#LOADSTONE IS HERE

[applester]

Lowkey hyped about this update

[rae-473]

So I'm normally far too anxious to post anything except for cosplay but my friends have been encouraging me to share some theories/headcannons that I have so heres a random headcannon I've had for awhile:

Before unlocked, whenever Athena and Rae would hug Athena would tap the loadstone in his crown to Rae's loadstone necklace so they made a gentle ding. When they were in Icarus' house after getting Fable out of Purgatory, the lack of ding was part of what caused them to realize it was missing.

[elminx]

Numerology, Part 3: Elminx's 3x3 Spell Creation Format

Note: This is by no means solely my own creation and many people have done 3x3 spell formats before me. What I am going to talk about here is why I use this spell format and some specifics on how I use this spell format.

So you want to cast a spell but you're not sure what or how to do it - this spell format works extremely well for me as a basis for the design of the spell. It can be used for spell bags and spell jars of all kinds as well as any other type of container magic, or simply as an adjunct to a candle spell.

The Numerology

The idea behind this is based on numerology and the meaning of the numbers 3 and 9.

The number 3 is associated both with Jupiter in astrology and the Empress card in the tarot - as you think about these associations, you may begin to understand why the number 3 is considered so powerful magically. In essence - it is the number of manifestations - or, at least, quick manifestations. This can be seen in the magic of human creation - it takes two people to make a third. Three is the number of birth of all kinds, not just gestational.

Likewise, the number 9 is the last of the core numbers in numerology - it represents the completion of a cycle. It is also the result of multiplying our power number of 3 by itself. So by combining the quick power of manifestations from the number 3 thrice over, we reach the total manifestation power of the number 9.

How To Put It Together to Make A Spell

This is where the fun and creativity (number 3 also rules creativity!) of this process come in. Once you have chosen your idea for the spell, you now need to separate that main concept into three parts. This can be done in a lot of ways: it could be past/present/future in a spell that really needs to move forward, three aspects of your final manifestation that you want to come to pass, or really anything that comes to mind.

For a general money spell, it might be money drawing (1), protection for your finances (2), and luck in money (3).

For a spell to protect you from the effects of Mercury's upcoming retrograde, you could base it on the three planets of yours that are going to be most impacted by the retrograde. Alternatively, you could do Keep My Thoughts Collected (1), I Can Write With Ease (2), and My Internet Signal is Strong (3) for a project that needs to be worked on during the retrograde.

The options here are endless just keep in mind that your three objectives should be interrelated in some way. And they should all feed the main objective of your spell.

Now that you have chosen three micro-objectives that support your main objective, you want to come up with three correspondences that feed your micro-objective. These can be as varied as you can imagine: sigils, herbs, rocks, feathers, individual petitions - the sky is really the limit here. You just want each set of three to be unique to one another.

To use the money spell example above: perhaps you might use a loadstone, catnip, and alfalfa for money drawing; bank dirt, a canceled check, and nettles for money protection; and basil, cinnamon, and tiger's eyes for luck in money.

In this way, we could see that we are casting three spells within one or three micro enchantments to support our larger goal. Depending on the complexity of the spell and the energies required, each micro enchantment can be cast on a separate occasion (say on the day of the week that supports each) but in close succession or cast all at once time.

The Details

This may seem like a lot, especially if you are a beginning caster. Remember here that although you are using 9 different ingredients for this spell, they do not need to be expensive nor do you need to use a lot of each item. When I craft a spell bag or spell jar in this type of fashion, I am often using a pinch of any particular herb.

There are a lot of ways to individualize this spell format.

If you use candle magic, I would suggest utilizing a main larger candle for the spell as a whole with three additional supporting candles (chimes work well here) to support the individual elements of this work. You can also choose to burn the candle in increments of three - for three hours at a time or for three or nine days. You can use color correspondences to support each individual goal or the whole.

Rather than being correspondences, you can create individualized goals for yourself - three physical actions that you need to take in the real world to enhance the magic of your working.

Looked at from a different perspective, each set of parts of the whole could be entirely different from one another. The first could be cleansing to rid yourself of the negativity associated with this work, the second could be creating a talisman of some sort to enhance that work, and the third could be the empowerment of this talisman.

The goal here isn't to create a rigid format with which you are forced to follow but to give you ideas about how to incorporate the power of 3x3 and its manifestation potential into your spellwork. The details, as always, are up to you.

--------------------------------------

This is part of an ongoing series about Numerology:

Part One: Combining Numerology and Astrology Part Two: Numerology Applications in Spellwork

Do you like my work? You can support me by tipping me on here or on Kofi, or commissioning me to write an astrology natal birth chart or transit chart just for you.

[setworldspawn]

Ello :)

U wrote loadstones right? Do we have any updates on when the next chapter's coming 🌘w🌘/nm

Also I wanna say my friend recommended it and ever since then it's been living in my mind rent free <3

Hello yes I did write lodestones :)

Can’t promise anything for updates yet as I am unfortunately very busy and don’t get a lot of time to sit down and write! But all of lodestones is planned and it’s just a matter of working some time into my schedule to actually write the words on the page.

In the mean time, here is a (very rough, first draft) chapter 13 snippet as a thank you for being patient, and proof that I am 100% working on it :)

[teaforce-steph]

Now more than ever in the age of social media it's important to remember that 55 year old poem by Gill Scott-Heron: The revolution will not be televised - it will be live.

In the risk of sounding like a history nerd grandpa in a tinfoil hat; It's not going to be in what's shown on the news or curated via algorithm for you in social media, it never has been (even more so the case with sensorship issues but regular curated content has problems too). Social media is a useful tool but online platforms should not be the sole focus and loadstone for information sought or action taken if you want to actually avoid further slide into facism. Revolution isn't even just violence or fighting (which I'm not advocating for here for clarity), it's also constructive; it's in the grassroots actions of everyday ordinary people establishing safety networks and looking out for your real, tangible neighbours and community members - especially those at risk of disappearing or being taken away. Sure you may not be the 'other' now, but all of human history shows us people aren't picky with scapegoats when we need someone else to take the fall for problems people in power don't know how to (or just don't want to) solve. Forget optics and trying to win arguments in comment sections, focus on finding as many allies as you can and think about what you have the ability to do constructively. You know, just in case.

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

Eunomia slept like a rock. The healer worked over her while she rested and she woke, eventually, to peals of laughter and golden sunlight streaming into the birthing room. Nahida pronounced her able, and she found that she was able to stand and walk without help. A servant came to bring her pastries and fresh flower-scented tea with a wedge of lemon. Her body still tingled with the effects of the magic; though her body moved when she willed it and she wasn't in pain, she felt strange and tender and empty.

And, again, mostly, she missed her mother.

At first, she'd cried helplessly at the idea of bringing a child into the world without her family's support. Even after months, the pangs of anxiety she felt never lessened. But she found, when she stepped into the hall and was greeted with elated cheers and congratulations from half the living creatures in Rosehall, that she needn't have worried in the slightest.

The birth of a faerie child - of a High Lord's child - had caused celebratory commotion like Nomi had never seen. It was comparable to the breaking of Amarantha’s curse in Rhodes. After she managed to fight her way through the well-wishers, Tamlin informed her that they were expecting guests - representatives from the nearby villages were coming to Rosehall to pay tribute to Spring's new princess.

In response to her expression, Tamlin shrugged.

"If anything, this is your fault, my dear. Everyone likes you; they didn't care nearly so much when I was born."

Indeed - by lunchtime, the hall was swarming with faeries of all sorts. Stout dwarven-kin, nimble goblins, pixies and sprites, even tiny wil-o-the-wisps no bigger than the nails on her littlest finger. Wraiths and nymphs peeled themselves out of trees and ponds and sat themselves down for lunch in the gardens. The sentries and stabelhands joined the kitchen staff to help prepare meals for the travelers but many seemed to have brought their own food.

And with that, the gifts. Nomi accepted cuttings from gardens, little dresses and shoes and hats, music boxes, dolls and pillows and blankets, and all manner of more impractical things - a necklace of freshwater pearls, a loadstone, the branch of a cherry tree with a single, eternal pink blossom affixed to the end.

The other High Lord's, too, were prompt in their tributes. Helion sent a basket of fruits - pomegranates and oranges, adorned with rosemary, and other symbols of prosperity and longevity - and a handwoven blanket with the solar motif of the Day Court. This was Nomi’s favorite present. Thesan sent the most practical gift: a clever pair of looking glasses that were meant to be placed, one at the cradle and one on the parent's nightstand, enchanted so that they would know if the baby became fussy at night. Naturally, this was Tamlin's favorite.

Tarquin sent a set of seaglass windchimes to hang above Semele's cradle. Kalias sent her a practical winter coat - deep purple and lined with white fox fur, a few sizes large so that she could grow into it - and a matching hat, mittens, and boots. Eris sent a circlet of bronze and gold apple blossoms, which was very pretty though both Nomi and Tamlin agreed that they couldn't really picture Semele wearing such a thing.

The Night Court sent a note affixed to a bottle of wine. It read, "Good luck, you'll need it."

"Its not even a good vintage," Lucien complained when he saw this. He popped the cork and took a swig, swallowing bitterly. "Cheap bastard."

"No cursing in front of the baby," Elain scolded. Her smile was fixed to her face, though, and she promptly returned to cooing at Semele, who slept through all of this, somehow, and to Nomi's immense relief.

"You know," said Elain, leaning over to give Nomi one more peck on her cheek. "I don't recall nearly so much fanfare when Nyx was born."

"Typical of the Night Court," said a passing sentry, dispassionate. "Hide the lady's pregnancy til the last moment, then pretend it's business as usual."

"Its different here," Nomi agreed, shifting Semele slightly in her arms. She was heavy, and yet weightless, and soft. "What do humans do, when a child is born?"

Elain shrugged. "Oh, not much. It'd be bad luck to celebrate anything until they're about five or so - too old for faeries to want to eat them and such."

"No talk of cannibalism in front of the baby," said Lucien.

Luckily for all of them, Tamlin was utterly obssessed with his daughter and was cataloging her every expression or new experience, and told these stories with enormous pride to anyone who happened to stand in his presence.

///TO BE CONTINUED

[cbk1000]

And here’s a small preview of the next chapter of Book of Merthur:

Beyond the Lake which is waiting for its King to come home to it, there is a sward as fine as a slipper, and flowers sewn on for adornment. Where there is mortal wind to blow and coneys to proliferate, the flora is at risk of dishevelment, or outright beheading: but here there is that fine, flat silence which goes from nothing into nothing, with the moss to cushion its journey. The trees drink of an earth never to be fodder for plough or for cow: and where their ordinary brethren are throttled by vine, they are wearing it like organdie. 

And beyond this, beyond the trees which are furred like fine kings, and the heather which lives sepal to stamen with the dog rose, where the field is on fire with the poppies, and the foxglove is coloured like wine, where the air, if it could, would make the sound of fine silver on crystal, beyond castles and towers built of white stone or gay stone, past orchard, past lawn, past the throne made of oak, and the castle with the penis its master has not been able to remove, by charm or by cursing, there is a tower alone, made purely of loadstone. 

Far up in the tower, there is a window, and in the window, a face which a knight would kill himself rescuing. 

When there is a tower such as this, and a maiden such as this (though she is no longer a maiden), it is customary to hear a voice as pure as the air, singing of lost love or no love: but this one was saying some words unrepeatable. It was saying them in pleasant enough diction, with articulation garnered from tutors: but what it was saying had been garnered from soldiers. 

In the air which had a kind of resonance to it, which could have run down from a mountain when spring doffed the felt caps from its peaks, in the presence of bluebell lovelier than women, there could be heard, from lips not quite second to roses, “Fuck this fucking tit cunt fuck.” And finally, for emphasis: “Fucking fuck this fuck fuck. Bollocks!!”

Here was the denizen of Avalon who was not queen but meant to be queen, honing her sorcery for war.

And in Camelot, where the foxglove is still coloured like wine, though rather a shabbier one, Arthur, Once and Future King of Camelot and of Albion, burst into the apothecary where were ensconced Merlin’s mother, and his mother, and shouted at the former: “Where’s your son?”

Hunith did not look up from her mortar. She was putting her back into the pestle, and did not mean to be distracted by some stupid man. “In back,” she said, absentmindedly.

“Mum!” Merlin called, affronted. He had to come out, now the jig was limply up; feeling himself very poorly treated, by the one person who was bound by blood to harbour him.

“Where’s the horse?” Arthur yelled.

“What horse?” Merlin asked, with a face as innocent as an infant’s. 

“Merlin.”

“Arthur, I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Really. Cross my heart. Hope to die. What horse?” he asked again, for the sake of plausible deniability. Then, with timing as treacherous as his mother, there sounded in the lane outside the apothecary the clamour of hoofbeats: and Arthur, turning his head, watched Gwaine trotting merrily past on it.

“Is that the horse?” Merlin asked innocently. “Well, I guess Gwaine must have taken it.”

Arthur grabbed him by the neck of his tunic, and hauled him outside, which might have been sexy, if it were for snogging; but as it was only for yelling, Merlin had nothing by which to recommend it. 

“Gwaine!” he hollered. “Stop this instant, or I’ll throw your cohort in the stocks. For a month.”

Gwaine kept going, because he knew, and Merlin knew, the threat was nothing but wind; because not only would Merlin be left out in the cold, but Arthur’s red-blooded penis. 

“Go, Gwaine, go!” Merlin screamed.

And Gwaine, trusting Merlin to handle a man for whose penile happiness he was responsible, did. Arthur shook Merlin by the neck of his tunic, to reassert his authority; though Merlin did not seem to notice, and only rolled his neck, to get out the tight bits. “I thought you wanted to foster a society intolerant to intolerance?” he complained, straightening to his full height, which was not any higher than Arthur’s, and adding, “All we were doing was upholding your own ideals. Can’t believe you’re going to get on your little soap box about justice, and fairness, and then go off on Gwaine and me for upholding the very values you supposedly…value.”

“Yes,” Arthur said through his teeth. “But I thought I might do that a bit more diplomatically than stealing all the clothes, and the horse, of a delegate sent from a hostile kingdom.”

“It was only the one delegate. There are several others, and we didn’t take their clothes.”

“Then why couldn’t you practise that restraint on Lord Ralph as well?” Arthur shouted.

“He’s a bit of a twat.”

Arthur was fostering, or trying to foster, a society intolerant to intolerance; though he had hoped to do it with a bit less nudity, and a bit more politicking. So though Lord Ralph was a bit of a twat, he was sat with the rest of his brethren, nearest to the high table as a guest could be sat, and served by servants with nothing in common with Merlin, who now was a diner of the high tale, instead of an attendant, and still ungrateful.

“How about not complaining, just for something new to try?” Arthur suggested reasonably, and Merlin, grimacing, pulled at his collar again, and replied, “I hate these clothes. They’re choking me.”

“Next time I’ll put you in a sack.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“You can’t blame the tunic for that,” Arthur said, and sipped from his wine.

[stesierra]

Do you have any OCs that are fun to write about but you wouldn't want to spend time with in real life?

Nilower is fun to write but I'd find him as pretentious as fuck. Also, he's not a very good writer, although he thinks he is. Here's an excerpt from the terrible book he's writing.

"'Areh, you should not tempt me so,' Siavad murmured, his eye caught by the gorgeously sensuous curves of her generous cleavage, his imagination seized by the glimpses he caught through the soft sheer crimson silk of her frock.

The seductress breathed, 'Aran Mahil, it is I that is tempted. What woman could resist you? What woman would want to?' She leaned closer, her pomegranate-red lips parting before his greedy eyes, revealing teeth like square pearls and strong breath as sweet as cinnamon. He inhaled that godly aroma and felt himself enchanted by the unnatural green sparkle of her eyes. They caught and held him as close as a hug, and he could not move away as she settled herself down onto his couch, as graceful and dangerous as a leopard. He was a man trapped by his own desires and a woman's beckoning finger.

She smiled into his face, perfection in flesh, and her long-nailed hands rose to caress his clean-shaven face.

He leaned into her touch like a cat eager to be petted but questioned, 'You are engaged to be married, areh. To a member of a key family, no less. Is this appropriate?'

Her questing fingers ran around to trail across the silky nape of his neck, and she uttered, 'A woman may love whomever and wherever she pleases. Always it has been so in Sakhder.'

Siavad shivered and trembled and shook as her sinful hands ran down his sides, tickling him through the thin silk of his embroidered golden tunic. He found himself pulled closer and closer, like a loadstone drawn towards the north. He avowed, 'I would never seek to deny a woman her rights, areh, but neither do I want to be murdered by an angry suitor.'

She scoffed, the noise melodious as the song of a lark, and sighed, 'The marriage is arranged by our parents, and neither of us care for each other. I am not drawn to him, not the way I am to you. Now come to me, you beautiful man.'

He fell into her plump, dusky arms, his heart swollen with love in his chest, and breathed in the smoky perfume of her shining hair. She smiled at him, the smile of a goddess. And then her poisoned fingernails drove into his back, spreading paralytic venom through his blood. He froze like a statue, rigid as a board, his muscular hands still wrapped around the vixen's waist.

'Now, Siavad Mahil,' purred the betrayer, 'I believe the Abolbak family will pay dearly for your breathing body. But that doesn't mean I have to give them what they want right away.'

She kissed him with her lush red lips, and he was helpless--"

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 14

CW: Small amount of blood, Eye dialect AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 11. 12. 13. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

The roads are quiet as she rides home. The streetlights catch the gold on Auri's faring, sliding off like a lover's caress. Somewhere a dog barks, and an indistinct voice calls out to quiet it. Some people think the city streets are more like a rabbit's warren, but Elo grew up during the rebuilding, the roads forming like pathways in her brain. So she's on autopilot as she guides the bike along the roads, and it's only when she stops, she is surprised to find she is over the canal at Spit Bridge. No one is working this late. The tape is the only barrier stopping people from tramping on the crime scene. From here, Elo can see it sectioning off the alley where the victim was assaulted. The scene is like a loadstone, drawing her to park up the bike and descend onto the towpath. She's tired. By all rights, she should go home and sleep. But she has pushed herself like this before and no harm has come from it. Besides, she tells herself, it's not like she has to engage her brain tomorrow/ later today. She just has to waffle about the city, something that's as natural as breathing. If worst comes to worst, she can always steal Joahn's on-call room. The night is clear and still, almost eerily so. The smallest zephyr, a breath of wind, brushes against her cheek and skims through her hair. Her footsteps sound loud against the paving slabs, amplified in the way all quiet noises are in the dark of night. Beside her, the slick water of the canal is still, and she can smell the fumes of it mingling with the night's mist – there is the heavy metallic smell of engine grease, the pungent green scent of water weeds, and a cold, ice-like scent.

Elo ducks under the barrier tape, scanning the alley in the sodium-orange glare of the warehouse floods. It's exactly as she saw in the vision.

She steps carefully along the alley's length, picking out where her/ Evelyn's foot dragged, where their hand scraped along the rough brick wall. The déjà vue of familiarity is disconcerting. She stops and looks back towards where the canal shimmers darkly. Leaving her car, passing through the alley… The victim had to be on her way somewhere. The killer followed her? Elo looks towards the landward end of the alley, at the bins and the service exit from the warehouse. No – the victim surprised the killer. A surety grows in her bones then – this was an ambush. But maybe not an intended one… The wrench was a weapon of opportunity, of panic. She knows the type – a cumbersome thing used on the barge engines, too heavy to flee with. It would have been lying around, forgotten by some careless deckhand, ready to be grasped in panic, and swung to… To what? Hide a crime in progress, or to stop the vic from being someplace she shouldn't? Elo turns and walks back towards the canal. It's difficult to figure out exactly where Evelyn/ she was stabbed, but close to the end of the alley floor, barely visible in the darkness, is the iron stain of blood. Elo looks back along the alleyway, head cocked in thought, and notes where the victim was struck in the head. Alleys, by their nature, are long and narrow. There's no way the same person would have been able to get in front to stab her through the chest. Then Elo thinks of the vision, of the thing with red eyes between her and the tree. Realisation thrums in her veins – there were two killers. There had to have been. There's no other way around it. The one, further back, panicking. The one on the tow-path, calmly sealing the deal. Two would more easily move the body. One to hide it, the other to scuttle the barge. Two to murder her friend.

There was a payphone up the street, tucked between the tow-path steps and the wall of a warehouse. She turns and sprints. Maybe Farren has already worked it out – if he has, then great – but maybe he hasn't, and she can't take that chance. There is the scuff of pebbles behind her, but she ignores it. It's probably a stray cat, she thinks and ignores the advice of her gut – nine times in ten, it's nothing, but you check anyway because that tenth time it's something – and runs to the payphone. She dials for an operator. "Hello, how can I help?" "I'd like to place a collect call to Precinct 88, to the line of the electronic secretary. Charges will be borne by TPD, authorization code 1-1, 5-0, 4-2." There is a pause while the operator notes down the authorization code, and looks up the number for the dedicated answer-machine line. "One moment please," she says, "Connecting your call now." There is a click, and a whirr, and Elo fancies she can hear the operator moving the plugs to transfer the call across. "You've reached the electronic secretary for Precinct 88," comes the tinny recording of DIspatch-Sally's voice, calm and soft. "This number is for official, non-emergency use only. Please keep your message succinct. Messages will be recovered by the officer on duty every three hours starting at 0800 hours. Please clearly state your name, rank, and number; the recipient of your message; and the message itself. Proceed." "Elowyn O'Toreguarde," she says, rushing through the procedure requirements. "Detective Sergeant in Special Cases, ID 0-7, 1-1, 4-9. Message is for Constable Farren Breakwood, regarding case number 1-2,1-1, 2-0, 1-7. There are two killers. Maybe you already figured it out, maybe you didn't, too bad, I'm telling you anyhow. Time is–" she glances at her watch "–0330 hours, I'm at the crime scene. There's a scuff mark from where the vic was struck in the head, and there's no way that same attacker could–" That scuff comes again. Only, this time it doesn't sound like pebbles. She is tired, she must be imagining things, but it sounds like the scrape of claws on stone. But it doesn't come again, so she dismisses it once more and continues her message. "The first strike," Elo says, having lost her train of thought, "was done in panic. The second was deliberate, cleaning up his fellow's mess, though it could be–" The scratch of claw on stone sounds again, and it is different from the scrabble of a dog. It sounds sharper. She looks out of the booth, and there is something standing there, in the shadows. "–Premeditated. Gotta go," she finishes quickly and hangs up the receiver.

Elo took a slow step outside the phone booth, not taking her eyes from the thing that hid in the shadow. Her gun is locked in the topbox, back on the dragon. "What are you?" she called out. «Youse was told to beat it, kid,» said the thing. «Youse was warned not to get into our business.» Its voice scratches at her ears, all harsh consonants and short vowels, that sends a chill through her body. "I don't believe I was," she responded, and a distant part of her wonders how she is understanding it, and, for all that her voice sounds like English in her ears, what she is speaking back. "I don't recall any of your kind, whatever you are, knocking on my door and telling me so." «Stupid moss-ear. What're you, blind as well as dumb? The signs was clear as night.» "The hell does that mean?" Elo snapped, almost certain that she has fallen asleep in the phone booth and this is all a twisted nightmare. "I don't even know what you are, let alone read whatever signs you think you've posted." «Not posted,» it sneered. There was a flash of twin red glows, vanishing as quickly as it came. «Actions delt. We didn't think a moss-ear like you would know how to swim.» And then she realised that incident the other night – the one where she thought she dreamt the skittering thing in the shadows as she got dunked in the canal – that was real. "A green-skin," she said, and saying out loud what she has called them in her head for all these years sounds peculiar. It snorted. «'Green skin',» it muttered, offended, and finally moves out of the shadow. «She calls us 'green-skins'. Pah! We's Dvasia, dumb-ass.» Elo can only stare at the thing. In her defence, she decides, it does have green skin. It also has narrow pointed ears, and a narrow pointed nose and needle-like teeth. Well-corded muscles wind around thin limbs and sharp joints. Those hands and those legs terminate in knife-pointed claws, and she thinks that must be what she heard before. The thing is not much shorter than she is, and skinny as it is, she absolutely does not want to try it in a fight. For all that it called itself Dvasia, it bears a striking resemblance to a fairytale goblin. It's not wearing a whole lot either, she notices. Ragged shorts that look like they're made of potato sacks, a red cloth cap, and crude shoes that are akin to sandals. "Aren't you cold?" she asked, mouth bypassing brain. It blinked. «What?» "Um." She blinked back. The thing frowned. «S'pose it is a bit nippy.» Elo considers this for a long moment. "D'you want a coffee?" she asks, even as her mind is screaming that there is a fairytale standing in front of her, a fairytale villain at that, and for the love of all the gods, why is she offering it coffee? Because it's cold and alone and wearing sweet Fanny Adams, argues a different part of her, and she was raised to be polite and considerate of the needs of others. «Uh,» it said, clearly as confused as she was, but carefully considering the offer. «Yeh?»

So she loaded it onto the back of her bike, and drove them to the corner of Penfold and Welch, not far from where the clubs are, and pulled up by a kebab van. She buys them both a coffee, and then she walks them down a block to a park. They sat on a bench under a tree, sheltered from the mizzle, watching empty swings sway in the breeze, and drank their coffee.

Eventually, though, Elo finds she must say something; she can't just sit here, in silence, drinking coffee with a fairy story. "You know the blond girl?" she asked. "She came down to the canal two nights back." «Say I do. What of it?» it rejoined. "Did you kill her?" It paused. «What you gonna do if I say no?» "Keep looking for the ones that did." «What you gonna do if I say yes?» Elo stared at the swings, the way the rain collected along the cracks in the slabs. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "I guess I'll shoot you," she said finally. "Then go looking for the second killer." «Ain't you an officer of the law?» it asked. «Ain't youse supposed to arrest me or something, send me down the river, and take me to the Big House?» "If you were human, yes." «That's racist.» "No, it's practical. I'm struggling to believe that your kind are real, and yet here you are, sitting drinking coffee and holding a conversation with me. I can't find any way to pretend you are just some hideously deformed human speaking some foreign language. You are real and existent, and I still don't quite believe it. Now, if I feel like this, and I've been exposed to more oddity than most, how am I to expect anyone else to react to your presence?" Elo pauses, takes a sip of coffee. "There's no way I can simply arrest you, put you on trial, and 'send you down the river'. Much as I would like to, it's not feasible. So. I would shoot you." «Huh. Fair enough.» "Did you kill her?" «No. Blood as my bond, I did not.» Elo looks down at it then. It's staring at her with a strange intensity, those red orbs steady in their gaze. She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, it is telling her the truth. "What were you doing down there?" she asked. It chuckled lightly. «Waiting for you, moss-ears,» it said. «The one what did the murder sent me down there. He knows you've unsealed the Nerishklis, and he wants it back.» "You were sent to take it from me?" «Yeh.» "Why are you telling me this?" The creature sniffs but doesn't even pause. «Bought me coffee, dintcha.» "Your loyalties are so easily swayed?" «Nah. I'm on your side now.» Elo looked down at it again and it sniffed, yet again. Its gaze has that same, unwavering intensity as before, but this time it raised the paper cup in salute. "Let me guess. Your blood is your bond?" «S'right. You're getting the hang of things, eh?» I'm really not, Elo thought. "But why?" «Because,» it said slower, «Y'bought me coffee.» "I find it hard to believe that I bought your unwavering loyalty for a fifty-cent cup of joe." The creature – the Dvasia – sighed. «S'not about the amount, or what was purchased. Only that the transaction was done. Youse paid for something from your own stash o'gold for me. Which means, I'm duty bound to you for the rest of my probably short and miserable life.» It sniffs at her continuing look of confusion. «Had youse stolen, or otherwise provided said beverage from another's stash, it wouldn't have counted.» "So if I'd taken you back to the station, and given you a cup from the communal supplies, you wouldn't be beholden to me?" «Nope,» it said. «But, had youse done that, I could have lied through my teeth about whatever I fancied, then happily stabbed you in the back, got the Nerishklis, and gone on me merry way.» "So why'd you accept the coffee then?" «Why wouldn't I? Anyone who can unseal the Nerishklis is someone to be reckoned with. I figure I'm better off with you than I am with my old boss.» "Ah."

Elo swirled her coffee in its polystyrene cup. It makes sense, in an odd way. Not that she'd done anything to the artefact on purpose. "What's your name?" she asked. «'S Snotgrut,» "Pleased to meet you, Snotgrut," she said. "I'm Elowyn." «Charmed, I'm sure» Elo gives a little snort of amusement as she looks up at the sky, to see dawn starting to tint the air. Beside her, Snotgrut makes a little strangled noise. «Uh, moss-ears. You think maybe you can give me leave to bugger off? Only, I ain't too fond of the sunlight.» "Ah hell," she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. "Yeah, of course. I need to get to bed myself. How do I get in contact with you?" she asks, as Snotgrut downs the rest of his coffee and starts away. «I'll have my people call your people,» he calls back, slipping behind a bush, and is gone.

Elo shakes her head. She's trying to solve a murder via proxy, babysit a king, look after her grieving surrogate father… And now this creature, this Dvasia, is speaking in riddles about things she's only just grasping the edges of. Elo drains her coffee and gets herself ready to ride on. What the hell else could happen? she wonders, pumping the kickstart before giving it a swift downward thrust. Auri fails to start.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for January 31

Morning

“The Lord bless thee and keep thee.”

Genesis 49:1-15

Genesis 49:2

Jacob was about to speak by inspiration. The blessing of a parent whose tongue is taught of God is priceless beyond conception.

Genesis 49:3-4

Though he was the firstborn Reuben missed the. birthright, because he was light and loose. Whatever good points may be in a man, if he be not sober, steady, and substantial, he will come to nothing. To be unstable as the waves of the sea is one of the worst of faults and mars the whole character.

Genesis 49:5-7

A great wrong was here disavowed by Jacob. He could not prevent it, for his sons acted hastily in selfwill, and he knew nothing of their murderous deed till it was over, but he takes care to bear his witness against it in the most solemn manner. The follies of youth will come home to men in their riper years. It is a great mercy when from our childhood, we walk uprightly.

Genesis 49:8

When the dying patriarch reached that name which is a type of Christ, he rose to a higher key, he had no more faults to mention, but fell to blessing.

Genesis 49:9

Who dare defy the Lion of the tribe of Judah? Jesus the Lord is terrible to his enemies.

Genesis 49:10

When our Lord came his enemies said, “Behold, the world is gone after him.” To this day he is the greatest of loadstones to attract mens’ hearts. He came just when the kingdom had gone from Judah, and now he reigns as our Shiloh, the Prince of Peace.

Genesis 49:11 , Genesis 49:12

Truly in our Immanuel’s land the wine and milk flow in rivers. Come ye and buy without money and without price.

Genesis 49:13

May our sea-faring people be favoured of the Lord, and never sit in darkness as Zebulun came to do.

Genesis 49:14 , Genesis 49:15

Though quiet and industrious, it may be Issachar was somewhat deficient in courage and energy. There are no perfect characters; but it were greatly to be wished that our contented brethren were also more energetic. Yet as Issachar was a true son of Jacob, we trust our slow-moving brethren are the same. It were well, however, for each of us to be more in earnest than ever, for we serve an earnest God.

We leave the rest of the blessing for our next reading.

God of mercy, hear our prayer

For the children Thou hast given;

Let them all Thy blessings share,

Grace on earth, and bliss in heaven!

Cleanse their souls from every stain,

Through the Saviour’s precious blood;

Let them all be born again,

And be reconciled to God.

Evening

“I have waited for Thy salvation, O Lord.”

Genesis 49:16-33

We will now read the rest of the benedictions pronounced by Jacob upon his sons.

Genesis 49:16

Dan signifies judge; the patriarch declared that he would verify his name.

Genesis 49:17-18

Here Jacob made a pause. His utterance of weakness has neither petulance nor complaining in it, but is expressive of hope growing out of long confidence. Soon he hoped to enjoy the fulness of salvation in the presence of the Lord.

Genesis 49:19

This is often exemplified in the believer’s life. Many trials press him down, but he rises up again.

Genesis 49:21

Vivacity of spirit was linked with readiness of speech, a good combination for a minister of the gospel.

Genesis 49:26

The heart of the venerable patriarch was enlarged concerning Joseph; he evidently felt that he could not pour out a benediction copious enough. And truly, if we turn our thoughts to Jesus, the greater Joseph, no language can ever express our desires for his exaltation. Watts has well put it

“Blessings more than we can give

Be, Lord, for ever thine.”

Genesis 49:27

This was to be a contentious tribe. Though Benjamin stood high in his father’s natural affection, he did not dare for that reason to invent a blessing for him, but speaks the word of the Lord neither less nor more. To fight from morning to night is a sorry business, unless it be against sin.

Genesis 49:28-33

He was not left even after death among the Egyptians, but slept in the family tomb of the pilgrim band, to awake with them at the resurrection. In all things he maintained his character as a sojourner with God, looking for a city yet to be revealed.

Shrinking from the cold hand of death,

I soon must gather up my feet;

Must swift resign this fleeting breath,

And die, my father’s God to meet.

Number’d among thy people, I

Expect with joy thy face to see;

Because thou didst for sinners, die,

Jesus, in death, remember me!

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[football24x7]

Warren Buffett Declares Shift: Selling Loadstone Antagonistic To Circumvest In Yon ‘Magnificent’ Megacap – Here’s Whither

[spewagepipe]

Dungeon23/11/01: Mezzernimb's Game Room

Hey, this post is incredibly late, but here's the theme for November: Demons and other planes of existence! Mezzernimb is a demonic being inspired by the likes of high-ranking modrons and the xorn – it's a sort of cylindrical creature with twelve eyes, twelve limbs (six hands, six feet) and one big mouth at the top. It can inflict awful curses with its gaze, and, like most extradimensional creatures, it is immune to standard mortal weaponry. Luckily, it doesn't want to fight, it only wants to play a game – but it will try to gobble up anyone who refuses to play by the rules.

The rules of Mezzernimb's game are arguably a sort of spoiler, but since the demon explains them readily when asked, it's a pretty mild one. First, Mezzernimb summons up a circle of twelve stones – eleven valuable rubies, and one cursed loadstone that weighs a ton despite its tiny size and always reappears in your belongings if you try to throw it away.

The players get to pick up one, two, or three of the stones and keep them – but they can only pick multiple stones if the stones are adjacent to one another in the circle of 12. Then, Mezzernimb takes a turn doing the same thing, and so the game continues alternating turns until every last stone has been picked up. Mezzernimb's goal is simple: force the players to have to pick up the cursed stone.

In other news, the reason this one is so late is because, predictably enough, there were some hiccups with the October rooms. I had the entire set chosen very early on in the month (just as I had planned), but when it came to writing them up I discovered far too late that too many of the rooms were more or less empty – they were functional spaces for a mansion, but had nothing interesting for the players to do in them. So I ended up having to redraft about a dozen, and well, that bled into November a ways.

The other problem has been that while I have a lot of loose concepts for November, here, actually pinning them down into specific encounters and chambers has proven a little weirder. Demons are, pretty much by definition, unmoored from reality – which means that the "common sense simulation" that the rest of my game is meant to provide doesn't really apply. That means that I need to get really detailed and specific about the magical "rules" of any given situation in order to avoid problems, and... yeah, it's very time consuming to turn a concept into an actual playable room.

[maythray]

like... how do i explain this...

the pigs is the least egregious one here. i dont really care about that its fun i guess. im not personally a fan of variants but whatever.

loadstone being so easy to craft kind of defeats the quest youd have to go on to loot it from bastions... i think switching the recipe from netherite to iron makes it far too easy of a recipe now... i dont think it should be netherite either... i wish i could provide a possible middleground but i just dont have one. maybe make it something you can get somewhat commonly from bartering instead. i kind of liked that it required you to have at least explored the nether to aquire it... basically a mastery of the lands and all... now you dont even need to touch the nether at all... meh :(

um. falling leaf particles. Booo booo boooooo i hate particles im sorry im a particle hater. stop relying on particles or at least make them easier to toggle between!!! leaf litter is whatever. another thing i gotta dump out of my inventory when im running through the forests. its like tall grass to me. i hate tall grass. im a mom against tall grass. nice decoration block though i guess?

wildflowers are cutes i guess... i was kind of hoping the white and yellow flowers would be seperate so you could use them to make both white or yellow dye... i want a common flower source for white dye SO BAD. its again whatever.

scratching my head. hah haha.. um ^_^; what if i kinda hate all of this...

[dmwrites]

Zedaph tended to live his life a little more solitary then others might, so it took him a couple of days to realize that most of the hermits were missing.

“It’s been too long since the last time I spied on hermits!” Zed said to his dangling animals. “They’re too clever! But I am clever-er. Okay, who is still on the list… hmm… Impulse… Grian… Joe… goodness, I haven’t done a single hermit in weeks! Who is even on?” Zed checked the tab list. “Oh! It’s just me. Slow day. I’ll just wait and see who comes on.”

He wandered around his base, kind of put out that the one time he wanted to talk to someone, no one was on. But right as his nether portal, he tripped on an item frame. Zed’s curiosity peaked, and he picked up the thing inside. It was a compass, which was pointing to the west, and was named with a date and time of about a week ago.

“Now what is this? A clue?” Zed asked himself, cradling the compass in his hands. “Ah, I see, it wants me to go to this wall!” Zed went and put himself against the quartz wall. “I have to admit, I am no closer to any kind of answer.” He paused. “Perhaps the compass wants me to just go west, not into this wall. It’s hard to tell.”

Zed followed the compass, which lead him to Grian’s megabase, more specifically, Grian’s weird basement, which Zed had just been spying in recently. There was a loadstone right in front of the purple portal-thing, which looked different from last time. Like it was broken or something.

“Hm.” Zed said, looking up at the portal. “Is this where the hermits have gone? Well, as a man of science, I must investigate!” And Zed stepped through the portal.

He emerged moments later into the sunshine. His eyes instantly started watering. “It smells like lore in here.” Zedaph began to sneeze. “Oh goodness.” He looked around the colorful tents and flags, and the huge bridge off in the distance. “Oh no, no, no, this reeks of lore. Ah! I’m allergic! The zedvancement is not worth it!”

He stepped backwards and back through the portal. It wasn’t as pleasant a journey as the first time, although he found that he couldn’t explain what exactly had changed. It just felt… wrong.

He appeared back in Grian’s basement, a little rattled from his journey in the rift, and perhaps with a few more eyes then before, but otherwise okay, and clip-clopped away to find some allergy medication.

[theeyoungalabastor]

Technoblade and his Apprentice: The Shattered Totem- Kill or Be Killed (Part 1)

Part 1, Part 2

(Art by: Jammie on Twitter)

Where does this take place?:  The Arctic Empire, New L'Manberg, The Greater SMP

What event takes place?: Technoblade's and (Y/n)'s execution

Character pairing: Piglin!Hybrid!Technoblade and Bear!Hybrid!Reader

Information on chatacter(s): Both hybrids have a human like form but when feeling threatened both are able to shift into a bigger more animal like form that will add onto both strength, agility, and height (height to look more intimidating)

WARNINGS: Blood, character death, descriptive but mild gore, angst, explosions, murder, manipulation, foul language, freezing,

Status: Platonic, Angst, Fluff, Familial (Technoblade sees reader as a sibling)

Pronouns: They/them

Word count: 7,306 (7K)

Page count: 21.4

​​​Summary: Having been included with the aid of destroying L'Manberg with Technoblade both the Piglin man and dear reader soon become the main target for a certain quartet. Nailing wanted posters to the wooden poles around New L'Manberg the ensemble set off with the intent of having the duo pay for their crimes. Public Execution.

        A disk spun on its needle, the haunting like melody soaking into the wallpaper that layered the drywall surrounding them. A fire cackled not far from their pawed feet, hot flames lapping away at the charred wood, it's fuel radiating just enough heat to warm the bear hybrids toes. Shadows dancing with each flicker of the orange blaze.

        E/c eyes drifted to the compass that sat heavily in the palm of their hand, it's sheen surface shining with the loadstone enchant which only became more apparent with the fire's illuminance glinting faintly off of the glass surface, it's red pinpointing north.

        Nervousness gnawed hungrily at the pit of your rather empty stomach as the thick skin of your thumb traced the letters dug into the cold iron back, careful not to damage the devices surface with your keen talons. Ever since The Blade himself handed you the device it had been clipped to your belt safely. Every so often you would spare a glance in hopes the pin would click, directing you towards your friend's new home. 

        At times you would stand timidly at the end of the dock where you last saw the other hybrid, where he told you he was going to retire from everything. 

The conflict.

The government.

The violence...

        "Y/n..." Technoblade stare at the sun that began to rise above the horizon as if it were to be his last, tired eyes tracing over the water line as the ball of flames arose giving birth to a new morning. His hair reeked of soot and gun powder from the recent events, here and there a patch of his roseate fur was littered in dark splotches from where clumps of dirt and gravel had landed during the nation's destruction done by the hands of its own founder. But the hybrid seemed to pay no mind to his tainted coat but more on the effervescent ball of flames that bathed the smoke-filled firmament in ravishing hues of orange and gold. 

        He lost the man he considered a brother. Wilbur. To his own father. Impaled through the chest by a glistening diamond sword, if Techno didn't know any better, he would have mistaken the glittering blade as the one that Tommy had gifted the winged man on their last Christmas together. 

        "Yes Techno?" Your voice was dry, hoarse even, noticeably wavering and damn near dead of all emotion, along with the dull sheen that glossed your e/c eyes. His ruby hues drifted to meet your own. Pain pooling deeply in those blood tinted orbs. Not only did The Blade lose a brother, but you had also lost something as well. 

        Your home. 

        And your friends. 

        You lost their trust the minute you turned to face the Piglin hybrid, hand held out demandingly as he had already placed two of those ebony skulls atop of the four blocks of inklike sand that wept, but their cries fell onto deaf ears as he afforded his gaze to your stony features. The third skull sat in his clammy palms, ready to slam onto the last block of soul sand; but he hesitated, looking down at your outstretched hand that itched to feel the smooth bone of the skull. Without a second glance, he placed it into the heel of your palm with a firm nod. 

        That is probably where the two made their mistakes.

        "I think I'm going to retire." His words were stern but soft as he glanced at you almost as if you were a kicked puppy cowering with its tail between its legs. Your eyes remained on the still waters that skipped across the shoreline, the sound was painful reminder of what once was. "Where will you go? Will I see you again?" 

        Technoblade knew you didn't hold what happened against him, especially knowing his unexplainable hatred towards governments, I mean shit. Look what it's done. He lost his brother for God's sake, to the unquenchable thirst for power that he had at the tip of his fingers.

        Techno shook his head, unsure. "I honestly don't know, wherever the wind takes me I guess." Digging a hand into one of his pockets the taller male ferreted around before fishing a handheld object from its depths. You watched with a quirked brow as the taller man held out a large hand, gesturing for you to take what sat in his grasp. 

        "For when things go south. Go north."        

        At first when Techno said those words, you didn't think he meant literally, but here you were, eyes glued to the red needle that pointed north. Ever since the day of Wilbur's passing you didn't intend on living in L'Manberg- or NEW L'Manberg that is- after Tubbo took the title of the shattered nations president you had turned away from that unfinished symphony. You now resided within the barrier of the Greater SMP, atop the hill of where a certain tumultuous British boy's home was dug into.

        Some people blamed you for the way things went down, Technoblade unleashing the hellish three headed beasts with the help of your traitorous hands, the TNT that tore the nation's structure, sending everything skyward. They blamed you for helping the Pigman fight against the government that drove his brother to insanity. The Government that exiled its two original founders or the same one that drove the once great leader whose eyes shown with pride's son to destroy the very walls that were made to protect him. 

        You glanced towards the dingy window another content smile splayed at your thinly lined lips.

        You remembered the time Technoblade- the man to who you looked up to with much pride- taught you how to correctly plant potatoes.

        "No, you don't plant them like that, they'll grow wonky." Pulling the vegetable from its hole, the one that you nonchalantly dug and tossed it into. You looked at the taller man that towered over you with a deadpanned expression, the six-foot something man paid no attention to your bored expression. Reaching into his pant pocket the fucia haired man ferreted for a moment. "Why? This is just a waste of fucking time they're just potatoes, nothing to get fussy or even get excited over." You spoke with the roll of your eyes and a shrug before standing beside Technoblade, dusting your soil caked fingers against your filthen and slightly tattered pants, perfect for farming.

        "Yes, they are just potatoes, but these potatoes' are what is going to fuel out battalion and keep our bodies from shutting down on themselves." Pulling a blade from his pocket the other dug its sharp edge into the middle of the vegetable and skillfully cutting it in half. Glancing at your curious figure his long tail snapped back and forth with entertainment. Just a moment ago you were groaning about how potatoes weren't much to be excited about and how planting them was a waste of time. 

        Extending his hand towards you he held the small handheld blade in his scarred clad hand. "Cut them in half, we need to ration as many as we can so there's enough for everyone." You glanced up at the older man with uncertainty glinting in your (e/c) hues, a brow quirked to add into your iffiness. 

        Chuckling softly Technoblade bounced his extended hand expectantly with a soft groan. "Are you gonna take it or not? I'm trying to do a whole bonding moment with my apprentice- and my arm is starting to ache." Now it was his turn to deadpan at your stiffened figure below him. Your round ears flickered as you jumped, fingers softly surrounded the blade, face bloomed with blushing embarrassment. Clutching the blades handle you glanced innocently up at the other, eyes glinting with questioning.

        Crouching slightly beside you Technoblade placed a large hand atop of your shoulder, a finger directed to the bottom of the knife. "Use this part the knife, it divides the meat in the potato better, but when you plant it make sure the small roots here-" He let his acute nails poked at the white spikes that protruded from the plants skin. "-Plant that part in the soil, make sure the cut part is facing the surface so that when it grows the plant's stem can break the surface better." Nodding you watched intently as he explained. 

        "Alright." Reaching into the small potato bag that hung from your hip you pulled out another potato as Technoblade turned away from you to plant the potato that he took from your hole and planted both halves in his own dug holes before scrubbing his palms against the knees of his pants as he covered the crops. 

        You held the potato gently, eyeing it with a faint smile before digging the tip into the skin.

        That was when the days were long and grueling but empty of most problems, the most you had witnessed within the walls of Pogtopia was Wilbur's constant and rabid mental decline that plummeted like a stone in water.

        Blabbering about being the villain and that if he couldn't have L'Manberg, then no one can. And with that, it was blown into the sky with the help of two shape shifting hybrids.

        You clutched the compass, pulling it to your chest. Not many ever forgave you for helping destroy the same thing that they were all fighting to protect, throwing all of their work down the drain like expensive wine. Sometimes it ate at the core of your brain, no matter how badly you wanted to apologize to the children that had to face the wrath of the man with big dark horns, or even witness the once lively leader loose his ever-living mind to the nagging voices and now a boy sent to exile by his own friend, the one who he saw as an actual brother. 

        Is this how Eret felt? When he expressed his remorse for the final control room? 

        Heaving a sigh your e/c eyes drifted out of the window as your mind settled on the boisterous blonde's home, one that use to bound pridefully down the prime path that just so coincidentally happened to lead up to his doorstep, chest puffed, and head held high. It was eerily quiet without his high-pitched laugh or passive aggressive threats. A spark of memory flashed through your mind as you recall a conversation with a certain winged man. 

        "That kid, I'm telling ya, he's given me more gray hairs than my own son." He chuckled humorously as he watched his adopted blonde son clash his skull against the firm horn of his friend. Crying out in pain before rubbing the soon to be bruised spot that blossomed due to their recklessness. Tubbo on the other hand, clutched his stomach that grew tense with laughter a few breathy taunts leaving his cavernous lips.

        He spoke about how incredibly corrupt that government was, how it tossed the presidential titles around like it were a game of Ga-ga ball, and whose ever feet the ball just so happened to hit was the new ruler of the damned nation. The blonde man spoke of how that government drove his one and only son to dementedness and now cast the other aside, doomed to bare exile with the ghastly apparition of who once was. After your departure from L'Manberg, much like Technoblade, you gifted the two a compass that led to your home located just off the prime path, a way to locate you faster when needed. 

        A content but solemn smile tugged at the edges of your lips as you began to reminisce the better times, the times you were still considered a 'good person' but you too, had shoved the goads of violence to the back of your mind. Now, you did not have the voices that sang out in demand for blood, but you did have the invasive or intrusive thoughts that would dance around your mind like a ballet dancing the nutcracker. They were tempting, urging you to wrap your large palms around the throat of anyone who stepped foot on your doorstep, watch as their lively eyes glazed over with the thin sheet of death or maybe see your clawed fingers tainted with the said crimson whine. 

        This is what war does to a person.

         No matter who they are. 

        A person could have the kindest heart and brightest eyes that one has ever seen before being tainted by the trauma of war that could make any man go berserk.

        But it's not the memories that were left behind that made these impulses bubble to the surface, it was the blood that stained your tongue during it. Once an animals tongue collides with the copper relish of blood, it lingers like honey, like a craving even. And that is exactly what it was for you, a nagging craving that had turned sour as of the recent months. You blamed the damned hybrid side of you, the rabid bear. 

        The snap of the fire awoke your dazed figure back to reality as you glanced over, eyeing the glowing ember that sat on the waxed wood of your floor, with a groan you heaved yourself to your pawed feet before padding towards where the smoldering chunk of charred lumber lay, nonchalantly kicking it back into the hot pit to smolder into ash. 

        'Get ready my dearest friend they have bound my wings, they've found you.'

        Gaze snapping to the communicator that sat atop the end table next to the hard leather cover of your recent read the screen illuminated. No one ever messaged you unless they wanted something from you, or it was an emergency. 

        Nimbly dancing around the furniture that littered your path, your large, clawed manus lifted the device to your line of sight. It was from Philza. The text a whispered message.

        >(Y/n) whispered to Ph1lzA< What do you mean 'they've found you'? Who is it?

        Panic slowly installed itself into the core of your stomach as the whisper sent, jumping around like an energetic puppy being taunted with an afternoon walk. 

        Who found you?

        What did they want?

        They bound his wings? 

        Did he mean Chat?

        Seconds felt like eons as your (e/c) hues stare daggers into the electronic device. If looks could kill, that communicator would be fine ribbons.

        >Ph1lzA whispered to you< The Buther army, they found your compasses. I don't have much longer for they are confiscating the communicator, be safe m8.

        Shit.

        The Buther Army, a battalion of men who seek vengeance on the ones who've wronged them, and it looks that you were one of the people at the top of that list.         

        Your rounded ear flicked as a stoic expression stoned your features into a thin but serious line. You needed to prepare. 

        Instantly your hands got to work, thumbing through the pages of your brewery book, collecting the needed supplies to whip up the potions you would undoubtably be needing to face multiple men alone. The house reeked of panic as your lip pulled into a focused snarl, revealing the sharp edges of your canines, jabbing the stick to your grinding bowl against the fragile blaze rod you spun the wand, crushing the rod into a fine powder to then be turned into strength potions.

        Your dark tinted armor sat on a nearby armor stand prepared and enchanted, ready for usage, in the stands hand a glistening netherite sword that shone with enchantments, in the other a bow that too sang with advanced enchants. (Technobalde had helped you find the best enchantments and how to get them).        

        A nearby stand bubbled as the brewing came to a finish to which you swiftly slid into your hotbar, storing the rest in the slots of your inventory. Minutes turned to hours as your grueling work was done.

        Fixing the strap of your armor your pawed feet slid into the metal of your boots that had been tailored by the great Puffy herself, lords bless that woman's soft soul. With the dusting of your shoulder to rid of the red stone dust, gun powder and blaze powder you were ready, body reverberating with fluctuating anxiety that gnawed at the core of your mind, clouding it with blurry cotton.

        They were bound to approach you first since you were undoubtedly closer to the reconstructing nation built off of corruption and pain and you were sure Philza had messaged Technoblade to inform him of the approaching battalion that approached your home radiating malice. 

        Fixing your sights on the carpet that sat at the foot of the rocking chair that you sat in just moments ago you eyed the fabric remembering what lied beneath. Swiftly making your way towards the said furniture you tossed the carpet aside revealing the trap door it concealed.

        A growl left your throat as the front door vibrated from the vigorous pounding as the lock held it in place.

        "(Y/n) Step out of your home and surrender your weapons." A venomous voice demanded firmly as the sound of metal on metal made it to your rounded hybrid ears, four, that's how many shadows' you'd counted from beneath the door. 

        The power behind each knock grew potent as you slipped down the hatch, the voice of Quackity being deafened by the banging door. 

        Grabbing the legs of the rocking chair you swiftly pulled it over the hatch as it rested on your head against the cold metal of your helmet. At this point the knocking was no longer but the hard thud of a boot colliding with the now splintering wood you lowered the hatch still covered with the carpet down. And with that you began climbing down just as the door was thrown against your wallpapered walls. 

        "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!" The duck hybrids voice reeked with sour venom as he spoke, you could hear the group of boots thumping against the floorboards over your head. "WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT BEAR!" His voice seethed hatefully. 

        Your boots hit the stone of the tunnel that stretched farther than you would have liked but this here hall of cold stone is what divided you from being captured and possibly killed and freedom that shown just beyond that faintly glowing opening just a few yards away.

        "Look at this," Fundy spoke deathly close to your hatch as the sound of furniture being tossed aside like a child's toy made it to your ears a deep odious chortle radiated the bird man's throat as the hatch was thrown open. Thats when the two of you made eye contact. A snarky smirk pulled at the corners of your lips as a two fingered solute was directed to the seething Quackity clad in netherite armor. 

        enraged vociferation erupted as you slid a speed potion from your belt and popping the cork before again glancing up at the winged man who scaled swiftly down the ladder, earth brown hues that burned with a dangerous fire still locked on your form. With a playful chuckle and wink you downed the vials contents that took effect almost as soon as it made contact with your lips, legs pumping, creating distance between you. Capture. And freedom.

        The illuminated opening approached rapidly as a crazed adrenaline-filled grin spread across your features. Blood pumped loudly in your rounded bear ears. But as fast as it came it was gone as your euphoria only lasted a few moments; the familiar sound of hissing sounded faintly, even the sound of racing blood and thinning adrenaline it made your whole world slow almost to a stop. 

        As if time were being manipulated as said, it seemed to slow as you frantically tried to stop your speeding form from the now crumbling wall, the shards blooming from beside your head, the sight just out of your prefrail vision as your armored hands lifted to shield your face.

        Like the flip of a switch time returned, your door to freedom slammed shut as your fingers brushed its closing knob. So close but again, so far. Your body was flung back to skid across the stone floor, a few hot morsels slicing through the flesh of your cheek. The sound of shattering glass made you curse loudly as the contents of your potion bottles spilled against the cold floor. Your shock was momentary as you regained your composure, jumping back to your pawed feet clumsily.

        The exit was blocked by debris. 

        There was no way out.

        Ringing enveloped your erratic senses, vision blurring together.

        The exit was blocked by debris. 

        There was no way out.

        You had to fight. 

        Guess it's time to sooth your hunger, your thirst for blood. 

        Turning to face the four who stood in the narrow hall, you lifted your netherite blade in comparison to their four diamond axes that were too raised, ready to strike.        

        Quackity's chest bounced with entertainment as your form took a battle stance as he lifted his axe, directing the point towards your now bulked form obscured in tainted and matted fur as you huffed, still out of breath from running."(Y/n) (L/N), you are under arrest for the assistance of destroying L'Manberg and being associated with Technoblade. You are here by sentenced. To death..."

.

.

.

.

        "That's great. That's wonderful, but you gotta get outta here Wilbur." Technoblade stated firmly pushing a finger to his temple to sooth the raging voices that roared in his ears whilst pulling the blade from its place on his mantal. The pale skinned ghost turned to face his younger brother as stress knitted into the skin of Techno's brow. "They're gonna come, they're gonna see you- and they- I don't know what they're gonna do to you-" Technoblade turned swiftly to another brewing stand, removing the potions from their spots on his counter, "-I don't know what they're gonna do to me but- I don't think it's gonna be good." Fixing the round vials to his belt, Technoblade lifted the shawl from its hook before swinging it around his shoulders, locking the chain that held it in place. 

        Ghostbur held his fist to his chest anxiously as he hovered over the wooden floor of his piglin brother's cabin. Technoblade turned to face the transparent male with a sigh, placing a hand on his shoulder before opening the door. "Alright, there are some bad men Wilbur that are coming to get me-" The pink haired male's words halted in his throat as the said ghost exited close behind the taller male. Swiftly making his way towards the spruce fencing that lined the staircase Ghostbur leaned over with wide oxy eyes. With a gasp the man pointed a directed finger to the open field of snow. "Techno look..." Scarlet hues following the older of the two's finger to the open tundra the piglin froze with furrowed brows. "It's a sign!" Wilbur turned back to his younger brother excitement swirling in his glossy black orbs. "Blue!"

        "Ghostbur, I need you to take that sheep." Using the tip of his sword to point tot he said animal he looked the ghost of Wilbur Soot in the eyes before speaking again. "And get as far away from here as possible." 

        Ghostbur's features shifted happily as he excitedly heeded the others warning. "Can I have a leash?" The man questioned innocently rubbing the knitted cuffs of his yellow sweater anxiously. He did NOT like the way the pinkette was acting. The said male rushed back into the house as Ghostbur sat atop of the plywood that connected the fencing rails.

        "Yeah, I can go far away," glancing back towards the taller male he watched as Technoblade's large pink ears flicked prudently. "Would it be easier for you if I went far away?" 

        "Uhh, I just want you to be safe Ghostbur!" Technoblade replied as he lifted the top to another chest, ferreting frantically through it before jumping to another letting the lids fall closed with a loud thud.

        "I'm always safe Technoblade, I'm already dead." The ghost floated towards his twin who hastily shoved the lead into his transparent hands, "what are they gonna do? Double kill me?" The brunette chuckled humorously at his own joke but stopped as he saw the glint of desperation in the other man's crimson hues.

        "Ghostbur, it's stopped snowing- go as far away as you can or go and hide over a hill or something, alright?" Leading the ghost out of the door he raked a clammy palm through his infrared locks as the said other contently bound from the lifted porch, lead in hand as he approached the animal, latching it to the lead and softly tugging it towards a nearby hill cameoed in thick pine. "Bye bye Techno, have fun preparing for the event!"

        Returning back to sporadically searching through the many chests that lined the walls he retrieved what he saw fit for battle, the paranoia that devoured his mind making things all the lot harder.

        Were they only going after him?

        What if they hurt Ghostbur?

        Was Phil okay?

        Were you okay?

        It had been a good long while since the God of Blood had fought another, it had been too long since his hands knew the form of his hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword tainted with blood. Maybe if things weren't as he seemed it wouldn't come to that, maybe he could negotiate with the ensemble to prevent spilling blood. He was a retired man, he sworn against violence a long time ago and sought refuge within the snowy tundra to live out his retirement.

        Chatter awoke the man from his thoughts as a pink bore ear flicked towards the source, crouching low the man clad in red and netherite tip toed his way towards the window where the voices seemed to grow louder. Using his index finger to lift the cloth of his drapes Technoblade peered through the thick sheets of glass softly blanketed with frost and fog. 

        Swiping a hand across the glass he peeked into the night where he saw Ghostbur chatting contently with the netherite wearing men. "He got captured IMIDIATELY, I've never seen a man get captured to quick holy Hell." The said ghost glanced towards the cottage every so often he gave a polite wave before pointing excitedly towards the windows. 

        "Shit, no, no don't wave at me- NO, DON'T POINT AT ME! DID HE JUST TURN AND POINT AT ME!" Pinching the bridge of his nose Technoblade groaned out in despair before sighing heavily before again peeking out the window, a bead of sweat dripping down his chin.        

        "Oh crap, they have full enchanted netherite- I thought they were broke-" The man chuckled to himself before lifting the curtain a bit higher to see what was happening despite not being able to hear the conversation. Almost instantly Ghostbur's face brightened impossibly bigger as he frantically waved at the man in the window. 

        Dropping the curtain, the man pressed the heels of his palm into his eyes with a groan of complaint. Standing from his crouched position he pulled the curtain all the way open only to cry out in complaint as Ghostbur ran enthusiastically towards the cottage.

        "HEY TECHNOBLADE! They say they're gonna kill you Technoblade-" Opening the wooden doors Ghostbur invited himself in approaching the nether beast.

        Technoblade lurched forwards to catch the door handle as Ghostbur again made his way outside, "Ghostbur- why- why are you leading them over to my house Wilbur- why are you doing this?" Ignoring his brother's words of betrayal Ghostbur turned to face the others scarred face. "What would you like me to say back to them?" Glancing towards the hill that the group of now four stood Technoblade eyed them wearily.

        "Uh, how about you look at them and tell them that I'm not here."

Ghostbur's brows furrowed tightly. "But that'd be lying, I don't like lying!"         

        "We- THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME WHY ARE YOU NOT OKAY WITH LYING!? Aaand they're all here- and their all right outside my house- Thanks Ghostbur" standing on the flight of stairs Technoblade puffed out his chest as he clutched the hilt of his sword closer unsure to use it or not.        

        "Oh, Hello again Technoblade." Quackity's lips pulled into a wicked grin as Tubbo fixed the handle of his hatchet in his hand.

        "Uh, hello guy's, why have you guys come all the way over here- to my humble abode?" The said man descended the stairs where he stood a few moments ago as he eyed the Four before him. Quackity, Fundy, Ranboo and Tubbo. Where was the third? 

        Tubbo stepped forwards with a slight tremble in his stance as he spoke with a wavering voice. "Technoblade." He inhaled. "You need to pay for your war crimes." 

        "Woah, woah, woah, that was in the past man, alright? That was a different Technoblade. I'm a changed man now! I'm in retirement, I'm a good person now Tubbo." Here he went, negotiation, maybe he would be able to change their minds with assurance.

        Quackity hummed in denial whilst shaking his head, nose scrunching with malice as he lifted his axe to point at the man who stood before him the sheen of antipathy grew thicker with each passing second. "Techno, you and (Y/n) exploded L'Manberg with fucking-"

        "You two literally spawned withers EVERYWHERE!" Tubbo cut in, placing a firm hand to the ravenette's shoulder. 

        Shrugging the brunette's hand away the duck hybrid stepped forwards slightly, mock understanding lacing his already ill toned voice. "I'm sorry Technoblade, but you two need to be brought to justice for that. And there is nothing I can do to change that" The male shrugged boldly, spinning the blade of his axe in his hand.

        "Okay- Listen you guys, I've gone through so much effort over the past months to change my violent ways, I have reformed alright?" Lifting an empty hand to his head an index finger jabbed into the flesh of his temple as he spoke again. "The VOICES demand blood, and I- I have been denying THEM! I've been fighting back! PLEASE, please don't make kill all of you." Letting his hand drop the other that held the hilt of his sword directed to the four who stood before him before backing away a step. "Please just leave."

        A tenseful silence fell upon the men before one spoke again. "Technoblade, please just come peacefully..."

        Quackity lifted a hand to silence the president of the broken nation as he nodded firmly with a nonchalant shrug, "you know what, yeah, how about you show us around? Show us what you've been doing while in retirement. Let's do this peacefully."

        Technoblade tensed at the raven-haired man's tone as he side stepped away from the four, swiftly approaching the far side of his house hesitantly sliding the sword into its spot on his hip. "I- huh- Well I have Bees' here, aren't they nice?" 

        Tubbo's eyes lit up slightly now with relaxed shoulders at the mention of his favorite mob, approaching the small makeshift bee farm he placed a hand against the glass as one shimmied its chunky body from the hole of its hive to nuzzle into the flowers that lined the wall. At the sight of this the four others openly approached the bee farm. 

        With a few wary backpedal steps, the pig hybrid turned on the ball of his heel, sweat gathering at the hair of his brow as he began to run from the distracted battalion of four.

        After a few moments and a few feet away shouts of panic instilled as multiple footsteps followed behind the taller male who then skidded to a stop, hands raised in mocking surrender. "Hey, hey, hey, it was just a joke-"

        "You know what, fuck it Techno, we tried to do this civilly, but we won't let you out of here in one fucking peice, we are going to fuck you up techno. It's either going to be the easy way or the hard way. We're going to go back to L'Manberg and you're going to come with us. There's no other way around it." Quackity spun his axe skillfully as he took a battle stance.

        Technoblade's brows knit together tightly as the voices began to chant.

        Blood for the Blood God.

        Blood for the Blood God!        

        BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!

        His top lip pulled into a snarl revealing the sharpening canines, his figure seeming to take on new heights as patches of fur bloomed across his skin, the armor that sat loose across his stature grew tight as he revealed his full glory. 

        It was time to sooth their hunger.

        With a huff from his snout and the snap of his jaw's he growled. "If that's how it is... I CHOOSE BLOOD!" Ripping the leather belt from his waist he slammed it down, the glass splash vials that lined it shattered coating the beast in its contents as his muscles bulked, eyes grew dilated with speed and the screaming voices, followed with his body ached with regeneration. Technoblade ripped the sword from its sheath as he sprung, blade raised high with the intent to kill.

        The sharpened edge dug into the handle of Quackity's axe before unloding it from the wood and hacking down again as the said bird hybrid spun away, avoiding the deadly strike.

        Panicked shouting ensued as the group of four scattered, slipping against the sheet of snow.

        Turning his attention towards a certain fox featured boy Technoblade dug the hooves of his feet into the frozen forest floor, launching himself forwards delivering an armor crumbling blow. Clutching his now aching ribs Fundy scrambled to escape the beast's power whilst crying out about how God damned heavy, he hit even with the performance enhancing potions.

        Sliding just a few feet away was Tubbo, axe at the ready as he charged the pink coated beast that snarled, clouds of hot smoke bellowing from his nostrils as he too charged, scarlet hues glazed with the intent to annihilate to cut down each and every single one of the men who dared disturb his retirement and force him back into the ways of violence, forcing him to collapse under the pressure of the voices to sustain their unquenchable thirst.

        Fear replaced the once confident look that crossed his face as the boy turned to run, netherite boots sliding against the frozen ground. A cry of panic escaped the ball in his throat.

        "BIG Q DO SOMETHING, BIG Q!" The hook in his boot caught the root of a tree, sending the president tumbling to the forest floor, diamond axe raised as Technoblade's sword collided with the base of the smaller blade, applying pleasure to the hilt of his sword the Piglin beast snarled as Tubbo's arms trembled under the unbearable weight as his emerald hues met with the dilated pair that danced with pain. 

        Strings of curses fell from Quackity's lips as he glanced about, looking for something to use for leverage, knowing full well he could use his gift but that was needed for more drastic measures.

        The blade of the hybrid's sword dug into the flesh of Tubbo's shoulder as he cried out, struggling to push the massive creature away from him in order to escape, but it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, his attempts always went down in vain.

        The familiar sound of hooves awoke The Blade from his stoper, snapping his head to the sound he saw Quackity perched on the back of a rearing Carl who whinnied in displeasure before shaking his head in a final attempt to rid of his new rider.

        Panicked, Technoblade tore his blade from the other's before turning to face the ravenette.

        "WOAH, WOAH, WOAH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT HORSE QUACKITY!?"

        "Technoblade, stop what you're doing, stop right now-"

        "Woah, woah, woah, woah, stop what you're doing. Get away from that horse Quackity." Lifting the blood tainted sword, the oversized beast directed it to the man who stirred the reigns of his stallion with a grin, satisfied that he finally found a weakness in the Legendary Technoblade. 

        "No." Quackity stated with a slight jerk of the reigns that willed the horse into a standing still as he held the handle of his axe to the horse's beige fur. "You get away from them Technoblade. If you pull any shit, I am going to kill Carl. I will fucking slay him if you don't get away from them." 

        The piglin beast's breathing stuttered as he widely stepped away from the two other hybrids.

        "Technoblade, I am going to kill your horse-"

        "-Why would you do that?"

        "Unless you cooperate." 

        Technoblade's eyes narrowed as he hesitantly stepped away from the raven-haired man who sat atop his noble steed. "What do you want from me?"

        "I want you to drop your shit, drop your shit Techno and Carl doesn't get hurt."

        With that being said the beast formed man threw his axe into the snow. 

        "All of it, this is not a negotiation. Drop it all"

        Technoblade glanced down at the blood slicked blade that sat light in his large palm before he huffed in what seemed to be amusement. "I can get a new horse if I need too. It doesn't matter." (I know he wouldn't really say this, but for plot's sake, he is.)

        Quackity looked slightly taken aback at the statement as the war criminal before him readjusted his grip on the swords hilt. With a stunned huff followed by demented and amused laughter the man on the horse shook his head with a nod. 

        "For some reason, I knew you'd say that. So that's why I brought you a gift, Technoblade." Digging the heel of his boots into the horse's ribs Quackity approached a small thicker part of the forest where he stopped and turned to face the oversized hybrid.

        Lifting a hand, the beanie wearing man spoke with wallowing pride as the gift was shoved from behind the thicket, the sound of chains rattling filled the tense thick air. "May I present to you-" Watching as it landed limply in the snow, Quackity slid from the horses back before hopping towards the thing like a child who was told they could have whatever they wished at the candy store. 

        Skidding to a stop, Quackity planted both feet on either side of the figure before gripped a fist full of hair, tugging the figures blooded face up from the soiled snow to reveal who it was. 

        "YOUR ONE AND ONLY APPRENTICE, TADA!!" He sang in excitement that he was finally able to reveal his plan B. 

        (Y/N) grunted painfully as Technoblade's breath caught in his throat. 

        Their (h/l) (H/c) locks were matted with dark and now frozen blood that had dripped down the crown of their head before drying, their nose busted and bloodied as clots of blood plugged each nostril, both lips that were now blue from the cold were split so deep that he was sure he could see the younger one's gums that were too painted crimson from their harsh faceplant into the icy ground as shallow and stuttering breaths wheezed past your swollen. The once nice thin clothes that they wore were torn and tattered, tainted with their own crimson whine, you had not been dressed to embark on a trip to the frigid tundra. Your hands were bound behind your back by a pair of copper cuffs.  (Copper is what keeps shape shifting hybrids from shifting into their animal form)

        But what made his blood turn cold was how deathly pale you were. From what he could see you lost quite a bit of blood while on your way over but the bruises and deep cuts that littered your figure did not make you look any better in any way shape and or form.

        Quackity held the handle of his axe with bubbling excitement as he glared challengingly at the shifted man. "Drop your shit Technoblade..."

        Technoblade was frozen where he stood, eyes glued to your weakened form. You looked to broken, your (e/c) hues that once glistened with courage and power now sat dull and defenseless, he could have sworn that he saw guilt swirl in those dull eyes of yours.

        Gripping the tufts of hair in his hand tighter Quackity lowered the sharpened edge of his diamond axe to rest tightly at the ball of your throat.

        "Or I will kill this kid, right in front of you."

        "Don't..." Your voice came out hoarse, tone just above a whisper, but he was still able to catch it. "You still have time to r-run." 

        Tearing his gaze from your shivering form, Technoblade dropped his sword.

        His potions.

        His crossbow.

        Trident.

        Golden apples. 

        All of it, before finally unlatching the hold-knob of his cloak and tossing it to the side and finally letting the glistening crown that sat atop his head clatter to the forest floor alongside his netherite armor. 

        His hands raised in surrender. 

        Quackity's brown eyes burned with victory as he removed the weapon from your throat, both of his feet from either side of you were no longer there, letting your head again fall into the snow you were then hoisted up from under your shoulder. Whimpering painfully, you unwillingly leaned against the ravenette for support as he danced giddily before his energetic facade dropped to look Technoblade dead in his rage filled eyes. 

        "So here is what's going to happen Technoblade, (Y/N). We are going to take you both back to L'Manberg to face trial. Alright?" His voice seethed as the other person he was supporting weakly lifted their head. 

        "Sounds like... Bull shit..."

        Tubbo stood, lips pulled into a thin line. "They just insulted our government..."        

        Technoblade snapped his head to face the ram. "Oh, we just insulted your, oh your government has been insulted. OHHH!"

I had to put a few of Technoblade's funny moments because I am missing the hell out of that man.

Edited and not proofread

Masterlist

[fels-fantasy-hoard]

Dragon Revamp Mayhaps?

I���ve been working on a module about dragons for almost two years now and I’d just like to get a pole of interest in players and gms for the ideas I’ve got. I’m considering making another version for campaigns where the players are dragons themselves because I want to run something like that XD

So basically, vanilla dnd dragons are basic bitches and bore the crap out of me. Please don’t go in the comments trying to defend them I don’t want to hear it. If you love the current color/metalic dragons, this module can be adapted to work with them as well.

My module is based around the idea of dragons being born and made from crystals but that can easily be interchanged with cannon color/metallic if that is what you prefer.

Going under a cut cuz its long ish

In this version of dragons, they are beings of pure magic and thus have no fixed appearance. Every dragon is unique physically and the only traits that connect them are those tied to the crystal of their birth. The crystal determines the magical damage type they use and are immune to, an ability score they have a buff in, a unique ability or trait, and a single personality trait.

Lets take a Garnet Dragon. Their element is fire, they have a buff to strength, they immediately have access to the Luck feat and “These dragons are considered some of the luckiest creatures alive. Everything seems to go their way regardless of their circumstances” Everything else in terms of personality and alignment is up to the gm. There are also like 10 unique breaths for each element, some deal less damage but can have lingering effects or debuffs based on the magic type. (A necrotic breath for example can bane the players if they fail the save or a force shout can stun them)

On the physical side, the vanilla design for dragons is so boring. In this version, you can choose from (as of right now) 4 different options for body type that give you access to different fighting styles. Bipedal, Quadrupedal, More than 4 legs, and no legs. In addition to different forms of movement that would help shape how the dragon looks and moves in combat (swimming, flying, burrowing, climbing, and running) Yes, you can choose for your dragon to have no wings, like many dragons in folklore across the world. Don’t come at me with the “has to have four legs and wings to be a dragon” get out of here, go and look at dragons across history and the world and stop being a tight ass, this is make believe. Also, you can customize them even more by choosing traits like tremor sense, blind sight, dark vision, amphibious, and mobile in younger dragons with true sight, shape change, frightful presence, and more unlocked at higher tiers.

On top of all of that, you can customize their ability scores, saving throws, skills, and invest in class levels or magic. I have a built in system for this to make it easier.

A lot of these things are available in vanilla dragons but the staticness is what bores me. Where is the creativity? Give me an obsidian dragon born from underwater volcanoes that can uses tremor sense in the water and can swim 200 ft in one movement before grappling its prey with a serpentine body that is burning it to death, if it isn’t crushed first. Where is the loadstone (magnetite) dragon who uses its force scream that magnetizes all metal, including weapons and armor, that causes the adventurers trying to kill it to lose their weapons or get stuck to their full steel plate paladin. What about an Alexandrite dragon who teleports like lightning through a crowd of adventurers and takes six attacks with its various legs before appearing landing 40 ft away from them. Or an Amber dragon who’s decaying breath turns all plant life into crystalized amber?

I’ve got about 80 different gem types written out with unique abilities based on their mythological and scientific traits in the real world and I’m just- I’m really in love with this idea.

In my campaign, the party has met an Opal dragon whose design was based on the sea dragon/sea horse as they are mainly water based with wings that hadn’t quite grown in yet as they aren’t old enough to fly. They are a young dragon who was raised by a Myconid circle and the party instantly fell in love it was adorable XD

I think this module also brings about a lot more mystery and intrigue into dragons, beings that are supposed to be larger than life and mystical. When the party meets a dragon, they won’t be able to guess its alignment or strengths/weaknesses based on color and unless the party is able to identify the type of stone, they might end up knowing absolutely nothing about this creature. Idk, it just feels much more versatile than vanilla dragons as someone who has always loved dragons more than any mythical creature.

If ur interested in their life cycle, these dragons do not mate and cannot reproduce naturally. They are created when powerful magic, ie 9th level and above, are used near a crystal deposit. An egg forms from the crystal over the next 50 years and boom baby dragon. Ancient and Legendary dragons can create offspring by using their dragon breath on a crystal deposit, or using their own 9th level spells if they invested in magic. So basically, if someone meteor storms a city and there is a mine nearby... them miners gonna be very surprised in 50 years. Also, like wild magic occurrences and rifts between the plains, and god stuff, and all that you can be creative. It’s just gotta be extremely powerful magic.

but yeah, those are my basic thoughts. I’ve got pages and pages of lore and mechanics and things for these but that is the gist. If you made it this far, thanks XD hopefully it made sense lol I’d be interested in yall’s thoughts on the idea and if there is interest for a PC version