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thecleverdame · 5 years ago

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Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Three

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta: ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room

The sounds of the festive music rise up from the first floor as Sam unpacks his bags. He carefully arranges his books, then empties his medical case, making sure that all his instruments survived the trip unharmed.

There’s a knock at the door, and Sam looks up to find the face of the young woman from the porch. He watches as she sets a pitcher of water on his washstand, her cheeks blushed pink.

“Thank you.” Sam offers her a kind word. “Please tell Mr. Van Tassel we’ll be down in a moment.” “I will, sir.” She bows her head, moving toward the door. She stops for a moment, looking as if she’s summoning all her courage. “Thank God you are here!” Sam watches her leave, surprised by her emotion. This place is full of the unexpected.

Dean’s room is next to his, they’re tucked away into guest bedrooms on the third floor. There’s a thought fluttering in the recesses of his brain, he wonders where you sleep. If you’ll be near and if he’ll get a chance to speak with you again.

There’s a rap at the door and Dean saunters in, looking around, seemingly displeased. “Your room is larger than mine.”

Van Tassel House - Parlor

The Winchesters make their way downstairs, stopping in the hall.

“Did you see the reaction when we announced the reason we’re here?” Dean cocks an eyebrow.

“They’re not even attempting subtlety.” Sam shrugs, listening to the raised voices.

“What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?” Dean whispers, looking behind him, ensuring their privacy. They’re just outside the parlor, collecting themselves before they meet with the village council.

“I have no idea.” Sam raises his brow.

“All the way from New York!”

The voices can be heard from inside the room, the brothers falling silent to listen.

“A waste of time!”

“What can they do for us?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” comes the familiar tone of Baltus Van Tassel, apparently the only voice of reason.

“Time to find out,” Sam nods, making his way into the room.

“Excellent! Come in!” Baltus motions to Sam and Dean when he spots them in the doorway.

Lady Van Tassel is pouring drinks and the servant girl who was in Sam’s room, Sarah, is placing a pipe in its cradle next to Baltus.

As Sarah goes to leave the room she walks past the man she was on the porch with when they arrived. He’s already introduced himself as Doctor Lancaster. He trails his hand against her buttocks, believing that he’s acting stealthily, but Lady Van Tassel catches the touch, as do the Winchesters.

The music from the party is faintly audible, and all five men in the room are sporting sour expressions, save for Balthus.

Balthus turns to his wife, patting her arm. “Leave us, my dear. Please check on Y/N.” Sam looks to Dean, who cocks his head.

“I’m Constable Dean Winchester,” Dean instroces him with a sweep of his hand. “This is my brother, Constable Sam Winchester.”

“So,” Sam begins, looking around the room. “Three persons murdered. First, Peter Van Garrett and his son Dirk Van Garrett, both of them strong capable men, found together, decapitated. A week later, the Widow Winship, also decapitated. We will need to ask you many questions, but first let me ask - is anyone suspected?”

Baltus looks at Sam as if he’s speaking another language. “I don’t understand you.”

Dean clears his throat and Sam glances to his brother. “I said, is any one person suspect in these acts?” The men in the room stir in their seats looking at each other as if to say I told you so.

“Constables, how much have your superiors explained to you?” Baltus asks.

Dean leans forward, “Only that the three were slain in open ground and their heads found severed from their bodies.”

“The heads were not found severed,” Reverend Steenwyck interjects. “The heads were not found at all.”

“The heads are gone?” Sam clarifies, surprised by this new detail.

Hardenbrook, the town notary, stomps his foot, getting the attention of the Constables. His voice is broken as he explains. “They were taken. Taken by the Headless Horseman. Taken back to hell.”

Sam pauses, starting to speak, then stopping as he looks to his brother. “Pardon me?”

“Perhaps you both should sit down.” Baltus gestures to the open spots on the sofa. He methodically pours the Constables glasses of whiskey, taking his pipe in hand as he begins his tale.

“The Horseman was a Hessian mercenary, sent to our shores by German princes to keep Americans under the yoke of England. But unlike his compatriots who came for money, the Horseman came for love of carnage and he was not like the others…” “He rode a giant black steed named Daredevil. He was infamous for taking his horse hard into battle… chopping off heads at full gallop. To look upon him made your blood run cold, for he had filed down his teeth to sharp points, to add to the ferocity of his appearance.” “This butcher did not meet his final end till the winter of seventy-nine. It was not far from here in our Western Woods. He happened upon two young girls gathering firewood. The girls stood frozen in fear but one managed to make enough noise to alert the soldier’s encamped nearby to his presence. The soldiers and the Hessian battled, steel against steel, head’s rolling. One of the soldiers managed a debilitating blow. They cut off his head with his own sword. To this day, the Western Woods is a haunted place where brave men will not venture, for what was planted in the ground that day was a seed of evil. And so it has been for twenty years. But now the Hessian has awoken, he is on a rampage, cutting off heads where he finds them.” Sam sits back, shakes off the reverie of the tale. Dean takes a gulp from his glass, mouth forming a tight line as he holds back a chuckle.

“Are you…” Sam starts looking from one man to the next. “Are you saying this is what you believe?” “Seeing is believing!” Hardenbrook thrusts his finger into the air, his body shaking. Baltus places a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

Doctor Lancaster raises his brow. “No one knows why the Hessian has chosen this time to return from the grave.” “Satan has called forth one of his own,” Reverend Steenwyck chimes in. He’s standing next to a side table and picks up the hefty Van Tassel family bible. “They tell me you have brought books Constable Winchester, and trappings of scientific investigation. This is the only book I recommend you study.” He drops the Bible on the table in front of Dean who gingerly lifts the front cover -- revealing a page covered with ink. Writing which he will remember to look at later -- then he snaps out of all this nonsense. “Reverend Steenwyck,” Dean smiles good-naturedly, patting his own chest. “Gentlemen, murder needs no ghost come from the grave. Which of you have laid eyes on this Headless Horsemen?” “Others have,” Hardenbrook points a shaky finger toward them. “Many others.” Sam allows himself a skeptical smirk. “You will see him too if he comes again. The men of the village are posted to watch for him.” Baltus assures the constables. “With due respect,” Sam chuckles. “We have murders in New York without the benefit of ghouls and goblins.” “You are a long way from New York, sir,” sighs Baltus who seems to be losing steam. “A century at least. The assassin is a man of flesh and blood, and we will discover him.” Sam’s promise short, no one is the room appears convinced.

“How do you propose to do so?” the Reverend persists, indignant. “By discovering his reason. It is what we call the motive," Dean explains.

Sam’s nodding in agreement. “This mystery will not resist investigation by the Winchesters.” Van Tassel House - Y/N’s Room

You’re sitting in front of your vanity mirror. Lady Van Tassel is brushing your hair, counting the strokes. This is something your mother used to do for you, and it’s a comfort to have your stepmother perform the same task. “I must admit, I am a bit disappointed.” You stare into the mirror. “Our first visitors from New York and their time here is to be occupied by nothing but murder and mayhem.”

“I’m sure there will be time for conversation regarding other topics.” The two of you lock eyes in the mirror, grinning for a moment before there’s a soft knock at the door and Lady Van Tassel gives you the hairbrush, going to answer it. She opens the door to Sarah. “That constable, the tall one, he wants the Bible, mum.”

“Bible?” Lady Van Tassel asks, face blank. “I’ll bring it to him.” You take the opportunity that presents itself. Sarah dips a curtsy and goes. Lady Van Tassel gives you a friendly raised eyebrow. “What? I’m curious.”

“Curiosity can be dangerous.” She warns, her tone still playful. “Don’t let your father catch you in his room.”

“I won’t.”

Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room Sam is surrounded by his books, including his father’s journal, none of which are helping, there has been no early breakthrough.

There are two soft knocks on the door but he doesn’t look up, focused on the text in front of him. “Yes, come in.” You inch into the room, carrying the family bible. He’s engrossed in whatever he’s reading, this handsome stranger here to save the village, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. He is even more handsome now that you have time to give him the inspection he deserves.

“Thank you, just leave it on the reading stand,” he instructs and you set the bible down as directed. “That will be all - no, tell me about that big brute who seems to be Miss Y/N's-”

Sam glances up, seeing you and has a physical reaction. His feet crash to the floor as he sits up quickly, knocking papers to the floor as his cheeks flush pink. “Forgive me, I-I asked Sarah to bring me…”

“So your clever books have failed and you turn to the bible after all,” you smile, watching as he stands up, taking stock of his large frame and broad shoulders. He scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “I see we are talked about downstairs.” “In passing only. We have many things to talk about even in this backward place,” you volley back, letting your eyes linger long enough to indicate interest. “I am sorry,” Sam places a hand over his heart. “Please excuse my manners. I am not used to-”

“Female company?” you finish. “I was going to say the niceties of society.” He chuckles, flustered but seemingly happy at your presence, a smile plastered across his face. “How can you avoid society in New York? How I should love the opera and theaters and to go dancing. Is it wonderful?” you ask, unable to hide your unbridled enthusiasm. You’ve always craved to be part of the modern world. “Perhaps.” There is a sadness in his smile. “If one has a someone to enjoy it with.”

“Surely there are things to do on one’s own,” you ponder. “The art museum as an example?” “If you’re so inclined,” Sam agrees, nodding softly. “I would have thought you more well versed, do you have nothing to teach me?” There’s a deliberate playfulness in your question and his eyebrows shoot up as the realization hits him.

But he ignores your implications like the good gentleman that he is. “Perhaps I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, do you believe the Van Garretts and the Widow Winship were murdered by a headless horseman?”

You’re unable to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Not everyone here believes it is the Horseman.”

He seems to like that response, his sparkling eyes falling over your body, before recovering. “Good.”

“Some say it is the witch of the Western Woods who has made a pact with Lucifer,” you offer matter-of-factly. Sam sighs, shaking his head. “There are no witches or galloping ghosts either! Is everyone in this village in thrall to superstition?”

“Why are you so frightened of magic Constable Winchester? Not all magic is black. There are ancient truths in these woods which have been forgotten in your city parks.” “If they are truths they are not magic.” His expression falls serious.

“You are foolish.” You’ve got more argument in you, not ready to leave him just yet. “When there is a fever in the house, it is well known that willow-herb roots and a crow's foot must be boiled in the milk of a pure white goat with special charms uttered over the fire and the fever abates,” you counter, roused by his willingness to debate you. “Next time try the herbs without the rest.” He glances at the clock, seeing the time and shifts uncomfortably. “Now I must ask you to excuse me, it’s very late and I’m not sure it’s appropriate for you to be in my room at such an hour.” “I will gladly take my leave. I should not have interrupted our town's savior. Good night. And as to your first question, that big brute you were asking about has proposed to me.” You cross your arms over your chest. Sam’s face stiffens, Adam's apple bobbing. “I am happy for you.” “Proposed to me several times,” you follow up with a faint smile, watching as he processes this ambiguous statement. You turn on your heels, leaving the room and shutting the door behind you. He watches you go, staring at the door after it’s closed. He never expected a woman as beautiful as you to be hidden away in this quiet little village. And he certainly didn’t expect your quick tongue and forceful opinions. It’s been a long time since someone of the fairer sex has piqued his interest.

He moves on to the business of the Bible, opening the front cover. On the endpaper is a family tree going back a hundred years in various faded inks and handwriting.

He studies this new information. You were born in 1777 to Baltus's first wife who died in 1797. It appears that Lady Van Tassel is Baltus’s second wife. He continues reading, coming to something even more interesting. The family tree has a Van Garrett in it, the husband of Baltus’s father’s sister.

“Van Garrett,” he mutters, walking over and pounding a fist on the wall to the next room. “Dean!”

There’s a faint sound coming from somewhere in the distance, he listens intently but there’s nothing more. The Fields The streets are empty. There’s nary a sound, except a sinister rumbling in the distance.

Jonathan Masbath looks out from the wooden bunker, feeling the rumble of the ground beneath his feet. The torches burn bright along the forest line. Several deer stampede out from the forest and across the field. Jonathan watches, wide-eyed as a horrible, silent stillness falls over the field. A thick fog is creeping from out of the woods, rolling outward, overtaking each torch as the mist snakes up snuffing out the flames one by one, darkness descending along the forest edge. He picks up his rifle, the sight trained along the treeline. “Come out, devil...come,” he whispers, hands shaking.

He senses the devil before he sees him, his rifle firing at nothing as he takes off in the opposite direction on foot. Fleeing across the field to the opposite edge, he sprints through the forest glancing back in terror, thunderous hoofbeats behind him.

Well behind him he gets a glimpse of a huge black horse that’s gone almost before he can be sure he saw it. He pushes forward through thorny bushes, jagged branches catching his skin and bloodying his clothes.

He bursts forward from the brier patch, tumbling out onto a trail. The hooves of the black horse rip through the underbrush, hoofbeats deafening . A spur digs into the snorting steed's already bleeding flank. The pursuer's gloved hand draws a sword, blade blazing in the moonlight. On the trail, Jonathan runs onward. The shrill whistle of a sword swing swooshing through the night as the steed gallops past. Jonathan is still running when his head lolls back at an impossible angle and tumbles off his shoulders as his headless body hits the dirt.

#sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #Sam Winchester Fanfic #sam winchester au

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thatboomerkid · 6 years ago

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Twisting Amongst Mages

Pathfinder Fiction by Clinton J. Boomer

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

The Old Wishtwister Shadibriri was having himself a simply damn fine evening.

Walking through the warm, early-spring fog of sunset, the Wishtwister smiled idly to himself at the complex work ahead of him. Feeling the vast port city change from bustling to coy, in mood and attire, with the coming of nightfall, a jaunty skip fell into his step. Yes, tonight he had a sizable bet to win, and a suitable con to pull, and -- best of all -- hours of raw entertainment to violently choke from the mortal world.

There was no need for him to stifle a wry chuckle as he sniffed at the changing breeze off the sparkling and wine-dark bay, taking in the soft salty tang of the cool sea.

The immense city around him glittered and shined.

The ageless demon was looking, this night, for a mind as sharp and solid as a forge-worked blade of adamantine, as taut yet flexible as a bow of oiled darkwood, as precise and slick as a wet-cut sliver of polished obsidian ... and, above all those things, as black and brutal as a burning river of pitch.

He was in Nex, in the port of Quantium. It wouldn't take long.

Shadibriri had a point to prove to his long-time partner-in-crime, Yaenit-Ku, and rubbing his inevitable success in the treacherous old dog’s face would be nearly as rewarding as the wager’s prize: sticking his fellow fiend to the completion of a foolishly made contract regarding a dark-elven demon summoner with more ambition than sense.

The Wishtwister only needed to connive a mortal mage into bargaining for -- and choosing -- his own death and damnation within the next thirteen hours.

Relatively simple, as such things go. And it would be fun, as well.

Tonight, the old demon intended to use the ancient "Foolish Sorceress and the Offended Genie" gambit - it was a classic. Like nearly all successful confidence scams, it relied on telling the mark exactly what he already wanted to believe, making him feel smart and lucky and very special, and then playing to his own particular vanity and greed.

The twist on this, though, was that the con was best pulled on studious, self-obsessed geniuses.

That made it tricky.

Which only made the endeavor still more delightful.

The Wishtwister barely stopped himself from skipping and doing cartwheels with the sheer glee of his anticipation.

Coming quite arbitrarily to an abrupt halt, the old demon settled into a disused alleyway not far from the waterfront and wrapped his form in shadow; he popped his knuckles, licked his wolfish fangs, and began to prepare his glamer.

He had to get into character.

That required the right costume.

If any citizen of Quantium had been around to see, they might have noted that the false man-form the demon wore seemed to shift then, from one singularly bluish hue to another, his hair cascading from white to blonde to sea-gray to storm-wracked green; and his features began to run like wind over swift water, flickering from kindly and doddering to wildly foolish and back again twice as fast.

He kept an appraising eye out for young, ambitious men.

Although, in fairness, ambitious middle-aged men were fine as well.

And ambitious old men were hardly any worse.

The pride was the thing, much more than age.

As the veils of his glamers were rearranged, and the Wishtwister tried on one duplicitous identity after another, the he mused to himself over his tactics.

He had found, over the many years he had walked the worlds, that most men did not particularly like women.

Oh, they liked looking at women, certainly, especially if the women were young and healthy. Men often enjoyed spending great deals of money on such women, and laying with them, and lying to them, and collecting them, parading and keeping them like caged animals, displaying them like collected dolls.

A few men, the old Wishtwister had found -- if the woman was quiet enough and clever enough to keep her smarts and ambitions hidden -- even enjoyed the occasional casual company of a woman.

But most men didn't really like them very much.

The Wishtwister thought that was quite funny.

Tonight, he was going to catch an ambitious man, with the bait of a wish, and hook him into immortal damnation, and filet him alive -- but, more concretely, the rod and reel of this trap would be that man’s distaste for women who did not know their proper place.

It was worth noting, perhaps, that this was a risky gambit indeed.

Old Shadibriri was, he felt, more than equal to the task.

Grinning, the ageless demon crouched in his dark hiding spot, and thumbed idly at the mental task of making his disguise as perfect as possible. The watching and the waiting would be worth it.

***

Many people walked by the alley as the sun set: soldiers and sailors, tinkers and tailors, bookbinders and bookmakers, butchers and bakers, and chandlers as well. Whores and whoremongers, pimps and tricks, some few young ruffians out for cheap laughs, some early-evening drunks, and even a strolling couple or two; all passed by the alleyway, and all were left be.

The city, more so than most, began to glow.

It was very pretty.

Singers and songwriters came and went, and actors and actresses on their way to work, along with bar-wenches and doormen, seers and soothsayers, fortune-tellers and funeral-makers, and a fat woman on a palanquin draped in gold.

The Wishtwister saw a skinny, sad young man, cradling a one-eyed cat, and it made him giggle.

He spotted an assassin, marking a target, and cheered quietly; he watched policemen upon their rounds, and jeered just as soundlessly.

He observed a man getting mugged, and laughed heartily to himself.

He beheld fools: some in motley, some in rags, and many more in the clothes of nobles.

The Wishtwister considered, after a time, the deeper and rarer delights to be seen only in Quantium: few cities in the world held the sort of hidden marvels that really rewarded the divinatory sight which Shadibriri possessed.

As the shadows grew long, his arcane-tuned eyes beheld a handful of lovely, secret things: imps and quasits, shades and phantasms, and shape-changed stalkers; a mage-lord flanked by a dozen invisible bodyguards; a scuttling succubus in the form of a street urchin; and a grim-faced swordsman with a cackling babau riding deep, frothing and buzzing, in the back of his mind.

To each of these he smiled and bowed his head in quiet, fraternal respect.

He watched patiently over wives and cooks, thieves and lovers, tramps and ladies, brigands and bullyboys, and the whole cross-sectioned cornucopia of such a cosmopolitan city as they wandered and waited, preyed and paraded before him.

The demon lurked, and grinned to himself.

***

In due time, before the sky had darkened entirely to jet, while the full twinkling of the sparkles above was held yet at bay by the lush light of the city and the lowering of the sun, the demon spotted his mark.

He was perfect.

The fellow was draped in the silks of a wealthy common-man, but wore the robe of a mystic scholar, the sleeves of his garb stained ever so slightly with chalk-dust and the smells of wood-oil, ink and coffee. His hair, black with strips of gray, receded from an over-sharp widow’s peak at his brow, and his beard was close-cropped into a thin goatee. A slight paunch went before him, but his posture was poised and proud, and his face betrayed a stern expression of idle seriousness on a countenance accustomed overmuch to scowling. His gait was leisurely, but solidly focused: here was a man without any appointment to keep, yet not one in the habit of dallying in bars while on the march to his eventual destination.

The man’s eyes were pale, and hidden behind smallish half-moon spectacles suitable for reading; his hair had not been cut in some time, which suggested the absence of a paramour in his life untroubled by a need to impress businessmen; and the leather bag slung over his shoulder was well-worn from its use -- doubtless the carrying of vast amounts of parchment and ink -- and had not been cleaned or repaired in some number of years.

He carried a finely wrought walking cane with elaborate scroll-work etched upon it, but did not seem to need it; it was an affectation and sign of station, only.

Shadibriri would have guessed him in his mid-thirties to early-forties, of mixed Garundi or Qadiran blood with perhaps a touch of Taldan, and respected -- if not particularly well-liked -- by his colleagues. The mark looked, in short, like an unmarried, tenured academic strutting home from the classroom, library or hall of study where he worked, in a wealthy metropolitan port-city proud of its history, arcane learning, and intellectual achievement.

The Wishtwister smiled to himself.

By a pitiful cough, and a rattle of false chains, the demon made himself known.

Turning in the alley, he caught the eye of the scholar and then cringed away ineffectually, half into the dark, to hide. His buffoonish visage, along with bright blue skin, a curling blonde moustache and a fetching turban in the Keleshite style, was enough to set the man’s curiosity to flight.

“What? Who is there?”

The demon wept and wailed, trying to keep the smile from his voice. “Oh, no, no, you have seen me! And I -- poor me! -- I am compelled to answer your question truthfully, and with neither prevarication nor hesitation! I am a genie, bound into this world until sun-up, and the third wish be granted!”

This, quite rightly, piqued the curiosity of the mage. With a wave of his hand, a globe of light appeared and hovered high above the cobblestones; with another pass of his palm and a few words, he cast a divination to see the warp and weft of the arcane. “A genie, you say? Come out, that I may see you.”

The demon suppressed a wry cackle, and did as he was bidden. “Very well, my lord; I suppose that I have little other option.”

Hanging his head, the demon stepped into the thin light of the street. He was a sight: his short but muscular form was garbed in the thinnest white cotton, cut in the most flamboyant of styles, his chest bare and smooth; his skin shone an electric-blue brighter than a dawn horizon upon the high Obari Ocean, and his eyes were expressive pools of clear water brimming with tears. The toes of his white leather shoes curled into cunning spirals, and broken chains dangled from electrum shackles locked around his wrists and throat.

In the vision of the mage’s divination, for the briefest instant the demon appeared as a singular pillar of bright, multicolored fire reaching some twenty feet in the air.

The mage composed himself swiftly and dismissed the effect: in elegant Quantium, xenophobia has been known as the very height of barbarism for over five thousand years; staring is considered quite rude; and non-consensual spell-use upon others is punishable by death. “Ah. You speak truthfully, good genie.”

The demon shrugged, wearing a façade of deepest misery. “Both fully as well as truthfully, I fear -- and much to my own dismay, sire. I am bound to do so; I would gladly lie, were I allowed. Or escape, had I the means.”

The mage cast a nervous gaze up and down the deserted street. “Can you not, ahh -- take some more mundane form, friend genie?”

The demon pretended to fight back tears. “I suppose. For what it is worth, I might garb myself in the mantle of men, like so ,”—his clothing and skin-tone changed in a wink to match the local style—“but my pupil-less eyes will always betray my true form. You see?”

The mage nodded, gazing into the colorless pools the demon presented, and chucked nervously. “I did not know that. Such a fact about your kind, I mean.”

“Hmm. You must not have met very many genies.”

The mage shrugged, waving off the observation, and smiled slightly. “It is true; I have not. So, can you not take the form of pure air, or water? Can you not step sideways to your home plane, amongst the elemental realms?”

The demon sighed. “Neither. I was bound by a most foolish sorceress, indeed, but amongst her many shortcoming and failures, sadly, was not to be found an inability to greatly inhibit my methods of travel. I am, in short, trapped.”

A long silence settled across the pair.

The Old Wishtwister had tried this trick many times before; long ago, he had occasionally substituted out the ‘foolish sorceress’ for an aged and infirm wizard. The problem, he had found, was that young mages tended to hold their elders in very high regard indeed, and oft became suspicious; the best trick he had come upon to mitigate that was to play on racism of some kind, and to use a greasy Varisian hedge-mage or a mad, backwoods Kellid mushroom addict in the role of the confounded summoner.

But his card was played now; his die cast.

The demon waited, and let the bait dangle.

He hoped the man before him was a divorcee, or perhaps had loved once - very intensely - in his youth, and been rebuked.

The Wishtwister sighed loudly, with intense weariness, and shrugged himself into a still-deeper slump.

Night had fallen upon the city.

“If you would, friend genie, tell me,” said the mage at last, “... what was the name of this sorceress?”

The demon sighed once more, quite deeply, to keep himself from spinning in a circle and clapping loudly with joy. “That, I cannot tell you. My tongue is bound against it, or I would speak her name with greatest glee, and tell you moreover what the harlot’s first two wishes were -- and what became of her in the process.”

The mage tried to hide his smile. “And you are bound here, then, until sunrise?”

“And the granting of a third wish, which is the heaviest and fastest of all bindings. My temper got the better of me, I am afraid, and thus my summoner lies trapped, blind and insensate. Now, I must find a mortal arcanist onto whom I might grant a wish, or I will be stuck here forever, cursed, a shadow of myself.”

Rubbing his chin, the mage nodded. “I see.”

The demon’s voice jumped, suddenly, as if he were startled. “My lord, surely, you are a learned spell-caster; might ... might you take this wish? Can you answer the riddle?”

The mage frowned. “And what ... ah, what of this riddle?”

“The sorceress who conjured and bound me, she did not desire that I might give away my wishes freely to others, and restrained me mightily against it. She impressed upon me, magically, a most cunning riddle: solve it, though, and I will grant you your heart’s desire, and then be on my way!”

Here, thought the demon, was the drawing of the reel.

The mage’s eyes were alight. “And if I cannot solve it?”

Shadibriri sighed again, with deepest sorrow. “Ah, well. Then I would have to find another mage, I suppose. If you could direct me to one, I should be ever so grateful ...”

“Hmm. Perhaps ... let me take a crack at it, first.”

And right here, thought the demon, was the trickiest part.

What he needed, in all truthfulness, was the right riddle for the right mark: one that seemed quite difficult to answer, yet that came accompanied with a frighteningly huge number of relatively easy possible solutions. He needed the mage to suddenly be caught up in the idea of being very, very damned clever.

The demon knew hundreds of such riddles.

So: which lock would fit this key?

Over the years the Wishtwister had tried offering three full attempts at solving the riddle, but he had found it problematic in several regards. Many ambitious young fellows became nervous, and overthought the problem, psyching themselves out in a vain attempt to strategize the system. In addition, some became wary when their first answer was correct: it seemed too easy, then ... The trick was to make it seem all-but impossible, and yet surmounted by a genius on his one and only attempt.

If a mortal mage buggered it too badly on his first effort, there was always the option of solemnly intoning, with as much authority as the demon could muster, that the mage now had two guesses remaining.

He looked over the man before him, and tried to guess at the fellow’s areas of passion and expertise. His fantasies, focuses and foibles. A mage from a seaport city, with a passion for books and the solitary life of an academic ... hmm.

Did he live alone? Had he any close family members? Any hobbies or delights, beyond the obvious guesses of ‘self-referential writing, self-sufficient pets, sedentary games requiring a little skill, and some small appreciation of legal inebriants and stimulants?’

Well, it couldn’t hurt to go with an old standard.

The demon took a deep breath. “Very well, sir. The riddle: I am dark, but not empty; liquid, but never flowing; I contain all mysteries and treasures, but am silent, and without a tongue. What am I?”

He watched the mage before him begin to frown, and to puzzle.

The demon held his breath.

What reply would his challenger provide? He was ready to accept any of the following answers:

ink, dried on a page, telling tales and scribing spells;

the depths of the ocean, which hold the still corpses of wrecked ships;

a chalkboard, freshly-washed and ready to be filled with new lessons;

the inside of an old and broken bell;

an onyx scrying pool;

a miser’s treasure-vault;

a dragon’s horde in a sodden cave;

any specific example from a great list of famous and more-mysterious wells or pits;

or even ‘the mind’ -- usually the dim mind of a child, or a madman, or a slave or a woman.

He was also willing to accept a number of other responses.

The Wishtwister wasn’t particularly picky.

One of the very few answers the demon could not, in all good conscience, allow would be ‘a raven’ -- although, he the mused, the day he found a wizard dumb enough to guess that, it would be a very interesting day indeed.

It would be quite a bit of fun to see what such an idiot wished for.

A hush fell along the city street, and demon wondered for a moment if he could accept ‘a city street at night’ as a response.

It would be a bit ... on the nose, tragically. Not a particularly good fit, either.

The mage frowned further, and the demon breathed as slowly as possible, holding in his anticipation.

Actually, the demon considered for a moment, he might be able to accept ‘breath’ as an answer. He might have to fudge it, though; breath could hardly be called ‘silent,’ and it would technically be ‘flowing, but never liquid.’

He might have to change the wording next time.

An electricity filled the air.

The mage, at last, surprised him. “The sky full of stars, and the Dark Tapestry beyond, and the many worlds hanging in it.”

The demon, quick as a wink, rattled the riddle back to himself, and double-checked the response: I am dark, but not empty; liquid, but never flowing; I contain all mysteries and treasures, but am silent, and without a tongue. What am I?”

It fit.

He grinned, then, from ear to ear. “Indeed ... master.”

Old as he might ever get, Shadibriri would never tire of seeing such a look of glee on a mortal’s face ... tinged with such hunger, avarice, and paranoia. He took it upon himself to savor the moment.

The demon bowed. “Yes, truly, I had my hopes pinned upon you. So, then ... what is your wish, my master?”

The mage took a moment to compose himself. “I have my wish?”

“No.”

The look of crestfallen confusion on the mage’s face was even more delightful than his look of glee a moment before, if that was possible.

The demon continued, after letting the pause hang for a moment out of sheer bloody-minded cruelty. “No, no my master -- you have the sorceress’ wish; it is bargained, bought and paid for by the bitch you boldly bested. I am now at your command.”

Glancing away, the mage visibly struggled with his emotions. “Any wish, then, is mine.”

“Yes.”

“Mine to make as I see fit.”

The demon smiled. “Oh, indeed. Most certainly and truly, master.”

“Any ... any wish at all?”

Shadibriri shrugged. “Within ... ah, limited guidelines. Barring a wish for more wishes, there is little of which I am not capable. As I have said before, to other men in other places: I can call forth any spell, I can resurrect the dead, I can rewrite time and space. I can create from nothing, and make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams; I can open doors to other worlds, and cast you across the infinite pleasures of the planes as you desire. I can turn lead to gold, pig-farmers to pigs, and day to night. With but a word, I can unmake mountains, reshape flesh and topple kings ...”

“Very well.”

The demon smirked. “I was not done, master, and am still bound to speak the truth. The whole truth. I can also rewire your brain so that you think you’re a hummingbird, or set your bones on fire, or turn you into a pillar of salt and throw you into the ocean to dissolve, as a certain nameless sorceress once discovered. My abilities are not much limited; you drink from the very waterfall of creation’s torrent when you unleash my gifts. Be careful, I suppose they say, what you wish for.”

“It is to you, then, to interpret the meaning of my wish?”

The demon shrugged again. “My powers are great, and call on majesties older that your species can fathom; even I do not truly comprehend the full scope of what I do, any more than you understand the mysteries of digesting a glass of warm milk and turning it into blood and flesh, nor how it is that you fall asleep, and dream, and then wake again. I would be careful, were I you, to know exactly what you want, and to make it clear to me what you want, and to phrase what you want as precisely as possible. Barring that, you should also hope that I’m in a good mood, and that my values coincide rather perfectly with your own.”

The mage swallowed, hard. He then allowed himself a thin smile, but it was wry, and without much humor. “Heh. Yes. Amongst my colleagues, there exists something of a joke. About situations much similar to this -- a warning.”

“Ah! Does there, truly?”

“Yes. It seems that a foolish magician once wished of a captured genie that he should be made, and I quote, ‘the greatest of mages’. The genie acquiesced ... and ballooned him to a mass of over twenty-thousand pounds in weight -- heavier again, by thirty-fold, than even the largest cyclops-enchanters of the time before Starfall.”

“Ah,” the demon said. “You know, my people tell the same story.”

The mortal hemmed and hawed for a moment at that, swallowing again, once, then finally spoke. “So, let me clarify: I will not get the results of this wish until I specifically say the words ‘I wish,’ quote-end-quote, and then follow through with a specific request, is that correct?”

Shadibriri nodded. “Most assuredly. Why is it that you ask?”

“Just ... ah. Thinking it through. As they say, ‘It is the mark of an educated man that he might hold in his mind a possible course of action without necessarily choosing it.’ I’m simply ... weighing my options.”

“Yes, yes,” the demon agreed. “As my own people say, ‘You don’t have to believe everything you think.’ And so it is. You do seem a clever enough sort. For a mortal, anyway.”

“Well, I am a wizard.”

“Good point. You seem a clever enough sort, for a mortal wizard. Master.”

The mage frowned at that, and thought deeply -- his eyes squinted with mistrust -- and he stroked his bearded chin.

After a minute of this, just as the mage was getting into truly heavy thinking, Shadibriri cleared his throat. “Master?”

“Uh? Yes?”

“May we walk?”

The mage seemed startled. “What?”

“Well, your city is legendary for its beauty; I might like to see some of the sights of the place before I go. You have shrines and statues, hanging gardens and such, yes? Artificial waterfalls of the most cunning design, filling heated pools so that beauties may bathe even in winter; glass tubes of colored smoke, lit by captured lightning to illuminate the streets of alabaster, with ziggurats and terraces and mosaics galore?”

“Indeed,” the mage allowed. “Mostly, yes. So?”

“Well, it would be nice to have a look at them,” the demon said. Giggling to himself, he began to tap his foot and to feign that his patience was nearing an end. “Briefly. And then I rather would like to go home, you know.”

“Ah. Yes, of that, I am aware. Let us walk.”

The strange pair began a slow stroll through the city, one of them wracked with a torment of indecision and the other lapping it up.

The city had her most resplendent treasures on display as they walked, keeping to their privacy.

As they crossed a broad thoroughfare, the demon interrupted yet again. “So, look - you’ve done the hard part. With the riddle and all. What is the hold-up? You do want to make a wish, right?”

“I am ... thinking.”

The demon, relishing every succulent moment of the mage’s discomfort, prodded. “About?”

“About many things.”

Shadibriri did not hide his predatory grin. “Ah. I know what this is about.”

The mage balked. “Do you, now?”

“Of course! You are not the first mortal I have ever met, Master! No, I think I may understand how you feel: you are beset with too many options. You are like a gourmet seated before a feast; where the starving man digs in, and the glutton simply feeds, you are no fool: you are simply not certain where first to make a cut in the fine meal before you. Am I right?”

The mage frowned. “Perhaps.”

“Yes. Any one wish you make would be a wish against all the other things you could otherwise have,” the demon said, as he gestured to the city streets around them, and the throngs of evening life. “You could have any of this. Her, or him, or them, or those, or that and all that comes with it. Or all of it. Or none of it, if you are imprecise with your wording or don’t really know what you really want. Yes ... the first thing everyone wants, once they have a single wish, is that they had many more. And that is quite unpleasant, surely.”

“Yes,” the mage allowed.

The demon smiled his most disarming smile as he began to walk once more. “A shame, then. For you have only the one wish, after all.”

The mage’s scowl sent a shiver of joy up the Wishtwister’s spine as he caught up to the demon. After a few more blocks, he spoke. “And also, I wonder at my luck.”

“Oh, I see! Or, no -- no, I do not. What luck is that?”

The man’s frown deepened. “My own. I wonder at it, and meditate upon it, and hesitate to press it.”

“How so?”

The frown deepened yet further as they strolled. “I was lucky to meet you, that is clear. There are some three-thousand-score inhabitants of this city; half of them or more are arrayed around you. I am but one man. Probability was plainly not on my side in this regard, yet here I am with you; fewer than, I would guess, a third of those sixty thousand could have solved the sorceress’s riddle, yet I did so ... I am very fortunate indeed.”

Chuckling to himself, the demon nodded. “You sell yourself short, master; I would wager that far fewer than one in ten could solve it. Maybe less than one in a hundred, or even a thousand. Think upon it this way, if it please you: statistically, no one ever meets a genie and gets a wish granted. No one passes the Test of the Starstone, either. But it happens anyway. You’re living proof, as are Cayden Cailean and Iomedae the Inheritor, and doubtless a few more in the centuries to come. In a world with more than a billion inhabitants, after all, million-to-one odds must happen a thousand times a day. And further, would you not agree that you are - as I, myself, noted - exceptional?”

The mage began to shake his head. “I suppose.”

Shadibriri grinned. “So, you have been lucky! That is good, not bad! But better yet, you are smart -- as my people say, while it is certainly better to be lucky than to be smart, it is probably easier to be smart several times in a row than lucky the same number of times.”

“Hm. Do they really say that?”

“They must. I’m under a compulsion of truth, after all. Look, this is simple. Wish for something.”

They turned a corner and began across a bridge. The mage did not look happy. “Like what?”

“A fine question, master! Some people take a liking to fame. Or fortune, I’ve found,” the demon began to count on his fingers. “Strength of arm, or glory in battle, or a title of noble station. A gift for witty jokes, or a cunning tongue. Immortality. Sexual prowess.”

“Immortality, you say?”

“Indeed! Very popular!”

The wizard’s glower darkened further still. The pair came to a stop before a ball-court of some kind. “That seems ... problematic.”

The demon frowned, as well. “Hmm. In what way, master?”

“Well, life is fragile; eternity is long. The mortal form is susceptible to all number of maladies, from old age to disease to wounds in battle. Of all the problems that can beset a man, death is -- nine times of ten -- the commonest result of harm taken to its most logical conclusion. I should not like to suffer all the ills of life while nimbly dodging only final release, nor should I like to be flippant with what type of immortality for which I might be wishing; eternal existence as an unkillable tree or regenerating sea-slug, for example, would hardly be my preference.”

“I see.”

The mage continued, gesturing to the hoops and lines of the game-field beyond. “There is a ritual we perform at my college, and the company in which I work: each of us, when positioning for promotion, must create a game. A simple game of chance and skill, of strategy and risk, often with dice and cards and chits. Ways to win, to wager, and to lose.”

Shadibriri smiled. “I see.”

“We must present these games and their rules to our seniors; our rivals are then given the chance to break them, and find ways to cheat.”

“Hmm,” the demon mused. “I quite like the idea of this ritual.”

The mage nodded. “So, if I am cautious, it is because I have learned to be.”

“Plainly so, master!”

“So, indeed: if I were to wish that my own human flesh could never die, that I might remain young and vital and ever free of disease or harm, I might yet find myself transported magically to Hell -- or, less dramatically, trapped on a desert island without food or reading material, or alone with my arm caught beneath a boulder on the side of some mountain -- yet be unable to perish. That would hardly be ideal.”

The demon grinned. “There is that.”

“And never mind old age: what of an unexpected attack upon my life? Would any so-called ‘immortality’ you might see fit to grant me prove perfect protection against mundane sword-blows, or the axes and spears of starving peasants? If so, should my skin be altered into steel, that it could turn aside blades, yet still retain its tactile senses ... yet, what of poison? Or would I just be trapped in a furnace, or frozen in an iceberg, or sunk in a chest to the bottom of the sea, or any of another ten-thousand terrible ways to die -- or, in my case, live?

The demon began to walk again, heading towards an alleyway between an art museum, a street vendor, and a monument of some kind. “Good questions, master.”

The mage followed. “Yes. The easiest way to achieve for me this immortality might be to kill me -- for if the soul is truly deathless, I would then pass on to immortality.”

The demon suppressed a grin. “There is that, as well. It would certainly suit Pharasma’s liking, at the very least.”

The mage shuddered and made a sign of reverence, spiraling his right hand over his heart for a moment, yet went on. “You might instead grant me access to Sun-Orchid Elixirs -- and with it, all the enemies that access would supply. You might skip me ahead, one century a second, until the sun burns out in a few thousand-thousand years. Or, perhaps, you might fit me with a magic ring that sustains my life processes, and then shut me in a perfectly spherical adamantine prison floating invisibly in the sky, a hundred miles up.”

Old Shadibriri nodded sagely. “Yes. Yes, I might. You forgot that I might transfigure you into a painting or a sculpture ... for art is, truly, immortal.”

The mage frowned. “No. No immortality, I think. Not today -- an eternity is long; it wouldn’t do to pick the wrong one. This is a problem requiring more study than I’ve yet given it. Wishes are fickle things.”

The demon shrugged. “As you say -- you’ve certainly given this subject a lot of thought.”

“Mortal wizards spend a lot of time thinking about immortality.”

He chuckled. “I’ve noticed. So then: wealth is, admittedly, also very popular.”

“Wealth. Interesting. I might, then ... what? Request infinite gold?”

Shadibriri smiled as they stepped into the shadowed darkness of a park. “That would do, certainly.”

“Bah. You might teleport me to a demi-plane of nothing but gold, without food or water, or even air to breathe. You might drown me in a flood of coins, or even crush me to death with them as they rained from transmuted clouds. Perhaps you would grant me a single gold piece a week, appearing one at a time in my pocket as I lay crippled forever in a cave, afflicted with a wasting sort of immortality devoid of agelessness, until the stars burn out.”

The Wishtwister was startled. “Egad! That’s actually quite remarkable in its cruelty.”

“It never hurts to be too careful when it comes to wishes.”

The demon smiled and nodded. “I agree, master. Then, perhaps, wish for the thing you might have hoped to buy with this aforementioned limitless gold -- a castle, and land. An army. A boat, a yacht, a very fleet of pleasure cruisers, and an island paradise upon which to dock! Or, perhaps, ask for what money cannot buy: the adoration of a beautiful young woman, maybe.”

The mage slowly shook his head. “Ah! But she would have to be one who truly loves me, and who shares both my intellect and appetites, and who was pleasing to me in all ways, and yet also bettered me by her very presence; otherwise, she would be only a terrible curse, and my undoing. Yet, if I truly loved her, and she was my boon companion in all ways -- why, I would be deeply saddened when she died, or she would be distraught when I did. As cruel as anything else you might do, that would be.”

“Hmm, you forget that I might also make her barren. Unable to grant you heirs, you and she might grow to hate one another despite your love,” the demon said. “Or perhaps I could twist her blood, so that she might birth you only monsters. If I were feeling truly spiteful, I might grant you two wives, one each with half of what you desire, and set them at each other’s throats. Such things have been done.”

“Yes. There is that.”

The demon mused. “So. What about power?”

The mage shook his head more emphatically. “No. No good. I am an apprentice still, for all my knowledge ... and my master is, in his way, merely a student as well, to even more senior masters -- the chains of scholarship and allegiance here are complex. To grant me ‘power’ in such a way would be cheating, much the same as plagiarism, and I would be cast out. And from whence would this ‘power’ come? A spell book? A stolen staff? The tutelage of a demon?”

Shadibriri grinned. “Fame, then?”

“Fame isn’t everything.”

That sounded practiced. The demon shrugged and stepped over a broken bottle. “Only to those who don’t know what to do with their celebrity, I suspect.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I would do. I would be appointed by popular demand to a position on the Nine very quickly, and then I would be murdered overnight by either Master Phade or by Gen Hendrikan.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I would be subsumed, rapidly, into the fold of the one -- on pain of death -- and then swiftly murdered by the other. Although I suppose I might be slain by someone else, come to think of it.”

“Very well. Ambitious as you are, you want for little here as a scholar in Quantium. You lack neither food nor water, nor pleasant diversions or luxuries. In all truth, you might as well ask only for happiness. Pure happiness.”

Enough happiness, thought the Wishtwister, to make stabbing orphans in a basement abattoir as delightful as a summer waltz; to make your heart detonate in your chest as you dance in the blood of violated grandmothers and bite off your own eyebrows.

The mage considered, his brow furrowing yet further.

The demon was enjoying himself.

They continued to walk; now past brightly-lit fountains set behind a most-cunning gate of shifting, serpentine iron.

“Some people wish for unicorns,” the demon said after a time.

“Hmm?”

“Well, they do. I couldn’t tell you why, or what they could possibly want with the creatures, but some people do wish for them.”

“I ... unicorns, you say?”

“Indeed, master. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s odd - but it couldn’t hurt to consider it. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

The mage nodded, and a joyless smirk creased his lips. “Yes. What, precisely.”

“Eh?”

“What is the worst that could happen?”

“Master?”

The mage’s expression took on a fierce look, and he adjusted his spectacles. “I command you, genie: tell me what the worst that could happen would be.”

“Ah! Of course, my master; a fine desire! So, do you ... how best to phrase this? Do you ... wish to know, exactly, the worst that could happen?”

Pale, sick worry crossed the mage’s face in a wave of panic. “No!”

“Ah,” said the demon, hiding his dejection. “So, then instead you only ask me to tell you the worst wish I know, for a fact, to have been granted?”

“Yes,” the mage intoned breathlessly.

“Of course. I only check, so as to know your desire. It pays to be precise, master.”

Coming to a stop between a church and a large statue, the mage collected himself. “I ask you, genie, to tell me the tale - one you know to be true - of the worst wish ever granted.”

The demon fought back a grin, and thought for a moment quite fondly of his old partner, Yaenit-Ku. “Very well. Our tale concerns two very naughty genies, who decided to play a funny game in a scummy little town.”

“Where?”

The old Wishtwister stifled a giggle. He liked telling half-truths. “No place of particular importance; I think that it was in what is now called the Riverlands— in those days it was still part of Sarkoris —far to the north of here, in the thickest of black woods. The two genies, it seems, came to a cold and wretched village wracked by war and poverty, and each adopted one of two brothers. Orphan boys, young and starving, alone and frightened, without friend or family; one the age of three winters, the other only five.”

“Interesting.”

“I thought so. The genies took the forms of travelers to the region - one a warrior who swift became a sheriff, and the other a wealthy antiquarian and merchant of art, specifically - and to each of these boys, they then gave every treasure and desire, granting each wish that the children made, once a month, for a time of seven years.”

The mage frowned. “That sounds quite ... dangerous.”

“It was! The children grew up strong, tall and handsome, arrogant and greedy, and the world greatly suffered in their wakes. After seven years, the city and its citizens and environs had become warped by the dozens of miracles afforded each child, so the creatures changed their game. Once the boys reached ten and twelve, respectively, the two genies required that they compete: each month, one boy would be granted a pair of wishes, and the other would be granted nothing at all.”

“Hmm. And how ... how was the victor decided?”

The demon smiled. “A variety of ways, master. In some instances, the two wrestled, or held their breath underwater, or competed to bring trophies, or were asked to tell tales of bravery, or cunning, ... or cruelty. Whatever most-amused the two wicked genies, in simple truth. In some cases, they would require each boy to state what he would wish for; whichever desire was the more interesting would be granted twice-over.”

The mage fidgeted and harrumphed. “Devious.”

“Yes. At the end of another seven years, as the boys entered adulthood, the two genies changed the game yet again: each boy was guaranteed his due of magic, but could only grant this wish to another, who had sworn blood-fealty to him. And so the two began to build armies, with which to oppose one another, and their many creations, and all the world.”

The mage grimaced. “And at the end of that seven years?”

“Oh, the games never made it to that point, I’m afraid. They were dead within a few months,” said the demon, simply. “Them, and everyone for miles around, and most of the land scoured clean of life. What little that was left wasn’t human, or sane, or really even sentient.”

The mage did not look amused. “And you know this tale to be true, you say?”

“Indeed,” said the Wishtwister, brightly. “On my honor.”

“And ... what is the point? How is that the tale of the most terrible wish?”

“Oh, yes! Of course, master! It is simply my assumption,” explained the Wishtwister, “that of the 300-some wishes granted in that time, the very worst one of all was probably in the mix there somewhere. It might have been one of the ones about werewolves. Or for mastery of fire and wind, or for big funguses or the secrets of the grave ... or the poison-sword, admittedly.”

“Hmm. Interesting. Yes. ,” said the mage, sighing. “Do you know… I think I’m ready to make my wish.”

The demon brightened. “Yes?”

“Yes,” said the mage. “Friend genie, I would wish ... only that you might return to your home, forever unable to be summoned again to this world.”

The Wishtwister blinked.

And blinked again.

“Eh?”

The mage smiled. “Is that wish not to your liking?”

“Well, no ... it’s ...”

“Oh, because I might have thought that you would enjoy that. I suppose that instead I might wish that you could never again be asked to grant a wish ...”

“Ah, no, I think perhaps ...”

“No? Why ever not? Would you prefer instead that I wished you permanently transformed into a dretch?”

“I’m not granting that.”

The mortal magician had quite a smile upon his face. Not one of charity, either - no, this was a look that the Wishtwister recognized as one of his own favorite expressions.

“Just as an aside, do you know where we are?”

The demon blinked once more. “No. Look. Ah, if you don’t ... if you don’t mind me asking, master ... what is it that you do? For a living, I mean?”

The mage grinned. “I’m an actuarial consultant for a legal firm, specializing in the transport of rare books.”

Shadibriri frowned. “Which means ... ?”

“An investigative accountant for lawyers, who work to defend legally nebulous smugglers who buy, sell and ship forbidden tomes, basically. I specialize in keeping the Pathfinder Society honest when they trade with the dark library of Scrivenbough, since the folk from Absalom seem to have a tendency to claim that things are lost-in-transit.”

The Wishtwister frowned.

The mage went on, his smile suggestive of a cat. “I’m also a former student of Scrivenbough, of course. And to answer the question you did not ask, this place is the courtyard of a monastery; we are about fifty yards from the inner sanctum of one of the more-major temples of Irori on this continent. The monument behind you commemorates Nex’s gifting of the island of Jalmeray to the maharajah Khiben-Sald. Three different fighting-styles were invented here over the last four thousand years, seven more were perfected, and you should know that a single whisper of your true nature will bring forth approximately two hundred of the most vicious hand-to-hand combatants who have ever been born, all of them aching for a test.”

The demon shrugged, feigning disinterest. “Then ... perhaps I will leave after all, come to think of it.”

“Hmm. Well, I should hope,” said the mage, “that we need not part company on such terrible terms.”

The two of them stared at one another, and the ocean wind swept across the immaculate flagstones of the courtyard.

Finally, the mage spoke. “To answer the other question you did not ask, I suspected from the very first; I have some great knowledge of genie-kind, and knew you to be something else entirely. No djinn or marid are you, no. Thus, I sought confirmation of your true nature, which you provided in abundance; although your mind is quick and your illusions quite beyond my skill to pierce, it was the slip of one-wish-a-month that did you in, at the last.”

“Eh. Yes, I suppose that would do it,” said Shadibriri.

“Indeed. I name you ... glabrezu, if my schooling does not fail me.”

“Ah, well. You got me. I had you going for a bit, though, didn’t I?”

The mage’s grin did not dissipate. “Sure. So I’ll take my prize, if you are still offering; if not, I might suggest that we simply go our separate ways. I might wish for some measure of power, after all. Perhaps a ring that makes me invisible.”

“Ah. Well, at that ... here’s the sticking point, master,” the demon spat, with as venomous a sarcasm as he could muster. “Let’s clear the air. You see, I have a bet to win. The terms of that bet are that you, a mortal mage, must wish for something that will (a) damn your soul to the Abyss, and (b) get you killed, and relatively quickly.”

“Hmm. No, I don’t like that at all.”

The Wishtwister nodded. “I can see why. Unfortunately, I’m on something of a schedule; tonight time is, I’m afraid, quite a bit of the essence, as they say.”

“Well. Then, I suppose,” said the mage, “that if it’s up to me, you are going to lose your bet.”

The demon nodded, and turned to go. “Ah, yes. That was my assessment as well. The night is young, of course ... but the dawn comes all too quickly. Another mage to track down, then, I suppose. Nothing for it, and no time to waste. Which, interestingly enough, reminds me of an old saying amongst my people.”

The mage smiled, spreading his arms wide to encompass the vast city. “Ah, yes. Something about there being, what -- always plenty of wizards, amongst all the many worlds? Or how there is never enough time, even in immortality?”

Shadibriri smiled. “Oh, no, no -- nothing like that. The saying goes: ‘I’m going to rip your arms off’.”

“...”

The demon shrugged. “My people are actually pretty simple.”

“I see.”

Old Shadibriri turned back to face the mage, and flexed himself to his full height. “Anyway ... I’m going to. Rip your arms off, that is. Just for fun.”

The mage glared at him warily. “In case you’ve forgotten, there exists a literal army of fiend-hating martial-artists, located quite surprisingly close to us. And there are alarms and wards all around this place that sense magic. If either of us invokes the least use of a spell --”

“The alarms will go off, yes, and a horde of holy killers will emerge with swiftness to smash us to broken, bloody jelly. My glamers aren’t technically spells, but what you cast against me surely will be; doubtless, you know of my immunity to fire and acid, and will choose to blast me with a bolt of lightning ...”

“Really?” the mage asked, disapprovingly raising an eyebrow.

“Eh, it was worth a try. Well, anyway, I’m betting that I can kill you first.”

The mage nodded, his hands moving into position to cast. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Or, perhaps, it would be useful to you to have a lawyer in your pocket.”

“You think?”

“Yes. And I can get you a rival of mine, in less time than you might expect.”

The demon stopped. “Is that so?”

“It is. We can go to him presently; I’ll vouch for your authenticity as one of the nobler efreet, and explain that I could not solve your cunning riddle. We’ll work together to get him to wish for something stupid -- damning and lethal -- and then we’ll both be on our way with something we want.”

“Hmm,” mused the demon. “And why would this rival trust you?”

The mage smiled. “Very few of the people I hate have any idea how much I hate them. So, have we a deal?”

“I think,” said the demon with a smile, “that we have ourselves exactly a deal.”

“A pleasure doing business with you, then.”

And thus, it was with great joy that the old Wishtwister won a bet, and made a friend in the city of Quantium, in the nation of Nex.

—

NOTE:

This website uses trademarks and/or copyrights owned by Paizo Inc., which are used under Paizo’s Community Use Policy. We are expressly prohibited from charging you to use or access this content. This website is not published, endorsed, or specifically approved by Paizo Inc. For more information about Paizo’s Community Use Policy, please visit paizo.com/communityuse. For more information about Paizo Inc. and Paizo products, please visit paizo.com.

#pathfinder #glabrezu #wishtwister #nex #fiction

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gridlords · 7 years ago

Text

Best comics / publications of 2017

Foreword:

This last year at Gridlords we didn’t make a 2016 Best of the Year post. The four of us all had various life alterations, things pulling us in other directions and time was thin. There certainly was a heavy amount of great books in 2016 and we regret not shining light on them.

We were maybe not going to put the time in this year either, but I, “the Sean part” of Gridlords, am inspired. I perused the other lists online, at first for the general selfish reasons, i.e. "Did my little graphic novel get in anywhere?" and "Did any Gridlords books get praise?" (Our own Dylan Jones got mention is the Best American comics anthology)

Everyone's lists I saw were nearly identical: almost no self-published material on any of the lists, and even small press had almost no representation.

In the worst case I saw Vice's list. I shouldn't have even looked. It's my assumption that the comics “editor” of Vice is insecure and deflecting the reality that they are a slow reader or read little at all despite working for a magazine. It could also be that their reputation has caught up with them and they are not getting comics submitted to them so often anymore, so all that are listed are those few alumni that parted on good terms and a few superhero rags of old. I doubt they go out of their way for material past what is put under their noses for free.

Either way leave it to them to be needlessly offensive with their defensive personalities. Calling them anything else would only get them off. Boring.

This brought me to remember what it's all about for Gridlords. We like to show love for all the great artists out there doing their own thing and making wild beauty and throwing the cookie cutter out the window. We like artists who make passionate works that are personal and aren’t looking for some commercial responsibility. We at Gridlords also like to shine a light on exciting work that maybe didn’t make much noise beyond its home origin or didn’t have a print run of more than 10 and we got lucky and nabbed one.

I am not solely covering comics and never have in previous years as comics isn't solely what Gridlords is about. Some are art books, zines, and art objects and an occasional music release that if you look into it you’ll see it all makes sense. But I’ll start with comics just to correct the wrong of Vice. A side note: there are so many publications from 2017 that I wish I'd gotten my hands on that I haven’t yet. These are the best of what I got.

I implore that you copy and search for these artists for future releases and get what you can of these. Many are online via the various channels. Support those you love.

In no order

Jazz comics - Jason T. Miles (goat comics)

Marcie is still worried - Liz Yerby (self published)

Sleepy thoughts (words and drawings forced out before sleep. Never intended to be seen by other eyes) all 5 issues - Spencer Scudder (self published)

Drifter - Anna Haifisch (perfectly acceptable press)

Farmer Ned’s Comics Barn - Gerald Jablonski (FU comics)

Wet Earth - Lala Albert (Sonatina)

Tears of the Toad - Nick Norman (self published)

Journal of Smack - Andrea Lukic (I don't have issue 1 and if any of you have an extra or know where I can get one let me know :) )

Ne’er - Do - Wellers - by Mark Beyer

Cecil’s Riddles - Jason Murphy (STiLLiFE)

Easy Rider - Jaakko Pallasvuo

Wrestling - Johanna’s comics (Colorama)

Gaylord Pheonix 7&8 - Edie Fake (Perfectly Acceptable / Pegacorn Press)

Mr. Colostomy - Matthew Thurber (self published)

Locals only - Ian Sundahl (self published)

Art comic issues 4&5 - Matthew Thurber

Super Towers - edited by Vincent Fritz (self published)

Give and take - Milena Bassen (Colorama)

The Nearest Sea - Scott Longo

Town - Chou Yi (self Published)

Garbage Can Faerie - Wure (Bred Press)

Songy of Paradise - Gary Panter (Fantagraphics)

Freakers unltd issue 3 vol1 (Ddoogg)

Held - Spencer Scudder (self Published)

Should I enjoy my life or not - Jon Michael Frank (self published)

Tack Piano Heaven one - Christopher Adams (self published)

Spine - Noel Friebert (Bred Press)

An Exorcism - Theo Ellsworth (Kus)

Soft city - Hariton Pushwagner

The whole year subscription from Ron Rege! Absolute delight!!! Especially reprints of Andy Remembers. (self published)

Now art books and Zines

Susias - a screen printed art anthology of Queer, Latinx, and womxn artists curated by Chloe Perkis

Cragslist Free - an art zine of cragslist free photos curated with a mindful eye by Maura Campbell Balkits

Suburban Lawns - collected print material about the band by artist Justine Reyes (a brilliant zine publisher making some if the best stuff)

Bathtime - art by Brie Moreno

Life is a fucking scam - an anxiety freakout zine by Karissa Sakumoto

Yung Zine volume #1 issues 1-6 2013-2015 by Kenna Jean (love these so much)

Best is man’s breath quality - book made of performance by Sara Magenheimer. (A real inspiration)

Love wins (2017 issue un-numbered. Tim Goodyear writes a letter in it that got me in tears and Jason Miles’s art is really phenomenal & life affirming here)

Sleep Walk - Yasuke Nagaoka (so beautiful)

Cafe Avatar - essay & graphic art by Sonnenzommer, Nick Butcher & Nadine Nakanishi with Perfectly Acceptable Press (super thoughtful with breathtaking print)

Reference Material - Lasse Wandschneider ( a dreamy collection of Lasse’s hand in pencil)

Eat me to become you - Jeffrey Kriksciun published with Slow Editions (one of my favorite pink art zines ever)

Vanity of Vanities, all is vanity - Adrienne Kammerer published with Color Code. (One of my new favorite glamorous artists and one of my favorite ever publications)

Visions of the Future - Stefhany Y. Lozano publushed by Colorama (I still can’t believe this is real!)

Accursed - Daria Tessler published with Perfectly Acceptable press (easily one of the most insane print productions of the year. Bells on spine/die-cut metallic ink cover/ riso multi-color madness)

Kat Rose untitled hand drawn & colored zine edition of 1 each (cutest ever)

Raw Velocity - Matt Lock published with Woodchips Books ( tattered futurism, an incredible ride)

Broken Trash Angel - x by Wure published by Justine Reyes (yes the same one who made the Suburban Lawns zine I KNoW INCREDIBLE!!!)

Nezha was here - Yusuke Nagaoka (delicious art)

Eileen Chavez - untitled comics & painting sketchbook collection. (A real dream!)

Out The Window - by Jess Scott ( million drawings in Jess’s hand busting through and occasionally lounging in windows. A real passionate inspiration to take control of one’s life)

Okay these 2 are from 2016 but are important art books!!!

Suellen Rocca - retrospective via Mathew Marks Gallary (I am madly in love with her work. So madly!)

The Drawings of Susan te Kahurangi King - published with the Institute of Contemporary Art Miami (got some words from Gary Panter about Susan’s great work)

some music that has ties to visual art I love:

MR. Wrong

https://mrwrongwitches.bandcamp.com/album/babes-in-boyland

waveform transmission

https://astralindustries.bandcamp.com/album/ai-08-v-20-29

woolen men

https://woolenmen.bandcamp.com/album/lucky-box

strategy

https://geographicnorth.bandcamp.com/album/the-infinity-file

Eric Copeland

https://ericcopeland.bandcamp.com/album/goofballs

Odwalla88

https://odwalla1221.bandcamp.com/album/lilly-23

Mega Bog

https://megabog.bandcamp.com

beat detectives

https://beat-detectives.bandcamp.com/album/nypd-records-volume-one

Baronic wall

https://baronicwall.bandcamp.com/album/paracrystaline-domains

Felicia Atkinson

https://feliciaatkinson.bandcamp.com/album/hand-in-hand

Matt Carlson

https://shelterpress.bandcamp.com/album/the-view-from-nowhere

v1984

https://v1984.bandcamp.com

vi rei

https://virei.bandcamp.com

Giant Claw

https://giantclaw.bandcamp.com/album/soft-channel

elevator teeth

https://superdarkrecords.bandcamp.com/album/elevator-teeth

Macula Dog

https://haord.bandcamp.com/album/natural-dog-ep

elrond

https://elrond.bandcamp.com/releases

Mike Cooper

https://room40.bandcamp.com/album/raft

wagon 70s Floyd life

https://colossaltapes.bandcamp.com/album/70s-floyd-lite-c36

Love

Gridlords

Sean

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samuelmmarcus · 5 years ago

Text

Craftsman Beach House

Hello, my friends! I hope you had a great week and are ready to have a relaxing weekend with your loved ones.

I am really happy to be sharing another beautiful home by Sweenor Builders, Inc.. You will probably recall seeing their Coastal Shingle Home recently featured on Home Bunch. Today, I will be featuring their latest work with This Old House® and I think you will love knowing every detail!

“Every year, This Old House® collaborates with a team of industry professionals and leading home-improvement brands to build a state-of-the art “Idea House.” Sweenor Builders was honored to be asked to build an Idea House for a second time in partnership with Union Studio Architecture and Community Design. The fourth annual Idea House from the trusted home renovation brand, the 2018 home will be built in the historic seaside village of Narragansett, Rhode Island – recently named one of America’s best beach towns by the Boston Globe. Kristen Martone, Sweenor’s in-house designer and owner of Graceke Design led Interior Design on the project.”

Interior Design Ideas: Craftsman Beach House

The 2,700-square-foot cottage has classic Craftsman-style curb appeal and modern looks inside. Located less than a mile from Narragansett’s town beach, it epitomizes what buyers are looking for today: a smaller home that lives large in a tight-knit neighborhood, plenty of bespoke built-ins, luxury amenities including a home gym, dedicated media room and butler’s pantry, and an easy-care backyard designed for “staycation” living.

Foyer

This classic foyer features herringbone White Oak hardwood flooring with a black walnut perimeter. Wall paint color is Glidden’s Swan White.

Lighting: Trace Large Semi-Flush Mount.

Flooring: 3″ Quartersawn White Oak in Precision-Trimmed Herringbone Pattern with Black Walnut–Inlayed Perimeter Border – similar hardwood flooring: here.

Beautiful Foyer Benches: here, here, here & here.

Planter: here & here – similar.

Get Inspired!

Standout features include: Open floor-plan great room with soaring, trussed ceiling, expansive kitchen and butler’s pantry, screened-in porch, two master ensuites, plus 2 more bedrooms, guest quarters over 2-car garage, 4 ½ bathrooms, 2 laundry rooms (1st and 2nd floors), patio, pergola swing, outdoor kitchen, outdoor shower, plunge pool, home theater and gym with sauna. This house has everything you could wish for! 🙂

Chandelier: Tech Lighting Viaggio Chandelier.

Paint Color: Walls in Glidden’s Swan White. Trim in Muslin White by Glidden.

Trusses: Knotty Western Red Cedar.

Dining Table: Travis Dining Table by Euro Style – Other Dining Tables: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Dining Chairs: Discontinued – similar here – Others: here, here, here & here.

Rug: Dash & Albert.

Dinnerware

Stoneware Plates, Bowls, and Mugs by Cynthia Brown Studio.

Beautiful Dinneware: here.

Great Room

The Great room features a double-height ceiling with skylights. The sliding patio doors lead to a cozy sunroom.

Rug: Arcon Shag Wool Area Rug by Chandra – Other Moroccan Rugs: here, here, here & here.

Patio Doors: Andersen Architectural Col-lection A-Series Patio Doors.

Floor Lamp: Hannah Floor Lamp by Thomas O’Brien.

Window Treatment: Pleated Drapery in Organic Cotton/White with Mirage/Aqua Banding, and Lexington Collection Traversing Hardware in Java by Smith & Noble.

Sofa: Porter Sofa in Blue by TOV Furniture – Other Recommended Sofas: here, here & here.

Accent Chairs: Chance Upholstered Accent Chair by Four Hands.

Coffee Table: Aeon – Other Styles: here, here, here & here.

Built-ins & Fireplace

The fireplace stone veneer by Eldorado was tightly stacked at 30-inch from the floor to the top of the vaulted living room ceiling. The custom mantel is Walnut and the asymmetrical bookshelves were custom-built by Sweenor Builders.

Stone Veneer: Eldorado Stone

Gas Fireplace: Ortal from Wakefield Fireplace.

Frame TV: Samsung 65″.

Ceiling

The hallway features coffered ceiling with Cherry wood inlays.

Coffered Ceiling: Crafted by Sweenor Builders Mill Shop in Cherry.

Paint Color: Glidden’s Swan White (walls and balusters), Onyx Black (stair trim and handrails).

Kitchen

This kitchen carries the simplicity of a Craftsman-style home. You notice the Craftsman influences on the shaker-style cabinets and the trim framing the windows.

Custom slatted drawers crafted in walnut are perfect to store root vegetables.

Paint: Walls in Swan White, Trim in Muslin White by Glidden.

Floating Shelves: American Black Walnut by Grothouse – similar here.

Kitchen Island Lighting: Perryron Linear Pendant – similar here.

Kitchen Cabinetry: Signature Custom Cabinetry.

Backsplash Tile: Merola Tile.

Counterstools: Arteriors Home.

Vent Hood: Panasonic.

Appliances: Miele.

Countertop

Perimeter Countertop: Silestone Charcoal Soapstone in Suede Finish.

Kitchen Sink: DXV – similar here.

Kitchen Faucet: Grohe.

Hardware: Pulls, Knobs & Cup Pulls – similar.

Kitchen Island Countertop

The island countertop is American Black Walnut with Durata Waterproof Permanent Matte Finish. Island paint color is Glidden’s Zombie.

Kitchen Sconces: Visual Comfort – similar here.

Beautiful Kitchen Runners: here, here, here, here & here.

Butler’s Pantry

Cabinet Paint Color: Glidden Zombie. Walls in Glidden Swan White. Trim in Zombie by Glidden.

Cabinetry: Pioneer Door style with Square Framing Bead in Graphite 20 Sheen Paint-Grade Maple by Signature Custom Cabinetry, Inc..

Countertop: Black Walnut.

Backsplash: Merola Tile.

Cabinet Hardware: House of Antique Hardware – Knobs & Pulls.

Lighting: Feiss Lawler Orb Pendant.

Hardware: Glass Knobs and Rectangular Cast-Brass Bin Pulls – similar.

Powder Room

The powder room features vertical shiplap wainscoting, penny-round floor tile, and a malachite-patterned wallpaper.

Paint Color: Glidden’s Black Magic (trim), Swan White (walls & nickel gap).

Vanity: Salvaged Dresser Vanity – Others on sale: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Countertop & Backsplash: Dekton Natura, Natural X Gloss Quartz Countertop.

Wallpaper: York Wallcoverings Urban Chic Malachite.

Hardware: Eastlake Round Ring Pull in Nickel.

Vessel Sink: American Standard.

Faucet: DXV – similar here.

Sconces: Feiss.

Tile: Merola.

Hardwood Flooring

Hardwood Flooring: White Oak from Baird Brothers Fine Hardwoods.

Landing

The stunning staircase leads to a landing area with custom built-ins.

Ceiling Paneling: 5″ Poplar Tongue & Groove Ceiling Paneling.

by House of Antique Hardware.Wallpaper: Confetti Dot Dalmation in Gold by Kravet.Rug: Midnight Stripe Woven Cotton Rug by Dash & Albert

Library / Office

The built-in paint color is “Glidden’s Celestial Blue”. What a gorgeous color for cabinetry, especially when paired with brass accents.

Hardware: Reeded Round Knobs in Satin Brass and Rhode Cabinet Pulls in Satin Brass.

Picture Lights: Thomas O’Brien David 12″ Art Light.

Table Lamp: Aerin Clarkson Table Lamp.

Chair: here – similar.

Rug: Dash & Albert.

Upper Laundry Room

Combining blue cabinets in Glidden’s Romance Blue, Butcher’s Block countertop and blue and white ceramic tile floor tile, this laundry room exudes charm.

Countertop: Reclaimed Oak with Durata Waterproof Permanent Matte Finish.

Floor Tile: Merola.

Lighting: Feiss Lighting.

Bonus Room

Guests can enjoy the quarters above the garage, with its separate bath.

Shiplap Paint Color: Glidden’s Swan White.

Sofa: here – similar.

Coffee Table: here & here – similar.

Wallcovering: Cole & Son.

Ceiling Fan: Monte Carlo.

Peek A Boo

The custom built-ins feature a space-saving, retractable Murphy bed. The Murphy bed is operated by remote control.

Coral Paint Color: Glidden’s Coral Blush.

Rug: Dash & Albert.

Chandelier: Feiss.

Master Bedroom

Each bedroom in this home was designed with a distinctly different feel. The tongue-and-groove ceiling is painted in a glossy finish (Muslin White by Glidden) and wall paint color is Glidden’s Colonial White.

Pendants: Tech Lighting Fab Pendant.

Bedding: Micromink Quilt Set in Ivory by Stone Cottage, Quilted Velvet Pillow Sham Set in Gold by HiEnd Accents.

Accent Pillow: Mina Victory.

Throw: Stockholm Color Block Throw in Yellow by Ink + Ivy.

Bench: Belham Living.

Bench Throw: Tobias Throw Blanket in Ivory.

Headboard: Zuo Modern.

Nightstands: Baxton Studio.

Accent Chair: Leather Barrel Chair by IMAX.

Accent Table: Hammery.

Rug: Rizzy Home.

Master Bathroom

The master bathroom features a spa-like feel with a neutral color scheme of white, beige and wood tones. The custom vanity is flanked by tall storage cabinets, while a paneled accent wall with niche brings warmth and style to the space.

Wall paint color is Glidden’s Colonial White.

Vanity: Custom by Sweenor Builders Mill Shop.

Tub & Fixtures: DXV – similar here, here & here.

Tray Caddy: here – similar.

Tiling: Floor, Shower Wall & Accent Tile.

Sconces: Feiss Mila 2 Light Sconce.

Chandelier: Feiss.

Kids Bedroom

Paint color is Glidden’s Mountain Stream (walls and ceiling).

Teepee: here – similar.

Bunkbed: Harriet Bee.

Bedding: East Urban Home.

Rug: Nourison.

Shared Bathroom

This shared bathroom features a high-gloss floating vanity with laminate cabinetry.

Floating Vanity: Wrapped with Formica in High-Gloss Spectrum Blue by Sweenor Builders Mill Shop.

Wall paint color is Glidden’s White on White.

Pendants: Tech Lighting Echo Grande Pendant.

Sink: American Standard.

Faucet: American Standard.

Mirror: here.

Shower Tiling

The shower features a fun design with blue and white tile.

Pumbling: American Standard.

Tile: Merola White & Blue Tile.

Turquoise Vibes

Paint Color: Walls in Glidden Morning Song. Trim in Muslin White by Glidden.

Ceiling Light: Visual Comfort Balthazar Flush Mount.

Table Lamps: Visual Comfort Anita Table Lamp.

Nightstands: Canterbury End Table.

Bedding & Draperies: Custom.

Rug: Safavieh.

Accent Chair: Stilnovo – similar here.

Emerald Green & Black

Located on the main floor, this bedroom features a green, black and white color palette. The accent paint color is Glidden’s Brunswick.

Pendants: Visual Comfort Alina Pendant in “Smoke”.

Chairs: Allegra Woven Chairs in Rattan by Williams-Sonoma.

Garden Stool: here – similar.

Quilt: Barn Red Quiltworks.

Bed: Copper Grove.

Nightstands: Maxine Night Tables by Safavieh.

Rug: Welford Shag Area Rug.

Bathroom

I am loving the combination of black walls with white subway tile and black matte hex floor tile. Shower is curbless and wall paint color is Glidden’s Black Magic.

Vanity: Custom with toe-kick LED lighting.

Sink: DXV Modulus 55-inch Two Single-Hole Double Bathroom Sink.

Floor Tile: Merola Tile – similar here & here.

Shower Tile: White & Black.

Shower Fitting: Grohe.

Sconces: here.

Basement

The basement is full of surprises, like a fully appointed home gym, a modern media room, and a relaxing sauna. Wall paint color Glidden’s Silent Fog.

Sconces: Feiss Mattix Small Outdoor Wall Lantern.

Gym

Paint color is Glidden’s Solstice.

Lockers: here – similar.

Lighting: Ellen Degeneres.

Sauna

This sauna is 5-by-7-foot and it includes built-in benches. The sauna is made from Western Red Cedar.

Laundry Room

You really don’t need much space to have a well-designed laundry room. This laundry room was tucked into a small corner of the house where stackable washer and dryer, a hanging rod and even an utility sink with Soapstone countertop creates the ideal space to wash clothing.

Cabinet Paint Color: Zombie by Glidden.

Countertop: Silestone Charcoal Soapstone in Suede Finish.

Sink: American Standard Sink & Faucet.

Laundry Hampers: here – similar.

Mudroom

How fun it is to see a home with color! This mudroom features shiplap, which was installed with a nickel gap. To add some contrast, the builder painted the mudroom cubbies and trim a in a deep green. Paint color is Glidden’s Royal Hunter Green.

Lighting: Feiss Corinne Small Globe Pendant.

Floor Tile: Merola.

Puppy Included

The mudroom also features a drop zone with upper cabinet with shelving and and a dog bed and feeding station.

Countertop: American Black Walnut.

Exterior Paint Color

Exterior Paint Color: Olympic Steely Sea.

Clapboard & Trim: Lifespan Solid Select.

Windows & Patio Doors: Andersen.

Sunroom

The sunroom was created to provide a connection from indoors to outdoors. Notice the skylights and the windowed walls.

Ceiling: Knotty Western Red Cedar by Real Cedar.

Swing: Belham Living.

Fan: Akova Ceiling Fan.

Award

This project earned a Gold Award when the National Association of Home Builders (NAHB) recognized best-in-class projects at the 2018 Best in American Living

Awards (BALA) at the International Builders’ Show (IBS) in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Driveway pergola, corbels, and brackets are in Knotty Western Red Cedar by Real Cedar.

Shingles & Garage Doors

Shingle siding is SBC Cedar.

Garage Doors: Haas Door.

Comosite Roof Tiles: DaVinci Roofscapes.

Stone

The exterior stone veneer is by Eldorado Stone.

Outdoor Sconces: Visual Comfort – similar here.

Outdoor Shower

Built by Sweenor Builders, this custom-built outdoor shower features a pergola roof, privacy panels, and a door laser-cut with a design of schooling fish.

Lighting: Feiss.

Paint Color

The outdoor shower curved seat and plumbing wall are made out of moisture-resistant knotty western red cedar. Shower paint color is Olympic’s Steely Sea.

Dream Backyard

Outside, you’ll find a soothing soak pool, a sunny patio, and a complete kitchen for dining alfresco.

Accodiring to This Old House, this 7×13-foot pre-cast plunge pool was delivered in one piece, dropped into a 4-foot hole, and then faced with stone veneer and a bluestone ledge.

Adirondack Chair Set: Hayneedle.

Sectional: Hayneedle.

Pavers: Unilock.

Many thanks to the builder for sharing the details above!

Builder: Sweenor Builders, Inc. (Instagram – Facebook).

Client: This Old House.

Interior Design: Kristen Martone, Sweenor Builders / Graceke Design.

Architect: Union Studio Architecture & Community Design.

Artwork: Jessica Hagen Fine Art + Design.

Landscape: Landscape Creations.

Photography: Nat Rea Photography.

Click on items to shop:

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Best Sales of the Month:

Thank you for shopping through Home Bunch. I would be happy to assist you if you have any questions or are looking for something in particular. Feel free to contact me and always make sure to check dimensions before ordering. Happy shopping!

Serena & Lily: Amazing Rug Sale!

Wayfair: Up to 70% OFF on Furniture and Decor!!!

Joss & Main: Up to 70% off “Don’t Think Twice Sale”!

Pottery Barn: Premier One Day Event – Up to 70% Off.

One Kings Lane: Outdoor Sale Up to 60% Off.

West Elm: Up to 40% Off on Sofas, Sectionals & Chairs!

Anthropologie: New Fall Arrivals!

Nordstrom: Sale – Incredible Prices!!!

Posts of the Week:

New-Construction Home Ideas.

Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen’s Home – Full House Tour.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Modern Farmhouse.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Coastal Farmhouse Design.

2019 New Year Home Tour.

Neutral Home.

Dark Cedar Shaker Exterior.

Florida Beach Cottage.

Small Lot Modern Farmhouse.

Lake House Interior Design Ideas.

Before and After Bathroom Renovation.

White Kitchen Renovation.

Kitchen with Blue Island.

Coastal Shingle Home.

Coastal-inspired Home Renovation.

Southern-inspired Modern Farmhouse.

Coastal Farmhouse Home Decor.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: British Columbia.

Reinvented Classic Kitchen Design.

Florida Beach House Interior Design.

New England Home.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Urban Farmhouse.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: Fixer Upper.Beach House Interior Design Ideas.

Tailored Interiors.

Modern Farmhouse with Front Porch.

Classic Colonial Home Design.Grey Kitchen Paint Colors.

Follow me on Instagram: @HomeBunch

You can follow my pins here: Pinterest/HomeBunch

See more Inspiring Interior Design Ideas in my Archives.

“Dear God,

If I am wrong, right me. If I am lost, guide me. If I start to give-up, keep me going.

Lead me in Light and Love”.

Have a wonderful day, my friends and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

with Love,

Luciane from HomeBunch.com

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shadowofadalekmightdeactivate · 6 years ago

Text

BATIM fusions AU

I was gonna wait until I finished the game but buggar it all NOTE: I don’t own any of the characters, they all belong to @fangirltothefullest and their expies of themeatly’s characters. I just couldn’t stop thinking about an AU for them and had the idea for this monstrosity

Joey Drew: Progic Progic grew bitter after a project of his went wrong. One could almost say he went off the deep end. He could often be heard mumbling in his room alone. The appearance of the ink machine only seemed to make him worse. Appearance: He looks generally the same: same long coat, same pants, same boots, same gloves. He dyed his hair red at one point before meeting Moric and it seems to have stained his hair permanently, giving him a ginger-like appearance (when he’s naturally blond). 6’4” with 4 eyes (3 on the right side of his face) and 3 arms. Personality: Progic’s personality changed drastically. The playful, flirty man Moric fell in love with slowly deteriorated into a selfish, dream-chasing egomaniac. It’s unknown what caused him to suddenly reach out to Moric years later. Death: Still lives. (Side note: Progic can’t write.)

Henry: Moric Moric was Progic’s lover, comforting him when the experiment went south and bringing food for him when he started spending hours alone in his office. He was plenty hurt when he was suddenly fired and seemingly cut out of Progic’s life. (And very confused when he got a letter asking him to return.) Appearance: He still wears his blue shirt and dapper dinosaur tie, but switched his red shorts for a pair of pants due to the cold. He still has mismatched socks, but after chapter 2 along his legs are so dark from ink, you’d be hard-pressed to tell. By chapter 4 he winds up with ink up to his waist, elbows and splattered across his shirt. 6’4” with 3 eyes (one on his forehead). His pupils shrink for several seconds when he’s scared, excited or experiencing any other extreme emotion. His hair is brown, the bangs dyed a medium shade of blue. Personality: Ultimate dad, even past his breaking point. He only fights the ink creatures if he’s in terrible danger and prefers to run. Overall a nice guy. Noticeably quieter in chapter 4 due to several factors: a head injury, focus on finding Creatiy and reaching the end of his rope. Death: Still lives. (Side notes: Became a master axe-wielder after having to fight the Butcher gang, Decan and brute Creatiy He found a recording that sounded like the Progic he knew and loved in chapter 4 and now always has it with him. Even sleeps with it. Deceit pokes fun at him for this)

Butcher gang: Lodec, Patteit, Moxie

Sammy Laurence: Lauron Lauron spent most of his hired life writing for ‘Living Marionette’, usually trying to lowkey undermine Progic and ruin his reputation in the process. He managed to avoid the mass firing by simply staying in his office, though it didn’t save him from the gory aftermath that followed. Appearance: Unknown before the ink machine era. Seems to be made totally from ink, with nothing but an ink-stained coat, pants and Vercei mask covering him. 5’7” with no eyes, ears or mouth. Personality: A real piece of work pre- and post-ink machine. Pre-ink machine he was manipulative, back-stabbing and cruel, post-ink machine he was driven mad by the ink and elected himself as the ‘prophet’ for Vercei-sacrificing Moric just to please him (and maybe find a way out of his inky Hell). Death: He was put down by Vercei when he called him up to sacrifice Moric.

Norman Polk/the Projectionist: Viran Viran was probably the happiest employee there. He was allowed to make and research his conspiracy theories as long as they didn’t interfere with his work and was given way too much free access to paper. How he found himself wading through knee-deep ink he had no idea, how the projector got fused to his head even less so. The loneliness and pain of being alone downstairs for god knows how many years left him morally scrambled. Appearance: Pre-ink machine he wore a black shirt with a purple vest, as well as black jeans and shoes. They’re all made of oddly heavy fabrics due to Viran’s Autism-induced touch sensitivity made it hard to tolerate anything else for prolonged periods. 6’2”, 4 eyes and arms. Black hair, bangs dyed purple. Post ink-machine he wound up completely made of ink with a projector for a head. 6’7”. One eye, 4 arms. Personality: Pre-ink machine he was twitchy, jittery and full of ideas for conspiracies. He could be blunt and had a short temper, but overall he was a good guy. Post-ink machine, he doesn’t seem to have any sentience or thoughts other than chase and kill. Maybe he recognizes Moric and blames him for his lover’s actions, there’s no way of finding out. Death: Vercei put him out of his misery by ripping his head off after he caught him loitering in front of a miracle station Moric was hiding in.

Boris: Creaity Creatiy Catt was animated as a friend/almost brother figure to Vercei. With the events of the past he seems to have multiplied, although only one copy remains, the others all brutally dissected like rats. Creatiy will do his best to protect, guide and comfort Moric when he can. Appearance: He seems to have been based off of a superhero, with an elaborate and brightly coloured costume. He could summon a red, heart-shaped shield in the cartoon, but can’t do so in reality-most likely because he’s made entirely of ink. Has cat ears and a tail. 5’10” (11” with the boots). Brown hair. 3 eyes (one on his forehead). Personality: Absolute sweetheart. He’s quite handy and decent with weapons, holding his own for long before Moric’s appearance (the only way Anvity even got his hands on him was because he was distracted!). However, he’s also afraid of the dark and loud noises. Death: Tragically killed by Moric in self-defence, after Anvity got his hands on Creatiy and forced him to attack his friend.

Alice Angel (Susie): Prince Anvity (Roman) Prince Anvity was originally going to be voiced be upcoming voice actor Roman, who may have possibly had a short fling with Lauron (possibly the reason he got the job) before it was suddenly yanked out from under him. He took this as well as expected and threatened to quit until Moric took pity on him and offered him a job. If only he’d let him storm off in a snit, he’d have saved himself and Creaity a lot of grief… (Side note: Mostly Creatiy *COUGH*) Appearance: To say Prince Anvity looks monstrous would be being nice. His eyes are black, with the pupils seemingly just floating in constantly dribbling pools of ink. His right eye is too large, the left side of his mouth is frozen in a constant snarl, his wings end with edges like razors, his fingers end in deadly claws…And to top it all off? He’s taller than Moric, reaching a height of almost 7 feet. 6’9”. Brown hair bleeding to black at the bangs. 2 eyes (right eye taking up almost all of that side of his face) and small wings. Personality: Look in the dictionary for the word “sadistic�� and this iteration of Anvity will most likely show up as the definition. He manipulates Moric into doing things for him under the false pretense of giving him freedom, only to nearly kill him and Creatiy by sending the elevator they’re on crashing down to the last floor. He taunts Moric, insults him, teases him and withholds information from him in the hopes of having him killed. There are absolutely no redeeming qualities about him-whatever good things there were about Roman were completely omitted in favour of jealousy and vanity. Death: Prince Anvity was killed by the “pure” Anvity, who impaled him with a sword when he was gunning for Moric.

Bendy: Vercei Vercei’s the main character of the cartoon ‘Living Marionette’. Only one attempt was made to animate him in the real world, and it derailed so badly it was never attempted again. Vercei now stalks Moric around the halls of the studio after Lauron frees him from the ink machine’s room, his motives questionable. Appearance: The animating process did not treat Vercei well at all. His hood melted over his eyes, leaving only the eye in the back to see. Said eye is a washed-out yellow and generally looks unsettling, bulging out to the point it appears it’s going to pop out in any passing chapter. His hoodie-already a mess of patches and stitches in the animation-is fused to his body and seems to make his arms longer. 5’7”. One eye and 4 arms (two wrapped around his midsection). Personality: Vercei’s personality is currently unknown. No one knows what makes him tick, how he thinks or why he does what he does. He hunts Moric for an unknown reason and fought (and won) a fight with the Projectionist when he did the same thing. He gets angry when you destroy any of the varied Vercei cutouts around the studio…And that’s about the only hint we get about his sentience. Death: Still lives.

Bertum Piedmont: Decan Decan was the brains behind VerceiVille, drawing up plans and building the majority of it. He grew very salty over being introduced to people as “DeeDee”, claiming it demeaned him to being like a child. Progic pulling the plug on VerceiVille suddenly drove Decan to possess a ride (possibly by suicide, possibly by a ritual. We may never know). He now lashes out at everything that moves. Appearance: pre-ink machine, he was quite a dashing fellow. He dressed in a trenchcoat, black jeans and shoes, and wore a red scarf and fedora even indoors. He was also often seen chewing on a wooden toothpick. 5’6”. 3 eyes (2 on the right side of his face), curly red hair. Post-ink machine he was little more than a massive head in an octopus ride. Personality: This man adored to speak like he came out of the 1920’s. He only dropped the habit if he was furious or upset, which was rare (but frightening). As an octopus ride he never speaks at all, preferring to wait in silence until Progic comes back so he can smash him to a pulp and be done with it. Death: Less of a death, more of a defeat-Moric took an axe to all the attachments holding his “arms” together, meaning he could no longer fight.

Alice Angel (Alison): Prince Anvity (Virgil) The newer voice actor for Prince Anvity, a man of few words. He had no bad memories when whatever went down regarding the ink machine happened, so he’s regarded as the “pure” Anvity (minus the fact he’s partially crippled and needs to walk via cane). He may or may not be in love with Creatiy. Appearance: A good foot shorter than Roman’s Prince Anvity, Virgil’s Prince Anvity is a sight for sore eyes. He has more horns, holes in his wings and is lame in both legs, having to walk with the assistance of an intricately decorated cane. 5’9”. Brown hair bleeding to black at the bangs. 3 eyes (two on the right side of his face). Personality: Shy and quiet, not as boisterous as Roman’s Anvity. He worries for Moric after watching him break down crying in the hallway-something Deceit has no sympathy for, to his frusteration. Death: Unknown.

Boris (but Tommy): Creatiy (but Deceit) Still silent, still tall, hates Moric for unknown reasons. Anvity has to keep him off the traumatized man’s back 90% of the time. The other times, well…Let’s just say Moric’s not so traumatized he’s lost any and all snark. Appearance: Is just another copy of Creatiy. Often glaring. Personality: Disliked Moric for some reason or other, debatable because he felt he abandoned them. Otherwise he’s a decent man, coming to his and Anvity’s defence when they’re threatened. Death: Unknown.

#BATIM AU #Redhead Creates an AU #Redhead Speaks

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