#goldcliff

[artviree]

Goldcliff, 2018

Never posted the finished version of my Goldcliff illustration, so here it is!

[prismatic-et-al]

relistening to the stolen century and the fallout of the relics, how every adventuring party and mercenary group was after the grand relics amidst these awful wars…taz campaign set during the relic wars?? taz campaign featuring characters desperate to find these incredibly powerful objects, to keep or destroy, to avenge their own losses or protect their own interests? taz campaign that ends with the party successfully tracking down one of the relics, and a saving throw that’s too high to beat for anyone who isn’t one of the birds? taz campaign that doesn’t have a happy ending, but an ending that turns from a party member being subsumed by the thrall, to nothing but static?

[nomaishuttle]

ELEVENTH HOUR YESSSSSS YESSSSSS

[umbraastaff]

More TAZ Balance speedrun exploits:

With the new glitch to get the Light at the start of any cycle, you can now technically enact Lucretia's Shield on the Hunger anywhere before Faerûn for any%. However, this hinges on the given world being able to defeat the Hunger in the final battle. The earliest success so far is at Legato, if you get the arts students to tap into their rage.

You can use RNG manipulation to get the Slicer of Tapir-Weir Isles to appear on your first Costco run, though this is only useful if you're doing the Garfield Ending (why) or on NG+.

Barry can use a multiclassing slot to learn Lup's double jump ability in Cycle 23. Then on Faerûn, you can use the Infinite Jump glitch to get Barry to the Moon (bypassing the lich barrier by being alive), which causes the game to skip to Reunion Tour. However, the number of perfect inputs this requires in a row means this is considered impossible outside of TAS.

You can do a Reunion Tour skip as early as Phandalin, however. A few years before Gerblins, you can glitch lich!Barry into the Dryad Tree area of Goldcliff. You're not meant to get there until the end of Petals to the Metal, so everything's there, including the Love buff you can get standing near the tree. Barry can then get a second stack of Love (normally impossible) by going to Magnus' wedding. Then you immediately have him resurrect in his body, which freezes all buffs he has in lich form. If you then keep him alive until Phandalin, when the fire kills him, he'll have both stacks of Love plus his own innate bonus. The game won't let Barry possess party members, but since the Gauntlet isn't technically equipped by anyone, he can possess that. The OP Love buff slows the Relic Corruption debuff to a crawl, which keeps him there long enough to pass through the Moon barrier and, again, trigger Reunion Tour.

Taakitz% players figured out that Barry can do a mass zombie-raising at the Glamour Springs graveyard the night before the show, which gets Kravitz on the scene and causes him to meet Taako. Like all crime scenes, this also has a 5% chance to spawn Angus and jumpstart the Magic Mentor quest.

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

Impractical Magic

read here or on ao3!

“Can you believe this shit?” Taako demands, immediately jolting Kravitz from his totally-not-a-nap on the couch. He wracks his brain for what shit he should be in disbelief about, though nothing immediately rears its head.

“Believe what shit?” Kravitz asks, still riding the bleary nap energy. Based on the hare-like glint in Taako’s eye, he’s pretty sure his naptime is out to pasture. Rather than answering, Taako drops a glossy copy of the most recent issue of Waterdeep Weekly onto Kravitz’s lap.

“Page 27,” Taako says, all but dropping onto the couch beside Kravitz like a strong willed and weak constituted heroine on a fainting couch in an old movie.

“‘And the hottest attraction this fall isn’t the beautiful foliage seen in the forests outside Goldcliff, rather it’s the scariest haunted house in the plane nestled in the heart of the city. While the identity of the Shriek Shack’s proprietor remains unknown, tales of its electrifying frights drip from the tongues of its patrons—the minute that the team of onsite clerics are able to revivfy them, of course! That’s right, for fifty gold, you can have the chance to get scared to death???’ Taako, you’ve got to be joking, this is some elaborate prank you’re pulling on me, right?” Kravitz all but begs. He squints at the page in front of him as though it’s suddenly going to fold itself into a paper crane and apologize for rustling his jimmies like that. Sadly, no such luck. “Fifty gold is already highway robbery for a haunted house, but certainly this is false advertising. Certainly they don’t intend to make my life harder. I can feel my blood pressure going sky-high and I don’t even have blood.”

Taako reclaims the magazine and puts his head in Kravitz’s lap. “The audacity of this so-called publication to highlight this utter charlatan and yet my famous Halloween parties have yet to receive a feature.”

Kravitz pauses, weighing his responses very carefully. “The same Halloween parties that, while elaborate and spectacular, very purposefully have an extremely limited guest list?”

“Yeah,” Taako says without a hint of irony. He drapes the magazine across his face as though he could osmosis a story about himself from his brain and onto the pages.

“I thought you were happy to be out of the limelight for a while? I mean, as out of it as you can be for being one of the saviors of the universe. Just the other day we went to Fantasy Kroger and nobody stopped to ogle you or to ask for an autograph or to demand why their kid couldn’t enroll in your school.”

Taako pauses behind his paper fortress. “And that’s nice. Peace and quiet is nice. But, I dunno, it’s nice to have your hard work acknowledged. I don’t really know what more I cou—wait a damn minute.” He sits up abruptly. “Krav, we’ve simply got to get spookier.”

Kravitz frowns and looks around. “I’m…I’m the grim reaper. I don’t know how to get spookier than this.”

Taako smiles a smile that makes Kravitz think his skin’s going to be worn as a suit someday. “I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

—--------------------------------------

Taako paces the length of the dining room, waiting for the gaggle of people he's amassed to settle. Of course, why settle when he bribed them with a loaded hot chocolate bar? It's when Magnus's mug threatens to unleash a deluge of hot chocolate, marshmallows, whipped cream, sprinkles, and a quarter bottle of caramel drizzle on the freshly polished terrazzo tile that Taako formally calls the meeting to order.

“In front of each of you is a copy of the latest Waterdeep Weekly with a particular story earmarked and annotated for you.” A symphony of fluttering pages follows his perfectly planned pause. “Simply put, whatever clown is putting on this haunted house has another thing coming if they think they can be the biggest in the biz. Halloween is like my Fantasy Toyotathon or whatever boring people like. I refuse to be out done,” Taako says like a general readying his platoon for war.

“What exactly are you hoping to accomplish?” Lup asks, fruitlessly defending her mound of whipped cream from Barry's lactose-intolerant hands.

Taako shrugs. “I'm gonna make the best haunted house this side of the Sword Coast and I'm employing only the spookiest people I know.”

“Okay, team undead over there, I understand,” Merle says, nodding towards Lup, Barry and Kravitz. “But the rest of us? The kid? What exactly’s our purpose?”

Taako tsks and pulls a large dry erase board from thin air. He uncaps a marker with his teeth and does his best to talk around the cap. “Merle, Merle, Merle, each and every person here is vital to the plan. Yes, I've got the spookiest cadre in the planes over here, I've got Agnes getting intel on whomst exactly is behind the Shriek Shack, Magnus is here to move heavy shit and to make sure whatever we've got going on is very scary since he's a baby, and Lucretia is here to make sure I don't land myself in legal trouble with some of my ideas.” As he lists each person and their role, he doodles a little picture of them doing precisely that.

“Which leaves?”

Taako spits the marker cap at the table, sending it clattering onto the floor, surely never to be seen again if the cats have anything to do with it. “Which leaves you and Davenport to drum up business! Go spread the word. Let everyone know that Taako and Co., trademark pending, will be hosting the most exclusive haunted attraction Faerun has ever seen. There’s going to be frights, there’s going to be terror, there’s going to be free candy! Really lay that on thick to families with gaggles of kids, that’ll get them for sure. Frankly, that should sell it enough on its own. Everyone loves free shit.”

Merle nods along as Taako explains, seemingly at ease with the answer. The rest of the group squints at the exchange, more than a little unconvinced.

Davenport furrows his brow and taps his fingers a few times on the table. He pushes his now lukewarm mug of hot chocolate aside. “So let me get this straight,” he says at last. “You want Merle and me, coupla old guys, one of whom always smells like a dispensary, to go into town to drum up business by stopping kids and offering them free candy?”

Lup snorts, but quickly coughs and buries her face into Barry’s shoulder as a cover. Everyone else averts their eyes as Taako’s gaze threatens to burn holes into the walls. He’s partially through his doodle of Merle and Davenport handing out free candy to kids when Davenport finishes speaking.

“Well, when you put it like that, no I don’t. But I’m certain the two of you numbskulls can figure something out,” Taako says, taking a large and loud sip from his cocoa.

—----------------------------------

“Okay, let’s hear your haunt pitch.”

“Taako, do you really need our help? Lup’s been working on our costume for months. Do you know how many sequins she’s sewed onto those shorts? She’s been learning to tap dance for a costume,” Barry says from the couch.

“Barold, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from doing your Roxy Hoard costume—”

“Rocky Horror. Columbia and Eddie.”

“—sure, that, I guess. Never seen it.”

Barry sits up abruptly, looking at Taako with his mouth agape. “Sorry, you of all people haven’t seen it?”

Taako shrugs. “I don’t like musicals, they’re far too obnoxious.”

“You made us watch a shaky Sweeney Todd bootleg that looked like it was filmed on a Gameboy the other night.”

“You are deflectiiiiiiing,” Taako sing-songs, putting a kibosh on the musical discussion. “You can wear the costumes on Halloween, this event is the week before and just to prove a point. But I get it. All this obfuscation on your end is just because you’re scared that you won’t be able to bring anything scary to the table.”

Barry blinks once, then twice, then thrice. “You don’t think I can be scary?” He’s a necromancer, of all things.

“Oh no, dear Barry, I think I misrepresented myself. I know for a fact you can’t be scary. Remember? ‘Are you afraaaaaid?’” Taako mimics Barry’s red robed attempt at appearing fearsome.

His face heats up. A guy tries to be different one time and suddenly he’ll literally never hear the end of it. “I’m going to bring the scares in a very real way.”

“Uh-huh.”

—-----------------------------------------------

“Next! C’mon, keep the line moving! No pushing, no shoving, y’all are all gonna get to die tonight, don’t worry,” a gravelly voice booms from the striped ticket booth at the front of the line. Thick, dark smoke from some hidden smoke machines hangs around the ankles of those waiting.

Angus does his best not to fidget. The line seems to drag on for eternity, a fact others waiting make no secret of, complaining to high heaven about how long it's taken to move even a few feet. Angus isn't the most patient guy around, but he certainly isn't going around wailing and moaning about things nobody can control. Besides, it's mature to not complain and that, paired with Angus's perfect use of Disguise Self, there’s no way he's not getting inside the Shriek Shack.

The line trudges forward little by little, with the speed of people in line for the gallows, but after nigh an eternity, Angus finds himself at the front of the line.

He smiles cordially at the bespectacled high elf in the booth, but before Angus can even get a word out, the man points to the arsenal of signs around the booth.

“Absolutely nobody underage admitted, no exceptions. Go home, kid,” he says, sounding almost bored and absolutely annoyed.

Angus’s smile falters. “Um, I'm not underage. I'm a big b—um I'm an adult.”

The guy in the booth sends him a withering glare over the top of his glasses. “Yeah, and I'm Fareun's next top model.”

“Oh. Congratulations!”

The man taps his specs. “These puppies let me see through everyone's horseshit. Including yours. You. Are. Not. Getting . In. Now beat it.”

Angus squints at the man and his glasses. He drops his disguise and before he can even properly deflate, a small half-orc child sidles up beside Angus and pulls the booth attendant's attention.

Fat, wet tears are welling up in her eyes and the wobble of her bottom lip is almost earthquake-like in nature. “I-I can't find m-my mommy!” she wails, splitting the ears of those within a few feet. “Sh-she said she’d be back after she w-went inside, bu-ut I can’t find herrrrrr!!!!!”

The booth attendant looks alarmed, rips his glasses off, fiddles with a dial that cranks up all the fog machines, before rushing out of the booth. The line behind Angus groans with malcontent.

After a moment, a back door to the booth springs open. Before Angus can ascertain what's happening, a pair of the glasses are being tossed into his hands and Mavis is beckoning him behind the booth. Once his brain catches up, he meets up with Mavis. She drops a small pouch of coins in the hand of the half-orc kid who's in remarkably better spirits.

Mavis nods her head. “Bethany's kid sister, Marya, got recruited by some bard colleges earlier this year and it's clear why.”

Marya nods and saunters off.

“Mavis, you're a genius, but I thought your mom didn't want you doing recon with me anymore.”

Mavis grins. “Dad's weekend. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. Now, put those on and let's find a different entrance.” She slips on a pair of glasses that match the ones in Angus’s hand.

He raises an eyebrow, examining the glasses. “Are these-”

“Glasses of True Sight? They sure are. Whoever's running this thing apparently has a lotta horseshit to see through. Let's take a look.” Mavis takes off, making a beeline to what looks like a brick wall.

Angus slips the glasses on and is surprised to see how small the entire Shriek Shack appears to be from the outside. He spies Mavis rushing towards a door. He follows behind her before he can think to do anything else.

—-------------

“This feels ridiculous.”

“You're too uptight.”

“No, I've suffered a lot of indignities and this is a new low.”

“This is a new low for you?”

“Well, Merle, I feel like a real horse's ass right now,” Davenport says, adjusting the straps on his shoulders. The fur of his costume might as well be made of asbestos with how comfortable it is.

“You said you didn't want to be the one talkin’ to anyone!”

“I didn't realize it would entail me being directly downwind of you. This whole suit smells like patchouli.”

Merle rolls his eyes and puts the horse head mask back on his head. “You're being a drama queen. Couple more hours and we'll have gotten plany of business drummed up for this thing.”

“I don't want to, is the thing.”

“I can't be an assless horse.”

“What about a reverse centaur?”

“....Yeah, okay.”

—-----

Taako roots around the medicine cabinet for Fantasy ibuprofen. Or the makings of an icepick lobotomy. He's trying to turn this haunted house into a haunted home goddammit, but it seems as though everything that can thwart him is dying to thwart him. Nobody has given him an idea scarier than having visitors stick their hands in a bowl of peeled grapes because it would, and Kravitz quotes, “Feel like sticking your hand in a bowl of eyeballs.”

Ugh. Taako loves the guy, but he’s been to playgrounds scarier than that.

Lup had some decent ideas, but Lucretia put the kibosh on Phantasmal Killer, Insect Plague, and Maddening Darkness. Fun police didn’t want them all to get sued.

Of course, Magnus thinks that all these ideas are terrifying. Big lug can charge headfirst into battle against the actual physical embodiment of apathy and destruction, but the sight of a rubber rat sends him leaping onto a table. Go figure.

A reasonable person would probably call the whole thing off; manifesting a whole haunted house in 36 hours is a fool’s gambit. But Taako’s never counted himself as someone reasonable.

And besides, he wants to win. Win what? That doesn’t matter. There is doubtless something here to win and he’ll know it when he gets it and he’ll win it and his victory will be sweet and well-earned and everyone will say “wow, Taako, you won! Great job!”

The very even keel of this thought rabbit hole he’s been visiting for days is interrupted by a knock at the door. He waits, hoping he doesn’t have to be the one to bother answering.

Another knock, more terse this time. Ugh. Kravitz must be at work. Need everything fall upon Taako’s broad yet soft shoulders? He shuffles slowly to the door, giving whomstever is disturbing his early evening plenty of time to think better of it and slink off. No such luck.

“No solicitors unless you want a taste of Scorching Ray,” Taako says before he can even get the door open fully. Imagine his surprise when he sees two Goldcliff militia officers flanking Merle and Davenport.

“Sir, these two gentlemen said they were working on behalf of you when we got some complaints of them disturbing the peace. That true?” The shorter officer says.

“Never seen them before in my life,” Taako says with an air of boredom.

“Taako!” “You sonofa—”

He waves off both of their objections. “Kidding. These are my old guys, they’re not like, actually in trouble, right?”

The taller officer grimaces. “Technically, on behalf of the mayor, we’re meant to hold cases like this overnight at the jail.”

“But you heard them talking up the entirely cool haunted house that’s going to be hosted here and thought that these nice geezers posed no harm?” Taako supplies helpfully.

“I dunno, we don’t really have that kind of discretion,” the shorter officer waffles for a moment.

Taako leans in to address the officers. “Listen. You’re already here, you probably don’t get paid enough to deal with their bullshit. Whattaya say I let you fools into the haunted house for free, plus a couple of guests, and we just forget this happened?”

“It’s gonna be better than the Shriek Shack,” Merle chimes in.

“Shut up,” Davenport says through gritted teeth.

The taller officer considers this for a minute. “Yeah, sure. Just. Don’t argue about the logistics of an assless horse that loud in a busy shopping quarter again. Or just take that to Waterdeep.”

The officers leave and Davenport quickly disappears inside.

“For the record,” Merle says, “I was just fine with the costume.”

Before Taako can even react, another loud knock on his door. He raises an eyebrow at Merle.

“Don’t ask me.”

Taako opens the door to find another pair of Goldcliff militia officers; this time, they flank Angus and Mavis. “You’re joking.”

Merle peeks around the door and his eyebrows do their best to join his hairline. “Mavis?”

“I can explain!” Angus defends. “I was trying to get to the bottom of who own—”

Taako shakes his head and holds his hands out. “Okay, I don’t have nearly enough caffeine in my system for this. Would the two of you be okay with coming inside for a cup of coffee while we all hash this out?”

The two officers look at one another. The man shrugs. The woman frowns, but ultimately nods. “I don’t see why not.”

Angus furrows his brow but says nothing. Taako ushers everyone inside and shuts the door tight behind him. “Here, let me take your coats,” he calls after them.

—--------

“So, Angster, Mavis, care to tell us how you ended up here?” Taako asks as everyone sips a steaming cup of coffee. He taps his ring against the mug to a beat and squints at Angus.

“Uh. Well, uh I-I heard all about the Shriek Shack at school and everyone was talking about how scary it was and how bad they wanted to go. And a couple of kids made bets about who could sneak in. And I wanted to look cool so I tried and I talked Mavis into it and we got caught and I’m sorry.”

Mavis glances sideways at Angus. “That’s not how it happ—”

“Mavis, there’s no point in trying to fudge the truth. Nobody’s mad, we’re just glad you’re back safe, right Merle?”

Merle finally comes up for air from his comically large cup of coffee. “Right.”

“Listen, sir, we’re glad this can be a teaching moment for you and your kid or whatever, but we confiscated a couple of questionable magic items from these children,” the woman says, crossing her legs.

“May I see? I'm something of a magic practitioner myself and I just want to see how big of an issue we're dealing with here.” Taako silently applauds himself on sounding so professional.

The man sucks in a breath and crosses his legs, mirroring the woman beside him. “Mmm, I’m not sure that that’s such a good idea.”

“Yeah, this is an ongoing investigation, after all,” the woman says.

“Is this going to go on our permanent records?” Mavis asks suddenly, her eyes going big as saucers.

“Shit, your mom’s gonna have my ass,” Merle laments.

The woman smiles for scarcely a moment before it disappears from her face. “Well, we really should be going, but we’ll keep in touch.” She and her partner begin to stand.

“Oh, could you stick around for just a few more minutes? I know my husband would want to be here to get some details from you. I promise he’s just tying up some loose ends at work.”

The officers look at each other again. “It’s not protocol, but I suppose.”

“Wonderful! While I’ve got you here, when did the Goldcliff militia change their uniform colors?” Taako asks innocently.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah, I recall a dear old friend of ours having a far more…subdued uniform. Don’t get me wrong, the two of you have impeccable style, but it seems a little too showy for the job,” Taako says.

“Well, things change.”

“They certainly do.”

Before Taako can say more, a familiar tearing sound rings through the entryway. The two officers don’t turn around.

“Taako, I got your text, what’s going on?” Kravitz asks, shrugging his cloak off. Taako stands to meet him near the door, taking his cloak and putting it on the coat rack. He presses a lingering kiss on Kravitz’s cheek.

“Awww, kiddos got their first escort home from the militia. Mazel tov, babes,” Lup says, stepping through the rift behind Kravitz and waving her hand at Taako.

“You didn’t talk without a lawyer present, right? I went to a semester of law school, I know kids have rights,” Barry says, ambling over to the couch. He levels a gaze at the militia officers on the couch. He squints and runs his tongue over his teeth, concentrating like he’s looking at an optical illusion. Over the woman’s shoulder, he catches a glimpse of Taako making a small gesture that looks almost like handcuffs before he slips on a pair of thick rimmed glasses. Thieves Cant? Since when does Taako know a lick of thieves cant? “Um. Sorry, you just looked a bit familiar.” He sends a small nod to Taako, who creeps quietly to stand beside Lup.

“We have those kinds of faces,” the man says offhandedly. His partner fidgets beside him. She starts surveying the room.

“I’m being so rude, I’m Barry,” he sticks out a hand. For a moment, neither officer reacts. When it becomes clear Barry isn’t in the market to play chicken, the woman shakes his hand.

Lup moves to sit beside Merle, occupying the space left by Taako. She whispers something in his ear. Suddenly, he sits up a little straighter and blinks his eye a few times.

“Lauren. This is my partner, Evan.”

“You dumb motherfuckers!” Suddenly, Taako is beside Barry. Lup and Kravitz fall in line, manifesting their scythes from the ether as Merle yanks Angus and Mavis behind him. “See, something smelled rank about you from the minute you darkened my doorstep, but you’ve really made it all too easy. I mean, Evan and Lauren? You could have at least swapped initials.”

Lup flicks her hand and immediately Evan and Lauren are replaced with two technicolor nightmares.

“But you have to admit, it was so much fun,” Edward says on the verge of pouting.

“How’d you bastards get outta the Astral Plane again?” Merle asks, putting as much space between the kids and the Wonder Twins as he can manage.

Lydia grins wolfishly. “Oh, dear dear Merle, I think you’ll find my lovely brother and I are like crabs; try as you might, you can never truly get rid of us.”

“Ew,” Lup says, wrinkling her nose. “So you’re behind the Shriek Shack? Why? Why not just rebuild your stupid ass circus?”

“Wonderland,” Edward corrects, “Was a true work of art. The Shriek Shack is more like Fantasy Arby’s. Not what you actually want, but ultimately pretty edible.”

“You should be patting us on the back,” Lydia says. “You see, we’re milking these stupid customers for pure, ethical suffering!”

“And giving us a mountain of paperwork to do,” Barry pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Wait. Yeah, we haven’t had a single report of an escape in months, what the hell is this?” Kravitz exchanges glances with Lup and Barry.

Edward rolls his eyes. “Keep up, pretty boy. You reapers are great hired goons, but you’re not the most perceptive types.” He stands and motions for Lydia to do the same.

“I’d say we should do this again, but I find you all so tedious.” Lydia stands to join her brother.

Taako and Merle seem to move in near unison as Edward and Lydia are restrained by heavy chains and creeping vines.

“I’d really rethink the tone the two of you dipshits take with us from now on,” Lup all but snarls. “I ate your essence and shit it out once, what do you think I’m capable of now that I’m out of that thing?”

Despite the restraint and the very real threat of some of the most powerful magic users in the plane, the Wonder Twins still find it in their hearts to snark like children.

“It’s cute that you think a few decades of undeath makes you anything more than a common wizard bitch who’s bound to end up being her own undoing because she’s incapable of doing the dirty work to become a lich the real way. Sustained by love? Get a grip. You’re pathetic,” Edward spits at her.

Before Lup can hurl a fireball, Barry very calmly and deliberately takes off his glasses and hands them off to Angus. He rubs the side of his face, rolls his head around a few times to loosen up his neck, and tips his head back as he mutters something quietly. When he picks his head back up, his eyes are, with no exaggeration, voids. Inky black ooze dribbles out of his sockets and down his face like ichor. The darkness is contagious, dripping down onto the floor and growing impenetrable columns of shadow from where the droplets land. His mouth twists at an unnatural, profane angle.

At the sight of this production, Lydia and Edward attempt to tug at their restraints to flee from Barry’s presence, though it’s a futile effort.

“Are you afraid?” Barry hisses out, his voice echoing in a cacophony of whispers and of nails on a chalkboard.

“P-please, please,” is all the pair is able to babble out, their panic growing the closer Barry gets to them.

“I could put your worthless souls in the darkest recesses of this planet, never to be seen again. To remain forever conscious without even gaining the sweet respite of death.” His voice worms its way under their skin like thousands of biting insects.

“I-I’m sorry,” Edward chokes out.

“Spare us,” Lydia begs.

“Surrender. Unequivocally and entirely, never to even imagine stepping foot outside the Eternal Stockade again.”

“I do have a project I need them for before you send them back though,” Taako stage whispers to the eldritch horror formerly known as Barry.

“Once you help Taako with whatever project he needs.”

“Whatever you need,” they both parrot back, nodding emphatically.

Barry shakes his head and his lovely brown eyes return to their rightful place. “Can I get those back, Angus? That gave me a migraine, I think.” Angus obliges as he whispers something in Mavis’s ear.

“Don’t even ask, bubbeleh, I don’t do the creepy crawly kind of magic like that,” Taako shakes his head. “Can the two of you babble in continued terror a bit more quietly?”

“Okay, Taako, you do whatever plan you need to do, I need to be alone with my husband right now immediately,” Lup says, opening a quick rift before pulling Barry along behind her.

—-----

“Taako, hi, Max Madsen from Waterdeep Weekly!” A drow man with owlishly big eyes and bigger glasses shakes Taako’s hand cordially. “As I'm sure you know, I'm profiling the latest and greatest in Halloween attractions all across Faerun. I gotta say, this haunted house of yours is the hottest ticket right now, especially with the abrupt closure of the Shriek Shack in Goldcliff. The frights are frightening without feeling gimmicky and there's a pretty clear essence of humor throughout the haunt. But for me, what really sells it is the room towards the end, the one where your greatest fear gets sculpted out of smoke only for you to be able to kick the crap out of it. It's brilliant, but you know I have to ask, how's the magic happen?”

Taako zones back in just in time for the tail end of the question. Yeesh, does this guy like to hear himself talk. “Thanks Mac.”

“Max.”

“Whatever. As I'm sure you could guess, I can't give away proprietary Taako From TV, tee em tee em tee em, secrets like that. I gotta save the mystique for all the guests. Let's just say I'm cashing in a favor from some old frenemies. But if you think this is happening, just wait until you see the party.”

Max grins. “An invite to an exclusive Taako party? Someone pinch me, I must be dreaming!”

Taako reaches over and pinches him, perhaps harder than entirely necessary. “No, no, no, that was a figure of speech. See, Max, I've discovered that sometimes it's not about getting a fancy write up in a magazine, it's about spending time with those close to us.”

“I completely get what you mean,” Max nods, enlightened. “I'll scrap the whole story.”

“Well, no need to be hasty.” Before Max can start talking again, Taako peels off to go make sure no funny business is afoot. After all, there's only two liches in the world he can trust, and they're both off convincing kids that reaching into a bowl of cold spaghetti is terrifying.

Not that he'd tell a soul, but he loves his weird little family more than he can say. Sometimes that can be the nicest treat of all, no tricks necessary.

[thesilicontribesman]

The Goldcliff Bronze Age Boat Plank, Newport Museum and Galleries, Wales

One of two Bronze Age sewn boat planks reused as an ancient trackway

The plank is part of a sewn boat which would have been held together by willow ropes threaded diagonally through holes. The central section was removed (and replaced) for tree-ring dating, which places the construction of the boat at around 3,100 years ago.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

Angus was a good detective. The best detective, if he could say so himself. Good enough for the Goldcliff Militia, good enough for the Bureau of Balance. But there were still mysteries that completely eluded him. Sure, joining the Bureau had cleared some things up. But it also opened up so many more questions. Angus could— and has!— filled several notebooks up with things he wanted to figure out. But right, his most pressing concern was this.

"What do you— what do you mean he was just here?" Angus said, looking away from his notes at last.

The Director was sitting behind her desk, sunk deeply into her chair. She wore a look deep… something. Angus couldn't quite place his finger on it. But it didn't matter right now.

"He was just here," the Director said again, shrugging.

"Is he—he's not inoculated?"

"As far as I'm aware," the Director said, "and I am very aware of who is and isn't inoculated— he has not been."

"How can he live up here—?"

"Who's to say he's alive?" the Director asked.

"…fuck," Angus said. Okay, new page. He started scribbling stuff down. He'd have to look into undead beings more— ooh, maybe Mr. Taako could put him in contact with Mr. Kravitz, he had been wanting to ask a few things about his whole job and purpose and such. Back on topic, Angus, back on topic. Okay. The Bureau's library was probably his next best bet and if not, maybe the Militia's library, since he still had that passcode.

"If I may speak honestly," the Director said, leaning forward. She moved a few sheets of paper aside. "I don't give a fuck how he got up here because, quite frankly, I hate speaking to him. The less we interact, the better. Have you heard his voice? The man sounds like a violin that got beat into a pile of chopsticks. It's not—"

"So you just let him stay?" Angus interrupted, appalled.

"Garfield the Deals Warlock is not a force to be reckoned with, Angus," the Director said gravely. "Sometimes, the easiest way to solve a mystery is to stop thinking about it."

"Well, yeah," Angus said. "But he's— isn't it a security risk, ma'am? If he can get up here, then who's to say someone else couldn't? Someone like— like a Red Robe, or—"

"Angus," The Director said, looking him in the eye. "There are no Red Robes on the moon."

"That you know of," Angus said.

"That I know of," the Director allowed. "But I can one hundred percent assure you that Garfield is not a Red Robe."

"He has the magical ability—"

"He's as much of a Red Robe as you are, Angus," the Director said. "So unless you have something to share—"

"I was— it was a goof, Madam Director," Angus said. "I'm— I'm not a Red Robe." A pause. But could he be? If the Voidfish could erase the memories from his head about the relics, then maybe. But, no— no, Angus had been a baby. He couldn't make a weapon of mass destruction as a baby.

"Mine was also a goof," the Director said, cutting into his thoughts. Oh. Right. Okay. "Angus, I do very much enjoy chatting with you, but I do need you to get out of my office. I'm afraid to say that I have a spa appointment with Merle this afternoon and I need to mentally prepare myself. I think it would be wise for you to stop investigating Garfield and resume looking for another Relic."

"Of course," Angus said. "But if I happen to find anything about Garfield being a— maybe like a lich, or—"

"Can't be a lich," the Director said. "He'd just get blasted off the ding-dang moon."

"I'm— I'm sorry?" Angus asked.

"It really is time for you to go," the Director said, standing. A few of her bones popped and she grimaced. "I believe you left off with the, uhm, the Temporal Chalice, correct? That is— that's a pretty big one." She rounded the desk, doing a sweeping motion with her hands as if to say "shoo!". "I'm sure you can manage, though."

"Of course, I can," Angus said. "I'm the—"

"World's greatest detective," the Director said. "So you've said— and proven, too. Expect a hefty bonus around, uh— midsummer. Or thereabouts."

The Director showed Angus to the door.

"How big of a bonus?" Angus said, shutting his notebook.

"Well, it'll ruin the surprise if I tell you now," the Director said. "Have a good day, Detective McDonald."

"Have a good day, ma'am," Angus said. She shut the door behind him.

Angus love being a detective. That's part of why he was so good at it. But it seemed like every time he and Madam Director spoke, he ended up with more questions than answers. Maybe she was right. They had bigger problems than whatever Garfield the Deals warlock was. Or used to be, if that was anything. He should get back to finding the Chalice.

He paused, opening his notebook again.

It wouldn't hurt to look up more about liches, though. Just in case.

[orykorioart]

TAZ Sapphic Week Day 3: Monster + Dance

Teaser for tomorrow: Pirates + Again!

+some ideas about the ‘story’ under the cut :3c

Gossips say that Hurley, the famed ballet dancer, is haunted by a beast that resides within Goldcliff theater. Her performance grows sloppy, which people attribute to be part of the beast’s curse. One day during the performance, a beast with raven feathers swoop down from above and whisks the dancer away for good.

The truth is - Hurley is discontented with her life as a performer, with no way out. Upon meeting Sloane, the ‘beast’ that resides in the theater, she falls in love, and together they plot a scheme that can help them both escape the theater and live a happier life together.

[anistarrose]

oh I would love to hear about the lich academia wip !

(WIP meme here, still taking asks!)

oh boy, excellent choice. this is a premise I've mentioned before under the alternate placeholder title of "Eighth Bird Kravitz Fic Containing No Stolen Century Scenes," where Krav is a Goldcliff music theory professor on sabbatical for a year at Neverwinter. except, in a truly shocking twist, who does he run into on the premises but some weird guy named Barry Bluejeans who seems oddly familiar to him...

oh yeah and Kravitz is unknowingly a lich too in this one. for eighth bird reasons. guess that's useful context

(also TYSM reese for asking about this one, because I've really been having some motivation issues lately, but this premise was quietly calling to me like a siren song — and I ended up writing more than I've written all week, just in the process of making sure I had more than a mere paragraph to share with you!)

—

As of the second time Kravitz sees The Guy, he’s willing to hazard a guess that their Monday-Wednesday schedules look the same. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except — except this time, The Guy sees him too. And doesn’t say anything, just kinda smiles and waves — but for Kravitz, this might as well all be fucking nightmare fuel. 

Shit, does this guy know him? He still doesn’t know this guy. Was this guy important? Is he supposed to know this guy’s name? Is this guy his boss? Does this guy sign off on Krav’s fucking stipend? Kravitz should goddamn remember where he saw that weird fucking sweater vest-and-denim jacket combo going on before! Is he already armpits-deep in an academic faux pas? Raven Queen almighty, spare him from an academic faux pas on just his third entire day —

Kravitz smiles through gritted teeth, and waves back. The guy pleasantly returns his gaze for about five more microseconds, and then bustles away through the crowd, turkey club and napkins in hand.

Oh. He seems like a nice enough guy. And Kravitz likes to think he’s a nice enough guy too, honestly. Other than, like — to students who create a whole percussive instrument out of crunchin’ on Fantasy Fritos in class. Or to Derek, from the Goldcliff Fantasy Senate. Or to those freshman who kept calling their trombones “tromboners” until it, like, wasn’t funny anymore; like, Kravitz used to actually chuckle at that joke, until they ruined it for him. Or to —

You know what, actually. Never mind. The point is, this guy seems nice, and Kravitz is… also able to seem it, so… maybe the fault lines of a massive academic feud aren’t quaking beneath Kravitz’s boots after all. Maybe this Neverwinter sabbatical really will be a break from all the drama — so deep breaths, bud. You’ve got so many ways to figure out this guy’s name before he starts actually speaking to you — you’re gonna crack this case open before he can even say “tenure.”

[natjennie]

when tres horny boys absolutely merk barbara and throw his body off the edge of goldcliff. and they check his pockets and find pictures of his family and say they all "look racist" so they feel less bad about killing him. protagonists of all time.

[noodyl-blasstal]

Hate To See You Leave - TAZ Sapphic Week Day 1

Happy TAZ Sapphic week to all who are celebrating! For Day 1 I went with the prompt "alarm" and swiftly spiralled from there. - What if you can't do the job you love any more because of corruption? - What if the rent's due and no one will hire you? - What if a gorgeous, maddeningly mysterious woman shows up with a solution?

__________________________________

The alarm punches through the nighttime city rumblings, wailing as the shards of glass hit the floor. A tall figure, face obscured by a mask, surveys the damage, places their token on the counter, and smiles...

–

Hurley's early this morning, she’s early every morning. She could change the office hours any time, scratch off the rickety paint and add something new, but she’d only arrive earlier. Even the day after race nights it’s hard to do anything but head to the office. She likes routine, she likes structure - knowing she’s getting through the door an hour before she’s supposed to is just about the only level of regularity she can bring to the job. The existing hours stay.

She doffs her suit jacket and sets the coffee pot to brew, dropping into her cracked leather chair while it gurgles and drips. The evening newspapers are still on her desk, nothing of note, again. Sure, it was full of crime, but it’s the usual kind, the kind Hurley didn't touch any more. Now she only helps when someone asks, and only for the right price… or the right kind of pretty smile - she could own up to her weaknesses. The only problem was that no one was asking and race wins didn't pay the rent, especially not with The Raven on the scene to beat her half the time. Hence, the newspapers. If she can find the right crime, maybe, maybe, she can convince someone to hire her to solve it.

The morning papers arrive with a loud thwack against the door. The glass rattles in the pane as Hurley jumps up to chase after the news urchin, but the corridor is empty. She can’t even tell which way they went, whichever one it was is long gone. The topmost paper bears yet another fluff piece about the mayor and the chief of police: 'Tough on crime! Tough on corruption!' "Tough fucking luck if you try to actually do your job." Hurley mutters. Everyone has a price, and they've clearly found The Morning Tribune's. Goldcliff Daily doesn't fare much better, proclaiming 'New duo clears up city!'

They certainly were clearing up, clearing out anyone who would get in the way of their kickbacks. She slams the paper into the bin as hard as she can, the tribune following suit. Then pulls them out to do it again, and again. Fuck it, she doesn't need to read them, there’s nothing for her there. People were scared to speak up, scared to go to the cops, scared to go to anyone who might be connected to them. Mayor Garfield had made Capt. Captain Bane a deal he clearly couldn't refuse, and now he was busy rotting the police from top to bottom. She ‘left’ before the rot got to her too (technically. She quit before Bane could  formally tell her she was fired, but it still counts.)

Read more on AO3

[herbgerblin]

link to the blupjeans fic about fucking in the catacombs?

Lmao when I say I minor I mean a conversation in a fic that is not about them. but frankly it would be funny if that was in itself a fic. Anyway it’s this one and also here’s the scene:

—

“I’m running out of date ideas!” Taako grumbles. He sits at the table with Lup, two practically empty dinner plates between them.

“You could visit the Goldcliff Catacombs?” Barry offers, washing pots in the kitchen.

“Goldcliff has catacombs?” Taako asks.

“Gotta put all those bodies that accidently fell off the cliffs somewhere,” Lup explains.

“Noted,” Taako says, scrunching his nose. He messes around with a single brussel sprout on his plate. “I don’t know. Visiting some dusty, underground caverns sounds like a less than ideal date.”

“I beg to differ,” Lup replies. “Barry and I went there during our honeymoon. Very romantic.”

“Taako is not going into a dark, creepy, cavernous gravesite,” He mutters. “At least not without available backup.” He looks up as Barry walks into the dining room and pulls up a seat beside Lup. “What if we made it a double date? You two have been there before, you could give us a tour!”

“Can’t,” Lup and Barry both say.

“What do you mean can’t? ” Taako asks.

“We’ve…” Barry starts, and his face slowly turns a peculiar shade of red. “Been banned.”

Taako squints. ��Banned? How do you get banned from the catacombs? Geez, I know you’re intense mortuary nerds, but what were you trying to do? Reanimate them?”

“ Something was animated , ” Lup mumbles, eyes locked on her plate.

“No,” Taako says. He stands up. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no. You did not.”

“It was our honeymoon.”

“NO. I hate you guys, oh my gods.” He rushes out of the room. “I’m never talking goth dates with you again!” He stomps out of the room, hands over ears, and hurries up the stairs.

“I’d steer clear of the Old Castle in Rockport as well,” Lup calls after him.

“I can’t hear you!” Taako yells back, followed by incoherent shouting.

[thatgirlonstage]

Hey have a fucked up TAZ thought for the day. Gently pushing aside Merle and Gundran somehow literally being blood related, the people that the seven birds like grew up with and knew before the IPRE obviously wouldn’t… exist on Faerun. Or even if we take Griffin’s hand-wavey explanation of Gundran and accept that there are some of the same people in this particular planar system, these versions of those people wouldn’t have the faintest goddamn clue who the birds are. From what we’ve seen of the voidfish, it will to an extent overwrite its own inconsistencies, but it doesn’t have the ability to implant totally false memories in disconnected people. Lucretia couldn’t have done that.

And I know we kind of generally agree that all of our birds are orphaned and generally solitary people, which is borne up by none of them (LUCKILY FOR GRIFFIN LMAO) ever randomly being like hey let me roll to see if my dear childhood friend Claire lives in Goldcliff now or something or otherwise referencing connections from their childhood, but like— they couldn’t possibly have known no one at all who was still alive and in touch with them when they blasted off to space.

So like. What if, after the destruction of Raven’s Roost, Magnus actually tried to do the healthy thing first. He’s devastated, he’s not thinking straight, but he’s not quite at fling himself off a cliff in despair levels, so he does what you’re supposed to do: he reaches out to a friend. No one from Raven’s Roost, obviously, but an older friend, someone he met on fantasy study abroad and had maintained a pen pal relationship with for years. He hasn’t written to them recently, of course, bc he’s been so busy with the rebellion, and Julia—he sent them an invitation to his wedding but they must not have been able to come. Or it got lost in the fantasy mail! Shit happens—but he feels sure they wouldn’t turn him away, certainly not in this state. They’d at least give him somewhere to crash for a week, let him sleep through some of the worst of the grief.

He turns up on their doorstep and they’re—not there. According to the gnome couple that live there, they’ve never been there. This has been the gnome couple’s house for 120 years. No one of the name Magnus is giving has lived here since before he was born.

He asks around town. Goes to the school he studied at and asks for records. Literally hires a divination wizard to try a scry because he’s fucking desperate at this point.

This person, this person Magnus got sloppy drunk with, who got into a bar fight back to back with him, who helped him struggle through Elvish grammar and cantrip lessons, who wrote to him about the gorgeous half-orc boy they wanted to marry, who sent him chocolate every Candlenights, this person doesn’t. Fucking. Exist. Has never existed, as far as Magnus or anyone else can tell.

Spooked, and grieving no less, and seriously afraid for his friend’s well being, Magnus thinks okay. Okay. He needs help. He needs perspective. He tries someone else, someone maybe a little more distant but still reliable. An old school coach, maybe. Someone who gave him his first sparring sessions when he was training to be a fighter.

That man did exist, but he’s been dead for eight years according to people in town. Which isn’t fucking possible, because Magnus saw him for lunch four years ago.

Okay. Okay. Okay. Someone else. Who else can he talk to.

He goes to a town where he once spent a summer interning for a dog trainer. He learned so much there. It would be good to be around dogs again.

The woman he trained with has no memory of him at all. She doesn’t recognize him, she doesn’t recognize his name, she doesn’t believe him when he says he knows her. She doesn’t recognize half the dogs he talks about. She chases him off her property, accusing him of trying to steal from her, although he hadn’t asked for anything.

The next one was dead too.

The next one didn’t know him either.

The next one didn’t exist.

Magnus’s family, friends, and acquaintances are a string of “dead” “don’t remember him” or “apparently, never fucking real” until he says fine, fucking fine. He’s not the type to spiral into despair. He’ll do some good before he goes out.

But he is going to go out.

Because if no one still alive even knows who he is, what is he living for?

[umbraastaff]

mmm do you ever think about when Fisher first had Junior, and Lucretia realized the potential to give back some information while leaving the key points of the stolen century erased, and...

...how hopeful she would’ve been, giving davenport the ichor, once it was safe to do so? how she would hope he’d regain some of his thought, some of that vigor and making-hard-choices determination and anything that made him himself, and maybe she could even give him his own life, you know? now that he can remember this world’s history, the relic wars and all, even if not his own involvement in it. she could give him a boat on the ocean, or get him into racing at goldcliff, she knows he’d be great at it--

[asterdeer]

dizzy and about to be physically sick to my stomach No Discernible Reason. gonna think about how much karlach would love battlewagon racing in goldcliff