#cast iron casters

[wlspl-123]

One kind of wheel composed of a strong, long-lasting material is the cast iron wheel. These wheels' durability, resilience to wear, and capacity to support large loads have led to their widespread use for a very long period of time in a variety of applications. They are widely used in machinery, transportation equipment, and industrial settings where the wheels are subjected to extreme strain.

[c0rpsedemon]

the thing about the queer media tournament that really gets me is that last i checked there wasn't a single mxtx work on it. like not even the untamed made it in and don't get me wrong the og mo dao zu shi books are huge but cql is def more popular among tumblr circles. idk it just really rubs me the wrong way how every single piece of western media that ppl have ever gotten a lil bit aggressive abt shipping with is there and then for east asian media there's utena and madoka magica and the handmaiden and last i checked that was pretty much it. and then for the rest of the world there's next to/nothing but idk enough to really make judgements there.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i feel like if ace's UM does end up just allowing him to copy other's UM, it would solve a potential problem which is malleus putting everyone into a state of sleep. like they told us that it would only be lifted if malleus either lifts it up on his own or if he dies and idt twst would kill off a major and VERY popular character. but if they give ace that ability as his UM it would solve that in a way?

but if they do give that to ace as his UM i hope that ace would struggle to copy people's abilities, or at least kinda go through the emotions the original spell caster felt when theyre using their UM or when they first awoken it. maybe like a price to pay to use other's abilities but thats just me HAHAHHA

Yeeeah, that's what I was thinking too. I can't imagine Ace's UM being anything but a UM borrowing/mimicry spell right now (due to his own propensity to easily learn new skills and do vocal impressions)... It would also just be really useful for the end of book 7, since the briar barrier can only be taken down with Malleus's death or with Malleus willingly removing his magic. Given Malleus's stubbornness and being in such an emotional state, I really doubt he'd be able to come to his senses even all these hundreds of parts later. I really doubt whether all of our powers combined can take him down either, given his track record of being so stupidly OP. And it for sure wouldn't be a good move on the Twst devs' part to kill off such a money maker and significant part of their marketing for their series. (I do want to point out, however, that Malleus's insane popularity is exclusive to the international/English-speaking part of the fandom; he is not a top contender in JP and I would say has more of a middling status.) Having someone else reproduce his UM could very easily resolve this issue, but I guess that's also highly dependent on if Ace can get a grip on his UM that fast, or if he can even feasibly iron out the kinks of controlling what is probably a very complex spell. Epel, who got his UM most recently in book 6, still seems to have only a 70-80% success rate with his, so it's possible that Ace doesn't fully master his UM even if he gets it as soon as his own dream. I definitely don't think Ace would be able to use his (theoretical) copying UM to its full extent ASAP, as then we could just cut the dreams short right then and there. I feel like it'd become more relevant during the actual OB Malleus showdown or something. In general, there'd have to be come kind of drawback or limitations to his UM even if he got used to casting it at some point (just for power balancing reasons). Maybe there's a cooldown period, or he can only use the UM as much as his imagination will allow, or maybe it requires that he be able to empathize with the feelings of the original mage.

... Oh, you know what??? That might actually tie book 7 up quite nicely! If Ace's UM allows him to copy the UMs of other mages but only with the stipulation that he must empathize or relate to how they were acting when the original mage used their UM... Wouldn't that mean that Ace has to understand Malleus's loneliness and the fear of being left behind by his loved ones??? ACE CAN ACTUALLY PERFECTLY RELATE TO THAT because he was in denial mode that Yuu would be going home earlier in book 7. On top of that, he's probably also harboring shame for making fun of Deuce so much, only to be the one who doesn't have his UM yet. Ace can totally relate to what Malleus is going through 👀 He'd be forced to confront his denial of his own emotional vulnerability because he sees Malleus displaying the very same behaviors.

Maybe Ace gets his UM early on but has no idea how to use it properly until it comes in clutch in the final battle because he realizes (at last) how Malleus is feeling. Then it’s Ace who becomes the trump card that lets us triumph…! And that brings us full-circle—the final boss being beaten by the first student that we met, our first friend… Ace Trappola 🫶

[utilitycaster]

in looking for posts about the end of C2 I found a self-inflicted ask meme (called that) in which I asked people to send wish items for C3 and first off, once we do have a hard episode count for C3 I might run something similar because it was fun, but also, looking through, some notes:

Laura playing a sorcerer was rather popular, as was Marisha as a high-Charisma character

Issylra setting REALLY popular...we got a smidge I suppose but this was not really a Continent In Depth campaign

people did want to see Travis as a lycan blood hunter, AND in some cases older characters

Lots of interest in an aeormaton too!

I really wanted to see Sam as a cleric, which is funny because I spent the first 30 episodes pissed off at FCG's execution but I DID come around, so. hat consumed.

why do people care so much about the seating arrangement. bestie i could not give a shit.

I think this campaign also made me go from "previously knowing each other can be good but I'm not interested in more twins, we've moved past that" to "let's keep the prior relationships either brief or like. require you submit a 10 page essay of backstory so we don't get some empty bullshit"

people REALLY liked wild magic barbarian so the fact that Taliesin and Matt were explicitly like "it sucks ass" is funny to me, a person who's neutral on it.

a lot of people wanted Travis as Tabaxi and I hate this and they got mad but I'm right and sexy and ready to have a long mean conversation with you about the anti-ableism leaving people's bodies when it comes to severe allergies.

3+ years and I still hate changelings and kalashtar I'm sexy and right on this one too

someone wanted a horse girl but a cavalier fighter; Imogen's horse girliness sort of didn't really have much time to be a thing (this is not a judgement, this is just, they weren't riding horses much bc of the nature of the campaign) and I would like a cavalier

*ironic laugh* multiple people wanting Laura specifically to play evil aligned.

people really wanted circle of spores for liam. there were a lot of repeats frankly that made no sense to me and i never got the answer. was there a server or something.

Travis INT or WIS caster when

Bard Ashley when

Sam's character should be taller than Travis's ACHIEVED FOR ALL BUT FCG & BERTRAND. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

everyone was like WELL OBVIOUSLY the cast will play elves for the sleep reasons and then no one did.

the specter of a Shadowgast child had already risen unfortunately. before the relationship was fully confirmed no less.

spelljammer fans are not intellectual to put it mildly

please GOD not everything has to be self-referential in-jokes. use your mind.

[ahollowgrave]

her name is Selenite and she knows when you die (:

(97+ MSQ)

9!Odette...........obviously....... I don't have much, BUT: What I do know is that she's a fortune teller who specializes in death omens. I imagine in a place like Alexandria it's nice to know when Death approaches. You know, to stock up on souls. Idk! I just like that there is a fortune teller in S9. The NPC is reading cards but Selenite will be casting bones. I don't think this is her final look but it's all vanilla and very cute. The vanguard healer/caster shoes are heelies and she's def rocking them btw. She's thrown herself off the stairs more times than she can count and yet... She doesn't wear a regulator for [reasons] and I think she's an informant of some sort for Oblivion. Not a full blown member or anything, but certainly on the fringes. Maybe romantically linked with a member but quiet-like. She's conflicted about her work. I also know she's connected with @iron-sparrow's reflection, of course of course of course! Hires them to be security for her storefront, sometimes draws eyebrows on their faceplate (helpful), soulmate stuff.

She's still tumbling, you understand! So all of this is subject to change but I'm having fun. Big, big, big thanks to @archaiclumina for the all the links and help with looking at cool rocks!

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Rust Devil

CR 12

Lawful Evil Medium Outsider

Adventure Path: Hell's Rebels: The Kintargo Contract, pg. 82-83

Also known as Ferrugon in the language of Hell, Rust Devils are typically found in the infernal cities of Dis, where they view themselves as gardeners of the great iron constructs erected by the endless toil of breaking souls. They flit from building to building like tetanus-filled gargoyles, using their at-will Make Whole to fix any breaks they may see and their 3/day Fabricate and Major Creation to whip up new features and decorations in accordance with their own aesthetic sensibilities. You may be scratching your chin by now as you read this, wondering where all the rust is supposed to be coming in, and there's a bit of... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... iron-y here, because Ferrugons are actually responsible for creative acts and playing the role of muses and inspiration for mortals in need of an artistic spark.

Ferrugon prefer acts of creation rather than destruction, but acts OF creation which LEAD TO destruction are their absolute favorites. This is primarily done with their Vainglorious Whisper, an incredibly dangerous ability as-written because of a few missing lines of text. Once per round as a swift action, the Rust Devil can whisper into an adjacent creature's mind, infecting them with delusional pride; the victim gets +4 to saves against fear, but takes a -4 penalty to attack rolls, damage rolls, caster level checks, and skill checks, and they cannot perform any defensive action (such as withdrawing, casting defensively, or using any healing on themselves). This pride is so powerful that a victim of it will be forced to make saving throws against any incoming healing effects, viewing them as unneeded, potentially dooming someone suffering from its bleed, but we'll get to that in a moment!

Why did I bold "incredibly" up there? Because as-written, there's no per-day limit to the number of times the devil can use Vainglorious Whispers, no 24-hour immunity clause, no duration, and no stated way to remove it. The Rust Devil can try round after round to give someone destructive pride until it finally sticks, and then the victim is stuck with that effect forever unless the DM rules that Dispel Magic, Break Enchantment, or similar removes it. It took until they reappeared in Second Edition for their whispers to gain any form of limit! If you're a DM hoping to use them, I'd install those limits into the 1e version; the whispers can only target a creature once on a given day, it's a curse effect, and it falls off an arbitrary amount of time later (such as an hour, a day, or until the victim is reduced to 0 HP).

Even without their whispers, Ferrugon are formidable enemies once discovered and forced into combat. As their name may suggest, anyone in melee with them should be as scared as they would be while fighting a Rust Monster at lower levels, as their stated preference when fighting is to utilize their Greater Sunder feat to shatter weapons and armor alike, potentially robbing players of the gear they've worked all adventure to maintain. They have Heat Metal at-will to punish anyone in armor and can use Rusting Grasp 3/day for destroying anything they do not wish to waste time sundering, though Rusting Grasp isn't especially scary for players at this level in anything but low-wealth campaigns, as it has no effect on magical metal. Neither does their at-will Shatter, though the chaos both Shatter and Rusting Grasp can cause to NPCs or across industrial zones is enormous, and a DM wishing to add some environmental hazards can have them introduced or exacerbated by the Rust Devil shattering an important support beam or rusting a weight-bearing chain.

Among their spells that are actually dangerous to a party around level 8~10 is a 3/day Suggestion and Wall of Iron, the former probably convincing someone to sit out of the fight while the latter makes a more forceful argument that some people should just stay out of this particular battle. Able to fly with a 60ft speed, Ferrugon aren't inconvenienced by their conjured walls, and trying to shoot them down without a weapon that can't pierce their DR 10/Good is basically wasting everyone's time. They've also got both high saves (+15/+13/+10) and 23 Spell Resistance, making most forms of magic less than reliable against them... but ironically (and weirdly), their Metallic body is actually vulnerable to being rusted, meaning Rusting Grasp damages them as though they were a ferrous construct, and any ability or effect which specifically affects metal also affects them.

This is dangerous for them, because they quite enjoy being in melee to affect victims with their whispers and pulverize them with Full-Attacks, but in order to rust them away, one must survive this Full-Attack first. Their two slam attacks deal a modest 1d8+6 damage each, but the real danger is their Slashing Wings, the razor-sharp feathers hitting twice in a Full-Attack and slicing 2d6+6 damage from their targets. Not only is their damage formidable, but they threaten critical strikes on 17 and higher, inflict 1d4 bleed damage, and infect anyone they strike with Scarlet Tetanus, a diabolic breed of tetanus that afflicts victims immediately upon failing a DC 23 Fortitude save, dinging their Dexterity for 1d4, draining 1 point of Con, and having a 50% chance of locking the victim's jaw up and preventing them from speaking or eating without immense difficulty. The disease ticks every 24 hours, meaning escape from the Ferrugon isn't the end of the pain it causes, though by this level the party hopefully has a means to cure the devilish disease. Every other commoner struck, however, is less than lucky.

The feathers are only slightly less dangerous from a range, as the devil can flick upwards to four of them out as a standard action every single round. Each feather deals only 1d6+6 damage, but they also have a crit range of 19-20 and afflict the struck victim with Scarlet Tetanus. Unlike the devil's whispers, there is an immediate and obvious sign that Scarlet Tetanus has affected a victim, allowing a Ferrugon focusing on spreading its sickness to focus its feather attacks against a single target, forcing them to make the DC 23 save four times a round, every round, until they're infected (or dead from the damage) before targeting someone else. That's only if it really wants to spread its disease for whatever reason; the most likely case is that the devil will simply affect every spellcaster it can see to force them to toss a coin at the risk of losing 70% of their spellbook for the day.

The feathers are just the backup, as the Ferrugon love being in melee far more, where their 27 AC and hefty DR prevent most enemies from harming them. They also have 5 points of Regeneration suppressed only by damage from a source of Good, but this healing is also suppressed if they're exposed to a rusting effect, so somehow turning their Rusting Grasp back around on them will not only deal some fair damage, but render them vulnerable to death for a round!

Ferrugon, like many higher level devils, are excellent background threats and final bosses. They prey on mortals seeking to master their craft, gifting those they favor with powerful infernal contracts which inspire astonishing creativity in the signee, not only improving their ability to perform their craft but making it cheaper for them to do so as they find new ways to work more efficiently! Most mortals, though, they curse with Vainglorious Whispers and sabotage with their spells, causing endless despair in their victims as the poor souls believe their projects are failing because of their own faults... and hey, if they really need help, if their vision is truly too important to let languish in the halls of their mind, the Ferrugon is there with a contract in one hand and a pen in the other.

True mastery of your craft is one signature away.

You can read more about them here.

[dandytron2000]

My Little Dungeon AU pony magic explained

The three types of pony magic; unicorn, earth pony and pegasi are fundamentally the same, the only difference is how it's cast.

All pony magic comes from something known as candy dust. It's a subclass of mana, which comes from the breaches between the physical and the magical world. Ponies themselves are creatures originally from the magic world that migrated to the physical world so long ago nobody remembers how or why it happened. Candy dust is an especially potent type of mana that can only be safely used by magic world natives. Some ponies are also able to make limited contact with other creatures from their native dimension, enhancing their magic further.

Unicorn magic: Name of Control

Unicorns use raw star dust without any aid from spirits by cultivating their pure magic roots. It takes an iron will and a strong character with maybe a bit of narcissism to become a powerful caster as a unicorn. It is very dangerous to create new spells, one wrong step may result in a disaster. Majority of unicorns learn their magic through experience of others as to avoid dealing with the risks of candy dust blowing up in their face.

Twilight is a bit of a nutjob when it comes to magic so after she learned every spell she was interested in from the books, she disregarded all warnings and started creating her own spells. She did succeed, creating numerous new, powerful spells and earning herself the title of a warrior princess, but she did pay the price. The unsuccessful attempts left permanent scars, most noticeable being the star mark on her face and the wing-like mark on her back.

Rarity also uses Control, though in a significantly different way from unicorns. She uses the vibration of impact instead of raw will to manipulate candy dust, mainly by tapping her hoof in certain rhythmic patterns. It becomes much stronger when done in water.

Earth pony magic: Name of Cooperation

Cooperation is arguably the most versatile out of the three types. Unlike Control and Cohabitation that have very strict limits put on them unless you're fucking unhinged and are willing to risk your life, Cooperation is only limited by how much work you are willing to put into mastering it. Name of Cooperation is all about working together. It is usually cast through song, the more powerful spells requiring a chorus of sometimes dozens of ponies.

It takes a pony to be completely in tune with nature, their peers and the world at large, as well as deep compassion for others and high empathy to become a great mage as an earth pony. Having a good ear for music also helps, but chanting is just as effective as singing for most spells.

It is also quite common for earth ponies to work with creatures from the magic world. It's quite rare, but some families, including the Apple family, have guardian spirits they believe to be their ancestors. They hold yearly festivals to honor the spirits with song for the magic and food for the friends. It's unclear if there is any real correlation or not, but ponies from families that honor their spirits tend to be more powerful mages than their peers.

Pegasi magic: Name of Cohabitation

Pegasi are able to concenrate large amounts of candy dust within their bodies, which makes them quite close in nature to a pure magic creature which gives them the ability of flight, to walk on water and clouds as well as almost effortless control over some phenomena. Pegasi essentially are part spirits because of this. It takes a relaxed, open-minded, and free individual to become a truly powerful pegasi. Because of their more closely aligned nature, pegasi are able to sense spirits more clearly. All ponies have some sort of feel for spirits, but it's more of that they'll feel off if there aren't any spirits around, while pegasi can sense them as if they were present on the same physical plain as ponies, they are even able to tell what type of spirit and how strong it is. Some can communicate with the spirits and even make deals and contracts, further enhancing their magic potential.

Fluttershy is a great example of a pegasi that made a deal with a spirit. She, much like most of her family for many generations had made a pact with a powerful wolf-like spirit from the everfree forest. It increased her every physical characteristic and gave her strong healing magic, but the wolf spirit's power also permanently changed her appearance and made her a carnivore.

Her younger brother Zephyr also has a pact with a wolf, though instead of healing magic he had received clairvoyance, and her older brother Angel had made a pact with a killer rabbit, which is a strange choice for an animal sprit in the Shy werewolf family but it seems to be working out for him just fine.

Chaos magic

A rare form of magic, also called Name of Null, it uses very potent and unstable mana that comes from the world above the equestrian dungeon. It is largely absent below the middle point of the sky dome and peaks of the northern mountains, but ponies that once used this potent mana seem to never be able to get rid of it even if they go far away from the source. It gets stuck in their hair, in their fur and even in their mind like a whole lot of invisible magic glitter.

It's difficult to classify the way chaos magic is cast into specific types, however it can be similar to a combination of some aspects from multiple Names ponies use.

Pinkie pie concentrates a lot of Null mana which gives her the supernatural senses she is known for, and uses strange verbal magic practiced only by the witches of the Pie family.

Rainbow Dash accumulates mana just like any pegasus would, but because of the limited exposure to Null mana, some of it got mixed into her candy dust. While it's not a lot, taking up less than 20% of her total mana she is able to use it very effectively by controlling the chaos magic the same way a unicorn would. This allows her to do tricks physically impossible for a regular pegasus!

Discord, on the other hand, is a unique case. He has never used any of the Names ponies use, so he developed a unique style of chaos magic. Anything he thinks of could just, conjure itself into reality at any moment. He has no control over what comes to be and what doesn't, the only thing he seems to have any control over is the colors and patterns of his body. Though, many changes seem to be involuntary and dependant on his emotions. His mother says he should make a pact with a greater spirit to gain control over his power, but he adamantly refuses to do so as spirits scare him and he doesn't want them to touch him.

[humbledragon669]

S2E2 - The Clue Write Up P4 - Land of Uz: Crowley speaks to Job to a little alone time in the cellar

I’m going to start with an incredibly quick note, just in case there’s anyone out there reading this who doesn’t know/hasn’t realised that the actor playing Job is Peter Davison, who is not only linked to David Tennant by way of having played the fifth Doctor, but is also his father-in-law (in real life). I think I’m probably preaching to the converted with that little nugget, but it pays to be cautious with these things.

Alright, let’s get going proper, shall we? And I want to give a little nod of acknowledgement for the camera work we see going “through” the book page into the scene beyond. Not the first time we’ve seen this technique used to transition the audience from one place (in time, mood, or location) to another, but it’s pretty smooth nonetheless, and achieves its desired effect effortlessly. There’s something utterly ridiculous about some of the script for this initial scene too - some random dude shows up in your newly destroyed barn asking for your children and you don’t stop to ask who he is and what he wants? In fact, why not direct him to your wife to be as helpful as possible? Don’t stop there though, why not start pouring your soul out to him in a keenly ironic speech about being delivered to demons. Sure. Very convincing. Still, I don’t suppose there’s much in the way of official records of this conversation to base the scene on, is there…

Miracle noise alert! This one definitely originates from Crawley and definitely differs from the one we most recently associated with Aziraphale.

This one is… “flatter” is the word that springs to mind when I hear it. I think it’s intended to sound closer to a snake hiss; of textural note we are missing the little choir vocalisation that we heard in earlier miracle noises. Swinging back around to the theory about miracle noises relating to intent rather than caster, this particular noise would prove both theories. I guess what I really want to hear at this point is the noise from a miracle definitely cast only by Crowley with good or neutral intent. That might put this theory to bed for me, but I think we’ll have to wait a while for that (off the top of my head I can’t think if we get one of those in these season, but I’ll be on the look-out).

I find the choice of words used in the opening arguments between Aziraphale and Crawley interesting:

Aside from the opportunity to revel in Aziraphale admitting he was wrong about something, I think the different uses of don’t have to/couldn’t/can/will in this wordplay are worth noting. To avoid this getting too wordy, I’m going to break this down into a table to demonstrate:

And all of this hammered home with a final plea from Aziraphale, returning to his original point, and making an explicit statement that he believes that being a demon involves the ability to exercise free will (let’s face it, it kinda doesn’t - Crawley has little official choice than to follow orders, just like the angel). This point of view will become interesting as the season progresses and we see Aziraphale’s beliefs about free will and how it ties in with humanity morphing - after all, it wasn’t all that long ago that he was trying to convince a bunch of archangels on the street that the whole point of being human (not a demon) is to exercise free will (at least in our chronology - this conversation with Crawley and the one with the angels on the street are actually separated by some 4500 years…). What’s interesting to me about his beliefs at this particular point in time, is that they suggest at least part of his understanding of the differences between the agents of Heaven and Hell isn’t to do with morality or intent, it’s the presence/absence of free will. Ergo, the opposite of “Good” isn’t “Evil”, but “Choice”. Oof, that one hits pretty deep, doesn’t it? I could get into a big discussion about how this does or doesn’t resemble major religions even today but I feel like that goes a bit beyond my qualifications, so instead I’ll just make one more point about this handful of lines between our hero couple, this one on another more word choice for Aziraphale:

AZIRAPHALE: Crawley… You don’t have to destroy Job’s children.

Notice the word “destroy” and not “kill”. I’m not sure why this distinction has been made, not least because Crawley has already told Aziraphale 500 years previously that killing kids is not something he can get onboard with.

Maybe the word choice has been swayed somewhat by Crawley’s supposed disposal of the goats, where they simply disappeared in a puff of smoke. Perhaps “destroy” was thought to be a stronger word than “kill”, though that’s not a stance I would agree with, and I actually feel like it offers the opportunity to distance the “destroyer” from their actions somewhat.

Before we get too deep into the weeds with the next mini-section of Aziraphale pleading, there’s something I want to lay on the table. The last time this pair saw each other was 500 years ago. We saw that meeting, and earlier in this episode they even went so far as to confirm that was the last time they saw each other. That meeting, filled with shocking revelations about Heaven’s actions as it was, was very friendly. VERY friendly. We’ve gone from Crawley looking at Aziraphale like this:

to this:

I mean… What happened? No, seriously, what the actual fuck happened? The tension between this pair is palpable in both scenes, but they are very different types of tension. I’ve always thought that there’s something off about the way their conversation starts at the beginning of the minisode: it feels like that awkward conversation you have with someone when you bump into them after having had a blazing row and neither of you has apologised and despite time passing, you’re both still sore about it. Almost like… unexpectedly bumping into your ex? I realise that was all really wordy, when all I’m really trying to say is that I’m not clear on why the relationship feels so strained at the beginning of the minisode, just like I’m not clear on why Crowley is so grumpy when we see him in Rome. It occurs to me that we don’t see the end of their encounters in Mesopotamia and Golgotha (the previous meetings to Uz and Rome, respectively), and once again I say: what the actual fuck happened?

If we consider the possibility that the meeting in Mesopotamia potentially did not end as amicably as it began, Aziraphale’s desperate pleading with Crawley to do the right thing in this Land of Uz scene feels perhaps a bit more understandable. And let’s just be clear about Aziraphale’s plan of attack at this point - he’s no longer asking a demon not to the “bad” thing, he’s appealing to Crawley to be the being that he has fallen in love with come to know in the years before - one that is incapable of doing the unspeakable things he’s been tasked with.

Wait, wait, did I say understandable? Because this is truly unbearable for me - I can’t watch this without choking back a sob, for real. The little gulp as Crawley’s words hit home, the slumping shoulders, the slight wobble in his bottom lip, the rasping breath he takes (OH BUT THAT INTAKE OF BREATH WILL KILL ME). He is absolutely, and completely, devastated. And who can be surprised, because that speech from Crawley (complete with background hiss noise as he removes his glasses) is pure venom (no snake pun intended). Everything the demon says at this point is said with the sole purpose of hurting Aziraphale (and I say again: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!), prompting Aziraphale to use his ultimate weapon - it’s the forgiveness line. There is something particular about this usage though - on this occasion he doesn’t forgive Crawley personally, he asks for forgiveness on his behalf, which we’ve seen once before: on the bandstand. That encounter was very definitely a break-up and for a second it looks like this one might have been going the same way, and I think I speak on behalf of the entire fandom when I thank those goats for not being able to keep their mouths shut here.

As much as I am fully onboard with Aziraphale’s smugness in his response to finding out that Crawley was indeed the being he thought he was, I can’t help but feel like it’s slightly misplaced, and here’s why:

CRAWLEY: Doesn’t mean we’re on the same side. AZIRAPHALE: No, no!

You see, I don’t think Aziraphale has realised that his actions have actually gone against Heaven’s wishes at this point. So as far as he’s concerned, Crawley and him being on the same side (which is clearly what he thinks, given the vocal delivery) means that Crawley is also on Heaven’s side. Which he most certainly isn’t, and even though the demon has a much clearer idea of how things are progressing, it’s obvious that Aziraphale thinks that Crawley’s point of view is just a cover story for him actually being on Heaven’s side. I think this is the first time that the idea of third “side” (i.e. not for Heaven or Hell) is introduced, chronologically speaking, even if it was thought to be a temporary arrangement and not specifically termed as “their side”. I find myself wondering if Crawley’s acknowledgement that they are “temporarily not on different sides” is the reason he doesn’t protest being called an angel by Job’s eldest daughter (Keziah), but perhaps that’s just because he wants to lull them into a false sense of security for the grand finale coming up.

I will be preaching to the converted for the second time in this write-up now I know, but as I said, it pays to be cautious. The young man playing Ennon is David’s in-real-life son. This episode is quite the family affair! Having that little bit of knowledge makes Crawley’s reaction to this self-important, arrogant little shit all the more funny too.

And whilst we’re on the subject of Crawley’s reactions, I love this facial expression we see in reaction to Aziraphale deciding to throw his weight around:

I slowed it down a bit, but you can see his face twitch ever so slightly just after Aziraphale starts bellowing, like it actually took him by surprise. Pranked or not, I think it’s pretty obvious to see that he does not think this new strategy from the angel is a good one. The background acting doesn’t stop here either, with an adorable little squeak from him in response to Jemimah’s charming nature. It makes me feel a bit sorry for the kids in the scene really, who are (I hope) acting their little socks off being the most repulsive versions of children they can be whilst David just stands there pulling a few faces/making some noises and manages to steal the scene.

There’s no reason for that gif other than to watch a loop of David winking (extremely careful typing required with that sentence).

Alright, maybe there was a little reason, other than pure aesthetics. I know I’m not the only one to say I find the interaction between Crawley and Jemimah adorable, but outside of just being really cute, this relationship does serve a narrative purpose in the context of the storyline. This playful banter he establishes with the young child is what lays the road for some mischief. I’ve talked about it in earlier write-ups, but we don’t see an awful lot of the mischievous demon in this season. Well, all that’s about to change, and I’m pretty relieved because up to now everything Crawley has done in this minisode has felt very serious. I love seeing him getting joy in causing harmless mayhem.

I also find it interesting that this side of the demon has only been allowed out now that he and Aziraphale have found some common ground - the dislike of the two older children - which suggests that their relationship is getting back on track. On that note, it occurs to me that he hasn’t been wearing his sunglasses for any of this scene, which had been firmly glued to his face right from the beginning of the minisode, even when he was alone of the top of a mountain. Whatever happened to cause the angry tension between our hero couple (if anything happened), I think the lack of eyewear would suggest that Crawley is already well on the way to forgetting about it by this point.

I find this blustering from Aziraphale interesting. He refuses to name Crawley as what he physically is, choosing to believe that because the demon’s intentions aren’t malign, his demon nature is simply a technicality. By that same logic, that would mean Aziraphale himself is only “technically” an angel, yet you never hear him refer to himself as such. Ultimately, his motives behind this are honourable, desperate as he is to believe that Crawley is still one of the Good guys, and I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that there’s a double standard being applied here - that’s one of the motifs we see being applied to Heaven throughout the show (“one rule for us, another rule for everyone else”). He’s right in the end of course (at least as far as Crawley’s intentions anyway).

He knows Crawley has absolutely no desire to kill children, despite the fact that the house is blazing around them. The demon told him he couldn’t kill kids, remember?

There’s something about this exchange that niggles at me. On the surface it seems like we’ve gone back to an angry Crawley, challenging Aziraphale on his character judgement. I think there’s maybe a bit more to it though. There is a vague suggestion of Crawley asking Aziraphale if he really trusts him here, even though it’s not explicitly stated. And that trust theme is something we see developing, chronologically, throughout the minisodes of this season. The Agreement is a long way off into the future (about 3500 years in the future in fact), but I find myself wondering if this challenge from Crawley is its first iteration, because I think this is actually him asking Aziraphale if he’s sure he wants to be part of the plot to save the children. If that’s the case, and the angel understands the subtext, it would explain why he makes his declaration of surety so assuredly. And look at him making way for Crawley to deliver his coup de grace, united with the demon, and sure of his decision:

Side note: I love the fact that everything in that room falls through the ceiling to the floor below completely intact, including the table which is already laden with a whole ox carcass. The only sign of anything being disturbed is the noise of a metal pot settling.

Aziraphale’s response to this latest turn of events reminds me of what we see from him when he embarks on his journey to Edinburgh.

He’s so contented - he’s turned the whole thing into a game. One with a trail of clues he had to work out to solve the mystery of how the evil demon could still be an angel underneath it all. And he’s figured it all out, even though he knew it all along anyway, which Crawley is clearly not thrilled about. There’s another layer going on here though I think, because (if I’ve got my chronology right), this is the first time the demon has “rescued” the angel from a perilous situation. Never mind that the perilous situation was created by the demon in the first place. Besides, that might have been part of the game for all we know because it’s only now that Aziraphale starts to give Crawley a bit of slack for him to actually use the cover he’s trying to create for himself. And hold on, what’s this?

Is that a wink? Certainly looks like one to me. He also starts to use collective pronouns from this point, suggesting that he, just like Crawley, is getting comfortable with this relationship again.

We get some miracle noises in the cellar to have a quick look at here, although they are somewhat obscured by the soundtrack. Brief tangent: I’m not sure there are any miracle noises to be heard in the scene a moment ago where Crawley sets fire to the house, with the exception of the last one he does, opening up the floor to the cellar. That one, which is even more difficult to make out that the lizard-transformations, sounds more like the ones we heard from Aziraphale’s miracle in the pub, with that swelling noise that gets used so often in epic soundtracks. If that was the case, that definitely points towards the noise relating to the mindset of the caster, because that one would either have been driven by need or by the caster having good moral intent. The sounds we hear on the cellar on the other hand; they sound more like the snakelike versions we heard from Crawley earlier, although there’s something about them that sounds less ominous than previously.

In the last point of this part of the write-up, I find it notable that Aziraphale doesn’t try to interfere with Crawley’s transforming of the children, even though it’s clear he disapproves.

Perhaps it’s because he realises he’s pushed Crawley too far already to chastise him further for showing his true colours. Maybe it’s because there’s not really any harm being done in his actions. Maybe it’s because the angel was as disgusted with Ennon and Keziahs’ attitudes as Crawley is. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he’s actually pretty happy to be able to spend some time with the demon alone. I know which one of those theories I like the most.

This seems like as good a place as any to wrap up this part of the write-up, not least because we’re about to get to a pivotal moment of Aziraphale’s personal development and a fandom favourite in the relationship development, and I’ve already written far too many words on this tiny section to be normal. For now, and as always, questions, comments, discussion: always welcome and see you for the next one 😊

[axewchao]

A redo of the Zoroark!Dal of old, now with a bonus Zorua form and Poochyena/Mightyena traits!

As a Zorua, Dal doesn't have much control over his illusions. Even among other Zoros (not that he's met any), he seems weak, barely able to cast anything even remotely convincing, despite how hard he tries.

...Emphasis on "seems." When he falls asleep and is in the midst of a nightmare, that's when his powers are unleashed, whether he or anyone else likes it or not. Amplified by how scared Dal is by the nightmare itself, the things he unknowingly conjures could range from mildly creepy to downright terrifying (imagine being told a ghost story only to make the ghost "appear" once you go to bed), and the only way to stop them entirely is to wake Dal up. Which may be harder than it sounds, given what a Zoro's illusions are supposed to do: protect the caster from threats.

Ironic, isn't it? The things that scare him are trying to do the very opposite of what he thinks they are. Wonder if there are any other Zoros out there that fear their own power like he does...

As a Zoroark, Dal's finally got his illusions under control and can cast them with relative ease... aside from a few details he still needs to work out.

For one, no matter who he disguises himself as, he can't seem to change his eye color. They'll always be purple, and if he's impersonating someone you already know, the jig will be up in a matter of seconds. Nice try, fox boy =w="

And for two, if he tries to copy a mon with multiple tails, that won't pad out either. He'll always have one, so naturally he avoids picking multi-tailed mons as his illusion outside of practice.

At least now his abilities don't kick in when he has nightmares, both because of his training and because he has fewer and fewer of 'em as he gets older. owo)b

[lazywriter-artist]

Hear me out

HEAR ME OUT

I do not wanna anger any t’au fans glance over to the empty desert of one person but like hear me out!!

Was chitter chatting with a friend and like-

They called T’au the ‘cows of space’ and like—

G U Y S

MOO T’AU dies

More mammalian faces to help endear people to them + tails for the character design appeal to go with their already precious hooves????? The babiesss!!!!!!

Like to be fair I think most T’au designs work fine and communicate alien very well and all and their planet is different and that’s why they look like that or whatever, but their cute with their little hooves and precious armor I’m just a sucker for animalistic character design (cough chaos gods designs cough) and like the canon designs are good!!!! I’m just a freak

Maybe these can just be some sort of cross between a T’au and some unnamed aliens UwU if we REALLY need an “reason” other than I love them your honor

So here’s my ramblings about this eye twitch

To start off I just have a few random doodles figuring them out and stuff, seeing how their faces would work and figuring out elements I’d keep and loose!

To keep them recognizable as t’au I decided to keep their lack of hair (mostly well talk about it—) and turn their little ‘nose’(?) situations into markings instead! They’re also still blue I just— didn’t color them :3

Imagine….i jest i jest….unless?

This is where they get their cow ears and tail and it will not be changing ever-

I also mostly went with their descriptions from various wiki pages and things and just took inspiration bits and bobs from artwork!

Fire caste are in the range of human heights and are the most muscular of the castes, they even have more muscle mass then most humans to counter their planets naturally harsher gravity. this also aids their prowess as soldiers!

The fire caste’s hooves come more to a clawed shape, their ‘dewclaws’ normally being larger and thicker than other castes. Some higher ranking officials even having dewclaws that resemble and have sometimes get used more like a rooster spur, the fire warriors in some cases of being brought into imperial custody have been recorded to attack with these claws and often are trimmed or ‘booted’ to counter act this risk (especially with the “spur” variants)

Ironically with their soldier classification they are actually, by certain imperials which will not be named, found to be some of the cutest. The caste have thicker ears (likely to minimize damage taken when fighting) and out of all 5 castes are actually incredibly fluffy- adding to the human mind finding them to be “cute” on some level. The fire castes’ also have tails on the shorter end with thick fluffy hair tufts on the end of their tails

The fire (and air) castes are the only two which have prominent claws, which again aid in battle and self defense when/of unarmed and it is not uncommon to see a young tau’s hands with little mittens to prevent the young infants motor control practice from harming themselves

Earth caste are the shortest of the castes, stockily built and often a bit heavier then most fire caste due to their dense builds and often being a bit fatter then other castes.

Their hooves are duller and much more ground down then the fire caste, their legs tend to be thicker and much much much more musclar (though mileage may vary as some members of the caste can be more muscular than others and vice versa) they have also been seen occasionally displaying the “spur” variation.

Their ears are thicker and firmer then the fire caste, they are second fluffiest of the castes and the shortest tails with thin fur tufts that remind much more of some sort of strange dog. Their faces are in a resting sort of puppy face due to the way their mouths curve and even when (slightly minimally) emoting their face remains the same :3

Air casters are the lankiest and second slimmest & tallest of the castes. Slightly shorter than the water caste they are a bit more muscular then them but no where near the fire or earth castes’ broadness. Their hooves as very similar to that of the water caste and are very slim and thin and almost horse like in nature, they also have the smallest dewclaw of the caste’s and are one of the only castes which lack the “spur” mutation.

They have some of the thinner and floppiest ears of the castes (these help planet side air travel or when fast winds blow it won’t irritate the ears). They take third place in how fluffy they are. The air caste feature slim tails with very spare and thin hair tufts, but are on the middling length when it comes to their tails. As well as being the only other caste with claws :3

Water caste are the thinnest and tallest of the castes but are much more evenly proportional than the gangly lanky air caste. Again their hooves are similarly slim and dainty with a horse like air to them, but can often be ornately painted or decorated with various items but especially jewelry depending on the individual.

They are the sparest furred of the four castes (most ethereal are hairless :3) and tend to be the most ornately dressed. Their tails tend to be the longest and fluffiest thickest furred and tend to be groomed and styled in various ways and specially adored with bangles and jewelry. The caste having a very strong affinity for shiny objects normally are adorned with jewels to match and slim but long ears are often pierced and bejeweled end to end and anywhere in between. They also tend to have the most control over and be the most expressive of the castes!

All castes can have any variety of hair styles really, and depicted outfits/“unifroms” are not one size fits all and naturally the castes can see various changes depending on rank, line of work, individual preferences and more

The chart below also depicts the tallest of each caste, at their maximum heights, most caste members range a bit shorter then theses Water caste stands in at 7 feet tall (~213 cm), Air caste tend to max out around 6 feet 5 inches (~198 Cm), the fire caste again tend to be in the human height ranges but max at about 6 foot (~182.88 Cm), Eath caste meanwhile as the shortest tend to max out around 4 foot 11 inches (~149 Cm)

Early concept sketches

I’ve yet to decide on some designs on etherals but I’ll get there. These alone were really fun but very time consuming lol even if most of these doodles I had finished prior but shhhhh I love these goobs a lot tbh they’re so silly….i love designing each caste and picking out little reasons for the design tidbits. I think one of my favorite things is character design and Augh this was so fun.

Honestly could probably ramble for ages on the design variations and lore change ideas I have for these goobs

Do hope you all enjoy my little guys

[ice-mage]

ICE MAGE READS 2024

This year, I joined a book club in an effort to read more actual books. I’ve always enjoyed reading, but over the past decade or so, I would only read a handful of books in any given year. Well, even though I didn’t read anything in the month of April, I’ve managed to read 26 books so far this year (and one I did not finish that I didn’t list below). I’m hoping to add a one or two more before the end of the year (while I’m visiting family over the holidays).

Full List (in the order I read them):

New Adult by Timothy Janovsky

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins

The Parliament by Aimee Pokwatka

Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros

Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros

Sun of Blood and Ruin by Mariely Lares

Ocean’s Godori by Elaine U. Cho

Wolfsong by TJ Klune

Ravensong by TJ Klune

Heartsong by TJ Klune

The Stardust Grail by Yume Kitasei

Surrender Your Sons by Adam Sass

Brothersong by TJ Klune

Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis

Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer

Time’s Agent by Brenda Peynado

Apprentice to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer

The Back Passage by James Lear

A Tempest of Tea by Hafsah Faizal

The Secret Tunnel by James Lear

Sorcery and Small Magics by Maiga Doocy

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik

The Last Graduate by Naomi Novik

The Golden Enclaves by Naomi Novik

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner

The Nightmare Before Kissmas by Sara Raasch

Favorites

The Library at Mount Char: I don’t know what to say about this one other than that it’s wonderfully weird. A (sub)urban fantasy that begins with a murder mystery, with characters that would fit right into a horror movie, this book is fucked up in all the best ways. I don’t want to say too much about it because the way things are revealed throughout the book is one of the reasons I enjoyed it. Definitely give it a try.

Sorcery and Small Magics: A mixup with a forbidden spell results in Leovander Lovage being bound to obey his rival, Sebastian Grimm’s commands. Leo and Grimm endeavor to find a counterspell that can undo it and set Leo free again. This book is the beginning of an enemies/rivals to lovers tale. It is so expertly written, you’d be surprised to learn it’s the author’s debut novel. The book does a wonderful job at pacing; you get a great balance of character moments and plot. The magic system is intriguing, requiring two people, scrivers that write spells and casters that cast them. The magical creatures are imaginative. But what really grasped me was the evolution of the relationship between Leo and Grimm. I highly recommend you give this one a read.

Honorable Mentions

Heartsong: This is the story of Robbie Fontaine, my beloved. We learn about Robbie’s tragic backstory, and then get thrust into angst, angst, and more angst. It is my favorite book of the Green Creek series (I don’t care that Jon with his @bigassbowlingballhead has a different opinion). Given that this is third novel in a series, I don’t know what I can say about it without spoiling the first two books, so I’ll leave you with the author’s own words when this was rereleased earlier this year:

Ocean’s Godori: This is a cozy space opera set in a universe where Korea dominates space travel. I really liked all three main characters: Ocean Yoon, a space pilot; Teo Anand, second son to a tech empire; and Haven Sasani a Mortemian and a medic. The dynamic between parent and child is a theme of the book, and each of the three main characters have unique issues with their parents that shape them as characters. The relationship between all the characters, these three and the rest of the crew on the ship Ocean pilots, is a high point of the book. And the actual plot, once we get into it, is really interesting. Unfortunately, the book just ends suddenly. It doesn’t have an Act III, and I’m not sure it finished Act II. It’s like the publisher took Cho’s book and chopped it in half and only published the first part. It feels incomplete. That’s why I can’t recommend this book to anyone yet, at least not until the sequel, Teo’s Durumi, comes out in August 2025.

Most Disliked

Sun of Blood and Ruin: Seeing this book as the March pick was a big factor in me deciding to join my book club. The book promised to weave “Mesoamerican mythology and Mexican history two decades after the Spanish conquest into a swashbuckling, historical debut fantasy with magic, intrigue, treachery, and romance.” As someone of Mexican ancestry from all sides of my family, I was really excited to read this one. Boy, did it disappoint. The protagonist, Leonora de Las Casas Tlazohtzin, is the half-indigenous daughter of the Spanish viceroy in Mexico. She is also La Pantera, a masked, magical vigilante. Although Leonora living a double life is a big part of her character arc, she is by far the worst at it, two other characters are introduced that do it far better than she does. One of those characters also does magic far better than she does. The writing is stodgy at best. And there’s a gay relationship thrown in that feels slapdash and inauthentic, like the author only inserted it because it’s the thing to do these days. This book is by far my least favorite book of the year, 0/10, do not recommend.

Dishonorable Mention

Time’s Agent: I’ll start by saying that this book was nowhere near as bad as the previous one. This book features pocket dimensions, or pocket worlds as they are called here, that people can enter from our own world. Only, these pocket worlds aren’t necessarily co-synchronous with our world. What feels like days in a pocket world could only be minutes in our world. And conversely, only seconds in the wrong pocket world could be decades in our world. Which is what happens to the main character. This book had a really intriguing premise, and seeing the main character work through her grief was interesting. Unfortunately, I think this book suffers from being a novella. The short length means the author doesn’t have room to really explore the pocket worlds or the other characters, meaning you end up not caring about either. If it had been twice as long, I think this could have been a really good book.

[thecreaturecodex]

Shrine Skelm

Image © Paizo Publishing, accessed at Archives of Nethys here

[The shrine skelm, like all of the skelms, rules, but I didn't like how it doesn't have any ability to magically conceal its alignment. Considering that spells like misdirection and nondetection exist in 2e (although now they have non SRD names like "veil of privacy"), it seems a bit of an oversight to have a monster whose whole deal is deceiving religious figures whose cover can be blown by any 1st level paladin. So I gave it the "feign faith" ability, and some spell-like abilities to synergize with it.]

Shrine Skelm CR 5 LE Monstrous Humanoid This gray-skinned figure is nearly human, except for his yellow eyes and rack of antlers. He wears priestly vestments and expensive-looking holy symbols.

Shrine skelms are skelms that specialize in abusing religious authority. Regardless of what faith they feign, they are skilled at interpreting its doctrines and stories in the most restrictive and cruel lights, using them as excuses for the abuse they heap onto their followers. All of their parishioners are at risk, of course, but shrine skelms focus their ire on those who question their authority, or those who have something that they envy. Exorbitant tithing is often the first sign that a shrine skelm has infiltrated a church. Shrine skelms are skilled at seeming like a wise counselor one minute and a cruel adjutant the next, listening to their followers at prayer and probing their minds to learn their hopes and fears. Worshipers or clergy especially prone to hatred, rage or anger may find themselves groomed to become a skelm themselves, and a church can rapidly be converted into a front for a synod of shrine skelms.

Shrine skelms prefer not to fight themselves, instead letting their minions get their hands dirty while supporting them with spells. A shrine skelm’s most formidable ability is the ability to steal divine spells cast by real clerics, paladins, inquisitors, etc., which can both be used as a combat tactic and to denigrate anyone who tries to display the truth of their faith versus the skelm’s disguises and lies. Once the chips are down and their true nature revealed, however, a shrine skelm is just as hateful and violent as any skelm, using their antlers and fists to gore and bash enemies.

Shrine Skelm CR 5 XP 1,600 LE Medium monstrous humanoid Init +3; Senses Perception +11, scent

Defense AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 Dex, +1 dodge, +3 natural) hp 57 (6d10+24) Fort +6, Ref +8, Will +7; -2 vs. emotion effects DR 5/cold iron

Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee gore +11 (1d8+5 plus trip), slam +11 (1d4+5) Special Attacks feign faith,seize prayer Spell-like Abilities CL 6th, concentration +11 3/day—aid, castigate (DC 17), command (DC 16), detect thoughts (DC 17) 1/day—enthrall (DC 17), retribution (DC 18)

Statistics Str 20, Dex 16, Con 18, Int 19, Wis 15, Cha 21 Base Atk +6; CMB +11; CMD 25 Feats Deceitful,Dodge, Magical Aptitude Skills Bluff +13, Disguise +13, Intimidate +18, Knowledge (religion) +10, Perception +11, Spellcraft +12, Stealth +12, Use Magic Device +13; Racial Modifiers +4 Intimidate Languages Aklo, Common, telepathy 30 ft. SQ change shape (Small or Medium humanoid, alter self),skelm traits

Ecology Environment any land and urban Organization solitary or synod (2-7) Treasure standard (holy symbols, other treasure)

Special Abilities Feign Faith (Su) When a shrine skelm wears a holy symbol, its alignment detects as the alignment of that god, and its castigate and retribution spell-like abilities treat the shrine skelm as a worshipper of that god. A creature attempting to detect the skelm’s true alignment must succeed a DC 18 Will save to do so. The save DC is Charisma based. Seize Prayer (Su) As an immediate action, a shrine skelm can attempt an opposed caster level check to steal a divine spell cast within 30 feet of it. This spell must have a verbal component. If the shrine skelm succeeds this check, both the skelm and the caster take 1d8 points of damage per level of the spell, but the shrine skelm becomes the spell’s sole target. Skelm Traits (Ex) A shrine skelm gains a +4 racial bonus on Intimidate checks and a -2 racial penalty on saving throws against emotion effects.

[beautifulphilosopherbird]

Dungeon Meshi chapter 15, or Me trying to figure out the Kabru & co timeline bc the anime confused me (vs episode 7)

the anime ep 7 opens with Kabru & co getting resurrected, before it goes back to Senshi & friends, but in the manga they get resurrected at the start of chapter 15

they actually tell this to the mage that's with them, while in the anime he is shown when Kabru & co are already awake so they obviously cannot communicate with him (idk why he was kept a secret tho - I guess it would make adventurers suspect them of being dodgier than they seem, which they were lol)

these two speculate a bit before they resurrect them and realise it was treasure bugs

the exact fee was not mentioned in the anime (that feels like a lot of gold lmfao I wish I had something to compare it to but nothing comes to mind tbh)

I like that they showed distrust for them in the manga (tho they did in the end conclude the same thing, that it was Senshi & friends) because those two were very obviously dodgy. ironically, Marcille casting the protection on them seemed to be what convinced them it was Senshi & co who robbed them lol

the anime cuts their story after they run off to catch the "criminals", and continues it in episode 14 (in very confusing order, at least for me). this entire next part is not in the anime but in the manga we see them get to the 4th floor, the lake, trying to sniff out Senshi & friends' scent

I feel her on this (had to look up her name bc I didn't retain it from the anime lol, it's Mickbell)

are those slimes? do they hang out in water too?

they come across the two mermaids before Laios and Chilchuck, but thanks to Kuro's superior hearing, they realise it before getting bewitched

lmfao this made me laugh but I wanna know what she was actually saying tho. also they are wearing actual earplugs hahaha I thought there would be a spell for that but then again, why waste magic

why she so maddddd. she does act kinda like she has a crush on him but does she really? lmfao

this is how their bit ends for now and we backtrack to Senshi & friends before Marcille finishes the soap

Chilchuck outright has a mental breakdown in the manga RIP old man chuck

hehe what are you gonna make the raft from chickchuck? the kelpie? to carry the kelpie?

also woodchuck doesn't say "I'd rather not" to Laios in the manga (or something was lost in translation)

don't you just hate it when you find a perfectly good backpack and it's attached to a dead person. really ruins your day doesn't it

whose waterwalk spell? Laios and chucky's? or Kabru & co's? I thought they were floating bc they're dead but it's bc of the waterwalk spell? edit: no wait, later cluckchuck says that the caster is dead (Rin) so the barley should not be affected by the spell anymore, so they shouldn't either right? i'm confused now lol

interesting, in the anime he says that they met a mermaid and killed each other (did he mean they heard the mermaid's song? is that the effect it has? or is it the fishmen?)

awww Laios worrying about them cutie

anyway I'll end this bit here until we see the rest of Kabru & co story from ep 14 in the manga bc I need to understand this timeline of events it's gnawing at my brian

[calicohyde]

Lady In Red: Chapter One of Curse The Messenger Draft 1.4

I reached a follower milestone hosted a poll about what I should do to celebrate, and you all voted that I should publicly post this chapter of Curse The Messenger! I'm posting this here as well as on AO3. If you prefer to read it there, click here. Listen to this WIP's playlist while you read!

Chapter Summary:

Eddie Alfaro is dissatisfied with her job as a clairvoyant private investigator. The community of witches that makes up her clientele are prejudiced against her for her gift of Seeing, and the cases are always inconsequential and boring anyway. Infidelity, stolen heirlooms, that kind of thing. On top of that she's struggling with survivor's guilt, grief, and alcoholism, and she thinks her sibling is starting to get sick of her shit.

Then a gorgeous, elegant stranger shows up on Eddie's door and offers her an interesting case - a murder with no body. The woman says the case is Eddie's to solve, provided Eddie can figure her out first.

ENTICEMENT TAGS: Horror, Detective Noir, Urban Fantasy, Modern with Magic, Murder Mystery, Suspense, Surrealism, Character(s) of Color, Queer Character(s), Autistic Character(s), Nonbinary Character(s), Neopronouns, 1990s, Private Investigators, Romance, First Meetings, Butch/Femme

CONTENT WARNINGS: Body Horror, Sleep Paralysis, Possession, Unreality, Blood, Alcohol Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Smoking

All nights are dark, and a fair few are stormy too. On those nights, the trees lining the streets shake in vengeful winds. Water comes down sideways. It could soak a loyal guard cat through all the way down past its thick undercoat. It would have to swim through the intersections.

Human beings don't mind the wet so much, though. No city truly sleeps, and Cane Street still enjoys a sluggish cacophony of visitors even late on a night like this. The chatter of people - and of the things besides people that hover around them - rises above the din of the rain pattering down on the striped awnings. The soft, desaturated glow of decorative string lights in the shallow darkness casts ill-fitting halos over the heads of smoking diner patrons. Lightning snaps bright across the dark sky, forcing any wandering shadows back into place beneath their casters.

On the residential streets, the noise from the commercial block is muffled but still present under the rain. It's darker here too. There's less light pollution of course, but that's not the only thing keeping the night black. Shadows would be wise to stick a little closer when walking here. The cats watch from the trees and the quiet apartment buildings, ready to catch anything that makes itself a little too interesting.

The houses are dark for the night and just shy of uniform, each with brick porches and wrought iron banisters. But every now and then there is one that has the air of witchery about it. Lots of people have power, though there aren't many with enough to do anything with. That's luckier than not.

Barely audible to a particularly sensitive ear is the click click click of someone in heels coming nearer and nearer. Most nights, there isn't anyone there. The gutters are full with rushing water and the stench of stirred up sewage, and beady little eyes. Some of them are just rats.

There is a two family home on the corner of Seventh and Spring, right across the street from a hole in the wall bar that would never let itself be seen closed. The house is exactly the same as every other in the neighborhood - when observed with only five senses.

The pillars are square and brick. The wrought iron railing along the concrete porch steps is the same boring twists as all the others. It has two dark wood front doors, both with even darker curtains covering their thin windows. The birch tree in the yard is ostensibly for shade, but was more likely planted for the benefit of the property value.

The only thing that separates the house that two eyes can see is the lively honeysuckle vine crawling its way up the right side, the buds reading out into the cramped alley in between this house and the next. Currently, it's wilting pathetically under the onslaught of rain. Fragrant crushed petals litter the alley gravel. What makes it special is that it blooms all year round, heedless of the seasons. Rumor among the local coven says that the residents of the building were given the plant by their absent father when he left them.

Rumors are loathsome as a rule. That one is in especially poor taste.

On this particular dark and stormy night, a long-haired person in an ankle length beige skirt comes out of the right side door of the house, crying softly enough not to be heard in the rain. Another person comes out after them - Fred, the elder of the siblings that live here. Xe's dressed in xyr typical ensemble: a fitted suit in some pale color, the exact shade obscured by the darkness of the hour and the ugly yellow of the porch light.

If an observer could look with more than two eyes - as more than one might like to think can do - the house is a stinking, glowing locus of magic. The two people on the porch stand out from it with their own auras of power.

Fred gives the impression of the palest of purples, like the honeysuckle flowers growing unnaturally in xyr yard. The other person isn't as powerful as Fred, but still of note. Their metaphysical shade matches their skirt, a pleasant light tan. The two auras interact strangely with the glaring overhead porch light. Occasionally the thing flickers, throwing their faces into drastically alternating shadows and relief.

Eventually, Fred claps a hand on the stranger's shoulder, ever more personable than xyr sister. Xe steers them toward the steps. The beige person doesn't have an umbrella with them, and yet they don't seem to get wet as they walk out from underneath Fred's porch and into the downpour. Fred does not watch them go.

Inside is dry and warm, but not much quieter. The windows are open to let in the noise and the washed-clean air. The spicy, earthy scent of burned sage almost covers up the smell of grease and salt from Chinese food take-out. Eddie sits cross legged on top of the work desk.

The desk is an imposing piece of work that was given to them by their papá before he left. Unlike the bit about the honeysuckle, that's a fact. It looks just like him too - hard, brown, and square. It's more than a decade old now and it shows; it's covered in scuffs and scratches and condensation rings. There are noodles on top now too, because Eddie still can't use chopsticks for shit.

The strap of Eddie's black coveralls falls down over one of her slouched shoulders. Her thick brown hair is dry and tangled, just beginning to curl over the collar of her white t-shirt. She'll be taking to it with a pair of kitchen shears some time soon.

Eddie's aura is stronger than her sibling's. That means she's more powerful than Fred, but for unfortunates who have to perceive it, that's no blessing. Eddie's presence is angry and sour, dull even despite its strength. It's the same bloody piss shade of brown as the whisky she's gulping down in between bites of lo mein.

"'Watchtower,'" she slurs derisively, continuing on from some age old argument that deserved Fred walking out on it. Her voice is thick, both with drink and with scorn. "What are we watching, anyway? Not shit. We're a joke."

"Don't say that," Fred says quietly. Xe could stand to be a little less feather light on xyr sister, but xe won't be. Not tonight. Tonight xe will fall on her cool and gentle, like the rain as it slows.

"It's not like anyone ever asks us to do anything important," Eddie insists. "And even if they ever did it's not like we could do it. We should just give up." Before Eddie finishes speaking, her sibling is already shaking xyr head.

"Eddie," xe sighs. Xyr voice is half scolding and half preternaturally patient. It's impossible to say how xe does this. "What we do is important to our clients. We help people."

Eddie only laughs, meanly, and drinks.

The siblings sit in silence for long minutes, until all the food has been eaten and the candles have all gone out. Then Fred rises and wrestles the booze away from xyr sister. The painful routine about to unfold is familiar to them both.

Fred tugs at Eddie's shoulder, Eddie grumbling in drunken recalcitrance and refusing to stand until Fred gives up and drags her bodily off of the desk by force. Papers rustle as they're crushed and ripped under Eddie's ass. There's the dull clink of hard plastic falling to the wood floor. The siblings put all their glass away a long time ago.

Fred all but carries Eddie from the right side of the house, the headquarters of Watchtower Investigations. Past the organized chaos of crystals and candles and dubiously legal photographs, through the door with the frosted window, and across the hall to the left side apartment where they live. Fred drags Eddie through there too, and then dumps her into her bed. Xe doesn't let her see xem flinch when she turns away from xyr attempt to kiss her forehead.

It may take hours for Eddie to sink into sleep, or it may take minutes. Inebriation can make telling the difference a little difficult. The drink makes her limbs heavy and keeps her tears at bay, never mind if she might like to cry them or not. She can hardly remember what that feels like by now, after so many years of falling to bed from Fred's arms just like this. Although as drunk as she is, she can hardly remember much else either.

When at last Eddie does sleep, the sky is still dark but now clear.

The moon and the light pollution in the city together are easy to see by, even in the dirty back alleys. She can navigate them without much trouble, each one familiar to her from all her time spent here during the days. She creeps past the cracked open back door of a bar. The lights from inside fall half across her face, the smell of booze and the smoke of cigarettes gusting over her like the bar is breathing.

She expects a rancor of cheerful voices with an undercurrent of tinny rock music. Instead there is silence, heavy to near painfulness in her ears. She wants to pause in the doorway and stare, to take a moment to reconcile the sight with the lack of sound, but her gaze and her body continue on as if she is not their pilot.

Her dirty blonde hair falls into her face and she blows it away with a puff out the side of her mouth. Her hands are full with her camera in one hand and the pocket knife her girlfriend gave her in the other. Her glasses slip down her sweaty nose, and she can't push those up either. Luckily her frames are large enough that she can still see through them, for now.

Finally, a lone noise comes to her ears from up ahead. It's the muffled splat of something wet landing onto the gravel of the alley below it. It's not loud; it must have fallen - or been dropped - from a short distance.

Her heart picks up speed. She hadn't noticed it was already racing, but now it pounds painfully against her sternum, impossible to ignore. Her grip tightens on her camera, her shaking finger hovering preemptively over the shutter button as if it's the trigger of a gun.

If she's right she'll finally be able to prove it, get someone to take her seriously and do something. But if she's right - and she knows she is - that means she's in more danger than she's ever been in before, and that's not saying a little. She should turn and run. She should go back home, or even better she should go to someone else's place. Maybe she could move into Bacchanalia for a while.

But she's never been known for that kind of caution. She's wise in other ways. She takes quiet steps closer.

She's woefully, sickeningly unprepared, she realizes all of a sudden. She has all the knowledge she could possibly have (and knowledge is power; she truly believes that). Her confidence in her evidence is unflinching. When she set out tonight, she knew the pocket knife she wields now wasn't much as far as weapons but it was more than she'd usually carry and it made her feel safer. It made her feel like she could be more of a threat, if she needed to be. But now she can only feel the sucking lack of power in herself. There's a sense of absence there, an unfamiliar helplessness crawling up and down her spine chillingly. It nauseates her, like the slow slimy touch of a giant slug.

At this moment, she is only exactly as she seems. Something about that just doesn't feel right.

Still, she continues forward. She's desperate at this point to turn back. The urge wells up behind her eyes like unshed tears. No part of her pays her feelings any mind. (That, at least, is not so unusual.)

Shaking, she flattens herself against the brick to her side as the building comes to an end at a corner. She takes a deep breath that serves only to make her panic worse, sucking in the scent of damp earth and bar trash and blood, thick and tangy metallic in the air. It's more blood, she's certain - despite the ease with which she recognizes the smell - than she has ever encountered before.

The rough brick of the wall scratches against her cheek. She tightens her grip again on her pocket knife, regardless of her lack of faith in it. She raises her camera with her other hand, pointed toward the other side of the alley, the open corner, the wet redness in the dirt oozing closer to her…

It's still dark, but the darkness is impenetrable. It doesn't matter that Eddie can't see; there are no true surroundings here, no details to parse, nothing more to know than the existence of herself. There is only the weakness of her body, the numbing pain in her wrists, her cold sweat, the chill of the tile flooring against her back through the sheer fabric of her dress. The smell of blood remains.

Eddie raises her arms with great effort. They feel so heavy, and they shake. Her biceps feel the burn of the exertion within seconds, but she doesn't drop her hands. Working past the fatigue, she closes her hands around her own throat. It's hard to get a grip, her hands slippery and slick with warm wetness.

"Please," she begs aloud. Her voice comes out wrong, but familiar. A little higher, a little sweeter, softer, happier. The voice of a distant memory, a voice from her childhood. She wants so badly to take comfort from it. She wants so badly for things to go differently this time.

She tightens her grip.

"My baby, my sweet girl, please, let me live."

Eddie starts to cry, and it's such a fucking relief. Her tears are warm and salty when they fall over her lips. Her stomach roils with nauseous fear and guilt, but part of her has already accepted her fate. Part of her wants it. She continues to beg herself for her life, but she smiles her forgiveness all the while.

Her neck begins to bruise. Eddie feels the almost satisfying give under her hands and the crushing pain in her throat together. Still she squeezes down, her nails digging in to keep her grip, scraping away furrows of skin. Her voice is unaffected somehow, still light, still cheerful and gentle and kind. She gives herself no mercy, until finally she stops breathing and she is at last silenced.

Her body dies and goes stiff and cold, but Eddie remains aware. The stillness of her heart and her lungs fills her with a terror that grows inside her like the opening of a terrible maw. She wishes she could just give into it, let it swallow her up whole and crush her down into nothing. She's already dead, really, so why should she want so desperately to breathe? But she does, clinging to the facsimile of life she still has.

There is movement in the deep darkness. She sees it from the corner of her eye, but she can't turn to look closer. Dead bodies don't move. A whimper builds behind her teeth, but she doesn't have the breath to give it voice. Even if she did, she couldn't open her mouth enough to let it out. The only thing she can do is wait, and hope - that she'll be able to breathe soon, and that whatever the thing is won't make her stop again.

The thing gets close enough to see, resolving itself out of the darkness into her father. He stands over Eddie in the outfit she last saw him in. A brown tweed duster, the same style of overwear that Fred now favors, a denim shirt buttoned all the way up, thin dark brown scarf, pants and a belt and boots that match it. Apá always liked to look just so. Fuck, she misses him so much. She's glad to see him, even though she's dead and he's looking down at her like he might look at any other corpse he stumbled upon in the dark.

"Why did you do that?" he asks eventually. His tone is mild, curious, as familiar and nostalgic as the other voice that came out of her own wretched mouth as she killed herself. He sighs deeply. Eddie's crushed throat and her chest are tight and hot with the need to copy him. To breathe. "Tell me that, querida. Why would you kill your own mother?"

Eddie knows she's dreaming now. She's had this one before. She needs to wake up so that she can breathe. She needs to breathe if she wants to wake up.

If.

She could always just stay here. Maybe it would be just for a minute, but dreams always feel longer than they really are. It might even feel like forever. She could stay here with Apá. He's staring down at her with disappointment and disgust, but at least he's here.

He's wearing his dumb overthought outfit and his stubble is salted and Eddie would bet he probably smells like palo santo and fresh tobacco like he always did before. Eddie can't smell him, and she won't even if she stays, because she can't breathe. But even though her chest is painfully tight and Apá obviously hates her, she can think of worse ways to die.

More importantly, she can think of plenty worse ways to keep on living.

It doesn't matter what she wants, either way. Not in this and not in anything else either. She dies at the whim of her dreams, and she lives on the say of whatever wakes her.

Eddie wakes up.

Her eyes are closed and the darkness and her father are the only reality, and then her eyes are open and she's staring up at the plaster ceiling of her bedroom. She still can't move and she still can't breathe, but she can feel the breeze coming in from her open window tickle over her exposed face and arms. She can hear the patter of the rain. Her sheer curtains billow.

Something moves in the shadows.

Eddie stares hard into the dark, her heart racing and making her need for air even more urgent.

She sees dark hair and two dark eyes, a frown, the suggestion of broad shoulders covered in tweed.

Apá. Still glaring down at her. He mutters but Eddie can't understand what he's saying no matter how hard she strains her hearing. She tries to reach out for him, but her arms refuse to so much as twitch.

Before Eddie's tired eyes, Apá starts to melt. The lighter tones of his skin drip down onto the deep darkness of his clothing. The shadow of his hair ruins the lines of his features. The shine of his eyes in the moonlight snuffs out and his height decreases in a lopsided rush that disappears into the negative space of Eddie's unlit bedroom floor.

Eddie gasps into full wakefulness when the specter of her father is completely gone. She breathes in deep - both the air and the rush of becoming aware of her power again. The late summer air is wet and cool in her lungs; her magic feels heavy and warm like an internal weighted blanket. It would be pleasant, but Eddie can only think about Apá and how he's gone again. That hurts more than getting her throat crushed with no contest.

The nightmare is awful and familiar. It's been a recurring punishment for Eddie ever since Apá disappeared for the last time of many, nearly twelve years ago now. Eddie loses him all over again almost every night and it never hurts any less. It happens so often she might even have been able to get used to it, pain and all, if she could ever be positive he isn't really there. She can't be sure he doesn't blame her too, that he doesn't choose to leave her again and again and again.

The other parts, the sneaking around in the alley to take pictures of something dangerous and bloody… Well, that could just as easily be some random nightmare her brain decided to make up to torment her with as it could be a real premonition. They're tough to tell apart. Most of the time these days, Eddie doesn't even bother to try.

What does it matter, anyway? The nightmare she woke up to is just as real and true and any premonition, if maybe not quite as literal. And there's not a damn thing Eddie can do about either of them. There never has been, and there never will be.

When her chest has stopped heaving, and the tears she cried in her sleep have dried, Eddie rolls over towards her bedside table. Her hair falls into her face, dark brown like it's supposed to be. She pulls open the little drawer roughly and tugs out her dream journal and a pen. She ignores the crumpled pages that fall out, uncaring. There's a lamp on the table but Eddie doesn't turn in on to write, scribbling haphazardly across a page that looks like it's probably blank. She opens her hands and lets the book and pen drop to the floor when she's done, and flops onto her back.

It's supposed to help. Writing it down. Fuck knows how. But it's a habit now.

Eddie lies in bed and stares up at her ceiling. The off-white plaster looks the same now as it had minutes ago when Eddie woke up paralyzed and could only see the rest of her room by straining her peripheral vision. It's gray in the silvery moonlight. The ghostly shadows of her curtains dance across her blanket covered legs when the wind gusts them around.

Eddie holds her breath for as long as she can. Nothing steps forward out of the dim.

The fatigue and painful tightness in the chest when suffocating feels a little bit like a heart attack, Eddie muses idly. Once a client's husband had one while they were working his case. The case had only been to find the guy's long lost auntie or something, completely unrelated to his husband. But Eddie had the privilege to die with him anyway.

The bruising of her throat, her windpipe getting crushed, that could be likened to being hanged. Someone that used to go to the bar across the street had done themselves in that way once. They hadn't been working a case for them, hadn't been introduced as far as Eddie remembers, might not have even ever seen each other in passing. But still, Eddie got to die with them.

The light in the room changes slowly as the night and its storm both come to end and the sun begins the arduous process of rising. The early morning sounds of the city come in through the window with the summer breeze now. The chirping of the early birds is loud and sharp, each tweet stabbing into Eddie's ears like an ice pick. She grits her teeth and rolls away from the window, thinking hard about how badly she wants them to shut up. Maybe if she can just be annoyed enough everything will stop.

There's a prickle on the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched. She ignores it. It could be a holdover from the dream. Or maybe she has a stalker. Who gives a shit.

Soon enough, Fred gets up. Eddie listens to xem going through xyr morning routine from underneath her slightly musty pillow, held tight over her ear. She needs to do laundry soon. She needed to do laundry a week ago.

Fred sings in the shower. Eddie's throat goes tight again, her eyes hot, but no more tears come out. She can't cry when she's awake. Her grief is reserved for strangers.

She's so fucking proud and grateful that Fred can be happy. She's also wretchedly jealous. Resentful. She can't help but want that for herself, and she hates Fred every now and then for having it when she can't. She makes herself sick.

The drawers open and close in Fred's room down the hall as xe gets dressed. The creaky floorboard in the hall whines as Fred passes Eddie's room to go make breakfast for both of them. In short order, the smells of coffee and breakfast sausage join the smoke of Fred's first cigarette of the day.

Get out of bed now , Eddie tells herself. She doesn't move. Her body is so heavy and distant. It feels just as beyond her control now as it does during any premonition or nightmare, except that right now there's no reason for it. She should be able to just get the fuck out of bed . She scolds herself that Fred will want her to get out of bed on her own like a goddamn grown up for once.

Then again, Fred would probably have a better morning if xe didn't have to deal with Eddie at all, in bed or out of it.

Get out of bed , Eddie thinks, fiercer and more frustrated with every repetition. Get up. Get the fuck up. Get up. But she never manages to move.

"Eddie?" Fred asks softly from the doorway. Eddie hadn't noticed her door open, too busy trying to get herself to function. "Are you awake yet, cariño?"

Eddie wants to answer because Fred deserves to be treated nicely, but she also wants Fred to just leave her alone. She ends up splitting the difference and just grunting at xem. Fred sighs deeply, and Eddie seethes. She's not sure if she's angry at Fred or at herself. Probably both.

"C'mon, hermanita," Fred says, xyr voice growing closer as xe comes inside the room. The closer xe comes the tighter Eddie's shoulders coil, until the tension starts to hurt her neck. She dreads Fred reaching her bed without her moving and then having to tell Fred she won't get up today. Either Fred will accept that with a disappointed sight and leave her here, or xe'll insist Eddie get up. Both are equally as terrible as each other.

Eddie continues to demand of herself to get up , to fucking move , frantically now, inside her head. Still nothing happens. Fred's weight settles on the bed at Eddie's side and xyr hand cups her shoulder. Xyr touch is gentle and warm and could easily be comforting, if Eddie wasn't so fucked up that she can only feel one thing - or nothing at all or, sometimes, on bad days, some inexplicable twisted combination of the two.

"Come on, Eddie, get up," Fred says, shaking her gently. Eddie grits her teeth. If a simple urging could do it, Eddie would have been up hours ago. It's not that easy. There's no reason it should be any harder, but still it's just not that easy. She wants to shrug her sibling's grip off, but she can't even do that. She just lies still in her unwashed sheets and bears it.

"Okay," Fred sighs, and Eddie's dread builds. Now is the moment. Either Fred will leave her here all day and continue on living life without her, or xe will make her get up and she'll be forced to listlessly go through the motions of the minimum eight to ten hours before she can come back here to her stale and lonely room.

Apparently, today it's going to be the latter option. Fred tugs the pillow out of Eddie's clinging hands. Xe ignores Eddie's childish whine. Xe tosses the thing down to the foot of the bed so that Eddie would have to sit up to get it back, if she wants it badly enough. Then xe goes back to Eddie's shoulder, xyr touch much less gentle now, not intended for comfort at all. Fred pulls Eddie over onto her back, and then when she doesn't move from there except to turn her face away from xem, xe stands and looks down at her with xyr hands on xyr hips.

Eddie knows Fred probably isn't judging her, or at least not in the way she fears, but since she's not looking at xyr face she can't know for sure. She's too much of a coward to take the risk and double check.

Eddie listens as Fred moves around her bed. Xyr tread is as light as always on the hardwood floors, but the buckles on xyr boots jingle flatly with each step. Fred is like some kind of punk rock souvenir bell. Ting-ting -socialism is cool- ting .

Fred's hand circles around one of Eddie's ankles.

"You know I'll do it, Ed," xe says, and xe's not lying. Fred definitely will drag Eddie bodily out of this bed, and Eddie knows it from extensive past experience. Some days a little tussle between siblings in the morning gets the blood pumping and the rest of the requisite eight to ten hours end up with buttery yellow stripes of happiness coming in like sunlight through the broken drawn blinds of Eddie's faulty brain. Some days it's just another layer of shit on top of the festering pile that Eddie is already buried under.

Eddie tries to convince herself one more time to save them both the humiliation and frustration and just get up on her own. She can even feel the potential energy build up in her extremities; she's right on the cusp of moving, maybe, any second now. But the energy only continues to build up until Eddie feels like she's vibrating with it and her half-desperate half-hateful thoughts go buzzing around her head like angry flies.

"Okay," Fred repeats, xyr voice soft and sad. Then xe pulls.

It takes long unhappy moments to get Eddie upright. Fred does most of the work. In the case of standing on your own two feet, it's not the thought that counts at all. Fred is breathing a little heavily and xyr hair is messed up by the time Eddie is upright and standing on her own power.

Eddie mostly just wants to go right back to bed, or to melt into the floor like Apá did - or her dream of him, but who can tell the difference. The thought triggers a surge of guilt, and it compounds with the shame, making Eddie feel heavier and weaker and heavier and weaker.

Turns out she was right. Fred would have absolutely had a much better morning if not for Eddie.

"C'mon, I made breakfast," Fred tells her as xe turns to leave the room. They both know Eddie already knows that, from hearing and smelling it and from the routine. Fred always breakfast or else nobody will and the two of them will have to subsist on cigarettes and booze, respectively. Fred likes to take care of xyr body, aside from xyr one vice, and so xe makes breakfast. Xe makes enough for Eddie every time out of the goodness of xyr heart.

Eddie vacillates sluggishly between the call of food and coffee and the warmth of her bed before finally following her sibling into the kitchen. She'd love to collapse onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, but they're too high and she's too short, so instead she has to boost herself up with a foot on the rung between the legs. It's more effort than it should be, but she does like that she can swing her feet like a kid once she's up there.

Fred has already eaten, xyr lone dish already rinsed and sitting in the sink. Xe stands between the back counter and the bar, facing Eddie as she serves herself some eggs on autopilot. They're probably cold by now, and eggs aren't her favorite thing to begin with, but she puts some into her mouth with her fingers anyway. She chews perfunctorily and swallows it down. For a moment she has the uncharitable urge to open her mouth and make a show of proving to Fred that she ate it.

Unaware of Eddie's boorish attitude, Fred makes a face at her table manners. Xe fishes a fork out of the drawer and slides it across the bar to rest at Eddie's elbow. Eddie leaves it where it is and pointedly licks grease off of her fingers. She'll live, fine, but she's not going to be polite about it. Fred sighs through xyr nose, on part exasperated and one part amused. Eddie will take one part over none.

"Jay's case won't be too difficult," Fred says. Xe slips a cigarette out of xyr shiny case and lights it up with xyr zippo lighter. Eddie picks at her food in silence, waiting for the dark and spicy scent of clove smoke to reach her across the breakfast bar. It's the same scent that used to cling to Apá's coat. Same brand and all.

Fred flips the zippo open and closed as xe takes a long, long drag. That particular lighter was a gift from Apá the last time they saw him. Fred likes to say it was for xyr nineteenth birthday, because that was the closest occasion. Eddie closes her eyes and breathes in the smell, remembering.

"Yet another stolen heirloom," Eddie mutters over her cold eggs, referring to the case in question. Jay was here last night. Eddie knows she probably made a shit first impression, though she doesn't remember it clearly. It was past dinnertime and she was well on her way to hosed in preparation for bed. "Riveting stuff. Real important."

Fred takes another long, long drag before speaking, visibly gathering xyr patience. Eddie wonders when that resource will finally run out.

"The diamond isn't just an heirloom, Eddie," xe says once xe has taken the cigarette out from between xyr lips, leaning over the breakfast bar to emphasize xemself. "It's part of an active spell. If some blockhead secular swiped it looking for a payday it could be dangerous."

Eddie doesn't answer. She knows the diamond they've been hired to track down came out of a blessing box passed down to Jay by a great great great grandmother, and that it'll have the family's magic all over it. It could react badly to being separated from the other components of the spell.

She also knows that they're Jay's last resort. Jay didn't say so, but Eddie doesn't need to hear it said to know it. Jay isn't a Clairvoyant, like the two of them are, so there's no way they were a first or second, third, or fourth choice. Eddie doesn't begrudge people their hesitance though. She'd avoid her too, if she could.

"Look, hermanita," Fred says, mostly sympathetic this time, though Eddie doesn't doubt it's at least half put-on. "We've got that little diamond Scrying ball now. I can probably just use like to find like, and you won't need to use your gift at all for this one."

Eddie laughs, bitter and sharp. It stings in her throat, like whisky coming back up.

"You and I both know Seeing isn't a gift," she counters, her mouth twisted up into a painfully wry approximation of a smile. Her dreams from the night well up behind her eyes like her mind is a backed up garbage disposal. Whoever that blonde was is probably dead by now, and all Eddie feels about it is one part gladness that she wasn't there long enough to know and one part resentment over how she has nothing to do with anything in Eddie's life and Eddie still had to feel her terror anyway. "And I don't use it. It uses me. Whether anyone needs it to or not."

Fred just sucks down the rest of xyr cigarette, looking like xe might cry when Eddie pushes aside the rest of the cold eggs and pours herself a glass of red wine instead.

It could be worse, Eddie reasons to herself as she takes a generous gulp. At least this is made of fruit.

Eddie finishes her 'breakfast' at a leisurely pace while Fred lights up another clove. Xe is always getting onto Eddie for her drinking, as if xyr vice isn't just as bad for xem. But Eddie supposes that's what older siblings are for, if you don't have parents to do the job. After the wine is gone and the last wisps of smoke are lingering near the ceiling, it's time to get to work.

The office is just next door. There are two doors out front, one to the office and one to their home, as well as one between the two inside. The door windows are frosted and tinted slightly purple, the color of Clairvoyance. At least they get to be pretty. Both office doors have the business stuck on with vinyl in the window in a compressed serif font. Watchtower Private Investigations, named so after the height of the building, unusual for the street. The hinges and the wood floor both whine in complaint at Eddie's rough treatment of them as she makes her way inside before Fred.

The office is a hodgepodge of the usual administrative office stuff and the more esoteric detritus of witchcraft. The desk is covered with meticulously labeled manila folders, though some of them have been crumpled or strewn across the floor due to Eddie's flawed dismount last night. The bookshelves are filled half with shiny paperbacks on business, finance, and law, and half with yellowed old tomes on dream-working and potion-making. There's an altar set up on cloth on top of the filing cabinet.

Eddie crosses the space, avoiding looking at the files she ruined so diligently that she steps on a few. The windows at the back of the room are still cracked open. The air in here is perpetually hazy from the smoke of Fred's cigarettes and all the incense they burn. Fragrant dust swirls around in the sunbeams from the tobacco stained glass. It's probably beautiful, in its way.

Eddie yanks the curtains closed, blocking out the light. Her head hurts enough already, and she forgot her sunglasses downstairs and across the hall.

Fred sighs through xyr nose at Eddie's heelish behavior, clicking xyr tongue in disapproval at the files on the floor. Xe visibly debates stooping to pick them up, before sighing one more time and turning away from the whole sorry scene. Xyr shoulders are strong, nearly as broad as Apá's, but they droop under xyr neatly pressed seafoam green jacket. Xe sighs so much, Eddie thinks, because she makes it harder for xem to breathe than even all that tar can manage.

While Fred's back is turned, Eddie picks up the files. She does her best to smooth out the ones her ass tore up last night, and the ones she stepped on just now. She doesn't have much luck, but then again she never really does. Except maybe with the ladies.

The wingback chair at Apá's desk is ratty and faded, but still imposing. It's one of Eddie's few joys in life to sit in it and feel it at her back, making her a little bit bigger in her britches. If she wore britches. Whatever the hell britches are. It used to be a deep, velvety blood red, but that was before Eddie was even born. Now, it's a patchy burnt orange with blooms of light mauve where the friction is highest and the pile has worn down to pale threads. The thing is sturdy, though. Sturdier than the fucking floor, apparently, since unlike the floor it doesn't creak a bit when Eddie drops herself into like ice into a glass.

The top drawer on the left has a bottle of Jack in it. Eddie's fingers alight on the drawer's handle, dancing along to the tune the whisky sings from inside. The tinkle of piano keys, of ice in a lowball, promising to bounce anything and everything else at the door. Or at least to charge it a few details to get in.

"Don't," Fred murmurs, across the room and with xyr back still turned. "At least help me with this spell first before you start."

Eddie leaves her hand on the drawer, ornery. I've already started , she thinks of saying. Or maybe, You're not my parent . But she's been childish enough for the first few hours of the day. She curls her hand into a fist, and then she tucks it under her knee.

Fred eventually joins Eddie at Apá's desk, xyr arms full with the paraphernalia of xyr intentions. A small crystal ball, a stand for it, the Scrying board, a cup full of colored chalk, a box of incense cones, and a ceramic tray to burn them on. Eddie clears the center of the desk for xem, files on either side. One of those is probably Jay's. No doubt she'll have to dig it out in a minute.

Fred sets up the Scrying altar in the center of the desk to xyr specifications. Fred's power and process is as much a mystery to Eddie as Eddie's is to Fred. Not that Eddie really has much of a process to understand.

"Like to like," Fred explains idly as xe marks symbols onto the wood of the Scrying board with the chalk. Xe came up with the symbols xemself, sigils to make the ordeal of connecting to the crystals easier, and to help xem actually do what they intend. Even with the help, often Fred still ends up connecting to something that doesn't help them. Xe has near-equal chances here to find Jay's diamond as to end up spiritually trapped in a Shane Company warehouse.

Fred's own diamond is modest, as far as crystal balls go. Just barely big enough to fill the palm of Fred's hand, smoothed into a perfect sphere but otherwise uncut. It glitters with yellow-golden flecks and black impurities, but besides those it's clearer and more reflective inside than quartz is.

Eddie lights the frankincense while Fred sets the ball into its stand. The earthy, spicy-sweet scent surrounds them quickly. Elecampane would be better for this, but it's rare and expensive and often faked. Its only use is for Clairvoyance, after all. Anyone seeking it out is probably better off with the dud. Frankincense is a good enough substitute, magically speaking. And it even smells similar, too.

Fred shoos Eddie out of the wingback chair when the set up is done, and Eddie reluctantly cedes it to xem. Xe contorts xemself into a cross-legged position in it, and then stares into xyr diamond ball intently.

To Eddie, nothing seems to happen. Not outside of Fred, anyway.

It's always a little bit scary to see Fred scry. Xe seems to disappear entirely from xemself, leaving xyr empty body behind. Xyr pupils dilate like xe've done a line. Xyr irises take on an oily purplish sheen, the something else that is controlling the operation showing through. The incense smoke curls around xem like a pet snake, overeager for affection - or for a meal.

Out loud, Fred intones, "West. Dark. Familiar."

Fred's voice is low and quiet, with an inflection that makes xem sound inhuman, but other than that it's as familiar as always. It reminds Eddie of both of their parents; the steadiness of their father, the sweetness of their mother, and the underlying croak they all have from smoking like chimneys.

Eddie writes down the insight, and then the only thing she can do is wait for the crystals to release Fred back into the living world. She leaves Fred at Apá's desk to go collect an Ensure from the minifridge, as well as the communal emergency office back and zippo. It's less because Fred will need these things in a hurry so Eddie had better have them ready, and more so that she can spend less time looking at Fred's blank, reflective eyes and the lack of a person behind them.

That's Eddie's big sibling, her protector, the person who practically raised her, and her only friend, crowded out of xyr own body and replaced with an unfeeling object. Fred is one of the lucky ones, the luckiest in the Alfaro family. Scrying is the least horrible form of Clairvoyance, and one of the safest. It's almost certain that Fred will be able to settle back into xemself with only a few tiny diamond stones to pass at worst. But the risk is never zero.

Crystals grow, after all. Some of them faster than others.

This time, as all the times before, Fred resurfaces. Xyr eyes melt into their natural dark brown and xe blinks back to awareness. Eddie lets out the breath she was holding and collapses into the wooden chair on the other side of the desk that they have for clients. She leans over the desk to offer Fred the Ensure, and then sets it down within xyr reach when Fred seems to be still too out of it to take it from her. Eddie lights a cigarette for xem next. She takes the first drag for herself.

Her hands are shaking. This shit is almost more frightening than it already would be because Fred never seems scared at all. Like it's nothing to xem if xe comes back to her or doesn't.

The scent of burning tobacco revives Fred the rest of the way. Xe gestures greedily for the cigarette first, and Eddie readily hands it over. Only after several fortifying puffs does Fred crack the seal on the Ensure. Xe takes carefully paced, delicate little sips, though Eddie knows xe'd rather gulp it down. The two of them learned that lesson the hard way when they first started this business out - with Fred on xyr knees in the bathroom and Eddie holding xyr long hair back.

Finally, Fred takes a deep breath and asks hoarsely, "Did I find it? Felt like I found it."

"Seems like you did, yeah," Eddie confirms. She slips a second cigarette out of the emergency pack and lights it for herself. She doesn't usually prefer cloves, but she needs to settle her nerves. "You said something about West? Here, I wrote it down."

Fred waves away the notepad Eddie holds out, instead beginning to ruffle sluggishly through the files on the desk. There are dozens. They don't exactly have an organizational system in here, and it's been a full decade now of accumulating them. They get pretty decent work, considering. Eddie hadn't really thought it would work, when they'd started. It had all been Fred's idea, hairbrained, and Eddie had just gone along with it because she couldn't think of anything better.

"Aha!" Fred exclaims when xe finds Jay's file, becoming more and more like xyr lively self the longer xe goes about with xyr head clear of stones. The file isn't one of the ones Eddie ruined last night, though it does have what looks like a coffee ring on one corner. That could have been either of them.

"I assume you don't remember any of what Jay said when they were here," Fred mutters as xe flips over their standard intake sheet to get to the handwritten details underneath. Eddie's stomach clenches. She wishes she could argue.

"I didn't know they were coming," she defends herself weakly.

"No," Fred agrees softly. "I know. I'm sorry." Silently, and without looking at her, xe hands Eddie the intake sheet for her to look over.

Eddie does remember most of this information; Jay's name, the date they took the case, a description of the missing diamond, bare-bones estimated timeline of the theft, how much they're charging. She stares down at the page unseeingly anyway and lets Fred hog the more interesting details. It's not really Eddie's job to come up with suspects anyway - at least not when she hasn't Seen them. She just follows whoever Fred tells her to.

"I'm thinking the niece's boyfriend," Fred says eventually, breaking a silence between them that isn't exactly uncomfortable. Eddie makes a vague noise of agreement. She doesn't remember anything about the niece's boyfriend. Fred highlights something in xyr notes, and then passes them across the desk to Eddie.

Turns out he's a college student who has been dating Jay's niece - who lives with Jay over the summers - for the last three months since the spring semester ended. A secular too, just like Fred had posited at breakfast, who likely would have no idea that the diamond in question is more than just a very expensive rock. He lives to the west from here, and from the diamond's home, in Little Italy.

"Yeah, I like him for it," Eddie agrees around the filter. "Surveillance beat?"

"Ugh," Fred groans, but xe nods. "No job right?" Eddie nods. According to the background they have, the only thing Boyfriend does all week is visit Jay's niece and effusively compliment Jay's cooking.

"A daytime stakeout," Eddie says, in unison with Fred. The siblings smile at each other briefly. They've always had something of a penchant for being on the same wavelength like that. Apá's absence, Eddie's drinking and pessimism, and Fred's apparent ability to just move on from anything may all be doing their damndest to push Fred and Eddie apart, and maybe some days it seems like they'll get their way. But sometimes, they're still the same as they were as kids. Jinxing each other, practically reading each other's minds.

"That's tomorrow," Fred says. Xe turns xyr attention back to Jay's file, shuffling the pages to xyr liking before reaching for a drawer. Eddie tenses. Fred already knows the booze is there, as evidenced from xyr admonishment earlier, but knowing that doesn't stop Eddie from feeling like she'll get in trouble if Fred sees it there.

Luckily, Fred doesn't go for that drawer. The legal pad xe needs is in the drawer above that, and xyr favorite clicky pen is in the top drawer on the other side. When xe has what xe needs, xe starts writing up the mid-investigation report for Jay. Xe delicately picks out straight, even capitals that nearly look typed, remarkably quickly for how neat they are.

Eddie leaves xem to it. She's not great with the customer-facing end of things. A little too negative, a little too blunt, acerbic. A little too to-the-point as well. Their clients want to think every case is complicated. They want to be reassured and validated in addition to having their mysteries solved. Eddie would just as soon write one sentence and be done with it, and then they'd probably lose the case because it wouldn't look like enough work to pay them for.

Eddie much prefers doing the books. She likes numbers because you don't have to interpret them. There's no nicer way to put them. They mean what they mean.

When the report is written, and the budget is calculated, the siblings make up a surveillance itinerary for tomorrow. They'll start early in the morning to make sure they don't miss him if he does go out, and take set shifts to piss or pick up food. They're already familiar with the area, so they don't have to get to know the streets and landmarks in person this time. The nearest convenience store is marked out on Fred's roughly sketched map, the best exit routes highlighted.

Jay's case is the only one Watchtower Investigations has open at the moment, so here is where the siblings separate. For Fred, the workday is done. Xe leaves the building out the front. Xe has enough friends and acquaintances that xe can meet up with someone any time.

Eddie could call it quits too, if she wanted, and she's doing so in all but name. Her mood has improved enough since the morning that she doesn't immediately want to go back to bed and pretend to never have been born, so instead she pilfers one of Fred's post-Scrying Ensures from the minifridge to serve as her lunch. Then she contorts herself into a catlike curled up position in the wingback chair. She opens the middle drawer but instead of the bottle of Jack, she pulls a battered romance novel out from underneath it.

The air from outside the still open window behind her smells green and fresh after last night's rain. There is no breeze, there never is in the summers, but the storm cooled it down enough for the humidity trapped amid the crowded city buildings to not feel so oppressive.

Afternoon sunshine drips sluggishly over Eddie's shoulder like honey, spilling gold over the book as Eddie finds her place by the page number she memorized last time she put it down. It's from Mrs. Zilbersetein, a secular from two houses down, given as part of her payment to them for the pictures of her ex-husband and his mistress that she used in her divorce. The pages are soft and thin from wear, showing how much she'd loved the book before Eddie. The cover is illustrated with a voluptuous blonde ingenue in a red dress and an imposing man with a fedora and a handgun.

Eddie makes it through two chapters and one sex scene before there's a knock at the outer door.

Eddie considers not answering; Jay is paying them well so they don't need to cram in as much work as they can at the moment. But curiosity gets the best of her, despite her general distaste for the kind of work Watchtower usually ends up doing. So, she leaves her steamy book open and upside down in the seat of the wingback and goes to see who's there.

When she swings the door open, Eddie comes face to face with an impressive set of cleavage clad in what could easily be the very same red dress from the illustrated cover she'd just put down. She stares for a moment, briefly mesmerized by the shiny liquid-like fabric draped artfully over smooth dark skin, before blinking herself back to reality and relegating her gaze up to the woman's face.

Her features are just as elegant and striking as her attire. She has a heart shaped face, near-black dark brown eyes, and loosely curled cherry red hair. Her lip color matches her dress and her hair, and her skin glows in the slowly reddening sunlight. Beyond the sight of two eyes, she looks to be secular. The concurrence of exceptionalism and mundanity is dissonant to the third. If Eddie keeps looking so closely, her headache will come back with a vengeance.

"Uh," says Eddie eloquently. "I, uh. I think you have the wrong place. Ma'am."

The woman - the lady, really; the way she's dressed surely she can't be called anything else - doesn't smile, but Eddie thinks she catches a dimple crease her cheek on one side before it's gone again.

"Watchtower Investigations? Miss Alfaro, I presume," she asks. Her voice sounds like one that could be heard at a vintage speakeasy, crooning sad slow jazz tunes to an audience of pipe smoking men in pinstripe suits.

"Yes- Sorry," Eddie says. She steps aside and holds the door for the lady like a gentleman, feeling very nearly as out of touch with herself as she ever has during a premonition. Her body takes her through the steps of this interaction as it should be, without pausing for her to think about it first.

"Don't worry yourself, doll," says the Lady in Red. "I'm overdressed, I know. I usually am." She adjusts the sheer, glittering shawl fathered at her elbows and steps past Eddie into the house. She smells, somewhat unexpectedly, like leather.

Eddie leads the Lady in Red up to the office, holding open the door with the frosted window for her too. She has the half-hysterical urge to pull out her chair as well, but there's no table to pull it from. She sits in the wooden chair in front of the desk and crosses her long legs, a high slit in her dress parting around her thigh. Eddie takes the wingback, stuffing the romance book uncomfortably between her ass and the back rather than reveal it.

"What can I- What can we do for you, Miss…?" Eddie asks leadingly. The Lady's dimple comes back, and this time it stays. Eddie tries to to feel too proud of herself, just for a little politeness. True it's not a skill of hers, and she usually doesn't even bother to try, but still.

"Miz," the Lady corrects smoothly. "Jessica. And I want you to solve a murder."

Eddie's breath catches in her throat and she swallows it down with difficulty, conflicted. The cases they usually take are… not thrilling, to say the least. But murder is maybe a bit too thrilling. Especially when taking into account that Watchtower has only ever dealt with background checks, theft, spell sourcing, and infidelity. They've never even handled a missing person.

"That's not really in our wheelhouse," Eddie admits, as gently as she can. "The police really would b-"

"Oh, I've already tried the pigs," Ms. Jessica interrupts. The disdain in her voice is palpable. Eddie can't blame her. After all, Jessica is visibly not a person cops traditionally 'protect and serve'. Eddie herself isn't one of those either. They usually take murder pretty seriously in most cases though - provided that it's not one of their own murders, and that there's someone left behind who cares enough to report it in the first place.

"I know it can seem like it's taking a long time," Eddie tries again. Jessica's foot twitches irritably, the champagne colored pump on it catching the now purplish light of the approaching dusk in the window behind Eddie.

"No," says Jessica, simple and firm, and Eddie shuts up. "They told me they're not investigating. They don't believe me."

If Eddie's interest wasn't piqued before, it certainly is now. She turns aside her reservations regarding Watchtower's qualifications - or lack thereof - and leans forward over Apá's desk to listen more intently.

"There's no body?" Jessica shakes her head. Her foot stops kicking; she must be relieved to truly have Eddie's attention. It seems likely now that, like everyone else who comes, she's here as a last resort.

"I don't think there could have been much of one left, to be honest with you," she says. Her voice is lower now, a little scratched up, but she doesn't waver. "There was a lot of-" She chokes, and for the first time looks away from Eddie. Her gaze seems to catch on the altar on top of the filing cabinet and Eddie wonders if she'll latch on to the easy subject change it might offer.

Watchtower gets very few secular clients. They're in the phone book, sure, but their business comes almost entirely from word of mouth, and witches and seculars don't tend to cross paths more than incidentally. Eddie has to wonder if that altar is something Jessica was expecting to see. Does she know what they are, or is she even now assuming they're some kind of new age hippies?

In the end, Jessica doesn't take the out, though she doesn't finish what she was going to say either. She concludes definitively, "She's dead. I know she's dead."

Jessica's eyes meet Eddie's across Apá's desk, and instantly Eddie knows Jessica has to be right. In the depths of her brown eyes, Eddie recognizes the same feeling she had when she knew Apá wouldn't be coming back this time. It's the same feeling clients have in their eyes when they already know their spouse is cheating on them, or that their trusted friend has robbed them. Intuition, maybe. Or the brief, terrible omniscience that comes from grief.

Sometimes Fred and Eddie's job is not so much to find out what happened, but why .

"I know this isn't what you usually do," Jessica adds eventually. "But my- Maddie. Maddie Ward. She deserves at least some kind of justice. I had to try. Will you consider it?"

Eddie shouldn't. She shouldn't full stop, but she especially shouldn't decide to take a client without Fred's input.

"Of course," she says.

Eddie forgot to grab a fresh intake sheet from the filing cabinet on her way to the desk when she first let Jessica in (along with the travel pack of tissues Fred always offers to a new client), but she's not willing to backtrack across the room and look foolish or bumbling in front of this elegant lady. Not to mention if she gets up there's a chance the book she's all but sitting on will be exposed. In lieu of that, Eddie drags over the nearest casefile, flips it open, and poises herself to write on the back of the topmost paper, whatever it is.

"You got a last name, Ms. Jessica?" she prompts, looking intently at her own hand wrapped around Fred's favorite fountain pen. Her name, her number. These are professional necessities. Eddie has no ulterior motives, no need for Jessica's information beyond the purposes of solving her case. More to the point, Jessica is out of Eddie's league - and probably playing a different game altogether anyway.

Jessica gathers herself, mentally and physically, and rises gracefully from the very ungraceful chair she's been occupying these last long moments of the day. Her shadow casts itself around the room in fractals not unlike any of Fred's crystals, or like the ambiguous movement of something unknown beneath rippling water. She sees herself to the door while Eddie is still mesmerized.

"Let's see if you can find that out yourself," she challenges over her bare shoulder. "Consider it an interview." Her enigmatic smile seems to imply that the interview could be for the job, or maybe for something a little more personal if Eddie performs well enough.

"Call me when you find me," Jessica says as she slips out the door. Her silhouette pauses behind the frosted window, flutters its long fingers in a coy little wave, and then fades away with the hollow clip of high heels on hardwood.

I will accept constructive criticism on this chapter from mutuals. More in this Universe: Cat's Eye View | Feline Retribution | Beer, Brandy, Belladonna

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[animentality]

I'm planning out an Honour mode run(which will also be origin Astarion run) and I was wondering if you have any tips for it? All my characters will be multiclassers and I'm planning which weapons and armor to use, but I'm just curious what someone with probably one thousand hours in the game thinks could help

Ironically, I just this week beat the Honor Mode with a friend of mine, hee hee.

Alright, so here goes!

My Personal Team Comp

Paladin/Fighter (My buddy)

Paladin/Fighter (Astarion at first, Minthara later)

Storm Sorcerer (Karlach for me but it could be anyone, really, I was just trying to get the dating achievement- Karlach is actually a terrible Sorcerer because her race gives her smite spells...which she can't use effectively, as a staff user...)

Ranger/ Rogue/ Fighter (Me)

Reasoning:

Two frontliners is always good, to keep the aggro off of the squishier half of the party. Plus, the melee classes get to hit multiple times, which is just, insanely good, and lets you destroy targets. Paladin is obviously the most broken class, but a Paladin Fighter is a great multi class for Action Surge and Battle Maneuvers! Make sure to grab Disarming Attack and prioritize stealing weapons so enemies can't hit you very hard anymore!

You might want to have some kind of Rogue, for sneak attack, and disengage potential as well! Good for long range picks, and quick killing of high priority targets. Plus, two frontliners make it so you always have advantage.

And you of course need an AOE spellcaster of some kind. I think the Warlock is pretty powerful, mostly because of Eldritch Blast and Hunger of Hadar cheese, but the Sorcerer is the strongest magic caster with all their excellent Metamagic passives. They can also regain a lot of spell slots and have a ridiculous DPS output. But Hunger of Hadar is an excellent spell; it is without question the BEST AOE spell in the game.

The key to beating BG3 in any mode is to make distance.

Force your enemies through tight choke points stuffed with magical obstacles and just pick them off as they try to get through.

Hunger of Hadar is broken because not only are they blind, but they're also SLOWED and you get ADVANTAGE on them when they're in it, AND it does damage, AND as I mentioned before, you can throw them back INTO it when they try to get out with Eldritch Blast, which is also just excellent for throwing enemies away from you.

So Sorcerer or Warlock are excellent choices, but I personally have more of an affinity for Sorcerer.

Now.

Why Storm Sorceror specifically?

Because they get the best passives. People say Draco Sorcerers are the best, but their passive is only helpful early on. The Storm Sorcerer passive lets you cast FLY as a bonus action every time you use a level 1 or higher spell! The disengage potential is critical for Honor Mode, plus it's great for just repositioning whenever you want. Plus you get excellent passives like Heart of the Storm, AND you get immunity to multiple damage types, instead of just one!

Why the Ranger/Rogue/Fighter?

Check out this guy's comp, which I used. It is insanely powerful.

You can dual wield two one handed crossbows, and just SHRED everything you come across.

I was literally playing with two paladins and I WAS HITTING HARDER THAN THEM.

Ranger gives you dread ambusher, then you can hit TWICE as a melee class, which the Rogue doesn't get, and then you can get Action Surge, and do it all over again, PLUS as a thief subclass, you have two bonus actions, for your offhand attacks!

It's honestly broken as fuck, and it's perfect for the long range, disengage potential.

Now you have my suggested comp. Keep in mind that you can have just about anything you want, but remember, two frontliners, at least one magic caster with dps potential, and then the fourth should ideally be a long range specialist.

Now then...

I recommend you pick the Dark Urge.

Why?

For a million reasons.

It is MUCH easier to 1v1 Orin in the end rather than kill the whole Temple and deal with her bullshit Unstoppable nonsense.

You want the deathstalker mantle, which is insanely good for rogues, and everything in general

You WANT To kill Isobel so you can have the Slayer Form, which will get you out of tight spots, plus it makes Orin even easier to deal with.

You also want access to Bhaalist armor for accepting Bhaal as your master.

Also, you want to accept Bhaal so you can get Power Word Kill, a very useful one time use ability, which can uh, hint hint, be used on the Netherbrain to end the game very quickly

You also want to have the Bhaalist buff, which helps you crit more during the final battle.

But this now segues into...

Equipment

Now, if you're the Dark Urge...do not kill Alfira.

Knock her out every day in Act 1 until Quil Grootslang takes her place!

You want the robe Alfira will give you in Act 2 for saving the tieflings from Moonrise! It's called the Potent Robe and it's GREAT for sorcerers! But you can have both it AND the Deathstalker mantle so long as you're vigilant and knock her out every day!

Just be careful, because Arron will kill you if he catches you! So try to knock her out in one hit, if you can. Put the game in turn based mode, if you must! Or use sneak attack.

Other equipment:

Spellsparkler! Insanely broken for Sorcerers and magic missile users. You can use it till the end of the game.

Make sure to get the staff Lorroakan is hoarding inside Sorcerous Sundries! It gives you Kereshka's Favor, which is excellent for Storm Sorcerers.

Also make sure your final feat as a Sorcerer is Dual Wielding, because if you dual wield that staff AND Cazador's staff, you get the abilities of both staffs! You can also use something other than Cazador's staff, and use Arcane Battery twice! So you can cast something ridiculous like, say, Disintegrate, more times than should be allowed! Also, there are like, two amulets and one staff that will allow you to regain spell slots! Make sure to gather as many as you can. Sorry I can't name them off the top of my head... I know one is a pearl necklace that you can buy from Omeluum, one is Caitlin's staff, and the other one you can get from the Warden in Moonrise...make sure to grab them so you can restore spell slots. Oh, also, if you do the House of Hope...you can grab the staff that's in his secret treasure room! Which is also great.

Make sure to buy the Risky Ring from Araj! It gives you advantage on EVERY attack, it just also gives you disadvantage on all saving throws...but if you give it to a rogue, and they have the deathstalker mantle, then they don't have to worrry about being hit ever, lol, plus they have sneak attack ALWAYS. no allies next to enemies required!!! it's a broken item, so definitely grab it from Araj in Act 2!

If you have two heavy armor wearers, use the mold from the Grymforge Heavy Scale mail twice. Make sure to then replace one of them with Ketheric armor later on.

You also want the aformentioned Bhaalist equipment. The Bhaalist amulet is great, as is the Bhaalist armor you can buy from the dragon seller in Sarevok's chamber.

Speaking of Sarevok, kill his ass! You want his excellent sword and helmet.

If you're feeling brave, kill Ansur too, because his helmet is awesome, as is his sword, but be careful! That lightning bitch is an honor mode run killer! I've almost lost two runs to him.

Even though he's hard, I do recommend killing Raphael! The Constitution amulet, the gauntlets of hill giant strength, and the staff in his treasure room are really worth it.

And uh.

Yeah!

Good luck!

Let me know if you have any more specific questions, and trust me.

I know...way too much about this game.

But this is just my starting guide!!

I had a blast in Honor Mode, I bet you will too!

Oh.

And don't kill Gortash. Not because he's my boyfriend or anything, but because, he's not really worth fighting, especially not for the loot he gives you!

If you must kill him, do it at the Morphic Pool instead of Wyrm's Rock!!!

[soylent-crocodile]

Drubb (Monster)

(art by Jim Nelson)

(This was a Magic card- Muck Drubb- with the perfect combination of evocative art and interesting ability, so I of course HAD to make it a monster! This one's flavor text is just real sad and delves into slavery, so you've been warned. Perhaps freeing a population of enslaved drubbs and finding one of the hiding families to take them in would be a fun side quest for your heroes!)

CR3 TN Medium Aberration

Drubbs are unfortunate creatures whose physiology naturally attracts magic. At one point in history they were nearly extinct, but have been brought back from the brink by black market breeders, as unscrupulous criminals and military officers realized that their sacrificial abilities make them excellent defensive allies. These drubbs, though sentient and able to speak, act as little more than sacrifices for their owners, living to be targeted by a deadly spell that was meant for someone else. 

In nature, drubbs live in close matriarchal groups, with the oldest female- generally a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother to various members of the group- teaching their children philosophy and religion, as well as practical survival skills and safe hideaways. Males typically stay in these groups even while sexually mature, and only leave when they are knowledgeable and confident enough to secure a mate and a place in another herd. These herds are extremely rare these days, however, with only three or four free families believed to still exist.

Drubbs are sentient and their mouths are dexterous enough to wield weapons, but they generally progress by advancing racial HD. Learning magic is a taboo in drubb society, both because of the scars spellcasting slavers have left on their society, and more practically because casting magic around friendly drubbs is rather hazardous.

Drubb hide is magically potent, and the skin from a single drubb can serve as up to 1,000gp worth of leather when crafting magic items of the Abjuration school; in particular, they are a common source of Cloaks of Resistance.

This slimy yellow creature slumps forward, its face defined by a short trunk and mournful eyes.

Misc- CR3 TN Medium Aberration HD4 Init:+2 Senses: Perception:+7, Low-light Vision, Darkvision 60ft Stats- Str:16(+3) Dex:15(+2) Con:22(+6) Int:6(-2) Wis:17(+3) Cha:16(+3) BAB:+3 Space:5ft Reach:5ft Defense- HP:42(4d8+24) AC:13(+2 Dex, +1 Natural) Fort:+7 Ref:+5 Will:+7 CMD:17 (19 vs trip) Special Defenses: DR2/cold iron Offense- 2 Slam +6(1d6+3 plus Entangle) CMB:+5 Speed:30ft Special Attacks: Entangle Feats- Combat Expertise (-1/+2), Lightning Reflexes Skills- Diplomacy +6, Perception +8, Spellcraft +3, Survival +7 Special Qualities- Sink Magic Ecology- Environment- Swamps, Urban (Any) Languages- Common Organization- Solitary Treasure- None Special Abilities- Entangle (Ex)- A creature hit with a drubb’s slam attack must make a DC13 reflex save or become entangled in its mucus, as with a tanglefoot bag. Sink Magic (Su)- A drubb’s body naturally attracts spells to itself. If a caster casts a spell within 60ft of a drubb that could target a drubb, she must make a DC16 caster level check or instead target the drubb with that spell. Spells with a range of touch or an area of effect are not affected by this ability. This caster level check is constitution-based.