#They'll be. Going through a lot.

[that-weird-mime]

Pretty sure Miitopia is going to win, so I'm making some refs! I meant it when I said this was self indulgent, there's going to be ocs galore (shoot me an ask if you want an oc in this too! Zac already has a couple.) Anyways, our dorky hero Frankie. Before crap hit the fan, they were traveling the world documenting monsters they find. They know a lot about most monsters and can (and probably will) ramble on for hours about their little specifics and how they live. Really upsetting for them to beat them up at first, but they'll get used to it. The guardian spirit will be around a lot more, and is Frankie's little cheerleader.

They struggled to keep friends, mainly due to their travel and their utter lack of social awareness. Kind of hard on themself. But they care a lot, and oigjdsmre I love them, I'm so happy I'll be able to use them more AUGH.

On another note, all of our team members will be from different places around the land! Frankie's from Greenhorne, so their upbringing was one of the most peaceful.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Wake up, BurningCheese/GoldenSpice babes, new poorly drawn blorbos just dropped

They look cooler in my head, I swear.

the images didn't show up the first time wtf lol

The kids are finally here, yay. I promised I'd show you them, and I finally stopped being an asshole and followed through. Almost got 200 followers and I'm very grateful for it - really, I'm nobody. I'm just some clown who says dumb stuff and makes dumb memes and writes cringey stories, and yet I convinced almost 200 people to tune in. Thank you all so much, users on here and anons in my inbox alike. As a token of appreciation, you can all endure my rambling about my OCs and witness a person in their early 20s draw like a 12 year old.

The boy is Pepper Jack (or Pepper Jack Cookie). He's the firstborn and older than his sister by a few years. He takes after his mother in a lot of ways, primarily in her appearance (save for nabbing his father's red eyes). He's incredibly bright (and a smartass lol), preferring to think his way out of conflict rather than fight his way out... not that he's above violence at all, if that glaive doesn't give it away lol. He harbors a deep sense of love and loyalty towards his family and his peoples, and carries the weight of his responsibilities and heritage with as much confidence and poise as he can muster. (There are/will be times where he stumbles, of course. He's not perfect. He struggles a lot more than he lets on, really. But he tries his best, for everyone's sake.)

The girl is Matar Paneer (or Matar Paneer Cookie). Again, she's the younger one by a few years. She was all but made in her father's image, save for inheriting her mother's eyes. She's a little firecracker: lively and fun-loving and stubborn as a mule. She doesn't ask "can I have/do this thing", she tells you "I'm going to have/do this thing". Golden is proud as anything to see her daughter be so greedy... until that greed comes into conflict with her and Spice's authority lol. But she's a good kid, despite being such a handful. She has an enormous heart and is not afraid to stand up for others/what's right, and she loves her parents and brother more than anything in the world. She might doubt her own capabilities, she might secretly fear that she's not strong enough to do what she needs to... but she keeps pushing anyway, because she'd honestly choose death over quitting.

Your eyes are not deceiving you, Pepper Jack's wings are blue lol. There's an actual reason for that. And that USO (Unidentified Sitting Object) in Matar Paneer's hair is a lotus (the cheese one in the GCK decor set lol). There's a reason for that, too. I thought it would be cool to give Jack a glaive and swap out the normal blade for that of a khopesh sword (glaives are not Egyptian, they only saw use in Asia and Europe, but I just HAD to give him a glaive), to add that Egyptian touch. Paneer's supposed to be wearing a pattu pavadai, it's a traditional Indian dress for young girls. It's a blouse plus a skirt. She's holding katar, Indian knives (Cilantro Cobra has them, too). And her hair's supposed to be in a low ponytail.

Merchant thinks that if they explain what their terrible drawings are supposed to convey, people will understand their intended vision and the pain will stop

I sat down and did research into both Egyptian and Hindu mythology for the sake of drawing inspiration for them both. I'll explain in detail in another post, but basically: both of them take after one Egyptian god and one Hindu god each. Golden takes after Ra and Spice takes after Shiva, so I figured I'd follow along that line.

Please flood my inbox with questions about them now. I've really been dying to talk about them for ages now. I've drafted extensive character sheets for them both, I even made up in-game descriptions for them lol. They're my little fankid blorbos and I love them :') I hope you all come to love them, too

(Also, I'm sorry they're on lined paper. I'm visiting family rn and that's the only paper my grandmother has in her house. I'd have to drive to a stationery to get printer paper and I'd really rather not drive in this particular country lol (shit roads, even shittier drivers). I'll doodle them on printer paper whenever somebody remembers to bring me some)

[cakemoney]

there are six color-slices on the orrery wheel. there are six main types of rolls (other than magic and mark) based on the original kids on bikes/brooms concept. there were six heads (including evan's) during the confrontation with evan's shadow entity in the first season

i normally don't post specific theories because i get embarrassed if i'm way off but thinking emoji

[fromtheseventhhell]

"It's normal for siblings to fight" Okay well it's not normal to be extremely classist and look down on your sister for being non-conforming. Or to go to the woman who ordered the death of your pet to tell her about your father's plans, when he specifically warned you against doing so, because you want to marry the boy you saw attack your sister and her friend (contributing partially to said father's death and your sister being unable to escape on the ship he chartered). Or to think of your sibling as unsatisfactory in comparison to another when you believe her to be dead. I notice that none of the "Sansa and Arya are going to reunite and instantly have no issues" crowd ever acknowledge any of this, which makes it seem like they don't actually believe what they say about their relationship being normal and easily reconciled. People wanting them to have no issues simply because they're siblings is another example of how fandom likes to flatten complex characters and relationships. They get reduced to being bickering siblings when their conflict runs deeper than that. If the author is telling you that they have "deep issues" to work out [X], I don't understand being so adamant about ignoring said issues. I also get the sense it's about ignoring the capacity for a certain character to be flawed, but that isn't going to change the fact that her "slip of the tongue" is very likely to be revealed and a source of further conflict 🤷🏾‍♀️

[mars-ipan]

some postgame doodles for pride month

[inkstainedarchivistmagpie]

You know, playing through Penacony after playing through both Persona 5 and Who's Lila practically back to back is an incredibly surreal experience and makes everything hit you as hard as we hit Sunday with the Astral Express.

[megidoreyn]

Happy Satan Saturday! 🌞 Had to draw the canon Satan husbands fusion of Walter-Lucifer and Jonathan-Merkabah to celebrate😈🙏👼💕 I hope everyone has a great weekend! 💙💛

💙twitter 💙bluesky 💙misskey 💙pillowfort 💙poipiku

[tastycitrus]

the flora discuss conductors

[g00seg1raffe]

And now, the thrilling sequel: Celebrían, Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen’s names!

I’m not touching their titles with a 6 foot pole. I'm sorry but this already took like 7 hours and I do actually have work I’m meant to be doing. It also makes my life easier that the kids do not need two separate identities from each side of the family since their parents are not mortal enemies who murder each other, which is half the amount of work for everyone. :)

*

Celebrían

Celebrían, Celeboriel a Galadrien, Hîril Imladris

Teleperína, Teleporniel ye Alatárien

Tyelperína, Telporniel Naltarienyë, Heri Arcimbele

Celebrían = Sindarin meaning silver queen, from celeb = silver and rían = queen/crowned lady.

Celeboriel = Sindarin meaning daughter of Celeborn, from Celeborn (minus -n for smoother pronunciation) and -iel = daughter of.

Galadrien = Sindarin meaning daughter of Galadriel, from Galadriel (minus -l for smoother pronunciation) and -ien = an alternative form of -iel meaning daughter of.

A = Sindarin meaning and.

.

Hîril Imaldris = Sindarin meaning lady of Rivendell, from hîril = lady, feminine equivalent to Elrond’s hîr, and Imladris = Rivendell.

Teleperína = Telerin meaning silver-crowned, from telpe = silver and rían = crowned. (Technically rían is Quenya but whatever, Tolkein loves his mutually-intelligible languages so I can do what I want.)

Teleporniel = Telerin meaning daughter of Telepornë (Celeborn’s Telerin name), from Telepornë and -iel = daughter of.

Alatárien = Telerin meaning daughter of Alatáriel (Galadriel’s Telerin name), from Alatáriel and -ien = an alternative form of -iel meaning daughter of.

Ye = Telerin meaning and, specifically for two items.

.

Tyelperína = Quenya meaning silver-crowned, from tyelpë = silver (the archaic inflection of the Teleri-influenced telpë, probably used exclusively by Fëanorians due to their little pet peeves about linguistic purity) and rína = crowned.

Telporniel = Quenya meaning daughter of Teleporno (Celeborn’s Quenya name), from Teleporno and -iel = daughter of.

Naltarien = Telerin meaning daughter of Naltariel (Galadriel’s Quenya name), from Naltariel and -ien = an alternative form of -iel meaning daughter of.

-Yë = Quenya suffix meaning and, used when combining two titles into one rather than in daily use.

Indori Arcimbele = Quenya meaning lady of Rivendell, from indori = lady or mistress of a house, the likely feminine of Elrond’s indor, and Arcimbele = Rivendell.

.

Why no Telerin ‘Lady of Rivendell’? because I can’t figure out how to translate that, so I’m going to invent some reasons why she would never use Telerin enough to bother translating her titles.

Galadriel speaks both Quenya and Telerin - which are very similar and mutually intelligible but not actually the same - and was originally named in both, due to having a Noldorin father and a Telerin mother.

Crimes are committed and Quenya is banned. Telerin sounds close enough to Quenya that you’ll get arrested for speaking it, and people aren’t very sympathetic when she explains that it’s not actually Quenya but a different language that sounds exactly like Quenya that is also spoken in Valinor alongside Quenya, and in fact they share many words so it is really very, very close to Quenya - but I swear it isn’t actually Quenya. (It’s also close enough to set off Celeborn’s PTSD-induced anti-Noldor squick.) So, Galadriel attempts to distance herself as far away from Quenya and Telerin as possible while she remains in Middle-Earth.

In fact, there was a lot of soul-searching that took place before she decided to name her daughter in Telerin as well as Sindarin, and she never did name Celebrían in Quenya at all.

So Celebrían grew up speaking Sindarin exclusively, because while she does, intellectually, know how to speak Telerin because her mother sat her down and taught her, she has no real connection to the language. And, of course, Quenya is for war criminals…

…And apparently kind-hearted half-elven bad-boys with the most adorable dimples like Elrond, who is so whole-heartedly, incandescently in love with his House and his heritage that it’s contagious. So Celebrían drags out her never-used Telerin name and translates it into Quenya so that she can enjoy being Noldorin with her husband. It’s very sweet.

Of course, she does then decide she wants to connect with her Telerin heritage as well, but, well, there aren’t many Teleri in Middle Earth, so that has to wait until she sails to Valinor…

*

Elladan

Elladan, Elrondion a Celebríon

Laurefinwë Eldatan, Elerondion Tyelperínionyë

Elladan = Sindarin meaning Elf-Man, from eledh = Elf and adan = Man.

Elrondion = Sindarin meaning son of Elrond, from Elrond and -ion = son of.

Celebríon = Sindarin meaning son of Celebrían, from Celebrían (-an dropped for smoother pronunciation) and -ion = son of.

A = Sindarin meaning and.

.

Laurefinwë = Quenya meaning golden Finwë, from laurë = golden (of light, not the metal) and Finwë.

Eldatan = Quenya meaning Elf-Man, from elda = Elf and atan = Man.

No epessë = I couldn't think of a good one and neither could he. Suggestions welcome.

Elerondion = Quenya meaning son of Elerondo (Elrond’s Quenya name), from Elerondo and -ion = son of.

Tyelperínion = Quenya meaning son of Tyelperína (Celebrían’s Quenya name), from Tyeperína and -ion = son of.

-Yë = Quenya suffix meaning and, used when combining two titles into one rather than in daily use.

.

Why Laurefinwë?

Glorfindel/Laurefindelë my beloved!

Maglor/Makalaurë my extremely problematic but still very beloved genocidal mass-murdering kidnapper-turned-father!

Celeborn, my dearly beloved father-in-law who takes every opportunity to insult my family and heritage, may I present your grandson, whose father-name, which follows the Fëanorian family tradition, is a tribute to the name of your realm (Lóþlaurien, from lós/lóþ = flower, laurë = golden and -ien = land) translated into the illegal language and accent of the famous war criminals who destroyed your old realm of Doriath! (Celebrían loves Elrond’s blatantly passive-agressive responses to people’s prejudice and is a terrible enabler.)

Note: a more sensible translation of Lothlórien would be Lóslórien = flower dreamland, but in the interests of pissing off the father-in-law some sacrifices must be made

*

Elrohir

Elrohir, Elrondion a Celebríon

Tyelpefinwë Eldaroquen, Elerondion Tyelperínionyë

Elrohir = Sindarin meaning Elf-knight, from eledh = elf and ro(c)hir = knight. Ro(c)hir is a combination of roch = horse and hîr = lord.

Elrondion = Sindarin meaning son of Elrond, from Elrond and -ion = son of.

Celebríon = Sindarin meaning son of Celebrían, from Celebrían (-an dropped for smoother pronunciation) and -ion = son of.

A = Sindarin meaning and.

.

Tyelpefinwë = Quenya meaning silver Finwë, from tyelpe = silver (archaic form of the later, Teleri-influenced telpe) and Finwë. 

Eldaroquen = Quenya meaning Elf-horseman, from Elda = elf and roquen = horseman. Roquen is a combination of rocco = horse and quen = person. (Hence, the Quenya is gender neutral, do with that what you will)

No epessë = I couldn't think of a good one and neither could he. Suggestions welcome.

Elerondion = Quenya meaning son of Elerondo (Elrond’s Quenya name), from Elerondo and -ion = son of.

Tyelperínion = Quenya meaning son of Tyelperína (Celebrían’s Quenya name), from Tyeperína and -ion = son of.

-Yë = Quenya suffix meaning and, used when combining two titles into one rather than in daily use.

.

Why Tyelpëfinwë?

Celebrían/Telperína my beloved!

Celebrimbor/Tyelperinquar/Tyelpë my beloved, you deserved so much better than Þauron and even though we’re still dealing with the fallout of your arts and crafts project two ages later, we still think you were awesome!

Celeborn/Telporno my dearly, dearly beloved bastard of a father-in-law, meet your grandson, whose father-name, which follows the family tradition of the fuckers who destroyed your birth-city of Doriath, is a tribute to your own name, translated into the specific archaic accent that they used (tyelpë) due to being linguistic purists rather than the still-effectively-illegal-but-not-quite-as-bad Telerin inflection used in your own name (telepë) to distance yourself from the mass-murderers whose adopted son your daughter has married! (Celeborn almost disowns the brat on the spot.)

*

Arwen

Arwen, Elrenniel a Celebríel

Þerifinwë Arwen Undómiel, Elerondiel Tyelperínielyë

Arwen = Sindarin meaning noble maiden, from ara = noble and gwenn = maiden.

Elrenniel = Sindarin meaning daughter of Elrond, from Elrond (why it’s changed to Elrenn- I have no idea) and -iel = daughter of.

Celebríon = Sindarin meaning daugher of Celebrían, from Celebrían (-an dropped for smoother pronunciation) and -iel = daugher of.

A = Sindarin meaning and.

.

Þerifinwë = Quenya meaning broideress Finwë, from þerindë = broideress, Fëanorian þþþ inflection of serindë, and Finwë.

Arawendë = Quenya meaning noble maiden, from Ara- = noble and -wendë = maiden. Almost invariably shortened to Arwen, just as Finwë's youngest daughter Lalwendë went by Lalwen.

Undómiel = Quenya meaning Evenstar

Elerondiel = Quenya meaning daughter of Elerondo (Elrond’s Quenya name), from Elerondo and -iel = daughter of.

Tyelperíniel = Quenya meaning daughter of Tyelperína (Celebrían’s Quenya name), from Tyeperína and -iel = daughter of.

-Yë = Quenya suffix meaning and, used when combining two titles into one rather than in daily use.

.

Why Þerifinwë?

She sews. And embroiders. And weaves. And knits and crochets and makes lace and spins thread and that’s her craft/special interest, ok? She’s damn good at it. She makes Aragon’s standard for the Battle of the Black Gate, the final confrontation of Þauron in the War of the Ring, emblem of hope and faith in humanity, a bright dawn of the Age of Men - that shit is important.

Míriel Þerindë my beloved! Y’know, the one who kickstarted literally the entire history of Middle-Earth with her death? The favourite devotee of Vairë, Weaver of Time? The one who channelled her Sight through her craft and ended up making a tapestry predicting, with staggering accuracy, the downfall of her lineage throughout the First Age? The one whose devotion to her yet-unborn-family was so strong that she chose to fade into Mandos to become one of Vairë’s assistants - basically promoting herself to the role of a minor deity - so that she might just have the chance to redeem something, anything, for her children? The one who caused the rocks to clatter just so in the cave where Elrond and Elros hid, leading to Maglor finding and raising them, the greatest thing the House of Fëanor ever did and the sole exception to the Doom of the Noldor: to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well? Yeah, I think she’s a pretty cool person to be named after.

Seriously, Arwen had to choose the Gift of Men, because Mandos couldn’t handle three badass weavers who quietly hold absolute dominion over the fate of Eä.

Celeborn, my most beloved father-in-law, have yet another grandchild named after problematic members of the House of Fëanor! (Headcanon that the shared Finwëan love language is pissing eachother off.)

*

In conclusion:

Celebrían, Celeboriel a Galadrien, Hîril Imladris

Teleperína, Teleporniel ye Alatárien

Tyelperína, Telporniel Naltarienyë, Heri Arcimbele

Elladan, Elrondion a Celebríon

Laurefinwë Eldatan, Elerondion Tyelperínionyë

Elrohir, Elrondion a Celebríon

Tyelpefinwë Eldaroquen, Elerondion Tyelperínionyë

Arwen, Elrenniel a Celebríel

Þerifinwë Arwen Undómiel, Elerondiel Tyelperínielyë

I have no life

[infiniteseriesofhalfways]

sitting in the parking lot thinking i might vom

[hella1975]

the closest ill ever get to being a pick me girl is the joy that fills me when the chefs at work so clearly favouritise me. like im there nicely cleaned up in my smart-casual uniform just a 20 year old waitress smiling my customer service smile and behind me spawns Scary Dog Privilege 10x in the form of several burly middle-aged chefs at least three of which have criminal records and would all stick a bread knife in someone for bothering me

[eddiepeaches]

feeling so loved and cherished tonight!!! got to see all my favorite people, I have amazing friends 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

[fragmentedblade]

I think I've become an official HI3 player. I check the HSR leaks hoping for iterations of HI3 characters now

[tangledinink]

First of all I couldn't remember the name of your blog to ask this question and keep searching for twisted spoon.

Second of all, dude I loved ch 12 but I'm so worried about the boys. Like what will they eat now that they're turtles? Can Donnie have any of his safe food or will it not work with turtle digestion? What if Raph accidentally cuts someone with his spikes? It just seems like so many things can go wrong I'm simultaneously worried and excited for the next chapter

First of all, changing my url right now, twisted spoon is way better--

Second of all, thank you so much! But don't fret! :) They're not gonna have to worry about feeding themselves for the next few days! :)

[ehlnofay]

It’s not until she hears Sissel’s knees hit the floor that Efri is jolted back into her body.

She blinks, whipping her head around. Sissel is kneeling, bracing a palm on the ancient stone pavement, at the barrier – no, the barrier’s gone, it’s just Sissel on the floor. She lifts her head and meets Efri’s eyes; her hair is wispy and wild, the little plaits meant to keep it neat come loose and tumbling, her eyes wide. The barrier's gone, but still, her pale face is lit up blue.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She doesn’t speak loudly, but it echoes in the great stone chamber.

Nine, Efri doesn’t know.

She blinks again, looks down at her hands, clinging to the metal stick so fiercely that her joints ache. (Her own stick, her nice wooden one, is still on the floor somewhere, where it slipped out of her grasp when she hit the wall.) The lumpy heavy end of it, the clobbering end, is still resting on –

Not on. It’s in the thing’s head, fitted neatly in the opening of its dented helmet, the horns spiralling over the floor. There’s a tooth, perfectly preserved, by Efri’s foot.

One by one, she unwraps her gloved fingers from the handle of the metal stick, letting it drop to the floor with a clang so loud it makes her wince. Kazari is nosing at her side. (When did they let go of it? When did they get so close? She must have missed that. She feels out of the loop. Her heart is juddering like fish on a line, battering like some frightened trapped thing at her ribcage, and her breath is coming fast and heavy.) Absentmindedly bringing up a hand to press over her sore shoulder, she says, “’M fine. Not too – barely touched me.”

Kazari turns and spits on the floor. Efri blinks. She does it again, tongue lolling out of her mouth, face very disgruntled – and oh, Efri gets it. She does not glance down at the thing at her feet; she doesn’t need to, she knows what its arm looks like, chewed almost to pieces even through its banded armour. (If she hadn’t been so busy being scared of it, that sight might have made her a bit scared of Kazari. But not now, when they’re trying to hack and spit the taste of dead man arm out of their mouth.)

Efri unclips her canteen from her belt and holds it out. “Here,” she says. Her voice is rough. Her heart is racing too much to let constructing sentences be easy. “Not much, but –”

Kazari stands still while Efri tips half of the remaining water onto her tongue, and then Efri watches her swilling it around in her mouth, trying to bathe all of her teeth in it, before she spits it again on the floor at the dead thing’s feet.

The water is still clear. That’s something, at least; the dead man was too old to still have blood in him. Or maybe he was embalmed, drained of it hundreds of years ago, thousands.

“Are you okay?” Efri asks Kazari when they’re done, because they were the one doing most of the fighting, who was closest. They tip their head, shift their weight – wince when they put weight on one foot. Their lips peel back from their teeth. Their clothes on that side are singed.

Efri points it out. “Your robe,” she says, which makes it sound much fancier than it is. She’s too tired to think of a better word. She rubs a hand over her face, pushing the hair back over her forehead, says, “I’ll reinforce it for you when we get out.”

Kazari noses at Efri’s shoulder – the shredded fabric of her dress, the fraying edges stained with blood. Efri says, “I know. I’ll have to sew that up too.” Over her shoulder, she calls, “Kazari’s leg’s hurt, I think.”

“There’s blood on you,” Sissel replies. She peels her hand off the floor and leans back on her heels.

Efri touches her shoulder again. “’S fine,” she says. “Just a scrape. The blood’s drying already.”

It’s really sore, actually – the flesh abraded and tender, an ache sinking deep into the muscle – but it’s normal sore, the kind of sore you really should be after being thrown into a wall. It doesn’t feel sprained or dislocated or anything like that.  Just like it will be bruised a whole rainbow of colours come tomorrow.

Kazari noses at it again. She leans too far forward and falters on her maybe-hurt leg – rights herself, wincing, and rolls her shoulder. It gleams, just for a moment, and she nearly stumbles again. Efri puts out a hand to steady her. (It doesn’t really accomplish anything – Efri’s strong, but she’s not that strong – but it’s the principle of it.) “What was that spell?”

“Pain relief,” Sissel says from behind her. “I think. Doesn’t actually fix anything, but.”

“You’ll be okay ‘til we find someone?” Efri asks, and Kazari nods. She presses a hand against their shoulder and nods back.

They both turn to look at Sissel, then, who’s just kneeling on the floor, sitting on her heels.

“You all right?” Efri asks her.

“All right,” Sissel confirms. She doesn’t look at them. “Didn’t even come near me.”

She’s staring.

Efri crosses the floor to stand with her. (She needs to lean on Kazari – her legs are too wobbly, and she doesn’t want to touch the dead thing’s stick, doesn’t want to look for her own. Kazari limps a little on their sore front leg.) There’s a moment of total, humming silence – all of them still and staring, necks craned back, looking up at the thing.

Whatever it is.

It’s a ball. Big and blue and shimmering, it floats above a wide crystalline dish set into the floor, spinning on an axis. Just spinning and spinning and spinning, endless motion. Its smooth surface is cut through with dark wavering lines, etched with lettering, and it doesn’t quite glow but it doesn’t not glow, either, the light moving across it silkily, like clouds in a blue sky. It looks like something that should be humming – a low pitch in their ears, an eerie shiver dancing over their skin – but it’s silent. Inert, maybe, but for the spinning.

“What is it?” Efri asks. Her voice cracks as she speaks. She looks down at Sissel’s face, staring as though mesmerised, illuminated by the room’s dim lighting – the fires that should not still be burning down here, the luminous not-glow of the ball.

Sissel says, “I don’t know. Something important.”

Hovering above the dish, it spins, and spins, and spins.

“Is it what the ghost was talking about?” Efri asks. She tilts her head and squints at it. It doesn’t – well, it looks strange and unearthly and powerful, but it isn’t doing anything. And it hadn’t been clear what the ghost was talking about, exactly, according to Sissel, just that it was something important – but what else could it be?

Sissel, still watching it, shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think so.”

Efri watches it with her, brushing a bit more hair out of her face. It’s sticking to her sweaty forehead. She feels a drip of not-dry blood running down her arm under her sleeve.

Kazari is staring at it too – just as confounded as the rest of them. Efri sees the light in their irises shifting as the ball spins.

They’re not learning anything from staring, the ball staying strange and mysterious as ever, so Efri raps her knuckles against her sternum to steady her breathing (it’s slowed a bit – not normal, but closer to it) and climbs up onto the stone rimming of the dish. Kazari, behind her, lows in consternation; Sissel catches her breath, a noise like a creaking door. “Careful,” she says.

“Promise,” Efri replies, and places her feet very, very carefully on the glassy blue flooring. Nothing happens. She doesn’t step on the dark curved lines as she treads toward the ball in the centre, slow and wary as if she were approaching a skittish animal. Nothing happens.

She reaches out, and, with just the tips of her fingers, she grazes the ball’s surface.

Nothing happens.

It’s cool to the touch, and smooth, like polished metal or not-frozen ice or delicate glasswork. It continues to spin gently under her fingers, warming her glove with friction, no smudges left on its clouded face.

 It really feels like there should at least be a tingle running up her arm, a strange and unfamiliar current, a spark. But it’s just Efri, standing with an arm outstretched, pressing her hand to a ball.

“It’s not doing anything,” she reports, and Sissel clambers up onto the dish with her, fitting her palm to its gently hovering underside. Kazari balks, begins pacing agitatedly. Efri frowns. “Why isn’t it doing anything? Shouldn’t it be doing something?”

“It’s important,” Sissel says definitively. There’s ancient dust on her fingers, but none of it seems to transfer. “It’s something really special, I think.”

Efri shifts restlessly. She shifts her grip and tries to grab onto the dark ridged curves ringing its surface, but they slip easily away from her grasp as though her touch was no barrier at all. “But what does it do?”

Sissel shrugs.

Behind them, Kazari lows.

Efri drops her hand and grabs Sissel’s wrist. “C’mon,” she says, and when Sissel frowns at her, “We’re not going to learn anything about it this way. We have to look for clues!”

Kazari makes a more impatient noise. (Efri thinks she found a clue.)

Sissel gives the ball one last searching look and lets Efri tug her away, off the weird blue dish and down to where Kazari stands on the stone floor, at the head of the table where the dead man sat. Efri sniffs loudly and tries not to think about it too much. The table is smooth polished stone, worn a little away with time; Efri trails a gloved finger over the edge and directs her attention to where Kazari points with their chin.

There’s something carved into the surface, the edges blunted and shapes softened by however many years it must have been since it was put there. Efri squints, trying to make it out. She has to stand right up on her tiptoes to get the right angle to see much of it in full.

“That’s not letters,” she says eventually, frowning. She’s pretty sure she knows her alphabet well enough by now to know that. “Is it magic?”

Sissel shakes her head. “I don’t know what it is. It’s not like magical writing I’ve ever seen.”

Efri looks at Kazari, who also shakes her head. “Maybe it’s a different sort of lettering,” she theorises. It must have been written a long time ago, if it’s from back when the city had people. Onmund’s been reading all about it for ages, and he’s told her a bit – Saarthal was the city of Atmorans, populated by proto-Nordic people. All complicated history stuff. But they weren’t quite the same as Nords today, he said, so it stands to reason they had different writing, too. They’re supposed to be uncovering and cataloguing artifacts (at the thought, Efri glances back at the hovering ball and swallows an inane bubble of laughter) so she suggests, “Maybe you can copy it and we can show it to someone. I’m sure there’ll be someone at the College what knows what it is.”

Sissel, also standing on her toes, nods dutifully. “What will you do?”

The chamber they’re in is cavernous, and about empty but for the ball in the dish, the altar and chair, the body on the ground. “I’ll check him,” she says, and points. “See if he has anything on him that’s special.”

Sissel follows her finger and grimaces.

She digs out her note-paper and her stick of char, and Efri assumes it’s clues time, but when she turns she feels a hand grip her elbow. She looks back over her tattered shoulder at Sissel’s face, her furrowed brow.

“Promise you’re really okay?” she says, voice anxious and solemn.

“Promise,” Efri says, twisting her arm to touch her friend’s hand. Sissel presses her lips together and lets go of her arm.

Kazari trails after Efri to look at the dead man.

First thing is the metal stick. It’s magic someway, Efri knows – he waved it and threw her into a wall, flung spells with it – but she’s not sure how. Doesn’t know enough about enchantments. Didn’t need to, to use it; when Kazari clamped down on his arm she just ripped it from his grasp and –

She doesn’t quite exactly remember, actually, except for the bitter tang of adrenaline in her mouth and nose, the horrible grunting and scuffling sounds, the heft of the stick in her hands. Impact, over and over and over, against something that had a little more give each time.

Efri scrubs a hand over her mouth and grips the handle of the stick. It takes effort to wrest it out of the thing’s face, caught as it is by the edges of the helmet, and when it’s finally yanked free it’s – actually not as bad as she might have expected. There’s no blood, and the corpse was so desiccated it already didn’t even really look like a person anymore, so it registers less as someone with horrible violence done to it and more as a really gross art piece. It’s not nice. She doesn’t like the twisted, gaping mouth, teeth embedded wrong-ways in its tissue and scattered like coins over the floor. And one of the eyes, which had glowed unearthly blue, is now a dull, rotten black, squished like a plum in its socket.

It's worse the more she looks. She sniffs and turns away.

“This is magic, right?” she asks Kazari, testing the weight of it in her hands, the cool surface of the metal, and they nod. “A good artifact?” she adds, and they nod again, emphatically. Efri sets the stick aside and kneels.

It wasn’t wearing any clothes, really – or if it was, they rotted away. She touches the rusted armour gingerly, tries to avoid brushing her gloves against the shrivelled skin at all. Whoever it was had expensive taste, it seems – there’s jewellery in a shockingly well-preserved beard, pendants around the neck, armbands. Efri asks Kazari if each thing is enchanted. No to the armbands, no to the beard-ring, and then, pressed against the wizened chest where the flesh contours to the ribs, she finds some kind of necklace, sharp-edged and thrumming. Kazari nods to that, and, face scrunched up like an old fruit, Efri reaches around the ancient neck to slip it off.

She tucks it into a belt pocket with the tripwire necklace they found at the weird wall.

“Done,” Sissel says. She folds her paper and slips it into her own pouch. Her footfalls on the echo-y stone floor as she approaches the body for the first time are almost silent. “Did you find anything?”

“Necklace,” Efri replies, watching Sissel’s face pinch at the sight of him. “And – stick.” She scoops up the metal stick and holds it out. “He did spells with it.”

Sissel looks at it warily. “Is he a draugr?” she asks, glancing back down at his mashed-up face.

“I mean,” Efri says, “he’s got to be, right?” She’s certainly never seen a draugr before, but what else could it be?

(Calling it a draugr makes her shiver, the set of her shoulders quaking. She’ll stick to dead man.)

Sissel shudders. She reaches out to grip the handle of the stick, and Efri’s not sure if she’s taking it or just trying to keep herself upright. “I can’t believe that happened,” she says. Her voice sounds, suddenly, fragile. “I can’t believe we’re alive.”

“Me neither,” Efri says. She presses the tip of the stick into the ground so Sissel can lean on it, stands a little unsteadily.

Kazari, with a hushed murmur, telegraphs something. Efri recognises the head incline of understanding – she’s familiar with that word, that idea – and, after a moment, the flickering ear of doubt.

“They’ll have to believe us,” she says with conviction, because she means it. “We’ll show them. They’ll see for themselves.”

Kazari presses their nose to her head.

Efri clasps her hands together. “We’ll go tell someone now,” she declares – though it’s easier said than done; they were lost in the ruins ages before they even found the crumbling wall, the halls, this horrible wonderful chamber. But they’ll get un-lost eventually. They’ll get out eventually. Surely. They have practice enough with walking. “But first – help me find my stick.”

[midnight-in-town]

Predicting Cordelia's last resolve

I wish I could write something more sensible and optimistic, but this chapter almost tore my heart out...

For obvious reasons, Gudrid has a lot of plot armor and so does Karli. It makes no sense, considering last month's chapter, to have Thorfinn losing them right now, so it seems the story is rather heading towards Cordelia finding the strength to protect them, no matter what.

After all, even if Thorfinn & Gudrid were the only ones who ever told her "it was okay not to fight", they are also the ones who welcomed her without fear and who worked things through with Halfdan so that Cordelia would finally know freedom.

Cordelia is a kind soul, someone who dislikes fighting and war, but she loves Thorfinn and his family way more. She definitely won't kill, but she will probably die to protect Gudrid, Karli and his newborn brother with that strength of hers.

TBH as much as I really really absolutely love her character, I unfortunately don't think Thorfinn, Hild & co will make it in time. T_T Not with them currently being chased too. Last hope I kinda have is Ivar and Styrk finally becoming useful and saving them (instead of, y'know, triggering more conflict)...

But unfortunately again, Cordelia dying might also be the only way, narratively speaking, for characters like Einar, Ivar, Hild and Styrk to realize that staying in Vinland will cost them everything they've achieved so far (and that Thorfinn is actually not such a bad leader).

If anything though, as a dim ray of light deep within the storm that war brings, this chapter proved Thorfinn was right.

Even amongst the Lnu themselves, "desiring swords" simply translates as a way to control others: they pretend to be righteous and to act as leaders, because "violence" is the most effective way for them to keep their power over others.

Honestly I'm devastated. ;_; It's not Cordelia's first death flag, Sensei left hints here and there that she would probably sacrifice herself to save the place in which "she finally could live as herself" but, after this chapter, I've next to no hope of seeing her survive. T_T

Please prove me wrong, Yukimura-sensei...!