cannot wait?"
"Absolutely not." Destrier took her hand in his own and he was discomfited to find that she was trembling wildly. "My love, you are shaking."
"Anticipation, that's all." Illeria attempted to brush off his concern, the young woman propping herself up on her elbows and then wrapping her arms around her knees protectively. "Well, let's hear it."
"I...I know why you did not tell me before I departed, of course. I understand somewhat." Destrier started cautiously. "But it grieves me all the same that you had to endure such a burden of knowledge alone, to say nothing of the physical strain!" He wrapped her in a one-armed embrace, resting his cheek on her head. "You are my wife , Illeria. My partner, my equal."
She was still for a moment, and then Destrier felt her shoulders shudder. Her hands dug into the fabric covering his back, gripping it so tightly. "I was afraid." Illeria hiccupped, her voice small.
"Afraid? Of what?" Destrier asked, genuinely puzzled.
"How you would react. Whether you would even wish to have a child at all. Your duties-"
" Illeria ," Destrier interrupted her gently. "My love, I have resigned."
"You…what?" Illeria blinked up at him, her face wet with tears. Revel used his ascot to tenderly blot them away. "B-But the kingdom-!"
"His Majesty has already approved my request. There is the paperwork, of course. I'm certain there will be stacks, yet I feel nothing but elation." Destrier told her, sure that his smile was insufferable to behold.
Her own smile in response was slower, tentative, until it bloomed fully and he was blinded by the radiance of it. Her laughter was like the first drops of rain that heralded the end of a drought, the build to incredulous jubilation that had her throwing herself headlong into his chest and covering his face with excited kisses.
Gods , he had to be the luckiest man in the entire world. Destrier simply listened to the praises Illeria murmured against his skin as if she was offering prayers to some ancient, sensual deity, and he felt more alive than he ever had on the battlefield.
Abruptly Illeria leaned her weight on his injured arm and despite his best efforts, Destrier couldn't conceal his wince. She pulled back, her brow furrowed and mouth opening to say something. No doubt she was attempting to apologize. Destrier shifted his body, his lips meeting her own hungrily once more before he settled onto his back. "I'm afraid I am too weary to fully solve this problem myself tonight." He said with a contrite grimace, gesturing at his arm. "If you would be kind enough to help me disrobe, I will pay you back in the morn."
/x\
"Are you certain? If you are not... able , I would not ask anything from you." Illeria protested, heat surging in her face from the implication behind his verbiage.
Destrier caught her hand, bringing it to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles softly. "I need you tonight, beloved. I am a greedy man, craving the warmth of your body." He murmured, his honest words sending a frisson of delight down her back. "My life has been fraught with sharp edges and the weight of hundreds of lives on my shoulders, please , let me find peace with you."
His eyes had gone distant, dark even in the orange glow of the fire, and Illeria watched silently as he pressed a final kiss to her palm and then rested their joined fingers over the curve of her stomach.
"What we have created...what you have nurtured faithfully in my absence…" the knight whispered, words trailing off as his voice broke.
"I should have been honest with you." Illeria blurted out. "I just didn't wish to pin you down. I see now that it was foolish of me to fear your reaction."
"I love you, Illeria." Destrier assured her while she began to unbutton the placket on his breeches. "You don't ever need to fear me, beloved. I would never willfully cause you harm, but I beg you to be plain with me from this point onward. Do not suffer in silence. Will you promise me that?"
Illeria rested her forehead against his, smiling at him. "Of course, my love."
Through her efforts, she managed to successfully unbutton his shirt and wrestle his breeches down over his knees, his smallclothes soon following suit. Destrier groaned low in his throat, his good arm slung over his eyes as if he was attempting to hide his reaction to her touch. But the flush that no doubt reddened his face also extended down his chest, his unbuttoned shirt exposing him thoroughly. Nevermind his cock, already hard and weeping on his stomach.
It jumped when Illeria stroked her index over the tip and Destrier exhaled a ragged gasp. "So eager, my love! Surely it is enough that you already have me with child?" Illeria teased.
"Illeria, if it is you, it is never enough." He answered her bluntly. "Rend my completion from me a thousand times and it will never be enough, beloved."
The low timbre of his voice burrowed beneath her skin, setting her body alight. Illeria straddled his thighs, her hand gripping the base of his cock to steady him. She tapped his hip bone sharply, and Destrier's eyes flew up to meet her own. "Please don't move until I permit you to. Give me a moment to adjust." The woman requested, relieved when her husband nodded rapidly. Destrier could be overeager and, while he did his best, he still was a bit hazy on the intersection of his own strength and her bodily limitations.
Illeria rose up on her knees and sank slowly down onto his cock, a whine escaping her at the slide of his length into her body. Destrier's weakened hand was fisted so tightly that his knuckles had gone as white as the bedding, his other hand tangled desperately in the blankets. "Ille-" He tried to speak, but she settled down on his hips and he made a strangled noise instead.
Illeria widened her stance slightly, doing her best to take him as deep as she could. He filled her so well, stretching her nearly to her limits as she rutted her mound against his pelvis. The woman took a selfish moment to minister to her own needs, her hands cupping her breasts to stimulate herself as she rocked back and forth on her husband's cock. Destrier bore it all while echoing her own moans, his teeth gritted.
"You're so good to me, Desty." Illeria managed to say, her hips moving of their own accord in the age-old rhythm of copulation. "So good, so patient-"
"You're killing me, you're killing me, gods let me move ," Destrier pleaded. "Let me love you, let me touch you-"
"You may move, love." No sooner had she given his permission than Illeria found his hand grappling at the small of her back, the knight urging her down to lay nearly prone on his chest. He then began thrusting upwards into her fiercely, punching the breath out of her with the depth of his motion. Illeria whimpered, the sound seeming to drive him into a frenzy as his movements became erratic.
" Gods , I-" Destrier choked out, " cannot last, damn it --"
"Come inside me, love." Illeria commanded him breathlessly, loving the way his entire body shuddered at the order.
"Gods yes, gods yes, as many times as you want, fuck -" The blond swore, his hand splayed on the small of her back pressing her firmly down on his length as he came inside her.
Illeria laid on top of him for several long moments while the two of them tried to catch their breath, her ear pressed to his chest so she could hear his heart's wild tempo. "I've missed you, love." She whispered, surprised when he dropped a clumsy kiss on the top of her head.
"Did you come?" Destrier asked bluntly, grimacing when she shook her head. "I apologize, I'm afraid my eagerness overwhelmed my consideration. I will not send you to sleep without your release." He promised, his smile a bit crooked. "I just need a moment to regain my composure."
Illeria put her palms on his chest, leveraging herself upright. Destrier groaned when his cock slipped free of her body, a muttered oath issuing into the heated air between them. Illeria, for her part, smiled down at him and then sat back on his hips. Her husband's still half-hard cock slotted smoothly between the folds of her cunt, and she shivered when the blunt head of it pushed hot and slick against her clit.
"Illeria?" Destrier called her name, his tone bordering on curiosity. "Does it...is that satisfactory to you?"
"Very much so, love." Illeria assured him, and his hand found her left breast. Large, calloused fingers cupped her, his touch almost reverent in its delicacy.
"I doubt you will wish for me to touch you in this manner once you are truly heavy with child." Destrier remarked, his expression distant once more. "But it is already more than I deserve to witness you like this."
Illeria bent down to press her forehead to his own, the woman forcing him to look at her, really look at her as she stroked herself over his member like some wanton, feral thing. "Destrier," she whimpered, feeling the way his cock leapt at her voice alone. "I never wish for you to stop touching me. I love you so much."
"And I you, beloved." Destrier kissed her eagerly, only breaking away to tilt his head back and gasp for air. " Gods Illeria, you urge me to expedite my recovery!" He huffed, chuckling ruefully. "Soon enough I will be able to give you what you crave. Forgive my momentary incapacitation."
"Don't rush yourself, my love. I rather enjoy having you at my mercy." Illeria replied playfully, loving the way his eyes lit up at her words.
"You would!" He retorted, sounding absolutely delighted. "But you know you need only ask. The very breath in my chest is already yours, beloved." Destrier reached up again, taking her chin and kissing her sweetly. "Anything you desire, anything in my power to give." He murmured into her mouth.
"All I ask for is your love, Destrier." Illeria answered, tenderly sweeping the hair stuck to his forehead out of his eyes.
"All that she asks for is all that I have to give." Destrier sighed, "it is all my heart beats for, beloved. For you, and…" he paused, laying his hand on her stomach while he gazed up at her lovingly. "For the little one."
Illeria bit her lip, warding off the tears that threatened to spill over. "Show me, my love."
/x\
When she woke in the gray light of dawn, it was to the hot, wet sensation of her husband's hard cock sliding back into her cunt from behind. Barely awake, all Illeria could do was keen and whimper while he sank deep. Destrier's mouth pressed against her ear, his long, low growl of satisfaction sending a searing wave through her body.
"How are you always so tight for me?" He muttered, filthy words that had the woman burying her face in the pillow even as she arched her hips up to greet him. Destrier grunted, shifting his weight slightly and reaching around to brush over her clit.
Illeria sobbed out a breath, too spent from their night of debauchery to do much of anything aside from angle her pelvis downwards against his fingers. Destrier let her struggle for a moment before he tapped the top of her shoulder, easing her back down until she was prone yet again. He didn't appear to care overmuch that he had trapped his good hand beneath her, the fingers of his other hand twining through her own as he lowered himself down with her.
Illeria's cunt throbbed with want around his length, the peaks of her breasts teased by the rough homespun blanket beneath her. She could have come just from that little stimuli alone, already so sensitive and alight from prolonged desire. But Destrier was thorough and patient, soothing her halfway back to sleep as he slowly rocked her between the searing embrace of his body and the warm, calloused touch of his fingers.
"Shh, it's only a dream, my wife." He teased her breathlessly as she cried out his name into the pillow. "I know, I know, I am a cruel and pitiless man to deprive you of the rest you need so dearly. Permit me a moment of selfishness." Destrier whispered, his pelvis seated firmly against her rear. "Just a moment, and then we shall sleep until noon."
"Fill me up, Destrier, make me come-!" Illeria begged, her voice cracking with desperation.
Destrier made a strange noise behind her, half-pained, his fingers spreading her folds so she could grind herself into the heel of his hand. It was barely a breath before she was coming, every inch of bare skin tingling in the frenzied glow of her aftermath.
Destrier's skin slapped against her own as he lost the fight with his patience, the young man grabbing her hips and thrusting into her as deeply as he could. "Gods, I love it when you come for me." He muttered through his teeth, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "So wet , warm, need you, gods what have you done to me--"
"P-- lease ," Illeria moaned, her breath hitching from the vigor of his motions. "Oh, please Destrier…"
" Yes ." Destrier's voice lowered to a strange, rich register as he found his completion, the man effectively pinning her down to the bed with the weight of his body while he came. Illeria felt his grip on her hand twitch with every throb, unconsciously echoing his release. " Gods , there. There. Now we can go back to sleep." He gasped after a moment, dragging himself up onto his elbows and rolling to his side.
Illeria, too tired to even think about moving, vaguely felt his weight leave the bed. After a moment, a warmed washcloth grazed her quivering cunt and she couldn't help the whine she let out, her hands clutching at the bedspread.
Destrier urged her legs apart and his fingers plunged into her, the man mercilessly stroking down against the sweet spot on the inner wall of her stomach. Illeria, though exhausted, felt yet another orgasm begin to curl in anticipatory preparation as her husband worked her over with practised, circular strokes. "One more for me? I am so greedy for you, beloved, please." He implored sweetly, like he wasn't the devil incarnate who had already kept her up half the night with his lovemaking.
Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes and, thoroughly overwhelmed, Illeria had no choice but to surrender to the burgeoning arousal that Destrier had coaxed to the surface. The way he moved, the expertise of his touch...she had never had a chance in the first place. Her husband, Destrier Revel, always brought her to such lofty heights and took his blessed time returning from them. He savored every moment with her after their first coupling, drawing the pleasure out until it lingered bright and sharp, wavering on pain.
Such was his love for her, and such was her love for him. Brilliant as starfire, soft as moonlight, endless as the very cosmos.
/x\
"What shall we name them?" Illeria mumbled sleepily to Destrier after he had cleaned her off. He was not quite as comfortable with his prestidigitation as he would like to be and besides, there was something achingly intimate about tending to her in a practical fashion. "The baby," she clarified needlessly.
Destrier froze midway through the motion of tugging the blanket up to shield them from the (comparatively) chillier air in the room. The baby . Gods, they were having a baby. He would be a father . Overtaken by emotion, he kissed her forehead softly. "It can wait, beloved. We shall have months for you to decide."
"No," his wife slurred in protest, clinging to his hand and blinking blearily up at him. "You decide. Pick a name."
"I...Illeria, you cannot expect me to name them. We know not whether they shall be a boy or a girl!" Destrier reasoned.
Truthfully, he was fearful to name a child as he had named himself . Gods only knew what his birth name actually was. Leofore had never questioned the validity of his identity, the dark-haired paladin unaware that the orphan had simply blurted out the first thing he could think of after Leofore had dragged him out of the muck of the barracks stable. It was truly a miracle that Destrier had managed to get so far in life with a moniker that reduced him to nothing but a warhorse.
The blond man's brow furrowed and he rotated his previously-injured arm, wincing a bit when it twinged slightly. He was on the mend, if only just. Perhaps he was aggressively foolhardy for being so active , but with a wife that was as eager and affectionate as Illeria…
Well, any man would be hard-pressed to consider their wounds under such pleasurable duress.
Illeria grumbled and grudgingly let him sink down onto the bed beside her. Soon enough she pressed against his ribs, her cheek resting on his chest as she hummed wearily and he stroked her hair. "It will be a boy." She murmured, sounding nearly asleep.
"Oh aye? You are sure of that?" Destrier teased.
"I am." His wife insisted, rubbing her nose against his chest. "I can tell."
"Very well. I shall not poke fun at your maternal intuition." Destrier promised solemnly, earning himself a one-eyed glare. "However I will reiterate my previous counsel, beloved. Rest . When you wake, then we may discuss further." He gestured out the window at the grey twilight, "the weather promises to be rainy, and if there is no reason for us to leave this bed…" the blond man trailed off pointedly.
Illeria still put up an admirable fight, lasting an entire seven seconds before she was sound asleep on his chest.
The former Knight-Captain Destrier Revel smiled, his finger delicately tracing the bridge of Illeria's nose. "I am so glad to have you by my side," he whispered to her, blinking away the grateful tears misting his eyes when she snuggled a bit closer to him, " my wife ."
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.
Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: As Cities Burn: Wrong Body and The Classic Crime: The Beginning (A Simple Seed)
Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked
For Leofore
Light And Home
So Little Time
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore, emotional duress, triggering terminology regarding motherhood/childbirth and sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]
Glasha, first of the Urgals. Broodmare of the Horde. The terror of the Sunken Places, the one of the corrupted womb. Unmother .
Through their long campaign there had been whispers of such a fiend. Naero no doubt knew more than he let on, but they had all stumbled across multitudes of crude altars, or effigies and poppets constructed to the unliving , the one who gave life without life.
Destrier swallowed hard. Leofore was already gone, lost to that righteous rage he channeled so brightly. But the younger paladin was frozen in place, staring down this sad creature in front of him.
Glasha wailed her wrath again and again, tears pouring down her sunken cheeks. Did she grieve the loss of such terrible children that she had been forced to bear? Or did she mourn the loss of her own autonomy? Her cries and curses in Urgal struck Destrier's ears like a physical blow, the squalling laced with a new, unfamiliar edge that threatened to rend him apart.
He seemed to be the only one who was paying attention to her words, the rest of the King's Elite obviously too far gone in their quest for revenge or merely dismissing it as manic babbling.
She screamed names, names , she had named every one of the abominations they had slain.
Nausea threatened hot in Destrier's throat, his thoughts skittering to Illeria without his conscious input. An image rose in his mind's eye and he tried desperately to crush it down before he could become too aware of it, but-
Her standing in the doorway of Maplecrest, a small child balanced on her hip, pale like him or sporting her own beautiful complexion? Would they be blond, saddled with his beak of a nose, or would they be blessed with a thick head of lovely curls? A child, his child, their child...
What if he had made her a mother when they laid together before his departure? What if he didn't survive? To leave her with a bastard, his bastard-
As Argon roared and Leofore shouted and the lich shrieked her pain out at them both, the blond man found himself at a loss once again. Just like when they had fought Leofore, he was distracted, tangled by his foolish feelings. Agony flooded his body, the blatant longing for that imagined future so potent it cut him to the marrow. With it came the soft certainty that he must endure this, if only to return home and plead for forgiveness.
He suddenly spotted Naero making a mad dash for a strange box half-hidden behind that altar and at that, the world snapped back into clarity for him.
No hesitation. No mercy. She is the enemy and she must be destroyed for the sake of the kingdom. That familiar deep voice, as rich and smokey as a solstice-warmed whiskey, echoed in his ears. Burn the wicked and rule the ashes.
Naero grabbed the box and fled further back in the sunken cathedral, the elf already yelling for Ganymethios to, " purge this damn thing! "
Glasha gestured her hand to cast something , foul sigils flickering in the deathly still air with a tainted, fetid light. Destrier felt her attention shift to him when he foiled her spell, his shout of Garuda denies it! obviously raising her hackles. It was hardly his first time countering a spell, but the effort it took to merely keep it from completing stole his breath. She was strong .
They had been fools to think they would manage her so easily. They would have to hope and pray for an opening, some weakness they could grab hold of and exploit, otherwise this quest would end in a spectacular failure.
A ripple of energy that Destrier vaguely recalled from their prior struggle with Leofore cracked the very flagstones underfoot. Leofore had been clumsy and heavy-handed with the dark magics foisted upon him, the paladin unused to wielding such methods. Glasha, in contrast, wove her spells with the frightening, chaotic intensity of an individual who had nothing left to lose.
Leofore, Thranrok and Argon were doing their best to keep her at bay while Naero and Ganymethios tried to destroy the box. His mind made up, Destrier finally took a firm step forward to aid his friends and a second powerful tremor shifted the earth beneath him, throwing him off balance.
One moment Glasha was trapped behind the impregnable wall that was his allies, the next she had misty-stepped past them all. She had no physical weapon, simply raising her bony fingers and curving them into malicious talons. Black light seethed and writhed over her knuckles as she lunged forward at Destrier.
"You, the child-killer who would waste my spells, you shall taste the wrath of the Unmother before you die!" She screamed.
Glasha, first of the Urgals. A lost cause. A wandering soul, grief and madness given form. Gods only knew the torments she had seen. Gods only knew the vengeance she would wreak if left to her own devices.
Destrier raised his lance at the last moment and Glasha ran herself through, shrieking in his face while she slowed to a halt. Ichor trickled down, soaking his skin via the star cut-outs in the knight's gauntlets. Somewhere, deep in his soul, Destrier knew the bonfire of Garuda roared in delight.
"I release you from this." Destrier breathed, radiant energy streaking up the haft of his lance and surging into her stomach. "I release you from this horrible bondage, Glasha Unmother. Find what peace you can in the knowledge that you shall not return."
The lich was eerily silent, simply clinging to the blade of his lance as she began to disappear. Destrier stayed where he was, and thus it was only he that saw her last little smirk.
The knight recoiled, shouting, "fan out and search the room! I do not trust such good fortune!"
"What, why?" Gany protested, poking at the pile of ash that had been the box. "We got her phylactery already, Revel."
"No no, he has a point. It would be unwise for us to just accept that was the phylactery." Thranrok reasoned, "we need to learn from our mistakes."
" Your mistakes, you mean." Naero commented dryly. "None of us ever claimed to be well-read on matters of lichdom."
While the dwarf, elf and dragonborn bickered with one another, the two paladins and the bloodhunter began to examine the subterranean cathedral. Destrier took a chance and extended a request to the starlit void, asking for guidance. And Aetros, Ad Astra, Everflame , answered in timely fashion.
Open your eyes, faithless paladin, and look below. Beneath the cracked stones of her altar of pretend worship, you will find what you seek.
Destroy it.
Knight-Captain Destrier Revel, a man not prone to questioning, gamely trotted over to the altar and started rummaging through the rubble that had once been the floor. As he heaved aside a broken flagstone slab, a small, battered box came into view. Emblazoned with the same rune that he had seen in the town's well, no less! It looked to be made out of several different types of woods or materials he could not identify in the gloomy twilight.
His brow furrowed, the knight reached down to tug the box free of the damp earth.
The second his fingers grazed the moldering edge, crippling pain struck him in the stomach. It was as if his insides were being ripped to shreds, the base of his belly alight with twisting, searing agony. His mind was suddenly assaulted with memories that were not his own. Bloody and sickly flesh, the grey-green skin of Urgals and the squealing of unfed whelps clamoring for their matron. The bone-crushing exhaustion, defeat, betrayal, loss, hatred --
Destrier dry-heaved and tore his cape free of its moorings, rushing to wrap the box with the fabric in an attempt to dull the horrific sensation. It seemed to work, at the very least ridding him of the haunting, gruesome imagery. "Knight-Commander!" He barked, his words clipped to keep his distress from showing. "I have found what we sought. We must return to the chantry at once!"
/x\
One hurried teleportation and a rushed, panicky interruption of the High Mass later, the phylactery was reduced to incredibly-consecrated ashes. Thranrok and Ganymethios fairly preened under the praise of High Priest Xavier, the former adventurer commending the 'intellectuals' of the King's Elite for their 'quick, decisive action'.
Leofore caught Destrier's arm on his way past, patting his shoulder. "Argon, Naero and myself are going to Jonathan. He will be overjoyed with our triumph." The older paladin looked weary, yet still somehow peaceful. It was as if he had been struggling under some great burden, one that he could not share. Now that they had returned though, the weight was gone.
"I shall join you." Destrier offered, following the other man.
Oddly, Leofore shook his head. "Nay, my friend. Your place is elsewhere. I am certain there is someone eagerly waiting for you." He remarked, a smug little grin on his face. Destrier flinched, casting his eyes down at the floor. "What troubles you, Revel?" The dark-haired paladin queried, "do you not wish to return to her?"
"I am...unsure of myself." Destrier mumbled. "I have much to consider, Knight-Commander."
"Aye, I suppose you do." That gilded white and gold gauntlet clapped down on his pauldron, and Destrier felt Leofore give him a gentle shake. "Do not languish for too long, Knight Revel. She at least deserves to know the truth of your turmoil." Leofore reasoned wisely.
Destrier nodded, giving his commander a salute. He meandered back through the cathedral, the pew he selected creaking in warning beneath the weight of his armor before Destrier lapsed into silent contemplation. Brooding , rather.
He should not be so confounded by this. It cast doubt upon the entirety of his military career! It was shameful that the man who held the position of knight-captain in their legion was also afflicted by such crippling doubt. He needed to be strong in the field, firm and confident. Not some tremulous dastard who was too in his head to make the difficult choices required to win a war!
"My son, I am surprised you are still here!" High Priest Xavier's voice interrupted his reverie and Destrier glanced up, trying to force a smile for the other man. "I had thought you would be celebrating with the others. It's not every day that the King's Elite manage to rid the realm of a terrible threat." The priest continued, settling down into the pew alongside him.
"My thoughts are more pressing than the imminent festivities, I'm afraid."
"Aella is here, my son. He always has an open ear for the plights of his people." High Priest Xavier intoned, his expression one of sympathy.
The knight exhaled hard. "I am certain I was not ever supposed to think about this." Destrier admitted quietly. He pressed Illeria's scarf to his lips in a gesture of contemplative reverence. "It is unbecoming, this...weakness."
"What deep musings grieve you, Knight-Captain Revel? It is strange to see you so downtrodden."
"I killed a mother today, High Priest Xavier. I am unsure if she wanted to be a mother, but she was a mother all the same. And I cut her down." Destrier stared at the altar. "There is a woman, who...I mean, if she is still willing , I wish to ask her to...well, be my partner in this world."
The fantasy of Illeria flashed into his mind again like a curse, her smiling at him in the doorway of Maplecrest with a babe on her hip. Gods, gods , he wasn't strong enough for this. The paladin rubbed his eyes hard , like he could dismiss his cheap imaginings so simply. His wishful wants mattered precious little in this world.
Xavier began speaking to him after a moment, the high priest remarking thoughtfully, "you feel unworthy of companionship because you ended the suffering of a creature that could not decide their own fate."
"Does that not make it even worse?" Destrier erupted, his tone sharp with desperation. "If myself and the rest of the King's Elite struck down someone who had no choice , would you truly deem that a display of mercy? I have never considered myself a man of great sympathy, but to kill a mother…" He shook his head in disgust. "I feel filthy . How can I face this woman now? How can I take her hands in my own and promise her fealty and happiness, perhaps even children should she desire them, when I have done nothing but bring destruction?"
The priest was silent for a time. Whether in contemplation or contempt Destrier could not say. "Have you engaged the enemy for personal gain, Knight-Captain Revel?" He asked finally.
"Gods, no . I sought nothing from battle but the protection of innocents and the reclamation of our razed and pillaged lands." Burn the wicked and rule the ashes . "A-All in service to the crown." Destrier paused, clearing his throat. "There have been times I was swallowed whole by grief, or...bloodlust, and I regret them with every ounce of my being. So noble and full of myself, yet even I was lost to such human conditions."
"Indeed. Almost as if you are human. Made of fallible flesh like the rest of us." Xavier mused wryly, coaxing a reluctant smile from the blond man. "The path every man walks is fraught with such things, Knight Revel. I regret to inform you that you are not particularly special in that regard. However, you have a choice as I once did." Xavier then spread his arms, gesturing at the entire cathedral. "Will you wallow in your regret and self-loathing? Or will you make something of it? Will you atone for your deeds with your future actions? Will you usher a new generation into this kinder, safer world we have all fought and bled for?" The man cocked his head, fixing the speechless knight with a stern look. "If you seek a challenge, I would suggest you try the latter option."
/x\
It had been raining the entire evening.
Today marked the fifteenth day since the King's Elite had set forth to do battle with the Urgal lich. Destrier felt simultaneously as if too much and not enough time had passed, the paladin meandering cloaked through the streets.
The lights of Maplecrest twinkled in the rain like stars. Home , he caught himself thinking, and he shook his head at his slip-up. Such optimism would only sharpen the blade of his departure if she did not wish to see him.
Knight-Captain Revel lingered in the front yard of Maplecrest for... much longer than he should have. He was soaked through by the time he finally managed to muster up the courage to enter the building. His gauntlet pressed to the crest on the lintel, offering up a silent plea for strength of resolve. This would not be simple.
Just as he was preparing to push the door open, it swung inwards of its own accord. Illeria paused mid-motion, a bucket of dirty water in her arms as she stared up at him. A startled, "Oh?" was all she managed to get out before every noble, self-sacrificial thought in Destrier's head vanished.
His kiss was voracious, incredibly improper, and he felt her blindly pitch the bucket past him so she could wind her arms around his neck instead. The way she clung to him, her fingers unlacing his heavy oilcloth cloak--
Destrier backed her up inside, shoving the door closed behind him and making a clumsy, staggering beeline for her living quarters. Her beautiful form was all but molded against his body, curves dulling the edge of his armor. Gods , she was everything he was not.
With that sobering thought he pulled back, stupidly satisfied for a moment at how dark her cheeks had grown. "Illeria, I-" he began, tilting his gaze to the fireplace and swallowing hard. "I…"
But his words failed him, the knight grasping at straws until he resorted to kneeling in front of her. Proud helm bowed, he begged for forgiveness. Begged her to forgive him for being so selfish during their last endeavor ( what if he had not returned? ), begged her to forgive him for his merciless slaughter of innocent once-civilians and the sad, hollow Unmother. To his utter shame, Destrier found himself teary-eyed as he confessed his wrongdoings and sought penance. This display of weakness (as with all his others) he considered a black mark on his military career. He was so damnably strong , and yet he was reduced to tears over something foolish.
Illeria said nothing at first, the woman simply undoing the strap beneath his chin so she could pull off his helmet and place it aside. " You , Destrier Revel," she murmured, digging her fingers into his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp, "need to stop judging yourself so harshly."
Destrier blinked up at her.
"You're always hellbent on carrying yourself as the knight of the kingdom, the infallible paragon of justice. But you're also just human , Desty." She waved her hand dismissively. "I care not which divine being has chosen you as their champion, it has no bearing on me. All I know is that I have missed you, and I am delighted to have you back in one piece."
"Let me display my contrition," Destrier insisted earnestly. "I...I know not what I can do or say, but I must make amends for leaving."
"Oh if it's amends you're making," she was teasing him again, the young woman quirking an eyebrow. "I can ask for anything?"
"Anything." Destrier agreed, his gauntlets clenched into tight fists on his thighs. Anything, anything . "If it is within my power to give, it is already yours."
"I'd like your mouth, my love." Destrier moved to stand, but Illeria gripped his pauldrons as if she could have kept him from rising. He halted all the same, confused. "No no, you stay right where you are and put your mouth to good use." Her voice had dipped to a husky purr and Destrier swallowed hard. "Show me just how sorry you are, Desty."
"I-Illeria, I-" Destrier loathed the way he dissolved into stammering when he grew nervous, it was exasperating . "Should I remove my plate, or-?"
"No, you can leave it as it is."
He closed his mouth, shucking his gauntlets and hesitantly raising his hands to undo the lacing on the placket of her loose breeches. Illeria, for her part, resumed dragging her fingers greedily through his thoroughly-mussed hair.
"I've missed you, love." She murmured, repeating herself as though she knew he needed to hear it.
Destrier groaned, resting his forehead against her stomach as he struggled with the laces. "I've missed you as well, Illeria. So much. I never want to leave you again." He replied quietly.
"Mm, I may hold you to that." Illeria cupped the back of his head. "I've missed your warmth. Your smile. Maplecrest is not the same without you." She held his shoulders to steady herself as she stepped out of her breeches and Destrier flung the article of clothing away, uncaring of where it landed. Just another barrier between himself and his prize.
"Did you truly think of me while I was gone, my love?" He asked, glancing up while tugging down her smallclothes. Arousal curled in the pit of his stomach when he saw her watching him, her brown eyes both somnolent and hungry . To think that she could crave someone like him! "Oh, you did ." The delight in his voice was juvenile and she rolled her eyes. "Did you ache for me, Illeria, as I ached for you?"
Destrier knew it was cruel to tease, but she was squirming and he couldn't help the way his hands smoothed over her thighs, coaxing her even closer to his face. His thumbs then spread her cunt open and he watched her tremble at the contact, the knight caught off-guard by just how slick she already was.
"You've been waiting for me." It wasn't really a question, yet Illeria immediately answered by nodding furiously. "Sweet woman. I don't deserve you." To think that the first time they had lain together, he had jested about her begging him for supplication. The roles appeared thoroughly reversed now, though he could not bring himself to care overmuch.
He buried his face in her soft, wet folds, the bridge of his nose rutting against her clit. Destrier surged forward, already drunk off the scent and taste of her on his eager tongue. The contrast of how gentle, how tender she was even as she gripped the hair at the back of his head and all but took her pleasure from his mouth-! Destrier was hard-pressed to refrain from freeing himself of his armor and ravaging her until his name was all she had breath to say.
Later, later. Once I know I am forgiven.
He could feel his cock stirring behind the confines of his codpiece and he groaned against Illeria, listening to her voice cracking while she reveled in his ministrations. The blond man's large hands gripped the backs of her legs once again, effectively immobilizing her and leaving her no choice but to surrender to the pleasure he wished so desperately to grant her. Her whole body undulated in his grasp, those thighs quivering with the delicious tension that he had spent countless nights dreaming of.
"Come for me, love." Destrier pleaded, "I need it, I need you to. Gods Illeria, forgive me, I know I am so accursedly greedy--"
She nearly collapsed, hunching over him and clinging to his shoulders as she gave him what he had sought. Her taste washed over his tongue and Destrier devoured her; a filthy display of wantonness that somehow managed to leave him feeling clean. Whole. Right . This was the woman he loved, the woman he would ask to marry him. This was good .
Illeria's abundant arousal dripped off his chin to spatter on his breastplate as he panted for breath, the knight waiting a moment or two before he dared to look up at her. "Are you...are you alright?" He rasped, awkwardly clearing his throat mid-sentence. He couldn't resist the urge to lick his lips, chasing the remnants of her taste.
" Destrier ," Illeria sighed in bliss, finger-combing his hair.
"Am I forgiven, my love?" The large man asked plaintively even as he leaned into her touch, wringing his hands. "Will you still accept me into your life and bed, wretched though I am?"
He did not expect her to kneel in front of him, the woman flinging her arms around his neck in a fervent embrace. Illeria tucked her face in between his jaw and gorget, planting a kiss on the sliver of bare skin that resided there. "You were forgiven the moment you returned to me safely, my love." She breathed.
Destrier's fists clenched on his thighs once more, and then he made his choice. The knight pulled loose the small reticule he used in the field. It was with shaking, unsteady hands that he extended one of the rings Leofore had given him, the object cupped in his palms for fear that he might drop it otherwise. "Illeria, I..." He rested his forehead against her own in mute frustration with himself, grimacing. "Will you...I mean, would you consider --h-have you ever thought about remaining with me?" He finally managed to get the words out, his voice pitching strangely. "A-As my wife, I mean."
"You would ask me such a question while my completion still coats your chin? You are shameless , Knight Revel!" Illeria laughed, her mirth almost making his embarrassment worthwhile. Destrier was certain he had gone a shade of red previously unknown to the realm of man, trying to stammer out an explanation for his uncouth, salacious behavior.
Illeria didn't give him the chance, however, the woman kissing him deeply enough to make his mind go pleasantly blank. Her tongue stroking his own made him shudder involuntarily, if only because he knew she must be able to taste herself. "I don't suppose that could be a yes?" Destrier queried hopefully when she parted from him.
" Yes , Desty." Even though her words were colored with exasperation, Illeria was still smiling at him. Him! He felt like the luckiest fool alive. Destrier caught her around the waist, peppering kisses across her cheeks in delight as he stumbled upright. "Now, Knight-Captain Revel, your wife requires your service in our bed." The woman continued through her giggles when his mouth inevitably tickled her.
"Of course! I have never been a man who shirks his duty." Destrier replied playfully, nuzzling his nose beneath her chin and sighing in contentment.
/x\
Destrier absently traced patterns on Illeria's naked back as she laid on his chest, the woman clearly too weary to stir. The smug little flash of pride at her predicament felt suspiciously fiery.
"Dare I ask where you found the time to fetch me such a bauble?" She murmured, moving her hand so the light of the fire caught her ring. It was a thankfully simple band, the opalescent stone recessed into it lengthwise so it wouldn't catch on anything. Destrier was touched by his knight-commander's forethought. "It is beautiful, beloved."
"It is part of a set. Leofore gifted the bands to me on the journey to set the lich to rights." He explained, uncertain if he should mention that they were sending stones just yet. She might take it the wrong way, as if him leaving was something that was inevitable.
Illeria cocked her head up at him, and Destrier knew he had gone red once more. "So he knows?" She queried, a shy smile on her face while she twined her fingers through his own.
Destrier couldn't help an embarrassed chuckle. "Unfortunately, in spite of my many attempts to be discreet and surreptitious, it seems that nearly everyone knows of my affection for you. I fear you shall never know peace again." He said, pressing an apologetic kiss to her knuckles. "It bodes well for your business, though! I am certain all the local women shall be clamoring for details on how Knight Desty beds his betrothed."
Illeria's startled laughter was a delight. It was as if the noise had been surprised out of her. Destrier vowed to try and make it happen again and again. "Goddess, you cannot expect me to explain such an act!" She protested.
"What? I am so magnanimous that words fail you? Be cautious, my love, lest the common room be filled with fine-bred ladies all aswoon from your tales." Destrier grinned, dutifully enduring her rumpling his hair in retaliation for his crude words.
"Don't tempt me Revel. I'll do it." Illeria threatened, still half-laughing. "I'll tell such outrageous falsehoods about your performance that you'll have no recourse but to endure my company for the rest of your life." Her eyes were fairly dancing with mirth at their joke and Destrier's heart clenched in his chest.
"What a heinous hand I have been dealt." He mused, smiling as he cupped her face and urged her down for a kiss. "Truly awful."
"I love you, Destrier Revel. Even when you vex me to the point of immense grief." Illeria whispered against his lips.
"And I love you , Illeria Stennas." Destrier paused, then grinned up at her mischievously. " However , you can still move, which means I have been remiss in my duties! I would be aggrieved if I were to disappoint--"
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Switchfoot: On Fire and I-Human: Give All Of Yourself
Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked
For Leofore
Light And Home
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains semi-graphic depictions of sexual acts between two consenting adults, and emotional duress. Stay safe!]
Illeria always looked beautiful to him.
It was never a question of finding the right angle, or seeing the good through the mediocre. To Destrier, she just... was . It was as if it radiated from her, permeated her entire being.
She was, is, would always be lovely.
Were he not already serving his masters, both earthly and cosmic, she would be his divinity. Her hands, her smiles, her body...she was so tender with him, so strong when she had to be; an intoxicating duality that would not cease to awe him in its ever-present splendor.
Illeria, always waiting for him at the door as he left in the early hours for yet another forum with the King's Chosen, and he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe she would willingly spend her time with someone who could offer her so very little.
When the choice was finally made that they must deal with the other fiendish abomination, the other lich that had encroached and sought to bring such destruction to the kingdom, both King Jonathan and Leofore counseled for expedience. The King's Chosen were to depart on the day after the 'morrow.
There was always so little time to spend with his beloved, but Destrier bore that burden gladly. It was a small price to pay to keep her, to keep the kingdom safe.
Their kisses had grown steadily hungrier as of late, the two of them lingering longer and longer in the mornings. Destrier, for all of Illeria's prompting, had yet to join her in her bed in the evenings, the knight choosing instead to sprawl out across the warm hearth.
Not for lack of interest did he avoid her, gods no! But instead, out of an odd fear. He was a man so used to destruction, able to summon fire with a mere thought, able to strike down foes four times his size.
He was a man raised rough. War was all he knew, was all he had ever known. This...
Gods, he ached to hold her, to truly touch her and know her, but he feared that his clumsy, indelicate hands would leave some mark , some grotesque stain. If he harmed her, he would never forgive himself.
So he battled his urges, reasoning that it was far more than he deserved to even just kiss her. If that was all she wanted from him, he would be content with that.
/x\
His sigh sounded like it came from the earth itself and Illeria looked up to see her beloved Destrier standing in the doorway, his fingers grazing the crest above the lintel. His eyes were fixed on the fire that crackled in the common room's hearth, their brown depths equal amounts thoughtful and wistful. For being a man who wasn't particularly renowned for his intelligence, Destrier Revel certainly seemed to do a lot of thinking .
"I come bearing news that is good, for all that it makes my heart heavy." The knight stated after a moment, his eyes flicking to her own and warming almost immediately.
A blind man could have picked up on the knight's shyness around her years ago, Destrier's stammering the most endearing part of the whole debacle. That he had finally managed to overcome such a hurdle was a true indicator of how devastating the struggle with Leofore must have been.
In spite of that progress though, Destrier still seemed hesitant to go any further than his tender, drawn-out kisses. Illeria could posit easily enough that some of his hesitation was due to his military mileage, the trials he endured enough to break a lesser man. While the woman wished he would talk to her more openly about such things, she could only assume that he was doing the best that he could.
Illeria Stennas was not some frail creature to swoon after a turn about the drawing room, however.
She wiped her hands off on her apron, then crossed her arms on the counter, leaning forward a bit. "What new trouble is our great king sending you and your friends to sort out this time?" Illeria asked, her tone one of playful resignation. She had learned long before their involvement that Destrier's loyalty to his master and comrades was second to none.
"We are to do battle with a lich." Destrier looked haunted for a moment and Illeria was reminded anew of how hard the King's Chosen had to fight to reclaim Leofore from the clutches of such evil previously. "Illeria, I…" The blond man paused to close and lock the door behind him against the chill of the night air, then turned to face her again. "My love, I am to leave shortly."
"How shortly?" Illeria queried, cursing inwardly at the sharpness of her tone.
"Two days, Illeria."
She wanted to protest, to voice her disapproval of the rapid decision, so soon? . But Destrier already appeared miserable, the large man cupping her face in his hands over the counter. "I know you have no choice." She said instead. The young woman wasn't sure if the kiss on her forehead was gratitude or apology. Maybe both. A boon for her understanding heart.
"Illeria…" Goddess, when he breathed her name like that it was as if her knees were designed to tremble.
Destrier was all softness with her, but the occasional sharp edge to him was what she loved so dearly. The barest crack in his armor of propriety, painstakingly crafted over the years of knightly training. Leofore had taught him well, guarded his mind against corruptions or temptations that may have struck out in the field. His occasional slip-ups around her served as a reminder of his comfort in her, as well as a bit of an ego-stroke.
"Yes, Destrier?" She replied, her voice just as soft while he leaned in.
"Forgive me for this." Destrier murmured, and then slotted their mouths together. His tongue sought hers out hungrily and Illeria found herself at a loss, her hands fumbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. He rested his forehead against hers, those eyes nearly golden in the light from the lantern. "Forgive me." He begged again, stroking over the kerchief that she had covered her hair with.
"What terrible thing have you done, my love?" Illeria murmured.
"Not for what I have done, beloved. For what I may do." Destrier seemed legitimately distressed and Illeria caught his hands as he struggled to articulate himself. "I have this... hunger I cannot seem to reconcile. These urges, these… base cravings I feel to see more of you. Yet I cannot call anything associated with you truly base, for you are all that I fight for." Destrier kissed her knuckles. "My beautiful Illeria, my shelter, my light, I come to you not as one of the King's Chosen, not even as a knight of the crown. I come to you simply as Destrier Revel, a man rendered insensate by his need for you."
"What is worse," Illeria began, her head swimming pleasantly at his luxurious words, "than a man who takes what is not his to take?"
" Nothing ." Destrier answered firmly, and if it was possible the woman fell even more in love with him even as she shook her head.
"Destrier, it is a man who keeps his eager lover waiting!" She teased, seizing his ascot to reel him in. A bit more serious, she added, "I feared that you did not want me." Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "I feared that perhaps you did not have the same depth of feeling towards me that I foster for you."
"Illeria, I might die from wanting you." Destrier replied, the bluntness of his words settling in her stomach like an ember. "The years have been brutal to me. I am not the man you deserve."
"You are the man that I want. I believe that is enough." Illeria twined her fingers through his, leading him around the bar. "Take me to bed, Revel."
"Are you certain? Illeria-"
" Desty ." The woman said the nickname in exasperation, making him chuckle. "I am much more certain than you seem willing to give me credit for!"
"Very well, my love." Destrier acquiesced, his smile faint but still there. "Forgive my constant need for reassurance."
She rolled her eyes, tugging him into her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. Goddess, she was really about to take this plunge with Destrier . The incorruptible paladin of the King's Chosen, Knight-Captain Revel. All the lofty titles he had accumulated and yet he was still so uncertain , so humble, that he came to her as nothing more than a man.
They had entered this room many times before, hand in hand like they were now. Occasionally even clumsily fumbling at one another for a time before he would inevitably soothe her back against the counterpane, his expression troubled as he departed the cozy warmth of her bed and curled up in front of the fireplace.
He had oft left her wet and aching with his passionate, tender kisses, but she did not chide him for it. Destrier was not a hasty man, and he was also not a man lacking in emotion. Turmoil ran deep in him, the caution he displayed only fanning the flames of her ardent curiosity. What would he be like if he was truly unleashed?
She thought she got her answer as the door clicked shut.
Destrier pinned her against the wall, his hand cupping the back of her head to shield it from the impact. " Illeria ," he whispered, his voice grating slightly. "There is never enough time, my love, and yet if I do not ask now, I fear that I will be unable to again." He half-laughed sadly, resting his forehead on her own. "Every time I have ever had to leave the kingdom, every maneuver against the enemy...all I could think about was whether this would be the final time. Whether it would be the end, and I would never be able to see you again. Even if you didn't know how I felt, it seemed like it was enough just to see you, happy and safe. I told myself I could live with that, why muddy everything so?"
Illeria dug her fingers into his hair, freeing it from the haphazard braid he had constructed at the nape of his neck. Destrier hummed at the gesture, his eyes half-lidding as he leaned into her touch.
"After what transpired with...with the Knight-Commander, believing that we had truly lost him…I was in such a disgraceful state. It was an immense blow, one that I am aggrieved to say nearly ended me." He confessed. "I could not bear the thought of making you feel even a tenth of the pain I felt at losing Leofore, should something happen to me." His large hand tucked beneath her chin to lift her gaze to meet his own. "Should we continue down this path, my love, I fear I will cause you grief. If we need to cease our interactions here, I will understand."
Illeria remembered well the way that he had been following Leofore's supposed death. Distant, painfully so, and no victory seemed to be enough to blunt the edge of that specific defeat. "Did you believe you would die? When you departed with the others to rescue the queen and prince?" She asked instead.
"I do not fear death, Illeria."
"That is not what I asked." Illeria pushed him back a step, enough to give her some room so that she didn't lose her senses. His proximity could be... overwhelming . "I asked whether you believed you would perish. Did you believe, in some corner of your heart, that your death would serve as penance for the loss of his life?"
"I..." the guilty look Destrier sported told her all she needed to know. "You must understand, he taught me all that I ever had to offer. Unshakeable where I am brittle, strong where I am feeble, Leofore...is everything I could aspire to be. I told you before that I did not think I would survive the war, and losing someone so important--"
"And what of your own importance, Destrier?" Illeria interrupted him fiercely. "What of the people that might grieve you, as you grieved Leofore?" What of me , she wanted to ask, what of my heart that broke every time you left? But no, she could not take that out on him. It had been her own fault for remaining silent about her affections for so long, trapped by the inadequacy she felt. He was a brave, noble knight, and she was nothing but an ordinary woman who had carved out an existence for herself. Free, and so, so lonely.
"Every life in this kingdom, from the youngest babe to the oldest counselor, is worth my own many times over, Illeria. That is the reality of my knighthood, and a burden that I gladly accept." Destrier's tone was resigned. "My life so that others may live on in peace."
"Do not pretend as if there is no heart in your chest, Revel." Illeria snapped. "You do yourself no great service."
"Naero said much the same to me once." He smiled fondly at her and despite her best efforts, the woman felt her irritation wane. "When I am with you, it feels as though it is fit to leap free of my chest."
"You leave the day after tomorrow?" Illeria waited for his nod of confirmation before drawing a shaky breath. "I suppose we must make the most of that time, then."
"It would be wise." Destrier agreed, sounding a bit confused. "Are there any repairs to be completed? Or-"
She caught him by the pockets of his waistcoat, pulling herself into him and kissing him hard. Destrier's startled exhale made her want to laugh for a moment, but then he was kissing her back and suddenly laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. "Destrier," Illeria sighed, pleasantly surprised by the way that he groaned in response. "I would appreciate you laying with me before you depart."
Destrier buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder with another groan, this one louder. "Illeria, have mercy ." He pleaded, "I want that so badly it hurts, my love, but-"
"What is stopping you?" Illeria pressed kisses to his throat, his ear. "Undress me, love."
" Gods ." Destrier said through gritted teeth. "You want me? Truly?"
" Yes , Destrier. I want all of you." Illeria hesitated, unsure if what she was about to say would be too weighty for their current situation. "I want you to know exactly why you're fighting so hard to return to me."
Destrier's fingers dug into her back and the man held her tightly for several long moments. "I don't deserve you." He muttered, finally tugging at the laces of her corset. "I have never deserved you, and I doubt I ever will. If you will accept me as I am, who am I to question such providence?"
Illeria covered his hands with her own, feeling him trembling as she guided him through unlacing the supportive garment. The corset slid down her body, taking her skirts with it and leaving her there in her chemise. The woman raised her hands to his shirt collar, deft fingers untying his ascot. "Are you alright, my love?" She asked gently. Destrier's eyes snapped back to her own, the man nodding hard enough to make her giggle.
"I am uncertain of where to look." He admitted, his expression gone sheepish. A flush had crept up his neck to dust the bridge of his aquiline nose with a sweet rosy tint. The image was utterly precious and so very Destrier that Illeria couldn't have helped her smile even if she had wanted to.
He seemed content to just stand there and let her undo the buttons on his waistcoat, the knight shrugging out of the garment absently. "Surely you have enjoyed the company of other women?" Illeria teased. "You must have looked at them, Destrier."
The large man fidgeted guiltily. "Well, yes."
"And I have enjoyed the company of other men, Destrier." Illeria smiled at him. "Do not appear so pensive, my love! We are neither of us blushing virgins. There is no shame in enjoying the touch of another person."
Destrier swore under his breath, meeting her gaze once more. "I just feel inadequate, Illeria. I bandy with the notion that you may not enjoy me, and to know that you could be trapped with me...many folk love each other without enjoying their coupling. I do not wish for you to warm my proverbial bed merely out of a sense of duty or normalcy."
"Fatalistic! We will be fine , my love." Illeria stated firmly. "You must stop thinking of the worst possible thing, lest your forehead become hopelessly wrinkled."
"Truly, what a terrible fate that might be." Destrier smiled reluctantly, his fingers undoing the kerchief that kept her curls in check. "Gods, I love you. I love everything about you." He said, the plainness of his words doing nothing to take the sincerity from them. "Did you know that your eyes light up when you smile?"
Illeria blinked at him. "They do?" Being the sole caretaker of Maplecrest, she had little time to practice smiling at herself in the mirror.
Destrier nodded. "They take on this warm hue, I am unsure of how to describe it. I've never been of a poetic bent. Regardless, the effect is absolutely enchanting." He cradled her face, brushing their lips together but not fully kissing her. She could feel the strange burn scars that spanned both of his palms pressing into her skin, the touch familiar and grounding. "Illeria, if I do something that makes you feel uneasy or...or if I cause you pain…" he trailed off, searching her eyes.
"We won't ever find out if we keep going at this pace." Illeria half-scolded, half-teased, taking matters into her own hands as she grasped the hem of her chemise and stripped it off over her head.
She understood his concern, of course. She had wrestled with such notions herself on more than one occasion. But there was no need nor room for doubt anymore. With the same certainty that she knew she loved him, Illeria knew that Destrier would never intentionally cause her discomfort.
She stepped out of her underthings and stood before him, hands on her hips, naked as the day she was born. Illeria tilted her chin up to give him a playful wink. "Well, Knight Revel? Is one simple woman too great a foe for you to conquer?"
Destrier's reply came in the form of his eyes trailing down over her body, the paladin taking in every inch of her on display. Then, he shifted his weight, advancing on her until the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed.
"I have yet to meet a foe that can best me." He sounded almost contemplative, his hand reaching out to press against her collarbone and continue to urge her back until she had no choice but to lay down. Destrier shed his shirt and unlaced his breeches while she got comfortable, and Illeria decided that she had waited long enough.
Her own fingers began to move down her body, the woman teasing herself. "If you don't hurry, Destrier, I will certainly best you."
"Hmm, doubtful." Destrier murmured, his large form abruptly caging her in. "Though your confidence is not unfounded, I must insist that you yield." His fingers twined through her own, pinning them to the blankets on either side of her head. "You are wholly at my mercy, woman. However, should you request my supplication, I may be swayed to grant it."
Had any other man said such a thing while looming over her in bed, Illeria would have made them regret being born. But Destrier saying those things, brown eyes scorching in their intensity even as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth…
She had never thought that a man teasing her could elicit such a heated reaction. Illeria felt her entire body flush. " Please , Destrier." She begged, and he smiled at her so warmly. Her thighs fell open as he tried her with his fingers, the man's breath leaving his chest in a harsh gasp when he found her slick and ready for him.
" Gods , you want me." Destrier sounded awestruck by the confirmation of her arousal. Illeria whimpered, nodding and arching her hips up in invitation. An invitation which Destrier proceeded to accept, the blond man finally gifting her the last piece of what she had been craving for so long.
His hand still holding hers squeezed once when she moaned his name, her own breathing so quick to stutter when Destrier plunged deep. His pelvis ground against her, providing such delicious stimulation that she couldn't help her cry.
Destrier rumbled wordlessly in response, ducking his head to flick and tease at her nipples with his awful, terrible tongue. The tongue that said such sweet and pleasing things now menaced her mercilessly, feeling like a trail of fire on her sensitive skin. Illeria gripped his back after he released her hand to support his weight more fully, the large man shuddering all over when she dug her nails in. "Good?" He queried breathlessly.
"Gods, Destrier , more-" Illeria couldn't even get the full plea out, the muscles in his back shifting before snapping taut beneath her touch as he moved to obey.
His voice was gravelly when next he spoke, his hand stroking over her hair with such tenderness. "I never believed I would get to do this with you, my love." He looked dazed. "I feel as though I'll wake up at any moment, aching and alone, still in my tent out in the field."
"You dreamed of me?" Illeria meant to joke with him, but his expression was so soft as he looked down at her and nodded she couldn't bring herself to.
"Nearly every night, it seemed." Destrier confessed, making the pit of her stomach throb sweetly with the depth of his next thrust. "I would start awake, your name on my lips, wishing more than anything that I could-" he paused for breath, glancing downwards at where their bodies were currently joined and then back up at her. His grin was pure mischief when he continued, "well, I'm certain your own imagination can fill in the blanks."
"I have been so fearful that you saw me as a trinket, something nice to look at and do nothing with." Illeria gave him her own confession, laughing a little when he accidentally bumped his nose against hers. "I did not want to rush you, Destrier."
"Patience is a virtue, my love, but there are worse things in life than being less virtuous." Destrier kissed her forehead. "You have waited so very long for me, and I for you, Illeria Stennas."
His hand slipped between their bodies, delving into the apex of her thighs to give her what she dared not ask for. Illeria clung to his shoulders, her legs framing his hips as he rutted into her until she was panting his name, over and over in time with his motions. Destrier's fingers stroked her firmly, coaxing her towards her inevitable climax in a way that no other man had ever bothered to do.
"Illeria..." he moaned for her and the effect was instantaneous. Every muscle in her body tensed, Illeria threw her head back and canted her hips to meet his next thrust.
Stars erupted across her field of vision, the lure of completion beckoning her onwards.
Destrier dropped his forehead against her sternum while she trembled and sobbed out his name, her entire being ablaze with aroused heat as she fell apart for him. In the haze of her post-moment, Illeria vaguely realized that Destrier had gone stock-still, quivering a little.
"Where do you want me?" He asked through clenched teeth. "I fear I am close."
Where do you want me?
She bit her lip unintentionally as she thought and Destrier groaned, a tremor running through him. "Illeria," he began to protest, then grunted as she pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs, theoretically keeping him right where he was. In truth, she knew full well that he could easily remove himself from her embrace if he did not feel comfortable with such an act.
"Inside me, my love?" She requested softly. Illeria could have sworn the fire in the hearth behind him flared a little brighter, Destrier's brown eyes flickering like molten gold as he stared down at her. "Our first time together should be special, shouldn't it?" She reasoned, combing his hair back out of his face.
"You are certain? " He rasped, and there was a desperate edge to his voice that made her want to shiver. "It is not too late to change your mind, Illeria. I will not unless you truly wish for it."
"I love you as I have never loved another, Destrier Revel." Illeria assured him. "I trust you."
That seemed to do him in, the paladin gripping her hips nearly tight enough to bruise. "I will return to you, I swear it." He promised fervently, "Not even death itself has a chance of tearing me from you, Illeria."
Such lofty words, spoken so sincerely. She could not help but almost believe him. The woman embraced him as he too reached his climax, cradling him against her body while he shuddered and spilled himself into her.
/x\
Destrier's heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Illeria, Illeria , his mind chanted, and she had never looked so beautiful as when she had lost herself under the caress of his fingers.
A thousand nights that he had awoken alone, all washed away by this one instance of lovemaking. He felt like a complete idiot, smiling at her like the lovestruck fool that he was. He was always so careful with her thick hair, knowing that one wrong move could tug it to the point of pain, but he managed to successfully lace his fingers through it so he could tilt her head. His nose being... prodigious , certain precautions had to be taken when he kissed her.
"You are incredible." Illeria whispered against his lips, giving the man pause. He pulled back, a bit startled and confused by the strength of the affectionate look she was giving him.
"I am?" He asked after a moment.
Illeria laughed, the noise carefree as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. " Yes , Destrier!"
"I love you, you know that, right?" He hated how pitiful he sounded. "I have never felt this way before, Illeria. I have never…"
Her hands framed his jaw, tipping his face down to gently peck his slack mouth. "Destrier, I feel the same way. It's all so…"
"Raw." Destrier finished for her, shaking his head.
" New ," she corrected him, "raw makes it sound as though it is painful. Are you pained, my love?"
" Gods , no. Oh! I should move, I must be crushing you." Destrier floundered back, nearly falling over in his hasty effort to take his weight off of her. "I did not hurt you, did I?" He asked after righting himself, relieved when she shook her head.
Her fingers traced the scarring that intersected his left eyebrow. Unbeknownst to her, those and a few more marks that his hair thankfully hid were the only indication of his abrupt departure from (and subsequent return to) the land of the living.
Destrier leaned into her touch, taking her hand after a moment and pressing a kiss to the still-thundering pulse in her wrist. "My beloved." He murmured, sure that he looked absolutely smitten. He certainly felt as much!
"I know you have to leave, but…" Illeria trailed off, her brow creased with worry.
Destrier cleared his throat. "Not for two days." He reminded her, trying to smile. "The day after tomorrow."
Illeria nodded. "We won't be open tomorrow." She said decisively, her tone downright flippant .
"No?" Destrier cocked his head, thoroughly confused. "But...the inn?"
" Destrier , you leave in two days ." Illeria reiterated with a wave of her hand. "If I can still walk at that point, I may consider it a personal failing on your part."
" Illeria! " The knight sputtered, torn between laughter and embarrassment. "You are...gods, I love you." He smiled, much more fondly than their ribald conversation would call for. "I shall do my best, if you are willing." He was sure he was red from the tips of his ears to the center of his chest.
"That is all I can ask of you, Destrier." The young woman slung her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. "If you are mine, I am willing." She sighed when they parted once more.
" Always , beloved. Until the stars burn to ash."
/x\
"You had better be safe. It will be cold without you." He could recognize now that the terse tone she had taken was due to her concern for him, and his heart ached in his chest.
Destrier took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "I promised, did I not?" He tried to assure her. "I will return as fast as I can, my love."
The soft gray fabric wound around his neck, and Illeria used it to pull him back down for another kiss. "Wear your helmet." She insisted.
"Of course, Illeria."
"If something happens-" Her voice choked off, the woman blinking rapidly and then looking away.
"Illeria, you must be strong enough for the both of us." Destrier murmured, his thumb catching the tear that managed to escape. "I will not ask you to force a smile or even put on a brave face, for it would be foolish to expect such a taxing thing. All I can ask is that you do not lose hope. I will return, and when I do, I…" Destrier hesitated, then smiled thinly. "I shall put in a better effort to ensure your lack of motion."
Illeria gave a watery snicker at that, and Knight Revel rushed to kiss her again before she could potentially say something that would send Thranrok into an absolute spasm .
AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Peder B. Helland: Bright Future
Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked
For Leofore
[Kulls are a monstrous race created by crossbreeding urgals and hill giants. They are the size of hill giants, with large tusks.]
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional duress and doubt/self-worth issues. Stay safe!]
Thranrok had promised to meet him later that evening at Maplecrest, though Destrier had known the actual likelihood of that happening was incredibly slim. In the city around him the festivities carried on, civilians and nobles alike celebrating the safe return of the prince, queen and Leofore.
It had been a very good night, and an even better day prior to that.
Revel's face was a bit sore from all the grinning he was doing, but it had been too long since he'd smiled so much. After all the grim events that had led up to this celebration, the months of doubt and self-loathing…
He sighed, shaking his head at himself. It would do him no good to linger on such thoughts. Everything had worked out in the end, truly better than anyone could have anticipated.
The blond man tarried a while outside Maplecrest, absentmindedly studying the familiar structure. He could recall when the inn had simply been a bar, back when he was nothing but a faceless squire in the king's army. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.
Destrier heaved another heavy sigh, undoing the stiff folds of his ascot. He should have known that Thranrok would be chest-deep in merrymaking, perhaps he should return to the castle as well-
"Knight Revel?"
Illeria's voice startled him out of his staring contest with the ornate moulding over the door and he flinched, turning towards her. "Yes, Illeria?"
"What are you doing out here all alone?" She inquired, raising an eyebrow. Destrier's words escaped him for a moment. She always looked lovely to him, but she seemed to be especially so tonight. Whether it was the relief of returning alive or just a trick of the soft starlight overhead, Destrier found himself hard-pressed to take his eyes off of her.
Ganymethios and Leofore both had teased him relentlessly for his mooning , even while Thranrok begged for details, " strictly for research purposes, I'm reading another romance and I could really use a human's perspective. " It led to the knight's endeavors being tinged with wistful glances and foolish thoughts of presenting prodigious bouquets of roses. Gold, or perhaps vibrant orange to compliment her warm skin tone.
"Thinking." Revel replied finally, flushing a little when he realized how long he had been gawking. "Memories are closer tonight, I fancy. I er, I was recalling our first meeting. The circumstances were...less than ideal."
"To be fair, you and your battalion friends should not have upset my horse." She chuckled, giving his shoulder a light tap.
Destrier cringed, recalling the racket his armor had made when the old Clydesdale donkey-kicked him through the barn door. And of course, what had transpired shortly while he laid on his back in the mud...
The barn exploded outwards in a hail of splinters and clapboards. Squire Destrier, acting on instinct, grabbed the infuriated young woman's arm and yanked her down to the ground with him.
A massive truss beam sailed by overhead and the bellowing call that followed threatened to shatter Destrier's eardrums. The woman, who moments before had been brandishing a truncheon and threatening to finish the job her horse had started, went still against his chest. "Goddess." She breathed. "What is that? "
"Kull." Destrier whispered in reply, squinting through the rain to catch a glimpse of the hulking beast. He carefully tugged at the laces of his oilcloth cloak, sliding the durable fabric off over his head. "I need you to put this on." He instructed her, still keeping his voice soft. "Once I have gotten its attention, I need you to run."
"Once you've what?! " She hissed even as she obediently pulled on the cloak.
"They have terrible eyesight but a keen nose. That cloak will mask your scent as well as your form." Destrier rolled to his feet, starting to scrape some of the mud off of his breastplate. The ground shook with the Kull's approaching footsteps. Where there was a Kull there were bound to be Urgal ground troops, though the longer legs of the ponderous brutes always outstripped their smaller kin. "Run to the barracks. Find Knight-Captain Leofore."
She tilted her head when she looked up at him, her eyes wide in the darkness. "But what will you do?"
Squire Destrier, spotting two of his comrades struggling out from beneath the rubble of the stables, permitted himself to smile briefly. "I will distract the creature until aid comes. I am counting on you."
Her hand squeezed his briefly before they parted...
"What came afterwards though...it may sound nonsensical, but I am glad we decided to encroach upon your stable's hospitality that night. If the barracks had not been full-up of wounded, we might not have arrived until it was too late." Destrier mused, troubled by his vivid recollections.
"True enough. I suppose I should be grateful for your breaking and entering?" Illeria teased back in the here and now, tilting her head when she looked up at him.
Destrier's heart thudded painfully in his chest at the memory and he broke eye contact, clearing his throat. "Even if you are not, I am."
"Hm, I suppose I should be. After all, you and your friends brought me plenty of business over the years." Illeria allowed grudgingly. "Despite Thranrok always lighting the drapes on fire," She paused and gestured vaguely at her rebuilt stables, "I had coin-over to fix the barn up right, and expand Maplecrest into a proper inn."
"Could have gotten a new plow horse." The knight suggested, only partially serious.
"I should think not. He survived a Kull attack, after all! Few people can say that about their horses." She retorted proudly, fishing around in the many pockets of her ornate waistcoat until she found her keys. Beckoning the Knight-Captain to follow, she unlocked the heavy door and entered Maplecrest.
Destrier tapped the lintel of the doorway as he passed beneath it, his fingers lingering on the carved insignia that had given the establishment its name. It depicted fans of samaras flanking a single, expertly-rendered maple leaf, and the lower half of the piece was worn a smooth honey-brown from locals touching it. Those who frequented the inn seemed to trust that it would bring luck or safety, and that was where Destrier had picked up the ritual. Every time he felt the sturdy maple leaf beneath his palm, he knew that he had returned.
Home . He had been so bold before, taking her into his arms to all but admit his affections! He scolded himself roundly for it afterwards, blaming the relief of their return for his lapse of judgement and propriety. Believing that she had any sort of future with him was a fool's game, and there was no greater fool than Destrier Revel.
Illeria busied herself with coaxing the embers of the common room fire to life, leaving Revel to light the lantern that graced the bar. He could feel her eyes on him as he leaned against the bar counter, but he chose to focus on the flicker of the lamp instead.
"So, Sir Knight Revel ." Illeria's inquisitive tone caught his attention and Destrier found that he was smiling unintentionally as he glanced up. Her gaze was thoughtful, more so than he had expected. "You are the King's Elite. As such, you are afforded certain liberties. You have the choice to stay wherever you wish for free." The young woman tapped her chin, pantomiming deep thought as she continued to study him. "Should you want a house, it will be provided. Yet you keep coming back here."
Anticipatory dread slowly began to curdle whatever warmth Destrier was experiencing at her presence, his smile fading. With his friends beside him he had managed Urgals, Kulls, liches... Leofore . He was a wielder of an ancient and terrible power, one that hailed from beyond the stars and time immemorial. Yet somehow he knew, marrow-deep, that this diminutive woman was about to raze his achievements to the ground.
Illeria's voice softened. "Why?"
The question was like a death knell. Destrier felt as though someone had punched him in the gut, butterflies turning to lead in his stomach. He tried to weasel out of it, the flush creeping up the back of his neck to the tips of his ears as he mumbled, "Illeria, you…you have to already know why. You are incredibly intelligent. I refuse to believe you don't know why."
"I have my suspicions. However, I would appreciate hearing your explanation." She was relishing his panic, the fiend .
His doe-eyed fondness for her softened his indignation at being teased without mercy, though it was still present. This seemed almost too cruel to bear. Destrier raked a hand through his messy blond locks, inhaling deeply in an attempt to steel himself.
"I cannot offer you anything you don't already have. I can do naught to enrich your life, Illeria." He began helplessly. "You have thrived here. You are a creator , a builder. I am...I am not that."
It pained him to speak so bluntly, yet he knew that honesty was the only thing that would see him through this discussion. Her silence was not overly encouraging, but he soldiered on.
"I did not think I would survive the war. I did not dare to dwell on what would happen afterwards, because I did not believe I would be there to see it." Destrier was uncertain if he should even be admitting such things. No person would want a partner so dour and despondent. "Somehow though, somehow we managed to return and I now find myself at a loss. I have to carefully consider the future I did not believe I would have."
Illeria put a hand on his arm. "This world has as much of a need for people like you as it does for me, Destrier. You're too quick to sell yourself short." She chided.
"I destroy , Illeria. Much more than a few gold's worth of drape cloth." Destrier replied dejectedly, taking her hands in his own. They were so small, yet her knuckles were nearly as scarred as his. It was a strangely comforting detail. "Your place in this new era is assured. Someone like me, though…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I am a product of times which are now over, nothing more. I would not ask that of you."
"You wouldn't ask what of me?" Illeria sounded frustrated, her hands squeezing his tightly.
When Destrier brought himself to meet her gaze again, he was startled by the way she was looking at him. His words died in his throat and he just stared dumbly, knowing in the back of his mind that this was his moment and he was squandering it! "T-To ask...I would not ask you to share your...um, life with me." He managed to stammer, muttering a curse under his breath at how foolish he must sound.
"And why wouldn't you ask that?" Illeria asked sharply, stomping her foot. "I refuse to believe that all you can do is bumble around and ruin things, Desty ."
The childish nickname got a quick chuckle out of the knight before he mastered himself. "Illeria-"
"No, hush. You've said your piece very prettily, but you're still wrong." The young woman interrupted firmly.
" How? " Revel protested. "I've spent so long thinking about this, Illeria. Nights upon nights I've laid sleepless, mulling everything over. Someone such as I cannot make you happy."
"I think I'll be the judge of that." Illeria murmured. "I have survived on my own for long enough. Watching you set out every time with the King's Elite and your battalions, never knowing whether you would come back, I..." She rested her forehead on his chest, her hands coming up to grip the fabric of his shirt with surprising ferocity. "I don't want you to leave ever again, but I will not beg. I have a reputation to uphold, you understand." The young woman said frankly.
"So you do. Far be it from me to tarnish that." Destrier could not keep from smiling. He knew he must look like a fool . "You wish for me to stay with you? Truly?"
"I wish for much more than that, but it's a start."
Her wry response had him laughing until he was breathless and he cupped her face to tilt it upwards. "Illeria," Destrier said softly, his eyes searching her own. "You have always been what I come back for. As soon as my fingers graze the crest on the doorway I breathe a sigh of relief, for I know I am home ."
"Your flattery falls on deaf ears, Revel." Despite her dismissive words, he felt her hold on his shirt tighten.
" You are my home, Illeria." He said plainly, entirely enamored with the way her brown eyes widened in wonder. "Forgive my boldness, please, but I-"
"-need to stop being so polite before you accidentally light the rug on fire again." Her hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into the touch dazedly, almost certain he was dreaming. Illeria, precious Illeria, looking at him like that even while she teased him-! This had to be a dream.
Destrier prayed he would never wake.
Let me have this brief moment of ever after, with the kingdom saved and the woman I love at my side.
"Are you alright, Desty?" Illeria asked softly.
"Aye." The knight sighed, utterly content. "I daresay I'm a fair sight better than that."
AN: This is a hypothetical narrative boss battle scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST: The Apex of the World (Rain) and Written By Wolves: To Tell You The Truth
Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked
[Leofore is a human Oathbreaker/fallen paladin, and his appearance can be found here.]
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including vivid descriptions of gore, emotional/physical duress and character death. Stay safe!]
When we last left our party, Knight-Commander Leofore was believed to be dead, a casualty of the war. To the shock and dismay of the party, Leofore returned on the eve of their most ambitious push against the Urgals, their former friend and mentor twisted nearly beyond recognition and wearing a strange mask. Leofore proceeded to berate the King's Elite for their inaction before kidnapping both the prince and the queen and escaping into the night. The party has tracked him down in an effort to rescue the queen and prince, and possibly, Destrier's mentor as well ...
He knew they had arrived before they even entered the portal. Thranrok was always so loud .
The sound of their voices filled him with melancholy he did not entirely understand. Leofore's mind seemed to be in a fog, a daze that stole the strength from his very spirit. Was this what being undead was truly like?
The queen was still secured beside the throne, her regal poise maintained throughout the ordeal. Frail hands trembled ever so slightly as his gauntlet wrapped around her bound wrists, but other than that she gave no indication of her fear while she was pulled upright. King Jonathan's wife had always been the picture of composure, whether dealing with unruly nobility or Urgal hordes.
Leofore offered her a smile devoid of warmth. "It would seem your salvation is at hand, your Majesty. Better late than never. Unfortunately though, you will not live long enough to be rescued."
"I pray that your friends will be able to rescue you from the inky depths you've sunk to." The queen replied softly. "The Leofore I knew would never surrender so easily, would never stoop so low as to condone murder and kidnapping."
The torches lining the room suddenly flared bright, no doubt in reply to Thranrok's talents. A forlorn fondness swept the paladin when his old friends were revealed in the rising torchlight, his dagger moving without his input to slit the queen's throat.
Leofore couldn't remember why that caused him such distress, his thoughts clouded and confused while her hands weakly pawed at his blackened breastplate. He shoved her body away gracelessly, opening his arms in greeting instead. "My friends!" The paladin said gladly.
"Why the hell would you do that?!" Thranrok squawked, the sorcerer already bristling.
Naero advanced cautiously, his attention obviously split between concern for the queen and wariness for Leofore. " Easy big guy, we did what you asked for. We're here. Your negotiating skills could use a little polish, but whatever gets the job done."
Leofore could hear the judgement in his quiet words. Naero had always been good at reading him.
Knight Revel silently gathered the queen in his arms and Leofore's gaze was drawn to the large shield strapped on his back, identical to the one he himself had carried. The knight passed the rapidly fading woman off to Ganymethios, who looked as grim as a dragonborn could while he began to softly murmur a spell that would no doubt steal her back from death.
Pity they never afforded you such courtesies.
Leofore paid the queen's removal no further mind, predatory focus shifting to the two who now stood at the foot of the dais. The elf at least had the wherewithal to keep his expression neutral, but Destrier… "It is good to see you again." Leofore announced, his smile all bared teeth and false pleasantries. "How I wish that I had been able to see you all one last time before I died. Alone on the battlefield, eyes fixed to the horizon where I expected my aid to come from."
Died rang hollow in his head. He knew it was wrong , but he was unsure why. Why would that be wrong? He had perished.
Right?
The spectral grip at the nape of his neck tightened, phantom fingers digging in like iron talons. Right . "Would that we could meet under happier circumstances," The paladin mused.
"The feeling's mutual, trust me." Thranrok muttered.
Argon already looked ready to tear Leofore limb from limb, the werebear sampling the air briefly before affixing those beady little eyes on the paladin atop the dais.
He will be a problem. Get rid of him. That cold voice in his head again, the claws digging deeper. Leofore shook off the sensation, straightening his shoulders. "After you all so callously abandoned me to die , really, what was I to do?" He asked no one in particular, clasping his hands behind his back as he surveyed the room.
Destrier's voice cracked when he spoke up, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, Knight-Commander. I had never seen King Jonathan weep so openly before that day, the day that he gave us the order to march on the main encampment instead of dividing his senior officers."
Leofore glanced at the young man he had trained and he was perturbed by the expression Destrier wore. The blond looked like someone had ripped the soul from his chest. And the idea of his dear friend King Yokam ordering the battalions forward with tears streaming down his face...it was-
Exactly what you wanted! He abandoned you, let him suffer!
Bitterness soured his mouth.
"We grieved for you, we mourned your loss!" Destrier continued when he did not comment, his fists clenched at his sides. "And when Gany told us that he may be able to return you to your former state-"
"I needed some time to work on the spell and gather resources, but yeah. We weren't letting you go without a fight." Gany inserted himself into the one-sided conversation, placing a hand on Destrier's shoulder to quiet him. "Thranrok and I aren't one hundred percent sure on what's going on, but for you?"
"Of course we would try!" The hairless dwarf chimed in. Leofore's throat tightened. "Leaving you behind-- none of us agreed with it! They called us heroes, honored your memory, but without you there…"
"An inescapable void in our team where our compatriot used to be." Naero paused, sharp eyes meeting Leofore's own steadily. "All the poetic words in the world won't cure the horror your lost soul must feel, therefore I won't bother with them."
Despite their relative proximity, Leofore suddenly felt as though there was a bottomless pit between himself and his stalwart brothers in arms.
Destrier raised his lance in a knightly salute. "You will never die alone again, my friend. We will lay you to rest as many times as it takes. I swear it." He promised fervently. "Whatever power dragged you from your grave, we will dismantle it and grant you the peace you deserve."
"I think all this is pointless." Argon rumbled bluntly. "He's not just gonna' lie down no matter how much you idiots talk at him. Even if he wasn't all screwed up, this is Leofore ."
"Too true, my ursine friend!" Leofore agreed with another smile, genuine this time. It was good to see them all again-
The angry mask of his helm slammed down without warning, the ability to control his own motions entirely removed.
What am I doing?
A terrible oath in Urgal left the mouth he did not own and then a pinpoint of black flame tossed itself lazily into the center of his former allies. Fick was the only one quick enough to sidestep the attack, the elf having the audacity to look bored.
What am I doing? Stop!
Knight Revel and Ganymethios were unable to avoid the hellfire explosion and were thrown back from the throne dais, the knight striking a pillar sickeningly hard and the wizard tumbling across the floor with a loud clatter of scaled limbs.
Stop!
His lance felt unwieldy and clumsy in his hand. Leofore advanced on the individuals he had fought beside so many times, his attention fixed on Argon. Argon, First General, was the largest and strongest of the group, the werebear towering head and shoulders over even Knight-Commander Leofore himself.
Get rid of him or he will cause trouble.
Thranrok struggled to help Gany rise, the sorcerer hurling angry verbiage in Dwarvish at Leofore. With those two preoccupied, Leofore was free to attack Argon uninterrupted. The werebear stared him down, then opened his mouth and let out a fierce roar of challenge.
An arrow sang through the air, Leofore dodging the shot to the face with a speed he did not possess. Fick grunted something that sounded like a swear under his breath and Leofore knew he was supposed to hear it, simply because the Spymaster didn't speak for his own benefit even when he was frustrated.
The familiarity was ice cold down his spine. He would have to kill them. Argon would feint left, then strike right. Destrier would use the haft of his lance to knock him off balance before going in for the kill. Ganymethios was the wild card, but even he had predictable routes. Thranrok would attack from the air, and Naero-
Gods help me. I will end up killing them.
But then, Argon bolted right . Leofore was caught off guard, unable to get his lance up in time to fend him off and the werebear grappled him with massive paws. Claws raked through his armor and Leofore snarled, words foreign to his tongue imbuing his lance with a terrible power. He pulled his arm back as best as he could to strike, to stagger, to kill -
He had forgotten about Destrier, more was the pity. "Garuda denies it!" the blond man barked sharply, his hand outstretched to render Leofore's spell null. The Knight-Commander was not even allowed the time to be irritated as Argon proceeded to maul him. Or try to, anyway. The blood hunter was certainly making quick work of his armor! Leofore was strangely lighthearted about this turn of events. Argon had factored in that he knew their methods inside and out. To change such tried and true strategies mere moments before battle-!
Revel was abruptly inches from his face and Leofore blinked, unsure if he had hallucinated the curled onyx horns he had seen briefly on either side of Destrier's pale visage. The younger man's lance roared like a bonfire when he struck Leofore, pinpricks of strange light arcing around his form.
The dark-haired paladin was then subjected to an ethereal weapon colliding with the side of his mask, catching the barest glimpse of a glassy obsidian battleaxe--no! A double-bladed spear, laced through with stars and flanked by those horns. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. Since when could Revel do that?! That was also a variable. It seemed Argon was not the only one who had adapted his strategies! Bittersweet pride surged in Leofore, seeing the determined look in those familiar brown eyes.
Please, my friends, stop me. I am lost to you, please stop me.
Kill them all, you insolent fool!
The decaying bodies of his men rose from the shadows beside the pillars, shambling corpses heading for the recovering wizard and unconscious queen. Thranrok flew into the air, fire whirling to life and immolating their would-be attackers. The stars that began shimmering around his bald pate warned Leofore that he was about to have much more than the angry First General werebear, his fierce Knight-Captain and their potshot-taking Spymaster to endure.
Get rid of Argon, before it's too late! He is the largest threat!
Leofore struggled wildly against Argon's grip, his lance puncturing the blood hunter over and over in a frenzy. Argon held on doggedly while the necrotic energy seared his flesh, one enormous paw swiping at the mask.
Destrier had entirely abandoned any pretense of composure, his attacks little more than frantic swings until Argon yelled at him to focus on the damn mask, Revel! Instead of stabbing his deadly lance through Leofore's head like a sane man would have, Destrier spun the weapon around and rammed the blunt end of it up into the underside of Leofore's chin.
Colors exploded across his limited field of vision and Leofore feared for a moment that Revel had shattered his jaw. The older paladin tasted blood in his mouth, viscous liquid spattering down his breastplate when he gasped for air. Argon's hold on him tightened even further, grim blackened pauldrons creaking in warning; another arrow glanced off the mask, chipping the bridge of the nose.
"Keep him still , will you?" Naero complained.
" Look Fick, he's hellbent on making me into a damn pincushion-- will you knock it off?! " Argon interrupted himself to pound a furry fist into the side of Leofore's head, the blood hunter sounding more like he was berating a child than fighting for his life.
Destrier abandoned his lance in favor of fumbling with the smooth edges of the mask, the knight swearing a blue streak when Leofore jerked his face up out of reach. "We are here to help you, Leofore!" He cried, clearly distraught. " Stop! "
Leofore silently bent his legs at the knee and planted his black sabatons in the center of Revel's chest, using the solid wall of Argon to his advantage so he could knock Destrier flat on his back. A mote of pure starlight struck Leofore squarely in the temple and he heard a loud crack as the mask lost a small piece from the forehead.
"Ha!" Thranrok sounded pleased, which boded poorly-
You stupid fool, kill him now!
Another Urgal spell left his lips and paralysis rippled across the battlefield. Thranrok tumbled helplessly to the ground, the dwarf landing hard beside Ganymethios and the queen.
Leofore wordlessly flipped his lance around and thrust it into his own stomach. His plate and chainmail shrieked in protest before giving way and the pain from his wounds (which had been a far-off, dreamy sort of thing), rushed to clarity. Radiant energy cut him to the quick and he choked down his yell, shoving the lance through himself and into Argon.
The werebear roared at the explosion of power and loosened his grip, finally allowing Leofore to tear free.
The man dropped heavily to the stone floor, another mote of starlight crashing into the mask and knocking him onto his hands and knees. Leofore was dimly aware that he was slavering as he clawed at the mask, beating a fist into the ground in frustration when it would not budge.
He scrabbled frantically at his belt for his dagger, drawing it and feeling bile surge up his throat when he realized the blade was still stained with the queen's blood.
Leofore then jammed it under the edge of the mask, trying desperately to pry it off. Fight it, Leofore! That was Thranrok's voice in his head, concerned, loudbright , grounding him in reality. Knight-Commander Leofore, leader of the King's Elite, reduced to this?
The dagger cut into his cheek while he struggled, the paladin digging and scraping like a rabid animal until the blade suddenly snapped with a sharp pang!
I warned you, thrall. Now, kill Argon.
" No! " Leofore screamed, slamming his face into the floor one last time and then staggering upright against his will. The chainmail covering his stomach was slick with blood; Leofore could feel it trickling into his greaves. He pressed a hand to the wound and gripped his lance even tighter, his breathing coming in harsh, liquid gasps.
The werebear lay still on the flagstones several feet away, badly bloodied. First one foot, then the other, Leofore slowly advanced the prone blood hunter.
"Don't make me do this." The paladin whispered, fighting for control with every step. "Gods, don't make me do this." The icy fingers dug deep into the nape of his neck, making him grimace.
You have no choice.
Destrier grabbed his lance arm, the knight digging in his heels when Leofore tried to shake him off. " I won't let you! " Destrier raged, his voice hoarse from yelling as he roughly dragged the larger man back a step.
On the opposite side, Thranrok wrapped his entire body around the paladin's other arm, the stocky sorcerer slowing him down even further. "Gany, get it off him!" Thranrok exclaimed urgently. " Hurry! "
The dragonborn's talons sank into Leofore's face before he could even think about dodging, Gany not even attempting to remove the mask so much as he was skinning it off of him. A crack formed down the center, the mask giving out under the strain.
No!
Thank you, my friends .
Pain shot through his veins, fever-hot and furious. Leofore couldn't help but cry out, a weak shudder of agony rocking his battered body. Ganymethios carried on with his grisly task and Leofore finally felt something at the nape of his neck snap off with a dull crunch.
/x\
Leofore collapsed face first, mere inches from his intended target.
Destrier couldn't keep from dry heaving at the sight of the bloody mask Gany now held, the dragonborn shooting him an apologetic grimace before stating, "Nasty stuff, but it had to be done."
Naero sauntered forward, already putting on his gloves. Destrier gripped his lance tightly while the elf reached down, two fingers tapping on the side of Leofore's neck in habitual search of a pulse. He wasn't sure what on earth Naero hoped to find, Leofore was-
Fick's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "He's still circulating, boys."
"What? But I thought that he was undead!" Thranrok voiced what they were all thinking, scratching where his sideburns would be.
Destrier hardly cared, digging his gauntlets in at Leofore's sides so he could roll him over onto his back. He glanced to Gany, opening his mouth to ask for help, but the dragonborn was already muttering theories to Thranrok. The two of them were scrutinizing the inside of the mask pieces in the torchlight, holding the objects gingerly between them. Better not to interrupt if I can do it myself.
Destrier gave his healing freely, the hole in Leofore's stomach and his mangled face knitting themselves back together at a glacial pace. Revel's abilities may be able to keep himself alive in battle, but Ganymethios would forever be the better healer. Destrier's help had always been more akin to filling a pond by flooding it.
The Knight-Commander was breathing, the blond realized in stunned silence, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Destrier leaned forward, resting his forehead on Leofore's breastplate so he could feel the steady motion of his breath. " Please ." He implored softly, not sure of entirely who or what he was even asking for. He felt Naero's hand on his shoulder, the elf giving it a brief squeeze between pauldron and gorget.
Argon groaned, sounding more annoyed than pained. "Excuse me, senior officer over here? Guy who did all the work? Anyone want to give me a hand?"
Gany chuckled, absently tracing a well-worn sigil in the air. "Relax, Argon. We wouldn't leave you out in the cold."
The werebear grumbled at the quip, slowly moving to sit up after a moment or two. "So is he alive or what?" He asked. Destrier was uncertain who he had addressed, the Knight-Captain still slumped with his head bowed against Leofore's chest. Gany's healing spell washed over them all, but even after that Leofore did not stir.
"He breathes, anyway." Naero answered. "We should also make certain her Majesty is safe, and sweep the room for any further threats."
A gauntlet fumbled to grasp the back of Destrier's neck heavily. "Are you alright?" Leofore rasped, his voice barely audible. The younger knight was not particularly proud of how loud his sob of relief was, turning his face against his own shoulder in a futile attempt to muffle the pitiful noise with his tattered mantle.
"And lo, our sleeping beauty awakens." Fick said dryly. "The real question is, do we have to have Argon knock some sense into you again or will you behave this time?"
"I offer no promises." Leofore's laugh was a shadow of its former glory, the sound ragged. "I feel like death warmed over. Help me sit up, boys." Gany assisted Destrier with shifting their Knight-Commander into a sitting position on the stairs to the dais, Leofore nodding his thanks to the pair before glancing around the room. "What has happened?" He asked worriedly.
"We were hoping you could tell us." Fick replied. "This is lich business, after all. And someone didn't do their required reading the last time we dealt with one!"
"Hey! I can only apologize for not knowing about phylacteries so many times!" Thranrok protested. "Lich books are always so damn dry ."
"Well the one who reigned here was so damnable proud of his phylactery, he practically put the thing in my hands." Leofore shook his head. "That may have been the worst part of this whole endeavor, removing the reign of this lich while languishing under the tyranny of the previous one! That blasted mask-"
"Won't be able to do anything ever again." Thranrok interjected. "Gany and I will see to that."
"I thank you, my friends." Leofore sighed. "Near as I can recall, the prince is secured beneath the throne. The queen..."
"Already acquired. She lies over there, unconscious but alive." Ganymethios assured as Naero bolted for the throne.
"We must convene with Jonathan, discuss how to approach dealing with that other lich." Leofore rose slowly, clearly still weary from their pitched battle. He extended a hand to help Argon up from the floor, and was nearly toppled for his trouble.
The blood hunter grinned toothily, slapping the man on the shoulder. "We'll save you coming to my rescue for some other time, eh troublemaker?"
"Aye, I suppose we shall." Leofore paused for a moment, then turned to Thranrok. " Please tell me you can teleport us out of here, something . I am ready to be rid of this nightmare."
Thranrok looked offended. "Ex- cuse me, Leofore? Do my ears deceive me, or do I detect a hint of doubt in your tone?" A scroll was drawn from one of his many pockets. "The nerve of you, thinking that I wouldn't be prepared!" The sorcerer blustered.
"Wait, wait, we definitely shouldn't go directly to the castle." Naero called, hauling the prince's unconscious body out of a small cell beneath the elaborate throne. "King Jonathan is likely to slaughter us first and ask questions later if we just appear with his unconscious family and Dread Knight Leofore in tow."
"Too true!" Thranrok tapped his chin in thought, then snapped his fingers. "I've got it! Grab her Majesty, Gany."
"Wait, perhaps we should-"
Whatever Leofore was about to suggest was cut off as Thranrok enthusiastically rattled off the power words written on the parchment in his hands and the party was unceremoniously teleported away.
The familiar storage room of Maplecrest solidified around them and Destrier realized a split-second later that a wicked-looking cudgel was being swung at his head. His shield came up on instinct, deflecting the blow and making the metal ring loudly. "Illeria!" He said gladly, not really caring that she had come remarkably close to taking his head off.
The diminutive innkeeper dropped her weapon, her eyes wide in the dim light of morning. "Destrier! And--oh. And...Prince Timothy. Is that the queen? " She hissed, starting to hastily smooth out her skirts and apron.
She halted when she noticed Leofore and Revel reached out a steadying hand, certain that the young woman was preparing to grab her cudgel again. "It's alright, Illeria." He soothed.
Thranrok sidled to the main door of the inn, quickly scrawling a sign on a spare piece of vellum and then tacking it to the outside of the door. "We're buying you out for the day, Illeria. Y'know, for the trouble." The dwarf explained, the tips of his ears tinged slightly pink.
Illeria nodded dumbly, yanking on Destrier's arm. The knight allowed himself to be dragged into her living quarters, caught between laughing and crying when she whirled on him. "What the hell is going on, Revel?! You all-"
"I know. I can't even tell if I'm dreaming or not." Destrier confessed. "We had thought Leofore was lost to us, but he was working under the influence of a threat we believed we had destroyed."
"What, more Urgals?" She asked incredulously.
"Something akin to that, yes." Whatever Illeria muttered was decidedly uncharitable, the young woman holding her head in her hands. Destrier hesitated, then opened his arms. "Would you-?"
She tucked herself into his embrace without another word. The knight rested his chin on the top of her head, feeling a peace he had not known since Leofore had vanished.
"It is good to be home again." Destrier whispered.
"Home?"
"Aye. Home ."
/x\
Leofore stood in front of King Jonathan, his body language pensive. He still wore the blackened armor, stating that he felt unworthy of his gold and white plate, so he made quite the bedraggled sight. Once the king was done squeezing the breath out of his wife and son, he turned a stern look to the Knight-Commander.
"Fallen Knight Leofore."
Destrier grimaced at Leofore's wince. They had known this would come, but it still hurt. Leofore dropped to a knee, his shoulders rigid. "Your Majesty." He replied evenly.
King Jonathan meandered off the throne dais. Naero elbowed Destrier in the ribs, pointing surreptitiously at Jonathan's hands. More specifically, at the gauntlets he now wore. Destrier's brow furrowed in confusion, since when did his Majesty…?
Jonathan bade Leofore to rise, placing his right hand on the taller man's shoulder. Before anyone could react (though Destrier suspected Leofore knew the punishment was coming), he balled his left gauntlet into a fist and slammed it squarely into Leofore's nose.
Argon huffed out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a snicker. Ganymethios was taken by a sudden coughing fit, Thranrok slapping him as high up on the back as he could reach.
Leofore staggered back with a grunt, cupping his face. Jonathan looked a fair bit pained himself, shaking off the impact of the blow. "Return to your duties, Knight-Commander Leofore. There is much work to be done." Despite his fierce expression, the king's eyes fairly danced with good humor. "It brings me great joy to have you back, my friend."
"Aye, the feeling is mutual." Leofore replied with a rueful smile, wiping the blood from his nose off his upper lip. "We bring news of enemy plots, my liege."
"Naero has informed me. We will tackle this topic ere the morn. Tonight, we feast." The king clapped Leofore's shoulder once again. "The queen and prince have returned, as well as the brave Knight-Commander we thought had been slain and the rest of the King's Elite. I would say that is cause for celebration!" He gestured a manservant forward, distributing tankards of fine ale amongst the adventurers before raising his own goblet. "A toast, my friends, for the new era! An age of peace shall finally dawn."
"For Leofore!" Prince Timothy exclaimed, saluting the Knight-Commander who waved it off with a quiet chuckle.
" For Leofore! " The King's Elite echoed, and there was the sudden snap of leather straps giving way as Destrier's shield flung itself off his back to hover at his side.
"You...gods, really? " Argon sighed.
Destrier rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat awkwardly. "It had to be a phrase I would remember." He tried to explain, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. "I wanted it to serve as a reminder of what we fought so hard for and why we fought as hard as we did."
"Well spake, my flushed friend!" Timothy teased, knuckling the other man's shoulder. "But come, we have a feast to prepare and drinks to indulge in!" Leofore's expression was unreadable when Destrier dared to glance over, and the younger knight feared that he had offended him.
Leofore approached him once the festivities were truly under way, asking for Destrier's presence while he circled the grounds. "It is very loud here, but I do not wish to be alone." He said by way of explanation, blue eyes strangely mournful.
Destrier agreed and the two of them made their way to the ramparts, walking at an easy pace and making inconsequential conversation.
Once there, Leofore ran a hand along the rich buntings that bore the kingdom's colors and insignia, his gaze far away. " Wars are not won or lost, merely ended ." He mused. "I know not who coined that phrase, but I have always found it to ring true." The dark-haired man leaned against a parapet and fixed Destrier with a calculating look. "Have we won this war, Revel? Or are we simply ending it?"
"Does it matter overmuch?" Destrier replied pragmatically with a question of his own, fixated on the bonfire in the courtyard far below crackling merrily away. "History will remember us as the victors and the people will recover with our help. Our work will not be over when the fighting is, you know that."
"Aye," Leofore nodded. "About the shield, Destrier…"
"I can change it." Revel rushed to assure him but Leofore waved him off.
"It brings me comfort to know that you would hold me in such high esteem." Then, "do you think Argon will forgive me for trying to turn him into a kitchen sieve?" Destrier tried to stifle his laugh to no avail. Leofore grinned at him, the older knight mussing his hair teasingly before returning to staring out toward the horizon. "Many things have changed, and yet even more stay the same. I will not be so foolhardy this time." He promised solemnly.
"I do not think we would be able to carry on with this new era if you were absent, my friend."
"Surely you jest. The strength I witnessed from all of you, the tenacity? I feared I would burst with pride. I understand your sentiment, though. I shall not go looking for my death, nor rush headlong into danger."
"Not alone, anyway." Destrier amended. "That is all I can ask for, Knight-Commander." He extended his hand and they clasped forearms in the typical knightly fashion. Leofore searched his eyes for a long moment and then nodded, seeming to have found whatever he was looking for.
"You have changed as well, Knight-Captain Revel. For the better, I would wager."
AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!
Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!
Inspired By: Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST: Awakening and Ivan Torrent: Facing Fears
[Urgals are a monstrous race that seem to be a cross between ogres and orcs.]
[Destrier Revel is a level ten human Conquest paladin with six levels of Phoenix sorcerer, and his appearance can be found here.]
[And lastly, this is how I pictured Aetros Ad Astra.]
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes, including vivid descriptions of gore, extreme duress and character death. Stay safe!]
He entered the temple warily, but not before removing his helmet. Destrier knew better than to assume whatever god this temple represented was dormant, and entering any place of worship with one's head covered was a nearly certain way of getting it separated from your shoulders.
This ancient stone structure was different from the clapboard Urgal constructs that dotted the hillside beneath it. Clearly, it was a relic of some bygone time or civilization.
Knowledge is power, Knight Revel. Seek it out, and we may yet win this war. With his late mentor's words ringing in his ears, Destrier proceeded with caution.
Brittle, charred remains crisscrossed the stones beneath his feet, crumbling to dust at his advance. The knight wondered at the thin layer of ashen debris that coated everything despite the lofty height of the temple. The winds that had whipped outside appeared to have gone still.
Further into the temple, far removed from the weak light that filtered in from the arched doorway, was an altar of some kind. Destrier squinted, trying to decipher the runes on the sides of the obsidian stone table with little success.
A soft crackling noise met his ears and for a moment he paid it no mind, too engrossed in the arcane markings. It was almost like a torch or a cooking fire was burning nearby.
Destrier straightened up abruptly with a loud metallic clank! , certain that he had heard words in that strange sound.
He is not one who would normally come to a place like this. The shine of armor does not gleam so in Our temple , the crackling voice mused softly.
"Where are you?" Destrier queried, turning in place and scanning the room. When he came full circle back to the altar, he was surprised to see a small flame flourishing atop the dark stone. "Show yourself!" He called, more than a bit perturbed.
We will not be commanded in Our own temple, foolish one . The voice sounded stronger now, a thick accent lilting through it as well as a touch of amusement. Grovel, and perhaps We will spare you .
Destrier's grip on his lance tightened momentarily, and then he dropped to a knee. "Forgive my impudence. Had I known this truly was a place of worship, I would not have spoken so rashly." The blond apologized. "May I know the name of the master of this temple?"
The flames sputtered and hissed, almost indignant in their noise. You may address Us as Garuda . First-Born of the Stars, Everflame, Light in the Darkness, Aetros Aegis, Ad Astra, et cetera, et cetera.
"Your titles are many and grand. How is it that I have not encountered any of your followers?" Destrier questioned, legitimately curious.
Somehow, he got the sense that the fire was preening. We have slumbered for many years, foolish one. The Urgals at the foot of this mountain have done wonders at keeping the outside world away.
"I am afraid they have all been slain. My men fell upon them in the dawn."
Such is your way. But why have you come here? The flame turned sly, what brings a warrior of your caliber to this place? Certainly an ordinary man would be pillaging the encampment .
"I have been sent out for more than that," Destrier replied. "I search for true victory; the ability to deal a penultimate blow to the enemy. One that they cannot recover from, that we may rout them completely."
Are you not a paladin? This is all you do . The flame said dismissively.
" Hear me , Garuda." Destrier implored, raising his head to watch the flames dance and lick over the stone. "The common folk do not ask for war. They do not ask for heightened taxes, food shortages or midnight raids upon their peaceful settlements. All they ask for is safety , and I cannot even give them that much!" Destrier clenched his fist. "Women and children starve to death in the cities that were supposed to be havens. The Urgals have learned over six years that to destroy our trade routes is to slit the throat of the army, and their savagery is not held in check for innocent civilians."
Knight Revel took a moment to get himself back under control while the fire in front of him flickered thoughtfully. When next he spoke, his voice trembled slightly.
"I would fight to my last breath for my comrades, for any member of the populace. I serve wholly to uphold the king's ideals. King Jonathan is a man of great wisdom and strength, I gladly serve him." The blond man hesitated, tamping down the memories of his mentor grinning wide in triumph, "I was given this missive because they believed in me."
You do not seek the power for yourself, then .
"What good is power, used by one man for one man's benefit?" Destrier asked sharply. He had never been overly invested in advancement for the sake of advancement. Becoming a squire at the tender age of five had seen to that . "My king and my mentor have charged me with this task, and I will see it through in order to extend my king's territories."
Interesting. You believe that there is still power out there for you to find? The flames questioned sardonically.
"I have no other choice but to believe. Our losses are catastrophic in the face of the numbers of the enemy." He could not bring himself to mention Leofore's name. The shame was still too fresh, not yet blunted by drink or the passage of time. "I have been sent to find the knowledge to turn the tides."
What faith are you of, paladin?
"I have no true faith. I am not a follower of the chantry, nor the monastery. My strength comes from my belief in my mentor and, in turn, my king." Destrier answered the question readily, his hand over his heart in the common indicator of sincerity. "I am unbound to any divinity."
This appeared to please Garuda greatly, satisfaction rolling off the small fire in waves of radiant heat. How very interesting . Faithless paladin, knight of a God king, We will grant you the power to try . Over and over if need be, until your war is won.
An enormous, spectral figure wavered into view behind the flame, their whole body somehow twinkling through and through with stars. Horns that curled like a proud ram's graced their head, and in their hands was a flaming weapon. This must be Garuda's true form , Destrier realized belatedly. The being gestured at him, urging him to rise.
Come, faithless paladin. We shall see whether you are able to be reborn in Our starfire. Take hold of the haft.
Knight Destrier Revel, loyal bondsman of King Jonathan, acting commander of a battalion he should not be leading, felt fear grip his soul. "What if I am unable? What if it is too much to bear?" He asked tentatively, leaving his lance on the floor when he stood.
What is the loss of one man to a God king? His own words, turned back upon him mockingly. We will not wait forever. Either take the plunge or let Us return to rest. Garuda extended the hilt of their weapon toward Destrier.
Knowledge is power, Knight Revel. Seek it out, and we may yet win this war . Leofore's words echoed in his head over and over, giving him the resolve he needed to steel himself. Destrier swallowed hard. "I must. I have no recourse." He finally whispered. Two hands reached out and took hold of the haft of the amorphous weapon. One moment it was a mighty axe, the next a spear with two separate blades.
Garuda chuckled, low and dark. Faithless paladin, you were drawn to Our power like a moth to Our flame. You are charged to burn the wicked and rule the ashes, rising again and again at the cost of your body and soul. Will you take Our power?
" Yes ." Destrier responded fiercely, his brown eyes aglow in the light of Garuda's fiery stars.
…
He awoke on ancient stone steps and for a moment, Destrier simply laid there. Overhead, the stars spun in their nightly dance.
His whole body was hot to the point where he was sweating in his armor. When he went to sit up, Destrier found himself unable to support any weight on his hands. He forced himself up with his elbows and levered onto the next step, finally achieving a semi-upright stance.
Something was very wrong with his hands. Destrier began the slow, clumsy process of unfastening the buckles on his left gauntlet, using his teeth instead of uncooperative fingers. But when he tried to remove the loosened armor, the pain was so great he nearly vomited. Gritting his teeth, the knight continued wriggling the armor until it finally released his hand.
Patches of his skin were entirely burned away or grafted to the inside of his gauntlet. His palm was down to raw tissue. Destrier saw bone . Bile surged in his throat again and he choked, clutching his hand close and drawing on the wellspring of healing power that his mentor's training had granted him.
Gods, Leofore, what have I done .
There on the worn steps with no one but the stars to witness his grief, Destrier wept for the loss of his friend.
/x\
His hands healed well, aside from the brand of the flaming haft that stayed squarely in the center of his palms and the inside of his fingers. At least they did not pain him or impede his ability to wield his lance.
Burn the wicked, rule the ashes . We will grant you the power to try .
The first time he absently lit a small fire with nothing but a snap of his fingers, the knight waved it off as a fluke. Naero took it in stride, just asking Destrier for a light instead of relying on Thranrok or matches.
Destrier found himself drawn to the battalion campfire at night, losing his train of thought for hours while he stared at the dancing flames or looked upwards through the smoke at the stars. If his compatriots noticed, they did not mention it. They were all still mourning the loss of Leofore; it mattered little where one of them found comfort or respite.
The knight slowly adjusted his armor to accommodate his strange new talents, star-shaped cutouts finding their way to his gauntlets that he may better utilize his fire in battle.
The first time Destrier fell in combat, that was a bit of a different story.
The Urgals had set upon yet another village, boldly doing it during the sleepy midafternoon. Destrier was sent out with his battalion, Thranrok and Naero alongside him. Gen and Argon had stayed behind this time, believing that their forces wouldn't be needed for this skirmish. The air was thick with the threat of an impending storm, dark clouds gathering in the distance even as the troops moved forward.
The battle quickly dissolved into anarchy. Destrier was cut off from his men in a suspiciously short period of time, the knight fighting desperately against the hordes of Urgals that descended upon him. There was a strangeness in these creatures, a new frenzy. Something had changed in their ranks.
The blond man whirled and thrust, his lance piercing the chest of one of the monsters that had been approaching from the flank. However, that left him wide open on the other side.
An Urgal warhammer caught him in the ribs so hard he was knocked off his feet. Destrier crashed through the side of one of the houses that lined the street, his vision fading to gray momentarily at the impact. He gasped and choked for breath, feeling his shattered ribs grate against one another as he tried to stand. The young man pressed a palm to his side, mending the injury hastily.
Stifled sobbing echoed in the space and Destrier turned his head, spotting the form of a woman huddled in the corner of the room with a baby in her arms. A shadow suddenly darkened the hole he had made in the wall and the massive shape of an especially formidable Urgal forced its way through in pursuit of the knight.
"Back, beast!" Destrier shouted, slamming his bracers together and then using the haft of his lance to catch the Urgal in the chest, stopping it in its tracks. His gauntlets heated rapidly and the creature shrieked in pain, jerking back with glowing handprints branded onto its leather armor. Destrier snarled, moving forward to press his advantage. He could do this. He could keep them safe-
The other Urgal's warhammer smashed into the side of his head. Destrier dimly heard a wet snap , and then everything went dark.
In the breathless silence, a bonfire roared to life.
Burn the wicked, rule the ashes. We have granted you the power to try. Over and over, over and over. Those who would lay hands on your body will not even be able to touch your shadow. Arise again, and again, and again.
For Leofore.
The paladin reached out to the void of stars and something too immense to name reached back, pouring into him with single-minded intent.
Destrier's eyes flew open. Stars and galaxies swirled hazily in his vision, the whole world tinged an odd, smokey gray. He knew, with a strangely clinical certainty, that he had been dead seconds before. He growled, sparks issuing from between clenched teeth as he grabbed the ankle of the nearest Urgal. His body was molten, his armor shimmering with the same heat that birthed constellations and warmed the very vacuum of space, but he did not feel it.
Destrier all but climbed the Urgal in order to stand again, searing marks into the tough skin as he went. The creature screamed and howled in pain, alerting his companion that the dead paladin appeared to still have some fight left in him. Knight Revel buried his lance in the creature's gut as thanks for being too slow to kill him again.
The woman in the corner had gone silent. Destrier prayed she was alive, but he could not spare the attention to check. His helmet had given way under the assault, one more thing for him to focus on. Have to lead them away from here.
The remaining Urgal retreated through the destroyed wall and the knight followed swiftly, his form wrapped in roaring starfire the second the fresh air from outside the structure reached him. The cosmos burned at the corners of his eyes, stars wheeling just outside his field of vision.
Burn the wicked, rule the ashes . Over and over his mind chanted the phrase, over and over until Destrier found himself mouthing it like a mantra. The air around him boiled and sang as though it was a living being and he snapped his fingers, flames smoldering at the hems of Urgal undertunics.
Destrier was more cautious now, even with this incredible power at his disposal. He wove and ducked around attacks, thrusting his heated lance into chests or stomachs wherever he was able.
"This is why you cannot let go of your weapon even for a moment." Leofore admonished as he helped the younger man back up. "One moment is all it takes for the enemy to gain the upper hand, Destrier. Never let your guard down, and do not be so quick to trust!"
Destrier nodded, accepting his practice lance back from the older man. "Thank you for your wise counsel as always, Knight-Commander Leofore." Leofore struck without warning, knocking Destrier's legs out from underneath him and toppling the blond once again.
The commander threw his head back and laughed, then crouched beside the fledgling knight currently flat on his back in the dust. "Do not even trust me , Knight Revel! It will only leave you with misfortune and more bruises." Leofore grinned.
Destrier shook his head to dispel the echoes of his mentor's voice, baring his teeth and snarling. True, his helmet had been lost in the fight. But he still had his lance, the fire and his wits. Naero and Thranrok were somewhere out there on the battlefield as well. As long as his surviving companions drew breath, he would continue to fight.
/x\
The battle was over.
Piles of embers smoldered in the streets, the rainfall coaxing wraiths of smoke to billow skywards through the downpour.
Knight-Captain Destrier stood in the middle of the main thoroughfare, steaming shoulders bowed under the weight of some no doubt cosmic burden. Naero rolled his eyes, sauntering up alongside the larger man.
He went to place a hand on his shoulder and then paused, feeling the heat that still rolled off his armor in waves. "Revel?" Naero queried slowly.
"Why do we bother with any of this?" The paladin responded with a question of his own, his words clipped. Naero circled around him to find that his arms were protectively cradling the body of a woman. "I could do nothing ." Destrier continued, voice thick with unshed tears.
He raised his eyes to Naero's and the elf was confused by the depth of emotion he saw there. This woman was a stranger, a civilian. Dime a dozen. But the way this buffoon was reacting, it was as if she had been his own mother.
A baby's sharp wail of distress interrupted the thoughtful stillness and Destrier flinched, clearly startled. "What?" He muttered in confusion, laying the woman's body on the ground and then clumsily pawing at the ragged shawl wrapped around her.
Naero saw the child at the same time as Destrier, his ears twitching in annoyance at the impressive racket the tiny creature was making.
"It's alive." The knight breathed, sounding shattered by the whole thing. "Gods, it's alive. Naero, it's alive ."
"Have you never seen a baby before, Revel?" Fick asked dryly.
"I couldn't find it, I thought the Urgals had eaten it while I was…" Destrier paused. "Gone," he finished awkwardly.
" 'Gone' ? Dare I ask where your flights of fancy took you in the middle of battle?"
"I died."
"Oh, I'm certain of that." Naero huffed. "More likely you've taken more hits to the head than you can recall, you dimwit. Where is that damn helmet you're so proud of?"
"Broken." Destrier gestured vaguely towards a house that was missing a wall. "I was killed, go see for yourself."
"' Go see for yourself ', he says. Like I'm a fool to doubt such ludicrous claims." Naero grumbled, begrudgingly picking his way around the piles of ashen corpses. "What absolute hogwash."
He fell silent upon actually seeing the inside of the house, his brow furrowed. True to Destrier's word there was his monstrously gaudy helm, caved in on one side and entirely missing the cheek plates. Blood and hair were smeared on the inside of it, as well as bits of what Naero could only assume was human skin. He grimaced, mind racing. Was Destrier telling the truth? Had he really been killed? Gany was leagues away though, how on earth had that buffoon managed to return from the grave without assistance?
"You listen here, Revel." Naero hissed, stomping back up to the knight and jabbing him in the chest with his index finger. "What are you playing at? What deals have you made, eh?"
"Just one." Destrier's honesty was, as always, a bit of a shock. "I am to burn the wicked that my king may rule the ashes."
Fick recoiled slightly. "Damn. It's been a while since I've heard those words." He muttered. He tilted his head back, narrowly studying the armored man who was carefully wrapping the squalling whelp in the remains of his cape. "Should I ask what you're planning on doing with that?"
"Leofore's battalion had several midwives in their ranks. I have adopted the same tactics." Naero did not miss the pained expression that flitted across Destrier's face when he mentioned their deceased friend. "I will take the babe to them and ascertain whether it can be saved."
"Pretending that you are as hardened as Leofore does you no favors, Revel." Naero said bluntly as his compatriot turned to depart.
"Neither does feigning indifference to the plight of helpless innocents, Fick."
Naero watched the other man start his long walk back to their encampment, the elf shaking his head ruefully after several moments. "Seems like this war just got a lot more interesting."
Hello all! Atlas here. Welcome to the Dungeons and Dragons writing repository for all of my probably-paladin musings.
Stories will include elements of gratuitous violence, pauldronsexual activity and the occasional introspective angst festival. All works will be posted with the express permission of the Dungeon Master responsible for the character’s world, and all triggers will be labeled to the best of my ability.
My work is not safe for minors. Please leave if you are under the age of eighteen.
A massive thank you to any and all DMs out there, I immensely appreciate the amount of time and effort you all put into your tales to give players like me a fun, challenging and memorable experience.
