They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
Lest we forget!
(The artwork is called ‘The Catch Up’ by Warrick Eady. It covers 100 years of Australian army soldier uniforms, and is a tear-jerker for many folks from my side of the world. ANZAC day is about Australia and New Zealand and the tragedy the brave men and women bravely endured, but this really is a great image to show respect to all our fallen brothers in arms.)
Vio Link is the owner of a new library in Castle Town. His library collection consists solely of ancient texts (along with a few relics and the like) that the average Hylian could either not understand or would have thought lost. His collection was found by hiring mercenaries ( Blue on occassion as well ) and going out excavating for ancient knowledge. As such, Vio is the smartest out of all of the Link’s, deciphering ancient Hylian (able to not only read it but speak a version of it with the information he has gained), reading up on any and all wars he could get his hands on, handfuls of spells, and going out of his way to learn a little bit about everything he could get his hands on.
Due to this, Vio falls into the category of “master of none”. Where he has a lot of information, able to perform very well physically fighting, cast basic spells, and even put up a good fight plan when needed, unlike the other three, he lacks the ability to do any one task to a fine precision. Making him the most average, while also being the most skilled.
Vio grew out his hair very long, braiding it up in the back with a long thin bandage-like material that he tied up. He enjoys this complicated style as he feels it helps give his otherwise young appearances some age.
Personality wise, Vio is typically the one to be calm and figure out the solution to any and all conflicts. He treats these like puzzles to be solved and can generally come up with a very calm and rational explanation. However, when approached by someone with a similar knowledge or skill-set to him, his ego will tend to flair in self defense, feeling the need to prove himself. Despite there being absolutely no reason, coming off as a very salty teenager.
A few quirks about Vio is that he cannot cook, has difficulty relating with other people on a more emotional basis unless he knows them exceedingly well, and his favorite color actually is purple, and thus why he puts it in his clothing so much.
One more fun fact is he got his cloak from a traveling salesman who he also actually bought his first ancient text from. This merchant seemed to know a lot about the ‘ancients’, and Vio would have loved to have discussed more, but he disappeared from Castle Town three days later. Vio has not seen him since.
Vio is the shortest out of all of the Links, his height ending at 4′10″, effectively growing two inches from when they were all younger.
“I need to help Cassian,” Blake said. He could vaguely make out the carnage around him. Screams and steel clashed in the air. He needed to help, needed to help keep Rhys alive. Even if the High Lord was able to protect himself, it was his duty. Cassian was only one person.
“He has it all taken care of.” Her ruby lips curled into a smile, her hands slid down, keeping his own on her waist. “You want to dance with me.” Her voice was a honeyed darkness, her words sliding beneath his skin, filling up his mind.
“I want to dance with you.” He wanted to dance until his feet bled.
“They don’t need your help.”
“They don’t need my help.” Cassian would be more than enough.
Rhys knew where he was. Cells imbued with a magic cancelling stone, it would also quiet the bond between him and Feyre. This trap was meant for her. Pain pulsed through his head as he stood. Keir was standing on the opposite side of the cells, his hands behind his back, his face stone and aloof.
Leaning on his forearm, Rhys stared down Keir, “I wish I could say I was surprised, but you can’t expect to not get bit by a rabid animal. It’s just in their nature. Just as it is in yours to be a spineless traitorous fool.”
Keir didn’t seem phased by his words at all. The only acknowledgement was tightening of his shoulders. He knew it would be useless to try to use his magic. It would just rebound on himself. Most likely kill him.
“Feyre is going to grind your bones to dust while you still breathe. She will make you beg for mercy until your throat is raw and bleeding. And after she is done with you, only then will I kill you.”
“Your whore will be too dead to be able to do such things I’m afraid.” A small smile tugged on Keir’s lips, “As will be the abominations you call your children.”
Rage crackled in his veins, roaring in his ears. He tried to calm himself. Feyre was in Valeris. She is is safe. But if their bond went quiet…she would bring ruin to this entire court. “Your underestimation of my family will be your undoing.”
Keir’s smile widened, and it was truly horrible. “Interesting choice of words, considering who helped me.”
His world tilted on it’s side.
His magic lashed out before he would stop it, rebounding on himself. Darkness slammed into him, pain searing behind his eyes, thundering in his head. Blackness gripped him and brought him to unconsciousness.
Cassian ran his sword through the female. She crumpled to the ground and he whirled to the next one. Where was Rhys, where was Blake?
He lost count of how many he had killed. He shoved down the feel of bile in the back of his throat before moving on to the next person. They were starting to thin out, he just needed to hold on.
He needed to stay alive.
If only for his children.
The female tisked, “It would seem I grossly miscalculated just how skilled Cassian is.”
“He is skilled,” Blake said. “The very best.”
She patted his cheek, “Thank you for the dance, Blake. You are truly very skilled.”
He blinked slowly, “Thank you.” His limbs were becoming his again, the carnage around him was becoming more than a dim buzzing in his ears. What was happening?
“You are going to forget meeting me. You are only going to remember that you were in another part of the mountain fighting your way to your Commander and High Lord.”
“I was fighting.” He killed dozens of people. Their blood stained his hands.
“The girl you were dancing with was killed. She was ran through with a sword.” Her starry eyes were filled with a brutal sadness he couldn’t place.
“She is dead.” He tried to protect her. He wasn’t enough.
“The time will come where you will remember who I am and when I come to you, you will do whatever is necessary to come with me.”
“Whatever is necessary.”
Her lips connected to his cheek in a soft kiss, “It was wonderful meeting you Blake, you are nothing like how I thought you would be. Dacia was right.”
He frowned at her. With a ruby smile that lit up her sorrow-filled starry eyes, the female winnowed away.
Cassian ran his sword through the male. The male’s eyes vacated and he crumpled to the ground.
A female picked up the fallen male’s discarded sword and ran at him. Cassian’s sword cut through her like a piece of parchment. He pulled the blade out violently, the female fell to the ground, blood blossoming in the gaping wound in her stomach. “Where the fuck were you?”
“I got separated, I was fighting through another section of the mountain.”
“Where’s that female you were dancing with?”
“Sword through the chest. I tried to save her, I wasn’t enough.”
“I’m sorry, Kid.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Feyre weaved through the spell, breaking it, shattering it. She had seen enough. This had gone on too long. Too many deaths, too much blood. She released the damper on her power, letting these monsters know she had arrived. Her darkness slammed into them, bringing them to their knees, clawing at their throats.
She turned her eyes to the nearest female and rose her chin, “Where is he?”
“Dead,” the female gasped out. Her voice was a hollow laugh. “Good riddance.”
Feyre clasped the female’s mind, her claws tearing through memory after memory of the female. She was lying, she knew where he was. With a dismissive wave, Feyre shattered her mind, letting the female fall to a crumpled mess.
Ignoring the pain wrapping around her spine, she turned to the rest of them, “Leave while you still have the chance. Anyone who is still here after the count of three will burn. One.” A few of the fae ran. Some tried to attack, only to be met with Azriel or Bay or Nate’s swords. “Two.” More ran. “Three.”
She burned them down.
She winced before turning to Azriel, “The Cells. Take me there, now.”
Keir looked down his nose. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, Night Incarnate, was unconscious in the bottom of a cell. This was truly a wonderful sight.
He got to his haunches, “It would seem you aren’t that all powerful after all.”
“Get away from him,” the sound of steel being unsheathed filled his ears. “Now.”
He stood, turning to the sound. “Nathaniel.”
His grandson had him by the throat, slammed against the wall. “You did this,” Nate growled. “Why?”
Behind him, the Bastard’s adoptive son stood, his arms crossed. His eyes were filled with a burning hatred.
This question, it was more than just Rhysand being unconscious in a cell, more than wanting the whore and her children eradicated. This was the question of a scared child who wanted to know why he hurt him. Why he was targeted, why he broke him so many times. So many times that Keir realized, his family didn’t know about. Save the one time he broke Nate’s wrist. He supposed it was a good thing having Ash Archeron a relative. It would seem Nathaniel was just as adept as his father at trading secrets.
He knew he was going to die. Might as well make the last words he said haunt Nathaniel for the rest of his worthless life. “Because. You are pathetic.”
An icy rage slid through Nataniel’s features. Keir turned his eyes to Bay. “Your father is such an interesting male. When you meet him, be sure to ask how he got the scars on his face.”
Bay’s eyes snapped onto his and his face drained of color. Nathaniel’s hand tightened around his throat and let out a low, vicious growl.
“Don’t kill him,” A voice said behind Nathaniel. It was cold and low and a whisper of darkness. It was Azriel.
“Why not?” Nathaniel growled.
“I need to interrogate him,” Azriel said.
Nathaniel smiled at Keir and that smile froze his blood. Nathaniel clutched his shirt, “Family bonding, yes?”
She tried to think past the contractions that she knew where speeding up. She was going to have these babies in this court, there was no other option. Feyre got to her knees, letting out a long breath. “Rhys.”
The pain was coming faster now. Cutting into her wrist, she let her blood spill. Taking it to her mate’s lips, she whispered, “Wake up, you prick. I’m-” she winced.
Blood spilled into his mouth, jarring him from unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered open at a sweet smell filling his nose. But he did not see her, he saw vague shadows, like looking through clouded glass. It was then that he realized.
Feyre was in labor and he was blind.
Heres part three!! Thank you for reading!! Please, please leave a comment
Everyone knew where Sephiroth and Cloud had their great battle. But fewer knew where Sephiroth had originally fallen. Nibelheim. The sword was stabbed into a wall, slightly rusted with age. Just like his clothes, Sephiroth had conjured Masamune from the lifestream. But the real sword stay here, in an eternal tomb. Genesis managed to get the sword, then, where the Buster sword was , he stabbed it into the ground. On the opposite side, he stabbed in his own, Rapier. Three friends together forever.
There’s a certain memory in Marcus’ head, which has blurred around the edges; of bloody swords and fallen knights. His right-hand man who dragged him away from the battlefield, and told mundane jokes as though they were on hunting trip. But the time had started to slip from his grip. So Marcus shushed him, and whispered, in the softest tone he ever used in his life, “I can’t go on without you.”
There’s a certain memory in his head, which has blurred around the edges; of fallen kingdom and a man. His right-hand man who smiled at him with tears on his face, “I know. I won’t be long.”
“In death, sacrifice.” Clarel’s
lightning is not enough to kill the beast. It is enough to make it howl, to force
it to run, confused and in pain. It skitters along the broken bridge, falls
with wings outstretched. The weight of the beast is the last such old stones
can take. They begin to crumble from underneath Lavellan’s feet. She struggles
to hold onto the ledge, fingertips scrapping at stone. The last thing she sees before
she falls is Cullen’s horror, the fear in his eyes, his hand outstretched as he
races towards her. He doesn’t make it in time.
Her insides turn as she falls,
hand outstretched as though the unspoken plea might save her. The mark sparks,
sputters, feels the rift before she does. She pulls at it, tears at the veil,
falls into the sky. Her fingers touch ground and the illusion shatters. She
lands against dirt and dust, pushes herself up on all fours. The air is
thicker, fouler feeling, vulgar tasting. It squeezes in from all sides, a
crushing weight. She takes a shuddering breath as she rises to her feet. This
is… the Fade.
She’s saved not only herself.
Amongst the rock and ruin of the bridge, the others emerge. Solas, face filled
with wonder. Bull, full of a fear she’s never seen before. Varric, shaking his
head as though he’s done this all before. Hawke, taking her place beside the
dwarf, her hand on his shoulder. Stroud, staring at the breach in an unfamiliar
sky. Lavellan counts them all, looks for every scrape and cut and finds none.
There is someone else she does not expect, someone she hoped made it off the bridge.
Lavellan pushes through the
others to get to him. He’s on his knees, staring at green, his hand gripped
around the hilt of his sword. “Cullen,” she says, her hands on his face, “you’re
alright.” His eyes quickly turn to her, wide and half mad, his free hand gripping
“I saw you fall. I – I didn’t
make it in time,” he tells her. “Is this - ? The Fade.”
“Yes,” she says as she helps
him to his feet. He’s still holding her arm. She places her hand over his. She
can feel the way he shakes, the subtle tremor in his grip. In the distance, she
can hear the all-too familiar cry of a fear demon. The rage. The greed. The
desire. Cullen is pale but does not waver, guards her back as they look for a
“Perhaps I should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the
Inquisition,” the voice of the demon booms around them, echoes in their skulls.
It laughs with mockery, with malice. It
speaks to all of them in turn. “Warden Stroud. How must it feel to devote your
whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or, worse, to know that you
were responsible for their destruction. When the next Blight comes, will they
curse your name?”
“Did you think you mattered,
Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save
your city. How could you expect to strike down a God? Fenris is going to die,
just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.”
“Knight-Captain Cullen. You
failed your charges just as you failed your Order. Under your watch, Kinloch
Hold was lost to blood mages. Under your watch, Kirkwall burned. Have you told
her yet? How you still hear the song? How you hear her magic – how much it
frightens you? Did you tell her how you considered retaking the lyrium when you
found out the precious Herald was a mage? Smite her down, just like all the
other mages you murdered.”
Lavellan’s steps falter. She
turns, looks over her shoulder. Her staff seems heavier, the air colder. Cullen’s
sword has fallen to the ground, his hands pressed over his ears and his eyes
squeezed shut. “No, I – I would never. She is – no, no, no. Though all before
me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander
the drifting roads of –”
“Cullen.” She is gentle as she
pulls down his hands. “We have to keep moving.”
“I would never hurt you,” he tells her. She smiles, although the smile does
not quite reach her eyes. Her thumb brushes against his cheekbones, the barest
and lightest of touches. Her staff in her other hand, she turns, continues to
lead on. Her back straight, her shoulders stiff, trying not to betray the
unsteady beat of her heart.
Verna stepped forward, making to snatch Kahlan by the shoulder. Cara’s Agiel came up like lightning, barring her way.
‘No one touches the Mother Confessor.’ Cara’s cold blue eyes were as deadly as her words. 'Is that clear? No one.’
'You have one Mord-Sith and one Mother Confessor, here, both in very bad moods,’ Kahlan said in a level voice. 'I would suggest you not give us an excuse to lose our temper, or we may never find it again in your lifetime.’
As the sun beamed down on a cloudless, windless day, Kazunari wiped the sweat from his face as he leaned against his naginata, one end jammed into the ground to give him a makeshift resting spot. The Xaela gazed out over the fields stretching before him, watching the small number of workers wander between the various flooded pens of rice.
Kaz had found his way here a few weeks ago, forging his way across the Ruby sea, away from Doma, trying to find somewhere to settle… at least for a short while. It had been a few years since his village had burned… since his friends had fallen to Garlean swords, since his father had disappeared, and since Kaz had fled with naginata in hand. Exhausted, and penniless, running from imaginary phantoms and voices he couldn’t understand, Kaz had collapsed not far from the house he was now overlooking - and protecting.
“Kazunari-san! How goes your patrol?” Another Au Ra - a pale Raen - waved to Kazunari, a sweet smile upon her lips as she approached. She walked confidently, holding herself with an air of authority as she met Kaz’s eyes. Her skin was pale, even for the light skinned Raen, with dark hair flowing down to her waist. Her face was mostly free of scales, save for a small line across the mid of her nose, and her horns swept backwards and out, towards the rear of her head instead of out past her face.