#side-stories

[milkmynk]

Realizing that I’m no better than Kimcom who made 49 KDJ feel isolated and unwanted... Frankly I wasn’t very interested in the side-story cause I thought it was about a new standalone character, but suddenly SS dropped that bomb.

So I literally only became interested in him because I knew he was 49 KDJ...

I’m sorry LHH, I’m one of those people who made you feel like you didn’t belong... QAQ

[wordsandrobots]

There are many things I admire in Iron-Blooded Orphans (obviously), but its commitment to depicting relationships that are, at once, the best and absolute worst thing in the characters' lives is near the top.

Anyway, @trafalgarlog's fansubs for the latest side-story off the app are up, Almiria in Love, so it's time to once more talk about how the Gjallarhorn aristocratic system screws up everything it touches.

(Oh, a note: I've always written the pet-name Almiria gives McGillis as 'Mackie' because my instinct is to pronounce 'Macky' as 'MacKAY', not MacKEY'. This is a me-thing and liable to remain for the duration. I apologise for any inconvenience.)

We open some while before Almiria's debut in Season One, at the bottom of the Bauduin's garden where they apparently grow a variety of tea . . . varieties. Almiria is fretting over McGillis' impending return as she wants to make him the 'best tea ever'. Luckily, her maid is on hand to talk her through the properties of different kinds of teas.

I would remind you that at this point, Almiria is nine, which to my mind places the tea-making way beyond her age, on top of everything else. But here we are.

And there Almiria is, mentally wishing for Mackie to hurry up and come home! This transitions into the story of how they met.

It was when she was five years old, at a New Year's party on the Bauduin estate, the first time she 'debuted' in Gjallarhorn's high society. Her maid arranged her in a fancy dress, which Almiria thought made her look like a 'mature lady'. She was so happy that she could have run around, but this was clearly not the behaviour matched to her status.

In the main hall, guests remarked on her appearance, smiling and calling her 'cute', but quickly returned to their drinks and chatting, leaving Almiria quickly bored with the whole affair (kid, having suffered many a family wedding, I relate).

But then Gaelio called her over, telling her that it was time to meet her destiny. He led her to another young man, McGillis Fareed, who turned around to reveal a pretty face 'like a statue in a museum' (my gods, there's layers to that one).

We are then presented a screen of what I can only describe as 'McGillis and Gaelio: Twink Edition', resplendent in standard pale blue Gjallarhorn officer uniforms. Rank-wise, this would probably make them lieutenants at this point.

Gaelio introduced his best friend to his beloved little sister. This, he informed Almiria, was her fiance. Being, again, FIVE, she had no idea what that meant and Gaelio explained their father and the head of the Fareed family had made a promise that one day she and McGillis would be married.

This, as Almiria understood it, was when a man and woman lived together in the same house, ate together and went out together, and argued with each other once a month. A summary that has some *fascinating* implications for Lord Gallus and the so-far entirely unseen Lady Bauduin. But the main point was, she didn't know this man at all, and Gaelio assuring her it would secure the positions of both House Bauduin and House Fareed did not especially help. Probably because the nitwit chose to phrase it as a sturdy house requiring a human pillar, an ancient and terrible fate.

McGillis reprimanded him for being overly sarcastic and went down on one knee to introduce himself properly to Almiria, who once again noted his prettiness.

Continuing to be flippant, Gaelio pointed out this was his chance to run away and avoid being his sister's babysitter alongside all the normal hard work. Almiria did not take kindly to this and promptly ran for the garden.

She assumed, in that moment, McGillis must be the same as all the other adults, looking down on her for being a child. Fleeing to the south flower beds (where the tea was) in spite of a path made muddy by rain, she was surprised to find McGillis following her.

He remarked on the flowers and she stammered over how to properly address him. He told her to call him whatever she liked and said he wanted a chat, knowing she must have been confused to be told out of the blue that they were to be engaged.

Then he told her that it must be her decision. Yes, the marriage was for their families, but her feelings mattered most. He invited her to look at him with her own eyes, and call off the marriage if she found her disagreeable. Look and decide. Does she understand?

Having received a tentative, confused yes in response, he said they should return to the party. Everyone was lonely without Almiria there. He offered her his hand but she insisted on going alone, still caught up in feelings of inadequacy. And off the path she tumbled.

McGillis scooped her up, finding her muddy and scraped. She had better get cleaned up quickly. Luckily her maid arrived, taking over the task of carrying her inside. But McGillis held them back a moment, pointing them behind the hedge. After all, if they went straight inside through the garden, people would see the state Almiria was in. Is the maid trying to bring shame on a lady?

As the maid apologised, Almiria was caught up in McGillis calling her 'a lady'.

Later, at the front door of the mansion, Gaelio saw McGillis out. He paused a moment to ask if McGillis was really OK with the engagement. Almiria was too young to understand and the marriage was being forced on them by their parents. What did McGillis really think of it? (Gaelio, using flippancy to hide or deflect from his true feelings on something while actually having grave misgivings that point towards a fundamentally decent character beneath his foppish exterior? I'm shocked, shocked I say!)

McGillis, eyes shut, asked why he would underestimate his sister. Then, with eyes open, stated that she would make a perfect partner. He was happy to have met her (audible five-year-old step in the background). He would, in fact, be thanking god for it.

Gaelio turned to see Almiria hurrying towards them. Her scrape was all better and she wanted to know if 'Mackie' would be coming to play with her again some time? As her brother spluttered over the pet name, McGillis promised to come see Almiria again and the two shared in the sunset light.

Back in the present, Almirira reflects that it doesn't matter what others say. In front of Mackie, she becomes a lady. And the door buzzes, McGillis and Gaelio returning from their trip to Mars. She rushes to greet them, leaving behind a tray of tea things that she has meticulously arranging in anticipation of their arrival.

(Long, long sigh, and not because Tumblr nearly gave me a heart attack just now when I thought this hadn't saved)

So yes. This is how Almiria first found out she would be engaged to McGillis. And first of all, I need to go adjust my fanfic because I had revised Gallus and Iznario planning this up to when Almiria was seven, but turns out my initial dating of it to when she was four was actually bang on the money. Fire. Riots. Defenestration. Etc.

I appreciate the confirmation of what is 'merely' heavily implied in the series proper, which is that one of the reasons Almiria is so damn attached to McGillis is that he treats her as the lady society tells her she needs to be one day. Her rejection of her own childhood speaks volumes about what it is like to be raised in such an environment and to see that as the crux of their relationship from the start makes so many things click.

It is also grooming. As in actual, not-messing-around, trust-building-for-the-sake-of-certain-ends grooming. McGillis is cultivating Almiria's affection in ways she cannot and will not receive from those responsible for her safety. He has homed in on an aspect of her personality that can be used to make her loyal to him.

But at the same time, we know he knows what it is like to be pushed around by forces beyond your control or understanding. We *know* that when Gaelio asks him what he really thinks of the situation, Mackie is not going to be truthful. Because he isn't, ever. He can't be. What he's saying in that moment is clearly as much for Almiria's ears as her brother's. And yet, is his kindness really an act? Is he making a genuine connection here, to someone in a situation that is akin to his own, if dissimilar in class?

We'll never know. And Almiria, at nine, is just happy to have somebody in her life who treats her the way she wishes to be seen. True or false, it means the world to her and I can't help but think about how lonely she must be otherwise, being groomed for a role in Gjallarhorn's upper-crust and shunted around like a bargaining chip.

None of the questions here have easy answers, and I commend the writers for constructing this in such a ways to avoid giving any.

[cpcoulter-official]

Power Struggle

(I wanna say for the record I didn't wanna post this initially here because of all the -bad words- in it, but apparently it's quite popular among Stuart Trio stans. XD)

“No.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. And while that was usually something that warned everyone that the territory is getting dangerous, Julian remained unmoved. “No?” Logan repeated.

“No,” Julian replied, flipping the page of the script. “You and Derek can go have dinner. I’m staying here. Slackers don’t get Oscars.”

The laugh that burst out of Logan was one of disbelief. “Staying in here. Again. Julian—” he spread his arms to the bomb site of a room covered in coffee cups and papers that were a quarter academic, a quarter full of fan mail and presents, and an entire half of scripts. “You haven’t left this room since you arrived here!”

Logan and Derek had decided to stage an intervention. Julian had been back at school all of five days and spent four of it holed up in his room alternating between memorizing scripts, drinking frankly illegal amounts of coffee, doing about six video auditions a day, yelling at his people over the phone, answering fan mail, and then the immense schoolwork. They weren’t sure when he actually slept when he ever left the room, and it was getting ridiculous, even for them.

“That’s not true,” Julian replied breezily. “I went out to get coffee, I go to class.”

“And you go right back in here, and you bitch, and you have your theatrics—”

“You are the last person I want to hear about theatrics from.”

Derek responded this time. “And you stress. You’re sitting there stressing about your next movie, your next award show—”

“It’s awards season!” Julian widened his eyes at them like this wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. “You guys know that, the nominations from SAG, Golden Globes, Oscars—”

“You say Oscar one more time, I’m going to explode,” Logan rubbed his temples and pushed a stack of papers off a chair so he could sit. “It’s ceased to become a word.”

“Don’t touch that, that’s for a superhero movie!” Julian screeched, diving for it. “I’ve had everything here stacked according to priority, okay?”

“And chair means what?” Derek asked incredulously.

“The ones on the chair are “Definitely Consider”,” Julian replied as he cheerfully dusted off the superhero script, looking at it as though it were a baby, “the ones next to you are, “You’re an Idiot if You Don’t Take It”.”

Logan eyed him distrustfully and picked up the top one off the stack next to Derek. It had confidential watermarked all over it. He flipped through it. “...oh geez, is this a Tarantino?”

“Well…” Julian awkwardly shifted back to his spot on the bay window.

“You’re going to take a Tarantino?” Derek burst out, aghast. “Do you know what he does to his actors?!”

“Do you know how many Oscars—”

“That’s it!” Logan exploded, getting up, storming straight up to Julian, who flattened like a cat against the windowpane.

“What, I—LOGAN!!” Julian screamed when the prefect bodily picked him up.

“I’m pulling rank! I’m the prefect and you’re going to get out of this room like a real person and eat some fucking dinner!” Logan retorted, slinging Julian over his shoulder like a hunter carrying a dead deer.

“Logan what the hell?!” Julian kicked and shoved at him even as Logan now strode across the room with him. “Put me down!! Put me down right now, you ass—”

By this time, Stuarts were poking their heads out of their rooms to wonder what the screaming was all about and they watched in wonder as their prefect literally carried the school movie star out of his room, Derek trailing and looking vastly amused.

“Logan!!” Julian yelled, punching his shoulder and nothing was working. “Logan, you can’t just carry me off like I’m some stupid princess—”

“You are a fucking princess and you know it!” Logan shot back, heading for the stairs.

“PUT ME DOWN!!”

“NO.”

“You’re also not taking the Tarantino,” Derek replied calmly, following and gesturing for the others to move along.

“You can’t tell me what to—” Julian yelled upstairs, “Nobody is allowed into my room, all of you leave my fanmail alone!!” He resumed punching Logan.

“Going out?” Bailey asked, part baffled, partly amused, as he held open the front door.

“We’re going to make a real boy out of Pinnochio over here,” Logan grumbled, carrying a still yelling Julian out of the house. “Derek, get the car!!”

“By all means, Your Highness,” Derek rolled his eyes but pulled his keys out.

Panting, Julian glared at Logan, “I will get you for this, Logan, I have an audition in an hour and a half, I better be back by then—LOGAN!” He tried to grab back the phone that the prefect fished out of his pocket with his free hand.

“Thad, catch!”

Thaddeus barely managed it, the phone bouncing like a hot potato in his hands. “What?!”

“If that phone so much as comes within six feet of him, I’m holding you personally responsible,” Logan warned.

“Thad,” Julian warned with the promise of death in his tone, “If you don’t put that phone in my room right now…!”

“I can’t carry this level of responsibility!!” Thad yelled in panic.

The car pulled up while Julian was trying to strangle Logan with his school tie and failing. Logan stuffed the diva into the backseat and slammed the door shut, Derek locking it. “Shut up and be good.”

“I hate you two so much,” Julian grumbled mutinously from the back as Logan climbed shotgun.

“Yes, and you’ll be livid by night's end,” Derek replied cheerfully, eyeing him from the rearview.

Logan turned around and smirked at him in triumph as they pulled away from Stuart. “Mexican?”

Julian glared balefully at him, arms crossed. “...Chinese.”

“Chinese it is.”

:)

[justashinyeevee]

... ... “Uh sir? Do I have permission to interrupt?” The smaller white bug was leaning out the door, looking in on their king. Or new king rather. He’s... Not been very cooperative lately. Well... More like in the sense that he hasn’t been talking to him. Or any of them for that matter! And he thought he was the King’s messenger! Surely he would’ve said something by now. At least gave out one order or an- “Yes. Come in, come in.” Being stuck in his thoughts, he must’ve not heard the king call him. So he opened the door a little more to walk inside. Only to close it behind him. Their king still wasn’t paying attention to them, rather, he was only focusing on what was in front of him. And that thing was a single jar. Filled with that black substance that he brought in so long ago. “What’s seems to be the problem?” “Uh... Sir...” The messenger pulled out a clipboard and pressed his glasses up farther. Flipping a few pages till he found what he needed. “You um... Haven’t been speaking to your servants. Nor have you issued out any orders, or started on those trade-routes or even built anything! Ever since that speech, you’ve only been focusing on this substance and haven’t... Done anything. We’re scattered.”  You know what? No. No! He wasn’t going to put up with this crap anymore! The king needs to get a grip, and he can’t bare any kindness towards him. “In fact. We’re more than scattered!” The messenger threw the clipboard in anger as he clenched his fists, taking another step towards the exhausted king. “Everyone has been running around, trying to run a damn city without a leader! Some have taken up a leadership role, but we can’t approve or do anything without your permission! Since you’re our king! Some of us don’t do anything here, while others are stuck with over a hundred papers to do every day! Most of us can’t even go home to see our families because we’re too focused on trying to keep Hallownest alive! “And then you have the gall to sit here, and stare at a jar for your entire life! You don’t care about the kingdom do you!? Or anyone else? Huh!? Huh!!? You aren’t issuing any orders, or agreeing to anything, or even disagreeing! The castle is in a huge disarray, and we’re barely finding our own footing as is! Look at me when I’m talking to you damnit! Do you even care for your kingdom!?” For some reason, after shouting that, the king seemed to break himself away from the substance. Gasping actually. Way more than gasping. He fell off his chair and onto the floor, holding his chest like something pierced his heart. Within seconds, the messenger sprinted over to help the king up. “Please... Take... Me away from that... Thing.” “S- sir?” “Please...” Well he needed to be told twice, but not a third time. The messenger, despite his lackluster strength. Did his best to help his king up, supporting him as the two walked out of the room. Once they left, the king seemed to breath a sigh of relief. “Sir? What the hell just happened!?” “L- language my servant...” He took a moment to rest. Finding his footing, as well as his breath... Again. The messenger took him to a wall with a small table nearby, and the Colorless King used that to aid him into standing on his own two feet. Thankfully nobody else was nearby to see him in this condition. “If I ever... Spend more than twenty-four hours in that room. I ask you to drag me out.” “W- why? Can you Please explain to me what the he-” The messenger cut himself off. Remembering what his king said. “What. Is going on?” The Colorless King took his hand off his chest as he looked up. “That substance... I thought I heard it speaking to me.” “Like the Radiance?” “No. Not like a god. Like a... Child.” “What!?” “It... Wanted to help. But didn’t know how.” “Sir. You have been spending way too much time analyzing what that new material is. I suggest you get rid of it, and focus on what’s important.” The king looked down towards his messenger. Only to close his eyes and sigh. “You’re right. Bringing this substance in was a bad idea. I had no idea how much of an effect it would have on me, and Hallownest. I would like to return to my duties. Please. Dispose of it if you can. And be careful. Make sure it doesn’t go seep into the ground, or fall in water. We don’t need this thing spreading across the kingdom.” “On it sir! But... Why don’t you take the time to rest? For your mind at least. You haven’t slept in the past three days. And besides, work for today is done.” “Yes... I would like that.” 

[captainkurosolaire]

My Captain

(Third Person: Narrative) “My favorite stories ever told of those of the unthanked. Those who sought to do right, without atrophied reason or motive. Heroes of the Infamous. For, I grew to grow. In freedom of happiness, from the unchained and unsuppressed; abuse wasn’t my destiny, I was given but a key to be brave from that of such a being.” ----------------------- Tiny feet that ran dirty and murky through a bustle rancid City-State. Drew to a settled corner of a pier, a ship of painted Crimson Vessel freshly coated. Panic were laced behind each scurry, breathless panting lungs, fear, worries, tears, ESCAPE were of thoughts in a youth. A clashed collision as the smaller figure drew to a built sturdy black leather worn leg. The girl seeking for mysterious reprieve landed hard on a tush. The strong-figure of the blunt, drew to the side, “Oi. Ye alrite, little scrapper?” An oversized hat worn over a tattoo, scarred, Miqo’te. Drew to frail. Atypical, that description of appearance only had the girl sunken more in petrification and terror. But a certain sound, hit her sensitive ears of a crude, shouting barbaric voice of a slimy slave-handler, searching for its golden ticket to gil. It brought further shivering. The gentler concerned seemed far better than the approaching abuser. Who knelt down, “Ahoy, there lil lass, It’ll be alright. Loss yer mam? I’m guessing ol’ th pork-belly red-coats are stuffing n’ their shart than doin’ a job. One day those mantles will crush those shoulders they boast, as those they pride acclaim they protect, will come to their senses and no longer need them. You hungry?” A famished stomach churned in noise from the heightened hearing of the Seeker Pirate. As his one gleam, saw but trails of where chains used to be on the girl’s wrists. Before he could instigate or investigate further, that loud ‘owner of body’ drew to the pair. “Casta! Get over here. Now.” A command hit the bellowing mouth of slobber and spit, disgusting like the ground of the state of the city that spoke in filth. The girl looked between but saw this new man to be kind, and didn’t wish to bring him pain. So prepared to stand, weakly, beaten, bruised legs. Before she could advance to beckon, the brave soul. Stepped before her. Walking boldly in a swagger strut. “Casta? Is that yer name?” He tilted his head to the girl clearly shaking and frightened, “Stay there.” The bile of a ‘man’ that stood, fest in a gruff and violent threat. “Listen, don’t play a hero. Stay out of it. She’s not yer concern. What gives you the nerve to be of reason? Look at you.” The prideful and unpredictable rebellious didn’t give a single fleeting shit about the warning cast by this disgraceful. “Somethings tells me, ye’ve got no right either to this one. Ye twitch in nerves lad, angered. Well, I ain’t no hero, I am just a simple foil. When glancing at me and you, I don’t need to prey on our future, I don’t need to chain wings that can’t flutter. There’s always the freedom of option, some need directed guidance, instead you choose to go as a predator. To benefit yer own. I don’t care if she’s yer blood, she isn’t defined by that. As who I am, well I’m, just a better, badder, bastard.” He’d without shame kick the bloke in the jewels with a lightning kick, tipping his head and body in nature reaction and response from the menacing blow. Than deliver a headbutt busting them both open with strong force. But the smaller man, would herald a thicker skull. He’d take the wheezer and toss him towards the seas with an incredible unshakable determination pissed-off fury, adrenaline rush pumped, as he shoved the piece of lesser to the cold waters below the pier. With the surprise and shake of the docks, so did the events happen. As suddenly her inner-spirit, was brought out of hiding, silently internally, rooting on and cry cheering in excitement for the savior, the victor. For her prayers to be answered. It was potentially more wrought of sorrow that it came from the unexpected but the Ages were often riddled in the decay of unknown. “It’s over now. You’re gonna learn overtime, you’ll be the one in power and the Captain of yer own fate. But first, we’ll build up your strength and get you some grub, eh? Come, afterwards, I can get you far out of reach, and we’ll talk about settling you where you can experience solace and without loneliness, ideally even love. All I want payment is a bold, gold smile when you’re can muster.” He’d begin to walk off letting her decide to either follow, or run off. Which eventually with no other place to grow accepted the situation and as processed, she was fed and shared stories with the retired pirate Captain, taught to fish on their voyage and brought to a contact of his that took in stowaways and slave children and gave them a roof and a familial experience among land. Years passed, but here the writing of this story was being processed in a diary. [Years Later] Until; her name was called. “Casta! Dinner!” Said in a homey environment. With the ending caption to the title of her chapter ~ Your story shall not be forgotten even if you perish, wither, or may think to be drowned - My Captain.                                                                                     From: who you saved                                                                                                                      ~ Casta.      

[synric-silversong]

Bandits

              There was indeed voices rising ahead which were mixed in with the firelight and night time air. Synric was concerned, at first, that he was coming up to another Gnoll camp- Gnolls or Kobolds to be exact. But Gnolls had a better sense of smell, and he had already fought a few and scattered the others with his ill attempt at stalking in close. But now, he could hear the tale-tell signs of human speech between trees, leaves, and twigs.

              Climbing his way up one of the thick, Elwynn trees, Synric settled himself just behind a branch where the shadows tucked him in nicely. Out in the semi-cleared landscape was a camp no bigger than five men, with a single campfire, and three tents.

              His eyes swept to the two men sitting on a log, canister's in hand, drunken talk rising and falling with sharp hisses of laughter followed by low grumbling reminders to themselves to keep quiet. There were two more, asleep in their tents, with only their boots to show their position. The last one was passed out by the fire, snuggling his mug to his chest, muttering in his sleep about snakes and women. Damn his good ears. Sometimes he wished there was more human in him than elf, but that was surely rare and in between wishes.

              The roar of laughter escaped the two down below, once again hushed by chiding reminders to each other.

              He thought for a moment turning his eyes upwards to the length of stars above and the absent light of the moons. The drunken whispers continued loud in his ears; they spoke of the older days in Redridge where a group had attempted to take over the area. Orc's were still well inhabiting the location back then. A croak of laughter escaped before the story ended with a high shout of, "Not one survived! Not even two days!"

              Synric rolled his eyes. How could they be so drunk to laugh at such tales?

              Well, that meant only one thing, they weren't going to be talking about anything important without some kind of push. He got up from his perch, crouched low, and gazed down at the two. It would be a quick two shots to the back of the head. Walk over to the tents and rudely wake up one that wasn't so drunk. The other two quite well asleep wouldn't be a problem if everyone had been drinking as heavily as it looked.

              Unstrapping his bow, finding the thick strings in his pouch, he tied one end and then the other as quietly as he could. The branch he crouched upon groaned as he put an extra bit of weight upon its body, but the men didn't notice, not even on a windless night as it was.

              Smoothly withdrawing a white feather arrow from his quiver, Synric took aim and held. Though there was no wind, there were other variables to account for such as drunken movement. He waited. Watching as the men moved and swayed, listened to their laughs, a sudden dare, and then he calculated.

              One man began to rise from his perch, "Fine be at it then! You owe me another round!" Synric adjusted his sights back to the one that hadn't moved; he snickered, raised his cup and saluted as his friend disappeared into the woods. The friend didn't get much further than that. Synric's bow snapped upon the last fading speck that would only be seen by his clever eyes, and his arrow was set free.

              All that the other man had time to hear was a groan before the next arrow flew and he too joined his companion in a deep sleep. One job down, Synric thought to himself, swinging his bow around, and jumping from his perch.

              Just to be safe, Synric kicked the third man snuggling his cup. The man scowled in his sleep, kicked back like a weak dog, and then balled into a comfortable position. Amusement slipped by like small water droplets.

              The arrow that had struck the man by the fire was laying behind the log. The white tip feather made it easy to see, and he tapped the blunt edge to make sure no damage had been incurred. It was smooth as a rock. Then Synric bent down and felt the steady, but weak drumming of the man's pulse before checking out the man who had collapsed in the forest. He too was alive, and the arrow had tumbled off into the bushes, taking a short while for Synric to find it.  

              He moved on.

              The two in the tents seemed comfortable. Blankets were strained across them, boots were covering their feet, the sounds of light breathing that accompanied deep sleep. He kicked one. A groan escaped as he raised his head for a second, grumbled an incoherent line of words, and then passed out.

              The second one didn't even budge.

              Synric set a finger to his chin, feeling the slight hairs that were now beginning to grow in. Who was more drunk? He wondered. Who would give him the better answers? His finger tapped a slow, steady beat against his chin. He shrugged half a minute later. Talren probably wouldn't have cared. He drag one up to his feet, question him, and then if he didn't get what he liked, do the same to the other.

              But truth be told, Synric hadn't being repetitive.

              A sigh escaped him before he decided to grab the man who had incoherently spoken. He awoke relatively quickly, as Synric predicated, and almost gave a shout of warning before his mouth was silenced. Synric dragged him a ways, feeling the thrashing of a wild animal in his grips and then pinned him against the tree.

              "I have a single question for you," Synric said. The thrashing stopped, those wide eyes grew bigger. "Sometime in the recent past there was a kidnapping in these woods, a women was taken. I'm sure you'd know all about it. Bandits attacking nobles usually gets spread among the forest."

              The man's wide eyes did two things. One, they sparkled with the knowing event. Second, they grew more fearful, but not in the way that was directed to him. The man shook his head as he grumbled spit into Synric's palms. Synric hissed as he let go of his mouth, and as the man opened his lips a little too far for just a typically word, his other gloved palm flung itself against the bandit's mouth.

              "Listen, do you see your buddies by the fire? " Synric made sure to step out of the way, though, due to height difference, this man was just faintly tip-toeing himself for balance on the ground and could easily see beyond his shoulder. The man nonetheless made a look, seemed to grasp the situation, and then Synric tighten his grip. "They won't be waking up anytime soon. Tell me what you know, and I'll let you go. Simple as that."

              Now the question was if the man believed him.

              Slowly, Synric released his palm, the man looked like he would scream again, but sense was beginning to entire his sleep deprived brain.

              "Listen aye, yeah, listen," he started, his voice heavy and thick from whatever land he originated from. "I don't know what ye be talkin' about!" His voice rose a pitch, but no one stirred. The man seemed to notice. Synric wondered if the man lived in Ironforge for most of his childhood.      

              "No?" his voice was light and smooth. "Let's be honest here and say that you do, but you don't want to talk about it. Can we agree?"

              The man, for a second of intelligence that he had, did nothing. Then he nodded. Synric's grip grew tighter. The Bandit winced and held tight upon his arm, "Give me a description."

              The man scowled, teeth bearing as the extra strength was set against his throat. "A name, a description. One piece of information. That's all I need."

              The man, this time around, said nothing and kept it that way as he began thrashing under Synric's weight. For a bandit, he was stronger than most, but when would anyone learn that a marksmen's grip, especially one trained for long bow, was perhaps as strong as any two-handed fighter? Yet, the bandit continued to thrash. His hand fell down to his side, finding nothing of interest, and began to kick out.

              The man managed to get Synric's thigh. The weight of pressure was released for a second, enough time for a smart man to escape, and Synric knew it, but this man just continued to thrash like a fish caught on a hook. Synric's temper took him for a second. His grip harden, and found a solid kick to the man's chest. There, a windblown express took the bandit and hung like a piece of beef.

              "One last chance, tell me what you know and you'll get away with your life."

              The man stared at him for the longest of time. Patience settled in easily. The sound of the fire crackled and snapped behind him. Then the bandit smiled, before spitting at him. Luckily, Synric chain mail was more encompassing than most hoods. An swift elbow clocked the man in the skull. The bandits eyes rolled up, eyes closed, and then went entirely slack. He was dropped like a bag of rotten fish.

              After a second thought later, Synric bent down, checked the steady rhythm of his pulse, then rose. Two more men, he thought.

              Nothing came from either men. Both knew what he was talking about, one even provided the information he knew telling him that: "Yeah some bandits," he teased, "Came through and left with a girl in tow", he said with a better Stormwind accent then the other two, but would say nothing more. Synric even went so far as to bring out some darker magic, but nothing came from it. They resisted, not in the way of resisting magic. Pain, no death, was better than telling a lone marksmen the truth of the events. After all was said and done, an unease crept into his body as all five men now laid unconscious around their campsite.  

              It felt like hours had passed. The wind was beginning to pick up, the stars twinkled high in the sky, and he was at a lost. Perhaps these men were simply tighter lip. Someone in these woods would give him some information, he decided.

              By the time morning rose, the first specks of red light shining over the western mountains, Synric had visited five campsites. Some bigger than the rest. Some he miscalculated and had an all out brawl that ended with him having some new stitching in his leather armor, but in the end, all the bandits had been interrogated. All of them refused to speak. And the last batch, the poor men, got to see the more temperamental side. Dark flings of magic flared, threw them about, and when fear of their own deaths was clearly at their doorsteps, they shied away, begging for mercy, but refusing to speak.

              He felt tired afterwards. He felt the strange wash of guilt convulsing on him like an flooded river for he didn't feel like himself; being so cruel and heavy, leaving men with new scars and horror stories to tell.

              In the end, he went back and carved runes around the campsites. Another three hours of work and by the time he was down, the only ones that were spared a trap of non-lethal magic was the first campsite. They had fled before he had arrived leaving behind a cask of stolen ale and some bread.

              Synric then indulged himself in a later breakfast, earlier lunch, feeling the exhaustion of the night come over him like an ocean's rising tide. As soon as he finished up the last bit of ale and bread, he heard a bang somewhere to the east, the closes bandit camp. Screams of anger rose around, taking the forest, then...

              Bang! Another folly of shouts took the skies. All Synric could do was chuckle to himself. He rose slowly from the burned out campfire and began his way towards the mountains where no bandits would think to look for a shadowy, elf, marksmen that had tormented them all last night.

@kaelenar

[contentwhatcontent]

YCPfE Side-Stories You Want?

Please tell me which of the following options you might like to see as side-stories for YCPfE. Choose as many as you like or let me know if I’m missing one you’d like to see. 

Yuuri & Phichit’s heat 🍑☄️👯🔥

Victor & Chris’ heat 🍦👅🍾🔥

Yuuri, Victor & Shoji Threesome 🦄🍌🍆🌽

Yuuri’s ‘first’ time/heat with Katashi 🔥💦🙌

Victor’s POV 😍👀🙃😎

‘What-if?’ Yuuri & Shoji blowjob 💋🌬⛈

Victor in Rut 🌶🐓🔥