#branne

[cathedralofeternalradiance]

presented without commentary

[the-sisters-library]

From Deliverance Lost: Corvus Corax and his battle barge of battered survivors from Isstvan V arrive in the Solar System, only to be greeted by the captain of a much smaller Imperial Fists vessel who keeps insisting on proper identification. Branne is pissed off, Corax is doing his best not to bust out laughing.

**

"' I am not at liberty to indulge you, primarch aboard or not,' came Noriz's terse reply. 'All non-sanctioned vessels are to be inspected. If you have not noticed, one legionary's word to another doesn't count for much anymore. We will board and if you refuse, your vessel will be destroyed.'

His jaw clenching with anger, Branne reached for the transmit button, but he was stopped by Corax. The primarch gently pushed the commander aside and bent down to the communication array. 'Captain Noriz, your attention to duty and protocol is admirable,' said the primarch, his deep voice edged with humour. 'I am more than happy to welcome a delegation from any brother's Legion aboard, but please dispense with the threats. This is a battle-barge carrying several thousand legionaries, you have a strike cruiser with a complement of fifty legionaries.' More silence followed, longer than the previous pause.

'Please identify yourself.'

Sighing, Corax shared a glance with the others around him before he activated the transmit switch. 'I am Lord Corvus Corax, Primarch of the Raven Guard, Saviour of Deliverance, Commander of the 27th and 276th Expeditions, acting Marshal of the Therion Cohort and lauded conqueror of a thousand words. Please come aboard and I will show you my other credentials.'"

**

"Be nice, he is only doing his duty,' the primarch told Branne. 'The quicker we sort out this inspection, the sooner we can be on our way.' 'Aye, but he doesn't have to be so stiff about it, does he?' said the commander.

'He's an Imperial Fist,' replied Corax. 'He can't help it.'"

[super-2-0-0-0]

Branne

[brenanums]

chaos disguised as harmony.

[cathedralofeternalradiance]

Happy Dragon Bash to you in general and them in particular because it's their 3rd anniversary of getting together

[cathedralofeternalradiance]

Life moves on

Summary: Life’s a lot like climbing. You have to just keep going. But as Braham can attest, not always alone. Sometimes your mate comes with you. Content warnings: None Rating: General Spoilers: Vague spoilers for LWS4 Author’s note: As is by this point an annual tradition, I write a lil something for one of my fave seasonal events in the game. This time around, it’s Sanne and Braham.

When Sanne suggested they go to the Labyrinthine Cliffs, Braham knew what he was getting into. They weren’t going for the sights, nor the beach, nor the wide expanse of clear sea water. No, they’re going so his mate could throw herself off high cliff edges on griffons so she can fly with her birds. 

He’s since learned to accept it for what it is. He knows the Spirits will keep her safe; they owe him as much at the very least. And her, too. A part of him stops whenever he sees her head disappear, but comes back to itself when he hears her laughter from somewhere down below, loud and boisterous. And it makes him smile. Because it always does. 

Because it means his sacrifice was worth it.

Thus, they’re the highest cliff they could find in Labyrinthine Cliffs, the birds flying over their heads. The fresh sea air tickles at their hair, there’s sounds of life and joy everywhere and the roar of people as they look for little satchels of loot. Braham studies them as much as he’s able to from his position. 

“You’re gonna lose the race,” Sanne reminds him and he snaps his head forward. A ray of sunlight obscurs the most of her freckles, but sheds light on the wide, grinning corner of lips and the long, golden braids on the side of her head. The rest of her hair falls on her back and reaches past her hips, and it sways in the breeze. She looks so at ease there, radiant, the exposed skin of her body strong and taut and ready for action. 

“Oh no,” Braham laughs and climbs up. Gemma gives a screech of disapproval from somewhere above. “You’re not winning this one, Bjornsdottir. You won last time. It’s time you tasted some dust.” 

“In your dreams, Eirson!” she shouts back, trying to maintain her advance. And then, just for the hell of it, she starts humming a song she knows he absolutely abhors. Braham frowns. Not even Aisanne, the famed skaald from Hoelbrak, can make that particular tune good. 

It’s apparently the three seconds she needs to get a few steps ahead of him and the song abruptly stops. Smart, Braham thinks with not a lot of annoyance. Boy, her raven, flies over Braham’s face and gives him a quick look. In the last few months, he’s starting to have a communication of sorts with her birds. 

Yes, yes, I know Raven’s happy and proud. You’re a good bird, though. 

Boy makes a noise and flaps his wings. Their loyalty - his, Soar’s and Gemma’s - reminds him a lot of Garm. These days, it doesn’t hurt to think of Eir as much. Garm’s there to try and chase the lingering, unanswered questions away. There are other, painful thoughts, but Eir feels more like a healing scar than an open wound.

Life moves on, after all. Doesn’t wait for anyone. It didn’t wait for Nyra after Maguuma. It didn’t wait for Taimi after Joko almost killed her. It didn’t wait for Rox when her warband died. It didn’t wait for Sanne when her uncle died. Instead, they all just climb on - a flash of yellow up ahead, pale hairs of Sanne’s leg - and like his friends, like his mate, he climbs on too. 

Sanne wins by a small margin, though. She wipes the sweat of her forehead and places her hands on her hips as Gemma elegantly flies down on her shoulder. “Who’s eating dust now, Eirson?” she asks proudly. Boy and Soar settle by her feet, keeping close. 

“Two to one for you,” Braham declares. “Oh, I’m gonna get you for this. I was having very deep thoughts and that stopped me from winning. Next time, no deep thoughts, only victory.”

“The festival’s just begun,” she replies. There’s a joyful gleam in her eye. “And there are skimmer races. Don’t give a fuck about other contenders if you’re competing. We’re keeping a score, Braham. Do you really want to tell Garm I beat you here?” 

“Garm has seen me in much worse states, admittedly,” he says slowly, “but I do want to lay the wreath of victory at his feet.” His voice turns quieter, softer, then. “I don’t think he’ll mind whoever wins, Sanne. We’re all together in this.” 

Gemma hoots. Sanne takes a deep breath and strokes her beak. “Possessive little bird,” she says, but there’s nothing but fondness in her voice. “We’re a family, yeah. All six of us. And my parents. And aunts and uncles. And my cousins. Family.”

She then raises a hand and whispers something to the wind. Within minutes, a large griffon with dark feathers and a saddle flies to their rock, announcing its arrival in a loud yell. She gently places Gemma down with Boy and Soar and climbs on the griffon, petting its neck. 

She then turns to Braham, smiles softly, and says, “See you down, Eirson. I gotta take the children out for a flight.” Then she’s down and for a moment, his heart skips a beat. He then sees the flag of her golden hair out against the sunlight, in rapid descent and a whirlwind of air and laughter, and three bird-like forms trailing after her in formation. 

Life moves on, no matter what.  

[cathedralofeternalradiance]

was going through my screens and sanne apparently said that bf shoulder is comfy

[cathedralofeternalradiance]

They're mates your honor