apocynoideae

[apocynoideae]

50 Dialogue Prompts

“It’s really not that complicated.”

“Close the door.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“I should have told you a long time ago.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“You have to leave right now.”

“Just trust me.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time.”

“You’re in love with her.”

“Come here.”

“We could get arrested for this.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Was that supposed to hurt?”

“I can explain.”

“Love is overrated.”

“Watch me.”

“I’ve missed this.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Sometimes, being a complete nerd comes in handy.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“We have to be quiet.”

“You’re trembling.”

“I want an answer, goddammit!”

“It was you the whole time.”

“Tell me again.”

“This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t see me.”

“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

“You could have died.”

“Prove it.”

“I might never get another chance to say this.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Lie to me then.”

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“We need to talk about what happened last night.”

“I never stood a chance, did I?”

“I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I still remember the way you taste.”

“How much of that did you hear?”

“What happens if I do this?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“You make me want things I can’t have.”

“I don’t want to screw this up.”

“People are staring.”

[apocynoideae]

Why hello, some inspiration to add to the stack for my very first attempt at foam craft because Challenge Accepted. Great designs.

drew up a few phoenix fire gauntlet designs for my no-longer-low-key Lup cosplay

[apocynoideae]

The Force shall free me (Theovan, Old Republic LARP)

The new crash brought an influx of Force users and abundance of corpses in the Boneyard for them to mourn quite stoically. Van bounced around the grey Force users like a hyperactive puppy. She was eager for knowledge, standing on a shaky foundation cobbled together from selective teaching, hearsay, and intuition that never fostered discipline or independence. She had lived under strong leadership since she was 7. She clung to recently found aspirations of neutrality. Her eagerness had pulled at the end of a leash, and she was unsure of what to do with no one holding it. Someone could have grabbed her collar if they wanted a dog. No one did.

Within a week, Van slipped the collar like a cat. The sulking, moping, and hissy fits she'd thrown when she first arrived gave way to excitement at having choices. Patrolling, scavenging, defending repairs -- working to eat wasn't a matter of taking constant orders. There were expectations and limitations, but no personal guidance. She threw herself into a fight against droids because it needed to get done, and threw Force lighting because she didn't want to die. She spent time in the Sith shrine considering how to use power to gain freedom rather than just survival, and what that even meant. She fought the worry that it was too late to learn how to fit in without falling in. Where she lacked a plan, she had reactive determination.

She was told Iteration was a terrible place and it wasn't possible to have been somewhere worse. But under control had been, in very recent hindsight, somewhere worse. She did not want to go back.

Iteration, Derriphan (May 2018)

[apocynoideae]

Epilogue: Immortality (Nerium, Alliance Deadlands)

[The following is an epilogue I imagine for my Deadlands PC, who I retired when the Deadlands campaign ended. It spans far into a speculative future.]

"Over time, over many years, the people grow into heroes - into people like you have been, who can shape the world into what they want it be, like you have. And there will be a knock at the door: a friend, a remembrance, a memorial, a raised glass in celebration. And sometimes it will be a man, with faded scars where once lines of brilliant blue light glowed with power, standing there with a pot in one hand and a block of cheese in the other, saying ‘Hello, friend. I love you.’"

(The Deadlands Epilogue -- Evan as Chithiss)

---

Fondue sat ready next to a plate of apples and two glasses. Surion asked Chithiss if he'd like wine or beer. The man who had once been the Withering had become a friend. The man who changed the reality of Laerthan was, somehow, in many ways just a man.

Nerium held onto a baby Biata with one hand and a third glass with the other. Kestilen’s orphanage was not well suited for an infant, and so her long-time volunteers became parents. The girl was named Vera, after Vry. Lord Vryan had remained a friend. A leader, a hero, a good man, a brother in arms.

Nerium reflected upon the story Heresy told her when he guided her through Resurrection. He had shown her what he believed could be her future: Nerium, possessed of the calm often found among her long-lived people, and Surion beside her. She wished she could thank him one more time for that story, and show him the peace she had at this moment. But he was human, and he was gone.

Surion lived to his four hundred and ninth year. He fell for the last time defending Moonsong, and died as honorably as he lived. Their adopted daughter had taken after him, with black feathers and a preference for spears. Vera fought beside her namesake and her mother in yet another war against the desperate and short sighted.

Vry vanished without a trace in his old age, and the natural lifespan of Elves was what made his death apparent. Vera lived to see a time of peace, and died at 1,712.

Philomena came and went, sometimes as a lover and sometimes as a friend, on and off for 600 years. Her paintings became famed enough that Nerium read of her death in the newspaper 5,000 years later. Her parents reached nearly 7,000 years old before an epidemic claimed them together. Her sister died in warfare 300 years later.

Eire fell. The fall of the nation did not threaten Laerthan itself, and Nerium had not gone to war. To do so would not have saved lives or freedom, and her duty was not to one nation.

Another human-majority nation stood strong where Eire once thrived, and found its path to prosperity. Despite the sideways looks she got sometimes, with curiosity or distrust toward the horns that were so rare in this part of the continent, Nerium founded a small school in a small town. Though she preferred teaching healing to the older children and leaving skills like reading to her wife's care, she could not stop herself from teaching alchemy and Celestial magic to the most interested students. Her neighbors were not like the adventurer companions of the long past. The dual-school wizard intimidated many of them, and the school boarded more orphans than it enrolled from town.

She woke one morning to wailing at the door -- a toddler too young to tell her his name or where he'd come from, and a note in his pocket that only said “I'm sorry.” She named him Essie, and considered them both fortunate that he had far less dangerous habits than his namesake. He preferred alchemy to healing, blades and guns to Celestial magic, and the life of a guard to a life of crafting. The coincidence only went so far; he wed another human and she lost track of his family line after ten generations.

Nerium changed identities countless times. Cosmetic Transformation after Cosmetic Transformation, move after move. There was only so long she could conceal what she had become. Her skills were not practiced solely as hobbies, and she put them to use when needed -- but a known dragon mage made an impression on the neighbors even in cities with shadow mages. In time she found comfort only among adventurers, even though such groups thrived only in times of the upheaval she wished would end.

She knew, and had always known, it wouldn't end. Fear, need, vanity, greed, envy -- conflict was in the nature of mortals. Good intentions combined with desperation led to evil. Nerium rarely took sides. When she did, with conviction that lives would be preserved by a particular force’s victory, her long-cultivated bond to Laerthan rose to protect its people from one another. She wielded more force than she believed belonged in the world.

So long ago, the adventurers of Chiram’s Hollow befriended the man who reshaped the world. They discussed what it should look like, some of them with as much understanding as their perspective could encompass of the gravity. They had seen the Sundering, the Withering, living rituals, dragons, Cerebral Devourers -- complete cosmic power was believable if not comprehensible, and not nearly as frightening as it should have been. Nerium grew into the awe she was too numb to feel at time. She grew into power of her own that she actively sought, though she wished it felt unnecessary.

She lost track of Tova, and did not seek to find out if she withstood a long life instead of the short one inherent to her people. Kinayo stood Guardian of Eternity for millennia, but was not made for eternity himself and went mad. The Sphinx preserved their city out of time, but time claimed them and they became stone. Nerium learned the truth about Francis Teawaddle. She spoke with dragons and learned magic from them. She spoke with Chithiss and learned thoroughly that “reality” did not mean what people thought it did. She spoke with the Earth and learned balance.

She stopped considering years, then developed little care for centuries. The world she was born in was long gone, and time held little meaning. Her options were to live in the moment or live in madness and pain. She chose the sense of urgency she never really outgrew, though the panic that once came with it had faded. She chose dedication and commitments. She chose to love and lose. In the middle of a cold war, she chose a partner and to bear his child.

She could not count how many she had raised. Some had been brought to her as infants, and some as old as teenagers. But it had been 500 years since she last raised or taught children. She welcomed the sleepless nights with a newborn, and the innate free spirit of the first young Sylvan she'd seen in a millenium. She wanted a bond of blood and the tether to Laerthan.

Nerium loved her daughter as much as she loved the land. She loved Thalia’s father, though she knew a human’s lifespan was fleeting. She realized quickly that a short-lived human was better prepared to raise a long-lived Sylvan than she was as an immortal. Nerium could not explain modern mindsets or technology. She still rode horses more often than horseless carriages. People read about Eire as ancient history if they read about it at all, and couldn't imagine living in a country like it. Nerium had adapted to most of the changing world, and forgotten much of her past, but she was not modern.

The need for Reality Anchors was long gone. Nerium and Tova had become landbonded and immortal to strengthen Laerthan against the Cerebral Devourers, but Chithiss could shut them out himself. She'd been freed of that duty long ago. The Earth's children threatened each other in the absence of threats from beyond the mortal plane, and she held the land bond only to protect them from each other and the land from them. It felt necessary and right, dangerous and arrogant, heavy yet freeing. But these were the Earth's children, not her own. She was not meant to be Anaxion, believing himself the rightful protector of mortals who did not know as much as he, who would be better off with his rule, because he was ancient and powerful beyond their reach. She was born mortal and remained a Sylvan. Her daughter was Sylvan. This was a much needed reminder.

Thalia’s father had only 40 years to give her. Nerium offered 400. She found joy without judgment in the strange ways her daughter lived, which were not unusual by the standards of her homeland. Nerium learned new games, new jokes, and new fashion. She learned to let go.

The Perfect Harmony had seemed unacceptable when Chithiss tried to force it on mortals who very much wanted to stay that way. It had seemed like a Curse of Undeath, unnatural and deeply undesirable. Chithiss had learned this, and changed, and protected mortals so they could keep the lives they so wanted, but he was still the same being. His demand had become an invitation, but what he had not explained to the adventurers of Chiram’s Hollow was that it was an inevitability. They wouldn't have liked that information. Nerium certainly hadn't when Chithiss told her the first time, nor the second. But she had made her peace, and then sought peace.

“You will live as long as Laerthan exists.”

“You can become Chithiss.”

For the love of the land, for the love of Laerthan's people, and for the hope that tomorrow would be a better day, Nerium did both.

Featuring: Surion, played by Sean C. Chithiss, played by Evan (NPC) Vry, played by Albert Heresy, played by Gary Philomena, played by Samara (NPC) Tova, played by Melissa Kinayo, played by Bill (NPC) The Sphinx, played by Samara (NPC) Francis Teawaddle, played by Samara (NPC) Anaxion, played by Sean M. (NPC)

[apocynoideae]

Morally grey: A character who does too much bad to be a good person, but does too much good to be a bad person.

Sympathetic villain: A character who is a bad person, but whose backstory/character arc makes you feel sorry for or sympathetic towards them.

Anti-hero: A character who does bad things to achieve a good goal.

Anti-villain: A character who does bad things to achieve a goal that they believe to be good, but is actually messed up.

Just plain annoying: A character who does bad things to achieve a bad goal but has one throwaway line about a hard childhood that is expected to put them into one of the aforementioned categories when in reality it just makes them annoying

[apocynoideae]

Monsters (Hannah, DR Mass)

Falcon's lantern was in his hat, and Hannah didn't know how to light it. Her own had broken months before. So she sat in darkness outside the morgue, waiting and freezing, alternating singing with a priest of the Court. Weeping, worrying, paying no mind to her belief that these emotions could only hold her back from divinity.

Whatever the Torium Sempers had done to Falcon, the Gravemind returned him frightened and angry at his own Strain. It was a cruelty she contemplated for just a moment before shoving the thought aside so she could offer comfort. Then she shoved aside other Sempers. She drove away Falcon's brother Stryx, leaving him looking confused and frustrated.  She threw out his girlfriend Lyra, and watched her heart break.

What could she say to someone who was convinced he was fundamentally bad? Perhaps focus on the most concrete statements. Was he a monster for wanting to do violence against the Torium, against the Vordr Volhol? Falcon spoke of these desires as if he sought condemnation, but he couldn't get any from a priest who told him he was Sainthood before he really understood what that was. Where the door was opened to judgment, Hannah offered "I want to kill them, too. Does that make me a bad person?"

He said no. That had been her gambit, and it paid off. She bet on the unassailability of her faith as an Accensorite. She bet she could show him that they were more alike than different, that his view of her hadn't changed, and that this would make it harder for him to attack himself. If he was a monster, so was she.

And they both knew that wasn't true. The monsters were in the woods, killing people for unclear reasons. It was right to kill the Torium Sempers, to eliminate that threat. The monsters were spreading propaganda about “undead” Strains, killing them in the name of their perversion of faith. It was right to kill the Vordr, to protect those very much alive Strains from persecution. Choose good. Stand against evil. Idle would make a more compelling conversation later, but that was enough to get by.

The Grove, The Mass (November 2017)

[apocynoideae]

This was my character Nerium, who I've written about most here. Her final event, posed here as if inspecting materials for alchemy.

[apocynoideae]

"After we win and you don't have to be a Ria all the time, what do you want to do?" asked the Legionnaire. There was no if. There was no uncertainty.

"I don't know. People things? What do people do?" The Ria shrugged and smiled. There was uncertainty, but he didn't seem to mind in that moment.

"You know what people do. Will you come home?" The Sylvan thought of Moonsong, the home that could never replace the Vales, but was no less beloved.

"I'd like that." The Lothanti had made a home for himself in the town as well, and had defended it alongside other Hierophan only hours before. They had felled multiple Withering Knights there, and they had paid a price.

Surion was in the Hollow now because of that price. He had followed and then been followed by a fallen Waste Walker, raised once more as a Withering Knight like those he sacrificed his life to defeat. Arrow had held on to his honor even after corruption, fighting each of the Hierophan and Legion in single combat. He had been defeated; one more loss and certainly not the last.

The two adventurers' purpose in Moonsong came from loss as well. ‎"I want to go back to work at the orphanage." Nerium smiled, thinking of the children. They were orphans, yes, and there was sorrow in her heart for their loss. She loved each and every one of them, and saw joy in their potential.

"We can give Kestilen a break. That poor woman." Surion shook his head and grinned, picturing the matron teaching and managing her charges with skill, but never enough eyes or hands.

"We can. Someone has to make sure the curtains are straight." They had been there as the orphanage was built, installing drapery and braziers. Nerium laughed, not thinking about if she would really return, or if she would outlive the town.

The Ria and the Legionnaire spoke of the future and flirted, as though they were still courting and as though they could spend hundeds of years carrying on in this way. Both things would have to wait. They rose to embrace, and to go their separate ways united against the Withering but fighting on different fronts. The Rias were converging to defend Vigil Keep from Withering Knights, while the Legion and Hierophan amongst the adventurers stayed back but prepared to fight the Withering King. They parted.

They would be together again either before the next nightfall, or never. They said "I love you." They did not say goodbye.

Another Version of the Truth: I

“What do you See?” asked the Wastewalker.

She had stopped speaking mid-sentence, her mouth going slack as her gaze became distant and glassy. In truth, he hated when she did that. He understood it was the nature of her Calling and far be it from him to question the methods of the Earth itself, but he could not help feeling slightly unsettled whenever it happened.

With a blink, the Seer returned to reality, her expression grave. “They found the Vigil Keep.”

The Ria, who had chosen a most inopportune moment to take a drink, sprayed his ale in a wide arc. “How?!”

“I don’t know, but it’s not really relevant. We got the order. We need to go.”

Letting out a slow exhale, the Ria issued a string of curses in his native language. “Pip, we are still recovering from the earlier fight. We have lost many already. I am not sure we will survive.”

She looked up at him, all traces of their usual easy humour gone from both their faces; once distant cousins, now comrades-in-arms. “They know.”

They knew. They all knew. It was the understanding each had come to when they had taken their oaths. The land came first, above all else; above their families, above their countries, above their own lives. The Wastewalker was no stranger to causes greater than himself, nor to the concept of sacrificing for that cause. He was simply surprised it had come so soon.

“Did you say goodbye to your girl, Vlad?”

“Which one?” the Ria quipped, but his smile was thin. “Did you?”

The Seer nodded. “Aye.” She tilted her head toward the Wastewalker, the gems dotting her browbone glittering in the candlelight. “Gather the Walkers and the other Ria and prepare to rift. We go where the Oracle directs. The Keep must not fall.”

The Wastewalker nodded and stood. There was no room for doubt, only faith. The Keep must not fall.

The Earth must not fall.

[apocynoideae]

Shadow Dragon (Nerium, Alliance Deadlands)

"Dear Surion, I am so glad you came to the last gathering. I thought I would see you again, but it seems something called you away. The Cerebral Devourers have been banished from this reality. I hope to tell you soon how this was done, but do not want to take a risk in writing down too much. There were some nearly incomprehensible choices made.  Regarding the Hierophan's choices with Reptilon Waste Walkers and thoughts regarding Anaxion -- I feel as your partner obliged to inform you of opposition. Active adventurer members of the Legion of the Vigil, myself included, and others cannot advocate for alliance with Anaxion, even against such a dangerous threat and mutual enemy as the Wither King. Do you remember when Anaxion was known as the Shadow Dragon? He worked with the necromancer Emperor Zhanikar. He was directly involved with the Void sword. He destroyed Earth circles, and Freeport. I did not adventurer at that time. I do not know why these actions suited his plans. Now he says he is against the necromantic Withering. As a tyrant, a being of Order, anti-necromancy makes sense. But look at all the things he has done even within the past 20 years, the blink of an eye for a dragon. Look how he killed Thauphidian, a Legion member, a powerful ally against the Wither King. He is not where trust is warranted. I know you have learned from adventurers who put pragmatism before principles. Choosing not to pick fights, working with enemies like the Black Keep. And I see the strategy in encouraging our enemies to fight each other instead of us. Eire has survived alliances with monsters. The temptation is obvious. But remember what is said about those who fight monsters? Now what about those who fight beside them? Do not gamble with the fate of the world and hand the enemy at the gate keys when he promises to behave.  It would be excellent if you see this letter and come to the next gather. Though there are matters of war to discuss, perhaps we could spend time personally as well. Love, Nerium"

-A letter

July 628, Moonsong, Eire, continent of Laerthan (July 2017)

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To worry (Nerium, Alliance Deadlands)

“Surion,

You are missed. I worry for you. Please leave word if you are alive. I hope to see you soon.

Eire has gone to war with Teshvar. The Withering King presses. He has taken White Sun, and First Forest has been sent adrift among the planes to deny him access. I aim to be away from Moonsong between the gathers aboard the Salty Dog but will stay if I cannot find the crew.

Love, Nerium” -A letter April 628, Moonsong, Eire, Continent of Laerthan (April 2017)

[apocynoideae]

To fight (Nerium, Alliance Deadlands)

"I am just one woman. I will not win war against Teshvar, the Withering King, or Anaxion. But I could win the hearts and minds of children in Moonsong and teach as many as possible to love freedom, each other, craftsmanship, life itself. That is my opportunity to leave a lasting mark on the world for better. Kestilen, too, is one woman. She has only so many hours in a day and help to call upon.

What if I stay? What if I hope others win the fights and Laerthan stays free, that its people can live out their lives, that these children go on and can know peace? That I can have peace?

What if everyone stays​ and Laerthan is overrun inside days or weeks?

What if no one stays and a generation of unattended orphans inherets the nations?

The portals are opening soon. There is no more time to wish, to yearn, or to mourn. It is time to fight for what I desire, to hold on to the belief that those I love may yet live in a better world. I must not be discouraged by my expectation that permanent death is around every corner. Though I have no hurry to the Eternal Vale, there are fates far worse than death."

-Journal entry

May 628, Moonsong, Eire, Continent of Laethan (May 2017)

[apocynoideae]

Adventuring (Nerium, Alliance Deadlands)

"When I first started adventuring I was desperate to do something, anything, to change the world for the better. To get to live somewhere better, or die working to make it better for others.

Moonsong is a little bit of both. I get to live there. I get to work there. I get to see children learn things and hope that whatever small joy or knowledge I can pass on to them will matter in their future. I think about how these short lived humans could have many generations of descendants before I am old enough to consider children of my own, and about the likelihood that instead they will outlive me because of what else I do.

Adventuring. 'A vacation where you might die.' Yes, it can be exciting. But that isn't the point. The Withering is the point. Teshvar, Anaxion, the Fallen King, Teroph -- these problem are the point. I am far from the best equipped person to fight these fights, but better me than a child. And better me than someone with more they'll leave behind. I do not want to die, but I am willing.

I've written down what I remember since I first came to the Hollow, rewritten, reflected. And that is why I'm writing this down, too. If I live long enough to look back at this and find it feels foreign, maybe it will mean something."

- Journal entry

September 627, Moonsong, Eire, Continent of Laerthan (September 2016)

[apocynoideae]

It's not paranoia if... (Hannah, DR Mass)

"Winter is here. Perhaps this time when we do what it takes to survive, it won't be ally with slavers. I half-heartedly supported the Hansfields over the Free Fires before they revealed slavery was far from their only cruelty. Hopefully the Rover caravans aren't hiding just as much behind helpful and pleasant masks. Now I'm paranoid, now Falcon is right, I can't just sincerely expect a good outcome. But I can hope."

-Journal entry

The Grove, The Mass (December 2016)

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Devil's Den (Hannah, DR DOWNFALL)

"Often I preach that Sainthood's tenets are examples of what constitutes "good" and we faithful must contemplate the nuances of the tenets as well as understand "good" so that we can act rightly in all life's matters that are not directly addressed by the tenets.

We have been summoned, all the civilized Strains alike, both faithful and faithless. The call may appeal to commitment to aid our fellow travellers, our neighbors, our community, our family, our friends, or perhaps our most base drive to survive. For some, perhaps, even a desire for violence and the presentation of an acceptable target. The Raiders have fallen so far off the road, they are not our fellow travellers. We must protect ourselves against them, and when we meet their violence with violence, who will call out the monsters among us?

Now is not the time. But when? We must unite against a common enemy and work with "each other" moreso now than ever. How much peace do we need to achieve before we can focus on the evil right beside us? If we leave aside rooting out the choking weeds amongst us, how much can we accomplish? We sacrifice quality for quantity because we stand against hordes.

Let's go."

-A sermon written but never delivered

On the road to Devil's Den (September 2016)

[apocynoideae]

Report (Maluhia, Alliance Nine Towers)

“Pau-Papa is under continuous attack by undead, which come up  from underground tunnels. For a short time those tunnels were barricaded because the danger of undead in tunnels was known, and this kept the attacks slowed when they arrived. However, in later winter, four misty forms flew into the four obsidian statues which appear to be the permanently dead bodies of go-lem. The go-lem came alive, apparently possessed, and attacked. They tore down the tunnel barricades. The three warrior figures were destroyed in combat. The fourth, which had healed the others with evocation magic, escaped by walking into the sea toward the mainland. The undead rise relentlessly through the tunnels and with nearly every person in turn fighting them, we are outnumbered as well as limited in ability to hunt food. Without outside aid  or cessation of attack, Pau-Papa will fall in the near future.“

- Report from the ambassadors from Pau-Papa to Oldcliffe, read at a town meeting

May 1016, Oldcliffe, Nine Towers, Renlathan Continent (May 2016)

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Pressure (Nerium, Alliance Deadlands)

“Somehow I haven't spit on anyone or exploded yet over all this failure to stand up and scream that people aren't property and necromantic monsters aren't a reasonable nation. A few people have said I'm taking this all quite well. For now, what else can I do? I cannot remain in the Legion of the Vigil if I rail against Eire. I feel like a kettle. Please help me not spray boiling water on all the wrong people when I return. 

 Stay safe. Or at least some sort of careful. 

~ Nerium”

-Excerpt from a letter

July 627, Moonsong, Eire, continent of Laerthan (July 2016)

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Dunwich Bar (Hannah, DR Mass)

“You and Stryx keep looking at the posting board looking bothered and I’m starting to wonder what’s the point? There are plenty of other reasons I should learn to read, but all that stuff is a lot of talk and no action. How are these plans going to happen until someone starts a conversation or a fight in the bar?”

-Hannah to Falcon

The Grove, The Mass (March 2016)