angrennufuin

[angrennufuin]

Niosiki “Nee” Cranta The Halls of Screaming Stone Titanomachy Campaign (written in early 2020)

The Acorn Path academy prides itself on the gruelling nature of its entrance exam, but what you chiefly remember is the time just after its completion: the hour you spent waiting for news of acceptance or rejection. Prior to today, prior to right now, that hour was the longest one in your life.  Now, as then, the seconds drag past. Your stomach feels as if it is stuffed with boiling lead; a horrible itching restlessness crawls along your skin. You can feel every molecule of blood and sweat and cave dirt on your body and all of them are… Wriggling.

Now, as then, you pace in long circuits. Only this time, you’re pacing an underground passage instead of the deep-carpeted university hallway. That’s fine. The clatter of your hobnailed boots on the stone is more satisfying, anyway.

“Nee,” says someone, from somewhere; you don’t know where, because you’re extremely not interested in looking anybody in the eye right now.

“I’m fine,” you say, brusque, with a lot of dignity, and sit down on the ground. Sketch the outline of Prestidgitation in the air with your fingers; it’s a cantrip you’ve done a million times, and it’s actually almost relaxing. The invisible force that whisks everything unclean off of your skin and clothes. The almost-heat, almost-cold, almost-pressure of the sensation, all of those and also none of them. It steadies you, so you cast it again. Uselessly.

You didn’t take a single hit in this fight, so you don’t have any need to patch yourself up. You used maybe two spells, and flipping through your spellbook to prepare more takes precisely forty-seven seconds. Leaves three thousand, five hundred fifty-three before the rest of the party is ready to move on, and you feel every single one of those seconds like a weight on your ankles. 

Pacing bothers the people around you, apparently. People who got to the fight sooner, and, therefore, did get injured, and, therefore, need more rest. So you won’t pace. You cast Prestidigitation again. Still feel unclean, afterward.

This hour is stretching far, far longer than the other one, the Acorn Path one. You think about possible time-dilation or -compression spells (that’s, what, Dunamancy?) to occupy your brain, which otherwise will start churning about the fight itself. You refuse to think about that. Your brain is your most powerful weapon and you are not going to-- oh dammit, you’ve thought about it.

This hour is stretching, yes, far longer than seems possible or believable, but it’s nothing. Nothing, compared to the agonizing seconds of waiting to see if Tanith’s desperate spell would take. 

You’re thinking about it now, so any protection not thinking about it could have afforded is gone. That makes it okay to look across the cave, to let your eyes pass over Oz (sitting with one leg pulled up, leaning back against the wall, face pale and drawn, hands unsteady) and Lylah (squatting next to him, talking low and seriously). Nothing immediately happens, which makes it okay to take a deep breath. From this angle, the new scar on Oz’s face is glaring. Obvious, with its corpse-white hue, with the way it drags one eyelid down, with that eye’s iris gone pale green and milky. It’s not a clean scar, somehow. It makes your fingers itch to shape healing spells, even though you don’t know any. You have tried exactly one healing spell, back in university, which sucked and was boring. But still.

If you look at it logically, laying out all the facts, what happened shouldn’t be shocking. It really shouldn’t. Yesterday, you took a horrible gelatinous cave-thing to the face and upper body, and passed out twice within the span of an hour. Leif routinely gets skewered by assorted weaponry, and also hasn’t had an audible heartbeat in weeks. Lylah and Oz and, yes, Tanith and Symon and Arrie, too, have gotten knocked out plenty of times. Sometimes more messily than this. No one in this party is invulnerable, you know that. Obviously.

But it’s never been this bad before. Never anything that wasn’t fixable by dumping a healing potion down someone’s throat and hoping for the best; never anything that put you out of sorts like this. Leif and Lylah and, awfully, Oz -- you’ve been traveling with them going on five months now. You’re used to them being around. You kind of like them being around. And when you saw Tanith’s face as she leaned over Oz’s body -- when you thought, for an eternal, nasty moment, that he was gone for good--

Your thoughts stop right there. They refuse to congeal. It feels like someone is moving heavy furniture on your chest.

Pushing harder on that line of thought doesn’t even do any good. It just kicks your stupid heartrate into overdrive and shallows out your breathing, and that horrible, crushing weight on your chest gets worse. Your thoughts wheel away from Oz lying still, Lylah screaming, Leif’s intent stare, but the only replacement is Rill’s wrinkled face. Her lips, turned down at the corner. Her saying How did you get to be such a disappointment, Nee. Your skin itches again; if you got up. If you paced, back and forth, fast, vicious, maybe you’d feel better. But Oz is tired and Lylah might be crying; you cannot disturb them. Instead, you twirl your new wand in your fingers. Put it away. Cast Prestidigitation again, even though you can’t have possibly gotten dirty.

A sudden memory, that time at Acorn Path again: you’d folded a spare paper from your exam booklet into a shitty little fan to pass the time. You’re way better at paper-folding now; when you dig out a spare parchment from your pack, your hands are practised and sure on the creases.

Rabbit-ear fold. Outside-reverse. Pleat. Making the edges perfectly even, the folds crisp and straight, quiets your mind and soothes the weird itchy-jumpiness. It speeds time back up, too; it’s almost time to pack up when you look down and realize the finished shape of the thing you’ve made.

Your chest almost gets crushed again, but you take a deep breath through it. Stand up. Stalk across the cave, angry, now, all of a sudden.

You drop the tiny paper wolf in Oz’s lap just as he finishes talking to Lylah. Skitter your eyes away from his befuddled look. “Don’t do that again,” you say over your shoulder, already turning to go. You add, as an afterthought, “Asshole.”

Some of the pressure in your chest eases, just a little bit.

[angrennufuin]

Niosiki “Nee” Cranta The Halls of Screaming Stone Titanomachy Campaign (written in early 2020)

The Acorn Path academy prides itself on the gruelling nature of its entrance exam, but what you chiefly remember is the time just after its completion: the hour you spent waiting for news of acceptance or rejection. Prior to today, prior to right now, that hour was the longest one in your life.  Now, as then, the seconds drag past. Your stomach feels as if it is stuffed with boiling lead; a horrible itching restlessness crawls along your skin. You can feel every molecule of blood and sweat and cave dirt on your body and all of them are… Wriggling.

Now, as then, you pace in long circuits. Only this time, you’re pacing an underground passage instead of the deep-carpeted university hallway. That’s fine. The clatter of your hobnailed boots on the stone is more satisfying, anyway.

“Nee,” says someone, from somewhere; you don’t know where, because you’re extremely not interested in looking anybody in the eye right now.

“I’m fine,” you say, brusque, with a lot of dignity, and sit down on the ground. Sketch the outline of Prestidgitation in the air with your fingers; it’s a cantrip you’ve done a million times, and it’s actually almost relaxing. The invisible force that whisks everything unclean off of your skin and clothes. The almost-heat, almost-cold, almost-pressure of the sensation, all of those and also none of them. It steadies you, so you cast it again. Uselessly.

You didn’t take a single hit in this fight, so you don’t have any need to patch yourself up. You used maybe two spells, and flipping through your spellbook to prepare more takes precisely forty-seven seconds. Leaves three thousand, five hundred fifty-three before the rest of the party is ready to move on, and you feel every single one of those seconds like a weight on your ankles. 

Pacing bothers the people around you, apparently. People who got to the fight sooner, and, therefore, did get injured, and, therefore, need more rest. So you won’t pace. You cast Prestidigitation again. Still feel unclean, afterward.

This hour is stretching far, far longer than the other one, the Acorn Path one. You think about possible time-dilation or -compression spells (that’s, what, Dunamancy?) to occupy your brain, which otherwise will start churning about the fight itself. You refuse to think about that. Your brain is your most powerful weapon and you are not going to-- oh dammit, you’ve thought about it.

This hour is stretching, yes, far longer than seems possible or believable, but it’s nothing. Nothing, compared to the agonizing seconds of waiting to see if Tanith’s desperate spell would take. 

You’re thinking about it now, so any protection not thinking about it could have afforded is gone. That makes it okay to look across the cave, to let your eyes pass over Oz (sitting with one leg pulled up, leaning back against the wall, face pale and drawn, hands unsteady) and Lylah (squatting next to him, talking low and seriously). Nothing immediately happens, which makes it okay to take a deep breath. From this angle, the new scar on Oz’s face is glaring. Obvious, with its corpse-white hue, with the way it drags one eyelid down, with that eye’s iris gone pale green and milky. It’s not a clean scar, somehow. It makes your fingers itch to shape healing spells, even though you don’t know any. You have tried exactly one healing spell, back in university, which sucked and was boring. But still.

If you look at it logically, laying out all the facts, what happened shouldn’t be shocking. It really shouldn’t. Yesterday, you took a horrible gelatinous cave-thing to the face and upper body, and passed out twice within the span of an hour. Leif routinely gets skewered by assorted weaponry, and also hasn’t had an audible heartbeat in weeks. Lylah and Oz and, yes, Tanith and Symon and Arrie, too, have gotten knocked out plenty of times. Sometimes more messily than this. No one in this party is invulnerable, you know that. Obviously.

But it’s never been this bad before. Never anything that wasn’t fixable by dumping a healing potion down someone’s throat and hoping for the best; never anything that put you out of sorts like this. Leif and Lylah and, awfully, Oz -- you’ve been traveling with them going on five months now. You’re used to them being around. You kind of like them being around. And when you saw Tanith’s face as she leaned over Oz’s body -- when you thought, for an eternal, nasty moment, that he was gone for good--

Your thoughts stop right there. They refuse to congeal. It feels like someone is moving heavy furniture on your chest.

Pushing harder on that line of thought doesn’t even do any good. It just kicks your stupid heartrate into overdrive and shallows out your breathing, and that horrible, crushing weight on your chest gets worse. Your thoughts wheel away from Oz lying still, Lylah screaming, Leif’s intent stare, but the only replacement is Rill’s wrinkled face. Her lips, turned down at the corner. Her saying How did you get to be such a disappointment, Nee. Your skin itches again; if you got up. If you paced, back and forth, fast, vicious, maybe you’d feel better. But Oz is tired and Lylah might be crying; you cannot disturb them. Instead, you twirl your new wand in your fingers. Put it away. Cast Prestidigitation again, even though you can’t have possibly gotten dirty.

A sudden memory, that time at Acorn Path again: you’d folded a spare paper from your exam booklet into a shitty little fan to pass the time. You’re way better at paper-folding now; when you dig out a spare parchment from your pack, your hands are practised and sure on the creases.

Rabbit-ear fold. Outside-reverse. Pleat. Making the edges perfectly even, the folds crisp and straight, quiets your mind and soothes the weird itchy-jumpiness. It speeds time back up, too; it’s almost time to pack up when you look down and realize the finished shape of the thing you’ve made.

Your chest almost gets crushed again, but you take a deep breath through it. Stand up. Stalk across the cave, angry, now, all of a sudden.

You drop the tiny paper wolf in Oz’s lap just as he finishes talking to Lylah. Skitter your eyes away from his befuddled look. “Don’t do that again,” you say over your shoulder, already turning to go. You add, as an afterthought, “Asshole.”

Some of the pressure in your chest eases, just a little bit.

[angrennufuin]

Elflinguistics Part 2: Ravnica

For the currently-paused Ravnica campaign, I'm playing Sûl the elven bard-warlock, currently a courtesan but formerly a noble. Mainly I wanted my Ravnica names to sound different from my Eberron names; these are different settings and vastly different people-groups. Let's, once again, get into it.

Rules for myself

Ravnica is a planet that is all one giant city, but some parts of it are currently less-inhabited and more ruined than others. Sûl's family hails from part of this Rubblebelt; while Linmir's clan is a diaspora of middle-class tradesmen and occasionally warriors, Sûl comes from a stuffy, dissipated high-elf aristocracy clinging onto their former glory.

So the idea here is still poetic eloquence, but where Eberron elves make portmanteaus with layered meaning, Ravnica elves go big or go home. Long names are in vogue, and often include hyphens and/or prepositions. They also have multiple names/forms of names for different levels of connection!

Long, formal name used by strangers + acquaintances

A shortened (usually single-word) form of that name used by friends and family

An entirely different "private name" known only to parents and really serious lovers

Formal names

These are used by strangers and acquaintances, in formal settings (which are most settings, for Sûl's family). Elves have long lives and long memories, and it's considered slightly disrespectful/kind of bad luck to name your child entirely after someone else, whether deceased or living. They can get away with this because there are not, historically, that many elves, period, in Ravnica. There are even less in the Rubblebelt, the sparsely-inhabited area of ruins and urban decay that is home to this branch of crumbling elf aristocracy.

We're not using Sûl as the case study for any of these, for reasons I'll explain later. Instead, let's go with her oldest sister. Her long-form name is Elen-atto-vomentië (=meeting of two stars); short form would likely be Elen, as the first word in the name is most likely to be picked for casual usage. Elen (stars) is an extremely common Elvish name; other possibilities could have been Tië (path) or Vomen (to gather together).

Generally, children are allowed to choose the casual form of their name whenever they want to. Like being named Alexander and going by Alex, for example. Not a particularly weighty decision, and subject to change! The "don't name your kid after someone else" social norm only applies to the full formal name, but if you have like six people in your immediate family tree who shorten their name to Elen, it's considered quite gauche.

Intimate names:

The intimate name is a much bigger deal. Generally only a child and their parents know it & parents would never use it except alone with their kid in a moment of great emotion. Traditionally you'd tell your spouse at your wedding, but modern elves might tell it to a non-marital life partner or even a VERY best friend, if their bond is close enough. It's supposed to be something of a horoscope/prophecy/wish from the parent to the child. Elen's intimate name is Asya-Mekte (=to ease [one's] heart); her parents hoped she would be a kind and empathetic soul.

I cannot stress enough that you Do Not say this name except in private! Think like the True Name of a fairytale creature. There's a superstition that where you give your private name, you give your heart -- with the proper spells, some believe it can be used to control you. Is it true? Who knows! But certainly it would be extremely rude, having been given the honor of an elf’s intimate name, to use it where anyone not so chosen could hear.

[I think I was using an older form of Elvish for these? But I've forgotten entirely.]

Surnames:

Surnames are a lot easier to deal with, because they're just place names. This brand of elves is pretty traditional and keen on long history, so they generally go by whatever region/estate/geographical feature they consider their ancestral home. Sûl's family comes from a region and its corresponding manor called Haudh-en-Calen (= Green Hills/Green Barrows), so that's their last name. In the most formal settings you would stick a possessive from in there: Elen-atto-vomentië Haudh-en-Calenva. If one were inclined to make one's introduction more accessible to non-Elvish speakers (Elen is NOT inclined), one could call oneself Elen of the Green Hills. Or Two-Stars of the Green Hills, but that would be just too assimilationist.

This got long and has been languishing in my drafts for months, so you'll have to hear about Sûl's name another day.

[angrennufuin]

good night, good night (i cannot win this fight)

or

Oh my god there were exactly four beds a Cinders microfic feat. vaguely one-sided (?) Harthsel

"Well, based on our sizes... it would be best for Gawain and Brân to share a bed," Harth was saying.

Brân, looming large over Gawain, looked down at her with their one good eye and asked, "you good with that?

Silently, Gawain nodded. Some kind of look passed between them - Haze couldn't quite parse it - but it felt like a secret handshake.

Ishtar, who had been a little more flighty ever since she started manifesting psionic powers, suddenly snapped back to the conversation.

"What are we talking about?"

"We are divvying up the rooms," Harth explained.

"Oh." Ishtar frowned. "I'm not sharing a bed."

"You don't have to!" Aysel chirped. She threw one arm around Haze's shoulders and pulled Harth into a side-hug with the other. "You can take the other bed in Brân and Gawain's room, and then Harth and I can share a bed, and Haze can take the spare bed since he's so bony."

Haze had a single inch on Aysel, and plenty of muscle, but he brushed off the comment.

"That's fine with me," he said. "but what about you, Harth?"

"That is acceptable," Harth said.

Barker Maple, the innkeeper, smiled broadly and handed one room key to Harth, the other to Brân. As the group started to make their way upstairs, Haze caught Aysel's arm.

"Hey," he said in a low voice. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

Aysel tilted her head back to look at him. "Whatever are you talking about?" she asked.

"You know," Haze said. He cast a glance at Harth's back, and continued, "You know Harth is here looking for her girlfriend."

Aysel's chipper expression didn't falter, but her smile was suddenly tense, like it was hard to keep it plastered to her face.

"Obviously I know that," Aysel said. She balled a hand up into a fist and lightly bopped Haze on the arm. "Geez, Haze, don't look so serious! I know what I'm doing, okay?"

She continued to look at him, blithely smiling. They were playing chicken - who would break eye contact first.

Ultimately, it was Haze. With a sigh, he dropped his hand and nodded.

"...okay, Aye. If you say so."

[angrennufuin]

Roll for Torment

SHIT I HAVE TO FIGURE OUT RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY whether or not Haze knows that Aysel has a crush on Harth so I can decide if he's going to make them sleep in the same bed during this inn stay lol

[angrennufuin]

Character solidifying!

Specify a character and leave a number in my ask, if you’re feeling so kind!

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?

2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have?

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?

4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient?

5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?

6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child?

7. What was the economic status of their family?

8. How does your character feel about religion?

9. What about political beliefs?

10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted?

11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated?

12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?

13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates?

14. Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected?

15. Did they graduate? High-School? College? Do they have a PHD? A GED?

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?

17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When?

18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember?

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced?

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice?

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role? About the children? How do the children relate?

32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively?

33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health? 

34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous?

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic?

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?

40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?

42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?

44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them?

45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic?

46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Does they want to be visible or invisible?

48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

[angrennufuin]

Nee's a fidgeter -- she paces or plucks at her clothes or twirls her wand, especially when stressed. Formally-trained casters are discouraged from such habits, because they can interfere with concentration or somatic spell components, so Nee sometimes channels her nervous energy into origami

Linmir rubs at her eyes or the back of her neck, cracks her knuckles, and straightens her gloves. She used to have a habit of tapping twice on the tattoo on the back of her hand, but no longer has the tattoo or the habit.

Sûl's habits have mostly been transmuted into theatrical ones: they hum or whistle, make airy/graceful/useless gestures, twirl their hair, and when REALLY uncomfortable, swoon onto the nearest flat surface/potential ally

Silence likes to clap her hands together briskly, twiddle her thumbs, and flick her ears and tail back and forth. She also chews her nails, to the vast despair of the family. If she chewed gum, she would blow bubbles incessantly.

Asa chews on their hair or the trinkets in their hair, but when genuinely deeply nervous, they just freeze and stare. Unblinking.

Hongyan breaks things.

Rosenrot starts cleaning and tidying anything she can reach (WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE SIT), tugs on the ends of her braids, fidgets with her glasses, and gnaws on her lip.

Aysel is a leg-bouncer and also bites her nails and adjusts her piercings. She gets real shifty with eye contact when uncomfortable too.

OC question of the day: what are your character's nervous tics?

[angrennufuin]

OC question of the day: what are your character's nervous tics?

[angrennufuin]

Hey, let's port some stuff from twitter, updated with new characters.

....minimally updated, because I broke my finger a week ago and typing hurts :(

First up: ranking meme for "most likely to pop the question first"

#1. Silence, two weeks into dating. She has drawn up a cost/benefit analysis of your value to her guild with her lawyers. She has contracts and caveats. You realize she might consider marriage a kind of very sexy business deal. You begin to worry.

#2: Rosenrot. She's biased towards monogamy and fairytale romance, and due to Backstory Things she is keen on Locking That Shit Down ASAP. You love her and she loves you? Great. Let's get hitched.

#3 Hongyan, if he knew what it was. Geese mate for life. (please do not fact check this, i don't actually know)

#4 (originally 2): Linmir. Would not ask for a long time due to Trauma™, and only places this high because the others somehow place even lower. Also because she's a romantic at heart! She will dream wistfully of marriage even before she's managed to convince herself that you're not evil.

#5: Asa does not particularly care about being married one way or the other but would like the ritual of a ceremony.

#6 (originally 3): Nee JUST figured out that you can "kiss" someone because you "like" them and not because they're both hot and annoying. And now you want her to figure out marriage? PROPOSALS? Give a girl some time for the learning curve, won't ya!

#7: Aysel would not THINK of herself as commitment-shy but she kind of is. Her religion also emphasizes holding things loosely and not being afraid to lose them, which sort of complicates the issue of marriage.

#8 (originally 4): Sûl. By the time you said the word "marry," she has already hit the ground running. Nope! None of that! Not here, not today, not THIS elf! The concept of letting someone tie themself to her like that gives her hives, and she will absolutely mock people for daring to think it.

[angrennufuin]

cinders night~

looking at my character sheet like

[angrennufuin]

Gawain: They probably all got laid or something Bran: You think Haze could get laid? Harth: [baps Bran] YOU DONT THINK HE COULD? I think he could, Bran, chuckling: I know, I know Harth then proceeds to say that everyone in the party is very pretty, they're just all socially inept, and Bran agrees LOL

[angrennufuin]

Text Post Memes #9

feat. Owlbear Survivors (aka the Owlbear 6). Happy Cinders day!

[angrennufuin]

Haze's Party Opinions (as of 08.23.24)

Aysel She's so pushy and a little reckless, but... somehow, I feel like I can't lie to her. She just looks right through me. Still, I'd rather she not learn any unnecessary details about me – I think she'd just use them to tease me. At least she leaves it at teasing; I don't think she's cruel. In fact, I think some of her boisterous personality is just an act, a way to make her seem older and tougher than she actually is. She claims she used to be a pirate? But I wonder about that. I thought pirates couldn't just stop being pirates.

Brân Reliable, but I worry about them. Something definitely happened to them before they came to Xen'drik, but I think they're tough enough to take care of themselves... I hope. Their axe is probably bigger than my head, and they can wield it like it's nothing -- it's really a sight to behold. They can be vicious, but they can be very gentle, too, like with that strange bipedal lizard we ran into. And they knew to try and differential me from my reflections when we were attacked in that flooded room... they really have a way of looking at the world. I'd like to learn from them.

Gawain She's tenacious, more than I initially gave her credit for, but I guess I should have expected that after she bit me on the ship; she's certainly scrappy. Ha, and I guess that's a pun -- the stuff she can make out of metal, it's incredible. Her iron beast is even bigger than she is, but somehow, when I look at the two of them together, Gawain's the one who seems to loom over Havoc. I'm glad we're friends – wait, are we friends? I just know I don't want to be her enemy.

Harth I'm still surprised I met up with her again, but I'm happy, too. She seems more comfortable now than when she was first recovering from her injury. Still, there's something about her – I can't put my finger on it – but I feel like she's changed. Maybe it's 's arrogant of me to assume I knew her well enough to say that, though; it's not like we were best friends or anything. I'm glad I've been able to see her do some smithing, too -- she seems really passionate about it. I think the Xen'drik expedition will be a good experience for her.

Ishtar The first thing she did when we met was beat me senseless in Conqueror. The second thing she did was walk me through the game in excruciating detail, explaining the pros and cons of certain strategies -- and that's Ishtar, to me. She's incredibly knowledgeable and she knows how to apply that knowledge, too. The way she can translate Giant is incredibly impressive -- I can't believe the monks made me spend ten years memorizing the Quori script when Ishtar can't be older than me and she speaks like six languages. She's brave as hell, too. I'm glad to have her here.

[angrennufuin]

It has been like 106F/41.1C all week with the Real Feel much higher -- I wish my behavior was on a beach!!! here's the rest of the gang.

Aysel loves the ocean the way only someone who grew up on a tiny island can. She is going INTO the water and she is NOT coming out unless someone procures a surfboard or some kind of water vehicle, and then she's just going to monopolize that. She tans (and acquires new moles) but I'm inclined to think she wears a practical, navy-blue wetsuit so most of her skin is covered anyway. You will have to drag her off the beach.

Rosenrot isn't the biggest beach fan, but she'll go and have a pleasant time! She likes digging in the sand, and possibly burying herself (or a friend) in the sand, but she's a little spooked by the vastness of the horizon. I think she'd wear a cute retro bikini - high waist, probably some bows; I don't know if tieflings can tan or burn? She does freckle, though.

Silence prefers pools to the beach. If there is a hint of plant or animal life, if the sand is not perfectly clean and the water is not perfectly clear, she DOES NOT WANT IT. She enjoys sunbathing; she does NOT enjoy getting her face wet; she has an enormous wardrobe of fashionable bedazzled bikinis.

Asa is a swamp creature and therefore has an uneasy truce with the ocean. They wear their one (1) tunic to the beach the same as they wear it everywhere and they regard the water with deep suspicion right up until they realize they can fish in it, whereupon they try to catfish-noodle ocean fish. Your dinner is settled but god at what cost. They tan almost metallic gold.

Hongyan also wears exactly what he always wears. He also does not have any other clothes. Incidentally, don't take him to the beach: he's got MAJOR beef with seagulls and he WILL spend the entire time making it worse. He burns, but the burn always develops into a tan without a gross peeling stage at all. Cursed with human beauty, rifp.

Beach behavior post

Reminded of this idea by Jules, but the initial twitter thread is from June 2021:

How do your characters feel about the beach? What do they wear? What do they do when they're there? Do they get sunburned or tanned or actually wear enough sunscreen like some kind of monster? Gimme the beach takes!

Sûl has an enormous sunhat and spends most of her time under a giant beach umbrella wearing impractical Haute Couture swimsuits with filmy coverups and ogling beachgoers. She still gets horribly sunburnt and has to spend the following day lying in a dark room and wincing at sudden movement.

Lin has already made friends with the nearest beach volleyball team, tried unsuccessfully to surf, swum out inadvisably far and got slightly mesmerized by the pull of the ocean's vastness, caught a sheepshead fish and screamed but cooked it anyway. She's having a GREAT time. (Linmir tans shockingly dark and her hair bleaches shockingly white. She wears luridly patterned bikini tops with men's swim trunks and open Hawaiian shirts.)

Nee has gone full tidepool science and is collecting samples and shells and stuff. She wears watersocks or flippers, one of those giant goggle masks that go over the nose, and an incongruously frilly one-piece; she keeps excitedly pointing out interesting organisms she spots while swimming. She tans! But she wears a LOT of sunscreen, because she once read an article about skin cancer and has been paranoid since. She keeps wrestling her drow friend, Lylah, into putting more sunscreen on.

New kids coming in separate addition! Ah, 2021, having only 3 characters... What a time.

[angrennufuin]

Party Dossier: Cinders

[How Aysel would describe:] [as of the ship battle/search for Halberd]

Brân

[they/them, ??? (changeling) beast-path barbarian/Archfey warlock]

A mysterious figure clad in shadow-colors, with incredible strength and power in battle. They’re touched by something unworldly. Their reflection doesn’t always match reality. They have no memory of their past. None of this excuses them being so Goddamn tall! Oddly nice for someone clearly being whispered to by dark forces, and I should know.

Gawain

[she/her, goblin artificer]

Little spitfire. Bit me on the ship over here, which I think was more a feral defense response than actual aggression. Missing two out of four limbs, don’t know why yet. She seems Cannith-aligned and I don’t have any patience for houses, but it’s fun to have someone sworn to me by blood oath… if that is what the friendship pin situation was about. And I believe we share a certain element of chaos in our souls.

Harth

[she/her, half-elf forge cleric]

A quiet little mouse of a house mage. Maybe an ex-house mage now? Priestess of Onatar, how boring, but fun to tease. Desperately afraid of getting into trouble. Afraid of lightning, too -- I think she felt the kiss of my God in that accident she talks about. Isn’t she tired of being nice? Doesn’t she just want to go apeshit? Or is she actually as boring as she acts?

Haze

[he/him, kalashtar monk, way of the ascendant dragon]

For a guy whose midriff is always out, he’s a total square. Every time I say something outlandish, he looks like I personally ruined his beauty sleep, which is obviously a reason to keep doing it. Used to live in a monastery but he’s not spiritual. Fights barehanded, and therefore not to be underestimated. Nice hair.

Ishtar

[she/her, minotaur inquisitive rogue/fighter]

Pretty minotaur. We share a similar ethos on earrings and dramatics. Seems kind of nerdy and know-it-all, but I get the impression the all she knows is from books. That said, she’s been shockingly competent thus far, and sometimes you need a nerd to figure out stupid wizard puzzle bullshit. Goddamn can she sprint.

[angrennufuin]

no context cinders meme

[angrennufuin]

Kiss Prompt

Linmir/Lylah (WITH Xiphos)

"You have a question" Xiphos stated, nodding her head at Lylah. Her hands were still around the (empty) glass, and though the Warforged had no face, her voice carried amusement, possibly a tinge of mischief. "You may ask". Linmir set her own glass down, leaning towards Xiphos "She can always tell when there's something on your mind, but like, yeah just ask whatever. We won't mind" she says with a fond smile. Lylah looked down into her mug, mortified that she'd been that obvious.

"Well" Lylah began, choosing her words carefully, "It's silly to ask - and and it's none of my business if you don't want to share but.." She lifts her gaze to look at the couple, feeling more stupid by the minute "Do you two kiss? Since Xiphos doesn't have a face, I mean. Augh, sorry"

Running her hand through her hair, Lylah only blushed when her question was met with laughter. Linmir's laugh was loud and sharp, like she could wield it with the same finesse as her rapier. Xiphos' laugh was more akin to music, flowy and inhuman but beautiful all the same. Both laughs were very dangerous, Lylah thought.

"That's it? God, I was expecting way worse" Linmir says. "Yeah, we kiss. It's just different." Xiphos leans in close, angling herself next to Linmir's ear and whispering. Despite having no face, she was incredibly emotive in her own way. The tilt of her head and the fluid way her shoulders dropped could tell Lylah that she was in trouble. Linmir only confirmed that suspicion, her grin widening and taking an almost predatory edge. Her eyes narrowed and Lylah heard her mutter "Yeah, I agree" before she abruptly stood.

Linmir rounded the table, as fast as always, much to Lylah's envy. But instead of teasing or roughhousing, Linmir grabbed Lylah's chin, her gloved hand guiding Lylah's head upward as she leaned down to meet her. The glove was smooth against Lylah's skin, as Linmir's hand drifted to her cheek. Linmir kissed with purpose, with fire, as if it would kill her to give anything less than her everything. Lylah reciprocated as best she could, matching every kiss and feather-light touch until Linmir finally pulled back. She looked over her shoulder to Xiphos while Lylah pretended like she wasn't trying to catch her breath. The Warforged seemed to light up, lovingly caressing Linmir's face as they swapped places with effortless grace. Lylah was still reeling from the first kiss before she realized what the switch would bring.

Cool, metal hands slid over her neck to cradle the back of her head and Lylah instinctively shivered, noting uselessly that Xiphos had etchings in her "fingerpads" not unlike fingerprints.

Smooth metal met Lylah's lips and on instinct she kissed back. Xiphos may not have had a mouth, but the slender fingers playing with her hair and the telltale feeling of Xiphos' magic building, like the sound of an orchestra tuning, echoing inside of Lylah's head were just as intense and passionate as Linmir's kiss had been. Lylah cupped Xiphos' cheek, making a surprised hum when the ghost of a kiss crossed her lips, and slowly pulling away she smiled crookedly at the two women. Linmir's sharp grin hadn't left her face and Xiphos brought a hand up to her faceplate, musical laughter soft but self-satisfied.

"You could have just said that you use prestidigitation" Lylah said, trying to play it off as if she hadn't just been kissed so thoroughly she'd have a new, impossibly high standard set. Linmir slung an arm around Xiphos and kissed where her temple would be. "We thought there wasn't any fun in just telling you".