#gem quest campaign

[dungeonsandblorbos]

Storytime: Improvised Siege Teapot

so, for our Acquisitions, Inc., our franchise location has an attached tea shop called the Cauldron & Kettle Café, right? when we reached the franchise level that gave us a free vehicle, we obviously had to have our modron gnome mechanics make us a steam-powered car shaped like a giant teapot, which we dubbed the Tea Trolley and have used like a food truck before

anyways because the final boss fight is kinda far away, we take the Tea Trolley there because it's fast. when we arrive, we are confronted with a mass of enemies (mostly gnolls) guarding the area where we assume the BBEG is hanging out. like, we're talking approximately 20 hyena-folk split into packs of four or five each, plus about 8 or so bugbears.

we are a party of four, including one very squishy aarakocra elementalist monk (Taku) and one somewhat squishy half-elf light cleric/bard (me) who routinely puts herself in grave danger to keep said monk from dying—which means that actually fighting all of these fuckers would be a Very Bad Idea, even if we somehow managed to only be fighting one pack of gnolls at a time

so instead of fighting them, we spent literally an hour debating the best way to take care of them with minimal injury and spell slot usage. eventually, we settled on this multi-step plan:

1. cut down a tree and strip it of its greens 2. put the tree through the windows of the Tea Trolley, like so:

3. affix torches to the ends of the tree and light them on fire 4. have my cleric/bard Jun play intimidating music on her fiddle as loudly as possible to attract the enemies' attention and get them all grouped together like bowling pins 5. throw a bong bomb [smoke bomb stuffed with fantasy weed] at the closest gnolls to give them super disadvantage 6. drive fullspeed at the gnolls and bugbears to drive over/clothesline/light on fire as many of them as possible 7. profit?

our DM's response was simply "this is actually a good idea disguised as a bad idea."

and so it was. because despite us very loudly announcing our presence, our first hit with the improvised siege teapot counted as a surprise round because none of the enemies knew how to react to the awesome sight in front of them

we hit a good half-dozen gnolls in one go. it does 4d10 bludgeoning + 2d6 fire damage and one-hit KOs all of them except the one that managed to save. Taku gets to take his turn while this is happening, so that one poor fucker just barely dodges the on fire log, then takes 20 damage from Taku’s backswing and dies. our DM says, "this is the stupidest combat i’ve ever done and i’m so here for it." we keep chugging on, and murder a good 3/4ths of them before our trolley takes too much damage to keep going (accomplished by some gnolls stealing our tires) and we have to get out and fight the rest of them the old fashioned way

while this has been happening, by the way, our DM has been playing an incredible siege teapot soundtrack, which includes such hits as a trap remix of the thomas the tank engine theme song, a song called "hit and run," "wrecking ball," "crazy train," and the song from the to be continued meme

truly, a beautiful fight scene.

[hellenhighwater]

Whilst browsing my dash I came upon a couple of posts of yours. One being the citrus garland one, and the other being the completed pepper juice to the eye post. I've wanted to do citrus garlands for *years* but I am allergic to citrus. Only upon seeing your post did I realize that I should be fine if I wear gloves.

Now to the second post and my reason for being here. Forgive me for being a bit long-winded, I promise it goes somewhere. I am the director for the elementary DnD after school club. I had intended to run a wizard themed game, but multiple things got in the way and I was unable to get any of those ideas off the ground. However, my students did come up with what their wands were going to look like. And so I have a new quest: make wands for my kids. I have the wands themselves already made, and today I picked up things to make the wands unique (paint, gems, clay, etc.) But upon seeing your post about making the big batches of stuff to give away as gifts I went, "Ooh, I want to do that!" But I am no good in the kitchen so I turned to Pinterest for potential ideas. I saw many tutorials on how to make tiny potion bottles, and reached out to a friend who also hoards crafts like a dragon. I sought for her to make me stop, but truly I wanted permission to go for it. She suggested that I go all in and make a jar of homemade spice blend, decorate it with witchy stuff, throw in some fake potions, and make a whole gift box for the holidays.

So yeah, I guess I'm making wizard boxes now.

You should be able to use the orange drying method on most fruits, for what it's worth (persimmons, especially, give a very vibrant orange color, though they are still citrus) including apples and pears. So if the gloves don't do the trick, maybe try a different fruit entirely?

From the depths of my tiny bottles drawer: a handful of spell component jars, made for a campaign that's years ago now!

Spice mixes are fun, but because they generally go into hot beverages, maybe not the best option for elementary schoolers. Instead, may I suggest "mystery" powdered drink mixes, re-packaged into tiny potion bottles like the two above? You could label them and have a pitcher of water and cups with each character's name at the table, and let players dump the powder into their cup and drink whatever it is, either when they use a potion or as a spell component. (Small cups just larger than a shot glass may be preferred to stave off constant pee breaks.) You could also mix in festive sprinkles or food-safe luster dust for visual texture; a little extra sugar in most powdered mixes won't be highly noticeable.

But I do love the idea of a little wizard goodie box to take home! That sounds like a super fun campaign; I hope they enjoy it.

[sparklepirate]

I love the batshit storytelling power of tabletop games.

Things my players have done in our campaign so far:

- Left Glaedr's eldunarí to freeze outside because they used him as an eye for their snowman and then forgot about him while they ran off to do their mission

- My werecat player traumatized the thirteen year old dragon rider student by giving him a "prophecy" about how he is destined for great things, but he was going to be betrayed by the person he trusts the most (he pulled that completely out of his ass).

- My dragon player has made a pact with the weird groundskeeper/janitor around campus to fuel her kleptomaniac tendency, and steal a gem from my blacksmith player. More on that to come.

- They did some absolutely heinous things to a pack of Shrrg in their first combat encounter. RIP.

- They adopted one of the Shrrg after they doomed him to a slow death of starvation by shattering his teeth (horrible). They healed him, and charmed him into being a friend, and then forged him a new set of magically enchanted steel dentures, so now he is going to be a permanent party member!

- They essentially ignored the main quest (a mysterious circle of destruction and mutated Shrrg that suggest a magical detonation in the same vein of the Vroengard explosion/the Galbatorix explosion only a few miles from the school) in order to go on a new self imposed sidequest of... Well.

- First the party cajoled Saphira into dragging back a Christmas tree.

- The bard (my boyfriend irl) has an antagonistic love-hate relationship with Glaedr (somehow) and spontaneously invented the holiday Christmas in universe while trying to convince Glaedr to sub in as a Christmas ornament. Glaedr refused.

- The whole party, now on board, convinced all the other eldunarí to be Christmas tree ornaments. Glaedr eventually caved and agreed to be the tree topper (the most prestigious position for the most important eldunarí, of course, they told him).

- They decided to name the holiday Gladmas in his honor.

- They came up with the (completely original) idea of a Gladmas icon- a man on the back of a beautiful glittering red dragon, who visits all the little children and leaves them presents. They came up with a plan to use all the eldunarí to power a hasten spell to get them around the world in one night. And they know just the perfect duo to pull this off! The only rider around with a red dragon who would fit the bill!

- So next session is going to be a side quest to convince Murtagh to become Santa Claus.

[mylordshesacactus]

Particular shoutout to last week's Great Flood campaign session in which the party demonstrates that we are a well-oiled machine, competent and intelligent, maybe a bit rough around the edges but with hearts of gold and nerves of steel, the kind of unpolished gems that can be trusted to build and defend the future of Luiren.

So our first big quest was looting--WITH PERMISSION--the primary temple of the biggest nearby city, in order to steal a sacred cornucopia that we hoped to use to feed the growing refugee camp near my fighter/druid Sedge Burdock's hometown of Merryfaire, one of the very few settlements left intact after the titular great flood. As part of the deal, the high priestess let us keep everything else of value.

One of the magical items we looted was an enchanted cavalier's saddle. None of us have a mount and Sedge's opinion of it was "kinky" and nothing else, but we kept it and are petulantly refusing to sell it on the reasoning of "just in case" crossed with "fuck off we stole this fair and square".

Anyway. Our next quest sent us on an overland route, so despite extended complaining, Sedge wildshaped into a riding horse (think something of a cross between a mustang and an exmoor pony) so that Korel, the sahuagin totally normal wood elf sorcerer and only member of the party she likes, could ride her there using the saddle and also so she wouldn't have to talk to anybody.

Korel, who lives in the ocean and has literally never seen a horse before this moment, rolled a natural 2 on his attempt to figure out how to ride one.

This sparked an hour-long (in-universe) series of absolute slapstick bullshit in which Korel tried and failed to get onto the horse, random local halflings kept trying to help but were significantly too small to get on the horse--

Our newly-minted and deeply insufferable warlock just gave up on us entirely and spent an hour performing their once-per-day ritual of creating a potion of healing Summon Mineral Water.

So they triumphantly finish summoning their mineral water, Korel finally manages to climb into the saddle and triumphantly punches the air in celebration of having Mastered The Art Of Horsemanship--

At which exact moment, because Sedge only actually has two levels in Druid, the Wildshape times out and she turns back into a halfling with a sahuagin on her back.

[adventure-time-news]

As the Kickstarter campaign for Adventure Time: The Roleplaying Game enters its final 24 hours, here's everything that's been announced since the last time I posted an update.

First of all, the number of player character species that will be included in the core book has increased to 25. In addition to the 21 listed in the last post, you will now also be able to play as a shapeshifter, a gnome, a wolf person, or a breakfast person.

Next, we have a name for the fourth chapter of Quest for the Shadow Gems, the adventure book. It will be titled Tower of Night and it will take place in the Nightosphere and feature the Lich.

Next we have the newly announced list of subclasses. Pretty much every base-5E class has received a wizard subclass. Cryptozoic said about this decision "We figured that the traditional Wizard Class was more like Princess Bubblegum: a scientist of study who figures out how magic works and what it is. And everyone else in Ooo with magic powers is a Wizard, so we chose to make an abundance of Wizard Subclasses for the many other spellcasting Classes of 5E (plus a few others)." The subclasses are as follows:

Bard subclasses: Dance Wizard or Peace Master

Druid subclass: Grass Wizard

Fighter subclasses: Weapon Wizard, Adventurer, or Strongman

Monk subclass: Laser Wizard

Ranger subclasses: Hunt Wizard or Seeker

Rogue subclasses: Fortunetelling Wizard, Calculator, or Rebel Leader

Sorcerer subclass: Nuclear Wizard

Warlock subclass: Elemental Wizard

Barbarian subclass: Stretchy Powers

Cleric subclass: Auditor

Paladin subclass: Oath of Party

Wizard subclasses: Scholar of GOLB, Scientist, or Void Caster

Definitely a very wacky mixture of things. I like the idea of being a paladin to Party God. This also answers the question of how players could make a Jake-like character; it's a Barbarian subclass. There's also a shapeshifter species so we'll see how that factors into the whole system. As previously announced, there is also a totally new base class for princesses.

And finally I will rattle off the list of various other content announced alongside stretch goals. Death and Gunter have been added as Algebraic Allies (so the social media vote didn't end up mattering), the Time Room has been added to the core book as a location for adventures, six additional candy kingdom monsters have been added to the core book, and four "scoundrel" subclasses were also unlocked. It's not clear if those subclasses are included in the list above or if they are further subclasses yet to be named. And in terms of merch, the two main books will now have foil covers, additional item cards have been added to the Sweet Dosh deck, and some more pre-made character sheets have been unlocked.

The last two stretch goals are for the fifth chapter of Quest for the Shadow Gems (already surpassed at time of writing but not yet revealed) and the final dice set.

The campaign closes in 24 hours. Remember that backing a Kickstarter project is not the same as buying a product, and there is no legal guarantee that you will receive everything promised. But for now, Adventure Time: The Roleplaying Game is aiming for a March 2025 release.

[dndhistory]

507. Various Authors - Dragon #116 (December 1986)

As we quickly approach the end of 1986 there is still time for a couple of modules, another entry in the Endless Quest series and, of course, an issue of Dragon magazine. This time we have an unusual cover, as instead of the usual illustration we get some miniature photography (maybe not so mini, as the inside of the magazine tells us the figure is actually several feet long). 

In terms of theme this month we get a lot of articles on Sea Voyages, there's a good variety of maritime themed articles here with pieces on several types of ships, another one on Sea Elves, a little bestiary of maritime life and an article on mail delivery which includes mail sea routes. Finally in this issue you get a little model of a ship to build for your own campaigns.

Of course the whole magazine isn't about sea stuff, and you get an "Ecology of" article on Minotaurs, a teleport gem created by Ed Greenwood, an article on ordinary animals (i.e. not monsters) in TTRPGs, and of course the usual smattering of articles on games other than D&D. 

[soulmuppet]

SoulMuppet’s latest role playing game explodes onto the scene in a shower of hedonistic gore October 10th 2024!

Paint the Town Red is a joyful thrill ride through history, taking players on a tour of the high (and low) points of undead society. As a sad gay vampire, they’ll do anything to indulge their passions, causing untold chaos in their wake. When everything around them is drenched in blood (or on fire) they’ll have to move on and find somewhere else to trash.   

Our gore-drenched crowdfunding campaign features a whole coterie of add-ons and stretch goals suited to any taste. These include things like blood-soaked dice (keep your mortal eyes peeled for pictures of these later) and more content for this, the greatest vampire party ever thrown. 

The Campaign

This crowdfunding campaign aims to build on the quickstart, unleashing a coterie of sad gay vampires onto your tabletops. We’ll be teaming up with some fantastic writers to bring six undead cities to life, each one on the brink of collapsing into a chaotic orgy of blood-soaked hedonism.  

We’re bringing this book to life with a beautiful hardcover book, with easy to reference but evocative layout by Mina McJanda and Johan Nohr. We’ve brought on a huge stable of talented artists and writers who have captured the whole spectrum of undead life across various histories and cultures.  We’re also expanding on GMs advice for running the game, character creation for other types of undead (like zombies, skeletons, liches, ghouls, werewolves and ghosts), and tools for building new cities and crafting your own adventures.

Adventures and Prop Packs

Alongside the core book, we’re creating six unique adventures, each one shining a red-tinted spotlight on a new city’s undead nightlife. Three of these are included in the core book, one in the quickstart, while the other two are delivered as a stylish prop pack, perfect for unveiling at your table. 

The centrepiece of each adventure is a map produced by vampiric cartographer Aloysius King, detailing the lurks, haunts and key locations for each faction. The map itself is printed on a folding sheet of A2, large enough for everyone to see in play. The details of each city and the undead creatures that stalk them are set out in a bifold A4 pamphlet, lavishly illustrated to match Al King’s spectacular work. A set of 18 tarot cards contains more detail on the Contacts you can meet and the Locations and Factions you can visit in each city. All these elements are contained within a tactile C4 manilla envelope. 

The six adventures are as follows:

Party of the Century: 82AD in the Eternal City. Written by Zachary Cox.

Hair of the Dog: 802 AD in Aachen. Written by Zachary Cox.

Party Crashing in Splendid Ghazni: 1016 AD in Ghazni. Written by Basheer Ghouse. 

Sleeping Dead World: 1857 AD in Edo. Written by Hipólita.

A Modern Babylon: London in 1862 AD. Written by Zachary Cox.

It Never Sleeps: New York in 1920 AD. Written by Brian Flaherty and Elliot Davis.

Luxuries and Add-ons

What would a party be without a little luxury? 

In the past we’ve teamed up with Creative Quest for fancy editions of Best Left Buried and Inevitable. As soon as we mentioned Vampires she was already sending us ideas and suggestions for beautiful old leather tomes bursting with undead. What’s more, we’re in talks with a fantastic UK dice maker to create a limited run of blood-soaked vampire dice. 

The Undying Edition is the perfect companion for any budding scion of the night. It’s a handmade luxury binding of the core book created by Creative Quest UK. The corebook has been bound in black leather, with embossing, vampire bat detailing and a central blood red gem. The book edges have also been coated in black, so it blends perfectly into the shadows for maximum Duplicity and Allure.

At SoulMuppet, we've got a proven track record of producing beautiful hardcover RPGs with tight rules, luscious art and design that prioritise both aesthetics and useability. We’ve partnered with a stunning array of writers, artists and creatives to bring this project to another level. 

Help us bring these sad vampires to (un)life now on BackerKit!

[yiga-hellhole]

TWILIGHT FOREST, TWILIGHT KING: CHAPTER 15

AND IT'S OUT! i've been going ravenous with writing. you lot aren't rid of me yet!! with he siege on Death Mountain now behind them, two co-lieutenants struggle with the consequences of their failures. trust shatters, foundations wobble, and fond memories are under threat. should the campaign move forward, petty distractions must be done away with.

or, you know, you can dance with your boy.

again thank you to @bulgariansumo for proofreading. this chapter is best enjoyed with a bit of moody piano music, but i took a liking to this playlist personally so you can listen along while you read, if you like! 8.6k-ish under the cut! iiiit's a fun one!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

ao3 mirror

Their gathering was grim. Sounds of celebration rang from the tents outside, but in the war room, there was nothing but silence. Two co-lieutenants stood at the center of it all, the eyes of their generals upon them. Anxiety, dread, and ultimatum. The Demon King had summoned them for a reason.

“For one so eager to win my praise, you certainly are adamant to disappoint me. It seems I must set an example for you.”

Ghirahim stood stock-still as Ganondorf stepped towards him, his massive frame towering over him like the very Mountain he’d failed him on. He flinched but did not step away as he snatched his wrist and wrenched it above his head. A groan escaped him when he was lifted off his feet, all of his weight dangling from this one arm. He hung mere inches from his face. The Demon King’s eyes were blazing with rage, his tusks bared with the snarling curl of his lip. He was frozen yet scorched by those burning yellow irises, drawn into the gold that swirled within.

“Such sickening submission. You wish to be a blade? Very well. Let me show you where the mercy of my hands will take you.”

The hand at his wrist squeezed firmly, hard enough to crack his false skin, but he didn’t have long enough to dwell on the feeling. From that very gauntlet, a searing pain burst out and soon spread throughout his entire body. Shocks of electrocution ricocheted inside him, persistent and thorough in their surging quest to tear him to pieces. Every joint he had tightened. His fingers contorted into claws and his head threw back, mouth agape in a soundless scream — though, if he had screamed, he never would have heard it. It was an untold pain, of being struck with a thousand whips that would not cease. His skin shed, or rather, burst apart before his very eyes. Soon after, his vision went white, whether from pain alone or complete system failure. Something cracked ominously in his chest. Like it was trying to jump out and abandon him, leaving nothing but a husk to be beaten. He was shattering, he knew it, not in his core but in the shell forged around it. One last zap, one crackle, and a deafening drone, and he came undone. 

At once, he folded in on himself, and the world went black.

—

When Ghirahim awoke, he was limbless. Even if he could not so much as crane his head or twitch his fingers, the feeling comforted him more than it shocked him. Indeed, he had gotten his wish, but not in the way he’d wanted it. Master Ganondorf had reverted him to his sword. Not pulled him free from his chest, as his predecessor had always done, but tore apart the scabbard around him and forced it inside. 

His gem blinked weakly, chimed inquiringly. Where was he? It was pitch dark around him, but his confinement couldn’t be all too large. He found himself in what he concluded could only be some kind of storage box, locked away in some secluded room who-knows-where. It was dead silent — wherever he lay hidden away, with his steel tucked in straw and creaky wood, not even servants lingered.

But before he could sink himself into gloom, a spark of panic lit up in him. Soon, it billowed out enough to rattle him in his hilt. Had he been retired? Discarded from his position, or worse, sold to whoever would take a cursed blade off his hands? 

Were he to leave this coffin, would he find himself buried six feet deep?

His false skin materialized back around his blade before he realized it, and began frantically kicking at the lid of this accursed box. Wood groaned, nails wrenched free, and soon, he could press his palms to the ceiling and throw it out his way.

He shot up and took in his surroundings. Circling his container were various other crates, of which none fortunately barred his exit. Perhaps his awakening and subsequent escape were accounted for and his way was left clear for that very reason. 

Only then did he notice himself panting. Knees pressed to his chest, he stared down into his casket. His hands found the center of his chest. He hadn’t been shattered, nor did he feel like anything impaired him. By all means, he could count his blessings. Despite disobeying orders, despite failing at their mission, Master Ganondorf had permitted him to continue his duty. All he’d done was set an example, as he promised.

But then, what was it that shook his hands so? What filled him with such hollow melancholy?

Tiring of this drab, dust-covered storage room, he swung one leg over the edge of the crate and clambered his way down. Now that he’d awakened, he at least had to find out where the transport had carried him. He stumbled toward the door — to find it unlocked — and promptly left that storage hole behind him.

His feet landed on a checkered floor, its tiles cracked in various locations but caulked back in place. The walls were in a similar state; opulent in their make, but damaged throughout various sieges. Various, indeed. It didn’t take much to find out where he was. He has walked these halls as both ally and foe. As he padded on through them once again, he took some time to note the differences since his last visit. Here and there, signs of scuffle were cracked into the stone, and dust-free rectangles upon the walls hinted that paintings once hung here. The dreary, yet tastefully ominous dark purple light of the place was all too iconic, as were the rogue rose branches that persisted through the windows. They had taken him to the Temple of Souls, better known as Cia’s private home and former base of operations.

Yes, he remembered dwelling here. With some luck, his old room was still in place as he’d left it. Back then, Cia had bribed him with all sorts of knick-knacks and luxuries in the hope of appeasing him, and it had worked. He wondered if the vices of his materialism would still appeal to him now. 

He continued onward, making his way through the puzzling architecture. There wasn’t a particular goal in mind as to where he was heading. Some manner of purpose, a duty to attend to, or an idea as to how long he’d been slumbering in that box at the least. A heavy wooden door opened to a porch outside, clung to a tower with a spiral staircase down. He idly pondered the oddity of the lack of servants he’d encountered as he made his way down. Had the Master sent him there in solitude? Such abandonment was an unbearable thought. No matter if he’d left him the world in silks and marbles, he wouldn’t be left alone. Wouldn’t be left without purpose. He continued down the path, trudging its petal-strewn floors. The air was pink with sundown and roses, rich and floral with scented dew, but he paid it no mind.

Out chimed a familiar, lilting voice, coming from outside the colonnade. “Ghirahim!”

Shaken from a daze, he looked to his left, eyes still hooded over. There stood Yuga, decked in corset and frills with a bonnet covering his curls, a watering can in hand. “You’ve awoken at last! Oh, how relieved I am to see you.”

Ghirahim simply stared back, mind empty of any response. What was he supposed to say? There stood a man who had witnessed him at his weakest, who had seen how easily he’d shattered to pieces. It astounded Ghirahim that after all that, he still hailed him, expecting mere smalltalk. At least he wasn’t alone. Ganondorf wouldn’t retire Yuga after a successful campaign. He took momentary solace in the possibility of a simple relocation. Yet, the fondness he once felt for that foppish sorcerer remained abstract in his mind and passed right through him like an arrow through fog.

When it dawned on Yuga that he had no intention of approaching him, a stiff, worried frown tightened his brows, sucked in his lips. 

What was that look for? 

Front of his skirt bunched in his sheer gloved hand, Yuga trotted on towards him. Up the stairs, and into the colonnade, he hooked his arm around his. Ghirahim looked down at the contact he’d pulled him in, a touch puzzled, but he didn’t find the need to shove him off. Yuga tugged on him a bit, as if trying to shake him out of a dream, and began to babble of sorts. “We’ve been worried sick, you know. We tried to look for you, but… The servants wouldn’t tell us where they’d hidden you. If it weren’t for the annoyance it would bring to our Ganondorf, we’d have turned the entire Temple upside-down. He’s already peeved enough with Zant as is. You understand.”

He didn’t. He didn’t understand the search, the risk, the worry. What he could only assume Yuga alluded to, though, he did understand. If there was any proof out there of the consequences of Ganondorf’s wrath, it was daintily being clutched by the man beside him.

At the continued lack of response, Yuga’s expression darkened further. Ghirahim came to the infuriating realization that he was being pitied. The Lorian’s eyes darted out into the sights before them. “Come on,” he quickly posited. “Let’s take a walk, shall we? Stretching your legs will do you good.”

Before he could give even an inch of a vocal response, Yuga already tugged him along. Arm in arm, they left the dark and murky sheltering of the temple and stepped out into the garden. Ghirahim gave a bit of a sigh as they waded into the overgrown labyrinth, crushing petals under their soles as they went. At this time of year, there were more roses scattered on the paths than still hung blooming on the bushes. Even so, this didn’t seem to deter Yuga from pampering the entire floral expanse as he saw fit. The beauty-obsessed sorcerer was stretching out the lives of this garden, basking in its scarlets, pinks, whites, and oranges until the wind would finally scatter all of its flowers and wither it into a maze of thorns. It was an empty husk already, robbed of its owner. All her precious statues, except where every few corners one remained, had been removed from their pedestals. Knowing what stood in their places once, he couldn’t exactly say he minded. 

In one ear, out the other, Yuga had been yammering on for some time now. Frankly, he’d have had more luck talking to the statues in passing, for they would have given him more ear than he could muster. An odd feeling, right on the thin thread between interest and irritation, emerged in him when he realized just what all this fussing was for. Yuga must have thought to try and comfort him. The last they saw each other, after all, was when he was in the hands of…

“Yuga.”

The sorcerer in question perked up immediately at the first sounds of his voice, a bright smile barely masking his concern. “Yes?”

Ghirahim saw Yuga trying to meet his eye, but he refused it, keeping his gaze out in front of him. “What brings us to Cia’s dwelling?” 

Yuga exclaimed softly at the query. “Master Ganondorf thought it impudent to seek an outpost worthy of housing both Himself and his lieutenants. One closer to Hyrule Castle, you see. You’ve… Missed, the briefings, but in due time we will prepare a siege on Hyrule Field to claim the remaining pieces of the Triforce. The Temple was closest, is all.”

Ghirahim hummed. As he’d feared, his importance was being undermined. “And how long have I been sleeping through my duties?”

“Oh, it’s not so drastic, we,” Yuga started, but was soon forced into reconsidering his words by a dark scowl burning into his peripheral vision. “… A little over a week, Milord.”

A week… Heaving a sigh, his head dropped. In all that time, no one had thought to wake him. Their army had held up just fine without him, fine enough for their commanders to play dress-up and trot about in the greenery. A bitterness he couldn’t place nestled in him, for this feeling was entirely unknown to him. He had been rejected, he had been left behind, but never before had he not been needed. 

A gust of wind coursed through the garden, knocking the petals off some of the roses behind them. In the nook of his elbow, Yuga shuddered just a bit but knew better than to tuck himself closer to the cold frame of his companion. For the first time since awakening, Ghirahim craned his head up, ever-so-gently lifting himself from the downtrodden drone-like solemnity that kept his eyes on the ground before him. The pinks and oranges of the sky were gradually turning to purple. East of them, framing the Temple like a lifted bridal veil, the first stars speckled the darkening sky. It must have been getting chilly for such a frail man. 

They continued walking. He didn’t want to drag this little get-together out longer than he had to. If Yuga was going out of his way to put himself in a state of discomfort, it was better spent on someone capable of actually appreciating such an effort. The pink-speckled path swirled on and on; though he wasn’t as familiar with its layout anymore, he knew it wouldn’t be long until they came out the other end, and he could finally retreat to a better spending of his time.

A stone-hewn shape to his left completely stopped him in his tracks. It ripped his eyelids fully open and yanked Yuga nearly out of balance with how harshly he came to a halt. 

There he stood. Serene yet with stubborn mischief hidden behind the subtlest crinkle of his eyes, marble fingers caressing the false golden strings of a harp. Ghirahim knew that face anywhere. He couldn’t believe Yuga would have been able to see into him so deeply as to copy that smile with such clarity when it had taken him months to do as much as evoke it. Before him stood not just any carnation of the Hero, it was the one he’d known.

Yuga let out a bit of an embarrassed laugh as he noticed him staring at the statue. “It’s quite dreadful, isn’t it? To have depictions of one’s arch nemesis in their dwelling. I can’t stand the boy myself, but… They’re still my work, you know?” He began to babble, a hand brought to his cheek. “No matter if it depicts such a distasteful subject, there are other aspects one can admire, I would say. It took quite a bit of begging to get Master Ganondorf to let me keep at least a few… No doubt he’ll put me to work to fill in the empty pedestals, though. If I don’t do so of my own accord, that is!”

It was a masterful depiction, one that parted his lips in a painful, smothered awe. Past the marble, he could almost see that russet-blond hair and the deep, ocean-blue eyes. As if any second its exterior could chip, and the boy within would break free. And how he’d seize that brat with his own hands, tear the blood-soaked thread that bound them in his lifetime to shreds with nothing but his teeth. Link had been one of the first smudges on his soul, one that tainted his resolve and made him so disgustingly frivolous. Every last star in the skies above would have to snuff out before he’d forgive him for it.

Yes, he’d had guilty pleasures before. He’d toyed, he’d teased, and he’d indulged in what he shouldn’t have. They had all been shaken off easily with no room for tears to shed. Each and every one of them had gotten in the way of his goal, and every time he’d drawn close to that great life’s light, petty distractions had to be done away with. See now, how clinging to such a selfish desire had strayed him so far from his purpose, far enough to be punished. It was below him to allow such foolishness to continue for this long. He’d cut those ties before, burned bridges till their ashes shaped back into objects of rivalrous disdain.

This one would be just as easy to sever.

He narrowed his eyes, clarity at once clearing the fog of his judgment. What lay behind it was frustration. Knives that didn’t belong there drove into his core with every pulse. It smothered him, tightening his chest and hitching his voice. “… You mentioned Zant. Is he also here?”

“He is, indeed,” Yuga nodded, looking instantly a little brighter. There was no point in shattering that little glimmer, at least not right then. “He’s been holed up in that library since… Well, since we arrived here, really. You ought to go see him now that you’re awake. Surely he’ll be glad to see you.”

Ghirahim fought against a bitter laugh building up in his throat but decided to let it slip. “Surely.”

—

The library was tricky to find, but easy enough for a demon. The hallways winded on and on, the nonsensical architecture of the Temple of Souls making navigation difficult for any regular man, but second nature to a being of darkness. Besides, the pitiful meeting with their second-newest recruit was a bit too fresh in his mind to forget the steps he’d traced. Corridors overlapped with each other as if clipped in at different angles, and if you’d asked him, he may have walked onto a separate plane of gravity about three times now. Within good time, though, he stood before tall, twin ornate doors. Gold filigree swirled into purple paneling, jutting out into claw-like doorknobs at shoulder height. Ghirahim seized both in his hands and pushed, stepping into the shadowy room beyond.

It was as if a horde of wild animals had ravaged it. Books lay strewn across the floor, sheets of paper tying them all together like a makeshift map. Not a single candle lit the library. Were it not for the cold beams of dusk light that entered through the tall windows above, it would have been pitch dark. Entire shelves had been emptied, either onto the floor or stacked into wobbly towers on the reading desks, sending centuries upon centuries of dust flying in the air above them like gnats in a swamp. In the center of it all, hunched over a spread of books with shoulders shaking and his back heaving with his breath, stood Zant. 

At the sound of the doors creaking open, he whipped around, a ravenous look contorted his face into a snarl. Something so desperate and territorial he’d only ever seen before in the eyes of beasts, standing over the carcass of fresh kill and daring anything that surrounded it to try and take its rightful meal. The glare that aimed at him, glowing and orange in the shadow-consumed room, zoned in on him like a grave keeper’s lantern.

Yet, when a spark of recognition lit in those burning orbs, in an instant, that crazed expression was gone. Instead, something of a solemn relief softened his face. His voice shook a little as he spoke, just barely above a whisper.

“Oh, Ghirahim…”

At once, he took to the air. Feather-light he bounded over the carpet of books that covered the floor, seemingly uncaring of how many pages turned, or how many sheets of paper he whisked away in his advance. His robes fluttered behind him, before he came to a halt before him, only the slightest sigh of wind puffing out below him in his landing. 

“You’ve returned to us.”

Were there any apprehension in Zant from the distance he’d wedged between them, not a shred of it was visible. Those lanky fingers — cold, even through the gloves — reached out for him instantly to take his hands. His head cocked, eyes wide-set and overshadowed by a worried frown, as he tried to lean into his eye contact. Ghirahim could see it in his periphery as he scowled down at the ground, that insistence to meet his eye. Yet it wasn’t the suffocating, pulse-quickening gaze he was so used to being snared into. Those eyes only looked at him with concern, with heartsickness. Even as he stood there, exuding nothing but coldness and avoidance, Zant kept making those odd little squeaks and hums as if they were sitting cheek to cheek at their bedside.

… How was he making this so difficult?

He hadn’t even shaken off those hands, that now started gently rubbing their thumbs over his knuckles. Every little stroke of his withered thumbs sent sparks beneath his skin. They snaked his way in tingles down his arms, before they swelled into his chest with apprehension. What was intended as a comforting gesture only made him anxious. One more nudge and he would be past that threshold again, tumbling into his arms and robbing him of all clarity. Such weakness was unbecoming of him; rather, it went against his entire being, to be so easily swayed into being charmed by a man he couldn’t trust. He had to chase those questions that swarmed in his mind before he could once again be distracted from them. 

Ghirahim flicked his hands off, folding his arms to prevent Zant from stealing him away again. “You owe me an explanation. Several, in fact.”

Zant withdrew his hands, hovering in their sleeves before his chest. The mournful worry that spread its gray hues across his face soon shattered. His eyes widened, lacing themselves with the resigned fear of a cornered animal. “What do you wish to know?”

He wondered where to begin. Any other time he would prefer to be subtle, to tease out what he wanted and kick his adversary while they’re down for good measure. Zant owed him his secrecy for having strung him along with such anxiety, but he didn’t feel the mood to collect his dues. He simply wanted his questions answered, and the door shut behind him. 

So he did away with all his filters, and let it all bubble forth. “Your behavior during our siege… It defied everything I’ve known of you. You are tense with some sort of burden you won’t divulge, and it’s made you erratic in ways you’ve never been before. But perhaps you have been this cryptic, and it simply took me too long to realize.”

Dourness quickly boiled over to fury. Ghirahim paced as he talked, gesturing wildly as he let himself get sucked into his venting anger. “To ask you of- of any sense, in that labyrinthine head of yours may be as impossible to you as it is to me, but Zant, as it stands, I cannot have faith in any of our cooperation if you remain so,” he paused, his hands clawing in his hair with building frustration. “So… Impossible! Perplexing and intangible!”

He whipped around at once, sweeping his arm in emphasis. “So I demand you now to explain yourself, before…”

Silence fell. He couldn’t think of a way to finish that question. Before, what, exactly? Before he’d lose trust in him? There wasn’t much more of that which he could lose. Before he’d leave him? He was already planning on cutting those amicable ties, but as tied together by their duty as they were, he could never flee from him fully. There was simply no point in making promises he couldn’t keep. So he stayed silent.

It appeared to have been enough to convey his point. Zant’s expression had fallen further.

Zant sighed through his nose, tightening his mouth to a thin line. “You are right in your assessment, Ghirahim. I was careless,” he responded, fidgeting with one of his tassels as his eyes darted wildly for some safe place to rest his gaze. Ghirahim’s furious magnetism won the battle over his avoidance, he noted in petty self-satisfaction, as soon that lanky fool couldn’t help but look at him.

Ghirahim stood firm, chin tipped as he glared up at him, even when Zant so meekly stepped forward to loom closer to him. His voice was more hushed now. Ghirahim couldn’t recall any other time he sounded so timid. “I tell you this in confidence, now, Ghirahim, for I do not wish to give the impression that I distrust our Master’s actions, much less let such a rumor spread through our forces.” 

His brow bones furrowed and his expression turned grave. “Truthfully, I had known from the start that any attack on Death Mountain could only lead to an ambush. Yet, I could not sway our Master into reconsidering our approach. I could not keep those frustrations from leaking into my performance in battle, for truly, I was convinced that day would be my last.”

“Not to mention, I,” he started, but there was regret in his eyes for having turned his mind to the page he now was to dictate. His hands fidgeted uneasily in his sleeves, reaching for him just the slightest bit before retreating into their fabric shells. “I have felt a certain… Distance — between us, ever since our latest trek to the Faron Woods. I am uncertain what has come to pass since then, but the lack of our shared company agonized me.”

A gradual blush crept on his cheeks, ever-more prominent over the thin, whitened scars of his face. “Yet, in my desperation when waiting for the sounding of my death knell, wishing for you so, my actions only endangered you. Never did I wish to cast you in Ganondorf’s ire, and I can only feel responsible for the punishment he chose to give you.”

Zant huffed weakly. All his strength then seemed to gather in his eyes, peering at him in pleading and guilt. Though Ghirahim had shaken him off and tucked his hands beyond his reach, somehow Zant had slipped them free and insistently clasped them in his own. “I do not expect you to forgive me, but my remorse is true.”

Ghirahim looked up at him, for a moment at a loss for words. Once again, Zant had struck an incomprehensible chord, leaving him tongue-tied. If he didn’t so stubbornly cling to it, the anger he’d entered this room with almost would have faded. And even if it had, a new source of annoyance quickly took its place. Such frivolous sentimentality! At least the previous times, Zant had the decency to keep it concealed.

He couldn’t believe that such simple fears had been what cracked Zant’s composure. In fact, he didn’t believe it. The man he’d shared nights with, cradling his shivering body in his arms as night terrors consumed him, dreaded far more than such simple matters. No matter how erratically he behaved on the battlefield, he was far beyond the lowly realm of beasts. Mortal he may have been, but Ghirahim knew all too well that his Master wouldn’t waste energy on someone so dispensable.

Perhaps they had been the actions of a man with nothing to lose, after all. Nothing he’d said, however, shed even a single light on that secretive, elusive string he’d always keep him on.

But he didn’t want to upset him any further, not when he’d gotten him a semblance of loose-lipped. Were he to shut him down now, he might never get the opportunity again. 

Zant was still holding his hands. Ghirahim sucked in a breath when he realized he’d stopped noticing it, how used he’d grown to being touched by him. He gave the man one last look, before casting his eyes down with a sigh. Slipping his hands out of his grip got him a little whimper in response, and Zant’s eyes trailed him wetly and sadly as he walked past him. 

He scanned the room again. Books. Always with the books. The Twili was completely addicted to gathering knowledge of this realm, to the point he may as well derive sustenance from it. It was this ceaseless digging into this alternate world’s past that had sparked his first bout of madness, of conspiracy. Maybe the answers to his questions were hidden there.

And so, he looked over his shoulder, addressing him in their usual banter. “This place was not so ravaged last I saw it.”

Zant perked up, hesitantly so. He seemed to be taking the extension of their conversation as a sign of forgiveness. He would be wrong, but Ghirahim was planning on tolerating his company, for the time being. Zant trailed after him, looming in a shadow at his back. “Indeed. I have let my enthusiasm get the better of me, it seems.”

“It seems, he says…” Ghirahim clicked his tongue, browsing the sea of paper before him. “Even you wouldn’t be this chaotic without good reason. What are you obsessing over this time?”

A far less uncertain smile split Zant’s lips, his pointed teeth glittering in the dim light. “I think it better to show you. Come.”

Zant extended his hand, palm raised. He was testing his luck, certainly, but Ghirahim would let him, if only for the sake of his curiosity. So, he shot the man a warning glance and accepted. Instead of their usual warp, Zant instead grabbed on tightly and tugged the both of them backward. He jumped, pulling Ghirahim — suddenly a hundred pounds lighter and kicking his feet with a yelp — into the air with him. They floated past the trail of books that scattered across the library floor, only to land right at an empty space at its very center. The second they landed, Ghirahim yanked his hand free and sourly dusted himself off. Oh, yes. He really was testing his patience.

Face still soft and pink, Zant’s anxiety took a turn for his more zealous side. He quickly turned his attention to the fruits of his labor. “I have taken the liberty of combing through the Sorceress’ magical tomes in search for something we ourselves could master, and found something truly promising.”

Sleeves spread out, he continued his sermon. “The grimoire she carries is outside of my reach, but a grimoire, too, is nothing more than a summary of knowledge. I believe I have found the pathway to unlocking her arcane secrets, Ghirahim,” he began to giggle, at once hunching down to arrange his spread of paper and leather. “Does this look familiar?”

Ghirahim squinted. In this dark, finding familiarity in anything at all was a chore, but one he would have to commit to. With great determination, Zant continued to arrange the books and papers. It was all just scribbles to him. Before he could comment on the irony of the bookish girl’s scrawly handwriting, his disdain for the texts revealed something new. Rather than the texts themselves, something was hidden behind them — a circular print, in light, grey dye, joining one page to the next. And within those prints, one symbol was scrawled on each opened book. 

Ghirahim frowned, now turning his gaze to the creature squatted on the floor. “That is… Those are the runes to..?”

Zant rose, more papers tightly clutched to his chest, and nodded with scheming satisfaction. “Indeed. These very pages hold the secrets to her time gates. With some study… I may yet figure them out for our own use.”

Finally, the pieces clicked. Ghirahim had come to him seeking sense and he’d found it, wrapped in layers upon layers of pipe dreams. Their field trips, his toiling studies, his obsession with finding context clues in the landscape… It had to all have been building to this. As true to his character as it could ever be, the Twilight King came here searching for a way to claim the power of Gods for himself and had now found it. If he couldn’t have it in one world, he would have it in the next. The prospect of what Zant would use such power for, continued to worry him… But just this knowledge would suffice, for now. At last, he felt like he had an idea of just what went on in that enigmatic chaos that called itself a ‘mind’. He could follow that wavelength.

For the first time since arriving at the library, he smiled. He laughed, even, his hand brought to his face. “You truly are a madman.”

The sight of Ghirahim’s smile visibly delighted Zant. Then it emboldened him, bursting into a cackle. “I would not be the first to admit that the boundary between madmen and scholars is, and shall forever remain, very thin.”

And so, Ghirahim found himself once again at the Twilight King’s side, perusing the various notes and books he’d ripped through. Perhaps he’d curse himself give or take a few days, but being on Zant’s trail for a change invigorated him. He’d managed to somewhat level the playing field. Whether he would win this duel remained to be seen, but now at least he had an idea of where the man hid his spare daggers. Standing across the field of honor, his hands itched to lunge for him and pluck them out himself. 

Zant, too, appeared contented. His fingers glided past the papers he’d accumulated, rambling on and on about his discoveries, and the potentials of summoning more and more obscure beasts from beyond time. 

At last, their company appeared to return to old fondness, until Zant’s words faded. His tone turned grave as he turned to him. “… Ghirahim.”

Ghirahim sighed, combing his hair to the left side of his face with his fingers. “What is it this time?”

Zant blinked, mulling over his words blank-faced. “Are you afraid of me?”

The words shot into him like a burning arrow, igniting his temper in an instant. “Afraid..?” he scoffed. “What a ridiculous notion. You would do better to watch your tongue.”

Zant’s eyes narrowed. Ghirahim couldn’t place the intent of his question. It could only have been a taunt, an insult, but he spied none of the playful sadism that should accompany such bullying. “I have given you my answers without riddles. I wish for you to extend me that same grace,” Zant demanded.

And so, Ghirahim considered it, even if every instinct blared with annoyance and a desire to throw the notion straight in his mental garbage bin. Did he fear Zant? One would think he didn’t, for the man was impulsive, childish, and frightfully easy to wrap around his finger. Yet, that very same fool had coaxed him into vulnerability and, at the end of the day, could very well mangle him to shards if he so desired. The thought frightened, embarrassed, and disgusted him all the same. He stood, arms folded, avoiding his gaze but knowing it wouldn’t avoid him until he answered. His annoyance won over his ego. 

He cleared his throat and chose the practical path. “… It’s only expected to hold some fear for those more powerful than you, no? Do you not fear our Master?”

That same look Zant had worn on his face when he first met his eyes today, returned. The initial shock of his answer faded, soon turning glum. It wasn’t piteous like the way Yuga looked at him. In those glossy amber eyes, he saw nothing but grief and recognition. Slowly, Zant began to shake his head and soon drew him into a wordless embrace. 

Ghirahim froze. Had he answered wrong? There was no such thing. Strength meant to control those lacking that power. How else did one demand respect, but through the competing of abilities? To outmatch, to terrorize? To break down every lesser being at the knee, so all they could do was to look upon you in awe and worship? That was how he’d functioned, on either side of the spectrum. It was the simple order of life, and he’d relished in it. Demise had forged him for it, after all, and he would sooner shatter than deny himself this privileged terror.

Then, Ghirahim came to the baffling conclusion that Zant did not want him to fear him. He couldn’t begin to fathom why. Neither did he understand why his body grew slack, and why his arms shakily found their way loosely around Zant’s waist.

The Twili let out more of those little hums, nuzzling his face into his hair. Lanky arms pulled him in closer as the first subtle drops of tears trickled onto the crown of his head. “Truly, you have kept me from you for too long…”

It was all entirely alien. Both Zant’s reactions and the pounding they stirred inside his core. But, by Demise, he didn’t want to let go.

“You vex me, vile and dark thing,” Ghirahim murmured finally, burying his face in the pillowing of deep black robes. “Fork-tongued, baleful, infuriating wretch,” he hissed, though the venom in his voice thinned, till at long last it dripped with philter. A hand with uneven digits found his cheek and before he knew he leaned into it. Whatever protests, pleas for self-control, and shunning his mind cried out, his body ignored completely. His head tipped back to a sigh, baring his face to the mercy of his kisses. “You must have cursed me, to draw me to you like this. I find no other reason to time and time again return to your arms.”

With those lips so close to his ear, Zant laughed, its smoky tones sending an involuntary shiver down his neck. “Forgive me, for such magic could only ever be a blessing in my eyes.”

They embraced there for what seemed like ages. Stubborn cries in his mind called him a coward, spineless for his inability to push him away. Those, too, faded with the deafening buzz of this affectionate comfort. Cotton filled his head until it may as well have been coming out of his ears. Whatever thoughts would come to haunt him could dig their claws back into him some other time. He was too mystified by this odd creature that cooed and whispered and kissed, to make space for anything else. 

Soon, Zant broke that precious silence with more of his perplexing words. “… I cannot help but notice, Ghirahim. Even after your slumber, you remain ill.” He leaned back, once again fiddling with his hair with those spindly fingers. “If you will let me, I can be of assistance to you again.”

A chill ran down his back the instant he realized just where his curiosity had led him. Instantly, Ghirahim jerked back, a hand protectively over his chest. He had given the Twili an inch, and already, he was seeking to pry him open and-

Zant picked up on his shock and quickly attempted to calm him. “Ah- No, I will not force you into such an intimate act, especially not given our earlier talk. But I may have an idea.”

Still apprehensive, but no longer as tightly wound, Ghirahim frowned at him. “… Go on.”

Once again Zant grew a touch shy. He chewed on his lip as he sought for words. “Your magic is channeled through dance, is it not? As with your counterpart, you cast your spells most effectively through somatic channeling. I could assist you and combine our energies, so you could dispel the curse on your own.”

Ghirahim stood perplexed. At first, his frustratingly verbose wording confused him, until he realized what he meant. His smile returned to him against his will, but he took the liberty of adding a snarky spin. “… Twilight King… Once again, your attempts at courtship are laughable. Are you asking me for a dance?”

A grin spread across Zant’s face, finally casting that bothersome gloom aside. “Only if you will have me, Demon Lord.”

Deciding he’d already agreed to enough unbecoming nonsense for the night, Ghirahim didn’t see the harm in one more. He accepted and watched curiously as Zant gleefully trotted off someplace else.

“Just a moment,” he echoed into some cabinet, “I’ve found quite the intriguing little implement earlier. If only I could- Ah!”

Ghirahim tilted his head to look over his shoulder. He sneered a laugh when he saw just what Zant had fetched and held up so proudly. “A music box? You think me some sniveling babe, in need of a lullaby?”

But the Twili refused even a shred of embarrassment, standing firm in his choice. “Perhaps it is a touch juvenile, but I found it carries a fine tune. Besides, would you rather our privacy be interrupted by an orchestra?”

Ghirahim shrugged, admitting defeat. “No, I suppose not.”

Finally, Zant reached for his hand. Upon taking it, he was dragged into his magic by surprise, and the pair promptly appeared on the upper floor of the library. The doors to the balcony stood open, the evening breeze brushing through the heavy drapes. They swayed and beckoned, inviting the pair outside like ghostly chaperones. Bronze slippers clacked on stone as Zant led them out, setting their musical implements on the balcony balusters. 

Ghirahim shook his head in amusement, watching with his hands at his sides as Zant giddily began winding up the little box until the spring simply wouldn’t give any more. The sword spirit chewed his lip with a smile. He wondered if this inelegant being even knew how to dance, despite his invitation. Much less how it would look. 

A pleasant surprise reared its head but did not quite escape its hiding when Zant approached him in a straight posture. He confidently took his hand in his and placed the other at his hip. “Might I request to lead? It’s how I’ve been trained, after all.”

The mere suggestion made Ghirahim laugh. “Oh, so you were trained? Such interesting things you try to sell me on.”

Zant’s lips pursed into a smug, defiant smile, his hand not moving from his waist. “Will I get an answer before that box runs out of spins, I wonder.”

Ghirahim rolled his eyes with a laugh, finally conceding, and reaching up to place his hand on his shoulder. “Sweep me away, Twilight King. See if you keep my toes intact.”

Pleasant surprise turned to astonishment when it turned out Zant was, indeed, a halfway-decent dancer. It took the both of them a few clumsy bumps, affronted toes, and curses but mostly laughs, to get used to each others’ rhythms and lengths of strides. Before long, though, Zant took up on his challenge and swept the both of them through the balcony in a waltz. 

Yet, one thing still irked him. Doubtlessly, Zant’s mop of hair was no glorious sight to behold, but Ghirahim certainly preferred it over that hideous leather coif. So, he clicked his tongue, breaking their hold to reach for his face. “Must you be wearing that old thing as we dance?”

“Ah,” Zant exclaimed, flinching away from the fingers that slipped beneath his coif. “I would prefer to, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Ghirahim frowned a little but decided to let it slide. The fading scars on Zant’s cheeks reminded him enough about his tendency to hide himself. For the time being, he supposed he could shrug it off. Whatever he kept concealed there could only be a minor secret compared to the ones he’d wrenched from him just earlier. He’d let these fade with the sun, which sank ever further away with each step of their feet. Pink turned to blue, turned to pitch black, finally shedding them in the chandelier light of the starry veil above. Ghirahim’s blooming magic, leaving glowing white footprints behind them, poured from him as easily as he could sigh a breath. Once again, that nosy Twilight busy-body had found a way to intertwine the two of them. All he had to do was dance.

—

The plucky chiming of the music box had long ceased, but neither of them paid it any mind. Their feet rhythmically continued gliding past the stone floors. Zant’s metal clogs left their characteristic clink-clink-clink, and Ghirahim’s soles trailed with glittering diamonds, leaving a sound like wind passing through a grand chandelier. Those specks of magic rang and jingled, themselves producing a tune, casting the pair in fracturing light as if they’d been dancing miles below the sea. 

Fog of exhaustion began to drain from him, sapped from his fingertips — he clutched Zant just a little tighter, — his feet — his dance stepped just a little lighter, — and the back of his mind — the stars in his eyes shone just a little brighter, — until he could hardly feel its influence anymore. It gathered at his core, before being shed from it in yet more gentle puffs of diamond magic. Those very gems were infused, or rather, tainted with something else, something living and dark. Yet, now, as the little cloud of them swirled into the sky like a snake wading through the desert sands, it could harm him no longer.

The point of his ear glowed softly red when amidst the gentle sounds of their dance, Zant’s persistent giggling had turned into a hum. Soon, Ghirahim found himself laughing along. There the pair swayed singing across the balcony, dancing into the night in mutual serenade. Rewinding that old toy would have been too much of a bother, either way. With every step, he felt lighter, more whole, and with the arms that led him through their steps, he couldn’t help but feel like Zant had his hand in reforming him. Even when simply being by his side while he reforged himself, their intimacy alone molded him into such a whimsical being. 

He did not have enough lead in his steel to be this weak and malleable. But oh, damn it all. Those eyes adored him so.

But how could they? Ghirahim could treat him coldly, he could avoid him, he could waltz into this very room with the intent to berate and abandon him, and still he welcomed him with open arms. So tragically he beheld him and so desperately he’d pleaded for him to consider forgiveness. They were tearing each other to the ground, he knew it, and he was certain now that Zant knew it, too. Yet, somehow, when it kept his sleepless mind buzzing with a hive’s worth of conflict, that strange man chased after it like his life knew no greater purpose. 

He couldn’t hope to sway him from that obsession, nor from attempting to drag him down with him. But he could try. 

“You’re certain you wish to spend your time with such frivolous things, Twilight King?” he said, coaxing glowing amber into his own vast black. “Even if I continue to doubt you so?”

Zant chuckled, some puzzling silence in his face. “Even now, you question me? For months now, we have laid together in both passion and slumber. I’ve allowed you to hold me, to comfort me when my mind would reject me, until we have spent more nights together than apart.” He spoke, keeping the pair moving and shrouded in glitter. “Were those hours we’ve spent together in leisure, in discourse and intrigue, not meaningful to you? Had you not the slightest inkling of the way I look at you, how the world pales in importance when we occupy the same space?”

There was the first true crack, picking at a wall he didn’t know he had. He expected, no, demanded to be admired. Desirability was as true to his nature as his cruelty and by all means, he had to be used to it. He couldn’t fathom why this would feel different, and why against all logic, it did.

Zant spun him, holding him closer as he pulled him back in. “Ghirahim, truly, could I have made myself any clearer? Flippant feelings alone can not keep me from you, for they are what make us alive. With all that we’ve shared, how could I come to feel anything for you, but my deepest, truest affections?”

Another hair fracture, zig-zagging and weaving together like a web. With every turn of their waltz, the stars spun around them. Bright specks swirled around till all blended together in a glowing spiral. It was like the little pixies had seen their swaying below, and promptly broke into their own dance, having unanimously decided it looked fun. His core pulsed, thrummed, widening his eyes and sending roaring fire to his chest. Below him, his magic spoke for him, and welcomed the starry sky above to join their not-so-private ball. Scattering into the sky in sparks, or really, more like bubbles in a boiling kettle, diamonds rose from the pool of pure white magic that gathered at his feet.

Something in him pounded at the wall, and the fracture cleaved ever deeper. The hand holding his’ slipped out from their loose joining, trailing its way down his arm and toward his cheek. “Surely, some of it must have registered, for even after our time apart, you continue to bear my gift to you,” Zant said, his eyes now glued to his earring.

Zant sucked in a gasp, for just a moment tripping over his words. Their eyes met again, and the Twili fell silent. He stared at him as if he had committed to counting every star that reflected in the black of his pupils, and would still be there to count them when new ones were born. He brought the two of them to a halt, looking as infatuated as he was troubled. Ghirahim grew cold with anticipation, all while Zant kept him trapped and entranced. “The truth is, Ghirahim, I…”

Rushing forth from some corner of himself, this geode he once thought hollow, a battering ram whacked at his crumbling line of defenses. Desperately it slammed against the wall to meet whatever had called it, to see what nighttide lover was knocking at its balcony window and sweep it off its feet. So desperate it was, starving for a feeling it had never dared to dream be reciprocated, that it tore a gaping hole in him at first strike. 

That little hidden shard of his now flew free, gazing out into the world he’d hidden it from with awe and splendor. For just one second, the stars around them seemed to glow, the hand on his cheek felt warmer, and his core felt infinitely lighter. Little dagger, so eagerly it flung around the shoulders of the one waiting for it outside its imprisonment, that it hadn’t even noticed that every other inch of Ghirahim had kept its thousands of hands firmly at its hilt. They ripped it back inside. It went back with them cheering and giggling, a little tatter of the object of its affection clutched firmly in its hands. 

He could not sever this. Not if he let it continue.

And so, he ran. He broke himself away from the golden eyes that looked at him so longingly by clenching his own shut. By the time he opened them again, his hands were empty and cold, and his back was pressed against one of the columns that left this very library standing. The room was dark.

He was hoping that tearing himself from him would bring him a measure of relief, of closure. To avoid the words about to be spoken was to avoid opening a door he had only dared to peep through and hold it ajar, lured in by the tranquilizing sweetness of his curiosity. It was a world not meant for him, not with this man. He’d slam the stop-gap keeping it open to splinters if he had to.

Yet, as he stood there, drowning in the deathly silence of the library, he couldn’t bring himself to. There was not a shred of relief to be found in the ache that buckled his knees. That door to what-could-be remained open. After he’d shattered it, it could never close again. In the paralysis that kept him clinging to that pillar like a lifeline, he heard a shred from that great unknown. Above him, from the balcony, a wet, ragged breath ripped itself through the Twili’s throat in a heaving sob.

A crash, a shatter, the sound of little gears and mechanisms scattering across the stone floor assaulted his ears. Though he fled from them, the ringing and clattering haunted Ghirahim in echoes as he made his solemn stride to his chambers.

[mx-lamour]

Ezra will remember this.

Incidentally, our most homoerotic moment of the campaign.

It's well before the dinner at Ravenloft. Our party keeps moving farther westward, on a jaunty little trail of side quests, and we've met the Martikovs. We've cleared the winery, in perhaps record time, our bard and Ezra having disguised themselves as Strahd and Rahadin and successfully manipulated a creepy staff out of so-and-so's hands, bidding them to leave.

We found out about three gemstones that had once been hidden in the winery, and started off to find them. The first, we knew, would be with the druids, who were about to conduct some kind of ritual. So we raced to the old grove to stop them, hoping to run ahead of the reinforcements we'd just inadvertently sent their way.

We made it in good time. The staff we'd usurped worked well to our advantage, but it was still a hard fight--actually one of our first, I think, beyond the ghost house. We'd managed to talk and side-step our way through much of Barovia thus far.

Fire blazed on a tall effigy of Strahd von Zarovich, throwing light and shadow across the grove in hypnotic contrast. In the distance, still too near for comfort, the Gulthias tree groaned into malevolent sentience, crawling heavily on roots like twisted knees, furrowing the earth, swinging club-like branches down like spiny fists on anyone within its reach.

We fought on all sides, battling the druids, throwing what little we had at the Gulthias tree to slow its approach. And then Ezra spotted it: that first gem, in the heart of the fire. He worked to tear the effigy down, faster than it could burn on its own.

Though there was no rain, thunder rolled through the sky. Lightning flashed, out-shining the blaze in a strobe of stark white. We glanced up at the night sky and knew terror.

Strahd von Zarovich, set with a dire countenance the likes of which we'd not yet witnessed, on a dark horse with burning mane and flaring nostrils, descended from the storm.

We had seen versions of Strahd, before this. Met caricatures and disguises of an origin we could not yet understand. But this, immediately, we knew: This was the true Lord of Barovia. Our blood ran cold, faces pale as the lightning that flashed again, washing out the landscape and throwing us just as quickly back into errant darkness. Death was imminent.

When Strahd landed, sliding deftly from the nightmare's back, a glint of metal reflecting firelight as he drew his sword, it was the druids whose fate he sealed, not ours.

Shocked, but unwilling to question it, we used the reprieve to our advantage.

The effigy finally crumbled, the gemstone tumbling down in the midst of hot embers and broken kindling. Strahd and Ezra both moved toward it. Ezra reached it first. But as he stood, Strahd caught him in his gaze.

The surrounding battle fell away. Strahd reached toward him. "May I see that?" he asked, voice low and sure.

Ezra's hand trembled as he held the gemstone aloft. It was an orange crystal, the size of his heart, with an intricate weave of thin roots that seemed to have sprouted somehow from inside of it. A seed.

"What do you intend to do with it?"

Ezra felt ill; the whole time they've been here, he's been out of his depth. "I don't know," he confessed. "I hadn't thought that far ahead." He searched Strahd's face for answers. "What do you intend to do with it?"

"I wish to keep it safe, from the hands of those who would misuse it. Can you think of a safer place than with me?" His hand was still open to Ezra. Patient. Expectant.

Ezra thought. But the only thing of clarity he found in his reflection was that Strahd von Zarovich, who was ancient, who was the land, who was, if nothing else, a powerful general residing in a fortress--In a way that felt both brutal and humbling, Strahd was...

He was safe.

In a daze like enlightenment, Ezra walked across the embers. He held the crystal out to Strahd.

With only a flicker of movement, like the lick of a flame, Strahd had taken it from him. Ezra felt his presence reappear close behind. Strahd's head dipped over Ezra's shoulder. Ezra leaned into the sensation, as though he were falling. His feet were warm. The ground glowed orange around them. In a moment of utter calm, he bared his throat...

Strahd did not bite. Ezra dared to worry a moment that his blood might be wrong. But Strahd also placed the crystal back into his hand. "Remember this," he said, close to Ezra's ear.

Yes. Ezra would remember.

Then Strahd stepped away, and Ezra fumbled again with uncertainty. He groped for meaning. "Why?"

"I assume you would like to help your friends."

It wasn't what he'd meant. Sluggishly, Ezra turned his gaze back to the others, still fighting. "Friends." An unfamiliar word on his breath. The bard, injured, saw him and gestured madly at the Gulthias tree.

"The seed was used to animate the Gulthias tree," Strahd's even voice prompted. "What do you think you should do with it?"

With a last glance at the stoic figure of Strahd von Zarovich, Ezra turned, and hurried toward his companions. Perhaps Strahd expected him to destroy the seed. Ezra would not have dreamed of it.

With some effort, Ezra located the tether of magic connecting crystal to tree. "Halt!" he commanded it, and for a brief moment, the Gulthias tree obeyed. It ceased all movement, just long enough for the barbarian to rip the blade of his dark sword through its mangled maw. Severed at last, the top of the tree came crashing down.

The lightning stopped. An absence of thunder.

Strahd, too, had gone. Ezra took a step toward where he had been, like a child lost in a crowd of strangers. Corpses on the ground. A precious and unfamiliar thing in his grasp.

[dude1818]

Wrapped up our Dungeon of the Mad Mage campaign, which has been running roughly weekly since March 2021. We pushed this campaign well past its limit, ending with a party of five level 23 PCs [taking supernatural boons after 20] and four level 20 sidekicks. And that was with splitting XP with the sidekicks since we acquired them as level 1 NPCs

In the final battle against Halaster, we were able to beat him into submission and then bound him with antimagic manacles, allowing Jhesiyra to return and take the throne of the Undermountain. Our bladesinger studied magic under her for a few months before he felt the pressure of the Undermountain start to get to him, at which point he joined the paladin and fighter in traveling to Halaster's vault in Icewind Dale to collect the riches he owed us. The monk, who was here on a divine quest to slay Halaster, was satisfied Jhesiyra would keep him down and went home

My own character, a kalashtar soulknife rouge, had previously asked Jhesiyra to teach us about the astral plane and train us to fight the Dreaming Dark [backstory stuff]. Right before the final fight, Arcturia had given the party a chance to get some biomagical augments, and we had chosen to surgically embed the gem dragon phylactery that we were semi-cursed with for most of the campaign into our chance. Under Jhesiyra's tutelage, the fusion was completed, and we transformed into a gem dragon ourselves, sworn to protect the kalashtar of Faerun and scour the astral plane of threats

[hifi-walkman]

The story of a dwarf from a solo OSE campaign with Hexroll

Left from Springvale headed south, found Temple of the dishonored order, and 1,210gp of treasure inside.

Next day arrived at Nadan, haggled for stay at the keep, and hired Odelrada Ketilbern to help loot the dungeon.

Travelled north again next day, returning to the Temple of the Dishonored Order. Odelrada found another entrance, and we both travelled into the dungeon… in the darkness.

Found the wife of a toolsmith within the dungeon, returned to town and was gifted with a dragon-slaying sword called Calistan Odelrada left to adventure with others.

Travelled north again, found 140gp in the Temple of the Dishonored Order. Continued north.

Arrived in the city of starfield. Bought some equipment and stayed the night.

Headed east again, stayed out in the wilds instead of in Springvale.

Snuck past a robber fly on the third day of travel,

Encountered a strange hermit in the swamp

Got lost, had to stay at hermit’s house

Entered desert, found a large caravan late at night.

Getting close to the peaks where the dragon lives, followed a river to a land of strange cliffs and statues. I rested in an alcove behind one of the statues for the night.

Passed through an abandoned village, looked recently looted… arrived at an oasis, thought I heard terrantillas, but none of them bothered me if I did.

Arrived at the mountains of the dragons… saw two of them flying above, and found a cranny to rest in… I know for sure they’re here now, but I can’t do this alone. I’ll need a whole party to take them down, even with Calistan.

Going to head northward again, and hope following the river through the desert leads me to a town or village where I can recruit a band to seek the dragon’s hoard.

Found a magic user’s laboratory, lefsy and her assistant Lirielus were very interested in my sword, especially its sensory powers. I allowed them to examine Calistan thoroughly, though it resisted mightily against them doing so. I was allowed to stay for the night, as reward for bringing them something so interesting. They also gave me information on the surrounding areas. Civilization is rare in these parts, I’ve decided to travel towards the farmer’s home in the southeast, they would perhaps have trade, and know of nearby towns or cities.

I travelled outward today, but could not find the farmer’s home, and instead returned to Lefsy’s laboratory, I get the sense they do not want me here, and I will be tolerated only a few more days.

Got lost in the mountains… Found dead adventurers, and as I was about to rest I found the mountain lion that killed them. I fled south, it gave up the chase, and I stumbled on an entrance to a Dungeon, The Hideout of Hidden Souls? It’s rumored to be in these parts… if I could get more treasure from it, I would be able to hire mercenaries to aid in my quest against the dragons.

After resting for a night near the entrance I found, I left the biting snow above, and entered into the dungeon below.

Discovered a dead adventurer, laden with gems… clearly she’d almost escaped before something in the dungeon got to her. There was another, only a little past the first… similar predicament, I would guess. I found the lair of a giant spide, but it was only territorial, not hungry, and I was able to escape.

I’d almost escaped the cave when I was come upon by orcs at the entrance to the dungeon… I had to give them the 1000gp necklace I’d recovered from the Temple of the Dishonored order to convince them to let me leave. I travelled a few miles away from the caves, and made camp nearby.

The snow is bitter, and awful. I wish I’d brough some source of fire. Infra-vision helps you see without it, but doesn’t do anything when you’re freezing to death!

I got lost in the mountain, and came upon a kobold scout, I was on the ridge above him and he didn’t notice me… so I got the drop! The bastard went down in one hit… I knew there were more of the little bastards, and I wasn’t going to just leave the mortal enemies of my people to roam free, not even in mountains like these.

Found the guards of their lair. Cut two of them down without taking a hit. Travelling further in, I found another pair, tanning leathers, Snuck up behind one and stabbed it in the back. I pulled my blade from its corpse and swung at the other, but the damned bitch ducked under. Calistan caught on its dagger as it made another swing. I pushed the creature’s blade aside and cut clean through its neck.

Six more, these ones repairing armor and sharpening weapons, I cut in at the nearest, but was noticed, and it dodged out of the way. The horde of them swarmed over me, two got in good hits, I swung and missed again, there were just too damn many of them.

Another got in a good hit, did real damage… Blood dripped down my plate armor. I cut down the one that stabbed me, and screamed in fury. Their dog like faces snarled back at me as their attacks continued. I cut down another, but they didn’t stop. My shield and blade were alight with the sparks of steel against steel, Then… They got me. One stabbed me in the side, while the other got its sharp teeth around my neck. I was dead.

[breadknight-likes-things]

Hot dog, has World of Warcraft Remix been a huge success for me. By now if you play WoW you already know the basic gist of WoW Remix: “Timerunning”, a special way to experience the older content of the Mists of Pandaria with a new character, in modern WoW’s gameplay and featureset, while packed to the brim with fun twists.

Now when I say “Fun Twists” I of course mean “Complete insanity baked into the core DNA of how this game works at all”. While the content of Mists of Pandaria remains functionally the same, befitting the Time Travel concept (you even have access to the Scenarios, lost to the wind in Chromie Time), the twists add a lot of imaginative new energy to the older content. The Cloak of Infinite Potential, an ever present cape worn by all your characters, grows and morphs based on everything you do. Getting up to levels of stats at a rate almost unheard of since the more recent stat squishes. Everything from the traditional extra stamina or attack power, to game altering bonuses like XP boosts to use on your further characters.

All items, which drop frequently, are packed with gem and modification slots. All which do wild things like grant a warrior Blink, Fireshield or movement speed increases that result in the most mobile heavy weapon use you’ve ever seen. All quests grant small loot boxes, full of gear, gems, modifiers and other wild additions, and I mean all quests. Even something as simple as a breadcrumb quest has a chance to grant you some kind of power altering item. As a result, your power level is changing rapidly, and your skillset goes through upheaval after most sets of quests. Combat never gets old as you experiment with new ideas and attacks.

I’ve been using this new event to see the content of Mists of Pandaria that I’ve not yet experienced, which is to say most of it. I was wary when this began because I assumed if I just held out a little longer I could probably play a Mists of Pandaria classic. Thankfully I didn’t let those doubts win out, because this has not only been an incredible new experience, but a fantastic way to appreciate an old one. I deeply hope that this concept is revisited, it would be an incredible way for Blizzard to revisit the content of, say, Warlords of Draenor. A finely crafted campaign without much of an endgame, but one that would slot extremely well into this fun new take on the leveling experience.

Plus it has a lot of transmog and new mounts, which, let's not pretend those aren’t why we’re all still in Azeroth.

[dungeonmalcontent]

--Campaign progress--

Goal: make a specific magic item to stop a catastrophe.

Required resources:

+gold

+silver

+spell slots

+ancient legendary magic gemstone of the forest

Have pretty much everything but the gemstone, so quest for the gemstone.

Gemstone is kept by a naga--way more powerful than us. Naga is willing to let us have the gemstone if we can prove we're worthy by clearing out a related area inhabited by goblins. But the party likes goblins.

Find a peaceful alternative.

Heal a bunch of sick gobbos. Kill spectator extorting them. Reduce casualties to a minimum. Convince them all we have been sent by their god to harbor in peace and protect them from oncoming calamity (convince their chief it's temporary fealty or death). Have the goblins swear fealty to naga and convince the naga they mean it (they probably don't).

Naga gives party the gem for their efforts.

Turns out it's just a mundane emerald that a lot of people know about.

[realfuurikuuri]

Woop! Woop! News Alarm!

The first thing to address...

50% off your first 10 pull with paid stones

Here's the banner everyone's talking about. It'll last from April 3 to the 13th. Remember that we'll have another half of the new semester banner, so don't spend all your gems so quickly.

They're also bringing back Jin and Triton's banner!

Then there's the School Life AR pickup!

And we get login bonuses! I'm not gonna go through it all, but that's A LOT of bookmarks.

Similar to an event, we're also getting limited quests for this campaign!

We'll collect Sakura Flowers, which is indicative of spring in Japan, and the drop rate table is down below!

Save your AR tickets cause it looks like LW is planning on dropping some more.

New tutorial missions! I see we get some AR tickets from them, which is nice.

Finally, new characters have been added to the on-stage App thingy!

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

anyway here's some thoughts on the lifers's Ancestors

The Observer - Grian's ancestor. A spy/informant of shifting and unclear allegiances.

The Swindler - Scar's ancestor. It was said of him that a capricious god cursed him by stealing the use of his legs, but in the same breath blessed him with a silver tongue. Used his gift of charisma as part of a plot to rob The Overlord of his enchanter, a powerful artifact of uncertain origin and purpose.

The Inventor - Mumbo's ancestor. A technological genius. The Liegeman stayed with him briefly after The Overlord's death, and developed flushed feelings for him, but left without exploring them, hoping to avoid detection by The Observer (rumored to be the moirail of the Inventor.)

The Huntress - Pearl's ancestor. Not quite sure what her deal is yet. Probably the one who actually kills The Liegeman.

??? - Gem's ancestor, no idea what to do with her.

??? - Scott's ancestor, probably joins The Revenant in their quest for revenge

??? - Joel's ancestor, no idea what to do with him

??? - Etho's ancestor, no idea

??? - Bdubs's ancestor, no idea

??? - Impulse's ancestor, no idea

??? - Tango's ancestor, no idea.

??? - Skizz's ancestor, he helps the Overlord and Liegeman overthrow Her Eminence but I'm not sure past that

The Betrayer / The Nobleman - BigB's ancestor. A former member of Her Eminence's court, he assisted The Overlord and Liegeman in overthrowing her, and in doing so kills The Countess.

The Countess / The Revenant - Cleo's ancestor. A former member of Her Eminence's court, who after being killed by The Betrayer mysteriously reanimates and begins a campaign of revenge. She claims The Betrayer's head and helps The Swindler slay The Overlord, before setting their sights on The Liegeman. They and The Liegeman also have a torrid affair which cycles rapidly between red and black feelings.

Her Eminence - Lizzie's ancestor. Queen of the Shadowlands, and a powerful conqueror. Killed by The Overlord during a coup.

Overlord Redhound / The Sanguine Overlord - Ren's ancestor. Once a member of Her Eminence's court, he was exiled and later returned with The Liegeman at his side. They began a coup and were successful in taking the throne of the Shadowlands, until The Revenant and The Swindler's campaign of revenge killed The Overlord.

Liegeman Martinez Redwoods - Martyn's ancestor. Martyn finds his journal, which is how the Lifers and the audience find out about the ancestors. Matesprits with The Overlord until his death, which forces The Liegeman on the run from The Revenant's revenge campaign.

??? - Jimmy's ancestor, no idea

[adventure-time-news]

The Adventure Time TTRPG has hit its Kickstarter goal

The Kickstarter launched yesterday (15th April 2024) and has already reached nearly triple its target at the time of writing. We have finally learned some specifics about the game.

Most notably, the project is now planned to be D&D 5e compatible, and a different TTRPG using the Yes/And system is on the backburner. There are two main books coming out; a core book called Prismo's Guide to Adventures in Ooo and a ready-to-play campaign called Quest for the Shadow Gems.

There are various other addons for Kickstarter backers, including custom dice, a DM screen, a slipcase for the two books, character journals, a map of Ooo (which I think is just the original ghostshrimp map rather than anything new), a small introductory guide called Jake's Shmowzow Guide to Role-Playing Games, and some special "twist" cards.

We also have an estimated release date of March 2025.

You can find a lot more information on the Kickstarter page.