#hag-riven

[dailycharacteroption]

Hag-Riven (Bloodrager Archetype)

(art by Mikakoskart on DeviantArt)

Fans of Pathfinder’s lore concerning the many different playable heritages and ancestries may recall that changelings, regardless of gender or apparent species, are the first stage of life for hags, which is a life cycle of magic and cruelty.

A hag will, using magical disguise or charming, seduce a potential mate from most any ancestry and conceive a child with them, which they usually abandon to the other parent. The child seems like a typical member of their species aside from a few odd traits and personality, but eventually, typically around the coming of adulthood, they hear the call, which pushes them to seek out their hag parent. Some ignore it, but those that do not may end up meeting them, which in most cases, leads to days of torturous rituals meant to drive compassion and kindness from their hearts and finally transform them fully into hags.

But what if the ritual is cut short? What if the changeling escapes, or their hag parent is killed before the ritual is completed? In such a case, they are left changed, brimming with arcane power which smacks of the old magic so commonly associated with hags, as well as a vindictive fury in their hearts that they may embrace, or struggle to keep in line.

This is something of a rarity among bloodrager archetypes in that it implies that the didn’t inherit their powers (at least, not directly), and the archetype’s flavor text also implies the existence of remote towns that enact similar rituals on either changelings or others with a bit of the old magic in them through the same partial ritual to create defenders against hags and other creatures of the old world, turning their power against them.

Regardless of their origin, though, these magical warriors can be frightening destroyers with all those good creepy aesthetics of old magic and witchcraft, and they put it to use well.

These bloodragers do not typically use weaponry, and their hag-touched aspect guarantees that their bloodline must be connected to the old ways, typically the arcane, destined, elemental, fey, or most appropriately, hag bloodlines.

However, they have little need for weapons, for their hands are twisted into wicked and deadly claws which they use with lethal precision. As they master their power, the claws only become deadlier.

What’s more, they can sacrifice spell energy to enhance their claws with magic for a few brief moments, which can include various specific enchantment drawing from the elements and a hag’s gift for manipulating magic.

Over time, their flesh becomes suffused with magic, becoming tough and leathery like that of some hags, helping them resist injury.

Additionally, they become not just good at dealing particularly devastating strikes with their claws, but also causing debilitating effects because of them, which could be applied normally, or flavored as minor curses being conducted through their attacks.

This archetype changes a lot of bloodrager basic abilities that are inherited from the barbarian class, while leaving their bloodline and other magical abilities intact, and that’s perfectly fine. Sure, you lose out on faster movement, damage reduction, and incredible reactions, but you do get to turn them into a natural attack powerhouse with a better AC and a pseudo-magus weapon enchantment ability, letting you tailor your claws to the situation not just with magic but an interchangeable crit debuff feat as well. Of course, your exact build will vary based on your choice of bloodline, and while hag may be the most thematic choice, there is something to be said about all of them.

Becoming hag-riven, whether it be your own family putting you through a monstrous process or submitting to this process to protect others, is a scarring experience. In the latter case, you could literally call it weaponized trauma. The point being that these characters are begging to be written as coping (or failing to cope) with a past traumatic experience, though naturally, it’s easy to get that wrong if you’ve never been through something like that, so it pays to do your research.

At his coming of age celebration, Vakkan the grindylow was subjected to the transformation into a hag-riven, gaining power over the seas. The next week, he murdered both the witch who gave him this power and the chieftain, making him the youngest leader his tribe had ever seen, but with his power over water and ice, he has proven to be a fierce and deadly raid leader.

Magical genealogy is a messy science at best, made even more so by the dubious nature of ogre bloodlines. However, sometimes the right traits are passed on in the worst ways, which is how Mama Kob was born. This ogress is not only hag-riven, blessed with a fierce magical rage, but she also has a measure of mythic power, making her a terror of the Scarred Hills.

A rarity among hags, Grandmother Ilsa rose above the cruelty of her origins, and has quietly mothered various changelings with many different lovers over the years, and never subjected any of them to the transformation. However, while she disapproves, some have undergone a partial transformation of their own volition to empower themselves, though she worries that one day one may go too far and unleash an evil she is becoming too old to be able to stop.

[hag-rambling-on]

So, now that I'm being really serious with rewinxing (hahahha, I wish)... Ships!!!!! But, for real.

Only 100% sure is AishaxFlora because that was a fantasy of mine as child. I swear for all Ethereals' madness and Arcadia's underappreciated sanity I legitimately believed they create Aisha for Flora but they did not know how to make it work and for so it that their profiles said one bestie is the other. That's was my conspirancy theory as a child.

Then. I'm semiserious about Bloom x Brandon or Bloom x Stella or literally Bloom x (not Sky, and I mean almost everybody else as I include Valtor, Riven, Stormy, Darcy, Icy, Diaspro, Nereus, Palladium, et all ♡). But Brandon x Stella it's SO perfect so sweet so supportive each other since second one... I do not like that because I'm a envious hag. And I don't like Flora x Helia because Helia did not try enough.

Secondary ships I'm not gonna change are Varanda x Roxy and Arcadia x Nubia but that's all about subtext.

Onesided Mirta x Flora was a thing.

I would like more 'crack ships'. I like my Diaspro she deserves all or nothing or whatever she wants. I see most chemistry between Sky and Riven than with Bloom...

The only way to improve Timmy x Tecna is to do an ot4 with Musa and Riven (say thank ems). But I only ship Musa and Riven in the heartrouching concert episode, the comics and the live action, so...

*keep thinking outloud...*

[synnthamonsugar]

eris + oath?

Before Eris Morn laid the scattered remains of one of her finest works, though others might mistake the assortment of ruined materials for trash. Moth-chewed linen repurposed from a threadbare skirt, a messy patchwork of roughly stitched hiveskin leather, a bayonet and charm forged from once-ascendant iron. The memory of crafting each part lived vividly in Eris' mind bringing with it a strange pang of nostalgia. How clear the stakes had been when she assembled it from the Guardian's spoils aboard the Dreadnaught.

This was no longer the case — Savathûn had made sure of that. But as the Witch Queen's tactics had evolved, so too had Eris' response. She might have cut off Eris' last easy means of ending her when she stole the Light, but Eris had pivoted. If the hag could not be killed by conventional means, she would pursue the extraordinary.

Stripped clean of adornment, The Touch of Malice looked skeletal, unfinished or barely started. Suspended in the hollow at the center of its stock, rings inside rings determinedly spinning around a squirming ball of concentrated darkness. Oryx's essence constantly tested the bounds of its prison; he remained an explorer even in death.

With steady hands, she freed the gyroscope from its suspension inside the housing. The band vibrated violently in her grip as she tugged it loose, but required little effort otherwise. It maintained enough momentum that it jerked out of her hands and fell to the table with a heavy thud, wheeling about in small circles until it got caught on a pile of tools.

Sweat gathered on her brow as she wedged the outer ring inside the jaws of a bolt cutter, forced it still, and leveraged her entire upper body weight on the handle. Eris winced when the band cracked in two; at both the snapped-bone ugliness of the sound and what its destruction symbolized. Once, this weapon had been a testament to her triumph over Oryx. A reminder of his final humiliating end. Destroying it was both a figurative and literal undoing of that defeat. The necessity of it did not assuage the ache of sadness that settled in her chest.

Several cuts later, the rune-inscribed rings were in pieces, and Oryx's essence freed. Eris found herself both repulsed and filled with pity at the sight of it, him, pulsating hideously on the workbench. Eris tried to reconcile the paradox of it: that she could barely stand to look at what remained of Oryx, but would invite him to be her strength and vice-versa. She wanted him out of her sight forever, yet also needed to join his will to hers for the plan to work. This binding would not be hard — on the contrary, it would be effortless. Oryx had been twinned to the architects of his demise and rightful inheritors to his Throne since the day he died, but the pact had, wisely, not been entered into by any of the conspirators.

Until now. It was the only way she could topple Savathûn.

She felt the tenuous touch of Oryx against her mind. What had once been a scream was reduced even below a whisper to a hint of personality and presence. It was too early for this. She needed to work fast.

Her ahamkara bone shard was no Riven, but she had still managed to use it to carve a small scrap of throne world. A method perfected with Mara in happier days, though she hadn't realized they were happy at the time. Her breath quickened and unpleasant heat built in her as she thought about the Awoken Queen's conspiracy to free Savathûn of her Worm, in so removing the Witch's weakest point and the only piece of collateral they held against her. Eris had not experienced such a sense of burning, all-consuming betrayal since her abandonment in the Hellmouth. She tried to shove down the anger; it would be useful one day, but not now.

With a whispered incantation a portal to the ascendant plane opened. Quickly, she dropped Oryx's essence through, and the twinkling void closed with a popping sound and the whiff of ozone. The throne world that served as an incubator for Oryx's soul was tiny, but she would grow its bounds with the slaughter of the Lucent Brood; their Light would serve as succulent nourishment for the insatiable maw of the Sword Logic.

Even as she schemed to bring Oryx back, she did not regret, for even a moment, her hand in killing him. His death had been both necessary and satisfying, even if her joy had been short-lived, her closure undone by the dreadful realization of the power vacuum they'd opened and the cataclysm by which it would be filled. They had been forced to trade the devil they knew for one beyond comprehension.

She slumped into the seat at her workbench, staring dismally at the shattered pieces of her rifle. Unseen, Oryx began to slowly recoup. She wondered how many of Savathûn's children would die on her blade before he regained his lost strength.

She closed her eyes. Thought about what, and whom, this was for, tried to let that center her. One she would stand before Savathûn. One day, she would end this all . . .

When you do, you will not be alone, came the feather-light suggestion of a reply in her mind.

[iironwreath]

Storm [Iona]

[147]

Iona scooped up the fallen music box from the ground with both hands. Jagged cracks were riven through it in several places, and in the background she heard ripping flesh and deep, throaty snarls. Such a delicate thing caught in such a violent place.

“Who dares take my prize from me?” a voice slithered into her mind. “Interlopers. Wait for me and I will be there. Your meddling will be punished.”

“We shouldn’t dally,” Iona said aloud.

“Yeah, that’s not good,” Elspeth agreed. Apparently they’d unanimously heard it.

“Do we still have a favour with the aboleth?”

“Well, he said he could calm down the storm for a little bit,” Elspeth answered.

“He also tried to hypnotize us,” Krusk pointed out.

“He successfully did that,” Elspeth said.

Iona tucked the music box into her bag and joined the group. Raidak continued to claw and bite at the fused, bloated corpse of the hags with no sign of stopping. Splashes of mucus and blood reached her with the force of his blows. She laid a hand on his shoulder. His ebony armour, although cut with lines of chilly blue lights and runes, was warm.

By all accounts, she should have been afraid, but the only fear she’d felt recently was from magical effects. Raidak, now half-dragon with variegated red and green scales—the green should have reminded her of Raishan, the red of the dragon who attacked their skyship.

Iona wasn’t prone to fear. She wasn’t worried he would turn on her, and if he did, she could take the toll. He directed his pain back at what hurt him. There was more than one storm in need of respite—and that was the Thorns, storm after storm, themselves and the world cartwheeling around them without pause.

She squeezed slowly, hoping to extend her calm through her touch. His arm froze mid-air and his breath went from harsh to even. He leaned back fractionally into her grip, blowing out a long sigh, and the glow from his armour receded even though his scales, wings, and tail remained. She lowered her hand without a word. 

[bitchatcloudtower]

Thoughts on live action cast

Abigail Cowen as Bloom is interesting. I liked her in Sabrina but I wouldn’t cast her as Bloom. Hannah for Stella makes sense and I don’t mind Precious as Layla/Aisha. I am very upset about the whitewashing of Musa however. As an Asian girl I grew up looking up to Musa and to have a white actress as Musa is not it at all. Having said that I don’t really blame Elisha too much because I believe it’s the casting director’s duty to cast racially accurate actors and to my knowledge she’s p young and I’m not going to be a bitchy old hag to someone younger than me. I wish they’d written Musa out if they were gonna do this, hell cast this girl as Galatea if they wanted to keep the music powers, since that’s what they did with “Terra.” Not a fan of them writing out a canonical WOC and Tecna (who was the least traditionally feminine character) and replacing them with a white woman. She didn’t deserve to be bullied off of social media for her looks but I’m very skeptical of the choice to replace these two representations with a white woman. Beatrix’s name gives me Trix (and a very lazy reference at that) but the actress reminds me of Diaspro more than anything. I’ve seen Sky’s actor in another movie and he gives me spoiled prep boy “my father is a lawyer” energy so I guess that’s fine, he’s a more traditionally douchey Sky than the cartoon but could fit comics Sky. Not a fan of the Riven but they’re combining him with Brandon which is ??? There’s also a new guy who I don’t really have an opinion on since idk what he’s supposed to be. I just wish they just wrote another story in the Winx universe since they’re just rewriting everything. A story about Daphne’s youth, or the company of light, or literally anything else.

[platosshadowpuppet]

Sky-ways, by-ways and the Wild Hunt

London’s streets and squares are endlessly fascinating, bustling and full of life - but they are also tiring. Those seeking solace from the crowds and looking for a quieter pace of life could do worse than taking to London’s roofs. 

Britain is an ancient land and, as such, is riven, crossed and scrawled about with common lanes, by-ways, green roads and forgotten paths. These ways have traditionally been the preserve of the Fae. Humans, however, have a terrible habit of building right across these paths - generally without ever noticing that they are there. 

The Fae are an adaptable folk, though, and have found ways of making do. Wisps, wraiths, Hyter Sprites and the less mundane of London’s residents sometimes simply follow the same routes - walls, buildings and other impediments notwithstanding. Those that can shift or pass take the new roads. You might have passed many a Hob, Brag or Elf in the streets and never thought to look twice! Those that are left have taken to the Sky-ways.

Choose a still and moonlit night and find yourself a perch on one of London’s roofs. Look out across the tiled slopes, chimney pots and battered weather vanes and try to filter out the street sounds from below. On a good night all sorts of London’s less sociable denizens should be visible - presuming that our reader has either the good fortune to have been born in the Chime Hours, or keeps a Hag Stone to hand. Barghests and Wyverns are common sights and the lucky might see London’s own peculiarities -  Gog and Magog striding among the tower of Canary Wharf, or Spring-Heeled Jack leaping across the streets. Those that came prepared with deer’s blood, holly wreaths and a bone horn could summon a glimpse of the Wild Hunt. A spectacular sight, though one that comes with the risk of one being called to the hunt as well. In particular, it is a good idea to avoid the gaze of Hearne the Hunter and to never take his hand. 

So good luck, happy watching and remember never to pay a Brownie. 

[doublehex]

So, I got tagged. Or something.

@oadara why am I doing this thing?

Name: Matt Nickname: Does “That Fucking Retard” count? Zodiac sign: I refuse to comment Height: Average Orientation: Boobs are a wonderful thing, and I love to look at them Ethnicity: Italian, from both sides of my family. I ate alot of tomato sauce as a kid. Favorite fruit: Clementines! They’re like oranges, but you can actually peel them! Favorite season: Winter. I don’t really like having to sweat whenever I sleep. Favorite book series: Okay, so I am going to assume we all know that I love ASOIAF. So with that said, it has to be a really even split between The Lord of the Rings and Robert E Howard’s Conan stories. LOTR has more depth than people give it credit for, and has some of the most beautiful language.

"The drums rolled and rattled. With a vast rush Grond was hurled forward by huge hands. It reached the Gate. It swung. A deep boom rumbled through the City like thunder running in the clouds. But the doors of iron and posts of steel withstood the stroke.

Then the Black Captain rose in his stirrups and cried aloud in a dreadful voice, speaking in some forgotten tongue words of power and terror to rend both heart and stone.

Thrice he cried. Thrice the great ram boomed. And sudden upon the last stroke the Gate of Gondor broke. As if stricken by some blasting spell it burst asunder: there was a flash of searing lightning, and the doors tumbled in riven fragments to the ground.

In rode the Lord of the Nazgûl. A great black shape against the fires beyond he loomed up, grown to a vast menace of despair. In rode the Lord of the Nazgûl, under the archway that no enemy ever yet had passed, and all fled before his face.

All save one. There waiting, silent and still in the space before the Gate, sat Gandalf upon Shadowfax: Shadowfax who alone amoung the free horses of the earth endured the terror, unmoving, steadfast as a graven image in Rath Dínin.

'You cannot enter here,' said Gandalf, and the huge shadow halted. 'Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your master. Go!'

The Black Rider flung back his hood, and behold! he had a kingly crown; and yet upon no head visible was it set. The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came a deadly laughter.

'Old fool!' he said. 'Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!' And with that he lifted high his sword and flames ran down the blade.

Gandalf did not move. And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, wrecking nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.

And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns. In dark Mindolluin's sides they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North wildly blowing. Rohan had come at last."

Favorite flower: I am starting to suspect this thing was intended for girls. Favorite scent: Okay, now I KNOW this was meant for girls! Favorite color: I always thought red was pretty dope. Favorite animals: Can I just list anything as “fuzzy and does not want to eat me”? Coffee, tea or cocoa: Fuck your overpriced muddy water. Give me milk. Average sleep hours: 6. I usually go to bed at 3 and wake up at 9 - Song for Dragons isn’t going to write itself! Cat or dog person: If I had to choose, it would be dogs.  Favorite fictional characters: The Nameless One, from Planescape: Torment!

Nameless One: What can change the nature of a man?

The Transcendent One: I have seen you live a countless lives, Broken One, I have lived your endless quests that accomplish nothing except spread your torment though the multiverse. Then, this is my answer and you are my proof: Nothing can change the nature of a man.

Nameless One: You are wrong. If there is anything I have learned in my travels across the Planes, it is that many things may change the nature of a man. Whether regret, or love, or revenge or fear - whatever you believe can change the nature of a man, can.

The Transcendent One: Then you learned a false lesson, Broken One.

Nameless One: Have I? I've seen belief move cities, make men stave off death, and turn an evil hag's heart half-circle. This entire Fortress has been constructed from belief. Belief damned a woman, whose heart clung to the hope that another loved her when he did not. Once, it made a man seek immortality and achieve it. And it has made a posturing spirit think it is something more than a part of me.

The Transcendent One: Believe what you will. You will die again, and you will forget again.

Number of blankets you sleep with: One. I just need a comforter, a mattress, and pillows. Dream trip: Japan would be one hell of a trip.

[dailycharacteroption]

Hybrid Class Review: Bloodrager part 3

(art by Chetan Ranjan on Artstation)

 Archetypes

 Surprisingly, despite being a derivative class that came out later, the bloodrager actually has more archetypes than the sorcerer, which I suppose has to do with the fact that the sorcerer has always been more focused on customization through bloodlines rather than archetypes. In any case, let’s take a look, shall we?

 One of the most common categories of bloodrager archetypes are those that modify their inherent magic, resulting in different expressions. The Ancestral Harbinger, for example, uses the connections to their heritage to summon mystical allies. Meanwhile, Crossblooded bloodragers have two bloodlines, representing a unique confluence of power from mixing heritages or a unique source that straddles the line between two. Blurring the lines between bloodrager and magus, the Enlightened Bloodrager studies their magic more deeply to unlock more mystical powers at the cost of their martial skill, while the Greenrager taps into primal nature magic. Hag-Riven tap into a changeling’s heritage with hags, while Id Ragers tap into a specific emotion. Metamagic Ragers have a knack for bending their spells through sheer force and will, while Prowlers at World’s End tap into the guidance of spirits. Meanwhile, Symbol Strikers master the art of utilizing runes.

While still ones that alter magic, of particular note are a pair of archetypes that focus on being the bane of spellcasters. Spelleaters do not directly interfere with casting, but their ability to slowly heal and even absorb their own magic to heal quickly makes it hard for them to be put down. Meanwhile, true to their name, the Untouchable Ragers forgo the ability to cast spells to gain a natural spell resistance, shrugging off spells like they weren’t there and relying on the other magical abilities of their bloodline.

Others utilize special fighting styles, such as the Blood Conduit, who channels touch spells through their bodies as they grapple foes, or the Bloody-Knuckled Rowdy, which specializes in unarmed combat. Bloodriders emulate certain mount-themed barbarian archetypes to channel their eldritch rage into their mounts, while Primalists emulate barbarians more directly by eschewing some of their mystical power for traditional rage powers. Polymorphing spells are fairly common on the bloodrager spell list, and Rageshapers specialize in utilizing such forms. Meanwhile, Steelbloods and Urban Bloodragers both call upon the trappings of civilization, the former by specializing in wearing heavy armor, and the latter by utilizing a weaker but more flexible bloodrage that is more acceptable and useful in civilization.

 While still a short list, we can see that the bloodrager has a lot of decent options for recontextualizing the class. Admittedly, these options don’t deviate too much from “aggressive melee powerhouse with spells” too much, but if you’re looking for flavorful options, there’s plenty to pick from, especially when you remember that you still also need to pick a bloodline too.

Speaking of which, tomorrow we’ll do a look at the bloodlines and other mutations available to the class!

[iironwreath]

Children [Genevieve]

[121]

Evie ducked into the back room of the warehouse. She was used to lowering herself through doors instead of walking through them, hybrid form or not.

The children reacted viscerally. Tired but alive, they squirmed towards the far corners of their imprisonment, cages woven from wood and vines into shape. Like everything in the town before it, the cages were beginning to rot, riven with cracks and brittle with decay.

Evie knew how she looked. Massive, hulking, sharp-toothed and amber-eyed, all before she drenched herself in blood up to the elbow with claws that still crackled and sparked with lightning. She saw no doubt in their minds that she worked with the hag who put them there.

She could only see her daughter reacting the same way, in abject terror, that creatures that looked like her mother would hurt her. Werewolves begot fear, in adult and child alike. 

“Amelia?” she called, and her voice sounded even harsher than usual, grated like pebbles. The children didn’t reply, quaking.

Her hand relaxed and the energy dissipated. She could change back—but she didn’t know if they were in the clear yet, and she had to make the most out of her wolven body, even at the cost of their trust. She approached.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she tried to console them. Again, no change. She sighed. Their cage doors were torn off with ease.