#obviously the visages are humanoid but

[warlordfelwinter]

i love also how you cant tell a dracthyr's gender by looking at them like. they didnt give the dragons tiddies. and there were lady npcs who were beefier than my little guy. i love it. unexpected from any mmo but especially this one

[undyingmedium]

🥀 romance headcanons

Stolen from: @dxnse-macabre Hi~ Tagging: @steel-and-fire @witches-and-weirdos @aquatic-hybrid @deepseawarlock @deaddoveadventures @sanguine-law @windwithinmyveins and whoever else wants to do this!

name: Anika Fuhe

nickname: Someone called her Ani before

gender: Female

romantic orientation: Bisexual

preferred pet names: Darling, dearest, sweetheart

relationship status: single

opinion on true love: *Insert Harleep laugh here* "Love. What a sweet poison, and what a trap it can be. Love among family is the only one that never got snuffed out before to me; one I never got betrayed for. I tried friendships, I tried romance, more or less deep. It never lasts, and sometimes it leaves void behind when it goes. It was also my fault, sure; but not only mine. So, does true love exist, really? I have my doubts, and I certainly don't believe in it. But alas, everyone can have their own honeyed opinion about it."

opinion on love at first sight: "Oh dear, that's not love. That's attraction, and it's usually the surface cover for the call of flesh!"

how ‘romantic’ are they?: Despite her bad experiences and twisted opinions, she's actually pretty romantic. She likes to make those moments special, she likes to leave marks that her partner won't forget - and hopefully stay marked herself. Some old memories still make her sigh, and she will pursue romanticism even in lesser occasions. She can never know if she's going to have another chance at playing like that again.

ideal physical traits: Clean, lively eyes, intriguing smiles. Bonus points for stronger builds than hers and taller people, so that they can carry her around. Extra bonus points for wings, horns and exotic ancestries - from nephilims to genasi (to eclysians *COUGH*) - as long as they keep mostly humanoid traits, or at least visages. Extra extra bonus points for long hair.

ideal personality traits: Discreet when it counts, otherwise outgoing, confident, ambitious - even arrogance can be interesting to a degree. But to her? Protective, respectful, reliable, trustworthy, patient. There has to be a strong chemistry, or she won't budge beyond the physical benefits.

unattractive physical traits: Dirty/smelly, too disproportioned builds, extreme wrinkles or moles, small and inexpressive eyes. She's not against the undead, but rotting bodies are a no-no for multiple reasons. There would have to be an exceptional relationship with someone that is a zombie or a skeletal someone for things to work despite that.

unattractive personality traits: Too self-centered or narcissistic, too shy or insecure, too proud. They can go kiss a mirror.

ideal date: Dinner in quiet, private places; candlelit rooms with soft pillows and some exotic incense burning; strolls through the night, out in the midst of nature or isolated town neighborhoods - somewhere where not even ghosts may reach her and her partner. Secrecy and intimacy give her enough space to bloom, to not worry about the rest of the world and make herself a little more vulnerable. Assuming it's worth it.

do they have a type?: Not really, but she's got a strong tendency towards women.

average relationship length: I doubt her relationships ever even reached six months... Maybe one or two at max?

preferred non-sexual intimacy: Hand holding, complicit looks, occasional pecks and hugs. Nothing too flashy, but meaningful nonetheless.

opinion of public affection: It's okay as long as it's not something exaggerated. Too much sugar, involving her or other couples, and she may start to spit acid.

past relationships?: Her first was with an aviari woman, Xilla, but it was obviously not meant to last due to her strong tie to her nomad tribe and Anika's mission leading her elsewhere. Ferenir was her second and last; they had something she believed in more, but complications arose pretty quickly, then he decided to leave her and she lost faith in others on a much deeper level.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

**tw: some blood, animal cruelty, robin in pain**

As Robin sat peacefully by the riverside he removed his hat and gently turned it over in his hand, seeing one of his mice crawl from his cloak to go into its little spot in the hollow of the hat. The mage waited for a moment before he placed the hat down and reached around his body, patting the other's frequent hiding spaces. Panic began to set into him as he turned and looked around him, scrambling to his feet before he froze like a deer in headlights.

Before him, at the edge of the burrow, stood a massive vulture. As it stepped over the threshold every plant in its vicinity began to wilt as the winter winds finally entered. The creature slowly straighted into a more humanoid form with a birdlike head on top, dragging blackened obsidian feathers along the ground as it came closer and closer to the mage, the air growing colder with each step.

Robin felt the world beginning to fade away around him as he stared up into the creature's face, finally able to blink when it stood only a few feet before him. It was horribly tall as it turned its harsh gaze down to its vessel, an amalgamation of shifting shapes came from its feathers before it finally settled on the visage of a hand. The creature touched Robin's cheek, a kind gesture as the knuckles ran down his jaw before it pulled away and brought its other hand out.

Small squeaks filled the air as Robin watched the entity dangle his missing mouse in front of him, obviously in pain as it was moved around by its tail. Its tiny paws reached as far as they could to try and find solid ground again and as Robin reached towards it, his body clammed up. Everything felt as if it was fading around him once more as he witnessed the entity open its great wide beak and drop the mouse into it. The crunching of bone and dripping of blood nearly sent Robin into a fit of sickness, the world didn't seem real anymore. He winced violently as the birdlike creature got incredibly close to him and tilted its head to observe him. Surely…surely this was some sort of test?

He felt his stomach flip once more as the entity held his face in both of its hands and forced him to look as it opened its maw, showing the results of its carnage. Tears formed in his eyes and he whimpered like a scared child as the bird shut its mouth again, rolled its beak, and loud squeaking came from inside.

"…P-Please give him back, please, I-I'll be loyal to you I swear--I swear I'll never ever act against you--"

The world was warm again as reality snapped back into place, and he turned downward to see a very bloody but alive mouse in his hands. He could not blink again and the creature was gone, leaving him standing there in shock as blood seeped through his fingers and dripped downward onto his boots. He stood there as the sun began to descend, not moving for over 40 minutes as the shock finally settled in his system.

The mouse began to clean its fur.

[fierytwins]

Himiko sat at her desk in her dorm room, sketching something on a piece of paper. Turns out she was designing her hero costume. She was taking inspiration from a few people in her life. Mostly Miruko, but Jai and her family are also part of it. She'd also taken a few bits of her villain costume into the design as well. No reason for her not use her blood pack and syringes after all.

She started with a fairly simple mask similar to Midnight's, but with two 'ears' made of stiffer material pointing out like bat ears above her own. These ears were also supposed to have devices in each to help improve her hearing.

Next she redesigned her mask to be more similar to Izuku's but painted to look like the teeth of a bat instead. It still hooked up to her blood pack so she could hold large samples of blood during a fight, obviously. Said pack was also made sleeker and less noticeable. It wouldn't have as many storage chambers, but she didn't feel she needed as many now thanks to her classmates.

The overall outfit was padded in places, namely her elbows, knees, shoulders, and stomach. Form-fitting as well, to help enable she remains as agile and nimble as possible. The tubes leading from her pack to her mask were sewn into the material and curved along her shoulder blades. This is because between her shoulder blades was two stripes of scarf-like cloth that ended in the shape of bat wings. Purely aesthetic, but she thought it was cute.

At her wrists were her syringes, also redesigned. The needles would retract until she needed to use them, and the syringes could be fired out at a moment's notice to siphon blood from an enemy. There was even a smaller one under her wrist that could be used when grappling to get quicker but smaller samples.

Finally, her boots. Lightweight but still incredibly durable, some would believe they were designed after Izuku's. And while that's partially true, Himiko had chosen to go with a style more similar to Miruko's. After all, the Rabbit Hero was the one that mostly helped teach Himiko how to fight. They also allowed her to somewhat climb walls. Mei had promised to work on the boots herself, something about 'not trusting someone else to make her girlfriend's baby right'.

All together, the costume invoked the image of a humanoid bat. Swift as the shadows and just as terrifying, though only when seen from a distance. Up close, she cut the visage of a vampire ready to pounce on her next 'drink'.

Himiko felt this would be the best way to show the world that someone like her could always become a hero. An inspiration to those that may be in a similar situation she was once in. Smiling, she takes the drawing with all her design notes and rushes off to show it to Nemuri and Rumi. She was so excited to show them!

[wind0wg0blin]

Wolf Predator x Reader

Gender Neutral Reader 

You accidentally befriend Wolf. An AvP Requiem Fix it fic if you will.

Also I didn’t beta read this & I wrote it on my phone so like, if theres a bunch of issues you know why lmao

It had almost been a full week since you had been kicked out of your house. You had decided to come clean to your parents about how you truly felt and the things you had been doing and they did not take too kindly to this. Being far from the perfect Christian child they wanted they simply threw you out with only the clothes on your back and the things in your pockets. 

You had been lucky enough to couch surf at some friends houses for the first few nights but now your luck had run out. Now you found yourself trudging through the sewer system in one of the larger tunnels that ran under the city. You had gotten a tip that a group of homeless people often stayed down here during the colder nights and if you wanted any long term chance of living on the streets you would need to get in with them. 

You had little more than the light from your lighter to illuminate your path. The already pitch black darkness only seemed more menacing with each scuffle coming from within it. You knew better than to be put off though. As nothing down here could truly hurt you. Or at least, this is what you thought. 

The tunnel you had been traveling through eventually came to an end. Opening into a rotunda, where multiple tunnels came to an intersection. You were still a few meters away from the true end of the tunnel when you heard strange inhuman sounds. Then came the gunfire and screams. 

You couldn't help the startled jump as you drove down trying to hunker against the side of the tunnel. You could see the large silhouettes of some creatures ahead of you. It was clear that they were fighting. It was also clear that one was losing. 

Massive black snake like monsters swarmed after a more humanoid but still oddly reptilian creature. It was outfitted in some kind of armor that seemed to be doing little good as one of the black serpents sunk its teeth into his leg. You wanted to look away, you wanted to turn and run. Yet something in you compelled you to stay, it made you want to help your fellow underdog. 

Crouching, you rushed forward to the edge of the tunnel following the pathway to stay out of the sewage. A piece of copper piping was laying propped up against the flooring of the sewer. The perfect way for you to make a distraction. 

Your plan was to get the attention of the monsters saving the other and allowing them to escape possibly killing you in the process. But in the end you would rather die knowing you saved another life than to not try at all. 

Taking the pipe in both hands you slammed it into the metal wall beside you. The reverberating Tang was more than enough to garner their interest but not their attention as the largest of the serpents continued its assault on the now struggling humanoid. 

Without thinking you blindly charged forward and brought the pipe down as hard as you could on the serpents back hearing a satisfying crack as it hissed in pain turning now to face you. You acted on instinct as you turned your grip and swung the pipe like a bat striking the monster across the face knocking it away from you. The other smaller monsters that had been lurking in the shadows watching you took this opportunity to lunge. 

Dropping to your knees in the filthy sewage you braced the pipe against the floor and using the creature's own momentum against it. It leaped directly onto you and appropriately directly onto the tapered end of the pipe driving it into its chest. Green blood leaked out from the wound as the pipe hissed and you stumbled back as it ate through it like acid and finally cracked. 

Just as you fumbled to get away from the dying serpent. The other smaller one darted out to attack you from behind. You had no idea this was even happening until you saw a ball of white hot energy fly past you and incinerate the creature. 

You couldn't help your ragged breath as you looked back to the humanoid. The largest of the monsters had vanished during your fight most likely fleeing back to the surface. Leaving you and the reptilian humanoid remaining. They stood before you now and in the moonlight you could make out their visage. 

A large mask covered their face. They were gauntlets and some kind of full body fish netting. Multiple gadgets covered their wrist and belt. They easily towered over you. The emotionless eyes of the mask glaring down at you as you suddenly realized that this had been a very very stupid thing to do. 

Your moment of terrified silence was broken when you heard distant screaming and the cries of that monster. 

All in a moment an object was being thrust into your hands and you were pulled to your feet. As you looked down and processed that a much too large spear had been placed into your hand, the creature strode a few paces away from you before quite literally punching through the ground above you. 

You stared in stunned horror for a moment before you watched the monster clamber out. When you slowly approached you could see that he was standing there looking back towards you expectantly. 

You couldn't help but yelp as you were once again manhandled being hoisted up by your forearm. 

Before you could even question what was happening your accidentally acquired partner was leading you away towards the town. 

-----

You had been following Wolf, what you had nicknamed the lone hunter, all over town chasing down this alien as you have come to understand. Your chase has led you all over town and now finally to the hospital where it seemed to be making its final stand against the two of you. It had always managed to slip away at the last moment in your previous interactions though this time you were certain you would not allow it to escape. 

As you made your way through the hospital you tried your best to ignore the trail of carnage that was left in its wake. Soon enough you found yourself outside on the rooftop of the hospital. You were surrounded by people from the town that had somehow found their way here as well as a swarm of aliens. You couldn't tell which was worse as stray gunfire threatened to off you just as much as the aliens stalking you in the shadows. 

Wolf had the predalien busy for most of the fight as you and the other towns folk focused on picking off the rest of the swarm. Things eventually came to a head as the once formidable swarm of aliens now dwindled in number and the townsfolk were clambering into the helicopter as it prepared for take off. Wolf though was nowhere to be seen. 

The only sign you had of his position was the deep roar that sounded out through the worsening rainfall. Stumbling over the slick roofing you forced yourself to move as fast as you could in the direction you heard the fighting. With the spear gripped tightly in your hand you could see just vaguely through the veil of rain that Wolf was pinned with his back to the wall. 

Panicking you did the only thing you could think of in that split second. Smashing the blunt side of the spear against the exposed air conditioning unit you screamed out towards the predalien in a means to draw its attention towards you. 

In all honesty, you had done this as a desperate attempt to draw it away from Wolf not expecting it to actually work. You felt your heart stutter in your chest as suddenly the predalien was charging at you roaring over the thunder of the storm. You screamed now this time in true terror as you threw the spear at it. 

The spear sailed cleanly over its shoulder clattering somewhere beyond it as the predalien now leaped for you. With nowhere to run you ducked back and forced yourself between the air conditioning unit and the wall of the hospital. You were able to squeeze down just out of the predalien initially swipe as it now tore at the metal of the unit to get to you. 

As you stared up at the hideous beast you honestly hoped this would not be the end of you. Everything had just seemed to be getting interesting for you. 

Closing your eyes you held your breath as you prepared for pain as the top panel of the unit was torn away exposing you to the predalien. Though just as you feared your end was upon you it was the aliens screams that filled the air and not yours. You were yanked back as the aliens blood splattered the ground where you had stood moments before eating holes through the flooring. 

The alien staggered a moment before collapsing into a pool of its own acidic blood. A spear protruding from the carapace of its skull. Wolf was standing behind you, his hand still firmly on your upper arm as he stared down at the body of the alien. 

You felt as if you didn't have time to do so much as catch your breath. Wolf was already moving, ushering you to follow him as he pressed buttons on his wrist thingy. You all but ran after him, his strides normally dwarfing your own but now his hurried step left you behind. 

You stopped and watched him feeling more than a little frustrated as to why now he had a sense of urgency. Wolf all but yanked his mask up off the floor before pointing at you forcefully and motioning hurriedly for you to follow. 

Though obviously you were not moving fast enough for him as he doubled back and threw your soaking wet form over his shoulder. You feel like you didn't protest as much as you really should have as you watched Wolf take what looked to be a step straight off the edge of the building. Though instead of plummeting to your death, his feet found surface on something you just had yet to have seen. 

Your eyes widened in shock as a spaceship materialized around you. Wolf dropped you down in a much too large chair as he sat down in a matching one to your left. The dash in front of you lit up in an array of switches, dials and buttons. Wolf hit something and suddenly the view of your hometown from the front window slipped away and transformed into the night sky. All in the matter of a night your life up until that point disappeared. Leading you to where you were now. Sitting in the pilot's chair of an alien spacecraft with an alien you accidentally befriended soaked to the bone. 

So much for being the perfect Christian child huh?

If you enjoyed please leave a like and reblog! Thank you so much <3 

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 42: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A talisman depicting a forgotten deity from a bygone era. If you held to the ear, the bearer can hear faint murmurings.

A rudimentary tripwire consisting of a length of thin string wrapped around two small sharpened, wooden stakes along with a length of tiny, ash-darkened, copper bells that can be wrapped around the tripwire. The trap can cover an area five feet in length.

A one gallon keg curiously labelled “Mudder's Milk” on its lid. The keg is filled with a batch of stout beer so dark, dense and filling that it could pass for a soup in bad lighting. The beverage has all the proteins, vitamins and carbs of a full course of your grandmother's best turkey dinner plus 15% alcohol. The keg contains enough beer to serve as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A map of the local tavern, showing several levels of basement below it. The last three levels are crossed out and "don't go here" is written in pencil.

A single black envelop upon which is a single silver glyph, lightly afire. You do not recognize the language, nor even the alphabet of the burning symbol. Regardless, while touching the mysterious inscription you are instinctively aware of its meaning, as if the words were branded with eldritch fire directly on the grey matter of your soft humanoid brain; "VACATION APPROVED”. You know in your mind exactly what it says. You wish you did not know. If you are able to ken the ancient eldritch script of the elder primordial beings from before recorded time, you are able to understand that the note was written by an unknown number of entities known as “Station Management”.

A sheet of parchment with a black handprint and the words "We Know" written underneath it.

A lustrous black flask inlaid with a silver skull pattern. It is plugged with a skull-shaped stopper with reflective red eyes. To complete its menacing appearance, the eyes glow slightly in dim light. Knowledgeable PC's can determine that the viscous green fluid the flask contains is actually an antivenin for the treatment of giant spider bites.

A clean steel sap spigot that can be rammed into a tree in order to allow it to pour forth the sap inside.

A silver chain on which hangs a polished silver bell the size of a thimble. At one point in the bearer's life, the bell will ring three times, producing three bursts of silvery sound with a brief silence after each. The vibrations that shiver through the bearer's body will seem much too strong to have been produced by such a tiny clapper. This squared trio of ringing heralds that great danger will soon befall the bearer from which he is unlikely to survive.

A painting of gnolls gambling with playing cards.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A talisman depicting a forgotten deity from a bygone era. If you held to the ear, the bearer can hear faint murmurings.

A rudimentary tripwire consisting of a length of thin string wrapped around two small sharpened, wooden stakes along with a length of tiny, ash-darkened, copper bells that can be wrapped around the tripwire. The trap can cover an area five feet in length.

A one gallon keg curiously labelled “Mudder's Milk” on its lid. The keg is filled with a batch of stout beer so dark, dense and filling that it could pass for a soup in bad lighting. The beverage has all the proteins, vitamins and carbs of a full course of your grandmother's best turkey dinner plus 15% alcohol. The keg contains enough beer to serve as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A map of the local tavern, showing several levels of basement below it. The last three levels are crossed out and "don't go here" is written in pencil.

A single black envelop upon which is a single silver glyph, lightly afire. You do not recognize the language, nor even the alphabet of the burning symbol. Regardless, while touching the mysterious inscription you are instinctively aware of its meaning, as if the words were branded with eldritch fire directly on the grey matter of your soft humanoid brain; "VACATION APPROVED”. You know in your mind exactly what it says. You wish you did not know. If you are able to ken the ancient eldritch script of the elder primordial beings from before recorded time, you are able to understand that the note was written by an unknown number of entities known as “Station Management”.

A sheet of parchment with a black handprint and the words "We Know" written underneath it.

A lustrous black flask inlaid with a silver skull pattern. It is plugged with a skull-shaped stopper with reflective red eyes. To complete its menacing appearance, the eyes glow slightly in dim light. Knowledgeable PC's can determine that the viscous green fluid the flask contains is actually an antivenin for the treatment of giant spider bites.

A clean steel sap spigot that can be rammed into a tree in order to allow it to pour forth the sap inside.

A silver chain on which hangs a polished silver bell the size of a thimble. At one point in the bearer's life, the bell will ring three times, producing three bursts of silvery sound with a brief silence after each. The vibrations that shiver through the bearer's body will seem much too strong to have been produced by such a tiny clapper. This squared trio of ringing heralds that great danger will soon befall the bearer from which he is unlikely to survive.

A painting of gnolls gambling with playing cards.

A carved stone plate with horrifying pictographic symbols etched into it.

An unremarkable silver coin whose faces sport two expressions. One face is joyfully exuberant, and the other is depressingly dour.

A deck of playing cards that will always deal the worst possible hands to all players.

A simple silver key with “Guest Room” etched finely on the handle.

A pouch of very small bones that can be fitted together to form a strange, highly complex and obviously occult symbol.

A small hourglass holding enough sand to mark the passage of one minute. The bases are made from obsidian flecked with gold and carved to resemble a long-fingered hand holding the hourglass at each end. The glass itself is made from fine crystal and the sand inside is red.

A small dark rock (Two inches in diameter) that was naturally formed into the shape of a demonic creature with bat wings folded around its body. It is semi-translucent with a dark center that sometimes seems to move. Occasionally it seems to whisper. If one listens closely, the whisper can be understood, but it is a foul and evil entreaty to do some horrible act. A bearer who chooses to obey these instructions, never feel remorse or guilt during or after carrying out the horribly despicable and particularly sadistic actions. Should a bearer who performs evil deeds at the stone’s bequest lose the rock or stops carrying it on his person, the awareness, guilt and shame of his evil deeds comes back to him all at once and he is thrown into deep despair.

A silver hand mirror ornately engraved on both sides; one side bears a frowning mask, while the opposite bears a smiling one.  There doesn't appear to be an actual mirrored surface, despite its shape.

A figurine made of twisted fragments of copper wire. It is in the shape of a bird-headed human and although it seems to be many hundreds of years old. Extremely knowledgeable PC’s are able to determine that it is in fact a fake that has been aged to appear antique. Nevertheless, it will still fool anybody who is not an expert on the art of the period. Its metal value is only a handful of copper but it can be sold for a good deal more to the right (i.e. uninformed) buyer.

A walking stick, shod with silver and with the head of an eagle as its handle. The eagle’s head once had two garnets for eyes but these have long since become mislaid. If the head is grasped firmly and unscrewed, it will reveal a long but thin container which can be used to store liquor.

A bulbous flask of opaque white glass filled with a slightly syrupy fluid that’s a deep, warm golden color, almost metallic looking.

A mask bearing a dread visage crafted of wrought iron and set, is perpetually set with a sneering saturnine face.

A pair of goggles with hexagonal mineral lenses of a sharp yellow hue, secured in bronze frames, with a black leather strap that feels slightly scaly and slimy. They give off a faint odor of rotten eggs if sniffed directly.

A dagger sized scabbard containing strips of natural sea sponges on its interior. By carefully pouring a dose of poison into the empty scabbard (An action equivalent to attacking), the bearer can saturate the sponges with the toxin, which keeps it viable and wet for up to four hours. When a dagger is drawn from the sheath, it is automatically envenomed as if the liquid was applied directly. The bearer can also pour holy water or flammable oil into the sheath but acids will destroy the sponges. This kind of item is usually illegal in areas that outlaw poison.

A large mummified paw of long dead beast. Dried blood stains the fur around the petrified claws which are still razor sharp.

A deep violet sash made of silk adorned with gold embroidery of imps and succubi dancing with each other.

A small metallic whistle with a single blowhole. The pipe is divided into a number of twisted and interlocking tubes, with many holes for the air to exit. This strange configuration produces a cacophonous mess of simultaneous sounds when blown.

A matching shaker set of celestial salt and abyssal pepper.

A hooded lantern that is painted rather intricately with a house cat motif depicting cats playing in different poses. It’s mostly painted in whites and pinks, and it has small scuff marks on one side.

A delicate bracelet, carved out of lapis lazuli, featuring the initials XER on the interior facing.

A dark leather and silk monstrous mask with jet eyes.

A jangling bracelet of tiny golden bells and fine-toothed cogs on crimson silk rope. It is suited to a small wrist interested in intricate mechanisms.

A glass jar containing a heart that continues to beat.

A plain-looking wooden bowl of water, which remains unnaturally still while inside it. Looking at one’s reflection in the water shows an idealized version of oneself, in accordance to the viewer’s ideals. Perhaps by lowering one’s head into the bowl for long enough, one can gain insight into how to become the self seen in the bowl.

A silver oak leaf cloak clasp, edged and highlighted with gold.

An ancient drinking horn crafted from some extinct beast. Those who drink from it have dreams of being a huge predator roaming unchallenged through a prehistoric landscape.

A detailed sketch of a cross section of a brain, with a long foreign object being inserted through the front. Labelled fig 2: proper extraction positioning.

A bunch of scrapped papers that, if unfolded, reveal badly written poems describing the writer's deep love for a womanly shaped rock existing in a nearby forest.

A heavy copper belt buckle resembling an axe head.

A wistful portrait of a singular dark mountain on a broad plain, trees covering the top third of it and nowhere else, far higher than trees ever normally grow on a mountain. The middle of the mountain sports two large overhangs of rock above deep depressions, not quite caves. A stream flows down the bottom third of the mountain, splitting its flow around an overhang that shelters a massive cavern entrance that goes who knows how deep.

An aged obsidian fruit knife with bronze handle.

A piece of exotic wood, carved to look like a quill, with a gold tip. Its purpose is obviously ceremonial and no doubt used for signing important decrees or documents, as it is awkward to write with.

A silver and brass mirror with lewd designs hidden around the frame.

A gilded oil lamp with ornate scrollwork cutouts of a warrior, and an evil sorcerer, meant to cast shadows on the wall in their shape.

A blood red mask made from carefully sculpted bone, shaped to look like the face of a grinning demon.

A fist sized piece of jagged garnet. The deep crimson and maroon gemstone pulses faintly and smells of blood.

A lyre crafted from wood from the vale of shadows that emits a slight ringing at all times and a subtle glow of green when it is played.

A leather pouch containing dozens of petrified raven's claws with the talons splayed outwards. If scattered across an area the stony claws function as caltrops in every respect.

An old copper door knocker fashioned to resemble the face of an eldritch creature. It is always cold to the touch.  

A two-foot-long wooden rod bearing a silver wolf’s-head at the tip, and its length is inscribed with moon-sigils.

A small, masterfully crafted toy carriage made of stained black walnut complete with leather driver's seat and interior upholstered in crushed velvet. Anyone who stops to admire the detail of the model in detail has the urge to break one of the wheels, first starting as a fleeting thought but gradually grows to consume their thoughts causing insomnia the longer they resist the urge. The wheel is instantly repaired any time the toy goes unnoticed.

A crimson monkey skull weighing four pounds, carved entirely from blood garnet. An aura of feral sentience draws your gaze to its empty eye sockets.

A rolled scroll on which was hastily scribbled hymn, full of zeal. It says that it is only in rapturous frenzy that the spirit exhibits grace. At this moment, we are freed from doubt, acting only in accordance with the divine, immaculate will.

An ornate token from an opulent land. When held, one feels aided by forces paid for dearly. Surely, no cost is too high for triumph?

An inflamed gland that's little more than an engorged, muscular lump, radiating heat. The repellent hunk of flesh pulses with a warm, wet heat like an exhaled breath. The gland's presence consumes the senses. One's head begins to ache with a feverish intensity the longer it is held.

A scalpel with a wide blade, etched with a diagram of a human body on each side. One side features a chart of the circulatory system, and the other a layout of the muscles and tendons.

A glass disk that depict constellations.

A votive candle holder in the shape of a lighthouse.

A jawbone from a mammalian beast, a handspan in length with dozens of tiny needle-like teeth arranged like a pincushion

A surprisingly light, cobalt blue, metal cube the length of a hand. The many holes on its surface appear to resemble stars in the night sky.

A small sea chest, locked securely. The key is probably somewhere close by. Inside are a dozen glass bottles containing extremely rare and valuable spices. Unfortunately, they are so old as to be unfit for any purpose, and only identifiable by their labels.

A small, cork-stoppered crystal bottle with a disproportionately low and fat belly and slender neck containing a ruby colored liquid with an overwhelming odor of citrus. Tasting the liquid brings forth visions of standing atop a pyramid in a desert land, overlooking a sprawling city on a broad river flanked by irrigated farms.

A thumb-sized bronze horned owl. When the head is turned clockwise three full rotations, it flaps its wings and makes hooting noises as the head rotates back.

A soapstone dragon turtle paperweight with a tiny flag on its back that blows in whatever direction the wind is currently blowing in outdoors.

An unfinished, highly complex nautical knot made with a length of ship's line.

A horse-shaped bottle, made of iron, with eagles of gold and genuine lapis lazuli as inlays.

A clay piece with a drawing of a woman and baby standing next to a solider in uniform.

A pouch of small medicinal vials labelled with different names, with a handwritten note detailing dosages and urgency in delivery.

A letter addressed from an orphanage, informing the the recipient that they believe they've located their child, who was believed dead after a prolonged siege. They are asking the dead person to arrive as soon as possible, as dwindling budgets are forcing them to send their older children to work houses.

A pottery vase decorated with images of a foot race.

A glass eye with an azurite iris and obsidian pupil.

A one gallon cask of Seabeast Poison, an alcoholic beverage found mostly in coastal taverns. This mixture is almost black with a white, frothy foam on top. It's said the original recipe included venom from the poison sacs of a rare sea creature. The exact creature varies from tale to tale and the modern recipe surely doesn't include this venom.... Right?

An engraved geode that has been split apart into two equal halves. A labyrinth is carved into the rock's rough exterior and glows with a faint light.

A beautiful deck of cards resting in a strong leather pouch with an etching of a joker on the outside. The same etching is on the back of the cards.

A strange wand that is visually translucent, but when held closely, one can hear the sound of a light spring rain.

A glass figurine of a unicorn with a chalcedony horn.

A pair of pearl earrings held in eagle claw settings.

A humorous ensorcelled cartoon strip about Cernuous Cedric the slug-about-town, a languorous libertine known for his lechery, taste for strong drink, and allergy to any form of labor. The strip speaks and animates when read, telling the story of one of Cedric’s disastrous affairs with the husband of Mordiggia, the Charnel Goddess.

An amber belt buckle with knot pattern.

An ancient hieroglyphic tablet made out of some type of reflective metal that can float in water and makes a strange echoing hollow sound when struck.

A small glass bulb that gives off a bit of bluish light when touched. The light it shines counts as moonlight for the purpose of revealing things.

A cherry wood mandolin with strings of different colors. Each note played on this mandolin blends euphoniously with the notes played before it, forming a pleasing melody regardless of which strings are plucked.

A beaten copper death mask with garnet eyes.

A small statue of a great old one carved from an unknown type of greenish stone.

A copper serving pot edged and highlighted with silver depicting the labors of a famous hero.

A hardy wine bottle that is completely opaque and holds a strong, deep red, fruity alcohol.

A simple leather pouch that has several charred humanoid bones in it and a small dusting of ashes. There is no smell of smoke though, so they must be quite old.

A pure white face mask with pewter trim around its edges. It is sculpted into what could be called a bird head with an unusually short beak, also covered in pewter, but with delicate filigree.

A large blue banner decorated with a flaring yellow crest and mounted on the end of a ten foot brass pole. It is meant to be the standard used to keep the morale of the troops high as its valiantly held aloft.

A large ceramic jar covered in silver leaf.

A brass candelabra etched with filigree pattern.

A bar of rough soap made from ground pumice, and a little bit goes a long way. Light gray in color, it scrubs off trail dust, sweat, and blood with equal ease, leaving behind a clean, slightly dusty scent.

A tiny dead sparrow, wrapped delicately in giant green leaves.

A four inch long, plain, pocket pen carved from giant's tooth enamel, tipped with a gold-vanadium nib, and silver cap.

An item that appears at first glance to be no more than a simple burlap doll with no hair or clothes in the shape of humanoid. The doll's wicked grin and black sapphire eyes tell keen observers a different tale.

A heavy brass torc ending in clenched fists.

A copper door knocker of a celestial with twin amber eyes.

A tin bucket without a label, filled with what appears to be loose teeth. A closer look confirms the contents: dozens of molars, bicuspids, incisors, canines. Human teeth. Enough to fill at least five or six mouths. Resting on top of the pile is a rusted pair of iron pliers.

A swirly mahogany wand that changes to a different color every night at midnight.

Innocent Lockpicks: A set of nondescript masterwork thieves' tools coated in a matte black lacquer, that seems brittle enough to break. They are favored by spies and thieves that cannot afford to be caught with the tools of their trade. As an action equivalent to drawing a weapon, the bearer can break the brittle coating of the tools, causing them to dissolve into a puff of smoke, destroying the evidence of any wrongdoing. Because of their fragile nature these tools have a chance of breaking. If the bearer rolls a natural 1 while using the tools, there is a 25% chance that the tools snaps and dissolves in his hands. The item's properties are wholly mundane and do not register as magical.

[opuxmagnum]

Just some body rambles;

Right out the gate; I defined much of her image as a mesh between ‘vaguely human’ and very obviously Pthumerian. Her image of course is based on what I have seen expressly on Pthumerians we see present in game (The queen, The descendant, those who roam the chalices etc) on top of some of my own HC’s and things I had in mind for Rosealia. I am returning to some older ideas tbh...

Despite a human visage she stands at a towering height of nearly “7′0′ (213 cm), one of many prominent details that speaks of her dubious Pthumerian lineage. While her height is a defining factor, it isn’t the only thing of note.

Her skin is of an ashen hue, with muted under shades of blue. In broad daylight, it is starkly obvious as she appears visually pale grey. This is also noticeable in the shade of her lips-- a darkened slate grey hue with a tinge of a muted blue.

Her hair is a vibrant shade of white with traces of silver and is of a fine and full texture. The length of is stops just about her mid back and it is customary for her to bind it into a loose side braid, or a tightly fitted bun.

Her musculature of her form is defined, a broad form significantly more sculpted in appearance with wide set shoulders and a powerful back muscle structure.

 Long, swan-like neck with pronounced collar bone maybe just one too many extra cervical vertebrae..

Lengthy toned limbs while befitting of her structure are still unusually long even for her considerable height. Her legs are in mirroring proportion to the abnormal length of her arms– making her already muscular visage appear somewhat deceivingly spindly at a glance. (Don’t get her wrong she can wrap her whole hand around ur face or rip you apart no issue and out duel many…)

Her eyes consist of a icy silver hue with flecks of pale blue, set against a darkened sclera that emphasizes. Drawing attention to her eyes and the construct of their shape from socket to brow ridge. The shape and structure of her eye is somewhat wider, taking on a peculiar angle given the augmented shape --it appears somewhat reminiscent of many nocturnal creatures.

Her mouth seems just a little long in accordance to her facial structure. That is simply due in part to the size and structure of her skull and width of her jaw line. This is along with the rest of her too-long features.

Lastly, upon her hands she bares an additional digit -- noting 6 upon each. Although she may hold a humanoid form, many things about her aren’t ‘right’. She is unfortunately a being who stands separate of man and far removed. Regardless on if she likes it or not... :/

[morris-magus-merry-miller]

Chapter 2: Goddess in the Glade

Our band of valiant adventurers set out that very same day on the road to Port Town. As we traveled, Candy and I compared notes, for it happened we had something in common—a love of the culinary arts. She traveled the land with a rickshaw, set up with implements for cooking, baking, and keeping her finished products heated or cooled. It’s quite the astounding set up, one I would love to copy if not for my small legs. I don’t think Nathaniel would appreciate being asked to lug around such a thing either. So alas it must remain but a dream, however while we venture together she has agreed to let me bake our group treats in the mornings while the others prepare their various morning spell rituals and such and such.

I was originally going to go with a classic—croissants—but then Candy and I discovered that Vigo had never had any sweets before. In his life! Ever! Can you imagine? I certainly cannot, even with my vast and boundless imagination, it boggles the mind! So Candy and I were in agreement that our first order of business had to be introducing Vigo to the many wondrous treats this world had to offer.

I consider myself to have quite the knack for cookies and cakes, while Candy makes quite an astounding pie. Between the two of us, I am certain we will round out Vigo’s experience with the many flavors of baked goods available.

On our second day of travel, John and I stopped for some…necessary relief, let’s say. The two of us made for an area deeper in the woods, to be certain we were out of sight of the road to avoid any embarrassing mishaps.

There we met the most fascinating and beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon in my many years of life. The two of us came upon a small woodland glade, a beautiful peaceful place where the sun filtered down through the trees upon a small stream. Before the river, the being was kneeled, drinking. As we accidentally stumbled upon her, she turned to face us.

She was humanoid, in a manner. Her upper body was much like a human woman, although quite a bit taller than most humans—taller, I think, than even Issac. She towered above myself and John. She had long black hair that flowed down her back, framed by two mis-matched horns—one that appeared to be a stag’s, and the other a rhino’s, but upon the side of her forehead like the stag horn. Upon her back were four wings, as mis-matched as her horns. A wasp’s, a butterfly’s, a whippoorwill’s, and a dove’s. Between them all sat a deadly looking scorpion’s tail. Her legs were not humanoid, but were more like that of a satyr. One was a goat’s, and the other a zebra’s.

The strange beauty greeted us, and introduced herself as Elpida. When she extended a hand to shake, it was a lioness’ paw, and her other hand was a hound’s. She was pleased that we were willing to stay and talk, rather than fleeing at her unique visage. For his part, John seemed about ten seconds away from asking her on a date. I was just content that she was willing to let me write this meeting, and even created an illusionary visage of herself standing in place so that I might sketch her—as you will see below.

Elpida was without a doubt the most fascinating creature I have ever laid eyes upon. She told us that each piece of her mis-matched visage was a gift from one of the major gods. The wings, from Calistria, Desna, Pharasma, and Sarenrae. A set of spider arms she could summon on command were from Norgerber. Her eyes, when she leaned forward enough for me to clearly see her features, had irises red and segmented like a fly’s, which were from Urgathoa. Her form was stuck as it was due to Zon’Kuthon, whose gift made it impossible for her to use any polymorph type magics that could change or disguise her striking figure into something less noticeable.

When I asked if she was some kind of goddess herself, she answered no—she was closer to a psychopomp. A rare and unique psychopomp who was not hidden from mortals as such beings normally are, and who had been granted miraculous powers from the various major deities of our world.

I think I can rightly say John and I stumbled upon the rarest of stories today. While we may never see her again, this meeting will be etched into my mind for the rest of my days. And I have written every detail with as much accuracy as I could muster while being quite stunned by this being’s very existence.

Author’s note: suck it, I got a description of a rare and powerful almost never before seen being and a first hand conversation with her, if that isn’t a grand part of a ‘most interesting story ever told’ I don’t know what is!

Note to self: Remove author’s note from final draft and do not taunt the devils you are trying to impress, you idiot.

 Elpida asked what brought us to these travels, and withdrew a tad when we mentioned Dualwood. It turned out she was familiar with the dragonfly man, whose name she revealed was Ulong, and she was aware of what he had done to the town. He had come to her first, once upon a time, asking if it was possible to do. She kept making excuses for him, that he has his reasons for why he’s doing what he did, but also said she found it understandable that we were angry if those John cared about where in that town.

She left us in a hurry, with well wishes and a magical gift—a blessing of her own design that would allow us to ‘strike true’ in a time of dire need. Then as quickly as we’d come face-to-face with the mystical, she was gone, vanished with some teleportation magic or another.

  We met with the others back on the road and told them of what had happened. They’d felt the effects of the blessing as well, so it seemed Elpida had extended it to them as well. None of the adventurers amongst us had seen or heard of such a being before, but we were glad to have stayed on her good side.

Thus we set off on the road once more in high spirits. The next day we were to arrive at Port Town fairly early. However just in time for a quick snack, we came upon a newly opened WcGronalds. We debated whether or not to go in, but upon discovering that Vigo had never had ice cream before Candy and I insisted that we go. After all, we lacked the means to make ice cream ourselves. We may well have missed our only opportunity to introduce Vigo to it, and that would have been a grave and unforgivable tragedy.

It was strangely dark within. When Vigo pushed open the door, four clown ghouls spotted us and rushed for the door, their disturbingly large shoes honking with each step. Vigo—wondrous wizard that he is—didn’t even flinch at the sight. He let loose an inferno that encompassed all of the undead horrors, reducing them to ash without so much as blinking. The mighty goblin stood victorious, and was rewarded for his efforts by the WcGronald’s employees, who had hidden themselves safely within the freezer. Vigo was given all the ice cream he could eat, and they let Candy take the entire ice cream machine so that we might make frozen treats on our travels. An excellent boon for a job well done, if I might say so myself!

 It wasn’t long afterwards that we reached the illustrious and bustling city of Port Town. Here we parted ways with dear Amelia, who said we could always reach her with the Stones of Farspeech if needed.

Vigo, despite his glorious display against both the zombies and the gibbering mouther previously, seemed rather offput by the crowded city streets. He stuck close to us, positively buried in Gordon’s wooly fur.

 Note to self: maybe edit that out if this ever gets published. If Vigo reads it you’re a dead man. You’ve seen his magic. He’ll kill you with fire. And lightning. Fire-lightning.

Note to self 2: Can Vigo read?

 We went looking for an inn to rent some rooms to use as our base of operations as we looked for Ringwald. While we were at it, John parted ways for a time. He said he already had a place and needed to check in. We agreed to let him know which inn we ended up holing up in over the very incredibly useful Stones of Farspeech.

Not long afterwards Vigo pointed us in the direction of a lovely inn he spotted.

 Note to self again: Obviously Vigo can read, he transcribes scrolls all the time, and he must have read the inn’s sign. That was a very rude assumption on my part, although it is true that many goblin tribes believe that writing can steal your soul so it isn’t a completely uncalled for assumption…

 We approached the innkeeper, a lovely woman named Paige Sterling, right as she was kicking out a hooligan who apparently used to have a permanent room, but who had abused his privileges one time too many. Paige offered us his room at a discounted rate to teach the foolish rabble-rouser a lesson. Candy tossed her a platinum rather than a gold, and in exchange the delightful young woman offered to give us all rooms instead of being cramped up in the single room she’d originally offered. Her only catch was that Peanut and Gordon needed to be stabled, as there wasn’t room for a bear and a ram in the inn, but she offered a ticket which she told Vigo and Issac to show the stablehand, which would get them a free stay on the house.

With rooms secured we asked Paige if she’d seen anyone new in town who matched Ringwald’s description. She hadn’t, but she pointed us in the direction of one Captain of the Guard Terrance Gladshire, who may have heard something she had not. I took the initiative and informed Vigo, Issac, and John that we would be departing the inn to speak with the captain, and to meet us there. Yet somehow Candy and I reached the guard’s station at the same time as Vigo and Issac. John did not arrive until later, when we were already speaking with Sir Terrance Gladshire.

Terrance was a young man, whom the guards below him didn’t seem to give quite the respect he deserved. From the word around town, crime was virtually non-existent with Terrance leading, yet those under him treat him much like a child they get a kick out of teasing. It would seem one of his parents was in the position before him, and the older guards knew him when he was younger, so the view of him as the captain’s ankle biter hadn’t quite faded from memory as of yet.

 Regardless, we met with the captain, who told us that Cleric Ringwald had been in their custody until recently. She had come seeking sanctuary, believing she would be safe under the guard’s watch. They’d reluctantly agreed to lock her up—from the look of it the jail cells weren’t getting much use anyways. However the next morning she had vanished, with only a note left behind, indicating she had been taken to the Unbound Hollow, a series of caverns that used to be a tourist attraction until a tribe of Duergar moved in and people began disappearing in the area. Terrance felt there was reason to believe the Duergar were responsible for kidnapping Ringwald, as well as a number of his men. We knew what we had to do—the future of Dual Wood depended upon us finding Ringwald after all. Captain Gladshire offered us compensation should we be able to rescue his men while we were seeking the cleric, to which my companions heartily agreed.

 And so we set out, to the caverns a short walk from town. Before us loomed the dread Unbound Hollow. The mighty adventurers readied themselves to enter the cavern, with certainty in our hearts that we would find and rescue the captive cleric, and return the world to its rightful order. And with that, we stepped into the cavern.

 ...

 ...

And immediately fell through a trap waiting for us within the entrance.

[chrysanthemums-au]

Season of Chrysanthemums

SUMMARY: Within the outer limits of Corona, Cassandra meets Varian, who seems to be as insubstantial and ethereal as the black rocks. The two lost…forgotten…overlooked (?) souls decide to wander the streets at nightfall in search of ghosts.

Though, as Varian has long since had a connection to the spirits of the departed, how can Cassandra be sure if the alchemist is who he says himself to be?

CHAPTER 1-Miles to Go Before I Sleep

AO3 LINK

Cassandra kept her gaze lowered as she trekked along the normally bustling corridor. The otherwise bright and colorful interior of the castle only served as a grotesque facsimile to the unease that had washed over the kingdom.

 Once lively, the other handmaidens had resorted to speak through hushed whispers and behind closed doors.

 Usually Cassandra loves the quiet. She should be happy of the peace that had enveloped the kingdom…right?

 And yet, she cannot help but worry.

 The tranquility that had set over the kingdom was but a mere respite. It was a warning of something more to come. She could just tell from the hushed whispers, Rapunzel’s unease…she’d do anything for the princess, but—

 ‘Anything’ would not be ‘good’ enough.

 Cassandra had not been the one to save Rapunzel during that blizzard. Rapunzel, no, she had saved herself.

 What good could she be as Rapunzel’s best friend if she couldn’t protect her?

 Sighing, Cassandra turns a corner. The clack of shoes on marble breaks the litany of anxious voices.

 Ever since that accursed blizzard had hit Corona and nearly cost them their king and queen, there were…rumors.

 Cassandra hears her before she sees the familiar figure donning the exact same sky blue handmaiden’s dress.

 The brunette is not one for frivolous rumors and small talk. She knows this, but she cannot help but take note of the words that spill forth from Friedborg. The queen’s handmaiden was always quite the chatterbox, and loathe as Cassandra is to admit it, Friedborg can be an invaluable source of information.

 As she very well knows, word travels fast in such a well-knit community such as the castle’s workers. Between tasks there is not much to do in the way of entertainment, so it is with great reluctance that Cassandra quickly darts away before Friedborg or anyone else can see her. Swiftly, Cassandra hides behind a pillar adorned with the princess’s creative [infuriating] paintings.

 These paintings…they cannot stay on the pillar for long, but Cassandra knows this is a problem for another day.

 Laying a hand upon the pillar, Cassandra slightly leans towards the direction of Friedborg’s voice.

 Due to sheer distance, she cannot discern exactly what Friedborg is saying, but she does make out the words of various passersby as they walk past her hiding place from behind the pillar.

 “Have you heard about what happened to Old Corona?”, a diminutive voice conspiratorially asks.

 Cassandra’s eyes widen. She has never visited Old Corona, but she does know of how much of the castle’s staff have family that reside there.

 “Oh yes, what a terrible tragedy it was,” another voice states, seemingly not terribly concerned or frightened at all.

 “Right, they said that town was completely wiped out overnight.”

 Overnight…could they be talking about the blizzard? Old Corona had not even crossed her mind during that harrowing experience, but yes—they would have been affected.

 “If the princess hadn’t saved us, who knows what could have happened…”

 “Nothing good, I’d imagine,” another voice interjects.

 “It’s always the princess, isn’t it?” Cassandra mutters to herself.

 “But, there’s more to the story.”

 “No one remains in the wreckage of that desecrated town, except for—”

 “The last ghost of Old Corona.”

 “According to rumor, in life, he was a terrifying wizard.”

 “They say his name was Varian.”

 “Varian…why does that name sound familiar?” Cassandra wonders.

 “Even though he had died in Old Corona, it has been said that he can be seen wandering the streets of Corona’s Capital at night.”

 “No one knows the reason for this, but…”

 “To find him, you must follow the trail of chrysanthemums.”

 ---

 “Why did you leave him?” Tired, unseeing blue eyes stare up towards the shadowy visage of what could be considered a humanoid figure.

 Within the dim light of Corona’s empty streets, they almost appeared to be glowing.

 “No, why did you leave us?” the figure(s) mockingly question. Their voices are warped and faint, as if they were speaking through water.

 “We were destroyed because of you, and now…Old Corona is no more.”

 “Silly alchemist…did you think you could save us?”

 Varian’s breath hitches, but he remains utterly silent. His gaze is directed somewhere far away, past the wispy, silhouette.

 A bright crimson petal gently falls to the cold cobblestone ground.

 “He couldn’t even save his dad,” they say. Cheerfully.

 “If you did, then he wouldn’t be encased in amber while you get to roam about freely.”

 Varian’s gaze sharply turns towards the spectre.

 “If it wasn’t for you, your dad would still be alive.”

 “No, you’re wrong,” Varian says as his vision grows darker. “Dad is…he’ll be fine.”

 “He has to be……”

 Varian falters as he hears a sigh and the crunch of leaves. He turns his head slightly to see a person slowly descend from the shadows. There is a slight blue halo surrounding her, but the sight is far from soothing.

 He can almost hear high-pitched, childish laughter, but no, he must be imagining things. Varian blinks and the halo is gone.

 The newcomer narrows her eyes upon taking in the sight of vivid blood-red flowers.

 The stranger, Varian realizes with a start, has one hand hovering over a sword holster.

 “Kid, hey, you okay?” the dark-haired woman asks, her tone laced with concern and suspicion. She has directed her sharp gaze towards Varian, her hand still un-wavering from its position atop the holster.

 Varian knows this woman does not trust him. It’s never really bothered him, what with his village never giving him the time of day. He found a friend in Ruddiger—while his beloved raccoon was a great listener, he obviously could not hold a long conversation.

 Afterall, raccoons could not talk…yet.

 And…he did have his dad—

 No…Varian reminds himself. His dad did not leave; he can’t leave. He’s still in Old Corona, right where he left him.

 Though, as the swordswoman continues to glare at him wearingly, he cannot help but feel a sharp pang jolt through his chest. Perhaps it is loneliness that he feels. Varian was used to conspiratorial whispers every time an invention went wrong, disapproving glances from his father, but—

 It had been so long since a living, breathing person had noticed him.

 Despite her apparent distrust of him, he would be happy. Even if she somehow wound up hating him, Varian would be content.

 He’d rather be acknowledged.

 Hatred was better than merely being fading away into the background, as forgotten and weathered as the letters his father had kept from him. At one point in time, Varian had not cared for acknowledgement, but to be seen is to validate his very existence.

 If she could see him, that would mean—he wasn’t dead.

 As long as he had a living, beating heart, he could save his dad. Even if it felt like he was dying every second, he could not afford to falter from the path he had set for himself.

 He would make his dad proud, even if it was the last thing he’d ever do.

 “Hey, I said, are you okay?” the woman repeats, disdain and irritation painted across her face. She merely throws him a quick glance before lowering her gloved hand from the holster.

 Though, Varian knows that she could quickly have that sword pointed at his throat in a heart beat.

 He attempts to answer the swordswoman, but his voice hitches in his throat. It’s been so long since he had last needed to speak that his voice had grown weak from disuse.

 Varian tries to speak again, but his voice is as faint as the gust of wind that billows throughout the plethora of crimson red flowers that adorn the street.

 “I, what—” Varian stutters. He averts his gaze from her dark green eyes.

 The swordswoman brings her hand back to her face and bites back a dry remark. “You know what, never mind. This is clearly not going anywhere.”

 She pauses, waiting for Varian to speak.

 Another pause.

 Silence.

 This is going to be a long night, Cassandra thinks to herself with a grimace. “Are you going to say anything before day break? Or are we just going to stand here all night?”

 “Varian.” His voice is muffled and cracked from disuse, but it is the most he has spoken since the blizzard.

 “What? I didn’t catch that,” the swordswoman says. “You need to speak up, kid.”

 “You do have a name, right?”, she flippantly remarks.

  It takes a moment for Varian to gather himself before finding his voice. “My name’s Varian.”

 Eyes widening in surprise, Cassandra’s hand reaches for her sword as she points it directly at the alchemist. Varian is un-phased as the sword lightly grazes at his throat.

 He knows he should feel scared. He wishes he could, but he feels…nothing.

 “Varian…so you’re the wizard of Old Corona. I find it hard to believe someone like you could be a threat to the kingdom, but I’ve heard the rumors…” Cassandra says carefully, stern gaze never wavering.

 Varian merely shoots her a disapproving look as he blandly mutters, “That’s why they’re called rumors.”

 Cassandra shifts the sword slightly forward as her glare darkens at the dry remark.

 His gaze falters. “I do not work with magic,” Varian says. “I am an alchemist, not a wizard.”

“But you are right about one thing,” he relents. “I’m from Old Corona.”

 Just as quickly as he had found his voice, Varian falters. He adjusts his antique goggles as he attempts to look somewhere. Anywhere, except for the disapproving glare of the swordswoman.

 He knows what she wants to ask. It is a question he had asked himself all too often, and one that he is reluctant to answer.

 ---

 Cassandra wants to leave. All she wants is to head back to the castle and forget she has ever met this self-proclaimed wizard, but…she cannot.

 It’s troubling. She hates it, but she can see the haunted, vacant look in his eyes…which is a look no one, much less a mere child, should have. And as discrete as he thinks himself to be, she notices how his gaze directs itself everywhere and nowhere—as if he were used to solitude. Though, Cassandra very much knows this to be the case.

 Try as he might to hide it, she can see how uneasy the alchemist is as he fiddles with the old, bronze goggles on his head.  But what’s more worrying is how his worn shirt is hanging off of his frame or how he winces every time he moves his hands ever so slightly.

 He’s so weak and pitiful that even a gust of wind could knock him down.

 Cassandra really, truly, wants to leave…but—she cannot leave him to fend for himself.

 She had left the castle on the coattails of a rumor. While she hadn’t truly believed in a ghost haunting the populated capital of Corona, she had found him.

 This boy was not a ghost, but with how he carried himself—

 He might as well have been dead.

 She knows she’ll regret this, but Cassandra knows her conscience will hate her for leaving.

 For what may be the hundredth time that very evening, Cassandra places her sword back in its sheathe. She softens her voice in what she hopes to be a placating tone as she relays her next question.

 “Why are you here? In Corona?”

 The silence is as endless as the fields of bright red flowers that adorn the kingdom.

“Alright then….” Cassandra slowly speaks as she attempts to dissuade the awkward silence that had descended upon them. “Shouldn’t you go home? Your parents are probably going to kill you for staying out this late.”

 A deep inhale of breath. The alchemist’s shoulders are stiff as he raises his head towards Cassandra. “They won’t be.”

 He quickly diverts his gaze, and it is this that Cassandra becomes conscious of exactly what had caught the boy’s attention. She realizes that he was not avoiding her gaze—rather, he was staring past her…at what, Cassandra did not know.

 Chills ran down her spine as she recounted the hushed, conspiratorial voices she had heard throughout the day. But, she resisted the urge to turn around. It may have been silly and childish and juvenile—all of which are words that would describe Fitzherbert perfectly, but she knew that if she let the ‘alchemist’ stray from her sight for but a mere moment, he would disappear into the night.

 The alchemist may not be Corona’s number one criminal, but if the rumors were to be believed, he is more than capable. She is loathe to admit this, even to herself, but this problem…it is more than she can handle on her own.

 Cassandra is not one for ‘talking about feelings’, but she’s not completely heartless. Rapunzel, on the other hand, could help him with whatever it is that he needs.

 Maybe then, he’ll look a little less broken and more…human.

 Her train of thoughts are broken as the alchemist steps closer. His eyes…are still dead, hollow, glassy, but there is an indescribable emotion in his voice.

 “How are you not tired?”

 Cassandra is startled to see that yes, he looks more ‘present’. Still broken, but ‘alive’. She is not used to this…to going out of her way to speak with someone else. Usually, it is the other way around.

 Though, with a lovely, kind, smart, surprisingly self-centered but well meaning friend such as Rapunzel, she was never wont for loneliness.

 And so, Cassandra will do what she does best when confronted with those beyond her control or understanding. She cannot fathom what the alchemist could possibly mean, so she…ignores him.

 “I’m not even going to answer that,” Cassandra curtly says. Turning sharply on her heels, she beckons for the [not] ghost to follow her. “Whatever it is you’re doing here, don’t. Follow me or not, I don’t care, but I’m heading back to the castle.”

 Her steps falter slightly as she waits for the alchemist’s answer. Anything could work—a confirmation, words…

 A moment passes.

 Another second, and then—

 Timid, light footsteps.

 Cassandra had left on a whim…in search of what? Ghosts? Wizards? Adventure?

 She does not know. There is much she is uncertain of.

 ---

 Varian is lost. For the first time in forever, he…does not know what it is that he sees. The swordswoman, who introduced herself as Cassandra, is…strange, to phrase it mildly.

 She is perfectly alright, albeit a bit cold, if Varian were to be honest. But no, she seemed normal, which is what brought him to his current state of confusion. There is nothing outright ‘otherworldly’ about Cassandra—

 But, this is why he is so uncertain about the dark-haired woman.

 He is uneasy, but she seems to chalk up his discomfort towards something else. Ever since he had seen her surrounded by an eerie blue glow, Varian just knew there was something off about her.

 The reason was beyond him.

 He is an alchemist. He does not like magic, but he cannot ignore its signs.

 Still, he tried his best to think of an alternative reason for the glow. It was not until Cassandra offered to take him to the princess that he heard a high-pitched childish laugh.

 With a jolt, Varian sees that Cassandra was not alone.

A tiny, hazy blue girl was hovering by the swordswoman. If not for her state of transparency, she would have simply looked like a nobleman’s daughter. Though, with the wide, toothy grin she was shooting at him, Varian knew that whatever it was that had attached itself to Cassandra…was far from good.

 Satisfied at catching his attention, the regally dressed specter floated gracefully towards Varian.

 “What are you?” Varian asks, paying no heed to how off-kilter he may sound to Cassandra.

 “Don’t you mean ‘who’ am I?” the blue girl lightly chides.

  Her face-splitting grin grows wider at the alchemist’s inquiries. “Oh, don’t look so glum, Varian.”

 “How…do you know my name?” Varian asks in a hushed voice.

 “Let’s just say I’m a friend, or at least, I’d like to be.”

 Taking Varian’s silence as a confirmation to go on, the enchanted girl lightly chuckles. “Don’t worry; I won’t lie to you.”

 “You’d better catch up with Cassandra,” she airily advises. “Until we meet again, little moondrop.”

 Varian watches as the apparition slowly fades from view. He cannot see her, but he knows she is somewhere nearby. He wishes he could bring himself to care, but why should the ghost of another matter to him?

 Perhaps in a different time or place, he would have cared. But now, even more than alchemy or answers, he wants his father back.

 And so, with a heavy heart, Varian follows Cassandra. He does not know where this path will lead him, but he promises to make his father proud.

 No matter what becomes of him, he knows that this is a promise he cannot afford to break.

[thewritinghole]

  For today’s post I’ve decided to add more pictures into my narrative. I’m not sure why I wasn’t doing so all along, and I plan to go back and edit my previous posts. However, I must warn you that my camera quality is subject to the whims of my phone, which is not always (or even usually) reliable.

A few weeks ago I headed to Cremona with some friends for the “Festa del Torrone.” If you’re like me and have never heard of torrone before, it’s basically a nutty, nougaty dessert made from almonds in some sort of sugary white binding agent that I never did learn the exact name of but liked the taste of nonetheless.

Cremona is about an hour outside of Brescia, and I visited alongside three friends because it was one friend (we’ll call her A)’s birthday. A is a dessert aficionado and apparently also a violin enthusiast, and if there’s one thing Cremona is known for, it’s violins. And torrone, actually. So that makes two things!

We went together on a nippy, damp day and were greeted by a big street festival packed to the gills with different desserts. We ate crunchy peanut brittle, chocolate bars, coffee and hot chocolate (obviously; it’s still Italy), chocolate salami (not what you think!), and, of course, torrone. I bought a slice of rum and chocolate torrone that tasted like biting into solidified sweet alcohol and a slice of chocolate salami, which is a log of dark chocolate and bits of what tasted to me like cookie dough (but who can say what it was, truly) made to look like, you guessed it, salami. It was probably my favorite treat of the day, not being a huge fan of nuts. (The edible ones, of course, you perv.)

In addition to oodles of sweets there were also lots of street musicians out. We passed a musical duo featuring a violinist and a man who played both guitar AND electric bass, which is absolutely bonkers. He basically had both instruments propped up on his lap and alternated between playing them in perfect time to the beat. As someone who has learned a bit of guitar, I was absolutely blown away. It’s so hard to play even just one of those instruments, let alone both at once! Needless to say I left them a bit of money in their hat—it was the least I could do after filming them.

We also caught the tail end of a performance of the songs from Disney’s Aladdin, sung in Italian, of course. It appeared to be a high school or college-age acting troupe, and they were quite talented. The man who sang Jafar’s songs was my favorite—but then, it was hard to disappoint me, because I am an ardent Aladdin fan. It’s tied for my favorite Disney movie alongside Lion King and Tangled. (I know it’s lame to have a three-way tie for favorite movie, but you couldn’t ask me to pick between those three. They’re all cinematic glory.)

There were also people running around in costumes. Some were mascots of the sweets being sold, including a person wearing a humanoid torrone felt costume and another dressed as an ice cream cone. There was also a truly horrifying visage of Peppa Pig strolling around in the crowds, waiting like a hawker in Times Square for someone to dare take a picture with them and then force the poor sap to pay up for the pleasure. More impressively, there was at one point a line of men and women dressed in white costumes walking on stilts or in a Cinderella-shaped pumpkin carriage, all done up in LED lights. Stilt walkers never fail to impress me. I am the clumsiest person I know, and have managed to sprain both of my ankles at least twice, on one occasion both within a week of each other. If I were to mount a pair of stilts I would surely die immediately, let alone in such a detailed costume.

Besides the festival, A was eager to check out Cremona’s musical theater culture. We got a lovely glimpse of the outside of a violin museum that proved too expensive to enter, but out on the lawn they did have a lovely silver statue of a man’s head and torso made of interlocking sections of metal, called “The Beauty of Music.”

We also were able to enter a beautiful cathedral (because those are almost always free) filled with oodles of beautiful paintings and gothic architecture. We also checked out a gorgeous old theater, filled with gold scrollwork and red curtains and appearing to the theater kid in me as the exact place I’d love to star in a production of Hamlet or Les Miserables.

We enjoyed plenty of food while we were there, of course. Right next to the Cremona train station is a coffeeshop that is apparently historically significant to Cremona, though I don’t remember what for. Perhaps it’s merely the oldest coffeeshop of its kind. Regardless, we stopped there for breakfast that morning and later got a midday meal at a lovely restaurant where I enjoyed raviolis in broth to help stave off the chill. We acquired another friend halfway through the day who met us there from Milan and enjoyed the latter half of the day walking among the torrone markets and shopping. When the day drew to a close and we missed our initial train, we waited out the next one at that same coffeeshop, enjoying hot chocolate—or, in one friend’s case, a “caffé corretto”, which is essentially an espresso with a shot of booze.

It was a fun day of eating junk food, exploring one of Italy’s lesser-known cities, and talking about traveling and books. AND SPEAKING OF BOOKS, did you know that I wrote one recently? What an organic segue into talking about my book! It’s called I’ll Make You A Deal and is available on Amazon in paperback and eBook. Click this link to check it out if you’d like!

Sorry my updates on this blog have slowed down so considerably; I hope to catch all of you up to speed on my traveling exploits during the upcoming Christmas break, when I won’t be so busy running around Brescia doing private lessons and working out problem after problem with my bank account.

Ci vediamo pronto,

Quinn

Travel Log – Cremona For today's post I've decided to add more pictures into my narrative. I'm not sure why I wasn't doing so all along, and I plan to go back and edit my previous posts.

[thefirstknife]

A very intriguing post. You might be onto something.

I'll add the following: chronologically, the first ever discovered statue like this was the one on Europa, found by Clovis Bray and his team. We can see it today in the Deep Stone Crypt raid. It's not truly a statue like the others because it's moving. It also allows you to see some of the more interesting parts; when you go below the statue, you can see inside and it's all twisting cloth/veil that's swaying.

It's a very interesting difference to other statues because the one in DSC looks alive. It's pretty chilling (no pun intended). More below.

When Clovis first saw the statue, he also had the same question: why did it "choose" the form it did? He then went into a rant about how women are weird.

I wonder why Clarity Control chose the particular aspect it did. That form, that face. The same visage as the precursor on Earth's moon. What is it meant to communicate? Is it a message particularly meant for me?

I have always harbored a wariness towards women. I understand people as coiled engines of self-interest. Programmed first by a cosmology that selects, via the anthropic principle, for the possibility of complex structure. Then by a biology that wipes out traits deleterious to its own persistence. And then by a culture that evolves to promote the survival of its hosts. People are avatars of these self-preserving forces.

...

But all this is complicated in women. They are sites of such evolutionary complexity - the grandmother hypothesis, for example, or the eusociality of female ants. Even their flesh is hard to understand. Female bodies are a mosaic of two cell lines - one with the mother's X chromosome active, one with the father's. Never both. A house of two lineages, constantly renegotiating their mutual interest.

It's interesting to note that Clovis mentions two strange things:

1. "that face" - did the statue look different to him? Because the statues we see today don't really have a visible face. It's concealed by the veil. However, it's clear that whatever Clovis saw, it retained the vaguely female shape. 2. "The same visage as the precursor on Earth's moon" - this is strange because there's no statue on the Moon. There is (was?) an entrance to the Black Garden from where you can reach the statue, but currently there's no such thing on the surface of the Moon. The Lunar Pyramid was also not revealed at the time (or perhaps it wasn't there yet; it's possible it got stuck in the Moon during the Collapse). There was the Anomaly that Clovis took for himself, but the Anomaly was literally just a black sphere. Again, did he see something else? He does note that the Anomaly led him to Europa. It's also obvious that Darkness has been manipulating him for a very long time.

Either way, the form of the statue itself is clearly there to make a point of some sort. Clovis was too self-centered to take his word at a face value, but he does confirm that the statue has been presenting itself in a humanoid female form since the start.

I feel like it's important to include this art here as well:

This is official and still unused in the game itself, but it's available on Bungie's site as a profile background so it's clearly not an outdated image that doesn't fit the story. Note the veiled statues (this art piece is from 4 years ago, so D2 launch). Note also the vaguely female heads as statues as well; perhaps what Clovis also saw? Also, the labyrinthine pattern that was present in Season of Arrivals. There's also a black sphere (connection to the Anomaly?) and obviously alien forms holding the sphere, as well as pyramidal shapes in the back and overall very much like the Darkness architecture we know. The green is a bit off, as the Pyramids tend to have more red, but green is also known to be Darkness-adjacent (Hive magic). I've been hoping that this is some sort of a Darkness planet that we'll get to see at some point, but it could also be something Hive related.

I'm pointing this out because these statues have clearly been an important part of the Darkness theme for a very long time and survived throughout the development of D2 until we finally found the first statue in Garden of Salvation. Considering that and the labyrinth symbol similar to the one from Season of Arrivals, I'm wondering about the heads too.

Anyway, I rambled off, but I wanted to include some info about how much this isn't just a random design, but a very deliberate thing and likely meant to represent something important, symbologically, as you pointed out in your post.

As a conclusion, have my video of the statue from DSC. I recorded it from all possible angles to document it in its entirety:

The Dead Venus, or "why the Darkness statue has big tiddies"

The Darkness is the Destiny universe's ultimate evil. When we finally entered the Pyramid in Shadowkeep, a space made by the Darkness, we found a statue of a large-breasted woman covered in a cloth. This is obviously a pretty weird image. Considering how proud Bungie seems of their visual storytelling and symbolism, and the care they've taken with the design of most of their female characters, I'd like to think there was a reason beyond "big woman sexy" for the statue to look like this.

This may very well be putting more thought into it than the designers themselves, but finally personifying their universe's greatest evil with a humanoid figure had to involve some deeper thought and discussion of the symbolism before they committed to it.

I think there's some really great symbolism here, and I'll explain below.

The statue is obviously not what the Darkness looks like, but instead it's a representation of what the Darkness is, or its beliefs and motivations. In case you haven't been marinating in Destiny lore for years, I'll give a quick summary of what the Darkness believes:

Crash Course in Darkness Theology:

- Conflict is the one truth of existence.

- The weak must die so the strong can prosper.

- If you die, then you've failed the great game of existence and proven the strength of the thing that killed you. (This is why necromancy and Guardian resurrection are great sins to the Hive)

- To nurture or protect something is a sin, because it prevents that being from being tested by violence.

Given those conditions, the Darkness is a god of death. Bungie could have easily made the statue a skeleton in a robe with a scythe and we would have gotten the idea.

However, given the Unveiling lorebook, where the Darkness sends us messages, it's clear that the Darkness often defines itself in opposition to the Traveler. It tries to convince us that charity, peace, and kindness lead to stagnation and decay, while conflict is a force that renews and improves life.

Let's instead look at the Traveler, and what we know of its values (with the caveat that some of these were explained to us by the Darkness in a mocking and dismissive way).

- Life can flourish when it's protected from violence and conflict.

- The whole of society will be stronger and more resilient if everyone is allowed to thrive, not just the strongest and most ruthless individuals.

- Violence is necessary only when it comes to protecting others, and should not be pursued for its own sake.

These nurturing qualities, along with the Traveler being called the Gardener, draw strong associations with a "mother goddess" figure. It's a being that guides and protects those under its charge, and sacrifices itself to keep them safe.

Here's my point: The mother goddess figure in many cultures is represented with a figurine of a pregnant woman, often called "Venus", even though the practice is older and more widespread than the Greco-Roman pantheon, going back to the Upper Paleolithic.

The Darkness statue has big breasts because it's supposed to be a mother goddess. But it's not just a mother goddess. It's covered up. Not with a robe, or a veil, but a shroud.

Symbolically, the mother goddess is dead. Instead of a nurturing parent, the statue represents the loss of a parent. A child forced to grow up too soon when their caretaker dies. A previously innocent and carefree youth being exposed to the true horror of the world through loss and tragedy. That is what the Darkness is.

The Darkness is a being that celebrates grief and pain as catalysts for change, and I think the statue does a surprisingly good job of conveying that, if you look past the weird first impression it gives.

[friendlyunclej]

Homebrew D&D Rules: Difference in Lycanthropes

     Within 5th edition D&D’s Monster Manual, Lycanthropes are simply described as cursed humanoids who can rid themselves of their affliction through a few spells. A slight difference is even described between a person who receives the curse through an attack and a person who receives the curse through bloodline, where their parents are both a Lycanthrope. Aside from a difference in how to rid themselves of their curse, nothing else is truly different. They’re both the same creature and, regardless of the method of receiving their curse, they can attempt to control it despite losing some of it during a full moon. In my homebrew campaign, I have two player characters who are a part of my adventuring group who are “cursed” with forms of Lycanthropy and I even have a guest who is now a separate form as well. Although I do love the current way 5e details Lycanthropy, I felt the need to modify according to how I felt best fit the world of Baicia. In my world, Lycanthropes change according to how they obtained their “cursed” blood. I describe the two forms as “Pure Bloods” and “Half Bloods”.

     “Pure Bloods” are the Lycanthropes who acquired their curse through direct descent from parents with tainted blood. As children, they usually grow up surrounded by others like them, training them to control their transformations as they grow. They’re transformations are painless as well and almost always unnoticed by themselves during their youngest years, relying on their parents to let them know. These parents could have received their “curse” by various means, such as a more powerful creature or spellcaster damning them. Alternatively, the “curse” could actually turn out to be a blessing instead, where an animal-based god or goddess decides to bestow their power on a rather exceptional worshiper. Either way, a Pure Blood Lycanthrope always passes their blood to their offspring, regardless of whether or not their partner shares such a curse.

     “Half Bloods”, on the other hand, are Lycanthropes who acquired their curse through succumbing to a wound they received from another. Unlike Pure Bloods, Half Blood Lycanthropes are racked and almost paralyzed with pain during their first transformation as their bodies contort and grow into the animal they received their curse from. Whereas the Pure Bloods received their moniker from their bloodline being afflicted by the curse from birth, Half Bloods received theirs from being born without it then violently mixing their blood with one afflicted by it. Half Bloods could only produce a Pure Blood child with a partner who is a fellow Lycanthrope, but, should they copulate with a partner who’s clean from the curse, they have no chance to pass their curse on.

     Pure Bloods’ offspring always receive the curse, whether the partner has the curse or not. However, they’re not always in control of what animal their child would turn in to. If a Lycanthrope procreates with a Lycanthrope of the same animal, their offspring would obviously be the same animal. If separate Lycans were to procreate, it would be a 50% chance on what the child would turn out to be. It gets even more confusing if a Lycanthrope has a child with an unafflicted person. If a Pure Blood Lycanthrope bears and births the child, it will take the animal of its mother. If circumstances are reversed, neither one of the parents knows what the child will turn into. Even if a Pure Blood Werewolf were to have a child with an average human, the curse are carried to the child but the animal is unpredictable, resulting in the child possibly becoming a Wererat or Weretiger despite their father being a Werewolf. Their transformations and control over their forms and desires mirrors that of their Pure Blood parent.

     The most stark differences between Pure Bloods and Half Bloods is their amount of control over themselves. Pure Bloods are usually trained from birth to control their urges and transformations, being able to transform and act with free will regardless of the circumstances. However, even if they were to be abandoned and left without proper guidance, they are still naturally resilient against the effects of a full moon. Pure Bloods also normally act closer to the alignment of their Lycanthropy curses, but, seeing as they can better control themselves, they can still act the exact opposite to what their curses may be. Half Bloods have far less control in comparison to their Pure Blood counterparts. Being transformed due to violence, they’re prone to violence as well, but they can try to control the beast within. 

     After failing the original Constitution Saving Throw to resist the curse, the character feels relatively normal until midnight, prompting their grotesque transformation. On the first night they turn, the player rolls a Wisdom Saving Throw against a DC of 12 to control their bloodlust. Should they fail, the player acts in a Berserk  state, attacking whoever and whatever is closest to them absent of remorse or regret for their victims. Should they succeed, the player controls themselves, but still feels a craving for blood and battle. If they don’t provide for their cravings in an amount of time determined appropriate by the DM, the player would have to continue rolling Wisdom Saving Throws with increasing difficulty. Should they practice controlling their transformations throughout the following days and nights, they should no longer need to roll Wisdom Saving Throws to control themselves when they transform and their bodies should be able to ignore the pain as well. However, during their first full moon, they roll against a Wisdom Saving Throw of 15 at disadvantage, the visage of the moon forcing them to transform and imbuing them with a bloodlust stronger than they had ever felt before. If they succeed, they control themselves but can’t change out of either their Hybrid or Animal forms until dawn.  If they fail, they’re trapped in a Berserk state for the entire night without control and memory of what happens. Unfortunately, even if a Half Blood is always in control during other days and nights, they can never rid themselves of how the moon affects them. With enough practice and training, they can reduce the DC they need to make stay in control during a full moon, but they will always need to roll for control during such nights.

     Lycanthropes have always been exciting and interesting to me, so I was joyous when I heard two of my players wanted to have characters who were part of those bloodlines. Of course, I created this after they created their characters., but it felt necessary as I wanted some more ways to keep them not knowing exactly what could happen. I found these rules to be best for me and my world, despite it adding complexity that some DMs might not wish to put up with. This just made the most sense to me, so I took the 5e books and found a way to edit them to my leisure.

[thatothercosplayer]

“It’s....it’s you!” Hikaru stated in shock. The ship’s occupant walked down the ramp, smoke licking at their heels because this is one of those really dramatic spaceships that has lots of fog machines. 

(A bit of a warning- there *is* a scene in here that’s a bit graphic and has wounds that might make some readers uncomfortable. If you don’t want to read it, hit Ctrl + F and enter ‘McFly’ to skip to the section after that.) 

------ 

As soon as she had finished speaking to her parents, they guided her to the capital. There, amongst the many buildings, lay the spaceport (and, by extension, immigration services. How narratively convenient!). After one last goodbye, Hikaru separated from her parents before heading inside. 

As the paperwork had been done, all that was left to do was to issue Hikaru her passport; alongside a wrist brace that would act as a translator and disguise to help blend in among Earth’s populace. It was somewhat bulky, but it clamped rather comfortably onto her arm. Looking it over, she noticed that there was a small screen on it that had ‘human’ selected in Standard. Situated next to that was a green, triangular gem.

Tapping it caused her appearance to change in a flash, creating a human form that would suit her personality. She was even wearing clothes to match! It was a lovely dress the same color of her wings (which were hidden in this form, obviously). Twirling in place, Hikaru found she was rather enamored with this device! 

Just then, explosions could be heard outside. It was an invasion- the Zangyack Empire had decided to target E5 Raptor, since it was on its way to Earth anyhow. 

Gormin began to swarm in, beating down anyone who dared to resist them. They were lead by Sugormin, and those were lead by an Action Commander. It was a creature that resembled a walking chunk of rock; not quite refined to be a distinct golem, but moreso pieces of some unknown mineral that happened to resemble a humanoid, if only barely. “Ha! Stupid birds! I’m gonna pluck ya all one by one! It’ll make a great coat for da boss!” 

The creature laughed, and immediately Hikaru felt an anger welling inside her. How dare they attack her home....! How dare they attack her people! Slapping the gem on the wrist brace again, Hikaru ran forwards and lifted off, slamming into one of the Sugormin with her shoulder and landing on it. She made sure to dig her talons into it. The blue beast flailed underneath her before stilling and silencing. 

“I’m....I’m warning you! You better leave this planet!” She declared, raising a shaking hand and pointing a lone talon. 

“Awww...ain’t dat cute! The little hen thinks she can fight! Alright, light dis place up boys!” The rockman shouted, and the Gormin began to fire indiscriminately into the crowded room. Hikaru threw herself at the rock beast, attempting to rend his stoneflesh with her razor sharp digits, but it was to no avail.

“Hahahaha! Don’t ya know!? I’m made outta Katchin, the densest material in the universe! You don’t have a thing on me!” Slapping his attacker away, the Action Commander stepped forwards, slamming a fist into the ground. 

Hikaru landed on her belly, barely managing to scramble out of the way of the invader’s attack. But she wasn’t able to get to her feet fast enough, as she found a rocky foot resting on her back. 

“Hoh? Looks like wes got a fine specimen here! Mind if I....” He snatched Hikaru’s wings where they connected to her back, and began yanking. 

“N-no! Stop that!” Hikaru yelled, clawing and scratching at the floor. 

“Oh, quit yer whinin’, ya birdbrain! Dis’ll only take a second here!” He began to pull more, and the Raptoroid’s wild attempts to escape intensified. 

“S-stop! Please! You’re hurting me!” She wailed, voice wavering. 

“That’s the point!” He barked at her. 

“S-someone! H...help...!” Hikaru begged, already beginning to get choked up as tears flowed down her cheeks. She could barely see straight- the pain was unbearable. Every nerve in her back felt like it was on fire; more and more she couldn’t feel her wings, let alone move them. Was this how it ended? Why wasn’t anyone helping? Was anyone even trying to? She couldn’t tell. 

“N...n-no...! Stop! St--” Her pleas died and gave way to screeches of pain as the Action Commander finally stumbled backwards, his prize in hand. 

Hikaru’s thoughts became duller and more brief until, finally, her vision went completely black, and she slumped to the floor. 

~ 

Hikaru slowly opened her eyes. All the chaos and din from earlier had seemed to go quiet. Only the flickering flames and occasional settling rubble could be heard.

She attempted to push herself up, but quickly dropped back down as pain engulfed her. Even just breathing hurt. “I don’t want to die,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to die....!” 

The Raptoroid didn’t know how long she lay there- her vision faded in and out with her consciousness. But...eventually......

“I found one! Over here!” 

“Is she still alive? Those wounds look fatal.” 

“She’s breathing, help me get her on the stretcher!” 

----

The former Action Commander waved in her face. “Hello! Ya there? McFly? Hello? McFly?” 

Hikaru shook her head, and immediately slapped him. This made him stumble backwards, raising a hand to his cheek. Feeling at it with his stubby, rocky, fingers, he stomped. “You....you cut me!” 

“Damn right I did!” Hikaru yelled. “Do you even remember who I am?!” 

“Look, lady, I’ve been all over the galaxy. Youse could be any one of a buncha palookas I done steamrolled, alright?” Popping his neck a bit, he paused. “Why don’t ya refresh me, eh?” 

“I am Hikaru, of the planet E5 Raptor in the Aquila System! You invaded my home and tore off my wings right when I was about to leave for Earth!” She raised a shaking fist, barely containing her anger. All these years....all these years....! “I never had a name to hate. I only knew your face. I would never forget such a horrid being- ever!” 

He let out a big, hearty laugh. “Oh! You’re that broad! You was so cute, flailin’ about like a chicken with it’s head cut off!” And just as quickly as he started, he stopped. “Well, my name’s Crush. Youse gonna remember that. ‘course, you, ah, ain’t gonna live much longer ‘cause you chipped my perfect visage.” 

“Crush?” Hikaru asked. “That’s your name?” 

“Yeah. Can you fit that into your birdbr--” 

“WELL, THEN I’M GOING TO CRUSH YOU!” Hikaru screamed as she lunged for the brute.

“W-what!?” Crush barely had time to react as Hikaru flew at him at blistering speeds, slamming him into the side of his ship. “H-how!? Youse Raptor guys ain’t stupposed to be this fast!” 

She hissed, digging her claws into his shoulders. “Maybe so.....but on Earth, I’m eight times faster....and eight.....times....STRONGER!” Hikaru reared back and headbutt Crush, right on the forehead. She made sure to dig her talons into his skin, too, dragging them down her chest. “I’m not running away! I’m going to pay you back for how much you hurt me!” 

Releasing, Hikaru flew upwards a bit, doing a quick shuttle loop before realigning herself and extending an leg outwards. “GOLD COMET KICK!” She cried out, her right foot smashing into Crush’s chest right as he pulled himself out of the giant dent he’d made in the side of his ship. The sheer force of the blow tossed him not only right back into it, but through it and out the other side. 

Swooping over the ship, Hikaru circled around Crush while she decided her next course of action. “Now, lady, see, uh, I can explain! I was jus’, uh, workin’ with those Zangyack guys! Y’know? ‘cause, they uh, they were payin’ well, and, uh, I ain’t sayin’ no to a good paycheck--” 

Hikaru zipped downwards, grabbing Crush by the neck and driving him into the ground, dragging him across the park at high speed. “I don’t care what your excuse is,” she growled, pressing downwards and forcing him more into the ground. She pulled upwards, making sure to smack Crush on the ground once before tossing him away. 

Crush pushed himself up, watching her fly above him. “N-now, Miss Hikaru, surely we can come to some kinda agreement here--” 

Feeling a blast of air move past him, Crush looked down to notice three giant slashes across his chest. “Uh oh,” he let out as another pass happened, this time hitting his face. This occurred several more times, each time increasing in speed. 

“I-” Three giant gashes across Crush’s back.

“Won’t-” Three massive talonmarks across Crush’s shoulders.

“COMPROMISE!” Hikaru yelled as she made one last pass. She then folded her wings and landed so hard that she kicked up bits of turf and clouds of dust. She did...she did the superhero landing. You know? The superhero landing. 

 Unfolding her wings dramatically, Hikaru stood, looking up at Crush. The sun filtered through the haze, causing her to shine. “I was haunted by nightmares of your little game for years,” she spat, taking a step forwards. “There were nights where I couldn’t sleep for fear of reliving what you did to me.” Another step. 

Crush began to take a step backwards for every step the Raptoroid made forwards. 

“You didn’t even think twice about what you did. You never woke up in a cold sweat, screaming at the top of your lungs because you thought you were going to die,” Hikaru glowered. 

She thrust an arm out and grabbed his neck again. Crush reached up to his neck, gasping for air. How!? How was someone damaging his skin!? He was supposed to be unbreakable! 

“Well, I’ll make a deal with you, Crush,” The Raptoroid let out. “If you manage to survive our encounter today....then, when you understand the pain I went through...” She bowed her head slightly, shadows growing on her face. “Maybe then you’ll remember me.” 

Still gripping Crush’s neck tightly, she beat her wings and flew upwards, ascending rapidly before letting him go. She watched him drop, before dipping forwards into a nosedive and and kicking him as she flew past. Pulling a quick English bunt, she came up from underneath and punched upwards, stopping Crush in midair with her fist. There was a loud SNAP as his back crumbled a bit (she’d caught him in the middle of the spine). 

Honestly, if you’ve ever seen a single episode of Dragon Ball Z, you know exactly what’s going on here. It’s just that, instead of warping to wherever and hitting Crush, Hikaru was flying over there faster than he was being tossed. 

Finally, she ended it with one big downwards spike. She hung in the air for a moment, before scowling. This wasn’t enough. 

She rolled her shoulders, before taking a deep breath.

Once again, she angled herself downwards, extending a leg in a kick....but this time, she also wrapped her wings around herself, creating a giant drill. 

Crush slammed into his ship, and Hikaru cut right through the eruption of debris, the drill carving right through her nemesis. 

A massive explosion occurred, engulfing both of them.....only for her to triumphantly soar upwards, freeing herself from the fire and the flames and carrying on (HAH). 

He was dead

As he should have been a long time ago. 

[ssatxr-archive]

expvrgction​:

Continued from here! @ssatxr

---

Ink-like shadows almost immediately caught hold of Midnight's lower leg sections, creating restraint in place. It seemed that whatever caught her, she would not be able to escape it at the moment, no matter how hard she would try to budge.

Before too long, a pool of seemingly burning, bubbling ink of darkness formed on the ground in front of Midnight. It was unknown yet what this unholy goop would shape into but the process certainly wasn't pretty-- She would see said ink getting shaped in extremely irregular forms, some limbs barely taking appearance, only for a bunch of audible cracks to be heard, as if this sick humor of unnature had bones.

...And the shadow, finally the shape of a man, manifested in front of the Satyr. His torso had some red markings here and there, and the eyes...

Those eyes. Red. They would burn their visage towards Midnight's pair of blue.

"Who I am is up to your imagination, mortal." Davoth, the Dark Lord of Hell began. "I take any shape and form as desired."

"Mmm, I can already sense it." He added. "Fear. And yours seem to be that of what lurks in the shadows. Or rather..."

"You're already seeing it before you."

As soon as she felt the shadows cling to her leg, she knew what this was. At least, she hoped. She bends down immediately, clawed fingers thrashing at her newly made cuffs, but to no avail did she get them off. The Satyrian’s spooked eyes turned to the bubbling ink before her, making her breathe hit. She had dealt with Shadow-beasts before, but none came to fruition like this. Surely...this can’t be one of a higher rank or status?

Even as the form became more humanoid, she couldn’t help but let out a weasel of a whine, bending as far back as she could in her incapacitated state. She made no attempt to make herself bigger or scarier, for she was already caught in her thoughts. From the outside, her form was shivered, ocean eyes interlocked with those bleeding, red suns.

Screams echoed in her brain, her own childlike one screeching to the farthest regions of her memory. They were everywhere--large and covered head to toe in ick, their neon eyes striking fear into her eyes. She had so much going for her, and they all came and killed many. They took away so much--

--No, she wouldn’t let those memories be the reason she dies.

Snapping back to reality, Midnight’s ears raise, standing back up with a fearsome growl. “You obviously have a form, Vi eta....” She sucks in a breath, letting her lip lower. She wouldn’t let anger be the reason she dies here. Midnight has ‘talked’ to Shadowy-people before! Hell, maybe this guy and Lennothan know each other...?

“Don’t talk about me when you don’t even know who I am! Who are you?!”

[ramajmedia]

Remnant: From the Ashes Review - Soulslike Gunslinging Takes Root

Remnant: From the Ashes brings guns and friends to the Soulslike table, and playthroughs remain engaging despite its several flaws and bad tendencies.

Darksiders 3 developer Gunfire Games' Remnant: From the Ashes is the newest Soulslike, introducing high-intensity gunplay and online co-op to the well-trodden genre while still aping a sufficient amount of Dark Souls series elements to fit the trendy criteria. This surefire formula means that combat and exploration are decently rewarding, but the game inherits its antecedents' worst annoyances in the process. Its post-apocalyptic story settles itself somewhere between the dark fantasy of the Souls games and the gritty sci-fi setting of The Surge without borrowing much from either, but its efforts to craft the caliber of universe, lore, and characters that defines the genre cumulatively miss the mark. Luckily, Remnant: From the Ashes's core gameplay loop is engaging and difficult enough to carry both solo and co-op players through to the end of a semi-randomized campaign, but it's a far cry from the infinitely replayable adventure that Gunfire touts.

Setting the stage on an alternate history Earth ravaged by an alien force known as the Root, a hive mind of tree-like lifeforms hellbent on the complete entropic destruction of life across all worlds. Minus the tree thing - which, at the very least, makes for some interesting enemy and world design on Root-infested Earth - Remnant: From the Ashes's story isn't exactly groundbreaking, retreading a tired premise that's been explored to far greater effect by the likes of the original Halo and Mass Effect trilogies. Of course, the Soulslikes' main quests are rarely particularly imaginative or well fleshed-out, so the unoriginal concept deserves a pass here. What moves players from one area to the next is the search for the Founder of Ward 13, the only one who knows how to stop the Root at its source on Earth.

Related: Vicious Circle Review - Messy Multiplayer With Potential

There are many attempts by Gunfire to contrive the mandatory lore that Soulslike fans crave and a few heavy-handed text logs that spell stuff out, but its the search for the Founder - the only one who knows how to stop the Root at its source - that sends players on a circuitous journey across multiple worlds to kill almost everything they meet. Most of the game is a blur of near-constant monster slaughter, and interspersed among protracted combat sections are a few moments where Remnant: From the Ashes's creativity is allowed to shine through. However, none of these moments really pertain to or enhance the main storyline. It's expected that the drama should take a backseat to gameplay, but even the most seasoned and cynical players will likely be surprised at how anticlimactically and abruptly the central plot thread slams the door shut on playthroughs after hyping up the ending over a lengthy course of playtime.

The barebones story's lackluster payoff does sour the final hours of a Remnant: From the Ashes playthrough, but the focal point of the game is obviously combat, which does a more than serviceable job of delivering players from start to finish without descending into monotony. Its emphasized gunplay is punchy and satisfying, and it feels consistently great to stagger rushing enemies with shotgun blasts and devastate harassers at range with precise headshots. Though weapon variety is fairly limited during a significant portion of most initial playthroughs, the six starting guns can be outfitted with a diverse assortment of mods that temporarily alter weapon behavior or grant player abilities after filling a damage meter. Melee combat is also an option, but it's far more situational than in other Soulslikes due to its lack of power and zero stamina usage, relegating it to crowd control and a risky method of ammo conservation.

Although it misses the chance to flip the script on Bloodborne's brilliant fusion of ranged and melee combat, Remnant: From the Ashes isn't shy at all about lifting most of its mechanics and ideas straight out of FromSoftware's other titles. Though most lack the nuance of their inspirations, there are tough-as-nails boss battles (blocked off by fog gates, even), an obligatory stand-in for Estus Flasks, a stamina meter, and a Bonfire-like system of World Crystals and checkpoints that enable fast travel at the cost of global enemy respawns. The prescribed approach is slightly subverted by exchanging risk-reward Souls for permanent experience and Traits, though it's hardly an imaginative change. Its biggest additions are gunplay and online co-op, the latter of which makes the game innately more fun despite seriously killing atmospheric tension and tipping gameplay balance severely in the favor of bosses.

In picking what Souls elements to incorporate, Remnant: From the Ashes chose to take after its forebears' worst habit: padding out boss fights with droves of cheap fodder. Confoundingly, this mistake was entirely avoidable. It was most present in Dark Souls 2 before being addressed in its sequel, meaning Gunfire had five years' worth of hindsight and still actively chose the worse alternative. It's a shame, too, because Remnant: From the Ashes has great boss designs and a few with some truly formidable move sets. Rather than give players a genuine sense of accomplishment after mastering more intimate battles against hulking opponents dangerous in their own right, the game instead over-relies on overwhelming players with frustrating quantities of common enemies. Remnant: From the Ashes's best bosses are those that deploy only a small number of additional elite minions at a time, but these gratifying encounters are too few and far between.

This approach of throwing large waves of enemies at players works a lot better in Remnant: From the Ashes's regular environments, and the difficulty here also scales much better based on player squad size. Mowing down scores of grisly adversaries is the name of the game here, and it's obvious that Gunfire went to great lengths to ensure that the core combat remains engaging dozens of hours in. The act of clearing areas of common enemies in normal ARPG fashion is regularly punctuated by the appearance of elite enemy types that require advanced tactics and greater firepower. These stronger combatants keep players on their toes and contribute to a consistently frenetic experience, and it never fails to spike one's pulse slightly when hearing the distinct warning sound and seeing the sudden Left 4 Dead-like rush of lesser foes that herald their arrival.

That said, this core gameplay loop quickly grows predictable, but that gripe can be attributed more to overly simplistic level layouts than to enemy patterns. Whereas most Soulslikes pride themselves on cleverly funneling players around complex, interconnected areas that build a sense of real place within their worlds, Remnant: From the Ashes instead settles almost exclusively for series of corridors of varying dimension. Coupled with the relative small size of disparate areas within each world, it becomes apparent that the game is so densely populated with hostiles in order to artificially lengthen the amount of time and resources needed to reach the next checkpoint. The feeling of being a monster exterminator is further reinforced by the inclusion of a mini-map that reveals paths as they're navigated. This concession was likely made to cater to the game's online nature, but it considerably dulls the thrill of exploring the unknown.

While its environments are shallow, enemy design in Remnant: From the Ashes is the full package. Non-boss enemies leave little to be desired in terms of their disconcerting visages and solid variety, and they're an effective vehicle for effective environmental storytelling. Each world sports unique collections of foes, and no faction outshines the Iskal on the primordial swamp planet Corsus. Brainwashed and enslaved by the manipulative Fairy Queen, the once peaceful Corsans have been made hosts to an incredibly aggressive species of parasite. When first exploring this world, shambling humanoids with amputatable legs at first seem like generic aliens. That is until later on while encountering eerily familiar Corsans that have yet to fully turn, culminating in the introduction of their more heavily affected peers that degenerate into their fully devolved form mid-battle. Gameplay-driven discoveries like are far stronger plot devices than anything found in the main story or flavor texts, and the game would be stronger overall if it had shifted its focus more toward this direction.

Even though it won't set the Soulslike genre alight with its well-implemented but ultimately minor additions and tweaks to the formula, Remnant: From the Ashes is an intensely compelling gameplay experience, doubly (or triply) so when played with friends. Even when it sabotages itself with its abortive narrative, cheap boss tactics, and undervalued enemy design, it still emerges from the ordeal as a solid shooter with a high amount of polish and decent replayability. Though it remains to be seen if Gunfire can fix the present issues and expand the game into the infinite time sink that the studio promised, Remnant: From the Ashes will no doubt inspire genre fans to hang up their swords and shields for some time in order to dive into a chaotic universe, guns blazing.

Next: Telling Lies Review - A Thoroughly Immersive, Interactive Story

Remnant: From the Ashes is now available on PC, PS4, and Xbox One. Screen Rant was provided a PC code for this review.

source https://screenrant.com/remnant-from-the-ashes-review/

[sethbarkan]

At last, a leader who can make himself and rules with ironclad rational and predictable logic

First of all, you must watch this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyVz5vgqBhE

Second of all, you must read this:

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2017/jun/09/lord-buckethead-elmo-and-mr-fish-finger-a-very-british-election

Third, check ouit this piece:

http://time.com/4812383/lord-buckethead-theresa-may-uk-election/

Forth know that LordBucketHead totally stole the show, the election, and the claim to being a candidate running on a platform that made any kind of rational sense in relation to Brexit, forcing Teresa May to enjoy a fantastic moment of nihilistic darkness, staring into the gaping maw of total, catostrophic defeat the likes of which are not often seen by any politician of any generation who posseses the reasoning skills of a brick. In this moment of true, stunning, “go fuck yourself” rebuke from these poorly thought out, party-based seppuku “snap elections,” Ms. May could at least be comforted with the knowledge that one shining intellectual light rose to great prominence in the miasma of xenophobic anti-rational philosophical madness that has been gnawing at the major forces in the Western civilized world (excepting France and Germany, of course).

Yes, Ms. May got to face her total trouncing by sharing the stage with LordBuckethead, a self-described robotic overlord from outer space - and candidate for Maidenhead seat. Lordbuckethead took home an impressive 300 votes (only a a tenth of any major candidate’s totals), but enough to earn him a spot on the dias alongside May, who - in stark contrast to Lordbuckethead - could make claim to neither his sane policy planks, or to the devotion and love that the general population feels towards him. It’s a shitty day in your political career when you are not just upstaged by a cosplaying refugee from the Internet in terms of spectacle, but are also soundly trounced philosophically, ideologically, and idea-wise by said cosplayer (Note: I use that term not diminuitively or as a disputation of LordBucketHead’s obvious credentials as a legitimate robotic overlord from space, but rather to impart a visual image of the legitimately glorious and awesome sense-making surrealistic absurdity of the moment). 

Behold:

glorious only in part as a simple goof or prank or stunt, Lordbuckethead firmly established himself in my mind as a candidate who brings much more to the political horizon than merely nanorobots, lasers, and good old fashioned iron-fisted totalitarian merciless robotic dominion at the hands of a heartless mechanical tyrant: in today’s rapidly swirling descent into a tornado of anti-sense (the actual open embrace of total insanity not from a position of panic, but as a lergitimately entrenched and “intellectual” political “position” on par with any other major moment of ideological shifts, except this one openly adopts  intentionally and knowingly any position so long as it refutes Science, rational thought, politcal sense, or rational reasoning) that is rapidly consuming our ability to have non-irrelevant-cause-its-fucking-insane discourse about any policy, position, or current event, LordBuckethead actually cuts through all the Trump-end-of-the-Enlightenment-Aloex-Jones-conspiracy-fueled-gut-opinion-as-relevant-as-actual-facts-or-rational-thought, with his glorious and symbolic visage. And then he starts talking... and your jaw drops, cause this obviously briliant anmd hysterical crank in a darth vader costume with a bucket over his head ACTUALLY MAKES TOTAL FUCKING SENSE. *Any* other politician or informed participant in any of the horrific spectacles of melee-asylum-rage-virus rants from the last 5 years (thanks roger ailes, koch brothers, and newt “I believe in absolutely nothing except the end of Democracy” Gingritch) could make these same points and be totally subsumed in the torrent of the big loud horror-crazy that rages around them... but... somehow, Lordbuckethead puncvhes through this static irrationality kill-kill-kill static distortion field, and BAH BAM: suddenly you find yourself listening to logical rational sound policy ideas... from an intergalactic ropot.

FUCKING BRILLIANT.

At this point, I’ll take anything I can get, cause Western Democracy needs it... desperately, lest we face the end of this concept of freedom (to say nothing of the rest of the world) within our alkl-too-brief potential lifetimes. 

Get in touch with the lovable intergalactic self-engineered humanoid quantum AI we will all be getting to know a lot more about over the coming months (after he cements his role as global intergalactic overlord, Earth outpost overlord) at https://twitter.com/lordbuckethead