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aaaand heres the last day! i had this sitting in my drafts for a while. i wanted to get day 6 done first so i can post them in order lol. This is actually a direct sequel to Day 1Â , so pls imagine this happening immediately after that one.
the whole thing has now been crossposted on AO3!Â
"You're not like most squires I've met." Malâdamba said, voice low and hushed.
"You're not like most people I've met." Was the reply he got, followed by a charming grin. The squire still managed to step on his toes though, and the smile turned into an apologetic grimace.
"O-oh! Sorry." The squire immediately stepped back. The pain receded as quickly as it came but Mal'damba was still held at an arm's length. "I haven't really gone that far in dancing lessons yet."
Malâdambaâs heart softened, just a little, without the years nor retrospection to harden it. "It's ok. I don't mind this." He shifted their hands until they were held in front him, bent at the elbow. It wasn't as extravagant as waltz position they were just in, but they could both see their feet at least.
"Still. I wish I could give you a proper dance." The squire said regretfully.
"You've given me so much already." That much was true - a chance meeting, companionship, a night of dancing. Things that were hard to come by already, much less in his future as Wekono's Chosen. Surely, Wekono would allow this.
But even if She did, the night would not. The moon was already low in the sky, and the stars were already fading. Sunrise would be here soon, and with it, uncomfortable knowledge that this would most likely be the first and last time they would meet. At least, without their weapons drawn out.
They slowed to a standstill, slightly swaying in the spot. The squire was still staring at his feet even though they weren't moving. "Let me give you a proper knight's farewell then."
Mal'damba's acolyte mask didn't cover the bottom part of his face. His smile was wide and free, much to the blushing of the squire when he glanced up. âAlright.â
Taking that invitation, the squire raised Malâdambaâs hand, brushing his lips against the knuckles. They were warm and chapped, lingering even after the squire let go. Although the action was chaste, Malâdamba felt heat rise to his cheeks.
âUntil we meet again.â the squire said, smiling suavely. Or it mightâve, if the blush still wasnât there. But it just made him all the more endearing, and Malâdambaâs chest ached. He doubted they would, but he didnât say it aloud.
âYou know, when you said âuntil we meet againâ, this isnât what I had in mind.â Malâdamba said, brought out of his musings as he rubbed the last of the antidote into the snakebite. Even with his back turned, the squire â no, the knight, Malâdamba corrected â simply stayed lax.
âI wouldâve liked to have the romantic backdrop of the moonlight, but you are as deadly as I remember.â
Malâdamba paused. âYou knew it was me?â
âNot at first â you are just as slippery as your patron spirit, as expected, but when you spoke, it came rushing back to me. Of that night.â
Malâdamba was glad he had his full mask, and not his acolyte one, for a terrible blush rose in his face. âI did not recognise you either.â The squire had a stubble now, and his hair was longer too (not that it was anything short beforeâŠ). Not only that, but he grew, not only in height, but in sturdiness as well. It was understandable that Malâdamba responded with hostility on first sight. He should probably apologise for that. âIâm...sorry about attacking you.â
âItâs ok. Iâm sorry for trespassing on your land.â
He was just as sweet as last time too. Malâdamba shook his head in exasperation, the last of the paste gone from his hands. The knight craned his over, then turned around. Because he had to remove his topmost clothing for Malâdamba to apply the antidote, his torso was bare, down to the waist. Malâdamba had to stop himself from glancing downwards.
Apparently, the knight had a sixth sense, because he winked. âLike what you see?â
Malâdamba couldnât help but chuckle. âYou really havenât changed, havenât you?â
âProbably not. But you have though. For instance, your mask. Itâs beautiful, donât get me wrong, but it covers so much more of your lovely face. I still remember it being so cute.â
Malâdamba reached up to tug at his collar.
âI would love to hear the story behind that mask.â His hand hovered over Malâdambaâs own, as if hesitating. Malâdamba then realised that he was waiting for permission to touch him. Ah. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Malâdamba lifted his hand, the back of it brushing underneath the knightâs fingers.
Now that he had Malâdambaâs blessing, the knight curled his fingers underneath Malâdambaâs palm, lifting it brush his lips against the knuckles, in an almost perfect imitation of that kiss so many years ago. âAnd I would love to hear more about you this time. That is, if you let me.â
Malâdambaâs rationale was telling him no, he shouldnât be indulging in such trite, especially now that he was a chosen and not an acolyte, but a smaller voice still remembered the way they bantered and danced during the night, all because the squire heard about how lonely he was, guarding Serpent Beach by himself.
âBut I almost killed you.â Malâdamba pointed out. With a poisonous snake, he added in his mind.
âYes. And that was very impressive.â The knight replied.
Of course he would find that more admirable than fear-inducing.
â...I donât even know your name. Even after all this time.â
âFernando.â Just like that, the knight gave his name freely and easily. Malâdamba repeated it in his mind, testing it in his mindâs eye. The squire, the knight, Fernando.
He gave his own in return. âWe have a lot to catch up on.â
âWell. We have all the time in the world now.â Fernando said with a squeeze of his hand.
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HEY remember malfernweek bc i sure do. welcome to the malfern tumblr version of the 50/50 challenge where you have no idea if itâs angst or fluff until u click the readmore. GLHF.
WARNINGS: blood, violence, death of unnamed temple raiders.
âMalâdamba?â Fernando said, worry creeping into his voice.
It was not his lover who turned around, but Wekonoâs chosen, in stilted movements, as if he was being pulled along by strings. He straightened up, uncaring of the blood pooling around his feet and staining his soles with a violent red. He took a step forwards. Fernando took a step backwards.
That was his first mistake. Malâdamba took it as an act of aggression and struck then, bloodied knife in hand. It glanced off Fernandoâs chest armour. The force of it still caused him to stumble, and he narrowly missed the next swipe to his face.
âMalâdamba! Itâs me!â Fernando pleaded. Second mistake. His words fell on deaf ears. Malâdamba lunged for him again. Â He had yet to say a word. Fernandoâs foot caught on something â a body of one of the slain temple raiders, possibly â and he fell backwards. He caught himself before he back hit the ground, yet it was in vain, for Malâdamba slammed into him. Air was knocked out of him in a heavy breath. He barely caught it again when the dagger came for him again, at the throat this time. He caught Malâdambaâs wrist with his forearm.
Then it became a struggle between Fernandoâs strength and Malâdambaâs will, with gravity only making Fernandoâs efforts more strained. His hand shook as the dagger inched closer and closer to his nose. âMalâdamba,â He tried, voice wavering. The chosen didnât respond. âI know itâs you in there, somewhere.â He peered into the eyeholes of the mask, searching for Malâdamba somewhere in the burning green glow. Maybe...he could try to flip them over, wrestle the dagger away...
And then what? Would he wield the knife himself? Flamethrowers were more his speciality, but it didnât take much knowledge to know how to hold a dagger. To grip it tightly. To drive between the ribs into the heart. It would be easy for someone like Fernando. His gaze slipped from the knight to the mask.
He raised his other hand.
And gently cupped Malâdambaâs face, thumbing where the cheekbones would be.
âItâs ok.â Fernando whispered. âItâs going to be ok.â
At the soft touch, the pressure on the knife lessened. It wavered in the air between them. Fernando could feel the blinks of confusion behind the mask. Then,
âFernando?â Malâdamba said, voice soft and meek. The glow in his eyes faded.
âItâs me.â Fernando kept his voice low. âItâs me, everythingâs going to be ok.â
Slowly, as if moving through water, Malâdambaâs mask turned from Fernandoâs face to the knife inches from it. He flinched wildly, and threw it to the side, before cupping Fernandoâs face. âNo it wasnât. I-I almost...â
âBut you didnât. You stopped. You came back to me.â
âI was about to hurt you, Fernando!â Anguish twisted his voice into a hiss of regret. He moved off Fernando, rolling onto his feet. âI knew this was a bad idea. I-we shouldâve never met.â Never shouldâve let it get this far, followed the last sentence, unsaid, but apparent.
He was already pacing away when Fernando managed to get up, but before Fernando could even call out his name, Malâdamba stepped away in a sliver of otherworldly light, leaving him staring helplessly at the temple walls.
Diablo 3 au bc i can and i want to finish malfern week. a quick summary: malâdamba is a witch doctor that saw a fallen star and followed its path at the behest of the spirits. it fell into an old cathedral, and he had someone lead him to it. diablo is a big bad, theres demons, ok thats it lesgo HOORAH
The cathedral was as run-down as he was told. Cobwebs hung like curtains from the chandeliers and doorways, to which Mal'damba parted with a careful hand. Behind him, he could barely make out the steps of his companion, almost ghost-like in sound. If it wasn't for the tap on his shoulder-blade, it would've been easy to lose the sniper.
"Careful," Strix murmured. "The construct guarding the basement should be a few rooms away-" The rest of his warning was drowned out by a commotion further down the hallway. Mal'damba turned his head slightly to his companion.
"Would that be it?"
"No. Too human. Must be magic-users, taking advantage of the fallen star's energy to conduct dark rituals."
"So they are the cause for the restless undead upon arrival."
"Maybe. Either way, ridding them would be a favour to the world."
Mal'damba nodded. It was not his place to impose his ideals on others, for it was their own roads to walk, but to raise the fallen and cause suffering to dead and alive alike...he could hear the spirits crying out from the injustice. He hissed a word in his mother tongue. His backpack stirred, and a cobra slipped out, Malâdambaâs torchlight reflecting off her green scales as she wrapped herself around his arm. Malâdamba heard the shift of a rifle as well. He snuffed out the torch with a quick motion.
They crept closer in the dark, pausing when they could see the figures standing in a circle, with their arms raised and mouths chanting incantations. Energy poured from their open palm, malevolent like smoke, buffeting Malâdamba from where he was hidden. It didnât help that corpse were strewn around the cultists, some he recognised as villagers, others farmers, merchants, even the odd adventurer or two. His cobra hissed quietly. âPatience girl.â He murmured, even as anger stirred within his chest.
Instead, he concentrated on the centre of the circle, in the middle of a chalk sigil on the floor. A man, bound and kneeling. Malâdamba couldnât see the face, for his head was bowed, but he could still hear the words from one of cultists â presumably the leader, judging by the overly ornate headdress.
(And Malâdamba would know overly ornate, he himself had a mask of petrified wood and feathers.)
âWhy...wonât..you...submit!â The leader growled.
The man lifted his head up, and in the light of the magic and the torches, Malâdamba could see the fierce expression. âYou underestimate me.â Then he surged forwards, headbutting the closest cultist in the gut, and breaking the terrible connection of magic.
Malâdamba struck in the confusion. He leapt, gourd in hand, letting his snake fly from his wrist. He heard Strixâs smoke bomb and knew he was only a gunshot away. He threw the gourd at the closest group of cultists. The liquid sizzled angrily, eating through cloth and skin. At the sound of their brethensâ pained screaming, some of them turned from the human tribute to the new threat, another chant on their lips.
They never had the chance to finish; there was a crack of a rifle, and their throats or heads exploded in quick succession. Malâdamba neatly ducked underneath the flying gore, then the shot of lightning. He glanced at the direction it was fired from. The elaborately decorated leader held an open, slightly smoking hand at him.
âHow dare you disturb us!â He bellowed. âThen youâll share the tributeâs fate-â
He stopped. Not from shock, not even from a strike from Malâdambaâs snake, but from the gaping hole where his mouth used to be. He fell forwards, dead. Malâdamba stepped back, then managed to glare in the general direction of the dark, before ducking under a swipe of a sacrificial knife.
A few more snake tosses and bullets later, the cultists joined the slain sacrifices. Malâdamba neatly stepped around the growing puddles of blood as he walked to the man who still had his hands bound behind him.
âThank you for the back-up, even though I had it handled.â His voice was lilted from a foreign accent, smooth as well, and most importantly, smarming. Malâdamba could tell the spirit of vanity was strong in this one.
âYou call that being handled?â Strix said, reappearing from the shadows with one of the knives from the fallen cultists. The man flinched wildly, but calmed when all Strix did was slice the bonds.
âWell, theyâre dead arenât they? But I digress. There are more further in, and I will not stop until they are all vanquished.â
âThen our goals are aligned.â Malâdamba said. âWe need to reach the fallen star, but Diabloâs worshippers surround its cradle. We could use the help.â
Safe behind the man, Strix raised his eyebrow in doubt. The man just look delighted. âI would be honoured to escort you to the fallen star.â
Strix spoke up. âDo you have any way of fending for yourself?â He had a point â simple tunics and leggings did a fighter not make.
âNot to worry amigo. My armour and weapons should be nearby. The cultists took them when I was knocked out- I mean, overwhelmed by a whole crowd of twenty or so.â He started walking to one of the side rooms. Malâdamba and Strix looked at each other, then followed him as he disappeared through the doorway. Â
When they reached to him, he was digging through a chest. âThey should be around...aha!â He triumphantly pulled a breastplate in white and gold edging. He did a double-take at his audience, then grinned. âDid you want a show?â
Strix and Malâdamba simultaneously turned their backs, much to the laughter of the man. Malâdamba wandered over to one of the rickety bookshelves while Strix moved closer to the doorway, eyes out for any danger. After a few minutes, there was coughing behind them. âGentleman.â
Malâdamba walked back. The armour glinted in the torchlight, the shield and lance engraved with swirling designs from the north. Malâdambaâs eyes widened. âYou are a crusader.â He stated with a small note of surprise.
The man gave a bow. âFernando, at your service.â
âThere hasnât been one for years.â Strix said with a frown. Fernando just winked.
âWell, I hope Iâve met your expectations.â
Strix made a face.
âFernando.â Malâdamba interrupted. âWe are not only after the cultists. A construct built by the previous king guards the cathedral basement. We must go through it to reach the fallen star.â
The crusader did not look deterred. âA worthy challenge for someone of my calibre.â
âIt was not- well. If the spirits see fit, then we shall share our road.â
And without any further fanfare, Fernando joined their merry band, and they continued their trek to the fallen star.
Day 4 -Â Fernando/Malâdamba doing something stupid
Please, for the sake of this prompt, imagine Mal and Fern (and their snake) like this:
âThatâs a good girl.â Fernando said, his voice low and calming. âJust stay still for meâŠâ
Malâdambaâs cobra flicked her tongue at his fingers, but otherwise stayed coiled and lax, not even shaking her head when Fernando put the finishing touches on her. When he drew back, she remained in her loose position, as if trying not to ruin his hard work.
âYouâre such a good girl! Yes you are, a very good-â
The door opened. âFernando?â Came Malâdambaâs very confused voice from behind.
Fernando slowly turned around, revealing the cobra and his sheepish face. âI can explainâŠ?â
Malâdamba looked at Fernandoâs face, then his guilty painted hands, then at his petâs reindeer antlers fitted perfectly on her small round head. Fernando even managed to glue a small red nose on the tip of the snakeâs head, and painted all along her back with bright crimson and white colours, for Wintersend, the festival of gifts and hearth.
âWait here for a moment.â Malâdamba left, then returned with a scrying glass with a crystal embedded in on the front. He pressed it, and it a light flashed for a moment. âI wanted to take a picture of her.â
Fernando grinned and gestured to his little studio, still messy with various pots of paint and cardboard pieces. âAntlers arenât the only things Iâve got planned for her.â
Malâdamba smiled fully, and came closer to the pair.
(the picture they took at the end of the session was the one Fernando keeps safe in his wallet)