#Cathedral of Carrion

[xaz-fr]

Aiden

[dansnaturepictures]

07/03/2024-Winchester and others

Photos taken in this set are of; a view and privet berries on the way to the station this morning, beautiful scenes of daffodils including an amazing area with loads in flower in Winchester, hyacinth and Peregrine at Winchester Cathedral, Blue Tit, periwinkle, view along the River Itchen and view along the water at Abbey Gardens. As well as seeing William the male I saw the new female Peregrine at Winchester Cathedral which was interesting in an action packed few minutes of them on the north tower ledge, squawking and going down into the nest tray in the gully and it was also a chance to think of the fond memories of watching Winnie the longstanding female over the years. It was announced this week that she had been found deceased after a scuffle with the newcomer female. Winnie did so much for her species with all the chicks her and her two mates raised which is inspiring to think of.

Other highlights today were brilliant views of a couple of prominent Ravens in Winchester, Jackdaw, Carrion Crow, Magpie, Red Kite seen from the train, Mallard, Blackbird, white violets, green alkanet, ivy-leaved toadflax and mercury.

[bobbyzombiegg]

THE BLOODBORNE EYE POST

I FINALLY REMEMBERED TO POST THIS!!! Basically, it's something I noticed in the enemy design a few years ago, and this was me explaining it to my friends who know nothing about Bloodborne. Complete copy paste, so sorry if it's a bit redundant.

something i've noticed in bloodborne: a lot of the beast enemies have a weird lack of eyes/sight. The female beast patients have veils over their eyes while their male counterparts have bandages over their eyes like father gascoigne and the huntsmen. The eyes of the carrion crow appear to be glazed over like they're blind. This also applies to the rabbid dogs, scourge beasts, and maybe the labyrinth rats which have swollen, yellow eyes with no pupils. The loran clerics also have hoods covering their heads, along with vicar amelia, and the bloodstarved beast who's head is covered by the flayed skin on it's back. The blood starved beast also lacks any eyes, with just empty sockets in their head like the dark beasts, the cleric beast which only has small divots where it's eyes should be and blood letting beasts, which also have a variant that lacks a head, so again no eyes on either variant. The watchdog of the old lords has many holes in it's head but none of them appear to be eyes. The man eater boar has swollen eyelids under which you can barely see black eyes with no pupils, so again, it's probably blind. The beastial half of ludwig's head also has it's eye glazed over, indicating it is blind. The only exceptions to this are the beast-possesed soul, the silver beast which have pupils and non glazed eyes, and the abhorrent beast which has glowing red eyes, along with the scourge beasts in the upper cathedral ward which have glowing blue eyes. The scourge beasts in the upper cathedral ward probably have glowing eyes because they have probably been experimented on as they have a resistance to fire and a weakness to bolt, like most kin enemies (kin are people who got turned into abominations in the pursuit of becoming a great one) The abhorrent beast is able to talk and mocks you in the forbidden woods so it obviously has some part of it's mind left. The reason this matters is because eyes are associated with the eldritch truth in the game, and the beast plague is the mind becoming stupid and devolving while insight is gaining eldritch knowledge and attempting to evolve. This was inspired by a video on the cleric beast's model. (I forgot who made it and I can't find the video. If anyone knows what I'm talking about, PLEASE link it in a reblog so I can add it onto here)

[naoa-ao3]

A Night in New Orleans

Years before Jean-Luc adopts Remy, he watches him from the balconies and galleries of the French Quarter and wonders if he's doing the right thing. While he wonders, others have plots of their own and Remy, oblivious to it all heads to bed.

The boy was growing and as he did, Jean-Luc LeBeau found himself worrying for him.

He had already removed the child from the Antiquiary but he couldn't remove the boy's eyes from his head nor the whispers and rumors that circulated about him through the air and through the guilds.

He watched the child from a gallery one night as the boy picked pockets along Rue St. Anne.

The boy wore dark shades to hide his eyes now, big, plastic lenses obscuring his face. He didn't know he was being watched but Jean-Luc knew and he knew he wasn't the only one watching that night.

Above the crowed of tourists and drunks, locals out for fun and a million sweating bodies he saw familiar faces on galleries around him. Dark faces hidden in shadow and he knew there was a plot.

People were scared of the boy. His own people. People who should have heeded his words and didn't. He'd said the boy wasn't to be touched and yet here he was, watching them, watching the boy, watching them watch the boy and down below the child had no idea.

His life consisted of reporting his ill gains to Fagin and avoiding a swat to the back of the head. The child didn't know the war fought over him and Jean-Luc wanted to keep it that way. It was better while the boy was still young.

Even this kind of childhood was better than none.

Even so his eyes followed the man across the street. Bourbon was loud tonight and people spilled out of doorways, sweating and wilting in the evening humidity. Even as a native he thought it was hot out that night and his eyes followed the boy who had stopped to watch a Dixie Land Band lead a wedding procession out of the St. Louis Cathedral.

The boy leaned against the fence around Jackson Square and watched them, eyes following the party behind his glasses. Jean-Luc wondered if he had ever been to a wedding. Most probably not, or at least not any he was supposed to have been at.

No one notices the child alone and yet his eyes follow him as the child unwraps his arms from around the fence and saunters off. He dips his little hand into a purse as he does and scoops out a wallet.

Jean-Luc feels a measure of pride for this child he's never spoken too. He's got a son of his own, Henri is a little older and everything he could have ever hoped for but he's always felt a kind of connection with this child, since the night he'd stolen him from the hospital.

There's music pouring into the street and below Remy walks on, not knowing he's being watched, not knowing he's got a destiny. He doesn't have any idea that there's expectations waiting for him.

Jean-Luc wishes he could protect the boy from them but he can't. He's the leader of the Thieves Guild and one boy can't be put above the Guild. Not even his own son Henri could take priority. There's older and more powerful things at play.

Jean-Luc watches the men across the street. Their eyes are fixed on the boy and he doubts they have any good plans for him.

He closes his hand around the railing and frowns hard, the French Quarter below him, spilling the masses onto her streets, hiding a little boy with demonic eyes.

Across town, his own son is asleep in his bed in their garden district manor. He's surrounded by iron fences the old south there, heavy curtains on the windows and antiques. Henri sleeps well and he feels a kind of guilt as he watches Remy in his dirty jeans and old t-shirt. This boy doesn't know anything about that world.

He watches them and then they move, following the boy. He follows them, silent and hidden, they haven't seen him yet but he isn't the leader for nothing.

They move in, hovering from galleries like carrion birds over the boy who walks on oblivious.

Jean-Luc catches up to them when the boy cuts away from Bourbon Street and begins to wander out of the French Quarter, away from the noise and crowed streets.

He knows a few of the places the boy goes to sleep in. He's already staking himself away from Fagin, already too smart for the man. Soon he'll have to take the kid away from Fagin or else risk wasting him. The kid is good but tonight he's just a kid.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asks as he catches up to the other thief. He knew it was Marcus Delacroix from afar. Now that he see's him up close he can see the look on the mans face and knows Marcus didn't know he was watching.

He savors the element of surprise and asks again. "What are you doing?" He asks. "I told you eight years ago that the boy was off limits. I'll handle him."

Marcus hangs for a second before righting his posture. "I remember but you can't trust him, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc isn't about to hear this. He knows the superstitions, he's kept then in mind just in case. He knows. "We're not assassins, Marcus." He says. "We're you really planning to harm the boy?"

They're standing on a roof top now, watching the boy as he picks his way along the less crowded streets outside the French Quarter.

"Not harm." Marcus whispers, looking down at the child.

"Then what?"

"Was gonna take him to the Bayou."

Jean-Luc scowls, not pleased and not surprised. "And do what with him?" He asks, knowing probably what. "Hope the gators take care of him for you? Dat boy wouldn't be done that easy, even you should know that."

Marcus winces. "He's dangerous, Jean-Luc. Everyone can see it."

He can see their superstitions. He's heard it all before. "They're just rumors." He says. "And he's just a little boy."

"You know that ain't no boy." Marcus scoffs, voice a little hurt.

Jean-Luc shrugs. "You t'ink so? I wish I could t'ink that way." He looks down at the boy, farther away, disappearing into shadows and the summer heat. What fucking life is he giving this child?

Marcus shakes his head. "Don't know what power he has over you." He says. "De boy will bring us ruin, Jean-Luc. Everyone knows it."

"Everyone knows what they've been told and it's men like you doing the telling, Marcus."

Marcus gives him a grieving look this time, mind unforgiving, unable and unwilling to understand.

The boy is gone.

"He'll doom the Guild."

"Or save it."

Marcus nods, quarry lost, plans aborted. Remy gone. "Maybe." He whispers.

Jean-Luc understands and wishes he still had eyes on the boy. It's when he feels the least guilty.

Remy however is gone into the night and of course knows how and where to hide from the world.

Jean-Luc goes home and watches Henri sleep, wondering if his own son understands how much he loves him. Wondering if he'll forgive him when he gets old enough to know him.

He wonders where Remy is sleeping, knows he's not in a bed like Henri. Know's he's not safe and loved like Henri and he feels like he's letting two children down.

Out there among the street lamps and stars, the one way streets and cemeteries the shot gun houses and superstitions, Remy has a little place to rest and for the night he sleeps unaware

But destiny is coming for him and it'll come in the shapes of Guilds and marauders, X-Men and lovers. Mistakes and trusts and while Jean-Luc knows the boy has a fate he has not a clue of these things.

When he closes the door to his son's room he only knows that Remy is out there asleep and he feels guilt he can't explain. Guilt unfitting of a Guild leader. Guilt of a father and in just a few years time that's what he'll be to the boy. He'll have two sons then and he won't feel he's doing any better.

[portugalandspain]

May 24

Pamplona to Leon, Spain was our journey today. Along the way we stopped in Ubide to partake in an interesting conversation about archeology in Spain. Afterwords a light lunch from a local vendor and onward to Carrion to continue our walk along the Camino de Santiago. Arrived later in Leon and enjoyed a walking tour of the historic town and viewing of the Cathedral of Leon.

[displacer-beasts]

In Zarbinzet

@lisa-and-shadow and @swindlefingrs. So this takes place when they get to Zarbinzet the first time. Before they split off into seperate groups to deal with the soulstone and Elias.

---

“So, what is the deal with you and the Wanderer?”

They had just reached Zarbinzet and were preparing to head out once more. Donan and Nico would go to prepare the soulstone for Lilith, while Lorath and Neyrelle would hunt down the secret to Elias’ immortality. There were a number of items they would need to gather for their journey through the swamp. 

Nico and Neyrelle had volunteered to collect the supplies. Zarbinzet did not exactly have a bustling marketplace, but as the last bastion of ‘civilization’ before entering the swamp proper, there were a number of merchants selling supplies to whatever travelers were brave enough (or foolish enough) to travel to Hawezar.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lorath gave Donan a sharp look, “Have you noticed anything? Signs that Lilith’s blood is beginning to corrupt him?”

The possibility of it haunted Lorath. In his time he had seen and read numerous accounts of people–good, noble people–corrupted by demonic influence. King Leoric. Aidan the Dark Wanderer. Leah. The history of Sanctuary was in part a history of humanity’s corruption by evil. Nico might end up as just another name on that dark, bloody list.

And yet for all that Lorath watched intently, he could see no sign of it. Other than a few frustrated outbursts, Nico had kept remarkably composed throughout their travels. But between Lilith’s blood, the blessings from all three Prime Evils, and Mephisto apparently appearing to him in the form of a bloodied wolf, it seems almost an inevitability that at some point Nico would falter.

(Lorath knew he needed to ask about the wolf. But, just like talking to Donan about Scosglen, when he tried the words turned to ash in his mouth. He didn’t know what to say, what words could offer meager comfort, had no solutions to offer, nothing that could make a difference. No, better to just focus on stopping Lilith and Elias. Everything else could wait.)

“Oh no, nothing like that. On the contrary, he and Y–” Donan faltered for a moment. 

Lorath’s fingers tightened on his polearm. He could say something now. Anything. I’m sorry about your son. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out at any point these last few decades. Why didn’t you write to me about the soulstone? I would have come. I would have put up with the bloody Cathedral of Light. I would have helped you bear that weight.

He said nothing and Donan continued.

“He and Yorin apparently ran around volunteering their aid to many villagers in Braestaig. And he’s made a name for himself. On my journey here I heard more than one inn talking about the strange Wanderer who cleared out a demon infestation, or found someone’s missing husband, or delivered food to someone’s sick bairn. Truthfully, I thought most of it to be an exaggeration.”

Lorath snorted, “No, he’s been like that the entire time I’ve known him.”

A part of Lorath urged to snap at Nico for it. Wasting time helping a poor villager when, if Lilith and Elias got their way, said villager would just be carrion for their ‘new world’ soon enough. 

And yet. 

When Lorath saw the way Nico threw himself into helping anyone who asked, the way he seemed to care so deeply, his voice turning gentle and soothing even the most terrified child, the way he didn’t make a big show of it like the Knights Penitent did, just as if it were another step on his list. Upgrade his weapons, save a poisoned man on the road, buy a new water canteen, infiltrate a city overrun with cannibals and save a woman. 

There was a hot, feathery tightening in his chest whenever Lorath thought about it. A sensation he resolutely ignored throughout their journey, but which haunted his dreams as much as his nightmares did.

“But you haven’t answered my question, Lorath. What is it with you and the Wanderer?” Donan watched him with eyes far too sharp and knowing. 

Lorath resolutely kept his gaze forward. 

“He was drugged by villagers and fed Lilith’s blood. He was rescued by a lone monk, who sent him to me. I sent him to you. I believe you know the rest of the story.”

“Hmm. And that was the first time you two met?”

Lorath hesitated.

Donan picked up on the hesitation and his gaze grew more intense. “Well?”

“No. We had met before,” Lorath scratched at his beard, “He came to my cabin seeking information about demons, curses. I believe he wanted something that might help the druids at Túr Dúlra. We spoke about the nature of demons, the history of Sanctuary.”

“All that in one night?”

Again, Lorath hesitated, “No, he visited a handful of times.”

Donan raised an eyebrow, “Braving that journey through the mountains multiple times just to ask for history lessons?”

Lorath grit his teeth. He was not going to gossip about his personal life like one of those widows in Kyovashad. He was not going to tell Donan about that first moment of weakness in his cabin, when he had commented about seeking distraction in drink and Nico had joked about better ways to forget. When Lorath had challenged him on it and then took him up on that offered comfort.

It was a moment of weakness that Lorath didn’t intend to repeat.

And he told himself that each time. When that weakness happened again in Ked Bardu. And again after Nico returned from Orbei Monastery, haunted by what he’d seen. And again after Ghuulran. And Mt. Ciro. And after Andariel. And–

Well, Lorath had had decades of experience avoiding his own roiling emotions. He could deal with this complication later. After they stopped Lilith.

“Why don’t you ask him about it then if you’re so bloody curious?”

His attention was caught by movement, and he saw Neyrelle and Nico beginning to approach, carrying bags of supplies. Neyrelle was animatedly saying something, one hand gesturing in the air. Nico walked in step beside her, his ear tilted in her direction to listen, but his eyes carefully scanning the surroundings, one hand resting lightly on his sword. 

He had a tense frown on his face and–paired with his dark kohl-smeared eyes, the tattoo markings on his face and muscled arms, wild hair sticking up, long, curved blades at his side, and a large, wicked-looking crossbow along his back–he looked no different from any of the numerous bandits that plagued Sanctuary. 

Dangerous. 

As they walked the people gave them a wide berth, eyeing the strangers in their midst with suspicion. Perhaps he felt Lorath’s gaze in particular burning into him, because he lifted his head and met Lorath’s eyes.

And oh, how the expression changed. The frown falling away to reveal a grin, eyes shining (too far to see the color at this distance, but Lorath knew it was a deep green, the same vibrant shade as one of the leaves of Glór-an-Fháidha), tense shoulders loosening in relaxation, pace picking up a bit to reach them faster. 

“Hmm, I think I already have my answer.” Donan sounded smug and far too knowing as Lorath jerked his head around to glare at his old friend. He had perhaps been staring. He wasn’t sure what expression was on his face, but whatever it was made Donan’s grin widen in amusement. 

Before he could retort, Neyrelle and Nico reached them.

“Hey! We got some water resistant bags, food that should last even in this humidity, snake venom antidote, plenty of water,” Neyrelle handed a large satchel each to Donan and Lorath, “There’s an oil that, according to one of the merchants, should ‘discourage all but the most persistent of bloodflies’.”

Nico nodded along in agreement. “I got us all some new boots as well. These are coated with a special oil that makes them extra resistant to water. So it should keep our feet dry even in the swamp.”

Neyrelle lifted her foot to show off her new boots, and Nico handed a pair to both Donan and Lorath.

“And here, Lorath,” Nico held out a pair of gloves, “I saw that yours got damaged when we were in the desert.”

Lorath reached out and took the gloves. Turned them over in his hands. They were soft, of excellent quality, dyed a dark grey, simple and not ostentatious at all, with the fingers free just as Lorath preferred. 

In other words, they were perfect.

He looked up to thank him and his breath caught in his throat at the soft look in Nico’s eyes, the smile tugging at his lips. It was a simple, practical gift for a– a– fellow comrade-in-arms and should not have made Lorath’s ears feel as hot as they did. 

Donan coughed loudly. 

Lorath cleared his throat, “Right well. We need to be off. We’ve wasted enough time as is.”

[twistedisciple]

(bitch [@ griss]) There's no way that Alcryst could forget that horrendous, monstrous face. Ever since what happened in Destinea Cathedral, what happened to Father...

His face runs hot. His fists clench. You should be dead. It's a horrible thought, not one Diamant would think, but everything else spirals from there. Why are you here? Who thought you fit to have a second chance at life? You, and not Father? Is it because they committed patricide? Would Father have been able to come back like this, had they been able to find the body?

Alcryst pushes past a crowd of students, eyes locked on that foul creature's face until it's no more than a hand's breadth away. His first words are low, just a hair below a growl, full of hate. "You."

"Huh?"

Griss is used to being accosted. Shouted at, pointed at, being slapped out of the blue (he liked that one) - it wasn't new to him in Fódlan because it came with the fell disciple uniform back in Elyos too. Maybe not Elusia, but he'd traveled enough to know that revulsion looked the same across the world. That's not what surprises him though. It's those eyes, hard as rubies, he's certain he'd seen behind the curve of a bow.

The surprise doesn't last long, opening up into a provoking sneer, hands following and turning out, palms-up in invitation. The kid looked like he wanted to hit him, and who was he to deny anyone's impulse.

"Want something--"

In the time it takes to ask, a snowy field churned and muddy by battle and blood comes to mind. He'd been a hyena in the underbrush, waiting to swipe the carrion right out from under this boy, his bow, and his fury.

Recognition lights up his face with perverse excitement.

"--Princey?"

[omalahsocs]

It wasn't often that she dreamed. Or maybe it was more appropriate to say that she didn't remember what she dreamed. So when small thoughts lingered with her when the sun went down, she made a habit of writing them down to see if she could make sense of it later.

It wasn't images that stayed with her this time around, but rather words. Not even words in her native tongue, but they were ones she was familiar with all the same.

Basilica de morte.

A basilica of death. Not quite the same as the one that her Sire had warned her about when he was teaching her the beginnings of fleshcraft, but it had to be linked.

Staring into the middle distance, she considered it. The original cathedral was rumored to still exist. Continuing to live and be free of banes by virtue of being it's own home, or perhaps because at its core was a large section of Carpathian Soil. There was no way to know unless she found it. Unless it found her.

Her nails clicked against the countertop and she frowned absently. The craving to create wasn't something solely in the realm of those artistic Toreador and Ravnos. Her own clan had their own achings to creating, usually kept to their own bodies and sometimes stretched to their guard dogs. And when one found the best spot and freshest prey? Their homes could be converted with bone and skin and love.

Looking over, she snatched up a napkin and took a pencil from her pocket, idly begin to make a sketch. Maybe after her shift she would look on Pinterest for mood boards related to that game Carrion for inspiration.

[attic-zine]

the sounds of july

aka the 15 songs i’m hooked on right now... in no particular order

1.‘No Cure’ BRENDA KAHN Destination Anywhere (1996)

2. ‘The Village in the Morning’ THE MAGNETIC FIELDS Get Lost (1995)

3. ‘Open’ THE CURE Wish (1992)

4. ‘Rhymes of an Hour’ MAZZY STAR Among My Swan (1996)

5. ‘The Way Young Lovers Do’ JEFF BUCKLEY Live at the Bataclan (1995)

6. ‘Breathing Fear’ KITCHENS OF DISTINCTION The Death of Cool (1992)

7. ‘River of Deceit’ MAD SEASON Above (1995)

8. ‘Germayne (Like a Cathedral)’ THE CLEANERS FROM VENUS Number Thirteen (1990)

9. ‘In the Gold Dust Rush’ COCTEAU TWINS Head Over Heels (1983)

10. ‘Planet’ THE SUGARCUBES Here, Today, Tomorrow Next Week! (1989)

11. ‘The Letter’ DEUX FILLES Silence & Wisdom (1982)

12. ‘Boys Don’t Matter’ BLUEBOY Unisex (1994)

13. ‘Carrion’ FIONA APPLE Tidal (1996)

14. ‘Primitive Painters’ FELT & ELIZABETH FRASER Ignite the Seven Cannons (1985)

15. ‘Feed Me’ JULIANA HATFIELD I See You (1992)

photograph of mazzy star

[xaz-fr]

OKAY. Finally thought up a good one, my brain was broken there a second. Were you to choose from any of your dragons, who would you say is the most dangerous? Whether through actual physical prowess or something like connections to dangerous folks--anything goes!

At first I was like 'this is hard' because most of my dragons are like... nice. Then I thought for a second and OF COURSE

this motherfucker

This is Aiden a Bishop Prime Hunter. What's a Prime Hunter? Effectively it's a magic energy vampire. Magical energy during Dominance battles collects into solid forms and usually produces Progenitors spontaneously via magic. But if the magic ends up festering or going undeveloped it eventually 'mutates' into a Prime Hunter, a creature without true form. It is a collection of limbs and teeth and hungering mouths that can mimic the shape and sound of a dragon from afar. It is decidedly Not A Dragon and if you get too close the uncanny valley is so real. That is when the Prime Hunter attacks and devours its first meal. The Prime Hunter than takes up the guise of its meal. So in Aiden's case when he was born his first meal was a Skydancer so he looks like a Skydancer.

To continue to exist Prime Hunters need to stalk and kill/eat dragons that is the same breed as them. Doing so maintains their strength. While eating isn't required most Prime Hunters do. Really a Prime Hunter just needs to suck the magical energy out of the dragon and they can leave its corpse around. But over the centuries Prime Hunters have discovered that the best way to avoid suspicion is to just eat the whole thing. This can be done over days or weeks depending on the size of the dragon and the residual energy in its corpse can thus sustain the Prime Hunter until its gone and they must hunt again.

Aiden is the leader of a group of Prime Hunters, known as a Temptation (because they are. The easiest way to hunt dragons is to tempt/seduce/or otherwise charm them). But even among Temptation leaders Aiden is very powerful, a Bishop. Typically Bishops might oversee several Temptations and while Aiden did that for a while he doesn't anymore. He manages his single Temptation with his mate within a great crack in the ground of Dragonhome. His Temptation is large and quite powerful. Aiden himself is very dangerous. While Prime Hunters start out as a mockery of a Progenitor Aiden is old enough and has accumulated enough power to go toe to toe with a Progenitor, who are established (in my lore), the most powerful dragons to exist outside of godhood on Sorienth. His reputation as being utterly ruthless keeps most dragons from messing with his Temptation, or other Temptations from trying to pick fights with his or get in his turf.

I also have this girl and idk who or what she is but I know she is VERY dangerous and you should not even look in her direction.

[dansnaturepictures]

7th September 2023: Winchester, Lakeside and home

Photos in this set: 1. An enchanting Long-tailed Tit that I enjoyed seeing in the sun when cutting through Lakeside this morning. 2. A Peregrine at Winchester Cathedral I believe Winnie. I was very excited to see a Peregrine here for the second day running I am on quite a good run of seeing them here for the time of year as we come away from the breeding season. It was exceptional to watch her once more, seeing some wing stretches and preening. And I'm thrilled to early on make it another month consecutively that I've photographed a Winchester Peregrine in. 3. Lovely Woodpigeon at the River Itchen. 4. Beautiful red flowers in Winchester which it was great to see. 5. A stunning sunny scene at the river. 6 and 7. Yellow and green leaves and a view at Lakeside this morning. 8 and 9. Views in Winchester, I relished seeing green leaves against bright blue sky again today with a fair few yellow leaves on the ground and on trees a key theme this week. 10. Herb-Robert by the River Itchen.

It was also good to see Small White, Magpie, bee, wasp, hoverfly, raucous bold Carrion Crows at Lakeside this evening, Herring Gull, ragwort, fleabane, white clover, broad-leaved clover, ivy-leaved toadflax, willowherb, daisies by the water at the river and near Lakeside, pineappleweed, orpine, roses, fox-and-cubs, red or henbit deadnettle and hear a Robin's lullaby at Lakeside this evening. Fly, moth and ladybird were interesting to see at home in the evening with Magpie and Collared Dove out the back today and yesterday.

[lainsim]

unfortunatly you do need to use real human corpses for the churches and cathedrals since I don't think the 3d printed bone will make you properly appreciate death and dying and carrion and decomposition like you're theologically supposed to

my serious opinion on 3d printed meat is that we should retool that for bone so we can have ethically sourced bone architeture

[golden-lionsnake]

Everyone in the temptation thinks they know everything about Thaddeus. And it isn't hard to believe because he likes to loudly tell everyone everything about him. Which he does so they don't actually pry into who or what he is.

Or what he isn't. Thaddeus is either the best con artist alive or the biggest idiot to ever walk the face of Sorienth. Thaddeus joined the Cathedral because he thought they were some weird cult. Then he was asked why he never hunted or consumed Essence and he started to get nervous. After a bit of prying around dragon clans in the neighborhood he found out the problem. He hadn't fallen in with a cult of weird dragons. He'd fallen in with a temptation of Prime Hunters. And he wasn't a Prime Hunter. Naturally this made him very nervous. ...But for a long time he was the only Pearlcatcher in the temptation. He didn't have to worry about sharing a meal and brushed off them never seeing him consume Essence as him just hunting and eating when he was hungry, though he never joined any hunting parties- saying he preferred hunting solo. He didn't even mind so much. He never had to work and the Hunters loved playing card games, not even seeming to care Thaddeus always cheated. Then, Anna Leigh appeared and nearly ruined the entire thing. She was so excited about meeting another pearlcatcher guised Hunter. He was awkwardly shoved into a friendship with her despite his desire to push her away. She forced him to hunt with her and Thaddeus was faced with some very difficult decisions. He could either hunt with her and keep up the façade: or he could come clean and reveal he wasn't actually a Hunter. There were non Hunters in the temptation, he knew it could work. But he'd also lied about it the entire time and he knew how Eva and Aiden felt about liars. He wouldn't make it out of that. So he just kept the charade up. He even completed a hunt with Anna Leigh. He even partook in the rewards of a hunt with her despite being a vegetarian. That went a long way in proving to the ever suspicious Fir that he was, indeed, a Hunter. Fir had his number, and was convinced he wasn't a Prime Hunter. But it's hard to argue with a successful hunt. What actual dragon would willingly become a cannibal? His story and alibi secured Thaddeus felt a lot more relaxed around Anna Leigh. Which was good because only a blind idiot (or Carter) hadn't noticed she was quite smitten with him. He feels really weird about returning any attraction, as he's literally watched her hunt, kill, and eat a member of his own breed, but she's just following her nature. She doesn't do it for pleasure like some Hunters do, just to survive. So he's convinced himself she's alright enough to want, to fall for. It was difficult not to. She's such a sweet, well meaning, naïve girl.

-Bio by @xaz-fr​

[tribbetherium]

The Early Temperocene: 145 million years post-establishment

Just Deserts: The Arid Center of Arcuterra

As the climate of the Temperocene warms, regions once covered in ice give way to savannahs and grasslands and forests with the increase of the global temperatures. But with some areas close to the equator, especially the center of continents not reached much by rainfall, they not only become warm-- they become very hot.

Such is the case of the Mid-Arcuterran Desert, a region of Arcuterra that, shaded from cool air currents and rainfall from the sea, is as dry and hot as imaginable, its landscape seemingly an unending ocean of dunes. Here water and food is scarce, and life is very inhospitable-- a world where few species can survive. But where there is an empty niche, something evolves to fill it, and this barren wasteland has seen the rise of some truly innovative ecosystems yet.

About the only vegetation here are saggros (Macrocactinogramen spp.), a descendant of the clackti of earlier eons that has evolved into a segmented, armored shoot with woody stems and its vulnerable joints lined with defensive spines. Despite resembling some kind of succulent crossed with bamboo, the saggros are in fact grasses: a trait that can be traced by their underground rhizomes that grow sideways, allowing new shoots to easily take root and colonize wherever there are accessible traces of water far beneath the sandy soil.

Few animals can breach this precious source of water, save for one: the cathedral mites (Polygynotermes spp.), descendants of the bombermites that once evolved their extreme defenses and highly-specialized colonies to combat the now-extinct armored giraard. They since have dominated the desert ecosystem by a novel adaptation" the formation of supercolonies with hundreds of individual queens each pumping dozens of eggs daily, in colony networks spanning many miles and housing trillions of individuals. Tunneling up through the stems of saggros, the cathedral mites partake of the nutritious pulp and the concealed moisture, recycling even the waste they excrete as substrate for underground fungus farms which they feed to the many queens and their larvae. King castes still exist but are fewer than queens, and, more mobile than their bloated mates, regularly switch queens currently fertilizing to maximize genetic diversity.

The saggros and the cathedral mites form nearly all of the food chain in the desert, with a wide array of insectivores and herbivores capitalizing on the rich abundance of termites where little other food is available. Most specialized of them is the black-tongued moundator (Myrmecosaurus melanolingus): a large rattile specialized for tearing open the numerous mounds that dot the landscapes with its powerful claws and use its narrow snout and long tongue to feed on the termites that come swarming out. It is a tried-and-true niche that has evolved countless times on Earth, and here is no exception. The moundator, in turn, is often accompanied by a small podothere known as the sandy moustrich (Struthiomys gymnocauda), which, lacking the moundator's digging claws, waits for its partner to open up the mound before joining the feast. There is enough for everyone and thus the two don't compete: they tolerate each other's presence and may even have a mutualistic benefit with the keen-eyed moustrich in turn serving as a lookout and giving alarm calls in case of danger.

Predators are small and far between in the desert: the big-eared bugwug (Aridovulpecyon megalotis) is a tiny zingo with large ears and a bare snout adapted for heat loss, and is primarily an insectivore and scavenger, though in groups may be bolder enough to attempt to hunt bigger game, moundators included. And in the skies is the white-striped desert ratavult (Aquilopteryx albanura): predominantly a scavenger, it nests on the vast mounds the cathedral mites make, and while eating mostly carrion, also eagerly indulges in the winged termite alates when they swarm in the breeding season.

But the biggest, and strangest-looking of the desert's inhabitants are the rumphumps: members of a group of basal hamtelopes called llamsters that have specialized to the desert environment with various unique adaptations. Most conspicuously, their brightly-colored, hairless hindquarters serve both as a means of losing heat and as a storage for fat, with their unique coloration also serving as display and an indication of health to members of the same species. Their faces and large ears are similarly bald to act as heat sinks to cool off, their strong teeth and thick lips allow them to bite into saggros to access their succulent inner flesh, and their feet, rather than being hoofed as with most hamtelopes, instead have long splayed toes, with an oddly birdlike appearance, to spread their weight evenly and avoid sinking into soft sand. They can also go without food and water for days: by excreting dry droppings and very concentrated urine, they avoid wasting water, and the fat stores in their rumps provide energy even when food is few and far betweeen.

Rumphumps thus are a very successful clade that since has diverged into many different species that are active at different times of day to reduce competition. The most common of them, the scarlet caboose (Cricetocamelus erythroposterius) is active in the middle of the day, where its light coat helps deflect the heat of the main sun Alpha at high noon, the twotone tush (Gymnoposterius bicolor), with its brilliant colors on its hairless regions, being active at earlier in the morning and later in the afternoon, and the smallest species, the black booty (Microcricetocamelus nigraposterius) being active during Beta-twilight or at night, in order to avoid diurnal packs of bugwugs which it is small enough to fall prey to.

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[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 57: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A model hypercube carved from green crystal, showcasing the fourth dimension.

A polished, spherical chunk of crystal and stone aligned to the plane of existence associated with the divine concept of Random Godly Domain.

A glass phial of a cologne that smells like summer in the forest.

A stone shaped like a mushroom. At night, an illusory, tiny gnome dances on it.

A sealable scroll tube that consumes a complete set of architectural plans for a large cathedral with a network of caverns and underground chambers indicated. Knowledgeable PC’s will discover that there appears to be a way into the cathedral through the underground chambers. The route appears to only contain one locked door.

A bird call made from gold-colored wood that sounds like someone with laryngitis calling out the name “Frank”.

The shed carapace of a scorpion, glittering golden green and trimmed by dipping in molten gold.

A human skull overgrown with mushrooms. By some means of barely perceivable locomotion, it creeps towards nearby sources of carrion and when the skull somehow gets meat into its bony mouth, the mushrooms to grow noticeably larger.

An unsettling effigy assembled in service to a mysterious deity.

A cloak pin made of iron in the shape of two hammers joined by a semicircular haft.

—Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A model hypercube carved from green crystal, showcasing the fourth dimension.

A polished, spherical chunk of crystal and stone aligned to the plane of existence associated with the divine concept of Random Godly Domain.

A glass phial of a cologne that smells like summer in the forest.

A stone shaped like a mushroom. At night, an illusory, tiny gnome dances on it.

A sealable scroll tube that consumes a complete set of architectural plans for a large cathedral with a network of caverns and underground chambers indicated. Knowledgeable PC’s will discover that there appears to be a way into the cathedral through the underground chambers. The route appears to only contain one locked door.

A bird call made from gold-colored wood that sounds like someone with laryngitis calling out the name “Frank”.

The shed carapace of a scorpion, glittering golden green and trimmed by dipping in molten gold.

A human skull overgrown with mushrooms. By some means of barely perceivable locomotion, it creeps towards nearby sources of carrion and when the skull somehow gets meat into its bony mouth, the mushrooms to grow noticeably larger.

An unsettling effigy assembled in service to a mysterious deity.

A cloak pin made of iron in the shape of two hammers joined by a semicircular haft.

A delicate silver cameo with pictures of twin children opposite one another.

A set of infernal robes that appear to have been cleverly assembled from the skins of humans, devils and demons. The clothing gives off an aura of sadistic dominance.

A dark blue scarf that gets lighter in shade the higher the altitude of the bearer.

A tailor’s kit that contains a selection of needles, pins, a measuring tape, a thimble, a pincushion, and lengths of thread and embroidery floss in several colors.

A yellowed bone needle that glows when in or around a haystack.

A heart-shaped locket with a badly painted portrait of a woman inside.

An unfinished watercolor painting of a landscape featuring a castle.

A sealed, one-gallon cask on which is stamped with the name “Frost-touch Ale”. The drink stored within is cool, refreshing, with a hint of mint, lightly dusted with dry winter air. Frost-touch Ale is the perfect ale to drink after the long hard day of adventuring. After seven sips of this wintry brew, the drinker’s breath turns to mist and frost whenever they breathe. This effect wears off after about ten minutes of not drinking.

A decently sized, black satin pouch, embroidered with multiple symbols for currency.

A religious text describing the proper observance of a holiday no one has heard of.

A scarf of extraordinary length and multiple colors.

A scroll describing a lost Dwarven city beneath a far-off mountain range.

A hand-mirror of polished bronze with a cedar handle in the shape of a nude male holding the mirror's disk on his shoulders.

A small lifelike painting of a Random Humanoid woman casting a spell.

A pamphlet describing the usage of ear wax as a medical remedy for excessive flatulence.

A fragment of a sheet music that only has one riff that repeats on both sides

A rod of rune-etched copper which glows green in the presence of powerful necromantic magic.

A wicker basket containing six matched ointment flasks carved of blue marble, still sealed with string and waxed signet impressions.

A single, perfect blue iris blossom encased in a crystal prism.

A decorative drinking gourd carved and painted with stalking tigers and jungle motifs. It contains a fiery tasting green potion.

A withered and blackened paw of a small monkey, suspended from an iron chain.

A blood red, silk robe trimmed with black thread, decorated with rooster feathers and tied with a belt of sharkskin.

A plain doorknob, fashioned from brass that looks like any doorknob that you might find in any villa or manor home across the Known Lands.

A flute made of ash and yew which are molded together to form the shape of a baying hound. This flute produces a mournful howl when blown, attracting canines of all types.

A hooded lantern made from steel that has been plated with sheets of hammered white-gold.

A light tan veil, created from the wing membranes of Silt Drakes, of the Great Silt Sea.

A cylindrical jar containing a single large pickled crustacean of unknown origin.

A star chart labeled in an unknown script.

A delicate silver cameo with pictures of twin children opposite one another.

A fetish consisting of the fur of a lamia dipped, in its blood and then wrapped tightly around one of its fangs.

A rotten ogre's tooth with the Elvish glyph for "moon" etched into it.

A tiny pumpkin-shaped cauldron carved out of bog oak

A wide sunhat fashioned from a large lily pad.

A geode containing a dazzling array of clear crystals.

A flat, dark stone with holes bored into it matching the constellations in the night sky.

A large bird feather that seems to dance as it falls.

A piece of paper, burnt and water damaged, stamped with a crest of a fist surrounded by fire.

An angular container holding a sort of powder that resonates with a faint glow. Inscribed are quasi-religious symbols and motivational phrases, in part to inspire the revived to continue onward. A central metal piece holds most of the incense, waiting to be utilized.

A thick leather pouch containing 3d4 large iron coins each shaped like a bell, with a round hole in the center for hanging on a string.

A thick bracelet of highly polished green stone engraved with intricate runes.

A thin willow wand that attracts small and colorful winged insects to you whenever they are present in the local environment. These insects are non-hostile, and flutter about harmlessly. The implement can be used as a spellcasting focus.

A lacquered tarot card entitled “The Heretic”. The insane figure in this card claws at her bleeding eyes and gnashes her teeth, wailing at the moon.

A fine leather wallet containing an official pardon of a recently-caught villain, with the king's adviser's official wax seal.

An arrest warrant for a local outlaw written by an officer of the law.

A waterproof box containing 2d4+2 tindertwigs that can be scrapped along a hard surface to ignite the alchemical head, creating a small, short lived flame. When a tindertwig is struck it releases puffs of lingering smoke that take on the shapes of humanoid faces, animals, and lofty towers.

A goat horn, hollowed into a drinking vessel.

An ivory mask with a vacant expression. A crack runs across the left eye.

A lantern with stained-glass fire patterns.

A paintbrush with fine, silky bristles. The handle is made from polished coral.

A set of intricately tied decorative knots. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that they're meant to be pinned or tied to clothing according to a local superstition to ward off bad luck.

A heavy, stone disc. It is so old and weathered, it must be from before the cataclysm.

A child's toy fishing rod. A fish made from scrap fabric hangs at the end.

A smoking pipe in the shape of a raven. Its smoke curls into cloud like shapes.

A lovely ivory-colored silk dress with flowing sleeves and tiny pearls sewn at the neckline.

A one-gallon cask filled with almond brandy, a highly-alcoholic liquor from the Moonshae Isles. It has a notably pleasant nutty flavor.

A small sack laden with dried mushrooms harvested from the nearby area.

A petrified egg the size of a person’s head.

A glowing Randomly Colored rock that was once worshipped as a god.

A black wooden scepter that curls into a spiral at the end.

A scorched stone chalice which casts no shadow and seems to weigh far more than it should.

A box of taffy. Just taffy. It’s really good taffy. It’s not magical, but it’s really, really good.

A silver spoon that sweetens any liquid it is dipped into.

A ceramic burial mask of a humanoid face, covered in farewell wishes.

An ivory box decorated with ribbons. Snow placed inside it doesn't melt and remains cold.

A wooden bracelet with glowing runes for “Pain” and “Endurance”

A large six-sided die with suggestions in Dwarvish for romantic dates.

A black iron bottle filled with liquid, stoppered with demon bone and bearing the words “Abyssal Peach Schnapps” scrawled along the bottle in blood. The liqueur was not so much filtered as dredged. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that it should be kept in a cold, dark place. Also locked. Forgotten as well, if one is wise.

A fey lyre that attracts birds when played.

A perfectly preserved human hand with a beckoning finger.

A battered tinderbox containing flint, steel and kindling. Its bearer has dreams of impending fiery doom.

A glass prism that refracts sunlight into dazzling rainbow colors.

A glass-blown sculpture of a breaching whale.

A set of tattered white robes with a red sun embroidered on the back.

A solid lead key. Touching it to kindling and turning it starts a tiny fire.

An old wooden case with a handful of sand inside. When opened it smells of a sunny day.  

A deed of ownership to a remote estate on the edge of a haunted cemetery.

A large ceramic shard engraved with part of a star filled landscape.

An ocean map depicting islands that shouldn't exist.

A steel cubed carved with sigils created by a djinni.

A sealed bottle of an alcoholic concoction known as Muquet. This amber colored cordial is a mixture of a fiery wine, fruit juice, and a dash of secret herbs. Muquet used the juice, pulp and rind of a fruit similar to a small orange.

A painting of a cloud, made by a young child.

A pewter coin with a kite on one side and a harpy on the other.

A crystallized spider's web.

A scroll made of birch bark, with an ancient, nonsensical poem written in sylvan inside.

A folding fan with ribs of bronze and webbing of crimson, waxed linen. The tips of the ribs have been sharpened.

A whistle that attracts small mammalian creatures when blown.

A silk pennant embroidered with heraldic symbols.

A set of rotted priest’s robes with an iron sigil ring denoting the rank of a novice member of the order in one of the pockets.

A warm winter scarf made from skunk fur.

A perfect sphere of black glass approximately three inches in diameter. Staring into its depths reveals an orb of absolute darkness with thousands of tiny silver flecks stirring and swirling through it. The sphere is extremely heavy for its size and is comparable to holding a piece of lead of the same volume.

[wormtoxin]

i’m moving carrion flowers to america so instead of paris it’s set in new jersey, but i am NOT taking away the catacombs and cathedrals. Y’know, the catacombs in New jersey. The New Jersey Catacombs.