#Rosewood Dagger

[theoutcastrogue]

19th century Sheffield bowie knives

A HUNTING KNIFE, JOSEPH RODGERS & SONS CUTLERS TO HER MAJESTY, SHEFFIELD, CIRCA 1860 with tapering blade formed with a spear point, stamped with the maker’s details on one face, and ‘The Hunter’s Companion’ in script, rectangular ricasso struck with star and cross mark, German silver hilt comprising recurved quillons with flattened scrolling terminals, cap pommel (fitted with later copper alloy oval), and spirally-bound fishskin-covered grip, in its leather scabbard with German silver chape and locket, the latter with a belt hook, 23.5 cm blade

A HUNTING KNIFE FOR THE AMERICAN MARKET, MAPPIN & WEBB, SHEFFIELD, CIRCA 1880 with robust blade formed with a clipped-back point with false swage, notched at the forte, stamped ‘Celebrated American Hunting Knife’ in capital letters, ‘Self Defender’ in script on a scroll, rectangular ricasso stamped with the maker’s name and ‘Trustworthy’ on one face of the ricasso and ‘US’ on the other, German silver oval cross-piece and chequered horn scales retained by six rivets, in its German silver mounted leather scabbard with locket and chape each engraved with groups of three lines, and the former with a stud for suspension, 25.3 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, LATE 19TH CENTURY with single-edged blade formed with a pronounced clipped-back point, etched with a Federal eagle and inscriptions on one face including ‘America The Land of Freedom’ and 'The Patriot’s Self Defender’, recessed ricasso stamped ‘Best Quality Rough & Ready’ German silver guard, ferrule and pommel, the latter chased with flowers, and rosewood grip, in its tooled leather scabbard, 19.8 cm blade

A SMALL BOWIE KNIFE, JONATHAN CROOKES, SHEFFIELD, LATE 19TH CENTURY with broad blade formed with a clipped-back point, recessed rectangular ricasso struck with the maker’s name and heart and pistol mark, German silver hilt comprising recurved guard, ferrule and pommel each decorated with scrolling foliage in low relief, and mother-of-pearl grip, in its German silver mounted leather scabbard with belt loop,14.5 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, JONATHAN CROOKES, CIRCA 1880 with straight blade formed with a clipped-back point, slightly recessed rectangular ricasso signed by the maker and with heart and pistol mark, and natural staghorn grips (perhaps an early replacement), 15.3 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, JOSEPH RODGERS & SONS, CUTLERS TO THEIR MAJESTIES, NO. 6 NORFOLK STREET, SHEFFIELD, LAST QUARTER OF THE 19TH CENTURY with broad blade formed with a clipped-back point, struck with the maker’s details and star and cross mark on one face (small areas of light pitting), oval German silver guard, and natural staghorn scales retained by five rivets, in its leather scabbard with large German silver locket and chape, 20.8 cm blade

A DAGGER, MARKED MAZEPPA, PROBABLY SAMUEL HANCOCK & SONS, LATE 19TH CENTURY with broad blade formed with a clipped-back point, recessed ricasso struck with a figure strapped to a horse’s back and ‘Mazeppa’ on one face, German silver hilt cast in low relief, comprising guard and pommel decorated with scrolls, milled copper alloy fillers and hardwood scales, in its tooled and gilt leather scabbard,17.2 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, LINGARD, PEACROFT, SHEFFIELD, PROBABLY 1870 with single-edged blade formed with a clipped-back point and part swaged back-edge, rectangular ricasso stamped ‘Lingards Celebrated Bowie Knife Pea Croft, Sheffield’, German silver hilt comprising two-piece guard and pommel each cast with scrolls and foliage in low relief, brass fillets, staghorn scales, and vacant German silver escutcheon, 21.0 cm blade

AN ARKANSAS BOWIE KNIFE, MORTON & SON, SHEFFIELD, CIRCA 1850-60 with tapering blade of flattened-diamond section, recessed rectangular ricasso struck with the maker’s details (worn, partly illegible), German silver hilt comprising ‘split’ cross-guard and two-piece pommel each decorated with scrolls and foliage in low relief, and a pair of small bone scales retained by two rivets, 22.7 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, WRAGG & SONS, SOLLY ST, MID-19TH CENTURY with broad double-edged blade, recessed ricasso signed in small stamped letters, German silver cross-piece and pommel, the latter cast with an alligator-horse on each face, and horn scales (restorations), in its tooled and gilt leather scabbard with German silver mounts, 30.8 cm blade

tinyurl.com/yr4hd4pr

[floydsglasses]

Dagger Squad as Bath and Body Works Smells PT2

{All Dagger's included some of these smells are not bath and body works, some are small shops so please buy and support them since you all liked the last post here is part two enjoy}

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰- 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨 𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐞 Like in my last post he honestly reminds me of these very specific smells from my childhood, I grew up around industrial type smells and my grandpa alway's smelt like Tobacco, and I feel like he maybe grew up around those smells too. This candle smells like, Warm Tobacco and brushed suede aromatic greens, soft weathered woods, earthy patchouli and smoky leather. and is Described as your dad's old car, his cologne on bended into the leather

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧- 𝐂𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲

He remind's me of when you wake in the morning and there is a fresh pot of coffee, like the start to a new day and thing's are gonna be good and later into the day you need something to take the edge of, so you take a Whiskey. Also look at this man he is clearly a whiskey man. This candle smells like, bold Irish whiskey, splash of vanilla and a hint of coffee. and is described as your favorite morning pick-me-up with a touch of weekend spirit.

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚 "𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐱" 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞- 𝐒𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞

So this one is based off my headcanon for her that she grew up in Arizona, like she grew up in one of those adobe clay home's like when you drive out in New Mexico, i've seen them before, she also reminds me of sunsets if you believe it. Patchouli flowers, pink pepper and exotic rosewood. and is described as a woodsy, warm desert escape.

𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 "𝐁𝐨𝐛" 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝- 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐀𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 & 𝐎𝐮𝐝 Bob just reminds me of that after rain smell, like the sun has just come out, there is cloud's left behind and the ground is wet, if the sun catches it correctly it will flicker on the wall. Just that overall feeling if you understand. This candle smells like dark golden amber, fresh rainwater and oud wood. And is Described as the woodlands after a rainstorm.

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲 "𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐲" 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐚- 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧

I have actually had the privilege to own this but it was a body wash, and when I tell you it's the most masculine and sweet smell I have ever smelt you wouldn't believe me. And you cannot not tell me that Mickey wouldn't take a girl night swimming as a surprise, well thats my headcanon. This candle smells like blue cypress, vetiver and coastal air. And Described as a cool, refreshing dip in the deep blue sea.

𝐑𝐮𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐧 "𝐏𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤" 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡- 𝐌𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 I remember smelling this candle in the store, and call me crazy but dosent he give you the vibe that his sheet's are black and that most of his closet are light or dark colored T-shirts. Like I can just imagine this smell in his clothe's. This candle smells like rich mahogany, black teakwood, dark oak and frosted lavender. and is described as borrowing their flannel for a hike in the woods. (come on even B&BW agrees with me)

𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐲 "𝐂𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐭𝐞" 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨- 𝐒𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐞

Okay it's no secret that clearly this man looks great in a suit, and in his flight suit. I swear to it that he would have a rich type of cologne, like when he walks past you it hits you right in the face. Even when he leaves a room it linger around. This candle smells like White Teakwood, Oakmoss, Sage & Sparkling Bergamot. And described as Elegant and Stoic like a man ready for the evening suit and tie and all.

This might be better then the first post, like i put more detail into this post and please check out these smells and some of these are fairly cheap from these stores.

Tagged:@icezansky @bobfloydssunnies @parksandsparks @sorchathered @swiftsgirlfriend

[dodorimo]

all the little things

There are days when her pale friend comes to visit her with a sad look in his eyes that makes her wonder if she would ever see him again. He tells her he will leave, that this is the last time. She will be in good hands, he reassures her, all her needs seem to. He always comes back.

Durgestarion AU where Astarion decides to stay with The Dark Urge after she is cursed by her father to be consumed by the urge. Rated E, 1.9k

Tags: extremely dubious consent, vaginal sex, angst, dark themes, named dark urge, this is just depression hours forgive me

AO3 link

Her past is a bottomless pit in a lonely clearing. Eventually, something will spring to the surface.

She remembers a man with dark hair and even darker eyes, wearing metal gloves. An old man with a hole in his chest, sitting on a throne of miasma and bones. And a long-haired woman with a familiar face, wielding a crimson dagger.

Not everything is clear. She remembers a painful betrayal. Fighting her sister in an arena of blood. Father being displeased with her. Then a feeling of emptiness she can’t quite put her finger on. All pointless now.

The rosewood partition filters the candlelight, sending small glowing dots dancing across the ceiling. Eirin counts them all, one by one. At the edge of her vision, a blur of white curls and the occasional pale shoulder.

Her elf friend moves in and out inside her body, his brow furrowed as if in pain. She doesn’t understand why he is in pain. She is at her happiest when they are connected like this, at the hips, with his fist full of her hair and his teeth on her neck. 

Slowly—hesitantly—she reaches out, and brushes his sweat-slicked locks from his temples, traces his wrinkled forehead with her fingertip. This seems to take him by surprise, and he freezes, concerned eyes darting to hers.

He says a few words, murmurs something that sounds a lot like her name, then fastens his lips to hers, moving with renewed fervor.

Eirin lets out a sigh of relief. This language she can understand.

Sharp teeth sinks into her bottom lip, blood sliding down her throat, and she welcomes it, drinking deep. One hand finds her nipple and pinches, the other pulling her to him—up and then up—almost as if he wanted to marry his pelvis to hers.

She tries her best to keep up.

The bed frame slams against the wall in time with his movements. She rakes her nails down his back (he seems to like it when she does this) and he retaliates by pulling on her hair until her back arches for him.

He is whispering again. Pretty, sweet nothings. She only understands half of it.

Taking me so well I miss you love come with me please I—

So close. She’s so close.

Just a little more.

Relief comes in the form of his skilled fingers on her clit and then she’s unraveling.

Spurred by her pleasure, he pulls out of her, drawing a whimper from her lips. A moment to adjust is all she is granted before she feels the splash of his release against her skin, painting her from navel to collarbone. She scoops up his essence, places it into her mouth, then looks back at him to gauge his reaction.

Her pale friend seems content. At peace, even. A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of his lips in a rare departure from his usual aloof self.

Then it is gone as soon as it appears, replaced by a look of anguish.

Eirin doesn’t like when he has that look on his face, as if she had poked under his nails with a needle. She likes him best when he smiles mischievously at her as he moves down her body to lick a long stripe across her cunt. 

She tries not to complain. He brought her nice gifts—a petite woman with horns and a tail, a man with stubs for arms and a smaller, screeching human—for her to sink her claws into. And sink her claws she did, until the voices quieted down to a lulling whisper. If she were specially well-behaved, he would even join her.

He lays down on the mattress, chest moving up and down as he tries to catch his breath. Her heart fills with hope. Would he stay with her this time? She is almost ashamed to admit that she sleeps better when he is around, her dreams less populated by shadows.

She isn’t so lucky.

Most days come and go in a blur.

There are days when her pale friend comes to visit her with a sad look in his eyes that makes her wonder if she would ever see him again. He tells her he will leave, that this is the last time. She will be in good hands, he reassures her, all her needs seem to. He always comes back.

Most of the time, he just watches her.

Watches her as she eats and sleeps and wills away the hours until she can do it all over again. Always with that inquisitive look on his face, as if she is on the verge of doing something unexpected. Even if the prize for his troubles is always more disappointment. Why he bothers, she doesn’t know.

He is there on the days when her hunger is too great and all she can think about is maiming and tearing and cutting and slicing… Those are the worst of days.

The few times she is allowed outside—at night, always at night—he dresses her in pretty clothes, all flowing skirts and elaborate headpieces, like the gallant ladies from the stories. She wears one of them right now, a purple hat with a plume on top. The feeling of the fabric against her skin is unpleasant and she wants nothing more than to tear it apart, but does her best to put up with it. Her worries are forgotten as soon as she sees the sky on the horizon, stepping over her skirts in her rush to get a better view. She leans over the palisade and throws a glance over her shoulder, but her pale friend seems to have his attention elsewhere.

He is beautiful like this, when the light hits his profile just right, ruby red eyes gleaming, his hair swaying in the gentle breeze. To look at him was painful sometimes, like staring at the sun for too long. He is facing the other way, busying himself with an object she doesn’t recognize.

“Do you remember this, darling? You kept it with you at all times,” he says, extending his hand towards her. “A favored gift, so to speak.”

He is using that cautious tone again, the one that usually precedes a long period of absence, so she indulges him.

The trinket in her hands is tiny and connected to a short silver chain. She doesn’t pretend to get the appeal of it. Not full of blood, not made to eat… Shiny and round, like a girl’s earring. At the center, a circle of numbers and a few black dots.

“This is…” she whispers.

There are letters engraved on the bottom. She recognizes a few of them: A E T E R N–

This is… wrong. Wrong.

Something nags at her brain, begging for her to remember. But remember what?

she…

she hurts

one thousand splinters worm their way into her heart. a feeling like nothing she had felt before. she tugs at her clothes, nails digging into her skin, the cloth suddenly too hot, too stifling.

Firm hands bend her arms behind her back and pull her against a wall. She doesn’t make things easy for him, fighting with all her strength, teeth and nails. In a matter of seconds, blood—not her own—begins to soak the front of her dress.

Never did she consider shredding her friend into pretty ribbons, like she did with the others. It was the only rule she abided by, the only line she wouldn’t cross. The idea alone made her gut clench and her eyes wet. But at that moment, that is the furthest thing from her mind. Her heart is about to burst out of her chest. Can’t he see? Why wouldn’t he just help her?

He presses a piece of cloth to her nose. She is too slow to push his hand away. Big inky blots appear at the corner of her vision, anger and confusion quickly morphing into a peaceful numbness.

A day or a week could have passed. There's no way to know for sure. Her dreams are a confusing mush of vivid memories and blood-curdling nightmares. Even awake, she has trouble distinguishing real from imaginary.

Her room is exactly as she remembers it, that much she can tell—with the familiar metal bars that divide her bed from the rest of the room—but her clothes were changed, and her hair was recently washed. A distinct floral scent wafts through the air. There's something else too, a touch of… bergamot? Whatever that is. She tries to lift her arm, but her hands are tied to the bedpost above her head. Strange, but not uncommon.

Her elf friend’s state, however, is a much bigger enigma. He is sitting on the edge of her bed, with his shirt off. At her stirring, he turns to look at her. There are scratches and bite marks all over his arms and chest, some reaching as far as his neck. They are fading now. Angry red giving way to pale pink.

"How are you feeling, darling?" His voice is hoarse, as if he's been screaming all day.

How is she feeling? That’s a curious question. He is the one covered in nicks and bruises. Nothing happened to her, as far as she remembers. She tries to tell him as much.

His eyes lose that wary edge and he moves closer to her, cradling her face with both hands. “I adore you, you know that, right? That will never change.”

She wishes she could respond in kind, but her head is still giving little somersaults. The best she can manage is to nod in agreement.

He sighs and moves his hand to wrap around the column of her neck. She gives him a tentative smile. His eyes harden.

The sudden constriction of her airways doesn’t give her immediate cause for concern. All she does is raise an eyebrow in silent question.

Seconds turn into minutes and she grows impatient, nudging him with the heel of her foot and then again, with more insistence. Speaking is out of the question, nothing comes out of her throat. His hands press harder.

Feeling something is definitely off, she tries to meet his gaze, knowing she is reaching her limit, but he is far, far away. Instinct kicks in. She pulls on the ropes, thrashing against him, using her free legs as leverage. But she is weakened, her body is weakened and she is fading…

He releases her all at once, sending her into a coughing fit.

When her ears stop buzzing, Eirin takes a brief look at him. His face is wet and so is hers. If anything, he looks even worse than her. He pulls her into a hug. She lets him.

Her friend rests his head in the crook where her head meets her shoulder, shaking from head to toe, and she places a comforting hand in the mess of his hair. In between sobs, she hears him ask for her forgiveness, over and over again.

“I don’t like this play,” she confides to him, voice rough like beach sand.

He lets out a sound halfway between a strangled laugh and a sob.

“Neither do I, sweetheart. Neither do I…”

[shivunin]

Fang and Thorn

(Zevran/Tabris, 883 Words)

The metal of the dagger was carefully polished, but some of the scratches on the blade ran deep. Tabris turned it over and over in her hands, watching it reflect firelight, then her face over and over.  

Slavers. Her friends, some of them gone forever. Her father caged; Valendrian shipped off to Tevinter. Then today—the orphanage, lost to demons and death. The bodies left in the ruined building to rot…

Arianwen closed her hand around the hilt at last, feeling the faint impressions in the polished rosewood where her mother’s hand had once held it firm. Had she worried about the future of their folk, too? What kind of life had she wanted for her only daughter? 

She would’ve been proud, Wen’s father’d said. 

Yet he had no idea who she…what she was. What she would still do, if given half the chance. Would her mother have been proud? Would she have approved of the person Arianwen had become?

“How are you feeling?”

Wen closed her eyes. The others had been quiet at dinner, had allowed her to return to her room in Eamon’s estate without too much bother. She’d been…moody was too kind a word for it. Stormy, then—she’d been stormy these past few days and she knew it well. Alistair had wanted to say something when she left. She’d seen it in his face. For what felt like the first time, he’d restrained himself. Arianwen had trudged up here, locked the doors, and curled up on the settee with only her knife and the fire for company. 

But of course Zev had found his own way in. 

She sat up, waited for him to tuck himself beneath her, and rested her head on Zevran’s lap. After a moment’s hesitation, he stroked his fingers through her loosened hair and let his hand come to a stop on her shoulder. 

“You do not wish to speak of it?”

Wen said nothing. She shifted back on the couch until her head came to rest in the crook of his belly and his hip, where his flesh softened slightly. He’d left off his leathers for her, something she was grateful for. It was easier to feel the warmth of him when he wore linen. 

“How fortunate,” Zev went on, squeezing her shoulder, “For I have more than enough to say for both of us.”

That’s what she’d been counting on. 

“Have I told you about the time I had my knife to a contessa’s throat only to realize that I had climbed in the wrong window? It was the hottest day of summer, when even the flies are too lazy to crawl from their sleep…”

Arianwen listened, her eyes dragging lower and lower as the fire softened and calmed in the hearth. Eventually, when the flames were all but embers, a careful hand eased the hilt of her mother’s dagger from her hand and set it softly on a side table. 

Where it would be safe. 

|

The rest of her party readied themselves in the foyer the next morning. 

Wen flipped her mother’s knife in her hand over and over, watching her friends. Alistair and Morrigan were giving each other a wide berth at the moment, which was good news for her headache. Zevran was ready, but pretending he still had to adjust his various buckles, casting her the occasional glance through his eyelashes.

Wen flipped the dagger several more times, absently gauging the weight and balance of the blade. 

It was well made, worn comfortably, made with fine craftsmanship. Nevertheless it…it hurt to hold. Arianwen admitted this to herself, twisting the metal again and catching her own eyes in the reflection. Its warmth reminded her of happier days, when the world had seemed—if not fair—safe and whole. 

That…hurt. Too much to touch. Too much to hold.

Wen moved to Zevran’s side and leaned against him. He draped an arm around her waist automatically, angling himself in her direction. 

“Shh,” she said, when he opened his mouth to speak.

 Zev raised his brows in response, but Tabris shook her head. 

When she reached for the hilt of his dagger, it slid easily from its sheath. Arianwen weighed it in her hand for a moment, peering down as she angled it this way and that. They were of a similar construction, his blade and the other she held. The weight in Zevran's leaned a little further to the tip; the other would certainly suit him better. If one of them used these as a chopper, it was more she than he.

Wordlessly, Arianwen slid the rosewood dagger into the empty sheath hanging from his belt and slipped his dagger into hers. Zevran’s brows had drawn together, and his free hand hovered over the hilt for a moment. 

“Do you…not wish to keep this somewhere safer?” he asked quietly, bending his head nearer to hers. 

Wen shook her head. 

“That’s not what it’s for,” she took a deep breath, “It’s…called Fang.”

Zevran set his hand on the hilt of the dagger at last, squeezing it slightly. 

“I will use it well,” he said, the arm around her waist pulling her closer. 

Wen let herself be pulled, some of the heaviness in her chest lightening. Would her mother have approved? She didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t need to. Perhaps it was enough that the blade would protect her lover now, as her mother had once wielded it to protect Wen. 

“I know,” Arianwen said, and raised her face to be kissed.

[fractiflos]

Could you do Shinomori and Banjo for a princess mononoke au? 👉👈 Thanks!

Before you read the rest of this, you may want to take a seat. Because I, Jane Alice Rosewood*, have never seen a Studio Ghibli movie. Not one. (*My Ao3 username btw)

BUT I got an HBO subscription to watch Fionna & Cake, and they happen to have it there. So, I took it as a sign, and decided to watch it, which is why this took so long. I hope this was worth the wait. Figuring out who got what role was fun.

Daigoro is not a prince. He just doesn't have the personality for it. Instead, he's a man of normal status with a boisterous personality. When a demon was about to kill some other villagers, he reacted out of pure instinct and grabbed a rope, somehow managing to hog-tie it. Then he ran close and stabbed it, which killed it, revealing that it used to be a boar god. Unfortunately, it managed to grab his arm, cursing him. After receiving the news that the boar god became that way because of an iron ball shot into it, he decides to go and find a way to make sure that doesn't happen again. He doesn't care that he's dying, he just hears that the forest gods are in danger and rushes to save them. His brother En only manages to catch him because he's on an elk and gives him some provisions, the elk, and his favorite dagger as a keepsake.

On his way to the west, he has to fight off several samurai and notices that part of the curse makes him stronger and he can shoot out black tendrils, like the ones that surrounded the cursed god. Later, he bumps into a friendly monk named Torino. and asks if he knows where the iron ball came from. The monk tells him about Iron Town and gives him directions along with a legend about the Great Forest Spirit, who may be able to heal his wound. Meanwhile, Prince Mononoke (Hikage) and his wolf dad, Mitsu (Third) are fighting against Lady Nana and her men. Unfortunately, Mitsu ends up getting shot with iron and falls off the cliff along with Hikage.

Daigoro is having a dandy time walking through the forest, singing songs and basically having his Disney moment out in nature. Then he and his elk (Kudo) find some injured men who also fell off the cliff. The men lead him to Iron Town.

Daigoro is fascinated by the technology and even helps out a little. Then Lady Nana tells him the history of the town. It's the same as in the movie, Lady Nana took in outcasts, they make iron by cutting down the forest to mine it, and that has caused conflict with the daimyō (It's Afo, and because we don't know his canon name, it's just Lord AFO). And Prince Mononoke was raised by wolves, causing him to hate humans.

Later that night, Hikage tries to kill Nana for shooting Mitsu, but Daigoro manages to tie him up and puts him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. When the others try to fight back, he uses his strength to his advantage and literally jumps over the wall, but gets shot in the process. He's still strong enough to carry them to the forest before falling over.

Hikage wakes up and tries to stab him, but then Daigoro gets up, looks at him, and there is a long moment of silence before he shouts, "Damn, you look hot!" then passes out again. Hikage is so stunned he sits away in silence for the rest of the night.

As it turns out, Daigoro got healed by the Great Forest Spirit so Hikage decided to trust him. Meanwhile, both Nana and Torino desire the spirit's head to give to the emperor and set out to find it as they both want a reward. Torino wants money and Nana wants protection for the village.

Daigoro rushes back to Iron Town, after giving Hikage his brother's dagger, and sees that the boars tried to attack the village to avenge their dead comrade (Yoichi), only to be wiped out by Torino's mercenaries and Lord AFO's samurai are attacking the town. He finds another wolf being crushed by bodies and gets it out, encouraging the men to go home and help the women.

Meanwhile the boar clan's weak, old, blind leader, Toshinori, is tricked into leading Torino's mercenaries to the Great Forest Spirit (using the same, dressing in their dead pelts trick in the movie). Toshinori then ends up turning into a demon, and Hikage, who was trying to stop it, ends up getting swept up in the bloody tendrils. The Great Forest Spirit comes and causes both Toshinori and Mitsu to die.

Daigoro comes in and manages to pull Hikage out with his curse tendrils, but they both fall back into the lake. Meanwhile, the Great Forest Spirit is starting his Nightwalker transformation, so Nana shoots him, and manages to kill it, and Torino uses his speed to steal the head. It's a lucky thing that Daigoro and Hikage fell into the lake, as they managed to avoid the deadly ooze coming out of the spirit's body.

Hikage and Daigoro go to evacuate Iron Town then run after Torino, who has the head. They manage to convince him to give it back, and while the Great Forest Spirit still ends up dead, everything comes back to life, and Daigoro's curse is healed.

Daigoro wants to help the people of Iron Town, and Hikage, still distrustful of humans, elects to stay in the forest, so Daigoro promises to visit him. Torino leaves them alone and Nana promises to make the town better. The end.

I know I left a lot of things out, but then it would be too long, and besides, it's fun to see what people fill in the blanks with. That being said...

THIS WAS AN AMAZING MOVIE! I could write a whole essay post about this, but I'll spare you. I felt weird about this not being too different from the source material, but at the same time, that movie was so good, I don't want to change a whole lot. Even in an AU. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoyed this one anon!

[mashamorevvna]

Slack On My Neck, Her Rope 👀

thank you for the question!! so this is the durge/orin wip based on this poem warming her pearls by carol ann duffy that is based on the victorian custom to have serving girls wear pearl necklaces to warm them before the mistress would go and socialise. and the premise is that instead of pearls durge would stab orin to warm bhaal's dagger and thats its own form of bhaalian sisterly bonding

The metal she had warmed with her flesh feels scalding and wet in her hand as she straps the blade on her sister’s leg. Where the blade meets bare skin, it leaves behind a smear of blood on the inside of her thigh. If Orin focuses she can even scent its faint metallic fragrance; the only reprieve against the reek of rosewood that hangs in the air like a conquering shroud. Against all reason, it soothes her to think that once, just this once, her sister might meet her tyrant not wholly annexed by his hand.

[kopfkino-o]

The Seer’s Stone: An Fanfic Preview

Hi friends! I’ve been working towards writing my own fantasy series for nearly two years now, but have found fanfiction to be such an amazing outlet for growing myself as a writer and am so so excited to share some experts from my upcoming Elriel fanfaction I’ve been working on! It’s very much still in the works but I’m so stoked about it so I wanted to share some of my favorite experts. I hope to have some of the first few chapters out ahead of Elriel week, buuuut I’m a super slow writer so please be patient if you care to follow along!

(PSA: This if my first fic I’m publishing and always want to grow in my work so please feel free to give me any suggestions, editing tips, etc etc. I love constructive criticism)

Thank you for taking the time to read!

Summary: Elain Archeron is tired of being the “lovely, sweet gardener” everyone wants her to be. After losing her beloved, her humanity, her life, she’s ready to claim her own path forward with the help of her friends, Nuala and Cerridwen, as she searches far and wide for the mysterious Seer’s Stone: an ancient artifact of old rumored to once belong to an ancient Seer Queen. But will fate itself step in to stop her? Or will Elain defy the strings of destiny that bind her and forge her own path forward, choosing her own fate, friendships, future, and love, along the way. 

Word Count: 711

Timeline: Post-ACOSF

Pairing: Elain x Azriel (with Lucien x Vassa hints)

I. (From Chapter One)

Elain Archeron slipped down the back alleys and side streets of Velaris on silent feet, the pale sliver of moon the only witness to her midnight movements, the low hum of summer insects her only companions. The scrying stones in her pocket rattled softly with each step and her newly acquired dagger–a gift from the twins–wrapped gently against her hip. 

Nesta would freak out if she ever saw me with these, Elain thought to herself as she followed the flow of the Sidra through the city. Feyre and Rhys too. 

A pang of guilt bloomed in her chest. 

The dagger was one thing, but her being out, alone, at this hour was a whole other. Especially when both her sisters no doubt expected her to be back at the Riverhouse, tucked safely in bed.

She knew it was wrong to keep this new part of her life from them, but something stopped her each time Elain considered telling Nesta or Feyre about her evening. Whether it was her better judgment, or simple commonsense, Elain didn’t know. She knew they would understand, would welcome this new “hobby” of hers even, and yet… she couldn’t bring herself to tell them. 

Not because she didn’t trust Feyre or Nesta, but because they wouldn’t understand. No one understood. 

Elain was breathless by the time she reached the city mance tucked away on a sleepy street only a few blocks off the water. Thick tangles of ivy crept up the sides of dark-stone façade and golden candle light glowed behind the panes of crystal windows. 

She swept up the front steeps graceful as a shadow, dark cloak stirring behind her, and knocked once on the worn rosewood.

A silence, then the lock clicked and the door creaked open. 

Nuala’s beautiful face appeared in the shadowed doorway. The wraith’s full lips pulled up into a pleased smile. “About time.” 

“I couldn’t get away any earlier. It would have been too weird.” 

Her friend pulled her into a tight hug, the wraith’s familiar scent of evening mist and spiced amber wrapping around her. “Well, you’re here now. Everything is ready, Cerridwen and the others are inside.”

“And Desmaya?” 

“She said she would come, didn’t she?” 

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t–” 

Nuala held up a hand. “What did we say about apologizing? No one is mad at you, Lainey.” 

Elain nodded once. Right, no more apologizing unless she absolutely needed to. It was something she was still trying to work, an old habit she was trying to break. She found it easier to do so around her friends, but old habits died hard and life back at the Riverhouse made her feel like she was…regressing. 

She felt a sense of guilt for even daring to think so in the first place. Feyre had done so much, had given so much. Rhys and Cassian and Nesta too. Lying to them felt like a betrayal, an insult to all they had done for her. 

Elain shook her head, exhaling a nervous breath before following the half-wraith into the semi-dark of the entry hall.

II. 

“The shadows tell me when you lie, you know.” Azriel said. 

Elain cocked her head. “Is that all they tell you, Shadowsinger?”

III. 

The dark void of his magic yawned open. He let himself plummet into it. Shadows whispered around him, swelling and ebbing as the familiar cold of the shade between realms rose up to swallow him whole. 

And then—

Silence, darkness. He was nothing here, he was everything here. A hundred pieces of him thrown into the Void, a hundred pieces scattered wide. 

IV

“I don’t know how to be good. I don’t know how to make my pain beautiful, I don’t know how to make my anger kind,” Azriel seethed, “They gave me a knife when all I needed was a friend, they made me into a weapon and told me not to weep. How do you come back from that? How do you find your absolution?” 

Cassian merely put a warm hand on his shoulder, his brother’s eyes filled with an understanding that nearly broke him. 

V

Nesta grabbed her wrist. “Then you will die.” 

Elain pulled herself free, her chin still held high. “I’m getting him back.” 

[thetavolution]

five character associations — Ingrid, Bex, and Tessa

Tagged by @razrogue (thank you!)

INGRID

emotions

anxiety

patience

determined

motivated

self-conscious

colors

dark blue

burnt orange

eggplant

sapphire

orchid purple

scents

lavender

sage

strawberries

freshly baked honey cake

chai spices

objects

her tattooing kit

herbs, like sage and lavender

a carving of a spider given as a gift from a loved one

carefully and respectfully collected bones

her quarterstaff

body language

a shy yet kind smile

keeping her eyes averted, nervously

getting lost in a big hug

a squeeze of a hand

staying by someone's side to comfort them

aesthetics

a spider in its web

tattoos delicately drawn on flesh

bones and decaying corpses

a breezy autumn day

curled up with an animal or two, like a cat or an owlbear

BEX

emotions

irreverent

empathy

affectionate

ennui

shame

colors

pink

ruby red

lilac

rosewood

mint green

scents

homemade bread

freshly brewed coffee

blood oranges

poppies

a cozy bonfire

objects

her antique violin

an old worn recipe book

a well-loved wooden spoon for cooking

her Knife of the Undermountain King

a lovingly baked macaron

body language

discreetly reaching out to link pinkies together

a look of complete detachment, in the throes of dissociating

a gentle squeeze of the arm for support

sitting in a special someone's lap with her arms around them

a genuine smile seeping through her smirk

aesthetics

a warm kitchen filled with fresh baked goods

a violin perched on a shoulder

piles of books, including recipe books

an endless field of poppies

coffee brewing over an open fire

TESSA

emotions

affectionate

impatient

capable

invigorated

lonely

colors

green

blue-green

snow white

aquamarine

dark brown

scents

pine forest

a warm cup of black tea

cranberry cake

crisp, clean snow

the smell of a rainy morning

objects

a pressed rose given to her by her mother

a deck of cards (possibly tampered with)

a notebook to write stories of her own

the shadow of Menzoberranzan to obscure her face

her sword of screams

body language

standing with her arms over her chest, cautious but standoffish

a quick and playful peck on the cheek

hiding in the shadows to disappear from sight

playing with a dagger with one hand

a quick and silent nod of acknowledgement

aesthetics

a cold, snowy day

roses and rose tattoos

a gambling table

an imposing yet loving winter wolf

sitting in front of the fireplace with a book

No obligation tagging: @tavsboots @himbo-hunter-hadrian @whenwindwhispers and anyone else who wants to do it!

[nikayna]

BG3 OC Questionnaire

I was tagged by no one but saw this on AvaniArts page and wanted to join in (I can’t tag you for some reason?). I tweaked it slightly!

Name: Cordeilla Rhys (kor-day-uh reese)

Nickname: Someone from her past used to call her Dell, but she can’t picture them; her companions call her Daya

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Libra - she’s an October baby

Height: 5’10”

Orientation: Uh, look. Let’s just call it pansexual-ish and then look the other way 👀 The two most important relationships she’s had have been with men, though

Race: Human Bhaalspawn

Romancing: Gale. Something about an ambitious man who loves poetry and has a flair for dramatics tugged at her shattered memories.

Fave Fruit: Blackberries or pomegranates. Their juices reminds her of gore.

Fave Season: Autumn. She likes the burst of color as everything dies.

Fave Flower: Black Calla Lilies

Fave Scent: Rosewood and vanilla, though she can’t remember why. She’s also realized, to her consternation, that she loves the scent of blood, even if it’s stale.

Coffee Tea or Hot Chocolate: Black coffee

Average Sleep Hours: Only 3-4. Her urges tend to keep her up.

Dogs or Cats: Neither, although Scratch’s presence in camp is making her reconsider.

Dream Trip: Baldur’s Gate has everything she needs. Although, the thought of visiting Waterdeep with Gale has started to tickle her fancy.

Amount of Blankets: None, she runs hot.

Random Fact: She likes poetry. She doesn’t write it, but she likes hearing it, especially from the lips of a handsome man. She has hazy memories of a different man, with dark hair and eyes and a deep, honeyed voice, reading her poetry while the sounds of the city wafted through the open window. Who or where or even what poem, though, has been lost among the shards of her brain. Besides, she likes Gale’s voice too, especially when reciting poetry - how soft and sensual it becomes. It makes her dagger hand twitch.

[yourlocalqreator]

Montgomery "Danger" Russo

GENERAL

Name: Montgomery “Danger” Russo

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Nickname(s): Monty (MOSTLY)

Alias(es): Monty, Danger, Gomery, Rusty

Timeline: Modern Warfare

Rank: Sargent

Regiment: A90 (Formerly), SAS (Currently)

Status:

Birth Date: Oct 15, 1994

Death Date:

Occupation: Assassin, SAS

Affiliation(s): His Older Sister, Kassandra “Radiation” Russo

Voice claim: JB Blanc

APPERANCE

Skin Tone: white

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Black

Height: 6,2/187

Weight: 182

Scars/Marks/Burns: None

Tattoos: None

Physical Enhancements: what?

PERSONALITY

Friendly but warm-hearted, Shy but an open book, 

, but when it comes to missions and combat, and he's the deadliest soldier and former assassin, Unlkle Hailey he fights like a soldier and a ninja. Speed and stealth. strong and fast.

Fear(s): Loss

Likes: His friends and allies, chilling, Cooking, DIY

Dislikes: bullies

Habit(s):  Cooking, DIY

Flaw(s): 

Talent(s): Acrobatic moves, and martial arts by A90

The Character’s Relationship With Others

Reputation:

ALL BROTHERS 

Love Interest(s):

Winter “Angel” Rosewood

Friend(s):

Hailey “Rose” Quinn

All task 141 members

Alex Keller

Farah Karim

Zach “Mantis” Ray (UPCOMING OC)

Charrolte Jade La Jardin

Enemy(ies):

Shepard

Graves

Yuri (For a bit)

Relationship(s):

Doesn't have any

ABILITIES

Fighting Styles: Krav Maga, Hapkido, Kickboxing, Shuai Chiao

Weapons: M4 Carbine, Koch 416 assault rifle, FAMAS, AK-103, Knucklers, Combat Knuckle knife, The Stiletto, Daggers, Smoke bombs

Preferred Weapon(s):

ALL

Agility: 8/10

Hand-to-Hand Combat: 10/10

Long Range Accuracy: 9/10

Defense: 10/10

Offense: 10/10

People Skills: 7 /10

BIRTHPLACE:

Family: Queensland Australia

Father: Richards Russo

Mother: Elizabeth Russo

Sister: Kassandra Russo

Familial Background

Richard and Elizabeth Russo are both Agents

Character Background:

Montgomery was born on October 15, 1994, to Agents Richard and Elizabeth Russo. Together with their colleague, Dr. Willem, the Russos started to train his son

Willem, who had feelings for Elizabeth, was hurt by her marriage to Richard and subsequent pregnancy, believing she and the group's success to be rightfully his. The trio of scientists found seeds that were the remnants of Imran Zakhaev

Willem saw this as a way to gain the power to get revenge on Richard and Elizabeth and Killed the parents becoming the Horsemen. As he hunted down the couple, Elizabeth hid Monty and his sister Kassandra in a place, leaving them a picture of his family and a ronin mask. Willem eventually caught them and killed them, however, he did not find Monty. He was found by the A90 who raised him as their own. Monty, his parents, and Dr. Willem are all presumed dead in a "tragic accident" by the civilized world.

[ariveth]

Farkas watched with bated breath as Ariveth turned over the dagger in her grasp. Shaped in the heat of the Skyforge, it had been crafted by his own hands. Its handle and hilt were modest in their design, its beauty showcased its the blade. Formed of crucible steel, the surface was adorned with a tapestry of intricate, rippled patterns. Swirling and cascading, silver and shadow flowed and melded together. Water-kissed, Farkas had heard it described.

Beautiful, practical, protective. Something that would help keep Ariveth safe.

Boyish in his excitement, in his unguarded adoration, he presented her with another gift. A rosewood box, clasped shut, was pushed into her hands. Inside, a torc. Not the torc, but a fine piece of purchased craftsmanship. Wrought from bronze, its terminals were trimmed with mother of pearl. Soft whispers of pale ivory interlaced with hints of blush and ribbons of blue-green. A shimmery and celestial palette – like moonlight made corporeal – it was sure to complement the Dunmer’s dusky colouring.

“I… hope you like it.”

LIKE SILVER HELD BENEATH THE WATER'S SURFACE. She can't stop flipping it over and over in her hands to admire it, her eyes bright with seemingly unending enthusiasm; finding a new little detail on the blade each time. "I love it, I love it. Gods, it's magnificent. I can't believe you made this yourself, it's... oh, you shouldn't have! It must've taken so much time. I don't know if I could even bear to get it dirty!" She'd barely finished babbling about how pretty and intricate and well-crafted it was, already imagining which she'd pair it with and how she'd only save it for important contracts — special occasions, naturally — when Farkas stops her short with the appearance of another item.

Ariveth blinks wide-eyed and wordlessly at the box, taking it as if in slow-motion and looking up at him curiously. "Not a second gift, surely!" It can't be anything else, and she feels almost ( almost ) self-conscious at being the recipient of such generosity. Her nameday is something she's oft forgotten herself, as frequently as it comes and goes like any other day. Having it treated with any significance let alone being gifted feels unusual, but the excitement triumphs and exceedingly so. She pops it in her lap with a brilliant grin and quickly opens it, brimming with curiosity.

First she gasps, then she giggles, and finally she sighs and swoons upon picking up the item. Her amusement hails from the reminder of their fateful first encounter, yet it's equally as sentimental in that same purpose; and Ariveth glances at Farkas with an impossibly tender smile before returning to her admiration of the piece. Her eyes practically twinkle at the shifting colour, the glimmer of it when reflected in the light. "Farkas, this is beautiful. Where'd you get this?" It's such a thoughtful gift. He could've simply stopped by Fralia's stall and picked any random shiny trinket he'd wanted and she'd have appreciated it. But something like this couldn't have been easy to source, and to realise how he'd made a point to find something meaningful to her, something that would complement her, and something he knew she'd like and wear... she's not the type to get sappy, but it does tug firmly at something in her chest and set warmth behind her eyes.

Ariveth is careful when she pries open the gap of the torc to slide around her neck, pulling it taut once more and looking down at it where it rests upon her collarbone. She beams contently, pleased gaze finding Farkas' before she moves to climb into his lap with her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, claiming his mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. Every bit of appreciation and adoration is poured into it, for everything she knows she doesn't deserve that he's given her regardless — she almost wants to scold him for it. Instead, she buries her fingers deeper into his dark hair, releasing their liplock only to pepper his lips with soft kisses.

"I more than like it," she murmurs, touching his handsome cheek with a fond little sigh. "I love it. I'll cherish both forever, just as I cherish you."

[theoutcastrogue]

7+1 Classic American Pocket Knives

1) Toothpick, slipjoint folding knife, white plastic scales (shell knife, aka Handle Knife Patent), nickel silver bolsters, slender clip-point blade a.k.a. toothpick (not to be confused with the Arkansas toothpick, which is an ironically named humongous knife). Tang stamp "COLONIAL PAT No. 231064", 11 cm closed, 20th century (mid-20th, maybe?)

2) Fish knife, slipjoint folding knife, cracked marble celluloid handle with a fish-shaped shield, nickel silver bolsters, carbon blades: 1 clip-point and 1 saw/hook-remover/bottle-opener. Tang stamp "Imperial PROV. USA", 12.5 cm closed, c. 1946-1956.

3) TL-29 a.k.a. electricians knife, linerlock folding knife, rosewood handle with brass inset "TL-29" and lanyard ring, nickel silver bolster, brass liners, carbon steel blades: 1 spear-point and 1 wire-stripper/flat screwdriver. The name stands for "Tool, Lineman, number 29", originally from the U.S. Army Signal Corps. Tang stamp on the ricasso "CAMILLUS NEW YORK", and on the blade "TO RELEASE PUSH CENTER LOCK TO LEFT", 9.5 cm closed, circa 1960s.

4) Trapper, slipjoint folding knife, dark red bone (peach seed jig) handle with nickel silver shield "CASE", nickel silver bolsters, brass liners, chrome vanadium carbon blades: 1 clip-point and 1 spey. A Case model #31950 CV. Tang stamp on main blade "CASE XX" and 8 dots for date, and on the spey blade "USA 6254 CV), 10.5 cm closed, 2022.

5) Engineers knife, slipjoint folding knife, jigged bone handle with steel shield "USA" and lanyard ring, steel bolsters and liners, carbon steel blades: 1 spear-point, 1 bottle-opener/flat screwdriver, 1 punch, 1 can-opener. Identical pattern with an ubiquitous camping knife, later adopted for the U.S. Army Engineers. Tang stamp "CAMILLUS CUTLERY CO. CAMILLUS N.Y. USA" (4 lines), 9.3 cm closed, 1942-1945.

6) Buck 110 a.k.a. "Hunter", lockback folding knife, ebony handle, brass bolsters, stainless steel blade. Tang stamp "BUCK 110 USA" and date symbol, 12.3 cm closed, 2018.

7) Barlow, slipjoint folding knife, derlin (synthetic) handle, nickel silver bolster with fancy scroll work, carbon steel blades: 1 clip-point and 1 pen-blade. A Schrade #206, a.k.a. "Grand-dad's barlow". Tang stamp "SCHRADE USA 206", 8.5 cm closed, 1976-1983.

+1) Hunting knife or "Bowie knife", full tang fixed blade knife, jigged bone handle, carbon steel blade. The outlier, neither American nor a pocket knife, but made for the American market and advertised as a "bowie-knife" *, with its iconic clip-point blade. Tang stamp on the ricasso "ALFRED WILLIAMS SHEFFIELD ENGLAND", and on the blade "EBRO" between two Maltese crosses, 22 cm total, circa 1890-1920.

* For collectors, a "bowie" is a knife made for carrying (as opposed to keeping in your kitchen or toolshed), for the American market (regardless of where it was manufactured, the most famous ones are indeed from Sheffield), and somewhat arbitrarily, from 1827 to 1865 (from the Sandbar Fight to the end of the American Civil War). A more generous date range goes to the end of the 19th century, from 1827 to 1900. Everything else is up in the air: it can be big or small, simple or fancy, fixed blade or folding, with a clip-point or dagger or any other blade pattern, and of any materials. Today most people associate the term with a large fixed blade knife with an intense clip-point blade, regardless of when and where it was made.

P.S. I'm missing a stockman knife, and I want very specifically a Case medium stockman with clip, spey and sheepfoot blades, and a nice bone handle (pattern stamp 6318SS).

[light-effects]

Raynor Blackwood

Class: Time engineer

Age: 23 years old

Personality: Like the frequency of light, Raynor is best represented by the rainbow spectrum of visible light wave. He often brings a practical perspective to the group and acts as the voice of reason, but he is also unpredictable and impulsively decisive. If he set his eyes on something there’s no backing down no matter how much it cost him.

Raynor is very good at analyzing problem and comparing information, making him a very effective time engineer. However that also gives him an obsessive trait where he will redo something until it appears as close to perfection as possible. Whenever he’s in tunnel vision, it is almost impossible for him to snap out of it since he will likely keeps looking for defects even after there’s no defects left to look for.

Despite his confusing demeanor, Raynor is actually a very simple person. He find contentment in little things and can pick himself up quite quickly in dire situations. It’s easy to make him laugh as it easy to upset him. Unfortunately this also makes him insensitive as he usually fail to grasp why his over-the-top decisions are considered cruel.

Raynor is also an extrovert that has no idea how social clues works. He gets lonely easily and so has trouble staying still, always needing something to distract himself from the reality that he is alone. Raynor sees himself as the big brother of the group, and desperately wants the other two to depend on him.

The letter describes Raynor as "Death itself dressed as human" and that he is a ruthless protector of the weak.

Fighting style: Raynor is very flexible, his movement is swift and quiet. Combine that with his ability to turn into a flock of black butterflies and his parkour skill, Raynor can be very stealthy. He approach targets from different angles and catch them off guard, a minimalist that strikes like the dead of the night and will not get into an unnecessary fight.

Accompany his assassin fighting style, his primary weapon is dagger accompanied with basic knowledge in human anatomy the location of major arteries and veins.

His main weapon aside from dagger are short sword and large shield. He can exert magic into his sword to make it expand in size without increasing the weight, the glowing part of the sword can penetrate lepton bond, breaking anything it touches on atomic level. Thus, can permanently severed immortal beings' limps. Although he cannot endure fatigue as well as Arland, Raynor can tank more hits from the enemy compared to the other two.

Raynor has the best marksmanship out of the three and is very proficient with his sniper rifle being able to make an accurate shot as far as 3,000 meters without a scope.

Raynor is left-handed and can only hold his sword as well as aim with his left hand thus, can only hold shield with his right hand. However, he hold dagger in either of his hands although he still prefers his left hand more.

Skills and abilities: Raynor was born with a natural gift for black magic which he refer to as elder magic. Black/Elder magic is separated into, practice of relativity and practice of static.

The practice of relativity included rewinding time and restoring object. For rewinding time, he needs to sacrifice people or animals lifespan. One year of life equals to one minute he can rewind. Once time is rewinded, the sacrifice will stay death. Raynor abused this spell a lot and so is constantly surrounded by death animals that seem to appear out of nowhere.

Restoration magic is a less complicate technique of rewinding time where only a certain set of atomic particles is rearranged, this only work if the object were damaged for less than 12 hours and only work on object.

With practice of static, Raynor can turn into a flock of black butterflies for a quick travel and escape. While he's in this form, he can still be captured but no attack can harm him as he himself also cannot harm anyone. However, he has a limit for how long he can stay in this form which is 30 minutes at max but once he turns back to human the timer will be reset.

On advance level, Raynor’s conscious can leave his body and enter objects or machines. This allow him to find defects in complicate machine or even escape any form of physical pain as well as the reality itself and his conscious can choose to never return.

If that happened, Raynor's brain will automatically develop a new conscious to replace the old one and the old conscious will be permanently locked out of his body. Each time new conscious is developed, it will also be less and less grounded in reality.

Aside from the magic skill above, Raynor also suffer from a chronic illness where his magic is constantly leaking. This cause him to constantly starve, and turn his blood black as the leakage cause his blood cells to age past its expiration date. Since his blood is technically rotten, purification spell will burn away all of his blood cells resulting in all healing spell being deadly to him. However, his wound heals at very fast rate due to this and so medical aid is usually not needed. His leaking magic can also grow or aged small critters and plants to death in a span of couple seconds.

This illness is likely developed due to constant exposure to parasites that drain magic out of people, one can be infected by them through eating from eating raw meat of infected animal, eating rotten food from the garbage or sleep with rotten corpses in their coffins.

Other notes:

1. His circlet is decorated with jasmine leaves, the white flowers on his armor sleeves are also jasmine.

2. He hand painted his armor black once a week to prevent it from rusting, indicating that he fought in a slow war that takes place for a long period time.

[sleetkissed]

@zalimbane sent

 there is a package left by the usual haunts , scented of vanilla and rosewood; a small vial within of potion used to paralyze , and a curved dagger newly sharpened . below each , a letter with neat and precise handwriting : I was in the neighbourhood , i thought these might be to your liking , but may be too heavy a burden for a pigeon , i hope they find you well . PS . there is a man by this description who needs chasing down and disposing of . the description is below , he is a scoundrel so this may be a good hunting game , chase him and make it as brutal as possible . and do what you wish with the body . E G.

────────────────────────

   𝕃𝔼𝕋𝕋𝔼ℝ𝕊 .   unprompted interactions

────────────────────────

      𝐂𝘂𝗿𝐢𝐨𝘂𝘀.      Just as she was about to head out to the city, parting from her beloved atelier, her humble antechamber beheld a little surprise for the artist. The distinct scent of rosewood immediately caught her attention, a familiarity Esteri got used to by now. The woman was in no hurry, thus taking her time to inspect the mysterious package, slender fingers carefully wrapping around the dagger's body, getting a feeling for its weight in her hand.

  Then, the letter below.

An indifferent gaze flies over each word, savoring the handwriting, for it was more satisfying to read than her everyday exchange with various politicians of the great city. The thoughtfulness of not loading up a pigeon with the box was wise. For both the bird's  &  the sender's well-being.

     ❝ What a sweetheart you are . . . ❞     Murmurs the bhaalspawn   —   a singsong remark, folding the letter back, careful to prevail its overall tidiness. Both the poison  &  the blade will do nicely for this spontaneous assassination. Her palette lacked some shades of red anyway. And what a delight to keep the oblivious target after their eyes would flutter open, exhausted by the after effect of the tranquilizing potion.

    This will be grand. The sorceress will make sure of it.

[anikabooker]

A look in the other's direction indicating that no, she wasn't an idiot, and no, not a pit filled with rosewood — but a simple wire trap, that was activated once the metal string was pulled, tugged on by the target. A careful selection of daggers shot at the creature — agonising sounds echoing through the woods on impact.

"We've got our guy." forefinger raised gesturing in the direction of where the scream was coming from. Anika was fearless for the most part — well trained and rational. Difficult to crack under pressure, or be caught unprepared. She was only ever vulenrable, when asleep and slumber, never came easy these days.

Stealth was key even when their victim had already been caught, perhaps they were not alone — and so slow and steady steps moved across the green, words low and quiet, "How long have you done this for?" she asked; not just the hunt, but the kill too.

"You do know these things can jump really high, right?" She says, heading down the trail in her full kit, the weight of it something she's less and less used to these days. "What did you fill a pit with rosewood or somethin'?" Soleil is, or was, for her part, more used to a city hunt before Roanoke, before Port Leiry. Rural areas aren't a stranger to her, no, but it's always easier when the hunting ground is concrete and asphalt. It makes things... more organized. Less wide open. And hunting things on the outskirts of Port Leiry? In Granola Off-the-Grid land? You're just as likely to get shot by some Sovereign Citizen or a stray werewolf as you are to find you blood-sucking culprit. "Good that you did, foresight is the key to success - last thing we need is some yokel getting in the way here."

[theprovinggrounds-blog]

The Proving Grounds XXVI - Beach Brawl!

The fish has all been fried, the chips all finished or tossed out to the gulls, and Eorzea prepares to match until the milder Autumn moons, but there is one last heat wave to take advantage of before all of that settles in! One last bloody hurrah for the sunny beaches as we go to paint that pristine sand crimson. That’s right, the Proving Ground’s Beachside Brawl is upon us! Break out your swimwear one more time, grab a fruity drink with seven umbrellas, and watch as some of the fighter roster’s finest slug it out in one of the most demanding tourneys cooked up! Because it’s not just a single brutal beating sending challengers home tonight, our losers will have a chance to prove themselves worthy of another shot at the dagger through a double elimination style tournament!

Headlining the first fight is the very first champion versus champion match in the history of the Proving Grounds! Freshly crowned as the first Golden Dagger champion, the well weathered Highlander showman Rothgar Gunnarsvard will be taking on the only remaining Ivory Dagger champion and the fighter with the most bouts under their belt, Bremwyda Abylnpfefwyb! Two titans of the games squaring off for the first time, bringing the weight of their titles to bear against each other is an intro match you do not want to miss!

The other half of our unfortunate souls who’ll be put through the ringer repeatedly this time around is made up by the masked Steppe warrior Kojhin Oronir and his quest for another bloody brawl, and his ‘Ghostly’ opponent Silam Kisuk who’s eager to have a rematch against the relentless force from the East. These two have clashed beautifully before, and the both of them have only had time to reflect on the ways they’d go about murdering one another more efficiently since then!

And of course, we’ll get to watch all four of these hardened veterans of the sands on a very different stage out in Eastern La Noscea, and they’ll be earning their chance to take their battered ass to task right around again to claw at another handful of glory. This one is going to be special, folks! Gather at the rear pavilion (( 36.5 , 25.5 )) in Eastern La Noscea on ((Saturday, September 7th)) at ((8 PM EST, 5 PM PST))!