#notes from the stoat

[morgansmornings]

A little Update to my Rp Partners and Mutuals.

My plan had been, now that I am once again settled into the rhythm of work, to be around more and get things out in a timely manner. Keeping my Queue fed and getting out replies when I got them instead of hoarding them in the same manner I hoard lighters. Which can be described as Dragon-ish.

Sadly that has not really been a viable goal as I have been having a shit year starting last August and it has persisted.

I have now had four deaths in my family in the last year. All but one, I was close with and it has been a struggle to continue getting anything done. Sadly I predict at least two more in the coming months.

That being said, I am going on Partial Hiatus.

Meaning I will be even less active than I have been. Picking at things when I have the Muse and Drive to do so. But I ask that you understand if I am not able to get to much of anything right away.

I will be attending a funeral in the coming weeks. As is the case, I will not be here and will be taking time to reflect on things.

I will return. I am not running off forever. Just asking for a small grace period of understanding.

Thank you for reading, Stoat.

[just-a-man-with-a-badge]

Going Through Some Changes.

This blog will be under re-construction for the next few weeks.

I had made this Muse to challenge myself out of a slump. On one hand it had worked, but on the other this fell through the cracks and took all the pain with it. As I have changed with the shift my life has took I will be dedicating some time into reworking the Muse from nearly the ground up. Background, Relationships prior to his appearance in writing., theme updates, changes to Rules, and so on.

My Hope is to bring him more into the limelight and taking a different approach to RP. Mind you a lot of time will be spent on my main and I may or may not end up rolling them into a dual-muse blog. We shall see.

Yours Truly,

Stoat.

[hrokkall]

Happy artfight, everyone! I'll be participating this year on Team Vampires (gotta keep up with the bloodthirstiness, y'know?)

I've still got a couple more characters to upload before the main event, but feel free to visit my profile in the meantime :]

[brittlebutch]

i think it's fun to entertain the notion that Tula has prey-animal body language in contrast to other stoats being more overtly Predator

[sagalink]

The stupendous stoats exactly two weeks from now

love how halfway through episode 5 population support just became population control, like I get it was "viola hears control instead", but still

[vuelode-irbis]

[ID: the first three images are zoom ins from the last image, described next: a digital drawing with various sketches of mustelid species. They were drawn with marker textures over a math grid. They're all next to their respective reference image, which is a little transparent. From lefto to right and top-down, a pine marten that looks like it's smiling with its mouth open; a stoat that is closing its eyes and looks disappointed, below, there's a note in Spanish that says "no puede ser" (translation: it cannot be); a sea otter in the water, lifting its front paws and looking up, looks like its cheering something or someone; a stoat in its winter coat, looking to the left with its eyes halfway closed; a giant river otter in the muddy water, giving a side eye; three river otters curled up together in the shape of a heart, and lastly, a tayra pup in a front view, the text besides it says "Tayra chiquito <3" (translation: little tayra"). End ID.]

More practice, this time some mustelids

[dol--blathanna]

Thinking a lot about Orym choosing a rabbit when asked what animal he would pick if cursed with lycanthropy.

Because, it makes sense. Orym is small, quick, agile, jumps well, and is highly perceptive. That definitely evokes rabbit imagery. But a lot of Orym’s identity is also tied up with being a protector – giving people AC bumps, the shield being as much a part of his fighting style as his sword, even his title: Saviour Blade of the Tempest. He wants to be a “Shield that protects Exandria”; his priorities about saving the gods are less about the gods themselves, and more about protecting the people of Exandria from the unintended consequences and bloodshed of releasing Predathos. And it would’ve been very easy to pick a large, strong predator to try and evoke the sense of a protector – a wolf, for example, an animal associated with loyalty and protecting its pack. Yet Orym chose a rabbit.

And I think that’s interesting, because rabbits are often seen as ‘cute’ animals – but they’re also a prey animal. In fact, they’re a common food source for many animals across several ecosystems: foxes, wolves, wild cats, dogs, birds of prey like eagles or owls, coyotes, stoats, and humans (and that’s just off the top of my head). Rabbits are skittish, easily frightened; to be rabbit-hearted is to be timid or cowardly. They are not generally associated with fierceness or prowess in fighting. Mice and rats are prey animals too, but typically seen as vermin (rabbits are sometimes seen as vermin too, but a farmer could eat a rabbit – they wouldn’t eat a rat). Deer are prey, but they have hooves and antlers that bring a danger to hunting them, for any animal – the difficulties of hunting rabbits are more related to their evasiveness, speed and good hearing than any life-threatening danger they might pose. Rabbits are, first and foremost, prey animals. They are killed and eaten, so that another animal might live.

Which made me think a lot about one of Orym’s other key traits: self-sacrifice. Bait and switch doesn’t just bump up his ally’s ACs, it specifically switches their place to put him directly in harm’s way. Goading attack is meant to encourage enemies to attack him instead of his friends. He literally made a deal with a hag, essentially exchanging his own life for power to protect his friends. How many times has he gone down in a fight? He’s not the only tank – but unlike Ashton (and Chetney, who also uses ‘self-sacrifice’ in his fighting style with his blood curses) he has no abilities to reduce the damage from the hits he takes (barbarian rage and the werewolf form).

(Side note: I think it’s pretty interesting that Chetney, the wolf, has attacked Orym, the rabbit, more than anyone else when losing control. That Orym’s facial scar was given to him by a friend, not a foe).

Of course, Orym isn’t the only character with self-sacrificial tendencies (FCG wins by a landslide), but I just can’t stop thinking about how weirdly perfect it is that he chose a rabbit for his animal. Rabbits are prey animals. They are eaten, so that other animals may live. Orym takes the hits, he goads and switches with his team mates to put himself in danger, he makes a deal with a hag at the cost of his own life. He’s a soldier, throwing his life away for a cause over and over again because Ludinus must be stopped, because Keyleth has put her trust in him, because it’s the only way to protect his friends, to protect everyone, because it’s the right thing to do. Orym is a rabbit. He’s always been a rabbit. That day in Zephrah, it could have easily been Orym who died instead of Will and Derrig – “unfortunate but necessary sacrifices”, as Ludinus viewed the attack. It’s unfortunate they had to die, but it was for the greater good, according to Ludinus. It’s unfortunate that a rabbit has to die, but it will feed a family of foxes, or stoats, or even a hungry human, so it’s acceptable, right?

Orym is a rabbit. He is giving himself to a greater cause that could very easily kill him – he already willingly signed his life away to Nana Morri. Because that’s what rabbits do. They die to feed others.

And the theme of being disposable is present across the entire group, not just in Orym – Bell’s Hells has been called a “party of NPCs” before. Aside from FCG’s death, I’d say Laudna perhaps fits this theme the best: she was literally murdered and hung from a tree simply because she looked similar to Vex, acting as a warning to adventurers she had never met before. But FCG’s death was – rightfully – viewed as a terrible tragedy by the group. Laudna’s decision to remove Delilah, finally freeing herself from her abuser and emphasising she is more, and deserves to be more, than just some disposable puppet – this was rightfully viewed as a very good thing! But Orym seems to be embracing this identity of self-sacrifice instead, rather than this mindset being properly challenged or acknowledged as a bad thing. After all, there’s no time. There’s too much at stake. Keyleth, Bell’s Hells, all the memories of those who have died in this fight, all the people who might die if Predathos is released and kickstarts a second Calamity – they’re all relying on him, right? A rabbit feeding so many animals with his sacrifice. And it’s not malicious compared to the way that, say, Delilah killing Laudna was an incredibly evil, fucked up and unnecessary thing to do. If Orym died to save everyone else, well, at least everyone else would be saved, right? Saving lives is good, isn't it? How could he complain?

Because rabbits are prey animals, and Orym is a rabbit too. Destined to die so that another animal may feed.

Except, that’s not true. Rabbits are more than just prey. They’re highly social, and thrive best living with others. They’re playful, they enjoy running around and kicking their legs just to show their enjoyment. They’re inquisitive and mischievous, even being associated with tricksters in some folklore and stories. They’re also associated with innocence, playfulness, spring, youth – all manner of things, depending on the story or culture. And they’re not helpless, either, even if they might be thought of as such. They can bite and scratch and draw blood quite easily if they want to! In fact, freezing up isn’t their only response when being attacked by a predator, they are known to fight back if cornered. They can sprint quickly, they have excellent hearing and senses of smell, they know how to evade predators.

Rabbits are prey, and they are also survivors. They have their own social dynamics, their own habits and dislikes and preferences. They are more than just a wolf’s meal. And Orym is more than a soldier, too. He’s more than a “necessary sacrifice”, he’s more than just a shield and sword. He deserves more than to die for a cause. He deserves a happy ending, just like everyone else. I hope he remembers that.

Orym is a rabbit. And the message isn’t that he shouldn’t be a rabbit. It’s that rabbits are worthy of surviving, too.

[cosmos-dot-semicolon]

Act 1, and Leshy's relationships with the other Scrybes

There was a post on here a while ago about Leshy outright hating Magnificus more than P03, and one interesting observation was that he cuts the Wolf's stats, but boosts the Stoat's. I think there's more you can gather from Leshy designing around the other Scrybes, though:

GRIMORA:

Leshy seems to be the most amiable with Grimora. Yes, I think this probably comes a bit from the dev finding their aesthetics and gameplay styles easier to pair up, but I think's its also a little bit because she values fun quite strongly, which meshes well with his focus on lore: both things that aren't purely gameplay based unlike the weirder mechanics of the west-side Scrybes.

Similar to Leshy in act 2, none of her puzzles really cause any harm to her subordinates. It's meant to be some fun flavour plot for the player to engage their brains with before the battles. Honestly, the amount of times she says 'Marvelous!' alone should convince you of her priorities (outside of destroying the world!)

Leshy goes out of his way to design a totally new card for Grimora, which doesn't appear anywhere in act 2 or Kaycee's mod.

It's the only one with a sigil on it - it's a fragile card, but it requires more actual strategy than playing the non-sigil Wolf and Stoat.

One line of dialogue remarks that he wishes he had kept Grimora around, as she was at least a worthy challenger.

He says that the Stinkbug is weak, but other than that accepts you having it in your deck. Compare that to him absolutely hating the Stunted Wolf on sight.

If you look closely in the finale, Grimora has an insect crawling across the table in her campaign. I don't know if it's really a stinkbug, persay, but it's an interesting parallel to his choice of her species.

Someone has said before that there are notably more insect cards than any other species in act 1, which also plays into him being closer to her than the others.

Bones are literally the secondary currency in his campaign, whereas energy doesn't appear at all, and sigils are limited to a single map event.

stinkyyyy

MAGNIFICUS:

Between Leshy actively saying he hates Mag's card once you first get it (versus one line about the Stinkbug being weak), and him literally stabbing the guy's eye out, it's safe to say Leshy fucking hates this guy. I've seen different theories on this, between the clashing gameplay and Leshy being kinder to his subordinates, but the one I've thought was the most interesting was that Magnificus is arguably, the most powerful Scrybe.

He's the only one who does have a plan to get Leshy's takeover back to normal, and the other two Scrybes are desperate for you to find him in act 1 because of it. He has future vision, he writes letters to the others warning about potential takeovers, and you never see him scrounge for the OLD_DATA. correction in reblogs: i think it is mentioned that he has

I've always read Leshy's feelings towards Mag as jealousy, mixed with clashing ideologies. I don't think there's a single moment where the two agree on anything outside of act 3.

I don't have much to say on his card, gameplay-wise, as you get it very late. Honestly most of the Stunted Wolf's design is just foreshadowing that Leshy beat this guy up and stabbed out his eye, lmao, but it's still interesting to note that:

The Stunted Wolf is one of those cards that's a variant of another one (i.e. Wolf Cub/Wolf, Mantis God/Mantis), but it's notably the only one whose stats are worse than its predecessor.

At the same time, it only costs one blood, and it's the only 2-attack card to have that. Gameplay wise, this is to balance things out, but it hints towards Magnificus having been much more powerful in the past. Like it makes you ponder how fucking good it would be to start off with a one-blood 3-2 card.

Magnificus's only other gameplay feature in act 1 is the sacrificial alters (given his association with magic and sigils). These are fucking busted. God I wish I could have four sigils on a card in Kaycee's mod.

P03:

Leshy seems to not think very much of P03 (both in the sense of not acknowledging it and thinking it's not a good designer), but doesn't seem completely unwilling to work with him. I'd argue he's not really hostile towards P03, just very aggressively trying to push it into his own ideal of the world.

In Kaycee's mod, Leshy refers to him as a rival and not an enemy, which I think gives a good basis for interpreting how he views it. P03's breakup speech snapping at Leshy in act 2 is ultimately what gets him to question his intentions at all.

The mention that the stoat's suffering was real during the tutorial isn't really ever brought up again by Leshy. It's interesting to think about in hindsight, given that P03 being a robot means its the least likely to have experienced pain out of the four.

Combined with P03's remark that Leshy keeps him around just to suffer, and the later remark in act 2 that he thinks that it is noble to be a beast card, "even one as lowly as a stoat," this implies that Leshy's at the very least trying to get P03 used to his world, and almost hopes that he'll come to like it.

The unbuffed stoat is a really terrible card. All the 1-2 cards have some sort of gimmick to them to make them playable, but the normal stoat just doesn't at all. The buff to 1-3 is a gift from Leshy to P03, despite everything. It implies he at least thinks there's something that can be salvaged between them, in his own view.

And like. The buffed stoat is so so useful in act 1. The extra HP means it can take a hit from so many more cards and it's a solid foundation for basically any run.

The stoat's the only one of the talking cards without an animal family. Of course it is! Nature and technology are usually thematic opposites, especially compared to magic and death. P03 doesn't fit in here, but Leshy is still clearly trying to make it a foundational card in his campaign.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

I

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

II

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

[drhoz]

#2537 - Ninox albifacies - Laughing Owl

AKA whēkau, hakoke, the jackass, or the white-faced owl. Originally described as Athene albifacies, then Sceloglaux ("scoundrel owl"), then Ieraglaux, and in 2016 moved to Ninox, after genetic studes of their remains revealed that they were actually closely related to the Australian and Asian Boobook Owls.

Once plentiful, and cheerfully preyed on introduced rats. Unfortunately, cheerfully preyed on by cats and stoats, and probably extinct by 1914. Possible sightings continued to the 1950s.

The call of the laughing owl was described as "a loud cry made up of a series of dismal shrieks frequently repeated", "A peculiar barking noise ... just like the barking of a young dog"; "Precisely the same as two men 'cooeying' to each other from a distance"; "A melancholy hooting note", or a high-pitched chattering on dark and drizzly nights or immediately preceding rain, and various whistling, chuckling and mewing.

One correspondent claimed that laughing owls would be attracted by accordions.

Whanganui Regional Museum, New Zealand.

[morgansmornings]

Unasked for updated Mun Pic.

Me as of January. Don't mind the horns and lack of make up skills, I was trying to make my friend laugh on her birthday.

[pigeonteef]

Buy adopts from the struggler? 🥺💔

i'm like in dire dire need of some money which is really stressful since i also have a lot going on at school rn oof aaah. so if y'all would share this and maybe get an adopt (or a comm) from me that would be super cool!!! i'm gonna explode from stress!!

it's some goth mustelids look how cute they are! you get the main artwork, a chibi version and a flat chibi with swatches (and a transparent version of all files)

i should have noted this down somewhere but the first is a stoat, the second a fossa and the last a meerkat :3

also they're up on my toyhouse and carrd if u wanna check out all the artworks there (the stoat has a brown summer coat version!!)

thanks 👍

[hrokkall]

I cannot believe I have to make this post, but unfriendly reminder that I do NOT want t//erfs following this blog or reblogging any of my posts. My art is not for you.

Fuck T//ERFs, but more importantly, this is a safe space for trans people. You are welcome here, and you are loved.

[pagesofkenna]

I'm fascinated by the fact that the Burrow's End fam are cultists

like they walked into stoat bastion and immediately clocked the leaders as Evil and Fascist based solely on (*checks notes*) the fact that they were the authority figures. and they dedicated themselves to overthrowing the First Stoats, and murdered them, and immediately set about claiming authority over the bastion using their skills as literal cult leaders

it's haha funny but also remember how Thorn and Viola literally run a cult?? it's not a mercenary group or a small princedom it's a cult. it's called that in and out of character. Thorn is a charismatic cult leader with mystical powers. they murdered the First Stoats and Viola immediately put the pope hat on and it was haha funny but also she did it because she wants the bastion to be their new cult

it's buckwild

Tula said this episode to Bennet 'anyone who strives for power is suspicious' and her sister was RIGHT there. Tula actively assisted in Viola's desire to infiltrate Population Support to turn it into Population Control. it's haha funny but you did that in character. oh are the First Stoats keeping information secret and trying to nudge their population into war with the humans?? what was Thorn doing. what is Ava doing, actually. once you put that stoat pope hat on what are you going to do that's different from what stoat pope did??

there's a world in which Aabria leaned more into the family's own fascism, pitting the reality of their actions and mentality up against the First Stoats. it feels like she wanted to but didn't because she wanted to preserve the cooperative vibe of the season but I am absolutely on her side in this adventuring party: at the first sign of opposition the family jumps to lethal solutions and bids for power. Lila and Jaysohn are children and their instinct was to establish themselves as supreme powers within their age group. again, haha funny, kids being kids, but their favorite auntie and uncle are cult leaders. Thorn's talked about giving them places of power in his cult. I can't get over it

like I can't get over this lmao!! the players kept trying to contradict Aabria and say no no, the First Stoats are evil, clearly we had to kill them—and yes, this is how the game works, and the crew made all these complicated battlemaps so yes you did have to use them. but you didn't have to be cultists!! you didn't have to be so clearly trying to take the First Stoats' places for yourselves! like Aabria said you could have talked!! so many times!!

[adobe-outdesign]

Thoughts on the ermine martial artists Mienfoo and Misenshao?

I always had a soft spot for this line, mostly because it was one of the first fighting-types to not be humanoid (which don't get me wrong, I love my humanoids, but a bit of variety is nice). Mienfoo is basically just a martial arts stoat, but the design is interesting enough to make it stand out.

Visually, Mienfoo's body is designed to look like a robe, complete with poofy sleeves that will get expanded upon as it evolves. I like its fierce expression, and the red against the cream pops nicely and is well balanced.

My only thing with it is that something about the body structure feels a little off. I think it's the way the "robe" divides the legs from the body, so you have this odd-looking cream shape in the middle, not helped by how spread out the stance is relative to the body. It's not the point where it looks bad initially, but it is one of those things where it starts to look off if you stare at it for too long.

Also, the gray dots on the head feel very random; there's no reason they couldn't be red, and even if you wanted them to be a different color, gray doesn't really go with the cream base. Even a purple to tie into Mienshao there wouldn't be a bad option. Otherwise, however, this is a pretty good design.

While Miefoo is good, I really like like Mienshao in particular. It goes the elegant route, adding ribbon-like whiskers and a matching tail. More importantly, it expands on the theme by adding whip-like fur on its arms that it uses to strike enemies.

(Side note: I actually didn't realize until writing this review that its paws are visible under its "sleeves"—I always thought the sleeves were over top of them.)

I like the switch to a purple, gold, and white palette, which is more subtle than Mienfoo's bright red and works well with its more streamlined look. The entire body uses similar thin shapes for areas like the torso, whiskers, tail, and sleeves. Finally, the markings are nicely placed, being used as points and stripes to break up the body. I don't know if you needed the gold fleck on the snout, but it doesn't really hurt anything either.

Overall, a solid line. The designs are unique and the sleeve whips add flavor while still feeling natural. Mienfoo is more cute while Mienshao is more elegant, but both 'mons work together nicely.

[thisisnotthenerd]

in light of the new d20 season (burrow's end!!), i have updated the spreadsheet & will be updating it as class info comes out. by god i gave myself homework to do.

anyways, here's the updates:

brennan is now at 18/20 seasons, playing in 4, three of which were aabria's sidequests. i'm glad he got a break from gming for a bit. now he's just a wee stoat for a while.

siobhan, joining ally and zac with 9 total seasons! it's so fun to see her in the sidequests--i can't wait to see where she goes with this one. i'm also just giggling at the fact that in some of the clips she just has a leaf in her hair. just sticking out the top.

aabria, still at the top of the guest list now with 6 seasons under her belt, gming 3 of those. now, since we've been told that the next ih season will likely by starting late Q4/early Q1, murph will be up to eight. however, if they stick to a similar sidequest schedule and he doesn't join, aabria may well overtake him next year. she's already very close.

erika, up to 5 seasons now! she's back again folks! i'm excited to see if he sticks to the magic or if he takes a dip into martial this season. as noted previously they've had 2 druids, an emo disney princess mage, and a shadow sorcerer vampire before; where will they go from here?

izzy, joining the three cree ranks, with rekha shankar and matt mercer. they've put her 1) in the plothound seat next to aabria, 2) next to erika, and 3) across from brennan. oh boy get ready people. she's back.

and joining the dome for the first time we have jasper william cartwright and rashawn nadine scott! after the schedule was posted for this week i knew it was likely they were teasing rashawn for this season, but i could not have predicted jasper! from the trailer it seems they're both following the trend of intense makeup & hair--very fun to see.

class updates will come later--see you all on october 4th for the premiere of burrow's end!