LopsidedGourd
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Mydei rolls his eyes toward Phainon, tugging on his shoulder. “Lean into me,” he says, ignoring the red flush staining Phainon’s cheeks.
“Sorry.” Phainon adjusts himself, obeying once again. “I just—I didn’t think you’d—”
Mydei narrows his eyes. “It’s just a photoshoot,” he says, as much for Phainon as for himself, because this is the thing of dreams. Of nightmares. Being this close to Phainon, pressed into him, breathing in natural scent of him, is almost too much. “Relax, Deliverer, or you’ll strain something, and then you won’t be able to spar with me tomorrow.”
Phainon and Mydei help Castorice with a photoshoot.
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“Any challenge is a worthwhile endeavor,” Varka replies. “But if you’re worried about being fair or giving me a handicap…” Flins certainly hadn’t said that, but now he’s curious, and he grows more curious as Varka withdraws a scrap of fabric from one pocket. “Play blindfolded.”
The challenge whets Flins’s appetite. He isn’t the kind of fae who exults in games of chance but rather ones of wit and strategy, and he was fond of collecting intelligent men like glittering baubles at the Belyi Tsar’s court. “If I am to handicap myself, then I should receive a greater reward if I win, don’t you think?” he asks, the words out of his mouth before he can help them, for he, like all fae, loves a bargain.
When a bad storm strands Varka at Flins's lighthouse, the two play chess to pass the time. After beating Varka twice, Flins agrees to play with a blindfold, provided the loser owe the winner a boon.
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As time passed, with each day, hour, and minute, the pattern held true. The harder you worked, the more you learned, the deeper your understanding grew, and the easier victory came. This truth was revealed as you journeyed through the Lands Between, defeating all who faced your blade without mercy. Initially, there was a hint of compassion, but as the end drew near, any remnants of innocence were extinguished alongside those who fell.
Yet, the Shadow Realm brimmed with the innocence you'd abandoned. In the Lands Between, you were merely Queen Marika's blade, but here, whispers of "love" from Miquella the Kind's disciples stirred you. The notion of a benevolent demigod was foreign, as those you encountered were rarely ever so gentle. They might end up being mistaken, or oddly enough, they could turn out to be correct.
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An Astrologer Tarnished, tired of killing, quits the Lands Between to pursue Miquella's dream of a better world. After an act of empathy that may be her undoing, she finds herself a captive of the Shadowkeep and the Serpent Lord that rules it.
A reweaving of the Elden Ring lore that examines faith, love, free will, and what it means to be a 'monster'.
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You turn the little chip over in your hand, warm from sitting close to the battery for who knows how long it’s been there. How long has it been there? Is this what gives Caleb a sense of security? Watching you? Knowing where you are?
You watch its red eye as you tuck yourself into bed, and imagine it a heartbeat. A little sun that flickers with each breath; a red giant whose warmth may have faded, but whose light refuses to go out.
As always, you dream of your brother.
While you’re busy navigating work obligations, crippling medical debt, and a heart that keeps you stuck in perpetual poverty, Caleb seems stubbornly set on taking care of you in his own way.