#cw necromancy

[thatlovelydove]

Grief is a bitch imma just do necromancy instead :D

[numbpill]

some original ~magical orbs~ that i summoned last night in gif format... feel free to use for whatever purpose, or to sniff one up yer left nostril.... The Choice Is Yours

[jauffre]

THE ELDER SCROLLS ONLINE: NECROM

[ks-lair]

Upon the Altar, Lambs

GIDEON THE NINTH SPOILERS

A single house alone at sea,

An Empire floating in darkness,

Heirs summoned by He,

But they'll find no solace.

Glory to the Necrolord,

Mercy to us.

It is past our wards,

A sickly malice.

A house of two, it becomes one,

Your Will be done.

[axel-tiredstudent]

OC MASTERPOST WOOHOO ⭐

Although there's still a lot to plan and do before this story is anywhere near done and I don't even have a first draft yet, I really wanted to talk about it and share who my OCs are (since i keep talking about them in here).

This story (called Ewordis) is one of necromancy, otherness and isolation, but it's also about love, saving and connection!

The main character is Absalom García Medina (much to his own dismay). He is 22 years old and studies fine art in university. He's also a drummer in a band with his two closest friends. Absalom comes from a long line of necromancers! He doesn't really understand or control his powers, but he's set on his goal of finding his mother's spirit, which he has never been able to do!

Almudena is Absalom's grandmother, who raised him when Alma (her daughter), passed away. They are both also necromancers. Almudena taught Absalom how to use his powers until she died when Absalom was 12. She's still with him as a spirit.

Alma died in labor. Not only was she a necromancer, but she also had prophetic visions, something not common in their family. Neither Absalom nor Almudena have ever found her soul.

Angel is Absalom's best friend since they were in higschool. They take care and support each other through everything. Angel has a beautiful voice and she can play many instruments. She's the singer, songwriter and guitarist of their band.

Naomi met Angel and Absalom when they were looking for a bassist for their band. They became close soon and shortly after he started dating Angel!

Percy is Absalom's ex boyfriend. Their relationship was rocky and difficult, which really affected Absalom. They still see each other sometimes, but Percy doesn't seem to be willing to change for the better as a person, which is why Angel dislikes him and wants him to stay away from her best friend.

Ozzie is a non human creature that Absalom meets in the realm between life and death. Ozzie doesn't remember anything of his life before appearing there and he can't go to the living realm, so he and Absalom decide to find out what he is.

Victor also comes from a line of necromancers. He meets Absalom in a graveyard, after many spirits warn Absalom of a creature eating their corpses there. That would be Victor! Victor was brought back to life by his necromancer abusive father and now he's forced to feed on human flesh to not become a mindless "monster".

The Knight of Death is one of the Horrors. No one really knows of their existence, but necromancy powers are related to the Horror of Death. How is it related to the Medina Family? What will Absalom do when faced to this Knight?

LONGER EXPLANATION BELOW THE CUT

As I said before, Absalom comes from a long line of necromancers, this gift/curse always passes down to one person in the family. He got it from his mother, Alma, and she got it from hers, Almudena. Alma died in labor so Absalom was raised in a small close-minded village by his grandmother. Since it was little, Absalom has been able to see and communicate with the dead. Almudena taught him how to use his powers and insisted that this is a gift that makes them special. Nevertheless, she also taught him to hide it to avoid rejection from people outside their family. Even with their powers, there was something neither Absalom nor his grandmother were ever able to do: find Alma's soul.

When Absalom is 12, Almudena dies and Absalom, unable to find her either and suspecting her dead is related to the necromancy, blames their power for it. And so he starts seeing this power as a curse instead of a gift. Something that he doesn't truly control nor understand, something that scares him and isolates him. Absalom goes to live in a bigger city with his uncle. It spends a few rough years feeling alone and othered until, at 15, he meets Angel! They bond over their mutual love for music, being rejects in their school and their queerness. During their teenage years they both join a few bands and, finally, at 19-20, they decide to create their own music band, with Angel as the songer-guitarist and Absalom as the drummer. They are on the look out for a bassits when they meet Naomi. They quickly click and Naomi becomes the third member of TTT (Tres Tristes Trigres). A few months later, Naomi and Angel start dating! Playing with them is one of Absalom's favorite things in the world, and he trusts them more than anyone else. Nevertheless, he never tells them about his necromancy but they do notice weird, worrying things about him.

At 19-20, Absalom meets Percy after bumping into him a few times in campus and in local concerts. They hit it off immediately and start dating shortly after that. They're both interested in music and art. At first, their relationship seems perfect. Absalom (who's in the aro spectrum) falls in love for the first time and he feels really happy and loved, something he has truly struggled with for all his life. As time goes by, their relationship starts to get rocky, they fight and argue a lot, but they always go back to each other. Their relationship ends up beng really toxic on both sides. Percy is manipulative and cheats on him and Absalom is jealous and desperate for this idyllic love and comfort they had at first. But, thanks to Angel and Naomi's support, Absalom breaks up with him after dating for a year and half. During the time they were dating, Percy started noticing a few odd things that surround Absalom, like weird aggresive energies around them after they fought. No matter how many times Angel warns Absalom against it, sometimes, when it feels lonely, it goes back to Percy, looking for momentary comfort.

Regarding the necromancy gift/curse. Its origins are uncertain to the family but what does it exactlty allow them to do? The Medina family (or at least those that inherit it) can see spirits in their daily life and communicate with them (spirits may appear everywhere and they mostly can tell when someone is able to see them so they may follow necromancers around, there's more spirits in places like graveyards tho; they don't really have that much consciousness, except for the spirits of necromancers, like Almudena, who Absalom will be able to find at some point). Thanks to this power they can also search for (and most of the time) find the spirit of a specific person (but still, Absalom is never able to find Alma, which tortures him). Another thing that they can do is enter Ewordis.

Ewordis is the realm between life and death (but closer to death, as no living creatures can enter it, except for some necromancers). Ewordis is a inmense white space full of mostly nothingness and some spirits where time doesn't really exist. Absalom hides there when he gets too overwhelmed by real life, thinking that avoiding reality helps him. When he enters Ewordis, his real body is frozen in time, so he can stay there for days or weeks without truly noticing. But time itself doesn't stop. This has lead to his friends worrying after not hearing of him for days in more than one occasion. Isolating himself in Ewordis like this is something that Absalom does to cope when he is really really bad and he tells no one about it. He doesn't really understand what this realm truly is, nor where does it lead. What are the secrets that hide beyond this seemingly vast white empty unreal territory?

One day, after Absalom's mental health worsens and he goes back to hiding in Ewordis, he meets, for the first time, a demon-looking huge guy! Absalom is shocked, because he did not know of the existence of creatures like him. This "demon" tells him he remembers nothing of before being in Ewordis and that he himself doesn't know what he is. They keep bumping into each other when Absalom enter Ewordis, and it notices that this demon must be lonely. They talk a lot and become friends, and Absalom tells him about his life in the living realm. He ends up naming the demon Ozzie, after one of his favorite movies: "The Wizard of Oz". They decide to try and find out what Ozzie is.

After many spirits start following Absalom around and telling him about a monster eating their corpses in a graveyard, Absalom decides to investigate and get rid of all of them. Not really because he wants to help them, but because he wants to be left alone. He goes to the graveyard at night and he founds a thin young man crying next to an open grave. When he sees Absalom, he runs away. This young man is Victor. Victor also comes from one of the few necromancers families left. Their powers are different to those of the Medina family tho, since they are more related to the pyshical body and flesh than to the spirit. He was alive many years ago and he lived with his two siblings and his abusive father. Victor killed himself to escape his father but he brought him back, mixing his body and soul with those of other corpses. Now Victor is forced to feed on human corpses to keep their conscience. Victor loathes his father, who keeps him locked in their old mansion and forces him to keep himself alive. Thanks to his powers, his father has kept himself and his children alive for many many years.

Necromancy powers are directly related to the Horror of Death. There are many Horrors related to different aspects of existence. The Horrors are cosmic entities beyond human comprehension. More ancient that everything. They are neutral entities, not bad nor good. They just exist and keep balance. They have no human morality or feelings. Or at least, that's how it should be. So why can't Absalom die? Who protects him and why? Where is Alma's soul? Who are the other Horrors and how do their existence affect the characters lives?

[ominous-feychild]

✦ OC Moodboard Tag ✦

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE!!!

In my "OC In Three" tags, I had a request to share more of one Roman Leveque! Well, @the-letterbox-archives only expected one more... but I am nothing if not a benevolent god. 👀

So! I'm also making a tag game out of this!

Rules: make a collection of 5+ images that represent or symbolize one of your ocs! It can be in any way, for any reason! Just have fun with it! ☺️

ROMAN LEVEQUE

I have so much fun with these, haha. I used to make a lot of moodboards when I was younger and digital design is kind-of my thing (outside of writing), so I think I'm pretty good at it!

Roman Leveque is one of the side characters in an unpublished WIP of mine, Rising From The Ashes, and the older brother of Carmin Leveque. Their family is well-known to be the Protectors (basically bodyguards) to the crown, and so their "darker magics" are overlooked (read: purposely ignored) by the general populace.

Well, that... and how are you supposed to approach the children of the literal Existence of Death about not using dark magic? Yeah, good luck with that.

Sun and Shadow: Freya Ula | Crow the Cursed | Daleira Fenastra (wip)

Rising From the Ashes: Sammy | Roman Leveque

Tagging (gently!!! I know this is a lot, trust me I've spent the past day and a half doing these things, haha): @the-golden-comet @honeybewrites @yourpenpaldee @darkandstormydolls @.the-letterbox-archives

@illarian-rambling @wyked-ao3 @creative-author @ath3alin @mysticstarlightduck

[romanticfanfare]

The blood moon rises again... It's time to punish the evil souls around us...

[coolerhope]

Do you ever think about how Mystra is the goddess of magic (and is magic itself) and that there are spells that can take control of others, make people do anything the caster wants... except kill/harm themselves (which ends the spell immediately). Magic can do a lot of things except make someone commit suicide/hurt themselves.

Do you ever think about how Mystra demands Gale to kill himself?

[rhythmantics]

NPCs for a DND oneshot! The Death-Defying Undead Cursecus, the paladin GMPC, and the warden because the party all got arrested for petty crimes to start the session. Bonus:

[coffeebanana]

For the prompt game:

"How did we even get here?"

"Dunno, but maybe we should've read the instructions, huh?"

With Adrino

CW drug use. (well, kind of. they're sort of fantasy drugs that teleport you but may or may not have other effects. and if they ARE drugs they're like shrooms, so nothing addictive)

--- "How did we even get here?" Nino groaned, rubbing his forehead as he slowly pushed himself up off the floor. 

Frankly, Adrien thought he was insane for attempting to sit up at all. Adrien didn't even have the energy to reach up and catch Nino's glasses before they slid from his face; instead he was fated to watch them bounce just out of Nino's reach. The world spun like a top, and the patterns on the rug scratching Adrien's cheek weaved together in front of his eyes in some sort of intricate dance--one that made him certain the threads were trying to seduce him. 

(Or maybe he was high? Could magical ghost mushrooms get you high?)

Nino wanted to know how they'd gotten here. But Adrien wasn't even sure where here was.

"Dunno," he said shakily. "But maybe we should've read the instructions, huh?"

Nino's hand froze midway through fumbling for his glasses, eyes bugging out of his head. "There were instructions?"

"Uh...no." Adrien forced a laugh. "Just a joke."

Adrien looked away, stomach churning. Because nothing about this was funny. None of it made any sense at all.

He'd only wanted to bring his girlfriend back from the dead. So why did her ghost seem dead set--pun NOT intended--on setting him up with his best friend?

---

Thanks for the ask!! 💜

[stories-by-an-anxious-ice-dragon]

[Horror] Necromancer - 01

I've noticed a lot of memes saying that necromancy isn't as scary as it seems, and while I sometimes agree, I wished to try my hand at it.

CW: Gore, Bugs, Death

--------------------------

The sound of the footsteps tells you that the floor is wood, though to you, it feels like long-since-dusted stone. Or perhaps, it feels like nothing at all. Perhaps it was the mantle, upon which you’d be judged by… whoever you were meant to face after their death. 

Who… are you? It’s so hard to recall anything. There’s a buzzing noise in your head that reminds you too much of the printing machines you used to work with at Marigold’s shop, and it fills your prefrontal cortex with too much white and gray noise to focus on anything. When you do focus, the only thing that sticks out to you is the cavity in your chest, where you can feel specks of flesh dripping where your ribs should be. When you curl up, and put your head to the cavity, the smell is noxious and makes your eyes water. If you could open your eyes… would you want to know what’s happening down there?

Would you want to see the cockroaches and fat beetles skittering around inside of your stomach?

The footsteps are slow, and methodical. They arrive with the swing of a door whose hinges might not have been oiled in decades… or maybe centuries. The gust of wind causes the bugs to jump. And then the door closes. Something drags beside the footsteps, scratching and sliding over the floorboards, clinking off the nails embedded in them like it was meant to be some kind of demented musical instrument. Tapping closer and closer to the pile of grayed flesh that are your remains.

Whatever it is, it nudges you. The tip of it is glassy, and it chills your spine as it drags down it. Eventually, it forces itself into the fetal curl you’ve found yourself in, and forces you out of it. The rod gets under your chin and pushes it back, until the back of your head hits the skirting of the wall. The skirting’s just as rotted as… your stomach.

Who are you…? What are you doing here?

Wait, no… it starts to come back to you. The last moments that replayed in your mind, over and over like a broken record, before you woke up in this place. You remember the hospital bed, and the white - too white - walls all around you. You remember holding your wife’s hand, how soft and gentle it’d been, kissing her for the last time before the… doctors put you to sleep. You remember telling her that it’d be alright, that you’d always be with her.

Something of the stomach, it had been, right? You remember the pain being numb after a while… though with the way you’re feeling now, you would never guess that. You can barely feel your own heart. You don’t wanna look. You don’t wanna look. Where the hell are you?

The glass rod nudges you again. “Rise,” a voice rings through the small room. And then there’s heat, welling up inside the glass like it’s an electric stove. It seers into the dry flesh along your chin, and you open your mouth to scream, but you can’t even manage that. Just a pathetic squeak.

And then - gods, *how!?* - you sit up. As if an invisible force grabs your hind end, it drags up against the wall, much to the complaint of your insides, which drip even more sagging flesh as you lean upwards. You feel a centipede squirm up between two of your guts. The feeling is even worse when your arms push against the splintery wood, to force you as high as you can go.

Once you’re up, your torso lulls forward across your outstretched legs. Oh, you’re in it now. You can feel your cracked ribs, how a gust of air goes into your chest and whistles out the opposite side. Is it possible to want to wretch when… you aren’t sure if you have a stomach anymore?

“Come on, my thrall. I know that you can sit up better than that.” The rod is pushing at your chin again, and forces it up no matter how much your eyes and cheeks want to melt off your bones. They’re crusted up and dry, conceding to their death.

Eventually, you sit straight up, much to the dismay of your ribs. With your lips nearly stuck together, you find something creeping out of them, sneaking up a tightened throat from distended lungs. “Where… am… I…?”

“There you go. No more time to laze around, my thrall.” That voice… you’ve heard it before. It’s foggy, and snappy, but you remember it being softer than this. You remember hearing it… sometime before you made it to the hospital. “Gaze upon me.”

One of your eyes open, and that’s about all you can manage. You see the brown, dusty swirls of the room around you, and the pricks of the nails poking out of the floorboards. In the midst of it, there’s a bright red, glowing rod of glass that still threatens to seer your chin off. It shines so bright that it almost looks superimposed on top of the rest of the room, which is so dead-looking compared to it. With your pupils low and exhausted, your iris climbs the rim of the rod, up the ancient tree branch that it must have been made of, all the way to the smooth fingers gripping it at the other side.

A *staff*. That’s the word that comes to mind. You remember once reading about wizards and witches who dominated the world before the modern age, but you thought it was all… all… Christ, is any of this real? Does it really matter if any of that insane stuff is rooted in reality when you’re sitting there, feeling your guts *melted*? Feeling ants nibbling at your insides?

“I *said* to gaze upon me, thrall.” The voice snarls, and the staff gets hotter. Either as a tear, or condensation, a drop of water streams out of your crusted eye. You recognize the voice now. Oh god, you recognize it. Out of all the voices in the world to violate your ears when you’re meant to be sound asleep in your coffin, there are few that could be worse.

“Why… why am I…”

You, who must be the “thrall,” gaze upon her, as commanded.

You remember speaking with your wife, a few months before the extended hospital stay interrupted, about how the entire atmosphere around Marigold’s printing press was starting to scare you. It started as something small: Marigold, the royally-dressed woman who ran a printing business, had pushed you when you showed up late, and crossed her arms at you. “I didn’t buy you for $500 a week just for you to steal five minutes of my time,” she had said. You only brushed past her then, apologized, and clocked in, avoiding her fingers.

And then, it was the way that her hands glided down yours while you were working. As if the sound of the clunking printer was an invitation to her. The raw tension in her fingers, the sweat they sent down your spine and the way they made your then-existent stomach turn. She mentioned your wife, and how she must be a lucky woman. A lucky, lucky woman. “Is she fulfilling all your needs?” she asked. “Ever want someone else to suck your soul out?” That soft voice, like the surface of a Marigold flower.

And then, on the hospital bed, where you were writhing and trying to keep your composure in front of your wire, as she ran her fingers through her hair in the way that made you wish to sit up and kiss her, you thought that you saw Marigold again. She’d been outside the window of your room, but it was dark out at the time, and rainy, so you convinced yourself that it was just the flash of a tree branch. Just an ordinary tree branch. Or, when you were feeling superstitious, it was a ghost ready to guide you to the afterlife. You were ready, and quite honestly, of all the things in your life to reminisce on, your job was far down on the list.

You hadn’t thought of Marigold in days. You could’ve gone all of eternity without remembering the name of the boss who once leaned in to kiss you on a Thursday afternoon, leaving the remaining 2 hours of your shift an awkward ordeal for you to shimmy through. You could’ve left her as a footnote of your life. Would you even mention the printing place to the angel tasked with weighing your life?

“In the eye, thrall,” she says now, and you want to vomit. No - why her? Why is she here, when you can’t talk back to her?

“Wh…what… have you done…?”

You look her in the eyes, the shining green eyes that had been a dull blue before. You study her face all the way down to the grin. A few more scars have made the way across her face since you last saw her.

“I was dead,” you continue. “I kissed my wife goodbye and I heard the… the heartbeat monitor stop,” you grit your teeth, though your head still lulls. Out of ink, no more miracles, your free trial of life ended - you were dead, dead, dead!

“Oh, you are dead, my thrall…” she says, leaning close to you. You expect her to stop, but she doesn’t, and soon her chapstick is violating your mouth. She sucks out your rotted breath from your plaque-covered teeth, and you lack the strength to pull away. It’s only once she does, that you once again relish in the permission to breathe, through lungs filled with bugs. “Dead as dead can be… dead, dead, dead…”

“W…was happy… being dead…”

“That’s not your choice to make, my thrall. You’re but a corpse. Do corpses get to make choices about how their owners play with them? No. And you’re a corpse. A dull, smelly corpse for me to animate as I please.”

She puts her stuff into your chest… how big is the hole? How much of you is dripping away?

“Just, a fucking, corpse. And not even one of the more useful ones under my command.”

“...why?”

“You thought that you could skip out on work by taking an unannounced vacation to the afterlife? No, no, no my thrall… think again. I invested too much training time into you to let you go to waste. I expect you to be back to work in minutes, thrall. Rise…”

You feel the joints in your legs start to light up… and you move.

No, no, no, you whisper to yourself. Not like this. You remember joking about how necromancy isn’t as scary as it sounds, how all that talk of disrupting the sanctity of the dead was hogwash. And now the wind through your chest tickles the sides of your exposed organs, teasing them, causing a beetle to flicker its wings against a drooping artery. You think of the trillions of infections creeping their way into your vessel right now.

But you stand, head lulling, eyes sagging. Something flakes off your cheek. Your hair is full of blood and loose flesh. You fail to lift your arms.

“Necromancer…” you mumble under your breath.

“That’s right, my thrall,” she bats her hair, and sticks her staff under your shoulder. “And you’re now my dull, reanimated property. It’ll be a long, long, long time before I let you return to the ground.”

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[into-the-fraymotif]

How my party would work? It have a Thief of Blood, Witch of Doom, Rogue of Light and Seer of Hope (we bound to lose ik, but i didn't wanted to change my friends god tiers. Lol) but a combo of these 4 seems really interesting

CW: Bloody Zombie stuff

I don't know the exact dynamics between the people of your session, or even what the plot would be (lowkey Witch of Doom mite b your saving grace, ironically), but I can tell you what I think your epic team x4 combo move would be. You won't succeed in your session, of course, but hell if you aren't going down without a fight. Case in point:

Destined Calamity of the Sanguine Oratorio

Rogue of Light [one who redistributes and redistributes through information, relevance, and fortune] + Thief of Blood [one who steals and steals through bonds, connections, and sacrifice] + Witch of Doom [one who manipulates and manipulates through death, decay, and finality] + Seer of Hope [one who knows and knows through beliefs, ideals, and positive emotion]

Destined (fated to happen, inescapable) + Calamity (an event causing great and often sudden damage or distress; a disaster) + Sanguine (double meaning: optimistic or positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation. And having to do with blood; literally bloody) + Oratorio (a large-scale musical composition on a sacred or semisacred subject, for solo voices, chorus, and orchestra)

The Witch does a lot of heavy lifting here, partially from being the most active class, but also because their Doom Aspect is crazy effective in terms of a "special attack". The Seer, not usually being a combat Class, would act as a coordinator, helping their allies take the actions that most closely aligns them with the ideal of their Classpects, basically making everything more efficient. The Witch inflicts a powerful malaise on the Target group, changing their fate into one of certain Doom. This is where the Rogue and Thief come in. The Rogue transfers the luck of the Targets to their allies, resulting in any attempt to attack the Heroes to fail and result in further weakness and illness from the Witch's ongoing affliction. Any action the Targets make, even if they were to be benign under normal circumstances, will result in their further injury. The Thief draws the Blood of Targets to the surface of their bodies, such that even a prick on the finger would begin to drain the body of their Blood. Once the Blood hits the floor, then the intensity of the Fraymotif picks up. The Seer watches as Hope leaves the Doomed Targets, and their knowledge of such a state is granted to their allies, directing their actions in a way that interacts directly with the Hope of the Targets.

Unfortunately for the Targets, the Seer's allies have a taste of Blood now. The Thief steals the Targets' previous loyalties, giving the Target a sense of "this person could be our leader, our Hero", and has them begging for their lives. The Rogue continues to sap the Light from the Targets' fate through the Witch's twisting of it, leaving the Targets in both darkness and despair, while through the redistribution of Light, the Rogue and their allies may shine. The Witch contorts and breaks the deaths of the Targets, causing them to become almost like a zombie army. Unfortunately, the zombies are currently loyal to the Thief, but as they have no more Blood to steal, and having been stripped of their information-processing, are Doomed to turn on each other until you are left with a field of bloody, mangled, undead, and undying zombies who can't go on any further.

So yeah. If your session is Doomed to fail, then SBURB will have to get through...that...first, and if that fails, then your Witch and tbh probs the Seer will be your only and last chance at anything resembling victory.

...Good luck!

[mournwatchingprofessor]

I was making a post on Harding and noticed something.

the [] dont look level with the biggest text option

So I brought them to firealpaca,

THEY AREN'T LEVEL.

THEY'RE ONE PIXEL OFF.

AND THEY'RE OFF ON BIGGER TOO

by TWO PIXELS

[lizardsfromspace]

I know it's not POPULAR anymore to say it, but I don't CARE what the woke crowd says. I SUPPORT the Boneweavers. They EARNED their necromantic skill through hard work. I'm not ENTITLED to have consistent number of limbs every single day, or to have the same amount of skin. Kids these days are too thin-skinned to handle being thin-skinned, or thick-skinned, or no-skinned, or bein' gifted a carapace of pure bone. Why, God gave us bones for a reason: so we can have 'em shuffled around by the best Boneweavers, and the US OF A has the best, freest Boneweavers in the entire goshdarn freaking world. That used to make us proud, but not since Biden

[croziers-compass]

Etiquette For Cemeteries and Hallowed Grounds of the Dead

(In somewhat chronological order) This is a general and very basic outline for things that I see people do and behaviour that I witness that should be made note of. Questions? Feel free to ask. I am more than happy to elaborate on them.

Be aware of the cultural or religious nuances that belong to the Grounds you will be visiting. Different cultures and faiths may have different etiquettes or concerns. Do not disregard these.

Try to be bathed/showered/cleansed before going

Only enter and exit from the “Gates” wherever they are and in whatever form they take.

Bring an offering to the Guardian. Check in with said Guardian. Offerings can be bread, coins, olive oil, grains, tobacco. Asking and knowing helps a lot as well.

Ensure that the Guardian accepts the offering or does not need/want anything from you.

Offerings for the dead can be coins, sure but again: grains, apples, oils, tobacco and anything that the individual had a fondness for. Don’t assume and just leave things assuming they'll like it or want it.

Don’t leave things in general without permission or proper permission from the spirits and/or the families that the graves belong to and/or the caretaker(s).

Don’t clean up the cemetery or pick anything up. Do not tidy anything or “right” anything. Do not fix up anything.

Do not pick up trash.

Do not take any direct action to make any changes to the environment at all unless explicitly requested. If your intuition and clair-senses are not up to snuff then it’s better safe than sorry. Don’t touch it.

If a place is told to be off-limits, don’t do it anyway. If the Guardian says that you cannot walk somewhere then do not.

Be mindful of where you walk. It’s actually not considered “bad” to “walk over someone’s grave”. That’s half of the point. Standing over where a body may be laying is not disrespectful. It’s how it’s set up.

When leaving, please thank the Guardian for their time and efforts as well as thank anyone that let you visit before you go. It’s simple etiquette.

Treat your visit like you walked into someone else’s home.

[ominous-feychild]

You're laughing. You just exposed your necromancy by raising a bunch of corpses, a woman we just watched get brutally murdered has crawled out of the trash chute like the monster from Grudge, and you're laughing.