#inheritance cycle vines

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance Cycle as Vines

Ignore the shitty quality. Have some Modern Inheritance Cycle as vines!

[magicandmundane]

Eragon, through a mental link: All right, I’m here, open up. 

Murtagh: …

Murtagh: As a child I was forced to eat dog food for dinner—

Eragon: Open the fucking door—

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Through the Vine

Surrounded by some of the most coveted vineyards on the continent, your party sits in the shaded garden and listens to the old alchemist explaining why she needs your help getting drunk enough to see the face of god.

Every adventurer knows the name Ultani, at least those with coin and taste enough to order bottles of wine when they and their friends hit up a tavern after a delve. What an irony then for one of the Ultani family to ask for THEM at her table, and with a business proposition of all things.

Bent with age but bright of eye, Ivilia Ultani needs their help tracking down the location of an abandoned druid sanctum in the far wilderness and retrieving fruit sacred to the god of vintners and healers left over from a disastrous ritual. Her reasons? Apparently after decades perusing the alchemical mysteries Ivilia got her hands on a bottle blessed by the wine-god himself, and spent four days in a state of drunken revelation pencilling out her magnum opus. The bottle and her inspiration dry just before she finished, so rather than waiting years trying to trial and error the last piece or searching for another bottle she's decided to make some of her own.

Along the way the party will contend with family drama, the cutthroat politics of the wine trade, and the long echoing consequences of stealing from merciful gods. For their troubles they'll not only earn the thanks of a talented alchemist, but also potentially a new home should they hold true to their task.

Setup: Though she is the oldest of her of her merchant clan Ivilia is not the head of the Ultani winery. Her younger brother Valtar had the talent for cultivation and business while she veered towards eccentric scholarship, now Valtar's adult grandchildren run the business and the numerous sprawling vineyards associated with it while she lives in learned obscurity on the original family homestead.

While she occasionally helps out whit a new formulation of fertilizer or pest repellent, Ivilia is rather distant from the rest of the Ultani family who view her as a bit of a kook, who all to often uses her inherited share of the enterprise to buy obscure texts or finance futile experiments.

Challenges & Complications:

Actually finding the sanctum is going to be half the problem. Druidic orders are notoriously protective about the location of their secret clubhouses, and this order was scattered to the wind more than a century ago. Ivilia has tracked down the vague location where she thinks the sanctum might be, but unless the party wants to spend days combing the dangerous wilderness they're going to need to track down a more reliable source. Parsing through local rumours and records gives them three leads, an elf who still provides council to the local Count (goodluck getting an appointment), a vaguely helpful ditty that was recounted to a local bard (since dramatized in endless retelling), and an elder of the order who flew back to his home village in the shape of a falcon. Investigating the latter finds that the elder was apparently so scarred by what he'd seen at the sanctum that he transformed himself into a tree and has spent the intervening decades letting his mind and memory lignify.

The Sanctum itself and the landscape that surrounds it has been scarred by an act of divine wrath that still lingers in the form of dangerous fey and choking vines. Roots have undermined the walls and foundations, making chambers all to easy to collapse. In the centre of this ruin lays the undead corpse of Elmgrace , a once famed elven healer who sought the boon of the god Litirenn only to try and use that gift to reign the god towards his own purposes. Resentful at this deception Litirenn unleashed havoc on the sanctum, cursing Elmgrace never to die, never to rot, and never to rejoin the cycle of nature. Forever vinebound to the same altar he intended for the deity, Elmgrace's few last fanatical followers still tend to his broken body, attempting to brew up more potent poisons that will finally "free" their teacher from his torment.

Unfortunately, the fruit the party needs to pluck grows only from the plants impaling Elmgrace's body, which his followers are very protective of. Even after the party races through the wilderness and back to civilization with their prize they'll need to look over their shoulder for toxin obsessed cultists stalking their trail.

Further Adventures:

Milo Ultani has something to prove, the oldest of four siblings and a gaggle of cousins poised to inherit the winery he was raised to value hard work and loyalty to the family above all else. All his life it has irked him that his great aunt was allowed to dwell in their ancestral home, some of the nicest land his family owns, leaching off their enterprise like a withered limb. What finally drives him to act is Ivilia offhandedly mentioning that she intends to sign over her house and land to the party as a reward for helping her drink her way to enlightenment again. Resentment turns to rage in the young man's mind as a plan begins to form; A vine must be pruned in order to be fruitful after all.

When the party return with the godly fruit they're going to find Ivilia gone, her home broken into during the night her bed a mess of red that at first seems to be blood, but is infact wine. Surrounded by experts it doesn't take long for the vino in question to be identified as belonging to Jadash Hill, one of the Ultani's oldest rivals who are known for their unscrupulous business practices. It's at this point that Milo comes forward, reporting that some of their carters had gotten into brawls with those from Jadash Hill at a local tollhouse, sending the bastards packing and ignoring their threats of reprisal as idle boasting. This did indeed happen, but only because Milo is in charge of part of the family's delivery operation and instigated the fight himself.

The clock is ticking, the party has a bushel of miracle fruit that's going to rot and the alchemist they were supposed to deliver it to is nowhere to be seen. They can either find Ivilia quick, figure out a method of preserving the fruit, or read through her notes and attempt to concoct the divine wine themselves.

However badly he thinks of her, Milo would never kill his great aunt, having instead had his loyal carters drag her off to a small cottage on the edge of a property the family was keeping fallow for the year. In his reckoning the old woman won't live much longer, and while the emerging feud with Jadash hill keeps the family busy he can figure out a better place to keep his great aunt locked up. He wasn't delicate in his planning but he moves fast and the influence he has with the workforce as the presumptive heir cannot be overstated.

Art 1 Art 2

[valerienrhapsody]

Sup cuties

I have a story that I've been working on literally since highschool and was considering getting it conventionally published, but right now I just want her to be read and enjoyed more than anything. So below the cut find chapter 1 of By Nightfall, and I'll post further chapters under the same tags

thanks love ya byeee

Prologue

The monster house, as the locals liked to call it, was the last relic of a time when Jericho County had dreamed of being a center of booming agriculture for the state of California. Old Jonah Rayne built the place from the ground up with nothing but his bare hands and a sturdy hammer, or so he would say to anyone with an ear to listen. It was his one crowning achievement, he would boast; “The most perfect thing I could ever create, aside from the children, of course.” A home built with love and for love, and the start of what should have been a glorious legacy to carry his name through generations. 

After the Rayne family massacre, with none but a few distant relatives to claim the inheritance, the agricultural land was divided and sold at auction. The  living quarters intended to house the estate workers eventually sprouted into the quiet little town of Jericho, and the Rayne property was reduced to the last five acres sitting at the end of Richmond Avenue and the old family home that had once been so dear.

Years became decades, then centuries, in which that house succumbed to its steady decay, a shadow of its former beauty with a sagging foundation, more holes in the roof than swiss cheese, and a small jungle growing out of the front yard. After an incident involving a curious child and an unstable staircase, the house was finally condemned as a safety hazard. Of course, that did nothing to stop the kids around town from breaking in, daring each other to face the ghosts of a butchered family whose name had been long forgotten. It was always the same song and dance: a new layer of graffiti and trash, and then new boards to seal all the windows and doors, rinse and repeat. So went the cycle of the monster house.

It was a night at the end of a long, dry summer that Jesse arrived, the first Rayne in over two hundred years to step foot on the property. The wrought iron gates guarding the path screeched against years of built-up rust, and it gave him the eerie sensation of being screamed at. Go away, the house told him. Let the dead things here rest in peace.

Still, he pressed on, his steps crunching on the gravel pathway that was the only walkable area not swamped by weeds. He ripped at the vines and brambles blocking his way up the porch, and two steps up the structure found his foot crashing right through to the ground.

The boards covering the front door gave Jesse the most trouble, layers upon layers of planks haphazardly nailed across the frame and decorated with weather-beaten signs warning away intruders. He tore down what could be removed by hand, then came at it with a running start to beat the door down with his shoulder.

Dust flew everywhere, catching the moonbeams streaming in from the hole in the roof over the foyer. A draft ran through the darkened halls and empty rooms, rattling old piles of trash and empty drink cans, and from somewhere deep within, the house groaned its objection to the disturbance.

Jesse echoed the sentiment with a low groan of his own, swatting away the dust and cobwebs hanging in the air. He gave up his efforts with a resigned sigh as he took in the grimness of his surroundings.

“Home sweet home.”

Chapter 1: Last Friday Night

Dead leaves crunched underfoot as Evaine walked down the road toward home. It was a sign that fall was on the way, and with it came the first muggy, overcast day since summer ended. Patches of thick clouds traveled overhead, scattering the sunlight in uneven rays like curtains opening and closing over and over again. The heat warmed her enough to work up an uncomfortable sweat as she walked, but the breeze that affected the air so turbulently was just cold enough to bite at her cheeks and chill her toes. 

Fitting, she thought, as the gloomy sky mirrored her foul mood. A perfect little cherry on top of an already miserable day that was barely halfway through with her. Most days she could deal with the usual dull grind of high school life, the loneliness of having nobody to sit with at lunch, or the frustration of trying to make nice with people who made no effort to hide their disinterest. 

But today, oh boy. Today she had been asked to read her paper aloud in English, and the whole class kept on talking like she wasn’t even standing there, red-faced and stuttering in front of everybody. The teacher just had her sit back down before she was even finished so they could move onto the next presentation. Today Tanner Humphreys “borrowed” her favorite pen in math and straight up ignored her when she asked for it back at the end of class.

Today she had missed her bus home because her history teacher made her stay late to discuss why she was already failing barely two months into the semester. For almost twenty minutes he droned on about personal accountability and how colleges would certainly not be impressed by such a track record as hers, and wouldn’t she be so embarrassed if she wasn’t able to graduate with her senior class?

And so she had missed the bus, leaving her to walk home in this miserable weather while she stewed in her foul mood, and it was made all the worse by knowing that she had no one to blame but herself. Her fault for giving up on her grades, for trusting Tanner to give the pen back, for not speaking up during her presentation.

So lost in her own moping, Evaine was taken by surprise when she looked up and realized that she had walked all the way to the end of Richmond Avenue. Any other day she would have crossed the street to avoid being so close to the monster house; she didn't like the way its drooping porch looked like a downturned mouth set in a grimace and the boarded windows like eyes permanently sewn shut. That place had always given her a serious case of the heebie-jeebies ever since she was a child, and standing at the gates as a near adult was no different.

Evaine quickly tore her eyes away, as if staring too long would make the house aware of her presence, and turned to cross the street with a renewed pace. She knew there was a faster way home, just past the end of Richmond where the road turned into the dirt walking path through the Jericho woods. That way would lead right right up to her own backyard in half the time, but it would also take her so close to the monster house that she could see into those holes that the patchwork couldn’t quite cover, and then she would have to face the creeping feeling that if she could see inside, then maybe something inside could see her, too.

No, she would always choose the safe, reliable path of the sidewalk and the extra five minutes that it added to her route.

When she finally reached home, trudging across the lawn that was still yellow after such a dry season, she was met at the driveway by her mother’s car pulling in. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her mom to come home early on Fridays, letting her attendant, Parker, close up shop so she and Evaine could catch a movie or get dinner together. What was out of the ordinary was Evaine making it home from school a good half hour later than the bus drop off time.

“Running late?” asked her mom as she stepped out of the car, bringing with her the smell of moist fertilizer that seemed to waft straight from her overalls. Evaine doubted that her mom had a single item of clothing left in her closet that wasn’t stained by dirt and leafy smears of green, but the “bringing your work home with you” jokes had gotten old a long time ago. 

Besides, it wouldn’t matter if she was wearing a burlap sack or a glittering ball gown; Mary Dawson was the most beautiful woman in the world, and it was so unfair to Evaine who felt like a toad in comparison. Her mom had the most lovely honey blonde hair that she usually kept pulled up in a working bun, but feathery little wisps always found their way back to her face. Evaine’s own hair was so red it could warn away predators, and an unruly mess of curls to boot. Her mom’s eyes were a soft blue, bracketed by little laugh lines that did nothing to detract from her natural glow, while Evaine’s were brown over much darker skin that still bore the freckles from summer. Her mother had the kind of warm smile that could turn anyone into a friend, and it lit up her face as she greeted her daughter.

“Yeah…I need you to sign something for me,” Evaine confessed, choosing to rip the bandaid off as soon as possible. Her eyes remained shamefully glued to the ground as she reached into her pants pocket where she had folded up the piece of paper from her history teacher.

Her mom accepted the paper with a bracing sigh, walking on toward the house as she read, her frown deepening with every word. Evaine unlocked and opened the front door for her, and they both stood in the foyer for a long moment of tense silence while her mom finished the scathing review of her academic progress.

“Well, it’s not exactly a glowing letter of praise,” her mom said, making a generous effort to not sound too disappointed. She set down her work bag and went to pull a pen from the entryway table. 

“I don’t know what to say…” Evaine mumbled, feeling even worse for the mild reaction, if that was even possible.

“Look, I’m not about to stand here and yell at you about how you’re better than this and there’s no excuse for laziness,” her mom said as she handed back the signed paper. “I had a hard time in high school, too. I was unfocused and too naïve to think about my future in any realistic way, and every time my parents yelled at me or tried to punish me for it, I just hated school more and more. So, I’m not going to do that to you. E, I know you’ve been having a hard time, and senior year is enough pressure as it is. All I want is for you to do your best to get through it, and just try.”

“I know, it just feels like this year is the hardest it’s ever been,” Evaine admitted, hating the sound of self-pity in her own voice. She folded her arms across her chest, willing the frustrated tears to stop stinging at the back of her eyes. “I mean, everyone else is talking about college and career paths right now, and I’m just sitting in class every day doing all this work that just feels so pointless and exhausting when I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with myself when it’s all over.”

“Hey, getting stuck in a bad attitude isn’t going to solve anything,” her mom said with a voice that was anything but berating. She pulled Evaine into her arms for one of those soul-mending hugs that never failed to chase the clouds away. “Listen, just get through this year whatever way you can. You know I’d prefer it if you got a diploma, but even I had to settle for a GED. Once school is over, you can come work with me at the shop and take general classes at the community college until you pick a career path. Believe it or not, senior year is not ‘do or die’ for your future. I think once you start to live your life outside of high school, you’ll find your way.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Evaine said, puffing out a breath against her mom’s shoulder, wishing she could be that hopeful for herself. For now, all she had was the gnawing guilt that made her feel worse for letting things get this bad. Needing a change of subject before her bad mood could drown her completely, she disentangled herself from her mom’s hug and forced a smile. “Were we going to do something tonight? Is that why you’re home early?”

“Actually, the ladies from the community garden are getting together for dinner,” her mom explained with an apologetic wince like she knew Evaine might’ve gotten her hopes up. “Do you want to order a pizza? Should I bring something back?”

“Nah, I’ll pick something up,” Evaine replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, refusing to let it show on her face that she indeed had gotten her hopes up. “If you’re going out, I think I’ll go to the library or walk around the plaza for a bit.”

“That’s the spirit! Get all dolled up, see what kind of trouble you can get into,” her mom encouraged with a playful wink, the kind that said she was only half joking. Her mom-humor was the contagious kind, and despite herself, Evaine began to feel a little better.

Her mom’s version of getting ready for a night out involved showering, blowing out and curling her hair, painting on a light layer of makeup, and donning the sleekest black dress in her closet that she held onto just for such occasions. In the same amount of time, Evaine paced back and forth from her closet to her laundry hamper, regretting the fact that she hadn’t bothered to pick up anything nice during her yearly school shopping trip. After spending way too long struggling to make a decision, she finally settled on a pair of jeans and one of her newer graphic tees. Just to feel more dressed up, she laced up her red sneakers instead of the black ones. Sneakers, because of course she would be walking for the rest of the night. In the muggy heat and icy wind. Again.

She went into her mother’s room to give herself a final look in their full-length mirror, feeling reasonably satisfied with her work. The shirt was smooth and unwrinkled, her jeans were worn in and soft, and her sneakers looked clean and well cared for. She had tied her hair back into a ponytail in anticipation of a breezy night, and gelled down as much of the frizz as she could manage. It wasn’t the same level of style as she’d seen the other girls at school wearing lately, but if tonight was the night to try her luck and maybe talk to somebody new, at least she wouldn’t be too self conscious.

It was a nice thought, but it lasted for only a moment before her mother came to stand beside her to use the mirror as well, fluffing out her sculpted curls and fixing her dress. Side by side, all Evaine could see was what set them apart from each other, and her heart sank with the familiar weight of disappointment. 

When she was a child, she used to ask her mom if she would grow up to look like her, like all these things that made her different were nothing more than growing pains to be overcome. Even after the truth had been explained to her, she would still daydream about waking up one day to find that she had magically blossomed into that version of herself she always wished she could become. If only she could be a little more like her mother, she would think in those critical moments, if only she could be prettier, more charming…then her life could really begin. People would look at her and pay attention when she talked, and they would call her up and invite her places on Friday nights just because they enjoyed her company, and she would be such a good friend to have.

It took a long time for her to understand what it meant to be adopted, and many more years after that to accept that the face she saw in the mirror was the only one she would ever have, that there would never be a fairytale moment to turn this pauper into a princess.

It was still muggy in the late afternoon as Evaine and her mother both set out for the evening, but at least the breeze had carried away the darkest of the clouds, freeing the sun to cast its long shadows across the front lawn. Her mom gave her a ride into town, thankfully saving her from having to walk the first half of her trip, and she was dropped off at the steps of Jericho Public Library. The two wished each other a fun night, and after a slew of reminders from her mom to be careful and to try to be home before dark, the two parted ways.

From her first steps through the library doors, Evaine could feel all the tension and stress of her day finally beginning to release its hold on her. Here, where the air smelled like paper and ink and those scented candles the librarian kept on her desk, where the only noise was the soft flutter of pages being turned and polite whispers being shared back and forth, here was where Evaine found joy more than any place in the world. Once she had tucked herself away in her comfortable little reading corner, things like the self conscious worries over her looks or of being friendless and lonely simply didn’t matter anymore. 

Her favorite spot in the building was the set of twin chairs by the window overlooking Jericho Plaza. They were a faded sea green with brass nail embellishments, mismatched with a little chestnut end table and vintage reading lamp between the two. From there, she would be able to watch all the lights come on at sundown, making the little town look like a fairy wonderland.

“How did I know I’d find you here?”

Evaine looked up from her book to find Alec, the assistant librarian, staring down at her. He was an older man of about forty, although she could have sworn he’d clung to thirty five at least three years in a row. He had dark and weathered skin which bore the marks of a lifetime of hard work, and a layer of gray peppered stubble all across his chin. His face was set in a permanent sort of scowl that belied the kind man underneath, and when he laughed he looked like a wrinkly bulldog. As per usual, his work boots and jeans were just a little wrinkled with bits of dust and paper scraps clinging to the fabric, and his flannel shirt was rolled up to the elbows where the edges of some faded tattoos could be seen. He was the everything man around here, just as likely to be found working on maintenance as hunting down late fees. 

“Hey, Alec,” Evaine greeted, bookmarking her spot in her latest selection so she could give him her full attention. “What’s up?”

“Your waitlisted request finally came in,” he announced, setting a new book in front of her. “Actually, it came in last week but Miss Evelyn hasn’t been shelving the returns since her cat’s been sick. I’m just getting around to it.”

“Thanks, I was wondering about that,” Evaine said, picking up the book with a grin. She looked around at the other books she had collected for the afternoon and realized she would have to sacrifice one if she was going to be able to carry them all home. Oh well; Friday night problems.

“What happened to movie night with your mom?” Alec asked, pulling up the reading chair just across from hers. From the chest pocket of his flannel shirt he pulled a little baggie of peanuts and began to pop them with loud, open-mouthed crunching. 

“It turned into ladies’ night with the gardening club,” Evaine explained with a shrug she hoped looked more careless than she felt. It would just be too pathetic to admit out loud that she was lonely because mommy had more friends than her. “I figured I’d just read for a bit and then go pick up some dinner. You have any big plans for the weekend?”

“I’m actually making the drive to Redwood City after closing. My cousin Maggie’s there for work, so we’re getting dinner.”

“That should be fun,” Evaine said politely, secretly disappointed that even Alec, the only person in town with fewer friends than her, had plans and someone to hang out with. “Hey, can your stop by Rosita’s Bakery on the way for me? Bring me one of those colossal cookies.”

“Chocolate chip or peanut butter?”

“Ew, peanut butter’s gross. Chocolate chip.”

“You better wash your mouth out with soap; don’t talk about my peanut butter like that,” he warned, wagging a finger at her until she started to laugh. “And stop that laughing. Don’t you know we’re in a library? Gonna get us arrested.”

Of course, that only made her laugh harder, and he shook his head to hide his own satisfied smirk. Evaine had always thought that Alec wasn’t like most people, never brushing her off or making her feel ignored. He treated her like she was a person, like someone who was worthy of his time and friendship.

From a few aisles down came the sound of a loud CRASH, the resulting tumble of books, and someone doing their best to whisper a slew of curse words. Alec grumbled to himself and began to stuff the peanuts back into his shirt pocket.

“Guess that’s my cue. See you later, kiddo.”

“Have fun at dinner,” she called after him as he half-ran toward the crash.

Evaine spent the next few hours reading and enjoying her own company right up until the library closed promptly at six. It wasn’t quite nighttime when she stepped back outside, but the clouds made it dark enough for all of the lights of the plaza to come on a little early. 

It seemed as if the whole town was out that evening, strolling among the shops and enjoying the relief after another hot day. Evaine took her time walking the plaza pathway as she debated her dinner options, moseying through shops with clothes she knew she would never buy and hobbies she wished she had the talent for. While it was nice to see everyone out and enjoying themselves, it never failed to leave her with a melancholy pang in her chest. Just for once it would be nice to have somebody to walk around with, talk about the latest school gossip, or get their opinion on whether they should eat tacos or pizza.

She could feel that bad mood from earlier threatening to rain down on her as her thoughts took a sour turn, so she made the quick decision to just grab dinner from the nearest restaurant and head home. It was one of her favorite burger joints, busier than normal with so many people out enjoying the first night of the weekend, so by the time she got her white paper sack of food it was only a few minutes away from full dark.

She hurried to start the trek home, sorely wishing she had left more books behind at the library as they were now weighing her down. The journey back usually took a good thirty minutes along the sidewalk path, and she made it almost ten before she started eating her fries right out of the bag. She humored herself as she walked with ideas for what she could do with her free time tomorrow; she’d been meaning to organize the junk drawer in her desk, or maybe she could watch a movie and do her nails, or more likely just binge read everything she had just checked out…

Nearly home, Evaine turned to cross the street, headed away from Richmond, when there came a sound from the roadside shrubbery that made her halt in her tracks. It was a rustling of the dry bush leaves followed by a mewling little whimper, a small, distressed sound, almost like that of a puppy to her ears. 

A stressed pang of sympathy in her heart made her turn toward the sound, seeking it out, as she could picture all too well the image of a sad little face, hiding itself from the big scary human towering over them. She imagined how it might have gotten lost or been abandoned, just crying out for its mother or for some food, or for a comforting touch…

“Hello?” she called in her most non-threatening voice, leaning down to make herself smaller and less intimidating. She beckoningly clicked her tongue a few times and held out her hand. 

The rustling scampered from one bush to another and around a corner, like it was frightened and trying to get away from her, but then there was a small snap like a breaking twig and a much sharper cry.

“What’s wrong?” she continued to coo, following the sound. If the poor thing was hurt, there was no way she could just leave it behind. She had to see if it was alright, see if there was a collar or tags, maybe even walk back into town to drop it off at the vet’s office. She reached into her bag of food and pulled out a fry as bait, holding it out toward the bush.

When she was met with nothing but silence, she could only frown at the spot where she’d heard it last.

“Hello?” she tried again, straining her ears to listen. Still there was nothing, no breathing like she would expect from a wounded animal, no rustling or movement to be seen. Even the breeze had come to a momentary standstill, making the quiet all the more pronounced.

It was only then that Evaine realized the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. She looked around and saw with a wash of dread how far off the path she had gone, carelessly following those cries for help. Down the road and around the corner she had gone, blind to anything but that sad little cry, and somehow wound up walking right through the opened gates of the monster house.

Startled by the sight of it looming ahead of her, she took a few quick steps back, looking all around to confirm that she was alone. She looked up at the house itself, saw that the front door which had been closed that afternoon was now an open void of darkness, and her heart leaped into her throat.

“No no no no!” she shook her head, taking a few more steps backward. The fear shot through her chest like a frozen knife, and a taste like acid bile rose in her throat. Whatever instincts she had to mind her safety were suddenly awake and screaming at her to turn and run.

A hand grasped her by the elbow and she yelped with surprise, whirling around. It was a man, standing where there had before been no one, his face cast in the darkness of dusk so that she couldn’t see who it was. She attempted to tear her arm away, but the grip that held her was too strong. 

“What are you doing here, kid?” he demanded in a harsh whisper, using his overwhelming size to crowd her vision, blocking her path for escape. 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” Evaine squeaked helplessly, her eyes wide as she desperately tried to see through the dark for any means of escape.

“Come on, you need to leave.” He started to drag her toward the gate, but he didn’t get more than two steps before he froze in his tracks, the hand on her arm tightening painfully. His head slowly turned to look down on her, and when he spoke there something gravelly and hateful in his voice. “Dammit…one of them. Say goodnight, freak.”

Before she could even inhale from the shock, his other hand smacked into her neck and locked on. With little effort on his part, he squeezed until Evaine’s panicked breathing was cut off, and pressure began to build in her head making her ears ring and her lips feel puffy. The muscles of her throat struggled to work against the imposing force clamping her airway shut while her hands flailed desperately to fend him off. She pounded with her fists, scratched at whatever skin she could reach, but nothing could deter the man beyond a small huff of irritation when she drew blood. 

Still she fought, thrashing against his grip, until her vision swam with a blackness that crept up from the corners of her eyes and the last of her strength was finally used up. Her hands fell away from where she had been trying to pry him off and her knees buckled from beneath her, leaving her whole body weight hanging there by her neck. 

The last thing she heard as the darkness took her was the slow, unburdened breaths of her murderer.

[churchobones]

DWC Day 4: Vengeance

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“And then... I remember...”

Bruce looked down at his arm. His skin was pale as the waning moonlight, black veins writhing with every weakened pulse of his heart. His head swam, vision dim and distant.

Bruce looked up. “The Red Witch. What do you know of her?”

The little lord pursed his lips.

“The legend of E’Andusore… The whore told you, did she?” The shards of whispering shadow framing his head began to spin, building momentum.  “It’s a tale lost to most of my people.

“She was a vicious crone who haunted a powerful magic circle; she and her nightmare hound, Narral’thix.  The sacred site held the key to Life after Death; the natural cycle made manifest in mana.  A power she used to butcher innocents and turn farmland fallow.

“As the story goes,” the lord smiled grimly.  “She ate the dog’s heart to tap into the circle’s power, raising a mighty tree surrounded by a bramble thicket miles wide that only she could pass through unscathed.

“Until the Lady came with fire.  A mother desperate to save her son.”

“Three times I've asked about that story now. The first time I heard it, She shared Her memory with me-- that old Oak Tree.”

Bruce's jaw set as the plaintive mew of a kitten long passed echoed in his mind. In that mansion, where Zelion’s family portraits lined the walls and an Oak Tree split the marble floors, he'd heard her cries.

Her coat was mottled brown with camouflage not yet shed. Milk teeth flashed in the darkness. Paws too big for her scrambled, begging purchase.

Emerald magicks flared outwards from his touch, along the grooves of the Oak’s bark, scrawling up and down the trunk.  A whistling shimmer grew twice as loud from below, a tremor taking the ballroom floor felt up through the soles of his feet to his knees; enough to require bracing but not enough to steal his legs out from beneath him. The floor splintered beneath the kit’s paws, a desperate cry falling away into the darkness below until there was nothing left to be heard but the burgeoning hum of the awakened tree.

She regarded him with a tingle that remained in his fingertips and pricked at his thumbs.  The Oak spoke only by willing a single word to the forefront of his mind: Vengeance.

Her bark served him as second eyes, racing down Her formidable length past the vine covered, stone walls of the cellars, deeper still past crypts, dirt, stone, bone until they reached where Her strongest roots anchored.  She was framed by a circle of fallen trees, Her roots wrapped protectively over an ancient altar of jasper.  The dead lynx cub’s broken back never made it to the stone.

And then the Oak stood silent.

  “I was wondering if I’m no better off than that kitten when Kallarel--”

The smell of sulfur filled the worgen's lungs. Hellfire: the scent which lingered as the bramble brands crawled into skin; the scent which pierced the air with every lit cigarette. He focused on the sickening sweetness alone.

One by one, the arch over his heart gave way as Kallarel tore into the hallway, a manifested monster hot on her high heels with a blazing green gem alight in a chest once empty.

By the third spout of blighted blood, the witch was upon them; beauty, beast and burden all.

By the fourth, her hands were alight with a green fire to match the flame licking the demon’s panting tongue.

By the fifth, the lord’s prone figure was cloaked in cold shadow, absconded without a trace apart from the faintest flicker of rot against the nostrils before the witch could claim him.

And as the last of Zelion’s void crystals burst in Bruce’s chest, the haphazardly placed shard split in two with a deafening crack.

“I can’t... I can’t have died that night. I didn’t. But I dreamed. I dreamed... I was in a house-- the house in Gilneas. With my wife-- with my dead wife, Sophia.”

It was shamefully small, that old cabin in Gilneas. Sophia had given up everything for him-- lands, titles and inheritance. In exchange, Bruce had built a shack with leaky walls and slept with her on the far side of the kitchen for fourteen years.

Now they sat across from one another at the dinner table.

“I thought it might come to this.”

Bruce felt sick. There was a teacup in front of him, which rattled quietly.

“I miss you,” he said. Her face was just as he remembered it; prominent cheeks smattered with freckles and a button nose.

She rolled her eyes-- big, stormy and blue. The same ones he saw every time he looked at his daughter. “You’re doing fine without me.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be. I mean it. I'm proud of how Lizzie turned out. But if you want, you can join me now. You can rest.”

The knot in his stomach twisted.

“You don’t have to,” she went on. “Not everyone gets a choice, but you will.”

The tips of his fingers felt cold as ice. The table trembled below.

She smiled. It was warm and remarkably genuine-- like a candle in the night. “I know this is what you want, Bruce.”

The support beams above his head cracked. Dust fell in a plume, rippling his tea.

“Just know--” she hesitated, expression soft-- “you’re messing with powers you don’t understand. The Gods may never forgive you for this.” 

His chest squeezed. He couldn’t breathe.

“But I'll help guide you home,” she said.

@daily-writing-challenge

[grislyintentions]

Aeon x Aeon Species Concept [1]

Abundance + Propagation (Emanators or otherwise)

-True Stings produced by their union possess significantly short lifespans but are able to spawn more copies of themselves at a faster rate -They will be blessed with stronger exoskeletons (greatly improving their resistance to damage) and a sweeter cloying scent that slowly poisons their prey on top of their own hallucination-inducing fibres.

Abundance + Elation -The greatest cosmic joke of the planetary cycle (for now) -Shapeless; a VIRAL disease that is spread through music and laughter (spores in lungs), resulting in the afflicted losing their identity in the throes of uncontrollable mania -The afflicted are always in constant motion, seeking sources of entertainment or making themselves a part of it, altogether forming ecstasy at a feverish pitch; reality distorting, they become part of a "faerie circle"

Abundance + Destruction

-Antimatter legion, if not properly destroyed, will fuse together into an amalgamation of their former shapes (creation, fusion, destruction > an endless cycle) and inherit the abilities accordingly -Self-destructive melting core that explodes into molten lava, from which golden vines spring forth to cage the closest person within, until they perish together

Abundance + Hunt

-Mara-stricken soldiers with enhanced resistance to damage and double the revival rate, bound to a single-minded pursuit. -Parasitic beasts and humans alike designed with the drive to endlessly seek and kill one another, further spreading the maddening disease through flesh, blood and breath. Abundance + Erudition

-Messy fusion of organic and non-organic materials (humanoid machines or humans with machine parts), leading to constant dissonance over identity and confusion/depressive existence -Adaptable, forever changing and finetuning abominations that could provide assistance in multiple fields of knowledge at the steep price of...something organic in return

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

8th October >> Mass Readings (USA)

Twenty Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

(Liturgical Colour: Green: A (1))

First Reading Isaiah 5:1–7 The vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel.

Let me now sing of my friend, my friend’s song concerning his vineyard. My friend had a vineyard on a fertile hillside; he spaded it, cleared it of stones, and planted the choicest vines; within it he built a watchtower, and hewed out a wine press. Then he looked for the crop of grapes, but what it yielded was wild grapes.

Now, inhabitants of Jerusalem and people of Judah, judge between me and my vineyard: What more was there to do for my vineyard that I had not done? Why, when I looked for the crop of grapes, did it bring forth wild grapes? Now, I will let you know what I mean to do with my vineyard: take away its hedge, give it to grazing, break through its wall, let it be trampled! Yes, I will make it a ruin: it shall not be pruned or hoed, but overgrown with thorns and briers; I will command the clouds not to send rain upon it. The vineyard of the LORD of hosts is the house of Israel, and the people of Judah are his cherished plant; he looked for judgment, but see, bloodshed! for justice, but hark, the outcry!

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 80:9, 12, 13–14, 15–16, 19–20

R/ The vineyard of the Lord is the house of Israel.

A vine from Egypt you transplanted; you drove away the nations and planted it. It put forth its foliage to the Sea, its shoots as far as the River.

R/ The vineyard of the Lord is the house of Israel.

Why have you broken down its walls, so that every passer-by plucks its fruit, the boar from the forest lays it waste, and the beasts of the field feed upon it?

R/ The vineyard of the Lord is the house of Israel.

Once again, O LORD of hosts, look down from heaven, and see; take care of this vine, and protect what your right hand has planted, the son of man whom you yourself made strong.

R/ The vineyard of the Lord is the house of Israel.

Then we will no more withdraw from you; give us new life, and we will call upon your name. O LORD, God of hosts, restore us; if your face shine upon us, then we shall be saved.

R/ The vineyard of the Lord is the house of Israel.

Second Reading Philippians 4:6–9 Do these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

Brothers and sisters: Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing what you have learned and received and heard and seen in me. Then the God of peace will be with you.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Gospel Acclamation cf. John 15:16

Alleluia, alleluia. I have chosen you from the world, says the Lord, to go and bear fruit that will remain. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Matthew 21:33–43 He will lease his vineyard to other tenants.

Jesus said to the chief priests and the elders of the people: “Hear another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a hedge around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a tower. Then he leased it to tenants and went on a journey. When vintage time drew near, he sent his servants to the tenants to obtain his produce. But the tenants seized the servants and one they beat, another they killed, and a third they stoned. Again he sent other servants, more numerous than the first ones, but they treated them in the same way. Finally, he sent his son to them, thinking, ‘They will respect my son.’ But when the tenants saw the son, they said to one another, ‘This is the heir. Come, let us kill him and acquire his inheritance.’ They seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him. What will the owner of the vineyard do to those tenants when he comes?” They answered him, “He will put those wretched men to a wretched death and lease his vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the proper times.” Jesus said to them, “Did you never read in the Scriptures:

”The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; by the Lord has this been done, and it is wonderful in our eyes?

“Therefore, I say to you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that will produce its fruit.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[hollowfyshunsuikubo]

Hello and Welcome!

Hello hello! I'm Vine. It's nice to meet you!

Now, this isn't my first foray into the Tumblr fanfiction scene- I used to have three major blogs back in 2020, but during the pandemic I purged them to focus on life. But now I'm back! This post is the standard information post- what fandoms I write for, what I'll write, what I won't write and my ask process.

Each of these is below the cut!

Fandoms I Write For:

Bleach

Death Note

Attack on Titan

Tokyo Revengers

My Hero Academia (SPARINGLY)

Kuroko's Basketball

Shadow and Bone (books and show!)

Artemis Fowl

Inheritance Cycle

Genshin Impact

Castlevania (TV show + Nocturne)

Blood of Zeus

What I'll Write:

Crackfics

G-Rated

PG-Rated

M-Rated

NSFW

Character X Reader

Character X Reader x Character

Character x OC (paid request only)

What I Won't Write: !TW!

Incest

Minor x minor

Minor x older character

R*pe

GORY/NONCON NSFW

Beastiality (LITERAL animal x human)

Character X Character (in full fics)

Ask Process:

Currently, my asks are open, but it's paid requests only at the moment! As long as you follow the rules, I'll be more than happy to write something for you. Ideally, you would have: the character, the AU (if you want one), the situation, and whether you want fluff/angst/comfort/light smut/death etc etc All comissions currently start at $5 NZD and can be requested through my Ko-Fi!

[racoonscript]

Sin Narrativa

Personal Entry

I saw a Reel of a Tik Tok of a guy who looked like he tried to make it on Vine the other day. He said something about most humans needing a narrative, and frankly, I haven't stopped thinking about it. Every day that's passed, I've washed that thought in running water, and every day, its come back a little more clearly than the day before.

Usually, as time goes on, people learn how to be better at things. But I think that even more important than that, people unlearn things that make them bad or weak or careless. And so I've found myself having unlearned a long-running narrative thought process that generally revolves around pain. Even when it wasn't my own, I always made my story about pain. About loss. About that "worse" they mention that occurs before it gets better. It took a long time, but finally I can say that even if life doesn't always feel like it, I know that my life isn't about being sad and losing control.

Without this narrative, this role, this Eeyore archetype, I'm left wondering what remains. If I'm not meant to be sad all my life, why am I always sad?

I think about my Sims. I think about the ones created with the Neurotic trait, or the Over-Emotional trait, or even those with Couch Potato or Commitment Issues. They face individual challenges and sometimes even rewards. The good and the bad, the ups and the downs. Do you think a person who isn't as lazy as me could genuinely enjoy vegging out on a video game for 14 hours straight? Didn't think so. Regardless, those Sims keep on with their lives despite the traits that might set them back in some ways. I suppose a handful of bad traits could become one's entire narrative - but only if they let it.

I wonder if people who do not carry profound and somewhat perpetual sadness see the sunset in the same colors that I do. Do the silver linings shine as brightly? Would they notice the beauty of decay and in ending?

Lately, I have felt lost. I have gone with enough motions by now to know what autopilot feels like and its left me wondering what to do with my hands. Explicitly speaking, I have no idea. Time isn't slowing down or waiting for me to figure it out. Maybe this is enough for now.

As a child, I saw a dozen different futures but I never saw this one. Most people who live their dreams to the fullest do so with their inheritances, but often enough you'll meet the dedicated ones. The Geniuses or the Workaholics. God forbid, the Ambitious. What if I never fell under the weather? What if I never stopped writing to the point that it hurt to even think about? Doesn't make any difference to think about now.

Like most great lessons, I've learned the following from my inner child: look forward with hope and with the expectation that it will follow through. Life can be the sum of a thousand different Create Your Own Adventure books but only when you're willing to turn the page.

The cycles will continue. With dull anticipation, I know that there will be times when I feel low enough that these words don't inspire. And when the sun sets and rises again in the next morning, I'll remember again how to press forward by never failing to turn the page. Each day, every mundane, trivial task will be a new chapter.

The Reel Man Tik Tok'er Dude™ reminded us at the end of the video that narrative comes from within. That much is true - I convinced myself I was meant to suffer forever because I could. I think that there's more to my story than that. Otherwise I wouldn't see the sunsets as beautiful as they are.

[unmak3r]

[𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐞́𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫. ] conceived eighty-five years after the previous female elf child, arya dröttning, daughter of the king and queen. she is one of only two children in ellesméra, the other is the male elf dusan, elf children are rare and cherished. dusan has kept his name, whilst she has changed both her common name and her true name when she was sixteen. two years prior to eragon's second visit to ellesméra, during the rider war, the then-named alanna set off alone to traverse the expanse of du weldenvarden. the elves guarding forest covers the northern part of alagaësia, and she was gone for a whole year, though shares very little of her tales with others; as it is a sad one in essence.

the elf child had been pondering, for years now, how the magic she was born with would fade in the coming decades. it was the natural way, it was the way for all elves, but the idea of it ... of losing the special way she currently existed within the magic of the world, it created a sadness in her heart. she had often spent time communicating with the menoa tree, and sleeping within it's base roots as a child. as she thought about how that ability, too, would fade into elven adulthood her sadness grew deeper. then, she remembered the tale of how the tree came to exist, and so... she laid back against a tree of the same age as herself, in the western part of the forest, and began to sing her spells; she'd cease to be herself & would become one with the tree itself; a guardian of flora and fauna and elves alike.

but ... a familiar voice entered her mind as she began; it was the menoa tree — reaching through root and vine across the entire forest. "... no." as simply as that, the spell ended. it was this interaction that changed her true name ... her personality and nature altered to the point she became a new person in essence. from this point onwards, she has gone by the common name kelerel (no longer alanna) and her true name has been revealed to no one.

"Our children are special. They are blessed with certain gifts—gifts of grace and gifts of power — which no grown elf can hope to match. As we age, our blossom withers somewhat, although the magic of our early years never completely abandons us." ... rhunön, the elven smith, the "most skilled smith in the world." brisingr, ch. 51; mind over metal

canonly described as extraordinarily beautiful, even by the standards of the elves, with a solemn tear-drop-shaped face that appears wise and innocent in equal measure. as she is still in her youth, again using elven standards, her skin displays a faint, silvery sheen due to the child-hood power elves are born with; it is a visual aura of magic. [it is documented that, from the point of eighteen or nineteen, this youthful aura of power begins to fade until they appear as adult elves do.] she is a gifted singer and flautist, and has trained primarily with spear and sword as most all elves do. kelerel is incredibly willowy, pale-haired and skinned, and dainty ... as such some say she appears to almost 'float' when performing her aerial leaps and maneuvers in combat; like a fair flower dancing through the air.

AGE REF: she has been aged up due to the source material being y.a; thus she is eighteen years old, and is eighty-five years younger than arya dröttning.   she is based on the canon, unestablished, alanna, the elf child from paolini's third book in the inheritance cycle, 'brisingr.'

𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. 𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐄́𝐑𝐀.

[modern-inheritance]

More Modern Inheritance (MIC) clips! (A short one)

For those of you that aren't in the loop, MIC is an ongoing Inheritance Cycle AU. It's not a 'everyone is in high school/college' type modernized AU, I just enjoy making these compilations.

Also, since some people were confused as to who some characters are last time, I'll jot down any changed or added characters here whenever I make one of these.

Glen: Glen is Glenwing! He survives in MIC but loses his arm at the shoulder. He and Arya are still very good friends/war buddies and he rejoins the Varden after Arya returns.

Anyway, not as good as the last one but I needed to delete some vid clips to clean up my files. Cheers!

Edit: I totally forgot to add several more clips. Guess another one of these will come out at some point

[magicandmundane]

Oromis and Glaedr, teaching Eragon and Saphira about combat: You know, fighting another dragon and Rider is really dangerous, so be very careful. 

Oromis and Glaedr, fighting Murtagh and Thorn: *air horn noises* Get fucked!

[weirdponytail]

Dude, Run. (MIC chat, post Blood Oath)

Eragon: *Sneaky boi*

Eragon: *Creeps up behind oblivious Arya, who is probably enjoying a brief moment of quiet*

Eragon: BOOGAH!!

Arya: *Absolute /shriek/*

Eragon:

Arya:

Arya: You heard /nothing,/ understand?

Eragon: Of course I didn't hear anything.

Eragon: Can't say the same for all the dogs in a 5 league radius though.

Arya: ....You have five seconds to start running.

Eragon: Yeah, that's fair.

[viiatrixx]

inheritance cycle as vines

eragon: it's a mental breakdown *proceeds to play the kazoo*

saphira: bItch i hope the FUCK you do, you'll be a DEAD son of a BItch i'll tell you THAT

arya: yuh i'm a BAD bitch you can't KILL ME

brom: do I lOOk lIke-

murtagh: and just remember no one will ever be able to hate you more than you already hate yourself

thorn: y'know what dude?? i'm OUTTA here

angela: it's vinegar, pussy

solembum: the cat with the flower on its head

galbatorix: what the FUCK is up eragon?? no what did you say what the FUCK dude, step the FUCK up eragon

nasuada: next time you fucking put your hand on me imma fucking rip your face off bItch

roran: fuck this shit i'm out

katrina: excUse my potty mouth- shut the FUCK up

morzan: rule number one never trust anybody

oromis: hMh that is NOT correct. because according to the encyclopedia of hsisjsskksks

glaedr: no, that's an off topic question- next

elva: you better watch out, you bEtter watch out, you bETTer wAtch OUT

[incorrecteragonquotes]

Eragon: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Arya?

Arya: No.

Roran: I do!

Eragon: I know, Roran.

Roran: I'm sad.

Eragon: I know, Roran.

[saphira-approves]

Eragon: Hole in the couch

Murtagh: Hole in the couch

Arya: Hole in the couch

Eragon I: Hole in the couch

Oromis: Hole in the couch

Brom: Hole in the couch

All them them: DRAGON *pointing at their respective dragons*