#stream team

VGen comm for flarechess + the Monster Girls stream team!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM OTHERWORLD!!

A friend of mine and a couple of her friends have been working really hard to establish this team and I’ve already been having so much fun with them.

We have some really promising stuff on the horizon! I hope you’re buzzing with as much excitement as me to see what we have in store!

Join us in celebrating our Black team members during Black History Month and all year long!🗣️🎉

After an outpouring of support for our Native American Heritage Month video, we're excited to announce our stream team, The Four Directions. Our goal is to uplift Native streamers, raise awareness on Native issues, and give back to our communities.

“Alright, that’s enough! Take five and get some water.”

Morien reached to help his sparring partner to her feet, slapping her on the back and earning a grin in return as he jogged over to the side of the ring to grab a water bottle and take a long swig. What he didn’t finish he poured over his head where it quickly soaked his buzzed blonde hair.

“Sir Morien.”

He turned, seeing a page standing at attention nearby.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Morien offered a reassuring smile, hoping to get the boy to relax.

“Lady Galahad has requested you meet with her in her office immediately,” the page said, eyes darting around to avoid looking at the almost-knight who towered over him. Morien remembered what that had felt like, though his sympathy was completely obscured by the feeling of his stomach twisting into anxious knots at the message.

What did his mother want with him in the middle of a training day?

He masked his anxiety smoothly, however, and nodded.

“Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

The page gave him an awkward salute and scurried away towards the drill instructor, presumably to inform him that Morien would be leaving the rest of that training session.

Heaving a sigh, Morien began the walk to the headmistress’s office, exiting the courtyard of the barracks and turning towards the north administrative wing. His long strides brought him through the series of uniform hallways to a more ornate section in a matter of minutes. He stopped in front of a huge mahogany door, carved with an intricate design of vines and flowers, and took a steadying breath.

He wiped his hands on his pants to make sure they were clean before he knocked.

“Come in.”

Opening the door, Morien stepped inside, blinking in the brilliance of the sunbathed room, illuminated by the floor to vaulted ceiling windows. Calista Galahad sat behind her desk in an imposing leather chair that managed to dwarf even her tall frame. Her gold and lily-white dress looked almost out of place in its elegance considering her position as head administrator for Round Table, the top personal guard training facility in the system, but Morien knew her better than that. He was well aware of the steel resolve and rapier intellect she wielded. It was the reason she had sat behind that desk longer than any other administrator.

He saluted, “Good afternoon, Lady Galahad.”

His mother barely glanced up from what she was working on.

“Morien, good. I’m glad you came. We need to talk.”

His stomach dropped. That never boded well. Perhaps his training scores had dropped or maybe he had been too rough with a classmate. Mother never took a personal interest unless it was something serious.

“At ease. Please, take a seat.”

Doing as he was told, Morien crossed to the one chair set directly across from his mother in almost the dead center of the room, his footsteps muffled on the plush carpet. He should have double checked that he had wiped his feet well before entering.

He wanted to know why he had been called in, but knew better than to speak up. The extended silence and the perusing of documents on her desk may indicate that the floor was open, but in this office it never really was. So he sat mute. As always.

Finally his mother looked up, turning her dark brown eyes on him, her gaze raking him from head to toe, searching for any flaw, no matter how minuscule.

He somehow managed to square his shoulders and straighten his spine even more.

“Your graduation is this weekend, isn’t it?” The cool, detached tone made Morien’s throat tighten with an emotion he couldn’t name. Maybe anger. Maybe hurt.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And how do you feel about that? Qualified? Nervous? Excited?”

Morien hesitated, unsure where the unusually personal questions were coming from.

“I feel as though I’ve been thoroughly prepared to step into my role as personal guard for my ward.”

“I see. So you’ve tailored your skills to be the perfect bodyguard for him?”

“No, ma’am, that would be shortsighted. I’m more than prepared to handle any situation regardless of if I’m guarding my ward or him and his family as a whole.”

“More than prepared…” Calista Galahad gathered the papers she had been reading over, tapping them against the surface of the desk to bring them into a unified whole. “Confidence is commendable, but be careful it doesn’t turn to arrogance. Arrogance gets you killed.”

Morien tensed, that had been a stupid choice of words on his part.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s a good thing you have prepared yourself for an array of potential wards.”

“Ma’am?”

A pause. A held breath. The second before the gavel strikes.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news regarding your future employment.”

Calista leaned on the desk, folding her hands together as she gazed at her son across the barricade that was her desk. Her gaze softened, and Morien knew this meant the news was something catastrophic.

“Theodore Triumvirate is dead.”

The bottom dropped out of Morien’s stomach and he gripped the arms of his chair tightly.

“Excuse me…can you say that again…?”

Calista sighed softly and nodded, “Theodore Triumvirate is dead, Morien. He was killed in an attempted kidnapping last night.”

Morien stared at his mother, a storm of emotion brewing on his normally neutral face. Shock. Confusion. Grief. Anger. Fear.

“I understand that this is a lot to process,” standing, Calista walked around the wall of her desk and approached her son, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Before we discuss anything further, I want to remind you that his death is not your fault. It did not happen while he was your ward, you were not capable of stopping the attack from here, and this will have no poor reflection on you for your future prospects. You will, of course, receive the highest recommendation from the Galahad family wherever you go seeking employment.”

Looking up, Morien had to turn his head to properly see his mother. He recognized the expression of sympathy she wore, it was one skillfully created for just such occasions. His mother never ceased being the daughter of a diplomat it seemed, even after marrying into the Galahad family.

“What do you mean “seeking employment”? I…I can be transferred to another Triumvirate ward, right?”

The crafted expression his mother wore softened around the eyes and the mouth into something far more complex. Sympathy. Regret. Concern.

“There are no other Triumvirates requesting personal guards at this time.”

Her words simply did not register. That couldn’t be right.

“If…if it’s a lot of paperwork I can help with that, I don’t mind.”

“Morien-“

“Or I can squire for Lance or Kay. Just until one of their wards have children. Be ready for when that happens-“

“Morien.”

“Or maybe-“

“Morien!” His mother’s raised voice snapped his focus back to her, eyes pleading, hands gripping the arms of the chair tight enough to crack the lacquered polish on the wood, clinging to the last shred of hope that perhaps the situation was not completely unsalvageable.

“There are no other Triumvirate wards to guard and squiring is beneath someone of your skill set. Should the time come where a new child is born or a new family is brought in, you will be the first we call to connect with them. But for now you will have to seek out other employment.”

Morien’s head dropped down, his grip on the chair relaxing as he slumped forward and put his head in his hands. Calista gave his shoulder a squeeze and then returned to her desk, sitting down and reaching for one of the many folders stacked before her, pulling it from the lower middle of the pile.

“Your father and I have discussed this situation and have agreed that you may stay at the family home for three months, during which time you are expected to be actively seeking out new employment and accommodations. With your skill set, finding such things should not pose much of a challenge. We will also provide you with several contacts who may be able to get you in touch with potential wards, but the burden of action is on you. Your stay at the family home ends a month from your graduation date, no exceptions.”

Morien lifted his head and sat up straight, the clipped, briefing style communication woke the soldier in him and the soldier knew how to control his emotions. These were just orders, and orders he could act on.

He nodded as his mother paused to allow for a response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Calista tapped the folder with one finger, “I will give you this when you graduate, it will contain all the pertinent information to get you started.”

She fixed him with a stern gaze. “And one more thing, Morien. We do not need to know where you end up, but I would remind you that your duty to the Galahad legacy is something that remains paramount regardless of who you work for. Your actions will always reflect on the family. Never forget that you are a Galahad. Always act like one. Understood?”

Jaw set, Morien nodded again, curtly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sitting back, Calista’s shoulders relaxed, a sure sign that the conversation was wrapping up. For once, Morien wished it wouldn’t. He needed the distraction. Something to hold his focus other than the utter ruin of his future.

“I’m sure you have a lot you would like to process. I’ve cleared your schedule for the rest of the day-“

“Excuse the interruption, ma’am,” Morien spoke up quickly. “I would like to continue with my schedule for today. My training is my priority and I want to make the most of the time I have remaining here at the barracks.”

Calista paused, raising an eyebrow, then nodded, seeming pleased with his response.

“Very good, Morien. Your dedication is admirable. You may return to your training as usual.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Morien stood, shifting to a position of military ease as he waited to be told he could leave.

“One last thing, Morien. Have you submitted your callsign request?”

“Not yet, ma’am. I’ve not…decided.”

“The deadline to decide was yesterday, Morien.”

So why did she ask if she already knew he had not submitted the request? Typical.

“I know. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“The time for deliberation is over. If you have an idea, that’s what you’ll have to go with or we will have one assigned to you.”

The very suggestion of that made Morien sick. Just one more thing he wouldn’t have control over.

“I…I can provide one now.”

Calista nodded and picked up a pen as she took a sheet of paper from his file and pushed it across the desk towards him.

“Permission to approach, ma’am?”

“Permission granted.”

Morien loosened his posture and walked over. He had to stoop to write his name on the page. It was underlined in red, but his mother still tapped it with one French manicured finger like he would miss it. He hesitated as the nib of the pen touched the paper, ink pooling and spreading in the fibers. Hesitation was not becoming of a Galahad. He wrote his name and pushed the paper back to his mother.

Calista took it, looking it over as she put the pen back in a black and silver container and lined it up with the others within perfectly. A complete matching set, not a single member out of place.

“Mordred.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“An interesting choice.”

Morien did not respond to that. He doubted his mother cared to hear the reasoning behind it.

The silence stretched as Calista filed the paper away neatly and put Morien’s folder in a nearby filing drawer.

“Dismissed, Mordred.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jeremy one day when trying to get Trevor’s attention started singing his name to the tune of Jolene and when Trevor was like “what??” they reached over to grab Matt and were like “please don’t take my man” and now it’s a running joke between them.