#how he learned to bend souls to his will and trap them in objects

[nyaskitten]

Design ideas for Hazza D'ur and Tyrahn!!! (Hazza is the green one and Tyrahn is the Djinn)

[paeliae-occasionally]

The history of the runes

How the runes came to be, the cults that picked them up and how they were expanded to the 47 we have today.

The runes are the hardest magic system to learn, but also the most versatile. A rune is a symbol carved into a rectangle of material. Different materials give the runes slightly different traits.

Ezemhaziel

The runes were first invented by Ezemhaziel and his boyfriend Rin. When Rin was killed, Ez curses the runes so that anyone who wanted to learn them had to suffer as he had suffered loosing the love of his life.

The runes Ez made were: Tas-Binding, Piko-Unbinding, Awen-Protection, Xaeren-Souls and Banishment and Pali-Healing.

The Runic Families

The runes were lost for nearly 800 years until around 650 PD when Ponturesi family found them in the altic lands. They studied them and discovered how they hypothetically could be used but could never actually use them because of the curse. They confided the secret to the Avandil family who were novice mages. They suggested maybe children had to be raised with the runes to learn how to use them. The two families tried raising children with the runes and training them like the old mages trained children, but still they couldn’t cast. The children did however start showing some connection to the runes. The Vandris family joined the experiments 5 years after the runes discovery and they researched the magical potential of the runes.

After years of this research, the Vandris found a legend of the altic people of a god who split the sky with screams after their love died. Part of this myth tells of a curse that was put on the god’s magic where a user would have to suffer to use the magic. The definitely not sadistic Vandris gave this idea to the Ponturesi who found local children, many of whom died in their pain experiments. One boy who survived was named Xaeren after the rune he was connected to. They trained him to use Xaeren, the rune of souls so they could better track how his soul was breaking when they abused him.

Xaeren

Xaeren was raised with the knowledge and suffering needed to use runes and he learned to use them in secret afraid of what the Ponturesi would make him do if he showed them his ability. When he was 14, the Ponturesi found that he was able to use runes when he pulled the soul out of a rat in his room. Xaeren ran, taking only a pouch of runes with him.

He dabbles in making runes and manages to make 5 by the time he is 17 just extrapolating from his knowledge as a runic. These runes are basic elements like Kiwen for stones, or most dense solid objects and Telo for water or liquids. He then makes practical runes like Atej-opening (for locked doors), Moli-death and Reanimation, and Tians -Pain because that is one thing he is very familiar with. He kinda stops for a while because he gets distracted and lacks motivation.

He does a whole bunch of side stuff, has a life for a while.

When he is 21 he has annoyed some gods and is trying to find a place to hide, and he stumbles across the cave which Ez and Rin used as a workshop while developing the runes. This cave is protected from gods as Ez stayed here for a little bit after Rin died and he did not want any gods near him in his grief. Xaeren is trapped here until the gods calm down a bit, or he thinks of a way out so he tries to make more runes. He ends up making 36 more runes while trapped here.

When he eventually gets bored again and leaves, the gods (who can remember things for more than 5 years apparently) banish him to an outer plane where he has no access to simple components to cast. The god visits him because of things he did in that period we ignored, but while there they cast a spell on him and Xaeren realises he can make a rune to control the magic gods cast. He has no materials so he carves the 47th rune, Ansiel-Divinity/Form into his skin and manages to bend the gods energy and escape back to Ez’s cave.

He then continues on with his life.

1500PD

In the present day, the three families are still adopting children to train into runics. Apollo and Tyro are adopted by the Ponturesi.

There is more but it is late. Feel free to ask questions <3

[bumbleklee]

Could you make a fic based on the song Moondust By Jaymes Young? With Xiao or Zhongli? It’s fine if you decline, I enjoyed your Lonestar fic a lot! Also, thank you in advance if you do this! ^^

after this, i decided im a monster. this is so sad, like so so sad. i don't know if this is what you had in mind but since the song is basically about learning how to live/love without someone, i went down a death route. i also went w xiao. pls enjoy (and grab a tissue)

before reading: ANGST!!! you literally die and are a ghost the entire time. mentions of injury and blood as well as self-harm and suicidal thoughts. word count is around 2.1k (under cut for length)

I'm building this house, on the moon Like a lost, astronaut Lookin' at you, like a star From a place, the world forgot And there's nothing, that I can do Except bury my love for you

Death was quick.

You know instantly that you’re dead the second you open your eyes. You can still remember the feeling of the Fatui pyro agent slicing his knife across your throat and if you think about it enough, your neck tingles. You remember falling to your knees, being laughed at, and then you saw nothing.

Well, you saw blackness.

And then when you came to, you were standing in the middle of Liyue Harbor. The world seemed duller but it was real. No one paid any mind to you, so you assumed you were a ghost.

It’s nice to still be able to watch the sun rise high above your hometown.

There’s no panic, no rush to find out what’s going on, you don’t need to. Your hands travel to your throat and the horrific wound is gone. In fact, all of the scrapes and bruises and imperfections on your body were gone. Death brings solace, you humor.

Your peaceful moment was interrupted by two frantic voices. They catch the attention of everyone in the area, including you, and you spin around quickly.

Xiao.

“Break the contract, please, Zhongli-” His voice is frazzled, filled with a sadness the living can’t understand. “I can’t live without them.”

You looked down at your left hand, heart shattering at the absence of the jade ring. Right. You were going to marry Xiao later that year. Not anymore.

A hundred thousand memories of sweet kisses and long nights flooded into your mind. They caused you to hold your breath, too many emotions crashing through your tired form. You felt like crying but couldn’t (ghosts didn’t have tears, you guessed).

You’re standing right in front of the love of your life and he can’t see you.

Maybe it’s a good thing he can’t see you because Xiao already looked wrecked. His eyes were puffy and red and his hair was disheveled. Unhealed scratches wound his arms like ribbon. You had been with Xiao for years, through the good and the bad, and never once had you ever seen him in this state.

He’s pleading still and Zhongli has an indescribable expression on his face. “I can’t,” His voice is barely a whisper, “You know I can’t.”

Xiao wails, falling to his knees. Zhongli feels his pain, you know he does, yet he won’t put him out of misery. You watch as Zhongli bends down and lifts the adeptus into his arms, swiftly walking away from the crowd. You follow ensuite and Xiao’s eyes are hazy, staring through you over Zhongli’s shoulder.

“I’m right here.”

But he doesn’t hear you.

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

You begin to follow Xiao around. Not that he goes anywhere, too heartbroken to move, but you keep watch of him like he once did for you.

He resorts to staying in Zhongli’s apartment. The consultant isn’t around most of the day and Xiao rarely leaves his bed. His tears stain the satin pillowcase and he curls upon himself. Sometimes you stand in the doorway and stare, other times you muster up enough courage to go and sit on the unoccupied side of the bed.

The first time you touch Xiao again is at night. He’s crying and without thinking, you wrap your body around his. His chest is pressed against yours and you press your lips to his shoulder.

It’s not warm anymore. In fact, it feels like nothing.

But still, you hold Xiao until he’s asleep. You don’t let go all night, opting to watch your beloved finally get some rest. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for the rest of eternity? Would you follow Xiao around aimlessly for centuries more?

Or maybe you’re just stuck here. You recall a saying from an elder in Liyue years ago, “Spirits with unfinished business can’t move.”

You decided then that you were going to help him move on, help Xiao bury his love for you.

Nothing can breath, in the space Colder than, the darkest sea I have dreams about the days, driving through your sunset breeze But the first thing, that I will do Is bury my love for you

There’s no book about being a ghost. You have to figure it out on your own and you’ve never been more grateful no one can see you go straight through the wall for the third time that hour. Over time, you create your own handbook in your mind, jotting down anything you discover as your time as a dead person entails.

Within the first week, you understand that no one can see you, hear you, or feel you. And while you can vaguely touch objects and people, the sensation is different than when you were alive. Every human trait was thrown out the window - you don’t need to sleep, breathe or eat and drink anything.

You attend your funeral exactly a week after your body was discovered and someone propped your sword against your casket. You try to grasp it, to pick it up, but you only manage to push it over with a gust of nonexistent wind. It clambers to the floor, the funeral parlor growing silent, and you take this as your cue to leave.

You wondered if Xiao, or anyone of that matter, could sense you at least. Even if Xiao couldn’t see you, just him knowing you were there would ascend you to the afterlife (right?).

You also find out you can’t leave Liyue. There’s an invisible border keeping you trapped in the country and, frankly, you don’t mind. Xiao won’t leave Liyue so you don’t need to leave Liyue. But sometimes you get anxious that one day Xiao will leave Liyue and never return. And if you haven’t accomplished your goal yet, would you truly be stuck as a monster among men?

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

On particularly good days, Xiao talks to you. Zhongli was gone early one morning and Xiao pulled himself out of bed and to the living room, opting to open the blinds and see sunlight for the first time in weeks.

You sit on the coffee table with your legs criss-crossed as Xiao mumbles desolate words.

“I keep just wishing I would wake up dead. I miss you so much.”

You frown. “I’m here, I’m right here.”

But he can’t hear you. “You aren’t here to make me laugh at your stupid jokes anymore. And I just...I should have been there! I should have-”

His voice cracks and you move off the coffee table, wrapping your arms around his quivering body. You try to press yourself against him, squeeze your arms so tight that he’ll feel you, but you can’t. You can’t kiss his chapped lips and move your bodies so he’s curled into the crook of your neck.

Sometimes, you watch Xiao hurt himself. He digs his nails into his arms or thighs until he draws blood, only to push it all away and scream into the ground. You want to snap him out of him, tell him to stop doing that to himself, but you can only sit and stare.

You were nothing to Liyue - a common human who added nothing of importance to society. Yes, your death was sad for many people but the world kept turning. Xiao, on the other hand, was so special. He was the Vigilant Yaksha - the people of Liyue needed him forever.

“I miss you. I love you. I miss you.”

I'm a cast away, and men reap what they sow And I say what I know, to be true Yeah I'm living far away, on the face of the moon I've buried my love to give the world to you

Xiao goes out sometimes. It’s either to patrol the city or on a walk with Zhongli. It’s not much but it's an improvement. Like always, you follow him.

He’s started to have nightmares, waking up in a rush. He used to comfort you when you had nightmares and it pains you that you can’t return the favor. You try, by God, you try. You run your hands down his back comfortingly but Xiao only cries harder.

When Xiao sees Ganyu for the first time in months and she gives him homemade almond tofu, he smiles. It’s small and quick but you see it.

Growing up, you had thought that the living mourned the dead. When your grandmother died, you felt broken for a while, but that pain was minimal compared to this. Having to live endless days as an invisible soul while the living grieved was unbearable.

When no one is around, Xiao breaks down. He hurts himself, insults himself and wishes for you endlessly. When Xiao tries to jump off the roof of the apartment complex in the middle of the night and survives with only an injured arm, you realize he’s pushing his body. He’s trying to kill himself.

So, you scream.

Every waking hour of the day you scream.

“I’m right here, Xiao! I love you and I’m right here! I’m sorry for being careless and getting killed but you aren’t ready to join me yet!”

You know he doesn’t hear you, he can’t hear you, and yet Xiao slowly stops hurting himself.

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

It takes a year for Xiao to finally begin to cope with your death and you know your journey will be coming to end soon.

He still talks to you except now it’s hopeful and filled with acceptance. On the anniversary of your death, he travels to the Dragon-Queller early in the morning. He sits down in the spot he used to take you to and rubs the grass softly, as if motioning for you to sit down next to him.

You do.

“I’m leaving Liyue next week.”

A million feelings run through your veins. You want to throw up, scream, cry. Is a week enough time to get Xiao to move on from you? Had he already moved on? There were too many questions you couldn’t fucking ask.

You can’t bear to listen to the rest. Your feet travel on their own, taking you far away from Xiao and back into the heart of Liyue Harbor. You didn’t know where you were until you heard a voice call out for you.

“Hey, you!”

You were imagining voices now. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Y/N!”

A short, young woman came into your view and you finally looked up. You had walked right into the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Hu Tao was staring at you, not through you.

“I knew you were still here.”

Hu Tao could see you.

It didn’t make sense but you didn’t have time to make it make sense. Without thinking, you cried out to Hu Tao and begged her to help you save Xiao, save yourself.

“I want to go with him,” You say.

“But you can’t.”

“Then he’s going to forget about me.”

Hu Tao chuckled softly, “You think Xiao would forget about you?”

You don’t answer. Maybe it was you that didn’t want to forget about Xiao. Either way, it hurts. “He’s going to fall in love with someone new and-”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

It was. You wanted Xiao to be happy without you, to learn to love again. You wanted him to bury his love for you so you could both be free.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hu Tao says, “Xiao will find you again one day.”

She clasps her hands together and reaches them out to you. You look down and see a moving image of Xiao. He’s still talking softly, this time with a small smile on his lips. You close your eyes suddenly, not wanting to see anymore. You step outside of the funeral parlor and whisper “I love you” into the wind.

The sun is shining high in the sky when Teyvat begins to disappear from your vision.

Maybe in another life you and Xiao will spend forever together. You’ll have a grand wedding, start a family, and grow old together like you should have. But for now, you’ll see him from the moon.

[tealin]

Pram Point Pressure Ridges

As always, head over to twirlynoodle.com/blog to see these posts properly ...

Scott Base, New Zealand's Antarctic outpost , is on a small cape on the other side of Observation Hill from the small American city that is McMurdo.  It happens to be on a bay where the seasonal sea ice is trapped between the immovable object of the Hut Point Peninsula and the unstoppable force of the slowly advancing Ross Ice Shelf, so the ice gets pressed up in all sorts of interesting and dramatic ways there.  During the part of the season that the sea ice is still safe for walking, there are regular tours of the pressure ridges from McMurdo, and I lucked into one in my first week, when a kind soul offered me his spot.

Shortly after arriving at McMurdo, my DSLR's autofocus stopped working.  I had just met a camera crew who had arrived to shoot a documentary, and my minder made the very good point that I should go see if one of them might be able to fix it.  They were keen to be helpful, but the solution was not immediately apparent, so one of them generously lent me one of his serious professional cameras for the excursion.  So, these photos are what you get when an extremely middling photographer gets her hands on a weapon of great power, to capture information that might unlock the great secret of how ice interacts with light – in other words, there are a lot.

The tour set off, if I recall, around 8pm – well after dinner, and when the sun was low enough in the sky to set things off nicely.  There was a clear walking route marked off that had been determined to be safe, and for the most part we stuck to that pretty closely.  The main attraction was, of course, the pressure ridges that had thrust up and cracked, but as with any wave, there are also troughs, and these were where the real risks were.  After the warm start to the summer, they had filled with meltwater, which would warm up in the sun and melt the ice under it.  Similarly, if there was a crack in the ice where it had been pressed down, seawater would rise through it and fill the hollow.  It was practically impossible to tell a freshwater surface melt pool from a saltwater upwelling pool, and either way the ice under them was likely to be less stable, so we were strongly discouraged from larking about in the puddles, however inviting they may be.  (It was about -12°C when we were out, so that was not a temptation anyway.)

One of the first things I learned about sea ice is that if you see a seal, there is probably a crack nearby, and there were definitely seals.

Out here, also, was a phenomenon I was familiar with from reading.  When one walks in fresh snow, the snow under one's feet compacts, then when the winds come and blow the fresh snow away, the compacted snow of the footprints is left elevated from the surrounding surface.  Anything that stands up in Antarctica collects a snowdrift in time.  I thought these were just sastrugi when I first crossed their path, until I looked closer.

Ice is a peculiar substance in that, while it is solid with a crystalline structure, it is slightly plastic.  When it buckles, it will do expected things like break into slabs that pile up on each other, but given the right conditions, it can also bend, and the thin sea ice from the warm and windy winter just past was, in places, malleable enough to give the impression of walking on pie crust more than ice.

Aside from the low angle of the light and the hall-of-mirrors effect of angled snow surfaces  bouncing photons off each other, there was intermittent thin shade from some patchy light clouds drifting overhead, which made for all sorts of interesting abstract studies.

When I tell people I'm doing a graphic novel set in Antarctica, they frequently laugh and say 'Well at least the backgrounds will be easy!  ... White!'  But as I hope the pictures above illustrate, it is a lot more complicated than that.  As a certain junior geologist found out when trying to paint a scene from memory:

 One of the amateur painters on that expedition once showed Wilson a snow scene which he had just painted in which the snow was mostly a dead white.  Wilson said, 'Is that what you really saw, white snow? It's very rare, you know.'  There was an argument round the table and at last Wilson said, 'Let's go and have a look at it,' and took his friend outside.  They talked for a while and on going in again, the friend told the others, 'Blow me if Bill isn't right, it's gone pinkish since I painted it.'  (Frank Debenham, Antarctica, p.200)

[thecrazyworldbuilder]

Raclis

(Rah-ck-lee-s): a list of intelligent species that are made up by me, both alien and fantasy. This is Episode One, where we gonna see some of the races from the A litera.

(PS: I have a list of 203 fantasy/alien races and most of them are my own creation, while the others are the classical elves, centaurs, orcs and et cetera. The list is arranged in alphabetical order and for now has only the shortest descriptions: these posts will be something like a description paper for every single race. I would love questions asked and will answer them with pleasure.)

Abyss Elves

Once technically normal elves, a large group of them was sent into the Abyss (also called Aumenel) for crimes they didn’t commit. Locked here for eternity, they slowly forgot most of the information about their past. They praise the myths about the sun, the sky, a world where there is no pain and darkness. They started calling each other Foariar (Those who are without sunlight). And slowly evolved into their modern looks. Dark skin, tints of green and purple, turquoise glowing eyes, whitish pink hair. Their blood is dark purple and has an odd scent of mashed tulips.

Fast facts:

- Super good climbers and parkourists due to the terrain of the Abyss.

- Are mostly always ripped athletes. 

- When cut off, their hair will glow a pretty bright light for nearly five hours.

- In sunlight they go into an euphoric state which they hardly resist.

- Are incredible hunters and gatherers: farming in the Abyss is almost impossible.

- Abyss Elves have migrated to many other realms, especially the Spring World.

- They name their realm, Aumenel, means “without sky” in quenya.

Onomasticon: 

(for Spring World Abyss Elves)

Gender-reversed modern european and ancient greek names. (Aurorus, Eugenia, Xenis, Anastasius, Agath)

Anagrams from spanish. (Roucos, Roeherr, Cadoraz, Jerichoter, Viona)

(for Abyss inhabitants)

Quenya and latin hybridisation (Hravai, Ilmarinorum, Incatrix, Terrandil, Indos)

Ada’klo

One of the species from the realm of Emiare, which is bound to the very fabric of time. Ada’klo - as all the other races from the klo family - have something called a cycle: a period of time when they exist. Their cycle is ten years long. Thus, they live for ten years, and afterwards disappear only to appear again after the same ten years without aging anyhow. 

Fast facts: 

- Due to their cycle length they gather at the great Adakloan Temples, where their place of disappearance is kept safe.

- Ada’klo look pretty much like humans, but are slightly different on the inside, anatomically and chemically.

Onomasticon:

Use old english and european names. (Alcott, Demelza, Borden, Terrel, Sacrifice)

Ain’klo

One of the species from the Emiare realm, these members of the klo species family have a one thousand years long cycle. 

Fast facts:

- Have an incredible ancient culture which has many customs, like forced marriage (from both sides), child labour, extreme xenophobia.

- Are dangerous and non educated, will fight to death only to keep their traditions.

Onomasticon:

Use ancient babylonian names and their imitations. (Akki, Marnabu, Nazarat, Buvalu, Irigibel)

Aliquenar

A race which somehow combined all of the main features of elves, dwarves, orcs, humans and halflings. Slightly greenish skin, pointed ears, not-so-long beards, big hairy feet, no need in sleep and the ability to see over the horizon. Like jack of all trades, they have a wide set of talents and opportunities, but are masters of none. Hated among all of the species they combined in themselves, they try to live peacefully in their cities, not willing to make any conflict.

Fast facts:

- Due to the discrimination directed at them from the other races, they have a trait of being shy, polite and quiet.

- Are able to learn magic on the same level as humans.

- A legend has it that they came from a city trapped in the mountains, where all the five races met and after a long long time merged into one by breeding.

- Some may have more standing out traits of a specific compound race: as, orc tusks, elven lack of facial hair and eyelids, dwarvish height or beards, strange sexual dimorphism and others.

Onomasticon:

Use the languages and names of the humans, elves, dwarves and hobbits (orcish names are way more rare), and then, if wanted, merge them together, imitate them. (Legoli, Aiwenson, Thurwise, Kurumiel, Indis)

Alfers

Species of semiquadruped lizards with telepathic minds, which are able to evolve fast, adapting to the stressful situations. Tall two and half meters in the withers (8’2 feet) and long nearly five (16’4 feet), they are agile, omnivore and strong.

Fast facts:

- Alfers evolve fastly not only biologically, but linguistically. Their language changes so fast no one will never understand what they are saying, except some separate words, taken from other languages.

- Alfers are able to speak telepathically, but only talk: not reading thought but hearing the inner monologue of someone, thus communicating.

- They have a high regeneration factor, and are hard to kill.

Onomasticon:

Any possible names, words, abbreviations and anagrams. (Villaissa, Gerdan, Menttor, Seba, Lmne)

Anciento

Race of stickman-like, three eyed beings with high power and unreachable wisdom and intelligence. Can reproduce by giving any other living thing something they call “open intellect”, and then teach them how to turn into an anciento. Well, traditional reproducing is possible too.

Fast facts:

- While reproducing they, ironically, do not know how to turn back into their original state.

- Know a wide spectrum of using life energy for different purposes.

- Are able to fall into an anabiosis state for a long time.

- Are almost instinct.

Onomasticon:

Names are mostly two syllables, unisex, and have no meaning, because of their proverb “You mean nothing at birth: give your name a meaning by yourself”. (Koni, Jaro, Neho, Mibta, Vere)

Androids of Binarica

Robots made by the techno-magic goddess-planet Binarica. Are unique from other robots by their design: solid parts are slowly merging into soft ones, and they look humane but have slightly object-like heads.

Fast facts:

- Were being enslaved for many centuries by other races of Binarica.

- All of them by custom have light-blue photosensors (eyes).

- Follow directives, which can be changed by hacking.

- Feel emotions and have souls.

Onomasticons:

Leet, deites on abbreviations, scientifical termins, or even all at once. (M45 T4R, G3x2x2, S5Z2, Tetratom, Cleleven Zero)

Anmanibes/Ri’be’li

Species from a far realm of jungles and plains, anmanibes have some unique features. First of all, they have no arms. At all. Down to the shoulderblades - no arms. But thye have a compensation for this flaw: the ability for telekinesis, and many other paranormal abilities. Anmanibes (which means “armless”) call themselves Ri’be’li - “the second born children of the gods”. They are digitigrade and have a pretty long lizard-like tail they use for balance. 

Fast facts:

- Ri’be’li are one of my favourite races.

- The paranormal abilities they are known to posess are: channeling (speaking with spirits and other paranormal deities), levitation, telekinesis, telepathy, biolocation, materialisation, atmokinesis, aeromancy, pyromancy, thermokinesis, teleportation, television, precognition, and other.

- Have two pairs of eyelids: one for blinking and one for “television”, or also called telescopic vision.

- Have ears which are suspiciously pointed, like those of elves.

- One myth from their culture says that the ri’be’li were born from the us’ib’tor’tor: a firstborn race in their world. The first ri’be’li was called A’ud’ca, and he was born without arms. His parents abandoned him, but A’ud’ca had the power to bend wills of other people, and slowly he made it so other us’ib’tor’tor could give birth to ri’be’li, and then he somehow, after a long time, made the us’ib’tor’tor race vanish into the sands of history, giving place for ri’be’li to rise.

- Most of them are disgusted by arms and hands in general, calling any creature with arms an a’us’cla (limited).

Onomasticon:

Use latin, then take every syllable and put them in reverse order, placing apostrophy between each syllable. Most names are gender neutral. (Pha’al, Ta’del, Ta’be, O’di’gla, Ra’tet)

[thelastpilot]

DnD Help Again!

Guess who got to the day before Dming once again with absolutely no preparation whatsoever? Okay so heres the deal I’m not even worrying about stats and shit yet im just trying to make a cool story. 

A new player is being added this time so i’m trying to make this one as stunning and descriptive as possible. The gang is looking for revenege against a dwarf who robbed and cheated them. This dwarf has lied and cheated his way to the top of the bandit colony. I already have it set up so that the new player being introduced is an old enemy of this bandit dwarf from childhood, and that the PC has noticed his old foes name getting tossed around a lot. Noting it as odd that he would put himself in a position to lead others when that is out of character, the PC is suspicious of his motivations for doing so and knows he must be plotting something. 

The gang is on their way to intercept this dwarf at a meeting (which they learned about from interrogating a bandit in jail) where they will discover that he is meeting with powerful magic users, mercenaries, and other bandit colonies to convince them to join his cause. 

What does he want to do?

He has encountered a Kitsune living in the material plane, run out from the Feywild for some reason (i have very little knowledge about other realms im just making this up as I go so forgive me if that typically doesnt happen). He barely escaped with his life and was in awe of her incredible beauty and power. He has learned as much as he could about Kitsunes and plans to mount an attack to steal her soul (which for people who don’t know kitsune lore is embodied by a physical pearl like object which can be taken from them). This dwarf promises that if they join him and succeed that they will be unstoppable with her power. (shes a fuckin god basically shes so insanely strong, this is less about her and more about the dwarf, hes the one they want revenge on). 

So heres what im asking. How can i make this as cool as possible? As soon as they said they wanted to hunt down the bandit I was dismayed at the idea of a boring ass bandit camp fight where they just mow down guys because its five level 6 players and even super beefed up bandits are going to be boring. So i’m trying to add some intrigue. What I would love to happen is for my players to help the Kitsune and get into the good graces of an incredibly powerful ally. It would also be visually super dope and impressive because i have a GREAT plan for her. I would like to keep them away from the dwarf somehow until the attack is getting mounted, maybe even have them arrive too late for the meeting and have to track him down and find his forces already heading into her territory. 

What are some cool illusions and Kitsune type things I could have in her territory? I want her to attack and defend herself from the bandits not my players, could there be some way for them to enter as friends? a test to see their intentions? or would they have to avoid traps and charms like the bandits will be forced to. Obviously they can fight some bandits themselves if they want to, maybe even some charmed bandits that turn on their comrades? 

maybe the bad dwarf actually succeeds somehow? traps her and is in the process of trying to bend her to his will when our heroes arrive? If so how do I make him an actual threat to 5 PC characters? the kitsune is way to strong she would kill them, so I need something properly challenging (the last few boss fights have been too easy and im struggling to get the fights to last longer). 

((one of my players is kind of selfish, so im worried that they might try to take the soul stone for themselves. They are way too weak to control a entity like that and it would eventually one way or another turn way bad for the party. It would also be too unbalanced for them to have control over a creature like that. I want to introduce something cool and overpowered to force them to be wary about challenges they cant beat, while finding a way to make sure they dont try and take it themselves.))

so TLDR:

-How do i make a dwarf a big threat to five level 6 PCs?

-What are some cool Kitsune themed traps and enchatments and obstacles i can dot through her territory?

-What are some dope visual inspirations for a Kitsune’s forest? maybe not a forest maybe rocky crags and still lakes? What tickles your imagination with this concept?

- any ideas or inspiration at all? Fae trickster traps and spooky songs and stuff maybe?

- for context, the kitsune in this scenario will look different than traditional kitsunes. Its a massive 15ft tall fox with pure white fur and nine tails. Where its face would be is a hollow space, like a porcelian figurine with the head carefully removed, revealing the inside to be hollow in a way or at least appear to be. Floating over the empty space and suspended would be a porcelain mask shaped like the long face of a fox. It’s mouth would be hinged so it could silently open and close and it would have glowing gold lights in the eye sockets. It’s gorgeous and terrifying 

loosely inspired by the spirits and sages from Twilight princess

[raeynbowboi]

The Character Forge: How to Play as Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl in DnD 5e

This is a rather unusual build option, as these aren’t technically characters in the Yugioh series. However, I consider it a fun and unique challenge to try and build them. Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl are the ace cards in the deck of Yami Yugi. Though in season 5 the anime decided they were the spirits of the Pharaoh’s high priests trapped as duel monsters that still serve their king in death. So that’s a fun thing to think about the next time you play one of these cards.

A Heroic Spirit

What race you choose is probably going to depend on which version you want to play. If you want to play who they were before they died, Mahad and Mana were ordinary humans with no superhuman abilities beyond the study of magic. So normal Humans works for who they once were. If you want to play as the duel spirits they became, you could choose Kalashtar because the Dark Magician is the bond of the high priest Mahad with the Illusion Magician spirit. Kalashtar is a race whose body is split between a host and a dream world spirit. Dream world, Duel Monster Spirit World. Close enough. They are also tasked with guarding and serving the Pharoah loyally, which has lowkey guardian angel traits, so Aasimar is a possibility. It’s a bit silly, but they are synthetic beings. Just holograms really. They could be Warforged since they aren’t actually real or alive. Just computer code and projected images of light as duel monsters. They could also be Variant Humans because they’re Shonen anime characters, and the spirits of former humans.

Honestly, they have no alignment and little personality. Make them however you want and go from there. I have never actually seen season 5, so I don’t know the personalities of Mahad and Mana.

For background, Mahad is a high priest and Mana is his pupil. Mahad and Mana are both Acolytes. Dark Magician is the ultimate wizard in terms of attack and defense, so Sage is appropriate, while the obscure (but I think it’s legit?) Student of Magic is great for Dark Magician Girl. 

Powers and Abilities

The Dark Magician’s primary spell is the Dark Magic Attack, and the Dark Magician Girl casts Dark Burning Attack.

As Mahad, he had the ability to summon duel spirits to fight on his behalf, conjuring them through large stone tablets. Mahad also possessed the Millennium Ring, which points you in the direction of whatever you’re trying to find, and lets you place and remove souls from bodies.

Support Cards:

Dark Burning Attack: Destroy all enemy facedown monsters Dark Burning Magic: Destroy all enemy cards. Dark Magical Circle: Add other Dark Magician support cards to your hand. Dark Magic Attack: Destroys all enemy Spells and Traps Dark Magic Expanded: one monster gains +1000 ATK and ignores enemy spells Dark Magic Inheritance: Banish 2 spells to draw 1 DM support card from deck. Dark Magic Twin Burst: DM gains ATK of all DMG on the field and in Graveyard. Dark Magic Veil: Pay 1000 LP to summon a dark spellcaster Dark Renewal: Sacrifice enemy monster and your caster. summon dark caster. Illusion Magic: Sacrifice your spellcaster. Add Dark Magician to your hand. Magic Formula: DM’s Spellbook. Increase DM or DMG ATK by 700 points. Magical Hats: Dark Magician becomes hidden beneath 1 of 4 magic hats. Magical Objection: Counter enemy spell, trap, or effect and destroy that card. Magician’s Circle: when foe summons, you and foe can summon a caster Magician’s Defense: Take half damage while you control a spellcaster. Magician’s Navigation: Summon DM from hand and dark caster from Deck/GY Mystical Box: Dark Magician trades places with another monster. Thousand Knives: Destroys 1 enemy monster

Other Common Cards

Change of Heart: Take control of enemy monster for 1 turn. Dark Hole: Destroy every card on the field. Dian Keto, the Cure Master: Gain 1000 Life Points. Magic Cylinder: Bounce enemy attack at enemy’s Life Points. Magic Jammer: Counter 1 enemy spell card. Mirror Force: Bounce enemy attack, destroy all ATK position enemy monsters. Monster Reborn: Summon 1 monster from either Graveyard. Mystical Space Typhoon: Destroy 1 Spell or Trap card. Negate Attack: Portal sucks up enemy attack, opponent battle phase ends. Raigeki: Destroy all of your opponent’s monsters Reverse Trap: Buffs and Debuffs switch. Buffs weaken, Debuffs strengthen. Spellbinding Circle: Enemy monster -700 ATK. Cannot attack/change positions. Swords of Revealing Light: 3 gleaming swords, enemy can’t attack for 3 turns. Trap Hole: Create pit trap. Destroy monster with 1500 ATK or more.

Class is in Session

Cleric     Arcana: As Mahad and Mana were priests, this is a way to incorporate that religious background with their current powers.

Sorcerer     Divine Soul: Similar to Arcana, Divine Soul blurs the line between magic and religion, and allows Dark Magician to pull power from the holy spirit of Mahad residing within him. Since both Dark Magician and Dark Magican Girl float, the wings this subclass gives at level 14 could be flavored as simply allowing these duel spirits to fly/float without the wings being visible.     Shadow: They are the DARK magicians. Their signature spells are DARK Magic Attack and DARK Burning Attack. Pretty self-evident.

Warlock     Celestial: Again like Divine Soul and Arcana, this option connects Warlock with religion, but the subclass has some Radiant flavor which is a little unusual for the DARK Magicians.

Wizard    Conjuration: When Mahad lived, he used his Millennium Ring and magic powers to conjure the spirits of Duel Monster tablets to play shadow games.     Lore Mastery: He’s “the ultimate wizard in terms of attack and defense”. It stands to reason that his understanding of magic would run so deep that he could alter and bend it to his will. Especially to turn any spell he casts into Necrotic damage for his dark magic attacks.     Theurgy: Mahad was the high priest. So, he could have been a wizard who had studied the religious magic of his day to obtain his powers and to cast both Cleric and Wizard spells with one stat.     War Magic: The ultimate wizard in terms of attack and defense is probably going to be extremely powerful in a fight, so having a build that’s made to fight is right up his alley.

How to Play as Yugi Mutou

Before making this post, I’d tried to make Yugi as a potential build. However, an obstacle I encountered was that I had Yugi as a Conjuration Wizard, and there simply weren’t enough Wizard spells that summoned creatures to fight on your behalf. However, if you combine that summoning focus of Yugi with the magical capabilities of Dark Magician or Dark Magician Girl, and treat them as his Deck Master, they can work together to fill out Yugi’s spell list with DM and DMG spells and fight side by side as effectively one character.

Stats and Proficiencies

In order to be the ultimate wizard in terms of attack and defense, Dark Magician needs the absolute maximum Intelligence and Constitution stats. He needs to be able to deal serious magical damage and shrug off enemy spells. During Yugi and Joey’s duel against Para and Dox, the Dark Magician did a front flip in what seems like medium armor. That shows quite a bit of Dexterity. Beyond that, fill out the other three stats or dump them as you see fit. However, I will admit, the Dark Magician Girl does seem more charming than her mentor, and could be a Sorcerer who casts with Charisma instead of Intelligence.

Arcana Insight Perception Religion

Name: Mahad, the Dark Magician Race: Variant Human Background: Sage Alignment: Neutral Class: War Magic Wizard (20) Base Stats: Strength: 8 (-1) Dexterity: 17 (+3) Constitution: 20 (+5) Intelligence: 20 (+5) Wisdom: 8 (-1) Charisma: 8 (-1) Saving Throws: Strength: -1 Dexterity: +3 Constitution: +5 Intelligence: +11 Wisdom: +5 Charisma: -1 Combat Stats:  HP: 182  AC: 13  Speed: 30  Initiative: +8  Proficiency Bonus: +6  Passive Perception: 15  Dark Vision: 0 feet Proficiencies:    Arcana (Sage)    History (Sage)    Insight (Wizard)    Religion (Wizard) Skills: Acrobatics: +3                  Medicine: -1 Animal Handling: -1          Nature: +5 Arcana: +11                      Perception: +5 Athletics: -1                       Performance: -1 Deception: -1                    Persuasion: -1 History: +11                      Religion: +11 Insight: +5                        Sleight of Hand: +3 Intimidation: -1                 Stealth: +3 Investigation: +5              Survival: -1 Equipment:    Arcane Focus: Staff

Spell Slots 1st (4) 2nd (3) 3rd (3) 4th (3) 5th (3) 6th (2) 7th (2) 8th (1) 9th (1)

Dark Magician���s Spellbook

Cantrips                    3rd Level                                 6th Level    Create Bonfire           Call Lightning                           Arcane Gate    Eldritch Blast             Counterspell                            Globe of Invulnerability    Firebolt                      Dispel Magic                          7th Level    Mage Hand               Fireball                                      Conjure Hezrou    Mind Sliver                Magic Circle                              Mord’s Sword    Minor Illusion             Summon Lesser Demons      8th Level 1st level                     4th Level                                     Antimagic Field    Detect Magic              Arcane Eye                               Dominate Monster    Hex                             Banishment                           9th Level    Mage Armor               Conjure Minor Elementals        Prismatic Wall    Magic Missile             Conjure Shadow Demon    Shield                         Leo’s Secret Chest    Witch Bolt                   Locate Creature 2nd Level                      Phantasmal Killer    Arcane Lock                Summon Greater Demon    Crown of Madness   5th Level    Flock of Familiars        B’s Hand (Arcane Hand)    Knock                          Conjure Elemental    Locate Object              Dominate Person    Magic Weapon            Infernal Calling    Mirror Image                Legend Lore    Misty Step                   Planar Binding    Shadow Blade             Synaptic Static                                        Teleportation Circle                                        Wall of Force

Features:

Arcane Deflection: When attacked, as a reaction, add +2 AC or +4 saving throw, but cast only cantrips next turn. Arcane Recovery: Once per day, after a short rest, restore 10 or fewer level 5 or lower used spell slots. Deflecting Shroud: 3 creatures take 10 force damage after Arcane Deflection. Durable Magic: +2 to AC and saving throws when concentrating on a spell. Magic Initiate: Learn Eldritch Blast, Mind Sliver, and Hex. Cast with INT. Power Surge: You have max 5, each surge adds 10 force damage to a spell. Researcher: You always know where to find information or who to get it from. Signature Spells: Cast Fireball and Dispel Magic without using a spell slot. Spell Mastery: Cast Magic Weapon and Mage Armor without using a spell slot. Tactical Wit: Add your INT mod to your Initiative.

keep in mind, the spell list is not conclusive, it’s a personal choice. I chose to have Dark Magician learn all the spells of the Arcane Cleric, and just tried to pick the standard magic spells, especially about anything with Arcane in its name. Because both Yugi and Mahad summon monsters to fight for them, I decided it was appropriate to give Dark Magician a lot of conjuration spells, but that doesn’t mean you have to use the Deck Master Yugi/Dark Magician build I suggested where Yugi does the summoning and Dark Magician handles everything else. It’s not a perfect build, but then, I never expected it to be. Still, I hope you guys found this to be a fun, quirky DnD concept. Let me know if you’d build this character differently than I did. And as always, thanks for joining me in The Character Forge, where heroes are made.

[absolutelynochillonlydeath]

Garden Wraith

1. Aftershocks:

Over the wall and back again.

The soft flame of a lantern flickered and was blown out, now lying among the dead leaves and snow.

Walking deeper into the mist and snowflakes, they felt the cold surround them and the fog filling their heads cleared, water filling their lungs.

They shivered and shook, hacking out the water in their lungs as they desperately clawed their way up the muddy bank before collapsing, the darkness of exhaustion dragging them back down just as they caught a glimpse of their rescuers. It had taken every bit of energy he had to get them out of that lake, the cold seeping all the way down to his bones and to his soul, tugging it back to the place they had just escaped from. The smell of the lake and mud and an almost indescribable smell of what would only be described of as the dark clung to them as they were rushed to the hospital, but not as hard as he had clung to the tiny body in his arms.

Paramedics later told him how he hadn’t let go of his brother even when he had fallen unconscious and how brave he was to have not let his brother go through all of that. He didn’t feel like he deserved the praise and told them as much, but the adoring eyes from said younger brother soon stopped him. In the eyes of that child, even after all they had gone through, he was still the older brother that he admired deeply and that had gotten them out.

After being settled into their hospital beds, fussing nurses and serious doctors now out of the way, the boys experienced their mother’s hugs for the first time in what felt like a long time. And in a way, it was. They sunk into her warm embrace and the comfort she provided, feeling her love for them and both cried in her arms. The images and impressions from their experiences were still too fresh and the terror was still all too real for them. This lasted until they felt they could cry no more from relief and everyone was ushered out of the room for the night, the doctors keeping there for further monitoring, but they would be released in the morning. With that reassurance, their mother promised that she would return bright and early for them and they agreed, smiling at her softly.

Once alone in the hospital, the brothers turned to each other, tears in their eyes as they whispered about what they had gone through. They wanted to reassure themselves and each other so as not to think that had simply made it all up. The Unknown. The Beast. Beatrice. The Edelwood. Cloud City. Wirt almost dying. Greg’s deal. Greg almost dying. The escape. The lantern. The smaller boy held his frog close to him in a desperate bid for comfort.

“Wirt?” the younger asked.

“Yes, Greg?” the elder answered, trying to keep his voice from trembling, but was still hoarse from the previous tears.

“Is he gonna come back for us?” he asked quietly, his tiny body almost visibly trembling. The elder swallowed down the true terror he felt, his mind flashing back to the brilliantly shining arms that beckoned in the dark. But he shook his head to dislodge the image. They had vanquished that darkness. They had broken free and walked towards the light that was life. When they had awoken, Wirt’s first assumption was that he had had some sort of crazy fever dream while they had been drowning. It was a reasonable assumption considering all they went thought, but that illusion was shattered when he heard the sound of Lorna’s bell ringing inside of Jason Funderburker’s stomach. Not only that, but Greg was also spouting off the more lighthearted parts of their adventures rather than the darker parts that stuck vividly in Wirt’s own mind. Luckily, his parents wrote that off as just the overactive imagination of a child that just went through trauma, smiling and nodding to indulge the seven-year-old. Wirt wouldn’t know how to explain to their parents that their kids had been stuck in the quasi equivalent of Purgatory and had almost not made it back without being taken to a psychiatrist and possibly committed. Taking a breath, he blinked away the thoughts and shook his head.

“No, Greg. He’s gone and we’ll never see him again. We beat the Beast.” He reassured the younger and Greg let out a small, broken sob, sending a jolt of pain and shock through Wirt’s chest.

“I was so scared, Wirt. I…I thought…” he hiccupped and Wirt sat up immediately, concern creasing his brow. He had never seen his little brother like this. Sure, he had cried, he was only seven after all, but to see him sobbing in fear or pain or sadness wasn’t something he did. He was happy and carefree and everything that Wirt himself wasn’t. Maybe that was why he hated him for so long? He hated that Greg was so confident and friendly and people instantly warmed up to this sunshine child and his parents loved him unconditionally. And now, after everything that had happened, Wirt understood that too and lamented at how much of a horrible person he had been to his brother. How could it be that it was only as he was about to lose him that he realized how much Greg meant to him? He was lucky, incredibly lucky, that he learned this lesson before it was too late, and he vowed that he would never take advantage of that again.

With a slight huff from the ache in his bones, he untangled himself from the hospital sheets and padded over to the other bed, moving the frog to the other end of the mattress before sliding in and holding his brother tightly, rubbing his back in comfort.

“I know, Greg. I know. You were so brave to face him down like that and I’m so sorry I made you do that. I should have been better at leading the way out. I shouldn’t have lost hope and given up and I’m so sorry I failed you.” He whispered and hugged him softly, feeling his own tears threaten to spill over.

“What? Wirt, no! You made me the leader! It was my job to get you and Jason Funderburker out of there!” Greg cried quietly, nuzzling into his elder brother’s chest.

“No! None of this was your fault! You were a great leader! But I should have been good leader too. I was a bad one and got you hurt and I’m so sorry!” Wirt apologized, hugging the little body next to him. The image of Greg’s form slowly being trapped in the Edelwood made him tremble and he had to reassure himself with the feeling of the boy’s heartbeats beating beneath his fingertips.

“We’re out now and I promise that I’ll protect you. You’ll never have to see the Beast again. Not if I can help it.” Wirt whispered, taking comfort in the fact that Greg was calming down now, his trembling stopping and his sobs turning into small sniffles.

“Y-you promise?” Greg asked softly, eyes staring up at him. Wirt sighed softly and grabbed a forgotten object from the desk next to him, putting a small smile on his face.

“It’s a rock fact!” he whispered softly, playfully moving around the rock with a painted-on face. Luckily, that made the boy let out a small giggle and it filled Wirt with relief. There. A smile suited the child’s face much better than tears. And if it were up to Wirt, he would never have to see Greg cry about that again. From then on, he would be the best brother he could be and they would never have to experience something like the Unknown again

With their hearts settled and with the comfort the other brought them within reach, they fell themselves slip quickly into the arms of sleep, relief that it was all over now.

Sadly, that couldn’t be farther than the truth.

*

Over the next month, Wirt and Greg discovered that while they had left the Unknown, the Unknown hadn’t left them. At least, not completely. It had left them with a few souvenirs for their troubles that neither of them expected. On the whole, the remnants of it wasn’t all bad. For some reason, neither of them could be turned around as long as they were outside. They had discovered this when they had gone on a trip to their nearby park. Normally, they would have to keep a close eye on Greg who had a tendency to wander off and get lost, but he always came right back and when he didn’t and his mother panicked, Wirt always knew where to find him. It was like the forest itself was bending to his whim and sent a resonance into his soul as to where all things were within the forest. Greg described it as knowing where everything was in a dollhouse. It sent a tremor through the elder boy, but he resolutely pushed the fear back, excusing the occurrence as that he and Greg were just better at navigating through the forest now since they had spent so much time in it before. He had even joked with the younger boy as to how he had become an expert at Greg tracking and his brother laughed. It was a good reason and that was what he stuck with, trying to assure himself and Greg that there was nothing wrong and smiling a bit as Greg thought of how cool it was. It was a relief to know that they would never be lost in the woods again and Wirt tried to take comfort in that.

Another oddity that they boys noticed was that they now attracted animals to themselves, though the most common occurrences were the neighborhood and woodland animals. Frogs absolutely adored Greg and Jason Funderburker and it was amazing to see the amount of frogs that were on the lawn even when they really should be hibernating. The same couldn’t be said for Wirt. He seemed to attract birds. The most common, much to his embarrassment, was bluebirds, though more than that popped up including a few owls. Greg commented excitedly that maybe he was being invited to a wizarding school, to which Wirt rolled his eyes and tried to shoo them away. Stubborn bluebirds always ended up staying, though. Maybe Beatrice matched what she was after all? A few of them even reminded him of her when he attempted to shoo them away and they cast an unimpressed look his way, refusing to leave. Either way, these were things that Wirt could handle. It was harmless and altogether inconsequential to their daily lives. This was fine. It was even something fun to show off on occasion.

But then the dreams began, and Wirt felt his heart clench in terror.

As December rolled in and the holidays began, he closed his eyes in the comfort of his home, glad for the short reprieve and the time to spend doing nothing and fell asleep. School had been stressful as usual, but he was getting better at the whole “friends” thing. The Unknown, if nothing else, definitely taught him a few things about not being a pushover and talking to people better, including Sara and her group of friends. Or, well, they were his friends now too. After Halloween and after he was cleared from the hospital, she and him had talked about the tape he left her and about his feeling towards her. Sadly, she didn’t really see him that way, though she appreciated the tape, and asked if they could still be friends. It was a bit of a blow to Wirt’s pride, but he agreed. She was still nice and funny and sweet and made him feel comfortable about his interests. In turn, she introduced him to her friends and they all hung out now and got along with Greg as well. It certainly did wonders for his self-confidence and it was a bonus that none of them made fun of his poetry and even encouraged him to enter writing competitions and to try out for band of which a few of them were a part of. It was…nice, to have people he could trust and relate to. He even ended up talking to Jason Funderberker. The human, not the frog. He still found himself bristling around the boy occasionally, but the boy was harmless, albeit good at a lot of things and fit in well with their friend group. His life was going well and both he and Greg seemed happier for it, settling back into their normal lives even as the falling snow settled around them and reminded them of their escape from the dark forest.

However, as sleep released its hold on him and he opened his eyes again, he found that he had woken up in a familiar dismal forest, though it looked different than when he and Greg had left. The change didn’t help though and sent him into a spiral of panic as he begged for this all to be a dream, pinching himself repeatedly to try and wake himself up from this nightmare. It didn’t work and only served to throw him deeper into the pit of fear with the pain punctuating the all too real reality of the situation. The world blurred black around the edges of his vision and the colder wind fluttered through his clothes. Shaking from both the fear and cold, he saw that his clothes were his Halloween costume which vaguely struck his hazy mind as odd since that wasn’t what he was wearing when he went to bed. This shook him enough for him to be able to survey his surroundings, lungs still heaving, but when he looked around the snow-covered ground, a flickering light caught his eye.

There, sitting innocently in the mouth of the yawning, twisted hollow of an Edelwood tree, was a lantern. It flickered warmly within the vessel, almost taunting the teen.

There must always be a Beast in the Unknown.

A whisper. A fact. A promise. It flickered through his mind and that was it. Wirt felt the world tilt and the black overtook his vision. He woke up screaming for the first time since he and his brother returned, heart thundering and mind whirling. His breathing erratic and his vision dark, he breathed out slowly and saw his breath coming out in a cloud of ice. The room was almost frosted at first glance but disappeared when light was cast into the room.

“Wirt? Are you okay?” a small voice suddenly came from his door and he jerked his head to the entrance where a very tired looking Greg was rubbing his eyes, his other hand wrapping around his frog. Said frog also looked tired, but Wirt could have sworn it cast a worried look his way as well.

“I… I-I… Yeah. Y-Yeah, I’m fine…” Wirt croaked, the temperature slowly going back to what was normal.

“You sure, brother o’ mine?” Greg asked quietly, concern now taking over his soft, sleepy expression.

“Yeah, Greg. Just…just a nightmare. Go back to sleep.” He murmured reassuringly, though still a little breathless, and Greg hesitated before nodding, stepping out and closing the door behind him. With that, both boys lay down in bed, minds and hearts racing at their experience. Wirt tried his best to fall back asleep, hoping that he wouldn’t dream again while Greg could only stare at the ceiling, reeling and trying not to give in to fear. Wirt didn’t know it, but his eyes glowed in a similar way to the thing they feared the most. He wasn’t sure if his older brother knew yet and he didn’t know how to tell him if he didn’t.

*

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, an older man stared in awe and horror as something that he had seen almost every day for many, many years and caused him many a headache along with a few nightmares changed before his eyes.

A single glyph on the cave wall, copied down meticulously in his notes, so out of place and seemingly unrelated to the rest of the symbols all bunched together was shifting and changing. In the previous month, he had noticed that the symbol had begun to blur around the edges. At first, he had thought that either he or his family had accidentally smudged it a bit. It wouldn’t be a surprise considering how old his notes were and how many of said family had handled the book, so he disregarded it and shelved his book again. But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. A few days later when in his lab, he happened to glance over at his forgotten corkboard of notes and theories in the corner of the room and his heart leapt into his throat. That symbol had had its own little section when he had been studying it before dismissing it when nothing came of it. Looking at it now, though, all surfaces on which the symbol had been drawn on were smeared even worse than the one in his notes. Now he knew for a fact that something was going on. His family all knew that no one should touch his notes, even his brother and the man hadn’t even glanced that then through all the years of his absence, so he knew that this wasn’t their doing. The previous symbol was almost completely indiscernible and looked like it was shifting into something else. It worried him deeply since he knew that nothing like this had ever happened before. At least, not without some sort of outside interference and that couldn’t happen in his lab. He had fortified his home with everything he had against everything her could after the almost apocalypse not too long ago, so nothing unwanted should have been able to make it down to the basement without his knowledge. Nodding, he resolved to keep an eye on the symbol and hope that it meant nothing.

By the end of the month, the symbol had completely changed and the new shape that took its place filled his stomach with a sense of unease he hadn’t felt in a long time. He learned to trust his gut feelings like this and if the symbol changing by itself didn’t already concern him, then the feeling it gave off now absolutely left a pool of ice in his chest. Gathering up his courage, he walked upstairs to tell the rest of his family about his discovery and give some kind of warning. They would need to be watchful and wary of this new development. Nothing would endanger his family ever again.

Silently, the dark shape of a lantern filled the spaces on the papers, the center almost glowing brightly in mockery of a flame.

*

[mittensmorgul]

Hi! Not trying to be difficult, but I saw that you like Rowena/Samwhich. I see a lot of fandom likes her - I personally can not get over her casual murdering if people (like service workers) from many season ago. know there's a similar dislike of Ketch for his murdering and am wondering what's up with the adoration? People liked her before the redemption arc so I'm wondering how much forgiveness she gets/got from people just because she was a 'badass' woman. Or the arc is what swayed you/people.

Hi there! I’ll start by saying that I’ve always liked Rowena because she’s a good character, not because she was a good person, you know? Like Metatron, she was an amazing villain. She was fun to root against, which is what you want in a good villain. But I’d venture to say that her redemption arc began even before we met her. Crowley had mentioned her twice before that, as a witch who taught him a few tricks, and wasn’t a good parental role model for him. And the show began redeeming her just a bit from even her first few appearances.

Sure, she didn’t start rescuing puppies and reading to coma patients in her spare time, but we did begin learning about her and her life. Not all the people she killed from the start were just casually murdered, you know? Her actual goal had been murdering the demons running the Raul’s Girls brothel scam. If she happened to kill a few of the girls herself, well then... at least her objective was met already.

And if that’s all your objecting to about her character, then I invite you to look at Crowley, who we know has casually killed all sorts of people, and yet... had a redemption arc from his first appearance on the show, too. I invite you to look honestly at Sam and Dean and all the people (yes, and monsters, but also innocents who died because of their doing), and tell me that makes them unforgivable and irredeemable, as well.

But the show has spent the last 5+ years actively writing her a redemption arc. Not a shoehorned “oh didn’t you hear, I’m a good guy now” literally attempting to handwave everything bad from the past by lampshading it with a “fake identical twin” story. Which... is what they’ve done with Ketch. At this point, after having been physically present in something like 33 episodes, and at least mentioned or on the phone helping Sam and Dean and Cas in several more, she officially has the longest, most consistent and persistent character growth and redemption arc in the history of Supernatural, other than Cas (if you even think of Cas as a character who needed “redemption” in the first place).

The first four episodes Ketch was in, we didn’t even see his face. He was set up as the Boogeyman of the BMoL, who even the agents we did see on screen as cold (they tortured SAM! and felt justified about it the entire time!) were scared of him. He was the Last Resort, he was the Executioner brought in to “solve problems” for them. Cold, calculated, efficient. And they set him as a spy on the Winchesters. He remained unrepentant through his brainwashing of Mary, assuring her she’d feel better once she had no pesky will of her own to resist the orders he set for her to kill, and genuinely drew pleasure from torturing and killing people and monsters. Even people who were supposedly his friends, even Mary he’d had what passes for a romantic encounter with. Then after his miraculous resurrection, we learned of his history with Rowena and how he GOT her charm in the first place-- implied that he tortured her to death and then witnessed her charm kick in and resurrect her.

And folks, that’s exactly the story of Rowena’s ENTIRE LIFE. Tortured for fun and then abandoned as disposable when they’d used her for what she could give them by people she’d sought protection and shelter from. She’d spent the last 300 years bargaining for her own life and safety by trading her body and her magic-- cast out by everyone from Crowley’s father to the Grand Coven to the Loughlin witches from 12.11, and EVEN BY SAM at the end of s10, when he had her literally chained to a table to force her to cast the spell to cure the Mark.

Then even after Ketch’s return, he’s remorselessly torturing and killing his way through a string of witches trying to find Rowena to make him another resurrection charm. When the Winchesters trap him, he lies and lies until he can’t keep it up any longer, and then we discover he’s actually now employed by Asmodeus, who’s ordered him to keep tabs on the Winchesters, in the episode where Asmo literally captures Cas, locks him in a cell, and then convinces Dean that Cas got away by impersonating his voice on the phone. Ketch... was part of all of this. Until he discovered Asmo’s secret power source and decided to disarm the demon... I don’t think Ketch brought Gabriel to them out of the goodness of his heart. He even told Dean that he saw a chance to escape retribution from Asmodeus in the AU, so he took it. It took him going to an alternate universe and fighting for the resistance forces there for us to even begin to think they could consider giving him a redemption arc. And he only had one on-screen appearance in s14, via a video call after sending the One Thing They Needed To Stop Michael via postal mail and having it delayed arriving to them as a result... but hey, at least he was trying to be helpful, right? >.>

They repeatedly lampshaded that he’s continued to do his Hired Gun thing, basically Supernatural Being murder for hire. He took a contract on Belphegor’s life, for example. So other than the fact he’s been occasionally helpful to TFW, and the fact he’s stopped actively trying to kill them, they haven’t actually written him any sort of redemption arc to speak of.

Unlike Rowena. We’ve delved into her history, heard in her own words why she became what she was when we first met her, and not only why she abandoned Crowley as a child but also seen her genuine grief and torment after his death-- after having lost any chance to ever try to seek his forgiveness or truly have a relationship with her son. And honestly, we have seen both Sam and Dean go to those sorts of lengths to get each other back, you know? Rowena’s actions in 13.19... are exactly the sorts of things we saw Sam doing in early s10... literally in the episode Rowena was introduced.

So I invite you to consider... if you forgive Sam for that or drinking demon blood or releasing Lucifer, if you forgive Dean for selling his own soul to save Sam or taking on the Mark of Cain and all that led to, if you forgive Cas for basically all of s6 or saying yes to Lucifer in s11... then... you should probably consider taking another look at the entirety of Rowena’s arc and see if you can’t see how they’ve written her the same redemption beats and more.

She’s helped the Winchesters, even when held against her will that first time, even when Sam demanded she kill the one person she’d ever let herself truly love in order to save Dean from the Mark. But since then she’s helped them of her own free will, gradually going from doing it as a quid pro quo to doing it because she was genuinely beginning to care about them going all the way back to 12.11. She ran afoul of Lucifer-- which experience still tortures and terrifies her to this day-- because of the Winchesters. And in return, Sam especially has grown to show her trust and care as well. He gave her the page from the spell book she wanted to protect herself and trusted she wouldn’t use that against him. Then we learned their fates were intertwined-- Sam destined to kill her. But instead, they mutually chose to try and save her. I mean... that’s been the foundation of her arc for the last 3 seasons. And to reject that character growth, you have to bend over backward and ignore the fact that in their lives, Sam and Dean and Cas have done just as terrible or worse. It’s only a wee bit hypocritical to dismiss her honest development into someone Sam and Dean both think of as at least Winchester-adjacent if not part of the extended family at this point. The story’s been working overtime to bring her to that point where she now actively CHOOSES to care for them, even at her own peril.

She literally did exactly what Dean did in 13.23, saying yes to Michael because he promised he would spare the people she cared about. She literally has sacrificed herself for them out of love. So... tell me, what would it take for you to get past what she was when we first met her? Because everyone in-story got past that years ago.

[doctorstrangeaskblog]

Doctor Strange’s Powers Week!

<<< Mirror Dimension <<< Seraphim Shield, Grinsom Bands of Cyttorak, Eldritch Whip, Rings of Raggadorr <<<Bolts of Balthakk <<<Portals <<<Eldritch Barrier

TODAY IS GOING TO BE VERY TEMPORAL! AND IT HAS TO DO WITH TIME RELATIVITY!

Today we’ll talk about…

Rings of Raggadorr

Winds of Watoomb

Eldritch Whip

Eldritch Sword

Seraphim Shield

Grinsom Bands of Cyttorak

Bolts of Balthakk

Images of Ikonn

Teleport (short distances) (Thor Ragnarok)

Future Prediction (by touch) (Thor Ragnarok)

Astral projection

Mirror Dimension manipulation inside this dimension

Mirror Dimension opening

Reality Bending

Tracking Spells

Portal Conjuring

Object conjuring (map, Thor Ragnarok)

Telekinesis

Transmutation (tea to beer, black hole to butterflies, clothes)

Eldritch Barrier

Time Manipulation

Eldritch Catapult

Eldritch Platform

Time Manipulation!

So, what is “time manipulation”? What extents does Doctor Strange’s power has? Along the movies so far, we’ve seen Stephen use the time stone in MANY DIFFERENT WAYS, so yeah, it’s not about “time travel”, it’s about something way more complex and it has everything to do with the multiverse theory and with the theory of non linear timelines. Since this will be complex, let’s divide the thing in topics to make it easier. Before we start, it’s important to have in mind Stephen consumes a lot of energy in order to use the stone. It’s tiring and difficult to do so and that’s something just him (and Agamotto) managed to do so far. (Thanos doesn’t count since he used the Gauntlet to “force” the stones to use their powers).

Control over the time stone

Witness temporal possibilities

Rewind, advance and freeze time

Time loop

Time travel

Control over the time stone

Time spells are activated while using the hand sign below. It’s also used to open the Eye and activate the time stone, but probably, time spells that do NOT use the time stone also can be executed that way!

When Stephen first used the Eye of Agamotto, which contains the Time Stone, Wong and Mordo were impressed, and there’s a reason for that. In the comics, there are many theories and versions of the story that only someone with a pure soul or with a huge potential for good can control the time stone and the Eye of Agamotto. Other theories claim only Agamotto himself could control the eye, what made the “Doctor Strange is Agamotto’s reincarnation” theory get strong among many fans. In the movie, it’s only subtext about how one must learn a lot in order to use the Eye. Strange still hadn’t read the entire book when he used the Eye for the first time but he already had a lot of knowledge considering the massive amount of books he had read. He also has the huge potential for goodness the Ancient One had spoken about so...everything matches, but so why didn’t other sorcerers manage to use the eye? I bet Wong and the Ancient One were good people and skilled sorcerers, so why didn’t they use the Eye before? That still is a mystery, it hints us there’s something special about Strange, and I personally believe it’s about his DETERMINATION. When Stephen started to study the Mystic Arts, he was the most determined fella out there and I’m not talking about being a genius. Stephen might be brilliant when it comes to learning and he has photographic memory, but still, that doesn’t make him a genius. What does so is how determined he was. He BELIEVED learning all those spells would make him recover his precise movements, he believed he would get his old life back (what was a great lie). That raw, pure, intense determination made his “mana”, his “mystic potential” grow strong enough so the Eye would listen to his will and obey (or accept him).

Doctor Strange’s willpower is what makes him the genius he is, he gets really good at whatever he WANTS to do and that’s his strong spot. Let’s not forget Strange was THE WORST STUDENT EVER, he couldn’t conjure the easiest of the spells and all the other students seemed to do easily what he would struggle a lot to accomplish. What did he do? He started to study day and night, he focused and eventually, surpassed them all. His willpower was unreachable. The Ancient One, when leaving Stephen on the Everest so he would get determined enough to conjure a portal showed us confidence, determination and focus are extremely important when it comes to magic, in other words, spells aren’t just about equations and formulas that must be said or pictured, it’s about emotions and spirit as well. In Infinity War, we also get to see how there seemed to be a strong bond between the Stone and Strange, maybe even a friendship bond considering the stones do have personality? In fact, Stephen never USED the stone, Stephen and the stone have WORKED TOGETHER to achieve noble goals so sure, there’s a huge bond between them, the stone allowed Stephen to control its power. Thanos needs a gauntlet to FORCE the stones to use their power while Strange can even hold he stone with his bare hand without getting hurt.

Witness temporal possibilities

Strange can use the stone to live possible outcomes, as he did in Infinity War. When he does that, the stone and himself become the “center” of time, so while it seems seconds to us, to Strange the events might last for YEARS. Stephen saw over 14 million different possible outcomes in Infinity War. Many calculated that for him this trip might have lasted between 500 and 1500 years, considering each outcome could have lasted from hours to entire days or weeks. While in this mode, considering himself and the stone become the center of time, he doesn’t age, but his thoughts, since thoughts are quantic, Strange gets to keep the memories of everything he witnessed since time doesn’t affect them directly. That’s the tactic he used to find the only way to defeat Thanos and bring everyone he killed back to life. According to this logic, Strange defeated Thanos the moment he got to see how to guide the heroes to fulfill the future he saw. So yeah, Stephen already defeated Thanos, we basically still didn’t get to see that yet, we’ll probably see it in Avengers Infinity War Part 2. This technique requires a really strong mind and willpower because well, anyone could easily go insane doing this. Imagine seeing your friends die or be tortured for years over and over again in different scenarios of the same thing, you the only one who knows and remembers how things went, like in the movie Groundhog Day.

Rewind, advance and freeze time

The spell activation causes a great impact on the atmosphere.

We saw Strange doing that to the apple he was eating and to Kaecilius and the entire Hong Kong area in which the battle took place. Using that technique, Strange brought back to life everyone who had died, including his fellow sorcerers and undid all the destruction. This spell only works under its range, in other words, all the cameras OUTSIDE the Eye’s range FILMED the entire battle and weren’t affected by the Time Stone. Strange doesn’t make existence rewind, he makes the RANGE he used the spell on rewind. To prove that point, there’s a teaser trailer in which Hong Kong’s News are broadcasting the battle, not understanding what’s going on while Strange and Kaecilius are fighting, like Breaking News! See the video below:

Another important thing about this spell is that sorcerers who know time is being manipulated around them and over them can get out of the spell, just like Kaecilius and the zealots did. Thanos probably would have been able to do that too if Strange tried to use the Time Stone against him, considering the titan had 3 stones to use against the sorcerer. We saw Strange move time backwards, forward and freeze time in the movie, so yeah, it’s pretty clear he can do that.

Time loop

The famous “SAVE GAME?” from videogames, Strange can use the stone to “lock” time in a fixed point and set conditions so time will be rewinded to that specific position all over again, in the movie, he used time loop against Dormammu and the condition for the loop to be activated was his own death. Strange locked himself and Dormammu inside the loop while all the rest of time was frozen around them, preventing Dormammu from escaping. As time is relative, everyone else didn’t realize they were frozen, so all they remember is to be living happily, in that case, Strange indeed could fight Dormammu forever while humanity lived safely from Dormammu. It was the most heroic thing Strange did in the first movie, what granted him the definitive title of Master of the Mystic Arts and his place as the New York Sanctum Guardian. (Until he died in Infinity War). Strange also can use the loop in specific targets to make someone relive the same moment over and over again, as well as he can do that to himself. He can also lock a place in a loop or a group of people. We know that because of Wong and Mordo’s warnings and scolding, in which they implied Strange could erase his own existence or live moments over and over again. Considering Stephen can choose the range and the targets of the time stone, he easily could trap anyone inside loops, except if they were a more experienced sorcerer or if they had another Infinity Stone to counter his own, like Thanos. That’s why using the time stone to BATTLE against Thanos was useless, but that didn’t stop Stephen from using the stone to win the war.

Time travel

It’s the greatest question Infinity War left us. When witnessing the many different outcomes, it’s clear enough Strange LIVED them, one by one, considering his panic and despair after he came back from the trip. I don’t think it’s easy to give Stephen a panic attack but that use of the stone sure did. He can use the time stone not to just watch the future or the past, but he can also live those possibilities. Going to the past and changing things could erase someone else’s existence (like in Back to the Future) as warned by Mordo, however, going to the future and trying different things to solve a matter creates different outcomes. Considering Strange belong to the MCU reality, despite seeing many different outcomes, if he moves enough pieces he can GUIDE THE MCU REALITY INTO TURNING INTO THE REALITY HE WANTS, in other words HE CAN MANIPULATE THINGS SO ONE SPECIFIC FUTURE COMES TRUE, leaving the other possible futures for other realities, parallel ones, inevitable ones. It’s also a great question if Strange sent the time stone to the past or to the future in that moment. Well, we saw him hiding the stone in a star in the most poetic way possible, so well, I wouldn’t be surprised if Avengers 4 started with the time stone appearing in front of Tony in Titan, since it can only travel time, not space. Was he bluffing when he gave the time stone to Thanos? Did he activate the stone in a loop? Did he use the stone to make the gauntlet break or travel time? We’ll have to wait to find out, but the theories are amazing regardless. 

This was today’s Doctor Strange’s Powers Week! I hope you liked! Share and comment! :D 

[pyrosophist]

Subjugation

The Stygian wastes are.. inhospitable, at best. When Gwedhril and her two companions step through her portal, they are met with wind cold enough to burn, a glacial expanse of barren snow fields and great mountains of ice. The sky is pale, lit by a cold sun. A hundred leagues to the west, she feels a blizzard building into an approaching snowfront; in an hour’s time, she’ll be able to see it on the bleak horizon. All upon a backdrop of fel. She pulls the frozen air into her lungs, and feels invigorated. The cold brings clarity, focus. Power.

“Fire and damnation,” a companion mutters behind her. It makes her smile; there’s damnation, certainly, but no flame. “You said it wouldn’t be so cold in person, Gwedhril.” “I said it wouldn’t freeze you to death within minutes, Agreus,” she retorts, turning to grin down at the stocky man. Ridged bull’s horns curve out from the side of his head. “Which, thanks to your branding, it won’t. You’re very welcome.” “You seem to be doing just fine.” “Of course I am!” she says. “I own the place.” Neriva was taciturn for their entry and the exchange, but that was her nature; the sorceress’ attention was fixated on the glowing mark on her hand. It thrummed with a steady flow of magic that thwarted the chill, but it wasn’t warm -- it was frigid. Bolstering but desolate. If the two of them hadn’t been able to handle Stygia, the branding might have killed them. Gwedhril calls the both of them to order as the portal wanes and snaps shut with a cracking boom, sealing the way out. The three Illidari march forward, braced against the cold wind, hands on a meteor hammer, a spear, a glaive. Time passes, though each time they crest over a hill, the sight is always the same. The only thing which breaks the monotony are the massive, monolithic spires of ice that “I don’t know how you tolerate this much snow,” Agreus grumbles. Neriva stares hard at him through her veil. “You complain too much.” “The snow is not so bad,” Gwedhril says, pacifying the spindly woman and her spear when she points it at the man. “You’ll like it better when I redecorate.” “Oh, what, you brought your best curtains?” “Give me a little credit, Agreus. I was thinking skulls as a mantelpiece. Yours, maybe, if you don’t stop whining.” Agreus falls silent, chewing on a retort that he, in his wisdom, does not voice. Landmarks are hard to keep track of in the dismal expanse, but Gwedhril knows her path in a way that her companions can scarcely grasp at, given their inexperience with the magic of this place. Far ahead there is heat, a fell wind, and with focus she orients towards it like a compass to north. For as many and as cunning the plane’s prisoners may be, they will never be able to escape its Warden. Their path rises up at an incline, leading up to one massive plateau that jutted up from the ice. It was shot through by half a thousand corridors and causeways under the surface, she knew; one of the few places where there had been some order, some sense of edifice to the imprisonment of the many who had been condemned to the ice. Parts of it remain, even in ruins. Agreus and Neriva tense, preparing for battle when they see felbats circling over the prison. “Hold,” Gwedhril warns. Not yet. Their anxiety worsens when they pass through carved-out, broken sections of the prison, and more scattered demons glare at them - but don’t attack. They respect a parley when they sense one, or so it seems. Agreus mutters something about a trap, and Gwedhril cannot deny the suspicion. Neriva murmurs about danger, and she cannot deny that, either. But they have an objective. Soon enough they broach into the perimeter of one plateau. It might have been a hall, once, or a room of ritual and binding; a centerpiece, jutting above the rest of the place. It bore no roof, and half of its walls had broken off into pale sky and a very, very steep drop. Multitudinous demons cluster at the walls, amid ledges and outcroppings, and at the demon hunters’ entry their attention shifts. Some chatter, slaver for blood -- the majority glower, dark and expectant. Her focus falls upon the one massive, corpulent demon that presides over the host. Annihilan. A pit lord whose fire is doused by the nature of this place. Even then, though, he reigns in slothfulness; none of the demons here challenge him, or the massive double-bladed polearm he wields like a staff of office. Just a gang boss, ultimately, in the grand scheme of things. An inmate who’d escaped his cell. The only reason she chose him was for the ‘soldiers’ he’d recruited. In the microcosm of Stygia, he held the most prominence as one warlord of many, presiding over roving bands that vied for dominance of the wastes. There was Kalagraz and Gorghax, but neither of them she could make a very good example out of. “WARDEN!” Dagziban bellows, misshapen face twisting into an affronted snarl. The building shakes, but the Illidari hold their ground; Gwedhril signals for Agreus and Neriva to hold, despite the momentary disruption. They’ll know when. “YOU HAVE NERVE, SHOWING YOUR FACE HERE!” Don’t waste all that hot air, Gwedhril thinks. “You would do well to remember who claims true dominion in this place, Annihilan!” she shouts. The assertion, the lack of Naming, is a calculated blow. “I come bearing an ultimatum. You have the fortune of being the first to hear it.” Dagziban fumes, for all the good it doesn’t do. Teeth bigger than her fists grind and gnash. “I AM OBLIGATED BY BINDING TO LISTEN,” he decides. There’s a layer of compulsion to it, a weight to her words that bears down on the thought of rebuttal, and it infuriates him. Gwedhril breathes in, the icy fog fuming from her a tense moment later. For her part, she effects an air of easy power. “The Legion is defeated!” she announces. This they’d known by the dissolution of pact bindings, of vague premonitions in the beyond, but it is worth mentioning, for this. “Yet my part in war shall see no end. This is the same for all Illidari, and now it shall be the same for you!” Her audience gurgles, murmurs. Spits, for their loathing. “You are locked here, fighting over scraps of nothing, knowing that freedom from chains and walls does not mean freedom at all! Lay to rest your hopes and doubts, for you shall have none! The only scrap of true glory and power you may yet gain shall be under my banner, my command!” Dagziban chews on the silence that the echo of her voice obligates of him, before his outburst comes with a fume of precious heat and sulfur. “YOU DARE TO CONSCRIPT US?!” Of course. It had been done to her. “YOU DARE TO USURP MY POWER, WARDEN?!” “You have no power,” she intones, cold as ice. She does not shout and still the words strike with more force. She knows what it’ll do, and preemptively she bends at the knees, reaches for the length of chain attached to her belt. Her comrades prepare. “YOU DARE TO ENTREATY US AS THOUGH YOU ARE NOT AN INSOLENT SACK OF MEAT YOURSELF, TAKING THE PLACE OF A STATION BEYOND YOU!” he roars. “THE INQUISITORS WILL PRY THE KEY FROM YOUR MISERABLE HUSK OF A SOUL, AND WE WILL BE FREE!” No. You won’t. “Now.” The Illidari spring into action as soon as the demons loose cries and charge, the clamor rising over the wind as it begins to howl. Agreus sweeps forward, a shattering rebuke lancing off the edge of his glaive as felguard surround him. Neriva darts forward, clairvoyant and knowing, already falling into step and impaling demons on the end of a spear too fast to follow. Gwedhril swings into action with all the force of a fel lord, frigid power crashing through her like a rushing river as she sets the ends of her meteor hammer spinning and lets them fly. A torsion of the body, a pitch of weight: the wicked, spiked heads of the weapon smash into skull and ribcage, flatten hounds into bloody smears. “You’ll learn your mistake, Dagziban!” she roars, flinging the chains forward to grip and tangle around a heavier felguard; she pulls him forward at breakneck speed and kicks out, crushing the momentum in its ribcage. She is an unstoppable force and immovable object both, chains a blur around her. When she calls on the frost and the wind, it answers in howling rushes of Will that impale, encase, diminish. The pit lord rouses from his slothfulness, roaring bloody hell to the sky as his mane ignites. It is a mammoth effort to extricate himself from his carved throne -- and by that time, it is too late for him. “Neriva, Agreus! Chain him!” They respond instantly, in tandem. They disengage in a flinging twist of chains, a sudden wave of felfrost, and take up position. A hand extended, an exertion of Will. When they wrench back with all the might in their mutated bodies, the pit lord bellows molten fury as each arm is tangled. The bellow turns to breath, to flame, to a roaring inferno that spills towards Gwedhril. Hatred made manifest. I am unstoppable. She sets the hammer spinning on its chain, sweeps it to the side and heaves with all the immortal strength she has mastered. A skittering spark of fel that glances off the ice, before the spiked head shoots forward through the air. It punches a hole through the fire, until it punches a hole in the back of Dagziban’s head. The heat that washes against her is a distant phantom to her demonskin hide. She wrenches her hammer out, chains pulling taut and shifting until it is near at hand. The demons behind them stop, sudden, at the death of their leader. The fire fuming from Dagziban’s corpse is extinguished, as the cold claims him. The wind quiets. Idly, she examines the gore and shards of bone stuck to the spikes of the killing implement. Agreus and Neriva rejoin her, as she turns. “You now march under the banner of the Dying Sun!” she calls, the wind amplifying her voice. This shall signal a change. A new power. “You now march under my banner!” None will rise to defy her, in this. None will meet her on the field of battle and live.

[alexissleeps]

Stalker Film Analysis

“I can make good work based only on three things -- blood, culture, and history”        

                                                  - Tarkovsky

Bringing the audience into an alternate Russian reality, Andrei Tarkovsky, the “Poet of Apocalypse,” constructs a masterful and existential Sci-Fi world in his 1979 film Stalker (Quandt). At the start of Stalker, through a fictitious government letter, we learn of a realm called the Zone. The letter considers how it came about -- was it a meteorite? Aliens? Nevertheless, when troops were sent, they never returned. To protect the masses, the government secured the area with barbed wire, dense tunnels, and security officers. We learn of this place, then we learn of the Stalker.

A desolate, decrepit apartment. The film is a bold, impossible sepia. We hear nothing but the rumbles and rattles of a train, slowly crescendoing as it approaches the home. In bed is a family: man, wife, and child. On the bedside table rests an apple with two bites missing, tablets of morphine, a syringe in a tin, cotton, and a glass of water. This is the home of the Stalker. Aside from the train, the only noise we can hear is the Stalker getting out of bed. He is preparing for another trip to the Zone--the trade of a Stalker. He readies himself to meet the men whom he will be shepherding through the Zone, so that they may find the Room, the place where one’s deepest desires are fulfilled.

In that striking sepia, we become acquainted with the Writer. A man full of philosophies. In an unknown irony, he laments about the lack of mysticism in the world and the death of excitement. “The world is ruled by cast-iron laws,” he claims, a possible allusion to the Soviet regime which regulates Tarkovsky’s work with resolute vigor. When he speaks, all other ambient sound stops. We are forced to focus on his words, his insights, or lack thereof.  

Shortly after, viewers are brought to a bar, which, much like the Stalker’s apartment, is in disrepair. Everything is covered in a layer of dirt, puddles dot the floors from roof leaks, and the minimal lighting flickers. Here we meet the Professor. The audience learns he seeks scientific discovery, as the Writer seeks inspiration. They name their desires, they assume the stakes. But, in this contemplation, we learn a central theme of the film. The Writer says, stumbling over himself in drunkenness, “...but, how is it I can put a name to… What it is I want? How am I to know?” This admission is pivotal to the film’s message, and Tarkovsky is kind enough to give us this hint before the journey into the Zone unfolds.

On brand-new Kodak 5247 stock film, Tarkovsky fills the screen with symmetrical shots, a style ubiquitous throughout the film. He plays with the depth of field by placing mundane objects, such as a wooden beam, in the foreground to pull the viewer’s eye to the background. These shots set the scene, they tell parts of the story without saying a thing.

The three--the Stalker, the Writer, and the Professor, all referenced only by their professions, a possible communist allusion--embark on their journey to the Zone. Rumbling through sparse, mud filled streets in an all-terrain vehicle, they venture through abandoned buildings and railways. The City they are leaving is incredibly industrial: tight brick-lined corridors constricting the viewer, smog billowing in every direction, further suffocating you. Not a single vestige of vegetation in sight. The sound of stepping through puddles is as loud as the police officer’s engine they are trying to avoid. Sonically, the film is mastered at a consistent level. These staccato, pointed sounds add tension to the film and control the direction of the viewer’s attention, building with the visuals to the moment when the men finally reach the Zone.

After a series of long takes of the men’s faces, typical of Tarkovsky’s style, they arrive. We are greeted with a moment of silence, and color film, as we see the Zone for the first time. The color shows the full glory of the Zone and juxtaposes it to the sepia City. The Zone is a vast, natural landscape. With trees and grasses overtaking what remnants of civilization are left, abandoned cars sulking in their lonesomeness, and power lines, which have given way to the earth, linger in the front of the frame. A clear ecological statement. The Zone, arguably the central character of the film, slowly reveals itself to the Writer, the Professor, and the audience throughout the second half of the film.

Long takes paired with wide landscape views of the Zone envelope the viewers, taking them along for the journey. The scenes are truly immersive. To compound this emotion, the combination of synthetic and orchestral composition by Eduard Artmyev is subtle, and easier to feel rather than to hear. It hovers over the scene, or sinks beneath it, delicately shaping the mood. In an interview Tarkovsky revealed that “one mustn’t be aware of music, nor natural sounds.” Those natural sounds, such as wheels on rails, are synthetically produced and embedded within Western and Eastern inspired melodies, melting otherworldly tones with earthly ones. The music is sparse but effective.

It is impossible to travel directly to the Room. The Zone, echoing non-entry nuclear zones of Cold War Soviet Russia, demands respect. “The Zone is a very complex maze of traps. All of them death traps,” the Stalker warns his sheep. It is always in flux, and pathways which were once safe become impassable. The Stalker, looking to the heavens, says, “it’s as if we construct it according to our state of mind.” It lets through neither the good, nor the bad, but rather those who are hopeless. The truly desperate souls. In certain places, the land swells like waves, and in others it smokes and smolders. It bends time and space. It challenges the notion that there is no mysticism left in the world, it challenges those “cast-iron laws” that the world is fixed.

However, the Zone, and these men’s journey to the Room, reveal the existential truths we bury in ourselves. “For who knows what desires a person might have?” the Professor sighs. Why is the Room just a rumor? Is it a gift or a message or a curse to mankind? Is it secured by the government, not to protect people from death, but to protect them from what they want? From what their desires may do to society? The Soviet Union, “with its propaganda and party indoctrination sessions – went on beyond an imaginary fence,”  building real fences within its citizenries mind (Guardian). The Zone is a space of personal truth, a space the government can’t penetrate, deep within the Russian psyche. Within the Zone, each of the men is granted a monologue where he can exalt his truths and speak candidly without fear. For fear is the Zone, and within it they have nothing more to fear, not even themselves. This is a space where they can discover what is potentially the most elusive of truths: What do I want?

Stalker offers a cross-section of consciousness. The city is these dull, dogmatic “truths” we tell ourselves to get through the day--particularly those true in communist Russia. God isn’t real. Neither are ghosts. Everything is fixed, and tangible if real. Everything has order and, despite the boredom of it, safety. The city is the superficiality of our own existence. The sepia might be beautiful, but is incomplete: it doesn’t reveal the full-depth and complexity of the world, or the self. However, the Zone challenges these preconceived notions, these walls we build within ourselves. Or, that government and society helps construct. For example, the Writer, overcome in a moment of honesty in the Zone, says he writes because he is unsure. He writes to prove his worth to himself and to others. He doesn’t write because he thinks he is a genius, as he earlier dotes, for if he did there would be no reason to write. The Zone forces us to face ourselves, quite literally, by constructing a world based on the minds of those within it. The Stalker mutters, half-asleep, “people don’t like to reveal their innermost thoughts.” The Zone is where those thoughts foment, without restriction, to the front of the mind.

The Stalker tells us in the Zone of his mentor, Porcupine--or as he knew him, the Teacher. He taught the Stalker everything about the Zone: how to travel through it, how to respect it. How to get out of it. Then, one day, Porcupine went into the Room. Shortly after he returned to the City he became very wealthy, wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Then he hanged himself.

If the Room is the center of the self, the deepest desires of the self, perhaps it is best left inaccessible. Desire is dangerous; its consequences unpredictable. While the death of Porcupine is a critique of humanity’s materialism, and materialism’s inability to truly satiate humanity’s existential needs, I think this film offers a criticism of (selfish) desire more broadly. The Stalker’s desire is not to enter the Room, but to escape his existence. His pleading wife, his daughter crippled by his excursions. Their shabby home. Before the Stalker leaves for the Zone, his wife warns he may find himself back in prison, he replies that “everywhere’s a prison.” He doesn’t need to enter the Room, the Zone is all he desires, it is wild and free, while the City is captivity. 

Additionally, Tarkovsky seems to be pointing at the elusive nature of desire. It’s claimed the Room knows your deepest desires, even those you hide from yourself, and then fulfills them. But, as Zizek claims, “our desires are artificial. We have to be taught to desire. Cinema is the ultimate pervert art. It doesn’t give you what you desire, it tells you how to desire.” If we acquire our desires socially, is there any desire which is independent, belonging to the self completely? Can the Room honestly fulfill someone’s deepest desires, if those desires are by nature inauthentic? Is this why Porcupine commits suicide? The ultimate horror is not the desire, it is not the longing: it is the fulfillment of that longing. Perhaps we ultimately fear fulfillment of desire because it is alien, it is a self-deception -- we don't really want it. Thus, true desire seems to move further from our understanding. Maybe it isn’t that desire is best left inaccessible, but that the Room is an illusion, and desire beyond the superficial is still inaccessible. 

The dynamic nature of the Zone, their journey which challenges the time-space continuum, is an allegory for the cyclical, impossible, and inexplicable journey to discovering one’s authentic personal desires. And, ultimately, its innate inaccessibility and potential untruth. 

This film catalogues, with visual and auditory brilliance, an existential woe of humanity. Stalker is a philosophical text with a three-hour visualizer and sound effects. While Tarkovsky was inspired by the psychological effects of living under the Soviet regime, and the film speaks to that reality, this film is durable regardless of time, politics, or country. Undeniably versatile, it can be enjoyed as a piece of entertainment, a piece of art, and a piece of commentary. If you’re looking to lose yourself, your conscious self, in a film, and find your unconscious self, Tarkovsky’s Stalker will siphon you into that Zone.

https://www.tiff.net/the-review/andrei-tarkovsky-the-poet-of-apocalypse/

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1111/1468-5922.12365

Gianvito, John (2006), Andrei Tarkovsky: Interviews, University Press of Mississippi, pp. 50–54,

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/nov/06/soviet-union-kitchen-table-russian-revolution-centenary-togetherness

http://www.tasteofcinema.com/2017/the-25-best-mind-bending-movies-of-all-time/2/

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0079944/

[adorealeclightwood]

Alec in 3x07 and 3x08.

Good evening my lovelies. 

Let’s jump right into this. 

[NOTE: For clarity purposes, I’ll be referring to possessed Jace as “Not-Jace”, and the real Jace as Jace. Does that make sense? I hope so.]

3x07.

Alright, so last week, we reached a climax to what some of us thought was one of the biggest “what the fuck is going to happen” moments thus far. 

Clary told Alec about the wish! 

Now, I know I said I wanted him to be mad, and give her the silent treatment, and blah blah blah, but guess what? After that episode, I went back to watch some things over again, remember what kind of person Alec is and... *drumroll*

I reevaluated my stance. 

Of course Alec wasn’t angry, and the more I think about it, the more I realize how wrong I was to assume that he would be. She used the wish to bring back someone she loved, and he would’ve done the exact same thing if he’d been in her position. There’s been a lot of talk about Magnus specifically, but this includes more than just him, guys. 

If Alec had been at that lake with anyone - Magnus, Jace, Izzy, Maryse - he would’ve done the same thing, because Alec will bend and break every rule when it comes to those that he loves. 

Now, before I get into the emotional shit, I want to talk about 3x07 some more. 

If you weren’t aware (which I doubt), Alec has some serious issues with internalized guilt, meaning he has a tendency to take responsibility/blame himself for things that are out of his control. (The example that comes to mind when I think of this is his conversation with Jace on the roof in 2x05.) 

Naturally, when Alec found out Jace was the owl, I was worried, because I knew he’d find a way to blame himself. “I should’ve paid more attention”, “I should’ve pressed harder”, “I should’ve known he was lying about the treatment”. These are all things I’m sure went through his mind at one point, and while it’s normal to feel like you could’ve done more, or caught onto the little things, those thoughts can quickly cause someone to become self-destructive. In Alec’s case, I was concerned he’d want to punish himself more than anything, because again, this is how he functions. 

That being said, the relief I felt when he didn’t do any of those things was immeasurable. He let everything sink in, hugged Clary - who I’m beginning to like more and more - and was ready to do whatever it takes to save his parabatai. (I know some of you guys have issues with that, but I said what I said). 

Now, onto another pressing matter: Malec. 

I basically predicted that entire scene here, and the more I went back and rewatched it, the more content I became. While I’m still waiting for them to have that special talk and iron things out, I’m happy they were able to squash it for the time being. Here’s why. 

You guys are never going to believe this, but...when you get into a fight, or have a disagreement with someone you love, life doesn’t come to a halt. Shit doesn’t suddenly cease to hit the fan because you’re having a lovers quarrel. When we see a couple like Malec, we don’t want them to have issues. We don’t want them to argue, or raise their voices, or feel pain, or be insecure, and when they do, we want everyone and everything to shut up and sit down until they can work things out. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way, and you should be glad they don’t. (Can you imagine how boring that would be?) 

When you analyze things objectively - like I try to do here - you have to look at the big picture, and it isn’t always pretty. It’s the same way in real life. There are going to be days when your boyfriend makes you so mad, you want to break his kneecaps, but you can’t do that, because you have to hang up the phone and get back to work. You can’t afford to take a minute to breathe. There are going to be times where your wife makes a comment out of anger, and it’s going to echo in the back of your head for a week, but your in-laws are in town, and you don’t want them to see you guys fighting. I could come up with scenarios for days, but my point is, life gets in the way sometimes. Whether it’s work, school, kids, family, or something else, you won’t always be able to sit down and take care of things the way you want, when you want. That goes for everyone, including Malec. 

They apologized to one another, and put the entire thing on pause for now. Is it a perfect solution? No. Is it permanent? No. Was it suitable given their current predicament? Yes. 

Magnus Bane isn’t petty enough to continue fighting with the man he loves when that man’s parabatai is being controlled by an evil bitch, and Alexander Lightwood isn’t stubborn enough to rehash that same fight when the man he loves is clearly feeling guilty about having played a small part in what’s happening to his parabatai. No one’s pointing any fingers, no one’s bitter, and no one’s adding insult to injury. 

Moving on. 

Alec, Clary, and Izzy head to Alicante, and two seconds after the Inquisitor learns Jace has been “compromised”, she wanted to know how it happened.

Honestly, I had the urge to tell her to stop being so damn nosy and help them help her grandson, but I digress. 

Alec comes through with a quick save, because when in doubt, deny knowing anything and get to the point. In this case, it doesn’t matter what they say, because Imogen is ready to put out a kill order (since that worked out so well when Aldertree did it). Alec is clearly not having that - he’d rather catch Jace like a Pokemon and fix him afterwards, which is totally reasonable, because when has Alec ever been content with anything bad happening to Jace? 

Then, we got to see him be a great distraction while Imogen took Izzy and Clary to the armory. Homeboy didn’t stutter or freeze up once. Are you proud? I’m proud. 

I was nervous when we got to the scene in the graveyard, because I was under the impression it’d be a lot harder to trap Jace, but thankfully, there was no fight, so I stopped sweating.

Anddd, then they got back to the loft, Not-Jace was talking shit, but it didn’t matter, because at least he was trapped in the configuration and not out ruining lives, right? Right. 

3x08. 

OKAY. IF YOU HAVEN’T GRABBED A SNACK OR A DRINK BY NOW, GO DO THAT. 

This episode. This fucking episode. 

If you read my review, you know I was in my feelings about 98% of the time.

Three minutes into the episode, Not-Jace is talking shit again, and Alec is neither fazed nor impressed. The person staring back at him may look and sound like Jace, but he knows it isn’t.  

Case in point: “You are not our brother, and don’t get too comfortable, because we’re gonna bring him back.”

Word. 

Not-Jace proceeds to talk more shit, but Magnus pops in and confirms what we already know, because Magnus is a smart bean who knows better than to listen to the ramblings of a boy possessed by the queen of Edom. He’s only saying those things to get under their skin - pay him no mind. 

Then, a bomb drops. 

“I just prefer not to coddle your latest soldier boyfriend.”

HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE. 

Magnus glances at Alec, and Alec narrows his eyes in suspicion. Why? 

He never told Jace about the box, or anything having to do with his relationship with Magnus this season. 

As soon as he walked out in the middle of breakfast back in 3x06, who did he go to? Izzy, because she’s the one he talks to about things like that, not Jace. Never Jace, because they don’t talk about those things. (The only time I can remember them discussing relationships was in 1x12 when Jace was felt sick for kissing Clary and acknowledging that he wanted her after finding out they were “siblings”, and again in 2x10 when Alec asked if Jace was going to tell her that they weren’t. Aside from that, they usually avoid the subject.) 

A few minutes later, the group moves to another room to come up with a plan, and as soon as they get one, Alec makes sure to let everyone know that Jace’s possession has to stay between them, because if word gets out that a Shadowhunter’s been possessed by a greater demon, they’re going to want to know how and why, like Imogen. Clary’s covering their asses, so the least he can do is cover hers. This is loyalty. This is the man we stan. 

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the friendship we deserve.

Side note: Matthew was moving his hand while he said that line, and it reminded me of all those times Dom pointed out how much he talks with them. I thought it was cute. 

CUT TO THE BALCONY SCENE. 

Magnus pulls Alec aside to tell him how they can save Jace, and before he can even finish, Alec says he’s in, because why wouldn’t he be? This is Jace we’re talking about, keep up. He’d never hesitate to save him. Magnus then proceeds to explain how serious this is, and what the stakes are, but it doesn’t change anything. This is something Alec feels he needs to do, and Magnus understands, because he knows how much Jace means to him. 

This is important. 

When Alec says “without him, I’m nothing”, he’s not disregarding his feelings for Magnus, or somehow insinuating that he loves Jace more. As viewers, it’s easy to forget that our perception is different than that of the characters. Despite the events of this season, and previous seasons, Alec still perceives Jace as his parabatai. A piece of his soul. Saying he’s nothing without Jace isn’t taking away from his self-worth in any way, nor is it demeaning his relationship with Magnus. This is simply Alec stating how he’d feel if he were to lose Jace for good. News flash: he’s allowed to do that. Magnus knows this, and that’s why he doesn’t get upset, or take offense to it. He can see that Alec’s mind is made up, and he’s all in, on one condition: Alec isn’t going in alone. 

I loved this scene because it was so...I don’t even know how to describe it, and there’s a thesaurus less than two feet away from me right now. The way Matthew keeps that stern look on his face, because Alec can’t fall apart right now. Alec can’t panic, or think about the fact that he could become one of Lilith’s victims as well - the only thing Alec can do is take initiative and try to save his parabatai because that is what Alec Lightwood does. He has to do this, because if he doesn’t, and something happens to Jace, he will never forgive himself for not trying. Then, they hold hands, and it’s heartwarming because you never know how comforting a simple touch can be until you’re already touching. Magnus is already thinking ahead, and considering the possibility of losing Alec in the process of getting Jace back, and Alec takes his hands, because they can’t think like that - not now. 

In the same scene, you could also say this is another way Alec is showing that he trusts Magnus with his life. If it had been any other warlock in this situation telling Alec that Lilith could easily get her hands on him, he may have taken a few seconds to reconsider, or want some time to come up with twelve backup plans just in case, but this isn’t just any warlock he’s talking to. This is Magnus Bane, the love of his life. The man who’d never let anything happen to him. 

I’m swooning. 

Then, we learn that when Magnus said Alec wasn’t going in alone, he wasn’t talking about going with him. He meant he’d be sending Izzy along for the ride. As expected, he doesn’t want his baby sister in danger, but then, she’s kind enough to remind him of the not-so-light coma he slipped into the last time he tried to save Jace alone. Jace was the only person who was able to bring him back from the brink, but they don’t have him to fall back on this time, and he can’t argue with that logic. Again, shout out to Matthew for the facial expressions. I need someone to turn it into a gif and write “why you bringing up old shit?” as the caption. Then he does that little eye roll/pout thing he always does and I just, ugh. I’m in love. 

Fast forward. 

They approach Jace to get this shit going, and Alec has no time for any nonsense. Right when they’re getting in position, you’ll notice his right hand twitching, which is something Alec does when he’s anxious. Not-Jace just can’t keep his mouth closed, and decides to antagonize Magnus. He asks who he thinks Alec would choose if it came down to him and Magnus, and Alec shuts that down immediately, for a couple of reasons (I think). One, Not-Jace is only saying that to get a rise out of Magnus, he doesn’t want to hear it anymore, and two, if it did come down to Jace or Magnus, it’d be an impossible decision. Alec could never truly choose between two people that he loves, and he can’t even fathom being in a position where he’d have to make that choice to begin with. 

You also have to take into account what it would do to Alec if he were to make that kind of choice. Do you honestly believe he’d ever recover from choosing Jace over Magnus? Do you think he’d be able to live with himself after choosing Magnus over Jace? Don’t let your bias/character preference cloud your judgement - think like Alec for a minute. No matter who he chose, it would tear him apart in one way or another. 

The lovely Magnus Bane steps in to remind Alec not to get too worked up, and  that he needs to focus, then they get started. For a minute, it looks like they’re going to succeed but of course, of-fucking-course, Not-Jace has some magic of his own, because Lilith was planning ahead, and knew someone would try to get in his head. (I really, really, really hate her.) 

Fast forward again. 

Not-Jace is chained up like a criminal, and Alec looks like he’s ready to wrap those same chains around his neck. Fortunately, Magnus comes in, and they’re ready to start. 

There’s some magical lighting, glowing runes, and very creepy eyes rolling into the backs of heads, and the flashbacks start. 

We see young Alec and Jace before Alec blinks, and snaps back into reality with Izzy. Again, this is why it’s important to be objective and think like a character. No matter what’s happened, Jace is still Alec’s parabatai, and he’s always going to love him. 

They hear some noise, and walk around a corner to see younger versions of themselves play fighting. Alec smiles at the memory, and it’s sad, because things were so much simpler back then; back when sneaking down to train while their parents were out on mission was something they did for fun. Now, they’ve got demons coming back and possessing people and shit. 

After the younger Alec and Izzy disappear, Alec puts two and two together - like the smart cookie he is - and comes to the conclusion that Lilith has been torturing Jace by taking away everything he loves. Let me say that again so you guys can hear me. 

Lilith has been torturing Jace by taking away everything he loves. 

He looks away for less than a second, and when he turns around again, Izzy is gone. 

Alec can’t seem to catch a break.

Fast forward.

Alec is still looking for Izzy, and finds Clary instead. Well, more like dozens of dead Clary’s, because Jace has been trapped in his own mind, killing her over and over again, just like he did in his nightmares. He’s looking around at all the bodies like “what in the fuck did I just walk into”, then he hears someone crying, and looks up. 

IT’S JACE!

The real Jace, and he confirms what I’ve known all along. He’s a prisoner in his own mind, and Lilith has been fucking with him since day one.

Alec is treading carefully (which is a good move, since Jace is visibly upset and still holding a knife), and this goddamn scene was perfect. 

The way his voice gets all soft when he’s convincing Jace that he’s real, and he knows Jace won’t kill him. The way he wrapped his arms around Jace. 

“I’ve got you.” 

THAT’S GREAT BUT, WHO HAS ME? WHO’S GOING TO HOLD ME WHILE I CRY OVER MY KEYBOARD, ALEC? W H O?

They hold each other for a bit, and when they pull away, all the dead bodies are gone, and it’s clear that Alec’s presence is working. Izzy comes in with mini-Jace, who also vanishes, and my dumbass thinks “YES! The gang’s all here! We can go home now! It’s a wrap!”.

Narrator: You know damn well...

Fast forward.

As lovely as this little reunion has been, Alec hears Magnus calling out to him, and it’s time to get the fuck out of there. One teensy, weensy problem though. 

Jace doesn’t want to go, because he knows Lilith is coming for him.

This is where Alec gives us another example of exactly how his relationship with Jace works. 

Now, I’m a huge softie when it comes to my friends, so if my best friend was crying hysterically, then picked up a knife and placed it in my hands before asking me to kill them, I’d probably have a fit. However, Alec doesn’t do that. 

He holds himself together and tells Jace no, he isn’t going to kill him. Never. He’s coming with them, and that’s that on that. So, Jace hands the knife to Izzy, and I’m not going to lie, sis had me going for a hot second, but she dropped the knife and everyone exhaled. (By everyone, I mean me and Alec). 

Before they all join hands, Jace looks up at Alec and begs him not to let Lilith take me again, and he promises that he won’t. 

And of course, my emotional ass gets excited once more, thinking “alright, no bullshit, they’re going home this time”, but when the magical glow fades away, who do we fucking see? 

LILITH’S PUNK ASS. 

The SH writers @ me:

She comes in, overdramatic as usual, and ends up leaving with Jace. Seconds later, Alec wakes up to see that he’s gone, and he’s pissed.

They were so fucking close. No, scratch that, they weren’t close at all. They had him. They had him in the literal palms of their hands, and it took all of five seconds to lose him again. 

Fast forward (a little bit). 

Alec starts processing what just happened, and I hate seeing how upset he is. Jace begged the both of them to kill him, and right after Alec promised he wouldn’t let Lilith take him away again, she shows up and does just that. It’s already taking a toll on him, and even though Magnus says he did all he could, it’s not enough in Alec’s eyes, because Jace is still gone. 

It doesn’t matter how close he came to getting Jace back. In Alec’s eyes, he failed, and he’s going to be upset with himself until he succeeds, because that’s how he is. He knows it, Magnus knows it, and Izzy knows it. 

This episode messed with my head because it just goes to show that no matter how much you love someone, no matter how hard you’re willing to fight, they can still slip through your fingers and leave you right back where you started. 

I know there’s been a huge debate about the parabatai bond, and the way it only comes to light when it’s convenient for the plot, or how it’s “bullshit”, etc, but honestly? Fuck all that. If there was ever an episode involving the bond that comes close to Parabatai Lost, it’s 3x08. Alec could’ve fallen apart or gone crazy with all the shit that’s been going on, but he’s remained strong in order to keep going, because Alexander Gideon Lightwood does not crack in the face of adversity. 

He perseveres. 

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, I’ll be here all week.

[thecrazyworldbuilder]

Raclis Alpha

3: Abyss Elves Once technically normal elves, a large group of them was sent into the Abyss (also called Aumenel) for crimes they didn’t commit. Locked here for eternity, they slowly forgot most of the information about their past. They praise the myths about the sun, the sky, a world where there is no pain and darkness. They started calling each other Foariar (Those who are without sunlight). And slowly evolved into their modern looks. Dark skin, tints of green and purple, turquoise glowing eyes, whitish pink hair. Their blood is dark purple and has an odd scent of mashed tulips. Fast facts: - Super good climbers and parkourists due to the terrain of the Abyss. - Are mostly always ripped athletes. - When cut off, their hair will glow a pretty bright light for nearly five hours. - In sunlight they go into an euphoric state which they hardly resist. - Are incredible hunters and gatherers: farming in the Abyss is almost impossible. - Abyss Elves have migrated to many other realms, especially the Spring World. - They name their realm, Aumenel, means “without sky” in quenya. Onomasticon: (for Spring World Abyss Elves) Gender-reversed modern european and ancient greek names. (Aurorus, Eugenia, Xenis, Anastasius, Agath) Anagrams from spanish. (Roucos, Roeherr, Cadoraz, Jerichoter, Viona) (for Abyss inhabitants) Quenya and latin hybridisation (Hravai, Ilmarinorum, Incatrix, Terrandil, Indos)

4: Ada’klo One of the species from the realm of Emiare, which is bound to the very fabric of time. Ada’klo - as all the other races from the klo family - have something called a cycle: a period of time when they exist. Their cycle is ten years long. Thus, they live for ten years, and afterwards disappear only to appear again after the same ten years without aging anyhow. Fast facts: - Due to their cycle length they gather at the great Adakloan Temples, where their place of disappearance is kept safe. - Ada’klo look pretty much like humans, but are slightly different on the inside, anatomically and chemically. Onomasticon: Take some vintage english and european names, put the letters in reverse order and take the first three letters. (Nostto, Semitr, Eci, Adaeis, Badraeca)

5: Ain’klo One of the species from the Emiare realm, these members of the klo species family have a one thousand years long cycle. Fast facts: - Have an incredible ancient culture which has many customs, like forced marriage (from both sides), child labour, extreme xenophobia. - Are dangerous and non educated, will fight to death only to keep their traditions. Onomasticon: Use ancient babylonian names, words and their imitations, write them in reverse and take the first three letters. (Ikngas, Utuann, Lilan, Atrik, Aluruk)

6: Aliquenar

A race which somehow combined all of the main features of elves, dwarves, orcs, humans and halflings. Slightly greenish skin, pointed ears, not-so-long beards, big hairy feet, no need in sleep and the ability to see over the horizon. Like jack of all trades, they have a wide set of talents and opportunities, but are masters of none. Hated among all of the species they combined in themselves, they try to live peacefully in their cities, not willing to make any conflict. Fast facts: - Due to the discrimination directed at them from the other races, they have a trait of being shy, polite and quiet. - Are able to learn magic on the same level as humans. - A legend has it that they came from a city trapped in the mountains, where all the five races met and after a long long time merged into one by breeding. - Some may have more standing out traits of a specific compound race: as, orc tusks, elven lack of facial hair and eyelids, dwarvish height or beards, strange sexual dimorphism and others. Onomasticon: Use the languages and names of the humans, elves, dwarves and hobbits (orcish names are way more rare), and then, if wanted, merge them together, imitate them. (Legoli, Aiwenson, Thurwise, Kurumiel, Indis)

7: Alfers Species of quadruped lizards with telepathic minds, which are able to evolve fast, adapting to the stressful situations. Tall two and half meters in the withers (8’2 feet) and long nearly five (16’4 feet), they are agile, omnivore and strong. Fast facts: - Alfers evolve fastly not only biologically, but linguistically. Their language changes so fast no one will never understand what they are saying, except some separate words, taken from other languages. - Alfers are able to speak telepathically, but only talk: not reading thought but hearing the inner monologue of someone, thus communicating. - They have a high regeneration factor, and are hard to kill. Onomasticon: Any possible names, words, abbreviations and anagrams. (Villaissa, Gerdan, Menttor, Seba, Lmne)

8: Anciento Race of stickman-like, three eyed beings with high power and unreachable wisdom and intelligence. Can reproduce by giving any other living thing something they call “open intellect”, and then teach them how to turn into an anciento. Well, traditional reproducing is possible too. Fast facts: - While reproducing they, ironically, do not know how to turn back into their original state. - Know a wide spectrum of using life energy for different purposes. - Are able to fall into an anabiosis state for a long time. - Are almost instinct. Onomasticon: Names are mostly two syllables, unisex, and have no meaning, because of their proverb “You mean nothing at birth: give your name a meaning by yourself”. (Koni, Jaro, Neho, Mibta, Vere)

9: Androids of Binarica Robots made by the techno-magic goddess-planet Binarica. Are unique from other robots by their design: solid parts are slowly merging into soft ones, and they look humane but have slightly object-like heads. Fast facts: - Were being enslaved for many centuries by other races of Binarica. - All of them by custom have light-blue photosensors (eyes). - Follow directives, which can be changed by hacking. - Feel emotions and have souls. Onomasticon: Leet, deites on abbreviations, scientifical termins, or even all at once. (M45 T3R, G3x2x2, S5Z2, Tetratom, Cleleven Zero)

11: Anmanibes/Ri’be’li Species from a far realm of jungles and plains, anmanibes have some unique features. First of all, they have no arms. At all. Down to the shoulderblades - no arms. But thye have a compensation for this flaw: the ability for telekinesis, and many other paranormal abilities. Anmanibes (which means “armless”) call themselves Ri’be’li - “the second born children of the gods”. They are digitigrade and have a pretty long lizard-like tail they use for balance. Fast facts: - Ri’be’li are one of my favourite races. - The paranormal abilities they are known to posess are: channeling (speaking with spirits and other paranormal deities), levitation, telekinesis, telepathy, biolocation, materialisation, atmokinesis, aeromancy, pyromancy, thermokinesis, teleportation, television, precognition, and other. - Have two pairs of eyelids: one for blinking and one for “television”, or also called telescopic vision. - Have ears which are suspiciously pointed, like those of elves. - One myth from their culture says that the ri’be’li were born from the us’ib’tor’tor: a firstborn race in their world. The first ri’be’li was called A’ud’ca, and he was born without arms. His parents abandoned him, but A’ud’ca had the power to bend wills of other people, and slowly he made it so other us’ib’tor’tor could give birth to ri’be’li, and then he somehow, after a long time, made the us’ib’tor’tor race vanish into the sands of history, giving place for ri’be’li to rise. - Most of them are disgusted by arms and hands in general, calling any creature with arms an a’us’cla (limited). Onomasticon: Use latin, then take every syllable and put them in reverse order, placing apostrophy between each syllable. Most names are gender neutral. (Pha’al, Ta’del, Ta’be, O’di’gla, Ra’tet) 12: Antlings Once humans, these humanoids were cursed by their gods for their crimes. Thus, they gained chitin plates over the vulnerable places on their bodies - the chest, the stomach, the back, the buttocks, thighs, shins, and foreheads. In height they are not higher than 150cm (4’9 feet). They have antennas on their heads like those of ants, which help their queens to control them. Queens are unique, the only caste which are allowed to mate. They have a limited ability to shapeshift (as to change gender, bodybuild, coloring and height), and they can control other antlings via telepathic orders and psychic damage. If an antling loses his antennas, they will be free from the control of the queen, but the loss will make them feel a severe headache for a long period of time before healing, and even can occur death. Fast facts: - The most cruel, pathetic, miserable and dumb people became the queens, by the will of the gods. - There are three castes of antlings: Workers, Soldiers and Queens/Aristocracy. - Antlings build so-called “anthills” from everything they can find. The anthills look like big piles of things, gigantic hoards of different materials which are hard to enter for everyone who does not know their layout. Sometimes they use ancient fortresses and houses as a base for anthills. - They have a very concurenting culture between different anthills. They are all given different names and have their queens idolised to a god position. Onomasticon: The simple workers have dull names which often describe their appearance, personality traits, or profession. (Shy, Littlesmith, Junk, Heannoy, Seeker) Warriors are given freedom to choose their own names after becoming mature and as an addition to their number in the army. (Lionmane 1039, Goldenbraid 1052, Thegreatest 1013, Mosttall 1054, Charger 1071) The aristocracy often make up their names to look fancy, and are always different because of the different views of what is fancy. (Pantheonas, LeMareialis, Equilibricos, Theodor, Sharlotte) 14:Asuras A race of high demonic demigods which have great abilities gifted to them by reality itself. Asuras can have up to four pairs of arms and, often, other mutations, such as additional heads/faces, animalistic features and unusual skin color. Asura can bend themselves to the concepts of things or elements, thus getting their power from them and have abilities based on them. The more high is the spiritual level of an asura is, the more arms and mutations they are able to cast on oneself. Fast facts: - There are many subspecies of asuras: families, each called by the name of the gods which started the kin. They share traits such as mutations and skin color. - Asuras are wise creatures but are pretty greedy and selfish, with some exceptions. - Are able to do custom spells freely. Onomasticon. Use sanskrit and hinduism gods names, combine them. (Adhika-Ar’i, Sarasagni, Ashmanastan, Manasrama, Yammantra)

15: Atlants Born by the goddess of water, seas, oceans and ice Neptunia, atlants are the inhabitants of the Neptunia Moon. They look like humans with beige colored fish scales instead of skin (some subspecies have other kinds of skin, much like this of a dolphin or shark). Able to breathe underwater and to momentaly sink in it, have the ability to see through the depths of water like we see through clean air. Atlants understand the language of the sea, and are talented aquamancers. Fast facts: - Rarely walk on land, and because of that are uneducated about anything that could happen here. - Are pretty aggressive against ships and boats, and will let them float only for the means of transportation. - Their hair is thicker than that of a normal human and grows so slowly that to their elder years atlants have almost no gray hairs. - Live roughly thrice longer than humans. Onomasticon: Use ancient greek names, and combine them with words from all languages that are associated with the water and the moon. (Aristide, Glykera, Variagatha, Aquahilarion, Rekagalene)

16: Awara Spirits of wisdom which came to the material realms and made their bodies from everything they could find nearby. Thus, awara have different looks: bodies made from dirt, stones, wood, sand, and other. But they always do have a magical skin “mask” which indicates the fact they are alive. State of one’s awara body shows his spiritual height: when an awara is fair, good and loving, their body will bloom and shine, and when the opposite: will be dark and rotting. Awara’s skin mask slowly grows over time, but so slow that no awara ever got fully covered in skin. The skin does not bleed but leaks magical energy. Fast facts: - Awara do not reproduce, as in the Wisdom Realm (where they came from) there is an infinite number of them. Yet they are usually separating each other to genders, which they choose themselves. - Awara can sense the meaning of words and names, and can sense the name of someone. - Can teleport using the principle of “abandon this body and go somewhere else as a ghost, make another one”. - Are able to talk to nature, plants and animals. - If the skin of their “mask” reaches the crotch, reproductive organs will appear. The half-awara are able to do astral projections and become a fully functional awara, and still have a biological body in access. - Are able to talk to each other telepathically, not minding any distance. Onomasticon: Use any word and then change all the vowels in it to the first appearing in such word. As, for example, the word onomasticon will become the name Onomostocon. Usually awara have names which describe their character, and are given by other awara. Names are unisex. (Rivilit, Mentelest, Lonolo, Moontoon, Savaga)

Honorable mentions which didn’t need explaination due to the fact they are in the list but are not my creation:

1: Aarakocra

2: Aasimars

10: Angels 

13: Arachnids

[onwesterlywinds]

A Vessel for the Soul

"The body is but a vessel for the soul, A puppet which bends to the soul's tyranny. And lo, the body is not eternal, For it must feed on the flesh of others, Lest it return to the dust whence it came. Therefore must the soul deceive, despise, and murder men."

- A. J. Durai, Vagrant Story

She could not recall where she was or how she had come to be there, but a low and persistent hum filtered into her waking and sleeping thoughts. She was dazed and bleary and only a bit too cold, but for a long while, the presence of that droning hum - familiar, albeit in an unfamiliar way - was all that she knew for certain.

But it hurt to think too deeply, on the topic of her whereabouts or any other. Her head was pounding fit to burst.

At last, she summoned the will and the energy to draw in a deep breath. The air tasted sour, metallic. The tang of it would have evoked a cough, only she found that she could not properly inhale: something was lodged in her mouth, pushing apart her jaws and pressing down her tongue. The more she made to wretch, to spit out the object and all of its wrongness, the more distressing it became that she was unable to do so. The thing was supplying her with air - it, and the thinner tubes that extended from it to enter her nostrils.

She opened her eyes in alarm and at once they began to sting, from contact with water and from the blinding swath of blue that lay before her. Not the clear, pure blue of a warm ocean or an open sky, but of chemicals and machinery.

Of ceruleum.

Before her, only partly opaque through the horrific glow, lay a reflection - her own image, warped from the concave pane of a glass containment tank.

She struggled. She could do nothing else, faced as she was with the full weight of her captivity, and her every movement became a new and futile realization: her legs were strapped together, her arms were bound behind her back, and she could not summon enough force to break free of her restraints. She could not even scream loudly enough to overcome the breathing apparatus, no matter how she tried-

"Shut it down!" a voice cried, as if from a great distance away. "She's overcoming the restraint systems!"

Something silver and shimmering slipped past her field of vision as she writhed. She needed only to look again at her reflection to see what it was for certain, but she refused to look; she dared not allow herself even a glimpse. Instead she focused her gaze straight ahead at a crack beginning to form in the glass of the tank, and at the decidedly Garlean soldiers scrambling about in the laboratory beyond-

"Put her back to sleep! Now!"

There came a sudden burst of pain throughout her every ilm - an electric shock that would have made her cry out even louder, had she the means; the supply of air from the breathing tube had ceased. Her eyelids began to droop, her limbs refused to respond, and she reconciled herself at last to the fact that her body was no longer her own.

"Did you see her?"

They'd turned off most of the illumination modules in the workshop, but there was nothing to be done for the glowing blue lights that came from the ceruleum generators. The machines sent a blue cast across the nearest wall that was a bit dizzying in a way he could not comprehend. He rolled over to the side of the cot, in the event he needed to vomit, but did not. Over and over again, he gulped down breaths of air.

"I... I didn't," he said at last. "Not a thing."

As always, it was as if her own lips were moving to form the words. Deliberation hung heavy in her mind, acute submission to Rosenheim's innermost emotions, but his precise thoughts had always been beyond her reach during the moments of their Echo bond.

"Do you remember," he asked the woman at his side, "still in the first few moons after we met, that night when I was seized by panic down by the lochs? When Marco had to sit you both down and tell you about Blackram."

"I remember."

Tia? Tia, is that you?

"I was dreaming of him. He was sitting in the dark and talking, talking to me like he hasn't been dead for years, like... like he still knew everything about me. Like everything I've seen and done since..."

Her father could not finish his train of thought. He was clenching his fists so tightly that the pressure of his fingernails against his palms might have left welts in her own skin. Were she the least bit conscious, she might have cried out from the pain of it.

"Ridiculous. Ridiculous I'm still letting it get to me, after thirty godsdamned years and a fucking war."

Rosenheim, please. My body's trapped in a Garlean tank, and my mind is here, right behind your eyes-

"And I think of what's happened with Ashelia and me, our Echoes joining, and... sometimes, even that brings back what that bastard did to Sigrid."

I'm right here! Gods, why can't you sense me?!

Tia threw one of her arms about his waist and curled herself into him, despite taking up the majority of the small cot to do so. "Just try to relax. You've been awake far longer than I have." After a single silent moment, she took a long breath and added, "I'm sorry I don't have anything more helpful to say."

Ma. Dad.

Rosenheim responded by turning himself around in bed. A single beam of light from one of the generators lit up most of Tia's face with its radiant blue, illuminating the kind intent with which she regarded him.

Help me.

He leaned over and laid a light kiss upon her brow. "Sleep well." She pulled herself ever closer to him to return the gesture and he shut his eyes at that.

Though it took some time for his body and his mind to drift off, Ashelia saw no more of the workshop or of anything else.

Scientists and officers alike came into the facility to survey her. She could hear them talk from the other side of the ilm-thick glass, muffled as though their voices stretched across eras; whenever she opened her eyes to greet the sound, the speakers often stood no more than a few fulms from her prison. She listened time after time to the people to whom she was more of an afterthought than aught else; eventually, she could absorb each and every syllable of their affected speech and realized that she could even understand what many of them were saying.

Her father had, after all, spent twenty years with these people.

"...not that this would have been the least bit easier under van Baelsar, but Lord Zenos has hardly been forthright with his agenda. I daresay he's making his decisions on a whim."

"I can't believe I'm saying this," a man harrumphed, "and to you of all people. But I agree." He was a relatively easy figure to spot, as he bore an unusual appearance compared to most of the Garleans she had seen in her life: he was short, balding, and incredibly rotund, though he wore a military uniform that fit him as well as any other she had seen. "I had thought the matter settled after our previous discussion: unplug the tank's life support and ship the corpse back to the capital."

"Really, Bonifas." The other speaker was a severe-looking woman with a haughty face, one whom Ashe did not need to be told was named Salonia. Camilla rem Salonia, primus pilus of the XIIth. "With such an investment on the line-"

"Investment into what, exactly? This is the savage that killed Gaius van Baelsar! And you've talked to anyone who would listen about incorporating her into the XIIth, as though she were Garlemald's own prodigal-"

"No wonder you're confused. Time and again you miss the point," the woman snapped. She withdrew a bulging leather wallet from a deep pocket and opened it; inside rested a matchbook and an array of cigarettes. "We wouldn't be incorporating Ashelia Riot into the XIIth. Just as Ashley Riot is not and never has been a Garlean operative." She struck a match, lit her cigarette, and held it between her fingers for a moment as she continued speaking. "I wonder if he would be amenable to helping us choose her new alias, once we have her locate him on our behalf."

"I must wonder why you are so interested in chasing down an operative who failed a mission. Or abandoned it, as is more likely."

"One mission, after hundreds of successes. Besides, he represents an investment of millions."

"It has nothing to do with your alleged physical relationship with him?"

Camilla took a long drag from her cigarette and, before breaking the heavy tension, blew a massive cloud of smoke into the air. "I won't dignify such a baseless accusation with a response." She turned from the man, casting a careless glance up at the tank. "I'm going to confer with Alenna and Invidia; if you need me, I don't care." On her way out the door, she barked a final order. "And for the love of all that's good, shut her down, if you've any idea what you're doing. She's woken up yet again."

Ashelia Riot now understood, and with intimate clarity, exactly how the many creatures in Azys Lla had survived for over five thousand years. Even when she lost any hope of keeping track of time within the confines of her prison, even when each passing minute became its own eternity, she could choose to succumb to her rage. She learned to prefer being conscious, no matter the degradations and violations the Garleans subjected her to. Consciousness kept her thoughts from wandering.

She did not want to think of her company. To do so would be to inevitably speculate how many of them might already have died in her absence, or what the toll might be if they were to mount a rescue effort. She worried most of all for those in Othard, and for her husband leading them, and for whether or not she would ever again see anyone she loved unless it was as a prisoner in her father's mind.

And as time went by, she saw less from him, too. Rosenheim kept to windowless rooms within the Sandsea and spoke little, even to Tia, and soon she could not endure a moment of their shared Echo without resentment beginning to simmer. It was hypocritical - it had taken her nearly twenty years to seek him out, and she likely would never have stormed a castrum for his sake - but it was much easier to occupy and fortify herself with anger than it was to succumb to despair.

In time, she could no longer distinguish the Echo from her dreams.

"We're going to get her out of there," she once heard her father say. "We'll keep you as informed as we can. In the meantime, we'll need you and the rest of the Crimson Blades to give it your all in Othard."

She dreamed that she herself was standing in Doma on a bright and cloudless day, but she had never been to Doma and likely would never get the chance and her surroundings resembled instead the rugged peaks of northern Vylbrand. The westerly wind tasted of sedatives.

“I thought about running home." Edge's voice rang out across the peaks, flat and fatigued and marred by the crackle of static. “Sylv and the others talked me out of it. Now I’m just... numb. I’m going to make them regret this. All of them.”

She climbed with stiff legs over the bones of a massive, prehistoric being, one not so unlike the undead wyrm she had encountered at the Hundred Throes-

The earth began to vibrate over and over again with a noise like that of a low, heavy gong.

She opened her eyes, shaken back into reality at long last. A Garlean foot soldier - young, with close-cropped silver hair and a large third eye - was being dragged off by two others in white laboratory coats. He had kicked her tank. The soldier stared up at her with a hatred that rivaled what she felt for him.

"BITCH!" he spat. "I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! YOU KILLED MY BROTHER! IN DRAVANIA!"

He tore his arm free from one of the scientists, who stumbled back and nearly flailed into the tank's control panel. Before the soldier could take another step closer, a single shot rang out, and a bullet tore through his head with a sickening spray.

Camilla rem Salonia holstered her pistol. To the stunned researchers gaping over at the crumpled corpse, she said, "Your only warning. Should anyone else speak of Case 72 beyond the limits of this room, every one of you will be brought to the Resonatorium in her stead."

"You should be glad to hear that we've at last determined what's to be done with you."

The fact that the praefectus medicorum was speaking Common made his words no easier to understand. His team had affixed a heavy metal dome to her head - the better to gauge her vitals, they said - and the constant ache from carrying that weight for what felt like half an era was only compounded by that godsdamned hum. Dimly she fantasized about shutting the machine down for good: breaking every pane of glass to shards, shattering all the circuits-

"Now, now," the medicorum said, a slimy smile on his face. "Settle down, my dear, or I'll have to administer another round of shocks. I don't think either of us will be happy with that outcome."

She took her heaving breaths through the tube, fighting her every instinct to writhe back and hating herself for surrendering to his wishes. The medicorum folded his hands together across his front, examined the panel to his immediate left, and waited.

"Acceptable," he said after a time. "But I'll expect better from you in the future." He paused for another moment to allow the words to sink in. "Tomorrow is a very important day. You're to finally be brought before Zenos yae Galvus, legatus of the XIIth Imperial Legion - the new viceroy of the Ala Mhigan territory."

Immediately her thoughts raced to the last time she had seen him, during the raid of Rhalgr's Reach. He had cut down each of his targets indiscriminately, without even a struggle. She would have to prevail against him, unarmed, weak as she was.

"Well?" the medicorum asked. "It's a great honor. The son of the emperor - possibly himself the future emperor - wielding your powers to bring this war to an end once and for all."

How could she hope to prevail against Zenos if she could not overcome even a single researcher?

The medicorum gave the control panel one last glance, then raised his hands in a mocking gesture of conciliation. "Very well. I'll refrain from further attempts to provoke you. You're surprisingly calm at the mention of Lord Zenos, I'll give you that." His sickening grin returned, and he reached for the button that would disable her for the near future. "Let's see if that still holds true tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Seraph."

The humming returned in full force.

In a final act of futile defiance as her eyes began to droop, she summoned the last traces of air left in her lungs and loosed a single, drawn-out, deadened scream at the man's back.

[wearetheblacklegion]

Collected

A drabble I have written for @fuukonomiko celebrating her ascendency to Chaos godhood about her Astartes servants, renegade Blood Ravens whose kleptomania have caused them to fall to Chaos. Without further ado, here we go.

In his millennia of life, both as a warrior of the Imperium and a servant to the Ruinous Powers, Thuoris had gathered many names and titles. Captain of the Legion, Lord of the Warp Wraiths, Bane of Wolves, Tyrant of the Hive, Sorcerer of Ash and Fire, Son of the Red Cyclops, and countless others. Demons, mortals, and Astartes alike had bent knee to him or been crushed by his armies and his own considerable powers. Like all Astartes the emotion of fear was bred out of him, never once experienced since his ascendency past the mortal form. Has his twin hearts pounded, muscles tensed, and throat choked with hot air, he wondered if this was what fear felt like? Muffled but still audible through the immense stone walls were the sounds of gunfire, the screams of the wounded mingling with daemonic shrieks, and roared war cries. Thuoris racked his brain for a solution, a way out of this predicament. He had survived the Great Crusade, the Heresy, the Legion Wars, and everything that came after. By the eye of the Primarch he would not die here!

Thuoris had lead his warband to this dead world on a rumor, whispers of ancient texts and powerful artifacts hidden away. In most instances Thuoris dismissed such rumors as here-say but not this one. His reasoning was that it had been brought to him by a daemon, one bound by his own hand and power. The daemon had told him of a dead World, home to ruins of a long dead xenos civilization. It had told him of their worship of the dark gods, of their studies of the warp, how they learned to control and bend both the warp and its denizens to their will. It had not told him of how they were destroyed but instead spoke of the countless relics and knowledge left behind in the ruins, sealed away to protect them from the ravages of time. Suck knowledge would grant the owner incredible power, the power to understand the warp and bend it to their will, to enslave a legion of daemons, to rise to the highest echelons of power and favor. The thought had Thuoris nearly drooling with greed and ambition. It had taken months of warp travel through treacherous currents to reach the world, far out in the wilds of space. He had ordered a full deployment of the warband to maximize their search efforts, numbering a coven of three sorcerers including himself, fifty Rubricae, and a number of mortal cultists descending via Thunderhawk gunships.

Thuoris had been the first to set foot upon the sands of the dead world, had insisted on it. His own ego and air for theatricality would not allow otherwise. The air was hot and dry even through his helmet filters but breathable , the twin suns blazing overhead. They had landed on the outskirts of some ancient city now a crumbling ruin, following the directions given to him by the daemon. Azoth, a lesser member of the coven and Thuoris’ apprentice initiated to an Astartes long after the events of the Heresy, approached him. “I do not like it Master. Something about this world is wrong, I can sense it.” Thuoris could sense it to, the grind of the warp on his mind. The warp was close to the surface here, strong enough that one gifted could hear the faint whispers of those long dead. But Thuoris brushed it off, he would not be run off like a frightened child. “Steel yourself Azoth, we are Astartes. We press forward.” And so they did, the sorcerers encircled by the Rubricae and the mortals trailing behind. They trudged through the crumbling ruins, past once towering buildings, and statues of beings now worn away by time. Their procession lead them to the center of the lost city, a surprisingly intact acropolis of worn sandy stone. Sensor data from the orbiting ship blared down to the, warnings of an encroaching sandstorm. “Come, we enter now!”

The acropolis was a place of worship at some point, the ancients decorated with half decayed mosaics of heroes, gods, and unknown beings. Mortals carrying glow lamps illuminated the path though their number was reduced. The dead had not left this place unguarded, ancient traps still operating and lethal. Through the winding passageways they had left a trail of dead cultists. From the dark corridors they finally emerged into a large circular chamber. Thuoris deduced it to be some kind of sacrificial chamber given the stone altar set in the middle. But where was the relics and tomes, the hidden caches of forbidden knowledge? His thoughts were interrupted by the echoes of gunfire. Someone or something had engaged the Rubricae he left to guard their way back. He whirled and began issuing orders. “Azoth, Graal, take the mortals and return to the entrance. If someone has followed us, kill them. I will remain here. His fellow Thousand Sons nodded their consent and moved to do as he bid.

So now he stood, waiting for their return, surrounded by his fifteen remaining Rubricae. The din of battle had faded, replaced only by the rising clank of heavy boots on stone floor. Thuoris peered into the darkness, reaching out with his psychic sense for a trace of his brothers presence"Azoth? Graal? What has happened?” Two rounded objects came flying out of the dark tunnel, thudding across the floor and rolling to a stop at the feet of the Rubricae. Thuoris’ mouth faked under his helm as he stared at the severed heads of Azoth and Graal. From within the darkness came a loud, echoing warcry. “All! Is! Eternal!” Astartes clad in dark red power armor surged forth from the tunnels, bolters cracking a hail for fire, The Rubricae fired back but were futile slow, falling in shattered armor and clouds of dust as the explosive shells tore through them. There was no time to think, to plan, to identify these unknown attackers, only to react. Thuoris identified one he guessed to be the leader, a powerful figure striding through the ranks carrying a Thunder Hammer. Gathering his psychic might he lashed out at the individual, unholy flames eclipsing him. Thuoris smiled but it was quickly wiped from his face as the warrior stepped through the flames unharmed. He gathered his concentration for another attack when a sudden force knocked the air from his lungs, lifting him off his feet and hurling him through the air. He collided with the stone altar in a crash of armor an stone. Pain lanced through him as he felt several ribs break and tasted blood in his mouth. Groggily he tried to rise but something heavy and forcefully cracked against his head, smashing into the floor and blackness eclipsed him.

He came to groggily, vision blurred and head pounding. He blinked away the fog, the world slowly coming into focus. He was still in the chamber, lying with his back on hard stone. The air tasted stale in his lungs, someone had removed his helm. He went to rise but found he could not, his limbs bound with heavy chains. He tried to gather his psychic power but his mind was blurred, unfocused. He could hear voices nearby and he struggled against the bindings, cursing in Prosperan. He was surprised when another voice answered in his native tongue. “Ah brother, you are awake.” A figure moved into his view, an armored Astartes. He could just make out the symbol on the shoulder pauldron, it appeared to a…… scroll or a book? “You are….. not Prosperon.” His captor laughed, the vox disruption making it a horrifying sound. “No brother I am not. But is a beautiful language, valued by the goddess and worthy of preservation. Aren’t all languages though? Each syllable is unique, a twist of the tongue forming sounds that can be composed into words, each individual yet part of a greater whole.” He continued to ramble, confusing him even more. He’d never heard any renegade speak in such a manner and he talked of a goddess so they were not of the hated Imperium. “Who… are you?”, he growled. Again his captor laughed. “Who are we brother? We are the providers of the Eternal Vaults, chosen of the Goddess herself, collectors of the universe. We are the Eternal Keepers.” The name did not register with any Warband Thuoris knew of but that was not uncommon with the countless splinters that roamed the Eye and beyond. “What do you want?” “Why you of course? You have chosen brother, for you are unique. You have gathered so many interesting titles and you are a son of Magnus. That will make you most beloved by the goddess. Ah but now our conversation must end. It is time for you to go.” Thuoris could hear chanting rising in volume, vocal cords twisting to produce words not meant for human tongue, and he could feel the energy of the warp crackling in the air. He struggled more, thrashing against his chains, but it was to no avail. Shrieking syllables and inhuman vowels echoed through the chamber as reality tore around him. He found himself unable to turn away, gazing through the tear into the endless expanse of the Eternal Vaults. He saw daemons the likes of which he’d never seen before buzzing, chittering, cataloging the countless specimens of an unspeakable collection. The demons raised their heads, clawed hands reaching for him as immeasurable power froze his limbs, his muscles, even his soul. Thuoris, lord of the Warp Wraiths, Sorcerer of Ash and Fire, Son of Magnus the Red, screamed as the many limbs tore him from the altar and dragged him through. As the rift closed the chamber echoed with the praises roared by the Eternal Keepers, mingling with a sound only they could hear. The renegades departed from the dead city with the delighted laugh of a pleased goddess ringing in their ears.