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monstersdownthepath · 1 year ago

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Monster Spotlight: Ohancanu

CR 5

Chaotic Evil Large Fey

Adventure Path: Ironfang Invasion: Fangs of War, pg. 88-89

Yes, Fey. Not Humanoid or Monstrous Humanoid, despite their resemblance to a Cyclops. The mistake is an easy one to make and a fatal one to fall for, given that Ohancanu bear the Fey’s typical Damage Reduction 5/cold iron, something that makes them resistant to many of the weapons a squad of guards and soldiers could bring to bear against them and all but impervious to the weapons a commoner may raise in defense. And they’ll need to raise a defense; Ohancanu are destruction incarnate, rapacious destroyers who live to cause ruin, pain, and death. These aren’t Fey who guard the forests they dwell within, no. They block up rivers just to save themselves the trouble of fishing, they cause landslides just to drum up hiding prey, and they chop down trees rather than climb them to get at hidden nests. They also do all three of those things just for the fun of it, and if they see any sign of civilization? They’ll go out of their way to destroy it in whatever fashion amuses them the most. They’ll fell towers, break dams, crush houses, slaughter livestock, and of course kill any man or elf they see.

Ohancanu are noted to be able to survive off eating any organic matter, surviving easily off tree bark, grass, and carrion, but of course none of these faux-giants would ever settle for such things. They like it when their meals have flavor, prizing berries, fruits, and of course all manner of meats, especially the meat of sapient humanoids because we all know what carnivores on Golarion are like. Ironically, they’re not seeking humanoids out of some addiction to sapient flesh, but because humanoid settlements grant them opportunities to destroy more complex items, as they take great pleasure in smashing human structures, especially if doing so causes some terrible domino effect (like smashing a water tower, bridge, or dam). To sate both their appetites these Fey are constantly migrating from place to place, never settling in one area for more than a few days at a time as they casually plod in great circles in their old-growth forests.

The only form of nature the Ohancanu respect are ancient trees, which they sometimes guard with their lives. This is due to their absolutely bizarre method of reproduction: every few years, the usually-solitary giants congregate with one another to share stories, wrestle with one another, point out new locations to hunt in, tell their friends where they may find caches of weapons or small campsites (which litter the forests they dwell in), and to slaughter the elderly Ohancanu among them. The old and feeble fey may fight for their lives, but the young among them outnumber and overpower them, killing them and scooping out their organs while consuming the rest. The organs are buried at the base of an old tree, and after just one year, a new Ohancanu (or perhaps even several; upwards to three at a time!) bursts from the soil, able to walk, speak, and wield weapons, possessing rudimentary skills that were somehow taught to them by the spirit of the departed elder, skills they must hone as they age.

It’s good that they’re typically solitary, as their enormous axes deal a guard-splattering 3d6+9 damage at base, a Barbarian-splattering triple damage on a critical hit, and they have Power Attack if they don’t mind sacrificing some of their +10 to hit for extra damage. Anyone trying to attack them from a range can get beaned by their Rock Throwing, their single-eyed aim nonetheless good enough to give them a 100ft range with stones dealing 1d8+6 damage, softening targets up until they can close in with their masterwork greataxes. Their massive bulk, powerful axes, and DR are usually all they need, but Intimidating Prowess and a +12 to Intimidate checks tends to mean their victims are shaken up and even less likely to be able to harm them back.

Thankfully, Ohancanu have a few weaknesses one can take advantage of. They’re idiots as a rule, and greedy at that; they’re easily tricked and mislead, and on the uncommon occasions they deign to work together (typically when assaulting settlements), they’re easily turned against one another if canny prey takes advantage of their combative tendencies. If prey-to-be willingly offers itself “only to the strongest” of the group, the gang may dissolve into senseless bickering and bloody infighting as they try and determine who that is, giving the prey a chance to escape. By far, however, their biggest weakness is their love of riddles; Ohancanu adore riddles of every sort, and hearing an especially interesting one may get them to pause their rampage as they ponder the answer... however, one must be careful, because again: they’re idiots. A riddle that’s too hard will simply frustrate them into attacking, and if the fey itself posits a riddle as part of some hunting game of theirs--almost always simple ones, or ones that have been asked and answered hundreds of times--answering accurately too quickly may make it angry. The book amusingly notes that finding a riddle JUST difficult enough to make them think but not so difficult they cannot solve it is a puzzle in and of itself!

Really, though, the real purpose of any riddle is to either escape as they ponder the answer, or convince the dimwitted creature to lean down so you can whisper the answer to them and take advantage of their oddest weakness: their White Hairs. In a tragic bit of artistic miscommunication, the Ohancanu are supposed to have heads of red or dark hair, NOT the woolly white present in the artwork above, so as to make their 2d4 White Hairs better stand out in their shaggy manes. These hairs are connected to their very souls, and successfully using a steal maneuver on one--or plucking one from a helpless fey as a standard action--irresistibly inflicts 2 negative levels to the massive fey which cannot be alleviated until the hair grows back a day later. Stealing even a single hair is catastrophic to their morale, the pain and sudden weakness too much for them to bear, and only the bravest (or most foolish) of these fey will stay and fight in any combat with an enemy that knows this secret weakness. The rest will abandon the battle, trampling over their own allies in a frenzied dash if they have to, to get away from the hair-plucker. One must wonder if they think of barbers.

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 1 to 5 #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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postersbykeith · 7 years ago

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#etymology #Latin roots #carn #carnis #flesh #carnage #carnal #carnation #carnival #carnivore #carrion #charcuterie #charnel house #incarnate #incarnation #reincarnation

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palatial-monstrosity · 3 years ago

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One thing I've always loved about NBC Hannibal is how it shows us how under a quiet, ordinary façade of reality, the monstruous dwells. Hannibal himself is probably the biggest incarnation of this, but there are more elements to this - like the Leda and the Swan painting, reminding us of erotism and transgression of the ancient myths, like Will's dogs. We are used to seeing dogs as loyal, cute companions, but in the past stray dogs - like the ones Will adopts and cherishes! - were seen as a threat. They brought illnesses, were dangerous and ate carrion, which in the western world was seen as hideous. They ate human corpses easily, and there is the strong possibility that many corpse-eating monsters of myth are based on dogs who hanged out at cemeteries and charnel houses to eat the dead. And Will's dogs do eat human meat more than once in the show, unknowingly like Will at first, and knowingly later as Mason feeds them himself upon Hannibal's suggestion. Hannibal reminds Will who they are - compassionate and loving creatures who just happen to have a taste of human flesh - just like him, just like Will.

#the more i read about cannibalism the more this show feels elegant and well built #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannibal #cannibalism

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zindabad · 4 years ago

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Spirit classes in current western society:- witches, men, geeks nerds techies(stock market drones n Silicon Valley) airhead bimbo ‘goddesses’ (idols) (all vibes no swag) (fuckdolls) (club girls), people that eat meat / carrion / dead flesh on the regular (wage slaves), actual goddesses (marina, lana, azalea etc.), Lesser gods (ig influencers n soundcloud rappers processors of desire that will be forgotten) demon kings (bezos, musk, gates, jinping, Putin , buffet, bankers etc etc )(armies of belial and moloch), Actual evil incarnate (narcos, Epstein and co., oil money old money generational wealth familes) hippies, Dickheads (horny people with no substance(dd/lg type ppl), actual gods (Naomi, drake, bladee, lean idk , bourdain, people you can just tell ) , Pagan gods ( most rappers and celebs) , homeless people, townsfolk, immigrants that got deceived. & Whatever the fuck nikocado avocado is

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wearesorcerer · 3 years ago

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[PF] Golems, Ranked

Ordinarily, I would leave this sort of thing to @weareartificers or @we-are-siege-engineer or [insert other Collective artificer here] -- whomever specifically covers robots and golems and such. However, I'm going through various books right now and am reminded at how much I like and dislike some of these. So here you are: thoughts on animated minions you can make for fun (and perhaps profit).

Adamantine (Bestiary 2): Ye olde epic golem. One of the few things approaching the Tarrasque in difficulty to destroy. Needs better artwork, though, and otherwise isn't terribly interesting. B

Alchemical (Bestiary 2): This one has such horror potential, it's amazing. The brain-in-a-jar part is a nice but unnecessary touch. A

Behemoth (Lost Kingdoms): This seems like a very round-about way of sticking castle on the back of a Colossal-sized creature. C

Blood (Bestiary 4): This is mostly gross (because it forces you to think about coagulation). It is not without precedent, but even then, it's gross. C-

Bone (Bestiary 3): The Bone Prison ability is really what makes this its own creature, rather than a variant skeleton or a negative energy golem. Needs better artwork. N.B.: Not the same as the 2nd ed. monster of the same name. B

Bone, Equine (Tombs of Golarion): I mean, it's a different take on a golem, for sure. I'm not sure if it appeals any differently to me than a horse skeleton would, but it's no worse than a normal bone golem. B

Brass (Legacy of Fire #6, Bestiary 3): Talk about looks being deceiving! Its artwork is lame enough that you pass over the entry, yet it has 1.) an oversized sword which you can't disarm it of, 2.) a breath weapon AoE DoT that can last longer than the recharge die (better than most breath weapons), and 3.) an explosive self-destruct. Kudos to whomever designed this! Contrast with the one in Monster Manual 2 3.0, which is just a minotaur-themed golem. A+

Cannon (Bestiary 3): (Swoons.) I love this. Yes, it's yet another Gunslinger thingy, but it's doing it as a robot (it could not be a golem and be fine, as far as fluff goes) with a feakin' cannon. It's scary enough as-is; imagine it with a pepperbox (revolving) barrel. A+

Carrion (Crimson Throne #1, B2): Y'know how flesh golems are already just zombies but made by science? Well, these are more so: they're lower CR and HD (so cheap to produce), they spread disease, they use especially poorly preserved corpses, necromancers are the ones who tend to make them, and they require animate dead to create. Superfluous. D-

Caryatid Column (an aside): Both of Pathfinder's entries on the Caryatid Column (in the Bonus Bestiary and Bestiary 3) specify that it isn't a true golem and that it cannot be made into shield guardian; which of these is the cause of the other isn't specified. Instead, Caryatid Columns are low HD monsters, so they're cheap enough to mass produce. The Pathfinder version is less meaningfully distinct from other golems than in earlier incarnations; its only abilities are both things many other constructs should have by default: Shatter Weapon (which is in theory representing what happens when you take a sword to a block of stone) and Statue (which is the same thing as the Gargoyle's Freeze [in Place] ability and is again something any non-living block of stone should be able to do). I bring all of this up because...

Caryatid (The Witchwar Legacy): The Caryatid Golem also exists; it's a 14 HD "variant Stone Golem" (the only things the two share besides type and material of construction are number of hit dice) with all of the Caryatid Column's abilities. It doesn't make sense in context: it debuted in a scenario where regular Caryatid Columns might not be CR appropriate one-on-one, but there are twenty four of them to use. Like...why bother wasting page space on these? C- (I like Caryatids and gave them this grade.)

Clay: aka Rabbi Loew's Golem, aka what was originally meant by "golem." Except when we mean "Terracotta Warrior," which is a construct type but not a golem. The Pathfinder version is identical to the 3.5 version, which apart from mentioning that the clay is soft is lifted almost word-for-word from the 2nd ed. description (which is paired with an image of a Terracotta Warrior). Aside from the lack of word-play for activation and deactivation, I don't know how much this conforms to the original story. C for Clay.

Clockwork (Bestiary 2): This is fairly disappointing. Since Pathfinder made it so that you can sneak attack (or crit) almost anything (Rogues: "Wah! Baby want to attack vital organs in things which don't have them!" Paizo: "Okay! You're a warrior class now anyway! You're no longer the squishy pseudo-adventurer who survives by wits alone!" -- No seriously, that's what happened.), there's not a need to specify that creatures of certain types have complex inner workings. Ergo, this may as well be an iron golem with lots of swords, as all it gets is extra slashing damage options. C

Coral (Isles of the Shackles, Bestiary 4): I had come up with this as an idea for a setting of mine before I saw the version in PF. Though I like the idea (and the fast healing), the execution is a bit bland -- just another golem. C+

Crystal (Bestiary 5): The original 3.x Crystal Golem is listed as the Psion Killer on the SRD and, as its name implies, is intended to be for psychics what a normal golem is for arcanists. This one is the reverse: instead of casting dispel psionics, its presence amplifies psychic magic and the construct itself can use psychic spells. I'ma give it points for trying to make itself distinct, instead of being needlessly redundant like much of the (still glorious) 3.x psionics system. B-

Dragonhide (Construct Handbook): Like the Dragonflesh Golem (3.0 Monster Manual II), this is a draconic equivalent of the flesh golem. Unlike that one, it's not the corpse of multiple dragons stitched together, but the corpse of a giant with draconic grafts stitched onto it. Mechanically, this version is highly customizable, but not as cool as 1.) draconic grafts (the item type) or 2.) a dragon (alternate monster entry). B

Fiend-Infused Template (Cheliax, the Infernal Empire): This is kinda cool, but the Berserk Liberation ability alone is a headache in the making for any DM crazy enough to run one. C

Flesh Golem: As I said before about the Carrion Golem, the flesh golem is simply a zombie created through engineering instead of other methods and with a very specific literary/film pedigree. Mechanically, it's an excuse to make undead without them actually being undead, like the plant zombies created by the Yellow Musk Creeper or like if you cast animate objects on a corpse. It also misses the entire point of the novel, which is that the monster is both entirely alive and fully sapient, if pissed off. D

Fossil (Bestiary 3): I thought this was kinda nifty, if a great showcase in how animate objects becomes necessary to explain how something stands. (There are several very good reasons why museums tend to mount replicas of fossils rather than actual fossils, weight and instability being some of them.) However, it's its petrifying attacks that really stand out. B+

Glass (Bestiary 2): The mere fact that it gets spell turning as an extraordinary ability with a recharge is pretty freakin' great; it makes up for the fact that its other main ability is worthless because Pathfinder did not correct the Dazzled status effect (and keeps insisting on Fort saves against it; you can shield your eyes [Reflex], but your immune system isn't going to protect your vision from bright light, TYVM). The inclusion of the Stained Glass Golem as a variant is a nice space-freeing choice -- and this entry is better than the one in Monster Manual 2 3.0. B

Gold (Bestiary 6): Despite its name, its main feature is casting prismatic spray when it hits a target. That's...a little extreme for a golem, but not in a way that gives it many points. C

Ice (Bestiary): Sadly, this is not a snowman, but something more like a Glass Golem -- even though its attacks don't deal slashing damage (and they should), the icy destruction ability makes it clear that it's not snow. I'd say make lesser (snowman) and greater (ice sculpture) forms to address this; the snowman has the same slams but no icy destruction ability, the greater gains the explosion and deals slashing damage on attacks. C

Inubrix (Construct Handbook): This is kinda like an iron golem, but more powerful, since it phases through iron (and thus steel). Seems like overkill. B

Ioun (Ruins of Azlant #6): The naming poor. In general, a golem is named for the material it's made out of. The ioun golem isn't made out of ioun stones, but brass, platinum, and silver; rather, it can socket six of them (like gems in WoW), attracts nearby ones via an aura, and can temporarily drain them to cast magic missile. As a monster, it's only okay if you have ioun stones running rampant in your game; Meow might have one. C+

Iron: I have never understood why the OG D&D robot has a poisonous breath weapon; maybe it's to connect it to the improperly-named Gorgons. C

Junk (Bestiary 4): This is a novelty. You don't see very many swarms, let alone swarms of non-animals. There are other construct swarms, to be sure, but this one is more like a construct vampire or worm-that-walks, which is cooler. And it has fast healing. This is some primo shit. B+

Lead (Bestiary 5): Eh. I mean, it at least does what lead should do (I think; the acid thing doesn't sound like anything I know about lead, but I'm not a chemist). Its biggest novelty is that, if it were a Pokémon, it'd be a Poison/Steel (or vice-versa)-type, which is a heretofore unseen type combo. C

Magnetite (Giantslayer #5): A lodestone golem? A permanent magnet made to make the lives of most adventurers (especially peeps like Knight) that much more difficult? You have my attention! B+

Marrowstone (Inner Sea Bestiary): Yet another faux-undead golem, except this one operates like most undead in that it creates spawn. Pass. D

Mask (Masks of the Living God): This one can also turn into a swarm, but it's a swarm of magical masks. It has two kinds of attack masks: ones that silence and suffocate (scary) and ones that dominate. "What, a domination ability on a construct?" Yeah, but it has Int 7, so it can make use of that. Kinda. For this to be a good construct, it would need a positive Int modifier to best screw with parties, but it's still bizarrely cool. B

Mithral (Bestiary 2): It's almost a T-1000, which just means you need to make it one by adding a high Int score and more shapechanging. B

Noqual (Inner Sea Bestiary): Outdoing the Psion-Killer by a mile, the noqual golem is very much a competent anti-magic construct. It would pair well with a magnetite golem if the latter's abilities weren't magical. B

Obsidian (Bestiary 6): As you should expect, this one is all about slashing damage. It could have worked well as a variant glass golem (given that obsidian is glass). C

Panthereon (Mummy's Mask #4): Laser. Eye. Beams. Need I say more? B+

Quantium (Inner Sea Bestiary): These are a pair of otherwise unique golems that protect the city; as such, they have no crafting notes. They're kinda cool, but the fact that their information is made so fluff-specific limits their use in non-Golarion games. C+

Quintessence (Bestiary 6): Yet another take on a soul-sucking monster, but one in which the monster eats the soul without destroying it, which is somewhat better than normal. I'm not sure I'd ever want to use it, but perhaps someone someday might. C

Robot (Numeria, Land of Fallen Stars): Contextually, this is a robot that's been damaged beyond repair and used to make something akin to an Iron Golem. Mechanically, t differs from the Iron Golem in that it's electricity-oriented. So-so. C+

Sand (Construct Handbook): Why is this a golem and not an elemental? C

Shadow (Hell's Rebels #6): I don't know if I think this is a good or bad idea; it's just sort of strange. C

Stone: It's just sort of basic, y'know? I always look at stone golems and wonder whether or not they should just be earth elementals, since they're often conflated anyway. C

Viridium (Bestiary 6): Mainly a disease golem, its natural attacks are needlessly anomalous -- just give it a freakin' sword and shield. D

Wax (Carrion Crown #5, Bestiary 4): Remember that episode of Gravity Falls where all the wax figures come to life? (Or any other show where the same happens.) That's these. It's another take on the doppelganger, but it's one which is susceptible to fire damage and doesn't require there to be an entire species of creatures that want to replace people (be they tied to mirrors or not), so that's kinda cool. B-/C+

Wood (Bestiary): I'm just not feeling this one, y'know? There are plenty of golems that have AoE splinter attacks (plus the Twigjack). C-

#golems #Pathfinder #Pathfinder 1e

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omenapologist-moved · 4 years ago

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Rabbit: Second Statement of “Mira”

Lost statement which was recovered in the depths of the Magnus Institute. This is one of few tapes we were able to recover. This tape appeared to have been slightly damaged in storage, but the integrity of the audio recording remains.

Statement begins.

Once again, I find myself here in this pleather seat, in front of you. Stoic as always. Removed from the situation I am about to relay to you. You try and look like you aren't bothered by my words, but the slight tremble in your voice betrays you. But even more than that, it's the look in your eyes. Your doe-like eyes, Archivist. Big and round and deep and full of fear like a little prey animal when faced with the barrel of a gun.

But don't worry, I'm not here to torment you or to further comment on your striking resemblance to that which torments me. Some... Interesting things have happened since I was last seated across the table from you. This update I bring is mostly a formality. I expect these tapes to be the only record of my existence, or rather, the only record of this incarnation of myself, of Mira, in due time. I've traveled to many more towns, worn a few different faces since the last time we spoke. Well, the last time I spoke at you, if we wanted to be more technical about it.

...Does my face look the same to you? I don't even recognize that I have one anymore. It is not something I worry about, particularly when I am alone to my thoughts. Who I am when I am alone does not matter, just as it doesn't matter whether or not a tree makes a noise when it falls in a forest and no one is around. It is when I am around others that who I am matters.

To you, I am Mira. The strange little taxidermist that kept running over innocent animals with their car, had a psychotic break, and skipped town over and over again. At least that is what you tell yourself to avoid confronting the greater other, that which I am and that which I am not. You try and be skeptical, Archivist, but I can tell it is mostly to hide your fear... But you didn't say no when I came back.

My apologies, I said I wasn't here to torment you. It's just a little funny.

I've poked and prodded and beaten around the bush long enough.

It's been nearly three years in total now since I left a life I once said was mine. I found a picture of that person in an old notebook the other day, and it was not me, and I am fine with that now. Every day I become more and more of a stranger to myself, and that is okay.

I have become content with my life's path once again.

I have rediscovered an old hobby.

For these past years, every time I saw that deer, I would look at it in its beautiful eyes that looked too much like mine and I would slam my foot on the gas and stare it down as I ran it over. I got better at causing less damage to my car over time. I'm amazed it's survived all the collisions. I'm amazed I have survived all the collisions.

I came close a few times to being hit by an oncoming car, or veering directly into a tree, or the hooves of the animal smashing their way through my windshield and crushing my throat under their keratinous force. It felt as though the universe were holding me in its cold arms and sheltering me from the worst of these impacts, just so that I could be where I am today.

The last few times I caused steel to collide with flesh, an itch grew upon me. Something I had not felt in quite some time. A desire once more to create, to peel away the soft, gentle fur of a little creature until its pink muscle is bared to the world and eaten by flies and maggots and carrion crows. To stretch its skin taut and stitch it back together, to have those glassy eyes once again staring me down from every crevice of my home.

I resisted it at first. I knew I'd be a failure to it, that it would hate me, its cruel father, for condemning it once more to walk the Earth in such a terrible form. Legs a few half-inches too long, lips that were meant to be drawn into a contemplative expression stiffly stitched into a grimace, and those eyes...

But then, in a town where I wore the face of a happy-go-lucky bartender named Elijah, one of the stray cats I had been leaving food out for presented me with a gift. A freshly-caught little rabbit. I remembered how it felt to process such a creature. The fur of rabbits is so soft, softer than anything synthetic, but you have to be careful when you de-flesh the hide. The skin is so thin and tender and prone to tearing with the slightest nick, and if you are enough of an amateur such as myself you can ruin the whole hide.

But once it is done it is such a precious little thing. So soft, but less... Frantic than it was in life.

No little panicked rabbit heartbeat.

Just silence and softness.

I wrapped the little thing in a plastic bag and I put it in my freezer, and the next day I went to the store and bought the barest of supplies. The tan would be nothing impressive, I wasn't even sure if it would last given the exceptionally low quality of the alum I had purchased, but it was worth a try, I thought.

Somehow, it was worse than my previous specimens. The eyes squinted at me and they scorned me and they judged me not just for the sin of stuffing this creature but for all of the sins I had committed since pursuing this hobby. The skin itself had cured just fine, and yet the fur was falling out in chunks. I was eventually left with a thing that hardly resembled a rabbit anymore at all, but for the two unmistakable ears protruding from the top of its head.

Most of it was bald flesh, translucent. The cheap floral foam I had used to sculpt the form it was stitched onto cast it in a ghastly green hue, and without the bulk of the fur to hide my errors every little imperfection shone through. The light tan stitching holding the piece together made it reminiscent of a recently autopsied corpse rather than a piece of taxidermy. I could see the full resin orb of its eyes through the skin, wide in terror at my sins.

What have you done.

But somehow, I was not discouraged. I gave the blasphemous excuse for a piece of art a prominent place on my bookshelf. To remind me of my work, and that I had far to go.

Several days after, one of my coworkers invited me to an outing after work. The face I wore wouldn't say no, and so despite myself I accepted. I had yet again started keeping some meager supplies for the collection of roadkill in my car, but had yet to find any salvageable specimens.

The outing doesn't matter. My presence was ultimately only so that I may be the vessel of that which they wished me to be, so I played my role and I played it well. I socialized, and joked, and was informed sometime afterwards I had been the life of the party. Good for them to get such use out of me. By the time I left the party, it was well after dark.

Despite my best attempts in the contrary, I had found myself in a fairly rural area once more. Not that being in the city had kept the deer from pursuing me, of course. It would always find me. The red of blood and peeling mint-green of my car made quite the contrast. One I became used to with time.

I was driving home from the aforementioned outing. It had rained earlier that day and the yellow tinted light from the occasional street lamp danced somberly upon the wet asphalt. The road to the ramshackle motel I was staying in was a lonesome one. I was accompanied only by the watchful birch trees and my own thoughts, which had grown fuzzier as of late. A dull hum in the back of my mind, intrusive thoughts blending with my own until I couldn't tell where I ended and the other began.

The sky was black and starless, the typical countless pinpricks of light obscured by oppressive storm clouds threatening to release another downpour. The typical yellow lines that divided the road were worn away in this area, neglected asphalt riddled with potholes of varying but always hazardous sizes.

The black of the road and the black of the sky blended into an all-consuming void, the shimmer of my headlights on the wet road the only stars in sight. Ghostly birch trees stood as sentinels on either side of the road, observing me as they did every other passerby. As I progressed to my destination the trees became thicker and taller and the road became skinnier and more perilous.

As they had promised, the clouds above unleashed their storm upon me. I turned on my high-beams and proceeded through the downpour.

In the distance, something on the shoulder of the road caught the light emanating from my car. Two perfect circles of light flashed. Animal eyes. I knew what would come next. The deer with my eyes would walk onto the middle of the road, and it would wait for the kiss of hard metal against its soft flesh and strong but not strong enough bones, and it would die there on that road and be gone by morning, and I would wash its blood from my car and pay for the repairs I needed to pay for, and I would pack up again and I would move town and change my name and my face to suit the next group of people that I would find myself amongst.

No.

No, I decided.

That was enough. I had enough.

The deer looked at me in the same way it always looked at me. Its eyes were more mine than they ever had been, full of a very, very human hatred.

My heart beat in time with the pace of my windshield wipers as they swept the rain from my field of vision. I stared at the deer in waiting of its own demise. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles were white, skin taut like that of a taxidermied rabbit around its form, translucent and pale and cold. I pressed my foot onto the pedal until it was flush with the floorboard. I felt the car lurch forward, taking a moment to make purchase with the rain-sodden road.

I felt every moment of the impact, this time. I heard as the plastic and metal on the front of my car were wrought around the cervine's fragile frame. The doe slid onto the hood of my car, and as it did I became closer to its eyes than I ever had been and how they burned, Archivist.

As the skull of the creature made impact with the glass barrier separating the two of us, its eyes did not close, the glass windshield spider-webbing around where the deer had collided with it. It remained in one piece, but only barely. The car slid along the slick road, and I slammed on the breaks. My nose smashed into the steering wheel, eliciting a trickle of blood to spout forth from it. The slain animal slid from the front of my vehicle, propelled forward by the remaining velocity.

The vehicle finally finished its motion, and sat under the rain. Again, there was silence.

I wiped the blood from my nose, and I leaned over to my glove box, and I retrieved my skinner knife and my spare needles and thread, and out there on that lonesome road in the middle of the rain I began my masterpiece.

The deer was dead. Its eyes were still open. I had never in all this time seen them shut. Despite the fire behind them having been extinguished by my own hand, they still burned.

I would give it a reason to hate me.

#tma #the magnus archives #fanpod #the stranger #tma oc #oc: mira

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ligbi · 4 years ago

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A3N 33 34 35

Start Previous

Chapter 33- No Stranger Now

Characters

Candy

John Brothers

Malingo

Geneva

Two-toed Tom

Legitimate Eddie*

Betty Thunder*

Clyde*

Christopher Carrion

Locations:

-Qualm Hah*

Mentioned:

-Gnomon

-Gorgossium

Candy and crew see strange migrations, Candy finds an old friend

-Legitimate Eddie: Actor, previously murderer for hire, short and very green, piercing eyes, was a middle brother

-Betty Thunder: Glamourous and muscled woman, actor, wearing sequins

-Clyde: Five-foot Ape, playwright

-Qualm Hah: Island of 9am, late Spring, contains the city of Tazmagor, but is half unbuilt

Seagulls- Like Hereafter ones but extra big

Flying creatures- Winged boars, feathered dragonflies, airship sized tentacled creatures

Tuntarunts, Doemanna Rotts, Kuthuries- fruits for sale on Qualm Hah

Moriana- lady shaped fruit, coral pink flesh, currently seven paterzem

Chapter 34- Unfinished

Characters

Candy

Carrion

John Brothers

Mentioned

Boa

Mater Motley

Sacbrood

Stitchlings

Ghouls, Malefics, Wrathaki, Babelites

Locations:

-Qualm Hah

Mentioned:

-Dead Man’s House

-Isle of the Black Egg

-Stormwalker

-Hereafter

Candy is warned by Carrion of Absolute Midnight

Love- What we die for. What Candy has not had and lost

Chapter 35- Stealing Away

Characters

Candy

John Brothers

Betty Thunder

Malingo

Legitimate Eddie

Two-Toed Tom

Clyde

Geneva

Gazza*

Mentioned

Carrion

Fantomaya

Sacbrood

Macy

Mater Motley

Finnegan

Eddie’s Two Brothers

Boa

Wolfswinkle

Locations:

-Qualm Hah

-The Loner*

-Big Boat*

-The Piper*

Mentioned:

-Yebba Dim Day

-Babilonium

-Gorgossium

-Nonce

-Time out of Time

-Parroto Parroto

Candy and co part ways, and pick up another member

-Gazza: Purple and white piebald youth, had been part of a local congregation, same height as Candy, wears a jacket and a belt sheath with a small knife, lean and strong, can’t swim, his purple turns pale blue when blushing, eyes have shards of gold and pastel motes, blue irises in pale yellow eyes

-The Loner: A sport boat, fast, stolen by Geneva

-Big Boat: A large ship to carry multiple passengers, stolen by Tom, Betty, and Clyde

-The Piper: Reminded Candy of the Parroto Parroto

Zivaveign- Destroyers and fiends, The Eight Dynasties.

Tarva Zan, The Binder who wraps her victims hearts on fire

Lailahlo who sings babies to their graves, Queen of Murderous Song, leads of chorus

Crawfeit who has a bone cage body filled with black headed burning birds, with dagger fingers

Quothman Shant the first executioner of the Abarat

Shote the Plaguer who leaves plauges where he walks,

Clowdeus Geefee killed Eddie’s little brother,

Ogo Fro killed Eddie’s older brother through despair, entropy and fatigue incarnate

Gan Nug talks to creatures in the deep sea and summons more horrors

Albino Vulture- Bird Preacher, looks like it has a touch of pterodactyl

Preachers- One winged angel with long white hair, and another one potbellied

#abarat #abarat notes #long post #abarat absolute midnight #absolute midnight #what the fuck clive what the fuck were my thoughts 9 years ago of chapter 36 #these thoughts Have Not Changed

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savior-of-humanity · 4 years ago

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@0f2p0les

Carrie was hungry.

She ignored the piercing sirens and their accompanying lights that bathed her in an ominous red glow, skittering down from a ceiling vent and into an open hallway. Perfect - there was food here. The men in white coats had their fates sealed as soon as the mass of writhing flesh and teeth had her sights upon them - tendrils launched forward, harpooning into their soft bodies before just as quickly retracting towards her awaiting maws.

Tearing them to shreds was easy; effortless, even. It did not take long for her to assimilate their flesh and blood to her own - and even less time for her to shift into her more humanoid form. As much as a physical advantage she had over the average human being, it was smarter to envoke stealth; and what better way to disguise herself as one of the many researchers she had already consumed?

In her - their, his - new form, Carrie was quick to stride away from the gory, nightmarish scene that had been where he was feeding just moments ago, acting as though nothing had even happened. But as he made his way through countless hallways and corridors, past people running in terror from the various creatures and anomalies that had breached containment, the entity quickly caught sight of another that was very distinctively not human.

It was some sort of white mask, with a very exaggerated emotion of some kind on it’s “face.” Black ink seemed to ooze from every orfice - and attached to the mask was some poor soul. Clearly another one of the anomalous beings that were now rampant and on the loose.

#rp thread #flesh incarnate; carrion #0f2p0les #carries' pronouns change depending on what form she's in #generally she uses 'she' in her true form and 'he' in her human form #although she also uses they/them for either

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crownlessrp-blog1 · 7 years ago

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“ THE WOLF ONLY NEEDS ENOUGH LUCK TO FIND YOU ONCE. ”

FULL NAME: Mya Stark

AGE: Twenty-Four

HOUSE: Stark

TITLE: Princess in the North, The Lunar Wolf

OCCUPATION / VOCATION: Princess in the North

ORIGIN: Winterfell

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Winterfell

ALLEGIANCE: House Stark

TRAITS:

+ Tenacious, Dauntless, Resourceful

- Irascible, Impulsive, Stubborn

BIOGRAPHY:

‘YOUR TEETH FILED SHARP INTO ARROWHEADS.’ Astris Stark gives birth on a full moon on a midnight so bright from the moon’s glow it almost feels like twilight. The girl is born early, by all estimations, and yet she fights her way out of the womb and greets the world with a deafening cry. Do direwolves not howl at the moon to call out to their loved ones in the night? Mya is born with a full head of dark hair and bright grey eyes that shine like the moon on her name day. She is as much her mother’s child as any one of the Stark children, but with her sharp jaw and unruly hair, she is the spitting image.

So many northerners revere the direwolf. There is an enigmatic beauty in the teeth and fur, but it is no less deadly for being loved. Mya Stark is no different; her mother’s equal, she is skilled as she is beautiful and deadly as she is a sight to behold. Neither parent forces the expectations of southern ladies upon her and Mya pays them back by excelling alongside her brother Calder. They are two sides of the same coin. Close in age, the pair are rarely apart from one another, making games and competitions of the smallest tasks. Their wolves, Bane and Luna, bond in their young age as well, growing with the children and themselves alike. Bane is the color of soot, an inky blackness that Mya jokes is the same wild tousle of Calder’s hair.

The base of Luna’s coat mirrors her brother’s in its darkness–an undercoat as black as midnight and two yellow eyes that shine like golden dragons. If Luna’s undercoat is as dark as Bane’s, her top coat is the cool white of the winter snow. The wolf is both new and full moon incarnate and the balm that soothes Mya’s fiery spirit. Many a wrathful tear is shed in Luna’s soft furs. Her mother’s bloodied memory spurring her to work harder to be like the woman that had brought her into this world only to perish bringing forth another wolf pup.

As they grew older, it was rare that their peers could glean the same warmth the siblings had for one another. Mya was little and less interested in the company of other nobles outside of the north–people who did not understand how a lady spent more time running down harts in the wolfswood with her hearty bow drawn as fierce as her mother ever was.

‘DESTINED FOR TEARING MEN’S HEARTS FROM THEIR CHESTS.’ At seventeen, the idyllic northern home is sieged–blood spills hot against the wintry snow. House Frey seeks to steal the seat of the north from the wolves with greedy hands. War rages within Mya’s chest–a hawk beating its wings in the cage of ribs. With her father and brother’s guidance, she excels as easily as any man among them. During the week of blood and iron, there is little time for rest or breath and though a Stark had his revenge on Lord Frey, it was not the rightful brother who sat upon the throne. Victory is hard fought and short lived as Braddock’s reign ushers in a new age of winter.

In the Stark home, fires burnt warm in the hearth, but outside their bond the two were cold–a brother and sister made of frostbite. There is little other method of self-preservation under the tyrannical thumb of a wolf turned Frey. Mya bites her tongue so hard it bleeds; there is little pain worse than the betrayal of ones own kin. Crimson crescents become permanent fixtures in clenched fists for seven long years as Mya dreams of avenging their house, which has fallen from grace–yet another insult bore from the cruel terror of their eldest brother.

‘THE BLOOD YOU LICK FROM YOUR LIPS MUST TASTE OF FREEDOM.’ Seven years at the hands of a sick wolf, pushed away for the survival of the pack, makes a icy armor hard as diamonds. Mya and Calder have never needed words to speak and she knows that her young brother has the hearts of northern men. The sickness that festers inside of Braddock like rotting flesh is not hereditary and the north has a long memory; they have not forgotten the faces of Elias and Astris, carved in stone beneath Winterfell.

At her brother’s side, Mya was pleased to be by his side in victory as she was in defeat. A cold anger hardened her resolve as she sat with him while their maester spread salve on his back–stomach sick at the depths of bleak torment their own kin was capable of. For the good of their house and the loyalty to her good brothers, she would ride into the cataclysmic ruins of Old Valyria and once Calder had taken the life of their eldest brother, she resolved to never allow for him to suffer at the hands of another as long as she had breath in her lungs and fight in her heart. When the moon is full, illuminating nights dark with terrors, Mya is determined to stand by her king brother’s side as she always has. No one will take the North from them again–not man nor beast nor shadow. She will see her enemies crushed beneath their paws, ripped form their bones like carrion meat, before she suffers another tyrant among them.

FACECLAIM: Marie Avgeropoulos

#marie avgeropoulos #marie avgeropoulos fc #asoiaf rp #got rp #literate rp #character #takenf #mya stark

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okayideas · 8 years ago

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Chef’s Notes for the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 1st Edition Monster Manual, A-D

Aerial servant: Taste and texture may be mildly inferior to wild air elemental, but even discriminating palates disagree, and aerial servant is a much less expensive meat.

Anhkheg: Requires extensive expert preparation, or Cure Disease cast by a 6th level or higher cleric, to be safely consumed. A dish that demonstrates a chef's prowess or a host's wealth, but not a particularly desirable one.

Ant, Giant: At best, a bitter substitute for lobster. To be avoided.

Ape: Resembles pork or wild boar. Do be aware that ape meat is considered taboo by many Lawful and even Neutral holy orders.

Axe Beak: Excessively gamey when wild. If farm-raised on a diet of fish and small rodents, quite tender, similar to a very large carnivorous pheasant.

Baboon: Generally indiscernable from ape once cooked.

Badger: Stringy. Not worth consideration as meat, particularly considering likely druidical objections.

Baluchitherium: A whole baluchitherium carcass is not worth the cost of transporting, but if a hunter knowledgable in butchery happens to kill one, the belly and shoulder joints are not unlike cow.

Barracuda: Would not be a culinarily desirable fish even if it were cheap, but the spell component market prices it out of consideration.

Basilisk: It is possible to prepare it to be safe for consumption, but there is no reliable way to distinguish correctly from incorrectly prepared basilisk. Serve with a scroll of Stone to Flesh per diner, and ensure a designated non-diner capable of reading magic is present. The taste and texture can be likened to coffee-infused chicken.

Bear: Highly seasonal in most climates, fatty in late fall and tough in early spring. Best prepared very rare, as the primary fans of this meat are barbarians.

Beaver, Giant: Almost indistinguishable from rabbit. Not worth hunting or farming for its meat, but worth serving if the meat happens to already be available.

Beetle, Giant: Too acidic to be useful as food. Neutralizing the acid just leads to a goopy mess. May be of some value in potion crafting.

Beholder: Essentially nothing but scales and mush, and too valuable as a spell component to be found on the meat market.

Black Pudding: Extremely badly named. Avoid.

Blink Dog: Intelligent and lawful; proper burial is advised.

Boar: More variable than farm-raised pig, but can be prepared with essentially the same techniques.

Brain Mole: Resembles rabbit or shrew to most palates. Can only be fully appreciated by those with psionic ability. If a brain mole has had a particularly chaotic or evil host, it should not be served.

Brownie: A chef should assume that any request for a brownie is referring to a baked good and not a demihuman.

Buffalo: Largely indistinguishable from cow, although less fatty.

Bugbear: While the live bugbear's appearance is not particularly similar to either a bug or a bear, its meat is quite similar to a mix of bear and locust and can be prepared accordingly.

Bulette: There is debate as to whether this is more similar to fish or vole. It possibly varies regionally.

Bull: A wild bull is not much different from a farm-raised one, except in terms of the quantity of meat at each cut.

Camel, Wild: Usually too stringy and boney to serve in any formal dining context, although quite edible as a matter of desert survival.

Carrion Crawler: Essentially a stunt dish, served so that diners can show their bravery. Harmless but not good-tasting.

Catoblepas: If you can smell the aroma of a catoblepas cooking, you already require clerical attention. Strenuously avoid.

Cattle, Wild: All manner of wild cattle are essentially interchangeable, of course excluding rare magical and intelligent exceptions.

Centaur: The horse portion can be served as horse meat, assuming no magical means of inspection will be applied to it, but there is little incentive to do such a thing.

Centipede, Giant: A few rare varieties are poisonous, so consult appropriate references for your local region. Otherwise, like fine lobster if it has been eating vegetable matter and like inferior lobster if it has been eating meat.

Cerebral Parasite: Too small to meaningfully prepare, and more valuable as a spell component.

Chimera: Each cut should be prepared separately as a distinct meat. Do consider serving them together as a single meal, solely for the sake of flair.

Cockatrice: Almost indiscernable from the meat of a very young basilisk, and should be served and prepared with the same precautions.

Couatl: Do not serve. Deities who consider the couatl sacred tend to be highly willing to intervene in mortal affairs.

Crab, Giant: Keeps longer than conventional crab, and has some novelty value.

Crayfish, Giant: Most would say that giant crayfish tastes rotten even when fresh, but there is an acquired taste to be had, so trying one may be worth consideration if they are common in your area. Use butter liberally.

Crocodile: Almost indistinguishable from chicken prepared most ways. Best salted and dried, if its specific flavor is desired.

Demon, Demogorgon: There is no documentation regarding the taste of this unique being.

Demon, Juiblex: Portions of Juiblex's flesh should be considered hostile, even if seemingly dead. Flee immediately and contact local good clerics or itinerant adventurers.

Demon, Manes: May technically constitute cannibalism, as the flesh of a manes is created from the soul of a dead human or demihuman. Virtually inedible regardless.

Demon, Orcus: Lore regarding the taste of this unique being is scanty and contradictory. Any opportunity to acquire flesh of Orcus is likely to be a hoax or trap.

Demon, Succubus: The prospect of eating the flesh of a succubus is unusually tempting for some, but it is very harmful, often fatal.

Demon, Vrock: Essentially a pre-rotted mix of human and vulture flesh. There is nothing in its meat worth trying to salvage.

Demon, Hezrou: As demons go, fairly edible. The hindlegs could be served as giant frog without drawing attention.

Demon, Glabrezu: This meat rarely remains in physical existence long enough to cook and serve.

Demon, Nalfeshnee: Combines the most worthless and inedible traits of ape and boar flesh.

Demon, Marilith: The upper portion is never safe to eat. For the lower portion, consider its markings as you would any other snake.

Demon, Balor: Assume that any opportunity to acquire balor flesh is ultimately part of a scheme to capture your soul.

Demon, Yeenoghu: Presumably tastes like gnoll.

Devil, Asmodeus: The flesh of an incarnation of Asmodeus on the material plane is quite tasty and can be prepared like veal, although exorcism by a 9th level or higher cleric is warranted.

Devil, Baalzebul: It is unclear if this unique being even has flesh in any tangible sense.

Devil, Barbed: Similar to locust.

Devil, Bone: Entirely useless from a culinary perspective. Boiling a portion of one for soup stock would only taint the soup with evil.

Devil, Dispater: The flesh of this unique being would presumably take on a different apparent taste and texture depending on the mind of the diner, and would quite possibly be poisonous or curse-inducing.

Devil, Erinyes: The flesh of an erinyes does not remain on the material plane long enough to cook properly.

Devil, Geryon: There is no culinarily relevant information available about this devil.

Devil, Malebranche: The flesh of a malebranche is literally filled with hatred. Small portions can be used in a psionic salad; roast it with a large amount of salt.

Devil, Ice: Once killed, there is nothing icy about these devils at all. The meat resembles rotten pork and is about as healthy.

Devil, Lemure: Technically cannibalism, as the flesh is in fact a damned soul. Do not confuse with lemur.

Devil, Pit Fiend: Should be cooked for at least half a day to avoid food poisoning. The taste resembles lamb infused with pepper.

Dinosaur: Herbivorous dinosaurs generally resemble chicken or crocodile. Carnivorous ones tend to vary considerably by diet.

Displacer beast: Highly acidic but not quite poisonous. While it is being cooked, the flesh will often appear to be somewhere other than its actual location, and this illusion persists to the table if served piping hot.

Djinni: Cooking or eating a djinn is likely to provoke retribution from others and should not be done.

Dog: Where not taboo, resembles goat or horse. Should be presumed taboo in general.

Doppelganger: Best reserved for spell components rather than dining. Regardless of how you prepare it, the result will always resemble a frustratingly inferior substitute of some other meat.

Dragon, Black: The organs are inedible. Perhaps surprisingly, the flesh is not acidic at all, and even counteracts acid somewhat.

Dragon, Blue: Do not serve with metal utensils, not even +1 or silver ones. Eaten with the hands or wooden utensils, tastes essentially like any other dragon.

Dragon, Brass: Tends to cause drowsiness, so best used as a last course.

Dragon, Tiamat: Severed heads of Tiamat can be cooked and served according to their color, although you are highly unlikely to acquire one.

Dragon, Copper: Despite its alignment, a very neutral-tasting dragon; depending on seasonings it could be easily mistaken for any other type of dragon, or even for dragonne or couatl.

Dragon, Gold: Along with red dragon, generally considered one of the two finest dragon meats. Not to be eaten if divine intervention from Bahamut is common in your region.

Dragon, Green: Poisonous unless cooked so thoroughly as to be tasteless.

Dragon, Bahamut: A scale of Bahamut can infuse a dragonish flavor to a soup stock hundreds, or perhaps even thousands, of times, and might be found in the kitchen of a family wealthy enough to demonstrate that they can afford to use such a valuable object for such a trivial purpose. The actual flesh of Bahamut has never been tasted, to our knowledge.

Dragon, Red: Generally the best dragon for eating; quick-cooking, almost impossible to burn, flavorful, and with a very long shelf life even unsalted. If you learn to cook just one type of magical being, it should be red dragon.

Dragon, Silver: Like gold, likely to provoke Bahamut's wrath. Unlike gold, also occasionally capable of causing paralysis if it is undercooked or if the organ meat contaminates the flesh.

Dragon, White: Takes an extremely long time to cook properly, often as long as three days over an open flame or half a day of deep-frying. Eating undercooked white dragon may cause hypothermia, sometimes fatally.

Dragonne: In regions where dragonnes are common, they can be used as mock dragon in many recipes, resembling the taste of copper or brass dragon.

Dragon Turtle: Like any other turtle, although much more difficult to butcher.

Dryad: Similar to asparagus. Best roasted with oil.

Dwarf: Taboo in most civilizations; should be properly buried. Not particularly distinguishable from human.

#writing saturday #it's a cookbook

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davidaolson · 6 years ago

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Eau de Carrion

One solitary buzzard rocked lazily in the sky. ~Juan Rulfo

If I was to suborn the creator to bestow form for my next incarnation, it would be to be born into the Accipiter family preferably in the order Vultur or Falco, vultures or hawks, carrion feeder or fresh flesh eater. Both have their allure. (more…)

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#Hawk #Juan Rulfo #Vulture

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mechagalaxy · 6 years ago

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To the last hidden place

Warlock was on the rampage. The power they wielded was not something that could be faced, it was the oncoming storm and to stand against it was madness. Madness was the order of the day, and the Spirit of Bunny had no problem with madness, but rather more with Warlock.

Almost a hundred levels divided them, but that was almost lesser of the two differences, for the scanners bore the real story. The massed might of Warlock strode the field, the power of their shields, their weapons, and the reality bending power of the strange technologies of their cockpit systems beat upon the air like the heartbeat of an angry god. The sky answered, and lightning flared down to wreathe the coming titans with crowns of azure fire. They marched under the storm as power incarnate, unstoppable, and terrible with it.

“Ain’t that some sparkly feth.” Todd Rainey sneered, unimpressed.

“So pretty, I may swoon.” Don Lindley kept his mike open, but what sounded next was a loud and somewhat stuttering fart “Nope, not swoon. Smells like Warlock though.” Don continued cheerfully.

I threw back my head and laughed. Warlock was not going to be stopped, but the Spirit of Bunny would not yield. We would defy them in their strength, pay the price for it, but we would make them pay if we could.

The Spirit of Bunny lashed out with weapons that shattered the air with their fury. Slugs of nickle/steel accelerated so fast that they looked like lasers as they shed their skin as blazing plasma as they tore through the air so fast it heated their skin so hot they would burn if they slowed enough for air to grip them. Ice formed as the absolute zero of deep space wept from rifts in reality torn from the atmosphere by the Bunnies ice weapons. Stars fury leashed with magnetic fields for the instant required to direct them blazed with devouring hunger slower yet somehow more terrible than the elemental light that screamed through the interstitial spaces to cut sharper than any knife as the Spirit of Bunny unleashed it against Warlock. Like carrion crows, the winged death harbringers of missiles fell from the sky less like a flight of arrows and more like so many falcons, screaming in their hunger for flesh and death as they wove through matchless defenses for the chance at blood, at sweet, sweet death.

It was a level of destruction that could have clawed the greatest warship from orbit, could have shattered even the great Ferrite mountains of Red Mars. If lightning had been raining down before, against the terrible energies of Warlock, the sky screamed now, and the lightning flared so bright the visual sensors and targeting auspexes alike overloaded in the purity of the flare.

From the darkness following the flash, through the boil of plasma that marked the strike strode a line of titans, the full war array of Warlock, a few small scars marking the few places the Bunny weapons tore through the void shields and warp energies that shielded them. The screams of sirens sounded in bunny cockpits as detection grids responded on every mecha warned that Warlock had locked them up with every weapon at its command.

“Oh feth me gently, this is going to huuurrrt!” I shouted before the world went sideways, then slammed down very hard against me. There were stars in the cockpit, and they were moving, probably afraid Warlock would target them. Very wise. Smarter than your average bunny. I gave the command to scatter.

“Fall back, get into defensive positions and make them pay for chasing us.” I lurched my mecha to its feet. Lifting my point Humbaba back onto its feet, at least the ones still attacked, I tossed the severed ones onto its back for later. Down into our hidey holes we go.

Sal watched them go and snapped his command

“Harry them to the last hidden place, let none escape. Let Leviathan see how a real clan deals with its enemies. Let them see, and know we come for them next”

There was sweet feth all he could do about Leviathans scouts who even now stalked the edge of the field to gather what intelligence they could about the foe they would face at the last for rights to the greatest of the spoils. All he could do was make it a statement of power, a statement of intent, to make Leviathan hesitate to try for those victories they might be able to take, if they dared. Let the Spirit of Bunny’s fall be one more weapon in Warlock’s arsenal.

Todd Rainey staked his Red Ants across the start of the canyons named some terribly hard to pronounce thing in the local dialect, but had been renamed “bunny burrows” on their maps. His level was enough to make his Red Ants the peer of half of Warlock, and his weapons, those that could fit in the tiny hull were the equal of that same half. It was, of course, the other half they sent against them.

Out matched, out powered and outlasted. Todd was battered aside, and the mighty forces of Warlock pursued the Spirit of Bunny down to that last hidden place.

“Initiate Sucker Punch, I say again, initiate Sucker Punch, we got us a sucker!” Todd laughed, then swore when it made his nose drip blood, then laughed some more. You can’t blood stain a Red Ant after all, they were rust and blood already.

Jay had set up his Red Ants to control the entrance to Bunny Burrow so Warlock could keep its prey trapped. He had no idea that the trap was not for Spirit, but for Warlock, he was shocked to see Red Ants storming from outside to face him.

I was his equal and more. I would boast how easily I took him, but to be honest, I had two mecha in my last rank standing with weapons when his last mecha fell. But it gave us command of the entrance again to move our forces. Don Lindley moved his forces one at a time through the gap, his unlimited helpless in that place where only lights could maneuver but guarded by my own. By the time Jay could stand again, his mecha had passed and were stalking Warlock farther in.

I struck for the Rainbow Gate when Jay stormed to take back the gate I was already gone. I struck the gate savagely, and this time I had the advantage strongly. Striking swift but falling back before I could be caught and killed by those as much stronger as I was to their least.

Don struck Jay this time, and battered him down to secure my passage, and won by the skin of his teeth and sheer unwillingness to accept losing. He saw what should have been hidden, and gave me the word, Sherriff was hunting in her Unlimited. We could not stop her where she raided, but she must return to the Dagon rift where her 70 tonners and dreaded Smilodon hunted. I could not meet that Smilodon in that place and hope to win.

Don, however got we word when she would be in her unlimited returning from her own hunt, to that place. I met her in my Inferno, facing a wall of Notas, whose power in any other place would eclipse mine beyond any hope of defiance.

Of course, I turned my Prometheus not against the unbreakable shields of the Notas, but to the ribbon bridge that her mecha carefully stalked across, to protect them from the lava flows whose thin skin my Inferno stalked across, but which her Notas would shatter at a single step.

The bridge, and then her mecha burned. I evaced before she could reach her seventies to inflict the punishment for impertinence that little ambush earned.

I was caught again entering the Burrow and hammered to scrap not once but twice, but we had our kills, more than we should.

Warlock realized their mistake and drew back from the burrow, leaving us the choice of open suicide in attacking them in their strength, or watching in impunity as they burned our camp and supplies to so much ash. Well, so much for at least saving ammunition costs by fighting fewer battles, but damned if it didn’t burn pretty at least.

My wife, herself an experienced commander in the Avengers pulled me out of my cockpit as our chief technician used her portable fire extinguisher to put out my legs, and the rest of the cockpit that was burning.

“What do you call that? It’s not exactly a shining victory”

I looked at the collecting Bunny pilots and called it like I saw it.

“That, my dear, was a regulation issue ass whipping. But hell, at least we got a piece of them first. We may have lost the ammo dump, but we saved the booze. Lets sit back and have a few as we watch them burn the world”

They followed us to that last hidden place to harry us, but we made them pay, just a little bit, for doing so.

Welcome to division one. It is as much fun as it looks.

John T Mainer 28840

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