Temporarily de-aged (like, preteen/teen) Fjord and found family with the M9?
They gave him Yasha’s feathers to use as a blanket before quickly turning around to confer.
“—not actually cold, though. I mean, we’re underground—”
“It’s the principle of the thing. For, like…for the shock, or whatever.”
“The shock?”
“Beauregard has a point. I would feel pretty shocked as well.”
They furtively glanced over their shoulders. A skinny lump shifted beneath the cloak.
They turned back around.
“Gods, he’s so small—”
“It’s actually kind of cute—”
“Like a beanpole—”
“But his head, it’s…it’s so big—”
“And it’s been a while since we’ve seen him tusk-less,” Caduceus mused. “Do you think we should be worried?”
All of them fell silent. And, from behind their backs, came a cough.
“I, ah…I’m really sorry to trouble you all, but…where am I? And, um…who are you?”
Jester was the first to spin around. Beau and Caleb both winced, but neither were fast enough.
“We’re the Mighty Nein!” she declared. “And we’re your friends, silly! Your best friends in the world!”
The scruffy little half-orc only looked more apprehensive. He took a step back, brow furrowing, nearly tripping over the edge of Yasha’s cloak.
“My, uh…my what?”
“What is the last thing you remember?” Caleb asked.
“And how old do you think you are?” Beau added.
Fjord hesitated, carefully weighing his options.
“I’m…I’m old enough,” he said slowly. “Old enough to defend myself. And, I’m sorry again, sirs and madams, but I don’t think I should…be talking to strangers.”
“I’m Jester,” said Jester, as if that meant anything, “and if you know my name, we aren’t strangers, right?”
Fjord did not look like he agreed. His eyes darted around the chamber, glancing over a worktable he no longer recognized, the husk of an arcane circle he didn’t remember triggering.
Nott tugged on the edge of Caleb’s sleeve. “You should Friends him,” she hissed, “I’m sure that would work.”
“Er…perhaps not—”
“I can stun him,” Beau whispered. “Want me to try tha—”
“I’d really rather you didn’t!”
They all looked back up again and saw that Fjord had scampered back. His feet were bare on the cold flagstones and he held the shawl closer, as if to keep warm.
“I…I really don’t know who you are, and I…I don’t think I’m comfortable being here.”
“But, Fjord,” Jester protested immediately, “we can’t just leave you here—”
He stopped. His posture faltered.
“How do you know my name?” he asked.
Jester threw her hands up. “Because we’re your friends! You just…look, there was this magic spell and now you’re a baby—”
His face flushed instantly.
“I’m not a baby!”
“—but it’s alright! As soon as I get Greater Restoration back, we can fix you up, lickingly-split.”
“It is lickety-split,” Caleb said mildly.
“What, really?”
“Ja, it can be confusing.”
“I also made that mistake,” Yasha volunteered. “It happens to anyone—”
Fjord cleared his throat.
“You people are insane,” though this declaration lacked his earlier barbs. “I’ve never met kidnappers as weird as you.”
“That’s ‘cause we ain’t kidnappers,” Beau sighed. “You’re lost and alone and afraid, yeah? We’re just trying to get you home.”
The teenager paused. “Home as in…the asylum?”
“Home as in…wherever you would like to be,” Caleb said.
“We’re staying in the Cormorant’s Roost now,” Caduceus added. “If you want, you can hang around there for a while. At least until you know where you want to go.”
Fjord’s shoulders lowered slightly.
“R…really? You won’t take me back?”
“No,” said Nott. Her gaze was glued to his. “We’re not going to take you anywhere you don’t feel welcome.”
“And you can keep my shawl if you like,” Yasha added. “It is very warm.”
Fjord’s eyes went wide. His cheeks colored slightly, but he drew the cloak close.
“I’ve never seen feathers like these before.”
The corner of Yasha’s mouth quirked up. “They are a special kind. From the winged beasts of Xhorhas.”
“The what?”
“We’ll tell you on the way, are you coming or what? Oh, and call me Beau,” she held out a hand. “My full name is Beauregard, but the short version’s enough.”
Fjord blinked twice. He glanced over the crowd of people. They were definitely well-armed, and well-armored, and looked strong, but…something about them…and the way that they spoke…
He held out a hand. He grasped her palm.
“And you’re sure you’re not kidnappers?”
“Positive.”
“I can cast Zone of Truth on everyone if you like!”
“Zone of…what?”
Nott grinned back at him from his other side. The two of them were almost eye-to-eye.
“It’s a magic spell,” she said, and winked. “She learned it from a god called…Button-beard.”
Fjord snorted. “Oh, no way! That’s got to be fake, no god would ever be named something like that!”
Nott’s gaze twinkled as they trailed behind the rest. “Oh, you’re a sharp one. And you’d be surprised at how many people fall for tricks like that!”
—
Ko-fi in bio✨ | Finished 5k fic prompts right here! 💜 Requests Are CLOSED!
for the prompt giveaway: something with time travel! bonus points for whump. extra bonus points for caleb + beau or nott or molly. tysm. i love you.
fresh off the presses of final exams, @inkedinserendipity and @kaladins-angst, this one goes out to you <3
— — —
His eyes snap open, and for a second it feels like waking from a dream.
Golden light streams in through the windows. The sound of busy streets drifts up past his ears.
He throws the covers off. He scrambles to tug his boots on.
The rest are already downstairs, eating breakfast. He swears loudly at this. He combs his hair down. He reaches the table just as Beau lifts her glass, just as Fjord goes to smile and say:
“Hey! Look who’s final—”
“—ly awake.”
There’s a pause. Fjord blinks.
“Uh…ex—”
“—cuse me. Ja, you are excused.”
The silence stretches on a bit longer, this time. Caleb sits down. He wolfs down a biscuit. He looks almost more ravenous than Nott and only stops to drink some water and add:
“Jester, you are about to comment on my manners.”
She hesitates.
“…was not.”
The corner of his lip twitches up, then he nods. “Of course. But it is deserved, I supp—”
“What the fuck?” says Beau, then she swears and points at Caleb, “stop doing that—”
“—at already.” When her glare intensifies, he finally relents.
“Sorry, sorry,” he inhales half a muffin. “Sorry, but do you understand what is happening?”
“You’re being annoying.”
“Oh! Is this a new prank?!”
Nott rises in her chair and slaps her palms to the table.
“Dunamancy?” she asks. “Did something go wrong?”
Caleb nods. He looks proud, but mostly he just looks tired.
“Ja, in essence, that is what happened The long version is that later today, in this version of today, our mission is going to go poorly and all of us will die, and then I will wake up again.”
The group watches him down the rest of his mug.
“That is…the long version?” Yasha asks.
Caduceus hands him a napkin. He takes it. He nods.
“It has felt pretty long to me, anyway. This is the…götter, the twelfth time I have come back.”
“You must be really feeling the whiplash, then,” says Fjord.
Caleb gives him a look. It’s answered with a shrug.
“I mean…weirder things have happened to us before,” tries Nott. Caleb smiles; this is the eighth time she’s been the first one to agree. “What, uh…what exactly is going to happen, did you say?”
“We need all the details,” Beau nods. Her expression is stony now, all traces of snark gone. “Especially if it involves us…dying.”
“The even-longer version,” Yasha supplies helpfully.
Caleb slides his plate aside. He takes a deep breath.
“In an hour, we are going to go on that mission to uncover the final Beacon for the dynasty. The ruins will be difficult to navigate, but we manage. Jester is going to graffiti the walls and Fjord is going to nearly trip into a pit.”
“Oh, er…that’s…good to know, I suppose.”
“Indeed. Sometimes we take a short rest after that, sometimes we forge on ahead. Regardless, once we have moved past that point, when we reach the third level of the temple—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” says Beau, “these ruins are a temple? To who?”
Caleb shakes his head. “We never quite make it far enough to find out. Your working theory is that it is some god divorced from the the pantheon, connected to the Luxon if it is not the Luxon itself.”
She whistles. “I came up with that, huh?”
“Ja, and I am inclined to believe you. However, whatever this…diety was, it left behind something very powerful. In the final room that we stumble into, there is always the Beacon, sitting on a pedestal, surrounded by ancient iconography. And there is always also something else in that room, like a…like a shadowy force…almost alive, made of a strange grey mist. And it always kills us, in the end.”
He reaches out blindly and Nott provides a mug. He drinks it. The group mulls this over.
“Well,” says Fjord eventually, “that sucks.”
“So then…have we tried just not doing the mission?” Nott asks.
Caleb nods miserably. “My second time back, we tried that. A day went past, and after I went to sleep, I just woke up at the start of today.” He gestures to himself. “Like I did now.”
“Did we try to fight in the last cycle?” Caduceus asks.
“Ja. A number of you fell before I finally died.”
The weight of that “finally” leaves a chill in the air. Jester hands him a pastry.
“Have we…oh! Have we asked the Dynasty for help? Surely they would know how to fix this?” she says.
“We tried during cycle ten,” Caleb sighs. “Essik teleported over and everything. He…gave a theory and I believe he may be right.”
“Which is?” Fjord asks.
Caleb grimaces. “He believes that the spell I tried got disrupted by the presence of a Beacon so close to it. He thinks that the only way to undo this is to cast it in reverse, once again, before the Beacon.”
“Oh, well that does not seem so bad,” Yasha leans back and crosses her arms. “We can just do that then, yes?”
“Yes, only the spell takes a minute to cast. It was a miracle I got it off the first time, I have no idea if I can do it again. We just failed, trying to do it again.”
“You just failed,” Beau points out helpfully. “We’re fresh off the failure scale.”
Caleb shifts his stare towards her.
“I’m just saying. That attitude isn’t going to help.”
“It’s nice to see you being positive,” Caduceus rumbles. “I like it.”
Beau grins. “Thanks! You know, I’m tryin’ something new.”
“Anyway,” Nott pointedly interjects, as Caleb begins to massage his temples, “anyway, it doesn’t hurt to try again, does it? I mean, how many times have we died?”
“Nine times.”
“Nine?”
“Is it all of us?”
Caleb shrugs. “I, ah…admittedly, go down rather early, so I do not know if all of us are defeated each time. But I have watched each individual one of you die. At least once.”
“Yikes,” says Fjord.
He closes his eyes. He can hear Beau tapping her chin at his side.
“So…hang on, what if this is like…a dream, then, or something? What if you’re still dead right now and this is just some kind of vision? Or maybe you’re having a mental break?”
“I would prefer that not to be the case,” he mutters. “I have…done that once before, I would not like to again.”
“—shit. Sorry—”
He waves a hand. “It is alright. I do understand your hesitation, however, and I assure you that…as far as I am aware, admittedly with my grip on reality a bit tense—”
“We believe you.”
He looks up, and his friends are all gazing back at him.
Jester hands him another pastry. It’s some kind of sugary fruit tart.
“I’m sorry you’re…stuck in time,” she says. “But I’m glad that you tried to come back for us. And I’m really happy that…well, at least for now, that we aren’t dead.”
“Yeah,” says Nott, nodding fervently. “Time loop or not, we’ll figure this out!”
“Time loop or…” Fjord pinches the bridge of his nose. “When did our lives get so weird?”
“Sometime just after the sword-swallowing, I think.” Beau claps a hand over Caleb’s shoulder. “Alright, let’s…do this, I guess. Do you have a plan for how we’ll keep you alive during your little ritual?”
Swept up in their wave of intent, he manages, “Ah…er…not yet, we tried the Hut once, but the mist can go through floors—”
“Then we create a new plan,” says Yasha.
“Whatever you think might work best, Mister Caleb. Are you…feeling alright, by the way?” Caduceus lifts an eyebrow. “If you say this is the twelfth time you’ve come back, the thirteenth time we’ve repeated today, then I imagine that’s a bit of a strain on the mind.”
“It is…certainly not pleasant,” Caleb mutters, then blinks and rubs his face, looks up.
“You all…I am worried that this is a…well, I am afraid that in telling you of our failures, I have discouraged you all.”
Beau tilts her chair back, puts a foot on the table. She is instantly chastised by Fjord, and scowls.
“Nah,” she says, setting her chair back on the ground, “nah. Failure is like…our thing. It’s…how we learn, anyway,” she eventually amends.
“And what other option do we have?” Yasha asks. “To sit back and do nothing? That is not what we do.”
“Let’s give it another shot,” Jester says, thumping Caleb on the arm. “You said you got it once before, that means it’s not impossible to do! We just have to keep trying!”
“It’s easier for us, I suppose, since we don’t…actually remember, but…” Fjord gives Caleb a nod. “It looks like, so far, you haven’t given up on us. The least we can do is not give up on you.”
“I…cannot make any promises,” he begins—
“You don’t need to,” Nott says. “Come on, not for us.”
“What is it that they say about the number thirteen? It’s lucky or something, right?” Yasha asks.
“Actually,” says Beau, “depending on where you’re from, it can be, like, wicked unluck—”
Jester elbows her in the ribs.
“Ow, wha—oh. I mean, it’s super lucky, duh.”
Caleb glances down at the pastry in his hands.
He takes a bite.
“Well,” he manages, slowly, steadily. “I suppose that is something we will find out, ja?”
—
Ko-fi in bio✨ | Finished 5k fic prompts right here! 💜 Requests Are CLOSED!
I KNOW MY PROMPT! Per the thing I sent you in DM: Mighty Nein x Vox Machina fighting some eldritch deity tigether that swaps their powers mid-battle with who their players play. Percival de Rolo, the man who would be atheist if the gods were not so clearly real, needs to literally pick a god and /pray/.
it’s wild how long it’s taken me to do this and also you’ll need this post for context (tweaked just slightly by yours truly)
—
Of course, they’d been warned that reality would be thin here.
Essek had told them all, at length, that usage of the beacon would likely thrust them into a world slightly different from theirs, and Allura had repeated, again and again, that nothing about the Chained Oblivion would make sense. It was the manifestation—the primordial source of delusion—and as powerful as any of them were, they would still be at the mercy of its maddening effects.
Which was why, when the battle finally began, when the abyss started seeping into the Prime Material Plane and the first broken chain lashed out of the empty dark, when the threads of probability started curling, swirling, cocooning around them with the one strand where this was possible—
—well, it really shouldn’t have been all that surprising when Keyleth just swung her staff upside Tharizdun’s skull.
What passed for its skull, anyway.
And then Vex’s arrows crackled with necrotic energy and for a second, Percy could’ve sworn she’d spouted wings. Grog lunged forward and a sword was in his hands, icy-blue, mist in the air, and the supposed monk from that other motley crew suddenly thrust out and called lightning from the sky. The hands of their wizard now glowed with the Everlight, and their aasimar fighter, or whatever she was, had suddenly called forth a hail of thorny vines. And as Percy looked down at his own palms, he realized suddenly that his gun felt foreign, and clumsy, and wrong.
His fingers fumbled against the catch and the safety of knowing, the security of understanding, was slipping rapidly, terrifyingly from his mind.
He looked around desperately, then dodged another chain that lashed out towards him, slicing through the night.
Or did he? And did it actually miss, or had it tried to hit the mirage now at his side, a flickering, shifting, image of himself, a perfect copy, one he didn’t know how he made—
A sorcerer, then, he quickly decided. Or, perhaps, some kind of warlo—
This time, the chain didn’t miss, striking directly at his chest. But his arm was up before he could even shout, and strapped to his elbow, clutched in his hand, was a silver shield, shining bright—
A paladin? Oh, gods, not the—the gods.
But he didn’t have a chance to groan any louder, because more of the abyss was pouring through, now. Their allies—the united forces of two continents—were still keeping the demons at bay, but the longer that Tharizdun could exist, the angrier they got, the more distorted their minds, the worse the probability that they’d lose this fight—
The light of the Luxon flickered, and Percy knew he had no time to waste.
He threw himself back into the battle, kicking scorched grass up as he ran. His eyes darted across the other fighters—a goblin, a firbolg, but who had his guns? Who had he switched with, where was his power—
And then, he saw it, in the hands of a blue tiefling. Bad News had somehow found its way into her grasp, and she was crouched behind a boulder, looking confused but understanding, eyes focused and breathing low. Percy desperately had to wrack his mind, and through the confusion and the twisting and the blood, inhaled, focused, remembered—
The….Traveler?
He jerked around another writhing chain, ducked behind a half-fallen tree to ask.
“Is that you?” he hissed, under his breath. “Ah…Traveler? Are you out there? I could—gods, I could use the help!”
Dirt and ash flew past his face. The sharp smell of blood filled the air.
Something warm pressed into his chest.
Frantically, Percy threw the axe aside. His fingers dug below his coat and after a second of desperate rifling, they clutched around something hard and he thrust his hand back into the night—
The symbol of a doorway, reflecting the light of a thousand different realities, all in one.
The image was…oddly familiar.
And then, he heard Vex’ahlia cry out. His head shot above the charred bark and he swiveled around, saw her stumble, saw a sword in her hand that he’d never seen before and saw her teeth grit, saw a chain rise—
He ran forward, cried, “Vex! Watch out!”
A burst of holy light exploded around his wife, enveloping her with a blazing, green glow. He watched, steps faltering, as her wounds began to close, as her posture straightened, her lips grinned, eyes narrowed—
She was back in the fight before Percy could recover. Of course she was, and her next strike was brutal—
He took a deep breath, steadied himself.
“T-Traveler?” he tried. “Was that…you?”
A voice, lilting, and soft and—
“Of course. Can’t have her falling, not now.”
—oddly, oddly familiar.
His eyes went wide. He whirled around.
“Artagan? Is that—is that you?!”
—
Ko-fi in bio✨ | Finished 5k fic prompts right here! 💜 Requests Are CLOSED!
for the prompts: what about a jester resurrection where all the speeches (from beau, caleb, and yasha) just happen to all be love confessions?
happppyyyy holidays ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
—
In a place somewhere cold, and silent, and too dark, six figures bent over a seventh on the ground.
One took out a diamond. Two fumbled with the chalk. One wove a wreath of flowers, red holly. One could only offer a dry daisy.
One found a match.
The incense hissed to life.
—
“If, um…if you can hear this, I…gods. I…I really hope you can hear this.”
—
“It, ah…well, it is me. It is…”
—
“…ja. It is just me.”
—
“I’m supposed to, uh…well, accordin’ to Cad, I’m supposed to say some stuff that’ll bring your soul back? Or, like…to make a plea of some kind?”
—
“I am…oh, this is very above me. I have never…I have heard of things like this before, but…a part of me feels like they could never work.”
—
“Is that…is that fair to you? That I am doing this? That I am one of the people supposed to call you home?”
—
“I mean…what could I even say, right? I…I’m too much of a screw-up to do anything, I was too much of a screw-up—”
—
“—of a coward—”
—
“—of a failure—”
—
“—to even be there to save you when it mattered. I…I should’ve—”
—
“—it should have been me—”
—
“—I should have been watching, scheisse, I should have been ready. I knew that this was a dangerous mission, I should…I should never have insisted—"
—
“I’m so sorry.”
—
“But, ah…maybe…maybe this is not the time. You would not want to come back to people so miserable, after all. You were…well, I think you showed me how. To put on a brave face and smile, no matter what.”
—
“You know, I…I actually worried about you sometimes. When you were kidnapped, so long ago, I was…so worried. And afraid that your smile would be gone forever. I think…a part of me, through the fog and my own problems, was even more worried when you kept smiling. It was…admirable, but something about that was a bit…sad.”
—
“You always tried to put us first, Jes. I’ll never forget how you always did that. You’re the most caring, and selfless, and downright cheery person I know, and it really shows how amazing you are that I didn’t barf every time you grinned at me.”
—
“You were the one who checked up on me. Who believed in me when even I thought I was lost.”
—
“Your light is truly something else. Something wonderful.”
—
“I mean seriously, with anyone else, I would’ve barfed—”
—
“And I…well, I never thanked you enough for it.”
—
“None of us ever do. Not nearly enough. And because of that, I…I am worried, that…perhaps we took you for granted. We assumed that you and your wonderful light would always be there.”
—
“And that’s not fair to you, is it, Jes?”
—
“So…I understand if you are tired. If you…if you wanted to rest, I would not blame you. But…just as you did for me, all those times…just as you always tried to be there for me…”
—
“I would like to be there for you. Right now, and…ja, for as long as you will have me.”
—
“You’re the most important person to me, to…to me ever. I’ve…I’ve never had a…a best friend, before. I’ve never had…you know, a roomie, before. And there’s nobody in my life—”
—
“—very rarely in my life—”
—
“—only once in my life—”
—
“—that I love—"
—
“—did I love—”
—
“—had I loved—”
—
“—like you.”
—
Three sat back. Not at the same time, but on their turns, individually, when each was alone.
The smoke from the small earthen pot at their sides curled up beyond their gazes, past their faces, to the sky.
They might have sighed. They might have laughed. They might have even wept.
They knelt lower.
—
“Jester, I…if you can hear this, or if you remember this, any of it all, I just want you to know how much you’ve meant to me. I want you to know that…no matter what, I’ll always be there for you. I’m always listening. And I think…I hope, our time together isn’t done. There’s still so much I want to say to you. There’s still so much I want to…to be for you. And I know that we’re in a weird old cave right now, and it’s probably not nearly as cool as wherever you are, but…I hope you hear this, and I hope it works.”
—
“I still have a favor to repay you, Jester. I have…I have things I need to say. To do, to…to show you how I care. You have already done so much for me. And…and though I am a person who…who has lost much, who does not have much to offer, I…I hope you believe me when I say that…everything I have now, all of it, I offer to you.”
—
“You are so full of love, and so full of warmth that…from the day we met, you have done nothing but melt the icy walls I built. It is…a feat and a testament to the brightness that you have brought to me already. I…well, if you would allow, Heidelbeere, I would like to live up to your laughter. In whatever way I can.”
—
“Come home, Jester.”
—
“Come back to us.”
—
“Wake up. I…bitte, please. Wake up.”
—
Then, in the silence, in the waiting that followed, two came forward, followed by the rest. Everyone was kneeling now, all of them, by her side.
And seated at the head of the ritual, breathing slow, glowing with the faint, white light of the divines, Caduceus Clay gave a nod, spoke the last prayer.
The diamond shattered. The chalk flashed once. The wreath blew backwards, the holly dislodged, the daisy flew across the stone table and the light vanished and the incense incense faded and one second passed, then another, then another—
Jester’s lungs filled with air.
Her eyes opened.
—
Ko-fi in bio✨ | Finished 5k fic prompts right here! 💜 Requests Are CLOSED!
would it be ok to ask for a continuation of the Winter Soldier Molly AU you did last time? if not, can I instead have a Widomauk reunion at a masquerade ball that goes awry? thanks! also congrats on the 5k followers hot dang.
(oh effy it’s so tempting but you can’t just say MASQUERADE and expect me NOT to write that djfhsdjk)
—
Later, years later, so many years later that the road and the grove and the blood on the snow were nothing but lingering, colorless echoes, the Mighty Nein attended a ball.
It had been at Ormid Hass’s suggestion—there’s nothing else like an imperial function for trying to weed out government spies.
So it was really rather a shame that the King had chosen a masquerade gala. All the guests twirling through the ballroom had exquisite masks and veils across their faces, tracing their temples, hiding their eyebrows, draping their noses and wholly covering their features. Occasionally, one noble would lower their visor to eat an hors d'oeuvres or dab delicately at their cheek, but quickly their ornate costume would return, the disguise re-set, the facade readorned.
“Think of it this way,” Fjord had said, while Jester tied a mask to his head, “at least nobody will actually recognize us.”
“You have green skin,” Beau had answered. “Caduceus is literally eight feet tall.”
For him, though, Caleb mused to himself as he drifted past the dancers and tried to name what he was eating, it was really easy to fit in. Red hair might be a bit uncommon, but his plainly lanky build and tendency to stick to corners meant that he’d be out of the general eye. Best to leave everyone to stare at Jester, who was currently tearing apart the dance floor with “Veth.” Fjord had been roped into waltzing with some noblewoman, and Caduceus and Beau were doing a good enough at job socializing and cancelling each other out. No, luckily for Caleb, standing to the side and memorizing what he could of the gentry would suffice. And even better, there didn’t seem to be Archmages present, not unless they’d opted to abandon their ceremonial robes, a very real possibility that Caleb hadn’t decided—
“And what are you doing here, standing alone all by yourself?”
He did manage, at least, not to groan.
He turned, saying, “I really do not see why—”
And stopped. He tried not to stare.
Which was a very difficult task, as the individual before him was…odd, to say the least. They were taller than he was, almost by half a foot, and wore a long, flowing gown that might have been a dress. Their collar rose high, their arms were gloved, and their mask was a strange combined silver visor that drifted down with a thin, flowing veil that obscured the bottom of their face almost entirely. Their eyes were all but hidden from the light, but that was alright because Caleb was busy gawking at the two, enormous ram’s horns curling up from the side of this person’s mask, really an impossible feat of engineering that Caleb himself was almost impressed by—
The stranger cleared their throat.
Caleb felt his cheeks, blissfully hidden, start to warm.
“Entschuldigung,” he quickly muttered. “I did not mean—”
“Oh, no, it’s alright. I dressed up tonight just to get that reaction.”
Caleb cleared his throat. He probably nodded.
“Ah…well, then I am glad to have helped. Excuse me, I will be going to get a drink.”
“So quickly?” The stranger, it sounded like they’d pouted, “and here I was looking forward to a conversation. I’m not that boring, am I?”
“My friend,” Caleb snorted, “you are the least boring person I think I have ever seen. It is just that I am not much for conversation.”
“Is that so?” A flicker, like they’d just raised their eyebrows. “How tragic. I had assumed that you were a dashing nobleman with some stories.”
Caleb choked. “D-dashing?” he repeated incredulously. “Noble, nein, no, again you are mistaken. I am not anyone of good breeding.”
He could’ve sworn that the stranger just snickered. But they quickly answered, “In that case, dear, I’m in good company. I’m not exactly a noble person myself, but I’m trying to find someone who is.”
Caleb wasn’t sure if they’d said “noble-person” or “noble person.” Somehow, he felt that the distinction was important.
“Well,” he said slowly, gaze shifting for just a moment, “you…certainly are in the right place, for that.”
“You’ve never heard of a ‘Tanila Pucine,’ have you?”
Caleb shook his head. “My apologies.”
The stranger just shrugged, and through the veil, came a smile. “No worries. I’ll just keep searching harder.
He nodded, and glanced back one last time. “Well, I wish you all the best in that endeavor. M—Mi…ah…?”
The stranger tilted their head.
“Your name,” Caleb said, and then wondered why he had. “Is there a way you would like me to address you?”
Their mask drifted downwards, staring into Caleb’s.
“I…that is a good question,” they said slowly. “Personally, I’m not really so picky, but the one who knows me best seems to always call me ‘Lucien.’“
They lifted a glove and scratched at their chin. “And as for the title…well, I suppose ‘Mister’ works—”
—calls him Lucien?
Caleb grabbed their hand and yanked them to the side, shoving past dancers and almost smashing a vase of flowers and nearly elbowing a waiter to death. His fingers dug into the stranger’s arm but they didn’t seem to mind, didn’t even fight it, just immediately, easily, let Caleb drag them into a courtyard.
The music was softer here, below the cricket-song. Summer sighed in the breeze of this garden and the moonlight shone on the night-blooming flowers.
Caleb spun around. He threw his mask down.
He gripped the stranger tightly by the shoulders.
“Are you real?” was the first thing that he said.
The stranger chuckled. He said, “I believe so? That’s not a bad line, Mister.”
It took Caleb a moment to begin dissecting that one. As he did, the stranger calmly began reaching down to remove their gloves in the silence.
The first one came off, and his skin was light purple.
“You know, there are better ways than kidnapping to do this. But I’ve got to say, I like your fire, dear.”
Caleb felt his blood freeze. He suddenly stepped back.
The gloves tucked neatly into their belt and the stranger—not so strange—took off their mask.
Those horns weren’t actually part of the visor.
But Caleb knew that.
His gait uneven, arms quaking, he stepped back again.
This was answered with a raised eyebrow, another pout.
“What? Are you only getting cold feet now?”
Shakily, Caleb raised a hand. He pointed. He gaped. Then finally, found the words—
“M—Mollymauk? Mollymauk Tealeaf, is that you?”
Molly stroked his chin. He blinked a few times.
And then his eyes went wide.
“That…that name, wait, that’s—” He shoved his hands into his pockets. There was a second of rifling, loud as thunder, and then he produced a scrap of paper, stained and crumpled—
He shook it around like crazed, astonished flag.
“That’s the—that’s the name—but then—did you write this letter?”
—
Ko-fi in bio✨ | Finished 5k fic prompts right here! 💜 Requests Are CLOSED!
congrats on 5000 followers! for a prompt: what would have happened if vex said yes to saundor in the feywild?
…….this got….extremely tragic (but the ending is happy!!)
—
They take Fenthras and go, knowing that the shadow of the Conclave loomed closer, an ever-present threat. They returned to Whitestone, found the ruins of Draconia, and soon made their way to the streets of Ank’harel.
“You look good, Stubby,” at one point, Vax jokingly said. “Sort of like a forest threw up on your head.”
“Hey, I was about to say that too!” Keyleth giggled. “It’s very…druid-y. Pretty.”
“Floral,” Scanlan added.
And Vex had laughed, a sweet sound as always, but now tinged with honeysuckle, a summer breeze.
And then, Percy died.
He collapsed into the sand and after the battle, Vex knelt at his side. The dryness of the beach cut like glass against her skin, the bite of saltwater stung at her eyes.
She cradled his head as the rest gathered close. She bent over him, weeping dew-silent tears.
The plea she made this time was different. She didn’t say—it’s yours—instead:
“Don’t abandon me.”
Of course, for Percy, even that was enough.
(The strangest part is that Pike didn’t even cast the ritual. Something else presided over Glintshore that day, left vines threaded through the mist-white sand, through his hair, staining their sap to chalky hands.)
They still fall in love. Nothing would change that.
And eventually, the Conclave was destroyed. Raishan was hunted down. The bard gave his lament. The newcomer, so shiny, with his mechanical man, gave the group a once-over.
“Little Elf Boy!” he called Vax.
“…er…strange tree woman?” he tried on Vex.
She corrected him, but not because the title was wrong. Because even she had to insist, sometimes, to remember. To call herself “Vex’ahlia”—
(to move, to leap, to spin, to fly—and sometimes, but only sometimes—to take a breath in)
Then they went to Vesrah, and Vax’ildan died. Vex pondered the fragility of beating hearts and the funny part was, Vax didn’t argue. He’d had time to talk to his goddess, after all.
“Still, though, I’m glad she let me come back. You know. It always feels like our work is never done.”
Vex laughed. “I understand that. We still have to go to the Hells, right?”
“Gods, I wish you wouldn’t remind me. When did our lives get so ridiculous?”
They did go to the Hells, and they managed to come back. In the months afterwards, between bakeries and building cities, Vex and Percy had a long, muted talk.
They separated, for a while. They found their way back. They were married, in secret, in quiet, beneath the stars.
And then, the world ended.
Vax told one last joke.
“Weird how we both ended up pledging our souls, eh? One to a goddess of death, one to a fairy.”
Vex snorted. “Way to make yours sound much cooler, brother.”
A moment’s pause. Then:
“Vex’ahlia…will I still see you when you die?”
She didn’t answer.
This joke wasn’t funny.
And in the end, as they had all known it would happen, Vax was gone.
He said he would tell their mother “hello.” That was good. Vex wasn’t sure she’d ever get the chance.
There was one last flurry of snowdrops, and feathers.
Time went on.
And in the end, as they had always wished it would happen, Vesper was born. A beautiful baby girl. She looked human enough, or as human as one might get with a half-elven, fey-touched, gods-blessed mother (and a frequently demon-visited father). She did end up with a penchant for druid magic, however, and all of the quarter elves’ ears were quite pointed.
“Still,” said Percy, one night, as they lay in bed. “None of them have…you know, bark skin, or anything.”
“…I don’t either, darling.”
A chuckle. A shifting of blankets, and—
“I know. But I would love you even if you did.”
She laughed, and it was gentle as a breeze. Clear and vibrant as a glowing summer day.
It never stopped being any less beautiful. Not even when time’s slow march dragged on. Not even when Percy’s smile carried wrinkles. Not even when nearly a century had passed.
In their last moments together, he’d reached up, brushed her cheek.
“I’ll wait for you, Vex’ahlia. I’ll always wait.”
She’d held his hand.
“Oh, darling. I won’t make you wait forever. I promise.”
He’d chuckled, and given her a kiss.
“Even if you did, I would love you, dear.”
She shook her head. “Percival, I promise.”
As she had known it would happen, he left too.
Slowly, one by one, they all did—
—until that last day, years, decades, centuries later, on a windy clifftop, beneath the sun, in Zephrah.
“You look good,” Vex had joked, nudging Keyleth’s side. “Honestly, not a day over eight hundred.”
“The same could be said for you,” Keyleth rolled her eyes. “Now come on. Are you ready to move on?”
Vex felt an old, gnarled hand brushing hers.
“…is it silly that…even now, a part of me is afraid that this will hurt?”
Keyleth shrugged. “I think…fear is natural. But also, if you think about it, isn’t dying natural too?”
Vex felt a whisper of wind skip past her hair.
She took Keyleth’s hand. She managed a smile.
“Nothing more natural than you and me, right?”
Keyleth laughed, and soon, she joined in.
“Right.”
And together, they stood at the top of that mountain, as both of them, slowly, gently closed their eyes. The breeze flew by, picked up, carried leaves and swirled and swelled and grew into a gust that twirled, curled, grew up all around them, spinning and whirling and stretching to the sky—
And somewhere else, somewhere quiet, somewhere soft but just as warm, two pairs of eyes blinked open.
“Finally! Gods, we were almost getting worried.”
“Hello, darling.”
“Come on, you two! What’ve you been up to? Fill us in on what we’ve missed!”
—
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congrats on the followers! love your writing! a prompt for you: the Nein are tasked with stealing a magic artifact from the home of a somewhat famous collector/adventurer! (tary. it’s taryon)
It took a mechanical man stepping around the corner for Beau to finally realize that this was probably a bad idea.
It took the mechanical man raising its arm and shuddering violently, spilling a golden light, for Beau to finally admit that they’d really broken into the wrong house.
She threw herself back around the bend and took off sprinting down the hall, screaming—
“Get out! Go, go, go, get out!”
“What?” Jester’s head appeared through the archway just as Beau tackled her to the ground. From immediately behind her came an enormous explosion, rattling the walls and knocking over portraits and nearly shaking the gold vase out of Caduceus’s arms.
It faded after a moment, but the silence was quickly filled by the rhythmic, creaking footfalls of that automaton closing in.
“What in—what was that?” Caleb hissed. “Beauregard, are you—”
“Fine, fine, but we have to go!” She grabbed two random friends by the wrists and tried to force the rest along. “I don’t know what kind of fuckin’ fun house we broke into—”
—the Nein chased after her, the footsteps got closer—
“—but this sure as fuck isn’t a regular mans—”
“Trap!” Nott screeched, and leapt up into the air as Fjord’s foot caught on a clear wire. There was a click, and a whoosh, and then a gout of flame burst from the walls surrounding the group. Caduceus grunted, Beau swore, and Fjord plowed on ahead despite feeling his hair burn, just in case something worse was coming next.
Jester, as they fled, kindly snuffed out his cloak.
“Who did he say that the owner, was again?” Fjord called out as they continued to run. “A maniac?”
“Nein, an author! Or something like tha—” Nott yanked Caleb around a pressure plate, “—danke. Or, a collector of some kind, I think!”
“Yeah, well, that much is obvious!” Beau waved their sack around and wondered, briefly, if maybe she just should abandon it. “This bastard had more riches than anyone should ever own! I would know, my parents are rich!”
“You’ve got to admit, though, it’s pretty convenient.” Caduceus’s voice was muffled by the vase. “It’s nice that he had all the ritual components just there. All on the same shelf, too.”
“It’s only good if it’s real!” Nott yelped. “Otherwise, there’s no point in any of this!”
“If I could have ten minutes—”
“You absolutely cannot!” Beau would’ve smacked him if he wasn’t already so bad at running. “We need to go n—”
“A-ha!”
The entire group skidded to a halt. Comically; the man standing before them raised an eyebrow.
He was almost worse to look at than the gaudily-decorated halls. His hair shone like gold, and like a hundred different products. His nightgown had ornamental filigree around the sleeves.
There was a blazing “T. D.” embroidered on his chest. It looked like it’d been woven from the sun.
“So you’re the group that broke into my home! Tell me, who are you working for? The Empire? The Myriad?”
The gang continued to stare at him. It was really all they could do.
The strange man seemed to consider them for a moment. Then he leaned in, almost conspiratorially.
“Were you paid to prank me? By Percy? Vex?”
Very slowly, Fjord raised a hand.
The man straightened up. “Yes, you, young man!”
Fjord grabbed Caduceus by the arm. He snapped his fingers and the two of them instantly vanished in a surge of thunder that nearly knocked the whole group off their feet—
—or would have, if the group were still there. Jester had teleported away with Nott, and Caleb and Beau had vanished from view.
The stranger stood there for a moment, blinking. Then he whirled around. He reached into his nightshirt and thrust out a rod just as the automaton that had been chasing them caught up.
“Doty!” he cried to the metal man beside him, “Go and get Larry! We have intruders—”
“Tary.”
“—yes, yes, I know you already know. Come on! Hop to it! This is the most exciting thing to happen to us since that time we destroyed the—”
“Tary.”
He paused, and raised an eyebrow at Doty.
“Did Larry teach you to interrupt me like that?”
“Tary.”
“Hm. Well, I’ll have a look at your wiring later. Anyway, come on!” He threw the rod into the air and midway down, it had turned into a flaming sword. He dodged the blade immediately, then bent to pick it up.
He stood up again, and waved the sword around.
“Let’s go!” he declared. “Adventure calls!”
—
Ko-fi in bio✨ | Finished 5k fic prompts right here! 💜 Requests Are CLOSED!
Idk if youre still doing the fic giveaway event - but if you are could you do a sick/hurt comfort with essik and caleb? (also for the record I yelped when I saw you'd done. A pt2 to that reincarnation one) ❤️❤️❤️
uhhhh this one is, as the kids say, COMPLETELY self-indulgent
—
When Essek pauses for a moment in his writing, Caleb can sense that something is wrong.
He lowers his quill and tilts his head just as Essek rises from the desk.
His long embroidered sleeve is pressed up against his mouth. Caleb notes the careful, blank lines of his expression, knows that something’s hidden, even if he can’t see what.
But before he can say anything, Essek grunts.
The inelegance of it all catches Caleb by surprise.
“Are you—”
“I am fine.” The answer is swift. “Just—ah…excuse me, a moment.”
His robes flutter out with an easy, sourceless, breeze. But as he hovers across the floor, it is unsteady. He leaves the library just as Caleb stands, the door behind him closing with a soft and frantic click.
There’s a moment, as Caleb waits to follow the sound of footsteps.
Then he smacks his forehead. He shoves his books aside.
The foyer of the Xhorhouse is empty, as expected. Caduceus and Jester are out grocery shopping, Fjord and Beau and Nott off looking for a blacksmith. The old miscellaneous house guests of the past have all moved on, and Frumpkin is currently out somewhere, roaming rooftops.
So it’s very obvious when a hacking cough cleaves through the silence.
It’s coming from the bathroom. Caleb scrambles toward the door—
“I’m—ah—I’m fine,” calls Essek’s voice, a little muffled. “It’s nothing to—ach—nothing to worry about.”
This is followed by another bout of coughing. Caleb’s arms cross. He raises his brow.
“Are you…sure?” when the noise stops, he calls back. “You sound…I can make you some tea, if that helps.”
There’s the brief rustle of robes, then Essek gives a sigh. “I…would appreciate that. Although I am not so sure tea would help.”
Caleb’s eyebrows rise higher. “Is that…should I be concerned?”
“What?” It sounds choked, then quickly, “Oh. Oh, no. Not at all, it is…not contagious.”
“Are you certain?”
A pause.
“Absolutely. Just a…side effect of my work. Dunamancy. It can be very draining.”
Caleb taps his foot.
“Really? Is that so?”
There’s another round of coughing, then he hears some more shuffles.
“You will understand later in your studies, I am sure. Sometimes…there are hazards to this training.”
Caleb slowly approaches the door.
“Can they be avoided?”
Essek barks a laugh. It is quickly stamped down by more coughing.
“If—ahem—if you are smart, then certainly. Unfortunately, I have continued to act the fool.”
Caleb comes a little closer. His footsteps echo on the smooth flagstones.
“Truly? And yet, here I believed that you were the most talented mage of your generation.”
The coughing seems to settle down, albeit slightly. There’s a murmur like Essek has fell to contemplation.
Then:
“Tell me, Caleb Widogast, have you ever had something you dearly want?”
Caleb has reached the door at this point. He stands before it, eyes drift across the wood.
“Er…” He blinks. “Well…who hasn’t?”
“Desperately want.” Essek’s voice is…this is strange. Caleb has never quite heard this tone before. “Something you want as if it is all that matters. So much so that its absence can…can even hurt.”
Caleb considers this.
“Ah. I…yes, I suppose.”
There’s a shuffle, like Essek has nodded.
Caleb scratches his head. “Is that how you feel about Dunamancy?”
There’s a long, waiting pause. Then Essek exhales.
“Y…yes. Yes. Dunamancy, and the…gifts, that it…brings.”
Caleb hums faintly. “That is understandable. Dangerous, though, I think, to chase something that could hurt you.”
This is followed by a silence, and a mumble he doesn’t catch.
Then Essek’s voice comes back, a little strained.
“But that is the problem, is it not? When you know you could be hurt, but staying away hurts even more.”
Caleb has never quite heard this tone before. Especially not coming from Essek, from the Shadowhand. This is something soft, and something breaking, and something fragile.
He has never wanted so badly to throw open a door.
But he doesn’t. He couldn’t do that to Essek.
Instead, he presses his weight against the wood. Leans into it, like in doing so, a part of him could cross.
“I…I have not been alive nearly as long as you,” he murmurs. “Nor am I so studied, or so skilled as you, my friend. But…if there is one thing I have learned, it is that magic, for all its wonders, is…not everything. There are…sometimes, there are more things to be discovered. Not that—not that I disregard your teachings,” he adds hastily, “no, they are a gift grander than I deserve. But…magic can be seductive. It can promise things that seem impossible. It can make you forget that for every spell, there is a cost.”
His gaze drifts down to his forearms, covered.
“I do not want that cost to be you, Essek. I would not wish to watch you lose yourself to the unattainable. In…in the travels I have gone on, through what I have seen, I think…it is important to appreciate what you can get. And to cherish what you already have.”
He taps the side of his head to the door. He closes his eyes.
“You are already so powerful. And, I would like to think, a good person. Good enough to teach a scoundrel from the Empire, anyway. I hope you do not think my words empty when I tell you…I believe that is enough.”
He turns slightly, and waits for the reply.
He can hear another rustle. Like a murmur, or a sigh.
And then, the doorknob turns. Caleb leaps back just as Essek re-emerges.
His expression is nothing he’s ever worn before. It is soft, and shaky, and something just short of fine.
Caleb doesn’t quite know what to say.
He doesn’t get a chance. Essek gives him a gentle nod.
“I would give anything to believe you,” he whispers. “But thank you, nonetheless.”
Caleb blinks.
He says: “Er…you are welcome?”
Essek chuckles. It turns into the barest cough, but so quick and fleeting that it doesn’t seem to matter.
For some reason, it matters to Caleb.
It continues to matter much later into the evening, after Essek leaves and the others come home. Now the sounds and smells of a kitchen at work fill the Xhorhouse with activity and life, and the sizzling, stewing, warm-promised taste of dinner on the way calls to everyone’s stomachs.
Midway through preparation, with Nott on hand and Jester out of her depth, Caduceus takes a step out for a moment, across the hall.
And then, he stops short of the open door. He crouches down. Nobody else sees this.
But he’s always been a perceptive fellow.
His fingers brush against something small and something soft. He straightens back up and holds it gently towards the light.
It’s a flower petal. A little rumpled, and vivid orange.
How strange, he thinks.
These don’t usually bloom in Xhorhas.
—
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