#crossbow killer imagine

[dutchimagine]

pov: You are skinny dipping with your friends, when suddenly you notice a figure watching you...

It's Eddie. He has come to enjoy the show.

[james-stark-the-writer]

the difference between the fourth wall breaks of something like the Deadpool movies compared to something like Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn and She-Hulk: Attorney At Law is that every joke in Deadpool feels masturbatory like the writers think they're so hilarious for doing a fourth wall break like that's never been done before whereas both of the other two not only feel right at home with the characters' personalities but are much more natural and much more well done compared to the jokes in Deadpool or its sequel. (do not get me started on Deadpool 2, the movie sucks ass in basically every way except for the characters of Domino and Yukio. every single joke in it was outdated before it was even written. they were making fucking dubstep jokes in 2018. it was a 2012-ass script made way too late and riding on the coattails of the first with even less effort into being actually good.)

but the difference between those properties is that Deadpool wants to be congratulated for being some insanely crazy shocking movie that's pissing off the studio system or whatever but every single joke in it was approved by those people because it makes them money like it's so antithetical to the entire point they're trying to make and it makes for a very infuriating watching experience sometimes. the cognitive dissonance is hard to swallow with that one. but the way BOPATFEOOHQ and She-Hulk do their bits feels so much more authentic and less self-congratulatory and also just like they're clearly done with so much more passion and effort and care? when I watch either of the Deadpool movies, I feel like I'm watching a bunch of executives jerking themselves off. when I watch the other two, I feel like I'm watching a passion project that the executives clearly didn't give a shit about and thus the creative team were actually allowed genuine creative freedom with not a lot of oversight. that's a little less true with She-Hulk (especially in terms of that glorious finale although even that feels more authentic and artist-driven than most things in either Deadpool movie. Kevin Feige's boring, sanitized ass does not have the range to do that finale) being a MCU property although Phase 4 was so fucking experimental and it was a joy to behold even if not everything hit but it's still true and more authentic for the most part. with Deadpool it feels like the only person who really really cared about it was Ryan and like maybe a few of the other actors who actually did do commendable work with what they were given but with the other two projects, it feels way more collaborative because every single person showed up and cared deeply about what they were making.

(this is an addition to the tags bc I ran out [apparently i forgot there was a 30 tag limit] but. anyway the point is. Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn is a phenomenal movie in basically every single way and you should watch it.)

[witchofsparkles]

Vampire Ghost and hunter Soap fic I wrote a while ago. I'm posting the full fic down below, it's also on AO3. You can check the tags first on AO3 if you like.

Soap aimed his crossbow for the deer bowed its head. It was oblivious to the human and the bow in his hand, didn't realize the fate that was on the way to claim its reward.

Every living thing was a fuel to the another. The energy never disappears but it changes. The deer's life was going to be the human's. There was a circle to complete. The circle of life.

But when Soap released the trigger and waited for the deer to shake with the arrow's force, it went into something taller and slender. Something more human. Soap watched the deer to run away into the depths of the forest and slowly walked to the prey. It was a human. At least his body was, Soap couldn't see the face of him because of the skull mask covering most of it. He squated next to him to check his pulse. Yes, Soap was a hunter and a killer if it came to it, but he wasn't out to kill innocent people. If he didn't see it necessary to his survival, every breath was God's to take.

Soap reached for the man's neck, to see if he is alive and thought he faced the death itself. The man reacted with the speed of light and Soap found his neck between the man's hand. The pulse he wanted to feel was the man's, not his own.

"Hey, calm down. It was an accident, are you okay?" Soap eyed the arrow's entry point and saw it was just under his shoulder. It shouldn't be life threatening. The man was still breathing harshly like a caged animal, so Soap put his hands on the man's. He hoped to calm him down, but the hand squeezed his neck more. "You're going to kill me." Soap managed to whisper through his clenched jaw but he started to see the stars. "I can't breath."

That brought the man's senses back and he relaxed his hand around Soap. Then leaned back to the tree behind him, kept watching Soap who was struggling to breath between coughing fits. "I was going after the deer. What were you doing there?"

Soap stared at the injured man and waited for an answer that seemed like would never come. But he spoke, with a powerless but deep voice. It was almost like he was using his all strength for a couple words. Soap didn't know who was in a worse condition: Soap who just got choked or the man who got shot with an arrow. "Going after the deer."

Soap sat down with a grunt, face to face with the man. After a careful and long watch, Soap pointed to the arrow on the man's shoulder. "Do you want me to take it out?"

The man didn't answer.

"You were going after the deer too? I don't see any weapon. You would catch it with what? Hopes and dreams?" That granted Soap a stare. He could imagine the man was raising an eyebrow. But he didn't answer, again.

"Do you have anyone at home that can cook and nurse?" The man's eyes met with Soap's and they stayed like that under the setting sun for some time. Soap couldn't see the man's eyes, they were in the shadow under the skull mask but he could see his mouth which had scars around. Soap found it sad, for some reason. It looked like the man never smiled in his life. That made him come to a decision and Soap raised to his feet. Then under the masked man's questioning eyes, he extended his hand. "Come. Let's get that wound cleaned up."

The man followed him after a brief moment, Soap guessed he was weighing his choices and walked especially slower. But when he heard the silent footsteps, Soap picked the conversation from where he left. "So. What's your name?" That stretched the silence, rather than putting a stop to it. Soap turned his head back to see the man. "I'm Soap. It's John, actually but people call me Soap. I'm taking Tarzan home, I think I deserve a name."

The man was holding the arrow stable with his hand while following Soap down the hill and he didn't raise his eyes when answering. "Ghost." Soap nodded to himself as if it was the most satisfying name he heard and Ghost frowned behing him. If he knew why Ghost was given that name, he wouldn't be looking so carefree.

They came to Soap's house, which was more like a hut than a house. There were only two rooms inside and they were small. Soap's head was just under the door but Ghost had to bend slightly to protect his head. Soap left Ghost in the room with a couch, a small table and two chairs. On his right were two kitchen cabinets with a sink and a stove. Enough things for a man who lives alone, Ghost thought. When Soap returned to the room with gauzes and medicines, Ghost went to the couch without giving Soap time to say anything. If he wanted to get the arrow out, who was he to stop him? But Ghost didn't know how to explain that he stopped bleeding long ago and the only thing preventing the wound from closing was the arrowhead still buried into his flesh.

And yet, Soap didn't face any opposition when he held the shirt to cut it away. The white shirt was wet with blood and Soap expected to see an injury under it, but the under the dried blood was just an arrow. Soap grabbed the arrow with his right hand and put his left on Ghost's chest to stabilize himself. The injury that stopped bleeding was in the vicinity of things he could maybe explain to himself, but not feeling any heartbeat under his palm was not. While pulling the arrow out with force, Soap did everything he could to not start shaking like leaf under Ghost's gaze and the heart that wasn't beating. And the worst, he invited him in.

Soap looked at the arrow in his hand. Ghost didn't make any sound when Soap was forcing the arrow out. His hand was aching from gripping it too tight but Ghost didn't make any sound.

Why would he, if he wasn't a human?

Soap took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. If Ghost wanted to kill him, he wouldn't be alive now. And there they were, Soap's knee on the couch between Ghost's thighs and his hand on his chest. He didn't look like he was going for Soap's head.

"Okay. The arrow is out and apparently you don't need gauzes, " Soap said nervously. His eyes were still on the hole, which supposed to stay open for at least a week. The flesh was already mending. Ghost's lips curled with a cold smile. "What?"

Soap took himself back quickly, almost stepping on his own foot. His heart was beating like caged bird in his chest. "You don't have a heart." Ghost's smile stayed but Soap knew it didn't reach his eyes. It didn't even reach his lips. It was only there for a show. "Ouch. I just told you my name."

Soap waved his hand after he huffed a short, unamused laugh. "It wasn't metaphorical. Your heart literally don't beat. Who the fuck are you?"

Ghost wasn't sitting anymore, he got to his feet and closed the gap between them. Soap hated how he had to lift his head a little to see Ghost's eyes and how it made him feel like a prey. He remembered three hours ago, how he thought this man was lying there like one. "I'm a demon you welcomed in." Soap's mind haywired and he actually laughed. It came from inside, from his belly and his whole body shook with the force of it. He noticed this whole thing was a sick joke but he was standing face to face with a probably immortal or already dead creature -given the fact that he had no beating heart. He had his own doubts of the origin of him, but to hell with it. He just pulled an arrow out of a myth, he had his reasons to lose it a little.

"Oh please. Who are you? Dracula? Go sit down when I'm prepping the meal. Even the demons get hungry."

Soap turned his back to Ghost and went to the kitchen, as if his heart was not about to leave his ribcage. He wasn't aware what he was saying until after he already said it and only thing he was sure about was that Ghost could most likely rip his head of when he was reaching for the pan. And yes, the demons would get hungry but what did they eat?

Ghost watched Soap from the couch he was sitting. He had a thoughtful look on his face. Was he really so fearless or so stupid? Soap didn't know what he was, he only got the vague idea of him being not human and said fuck it. Why was he treating Ghost like a human? Like someone who deserves any kindness of heart? He didn't have a heart.

Ghost didn't need kindness. He didn't need to rest. He didn't need his wounds to be cleaned. He didn't need to eat. Not normal, human meals, at least.

He needed to feed like every living creature. With or without a heart. But he only needed the souls. The flesh wasn't on the menu.

"What do you want to eat? I couldn't hunt, thanks to someone, so I don't have any meat." Ghost didn't look away from Soap's back and Soap shuddered under the realization of being watched. He had to ask what Ghost was eating. He had to know.

"Nothing. I don't eat. I... devour." Soap's hand froze on the ladle and he had to stop himself from reaching to the knife. He turned to face Ghost, who was still sitting where he left him. There wasn't any emotion on his mouth, the only part on his face that Soap could see. "Devour what? The souls of the innocent?" Soap's voice was mixed with mock but one could feel the tension behind it. Ghost sent him a little smirk as a prize of getting it right. "Enemies and the animals first. But if I have to, innocents are okay too."

"You're just pulling my leg now." Soap made a sound that indicates he didn't buy it. But the longer he looked at Ghost's unwavering eyes, the more he lost his confidence. "You're telling the truth. What the fuck?"

Ghost shrugged, and crossed his arms on his chest. "So. What's for the dinner?"

After an uncomfortable dinner which Ghost just watched while Soap was drinking a tasteless soup, he left Ghost in the room and went to bed to the next room. The idea of locking the door crossed his mind but he didn't. If Ghost wanted to take his soul away, a wooden door with a key on it wouldn't stop him. So he just left the door unlocked but closed, then went to bed. He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep with the fact that a soul sucker vampire was in the next room, but he drifted the moment his head touched the pillow. He dreamed of ghosts and souls.

The days turned into weeks like this. Soap didn't ask for Ghost to leave. It was out of fear at first but then he just liked to have a company. He didn't take his mask of, he didn't eat and sometimes he left for a couple of hours but he was always back before the night. Soap even found himself forgetting that Ghost wasn't a human. He was just there with his sometimes inappropriate jokes and sometimes silence. But these last days, he was mostly on the silent side and it made Soap feel... worried.

"Ghost, you good?" Ghost was on the couch, just lying there and dangling his feet from the armrest. He didn't voice an answer but nodded. Soap pressed the matter, cause Ghost's skin was looking paler than normal. "You look sick." Soap waited. Ghost would talk when he wanted to, not when he have to. While waiting to be taken into consideration of answering, Soap had a disturbing idea. "When was the last time you ate something?"

Ghost finally looked at Soap. He looked into his eyes. Soap bit his lip. "Was it before we met? Were you going for the deer because of it?" Ghost sighed. "Yes, Johnny."

Soap didnt dwell on the nickname. Not yet. "But you left almost everyday. You didn't find any animal?" Soap followed Ghost's stare and looked out the window. It was snowing. "I don't go for every animal. The sick ones are already dead, the healthy ones are gone."

"How big should it be?" Soap asked with urgency. If Ghost was half sick as his face, Soap was scared that he was gonna die in two days. Ghost didn't make a sound and for a second, Soap thought he just withered away in front of his eyes. The thought of Ghost dying made his breath caught in his throat. "Is a chicken okay? I don't know, a sheep?"

Ghost turned his head to the side and stared at Soap. He looked so helpless and panicked. Ghost smiled to him. It was a genuine one, and Ghost knew Soap noticed that too. He knew it from how Soap's posture changed. How he tensed first, then relaxed. How his shoulders sagged with relief for a moment. "Whatever you can find. A soul is a soul."

It did matter. Yes, a soul was a soul but the smarter the creature was the more fullfilling it would be. A cat's soul would do it for him, for two days. Maybe. A crow? About a week. That's why, the other ones were always hunting humans. They were the epitomes of wit. The emperors of the food chain. But he didn't have the luxury of a choice. He was already hungry and weak when he met Soap. After that, with every passing day with no soul, he got weaker. The weaker he became, the lesser he could go out to hunt. And because the village was small and they didn't know him, he couldn't go to the other houses to see if they have any animal. The last time he left the house, he had to sit under a tree not too far from home so he could go back. At first, staying with the human was a wise choice for him. If he couldn't hunt, he could always take Soap's soul. After some time, he couldn't bring himself to even think about it. The image of Soap between his arms, his soul leaving his body to feed Ghost, his blue eyes closing forever to keep Ghost's eyes open.

It sounded so sick and so wrong.

He found himself at the bring of death, so he could keep Soap alive.

When Soap came back, his hands were empty and there was a shocked look on his face. Ghost knew something was wrong. He sat up quickly and saw the stars for a moment. Soap was still standing in front of the door that closed after him. "They... They're all dead. Everyone. All of them." Ghost frowned. He took Soap's hand without thinking about it and got his attention. "What's happening? Tell me. Slowly." Soap nodded and dropped himself next to Ghost on the couch. There was a distant look in his eyes. "I- The village was too quiet. I followed the road down, I walked till the woods. Every door was closed. There was no one outside. Even the kids. Kids are always outside. I knocked on the doors, no answer. Then I saw blood on the path. Just droplets. Followed it through, it was going inside a house. The door wasn't locked so I went inside." Soap stopped talking and pressed into his eyes with his palms like he wanted to erase the scenes from his brain. Ghost put his hand on Soap's back and slowly circled. He hoped to bring some peace. "All dead. Went from door to door. All dead. Kids, animals, even the bugs. All dead. I found blood on only few of the bodies. The rest was... just sleeping. They didn't look dead. They looked like sleeping."

Ghost's body froze. He could feel Soap's skin under his palm and the heat radiating from it, but rest of his body was frozen. "Like sleeping. Are you sure?" Oblivious to Ghost's state of mind, Soap nodded. He was looking at his own hands. "Yes. No injury. They were all clean except the ones with blood. I think they tried to fight against whatever it was."

Ghost didn't talk for a long time and Soap's mind was occupied with the images of his friends bodies. Then he snapped his head to look at Ghost. Ghost was lost in thoughts but Soap figured it out. He figured it out long ago, deep down he got what was happening but only now he could voice it. "Ghost. Is it only you? The vampire?" Ghost nodded slowly and the nightmare turned into reality. Soap clenched his fists to slow his breath down. So he wouldn't start shouting. "How many? Ghost. How many? Did I do this to them? Did they follow you? Or were they looking for you? Are you a part of a pack? Did you do this?" Soap's voice raised through the talking and he was yelling at the end. He didn't realize he was standing in front of Ghost till he looked down and saw Ghost's head hanging low.

"I left them a long time ago. They turned me into this monster, and feed me the souls. The humans. It was mandatory for them, to feed on humans. They always went after the smartest ones, in wit and in emotion. After they made me eat the soul of a child, I left. And I brought the bastards with me. Their souls. It's a funny thing, how we think when the heart stops the soul leaves. It's normally like that.Any human would lose their souls when their heart stopped. But with us, it's different. Our hearts stopped long ago, but we still live. It's like we tricked God into thinking we're still alive, even after hundreds of years. Or we're all so wicked that even God doesn't want to claim our souls. When I ate the other ones' I tasted rotten blood. It was the most disgusting thing I've ever eaten. But when I was feeding on them, I also fed on the souls they took. I tasted fear, sadness, happiness, hope, love... I tasted it all. Then I tasted my own mother. My brother and his finance, my nephew. These bastards put their hands on my family."

Soap couldn't move. Couldn't breath. He felt the tears stinging his eyes. He let them fall, and stream down his face.

"Among them, I found who did it. And I sliced him. Carved him with a knife. You see, Johnny, I was a soldier before. They turned me because I was too good. The perfect soldier. But I would die one day. So they turned me into this beast. I know how to torture and how to make people scream with pain. But he was already dead and I already took his soul. So I carved a message on his body." Ghost took a knife out of his pocket and showed to Soap. "This is the only thing that was left from my old life. I want to end the new one with it too. Unless someone from them or God himself doesn't want to get my soul, I will keep walking this earth till the apocalypse come and take us all. Or maybe, one day, I will be strong enough to do it myself."

Soap was still looking down at Ghost. Ghost, who was sitting like a stone while telling Soap his life. The horrors he experienced. He squatted down. It was like the first day they met. Soap wrapped his arms around Ghost's body and pulled him close, his head was just under Soap's chin. Ghost trembled and took a deep breath, like the weight on his shoulders lifted with the touch of Soap. He leaned to Soap's chest without realizing and the hard edges of the mask sinked into Soap's flesh.

Soap didn't move, but Ghost knew it hurt. He took the mask out, then hugged Soap back with force. Like he was trying to run away from the world into the Soap's chest. Like he was trying to get into it, to nest in his ribcage and become the neighbour to his heart. Soap stroked his back, and let him pour it all out. If he wanted to stay, he was going to let him stay. Let it be in his house, or in his heart. Both were his home.

Ghost took himself back from the Soap's hug and for a moment, he didn't lift his head. It was an integral part of Ghost, Soap couldn't possibly imagine how hard it was to take it off in front of someone else. "I put this mask on after they force me to take that child's soul. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I was an entity with a damned soul and no heart. I was a ghost." Ghost looked up at Soap and it made Soap's heart jump. Soap saw his brown, more like auburn hair with blond strands here and there. And saw his brown eyes, which turned into pot of honey under the sun. His mouth was always on display, with scars around it that made him look like a mistreated porcelain doll. But the cheekbones were new. The cut starting from under his eye and ending right before where the mask sits was new. The freckles across his face were brilliant, like God took a look at it and decided it would be a nice location for another desert. For Soap to get lost and see a mirage under his eyes.

Soap took Ghost's hands into his and didn't look away from his eyes. Then kissed the corner of his lips. Lifted corners with a smile was the prize. Ghost held his face with both hands, then put his thumbs under Soap's eyes. He drank from the oceans, that clenched his thirst. Then he went for his lips, and not like a shy thank you. Ghost devoured Soap's lips. The human Ghost thought that he would eat his soul away was taking his' through the lips. And Ghost was giving it away willingly.

The moment ended with a bang on the door and they froze on the spot. Ghost went for his mask again, and Soap ran to the kitchen to get a knife. "Simon... I know you're here, dear." Ghost's hand stopped at midair with the mask. After hearing the name, he lowered his hand and dropped the mask. Soap wasn't listening the man shouting outside the door. His eyes were on Ghost. And when Ghost handed Soap the knife he was carrying with him, he snapped. "What are you thinking?"

Ghost didn't speak. But his eyes and face did. "Absolutely not. You're not fed. You're weak. And you give the knife to me? No." Ghost put the knife in Soap's palm and made him clench his fist, then put his hand on top of it. "I've been alive for 200 years, Johnny. And you're the best thing ever happened to me." Soap shook his head furiously. "No. Ghost -Simon. No. I won't allow it. Stay. We can figure it out."

Ghost listened the sounds. There were at least three of them. In his best, Ghost would take them down at the same time. But now, he was weaker than a kid and he knew they came after him, not Johnny. He wasn't going to put his life in danger. Ghost leaned in for another kiss before getting up to his feet. A kiss of goodbye. Soap wanted to tear down the walls with his fingers.

Ghost left like a summer breeze in the middle of the barren winter.

Soap's grip around the knife tightened to the degree that the handle left prints in his palm. He got up and went to the door. He wasn't going to let them get Ghost alone. Even as a mere human, he knew he could do something. He was a hunter, he could do some damage. When he grabbed the knob with determination, the door opened wide with a bang. A man with a red hair with blood on his face was standing in front of him with psychopatic smile. "Hi, Johnny. Let's take a walk."

Soap used the knife Ghost gave him on the red haired man. He stabbed his arm but it didn't make him leave Soap. Instead, he bent Soap's arm to his back and took him out of the house. Soap didn't realize how far they come till they stopped and only then he noticed the speed they had. The man almost flied him to the woods with his speed. When they stopped, Soap took a look at their surroundings and his eyes stopped at Ghost. He was bleeding from his arms and his face, Soap saw a hole on his chest which made his heart stop. Ghost's wounds would close by itself normally, but his body was too hungry to do so. He was going to die soon. "Ghost..."

Ghost's unseeing eyes focused on Soap and his eyes widen with fear. He struggled under the grip of the other man. "Soap! No! Why did you take him? This is between us!" Ghost's cries didn't reach to the red haired man. He just laughed. "All these fightings made me hungry. I bought a snack on my way back." The man turned his look from Soap to Ghost, then his smile turned into something more wicked. "Oh. I almost forgot. You didnt eat for so long, right? I will leave this for you. I know you don't like it, but a cut on the body will do the job. It did before."

He touched Soap's cheek and made a little cut with his fingernail, just enough to draw blood. "Soap, did you know he hates to take human soul? But the beast does like it. Blood is the link between the body and the soul. If you bring it out, we always want to taste it. Some of us want it more than the others. Especially if you're too hungry. Too weak. If you're at the door of the underworld, the beast will do anything to keep its soul inside the body. To keep it from dying."

Soap locked his eyes with Ghost, and saw the color leaving his face. He was living up to his name now, his face was as white as a ghost. Soap could see him struggling, trying to lock his jaw, close his mouth, dig his toes into the dirt to keep him from moving. But Soap also could see the beast was winning. Ghost was too helpless, he didn't have enough strength to hold himself back. The man standing at Ghost's side let him go.

Soap closed his eyes. He didn't mind dying. He didn't mind it because he knew his soul was going to live in Ghost. He was going to let Soap in, like Soap did with Ghost weeks ago. Soap was okay with it.

He embraced death with open arms.

But it didn't come. He felt the grip on his coat loosen and he planted on the ground face first. He tasted dirt in his mouth but his soul was where it should be. He stayed on his knees and hands first, then looked around. The man with the red hair was on the ground and his eyes were looking at the trees above, empty. He was dead. Rather, his soul was sucked out of him. Soap searched for Ghost and found him on the other side, the man who was holding Ghost was now between Ghost's arms, his limbs stopping moving by the time goes.

When Ghost finished his job, he tossed the body to the side like a trash. He left the mask home, so Soap saw his face as a whole. He looked phenomenal with the dried blood on his cheek and the franzy look on his eyes. But he felt scared too. This was the beast. The monster. Even though Ghost could take his last breath away from his lungs, Soap still reached a hand to him when Ghost got closer. "Simon..."

Ghost squatted and took Soap's hand, then lifted it to his face and pressed his cheek on it. Then kissed his palm. "Yes, Johnny. I'm here."

Soap let Ghost wrap him into a hug. They stayed like that for a moment, till the tension of fear leave both of their bodies. Soap nudged his head into Ghost's neck and spoke in a muffled voice. "Simon, is it over?" Ghost nodded over him. "It is. We can go home now."

Soap grabbed Ghost's shirt and held him down with himself. "Everybody is dead. There's no home." Ghost kissed the top of Soap's head. "Wherever you are, there is my home. We can leave, if you want. To somewhere better."

Soap chuckled under him. "To somewhere with unlimited access to little innocent animals."

"That too, yeah." Ghost parted away and saw Soap still holding the knife he gave, grabbing it to death. Ghost unclenched his fist, then took the knife away. It made a deep cut on Soap's hand, the blade was dripping blood. Ghost wrapped the wound with a piece of the red hair man's cloth, then clened the knife on his shirt. Soap shook his head when Ghost wanted to give the knife back. "No. It's yours. And no one's dying. So you can take it."

Ghost refused, and put the knife back on Soap's good hand. "My life is always in your hands. You can kill my kind with a stab to the heart. I never had the courage, never bring myself to try. But if one day-" Soap stopped Ghost from talking with a kiss. He kissed Ghost like this was a war and Soap was determined to win. Ghost breathed into Soap's mouth and Soap tasted Ghost's soul. He tasted love and murder. Both had traces of blood.

"If you ever, ever, talk about dying again. I will kill you. Just a warning." Ghost laughed and bit Soap's lower lip. "Mhm. I'm warned."

Five hundred years later, a man with a wide hat stepped next to a disturbed tomb. He had a shovel in his hand, and the grave was getting swept by men and women with shovels and all kinds of tools. "Price!" The man turned to the sound of his name. "Gaz. What's it?" Gaz pointed to a grave that was six foot away. "Take a look at this."

They were called to a graveyard because a sick bastard was burying his victims' bodies with the already dead people. Price greeted the people working on the other graves on his way and went to the one Gaz pointed. "Would you look at that?"

Price lowered himself and tried to take everything in. There was two bodies in the space of one, so he thought it was the psycho's doing but when he gave his attention he realized it wasn't the case.

What was left from them were only the skeleton but a trained eye could see it. One of the bodies was almost in a manner of hugging the other. The hugged one had nothing and probably died of natural causes because Price couldn't see any trauma on the bones. He was probably too old, if you take the sternum's width. But the other, the one that looked like it was hugging, had a knife between his ribs, stuck there till eternity.

Price took his eyes from the grave and plunged the shovel into the ground, taking a load of it and filling the grave. "Let them rest, son."

[creepydixon]

i LOVE your ideas for dark!claimer!daryl 🫶🏻🫶🏻 if you’re able to, maybe you could write some headcanons or a blurb for daryl finding a girl (reader) who is younger and maybe recently left her group and he decides her wants to claim her first and he gets her? you can change any details! thank you!

| I love your work! Especially Dark!Daryl’s kinks. With the Claimers, how do you think Daryl would claim a girl? Also the leader of the Claimer’s name is Joe if you want to use that - anon

Dark!Daryl with the claimers and claiming a girl No real warnings. Girl being over 18. Claiming. SFW I think?

Daryl had once again left the men. Once again the men had pissed him off. With their constant yabber and fights, their tasteless humour. Sure, Daryl had also tasteless humour, when he was in his teenage years and went to the parkinglots parties. Smashing down letter boxes while riding a kids motorcycle, laughing loudly to piss off the rich neighbourhood they roamed at.

But those days were over. Focus were on surviving and claiming stuff. The black trashbag hung over his shoulder. It reminded him how he might look like a serial killer he used to watch on TV late at nights. When his old man had finally drank himself drunk and passing out, Daryl could sit up and stare until dawn at the grown up movies that went endlessly on the screen at nights.

Even if Daryl walked ahead of the claimers, he could hear their complaints. "Yer balls itching so fuckin' bad ya become a pussy?" Daryl heard Joe, their leader mocking chuckle to one of the men complaining. Daryl didn't even bother to glance over his shoulder to see the man getting pissed off. Typical sensetive men, they always being the biggest complainers in a group.

As Daryl kept walking, listening to the men scoffs and chuckles, his ears caught something else up. A rustle. It was low footsteps. Daryl dropped his trashbag and picked up his crossbow. He never passed the opportunity to take down a walker, the satisfying feeling of seeing the rotten body fall limp to the ground and bleeding out red and thick dark red blood was a picture of his frustration. Sometimes he would kick them when they lied there limp on the ground, although, it didn't take out his anger completely.

Daryl hid behind a tree, ready the walker would come closer. He listened for a while– but it was different. Usually, the walkers are attracted to noises, and with the mens' loud chatter, it should be a dime for the walkers. These footsteps seemed to walk further away. Daryl's mind soon made it clear, it wasn't a walker he was hearing, it was a person. And a person always had useful supplies. Daryl glanced behind the tree, seeing the person disappear through the trees. Obviously, the person was avoiding them. It meant the person was alone and seek to hide or sneak away before getting spotted.

Well, unlucky for that poor soul. Daryl was fast to follow, crossbow at the level of his eye as he quickly followed.

"Stop righ' there," Daryl said when he saw the– girl.

The girl, who had her back towards Daryl, froze in her steps. She wore a backpack, dressed up for the mild fall. Daryl glanced at her hair, looked quite clean, the clothes were whole.

"Turn aroun'," a growl slipt out of him when he spoke. Watching the girl turn slowly around. Her wide eyes, her mouth slightly open as she looked at Daryl.

She was young. Daryl could tell she was past the teenage years, but still young. Looking terrified when she saw Daryl pointing a crossbow at her head. Her fingers itching, he could see how she wanted to flee, run and hide. And a rush of adrenaline went through Daryl's veins. A girl. On her own. God, how many times he has jacked off to imagines of fucking a woman endlessly and get it all out, tasting every drop of a soft body that quivers in his arms.

Daryl hadn't noticed he had walked up closely to the girl, his crossbow lowering, the arrow head pointing at her chest. Her soft round cheeks, the hitched breath from her when her wide eyes looked up at him. He could already imagine how his fingertips would hold her chin to make her fully look up and expose more of her throat.

"Well, well, wha–" Daryl heard Joe's voice behind him and before Joe could even say something more, Daryl grabbed the girl's arm.

She let out a gasp and tried to jerk off from him. "Claimed." The girl looked both confused and terrified when Daryl had uttered the word, but he let his fingers dig into her arm to make sure she wouldn't run off. Only holding her and stare into her eyes made his blood rush through his corse.

"Damn," Joe chuckled and the men went oddly silent, envy crossed their faces as they saw the girl. "not even sharin'? C'mon Daryl, we are a team." "I claimed. En' of story," Daryl said low and glanced over his shoulder. He saw the mocking grin on Joe's face, and the bitter frowns on the other men. Like Daryl had just bitch slapped them and now they were silent. It was oddly good feeling, seeing how they hadn't been fast enough.

"Righ', righ'. Well, welcome ta da' group, miss," Joe grinned as he took the lead, tossing Daryl's trashbag towards Daryl, landing right infront of Daryl's feet. "Fucking rednecks," a man muttered as he passed Daryl and the terrifying girl.

Daryl made sure they all passed him before he turned his eyes to the confused girl over what had happened in the spawn of a minute. She blinked several times like she tried to understand what had happened, before she started to jerk, and wiggle to try to get out of Daryl's grip.

"Let go," her voice was so light, it took everything in Daryl to not make her squeak to her more of her angelic voice. "Ya deaf?" Daryl growled low to her, jerking in her hard enough so they were inches from each other's faces. "I claimed ya. Means yer wit' me. Yer under ma wing now."

Daryl leaned forward, making her hitch her breath as she saw how close he got. He leaned forward to her ear, his lips brushing at the top of her ear. Smelling her natural scent of sweat and hair. Her hair tickling his cheek. He whispered so low, only she would hear like the faint of a wind.

"And yer gonna be a good girl tonigh' and make sure the other men hear ya when I fuck ya."

[millidank]

During my first run, I was admiring P's combat animation with the Proof of Humanity weapon. And then, of course, the cutscenes, cuz why not, haha. It's really badass that P can dual blade, but I wish there were more weapons that he can diverse in besides one-handed weapons.

Imagine P using crossbows. Maybe bows? But I don't know if bows would fit in this time period. Crossbows might fit, but maybe that could lead towards a legion arm idea (similar animation style to the Puppet String and the Falcon Eyes, but with arrows, no strings, and bullets obviously lol). A silent killer tee hee!

[gremlingottoosilly]

I kinda see König a little bit like Jason?! Maybe it’s just me but there is definitely something there,

I love you page💕🙏🏼

Hi!! Yes, you get it!! Out of all masked killers, my favorites are usually Ghostface, in all incarnations, just because I really like this suburban babysitting-killer vibe, but it wouldn't work with Konig because I can't imagine him really getting into a college party without looking like someone's strained uncle. With slashers like Jackson, however, it works perfectly - they are in the forest, he wears a mask and Horangi is his beloved accomplice.I was also thinking about Konig as a little bit of Leatherface, minus the cannibalism bit(I want to explore cannibalism themes more with Horangi) , while Hoangi has those vibes of killers from The House of wax. Let me know if you'd want a oneshot for slasher Korangi to crash reader's college party. Horangi has more of a refined killer vibe for me, I can mostly imagine him in a more civilized setting, while Konig runs around like an overexcited puppy and would crush a head or two given the opportunity. This is why Horangi was using knives, for example, a little homage to the classic Scream(also has two killers which is great, almost all Ghostfaces work in groups) and konig was using a crossbow. I wanted to write about a bow at first, but then it would be too much of a "Wrong Turn" and I don't like the franchise very much,.

[triglycercule]

murder time trio but they have different weapons

because only using an axe(/hatchet/bone thigh thingy) and knife is sosososo boring. and no magic doesn't count (looking at YOU dust.)

obviously dust would use a gun if he wasn't a lazy piece of shit. what type of gun he uses? idk bc im not gun fluent so for fhe sake of coolness (and convenience for me) he use all guns. hed probably take care of them like his babies. whenever he feels stressed hed be like "im going to my gun room" (WHAT. sorry im writing this at 4 am my brain isn't working right) horror and killer know hes pissed if they hear gunshots outside the house. hes not even hunting anything or wtvr hes just shooting to blow off steam

also i think that swords could also fit for dust too. but hed be too damn lazy to use a goddamn sword but lets ignore that for now. i just think it would be cool to see him use a sword. like imagine him doing a geno run with a sword and hes so sad and stuff but the sword is elegant as shit. and then when he sees rhe human he starts popping off and the sword gows crazy and RAAAAAAAHHHHHH hes so sword coded (what)

this is a really random idea but like... giant pickaxe killer. i was thinking about a mallet/hammer but i was like naaaahhh thats not killer enough. so sharpen the ends DUH. he would also use a ton of bombs because yes. i feel like he would have brass knuckles. ALSO ALSO idk if it works for him but a chakram would be siiiiiick for killer. bro spins around and immediately slices a bitch up is that NOT cool???? and imagine all the tricks he could do,,,,,

now for horror im not gonna say some bullshit answer like a greatsword because a. he would never use one and b. i just don't think it fits his character. instead may i get the change to bring up,,,, a chainsaw. A CHAINSAW. duuuude that would be so cool and it gives off the same vibes as an axe BUT MORE DERANGED. like imagine you're a tiny human who fell from the surface into horrortale and horror's hunting you down to bring to snowdin and in the forest all you can hear is the faint hum of his chainsaw. and it would be much gorier and bloodier and cooler (horror does not like all the blood. but in this hypothetical horrortale its the only weapon he has in the underground without wasting his magic so he has to suck it up)

also something i think would be cool for him is a chain. like just a straight up metal chain he uses. probably to choke people out and restrain them and break their bones by sheer blunt force, putting them into weird poses, or just flinging them around. no its not a whip he does not use it as a whip (he will choke you if you call it a whip) but i do think it would fit him (and be incredibly cool. me when horror sans pulls out the chains). also another short one but A CROSSBOW???? hunting parallels once again (bro is NOT a hunter (he was forced to be (he fucking forced himself to hunt humans?? tf are you on)))

[extremehb]

The Crossbow Serial killer

This is an experiment I wanted to try to see if I could tweak Artificial intelligence to write a dark cardiophilia story for me....and it worked pretty well in my opinion! Please let me know your thoughts!

 ********

At the tender age of 21, Bianca possessed an undeniable allure that captivated all who laid eyes upon her. With her porcelain skin glowing softly under the moonlight, Bianca exuded an ethereal beauty that seemed to belong to another realm.

It was a warm summer night, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and anticipation. Bianca, adorned in a flowing white summer dress that cascaded gently around her slender form, walked with an effortless grace that turned heads and stirred hearts. The dress, crafted with delicate lace and adorned with intricate floral patterns, seemed to accentuate her every curve and highlight her natural elegance.

As she strolled along the familiar path toward her home, a shimmering smile played upon her lips. Her hazel eyes, sparkling with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, scanned her surroundings with a keen sense of observation. Tonight, Bianca yearned for a touch of adventure, a departure from her routine existence.

With a twinkle in her eyes, she decided to take an unconventional route, opting to venture through a small forest nestled in the heart of the city. The dense canopy of trees whispered promises of enchantment and mystery, beckoning her to step into its verdant embrace. Unfazed by the darkness that lay ahead, Bianca pressed forward, her spirit soaring with anticipation.

As she walked deeper into the forest, the soft glow of moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting a luminescent veil upon her delicate features. Her radiant beauty, accentuated by the contrast of the ethereal light, seemed to illuminate the path before her. The white dress, now kissed by the gentle caress of moonbeams, appeared to shimmer with a celestial aura, lending her an almost otherworldly charm.

Bianca's mind danced with a kaleidoscope of thoughts and musings. Her steps were light and nimble, as if each footfall carried her closer to the secrets of the universe. She pondered the mysteries of life, the ebb and flow of time, and the boundless potential that lay within her own being. The forest, once an unfamiliar territory, now became a canvas upon which her imagination painted vivid scenes of wonder and discovery.

While traversing the winding path, a gentle breeze whispered through the trees, causing her hair to sway and dance with an ethereal grace. Her long, ebony locks cascaded down her back like a waterfall of midnight, framing her face with an almost regal elegance. In the midst of the nocturnal symphony, Bianca's thoughts soared, blending seamlessly with the melody of nature's own creation.

With every step, Bianca's radiant presence seemed to grow, enveloping the forest with an enchanting aura. Her slim figure moved with a natural fluidity, as if she were a creature of grace and beauty, a living embodiment of the divine feminine. Each stride exuded confidence and poise, a testament to her unwavering spirit and inner strength.

As Bianca ventured deeper into the forest, a sudden unshakable feeling of being watched crept over her. The rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl intensified her unease. She quickened her pace, her delicate footsteps now echoing with urgency.

Her breath grew labored, a mix of exhilaration and anxiety filling her lungs. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, its rhythm mirroring her escalating fear. The moon's ethereal glow cast eerie shadows, heightening her imagination and evoking a sense of impending danger.

Images of the infamous crossbow serial killer flashed through Bianca's mind, the chilling stories she had read in the newspapers. She couldn't help but wonder if the presence she felt was connected to those terrifying tales.

Instinctively, Bianca broke into a sprint, her white dress billowing behind her like a ghostly apparition. The forest path twisted and turned, each step propelling her further away from perceived peril. Panic surged through her veins, driving her to escape the clutches of an unknown pursuer.

Meanwhile, hidden among the trees, the figure followed, stealthy and relentless. His eyes fixated on Bianca's every move, captivated by her beauty and the allure of the chase. He reveled in the fear that danced in her eyes, a twisted fascination fueling his pursuit.

With each passing moment, the distance between them closed. He relished in the details of her form—the gentle curve of her waist, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the delicate contours of her face. His predatory nature reveled in the power he held over her, an ominous presence lurking just beyond her awareness.

Bianca's heart pounded in her ears as she strained to outrun her pursuer. Fear and desperation propelled her forward, driving her to find sanctuary and escape this nightmare. The forest, once a place of tranquility and serenity, now transformed into a labyrinth of terror.

The moonlit path seemed endless, every twist and turn an echo of her anguish. Her legs burned, but she pushed herself beyond her limits, her will to survive overpowering her fatigue. With each stride, she yearned for the safety of her home, the embrace of familiarity, and the chance to shake off the specter haunting her.

Yet, the pursuer persisted, relishing in the chase. His presence lingered just out of sight, an enigma in the darkness. The thrill of the hunt surged through his veins, the prospect of capturing his prey overwhelming his senses.

As Bianca was about to emerge from the depths of the forest, her lungs gasping for air, hope ignited within her, lending her faltering steps newfound strength.

But fate had a different plan. In the final moments of her desperate escape, a branch snapped beneath her foot, betraying her presence. The pursuer seized the opportunity, his dark figure lunging forward with a primal instinct. In that instant, their worlds collided.

Bianca's heart raced as she stood with her back pressed against the rough bark of an oak tree. She couldn't believe her eyes, for just thirty feet away stood the notorious crossbow serial killer, his cold gaze fixed upon her. Fear gripped her entire being, causing her chest to rise and fall rapidly with each breath. Her trembling hand covered her mouth, muffling the gasps that escaped her lips.

From the twisted perspective of the crossbow serial killer, he relished in the sight of Bianca's vulnerability. His eyes traced every detail, taking in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the graceful curve of her legs, and the strands of dark hair that clung to her forehead. The fear in her eyes only fueled his sinister delight.

With practiced precision, the killer loaded an arrow into his crossbow, the metallic click sending a shiver down Bianca's spine. The tension in the air was palpable as he aimed directly at her heart, the center of her chest. Time seemed to stand still as he took in the sight of her, ready to release the deadly projectile that would seal her fate.

Their eyes locked in a moment of intensity, the crossbow serial killer standing mere feet away from Bianca. The tension in the air was palpable as fear coursed through her veins, her heart pounding like a drum inside her chest. Every beat echoed in her ears, a constant reminder of the danger she faced.

As Bianca's breath quickened, her body trembled with adrenaline. She could feel her pulse racing against her ribcage, threatening to burst through the confines of her chest. The weight of the impending doom hung heavily over her, consuming her thoughts and paralyzing her movements.

The crossbow serial killer, a sinister figure in the shadows, relished in the power he held over her. His eyes traced every inch of her, savoring the vulnerability that radiated from her trembling form. He found pleasure in her fear, reveling in the control he wielded over her very existence.

He took a deep breath then pulled the trigger and the arrow flew in silence and penetrated her sternum and heart like butter, pinning her against the tree. Bianca felt the terrifying moment when her ventricles were torn apart by the metal arrow. Her mouth opened in a silent cry and her eyes filled with tears while she looked down at her chest as life quickly drained out of her body. She could see the protruding arrow standing out of her sternum right in the middle of her chest as her red blood quickly started to pour out of her heart soaking her white dress with her liquid life. She could feel the warm, wet feeling of her blood on her breasts and stomach while the last thing she felt was her final heartbeat taking the life away from her vulnerable, delicate and fragile body…    

[braxiatel]

To See the Story Through

(See content warnings or read the fic on AO3 here)

The thing is �� the thing Grian had forgotten – is that people die when you kill them.

The thought occurs to him, as solid as newly formed obsidian  – and hissing and spitting just as much – as he watches Mumbo stumble through the woods, clinging to every tree he bumps into for support and leaving bloody handprints in his wake.

 “Mumbo!” Grian calls after him.

 (This is a mistake).

Mumbo half turns to look over his shoulder, and Grian can see the blade wedged into his back move. He screams.

A survivor. That’s what Grian is: a survivor.

That is the only reason he is following Mumbo. A survivor would not assume his would-be killer will die just because a wound looks fatal. Looks can be deceiving, and Mumbo might… might have potions or something…

Backup! He might have backup waiting in the direction he’s stumbling… not that he is managing to maintain much of a direction.

 …

But Grian needs his sword back too! he won’t let Mumbo get away with stealing it, a redname like him certainly doesn’t need any more weapons!

Mumbo stops in his track and Grian braces himself for an attack. He might still have end crystals, or he might be keeping a crossbow hidden up his sleeve, or-

Mumbo keels over.

Grian has seen his fair share of blood and gore in his life. Has shed it, has been the one to die the slow, agonising deaths. He was still a child the first time he killed, and he has never had any qualms about doing what it takes to come out on top.

So why he flinches when Mumbo lands and makes the most awful sound he has ever heard another person make – wet and wailing – he cannot tell.

Grian is a survivor. He is a survivor. It was kill or be killed.

 …

 (Except…

 … Except, Mumbo had been running).

And Now? Now Mumbo was lying on his side, his blood seeping into the ground, clumsy hands indecisive as to whether they should try to staunch the bleeding or tug feebly on the blade.

(He is crying).

(It is Grian’s fault).

Oh Void, what has he done?

“Mumbo,” Grian repeats, crouching at the other’s side. “Mumbo, can you hear me.”

“Shouldn’t… get close,” Mumbo slurs. “I’m dangerous redname, you know.”

“I can see that,” Grian tells him, easily batting Mumbo’s hands away so he can inspect the puncture.

(When he made his diamond sword he had made the blade long, but slender. It would be able to take less strain, but with Grian’s small stature, it was a necessary accommodation if he did not want to give his enemies the advantage of greater reach).

There is several inches of the blade protruding from the centre of Mumbo’s sternum, bobbing and letting another blob of thick, dark blood flow from the wound every time Mumbo draws in another shaky breath.

“You’ll be fine,” Grian says out loud, feeling Mumbo’s eyes on him. “You’ll be just fine… Just… need to drink a potion.”

Mumbo hiccups.

(It is a horrible squelching sound Grian knows will keep him up in the dead of night until his lives run out).

“Go… go on then,” Mumbo tells him.

(Grian thinks he has to look as ashy as Mumbo does. Or perhaps it is just that he always had an active imagination, and he reckons he must have paled at those words).

“You don’t have any potions?” Grian asks.

Mumbo remains quiet for so long Grian thinks he might have passed out. When he finally speaks he sounds sheepish.

“Can I tell you… a secret?” he asks, making Grian look up with a start. Mumbo flashes him a smile, more red than white. “I’m a bit pants… at the whole red- redname thing.”

(Mumbo is going to die).

Potions might have saved him, but the best thing Grian has to offer is food, and even if it would help he doesn’t think Mumbo would be able to eat.

Grian realises, as always at the worst possible time, that he loves Mumbo.     Really loves him.

His mind screams it at him, screams at him to do something!  

But what do you do when someone you love is dying and there is no way of stopping it? What do you do when it is all your fault?

“I don’t know, you gave me a pretty good fright,” Grian hears himself say.

His hands move in front of him, reaching out to lift Mumbo off the ground. He is careful not to let the bloody hilt of the blade – just a little to the left of Mumbo’s spine – touch anything as he manoeuvres Mumbo into a position he imagines to be comfortable, lying in his arms. Once satisfied Grian presses his free hand down on the wound, knowing full well that staunching it is of little use when the entrance wound is bleeding just as much.

“Really?” Mumbo asks with lights in his eyes.

“Definitely,” Grian tells him.

“What makes you… think I won’t just… go for the kill… now, then?”

Grian smiles at him, clenching the wet and sticky fabric of Mumbo’s shirt between his fingers. “I don’t think you will. Not when I tell you I’ve got a secret to share.”

“Oh?” Mumbo inquires. His head has lulled against Grian’s shoulder.

“Mhm,” Grian tells him, giving up on his futile attempt at stemming the flow of blood and instead taking one of Mumbo’s hands in his. He rubs circles with his thumb on the pale skin, painting bloodred roses in his wake. “Want to hear it?”

“Sure,” Mumbo tells him. It’s strange, Grian thinks, how he feels no fear at all. He thinks he should be scared of rejection, of making himself so vulnerable. Instead, he just feels an odd sort of calm.

(Is this what people refer to when they talk about the eye of a storm?)

“I love you, Mumbo,” Grian says. “And I think you love me too.”

Mumbo laughs.

…Okay, so perhaps Grian is a little scared of rejection after all.

“You’ve a funny… way of showin’ it,” Mumbo grins, blood and spittle streaking down his face and into Grian’s jumper. The stain will be impossible to remove, a thought that sounds silly only a moment later when he realises far more of Mumbo’s blood is on his clothes, his hands, in his hair, under his fingernails, and beneath his layers.

“Maybe I could have thought of something better,” Grian admits with a smile that can only be described as exhausted. “But in my defence, you weren’t much better. Laying traps? trying to get me with those end crystals?”

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you,” Mumbo wheezes. Grian isn’t sure if it’s worse if the shallow gasps are better or worse than the rattling heaves of before.

Worse, he decides, watching Mumbo’s eyes widen in panic as the lack of air to his brain begins to set in.

(Mumbo is smart. Far too clever for his own good. Far too good for a world like this).

“Thought dying was supposed to be less painful,” Mumbo whimpers, and he can barely distinguish the words. “Aren’t you supposed to lose sensation? ‘I can’t feel my legs’ isn’t that how it goes… Oh, Grian, I don’t think I can feel my legs-”

Grian reaches up and cups his cheek. “Mumbo, look at me,” he requests. “Shall I give you something else to focus on? Make you feel something?”

“Please,” Mumbo begs.

Grian leans down, careful to avoid the pointed tip of the blade.

He wonders what the kiss might have tasted like had it not been blood and tears. If they had shared it under the starry skies of the Southlands, in the dying heat of a campfire, or perhaps between the sheets of one of their beds, hidden from the rest of the world.

Mumbo’s lips are soft, parting easily to Grian’s tongue. Grian thinks he might have been a good kisser, extraordinary even, if not for the part where he was going limp in Grian’s arms, his death rattle the symphony of their love.

Grian pulls back just enough to look Mumbo in the eyes, smiling at him even as tears make his face blurry.

“Grian?”

(He knows this is it. These will be Mumbo’s last words, and it is his fault, and they’re for him anyway).

“Yes?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we could still be friends?” Mumbo asks. “Just you and me against the world?”

“It would, yes,” Grian agrees. “It      would     have been nice.”

“Mhm,” Mumbo hums.

For a split second Grian thinks he sees something change in his eyes – from dull carmine to bright crimson, nearly glowing with redname bloodlust – but then cold hands pulls him into a lover’s embrace.

There is a sword sticking out of Mumbo’s sternum.

There is a sword sticking into Grian’s gut.  

He opens his mouth to speak (to scream) and there is only iron, only red, only stars burning out as the universe does what it always does and takes.

Grian wakes up.

There is no blood on his hands. No warmth of a kiss fading from his lips. No arms of a lover lost holding him one final time.

(Had Mumbo meant to kill him? Or had Grian simply been collateral in the last death throes of his love? Had it been the desperate possessive passion of red wanting red in Mumbo’s eyes, or had it been the light fading as Grian finally got his kill?)

Grian shakes his head and ignores the way his heart clenches, finding that he does not like any of those questions very much at all. They are the sort of questions that can only lead to heartbreak.

Grian is a survivor. And what do survivors do? Well, they don’t curl up in their beds and cry about lost lovers, that’s for sure!

Another thing Grian is now, is a redname.

He can kill.

(He has killed-)

Come to think of it, he would like that an awful lot, in fact.

Past the haze of red, the fog of bloodlust, one final question presents itself: how much blood will he have to shed to outpace the force of entropy?

(More than he ever could-)

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

Grian stands and stretches.

He has a game to win.

[tarnishedinquirer]

Stormveil Castle Rooftops

Once I finished my rest, I took stock of my surroundings. There were two elevators that didn't work, so those weren't options. It was either out across the ramparts, or up to the higher roofs. Tossed a stick, and it said roof, so I took the stairs.

I had to fight through at least a half dozen of those red-clad soldiers to get to the roof, and one of them dropped a usable helmet. It suddenly occurred to me how strange it is that I can only use some of the equipment my enemies drop. It seemed so subtle and natural that I didn't even think about it until now. I tested it out by reaching for his sword too, but something stopped me. It was like the golden fog that sometimes appears behind me to bar my way when I fight a powerful enemy. The barrier wasn't there but it was somehow real.

So that settles that. I'll test the boundaries of it later. As for the helm itself:

Exile Hood Deep red hood that covers the whole head. Worn by soldiers sent to the penal colonies, who were required to keep their faces hidden.

That explains quite a bit. Limgrave was a penal colony. Warriors and knights were exiled here, to the fringes, where their skills were put to work subjugating these lands. Those who still made trouble were sent south, to Castle Morne, to be tortured and punished. Those who accepted their fate were made servants of the castle, at one time prisoners and wardens. Those who served well got a hero's burial, and became spirit guardians in death.

There was nowhere to go from here, unless I wanted to get adventurous. A pile of debris gave me easy access to the crenelations and from there I could make a few jumps. Let's see where this path takes me.

Well, turns out that's "nowhere" if I can't make the jump. I landed on the roof down below and immediately caught the eye of one of those bladed stormhawks. this one was bigger and sturdier than the others, and on its face it had some sort of pouch that also let it breathe fire. It was a special kind of evil to do this to an animal, though I admit, the skill with which it used the prosthetic made me think there might be more to these hawks than I thought.

I went back for another go and this time managed to make it to a small tower that had definitely seen better days. I dropped down to a roost just above that bird and sniped it before it could have another go at me.

I'll spare the blow by blow, but I made my way across broken chimneys and decorated ledges to a flat rooftop that was just full of Exile Soldiers with their crossbows trained on me. This place must be important if they've got it this well protected.

Well, well. Here we are. The two towers. Facing the courtyard, too. Though it looks like there'd been a lot of construction since that painting, it was still a popular roost for birds. Fortunately, just a bunch of eagles that didn't want any trouble, but I could easily imagine the stormhawks roosting here when the castle wasn't being invaded. It was so hard to get here though that the soldiers had to have a ladder or something, they just chose not to roll it out for me.

And my hunch was right, once I got up here, I found something very interesting indeed: A claw talisman.

A talisman depicting a claw and an assassin. The assassins of Ravenmount are killers by trade. They assail their victims while dressed as birds of prey.

Had raptor-themed assassins once made this castle their home? It seemed to fit. This place must've held birds sacred, before being supplanted by beasts, and then later the tree.

Now I made my way around the ledge, overlooking the courtyard. Fortunately, people very rarely look up. Unfortunately, I'm having a very bad day, so when I got ready to raid death from above on these two, I wound up falling off and had to fight them fair and square. It wasn't that tough a fight, but it was embarrassing.

Gonna cut this entry here. Found some strange stuff ahead.

Who are the Ravenmount Assassins? Where are they now, if not here?

Were birds worshiped here at some point?

When were the knights and soldiers exiled here?

[paledarklight]

Imagine caca singing and releasing album 🤮🤢

Let me sing you the songs of my people it's called*tunes guitar* " hitting on men who clearly don't have feelings for me- in c minor"

The fact they have her character everything that was Beth is wild and just shows how threatened they were of her.

Beth's was becoming an archer so they gave WHO a bow and arrow

Beth has beautiful long hair and so WHO got long hair only to cut it short again so literally made no sense for her character

Beth and Daryl were close , so they really hammed it up with Caca breath like she was suddenly very *gags* precious to Daryl , that whole "lightning" speech he did , don't tell me that wasn't for Beth , that that wasn't something he would have said about her.

And now Carol is suddenly a pro at using his crossbow and riding a motorcycle, give me a fucking break. This woman is pushing 80 , they want her bouncing around like she doesn't ache in the morning being a pro killer badass

Just let her rest, let her enjoy her bowl of hard candy and spend the rest of Ezekiels life making him happy even if she has to fake it cause that man deserves it

I wouldn't be surprised if in the book of Carol she's suddenly a Singer (book huh, like how Beth had a journal)

[gabri-el]

im unsure of so many memories from my early childhood and of the places associated with it; whether or not they were dreamed of or existed. last night i thought of a particular street, a long barely perceptible rise that opened out at its crest into miles of scattered moorland: brontë country today i searched for it on google maps and found that it was real and exactly as id imagined. i found other places too, important places i also knew: the wood where we'd spend infrequent 'family' time together; where i 'discovered' as a 6yo a small island between an iron-stream that ran through the declivities. the road that continued from my uncle's house, that had wound its way through the woods for centuries has now been permanently closed; a result of collective disregard for the environment. there was no feeling of surprise hearing this news, because in the lives of many locals it makes little difference; the wood itself has been off limits for a few decades, frequented by armed gangs drug dealers, rapists and serial killers (crossbow cannibal). it is a place consigned permanently to memory

[jinronghsu]

Week 4 Workshop

In this week's workshop, we are going to make an Asteroids-like game. We were asked to make some simple designs for an Asteroids-like game. I call it Monster Killer. In my imagination, players will control a crossbow to shoot randomly moving monsters around and accumulate points to win or be killed by monsters.

Then we started making the Asteroid game, and I learned some new things during teaching and development.

How to allow players to operate game characters through the mouse

How to enable players to shoot bullets

How to make enemies randomly generated and move randomly

But I think the most challenging points are the following:

1. How to make the interaction between the player and the enemy effective: I need to let the player take corresponding actions when attacked by monsters

2. Player's health and score system: Give feedback on all player actions. For example: if the player attacks the enemy --> the score increases and the enemy touches the player --> the player's health decreases

3. Victory and Gameover scene: Triggered after certain conditions are met. For example: the score reaches 2000--> the player wins and the player's HP returns to zero--> Game over

[agentleem]

Leviathan Company Session 2

My deepest apologies, I could not find any notes for the murder mystery, as the session happened about 3 years ago and the dm deleted the notes by now. What I can tell you, was that during the party, the party met a slaver with mixed reactions (and, most notably, Lily wanting to buy a slave). He was also the killer, because Baron VonBaron was issuing reforms that could harm the slaving industry.

So, once them murder was solved, the party went out and got greeted by another questgiver. He looked like a standard jungle adventurer iirc similar to the dude from jumanji (or at least that's how I imagined him), and he hired us to take down a cult in the woods. After accepting, we rented a room at the inn, and got greeted by a mysterious, armored man.

Introducing: Dar, the bounty hunter from what's essentially Irish Skyrim. Big man was also part of the expeditionary group, so the party welcomed him. When they woke up from their rest (since only 2/5ths of the party can actually sleep), they went to a blacksmith for some extra weapons to fight the cult with. I forgot what everyone else got, but Zeta ate a crossbow, and that's what truly matters.

After some journeying, we reached the woods, where we were promptly attacked by an EVIL TREE! We fought the tree, Zeta showcased the mouth crossbow, and we eventually lit the tree on fire and moved on. Eventually, we got to the camp of the cultists, and started committing culticide, disrupting a ritual they were doing. Then the leader of the cult summoned the TREE MECH! FIRST BOSS FIGHT OF THE CAMPAIGN! Eventually, Dr. Treeople was slain, and the party went to collect their reward.

[rallis-fatalis]

A Mutually Magical Friendship

Despite no one ever having taught her, Rallis was quite the naturally gifted mage. She had mastered every spell she’d ever attempted, even those presumably above her level. On the dragon’s latest adventure, she meets an actual master of magic, and one who’s even willing to teach her some new tricks! Meeting this wise old mage was sure to lead to a magnificent friendship, one that could be mutually beneficial.

“Ewww. It’s like an herbiboar, but a human. A humaniboar.”

“They’re called sourhogs, though I think I might like your name better.”

Rallis and a hooded cloaked figure huddled together in a dark, damp cave, hidden behind moist stalagmites. The hooded figure silently nocked a bolt into her crossbow and leveled it against her arm to take aim. Before them was a hulking brute of a beast, a humanoid pig the size of an ogre. It was tearing into its meal of carrot and potato with a side of mangled adventurer.

“Here we go,” the hooded figure whispered. She loosed her shot, and the bolt zoomed to its target. The shadowy dart slammed into the sourhog’s skull, forcing a strangled squeal out of the beast before it dropped dead.

The hooded figure sighed in relief. “Well thankfully that was ea–.”

A second sourhog rushed into view, roaring a horrific mix between a man and wild boar. The hooded figure scrambled to get another bolt nocked. The sourhog took note of the intruders, lowered its head, and charged their way.

“Crap, move!”

Rallis and the figure rolled opposite ways, barely escaping the shower of stone as the hogman barreled into the now broken stalagmites. The sourhog screamed and charged at Rallis’ partner, more infuriated with them than the dragon. It backed the woman against the wall with nowhere for her to run. She ditched her crossbow for a twisted dagger, scared but ready to take this beast down.

The monster roared and spattered a foul green acidic substance from its mouth, burning the earth before it, and reared back to launch a phlegmy ball of it at its prey. Right as it was about to launch its spit, the beast let out a strangled pained squeal and began to flail and reach for the back of its neck. Rallis had thrown herself at the sourhog and bitten down on its neck. The monster reached for the dragon, but with another deeper crunch, the beast fell dead, swallowing its acidic build-up and melting its throat open with a deadly gurgle.

Rallis leapt off the dead monster and spat out its disgusting greenish-red blood.

“Bleugh! Augh that’s nasty!” the dragon gagged as she wiped her tongue on her tattered sleeve.

The hooded figure tossed the dragon a canteen of water for her to rinse her mouth out with. She threw back her hood, revealing short brown hair and a pair of bright red goggles. She smiled as she kicked one of the sourhog’s corpses.

“One more duty done! Thanks for the help. I might’ve been in some trouble just by my lonesome!” She kneeled before one of the beasts and severed one of its hooves as a trophy. “That oughta be convincing enough for the reward! Meet back up in Draynor for your cut. You more than deserve it.”

Rallis nodded and tossed the canteen back. They left the monster den with a pair of smiles, happy to have done some good.

_______________________________________________________________________

Rallis fiddled with the large stack of coins causing her currency pouch to bulge. That job netted her quite a good sum of cash. She couldn’t wait to tell her family and Kaqemeex and Reldo the story. Her very first job! Killing an evil monster terrorizing town alongside a professional monster hunter! Spria was super nice for someone with the occupation of ‘monster killer,’ and Rallis was surprised at how well she got along with the woman given what the dragon was. The job paid 3,000 gold, and for a job well done, Spria split the loot 50/50 with Rallis. The dragon imagined all the possible things she could spend it on! …And just settled on a nice lunch from the stalls in town.

After her journey both above and below Lumbridge, Rallis strolled through the forest to the west. Despite the plethora of angry goblins, the scenic jaunt was lovely. Beyond the forest was a small town by the oceanside called Draynor Village. It was a tiny and quiet town, with some rather eclectic residents calling the place home. There was Spria, the monster hunter, but there were also a few other monster hunters that specialized in killing certain types of beasts, most notably vampyres. Rallis paled and hoped they never bumped into her friend Grimro.

There were also some ex-sailors, crafters who worked in unique materials, bankers that couldn’t afford a place in a nicer town, and a ton of wizards and mages. Quite a few of them made the daily trip to a place called the Wizard’s Tower a short ways south of the town, while others were retired mage adventurers that enjoyed the general peace and quiet Draynor had to offer.

In town, there were a few market stalls and places to sit and enjoy the food, drinks, and ocean view Draynor had to offer. Rallis sat on a bench facing the ocean with a bottle of grape juice and roasted corn cob, enjoying a fresh meal after a hard day of work. She liked this town far more than Lumbridge. People didn’t seem to be so scared of her appearance here. Unnerved at first, yes, but not terribly scared, as if the sight of a monster wasn’t that novel. The town had an air of ‘leave us be and we’ll leave you be,’ and the dragon could appreciate that. She ate in silence, watching the waves ebb and flow, keeping to herself.

Or at least she was until she heard someone scream.

A pair of black-robed shady-looking men cornered a marketgoer on her way home. They blocked either way she could escape from, with the bulk of a willow tree blocking her rear escape. Before Rallis could put down her lunch to help, a market guard armed with a steel sword and shield leapt into the fray.

“You two, stop!” the guard demanded. “Make any sudden moves and you’ll be hanging from the gallows instead of chained to a pillory!”

The pair of shady men snorted at the man who considered himself a threat. One waved a cloaked hand into the air, and bursting forth from his fingertips was a ball of flame. It swathed the guard in a violent blaze. The guard dropped his sword and shield with a scream and rolled in the dirt to put out the magically growing flame. The drink salesman in the market square acted quickly, pouring every available jug of water onto the man and saving his life.

Now Rallis was up and ready for action. ‘Mages, huh? Well they aren’t the only ones who know magic!’

Rallis pulled enough runes from her pouch for a few casts of fire magic and entered the fray. “Hey! You leave her alone!”

She launched a ball of fire at one mage, who held up his long sleeve to block part of the blow. Most of the flames bounced away harmlessly, fading away as they hit the wet grass. Rallis blinked in surprise. She had never seen that happen before. Were their robes magic warding?

The second cloaked wizard formed a bright blue ball in his hands and launched it at the dragon. Rallis dodged with the grace of a cat, retaliating with a flaming ball of her own. The wizard’s spell splashed against the floor, while Rallis’ flame hit the man square in the chest, and even though his black robes might have hindered the magical effect of the spell, it did nothing to stop its force. The man skidded back, giving the poor marketgoer a chance to escape.

Rallis didn’t let up, launching herself at the pair of wizards with fangs and claws bared. She took the pair down to the ground with her and turned to the frightened woman.

“Run now! I’ve got them!”

The woman nodded with a whimper and sprinted away. One of the two mages beneath Rallis blasted the side of her face with a flame spell, throwing her off them. They quickly stood with a victorious sneer, but their grins were just as quickly wiped away when they saw their spell had absolutely no effect. The dragon’s face was perfectly fine, with not a burn mark on her. And now she looked pissed.

“You call that fire?” she growled. “I’ll show you fire.”

With runes in each hand, Rallis clapped and smashed the stones for a much stronger fire spell together. Between her palms flourished an open flame akin to the breath of a dragon. She roared as she launched the spell at the two mages. The flames easily ate away at the meager magical protection their robes granted, setting them alight from boot to hood. The men screamed as they panicked and ran like headless chickens until their brain functioned enough to process the idea of jumping into the sea. They threw themselves into the cool ocean water, dousing themselves with a hissing sizzle.

By now, a crowd had gathered, including more market guards. Two brushed by Rallis with a stern ‘We’ll take it from here,’ as they ran to the shore with metal cuffs. Rallis huffed a ‘phew’ and dusted the rune powder from her hands. That had escalated quite quickly.

“My, my! A good thing we had such a talented mage here to save the day!” a well-spoken voice called out from behind Rallis. The dragon jumped at the sudden voice addressing her and turned around. Behind her, leaning on a tall elaborate white and gold staff, was an old man. He wore plain brown robes, similar to a monk’s but with more of an olive undertone. He had a great white beard, yet not a strand of hair atop his bald head. He wore a blue felt crown, similar to the festive party hats one might find in toy crackers every Wintumber, and a pair of circular glasses that looked too large for his face.

“Draynor is no stranger to new faces, especially those of wizards, but I daresay this is the first time I’ve seen one as unique as yours! My name is Dionysius,” he said with a polite nod of his head. “And if you have a moment to spare, I would greatly appreciate a chat.”

“My name is Rallis,” she said with a smile. “And sure, I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Not a student of the Wizard’s Tower then, I take it?”

“So that tower is a school?” she mused. “Definitely not.” She had more than enough time being a student as of late. She wasn’t about to enroll herself in even more classes.

“An adventurer, then?” he guessed. “You must be, given that getup.”

Rallis wasn’t sure what the man was talking about. She looked fine enough. Sure part of her shirt was burnt now from that wizard’s spell, and the rest had tears and blood stains and streaks of dirt… as did her skirt and pants… and her toe claws still had tufts of sourhog fur caught in the tips… Okay, perhaps she did look a bit raggedy.

“Now about that chat,” Dionysius said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to hear about the kind of magic a creature such as yourself could do. As a fellow mage, I find all forms of magic to be of great interest, and it is exceedingly rare to have a chance to converse with someone so far from human. Would you perhaps be a lizardman or dragon of some kind?”

Rallis’ ears shot up in surprise. Someone who actually guessed what she was correctly! “Yes, I’m a dragon!” she said more excitedly than she should have.

“Intriguing. Well then, Rallis the dragon, might you stop by for some tea and a chat?”

Rallis nodded excitedly and followed the old man to his home just around the corner of the market. Finally, a human stranger that wasn’t terrified by her appearance and even had some manners to boot! If only the rest of the world could be so open-minded and polite.

As Dionysius held open the door to his abode for her, a memory of Kaqemeex teaching her not to wander off with strangers tugged at her mind. As an adventurer, she realized that rule was really rather silly. Doing things for and being with strangers was a whole part of adventuring!

Dionysius’ home was full of bookshelves, with the whole bottom floor looking like Reldo’s library! It was actually a comfortingly familiar sight. There was even a similar desk and study on the far end just like the one she would nap under.

Before Rallis could get too nostalgic, Dionysius made his way to the tiny kitchenette hiding behind the bookshelves in the farthest corner. There sat a small table for two, three if you squished together. The man fished two servings of tea out of a ceramic jar and prepped two cups.

“Come, take a seat. And you’re welcome to any biscuits or cookies.”

Rallis cautiously took a seat, wary of the precarious stacks of books and papers her tail could easily knock over. She did indeed take a pair of cookies while Dionysius wasn’t looking, despite his invitation for her to do so. The man sat down a heated teapot of water for their cups, kindly poured the dragon a drink before his own, and sipped before asking his questions.

“I must thank you again for being so willing to answer my questions,” he started. “Now as fascinating as you are in your own right, I’m sure you get pestered about your being quite enough. I’m more focused on that little stunt you just performed. No creature I’ve seen has taken a fire strike to the face and walked away unscathed, save a beast of ancient age or massive proportion.”

Rallis subconsciously rubbed the side of her face that took the blow. “Well, us dragons are pretty immune to fire, magical or natural. I’ve been hit worse by my own brothers!”

“Actually,” Dionysius folded his hands together in thought. “Dragons can be found weak against magic sometimes. They most certainly resist magic due to the properties of their hide, but it is thoroughly possible for a dragon to be burned by magic. I know I’ve seen it for myself. They’re also actually very susceptible to water and ice spells. I wonder how you could withstand such a blow without some type of charm or ward!”

Rallis didn’t know what to say. She simply shrugged. “I’m sorry but I’m not sure how to answer you. I just don’t get too hurt, I guess. Well, not by magic at least.”

“Hmmm.” Dionysius took a sip of his tea in thought. “I wonder if your resistance is partially due to your skill. Mages actually find themselves partially resistant to spells due to the build-up of energy inside them acting as a weak sort of shield. As a dragon, you must have a great deal of magic inside you!”

“I’m pretty good at magic!” Rallis happily agreed. “My uncle gave me some runes to try magic with one day and he said I was a natural! I can use all of these I carry with me really well.”

The dragon unlooped a pouch from her waist and dumped its contents onto the table. Out came tumbling fire and air elemental runes alongside a myriad of catalytic, ranging from the more practical law and nature to the destructive mind and chaos.

“I see you lean towards fire spells,” the man noted. “With these, you could cast a fire bolt at best. Have you ever tried more high level spells using these?”

He pulled a pair of runes from his pocket. One had a white skull, the other a red teardrop. Rallis eyed them and shook her head. She hadn’t seen those before in Aubury’s shop.

“This is called a death rune,” Dionysius pointed to the stone with the skull. “And this is a blood rune.” He pointed to the red teardrop. “Death runes are the standard for offensive spells, allowing you to cast blasts. Blood runes are for the more advanced mage, allowing you to cast waves.” He handed them over to the dragon. “I would be grateful if you could show me your talent in action with these.”

“Right now?” Rallis blinked.

“Not this very moment,” he laughed. “I didn’t make tea for it to be left to the wayside.” He took a thoughtful sip of said beverage and hummed a moment in thought. “You must excuse me if this question comes off as brash or distasteful, but I won’t know until I ask it. Would you mind if I had a few of your scales? They would be fascinating to test magical resistance on, and certainly more safe than asking a less polite beast for a handful for science.”

Her own drink dribbled out of Rallis’ mouth as she stared at the man with an indiscernible look. He immediately backtracked.

“As I thought, a rude question,” Dionysius said, throwing his hands up defensively. “Please forget I asked.”

“More weird than rude,” Rallis muttered. “That’s like asking some random human for a patch of their skin.”

“Well I suppose like that the question does sound rather foul!” he laughed. “I was thinking more akin to how other reptiles simply lose their scales from time to time and equated the similarity to you without thinking. Truly, my apologies.”

Rallis shrugged, not really caring. At least this human was polite about it all.

After some more chatting and after finishing their tea, Dionysius escorted Rallis to the edge of the woods south-east of Draynor. There was a large grassy expanse perfect for practicing spells in without fear of setting anything ablaze. Rallis took out the first of the two new runes, the death rune, and aimed at a boulder half-buried into the ground before her. With a flame-red glow and a satisfying crackle, the runes for a fire blast crumbled into dust and Rallis threw the spell at the rock.

The air shuddered and sparked, as if electrified by lightning. Then CRACK! A thunderous snap and an explosion of fire struck the boulder with the strength of a bomb. Rallis hopped back like a startled cat, feathered wings and tail tip flared out. Even Dionysius seemed to be impressed, his eyes wide and brows raised. This beast did indeed house a great deal of magic, something she herself didn’t even seem to know. Teaching her that strength might just be to his benefit…

Rallis nervously looked to the man, as if looking for a sign that this was okay. She looked rather scared at first glance, but he could see something power-hungry underneath, a feeling he knew firsthand.

“That was excellent, don’t worry,” he praised. “Though I do believe I’ll be standing a bit farther back for this next one!”

Rallis took out the second new rune, the red teardrop, a blood rune. Rallis remembered Grimro saying something about blood magic; it was strong and vampyres used it. Perhaps stepping a few paces back was sound advice.

With a steadying breath and slightly shaking hands, Rallis smashed together the blood runes alongside fire and air. A pulsating wave of fire began to form in her hands, ready to be tossed and cause mass destruction. Rallis pulled back to toss the spell and threw…! Only for it to explode in her face, sending her flying back. A thunderous BOOM rattled the air, followed by Rallis’ shrill yelp as she was flung backwards into the grass. She rolled and rolled until another rock stopped her with a huff that knocked the wind out of her.

“Goodness! Are you alright?”

Dionysius ran over and gave the slightly charred dragon a hand. She accepted his help with a groan and rubbed a sore spot on her head. Where she stood before was now soot-black and burnt, and a ring of dwindling embers burnt away the grass.

“Don’t think I’ll be trying that again any time soon!” she laughed. “That was crazy! I’ve never seen magic that strong before.”

“And yet you sport no injuries,” Dionysius remarked. Sure, the dragon had a few burnt marks, but she was otherwise unmarred. A blast like that, cast from a spell gone wrong, easily had the potential to burn the unfortunate mage alive. He was right to take an interest in her.

“You did well for a first try with a wave spell,” the man continued. “You actually managed to hold the spell steady for a while. You simply lost your focus on the actual cast. I could teach you some tricks, show you how to be a better mage, and maybe even lead you to learning stronger spells if you’d like.”

Rallis beamed. “Really? Sure, I’d love to! Magic is so cool!”

“Of course. Only, I would need something from you first.”

That was only fair, Rallis thought. If this kind stranger was going to go out of his way to teach her magic, it was only fair he ask for something in return.

“Sure thing! What do you need?”

“The runes you will need to practice are more blood runes, and I have very little left in my personal stores. They are rather rare so sadly they’re not something one can find for sale in a casual wizarding shop. However, there is a place nearby with a surplus of any rune a budding mage might need.”

Dionysius pointed to a tall gray tower, looming in the misty distance.

“Oh yeah, that’s that wizard school, right?” Rallis said.

“Indeed. It is the Wizard’s Tower, where young wizards from across Gielinor strive to study and become apprentices. Naturally, as a school for wizardry, they have runes to spare.” The man inwardly grinned, hoping this dragon would be gullible enough to believe his next lie. “I used to study there too, you know. It’s how I became such a renowned sage and adventurer in my time. But one day we had a disagreement and I was kicked out without being allowed to take my belongings with me. I can’t even remember what the disagreement was about anymore; I only remember both sides being petty and foolish. They likely still have my old rune stash.”

Rallis was appalled. “All you did was get into a fight and they kicked you out and stole your stuff?! That’s horrible!”

“Sadly, yes,” he played. “And now I am forbidden from ever setting foot near the tower again. No one has the time to spare for an old man such as myself, and so I have had no one to ask to retrieve my belongings. But if you manage to bring them back for me, I’ll have plenty of runes to teach you with.”

“I’ll gladly help!” Rallis cheered. “Tell what to do and get and I’ll do and get it!”

Dionysius held back a grin. This beast was indeed gullible. What an easy way to finally get some payoff. Maybe he would raid more than a measly bank this time with the amount of runes this dragon could net him.

Back home, the man drew out a crude layout of the tower’s interior, showing the dragon every possible nook and cranny to hide in. It was quickly determined she would have to sneak in and out; there was no way she could waltz in and ask for some free high-tier runes nor give away who she was there to get them for. Of course, if she was caught, Dionysius gave her an out, some innocently lame excuse the old wizards were sure to buy into.

“There’s a large storage area in the basement,” Dionysius said as he pointed to the drawing of the basement. “On your left once you enter is the storage chamber. There are many cabinets and drawers and such, but the ones that hold runes should be fairly obvious; they are labeled with the appropriate runic symbol. I will need as many blood and death runes as you can carry, especially the former.”

Rallis nodded, committing the map to memory.

“There may be one obstacle once you reach the basement, however. The head wizard’s sleeping quarters are directly opposite the storage chamber. I remember hearing him being a rather light sleeper, so do be careful not to alert him of your presence.”

“Got it,” affirmed Rallis. “This shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve stolen more from a lot scarier people.” She would fear the black knights hiding in the Taverley Dungeon far more than a school of magic students.

“Good to hear!” Dionysius cheered. He wasn’t worried about the dragon getting caught with that level of confidence, and if she was caught, well he had now seen firsthand she could tank a few spells to the face. “I will eagerly await the results of your venture.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

The moon was quite absent that night, making it all the easier for Rallis to sneak around unnoticed. She stuck to the darkest shadows of the long stone bridge that stretched across the water to the Wizard’s Tower, slinking around like a cat on the prowl. Reaching the tower undetected was no problem at all; now all she had to do was get inside.

Dionysius warned her of the creaking old doors that led to the main lobby, but there was an old window permanently stuck in a jam from someone else’s attempt at thievery long ago. Rallis found it easily, at the back of the tower and close enough to the floor for her to reach. The wizards were obviously not too stupid, as they had reinforced the broken window and barred it. But they hadn’t accounted for a dragon that could chew through metal to break in.

Rallis chomped through the weak iron bars keeping the half-broken window in place and slithered through. With a silent drop, the dragon was now inside the building. All around her were ancient tomes and magically bound books. Magical items and artifacts lined shelves on the wall, alongside a few mysteriously colored potions. The sheer amount of magic in this place made her scales itch.

On the other side of the room was the door leading to the lobby. Careful not to make the old wood creak on its hinges, Rallis opened the door just enough to squeeze through and slid across the lobby to the stairs leading down to the basement. There wasn’t a single sound or feeling out of place yet. So far so good.

Once Rallis slid into the basement, she could see in clearer detail what Dionysius spoke of. Down a turn and a small hallway, the basement split into two distinct segments: a massive collection of cabinets and other storage units, and a much smaller room. There were no windows or peepholes, and the only entrance was shut tight. That had to be the head wizard’s room. Rallis tiptoed by, the presumably sleeping wizard none the wiser.

A metal gate was all that separated Rallis from the rune stores. A flimsy lock hung loosely between the two gate doors, something easily gnawable for a dragon. With a quick bite, Rallis snapped the lock in twain and spat out the pieces. Security in this place sure wasn’t much to write home about. Perhaps this is what happened when one relied too heavily on magic and nothing else; it led to complacency.

Right inside the storage room, as if presenting themselves on a golden platter, were massive drawers full of sorted runes. Each drawer was etched with their corresponding symbol, some of which Rallis had never seen, such as a pair of spectral light blue wings and some kind of red-eyed black demon head. She took a small handful of those for herself, for research purposes of course. She found the requested death and blood runes next and shoveled as many as she could carry into her pouches.

There was no reason to shut the gate after her; the lock was shattered and there was no reason to hide her theft. Besides, it would just cause more noise than necessary. She slunk back through the gate and down the hallway, and there were the stairs back to the ground floor. What an easy in and out job!

As Rallis reached for the steps, something stopped her, something that made the scales on the back of her neck flare. It felt like someone was watching her. She spun around with claws drawn, but no one was there. That wasn’t right; she knew something was here.

An ethereal whisper floated through her ears, startling the dragon even more.

“The Eye… It hides here…”

Rallis jumped out of her skin at the voice, but with another look around, it still revealed no one nearby. Something faint burned between her wings, making her hiss. Before her, a faint symbol glowed on the door to the head wizard’s room.

“The Eye… In there… Protect it!”

Rallis frowned and thought loudly, hoping whatever spooky ghost voice this was would hear.

‘Sorry but I’m not following a disembodied spooky voice right now. The last one turned out to be a hydra! Besides, that’s where the head wizard is and I’m not looking to get caught. You’ll have to find someone else to help you, or wait for another time, spooky ghost voice.'

The voice vanished, as did the pain between Rallis’ wings. She huffed in relief and slithered back through the tower and squirmed through the broken window. She had made out like a bandit, and Dionysius was sure to be happy!

_________________________________________________________________________

“My word, this is enough runes to last until I die! Excellent work!”

Rallis dumped the runes onto Dionysius’ table, sorting them into piles of death and blood. The man acted like he had just found a treasure chest filled with millions of gold, nearly throwing himself onto the table in joy.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he told Rallis. “I’ll have no problem teaching you how to work difficult magic now!”

“Oh! Speaking of…” Rallis fished out one of each new rune she snagged from the tower. She showed off the one with the light blue pair of wings first. “What rune is this?”

“That’s a soul rune. They are primarily used for a type of magic that few know today, a type of magic that is from an ancient civilization. I’ve also heard rumors it is used across the sea in some odd ways involving severed body parts. I couldn’t tell you more though.”

“Interesting,” Rallis mused as she put it away. She pulled out the demonic-looking one next. “What about this one?”

Dionysius held back a scream as he paled. “Put that away now! That’s a wrath rune, the strongest catalytic rune in the world. One accidental spell with those and you can turn half of Draynor into dust on the wind!”

Rallis swiftly stowed it away, in a pouch far from the rest of her runes. It wouldn’t do to get them confused with the others in the midst of battle.

“Good to know. Guess I won’t try those any time soon! Unless you can teach me…?”

The man shook his head. “Apologies, but no. Wrath runes are far too dangerous when they’re used correctly . Practice with them is for the foolishly brave or those with a death wish, and I am neither. Perhaps once you master every other level of spell, I’ll teach you. Maybe.”

“I’ll take a maybe!”

“Then tomorrow, we practice wave spells. I recommend we take a short journey north to the abandoned manor so we don’t draw attention. Those wizards at the tower will be looking for a culprit.”

“Right, that sounds good,” Rallis agreed. “Here’s to a friendship over magic!”

She fist-pumped the air with a cheer. Dionysius half-heartedly returned the gesture.

‘Indeed,’ he thought. ‘And perhaps a friendship over what else I can have you steal for me,’ he smiled devilishly.

[faerunscursed]

"This isn't what it looks like!"

Jinx's excuse was blurted out before she had time to craft a well-made lie. The tiefling's tail trashed from side to side as she stared at Karlach, her hand inconspicuously going for the crossbow, she had begun using as opposed to her hunter's bow. One of its bolts had shattered through the skull of the figure laying before her. Three more bolts stuck out of the dead and mangled gnoll like strange spikes in its pelt.

"It startled me", Jinx told Karlach, "I swear." She gave a resigned ask and inquired: "Look, do you think you can help me get rid of this body. It is very much in the way. And I do not want to worry the rest of the camp."

Unlike the rest of the party, who was sleeping soundly, Karlach had been wide awake. Nightmares, they plagued her every being when she wasn't awake. Sometimes they even followed her then, in the forms of visions that Zariel would throw her way. There was no true reprieve from this but she didn't want to risk the rest of the party knowing of her affliction, not yet. As such she ventured out to allow a moment to herself. The tiefling was about to set loose her fire to let off steam when she spotted the dead gnoll.

Karlach knew at first look that there was something more to it. In fact, she knew a killer when she saw one, because she was one herself. Only her victims were typically imps, cambian's, and other hellish creatures. Granted, gnoll didn't differ much from that lot. Just mindless creatures slaughtering innocents for a source of meat. A spare few even served the absolute.

"You're lucky it was me that found you here, could you imagine gale finding you? Stars he'd flip his shit." Karlach sighed and shook her head as she approached. She tapped the gnoll with her foot to check if it was dead. "You killed it without mercy, didn't you? Bastard didn't stand a chance." She turned her attention to the other tiefling, studying her. This was no accident but Karlach wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, she deserved that much right?

"I know that look in your eye, you meant to kill it didn't you? Like I did in--" She stopped there, not wanting to reveal her history in Avernus. Karlach took a deep breath, "Nevermind, let's clean this body up. You're right, everyone would properly go nuts. Except maybe fang boy over there..."

The infernal tiefling immediately picked up the gnoll as if it was nothing and slung it over her shoulders. "I'll dispose of this but afterwards I expect you to tell me why he was really here, yeah?"