#he has a broken horn & plenty of scars from using his legs to make most of the traps

[pics-pizza-peace]

John Kramer (Saw 2004) Pony Cosplay

[phoenixmakeswords]

Chapter 2: Broken Wings and Dragon Dreams

Trigger warnings: Mentions of past child abuse. Anxiety attack. Physical assault.

Word Count: 1494

Tag list: @vnsmiles

If anyone wants added or removed, let me know.

[[MORE]]

I don’t know where I am at first when I wake up. I croak pathetically until he comes in.

“Hey. Hey. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody is gonna hurt you,” he soothes, taking slow steps towards me.

It makes me happy to see him. I headbutt his stomach lightly, being careful not to stab him with my horns.

“You’re so pretty. I need to get you checked out and get food for you.” He pets me as nicely as yesterday. He’s careful not to brush my feathers the wrong way, which I appreciate.

I chirp nervously when he takes me outside. I don’t wanna go.

“You’re safe.”

I don’t like getting in the bed of his truck today. I don’t know where he’s taking me. I pluck at my feathers anxiously during the trip.

He stops at an ivy-covered brown building. The parking lot is pretty full. According to the sign, it’s a clinic for things like me.

Is he going to put me down like a normal pet? What if he has me neutered? I fret, squealing in distress.

Aaron takes one look at the iridescent black feathers covering his truck bed and sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t look happy.

“Stay. I’ll be right back. Please don’t eat the vet.” Raking a hand through his dark hair, he makes his way to the clinic door while I screech my protest.

I go back to pulling out my feathers. It helps.

Aaron comes back with a tall, chubby woman with dark auburn hair. Even from here, I can smell her: Pine and moss and ferns. She’s an Elf. The way she has her hair pulled back reveals the points of her ears.

“Oh, he’s beautiful!” she gasps.

“He started pulling out his feathers, so I’m not sure how pretty he’s gonna stay.”

I rasp at her, ruffling my feathers unhappily, when she reaches towards my head.

“I just need to check your eyes, pretty boy. It won’t hurt I promise,” she soothes, showing me the instrument.

I let her. I’m not happy about it. I croak the entire time, but I let her.

“You’re very noisy.” She pats my shoulder lightly. I flinch, screeching in alarm.

I almost plow into Aaron in my terror.

“Hey. You’re fine. You’re fine. It’s safe. Shh. Calm down.” He lets me bury my head into his stomach again and rubs my neck until I calm down.

Memories of before flit through my mind unbidden. Memories I wish I could forget.

“Leo, just breathe. Just breathe, baby. You’re safe,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand as I try to stop hyperventilating.

My broken ribs throb with each ragged breath. Agony has been my constant companion and I wish I could leave it behind.

“He threatened to kill me, Aaron,” I finally choke.

“I thought you weren’t out?”

“I’m not stupid. Of course I’m not out. Sorry. I’m sorry.” I stiffen as I wait for him to start beating me too. “H-he suspects. And that makes me guilty.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I know you’re not stupid, okay? Do you have a plan?” He rubs his thumb in slow circles over the back of my hand.

“I don’t want to lose you.” That’s what kills me the most. If we break up, there’s no guarantee the abuse will stop. No guarantee we’ll get back together. And I can’t do that.

I duck my face to hide the tears stinging my eyes. I don’t feel like crying in front of him.

“Lee. I’ll hold you if you want.” His voice holds no judgement. Nodding, I clamber into his lap and bury my face in his shoulder.

This is the safest I’ve felt in forever. And I’m on the verge of losing that.

“How’s your back?” he whispers. I know what he’s not asking: Did he use his belt again? Will it hurt if I touch you?

I shake my head miserably.

A sharp prod to my bad wing drags me from my memories. I drop to the pavement, duck my head under my good wing and wait for it to be over. It’s easier that way. Hurts less.

“Do you know what happened?” the Elf demands.

“No. I saw the scars, but that’s all I know.”

“His wing looks broken. I’m not touching him until he calms down.”

When I finally pull my head out from under my wing, I just lie on the pavement and shake. I don’t move. I don’t complain. I’m just done.

“I would say he’s flightless from the look of the wing. Other than that, he’s physically healthy. Mentally, he’s a mess. I’ve never seen a dragon with this level of anxiety before. I suggest getting him some toys, make sure he has plenty of enrichment. If he doesn’t settle in and is still feather picking and anxious, he might need medication,” she says once she’s finished with me.

“Is there like a pet store where I can get toys for him? And how much food will he need?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s on the edge of town where Pizza Hut used to be. They have dragon feed there. It’s nutrient dense and cheaper than trying to keep him in meat. You can always let him hunt as long as he doesn’t eat anyone’s dog. It’d be good for him.”

“Cool. Now can I take him in there or no?”

“He can go in, as long as it doesn’t stress him more.”

“Thank you, Willow.” He gives her a warm smile.

I curl up in the bed of his truck while he goes to pay. I’m so stressed my stomach hurts.

The store is busy. It’s full of screaming children and cranky parents and the calls of different animals. It’s too much.

I’m completely checked out by the time he gets me to the toys. I don’t care. I don’t want to be here. I just want to go home where the people aren’t. Where it’s quiet. Where people aren’t trying to touch me.

I bump his shoulder lightly with my nose.

“What’s up, buddy?” he asks cheerfully.

Croaking, I jerk my head towards the door. I need out of here.

He lets me stay in the truck bed while he goes back in. I’m safe here at least.

Something pokes my tail. Hard.

I raise my head tiredly to see who’s tormenting me now. I don’t feel like dealing with this.

Two teen boys grin at me wickedly. One of them has a stick. He pokes my back leg hard enough I flinch.

And that’s when they start beating me.

Aaron finds me cowering on top of a nearby SUV. I’m bleeding. The boys swat me across the face, opening a gash on my snout. I screech in pain but I don’t try to get down. I’m too scared.

“What are you doing to him?” Aaron shouts, sprinting towards us.

They just stare at him dumbly.

“Is this how your parents raised you? To harass innocent animals? In the store. Now.” His tone leaves no room for disagreement. The boys follow him inside, still clutching the bloodied stick.

I stay on the SUV. I am not getting down until he gets back.

Aaron still looks furious when he comes back. It makes me reluctant to go near him.

“I bought you a treat. I’m sorry they attacked you, buddy. Thank you for not eating them,” he murmurs, holding up a cow femur.

I take the femur from him tentatively. He might decide to bash me in the face with it.

“They made a mess of you, huh? Let’s get you home.”

I haven’t hurt this much since I broke my wing.

Aaron hums cheerfully as he sets up his spare room for me. I watch from the doorway as he unrolls a blue bed along the wall opposite the door.

“See? This is your bed. If you go poop outside, can you at least bury it so I don’t step in it?” He cuts open a roll of the food he bought me and dumps it in the raised feeder by the door. He adds a second roll to it before putting water in the second bowl.

The food smells gross. Like wet cat food mixed bad eggs and blood. But, hey, I’m hungry.

“You’re gonna be alone tomorrow while I’m at work, so I’ll probably put your breakfast in one of the puzzle toys.”

I nod. I would rather hunt, but I can’t exactly say that. At least the food tastes better than it smells.

I ruffle my feathers when he begins checking out my scrapes from the kids. I’ll be fine. Yeah, I’m in pain, but I’m not exactly a stranger to beatings.

Once he’s done poking and prodding, I burrow under the blanket he put on my bed. My anxiety has worn me out.

Maybe I’ll somehow shift back while I’m asleep. I’ve never missed being human as much as right now.

[illenia]

First off, thanks so much to @soggystyrofoam for creating this amazing picture of my newest D&D character, Adraphina, and bringing her to life in all of her flamboyant glory!! Character bio below the cut.

Adraphina Height: 5’4” (163 cm) Age: 37

Hey, uh, have we meet before? I swear you all look familiar. Ever been on a ship? Maybe captain’d a pirate fleet? ...Been thrown overboard off of a pirate ship? No? Huh. Maybe it was a past life. I just can’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. I would figure you’d remember the yellow-skinned tiefling girl with violet eyes and a broken horn, anyway. Oh! Right, I’m supposed to be telling my story or somethin’, ain’t I?

My earliest memories are of my mother, and of the sea. I was born on a ship, you see, my mother being the only woman on board. I don’t remember much, but I can still feel her warm touch on my skin, and the way she used to stroke my hair. She was like me, a tiefling, and had the most beautiful violet eyes I have ever seen. I guess I inherited those from her, come to think of it. Oh, and I remember she had the most heavenly voice when she sang to me. The crew thought so too. They liked her so much that they kept her aboard for many years, even though she knew nothin’ of the waves. She loved me, that I’m sure of. But all the love in the world didn’t stop me from losing her. I was young, barely a head taller than her hurdy gurdy, when she disappeared overnight. Overboard, the crew said. I have no memory of my father.

Well, that’s not strictly true. When I was older, I put two and two together, savvy? The ship, The Celebrant, had been at sea for well over three months when my mom first noticed she was showing. And, as I already knew, before I came along my mom had been the only woman on board, and the crew always did say she was quite the looker. And with around three dozen able bodied sailors’ aboard, not countin’ the captain, well… I think you know what happened. I can’t say even I wasn’t tempted by just how able them bodies were, ‘nd that was with the constant threat of beddin’ my dad looming over my head. Well, as generous as the crew of The Celebrant were for lettin’ a young tiefling girl stay aboard their ship, none of them were ever man enough to say they were my dad. Maybe they just didn’t know. I never had the stones to ask, savvy? ‘sides, in the end it’s alright, since instead of one dad I had somethin’ closer to thirty.

My dads taught me all I ever needed to know about sailing a ship. Well, they tried their best, anyway. I never really got my sea legs, truth be told. I was about as useless as my mom was when it came to the rigging, or at least that’s what Cap’n Darkdragon used to tell me. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that name was fake, too. But do you wanna call out a two hundred-fifty pound, six-foot-tall piece of pirate captain about his name? When he’s the one who taught you everything you know about fightin’? Not when you’re a little cabin girl, you don’t. I’m a bard, not a fool, savvy? Carny, that’s the first mate, used to try stickin’ me as a powder monkey too, but I kept accidentally chuckin’ the powder overboard durin’ the fight. What? I’ve never had the best luck alright? So, I spent most ‘f my time swabbin’ the deck and workin’ as the Cap’n’s cabin girl. And hey, it sounds bad lookin’ back, but it was fine with me. I had plenty of time in between swabbin’ and servin’ Darkdragon his food to learn to play my mom’s hurdy gurdy.

Alright, sometimes livin’ life as a young girl on a pirate ship got pretty bad, I’ll admit. But I had my music. And, luck have it, I had my mom’s voice too. So once I got good enough, I took over my mom’s role as the ship’s entertainment. An’ no, before y’ ask, I never did sleep with any of them. Not even the powder monkeys. I was tempted to yeah. Every teenage girl’s got needs, savvy? But I wasn’t gonna make all the same mistakes as my mom. Besides, they treated me like a daughter, for the most part. Thinkin’ about that for more than a second made my brain bleed, saavy? Anyway, I didn’t just play for the crew of The Celebrant, either. Whenever we’d set down in port, I’d play in every tavern and bar I could find. The Cap’n didn’t mind, even kept the ship in port a little longer just to let me perform. I think he had a soft spot for me, more so than the other crew. Thought of me like an actual daughter, even though he denied being my real dad. Plus, the crowds liked me so much that I usually raked in a few gold every night. And if it got me special treatment with Darkdragon, I didn’t mind if he took a cut of the proceeds, savvy?

Why’d I take up adventuring? Well uh… that’s actually a bit embarrassing of a story. I’d like to say that it was because I got bored of the life of a pirate’s entertainment, but if we’re gonna be workin’ together I guess I can’t lie. I didn’t really want to be an adventurer, savvy? I- Look, promise not to laugh okay? I left The Celebrant chasin’ a girl. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I’d seen hundreds of pretty girls by the time I’d met her at a tavern one night. We got to talkin’, and talkin’ turned to other things. Pretty soon she asked me to run away with her. I told her yes, but that I needed stuff off the ship first. ‘f course the whole crew was waiting for me. Guess they saw what happened. But after talkin’ to them, they all agreed I ought to be able to live my own life. So uh, I got the crew’s permission ‘nd everything. Darkdragon even gave me his saber. Fancy that. I left as soon as I was all packed.

But the girl? I never saw her again. I looked high and low for her, searched every tavern and every inn in the whole damn port. After I finally gave up, there wasn’t anywhere left for me to go. Pirates don’t stay in port for longer than they have to, savvy? And once I’d realized I’d been stood up, my family had already shoved off, lookin’ for their next target. Just my luck, savvy? Since her, I’ve had a few more flames along the way; two in particular really caught my eye…

For awhile I kept on playing where I could, but it wasn’t too long before a crew of rat-catchers not unlike yourselves convinced me to tag along. Sirens was that a mistake. But it put the taste of adventure in me, and I’ve been addicted ever since. Been adventuring here and there, wherever the tides take me, savvy? Lander approached me not more than a moon ago. I don’t know what the Sentinels see in me, honestly, but I’ve never saved the world before. Could be fun. …we don’t have to give up sex or booze though, do we?

(Adraphina is relatively short tiefling, standing at 5’4”, and has a medium build that reflects a life of travel. If she were fully human she would no doubt be tan, but her fiend blood means her skin is a permanent shade of bronze-gold. A single spiraling horn curves straight upward from her right brow, adding another 3 inches to her height, while the other is broken off at around an inch from her skull. The fangs/canine teeth on the top of her mouth are longer and sharper than normal, due to her fiend blood, but her lower canines are normal sized. While most claim she is as beautiful as her mother, Adraphina has strong features and an almost boyish look to her that seem wholly unlike her parent. Aside from when she is performing, the tiefling wears gloves to cover the scars and calluses on her fingers that come from working on a ship and playing her lute and lyre. In day-to-day situations, she wears a nondescript set of studded leather armor that all but hides her gender, while binding her curly and unruly red hair in a tightly wound bun. While performing, she tends to swap between three costumes, all colored some variation of a garish purple. When not playing her hurdy gurdy, her lyre, or her lute, she stores them by strapping them haphazardly to a large leather backpack that is topped with a rolled-up sleeping bag. Adraphina wields either a rapier or a whip into battle; when not in use they are both kept at her waist, the rapier at her left side and the whip at her right side. Both weapons were gifts from her former crewmates/family, and the rapier, renamed after an old lover, is said to have a sixth sense. Friendly to a fault, many years away from the life of a pirate have dulled her sense of suspicion, but she remains highly sensitive to body language and emotions. She is playful, mischevious, and often vulgar. Though horrible at flirting, she has somehow earned a reputation as a seductress, leading some to call her the “Siren”).

[absylphe]

======> Abby: Mind your own damn business.

> Hours in the past, but not many...

“...and this here is what you’d call the, the... you know. Dream membrane. I guess common dialect would be thin and pliable partitioning structure, but we’re both classy gents, right? What’s a little common sense terminology between two bros?”

It’s almost indistinguishable from an Eridan’s voice, but you know enough to know that it’s a Cronus alt that’s slipping into your bubble, not an Eridan. The weird affectation to his speech is a little more practiced, a little more pleased with itself than eager to please. You’ve had a lot of weird assholes kind of phase through your ship lately - mostly just randos - but you’re pretty burnt out on dealing with too-curious assholes pestering you about what the living are doing in their super private dream bubbles that they rented for the summer, or whatever they normally see fit to complain about.

Despite all of this, you’re just too damn tired to care about leaving to get out of the way of what sounds like a one-sided date. You remain leaning against the wall, glow off, Sylph hood pulled up over your head, hoping you’ll just get ambled by as though you’re part of the shifting scenery.

“Vwell, vwell, vwell.”

No such luck, it seems. Did his accent just get more annoying?

“Hello, little lady. Don’t you look familiar?” Despite the condescending remark, the face that’s suddenly way too close to your own is a little lower down than yours, and god, he’s right about the familiar. Dumb little scars on a face that’s probably never even seen a real fight, eyes whiter than pearls, a smirk on his lip that has no place being there, suddenly very much in front of your gaunt face.

“Oh, wow, you’re even skinnier in person. I guess the camera does add a few pounds, eh? But you use that to your advantage, looks like. Your blog title makes way more sense now, dead girl walking? I mean, yikes.” You narrow your eyes and blow gently at his hairline, causing just this one stray lock of hair to curl downward, but he looks like you just insulted Happy Days, if he even knows what that is. His nose flares a little in a way that would probably be kind of unattractive, if you thought the rest of him was anything to look at to begin with.

Ugh. Okay he’s a little attractive, but in a really crushable way. Like you want to crush him, not like you have a crush. That’s Zucro, alright. The last person you thought you’d run into out here. The last person you wanted to see. You thought you saw the last of this loser when you unfollowed him after he threw a little grub tantrum about your perfectly serviceable hatejabs. Let me show you my jabs, your witticisms cried out, but no, he was too proud to entertain them without falling to tearful pieces about it.

He pushes back from the wall - is it still a wall? It feels like the dream bubbles might have phased it into a tree or a cave or something - with that little disgusted look on his face, waving his hand by his nose. “Phew, what did you eat? I’m a little more repulsed each and every moment, dollface.”

You gesture plainly at the dried teal blood on your shoulder. You think if he was alive, his face would pale, and maybe it does a little, but he just scoffs himself a recovery, continuing to go on, closed eyes and a pompous air to him. He’s a lot shorter than you thought he’d be? Or, that is, his demeanor kind of makes it suit him, but he still acted like he’d be a little taller. You notice what you guess is a Karkat alt out of the corner of your eye -- oh wait, no, that looks like... oh, then it’s... Pizza Hut? You kind of raise your fingers a little in this very underspoken wave and he gives you a decidedly not-very-Karkat wave back, looking much more entertained than you are.

“--are you even listening? Such massive unnatural ears stickin’ out all akimbo from your head like ugly baby horse legs -- or sorry, I guess you’re middling enough to call them premature hoofbeast friction scramblers, you know I’m something of an ally so I like to make sure my words are understandable to all audiences, even those who don’t deserve it -- anyway, you’d think you could stand to listen to a guy when he’s just spent all this time graciously giving you time to apologize for your neverending cyberbullying, the misgivings, the unrestrained usage of seadwellerphobic slurs -- speaking of which, you have the audacity to use those while openly dating a tyrian? Saying you care about her, but then turning around and calling me something so hateful? So disrespectful?”

God, this just... it’s ongoing, isn’t it? You can’t just scroll past this rant, you have to watch him hash it out in real time. You fix your eyes on his and you’re really, really, really trying not to lash out. You’ve gotten instantly murdered twice in the past few days for lashing out.

“--I was even thinking of letting you follow me again if you wanted to. Minimal fuss, all you’d have to do is issue a public apology detailing the various ways you went about harassing me for things completely out of my control -- nothing more than being too handsome and unattainable, when clearly you were driven to what I can only assume was malice. Yes, malice, driven by envy, which I’m sure you’re no stranger to, given how thoroughly green with it you are. See, that’s a human idiom, but it also applies to you, on account of your hue--”

He can see the frown curling on your lips, can’t he? Surely he can. It’s been building this whole time, ears beginning to twitch out of irritation rather than attention. Your claws are digging into your palms. 

“--should be grateful I haven’t decided to sic my legions of devoted fans on you for your transgressions, to be quite honest; that’s a power I have at my disposal that I’ve benevolently refrained from using because I believe in the power of a fair fight, one between equals, one that radiates mutual respect--”

He doesn’t seem to notice when you unbutton your hood from around your horns and pull it down so that your hair spills out, or when you let your arms fall down to your sides. He’s too busy talking. One hand is on his hip and the other is held out to the side like he’s telling a really long situational joke to a close friend. Like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever thought of.

“--and that’s to say nothing about your little mudblooded brood buddy, is it? Fairy pix? Stupid flicks? Ugly hick? Really, I’m not sure if he’s showing good taste in continuing to follow me the way you failed to, or actually if the failure to follow suit with what you did is just social cowardice--” 

When your fist connects with his nose, it makes a sickening cracking sound, followed by a stunned silence. 

Breathe in.

Violet.

Breathe out.

Violence.

“...first-- first of all I can’t believe that even YOU would dare to hit me--”

You do it again, this time in his stupid jaw. You grab his horn and slap him for good measure, pulling back for another punch while you kick him where it hurts. It seems to take him a minute to figure out exactly what’s happening before he starts fighting back, but even then, it’s not as practiced, not as ferocious. He’s not quite as out for blood as you are, and you have plenty of reasons to keep him from drawing yours. 

“You will never talk about Tavros like that again--”

“Or what, you’ll go cryin’ to that writhing harem of sympathetic morons you have the audacity call quadmates?”

You come at him and he comes back at you, growling and snarling and alternating between open and closed hands. You hardly want to ruin the experience of something so cathartic with something as final as your chainsaw.

Once you’ve knocked him flat on his ass, you take another breath, straddling his frame to keep him pinned down, and he’s not-fighting you enough that he’s probably trying to find some way to flip this around  in his favor through underhanded psychological warfare. You slap him across the face again before he can open his stupid mouth and you can feel a huge bruise developing on your side, under your grublegs -- ugh, this is the worst. He’s the worst. Spades flash in your head but you know you’ll never live it down if you do anything untoward. Also, you don’t really want that on your permanent record.

Luckily, you feel the other side of the bubble membrane coming fast -- the dream surroundings are fading, not that you ever really paid attention to what they were, anyway. You lean in like you’re going to kiss him and you see his fins flick a little. You cup his cheek gently and then --

CRACK

--you pop his broken nose back into place with your thumb, getting the most disgusting yelp and whimper as a reward for your efforts. You gently pat the cheek that’s already starting to bruise just to see him wince, a short-tempered smile on your lips.

“Don’t ever tell anyone I never did anything for you.”

And then they’re gone. The blood stayed, curiously; you’ll have to refresh this outfit to clean the miscellaneous blood spatters off of it, but you run your knuckle over your lips, a violet gloss over green.

[goingknowherewastaken]

AOS Star Trek Hogwarts and Ilvermorny Sorting

I started this a while ago, but a post earlier by @mccoymostly had me returning back to this to finish it :)

Because Star Trek is my love and Harry Potter is in my blood, I had to do a sorting. Since we now have Ilvermorny to work with as well (although, not a lot of detail for it :p), I gotta include that one, too! Everyone is pretty well-versed on the Hogwarts houses by this point, but I’m gonna do a quick run-down on the Ilvermorny ones first below the cut. 

Each sorting is divided by the character :) 

Again, there is next to nothing in terms of background on the Ilvermorny houses. To get a better idea of them, I read through the various posts Rowling made on Pottermore several times, making notes and filling in the blanks. These are my thoughts on the houses :)

Horned Serpent

Creature : With a glittering jewel set into it's forehead, the horned serpent dwells in a river near the school and, like other snakes and serpents, it is cunning and smart.

: Representing the mind of the witch or wizard, this Ilvermorny house favors the scholar. Those belonging to this house will throw themselves into their studies, collecting book after book and leaving their private desks littered with dozens of pages of messily-written notes. Though as studious as they are, Horned Serpents won't confine themselves to their book all the time. Spending a few hours out in the woods, preferably near water, does wonders for them. But do not underestimate them; they may be scholars, but their animal is the Horned Serpent for a reason.

Wampus

Creature : The wampus is a six-legged, panther-like beast that prowls through the woods of North America. They are fast, strong, and nearly impossible to kill. Do not approach.   : Believed to represent the body of a witch or wizard, this house of Ilvermorny favors the warrior. Like the magical beast, these witches and wizards are fierce and not afraid to back down from a fight, whether it be physical or verbal. Their natural skills at debating and arguing makes them likely to thrive in all aspects of public protection - whether it be as a lawyer or an officer of the law. It's wise to not challenge them for if you do, you will lose. As intimidating as they are, wampuses are incredibly protective of the people, things, and places that they hold dear.

Pukwudgie

Creature : A creature native to North America, the Pukwudgie is a distant relative to the European Goblins. Physically, they are short, grey-faced, and have large ears. Temperament wise, they are far from fond of humans, incredible tricky, and very independent. Pukwudgies are known to enjoy playing tricks on humans and hunt with a bow and poisonous arrows.

: This Ilvermorny house represents the heart of a witch or wizard and favors healers. These students, like the Pukwudgie, can be stubborn and value their privacy, but they are loyal to a fault. You will never have a broken promise with these witches and wizards. They are more apt to helping others than they are to ask for help, preferring to immerse themselves in the natural world around them in hopes finding the solution to their problem. With that said, a word of caution to outsiders who wish to associate with them - You will not be excluded from their list as possible prank targets.

Thunderbird

Creature : With each beat of it's massive wings, the legendary thunderbird can create swirling storms of thunder and lightning as it flies through the North American skies.   : Representing the soul of a witch or wizard, the Thunderbird house favors the adventurers. These students are smart and accomplished, but you won't see them settled on one thing for too long. They live by the motto, "Know a little bit about a lot". Thunderbirds are like Wikipedia personified. Like weather, they are temperamental and unpredictable. They ache to travel and explore places unknown to them and others, picking up information as they go.

☼ Another thing to remember about Ilvermorny - New students aren’t always give just one house. While Hogwarts consists of a telepathic hat placed on the students head that announces their house to the school, Ilvermorny has carvings. The entire school is brought into the round entrance hall; the older students clustered on the balcony while the new students stand along the wall on ground level. One by one the new students are called to stand in the middle of the room on the school crest. From there, one or more of the four carvings (the creatures of each house) will signify their interest in the student. If only one does, then that student has to go to that house. But if more than one does, then that student is free to decide where they wish to go.

Now onto the sortings!!

Jaylah

Hogwarts : Gryffindor

Ilvermorny : Wampus

I figured that Jaylah was a Wampus and a Gryffindor. We don't really know how long she's been on Altamid, but it's quite clear that she's a strong survivor and warrior - filled with fire and courage. And she won't just fight for herself, she fights for others too. She's also brilliant, as proven by her traps and engineering skills, and caring and loyal. She is a perfect, deadly storm. 

Seriously, I believe that the Wampus carving would try to claim her and, even if other houses showed interest, she would pick that house.

And the Sorting Hat??? Oh yeah it’d put her in Gryffindor. 

Scotty

Hogwarts : Ravenclaw

Ilvermorny : Horned Serpent

He's smart – a genius – and there's no doubt that he's one the best minds in Starfleet's Engineering division. If he wasn't he wouldn't be the Chief Engineer on the Enterprise. He's also loyal and he's shown us time and time again that he won't back down from a challenge ��� whether it be physical or mental. Sure, he'll follow orders, and do so grudgingly if he doesn't believe in them, but he will take a stand (no matter the consequences) if he feels he must. Scotty cares about others and can be a fighter when he needs to be, but his mind still shines brighter.

I believe that Horned Serpent would definitely want to claim him and, regardless if other houses do, he would gravitate towards that house to feed his tinkering nature. 

And he would not be a hatstall at Hogwarts, that’s for sure. Ravenclaw all the way!

Sulu

Hogwarts : Hufflepuff

Ilvermorny : Wampus

Sulu is another one I sorted into Wampus. Going over the past three films, he's always wasted no time in stepping up into a protective, warrior mode when it comes into his direction. In the first one we see him volunteering to a space-dive onto a tiny drilling platform where he fights Romulans with his fold-able sword. Like, does he always have that on him or did he swing by his room and grab it? I'm going with former. Then in the second film, we see him step up into the Captain's role for a brief moment – threatening Khan without a single tremor of fear. And the third one, where we are given more of a look into the other members of the crew, we see him grab any fear that appears in his body by the balls and does not let that get in the way of keeping everyone safe.

It also fits in with Hufflepuffs. People often think that the Puffs are these kind and gentle souls and that’s it. Uh-uh. No way. We are motherfucking mother bears and honey badgers. Yeah, kind and gentle is the preferred way to go, but if you mess with a Hufflepuff or someone they care about? You are not exempt from their retaliation. Puffs don’t take any shit. Hufflepuffs are not cast-offs that other houses don’t want. They are the people who embody all of the house traits, but they don’t define themselves as having just one important trait.

Hikaru Sulu is a motherfucking mother bear.

So yeah, Sulu would go for Wampus and the Sorting hat would have no issue placing him in Hufflepuff.

Chekov

Hogwarts : Ravenclaw

Ilvermorny : Horned Serpent 

At first, I thought Pavel was a toughie (in terms of Ilvermorny), but - thinking it over - he’s really easy.  He belongs in Horned Serpent and Ravenclaw. Like the others, he has aspects of the other houses, but I just couldn't ignore his brilliant mind - one that we see showcased throughout the films. 

Horned Serpent would easily be where Chekov would go and Ravenclaw is the Sorting Hats pick.

Uhura

Hogwarts : Slytherin

Ilvermorny : Wampus

Nyota is quick and intelligent, but all higher powers help any poor sod who crosses her or anyone she cares about. The first thing you'll get a verbal lashing tough enough to leave scars; she's demonstrated that plenty of times in the movies. And she's more than proven that she can resort to physical defense. We see her step up to that both in ST:ID and STB. Not to mention she is determined and manipulative as fuck. Point in case - that scene were she had Spock changing her assignment in what? 30 seconds?

Horned Serpent and Ravenclaw would be a temptation, but I believe Wampus and Slytherin would be where she’d really fit in. 

Spock

Hogwarts : Ravenclaw

Ilvermorny : Horned Serpent

Do I really need to go in depth on why Spock belongs in Horned Serpent and Ravenclaw????

His mind has always been his most valuable trait. With his interactions with his family, friends, and fellow crew members, we've come to know that he does have other important traits (he does care, he is loyal), but his mind is still his defining quality.

Horned Serpent and Ravenclaw would be the logical houses for him.

Bones

Hogwarts : Hufflepuff

Ilvermorny : Pukwudgie

Oh, my Adorable Space Curmudgeon. So, this was a very very obvious choice for me. The heart of the wizard??? Favors the healer??? Hello, Leonard McCoy! He's the heart of the crew and a the best doctor in the 'Fleet!

Gah! He's like the textbook description of this house!!

But, if I have to get more descriptive...

He's grumpy. Everyone knows that. There's not a fanfiction in this world that doesn't call him grumpy at least once. He’s stubborn and gruff with others, but he's just a giant teddy bear. And so so loyal! He hates space with a passion and yet he followed his exuberant best friend *coughcoughboyfriendcoughcough* into space! Not to mention caring. Look at how many times he’s put his own safety to the side to check over his patients and fellow crew members. 

For my Hufflepuff argument, please see the part with Sulu ‘cause that also applies here. 

Bones is another motherfucking mother bear.

Pukwudgie would definitely claim him and the Sorting Hat would declare Bones a Hufflepuff.

Jim

Hogwarts : Slytherin

Ilvermorny : Thunderbird

Jim was a toss up between Thunderbird and Wampus. Honestly, he could go in either, but Thunderbird spoke more to me for him. Jim is the Soul of the Enterprise. He has this unquenchable thirst for adventure and exploring that’s pretty infectious to the rest of the crew - he’s a thrill seeker. And he’s smart - a flat out genius! But, he’s not knowledgeable on just one thing. He’s knows a little bit about a lot of things. We’ve seen that he can be temperamental and we know he has a tendency to be unpredictable.

Yes, he’s brave and courageous and intelligent, but he’s also incredibly determined and down-right devious. Gryffindors have more of an ‘Act first, Think About the Actions Later’ vibe, but he has a plan. A sometimes half-assed, sketchy plan, but a plan none-the-less.

He and Nyota would be the rulers of the Slytherin house. 

If he was at Ilvermorny, I have no doubt that Horned Serpent, Wampus, and Thunderbird would try to claim him. I think his need to go go go will draw him towards Thunderbird.

And while Gryffindor is a tempting option, Slytherin is were Jim would flourish.

And to finish I would like to mention again, these are my views on the possible sortings. I 100% think that some of these characters can in fact be in different houses and I keep an open mind with them as a result :)

[starboardpodcast-blog]

Starboard - Pilot, or How I Stopped Vying for the Crown and Became a Pirate - Transcript

Starboard Episode 1 - Full Transcript Listen to the full episode Here

Act One: Scene One

Dramatis Personae:

The Narrator

Reginald Barrington: Our hero, a nobleman of the Kingdom of Man.

Chauncy: Reginald’s AI assistant and Chauffeur.

Newscaster: Announcer of Z88.3 “The Turnip.”

Background Noise: None

Narrator:

Let me tell you a story. A tale of war and peace, friendship and deception, nobility and poverty, lasers and starships. But above all, let me tell you a story, about pirates.

Background Noise: Traffic

Narrator:

We begin our story on the third moon of Atarax, where…

Newscaster:

Crowds gather in anticipation of the crowning of Prince Frederick Barrington, fifth of that name, as he takes the seat of King of Mankind. Frederick will succeed his father, King Abernathy the Seventh, after the latter’s tragic assassination at the hands of the alien menace last-

Reginald:

Argh! Can you please turn that noise off, Chauncy!

Chauncy:

Ears still sensitive from last night’s “Celebrations”, Lord Reginald?

Reginald:

No!... yes. But that is not the reason. (Petulant muttering)... I should be king.

Chauncy:

Quite impossible, I’m afraid, M’lord. The odds of all ten people standing between you and the crown expiring before yourself are virtually zero.

Reginald:

Well, that is not how it should be. I know I’m smarter than Frederick, I know I’d be the better king, so they should just… give it to me.

Chauncy:

Just give it to you, M’lord?

Reginald:

Because I want it.

(Awkward pause)

Reginald:

Go to hell, Chauncy.

Chauncy:

Already there, M’lord.

Act One: Scene Two

Dramatis Personae

The Storyteller

Reginald Barrington: Our hero, a nobleman of the Kingdom of Man.

Party-goers: Various nobles of the empire of man.

Palace Announcer

Palace Guard

Captain Saeth: The pirate, scourge of the warp-ways.

Picell Wyr: Captain Saeth’s second in command.

Background Noise: Fine music and nobles gossiping excitedly.

Narrator:

After finishing a friendly debate with his Cybernetic Assistant, our great hero finds himself at a posh gathering of nobles…

Party-Goer #1:

It’s so posh.

Party-Goer #2:

Quite the gathering.

Narrator:

…Where he remains in a bit of a mood. It doesn’t take long for the ever dangerous combination of wine and boredom to drive him away.

Reginald:

(thoughts) For a party at the royal palace, this is… exceedingly tiresome. Am I the only one who wants to be besotted for the actual ceremo- I have to urinate.

Reginald:

You there, servant, where is the washroom?

Palace Guard:

Twenty-seventh door on the right, sir.

Reginald:

(thoughts) One, two, three. Grr, who builds a palace with thirty rooms down one hall? Nine, ten, eleven. Especially when only one of them is a restroom? Twenty-six. Alright, this has to be the one-

(Gleaming sound.)

Reginald:

That… that’s the crown. I’m in the prince’s chambers, and that’s the crown of mankind. Oh, oh my. I should not touch it. I cannot. I… I could be thrown in prison for touching it. I can not believe I am touching it. I… I wonder if it fits.

(Alarm goes off)

Reginald:

Oh, so this is what it feels like to be a jackass.

Announcer:

Alert, there has been a breach of security!

Reginald:

I should probably be going.

(Sound of stuck doorknob.)

Reginald:

Locked… Well, that’s not good.

Announcer:

Please make your way to the nearest chamber for security lockdown.

Reginald:

Aaaaaand into the closet I go. (door slides open and closed)

(Boom, Boom)

Reginald:

I stand by my decision to remain closeted.

(Sound of door opening.)

Palace Guard:

Prince Frederick, we’ve got to get you out of here. The intruder, it’s Captain Sae- (glurgh)

Picell Wyr:

Sae-glurgh? Well, that’s an odd way to pronounce your name, isn’t it, Captain?

Captain Saeth:

*grunt*

Picell Wyr:

Now, this is the prince’s quarters, he has to be in here somewhere.

Reginald:

(fearful) C-captain Saeth?

Narrator:

Shaking with what was no doubt righteous anger at the criminal’s invasion of the palace, our hero brushed against a shoebox at the top of the closet. It fell to the floor with a-

(Clunk!)

Reginald:

Oh, piss...

Picell:

Found him.

Reginald:

(Thinking) Captain Saeth…He's the scourge of the warp ways. (footsteps sound) He's the conqueror of Nivek. (footsteps sound closer) He's the destroyer of the Armian fleet. He’s (closet opens)... a total babe.

Narrator:

Facing our hero was a statuesque woman beautiful by any race’s standards, with skin of ivory and eyes as black as night within a perfect, hairless head. Her curving horns were as artistic as they were deadly, and the scars on her lips and eye only served to ground that beauty in reality. And faced with such beauty, Lord Reginald immediately fell back upon his years of training.

Reginald:

Hey, gorgeous.

Narrator:

Most of which were in high school.

Captain Saeth:

Prince Frederick?

Reginald:

Sure. Now, are you tired, my love? Because I believe you-

(Punching sound.)

Captain Saeth:

Got him. Now let’s go home.

Act Two: Scene One

Dramatis Personae

The Storyteller

Reginald Barrington: Our hero, a nobleman of the Kingdom of Man.

Nurse Arachne: The gentle and doting ship’s nurse.

Captain Saeth: The pirate, scourge of the warp-ways.

Darga: A genetically engineered reptilian super-soldier.

Picell Wyr: Captain Saeth’s second in command.

Background Noise: None

Narrator:

Our hero awoke in an unfamiliar place, not an uncommon occurrence for him. But what was uncommon was the fact that this one appeared to be a hospital bed. And, perhaps most uncommon of all, looming over him as he awoke were the legs of an enormous-

Reginald:

Ah! Spider! Ah, ah. (terrified babbling)

Nurse Arachne:

Calm yourself, sug’. You act like you’ve never seen an arachnotaur before.

Reginald:

Spiderspiderspiderspider! (slapping noise) I’m sorry, m’lady, that was most unbecoming of me.

Arachne:

Don’t worry, sug’, I’ve seen worse.

Reginald:

Indeed. I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me where I am, madame?

Picell:

(Over the intercom) Everyone strap-in. We’re taking off in three, two,-

(Spaceship taking off)

Arachne:

Reckon that answers your question just fine, sug’.

Reginald:

It most certainly does not. Which spaceship is this? Where are we going? Why am I tied to this b… oh.

Arachne:

Mmm-hmm.

Reginald:

I’ve been kidnapped.

Arachne:

‘Fraid so.

Reginald:

By giant spiders.

Arachne:

Just the one giant spider, sug’.

Reginald:

Right.

(beat)

Arachne:

You know, I ain’t never met royalty before. Must be nice, living in a palace.

Reginald:

Oh, I’m not a… (thinking) Wait… these people think I’m the prince. (speaking) I’m not uh… cut out to be King… is what I think…  at times.

Arachne:

Oh, hon’, judging by how nice you look in that crown, I’m sure you’ll be a fine king. Just as soon as the captain ransoms you back to your family. The name’s Arachne by the way, and I’m the nurse ‘round these parts.

Reginald:

Frederick, apparently. (Thinking) Hm, soft hands. You know, she’s actually not terrible to look at in spite of the whole lower body consisting of eight giant legs and- WHAT AM I THINKING!?

Arachne:

Something wrong, hon’? Let me check you for fever-

(Door opens)

Arachne:

Darga.

Darga:

Nurse.

(beat)

Darga:

*ahem* Cap’n wants the soft-skin on the comm.’s deck. Come on, princeling.

Reginald:

Uh…

Darga:

NOW.

Reginald:

…Fine.

(Door closes)

Reginald:

(thinking) What was it my professor said in Hostage 101?

Professor:

Reginald, always remember to form a personal relationship with your captors. If they get to know you, it will be more difficult for them to murder you if the need arises.

(Reginald makes a small whimpering sound.)

Reginald:

So, you and the nurse…

Darga:

If you finish that sentence I’ll throw you in the broken escape boat.

Reginald:

(thinking) …Right then, change of tactics.

Reginald:

So, uh… you called me soft-skin earlier. Is that what your race calls humans? Because it seems that, with scales as hard as yours, many races must seem soft in comparison.

Darga:

It’s a racial slur.

Reginald:

Haha, well, trust me I’m quite offended-

Darga:

Good.

Reginald:

(thinking) This man is kind of a jerk.

Darga:

Through here. Sit.

Narrator:

As the reptilian soldier pushed our hero into his chair, the door at the end of the bridge slid open to reveal...

(door opens)

Darga: (thump)

Captain, First-Mate.

Captain Saeth:

At ease, Darga.

Reginald:

(Thinking) I see her again, and my heart skips a beat. Because she’s attractive or because I’m terrified? …Yes.

Saeth:

Prince Frederick?

Reginald:

What? Oh yes, that’s me.

Saeth:

Yes, I’m aware of that. What is the private comm-line for the Royal Palace?

Reginald:

Ah, well…

Act Two: Scene Two

Dramatis Personae

The Storyteller

Reginald Barrington: Our hero, a nobleman of the Kingdom of Man.

Prince Frederick Barrington: Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Man.

Queen Victoria Barrington: Queen Regent of the Kingdom of Mankind, Frederick’ mother.

Captain Saeth: The pirate, scourge of the warp-ways.

Picell Wyr: Captain Saeth’s second in command.

Background Noise: The palace, bustling after the events of the attack.

(Phone ringing)

Queen Victoria:

Guard Captain Nalesean, is that you? Have you found the ones who stole the crown?

Picell:

Well, yes and no, but not in that order I’m afraid.

Queen:

Who are you?

Saeth:

I am Captain Saeth. Queen Regent Victoria, we have your son,

Queen:

Which son?

Saeth:

Uh… Prince Frederick.

Queen:

(smug) Oh really? And what do you think of that, Prince Frederick?

Prince:

Well, if they’ve taken me hostage they’re being rather polite about it, letting me stay in the palace and all.

Saeth:

I… hold on.

Background noise: Nothing

Picell:

Prince Frederick?

Reginald:

Yes.

Picell:

Prince Frederick?

Reginald:

...no.

Picell:

*sigh* I’m not mad, but I am very disappointed.

Saeth:

Well, that’s fine, First Mate Picell, because I’m plenty mad for both of us! (sound of a struggle)

Reginald (distant):

Hey, what are you—hey, put me down! I—OOF!

(thump)

Saeth:

If you’re Prince Frederick, then who in blazes is this?!

Prince:

Oh my…

Reginald:

Uh… hello, Freddie.

Prince:

You will address me as Prince Frederick of the Kingdom of Man! Or has your absence from the court stripped you of your manners?!

Reginald:

Yes well, I’ve been a bit indisposed.

Prince:

I can see that.

Reginald:

Quite. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you’d mind paying the ransom and freeing me from this little debacle.

Prince:

No.

Reginald:

No?

Prince:

I just don’t see how that would benefit me. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve a coronation to reschedule.

Reginald:

Aheh...funny you should mention that...I imagine it might be rather difficult to have a coronation without the corona, wouldn’t you agree?

Prince:

...Is that my crown?

Reginald:

Well, technically it’s still your father’s crown…

Prince:

Where did you get that.

Reginald:

That’s not important. What IS important is that this little headpiece is regalia from the Kingdom of Man. You know, the regalia a king needs to have at all times to maintain authority with his subjects?

Prince:

I suppose you may have a point. Perhaps your liberation can be arranged after all… Have your Captain send me the ship’s coordinates.

Reginald:

It’s so nice when we can resolve things peacefully.

Prince:

*grumble*

(The Prince irritably pushes a button, and the commlink shuts down.)

(click)

Picell:

Well that was…

Saeth:

Humans.

Picell:

Yes.

Reginald:

Hey…

Act Three: Scene One

Dramatis Personae

The Storyteller

Reginald Barrington: Our hero, a nobleman of the Kingdom of Man.

Captain Saeth: The pirate, scourge of the warp-ways.

Darga: A genetically engineered reptilian super-soldier.

Renchi: A sensitive cat who loves machines like precious toys.

Picell Wyr: Captain Saeth’s second in command.

Prince Frederick Barrington: Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Man.

Background Noise: None

Narrator:

On the deck of the good ship Taranau, Captain Saeth’s crew prepares for the exchange of their sixth wheel.

Saeth:

Alright, the prince’s flagship should be here any minute to deliver our payment. Darga.

Darga:

Yes, Ma’am.

Saeth:

Keep our… person…on the bridge so he can meet with the real prince.

Darga:

Aye.

Renchi:

Human ship approaching, captain. Oh, that’s a big one. And nice shields too. Captain, how come we can’t have a big one?

Saeth:

Uh… maybe someday, Renchi.

Renchi:

It’d be so cool to fly. It’d be all like *woosh* *pew* *pew* *pew*...

Saeth:

R-Renchi… ?

Picell:

(amused) Engineer Renchi. Please send them a hail.

Renchi:

Aye aye, Pilot.

(typing noise)

Narrator:

The commlink booted up to reveal our hero’s royal cousin, the Illustrious Prince Frederick, whose mood appeared quite improved from their last meeting.

Prince:

Ah yes, Captain Saeth, cousin. So good to see you again.

Saeth:

Prince Frederick. Let us begin negotiations.

Prince:

No need. My flagship is on its way to reduce your ship to wreckage as we speak.

Saeth:

...Say again?

Prince:

You see, the coronation is scheduled to begin in a few hours, and we’re kind of on a tight schedule here. All those messy negotiations will be a waste of everyone’s time.

Reginald:

What coronation?! You’ll blow the crown to smithereens!

Prince:

(The prince laughs heartily.) Oh Reggie, you simple-minded buffoon. You honestly think that just because you know about the laws of legitimacy, you know everything about the regalia? You see, it doesn’t matter what happens to you OR the ship – the crown will be mine regardless.

Reginald:

What do you mean?!

Prince:

You see, the crown is QUITE indestructible. It is a symbol of the Kingdom of Man, and must be as undying as the kingdom itself. The crown was forged with that very notion in mind. A supernova wouldn’t be able to so much as scratch it. You, on the other hand…

Reginald:

Frederick, you can’t do this! I’m the Duke of Handelaar! The whole Kingdom depends on the trade from our spaceport! I maintain a vital part of the Kingdom’s economy!

Prince:

Of course. Handelaar is vital and irreplaceable… but Dukes aren’t.

Reginald:

…What? Freddy, come on! I’ve managed Handelaar for seven years now! Who could possibly be qualified to rule the planet in my absence?!

Prince:

Yes, about that… you see, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since our last conversation, and I suddenly realized that this is actually an excellent opportunity to solidify my rule.

Reginald:

What do you mean?!

Prince:

You’ve a brother, no?

Reginald:

Well, yes, but… Percival is a spineless idiot!

Prince:

Oh, you don’t need to talk him up—I’m already sold on the idea. You see, I don’t need a freethinking savant like yourself to maintain Handelaar. I’m far more interested in a malleable plaything.

Reginald:

But…

Prince:

And imagine how popular he’ll be when the people hear how his older brother sacrificed himself to save the crown-prince. A testament to our grand and noble bloodline, and the enduring resilience of the Kingdom of Man. Rather heroic, don’t you think?

Reginald:

But… but…

Prince:

It’s been a pleasure, dear cousin. I’ll make sure your funeral is a celebrated occasion.

(Click)

Renchi:

Captain! Massive energy signature incoming!

Saeth:

(panicked) Picell, take evasive ac-

(BOOM!)

(alarms start going off)

Renchi:

Nononono.

Saeth:

Engineer, status report.

Renchi:

Nononono!

Saeth:

Renchi!

Renchi:

S-sorry. Th-they just took out our cannons. One… one hit and they took our main cannons.

Saeth:

There was no getting through that giant’s shields anyway. Picell, keep us moving and get our cloak online! We need to get out of the system fast, or we’re scrap!

Picell:

Renchi, what the hell is wrong with our cloaking system?!

Renchi:

Sorry, Mr. Wyr! That ship’s using an EMP! Nothing’s responding!

Saeth:

Darga, get the prisoner out of the way!

Darga:

Aye Cap’n.

Narrator:

Carried atop the powerful shoulders of his reptilian steed, our hero charged for the lower decks with a mighty warcry...

Reginald:

But I -- AIEEEEE

Narrator:

Even as massive explosions shook mighty Darga in mid-stride.

Darga:

Damn soft-skins...!

Reginald:

I’m right here.

Darga:

And if I heard right, your clutchmate is out there.

Reginald:

I don’t know what that word means!

Darga:

*growl* I need to help Renchi fix the cannons. Stay here and don’t touch anything.

Reginald:

On my honor.

(Sound of footsteps leaving)

(Beat)

Reginald:

Where the hell was that escape boat?!

(hurried footsteps)

Reginald:

OK! Now let’s see, how do you open this thing?

(BOOM!)

(Another explosion rocks the Taranau.)

(Smack!)

(An alarm blares below decks, and red lights begin flashing.)

Reginald:

Ugh, what did I just hit my head on? “External Launch?” Wait what-

(sound of escape shuttle launching.)

Narrator:

Our hero watched in sullen silence-

Reginald:

Oh that isn’t good at all!

Narrator:

IN SULLEN SILENCE, as his last hope for escape from the pirate ship sailed away, blazing like a shooting-star, directly into the Royal Flagship’s engine.

(Boom! Crash! Boom!)

Reginald:

Uh… (whistles)

Darga:

What the hell did you do?

Reginald:

AHHHHH! Oh, it’s just… a giant lizard who hates humans.

Darga:

Come on.

Narrator:

Back on deck, the crew tried to puzzle out how they were all still alive.

Renchi:

Captain, the cloak is back up, and… the Flagship has stopped moving?

Picell:

Why would they stop when they have the advantage?

Saeth:

Never mind that! Picell, make a beeline for the nearest warp gate!

Picell:

At once, Captain.

Narrator:

The ship banked hard to the left, giving itself some much-needed distance from the Prince’s Flagship, even as our hero reappeared on the bridge.

Darga:

Strap in, “prince.”

Picell:

Approaching warp gate. Prepare for launch in five… four… three… two… one…

(Sound of warp gate engaging and launching the ship)

Saeth:

Renchi, status report please.

Renchi:

They really dinged us good, ma’am. These cannons need to be replaced before we get in trouble. The outer hull needs patching too.

Saeth:

*sigh* Could be worse, I guess. Darga, what happened down there?

Darga:

New-meat here launched the busted escape shuttle…

Reginald:

I, uh...well, you see...

Darga:

Right through the Flagship’s shields and into the engine. Pretty good move, I have to admit.

Reginald:

...What?

Renchi:

You… you broke my escape shuttle?

Reginald:

Well… I heard Darga say it was damaged, and...well, I figured a non-functional pod was worthless, compared to all our lives…

Renchi:

Worthless…?

(Renchi begins sniffling, which gives way to full-on bawling.)

Saeth:

Arachne, find the girl a lollipop.

Saeth:

Well, however you did it, you’ve saved all our lives today. And I doubt you’ll be welcome back on any human worlds after a stunt like that.

Reginald:

Indubitably.

Saeth:

Well, you’re welcome to stay with us, for now- sorry. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.

Narrator:

Our hero was quick to compose himself, and with a flourish, he gave his most formal bow.

Reginald:

Reginald. Sir Reginald Barrington, Duke of Handelaar.

Narrator:

Only to find that the beautiful pirate captain had held her hand out, expecting nothing more than a simple hand-shake.

Saeth:

Wow. That’s a mouthful. How about “Rig”?

Reginald:

Well, no, um…

Saeth:

Nice to meet you, Rig. And welcome aboard. Just so long as you don’t launch any more pieces of the ship at anyone.

Reginald:

*grumble*

Saeth:

Seriously, you made Renchi cry.

Renchi:

My shuttle. *sob*

*beat*

Reginald:

At what point does a long handshake become an awkward one.

Saeth:

Um… this one.

Reginald:

Sorry.

Picell:

So, Mr. “Duke”...other than pleading for your life and occasional happy accidents, what are your redeeming qualities?

Reginald:

I beg your pardon?!

Saeth:

He’s asking for a list of your skills, Rig.

Reginald:

I can make a mean pot-roast if that’s what you mean.

Saeth:

Excellent! Darga, show our new chef to the kitchens. And then never set foot in there again.

Darga:

Aye.

Saeth:

Darga… never again.

Darga:

*grumble*

Saeth:

Welcome aboard.

Narrator:

And so it came that the Duke of Halendaar joined the crew of the proud ship Taranau, as they set a course, for their next adventure!

End Episode One

[ecotone99]

[SP] The Carousel Troupe

Under the corrugated iron roof there are twenty men in vests, wearing soot and sweat and suit jackets and glasses. There they build things, tear them down sometimes even, the ground has grates for their spit and piss and, when there is an accident, blood. Together, begrudgingly, they work on a joined project, they have families to feed, a vacation coming up, they need this more than they can express. The project is a carousel. A big one. It has horses, lions leaping to catch the eagles who fly before them, bears bowing down for fish, roaring up at the clouds, a winding Chinese dragon with a seat at each one of the waves in its long python frame. There are gods on chariots, penguins, deer that have fur that changes colours with the season, unicorns with horns of ivory. Ivory is illegal in most parts of the world. Not here.

The workmen sit and spit and drink on the job. Great lengths of fired iron, writhing orange in the centre and white-hot on the outside, sharp with heat, pulled out of metal beasts with metal tools, flying above the floor and curving towards a conveyor belt that they would loop, semi-predictably, onto. Not before, of course, the person working the flaming snake jumps over it. It was a gross, ugly, dangerous, beer-drinking, piss-going, blood-pumping, fire wielding lottery. The winners got the pleasure of living, albeit with a scar, at the very least, to remind them of their time in the warehouse. These conditions were inhumane. Not here.

Up on the steel walkways the foreman would waltz around carefree, the odd spark flew his way, but he was mostly out of the danger. His position as foreman did not, however, grant him privileges to his own bathroom, so his pants would drop like flies, sometimes his fly would drop too, he was a big man. He would aim for the gutters, the grates, ‘guttersnipes’, he called his little game. That is what he would do, scream, “Guttersnipes!” and watch as the workers below scatter as if someone had announced a bombing or the death of a relative and they are compelled to run to the scene (or run away from it) without permission from the foreman. Plenty got hit with the foreman’s piss, plenty more than plenty, he would often only shout once his stream was in the air, and the sooty air meant the workers had a hard time seeing him, and he they. This, in most places, might make the news, maybe even at a reasonable hour depending on the day. Not here.

Then one day they all left, gone, poof. Moving on with their lives, new places, new people, a thousand stories of deaths and the defying of it collecting in a warehouse in the arse-end of nowhere. Leaks sprung in the ceiling, little holes in the paper-thin shield, and it filled up the grates of piss and blood and spit until they overflowed, it smelled for a while before the Winter rain diluted it, dissolved the smells or pulled them further away toward the rivers or sea.

In this time, many-a-teenager climbed in through broken roof or by cutting holes in the weak walls. Here they congregated to smoke and to drink themselves into stupor and silliness, presumably far away from society. A few more came in pairs, dipping behind stacks of wooden boxes and under the metal railings and the foreman’s platform and into debauchery. They would scream and moan and be unsure, the sound would stop at a footstep, sometime people would interrupt, they could hide for hours behind those wooden boxes, nobody ever checked.

It was behind those wooden boxes, stacked high up against a wall, that there appeared a winding trail of blood and the body of a girl, pale and cut up. Dead. She was screaming when she died, a tall man ran off into the darkness streaming red of his own as he did, he collapsed not far away in a field, a stab wound in his side. To this day that don’t know who killed who. One police officer joked to another, as they do joke in these awful situations, “Do we question the carousel?” Ah, but if they had. But if they had.

People came and went, fewer than before, and many were older people checking for younger people or crazy, twitching, poor men and women armed to the teeth with tiredness and sorrow. And those ‘crazy people’ did come, oh how they came! But never maliciously, just with desire for a bed of dirt, perhaps a carousel horse or Chinese dragon to listen to their deepest secrets, their many regrets, how they just wanted, just wanted, just wanted to stop. For that was how they said it, many of them, angrily, in a pique. “To sleep and wake up ten years ago, what a pleasure,” they would say behind their words, with the fear in their eyebrows, a scarcity or abundance of full-stops.

The police would come and ask them to leave, back to the streets, back to the alleyways, back to the wandering about at early morn till dusk, strategising their sleeping place, scurrying like rats through a sitting room, hopeful, terrified. Private property. Unused private property.

One day, a man came in, escorted by people in black shirts and pants, guns at their sides, eagle eyes sweeping over the area. They never spotted the scared old woman behind the boxes, lying on blood of a little girl and her killer.

“She’s beautiful!” said the man, he smiled wide, his teeth and craters where teeth once were on display like piano keys, “They’re beautiful.”

“Really?” said one of the armed escorts, “But it’s all banged up, I mean, look at the fuckin spider!” and laughed. The spider was missing six of its legs and half its eyes.

“This isn’t “banged-up”, this is time-worn. I’ll see that it gets all fixed.” Said the man with the big smile, doting, “Did they say it was a mover?”

The other armed escort piped up, “It’s just a showpiece sir, never made to spin.”

“It’ll spin.” He said, and continued in his beatific trance, “Oh, the canopy! It’s perfect! A Chameleon, elephants! Dolphins! Real ivory! Not illegal here! No, No, No!”

Then sun was bright in the eyes of the carousel animals as they were carried somewhere far away by a new metal beast, one they hadn’t seen before. The top blades spun like the fiery pillars that those men, the workers, would throw about the warehouse, and it flew, flew above fields and water, above houses and cliffs that drove themselves like a wedge deep into the water. Above mountains and little meadows, between caverns and glens, setting down where they would be set down, for they had no control, no freedom. The whole sky and no freedom.

The grass was pushed down as if by a heavy boot when they were brought to land again. It was a great carousel. The water rushed to all sides of the many-ton circle and escaped in one, long, diminishing tidal wave. “Where do you think we are?” said Chameleon

“Somewhere better, I hope. The other place was homey but dreadfully boring.” Said the unicorn, ivory horn casting a sword-blade shadow in the sun.

“Shit to shit, I say. Just being realistic.” Said the bear whose head was bent down to the ground, scanning the metal ground for fish

The animals debated that night, Unicorn and Bear being the two loudest voices. The men in black shirts and pants, no guns now, came to the carousel came after the sun had fell beneath the waves, they brought and screwdriver, a chisel, and a hammer. They moved to Unicorn and did a slow job on his horn, working for one whole torturous hour to rip it out of his head. Illegal here. How he screamed for that hour - and cried after. They couldn’t hear him. It rained that night, they were given no roof or embraces like they might have gotten from the odd person who slept on the dirt or metal, or one of the godly chariots that never had spun around, not even once. It was then that they had agreed, “Shit to shit.”

They were moved to a warehouse at dawn, a large crane-on-wheels rattled and grumbled and smoked a black smoke into the air as it carried them part of the way, calling three more for backup for the rest. The warehouse was clean, there was white clinical walls, yes, but it was warm, there was a roof, there was no blood on the wooden boxes near the corners, there was light from the windows undarkened by dust. There were toilet facilities, no fire-snakes, no foreman screaming “Guttersnipe,” like a mad-king from the speech-giving balcony of his great palace, from which he could watch and see, really see his power, and then, obligation to the body being primary, use his power. There was paperwork done here, signatures, not that the carousel troupe knew what that was. It looked organised, like those teenagers who would roll their sheets up, which were covered in numbers and letters and strange symbols, they called it maths, to smoke them. There was an artistry to it, it felt timeless, every generation had to do it. Or at the very least they should.

The days were long, they talked forever, when they ran out of things to talk about, which had happened a long, long time ago, they played little games. They would play something like chess, same idea anyway, one of the gods had come up with it, or was it the donkey? Spider was the best at it, he never lost. They would call out where they wished to move their pieces on the board, the board was in their heads, and they’d have two adjudicators that would remember the board as well in case either of the players forgot. They often joked that Spider had given up six of her legs and half her eyes for how good she was at the game, and she’d always say that she still had more eyes than anybody else, and still the same number of legs as the gods. As this was going on, the mystery men, the workers new, would tinker away and stare and plan and take their break sitting in the chariots or on the dragon, on the back of a galloping horse, a wolf, a great manticore.

The lights went off, everybody went home to their families and fireplaces and warm beds for the night. The side door of the warehouse opened again; light poured in from the next room over. A man came out, short, thin, with a big piano-key smile. He went over to Horse, whose plastic had been washed of its original chestnut colour and was now a pale as pinewood, his golden reins and wild reddish eyes had never lost their colour though, and so the contrast between he and his clothes grew, and he became more beautiful with time. “We shall run away together, my friend. Escape.” Said the man. Many a murmur of death was past about the carousel that night, Horse heard it all. His soul told him to run, his hooves, welded to the metal floor, his body, pierced with a great metal spear, told him otherwise.

Mr. Aubrey, with his piano-key teeth and midnight visits, was the foreman in this warehouse, factory, building. They couldn’t place what the building really was, not completely, it was too clinical to be a warehouse, not enough heavy machinery to be a factory. The words, as they so often are, were used interchangeably. The late-night visits persisted, the door would crack open, sending a line of yellow light across the clean ground from the room in which Mr. Aubrey liked to stay, and liked to, at night, amble happily out of. He would make his own little changes to Horse, he sparked little fires, shot blue licks of heat into his parts. Horse would scream, blood, if there were any, would curdle, the other plastic-metal animals, poked with spears as he was, would attempt to console him, he would try to listen. He would fail. The man opened up the side hatch of Horse, taking parts out putting new ones in, soldering glowing green and blue orbs that hung from springs and coils and plastic like bells on the leash of a cat. “There, there.” Said Mr. Aubrey, thinking him just plastic and reins, “I do my best not to leave a mark.”

Dragon saw the whole thing, he had two heads, each chasing each other’s tails like a winding ouroboros, yet he was one and could see out of both. “You are Horse no longer, I think.” He said, he had a wise voice, people listened, even if his tenor and his sentence did not match, “We’ll call you Lightning, or Sparks. For all the changes, you understand.”

During the day the workers worked, the foreman watched, at night the foreman snuck around, spoke to Lightning, or Sparks, or Horse, dragged ultraviolet fireworks from his insides, set him alight, and sealed him back up for the workers to come in the next day. This persisted, the need to run persisted, the night time visits, the working men lunching on the chariots and Manticore, on majestic beasts of old and myth, dropping crumbs and water bottles and little leaves of lettuce that flew wildly in the air as if in a hurricane. Until something changed. The other door opened, the one at the front of the warehouse, and in stumbled a man with white hair that sank down below his shoulders. He had on a spiral-patterned beanie that covered his eyebrows and coiled its way around his head. In his left hand there was the top of a bottle jutting out of the top of a brown paper bag. He sang, the words like they were water in his mouth, like waves, ethereal, unintelligible, somehow still soothing.

The new man was someone the carousel troupe had seen a million times before, a man who needed a place to sleep, away from the cold rain which now slapped with the force of hail on the roof. The man put his right hand out and felt the ground, looked absently for cover so that if someone was to enter, he might leave before them seeing, although it would be at least ten hours before a plan like that was possible on account of his loud steps and pronounced wobble. Mr. Aubrey’s door opened a crack, the light shone towards the drunk man’s foot, he didn’t notice, the door was pulled shut. They all silently hoped the police wouldn’t come, wouldn’t force this man out to freeze as they had seen them do before, if they had an inkling of what might happen next they might have prayed for the police, prayed for the man to freeze. Mr. Aubrey shot out of his door like a madman, wielding two large kitchen knives as deftly as any surgeon with scalpels. There was a coldness that ran through the plastic bodies of the troupe under the canopy of the carousel, the same feeling one might get when the see a waterfall at the end of the river they are sailing down. A coldness in the air that Aubrey breathed, a cold off-kilter manner to his half-sprint, half relaxed amble. Mr. Aubrey smiled his piano key smile and cut the man up slowly, letting him scream, but not too loud, letting him bleed, but not too much. He did have to clean it, after all. When the job was done, he put the body somewhere inside the door he always left and came back out to speak to and to change that beast he called Horse. “Mine, you’re my horse. Good horse. Tomorrow, tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came, the men seemed lighter, they had not brought lunchboxes in plastic and paper bags with them. “Ready to be done with this piece of shit?” one of the workers said to another

“Feel bad for those guys on the painting team, that’s gonna be one helluva job. And with Toothy lookin’ over your shoulder.” Said another

“We get to run?” asked Manticore

“Sounds like it.” Said Dragon

“Run where?” asked Chameleon

“Nowhere.” Said Horse, “Fucking nowhere.” He felt sick, his plastic frame and the metal spear growled and shook, he thought it angry with him for hating Mr. Aubrey. He longed for the smell of piss, and blood, and spit, or the fresh open air of the ride on that flying metal beast or the night outdoors in the rain. Anything. Not this factory with no stench, the warmth of new blood on the clinical white. “White, white, white, why is the whole thing white? Where’s the red, from last night, where the yellow and red? Where’s the feeling, the debauchery, the dipping behind the brown boxes, risk, pleasure, death? We’ve been around for too long, my friends. We’ve not changed. Surely, we must have seen small children turn to parents, turn to the police officers, the same ones we would swear at on entry to our domain, time and time again. How long has it been? Too long, I say. They bring us to life now, I say no, I say run, against the metal, against the spears. Fly, Eagle, phoenix, dragon, to the sun and moon our gods, fail and fly and run and die. Manticore, feed, kill, sprint, sweat. Chameleon, disappear, blend, terrify, confuse. My reins are plastic not leather, fake not real, I shall do no such thing as move for these puppet masters.”

The thousand bulbs stuck the canopy lit up, a jaunty circus tune came in and out of earshot menacingly, only one of the rotating speakers on the top was working. The rotation began slowly, the animals and mythical creatures began to dip, rise, dip, rise, dip, rise. Mr. Aubrey jumped on while it was moving, grasped the spear which was stuck through Horse’s chest. He bent his back so that his mouth was beside Horse’s ear, placed his hand on the side of the spear and twisted it. The spear began to dissolve into something other, it was mercurial, it slid down Aubrey’s suit jacket as he rode, it dripped off of Horse’s mane and his plastic skin and down onto the floor of the carousel. Lights flashed on and off, away and back, there was something in them, fire, new flame. The smoke came on first, then the canopy was ablaze, a thousand bulbs exploded, the glass shards spilled out around the troupe.

There was screaming from the other plastic creatures still skewered. Some breathed heavily, although they had no need to breath, other looked about regretting the fact that they had to die in such a place as this, one where you’re more likely to see a dead body that a friend. The sea-creatures screamed the loudest, for they saw it in the most colour, through the most vibrant lens. Where Horse saw an orange flame, the crustaceans and fish and sea-dwelling lizards saw ropes of colours none of the others could comprehend, terrifying colours, colours they had never seen before except at the front of the cigarettes and rolled up sheets those teenagers would roll and smoke. Horse could twist his neck as if it wasn’t plastic, as if had joints, tendons, muscles. Dragon saw Horse looking around, as Dragon sees everything.

His eyes opened as wide as is possible for a plastic dragon, “Go it, Lightning!” he screamed, “Go it, Sparks!”

Aubrey kicked Horse’s sides, his hooves tore away from the metal that was holding him down, bolts and nuts and sense going with him.

How fast he sprinted! How his legs kicked the air to dust behind him! Aubrey hung on barely, the golden reins were studded with rubies, emeralds, sapphires, false all but beautiful the same. Horse was unaware of how he got out of the factory, couldn’t even guess at where he was going, he just knew that his hooves were scraping grass and that he was running faster than any carousel ride would allow. What they had flown over, the cliffs, the glens, the voluptuous fields of golden wheat and grass greener now in the sunset. “Forward!” cried Mr. Aubrey, “Yes!”

Horse did go forward, straight forward to a cliff edge, slowing before he got there, tipping Aubrey over the edge when they arrived.

Horse ran for a bit more, sparks running off his hooves as they scraped away from rocky ground, his mane blowing in the evening wind, running unprotected by bolt or by spear, running with all the risk in the world. Right now, he could die, he could fall and break everything, he could lose himself and topple over cliff edge, die in any number of ways, and it was liberating. Now he need only pick one. His skin was hardening his fur beginning to stick together, to grey. There was a little dirt path nearby, he thought, he shall fly, like Dragon, “Go it, Lightning!” he has said. He ran to cliff above the path, neighed at the strange and tiny birds that littered the grass fields where he trotted. He reared up in the air, forelegs up high above where the cliff stopped, his head held nobly forward like a fighting ox. He froze, plastic, stone, he didn’t care. It wasn’t just his body freezing now but his mind. He smelled the fresh air one last time, the tinge of burn that followed on his run, and he knew his friends were there with him, just as free as him, all on the next leg of their adventure, as he was on his. If a horse could smile, then he was, if not, well, he tried, by God he tried.

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[basementadvco-blog]

The Mystery of Darkwood Down: Finale

Phillip has a plan…it’s not a bad one, all things said. He gathers a bunch of goblin rubies from Prince Ignizel under the guise of helping him acquire a scroll of Plane Shift. Once the rubies are changed to appear as Platinum pieces, everyone except Mr. Holt (who stays watch) heads up to the train station to discuss our next move.

Luther comes up with the best plan. We go to Goblin Down via the fountain, then he, Roseni, Phillip and Yokiko will cause a distraction to draw goblins away from the palace. Meanwhile, Novem and Nihil will sneak in, find the Prince’s chamber, steal the book, and escape. With luck, we won’t have to fight anyone. Novem and Nihil both hate this plan…like…a lot…but ironically, in their attempts to prove they are better than the other, they don’t object to the clearly best plan.

We spend some time shopping, restocking on weapons and armor (Luther is making due with Novem’s and Yokiko’s spare equipment until we get him properly supplied. Phillip purchases a scroll of Nystul’s magic aura (which is way cheaper than plane shift), and uses it to enchant a fake Plane Shift scroll to appear magical under inspection. His plan is to make a trade with a fake scroll for a real book. Not bad for a plan B.

Roseni is…in a weird place…confronted with the truth that her parents are dead, and that her patron is our true enemy…she’s doubly useless since…well, the moment she does anything actively against Ignizel, he’ll just take her powers away. We assure her that she’s a brilliant girl, whose read the spell books of the best wizards in all of Darkwood Down…even without her Warlock powers, she’s probably a decent wizard underneath…we just need to deal with the problem at hand.

A few other bits of cleanup (including Phillip giving all the spare illusion Platinum to Fleet Street Meat, the soft Taco place after we’ve bought all the rest of our materials), we head to the fountain, and wait for 3AM

The time comes, and we are suddenly in the city of Goblin Down…Nihil is a bit caught off guard, and Novem takes pride in knowing that if things were a little different, Holt would have hired her instead, and she would have done a MUCH better job at taking care of this job than Nihil.

The guards appear and demand to know our purpose, before they realize some of us have been here before, and command us to follow him as he escorts us to the queen. During the walk, Luther begins casting “Find Steed” while Roseni reads the minds of the guards escorting us…figuring out that Prince Ignizel does really shady stuff in the basement. This, she relays to Novem. When we reach the entrance, a majestic spirit horse appears out of nowhere. Novem grabs Phillip, tells him that if things go wrong, to run and escape…and drags him into the castle as the goblins panic and scatter to try and contain the situation.

Luther, Roseni, and Yokiko all hop on the horse and ride off, taking as many goblins with them as possible, as Nihil, Novem, and Phillip get inside the castle. Moving through the oversized hallways as much as possible, we come upon a spiral staircase, leading up, and down. Novem, who would be totally cool seeing Nihil forever trapped in goblin world, tells her to go up, while she searches downstairs.

We reach the bottom, seemingly looking most of the guards…and Novem tells Phillip to distract the Prince long enough for her to slip in and grab the book…and to run if things go bad.

Phillip enters, and Prince Ignizel looks up, surrounded by desks and laboratory equipment…and has a tense conversation with Phillip. To his credit, they spend plenty of time going back and forth, trying to discuss who has the advantage in this exchange, how to do it fairly…all the while Novem is sneaking her way between desks, keeping out of sight, making her way to arms reach of the book…she waits…waits for him to turn and give Phillip his full attention…poised to grab and run.

She sees an opening. Her hand shoots out-

Ignizel rolls a natural 20 on Perception.

He grabs her wrist, stopping her. Novem yells at Phillip to run for it, and he turns and runs. Novem, just manages to slip from his grasp, grab the book, quickly damage the front cover to see if its real, and runs for the door after Phillip…only to have Ignizel turn the doorway into a wall. She bashes into it, with no other way out, she desperately tries to believe that this illusion can be broken. Phillip tries to think of a way to get rid of the illusion but…he wasn’t ready for something like this and tries to make his way up the stairs…until suddenly Novem erupts from the wall, finally breaking through the illusion, and running past Phillip as fast as she can.

Luther rides his magic horse through the streets, drawing as much attention as he can, while Yokiko uses her shield to protect them from arrows and spears, all while Roseni Prestidigitates scary sparks and faux spells at goblins to keep them at bay…when the Horn from the castle sounds, they know their time is limited, and Roseni casts fear in a cone in front of her, scarring away any blockades the Goblins try to put in their way.

Novem and Phillip almost make it out…almost…Ignizel appears at the top of the stairs, blocking their escape. Novem does what she does best to clear the way…she throws a dagger at him. Natural 20.

Illusion or not, he doesn’t vanish at that…and now he’s really upset. He casts Fireball, a big one. At level 5 Novem has Uncanny dodge, allowing her to just barely survive the blast. Phillip isn’t as lucky. There’s a moment of regret in Novem…she’s barely holding together, and she needs to get away with the book…there’s just no time to go back and help Phillip…she’s so sorry…and, just like in the bank, leaps over Ignizel, and runs for the exit as fast as her legs can carry her.

One of the things we got during our preparation were a pair of sending stones…given to Novem and Nihil to coordinate inside the castle as they search. Novem was just going to leave Nihil behind to the same fate as Ignizel and the other goblins…but with Phillip unconscious on the stairwell…Nihil is his only hope now…she pulls out the sending stone and tells Nihil she had to leave Phillip on the stairs…to which Nihil responds, “and I’m the bad guy?”.

Novem limps back to the fountain, where the others are waiting. Not long after…the clock tolls 4, and they return to Darkwood Down. Novem is in a bad way…physically and emotionally after leaving Phillip. She gives the book to Luther, and limps away to her church to start repairs, unable to do much else from here.

The remaining group hurry to the chamber beneath the city, and hand the book to Holt. Sure enough, he casts the spell, empowering the seal, and Yukiko and Luther push the doors closed…putting an end to things.

 Phillip wakes up…in a cell, beneath the castle, in pain and chained up…his fate seems pretty clear until a portal opens next to him. Quattor, the robot Dog, and Nihil step through…and offer him a job.

Yokiko adopts Roseni, moving her family into Roseni’s manor, and being the girl’s new mom.

Roseni…doesn’t sense Ignizel’s presence anymore…but this has not changed her powers…after all…she became telepathic before Ignizel appeared to her…meaning it wasn’t the Goblin Prince who was granting her this magic…

Novem and Luther go to the Bank, and confront Dagon Grampf about something that’s been bothering Novem from the beginning…How did the mayor know Luther would rise as a Revenant…after a bit of convincing and some spells, we learn that the Fraternity orchestrated the execution, and resurrection of Luther, in order to make him more compliant and willing to help. We learn the names of the other members of the Fraternity…and after beheading the red faced bastard, we set off to make Darkwood Down a little bit safer. It helps that Reselda, Luther’s focus of vengeance, is the last member on our list of Fraternity members to kill.

The End