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haruchiyos · 3 years

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A Requiem for Lost Souls

If this world had taught you anything, it was that tragedy did not discriminate. After fate’s cruel hands stole happiness from you, prophecy foretold that the only avenue to achieving vengeance was by means of absolute power. A journey of bloodshed, corruption, and heartache lies before you; will you emerge stronger and with your morality intact or fall victim to the corruption of your own power?

Welcome to my first series: A Requiem for Lost Souls! This is a dark fantasy au for My Hero Academia that will feature heavy angst, war themes, smut, and multiple love interests. This post will serve as the navigation for the series, as well as hosting a plethora of references for the world building, lore, and cast within this series that readers can utilize whenever need be. No spoilers will be featured here.

Special thanks to @penallphe and @atsymu for all the love they showed toward my original series of which this project is an off shoot of. I wouldn’t have made the leap to share my world building here on tumblr if it wasn’t for the three of you. Thank you

Chapter 0

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MINORS DNI

— Geography

The Empire of Zardovia

The Zardovian Empire is composed of five self governing kingdoms that are each dominated by a different type of life form. Every twenty years a tournament is held to determine the next ruler of the empire. Through a series of tests and battles the last triumphant warrior that is left standing becomes the ruling emperor and is given the responsibility of maintaining the peace between the five very different kingdoms within the empire. The nature of this tournament means that power is the sole governing force in the empire, only the strong will rule — their moral compass does not matter. The Forbidden City is home to the Emperor, their advisors, their consorts, their servants, as well as the Royal Army — all other citizens of the empire are prohibited from entering unless granted permission by the Emperor or their advisors.

The Kingdom of Yestad

This mountainous region of Zardovia is home to the most plentiful species within the realm: Highland Elves. Having once been the land of giants, copious amounts of gargantuan skeletons can be found propped against cliff faces with monstrous swords still at their sides. Being the homeland of the first Emperor — Zardor the Conqueror — Yestad’s capital is the most beautiful, extravagant, and lively city within the entire empire. Inside the capital city Vaelantis the only living members of the first emperor’s bloodline rule justly to ensure that their people are always kept satisfied and protected. With dragons guarding Vaelantis and Leshen roaming the icy forests at the edges of the kingdom, Yestad is a land rich with life and power.

The Kingdom of Draelon

Bordering Yestad’s western mountain range is the desolate land of the Draelonian Kingdom — the land of the Necromancers. Despite the majority of its population remaining with the capital city of Yusan, Draelon is a large nation predominantly composed of expansive flatlands dubbed ‘the wastes’. The sandy soil within the plains makes it virtually impossible for any life to be sustained aside from the vigilant snake or scorpion. This void of liveliness also translates to the capital; the citizens of Draelon are the unwelcoming, cold, intellectual type with little to no interest in anything other than studying forbidden magick. Nicknamed ‘the land of the dead’ it is understandable why visitors rarely find themselves within the gothic architecture of Yusan. At its most northern tip lies The Catacombs of Selarith: a sanctuary for the most powerful Necromancers and their students. Governed by the most powerful Necromancer known as the Lich, Draelon has experienced the longest era of peace of all five kingdoms within Zardovia due to the strict nature of its social hierarchy and heavy cultural focus on obeying those who are above you.

The Kingdom of Hiral

Hiral is a chain of islands inhabited by various kinds of Shifters: lycan, serpent, feline, and avian. The island nation is a collection of small villages and towns living almost entirely independent from one another. Most citizens tend to live within towns dominated by their same race of Shifter, however the capital city Triwen is an exception to this trend. With constant conflict between the differing races the governing tribunal of elders would not be able to keep civil war from breaking out without the help of the emperor and the warriors of the crown. However, a positive byproduct of the diverse population within Hiral is that it is the best Kingdom within Zardovia to travel to and experience new walks of life and cultural practices.

The Kingdom of Keston

Keston is the largest region of the Zardovian Empire by land mass and as a result has the most variety to its landscape. From ice covered mountaintops and gigantic glaciers in the north to desolate deserts and volatile volcanoes in the south, Keston’s ranging biomes are a direct reflection of the people that inhabit them. Elemental wielders of eight different types roam the expansive kingdom and live in the region most akin to the element they use. Keston’s capital city is far less extravagant than the capital cities of Yestad or Draelon; this is because its only inhabitants are the eight members of the High Council who govern Keston along with their servants and guards. At its northeastern most tip lies the Mountains of Lonara — the tallest mountain range within the entire empire — and within its most remote peaks is the Temple of the Oracles where the most powerful elemental wielder along with her disciples are imprisoned.

The Water Kingdom

While not actually being a cohesive nation the stretch of ocean north of Hiral has been dubbed ‘The Water Kingdom’. Within the Drowned City of Illisal lies countless relics of magical power as well as national treasures guarded fiercely by sirens and various kinds of sea monsters. Because of the tempting call to steal these sacred and priceless items, factions of pirates and thieves have built a lawless sanctuary on the abandoned islands of Otabiza. The geographic location of Otabiza combined with Zardovia’s lack of Naval power means that the Kingdom of Anarchy remains active and unchallenged by the crown.

— Species

The Highland Elves

A proud species with a deep connection to nature, the elves worship a goddess of life simply called “The Mother.” At birth the mother pairs an elf with a specific species of animal that the elf will be able to control and communicate with. The specific species one is paired with is entirely based on their connection to the earth and its life force: the stronger the connection the more powerful the species. The Mother gifts the most powerful with dragons, demons, and even Leshen, while the weaker are paired with deer, rabbits, and sheep. The elves are also blessed with exceptional healing powers and the ability to read the auras of those around them.

The Necromancers

Mortal practitioners of magick with unparalleled intellect, the Draelonian Necromancers are better kept as allies rather than foe. Outwardly they present themselves as normal human beings, their only identifiable trait are their unnaturally colored eyes which can vary from a bright bloody red to a royal purple. They worship Azrael — the goddess of death — and heed any prophecies told by the Oracle that relate to her. What Necromancers lack in fighting prowess, they more than make up for with their mastery of chaos magick. Lower level Necromancers have the ability to commune with the dead, summon familiars and cast mild spells, however the High Necromancers can raise the dead, control demons — for a price — and cast extremely powerful spells. In the same manner that a Necromancer cannot compare to the power levels of a High Necromancer, even the most powerful High Necromancer’s power pales in comparison to that of the Lich. Teeming with unrivaled magickal power, the Lich can raise — and sustain — armies of the dead and even steal life force from other mortal beings to extend their own lifespan.

The Shifters

The islands of Hiral are home to Zardovia’s smallest people, by population, shifters. While considered the weakest collective species in the empire, the shifters excel greatly in physical combat due to their more animalistic natures. There exists a massive variety of shifter races within Hiral, however the most common are wolf, feline (lion, panther, tiger, etc), serpent (snakes), and avian (hawks, falcons, crows, etc). A child will always be the same race as its mother, for example if a child’s father was a feline shifter while its mother was a serpent shifter, the child would also have to be a serpent shifter otherwise the mother’s body would reject the fetus. A shifter’s power level is generally determined by race, with few exceptions; wolves and felines on average possess the greatest combat skills, however a serpent’s poison and an avian’s flight are not to be taken lightly. All shifter’s possess limited psychic ability in the form of claircognizance, if a shifter says that they have a bad feeling about someone or something, it’s best to heed their advice.

The Elementals

The final and most abundant people are the Kestonian Elementals. As implied by their name, these people are masters of elemental magick. At the age of ten a young Elemental will pick an elemental god to become their patron. There are eight gods in total, Aesther (light), Erebus (darkness), Oxylus (earth), Aeolus (air), Hasmal (fire), Veris (water), Astrape (lightning), and Khione (ice). If a child is then accepted by that god they will be blessed with the powers of that god’s same element (ex those that have Hasmal as their patron will wield fire). An Elemental’s power and strength comes directly from their connection to their patron, the more they please their god the more powerful they become, however that strength can be taken away without notice if their god feels so inclined. All wielders will have the ability to summon and control their specific element at will, however only the most powerful wielders of each element have the ability to regenerate.

— Major Characters

reader : Twenty year old Elemental wielder of lightning and younger sister of Shouta Aizawa. Resides with family in the capital of Yusan after her parents fled Keston with Shouta prior to her birth.

Shouta Aizawa : Twenty-seven year old Elemental wielder of darkness and elder brother of reader. Works as a mercenary within the capital.

Hitoshi Shinsou : Twenty year old wolf shifter and reader’s childhood best friend.

Katsuki Bakugou : Twenty-one year old Elemental wielder of fire, his parents are close allies with reader’s parents.

Tomura Shigaraki : The Lich and ruler of Draelon. It is unknown how old he actually is as he hasn’t aged a day in the past twenty years and has no living relatives to speak on his birth.

Touya “Dabi” Todoroki : Twenty-four year old Highland Elf and crowned prince of Yestad. It is unknown which animal he is paired with as his father never allows him to be seen by the public eye.

— Minor Characters

reader’s parents : Elemental wilders of fire living and working in Yusan as blacksmiths following their escape from Keston.

Toshinori Yagi : Forty-nine year old Elemental wilder of light and current emperor of Zardovia.

Enji “Endeavor the Great” Todoroki : Forty-six year old Highland Elf paired with dragons, current King of Yestad.

Shouto Todoroki : Nineteen year old Highland Elf also paired with dragons, youngest son of the Yestadian King and brother to Touya.

Taishiro Toyomitsu : Twenty-nine year old Lion shifter and general of the Royal Army.

Nomu : Reader’s pet chimera of an unknown age.

The Oracle : An immortal Elemental wielder confined to the temple of Lonora where she conveys the wishes and prophecies of the gods while also telling the fortunes of young elementals once they turn twenty years old.

More to be added ...

— Creatures

Chimeras : A hybrid being created from experimentation that is comprised of the parts of two or more other creatures.

Leshens : An extremely powerful mythical being that stands over ten feet tall with a mangled humanoid body composed of fossilized wood and the head of a buck. They roam the solitary forests of Yestad and are to be avoided at all costs.

Demons : An umbrella term for malevolent spirits and entities.

Wondering Spirits: Undead souls of those who did not worship or believe in a god during their mortal life.

Reapers : Wondering spirits working under Azrael that collect the souls of the dead from their mortal bodies and transport them to the afterlife.

Wraiths : A malevolent wondering spirit trapped in the mortal realm. They are known to feed off the energy of the living so beware.

The Undead : Soulless bodies that are reanimated by Necromancers.

Sprites : Harmless sentient bundles of energy that present as one of the eight elements. It is considered good luck for an Elemental to have a sprite of the same power.

Familiars : A low-level entity under the control of a Necromancer; they will usually present themselves in the form of an animal (raven, cat, crow, dog, etc).

Sirens : Dangerous creatures that inhabit the deep waters of the Drowned City. Be wary of their coaxing song, it only promises death.

Leviathan : The underwater guardian of the magickal relics of Zardovia.

More to be added ...

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nosanime · 3 years

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Bibliography - “Evangelion: You Can (Not) Reference”

As I noted before, from here on, all of our panels from now on will include full bibliographies of the sources we used in the research and creation of the presentation.

This is the bibliography for our newest venture, the remake of our panel on the religious references used in Neon Genesis Evangelion titled “Evangelion: You Can (Not) Reference”.

*Update* This bibliography is now complete! I will make further updates if I find another source I missed.

Bibliography:

1731298478. Comment on “Is Rei still retrievable as a human?.” EvaGeeks.org Forums, 17 Jul 2011, 12:18 a.m., forum.evageeks.org/post/478968/Is-Rei-still-retrievable-as-a-human/#478968.

1731298478. Comment on “Why does NGE have so many references to the Bible.” EvaGeeks.org Forums, 7 Sept 2011, 7:55 p.m., forum.evageeks.org/post/491215/Why-does-NGE-have-so-many-references-to-the-Bible/#491215.

1731298478. Comment on “Why does NGE have so many references to the Bible.” EvaGeeks.org Forums, 9 Sept 2011, 3:57 p.m., forum.evageeks.org/post/491493/Why-does-NGE-have-so-many-references-to-the-Bible/#491493.

1731298478. Comment on “Why does NGE have so many references to the Bible.” EvaGeeks.org Forums, 9 Sept 2011, 7:07 p.m., forum.evageeks.org/post/491550/Why-does-NGE-have-so-many-references-to-the-Bible/#491550.

Abbott, H. Porter. The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative. 2nd ed., Cambridge University Press, 2008.

Allan, Arlene. Hermes. Gods and Heroes of the Ancient World. New York, Routledge, 2018.

Anno, Hideaki, creator. Neon Genesis Evangelion. GAINAX, 1995.

Asbridge, Thomas. “The Holy Lance of Antioch: Power, Devotion and Memory on the First Crusade.” Reading Medieval Studies, 33, 2007, pp. 3-36.

Bernabò, Massimo, editor. Il Tetravangelo di Rabbula. Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, plut. 1.56: L'illustrazione del Nuovo Testamento nella Siria del VI secolo. Rome, Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2008.

Bristlebristle. “Evangelion and Religious Imagery.” Too Many Words, intoomanywords.com/2019/06/20/evangelion-and-religious-imagery/.

Brokerick, Mick. “Anime's Apocalypse: Neon Genesis Evangelion as Millennarian Mecha.” Intersections: Gender, History and Culture in the Asian Context, no. 7, Mar. 2002, intersections.anu.edu.au/issue7/broderick_review.html#t13.

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Boyce, Mary. A History of Zoroastrianism: The Early Period. Brill, 1996.

Clement of Alexandria. “Protrepticus.” Perseus Digital Library, Tufts University, http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0555.tlg001.perseus-grc1:1.

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Coogan, Michael D. A Brief Introduction to the Old Testament: The Hebrew Bible in Its Context. Oxford University Press, 2009.

Davidson, Gustav. A Dictionary of Angels: Including the Fallen Angels. Free Press, 1994.

Davies, Philip R., et al. The Complete World of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Thames and Hudson, 2011.

DiTommaso, Lorenzo. “Apocalypticism and Popular Culture.” The Oxford Handbook of Apocalyptic Literature, edited by Collins, John J., Oxford University Press, 2014, pp. 473-510.

Dzielska, Maria. Apollonius of Tyana in Legend and History. Translated by Piotr Pienkowski, Rome, L’ERMA di Bretschneider, 1986.

Ehrman, Bart D. Forged: Writing in the Name of God – Why the Bible’s Authors Are Not Who We Think They Are. HarperOne, 2011.

Ehrman, Bart D and Plese, Zlatko. The Apocryphal Gospels: Texts and Translations. Oxford University Press, 2011.

“Excerpta Latina Barbari.” Eusebi Chronicorum Libri Duo 1: Eusebi Chronicorum Liber Prior. Edited by Alfred Schoene. Berlin, Apud Weidmannos, 1875, Appendix VI, pp. 177-239.

Freedman, David Noel, et al., editors. The Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary. Doubleday, 1992.

Frothingham, A.L. “Babylonian Origin of Hermes the Snake-God, and of the Caduceus.” American Journal of Archaeology, vol. 20, no. 2, 1916, pp. 175-211.

Godwin, William. Lives of the Necromancers. London, 1834.

Grunwald, Max. “Kleine Beiträge Zur Jüdischen Kulturgeschichte. (Fortsetzung): 10. Aus Hausapotheke Und Hexenküche. II.” Mitteilungen Zur Jüdischen Volkskunde, vol. 2, no. 3 (19), 1906, pp. 96–120.

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“Interview with Tsurumaki Kazuya (Studio GAINAX).” Anime no Tomodachi, www.gwern.net/docs/www/www.tomodachi.de/0e0191e1fa4fe4745561227758c44a3712407a68.html.

Jastrow, Marcus. A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature. Hendrickson Pub, 2006.

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Knibb, Michael A. The Ethiopic Book of Enoch: A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments, Clarendon Press, 1978, 2 vols.

Kodera, Takashi James. “Nichiren and his Nationalistic Eschatology” Religious Studies, vol. 15, no. 1, 1979, pp. 41-53.

Kraemer, Christine Hoff. “Self and (M)other: Apocalypse as Return to the Womb in Neon Genesis Evangelion.” Religion, Film, and Visual Culture Group, American Academy of Religion Annual Meeting, 22 Nov. 2004, San Antonio, TX.

Lesses, Rebecca. “Exe(o)rcising Power: Women as Sorceresses, Exorcists, and Demonesses in

Babylonian Jewish Society of Late Antiquity.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion, vol. 69, no. 2, pp. 343-375.

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Massey, Wyatt. “Religious questions: Was there a Dead Sea Scrolls conspiracy?.” Chattanooga Times Free Press [Chattanooga], 23 Aug. 2019, https://www.timesfreepress.com/news/life/entertainment/story/2019/aug/23/religious-questions‑dead-sea-scrolls/501940/.

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Schier, Volker and Schleif, Corine. “The Holy Lance as Late Twentieth-century Subcultural Icon.” Subcultural Icons, edited by Keyan Tomaselli and David Scott, Left Coast Press, 2009, pp. 103-134.

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Influence on the Portrayal of Lilith in the Alphabet of Ben Sira.” A Journal of Jewish Women’s Studies & Gender Issues, no. 32, pp. 112-130.

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#nos anime #anime #anime research #anime analysis #anime bibliography #bibliography #mecha #mecha anime #mecha history #evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #evangelion religion

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haga-grimalkin · 4 years

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Mandrake & Menstrual Blood: 10 Medieval Love Potion Recipes and Ingredients

Article from historyanswers.co.uk

The potion was of such a nature that any man and woman who drank it together could by no means leave each other for four years, However much they might want to refrain, they had to love each other with their whole being as long as they lived.

In the strictly gendered world of Medieval Europe, love magic – real or imagined – was an obsession. When sorcerous scandals erupted at the highest levels of society, love magic was often involved and it was women who bore the brunt of the blame for calling on charms or potions to win the heart of a disinterested beau, inflame or diminish the libido, or ease along the politically vital business of producing an heir.

Part of this is undeniably rooted in misogyny or envy flashing its daggers at women who were seen as having unnatural influence over their husband (see the frustrating fates of Isabella of Angouleme or Elizabeth Woodville, the White Queen), or left a powerful man humiliated and looking for someone to blame (such as Blanche II of Navarre, who was held responsible for her husband’s impotence).

But while a source of imagined moral panic and threatened masculinity, love potions were a fact of life and their use – or perceived use – is reflected in romantic epics, folklore, herbals and legal records.

Rather than being the exclusive domain of crones in lonely shepherding huts, these folk rituals and folk remedies were more likely passed along by mothers to their children to cure broken hearts or revive floundering marriages. As likely to be rooted in the trial and error of early medicine as they were rural superstition, many of the herbal ingredients were could also be found lacing the aphrodisiacs discreetly prescribed by court physicians to their listless masters… not that a learned interest in the healing power of herbs was a surefire defence against accusations of witchcraft.

1. Mandrake

Known for its properties as an aphrodisiac as far back as Biblical times, mandrake (or mandragora) remained a popular ingredient in love magic throughout the middle ages and is still used for that purpose in some areas of the world today. Said to resemble the human form, with both male and female plants, there was one drawback – the plant was said to shriek when pulled up, causing madness or death to the seeker unless proper precautions were taken and the rituals for safe handling varied from place to place. As well as ingested in accordance with myriad recipes , it could also be worn as a fertility amulet.

2. Human Remains

Powdered bone, pubic hair and menstrual blood were just some of the gruesome ingredients a love-seeker could be required to provide in order to ensure their spell was a success, and it was especially potent if something from both the seeker and the object of desire was included. One known spell required rather specifically both the bone marrow and spleen of a murdered boy! Menstrual blood, of course, reflects the gendered nature of love magic and in 1320 the Cathar noblewoman Béatrice de Planisoles was hauled before a bishop to face charges of witchcraft. In her possession were – amongst other “objects, strongly suggestive of having been used by her to cast evil spells” – linen soaked with the first menstrual blood of her daughter, to be drunk by the daughter’s husband to seal his affections.

3. Henbane

4. Consecrated Host

With a sinister reputation, both for use by witches and also to deprive one of her powers, this herb was also thought to attract love when worn and had narcotic properties when ingested, making it a fixture in various Medieval medicines. It could be used to bind a couple together in love, and to ensure that the love would last. This ingredient should be used with great caution however, as it was also known to cause delirium and death.

5. Honey

The power of this vital element of the Holy Communion service was highly prized in the medieval world, making it a much sought after ingredient for a variety of magical purposes including love spells. Difficult to procure, many inventive ways were devised to source a piece, with some resorting to keeping it under their tongue after it had been administered in church. Relevant words and incantations could then be written upon it depending on what was required.

6. Worms

One of the sweeter and more palatable ingredients, honey or mead were often included in love spells, the sweetness, it was expected, to influence the object of the seekers desire favourably towards them and also to sweeten the relationship to follow. It had the added benefit of making the concoction easier to swallow!

7. Animal Remains

Another gruesome ingredient, when mixed with powdered periwinkle and certain herbs, worms were believed to ensure love between a couple. The suggestion that it be taken with their meat may well have been due to the less than encouraging taste! Seemingly a strange choice, worms, due to their obvious link with the earth, were also a potent sign of fertility; a much desired outcome in many love spells.

8. Verbena

Much like human remains, demands for the bits and byproducts of animals proved seemingly arbitrary, with potions, powders and charms from Spain to the Balkans calling for the likes of sparrow heads, deer heart (hopefully a gruesome pun), the droppings of a stork, fat of a snake, brain of a sparrow, testicles of an ass, bones from a left side of a toad which has been devoured by ants, blood and heart of a pigeon, and in Bavaria, the relatively appetizing tipple of bat’s blood in beer

9. Beetle Wings

A perennial in folk magic and regular feature in sleeping draughts from antiquity, verbena (or vervian), the Herb of Enchantment, was slipped into love potions and powders. Interestingly it could also be used for opposite ends and slipped into a man’s drink was said to render him impotent for six days.

10. Roses

A remedy rumoured to have circulated the court of the Roman Emperor Augustus and described by Latin chroniclers, the wings of the Blister Beetle – or Spanish Fly – long held potency as an aphrodisiac and were crushed into tonics and potions. As side-effects go it was a killer. A powerful irritant, a potion laced with mashed Spanish Fly may well have caused the codpiece to bulge through swelling, but as little as 32 milligrams could forced the kidney to shut down and legend has it that this gruesome tincture caused the death of Ferdinand II of Aragon in 1516.

Its connotations are obvious – be they pure and romantic, or seductive and dangerous – and the rose had little use in Medieval magic outside of the love potion. From the symbolic to the pragmatic, rose water was often used to flavour of perfume less palatable medicines. Arguably as a perfume it could be considered a love potion too, and in one extreme example recorded in an English translation of the 12th century De Ornatu Mulierum – part of a series of remarkable early texts on female hygiene – a powder of rose petals is recommended for freshening up the lady garden while rose water sweetens the hands and face.

Willow Winsham is author of Accused: British Witches Throughout History, which is available now from Amazon. She is also one of the founders of Folklore Thursday. For more incredible stories of sorcerous seduction, subscribe to History of Royals and get every issue delivered straight to your door.

Sources:

Medieval Medicine: The Art of Healing, from Head to Toe by Luke DeMaitre

The Oxford Illustrated History of Witchcraft and Magic edited by Owen Davis

Plants of Life, Plants of Death by Frederick J. Simoons

Dragon’s Blood & Willow Bark: The Mysteries of Medieval Medicine by Toni Mount

Woman: An Historical Gynæcological and Anthropological Compendium by Hermann Heinrich Ploss and Paul Bartels

Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer’s Manual of the Fifteenth Century by Richard Kieckhefer

#Medieval magic #history #witchcraft #mandragora #potions

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thetradeway · 3 years

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Session 40 10 Apr 2021: Thunderbuns and Timothy P. Fuckapple

Sophie and Matthew are on their way back from somewhere, so we start a little later than advertised.

Quick recap - where were we? Most of us were having dinner with Mirt, Kessler had left, and also Tarragon not long after, having made Brother Charity wear her drink.

Tarragon arrives back at the Dagger and Kessler has her translate what she managed to scribble down of Carl’s book:

The rest eventually arrive back, in various states of drunkenness. We have eaten, so the DM exempts us all from hangovers. Yay!

Brother Charity, Matthew tells us, had all the sinful posh foods including foie gras.

Joe has added character sheets for the baby flumph, and Simon the mouse who has rat stats (including a whole hit point!) but is not a rat. Did Gideon add a flumph pouch to his sleeve? Yes, his friend Bromrick helped him make one.

Okay, so! Are we all in the taproom, and does Kessler want to share what she learned about Carl? She wants to have a quiet word with Brother Charity about it. She’ll have a time of it, Matthew says; Brother Charity has wedged a chair under his door handle so he can be undisturbed while he calms Brother Carl down.

Sophie, OOC: “He’s dead, how calm do you want him? Resting heart rate of zero beats per minute!”

Kessler knocks on Brother Charity’s door. He ignores it. “He has to come out at some point!” Or she could just tell the party we’ve been bringing a zombie around with us, or tell the bar staff he’s been keeping dead animals in his room. Still nothing. (Matthew, OOC: “Riveting game playing, isn’t it?”)

The rest of us make Perception checks, Ahleqs rolls the best as he is perpetually on edge waiting for danger, even in his sleep. We all roll well enough to hear Kessler banging on Charity’s door. Ahleqs listens at his door to see what the exasperated goblin sounds are about. He opens his door and asks her what she’s doing; she says she wanted a word with Brother Charity.

She makes a Perception check - she can’t hear anything coming from Brother Charity’s room. She turns back to Ahleqs and asks him to go and get Gideon and she will get the rest of us. She wants us all to meet in her room.

He does as he’s told, and goes and knocks on Gideon’s door. He throws it open; he is wearing his little jammies.

Ahleqs: “Kessler’s being weird.”

Gideon: “And?”

We gather in her room. What has she woken us up at this ungodly hour for?

She tells us about the Identify spell - Brother Carl is under the influence of an Animate Dead spell. None of us are especially shocked by this news. She says Brother Charity won’t speak to her.

Ahleqs notes that Charity seemed upset because we haven’t really given him a chance.

Kessler says that Carl told her Charity ‘saved’ him. Gideon doesn’t seem worried, he just wishes Charity had been honest about it!

Do we think Carl can communicate, has he perhaps told Charity that Kessler knows? It’s a possibility.

We should hear him out before we burn him. We’ll wait for him to come down to breakfast and ask him about it. Wait, let’s check and make sure they haven’t done a runner. Melaina climbs out of the window in Kessler’s room and around the outside of the Dagger to Charity’s room to see if he’s in there. She looks into the room - which is empty. The window is closed, so he likely didn’t go out that way.

He’s scarpered! We go downstairs to ask the bar staff if they’ve seen him.

Well we don’t have to ask, because the Brothers are in the taproom eating breakfast. Well, shit. Okay so maybe they didn’t scarper.

Ahleqs, nervously: “Good morning, normal to see you.”

Brother Charity calls us straight away on Kessler’s investigation; Ahleqs asks why he didn’t just tell us Carl was dead. Well it’s not a great opener with a new group of people, Charity explains.

Besides, we’re dragging Tarragon around with us.

Tarragon: “… Excuse me?”

Charity: “She came back from the dead, I don’t see the difference.”

Tarragon, indignant: “I’m not literally rotting!”

We have judged Carl, so we must be experts on his condition, yes? We know everything there is to know? Charity asks.

Tarragon: “No, that’s why we’re asking!”

“I see.”

He insists he’s not a necromancer. He cast spells of the necromantic variety, but so did the Unicorn to resurrect Tarragon -

Gideon, out of the blue: “How does the group feel about summoning demons?”

Us: “ - …”

Kessler goes to the bar; it’s too early for this conversation.

(BC is smiling and drinking his coffee as we have a sidebar about this.)

Tarragon asks Charity to enlighten us about Carl’s condition.

He shows us a piece of paper with a drawing on it by Carl, of all of us holding hands.

He says that Carl was horrified when Kessler demanded he undress her and threatened to kill him.

Kessler lets slip that she was born in a human household, while Charity is berating her by openly making assumptions about goblins, the way we’re making assumptions about Carl.

Tarragon asks about how he came to animate Carl; he says he found his corpse in a field and cast a spell on it. Carl had been bitten by a snake, and Charity happened upon him. He says his previous zombie had been eaten by a bear.

Wait, his previous zombie? When did he start raising zombies?

Two hundred and three years ago.

“Are you undead?”

No!

How did he come to raise zombies two hundred or so years before he was born?

He says that’s an interesting story, and he might tell us if we share something about ourselves. He starts by turning to Ahleqs, while Kessler goes to the bar and orders a keg of everything and as much food as they can bring to our table.

Jirr, seeing her approach: “Gonna be one of those, huh?”

It’s a bit early for Charity, he’ll stick with coffee. (Not at all like Matthew, who will have a PINT OF WHISKEY! That’s roleplaying for you.)

Charity asks about Ahleqs’s wild magic; what would he say was the most significant event to happen to him other than the acquisition of his magical powers on the day he discovered he had them?

Ahleqs stares into middle distance. He says that’s when he escaped; he never found out why they did it to him, but he’s not going back.

Woah.

(Charity tries to backpedal, and offers Ahleqs a scotch.)

Before Ahleqs can elaborate, his amulet starts to pulse and Mr Pickles appears. He looks around the table and his gaze settles on Carl.

“What’s this?”

Ahleqs, relieved: “Mr Pickles will sort everything out.”

Mr Pickles sniffs Carl. Ahleqs says he’s just coming around to the idea that Carl might be okay.

Mr. Pickles, sniffily: “it’s nothing to be frightened of. It’s just magic. Low magic, but just magic.”

Charity: “How dare you!”

Mr. Pickles, ignoring him: “I have an offer for you and your friends, anyone who can cast arcane magic, from the temple. We have a mission that you and your team would be perfect for.” He will explain further, but not here.

Tarragon says she can’t cast arcane magic, can she come anyway? Yes, all can do the mission, but the reward only benefits arcane casters. (Tarragon says that’s fine - everyone here has helped her with stuff before.) Mr. Pickles tells us to eat our breakfast and join him later.

Ahleqs talks about the glowing orb he found, which he thought at first was elf poo; it has stopped glowing now so he thinks it might be something else.

Melaina, nodding: “My poos don’t stop glowing.”

Ahleqs takes Carl’s picture and puts it in the bag of holding. Aww.

Charity comforts Carl as we leave, rubbing his back. “See, I told you no-one was going to kill you.”

Duncan, OOC: “Guys, I think I love Carl!”

Charity makes a Perception check; he is not shit-hot at these. He rolls a 15, perceiving a medium amount of things. He spots one of Mirt’s paper cranes; he immediately pockets it without drawing attention to it. (There is something for him in the handout section of his journal. He will read that anon.)

Tarragon rolls Perception as well; she sees a black cat looking at her. It goes “PSSST!” She shakes her head and keeps walking.

We walk back through the fancy part of town where we were last night, toward the House of Wonder.

Ahleqs has been to the House of Wonder before, yes? He leads us there, excitedly telling us all how good it is. This is the temple if the Goddess of Magic, in the middle of the Sea Ward. Mr. Pickles is waiting for us.

Ahleqs asks him, if he gets really good at magic, so he hardly ever kills any of his friends, can he have a set of those robes?

“Of course, my boy.”

Gideon takes a look at the pillars - at ADV because of his Stonecunning, which he is going to use EVERY session. They’re pulsing with magic. Can he do an arcana check?

Yes. at ADV as well. 26! He is going to fondle those stones until he unlocks all their secrets! They are conduits for magic. Each pillar channels a different form, adding to the ambient magic in the temple.

We have to peel him off the stone at this point. “What are we here for, again? Missions! Yes!”

Mr Pickles, somehow raising one eyebrow at Gideon even though he doesn’t have any: “Are you done?”

Gideon, still looking longingly at the pillars: “Yes.”

Mr. Pickles says there have been developments in the Shadow Weave. He would like us to undertake a journey to Candlekeep to find a book. Are we familiar with the Castle of Tomes?

Ahleqs makes a History check. He is from Baldur’s Gate so he can do it at ADV. 14; he has heard of it but never been there. It’s the greatest repository of knowledge in the world, guarded by monks. People come from all over to seek knowledge.

Do we just ask them for this book?

Mr Pickles asks Charity if he’s been to Candlekeep before; he has, once or twice. As he knows, the monks require a gift for entry; a book that is not already in their possession.

Melaina: “We could write one!”

Sadly this probably won’t work as they are stringent about the quality of the books they accept, and Mr. Pickles doesn’t know how we would get a good one. His head priest will write us a letter which should convince the monks to let us have the one we want to take away, but we must find a book that will be acceptable to the monks in order to gain entry.

Hmm.

Poetry, arcane arts, history, all of these would be acceptable. Erotic fiction? Ahleqs knows where we can find a lot of that.

Mr Pickles wants to talk about the reward; Charity already has a familiar, he says. (Does he mean Carl?) Would any of the arcane casters like a bond with such a creature? Ahleqs brings out Simon. “I already have one.”

Melaina says she would like ‘a little aminal...’

Mr. Pickles says they could bind Simon to Ahleqs as a familiar so that if something happens to him, he could be brought back. (Mouse Frumpkin!) He thinks Simon would love that; yeah, let’s do that.

Mr Pickles leads him to a chamber - Ahleqs skips after him, he’s so excited.

Ahleqs can add Find Familiar to his spell list - it will only summon Simon, and Mr Pickles will show him how to cast it as a ritual.

Mr Pickles offers the same to Gideon, for his flumph; he accepts.

Mr Pickles returns again and offers Kessler a familiar. She’s not sure she should keep a pet; she’d probably lose it.

Charity and Ahleqs both say “Or eat it” at the same time. Ahleqs holds his hand up for a high five; Charity is briefly confused before Ahleqs explains the concept of high fives. Charity feels included in the group for the first time, and accepts the high five.

Mr Pickles, ignoring all this, tells Kessler to trust him - this is a good idea. She finally agrees. Mr Pickles leads her into the ritual chambers and performs the ritual. Upon casting, a curious creature emerges from the portal created. It looks like a tiny clockwork beholder.

Mr. Pickles asks if Melaina wants a familiar - “Uhhh yes please that sounds awesome.”

She can choose which aminal she wants and let the DM know as and when, but she can add the spell now.

Joe goes to move on - and Sophie suddenly knows what she wants: “Weasel! Weasel!”

Weasel it is. :)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2CTVqt2wxU

Mr Pickles can’t help us with finding a suitable book; he will think on it. Will we be around for a while?

Do we have to sort of guess which books they have at Candlekeep already, or do they have a published catalogue?

There is some sort of divination magic we can use to discern whether or not they have a particular book. They will take annotated copies if they’re interesting, or first edition copies, of books they already have.

Tarragon makes a Perception check - the black cat is sitting at the entrance to the temple, watching.

Tarragon waves to the cat - it raises its paw. It stretches, then lopes slowly toward her.

“By the gods but you are stupid!” says the cat, aloud, in Common. “I have been trying to get your attention for ages! Come to the shrines of nature!”

Tarragon says she will go along at some point today, and the cat leaves.

“Well now, run along,” says Mr. Pickles, lighting his pipe.

He says as we leave that he has something special for Ahleqs if we do well.

We go to the shrines of nature. (Ahleqs at least will come with; it sounds nice and relaxing.)

Charity and Melaina get chatting; after a while Charity notes, “I think this is the most we’ve spoken, you know.”

Melaina, immediately: “Fuck off.”

We arrive at the shrines of nature - Amithrel, the High Druidess, approaches us. She says she has been speaking to her colleagues about Tansy. Some have heard about this type of curse or poison before - there is a book that might be of benefit. She says the cat told her that we might be travelling to Candlekeep soon? This would be a perfect opportunity.

It involves a ritual cast on the heartstone that Melaina gave Tarragon. It’s in a book of ancient rituals and spells. It fell into the hands of a lore keeper and ended up in Candlekeep. The monks likely won’t part with it, so Tarragon will have to find a way of copying it.

Mr Pickles is going to give us the title of the book he wants us to borrow. The High Druidess can’t remember the name of the druid who told her about the book, but he will be coming here soon. Are we okay with waiting a few days for him to arrive, before we leave for Candlekeep?

Yeah, we need to find a book to give the monks anyway.

Amithrel asks if we’ve thought about how we’re going to get to Candlekeep. It’s about 900 miles by land. The best way to make the journey would be by boat; didn’t we have a friend with a boat? Didn’t he look like this guy (Charity) but ‘infinitely more handsome’? Perhaps we could contact him, he has friends at the Docks Ward who could get a message to him.

We could charter a boat, couldn’t we? Charity asks, clearly reluctant about contacting Gunna. Might be a little expensive, though. But Gunna was pretty clear that he was off doing family things, he might not want to come back just to ferry us along the Sword Coast. If he’s two weeks out, it’ll take him two weeks to come back, Charity points out.

Ahleqs thinks we should either buy passage or gain employment as protection on a ship. Or we could ask Larissa, maybe she could get us passage?

Speaking of Lord Walrus, does Charity have anything he needs to be getting on with? He says if we’re near the Dagger he’ll go and look for some books and - the thing… (no idea what that means. Oh! Probably the Harper mission from Mirt.)

We head back to the Dagger and Charity and Carl excuse themselves to go off and look for ‘stuff’.

Kessler goes to the Watchful Order to see if they have any books that might be suitable. Ahleqs accompanies her. We just need to borrow one, right?

No, it would have to stay at Candlekeep.

Melaina: “Well they’re not called CandleBorrow.”

Charity puts his head back in the door to the Dagger to ask Gideon if he would like to accompany him and Carl on his mission to find a talking horse. Wait, what?

Gideon agrees, apparently not needing to ask any kind of follow-up questions. Where is this horse? Charity says it’s pulling around some kind of dray. (A wagon or cart type thing.)

Gideon asks Ria about drays; who around here might own one?

Ria says there are some companies, and some independents who own one. They’re mostly to be found here, though they travel all over the city.

Ahleqs has the Urchin background, so he knows his way around cities - comes from always keeping his eyes peeled for escape routes. Sadly, he’s already gone to the Watchful Order with Kessler, so that’s of no help here.

Gideon and Charity go off in search of the talking horse. Goes by the name of Maxeene apparently.

Perhaps they could take a dray carriage on a tour around the city? Would be a good way to get to know their way around. Well, not much use if they’re looking for a particular horse, unless they happen to get the one dray that Maxeene pulls.

Tarragon and Melaina saw Ahleqs and Kessler leave for the Watchful Order; they also see Gideon and Charity (and Carl) looking around the street and arguing heatedly. Tarragon goes back to her wine and Melaina plays excitedly with her new weasel; neither seem to care overmuch about what Brother Charity is doing.

Outside, Charity approaches a guard to ask about the dray. Where do they run to and from?

“Any particular service? They run the length and breadth of the city.”

Any that have violet flowers as their emblem? Or horses that wear a violet flower?

The guard looks at him funny. “Are you drunk?”

Charity makes a persuasion check - a 13.

The guard isn’t sure that any of the horses have taken to wearing flowers in their hair.

(This seems to be getting him nowhere; maybe Charity should look them up in the Yellow Parchments instead.)

He gives up and walks away from the guard. He doesn’t quite know how to talk to ‘the lower-downs’.

He and Gideon make Survival checks; Gideon spots some dray tracks.

“Onward!!”

He splats his way down the street, following the tracks which lead to the market. There are a lot of drays going to and fro; if they found a vantage point they might get a better chance at finding the one they’re after.

“Maxeene!” Gideon shouts, in desperation and to no avail. Can they get onto a roof? It’ll be a DEX check. Would that be untoward? Would people think he’s a loon?

Wait - the familiars! Gideon could send his flumph! He sits on a bench and instructs Charity not to let anyone pickpocket him, as he’ll be blind and deaf as he looks through the flumph’s eyes.

He whispers into his sleeve and sends out the flumph, warning it not to talk to strangers. Baby flumph makes a Perception check as it floats into the air. Gideon brains over the relevant information: A horse with a violet flower behind its left ear.

Through the flumph’s eyes, Gideon spots the horse in question. He points, but he’s seeing through the flumph and still sitting on the bench so he’s pointing at the ground.

Charity forgets that Gideon is deaf while he’s using this spell and demands to know what he’s pointing at.

(Matthew, OOC: “This whole scene is a combination of See No Evil Hear No Evil and Weekend at Bernie’s.”)

Gideon withdraws from the flumph’s vision and he and Charity go in search of the horse. They catch it up and Gideon walks alongside the dray and asks the driver what time he finishes; the driver says he’s not his type.

Is there room for three more on this dray? Gideon asks, ignoring this. The driver pulls to a halt and introduces himself as Marcus. He says yeah, we’ve got no passengers. Fare is 4 cp; Gideon throws him 12. They scatter; Marcus scrabbles around to pick them up and tells them begrudgingly to get on.

Another human already on the dray introduces himself as Morgan. He is Marcus’ brother, and he gives Gideon the tickets.

They ride around the city on the dray, while Marcus happily chatters away to them. They make Insight checks; if one of them keeps Marcus talking, the other might be able to make contact with Maxeene.

They decide instead to take a tour of the city. They spend a very pleasant afternoon, even stopping for sandwiches. Finally they reach the last stop. Do they ask to go along to the stables…? Would that be untoward? Marcus is looking at them like he’d like them to get off his dray now.

Gideon suggests posing as inspectors. Charity loves that idea, “but. We have taken the entire tour. That might be a hard sell. But it’s not a terrible idea.” He suggests following the dray after they get off, finding the stables, and then engaging Operation Pretending to be Inspectors.

Gideon gets up slowly because they’ve been sitting down for hours and he’s a creaky old dwarf, and hops off the dray. Charity tries to attract the attention of the horse, but it’s tricky. He makes a Performance check - a ten.

Maxeene looks at him blankly. She and the other horses are untied and led down the alley, but Charity and Gideon have seen the direction they went.

Matthew wants to go outside for a cigarette, so we cut back to Tarragon and Melaina; Melaina is mucking about with her weasel, and Tarragon is busy getting wine drunk. Over to the other group then…

Ahleqs and Kessler have gone to the Watchful Order (Mina is not responding so we pick up with Ahleqs until she returns).

He tells the librarian he is looking for esoteric knowledge. Could they direct him towards the rare book section?

Is he looking to buy rare books?

Potentially…

As a paid member he can read or borrow anything here, but they don’t sell stuff. The librarian can recommend a number of good bookshops. Some Guilds might deal in rarer volumes, too, she adds...

Ahleqs makes an Insight check - 18. The librarian is hinting that thieves’ guilds or Xanathar might have something akin to what he’s looking for. Ahleqs is way out of his depth, but nods as if he knows what’s going on.

He will peruse the shelves here anyway, he says.

Kessler pops back in and says that we recently did some work for someone who might be able to acquire rare books; what about Shanks? Perhaps her lot could steal to order? We might even get a discount on services if Melaina goes along on the job. (Sophie, enthusiastically: “Yeah!”)

Matthew is back from smoking now so we pick back up with Charity, Carl and Gideon.

It’s early evening by now. There are people around, they are still in the vicinity of the market. Charity finds a door to the stables, but it’s locked. He makes an Investigation check and rolls a 19. He could probably pick it without too much trouble but he doesn’t have thieves’ tools. They could go and get Melaina…?

(Sophie OOC: “Just text me.”)

Charity is reluctant to ask ‘the elf’ for help. She’ll just say no. Well she won’t say no, she’ll say ‘fuck off’. He asks Gideon to go, as she’s more likely not to swear at him.

“What? No! We can do this by ourselves! There must be a way. Is there an open window or something…?” Gideon looks for anything that doesn’t involve lock picks or asking the elf for help. Does he perhap have a spell…?

He looks for a spare key under a bucket by the door or something. He makes an Investigation check and gets a 22 - he spies a key on top of the doorway! He points it out to Charity who reaches up and grabs it. Gideon arcana checks the door to see if it’s trapped; it is not. Well, not magically, anyway.

They enter the stable. There are four horses in here - one of which has a violet flower behind her left ear.

“Maxeene,” Brother Charity whispers. She looks at him but doesn’t respond. He shows her the Harper button. She greets him and asks what she can do for him.

He says he has been sent on a mission and introduces himself, Carl and Gideon. He is here looking for information, and has been told that Maxeene might know about agents in hiding with ‘an unpronounceable name’. Would she be so kind as to let him know what she knows, and Charity is willing to pay for the information.

DM, laughing: “Are you offering the horse money…?”

Matthew, OOC: “Nah, like sugar lumps or something.”

Maxeene tells him that sugar lumps are bad for the teeth.

“I know that, I’m a doctor.”

Gideon, scoffing: “No you aren’t!”

Charity, miffed: “Bloody well am.”

Maxeene interrupts the squabble to say that she gave a ride to a sun elf and a half orc two days ago, dropping them at the Yawning Portal. They spoke of planting agents in the guild, in a weird way. The Xanathar guild, their enemies. They might be Zent agents.

Charity makes notes on his letter, while Carl holds the ink pot for him in his open hand.

Maxeene says he could seek them out at the Yawning Portal.

DM: “Kessler might know about tha - ”

Gideon, immediately: “No! We don’t need any help from the goblin!”

After some History checks, they know that the Yawning Portal is a famous tavern in Waterdeep. There was a tower that exploded, now it’s a portal to the Undermountain. Famous tourist attraction. Lots of adventurers pay money to be lowered down the hole to seek their fortunes.

This is starting to sound like more than a two-person adventure...

Gideon asks Maxeene why a horse of her ability is pulling a carriage? She is an agent for the Harpers, she tells him. You get to see all sorts in her line of work. (The irony.)

Charity says he thinks his job is done - apparently all Mirt wanted was to know what Maxeene knew.

But wait! Charity has a plan. He thinks they should go to the Yawning Portal and ask around. But in order to forestall any investigations, they should disguise themselves. How would Gideon feel about dyeing his beard to pass himself off as a different dwarf? He supposes he could. (Charity pulls out a little bottle that says ‘Just for Dwarves’ on it.)

Charity rubs some boot polish into Gideon’s beard, and they set off for the Yawning Portal. Wait - they need names!

Gideon, after a short pause: “Sledge Rock-Eater.” And what about Brother Charity? “Human names, human names… Paul?”

Charity says he will go with ‘Timothy’. (Is that a Tal’Doreian name?)

Before they go in, Charity suggests that Carl wait for them in an alleyway. He casts Disguise Self to look like a ‘cribbly old man’ (direct quote) and plops his wig on his head. (He could have given himself hair with Disguise Self, but anyway.) He also has ‘a manky eye and a hump’.

Does Gideon have a weapon? He blusters. “I use magic, I don’t usually bonk things.”

Carl offers his mace; “It’s all yours,” he says, the first words we’ve ever known him to speak - something that seems to pass everyone by.

(The scene that follows is not easily captured in text form which is a shame, as much of the nuance and high comedy - not to mention the abominable accents - are completely lost. My apologies to Thunderbuns and Ross Kemp.)

They enter the Yawning Portal. Trophies line the walls, and there is a big hole in floor into which people are being lowered on a rope. The bards here are really good, and obviously well paid.

They start to look around for a half orc and a sun elf who are together. Charity spots a balcony that runs around the edge of the main tap room. From his position he can see a male sun elf standing talking to a female half orc. That seems promising. They are hoping to get their names, and to find out if they are Zent agents.

Publicly, the Zent mercenary guild have a respectable face but they have a shady reputation. They are called the Black Network in underground circles, and most don’t trust their intentions. They undercut the prices of other mercenary guilds. They’ve been at war with Xanathar’s guild, who are also fighting with the Shadow thieves.

Charity, getting ready to make his move: “What was your name again, Thunderbuns?” He suggests dropping Xanathar’s name in a negative way as they walk by, initiating a conversation and seeing what they can glean.

Charity gets fully into character as Ross Kemp as he orders whiskey for himself and Gideon at the bar. It costs 2 copper, but he flicks the barmaid a silver piece and tells her to ‘buy herself summink pretty’. She winks and stuffs the silver piece into her cleavage.

Charity slams the whiskey and makes the face that people who aren’t used to drinking whiskey make. A couple of people at a nearby table notice and start to laugh; Ross Kemp points to the glass and tries to insist that it was ‘the shit stuff’. It’s unclear whether they believe him or not, but it seems unlikely.

Right, time for phase two.

They go up to the balcony, talking shit about Xanathar’s guild in the worst cockney accents anyone has ever heard. The half orc girl is picking at her nails with a dagger and looks up to warn them to watch what they’re saying.

Charity tells her he is looking to get revenge on Xanathar and his Guild - “They’ll rue the day they crossed Timothy P Fuckapple!”

(Duncan is crying with laughter by this point, and we’re all not far behind him)

The sun elf says if he buys them a drink, will they go and drink it somewhere else?

Timothy P Fuckapple asks gruffly if they would be open to a game of cards…?

The sun elf, looking down his nose: “Absolutely not.”

Timothy P. Fuckapple/Ross Kemp: “What if I sweeten the deal with a bit of cheddar cheese, by which I do mean money?”

Still no.

Timothy says he was told that if a person wanted revenge on Xanathar then they should find two individuals who look like the elf and the orc, but clearly he has been misinformed.

The elf asks, do they have business with the Zent? Are they wanting to hire mercenaries?

Thunderbuns: “No - we wanted to join.”

The elf falls about with laughter. “Did you hear that, Yagra? These buffoons want to join!”

They have a name! Thank fuck for that…

Thunderbuns has an idea, and says he will bet the elf a gold piece that Timothy can guess his name. The elf sighs. “Fine, if you will leave inside a minute.”

Timothy makes his guess - “Silver Frond!” he says, confidently.

“No. My name is Davil Starsong, as anyone here could have told you.” Thunderbuns dutifully hands the elf a gold piece.

“And this here is Yagra Stonefist - she will happily see you to the door.” Yagra pushes them both toward the door; they offer no resistance. They have both names, yes!

Charity writes the information he has discovered on the back of the paper crane, once out of sight in the alley. The crane takes flight and disappears.

And with that the buddy cop movie ends, as does the session. Duncan has two new abs from laughing. (I don’t think this is the last we’ve seen of Thunderbuns and Timothy P. Fuckapple.)

#dnd #thetradeway #campaign diary

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vasylia · 4 years

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vasylia • the wheel of fortune skeleton • application • connections

age: thirty-five, appears twelve years younger

pronouns: she/her

status: a loyalist in search of stability; advisor-in-training and apprentice to the high priestess

abilities: necromancy, limited by her own inexperience

faceclaim: anya chalotra

tw: death, child death, murder, blood, self harm, disassociation

blood and marrow • personality types

zodiac sign: virgo / virgos are always paying attention to the smallest details and their deep sense of humanity makes them one of the most careful signs of the zodiac. their methodical approach to life ensures that nothing is left to chance, and although they are often tender, their heart might be closed for the outer world.

element: water / water people are emotional, intuitive, deeply creative, empathetic, spiritual and psychic. water allows people to emotionally connect with others. and yet, water people are so sensitive that they often have a hard time unplugging from life’s chaos. consequently, many water people suffer from addiction as they grapple for distraction from life’s pain. thus, water people tend to be secretive and private.

temperament: melancholic / the melancholy naturally wants to do things right, and is quality-oriented. melancholies are not trying to be right, they are driven to figure out what is right. they have a cautious, tentative response designed to reduce tension in an unfavourable environment. the melancholy’s second response is often to become aggressive to restore peace in an unfavourable situation. they influence their environment by adhering to the existing rules, and by doing things right according to predetermined (and accepted) standards.

moral alignment: true neutral / a neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. she doesn't feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. most neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. such a character thinks of good as better than evil-after all, she would rather have good neighbours and rulers than evil ones. still, she's not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way.

enneagram: the investigator / fives are alert, insightful, and curious. they are able to concentrate and focus on developing complex ideas and skills. independent, innovative, and inventive, they can also become preoccupied with their thoughts and imaginary constructs. they become detached, yet high-strung and intense. they typically have problems with eccentricity, nihilism, and isolation.

mbti: intj, ‘the architect’ / an architect (intj) is a person with the introverted, intuitive, thinking, and judging personality traits. these thoughtful tacticians love perfecting the details of life, applying creativity and rationality to everything they do. their inner world is often a private, complex one.

soul type: the scholar / being so focused on information and its logical implications means that scholars are naturally introspective and contemplative. they like to have time alone to fully process their experiences and observations internally, before trying to articulate their thoughts.

tree type: willow / willow signs are bursting with potential, but have a tendency to hold themselves back out of fear. your powers of perception will ultimately allow your true nature to shine, and will lead you to success in life. willows pair well with birch and ivy.

bones and lungs • a genesis

i. the fool, upright innocence, new beginnings, free spirit

The first thing a child sees in its life is its mother, and you are no different. The first thing you know is her, penniless enough that your infanthood would have been nothing short of unremarkable but provided for enough that she could have kept you if she’d wanted to. She has had children before, and she’s felt the billowing warmth that childrearing lends her, but you are stealing something from her. Your mother cannot quite place the feeling, cannot understand what it is you’re doing to her, but when she holds you in her arms she feels her limbs growing heavier, her muscles deaden. You must be, she determines, a punishment - so she resolves to rid herself of you. More important than that, she resolves to make an offering of you. The woman makes the long, arduous journey from Tyrholm, averts road bandits and street beggars and pardoners swearing by religious forgeries; she pushes herself halfway across Markholm with only her conviction to drive her. She commits you to the Temple of the Undying, and this is something she wants known. She wants the great, bipartite deity to know that this largesse of hers is an immolation, a symbol of her devotion. In return, she would have the punishment lifted. And you never see your mother again.

The temple names you Vasylia, assuming the role of a strange, distant mother who plucks the word from between the stars. You have no surname and therefore no genesis, nothing to remind you where you come from and who you are. Of course, as you well know now, none of that matters. As soon as you pass the threshold of that sacred place, it forges an identity for you.

(Your heritage is a secret that tucks itself away from you, like a shadow that shies from the light. You are the result of a union between a travelling merchant and a beautiful, beautiful woman, and this is all your mother has to protect her in life. Those who covet beauty, who wish to steal it away and display it among their wares, are always equipped with a lie or two. The lie is this: he loves her, he does; devotedly, honestly, purely, and he wants her to join him. To travel with him over pale waves and into the cove of pirates. Perhaps he’d believed in that at first, but it ends as all things end; in fiction. He leaves her as all men leave her, with an enormous pouch of gold. Your mother settles in a village at the border of Volkan Forest. You do not live there long. You never learn your mother’s name. Her name is Estrid.)

Life at the Temple is, for the most part, simple. Dull, pedestrian, but simple. Abandoned, you are raised as one amongst many, a single child amidst a whole throng of neglected children. It quickly becomes clear to you that some wield magical abilities, shielded from a world which harshly forejudges them, and some arrive with nothing to them at all. Like you: not even a name. Some of them are sickly, a few of them are malnourished, and far too many of them are the reluctant offspring of poverty, charily offered to the Temple by parents who lament of their penury. But you are not sickly or malnourished or magical, even. You wail out in the dark of night for a mother who doesn’t want you, but which child here does not? At least at first, there is nothing particularly special about you. You are still a child waiting to grow into yourself, and, well, there is nothing unusual about that fact.

Your childhood is, in a word, unremarkable. The Temple does its best to inspire loyalty in the offspring yielded to them - you are, after all, an opportunity for life-long indoctrination. Your earliest days are structured by a conformity which they shake into your bones: the Temple teaches you of the wolves and the snakes and the annihilating body they make as one. On magic, their position is less clear. Messages are mixed. Necromancers are a chosen, sacred few. But the other magi are being punished, cursed for a cycle of blasphemy and adultery and theft and anything else they can conjure up. As with all children, you assume the first thing you hear as gospel, but as the years gallop past you, you find yourself cordoned off by a low drone. The Temple is not so united as it seems, and there are people who whisper in disagreement. You think you are beginning to notice the resentment growing around you, but you are still a child - you know nothing. You determine that it is safer to be ordinary.

You cannot quite be called pious, but you rise with the morning light. You work hard. You devote time to your prayers and you comply with the codes of silence which linger between them. You restock ink and parchment for the Clerics working sedulously at translation. You trim the rose bushes at the edge of the forest. You are untroublesome and, for the most part, amenable; shapeable. You offer a hand to help wherever it may be required, because that is what you’ve always been taught to do. You are nothing much like some of the other children, boisterous and ambitious, hungry for stories of politics and warfare. Hankering to feel the weight of a bronze rapier in their hands, to run their fingers through enemies’ blood and call it an act of cleansing. The Temple is not cruel, but it is cyclical, and the pattern is not enough - for them or for you. But you do as you’re told, your life moves in a progressive rhythm, because what else is there?

You have always needed a hand to guide you.

When life drifts in a sequence it all blurs into one, so you find solace in the small things. You revel in the sanctuary of the forest. Its trees keel into spirals, bent by the weight of their branches. You like the stillness of the air, the way that the birds settle on the branches so completely at peace - unaware of the eyes watching them. You learn that silence is not solitude, that the reticences observed by the Temple do not always bring you peace. In fact, they rarely ever bring you peace, and at times they have the tendency to strangle you. You marvel at the way the water refracts in the moonlight, bending with the shape of its brilliance. It moves furtively and secretly, as if beneath the surface there is buried a whole other world that it hopes to keep concealed. You are never the sort of girl with fantasies mirrored from the vellum of a fairytale book, and you never touch things so delicately that you look to be afraid of them. You would never call yourself a dreamer, but there’s an intensity to you which makes it hard for you to stop staring at things. There are only a couple of children in the Temple you ever feel particularly close to, and when you think back, they are the only things you feel are worth remembering here. Curled up on a stony ledge, watching a religious darkness fall over the ancient rock. Organising altars and scrubbing floorboards and observing silences with a dash of humour. You have never truly felt like you belong anywhere, except when you lay down in the grass or you sit on the cold stone and run your fingertips through the water, imagining that you are somewhere else. It makes this place feel a little less dull.

ii. the hierophant, upright education, knowledge, beliefs

It is perhaps no coincidence that it’s during your sixteenth Summertide that you first raise an animal from the dead, completely by accident. A butterfly, crushed beneath the weight of a snow which is only now beginning to thaw. You cannot describe what brought you to pick it up. Beauty? You have always looked beneath the surface. Macabre as the very idea of it may be, you cannot not help but take it into your hand. You feel its limp body balance in your palm like parchment: you want it to be beautiful again. And as if by magic, it shifts in your palm, it wakes. Half-amazed and half-afraid, you watch how its wings unfurl themselves and its body cracks and distorts itself back into shape. But you are overcome by something strange: the insect sits in the centre of your palm, learning about the world again, but if you were blind you wouldn’t know it. You can’t feel it there. By instinct you clasp your hands around it and bring it into the Temple and, perhaps foolishly, you show them what you have done.

The Temple determines that it is no coincidence that your gift for rebirth, the very echo of Summertide, should reveal itself now. It’s an ancient celebration of renaissance. Fate twists, and the Temple has two Necromancers already, devoted to the craft and resolved to educate you. Educate perhaps puts it generously: they test you, push you, assign you tasks to complete without any tangible goal in sight. They never teach you what it takes, what you must sacrifice, what it truly means to excavate that void between life and death. This is the truth of it: you have been chosen by the Undying Herself and this gift is yours to own, but as with all things we take, it demands sacrifice. A piece of you, snapped off from bone; it lingers there at your side. They teach you that you are different, you are special. The other magi can manipulate solid matter and regenerate limbs, but you are sacred. They will not see twenty-five years, but you? You can live for hundreds of years.

Your schooling begins small. Insects, mice, small woodland creatures. But it’s a demanding, exhausting process - still, you continue to work hard. When you’d brought back that butterfly on the third day of Summertide, it had seemed so easy. A case of simply wishing and being. But things are not so easy now. You find it difficult to pour that same longing into the creatures put down in front of you; you are more sophisticated, less candid. But you do as you’re told, make as many successes as you do failures, and for whatever end goal the Necromancers have in mind for you, you progress.

Then, as if you have not already experienced enough change, the world spins carelessly on its side. You are eighteen and you have been under the tutelage of the Necromancers for just under two years. You feel you are drifting away from the green beauty of that first instance, the first time you bartered with the universe and it chose to answer you. But you are still just a child and your teachers have lived for hundreds of years. Unfortunately, you learn that Necromancers are dangerous, they’re volatile, they’re lethal, and that includes you. It takes little more than the impetuosity of a boy sat next to you at dinnertime, for him to waggishly swipe the bread roll from your plate - as children are mischievously wont to do - for you to wreak tragedy. The action irritates you, infuriates you, even, because you have less patience for things now. You snatch the roll from his hands. Without warning, he collapses, body limp on the floor. You are puzzled at first, you’d scarcely touched him, but as the Brethren roll his body over on the stone, you realise what you have done. The boy is dead. The boy is dead, and you’re learning your emotions have consequences. But this you’ve forgotten. You’ve scrubbed it from your skin raw, as if that will absolve you.

Things are accelerating. You perform your lessons largely in isolation. You are kept away from the other children, particularly those who hope to take vows, because you are dangerous, you cannot be contained. Your tutors take the opportunity to teach you more diligently, more industriously. Your accomplishments are growing: frogs, small birds, rabbits. But the hours are slipping away and you don’t understand what it’s all for, bringing back forest animals contentedly buried beneath the moss. Nevertheless, you move forward. You think you are getting better at this. When you have lived for twenty years, they bring you live animals; they show you how to drain them, how to cleave to your youth. The work you are performing is an honour.

You have always needed a hand to guide you.

Something has changed in you. The forest recedes from you. You wake and you learn and you perform and you dream empty, hollow dreams in an unbroken cycle. More often than not you lie awake for hours, allowing your eyes to rest on a rotting mark in the corner of the ceiling. You smile still and you try to laugh, but as each chuckle worms its way up your throat you feel it strangle you in the process. Sometimes you cough up blood, thick and hard, and you stare at the red spot in confusion. One day, you catch your hand on a piece of shattered glass and feel nothing. You don’t even flinch. At the wound you simply stare and, out of curiosity perhaps, or a pointed desire to hurt at something, you pick up a shard of glass and feel the weight of it in your fingers. And with all the force you have, you burrow it into your flesh. That, you feel. You drop the glass, wincing, and a hot tear rolls down your cheek.

You lie in your bed and wish on a comet for somebody to steal you away from this place. You whisper it into existence. But in the morning you wake and everything is the same. A blur settles into your bones. Things are a cycle, so much more so than when your life had begun. But you know nothing else. You stay.

iii. the wheel of fortune, upright change, cycles, inevitable fate

In your life you have learned much. How to raise animals from the dead. How to canalise energy away from the living and into your bones. You have learned that things change, of course they do, but they also stay the same. For people like you, life motionlessly moves from one event to the next. You remember the day that your life had spun so carelessly on its axis once again with such precision that, at times, you are sure that you are back there. You think that you are back at the Temple, raising rabbits and drawing the lifeforce from dandelions. You think that the clouds are weeping into the earth with salted rain, and the chill of your salvation buries itself into you.

By now, you know she is not your deliverance. There is nothing holy in her but power, and how she revels in it. The woman alights on the Temple without a horse, without a thing to carry her here, and if you had ever been a foolish sort of girl you might have assumed she’d undertaken the journey on foot. But you have never been a fool. You are twenty-five years old. A solemn cold which seems to swell in her at once brings you a much-desired quiet and chills you to the bone. To your surprise, all bow to her. Cower from her. Even your teachers are beneath her. With purpose she pulls you aside, ungloves your hands and takes them in her own, and she promises you that the two of you are the same. She does not fear you, and you have no cause to fear her. You are cut from the same dust and made from the same bones - there’s divinity in that. Like you, she can raise the dead, and what’s more: she’s good at it. Perhaps for the first time in your life you are asked what it is that you want. You feel like the decision is yours. She offers you an ultimatum: remain here, raise rabbits and mice and crows, be nothing; or join her, learn the craft, study beneath her, become something. While you are torn between your desire to flee this place and a thick, breathless lump which lingers at the back of your throat unexplained, it is never really a question. It is an answer. You pack up everything you own: garments, mementos, fear and desire, all. You accept willingly, unthinkingly, blindly. You pass through the egress and step into a shimmering new world.

Even now, that is the only way you can think to describe this place. This new world you have chosen for yourself coruscates beneath the light as if in dance. It’s a world that winks like glitter - Castle Tyrholm is so unlike anything you’ve ever known. By now you are so accustomed to rough hems and the bland taste of food on your tongue that you have forgotten there was anything else. You only know things bland and bloodless, humble devotions. But here? Here, they dress lavishly. Here, they eat lavishly. Here, they live lavishly. You stand at the fortress’ great, impressive windows and you contentedly watch the way the pale waves lick at the black stone, the way the castle bends over the waves and balances on top of the rockline. It’s more than regal: it’s thunderous, luxurious, rich. Of course, you know a little better now. You know that glitter catches in the corner of your eye. It has the tendency to blind you, to force you to look at things between the sequins of a kaleidoscope, all twisted and torn out of shape.

You have been under The High Priestess’ tutelage for two years now, and you feel your life bisecting into two distinct worlds. You must reconcile yourself to that. Statesmanship has very little in common with religion, and unfortunately, that’s all you know. Religion is devotion, fidelity, constancy. Whatever fidelity you see before you has been rigorously shaped, re-wrought in the shadows for years, and that is the only constant here. Still, it does not shake you. Your first lesson is this: you must cut the history of yourself out into stone. You do. You become a silhouette which cleaves to your mentor’s side, a thing that can’t be shaken. Like a shadow you observe the way your mentor manoeuvres; the way she holds her tongue and the way she weaponises it; the way she plumes and crows and deceives as if she’s been doing it for a thousand years. You watch the way that King Septimus’ hands move with hers, shifting in mirrored gestures - like she has attached strings. You become an accepted prerequisite at her side, a creeping outline which follows her devotedly. Part of your status, you brush shoulders with some of the king’s most trusted advisors - you attend assemblies, convocations gathered in the throne-room. You are so far from home now; wherever your home is, wherever it was. You are beginning to learn the meaning of diplomacy: one keeps a knife permanently unsheathed beneath their cloak.

Your instructor resolves to fill in the gaps that the Temple left barren: you learn what you must give up for this gift, you learn of all the grief it has caused you. This is a magic you watch her lean into so deeply at times you think she’ll splinter apart - but, of course, she never has. Never will. This is a truth that lies uneasily in your stomach. It lies heavily on your lungs and it chokes you. You can feel your heart climbing up and down your windpipe - you aim to seize it in your hands, to still it, but you can only retch at it. You’ve lost count of all the creatures you’ve poured yourself into, and you wonder where all those pieces of you are now. The fading feeling of your bones makes sense now, at least; the universe is a glutton and it has been stealing from you. You never even knew the rules of the game.

The king’s physician brings you animals to practice upon. The High Priestess teaches you the most painless portions of yourself to sacrifice: you learn the things you need and the things you can go without. Your abilities are growing, and with that you feel the weight in your chest shift a little - things are becoming easier to swallow. You learn the importance of giving back: to creatures, to people, but also communities, dynasties. Yours are regular faces in the Farmlands which edge on Tyrholm. Here, you resurrect animals, livelihood; they are indebted to you both. One day, a farmer’s son slips from a ladder, cracks his skull open on the coarse ground. The High Priestess takes the opportunity to teach, to have you bring him back. But too much of you clings to the Temple, the way its cold was settling into your bones. The High Priestess’ dissatisfaction is evident. You’ve been studying beneath her for three years now, and still you have not raised a body. She wants you to look at this world without Necromancy directly in the eye: destruction, death, misery. You cast your eye down to the boy and swallow the lump growing in your throat. Grief. As painless as breathing, your teacher brings their son back. The world is better with Necromancers, she has resolved. Dutiful, devoted, you have resolved that as well.

You have always needed a hand to guide you.

As part of your schooling, you ride out with your mentor and Tyrholm’s great military army. To squash rebellion, to quell revolt. The two of you are never far from each other - you are a shadow clinging to a shadow. There’s something about the way that you both sit, regal and harrowing above your white horses, lingering like death at the rear of Septimus’ forces. You are a lethal sight, but your power is not enough. Not yet. You arch over the body of a fallen soldier, but something is stopping you. You try, you really try, but you fail. Half-alive, he blinks back at you. A lungful vibrates at the back of his throat. His chest rises and falls with air, but is nothing in his eye to suggest he recognises the figure bending over him. It is half a failure - but half a failure is still a failure. You have given him nothing human. As if flowing over water, your mentor dismounts her horse and puts an end to her experiment. She doesn’t look at you. You don’t look at you. Sometimes, you can’t bear to.

But your failures do not last forever. When you are thirty-two, you animate a body. At last. It has taken you seven years, seven long years of unlearning the Temple’s way, but at last, success. Of all the places you manage it, it is on the battlefield, and you are in your element. Surrounded by blood and warfare and death - ah, always death. You are getting better at this. At night, you rest your head down on your pillow and you dream. You dream of your hands, reaching out. The Undying God reaches back. You feel you are becoming one with Her.

iv. the high priestess, reversed repressed intuition, confusion, dissonance

You are a vault of fears, but you have spent these last ten years bent on throwing away the key. For the last decade you have been following your mentor indiscriminately, almost blindly, and while you are finally beginning to make progress, you are also beginning to feel that haze gather around your fingertips, weighing down your wrists. You feel yourself swallowing the sensation at times. You don’t like to close your eyes. If you do, you think you are back at the Temple, raising creatures injudiciously, feeling your soul taunt you in the air between you. A cold is settling into your bones again. Your dreams turn themselves inside out and empty themselves when you finally fall asleep, and when you wake in the morning you are confronted with a sense that your emotions have slipped out of you in the night. That you have slipped out of you in the night.

Your fingers pressed to rotting flesh, you decide that the bodies you have brought up in halves are warnings. As their eyes roll demonically back into their skull and the listlessness of their breath catches at the back of their throat, you cannot help but think that your half-failures are warning you. That this is what awaits you should you consider to amble down this narrow path. Not death, but instead life: long, death-defying, rotten life. A life of nullity stretches out in front of you, like a void that opens its black mouth and eats you raw. Impassibility is creeping into you, settling into the spaces between your bones and lungs. The taste of blood in your mouth has recently returned to you, though you only notice it when you can taste at all; you cannot determine whether being able to feel it flip thickly over your tongue brings you a sense of peace or horror. When you slip your rings over your fingers, heavy with all the ore you could never have afforded when you were young, you can’t feel them there. You feel ancient impressions dig their way into you.

Perhaps you have been foolish. You have been believing that carefully handpicking the parts of yourself to sacrifice can go on forever; that you will never feel the weight of your earliest years again. And while that’s true, you have been slicing off the most unforgiving parts of yourself and offering them up to the Undying God, you feel yourself recede from Her. They are determining that these pieces of you are not enough, and They would have you offer more. When you travel out with Septimus’ forces to quell revolts you feel eyes on you: The High Priestess’ eyes, impatient. In the battlefield you are anxious to stop your hands from trembling. Perhaps you can’t bear the pressure. Perhaps you can’t bear yourself. Your teacher is always left to clear up your mess, always left to do the brunt of the work, but she is never cruel about it. Sometimes you wish she was. Then, you might be better.

And yet, you are not all failure. In the last two months you have successfully resurrected five bodies, breathing and seeing and living, and that in itself is commendable. The High Priestess brings you to orphanages, and it is there that you set about your reanimations. While, like always, your mentor bears the brunt of the work, you manage to resurrect four bodies. Three girls, three children, and a boy who has been bound to these walls for too long. At Koldam, much to your own mystification, you bring back another. A Lieutenant, a real piece of chainmail in the king’s military armour. When his undead eyes finally settle upon your face, noticing the way that you lip quivers at your achievement, he breathes a sigh of relief. He looks at you as if you’re an angel, sent from the Undying God to rescue him. You are sent by Her, this you concede, but you are no angel.

Whispers of a coup have been present for as many years you have been beneath The High Priestess’ care, but they are thickening now - they are becoming more difficult to ignore. Still, you ignore them, as you must. You are not ready for Septimus to be toppled, you are not ready for the throne to keel over into the pale waves beneath the black rock. You don’t want to watch it drown, you don’t want to watch it to be torn apart like some; more than anything, you want it to stay put. Every time you squash a rebellion, every time a coup fails, you allow your heart to settle in your chest again. But it only lasts a moment, because treason is always being whispered, mutiny is always being accounted for. What you think of Septimus is irrelevant: you aren’t strong enough to fight for a place in whatever new world results from it. There’s still so much you can’t do, so much you don’t know if you want to do, and even now all you want is balance. It is a line you have toed your whole life and it has always got the better of you: religion and politics; life and death; permanence and impermanence; the girl you were and the girl you are becoming. You want the world to stop spinning. You want stability. You can’t know what you want if everything you know keeps changing.

You are only loosely beginning to learn the sort of vacancy you have inside you. Perhaps if you knew better, if you were better at knowing what you want, you would say: the world is creeping away from me, I am creeping away from me.

Do you still need a hand to guide you?

heart and soul • a making

METAMORPHOSIS: What she wants is stability. If she will live for centuries, she must have something to endure with her. Vasylia’s loyalty is very intricate. She doesn’t quite block out the throne’s transgressions in the same way that Temperance does, but there’s still a degree of selfishness to her fealty. She calls herself a Loyalist not because she believes Septimus is genuinely deserving of her love, but because her body cannot bear the instability. I’d like to see that shift very gradually, though. She can’t cling to this dream of stability forever, not when the path she’s chosen is so weathered by impermanence - and the dream will only become more impossible to uphold if Septimus grows in cruelty. I’d like her to realise that slowly. It begins small: she focuses her attention on those who bear the brunt of his mistreatment. I can see The Star, The Hermit or even The Hierophant factoring into this. And then it grows - whispers intensify. The king’s mistakes become impossible to ignore. Maybe he orders heads to be put on spikes on the castle barracks. Turncoats are beaten and hung as if crucified in the main hall. Equally, it could have nothing to do with violence at all. She may simply determine, like her mentor, that the throne doesn’t suit him. Either way, I’d like Vasylia to move with the developments of the game. She wouldn’t fight for Septimus, but she does tend to ignore whispers of coup. Right now, she is trying to balance the parts of herself she feels at war with; she can’t handle another one. Nevertheless, I want her to be forced to grapple with the fact that this is bigger than her and that she may have to act. I don’t know whether she’s likely to have confided in Vasylia of her intentions (depending on the player), but should the divergence become evident, questions of loyalty would certainly be pulled into the fore. Would she follow her mentor into revolt? There’s an opportunity here for conflict - but also for growth. Growing into the person The High Priestess wants them to be: willing to fight, to take, to reconcile yourself to your powers, hardened to the consequences. I want to see her really become a part of this war rather than hesitating at the edge of it.

NO MORE FALSE HEAVENS: The High Priestess never hesitates, she leans into this gift as deeply as her body is able without prying itself apart, and Vasylia believes that this has always been her way. The same can hardly be said for her, though. She is hesitant, at times she has misgivings, and the sight of a corpse almost always makes her tremble. The High Priestess has been guiding her for ten years now and in that time she’s discovered a lifetime’s worth of arcane knowledge, twice as much power as the Temple ever bequeathed her, but there is still so much she can’t do. What causes her to fail is hesitation, placing one foot in the art and one foot out of it. I suppose this is an alternative to plot #1, depending on which way things develop, but I’d like to see Vasylia turn away from The High Priestess. When she looks at her, at The Sun, she recognises what she might become. It is a fate she wishes to escape, and if she is truly committed to that, she may be forced to act. It’s no easy feat to kill a Necromancer, even one as wavering as herself, but severing ties with The High Priestess could breed disaster. She has always needed a hand to guide her in life, but it’d be fascinating to see her break away from that. The world opens its jaw and waits to swallow her whole, and The High Priestess is certain that without her guidance she’ll falter, but she needs to make herself more than what other people have made her. I’d like to develop her self-sufficiency, her willpower, but most importantly, I’d like to explore her desperation, to develop the recklessness which would no doubt begin to grow. Leaving The High Priestess’ tutelage is a make or break moment: and unless something considerable changes within her, it is likely to be the latter. Over time, she needs to determine whether she wants to be a Necromancer or a human-being. How far is she willing to go to excavate that small part of her, and is the act her genesis or her epilogue?

THE DARK MARK OF ME: As a Necromancer, she’s used to instilling at least a bit of apprehension in others. The Lovers’ eyes scan Vasylia’s skin for evidence of a pulse, a suggestion that, even now, she is alive. More importantly, though, The Emperor goes out of his way to make himself available to listen to her. Listen maybe isn’t the right word, to have his curiosity sated is probably more apt, and in moments of weakness, her secrets spill out of her like a river. He’s used to getting what he wants, and she will not stand in his way. But the very act of this is dangerous; it could breed conflict, consequences, even bring about Vasylia’s death (!?) should information fall into the wrong hands. I don’t think Vasylia has shared her hesitancy to continue down the path that The High Priestess has forged for her with her mentor - there’s no need to, it’s as easily distinguishable as ink spilled on skin - but there could be disastrous consequences should her concerns spill out. Not from The High Priestess, I don’t think, because I don’t see her as having an aim in mind to destroy Vasylia. Her resolve at least appears to be motivated by cutting away the thorns and making space for her prodigy to grow. Yet, Vasylia’s vulnerability is a weakness, and weaknesses can be exploited. While the dynamic between The Emperor and The Wheel of Fortune is… by far one of my favourite character dynamics you’ve written, perhaps The Emperor’s player would like to use this to his advantage in some way. The Emperor certainly isn’t The High Priestess’ first choice for the throne. So, I’d like to see these words come back to bite Vasylia, to further complicate her oscillation between this path or that. She’s no fool, but she by no means has the experience of her mentor. She studies underneath The High Priestess and lauds her propensity for manipulation and schemes, and while in her experience she’s picked up more than enough tricks, her hesitancy is weakness. She sacrifices her feelings and anxieties freely - because he coaxes it out of her, but also because she needs to purge. Over time, I’d like to see Vasylia’s actions breed consequences, over and over and over, to the point that she can’t run from them. She can only follow them blindly down a path she was always meant to.

SKIN AND TEETH: Maybe this is less of a personal plot point and more of a worldbuilding idea, but given that Necromancers have the ability to kill, I’d like Vasylia to dabble in that in the future. It’s something The High Priestess can do as second nature, as if she was born with the gift, and while Vasylia is better at drawing life into her than pouring herself into things, it’s not something she’s easily reconciled to. Still, I’d like to develop her skill here, figure out if it could be of use to The High Priestess or Septimus (because she serves the former first, the latter second). There’s an opportunity here to flesh out a dynamic between Vasylia and The Sun, who of course kills for a living, but I certainly think it’d be an irreversible path for her to walk down - one that, should she give herself over to it, solidifies her fate.

TRICK BOXES: If The High Priestess is the type to gather secrets in her plotting against Septimus, it could be interesting to have Vasylia drop by places such as The Rosewood Maiden in disguise. To gather secrets in a place where secrets are spilled like blood. She wouldn’t even need to disclose her plans to Vasylia if the player didn’t want her to, but I’d love an opportunity to branch out beyond the castle. Much of her life has been limited, either by the Temple or Castle Tyrholm, and it’d be interesting to feel her form an opinion on the ‘outside’ world; to get an idea of the sorts of people she’d be fleeing to should she leave The High Priestess’ care. Alternatively, it could be a good way to turn Vasylia away from her neutrality/loyalty and into the company of revolters.

A PLACE OUT OF MIND: Depending on how things shape up, I’d love to see Vasylia finally become an advisor. Perhaps not to the same degree as her mentor, but in some shape or form, I’d like to have her officially offer advice to the Crown. While The High Priestess’ intentions in extracting her from the Temple are, of course, ambiguous, it’s what she’s been training towards. What would make this even more interesting is: who will she be advisor to? To Septimus? Well, that spot is already taken by her mentor. The Emperor? Well, that depends whether his father can hold onto the throne until he dies. The Chariot? The World? Two vastly different options, but I suppose it depends which of them The High Priestess hopes to install on the throne. Vasylia is already quite content with the notion of serving The Emperor, and that could breed conflict, but it could also change.

WRITTEN IN THE FLESH OF US: While Vasylia is getting better at nominating the more sacrificable parts of herself every time she uses it, the sickness is spreading. She’s heard rumours, though. Rumours of a mage with the inexplicable ability to draw from two bodies of magic. I think The Moon could be a source of real fascination for Vasylia. If she fears anything, it’s that she’ll turn herself so irreversibly over to Necromancy that she loses the essence of who she is. Given that The Moon’s abilities lie in healing, I’d like Vasylia to investigate. If there is a possibility of regeneration, she wants it. It could be an opportunity to rehabilitate her self-image, to reconcile herself to this fate of hers, or even to break away from it - depending on what she discovers.

#d.#i literally just copied and pasted from my app BUT....#THIS WILL DO FOR NOW

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kuipernebula · 4 years

Text

I’ve been meaning to talk about how Fate stuff works so nicely as stuff in Exalted, probably because of Shared Source Material, but neither of the people showing me Fate are into Exalted, so here’s some Thots

Gilgamesh is the prototypical First Age Solar. He’s gone mad with power, quite literally, and is more powerful than almost literally everyone else. As a King, he’s probably a Zenith with Presence Supernal? But I’m willing to budge on that, because all I can tell is he’s a Solar. Which tracks, Gilgamesh is always listed as a Solar inspiration. Gates of Babylon, meanwhile, is somehow a Manse with Evocations. Which isn’t supported in 3E natively, but could definitely be configured in. Alternatively, he’s using a whole lot of Lore, Occult, or maybe even Larceny charms to store his Manse and Artifacts in Elsewhere.

The Holy Grail and the war could literally be wholly ported to Exalted as an extremely elaborate Sorcerous Working. With the Grail having been corrupted either in a similar way, or via some extension of the Great Curse. (In Gilgamesh, the corruption is almost literally just how the Great Curse worked, bringing out the Worst in what was already in him and dialing it to 11.)

Artoria is also a Solar, again important because King Arthur is another Solar inspiration. A Dawn with Melee Supernal and one of the most impressive artifact swords ever forged, she’s very powerful... but restricted by the terms of her summoning, even moreso than Gil. Don’t know how that would translate at all, but clearly the main thing holding her back is Shirou’s mana, and otherwise is every bit the Solar War-King.

Hercules is another Solar, here seen really deep in the Great Curse. Dawn with Brawl Supernal, all of his major accomplishments were battles. His inabiliy to die is a special suite of Resistance charms, and possibly an additional boon from his Godblooded heritage. But in his summoned form, he’s almost permanently experiencing Limit Break - deep in his own head and madness.

Cu Chulainn is a weird one. While he’s nominally an inspiration for a Solar, and indeed is a great way to show that Melee Supernal doesn’t mean you fight the same way, his power is Gae Bolg. Gae Bolg as a spear has an incredibly Sidereal power - reversing causlity so that you always strike. Honestly if you told me that wasn’t a bread-and-butter part of every Sidereal native combat tree I wouldn’t believe you. He doesn’t do that martial arts, though, so my best guess is that Gae Bolg is a Starmetal spear that he’s invested heavily in, while otherwise he is also Solar. Like Artoria, one of the few not as far into the Great Curse - or at least, it doesn’t manifest quite so deeply.

I didn’t see much of Medusa in Blade Works, but she’s so very Lunar. A No Moon whose tell is her eyes and her totem a snake. Otherwise, I’d spin her as Infernal or even Abyssal - cursing Fate and Heaven for her misfortune, and selling her soul to do it. Infernal allows her to keep her demon stuff, but not the snake theme per se. But I dunno, I feel very strongly about her being Lunar, even if her backstory would need to be tweaked to be more in line with her original myth.

Medea is yet another Solar, this time a Twilight with Occult Supernal. She’s that far into magic and her mastery of it, and does truly impossible things with her age-old knowledge of magic. She could also be an Exigent, exalted by her own father as part of her whole tragic story. But Twilight very cleanly gets across that she’s a peerless master of magic. Rule Breaker is likely an artifcat made of a combination of Moonsilver and Orichalcum, or perhaps Moonsilver and Starmetal - either way, still letting her steal magic. She’s both an accomplished Sorceress and an accomplished Necromancer.

Kojiro is a Chosen of Endings Sidereal. He claims to just be a normal person using the name and face of Kojiro, and Tsubame Gaeshi is literally just how Sidereal Bullshit works. He likely practices sword-based martial arts rather than the Sidereal Melee Tree - Single Point Shining in the Void Style comes to mind, and Tsubame Gaeshi is likely part of a larger Sidereal Martial Art about parallelism or some other bullshit.

I haven’t met True Assassin but I’m going to make a tentative guess at Abyssal? I also don’t know his master.

Archer is a Chosen of Battles. Literally forgotten by history and fate itself, set on missions by Heaven to set things write and take out enemies, cursing his own fate for eternity but accepting it anyway. It’s why none of his abilities “feel” like his own magic - a lot of Sidereal magic is subtle, and he uses a lot of Craft charms to make recreations of artifacts as he needs them. He’s not as good with them as their original owners because as a Sidereal, he only Resonates with Starmetal.

Shirou, on the other hand, is on his way to a Solar Exaltation, becoming a Craft Supernal Twilight. Hell, his fight with Gil in his own Reality Marble was a perfect time for him to Exalt. And his thing of “Who says a copy can’t be better?” is a Very Solar thing to say about crafting something.

Rin feels very Dragon-Blooded to me - her lineage and bloodline is very important to her story and ability to do magic, and she’s even got an elemental association with gemstones. Earth fits that, while Air hits all of her main abilities except Brawl - Thrown (for Elemental Bolt), Lore (intelligence), Occult (for Sorcery). She can favor all of them to keep the Earth preference, and then include her preference for Earth Dragon Style if we give her some immaculate training if we want to do Martial Arts over Brawl.

The Matous are also from a Dragon-Blooded line, but neither Sakura nor Shinji exalt, at least in Bladeworks. (I wouldn’t be shocked if Sakura does in Heaven’s Feel, but I haven’t seen it, and hell she could exalt as a different type entirely) That their family hasn’t exalted in a long, long time despite their blood is a sore spot for the family. Their family has a tendency to prefer the Air aspect, hence their blue-purple hair.

Avenger is Infernal or Abyssal. Or Liminal... I know he’s not directly in much of the Stay Night stories, but he fits both of those too well. Infernal fits a lot his Deal very well, while it and Abyssal both share his aesthetic choices, and Abyssal ties really well into how much of his story is about his death. Liminal even takes that last bit further - he was a corpse given life by a village in order to be a Symbol of their sin. Explains his general unkillability, general Deal, and even ties into his story super well with only a minor adjustment. I’m saying he’s a Flesh aspect - while his purpose was to be used for repentance, as a Breath, his general treatment immediately following and the intended throughline of that repentance was about anger, rage, and displacing it.

Kiritsugu is probably a Sidereal. He’s got the Sidereal methods of manipulating everyone secretly down, he’s got a shitty paper-thin disguise/cover story that no one can shake, and he’s even got seven million forms of cheating. I didn’t see much of him in Bladeworks, though, so beyond knowing that I have very little clue.

Illia is another Liminal, because the Homunculi in general very much fit the Liminal mold. She’s Marrow though, created by obsession and curiosity. She doesn’t spend a lot of time with the body replacement stuff, though, instead focusing on her prowess as a necromancer and communing with the dead. In this particular case, with Hercules.

Souichirou is probably a heroic mortal, having some accomplishment as an assassin and martial artist, but no special training or magic. He could be sold to me as a Sidereal of Endings though - he’s very much about death, dying, and having his paper-thin disguise which he uses to help manipulate situations, but largely pretends to be an impartial observer.

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gaycharr · 5 years

Text

Blood

[Quick thing about one of Marina’s first foolish delves into necromancy]

It was a hot summer day. Sweat trickled down Marina’s back as she snuck off her family’s estate grounds and towards the surrounding forest.

She was grateful to step into the shade of the tree line, and not only because of the shelter from the sun. She was young, but still old enough to know that being caught experimenting with strange necromantic rituals wasn’t going to be encouraged. She ran her hands over the old, well worn tome she’d carried out with her, the source of the thing she was trying.

The words in it were faded, and in many places in an indecipherable language...to Marina at least. She’d bought it off some strange mage a few moons back half on a whim. She hadn’t even read it until a few nights ago, and then one page had caught her eyes.

Though she truthfully couldn’t understand most of what was written, some words were translatable. She could make out the words “Watcher” “realm” “dimension” “dead” “bond” “guide” “offer”. From what she understood, the ritual on the page was surprisingly simple. Draw a sigil in the ground, offer some blood, and...this part was unclear, but she assumed it was something to do with entering the realm of the dead to watch?

For a few days after, she didn’t think about it. It was a fun thing to theorize about, but she wasn’t foolish enough to try, truthfully. And if she got caught, she’d no doubt be in trouble. Especially with her mother gone and her father off doing noble duties, the pressure from her family to be a good daughter had her wary for that.

Then she woke up this morning, on the anniversary of her mother’s death, and everything in her had felt both numb and angry at the same time. At what, she wasn’t even sure. She just knew that suddenly she couldn’t stand the buzzing under her skin, like a spring being wound tighter and tighter within her.

And now here she was, using a small shovel to dig shallow lines into the earth, the wind rustling the soft pink dress she wore. The sigil took little work, and the ritual hadn’t called for any candles or other ingredients. All that was left was for Marina to step into the middle of the carved circle.

She took a deep breath, raising a kitchen knife she’d quickly snatched as she left the house specifically for this purpose. She only hesitated a moment before carefully dragging the blade across her wrist. (Later, with the experience of a more learned necromancer, Marina would learn the more efficient ways to offer blood to a blade).

Marina felt and watched her blood glide along the blade and drip onto the grass. She’d never performed a blood spell before this, but she’d read about how it felt for the magic to draw power from your very being.

She braced herself for it, and for a few long seconds, nothing happened. And then as if a switch somewhere had been flipped, Marina could suddenly very much feel that SOMETHING was happening.

It was a frighteningly physical feeling, distantly she thought a bit hysterically that the writings hadn’t been very accurate. It was as if she was suddenly acutely aware of the magic singing through her very blood. Could feel it being drawn from her blood into the sigil in a surreal out of body sort of way.

Too late, the realization coming dizzily through blood loss, she realized she had no idea how to STOP the spell. It didn’t seem to have any sense of stopping on its own, the pull of magic from her not slowing in any way she could feel.

Her heart skipped a beat as she sank to her knees, panting now. Numbly she clutched her free hand over the flow of blood on her opposite wrist. Everything seemed to grow steadily distant, as if watching herself from afar. Tears pricked her eyes as she grit her teeth, the edges of her vision starting to fade into black.

Marina clawed for breath, clutching her wrist and willing the spell to stop. She only vaguely registered her physical body slumping over into the grass as she sank into the darkness of her vision, grasping at it all the while.

The blackness turned inky and lucid around her, shifting into something tangible as she fell harshly to her back. Distantly she was aware that she was still alive, if only barely. This wasn’t death, just someplace very very close to it.

This place couldn’t seem to decide whether it was solid or abstract, and Marina stood and looked around into nothing but pure black.

Before she could think to question further, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. There was an acute awareness suddenly that there was something else here, a powerful presence coiling and slithering around her like an unseen snake.

“Who’s there?!” Marina demanded, forcing her voice not to waver. A deep laugh reverberated all around her, startling her. The presence curled tighter, and four angular blazing green eyes blinked open into existence before her.

“You transport yourself to me and then ask who I am? How delightful.” The eyes pierced through her, and Marina willed her knees not to tremble at the wave of fear that washed over her. “I am many things, and nothing at all. You can simply think of me as the Watcher though; unfortunately you won’t be around long enough for the intricacies of it.” Though connected to no sort of body, it was somehow apparent the eyes were giving a sharp grin.

“W-wait! What?” Marina looked down at herself, focusing until she was able to sense the sluggish beat of her heart again. It was slowing down, and it sent a cold thrill of panic through her.

“Ah yes, I’m afraid it’s just part of the fine print of my contract. The same one you were unable to read but signed in blood. Quite literally. It’s a test of sorts. And if you fail, which most do, well...you die to put it simply.” Marina stared back.

“And what if I don’t die?” As if triggered by the words her very being suddenly wavered, and Marina dropped to her knees. Vaguely she thought it was ironic, how she was mirroring her position from before she’d passed out in the waking world. The eyes grinned down at her, sharp and twinkling now.

Marina thought that she was about to expire for real, feeling herself being pulled from the darkness. It was an oddly sudden epiphany when she realized that she wasn’t dying, she was living! “I guess we are going to find out.” The eye’s voice followed her as she was dragged up out of the dark and into blinding white light.

She surged up with a gasp, her head throbbing with pain at the brightness of the world around her. “Marina ?!” Her sister’s voice shouted down at her.

Marina looked around, taking in how she was slumped back into her older sister’s chest now. There was a torn bit of fabric tied around Marina’s wrist, stained red. One of Deborah’s hands was still clutched around it, almost bruising.

The world tilted dizzyingly as Deborah turned Marina around in her grasp, glaring at her through tears. “What happened ?! I just happened to be walking by and saw you, and I couldn’t get the blood to stop, and- What were you thinking ?!” Marina winced.

She opened her mouth to explain, but the world was still hazy around her, ears still ringing. Deborah watched her flounder, angry worry softening as she let out a sigh.

“You know what, we can talk about it later. Let’s get you inside before anyone else sees us.” She managed the energy to feel thankful as Deb helped her to stand on shaky legs. Marina cast a lingering look over the unbroken sigil. As if reading her mind, her sister moved to carefully dig through the lines of the circle, breaking it.

Marina leaned against her older sister gratefully as they walked back towards the house. Distantly though, Marina was aware of the vague buzz of magic tingling somewhere around her...in her perhaps? It was hard to tell. Even with the start of that spell broken, and the memory of what she’d seen fading quickly ...she had the surest feeling of someone watching her.

#c: marina #gw2 #idk if this is any good but i needed to establish it so

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shroudingmists · 6 years

Note

"What’s the matter? Can’t keep up?" for Howler 👀

(This one’s going under a cut, just for length (hehekjSDFsdf) purposes!)

And because I keep forgetting to do this, oh my goodness:

Kafziel and Llainnaelayrbelong to @ifisitsitfits!

—————————–

“You’ll have to pardon our leader’s absence, he does send his deepest apologies,” soothed the snake of a man–Mephisto’s–voice, his hand barely glancing over the back of his guest’s shoulder. He put on his best performance today–Llainnaelayr was a treasured guest, the way Harkonnen acted around him. Purely professional, he was sure.

Can’t say I’ll be as well behaved.

“He’s just down here. He’s been restrained, for your safety.”

“And so he doesn’t run off with him again, hm?” the voice behind him spoke quietly.

Mephisto smirked, a curious glint in his oddly colored eyes. “He is…quite protective of him. We’re unsure of the reason, it’s hard to communicate with the beast.”

“Do you think…?” the Imperial trailed off, rubbing his hand slowly against his chin.

“It is possible. But Harkonnen will be able to handle the situation, I imagine. His memory is still shattered, and his frustration draws him further from the truth as time passes.”

A snarl echoed from below, followed by a frustrated rumbling. Howler’s eyes glowed deeper at the sight of the two men, but switched uneasily to the figure sitting near the wall.

“Ah, Kafziel. You waited.”

Was that a flash of something in his eyes, or had he been seeing things? It was quite dim in the laboratory, after all.

“By the gods, you were right. He really is a beast. He’s a living being?”

Mephisto bobbed his head, rounding just out of the reach of some very angry, and very sharp teeth snapping at his thigh. Hitting a button in his pocket, Howler’s signature voice echoed in a terrifying–and pained–roar. Kafziel flinched. The glint in the Guardian’s eyes, and his glowing skeleton, dimmed just slightly. The Wildclaw watched it pulse like a heartbeat, and flinched once more when those eyes rested on him.

That noise he’s making….

“He’s trying to reach you. Isn’t that special, Kafziel?” came Llainnaelayr’s voice again, barely a sigh. Howler’s head dipped, a thin string of saliva leaking from his clenched teeth. “Well? Go to him, won’t you? Comfort him.”

Mephisto smiled, the horrid expression hidden by facing the wall. When he turned again, it was to offer Llainnaelayra lab stool to sit on. Settling onto his own, he rested his chin on his palms. “The culmination of years of study. Though, he’s got a lot of work to go. Harkonnen is confident, however. Though, this…this has been an intriguing side-study.”

Unsure, Kafziel let his expression go neutral again. But he looked to the restrained Guardian, whose chest heaved with effort. In that form, he could cause serious damage, but…

Those arms had held onto him so tightly. So…

Pressing both of his hands to the side of his face, he tilted it up. Wiped the saliva from his chin. A little click of his tongue gained his attention, to help guide their eyes to meet one another–and Howler began to purr.

“Don’t they do that when–?”

“Yes. When they meet them.”

Llainnaelayrclicked his teeth together, expression nigh unreadable. Rolling his shoulders, he rested his knees on his thighs, hands folded calmly as he watched.

The Guardian’s face was buried in Kafziel’s neck in only a moment, shifting, checking, rubbing–frantically.

Scenting him. He’s scenting a dead creature. Does he know he’s doing it? Does he even know what he is, in general?

Howler’s arms strained against their restraints, and he let out a frustrated, gurgling growl. Kafziel touched the side of his head, slowly, brushing at his hair.

Right here. Right here is where he showed me it was.

A chip, implanted deep in his skull. The source of his pain, of his confusion. His lessons with Jekyll were always brief, in passing, as he wandered aimlessly in the halls to wait for his ward. But he’d learned a few things, about how to communicate with the Guardian.

He’d learned more than a few other things about him in general, the first time he’d been unceremoniously carted off for a ‘tour.’ This was no beast, this was…

“Gods, he’s pathetic,” Mephisto laughed, Llainnaelayrtilting his head curiously. When his long finger extended, he’d pointed towards a very…glaring problem, straining against Howler’s leather slacks. “An animal, really.”

“Well? Didn’t I say to comfort him? I imagine you’re the only one able to touch him, after all,” the necromancer spoke again, a bit more impatiently this time. I have a little research to do of my own, after all.

The man froze in place, and Howler didn’t budge an inch, though his head rested firmly on his shoulder.

Was that indignity he saw in his eyes? Shame? The way his fins were fanned at the sides of his head…ah, he was angry. What an intriguing creature. “Your friend is uncomfortable, can’t you see?”

I…don’t think I like the way he said that, but…

Howler was clearly agitated, teeth clenched so hard that he swore he could hear them grinding. When he freed him with a sharp snap of a couple buttons, even he couldn’t help but gasp–low, and soft, as if trying to hide it.

“Now that is impressive. Even for a Guardian,” Llainnaelayrquipped, propping his elbow on the back of his chair. “An effect of being inbetween forms?” he questioned, so disgustingly professionally, to the man next to him.

Mephisto shifted, pushing the edge of his coat across his lap as casually as he could. “Yes–we’ve done countless anatomical tests. Fully shifted, half-shifted, the differences are quite impressive. His strength, his…size…all increase.” Llainnaelayrglanced down into Mephisto’s lap, twitching both eyebrows up briefly. He said nothing else.

Howler’s deep rumbling could rival a Warcat’s as a hand worked him, his knees shifting on the dirty floor so that he could arch into it.

Good boy.

Lips dry and parted, Kafziel focused. It was hard not to explore with his fingertips, pushing back the skin across the tip to reveal an already very wet head. Even the girth was…impressive. Daunting, to say the least. He swallowed, just as dryly, and peered into the face looking down at him.

O–oh. He’s…he likes it…?

Mephisto’s breath exhaled shakily. Llainnaelayr hid the barest twitch of a grin. Oh, there was no hiding under that coat, now. You like watching…

“Use your mouth.”

Kafziel blinked, eyes widening a fraction. “I–”

And he looked to Llainnaelayr, feeling his cheeks flushed at the expression he gave him. Playful, almost. Amused, and…

Howler growled, faintly, at him. He didn’t like that look–he wasn’t so stupid enough that he didn’t see the insinuation behind it. His hand moved, frantically, against the cuff.

“Don’t…make him do it…” Mephisto translated, lazily, trying quite hard to control his breathing. “Heh. At least he doesn’t rut like a beast, yet. Had he been out of his restraints, he’d have likely mounted him already.”

The Wildclaw flushed, but internally refuted it. He’s not like that. But, the words refused to pass his lips. So instead, they wrapped around Howler, eliciting a surprised noise from him. Both hands on his thighs for balance–and to keep that massive thing from ramming down his throat–his head bobbed.

Mephisto’s eyes widened in surprise, but Llainnaelayr’s lazy expression showed anything but. What control he had over him, the Spiral mused. Maybe Harkonnen could learn a few things from him. Then again, he didn’t know what went on during those long meetings away from prying eyes. Hn. Are they fucking, too? I can’t imagine Harkonnen spreading himself for anyone, let alone…

“You’ve hidden that thing long enough, don’t you think?” the necromancer spoke as casually as if speaking at a dinner table. Twisting his head, he rose a single eyebrow. Mephisto’s eyes darkened, his pupils slipping into slits. Letting his coat fall to the side, he was far more shameless in letting him see.

This is my specialty, after all. And you asked so nicely.

To the side, Howler was whining softly, his chains clattering as he tried to hold Kafziel–to no avail. But Llainnaelayrwasn’t even watching as Kafziel took him as deeply into his throat as he could manage. He watched Mephisto now, as he rocked himself in his hand, rather skillfully indeed.

Not bad at all. Not as impressive as that creature, but…certainly more obedient.

“What’s the matter? Can’t keep up?”he tossed over his shoulder. “This depraved thing is already dripping–get your Guardian going, would you? No doubt, he could use it.”

My…Guardian…? No. No, he couldn’t have meant it like that.

Mephisto shuddered when Kafziel stilled, taking every opportunity to cheekily stroke himself faster.

This is…this is…

But he twitched his head to the side, and pressed Howler more firmly into his mouth. Digging his nails deep into the fabric of his pants, he worked him harder. Fine. If this is what you want, then fine…I…

His train of thought was cut off rather viciously by the hot liquid spilling down his throat. He nearly gagged, coming very close indeed, by the sheer volume of it.

“Swallow it. Every last drop. It’s infused, I’m told–very good for you, indeed,” his ward laughed, busy watching Mephisto lick up the liquid that had spilled onto his own hand.

Ignoring his own reflexes, he did–as much as he could manage, at least. The thick liquid that dripped from his mouth was tinted pink, and tasted…

Good? It’s…not bitter…it’s…

Kafziel shuddered.

“Most likely infused with a very delightful dose of extra magical infusion,” Mephisto spoke, as if reading his mind. “Should make you feel veeery good…”

Howler watched them, pure ire in his eyes. But it turned to worry as he watched the man below, his head bowing to do his best at a quick nuzzle of apology.

“Hm, I think I’ve seen enough. Come, Kafziel. Get cleaned up, I’ve got notes to write. Mephisto? A pleasure,” he teased, as the Spiral used a cloth to clean himself up.

When the heavily scarred man stood, Howler felt as he hadn’t in a while: hopeless.

And then he saw his hand move.

I’m sorry. I promise I’ll see you later.

It was a little choppy, but…he’d learned that…?

The Guardian lifted his chin, tiredly straining against his chains once more. He wanted to hold him. By every god, or none, he wanted nothing more.

But once more, he had to watch him walk out that door behind those two…things.

The door closed with a firm clank.

Silence.

Kafziel almost believed his eyes watered when he heard the horrific howling behind him. But by the time he hit the top stair, it had all but faded, due to the distance.

I’m so sorry.

#Xem Tag #The Paragon Foundation #C: Howler #BAD MEN BEIN' TOTAL SHITS...I DIG IT MAN...#MMM THAT WAS FUN THANK YOU SO MUCH

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