#far east black metal onslaught

[forcedapotheosis-blog]

Haven't uploaded anything in a while, so have Abigail's new EP "Far East Black Metal Onslaught" complete with shirt and poster. #15/30

[ichorai]

the golden daggers ; j.yh

pairing ; enemy!yunho x princet!reader

summary ; in which your kingdom is destroyed, and you come across a soldier from the enemy realm in the forest.

words ; 1.7k

warnings / includes ; mentions of death and weapons but nothing graphic, yunho being a lil shit but also being a softie </3

a/n ; here's my second drabble for @ficscafe's royalty drabble event !! fyi for those who don't know, princet is a gender-neutral term for prince / princess ! i might be turning this into a full-fledged fic, who knows 👀 special thanks to @minghaofilm and @subways-stuff and @gyukult for reading through and tolerating my onslaught of frustrated rambles <33

The brisk morning air whistled past you, brushing against your skin in a wintry kiss. With muted footsteps, you stepped over the forest foliage, gentle and cautious. You lifted your sleek wooden longbow, keeping the feather-tipped arrow nocked. Just in case.

In times like this, you couldn’t be more careful. There could be traps anywhere.

Your kingdom had only just collapsed yesterday. To be quite frank, you had no idea what you were going to do. Where was a royal princet to go once everything you knew burned to the ground?

The memory of smoke and flames still played vividly in your mind, a staggering mirage of harsh ambers and furious carmines and sooty blacks. The smell of death had filled your nostrils, slowly seeping into you, wrapping its grimy dark fingers around your heart as you sobbed over what you lost.

Death had poisoned you, and you just barely managed to pull away before it could see you choke.

That was last night. Today was going to be different. You had nothing left to lose now.

“Your Highness,” a voice rumbled from behind a nearby tree. With your heart thudding angrily against your ribcage, you swiveled around on your heels, watching the man stride out of the shadows with open arms. “Though, just how high could a princet be without their kingdom, hm?”

This man, evidently, was a soldier of your kingdom’s worst rivals. You could tell by the glimmering silver medallion he bore on his jacket, their intricate insignia etched precariously into the metal. Wars were fought for centuries, and thousands of battles found your nation victorious and proudly arrogant. Until… well, until last night.

You wouldn’t be surprised if you were the last survivor of your kingdom.

Without giving it a second thought, your pinched fingers let go of the arrow’s feather-tip end. It sailed through the short distance between the two of you with a resounding hiss, slicing through the air like a hot knife through butter.

A tumultuous concoction of apprehension and awe roiled about you as you watched the man pull two gold-encrusted daggers out of their scabbards, side-stepping at lightning speed and cutting down your arrow as if it were paper.

You paused for just a millisecond, before reaching behind for your quiver, grappling for another arrow. What a fool you were, thinking you could beat him in a game of speed. In just a blink of an eye, he stood in front of you, the cool metal of his dagger rested gently against your jugular. One wrong move, and you would be dead in a matter of minutes.

“I’m Yunho,” he murmured with a sinister grin, blowing a strand of dark hair away from his narrowed eyes. He practically towered over you, glancing down with a mischievous glint in his gaze.

You didn’t bother to grace him with a response, muscles frozen in place.

“Are you afraid of me, Your Highness?” He attempted once more, leaning down slightly to meet your angry stare. “I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me. Drop your bow.”

With a gentle huff, you slowly moved your hand away from the quiver, coming to slowly wrap around the wrist that held the dagger against you. It pained you to see that your own fingers were trembling uncontrollably. Were you afraid? You couldn’t quite tell. Yunho watched you with a strange look of curiosity, his pupils flitting from your ashen face to your nimble fingers, wondering just what you were planning to do next.

And that was when you jerked your head away, keeping his wrist still with an iron-grip, taking advantage of his momentary surprise. You hooked your leg around his buckling knees, shoving him backwards. Yunho fell onto the damp leaves of the forest floor with a pained groan.

Though he was a giant of a man, you managed to kick the daggers across the damp forest foliage, toeing them farther and farther away from his reach and pinning his hands above him as you situated yourself just above his hips.

“My, my,” Yunho crooned breathlessly, chest rising and falling just centimeters away from yours. “Never thought I’d be in a position like this with a princet of the enemy kingdom. You smell better than I expected. Is that fougère I detect? A hint of honeyed-peach eau, perhaps? Forgive me, it’s hard to tell underneath the stench of burnt fabric, Your Highness.”

“Shut up!” Were the first words you managed to snarl out. “You… you took everything from me.”

“And we had nothing to begin with, princet,” he murmured coolly from beneath you, regarding you with a well-hidden anger broiling in his narrowed gaze. It took all you had in you not to pummel your fists against his perfectly sculpted features. “Are you going to kill me? If so, I ask you to do it quickly. You don’t quite strike me as the torturing type.”

There was a tense pause lingering between the two of you as you huffed out a small breath, hanging your head in shame. It almost physically pained you to let go of his wrists as you clambered off of his larger frame.

“Thank you,” he said.

You remained silent, a frivolous symphony of death wailing into your ears. If you let him go now, you’d be a goner. And despite that, you knew that you hadn’t the courage to end his life.

After all… he had every right to be angry.

You curled your hands up into tight fists, balling up the wet leaves of the forest floor. Yunho watched you with bated breath, arching his eyebrows. “You know I have to take you in, right? You’ll be a prisoner for the rest of your life.” His question was asked softly, tentative. You were no longer the villain he thought you were.

“I know.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

Swallowing around your clogged throat, you bobbed your head once more. “I know.”

The two of you pushed yourselves off the damp floor. After you grabbed your longbow, he snagged his daggers (kicked an impressive distance away), then the two of you proceeded to stride through the forest in unvocalized tandem. Several times, he pried his lips open to say something, but promptly snapped his jaw back shut, a bashful expression gracing his features. You weren’t entirely sure where he was taking you, but you doubted that it’d be anywhere good for you. You could already picture the musty cell they’d throw you in.

Following several tepid seconds, Yunho spoke up to ask with a slight air of curiosity, “you had a chance to be free. Why didn’t you take it?”

You winced slightly, fiddling with the notched wood of your longbow. “I have nothing left, Yunho. What’s the point in running?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed uneasily. A gentle breeze ran through the trees, tousling the withered foliate hanging on the gnarled branches. Bits of dead canopy fluttered downwards. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted a browning leaf catch against the strands of your hair, a minute frown marring your lips. You reached upwards to pluck out the weather-beaten frond, flicking it away in the midst of your silent brooding.

“Stop,” he commanded after a moment’s hesitation, lifting an arm to your abdomen to halt you mid-step. “I can’t… I can’t do this. You have to go.”

Incredulity seeped into your voice. “What?”

In frustration, the giant of a man carded his hands through his ink-hued locks, screwing his eyes shut.

“Yunho—!”

“I’ll pretend like I never saw you. Please, just go. Get on a boat and sail far away from here.” He paused to unsheath one of his gold-encrusted daggers, glinting almost maliciously against the filtered sunlight. You had to hold in a gasp when he held the hilt out to you, gesturing for you to take it. “I hope to never see you again, princet.”

With nimble hands, you slowly curled your fingers against the handle, the cut-jagged gems cold against your skin. You twirled the blade with surprising agility, and Yunho almost found himself grinning at your natural talent.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you letting me go?” You couldn’t help but be slightly suspicious.

Yunho refused to meet your gaze, shame sitting heavily on his shoulders. “I… I don’t want to hurt you. I wasn’t lying when I said that before. You lost everything, and it’s my Kingdom’s fault. My people are proud, and they don’t want to admit when they’re wrong. For that, Your Highness, I’m sincerely sorry. I just… I don’t want to be the reason you’re rotting away in prison.” One of his hands reached out to grasp yours, laying his warm palm over both the dagger and your knuckles. You almost flinched backwards, eyeing him warily. “If you head far enough east to where no soul knows of ridiculous trivialities like Kingdoms and royalty lines, you can… you can start over. No titles, no responsibilities, no ties. I’m giving you a chance to leave behind your bloody past. You’ll be safe. Or, as safe as one can be in these times.”

When he slipped his hands away from yours, you could almost feel all of his warmth pull away. Reality seemed to sink into your consciousness, and you also staggered backwards, sucking in deep breaths of cold forest air.

“Thank you, Yunho,” you whispered, clutching his dagger and your bow. “I won’t ever forget about this.”

He dipped his head just slightly, the smallest of smiles quirking his lips upward. “Have a safe journey, princet. I know I said I hoped I’d never see you again, but… I don’t think it’d be too awful, would it?”

“Far from awful, soldier.” You were pleasantly surprised to find genuine mirth coloring your words.

You were well aware of Yunho’s gaze piercing holes into the back of your neck. There was a queer concoction of relief and dread roiling about in your stomach. Nonetheless, you swiveled on your heel, thumbing the grooves and bumps of the sleek dagger he had given you, striding away from the enemy who let you go.

[thechroniclesofdaraliss]

100 Mutants & Masterminds Session Ideas (Part III)

It has been some time since I made one of these lists. But when you fight crime with your best friends every few weeks from the comfort of your DM chair, you have some stories you want to share. That’s right, another 100 ideas for all your superhero adventures! Whether you defend a small neighborhood or the entire planet, there should be something here for everyone. If you like what I do, please like, comment, or reblog. So let’s grab our utility belts and bend our morals like iron bars, and take to the skies for another day of heroism!

A mercenary from the last war has developed psychic powers, and is targeting the rich. Forcing them to see the war through his eyes, to endure what he did behind enemy lines.

An underground community is revealed that has people forced into acting out the master’s wishes.

An anonymous Hero is stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.

The world’s smartest computer strays from winning chess matches and desires to conquer humanity.

A miraculous medical treatment has the whole world excited. Strange insects can apparently heal any wound or cure any illness. But the origin of these bugs is horrifying. They are mingled with vampiric blood, and perform these procedures to cure patients and eat them once they’re made whole. They cure meat, not disease.

A mysterious figure (robot, knight, etc) waits at the same location for a worthy opponent to defeat him. No matter who approaches, they remain undefeated.

The villain has infused the next rainfall/snowfall/hailstorm with a deadly substance (acid, micro-explosives, a carnivorous liquid species). They will hold the city to ransom, or let loose with the deadly drops.

A skilled hypnotist is bending people to their will. They don’t appear to have designs of conquering the world or even the city, but they are still ruining lives.

A fiendish union has formed in the criminal underworld. Four of the most powerful syndicates have joined forces for their biggest operation ever (super-heist, massacring heroes, expanding influence to another major city, etc).

The most powerful figures in the city are committing acts that open them up to scandal and criminal punishment. Acts they wouldn’t perform in a million years. They seem to have no will of their own, like puppets. You must find out who’s pulling the strings.

The sewers of the city are overrun with monstrous creatures at the call of a villain (hidden foe who’s resurfaced, new alien presence, mad science gone wrong).

A young con artist is being hunted by the mob and the FBI. He plans to ruin both his pursuers in one big sting before skipping town. You have been tasked with taking him down.

You discover that a young individual is absorbing demons to fuel their power. But they aren’t trying to cause harm. They’re doing this to arm themselves for an onslaught against an archdemon. To fight fire with fire.

Royalty from the Far East has arrived to demolish agents of an organization dedicated to tearing their family and throne apart. They have requested that you and your team assist in defeating them.

A rogue religious leader is performing miracles of biblical proportions. You must get to the bottom of this before he garners too strong a following. His human flock could become an army and his meta-human acolytes could become powerful villains.

The Police department’s golden boy/girl has been shot in cold blood. While they are recovering in the hospital, their would-be murderer is still on the loose. You need to track them down before they try to kill them again.

Someone is using Transmutation to turn all of the scrap metal into military-grade weapons.

A monster is running across the city, absorbing people’s bodies almost instantly by touch. Is he a dog on someone’s leash, acting on his own, or part of a larger operation?

Energy-absorbing entities are fighting to reach earth’s surface so they can harness the power of the planet’s core. Earth will shatter and die, but they will continue their conquest among the starts. That is, unless you stop them.

A scientist is attempting to perfect the technology to steal superpowers. But when his latest attempt goes sour, he is an amalgamation of all his subjects. A screaming mass of bodies, personalities, and super-capabilities.

A demented and extravagantly wealthy cyborg has designs on taking political office. While the press and voters adore him, there’s evidence suggesting he’s in league with the underworld.

A collection of stone tablets have been discovered at different sites across the globe. But when they are unveiled at a museum opening, they summon giants made up of the four elements, all in order to summon “the Fifth Element.”

Men are turning up in hospitals wounded and completely unaware of who they are. It turns out that a psychic has been taking to the streets. One with the ability make people forget who they are the more they make you look into their eyes.

When a team of arcane champions dies, the ancient order they represent go for the next best candidate, your team. They need you to defeat an Elder Evil.

A villain has been released from prison. Their crime was forgiven too easily, and they seem to be immune to the law when they get out.

A convention for heroes is being held in your city. All of the heroes gather for panels, signings, and interaction with fans. It’s the perfect place to recount your adventures, or for your enemies to set a trap.

After a public execution, a practitioner of black magic has risen from the grave. You must discover the truth behind how it was done, as their return is the beginning of a “grand design.”

A meta-human child has emerged with incredible powers. But they don’t want anything other than to find their mother, who has gone missing.

A legendary hero has issued you a challenge. If you complete all of his trials, he will share the secret to expanding meta-human abilities.

In wake of the solstice, a supernatural force demands an audience with you and your team. The twist? The villains have intercepted this message and want to destroy the contact point before you get there.

A band of young rebels aid your team in the fight against crime. But their methods entail terrorism, wanton destruction, and interrogation of civilians.

As you engage in superpower practice, you discover that anomalies are forming in your DNA. Is it the next stage in your development as a hero, or could this spell disaster for you and your team?

You discover that the world will be destroyed in a few years time (alien invasion, super-virus, magic-induced apocalypse) unless you destroy the pillars of the plan. While some prove to be simple, others demand you to do the unthinkable.

A movie star comes to the city, and their arrival coincides with the theft of government property. Is the star responsible, or is there more to the story?

An Android has become obsessed with creating “the master race” of humanoid automatons. They will stop at nothing until the human race has been corrected to fit his picture of perfection.

You discover an artifact that forced you to delve inside yourself and confront your psyche, both the good and the bad.

Your team has been forced into different bodies. You must find a way to get them back before the villain uses them for his own ends, and cuts you off from getting them back forever.

You investigate the theft of cargo on vehicles coming into your city. You soon discover that a race of animalistic humanoids (shark-folk attacking ships, mole-folk attacking trucks, etc) are stealing weapons that will be used to slaughter their people.

A young and inexperienced meta-human hopes to join your team. Is this a trick, or an earnest attempt to right wrongs in your city?

A vain perfectionist of a meta-human has kidnapped your entire team and forced them to run a deadly obstacle course.

A malicious presence haunts your home base and starts taking your team away one by one.

You and your teammates decide to crash a gathering of villains, only to find that they are trying to start over. All they want is to lead normal lives.

A killer is running rampant in the city, and he’s donning a Battlesuit to ensure he can fight off heroes. But how does a serial killer get access to such technology?

A contract killer has been murdering heroes so he can cover them in the press. It’s a scam worthy of the underworld’s foremost assassin.

A series of artifacts must be gathered, or a sorcerer will leave your loved ones in a permanent state of petrification. The catch? They plan on killing them anyway and unleashing a demonic entity onto your world.

One of the most powerful individuals in the city is funding both heroes and villains. They plan to start an all-out war and to get rich from the ensuing chaos.

You battle a Necromancer in the local cemetery. However, you discover that the graveyard is the ritual circle for the most elaborate mass-summoning in history.

A series of giant robots have threatened to destroy the city if the heroes don’t willingly surrender themselves. When captured, the villains reveal their plan to use your team as batteries for their most ruthless collection of weapons ever: The Dominators.

The heroes uncover a conspiracy that is nearly a century old, and the agents are finalizing the plot to demolish the country (cold-war tensions, remnant Nazi Regime, etc)

A twisted sorcerer intends to revive his deceased patsies and take over the world with their help.

Someone is kidnapping women and sending them off to an unknown location.

The most powerful and famous heroes from across the world gather in your city. Soon after, you receive word that someone has intercepted the location and intends to kill them all.

A host of powerful villains declare war on the heroes, using their mobile fortress and demand the heroes surrender. You and your team fight back with everything you have from your headquarters to each other.

A villain has set out to poison the city’s water supply.

A call for help has come from the local jail/asylum. But when you arrive, it turns out that the villains want to test your morals and put you on trial for your deeds as a hero.

A small group of aliens crash-land on earth, hoping to find one of their missing brothers/sisters. But when they find them, the individual wants to stay on earth, the result is a fight that could endanger the whole city.

Artifacts with diverse and terrifying sets of capabilities have fallen in and around your city. A villain hopes to gather them all, and use them to become invincible.

People are going missing across the city, and resurfacing the next day, completely drained of energy and reduced to shriveled husks. Find the killer before they strike again.

The Triad has entered your city and is muscling in on every criminal operation.

A mischievous meta-human has set out to use their abilities for their own ends. While they start out a hero, they discover that consequences don’t meet them, and they elect to use their abilities for more selfish reasons. If left unchecked, this potential ally could become a formidable enemy.

A new technology has been developed that has the capability of stealing data from a computer and/or demolishing it.

Miniature menaces (robots, aliens, goblins, etc) are attacking all over the city. In order to stop them at their source, you need to keep fighting and capturing them. Once you clear the area, the villain will reveal themselves and there will be an all-out battle.

A shroud of darkness falls over the city, and you have been touched by a malevolent presence within it. Since you are tougher than the average human, you’ve gotten hit with influence of this being, with only some of the drawbacks. Use this new power to fight back!

You tamper with the timeline, and suddenly your city is prehistoric, Bronze Age, colonial, modern, and futuristic, all in one!

All of the natural aspects of your city (trees, water, animals) are dying. The source appears to be a center of rot in one of the last vestiges of natural life in your city. Delve into it, and discover an entire lair, home to a Lord of Rot.

A massive crevice has formed below your city, and upon further investigation, it’s a hub of hostile reptilian creatures. You must fight them back, or the city’s will be overrun with an ancient, and overwhelming species.

Oceanic creatures take to the shore of your city and demand that you give up the surface world to the “superior regime.”

A Necromancer poses a challenge, saying he will meet you at the point between life and death. You follow his clues, and arrive at a mausoleum, only to find that you must fight a house of the dead to capture this man.

A tower shoots out in the center of the city, and it appears to be from another time (far past or far future). Approaching it from any angle makes it fire a horrible death-ray. You approach it, and suffer damages, but lose your powers. You must find a way to get them back and to stop the death ray from holding the entire city hostage.

The local police are planning a raid on the local crime boss’ lair.

A villain has approached a member of your ranks with the intent to turn them to the side of evil.

A psychic investigator falls comatose at the scene of a crime, and you swear you can hear their voice asking you to perform tasks to get them back in their body.

A trickster is zooming across the city, causing mayhem wherever he goes. The heroes intervening only convinces him to stick around.

Dark versions of your team emerge and commit the crimes. But when you try to defeat them, they know your every move before you even do it.

You have been chosen to represent earth in a series of intergalactic games that will test your intelligence, athleticism, and combat capabilities. The losers all have their planets destroyed.

A series of crystals are discovered within your city. When touched, they transport you to a dark version of your own world.

A sorcerer has inherited their master’s spellbook. But when they use it, they accidentally unleash powers they are helpless to control.

Someone is combining alien technology with human devices.

An army of aliens is bound for earth with the sole purpose of enslaving every human.

An anonymous terrorist is keeping the entire city on edge, forcing the everyman to perform services for him in exchange for keeping their darkest secrets.

Heroes have become split on the issue of siding with the government, or remaining independent.

You and your team have been outfitted with the battlesuits that will enhance your powers to fight an immense evil force. While they work at first, the drawbacks are crippling.

You and your arch nemesis are forced to work together in order to survive an onslaught against someone who is trying to kill you both.

A new hero emerges, stopping crime as soon as it appears. But it’s revealed that these supposed criminals are staging the crimes because the new hero is paying them to do it. They are actually playing their boss for a fool, and are using this leeway to actually pull off the crime and pin everything on him. He wanted glory, and will instead get jail time unless you intervene.

One of the most powerful crime families has had a coup. Anyone who was part of the uprising will be killed, along with anyone that can be affiliated. The last few survivors come to you for help escaping.

A contest has been announced where all of the most powerful meta-humans will be asked to fight, race, and compete to get the title of “Ultimate Hero.” But those who lose go missing.

A tribe of small creatures have been expelled from their home, and they ask for your help getting it back.

A gargantuan mutant has been terrorizing a small community, and they are helpless to stop him, as he has hostages. You must defeat this creature and rescue the captives.

You and your team elect to take a vacation, but trouble follows you more than ever. Little do you know that all the crimes and accidents are the attempts of a reporter trying uncover proof of your secret identity.

You investigate a set of “mystery spots,” only to find that they are connected by a strange alien presence that bends the laws of physics.

The heist of the century has begun as the villain(s) plan to kidnap all world leaders at a secret meeting.

Children are going missing, and you soon discover the Faye are involved.

A gang war threatens to tear the city apart. All of the most powerful members have meta-human capabilities.

You have been captured by a tribal meta-human society that refuses to acknowledge humanity. However, if you beat them in their challenges, they will determine you as worthy and let you go.

You discover an island in the sky, and must override its weapon system from becoming a threat to the entire world

A mysterious entity is defeating heroes across the globe and freezing them before teleporting away. The assumption is they are gathering these fallen heroes as trophies, but villains soon go missing too.

A mage has been using her influence to summon her most powerful rivals to her, and is stealing their powers. One of them comes to see your team, and says in time, she will try to do the same to you.

Your archrival challenges you to a duel to see who is the best, once and for all. Whoever wins gets to unmask the other. The loser will go into witness protection.

The resurrection of a villain goes horribly wrong, and it’s discovered living humans are required to restore them to their former glory.

You discover a portal that leads to alternate dimensions/parallel earths.

[thebloodlessffxiv]

❂ the basics:

name: An’burcin Vanih, “The Bloodless” age: Late-twenties race: Miqo’te, Seeker of the Sun gender: Female sexuality: Homosexual martial status: Single server: Mateus

❂ physical appearance:

hair: Soft chocolate brown, usually cut into a short bob and decorated with metal beads eyes: Deep blue- similar to the starlit sky height: 5 fulms build: Curvy distinguishing marks: Scars run along her arms and legs- appearing in the shape of incantations common accessories: A bone staff

❂  personal:

profession: Archivist hobbies: Honing her skills in magicks, writing, tea-leaf reading languages: Common  residence: East Thanalan- her tribe resides in the more mountainous region, but she’s commonly found in Drybone markets birthplace: East Thanalan patron deity: Azeyma fears: The death of her tribe and family, Amalj’aa

❂  relationships:

spouse: None children: None parents: An’shagoh Nunh (deceased), N’bhulyaa Witu (alive) siblings: An’suhs Nunh (younger half-brother, alive) pets: None

❂  traits:

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / un-cultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

❂  additional information:

smoking habit: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

drugs: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

❂ possible hooks:

THE BLOODLESS:

An’burcin is the archivist for her tribe’s history- which mostly involves a offshoot sect of thaumaturgy that involves cutting incantations of spells into their body, and using their own blood and that of their enemies to draw ether from. After the passing of their late Nunh- An’bivuh- it was decided that the practice would be forbidden due to the man exploiting it to pursue his own bloodlust, and nearly wiped their tribe in order to do so. An’burcin, looking for a way to protect her tribe from total onslaught, has returned to the old practice. Because of this, An’burcin has been shunned by her tribe, and if not for their desperate need, she would have been banished. She is solely referred as “The Bloodless” by them.

The An’s method of thaumaturgy is a unique one, and may be interesting to a fellow thaumaturge, Black Mage, or even a simple scholar. An’burcin would be glad to share information on it as way to help preserve her culture and history.

DYING TRIBE:

Between the harsh land left by the Calamity, their last Nunh’s exploitation of his own peoples, and the tribe warring with nearby Amalj’aa, An’burcin’s tribe is edging closer and closer to being no more. 

An’burcin is desperate to save her tribe and will turn to any method to do so. Even if they come to despise her, as long as they’re safe and alive she’ll do what she must. Her firstmost concern are the Amalj’aa that frequently raid the An. She’ll gladly lend an ear to those who may be also looking to end their terror- or perhaps somehow forge a path to peace.

GENTLE HEART:

While the past practices of her tribe and the scars running up and down her own arms may give an idea to most that An’burcin is an intimidating and cruel creature, she is as far the opposite. A warm and hopeful woman, An’burcin is glad to make conversation with just about any who cross her path.

what I’m looking for:

Plots, slice of life, friends- pretty much anything! I participate in In-Game, Discord, and Tumblr rp, so just let me know which you prefer/which would work best for your own schedule and we’ll work something out! I’d especially love something that lets me talk about the inner workings of the An tribe. 

oocly, I am:

a weenie. 25+ and will not talk to/rp with minors. I am in CST timezone and work a fulltime 9-5 job, as well as have other obligations and hobbies, so I can’t always guarantee prompt replies unless we schedule an In-Game rp session. Ooc well-being always takes importance to Catgirl Online Rp, so I’m never really in a rush to get replies/anything. 

I also have severe anxiety (which I do get treatment for, but at times it’s still very much so Still There) and can be very socially exhausted from work, so while I don’t mind being the one to reach out and schedule things/plot or talk about headcanons considering my schedule can be ... cramped, I do appreciate it a lot when others put in the effort to come to me to do what’s listed. ;w; It’s nice to feel wanted.

you can contact me via:

here via asks or messenger, on my main @the-rosehouse or if we’re mutuals, feel free to ask for my discord! o/

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 04: THE BATTLE OF LUMBRIDGE

QUEST SUMMARY:

Now that the gods can return to Gielinor, Saradomin and Zamorak waste little time and return to war once more. This time, Lumbridge is their battlefield. While the battle wages on, Jahaan tries to find out more about the mysterious Mahjarrat who has taken a particular interest in him...

CHAPTER 1: THE SHADOW

Despite its fairly large population and wide coverage of land, Lumbridge retained many of the characteristics of a quaint little village. Often regarded by most as the ‘warm heart of Gielinor’, Lumbridge’s buildings were old-fashioned, bright white paint covering the study wooden shell; black cladding was attached for decoration, and the roofs were thatched straw, woven together delicately and with expert craftsmanship. The River Lum weaved its way through the town, dividing it in two. Farmland occupied a lot of the land close to the river, with lucious crop fields and pastures for livestock to roam inside, cared for by the many farmers of the town. One never felt too far from company in the embrace of the Lumbridge community, from the sweet milkmaid Gillie Groats, to Father Aereck, a Saradominist priest inside a small church that stood for over two hundred years, longer than Lumbridge Castle, all the way to the duke himself, Duke Horacio. The duke was a rotund, bubbly gentlemen that took the pride of Lumbridge to heart, using it as a measure of the success of his reign.

Throughout its history, Lumbridge had many problems with goblin raids from western tribes. Fortunately, an unspoken ceasefire was in operation between the humans and their goblin counterparts, though the trice was uneasy, evident by the number of guardsman present on the outskirts of the town. Thanks to the diplomacy of Duke Horacio, peace had been kept thus far.

However, on this day, the tranquil little town of Lumbridge was to be shattered, beyond the realms of a meager goblin raid, and beyond the repair of Horacio’s diplomacy.

This was the day Zamorak returned to Gielinor.

A few days earlier...

After the events that had transpired in Guthix’s cave, Jahaan returned to the Legends’ Guild, hoping those with a little more experience than him might have some wise words, advice, rationalisation - he’d even settle for a limerick. Anything to make sense of what had transpired and, more importantly, where to go next.

Instead, they were a little less calm and collected than what he’d hoped. Many of them simply didn’t believe Jahaan at face value, which was understandable. It’s not every day you hear one of the most powerful gods in Gielinor’s history has been murdered. After a trip to Guthix’s final resting place and a conference with the Guardians of Guthix that had remained there to build a shrine, reality sunk in. Those that did believe Jahaan, or were then shown proof, didn’t take the news all that well.

The Guthixians among them went into mourning, and even those that didn’t worship the deceased deity felt the heavy toll of losing him, especially since one particularly troubling fact hung over them…

...now, the other gods could return to Gielinor.

When Jahaan couldn’t take any more of their worrisome deliberating, he asked if he could take to one of the visitor bunks and try to shift the weight of the day from his shoulders.

A good night’s sleep is what I really need, he kept telling himself, subtly praying that everything would sort itself out by the morning. Of course, nothing’s as easy as that. Even sleep seemed to be a trial, for every time he closed his eyes, he could see Naragun, the innocent Naragi scattered across the wastelands of their home, and Guthix taking his final breaths on that stone tablet.

“Remember your purpose, Jahaan... and please… forget me.”

Those last words echoed a haunting mantra inside his mind, ceasing to allow him a moment’s peace.

That smile…

In the darkness of his mind, he also saw that smile of Sliske’s, smug and full of malice.

Turning on his side, Jahaan let out a heavy sigh and resigned himself to the fact he wouldn’t get much sleep that night.

Turns out he didn’t get much sleep that night, nor the two nights that followed. The days, also, were very restless. The Guild was chaotic, and Jahaan had taken to spending much of his time wandering aimlessly in the forest between Seer’s Village and the Guild. This, however, was not as relaxing as it sounded.

Every single person Jahaan locked eyes with, he was suspicious of. They could be giving him a pleasant smile or a tip of their hat in greeting, and Jahaan would turn a cold shoulder. When he made it up to the pub in the Village, thinking it’d help clear his mind to knock back a few, the crowded atmosphere only made things ten times worse. Their laughing, chattering… everything set Jahaan on edge, and even the whiskey couldn’t sooth his state of mind. People would sit next to him, and he shot daggers in their direction, unprovoked and unnecessary. His shoulders remained hunched and tense, his hand clasped tightly around the whiskey glass, ready to use it as a weapon at a moment’s notice.

“We've met before, but I doubt he remembers me… I've been watching you for quite some time now… I have the feeling our paths are going to cross again very, very soon…”

The words echoed around Jahaan’s mind like a death rattle.

Orlando had been Sliske in disguise, and Jahaan’s inability to see through such a facade led to Guthix’s death.

It was hard not to feel responsible; he’d been played for a fool.

While he’d first brushed off the ominous words of Sliske at the Ritual Site, he now examined them in a much more serious light, with all the consequences that had followed in the recent days.

Who else had Sliske been?

It was the overarching question of the day. He’d obviously encountered the Mahjarrat before in one of his many disguises, shapeshifting prowess being a natural talent for his kind. Had he been a merchant trying to sell him wares? A soldier in battle? A stranger across from him at the bar?

For all the acquaintances he’d made in his years, Jahaan found himself pouring through each and everyone one of them to see if he could find a hint of Sliske within, all the while pouring more and more whiskey into his system.

In fact, he’d drank so much whiskey that he ended up falling asleep at the bar counter, only to be shaken awoke by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Jahaan?” the voice was gentle too, a hushed whisper. “Jahaan, it’s time to leave. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Stirring slightly, Jahaan’s neck creaked like an ancient door as he turned to the disruption. The sudden change from darkness to the light of the bar caused an onslaught of double vision, but through blurry eyes, he just about made out the pastel-coloured shape of Ozan leaning over him.

Smiling, Jahaan drawled, “Heyy Ozan… I thought you and Ariane were in East Ardougne. W-Where’s Coal...?”

“We got back this afternoon,” Ozan replied, perching himself on the stool next to Jahaan’s. “Ariane’s babysitting. She loves the little fella. I heard you were down this way, thought I’d join you for a round before the place closes. I think you might have drank all their booze, though.”

Jahaan rubbed his aching temples. “Did they tell you about Guthix?”

“Briefly,” Ozan confirmed, solemnly. “You’ve got a lot to explain once your hangover passes. Come on, let’s get you to sleep.”

“Yes, sleep...” Jahaan mumbled, the world swaying as he slowly rose from the stool. He thanked fate that Ozan had come to find him, since he doubted he’d be able to stagger back to the Guild on his own.

Very convenient, Jahaan thought to himself. Then, like a matchstick to oil, the thought caught fire, and spread fast. Too convenient… oh gods...

Jahaan jerked away from Ozan’s hand. How did I not realise before? Ozan never went to the cave, never saw ‘Orlando Smith’... he could have easily become him...

Looking puzzled, Ozan ventured, “Jahaan? You alright, man?”

The glare Jahaan shot back could have burned through flesh; Ozan flinched, edging backwards ever so slightly. “W-What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Jahaan’s teeth were rattling as he tried to keep composed. It was harder said than done since the effects of the whiskey had far from subsided.

Ozan looked around him, warily. “Uh, yes? It’s me?”

“You might as well drop the disguise. I know it’s you.”

Now, Ozan was utterly baffled, and slightly scared. “Uhh, Jahaan? Gonna need a little more than that. Who do you think I am right now?”

“Sliske,” Jahaan spat the name like it was poison.

Ozan’s brow furrowed; this did not abate his confusion. “The dude from the Ritual Site?”

Suddenly, in the mere blink of an eye, Jahaan shot forward and slammed Ozan into the bar wall behind him, clattering into it with a pained thud. Ozan opened his mouth to protest, but find the words fall lifelessly from his lips with the cold metal of a dagger pressed against his neck.

“You’re not fooling me again, snake,” Jahaan coldly vowed, his red eyes unblinking.

Most of the few remaining patreons swiftly made for the door, though others watched morbidly, their breath bated, eyes full of blood. The bloodlust was shared to Jahaan, who dug the edge of the runite blade slightly deeper into Ozan’s unprotected neck, drawing a thin line of blood as he did so.

Biting back bile that clogged up his throat, Ozan tried to calm his own breathing as he stammered, “Y-You’ve known me since… since we were little tykes! Y-You know I’m not S-Sliske!”

“I only know someone,” Jahaan countered through gritted teeth, “Sliske said he’d been following me for years, disguising himself as others around me, and what better way to do that than to assimilate himself as my ‘best friend’?”

Cursing internally, the fear in Ozan’s eyes grew as he knew Jahaan had a very good point. Now, it seemed that just begging and pleading his innocence wasn’t going to be enough. He had to think, and fast.

Then suddenly - miraculously, more like - it came to him.

“T-The Mahjarrat, you said they could sense each other, right?” Ozan babbled, pressing himself so far into the wall behind him he felt he’d become one with it at any moment. Yet this time, there was light in his eyes, a hope dancing inside the pupils. “Azzanadra! You and me got him out of that pyramid. If I was Sliske, he would have known!”

It was Jahaan’s eyes that betrayed him first, the blink of realisation that made him feel sick to the stomach, more so than the whiskey ever could. Oh gods...

Quickly, Jahaan peeled the dagger off Ozan and stumbled backwards. “Oh gods, you’re right…” he looked heavily up at his friend, age in his features. “Ozan, I…”

Prising himself off the wall, Ozan rubbed away the crimson dribbling down his neck. It had unfortunately already stained his clothing. “You’ve… you’ve had a lot to drink, and a long few days. Let’s… let’s just get back to the Guild.”

Ozan limped out the bar, and Jahaan skulked after him.

From across the room, a blonde man watched them go. He sipped the last remnants of his drink, and smiled.

“Now just tense the string, hold it tight - steady, steady! You’re shaking! You’re gonna kill the cows in the next field at this rate.”

Jahaan slept for most of the next day, waking up only to empty the contents of his stomach and sip delicately at a glass of water. Luckily, once Jahaan had explained himself and apologised profusely for the whole dagger incident, Ozan was inclined to forgive him. He knew his friend well, almost too well, and had learned that alcohol-fueled tempers were rarely personal. This time, with everything that had gone on with Guthix’s death and the poisonous seeds this ‘Sliske’ fellow had planted, it wasn’t much of a surprise that Jahaan hit breaking point like that.

So, to help his friend decompress after the events in the cave, Ozan offered to take Jahaan to the Ranging Guild a little up the pathway to practice his archery.

“Ego’s the only reason I came out of that fight with Zemouregal unscathed,” Jahaan had gravely explained, “Next time, he might wisen up and use magic, so I need to get better at a long-range combat style, and fast.”

Being renowned as one of the best archer’s in all of Gielinor, Jahaan thought he couldn’t be in better hands than Ozan’s when it came to this. It came so naturally to Ozan - his bow was like a third arm. Translating that to Jahaan was… difficult.

Granted, Jahaan wasn’t bad, by no means. Almost all of his arrows had hit the target, and a couple even got dead centre.

“OZAN!” the sharp, alarming cry startled Jahaan, causing his arrow to embed in the fence post to the side of the target, a good two feet from the mark.

Snapping around, the two men saw a young lad huffing and gasping for air, bright red in the face. “Urgent. Guild. Come now!” was all he managed to choke out before his throat gave up.

Exchanging worried glances, Ozan and Jahaan picked up their supplies before rushing back to the Guild.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[superiordragonlorde]

Heymans Breda

Ok, day 3- Heymans Breda for @teammustangweek . Warnings: there’s one curse word I think so... yeah, nothing too bad this time. Unless you have a deep phobia for dogs or cats. In which case, don’t read. Alright then, please enjoy!

     No one ever dared to oppose the Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye. Her stony expressions, blunt, no-nonsense retorts, and terrifyingly fast and accurate aim with her pistols were the biggest deterrents. This fear was the reason why Breda was keeping his mouth clamped shut and letting his sweat drench the military uniform he was obligated to wear. His eyes darted from his paperwork to the small, black and white mound of fur that sat obediently next to Hawkeye’s chair, head resting on their paws.

     Breda couldn’t understand why the military would allow a dog to enter its facilities. They were disease carrying, loud, vicious creatures that could attack anyone at a moments notice. One minute you’re playing with the neighbor’s dog, throwing a stick around and racing across the yard. The next minute they jump at you, teeth snapping near your face, their hot breath washing over you, and clawing at your arm holding the stick. No doubt about it, dogs were not a man’s best friend. They did, however, appear to be Hawkeye’s best friend. The Lieutenant Colonel never went anywhere without Black Hayate and the dog never ceased to follow in her shadow. It was no wonder that the most dangerous person in the world would enjoy the company of the most dangerous animal in the world. Life was so cruel.

     “Hey, Breda,” Havoc leaned over his desk across from him, a cheeky grin showing off behind the cigarette. “Doing ok over there, buddy? You look like you’re trapped in a cage with a rabid animal.”

     “That’s because I am,” Breda hissed, snatching a glance at Hayate. “He’s a dangerous, feral, deadly animal that’s going to attack us at any given moment.” Havoc chuckled.

     “Ah, come on, Breda,” he snickered. “Hayate’s not so bad. He’s just a sweet ball of fluff. Ain’t that right,” he cooed at Hayate who raised his head at the strange voice, tail wagging. Hawkeye cleared her throat, giving the Second Lieutenant a pointed glare. Havoc paled, gave a flustered cough and returned his attention back to his desk, pen scratching furiously. Breda tried to put his focus into the stack of paperwork that mocked him at the corner of his desk, but he could still see that curled black tail over the edge of the wood. He swore that the dog was mocking him, letting him know it was there, prepared to jump at him at any time...

     The door slammed open, a wonderful distraction from the mass of fur that sat in a mocking form of innocence in their office. Everyone’s heads shot up in unison.

     “Ed!” Havoc exclaimed in surprise at the sight of a bright red coat and golden hair standing in the doorway. A suit of armor clanked up behind him, giving a tiny wave into the office. Ed looked over at Havoc with dull, bleary eyes. He blinked, brow furrowing.

     “Woah, Cheif.” Breda started to stand. “You don’t look so good. Are you ok?” Ed turned his head towards him, face hardening, making the bags beneath his eyes more prominent.

     “M’fine,” he grunted, trudging towards the Colonel’s office and ignoring every pair of eyes that were locked onto him.

     “Hold up there, big guy,” Breda called, grabbing Ed’s upper arm. The kid huffed, glaring up at him as he tried to squirm out of his grip.

     “What?” he growled, his glare softer than usual, weary and tired. The boy looked like a wreck. His face was drooping with fatigue, actually, his entire body was, his clothes were hanging disheveled off of him, and his hair was falling out of the trademark braid he wore.

     “You look awful,” Havoc piped up, striding over to them. He placed a hand on Ed’s forehead only to have it smacked off.

     “Thanks,” Ed deadpanned, writhing around a little more in Breda’s hold.

     “You sick?” Havoc pressed.

     “No,” Ed huffed. “Just tired. It’s not that big of a deal.” Breda hummed, not overly convinced, but decided to release his arm anyway. Ed took a step back, still trying to form an intimidating glare. It didn’t work.

     “Can’t you sleep on the train ride?” Havoc inquired. Ed scowled.

     “Train had maintenance issues,” he ground out. “We had to stop a couple cities west of here. Decided to walk the rest of the way.” He shrugged, his shoulders sagging when he released them and turned back around towards the Colonel’s doors. Breda tried to calculate how far the kid had to walk, but geography was never really his strong suit. He couldn't even remember which city was to the west of East City.

     Ed reached the wooden doors, hand placed on the door handle when a soft mewl echoed through the office. Everyone stiffened, including Hayate. Ed dropped his head against the door with a dull thump, closed his eyes, and gave a long, groaning sigh. Nothing moved in the office when silence returned.

     “Alphonse.” Ed’s voice was flat and cold. Breda glanced back at the younger brother behind him. If armor could sweat, he could imagine the kid soaking as he shifted his feet. “Was that... what I think it was?” Al tapped his index fingers together, his gaze fixated on them.

     “U-uh,” he stammered. Breda could almost picture a nervous smile stretching across the helmet. “What was what?” His voice squeaked at the last word and he gave a nervous giggle. “You must be hearing things, Brother-”

     “Al,” Ed warned, eyes still closed. “Don’t play dumb with me.” Breda watched as Ed sighed, looking like every drop of energy and patience was being dragged out of him. He faced his brother, his face devoid of anything but exhaustion, and walked up to him. He held out a hand.

     “Cough it up.” Al hesitated.

     “But, Brother-”

     “Al.” Breda didn’t realize a fifteen-year-old kid could look and sound so much like a parent at the end of their rope. Al sighed, admitting defeat, and made slow work of unbuckling his chest plate. Once the piece of metal was removed, a brown, black, and white head peeked out, greeting everyone with a small meow. Alphonse grabbed the cat with giant, gentle hands, far gentler than Breda would have thought possible, and placed them into Ed’s outstretched arms. Ed sighed, situating the cat onto one of his arms and rubbing his face with his free hand.

     Breda watched the cat, admiring her beautiful markings. Cats, he decided, were much better than dogs. Cats were small and didn’t bother you so long as you didn’t bother them. If they really had to have an animal in the office, Breda would have much preferred a cat. Cats were way better than dogs.

     Hayate, however, did not agree with his opinion.

     When the cat had been placed into Ed’s arms, she peered over his shoulder, taking in all the sights the office had to behold. She had a fairly good view of everything, but that also made her easy to see as well. Which wasn’t convenient when there was a dog inhabiting the room. When the two animals locked eyes with one another, all order erupted into chaos.

     Hayate leaped to his feet and raced to Ed, barking up a storm. The cat flailed and tore out of Ed’s grasp, landing on the tiled floor, and scampering off. Hayate gave chase and soon, everyone else followed, trying to catch one of the animals. The cat lept to Havoc’s desk, knocking off his ashtray and scattering his papers and pens. Hayate followed in pursuit on the ground. Havoc lunged at her, slamming himself into his desk as the cat raced away. She continued to run and jumped onto Falman’s absent desk, leaving a trail of multicolored fur in her wake. Ed went to grab for her as well, but her tail slipped between his fingers and he spewed dozens of colorful curses.

     Next was Fuery’s desk and she nimbly made her way over the gap to his workspace, tearing through the various machines he had there, pushing some off in her haste. A wire wrapped around her foot and she dragged a severed phone with her, catching it on everything else.

      After Fuery’s desk was a bookshelf. She jumped to the tallest shelf she could reach, her foot weighed down by the dangling phone. Hawkeye raced after her, but Hayate was faster. He hopped up, snatching the phone in his mouth. The cat gave a harsh yowl and dug her claws further into the shelf. The bookcase leaned precariously, then toppled. The animals scurried out of the way with Hayate bounding towards Hawkeye, the phone still clamped in his jaws, and the cat sprinting towards Hawkeye’s desk, freed from her burden.

     She sprung up to the tidy desk, toppling a stack of finished paperwork. Alphonse tried to grab her this time, but she bounded over his armored shoulder, clearing the distance to Breda’s desk and showering the floor with more papers. Breda jumped in front of her, blocking her way. Hayate wasn’t finished in the chase either, though, and jumped up to the desk, right on the cat’s heels. The cat leaped at Breda, hopping off his head. Breda heard Ed give a triumphant, “Gotcha!”, but it was drowned out by his own shriek.

     Hayate had intended to follow the cat’s path, but his stockier body couldn’t copy such a feat as jumping over Breda’s head. He landed on Breda’s chest instead, knocking the Second Lieutenant over. They laid sprawled on the floor.

     Now, Hayate was able to give Hawkeye, Falman, and Mustang some affectionate licks on their hands when they allowed it, and Havoc, Fuery, Edward, and Alphonse all allowed him to lick their hands and faces, too. So, to have the opportunity of Breda, the only human in the office that never let Hayate shower him with affections, be helplessly nose to nose with the small dog was just too good of a chance to miss.

     Breda screeched as the soft, warm, wet tongue slathered his face in saliva.

     “Oh my- get it off!” he howled, trying to guard his face from the onslaught. “Getitoffgetitoffgetitoff. Get. It. Off! Havoc!” he screamed, hearing his friend laughing at his plight. Actually, it sounded like almost everyone was laughing. Those jerks! He was being attacked by a dog and all the germs and diseases he was carrying. It was torture. And they were laughing!

     Hawkeye finally came to his rescue, calling Hayate over to her. The little dog sprang off of Breda to sit by her feet, earning a pat on the head for his obedience. Breda scrambled up onto his desk, pulling his feet up with him and keeping his eyes on Hayate at all times.

     “What-” Everyone spun around to find Colonel Mustang standing at the doorway to his office, staring at the chaos that had transpired within the room. His eyes roamed over the fallen bookshelf, the papers cluttering the floor, Breda cowering on his desk, and finally rested on the cat gripped in Ed’s arms, quietly hissing at Hayate. His eyes narrowed.

     “Edward,” he drawled. Ed sighed, the laughter that shone in his eyes fading out as a new level of weariness weighed on him.

     “Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “I’ll take care of it.” He scratched the cat’s head, hesitating for a second. Al flexed his fingers like he wanted to take the cat from his brother. Neither of the boys looked eager to release the cat.

     “Give her over,” Breda caught himself saying. The boys snapped their heads up to him in disbelief. Breda swallowed. “You heard me, give her over here.” He stretched out a hand to solidify the order. Ed stiffly placed the cat into his arm, showing his exhaustion in the lack of defiance for being ordered around. Breda bundled the cat up into his arms and gave her head a minuscule scratch. He marveled for a moment at the deep, rumbling purr she gave him in gratitude. He heard a snicker and glanced up to find all eyes watching him with varying levels of amusement. Breda felt his cheeks warm at the attention.

     “What?” he barked. “She doesn’t like dogs and neither do I. And she can fight off any dog that comes near her. She’ll protect us from those terrifying creatures.” He glanced down at Hayate, curling up further into his desk. “Besides, cats are better.” Hawkeye gave a small hum of mocking acceptance and returned to her desk, gathering up the papers left by the wake of the animals’ destruction.

     “Well,” Mustang broke in, smirking. “Now that that’s settled, everyone, clean up this mess. And Fullmetal, I believe you have a report you need to give me?” Ed nodded, his steps a little lighter as he crossed over the paper obstacles, trying not to step on any of them.

     “And, Breda.” Breda looked up at the Colonel’s unamused face. “Get off the damn desk and quit screaming like a ten-year-old girl. It’s... disturbing.” And with that final order, he closed the door behind him, leaving Breda gaping and blushing furiously while Havoc tried to smother his snickers.

Some fluff since my last one had some angst in it. There’s Breda, our brave cynophobic. Poor guy... Ok then, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter eleven

The heavy oaken door swings shut, hard enough to start a deafening reverberation through the main part of the chapel. Wincing, the sister who had instigated the push shuffles along the back of the pews, collecting the odds and ends picked up after every service by the ushers. They keep all the cast-offs in a small room in the cloisters, to be donated to local charities after a month or two if nobody has come forward to claim their misplaced possessions.

Bending over to pick up a toy truck that had rolled underneath the back pew, she huffs with the effort of straightening out her spine on the way back up. It's been a long time since she could have been considered a spring chicken, and, on the dreary weather days like these, when there's more drizzling rain than sunshine, her bones have a tendency to ache more than she'd like.

On her way out of the vestibule, she almost runs into a young woman, who, thankfully, has already set her umbrella and mac next to the side entrance, and is in the process in stepping out of her dripping wellies into dry slippers that the sister presumes she must have pulled from the bag she's carrying.

They exchange pleasantries, mostly regarding the weather, and continue on their separate ways.

Later, when the sister has retired from the late-night obligatory cloister bridge game, she does a quick round, checking all of the doors and windows to make sure the locks stay tightly closed. It's a remnant habit lingering from her life prior to joining the convent, and one that she's never really found the need to do away with.

Practicality never hurt anybody.

However, on her last circuit of the main section of the church, she notices a still, dark head bowed over a pair of pale hands resting on the top railing of the pew, a ragged tissue nearly wrung out to its death.

She hesitates, her own hands going reflexively to touch the prayer-beads hanging around her left wrist, before slowly walking forward, sensibly low heels eliciting soft creaks from the carpet-covered old floorboards.

"Dear," she says, in a gently questioning sort of tone as she nears the figure. "Dear, is there something troubling you?"

Of course, she already knows the answer. This isn't the first time she's happened upon the girl staying late into the night with the rows of pews standing sentinel to her silence. It's, rather, perhaps the seventh or eighth time in a row.

To even the most casual outside observer, it becomes extremely obvious through this kind of behavior that something, indeed, is most troubling to this young soul.

There's a quiet sniff that echoes across the vaulted ceilings, and the girl begins to move, drawing herself up from the kneeler slowly, with stiff limbs.

"No, thanks. I'm - I'm fine."

A quaver in her voice belies her unstable state, and the nun clucks her tongue unconsciously, now entering the pew and settling down next to her on the bench. She settles a tentative hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

"Love, if there's one thing I've learned with my time in the church, its that when you see someone talking to themselves, usually things aren't alright."

A hiccupped laugh is her response, and there's rustling in the girl's lap before she shows off a silver filigree frame to the nun, saying, "But I'm not talking to myself. I'm talking to them."

A black-and-white wedding photo, of a dignified East Asian man with a wide smile curling across his face, matching that of his willowy bride's, who is clad in a delicate white gown of antique lace. They stand in front of a rose-covered arbor, hands entwined in such a way that the matching bands catch the light of the afternoon sun.

"Why don't you tell me about them then, okay? I promise it'll help things. And, if it doesn't, I'll go wake the father for you."

"Well," she says, her voice sobering up immensely, pointing to the figures in the frame with a finger that's nearly stopped shaking. "That's my grandfather. He's dead. And, that's my grandmother. And she's dying."

In the end, after a long explanation and an even longer cry in the empty church, Penn and the nun end up standing in front of the door to the priest's quarters at nearly one in the morning, her tissue now discarded after being torn to complete shreds.

 She doesn't return until three hours later, at four in the morning now.

Pushing open the solid wood door, she nearly hits Cardy where she's curled up on the entrance mat. Scuttling legs propel the dog backwards until she skitters into the coffee table, jostling a neglected and now cold cup sitting lonesome on the polished wood until it clinks alarmingly.

Penn doesn't bother to chastise her, too drained even to give a sharp look in the dog's general direction. Instead, she slips off her boots in the entryway and hooks the loop inside her mac on the coat rack to let it dry. The sun, not yet beginning its journey across the sphere of the sky, does nothing to help light up the inside of the living room well enough for Penn to successfully maneuver herself around to the kitchen.

She knocks her ankle on the rather solid terracotta pot of a tall, leafy philodendron for her troubles, nearly spilling the cup of tea she had picked up on her way to pour down the drain.

Thankfully, she had the foresight to leave the small, under-the-cabinet light in the kitchen on, which cast enough of a glow to reflect off the tiled floor and give her some direction.

Nearly two weeks since she's moved in with her gran, and Penn still doesn't know her way well enough around the flat to not crash into the furniture.

There's a rustling sound as she bumps against the edge of the counter while disposing of the tea. Settling the china down gently against the metal of the sink, Penn quickly dries her hands and reaches into her pocket, where a bunch of glossy paper had been stuffed.

The dim light barely allows her to read the titles of the brochures pressed on her by the concerned clergy.

Questions about Hospice.          

Saying Goodbye: from Your Hands to God's Arms.

The Hospice Concept.

Her mouth twists up, and she opens the door under the sink where the rubbish bin is kept. Throwing the first two in, she pauses when she sees the small scrap of paper tucked into the third. In impeccable cursive script, there is an open invitation from the nun, Sister Frances, to come by the church any time for a cup of tea and a listening ear, with the landline listed in minute numbers.

It touches her, in a way.

Penn never expected anything to come from her forays into the church, but this is a pleasant surprise of sorts. She keeps the note and tacks it onto the cork board by the coat rack in the hallway, but still tosses the last pamphlet.

Tying back her hair with the nearest band she can find – in the fruit bowl, next to the lone orange – she leaves the kitchen and feels her way around the stairs leading around to the upper level.

Floorboards creak, and she winces.

Thankfully, no noise is heard from the occupied bedroom.

It's a testament to exactly how ill Miriam Bunting is. Usually rising naturally at near five in the morning on most days, she also keeps late hours, occasionally even to the point of insomnia. However, with the developing cancer, fatigue has become the enemy, and Penn finds herself helping her gran under the quilts prior to half past nine on the bad days.

Thinking about how much has already changed in eleven days, Penn bites down harshly on her thumb in order to stave off that train of thought. In order to stave off the tears she had thought she'd already emptied herself of in the church.

Pushing open the door after taking a deep breath, she peers in to check on the slight figure curled under the mound of blankets.

Already the nausea is hitting Miriam, and it's visible in the increasing hollows of her cheeks. Not necessarily a curvaceous woman to begin with, the slenderness from the loss of the initial few pounds was hardly noticeable on her already delicate figure.

However, now she's becoming whittled thin from the inside, skin slowly beginning to cling to the fragile bones supporting her body, especially evident around the fine lines of her hands and fingers.

Penn never thought it would be this hard to watch a person die.

She waits until she can audibly hear her gran's exhales and match them to the almost imperceptible rise and fall of the quilts, then quietly turns the knob as she shuts the door to lessen the sound caused when door reunites with frame.

Crossing the hallway in a few, quick steps that carry far more energy than what is actually in her body, Penn enters her grandfather's former study. Now, after being converted into a sort of catch-all room after Penn's arrival, a cot lies flush against the dark wood of an antique secretary desk, the blankets on top folded with near-military precision.

And now the tears start to flow, before she can even get the door closed behind her.

Now, with most menial tasks already exhausting her gran, the fact that her sheets are now neatly arranged as opposed to the chaotic state that she left them in brings on the onslaught of emotion as she pictures her gran shuffling in the room to make up her bed with careful hands, spreading out any wrinkles with tender palms, before making her way downstairs to leave a cup of tea out for her absent granddaughter.

Everything is going fast, far too fast, and Penn is drowning in the waves.

And Penn is sitting under her pop's lawn chair.

Colouring in a castle in a verdant green, listening to teasing banter over bridge games.

Learning how to press her thumb down into damp soil, making perfect troughs to sprinkle tiny, dark lettuce seeds into the earth.

Sitting on her pop's lap now, as he tweaks her nose and tells her all about the kings-under-the-mountain and the vast woods guarded by elves and the rolling hills of the lands of little halfling-men.

Visiting the hospital, not understanding exactly how all those tubes and wires are keeping her pop alive. It seems counterintuitive, and his hands are cold.

Holding a sparkly hair barrette so tightly in her small fist that the clip digs grooves into the skin of her palms, the harsh red lines contrasting with pale skin and black sleeves.

Hearing and flinching at the unmistakable thump of earth as the first shovel of earth splatters against dark polished wooden lid of a silent coffin.

Watching her breath fog up the mirror as a pair of scissors held by Zayn shear their way through her waist-length hair, giving her a defiantly mussy bob, and seeing her gran smile as she thumbs the ends of one of the many jagged pieces.  

The memories pull her down deeper, until the only thing holding her together is the ragged sound of her frantic breathing clawing through the tomb-like silence, echoing in the quiet of the room. It's all-encompassing, those wretched, gasping noises, and Penn can feel her vision narrow as she keeps trying to suck enough oxygen into her lungs to buoy her up and keep her afloat.

But it's not enough, and her hands come up to the sides of her head to grip her hair tightly – painfully, to cause a distraction from the terrifying thoughts racing through her mind – as she sinks to her knees and tries not to throw up from the dread and anxiety and pure nausea flooding through her body.

Thank God that Clove stirs from his spot under the bed, napping out of sight this whole time, and pricks his ears up before rushing over to her and sticking his wet nose into her flushed face.

Chest heaving still, she pulls him into her lap and concentrates solely on the feel of his soft fur under the skin of her hand as she forces herself into a series of mechanical strokes down his back in an effort to calm herself down.

Eventually, after what feels like an age, it works. Penn's breathing rate returns to a normal level, and her hands have nearly stopped their frenetic shaking.

She's exhausted by the aftermath of the sudden surge of adrenaline from her anxiety attack, eyelids already drooping. Nudging Clove from her lap, she crawls her way over to the cot, pulling back and rolling under the bedclothes carefully, as the dog returns to his position underneath the makeshift bed.

She doesn't even feel herself falling asleep.

 Moving rather abruptly from one place to another, even for just a short period of time, means, practically by definition, that one will forget things and need to go back.

Penn had to return anyway, to check on the state of her greenhouse, so the trip back to the flat to retrieve some of the dogs' necessities – an extra lead for walking, Cardy's favorite stuffed toy, a dog bed so Clove stops nesting in the just-laundered clothes – doesn't really inconvenience her.

Especially since her only job now is taking care of her grandmother.

She leaves the apartment on her bike, unzipped jacket whipping open as she pedals along.

The first stop is at the bakery, where she mumbles a hello to Michael as she picks up fresh bagels for future breakfasts. It takes less than ten minutes to complete the transaction, and she gets him to let her leave all but one of the baker's dozen she purchased behind the counter, to pick up on her return trip.

Now she's traveling along with only one hand wrapped around the grip on the handlebars, the other occupied with introducing her mouth to the fresh everything bagel as a late-afternoon snack.

Thus, she blames her preoccupation for the route she unconsciously takes. Of course she would have to bloody fucking choose the street that the restaurant is located on.

Thankfully, due to the flow of traffic, she ends up on the pavement opposite the business's front, leg swinging down in order to anchor herself against the asphalt. Clearly through the window, she can see Liam entertaining an older couple, can see the smiles and the laughter, can see the way he bows slightly and backs away from the table.

She can see the way he brings Louis fucking Tomlinson back with him.

There's more smiling, if that's possible, from all parties involved, and it even looks like the elderly gentleman is raising his glass in a toast to Louis as his wife applauds daintily.

It's quite obvious that he must have done a phenomenal job with their meal, so much so that they wished to show their appreciation and thanks in person.

It burns a hole in her gut.

She's not exactly jealous, per say, more of a growing resignation. He's obviously a talented chef and deserving of his position in the restaurant. What really gets to her is that fact that she could have been the one standing there, soaking in the praise. She could have been the one to, within three or so more months of hard work, finally actualize her dream of running a restaurant as head executive chef, on a springboard to even open her own establishment.

But it's not her.

It's Louis Tomlinson instead.

Blinking back tears of frustration and resentment and feeling like she's cried more in these past two weeks than in her whole life, Penn sets her feet back on the pedals and sets off to finish the journey to her flat.

The rest of the way is uneventful, and Penn thanks God for that, thinking that she can't possibly handle anything else unexpected without imploding from the pressure. Tending to the greenhouse takes little time, as she's rigged up a pseudo-automatic watering system that keeps the few beds sufficiently watered for the most part. The only part that requires extra effort is wrestling with the hose so she can successfully water the hanging ferns that sway from the metal crossbeams at the top of the glass-and-metal structure.

Then, it's on to the flat.

Penn putters around, picking up this and that and stuffing it into the loose canvas backpack she brought with to bring the items home in. It's not a hard decision to bring the cloisonné owl figurine that Zayn had sent her at one point during his travels, but she's debating between two of her favorite mugs when she realizes the time.

Quickly, she starts locking up the sliding glass doors and the windows, gathering the dogs' supplies on her way out. Penn's turning the key in the deadbolt lock and beginning a rushed descent down the stairway when she runs into something very solid.

"Fuck!"

Ashton's leaning dangerously far back on the stairs, clutching at the railing with one large hand to keep him from toppling backwards.

"Oh, God, Ash, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

He rights himself easily, grinning at her with a smile that flashes a dimple.

Jesus Christ.

"Peachy keen, Penn. I was just coming up to see you, actually. Have a mo'?"        

Pursing her lips and checking her watch, a little bit surprised that she even remembered to put it on this morning, she shakes her head sadly. "No, sorry. I have to leave, like, now, and I'm still going to be fifteen minutes late."

There's a change in his expression, a different sort of crinkle around his eyes as he gives an awkward cough and pushes some papers into her hands before ruffling his hair.

“Oh, okay! Um, I was just doing a bit of research, y'know, about treatments and all that and I thought you might want to get a coffee, but it's totally fine if you're in a rush!"

She melts. Just a bit.

Leaning forward, she presses her lips to his cheek briefly, not having to stretch too far upward as she's already a stair above him.

"Thanks, Ash. That's really sweet of you."

And, now totally embarrassed at the impulsive gesture, Penn pushes past him – more gently this time, so she doesn't knock him over the banister accidentally with the dog bed in her arms – her face nearly beet-red and starts barreling down the stairs again.

(She misses the way he bites the corner of his lip as a flush starts to spread across his cheekbones.)

"Ah, uh, I'll see you later, then! Call me!" he calls after her, right before Penn leaves the building, and she tosses an affirmative wave behind her before merging with the crowds in the street.

 It doesn't end up mattering that she's late.

The door thunks closed behind her, and she walks over to the kitchen, where she can see a note stuck on the refrigerator. Taking it down and shrugging off her bag, she slumps against the counter, bracing herself with her elbows.

Gran didn't eat today.

Still not feeling hungry.

But Penn shouldn't worry when she gets back, as she'll just be upstairs, having a bit of a lie-in to get her strength up. Been feeling more tired recently.

(Penn should check the ficus in the corner, though, and find the watering-can.)

She loves Penn.

(And Penn should really call Ashton and invite him over again soon.)

 She doesn't cry this time until she's actually in the room.

One would think she would have no more tears to give.

But, holding one paper-thin hand and feeling the gently-fluttering pulse resting under mere layers of onion-skin, fragile and bruised, it hurts her more not to cry.

And so quiet sobs reverberate between four walls as she tries, in a futile effort, to beat back the current of time as it crashes ceaselessly around her.

[ciathyzareposts]

Black Crypt: Playing it Straight

Putting on the Mask of True Sight allows me to see this disgusting foe.

            It occurred to me recently that the two great loves of my life–jazz and CRPGs–have something in common. They both draw from a variety of templates, and the real joy in a performance is seeing how a particular band or artist has chosen to improvise on the template. (I should clarify that this is true of the type of jazz I like, anyway. It’s less true of free jazz and other avant-garde styles whose appeal has always mystified me.) A new composition is always nice, of course, but it requires a depth of engagement and attention that you’re not always ready to give. In contrast, you almost never mind hearing a familiar composition played in a new way.

  That makes it all the more disappointing when you sit down for a performance and don’t find anything new at all–a copy rather than an improvisation. No jazz fan wants to hear a number played entirely “straight,” and no CRPG addict wants to start, say, a Dungeon Master clone just to find a literal clone. And that’s largely what we have here. In its best moments, Black Crypt recalls good times playing Dungeon Master, but it offers too few variances to those moments.

              The game has occasional moments like this to remind you of the plot, but they’re few and far between.

              I’m less than halfway through the game, and it thus might improve, but so far all Black Crypt has done is to make Dungeon Master a lot bigger; as I noted last time, it has 28 levels. I rather hoped that with so many levels, and with so much space devoted to each level (the coordinates go up to 40 x 40), Black Crypt might achieve a nonlinearity that previous games in this lineage have lacked. I thought we might see multiple ways up and down–a true three-dimensional maze rather than a steady progression of levels. Well, the game absolutely does have multiple staircases per level, but you still reach them in a somewhat fixed order. At any given moment, you rarely have more than two choices for your next move, and one of those will almost certainly resolve into a dead end.

I had also hoped that Black Crypt might do more with its story. As I noted last time, many of the mechanics owe more to Eye of the Beholder than to Dungeon Master, and I thus hoped the game might introduce some NPCs or in-game story development the way that Beholder did. Alas, there’s been none of that so far. And I’m disappointed that the game didn’t fix many of my other complaints about previous Dungeon Master-like titles, including a lack of enemy names and a lack of information on equipment.

             The Bracers of Agility will, at least, reflect their influence in the character attributes.

             What’s left is not an unpleasant experience, just a highly-derivative one. Fortunately, it’s been a while since the last Dungeon Master clone, so at least I didn’t start this game exhausted with the entire sub-genre, the way I currently am with Ultima clones.

In this last session, I explored Levels 3-9 of the dungeon. I should perhaps say “partially explored,” because there’s a lot of unused space on each level, and it’s entirely possible that some teleporter or staircase will later bring me to those unused parts. I doubt it however, mostly because the game occasionally makes a big show of loading when you transition between levels. It did this between Levels 2 and 3, between Levels 5 and 6, and between Levels 9 and 10. (In contrast, the game barely blips when you take a staircase between, say, Levels 7 and 8.) I think we can therefore regard each level “group” as a separate section of the dungeon. Indeed, as I explored Levels 3-5 and 6-9, there was a lot of interconnectedness between levels in a group–but only a single staircase between the major “group” transitions.

             Level 3 had a “skull” theme going on.

              Within each group, the specific level order was nonlinear (in the sense that progression didn’t go in the specific order of levels; it was still a very narrow path). For instance, I couldn’t explore most of Level 3 until I had a Mask of True Sight, which let me see the invisible enemies on that level. The mask was found on Level 4, but I had to make some diversions to Level 5 along the way. Among the next group, I spent only a small amount of time on Level 6 before a teleporter took me to Level 9. After a long time mapping that level, I finally went back up to Level 7, which had a lot of stairways up and down to Level 8. This interconnectedness within level groups extends to the game’s puzzles. Pressing a button on Level 8 might open a wall on Level 7.

  Regrettably, there has been nothing thematic to all of these levels. Again, I think to the Eye of the Beholder series, where you had the dwarf and Drow levels in the first game, and the clear distinction between the living quarters and basement in the second. Here, we don’t even have much variation in texture–just the occasional use of a different color, as if the level was shot through a red filter or something. As a consequence, even a day after playing the majority of this session, I have to refer to my maps for reminders about the specific order in which I did things.

           You really have to carefully study the walls for buttons.

          If there’s one thing that the game does a little better than Dungeon Master, it’s perhaps greater variety in its puzzles (some true Dungeon Master fans may dispute that this is an improvement). There have been a lot of switches, buttons, and pressure plates, but none of them very complex–you just activate them, and something happens. The more memorable puzzles have involved a bit more creativity. Some examples include:

            A long north-south hallway of 12 squares with alternating east-west alcoves. Each alcove contained a skull. Nearby messages remarked, “A year of death counted in souls. One for each moon, four is your goal,” and “February, April, July, October.” It was clear that I had to regard each square in the hallway as representing a month, and to remove the skulls for the alcoves that represented February, April, July, and October. Choosing a wrong skull meant activating a trap. The order of months turned out not to go in a linear manner along the hall, but rather up one side and then down the other.

Several magic mouths that required me to answer a question based on other messages found in the dungeon. For instance, Levels 6-9 had repeated messages about an archdruid named Oakraven (one of the four heroes from the backstory), who is buried below in a coffin of Whiteoak. Both words were answers to magic mouth riddles.

                Getting some lore . . .

. . . and using it to answer a puzzle.

             On Level 4, I had to collect water from four symmetrically-placed fountains and then put those waterskins into special alcoves on Level 5. The hardest part of this mission was differentiating the “special” waterskins from the other waterskins in my possession.

Two areas where a message said “HTCIWS” and presented me with two alcoves with different objects within them. I had to reverse the positions of the objects in the alcoves. This was harder than you might think, because the word “switch” made me think of wall switches and not “swapping” the items

              Solving puzzles can have a variety of effects. Locked doors might open, hidden doors might reveal themselves, wall spaces might open up, pillars might disappear, and new switches and buttons might appear on previously-blank walls. I’ve found that in this game, it really makes sense to map everything before touching everything, then search for the type of secret door that you can bump into, and finally try the switches and buttons, carefully noting the changes to the environment.

              A lot of the game’s puzzles involve removing pillars like this.

          Let’s talk about combat. Level 3’s invisible enemies, when I wore the Mask of True Sight, turned out to be these giant grubs with teeth and claws. They’re capable of inflicting poison, but fortunately there are a lot of anti-poison scrolls and potions on the level. Level 6 introduced these single-eyed things that appear to shuffle along the ceiling. Levels 8 and 9 had floating, metallic, horned heads as well as shape-changing slimes. 

              This guy reminds me of something that I can’t place.

The spellcasting version of this monster was very tough.

            Of some annoyance is the fact that enemies in this game vary even among the same type. Some of the grubs moved faster, hit harder, had more hit points than the others. Some of the one-eyed ceiling creatures and floating heads are capable of offensive spells and some are not. These variances make it hard to find a consistent strategy.

  On strategy that doesn’t work very well is the old combat waltz. It can technically be done, and I’ve used it a few times to weaken a couple of enemies prior to the main onslaught, but rarely can I keep it up for the duration of an entire combat. Enemies are simply faster here than in most Dungeon Master derivations. They move faster and, more important, they turn faster. You don’t have the same kind of pause between an enemy arriving in a square, turning to face you, and attacking. You really have to be prepared to fight head-on with weapons and spells. Occasionally, it’s possible to enact some of the other “guerrilla” maneuvers possible with this combat engine, including “stair-scumming.” Enemies that walk on the ceiling cannot pass through door frames, which offers some hit-and-run opportunities.

  All told, though, combat is a less frequent experience with Black Crypt than with most games of this ilk. Sometimes half an hour passes without a single enemy. Character leveling is also a bit under-emphasized. My characters are all Level 7 currently, but that doesn’t mean much more than more hit points. Spells are learned by finding books, not leveling (although level does affect spell power). There are a few pressure plates that cause enemies to spawn, in case I ever feel like I need to grind.

Miscellaneous notes:

           A lot of the mechanical puzzles are about lowering pillars that otherwise block hallways. This is slightly original, although when you think about it, there’s little difference between a pillar and a door.

Wow has the clicking-on-the-portrait-instead-of-the-weapon thing been a problem. I screw it up almost every time I’m fighting a new combat for the first time in, say, five minutes or more.

Another interface annoyance: the function keys are in a non-obvious order. F1 and F2 activate the upper-left and upper-right characters, which makes sense. But F3 activates the lower-right and F4 activates the lower-left. There’s a logic by which this makes sense, I guess, but it’s still a bit unintuitive.

When a character dies, in addition to all his equipment, he drops a “death gem.” You need the gem to later perform a resurrection on him. The dungeon is strewn with the death gems of previous adventurers. The manual makes a point of saying that you can’t resurrect the owners of these gems, but I wonder if there’s any reason to collect them anyway. I have been, just in case.

            A death gem next to a note from the adventurer who left it.

          The thieves from Level 3 (discussed last time) did end up dropping the stolen items when I finally tracked them down and killed them.

The party frequently comes across glyphs (which activate traps when stepped on) and corridors blocked by force fields. These are removed with the “Remove Glyph” and “Dispel Magic” spells, accordingly, but sometimes the character level isn’t high enough to cast strong enough spells. In those cases, you have to find scrolls with the same spells, with the scrolls encoded at a higher level.

             My regular “Remove Glyph” didn’t work here, but this scroll, encoded at the 15th level, will have no problem.

             The game is effective in its use of sound. Every enemy has an attack sound and a separate movement sound. The movement sounds help you determine how close an enemy is, and it can be freaky when you hear it unprepared.

There was a large area of dark squares on Level 9. Dark squares are brightened with the “Light” spell, but the spell has a very short duration.

The cleric’s “Create Food” spell and the frequent appearance of fountains makes food, water, and rest less of a problem than they could otherwise be. It still annoys me that characters start taking damage from hunger and thirst when the meter has plenty of room to go. My general practice is that every time I find a fountain, I first rest to restore my fatigue meter, then cast “Create Food” and give everyone a meal, then drink water until I can’t drink anymore. These occasional interludes generally keep the party happy.

Level sizes have been extremely variable. Levels 3, 4, and 9 all used between 300 and 600 squares, but Level 8 only used 56 squares, and Level 5 only used 29. 

             Level 8 was kind of like the unfinished basement of Level 7. Maybe more of these squares will get used later.

          Black Crypt gives slightly more equipment feedback than its cousins, although not much more. I’m carrying a long sword +1, a “Hopeblade,” an “Ogre Blade,” and a blade called “Frost Razer,” and I can’t tell you which is the best among them, or by how much. However, there are little squares beneath each character portrait that provide some feedback on any magical effects an equipped item is having, such a fire resistance, cold resistance, magic shield, and water breathing. But these don’t seem to tell the full story. For instance, my fighter has a helm called “Mage Bane” which has to have some anti-magic effects or some effects against mages, right? Not in any way that you can tell from looking at it or wearing it.

            Arriving on Level 10. This game is really fond of one-eyed things.

           As I close, I’ve just arrived on Level 10 and have encountered a bunch of little one-eyed spiders. There’s still a lot of room for the game to introduce some plot and non-linearity, and I really hope it takes advantage of these options before the end. 

Time so far: 9 hours

  *****

  I haven’t made zero progress with The Seventh Link, but there hasn’t been enough to blog about. It’s an extremely frustrating game. Simple math explains much of the reason: to explore the opening castle fully, I need about 1,200 gold pieces in keys. I might earn an average of 15 gold pieces per random combat. It takes me roughly 7 minutes to find and fight each combat, which I only have a 50% chance of winning, so we’re looking at (1200/15) * (7/0.5) / 60 = 18.67 hours before I can even explore the castle, not including the money I need to replenish all the food I waste in the meantime, nor all the time it takes me to trek to the fountain under the castle to replenish spell points. I found a dungeon, but it turns out that exploring it at my level is not an option. I don’t even know how to level up. The documentation suggests I ought to be able to do it at the mage’s guild, but there doesn’t seem to be any option there.

  Hopefully, I’ll get over a hump eventually and the entire game won’t be like this, but overall Link needed to be more generous with its resources. Any game needs at least one generous resource to make progress manageable. If there was no need for food, for instance, or if chests respawned in dungeons (the way they do in the Ultima series), or enemies carried more gold, any of these options would loosen the formula a bit and allow some progress.

               My mage and his new thief companion approach a dungeon door.

            I did manage to find a second NPC to join the party, so perhaps things will move along a bit faster now. Otherwise, I’ll probably have to add a third game to the rotation.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/black-crypt-playing-it-straight/

[bmtagbot]

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[lulus-library-blog]

Same as Usual, Then?

Mari chugged the little water left in her canteen, her tongue desperately scrapping the little droplets that clung to the metal. The desert heat was too unbearable for Mari, the unrelenting sun making the sand beneath the sand sled burn like hot coal. Even in shade the wood scalded like a hot pot, and the breeze only brought warm air. The only plus side was the heat dried her very sweaty clothes that swung gently with the wind, a clothes line made from some extra rope lying about. Her sail, now improvised roof, did little to stop the sun’s onslaught. Mari could only lay her almost naked body on the wood, hoping a cool breeze would eventually come about.

Bored, Mari stood and fished out her sword, being used as a hot plate to cook some small lizards she had caught. She shook the cooked meat onto the wood, stabbing her sword back into the sand while she devoured her fill. Even if she had to use her treasured sword in such a way, she would do whatever it took to survive in this desert until her task was complete. To leave now just because she was low on supplies and moral would be an insult to hunters over the world, and above all else she couldn’t live with herself. Burping, she threw the bones across the sled’s floor, to join the rest of the mess that had accumulated with her week stay.  

The sand sled was something Mari was quite proud of, the idea all her own and the design by one of her older hunter friends. It was pretty much a tiny sail boat with a few added features to make it adaptable for land. The only issue, Mari realized much to late, was as fun as it was too skirt around the desert with ease doesn’t make it the most comfortable of places to sleep. It was also unfortunate, Mari lamented, about her bad habit of not picking up after herself. Her gear was tossed about the deck, some placed carefully for later use and most others tossed about wherever Mari had set them after weighing anchor.

Her armor sat neatly right under the mast, collecting dust and sand as it went unused. Two knives stuck out from the mast, a pair of goggles hanging from one and a silk scarf the other. A small bag of gems sat dangerously close to the edge, their red color gleaming brightly. Empty ration boxes and whetstones laid about the deck and the sand, thrown carelessly as time wore on. Her clothes sat untouched, covered in sand and sweat, Mari abandoning them early on in her hunt.

Mari stood, going to the back of her sled to check on her favorite toy to make sure it was in working order. At the very back of the sled sat a huge metal fan, the blades lazily blowing back and forth with the breeze. In the center of the monstrous machine was a tiny green jewel that lit up with every rotation, before going out just as quick when the blades came to a halt. She spun it a few times, seeing the jewel brighten up and a gust of wind come out towards the sails, the canvas blowing gently. Satisfied, she patted it affectionately and walked over to the starboard side of her sled, pulling off a drape that covered her other favorite item she bought. She sighed, happily hugging the giant cannon that was bolted to the side of the sled, its black steel body only a little bit hot thanks to the tarp covering it. Mari checked it over thoroughly, examining the crimson stone on its side and that the harpoon lodged in was still in place. With another satisfied nod, she stretched out before falling back onto the deck, her eyelids getting heavy from the mix of meat and heat.

“Any luck out there?” a muffled voice called out from somewhere on the deck. Mari crawled around, digging and shoveling junk out of her way until she graped a rock, no bigger than her hand, the glowed with a dim lime light.

“Nothing yet.” Mari sighed, looking out at the endless desert. She slammed her head, frustration heating her up as much as the sun. “Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’ Lucy. You know I hate that.” The voice from the stone laughed.

“Looks like I don’t need to say anything if you’re already thinking it.” Mari harrumphed and Lucy laughed again. Lucy has always been by Mari’s side, the two growing up together in the same village and eventually became hunters together. Mari looked down at the gold band around her left ring finger and smiled, remembering their wedding only a few months back at the guild hall. Her heart skipped a beat with the memories, her stomach feeling like butterflies where dancing about.

“So what are you wearing?” Mari asked, her face grinning from ear to ear.

“Just the same ol’ things as always.” Lucy joked, her wife frowning with frustration. “What about you?”

“Not much at the moment. It’s a bit too hot for clothes.”

“That tends to happen when you spend a whole week in the desert honey.” Mari laughed, the sound of her lover’s voice tending to her weary mind. If it meant getting back to her, maybe leaving now wouldn’t be so bad.

A boom that rocked the sled and broke the peace of the dead land shot any thoughts of romance from her mind. Mari shot up and grabbed binoculars, climbing the mast all the way to the top to spot the sudden disturbance. It took only a glance to see the pillar of sand shooting up to the east and continuing its way at super high speeds.  

“I’ve got to go!” Mari yelled, grabbing her clothes and armor, dressing quickly before the trail went cold. Dressed, she snapped her belt on and holstering her two knives into their sheaths; closing the pouch of jewels and tying it onto a lose strap.

“Be careful!” Lucy shouted, her voice sounding very worried. “I love you Mari.”

“Love you too.” Mari answered back, placing the stone in hand into another pouch on her belt and spinning the fan with all her might. The jewel within began to glow, helping the blades spin faster and faster until a huge gust burst forth. Mari released the sail, the canvas catching the wind and starting to lumber forward over the dune. Mari ran back to the front, grabbing her sword from the ground and locking it onto the back of her armor, grabbing hold of the wheel.

“Let’s go!” she called out, releasing the anchor and sending the sled flying forward, the rising plume of sand still easy to see from so far away.

The sled easily cut through the desert sand like a knife through butter, flying over dunes and skating on the golden sand. In no time Mari was on the tale end of the plume, sand being thrown high into the air. Mari pulled down her goggles and covered her face with her scarf, steering her sled away from the pillar and trying to get as close as possible to it’s left side without capsizing. A roar echoed under her feet, the ground shaking and breaking apart as a giant steel fin pierced through the sand and rose high into the air.

As the fin rose higher, the desert floor distorted more and more, rising up and throwing waves of sand in every direction. The giant sand whale had finally risen to its full height, towering close to fifty feet up and double as long. Its scales glistened like metal, easily cutting through the earth like it was a mild inconvenience. It moved back and forth, swimming through its territory without worry. Mari, on the other hand, struggled to keep her small sled from being thrown by the sand being thrown of the monster's path.

Gripping her wheel tight, Mari got the ship steady enough to pull farther off to the left, making sure she was at a safe enough distance to not worry about her sled. Mari smiled, locking the wheel to keep the ship stable. She ran over to the starboard side, taking out a small red stones from her pouch, giving it a good slap against her armor. The jewel began to glow in her hand, blinking with crimson light and getting faster with every moment that passed.

Mari grabbed onto the cannon and aimed it right at the giant monster’s side, the steel harpoon at end gleaming dangerously in the sun. She took a deep breath, slamming the jewel in her hand against the one on the cannon, the small jewel making a small pop in her hand while the one in the cannon let out a gigantic boom. The harpoon sailed through the air with ease, a chain attached to the end jingling as it was dragged forward by the explosion. It met its mark, digging deep into the monster’s side and hooking its barbed hooks through the beasts insides. The whale roared, the sound so powerful shards of wood shot off from the planks of wood and causing Mari to crumble to the deck, her ears ringing in pain and blood dripped slowly from her ear drums.  

Mari shook off the dizziness, stumbling back to the wheel and unlocking it. Now tied to the whale the sled jumping roughly against the sandy sea, at the mercy of the monsters movements. The cannon grunting as it was pulled, the chain tight as it could be. Mari took a tentative grab of the chain, feeling how taut it was. Satisfied, she grabbed onto one of the large links with her hands and leaned forward towards the edge of the sled. She kicked her legs up next and quickly hooked them around the chain, slowly inching her way up like a sloth.

Mari tried her best not to cry; the roar of the moving sand reminding her of how close she was to death at a moments notice. The constant swinging of the chain made it painful to hold, her hands feeling sore even with her thick leather gloves. Grunting, she continued her assent up the chain as fast as she dared, hoping the beast was too preoccupied with the pain of the harpoon to really notice her.  

Her hands finally grabbing something solid, Mari let out a sigh of relief as she took the end of the harpoon in hand, lifting herself up to sit on the edge and take a deep breath. Mari gasped at the view in front of her, even with her seat constantly moving up and down and the blood of the beast leaking around she couldn't help but be mystified by the golden sea in front of her. Even a land as dead as this one held some beauty, and for just a moment she wanted to experience it for herself. The moment passed, Mari looked back to her task and thought for a moment. Her hand on her chin, she sat for a long while while looking forward at the monsters head.

Shrugging, she grabbed her two daggers from their sheaths and placed her right handed one against the monster’s scales. Thought it was tough, her dagger slipped easily in between the scales and right into its body, the monster not even noticing the mosquito bite.

“This is a bad idea.” Mari reminded herself, pushing off the safety of the harpoon and dangling dangerously off the beasts side. Using the momentum of her fall, Mari swung her body to the left and stabbed her second dagger into the monster. Holding herself steady, Mari took out her left dagger and stabbed again followed by her right hand. Left, right, left, right she inched along, her armor scratching the monster’s iron scales. Sparks shot up as they touched, Mari sweating with the thought of what would happened if it even passed her unprotected body.  So close to it’s body, Mari could feel every breath the beast took, its huge body expanding ever so slightly as she made her way up to its neck. Occasionally it’s breath would cause a dagger to push too far out, Mari using all her strength to plunge it back in before sliding out completely.

Stabbing her way across the monster’s side, she gained a good enough pace to reach up to the great beasts neck, her feet having a hard time finding a steady place to stand as the monster moved back and forth. Mari was quick, tying a rope to end of one of her daggers and plunging it into the monster again. Feeling it slide in easily, she pressed a small button at the end of the hilt. With a click, the blade inside the monster split in two, hooking tightly in the whale’s flesh. She tightened the rope around her waist and pulled it, seeing the dagger locked into place without flinching.

Mari kneeled for a while longer, her eyes drifting to her left hand. Curling her hand into a fist, she stood up and took off the sword from her back, ripping the pouch of red stones from her belt and slamming them against her armor; their glow so bright that the leather pouch couldn’t contain the light. Taking one last breath, Mari ran as far across the monster’ neck as she could, before jumping off and running across the side.

The rope went taut, the dagger struggling to hold up Mari’s weight as she ran across the side of the whale. She screamed as loud as she could, feeling the adrenaline kicking as her target rapidly approached. Turning her sword over in her hand, she slashed a deep gash across the monster’s gigantic eye. The monster jumped in the air and wailed in pain, the sound almost knocking out the hunter running across it’s face. Mari ran on until the rope snapped tight, the hunter turning around easily and running back the way she came. The whale, finally recognizing some thing was upon it, gave a mighty shake of its giant body. Its scales flared out, creating a wall of blades just waiting for whatever was on it to get torn to shreds. Mari cursed, putting her armored arms up to protect herself from the incoming storm of metal.

Sparks flew as the scales collided with Mari’s armor, some of the sharp appendages slipping past and cutting though the leather effortlessly. Mari could feel the scales easily cutting into her skin, the armor luckily bulky enough to keep them them from slicing her organs apart. The sound of a snap shot through the endless noise of moving earth and howling beast, Mari realizing her rope had not been as lucky as she had. Her run stopped suddenly, all her forward momentum lost as she fell toward the ground.

Mari was no longer thinking about the whale or her impending end. She thought about how she would miss the guild beer that tasted like dirt, but was bad enough you wanted to try more. About how she wouldn’t get back that loan from that young kid that just joined and needed some money for some new armor. About how she wouldn’t feel Lucy’s hand upon her cheek or her lips as they kissed under the fading light of twilight.

Mari shot her right hand out, still holding her sword, and plunged it right into the beast. She felt her shoulder pop and pain well up, her screams muffled by the monster’s own roar. Grabbing with her left hand, she pulled herself back up and stood on the hilt of her sword, her legs wobbling with every move the whale made.  

“So close…” she muttered, looking up at the eye just above her head. Her left hand burned, Mari looking down to see she still held the pouch of jewels, their glow so intense it burned to look at it. Grimacing, Mari knew the only way out of danger was up. Grabbing a hold of the scales that still jutted out of the monster, she began to climb. Her hands and body were cut up, her arm throbbing with pain and she still climbed up. The monster roared again, shaking violently. Mari gasped and pushed her body into the scales that easily pierced her armor and into her belly and legs. Mari’s vision went white but her body took her up. When she could see again, she was right next to the monster’s wounded eye.

Mari screamed, making a fist with her left hand that still held the pouch, shoving it deep into the monster wound. The whale cried out and gave one last shake. Mari flew like a rag doll through the air, her body so beaten and hurt she didn’t have the strength to hold on anymore.

“Just die already!” Mari screamed with the last of her strength. Falling quickly, Mari was hoping the sand would give her a quick death, yet when she finally reached the ground it was not hot sand that awaited. She groaned as her body landed on thick wood, the monster’s final shake sending her far enough to land right back where she started. She couldn’t help but chuckle, not knowing which god to thank for the stroke of luck.

The beast roared again, it’s cry on of victory, it’s song cut short by the boom that exploded in it’s eye, silencing the beast forever . It rocked back and forth as if unsure of where it wanted to die before settling with the right, launching Mari and her sled high into the air; the area covered in a dust cloud.

The desert was silent again, the echoes of the whale’s final victory slowly disappearing into the emptiness. Mari struggled to stand, the remains of her sled sliding off her armor and plopping onto the soft sand. She looked about, her eyes clouded with pain but still searching for something. She stood, holding her stomach wound and limping to the pile of wood that was once her sled. Digging through, she found a small lime stone dimly glowing.

“Lucy,” she said into the stone, “please tell everyone we need a clean up.”

“Mari?! Oh my god we could hear the explosions from here! Are you okay?!” Mari looked down at her bleeding stomach and her felt the numbness in her right arm moving down to her finger tips.  

“Could be better…” she mumbled, her eyes become heavy. “Just…get here quick.” Lucy called for her lover, but only received silent, Mari drifting off into a pain induced slumber.

* *

Mari’s body ached. Her sides felt like they where on fire and her arm was completely numb. She tried to raise her head, but felt something push her back down onto something soft. She tried again only to be gently pushed once more. She cracked open her eyes, the dazzling orange of the setting mixing together with the approaching night sky. Lucy’s face appeared suddenly above her own, her green eyes a bit red but a smile on her face.

“Hi.” Lucy said

“Hey.” Mari replied with a smile, leaning up to kiss her lover. “What happened?” Mari asked, pushing of her wife’s thigh and looking back to where the monster fell. Already her guild mates where cannibalizing the beast, taking big knives to its body and taking it apart piece by piece. A few of her friends saw her rise, and gave a loud cheer for the conquering hero. Lucy sighed and she stood up, her wooden leg creaking with the effort.

“You did something really stupid, love.” Mari shrugged, Lucy helping her too her feet and carrying her to the guilds new trophy.

“So same as usual then?” she asked, Lucy rolling her eyes as the two embraced at the end of twilight, the last lights from the sun shinning off the whale’s body.

[writerscraft-blog]

Worth

Short story: Flashes before you

Berlin, April 1945

Colonel Muller began his pre-war speech “Alright men, grab your ammunition and grenades. the Russians are thirty minutes out, there will be no reinforcements today the war ends today men it has been a pleasure. Heil Hitler, Heil the third Reich, Heil Deutschland” lieutenant Weber stood up from his seat “fuck the Reich, fuck Deutschland and fuck Hitler” we all looked up in surprise obviously, we were all thinking the same but to actually voice it was something else. Colonel Muller walked over to the lieutenant and told him “silence you ingrate or I will have you” the lieutenant interrupted “what, you will have me what? Arrested? Demoted? You are fighting under a dead mans dream can’t you” a gunshot rang off and Weber hit the ground in a matter of moments the colonel had shot him as he turned to speak to us the alarm began to ring and in unisons we all marched out the door the colonel looked at me and handed my helmet “here Otto I believe you’ll be needing this” the craving of my name on the side confirmed it was mine the name “Anna” carved into the metal made it mine. For once the bombing had stopped and as we raced to the surface the ruins of our once beautiful and glorious Berlin stood around us we joined the march of men in grey uniforms marching forwards towards the front towards the east this march may very well be my last I race my fingers across the name carved into my helmet “Anna” I whisper my companion Auric over heard me and asked “speaking t yourself again Otto?” “no” I say “just what could have been” he pats me on the shoulder as more squads of men join us for the final defence. A man screams from behind us “Make way!!” and the final Panzer Battalion moved past us the men holding on to the tanks seemed more afraid of the end than we did maybe because our survival depends on them.

           We reach the staging area, we are ordered to take the eastern road and to not to let any Russians through we all nodded and filled the six positions of covered we had three on each side of the road filled with approximately eight men each and two Panzers in our rear ready to cover us with their cannons the radio begins to pick up, the silence once so prominent is now broken and we hear “Russians Ten minutes out, no correction Russians five no.. Here They are here” gunfire broke out on the western facing road and now the sound of Russians marching singing their anthem approached the Colonel calls for me “Otto we have incoming tanks, multiple infantry units and air support. I think its time we introduce them to the Luftwaffe I speak into the radio giving our coordinates and a commander confirms his planes are on their way, suddenly not all hope is lost and maybe we can defend this city from the enemy. “INCOMING”  the Russians begin to swarm us wave after wave as if they never end bullets are flying and the Panzers mighty canon are going off  so far we have not lost a single man but we have lost communication with the western road and if they fall we will be surrounded the radio begins the play “This Commander Gottfried of the Luftwaffe we are out numbered eight to one, the bulk of my squadron is gone and… Nein I’ve been hit I’m going down” although the shower of bullets continued I could hear an oncoming plane I looked to the sky and saw a German plane engulfed in flames being chased by three enemy aircrafts the skies have been lost “PANZER STRIKE!” I hear being screamed from the front two positions and a rocket flies right by me and directly hits the tank to my right almost immediately its tracks fall off the engineer sticks his head out of the hatch and yells “That’s it we are stuck Otto get your men and fall back we will hold them off for now” I run across the open street to the colonel and plead for him to give the order “Alright men fall back, the cross roads is lost.” As the first row of men begin to fall away from their positions a Russian plane flies towards us and begins to unleash hell mowing down all sixteen of my friends and brothers, the remaining thirty-two men start to run just in case if the winged beast decides to make another run. Running from our position gave the Russians an advantage as there was only one canon left to fire back as we fell back, making us easy targets men to my right and to my left began to drop begging for their mothers asking god for mercy. The colonel screams “set up position!” once again we prepare for the inevitable onslaught in the distance I could see the Russian infantry over take the tank, I watched them climb the vehicle and spray their machine guns in through the hatch then they began killing off all the men they had shot whilst running away “the cowards” Auric whispers the colonel calls out “Ammo check” then all hope was stripped from me as the men began to exclaim that they were almost out of bullets and “Alright, fix bayonets” we took our bayonets from out satchels and fixed them to our rifles “prepare yourselves” then out of nowhere an almost canon like sound went off but no explosions had happened, I looked to the sky and realized “MORTARS!” from that point I sat and watched as the bombs swept away the remaining fifteen men knocking most down and injuring them Auric pushes me aside “Otto Get back” and he pushes me away from him as a mortar landed directly behind him make my friend, my brother vanish into pink mist before my vary eyes all goes black.

           I awake covered in dirt and pain as I watch my fellow soldiers being stabbed to death by the Russian invaders I grab my rifle and take aim but the sight of the slaughter is too much I see my colonel fighting off four Russians with his knife as they toy with him and shoot him first in the legs then in his arms, he looks over to me and Screams “COWARD” as they put his own gun to his head and shoot him with it look to my right and I see what remains of Auric his eyes still blue but so lifeless and cold, I take my helmet off and stare at the name “Anna” my eyes feel heavy I look to stand but my legs are gone my fate is to sit here until the darkness engulfs me. “Otto, wake up” its Anna I remember this day it is the chose not to run away with her and escape this war she begged me to leave with her but I refused, too proud too loyal and now I am dying a broken man. Why didn’t I confess my affection for her when I had the chance I have always been a good German I always stuck to my studies and attended church I never did anything out of what my Fuhrer said was alright I stuck to proper way I stuck to the life I was sure of having and I joined the army for the victory they said was absolute, where is my life where did it go, Anna please come back I’m sorry I’m sorry for not leaving with you to America I’m sorry for turning you in I’m sorry not having lived when I could have. “Fuck the Fuhrer, Fuck the Reich, FUCK Deutschland”

I open my eyes to Russian staring me in the face with his rifle “I’m sorry” I mumble as he drives his bayonet through my heart and I see her for one last time, Anna my love, my biggest regret.