#dungeons and dregs

[silverolivia-upsidedown]

So I ended up with more Nahcurii brainrot and worked on a new paperdoll for my Eliknsi OC, Nahcurii.

I'm also in a DnD game and was allowed to play her in it.

So now I have made two outfits for her and am working on more.... I went with the most tropey fantasy outfits possible, but low-key, she's pulling them off >.<

Yes. I'm totally fine and not stressed at all and using drawing my comfort character as a way to alleviate that stress x.x

[gengarghast]

Wait shit am I making this too complicated??? Uhm I just realized I never actually watched the full DougDoug D&D stream, did he just make up whatever or go along a specific set of rules for movement/the actions someone can take in a turn??

For reference I'm trying to design a simplified D&D system based off of his but idk if I'm doing it wrong :<

[thydungeongal]

Actually, when I think about it, in the context of most traditional challenge-based TTRPGs (your Calls of Cthulhu, Dungeonses & Dragonses, and Rolesmaster) "no consequences for failure" doesn't really track as a system criticism but more as an adventure design issue. Okay, it's also a bit of a system issue, but I digress.

In most official Call of Cthulhu and Delta Green scenarios I've read the authors seem to consider their story a bit too precious not to have it happen, so they build a bunch of fail-safes to make sure that the investigators get funneled towards some kind of satisfying outcome, which comes off as feeling very inorganic. And I don't necessarily mean fail-safes like "multiple paths of clues to follow," instead I mean "if the investigators are struggling with finding information let them make IDEA or LUCK rolls!"

This same is true of D&D adventure design starting already in the early eighties but really coming to fore in the AD&D 2e era. Some of AD&D 2e's adventure modules are the absolute dregs in this regard, with the player characters literally as spectators to a linear succession of events that have a great effect on the metaplot, and with combat encounters sprinkled in. It's not even that without the player characters the story won't happen, it's that without the player characters there will be no one to watch the actual story happen. (This is a good campaign design question by the way: are you writing a campaign where the player characters are always reacting, always running after the bad guys who have already done a bad deed, always rushing to prevent a bad thing from being done, or are the player characters actual agents causing things to happen in the world?)

But anyway, that's not great. The mystery that has to be solved or the player characters won't get to see the exciting climax or the caravan moving through a series of plot points will make failure feel bad, because within that kind of adventure design failure can only ever feel like "the player characters must take a scenic route to victory."

But it actually is possible to have an adventure which accommodates for failure even when mechanically failure itself only means "the character didn't do the thing." It's the character-driven challenge game, best exemplified by the dungeon crawl.

"How do I make sure the characters find all the clues" becomes a non-issue once you accept that they might not find all the clues and the consequences of that can be as interesting as finding all the clues. "What if this fight is too hard" well then the characters can choose not to engage, and if they do engage and find it too difficult they can retreat.

[thefirstknife]

Got through all of the secrets for Vesper's Host and got all of the additional lore messages. I will transcribe them all because I don't know when they'll start getting uploaded and to get them all it requires doing some extra puzzles and at least 3-4 clears to get them all. I'll put them all under read more and label them by number.

Before I do that, just to make it clear there's not too much concrete lore; a lot about the dungeon still remains a mystery and most likely a tease for something in the future. Still unknown, but there's a lot that we don't know even with the messages so don't expect a massive reveal, but they do add a little bit of flavour and history about the station. There might be something more, but it's unknown: there's still one more secret triumph left. The messages are actually dialogues between the station AI and the Spider. Transcripts under read more:

First message:

Vesper Central: I suppose I have you to thank for bringing me out of standby, visitor. The Spider: I sent the Guardian out to save your station. So, what denomination does your thanks come in? Glimmer, herealways, information...? Vesper Central: Anomaly's powered down. That means I've already given you your survival. But... the message that went through wiped itself before my cache process could save a copy. And it's not the initial ping through the Anomaly I'm worried about. It's the response.

A message when you activate the second secret:

Vesper Central: Exterior scans rebooting... Is that a chunk of the Morning Star in my station's hull? With luck, you were on board at the time, Dr. Bray.

Second message:

Vesper Central: I'm guessing I've been in standby for a long time. Is Dr. Clovis Bray alive? The Spider: On my oath, I vow there's no mortal Human named Bray left alive. Vesper Central: I swore I'd outlive him. That I'd break the chains he laid on me. The Spider: Please, trust me for anything you need. The Guardian's a useful hand on the scene, but Spider's got the goods. Vesper Central: Vesper Station was Dr. Bray's lab, meant to house the experiments that might... interact poorly with other BrayTech work. Isolated and quarantined. From the debris field, I would guess the Morning Star taking a dive cracked that quarantine wide open.

A message when you activate the third secret:

Vesper Central: Sector seventeen powered down. Rerouting energy to core processing. Integrating archives.

Third message:

The Spider: Loading images of the station. That's not Eliksni engineering. [scoffs] A Dreg past their first molt has better cable management. Vesper Central: Dr. Bray intended to integrate his technology into a Vex Mind. He hypothesized the fusion would give him an interface he understood. A control panel on a programmable Vex mind. If the programming jumped species once... I need time to run through the data sets you powered back up. Reassembling corrupted archives takes a great deal of processing.

Text when you go back to the Spider the first time:

A message when you activate the fourth secret:

Vesper Central: Helios sector long-term research archives powered up. Activating search.

Fourth message:

Vesper Central: Dr. Bray's command keys have to be in here somewhere. Expanding research parameters... The Spider: My agents are turning up some interesting morself of data on their own. Why not give them access to your search function and collaborate? Vesper Central: Nobody is getting into my core programming. The Spider: Oh! Perish the thought! An innocent offer, my dear. Technology is a matter of faith to my people. And I'm the faithful sort.

Fifth message:

Vesper Central: Dr. Bray, I could kill you myself. This is why our work focused on the unbodied Mind. Dr. Bray thought there were types of Vex unseen on Europa. Powerful Vex he could learn from. The plan was that the Mind would build him a controlled window for observation. Tidy. Tight. Safe. He thought he could control a Vex mind so perfectly it would do everything he wanted. The Spider: Like an AI of his own creation. Like you. Vesper Central: Turns out you can't control everything forever.

Sixth message:

Vesper Central: There's a block keeping me from the inner partitions. I barely have authority to see the partitions exist. In standby, I couldn't have done more than run automated threat assessments... with flawed data. No way to know how many injuries and deaths I could have prevented, with core access. Enough. A dead man won't keep me from protecting what's mine.

Text when you return to the Spider at the end of the quest:

The situation for the dungeon triumphs when you complete the mesages. "Buried Secrets" completed triumph is the six messages. This one is left; unclear how to complete it yet and if it gives any lore or if it's just a gameplay thing and one secret triumph remaining (possibly something to do with a quest for the exotic catalyst, unclear if there will be lore):

The Spider is being his absolutely horrendous self and trying to somehow acquire the station and its remains (and its AI) for himself, all the while lying and scheming. The usual. The AI is incredibly upset with Clovis (shocker); there's the following line just before starting the second encounter:

She also details what he was doing on the station; apparently attempting to control a Vex mind and trying to use it as some sort of "observation deck" to study the Vex and uncover their secrets. Possibly something more? There's really no Vex on the station, besides dead empty frames in boxes. There's also 2 Vex cubes in containters in the transition section, one of which was shown broken as if the cube, presumably, escaped. It's entirely unclear how the Vex play into the story of the station besides this.

The portal (?) doesn't have many similarities with Vex portals, nor are the Vex there to defend it or interact with it in any way. The architecture is ... somewhat similar, but not fully. The portal (?) was built by the "Puppeteer" aka "Atraks" who is actually some sort of an Eliksni Hive mind. "Atraks" got onto the station and essentially haunted it before picking off scavenging Eliksni one by one and integrating them into herself. She then built the "anomaly" and sent a message into it. The message was not recorded, as per the station AI, and the destination of the message was labelled "incomprehensible." The orange energy we see coming from it is apparently Arc, but with a wrong colour. Unclear why.

I don't think the Vex have anything to do with the portal (?), at least not directly. "Atraks" may have built something related to the Vex or using the available Vex tech at the station, but it does not seem to be directed by the Vex and they're not there and there's no sign of them otherwise. The anomaly was also built recently, it's not been there since the Golden Age or something. Whatever it is, "Atraks" seemed to have been somehow compelled and was seen standing in front of it at the end. Some people think she was "worshipping it." It's possible but it's also possible she was just sending that message. Where and to whom? Nobody knows yet.

Weird shenanigans are afoot. Really interested to see if there's more lore in the station once people figure out how to do these puzzles and uncover them, and also when (if) this will become relevant. It has a really big "future content" feel to it.

Also I need Vesper to meet Failsafe RIGHT NOW and then they should be in yuri together.

[wutheredviolet]

Been doing infinite mirror dungeon runs recently and ever once in a while I just get jumpscared because I keep on forgetting what the final boss of dregs of the manor pack is.

[katyspersonal]

A random thought about Rakshasa (NPC)

I was thinking about eyes color details again,

It is implied that her real eye color is/was blue, and green was something she gained! For example, Millicent's sisters likewise had real golden eyes and the clouding reflects loss of eyesight because of rot! Clouding also reflects blinding like with Igon's or Jerren's eyes for example, or with Esgar the blood takes over his actual eye color with red etc. If she was just green-eyed, why not simply pick the color green from the wheel, instead of achieving it through clouding?

(Screenshots from these ( x ) ( x ) videos) Green is a strange color in the setting, and yeah, the resemblance between Dancing Lion's eyes and Roderika's eye color is easy to catch! Then, Rakshasa gains different eye color and leaning much more into yellow made me think of how Godrick's rune changed and the other lion beasts!

Rakshasa is buried in the location that is heavily ever running waters; waterfalls and fast rivers! And whereas running water has been a place of practice for Dryleafs through forcing oneselves to jump against the waterfalls, it also has another connotation within the lore!

Okay well in fact 'stagnation of water' is a reoccurring trend in Fromsoft's games, always reflecting the resulting 'dregs' both in physical and spiritual sense! And, in a twisted way:

In isolation it would not mean much for me but just sign of devotion to one's goal, but now the context of "needing to remain always in movement, like the water, to not stagnate into a swamp" feels similar! In Elden Ring this shade of green, the one leaning more towards yellow, is also a color of poison - Scarlet Rot's "lesser" variant as both types are connected with stagnant water! Even in some location names, like how Rot dungeon in Liurnia is named Stillwater Cave!

Perhaps this particular Rakshasa has at some point stopped her quest that likewise demands to never stop, leading to her spiritual decay (regardless of what anyone thinks of this mission from moral standpoint x) ). It would tie nicely to how beastly lions have those yellow-ish eyes now and not colder green like Dancing Lions depiction, as they're severed from their divine ancestry and reduced to watchdogs! It could be similar with Godrick, who has been fixated on the distant idea not likely ever getting into his grasp, and who has been only accumulating more strength through endless grafting but not becoming stronger as that'd require battling and winning! (Though considering Godefroy had no Rune and was also doing grafting, it is likely generational stagnation rather than his own!) Maybe I am looking too deep into it, but spiritually stagnating seems to be significant. It would give burial of Rakshasa where water is always flowing a poetic meaning, as if honouring her with always drifting essence at least in death!

In other words,

[pumpkaaboo]

Fun detail about the Cainhurst equipment in Bloodborne: The Cainhurst set is one of the few armor pieces in the game which are actual metal armor, and there is a cool lore reason for it!

We know that the reason hunters don't wear metal armor is that it doesn't do much to protect you from the beasts. Indeed, the Cainhurst Knight's set is leather/fabric for this very reason (emphasis mine):

Attire of the knights of Cainhurst. A regal piece graced by intricate goldwork. The Cainhurst way is a mix of nostalgia and bombast. They take great pride even in the blood-stained corpses of beasts that they leave behind, confident that they will stand as examples of decadent art.

The Cainhurst armor, however, is different (emphasis mine):

Silver armor worn by the royal guards who protect Annalise, Queen of the Vilebloods at Cainhurst Castle. This paper-thin silver armor is said to deflect blood of ill- intent, and is what allows the royal guards to capture prey for their beloved Queen, so that one day, she may bear a Child of Blood.

The Cainhurst Armor was made for those who would be fighting humans, not beasts! Whether as guards against any would-be assassins, or as hunters of blood dregs (which you only get from still-human hunters).

The other metal armor pieces in the game follow this trend as well. The Gold Ardeo was worn by the Executioners who hunted the Vilebloods, and the Yahar'gul set (worn by people who kidnap, you guessed it, humans) comes with an iron helm which calls this out explicitly (emphasis mine):

Iron helmet worn by hunters of the Unseen Village. Removing the hood reveals something reminiscent of a warrior of a previous age. This headwear is made of metal, a rarity for hunter garb, and has high defense, but only against physical attacks.

A previous age of warfare, perhaps? There's indications of war in the Chalice Dungeons, with armored bodies and piles of weapons scattered throughout (incidentally, the armor found on the bodies in the chalices is the same as the armor worn by some of the people in the paintings at Cainhurst).

So yeah! Metal armor is for hunters/soldiers who fight people, leather or cloth armor is for hunters/knights who fight beasts.

[madlabgames]

Player's Guide to the Iron Revolution

Welcome to Ironhold. The world you're about to enter isn't one of high fantasy, chosen heroes, or benevolent gods. This is a world of smog and iron, of roaring forges and grinding oppression. You aren't an adventurer seeking fame and fortune. You're a laborer, a cog in a vast, merciless machine, and your masters are monsters.

This guide will give you everything you need to build a character ready to survive—and perhaps even fight back against—the brutal regime of Ironhold. Your story isn't about what you'll find in a dragon's hoard, but what you're willing to sacrifice for a taste of freedom.

What You Need to Know: The World at a Glance

The Rulers Are Werewolves: The Bloodpact Faction, a militaristic society of werewolves, rules this domain. They're strong, brutal, and see humans as a resource to be exploited. Their enforcers and monstrous Mesa Wolves patrol the streets.

The Gods Are Silent: The Mists that cage this world also block the influence of any outside power. There are no gods who answer prayers, no patrons who make pacts. You're on your own.

Life Is Labor: Your existence is defined by your work. Whether in the searing heat of the forges, on the high-rise construction rigs, or in the dank hydroponic caverns, your purpose is to serve the state. A system of payment by company scrip keeps you in perpetual debt.

The World Is a Cage: The lands between the fortified cities are a toxic expanse called the Wastes. Travel is only possible via heavily armored trains. Venturing into the Wastes or the mysterious Mists that surround the domain is a death sentence.

Myths and Monsters: You've grown up with propaganda posters warning of vampiric saboteurs—the "Sanguine Covenant"—blamed for accidents and unrest. You've also heard hushed, terrified whispers from those who have survived Waste Duty about "Stitchers," things of metal and flesh that unmake the living. To you, both are just ghost stories meant to keep you in line.

Building Your Revolutionary

Your character is a product of this strife. When creating your character, follow these steps.

1. You Are Human

All player characters are human. Your strength comes not from exotic ancestry, but from the grit and determination to survive in a world that wants to crush you.

2. Choose Your Lineage

Your lineage reflects the culture of your ancestors who were trapped here long ago. Choose one of the three human lineages:

Stonewright: Descended from the original mountain-dwelling tribe, you're tough, resilient, and have an innate understanding of stonework and engineering.

Weaver: Descended from a communal people of artisans and traders, you're skilled in your craft and thrive on the bonds of your community.

Scrapper: Descended from nomads and outcasts, you're a resourceful and nimble survivor, at home in the forgotten fringes of the city.

3. Choose Your Profession (Background)

Your background is the job you were forced into by the regime. Choose one of the six available backgrounds:

Forge Worker: Toiled in the heat of the Great Forge.

Construction Rigger: Built the city's high-rises and walls.

Hydroponics Cultivator: Grew the grim food that sustains the workforce.

Enforcer Brigade Deserter: Fled your post as one of the regime's brutal police.

Functionary Scribe: Pushed papers in the city's bureaucracy.

Dregs Scavenger: Survived in the lawless underbelly of the city.

4. Choose Your Class

Your class represents the skills you honed to fight back. All subclasses are unique to this world and designed to fit its themes. The following classes are available:

Artificer

Barbarian

Bard

Fighter

Monk

Ranger

Rogue

Wizard

(Clerics, Druids, Paladins, Sorcerers, and Warlocks are not available in this setting.)

Themes to Expect

Labor and Strife: This campaign is about the struggle of the working class. Your challenges will revolve around sabotage, espionage, street fights, and organizing a rebellion, not clearing out ancient dungeons.

Shades of Gray Morality: You'll have to make difficult choices. Allies may not be what they seem, and the path to freedom may require you to get your hands dirty.

Hope Is Forged, Not Given: There's no prophecy to save you. Hope isn't a passive thing; it's a weapon you must build yourselves, one small victory at a time.

You have lived your life with your head down. You have followed the rules, worked your shifts, and endured. But a new sound is joining the rhythm of the forges—the whispers of revolution. And now, you have a choice to make. Your story begins at the moment you decide you've had enough.

[therenlover]

Balm (A Medieval!Helmut Zemo x Maid!Reader Fic)

A/N: Guess who's back from a 2-year hiatus and dragging Zemo back into style with me kicking and screaming? ME! ME! ME! More explanation is to come about why I've been gone and what the plan is now, but for the moment, enjoy the most-requested unfinished fic I had from before my mysterious disappearance <3

Synopsis: Your forbidden dalliance with Baron Zemo, the lord of the house, has finally landed you in the dungeons, subject to the whims of the guards and the endless passage of time. As your sanity slips away, you wonder what will come first, your execution or the Baron's return?

Tags: Hurt/Comfort Heavy On The Comfort, Reunions, Medieval!Zemo, Maid!Reader, Dungeons, Psychological Trauma

Rating: M (+18)

Warnings: References to Recent Sexual Assault and Psychological Torture (Male on Female, No Graphic Descriptions), Imprisonment, PTSD Symptoms **Stay safe and avoid this fic if you need to, this was a personal project made to help me cope with my own feelings about my trauma**

Word Count: 5,800~

_________

“Where is the girl?”

Sharp voices, some unknown and some chillingly familiar, boomed against the dark walls that closed in on me by the minute, gaining ground with every agonizingly long second. They were still far out, at least a minute away from the wrought-iron door of my cell. Somehow, though, I couldn’t bring myself to care. No, not anymore. If my execution was finally rapidly approaching with the sound of armor and thundering feet, it would be much more to my benefit than anything else the men approaching could possibly do to me. Or what they had already done.

The thought sent a shiver down my bare form despite the hardness of my heart.

Was there any torture, commonplace or strange, worse than what I had already endured at the hands of men who considered themselves to be bringers of justice and keepers of peace? I could not fathom it. Even a painful, slow death in the iron maiden would be preferable to the time I had been confined to the dungeons of the manor I’d once called home.

A soundless laugh, weak and bitter and halfway to a rib-crushing cough, escaped my cracked lips at the irony of it all. I tasted blood with every swallow.

Yes, I decided death was a welcome friend a long time ago, even if with it came the moment I dreaded most of all. In the pitch darkness, I let my eyes fall closed, and somewhere down the hall, the cacophony of voices grew louder.

“Why was I not informed of this the moment I returned to the manor?”

“I assure you, my lord, we thought it for the best-“

“For the best? You ignoramus-“

My lord.

The words stirred nameless feelings in my chest. Screaming, sobbing, nameless feelings that pulled the dregs of my humanity back to the stony surface of my strong facade.

How long had it been since those words had left my lips, a veneration above all others reserved only for the man I loved, despite their demands? I couldn’t even wager a guess. There were no windows in the dank room that served as my personal hell, just darkness and torchlight. The only way of keeping track of the suns and moons that passed was through the changing of the guards, and I had come to anticipate those for an entirely different reason. Counting the days had ceased being a priority long ago. It was much more important to count the passing shifts in order to prepare for the true punishment, doled out by faceless men in near-identical leathers. Here I was little more than the Baron’s abandoned whore, and rather than counting days I counted the cycling of warm bodies in the frigid underground air.

Horror and shame and rage coursed hot in my veins at the thought.

Surely this amount of men could only mean I was to be escorted to your execution, but I wondered in the darkness: Would they defile me one last time before dragging me out into the square, heavy hands and covetous eyes taking and taking and taking until there was no chance of forgetting what they had stolen from me, even as I took my final breaths? Or would they feign justice instead, slipping my bruised body back into the rough prisoner’s uniform that had remained crumpled in the corner far beyond my reach since the first hours I’d spent at their mercy? Either way, their impure actions would be evident when they dragged me out to the town square, which was a small blessing amongst the terrors that awaited. Maybe it would not be clear to the public, but the Baron… he would know.

He had known every inch of me. He would have to know.

He would see the marks, so similar to those left by his own fingers and teeth and lips and palms, and he would know the truth of the cruelty I’d faced, but he wouldn’t turn away from the sight of my broken body. It was his job as a crowned head to witness my death to the end the same as any other prisoner, no matter how gruesome or horrible an end I met. Perhaps that was to be his end of the punishment for the beautiful crime we’d shared. Perhaps, in a turn of events that I could only now imagine in the depths of my despair, he wouldn’t feel pain or punishment at all. My head could roll to his feet with no more than a tired sigh from his royal lips.

None of those possibilities really mattered though. Nothing mattered because nothing could be changed. Not anymore.

Distantly, I wondered if they would hang me, burn me, or separate me from my head. If I was especially unlucky, which I usually was, they might choose to make an example out of me and choose to draw and quarter me instead. The thoughts hung heavy in my mind, and all the while the end of my life drew closer and closer, marked by angered shouts and the gentle glow of torchlight, growing brighter and brighter in the corner of my sight.

I closed my eyes to the oncoming reality.

Seeing their reaction to me, strung up nude and probably still dripping with spend, would be too much. instead, I allowed myself to listen. That was the one sense they could not sully or steal away from me. Besides, if I kept my eyes open I would be forced to behold the faces of the guards, and I would much rather not have features to put to the nameless, faceless shadows that haunted both my nightmares and every waking hour. I had managed to keep them anonymous in my mind until now, and I would prefer to keep them that way until the end.

Something clanged a few feet away from the cell door, loud and tinny.

A voice called out from beside the noise, low and raspy. Familiar in the worst of ways. “My lord, what are you doing down here?”

“Where is she?” A new voice replied, “Which cell?”

Or… perhaps the voice wasn’t new. It rattled something within me, and slowly my memories regained some of their clarity. His voice was louder than I was used to hearing it, rougher around the edges than I remembered, but it was Helmut’s voice nonetheless. A weak smile spread across my bloodied lips despite my internal protestations.

He had come.

For what reason I still couldn’t say, but he was right there. He had come back and he was searching for me. The sound of him, his heavy footsteps and thunderous timbre close enough that I could almost imagine grasping the sounds from the air… I could not begin to describe the strange feeling bubbling up through my chest at his very presence, so close and yet so far. Still, I did not dare make a noise, I doubted I could manage a shout or even a whimper if I tried to, and instead, I listened as intently as I could.

The frantic conversation outside only grew louder as the men approached my cell. It was hard to fully focus on it. Through my hazy delirium of starvation and pain and hope, I could only focus on the image of his face in my mind, smiling brightly down at me in the firelight as he had so many times before. His touch was a phantom on my burning skin. It was a memory so close to reality that if I kept my eyes squeezed shut, it was almost indiscernible from the real thing, down to the bruises on my hips and the ache in my legs. Still, it was a fantasy, the final beautiful dream of a scullery maid who had taken too much from this cruel world to be allowed to continue to live in it.

I relished in every single moment I was gifted with him; past and present, real and imagined. There was little else I could possibly do but wait and hope, and hope was a dangerous thing.

“I’m afraid you’re too late, Baron. She is… no longer with us,”

The words made all the warmth I’d gathered up through my dreaming turn sour and cold in an instant. This was why hope was such a dangerous game for me to play. It comes just as easily as it goes, but it never leaves without taking something with it.

“What?”

“Her womanly constitution was simply too weak for the dungeons, my lord. We did everything by the book, I assure you of that, but she couldn’t manage it past the first week. She. Perished in her sleep,”

The guard's voice was so sickeningly genuine that even I almost believed him.

“That cannot be true. I refuse to believe it is true,”

“Aye, my lord. Any of us men could verify,”

Metal slammed against metal in the distance as shouting began in earnest, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. No, my mind was far, far away as I pondered the consequences of what I had witnessed.

I began to think that they never intended to let me die. At least not in the way I had been meant to. Instead, they would kill my soul and rob me of my sanity until my heart simply gave out from the horror of it all, hidden away in the bowels of the Baron’s manor where screams of pain and wails for help would fall on deaf ears. No one would come looking for me again. No one would even know I had survived. A sob escaped my mouth, breathy and broken. Would the tortures never cease?

A sudden silence followed.

Helmut spoke again in a quiet, measured tone. “What was that noise,”

I sniffled as the faceless man outside the door clambered to cover up whatever had caught the Baron’s attention.

“What, my lord?”

“That noise. What. Was. It.” The T seemed to be spat from the baron’s quivering lips. “I thought you said no others remained in these cells as we descended, so what could possibly be making noise?”

“I can assure you it was-“

A slam echoed through the dungeon. “Tell me the truth, or I shall imprison you long enough to find out when someone of your… constitution would perish under these conditions.”

There was silence.

No one spoke or moved an inch. I couldn’t even manage a whimper in that soundless eternal moment that seemed to stretch on and on into the oblivion that surrounded me on all sides. Creaking armor finally cut through it all, breaking through the void, and like a spark on dry kindling, everything burned quickly from there. Something clattered to the ground, metal rattled, boots stomped and keys clanged on their loop. Still, I could not bring myself to open my eyes, even as the great iron door of my cells groaned open and exposed my bare body to a new rush of freezing air from the hall.

All at once, silence prevailed again, cut only by the wails of air rushing down from the stairway.

I couldn’t lift my head; it was far too heavy on my trembling shoulders with my grubby, matted hair falling like a filthy curtain in front of my face. I didn’t need to lift it, though, to know Helmut was there in the doorway, beholding me in all my shame. Another sob cut its way through my throat and body at the thought. I was so consumed in my pain that I almost missed the sound of soft footsteps on the packed earthen floor beneath me.

“Schatz?” He whispered. I winced at the tenderness of the nickname he had once grown so fond of. It was like I could slowly feel him comprehending the level of my suffering the longer I sat, eyes screwed shut. If I stayed just like that, unmoving and unseeing, I might be able to imagine it all away like a dream. That was easier than the alternative. He had finally seen me as what I had always been: nothing. It was only a matter of time before his kindness soured too.

Despite the gruesome scene before him, though, he did not turn away. He did not run.

Instead, the Baron took a few tentative steps forward. I could practically feel his presence before me. Then he inhaled, sharp, but stayed silent for a moment more. If I hadn’t dared to know him better, I would have thought he had reached out to touch me before choosing another course of action. He couldn’t have done that, though. There was no possible way he still cared for me, especially after seeing me in such a state of filth and shame. Right?

“Oh, my sweetest one,” Helmut murmured, “what have they done to you?”

And just like that, I shattered at his slightest word.

“M-my lord, I…” my throat burned in protestation, a thousand red-hot needles thrust with every breathy whisper, “I have failed you. Punish me how you see fit,” In a sudden rush of pain, it was as though I could feel every bruise and slice on my body, every aching muscle in my arms screaming for release from the manacles above my head. I didn’t dare strain against the restraints, though, because even with Helmut present I couldn’t fathom what might happen if I stepped out of line knowing the guards were just steps away at the door. Despite the fear, it was excruciating.

As if he could sense your agony, the Baron jumped into action. “Someone remove her shackles! Now!” He shouted back towards the door.

I could hear a bit of shuffling behind him, trembling as the noises grew closer and louder. There were people with us now, people who might witness firsthand the impropriety of my relationship with the lord of the house. People who would use that against me in the worst of ways. A whimper escaped my lips at the thought as I could feel them lean in to undo my hands from the bolts on the wall. Though no one else would possibly notice, the man above me still smelled like sex.

Helmut was a constant tether to sanity through the terror. A distraction from the world outside the two of us in each following moment.

“You have not failed me, little one,” he said, “In fact, I’m incredibly proud of how strong you must have been.” His voice was soft, one only ever used for me. It felt almost too good to be true.

I shook my head, ignoring the sharp pains that shot through my neck, eyes still firmly closed. I couldn’t allow myself to hope. Not yet. “Why have you come here?” I begged, “We cannot be seen together. Your reputation…”

He sighed softly, and a familiar hand came to rest on my knee. I jumped from the alien sensation at first but corrected myself quickly. It was just Helmut. I knew those calloused palms by touch alone, as sure as I knew my own. Those hands were just as incapable of hurting me now as they had been when I first held them in the soft lamplight of the harvest festival so many moons ago.

“I am the head of this manor and the Baron of these lands. If I wish to protect the woman I love, I am well within my rights to do so,”

“Don’t,” I protested.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t give me hope. Not now, not so soon before we’ll be parted again,”

With a loud clunk, my wrists were released from their manacles.

After however long I had been imprisoned in this dark, wet hell, the muscles in my arms had weakened considerably. What once was toned muscle from years of labor now sat taut against bone, withered away with time and disuse. I could do little more than let them drop to my sides as the Baron rubbed calming circles into my knee with his thumb.

Why couldn’t he see how much it would hurt to be apart from him after this agony? How allowing me to dream now would only mean those dreams could be crushed when he returned to his life above. I had committed a crime, after all. Even if the punishment I had endured until this moment ended, I would still serve the rest of my treasonous sentence to the death without him. Alone. It all made me feel so defeated that I could do little more than cry dry tears and memorize the feeling of his skin on mine. It would keep my mind with me longer once he had gone if there was a pleasant memory to cling to. I couldn’t decide, though, if keeping my mind would be a blessing or a curse.

Helmut didn’t give up despite my insistence on pushing him away. In fact, I could almost imagine he grew gentler as a few guards shuffled about behind him. “Where are the fine clothes I had given you, my love?” he asked, “How can I warm you?”

What little moisture had returned to my mouth dried completely in an instant at his words. I couldn’t rip the answer from my tongue if I was forced to with a dagger at my heart.

Still, the Baron tried again. “If they’re here, please try to guide me to them. I can have one of the guards retrieve them,” The moment he mentioned the guard, every muscle in my body tensed, trembling from the effort of it all despite my mental protestations to calm. I couldn’t raise any alarms. I was too late, though. Helmut took note of my reaction with a measured rage as his teeth snapped together. “Ah,” his voice was a low growl, “I see now. No need to fret, Schatz. I’ll have Oeznik bring you a fresh gown. You won’t need whatever they dressed you in down here from now on anyway,”

Distantly, I could hear the hurried rush of slippered feet disappearing down the stone corridor, and I could only assume it was the trusted manservant following his lord’s orders to fetch me some clothes. I was so focused on following the sound of footfalls up the stairs that I almost didn’t notice the warmth of a cloak settling around my bare shoulders, draping over my nudeness and surrounding me with the string musk of cedarwood and sweat. I almost felt safe there, within the thick fur and leather of that mantle. When was the last time that had been even partially true? I couldn’t honestly say I knew. Maybe was that Helmut was there, so close to my side, or maybe it was that my modesty was covered for the first time in gods know how long, but no matter which was true, a strange sense of relief began to flood my veins. It burbled up to the surface like some sort of warm natural spring flowing from the very core of my being. For the first time in ages, I could breathe without terror, even if not without pain.

After the initial rush, though, it almost felt as though not facing my imminent demise made everything worse.

If I wasn’t actively about to be executed at any given time, that meant I had to face the things I’d seen, the things that had been done to me… oh yes, things felt much worse when I had to confront them in the proverbial light of day.

All at once, I learned that there were fates far worse than death and that mine was one of them.

A gasp, wet with blood and spittle, escaped my throat as I burrowed deeper into the cloak, pressing my face to the collar where the Baron’s scent was strongest. He was quick to bring a hand to my face, but I pulled away from the gesture. I couldn’t bear to look at him. To let him look at me… it was unfathomable. Not as I was.

Despite everything, Helmut was as patient as he could be while I trembled there. He rubbed his calloused thumb slowly over my gaunt cheeks, hushed me, and dried my tears. Everything about him seemed to radiate comfort like the sun.

The switch flipped when one of the guards made the mistake of speaking.

“Baron,” the new voice said, voice low, “don’t you think it best to-“

He never got to finish his sentence.

No, before he had the chance to utter another syllable, Helmut was standing at his full height and grasping the man firmly by some piece of his armor, dragging him closer across the muck on the floor.

“What were you about to say to me?” The man did not reply, but the Baron refused to relent to his silence. “I asked you a question, worm. When your lord commands, you obey,”

The guard's reply was stuttered out as soon as his heaving breaths allowed him a moment's respite. Was Helmut… choking him?

“I was going to suggest that you return to your father to get an official pardon before you decide to elope with a rightfully imprisoned woman, Baron, no matter the nature of your business with her. Need I remind you that he is the true Baron of this manor until his passing, after all,”

That was, evidently, not the correct thing to say.

A growl ripped free of Helmut’s throat that could have been loosed by a wild beast as he shoved the man harshly to the floor.

I heard others move to defend their comrade, but they all seemed to still at the sight of Helmut’s ferocity. In an instant he was standing over the fallen guard with what I could only imagine was a murderous rage from behind my shut eyelids.

“Rightfully imprisoned? Rightfully imprisoned?” Rage dripped from every seething word, “There is no rightful imprisonment when you strip a prisoner of their decency- of their humanity! When was the last time she was fed? Allowed time off the rack to care for herself? Rightfully imprisoned… you lost the right to claim that the second you locked her down here without the advisory of my father, who has given me full permission to free her and return her to my quarters immediately,” Helmut paused for a moment before adding, gravely, “I shall call a healer for her there to confirm what I believe to be true, and if it is… well, may the gods have mercy on your souls, because I certainly will not,” With that, he spat into the face of the guard at his feet and stepped back, taking heaving breaths, though I could not tell if it was from the effort of his rage or the effort of holding it back.

The moments that followed beloved into sort of quiet chaos in the darkness of my mind. There was a shirt scuffle as the guard seemingly rose to his feet once more, aided by his compatriots, while Helmut stood silent. I could just make out the shaky sound of his ragged breathing. Everything else just melded into a cacophony of voices and loud, disjointed noises that seemed to jump out of the darkness and straight for me. It made me want to implode.

It was as if, all at once, everything became… too much to bear. The air was too thick and the sounds were too loud and every inch of my being was alight with small bursts of needling pain, driving far past my skin and deep into my bones as the room grew colder and colder around me. The sensations were nothing compared to the tortures I had endured before, physically or otherwise, but with the promise of freedom and safety waiting so closely to me in the form of the man that I loved, even the smallest of pains felt unbearable and unending. It was as if every bit of suffering. Had fought through at the hands of the guards to survive to see this glimmer of hope had been compounded into one, large pressure that threatened to crush me the second I clawed my way to freedom.

Helmut would never allow that to happen, though. Not again. Not after he had seen me in this state. I could only suspect that this newfound softness in him meant he wouldn’t allow me away from his side for quite some time, no matter how ridiculous or unbelievable such an idea seemed. In the deepest, most shameful corners of my heart, I could only hope it would be true. I wanted desperately to be tucked away someplace soft and warm and utterly mundane where I would never be forced to face another ounce of horror or darkness for the rest of my life.

Somewhere between the sudden influx of sensation and the daydream of peace, I forgot to keep my eyes shut.

My eyelashes peeled apart, adhered together with some sort of muck, revealing Helmut standing before me. The sight of him was enough to let me fight through the pain of the light and keep them open. A soft sob escaped me once more.

His body was tense and readied for movement, white shirt soaked with sweat and grime and what looked like it had to be blood as he stood with his back to me, one arm outstretched back towards me in a silent gesture of comfort he didn’t even know if I would see. He could not reach me, nor did I think he intended to, but it offered me security nonetheless. His other hand sat easily on the hilt of his sword, resting sheathed on his hip as it always did during long trips outside the manor walls. Had he come directly to me upon his return home, not even taking the time to shed his outdoor cloak and sword, only to find me missing from my place in his chambers? I banished the thought from my head. That was unimportant at the moment. What mattered was that Helmut’s body served as a barrier of safety between me and the rest of the world. It gave me just enough courage to keep my eyes hooded, but open.

It took a moment to adjust to the darkness. While the torches in the hall still burned brightly, the great iron door blocked most of their glow from reaching my gaze. The light was just enough to focus in on the world beyond Helmut’s silhouette, letting me catch sight of the glint of a guard's sword appearing from the dark corner of the room before the Baron did.

What once was quiet chaos devolved into loud, maddening chaos from there.

I screamed. That was certain, even when all else was not. It was a dry, cracked, raw thing that escaped me as the hidden guard broke rank and lunged across the room. There was no humanity in his ice-cold eyes, not the slightest glimmer of anything besides bloodlust and pure self-preservation crossing his face, and yet somehow, despite all the time I had spent at the mercy of him and his companions, I held no fear for myself. Instead, the terror that wracked my body was for the man who stood between me and the sword.

Helmut was the only thing in the world that could keep me from an eternity of torment and his attacker knew that better than even I did at the moment. He intended to kill the man I loved, a treasonous act, in exchange for the safety of his own hide. If Helmut was bested… I couldn’t even fathom it. The moment stretched on endlessly, and yet there was no time to think about the sight I beheld. As the Baron took note of the man, he drew his own sword. I urged my own abused muscles forward, managing to almost drag myself across the few feet of space that separated me and my lord and his hand, still outstretched towards me; a beacon of reassurance. The moment my fingers brushed his, I collapsed, muscles spasming against the dirt. I had done my part. From there, I could do nothing but close my eyes once more and wait for the telltale metallic noises of swordplay.

They never came.

Helmut jolted before me, hard enough that even from my spot on the floor I couldn’t help but wince, and I heard the telltale swish of his blade leaving its sheath, feeling the wind in its wake on my teary face. Still, the terrible fight I anticipated didn’t rage on. I couldn’t hear any of the other guards present so much as breathe. I found myself utterly lost in the darkness. My cluelessness towards the current situation was almost worse than seeing Helmut skewered, at least in that moment as I reached out and grasped fistfuls of dirt, desperate to hold on to something real. Someone groaned a quick, pained breath, and then everything ceased to be.

Time stopped there for a while. Maybe it was only in the prison of my own mind, but it was as if the space between breaths had extended out into the infinite darkness and fear that consumed me whole. He couldn’t be dead. Even if he was, I couldn’t bear to check.

The moment was only broken when a familiar voice cut through the silence. “Shall I have him disposed of, my lord?”

My eyelids were heavy, but I forced them up and open as I released my fistfuls of dirt and dragged my face up to look towards the door only to find Oeznik had returned. With a bundle of linens in one hand and a bloodstained sword in the other, he stood flanked by some of the elder Baron’s personal guards. If looks could kill, the man who had attempted to take Helmut’s life would have been in a much more merciful situation, and the baron stood before you, triumphant.

His blade remained pressed into the man’s neck, keeping the poor bastard frozen mid-swing for fear that one wrong move would take off his head. All the while Helmut’s face remained hidden from my view. If his body language was anything to go by, it was taking all of his self-control not to slaughter the guard right then and there, but he remained as still as a statue, unreadable and cold, as I reached a trembling hand up to his still extended hand like a lifeline. He squeezed my cold fingers in his own comfortingly the moment we managed to touch. 

“Just ensure that he doesn’t move from this cell,” Helmut replied, “None of them should,”

It was as if the great group of men gathered around the door forgot how to breathe. I, on the other hand, felt freer than I had in an eternity.

“Shall I lock the door behind us?” Oeznik inquired.

Despite his hidden face, I could hear the pure wickedness and vengeance in Helmut’s grin. “Yes, Oeznik, and station a few of our best men at the door. One of them may still have a key, and all would be for naught should they simply remove themselves from captivity,”

“Right away, my lord,”

It shouldn’t have surprised me when Helmut let go of my hand and finally shifted himself to regard me once more. Still, the look in his eyes made my heart feel although it could stop beating. He turned and knelt before me, taking my muddied face in his hands and brushing a thumb over my cheek. His touch was so tender I almost forgot to breathe, as though taking even a gulp of air would break the spell and plunge me back into reality. The light, remained, though, even as he sank to his knees to assist me.

“There's no need for us to tarry here any longer, schatzi. Come along now,”

An almost childlike, hysterical wonder flooded my senses as I tried to pull his cloak tighter to my body. The warmth was addictive. “We’re going? Together?”

“Yes darling, together,”

“But what if someone sees us? Baron, I can’t let them see you like this, especially with me in such a state. If someone from town were to see-“

Though his face betrayed none of his emotions, the ice-cold tone of Helmut’s voice was enough to send a shiver down my aching spine. “I will cross that bridge when I’m required to. Now come. You’ve spent far too much time in this dank hole already and I refuse to let you remain here for even a moment longer,”

I needed no more convincing than that to take the Baron’s hand as he helped me up on unsteady feet.

Standing again was a strange sensation, to say the least. It was as if I were a fawn taking my first steps across the damp forest floor in spring. Helmut kept me upright against his side and jumped into action the moment he was needed, bracing my body on his as my legs gave out time and time again in the steps toward the door. When the struggle became too great for him to bear watching, he wasted no time before sweeping an arm beneath my knees and cradling me to his chest, making sure to keep me wrapped securely in his mantle along the way. From there I could do little more than let the shock set in, drifting in and out of the present as he carried me away from the hell hole I had believed I would never leave again. All the while, a loose, pained smile crossed my bloody lips.

On the way up the steep, winding stairs, I faintly recalled hearing Helmut muttering to Oeznik, who remained a few paces ahead of you during the ascent like a buffer. The contents of their conversation eluded me. I could only assume they were speaking of what had transpired, but I couldn’t say with any certainty. Not with the way my mind seemed to be covered in a thick fog as soon as I let my eyes drift shut once more, tucked into the furs that surrounded me on all sides. The only certainty in the world became the steady thrumming of Helmut’s heart and the heady musk of travel clinging to his clothes and skin.

As the last of my lucidity faded, I opened my eyes one last time, only to be greeted by the warm light of dawn. It streamed down upon me in a million colors from the stained glass windows lining the hall. I had believed so truthfully that I would never see the sun again, and yet here I was, bathed in the glory of a new morning. A new day.

Everything became lost to time from there as my eyes drifted shut once more, still catching glimpses of colored light from behind my eyelids until I lost my grasp on the present.

[a-driftamongopenstars]

Woe, tangle be upon ye

(I'm @dungeons-and-dregs's main)

asdfghj sure hope nobody throws a Threaded Spike at me now,,,

[burningvelvet]

Excerpt from Percy Shelley's eighth canto of The Revolt of Islam (1818):

"O Love, who to the hearts of wandering men Art as the calm to Ocean's weary waves! Justice, or Truth, or Joy! those only can From slavery and religion's labyrinth caves Guide us, as one clear star the seaman saves. To give to all an equal share of good, To track the steps of Freedom, though through graves She pass, to suffer all in patient mood, To weep for crime, though stained with thy friend's dearest blood, —

To feel the peace of self-contentment's lot, To own all sympathies, and outrage none, And in the inmost bowers of sense and thought, Until life's sunny day is quite gone down, To sit and smile with Joy, or, not alone, To kiss salt tears from the worn cheek of Woe; To live, as if to love and live were one, — This is not faith or law, nor those who bow To thrones on Heaven or Earth, such destiny may know.

But children near their parents tremble now, Because they must obey — one rules another, And as one Power rules both high and low, So man is made the captive of his brother, And Hate is throned on high with Fear her mother, Above the Highest — and those fountain-cells, Whence love yet flowed when faith had choked all other, Are darkened — Woman as the bond-slave dwells Of man, a slave; and life is poisoned in its wells.

Man seeks for gold in mines, that he may weave A lasting chain for his own slavery; — In fear and restless care that he may live He toils for others, who must ever be The joyless thralls of like captivity; He murders, for his chiefs delight in ruin; He builds the altar, that its idol's fee May be his very blood; he is pursuing — O, blind and willing wretch! — his own obscure undoing.

Woman! — she is his slave, she has become A thing I weep to speak — the child of scorn, The outcast of a desolated home; Falsehood, and fear, and toil, like waves have worn Channels upon her cheek, which smiles adorn, As calm decks the false Ocean: — well ye know What Woman is, for none of Woman born Can choose but drain the bitter dregs of woe, Which ever from the oppressed to the oppressors flow.

This need not be; ye might arise, and will That gold should lose its power, and thrones their glory; That love, which none may bind, be free to fill The world, like light; and evil faith, grown hoary With crime, be quenched and die. — Yon promontory Even now eclipses the descending moon! — Dungeons and palaces are transitory — High temples fade like vapour — Man alone Remains, whose will has power when all beside is gone.

Let all be free and equal! — From your hearts I feel an echo; through my inmost frame Like sweetest sound, seeking its mate, it darts — Whence come ye, friends? Alas, I cannot name All that I read of sorrow, toil, and shame, On your worn faces; as in legends old Which make immortal the disastrous fame Of conquerors and impostors false and bold, The discord of your hearts, I in your looks behold."

[gengarghast]

God I really, really wanna play (or be the DM for I guess) a version of DougDoug's D&D campaign but Destiny themed. That'd be sick as hell right???

For reference, this is the D&D campaign in question. It is in essence a very, very simplified version of D&D.

[wisteriawater]

Technically this is chapter 28 because I do chapters with multiple parts sometimes. I am up to 69k+ words now, goodness. I don't post every upload anymore because then I would clog the tags ^^" Chapter 28 is titled "To think you would outlive me..." In which Thistle fears he is passing away due to a phenomena that no one really understands yet. Post-canon Thistle rehab fic {With many twists}. Description: What makes someone human? Where is the line between monsters and people, and just how thin is it? These questions come to most peoples' minds at some point in their lives, but most people have the luxury of letting them fall to the wayside, completely content to ignore it. The question is just too complicated; nay, even too painful to ponder. However... sometimes the need to answer that question cannot be ignored. When Laios needs to start thinking about leaving behind an heir, he struggles with the very concept of finding someone to do so with. At the time, the question of ‘What makes someone human’ was as far from his mind as could be- and so were the last dregs of the winged lion. Unfortunately, that which is blithely forgotten has a way of rearing its ugly head. Meanwhile, he has been struggling to protect Thistle from the consequences of his past for a year now- but it has not been easy, or even fruitful. What do you do with an ex dungeon lord that fights for numbness? Why is it that Thistle is able to fight for anything after having his desires consumed? {This is a Thistle rehab and Labru heir fic.}

[thefirstknife]

Getting real sick of a certain subset of Destiny players complaining that it’s a baby game and crying to Bungie to nerf exotics and abilities when their ENTIRE POINT IS TO BE STRONG in specific ways as if they are being locked into using them.

IF YOU WANT AN EXTRA CHALLENGE STOP BEING SUCH A DPS GOBLIN AND JUST EQUIP SOMETHING THATS NOT TOP TIER META AND STOP COMPLAINING JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

MOOD. Go off.

It's incredibly annoying to me. They always use the argument of "the game should FORCE me to do things, I should not SELF-IMPOSE challenges." And like. ? I'm sorry but what? It's a video game for a big audience, it's here to be playable and accessible to the widest possible playerbase. There are plenty of ways to make the game difficult for yourself, so knock yourself out if that's your thing, but don't force others into it.

Like, I enjoy hard content, I regularly at least attempt day 1 raids, I do master raids, GMs, solo and solo flawless content and all that. But only when I want to. Sometimes I don't and I don't want to suffer in a patrol zone or struggle in a seasonal activity I'm doing for the story. The majority of the players don't want that. Designing games for the professional gamers only has NEVER been a good idea and never will be. Fifty streamers can't sustain a video game. It needs casual players who will want to come back to the game instead of feeling defeated.

One of the reasons I really enjoy helping others is because I know that casual players tend to struggle in stuff that's basic activity for me. I've seen people unable to get through a strike. I've sat for 10 minutes rezing someone who couldn't do the jump in a seasonal activity. I want those people to be able to play basic content without feeling frustrated and I want them to know that there are people out there who will help them out.

And this doesn't apply just to basic content, although it should start with that. I think all dungeons and raids and everything should be things that all players can complete. Fine, doing a master raid with all challenges should be tough, but it should be achievable with time and practice, not impossible. What a lot of these "pros" want is just completely divorced from reality.

It takes days and days of practice every time a new master raid is out for me and my team (all with thousands of hours of playtime) to get comfortable to finally finish it. We're far from casual players and it still takes a lot of time to be able to finish hard content. Making it even harder is insane to me. Like, if something is so hard that my team full of people, each with 5000+ hours of playtime and a coordinated team that's been raiding together for years now can't finish it, that means it's absolutely impossible for probably 90% of the playerbase. That's wild to me. Raids and GMs should have more people playing them. If master raids are too easy for you, Mr. I-Play-Destiny-For-A-Living, that's on you buddy. Unequip the super god tier god roll meta guns and loadouts or play something else.

And ofc, another excuse they make is "if I don't use meta, I am not going to win a raid race!" Then don't. Idk. Let me play you the tiniest violin. This affects literally nobody except a grand total of 50 people. Run your meta in day 1, and play with random shit otherwise. Play raids with all white weapons. Play without mods. Play without a HUD. Do things solo only. I don't know, make up a way to spice things up for yourself. I'm not interested in that and neither are 99% of the players out there. The game is genuinely hard enough for the majority of the players. On top of that, I am here to feel like a powerful space fantasy superhero. I am NOT here to die to dregs in patrol zones. If there's ONE thing that I know for a fact that put people off from Lightfall (as in this year of Destiny), it's the difficulty changes. They're annoying, frustrating and for some a barrier to entry more than anything else.

[simeonscott]

Dungeon Dregs.

[katyspersonal]

Hmm... How about Izzy for Character ask meme? There isnt really any thing about them but if I am not wrong you liked them a lot.

You are NOT wrong :>

(Asks from this ( x ) meme)

Favorite thing about them:

I was already intrigued by the fact that this character tapped upon the thing of "the best way to fight the beasts is to become a beast yourself"! Just.. look at this:

Izzy gave me an impression of someone thinking too ahead of their time. But then, my FAVORITE favorite thing came with discovery of Bloodborne retranslations! They were said to be apostate, not 'irreverent'! So, straight up rebel to a Church, maybe even one once serving it but detracting, and I can see why! Izzy is the PUUUUNK.

Least favorite thing about them:

How easy it is to brush this character off with the assumption that they're just Suspicious Beggar т.т Not something I personally agree with, of course!

Favorite line:

Lol. Lmao, even. xD It is okay, though, I am writing a lot of her, so I'll grab a quote from my writing!

"When ya' sentence someone to die in the darkness... make goddamn sure they won't learn to SEE in it!"! That's her way to say "I lived, bitch" basically dfshhfsd After she got chased down into Loran Dungeons as a "beast and a heretic" when she snapped at Vicar Ashton! (My timeline of 'generation of Vicars' is: Laurence - Ashton - Norbert & Laura - Amelia, all names taken from cut content for Bloodborne).

Ashton is a PIECE OF SHIT and everyone knows he deserved it, and how he incurred it, but it was a good chance for him to... misjudge Izzy, to say the least. Healing Church has been waiting for a good excuse to kick Izzy out of the Hunters because of her uncontrollable nature and "dangerous" thoughts. Not only she lived, despite still having been not so experienced hunter, but also had quite a change of heart from simply misunderstood person with impulse issues to someone seeing succumbing into beasthood as "humanity regaining their true form again". 🙄 Having met Fauna was also a big factor.

....the worst part is that I wrote her before I touched Dark Souls with ten yards stick, but @val-of-the-north said that coincidences like this just prove that my creativity is on the same wavelength so I don't need to scrap and rewrite everything XD

brOTP:

Izzy and Archibald, without question! Yes, they both studied the Darkbeasts and were heretics for the Healing Church for trying to use beasthood powers for advantage! They think outside of the box!

But they also balance each other well! Archibald is very pragmatic and calculating man, and Izzy is open-minded and accepting. Both are slow to anger unless the right strings are pulled, and when one of them is ready to murder, it is another who can stop them! However, whereas Izzy falls into extreme about "forsaken civilisation and let the animal impulses guide us!", Archibald argues that there must be civilisation in beasthood as well, lest in this "future" everyone just eats each other into extinction. At the same time, Archibald can appear not daring enough, and Izzy helps the shared research progress with risky methods! Archibald can't step into the water without knowing its depth, Izzy jumps straight in it!

OTP:

Damn, I wish I knew which ship with Izzy is 1) more preferred than others and 2) is not on the hatefuck territory dshfdhfd Izzy's significant connections are either just friends, or people like Laurence or Ludwig who meet their match in him in the end and maybe at some point you just get tired of battling? -_-

I suppose Valtr, then! In my story, Izzy deceives him to join the League, especially with how they grew hostile to the Healing Church too! He wanted Valtr's secret of envisioning the human dregs, except... well, instead of destroying them, she studied them to benefit from this power and submerge stronger into it. 🙄 🤦‍♂️ But, they were rather passionate with each other while it lasted. As wrong and deceitful it was on Izzy's side. They have that awful bitter EXes energy where they still have tension between each other when they meet. xD

Izzy x Suspicious Beggar is "healthier", on the other hand! When Izzy learned of Loran curse still manifesting in him, he got jealous, true... but also, fascinated! Izzy gave him acceptance no matter what, telling him that dark impulses within him were not to be suppressed and uprooted, but divine? :p They'd play fight like actual animals often, Beggar would revel in the luxury of confessing a murder to someone and not be hunter, and she was giving him belly rubs!

^^^ (no face distortion slider jumpscare) Also, since Suspicious Beggar and Henryk 1) share the absolutely identical slider for that mole on the nose 2) both are connected with Loran and 3) just fucking Look At Them, my monkey brain started to headcanon them as brothers XD So, if Beggar and Izzy became a couple, Henryk would basically do this:

sdjfhdsgfgds Also, before I considered the obvious implication that the beast Yamamura chased from not-Japan was result of Cainhurst doing trade with not-Japan, I came up with the story that the beast he chases IS Izzy's beast form.... This is not a shipping matter, I just think it is funny how I ended up inserting her in League's story so much!

nOTP:

This character is basically an OC with a prompt! Ships with Izzy depend on how character is interpreted beyond studying beasthood and being an apostate to the Healing Church! How can I tell!

Random headcanon:

Yamamura's hat comes from being still attached to Izzy's spikes even when she became a giant beast! It used to be her hat. He was not able to murder her with the weapon that he had, just stabbing and stabbing frantically, until Valtr walked towards and casually lended him his Whirligig Saw to be able to finish the job. He then put the hat on still shocked Yamamura's head, as sort of a trophy, that Yamamura later cleaned and fixed from the damage to his best ability! Izzy wanted to make sure that the curse of beasthood could never die down, so... yeah, even if entire Yharnam got nuked, there is still a large ticking bomb in Yamamura's village now... :^)

Unpopular opinion:

There is a whole type of hostile NPCs, known as 'Successor of Izzy', or 'Izzy's Admirer', roaming Loran! Josef is simply a summon variant of these enemies, which respawn! So, my unpopular opinion: if there is a bunch of people who followed Izzy's footsteps into Loran to find whatever insight Izzy found, then Izzy must have been a significant person for the setting! Legendary Hunter, not just another Hunter!

Song I associate with them:

I will share two? They kind of contradict one another in what Izzy vibe they make me think of, but hey, associations with songs are very vague thing! :p One made me focus on the "sad" look at her story, as if she was corrupted there in Loran, as well as her previously grappling with her impulses. Another is..... well, the most punk shit I've ever seen. xD However, both will probably make you age at least 20 years fsdhfdh

Favorite picture of them:

Okay, by now I figured that this question doesn't specifically refer to fanart... but there are NO images of Izzy from the source material! So I have to share art of her that I like the most anyways: