fortress-wall

demonsaint  asked:

Hell

Drabble List

Hell: I’ll write a drabble about our characters going to hell.

Gray clouds swirled above Tartarus, which wasn’t all that abnormal. The weather above the abyss remained at least as tormenting as the prison of the wicked. Those suffering beneath the whips of Tisiphone’s guards scurried with renewed fervor as the sky above revolted. Thunder rolled and cracked as lightning struck the walls and adamantine columns of the triple-walled fortress.

At first sign of the violent change in the perpetual storm, word was dispatched. The sky roiled, clouds swirling and lighting weaving through the gray-black coils. With a huge crack of thunder, the entire sky flashed bright white with lightning before it spat a charred creature into the pit. Fiend and sufferer alike darted away from the smoldering mass. 

A groan rose up from the projectile. The mass of onlookers startled and shifted back. Tisiphone hovered above the pit, surveying the situation. “Stand fast!” The growl in her tone shook the very walls, sending the wicked scurrying away.

The creature spat from the sky, shifted, rolling to a sitting position as it rubbed at its head. Talon blinked, taking in his surroundings. “Hell,” he said. It wasn’t just an exclamation of annoyance or injury, he knew where he was in the most general sense, but not the particulars.

“Hold intruder!” the Erinyes yelled, her whip snapping in the air with a distinctive thunder all its own. 

His ears perked up, as he gathered his bearings. Instead of shrinking away, Talon squared his shoulders and stood. He was a demon after all, and this was most certainly hell. He told himself, he had nothing to fear here, and turned his golden gaze on the Fury that hung in the air above him.

“Why am I here?” He received no answer from any quarter, neither the hulking demons around him, nor the flapping one offered an answer. His skin rippled with irritation as he weighed the options of either holding back the power bubbling beneath the surface or letting his dark form burst forth. “Did you bring me here?”

Again silence, for a moment. The sound of wing beats seemed to echo around him. The volume and power of each flap left his imagination running, it sounded like something large approached, and his eyes searched the sky for sign of the beast it belonged to. The few punished souls remaining skittered toward the dark corners of the pits, some dove into deep trenches in the abyss. Just before a pair of crashes shook the ground around him. He nearly lost his balance and looked up in time to see what he hadn’t found in the clouds.

The massive black dragon, shimmered with a purplish-to-blue sheen as lightning flashed through the clouds that grumbled with rage. Talon stared as the beast shook it’s head, like a dog fresh from the water. It swirled in a brackish black-gray smoke. Out of the cloud stepped a tall woman with a familiar face. As she reached the edge of the wall, leathery wings spread wide, taking one powerful stroke at the air as she stepped off. She landed on the ground, quaking it again as her feet touched down. 

Talon just stared, taking in the warped sight of that which was familiar and once dear to him. Even with the dark eyes, flame licked with rage, he knew it was her. The wings curved tightly near her shoulders, as she stalked. When she got closer, he noticed the scales shimmering along the sides of her neck and over her shoulders–if he had to guess they continued down her back, a natural armor, he figured.

It was a correct assumption. Furia knew to well that those closest caused the most damage. She refused to expose her back to any that might dare bury a blade in it. 

Glacing past, Talon would see that even the guards, hulking beasts of brimstone and sulfur, rippling with muscles, cowered with their heads bowed to the ground. The few souls who hadn’t escaped her appearance now stood frozen in the pit, black and glistening much like obsidian. Upon inspection he would find that was precisely what they had turned into. 

“You would challenge me?” Furia laugh, the sound rumbled like rolling thunder.

“No. I was brought here.”

“Then someone must wish you destroyed,” she said, stopping near his shoulder. “Though tortured first.”

“Furia,” he said.

Her hand closed on his throat as she lifted him from his feet.  Talon’s rage battled with a sense of pain at the reaction. Feeling the rapid deterioration of the situation, he tried to assume his alternate form, but something constrained him. Like a fly with its wings ripped off, he found himself at a clear disadvantage.

“You do not belong here. This is not your home, demon. Power here is granted at my pleasure,” she announced, tightening her grasp until his throat closed. 

Like a hound on the hunt, she toyed with him finally throwing him against the diamond-strong gray walls. She stalked toward him, the leather clinging to every curve in a way that even he had little immunity too. The fire that blazed in her eyes was totally foreign to the woman he’d known. One hand raised, lifting him back to his feet. When she got closer, he noticed that the black on her hands were not clad in gloves. If the talons were any indication the dragon form was more than convenient transport or a useful form of intimidation. 

He hung in the air motionless, stone freezing cold against his back. With each step she seemed to grow. By the time she reached him, she outstripped his height by several inches. The tip of one talon skimmed down his throat as she loomed over him. “I do not suffer fools who enter my domain. Especially those that would seek to corrupt the power of my realm for their own gain. Now, who are you?” She enunciated each word of the question.

Her lack of recognition made him feel even more hollow. His friend didn’t know him.

anonymous asked:

A large part of Darius' vision for Noxus involved "culling" its hierarchy and restructuring the Noxian High Command, the majority of which he personally did. Is Darius satisfied with Noxus' current political climate, or is there still work to be done? And if he is, then what would "phase two" of realizing his vision be?

This depends on the verse, to be honest: 

In the main verse, yes, Darius is quite satisfied with where Noxus is and where it’s heading. He believes it’s leaps and bounds more progressive than it was under Darkwill. Swain doesn’t hide behind fortress walls, and can outwit just about any enemy. he doesn’t make rash decisions and everything is calculated and precise. Noxus’ growing dominion isn’t fast, but when they do look to expand now, they succeed. Darius is a patient man, he simply has no patience for mediocrity or idiocy. Currently, there is no phase 2. Not until they’re ready to take out Demacia, or Targon.

In my AU with @caedispia, yes Darius was satisfied with where Noxus was going. However, some new information from Katarina reveals things aren’t quite what he believed they were. Swain isn’t just working with the Black Rose, he’s one of them, and not only has Darius been used, but he’s been in the dark about much more than he thought, both from the past, and for things to come. To him, this puts Noxus in jeopardy, as he no longer knows what Swain’s true ambitions are. Phase 2 here is most likely going to entail a major government toppling and rebuilding, and it’s not going to be easy to accomplish.

After Corypheus is defeated, Adaar sends out a message to Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth all over Thedas. They arrives in dozens, then hundreds, people who were always feared and vilified for choosing their own path. The Vashoth get their own home, a chance to live without being hated for their horns, their height, their skin.

So many fill the halls of Skyhold that they begin to expand, forming a village around the fortress’ walls. The humans, dwarves and elves of the Inquisition are skeptical at first but grow to trust them, sharing drinks and stories with them. 

The first Vashoth minstrels struggle to find their own songs. They may play Qunari war drums, but their songs speak of peace, freedom, and the Inquisitor. Emerging Vashoth cuisine mostly consists of sweet desserts, an indulgence that few of them had been able to afford in the past. 

Qunlat is passed down the generations, but no one is called basra anymore. The other races are friends, are kadan.

Today In Dwarf Fortress I continued to build my first big fortress project, codename “THE VAULT”. In essence, it’s a supposedly impenetrable fortress inside of the fortress complete with multiple walls and floodgates. Each layer has it’s on guard garrison, complement of war dogs, catapults, and ballistae.

To make things better, it’s built on top of an aquifer layer, so if things get heated, I can just flood the fort in a bid of mutually assured destruction against my invader.

I can’t wait to see how it fails spectacularly.

flickr

Le Temps des Forteresses by Shade Ows
Via Flickr:
Château de Trécesson, Campénéac - Morbihan - Bretagne, France.

She built a wall, a fortress so high
That keeps her a prisoner of her own mind
So on days she couldn’t glimpse the sun
Please don’t tell her just to get out and get about
Because darling, I assure you
She doesn’t know how to escape
This lonely castle she built
Out of her own tears, cuts, and howl of anguish
Where hidden doors are called Happiness
And keys are called Prozac
Or sometimes the usual,
‘It’s just in your mind.’
—  cynthia go // A collection of tears [61/365]

probably a candid photo taken by another merc (probably dadspy)

Siege

Summary: Yoongi was haunted by dreams, and it was becoming increasingly hard to focus when all he wanted to do was reach out for you.

WARNINGS: death, fire, burns, weirdness, terrible writing, I don’t even know 


“Yoongi!!” He held onto your hand like he would never let it go, even as the stone walls around the two of you shook and dusted debris across your forms as you ran down the long winding hallways of what used to be your castle–the siege had taken that from you. The attack from the middle kingdom had destroyed your people, the town, the village, the fortress walls, and now the castle walls; it had taken your title as princess, your home, your friends, and eventually, when they managed to break through the guard, your father. The delicate purple gown that had suited you so well as princess was now ripped and burned from the fragments and ashes of the attack, your hair scattered and spilling down from your handmaiden Lyra’s carefully done up-do. The warmth of the fire that spread up from the base of the castle heated the air and beaded sweat across every inch of your skin. Even though it was only your kingdom, it felt like the entire world was on fire–but you were in that burning castle, and since you were Yoongi’s entire world, his universe was bursting into flames.

“We’re not going to make it!” You shouted over the screams, the clomping of boots, and the shrieks of horses and the bleating of sheep.

“We’re almost there, Y/N! Just a little bit further!” Yoongi threw the words over his shoulder, clinging to your hand tighter as if that could make the horrors of your new reality any easier to digest. The two of you clamored towards the open window at the end of the hall–your only hope for escape since the stairs had long since been blown to a pile of rubble. Yoongi gripped the stone ledge, ready to swing his leg over the edge and catapult the both of you into safety when your hand slipped from his as the floor beneath your feet tilted dangerously to the side.

You could only watch him with glassy eyes, the tile cracking and splitting open beneath your feet as your body tipped backwards and down. The flames licked at your dress, kissing your skin and eating you whole–gone, forever. He couldn’t even scream your name; the fire sucked all the air from his lungs, his heart shattering long before the stone crushed him amongst the burning shatters of your kingdom.

Keep reading

A court in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico, outside the Spanish fortress walls. The observation point has a view of the hoops, as well as the ocean liner, heading out to sea. 

There were plenty of courts in Puerto Rico, many of them, like the courts in the Philppines, covered by gigantic corrugated iron roofs. This one was slippery from a tropical rain.

It’s a sad testament to how much I have slipped as a hoops maven that I didn’t even bring my shoes to Puerto Rico. And we were there four whole days…