#alchemist blowing on a fire

[tiredandlonelymuse]

He learned to make a fire in the woods, he says. As a child with awkward hands and fingernails bit down to the blood draw, he was a small intruder rustling through the brush. He shows me how he does it, in a cold house on a hill. An “X”, a tower, a steeple, open it up and see all the people. I watch solemnly from the collapsing couch and bend my bare toes forwards and backwards till they might break. The little flame isn’t taking. I watch it hard and I will it to grow. I first tense the arches of my feet, my calves, my thighs, my shoulders, my arms, and my teeth. I stare at the clumsy pile till my eyes salt-burn and beg me to blink. Grow little flame grow. It catches, and with it, his face. The satisfied smile tears across his cheeks in tandem with the center log toting new flames along its spine. He doesn’t know that it was me. I don’t say anything. He’s too proud. One day he will make a fire out of me. One sheet of my dry skin, crushed for kindling. 5 brittle bones for tinder. Poking and prodding in a brick cave, he will blow and give it life. I will glow, with orange meringue peaks along my back. He will smile. He doesn’t know that it was me.

-Date with an Alchemist, 2022

[ssplague]

Benighted Beloved

Chapter two

Masterlist

Warnings: Some Katsuki-esque violence this chapter, that’s all.

Honorable mentions 💌

@lalachanya  @mrsmelaninhood 

@whatdidshesayyy @faemagic88

@viridianhero  @alishii @rv19 

@maggiecc 

✨ 🌙 ✨

“There sat a Crescent Moon on her forehead”

“Here you go, it’s rosehip tea, make sure you drink it while it’s hot, that way you won’t end up with a cold” the man you now know as Midoryia Izuku hands over a steaming mug.

“Thank you so much for your help, I’m new around here…I…well I wasn’t sure where to go…I hope I’m not causing you too much trouble” your voice is quiet compared to the storm beating against the walls outside. The change of clothes he’d given you were soft on your skin, the well worn fabric held a fading lilac scent, as did the quilt set beside you. The hot tea goes down easily, a soothing warmth spreads from your fingers to the tips of your toes. “You aren’t causing me any trouble at all I promise, I had planned on returning to the capital city for the celebration, but I’m sure it was postponed due to this sudden change of weather” the green haired man replied as he adds a couple more logs to the fire burning in the grate.

“Celebration?” You ask, intrigued despite the sleepiness washing over you. Izuku nods as he prods the newly added logs with a poker, “One of my most treasured friends has finally found the one he wants to share his life with, to be honest with you a majority of people never thought he’d marry someone because of his harsh personality but…the few of us that know him well knew that was a lie” he’s smiling again as firelight danced in reflection of his emerald eyes. You had set your now empty cup off to the side, silently stretching out across the couch and snuggling up beneath the warm blanket. Content to sit in silence as your host got caught up in cherished memories, you were sleeping soundly in minutes. Eventually when Midoryia did resurface from memory lane, his face burned red with embarrassment as he realized he’d forgotten you were here with him! “I’m sorry y/n! I spaced out, how rude of me! I was going to tell you that you could rest in the bedroom if you like, I’m fine with the couch-“ Izuku abruptly shuts up when he notices you were asleep.

“She must have been exhausted…poor thing”

Quietly, he tip toes over to grab your empty mug, deciding to fill it with water incase you woke up thirsty. While kneeling down to pick it up, the firelight sparkles across something that draws his eye immediately. 

A crescent moon.

A golden crescent moon, on your forehead…a shaky finger briefly runs across it, that was real, no make up to smudge away.

With wide eyes, the now startled man bolts from his den and into the kitchen.

You! But how?!

Why?!

Oh goddess!

How could you have found your way here?! Weren’t you supposed to be with Kaachan?! Oh no what if you had run away?!

Scarred hands tangled themselves in green curls as he tired to wrap his now frazzled mind around this discovery; Kaachan’s runaway bride being found here in that damn Deku’s study!

I’m a dead man walking!

“It’s gotta be a mistake, it can’t really be her…yeah of course it isn’t her…she’s miles away from here, back in the capital where she’s supposed to be” a chuckle escapes  between his manic muttering as the deflating man lowers himself to the floor. Izuku’s shoulders sag with relief after convincing himself it was a simple case of mistaken identity. Leaning back against the cabinets, his eyes momentarily close and a relieved sigh blows across his chapped lips. Only for them to fly open once more as a loud knock suddenly echoed from the front door of the cabin, making the alchemist yelp in response.

Getting to his now shaking legs, he peeks down the hall and listens for any sign you had woken up.

Silence follows, only to be disturbed by the now continuous knocking.

Forcing one foot infront of the other until he stands at the door, the terrified man forces himself to open it. The happy face of Kirishima greets him, “Hey there Midoryia! Sorry to just drop in on ya like this, thank goodness you weren’t back at the capital already”.

“Are you gonna let us in? It’s fucking pouring out here dammit!”

Bakugou’s snarling voice puts the fear of god into Izuku as he jumps aside to let the two soaked men in.

“Oh uh hey there Kaachan, Kirishima…what brings you two out here? Thought you’d be back at the castle, you know…to celebrate-“

“Ain’t nothing to fucking celebrate”

Yep, he’s most definitely a dead man.

Katsuki wrings out his cape on the doorstep before slamming the door shut, just as he does so, Izuku returns with a couple towels he’d grabbed from the linen closet.

“Thanks man” says Ejiro, flashing fangs with a smile “That storm hit outta nowhere as we were flying back, his majesty over here insisted we keep flying through it, until he almost got his wing zapped that is”.

The aforementioned male didn’t reply to the jab taken at him as he dried his hair off. The other two men looked at each other, the green haired male looking at the red head with evident confusion on his face. “He’s pretty upset”mouthed Kirishima and Midoryia gulps silently before nodding.

“I wanna hang my cape up in front of the fire” the blonde mumbles, noticing the lack there of in the front room’s grate.

“Sure! Let me just grab some of the wood I have in my den!” Izuku exclaims a little too excitedly as he spins on his heel.

“Nah man you don’t gotta do all that, we can just use the one you have going already, right Bakugou?”.

“Oh no it’s okay, I don’t m-“

Deku’s panicked response is drowned out by a gruff “Sure, what the fuck ever, I just want to warm up”. 

The angry Royal starts moving towards the short hallway, and immediately finds his way blocked by the much smaller man, “Really Kaachan, it’s no trouble! We can make a much bigger fire out here, the one in the den can only be small because of all my flammable materials-“.

“Oh shut it would you!” Growls the already frustrated monarch, “Otherwise there will be a far greater threat to your stupid materials than a goddamn fireplace”. After the threat had been made, Katsuki makes to move past the annoying bastard blocking his path. Only for said bastard to side step, effectively blocking his way again. Izuku internally cringes at the sudden ire that lights up in the hellfire eyes glaring daggers at him. Even Kirishima fights off the urge to shudder as the energy inside the cabin shifts drastically.

“Get.out.of.my.way.Deku” the bigger man’s intimidating voice starts off quietly.

“Listen Kaachan-“ the smaller man at least tries to reason with the other, but is cut off.

“You’re acting real fucking brazen nerd, too bad that today really was the wrong day for you to grow a pair” taking a step closer Bakugou puffs out his chest as he sneers down at Deku.

“Look it was an accident really, I didn’t know! I-“ a startled cry escapes the green haired man as a sparking fist takes hold of his shirt collar.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You don’t know shit! Oh I get it…You think its funny don’t you? Funny that she ran away afraid of me?! Go ahead and laugh! GO AHEAD AND LAUGH I FUCKING DARE YOU!” Snarls shifted into screams as the dragon shifter lifts his prey off it’s feet. The tight fisted grip singed the fabric of the shirt it held. Just as Kirishima springs into action to separate his friends, fast footsteps come racing from down the hall. They were immediately followed by a frightened, but still demanding, feminine sounding shriek, “STOP!!!”.  

All three men froze, each set of their respective eyes moving to locate the source of the shout. It didn’t take long for them to all locate you, half your body still hidden in shadow of the dark hallway.

A/N: I know this was short, but I still have two full chapters already finished (& much longer) and one partially completed 🥰 All the praise I received over the story this far is incredible & always deeply appreciated ❤️‍🔥

[the-world-annealing]

An arbitrary element system

(Inspired by @discoursedrome writing this, original post seems to have been deleted so I'm linking to a reblog; also apologies to Samin Nostrat)

SALT: Associated with protection, preservation, and constancy. Marble statues, ramparts, cats, trees, and the priestly/noble classes are all considered strongly salt-aligned. More abstractly, astronomy, architecture and to a lesser extent currency all fall under its purview as well. Salt-aligned characters run the gamut from honorable knights to peaceful gardeners to bronze age god-kings. Its season is winter.

Magic of salt can create create impassable wards, render promises unbreakable, or unleash curses of petrification. It can never be used to separate or destroy, and its more powerful effects often require elaborate sigils to be drawn. Those skilled in salt magic have their lifespan greatly lengthened, and may live for many centuries, but find their minds growing ever more rigid and inflexible.

FAT: Associated with creation, growth, restoration, and foresight (as fat is, by its very nature, a store to be used in the future). Fat is associated with predators (especially birds), craftsmen, and the merchant class, as well as healers, teachers, musicians, and writers. Its season is summer.

Fat magic can grow a house from a splinter of wood, grant its wielder another man's face, twist entrails into the shape of the future, and even revive the dead for a time. However, it is powerless to affect anything that was never alive. Its effects become more potent the longer they are maintained, but doing so drains ever more of the wielder's reserves: many a mage has tried to push past their limits and combusted in flames on the spot.

ACID: Associated with destruction, upheaval, and scarcity. However, acid is also the element of forgiveness, freedom, persistence, and honesty, and governs unlikely alliances and fire-forged bonds. Scavengers and vermin are aligned with acid, as is anyone who falls outside of the conventional social hierarchy: beggars, criminals, outcasts, and ascetics. Its season is autumn.

Acid magic creates can summon hailstorms, spew gouts of burning oil, conjure frightful phantasms or inflict wracking pains. Magic that undoes charms and curses also falls under the element of acid, as does anything that facilitates travel between the planes or calls their denizens here. Acid magic demands components of great rarity; gemstones, powdered dragonscale, the bones of saints. Those who cannot pay a spell's price must suffer its scarring backlash instead, and most senior acid mages are hideous to look upon.

HEAT: Associated with transubstantiation, purification, ambition, and toil. Farmers and unskilled laborers are heat-aligned, but so are smiths, herbalists, glassblowers, and of course alchemists. Herbivorous animals are a manifestation of this element, as are the shoots and grasses they feed upon. Its season is spring.

Heat magic often manipulates energies. Telekinetic effects are heat magic, as are blasts of radiance or bursts of heat. A shield of heat magic may dissipate powerful blows as harmless light, or even reflect the force back onto the attacker. Obviously, heat magic also includes all those magics that turn a substance into another, from turning lead into gold to rusting iron or calling water from rock. Its wielders are forced to specialize ever more: the more powerful an effect one wishes to conjure, the more facets of this magic become permanently unavailable. Thus, the masters of heat magic are those that have found many creative applications for a single spell effect.

[sailing-ever-west]

terrible anime AUs for your consideration:

- One Piece where everything is the same except devil fruit powers don't make you unable to swim Luffy just literally never learned how

- Fullmetal Alchemist where everything is the same except when Roy makes fire instead of snapping he just flips the bird at whatever he wants to blow up

[mammalsofaction]

39

39. Perryshmirtz kissing as....time runs out

From the prompt list here.

Sugar, we're going down swingin'

Rating: T

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Angst, ambiguous ending, human Perry the Platypus, OWCA Files AU, PTSD flashbacks

A/N: Bit of a cliche but I loved getting to stretch my minute made writing muscles again. I considered a fluffy alt but I know Lex loves a bit of grief in her morning coffee.

Canon compliant to my Human Perry lore. Eve had been his sister (Ferb's biological mother), who died in the line of action about 12 years ago here.

---

There was something to be said, Perry thinks, of panicking.

(Every sound rang clear as crystal, as murky as dirt. He can feel his own pulse beating beneath his skin like every artery connected straight to his heart. It’s almost tranquil.

We've been here before.)

"Agent P," Harry yelled. It's difficult to hear over the sound of falling rubble, and the blaring alarms resonating through the inside of the volcano, and through the sheer rushing of blood through his ears. "Please, we need to leave!"

"Perry?" Heinz whispered. Perry looks up to him then, numbed of all feeling, save for the bleeding wound on his hip, stinging enough to remind him that he was, at least, still alive. He's looking up, he's staring, but he's not quite seeing. Perhaps physically, they were all trapped inside the lair of an alchemist madman, set to collapse above his head any minute, and to be fair it is all terribly exciting. But Perry was, in truth, bearing down a steel doorframe of an old warehouse stinking of gunpowder, dust and sweat, cradling two small bodies against himself, praying for the mercy of a God he doesn't believe in for a few minutes he could no longer afford 20 years ago.

"Can you walk?" Heinz asked. Right, yes, because he'd asked that question too, that fateful night of fire and gunpowder. What had Eve said to him then?

I can fight. He signed, and he pushes himself off, handing over the briefcase containing what they'd all come here for. The evidence, the antidote, the killing blow. Go, I'll catch up.

(He'd thought about what she'd said, there, in hindsight. He thinks it was meant to be funny. That was how she defaulted to things, on account of Perry not having a single humerous bone in his body, in stark comparison. She was the good cop.

We'd learned to fight before we'd learned how to walk, that was what she always said. There was pride in that, to mask the sadness underneath.)

The henchbots kick against the hinges of the only door holding them back, and bolts come flying. It won't be too long now. Heinz had frozen, briefcase pressed into his chest as he stares a bit dumbly at how Perry attempts to hold himself up, checking the ammo of his guns, so Perry gives him a little push to emphasize his point. He catches Perry's outstretched hand, instead.

"You can't be serious." He hissed, and Perry shook his head. "Come on."

There was only one pod left out of here, and Karen and Maggie had taken the only other one. Between their bulk, the briefcase, and the sheer speed they had to push for in order to make the gate closing any minute now, Perry would only slow them down.

Go, Perry said, and for a second his guard comes crashing down. His hand trembles, pressed against the side of his chest, and it is closest he'll ever get to a wobbly lip. Please?

"You-," Heinz said, but with one mighty kick the door finally bangs open under the assault of manic steel feet. Heinz flinched, but Perry opened fire, trigger finger cool and steady. Two simple headshots. He had 5 bullets left, and a mob to deal with.

"Guys, come on!"

"I'm not leaving you here." Heinz hissed, the grip on Perry's wrist almost crushing. "We're leaving together, or I'm not going anywhere, you hear me?"

Oh.

Oh, Heinz.

As rubble falls and crushes the control panel of the exit gates behind them, and the echo of a dozen feet barrels down the corridor, Perry tugs him closer, and their lips meet like an electric shock, still every bit of a thrill as the first. He feels it tingle right down to the tips of his toes, and slick swipe of his tongue down on Heinz's bottom lip like a promise.

They part with a gentle smacking sound, breathing the same air. Perry wants to remember this. He wants to leave on a good note.

"Perry," Heinz chokes, either on dust or on his own heart. "What do you-,"

I'll catch up. Perry lies, and presses on the trigger for the grappling hook on his belt. Heinz grunts, wide eyed, as it latches on the exit way of the foyer, right next to Harry himself, and Perry treats himself to one last look of his baby blue eyes wide open in fury as it pulls him back hip first.

5 bullets. Perry uses one of them to shoot a hairline fracture down the side of the wall, and the support beam keeping the lighting features aloft gives up the ghost. No way out. No way back in.

"Counting down, lair self destruct." The robotic overhead intercom announces, pleasant and calm. "T minus 10 seconds."

"Trespasser located." The henchbots declare, stepping into the foyer, falling apart. Perhaps one of them. Perhaps a bunch of them at once. He can hardly tell--blood seeps down his side in rivulets, and his head feels heavier by the minute. The edges of his vision begins to blur, and he can't quite tell what's up from down.

But Perry's got a gun in a steady hand, and he's got 4 bullets.

"Resistance is futile." The bots warn, the last of their cogs whirring. It's all appropriately dramatic.

Perry grins.

[tegu-the-tegu]

Flavoured Artificer Concepts

Artificer is by FAR my favourite class in Dungeons and Dragons, primarily for how customisable they can be with regards to their flavour; because of the ability to cast through any tools you are proficient in, it gives a LOT of range to how your magic works. As such, I will put some ideas I have had to build unique Artificers.

An Artillerist that uses woodworking to carve totems; they are flavoured as a tribal shaman that summons the spirits of magical creatures to aid in battle. Their flamethrower turret conjures a dragon spirit to burn their foes, their protector turret calls the spirit of a unicorn to protect the virtuous, and their ballista invokes a manticore spirit to pepper distant foes with spikes. Their other spells can also be flavoured this way, such as Thunderwave being flavoured as an Aerosaur spirit emerging from a totem and flapping its wings to blow enemies away!

A Battlesmith that uses leatherworking to create a horrific stitched Frankenstein's monster for their steel defender. Every time they kill things, they skin the corpses to repair their hideous flesh monster. Or, if you prefer, you could stick with the shamanistic theme from the Artillerist entry, and use leatherworking to maintain the pelt of the first wolf you killed; its spirit inhabits that pelt, and defends you to this day!

An Alchemist that uses chef's tools to create supernaturally delicious food that cures illnesses and grants supernatural abilities. I have actually played this, he used brewers supplies to create caustic acidic drinks, had peppers so hot that it made your breath ignite to cast fire spells, and he would spray sticky toffee over the area for web. He would make food puns, and was named Guido Fiero.

An Armorer that uses jeweller's tools to create bling that imbues them with magical powers. A circlet that grants a force field, a ring that shoots lightning, a pair of bracelets that create thunderous shockwaves when brought together. Then, when you hit level 9, you can have distinct infusion tied to each one! A circlet or diadem or whatever for head armour, necklace for chest armour, anklets for boots, and bracelets or rings for the weapon! Perfect for a wealthy nobleman artificer who wants to broadcast their glamorous lifestyle.

There are loads of other things you can do with each tool proficiency, and it's a shame that the class is so easily pigeonholed into "The Tech Class". Not to say I don't like the gnomish tinker that creates fantastical and crazy gizmos to mimic magical effects. Hell, my character in the campaign I'm not DMing is exactly that, an autognome (Flavoured to look like a normal gnome in the face, so they appear normal when wearing their clothes) that woke up one day in a tinker's lab next to his deceased creator, and then left to try and find a purpose in the world. He has an insect motif, so all of his spells and things are flavoured as small clockwork insects he makes.

But the point is, while that's a staple of the Artificer class fantasy, there are loads of other ideas to flavour it! A calligrapher that writes arcane runes in the air, a potter with a terracotta soldier for a steel defender, a weaver that knits arcane circles, a painter whose drawings become magical effects, a glassblower whose glass figurines come to life, I can't think of one for cartographer's tools, but I bet there is a dope idea in there somewhere!

Even as I mentioned before with leatherworking, you can have the exact same class, the exact same subclass, and the exact same tool, and STILL have wildly different flavour! One is Doctor Frankenstein, the other is a mystical shaman with a spirit guide!

Anyway, that's today's rambling. I would also do a thing on subclasses the Artificer could have, given they only have four, but that's a whole other rant. Besides, this is already a thesis.

[the-dork-urge]

Rugan X Tav ~ Not what we signed up for~ PT.1

Part 1 (part 2 will soon follow)

SUMMARY: Not long after the Nautiloid crash, you find yourself once again saving your old mercenary partner. There's plenty of catching up to do, and perhaps some explaining

PAIRING: Rugan x (male or female) zentharim mercenary

WORD COUNT: 2.870 SFW: for now

The Risen road

Clutching a serrated dagger in one hand and a scrapwood shield in the other, your breaths came in a measured, steady rhythm as you surveyed the chaos unfolding around you. Your eyes, sharp and vigilant, darted from one gnoll to the next, calculating their movements with precision.

With a primal roar, the largest gnoll charged forward, its massive form bearing down upon you with ferocious intensity. Bracing yourself, you tightened your grip on the shield, muscles tensing as you prepared to meet the oncoming assault. The impact slammed into your left arm, sending shockwaves of pain coursing through your body. Shield work wasn't your forte; you preferred the nimbleness of your dagger. But in this moment, fatigue clouded your reflexes, and you relied on whatever defense you could muster.

Despite the searing pain, you held your ground, determined not to falter in the face of the gnoll's onslaught. Gritting your teeth against the agony, you felt your feet slide slightly on the soft ground beneath you. Slowly getting pushed into the rocks behind you.

In that critical moment, Gale intervened with a barrage of magical missiles. His spells sizzled through the air, striking the gnoll closest to you with bursts of light that illuminated the chaos of battle like fireworks. The distraction provided by his magic allowed you to seize an opportunity for a decisive strike.

With calculated precision, you dropped your shield for a fleeting moment, driving your dagger through the exposed skull of the gnoll you had been fending off. The creature collapsed with a gurgled gasp, its threat neutralized.

At your side, Lae'zel swung her weapon in sweeping arcs around the two of you, carving through another gnoll with ruthless efficiency. Arrows fended off any other gnolls that dared to come too close to the two of you, originating from any spot Astarion had managed to hide.

You counted yourself fortunate, in a fleeting moment of reflection, for the ragtag group of nautiloid survivors who had proven themselves capable fighters. But there was little time to dwell on gratitude as another gnoll lunged in your direction.

Unable to fend off another attack with your shield, you instinctively dove out of harm's way, yet unable to fully evade the gnoll's slashing claws. The creature's nails, as sharp as daggers, left a deep, jagged cut on your arm, causing searing pain to shoot through the already weakened limb. Gripping your injured arm, you felt blood trickling down, staining your clothing crimson.

But before you could fully register the severity of your wound, a bright red light caught your eye, emanating from inside the cave. Realizing what the flying orb was, you shielded your eyes and leaped aside. The glass flask shattered upon impact, engulfing the ground just between you and the gnoll in flames for a brief, intense moment. The alchemist fire had found its mark, igniting the gnoll's fur, and you immediately smelled the acrid scent of scorched hair filling the air.

Another flask was thrown shortly after, hitting the gnoll again, sending it scattering and giving Lae'zel ample opportunity to strike the burning creature as it moved past them. Astarion, emerging from his hidden vantage point, darted forward with his dual daggers flashing. With swift and precise strikes, he delivered the two blows to the gnoll attempting to flee.

With just one gnoll remaining, it scrambled up the rocks where Gale stood guard. In a spontaneous reaction, you grabbed the makeshift shield from the ground and hurled it towards the gnoll. The impact of the wood hitting and splitting on the the creature served as a warning for Gale to react, who responded swiftly with a blasting spell. The force of the spell launched the gnoll back down the rocks, its neck broken.

Breathing heavily, you wiped the sweat from your brow, your gaze sweeping over the battlefield now littered with the fallen gnolls. Despite the toll of the battle, a sense of triumph and adrenaline suppressed most of the pain and weariness you had felt. "We've done it," you declared, your voice ringing with satisfaction. "Now, let's see what awaits us inside that cave." Striding forward, your arm throbbing with each step, you led the way into the cave. The darkness swallowed details, revealing only the dim outlines of two figures and the soft glow of alchemist fire flasks near the cave's entrance. As you pressed on, a flicker of anticipation stirred within, sure to stay on guard.

Suddenly, breaking the silence like a welcome echo, a voice resonated through the cavernous space. Your companions turned to you as they heard the voice. It called out your name, its low notes reverberating off the stone walls. Faces remained elusive in the dimness, yet you paid little mind. That voice was unmistakable and you would recognize it anywhere. * Waterdeep

Amidst the dimly lit chamber, tension hung heavy as the Captain's stern gaze surveyed the gathered mercenaries. Rugan stood beside you, his usual bravado replaced with resignation. You knew he was on thin ice with the captain, past indiscretions casting shadows over his every move within the Zentharim. "We trusted you with a simple task," the captain's voice echoed through the chamber, cutting through the silence. "And yet, you return empty-handed, with nothing to show but failure."

Your heart sank at the disappointment evident in the captain's voice, a weighty silence hanging in the air. Glancing at Rugan, you caught the pleading look in his eyes. It was a sight you'd never witnessed before, both of you acutely aware of the dire consequences Rugan would face if the truth came to light: his carelessness had led to a botched job. This mission was supposed to be a breeze for both of you, to retrieve a costly gem. Get in. Swap. Get out. But Rugan had blown your covers. Realistically, you had two choices here and now.

Firstly, if you advocated for yourself, and told the truth they would likely inflict severe punishment on Rugan—potentially taking a limb, or worse and more probable, his life.

Secondly, the alternative was a bit less straightforward. You could shoulder the blame, lie, and rely on your untarnished reputation to mitigate the consequences. There was a chance it might not work, and they could decide to end both your lives then and there. Nevertheless, the gamble of option two still appeared more appealing than witnessing Rugan's inevitable demise. With a subtle nod, you silently acknowledged Rugan's plea before gathering your resolve and stepping forward. Despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, your voice remained steady as you addressed the captain. "Captain," you began, each word measured and deliberate. "The failure of the mission falls on me. Rugan fulfilled his part; it was my error that led to the botched outcome. I take full responsibility and offer my sincere apologies."  

The captain's gaze bore into you, his eyes sharp and assessing. There was a flicker of doubt there, the first time you had ever faltered in your duties. Your reputation had been spotless until now, earned through your unwavering commitment and dedication to the Zentharim. But your loyalty to Rugan, above all else, was what really defined you, and you had learned that for yourself today.

And now, this damn man would forever alter your course within the organization. You had saved him before, hells he had saved you as well, but it had never been at the cost of anything grand. Reputation had been such a precious brittle thing. You were so close, perhaps only a couple of years away from achieving your goals, but now everything hung in the balance. In your mind's eye, you envisioned a future where you would exact revenge on every bastard who dared to harm Rugan or yourself. But for now, that dream remained just out of reach, tantalizingly close yet frustratingly elusive.

"Is that so?" The captain's voice was cold, yet a hint of doubt still lingered in his eyes as they flickered between you and Rugan. "Very well then. Since you're so eager to take the blame, you'll also take the punishment." Before you could say more, the Captain signaled his enforcers. With sudden force, they seized you, pinning you in place as the Captain approached, his presence looming over you. They twisted your hands behind your back with such force and swiftness that you felt a muscle in your left shoulder buckle, a sharp, searing pain shooting through your arm. Fear gripped you as you realized something was about to tear if they moved your arm any further. Without a word, he delivered his punishment, each blow landing with brutal force. First, your jaw, then your gut and ribs. Your body couldn’t help but move on impact, and perhaps worse than all the blows, was the pain in your shoulder. You gritted your teeth against the agony, refusing to show any sign of weakness. As the punishment ended, you held on until everyone had disappeared from the room. Then you slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, your body throbbing with pain. The irony of your blood trickling from your cheekbones tasted bitter. Rugan moved to your side. "Thank you," he whispered, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Managing a weak smile, every muscle aching, you felt the weight of your sacrifice settle heavily upon you, all you could do was cling to the hope that it had been worth it. ~ x ~

In your line of work, disappearing without notice usually meant one thing – death. Perhaps that was why, when he stepped into the light to meet his saviors at the mouth of the cave, he looked like he had seen a ghost. He rushed forward to meet you, his expression shifted from shock to a kaleidoscope of emotions – happiness, confusion, and a tinge of anger for the worry you had put him through.   He moved even closer, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

"(Y/n), where the hells have you been? I thought you were..." His voice trailed off, unable to voice the assumption he had made – that you were gone. Then, in a moment that caught you off guard, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

Feeling his arms envelop you, you winced as pain shot through your injured arm. Despite the discomfort, you leaned into the embrace, finding solace in the warmth and familiarity of his presence. ‘’you were never really any good at thinking, Rugan.’’ you joked.

‘’You fucking idiot.’’ He whispered with a smile , the anger disappearing from his frown. ''You wonderful fool.'' You chuckled as Rugan let go of the fleeting embrace.

"Is this Rugan?" Astarion inquired, his gaze sweeping over Rugan with a half-smile playing on his lips as you distanced yourself from your former partner, to find your space amongst your group. Astarion had asked if anyone was waiting for you back home in Waterdeep. You'd briefly told him about your time as a Zentharim, and mentioning Rugan's name.

"Yes, we were partners," Rugan affirmed, indicating the younger man standing nearby. "Well, former partners. This is Olly." You nodded at Olly, the Znehtarim had a tendency to recruit the young, with Olly barely reaching twenty.

"It would be most intriguing to hear about your shared adventures. I can only imagine they're quite colorful," Astarion remarked, his curiosity evident as he eagerly anticipated the tales to come. "Perhaps our exploits are best left unsaid in mixed company, Astarion. Though, if you can find a fine vintage, me and Rugan might be persuaded to share some more secrets." ''No more talking. Let us move onward.'' Lae'zel spoke, who stood nearby with her arms crossed, impatiently judging the sight in front of her. Gale, less confrontational, wandered around the cave, now inspecting a large strongbox further in. ''I assume this thing needs to come with?'' he asked, ''looks important.''

~ x ~ ** Waterdeep

The cool night air enveloped you both as you stood side by side on the rooftop, overlooking the sprawling city below. The distant hum of the city's bustling streets mingled with the soft rustle of the wind, gently tousling your hair.

"Does it still hurt?" Rugan's voice carried genuine concern, his eyes flickering over the remnants of bruises. But even before the question fully left his lips, he knew the answer. But even before the question fully left his lips, he knew the answer. He knew the pain of fractured ribs, the lingering ache of strained muscles, and the slow, tedious healing process that followed. After all, he had seen you endure your fair share of injuries over the years, and he had some of his own.

As he observed you looking over the panorama of the city, a wave of guilt washed over him. It was an unfamiliar sensation, this sense of responsibility for your pain. You had both weathered storms together, faced dangers head-on, and emerged victorious countless times. But this time, the wounds you bore were a result of his failures.

Despite the weight of his guilt, Rugan couldn't help but admire your resilience. And as he looked at you now, the moonlight bathing you, battered and bruised but unbowed, he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for the partner he had fought alongside for over four years. You had roamed these streets together, navigating the labyrinthine alleyways and shadowy corners with the ease of seasoned veterans.

"Yeah. But I've taken a beating before," you replied, your voice laced with a hint of humor despite the pain that lingered in every word as you spoke. "Had worse stuff happen to my face as well, the hilt of a sword, a horse's hoof. It's a miracle I survived that one."

Rugan couldn't help but chuckle at the memory, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a rare display of levity. "Remember when you slid off the roof, on your face?"

A playful glint danced in your eyes as you shook your head in disbelief. "I am pretty sure that was you. I don't slip, I am most nimble," you turned your head to face him.

"That was most surely you, las," Rugan countered, noticing a fondness coloring his tone as he recalled the chaotic events of that particular night. "Perhaps a year or two ago. Had to patch you up good, took us half a night and three bottles of my good ale."

"Then why do I not remember that happening to me?"

"The shame, probably," Rugan laughed, "Easier to suppress if you tell yourself it happened to someone else. And the drinks of that night might have had a little hand in forgetting."

You shook your head, a bemused smile playing on your lips. "I don't know, Rugan. That one sounds quite unlike me." Rugan knew better than to fight a gap in someone's memory, so for now, he was just satisfied with the banter between the two of you.

You missed moments like this and you missed being on the road with him too, to find respite amidst all the dreary seriousness that your job asked of you. It was the thing that had made your partnership work, but that same fondness was perhaps the biggest weakness of your partnership as well.

But right now, there was no work at all, just waiting around until the captain decided you were useful enough to go to work. Now, you were still healing from the injuries the captain himself had inflicted upon you. There was some irony in it, but you were too angry to see the humor of it.

"I’m getting a new partner assigned for now," Rugan said as if he was reading your mind, "young boy, still wet behind his ears. Eager little pup. Obeys every command."

"That must be wonderful, I bet the higher-ups don’t want you to wait for me any longer," you said.

"In theory, it should be fantastic. I could ask him to wipe my ass and he’d still agree. But I’d rather be out with you," he admitted, with a soft smile.

"Perhaps it’s for the best, Rugan," you admitted with a heavy sigh. "Go earn your gold. Show the boy the ropes. I’m not going anywhere." You raised your good arm and laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling him relax slightly under your touch. But you knew it was a lie. Once your wounds healed, you couldn't allow yourself to partner with Rugan anymore, no matter how much you would miss it. You had crossed a line when you took the blame and punishment. Your partnership had transcended mere professionalism. While you never regretted saving his life, you recognized that such altruism was unconventional within your circle. Acting out of kindness, especially knowing you would do it again without hesitation, defied the norms of your world. It would put the job at risk. What the Zentharim needed foremost was loyalty to the cause. They didn't need partners to get along; all they asked was to get the job done and bring back the goods, and you weren’t sure if you could do that anymore, not with your priorities all messed up. ~`

[adampalharine-art]

Day 018

Mikey falls from the orange vortex onto his face, feeling his skin tingling, struggling to stay upright, looking back.

Mikey: – Leo! Donnie! – He calls in desperation, running to the portal that no longer existed. - What? – he stares at the wall behind him, searching for answers. His brothers had sent him to the past... The two of them...

He feels his chest hurt and his eyes water. They had thrown him... They... They had sent him into the past, they sacrificed themselves for him. His brothers...

No! This was no time for crying. He needed... need to save his brothers. He tightens the handle of his Naginata, looking at the building in the distance, feeling his heart speed up and the cold run down his spine. Realizing that his father wasn't dead in there... He was in there and he was going to hurt him and his brothers if he didn't get in there.

With that thought in mind he runs to the building, entering there and sneaking through the shadows to the laboratory, holding the handle of his weapon tighter when he sees Draxun with his back to him. That was the best moment that... Was that Lou Jitsu?

He notices with amazement the man trapped in the mutagenic serum tank. Seeing the exact moment when Draxun picked up the four turtles, not yet mutated, and took them to their cocoons. Being more than shocked when he finally understood. Draxun had used the Nexus Battle Warrior's DNA to transform him and his brothers. Not his DNA like Mikey always thought.

That thought keeps turning in his mind, so... Draxun wasn't actually his father? Then...

He was shocked when Lou Jitsu freed himself and started fighting Draxun, also seeing the four turtles being thrown out of their cocoons and falling to the ground while things started to explode around him.

Chaos was forming, leaving Mikey somewhat bewildered, not knowing exactly what to do. Should he help Lou Jitsu? Should he save his brothers? Should he kill Draxun?

His moment of uncertainty almost puts everything to waste, he sees Draxun land a blow on the man who throws him away and sees the vines almost, almost hit him in a vital spot. His body thankfully moves and he manages to cut off the tentacles before they reach their target, casting a voracious look at his father.

Mikey: – Not this time...

He speaks angrily, throwing the chains towards the alchemist, who seemed stunned by his sudden appearance. Trapping him and throwing him away, seeing him hit his back against the wall and be buried by the rubble that falls on him.

He turns to talk to Lou Jitsu, noticing that he wasn't there, seeing him helping the four turtles and also seeing the boiler pipe about to explode.

Mikey: – Careful!

He warns, but it was too late, the pipe explodes releasing all the gas there, which ignites when it comes into contact with the fire in the environment and almost the warrior. Almost, because before it actually hit him, Mikey had placed himself between the explosion and the warrior, protecting the five of them, taking the full impact of the explosion. Being completely paralyzed by the pain that runs through his arms and legs.

Mikey: – Are you... Okay? – He questions looking at the man and the babies, relieved that they were okay.

Lou Jitsu: – Who are you?

Mikey: – I-It's... Doesn't matter... – he helps the man to stand, wincing, every movement he made caused him pain. – I... I'm here to help... – he flinches at the subsequent explosion. – Quickly, we need to get out of here.

Lou Jitsu: – O-Of course... But first. – he turns around, pressing the button to release the other creatures from their cages. - Now we can...

The capsule with the empirium explodes, taking Mikey by surprise, but Lou Jitsu protects him, receiving all the goo on his back. Mikey is still hit in the face by the serum, his eyes burn and tingle, it looks like someone threw acid into them. Still, he couldn't stop, everything there was going to explode.

If he looked up he could see, but everything was blurry. He holds Lou Jitsu by the arm pulling him towards the exit.

Mikey: - Quickly before... – he doesn't have time to finish his sentence, another explosion makes the ceiling shake, Mikey turns to see what it was.

And the last thing he remembers seeing is the fireball coming towards him.

[cugareal]

i love my big gnoll gal. she is 7'10" and obsessed with metallurgy just like me. she is a champion with inventor specialization whos oath is to love her friends so so much. she loves to blow people up with alchemist's fire all the time forever

[dxy-drxxm]

SYNOPSIS: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; may we meet once more, beloved Kreideprinz, perhaps you may remember my whispers once more. (first person pov drabble)

CW/s: Rukkha moment but its the reader, Venti is a little shit, Albedo doesn't remember-- all around bittersweet angst. Spoilers for the second event of Albedo, Shadows Amidst Snowstorms.

A brush stroke there, and a dab of paint here. I could only watch in the back as they paint the canvas, and for a moment, I find myself wanting to get closer to them- to see what they were painting.

Though, all I could do was stop myself from approaching. After all, it seems they were having fun with it- it would be bad if I had decided to ruin what they've made.

I watched the blonde alchemist speak, noticing the shift of his tone and the way he carries himself. He seems shocked at the outcome- was the painting that bad? I'm not sure. The one next to him, the outlander…

…

He seems.. Embarrassed? How strange. Though, all I could really hear is just the howling of the wind in Dragonspine, and the crackling of fire. Normally, I would freeze from this temperature, but ever since I was replaced, all I could do was watch.

I could see a floating pixie there, seemingly upset at the painting. She was pointing at it, yelling and stomping her foot. I can only guess she hated the results, and when I was close enough to see it, I could see why she's angry.

The composition wasn't that bad, but it was clear he didn't have too much experience in painting. The face depicted of the same child, but looking much more like a.. Dopey one- like she was relaxing too much in the pot she's in. She didn't even look as bad, but perhaps.. Dumber. Yes.

The wind began to blow as I stood, and I couldn't help but chuckle. But they didn't react to it, as they were immersed into the moment.

… Of course they wouldn't do that.

I was dead in this world— or, to be frank, nonexistent. Erased from the roots of Irminsul.

Only the archons and the Principles seem to know I exist, I remind myself bitterly, my eyes closing as the wind kissed my cheek.

And if it wasn't for that God who had punished me for going against it before my life was sealed in the abyss, perhaps I may have—

—No. It's pointless to think of the past. Especially with how things have changed.

I could see the alchemist raise his hand, and he began to work on the painting. Changing it from its base and adding details, giving more detail to the fairy's form.

It was fascinating.

I found myself captivated on it, and for a moment, I stepped closer, and closer, and clo—

What are you doing, hm?

The wind seem to howl, a mischievous lit of the voice I heard followed through it.

You know you can't come too close to them. You'd interfere the moment between the traveler and Albedo, the voice chided, like I was a child. Though, instead of snapping, I stayed still and stepped back.

… Albedo, huh? What an intriguing name.

It is a shame that he and I can't meet, though.

Letting out a sigh, I began to whisper:

"Ashes to ashes... … Dust to dust…

... May we meet once more, beloved Kreideprinz… … Perhaps you may remember my whispers once more."

The wind's chill seem to blow through the three, and for a moment, Aether shivered. Albedo's eyes flitted over to him, and before he could say anything, he heard something… Strange.

It was a voice. It sounded a mix of masculine and feminine, but distinct enough for him to tell it was different. He had to glance over to see where it came from, but there was no one present.

… Strange, he mused, glancing back at the traveler. I must be imagining things.

But.. How could he, when the voice spoke of his title?

Ah, but of course he'd chalk it up to such.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

@.enxgmx-wrxtxr | do not republish, repost, or copy my works anywhere | 2023

[littlelostmabari]

I don't know if I was supposed to do these in order but I had an itch to write a happy Wyll snippet so WE'RE BREAKING THE RULES.

Thanks to @kelandrin for the lovely BG3 Pride Prompts! (Link to that post here) (Dividers here)

9. First Meeting

Pairing: Wyll x Tav

Warnings: No warnings, unless you're squeamish about undead.

Word count: 1.4k

Arctavius swung down from the ledge above the brawl, shoving the ghast back with two feet and the momentum of his arc. Fighting unarmed had its downsides — namely that he was going to have to breathe in the nasty beast’s odor in order to get close enough to strike. His next blow failed to land, but the second shattered something within the creature and caused it to reel. Stunned. Good.

The momentary relief allowed him to survey the rest of the battlefield. Whoever this fighter was, taking on this horde of undead, was both extremely skilled and extremely stupid. There were too many of them to have taken them on alone. 

That's alright, Arctavius always loved an underdog. 

That's why he had entered the fray from his hunting perch in the ruined tower above the battle. It definitely wasn't that the man in front of him was easily the best swordsman he'd seen in an age, and losing such talent would be a waste. And it certainly wasn't that the man’s cheerful taunts fell on ears too dead to understand them, and yet he persisted. 

And gods forbid, it wasn't because Arctavius had a thing for tieflings. His eyes darted across the curve of the swordsman's horns and ornamented black — no, deep brown — locs that draped across his forehead and down over his shoulders. He allowed his gaze to be drawn down across the man's neck and shoulders, down down down to his bare muscled forearm to his wrist and hand and the rapier that he used as an extension of his own body. 

Nope, it definitely wasn't that the man was terribly, infuriatingly attractive. So much so that the recovered ghast got a claw down the right side of his hip when he was distracted. By the sweat beading on the unblemished ochre skin of the swordsman's neck, of all things. 

Get it together, you perv.

Groaning to himself, Arctavius pushed through the pain and punched the ghast directly in the face, shoving him back ten feet into a pair of ghouls that were clambering up the side of the wall preparing to ambush the tiefling from high above. They collapsed into a pile of limbs and angry undead noises, before Arcavius gently tossed an alchemist’s fire into the lot of them. It was good that undead burned easily, but the smell would probably linger. With a grimace and a slight turn of his stomach, he turned his attention back to the other swordsman, who [with my timely intervention] was rapidly downing the rest of the undead horde, with only a death shepherd remaining. 

He locked eyes with the other warrior just long enough to realize two things — one, that his eyes were mismatched in color, one a stony gray and the other a deep fiery red, and two, that this death shepherd was going to regret its unlife choices. 

~~~

Moments after the last of the horde had keeled over, Arctavius was patting himself down to check for injuries. The claw strike was the worst of it, and he mourned the robes he had just purchased from that roving caravan. They were a soft bloody red, his favorite color, and they had cost him dearly. He let his head fall back onto his shoulders to groan into the sky. Well, all was not lost. 

His head immediately perked up and scanned the battlefield, finding that the other fighter had disappeared. He felt his ears twitch, seeking and finding sound in the bramble bushes a distance north from the ruined tower. Scrambling in that direction, he stumbled almost into the tiefling man, who turned on his heel and suddenly he was face to face with not a tiefling, but a devil. 

It was there in the features. His claws were just a little too pointed, his eyes just a little too fiery. The horns weren’t right, and the points along his jaw — while undoubtedly attractive — were more purposeful than ancestral. Arctavius started, clenching his jaw as he looked about the man, taking him in in less violent surrounds. It meant he was unnerved when the man began to speak. 

“Hah! Well met friend. Seems I got a lucky break today, you arriving when you did.” The man closed his eyes gently and bowed swiftly, his right hand clutching into a fist and beating once on his chest in a friendly salute. Arctavius noticed that his left hand never left the pommel of his rapier, and had clicked it just so it sat outside of its sheath — prepared to draw if necessary. 

Friendly, but wary. Good to know.

“Indeed!” Arctavius copied the salute but bowed further and with greater flourish. “I could not let those nasty little critters get away with … well, whatever it was they were doing.” He forced his face into a disarming grin. Its meaning didn’t escape the swordsman, whose mismatched eyes glinted fiercely. 

“Hunting my wards,” he replied, and stepped aside to reveal a scene in the bushes that Arctavius did not expect. Six children in various states of fear and courage were curled up in the brambles. A tiefling boy, not more than ten, stood with his fists up in a decent fighting stance. A pair of elven twins curled around each other deep in the huddle. The other three — a dragonborn, another tiefling, and a human — looked at him with a mix of fear and curiosity. “They’re orphans of the recent calamity. I am taking them to their new home at the druid grove in Moonrise Towers, just over the next vale.” The dragonborn child pushed past the tiefling boy in front and clung to the back of the swordsman’s tabard, his little claws pushing into the cloth and holding on tightly.

“Are we safe, Mr. Blade?”

The swordsman — Mr. Blade — still with his gentle smile and crooked head tilt, looked Arctavius up and down slowly. He must have seen something halfway decent because he pushed his rapier back into its sheath with a click and turned to kneel in front of the boy. 

“Soon, Nemrac,” he smiled. “We will be safe soon. Ser Halsin will be so happy to see you.” 

The dragonborn child grinned toothily and dug in his pockets for a moment before pulling out a well-hewn wooden mallard. “Do you think he’ll make me another bird?” Mr. Blade laughed. 

“Yes, if you ask him very nicely.”

Arctavius had no idea what to do with this little scene. It could be that this devil-man was sending children to a grisly fate… but the way they looked up at him as they crawled from the bramble was with eyes wide open to his features. Mr. Blade cooed as he picked up one of the elven twins and rested them gently on his hip. The child reached a hand up to his horn to steady themselves. Mr. Blade took their sibling in a firm grip with his other hand and turned toward Arctavius who felt suddenly like he was intruding on a family reunion. 

“Well, we had best be on our way,” Mr. Blade said with a nod. “I’d like to get the children settled before supper. Thank you for your timely kindness, Ser…” 

“Not Ser, just Arctavius. Tav to my friends.” Arctavius wasn’t quite sure why he added that last part. 

“Tav, then.” He released his hand from the standing elven child and reached out in greeting. Arctavius took his forearm. 

“Wyll Ravengard, Blade of Avernus, at your service.” His grip was unyielding, but he released quickly enough that the child was not bereft of his comfort for long. “Thank you for the help, and may the Three guide your steps.” Wyll turned to the children and began to usher them down the hillside, their trek towards Moonrise almost complete. 

Arctavius glanced back up at the tower that had been his home for three nights. He had meant to move on eventually, right? And now that his temporary sanctum smelled of burnt ghast and ghoul, he wasn’t about to sleep here again? Right? 

He scrambled up the side of the tower to his perch some forty feet in the air, stuffed everything that wasn’t food [ew, smells of ghast] into his knapsack, and scaled back down the tower. With children in tow, Wyll wasn’t moving particularly quickly. 

“Hey, Blade!?” Arctavius called as he approached. “I’m heading back toward that vale anyway, would you like the company?” It wasn’t technically the truth — he wasn’t heading in any particular direction except that which the wind took him.

Then again, maybe the wind was telling him something, as he felt his stomach drop through his feet and his breath stolen by the aforementioned breeze at the smile that Wyll Ravengard, Blade of Avernus, was wearing as he joyfully waited for Tav to catch up.

[houseofjaqen]

hi ! I wanted to share the two stories that grrm has based his books about :(not talking about LOTR)

first we have : Memory , sorrow and thorn by Ted Williams

many of you will thinks that the hero of the story simon snowlock is the jon snow of GOT but trust me , grrm will not make a character who looks like simon snowlock for nothing :

this is is simon

this is jaqen show

and this is jaqen of the comic book clash of kings .

as you can see , this is is not a coincidence and nothing is a coincidence in grrm story !!!!

of course I will not talk about the plot of ted williams books because

it´s really similar to GOT . but the most interesting part is grrm has merged 2 characters together : simon snowlock+prince ineluki = jaqen h´hagar =the lost prince , the shadow prince who will avenge his family ......it´s really getting interesting ....

the second story is and of course Elric of melnibone by Micheal moorcock and of course also people will convince Elric as the jon snow of GOT : but and here it comes the most interesting part that will change many things :

do you remember the scene of the alchemist (jaqen ) with pate when he gave the golden targaryen coin and after jaqen killed him, you must see now this scene of elric in the comic :

after this scene elric killed all those men...........

elric is associated with those colors: white ,red,black

(he looks like bloodraven isn´t he ??!!)

other thing : elric has many names or titles better :

the white wolf : this jon title from GOT , but elric was named after that because he is seeing and communicating with a ghost of a white wolf isn´t interesting that maybe someone in the future books can communicate with ghost jon direwolf maybe !!!????

the white wolf , the pawn of gods , the champion of arioch, the assassin of your people , the sorcerer , the dragon lord , the last emperor +the kinslayer +prince of ruins +the womanslayer.........

focus with the titles: the assassin of your people : jaqen is an assassin of the faceless man ....everywhere he goes he kills someone .

the sorcerer : also jaqen is a sort of sorcerer

the dragon lord : soon he gonna be because it was foreshadow when the black candle begin to burn against three green candles (1 dragon against 3 dragons )

now elric description goes like this : ´´He is very tall, slender to the point of gauntness, yet elegantly muscled.

does this reminds of someone :´´ He is tall and slender, fine-featured. His hair is white and red´´

when jaqen departed from harenhall he said to arya that he has also duties and promises to keep .

and in that scene elric decide to departe and forsake his crown because he has promise to keep !??????

it´really long but I just wanted to explain that grrm has merged many characters and he gave us one who fits all of them . thank you for another explication <3

Hello Marianasue!

What a treat you gave me! It was a pleasure to read. Very informative post. Actually quite mind-blowing! It's very interesting to see the original "Jaqens". I want to learn about ALL the things GRRM took from other books. It helps me understand A Song of Ice and Fire a little bit better.

Thank you for your work. Long live and prosper!

[istoleyoursk1n]

I'm on another playthrough in bg3 and now I understand how painfully easy it is to defeat certain bosses.

If I’m not telling a boss to quite literally kill themselves, I’m shoving them off of chasms or very plainly laying down explosives right before their eyes and blowing said boss up with one fire arrow.

I find it so funny that I’d be placing smoke powder barrels and alchemist fire potions right in front of them and they don't say a damn word.

[valsnonsense]

Prince Blueberry of Pop

"Okay! A dash of lavender, a hint of topaz, aaaaaand a pinch of moth wing dust should do the trick! Huh... Is it supposed to be bubbling like that? Oh... Oh it's on fire now-"

Parents: Queen Poppy and King Branch

Siblings: Choco (Elder Sister), Vanilla (Elder Sister), Strawberry (Elder Sister), Apple (Brother), Oran (Brother), Lemon (Brother), Lime (Brother), Grape (Brother), Iris (Younger Sister)

Age: 18

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Pansexual

Genre: Pop

Voice Claim: Brendon Urie (Panic! At The Disco)

The fifth of the Rainbow Brothers. Inquisitive, curious, with a touch of mad scientist for fun, Blueberry wants to know everything about everything. Why does music magically play around us when we sing? How were the strings truly made? And what happens if he took some fuzz from a Wooferbug and mixed it with hydrogen peroxide?

Blueberry works as a potion maker/alchemist in Trollstopia. From healing tonics to little prank potions, Blueberry loves to push the boundaries of magic and science. Unfortunately, when one pushes the boundaries of the universe, they often don't have much self preservation. Blueberry has blown himself up on SEVERAL occasions.

Blueberry doesn't sing much, as he mostly spends time in his lab, but when he does, he's as Pop as a Pop Troll can get. He does blast music in his lab while he's working, to the chagrin of his quieter siblings.

Despite the mad scientist in him, Blueberry is very friendly and cares deeply for his friends and family. He does his best to make time for social events, and enjoys going to loud, crowded parties.

Blueberry currently resides in Trollstopia alongside his family

Fun Facts!

- Blueberry only attempted to make a love potion once. He found the recipe in an old scrapbook and traveled all over the world gathering the obscure ingredients. What he failed to read was the warning at the bottom saying it had never succeeded, and wound up blowing off part of his ear. He wasn't allowed back in his lab for months after that

- Blueberry is currently dating a Puppet named Cosmo, who works on Vacay Island. He met him while visiting Bruce and his family, and was immediately smitten over his performances. The two love partying together when they visit one another

- Blueberry LOVES geology. Rocks, gems, minerals, the whole shabang. If he's not in his lab or out with friends, he's down in a mine digging up rocks. He has a very extensive rock collection

- Blueberry uses lots of plants and small insects in his potions, much to the distress of Lime and Strawberry. He often has to sneak around them when bringing home ingredients, cause they'll try to stop him from "killing them" ("the plant died the moment I picked it and these bugs only live for like a day caLM DOWN-")

And that's Blueberry! He didn't go through too many design changes. He was originally a jeweler, making jewelry and such, but I wanted one of the Broppy kids to be a mad scientist lol.

But I kept his love for rocks, he just collects them now

Also a Puppet is my personal name for the Vacationers, cuz they're just freakin puppets hdbshdbd. Cosmo's profile, like Penelope's, will come later xP

Voice Example: High Hopes (Panic! At The Disco)

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Seven Snippets/Writing Share Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @oh-no-another-idea and @willtheweaver! :D

Here are seven snippets from Totentanz:

1.

Karandren opened his eyes and promptly got punched in the face. "I said quick and painless!" Diarnlan yelled. "Do you call strychnine quick and painless?" "No poison's painless," Karandren objected. He dodged another punch. "Alright, so I confused it with cyanide. So sue me." Diarnlan punched him again.

2.

Experience had taught him he could make it to the teleportation platforms before the other students left their dorms. But he'd reckoned without two things: the sword's weight, and his fourteen-year-old self's height. When he was fully grown Karandren was over six foot tall and strong enough to carry an adult man's corpse from one end of his palace to the other. Right now, on the other hand, he was almost a full foot shorter and barely strong enough to pick up the sword, let alone carry it. He struggled towards the door, clutching it to his chest.

3.

Karandren stared incredulously at the array of chemicals in vials set on Diarnlan's dining room table. "Where did you get all these? And why haven't you told me about them before?" "I never had them before. I borrowed them from the village alchemist. And if you think I'd let you near explosives without a damn good reason, you've got another think coming. I've written down the instructions. Deviate from them by one iota and I won't have to kill you because you'll blow yourself up." Diarnlan gave him a disapproving glare, as if she fully expected him to ignore her and kill them both through sheer stupidity, before she turned and marched out of the room.

4.

Somehow Diarnlan had gathered a pile of scrap metal. Where she'd got it from, Karandren hadn't a clue, but he suspected some village blacksmith somewhere was confused by the sudden absence of metal waiting to be reforged. Everything was there: old pots, old horseshoes, an old garden gate, even an old weathervane so badly rusted it was impossible to tell if it had once depicted a chicken or a wagon. Karandren eyed them all dubiously. Not quite what he had used to make his previous dragon statues -- there was a marked lack of Miavainish religious statues -- but beggars couldn't be choosers. He set to work.

5.

Diarnlan straightened up and strode in, doing her best impression of Teivain-ríkhorn-hrair en route to stop a student blowing themselves up with a botched potion. If she looked like she had every right to be there -- and more importantly, had an urgent task to complete and wouldn't take kindly to being delayed -- no one was likely to stop her. Karandren trailed behind her. A few guards and cleaners milled around the castle's lower floors. None of them gave the pair a second glance. Through the arched doorway, up the spiral staircase, round and round the tower. Diarnlan tried to keep walking as fast as she had before. But eventually she had to concede to physical limitations. The tower was simply too high, and she was simply too tired. She stopped to catch her breath. Karandren caught up with her, puffing and panting. He gave her a look that suggested he would happily throw her off the tower's top if she didn't slow down.

6.

Was the priest's entire library full of nothing but pornography? She looked at the number of books and decided this was impossible. Not even the most dedicated pervert could collect over five hundred obscene works. Diarnlan went to the other side of the library, chose another book, and opened it warily. She slammed it shut again at once. Apparently she was wrong. A dedicated pervert could collect over five hundred obscene works. She calmly removed all of the books from their shelves. She piled them up in the middle of the room. Then she set fire to them with extreme prejudice.

7.

The being known as Vanadel was considered odd even by the low standards of the Óhreinnjǫrð. In the first place he was half-human, something unheard of in this city. In the second his magic was a strange mixture of eottin and human. In the third he was a scientist, the first scientist in the Óhreinnjǫrð. "Scientist", as far as the other beings could work out, was a synonym for "madman". He went around putting strange substances in food -- his own food, to do him justice -- and documenting the effects they had on him. Once he had woken an Old One asleep at the bottom of the World Tree. Instead of destroying all the realms, the Old One ran around to another universe to escape Vanadel. Then, of course, was his interest in the skrýszel battles. The other beings wouldn't have minded this so much if his interest wasn't in the mortals and not the skrýszel.

Open tag! :D

[blackjackkent]

Ethel's new lair is a rather intense multilevel affair and I can only imagine it smells absolutely atrocious.

She's waiting for Hector as he wanders in.

"Oh, the big tough hero finally showed up! I told you, petal - you can't hurt me without killing little Vanra. I have you beat, so do the heroic thing. DIE!"

No, Hector will not be doing that, thank you very much.

Boss fight report!

Ethel has all her old tricks - she can split into clones that we have to suss out before we can attack her, and she resummoned all of the masked people from the previous room with full health, so maybe leaving them alive was a bad idea.

There are also several healing mushrooms around the room, which we heard about from one of the books Mayrina had; we need to destroy them with fire. (Literally.)

Our most important initial goal here is to locate the real Ethel among the clones, and then hit her with the Hag's Bane potion we got from Mayrina. Once that effect is on her, she should puke up Vanra at low health, and then we can kill her (Ethel) safely.

The interesting thing about this is that it makes Team Juggernaut's high damage output actually a potential liability. However, locating the real Ethel didn't turn out to be much of a problem, as the other three clones are invisible and she isn't, and she is the only one of the four that has the "Hag Pregnancy" effect on her.

Hector yeets the Hag's Bane potion on her and...

"What did you-- hurk. Stay down, Vanra. URRRGH..."

"That's it. Cough her up, hag."

"No-- stay down--"

"BLEUUUUGH..."

Gross. Vanra comes popping out and immediately (and understandably) runs off screaming for her mother, and Ethel is NOT happy about it.

"ARGH! YOU COST ME A FRESH YOUNG HAG! I'M GOING TO PAINT THE WALLS WITH YOUR GUTS, YOU LITTLE SHITSTAIN!"

At this point we no longer have to worry about doing damage to Ethel, so I have Hector chug a cloud giant potion and go to town on her. She's only around 100 HP, so his first flurry of blows pretty much almost obliterates her.

I have Minsc come up and finish her off, but she gets a "Fungal Resurrection" condition indicating that she'll come back at the start of her next turn if we don't get rid of the healing mushrooms. They have a lot of health so this is probably not going to happen.

I leave Hector on Ethel-punching duty and load everyone else up with fire arrows and alchemist's fire. The latter, somewhat counterintuitively, don't really do anything to the mushrooms, but the arrows work great!

Ethel respawns with more clones. Her masked friends start attacking at this point as well. One of them can do Fist of the Unbroken Air and I start becoming uncomfortably aware of all the chasms around this arena.

Everyone manages to stay un-yeeted and mostly undamaged however (minus a few rays of sickness from the clones), and once all the mushrooms are dealt with, Karlach can go in for the killing blow.

Hell yeah.

I think this means Ethel is finally gone for good. And hey, now I'm glad again that we non-lethal'd her masked folks before, because they're all alive!

And we even get some acknowledgement for taking the non-lethal route, which is nice. :)

"I've raided warships. Fought every beastie the sea can throw at you and I've never flinched, not once. But Ethel... Umberlee's tits, she snapped her fingers and had me. I would have died for her. *Wanted* to. Then you showed up, armed to the teeth. You could have killed me - been right to. But you didn't. You have an old captain's thanks."

"I'm glad you're all right."

"You're welcome in the 'Maid any time. The old girl is as much your home as she is mine. And I'll gut anyone who says otherwise!"

Aw. :) Wonder if this means we could have gotten our camp in the 'Maid instead of the Elfsong if we'd come here first.