#Augur of the Lost

[yorkshirereaper]

Another sketchdump! I’ve reached another creative lull so if I don’t post unfinished works they’ll never be seen.

One More under cut, just there for slight nudity and blood. It’s an unpolished pic of the arcane transfusion chapter from my fic apprentice restoration

[ceilidho]

I’ve been watching Spartacus with my dad and I must share with you the vision I had.

Gladiator 141 and the sweet little thing they got as a reward after a fight well fought.

this is very old:

Sometimes he spends as much as an hour staring at you through the bars of your cell. 

You haven’t yet worked up the nerve to say something to him. Not while he still wears the silver-plated galea that obscures most of his face. You can still see thin lips through the middle slit of his helmet, where the cheek plates don’t meet and the thin strip running down the bridge of his nose gives way to his philtrum, and the barest slivers of dark eyes. 

Apart from his helmet, he wears little else—sometimes the customary leather pteruge around his waist or a simple tunic belted at the waist. Nothing that would hinder his movements. It keeps the bulk of him on display. A prized fighter then, you surmise, as if the helmet weren’t enough to make that known. 

He still gleams bronze from his fights under the sun. Perhaps he’s counted at least a full hand’s worth this week alone. He comes to you sometimes after those very fights, still dripping sweat and prowling the length of your cell like one of the lions kept beneath the arena. You never know what to say to him then. There’s little you can do apart from curl up into yourself in the far corner of this cell you’ve come to know as a temporary home and eye him warily. 

It’s hard to reckon with the size of him. That’s what keeps you wary, watchful of him when he comes to keep you company for reasons unbeknownst to you. He hasn’t made them known yet, in any case. 

There isn’t an augur to warn you the day he chooses to speak. 

“Where'd they take you from, pretty bird?”

You flinch at the sound of his voice. It comes from the pure depths of him, Tartarus deep. You think it would take nine days for it to reach you, like a bronze anvil falling alongside it. In the days that he’s spent at your side, haunting the length of your cell like a sentry bound to his post, you’ve never once heard so much as a whisper.

His words take a moment to register. Across from you, he sits back on his haunches, thick thighs bunched up under the fan of his pteruge. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been there—the hallway outside your cell is relatively dark, the only windows being on the leftmost side of the building, near the door where he must have quietly slipped in. 

“East of here,” you answer hesitantly.

He hums, nods his head. Ruminates on your words. 

In truth, you can only guess—the village where you grew up, where you suckled at your mother’s teat and played with the other children in the glen surrounded by mountains jutting up from the earth and ochre yellow and green wildgrass, the fog sometimes sitting so low in the valley that you could lose yourself in it, is far from here. At least a month’s walk, perhaps more (you lost time along the way). Your feet are still blistered from the march back to Rome, legs still covered in sores and bruises; even now your cell is a poor comfort, the dirt floors harsh on your knees and shins, abrasive to the partially healed skin of your feet. 

You’ve never been very worldly though, never known more than the four walls around your bed. Perhaps the walk wasn’t nearly as long, as treacherous; maybe you came from the west instead, or the south. You can only guess. 

“I came from the north,” he says, breaking the silence again. That startles you somehow. The thought of him under the thumb of another feels inexplicably gut-wrenching; if a man with a virile, sweat-laden chest like his, arms corded with muscle that yours will never see in a thousand years, has been yoked to Rome’s chariot, what hope do you have? 

You wonder for a moment if he’ll tell you more, but he falls silent after that simple revelation. The weight of his gaze still pins you in place.

“…You’re a prisoner then?” you ask, considering briefly whether to say like I, before discarding the thought. Like I, like me. Are you too in a cage, like me?

It’s difficult to suppress the urge to ask him more, but you do. It does you no good to endear yourself to men that move and stare like beasts. There’s something malignant in him, you think, a rot burrowed in deep. You can feel it stir in you too when your eyes dip too low, halted by the muscles of his thighs and the thick slabs packing his arms. You’ve seen beasts copulate; you imagine he’d be much the same. 

He tilts his head, considering your words. Wolf-like, and you’ve seen wolves before. Though the ever-present helmet obstructs most of his face, the sharpness of his eyes pierces through. “They don’t put me in a cage anymore. What would you call that?”

Your chest collapses under his words. Hopes dashed. Does he go in the cage of his own accord then? Does he lock the door himself, deliver the key to the guard standing watch? You think people taken from their homes should see their plight in each other, but the gladiator before you doesn’t look at you like the two of you share a fate. 

“A slave?” you postulate, perhaps too boldly. Worry crawls inside the walls of your belly when his lips flatten, almost imperceptibly.

“Do I look like a slave to you?” he asks, and you can hear it this time. A gentle warning. A rebuke. A question that tells you all that you need to know about this man and how he sees the two of you. 

You remain silent, cowed under his stare and the tone of his voice. Perhaps he’s right, in a way; he’s not the one in the cage. He seems free to come and go as he pleases, his movements unrestricted. Unlike your own. You’ve hardly left this cell once since a faction of the legionaries left you at the gates of the city to be handled by those in charge, watching slave after slave made empticii, helpless, until finally you were dragged to the stand for viewing. 

You flinch when he grabs one of the bars of your cell, thick fingers coiling around the metal and overlapping easily. 

“What did they take you for, pretty bird?” His fingers tighten around the bar, knuckles whitening. “Every day I fight and yet they never offer you as a prize.”

The new scars on his body make sense then, fresh lacerations across his arms and legs that have multiplied by the days since he started visiting you. Why he gleams with fresh sweat every day, correlating with the fights you hear in the arena above you, the cacophonous chants and stamping feet. You can imagine him in front of a crowd frothing at the mouth for blood and gore. 

He comes stained in it sometimes. You hold your breath until he leaves on those days, reminded too much of your village in the aftermath of the plundering. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tucking your legs into your chest and trying to get as close to the wall behind you as possible. 

It’s the truth. No one tells you anything. No one told you what would happen when they ransacked your village and burnt it to ash, the bodies of everyone you’ve ever loved still burning char black in the tall grass, whittled down by the flames. No one told you what would happen after they dragged you back a thousand passus to a city scorched in white marble and stone and immaculate gold. They dragged you here and shut the door. 

He seems frustrated at your words, lips thinning like he has to hold back his rage.

“I’ll slaughter a hundred more if that’s your price,” he says, his helmet knocking into the bars with a rough clang and making you jump when he leans in. His chest lifts with his quickened breaths, working himself up at the thought of more bloodshed. “Then give you their hearts. No other man will take you. I’ll rend their limbs if another man tries. Make you taste their blood on my fingers and lap it up when I split you on my—”

Your heel skitters across the ground, digging a small groove into the dirt and scattering small rocks across the cell. “I don’t k-know what they intend—”

You stare at him when he rises back up to his feet, words dying on your tongue. Standing, he towers over you, shoulders rolling back to puff out his chest. 

“You wait, little bird. Flutter your wings. Soon you’ll see the sun.”

You can only imagine what he means. The thought of sunlight on your face fills you with dread for the first time in your life. 

He leaves without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him to the door until you hear him pry it open, sunlight streaming in for a second before it slams shut. The silence in the absence of him feels monstrous, gargantuan. 

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath.

[thoodleoo]

the ancient romans would have lost their shit over fireworks. they'd make up some insane omens about it. like, giant, loud bursts of light in the sky? the augurs would be working overtime. every triumphing general would be competing to see who has the loudest most obnoxious firework show in his triumph. and that's not even getting into fireworks with shapes. would love to see how long it takes them to design a firework that looks like a phallus

[diorcities]

sunbeam (ldh)

⠀ ── haechan x you genre fluff content dad!hyuck wc 0.5k directory.

haechan sleeps soundly, and among dreams and dreams to pick from, he chooses the one with the sound of your voice.

as you comb the hair of a sleeping jisoo, donghyun sets out to yap right before napping. even though most of what he says are non-woven sentences, you hear him because you've noticed that he pouts when pronouncing. the little boy with caramel curls talks nonstop and you listen intently as you fail to put him to sleep by tracing circles around his eyes, and the mere fact of looking at him as he speaks to you in a language he doesn't understand completely yet makes you think of a boy named after the sun.

you smile, perhaps because you think of him or maybe for his cozy presence next to you, keeping you warm in a rainy afternoon. and the warmth of the blankets probably counteracts the sense of augur for bad weather, but it doesn't, not when you're so close to a sun that never sets.

the days at home are all different, but there is always room for a good nap, and donghyuck has slept through the entire rain. he gets closer to you, and the smells of vanilla and orquids wraps him around; there's a gentle feeling where his heart rests and haechan knows he's lost.

his warm hand detaches from your belly and lands on the mouth of the poor donghuyn who cuts the thread of his story to remove his dad's hand with a frown; he looks like his father in certain light sometimes. “hae,” you complain as he laughs with a tint of playfulness.

you make sure to rub donghyun's full cheek who proceeds to continue babbling before turning your head to the side to have a full vision of his face. haechan's eyes are barely open and he blinks slowly. he has messy and long hair covering his forehead, making you tickles when he snuggles closer. “come sleep with me.”

“donghyun's telling a bedtime story,” you say quietly, “the one you teached him.” by the way he smiles proudly, you know he's treasuring it.

“mommy... flower.” so now he leans over your shoulder and his eyebrows arch in the utmost attention while the little sunbeam starts to loose the thread of his own babbling, slowly giving in to sleep.

donghyun's small dark eyes begin to close and his eyelids with long eyelashes flutter like butterfly wings, coming closer to you and the source of warmth emanating from your body. and even though he's finally giving in to get some rest from all the shenanigans he did in the afternoon paired up with his brother, your drowsy mind wants to know how the story ends for him.

“what happens next, love?” you whisper, kissing his forehead affectionately.

“he always falls asleep on that part,” haechan mocks with a snort before reaching out to the boy's hair where his fingers uncover his forehead.

donghyun's eyelids flutter before he breathes steadily, smiling in his dreams when haechan trace a path down to the tip of his nose. “where the enchantlings live, a sunflower saw heaven in a dandelion, and they lived happily ever after, for forever and a day.”

a short laugh assaults you, especially since now all of donghyun's words make sense, because haechan has given them meaning. and that, the feeling that makes your heart beat slowly spreads through your chest, and is warm, and it's beautiful.

“can i have you for myself now?” his deep voice sounds husky by sleep and makes your skin bristle.

you turn around as he makes you face him, registering how close he is when his lips rest on yours. and he kisses you, slowly and tiredly, with little pecks full of something akin to infinite love.

each time he kisses you this way, you can't help but think that this feeling begins with you and ends with him. and just as all roads lead to rome, perhaps yours would've always led you here, in his arms.

he welcomes you into his embrace and the faint scent of shaving cream envelops you in a homely feeling. the soft note of his cologne gives you the feelings. “always.”

it's maybe a skill to know that he's smiling even when you don't see him. but you feel it. in your heart.

he can have you, always.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"Those in Númenórë who had no wish for marriage or the taking of lovers were often drawn to serve in the temples of Ulmo or Nienna, the two of the Lords of the West who like them went unpartnered, and yet were whole."

@aspecardaweek day 4 ⇢ worldbuilding + community || RELIGIOUS ORDERS OF NÚMENOR

[ID: an edit comprised of four graphics in shades of beige and soft grey.

1: A rectangular image on the right side of the panel shows two models embracing. Both are wearing grey hijabs and brown robes and looking at the viewer calmly. The model on the right is shorter, young, and tan-skinned, while the model on the left is a bit older, has dark brown skin, and is taller. White and brown cursive text to the left of the image reads "Devotees of Nienna" and below it, white italicized serif text reads "In the days of the Faithful, many Númenoreans entered into the service of the Valar, often at the behest of dreams, omens, or consultations with seers. One of the most long-lasting orders created at this time was that of Nienna, whose domain is sorrow and pity; it is said that some of those called to her temples possessed gifts of foresight, and were given to mourn the ruin of Elenna long before it came to pass. They were known to render much aid to the dying and those wounded in spirit, and went always dressed in veils and mantles of grey." The graphic is framed on two sides by white and brown lines / 2: Two horizontal images with a thin slice of beige background showing between. The top image shows an arched stone hallway lined with statues, with glass lamps hanging from the ceiling, while the bottom image shows a white flower lying on a pale cloth / 3: Same format as Image 2, but the images show ocean waves crashing against cliffs (on the top) and dried white sea sponges (on the bottom) / 4: Same format as Image 1, but the orientation is reversed, with the image on the right and the text on the left. The picture shows a punjabi pakistani man with a black beard, wearing a brown shawl and white turban and looking seriously at the viewer. The heading reads "Devotees of Ulmo," with the bottom text saying "The service of Ulmo attracted many Númenoreans, for they loved the sea and its creatures, having come from it, they said, themselves. Numerous of those who bound themselves to the Lord of Waters were wanderers, roving solitary along the margins of the island and seeking communion with the waves. They gained in this way a reputation for great wisdom and the power to see both near and far, and many kings and knights sought them for their counsel. It is said even that Elendil Lord of Andúnië was advised by an augur of Ulmo, though their name is lost to time." //End ID]

[ahllohehn]

Scott and Pearl

idk what tho but them

"I like your plushie."

Pearl jumped in surprise as a camper entered the temple. She turned to look at Scott who took a place beside her then back at the worn out plushie she was clenching in her hands.

"Oh, uh, thanks," she said awkwardly, fiddling with the open seams of the wolf plushie.

Scott watched her for a while before speaking up once again, "You're not gonna sacrifice it?"

Pearl pursed her lips and shook her head, "N-no, I ..." She took a while to gather her thoughts and unconsciously tightened her hold on the plushie, "Well, I think it's too important for that?"

The blue haired teen snorted amusingly at the other's self-questioning tone, "More important than getting a prophecy?"

He expected a clapback, another banter he'd have to fight again, but nothing came. Scott frowned worriedly as he inspected the distant look on Pearl's face, "Pearl?"

The augur snapped out of it and shook her head, "Ugh, sorry- Mind is a little, ya know," she forced a goofy expression and drew circles at the side of her head, expressing her crazy state of mind at that current moment.

Scott squinted his eyes at the expression before forcing a smile and a laugh, "Oh," was all he said.

Despite Pearl's forced attempt at being goofy, she still couldn't help but go quiet as she looked at the wolf plushie in a daze. Her thumb carressed the nametag it had that said 'Tilly.'

It was named.

"It's.. it was very loved," she muttered to herself absentmindedly. The mutter was especially loud in such a silent temple.

Scott sighed and poked at Pearl's cheek playfully, "Dumb saint," he called to get her attention, in which he did as Pearl pouted at him in offense.

"I've got another stuff toy you could sacrifice," he offered, glancing at the nametag Pearl was inspecting, "Then you wouldn't have to part with Tilly."

The saintess looked pensive, hesitant, "But that's---" "It's a stuff toy gift some suitor of mine gave anyway," Scott cut her off with a shrug and lied, "Don't like them too much."

Pearl raised an eyebrow at him. Scott mirrored the action.

"Unless you wanna lose the only thing that seems connected to whatever memory you lost."

The augur huffed and brought the stuff toy to her chest, "I'll expect the new sacrifice in 5 minutes."

Scott scoffed lightheartedly yet already began to run out of the temple, "Whatever you say, crazy lady!"

[wesleysniperking]

Usopp Rant 😡 TL:DR

It pains me…

“If Usopp doesn’t do anything in Elbaf, I’m giving up on him. I love Usopp. I do. But if he’s useless in Elbaf, I’m letting him go.”

Or better yet…

“Even if Oda were to throw Usopp a bone, it won’t make up for 10 years of uselessness.”

Heck, this takes the cake…

“When Usopp told Nami to lie that’s when I lost all respect for him. The crew should have left his lowsy a** back in Water 7. He became what he was so afraid of.”

Nah. I was wrong…

“If Van Augur loses to this useless bum, it’ll ruin all of One Piece for me. It’ll be a major a** pull.”

Regardless of wherever and whatever direction Oda goes in with Usopp, I’ll always stand behind Usopp. No doubt about it. It honestly gets my goat when people in snark threads or even official One Piece pages (*cough cough* Reddit, YouTube, Worstgen) continue to criticize Usopp for small things, like they just really want him to lose (nitpick the h*ll outta him). Like, no kidding. But there’s one thing that really bugged me about Wano….

And what that was—was in a famous scene when Nami’s about to get annihilated by Ulti, and Ulti tries to force Nami into denouncing Luffy’s dream, and Nami remains firm by opposing the villainess…and Usopp wants Nami to lie and say Luffy will not become pirate king. He thinks this and urges for this to happen. For her to do so.

Now, I do honestly understand why he said that, and why he did it. If people had good reading comprehension and knew how to pick up on context clues this wouldn’t have to be brought up in anything regarding “Usopp’s bum-a**”.

Point blank, Usopp didn’t want Nami to die.

Lying means nothing to him. They both know Luffy is going to become Pirate King. They’ve seen their captain make the impossible happen!

Ergo, my main gripe is that it seems what Oda did is that he had to paint Usopp in a bad light in order for another character to look good. Nami is awesome. Kudos to her for staying head-strong. But in the same breath I stand by Usopp’s actions and see nothing wrong in them. Luffy wouldn’t look at Usopp badly if he found out what he did, because as the strawhat himself said, there’s no such thing as playing fair in a pirate fight (I may have paraphrased this), and what’s important is Nami making it out alive.

A dead navigator? How else are they getting to Laughtale. F*ck winning the raid/battle when the Strawhats are down a member. It was already looking rough with Luffy…

So, the misconception that Luffy would be mad at Usopp for saying that to Nami is illogical. Besides, how can Usopp force his ideals onto others? Yes, if he’d been in Nami’s same exact situation, he would’ve done what she did. But the point in that scene FOR HIM was about wanting to protect a friend. He loves Luffy, and has already defended his dream (e.g. Arabasta). The first one to do so! But for Usopp, what’s important in that moment is Nami making it out alive. He CAN’T watch a friend die. He can’t watch a friend die in the hands of some b*tch with a power trip; trying to force Nami’s hand. And sure, Nami remained head strong, and she did the d@mn thing. But when other people and fans decide to commend Nami for that moment while also putting Usopp down, things get really ugly for me. Nami fans and Usopp fans should be allies. But it doesn’t happen because they praise Nami and kick Usopp down to the ground.

No, this doesn’t go for EVERY Nami fan, and I’m not saying Usopp fans aren’t guilty of this.

So, I don’t criticize Usopp for his actions. Nor do I criticize Nami for her actions. What I’m trying to come to terms with is how it seems like it’s the whole classic case of painting one character in a very bad light in order to paint another character in a very good light.

Very SEEMINGLY so, Usopp regresses (no he did not regress!), and Nami progresses (cheers! 🥳😕…haters ruin it).

It’s a bit disheartening to have to defend Usopp over such pettiness. But I’ll continue to trust in the process. It just seems like Usopp fans are running on switchblade faith. And sometimes that faith isn’t enough.

But there’s indeed a beauty in the whole concept of retrospect, and at this point, it really does appear that in the overall One Piece narrative, in the overall grand scheme of things, Usopp is the true underdog.

And if people are so certain that Usopp doesn’t a stand a chance against Van Augur then why even entertain the idea? People always maintain (and it STRONGLY appears) that outside of Luffy vs Blackbeard, Usopp vs Van Augur is the most anticipated duel in the Blackbeard Pirates vs Strawhats battle.

Again, why even insult Usopp, if y’all are associating this “sniper with the ice cold drip” with “bum Usopp”? And if Usopp winning would be such an a**pull, will that keep y’all from watching? Will y’all not stop and look? Y’all low key have some big expectations for Usopp (who y’all consider fodder).

The fight might not even happen, yet haters are still looking forward to it. The speculation is strong with this one.

I honestly don’t understand it when people say Usopp is holding the crew back. How??? If that was the case Usopp would be given more focus. The camera would stay on him a little longer.

It’s like Usopp can never win.

Like this BS…

“Yeah, but Luffy and Law wouldn’t have been turned into toys because Haki can counteract DF powers. So, they would’ve been able to successfully mitigate the situation without Usopp’s help.”

Why???

“No. Usopp is still useless. Perona could’ve been defeated by Robin if she were there. Strawhats can make it without Bum Usopp.”

But in all seriousness, I think most of the hate is honestly just bitterness and impatience. And overall, misguided expectations. But people just don’t know how to articulate stuff proficiently in a debate (the comment section) without hate.

If you’re going to like a character, you have to know what you’re getting yourself into. And if you don’t want to do the research, then just pick up on the fine details and know what you want (know who you are). Usopp has flaws, but to just straight up say “I wish he could f*ckin die” and some other hot mess? No dice! If you don’t like him, move on. If you like him, but can’t love him at his “lowest” then get to steppin’.

There are a lot of bitter fans who’ve been unimpressed with Usopp post time skip. But there are even some far more bitter enough to the point to say that whatever he accomplished pre-timeskip was his peak, and that the whole fight with Perona was Oda “just throwing him a bone”. Some aren’t even satisfied with Enies Lobby Usopp, because he didn’t get a decent 1 v 1. “He should’ve had Sanji’s fight”. Typical shonen fan, I guess.

Yet, this bitterness also stems from the upset of Water 7’s narrative working in favor of Luffy instead of Usopp (apparently Longnose was the bad guy here 😒).

Ugh…The Sniper King joke isn’t fun anymore…

“Yeah. I truly just separate Sniper King and Usopp now. Meme aside. They really are separate people, and Usopp is just a bum.” [Proceeds to show panel of when Usopp was on the ground, heavily injured after the Franky family “dealt with him”. And the crew found him. And other racial slurs follow…]

Final + Conclusion

Usopp is still my favorite One Piece character (unconditionally), and I hope he’s given the justice he deserves. I love Sniper King, but I don’t want him to comeback because of the haters.

Usopp needs to get the last laugh.

His fans deserve the last laugh.

We will get the last laugh.

Just wait and see, he’ll come in clutch again.

[starlightshadowsworld]

I love Percy and Annabeth but they should not have been in Heroes of Olympus.

Because they overshadow everyone else.

People even say they skipped other characters povs just to read there's.

I love them but I think they shouldn't have been as prominently apart of the story.

Because yeah I love them but I've had 5 books of these guys, I'd really like to know the rest of the seven.

Hell Jason's birthday is the day they fall into Tartarus soo...tell me they aren't overshadowed..

Jason's our main character and he constantly gets pushed aside and is not written well and constantly compared to as being Percy's lesser version.

Which isn't fair.

And he's not given a chance to change that.

He's not allowed to exist outside of Percy because of course he isn't.

Percy's right there.

Also give them a break.

They just fought a war.

Personally would love if the lost hero started with a snap shot of the battle of Manhatten and zoomed out to the Roman part of the fight.

Jason leading the charge and just "Yeah.. That's me, your probably wondering how I got here."

And takes us all the way back to a mysterious woman giving Jason up and the wolves coming for him.

With us learning from kid Thalia demanding to know where Jason is that this Jason is her Jason.

Jason Grace.

We see the wolf house we watch Jason try to survive and absolutely break our hearts hearing someone so young think he's so alone and no one loves him.

Lupa becoming more motherly to him but that fear Jason has always remains that she will turn on him one day.

Jason wandering the streets to Camp Jupiter.

Jason's situation bring the reverse of Percy's.

Being out casted immediately and than put on a pedestal once he's claimed.

Jason immediately hating it.

Jason being pushed into this good soilder narrative but he doesn't fit it at all.

His upbringing has left him wild, less bothered with proper fighting techniques and more on survival.

He fights to kill.

He fights to live.

And no one else gets that.

Except one camper, Octavian, who's older than Jason abd the Augur.

Everyone after reading the Pjo series seeing Octavian...I got my eye on you Mr.

Who insults the elders and is the first to get Jason to laugh.

And encourages Jason to stand up for what he believes in.

Giving Jason the courage to deny his place in the 1st cohort and join the 5th.

This

Pisses everyone off.

Mostly the 1st.

Who are downright offended because you don't turn down the first cohort.

And Jason's like, but I just did.

The 5th have no idea what to make of Jason but in time they become friendly.

Dakota becoming a friend to him.

Jason knows this because he shares his kool aid with him sometimes.

He does get in trouble for squaring off with and scaring off some bullies of the upper cohorts.

Because Jason hates bullies and he recognises the kid, Frank being picked on.

Apparently they stole his stick and while Jason has no idea it's importance, it made Frank sad soo he goes after them.

Ends up on probatio and friends with Frank.

Who admires Jason's bravery and wishes he could be too.

So the rest of the leigion kinda miffed some 5th upstart is embarrassing them.

And so when the next quest is given its to him.

Quests are different here to Camp Half-blood.

Since they don't have a true oracle, specifics are never mentioned.

Leaving the leigion to give the prophecy to whoever they want.

And they want to knock Jason down a few pegs and so they send him.

Jason picking Frank and Dakota.

Neither of the two are hopeful because the day a 5th is sent on a quest is the day their funeral is held.

Not the case though and they do in fact succeed and do it well.

Frank even opening up about his stick and showing that he is as brave and courageous as he wants to be.

It's through that act of bravery Frank is claimed as a son of Mars.

And though he's not exactly sure he should be one, Jason and Dakota both tell him it suites him well.

They both even do the "all hail Frank Zhang, Son of Mars" speech.

Which makes him smile.

On the way back though they do find Reyna.

Jason gets the short straw and has to do the oh the Roman God's are real but she knows and that she's a daughter of Bellona.

And they all head back to camp together.

And while Reyna has her guard up she does genuinely seem to enjoy her company with the others.

She's also the only other person to truly understand how Jason fights and his instinct to survive.

Though she doesn't share why.

Octavian greets them, proud and Reyna is on probatio until they can see what cohort she fits into.

Though she remarks after seeing the egos of the 1st that the 5th might be better afterall.

Celebrations are held and Jason wonders if the quest is really over.

Also all or us wondering if Octavian was genuine about what he said to Jason to follow his dreams.

Or if he did it to take Jason's place in the 1st.

Can't tell me after Luke anyone of you guys wouldn't be mad suss of an older blonde boy befriending Jason.

Fool me once.

Shame on you.

Fool me twice...

Damn...

Also reading the series prior and than this means everyone agrees with Jason.

Like we saw Percy fight for his life over and over and are just like... Oh you bitches gonna have a rude awakening when you face real monsters 💅🏽.

I have no idea what the quest would be but I'd want them to all line up to the next big prophecy.

Instead of it coming out of nowhere.

Hazel does come around but later on because of the doors and with her so does Nico.

[lady-quen]

Dragon of Ice and Love.

"Awaken, my child. Your long dream has ended. It is now their time to sleep beneath the stars. And when their eyes next open, yours shall again fall closed."

Cycles within cycles, grinding everything to dust. They grew tired of it, too - a lonesome thing, unfeeling as ice. Stalwart in the face of change, a glacier from the dawn of the world. Jormag was forevermore. There was no shift of the seasons for Jormag, the eternal winter.

Jormag was lonely. They made a Scion. They called them "Numen."

The divine spirit that has long guided seers and augurs, the beat of their heavy, sleeping wings reflected in the movement of birds. Even when they dreamed beneath the ice, they dreamed of flight. Eagle, Owl, Raven - and many more. Throughout the ages, divination was so often carried out at shrines of feathers.

Numen was Jormag's gift to this world. An assurance that history would run its rightful course, a benefactor, but most importantly, they were the One Who Opened the Door. Once it was open, Jormag would awaken, and the Cycle would repeat. Not many could pass through the door, of course. It was only open for a time, after all, and not many had minds clear enough to understand the enormity of the gift. And yet, that was its truth: Jormag loved the world, in the only way a thing of ice could ever love.

Ice protects. Ice fortifies. Ice preserves.

The winter was a time of stasis, but also renewal.

Numen was the instrument through which the magic was performed; The beast exhaled plumes of dense mist which enveloped those who wandered in it. The world ceased to exist to those lost in the fog, and they found themselves in a new dimension altogether - a pocket of the Mists where they would become still statues of ice, and await the new dawn. The Dawnwalkers thawed once the long night had passed, stepping into the new world confused and conflicted. Their memories wiped or altered, minds perhaps not unchanged - but their bodies were as pristine as they had always been. And the door closed behind them. History began anew, like a shift of seasons. Numen fell asleep, and whatever persona they had taken on was gone - not unlike the freshly melted snow.

1309 AE - blue eyes open. A norn child, this time. But their eyes were always so, so blue.

They rescued them - took them - from a village still and quiet. No soul left save for the newborn with snow-pale skin and a soft, sweet smile, never crying despite the bitter cold that permeated their body. The men who found them panicked, but they were perfectly fine. The cold caused no harm to their nascent form, instead feeling like a gentle morning kiss from a world that had waited so long to welcome their birth again.

The crib they were found in was not theirs.

Neither was the name they were given. Arnfinn. An old seer's child who died in the womb. In this way, the name had grown impatient, waiting for its wearer only for him to never be born. And the name became lonely. So very lonely, for so many years, until, with a knock at the door a group of warriors arrived at the woman's abode, carrying a sweet, giggling babe.

"Welcome to the world, at last... Arnfinn." She smiled, through the same eyes that once foresaw the death of her son. And they - he - brought peace to her. For she could see the fates of all those around her, but never his. Her dear son, blessed by Eagle, or whatever yet remained of her faith in Hoelbrak. Whenever she glimpsed him, he was as though shrouded in fog, and for once his life unfolded day by day.

For once, she found the joy of life again in not knowing. And, so suddenly, it had all been worth it, all along. Following Eagle all these years, her constant vigil, and now her prayers were answered. Time-worn skin flush with new life, a warm smile graced her grizzled features, and she placed a tender kiss on a crown of fresh blond locks.

"Sleep now, my sweet child." She tucked Arnfinn in, striking blues smiling back at her before falling shut with a yawn.

"Sleep now, my sweet child." A voice repeated from within his mind, a voice he would hear on this day and then not ever again - not until the beginning of the dusk.

And though he knew not yet the words, he thought back: Goodnight, I love you.

[shenzaibird-art]

A Discussion of Soulmagic

Verloren presented his research notes to his latest visitor as he described the process of pulling magic directly from a creature's soul instead of just the physical body, a concept that none had attempted before him. He had been explaining the exact same thing to several different people lately and more often than not he was met with disdain and skepticism. He was so tired of all these mages who seemingly couldn't embrace new ideas telling him that this was too complicated and irregular to be worth it. But he did not mind what they thought about his work and continued to discuss it with others when he had the chance, trying to find more folks who could have interesting ideas for his consideration. Verloren had heard about Hyden's impressive magic skills, and how he was particularly interested in darker magics. Would he be able to see the true potential of soulmagic?

Hyden belongs to @chocodile! Just borrowing him for a sec haha

Long stupid excessive ramblings below :'D

I was working on this for a long time. Kinda had it planned for a few years actually, before I even redesigned Verloren and got obsessed with him! They're both evil mages who caused chaotic historical events and then eventually faced The Consequences and lost their powers, so I felt like there was a lot of room for crossovers hehe. I started actually working on this in December and totally thought I'd finish in January but... oh well I guess that didn't happen xD

Unfortunately, all this time spent working on this pic has allowed me to come up with a fuckton of headcanon about it, and I could not rest without spilling all of it in an obnoxiously long wall of text.

So, if I were to steal Hyden and adapt him into my setting, I think he would be a Grand Augur of Necromagic from a kingdom neighbor to Houndsdagger. Augur is a word I stole because it looks cool, but in my setting it basically means a mage that works for the kingdom and does magic research. A Grand Augur is a higher rank than an augur, typically has earned the title through their experience, but also usually they're nobles or important people. They get a seat at the royal council of magic and stuff. So yeah I think that would fit him kinda. And necromagic because it allows for some of the most powerful crafts... and because it's typically the most potentially evil of the magics lol

This probably would take place when Verloren's work with soulmagic was starting to attract private clients looking for dark powerful magics, so Hyden might have heard the rumors about a mage in Houndsdagger who could make magic from souls (of animals but also of people obviously). At first, he might have thought it was nonsense like witchcraft (non-standard magic that a lot of people consider superstition) but maybe he might have grown a bit interested once he learned that this was apparently some extremely powerful form of magic. So on the next opportunity he had to visit Houndsdagger, Hyden decided to check it out and meet this Augur Verloren.

I think this interaction could go well, but it could also go really bad.

Verloren is known for being difficult to work with and straight up hostile at times. He's very quick to judge and will not work with you if he decides that he dislikes you for any reason, so the way that Hyden approaches him would matter a lot. Some things about Verloren that I think would influence Hyden's opinions of him:

- Verloren is just an augur, and augurs typically serve under Grand Augurs, so Hyden is technically above him, although he doesn't exactly have any authority over him since he's from a different kingdom. - Verloren is also not noble or anything like that, AND he's from Vykrest. The Vykrest are a bit more animal-like in some of their ways (like growling, biting, running on all fours at times), which makes people from outside think they're somewhat uncivilized or primitive. Doesn't help their image that they're typically wary of outsiders, with some of their cities restricted to their kind alone. - Verloren also usually appears kinda arrogant, like in a "I don't have time for you" sorta way, which pisses off a lot of people who think that he should bow down to them.

But I think if Hyden is interested in what he has to offer, he would be wise enough to treat him well no matter what he actually thinks of him. And unless the other person is being actually rude to him, Verloren enjoys talking about his work and showing what he's capable of even if he doesn't like them. (It's the part of working with/for someone he hates that he won't do.)

Verloren's work is very complex and his notes and diagrams might seem to make no sense, so Hyden might be skeptical at first, but he'd probably change his mind after some demonstrations of soulmagic's power. I think he would be especially interested when Verloren gets to the part about the Triangle Workyn of Ravenbone, a craft that could permanently increase one's magic ability.

So at this point, if the conversation was going well, they might try to make a deal. Verloren offered his soulmagic services for a cost, but he was very picky about what that cost would be. He was not interested in wealth and instead he would ask his potential client what they could offer that would be really worth his time. Hyden probably would have some interesting magic knowledge to share... or maybe he would offer Ambroys' blood. I have some thoughts about what this would mean in my setting but I guess I can spare you of those ramblings and leave for some other time since it's not directly related to this pic anyway.

Aside from that payment, there would be the materials required for the craft, and for the Triangle Workyn of Ravenbone that included three victims, with their souls bound to their skulls (the process that allows you to use a soul in magic), who should be made to kill each other in order. Verloren would provide the soul-bind spells but Hyden would have to find victims and handle the killings on his own (which I think he'd be pretty capable of doing.) So once Hyden had all the required materials, they'd meet again to do the Triangle Workyn of Ravenbone on him. If everything went right, congratulations! Hyden can now output a lot more magic at once, making all of his spells stronger. Also, his bones are black now (that's what the Ravenbone in the name is about), and possibly a bit stronger too.

Overall, I think they would get along ok, but not exactly amazingly. More of a "I guess I can deal with this guy" sort of thing despite obviously having some shared interests. They'd probably have pretty good conversations about magic, but that alone.

But what if their conversation actually didn't go so nice? If Verloren refused to work with Hyden, how would he react? How would he feel about this random lowly wild-dog of a person having some unbelievably powerful magic rivaling his own and not being able to get it for himself? During Verloren's time as an augur, he gathered several enemies who'd plot his demise and attempt to have him killed and steal his work, and I think maybe Hyden might have been one of those. Eventually, some of his most influential enemies end up convincing the king of Houndsdagger to have Verloren exiled, and maybe Hyden could have been involved. It turned out to be a terrible idea however.

Ahhhh there would be more, but I think it might already be enough and maybe I should shut up...

Sorry I guess I fanfic'd too hard about our evil mages coexisting :'D

[cultixdice]

So I finished Heroes of Olympus and here are my opinions in general:

• the dynamic of the lost trio is something amazing

•new characters

• Clarisse appearing in blood of Olympus

•REYNA!!!

•this passage:

Rachel Dare faced the augur. “Octavian , son of Apollo,you should take this more seriously. Even Romans respected your father’s oracle of Delphi.” “Ha!” Octavian said. “You’re the Oracle of Delphi? Right. And I’m the Emperor Nero!” “Atleast Nero could play music,” Grover muttered.

• it felt like a fever dream somehow

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 1 - FORBIDDEN

They find the Augur of Dunlain in an empty room.

They don’t know that they’ve found him right away, of course, because the room is empty; the hollow heart of the College midden, all grey stone, the grout that lines its cracks dark with mould, and a dank-looking ceiling, and damp, rough-hewn walls. In the middle of the floor there is a low ring of bricks, like the beginning of one of the magicka-wells set in each of the College’s towers, in the middle of its courtyard, the ones everyone always reminds Efri will burn all the skin off her bones if she gets too close, like she didn’t hear them weeks ago when they said it the first time. But there’s no irradiant blue liquid in this little stone circle, no knife-sharp gush of light; it’s like they started building one and then gave up right away. The ceiling bows inwards, like whatever’s above it is too heavy to properly hold. The walls all look damp. Something drips from the uneven roof into the middle of the not-well. The air feels warmer than the rest of the tunnels have, and thin.

The door creaks, loud and heavy and way more dramatic than an empty room needs, and swings rancorously closed behind them.

Efri says a bad word.

(It’s not even a cool empty room. It’s just dim and wet, with stagnant air that makes her skin feel raw. The door had taken so much effort to get open – Kazari had had to charge at it like a battering ram to get the hinges to squeak into movement – and Sissel had said –)

(The Midden sucks.)

“I thought,” Sissel says, and her voice echoes off the walls; “I was sure – it felt – it feels –”

“I hate it here,” Efri complains.

Kazari is stretching out her back, twisting and arching with ever-impressive flexibility (in the exact kind of movements Reldith’s mousing cat would make, which looks a bit odd on someone about a million times its size) but she pauses to blink at Efri, slow and meaningful, and signal, this one thought you liked the tunnels, and then, with an incredible arch of the neck that Efri immediately strains a muscle trying to imitate, this one thought it was an adventure.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Efri says, pressing the heel of her hand to the side of her throat, even though Kazari is already thinning her eyes in laughter. “I said don’t! Mean! And I thought I liked the tunnels yesterday, when we’d only just got into them.” And hadn’t run out of food. Or gotten lost yet. They had already kind of destroyed the only way out they knew about, but Efri thought it would be easier to find another one.

Technically, they weren’t breaking any rules coming into the Midden; mostly because Efri elected not to ask. Better to ask forgiveness, and all, and besides there was the thing with the ghost who wasn’t actually a ghost but instead a member of a secret wizard society (which is the sort of thing that Efri honestly had thought was made up, like a lot of the other stories about mages she’s heard seem to be, but apparently not? It’s confusing), and he made it all sound very secretive, and they weren’t sure what they should say to who or even what they were being warned about because no matter how intrigued everyone is it’s still just a ball. Shows no sign of doing anything but floating. So they didn’t ask anyone about the Augur to their face, and they didn’t ask much about the Midden, so nobody forbade them from going but nobody told them what to look for, either. And now it’s been a day – or something, hard to say with no light except for the scattered torches that definitely shouldn’t still be burning; there was a room with a bed and they slept in it with Efri’s scarf tying their limbs together because it’s weird, down here. Labyrinthine. Hard to track. Efri isn’t totally convinced the tunnels aren’t moving around when she’s not looking because whenever they’ve tried to backtrack they haven’t managed to find the same place twice. There was a room with a lot of bones (too many bones, an alarming amount of bones) and a room with a statue of a gauntlet sitting on a plinth like a religious idol and a crawl space filled with jars and all the strange passageways, twisting and curling like they were carved out of the rock by massive earthworms, narrow enough in some places that Kazari’s sleeves keep getting ripped when she tries to wedge herself through. The cloth is fraying. Efri needs to get them some new clothes, but not now, because they’re still in the Midden, now, and they’re still quite lost, and confused, and no closer to finding the Augur than they had been when they came in, and they’re not sure how to get out because the trapdoor they found was pinned up by a rickety ladder that groaned no matter how lightly they tried to touch it and when Kazari jumped down after them their foot caught it and the whole thing broke into splinters. And Efri really thought they’d found it, this time, because Sissel said she could feel magic in this room, weird magic, and she’s good at these things – but it’s empty. And there’s so many more tunnels to search.

The idea of an elaborate system of caverns under the College building is pretty cool, but Efri can’t say she’s enjoying it much in practice. At least she recognised the mushrooms that grow all over the walls. They taste like mould, but they’re edible, and better than nothing. She filled all her pockets with them. It’s a good thing her orange dress has a lot of pockets.

Kazari, with an air of great and understanding sympathy, leans in to rest their chin on Efri’s shoulder and exhale a warm breath that ruffles her hair. Efri takes a deep, tingly breath and tips her head back so she can blow on their ear. They startle, even though they have to have expected it, and shake their head hard, like they’re sneezing.

“It still feels –” Sissel says, frustrated, takes a long loud step that rings around the room. “It’s – there is magic here, but it’s weird, it’s not – ugh.”

“Do you want a mushroom?” Efri offers, because being hungry can make her grumpy, sometimes, and she digs one out of her pocket. It’s ripped in half and doesn’t look enormously appetising. She holds it out anyway. “Why’s it weird?” Sissel, the prodigy, spell-reader extraordinaire, knows about these things – she’s got a knack with the shape of magic the teachers all agree is impressive. She can say what a spell is without seeing it, if it’s done big enough and she knows it well enough; she can teach herself a spell just by seeing it done and copying its form. If she says it’s weird, Efri believes her, even if all magic is kind of weird, in her opinion.

Strong, Kazari puts in next to her. Very strong.

Sissel screws up her face, eyes shiny in the room’s dim light; “It isn’t,” she starts, and then her expression goes lax, all at once, and she lifts a hand and curls it in the air. She says, “It isn’t doing anything. Nothing’s making it happen. Nothing’s making more of it, or changing it, it’s just – there. I’ve never seen that.”

(Magic, as far as Efri understands, is a bit like fire – in the way that it’s not a thing, it’s the way a thing happens. It needs fuel to produce it – wood and air to eat – the shape of the space around it to guide how it moves. That’s what Tolfdir said. He’s good at explaining these things.)

“That does sound weird,” Efri agrees. She eats the mushroom, since Sissel hasn’t taken it. It squeaks against her teeth.

Very strong, Kazari repeats. Do you feel it?

When Efri takes another breath, it feels thin. Something smells, very, very faintly, like burning. Something drips down from the ceiling again. Sissel’s hand twitches in the air like she’s plucking the strings of an invisible harp.

(She doesn’t feel magic, even if she tries – she doesn’t think her body’s got the infrastructure for it – but she does feel strange. Prickly. Like there’s a fly buzzing around her ears but no matter how fast she turns her head she can’t find it.)

“I don’t know,” she says, thoughtful; another offbeat dribble from the roof. Kazari bats at her shoulder again, and she digs absent-mindedly in her pocket and passes them a mushroom. Figures it can’t hurt, can it, to be polite, so she faces the big empty room and says, “Hello.”

The big empty room says nothing at all. Kazari eats the mushroom. Sissel’s still moving like she’s trying to do an embroidery stitch on the air. Efri says, “I’m Efri and that’s Kazari of Anequina and Sissel Manette and we’re looking for the Augur of… something –”

Kazari clicks an approximation of a D sound.

‘ – I know it starts with a D – we’re looking for the Augur,” Efri reiterates; every word echoes off the rounded walls about three times and it makes it hard to concentrate on what she’s actually saying. “Is that… here? Nearby? Are you in the room? Are you invisible?”

“Not invisible,” Sissel mumbles, still absorbed in her finger-based interpretive dance.

“Not invisible,” Efri agrees, because Sissel would know if it was a person who was invisible, and besides what little information they could scrounge made it sound like it wasn’t a person at all. Connected to the magical energies of the College, apparently, which Efri guesses means the light-wells, their pools of luminous liquid and the glow that cascades up into the clouds, one in the courtyard and all the big halls, contained careful in their little rings of bricks. The ones that make you feel all stinging-raw if you get too near, like skinning your knee falling down the stairs except all over your body, that singe the split ends off your hair and will melt your bones if you touch them, so everyone says.

Hm. Efri tips her head, bitten-down nails tapping thoughtless on the grip of her stick, and looks at the shallow ring of stones in the middle of the floor. There is another out-of-time drip.

(It’s dim, but it’s not dark; the door has closed behind them, Efri hasn’t used her magic gloves to kindle a spark, and they’re so deep in the lopsided cliff-pillar the College stands on that even if there were windows they wouldn’t do much good. And yet – there’s still light enough to see by.)

(Hm.)

“This room is weird,” Efri announces. Kazari brushes her tail against her shin.

Weird like every other room here, she motions when Efri turns to look at her, or important weird?

It is, Efri thinks, a very good question. She flops against Kazari’s side (accidentally jabbing them a bit with the stick – oops) and says, “You know me so well.”

Kazari tips her head in agreement, even though Efri’s now tucked behind it and she can’t see her without craning her neck, and adds, Alas.

“Hey,” Efri complains. “Mean.”

Sissel says, “Hold on,” and then she says, “hold on,” and then she turns, and her face is glacier-bright, and she says, “I think it’s – I think –”

“There’s something important here,” Efri says, and Sissel nods so sharply her plait throws itself over the top of her head and falls back down again. It’s all wispy. There’s strands loose, hanging near the front of her face.

“Yes,” she says; “yes, Efri, I think it’s like a spell. I think – it’s on its own, nothing is doing anything to it and it’s not doing anything and that’s weird, that’s not how that works –”

Another drip; “I know,” Efri says.

“It’s like,” says Sissel, and then she pauses. There’s a long quiet second before she shakes her head and keeps going. “I’ve done it before, or something close, I know the shapes – it’s like a scroll, like it’s all written down, but it’s just in the room instead of on paper. Like it’s been put down, and it’s waiting.”

“Like an enchantment?” Efri echoes, because even though even Kazari, who knows about magic, looks a bit lost, it still feels important to try to understand.

Sissel nods. Her hair is still swinging. “I think,” she says, and looks suddenly uncertain, “I think I can try to trigger it? It looks like a spell I know, but –” she presses a hand to her chest and then pulls it sharply away, like she’s miming ripping a button off her dress, “– backwards. Maybe if I do it…”

Terrible idea, Kazari bats at both of their legs to gripe. Dangerous. You are always wanting to do spells you have not learned, turn yourselves inside out with magics you don’t know the rules of.

Efri blows on their ear again and says to Sissel, “Do it, do it, do it!”

And Sissel, bright-faced in the way she gets when she’s casting, does it; which is to say she tries once – nothing happens – she frowns at her hands and adjusts her posture – and then she explodes into brilliant light, which is very upsetting to watch.

Efri’s eyes are burning like she’s spent five straight minutes staring directly at the sun; it’s so bright she can’t hear anything, can’t feel anything, knocked so off-kilter that she doesn’t know what to make of anything at all. It’s the irradiance of the sun on the ice, of molten metal, of the light-wells. There is a feeling like a breath that scrapes the top layer of skin clean from Efri’s body. Something, somewhere, is groaning. Something, somewhere, is burning.

“Ow,” Efri says, her face pressed into the crook of her arm, and Kazari is lowing, and Sissel is calling her name, and something else is –

Something else is –

Efri raises her head, squinting; swears, because this is a situation that warrants it, she thinks, and she sees the room is gone – not gone – she can’t see the walls but she can almost feel that they’re there, but it’s all so flooded with light she can’t make any of it out. But she can see Kazari, with their teeth bared and their eyes squeezed shut, and she can see Sissel – light suffusing through her pores, eyes glowing bright as sun on ice, and when she says, “Efri? Efri!” her whole throat and mouth is lit up just the same, and when she says, “Efri? Efri!” something else – from her mouth, but unformed by the shapes she makes with her tongue and teeth, and unlike any sound Efri has ever heard anyone make in her life – says

Welcome.

“What,” Efri says, high-pitched – it echoes off the walls too doused in glare to be seen – and then, “Hello,” not very nicely, still in the same alarmed tone, but she doesn’t really think she can be blamed for that.

Sissel says, “Efri? Where are you, I can’t –”

Kazari is making a sound that probably doesn’t bode well. Efri says, “We’re here, we’re right here, what’s – Sissel, are you –”

“I can’t find you!” Sissel cries, sounding very upset – her voice cracks, hollow-dry, on the last word – and her mouth is glowing like she’s a statue with a furnace in her throat, and so Efri, on impulse, reaches out to grab her wrist, still raised up, fingers coiled like springs; it burns, and she flinches away. The skin all down her pointer finger and the web of her thumb stings like bloody hell – seared steaming red, when she looks at it, feeling about ready to blister. Efri swears again (it’s well warranted) and sticks her hurt hand under her arm.

“Sorry,” Sissel stammers, “sorry, I don’t – I don’t think – didn’t mean –” and her mouth is burning, and Kazari is growling, which feels – fair enough, and that extremely weird other voice says

I am that which you seek.

and then, a moment later

I have that which you seek.

and Efri says, “I think Sissel’s possessed.”

“Yeah,” Sissel says, vaguely hysterical, her one hand kept statue-still in her hair but the other one pressing hard against the pale shining moon of her cheek. She shakes her head. “Yes, but – no, I think it’s reflecting off me, I’m – sorry, I can’t, there’s a lot.”

And the voice spills itself out of her mouth to say

Ask.

and Efri ignores it in favour of leaning a trying-to-be-comforting elbow on Kazari’s flank and taking a deep breath for all three of them, because clearly no-one’s really on top of things right now, and saying, “Are you okay?”

(Reflecting off of her, she said; if magic is a fire then the Augur is a flame and the College is a neatly arrayed pyramid of sticks and Sissel is the hearth for it to happen in. Maybe they should have tried to ask a few more people – then they might have been a bit more prepared, and it’s not like being forbidden from coming down here would have stopped them doing it. Oh well. Hindsight’s always easier.)

“Okay,” Sissel says, though Efri’s not sure if she’s answering or just repeating it back at her; she sucks in a breath, fingers curling in her hair. (Her eyes are so bright. It’s like looking head-on at a lighthouse.) Another breath. She says, “I can’t see, and it’s – confusing, but I think I’m all right.” A pause. “I think it’s – I think they normally do this with a – there’s an enchantment? Somewhere? I don’t know.”

“Well,” Efri says with a lopsided shrug, “we’re already doing it this way.”

Kazari’s growling doubles in volume; she sounds unimpressed, but she’s also unwilling to open her eyes against the light, so she’s not doing much to communicate it.

Ask.

says the voice issuing itself from Sissel’s lungs; it sounds like groaning rock and the all-consuming bluster of wind up on the ramparts, and it also sounds faintly irritated, this time, and Efri crosses her arms, almost thwacking Kazari with her stick again, and says, “Don’t snap at us, we’re trying!” and then realises that she’s not even sure what their question is, which probably isn’t good. (Everyone keeps saying that something is happening, or going to happen – the not-a-ghost spoke like it was a portent – and she can’t go near the main hall without feeling on tenterhooks, but there’s no real clue what the something even is, or when it might happen, just that it’s coming.Just that she knows it's coming. There's a feeling like the heavy clouds the moment before they start storming.)

Ask.

says the Augur through Sissel’s mouth again, marginally more gently.

“We found this thing,” Efri tells it – the light all around them is starting to give her a headache; it feels like there’s nothing above or below or around her, like she’s floating in empty space, in the middle of the sun – “in Saarthal, underground, this – they’re calling it the Eye of Magnus, it’s this big ball that just spins, and it never touches the ground, we found it –”

The Augur says

I know of it.

Efri presses her stinging hand under her arm again. “Right,” she says. “Right. Well, it’s – we don’t know what it is but everyone is being weird about it and we met this man from the, uh, we thought he was a ghost but it turned out he was a sigil –”

“Psijic,” Sissel supplies. The hand not holding the shape of the spell like she’s still casting it is clasped over her own shoulder.

Efri says, “Right, and he said we had to find you to ask – to ask –”

You do not know why.

says the Augur, curious as the eye of a storm.

Efri doesn’t tell it to shut up, even if she is quite stressed and she wants to. “Things are,” she starts, waves her hand vaguely in the air – ow – says, “They keep telling us not to worry about it but we need to, because something’s happening, so we need…” and Efri takes a breath that scrapes against the inside of her throat, and she asks: “What do we need to know to keep the College safe?”

And when Sissel smiles – vaguely surprised, like she hadn’t quite meant to – her teeth shine like a bonfire, and the voice like groaning ice seeps out between them, says,

Aptly phrased.

with something that sounds almost like approval, and then the light burns out, and the damp stone walls fizzle back into being around them, and Efri says, “Hey! You didn’t answer!” and then she looks at Sissel, and Sissel’s eyes are still glowing.

Sissel says, fumblingly, “Eye of – Magnus – I’ve got it – I’ve got it,” and even with her face obscured all luminous she looks momentarily very far away.

Kazari is blinking their eyes carefully open. Efri says, “Oh. Thank you.”

You’re welcome.

says the Augur, in the voice of all the Midden’s windless halls, and then Sissel’s hand drops. She scrubs her palm across her eyes.

There’s a blister developing on Efri’s thumb. She ignores it. She asks, again, “Are you okay?”

Sissel says, “The Eye has a staff,” and blinks again. There’s dark circles under her eyes; Efri can make them out again. “It’s long, it’s not made of wood, and on the top it has this –”

Kazari bats at them both. Staff of Magnus? she asks; quirks an ear when they both just look at her, adds, Famous?

Efri considers the name and says, “Sounds about right.”

“It is Magnus’,” adds Sissel, uncertain. “So – I think so?”

Kazari huffs and makes a great show of turning away.

“Sulk,” Efri says to them, and then to Sissel, “Did you see it? Like a vision?”

“I felt it,” Sissel says, flexing her hands. Another drip falls unheeded into the stone ring on the floor. “Like a spell.”

Efri leans over to tap her on the arm with two slightly cautious fingers. (It’s fine.) “That’s so cool,” she tells her; raps her stick on the floor and says, “Damn. You always get to talk to the weird people in the caves.”

“You talked to Kazari,” Sissel says with a sly smile; Kazari makes a rude sound, and she giggles. “You can have the next one. I’ve had enough.”

The weird people in the caves always seem to want someone magical; Efri doesn’t point this out. “We’ll have to get out of this one, first,” she says, and with great optimism, she does not groan at the prospect. When she stretches out her arms, her sleeves ride up, and she sees that the hair at her wrists is all singed off. Magic is weird. It’s very cool that she gets to see so much of it. She says, “Come on! I want to pick more mushrooms,” and, together, they manage to heave the creaking door back open.

[beesmygod]

found a genuinely interesting little lore tidbit in the fan made re-translation guide for bloodborne. one of the unexplained ~spooooky~ aspects of the world of bloodborne is the ability for people to see without using their eyes. you'll find characters and enemies wearing blindfolds (some made out of solid metal) that would block one's vision entirely but they still get around just fine. you too as the player can do this with no problem. some characters or enemies have eyes that have fallen out or been taken. this is a presumed benefit of having insight. get it. lol. anyway:

insight, the player mechanic, is gained either by seeing something important/beating a boss or cracking open a skull for the slug inside, as "invertebrates known to be augurs of the Great Ones". one such invertebrate thats more low key about what it does are vermin. vermin, unlike other invertebrates, can only be seen by league hunters and are collected by the player for co-op reasons. the league is a collection of hunters that are considered nuts even by local standards and are run by a distrusted foreigner named valtr.

valtr's most distinctive feature is his crude bucket helmet with the shittily made hole in it. this item has two different item descriptions depending on how you acquire it, by killing valtr or having it left for you so you can assume the position of new master of the league.

the first revelation is:

"A single hole allows one to peek out with a single eye, which is probably all that its original owner had"

(unrelated to this point, but there are pthumerian enemies in the chalice dungeons with one eye and strange helmets. the league is likely as old as pthumeru itself)

but the translation says:

"Perhaps its original owner may have been like that, one-eyed only, and opened a peep hole."

hey that's different. this implies that the eyeless helmet came first, the owner discovered the ability to see and crush vermin, and presumably lost the bizarre blind-sight ubiquitous to the small slice of the game world after ridding himself of them all within his blood.

like, they're trying to draw a connection between the existence of vermin (ARGUABLY the invertebrates of formless oedon) and sight. very cool.

unrelated but its also a steel helm and not iron. i have no idea why they changed that one. metal means things in this game and iron is a school of mensis metal

[redratt]

I've got three Requiem for Rome girlies and they're all wretched

Sabina-- Daeva of the Senex. Wretched in a sopping wet, nervous sort of way. A natural blonde with heterochromia. Was called "a striking specimen" by some Julii. She was just a guy, a baker. Now she has to handle... this.

Canem -- Gangrel Augur. wretched in a self-serving but truly devoted sort of sense. Obsessed with fire and the sun. Actually genuinely has visions. It's very easy to forget that she is a Gangrel. Don't forget.

Akatos -- Nosferatu of the Collegia. Wretched in a rattish scoundrel way. Sold to a rich patron so her parents could survive. Taken as part of the blood dole. Alive, somehow, after the end of it, wedged between corpses. Her Sire, kneeling, whispering-- "women in Rome always wind up in the dirt." Embraced. Remade. Angry. Believe her smile. Her harmlessness. She wants to see the Senex bleed. She wants to fill the Necropolis with fire. She serves as Lar to the family she lost.

[ilikepjo24]

I’m a dumb af bitch, by chb attacking first do you mean when Leo got possessed? Terribly sorry if this comes of aggressive.

Indeed. That was the first attack. I understand that Leo was possessed at the time, but the Romans don't know that. At that point , there wasn't even that much solid proof that Gaia was rising. They only had personal testimonies of people that weren't objectively trustworthy.

If four of your sworn enemies (Percy, Annabeth, Leo, Piper), your old friend that went missing, lost his memories and joined your sworn enemies (Jason), a forbidden kid zombie (Hazel), a dude who's like literally depends on a stick (Frank), and a forbidden kid that was proven to be a spy (Nico), tried to convince you that the greater evil of all history is rising without any solid proof, would you believe them?

Of course not. Because that would mean war, that would mean death, that would mean that your home isn't safe once again less than a year after you had to go to war to protect it. Nobody would believe that, not only due to how ridiculous it sounds or due to severe lack of proof, but due to the fact that nobody would want to believe that.

So to take it from the top: Your friend goes missing. A random dangerous enemy shows up and takes your friend's job (that you wanted). The friend of the random stranger turns out to be a spy. The random stranger that now has more power than you allows enemies to enter your home. Said enemies attack your home, just like a prophesy said they would. The best excuse they can give you is: "Gaia is rising (we don't have proof, you just have to believe us, even if you don't want to and you don't trust us) and she sent a ghost to posses Leo and that's why he did that. And now we're going to run off, which isn't going to be suspicious at all."

Needless to say, any unbiased person that hasn't had any run ins with Gaia, wouldn't believe that. And therefore, realistically, every average Roman would view Greeks as the aggressor in this war. Including Octavian. Especially when Octavian is an augur, who's supposed to see the future, and there's a prophesy out there that said "The Mark Of Athena burns through Rome" and then a daughter of Athena shows up with a greek guy that sets New Rome on fire!

[sexilydrawn]

Looooooore! Max is going through his Eclipse arc right now. We'll then exit into the hardening and the most satisfying softening mh! can't wait.

Max's mother's kind of a wild card. She's an Avaar woman, the daughter of her hold's Augur. She left her home for a lowlander husband. For this her Augur mother cursed her children to be monsters. Because of this for a while she refused to have them until her husband convinced her to ignore it as superstition. She didn't agree, but since she really wanted sons she prayed and sacrificed to the Avaar Skyfather or Mountain father to give her strong sons. In the coming years she ended up having Baldwin who was born missing an eye, Alphonse who has a part of his lung missing and Max who was born perfect but later lost his arm. What about Evelyn though? WELL Bann Trevelyan eventually took all 3 of her sons as they ended up becoming soldiers and explorers and lady Trevelyan wanted a daughter for herself. She prayed and sacrificed to the lady of the skies for a daughter who took the missing eye, lung and arm taken from her sons by the curse and molded them into a daughter.