#Lich will be dearly missed

[mwolf0epsilon]

Meanwhile, in Pretty Boy's Saloon

Dogma, downing his 11th glass of Spotchka with a grimace: Urgh... How can any of you stand this stuff? It tastes like hand sanitizer! Lich, smiling as he downs his own glass: Easy! My nerves are pretty much fried from all the electrical shocks, and I can only taste three things because my taste buds don't work right. It's the feeling I'm after, not the flavor. Dogma: Speaking of which, I don't feel any better than when you brought me here... Olly, rolling his eyes: You're not supposed to feel better. Alcohol doesn't help you feel any less like life is a karked up mess, it just numbs your senses to the point it doesn't bother you as much... PB, refilling their cups: And if it's a quick numbing you want, then Spotchka is drink for the job. It's a clone favorite as well, and my best seller. Dogma, already quite tipsy and still drinking despite not liking the taste: Fantastic... Urgh, what am I even doing? I basically won my position as sheriff, I'm struggling to come to terms with so many things that happened in my life, I couldn't even face Rex when Mae offered me the opportunity to talk to him... I'm barely a person at all! How could Sponge think I'm well adjusted enough to be a dad?! Lich: Hey now, you're doing great all things considered... Olly: And you're not the only one faking it until they make it. PB, grinning as he pours another glass: Also, any and all crisis you have that lead you to drinking yourself silly earn me a pretty credit! Dogma, not entirely convinced: ... Lich: The point is, none of us really have it figured out even if we pretend to. Sith-hells, not even Sponge has it figured out! And they have 10 karking cadets to take care of. Most of which are little terrors mind you... Olly: He's right. Lich: Of course I am! I'm the ori'vod here after all! PB: Uh-huh... Lich: Look Dogma, it's ok to get the jitters sometimes because you're nervous about the future. Especially when you don't got the past figured out quite yet... But to that I say, do it the natborn way. Dogma, blinking: The what...? Lich: Oh, you know! Go at your own pace! Natborns don't get flash-training to learn all the basics when they're still in their cots. They have to endure years of being a useless little lump of tubie, fall on their shebs a lot, and then hope the lesson sticks. Take tubie steps my friend! Trip up, get back up, do something stupidly reckless to get over whatever fears you might have. Go out there and seize the day! Dogma, who's clearly drunk at this point: Uh... Something stupidly reckless... You know, you're right! You're absolutely right! I should do something absolutely catastrophically dumb just to fall and nail the landing! Olly & PB: What...??? Lich, grinning from ear to ear: Hell yeah brother! You're getting it! Dogma: I'm gonna... I'm gonna parkour off the roof! Lich: Yeah! Olly: Uh... PB: Dogma I don't think-- Dogma: I'm gonna comm Mae and ask her to patch me through to Rex, so that I can call him a bitch to his face! Lich: YEAH! Olly: Oh dear... PB: Uhhhh.... Dogma: I'M GONNA COMM HONDO OHNAKA AND TELL HIM TO COME BEND ME OVER MY WORK DESK! Lich, Olly & PB: Dogma, staggering onto his feet: Thanks Lich! I owe you one brother! -runs out of the Saloon in a wobbly fashion- Lich, Olly & PB: Lich: Sponge is going to kill me. Olly: The entire Guard Remnant is going to kill you. PB: Olly and I will make sure your funeral is beautiful once you're well and truly killed dead.

[deepspacehoney]

Extra cartoony or unnecessarily detailed, know this: I will draw my beloved Infernal Siblings. The Frost Maiden game is finishing up some time this year and I'll miss these two dearly QHQ "Evil" big sis with aspirations to be a lich still has time to be goofy with her nonsense younger sibling.

[kar-dragon]

You feel... Off. You are alive, that much is for certain, but you don't feel entirely there either. And that lich with a name tag? What is going on?

It takes you a long time to figure out that you have been reanimated, as the lich seems to look at you expectatingly. When you try to speak, you notice a distinct lack of voice... As well as vocal chords and air moving in your throat, for that matter. Whatever state you are in, your neck haven't fared well.

Your lack of immediate response seems to disappoint the lich. "Another failure." They sigh, despite their skeletal body, magic doing the missing flesh's function.

As they pull back from the table, you start to fade away. You reach one of your hands towards their robes, the visage of the bones that compose your arm confirming your suspicions that you are a skeleton yourself now. As you get their attention, you motion towards the tag. They look at it, then back at you. "This is something someone very dearly gave me a long time ago." They respond.

As you feel yourself fading more and more, you keep motioning to it, desperate to at least know which one of your creations they were.

They seem to notice your efforts. "One moment." They say in their arcane projected voice. You don't have a moment, however. You won't last much... Wait...

As the lich places their hands besides you, you recognize what they were doing so far. It's a temporary binding, something you seldom did when you were alive. You never quite saw the point unless you needed information from a deceased victim of a nearby village. See, you always were one of the exceptions to the rule that necromancers are evil. Not that the "heroes" cared for that, nor that it really matters at the moment.

"You recognize the tag?" The lich asks as you feel your essence returning to the undead body. You nod, before trying to read it. You'd squint if you still could, but alas, there's no muscle or skin for that. "Is it you, master?" You nod once again. Just about the only way you can communicate at the moment.

"After so many centuries..." They would be weeping if they could. They perform the rest of the permanent binding process, so you don't require them to actively keep you animated. You sit up on the ritual slab, finally being able to see the rest of your body. Yep, all bone.

"Welcome back, master." Says the lich as you turn around on the slab. You nod, before trying to read the tag again. It's too worn out to properly see, but you can read "amu" on it.

Ah, so it must be Samuel. That skeleton was specially clumsy, but you were deeply endeared by his antics as he tried to follow your commands. To think they would be the one to actually learn necromancy and manage to bring you back...

You, a necromancer, were always fond of your skeleton minions. Even going as far as to make each one a personalized name tag. Then you were cut down by those blasted heroes, only to one day reopen your eyes and see an Elder Lich looming over you with a very faded name tag.

[lichthey-a]

harlow is here and ready to glomp onto them. rub her cheek against theirs. "ohhhh spency, do I got some tea for you!"

the  lich  was  practically  squealing  with  glee   &   easily  returned  every  ounce  of  affection  harlow  offered.    nose  nuzzled  into  her  cheek.    the  smile  pulling  at  their  lips  ached  the  muscles  in  their  face.    the  fox  had  missed  this  little  mouse  so  dearly.    ❝     tell  me  absolutely  everythin'.    yer  not  leavin'  here  'til  ya'  do!     ❞

[kincalling]

Hi this is probably a shot in the dark, but I'm Banica Conchita from The Evillious Chronicles and I'm looking for either of my daughters Gretel/Arte/Ney or Larakiraboshinogotokuamuuru.

I miss you both dearly and want to reconnect with you. In my canon Arte was very gothic and dressed with only a small splash of color. She had a necklace I gave her that she wore almost every single day. Arte enjoyed drawing and was very hyperactive along with her brother Pollo. The two of them were practically inseparable.

Larakira was my infant child I had with Carlos that I would've raised in the Glass during the spam of centuries in Evillious. She wore bright colors often and was one of the only people in the household who didn't exclusively dress in black (besides myself as I dressed often in red). She couldn't leave the Glass for a long time due to her soup rejecting most of the bodies myself or Lich attempted to make for her.

After the end of the third period we would have travelled to multiple different worlds/universes to find more food for me to eat.

If any of this lines up with memories for anyone please contact me at @glassofconchita

Also Lich or Eater if you're out there and any of this sounds familiar to you as well, please contact me! I have already found Carlos and Hänsel/Pollo/Lemy from my canon.

No doubles of Banica please. Thank you!

🃏

[cordytriestowrite]

At His Side

Loki x Reader

One Shot

Asgard isn't a place, it's a people. And it's a people who had been through so much in such an insignificant amount of time. Two members of the royal family are dead and another has abandoned his duties, but at least there was one person still here for Asgard.

Just not the person everyone thinks.

"The statue of Prince Loki is almost completed, My King."

You trailed slightly behind King Odin, the night young and the palace buzzing with life. Things were different now, not normal but not as chaotic as they had been. There were no invasions, no property damage, and no family drama bringing about the former two issues.

And Odin, who for your whole life had been this indomitable force against his enemies, had worn armor in any public setting, had probably never smiled, is all of a sudden a loose robe wearing, play directing, joke making leader. 

And it was all because of Loki. Not Thor, who had abandoned his people for the lesser kingdom of Midgard. It was Loki who sacrificed himself to save his brother, who opened Odin's eye to just how much Loki deserved his love and respect and, one day, the throne. 

"Good, good." Odin called out to you in response, snatching a goblet from a tray held aloft by one of the many maidens that now occupied the palace as much as the furniture. 

"Loki, my son. So dearly missed. I only hope this statue brings about peace to the people. A reminder of his heroism and humble sacrifice."

Odin's words echoed throughout the hall for everyone to hear and hear they did. You noticed how people hung on the king's every word, how they smiled at the sight of him, laughed when he laughed. It was your job to notice, to watch. It was a new job, an unexpected one, but a lot of things were unexpected as of late. 

The only light now came from the sconces casting a warm glow over you and King Odin as you entered the royal family's private wing. Out of sight Odin slowed down a beat until you were walking side by side.

"Be sure they get my jaw right. Those sketches really did not do me justice."

You felt fingers entwine with yours causing you to glance over in time to catch one last glimpse of the Odin disguise before you were staring into the eyes of Loki.

"Oh, did it not look humble enough for you, dear?"

Loki tugged on your hand in response to your jest, causing you to knock into his side. He was quick to untangle your fingers and wrap his arm around you, pressing a smiling kiss to your temple as you continued walking.

"I'm as humble as you are funny, love."

The doors to Odin's bed chambers opened without so much as a blink from Loki and closed after the two of you had stepped through. You turned fully into him, wrapping your arms around each other earnestly. Loki's nose nuzzled against your hair as he inhaled deeply.

"I miss you."

It was an odd thing to say, you spent more time with Loki than ever since he donned the Odin illusion and made you his right hand, but you didn't see him; his beautiful face and quick wit, that smile that made your heart flutter up into your throat every single time he graced you with one. You hadn't been able to see Loki as you knew him since before you thought you had truly lost him.

"I miss you too."

His lips against the crown of your head were firm, but as they made their way down to your lips they became soft and gentle. 

This was the time just for you. The time before bed when you could smile and touch and talk and kiss and not worry about putting on a show for anyone. This was the time Loki could be alive and you could be together, it was the time you looked forward to from the moment you woke up every morning.

Unhooking the clasp on Loki's tunic you allowed it to fall open on its own, displaying pale skin marred with small scars you'd only see if you looked hard enough. You didn't look, but you felt them under your fingers as your hands traveled up to his shoulders and down his arms, his tunic falling to the ground, the pile of clothes growing as you devested him of his trousers and you of your dress. 

A shaded candle near the bedside was the only light offered to you once snuggled beneath the blankets. It was enough to see that refined jaw of his, the smile that gave you a flutter in your throat, and more often than not that small tension of worry between his brows that came from something you could never rid him of.

"You're a great king, Loki."

He glanced up from where his gaze had settled while those thoughts of doubt creeped in, eyes trained to his fingers tracing nonsense patterns across your bare shoulder.

"Odin, is the great king. Loki is dead. The sun will never shine on him again."

You cupped his cheek, letting your thumb rub against the dampening skin. You knew you couldn't say or do anything to prove Loki wrong. You couldn't take away the cards life had dealt him and reshuffle the deck. You had no power, no influence. You had nothing but your love and you would give Loki every last bit if it. 

Loki kissed your palm, moving his head out of your hand and turning onto his back. You moved with him in a graceful dance as partners you had performed a hundred times until your head was tucked under his chin, hand above his beating heart and one leg bent over his slender hips. Loki let out a final heavy breath and you could practically feel the tension leave his face as sleep overcame him.

You spent the new few minutes awake, enjoying the thumping of Loki's heart under your hand and his soft breath rustling your hair. You closed your eyes and steadied your breathing, thoughts forever unspoken echoing in your head one last time.

I wish things were different for him.

Tag List

@instantnoodlese @bambamwolf87 @dyanlzbb @sebstanhun @thoughtfullhuman @sbluehi @fanfictionrecommendations-com @spacezombiie @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @titty-teetee @alt-er-love-er-alt @bornfortherainydays @venitia89 @always-irrelevant @darkphoenixrisingwrites @drakesfiance @katzenwahnsinn @mywinterwolf @kcd15 @somewereinthegalaxi @justalilsad5 @becs-bunker @reading--mermaid @reviewfanfics @iamverity @evolving2deppression @darlingtholland @700teacups @lovemesomepietro @lyka-k @bluediamond007 @kybaeza @myownviperroom @arch-venus25

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

Thank you :D

(Oop readmore again)

Regular Scrolls Online is also neat, tho way lower level, but it lets you spam abilities to high heaven if you want, which is fun (I miss my flying styanax, gotta do that sometime again. Just spam his 4 like no tomorrow). The good thing about ESO is that while the level range may be a bit intimidating, most ppl bring frames that can handle it Really Well, so you're never left to just handle alone. You can get a pretty good gauge for how well enemies die when you shoot them without getting swarmed too bad, and if things don't go so well, zones don't last all that long either!

I played limbo a liiiittle bit back when i got him, but i don't potato regular frames that have primes already, so he fell of fast. He was fun tho! I am eagerly awaiting his prime rotating in, i shall achieve Cool Magician status someday >:D I live for area defense frames

(Idk if you keep an eye on Prime Resurgence, but if you don't: Limbo Prime is upon us in a couple days! Destreza Prime too)

For fast melee - if you don't already have/use Berserker Fury, I recommend it! It's by far the best attack speed mod but gets overlooked sometimes for being conditional. I like my melee to have some range, so polearms are my no1 fast slappy go to, but there is also warfans for super fast blending of enemies (0.5s heavy attack wind up also!) tho Primed Reach is a must for me on them

Sounds like you very much are getting there with operator stuff! The no1 thing to get down imo is quick-switching between frame and operator to be able to throw out abilities as you need it. Or to just void sling your way across a pesky jupiter tile, esp once you get your energy pool increased a bit. I love the socks vs carpet comparison, it really Does feel like that, i don't like running around in operator form either

So you've been getting through the game with a Mote Amp until TNW?? You are Powerful. But also i feel really bad the game left you to go through that. In order to get a truly solid amp you'll need to get into Eidolon Hunting unfortunately, but you can still get a pretty good one from just hunting down Vomvalysts on the plains at night (i recommend a 1-2-1, i use a 1-2-3 and wanna get a 7-4-7 someday, see here on the wiki for a chart on what the hell that means!)

Arcanes are a wide topic. They range anywhere from "incredible" to "incredibly useless". I'm typing this to the background noise of a streamer testing how useful the newest set of them are actually

Using an arcane is better than not using one of course. Most of the Eidolon ones are great, but Eidolon hunts are an Ordeal and their own can of worms. Some of the Zariman ones slap, some of the operator vendor ones are also real nice, and even with all the new ones, the best primary/secondary arcanes are still the various Steel Path ones

Now railjack! I love railjack dearly. It's one of the only things in the game that i only ever do solo (aside from lich/sister confrontations, those are fun in groups) bc it's also one of the only things in the game requiring genuine cooperation with your squad, and npc crew are Good At Their Jobs (if you don't have NPC crew yet, go talk to Ticker in Fortuna). I don't really do railjack for power tbh I just find it fun and then i get a bit of endo out of it also

(If you like railjack, are on PC and don't mind trading, do yourself a favour and buy a Seeker Volley for 4-5 plat off warframe.market. It's a common drop from the highest end of railjack missions and makes life So Much Easier)

If you were struggling with Zariman missions, I'd say stay far away from Steel Path for a while still. Not for any gatekeeping nonsense reasons, but because you likely wouldn't have fun with such a drastic difficulty spike (not only are the levels 100 higher, enemies are tankier even on top of that!) and there is no reason to go kill your fun like that

In the meantime I can recommend trying to get more comfortable with the Zariman missions and Elite Sanctuary Onslaught if you wanna keep climbing up in levels, and moving on to Arbitrations after if that's your cup of tea (Galvanized mods from Arbies are a huge boon for Steel Path as well!)

Oops, sorry this got wordy. I see myself in everyone getting smacked by a difficulty spike D:

If you would like weapon/build recommendations, I'm sure I'm not the only Tenno around who'd love to help either! Good luck, wherever your journey across the Origin System takes you next :)

HI HELLO yes i will ABSOLUTELY stay the fuck away from SP for a good while yet lmao. thank you so much for the advice and where to get better stuff!!! i appreciate it very much bc i feel like yesterday was my first foray into True Warframe Endgame and it was VERY clear i'm not quite there yet lmao

i very much appreciate your stance on games of "have fun even if it's not endgame/skills-based". very refreshing sometimes and 100% in agreement with my own views on videogame difficulty and fun

i've been trying to fill out my prime arsenal and i've been buying up Baro's stock in primed mods every time he pops his head out of the void so far - but I see now that that is an intermediate step into the next thing, which is... rivens? the arbitration things? god i have no idea please feel free to infodump on me. i will appreciate it very much even if it sometimes is a refresher for things for me. god knows i need it. same for the recs - hit me with them. cmon. i'm double dog daring you or whatever the americans say. whats your fav. how do you start constructing a build i have No Clue.

i might even stop trying to Advance for a little bit and just focus on as you said getting comfy with the Zariman - i need to broaden my familiarity with the stuff i've unlocked recently

[judgmentrush]

👀 + what do you like the most about the lich yard?

Send me a “👀 + a question” and my muse has to answer honestly!

Specter Knight is silent for a good few moments. He missed his home. He was also surprised to learn he regarded his assigned post as his home. Strange but it made some sense.“There is much I like about the Lich Yard. The old architecture, the eternal dark pall of clouds, the skulls…” He rubbed his thumb over the handle of his scythe. “If I had to choose… I would say what I like the most is it feels right. It is where I belong. It is where my kind belongs.” His voice drops to hardly a whisper, barely letting the words pass from his mouth. “I miss that feeling… dearly.”

[magicalgirlfumiko]

🖊 + Chisato 🖊 + Makoto

Admittling speaking, there isn’t much backstory to talk about for Chisato. Her original concept was that she was going to be a future version of a Makoto that had let a kitsune take over her body. If you really want to see the confusing jumble of ideas, they are still up from 2017. That being said, that concept was dropped in favor her of being a source of power for Makoto to travel between worlds because of a war that happened in the original timeline. That concept has also been scrapped. lol  

Her current story goes something like this. Original Timeline Makoto saved the fox from a hunter’s trap and the fox made a mental note of helping Makoto in a time of need. OTL Makoto lost her best friend Haya due to an attack at her house by an unknown force. It took teenager Makoto sometime to reach to out a kami for help for a do over. However, since Chisatois just a local kami she can only take Makoto to worlds that are the most similar to the Furuzeki they know. Being a goddess that dwells in the Dreamlands, she can be in multiple places at once. As for her past, Chisato first visited the human world as a courtesan for a local lord in Furuzeki due to her beauty. It is not a time she dwells on that often because human sexual desires bore her. That being said, she was able to eventually meet the 8 Mikos of the Temple for Inari. These girls were prototypes for all future magical girls in the city. Since she was living in 1500s era Feudal Japan and a time of civil wars, the 8 miko were killed in a great fire that has caused a curse upon the city that still exists to this day. After their deaths, she went back to her own shrine in the mountains, only coming down now and again. Due to the messed up nature of the current timeline, the spirits of the 8 Miko dwell within the body of a magical girl with no powers named Jitsuko. Chisato will more than likely review them all again in the near future. 

Makoto’s first appearance was sometime around 2014, when she was just considered a researcher for the Agency in that RP. Nothing super special about her outside of her flames of the dead, which still carries over to this day. At first for this blog, she was someone that was missing and one of the magical girls wanted to find her again, dearly. That concept is no longer “canon.” That being said, her backstory to the first timeline is that she was friends with a version of Haya Subusa that never became a magical girl. Simply just a human that liked the supernatural and both of them formed a club to look into it. Makoto never told Haya that she was actually a mage because it was more fun that way. That being said, Haya ended up visiting her home was killed by unknown forces. In the original timeline, she was never able to visit or live with her parents so she had spent most of her time studying her family’s necromancy abilities. Desperately, she attempted to bring Haya back to life. She ended up creating a liche that had the voice of Haya but was constantly suffering. Makoto ended up having to kill the liche before it grew out of control. 

From that point onwards, Makoto desperately wanted friends but suffered heavily from the trauma of her friend’s death and the liche. So she switched her line of work from necromancy to living dolls. Both magics involve similar concepts but dolls are much easier to control than the undead. Her first doll was Aurelia, which was a Victorian era doll that turned 100 years old and thus is a youkai and not really a creation of her own. That being said, Aurelia for awhile was Makoto’s only friend. Eventually, in her 20s Makoto ended up creating the doll Willie as her first true creation with a will of its own. Though, it ended up having very baseline instincts and that was to hunt down Makoto’s foes;like oni and youkai. After the creation of Willie, Makoto ended up going up to Chisato’s shrine, where their contract was signed and she started to travel the Dreamlands to reach other versions of Furuzeki, in attempts to save Hayas. Most of the time, she ends up encountering an adult version of her friend that’s a well versed magical guardian, which fulfilled the human Haya’s wish to explore the supernatural with Makoto. The fact that this wish was granted in a different world,tends to bring out PTSD in Makoto, so she never tends to truly open herself up to these Hayas out of anxiety of loosing her again. In the current timeline, she rescued a doll by the name of Fuyu that had been a butchered attempt at creating a doll by a different mage. This doll is her most complex and Fuyu has developed a sisterly relationship with her. 

Currentline Makoto: She was MIA for awhile do her grandfather being a dick mage and trying to get her body to bond with a youkai. She was rescued more or less by accident when adult Makoto and Helen defeated the Grandfather. Her powers currently involve using the blue flames to attract spirits, making her a necromancer. Though it seems that since she’s hung out with magical girls, that she may have stolen a few tricks from them as well to better round out her magic. It does not appear that she knows about creating dolls or has any connection to Chisato. She wears glasses because it makes her appear smart. 

[terezis]

Kravitz is Keats... and ALSO the god of death. the Raven Queen is the OLD god of death and she retired, handing the mantle off to him. OH! what if Edward and Lydia were the *first* liches? Kravitz still gets to be a god of yore, all the other liches he hunts are following in the footsteps of his siblings he can’t bring himself to destroy, even though he swore he would (eventually) when he took over for RQ. Also, because of divine whatever, he’s the *only* one who can kill them for good.

the first liches! oh!!! this is very good. 

although honestly i kind of like it more when he has no fuckin’ idea that they’re still out there. as far as kravitz knows, his big brother and sister lived ordinary, peaceful lives and passed on into to the sea like everyone else. 

‘cause he’s a god! he has to follow his own rules!!! it’s one thing to let two saviors of the multiverse off the hook with some community service, but it’s another matter entirely when the liches in question are unquestionably the bad guys. nepotism will only get you so far! 

even better, though, if edward and lydia don’t realize that the death they’re running from… is the baby brother they miss so dearly…

(also irt the latest live show this is hilarious because it means that edward and lydia were dj-ing a party that kravitz was, presumably, attending. did they even know. did they realize. you gave your little brother a hangover, y’all. are you happy.)

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Depths Below: Midnight Hour, Part 4

(In an effort to promote talented writers and the amazing characters created here, HoTN has the pleasure of sharing an original work by certainly my oldest and also one of my dearest friends.  Someone who not only roleplays the twin sister of Lazarius, but in turn has become like a sister to me in real life, @pyravari-kashebahl ,  with a bit of additional completion by my own hand.  I truly hope those of you who follow our work enjoy this chapter of our tale.  Thank you  )

In the third week leading up to Lazarius being taken by the mercenaries and House Kash’ebahl falling into ruin, it would be the coordinated efforts of the members of the Nine leading the charge to extract a carefully planned revenge on the parties responsible.   Magister Dawnseeker had begun this assault by taking from them their precious Inquisitor, whether he realized it or not he was declaring open war on not only the house in question, but the Nine.  Each of the members of the order had their mission.  They were to deal with a particular member of the eleven magisters in question, leaving together but toward different places they would carry out their plan to eliminate the threat.  This was their Midnight Hour, on the hypothetical doomsayer clock, they were four minutes til…

“Magister Sunfire...”.

The name alone was something that was more than likely renowned along the nobility circuit of Quel’thalas.  Like most Magister types who were involved with a bit too much of the court politics and rubbing of important elbows, Sunfire was very secure within the community.  Despite the fact that his fortune and fame were fairly recent; so recent that his lineage could be traced back only a few generations to being among the poverty of the lower class.  Sunfire was now holding a metaphorical trump card with his agreement to join Dawnseeker, eliminating House Kash’ebahl was a key victory to procuring trade lines and a rather large sum of benefactors that depended on them.

He came from nothing, achieving his influence and prestige by utilizing deceit and control grabs throughout the years. And like his ability to scam his way into his seat of authority, so too was his command over his magic.  The Sin’dorei was a master of illusions but far too gluttonous on his own power to know when discretion was needed in his operations.

He’d surrounded himself in the general area of where he’d believed a man of his power and stature should be, Northrend.  A place where another once very powerful ‘king’ once ruled a frozen landscape with an army of the dead.  And like this ‘king’, Sunfire would rule his small encampment with an illusion army of elves and orcs alike; he saw himself as more a dominant force of magical authority, than a magister with keen powers.

Even as fictional creatures, they were still overwhelmingly powerful in their deceit, created by a true weaver of deceptions as he controlled them with his very mind.  They could inflict damage, they could overpower and consume the forces who dared to disturb this powerful mage, but most importantly they were endless.  He could create them as he needed and buy himself necessary time to either flee or cause more damage. 

Sadly though, they were only as intelligent in their ability to wield arms as their creator.  And even more sadly, Magister Sunfire was no soldier.  He was not a fighter at all, and commanding was not a job for the weak minded or petty at heart.  He barely masqueraded about as though he was in command.

And so, Pyravari Kash’ebahl; twin sister of the illustrious Inquisitor, who’d gone missing at the hands of these pestilent vermin, sat along the high ridges of the tundra with her very real army. She observed, planned, and began to take action, but more importantly she was allowing her rage and desire for battle slowly build.

Guntram soared high above, feeding information to his mistress by their very intricate connection, allowing her to see with his eyes what exactly they were up against.   The exalted raven had been her companion for many years now.  Taking up a role as her protector, and her friend when times had been rough or she was on her own.

But, this army was stationary, silent, and above all else fake. The elves and orcs stood there in the billowing winds of frost and snow without a single shiver, without a single humid breath, their cloaks and tabards shifting with the currents of the vicious weather.

Guntram had spotted Sunfire in the part of the camp along a northern ridge, several miles away from the Bastille’s entrance.  Thankfully for her, Pyravari would not require a reason to strike first.  Being this close to the entrance of Azjol Nerub was something that rattled her dead, lithe body.  Using the surviving Nerubians as a buffer to keep wanderers away was one thing.  But literally having them parked on-top of their base of operations, well this was all the motivation she needed.  That and the man still acted against her brother.  He would die just for that reason alone.

For the past week he had been closing in, but she couldn’t understand exactly… how. At the moment, it didn’t matter for she’d investigate such things later. With a single wave of her hand, her elite she’d brought with her began to fan out along the ridge they perched upon, their typically dark-colored armor now melding in with the atmosphere as they were all clad in sharp white and grays, creating their own illusion along the ridge line.

Vari hoisted herself over the ledge she perched along, her own stark-white armor blending in to the surroundings while her hoarfrost reached its tendrils out to create a sort of ice-slide she would skate down. Upon reaching the base of the cliff face, she would begin the trek toward the camp, taking caution to remain well out of sight of the illusion army.

She’d spent hours upon hours observing them, noting they never moved or seemed to care that anything stirred nearby. It was as if they were waiting for something, for a command that would spark them to life like a toy soldier needing to be wound up before setting it free.

As the camp came into view, Vari’s elite would shift around the perimeter and take up residence in their camouflaged cover. Heavy steps would be met with ice and snow as Vari seemingly passed through something. She halted, her lich-fire hues boring into the very tent which her target would be within, and for a moment she felt a fleeting feeling of unease.

She lifted her arm to reach for her runeblade along her back, curling her fingers around the pommel and feeding off its power before withdrawing it and bringing it forward. That was when she heard Guntram’s sudden warning caw pierce the air.

”Seems you came to me rather than me having to go to you. Ah yes, Pyravari Kash’ebahl. I know of you. Once a prestigious warrior in the High Elven army. Slain and raised by Arthas himself. Blah blah blah.... Tell me, where is your brother?”

The nasally, taunting voice belonged to a brown-haired elf who suddenly appeared directly before her, his form shimmering out of nothing. Furs and majestic colors of reds and golds adorned his body, shielding him from the wild winds of Dragonblight.

Sunfire, that was certainly him.

The entire camp shifted then, disappearing into nothing but more frozen tundra and discarded dragon bones long since past.

”Thank you for saving me the trouble. We get to play now, yes?”

A sneer erupted over Vari’s cracked lips, her lich-fire hues still burning hot with anger as her obsidian locks of hair whipped wildly around in a vortex of cold she’d exude.

”I am not a good sport when it comes to games…” she retorted in her own dry witty way.

Vari struck then, a hand thrusting outward as she attempted to asphyxiate the magister within a shadowy grasp, but it was useless. Her death magic bounced off the magister and came barreling back toward her as she moved just in time lest she became struck by her own spell.

”What is this?!” she bellowed as the magister cackled with his unbound glee.

”Oh, oh-ho, my dear girl. It is your end, finally. Isn’t that what you want? But…not so soon, no. I’d much rather play with my toy until it breaks.” he responded with that shrill, annoying tone.

A plated fist slammed forward with a deafening roar that resounded from the woman's throat. She shrieked in her fury, realizing he'd somehow shielded himself, but not only that, she was entrapped in some sort of... force field.

“I will see you dead, Sunfire...” she hissed in hatred as she stood as solid as the invisible wall around her. “Where is my brother!  You and the filth you associate with, I will cut you down one by one until I get my answer!”

“Oh, I highly doubt that, dear. As it is...” He waved his gloved hand toward the edge of where the camp had once been, where her elite now suffered the same fate as they pounded fists and slammed weapons and shot spells at the same sort of force field, struggling with all they had to reach their Harbinger.

“You will pay dearly!” she snarled.

“Oh yes, and I will forever fear your wrath.  Yes, yes.  Oh and the topic of your brother. . . had we actually been worried about you, we would have put the bounty on your head just as we did your other siblings.”  Sunfire snicked, in fact taking a shot at her undeath, as if she didn’t matter.

“You will leave Siida alone!” Vari hissed pounding on the illusion that surrounded her. “She has nothing to do with this!”

“She has everything to do with this.  Dawnseeker will either get what he wants or continue to chip away at your families foundation until it is as dead as you are.  A reminder, the deceased cannot claim fortunes and heirs.  So. . . don’t bother complaining to the courts.”  Sunfire said as he cackled again.

The illusion army had been commanded now, moving like robots through the tundra's terrain toward her own forces, creating a wide arc several rows in depth with the opposite ridge line as a barrier.

“It seems you are rather out numbered, wouldn't you say?” the man quipped as he watched her struggle.

Vari shrieked again, this time slamming her runeblade into the ground as ice and bone erupted from the earth, spraying outward and up as jagged pieces stuck into the shield. The magister laughed a nasally cackle, his head tilting back slightly in glee as his eyes burned with intense excitement.

"Come then... let's play."

Without warning, Vari was brought to her knees in excruciating pain as a scream ripped from her throat, her body barely held up by her weight leaning along her speared blade. The magister's gaze was locked to hers and alight with such fire.

"Feels so real doesn't it? The effects of the Light along your skin. It's only an illusion, mind you. But to you... I imagine it feels quite like it would if it truly touched you, hm?"  The brain is a marvelous tool.  So easily changed when accurately motivated.

The hatred in Vari's gaze was palpable, unable to be hidden and it was unhinged, unbridled, ready to roll from her and shatter the man's very soul. Her blade hummed it's agreement, starved for the fulfillment the man's death would bring it.

“I've... had... worse...” she bit out, the pain taking its time to travel through the veins she held beneath her skin. “All... you’ve... got?”

His chipper response was grotesque, filled with more intrigue and excitement.

“Oh-ho! Is that so? Magister Dawnseeker told us all about you, a fiery one. I wonder- if I some how kept you alive... the irony of that statement is not lost, by the way.... I wonder, would he reward me handsomely? For capturing the very twin of the one he extorts? I bet...” Sunfire gasped, a mocking noise riddled with sarcasm.

He bent low, bringing his face level with hers as she struggled against the pain the illusion of light bestowed upon her body.

"I bet... you would make a nice token of my loyalty. A way for me to be farther up on his graces. Perhaps then... then he will see what sort of ally I really am to him. And then I will have garnered the power that I truly deserve."

Even though she was incapable of breaking the force that the Magister had placed on her, she was not without her sass.  Nor would she shelter such a ridiculous idea as she drew a woad of spittle into her mouth and expelled it directly into his eye.  The result would be a fantastic relief of his close annoyance.

“You’d be... better off killing me, because so.... help the gods below if you do anything but. . . I will mount ....your head on a pike ...and leave it frozen... here with a... stupid look of shock you will most certainly regret!”  she said struggling through each word as the pain grew.  A sense she was not used to given her undeath.

With a slow draw after backing away from the lich, Sunfire would run his finger tips across the bridge of his nose and rim of his eyelid as he removed her disgusting display of angst.

“Daughter of a Lady of the Court, Varina would be rolling in her grave, had she ever  been put in one, your manners are atrocious. Perhaps you need a lesson in etiquette before I ship you off to my lord.” 

Sunfire would raise his hands upward and like a puppet master calmly dangling strings, he would begin to play a symphony of magical notes that conjured the manifestations of his craft.  Several large hulking orcs would appear around the struggling Harbinger.  They were wielding large crops and floggers. 

“Remove the armor.  I’d like to see how dead flesh reacts to lashes.”

“Fuck you! Don’t touch me!” Vari began to rise from the ground as the illusion of light energy bore down on her.  From the depths of her tortured soul she would belt out a scream that rivaled even that of the Banshee Queen herself.  But it was useless.  His power, and his over amplified magic were just proving to be too much for her.

“Tsk tsk tsk Pyravari.  I told you. . . you’re not getting out of this.”

“They will release . . . me. . .” she hissed back.

“They? Oh who? Your soldiers?”  the magister said as he began to snort and cackle. “How long do you think they can go at it? Thirty? Fourty minutes tops?”

As the magister continued to rant, the large orcs would begin to paw at the saronite plate that surrounded her body.  Piece by piece they would begin undoing and plucking the armor from her well preserved frame beneath.  She would fight them any chance that she could with minor struggles and snapping bites but in this state of suspension and pain, how could she resist.

“Let them fight.  Kill six and a dozen will appear.  Have you never heard of the Hydra formation?”  The magister said to her as the orcs continued their rip chunks of her plate armor from her body.  He was certainly filled with information, useless and annoying to her, she hardly listened.

“That is the benefit of an illusion army.  I can just keep producing more.  Conjure them as I need to.  Eventually, your soldiers will tire.  They will weaken and make a mistake, which they most certainly will, and when they do. . .cut them down like little paper dolls.”

“You. . .talk. . .too much.”  Vari hissed as she was stripped bare to her thin chain undershirt with her lower plate armor still intact. “Windbags normally. . .deflate with a little prick...”

The magister snarled.  He was the type who’d more than likely appreciate a stroking of his ego.  But Vari was having nothing of it.  She would fight him despite her prison.

“Remove the mail.”  he hissed as the orcs ripped the light chain link from her body.  Beneath that, the Harbinger wore only her basic under garment.  Enough to keep her pride in tact, lady like and hardly as flashy as some of those who dwell in and around the dark corners of the city.

Vari lashed and hissed.  Her body was burning from the illusion of light magic being used on her.  Her mind innocently being played with by the masterful mage who was doing so with hardly any effort.  All while she was being prepared to be whipped and beaten for his pleasure.

“I am going to enjoy this.” He said as his whiny voice made its way toward her ear in the most disgusting of manners.

“Get it over with, any more. . . talk and I’d just assume you . . .can’t get it up.” The Harbinger baited as she struggled through the pain.

It was enough to cause the Magister to lower his guard for only that brief second.  His hands waved away in order to dismiss the two orcs who had served there purpose.  They faded into obscurity like a distant memory.  And as he brandished a light based illusion whip, his arm rose up into the air.  He was going to cause her pale, beautiful skin to be ripped to pieces.  He’d had enough of her gloating and back talk.

But what he had not accounted for was the swift vengeance of a watchful wing.  The protector that had been soaring over head all along.  Guntram swooped in right as the Magister was about to crack down on her and in one violent action planted himself directly over the twisted elfs face and began his onslaught. 

One clawed talon latching to his cheek and the other his receding hair line.  The blood dripping from the mans face as the majestic raven drove his sharpened beak directly into the eye socket of the miserable man.  This would be met with several horrible screams of blood curdling pain.  The eye was plucked directly from the comfortable position it was in and dangled just above his cheek, as it was still attached by the ocular stem. 

Guntram quickly flapped his wings and startled the mage even further, though not before taking a swift hand to the back.  The dark raven was large enough to take such a beating, but was also smart enough to know when to back down.  This was only to cause distress and distract the magister from his conjuring.  He was magically superior when it came to combat and taking damage, but the assault from the omnipotent raven was certainly not an expected result.

Many of the soldier that were out in the field stopped moving during this attack.  This allowed Vari’s own force to cut them down and begin working their way closer.  But not only that, it gave her that one moment of freedom.  She let loose another banshee wail, and as the light forced illusion subsided just enough in the confusion of his pain, she acted.

Her fist curled into a ball and she drove it; gods willing through his scrotum, directly into his crotch.  She had wanted to make sure that if she did in fact rupture a testicle that he’d surely be in enough pain before she hurt him further.

“Fucking hell. . .”  she wheezed after slamming her fist directly into him.  But this only left her more confused.  He was gone, reappearing several feet away after blinking to try and get distance between them.

“Oh no, get back here!” she said as her voice cracked in angst.

She scrambled from her knees, trying desperately to get footing in the slippery snow.  Despite her pain and insane amount of anguish that only an illusion like this could have caused her undead body.  She would not let him escape; or for that matter gain any quarter of solace before pummeling him to death. 

She clawed and grasped at the tundra, getting only enough leverage to stumble toward him.  Her hands were frozen from the cold but this was only to enhance her ability.  She’d forged a blade of pure ice on the back of her forearm and with a swift thrust would plunge it directly into the mans stomach as she fell forward.

Or had she? 

Sunfire stood there with the blade nearly bent over in a ninety degree angle.  It had not gone through, or even caused him to have a single scratch.  Though his eye was still dangling in a gross way spilling little droplets of blood along his cheek, and the claw marks from her faithful friend still doing enough damage to leave him permanently scarred.  That and his manhood was more than likely in a serious bit of pain.

“W-what the. . .”  she stammered out as her lich fire eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and confusion. “H-how can you. . .”

! ! !-S L A P-! ! !

Directly across the face.  He would back hand the Harbinger like she was a common bar maiden or some subservient house worker.  He certainly had a large amount of gall even after having his lower bits pummeled.  But if you are going to poke a hornets nest you should make sure that you destroy them all.  Slapping the woman did nothing but anger her more.

Her bladed weapon was abandoned and instantly summoned once more as she took to a last ditch effort of thrusts and swings.  Each time she would connect with a part of the mans flesh it would either shatter her ice blade or cause it the dull and break.  And every swing she would produce another, freezing the flesh of her arms and creating weapon after weapon to try and somehow cut him to pieces.

The pair were locked in this dance for quite some time.  Her own strength was just the pure anger and fury she had built up during the brief moment of his holding her in prison.  Even though she was a killing machine, and would not tire easily, she was injured.  Not physically, but mentally.  The pain she felt for the first time, in a very long time, was beginning to tire her out. 

Sating her need for battle and actually winning were very large differences.  She would have to eventually rest or run the risk of damaging her already decayed tissue further.  After all, she may have not been fully forsaken but she was undead.

The magister would deflect an ice blade, mock her by blinking away, appearing behind her and giving her a jab to the back, or a burning sensation with another light based lashing.  He would be nearly unstoppable at this point, shimmering and bolting from location to location.  She could try and hit him but no matter what she did; it seemed like she was unable to break through his power. 

Even her army was starting to falter.  The soldiers she had brought; despite their masterful training and abilities, were tiring as well.  Several had fallen to the blades of the illusions and even more were being forced back into a defensive position because they could not continue to cut them down due to their fatigue. 

“I...” she began to scream as she slammed her blades against the mans deflecting arms making only glancing blows.

“Will. . .”  She would swing again and lash at him with the anger of ten Harbingers.

“Not. . .” 

Another swing.

“Be. . . “

She’d dart to the left, spin and lunge at him with a piercing jab at his chest.

“Defeated!”

The final overhead slash would cause the entire tundra to burst in a shock wave of power.  It was so fatal to the world around them that even the illusion army would begin to fade away.  The whirlwinds of snow and ice that were trying to crush the mortals around this area would stop all together, and the silence that crashed down on the battlefield soon became overbearing.

“Do you think I would ever be so foolish to put myself in a position to be beaten by a lower class miscreant like you!”  Sunfire sniveled as he spat in her direction. “The Kash’ebahl family will die and you will continue to witness my power grow and grow!  And in the wake of our success; live on as a slave to my lord. . .witnessing how truly pathetic your clan really was.”

“Keep talking. . .” she huffed and puffed as she tried to regain her stamina.  The only thing she wished to do was kill this man.  And so she would conjure up a small blade of ice in her palm and when he had stopped paying attention to rant, her wrist flicked forward and sent the dagger whirling through the air directly at his thigh muscle.

It was nothing more than another deflected strike.  The blade wouldn’t pierce him, it wouldn't even be a hard object to. . .

Sunfire suddenly felt something begin to sting against his body.  Warm liquid running down his knee, staining his beautiful robes.  The crimson liquid seeping out sent a shocking notion into his brain.

“Sinefel. . .my orb. . . “

Vari watched on with a slow turning grin.  She knew something had changed; whatever it was it didn’t quite matter, he was in fact bleeding. 

“…what have… you done… my … .power… . . “

Unbeknownst to the Harbinger at that very moment, on an entirely different continent all together, at a time that could have not been any more fortuitous; Westley P. Whistletorque and Brox Sulfin had accidentally stumbled into the ambush of the Alliance against Magister Sinefel and his mages in the Searing Gorge. 

She rushed at him like a blizzard wind suddenly becoming a strong gust.  Shards of ice would blister on her bare feet as she used them as little snow picks and dig into the frozen tundra.  She charged like a vicious animal, hungry and on the prowl.  Her wild blue blazing eyes were leeching a strong frozen aura and the piercing shrill voice of her banshees wail was causing the frozen water collected on various objects the begin shattering.

The little gnome at that exact moment had accidentally toppled over an orb that was sitting in the tent where they were supposedly supposed to assassinate Magister Sinefel. 

In an effort to preserve a foothold and bolster his own magics; Sunfire had asked Magister Sinefel to retain the orb in his possession.  The odds of someone stumbling upon both of them and some how working out that it was in fact a power generating device were astronomical.  But never tell a gnome the odds when it came to such things.

The orb itself was a basin of power.  It amplified Magister Sunfires power to near infinity.  With it in tact, any person trying to inflict harm would be met with the same result.  Time and time again, glancing blows and deflections.  It would have been entirely certain that the crotch punch she administered was also shielded.  But what was not expected, was the innocent mawing of a faithful bird.

Vari had balled her frozen fingers into the tightest fist she possibly could, rounded it back behind her body, and let loose a punch that launched its way directly into his jaw.  As it sailed toward him, she’d absorb as many of the wet molecules in the air that she could; creating an ice like fist encasing her own. 

The resulting smash would send another wave of energy barreling through the landscape, killing off whatever remained of his imaginary army.  Her soldiers; at least those who survived, were safe at this point.

The body of the magister was sent hurdling across the tundra end over end like it had just been ejected violently from a moving vehicle.  His rag doll like frame curling and cowering against a wagon wheel that allowed for light passage in this landscape.  He was huddling there whimpering like a scared animal. 

Vari was having none of this, she was a being who would not feel pity for such a self righteous, arrogant man.  Let alone pity for anyone who dared to stand against her.  She was not the type to turn that leaf.  She was not the type to feel remorse either. 

Every crunching step across the glacial frost land brought another sudden snap of disbelief into the brain of the magister.  He was truly and royally screwed at this point. 

In a last ditch effort, what little control over the basics in wizardry would be thrown her way.  And as if only swatting at bothersome insects, she would send the small fire bolts and shocking arcane missles aside. 

She towered over him, her blank face; expressionless.  She took no joy in killing a man who was so pathetic he would cover his eyes in fear.  But she did find great pride in knowing that one of those responsible for what had happened to her brother and family were going to get what they deserved.

“You need me!” he said in one last ditch effort to gain some sort of pardon from her. “I-I can help you.  I will tell you. . . I c-can tell you. . .”

“I can tell you. . .”  She said as she cut him off mid-sentence. “That I promised to remove your head and place it on a pike overlooking these lands with that stupid. . .shameless. . .gawking face left for the masses of the world to see.”

The mans eyes widened, and for the first time in the entire ordeal; and perhaps this year, Pyravari cracked the slightest of smiles.

“And I always keep my promises.”

The magister was beside himself.  A gaping mouth hung open as he peered up at her nearly in convulsions.  The sound of ice swirling around her hand once more and being shaped into a long, razor sharp blade was even unable to break his thousand yard stare up into those cold, dead blue eyes.

“That’s the one . . .”

After the battle had subsided. . . .

Standing atop the same cliff side that she had started on when she emerged from the depths of the Nerubian tunnels; Pyravari Kash’ebahl peered out against the frozen landscape with her valiant force gathered behind her.  Armor was replaced on her muscled physique and the runeblade she’d lost during the battle was once again strapped firmly to her back piece. 

A gust of cold air shredded the silent tundra once more and sensation of pure satisfaction slowly washed over the mighty Harbinger.  She flared her petite nostrils in a show of defiance, turning up her nose and letting out a huff.  She rolled her shoulders slightly and in a forceful about face; whirled her cloak of heavy furs and chain behind her, and then gave the signal to depart.

She marched her heavy plated boots through the fresh powder as she held the rear of the formation.  A small smile still tugging on her cracked lips when she peered back only one last time to see her success.

There, setting on a pike which had been impaled just below the jaw and directly splitting the center of the skull; was that of the head of Magister Sunfire.  His wide eyes and wispy brown hair collecting fragments of ice over them as they began to freeze over.  And even then; locked in a permanent face of sheer terror and stupidity for ever crossing the goliath, the pitiful mage would forever be remembered.  Not for his power or his success.  But for crossing the wrong enemy and never once comprehending how large a mistake that was.

To be continued in “In Depths Below: Midnight Hour, Part 5″ . . . .

@pyravari-kashebahl

@zalraazurestar

@suncrest-legacy

@siidaraykashebahl

@whatadarkbitch

@lady-dawnblood

@daltalah

@thebladeitself

@zandalaridruidofgonk

[skull-pun]

My Personal Top 10 Adventure Time Episodes (In honor of the finale)

First, some honourable mentions...

His Hero (S1 Ep 25)

Death In Bloom (S2 Ep 17)

Hitman (S3 Ep 4)

What Was Missing (S3 Ep10)

The Creeps (S3 Ep 12)

Marceline's Closet (S3 Ep 21)

Sons of Mars (S4 Ep 15)

The Lich (S4 Ep 26)

Be More (S5 Ep 28)

Joshua & Margaret Investigations (S6 Ep 16)

The Comet (S6 Ep 43)

The Hall of Egress (S7 Ep 24)

Three Buckets (S9 Ep 14)

They're all great in their own way, but they'll never top these ten as my favourites...

10. Princess Cookie (S4 Ep 13)

"The Candy Kingdom faces a hostage crisis from a cookie that demands Princess Bubblegum's crown."

9. Cloudy (S9 Ep5)

"After taking a nap, Finn and Jake get separated from Betty and the Ice King. They need to get back and Jake needs to go pee."

8. You Forgot Your Floaties (S6 Ep 38)

"Finn and Jake storm Magic Man's house to rescue his new apprentice."

7. Escape from the Citadel (S6 Ep 2)

"Finn and Jake follow the Lich to the Citadel."

6. Min & Marty (S8 Ep 25)

"After an unexpected revelation from Susan, Finn is closer than ever to answers about his past."

5. Thank You (S3 Ep17)

"A fire-breathing wolf cub becomes lost in the snowy woods and becomes unlikely friends with a tall snow-creature."

4. I Remember You (S4 Ep 25)

"The Ice King asks Marcelline the Vampire Queen to help him write a song."

3. The First Investigation (S10 Ep 8)

"Finn and Jake are tasked with investigating reports of a haunting at Joshua and Margaret's old office."

2. Dad's Dungeon (S3 Ep 25)

"Finn and Jake discover a lost message from their dad which sends them to a mysterious and dangerous dungeon."

And my favourite episode of Adventure Time is

.

.

.

.

.

1. Mortal Folly (S2 Ep 24)

"The Lich, the greatest form of pure evil in the land of Ooo, is accidentally unleashed. With the highest stakes, Finn and Jake set out on the most serious adventure of their career."

Adventure Time was the show that got me back into cartoons so without it I would have never been able to enjoy Gravity Falls, Steven Universe, Regular Show and many other wonderful cartoons. Adventure Time holds a special place in my heart, I'm gonna miss the land of Ooo dearly...

[thelanternwretch-archive]

Confess! On a scale of 1 to 100, (one being you'd assist with disposal, 100 being you'd never recover and possibly follow him into oblivion) how much would you miss Karthus if he... suddenly wasn't around anymore?

“I mean, I’d definitely miss him.” He admits. “I wouldn’t drop lower than, say, a 90. If he was taken back into the isles for a higher purpose, then I’d be alright, I think. He might come back, if that’s the case. If he was just suddenly gone, I’d look for him. I’d look for a long time. We need all of us to keep these Isles functioning smoothly and I’d hate to be down one of the main powerhouses, you know?”

His fingers click as he fidgets, thinking.

“If he were taken by a purifier and put down, I wouldn’t even consider following him into true death. Not until everyone responsible paid dearly for their actions by my own hands. I’d do anything to bring him back if I could, but I don’t know if I could follow him. He’d want these Isles to continue to grow and I would stay behind to make sure everything he worked for wasn’t just a waste of time.” 

This answer seems to conflict him quite a bit.

@uncle-touchy-lich

[riftclaw]

Hadi - Tauren Death Knight

danger moo

basically never left northrend

lots of mindless undead to cleave in half there

does not trust the bolvar lich king. convinced he's going to turn on everyone at some point

dearly misses the sunny plains of mulgore but believes it's more important someone credulous keeps an eye on the northrend situation

there’s no way this isn’t going to go to hell again

[felashathia]

Exploring Life

   Pacing back and forth, Titus and Suo trailed behind me, keeping a safe distance as my mind wandered. It had been months since Khulma and I had fled from the lands that we once called home. There was no real rhyme or reason to it, other than we grew restless and the turmoil was becoming too much for us to handle. The people we once kept around us had turned blood thirsty, and the horde and the alliance were vying for a fight     The cracking of a stick broke me from my train of thoughts, my head snapping up. My mate stomped through the brush, burrs and twigs sticking to his glistening coat. Since we had left, we had been building a new home, one that was for just us and true to how we felt. In the middle of nowhere, we foraged for our own food and mended our own weapons and gear. Thankfully, I still had my bracelet that carried my other outfits, saving me the annoyance of carrying the items everywhere.     His muzzle pulled back into a grin, lich blue eyes twinkling at me as he held up his find. Multiple birds were tied together with a rope, all ready to be plucked. Unable to resist smiling myself, I eagerly took the birds and began pulling out feathers gingerly. The first two I tossed to my wolves, their dinner for the night. Like the savages they were, they tore into it noisily, blood staining their muzzles. Giggling at them, I made sure the feathers stayed in a pile, having other intentions for them.    Khulma had put his smithing to use, making a mock anvil and forge just outside the house. Since having set it up, he had made a bed frame and table for the house we had built. I was now working on the pillows and blanket, planning to stuff them both with feathers and wool. While I rid the birds of their feathers, Khulma started the fire pit, positioning the spit over it. Sliding the birds onto the spit one by one, he began coating them in oil and seasonings before leaving them to roast, turning them on occasion.     Content with the feathers, I took them all inside, stuffing them into the half filled pillows and blanket. Once full, I sewed them shut and fluffed them, grinning from ear to ear. Looking around our house, my heart was happy. There was not much, but what there was, it was ours. Little trinkets we had collected along the way through the villages we had traveled through. Rings and daggers Khulma had forged, as well as gadgets I had put together. A single painting hung on the furthest wall of the living room, over the fireplace. It was one of our closest friends and us, all smiling and having a grand time. It was a memory of happier times, ones that had long since drifted away.     That was how Khulma found me, staring at the picture that had those we considered family smiling back at us. Carrying the cooked birds to the table, he moved behind me, wrapping his arms around me. “I miss them, Khulma. I shouldn’t, because some of the wronged me; stabbed me in the back and left me to bleed...but I miss them. Kal and Valissa...some of the Blackthorn members...Gin and the rest of the House. I loved them all in a different way, even if they did not see it.” I whispered, fighting back the tears.     He said nothing, simply hugged me tight to him. Leaning against him, I forced myself to take a deep breath. As much as I missed them, I did not miss much of the life we had left behind. The judgement, destruction, and charades everyone seemed to uphold. He seemed to realize that, simply offering me his quiet strength. No, there was no going back to it. Instead, they would make their new life here, in the wildness were they both thrived as their own beings.     “I love you Khulma, my mate. Without you, I would be nothing. However, I would like to send word to Valissa and Kal sometime to let them know where we are. I am aware they are not your favorites, but I love both of them dearly. They are probably the only two I could stand to see from my old life. They were there for me through a great many things, and it would only be fair.” I murmured, moving away from him and approaching the table. Carving the birds, I separated them onto plates. Our sides were simple, foraged greens and wild berries. Since leaving the city, I had lost weight but it had all turned to muscle, my skin far more sunkissed than it ever had been.     Sitting across from my mate, I took a deep breath in and relished it. This was home, and for once I was happy. There was no shadow to live in, no drama or politics. It was just my mate, my animals, and the wildness to have every adventure in. 

@khulma

[oneeyedjackmulligan]

Crumpled Chronicles pt. 17

Like a delicate marionette, Jack perambulated what was left of his robed, skeletal figure about his quarters, the place where he really, truly changed things forever.

Long ago had he, God-King of Undeath, disappeared from the Necropolis. Within six short years, he had razed countless worlds and explored myriad universes in pursuit of some inevitable catharsis, some conclusion to provide meaning for a quest that had long outgrown its goal. The centuries that followed were cold and mechanical, unchanging and perfect.

No longer was he driven by scorn and love lost. The feelings he felt as a young, vulnerable man had evaporated like so much morning dew in the wake of greater understanding. As a young man and wizard, passions clouded his senses. While in the Court of his Duchess, he bent crop cycles, collapsed kingdoms, and distorted just about every rule of statecraft imaginable in order to ensure the supremacy of her benevolent domain. She was of the fair races of Fey-Folk – a spirit of pure life, growth, and the power that lay therein. He found her so beautiful and wise, and so he did it all out of some childlike fascination for a being that resembled a woman, and as such, drew his infatuation immeasurably. But alas, she could never love a mortal man, so transcend mortality he did.

Building his phylactery, his altar, his elixir of defiling, Jack had never followed any rule in his life so strictly. Not a single line was smudged in his profane circle. Each line inscribed, each incantation rehearsed, each ingredient used for the process was as austere and as old as the bones of the world itself. Most magic was an art to Jack, with room for flair and improvisation. This was different. The alchemy behind lichdom was a secured transaction. Each requirement was to be followed to the letter. Jack saw to that, with each step exhibiting the collected patience necessary for a man seeking the benefits of an indefinite tenure in the catacombs of the world.

He paused again. Time had lost meaning to him. He found himself revisiting each memory endlessly in his mind, especially those leading up to his transformation - his last moments of humanity. He replayed the moment where he stood in the circle, his phylactery empty and cold, waiting to be impregnated with his soul, soon to be loosed upon the mildewed air within his sanctum.

He recalled the foul odors that emanated from the elixir. Harsh and metallic, like an embalming essence used by the priests before traditional burial rites, but fetid, pungent and fruity like sweltering garbage or maggot-strewn carrion. It was the last thing he ever smelled. It tasted like distilled water when it touched his tongue, and in that instant, the smell was already gone.

He recalled his awakening in the same place. Time had not seemed to pass much, but in a windowless tomb in the heart of a cave, how was one to tell? At that point, his body was still mostly the same, just blue, cold, and each movement required conscious effort. He remembered his croaking, dead laughter at the inconvenience of no longer having any subconscious reflexes to manage his motor skills. He remembered shuddering at the ghastly retching his voice had become without the automatic fluctuation of his lungs. Each breath was unnatural, deliberate, and made only for the purposes of speech. “Surely she’ll understand,” he thought. “After all, with my mortality shed, she’ll see my true potential, and love me for the being I am now.” He again attempted to move some more, nervous but confident, a young, strapping, and now undead buck. Little did he know how so wrong he was.

He recalled his eventual arrival, and the wide-eyed stares of the nobility. An undead suitor for the Green Duchess, source of all that was life. A demigoddess, woven into the earth like an emerald gem fixed into a ring. “What madness could have possessed him?” they muttered.

Her rebuke of him rang in his memory still. How she loved what lived, and how she loved him when he was living, loved him so dearly- like anything else that ever had lived: men, women, children, animals, vegetables and bacteria.  But living he was no longer, and a lover he would have never been.

 He remembered how she banished him. An intolerable weed in her garden of life. How her witchfinders, clerics and paladins-templar pursued him thence. And oh, how he made grisly examples of their remains: unspeakable, abominable, lumbering sculptures of festering gore that terrorized the still lush and innocent countryside.

He remembered his consolidation of the dead - how he sought out the lesser liches, consumed them, and drafted their hordes of unused dead from their long-forgotten barrows beneath the earth. He recalled with particular satisfaction how he had played the great vampire houses against one another. So lost in their own decadence, so beholden to their ancient rules of engagement and flaccid formalities that their infighting blinded them, made them weak, and unable to withstand the innumerable husks of their victims buried beneath, who unflinchingly disassembled their crypts, castles and manors in a crisp and unforgiving autumn morning’s light.

He remembered inciting the desperate peasant’s revolt, and the war that ensued. Legions of dead that marched by his hand, sundering all the world’s kingdoms, including what the Duchess had made. How she fled to other worlds, into the sinew of the woven universe – between impossible pockets of logic and math, where she thought she would be safe.

He remembered finally catching her, deep in a void of abstractum. Alone, afraid, and powerless. Frail, gaunt, and sunken-eyed, she wasn’t who he remembered, and neither was he. He greeted her not as an equal, not even as an enemy. There was neither catharsis nor closure. He greeted her as a mudslide greets an unfortunate cabin below. Wordlessly, forcefully, and only seconds less than immediately, she vanished in awful, unceremonious annihilation. He remembered leaving that place, and returning the perfect Necropolis he had built on the ruins of her empire of hypocrisy and futility.

He remembered standing atop his tower and looking at the thrumming world beneath it. The dead moved with quiet efficiency. There was no suffering. No war. No hunger. Not even poverty. The cost of all of that, however, was that there was also no awareness, no value to the grandiosity of all his efforts. Jack had failed to build a perfect society. He had, however, successfully built a gigantic, clockwork machine made out of dead people. It was at this moment that he realized that the Duchess had won.

It wasn’t long after that realization that he left the Necropolis forever. It didn’t need him anyway. Skeletons marched in rank and file in military parade, worked the desolate land (for more body parts and unused remains), cleaned the streets and built houses. Still, they were not alive. They would not miss him. They were little more than dolls in those houses - cogs in his grim machine. He retreated to his tomb, the tomb where he would remain in self-imposed exile for an eternity.

His memory returned to the present. He was still now. A click in the air had caught his attention. Was it a pebble? “The walls of the catacombs settling as this shitty mountain falls in on itself, most likely,” he thought to himself. Another tap echoed, and a faint flutter, a flush of air like breath, but a song, and then silence again.

“So I’m insane.” He said. “The human mind wasn’t meant to hold this much. I’ve lived too long. I am like these old books in here - molding with age, doomed to spend the rest of eternity in dementia,” he silently lamented.

“So be it, slow hell, take my mind. Take the one thing I have left, the only thing I ever had. Take away my awareness of reality, so that I can forget all I have done. The weight of this mountain could not compare to the weight of the mistakes that hang around my neck!” The pinpricks of pale blue light within his skull’s eyesockets burned with a suffering only a millennia of tedium could evoke.

He heard the clicking again, this time an echo, from the mouth of the cave. Something was alive. Something was here - something he must have overlooked. He was feeling something: wonder.