#levitating ancient withering

[onegayastronaut]

Where Love Waits (Agatha Harkness x Rio)

Angst, but a good ending lmao

Words: 1079

Agatha Harkness wasn’t the sort of person to let her guard down easily. Centuries of living as a witch in a world that feared her kind had taught her better. But with Rio, she’d found something unexpected: trust, love, and a fleeting sense of peace. It was an odd pairing, people often said. Agatha, the immortal witch whose power thrummed in her veins like a constant heartbeat, and Rio, the enigmatic and eternally composed personification of Death. Yet, they worked. Or so it seemed.

Their son, Nicky, had been the unexpected joy of their lives. A child forged of magic and a bond deeper than life or death itself. He had Rio’s piercing gaze, dark and infinite as a starless night, and Agatha’s sharp wit, quick and cutting like the crack of a spell. From the moment he was born, Nicky was their everything, the glue that cemented their already unbreakable connection.

It was a quiet day when it happened. The kind of day that lulls you into a false sense of security. Agatha had been teaching Nicky to levitate small objects in the garden, while Rio watched from the porch, an amused smile playing on her lips. The sun was warm, the air filled with the scent of lavender and sage. Everything felt… right.

Nicky had tripped, a harmless stumble that should have been nothing more than a momentary scare. But in that instant, the threads of fate twisted cruelly. Agatha saw it happen as though in slow motion: the way Nicky fell, the sharp edge of the stone he struck his head on, the unnatural stillness that followed. She’d screamed his name, rushing to his side, her magic already surging to heal him. But it was too late.

Rio was already there, kneeling beside their son with an expression Agatha couldn’t bear to read. It was a look of resignation, of inevitability. The look of someone who had seen this countless times before and knew there was no stopping it. Agatha’s magic clashed against Rio’s presence, desperate and futile. She screamed at Rio, begged her to do something, to change it, to break the rules she had always claimed were unbreakable.

“I can’t,” Rio said, her voice soft but unyielding. “You know I can’t.”

The days that followed were a blur of grief and rage. Agatha’s once orderly home became a chaotic mess of overturned furniture and shattered glass. The air crackled with the remnants of her uncontrolled magic, and the garden withered under the weight of her despair. She couldn’t look at Rio without feeling a tidal wave of anger rise within her.

“You could have stopped it,” she spat one evening, her voice venomous. “You’re Death. You decide who lives and who dies. And you let our son die.”

Rio stood in the doorway, her usual calm demeanor marred by the faintest hint of sorrow. “It’s not that simple, Agatha. I don’t choose. I—”

“Don’t you dare give me your rules and your balance bullshit,” Agatha interrupted, her eyes blazing. “He was a child. Our child. You could have done something.”

“And what would you have me do?” Rio’s voice rose for the first time, sharp and cutting. “Defy the natural order? Tear apart the fabric of existence because you can’t accept that sometimes even we aren’t in control?”

Agatha’s laugh was bitter. “Spare me your cosmic wisdom. You’re Death, Rio. If anyone could’ve stopped it, it was you.”

They didn’t speak after that. Rio disappeared for days, leaving Agatha alone with her grief and her anger. She tried to bring Nicky back herself, pouring over ancient texts and forbidden spells, but every attempt ended in failure. The universe itself seemed to conspire against her, mocking her efforts at every turn.

When Rio finally returned, she found Agatha in the garden, kneeling beside the small gravestone that marked their son’s resting place. The witch looked up, her face hollow and weary.

“Why did you come back?” Agatha asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Rio hesitated, then knelt beside her. “I never wanted this,” she said softly. “You think I don’t feel the weight of it? That I don’t wish things could be different? But I—”

“Stop,” Agatha interrupted, shaking her head. “Just… stop. I can’t hear it anymore.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing could bridge the chasm that had formed between them. But then Rio reached out, her hand hesitating before resting gently on Agatha’s.

“I can’t change the past,” Rio said. “But I can help you find peace. Let me take you to him.”

Agatha looked up sharply. “To him?”

Rio nodded. “The spirit world. You’ve always had one foot in that realm because of your magic. If you’re willing, I can guide you there. But it’s a one-way journey, Agatha. You’d have to leave this life behind.”

Agatha’s breath hitched. The idea of abandoning everything she knew was terrifying, but the thought of seeing Nicky again—of holding him, of being with him—was more powerful than any fear. She reached for Rio’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Take me to him.”

The transition was unlike anything Agatha had ever experienced. Rio’s power enveloped her, a mixture of cold finality and strange comfort. The world blurred and shifted, and when Agatha opened her eyes, she was standing in a place that felt both foreign and familiar. The air shimmered with an otherworldly glow, and the landscape was a blend of vivid colors and ethereal forms. And then she saw him.

Nicky ran toward her, his laughter echoing like a melody. Agatha fell to her knees, arms outstretched as he barreled into her embrace. She held him tightly, tears streaming down her face as she murmured his name over and over.

Rio stood a few steps away, watching the reunion with a faint smile. When Agatha finally looked up, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“This is where you belong now,” Rio said. “With him. I’ll stay, too. If you’ll have me.”

Agatha nodded, pulling Rio into the embrace. For the first time since Nicky’s death, she felt whole. They weren’t bound by the rules of life and death anymore. Here, in this timeless, boundless realm, they could be a family again.

And so they stayed, together, in a place where love and magic intertwined, where grief was a distant memory, and where their son’s laughter filled the air forever.

[miyakuli]

Jusant

Climb every mountain

Acrophobics beware, our ascent begins. Armed simply with a rope and three pitons, our character, accompanied by a small water creature, sets off to climb a giant, mysterious tower, where the remains of the past are still visible. But once on its roof, is the view up there up to par?

❤ More than just a climbing game, Jusant is clearly a game of contemplation, as the panoramas are always magnificent and I've often stopped just to enjoy the view.

The tower is made up of different biomes, each with its own unique and varied atmosphere. The ruins you find are full of details of life in the past, so it's easy to imagine what this ancient civilisation was like. It's often tempting to explore the surroundings further, even if it means deviating a little from the original path. ❤ Although this Human city is now abandoned, the tower is nonetheless teeming with life, with its distinctive flora and fauna.

I really appreciated their diversity, but also the harmonious way in which they fit into the universe; insects in the form of moving stones can be good grips but will tire under the weight of the character, certain plants can be made to bud but will wither very quickly under the burning rays of the sun, life becomes less and less habitable as you climb because of the lack of water and the violent winds etc… This aspect of the universe makes it very immersive and easy to grasp. ❤ The climbing mechanism is very easy to pick up and intuitive (at least on the controller). Some might criticize the lack of challenge, given that you can't die (the game is meant to be relaxing, after all), but I found that the stamina bar was enough to add a bit of management and reflection to the whole thing. What's more, while the game is very linear, I found that it allowed each player a fair amount of freedom to create their own route. You can go on a breakneck run and climb a passage in one go, or you can play it safe and place pitons from time to time. This can lead to quite different parties from that point of view. The gameplay could be perceived as repetitive, but as the landscapes evolve, you'll also have to adapt to each new environment. As a result, the paths become a little more complex as you go along, without feeling redundant. The game also offers good replayability if you intend to find all the hidden corners and collectibles.

+/- The music is very beautiful and there are some very soothing sound design moments…but I found that there were a lot of rather empty passages where only the sound of the wind could be heard. Given the amount of life abounding on this large rock, I was expecting more sound ambiance. Only the seashells, the game's collectible elements, really transported me in this respect. +/- This is clearly going to be the most subjective point of all but, in my opinion, the universe is too cryptic, or rather, it has too many details that don't quite fit together. Let me explain. Throughout the journey, you can come across messages left by the former inhabitants, allowing the player to learn more about how they lived in this tower, their occupations and the beliefs they held. On the other hand, we also have engravings and technologies that are activated by our little pet creature (just like our tattoos) but at no point are these elements mentioned in the found texts, and they hardly seem to correspond to the same era. As a result, I'm left with a very strange mix of lore and I'm struggling to fully immerse myself in it, not because I don't understand how it works, but rather because I can't conceive of these two elements going together. And the ending didn't help either, becoming very mystical compared to the more down-to-earth side of the ancient writings. In short, a strange mix that left me dubious.

✖ My journey up the mountain was exacerbated several times by numerous glitches: the camera suddenly became uncontrollable, the character found himself levitating above the stairs, and my rope became entangled far too often with elements of the scenery…. enough to easily break the serenity that the game aims to offer. ✖ The tutorial is rather intrusive, with the explanatory text recurring too frequently as if to give us clues as to how to proceed. While this was a way of making the game accessible to a wider audience, it breaks the immersion and doesn't allow the player to simply observe and reflect. ✖ While I was quite taken with the visual spectacle, I didn't feel much during the whole trip. First of all, I think that's down to the main character, who I found…flat? We don't know who they are, what their objectives are, and their expressions are very neutral, so it's hard to know how they feel about events. Their friendship with the little water creature is cute, but there's no more connection between them in the game than little optional interactions. And as for the finale, it's déjà-vu for me, I was once again left unmoved.

Jusant is a catchy game in both senses of the word. The climbing gameplay is enjoyable and the world, while perhaps too obscure, is rich and intriguing overall. Despite the altitude, however, it didn't transcend me, because for me it lacks emotional intensity, and beauty alone isn't enough to reach the summit.

➡ My Steam page

[iubitdracull]

Lore- Powers and Abilities

Dracula is revered and respected by all the forces of darkness as their king and sovereign. Having made the blood pact with Satan, granting him access to a portion of the Devil’s strength, Dracula now has near-unlimited access to all the infernal powers of Hell itself. 

TRANSCENDENT VAMPIRE PHYSIOLOGY- Dracula possesses incredible dark power and is described as godlike. He is the first of the vampiric race known as Strigoi; he is revered by all other vampiric races as the paragon of their species as the oldest and most powerful vampire ever to exist, with abilities that surpass that of any old and modern vampire. His power rivals the divine, having single-handedly defeated powerful divine beings, gods, deities, demigods, and even angels. 

Supernatural Physical Abilities- Dracula possesses physical abilities far exceeding the average vampire. He possesses near herculean-like strength, stronger than physical powerhouses such as the demon Skarbrand. He was able to one-shot Lord Alexander with only physical brawn alone while he was in a state of rage. His greatest feat of strength is when he fought the giantess Vulcam, a massive ancient giantess who was so big she dwarfed mountains, whom Dracula wrestled into submission. Dracula also possesses untold speed, infinitely faster than any average vampire, capable of easily dodging physical and magical projectiles, appearing as a mere blur to the human eye. He can also match the speed and tenacity of angels who are said to reach speeds succeeding light itself. Dracula also has immense durability, having survived things that would cripple and even kill normal vampires. He has survived great impact forces, blasted with magical and holy energies, taking little damage at his strongest. He even has taken blows from divine beings, having one time taken a direct blast of divine lightning without inflicting any damage. Dracula’s senses are ten times more proficient than the average vampire; he can smell a drop of blood and hear a pin drop within a several-mile circumference. He also possesses microscopic vision, which he can fully control with enough concentration and focus, and can see things no normal human can perceive with normal clarity. He also possesses near-infinite stamina, and it is incredibly difficult for Dracula to become fatigued unless gravely wounded or starved from blood.

Nigh-absolute immortality- Dracula is a borderline true immortal, having already died once and consumed the blood of Satan bestowed him with eternal life; therefore, he is physically and spiritually incapable of dying. He cannot physically age, get ill, or wane and is over thousands of years old, the oldest vampire ever to exist. He cannot be killed or wounded by normal conventional means of attack; bullets, explosions, fire, and electricity affect him very little, if not at all; blunt objects either break or bounce off him, and punches and kicks from humans result in broken bones. His spirit is just as immortal as his physical form, immune to spiritual damage and attacks on his soul. However, incredibly powerful weapons and artifacts purely holy and divine, like The Spear of Destiny, The Vampire Killer, and Helena’s Nail, can hurt, wound, and even kill Dracula permanently.  

Unnatural Presence- Dracula has a mighty aura that can cause one to freeze or become overwhelmed with fear. His presence is even enough to affect the environment; it causes water to freeze solid and plants and flowers to wither and rot.

Shapeshifting- Dracula can freely change his form at will. He can transform into animals such as a swarm of bats, a wolf, rats, and mice. He can also transform into a thin intangible mist or a thick cloud of crimson fog. 

Animal Manipulation- Dracula can control various animals, including dogs, cats, wolves, bats, rats and mice, ravens, and crows. Dracula can even control certain insects, such as locusts, flies, and gnats. 

Flight and Levitation- Dracula can levitate off any surface and even fly.

Intangibility- The Dark Lord can move and phase through any object and ignore most physical effects in his way. He has mastered this ability to render opposing enemy attacks useless as they only pass through him like mist!

Supernatural Beauty- Dracula is described as ‘beauty that rivals the seraphim’ and has an inane charisma and aristocratic presence that seems impossible to ignore! He is perfectly aware of how to increase his appeal through apparel, action, or choice of words. 

Indomitable Will- Dracula has an unbreakable will, able even to stave off God’s punishments when he was a human, refusing to break and die defiantly. In Hell, after a time, he could withstand the fires of Hell and go on a pilgrimage, killing demons on his way to confront Satan. As the Vampire King, his will remains ever strong.

Psychomancy- The Dark Lord, over time, acquired incredible powers of the mind, rivaling that of even powerful psionic users such as Dr. Edgar Cizko, aka Dr. Psycho. He can move, manipulate, pull, and repulse multiple objects and people with telekinesis, contact and communicate with one or multiple minds with telepathy, and possess incredible extrasensory perception. His ability to read and control minds is unparalleled, and he has perfected the art of suggestion, mind control, and hypnosis. He also has the ability to enter the minds of others and even manipulate dreams.  

Divine Slayer- Due to his pure and absolute corruptive nature and having consumed the blood of the Devil himself. Dracula can kill powerful creatures or beings of divine origin or status, including gods, deities, and even angels. 

Command Over Mythical Creatures- As the Lord of Darkness, Dracula can command and influence specific mythical and supernatural forces and beings that lurk in the earth's darkest corners, even (most notably) vampires!

Mastery of Infernal  Magic- Dracula is revered as the most powerful practitioner of the dark arcane art known as Infernal Magic. Dracula embraces all infernal magical techniques and practices and is generally willing to go farther than most would even consider if it serves his ends. 

Matter and Elemental Manipulation- Dracula can conjure and manipulate all earthly elements and control all forms of matter at its most fundamental level! 

Astral Manipulation-  Dracula can create, shape, and manipulate astral energy, allowing him to project his astral form from the physical plane to the astral plane, interact there, see spirits, make spirits visible to others, and astral trapping. He can even harm the spirits of the dead, like ghosts, phantoms, or ghouls. 

Esoteric Darkness Manipulation- Dracula can conjure a darkness blacker than a thousand nights and can mystically manipulate and control  shadows. He can use them as constructs in battle or as a means to shroud or ensnare his foes. Often summoned from his cape, he can create strands, tendrils, walls, and clouds of pure darkness.

 Soul Manipulation/ Soul Razer- Dracula can control and manipulate the soul! He can rip and pull souls out of bodies, conjure souls, and even use the dark arts to summon all the souls of those he killed to use as constructs in battle, even use them as an army! He can cast a deadly curse known as “Soul Razer.” This curse will corrupt one's soul to the point it begins to deteriorate, a slow and excruciating process that will leave one an empty husk in absolute death from which the soul will never find true peace. 

Weather Manipulation-  Dracula can sense, create, shape, and manipulate weather, i.e., meteorological patterns.

Lightning Manipulation- The Dark Lord can conjure powerful lightning bolts from the sky to smite his enemies. He can also catch lightning in his hands and use them as spears or lances. He can create an explosive wave of lightning to bring pain to his enemies with a wave of his hand.

Storm Manipulation- Dracula can summon and create powerful storms that produce rain, strong hurricane-like wind, hails, lightning storms, snow, sleet, fog, and temperature changes that are powerful enough to cover entire countries. Dracula used this ability to bring eternal winter to Transylvania and destroy entire cities and kingdoms with typhoons and thunderstorms.

Mirage of Woe-The Dark Lord can conjure and inflict horrible illusions upon his victims. These illusions are powerful enough to see, hear, and touch them as if they are authentic, from which the victim cannot escape unless willed by Dracula himself. Those caught within the illusion will experience endless lives of continuous suffering and pain, each far more agonizing than the last. Those caught in the illusion will feel as if it lasted years when barely any time has passed in reality. Those subject to Dracula’s illusions will either go insane or die from fright.

Demonic Megiddo- A powerful spell that can create a dark spherical portal, creating a vacuum that whatever is sucked in is banished to Hell. Lord Dracula can summon this spell or cast it either above him or directly at foes as their body warps as it's sucked into Hell itself. 

Blood Manipulation- Dracula can manipulate and control blood. He can control his or others' blood, generally creating long strands, thorns, and barbs of hardened blood to rip enemies apart. He also can create spikes and spears made of blood to impale foes.

Flames of Tartarus- Through dark magic, Dracula can conjure forth crimson flames from the bottomless vilest pits of Hell itself. These flames burn so hot they can reduce both the body and the soul to ashes, and due to their dark, corrupt nature, wounds inflicted by the fire cannot be healed even through magical means. Dracula can summon these flames in the forms of blasts, torrents, balls, and waves and can even conjure these flames from the sky like rain to cause untold destruction.

Medusa’s Glare- A magical technique acquired from washing his eyes with the tears of the Gorgons. This technique allows him all that looks upon his gaze to turn to stone. 

Demon Summoning- Dracula can open portals to Hell itself and summon demons to use as familiars. His most favored is the ��Heavens Bane,” a black demonic serpent with seven heads that breathes toxic emerald flames and can summon them through the decor of his cape!

Necromancy- Dracula is a master of the foulest form of magic known to man, necromancy. Conjuring the darkest of necromantic energies, which he learned to summon through the Naturum Demonto, Dracula can resurrect the recently dead into mindless undead ghouls bound to his will; he can summon forth spirits, ghouls, and phantoms through dark necromantic rites. 

Perfect Calamity- Dracula’s most powerful technique, conjuring all the powers of darkness to create a vast vortex of dark energy. Once enough energy has been gathered, he releases it, destroying it on a near country-level scale. The aftereffects of this attack will cause Dracula to be nearly drained and significantly weakened, and he will need to retreat to his original resting place to regain his full strength. 

Immunity to Vampire Weaknesses- The Dark Lord is immune to traditional vampire weaknesses. He has yet to become thoroughly acclimated to walking in daylight. Hence, he must always use the elements to his favor

[thepitofjob]

Job 8: 8-12. "The Reeds."

The Reubuttal of Bildad, "the love of the landlady", a pal of Job's continues. The format reminds me of a psalm, which are in a call-response format.

This section speaks about the soil in which Prince Job is buried the shadows of the past. Job's whining sounds like he is resigned to a life of futile suffering, because he is a highly emotional inexperienced teenager. His argument against learning the Torah is the same as young person who argues he should not have to make his bed as he will just unmake it a short time later. His claim here is "why should I try to live like the upright when I'm just going to sin again anyway?"

The Torah says yes, but no. There must be no sin. There can be mistakes, but not sin. Persons who do not plan to put an end to their capacity to sin are cut down by life, it is simply too much for them and they do not attain to Shabbos or Shabbat. Everything wears them out and seems futile, they are thorougly unpleasant to behold:

8 “Ask the former generation     and find out what their ancestors learned, 9 for we were born only yesterday and know nothing,     and our days on earth are but a shadow. 10 Will they not instruct you and tell you?     Will they not bring forth words from their understanding? 11 Can papyrus grow tall where there is no marsh?     Can reeds thrive without water? 12 While still growing and uncut,     they wither more quickly than grass.

The text mentions water, a marsh, and reeds, which are implications of the birthplace of Moses in the Nile River. The process between the Marsh and the Promised Land that follows is one we don't often discuss, the evolutionary path of a slave to that of what is called a Hebrew, and from that to a Jew, the highest stage of Jewish thinking.

From Shmot:

The Birth of Moses

2 Now a man of the tribe of Levi married a Levite woman, 2 and she became pregnant and gave birth to a son. When she saw that he was a fine child, she hid him for three months. 3 But when she could hide him no longer, she got a papyrus basket[b] for him and coated it with tar and pitch. Then she placed the child in it and put it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile. 4 His sister stood at a distance to see what would happen to him.

5 Then Pharaoh’s daughter went down to the Nile to bathe, and her attendants were walking along the riverbank. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her female slave to get it. 6 She opened it and saw the baby. He was crying, and she felt sorry for him. “This is one of the Hebrew babies,” she said.

7 Then his sister asked Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get one of the Hebrew women to nurse the baby for you?”

8 “Yes, go,” she answered. So the girl went and got the baby’s mother. 9 Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this baby and nurse him for me, and I will pay you.” So the woman took the baby and nursed him. 10 When the child grew older, she took him to Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son. She named him Moses,[c] saying, “I drew him out of the water.”

Ancient Jewish sages likened the drawing out of the sentient being out of the adolescent male animal to drawing a drowning baby out of the water of the intellect. Until he leaves Egypt, the stage in life where the noise in the mind and body, early attitudes, and delusions have yet to meet experience or evidence, a man is considered unformed. Some adults who are too heavily indoctrinated or underfed proper data as young persons never vacate this stage for proper adulthood.

The Republican Pary and Evangelicals, Hamas, Hezbollah, the orthodox community are examples of persons who have not absorbed the Water of Life from the Nile and purposed it like Moses, and entered into a life of substance. What is missing? Something called Miriam, the mother of Moses, whose name means "strength of the call to go west," towards enlightenment:

"The verb מרר (marar) means to be strong or bitter and can be used to describe tastes and smells, and hard or difficult situations.

Adjectives מר (mar) and מרירי (meriri) mean bitter. Nouns מרור (maror) and מרורה (merora) refer to any bitter thing, the former specifically to a certain bitter herb, and the latter to gall or poison.

Noun מררה (merera) also means gal. Nouns מרה (morra), מרה (mora), מרירות (merirut), ממר (memer), ממרור (mamror) and תמרור (tamrur) mean bitterness. The latter noun is spelled identical to the noun תמרור (tamrur), meaning marker or sign post, from the root תמר (tamar), meaning to be stiff or erect.

And speaking of such, the nouns מר (mor) and מור (mor) mean myrrh, a bitter and fragrant spice that was originally used to mark the tabernacle, but which came to be used to proclaim, olfactorily, the consummation of marriage. Hence, despite its links to words that mostly describe hardship, myrrh oil was known as the "oil of joy."

Verb מרה (mara) means to be contentious or rebellious, particularly against God. Noun מרי (meri) means rebellion.

The verb מור (mor) means to change. Perhaps the connection between the previous is coincidental but perhaps these words are indeed linked, as change is often reaction to bitterness or opposition. The noun תמורה (temura) means exchange.

The noun ים (yam) means sea, and was also used as synonym for west (sea-ward) or the future (as "east" corresponds to "past"). Its plural form, ימים (yamim), is identical to the plural of the word יום (yom), meaning day."

The marsh is where the water and the mud mix, and hidden in the reeds are 184, אח‎‎ד‎, "just one." As verses 9 and 10 state, they, our ancestors from which the raft bearing Moses was launched cannot help us they are upstream. The decision to enter the Shule the River Nile and endure all that must take place in Egpyt is ultimately not one belonging to our parents or to other Jewish people but to the self. The call of Miriam is difficult to heed, but man cannot be happy if he fails to hear it.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 8-9: We were born yesterday and know nothing. The Number is י‎זזד‎, yezad, "dare to be bold unto eternity."

v. 10-11: Will they not bring forth words of understanding? Understanding is not a product of words but of evidence. One never, ever reads a religious or scientific text as if it were fact until one uncovers the evidence. If one misconstrues the words then the evidence will align the defition with the truth.

Now we know the presence of carnivorous plants, for example, prove the existence of evolution through mutation.

Nutrient poor soils and a random mutation in some species produced thousands of species of carnivorous plant that sustain the nitrogen cycle not through the soil but through the consumption of insects and small mammals in specially evolved minute digestive tracts. Charles Darwin spent a great deal of time researching the phenomenon and eventually explained we are fucked if carnivorous plants do not thrive on this world. They fix nitrogen and return it to the soil for plants that have no hope of being fed through their roots on their own.

Our survival, therefore hinges on the ability to accept the fact the God of Israel employs mutation in the final engineering in the creation. This not found within a literal interpretation of the Seven Days but makes perfect sense after scientific examination of the actual world. The same is true for all aspects of the adult self.

The Number is 15200, י״הר‎, y'har, "tomorrow."

It all comes out in the wash.

v. 12: While still growing and uncut, they wither more quickly than grass. Reeds, which grow in standing water do not have the same problems as the ass that is grass The Number is ה‎זזא‎, "the zaza, the move."

In ancient Hebrew culture, the name Zaza was given to people who were seen as catalysts for personal and societal change, and who embodied the essence of progress and movement. They were also thought to have an inherent drive and motivation.

Mankind has been laboring over this idea of progress since it stood upright. We never have enough progress. The word for progress in Hebrew returns two definitions, both are animals, the strange combination of a bear or a dove:

The Hebrew word dov (דב or דוב) is a male name that means bear. It is also the root of the Yiddish name Ber, which was common among East European Jews. The name Dov is said to embody a cute but fierce persona, like a cuddly angel with a big heart. 

Both which are also explained by the word Jonah:

"Assumed root יון (ywn) yields the noun יון (yawen), meaning mire or swampy, boggy ground. Mire's signature failure to provide secure footing is often used proverbially.

Note that in the Bible dry land often signifies factual and consensual certainty, whereas water (seas and rivers) denote liquidity, growth and potential. This is why in the Bible the great cultures are always associated with their respective great rivers.

From the same or identical second root יון (ywn) comes noun יונה (yona), meaning dove. In the Bible the dove serves both as a symbol of weakness or indecisiveness, and of vast abundance (as well as being the bodily form of the Holy Spirit). Apparently, in antiquity doves were everywhere.

They were recognized to show no resolute dedication to an ecological niche (like, say, the eagle), and to flutter about in uncertain circles, much unlike the straight paths of, say, ravens. Ravens are associated with hearing and doves with sight. The Greek word for dove is περιστερα (peristera), of which element περι (peri) indeed describes both a broad circle and ubiquity.

Curiously similar to the word for dove, the verb ינה (yana) means to do someone wrong or to oppress or vex someone. Perhaps the two have nothing to do with each other but where the great leaps are most celebrated, it's the little irritations in life that provoke the most massive progress. Or in other words: for every one brilliantly engineered iPhone there are hundreds of staples, paperclips and rubber bands that tie much more of life together.

The noun יין (yayan) is of unclear pedigree but is obviously similar to the previous. It means wine; either simply fermented grape juice or mankind's culture at large, seeing that in the Bible humanity's cultural world is often depicted as a vineyard: many separate grapes make much liquid wine, and many separate minds make much liquid culture."

[captainkurosolaire]

Prompt #25 ~ Evolutive Process

♫Soul of a Man♫

A soliloquy served as a serenading dance within. He trained his spiritual mind in meditation under glades as fall ripened return. Accompanied by his Crewmate of Faith. To unlock a man, to be more. Is no indifference than what pirate's are, they're in nature creatures of sought. Searching to drink the fullest, until they learn drunk with adventure and wish, to learn normality is even more redefined and scarce to attain. Thrusting himself underneath barbaric traditions. Rowdiness watching mercilessly, the most violent, prosper. He washed the stain's of war, blood, but no matter how much he rinsed, it couldn't be purified. Those sacrifices, of fellows. The deadly smile's of haunting warmongers who were in-no particular deserving of death. They after-all took fighting as their determination value's of how freedom represents. There's stories underneath every eyelid. Exhibiting nerved and the impatience throbbing in his blood. The Seeker's inactive instinct's to move were problematic. It wasn't wrong to want to see thing's done. If anything that was admirable, many flounder to content; which closely prospect's laziness; then underachievement behind that; which leads back to turmoil. But it's the nature in which you run to something that declares volume. He couldn't continue hastily risk charging forward on-in without thought. For his march brought other steps behind. Power resides in control; many become consumed to be slaves of their own-making. Chained under pressure. A firm-grasp of lecture and upper-class rang, "You've shown recent color, Captain, a sliver change. But is it your season? Can you accept, fall? To become adaptable, acceptable; You wish to reclaim, recollect, salve. Although you lack the necessity to answer. You acclaim to hear them, but can you answer FOR yourself? Recall your past, listen to the doubts, and solve them. How things now show that change, without action, beyond mind, outside must function as fluid." Goldbrand's senior wise crest, scholarly educated him. Looming in levitation. It felt like his soul was being forcefully seen through, every aetheric vein and compounding element, was trivially readable to the Wildwood of ancient times.

Kuro dug down and shoveled himself a silver lining underneath every situation's soils. Upon conception there is no doubter, like the world itself. In mortality, we are disposable. We feel a desperation to prove ourselves, to force outcomes, to take everything at all expenses in our limited windows. Other-time's the weight of this fact leaves us with the impression it's futile to fight. Failure -- And survive. It's an opportunity to seize th' next wave. Imperfection -- They're written, but they build my vessel. I b' a ship which is navigating... Leader -- I have arm's, ears, talent's that I cannot achieve surrounding my bay n' mates. This is my intelligence at full-display. Pirate King -- I do not desire. Title. If I had too, I'd choose to be a throne, who makes all those hoisted as such, monikers. Left to feel leisure, pleasure, extravagance that often is forgotten and buried. Seas -- You become polluted, but you do not discriminate. From first glance, you are endlessly, vast the originator in aspiring freedom. Even surface to depth's. There is more to expand, see, delve. He was generating a massive influx of aether alongside, invitingly ushering it forth to him in an outline, unintentionally. Conjuring in himself, empowerment. Answering in earnest, he was loading bullet's before the need to fire. Weaving resolve. Losses stuck he wouldn't not be reminded whether by scars, or by another trying to tarnish him by using his Past... By overcoming this storm center, it was to be unwavering. He shouldn't be able to morally find light. Yet he was a beacon, channeling it, not manipulating or exploiting or using. It gyrated around him. The Spirits of the deceased were singing his heartbeats. Memories nearly transparent, floated above his waters. Enlightenment and his zeal became a violent surging dawn. Fluid from eyelid's came in repressed tears, denied for decades. Those who bottle or suppress them, often acclaimed the testament as markings of true, warrior makings. Emotion's hold a secret element that can only be reached. Under embarking strife's face. The Wildwood would teach him how to harness and weaponize compassion. Instead of it being seen as his poison; weakness. It could be utilized to be an instrument. That could overflow and cultivate. To Save Himself; could save all others. It could tread, even outside thing's deemed impossible, feasibly unchangeable. That was his missing-line. Zieton showed exhale relief. His choice to embark with this unlikely man wasn't wasted. It takes a while for a pirate to recognize or even use all this force; especially a butterfly. Meadow tree's around them shook, the abundance withered the leaves off branches and were exploding into an early shift in season. Captain had so much pent-up, If continued. He'd serve as a catalyst to being a volatile bomb. Mountain's away from proper control. He found how to channel, feel, draw. "Enough." Zieton forced his staff into a bell-chime, to force a repose over the Seeker who passed out instantaneously from the high-cast used. "Now find purpose in respite." He walked callously away, allowing nature to lull the troubled deviant into proper sleep, a place without nightmares -- Just solace, rest.

[that-random-chaos-entity]

How does your OC display love? What are some habits your OC has picked up?

Forgive me as this is a LONG post, but I felt it would be better to show, rather than tell, this one:

Words could not describe how awkward Perturabo felt being back in the Emperor's palace. It would have been bad enough if it were just his deadbeat father, a half-rotten corpse sitting in an overglorified golden life-support casket, ignoring him as per usual. But it wasn't just his father; so many of his brothers had come for this... ...this Sanguinala... ...in many ways it almost felt like the Heresy had never happened.

Vulcan, Corvus, Fulgrim, ROGAL FUCKING DORN, Magnus.... ...hell, even SANGUINIUS had come back from the dead. Raised by the same mysterious chaos entity that had turned Perturabo's world and soul inside out. Made him live his own life over and over again, through the eyes of the people around him, until he got the point. The people he impacted. The people he used, abused, and destroyed without a second thought. The people he...

...Perturabo shook his head, the physical action somehow dislodging the poisonous psychic tumor from his soul. Even though that parasite was long gone and the Eye of Terror no longer loomed over him, it had been feeding on his twisted spirit for so long that its blasted and withered hide still bled for it. Casting his self-destructive thoughts into the warp. This was a good thing (or so the Lanky Llama said). Though sometimes, when he started to brood and sulk, things would get... ...gummed up. He could shake any errant clots loose himself, but nobody helped the darkness bleed out of him like Nehetari.

And holy shit did he wish she were here right now. When she and her robotic people were around... ...the Lord of Iron actually felt like... ...himself. Or the version of himself that he wanted to be, anyway.

But no, "No xenos allowed at a family gathering," the Emperor had said. Not that it even would have mattered if they were; it was one of those weird weeks where the lanky llama disappeared on him and holed up in her room by herself. Something about a "Necrontyr biological cycle," that would, "likely make her act inappropriately," or "embarrass herself and him," but she would say no more on the matter.

Of course it would happen over the day when he needed--erm could have used her presence the most.

"Aren't you going to open your gifts, brother?"

Perturabo snapped out of his brooding to see Magnus looming beside him. It took him a second to process what he said, but when he did he scowled.

"Gifts Magnus? Really? Do think anyone here would ever give me a gift?"

"Excuse me! What am I, grox manure!?" there was no real irritation in Magnus's voice. He gestured to table in front of Perturabo, where three gifts sat that he could have SWORN were not there before. "And if you must know, you're the only brother here I saw fit to even GET a gift for."

"Aside from Sanguinius."

"Well... ...yeah..." the Crimson King shuffled his wings awkwardly. Both primarchs stole a glance at the MOUNTAIN of gifts that their brother had received. "...b-but he doesn't count."

Perturabo sighed. He didn't feel like feeling jealous of Sanguinius right now. Instead he grabbed the first package; it was obviously Magnus's gift. Whatever was in it was so warp-touched that it levitated a solid three feet off the table and changed size randomly. It turned out to be a small inter-dimensional rift that contained a book of arcane engineering, one that Perturabo had surprisingly not seen before. He thanked his brother; something that drew a surprised look from Magnus and a complimentary hug that Turbo awkwardly returned. The second gift was from Sanguinius, as it turned out, and when he opened the box he saw his own face, reflected in a simple yet elegant mirror. After a moment of wondering if this gift was actually meant for Fulgrim (clone fulgrim), he saw the inscription on the box lid which read, "to my big brother: it brings me joy to see happiness in your eyes now. I hope with this you can see it too."

Perturabo swore under his breath and slammed the box shut, furiously hoping that Magnus hadn't heard him sniffle just a tiny little bit. It was a moving gift to be sure, but after everything that had happened... ...somehow it just made the Lord of Iron feel like garbage. Well... ...more so than usual.

Thankfully, quick-thinking Magnus directed his brother's attention to the third gift. In fact, if he didn't know better, Perturabo would have sworn Magnus seemed even MORE excited for him to open this gift than his own.

"What is... ...is this from...?"

"MHMMM!" Magnus's enthusiasm was all-consuming, his grin audible in his tone. "She asked me come and pick it up from outside her door earlier this morning."

Perturabo's melancholy dissipated into a wave of curiosity. What sat before him was a perfect cube of blackstone, though if he knew anything about Nehetari, he knew that wasn't all there was to it.

Sure enough, when he picked it up, glyphs flashed along its side.

"Is... ...that..."

"Necrontyr," Perturabo murmured in deep concentration. "...and not just any form of Necrontyr; this is Ksakhemet Script."

"What?"

"Think of it as our high gothic. Except it's as if we had a high, HIGH gothic. Only the three Necrontyr kings and their families even knew how to speak this script, let alone how to read and write it. It is ancient, according to Nehetari... ...it's from a time even before the Necrontyr first started their galactic expansion."

Those statements alone were like a different language to Magnus, but his lust for ancient knowledge ignited like a blazing inferno. He would absolutely have to grill both Perturabo AND his xenos companion for more information once she was.... ...*ahem* no longer indesposed.

Perturabo turned the cube over and over in his hands, reading the ornate lettering as best he could. He'd only just started learning how to read Ksakhemet; he couldn't speak it properly because he lacked the extensive Necrontyr vocal range, but the lettering started to make sense the more he plied his fantastic mind.

"It is... ...a puzzle cube. I believe."

"D'AAWWW... How sweet...!"

Perturabo punched his brother in the shoulder, but it phased through his immaterial form.

"Shut your mouth!" He could already feel the heat creeping up his neck and he HATED it. Although he had to admit he was a little touched, if amused, that Nehetari had put together such a... ...thought-out gift.

And well-thought-out it was indeed! It became clear to the Lord of Iron that this wasn't just some slide and lock, physics based puzzle toy for mortal children. It was a custom-made testing tool designed to challenge his understanding of spacial compression, sub-atomic energy transfer, and even Necrontyr cultural theory. Each segment was challenging, unique, and soon he found himself absorbed. Magnus tagged along for the ride of course, and his respect for Nehetari grew each time he heard his brother growl in frustration, or give a small "...Ha! So that's it..."

"She has... ...quite the impressive mind. Especially for a xenos."

Perturabo grunted his affirmation. "...you don't know the half of it. She makes the Hrud look like a bunch of children." With a click the puzzle changed shape in his hands again, "...I would even say she has a mind similar to ours."

"...you don't say..."

"Hmph, she's DEFINITELY smarter than Dorn. I know that for sure."

Magnus chuckled. Of course she was.

The Lord of Iron didn't realize it immediately, but the puzzle cube was meant to serve another function, not just being an intriguing mental exercise. The more he fidgeted with it, the more time passed. Not by some technomantic power or magical means; he was just so absorbed in Nehetari's gift that he didn't notice his brothers packing up their gifts and starting to drift around and away from the throne room. Magnus, realizing he wouldn't be much help with this exercise, had taken notice of the custodes' Captain General (the one they call "kitten") and had begun to chat with him. Sanguinius was now at the Emperor's side, trying to pacify an impatient and belligerent Angron who just wanted to go celebrate Khornnuka with Lotara and Kharn. Corvus had dissapeared to... ...somewhere, and Vulkan was... ....had he somehow jackknifed himself into the psychic fireplace that the Emperor created!? Russ was laughing at him and drinking himself stupid (not that he had many IQ points to lose in the first place), but thankfully nobody was paying any attention to Turbo. Huh, who'd have thought; Perturabo was actually HAPPY that he was being ignored right now.

With a satisfying ding the cube shifted again, and to his surprise, glyphs flashed indicating that this was, in fact, the final challenge.

"Let's have it then. I'm ready..." the Lord of Iron grinned. He flicked the raised pad below the text and the final task scrolled across blackstone. Surprisingly, this time it was in High Gothic.

"...who is... ...my... ...favorite... ...human?"

He stared at the screen, dumbfounded. "Really? After all that, the last puzzle, is 'who's my favorite human?' Really?"

But wait... ...was the answer actually as easy as it appeared? Perturabo wanted to put his own name, but what if he was wrong? What if he wasn't her favorite human? He was hardly even "human" in the first place. Maybe she meant a true, normal human? But if this was supposed to be a present for him, why would she blatantly make him answer that her favorite human WASN'T him. What if...

"Hey nerd, the answer's obviously you."

Perturabo jumped to see Leman Russ passing him.

"What the-! Whe-how did you... ...you can't read!" Perturabo stammered. There was no way Leman just waltzed over here...

The Wolf Lord grinned, "Hey, ye nerds aren't the only ones who know how teh learn things. If I taught meself teh read Fenrisian runes, I can teach meself teh read some wolfin' High Gothic!"

"..."

"...that and I may or may not have used some of meh own psychic powers to read yer mind. You know, teh fill in teh blanks."

Considerably less impressed, Perturabo grumbled as he keyed the letters of his name into the cube. With another ding and a flash of green light, previously invisible cracks along the cube's surface began to glow and the cube began to shift one last time. When it finished, a tiny black tray was left in its place, revealing... ...a letter? And a pict?

"What's all this now?" Leman reached towards the tray.

Perturabo snatched it away, "Fuck off Russ! This is MY gift!"

"Oooh, is this from yer GIRLFRIEND!?"

"SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!!"

"Hey fuck you Leman!" Oh boy, here comes Magnus, "Like you could ever understand the subtlety and genius that went into that puzzle box! Let him enjoy his gift in peace!"

"LeT HiM eNjOy HiS gIfT iN pEaCe!" Leman crooned. "Shut her trap and go back teh yer boyfriend, yeh big red canary."

Magnus puffed up in outrage and looked about ready to turn Leman inside out. When Perturabo noticed Sanguinius inbound, no doubt to dissolve the impending battle, he took his chance to dip out. And by "dip out" I mean grab the tray and its contents, and duck under the table. It would hide him for all of a second, but that would be as long as it would take him to read the letter.

Or it would have, if Leman hadn't, SOMEHOW, been able to reach the tray before him. He snatched up the letter, practically from between Perturabo's fingers, and with utter horror the Lord of Iron watched as his brother brandished the page, cleared his throat, and began to read:

"Perturabo..."

"FUCK YOU LEMAN THAT'S NOT YOURS!!" Magnus howled. Perturabo roared in fury. Both brothers made a mad lunge at the Wolf Lord but he dodged, shit-eating grin on his face as he continued reading.

"...Perturabo,

I'm sorry, but I...."

"....failed you?"

At the mention of the word "failed", Perturabo's onslaught faltered, as did Magnus's. Leman's grin died on his lips as he read the next line, his eyes widening for a moment before they squeezed shut. He then passed the letter back to Perturabo, mumbled a barely audible apology, turned, and without a word walked off.

"That's not what I... ...uh... ...expected?" Magnus muttered. "He looked like a kicked pup. What did that letter..."

Perturabo clutched the paper looking the most feral Magnus had ever seen him.

"...you know what, never mind. That letter's meant for you anyway." He added quickly. "I'll be in the library if you need me, brother."

And just like that, Perturabo was alone. Well, mostly; the Emperor was still there, but he was oddly quiet. Sanguinius was watching him too, but from a discreet distance.

The Lord of Iron backed up into the corner of the room, still riled up but looking a little less crazy. Once he was satisfied that NOBODY ELSE would attempt to confiscate his stuff, he finally began to read what Nehetari wrote for him.

"Perturabo,

I am sorry, but I failed you. You said you wanted your brothers' appreciation for a Sanguinala gift, but of all the ones I interviewed asking for an appreciative memory they have of you, the only ones who gave me a response were your brothers Magnus and Sanguinius. So instead I instigated a situation to make one (please reference the included image). If your brother's expressions are to be believed, then I believe they all enjoyed attacking your snow bunker. I certainly enjoyed helping you defend it.

May you have a somber and pleasant celebration,

The Mehlrose,

Nehetari of the Szarekhan Dynasty.

Heir to the Silent Throne."

...Perturabo couldn't believe it.

He's asked for that as a JOKE. He hadn't actually been serious. When she's approached him, asking what he wanted as a "Sanguinala gift," he'd been in the middle of a complicated programming script and had said that just to get the point across that he didn't want to be bothered.

Slowly, and with a shaking hand, he lifted the pict from the tray and turned it over.

And she was right. This shot must have been taken by one of her tunneling scarabs. Or maybe one of her guard as they were circling the perimeter, hurling snow and distracting Russ. But however it was taken, somehow it was able to get a perfect shot of every primarch, including himself and Nehetari, hurling fucking snow or getting completely dunked on, but every single one of them had varying degrees of stupid fucking grin on their faces. Even Corvus was smiling!

It struck him: had that been her plan all along?

Minutes passed, and finally the Emperor himself spoke up. "My son, you're shaking like a Dark Elder nightclub on a Tuesday."

Perturabo didn't hear him. It took everything he had just to hold the pict in his trembling hands.

Why? Why. Why would she bother. How did she... ...why, why, why WHY? HOW!? When did she even have the TIME to plan this out!? There was no way. And not for him. Why? Why for him? And ALL OF THEM. How could she have known they would ALL come?

"Brother, are you ok?"

Perturabo snapped out of the loop to see the Angel standing beside him with a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't realized just how loudly his two hearts had been thundering, how BADLY his whole body had been shaking, until he felt that steadying touch. Instinctively he tried to regain control over his mind and body, and stowed the pict away in his belt.

Sanguinius asked no questions; he simply nodded.

"I'm going to find her..." Perturabo's voice sounded like sandpaper. He could feel the tears rolling down his neck, but he ignored them. "...I don't care if she FUCKING KILLS me; I am going to find her. She has no right.... ...she had no right to... ...to..."

"...go ahead brother." Sanguinius's smile was warm with understanding.

Salvaging what little dignity he felt he had left, Perturabo straightened up, turned on his heel, and walked shakily out of the throne room. He disappeared into the darkness, leaving his father and his brothers to stare after him in wonder.

(Sorry this is such a long post, but I started writing it and just went to town. I wanted to SHOW, rather than just tell, the kinds of things Nehetari does for the individuals that are important to her)

@gracia-regina @ask-a-scheming-sorcerer @luwupercal

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

bangs pots and pans together loudly FIC UPDATE COME GET YALL SOME JUICE

Apparently the vital, missing component to enjoying school was having a friend there. Go figure.

He and Kevin only have that first period class together, but they make the most of it, passing notes back and forth between the two of them, the teacher too tired that early in the morning to notice, or care. Lunch isn’t depressing anymore. They sit together under the shade tree, and Kevin does seem to also appreciate the view. “Can you even imagine working up a sweat, on purpose?” Betelgeuse pats his gut. “You know I can’t.”

“I can’t believe how little the track shorts are. That’s obscene. You think I’d look good in them?” “You join track and I’ll come to every meet, an’ it won’t be for th’ love of th’ sport.” He doesn’t think normal friends talk to each other like this, but he doesn’t actually know. Does everyone flirt with their friends? Are friends just cool people you wanna fuck but haven’t yet? Is it demon hormone bullshit, making him read into everything? Unclear.

It’s all going so good, until it isn’t, suddenly.

One lunch, two months into being there, Kevin pulls a huge and impressive old book from his backpack. “Look what I goooot,” he sing songs, waving it in Betelgeuse’s face, and he sneezes in response. “Smells old.” Emily and Lydia would love it. “It is. It’s very old,” Kevin confirms, and he moves so he’s sitting next to Betelgeuse, shoulder to shoulder, both their backs to the shade tree. “It’s about demons.”

Betelgeuse loses interest immediately, and focuses on not going pink at their shoulders touching, instead. “Z’at so?” he grunts. Kevin doesn’t seem to pick up on his moodiness, though. “It talks about all these ancient beings,” he explains, flipping pages. “Their summoning circles, their aspects,” he gives Betelgeuse a nudge at that, “all the things they can do for you, and the boons they grant.” He feels uncomfortable. “What’s with this? You obsessed with me, or somethin’?” He tries to play it as a joke, but that glint in Kevin’s eyes is back, and he doesn’t like it. “Of course, who wouldn’t be obsessed if they learned all this shit is actually true? It’s like there’s a whole secret world behind a locked door, and I’ve got the key.” Kevin looks back up at him.

He gets the feeling he’s the key. It’s not a good feeling.

“Where’d you even get this fuckin’ thing?” he lifts a finger, and the book slams closed in Kevin’s lap. His friend huffs. “Internet, of course.” “No, I mean… why were you lookin’ for somethin’ like this?” “I want to learn more. Don’t you?” Kev presses, and reopens the book. “I mean, what if there’s something amazing you can do, and you just don’t know, cause you’re not bothering to try?”

“So I’ll never know, so what?” Betelgeuse feels like this is a losing argument, but he tries anyways. “What’s so great about bein’ weird? You’re lucky you’re human.” “Dude, don’t even start with that. You can fly.” “So can humans,” he points out. “Wh- A plane and fucking levitating for fun are not the same, and you know it, BeetleJerk.” Kevin honestly can’t understand why he’s not excited over this. “I just mean… I’d rather be human, than this.” He blinks at his own words, because he’s never expressed that out loud before, ever. But it doesn’t feel untrue. “You’re out of your mind, more so than usual. Every human alive wants to feel special, and do the stuff you can do. Why are you acting like it’s so miserable all of a sudden? You use your powers all the time, I’ve seen you literally teleport five feet because you’re too lazy to walk.”

“You don’t get it.” He’s feeling sullen now, and he wiggles a little away from Kevin, and crosses his arms. “BJ, come on-” Betelgeuse teleports away to under the bleachers, and he eats his lunch there, until the bell rings.

He’s waiting for Emily after school, not feeling particularly friendly, when Kevin approaches. They stand there awkwardly. It feels tense, and weird, and he waits to see what the breather does. “Don’t be mad,” Kevin says, finally. “M’not mad.” “You sound mad.” “You know what mad on me looks like,” he finally turns to look at his friend, amber eyes burning with irritation. “First hand.”

Kevin looks down, and kicks at a rock that might not actually be there. “I thought you’d be excited. BJ, come on, I don’t wanna.. Not be friends over this.”

Betelgeuse signs, and scratches at the scruff on his chin. “It’s not like that,” he relents after a moment. “I just, I don’t care about that stuff. An’ I don’t wanna sit around, focusin’ on it. I don’t exactly like feelin’ different. Yeah, I do tricks an’ use my magic an’ stuff, but it’s hard to control. I lose my temper once an’ I could seriously destroy somethin’, or hurt my family. It doesn’t exactly feel good, knowin’ that. No one else my age can stand me, cause they can tell I’m weird. Before you, it was fuckin’ lonely, Kev.”

He feels a familiar pressure, because Kevin has taken his hand, and the human gives it a squeeze. He accepts it, melting a little against the other boy. “Still friends?” Kevin asks, and Betelgeuse purrs in response, resting his head on Kevin’s shoulder.

It’s not till later, at home, that he realizes Kevin never actually apologized.

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It’s like that, for a while. He knows Kevin still has the book. He knows he’s reading it, and sometimes Kevin will bring up demon stuff, but Betelgeuse has almost exactly a minute and a half of patience for answering questions or hearing about it. Still, Kev doesn’t stop. He might feel angrier if the breather wasn’t so god damn cute.

The air is starting to go cold, and leaves are beginning to fall. October is settling in, getting comfortable, and mom’s starting to break out the Halloween décor. It’s the middle of a kind of gloomy, Autumn day, when things get weird.

Kevin has the book open, much to Betelgeuse’s annoyance, and he’s blabbing away about a demon that supposedly grants wealth- “Do you think you could do that?” -when Betelgeuse looks down at the book, and sees Juno looking back at him. It’s not really her, it’s an illustration, but he’d recognize the bitch anywhere. She’s ink, glaring up from the page, those same age lines etched into her face, confirming his private theory that she’d been an old hag even when she was young. The slit neck is prominent, and as he stares, he sees smoke billow out of it. Oh, fuck no.

He grabs the book and slams it shut, startling Kevin, and then he teleports it directly under them, a mile down in the rock of the earth. Kev blinks for a moment, confused, before looking at his friend. “Wh.. Dude, WHAT?”

“Possessed book,” he croaks out, feeling tense, because he can smell cigarette smoke. “And you’re afraid of it? Why? You are also a literal fucking demon!” “That’s why I’m not messin’ with it!” Betelgeuse stands up, uneasy. The ground around the tree feels weird, now. He doesn’t like it here anymore. “Cause I actually understand why it’s a bad fuckin’ idea! God, you should have instincts that tell you not to mess with this stuff! You’re deficient, Kev, seriously.”

“Me deficient? Seriously?” Kev snaps, which hurts in a new, unexpected way. “Whatever, asshole. Give me my book back.” Kevin stands up, too, but he’s not uneasy, he’s angry.

“It’s better off where it is.”

“Which is where?”

Betelgeuse glances down. The grass around the tree is starting to wither. Kevin follows his gaze, but doesn’t seem to notice the dying vegetation. “You buried it? Come on!”

“Leave it, Kev.”

“This isn’t just your cool secret, anymore, it’s mine too!” Kevin glares at him. “You can’t keep me out of it, BJ. That’s not fair. God, at this point, I know more than you! You should be listening to me!”

He feels his volatile temper flare.

“Ex-fuckin’-scuze me?”

He waits for Kevin to take it back. Instead, his friend doubles down. “Demons have to listen to humans,” Kevin crosses his arms. “If they’re summoned. It’s in the book.” “Nobody summoned me,” Betelgeuse snarls, letting his real snake eyes show, an intimidation tactic that works for about half a second. Kevin’s too used to him, at this point. “I’m up here on a deal.” “Bet I could do it. I bet I could summon you. Then you’d have to listen to me.” “Yeah? Well, good luck without your stupid book!” He storms off, leaving Kevin standing there.

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The rest of the day sucks. He’s moody all day, annoyed in the car, grumpy in his room. He cranks metal and wishes he’d learned to play a guitar instead of his rinky, happy sounding ukulele. The instrument isn’t going to produce the noise he wants to express himself, right now. He throws it across the room, into a wall, where it smashes, and reforms a minute later, because… it’s still his favorite, after all. Even if it’s no good for expressing his teenage angst.

He can hear shuffling, and talking, outside his room, though he can’t make out what’s being said over the music. After a moment, though, there’s a knock at his door. “Hey, Bug?” Emily calls. “Can you come give me a hand with something?” He wants to tell her to piss off, go away, to leave him the hell alone, but.. It’s Emily. The CD player lets out a strangled choke and suddenly stops, and the door swings open, all without him moving from his flopped position on the bed. “Sup, ma?” he grunts. Emily peaks her head into the room, and smiles when she sees him, the expression radiating warmth and adoration and.. Oh, God/Satan, bless his sunbeam of a mother. “Just wondering if you’re free to do a little decorating?” She reaches behind her and grabs a fake severed bloody limb from the box he assumes she’s dragged into the hallway from the attic. “Don’t you worry it takes away from the “wow factor” to do Halloween twice a year?” He asks, standing and stretching, before apparating in the hallway behind her, and giving the decor box a nudge with his boot. “What? No way, there’s never enough Halloween!” Emily grins. “Get that, please.” The box floats along behind him as they head downstairs. They pause in the entryway, as Emily thinks out loud. “So, maybe the kitchen should be-” “Functional as a kitchen, please,” Charles calls from the living room. Emily rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine! Spoilsport! We’ll focus on the entryway for now,” she decides. “You wanna put up cobwebs in the rafters?” She gets on tiptoes to reach into the floating box, and he lowers it a bit for her, as she grabs the fake webbing. “I could just instantly decorate the whole room,” He takes to floating next to the box. “Could make sure it’s all normal human stuff, too,” He adds, before she can respond. “I know you can… But I like decorating,” Emily says brightly. “It’s not about getting it done quickly. It’s about, you know, doing it together.” “So why are dad and Lydia slacking?” Her smile doesn’t falter, but becomes softer. “It kinda felt like you needed some mom time, today,” She says simply. God, she can read him easier than Kev can read his stupid book. “We got in a fight,” he admits. She hums at that, because he only has one friend. It’s not hard to guess who he could possibly mean. “I’m sorry, Bug. What over?” He hesitates. So far he’s not let any of his family in on this book business. He’s been sort of hoping it could just go away on it’s own, and not be a thing. Kevin’s made it into a thing, though, and not telling even his mom feels… bad.

“He’s really into demons. Like, really, really into em,” He rasps, floating up and beginning to put up the spiderwebs, as his mother takes down the usual, sort of spooky wall hangings and trades them for her very intentionally spooky Halloween ones. “He’s got this book, an’ it’s all about demons an’ like, how to summon them, an’ their powers, an’ stuff… Sometimes th’ way he talks, it’s like.. Are we friends cause we’re friends, or friends cause you think I’m gonna be... useful?”

Maybe that doesn't make any sense, but that’s how it’s been feeling, like there’s an invisible shoe hanging midair, and it’s about to drop. His mother waits until he’s finished before looking up at him. “And you fought over that?” She prods. “Not exactly.” How the fuck can she even tell that, though? Damn her mom powers. He really, really didn’t want to talk about this, not to her, but… “I saw Juno. In th’ book,'' He lowers back down to the floor, and digs through the box, pulling out fake body parts. Back up he goes, to stick these in the fake webbing. “It was just a drawing of her, but it started like.. Billowing smoke-”

“From the neck,” His mother remembers, suppressing a shudder.

“Yeah. I could smell the smoke. So I got rid of the book, buried it in th’ school yard, but Kev got all pissy about it. He thinks he’s an expert on this shit, an’ he’s gonna mess with somethin’ big if he keeps this up.” “I’m sure you’ve told him that.” “He doesn’t listen. He gets this look in his eye, like it’s a game, or like… I dunno. Feels sometimes like he thinks he’s…” He searches for the words. “Like he thinks he oughta be the boss a’me, or somethin’.”

He rubs absentmindedly at the moss on his nose. It clings, stubborn as ever, same with the patches by his hairline, and he’s found it’s easier to just add another little layer to his glamour than try to do anything about it.

Maybe that’s indicative of a bigger problem. It’s easier to do a bit of magic and make everything look better than to actually fix the underlying problem. Ugh, introspection, how absolutely miserable. He wants to keep thoughts like that locked away tight, but they have a habit of slipping past his mental defenses and making him feel worse. Absolutely no one can make him feel shittier than he himself can. He sinks to the ground, going purple, and he’s instantly wrapped in his mother’s arms. “It’s okay, Beetlejuice,” Emily has both her hands on the back of his head, and he pushes his face into the crook of her neck. “I just.. I’ve only got the one friend,” he groans. “I don’t wanna stop bein’ his friend, but.. Fuck, ma.”

“I know.” Her voice is a soothing balm. She works her hands through the mess of purple hair at the back of his head. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s lonely at school, but school isn’t forever,” she tries to assure him. “If your friend is treating you this way, well.. He’s not a very good friend. Do you want to be around someone who makes you feel this bad? Does it feel worth it, to you?”

He knows the correct answer is, “No,” but he’s not sure if his self esteem is high enough for that.

“I like him a lot,” He grumbles, and she hums again. “He’s handsome,” She says, and then pulls back far enough to pinch his nose. “But not as handsome as my son, of course,” and it’s silly enough to help knock away his mood, so that’s something, at least. “What should I do?” He doesn’t pull away from her, just soaks up the mom energy for as long as he can. “I think you need to have a talk,” Emily tells him. “Lay out how you’re feeling. Try to get his side of things, and make sure he hears your side, too. Then, at least you both tried, you know?”

It’s such a mom type answer. He groans again.

“I was worried you’d say some shit like that.” She fuzzes his hair, and he feels the tingle in his scalp that means it’s changed colors. Back to green, he assumes. “You know your moss changes color along with your hair? And your creepo-stache?” “Leave the stache alone, it’s tryin’ it’s best,” He pretends to be defensive.

“It makes you look like the founder of a forum for people who marry their cars,” Lydia offers, from the bottom step of the staircase, where she has apparently been just chilling and listening.

“Wh-! Mom, it’s not that bad, right?” Emily tilts her head to the side and gives what can only be described as a condescending smile. “Oh, you’re both in for it now.” He brings the various decor items to life to terrorize them, and then Charles joins his side, sympathizing with his son vis-à-vis bad teenage facial hair, and by the time the whole squabble is over, hardly any decorating has gotten done… But he does feel better. His family’s good like that.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Monday rolls around, same as it always does, but there’s a weird feeling in the air. Halloween is a week away, barely missing getting a weekend date, but there’s some big Halloween bash the school is apparently throwing. There’s fliers for it everywhere, plastered all over lockers and bulletin boards. He’s not much of a participator, though, and his reaction to his locker being plastered over with invites to a party he doesn't care about is to snap his fingers. All the fliers on all the lockers up and down the hall, all instantly fall loose at once, littering the floor. A few students jump back, but no one looks his way, because why would they?

He’s grabbing his history textbook when he feels a tap on the shoulder, and when he turns, it’s a girl he recognizes, but her name is absolutely lost on him.

“You’re BJ, right?” Miffy askes, and he nods. “Yeah, s’right,” and Margo seems to wince at how gruff his voice is, before continuing. “Um, you and that guy Kevin, you’re like…” Milicent trails off, waiting for him to finish her thought, but sorry, baby, he can barely finish his own. “Like…?” He says, with his gravel voice copying her tone and inflection, and she huffs. “Together?” Marge asks, “Like, all of the time?”

He cocks his head, and squints at her, hands t-rexing at his sides, as Lydia likes to say.\

“Usually,” He concedes, and he gets the feeling he’s dragging this out much, much more than Mango clearly wants, because he spies a group of girls a little ways off, waiting for her. One of them is staring intently, more focused on him, but he pushes that thought aside.

“Look, okay, he’s gonna be out for a few days, and I’m just trying to see if you can take him his homework,” McGrubber has grown tired of having to stand here, talking to the chubby goth loser, apparently. “I’m a student aid in the office and they’re trying to make me do it, but I have track practice!” Thaaaat’s where he knows her from. She looks different, not bouncing and sweating and also not half a football field away. “Sure, fine, I’ll make sure Kev gets his work. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on running in a fuckin’ circle, Maria.” Her face sours. “It’s Blair.” So close. “Who fuckin’ cares,” He replies, and turns back to his locker. He can hear her rejoin her friend group, all of them fawning over her harrowing experience of having to speak to him in public. The last thing he hears from Blair is, “He’s just so goddamn weird,” and then the group rounds the corner.

He closes his locker harder than he maybe needs to.

Kevin isn’t in class that day, or the next, or even the one after. The shade tree has withered and died completely, it’s color sapped and gone, and even walking near it makes him feel uneasy. His new lonely lunch spot is under the bleachers, which feels even more voyeuristic of a spot to watch the track team, but even that activity feels tainted, somehow. He’s back to being lonely.

He can’t stand being lonely.

It gets so bad he contemplates sitting, wait for it, on the bleachers, and maybe even trying to strike up a conversation, but he’s too chicken shit. He’s been going to school with these kids for the past three years, and no one’s wanted to talk to him or chat with him in all that time. He can’t imagine that’s about to change.

Still, on Thursday, miserable and lonely, he gives it a try.

Sitting up here sucks. It’s just a hard metal seat on a gloomy day, and when he’d ventured up and sat down, other people had slowly moved away from him, until he was sitting by himself, all the breathers huddled in a different area, away from him. He'd tried talking, but hardly had a "Hey, how ya doin'?" grated out before the migration began.

Figures.

He finishes eating and lies on his back, resting his hands on his chest, eyes closed, and after a while he feels someone standing over him, and something laid over his hands. He opens his eyes. There’s the most beautiful girl staring down at him. She’s got long, bleach blonde hair, darker at the roots, which is hanging down in a halo around her face, and the biggest, clearest blue eyes he’s ever seen. He glances down, to see she’s placed a daisy over his hand. He looks back up at her, amber eyes questioning.

“You looked so still,” She smiles. Her voice is like music. He thinks he can hear harps. “With your hands folded like that. Kind of like an open casket.” He’d been forgetting to breathe, apparently, which happens sometimes. She thought he looked like a corpse, and she placed a flower over him.

“Sorry, if that’s weird. You’re.. BJ?” She asks, and he picks up the daisy, sits up, and nods. “Yeah, you’re…” “Barbara,” she fills him in. “You’re not so good with names.” “Mmm. Buffy tell you that?” He recognizes her now, from that group of girls. Barbara sits next to him, which makes zero sense. “It’s Blair,” she corrects him gently, but not without a giggle in her voice. “Oh, right.” Her name could be fuckin’ Moonpie and it’d make the same amount of difference to him, but he’d agree with anything Barbara said, if it meant she kept sitting there, talking to him. “Are you going to the Halloween party?” She asks. “Supposed to be pretty killer. It kind of seems like your scene.” “I’m not exactly a social butterfly,” which is the understatement of the god damn century, honestly, but she laughs and nudges her shoulder with his. “Well, I think you should come. I bet you’d have the coolest costume. Maybe think about it?”

“I guess, maybe..” He says lamely, because his brain is short circuiting from that small touch.

“Barb, come on!” someone calls to her from a ways away, on the track. Lunch is nearly over. She stands, and smooths down the long skirt she’s wearing, which is modest but flattering. “Later, BJ,” she smiles, and just like that, she’s gone, like an angel going back up to heaven in a beam of light, off to rejoin her friends. He can hear what she says to them, though. “You guys are mean, he’s not so bad. Just shy.”

He keeps the daisy in a little glass of water on his dresser, and strums love songs on his ukulele.

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Thinking about Barbara and her smile and the way she nudged him is a fun distraction, at least for a little while, but when it’s Saturday, and he still hasn’t heard from Kevin, he decides it’s time to demon up and see what the fuck is happening with him. He’s been just teleporting Kev’s homework inside his room, and he’s sure it’s falling into a pile on the floor each time and startling him, but no one ever said how he had to deliver it. Today though, emboldened by the pretty girl on the bleachers, he appears at Kevin’s front door instead, holding Friday’s work, and he knocks. It takes a moment, but Mr. Loh answers.

Betelgeuse hasn’t had much chance to interact with Kev’s dad. He looks like a normal, tired dad, wholly unimpressive, and kinda short. Chuck could wrestle this guy to the mat, no problem.

“Oh, BJ,” Mr. Loh says, and then glances at what’s in his hands. “Kevin’s homework? Thank you. He’s holed up in his room… won’t come out.. Maybe,” and he suddenly looks hopeful. “You two are friends. Maybe you can try talking to him?”

Well, that’s what he was there to do anyways, so sure. “I gotcha, Mr. L,” he nods, stepping inside, and heading up the stairs and down the hall to Kevin’s room. The closer he gets to the door, though, the weirder he feels. Something stinks, figuratively and literally. It smells like… It smells like the waiting room. It’s that same, veil is thin type air that he can smell on Halloween night, but how the fuck is he smelling it here? He bangs on Kevin’s door. “Hey, Kev, it’s the B-Man,” he calls, trying to keep his tone playful, but he feels like he’s doing a poor job. What the hell is going on? “Come on, man, open up!” He tries again, when he receives no response. He thinks he can hear a shuffle behind the door. “Dude, I will bust this fuckin’ door down,” He growls, all the play gone from his tone. “You know I will. Better yet-”

He appears inside the bedroom, just in time for Kevin to slam shut the closet door. Kevin turns to look at him, back pressed to the wood. There’s a beat, both teens staring at each other, wide eyed, Betelgeuse in that weird way he does, and Kevin looking frazzled. “What,” the demon grates out, “the fuck, are you getting up to in here? It smells like the netherworld, Kev.” Unfortunately, that makes Kevin’s face light up. “It does? Oh my god, that’s perfect! It must be starting to work!” He crosses the bedroom, going to his desk, where an old book is sitting open. It’s not the same one he took from his friend, it can’t be, that book is still a mile down in presumably solid rock. “Another musty ass tome, great,” he growls, but Kevin ignores him, flipping through the book.

He hates feeling ignored.

A black and white striped arm sprouts from Kevin’s desk, and slams the book shut, which makes the breather turn and glare at him. “Get out of my room, BJ,” is all Kevin says, and Betelgeuse ignores that, instead crossing the floor to get a look at that book. “Where th’ hell do you keep finding these fuckin’ things?”

“This one I bought from a one armed man living out of a 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale,” Kevin recites. Betelgeuse squints at him, top teeth over bottom lip. “You’re too gay to know what that means,” he says, plainly, and Kevin shrugs. “He wouldn’t stop talking about his stupid car. I now know more about that antique than I know about geography.” It feels fun, for a second, like this drama isn’t happening, and they’re just having a conversation. It doesn’t last, though. He can’t let Kev off the hook.

“So you bought a second cursed book, this time from some amputee homeless guy, and you’re just, doing the rituals inside of it? And this seems like a super good idea to you?”

“I’m practicing,” Kevin replies.

“So what’s in the closet, Kevin?”

“Get out of my room, Betelgeuse.”

The way Kevin says his name is weird. It doesn’t feel like how it normally feels when a breather says the full thing. He shakes it off, and gives his friend a defiant look, before waving a hand and throwing open the closet door. There’s a cleared spot, in the middle of the closet floor, and a fucking summoning circle in what smells like, “Pig’s blood? Couldn’t get human?” He turns to look at Kevin, who is glaring at him intently. He matches the look.

“Betelgeuse Shoggoth, get out of my room.”

That gets his attention. It feels like an invisible hand is pushing him, and he stumbles back out of the room, confused. “W-what?” Kevin is just standing there, staring at him, and Betelgeuse stares back, eyes wild. “You motherfucker,” he hisses, eyes in snake slits, teeth sharp, claws extended. “You wanna do that “real name” bullshit with me? That the choice you’re makin’ here, Kev?”

Kevin doesn’t even look phased. “I’m working on gaining a bit more control, but looks like that works, for now.”

“You’re cracked!” Betelgeuse growls, absolutely furious. “You’re really tryin’ to summon me? Are you out of your head!?”

“You’re wasting your powers,” Kevin storms forward. “You’re a supernatural being, and you go to school and play your stupid ukulele, and don’t even try to do anything bigger. You could be stepping on everyone under you,” his former friend is going red in the face. “You could be leading, you could be ruling, but you just jerk off in your room and play pretend at being human. But someone might as well profit, here. Why not me?”

“I thought.. I thought we were friends,” is all the demon can say, lamely, and Kevin’s smile is the meanest thing he’s ever seen on a breather. “Once you’re fully listening to me, we can be friends again. Betelgeuse Shoggoth, get out of my house.”

He feels that same invisible pull, and he thinks maybe if he was stronger he could resist it, but a demon’s true name is like a lead on a dog, meant to control them, and unfortunately, Kevin has a tight hand on his leash. He makes it to the front door, and stumbles out, covering his face until he can calm himself enough to reapply his glamour.

Shit, he thinks, straightening up, and staring up at Kevin’s bedroom window. He is so fucked. ``````````````````````````````````````````````` Posted this chapter and another over at Ao3. You can read it right here

[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)

[adcmzhao]

(headcanon).

being a greek demigod, adam has a few inherent traits that all demigods share. adha, he possesses inborn supernatural battle reflexes and senses that makes it difficult for him to focus during times of peace. dyslexia, his brain is hard-wired for divine ancient greek instead of modern languages. however, adam is also a son of hades and, as with all children of the big three (zeus, poseidon & hades), his parentage has bestowed on him a fair amount of distinct godly powers.

umbrakinesis: adam has control over darkness and shadows for various uses such as solidifying it for attacks and to hide in it. furthermore he can also shadow travel (uses shadows as a way of transportation; however, great distances tend to wear him out), darkness generation (he can shoot solid bolts of darkness, and surround enemies in pitch-black clouds of lightless space), darkness shields, invisibility & umbrakinetic healing (can heal himself and others using darkness).

geokinesis: adam can control the earth, levitating rocks and making them deadly, black, and extremely sharp. he can open fissures in the earth that can swallow up creatures and trap them in the underworld. he can cause earth tremors so powerful, they can shatter the pillars of a mountain fortress. he can also control the black walls of the underworld.

necromancy: adam has control over the dead, as well as many monsters native to hades’ realm, such as the furies. furthermore, he has power over the undead,  summoning deceased souls, releasing souls, telepathy with the dead, sensitivity to death (can sense death as it happens or when it is coming; when a person close to him dies, it comes as a ringing in the ears), life aura (he can sense someone’s aura) and  power over ghosts.

phobikinesis: he radiates a certain intense aura of fear and death like his father, hades, but to a much lesser degree. this aura is so strong that most monsters initially back away from him. he can (unconsciously) heighten this aura of death from intense emotional and distressing responses, which wilts and withers living organisms around his feet (grass, trees, etc) and seems to consume the surrounding light, often making the space around him dimmer.

most of these powers come into play in his older years at camp half-blood. when he first arrives it’s safe to say that he doesn’t even know he’s capable of most of them. their appearance are from intense emotional responses. his subconscious tapping into abilities he needs.

ten years post camp, adam can control and has heightened most of his abilities. shadow travel is still his most frequently used ability, and while he can travel distances (with multiple people) without suffering from the energy usage, longer travel still exhaust him. and, because i’m extra af, whenever he uses a large amount of energy to do something, his eyes glow purple.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer III: Carli’s Child

Major Spoiler Warning: Villain Plot Reveal, and Monsters Revealed from Chapter 103 in the game

Trigger Warning: This chapter has been described as ‘gruesome’, and ‘messed up’ by some beta readers for its disturbing imagery.

The King stood at the edge of the well, a deep hole a football field in diameter surrounded by walls of jagged rock cut into the mountain by wind and rain. He and his engineers wore full-body suits made of a synthetic material that could withstand the most corrosive substances. White spiderweb filaments that crawled up from this hole like mold, spilled over the edge and crept over the whole area, oozed a milky noxious liquid that dissolved organic material. Trees dropped their leaves, and grass withered. It grew over animals who came in contact with it and couldn’t escape until they were cocooned and dissolved into blackened husks.

The underground river at the bottom of the well should have been devoid of life. It was an ancient lava tube that collected water that seeped through the porous ground. This river also came in contact with the active volcanic activity in places, warming it like a hot spring. The warmth and the nutrients provided by the volcano made it the perfect nursery for growing dragonkind.

 The Executive Department of Hydra had dumped powerful poisons into the water not a day ago in an attempt to destroy that dragonkin. Yet the sonar, the infrared and the seismic instruments of The King’s engineers indicated that something very large was breathing down there. It was moving. It had a heartbeat. The temperature of the water had gradually heated to boiling. The stench was overpowering.

The King looked down at the small bundle in his arms.  His voice held a great fondness. “Do you smell it little one? Oh yes, the smell of a new birth!”

The baby looked up at him with calm innocence. His skin was a soft chocolate brown, his eyes a fiery red. His dark hair curled on his head. 

From the day Ruri Kazama failed to capture the Empress Hybrid, The King knew he had a problem on his hands. He depended on Ruri being under his complete control from beginning to end to resurrect the god. Once he realized that there was someone to rival him, someone who could break through his woodblock hypnosis, he got to work on a replacement.

Using the Empress’s egg cells he’d purchased from the Comemnus Corporation and the sperm harvested from Ruri Kazama, he had created this replacement. Something this tiny and helpless did not need to be controlled.

“The god has awakened... now to pay our respects.” He took a razor blade and pierced the baby’s hand. The baby’s face twisted in a grimace and his face turned red. He began to cry and scream. It gave the King a shiver of joy to hear it.

He held the baby’s hand over the expanse and let the blood run down his little fingers and sprinkle into the well.

“Sonar detects a large object incoming!” The members of the Devil Clan stepped back from the edge of the abyss.

“Let us welcome our new god!”

The water underneath spawned a whirlpool as a great creature swam to the surface, drawn by the scent of the baby’s blood.

“Let’s see how strong it is! Start the turbines!” The King ordered.

The engineering crew turned to their control and command center. At the bottom of the well, a turbine spun with such great force that even a submarine would not be able to resist the pull. 

The beast in the water in the water ignored it, continuing upwards, without slowing down.

“Amazing! Amazing!” The King danced with joy, swaying, pacing and gesturing erratically

The engineering crew, meanwhile, exchanged glances as they looked over the creature’s quickening vital signs and unstoppable power. Perhaps they were making a mistake.

“Begin the second test!”

The second test involved a volley of explosives dropped into the well that sank down and  detonated, surrounding the beast with fire. But again, the sonar screen indicated that the dragon was unaffected. It quickened its rise to the surface! “The target is accelerating!” An engineer looked over his shoulder at the well.

“Test number three!”

They closed twelve thick reinforced gates above the creature. A net of nanofibers stretched over each of them made out of threads strong enough to carry the Trieste. The beast not only broke through the gates but began breaking through the nets, stretching and sawing through the powerful fibers!

The engineering crew scrambled to safety. “It’s coming to the surface! Take cover!”

Only the King stayed calm. He held the crying baby over the well. The beast broke the surface, shooting completely out of the water and clinging to the sides of the chasm by what at first appeared to be tentacles. They realized, once the pairs of bright glowing eyes opened on each appendage, that they were not tentacles but multiple heads cleaning to the rock. 

Eight heads.

Four cannons surrounding the chasm pointed down into the well and exploded into deafening fire, each round full of anesthetic drugs. But that couldn’t slow down the beast clinging and hissing on the wall.

The integrity of the well itself began to falter. The struts holding it open collapsed down into the dark.  “Throw down more nets!” The chief engineer roared. “Capture it!” 

The King chuckled. He knew that at full power, this creature was beyond capture. He would need to weaken it further. Against the nets, against the cannon fire, it used its eight heads like arms to climb up. It leveraged a sharp sickle on its tail to gain stability on the slippery rock. Soon, it would be completely free.

The King opened his hands.

The baby fell screaming down into the dark. He didn’t see the child hit the boiling water, but now the river was full of the blood of the god. He trusted in a rapid transformation.

“We’re detecting another heartbeat! A new energy signal!”

The awed cries of the engineering department sang like a chorus in the King’s ears. An oblong pale shape levitated from the water. The floating egg ascended, cracking and splitting. Finally, it shattered into glass-like fragments. Beautiful white and gold wings spread into the cavern. Even though the baby was still a baby, the wingspan appeared to stretch the length of a bus.

Two of the dragon's eight heads turned to look. Tiny motes of light snowed down toward the wings, being absorbed into the feathers until they turned an angry glowing red. They stretched and elongated into a multitude of flaming whip-like tendrils.

The eight headed dragon struggled to continue its climb and managed to just reach above the lip of the well when bright red-hot tendrils of energy surged upward. They whipsawed against the flesh of the newly awakened dragon, tearing off bloody strips of quivering muscle. One head was taken off completely, spraying a spiral of blood back into the depths of the well.

The dragon roared and wailed in despair,  as though begging for the torment to stop.

The King folded his hands behind his back. So this was the power of the offspring of Emperors. Even in infancy, not even the gods could challenge it.

The eight headed dragon, weakened and in pain, relinquished its grip on the wall. It fell to the bottom of the well. It hit the water, sending up a splash reaching meters high.

The child’s wings lifted above the opening. It soared to his father, mewling, seeking comfort. The wings stretched up into the sky as it reached down for him. The King held up his arms and cradled the baby. The sheer weight of the wings should have flattened the King, but these creatures did not follow the simple laws of physics.

The engineering team rushed to dump liquid nitrogen into the well. Dragons were reptiles and the cold temperature put it into a stupor. It was unable to move or fight any longer. They’d done it.

They’d captured a god.

The King paced back and forth. Using more of the nanofiber nets, they lifted the half frozen monster out of the well. Cranes lowered car-sized buzzsaws to cut into the creature. Heavy machinery lifted the severed parts away. Blood poured from the helpless dragon, painting the white filaments in red, staining everyone in the work area crimson.

This eight headed creature actually wasn’t the White King. It had only inherited the White King’s remnants.  The Devil Clan worked to dismantle it with uncharacteristic joy. Finally, they would ascend above the years of torment and injustice and become more powerful than anything they ever dreamed. Some of them openly wept.

The creature was completely subdued. It was still conscious but unable to move as it was skinned and one by one its heads were severed until the last one was gone and it died in truth.

The King glanced up at the sky, understanding he was on a strict schedule. The Sword of Damocles edged ever closer. The satellite weapon would descend and turn this place into an inferno. He would have to contain the sacred remnants and leave this place.

Eventually, they reached the heart of the dragon. The massive organ slid out of the chest with a suction noise and a shower of blood. It was translucent like a gem and inside the gem, something was wriggling.

The King panted with urgency “Cut it open! That’s it! The Sacred Skeleton!” 

The skeleton wasn’t bone at all, but a living parasite, white, like a mutated embryo with a tail like a flexible spine. about the size of an orange with a single eye like spot at the tip.

The saws cut into the heart. The liquid inside poured out, taking the sacred parasite with it. As soon as the white worm emerged, it was met with a shower of liquid nitrogen. 

“How beautiful.” The King is still cradling his now sleeping ‘son’ in one arm. “See… once our host arrives… I will be sure you are the first to taste the true power of the White King.”

They used a strong vacuum to suck the creature into a glass canister for storage to prevent it from entering another creature.

The rest of the Devil clan were confused. Finally someone spoke up. “How can something like this make us into full blood dragons?”

“We will need a host. Once the parasite finds the host... it is the blood of the host that will evolve you.”

A beam of light suddenly illuminated the mountain side. A large helicopter descended rapidly from the sky, its downdraft sweeping the area.

The King began to laugh. “And now our host is here!”

[mermaidmafia-official]

{PART I: A COLLAR OF SPIKES}

Nessa has organised an underworld street race three towns over in Bay Haven, but an unbidden guest threatens to ruin her fun. @bebemoon​ @interluxetumbra​ @ayzrules @blubbingbeautifully​

[Smash Shit Up - The Dropkick Murphys]

…I wanna be a rebel / I wanna break some bones… The stranger had not expected a party. Her dervish dance bounced the tawny bar lights off her silver jewelry and into the rowdy sea of singers, like spellwork. Bacchanalia for middle-aged punk rockers and genre-savvy millenials. Leaning against a vintage Guinness poster with his arms crossed and a nonchalance wholly at odds with the energy of the room - an energy he had known in the ports of Nassau or the harvest festival in Naples - he watched her black hair fly, and frowned. …Maybe they'll be yours / They might be my own… Husky voices that may, in another decade, have bellowed sea shanties in shabby taverns now chanted celtic punk choruses in downtown bars with sticky floors. Their owners raised glasses to toast the enchantress on the bar counter as they might once have a siren of the sea... Was that why he got faint whiffs of withered oak and moonshine? His nostrils flared. No, there was a memory of salty breezes around her, but also that of blood on asphalt. For a moment, he indulged in imagining her enthroned on a stack of barrels filled with rum, wearing a pinstripe suit and an Al Capone hat… ‘New in town, eh?’, said a jovial voice next to him. A scrawny guy in black wearing a tweed flat cap - true vintage, 1940s perhaps - grinned up at him. Vintage-style sailor tattoos, the stranger noted, and smells of diesel oil on his hands. He said nothing. ‘Round here, we can always tell a fella’s new, ye know - by the way he looks at our Pixie.’ The guy nodded proudly at the girl-shaped creature on the bar counter. ‘Quite something, ain’t she? All kinds of trouble, that one, but never a dull moment.’ Quite something. Yes, the stranger thought. He had expected the damp chill of the grave, or the dry musk of something withered, not this - not warmth and sweat and cold smoke and beer. ‘You here for the race? Look like the type, ye know. Not for the faint-hearted, though, that’s for sure. If you’re going against her, you better have your things in order, my friend…’, his new friend chattered on. ‘Funny’, the stranger said, almost to himself. ‘She looks almost…’ ‘Wait- did you say something?’ ‘… alive.’

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

[Voodoo People - The Prodigy (Pendulum Remix)]

The smell of burning rubber, sharp and sweet, stung in her nostrils, and Nessa huffed. That dirty, shaggy flea-bag! When she had devised an underworld street race, she had not expected to be hounded - ha!- by an actual werewolf. And a fast one, no less. She hunkered down on her bike and took the corner sharper than was probably smart, gritting her teeth as the back tire slithered over the icy asphalt. His bike roared closely behind her. No dice. He was good. Three mortals had crashed in the fist third, defeated by back alleys or night time traffic. Four of the seven vampires who had turned up to race had bitten the dirt - get it? - at the scrap yards, and she, too had almost been catapulted off her ride by an unwieldy chevvy and narrowly escaped being impaled on a 90s’ satellite antenna. Not wood, but not pretty, either. But through the neon-lit city and the downtown alleyways, the wolf had prevailed, silently tracking her. Not once had he tried to overtake her. Not that she’d have let him. Not once had he lifted his mirrored helmet shield, but she had been a vampire long enough to sense a wolf. To hell with politics, she had thought back there at the starting line, high on anticipation and roaring motors, and had reared her head, declaring the race a neutral zone and beckoning her tattooed grand marshals to give the go. Apparently, the wolf had not got the memo. Ignoring a red light, Nessa zipped through between a pickup truck and a taxi, heading for the coast. It had been fun at first, the thrill of racing an enemy of the coven, knowing that Ysa would collapse in a dead faint if she knew, and imagining Yinmei levitating away muttering ancient curses. But here, with the cold, crisp air pushing sharply against her bike and the frozen Bay in view, Nessa started to wonder if she had just been really fucking stupid. Again. Somewhere behind her, shrieking brakes and a thunderous crash hailed the disqualification of yet another racer, but the wolf clung to her like a shadow. Always the same distance. Not pushing, but not relenting, either. Nessa bit her lip and tightened her grip on the brakes. No way she was gonna let politics ruin her race. Or her fun. Bracing for the serpentine road curving down to theBbay, she leaned into each curve, sinews straining as she fought to balance the weight of the bike with the momentum of the curves. Knees scraping gently over the ice. The thrill of being suspended right there, between pure motion and a brutal crash. Left - then right - and left again… But she was starting to get annoyed - at him, and at herself. What if he was here to kill her? And she was just serving herself to him on a silver - well, not quite, but still - platter? Sure, vampires were generally stronger than wolves, or so Ysa had told her. But then again, Nessa wasn’t a great listener, so she couldn’t be sure, and she was still young for a vampire. And a sheep separated form the herd, and all that… Fuck. Okay. Nessa made a decision, in the instantaneous, short-circuit brain-glitch sort of way she made decisions, and crushed the brakes in the last curve of the road. Screaming, her bike drifted over frozen snow and spun her around, drifting. For a split second she grinned manically, delighted to have surprised the pursuing wolf. And then, as he desperately tried to pull his bike around, his machine veered into hers with a booming crunch, catapulting them both off the road. They went flying. The hard ground hit her sharply - once, twice. And again. Pain blossomed through her limbs as they tumbled downward, machines crushing them with weight and piercing skin with shrapnel. She could hear bones break- were they hers? Then her head hit the ice with a wet crunch, and her vision went red as they slid over the smooth ice, seemingly forever. And then, there was silence.

When she came to, blinking and dizzy and tasting blood, they were alone on the ice under a vast black sky, the city noise damp and far away - or was that her head ringing? She pushed herself up and got to her feet, legs trembling softly with the remembrance of a life that may have been lost, if she had been human. The bikes had left a black smudge trailing behind them, like something crushed and crawling away. She grinned. She wanted blood. She felt very alive. ‘That’, said a deep voice behind the second bike, panting, ‘was entirely uncalled for.’ She could hear his broken bones reassemble painfully, and winced at the sounds, the slurping and cracking. But then, he must be used to that, she remembered. The wolf - man, at the moment - towered there, broad shoulders taut beneath a sadly torn leather jacket, and removed his helmet. Oh, fuck. She hadn’t counted on him being that handsome - square features, black hair, piercing, dark eyes... and bloodied. Ruddy wolves. She took her helmet off, and knew her own hair was all over the place. ‘I don’t like dogs yapping and biting at my ankles’ she said, with a shrug, playing it cool. Or trying to. Her adrenalin was through the roof. ‘I’m funny like that.’ ‘You’re an absolute raving lunatic, is what you are’, he countered, but not angrily. There was a soft melody in his speech, well-worn, but distinct. Mediterranean? And had she hit her head that badly or was there just the slightest hint of approval in his voice? ‘I do what I can.’ She grinned. ‘I hear that’s usually your job.’ He ignored the jab. ‘Did you really just do that… to annoy me?’ ‘You started it, you… bloodhound.’ She crossed her arms. Now, down to business. ‘So- are you here to kill me?’ He brushed dirt and snow off his sleeves. ‘I hadn’t quite made up my mind yet.’ Honesty. She could respect that. Nessa gestured at the vast expanse of ice around them. ‘Go ahead. Knock yourself out.’ For a moment, he said nothing, just tilted his head, as if thinking. Or seizing her up. Beneath them, the ice crinkled quietly. ‘What makes you think I won’t?’ he asked, eventually. She shrugged again. ‘Nothing. I mean, you’d think by now you’d have got out your funky werewolf kung fu stuff or-’ she waved her hands - she really should have listened to Ysa more - ‘or whatever you guys are using these days.’ ‘Fire, mostly.’ The corner of his - well-shaped, wow - mouth twitched with amusement or disdain, it was hard to tell. He seemed oddly calm for a mortal enemy. ‘Well, that ain’t gonna fly out here, obviously. Pity. I do enjoy an occasional brush with death. Makes you feel that more…. Well, you know - whatever it is we are.’ ‘Right. And that triple backflip you just pulled there like some crash and burn cirque du soleil shit- that was what?’ ‘That was me telling you not to mess with me. But, like, in a fun way. ‘Cause I’m nice.’ ‘…Nice.’ He picked the word up, perplexed, as if it had suddenly become strange. A sharp cracking sound interrupted them. Oops… ‘So -’ she said, ‘if we’re all done here I’ll be on my way. Race to win and all that.’ She could feel his gaze on her as she picked up her bike. Battered and missing a few parts, but it would carry her well enough. ‘Just like that. You don’t think I won’t follow you again? Or beat you?’ The last bit with the hint of a grin. She mounted her bike and tested the engine. Still good. Phew. ‘Not with that piece of junk you won’t.’ She nodded towards what was clearly a lost cause, at least for now. That soft crackle again. A rift, razor sharp and angry, appeared in the ice. Time to go. ‘Sorry!’ she said, merrily, ignoring his quiet curses in a foreign language. Italian. Of course. And then she was off. With the engines roaring beneath her and a vicious cracking sound just below, she sped across the frozen Bay, elated, heart fluttering with triumph. All that space in front and the dark emptiness above - receding, eternal. Nessa grinned. No time to ponder the meaning of time in a deathless existence- She was free.

[expended-sleeper]

Eternal Embrace [Divayth and Gelebor]

The withered book floated through the doorway past Gelebor, already opening to a page covered in utterly indecipherable runes and symbols. The opened tome danced through the still morning air to join the two others levitating before Divayth Fyr. The ancient mer sat nearly motionless in his chair, a roll of kreshweed held tightly between his fingers. On his right knee, he was lightly bouncing a drowsy infant.

Divayth held the kreshweed to his mouth and took a long, slow breath. In front of him, three pages turned, and his sharp eyes flickered to new lines.

"You come from a lost colony," he said, exhaling. The smoke shimmered in the sunlight like void salt. "On one of Skyrim's most distant barrier islands, I think. There are at least a hundred of you there. You wouldn't have survived this long otherwise. Unless your leaders associate with Daedra." Divayth ran his free hand through the baby's thin black hair. "Or perhaps you employ a few particularly gifted sorcerers."

"I'm sorry," Gelebor replied, taking the declaration as a cue to step on to the balcony. "All of that was false. Did Nadene tell you I was a Snow Elf?"

Divayth's brow furrowed, and the books fell a few inches before being suspended in the air again. Gelebor had a feeling not many people in this mer's life had ever told him he was wrong.

"No. Unlike Neloth, I don't need a band of sycophants hovering about to inform me what's in front of my face." Divayth nodded to the chair next to him. The pages turned again. "Sit. Listen, and speak. But slowly. You may be the most interesting thing to happen to me this season. I wish to savor the moment."

Gelebor obeyed. To his surprise, the scent of kreshweed was not overpowering. In fact, it seemed nonexistent.

"A pathetic habit, I'm aware. I've managed to prolong my life for millennia, but no amount of magicka seems capable of staying the ache from my blighted knee." He patted the leg on which his baby softly bounced. "Dremora got me with a Daedric Crescent, about a hundred years ago. Damned near tore the leg off. Sometimes I wish the bastard had finished the job. Then I could've built a new one, rather than resort to this disgusting ritual just to keep myself sane."

"It's fine," Gelebor said. "I can't smell anything, actually."

"Oh. I'm containing the air around my upper body." Divayth exhaled again. "For the baby. You can say hello. Her name is Tyrena."

[dulcefroyo]

Itariten History: House of Kishima - Chapter One

Chapter One

Atarachi the First

---

Though from unexpected origins

this young divine savior did rise

She changed the fate of our own Itariten

fueled by the grief of her parents' untimely demise

---

Born in the middle of the Withering Epoch, Atarachi's roots stemmed from a palace guard and a slave serving the non-Itarite ruling family of Ethaesia, present day Phichorio at the time. The House of Nethris, upon discovering the child's birth, nearly sentenced the lovers and their child to execution, until it was discovered that the child was a rarity. A Pureblood Shinuka; a rare breed of Sympharian Itarite believed to have divine origins and exceptional magic abilities. Atarachi was taken away and raised by the Nethris, while her biological parents were forbidden from coming into direct contact with their child. The parents wept for their child, but ultimately had no choice but to relent, and admit that their young daughter would be better taken care of by royalty than by slaves.

As Atarachi grew, she proved the tales of the Shinuka's innate magical prowess to be true, as she quickly grasped the ability to not only heal, but revive and create sentient life where there was none. She used her abilities within the Castle Gardens, where she tended to the plants and flowers often. It was then that one evening, Atarachi snuck out from within her chambers to spend time with her floral friends, and came into contact with her biological father, who had fallen asleep within the Garden after a day of endless work. After a bit of apprehension on his part, her father managed to find the words to speak to his daughter for the first time in years. This one meeting would turn to two...then three...until every evening they would slip into the Garden to speak to each other, talking about their shared love of nature, among other things. It wouldn't be until 3 months time when her father, Rengoku, would reveal to the princess her true origins, though to his surprise, she would come to admit she always sensed she was not truly a Nethris, but never would have thought her true family would be so close to her this entire time. Their conversations changed from their mutual likes, to forming a plan of escape, to be a true family, together and free.

Unfortunately, this would be no easy task, made even harder once the inevitable occurred. One night, another guard, having spotted the young princess leaving her chambers from the window, followed her into the Garden, where he caught both she and her family speaking, and after eavesdropping on their conversations of escaping, swiftly put an end to it.

Dragging Rengoku by the collar, and the princess by the arm before the reigning King and Queen, he divulged not only the fact they have had contact with each other, but they had also been planning to escape the kingdom. Enraged and emotionally hurt by the very thought of her adoptive child wanting her true parents over her and her husband, the Queen demanded Rengoku and his lover, Manami, be executed, and the young princess to be reduced to her soul crystal and sealed away within her chambers until she was marrying age. It was at this moment that Atarachi discovered her abilities were able to do more than simply heal and create, as her fear for her parents' lives, and her quickly growing resentment towards her royal family caused her to act, and act swiftly. Being able to manipulate the plants that grew wild within much of the castle, she managed to ensnare the King and Queen, and many of the guards in a flurry of thick, thorny vines. Using this chaos as a distraction, Atarachi ran off with her father, but not before finding Manami, and making their escape. As she watched the family flee, the scorned Queen was said to have muttered that was believed to have been a curse on the family.

The family ran as quickly as they could until they reached a marina, where they wasted no time in claiming a boat and sailing off. The family would sail for 3 weeks until they discovered land. Unfortunately, Rengoku would never be able to set foot on the new found free land, as an ocean serpent could claim not only the boat, but his life as well, as he used himself to distract the beast, whilst his lover and child desperately swam to shore. Even more unfortunately, Atarachi would not only have to suffer the loss of her father, but also the loss of her mother the very same day, as she died just moments after laying on the shore, as she had been fatally wounded during the ocean serpent's attack.

Now alone, the adolescent Atarachi used her grief as fuel to build a life for herself, and once she was strong enough, use her parents memory to free others from the enslavement that destroyed her family. She used her ability to create sentient life to aid her in building a new home on the new land, including a designated memorial for her parents, which held her mother's remains, and which pointed in the direction of the damaged boat her father met his demise on, which could still be seen in clear weather to this day. Once Atarachi was satisfied with her efforts, she did not hesitate to put her true plan into action, becoming the self-appointed "Hand of Justice", where she would travel back to Ethaesia, and kickstart what would be known as the Epoch of Wings, a time in Itariten history that the enslavement of Itarites would be abolished, and Itariten would be seen as more than just an easily-conquerable beta planet full of potential toys for the more "superior planet races".

Atarachi's efforts in the freedom movement, along with the aid of 3 other female Shinuka discovered and befriended along the way, caused massive waves to crash and eventually destroy the Nethris Family and their hold on Itariten as a planet, launching the planet into what would be known as the Freedom War. Eventually with the Nethris family's destruction, enslavement was a thing of the planet's past, and the Epoch of Wings would truly begin with the crowning of 4 new Royal Houses:

House Kishima, lead by Queen Atarachi the First.

House Xu, lead by Queen Meixi the Graceful.

House Areous, lead by Queen Elophine the Bright.

and House Kalan'ka, lead by Queen Ka'lema the Spiritual.

In addition to their new titles, the 4 Queens were each given their own special gift, forged by a mysterious group of beings known only as the Aetheral. These 4 magical gifts were meant to change and adapt to each Queen, and the heirs that will one day take over their kingdoms.

For Queen Ka'lema, a circlet which allowed her to converse with the dead, without fear of possession.

For Queen Elophine, a pair of anklets which would allow herself to fly and levitate objects and other beings.

For Queen Meixi, a necklace which housed the soul of an ancient dragon that would serve as the family's guardian.

and for Queen Atarachi?

A magic staff which shifted appearance and abilities depending on its current owner. For her, it became a glorious, golden staff, topped with a large yellow flower that seemed to hold the sunlight within its very petals and radiated comforting warmth that would be able to melt the coldest of hearts.

With this staff, the blessings of her people, and the strength she had to continue on, Atarachi was universally beloved by all, including a young duke who would eventually become her king to rule beside her, and raise their first and only child, Reikei.

She continued to rule peacefully, until an outbreak of Clystrals Disease claimed her life, along with many others worldwide. Her crystal has since been buried beside her parents' memorial, in the Kishima Castle's Cemetery. She was survived by her husband, King Ro, and her then-adolescent daughter, Reikei.

[daxambcrn]

(headcanon).

CHILDREN OF THE GODS! — being a greek demigod, mike has a few inherent traits that all demigods share. adha, he possesses inborn supernatural battle reflexes and senses that makes it difficult for him to focus during times of peace. dyslexia, his brain is hard-wired for divine ancient greek instead of modern languages. however, mike is also a son of hades and, as with all children of the big three (zeus, poseidon & hades), his parentage has bestowed on him a fair amount of distinct godly powers.

umbrakinesis: mike has control over darkness and shadows for various uses such as solidifying it for attacks and to hide in it. furthermore he can also shadow travel (uses shadows as a way of transportation; however, great distances tend to wear him out), darkness generation (he can shoot solid bolts of darkness, and surround enemies in pitch-black clouds of lightless space), darkness shields, invisibility & umbrakinetic healing (can heal himself and others using darkness).

geokinesis: mike can control the earth, levitating rocks and making them deadly, black, and extremely sharp. he can open fissures in the earth that can swallow up creatures and trap them in the underworld. he can cause earth tremors so powerful, they can shatter the pillars of a mountain fortress. he can also control the black walls of the underworld.

necromancy: mike has control over the dead, as well as many monsters native to hades’ realm, such as the furies. furthermore, he has power over the undead,  summoning deceased souls, releasing souls, telepathy with the dead, sensitivity to death (can sense death as it happens or when it is coming; when a person close to him dies, it comes as a ringing in the ears), life aura (he can sense someone’s aura) and  power over ghosts.

phobikinesis: he radiates a certain intense aura of fear and death like his father, hades, but to a much lesser degree. this aura is so strong that most monsters initially back away from him. he can (unconsciously) heighten this aura of death from intense emotional and distressing responses, which wilts and withers living organisms around his feet (grass, trees, etc) and seems to consume the surrounding light, often making the space around him dimmer.

most of these powers come into play later on in his life. when he’s at camp halfblood and even throughout his first quest, it’s safe to say that he doesn’t even know he’s capable of most of them. their appearance are from intense emotional responses. his subconscious tapping into abilities he needs.

ten years post camp, mike can control and has heightened most of his abilities. shadow travel is still his most used ability, and while he can travel distances (with multiple people) without suffering from the energy usage, longer travel still exhaust him. and, because i’m extra af, whenever he uses a large amount of energy to do something, his eyes glow purple. 

[helsung]

RETRIEVED FROM THE INTERNAL DATABASE OF HER MAJESTY’S SECRET HELLSING ORGANIZATION,  NOT FOR PUBLIC RELEASE OR FOR COPY .  ORDER SIGNED BY SIR INTEGRA FAIRBROOK WINGATES HELLSING HERSELF .

of all supernatural creatures that have crossed paths with the van helsing clan,  & later the hellsing organization,  none stand out & as a memorable as THE VAMPIRE .   the family whose namesake & history intertwines with the organization has painted its legacy with the blood of these monsters,  they have found their greatest feats in slaying them & protecting humanity from their corruption .   it is no coincidence then that of all beasts that reach the shores of the united kingdom,  the  vampire  is  our  most  common  threat .   there are many factors which make it feared among all other creatures,  the apex predator of a food chain beyond the limits of human comprehension,  & the subject of the hellsing organization never-ending crusade to hunt it to extinction :

SECTION  #001  —  PHYSIOGNOMY .

VAMPIRES  ARE  LIKE  CHAMELEONS,  sharing the figure & features of a human,  able to hide & lie in wait among its natural prey,  with an appearance subject to change of their own will .   of course,  the weaker they are the easier it is to distinguish them from your fellow man,  you can quite easily assess the threat level of any given vampire by how well it hides itself among a crowd of people .   weak vampires may also be unable to truly shift in appearance,  like many of their abilities,  such a skill is something to be learned & mastered .   the common traits that set a creature of this nature apart from any human are  RED  EYES  &  SHARP  SHARK-LIKE  TEETH .   as mentioned previously,  more powerful vampires may chose to hide these traits,  the red in their eyes hidden beneath a fake glint,  though in darkness it is still quite visible .   they might also cover their fangs,  but it is important to note the canines of this creature’s maw,  for they will ALWAYS remain sharp .   weaker variations can also lessen their vampiric traits through restraint from blood consumption,  which might provide the slightest cover,  but in said state a vampire’s nature as a shambling corpse is most well seen .

starved of what satiates their hunger,  a vampire’s form will begin to slowly wither & they will grow weaker .   given enough time a vampire may return to a corpse-like catatonic state,  though the length of this process may itself take months or years depending on their inherit strength .   human  blood  is  what  fuels  their  vampirism,  what allows them the power to prey on humanity,  & without it they are fated to revert to their truest form,  the corpses they should have been .

it  was  not  always  this  way,  vampires of old were quite easily distinguishable from humans,  sharing only in the humanoid figure but with more telltale signs of their status as apex predators .   they have since EVOLVED to hide themselves among humanity,  a natural consequence of their never-ending thirst for blood,  & only the most ancient of vampires retain elements of their historical depictions .   to a trained eye,  however,  even the vampires of now may be told apart from people .   while humans possess a solid composition,  a vampire’s is more shadow-like,  shifting endlessly in infinite states of dishevelment which make one tense upon eye contact .   it is hard to notice just how inhuman vampires appear,  but under the right light conditions,  through the right photographs,  one can tell .

SECTION  #002  —  LIFE-CYCLE .

according to legends,  vampires are not born,  THEY  ARE  MADE,  a curse spread from one host to another .   it is true,  that vampires do not & can not procreate ( with humans or each other ),  but the beginnings of a vampire are a far more complicated process with endless,  situational variations .   vampirism is a curse,  & thus,  it has a source .   though it is impossible to trace it down to any single progenitor,  it is foolish to believe that people become vampires simply through the spread from one infected patient to another .   a human may become a vampire in numerous ways,  either they are sired into their unholy existence by someone already afflicted,  or they become vampires from their own hubris .   vampirism is an illness born out of HUNGER,  hunger for many things,  be it eternal life,  or power .   the latter is the most common narrative,  & thus many who seek greater strength beyond the limitations of humanity may become vampires out of pure desire .  they might perform forbidden rituals of the occult,  sacrifice their soul to all manner of devils,  gods & specters or something as simple as satiating their thirst with the blood of their fellow man .

once afflicted,  a vampire’s life-cycle is virtually limitless,  able to live for an insurmountable number of years beyond that of a human .  it is this longevity that makes the vampire one of the last supernatural creatures to stalk the edges of our perception .   many other monsters of its ilk have since died our or have been hunted to extinction,  YET  THE  VAMPIRE  SURVIVES .   is this simply down to their prolonged existence ?   is it their status as the top of the unholy food-chain that allowed them to survive when their comrades did not ?

NO,  while those are factors to consider,  the vampire continues in spite of its kin for it draws its satiation from a different source .   while beasts may feed on the nutrients present in human flesh,  after all,  we are red meat,  vampires hunger for blood .   like all creatures,  humans possess a SOUL,  their very essence contained within that allows to exist & perceive,  &  BLOOD  IS  THE  CURRENCY  OF  THE  SOUL .   drain someone of their blood,  quench your thirst with it,  & soon you will be allowed to peer into them,  their thoughts,  their feelings & even their very memories .   by draining a person’s entire bloodstream,  vampires are able to absorb their soul,  granting them further power beyond simply that which is gained from normal feeding .   vampires are then able to do with these souls as they please,  should they know how to utilize them,  summoning their victims as familiars,  using them to hone their skills & abilities .  making them the most feared among the forces of darkness & the last surviving vanguard of the night .   it is this discovery,  made by the late arthur van helsing,  that truly explains the source of the vampire’s abilities,  & the need for its  TOTAL  ERADICATION .

SECTION  #003  —  THREAT .

vampires posses an array of abilities that prove deadly to any human unfortunate enough be become their prey .   the exact nature & number are ill-defined & so not even the hellsing organization can provide a complete assessment of the capabilities of a vampire .   vampirism is a tailored curse,  one that suits each corrupted individual down to their need .   in essence,  THERE  IS  NO  UPPER  LIMIT  TO  THE  POWERS  BORN  OF  VAMPIRISM,  as each encounter may differ in its own unique way,  & thus each mission is required,  according strictly to the hellsing organization’s internal regulations,  to perform an extensive reconnaissance operation before a target is engaged in combat .

however,  there are shared traits between many of the vampires slain by hunters & soldiers of the organization,  which are to be memorized & understood as an observable pattern within vampirism .   it is,  after all,  an affliction of those who hunger for POWER,  & in that shared origin one will find common abilities .  they are as follows :

ENHANCED  STRENGTH,  AGILITY,  ENDURANCE  &  RESILIENCE  —  self-explanatory,  vampires possess capabilities beyond any mere human,  able to move faster than the eye can perceive,  to tear through flesh like it is paper,  to outlast trained soldiers in battle & to survive a hailstorm of bullets .   they are not to be underestimated,  as they can rip apart an overconfident squadron in seconds ;

REGENERATION  —  again,  self-explanatory,  any wound a vampire is caused can be healed quickly without visible scarring .   more powerful & skilled the vampire,  more potent their regenerative abilities,  able to even regrow or reattach limbs which have been severed .   it is said that a strong enough vampire may even regrow their head ;

LONGEVITY  —  decay & rot are of little concern to a vampire,  they are corruption inhabiting a body,  & given a consistent stream of human blood they can live on for as long as they desire,  nigh immortal if not for the existence of bodies such as the hellsing organization to seek their end ;

INTANGIBILITY  —  if they so choose,  a vampire may become immaterial to the world,  & pass through any matter it desires .   of course,  this is a skill uncommonly seen,  & a technique that necessitates a degree of mastery before it is to be used offensively .   the only know material to cancel it out is SILVER ;

PERCEPTION  —  a vampire’s ability to perceive the world around them is enhanced & honed specifically for the hunting of humans,  thus their hearing,  sight & sense of their surroundings reaches far above ours .   they can hear single a heartbeat among a crowd from miles away,  can see their prey through solid objects & perceive the surrounding area to such a degree that a plan of attack may be formed in seconds ;

TELEPATHY  &  HYPNOSIS  —  is it because of this enhanced perception that vampires have to the ability to stalk a person through their thoughts,  able to project their desires onto a potential victim & draw them closer .   as well,  they may simply sense a human’s thoughts & emotions when they are close by without needing a single drop of blood .   of course,  this is not a common ability,  & is a skill to be mastered before it sees use in the vampire’s hunt ;

TELEKINESIS  —  certain vampires may possess minds so powerful as to move solid objects .   while another infrequent ability,  it may be used by a vampire to drag their opponent off their fit & into their claws,  or simply to levitate objects & even themselves to be used as weapons or for better spacing when engaging in combat ;

refer to previous sections for anything missing from this list .

SECTION  #004  —  SPREAD .

one might imagine vampirism to travel among the populace like a plague,  an illness passed on from an infected individual to another,  but it is a mistake to think of it this way .   vampirism is no common affliction,  & though it can be passed,  a more correct assessment would be to say that  VAMPIRISM  IS  A  CANCER .   as previously mentioned,  one might give into becoming a vampire because of their lust for greater power .   how,  then,  is vampirisim granted ?   does it simply manifest out of thin air & infect those wanting ?   of course,  the answer is much more damming .   vampirism is a curse which is present within us all,  any human serves the potential of becoming a vampire,  should they find themselves under the right circumstances .   it is an affliction born of humanity’s own hubris,  manifesting itself as vengeful beasts that seek nothing but our destruction .

we all born into this world with a corruption in our hearts that may overtake us & turn us into monsters,  each of us serves the potential of becoming a vampire,  but to then imagine a necessity for the culling of fellow humans in an effort to stop the spread of vampirism is monstrous in & of itself .   the circumstances by which a human may turn are so specific & uncommon that billions of us can go our entire lives without knowing we are all corruptible .   in order for one to turn themselves,  they necessitate a pathological hunger for power without limit,  not power over others granted through the hierarchical systems we live under,  power beyond the constructs we agree upon .   power to dominate without restraint & to do it as they please .   as well,  another of the few known triggers for our inherit corruption is desperation beyond measure,  a willingness to sacrifice one’s own humanity in order to survive in the face of certain doom .   combine these two circumstances,  give it human blood of any sort,  & you just might have witnessed the beginnings of a self-made vampire .

it is for this reason that vampirism is so uncommon among humanity,  despite every individual presenting a potential risk of the affliction,  & why,  in order for the lineage of vampires to continue,  it is customary for the vampire to turn humans into more of its kin .   this too can be an uncommon sight,  such a ritual,  while easy to perform,  can be deeply personal & born of incredible circumstance .   it is quite easy to understand that granting another immortality & power beyond measure,  against their will or because of it,  while sacrificing their humanity is not a decision to be made lightly .   thus,  it is more rational to fear DEATH by a vampire’s hand rather than the granting of UNDEATH .   the way by which a human is turned is quite simplistic in comparison,  it requires them to be drained of most if not all of their blood by a vampire’s bite,  allowing the plague to spread through their body from the touch of fangs alone,  & then they must be given a taste of vampiric blood .   vampirism is an unstable corruption,  one that can destroy a human’s mind & body if not contained by a vampire’s blood .   self-made vampires need not worry,  but those being turned NEED vampiric blood within their system lest the poison take away their rational mind & rot their body to the core,  turning them into GHOULS .

SECTION  #005  —  WEAKNESS .

almost in spite of their great power,  dispatching a vampire can be quite easily done .   in ages past they were quite weak to objects of religious significance,  such as crosses,  & unable to withstand the radiation of the sun,  but today most vampires have evolved past such classical weaknesses .   regardless,  SILVER remains their natural deterrent,  contact with it will burn their skin & any wound they contract from the metal is either permanent or harder to heal .  as such,  soldiers of the hellsing organization are outfitted with silver plated rounds of both exploding & standard variety,  designed specifically by our research & development department to incapacitate most types of vampires .   blessed silver is found to be double as effective,  & thus we also provide standard ammunition forged from melted silver crosses provided to hellsing by the manchester cathedral .   however ,  these are in short supply,  & are only to be used under dire circumstances as a last resort or if a vampiric threat is assessed to be greater than normal,  as per our internal regulations .

when attempting to incapacitate a vampire,  one should make sure to aim for one of two potential areas of their body,  either the head or the heart .   destroying either/both of them or severing from a vampire will,  in most cases,  kill them instantly without any chance of regeneration .   even a well placed non-silver bullet may dispatch a vampire if aimed well enough,  & thus precision with a fire arm is the difference between life & death .   as well,  while not commonly used by the organization,  FIRE can prove a useful tool when dealing with vampires,  able to burn them at a rate similar to contact with silver or,  at the very least,  weaken them enough for a well placed shot .   vampires are scarcely immune to explosives,  as well,  & can be incapacitated if one were to explode one/both of their vital points .   dispatching an entire group of vampires is generally better done by utilizing explosives than engaging them with firearms .

THIS ENTRY HAS BEEN COMPILED FROM RESEARCH INTO THE OCCULT DONE OVER THE MANY GENERATIONS OF THE VAN HELSING FAMILY,  WRITTEN & SIGNED BY SIR INTEGRA FAIRBROOK WINGATES HELLSING .

[isedonsdndgame]

Game Night 2019-08-31

The party leaves the tower and suppresses the green flames guarding the gate with Driscolls dispelling magic and continue descending the mountain, leaving behind the frozen winds and back to the cold drizzle and slick mud of the forested paths in Barovia. On their way back to the familiar paths, Driscoll observes movement in the trees as several small tree blights are making their way to the southwest towards the pale vampiric tree that they had burned previously. Deciding to deal with that tree once and for all, the party head past the winery and to the barrow hill where the tree resides. Upon arrival, they find that several of the blights have merged with the charred stump in an attempt to restore the tree faster. Ignys sends a fireball towards them, incinerating all of them at once, leaving a charred tree stump once more. Driscoll, using some of the incense and oils found in the amber temple, prepares for the 24 hour casting of a hallow spell to permanently cleanse the ground around the tree. The rest of the party settle into a watch rotation with one of them sleeping for each 8 hour period of the ritual. Iskafar and Iltharian fend off 3 mountain barbarians that try to disrupt the ritual, and Ignys handily burns away more blights that attempted to arrive later in the day. Driscoll, exhausted from the demanding ritual, completes the incantations and calls the purifying powers of the Silence to the area and bright light fills the space around the hill. They all feel the ground lurch and tremble and the tree stump sizzles and smokes and withers away as they watch. With the threat of the tree eliminated, the party head back to the winery to let Driscoll take a well earned rest. The family at the winery, and the refugees staying there, all seem to be in good spirits and have completed all the major repairs at the winery and seem to be planning for getting the wine making process and growing vineyard back in order. Before resting, Iskafar does a fine job in raising their spirits. The next morning, the party intend to investigate the ruins of the village said to be the home of the hag that might have the final enchanted seed from the vineyard. They head to the bridge that crosses the river by Vallaki, and follow the neglected path to the south. The further they go the more foul and choked the river becomes, and soon they come upon the rotted remains of old village house. The ground is boggy and tall grasses run rampant and buzz with insects living in the ruins of Berez. A thick fog covers the village limiting the vision of the party to about 100 feet or so in all directions. The party search around and locate a large circular pen with several goats inside. The fence containing them is topped with human skulls and there appears to be no gate. The goat pen is beside the ruins of a larger house or mansion which the party climb up to investigate. When they enter, they are confronted by ghost who asks them why they are there and tries to shoo them out of the house. When they ask about hag who lives in Berez, the ghost advises them that they want nothing to do with her, and points out the direction where she lives so the party can avoid her. The party thank the ghost, and head directly towards the direction indicated. As they quietly approach, they can make out a modest hut suspended 30 feet up in the air by several long and crooked tree roots. They can hear a loud cacophony coming from two cages filled with ravens. Also in front of the hut is a huge skull, upside down, and floating in the air. Ignys volunteers to investigate the situation and  becomes a fine mist to examine what he can up close. He finds a thatched roof and a well lit interior, an ancient swamp hag has her back turned to the door and appears to be fussing over something in the hut. Ignys reforms inside the giant skull and tries to see if he can control it. While investigating however, he is almost discovered, and quickly casts a spell to relocate on top of the hut. The hag quickly casts a spell and then steps into skull and begins to investigate, not able to see the rest of the party below and hidden in the tall grass. She focuses on her spell and is able to locate Ignys hidden on the roof. She casts another spell and Ignys locks up, unable to move at all. Iltharian scrambles up one of the hut roots and up onto the roof, his expertise in fast climbing evident, and then hurls a charge from his ring of the ram, missing the hag but damaging the skull she rides in. Driscoll and Iskafar hold tight together as they slowly levitate up towards the roof. The hag flies backwards in the skull and conjures forth a thick poisonous cloud over the party, seriously injuring everyone before its dense vapours sink to the marshy ground below them. She then shouts out "Crush Them!" and the huts roots tremble and it moves away from Iskafar and Driscoll to better swat at them and Ezmerelda with its heavy roots. Ignys manages to shake off the spell that held him in place, grabs onto Iltharian, and dimension doors both of them onto the skull with the hag, balancing precariously. Ezmerelda then cloaks herself in invisibility. Iltharian takes the opportunity to carve into the hag with his short swords while still keeping a dexterous footing on the skull. Iskafar teleports with Driscoll onto the roof of the hut and then Driscoll conjures his guardian aura, then eases himself down and into the hut. Once inside, he notices what appears to a ghastly wooden crib with a small, angelic child inside in the center of the hut, and he quickly dismisses the aura so as not to accidentally injure it. The hag meanwhile polymorphs the raging Iltharian into a frog and pushes him off the skull, then moves the skull again causing Ignys to lose his balance and also fall to the ground. Ignys sits up and fires an empowered magic missile into the hag and scorches the skull with a quickened fire bolt. Ezmerelda invisibly casts a lighting bolt hitting the hut, the hag, and the skull. Iskafar gets closer to the hag and unleashes an acid breath against her and the skull, causing the skull to finally buckle under the damage it had taken and the hag falls to the ground as well. Iltharian runs up to the fallen hag and carves deeply into her with his swords, finally slicing off her head in his flurry of cuts. The hut, still acting on its final order wallops Iltharian twice and smashes Ignys into the mud, knocking him unconscious. Inside the hut, Driscoll points out to Iskafar that a green glow is coming from the floorboards and Iskafar then smashes into it with his axe and reveals the green pine cone seed tethered to the wood of the hut. He reaches in to try and pull it out but the splintered boards bite into his arm causing him to lose his grip. Iltharian escapes the reach of the hut by making another spectacular dash up one of its roots and onto its roof. The heavily wounded Driscoll does not attempt to remove the seed but instead looks out the door of the hut to see a wounded Ignys and heals him with a quick healing word. Fearing for his life, Ignys superbly plays dead to avoid further provoking the hut. The hut, unable to see any more enemies, thrashes about trying to discover or dislodge anyone else unsuccessfully. Iskafar make another attempt at the seed and this time manages to pull it forth from the hut, ending the animating magics on the roots. They then examine the interior of the hut and discover that the child is actually an illusion, its blankets bearing some royal crest. Iskafar also notices a warding sigil placed upon a chest. Driscoll removes the enchantment and they add the treasures within the chest to their growing fortune. Game ends as they rest for the remainder of the day in the hut and head out next morning.