#blighted battleaxe

[aurelion-solar]

Legends of Runeterra: Dreamlit Paths Steel Gale - Veiled Blessings - Malmutation - Bandle Bright - Forgotten Artifact - Sunborn Summoning - Glacial Fell - Blighted Battleaxe - Mercenary Manners - Monstrous Eruption

[dragonologist-phd]

Introducing: Marja Aeducan

In Summary:

Grey Warden, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Paragon

Noble Dwarf

Warrior (Champion/Berserker)

Main Weapon: Two-Handed Battleaxe

Commanding; Decisive; Perfectionist; Honorable

Relevant Fic: Of Diamonds And Dust, Shapes in the Silence

more rambling:

Origin:

Endrin's golden child with open ambitions for the throne

She earned the respect and admiration of many through her skill with both military and diplomatic strategies. Despite this, she had few real friends; Gorim and Bhelen were the only people she truly trusted

Her main hindrance was that she does deeply believe in Orzammar's values and system of honor. She considers breaking that honor to be an action borne of weakness and a betrayal of the Ancestors, and holds herself to high standards even when others don't

As such, she refused to kill Trian and was devastated that everyone was so quick to believe she did. She vowed to return, reveal the truth, and take her rightful place as queen

She became a Warden alongside Darvis Brosca, who was recruited by Duncan at the same time

Major Choices:

Negotiated peace with Dalish and werewolves

Allowed Isolde to sacrifice herself for the good of Redcliffe

Saved the mages at the Circle

Defiled the Ashes of Andraste (long story)

Destroyed the Anvil and, after much strife, crowned Bhelen king of Orzammar (again, long story)

Allowed Alistair to duel and kill Loghain at the Landsmeet. Placed Anora on the throne alone

Would have sacrificed herself to the archdemon, had Darvis not performed the Dark Ritual with Morrigan

Party Dynamics:

Best friends with Alistair. They clicked immediately; he was relieved and reassured to have someone so decisive take the lead after Ostagar, and she was endeared (and occasionally baffled) by his sincere support and friendship

Grew fond of Sten over time. They got off on the wrong foot, but eventually learned to communicate better and realized they had a lot in common

Thinks Shale is the coolest and peppered it constantly with questions it couldn't remember the answers to. Shale was annoyed occasionally, but also flattered

Her friendship with Oghren can be complicated, but he understands her conflicting feelings toward Orzammar like few can. They've both been betrayed by their Caste, they both feel indebted to their society despite that, and they both resist talking about those feelings and end up drinking together about them instead

If I talk about Darvis we'll be here all day but suffice to say they hated each other at first, then with time and growth on both their parts formed a very strong bond. They're narrative foils; they're reluctant friends; they're ride-or-die comrades; they're in-laws. They're everything to me

Romance:

Has a genuinely sweet romance with Leliana, whose own complicated past with politics and court life gives her insight to Marja's conflict; Marja, in turn, finds Leliana's ability to find beauty in the world inspiring

Unfortunately, some of the beliefs they hold can't be reconciled, and eventually put strain on their relationship. When Marja's desecration of the ashes at Haven is revealed, they break up for good

Despite resolutions to forgo romance afterwards, she finds herself charmed by Sigrun's cheerful pragmatism and determination, and the two begin an informal relationship

Epilogue:

She survives her encounter with the archdemon, but is left with aftereffects; these mainly manifest as chronic pain and a heightened sensitivity to the Blight. Due to her chronic pain and the resulting exhaustion on her body, she takes to using a cane to get around

Becomes Arlessa of Amaranthine and commands the Fereldan Wardens from a strategic role, while Solenne Kader is sent from Orlais to act as commander in the field

Her Calling begins early, and she begins making arrangements for her last mission. Alistair and Sigrun manage to convince her to quest for a cure instead. She and Sigrun leave together on this quest, and haven't been seen since

Misc:

She acquires an interest in herbalism while on the surface, and keeps a book of dried flowers and plants she's collected

Despite being raised in luxury, she'll choose practicality over fashion every time, and doesn't really miss the jewels and trinkets she acquired as a Noble. What she does miss are the luxurious hot baths powered by the lava pools of Orzammar

While she always kind of knew she was a lesbian, she never acted on it due to the social pressures in Orzammar over having children. Her time on the surface during the Blight was the first time she was really able to explore her sexuality and general gender presentation, and it was a lot to wrap her head around

Although she doesn't have or want children of her own, she is the Cool Aunt to no less than four kids (Kieran, Gorim's kid, Oghren's kid, and Baby Endrin)

The game mabari imprinted on Darvis rather than her; howeever, during the Awakening era, Anora gifts her a mabari puppy which she names Astyth

Shortly after her reunion with Gorim in Denerim, she has an identity crisis and indulged in one of my favorite tropes, the Dramatic Character Moment Haircut (before and after pictured below)

[calicostorms]

DAI OCs Masterlist!

Organized by last name alphabetically, more minor ocs of mine not mentioned- my wardens are posted separately here. Some of these ocs also have backstories spanning elements of DAII, but most of their appearances are in DAI. IDs are in alt text in interest of streamlining the already very long post.

Astila [she/her]: An ex-chasind driven from her homeland in the Wilds during the Fifth Blight. She spent a short time as a mercenary; when the sky opened she took it as a sign from her gods and she joined up as one of Leliana's agents. She's known for being quick-tempered but playful and generally friendly with a brutality in battle.

Playlist link

Achar Aanavi [ze/zir/zem, she/her]: Born in the Denerim alienage and left young to travel to Rivain in search of work to support zir's mother after zir's father's death. Ze met zir Raiders and joined up as a cabin boy, crawling up the ranks and switching crews several times before finding zir current Raider crew that ze has been with for many years as the first mate! Known for being quiet and authoritative in spite of short stature.

Ilya Abramov [he/they]: He grew up in the Disciples of Andraste. After the Warden slaughtered nearly all of those in Haven after being attacked, he lost both his parents and older sister. He left Haven at around nine or ten and traveled as a merchant for several years before returning to honor the dead. He eventually joins the Inquisition as a scout after the destruction of Haven, and can be found in the Hinterlands scouting or in Skyhold walking around. Known for a nervous demeanor but a brutality in battle among other scouts.

Playlist link

Meraad Adaar [any]: Meraad grew up in Par Vollen as an Antaam member. He was sent to Seheron for military assignment and ascended the ranks there– after about seven years there he was reassigned after contracting soul sickness (PTSD) after striking a blow against a close friend in his platoon after they defected to the Fog Warriors. He corresponded with others and escaped on a ship bound for Rivain with them. They joined up the Valo-Kas mercenaries where he became known for his easygoing demeanor and skill with leadership. Shokrakar eventually made him second in command.

Meraad took on the responsibility of raising another mercenary's child, Hissra. Six years later, an elven child named Ophir attempted to pickpocket him in a busy market, and they became his ward. He joined the Inquisition as a contracted mercenary and fell for a tranquil named Lenamar Dax during his time within the Inquisition. Spent considerable time badgering Cassandra about pursuing the cure for tranquility after her personal quest. Often known for being a gentle giant with a skill for leading in battle.

Playlist link

Hissra Adaar[she/he]: Quiet but self-assured, Hissra is known for being a bit difficult to read. Born to Tal-Vashoth parents, she was raised among the Valo-Kas. Her parents died during a mission in her teens and Meraad and Shaye Adaar took over her care, teaching her how to lead a group. Meraad was especially close to her. Joins the Inquision either as an agent, or in the Inky!au, becomes the Inquisitor and romanced Blackwall. After DAI she devotes herself to fighting back the Qunari invasion of Rivain.

Playlist link

Fen'an Alahannon[he/they/neos]: My personal favorite (biased) (in love with him). He was originally born in Tevinter in servitude and his mother escaped with him to the Anderfels, where the Alahannon clan took him in shortly before her death. Despite his skill with a battleaxe, he's better known for his skill making clothes and textiles.

He's known for being very protective of those close to him, particularly his adopted sister, and only went south due to his sister wanting to join the Inquisition. He stays on as an agent of the Inquisition to watch out for her, though in his time there he falls for Asgeir Brynjarson, an avvarian mage possessed by a spirit of hope. He leaves with Asgeir after Corypheus is defeated to take Dorian up on an offer to help the Lucerni in Tevinter. In the two years before Trespasser he spends most of his time freeing slaves, killing slavers, and working with Dorian to further anti-slavery causes including a measures which make it easier for ex-slaves to become liberati.

Personal playlist, Fengeir playlist, Fenyuo playlist

Von Bemot[he/him]: Technically his full name is Vonstein, but nobody calls him that. My Kal-Sharok dwarven oc! He became head of his family after his older sibling passed and his parents died young [likely from Blight explosure]. Took over their trading in Tevinter but left to help the Inquisition help fight the Blight in a concrete manner during Inquisition by joining after contacting Josephine. Eventually pursued a grey warden named Dmitri after Adamant. Known for being friendly but still offputting and a bit strange with an eerie ability to sense nearing darkspawn similarly to a grey warden.

Haven't fleshed him out a lot unfortunately but I would like to <3

Markas Cadash[he/any]: A well known member of the Carta who spent his youth smuggling, though he rose up the ranks quickly in favor of making the deals with other Carta houses. Known for being calculating and good at his job, though it falls to the wayside slightly when he becomes Inquisitor. He falls for Josephine and though he continues his pragmatic way of getting things done, he quickly grew to respect her ability to talk people into deals and began using her approach. Became a better person as a result of falling for her, but still a bit cold and self-serving at his core, and uses the Inquisition to his whims more than my others OCs do.

Playlist

Ithelan Eanmanen[he/neos]: My partner's favorite of my blorbos <3. Grew up in Antiva with his clan and had a natural penchant for lying and charming his way into information. After a clanmate died due to his carelessness, he became more interested in information to keep people he loves safe. Later joined the Inquisition as one of Leliana's top agents and fell in love with Dhaveira Alahannon (Fen'an's adoptive sister) who he'd met once previously and was head over heels for.

Personal playlist, modern au playlist, ithedhavi playlist

Davgon Hofer[he/him]: My somewhat underdeveloped falconeer avvarian oc which I have yet to flesh out too much. Formerly lived in Nevarra but left and later joined Fennec-tooth Hold. He has magic but it's not very powerful and he prefers to use a bow. Known for a quiet, soft-spoken demeanor and skill with hunting. Joins up with the Inquisition as an agent of Leliana's, helping to train her birds and often found in the rookery. Pursued by a rivaini dalish woman named Nadasa during his time in the Inquisition, drawn to her self certainty when speaking with him.

Elgara Lavellan[she/he]: In her early 30s, Elgara is self-assured and well designed to natural leading. She's a pragmatist with a secret playful streak that Sera and Solas often bring out in her. She manages to maneuver well enough to save her entire clan and give them a modicum of political power, and frequently sends letters to her ward, Aya, who is an up and coming hunter. Romances Solas across the course of her game but eventually grew frustrated and exhausted by his cagey nature around sharing knowledge, and breaks things off in favor of pursuing Sera near the end of the game who is a welcome warmth after Solas' frequent chill.

Playlist

Nydha Lavellan[he/him]: Initially bright-eyed and excitable, he was quite happy and sweet person. Often ruled by emotion and a bit immature, he gradually becomes pessimistic and slides into many obvious fits of depression as he gets closer to the end of DAI. Has a lot of unresolved PTSD from the unexpected and fraught decisions he made which led to the death of (most of) clan Lavellan.

He romances Dorian, who is one of the few places he finds solace, and is quite close friends with Cole. He also romances Rajmael Anise, a dalish OC of @secretly-seraph1m 's who took it upon himself to become his personal guard. Rajmael helps him guard his space and time better, and helps him grieve his family after he gets news of the death of his clan.

Personal playlist, Rajnydha playlist

Mellita Trevelyan[she/he/neos]: A surly, sharp tongued ex-circle turned blood mage who escaped to join the more extreme sections of the mage rebellion with a revolutionary spirit and chip on her shoulder. Originally discovered to be a mage quite young, she had little mind for Circle politics and used her nobility for perks until she became disowned. She has a secret soft side, often brought out by Lark Orrick, her eventual partner who originally was in Ostwick circle before his own escape years before her own, and her tertiary partner, Sammael. She's insane and I need her so bad <3

[artistgem]

Promises

The Siege of Orgrimmar angst fic no one asked for.

2,464 words.

Taran, truthfully, had no idea how he had survived.

One moment he was standing on a shoddy wooden bridge, determined and at peace, ready to give his life for all of Pandaria, the next he was bleeding out from being gouged in the stomach atop the spiked eye of Garrosh Hellscream’s battleaxe, Gorehowl. Force to his knees and could only helplessly watch as the Heart of Y’Shaarj tainted the sacred pools he had so desperately tried to protect. The resulting explosion of corruption blooming into the sky, polluting once clear skies into an ominous black and white, and that was not even getting started on the blight that soon befell the golden, eternal vale all around him.

A series of explosions erupted underneath the ground and the only thing Taran – completely shell-shocked – remembered was plummeting off the platform.

What ever happened between then and how he got to the final chamber were only brief flashes in his mind. Stumbling over unsteady terrain. Coughing up blood. Confronting Garrosh once more.

He must have blacked out again afterwards – or been knocked out - as he found himself laying in a pool of his own blood, which was seeping out from his leather armour, and a faint ringing in his hears. A pounding in his head.

He barely registered the fact the Sha of Pride was several feet away from him and it was helped by the fact the Sha seemed to care less for the pathetic Pandaren dying on the floor.

Because that is what was happening, Taran was going to die here.

It was not a noble death. He would die here as a failure.

He should have tried harder. He should have tried harder to stop Garrosh, he should have pushed himself to his upmost limits even if it costed him everything. He should have tried harder to convince Xuen not to allow the Alliance and Horde into the Vale. He should have – could have – done so, so much more and yet he had not.

For just the briefest moment, he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability and shed the tears that were brimming in his fading eyes.

He was not going to pass on to the next life in peace. Not when he had failed his people. His Celestials. His-

Cho…

His mate.

…

He was leaving his mate a widower.

Fresher, hot tears fell faster.

He had wanted to spend the rest of his life with his mate and now it was ending so soon. He was leaving Cho to go on with the rest of his life alone, with only the reminder his mate had died without peace and marked with failure.

And Cho had asked him to come back to him safe, the last they had talked when Taran saw to the evacuation of the Seat of Knowledge personally, just to make sure Cho would be far, far away from the conflict. He had promised him he’d return.

A broken promise now.

Maybe there was one bit of peace for him, however. Cho was far away from here by now and would not have been caught in the cross-fire of the corruption of the Vale. Taran would never forgive himself, in life or death, had Cho been a casualty.

He had promised to protect him in his vows.

Taran coughed harshly, the rattling of his ribs shooting pain throughout his body and he stared blankly at the blood that splattered onto the ground.

Well. This was it.

He just wished – even for a second - he could tell Cho one last time he loved him.

Cho was his sun. His warmth where he was cold and harsh like a blizzard.

He was so, so cold now…

He shut his eyes for what he knew was the last time and coughed and wheezed as blood caught in his throat. Such a pitiful noise from someone who was once larger than life.

Ready to see what waited for him on the other side, he was not prepared to faintly hear the great doors opening before him and a rush of feet passing by him, nor the sudden burst of life from the Sha of Pride, who welcomed the lambs to the slaughter.

He was not prepared to hear Cho cry his name.

When he opened his eyes, for a split second he had thought he was hallucinating in his final moments. That the image of his mate was some way to ease his mind as he passed on.

The moment Cho’s paw touched his own and squeezed it tightly made him realise he was all too real.

Why-…why was he here?

He was so confused.

He was in so much pain.

He was so tired.

“Cho?”

His body shuddered with repressed wheezes and coughs. He did not want to traumatise his mate more by hacking up even more blood. There was enough surrounding him already and the fact he was dying in front of him.

Tired golden eyes lingered to the enlaced paws. His heart ached seeing how Cho’s was shaking. He could not bare to look at his face.

“The-…the outsiders”. Taran’s voice crackled for a bit; it was taking so much energy to speak. “They did this…w-we should have never had l-let them in…”.

Taran could not muster any true ire towards the Alliance and Horde champions, who were currently engaging with the Sha of Pride not far from him. He barely had enough energy to speak, much less waste it on an emotional outburst.

He was tired. Defeated.

The faint press of lips to the bridge of his nose soothed the ache in his heart briefly, as did the gentle hush that was as light as breeze.

“Don’t speak…save your energy, I’ll get you to the healers”.

Had this been anywhere else, under different circumstances, Taran Zhu would have been greatly amused of his smaller mate attempting to carrying him anywhere. Cho only barely reached his chest and lacked any form of muscle as ‘knowledge was his armour and the quill was his sword’. Taran was now worried Cho would get injured trying to drag him out or make himself vulnerable to any lingering enemies who would easily pick him off given his sole protector was out of commission. Or he was just giving his mate false hope.

Taran had no time to tell Cho something cliché such as ‘I’ll only slow you down’ because the smaller male was wiggling himself underneath Taran’s left arm and heaving him up as best as he could. Cho was clever as well because he muttered a quiet yet determined “I’m not leaving you” that brooked no arguments whatsoever.

Mustering every last bit of strength he had left, Taran stumbled onto his feet to at least take some of the strain of his small mate. With one arm slung around Cho’s shoulders, his other hand was clutching the wound on his abdomen where a cloth had been-

When had that-…

It was Cho’s tabard.

When had he wrapped it around him?

It was already stained a deep red.

They took their first few steps. Taran gritting his fangs tightly. Locking his jaw as his body ached and screamed to rest yet he soldiered on for the sake of his mate, who was staring straight ahead. Repeatedly squeezing the paw Taran had around his shoulders every so often, whether that was to comfort Taran, or himself, or both…who knew.

It…was a long walk through the ruins and then out through the mine, all the while he battled between slipping into unconsciousness and trying in vain to stay alert. Not only for any left over sha but just to listen to the soft rambling coming from his mate.

If he died, he at least wanted to die hearing his mate for the final time.

His ears finally picked up on something else, commotion from the entrance to the mine which instantly had him on edge but Cho kept walking them forward.

“It’s the relief efforts”.

And he was right, outside the mine several first-aid stations had been quickly set up and healers of all factions, races and classes were banding together to tend to the wounded and paying respect to the deceased. Those who were not medically inclined worked in tandem to clear the area of any leftover sha or were scouting through wreckage and bodies, bringing survivors to the healers.

Something stirred within Taran’s chest as he was lead to a tent and slowly laid down, immediately being swarmed with healers and medics, all the while Cho was by his side.

“We made it, My Heart. Just stay awake with me now”.

Their paws never parted for a second even as the top half of his armour was stripped away, the blood-soaked tabard removed, and his wounds were tended to.

“You are lucky you are pure muscle; you are going to pull through, Taran. You are going to be okay”.

Taran finally had the guts to look at his mate fully and his heart broke into many splintered pieces at seeing the tears in his eyes, in spite of the smile on his face. It was too forced. Cho was still shaking. He always hated seeing Cho cry, such gorgeous eyes and kind face should never have a hint of sorrow ever.

Achingly, he lifted his free paw to wipe away those dreadful tears with his thumb. Cho leaning into the palm of his paw with a mix of a sob and a laugh.

“’m…I’m so sorry…”

“What ever for, My Heart…you are here you came back to me like you promised”.

Taran squeezed his eyes shut.

“I failed…the Vale I-…I tried…I should have done more I’m so sorry”. He hated how his voice cracked. “So…so many good people died”.

Cho’s face contorted into worried horror.

“Taran…Taran, no…no nonono do not say such things you did everything you could have”. His own voice was breaking as tears were flowing even more freely. Purple eyes lingering on the wound to his abdomen before Taran firmly tilted his head back to look him in the eyes again.

(He was grateful the healers and medics were professional and focused on tending to him rather than actively eavesdropping in on a vulnerable conversation).

“I just want you here – alive – with me. The Vale can be restored. The dead can be put the rest. I cannot replace you…please, I cannot- I can’t I can’t I can’t…”

He was sobbing now. Gut wrenching sobbing and Taran was shaking now, squeezing Cho’s paw tightly.

“Don’t cry…I hate seeing you cry”.

Cho sniffled.

“I could say the same to you…”

With another sniffle, Cho laid down on the hard dirt and burrowed his face into Taran’s neck, who rested his chin atop his mate’s head. The healers and medics worked dutiful and ignored the howling cries and barely repressed sobs.

Soon their work was done. Wounds were stitched, bandaged. Blood lost was slowly being transferred back.

Taran and Cho still laid side by side. Exhausted and red-eyed and silent. Their clasped paws were held between them and at some point Taran had brought his other arm around Cho to cushion him off the uncomfortable ground. Cho was busy focused on his heartbeat.

There was movement at the tent’s entrance which Taran and Cho could only blankly glance over too, being greeted by one of the relief effort volunteers who looked reluctant for their sake.

“Lorewalker Cho, you are needed out here. Lady Proudmore and Lord Regent Theron require someone who has been into the chambers below and no one from the previous party has returned…”

Cho did not move for a moment before slowly sitting up. Even more slowly bringing the palms of his hands to rub at the corners of his eyes and sniffed.

“May I have a moment…I will be out shortly”.

“Of course”.

The volunteer turned and left quickly. Cho shakily sighed before straightening up, taking slow and measured breathes. Taran watched him undo his hair bun, fix his hair before redoing it up again, carding blunt claws through his sideburns and harshly rubbing at his cheeks to remove the feeling of tear stains. He reached to the side and slipped on a fresh, clean tabard – that one of the medics must have left for him earlier.

He did not look ready to face anyone but Taran admired how quickly he put on a fake mask to appear fine when things were not fine.

Cho looked at him and smiled (it did not reach his eyes).

“Seems they need a navigator”. He laughed humourlessly. “No idea why…getting down there is simple enough and the champions cleared everything out”.

The Lorewalker bent down and pressed a soft kiss to Taran’s forehead and made to stand up when Taran reflectively grabbed his wrist. Fur standing on end. Cho was briefly startled but his smile settled into something more genuine.

“Taran, I’ll be fine”.

The Lord stared at his paw around Cho’s wrist and slowly loosened it, not releasing it though. Mildly embarrassed but could you blame him for being on edge and not wanting his mate to go back down there.

But he could not delay Cho any longer.

“Come back to me, safe”, he begged. Quietly.

Cho’s features softened even more. This was the Cho he knew and loved. “I will, I promise”.

He bent down again and Taran leaned up, aiming for a kiss to the lips but Cho planted the kiss to his nose instead. Upon seeing the confused look on his mate’s face, Cho raised an eyebrow, amused.

“We can have a proper kiss once you wash the blood out of your mouth”.

Taran blinked and – for the first time that day – laughed, even if it was soft and short. His fingers slipped from Cho’s wrist and he let his mate stand and move to the tent’s flap. Cho paused and turned back to Taran. Face sincere and eyes captivating and Taran was reminded all over again how wonderfully, radiantly gorgeous Cho was.

“I love you, My Heart”.

His heart quickened.

“I love you too, My Flower”.

Cho closed his eyes, breathed in deep before composing himself. Set his shoulders and stepping out of the tent, leaving with a flutter of his cape.

It was silly how quickly Taran immediately missed his presence but there was not much he could do until he was given the clearance to leave. However long that was.

So instead he laid back down and tried to rest. Holding on tight to the promise Cho would be back and he would be fine and safe.

When a healer entered his tent and finished up some exams, they asked if he needed anything – food, something to drink, some painkillers?

He asked for mouthwash.

[giftofgaypoetry]

There’s one person in the room, but the voice is broadcasting from a paint stained ipad in a mustard yellow case. The lone occupant is hunched over a table, so severely they’re practically folded over whatever they’re working on.

“There was some disagreement, at least in the restorations that I could find? As far as how big the head should be… uh, uh once you start getting out from the brain case-”

“Hello?”

She says it hesitantly, as soft as she can with her voice still carrying, but the artist still flinches and straightens up like a startled bird. Nearly toppling off their chair in their fumble to turn off the Ipad, they turn to her with their paint brush still in hand.

Hunter Wittebane, blinking at her owlishly through a pair of magnifying goggles that make his magenta eyes absurdly enormous, fails to hide his grimace when he recognises her. In his effort to push his goggles out of his face, he paints an enormous streak of red paint directly across his forehead.

“Amity Blight. What are you doing here?”

The leather of her gloves creaks, as she clutches the edge of her skirt nervously. Unemotive displeasure flits across his face, a tiny statuette clutched in his other hand.

“I’m here to... I heard about the art room. I wanted to see it.”

He huffs, a slightly pursed frown on his lips, and brushes a stubborn blonde forelock back behind his goggles.

“You can say it was Counsellor Hooty, Miss Blight. There's no point in lying.”

Turning back to his desk, dipping his brush into a pot of water and swirling it slowly, he leaves Amity to flush an ugly red across her forehead and cheeks.

“Counsellor Hooty sent me here too, when I first arrived. Hobbies and creative outlets are a step towards finding peace and purpose, and may ease your adjustment. So I picked up painting.”

Oh lovely. She has the same ‘treatment’ as the fucked up terrorist kid.

Holding out a statuette to her, he shows off a clumsy gap toothed grin and gives the statuette a slow twirl. Slate Blue and slathered in patches of red, the models face snarls at her menacingly, an absurdly embellished battleaxe grasped in its miniscule hands.

“They're Space Wolves. This is Gunther Grimtooth. He's the Captain I made for my army. He has quite a bit of lore.”

“Okay…?”

Apparently oblivious to the incomprehensible nature of his words, he turns back to his desk. There is indeed a veritable army there, a dozen or so models painted to varying degrees of completion. All in the same colour, some with patches of gold and yellow too.

“I play with Mr Porter and Mr Tholomule on Friday nights.”

Small piece for the xmen toh au:

Hexside Academy for Gifted Youngsters was built in the skeleton of an enormous colonial mansion, the kind built by Englishmen when they were inexplicably struck with homesickness after moving to America so they could pull every built of wealth out of its soil, tearing riches from between roots and among bones. It’s a home for people with so much wealth they can scarcely comprehend it, the wealth one can only make by extracting it through human suffering, the wealth that possesses one to build homes with the purpose of status and symbol, not for living as humans but as gods among men.

It’s Georgian architecture, stretching out languidly with its wings and courtyards. 3 stories and a basement, with dozens of rooms to fit an impossibly large family. Wings, observatories, courtyards, pavilions. Oak floors, tile floors, marble floors. Stone walls, wooden walls, walls lathed in centuries old Chinese wallpaper. The main entrance into the enormous mezzanine, and a dizzying number of entrances for the army of servants that historically tended to it, and all sorts of doors leading out into gardens and the other buildings that have been built in proximity, ever expanding as its purpose changes from country house to academic institution.

Amity grew up in a house like this. A mansion, a plantation house on the river, a stain on the landscape of starved dirt and thick air. Edric had told her it was a real plantation house, that he’d found all the evidence in the library, and she had sighed resignedly because what else does she say to that. How does she think about that and not throw up at the dinner table in front of Mother, how does she think about what their house was and not rot her food on its plate with her lack of discipline.

The Blight Estate was a place of death and misery, a place where suffering was calculatedly inflicted to extract as much potential wealth and usefulness as possible. It had done so for 203 years. Every single day Amity had been trapped in that goddamn place of ghosts, she had lost her mind just a little bit more. Too shameful to leave, too weak and undisciplined to be allowed the privilege of the outside world. A stain on the Blight name. Never as useful as her siblings.

Getting out of that mansion and being trapped in another should’ve been a unique kind of hell, a maddening taste of freedom snuffed out cruelly as though she had not earned anything. As if the punishment for her birth-shame would continue. Forced to endure more isolation, but without the quiet and privacy and familiarity.

Where her house had rooms of emptiness and calculated discomfort, entire caverns of awkward conversation and garish decorations and rooms without purpose, not a single inch of space seems anything but downright homely and comforting in the academy.

The library is well stocked and constantly recycled. More than a place to present books for display, to signal an imaginary intelligence and prestige from owning enough of the things one needs an entire room, it is a place to read. There are kettles for tea, and armchairs so comfortable one could melt between its cushions forever. The windows are open to let in the rich sunlight, and the chatter of study is as soft as the wind.

The north-west corner drawing room with windows that stretch to the ceiling, that would’ve been decorated in pillaged artefacts and endless paintings of greyhounds, becomes a music room. Guitars along the walls, a grand piano she’s been itching to try, a full acoustic drum set, beanbags and arm chairs, Persian rugs. Places to sit by the window and watch Edric fumble with a bass guitar hopelessly while she reads some more.

The ninth grade common room is too loud for her tastes, too stifled with bodies for her to be anything but still with terror at the hypothetical brush of a hand against her own, but it’s a place designed for the happiness and social behaviour of teenagers, and that in of itself is such a novelty she’ll still go to watch the Banshees play crude card games, and sit with company while she studies.

Counsellor Hooty gave her instructions for the art room, one of many places she still hasn’t been in, even over the course of her weeks at the academy. He hadn’t said anything about what sorts of arts were taught in the classroom, and she had no idea how to read his avian face for a smile, but he’d recommended it highly. Amity did not consider herself an artistic person, but when Professor Darius had seconded the advice, she had figured that she could at least bring herself to visit the room when she had no other engagements.

The enormous oaken doors open near silently, into the east wing parlour connected to the smallest observatory. The floorboards are scuffed and paint-splattered to such a degree she’s sure her mother would go into immediate cardiac arrest upon seeing it. There’s a heavy smell of plastic glue and paint in the air, and projects of varying degrees of completion strung up all over the room. A bust of what appears to be electronic components, fairy lights and broken glass stands by the window, glittering etherally in the sunlight.

“- that the spine was working so hard to bring down to its food supply. Well, we don't have a lot of the cranial material. We have the braincase and little else. Uh, so we restore the rest of it after Dicraeosaurusand, now partially after Bajadasaurus, which was described last year.”

[servingcocoa]

🥧 last updated: nov 17th, 2023

Hello! I’m mod Servant, but you may call me Servant! My pronouns are he/she/bun/moon/fae (in order of preference), and I’m a young adult! I’m bisexual, non-binary, and I’m also autistic (amongst other unlisted mental silliness).

I label this as a kinhelp blog, but I am glad to do requests for anyone.

Open this post for my rules, DNI, sources, request types, whitelist and blacklist!

⛓ Rules

Please respect my DNI, sources and blacklist. This includes not using my edits if you’re on my DNI, either.

One request per ask, please! But feel free to send multiple requests.

If a request makes me uncomfortable for any reason, or I am just not motivated to do it, I have the right to decline it.

Whether requests are open or closed is always in my blog description!

Reposts onto other sites are fine IF credit is given to me!

Please like and/or reblog my edits if you use them.

Noooo discourse! Especially not about me using she/her pronouns for Chihiro, and double-especially about the inclusion of anything on my blacklist and/or DNI. This includes asking why something is on my blacklist and / or DNI.

⛓ DNI

If you are a Nazi, pedo, bigot, truscum / transmed / ‘enby skeptic’, or a pro-shipper

You think bisexuality isn’t inclusive of trans / non-binary people (I’m not a ‘battleaxe bi’ or whatever panphobes call themselves; I just hate biphobes)

I also block freely! Please do not ask why you are blocked, if you are. You probably made me uncomfortable somehow. It’s nothing personal!

⛓ Sources

Main sources: Danganronpa (1, 2 and 3), Professor Layton, Pokemon, Doki Doki Literature Club, The Owl House, LEGO Monkie Kid

Minor/selective sources: Luca 2021, Scratchin’ Melodii, Splatoon, MILGRAM, Bug Fables, Animal Crossing, She Ra (reboot), Smile For Me, Helltaker, Bad End Theater

⛓ Request Types

Icons (pride or regular)

Reply icons

Headers

Phone wallpapers (specify dimensions!)

Aesthetic boards

Layouts (specify if for Twitter or tumblr!)

Playlists

⛓ Whitelist

Kiyotaka Ishimaru, Mondo Oowada, Chihiro Fujisaki, Gundham Tanaka, Kazuichi Souda, Izuru Kamukura / Hajime Hinata and Nagito Komaeda (Danganronpa)

Pearl, Agent 3 and Agent 8 (Splatoon)

Raymond and Isabelle (Animal Crossing)

Angela Ledore, Henry Ledore, Randall Ascot, Hershel Layton, Emmy Altava and Luke Triton (Professor Layton)

Bede (only if you don’t kin him), Gladion, Lillie, Hop, and Hau (Pokemon)

Leif, Kabbu, and Mothiva (Bug Fables)

Hunter, all of the Blight siblings, and Luz Noceda (The Owl House)

Red Son, Macaque, Mei, Sun Wukong and MK (LEGO Monkie Kid)

Lovecore, softcore, cozycore, plushies / soft things, domestic love, pink and/or brown-heavy aesthetics

⛓ Blacklist

(Please trust that all of the things here have a good reason behind them! I do not owe you an explanation.)

Pedophilia, abuse, incest or rape (themes of recovery from said things is okay!)

Toxic or otherwise abusive ships (again, themes of recovery is okay!)

Lusamine or Chairman Rose (Pokemon)

Shadow Weaver, Hordak or Horde Prime (She-Ra)

Teruteru Hanamura, and Nagito Komaeda paired romantically with women (Danganronpa)

Belos or Odalia Blight (The Owl House)

Yanderecore

Bede edits for people who kin him (comfort character requests are okay; sorry!)

[forbidden-sorcery]

It is useless to try to teach one who has no tongue how to speak. It is useless to take fright in the face of guttural sounds and thoughtless acts. It is useless to propose mediation to one who wants the impossible. It is useless to beg for freedom from one who imposes slavery. Let’s leave pedagogy to the two emissaries, together with their police and missionary spirit. May the barbarians break loose. May they sharpen their swords, may they brandish their battleaxes, may they strike their enemies without pity. May hatred take the place of tolerance, may fury take the place of resignation, may outrage take the place of respect. May the barbarian hordes go to the assault, autonomously, in the way that they determine. And may no parliament, no credit institution, no supermarket, no barracks, no factory ever grow again after their passage. In the face of the concrete that rises to strike the sky and the pollution that fouls it, one can well say with Dejacque that “It is not the darkness that the Barbarians will bring to the world this time, it is the light.”                  The destruction of the Empire could hardly assume the customary forms of social revolution, as we have come to know them from the history books. (the conquest of the Winter Palace, the popular reaction to a blight, the general wildcat strike).                  There are no longer any noble ideas capable of stirring the great proletarian masses, there are no longer sweet Utopias ready to be fertilized by their lovers, there are no longer radical theories that only wait to be put into practice. All this has been overwhelmed, swept away by the imperial slime. There is only the disgust, the desperation, the repugnance of dragging our existence through the blood spilled by power and the mud flung up by obedience. And yet in the midst of this blood and mud, the will — confused in some and clearer in others — to put an end to the Empire and its deadly order once and for all can be born.

Crisso and Odoteo - Barbarians

[hawkeyde]

hero of ferelden: i stopped a blight and saved everyone and also fought like this huge massive archdemon and like a million darkspawn haha hawke: YEAH????????????????????  i can do cool shit too . here hold my sick battleaxe that i MADE MYSELF by the way . i’m good at things . anyway check out this fucking sick backflip i can do .

[elsanna-shenanigans]

August Contest Submission #5: A Good Dream

Setting: Bloodborne

[Lemon]

[Monster Fucking, violence, sad/suicide feels, happy ending]

A paleblood moon hung like a ripe apple over the gothic spires of Yharnam. Distant screams of beasts and men carried on the wind. Anna sprinted up long steps to the Grand Cathedral, weapons armed and sweat on her brow. Hunting. Her mind grated like saws. 

Two gaunt churchmen in black robes snarled at her as she closed in on the double doors. Guarding the Cathedral. Praying, grieving statues flanked their sides. The smell of iron thickened. 

  The first pale, hollow-eyed creature swung its wooden cross at Anna like a battleaxe. Moans escaped the abyss of its throat. Anna dove for the ground, skidding on the worn leather of her coat. The cross whiffed. She tore upward in a spiral, her saw cleaver rending flesh like a rusted scalpel shearing muscle. The churchman went down with a thud.

  By the time Anna regained her bearings the second grotesquerie was already mid-swing. Its cross caught her in the side. Crack. Blood burst from her like a popped bubble. It began a second swing. Fury. Not dying yet. The Hunter grabbed her assailant by the cloak and raised her pistol, firing before the killing blow could connect. The churchman staggered from the bullet impact. Anna’s fist entered the being’s chest and clenched its clammy, inhuman heart. With a spurt it came loose and the churchman was dead, a companion to its friend lying upon the step.

  A cold wind blew. Anna dropped the heart on the cobble and sighed. Her muscles ached. Her clothes were stiff with dried vitae. Hurt. Her wound pulsed and the corners of her vision darkened. From Anna’s satchel she retrieved a blood vial and injected herself, the healing power of the old blood filling her veins and revitalizing her sickly spirit. Relief.

  The mad city consumed her in small pieces. The creatures almost got her. Anna’s head swirled with memories of a thousand deaths, a thousand climbs upon similar stairs, a thousand ways to cease to be. Shards. She’d never made it to the Grand Cathedral before. The dream held her, immortal, until she completed her unknowable task. What did the old man want? The doll? Their words were cryptic yet in their own way they guided her, by hints and ghostly lanterns, pulling her scouring rage down every corner of the blighted city. The blood ran so thick the very cobble had long been dyed red.  

  She’d come to Yharnam to escape disease. A plague upon her northern land, black splotches and yellow vomit in every village home. She’d nearly succumbed when she decided to take a chance. Yharnam, the city of blood. A legend, a fountain. Blood that could cure any disease, by the grace of the church and its gods.

  She’d scrabbled. She’d clawed. It worked. Upon the first injection of the strange, otherworldly blood Anna’s disease receded, her strength born again. Brilliance. A dying star. It was blood unlike any mortal blood she’d ever known. She cried in relief upon the creaking floorboards of that withered, forgotten clinic. 

  Then she’d died. A beast, quadrupedal and low to the ground, flayed her stomach with a quick slash and her entrails flooded out. Release.

  Death should have brought comfort. When Anna awoke in that accursed Hunter’s Dream very much alive she knew then that no gift comes without a cost. So she was bound. For a purpose she did not yet understand, she was bound. To slay beasts, demons, men, she was bound. Bound, bound, and drawn ever forward in the search of salvation. The gods who had given the church its blood, surely they could save her. Surely someone could save her. Anyone. Her heart burned with the fatigue of a neverending waking and a sleep that brought only blood. 

  So Anna went. She’d met a man named Gilbert, sickly from the beast plague and nearing his transformation into a monstrosity. Mindless, feral. “Deep within the Cathedral Ward is the old grand cathedral,” he’d said between wheezing rasps, “the birthplace of the Healing Church’s special blood, or so they say.” 

  She’d met a Hunter named Eileen, a crow from a foreign land snipping away the lives of Hunters gone mad. “It’s in the blood,” she said, “the scourge of beasts is in the blood.” No gift without a cost. The arrogance of a holy institution. Mad, mad all of them. 

  All voiced, haunted or hunted or dead, beckoned Anna to the Grand Cathedral. The home of the church, the altar of the Choir. After more deaths than she could count, she’d made it.

  Anna wiped slick red from her cleaver, wet and primal. She stepped over the churchmen and strode up to the triple-high Cathedral doors. Answers. In here, surely, there must be answers. Hope? No, scarcely anything left of hope, but perhaps insight. Yes, insight. Seek Paleblood, seek Paleblood. 

  With a strength she’d only felt after imbuing Yharnam’s sweet succor, Anna the Hunter heaved open the stone Cathedral doors. She ascended another flight of stairs, forests of incense on either side. Statues of many-legged gods watched her pass, unreadable. Too many eyes. Just before she reached the top the distinct melody of prayer caught her ear. Another enemy. She affirmed that her weapons were still in her hands; that she even still had hands at all.

  The stairway opened into a vast, vaulted chamber. Great windows lined the walls. A tabernacle of gold and grit rose up towards the ceiling at the back. Barrier. Anna’s mind writhed to look upon it. She blinked twice. Mad, spiraling patterns careened along the floor towards the circular center of the chamber where a lone, shrouded white figure kneeled.

  The figure prayed alone. “Remain wary of the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, minds young. Were it not for fear, death would go unlamented. Seek the old blood. Let us pray, let us wish; to partake in communion. Let us partake in communion and feast upon the old blood.“

  Anna gripped her weapons and growled. Answers. Beasts. Which one, which one? Her steps echoed as she approached. More dead ends? More lost souls? Ever forward.

  The figure quieted and stood upon the Hunter’s approach. They moved eerily, like a mannequin wearing skin that didn’t quite fit. What’s hiding? Anna stopped a few meters away and looked into their face. Ice white, with crystal blue eyes and brilliant blonde hair in a long, spiraling braid falling from their shoulder. Beautiful. Anna sucked in breath. At the figure’s feet sat an ornate goblet, empty. A smear of red dribbled from their mouth.

  “If you have come for communion,” the figure said, “you are too late.” They glanced at Anna’s weapons, but didn’t appear alarmed. Still a threat. A slithering shook through them like an earthquake under the skin. “A shame, you smell nice.” A blush. Blood in so many places.

  Anna bared her fangs. “Who are you?”

  “Me?” The figure appeared as if in a daze. “I am Elsa, Lady Vicar of this noble and just Healing Church.” Elsa’s head lolled back. “Our blood saves people but so few came to communion this day, so few…”

  Mad. All mad everywhere you go. Even the head of the church, of those responsible. The Hunter bristled like a ravenous dog. “The dream.” Anna growled and stepped forward. The Vicar appeared nonplussed. “Is it your doing? How do I escape it?”

  “Dream?” Elsa frowned. “I know nothing of dreams, perhaps you ought to ask Maria. Or Lawrence.” Clarity flashed through her eyes for a fleeting moment. “Ah, Lawrence.” She looked about to weep. “Poor, poor man. He tried so hard to save Gehrman.”

  Ravings. Anna moved closer, predatory. “Your church did this.” The scourge. “Why? Where did you get your blood?” Anna whipped open her saw cleaver with a clang and pointed the sharp end towards Elsa.

  The Vicar’s pupils darkened at the sight. Her tongue traced her lips. Hunger. “Oh, how violent. Come, weary Hunter, please join me, for there is still time for communion yet. Let us share in blood and flesh together as Yharnamites of yesterday used to.” Anna heard lust. Her legs trembled. Beating blood, churning red.

  “Answer me, damn you!”

  The Vicar frowned and for all the world appeared genuinely sad. It puzzled Anna. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t been Vicar terribly long.” She forced a smile. “But if you partake you will find salvation; the gods will it. Please.”

  Puzzles every which way. Anna’s answers were not here. Not in the Grand Cathedral, the place where answers ought to be. She lowered her blade and cursed under her breath. A glance around. No lantern. Perhaps she’d gone the wrong way. Perhaps there was no right way, just spirals of corkscrewing streets and aqueducts of simmering bile repeating indefinitely upon each other. Lamps and streets. A nightmare.  

  Despair coalesced within like tar. Anna felt the urge to slit her own throat with her rusty blade. Free. It hadn’t done any good before, but maybe it was worth a second try. She licked her lips and tasted salt. How long had she been trapped by the dream? Unable to die? One was the same as a thousand. 

  A hand gripped Anna’s wrist and she startled. It was the Vicar. There was no one else. In a previous life Anna might have squeaked and rattled an onslaught of apologies for her dour mood, but instead her instincts reacted in an instant. A Hunter must hunt. She roared and lashed out with her saw, cutting Vicar Elsa clean across the chest.

  She dropped to her knees. Anna heaved in breath, her hands shaking. “Uncouth,” Elsa rasped, “and rude. I’m sorry if I startle you.” She continued to speak, but no more words left Elsa’s lungs. Snarling, ripping.

  The Vicar’s body trembled and split. Anna darted back, her gun and blade at the ready. In a splatter of wet Elsa’s body burst from within. The old blood splattered the statues of the gods adorning the Cathedral walls. Transcendental. Where the willowy head of the Healing Church once stood now staggered a great beast, white of fur and adorned in bandages. The remains of Elsa’s cloaks masked her eyes. Her head was not unlike a wolf’s heavy with antlers scraping air. Mud and blood and water. Great hands slammed the ground and Elsa howled into the long night. 

  Anna’s back arched and the hairs on her back rippled. Just like Gascoigne. This, Anna knew. Hunt. Hunt, hunt, hunt. She dropped to the floor and burst forward, her heart hammering like a gatling gun. Her cleaver sang in a great arc, slicing through the flesh of the Vicar’s outstretched hand. Elsa snarled in pain and Anna prepared for retaliation with the raising of her pistol. Muscle memory. 

  It never came. The dig of claws, the reaving of tooth. Anna blinked. Elsa, now easily four times Anna’s size, had not struck back. She could kill her easily. The Vicar leaned back on her great pawed haunches and began to gently lick the rough tear in her hand.

  The scent of blood felt heavy like syrup. Anna sweat. Her gun trembled. Pregnant silence crept into the Grand Cathedral for the first time in many a moon. When Elsa finished licking her wound she looked up at Anna and seemed to frown. Her teeth and fur made it hard to tell. 

  “You,” Anna said, “why are you not mad? Why do you not strike me?” All beasts kill. 

  Elsa shook her snout and a low growl left her lips.

  “You–what, you don’t want to? You, a monster?” Another shake of the snout, and the Vicar pointed towards the tabernacle with a long, canid claw. Communion. Anna was unable to stop the unhinged laughter that escaped her then. “Impossible! No, this is a trick. You’ll kill me and I’ll be back in the dream!” Her gun hadn’t wavered. 

  Elsa shook her snout twice more then clasped her thin-fingered hands together in prayer. A soft golden glow emanated from her fur and within seconds the wound upon her hand was no more. A miracle. “Ludicrous! The blood made you a beast, you have beastly urges!” Anna said, “What do you want if not carnage?” 

  With a snort the Vicar rolled onto her back with a thundering boom. The floor shook under Anna’s feet. Elsa stretched out like a lazy old dog and exposed the soft-looking white fur of her stomach. Anna, covered in blood, pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d truly lost it. Beasts appeared as friends, friends appeared as beasts. 

  She lowered her pistol. “I don’t believe it.”

  Elsa appeared sheepish and wriggled, scratching her back against the Cathedral tile. No answers. No resolution.

  “So do I rub your stomach as if you were a lady’s terrier?” The Vicar stretched her arms out with a yawn and scraped the Cathedral walls, leaving deep gouges in the sculpted stone. When she’d finished she turned again to the Hunter and nodded her big wolfy head. Friendship? No.

  How long had it been since Anna had a friend who did not kill her when she accidentally struck them? Beasts, all. How long since she’d seen a dog who didn’t tear the meat from her calves? The Vicar’s selfless kindness, even as a beast, nearly brought Anna to tears. Her eyes got so far as to water. No, don’t hope. It’s a trick! But she’d already begun wishing, longing. A nightmare without end and no one to share in her sorrow. She’d had Gilbert, but Gilbert was far. She’d had Eileen, but Eileen flew her last upon the blades of Henryk. Anna was alone. Alone and growing madder all the time. 

  The Hunter holstered her pistol and kept it close, just to be safe. It wasn’t like she could truly die. “Very well.” The dream’s cryptic whispers could wait.

  Anna took careful steps towards the lumbering beast before her. Elsa watched her, patient. When Anna arrived without the dismemberment of either party she took a moment to watch the rise and low falling of Elsa’s beastly lungs. Docile. Welcoming. “This is absurd.” Anna began scratching the first rough, white fur she could find. A delighted whine escaped Elsa’s toothy jaws. Bemused, Anna scratched harder. She was rewarded with a tapping beast leg.

  Anna smiled. How long had it been? Elsa growled and a hand nabbed Anna by the waist. Doom. Before she could panic she’d been dropped onto the Vicar’s stomach where she bounced as if on a mighty drum. She checked herself for wounds. Finding herself once again unscathed, Anna shot the beast a glare. “I could have killed you just then. Why did you do that?”

  Elsa looked sheepish again, or as much as one could through a wolf’s face, and bucked her great hips slightly. Anna held tight to her fur to avoid being jostled. “What does that mean?” Some beasts could still speak, why not the Vicar? Anna had to be in a dream. Never woke up.

  Elsa pointed a long claw between her furry thighs. Anna glanced back and stilled. The Vicar’s lumbering, warm sex was prodding the bottom of her shoe with its tip. 

  “Oh.” The blood and the flesh. Anna was puzzled to find that disgust was not her first reaction. “Is this what you meant by communion?” Elsa nodded. “There’s no way that will fit, beastie.” The Vicar whimpered and Anna threw her a look. “Is this your primal urge? Not lustful with blood but horny for flesh? What kind of monster are you?” Anna ruminated upon the chafe of her skin under her bloodsoaked leather clothes. Her face tingled with flush. “Do you truly desire me, and wish me no harm?” She asked in a quiet voice. Her hard-won instincts screamed at her in fury. It was a trick. She’d been deceived, disemboweled, lied to. Died. But this strange monster showed her kindness, an angelic dog once human, and the allure of compassion was far more intoxicating to Anna than any blood. So long she’d been killing and killed. To be held was an ancient memory woken anew.

  The Vicar hefted a long, bony finger and brushed Anna’s cheek with the rough flesh underneath. A smile? Anna couldn’t say. Affirmation. There was love in the gesture, and in the moment Anna would have done anything for Elsa.

  “Very well, beast. A welcome diversion.” Warmth, comfort. If she did die, the dream would go on. She would go on undying, for who knew how long. Caged and bloody.

  Anna tossed off her hat. Elsa’s chest purred with interest. Scrambling through fur the Hunter turned herself around and came face to face with the beast’s lust. The Vicar rumbled and stroked a gentle claw along Anna’s spine. Her sex was smooth and pink, growing from a tuft of white hair hidden by bandages. The soft tip dribbled with glistening wet.

  “Good lord,” Anna muttered. She had been right: it would never fit. The length of it stretched from Anna’s groin to her cranium, heavy and swollen. Thankfully, penetration needn’t be mandatory for a pleasant encounter. The Hunter reached out and drew a gloved hand over the ripe skin of the monster she found herself seducing. Madness, she’d lost it all now.

  Elsa shuddered and purring reverberated in her chest. The heavy vibrations sent a tingling between Anna’s legs and she felt her own pleasure swell. Sweat dribbled from her. The Vicar drew a claw gently across Anna’s breasts and tugged at the fabric. Magnificent. Her thighs quivered.

  A scream of pain echoed into the Cathedral from the city streets below. Death and beasts. Anna’s blood felt afire. She turned on quivering legs back to face Elsa’s shrouded eyes. “Oh, you want me nude, do you?” Elsa nodded with a wolfy grin. How could she see through the blindfold? Her tongue stuck out and she panted like a common mutt. Adoration sizzled within Anna’s loins. What kind of monster was she, becoming aroused at such a devilish sight? “You lewd creature.”

  Doing her best impression of a strip tease, Anna unclasped her longcoat and undid her vest. Her belts came away and her gloves came off, her skin underneath worn and tired. Elsa rumbled as the Hunter slid out of her pants and boots to reveal meager underwear. The monster tugged at the waistband with a claw and tore away the fabric. A moment later Anna was naked, her tools scattered across the floor, trembling atop the lumbering thing she suddenly wished to call her friend. The Hunter scowled, trying to look tough. She was swollen and wet from her predicament, utterly vulnerable amidst the claws of what ought to have been a sworn enemy. Trust. With a gruff laugh Elsa lifted Anna and cradled her in a single massive hand. “Careful, beast.” The pad of Elsa’s thumb settled against Anna’s breast and began to knead. She burned and writhed, joyous. Too long. 

  “Ah, you’re too kind, monster.” Elsa’s other hand found Anna’s groin and with a gentle push began to stroke her hardness against her thumb. She leaked onto the Vicar’s rough skin. Like riding a whale. The purring below, the stroking above. Anna felt as if she might burst. She wished herself large enough to take Elsa’s member, or the Vicar small enough that they might join. Wishing, wishing. Another dream. Tears bubbled in her eyes. She yearned for the closeness, the humanity of it. 

  More screams from the outside. A pale moon watching, a great eye in the cosmos. Blood and sweat and incense. When Anna felt her climax build she pushed back, writhing against the Vicar’s grip. Elsa released her and cocked her heavy head. “Not yet,” Anna said, “I want to come when you do.” 

  Elsa perked up and clapped her large hands together in mirth. The sound echoed like a slap. How many tons did she weigh? How easily could Anna be squashed? The Hunter crawled across Elsa’s mottled fur to the apex of her legs. She made sure she could see the Vicar’s face as she pressed her torso flush against her thickness. Fire. Elsa’s head lolled back, a low howl escaping her jaws. Anna smirked. Her heart thumped with good blood. 

  She reached up and slid a hand over the beast’s opening, wetting herself in Elsa’s slick. She drew hands down their pulsating sides, caressing roughly. Hard and wet. She squeezed her shoulders and thighs. Elsa yelped. The Hunter growled. Pride. She ground her torso against Elsa’s length, her entire body becoming like a sleeve. She wrapped her arms around her, peppered her with kisses, seared with heat as her own sex rubbed against Elsa’s. Kindness. 

  The Vicar bucked and Anna was nearly thrown into the air. “Are you close, fiend?” Anna asked between gasps. Elsa nodded, her great claws tearing rivulets into the smooth Cathedral floor. “There’s a good beastie. Come for me; come and share with me communion.”

  Anna squeezed with every ounce of strength she had. Her small teeth bit into Elsa’s sex and held. She gripped tight. Stability. Pleasure. Beastial. Elsa howled, trembling, her body slammed into the ground and shook the Cathedral walls. Dust fell from the ceiling like snow. Her hips jolted. Great rivulets erupted from the Vicar, wet and thick and smelling of monster, and fell upon Anna in splashes. The Hunter peaked. Raw, trembling, she cried out. Her own ejaculate was soft and clear against her beastial lover’s. She saw echoes of the dream, a thousand bloody souls torn asunder within the eyes of her own mind. The nightmares churned amongst the waking.

  When it was done, Anna collapsed upon the great purring belly of the Vicar Elsa. She was sticky with sweat and sex. Release. Fur clung to her skin. A shaking, pleased hand cradled Anna and lifted her into the air. She was too spent to react. Elsa lowered Anna near her mouth. This is it, a distant Anna thought. Pleasure before death. Before betrayal.

  To her continued shock, Elsa’s tongue slid from between her jaws and licked Anna’s cheek with love. “Hmm.” The beast stroked her head as if in lullaby. “I think I’ve grown fond of you, monster.” A rumbled laugh rocked the floor. Smiling, the Hunter relaxed against her better judgment. Trust. Affection. So long forgotten. She buried her hands in Elsa’s thick fur and nestled in for sleep.

  A good dream.

[galerion]

8, 14, 24, and 42 for Vera for the oc ask?

8. Weapon of Choice?

Battleaxe, if not greatsword. Vera has never been the subtle nor stealthy type, and she’s built strong. She prefers a good hack and slash ⚔️

14. Can they cook? Can they bake?

She doesn’t SUCK at cooking and baking but she’s not great at it either. Ask her to cook an egg or follow a cookie recipe, she can manage; but even then you’re risking a 99% chance of burning (sometimes it’s the cookies, sometimes it’s her hands).

24. Fave Season?

Spring. She’s always loved the flora being in full bloom and the animals coming out after a long winter, but it becomes even more important to her when she sees the way the Blight corrupts the lands.

42. What’s the dumbest thing your character’s done?

ENTER AN OBVIOUSLY DANGEROUS ANCIENT RUIN AND ALLOW TAMLEN TO TOUCH AN OBVIOUSLY CREEPY MIRROR

[consulaaris]

10 OC Facts Tag

Thank you @visionmarred for the tag a while back!! I chose to use my lil Warden bc I love her :’)

I’ll tag @etoilebinaire @lesbianvisas @lady--revan & @ghostlygal ! Only if you guys want to though, no pressure!

.

Kethari Tabris

1. Kethari actually has a a very sweet singing voice! It’s an alto, a bit husky from disuse (and it’s not as though there’s much reason to sing during the Blight), but music makes her happy. Once upon a time she dreamed of escaping the alienage and traveling as a musician, until the reality of elven discrimination came into focus.

2. She naps a lot!!! All that fighting takes up a lot of energy, so she’s got to catch up somewhere... much to the amusement of her companions. (Luckily, she doesn’t snore. Much.)

3. While I play her as a dual wielder in the game (and am too lazy to change her build now), I’ve always pictured Kethari as fighting with a large battleaxe.

4. In direct correlation to the above, she’s very buff & muscular- lets just say, if she ever threatens you, she has the guns to back it up. Even if she is rather short. Scratch that, quite short.

5. Once she gets more comfortable and open with them, of her favorite things to do is to surprise the rest of her companions with bad jokes. Just... bad. Kethari’s good at delivering these with a straight face and has such an innocent expression, that they never quite know whether they’re intentional or not. They’re not... funny, per say, but the seriousness with which she attempts it gets her some pity laughs. It’s more sweet for the fact that she trusts them enough to even try. (She is, however, unintentionally funny quite a lot.)

6. Despite their obvious differences, Kethari and Morrigan actually strike up a pretty close friendship. In my mind they’re both dreamers who have become (sometimes harsh) pragmatists due to the circumstances of their lives, so they can relate to each other pretty well. That’s not to say they always agree, though- Kethari is generally willing to help those in need if possible.

7. She honestly isn’t a fan of sweets. Give her some good salt pork any day! (In truth, it’s largely because she’s unused to the rich flavors, as it’s not something she got to experience often in the alienage.)

8. It’s hard to stay kind in such a harsh world, but Kethari manages it. She has a good heart, if a bit selfish at times, and it truly shines through in her actions. They’re almost always well intentioned, because she sees herself in everyone she helps- she never had anyone like that, and now she gets to be the hero for a little while. It feels... nice.

9. Kethari isn’t very assertive, but she has a weird sense of presence to her that makes people listen to what she has to say. It’s an odd aura that no one could really explain if asked, but it’s certainly proved useful.

10. More than anything, she desires freedom. And even though the situation with the Blight is hellish, Kethari finds it in the Grey Wardens- in the choices she’s trusted to make, in how she’s slowly able to discover herself... in her love for Alistair. It’s a new feeling, frightening even, but she’s achieved her deepest dream in a way she’d never thought possible, and desperately fears losing it all.

[somethingdnd]

Monster submission: Zuvembie (1st draft)

Hi everyone, I’m looking for any suggestions on this monster! Is it appropriate for a CR 5 creature? Any rules I’ve missed or ideas on how to improve it?

  Copyright stuff: The Zuvembie appears in the Pathfinder Bestiary 3, and can be found on the Pathfinder System Reference Document at https://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/monster-listings/undead/zuvembie. This conversion for D&D 5th edition is by Lachlan McGowan, and uses text from the Harpy in the 5th edition Monster Manual.

 Monster lore & tactics:

 A Zuvembie is an undead creature formed when sacred forests are corrupted by necrotic energy. They wander the paths between the Feywild, the Material Plane, and the Shadowfell, driven by a twisted desire to protect whatever forests they travel through. Some zuvembies are former dryads; others were once elves, eladrin, or even hags. Most zuvembies are forced into undeath by the forests’ corruption, but a few have embraced it willingly, looking to take revenge on the creatures who attacked their lands. In either case, their desire for revenge soon overtakes all else in their mind.

Territorial Wanderers: Zuvembies are determined to protect the sacred groves they once resided in, but they are also compulsive wanderers with a poor sense of direction. This means that they usually consider whichever patch of forest they happen to be standing in at the moment as an inviolable holy site. If a zuvembie sees someone starting a campfire, trapping an animal, or even stepping on the wrong patch of grass in the forest, it is likely to fly into a cold rage and prepare an ambush.

Controlling and Summoning: When a zuvembie decides to attack a person, its priorities are controlling the battlefield and keeping itself safe. It will usually begin fights by luring in enemies with its hypnotic Corpse Call, and summoning animals to distract foes that it has not enchanted. Zuvembies have a particular affinity for poisonous beasts, and will usually summon giant scorpions, giant spiders, or giant toads. If its summoned allies are defeated, the zuvembie will use its other spells to control the battlefield so it can kill its enemies or escape. While it carries a battleaxe and has razor-sharp claws, its primary focus is spellcasting – it only uses its melee weapons on entranced or entrapped targets.

Guardians and Traps: In theory, a zuvembie’s extreme territorial instincts could make it a capable guard creature – in practice, they are almost impossible to bargain with, since they value nothing but indiscriminate violence. A few powerful necromancers and foolhardy fey lords have managed to use a zuvembie as a guard creature; by all accounts, their usual method is to capture the zuvembie with magic, let it loose in whatever room they need guarded, lock the doors, and let the zuvembie’s territorial instincts do the rest.

Portal Protectors: More intelligent zuvembies will sometimes settle down in a permanent lair, usually close to a portal between the Feywild and another realm. It may even attract similarly-minded undead and plant creatures, such as Banshees, Blights, and Will-o’-Wisps, in a loose confederacy of guards who look to protect the portal from any and all intruders. Even then, these other creatures usually give the zuvembie a wide berth, knowing that it could at any point take offense to their existence and turn its rage against them.

[dragonologist-phd]

As a fellow Aeducan player, give me all the 6s please😌

ah thank you! I love rambling about my lovely Marja!

In fact, I love rambling so much I'm gonna put this under a cut, cuz it gets long:

6. Do they have a preferred weapon they always use?

asdfghjkl yes and there's actually a lot of overthinking and symbolism(tm) behind the weapons she uses throughout the game.

Marja is a warrior, and in Orzammar she mainly used swords- greatswords were favorite, but she was also well-trained in sword & shield, and usually wore those weapons for ceremonial events and public appearances. They were all family weapons, and she was very proud to wear her ancestral shield even if it wasn't her preferred style.

Once exiled, of course, she lost all of that, and ended up returning to two-handed weapons. She got a battleaxe in Ostagar that she was immediately very fond of, and she continued to use weapons of the same style throughout her journey.

When she went back to Orzammar, however, she steadfastly refused to use anything but sword & shield. She was determined to gain her honor back, and a big part of that was wearing the Aeducan shield to remind everyone of who she was. She was also just having a huge identity crisis through that whole thing, but long story short is that her shield ended up getting destroyed in battle while protecting Darvis, and she was so distracted at the time she didn't even notice.

She briefly considered getting it repaired, but finally decided to leave it behind, as by that point she'd finally accepted that there was no way for her to return to the way things had been. She's been back to using her battleaxes ever since!

6. Which aspects of the culture they were born into holds the most significance for them?

For Marja, it's dwarven ideals of strength and honor. Marja was raised to never show weakness to anybody, and that still has a big effect on how she interacts with people

She's also big on the dwarven idea of honor- she hates breaking promises or resorting to underhanded tactics, and once someone breaks their oath or shows themselves as untrustworthy, she can be a bit ruthless in delivering justice. It's a bit of an eternal paradox- she knows that dwarven politics aren't as honorable as they claim to be, and but she really wants to be above all that, and to actually uphold the lessons she's been taught all her life

6. Do they have a love interest? How did their relationship start?

Marja had a relationship with Leliana- it kind of snuck up on her, and she didn't realize she was crushing on her until they had a moment together in Redcliffe. Leliana comforted Marja after the whole Connor debacle, and ended up confessing her backstory. Marja was really touched that Leliana trusted her with that, then realized how pretty she was, and then she was goner XD

The relationship didn't last- the two weren't a good fit for each other long-term, and Marja ended up kind of self-sabotaging the relationship while she was spiraling in Orzammar. It was messy for a bit, but they do still care about each other a lot

And eventually, Marja ended up in relationship with Sigrun! She was much more resistant to that relationship, as she was afraid of messing up again, but gradually she let down her walls, and the two of them are very happy

6. How do they feel about dragons?

Not a fan. They remind her too much of the archdemon.

6. What did they name their Mabari?

In my 'canon', Darvis was the who ended up imprinted with the mabari; he named it Nug, much to Marja's annoyance. She eventually got a mabari puppy of her own after the Blight, which she named Astyth!

Anyway, if anyone read all that and still wants more Marja, I never pass up an opportunity to shamelessly promote my fic Of Diamonds And Dust, which focuses on her and Darvis Brosca as Wardens!

[rmplays]

Just had our 5th session!

I love my current group, they’re a real fun, creative bunch. Here’s the cast:

Tripwire “Tripp” Twang (properly pronounced as the actual twang of a wire): A kenku rogue who chose his name after his favorite sound, a person falling for one of his traps. He can only mimic things he’s seen/heard but he’s unmatched in his ability to replicate and forge.

Nidhoggir the Exhiled: Dragonborn fighter shunned from her clan after being framed for attempted murder of the chief. Spent many years with only a bedroll, a battleaxe, and the broken remains of her clan’s official sword as her only company and is learning how to make a new family to replace her old one.

Ebony Dungeons n’ Dark’ness Raven Way: An extremely “goffic” teifling warlock who came from a very cushy - boring, in her words - life as a noble. She has found power and excitement in making a pact with an ancient god that seeks to infest the world with his dark progeny. She put up her middle finger at him.

Ferox of the Arrasian Succulent Forest: A dryad of a massive succulent forest in the middle of an even more massive desert, he is in search of a cure for a succulent blight that is rapidly withering his home. He’s a cleric of the goddess that watches over the entire desert, so he has both desert and jungle/plant themes in his spell casting. His goddess’s power is what allows him to leave his forest without dying, but that goddess’s connection to him is fading as the blight spreads.

Wimbley Dwimbleton: God. This guy is trouble for the campaign, I just know it. Gnome bard and (in)famous local musician, player of Wonderwall and Wonderwall only. He has a pet squirrel with sharpened teeth that he has trained to eat meat and keeps with him as his “attack squirrel.” God help me.

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Can you do "ZAMBONI" for the letter asks? (And the prompt for Z could be like "first kiss" or something if you don't want to find one)(also sorry zamboni is long but I couldn't think of another word besides that one x))

Thank you so much for the asks! This got a really long, so I had to put it under a read more link! Anyway, thanks again! These were super fun to answer, like always~! 

((Also oh my god ZAMBONI was so fun to write god bless))

From this post!

A- Ships that you currently like a lot

ZevWarden and Morriana, totally. Of course ZevWarden, because like, of course I love Zevran and my Warden! And Morriana because of their in-game dynamic and THE DRESS IN INQUISITION GIVES ME MY QUEER L I F E

B- A pairing you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind

Morrigan x Warden. By someone, I kind of mean myself, because I was planning out my games, and was like shit I need to pair someone with Morrigan and thus, Orest was born and as he developed, I got into the ship!

I- Has Tumblr made you dislike any fandom?

Fucking VOLTRON, DUDE. I hate how fucking extra everyone is, and, controversial opinion here, the Shaladin ships disgust me. I’m not going to harass anyone over it, but I really don’t like them. But the other shippers are just as bad trying to pull out these “"receipts”“ and harassing the VAs. I follow some discourse-free blogs, which is nice, but still…

M- A character you’d like to have as a friend!

Leliana! Both of us have stuff in common, like our sexualities and our views on religion for the most part ^^ I think she’d be really nice to talk to and shop with!

N- Three things you want to see more of in your main fandom

I wish I saw more Morriana and Zevran x Human Mage! I see A LOT of Leliwarden and Zevran x Mahariel/Tabris/Surana, but not much Amell/Cousland fanart or fanfictions! Let my husband love some humans! ♡♡ (Does it count if I say I also want to see more notes on my fanfictions?)

O- Chose a song at random. What character or pairing does it remind you of?

Dear River by Kina Grannis SO reminds me of Zevran! Specifically, my Warden to Zevran, because of the lyrics. I, in terms of my Warden, really feel like the song is about Zevran, coming along and just sweeping him off his feet. And the feeling, in the beginning of their time together, felt so temporary I can’t help but really get emotional when I listen to it. Here’s a link to the music video~♡

Z- Fandom Ramble! (First Kiss!!)

Hope you don’t mind me taking your little prompt of “First Kiss” and writing some tiny ficlets for my Wardens! I went a little overboard with this… but I hope you appreciate this peek into my Wardens’ love lives ^^

Redren: Prudent was never something Redren considered himself to be. Born in a whorehouse and later raised by a girl with so little shame, he never thought he’d be so flustered. With how pretty he was, how he listened, how he complimented him. Did this elf have no shame? No anxiety? No desire to keep his head on his shoulders? So when the flirting started all but the moment after his life was spared, Redren hadn’t the faintest idea how to handle it. He caved, allowing for this Antivan massage, so obviously a trap, a way for him to face his own desires without saying yes with a clear head. But it didn’t turn out like that. Zevran, for it was in his very nature itself for him to do so, joked and flirted, but all but shied away from doing anything like Redren had assumed he would. So when it was over, his back and shoulders feeling better than they had in years, he hardly noticed the kiss that was planted on his cheek before Zevran slipped away into the dark. A blink was all it took for the pale skin feel as if it were set ablaze. His cheek was on fire because of something. Embarrassment? No, no he didn’t feel embarrassed. He couldn’t pin it, it was both frustrating and fulfilling. But whatever it was, he wanted to feel it again. And again. And again.

Faelyn: Nelaros! Nelaros was his name! Oh, Nelaros, Nelaros, Nelaros! Faelyn couldn’t contain her excitement. After so many years of waiting, waiting, waiting, her husband was finally chosen! From Highever, no less! The whole idea made her giddy, so excited she wore Shianni out not even ten minutes after getting the news, bouncing around and giggling and laughing. Nelaros! Maybe this all meant that father believed her capable, that she was smart enough to be a useful wife. So long she’d believed she wasn’t, so anxious, thinking that perhaps, yes, only perhaps, she’d be stuck cleaning taverns’ tables until she died. But now with Nelaros, oh how she loved to say his name, Nelaros, my Nelaros, she could have those babies like she dreamed of, a beautiful bride to be a glowing mother, to make the others see that I’m capable! I’m smart enough! My husband, he loves me! See, see, look! I can be what you all said I wasn’t enough to be! And she was so happy when she saw him, when he didn’t care about the way she sounded when she talked, when her teeth got in the way of her tongue, when she forgot what she was saying halfway though. She promised to be a good girl, to wait until wed to kiss him, for that was the rule of the weddings. She didn’t care, as long as she got her kiss in the end, with a little iron ring around her finger, slipped on by her beloved. But when she kissed him, oh how cold his lips were. The tears flowing down her cheeks weren’t the happy ones like she’d dreamed they’d be. The ring in his pocket felt ten times its weight, lead pulling her pretty little hand to the dirt. His lips, so cold, too cold. This corpse wasn’t her husband. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be! Her dress, once so pretty, so white, now such an ugly colour, so red, so filthy. She had given this kiss to a corpse, a dead man on the floor, stained in the same ugly colour her hands were. Shianni, as much as she tried, couldn’t tear her grip from the corpse’s shirt. She was supposed to stay with this husband of hers. Till death do us part, how unfair when it came so soon. Oh, Nelaros, Nelaros, Nelaros.

Orest: What counted as a kiss? Was it when a brother or a sister says goodnight? Was it when a mother or a father wishes you luck on a hunt? Or was it something more, a feeling rather than an action? Because whatever a kiss was, it was happening right now. Tamlen’s mouth was on Orest’s mouth, and whoever had moved first was anyone’s guess. How taboo for two men, never to be bonded, to share such an experience. What did this mean? Nothing could come from this pair, no children to carry on the Dalish blood. But it felt good. So good, like a silent mouth had no right to be. Whatever he felt was addictive, Tamlen’s skin underneath his fingertips was a rush, something so foreign yet so familiar. Tamlen hummed into his lips, sending this rush down his abdomen, igniting this fire of lust. How anyone could resist this feeling was a mystery for the ages, how anyone could live in the darkness, not knowing the feeling of someone against their skin like he once had was unanswerable. So they kept it up, with Tamlen the first to pull back. A promise was made, to do this again, because whatever it was, perhaps love, perhaps just teenage play, it felt good. This experiment certainly required more study.

Andrea: She was expected to marry a man of equal stature to her, an Arl’s son, or some other nobleman. She minded not, of course, if it was what her family desired, she would learn to desire it as well. And how bad could one man be? Her family was what mattered, and if she had to add one member, and likely more with her future children, she would adapt and carry on. But that ended. That possibility, blown out like the brief candle life was. She grieved, and she cried, and she never moved on. But he made it easier. He was foolish, and a bastard, not her equal, but the longer she watched, she grew to realize he was so much more than her. He cared, and he listened, and he let her sleep alongside him as the sky cooled and the leaves changed. He was all she was not, and she began to wonder if, perhaps, she was falling. The realization hit her like a blunt sword; the blow wan’t fatal, yet it hurt, it made her whole being reel on impact. But she let herself be swept away by this bastard King, by Alistair. So when he cupped a large, gentle hand against her chin, she tilted her head upward, letting him connect their lips. How soft his lips were, contrasting so greatly to the scratching of his stubbled chin. She felt his hands trail downward, gripping her full hips, so improper, so unbecoming of a noble, yet she allowed him to pull her closer, armor clinking against armor. Because he wasn’t a noble, he was Alistair. And in that moment, she realized it didn’t matter. Nothing in this Blighted world did, and if that was so, she was going to kiss this bastard over and over again.

Hundir: For a prince, especially one of the Dwarven kingdom, feelings were so unnecessary. They made a man weak, clouded his head with nonsense, useless sentiment that only served to pull the rug out from underneath his feet. So when he started to grow so close with him, with that trusted soldier, of what he near dared address as a friend, it frightened him. He kept it hushed, feelings so useless, so unheard of. And it wasn’t until the door was closing did he regret it. He reached out, to grab the disgraced warrior’s beard, pulling him close, planting that kiss upon his lips. It was short, hardly a second before he was pulled away and the doors to the Deep Roads shut behind him. That feeling of another man’s lips upon his own was so strange, but it felt destined, like it was meant to happen, the Stone moving his feet to do it. His hands shook as he stepped forward into the darkness of the tunnels, the handle of his battleaxe gripped in his gloved hands all that kept him from turning back, to pound on the door, to scream let me out! Let me out! Gorim, please, let me go with him! Let me live upon the surface with my warrior, please! Honor be damned, he didn’t care. But he moved forward, desperate to find these Wardens, to go with them, to find his warrior on the surface.

[ocuk-dnd-5e-blog]

Session 6 - 21/09 - Tricks and Twigs

Participants

Dave – DM

Stu – Hendel – Barbarian

Dan – Darvin – Sorcerer

Andrew – Eriden – Druid

Alex D – Fyvel – Fighter

Dave R – Galath – Ranger

Missing

Alex H – Chance – Bard

John – Dwon Fai – MonkAfter another nights stay in the Winged Wyvern the group decided to set off for Thundertree as they had time to burn waiting on Father Fay. As they were walking out of town Darvin was playing with his wand (DM Note; not a euphemism) idly waving it in the air and muttering to himself.

“Do you have a command word for it yet?” Eriden asked.

“Well considering the fact he was our healer and we’ll probably never see him again… I was thinking Chance.”

The group laughed and were chatting amiably when out of a side street wandered up Galath, looking rather sheepish with Gauvain in tow a few steps behind them, they were both ignoring the curious looks of citizens at the large bear ambling in their midst but they were not able to ignore the accusing stares of his fellows.

“What are you doing here” Hendel demanded.

“Yes, how did you find us in the middle of Neverwinter?” Darvin asked suspiciously.

“I’m a ranger.” Galath replied, shrugging. “I track things.”

“I bet you followed the blood off my axe!” Hendel declared.

“I assumed it was your own blood.”

Ignoring the two glowering at each other Darvin cut in again. “Where have you been?”

“Roaming the coast… looking for dragons.”

“You were scared.” Hendel replied laughing.

“Not at all, I was just looking for dragons, I didn’t actually find any so I decided to spend a week on the beach. If I’m there I may as well do it properly.”

The group looked somewhat flummoxed by the fact he was completely unrepentant at fleeing the scene in the midst of their last fight so in the end just continued on down the road, Gauvain going to see Hendel for a pat.

As they walked they explained the situation to Galath, the focus somewhat inevitably ending up on Mordred.

“Wasn’t that the guy you tried to eat?” Asked Galath.

“No.” Eriden cut in. “This was the dwarf who was ambushed by a bugbear, who ate him, sadly we were too late to rescue him.”

“A bit strange how if you tried to rescue him why he would start attacking Phandalin.”

“Well you know how these crazy types are.” Darvin replied and there was some feet shuffling and awkward looks.

“So what happened to him.”

“He… escaped.”

“Actually he did, then you showed up…” Hendel said casting an accusing eye at Galath.

“Funnily enough we haven’t seen you both together.” Fyvel added.

“They must be in cahoots!” Eriden declared.

“I should kill you.” Hendel growled.

“You’re welcome to try.” Galath drawled with a smile.

“Probably run too fast if I did.” Hendel snorted.

With the group now reacquainted and as harmonious as ever (DM Note; yeah right) they continued on out of Neverwinter, as they were passing through the gates they were hailed and over walked the Elven mage from the Sword Guild the evening before.

“What do you want, elf?” Hendel demanded.

“I am Carleath Moonath.” The elf replied, she was a striking figure over six foot tall and very slim wearing robes of silver and white and a hood which was currently back on her shoulders revealing a fine featured face topped with blonde, almost white hair.

“Ah a girl.” Hendel replied running a hand through his shoddy mohican trying to slick it back sending who knows what debris tumbling into the road.

“I heard you would be about the city and Lovraic asked me to speak with you briefly.”

“Go ahead.” Fyvel replied, all trying to ignore the preening Hendel.

“What do you know about the Sons of Alagondar?”

“I know a little, I used to know a lot as I lived a lot of my life in Neverwinter, last I heard they are royalists who are not partial to Lord Neverember and instead want a return to the royal bloodline.”

“You are right. There was an…accord of sorts reached between Lord Neverember and the Sons for a long while but recently, for reasons unknown, they have been agitating again and whilst it seems to be minor criminality it could be portending something more serious.”

“I am Darvin Sha, the leader of this group.” Darvin introduced himself stepping forward.

“Him? The leader?” Galath asked incredulously.

“We were desperate, he seems pretty organized.” Eriden shrugged.

Darvin continued either pretending to or not actually hearing the exchange. “What can we do to help with the situation?”

“At the moment, nothing, however Lord Neverember has been in touch with Lovraic and made him aware of the situation, the likelihood of work in the near future now seems more… pressing. We appreciate you have commitments to Sildar and Phandalin but when your business there is finished if you can come back to see us at the Sword Guild we may have need of your services.”

“We will be back.” Fyvel assured her. “And on our return we will make sure to present ourselves to Lovraic and see what services can be rendered.”

“Thank you.” With that the elf walked away without a backward glance. Fyvel turned to Darvin “Apologies if I stepped on your toes there. I know this city, I know its workings, I thought it would be more helpful if I spoke with her.”

“Not a problem.” Darvin replied with an easy smile and with that the group set off from Neverwinter.

 The journey passed relatively uneventfully for the group as they followed the Neverwinter River toward distant Thundertree, a hard days travel would get them there in a day and as such they wasted little time. As they walked Fyvel filled the group in on the history with Mount Hotenow having exploded causing the devastation which even now Neverwinter was still recovering from and which has caused the problems with the Sons of Alagondar, the royal family having died in the conflagration caused from eruption, and their clashes with Lord Neverember.

As evening set the group came within sight of Thundertree and began to set their camp, as they did Hendel was looking around curiously.

“What’s wrong?” Fyvel asked.

“I’m looking for the tree.”

“What tree?”

“The tree with lightning coming off it, causing lots of noise.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well it is called Thundertree.” Hendel replied earnestly, everyone groaned.

The night passed as uneventfully as the day had the only strangeness being the almost unnatural silence and stillness of the countryside surrounding Thundertree. As the group rose in the morning they were unnaturally subdued and headed off into Thundertree this state of affair was, inevitably, not going to last long.

As they reached the outskirts of the town there was a sign, somewhat bedraggled, nailed to a wooden post which warned of the danger of Zombies and Plant Monsters being present in the area and that people should stay away.

As Hendel was staring quizzically at the sign he asked. “Why are we here again?”

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Screamed Darvin, shocking everyone with his outburst. “I make all these notes.” He continued pulling a dog eared notebook from his pocket which he waved in the air around his head although trying to put out flames. “I share them with you…”

“I actually haven’t seen them.” Galath offered but was cut off.

“I share them with you!” Darvin almost shrieked. “And no one bothers to fucking read them, I mean why do I bother? Why!?” No one was forthcoming at the site of the notebook wielding half elf frothing at the mouth. “We are here to find Reidoth!”

“Who…” Hendel asked awkwardly.

“The druid, Reidoth the fucking druid, the one who Quelline Alderleaf sent us to find.”

“Who…” Someone began and Darvin screamed, by this point he was gnawing on the corners of the notebook.

“You know the one with the Halfling son…” Galath remarked but was quickly cut off by an indignant Hendel.

“I didn’t do anything with a Halfling!”

“So you say…”

“Listen!” Darvin shouted, wielding his notebook like a battleaxe and waving it in the groups collective faces. “Quelline Alderleaf said to come here to see Reidoth, because there’s a dragon.”

“Oh the dragon!” Hendel began the light blossoming behind his dull eyes.

“Shut up Hendel!” Darvin shouted. “She sent us to see the druid, about a dragon, and Dendrar about her dead husband.”

“Was he the dead guy…”

“SHUT UP HENDEL!” Darvin threw the notebook at him, it fluttered into a puddle and Darvin looked although he were about to explode. “I don’t know why I bother with my notebook if no one reads it. I don’t know why I bother.” Darvin now looked although he was about to sob by this stage.

“I’ve read it.” Fyvel offered as Hendel and Galath shot him a look suggesting he was the particularly unappealing class swat at this moment in time. “Well I have.”

“Come on let’s just go.” Darvin sniffed picking up his now damp notebook and giving it a shake and storming off up the road into the town. (DM Note; this is actually a characterized version of Dan’s (Darvin) out of character rant about his notes being ignored which was hilarious)

Darvin stormed off up the road with the group somewhat sheepishly following along behind, Thundertree itself was a ruin, most buildings were tumbled messes of overgrown weeds and young trees the odd structure which was whole and hale few and far between. Above it all sat a large tower which dominated the village as it watched over the collection of houses.

Eriden picked the first building on his right and wandered in for a look, as he disappeared from view there was a shouted course and a moment later Eriden came stumbling from the building swarmed by, what looked like, a few foot high small plants which were biting and clawing at him.

“Help!” He shouted, the group reacted charging forward apart from Hendel, who laughed.

The Twig Blights were dispatched with few problems, the last of them tried to flee into another ruined building close by and in a rare display of decency Hendel followed it in.

“We didn’t mean to attack you, we only wanted to talk.”

The Blight stopped and was swaying back and forth cautiously watching Hendel, after a few moments it let out an ear piercing scream and from the sides of the building came over half a dozen more of the creatures who dived atop Hendel bearing him to the floor in a bundle of dwarven curses and screeching plants.

Once again the creatures were dealt with efficiently apart from in Hendel’s case who stood up and stumbled to lean against the wall. “Little bastards.” He said. “Last time I try to help anyone.”

“Hendel.” Darvin shouted from outside. “Over the road, that looks like an inn, that should help you recover. How about you go in first?”

“No problem.” Hendel stumbled over the road, knocking open the door he was confronted by the sight of four zombies who shambled toward him making grabs for him.

Hendel sighed and threw his handaxe across the room thumping it into the zombie sending it slamming into the wall. (DM Note; this is one of only a few actual hits from Hendel throwing his axe that we have ever seen)

Fyvel went to work launching a couple of bolts into the inn which thumped into the nearest zombie sending it sprawling to the floor and Darvin muttered some magical phrases and suddenly part of the floor around one of the zombies burst into flame as a bonfire.

Eriden dived into combat, receiving a whack from a zombie for his troubles as Gavin lumbered round the outside of the inn smashing the back door down and roaring at the site of the zombies. Darvin had followed him round and was peering past the bear to see what was going on.

“What can you see?” Fyvel shouted.

“Probably just see in the bears back door by the looks of things.” Shouted Eriden in return.

Fyvel stepped into the breach and fired his crossbows flooring the last of the zombies, as he did so Darvin walked through the flaming back door and as he stepped through the flames clicked his fingers and the flames flickered out around his feet. He surveyed the scene of devastation. “Good work lads, Hendel, we’ll keep you on door opening duty.”

  The group set off through the ruined village, constantly alert for the sight of angry twigs, especially Hendel whose axe never left his hand. The rest of the village was as unappealing as the first two buildings they had seen however as they forged southward they came across a building on their right which seemed a lot sturdier than the others in the village with an iron banded door barring entry.

“Want me to cut in down?” Hendel asked readying his axe and starting forward.

“We could just knock.” Fyvel suggested.

Hendel puffed out his cheeks but waited as Darvin knocked on the door. “Hello?” He shouted.

“Hello.” A voice responded, it sounded like an older voice but was still firm.

“Is there anyone in there?”

“Of course there fucking is or we wouldn’t be speaking.” Darvin considered this.

“Can I smash the door down now?” Hendel asked again.

“Who are you?” The voice from inside demanded.

“We are a group of adventurers…”

“Which group?”

“Why does everyone want to know our name?” Eriden whispered.

“Our name is to be determined.”

“Strange name.”

“No it’s… we are a group of adventurers, we were sent here by Quelline Alderleaf who suggested you may be able to help us with some answers to rumors of a dragon in the area?”

Silence.

“Can we come in.”

The door creaked open and the group walked in, Hendel grumbling about not being able to smash the door down, and inside was an elderly human male who introduced himself as Reidoth the druid.

“So you’re looking for a dragon?” He asked.

“I’m going to kill it with my axe.” Hendel declared proudly.

“Sorry about him.” Eriden apologized, slipping into the language of druidic. “He hit his head as a child, we look after him.”

Reidoth nodded understandingly and turned to Hendel, speak very loudly and deliberately. “Yes. There. Is. A. Dragon. Here.”

Hendel glared at him and turned to Galath. “Is he taking the piss?”

Eriden and Reidoth went back to talking druidic and discussed the situation currently troubling Thundertree and Reidoth’s role in it all.

“I’m here just to keep people away. The Enclave isn’t as… pro-active as I would like.”

“I know the feeling.” Eriden agreed.

“I can’t clear away a dragon by myself, or a village full of zombies and spiders and now some stupid bloody arses dressed all in black who seem to spend every day hanging round the old tower where the dragon is holed up waving gold about. I can’t deal with it all myself so for now I will just keep others out of trouble and do what little I can.”

Eriden explained this all back to Darvin who commented. “It would be polite if he spoke common.”

“He’s a little eccentric and he doesn’t trust Hendel.”

“Fair enough.” Darvin responded shooting Hendel a look who was doing test swings with his axe through the air in the small building. “So what do we do?”

“The Dendrar building is on the other side of town.”

“These black cloaked folk sound interesting.” Added Fyvel.

“I want to kill the dragon.” Hendel added.

“We can’t take a dragon.” Fyvel cut in. “It’s a bloody big dragon.”

“We can just clear the town of trouble and sneak off.” Galath suggested.

“Ok.” Darvin cut in across everyone. “We get what we came for and we bugger off, we cannot deal with a dragon.” He continued before Hendel could cut in. “We stealth through the village, get what we came for and get out.”

“Yeah, we can ‘stealth’” Hendel agreed.

“You’re going to ‘fall over’ at the wrong time aren’t you Hendel.” Darvin asked exasperated.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Can we not just put a leash on him?” Eriden asked.

Darvin turned back to Reidoth. “Thank you for the information, we will see what we can find in the village and deal with an threats we come across.”

Reidoth accepted this with a nod as the group set off once again.

  Outside a little up the road was another ruined building and Darvin tried to stealthily sneak inside, he went over on a tree root and tumbled to the middle of the floor with a thump (DM Note; another session, another critical stealth fail) he sat up rubbing his skull but before he could say anything another horde of the little Twig Blights came sprinting out of the darkened corners and attacked him in a swirling melee of cutting branches,

The group piled in and quickly dealt with the offending Twig Blights pulling the cut up Darvin back to his feet. “Smooth.” Hendel muttered smarmily.

As the group went back outside, Darvin’s ego bruised more than his body, further down the road was a web which stretched across the street between the tree and the buildings blocking the way.

“I’ll go around.” Galath said and disappeared around the corner of the building to sneak around.

Taking a less stealthy route Hendel picked up a stone and threw it off the web. Almost immediately on impact two huge spiders came clambering out of the ruined building and skittered toward the group, a third came out through the roof and raced toward the previously stealthy Galath.

The group responded with alacrity with Fyvel firing in bolts, Darvin sent magical missiles lancing toward the creatures as Eriden and Hendel charged into combat.

Fyvel efficiently dispatched one of the creatures on the street as Galath was webbed still and the creature dived upon him, ripping a chunk from him with its poisonous fangs. Galath reeled backward in pain. He pointed his rapier at the creature. “You’re going to die for this.” He declared and dived into combat with Gavin alongside him.

Hendel slammed his axe into the skull of the spider on the northern side of the building whilst after a flickering exchange of blows Galath cut down the spider which had bitten him. “Revenge!” He shouted and as he walked away he turned to Gauvain. “Eat him.” He commanded.

  After skirting the web the group came across the Dendrar shop and quickly found the necklace they had been offered as a reward, if they could claim it, Eriden picked it up and whistled, it looked expensive.

“We could give it Darvin.” Galath said. “With him wearing his dress he will be so pretty.”

“Fuck off!” Darvin snapped. “I’m still wearing pants as  I always have been.”

Checking inside what looked like a smithy the group came across two more zombies which were quickly dispatched but not before Darvin had set off another bonfire inside to set fire to one of the zombies. Darvin gestured to put the flames out, Eriden, feeling mischievous used druid craft to reignite it before setting off after the rest of the group.

Further beyond this was another building which was in the same state at the building that Reidoth had been hiding out in and the group eyed it curiously from a distance.

“So what are we doing?” Darvin asked.

“It could be those black cloaked figures that Reidoth mentioned.” Eriden added.

“Well let’s not send Hendel in, he stinks and will cause no end of trouble.” Fyvel put in.

As the group sniggered Hendel hefted his axe and walked up to the door, two handed he smashed it into the door sending chunks of wood and splinters spinning through the air in an explosion of noise. He stuck his head through the door to see a room full of a half dozen bemused and part scared looking cultists in black, dragon shaped masks and black robes.

“Here’s Hendel!” He boomed as his leering head poked through the axe ripped hole in the door with a crazy grin on his face.

The rest of the group grabbed Hendel by the shoulders and dragged him out of the door holding him back as he struggled.

“Who are you?!” A voice inside demanded the voice seeming unsure whether to confident or concerned.

Thinking on his feet Darvin declared. “We are friends of the dragon.”

“We’re what!?” Hendel exploded and was cut off with a gasp as Fyvel stamped on his foot.

“Are you friends of the dragon?”

“Of course we are.” Darvin assured them in honeyed tones. “Ignore the dwarf, he’s a little simple.”

“Most dwarfs are.” The figure could be heard to add and Hendel’s eyes boggled as he was dragged backward by Fyvel.

“We come to treat with the dragon, we have gifts for him.”

“We have what!” Hendel demanded but Fyvel managed to get a hand over his mouth to muffle him somewhat. “What the fuck is he talking about!?”

“We have diamonds and gold.” The voice from inside shouted. “Perhaps we could combine our gifts and lure the dragon forth to treat with him.”

“Treat with him!” Hendel shouted.

“Quiet with your noise!” Fyvel hissed.

“Treat with him!” Hendel hissed back. “I’ll treat him to my axe to his back!”

Darvin turned around and shouted. “Will you shut up Hendel!”

“What was that?” The figure inside asked.

“Nothing, just shutting up the fool dwarf.”

Hendel subsided somewhat muttering to himself at the ways in which he would kill the dragon, ticking them off on his fingers.

“A sacrifice would be good, that would be sure to attract the dragon.” The figure inside suggested.

“What were you thinking?” Darvin asked.

“Well that dwarf, he would make a fat sacrifice for the dragon.”

“What!” Hendel exploded once again and him and Galath set to arguing with one another whilst Fyvel helped hold him back. “Now I’m a fat sacrifice! Let’s just go in there, kill them all and take their diamonds then kill the dragon.”

“We are friends of all dragons!” Darvin continued raising the volume to drown out the incredulous Hendel. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“I’m not being sacrificed!” Hendel hissed.

“Hendel you idiot.” Eriden cut in. “We pretend to sacrifice you, they come outside, we trick them, kill them and take their diamonds.”

“Let’s just kill them now.” Hendel said, exasperated, and hefted his axe causing the other to panic and hold him back once again.

“Give me a moment.” Darvin said to the cultists. “I will make this happen.” Darvin made gestures and muttered some magic phrases, under his breath he hissed. “Hendel just pretend to be asleep for the Gods sake!”

“I don’t like this, I’m not being sacrificed to anyone.”

“We are not really going to sacrifice you.” Darvin hissed back sounding exasperated.

“Come on.” Fyvel pleaded.

“Fine.” Hendel acceded, glaring balefully at them all. “But bring my fucking axe.” With that Hendel took a theatrical swoon and hit the floor with a thump.

“What was that?” The voice came from inside.

“We are just binding his hands, he sleeps.” Darvin shouted.

“My hands!?” Hendel demanded. “I didn’t sign up for this, fuck off!”

He began to rise but Fyvel put a hand on his chest. “It will be a fake not, don’t worry.” Fyvel assured him.

“If anything goes wrong, it’s your fault!” Hendel hissed. “You and that stupid bloody half elf.”

Hendel let his hands be bound and Darvin shouted at the cultists to come forth. Seven of them emerged looking somewhat cautious and one, clearly the leader, came over to Hendel and looked at his ‘sleeping’ form which he gave a kick. Hendel managed to not sit up and rip his leg off.

“Come.” The figure declared. “Show me your treasures.” Darvin acquiesced and showed him some of the gem stones they had in a pouch, the cultist nodded happily. “Come along” He declared and the group set off for the tower before the trap could be sprung.

“Shit.” Darvin whispered to Fyvel. “I meant to ambush them outside, not go to the dragons tower!”

“What’s happening?” Hendel hissed.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Why are we moving, I thought we were killing them not sacrificing me!”

Darvin turned to Eriden. “Can you sort them out?”

Eriden responded quickly and muttering some magic phrases and an ice knife shot through the air, exploding in the midst of the cultists ice sprayed everywhere but somehow the cultists all emerged unscathed from the explosion of ice.

“We are betrayed!” The cult leader yelled and his fellows drew their swords. Before they could react Darvin muttered some magical phrases and two of the group of cultists looked confused before turning on their leader and diving on him, bearing him to the floor.

“No you fools!” He shrieked. “Kill them!”

“I’ve got this.” Fyvel declared and calmly drew his crossbows and aimed at two cultists, pulling the trigger there were two hollow clicks. Fyvel looked down to see both crossbows unloaded in his hands. “Oh fuck.” He muttered (DM Note; it is not one of our sessions without a critical failure in attack)

Hendel wriggled out of his bonds and ran forward, hefting his hand axe he launched it across the clearing at one of the cultists. “Sacrifice me will you!?” He screamed but so enraged he was the axe went off course and instead clipped Eriden sending him sprawling.

Galath drew bead and slew one of the cult members as Eriden bashed in the skull of another and Darvin a third. Galath stepped up and put an arrow in the head of the pinned leader and suddenly the remaining cultists fell to their knees begging for mercy.

After their attempted swaying of the dragon was revealed to be nothing to do with the goings on at Phandalin the group, in a strange slant toward mercy, let the two remaining cultists flee the scene.

“I really thought you were going to sacrifice me there.” Hendel said mopping his brow.

“We wouldn’t do that…” Darvin replied unconvincingly.

  The group, still cautious of alerting the dragon, set off stealthily for the town square, in the middle say a wooden statue of a figure holding a spear.

“It’s Dwon!” Hendel shouted laughing and after a point from Darvin walked up to the nearest door and slammed his axe into it with a crunch sending it to the floor revealing a gang of zombies.

”I’ve found…” Hendel began but before he could finish there was a deafening crash and spinning round the group saw a shower of sparks and a billow of smoke hurtling off up into the air.

“I thought I had put that fire out.” Darvin mused.

“I may have re-lit it.” Eriden said not looking anyone in the eye.

A moment later there was a deafening roar, the group turned round and above them, rearing on the lip of the tower was a huge Green Dragon.

“The dragon!” Hendel shouted joyfully.

  (DM Note; a good session with a nice mixture of role play and combat. There were a couple of genuinely hilarious moments with Darvin having his notebook meltdown and Hendel genuinely incredulous that they were speaking to the cultists and not cutting their heads off. Half the group (myself included) were on the verge of tears of laughter with how it all played out. A great session!)