Death Gifts the Unimaginable

I thought I’d posted this back when I wrote it, but apparently I didn’t! This is a sequel to my story contained in Paragenesis, “The Rune-Throwing.”

Title: Death Gifts the Unimaginable

Characters: OCs

Word count: 6,044

Author: Thevina

Death Gifts the Unimaginable

 

Ottar cursed his friend under his breath. Hroth had gone off on another vision quest, deep in the woods near a fjord a couple of leagues away from Freygard. It wasn’t that Ottar was worried per se, but usually Hroth sent at least a whisper-light thought his way, a picture or glimpse of the places he was travelling in the far reaches of harish dreams and mysteries. He kicked against the sides of his horse as he called out repeatedly to Hroth via mindtouch. His cries went out into a vacuum, and that worried him more than anything else. He guided his horse, anxiety creeping insidiously in his blood as he began calling Hroth’s name aloud. After cantering through a particularly dense copse of trees, Ottar saw the edge of the water. He let out a sigh of relief. Hroth was there.

 

As he drew closer, Ottar’s dis-ease returned. Something was wrong. He hurried his horse along and then hastily dismounted. Hroth sat in his usual crossed leg position, but he was far from still.

 

“Hroth? What’s wrong?” he asked with rising panic.

 

Hroth’s fingers dug into the cold earth around him, muttering all the while. Ottar listened intently, but whatever Hroth articulated, it wasn’t a language that Ottar recognized. It was guttural and seemed ancient. But for all Ottar knew, it was total gibberish.

 

“Hroth?”

 

He gently ran his fingers through Hroth’s hair. His thick braids were dishevelled, and sacramental ink was smeared across his strong features. He’d drawn symbols on the back of his left arm, and his one hand was in a state of constant motion, scrabbling at his stump, then the pebbles on the ground, then in his hair. It was Hroth’s eyes that made Ottar gasp aloud and his hands tremble like aspens. Hroth’s warm, ageless eyes were glassy, though he seemed to be focusing on someone or something not far in front of him. There was nothing to be seen save the dark water of the fjord, ambitious fingers of ice stretching greedily from the shore.

 

“What do you see? Where in Thor’s skies are you? Talk to me!” he begged.

 

Hroth’s muttering went on. He turned to look at Ottar, whose smile approached his lips and then slunk away. Hroth did not appear to recognise him, instead he continued to speak in some language that seemed to Ottar like some ancestral human tongue.

 

“I’m getting you out of here,” Ottar murmured fervently.

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MENGK

MENGK

By Amanda Kear

Characters: Mengk/Terzian, Cobweb
Word Count: 3127
Rating: 15
Spoilers: The Bewitchments of Love and Hate
Summary/Author’s Note: I was intrigued as to who Mengk was and how he ended up looking after Terzian.
Disclaimer: The world of Wraeththu belongs to Storm Constantine.

 

Lord Terzian was dead.

 

Mengk sat on the bare, scorched earth where the pyre had been. The smell of charcoal was in the air, and nothing but that remained of his Lord. The fire had been encouraged to burn fiercely – hotter than any wood fire had a right to burn – and no fragments remained. No hunks of charred wood, no cremated bone, not even the metal of a ring or belt buckle. There had been ash of course; the flaking residue of flesh and bone indistinguishable from that of timber or clothing. Yet that was now gone as well. Cobweb had taken the scant handfuls left from the fire’s hunger, powdered them in his hands and had thrown them one by one into the wind. All that was Terzian erased from existence by the breeze.

 

His Lord’s family had ordered the huge pyre to be constructed in the farmland out beyond Galhea. Mengk had thought at first that choice of location might be to permit all the hara of the town to attend the funeral, but that was not the case. The mourners were few: Terzian’s blood relatives, his consort, a few house hara and some high-ranking soldiers who had remained with the garrison at Galhea. Of course, there was that one Gelaming there too – he might call himself Seel har Griselming, but he was of the Gelaming mould and mindset. So a Gelaming was permitted to be present, yet of the ordinary hara that Terzian had ruled, and the rank and file of the army that he had commanded, there were none.

 

No, the location of the pyre had not been chosen to celebrate Terzian’s life, but because the place was isolated and undistinguished. There was to be no memorial to his lord. No gravestone, no statue, no plaque. Terzian was to be quietly forgotten. The Gelaming had no doubt insisted upon it. That seemed to be their style; to edit the universe and the hara in it until they conformed to the Gelaming ideal of perfection. Terzian’s name would undoubtedly be erased from history as smoothly as those of the myriad human rulers and warriors that Wraeththu had already forgotten.

 

Mengk would never forget. His grief was raw and sharp and burned as hot as the flames of the pyre. Every day he would remember Terzian’s name.

 

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Imprint

Title: Imprint
Author: youcantseeus, youcantseeus12@gmail.com
Characters: Tyson, Seel, Swift
Word Count: 3,589
Spoilers: Books 1 and 2.
Summary: Tyson finds himself wanting Seel as his first aruna partner. But he hates Seel! Tyson/Seel.
AN: I wanted to try writing this pairing for some reason. I love feedback.

Tyson stormed down the hallway and threw open the door to Seel’s study.

“I hate you!” he exclaimed before Seel even had time to look up from his papers. “I hate you!”

Seel put down his pen and gave a wry half smile. “What for this time, Tyson?”

Tyson seethed. He didn’t know how to explain all the churned up things inside of him – anger, lust, bewilderment, resentment. Feybraiha was a tumultuous time for any young har and Tyson’s celebration was only a day away. Perhaps, after it was over, he’d feel better. But every time he thought of it, he felt a sense of dread and a nagging in the back of his mind. He’d only recently figured out what that nagging feeling was about. He wasn’t scared of aruna – in fact, from the descriptions, he found himself quite excited by the idea. But the feeling that his feybraiha was going all wrong just wouldn’t go away.

Tyson felt tears sting his eyes. He realized that he was going to cry like a tiny harling in front of Seel, of all people, when he was supposed to be a day away from adulthood. It was too much to stand. “You’ve done something to me,” he said. “It is supposed to be Rin; not you, never you. Rin has been chosen for me and everything has been arranged – and then you slink into my head and you won’t leave me alone. I don’t want you. I don’t!”

Seel seemed fairly surprised, but he merely sipped at his coffee. The morning sunlight streamed in through the window and gleamed off his tawny hair. “I see,” he said at last.
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Briar’s Tale

Author: Persephone 100
Characters: OC’s – mostly Briar, Briar’s POV
Beta: Thevina/Thrihyrne
Rating: NC 17
Spoilers: none
Synopsis: Briar has an experience that has a profound effect on him.
Disclaimer: All the characters, their world and all things Wraeththu belong to Storm Constantine, to whom I am very grateful.

Briar’s Tale

Rain. I’ve never particularly liked it, even though sometimes a rainy day can be relaxing and give one time for retrospection but looking back on my life was something I avoided. Rain also meant I couldn’t drink my coffee on the rooftop garden. I always felt better up there where the air was fresh and I could imagine myself above all that was behind me as well as below me.

As I passively watched the trails of water trickle down the window, I sighed, thinking to myself they looked too much like tears. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. It was Naemien, my partner. I couldn’t call him my lover because I wasn’t in love with him, or my chesnari because I didn’t feel committed to him. He was my partner, the one I lived with, took aruna with, and the one with whom he shared the bounty of his success. He was the one I’d rooned, clawed and schemed my way up to be with. He was wealthy, powerful and strong, everything I’d thought I’d wanted. And here I was, his consort, with all the glamorous and luxurious trappings that went with that status.

He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek.

“A rainy day,” he said, “always seems to make my beautiful Briar sad and moody.”

He rubbed my back and whispered in my ear. “But no less gorgeous and desirable,” he added, kissing me on the neck.

“Well,” he said, stepping away. “I’ve got a meeting with some hara. I’ll probably be in my office and the conference room all day, but don’t concern yourself. I’ll have the serving hara bring us some sandwiches. See you at dinner, my lovely.”

I gave him a smile as he left, then continued gazing out the window. Part of my being Naemien’s partner involved my planning of all the parties and entertainment that was needed. I actually enjoyed that responsibility. I was also expected to be the perfect decoration for his arm and in his bed. He was kind to me and he was very handsome and a good lover. I enjoyed aruna with him and he never stopped telling me how much he wanted and admired me. I’d been very satisfied with our arrangement for almost seven years now, but…
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The Tattoo

Title: The Tattoo
Author: youcantseeus
Contact info: youcantseeus12@gmail.com
Beta: Oshun
Spoilers: For books 1-4.
Characters: Flick, Seel, Pell, Cal, Orien
Word Count: 22,000
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fan fiction based on the Wraeththu series by Storm Constantine. I am not the original creator of the Wraeththu universe nor do I own most of the characters and locations contained in this story.
Summary: Flick attempts to make a statement with a tattoo. Seel is not pleased.

Chapter 1

Sometimes, I could read Seel like a book.

For example, when Colt and Stringer came over and proudly showed us that they’d gotten rough tattoos of one another’s names across their arms, I knew that Seel was fuming. He may have smiled and made light comments through gritted teeth, but I knew that later that night I’d be the one who would have to listen to him ranting about how foolish it was to have somehar else’s name on your arm forever and how it echoed human possessiveness and human love.

As it turned out, Pell and Cal got to hear him rant as well. Seel barely waited until Colt and Stringer were out the door before he started in.

“Could you believe that?” he asked the room as I started washing the dinner dishes. “I knew that letting that har charge for tattoos was a bad idea. Now we have hara making stupid decisions.”

Cal looked up from where he was sharing breath with Pell. They were always hanging all over one another. I was surprised that it didn’t bother Seel more, given how he felt about Cal, but he seemed determined to show that he was above caring. “What are you going to do, oh mighty Seel?” Cal asked in a playful voice. “Ban tattoos?”

“Of course not,” Seel said, throwing himself into a chair across from Cal. “I just would have thought that Colt and Stringer would have a little more sense. It’s not like they’ve just gone through althaia. They’re old enough to behave seriously.”

“Maybe that’s why they did it,” I said.

Everyhar looked at me. “Well,” I said, quickly, “Colt and Stringer have been together a long time. They seem pretty solid.” I was receiving a patented Seel glare. Seel was very good at glaring. “Maybe they feel secure enough about their – their feelings,” I had almost used to word “love” which would have been a huge mistake, “that they think they’ll last.”

The glare was only getting worse. “It’s sort of sweet in a way,” I babbled on. “I mean, for some people.”

Not for Seel, obviously. “It is not sweet, it’s disturbing,” he said and then he pointed at Pell and Cal. “And I better not catch you two down there getting matching tattoos anytime soon.”

Pell made a face. “No way,” he said. “Did you see those tattoos? They were hideous.”

I rolled my eyes as I dried a plate with a dishtowel. Of course Pell’s main objection would be aesthetic.

“You can get them magically removed, you know,” Cal said to Pell.

“But it leaves a scar,” Seel put in.

Seel continued brooding long after Pell and Cal had gone to bed.

“Matching tattoos,” he muttered. “Can you imagine feeling so sick about somehar that you’d want his name tattooed on your body?”

I finished wiping down the counters. “No,” I said. “I can’t.”

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