Been dead for the past few months. Let's shift that.
Had some health issues that made it difficult to work. Still battling them, but I've abandoned the idea of healing at this point and I'm working more on pain management. Full recovery can take up to six months in a brace and I just don't have that kind of time to pause everything.
Despite all the distractions, still managed to finish my media law and ethics class with a Distinction. On to Video Production class now, let's good! Hopefully I can nail these assessments and come up with a HD overall for the year - I'll get back to journalism in Jan, but after all the law stuff I just needed a creative class to refresh my brain.
Speaking of creative, I've been working on a new worldbuilding project, which is coming along really well! Looking at possibly turning it into a video game setting, but if that goes ahead it's going to be several years before we see it hit the shelves. Here's a pic of the rough map I've been working on in recent weeks.
Still in my dead-ender to pay the bills, but had a moment of affirmation the other day - got another contact offering me a management position at a hotel. For those who've been playing along via Twitter and FB this past year, I left hotels and hospitality for a reason, and while those salaries are very pretty, I don't feel entirely comfortable with the idea of sacrificing my body and development time for anything less than six figures.
I'm rebuilding the content-posting network again, so follow whichever of these you're on. I'm also on Threads and still have my old Twitter/X, but rarely post to either of those. Maybe I should start doing updates there...
Finally, Flare has stalled thanks to editors - or lack thereof. Specifically, lack of finances to pay editors. There may be a beta version out by the end of the year, but it'll be missing the last few chapters for obvious reasons. Right now I'm just seeing how things go with staying paid and keeping up bills. If you want to throw money into the project, head over to my Ko-fi and tip - everything coming in via creative stuff goes into publishing Flare first, and will then go onto the journalism stuff.
hot take but i actively miss when tv shows were like 20 episodes a season. slow down. let me get to know the characters. let them do something dumb and not consequential to the plot for one fucking second i'm begging you.
A/N: Wrote this a little over a year ago (I think) and despite it only being one chapter/part (so far), it's had a fair amount of positive attention. Also, I'm a sucker for those "what if the good guys lose?" sort of scenarios. Been ages since I've posted here so I don't know which tags to use, feel free to recommend others.
Set in the final part of Jedi: Fallen Order, during the confrontation on Nur.
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They weren’t going to escape this. Cal looked around desperately, an idea forming quickly. With a hand outstretched, he used the Force to push one of the windows violently, shattering it. Water flooded into the hallway, and Cal took the opportunity to grab Cere and hurl both of them through the broken window. He could see Vader struggling to hold back the rush of water, and the broken window was quickly covered over by a sheet of durasteel, stopping the flooding.
He was kicking, dragging Cere with him, and shoved the rebreather into her mouth as he looked up. The surface wasn't too far, light still filtering down to them, but he could already feel his muscles aching, and the wound in his side made it all the harder to keep moving. As he glanced back down at the fortress, now a murky shadow in the water, he sensed rather than saw—
Water swirling around legs, alarms sounding, a gloved hand reaching out as the two figures faded into the water, hand outstretched as if to grasp—
Cal felt a pressure at his throat suddenly, slight but growing quickly. His lungs were burning as he kicked for the surface, but his legs weren't moving as powerfully now, and Cere felt like a weight that was pulling him down. The pressure around his throat tightened, and he gasped, feeling water rush into his mouth, down his constricted throat, and now there was a weight in his lungs as he struggled against that pressure, struggling to breathe despite the water filling his chest. Cere slipped from his grasp as his hands went for his throat, which was now so tight he couldn't breathe. He struggled, kicking feebly, choking and drowning all in one as darkness swelled up from below to claim him...
-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-
Greez didn't like it one bit, the way this witch was messing with things. He was anxious, waiting to see any signs of life on the scanners as he hovered above the water. Cere… Cere was gone. Cal had said so, so it must be true. He had to get Cal, though. That was the most important thing right now. Get Cal, and then get out of there.
Merrin shifted suddenly, rising from her seat and moving quickly towards the ramp. Greez looked around as she did.
“Hey, wait—”
She didn’t say a word as she charged out of the ship, diving off the ramp and into the water. Even as she did, he saw movement on the scanner – tech signatures, crafts moving through the water below. Greez felt his heart stuttering as he began to flip switches, preparing for a fight as he lowered the ship as close to the water as he dared. The exterior cams showed as the water lapped at the bottom of the ramp, but there was no other movement, and every passing second felt like a century as Greez watched the cams, watched the scanners, waited for the inevitable blast that would probably sink him from the sky, and he realised he was holding his breath only when his lungs began to ache for air, but Merrin was still gone—
Two figures broke the surface, and Greez exclaimed a wordless cry of relief as he saw Merrin draw the unconscious figure up with her. But something was wrong – he had expected to see Cal’s shock of red hair, but instead he was seeing Cere’s dark locks. Cere was alive? His relief dulled again as he realised Cere wasn’t moving. Merrin dragged her back up the ramp, scrambling gracelessly, breathlessly, leaving Cere on the floor just inside the doorway while she hurried back to the front of the ship.
"We must leave," she told Greez, "There were patrols sweeping the water. I will perform the ritual again, to give us cover."
"But Cal—”
Greez saw the look she gave him, and his heart sank. No, kid, no.
He sighed heavily, letting his grief flood him for a moment, before he returned to the present. They might have lost Cal, but they could at least escape with their lives.
"Alright, let's get out of here."
-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-
The steady, rhythmic hum of machinery was the first thing that returned to his attention. The second was the sensation of wide bands of pressure on his arms, chest, and legs. The monotone voice of a medical droid was audible nearby, explaining a diagnosis to someone else, but the sound seemed warped, twisted and distant, muffled at first as his senses started to return to life.
His fractured mind tried to piece things back together. Bogano, Dathomir, temples and tombs, an AT-AT, younglings... Something about younglings...
A mechanical breathing sound, slow and rhythmic, drawing closer, each step like a weight on his chest as he was surrounded by liquid, throat closing, lungs filling with water, darkness reaching out in the form of a gloved hand...
Cal was wrenched back to reality with a soft cry, a gasp of breath, and brilliant light painfully flooded his vision. He could feel the tightness of the bands, could feel them holding him upright on a slab of metal. As his sight recovered from the sudden explosion of light, he felt fear rising within him, building into a wall of terror that threatened to drown him. Sharp, straight lines came into his vision, machinery making itself out against the white walls of the space.
It took him a few minutes to realise he was in a medical room. A window opposite his position gave him a view of a horribly familiar-looking corridor beyond, Mechanical sounds, muted and low, came from somewhere to his right, and even as he strained to see the source the droid came into view.
"Greetings," the smooth, androgynous voice came from a fixed orator, two small lights illuminating briefly as indicators that it was speaking. "I am KJ-46, medical service and assistant droid. Your symptoms indicate you were recently subjected to a severe inhalation of high-viscosity fluid which resulted in a loss of consciousness. You are being treated for these symptoms, and will experience muscular weakness and fatigue for some time as a result."
It sure was informative. Cal closed his eyes, trying to clear his head.
"You have also sustained physical injury from a plasma weapon, which has punctured your left ribcage and left the bone structure damaged."
That explained the pain in his ribs, then. Cal opened his eyes, looking at the medical droid as it scanned portions of his body, the axial beam of light emitting from the photoreceptor sliding over his limbs, chest, face...
"Where am I?" He asked, surprised at how faint his voice sounded even to himself. He regretted asking almost immediately, though, because there was another voice, another person who answered in a horribly familiar, deep mechanical voice. The answer was so spine-chilling, Cal wished he were dead.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9
“Were you wearing your name badge still?”
Elena swore softly, before sighing. Of course; she had forgotten, in the mess of her departure, to take her name badge off. The guy on the bus must have read it.
“I’ll put an APB on him; don’t worry. You know we look after our own.”
Jami had called her on the dot at one, and Elena had wasted no time in relating the events on the bus to her. For the first time, she was beginning to feel glad that there was more to the older woman than she had thought - at their old workplace, Jami had often butted heads with management and never really held back on her opinions, and it was this apparent attitude problem that had made Elena question her ability to be in a management position. She was glad that she had been wrong about that.
“There was one other thing,” she admitted, “When I... zoned out--”
“Had the flashback,”
“Yeah, whatever,” Elena sighed, “When that happened, and Cal snapped me out of it, I... I noticed something. He has the same eyes.”
Jami was silent for a few moments, as if processing this information. “Same eyes as...?”
“As that vigilante,” Elena explained, “Like, they both have kinda the same shade. I thought I was looking at the guy when I looked at Cal.”
“You think he might be your rescuer?”
“I mean...”
Now that she was thinking about it, she realised she was probably just jumping to conclusions. Blue eyes weren’t exactly uncommon, and she knew just how easily eye colour could be mistaken in the dark. Just because the two had a similar piercing gaze didn’t mean it was the same person - Jami had the exact same look, though her eyes were green.
“Elena, if you think smeone at work is involved in illegal stuff, you know you can provide an anonymous tip. What is said between us stays between us unless it concerns your health.”
Elena sighed, nodding slowly. “It’s just a dumb thought I had. But, like, you know Cal pretty well anyway; you’d know if he was getting up to stuff.”
“That’s true,” Jami admitted, “And I can say that Cal plays a stupid amount of Playstation, so between that and work, I don’t think he’d have time for a side gig as a vigilante. But if you think it should be looked into, I can be discreet.”
“No, I was just speculating,” Elena admitted, “It’s probably dumb. Sorry.”
“Did you get in touch with your doctor? They can refer you to a psych, or even just counselling. You’ve been through a bit; it never hurts to just talk to someone about it.”
“I did,” Elena nodded, though Jami couldn’t see her. “I’m seeing her tomorrow."
"I'm surprised they could get you in that quick. Usually it takes a couple weeks to get sorted."
"Yeah, she did say she figures it's something of an emergency," Elena let out a heavy sigh. "I didn't even think it was that bad."
"Most people don't." Jami replied, sounding like she was slightly distracted by other things. "You go through it, think "it's over, I'll be fine", but then the dreams start, you can't walk down a certain pathway, being out at certain times makes you anxious... It's hell, but it's also your brain's way of trying to survive."
"Survive? By what, making me more susceptible to sneak attacks?" Elena scoffed, recalling how Cal had approached without warning that morning.
"Nah, by keeping you on high alert and reminding you of the threat. Think of it this way - you're a hunter-gatherwr kid who sees their dad mauled by some giant lion creature in a rocky crevasse. Your brain attributes the rocky crevasse with the lion thing, which it associates with death. So, for the rest of your life, you avoid rocky crevasses and as such, you're able to grow up, have your own kids, and teach them to avoid rocky crevasses and lion things. They teach it to their kids, and that info passes down. All because that one guy had PTSD."
Elena thought about it. "So, that's how we survived evolution?"
"It's one of the theories. But in the modern world, a lot of things look or sound the same. So PTSD no longer serves us as a species, and it's become a detriment. Not to mention war and all that shit as well, which puts people into unnecessary dangers that they then spend the rest of their lives reliving. It's shit, but treatment can help."
"You know a lot about this," Elena remarked, "Are you a therapist?"
"No, I just had my own experiences with it. Have," she corrected herself, "You remember how I was at the old place? That was because of their bullshit gaslighting; it triggered my PTSD, which returned as anxious aggression."
Elena thought about it for a few more moments before nodding slowly. "That makes so much sense," she said slowly, "You were always so aggressive to them, I remember someone suggested you might have behavioural issues."
"It's amazing how a toxic environment can change how we show ourselves to the world." Jami sighed thunderously. "So yeah, talk to people and try to work past what happened. If you need time off at work, or need to change to day shifts so you're not walking around at night, let me know. No prejudice here,"
Elena liked the thought of being able to take time off work, but she knew that bills wouldn't pay themselves.
"We'll see," she replied, "If it gets any worse, I might take you up on the offer."
"That's what we accrue leave for," Jami replied with a chuckle. "Okay, I gotta head off. Are you gonna be okay?"
Warning/s: PTSD, Mentions of assault, invasive behaviour
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8
She tried, she really did.
Elena found herself waking in the night, shaking, unable to recall the dream that had woken her but still distressed about it nonetheless. She found it difficult to sleep, and more than once she felt herself on edge whenever unfamiliar people got too close to her in public areas, even in daylight.
She didn't know who she could turn to about it, though.
Whatever, she thought to herself, what happened to me wasn't even that bad. I'm sure it'll just blow over in a few weeks.
However, the dreams continued, becoming more graphic and vivid, sometimes twisting to feature her friends, people she knew, watching from the side and doing nothing as coarse hands grabbed her, tore at her clothes, crushed her in vice-like grips, pulled on her hair, leering, laughing--
"Earth to Elena,"
She jumped, the mug slipping from her hand and shattering as it hit the bottom of the sink. She looked up to see blue eyes piercing her, and for a fleeting moment she was facing the vigilante - but she quickly realised that her mind was still in a world of its own.
Callahan folded his arms as he leaned against the wall beside the sink, arching an eyebrow at Elena.
"Jami told me," he stated simply. "You're not coping."
It wasn't a question. Elena could feel her heart racing as she looked back at the broken pieces of the mug in the sink, trying to remember where she was.
Cafe. Work. Cleaning up from the morning rush.
"You should go home," Callahan told her, "We can handle it from here; I'll get Jami to call you around lunchtime and she can talk you through getting back on track."
It wasn't going to go away if she went home, Elena realised.
"Maybe not, but being here puts you under pressure and that's probably what's triggering you."
"What?" Elena looked up sharply at his statement. Callahan was watching her carefully.
"Jami can explain it better," he stated, "But, even if you go home, it'll be more comfortable for you because you won't be so tense. Work puts us under pressure," he added. Elena stared at him.
"Did I... Say that out loud?"
He nodded slowly, eyeing her as if assessing her. His gaze made her uncomfortable, and she looked away.
"Go home," he told her, "Book in to see your doctor. I'll get Jami to call you whenever she wakes up. Take the day, relax, just... Google some stuff about PTSD, too."
"What?" Elena couldn't stop herself laughing slightly. "I don't have PTSD. I'm fine."
"If you say so," Callahan shrugged, "But that's what Jami told me to keep an eye out for. Don't worry about that," he added, as she started to pick up the larger fragments of mug. "I'll sort that out. Clock off and go home."
Something in his tone made her feel the need to obey, without even questioning it. She didn't think she was in too bad of a state to work, but Callahan had effectively taken that decision away from her. From a working perspective, though, she understood - the broken mug was bad enough, but if she had blanked out while carrying a tray of food and drinks, that would have been a disaster.
For a mid-winter Wednesday, it was surprisingly warm, with a clear blue sky. Almost idyllic, but Elena had other thoughts on her mind besides the weather. She usually caught the bus for her morning shifts, and had no uni classes that afternoon, so Callahan letting her off early meant there was nothing else to do but go home. As she settled into an empty seat on the bus, she put her earphones in and selected some music, deciding to try and take his advice and just relax.
The peace didn't last long.
At the third stop, near Brunswick, a slightly older, larger man climbed onto the bus, shuffling down the aisle. Elena paid him no attention until he drew level with her seat. He paused, as if expecting to take the seat next to her, before shuffling on and all but falling into the seat behind her. With her headphones in, she had no intention of talking to him, but his presence made her feel uncomfortable all the same.
As the bus took off, he leaned forward, draping an arm over the back of the seat next to Elena. Maybe he had difficulty sitting upright, she considered, but he made no move to settle back as the bus gained speed on the main road again. Elena shifted in her seat, so that the stranger was no longer breathing down her neck, but to her horror he said something - his voice barely audible beyond a murmur over the music in her ears.
She ignored him, keeping her gaze fixed ahead as she weighed up the option of getting off at the next stop and taking the next bus in fifteen minutes, or simply moving seats. She didn't want to cause a scene, so moving seats wasn't really an option.
He spoke again, louder this time, and his intruding arm reached towards her, as if to get her attention. Elena dodged the gesture, but the twisting motion put the male in her line of sight, and he gestured for her to take out her headphones. Not wanting to be rude, Elena reluctantly took one earphone out, forcing herself to smile thinly at the stranger.
"Does this bus go to Gordon Park?" He asked.
It was such an innocent question, she almost laughed with relief. "Oh, um," she faltered slightly, "I don't know; I usually get off at Lutwyche."
He nodded slowly, seeming to weigh up his options. "I guess Lutwyche isn't too far; I can probably walk from there."
Elena forced another smile at him as she moved to put her headphone back in, but he looked at her again.
"You're very pretty. I like your hair.'
"Uh, thanks," Elena replied hesitantly.
"What conditioner do you use? It smells really nice. I might get it for my girlfriend."
Once again, Elena forced herself to relax. So he had a girlfriend, and it sounded like he was just trying to be friendly. A little too friendly for her liking, but some people were just like that - she worked in customer service, she'd had plenty of experience with overly-friendly people.
"It's Redken," she replied, "You can find it at most salons and chemists, I think."
"Cool, thanks," he grinned at her, and she smiled tentatively back. He was still leaning too far forward for her to comfortably sit in her seat, but she moved to put her earphones back in.
"I've seen you before, haven't I?" He asked suddenly. "I just feel like you have a familiar face, like we've met or something."
"I catch the bus a lot," Elena replied.
"So you work in the city? What do you do?"
"I'm a barista," she said, before she could stop herself. He nodded, looking at her uniform as he did so.
"'Sentinel' - is that where you work?"
Now things were getting uncomfortable again. Elena smiled tensely, taking note of the bus's location as they reached the hospital station. "Uh, yeah."
"Maybe I'll come by sometime."
Please don't, Elena thought to herself as the doors opened. She made a quick calculation, snatching up her bag as she smiled again at the stranger.
"This is me! Nice talking to you,"
"But you said you lived in Lutwyche?" He questioned as she stood up.
"I have an appointment," she snapped back, feeling her heart beginning to race. She slipped past his reach, pressing her card to the reader and making a point not to look back as she stepped off.
Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor
Rating: K+
Originally Written: 16 July 2020
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
The forest’s morning silence was shattered by the sound of stone being rent apart. Almost comically, Kireía stumbled back, flapping her bare arms to regain her balance before falling on her backside with a startlingly loud CAW.
Evren gasped, arching herself forwards and shaking away the pieces of stone, coughing as she tried to catch her breath, before looking back at Kireía.
“What happen?” Kireía demanded, getting to her feet as she brushed stone dust from her tunic, “It was dark, then bright light, now…” she glanced up at the sky, “Morning.”
“I don’t know,” Evren looked down at herself to see a garland of flowers, all pinks and blues and purples. “Did we sleep?”
“No, I sleep laying,” Kireía made a sweeping gesture, to clarify her statement of sleeping laying down. “Cannot sleep on feet.”
“Well, time’s clearly passed,” Evren pointed to the nearby trees, “They’re all bigger than five minutes ago. Older.”
Kireía looked around, recognising the effects of Time Magics. She had fallen victim to such a thing once before, and chirruped with concern. “Time has passed, but not for us.”
She crossed to one of the trees, inspecting it as she ran her hands over the bark. For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling that innate connection to Nature she possessed. After a few moments, she opened her eyes, stepping back.
“Tree is impossible old,” she stated, “Yet, too young to remember us.”
“How old?” Evren asked, joining her friend by the trunk. Kireía was staring at the roots, but looked up at Evren, concern etched across the human parts of her face.
“It has shed leaves over three hundred times,” she stated. Evren stared at her.
“Three hundred years? But we can’t have been asleep that long!”
“No, Evren,” Kireía turned to her, “Tree memory is passed from mother to child. This tree is three hundred – but its line is ten time that. And none of them remember us.”
Evren took a moment to realise what Kireía was trying to say. Three hundred ten times was…
“Three thousand?” She asked, incredulous. Kireía shook her head.
“More,” she stated simply, before noticing the flowers around Evren’s neck. “Why flower?”
Evren looked down, plucking at one of the leaves on the garland. “Oh, I don’t know. They’re quite nice looking though! It’s a bit of a shame yours look plainer.”
Kireía looked down to realise she, too, wore a garland – black, white, silver-grey, and purple flowers decorated hers, though. Despite Evren’s comment, she thought the colours looked striking all together.
“I keep it,” Kireía nodded to herself, before looking at the spot where they had stood. “Wait – someone give us fire?”
She moved over to the edge of the small winter fire pit. It had been cleared of ashes and filled instead with water, which upon inspection, Kireía discovered was rosewater. Other objects littered the ground around where they had stood, almost like offerings of a sort. Kireía looked at Evren.
“Wait, it’s like an alter, to the false gods, don’t you think?” Evren stated, “Does someone think we’re gods?”
“Gods not real,” Kireía shrugged. “Waste of time.”
“But people choose to believe in ‘em,” Evren replied, “Real or not, they’ll always find something to believe in.”
“We should find other Darken,” Kireía suggested, “Where was Town?”
“This way,” Evren stated, nodding her head in the direction from which they had come. “They shouldn’t have missed us yet. It’s only been a few hours.”
Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor
Rating: K+
Originally Written: 15 July 2020
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
An age passed, then another. As the small town of Mill expanded, cutting away the forest to create the needed space for more buildings, the memory of the freezing rains faded beyond legend, beyond myth, into nothing more than a fairy-tale, a tale told to youngsters that was forgotten by most as they aged.
Until one day, an herbalist stumbled across the statues.
She brushed aside the ivy covering the stonework, marvelling at the intricate detail of the two creatures. Whoever had carved it had a fanciful idea of combining humans with animals – the taller of the two bore the beak, feathers, and talons of a bird, carrying a bow in one hand and a quiver slung over her back. The shorter, more slender had fur, claws, teeth, and the ears of a cat, with a sword sheathed in her belt.
She carried the news back to the town, and more and more people ventured into the forest to stare at the two. They stood together in solidarity, staring at something high above as they seemed to hold each other. How ironic, the locals thought, that the sculptor might choose a bird and a cat to stand shoulder-to-shoulder against whatever event had so entranced them.
Of course, the people of Mill were a rather simple group, so it didn’t take long for a more creative mind to suggest they were sisters, standing together against a foe they could not defeat, yet refusing to back down in the face of such threat. Over time, stories were passed to neighbours, shared drunkenly by writers on their mead, and eventually forming into one, cohesive story that painted the pair as greater beings – not quite goddesses, but not entirely mortal, representative of the duality of nature – at odds with itself, but united against threat.
As one age slid into the next, people began to worship the pair, leaving offerings of flower wreaths and garlands, food that might appease the pair. If a hunter wished for bountiful ventures, it became custom to lay their first kill at the feet of the Sisters, while a mother awaiting a newborn might weave a flowery garland for both to receive their blessing for a safe birth. In the months approaching winter, a fire was lit before the pair and kept stoked, while warm clothing might be draped around the two, asking them to keep the freezing cold at bay for the most of the winters.
Of course, with Mill being such a secluded town, these customs were mainly only local, rarely spreading beyond the edge of the forest Mill was located within. But over time, the legends of the two stuck, with some storytellers even daring to describe exploits of the Sisters in great detail. Naturally, these stories were relegated to the same category as the legends of Domina and Tumpkee, Ravengard and the Jinn; revered, beloved, but not necessarily true.
Of course, when the cracks began to appear in the stonework, Mill became afraid. Had they angered the Sisters? Had they turned their benevolence to a town in more need? Would the statues fall apart, to return in another location? Rumours began to circulate, none of them based in fact – for, if anyone had dared to probe any of the many crevices appearing around the joints of the girls, they would have found that something lay beneath the stonework…
Written by Andrew “Oggy Og” Jones
Original Facebook post
I remember that day well.
There stood Tumpkee with his god-slaying weapons, while Davina and I prepared for his attack. I tried to reason with the trickster, but all the logic of the Aura couldn’t penetrate the density of his jest, his utter rejection of sanity brought on by his utter rejection from Fae Realm.
Tumpkee laughed, the same laugh that now echoes on the wind, and with a seemingly unending swarm of duplicates, he launched his assault. I stood back, but I was fooled - I was never the target. I often took the form of a counsellor, rarely the warrior.
But Davina, she launched herself at the foes. Her blade carved down just as many as could appear. Her eyes caught sight of the god-killing blade and with a decisive strike, she rendered it to shards; but the Trickster landed a sharp blow with the hammer.
Like water to flame Davina’s life burned no more.
I foresaw it all. Both my blessing and curse, and yet with all my power I was powerless to stop it.
It was not the end, not completely. Davina’s fracture would return to the Aura so she could be reborn upon the realms. But fate this day didn’t smile upon us, for another battle was playing out on the realms below.
Domina had succeeded. She had breached the seal of Nightmare Realm, the realm where all vengeful fallen spirits land. There they battle on through the ages, carrying their wounds and continuing to rot, unable to heal yet unable to die, and never able to rest.
Domina used her alluring powers to drain the evil within that place, absorbing all the foulness that had passed from the realms. With no second thought and no regard of consequence, she absorbed the remnants of her brother’s power; Dominus was no more.
Orbuss was next; his fracture too weak, he was also consumed. Domina now controlled the restored fracture that once belonged to her father, making the Daughter of Shadows their Queen.
But in the face of her ignorance, an unforeseen foe launched an epic assault.
Incendium was drawn to destruction, much like a moth to flame. His strength was far greater than Domina’s, but his actions were blinded by wrath. Incendium burnt with rage for the disturbances of balance, the shift in power between the Demo’hari. He seized Domina, but she launched her own assault. Legions of hands forged from shadows rose from all surfaces, but Incendium broke through them all, snapping them like mortal bone. In a moment of sentience, his rage turned to the source of all power: the Aura.
Incendium changed tactics - rather than face the newly-empowered goddess, he would target her source of power. Domina, without realising, had caused the catalyst of the Great Calamity.
Incendium launched himself at full flight towards the Aura and in a powerful clash, the heavens erupted.
The realms shook. Their very foundations moved, and the bridges between worlds all but collapsed. The Infinity Gate now stood powerless as the Aura could no longer charge its portal.
Flor’kin awoke from Fae realm. His knowledge of nature and the spiritual essences stirred as he felt creatures everywhere suffer. He looked upon his faithful followers and smiled, having known this day would come. He knew he alone had the power to bind the realms before it was too late.
Flor’kin stood, arms stretched, and from his body the roots of the Great Tree were born. The Unyeilding Bow Tree’s roots pierced through the realms, penetrating their foundations and forcing them to remain connected. The realms were scattered but Flor’kin himself now created the bridges that connected all realms. He sacrificed his physical form so that the realms would not crumble away.
There was more damage done this day. The Aura was ruptured, the Demo’hari were now cut off from infinite power, and like rain the essence of the Aura fell upon the realms. Incendium fell to Sky Realm, his final moments of consciousness witnessing the events as they unfolded.
All creatures could sense the Aura falling, and upon instinct they walked outside to watch the heavens cry. All those that were touched by rain that day were frozen in place, coated by a magical barrier. All creatures stood as they were.
A great silence covered each realm.
The Demo’hari looked upon their destruction. Each saw their contribution, each of them felt the disconnect from the Three, and each of them walked away from their quarrels.
There was no victory. There was no mourning. There was nobody left to weep. Davina, Dominus, Orbuss and Flor’kin all fell that day.
Yet here I am.
I have walked Mid Realm for the better part of four ages. I have seen empires fall, witnessed kingdoms rise. I helped found the Arcadium Academy, and here the Arch Auras help me bring the world out of the long sleep. My foresight is no longer infinite but my knowledge of the past is. I help pass on what I know as no one should forget that day. The day the realms stood still.
Written by Andrew “Oggy Og” Jones
Original Facebook post
The door swung open as the two hooded travellers entered the tavern, sheltering from the rain outside. It was a simple tavern, much like any other; the lights were gas, a refined new feature, while in the corner an enchanted brush scrubbed clean the mess from a dinner plate. The walls were stone, coated in a cream-coloured paint, and a fireplace was ablaze in the centre of the room. Sat in the corner was an unrecognisable figure, huddled under fur and clutching a drinking horn with two hands.
As the travellers approached the bar, they ordered their drinks from the orc behind it. One turned to the other.
“This weather is all we need.” He complained, “Bucketing rain, muddy roads, bandits - and what’s worse, people disappearing into shadows. Who’s next? We’ve lost our guards and there’s no tracks. Their footprints stay where they stood, their path just ends as if they vanished!”
His companion turned to him. “Calm yourself, I don’t have the answers, but the mages of Arcadium Academy may be able to shed more light.”
“But we need to get there” snapped back the first traveller.
A sudden thud sounded from the door, as four rough-looking warriors entered. Three of them headed towards the fire as the fourth made for the bar, forcing the travellers to one side.
“Four tall horns of ale, for me and my comrades,” he ordered loudly. “Let’s drink to the nights... achievements.”
They all burst into thunderous laughter, tinged with a hint of sinister malice.
“They won’t forget to pay their dues again! Maybe next time we take his sheep,” one crowed proudly.
“Or his daughter,” another piped up, as the cheers continued.
The one at the bar turned to the travellers with a sinister grin, “You here travelling upon the road to the Academy? We own that road, there is a toll. What do you say lads,” he called to his friends over his shoulder, “a couple of coppers for the toll and a round of drinks for their ignorance?”
He waited for the cheers, but they never sounded. He looked behind himself to find all three warriors were keeled over, lifeless sacks of meat in armour. Among them stood the fur-cloaked figure, no longer seated in the corner but standing over the bodies of the men.
“You talk of ignorance, yet you yourself are ignorant to what is going on around you.” The stranger stated ominously. “Shadows consume all, and the blood of innocents soaks the history ingrained within this realm. There were once dragons, kings, Demo’hari, and oaths - but that all seems faded into an age long since passed.” He took a step towards the remaining barbarian, crooked teeth visible beneath the shadow of his hood as he leered at the male. “I can tell by the shit in your pants and the smell on your breath; you are content to live out this miserable existence you seem fit to call life.”
The travellers looked upon the fur cloaked figure still shrouded by his garment.
“Begging your pardon sir, but what know you of the days gone by?” One asked the stranger, “Do you know of what is happening now? There is talk of Gems, the Aura statues are returning to life, shadows claim the souls of those that venture near and the wind carries a foul laughter that shrills any mans nerve, do you know what is happening, can you help us?”
The warrior scoffs turning to the travellers, “This long-toothed fool couldn’t tell you what day it is, let alone what is happening in the world.”
He turned to find the cloaked figure was close upon him, eyes locked, piercing at his soul...
“I knew your forefather’s forefather before he was even suckling on his mother’s breast,” the stranger hissed. “I know all that has been and all that will be, and my burden through the ages is to suffer it with the likes of you.”
The cloaked figure reached forward, his hand grasping the warrior’s shirt. “I tell you this now, you should believe in warriors of legend, tales of dragons and magics of old. Fear those stories that terrified you as a child, and regret the decisions that have led you here. You are not fit to be in my presence, nor to receive my help, and yet here you now stand fearing for your life. If you are truly a warrior then deliver a message to my niece: I am not worn down by the ages and my brother’s power has its limits. I am watching!”
The warrior collapsed to the ground, froth slowly oozing from his mouth. In an instant, flames burst forward, lightning cracked and the room was filled with light. The lifeless bodies of the four warriors rose up once more, the revived men terrified and traumatised by what had just occurred.
The first three fled as the fourth rose and wiped the froth from his mouth. “It is done Lord; forgive me.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he fled the tavern after his companions.
The bartender and the travellers stood in fear, looking upon the figure clad with fur.
“Who are you?” The orc asked. The fur cloak dropped, the shroud lifted, and before them stood a warrior adorned in ancient armour made by no smith of this age.
“I am Al’fuss,” he proclaimed; “I will take your message to the academy myself.”
Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor
Rating: K+
Originally Written: 15 July 2020
A/N: Oh boy, it’s been a while. Update post soon to follow, but for now these are the posts I wrote with my friend Tarin, who plays Evren. LARP is back now and there’s been some changes to Kireia’s kit, so hopefully photos will follow.
Also, I’m not sure if it was mentioned before, but the old house of Ismara joined with the house Rammikade, and the two became Darken. Technically it’s still the same mob and all, just... different leadership. Anyways, enjoy!
They were considered by their allies and friends to be an odd pairing, but the cat and the crow had formed a close friendship since choosing to venture from their island home of Ismara.
Kireía was a Rachdhan, one of the Birdfolk of the island’s native Ainmhí, and a mischievous, rebellious adolescent of her people. Evren was a Fiachat, a catfolk of the Ainmhí with a mischievous streak so wide that she would have made Tumpkee proud. Despite the more basic corresponding animals being constantly at odds, however, Kireía and Evren had forged a strong friendship that would prove to last against even Time itself.
As was their way, the pair split away from the rest of the Darken group one evening, preferring to hunt their meal rather than accept the prepared food offered at a small inn. The pair had been raised on wild meat, and the overly-spiced, often well-cooked portions of meat were sometimes a little too much for their simpler tastes. Not to mention the social expectations to dine with cutlery and carry oneself with a degree of decorum at a dinner table – this, for the pair of Ainmhí, was even worse than the food itself.
Kireía, as usual, had found a perch in a tree, an arrow nocked to her bowstring as she tracked the movements of a small rabbit. While the more bird-like instincts in her demanded she throw herself upon the prey, her form was more similar in shape to the less-stealthy humans, making hunting difficult enough.
While Kireía tracked her rabbit, Evren was stalking her own prey – a small fox that had paused by the creek for a drink. Unlike Kireía, Evren had been gifted with a cat’s stealth despite her more humanoid appearance, so approaching prey on foot was far easier.
She hadn’t made any sound, and the wind was still blowing her scent away from the prey – yet, the small creature froze, raising its head in alarm as it first listened, then sniffed at the air tentatively, before leaping over the creek and racing into the forestry on the other side. Evren began to give chase, before stopping dead at the river’s edge and hissing in frustration. She hadn’t made a single sound, so what idiotic beast had disturbed her hunt?
Kireía had drawn her bow, still tracking the rabbit’s movements, but the creature immediately turned around, darting away. Kireía huffed in irritation as she relaxed her draw and lowered the bow, scowling as she looked around. Something had made that rabbit flee, and that “something” was going to be very sorry for the blunder.
As she glared into the forest, searching for signs of movement, she began to feel it. Something was wrong – something was very wrong.
“Eirbhach? What is?” She said aloud, using her innate ability to speak with Nature to try and understand what Nature had witnessed for her. However, where Nature had responded in the past, this time it did not.
There was no shake of an errant branch, no rustle of leaves or creaking of trees, not even the echo of wind – the forest had fallen silent.
The unease Kireía felt only seemed to grow within her, and she slipped from her precarious perch to the ground below, landing in a light crouch. Evren was also Sensitive; she could confirm Kireía’s feelings if they were true.
“Did you scare away my prey?” Evren demanded, crashing through the undergrowth as the two women neared each other. Kireía, still frowning, shook her head.
“No – I have prey of own, but it run away.”
“Run away? Sounds like someone’s playing silly buggers with us!” Evren snapped, whirling around and glaring into the encroaching darkness. “Hey, you think it’s fun to scare off someone’s dinner, why don’t you come share your own!”
“Evren,” Kireía clipped her gently, “You feel it?”
“Feel what?” Evren turned back to Kireía, who held up her taloned hand to see it shaking. Her hands NEVER shook.
“Something…” Kireía turned, looking around the area, expecting the threat. “Something VERY bad happen.”
Evren paused, reading her own feelings as the crow-girl’s words sunk in. Yes, she felt it too – a strange, gut-wrenching feeling of distances growing, as if existence itself was falling apart at the seams. Instinctively, she hissed at this unseen threat, her fur standing on end as her spine arched into a defensive stance.
“Nature is silent,” Kireía said ominously, “It is never silent. Something VERY wrong is happen.”
“Turach bheir niouradh,” Kireía hissed, translating as she remembered Evren didn’t speak her tribal language. “Edges tearing apart.”
A brilliant, dazzling light appeared overhead, bathing the forest and surrounds, and indeed the entire world, in a bright glow. At the same time, the tearing sensation the pair had experienced began to mend, as if something were patching all realms back together. The pair reached for each other, their physical senses overriding their intuition. While they felt, inside, that everything would be fine, the sudden light seemed to carry with it a shattering sound. Evren raised her clawed hand, pointing up at it as the freezing rain began to drench them.
The nearby town of Mill recovered, and the citizens eventually returned to their daily lives. The Darken servants swept through shortly after the cataclysmic rain, collecting the statues that had been frozen in place within the town and returning them to safety in Ismara. However, as per usual, the two Ainmhí were overlooked…
I promise I’ll have the next Sentinels chapter up by the end of the week. Musing has just sort of taken a tank at the moment, I’m still in Post Shock brain kinda...
So here I sit going through all these old folders full of pictures I saved circa 2016-2017, and I came across this one, some fanart from Homestuck. And it got me thinking (as most things usually do).
I have no idea where this came from or who the artist is, please drop me an ask to let me know so I can credit them
So if you're unfamiliar with Homestuck, basically after a certain point, if you die under specific circumstances, you come back to life in what is known as "God Tier". When you go God Tier, you gain access to a bullshit power related to your particular classpect (class and aspect), and you basically also gain this thing called Conditional Immortality.
Now, under Conditional Immortality, you are virtually immortal provided your death does not fall under one of two headings: Just, or Heroid.
A Just death, referring to justice, is usually applicable when a character kinda goes off the deep end, and their actions using their God Tier abilities actually ends up threatening others. For example, you decide you're powerful enough to go and fight the Big Bad on your own, but don't take into consideration that by doing so you will likely lead the Big Bad back to everyone else, and while you might be attempting to fight them, they escape and slaughter all your friends/teammates/whatever. So, to save everybody else, one of your friends stabs you through the back. Not exactly deserved, but definitely prevents you going and fucking up EVERYTHING because of your own hubris.
That's a Just death. Justice stepped in, and others were saved because of your death, and the session was preserved.
A Heroic death usually is exactly what it says on the box: You try to save everybody because you probably could, the Big Bad kills you, and you don't come back to life. Because of your death, your sacrifice, your unprepared buddies were able to escape to see another day. That's it. That's literally a heroic death.
So, using the Conditional Immortality mechanic, we could apply that to LARP.
Instead of everybody dying proudly and returning to life because of some bullshit excuse from Death, they just... have Conditional Immortality. When they die in the field of battle against others of their realm, they come back to life because y'know, war is dumb. When they die in combat against a Demo'hari or something, however, it's a different story - it's a more permanent thing. Or they at least have to complete specific, more in-depth Death Quests before they can return to the field.
Idk, it's just an idea. Might be cool to see it implemented, especially if Domina and Dominus are both kinda abandoning Solendium because they reckon all mortals are weak. I might think about it a bit more and work out a way it can be implemented into a system.
We survived on violent fantasies and virulent flirtations, falling for the night over tequila and lime. Our knees were bruised from singing to toilet bowls, our visage glamorous to behold, our eyes ringed with shades of black both natural and cosmetic. Our hair changed like the sheets in a hotel stained with the tan we used to disguise our sun-deprived skin, and the fabric we covered our bodies in was only temporary and minimal, designed and worn to entice others to remove it only.
At twilight we'd emerge from dens so disheveled they seemed the dwelling of something inhuman. Our elders waited for us behind bars already coated in spilled fluids - only some of them beverages - and would serve the elixirs that we raised with a cry of joy. When each day was a threat, each night was a festival, and if the sounds were right and the tastes were better we would cavort with our kind, the outlaw boys and painted girls of the night.
Should a daywalker stumble upon us at our peak, they became the blue light in a room full of moths, and we'd take turns at the conquest to see whether honeyed words or a barbed tongue would captivate this new victim. We got what we wanted by driving them away but leaving a wound in which our existence would creep, slipping under their skin like the needle of a junkie seeking their next fix; it was how we spread our disease, hooking them in with lascivious indecency that drew them back with a desire to prove us wrong or right. It never mattered which - we were a drug and they were the addicts.
We were the worst of the winners and the best of losers, cannibalizing anyone who got too close and cavorting on weekly carousels of willful self-destruction and wild salaciousness, tempting lovers and haters to fuck us or fuck with us like it was a game that would never end and our youth was eternal. The menace of dawn brought an end to our intricate performances and threatened to reveal the darkness that lay beneath the peeling masks of our own addictions, and as the sun rose reality would set in and we'd nurse hangovers like children as we stumbled back to our dens, collapsing under shower heads as the night was rinsed from our skins to start the cycle anew.
Sometimes I find the other survivors. We were the darlings of darkness, and we can sense it in others; we danced on the edge and taunted Inferno only to slip from his grasp and fade into anonymity. Now, we look just like our former victims, the daywalkers we preyed upon in darkened dive bars; but that bond with the night remains, always asking for the next dance.
Category: Post Shock
Rating: T
Warning/s: Post-apocalyptic, blood/gore
Originally Written: Idk like January? Originally posted in Post Shock RP Group on Facebook sometime last week
This was a collaborative RP between myself and Jess Goodwin, who plays Azura in the Post Shock universe. Set immediately after the last post I dropped for Anna.
The truck was still moving, every bump in the road shaking Anna to her bones. She clutched her gun just a little bit tighter as she looked at the other people of Los Palos. Most had - somehow - managed to fall asleep, or at least gave the appearance of such, but she and a few others were still awake. They had been driving for hours, and we're somewhere in the desert.
Her gaze settled on Miss Azura, the feisty archer lady from the SOTA people. She had seemed more tolerant of Anna with their shared experiences earlier that day - after all, Miss Katie had somehow ended up in the body of one of her friends, and Anna had been there and ready to help.
"You can't help everyone."
Mr Phil's words came back to her, as well as the thought she had blurted out in response - "I know. I'm not a Medic."
Well, she might not be a medic, but she was certain Miss Azura was. And she had seen the cut on the woman's arm - it looked deep, but she hadn't tended to it. Anna wondered if that was because she didn't have the right things, or if she didn't want to. Some people were crazy like that, not wanting their injuries to be fixed. But Miss Azura wasn't that crazy, was she?
With most people having fallen into sleep, there was a little more space, and Anna moved closer to Miss Azura. She had seemed upset earlier, but Anna was quickly getting used to telling if the SOTA people were upset enough to try and hurt her or not.
"Miss Azura?" She asked tentatively, "Are you okay? Your arm looks bad. Is there anything I can do? We should get it covered, so it doesn't get infected."
Azura sighed as this ‘young girl’ approached. Anna was persistent; she’d give her that. “It’s fine! Not even that deep, I’ve had deeper wounds before.” She turned to the left moving her arm outta sight. “Why do you care anyway? No one cares about anyone but themselves in this shithole.”
"I know," Anna sighed, "And it's dumb. You gotta care about stuff and people, or else you're as bad as a daemon. They don't care, 'bout anything."
She sat next to Miss Azura and tried to look at the injured arm. Hesitantly, she lowered her voice.
"I seen you cut yourself on purpose," she admitted, tilting her head to one side. "Why'd you do that?"
Azura continued to hide her injured arm. “You’re particularly nosy aren’t you? If you really must know, some... information was in my arm that I needed to find out.”
Anna frowned at the statement. "Why would anyone put information in a real human arm? You've got the special arm right there," she gestured to the cyborg arm. "That's kinda dumb, giving you info but making you hurt yourself to get at it."
Azura frowned “Are you squeamish little one?”
"What's squeamish?" Anna asked, tilting her head. "Is that like, where you faint from seeing blood? Cos, no."
With a sigh Azura bought her left arm into view and turned to the right to face Anna. With a quick glance around the truck to see if anyone was watching she quickly revealed her injury. Clear as day, the wires running through Azura’s body were visible to both girls.
The temptation to poke was overwhelming, but Anna remembered her manners at the very last moment. She frowned slightly.
"It all looks fine, but I'mnot an engineer. Why'd you need to get in at it? Was something not working right?"
“I’m a human! Humans don’t have wires in their bodies now do they!” Azura raised her voice but quickly quieted herself, glancing at the others in the truck. “Something about my past is fucked up, and I’m gonna work out what!”
Anna shrugged. "Well, some humans have wires in 'em. Doesn't make you not human, it just means you're different to other humans. And that's okay! I'm different, Mr Windsor's different, Miss Stella and Mr Preacher and Mr Phil - all of 'em are different. Doesn't mean none of 'em are human. Same for you - you got a thing, it makes you different. But it hurt when you cut yourself, didn't it? Only synths don't actually get hurt from stuff like that."
She paused, thinking about the other thing Azura had said. "I'm good at puzzles, and people tell me stuff, a lot. So if you want, I can help you find out. You don't gotta do stuff on your own, Miss Azura. That's how people get so angry at the world, 'cos they think they're alone when they're not really."
Reaching for a bandage Azura started covering her wound. “I’m used to doing things alone; when your father only used you and your sisters as a fucking personal army, or being sentenced to death cause the asshole decided to kill your twin, you learn to deal with people’s bullshit by only trusting yourself in this fucked up world.”
"Yeah, that doesn't sound like something any real dad would do," Anna admitted, her eyes on the bandage. An idea popped into her head suddenly, and she was speaking before she really even thought of the words.
"Hey, can you teach me to be a medic? It helps people, and I know you're really good at it. And it's gotta be hard to bandage up something with only one hand, too," she added, nodding at the injured arm. "I can help you, if you want to show me how."
Azura looked up at Anna in confusion. “You wanna be a medic? You realise that being a medic kinda puts a target on your back in this group. Not everyone likes medics, and they'll use you as leverage to get what they want."
Anna shrugged. "I mean, I wanna help people. Not everyone likes medics, but not everyone likes me already, so what's the difference? I just wanna help, because people are scared and it makes them angry. Maybe if they knew there was always help around, they wouldn't be so scared, and then they'd be less angry."
Azura let out a small chuckle - not the evil type either, which was unusual for her. “Okay why not. Well when wrapping a wound, here'swhat you do..."https://testedtransgressor.tumblr.com/post/612917657655771136/sentinels-07
