meg-moira:

writing-prompt-s:

“May you have a life of safety and peace”, said the witch, cursing the bloodthirsty warrior.

The words of the slain hold tremendous power.

It’s why any sensible warrior is a master of swift endings. Such as an arrow through the eye or a clean separation of head from shoulders. In a pinch, a slit throat will do. Though it really is best to avoid giving your enemy the chance to make even garbled curses out of their last bloody breaths. For even those without the slightest touch of magic have been known to make a curse stick if it’s uttered on the cold brink of death.

Eindred the Bloody collected curses in the same way that other warriors collected scars. Even in the wild chaos of battle, he was known to take a knee, pressing his ear to a felled enemy’s laboring lips.

May your every loved one die screaming in pain.

I hope you die with your eyes stabbed out and your heart in your hands.

You will never know happiness.

Your existence will be suffering.

May your greatest enemy rise from the grave and never leave you alone.

The last was his most recent curse, and Eindred wondered if it meant some great murdered brute was tracing his steps, waiting to catch him while he slept.

Eindred crossed the peninsula with a company of barbaric warriors, gaining a new curse from every enemy he felled. Not all of them would stick, he knew. But some undoubtedly would. And he would deserve every one.

Others in his company treated him with to wary, sidelong glances, because surely it was dangerous to travel with one so cursed as he. But Eindred was a force in battle, relentless and unstoppable as an icy winter gale, and so they swallowed their complaints, and contented themselves with leaving a wide berth on either side of his scarred, patchwork arms.

Eindred was marching at the back of the company when they came upon the village. It was a collection of squat, wooden homes tucked beneath a snow capped mountainside. From thatched rooftops, wisps of smoke from cooking fires rose, painting the blue sky in pale, meandering strokes. 

This company tended to leave such settlements alone, and Eindred was glad for it. No warriors would be found in tiny mountainside villages, and though he might live to fight, he had no interest in wholesale slaughter. 

This time, however, the company leader – a silent, brutish man, held up a hand.

Their company was running low on food, it turned out, and even from a distance, the warriors could see the village’s sheep – a trail of white spots on the green hillside.

Eindred was disappointed when, ultimately, violence erupted in the quiet village, though he did not lay down his thick handled blade.

The shepherd boy had refused to give up his master’s sheep, and when he shouted, a blacksmith had burst from his home, wielding a great hammer in his hand. 

The battle was short. 

When all was done, four lay dead. The shepherd, the blacksmith, and two young men who’d foolishly taken up crude wooden spears. The rest of the villagers huddled, terrified in their homes. The warriors expected to slaughter the sheep with no further trouble, but when they turned back to the field, an individual stood blocking their way.

His hair was dark – as the hair in these parts tended to be, and his face was sharp, both nose and cheeks splattered with freckles. Golden eyes beheld the warriors, and he watched them with a steady, measured gaze. Without the slightest hint of fear, he stood before them, his simple robe fluttering in the icy mountain’s breath, and said: “These are simple people. They have little in way of money or goods. It wasn’t for nothing that the shepherd, blacksmith, and teenagers died. They need these sheep. And I cannot allow you to take them.”

The other warriors in the company laughed at the young man’s foolishness – for that was what it looked like to them. Eindred did not laugh, however. Though the stranger’s voice was light, the air stirred around him. 

It was rare to encounter one who commanded magics. Rare – but not impossible. And so Eindred alone was unsurprised when the young man turned his golden eyes to the heavens and summoned great branches of lightning which cleaved the skies above them. The world erupted and the men around Eindred screamed.

Eindred, who’d expected something like this, had already begun running. 

Later, he would think it odd that the witch hadn’t bothered to move. But in the heat of battle, with lightning splitting the field at his back, Eindred’s attention had narrowed to the rough point of his blade – and then, the crimson place where it pierced the witch’s chest.

The skies silenced as Eindred pulled the wet, crimson blade free of its target. 

It took just a moment for the witch to fall, but in that single, infinite moment, Eindred was subjected to the full weight of that golden gaze.

Legs folding beneath him, the witch crumpled, collapsing back onto the wild, wet grass. Eindred knelt beside him, grimly eager to hear the curse and be done with it. Surely a curse at the lips of one so powerful as this would finally bring an end to things? 

To take one’s own life was an unspeakably shameful end for a warrior such as he. But a curse? Well, one couldn’t help how the wrong curse might speed things along.

The witch’s black hair was damp from the dew in the grass, and when he turned, it stuck to the side of his face and neck. His mouth opened and closed. Holding his breath, Eindred leaned in.

“-my hut…it’s just past…the next hill over,” the witch whispered. “In it, I keep medicines and herbs. For the villagers. And travelers who pass.”

Eindred shook his head. He didn’t understand.

Impossibly, the witch smiled. When he lifted a hand, Eindred twitched, expecting to be struck.

The witch’s bloodied finger, however, did nothing more than tap his chest. And then, in a wet, rattling breath, the witch, with his great power finally spoke his curse. 

“May you live a life of safety and peace.” 

Eindred sat, his thick, scarred knuckles braced in the dirt as the cold mountain wind whistled down the hillside at his back.

“What?” he whispered. 

But the young man’s golden eyes were blank and empty, and the other warriors lay dead in the field. Only the relentless wind snapped and whistled in answer.

Eindred left.

Within a month, he’d joined up with another company. And it soon became clear  the witch’s death rattle had been a curse of great power indeed. For wherever Eindred traveled, peace inevitably followed. Enemy warriors surrendered and when they didn’t, members within Eindred’s own company had sudden changes of heart. As for Eindred himself, not a single person would raise a blade against him, and Eindred had never been the sort who could raise his own blade against one who had no wish to fight.

And so for another month he wandered, hapless, without even the dark purpose of collecting curses which had driven him for the last several years. 

He’d been raised with a sword in his hand, brought up knowing full well that his job in life would be to cut short the existence of any who stood against him. Not even thirty, and his soul was exhausted, worn ragged by such an life. And so, he’d sought a way out if it. Eindred had accumulated a terrifying number of curses – curses which would surely have felled lesser men than he. Before everything had gone wrong in the tiny village, he’d been sure it was only a matter of time before they overcame him.

But now, the witch’s single curse had overpowered them all.

Eindred was safer than he’d ever been in his life. He’d never known such a quiet, terrible peace. 

After another month, he returned to the mountainside village. He didn’t have any good reason to return – other than perhaps the distant hope that a villager’s rage might be enough to overcome the curse. As he climbed the grassy hillside, he resigned himself to potential death by club or rake.

Keep reading


Tags:

#storytime #fun with loopholes #death tw #murder cw #violence cw

agoddamn:

I still want to write the fic where an outsider has all these preconceptions about what the Force is and then goes into a room with a bunch of Jedi who are tearing into each other like bitchy old academics.

“Ooh, look at Master Structuralist over here with his ever-so-deep ‘everything is attachment actually’ reading”

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who calls every new opinion ‘new depths of their relationship with the Force’”

“The Jedi Order is a social construct–”

“Could you stuff the po-mo and pick up a book once in a while? These aren’t new ideas! You are not a pioneer because you asked one question!”

“I think you could all benefit on more reflection on how our rooting in the Force is actually deeply sexual–”

“If I have to hear one more word about lightsabers being penis envy you are going to be one with the Force immediately.”

 

gershwyndl:

#I’m 100% into this and want annual conferences about the force and what it means to be a jedi#everyone keep asking very passive-aggressive questions after every presentations#at one point a lecturer says ‘I know this because the Force told me so’ instead of listing their sources and the whole room groans#a scholar who isn’t force-sensitive shows up and half of the jedi are like ‘who even is this guy’#a LOT of rage is being released in the force at the same time#the only moment everyone in the room makes an appreciative noise is when the lunch break is announced#a huge debate blows up during the break because someone mentions it could be good to invite a nightsister next year#someone storms off mumbling about heresy and not taking part in this debacle @obiwanobi

yes please I need more jedi symposiums with knights who had different views than consulars who have different views than shadows. Temple-centered jedi versus those who lead frequent diplomatic or medical missions versus exploratory and research jedi who spend most of their time in uninhabited wild space and the outer rim.

There is absolutely no way an organization that large doesn’t have factions that understand the force differently–my 15-person philosophy class couldn’t agree on a single thing we read all term.

 

korben600:

Anakin shows up once, pulls up his PowerPoint and it just says “I am the Chosen One.”

The room immediately turns into chaos.

 

maulusque:

dear god why would you leave this in the tags

#Obi wan was pissed that his past presentation on Jedi/Mandalorian cultural parallelism was laughed out#so he put Anakin up to it just to send the room into a tailspin#Anakin LOVED it#he got to sword fight an eighty year old snake#and force chuck a dude into a wall#he officially never misses one of these anymore#every year he just goes up and says the most controversial thing he can to get the room to riot#the year after its ‘the more midichlorians you have the closer you are to the force’#he almost got stabbed by an old monk from the far side of dantooine#for that one#the council keeps letting him speak because it’s way less embarrassing to blame the fights on Skywalker#than admit everyone at an academic conference wants to murder each other#they did get a Nightsister to come to the conference btw#it was very enlightening and everyone liked her#the problem was that Anakin’s presentation that year was#‘master/student bonds are no different than lovers bonds in the force’#and#the Nightsister took REAL offense to that#Anakin is like 30% sure he got cursed#totally worth it for the look on Obi-Wan’s face tho#the Nightsister came back the next year#she brought friends!#they’re not sure if she did that because they were interested in the academics or if she wanted backup to beat the shit out of Anakin#but the council likes both cases#so they see this as an absolute win!

 

ellie-you-idiot:

Yoda was banned and no one will talk about why

 

willowcrowned:

It happened six hundred years ago so no one knows but theories range from “he ate all the snacks” to “he personally instigated a duel meant to settle whether channeling the force through combat meditation is more effective than through regular meditation but the duel got out of hand and everyone but him lost at least one limb”

the truth is that he was never actually banned, he’s just been saying it so he doesn’t have to go. he started all the rumors himself

 

theforceisstronginthegirl:

After Mortis anakin’s presentation is just standing ahsoka on stage solid 5 minutes and then as she’s rolling her eyes and about to hop off Morai flies past a window and anakin clicks to the next slide and it just says “the bird is the light side and it’s stalking my padawan”

 

hyperewok1:

0a7d957cde120dc2e23c7c8b1506d65c0a3cf479

Tags:

#Star Wars #story ideas I will never write #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #violence cw #murder cw

plasmaturian:

herzspalter:

Transformers has a lot of quotable lines, especially from the animated movie, but “I’ve heard it said that we only gain wisdom through suffering, and tonight I intend to make you very wise” is so fucking raw and needs more appreciation


Tags:

#Transformers #quotes #violence cw #I assume someone has already added this to that thread of surprisingly good quotes

rustingbridges:

adhoption:

argumate:

yvfu:

is there any way I can hurt google?

okay I’ll bite, what’s google

no, biting won’t do it

actually, biting random googlers on sight probably would do something


Tags:

#violence cw #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog #(we here at Brinens and Things do not endorse biting Google employees) #(it’s unsanitary)

Inktober #25: Tasty

alarajrogers:

alarawriting:

This is set in the same universe as #5: Build, but features a completely different species and set of characters.


Rrahe’nek stared at the tiny, coatless creature looking up at him, its teeth bared but its digits bereft of weapons. Instead, there was a rich-smelling ceramic dish in its hands, hot, steaming and wrapped in a cloth. It spoke incomprehensibly.

He had come here expecting a battle. Hoping. The newest species to enter galactic territory was a protégé of the Diwar, and Rrahe’nek despised the feathered ones. They were arrogant, but pathetic. Their weapons were superb, no one denied that, but their warriors were cowards, planting bombs and running away. Rrahe’nek had heard that their proteges had far inferior technology, were smaller, and had no natural physical weapons. Either they were the weakest prey-sapients the Kai had ever encountered, or they had ferocious battle techniques to make up for their biological inadequacies. When one had come alone toward the Kai encampment, Rrahe’nek had been delighted, assuming it was the second option. He had come out alone himself to meet the alien warrior in battle, take its measure… and defeat it, of course, no aliens had ever defeated a Kai warrior in single combat, but the contest would be exhilarating before Rrahe’nek won it in the end.

Instead, here he was faced with a small alien with a curled mane, but no fur elsewhere on its body, holding out what smelled like a dish of cooked food.

He poked his tongue into the bead at the back of his mouth that activated his voder as a communicator. “Warrior Fifth Rank Rrahe’nek to den.”

“Den here, Warrior Fifth. Heat signature says you’re in range of the alien, but have not engaged?”

“That’s correct. It – it seems to be trying to give me food.

A moment of silence. Then, “What.”

“Its teeth are bared, but it has no weapons, it’s made no threatening moves, it isn’t running away, and it’s trying to hand me a dish that smells like fish.”

“Hold position. We’re getting eyes on your location.”

“Acknowledged.”

Keep reading

Reblogged from writing blog.


Tags:

#storytime #aliens #food #violence cw

neornithes:

also can we take a moment to think of solok, baby vulcan cadet at Starfleet Academy, who tried to study illogical human bonding rituals and somehow got into a twenty-year academically documented feud with sisko? he was probably doing an assignment for his vulcan professor of xenocultural studies. “go and study human bonding rituals”, they told him. “you will be spending a great deal of time with humans, it is necessary to understand the illogical ways in which they function”. that’s logical, cadet solok thinks. i will go to the human establishment called “bar” and attempt to study human bonding rituals.

the next day he hands in his assignment: “human cadets became hostile when told the goal of our study. they had imbibed large quantities of poisonous psychoactive liquids and had poor coordination and diction. cadet sisko challenged me to a wrestling match. when it was pointed out that i had no cause to fight him, and am physiologically superior to humans, he responded ‘suck it’. request for clarification was met with obscenity. in the interest of cultural understanding, i agreed to fight him, and defeated him fairly. when it was pointed out to him that i had foreseen this result, he responded with uncorroborated insults to my parental units. i believe this was a human bonding ritual. it is possible we are now bonded; further studies to follow.”

solok has been studying sisko for twenty years, he’s written a dozen papers. he probably got a grant from the vulcan science academy to show up at DS9 and piss sisko off as much as possible and document the results. his work is probably mandatory reading for first-year vulcans at starfleet academy. “The Effect of Chemical Intoxicants on Human Hostility: When Avoiding A Bar Fight Becomes Impossible” is the most-accessed study in vulcan psychological literature. “human refused to stop trying to fight me” is a recognized mitigating circumstance in disciplinary hearings for vulcan cadets. solok is considered a xenocultural pioneer. he hopes one day sisko will punch him in the face; what a fascinating data point that would make. 


Tags:

#I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog #Star Trek #DS9 #headcanons #violence cw

inqwatch asked: How did the sharing ever explain all their people getting horrific scars from hawks, losing limbs, and the general destruction tied to their efforts? I can accept that a lot of losses were Hork-Bajir and Taxxons, but we get a lot of descriptions of Tobias going for the eyes.

thejakeformerlyknownasprince:

Look.  Meetings of the Sharing apparently involve a lot of volleyball, as we know from mentions in #1, #10, Visser, and #31.

Volleyball is a dangerous sport.  Volleyball injuries happen.  Volleyball accidents frequently result in severed limbs.  We know this from the dozens — no, hundreds — of recorded cases of this exact phenomenon occurring, almost all of them in one town in Southern California.  Statisticians have hypothesized that this may have to do with the extent to which one particular local organization uses regional variations on the standard rules of volleyball, but all attempts at participant observation have resulted in the social scientists who joined the Sharing abruptly dropping the project and going in new directions with their lives.

Currently, warning labels on volleyball equipment indicate that its use has a 15% chance of resulting in serious injury and/or death.  Factoid is actually a statistical error.  The Sharing’s inter-chapter volleyball league, which loses an average of 41.7% of its members per month to volleyball-related amputations and murders, is an outlier and should not have been counted.

 

zarohk:

“social scientists who joined the Sharing”

That sounds like an excellent way to live in a constant state of terror and fascination; being a human social scientist who is infested and watching the mess that is the Visserarchy from terrifyingly close, and thinking that that either you’ll either never be able to share your findings (if you die or the Yeerks win), or be at the edge of any entirely new edge of social science.

 

thejakeformerlyknownasprince:

This is basically my entire life.  Too accurate.  Make it stop.

 

derinthemadscientist:

Imagine being a yeerk inside a newly captured social scientist watching them passively eviscerate every aspect of your primitive 30-year-old military culture down to its component parts, every conclusion basically being “these guys suck at everything they’re doing and are struggling desperately to make sure their underlings don’t realise that”

<Stop it! Stop thinking! Stop trying to shake my loyalty!>

<I can’t! This is what I was trained to do! You don’t like it, stop reading my mind!>

<I CAN’T!>

*Visser Three starts speaking*

<And this one’s intimidation tactics have gone far, far beyond useful and are greatly crippling his own forces; not sure yet whether it’s pure unchecked sadism or insecurity and distraction as a result of – >

<SHUT UP!!>

 

sarifel-corrisafid-ilxhel:

“VISSER I NEED A NEW HOST, THIS ONE IS BROKEN.”

<It sounds like you’re the broken one.>

“PUH-LEEEAAAASSSSEEEE, I’M BEGGING YOU! I’LL EVEN GO IN A TAXXON OR GEDD, JUST MAKE IT STOP!”

 

a-k-a-l–t-y-n:

post war someone is going to have an amazing dissertation “Perverse incentives in authoritarian systems, a first(ish) person case study”


Tags:

#Animorphs #fanfic #violence cw #death tw #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(the newly captured social scientist) #my past self has good taste