#and he's a man in Sanguis with a beard

[beastsovrevelation]

Man... Those eyes. Valak has the most beautiful eyes ever. ❤

[muldxr]

2023 Fic Masterpost

18 fics, 36k words, 10 fandoms. all of the fics i wrote during the year are linked under the cut to read and re-read!

honorable mentions ↓ most kudos: la petit mort most comments: for your eyes only author’s favorite: choke

📍 for your eyes only (9.3k, M, James Bond and 1D fusion. main fic post)

While on a dangerous mission, 007 reunites with an old flame.

📍 weak hands, sore feet (1.5k, T, hockey rpf)

Sore from a Game 7 loss, Carson and Will decide to shave their playoff beards together.

📍 collide (1.1k, T, ER 1994)

The IV - her first real IV - is almost in the patient's limp arm. Lucy stills her nervous hand to guide the needle in further towards the correct vein, notes the dip in the arm as she attempts to break it past the first layer of skin. It slips out, goes to the right.

📍 man down (777, M, 9-1-1)

Buck didn't see it coming.

He didn't see the cracks in the beams. Didn't use caution in where he stepped, didn't run away fast enough when the freeway came crumbling down and took him with it.

📍 pawns (1.7k, T, the x files)

“Decided to show up late this time, huh?” Mulder asks the man, bristling as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

📍 rescue me (3.1k, M, ER 1994)

A five-car pileup in the middle of winter means that County General is at capacity. A short-staffed hospital means that Kerry Weaver isn’t having a good day.

📍 outlast (841, T, survivor)

The humidity on the Fiji island gets to you, and you can't sleep.

📍 let faith oust fact (1.2k, M, the x files)

Big Blue attacks their boat. Instead of finding a rock, the agents nearly drown.

📍 sanguis (1k, M, buffy the vampire slayer)

Gasping, Buffy spins around quickly, raising her stake, and she doesn't even move an inch when the stake meets an undead body, too close to her.

📍 headlights on dark roads (3.4k, M, the west wing)

"You didn't save me a seat? Come on," she whines, hanging on the frame of the car as her shoulders slump, growing desperate to get away from Danny's curiosity.

Toby says, "Sorry. All full."

📍 dearly departed (1.7k, M, the leftovers)

Not too long after Laurie joins the Remnant, she shows up at Kevin's house.

📍 midnight oil (2.3k, T, west wing)

Donna's eyes traveled down to her hands, holding a steaming mug with the presidential seal on it. It was one of Josh's favorites despite it being widely available at the White House gift shop. "I was making you coffee." She squinted at him, speaking slowly. "You know, like you asked me to do five minutes ago. By the way, our coffeepot is a pain in the neck, and we really should-"

📍 choke (2.7k, E, shallow grave)

Juliet leaves Alex and David for dead. Little does she know...

📍 paper bag (1.1k, T, the x files)

Mulder and Scully travel for a case, and the airline loses Scully's bag.

📍 know your number (100, G, ER 1994)

Post-'Union Station,' Mark considers calling Susan.

📍 the oven was broken. (825, T, hrpf)

Matty and Will attempt to bake birthday cookies.

📍 la petit mort (1.6k, E, the x files)

Intimately aware of her mortality, she's asked you to prove your worth to her.

📍 the cold moon (1.3k, T, the x files)

Scully shifts when the moon is full, and Mulder follows. That's how it always is.

[pepperpills]

The Harvest - RE8 fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

NSFW content

Hi, guys, hope u're enjoying it and if u want, feel free to send a message and share your thoughts.

This is the second half of Part I, when The Harvest actually takes place, as I promised I would be posting it today. Part II will be out next tuesday and has more of Karl's participation.

Part I - Destiny (1)

Part I - Destiny (2)

The site was formed by four giant statues, each one in a corner, in the opposite side of the gate, a low stone fence protected people from falling from a cliff into the misty unknown that laid below. All of its surroundings were made of grey, antique stone, carved directly into the mountain. In the middle stood a symbol in the ground in the shape of an umbrella where the Giant’s Chalice was placed.

Mother Miranda was right in the middle, dressing her usual priest like costume, only this time her areola was bigger. The parents, your parents included, with their anxious expressions, were on the left side, forming a mid-circle. No other villagers were allowed in The Harvest except the children’s guardians, it was exclusive. You smiled to your folks reassuring them that you were okay, prepared. Your mom buried her head deeper in your father chest, but smiled insecurely back at you.

You couldn’t help the feeling that a couple of eyes were laid on you, you felt observed and finally gave up to your curiosity and stared at the lords. Closer to Mother Miranda, on the right side of the site, stood tall Lady Dimitrescu, the tallest person you have ever seen and also one of the most elegant. She wore a white dress that resembled the Greek columns with three black roses on it, red lipstick and a black wide hat. She seemed excited as she analysed the 20s.

Then followed Lady Beneviento, her face covered in a grief veil, she was all dressed in black, except for her doll, Angie, who wore an unclean wedding dress and was laughing almost hysterically for no reason. It would have given you the chills if you weren’t so strangely calm.

The next was Lord Moreau, forever bowed with that bone crown topping his head, he looked like he enjoyed the spirit of the festival, more entertained by its totality than the young people there.

And at last, Lord Heisenberg, a couple of steps from you as you all closed the circle. He was smoking a cigar, making a mess of bracing smoke. He was wearing round sunglasses even though it was already very dark there, his clothes were crumpled and even a bit dirty, but had an explorer’s charm to it as he wore a once-white half unbuttoned shirt, a worn hat, a camel-coloured overcoat and some kind of baggy pants.

You had the uncanny feeling it was his glance that caught you since you arrived there, but couldn’t be sure, once his eyes were hidden from you. The other thing you noticed was that he has kind of handsome with his somewhat grey hair on the height of his bearded chin. Overall, he seemed rough, a brute beauty, but beauty anyway.

The air became denser, like it was charged with electricity, however, scanning your mates, everyone appeared to be still bewitched by Beneviento’s powers, paying attention only to Mother Miranda. It had nothing to do with you disliking Miranda ever since you laid your feet in the Village. No, this was another thing. You were attracted by something else, tempted even to look to your right. Being too suggestible to battle this urge, you moved your head only to be certain that Lord Heisenberg was looking straight at you.

You quickly turned your attention back to Miranda as she played with a black liquid inside the Giant’s Chalice. She called you all her children and made a speech about destiny and natural forces that pull you to it.

“Night demands you, my children. The moon reveals your fate and today your sacrifice will be noticed.” Miranda chanted, her voice floating through all of you, reverberating the ground.

She blessed you, walking the circle and pinning a dot of the Chalice’s black liquid in your foreheads. It moved, itching a little, as her words filled the ceremony site.

“Very well.” She spoke. “Now I shall call your names, the ones I call, please step to the right part of the site, the ones I don’t, to the left.”

A shiver flowed through your spine, awakening every part of your body, bristling your hair, hardening your nipples making you feel completely unclad – which kind of reached the ceremony idea of a virgin blossoming. The sensation was curiously similar to electrical shock, even the iron taste on your tongue reminded you of the electricity discharge, nonetheless, for your surprise, it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, definitely made your feel alive and even dilatated your pupils.

When it happened, you swore your heard Lord Heisenberg chuckling alone, he was contained for obvious reasons, but it disturbed you to see a smirk playfully on his scarred thick lips. No one else appeared to be bothered though, they hadn’t noticed the man acting schizophrenic, but it also made sense, they were all absorbed by Miranda’s discourse and, somehow, that grin was intended, presumably, only for you.

Just then you realized that Miranda had already been calling names and people were actually moving around you. Two of the boys who came with you were now on the very right side of the site. You were getting tense, the magical feeling that drove you to that place was slowly fading away, giving space to the cold sensation of fear. The girl to your left got called, she lost her breath as she heard her name, but rapidly joined her new, and temporary, team.

You looked up to your parents, your mom had that overwhelmed expression lines on her forehead again and you were most sure she was crossing fingers as she is a little stitious, not super, though.

Right now, you don’t believe that any herb, crystal, sacrifice, nor witchcraft would have spare you from your doom. A part of you knew it, even at that moment, as Mother Miranda made your name thunder in the site. Your mom held a scream, your dad looked down. You must go on.

Trembling a little, you went to the right side, closer to Lord Heisenberg, as he was the last one on the lords’ line. Your mates were rigid, the other girl was holding tears, one of the boys had desperate written all over his face, but the other one preferred to show bravery and you chose to stay with him in his decision. It didn’t past unnoticed to Heisenberg, but he constantly peering at you wasn’t of your greater attention, so on you didn’t acknowledge his offbeat interest.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were afraid. You didn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to use your blood in her famous Sanguis Virginis, neither to be with Lady Beneviento and her forever tea party, Lord Moreau frightens you, due to your thalossophobia and for Lord Heisenberg, his temper is well known and poorly spoken by the villagers, he tends to get angry easily, not to say that no one knows what goes on in that factory, the bridge that leads to it emerges from the water, activated by some sort of mechanism that is inaccessible from the Village, so no one goes in, no one comes out.

When The Harvest ended, the villagers were exempted before the Miranda and her family, and you were allowed to go home, the lords knew you were supposed to say goodbye to your loved ones, after all, they aren’t monsters, right?

Thus, you walked back home in your parents embrace, they didn’t let you go, neither you wanted it. Being held like that made it feel better as if you had a bad dream and that was all. Your mother even sang you your favourite childhood song about a girl who gets lost in the dangerous woods inhabited by four monsters and a malevolent witch, but in the end, her parents save her from the beasts.

In the dawn, no villager was asleep, so you spoke to a lot of people, all your siblings, friends and acquaintances. Some of them cried, others smiled and a couple encouraged you saying it was going to be okay. You doubted it, but didn’t say a thing, you were too shaken still trying to be brave.

When the sun rose, you heard the chicken starting their day. You got up, put on a Victorian black dress with long sleeves and a corselet for the thorax area, and packed your few belongings, taking good care of your bow and arrows that once were a secret and now, you thought, might be discarded, but you would still be stubborn and give it a try, maybe they would let you have it.

You left the bedroom, leaving behind your talisman made by the cabin people with a note to your younger sister. Once she was born in the Village, she didn’t know much about the cabins, but you were sure it would protect her after you were gone.

You believed you could go away unnoticed, but your mom was sitting in the kitchen table, waiting for you, looking restless, but she found vitality to smile a good morning at you.

“You look pretty.” She said as she walked towards you and twirled your hair.

“Thank you, mom.” You simply replied, thinking that touch was soothing.

“We will miss you.” She sighed. “I will miss you, deeply, my angel.” Your mom is one of the kindest people you know, she always took good care of you even when you got older, you will miss her too.

“I will miss you too, mom… I love you.” You added and hugged her. You must be strong; her smell of country flowers softened you tempting you to run away from your fate.

“Promise you will try to write.” She pleaded, staring into your soul with her woody-brown eyes.

“I promise.” You meant it and did afterwards.

“It is okay, angel, you may go now, I won’t make it any harder.” She stepped aside, giving you space to walk to the door, when there you looked back one last time and waved goodbye.

At the ceremony site, they said you should gather again at the Chapel. A part of the building is destroyed, you are not sure what was responsible for it, but there are parts of the ceiling and the ground that are missing and underground tunnels with Gods know what meandering under your feet. The others arrived not long after you and less than an hour later Mother Miranda joined you.

She spoke from the pulpit. This sight gave you an uneasiness. You never liked her manners, always thought she considered herself too much of a priest, but you were not sure for what gods she spoken, in addition, she was also very domineering. There were stories of her whispered by mourning souls saying that she would tear some locals apart while laughing and enjoying the bloody spectacle. Maybe she was crazy. Believing it or not, she didn’t please you at all.

“Children.” She began. “Destiny calls you. You must fulfil your role in this circle. It is a sacrifice for all of us, so we can preserve our way of life.” Miranda went on like this for some more minutes before getting to the point.

“Each one of you has been designated or requested by one of the four lords. I will now say your name and the name of your Lord.” She finally said.

Your heart rate was worrying, your anxiety levels were high. You breathed heavily, trying to regain composure. Miranda called the brave boy first, he went to Moreau. Two girls got sent to the Dimitrescu’s castle, one more boy went to Moreau, another girl went to Lady Beneviento. Thus, there was only you left and Miranda’s phrase reverberated through the Chapel with its angelical acoustic turning horrifying.

“Y/N. Lord Karl Heisenberg.”

Your stomach sunk. You didn’t know if you were relieved or even more preoccupied. But then you felt that shock sensation again, the iron taste made you salivate and you thought it might have been worst, maybe all he expects from you is some cleaning, laundry and your normal daily routine.

Still, one thing that Miranda said echoed in your head: did you get designated or did he request you? You didn’t know which one would be better.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 23: The Spoils (Epilogue)

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Everything comes together.

note: And with that Bound by Destiny is ended! I’ll start posting book 2, Bound by Circumstance, in a day or so! Book 2 follows the events of Nightbound with some heavy changes to the main plot, but I’ll explain more about that on the post itself. Nadya and the Bloodbound series will return in book 4!

[READ IT ON AO3]

Across the city…

He comes up behind, hands on her hips, and graces her tanned throat with familiar kisses. An action not of affection or love but as habitual as hunger and speech.

“Do you really think he’s out there somewhere?”

Valdas tilts his eyes up. Let’s them rest on the portrait.

There’s a reason every statue in every museum around the world is a ghost in marble. The Romans were masters of many things but the key to paint that would last centuries just hadn’t been in their grasp.

And for that same reason Valdas had personally seen to ensuring the canvas would be restored as time wore on. Bolder, thicker strokes on cheeks. A newly discovered blue on her dress. Real gold painted into their wealth.

He rests his cheek on her shoulder. Lets his beard tickle the bare skin there.

“I intend to find an answer; whatever it may be.”

Isseya turns in her lover’s arms and rests their foreheads together. She feels so vibrantly — one of the things he’s always been enraptured by when it comes to her. A single soul in which the pain of the unknown is as harsh as the hope it brings.

“Come,” Valdas coaxes her with an offered hand, “he’s nearly finished and will be ready for us soon.”

“Best not keep the chained beast waiting?”

He stops and gives her an admonishing look. Isseya shrugs; familiar with every emotion except remorse even at this age.

“Best not let him hear that kind of talk, I think.”

“As if the Godmaker has ever cared about the whims of your disciples.”

“He may, now.”

“Because he needs us, Valdas. He needs us. Don’t let old loyalties cloud that from your sight.”

He sighs; doesn’t answer. They leave the portrait hall and venture deeper into the Musea Sanguis.

Hand-in-hand the Trinity walks. What hangs thickly in the air around them is not fear but trepidation.

In the distance a solemn figure reverently returns a forgotten sword onto its claw-like perch. He frowns and adjusts his spectacles — tries to see if the imperfection is a trick of the dim lighting or really exists. Wipes a pocket square over one of the jewels embedded in the hilt just in case.

The couple approaches together with equal looks of bemusement at the man’s compulsions.

“Your trinkets can wait Jingyi,” chides Isseya — like a parent scolding their child, “the Godmaker would be remiss to find he was kept waiting because there wasn’t enough shine in an emerald.”

Though his back is turned the name has an affect on Scholar Jameson — makes him pause and fix himself as if to brush it off like dust on his lapel.

“That is no longer my name, Mistress Isseya.”

When Jameson turns his spectacles are plucked from his nose by her delicate hand. She looks them over with obvious distaste. “It was the name you bore when I Turned you,” she replaces them slightly off-center with amusement, “and I’ll use it as I like.”

Before Jameson can argue, Valdas jerks his head towards the deeper archives.

“Come.”

The vampires walk in stoic silence. With their age and skill it could be as easy as a step in the right direction at the right speed — but there’s an unspoken understanding among them that keeps the pace slow; solemn.

“Have you gathered all that was separated by the Council?” asks Jameson.

Valdas nods. “All but one.”

“But —”

“I’ve seen the lock myself, Scholar. We have five and five is all we need.”

“Do they suspect?”

“If they did we would not be so leisurely, I should think.”

“And the girl?”

He doesn’t hide his reluctance. The falter in his pace is enough — they stop just short of the turn. With gritted teeth Valdas gives a curt nod.

“My Maker and I have discussed her at length. She’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

It’s the change of plans that’s thrown the curator of the Musea off his usual balance. For years — and without the Trinity’s help or involvement — the same plan has been underway. First slow and small only to build with time before things would inevitably (and when the time was right, not before) come crashing down.

Jameson doesn’t do well with change. Never has.

They round into the alcove and Valdas wastes no time approaching the Onyx Sarcophagus. Places his palm flat on the heart of the thing and brushes away from of Vega’s leftover ashes with his thumb.

“My love — the keys.”

Jameson watches with an intellectual interest as his Maker procures a small leather pouch from her jacket.

“The Master and I are grateful for your help this last fortnight. We are truly lucky you accepted the young Lord Lafayette’s invitation.”

While Isseya busies herself with the pouch Valdas turns; gives Jameson a mocking smirk with pity in his eyes.

“There are many forces beyond even us that govern this world, Jingyi, but luck is a nonexistent façade.”

Isseya upends the contents of the pouch into his waiting palm.

Jameson frowns; confused. “You mean to say…”

“The Godmaker’s reach is vast,” says Isseya instead, “vast enough to cross even oceans.”

They watch in silence as Valdas plucks each key from his hand and slides it into the tomb’s bespelled lock.

Five keys of black iron — rusting with time and disuse. Each identical to its siblings on the surface but buried with a different curse within. Five keys of six Council heads.

Obtaining them was the tricky part — impossible for a lone pursuer but the Trinity is never alone. Even apart… never alone.

The first taken by chance; welcoming a weary soldier to the decadence of a soirée.

The second slipped from beneath the breast of a careful and ancient nomarch during a chaotic ballroom.

The third key stolen from the bedside of a hedonist in the throes of passion the night before a trial.

The fourth taken moments before the knife severed head from neck in this very room.

And the final, the fifth, taken with great risk and golden opportunity when all were gathered to herald change.

Could they have simply taken the keys from their owners in violence and bloodshed; yes. Even Sayeed couldn’t have stopped them were they bound by the determination of their unwavering loyalty. But there’s a game to be made in conspiring in secret.

And it’s been so long since they’d played.

Valdas slides in the final key and steps back. Watches with his lover beside as the metal begins to glow with witchfire — strong enough to kill if the set isn’t made whole.

Strong enough to hold back even the most powerful of them all.

Then a spark. A flickering light and the heavy lock bursts into flames that burn like the warmth of the sun against their faces. Valdas turns away with covered eyes. Isseya watches; entranced.

But the flames aren’t satisfied with just the lock; begins to spread outward to the chains link by link. Catching one after the other until the coffin is wrapped in tendrils of flame licking against the polished black surface but unable to burrow inside.

When there’s nothing left to consume; when all the links are shriveled into ash, the witchfire vanishes without a trace.

The hollow silence of the Musea is choking — stealing away the breath from their undead lungs. And then…

c r e a k—

As the coffin opens the Trinity drops to one knee — Jameson behind them catching his glasses before they fall to the carpet in his haste to bow in supplication.

The thud of the lid echoes deep in the marrow of their bones.

Valdas, the eldest of them all, is the first to look up. Takes in the appearance of his Maker with a smile of familiarity.

“Good to see you again, Augustine.”

[blessed-by-avarice]

[P A S T] The Devil’s Dance

   A solemnity hovered within the atmosphere of the sept as the ebony clad priests made their way down the only clear pathway leading toward the altar. The seven of them wandered so gracefully it looked as if they were hovering an inch or so from the ground but their majesty was hidden by the steep length of their robes. As they wandered haunting melodies fled their parting lips to bound off the high-rise ceiling winding into a dome above which left the large spans of glass overhead so as the sky could gaze down upon them. This was the holiest of places among the Estate grounds and the most beautiful. Thick alabaster pillars held it strong while decorative vines encroached among its pallid surface speckling it with hard gashes of green and spotted with vibrant pops of color from the foliage. It was all too fitting that he died on the longest day of the year to further torment her and too on the day the flowers bloomed their brightest. The longest day meant they would take further care in their preparations of his body.

They soaked his corpse in lavender water for most of the morning, one by one the priests entered to comb back his air and shave his beard, trim his nails, and polish him till he glowed and smelled of the life his once lead. His clothes were washed thrice and ironed and mended for he was to be presented as he was. Ottavia was there for all of it though at the behest of her grieving mother. If she were to close her eyes and cancel the prattle around her she could faintly hear the indistinct sobbing pouring down the corridors from her mother’s chamber. It was a sound that would linger within the estate hall for years after. That poignant humming from the priests rattled against the iron scones and structures adorning the massive hall and for a time it seemed as if their music’s were intentional as to allow the building to drink their dread in. How foolish of her to delve into such juvenile train of thoughts. Hadrian’s casket was just as extravagant as the halls he was to be settled within, how funny that most would claim a wooden box for their final bed yet there her father lay in riches and wealth just to have its interior sullied by his body dripping the vestiges of his earthly self. Perhaps there lie the irony. Shitting among our achievements.  With a single heave he was set before the entirety of the house and guests with a lurid grind against the wood till all that remained was its fading echo. The silence of death replaced the priests hum. On occasion a child would shuffle their footing and another would gently clear their throat. 

Ottavia wasn’t entirely sure as to how loved her father was and the numbers would predict he was unconditionally adored but such concepts never issued with her. She oft thought it was better to be hated than loved, one was certainly easier than the other. Adorning herself in black wasn’t uncommon, in fact she simply dressed herself in her habitual attire that no one cared or noticed---not even her mother who stood beside her gripping desperately to a wrinkled handkerchief which she so shakily held beneath her nose. On occasion her should shook mourning followed by an idle sidelong list so she could rest her head against her only daughter’s shoulder murmuring incoherencies. The Ritualists gaze swooped skyward to pay mind to the firmament as a man she barely knew began to speak fondly of her father and on all the matters he reigned successful in. This man knew nothing of the things he pontificated, he spewed venom when he thought himself spreading appealing fragrances. The fighting urge to render the chapel asunder roiled through the length of her veins till it nestled deep within the cage of her chest daring to erupt till the weight of something warm drew her attention from the glass ceiling. A hand settled to her shoulder succinctly followed by the gentle ebb of a bated breath. “You could.” Sihdiel whispered, “And you should…. but not now. Not here.” Ottavia’s gaze lingered long to her counterparts less than assuaging mien as if to challenge her authority---to a point she held none but with her hand set atop her mantle the aspect of her concern bled through the thickness of her attire and into her sinew. “Stifling myself wasn’t always my strongest suit.” The Ritualist murmured briefly only to halt at her mother’s hiccuped yawping. The man pontificating of her father ceased his words and swooped an upturned palm toward the crowd till his thick and calloused fingers pointed toward Ottavia. “---And now we welcome his heir—the Light of his days and core of his once beating heart. His daughter Ottavia.” The searing of a hundred eyes all snapped to her uniformly all save for a single pair who opted to look away with a gentle snort, masking her sneer with the back of her hand. “The people await.” Sihdiel chortled lowly. “I shan’t disappoint. “ ~-• -~ Mentions: @burdened-by-wrath​ (I found this on my PC from June of 2016! Figured I’d post it to add it to the H&F list! That and it’s the aftermath to ET SANGUIS SANGUINEM PT. 1. PT.2 Will be posted soon!)

[teal-skull]

Lupus Dei (heavily PW inspired short story)

There is a great punch of references to the band in this text, will you find them all?

Dark grey clouds filled the sky. Pale branches of a dead tree waved in the wind. The lawn grew uncut, hay here and there. Rain tickled my face as I walked down the path with my wet shoes. I read carved names and dates in the stones. Somewhere behind the mountains thunder raged. I pulled my hood over my eyes as the rain got stronger. My fingers took a better hold of my crucifix.

A gothic church stood before me. Tiles of the church had been darkened with time like it could have been ruined by a sinners’ touch. Gargoyles eyed me from the roof. They growled at me like I wasn’t welcome.  Church’s tall towers were full of spices. In my eyes, they looked like undead soldiers who had been pierced by arrows. I looked at the heavy doors, the arch above it and dark, tall windows on the sides. The entrance didn’t look like it belonged to a house of Lord but gates of the eternal inferno. I believed it was the horrific weather that brought all these dark images to my mind. I stepped in.

As the door thumped behind me, I was surrounded by gloomy candlelight. I saw a man with maniple to go up the stairs that seemed to lead to the organ. I looked around me and met Mother Mary’s calm eyes in a painting. The hall was rather large and had pillars standing on the side of it. They led my eyes to the paintings in the ceiling. THey seemed peculiar. I didn’t see angel choirs or the holy saints. I saw earthly horrors, the bloodshed of the crusades, people tempted by lust for sin. And everywhere was a hellish flame burning in the night, making the sky and the moon to shine red. As I started to feel little lightheadedness I felt like the painting was sucking me inside of it. I looked back down terrified. Before me was multiple rows of benches only three men sitting on them. They were all praying in silence. What shocked me was that they all were dressed in black robes and had hoods over their heads. How disrespectful to wear your hood on! A long-haired priest, who had kneeled down by the altar, didn’t seem to care about it. He simply continued his prey in Latin. His baritone voice was controlled and had a lot of debt that stroke me. On the altar table was a dusty book opened, a wooden cross, two candle trees and a golden chalice with an odd Christogram in it. Behind was a sculpture of the crucified. A red light was looming to the tile floor from huge stained glass windows.

I heard the organ starting to play and melting to the sound of the priest's voice as I walked to the last row and sat on the bench. There was a man sitting in the same row. Hood was covering a lot of his face but I saw a small, coat-like beard and long hair. This man had put his hands together and didn’t pay attention to me.

Suddenly the priest stopped praying and the man next to me rose. He walked to the side to get something from another room. The priest rose and turned towards our small congregation. He had a red stole around his neck. He grandiloquently spread his arms encouraging us to rise. The benches creaked a little. The organs grew stronger as the priest started to speak Latin again. Dark words echoed around me as if they had sunk in my flesh.

The man returned with a golden bowl in his hands. The priest moved his fingers across the pages of the holy book still speaking in Latin. Other prayers gathered around the altar joining to the strange Latin the priest spoke. I stepped aside for I was too afraid to join them. This was not the pattern of an ordinary god’s service. I felt something scraping my stomach but curiosity prevented my feet from moving.

Another worshiper, who’s hood covers everything in shadows except for a bearded chin and some hair. I wasn’t sure if it was the lighting that made his long wavy hair to seem a little reddish. He took the wooden cross from the table. Muttering something this man set it aflame with the candle. I was horrified and without thinking took a hold of my crucifix. The claw of evil scratched my heart. Now I was sure that these men were not worshiping God. This was something cursed and unholy.

The priest, if that dark figure even was one, started to speak: -As the dark conquer this land after the sun has surrendered its daily battle, we gather to honor you, dominus Sanctus! Now another worshiper moved and took the chalice in his hand. He pours some red liquid from the bowl to the chalice with a steady hand. He turned towards the sculpture and walked to it. He removed his hood that had covered bald head to honor the crucified. Other worshiper brought the burning cross closer, to light the sculpture. The orange light showed a horrible creature, an enormous wolf which was shouting from the top of its’ lungs. It had a sharp set of teeth, claws with twisted nails, a hood covering the eyes. -Take our humble praise and loyalty. Take the blood that we had shed for your sake and let it run in your veins, holy wolf! Ad the priest said this, the man spilled the liquid to the throat of the beast. -Deliver us, be our holy spirit! Rise, Lupus Dei! Amen. The congregation started to murmur Latin. Over and over again they hymned: -Lupus Dei! Terra sanguis! Satura luna! Cultus lupus! Ave Lupus Dei!

The crucified werewolf started to move. It let out a deep snarl from its’ throat. The sculpted surface started cracking. Inside of it came a dark beast with the blaze of Hell in its’ eyes. As it breathed, a green mist started to appear. -We hail you Lupus Dei! The worshipers cried as they breathed the mist eagerly. That was when the organs stopped. The Beast howled and it hunted the entire church. Men in robes started to crouched and shouted. Their bones twitched, the skin began to thaw, chin grew longer and dark fur started to appear. Everything that was humane in them melted away. They howled in pain.

I ran but the doors were shut. Behind me was a pack of wolves. One jumped down from the organ right before. The others came to me. Claws took hold of me and dragged me to the beast. It looked me a good while. I felt a silent call. I stared at the eyes of the wolf. It raised its’ paw and put it on my chest. Sharp pain made me scream. Marked was carved in my chest. Hot blood ran down my body making me lose my hold from reality. I felt itching in my bones. A horrid pain took control of my muscles. The green mist around me grew thicker. I cried and wailed, pressing my claws around the crucifix. A repeating prey echoed in my ears: -Ave Lupus Dei.

[champs-and-chumps]

don’t judge me, i didn't proof read it. i wrote it 2 in the morning.

DM notes (don't read out loud) the original text is color coded FYI but you can probably tell

You wake up from your day dreaming on a public bench in a huge entertainment square of a bustling and busy city “yorkhaven”. Letting you eyes wander you notice the people socialize in the street, children running around, and vendors peddling their wares with sizable carts surrounding the area, all under a brilliant blue sky it was truly picture perfect.

Would like to look around the carts? There could be something interesting to buy

-Theres a sheepish man seemingly the sweetest man you’ve ever met selling tonics and potions. He greets you as he looks up from his thick brim glasses from across the way.

- a loud mouth half orc female waving her arms to attract attention “got a beast problem? Need to feel safe? Or just dont like someone and want ‘em to go away?! Then see my weapons”

The town guard constantly keep an eye on her for her sales pitch, but they know she’s lawful and possible not to bright

-A well dressed bearded man peddling armor and miscellaneous clothes

-and various other shops that are gathering buyers but aren't to interesting to you that full the space.

( after choices were made)

As you walk around the kingdom streets admiring the cityscape you pass a group of well armed men talking about a demonic fiend living in a castle atop a mountain beyond the forest of shadows. Ears twitch with interest as you eavesdrop then join in on the conversation to get more info  

(the leader of the group is doing the talking he, has two short swords and medium armor and his AC is 14 and his two buddies have either small ranged weapons or melee weapon just in case things go bad, they are also racist against dragonborns which will trigger an instant fight) if things go well read the following black text and don’t red the red text if they go bad skip down to the red text

*“Uh Yea there a lich that lives in the abandoned castle sanguis, rumor has it that the smell of blood and war from rivaling kingdoms awoke it and it slaughtered everyone, now if someone were to die on his god forsaking lands the person will then be a walking corpse in the lich’s undead legion. Every so often he would send a few soldiers to kidnap men and women but lately he’s been stealing tons of gold from convoys and camps so the horde of gold must be massive”

And the bow man interrupts “ but no one in their right mind would go up there, not even paladins were even seen again. so whatever curse is up there must be strong”

You say goodbye as you a part ways with the other group and set off to the road ahead

The men lay beaten and bloody in the streets and you are confronted by the city guards “ pay the fine and leave or be fired upon” the guards are too much for you to handle and everyone lose 20 gold pieces *if anyone has less the 20 they go to jail

All thought the story have people tell different rumors about the lich and make up backstory and even fake moves that he may have

Eh i'm lazy to be honesty i'll leave the the rest to you but here the story line for things in the future.

If things go bad with the first group you travel on the road and hear about the lich later on in a tavern,traveling from the tavern you find and make your way to the kingdom “New Sanguis” who is being protected by a lesser god and ruled by queen Laura who sends you to find Thomas her old friends and commander of her guard who went missing you then

Travel with a small group that wants to find the lich(use them to spread misinformation, make the players grow attach then kill them later) find a small town on the edge of the shadow forest( open for side missions)

Go into the shadow forest the smell of death and decay lures vampires (possible battles)

Traveling the forest find Thomas “the immortal bard” who is drunk he was the teacher and personal bard of prince jasper aka the lich you need to kill and fills you in on the real story

Jasper was a rebellious wizard who wanted nothing more than to be the best ruler in his family's history however he had an anger complex that was problematic one day in their mountaintop kingdom, Joseph the king of sanguis got a message from his fortune teller “if blood is spilled before the prince takes the throne a demon unlike any other will rise and kills us all”. This was a problem because the king got a message from his scouts saying there will be a planned attack on the castle so things will have to be handle diplomatically  meanwhile jasper finds a girl who he falls in love with like Grade A wife material  blah blah blah things don't go well and he gets egg on by one of the rival’s kingdoms generals, he punches him which is declaration of war blah blah blah wife gets sick And jasper goes insane because of stress from sick wife and guilt in that time he researches immortality blah blah blah she gets better but the kingdom is at war blah blah blah gorely invasion king and princess get escorted out jasper is left behind because wife is trapped in castle, she is found but she and Jasper gets separated for a bit not to long after, wife gets stabbed by that general from earlier jasper picks her up and escapes to the huge labyrinth that leads to a vault. Shes says with her final breath my heart belong to you forever jasper” he says “i wont die with your love in my heart, not until i make them pay” then does the transformation ritual to lichhood writing the symbols with his lover’s blood and uses the rest for it for the endless nights potion and the lich’s phylactery is his lover’s heart which is in buried under the mountain of gold in a small chest inside the vault, he kidnaps people to feed their souls to the phylactery, he wants to destroy this sister’s kingdom and transcends into godhood to kill the god who protected his sister for all these years she is a constant reminder of the shame he brought to his family and what he could have been, a leader with the love of his people

So *Kill the lich

Tips to beating it...get a cleric good luck, maybe have some of the history and story be told by a soldier mid-dying or something just to get some background on the place idk good luck

[eternalandrei]

Sanguis // AU

@otherworldlysinners

“What do you mean, girls and guys?”

“It’s the twenty-first century, Dix. Get with the times.” 

An uproar of good-natured laughter and claps on the back celebrated Armand’s comeback, however technically underwhelming it had been. Anything he said today would be celebrated by his delinquent allies that flocked around him like pigeons. At last... Armand hadn’t ever been the centre of attention until now, and his stomach churned. A smile danced around his expression as he fit his hands firmly in his pockets and kept his back upright. It had been priceless to see the look on that old man’s face, right before he’d been weeping and howling in pain. That part was still replaying in his head, and the shock hadn’t stopped reverberating in his skull. He had to hide his hands due to their slight shake.

Still, it was a victory, and victories had to be celebrated in the one way that repulsed him in a physical and emotional sense and was bound to excite his heavyweight colleagues. If he was going to be the Alpha Male he needed to put to bed some rumours about his immaturity. Although, where each of his company stood tall, imposing either endowed with muscles or willowy limbs, he stood a head shorter. Attempts to grow a beard were so pathetic that the sparse patches he had encouraged had had to be shaved completely. His mop of curls refused to look anything except angelic, even when the back and sides were shaved, and Armand could not entertain the thought of a buzzcut. So, it had grown out to his ears and been left in frustration. At least he could afford to dress like someone who meant business, but even then, people seemed to find it rather funny. The joke was getting old, in his opinion, and his fists clenched whenever someone called him pint-size. Nicknames like that stuck, as he found to his dismay: even more so when you were clearly opposed to them.

A turn was made off the road, where passers-by wisely crossed the street when they spotted them move in a pack. He had to admit, although he hated the dumb brutishness of it, there was a certain thrill to be had in the performance of power.

He elbowed his way past the blacked out doors, into a den of sin and decadence far more damning than the one he owned. Oppressive to him where to others it was warm and just cozy enough, a haze of smoke, herbs and expensive perfume. A hint of flushed pink in the plush furniture, silk robes and firm limbs. Money glittered in the chandelier and the glasses, and showed itself in the range of tastes this place could offer. Short, tall, skinny, curvy; red, blonde or black hair, man or woman. This was worth the dent in his wallet. Still... it succeeded in making him feel only his seventeen years.

A hefty wad of cash and a murmur into the ear of the suited-up host at the door earned him a knowing smile. "Make yourselves comfortable. You need anything, just ask." There were cheers and more slaps on the back as each of them peeled off to grab the individual of their choice before the other could claim them. Armand knew he too was meant to make a choice, but the moment a pair of seductive eyes fixed on him he would turn his own away with sweating palms. His nerves were hard to swallow, but the terrified boy made his way to the bar for the chance he might get drunk enough that the act wouldn't seem so repulsive and... large. He managed to hold his poise, his gravitas and air of importance that he had worked so hard to perfect.

He raised a hand and pointed to his drink of choice, and found himself a seat, pressing his fingers to his temple to steady himself. However, he had hardly gotten to touch his glass before he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, darling.” He looked up, long enough to spy a blonde girl with a gummy smile and far too much breasts spilling out for Armand to believe they were real. He saw the whole thing as cartoonish, disproportionate, especially in his current state of repulsion towards any sexual imagery. Still, he could not be seen to be made nervous or uncomfortable. He steadied his nerves, his shaking hands, and gave her a tight-lipped smile back.

“...Hello.” Not the smartest of replies he’d ever given, but he was hiding the tremolo in his voice. Armand would have preferred it if she could just turn and leave. Could he make the excuse, perhaps, that no one here was to his taste? But they were all so different..

He was so lost in thought he hardly noticed her tottered around to the front of the chair, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Want some company?”

“Uhm-” There was no time for reply.

“Aw, you do, huh?” She chuckled, and batted thick lashes at him. “How about I dance for you? Get you warmed up a little?” 

“Sure.” There was a small hesitation as he considered that dancing probably didn’t involve any participation on his behalf. However, his eyes widened as she hitched up the silk covering and straddled his lap in her stiletto heels, leaning back but knowing there was no way of escape now. He was utterly cornered. “Listen, I think- I want to go and check my hair before-” He argued weakly, grappling at the arm of the chair as if he let go he might be plunged straight into the Flames. His heart pounded and he felt himself breaking out into a cold sweat, and technically, she hadn’t even touched him.

“Check your hair? You really are a funny guy.” She purred, dancing in a way that was probably very appealing to everyone that watched on. To him, it was an act of aggression. Armand could not hide his horror as she rolled her body directly into his face. He couldn’t even think about another protest, only to lean back as far as he could and hope that it would be over as soon as possible.