I'm still around. My moving situation has been nothing but a headache for two weeks now. Hopefully, I can post by the end of the weekend.
Mao Mao
Member
Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)
-
Last Seen:
0-24 hrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 2342 (0.74 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Mao Mao 5 yrs ago
- █████████ 6 yrs ago
- ███████████ 9 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
AlteredTundra,
mickilennial,
AndyC,
Sep,
Roman,
Half Pint,
Supermaxx,
mattmanganon,
Izurich,
Simple Unicycle
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
Rewriting it...
Most Recent Posts
@Mao Mao Just curious, but what are the odds of Batman intervening with a quest mission that Slades has in Gotham?
I'd feel like it'd be kinda too early for a day-zero/week-one Batman to be facing off Slade (because he's kinda weak as fuck atm).
the birth of a myth in a city of despair.
BATMAN PLAYLIST
BATMAN
OTISBURG
FIRST FLIGHT - A COUP DE MAIN
Isabel Gálvez felt at ease when she clocked out after a long day assisting affluent customers as a sales clerk for a high-end store in Otisburg, just a stone's throw from the newly erected WayneCorp Stadium. But the bittersweet truth was that the high-tech stadium now stood where her neighborhood once thrived, pulsating with life and love. The predominantly Hispanic community had already been grappling with gentrification from opportunistic landlords and a volatile housing market when the city swooped in, buying up the land and providing compensation to residents forced to leave. However, the money received was only sufficient to move to another low-income neighborhood, which also was struggling with rapid gentrification. Many of her old neighbors ended up moving to The Hill, while those with large families or considered the underclass were left with no choice but to move to East End, The Bowery, or The Narrows—the neglected neighborhoods of Gotham.
It was fortunate for Isabel that she had enough money saved for a rainy day to afford a cheap apartment in The Hill. Soon after, she found employment at the high-end store nestled in a retail center that replaced a beloved diner, which had been a fixture in the neighborhood for generations. Now, it was where she had to deal with snobbish, rude customers who had no qualms about flaunting their wealth. At least the paychecks were decent enough to make it worthwhile sticking around.
She said goodnight to her manager and started walking to the subway station close by. But what was supposed to be a ten-minute walk would turn into a terrifying encounter as someone came from behind and pressed a knife against her neck.
"Shh, stay quiet, or things will get real messy." The commanding masculine voice carried an air of strength even in its hushed tone. His firm grip on Isabel made it impossible to break free herself. And the glint of the sharp blade was more than enough reason to obey. The figure spoke again with authority, "Now, you and I will go inside and have ourselves a little chat about your workplace. That alright with you?"
Isabel knew she had no other choice but to comply. If she had been directly confronted, she might have just run back to the store, praying the manager was still there, or even reached for the pepper spray sashed in her purse. Unfortunately, its contents had spilled out on the concrete sidewalk along with her phone. And she dreaded that any sudden movements on her part could easily prove fatal. So, she nodded to his demand; her terror was made very apparent. The aggressor relievedly sighed before dagging her to the entrance of a recently shuttered store. Isabel took a moment to survey the quiet street ahead, a chilling realization dawning on her that this night could be her last, with so much left unfinished. The gravity of the situation overwhelmed her, and she began to weep in the stifling silence, which only infuriated the attacker. "What did I say about making any noises?" He sneered, getting ready to use his blade. "Looks like I'll have to give you a little warning."
All of a sudden, the sound of shattering glass jolted them, and she felt the assailant's grip loosen ever so slightly. This was her chance. Without hesitation, she stomped on the assailant's foot with all her might, using her pointed heels to dig in very deep. And with a yelp, she managed to break free and dropped to her knees, desperately crawling to her purse. Frantically rummaging through it, she searched for the pepper spray until a bloodcurdling scream interrupted her efforts, followed by an eerie silence. Startled, she found the spray and spun around with it in hand to use, only to find no one there; the aggressor had seemingly vanished into thin air, leaving behind only his pocket knife and scattered shards of glass in his wake. As she rose from the ground and took in the scene, she noticed the shattered glass door and heard faint groans coming from inside amid the sounds of a struggle.
Isabel couldn't make out what was happening inside, and frankly, she wasn't too concerned about the wellbeing of her attacker. Yet, for a fleeting moment, she caught sight of the creature perched on him; its ominous silhouette and bat-like appearance sent her running back to the store, heedless of her purse and its contents still on the ground. As she ran, Isabel spotted her manager in the parking lot, just about to get into his car. She called out to him, and thankfully, he heard her.
"Isabel, are you alright?! What on earth happened to you?" The manager hurried over to her, concern etched on his face.
"I was attacked." Isabel gasped for breath and then looked back, the image of the creature still vivid in her mind. Yet, when the authorities came, she found herself at a loss of words to rightfully describe it. Her assailant's incoherent ramblings about "a bloodthirsty monster" only deepened the confusion. So when pressed for further details, she mustered the courage to recount the harrowing experience in full detail from the start and chose to finish with: "But a bat saved me."
It was fortunate for Isabel that she had enough money saved for a rainy day to afford a cheap apartment in The Hill. Soon after, she found employment at the high-end store nestled in a retail center that replaced a beloved diner, which had been a fixture in the neighborhood for generations. Now, it was where she had to deal with snobbish, rude customers who had no qualms about flaunting their wealth. At least the paychecks were decent enough to make it worthwhile sticking around.
She said goodnight to her manager and started walking to the subway station close by. But what was supposed to be a ten-minute walk would turn into a terrifying encounter as someone came from behind and pressed a knife against her neck.
"Shh, stay quiet, or things will get real messy." The commanding masculine voice carried an air of strength even in its hushed tone. His firm grip on Isabel made it impossible to break free herself. And the glint of the sharp blade was more than enough reason to obey. The figure spoke again with authority, "Now, you and I will go inside and have ourselves a little chat about your workplace. That alright with you?"
Isabel knew she had no other choice but to comply. If she had been directly confronted, she might have just run back to the store, praying the manager was still there, or even reached for the pepper spray sashed in her purse. Unfortunately, its contents had spilled out on the concrete sidewalk along with her phone. And she dreaded that any sudden movements on her part could easily prove fatal. So, she nodded to his demand; her terror was made very apparent. The aggressor relievedly sighed before dagging her to the entrance of a recently shuttered store. Isabel took a moment to survey the quiet street ahead, a chilling realization dawning on her that this night could be her last, with so much left unfinished. The gravity of the situation overwhelmed her, and she began to weep in the stifling silence, which only infuriated the attacker. "What did I say about making any noises?" He sneered, getting ready to use his blade. "Looks like I'll have to give you a little warning."
All of a sudden, the sound of shattering glass jolted them, and she felt the assailant's grip loosen ever so slightly. This was her chance. Without hesitation, she stomped on the assailant's foot with all her might, using her pointed heels to dig in very deep. And with a yelp, she managed to break free and dropped to her knees, desperately crawling to her purse. Frantically rummaging through it, she searched for the pepper spray until a bloodcurdling scream interrupted her efforts, followed by an eerie silence. Startled, she found the spray and spun around with it in hand to use, only to find no one there; the aggressor had seemingly vanished into thin air, leaving behind only his pocket knife and scattered shards of glass in his wake. As she rose from the ground and took in the scene, she noticed the shattered glass door and heard faint groans coming from inside amid the sounds of a struggle.
Isabel couldn't make out what was happening inside, and frankly, she wasn't too concerned about the wellbeing of her attacker. Yet, for a fleeting moment, she caught sight of the creature perched on him; its ominous silhouette and bat-like appearance sent her running back to the store, heedless of her purse and its contents still on the ground. As she ran, Isabel spotted her manager in the parking lot, just about to get into his car. She called out to him, and thankfully, he heard her.
"Isabel, are you alright?! What on earth happened to you?" The manager hurried over to her, concern etched on his face.
"I was attacked." Isabel gasped for breath and then looked back, the image of the creature still vivid in her mind. Yet, when the authorities came, she found herself at a loss of words to rightfully describe it. Her assailant's incoherent ramblings about "a bloodthirsty monster" only deepened the confusion. So when pressed for further details, she mustered the courage to recount the harrowing experience in full detail from the start and chose to finish with: "But a bat saved me."
Okay, I might have gotten a little overboard with that intro post...
BATMAN
THE BOWERY
FIRST FLIGHT - THE IRISH SURPRISE
There wasn't much to do stuck in a car being the assigned lookout besides being on one's phone. That was what Seán Dillon was doing during this rather dull night. With his newly acquired driver's license in hand a few weeks after his birthday, the sixteen-year-old was now behind the wheel of a shitty beat-up car from the early 2000s. He was admittedly anxiously hoping that everything would proceed smoothly and he'd receive his payment without any issues. Not that he was worried because the Sullivans were genuinely honorable and cared for the whole neighborhood, even though to their enemies, they were a ruthless crime family. Plus, the local police often turned a blind eye to their activities if given the right incentives.
Seán happened to look away from his phone when he saw something appearing from the corner of his eye. At first, he thought it might have been someone enjoying the night air from a nearby rooftop. That was until it leaped off the building and unfurled its fucking wings. He knew for a fact that it was too huge to be an ordinary pigeon or any other bird he could think of on the spot. He was so filled with dread as the creature drew nearer, uncertain whether it would crash into his car and unleash its fury upon him. To his surprise, however, it veered towards the warehouse ahead, crashing through the window with an earth-shattering bang. No doubt, the guys inside heard it, which meant the whatever-it-was didn't have long before facing a barrage of bullets. These guys were always armed to the teeth, ready for any trouble the other families might stir up in the neighborhood. It would have been a shock if they were unarmed this entire time.
Suddenly, two single sharp "pops" rang out, like an answer to the doubts; they were the unmistakable sound of gunshots. Seán froze for a second and hesitated on the spot, unsure whether to start the car and be ready to make a quick escape. But after a long minute of eerie silence, the neighborhood fell quiet, and he finally let out a long sigh of relief, letting himself sink back into the car seat. Eagerly, he turned to his phone, ready to lose himself in its glow and forget about that crea-
A series of gunshots rang out abruptly, jolting Seán into dropping his phone in panic. More shots followed, accompanied by shouts from the building, making it very clear that something terrible was happening inside. At that moment, his mind began to race to the creature from earlier, wondering if it was behind the chaos unfolding. Then, the sound of his ringtone interrupted the train of thought; he let out a yelp and clutched his chest in surprise. Seán frantically reached for his phone amidst the clutter on the car floor and hastily answered it. He steadied himself with a deep breath before speaking, his voice trembling, "Y-yes?"
"Get the car fucking ready to go, lad!" The voice with a thick Irish accent on the other end of the line belonged to Tomás Roche, his uncle who worked for the Sullivans and had promised the payout. "Pat and I will be heading out shortly."
"What the fuck's happening?!" Seán demanded, growing increasingly worried as he received no reply. He reached for the car keys in the ignition, trying to ignore the tremble in his hands caused by nerves. But as he was about to twist the keys around, the doors burst open violently, and Tomás ran towards him in a panic, still clutching his pistol tightly. He desperately yanked the car door open and threw himself inside, refusing to glance away from the warehouse. Only then did he realize the car hadn't even started, causing him to snap his head towards Seán, fear widening his eyes. His uncle's face was entirely pale and drenched in sweat, a sight he had never seen before, made worse by the panic in his voice.
"START IT, AMADÁN! BEFORE THAT BEAST COMES OUT OF THERE!"
Seán's knuckles whitened on the keys, and with a twist, the car roared to life, its headlights blazing into the night. In that instant, the lights illuminated the creature menacingly standing in the middle of the street, its piercing white eyes locked onto them. He was paralyzed with fear, not knowing what the hell to do, and unaware that Tomás was yelling at him to run the creature over. But instead, he yanked the gearstick into reverse, slamming the clutch with all his might. The thing remained still, its gaze filled with such sheer hatred and vitriol. Seán's breathing intensified at the thought of it getting closer; he couldn't tear his eyes away, afraid that it might disappear at any giv-
He slammed into a light pole hard, his head snapping back against the headrest before everything went black.
His ears were still ringing, and his vision was blurry when he finally came to. Seán had no clue how long he had been out but quickly reasoned it hadn't been but only a few minutes since it was still dark. As he tried to pull himself together, he suddenly remembered that his uncle was in the car with him. He glanced over to check on him, but to his horror, the passenger seat was empty. The door was ajar precariously as if it was barely holding on. Seán yelled out his uncle's name and looked around without moving his head too much, realizing that the creature was already long gone; the darkness seemingly had consumed him whole. His heart was pounding, still calling out for his uncle even as his throat was getting sore. Then, as if to silence him, something came crashing down on the hood of the wrecked car. But it wasn't clear who or what it was until a whimper filled the air, speaking in his mother tongue:
"Fair Lord, I pray to you concerning my excesses and deficiencies: grant me forgiveness here for my misdeeds, my ignorance."
Uncle Tomás continued to repeatedly murmur the prayer of repentance as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Seán watched helplessly, tears streaming down his face, rendered speechless by the whole ordeal. Both of them were the creature's first prey, and its rampage through the underworld of Gotham City had only just begun on that fateful night. And all the while, those who hid their wickedness within the light remained oblivious to the monster lurking in the shadows.
Seán happened to look away from his phone when he saw something appearing from the corner of his eye. At first, he thought it might have been someone enjoying the night air from a nearby rooftop. That was until it leaped off the building and unfurled its fucking wings. He knew for a fact that it was too huge to be an ordinary pigeon or any other bird he could think of on the spot. He was so filled with dread as the creature drew nearer, uncertain whether it would crash into his car and unleash its fury upon him. To his surprise, however, it veered towards the warehouse ahead, crashing through the window with an earth-shattering bang. No doubt, the guys inside heard it, which meant the whatever-it-was didn't have long before facing a barrage of bullets. These guys were always armed to the teeth, ready for any trouble the other families might stir up in the neighborhood. It would have been a shock if they were unarmed this entire time.
Suddenly, two single sharp "pops" rang out, like an answer to the doubts; they were the unmistakable sound of gunshots. Seán froze for a second and hesitated on the spot, unsure whether to start the car and be ready to make a quick escape. But after a long minute of eerie silence, the neighborhood fell quiet, and he finally let out a long sigh of relief, letting himself sink back into the car seat. Eagerly, he turned to his phone, ready to lose himself in its glow and forget about that crea-
A series of gunshots rang out abruptly, jolting Seán into dropping his phone in panic. More shots followed, accompanied by shouts from the building, making it very clear that something terrible was happening inside. At that moment, his mind began to race to the creature from earlier, wondering if it was behind the chaos unfolding. Then, the sound of his ringtone interrupted the train of thought; he let out a yelp and clutched his chest in surprise. Seán frantically reached for his phone amidst the clutter on the car floor and hastily answered it. He steadied himself with a deep breath before speaking, his voice trembling, "Y-yes?"
"Get the car fucking ready to go, lad!" The voice with a thick Irish accent on the other end of the line belonged to Tomás Roche, his uncle who worked for the Sullivans and had promised the payout. "Pat and I will be heading out shortly."
"What the fuck's happening?!" Seán demanded, growing increasingly worried as he received no reply. He reached for the car keys in the ignition, trying to ignore the tremble in his hands caused by nerves. But as he was about to twist the keys around, the doors burst open violently, and Tomás ran towards him in a panic, still clutching his pistol tightly. He desperately yanked the car door open and threw himself inside, refusing to glance away from the warehouse. Only then did he realize the car hadn't even started, causing him to snap his head towards Seán, fear widening his eyes. His uncle's face was entirely pale and drenched in sweat, a sight he had never seen before, made worse by the panic in his voice.
"START IT, AMADÁN! BEFORE THAT BEAST COMES OUT OF THERE!"
Seán's knuckles whitened on the keys, and with a twist, the car roared to life, its headlights blazing into the night. In that instant, the lights illuminated the creature menacingly standing in the middle of the street, its piercing white eyes locked onto them. He was paralyzed with fear, not knowing what the hell to do, and unaware that Tomás was yelling at him to run the creature over. But instead, he yanked the gearstick into reverse, slamming the clutch with all his might. The thing remained still, its gaze filled with such sheer hatred and vitriol. Seán's breathing intensified at the thought of it getting closer; he couldn't tear his eyes away, afraid that it might disappear at any giv-
He slammed into a light pole hard, his head snapping back against the headrest before everything went black.
His ears were still ringing, and his vision was blurry when he finally came to. Seán had no clue how long he had been out but quickly reasoned it hadn't been but only a few minutes since it was still dark. As he tried to pull himself together, he suddenly remembered that his uncle was in the car with him. He glanced over to check on him, but to his horror, the passenger seat was empty. The door was ajar precariously as if it was barely holding on. Seán yelled out his uncle's name and looked around without moving his head too much, realizing that the creature was already long gone; the darkness seemingly had consumed him whole. His heart was pounding, still calling out for his uncle even as his throat was getting sore. Then, as if to silence him, something came crashing down on the hood of the wrecked car. But it wasn't clear who or what it was until a whimper filled the air, speaking in his mother tongue:
"Fair Lord, I pray to you concerning my excesses and deficiencies: grant me forgiveness here for my misdeeds, my ignorance."
Uncle Tomás continued to repeatedly murmur the prayer of repentance as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Seán watched helplessly, tears streaming down his face, rendered speechless by the whole ordeal. Both of them were the creature's first prey, and its rampage through the underworld of Gotham City had only just begun on that fateful night. And all the while, those who hid their wickedness within the light remained oblivious to the monster lurking in the shadows.
Hey, y'all, my intro post should be done pretty soon!
Nicholaus Lemaître
The speech given by the three senior Grey Wardens stirred up a wave of nostalgia within Nicholaus Lemaître. It reminded him of the time spent in the Inquisition, battling alongside comrades against hordes of demons for a just cause. A sense of purpose that abruptly was ripped away in the end, leaving behind a bittersweet taste. Now, though, Nicholaus found a new cause with the Grey Wardens—for the most part. Their usage of blood magic at Adamant Fortress was an indelible stain in its history, one that should never be easily forgotten.
And speaking of blood magic...
Warden Ashlea stood on the balcony, her silence palpable as the crowd below chanted in unison. Nicholaus cast a disapproving look her way, knowing all too well the dangers of gabbling in the forbidden magic. He had seen enough of the consequences of such a practice and firmly believed it should be prohibited. But instead, one of the senior wardens was a proud blood mage, unfathomable to him. Nicholaus tore his gaze away from the balcony and slipped back inside without anyone noticing just as the chanting came to an end. He thought he was in the clear until he heard his name being called by someone familiar, Arnoul Crépin. "Nicholaus. I see you're so keen on drinking the tap dry. I can't blame you, especially after hearing the plan," the Orlesian archer chuckled to himself.
Oh yeah, the plan to ultimately rid the world of the darkspawn once and for all. Nicholaus thought it crazy and desperate, but at least it didn't involve summoning another demon army. That was a plus. Though he didn't really leave the speech for that reason, it was the perfect excuse to use. Nicholaus threw his hands up in mock defeat, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know me too well. Anyone in my shoes would gladly drink til they're facedown on the floor."
Arnoul frowned, "You're part of the Pathfinder teams?"
"Yeah," whispered Nicholaus as he started walking towards the barrels of ale, reaching for a mug along the way. "The Senior Wardens are convinced that we can eradicate the Blight once and for all by sacrificing us to the slaughter."
"Well... at least it isn't like Adamant." Arnoul said, trying to lighten up the sour mood.
"I suppose so."' Nicholaus shrugged and then reached for his mug, pouring himself a drink from the barrel. "Still though, assault the fortress of an old god reeks of desperation."
Arnoul took the mug from him and replaced it with another, saying with a weak smile, "Well then, let us celebrate now and pray you live to fight another day." Nicholaus appreciated the gesture and gratefully accepted the chance for one last spirited festive. Even though a couple of darkspawn wouldn't easily take him down, he wasn't getting any younger with each passing season that slipped by. So, as the hall began to fill up, other wardens joined in what was supposed to be a private celebration. At first, Nicholaus was a little irked but soon found himself warming up to the lively atmosphere, enjoying the company more than he would have liked to admit. The idle chatter became a pleasant noise to lose himself in. And it was quite fitting for an old friend like Warden Arnoul to be by his side at this crucial moment more than ever. So, he will eat and drink til he's called over to join the chosen few on the perilous journey into the Deep Roads. Nicholaus took a long, bracing swing from the mug, hoping to quell the sense of dread within him.
And speaking of blood magic...
Warden Ashlea stood on the balcony, her silence palpable as the crowd below chanted in unison. Nicholaus cast a disapproving look her way, knowing all too well the dangers of gabbling in the forbidden magic. He had seen enough of the consequences of such a practice and firmly believed it should be prohibited. But instead, one of the senior wardens was a proud blood mage, unfathomable to him. Nicholaus tore his gaze away from the balcony and slipped back inside without anyone noticing just as the chanting came to an end. He thought he was in the clear until he heard his name being called by someone familiar, Arnoul Crépin. "Nicholaus. I see you're so keen on drinking the tap dry. I can't blame you, especially after hearing the plan," the Orlesian archer chuckled to himself.
Oh yeah, the plan to ultimately rid the world of the darkspawn once and for all. Nicholaus thought it crazy and desperate, but at least it didn't involve summoning another demon army. That was a plus. Though he didn't really leave the speech for that reason, it was the perfect excuse to use. Nicholaus threw his hands up in mock defeat, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know me too well. Anyone in my shoes would gladly drink til they're facedown on the floor."
Arnoul frowned, "You're part of the Pathfinder teams?"
"Yeah," whispered Nicholaus as he started walking towards the barrels of ale, reaching for a mug along the way. "The Senior Wardens are convinced that we can eradicate the Blight once and for all by sacrificing us to the slaughter."
"Well... at least it isn't like Adamant." Arnoul said, trying to lighten up the sour mood.
"I suppose so."' Nicholaus shrugged and then reached for his mug, pouring himself a drink from the barrel. "Still though, assault the fortress of an old god reeks of desperation."
Arnoul took the mug from him and replaced it with another, saying with a weak smile, "Well then, let us celebrate now and pray you live to fight another day." Nicholaus appreciated the gesture and gratefully accepted the chance for one last spirited festive. Even though a couple of darkspawn wouldn't easily take him down, he wasn't getting any younger with each passing season that slipped by. So, as the hall began to fill up, other wardens joined in what was supposed to be a private celebration. At first, Nicholaus was a little irked but soon found himself warming up to the lively atmosphere, enjoying the company more than he would have liked to admit. The idle chatter became a pleasant noise to lose himself in. And it was quite fitting for an old friend like Warden Arnoul to be by his side at this crucial moment more than ever. So, he will eat and drink til he's called over to join the chosen few on the perilous journey into the Deep Roads. Nicholaus took a long, bracing swing from the mug, hoping to quell the sense of dread within him.
Nicholaus Lemaître
The speech given by the three senior Grey Wardens stirred up a wave of nostalgia within Nicholaus Lemaître. It reminded him of the time spent in the Inquisition, battling alongside comrades against hordes of demons for a just cause. A sense of purpose that abruptly was ripped away in the end, leaving behind a bittersweet taste. Now, though, Nicholaus found a new cause with the Grey Wardens—for the most part. Their usage of blood magic at Adamant Fortress was an indelible stain in its history, one that should never be easily forgotten.
And speaking of blood magic...
Warden Ashlea stood on the balcony, her silence palpable as the crowd below chanted in unison. Nicholaus cast a disapproving look her way, knowing all too well the dangers of gabbling in the forbidden magic. He had seen enough of the consequences of such a practice and firmly believed it should be prohibited. But instead, one of the senior wardens was a proud blood mage, unfathomable to him. Nicholaus tore his gaze away from the balcony and slipped back inside without anyone noticing just as the chanting came to an end. He thought he was in the clear until he heard his name being called by someone familiar, Arnoul Crépin. "Nicholaus. I see you're so keen on drinking the tap dry. I can't blame you, especially after hearing the plan," the Orlesian archer chuckled to himself.
Oh yeah, the plan to ultimately rid the world of the darkspawn once and for all. Nicholaus thought it crazy and desperate, but at least it didn't involve summoning another demon army. That was a plus. Though he didn't really leave the speech for that reason, it was the perfect excuse to use. Nicholaus threw his hands up in mock defeat, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know me too well. Anyone in my shoes would gladly drink til they're facedown on the floor."
Arnoul frowned, "You're part of the Pathfinder teams?"
"Yeah," whispered Nicholaus as he started walking towards the barrels of ale, reaching for a mug along the way. "The Senior Wardens are convinced that we can eradicate the Blight once and for all by sacrificing us to the slaughter."
"Well... at least it isn't like Adamant." Arnoul said, trying to lighten up the sour mood.
"I suppose so."' Nicholaus shrugged and then reached for his mug, pouring himself a drink from the barrel. "Still though, assault the fortress of an old god reeks of desperation."
Arnoul took the mug from him and replaced it with another, saying with a weak smile, "Well then, let us celebrate now and pray you live to fight another day." Nicholaus appreciated the gesture and gratefully accepted the chance for one last spirited festive. Even though a couple of darkspawn wouldn't easily take him down, he wasn't getting any younger with each passing season that slipped by. So, as the hall began to fill up, other wardens joined in what was supposed to be a private celebration. At first, Nicholaus was a little irked but soon found himself warming up to the lively atmosphere, enjoying the company more than he would have liked to admit. The idle chatter became a pleasant noise to lose himself in. And it was quite fitting for an old friend like Warden Arnoul to be by his side at this crucial moment more than ever. So, he will eat and drink til he's called over to join the chosen few on the perilous journey into the Deep Roads. Nicholaus took a long, bracing swing from the mug, hoping to quell the sense of dread within him.
And speaking of blood magic...
Warden Ashlea stood on the balcony, her silence palpable as the crowd below chanted in unison. Nicholaus cast a disapproving look her way, knowing all too well the dangers of gabbling in the forbidden magic. He had seen enough of the consequences of such a practice and firmly believed it should be prohibited. But instead, one of the senior wardens was a proud blood mage, unfathomable to him. Nicholaus tore his gaze away from the balcony and slipped back inside without anyone noticing just as the chanting came to an end. He thought he was in the clear until he heard his name being called by someone familiar, Arnoul Crépin. "Nicholaus. I see you're so keen on drinking the tap dry. I can't blame you, especially after hearing the plan," the Orlesian archer chuckled to himself.
Oh yeah, the plan to ultimately rid the world of the darkspawn once and for all. Nicholaus thought it crazy and desperate, but at least it didn't involve summoning another demon army. That was a plus. Though he didn't really leave the speech for that reason, it was the perfect excuse to use. Nicholaus threw his hands up in mock defeat, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know me too well. Anyone in my shoes would gladly drink til they're facedown on the floor."
Arnoul frowned, "You're part of the Pathfinder teams?"
"Yeah," whispered Nicholaus as he started walking towards the barrels of ale, reaching for a mug along the way. "The Senior Wardens are convinced that we can eradicate the Blight once and for all by sacrificing us to the slaughter."
"Well... at least it isn't like Adamant." Arnoul said, trying to lighten up the sour mood.
"I suppose so."' Nicholaus shrugged and then reached for his mug, pouring himself a drink from the barrel. "Still though, assault the fortress of an old god reeks of desperation."
Arnoul took the mug from him and replaced it with another, saying with a weak smile, "Well then, let us celebrate now and pray you live to fight another day." Nicholaus appreciated the gesture and gratefully accepted the chance for one last spirited festive. Even though a couple of darkspawn wouldn't easily take him down, he wasn't getting any younger with each passing season that slipped by. So, as the hall began to fill up, other wardens joined in what was supposed to be a private celebration. At first, Nicholaus was a little irked but soon found himself warming up to the lively atmosphere, enjoying the company more than he would have liked to admit. The idle chatter became a pleasant noise to lose himself in. And it was quite fitting for an old friend like Warden Arnoul to be by his side at this crucial moment more than ever. So, he will eat and drink til he's called over to join the chosen few on the perilous journey into the Deep Roads. Nicholaus took a long, bracing swing from the mug, hoping to quell the sense of dread within him.
BATMAN
OLD GOTHAM
HOMECOMING - BITTERNESS
Harvey Dent. What more could be said about a childhood friend who undoubtedly had every reason to be furious? It was hard to blame him, given it had been years since their last farewell at a lively high school grad party. Rather than reaching out the moment he landed in Gotham, Bruce let two long weeks drift by in complete silence, with each day stretching on until Harvey decided he'd had enough and undoubtedly contacted Alfred to set up this long-awaited reunion. Seated outside a vibrant café, Harvey was finishing typing on his phone when he spotted Bruce approaching, an air of awkwardness trailing him like a shadow. As he took a seat across from his old friend, the tension was palpable, to say the least.
"Hey there, how's it going?" Bruce offered a hopeful smile, clearly aiming to lighten the mood.
Harvey raised an eyebrow, his face shifting into a scowl as he shot back with biting sarcasm. "'How's it going?' Seriously, Bruce? That's the best you can do after disappearing for eight years? No letters, no texts—just this? Impressive, truly."
"I needed to find myself, you know that." Bruce replied, a hint of regret flickering across his face as he spoke.
"Find yourself? Since when does 'ghosting' everyone in your life count as self-discovery." Harvey retorted, his voice edging towards a shout. "I never thought you'd just disappear on us—especially not on Alfred. He needed you just as much as you needed him. That girl from the repair shop and I had to step in, trying to fill the void you left behind. Just thinking about it gets me so fucking furious, Bruce."
Harvey was always merciless, his bluntness a constant since their middle school days. Fortunately, that hard-edged demeanor hadn't dulled with time. Perhaps that was exactly what Bruce needed—a stark reminder of the consequences of his choices, something Alfred would never have the heart to deliver. Feeling the weight of his friend's words, Bruce realized how much he had missed their dynamic over the years of travel. With a shaky breath, he finally admitted, "You're right. I shouldn't have pushed you, Alfred, or anyone else away. Yet, I chose to. Now, I'm here to make things right—not just with you, but with everyone I've hurt with my choice. I am genuinely sorry."
Bruce noticed a subtle shift in Harvey's demeanor; the fire in his eyes began to cool. He let out a deep sigh, and a faint smile crept onto his face. "Well, it's a start," he said, the edge in his voice softening.
"I guess those years away have worked some magic. You've actually grown up a bit." Harvey teased, unable to resist a jab.
Bruce chuckled in response. "You have as well, Chief Deputy District Attorney Dent."
"Yeah, well, nothing like uncovering the depths of Gotham's corruption to speed up the aging process," Harvey said with a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as a wry grin crept onto his face. "And what about those student loans!"
Alfred had informed him about Harvey's rise in the legal field. Fresh out of law school, Harvey participated in a groundbreaking lawsuit against the renowned Doctor Thorne for medical malpractice stretching years, resulting in revoking his medical license. Harvey caught the attention of the former District Attorney, who nominated him for his current position just before passing away from liver failure. Now, with a special election looming to fill the vacant position, whispers began to swirl that Harvey might be contemplating a run. It felt as if Gotham itself was beckoning to him, recognizing the potential hidden within the man willing to grapple with the shadows. This sensation was all too hauntingly familiar for Bruce—an echo of his current crusade. But this was something that could easily be something truly monumental. Unable to shake his curiosity, he leaned closer to his friend and asked:
"I've caught wind of your ambition to run for DA. Is there truth to those rumors?"
Harvey looked surprised before quickly giving way to a flash of irritation. "Don't put any stock in whatever the Gazette is spinning."
Bruce raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "That's a shame. I honestly think you'd make a fantastic DA."
"Oh, y-you really think so?" Harvey stammered, his surprise giving way to an unmistakable spark of interest.
"Absolutely, Dent. You've always been the one to take a stand against injustice. I checked out your record as a prosecutor, and honestly, it's extraordinary. Taking down a caporegime in your first year? Getting justice for the victims of Dr. Thorne? I remember that day you almost got suspended for standing up to Tommy because you were fed up with his bullying. That moment made it clear to me: you were destined for greatness. And now, you have the chance to do even more." Bruce's voice was warm and sincere as he touched his friend's hand reassuringly. "I want a safer Gotham, and I'm convinced you're the only official who can make it happen."
Harvey sat speechless, the weight of the moment enveloping him. "I... I need to discuss this with Gilda. She's been encouraging me to run."
Bruce's eyes widened in surprise. "Gilda? Gilda Gold?" The name seemed to spark a flash of old memories, and his expression brightened at the revelation. The smile that spread across Harvey's face spoke volumes, filling Bruce with unexpected delight. Gilda had been a cherished friend from middle school, but she only knew Harvey from high school before moving away during their sophomore year. Now, the news of their rekindled friendship intrigued him more.
"Wow, how did that even happen?" Bruce asked.
"Well, she ended up attending the same law school as me, and then things just fell into place. We've been together for three years now. I really think she's the one." There was a warmth in Harvey's tone that made Bruce's heart swell with joy for his friend. Yet, amidst the happiness, a bittersweet ache lingered within him—a sorrowful reminder of the love that remained just out of reach as his crusade pressed onward.
"Hey there, how's it going?" Bruce offered a hopeful smile, clearly aiming to lighten the mood.
Harvey raised an eyebrow, his face shifting into a scowl as he shot back with biting sarcasm. "'How's it going?' Seriously, Bruce? That's the best you can do after disappearing for eight years? No letters, no texts—just this? Impressive, truly."
"I needed to find myself, you know that." Bruce replied, a hint of regret flickering across his face as he spoke.
"Find yourself? Since when does 'ghosting' everyone in your life count as self-discovery." Harvey retorted, his voice edging towards a shout. "I never thought you'd just disappear on us—especially not on Alfred. He needed you just as much as you needed him. That girl from the repair shop and I had to step in, trying to fill the void you left behind. Just thinking about it gets me so fucking furious, Bruce."
Harvey was always merciless, his bluntness a constant since their middle school days. Fortunately, that hard-edged demeanor hadn't dulled with time. Perhaps that was exactly what Bruce needed—a stark reminder of the consequences of his choices, something Alfred would never have the heart to deliver. Feeling the weight of his friend's words, Bruce realized how much he had missed their dynamic over the years of travel. With a shaky breath, he finally admitted, "You're right. I shouldn't have pushed you, Alfred, or anyone else away. Yet, I chose to. Now, I'm here to make things right—not just with you, but with everyone I've hurt with my choice. I am genuinely sorry."
Bruce noticed a subtle shift in Harvey's demeanor; the fire in his eyes began to cool. He let out a deep sigh, and a faint smile crept onto his face. "Well, it's a start," he said, the edge in his voice softening.
"I guess those years away have worked some magic. You've actually grown up a bit." Harvey teased, unable to resist a jab.
Bruce chuckled in response. "You have as well, Chief Deputy District Attorney Dent."
"Yeah, well, nothing like uncovering the depths of Gotham's corruption to speed up the aging process," Harvey said with a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as a wry grin crept onto his face. "And what about those student loans!"
Alfred had informed him about Harvey's rise in the legal field. Fresh out of law school, Harvey participated in a groundbreaking lawsuit against the renowned Doctor Thorne for medical malpractice stretching years, resulting in revoking his medical license. Harvey caught the attention of the former District Attorney, who nominated him for his current position just before passing away from liver failure. Now, with a special election looming to fill the vacant position, whispers began to swirl that Harvey might be contemplating a run. It felt as if Gotham itself was beckoning to him, recognizing the potential hidden within the man willing to grapple with the shadows. This sensation was all too hauntingly familiar for Bruce—an echo of his current crusade. But this was something that could easily be something truly monumental. Unable to shake his curiosity, he leaned closer to his friend and asked:
"I've caught wind of your ambition to run for DA. Is there truth to those rumors?"
Harvey looked surprised before quickly giving way to a flash of irritation. "Don't put any stock in whatever the Gazette is spinning."
Bruce raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "That's a shame. I honestly think you'd make a fantastic DA."
"Oh, y-you really think so?" Harvey stammered, his surprise giving way to an unmistakable spark of interest.
"Absolutely, Dent. You've always been the one to take a stand against injustice. I checked out your record as a prosecutor, and honestly, it's extraordinary. Taking down a caporegime in your first year? Getting justice for the victims of Dr. Thorne? I remember that day you almost got suspended for standing up to Tommy because you were fed up with his bullying. That moment made it clear to me: you were destined for greatness. And now, you have the chance to do even more." Bruce's voice was warm and sincere as he touched his friend's hand reassuringly. "I want a safer Gotham, and I'm convinced you're the only official who can make it happen."
Harvey sat speechless, the weight of the moment enveloping him. "I... I need to discuss this with Gilda. She's been encouraging me to run."
Bruce's eyes widened in surprise. "Gilda? Gilda Gold?" The name seemed to spark a flash of old memories, and his expression brightened at the revelation. The smile that spread across Harvey's face spoke volumes, filling Bruce with unexpected delight. Gilda had been a cherished friend from middle school, but she only knew Harvey from high school before moving away during their sophomore year. Now, the news of their rekindled friendship intrigued him more.
"Wow, how did that even happen?" Bruce asked.
"Well, she ended up attending the same law school as me, and then things just fell into place. We've been together for three years now. I really think she's the one." There was a warmth in Harvey's tone that made Bruce's heart swell with joy for his friend. Yet, amidst the happiness, a bittersweet ache lingered within him—a sorrowful reminder of the love that remained just out of reach as his crusade pressed onward.
© 2007-2024