#runed stalactite

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Runed Stalactite

When a changeling adopts a form no other changeling has taken, a rune appears in the caverns of Velis Vel to mark the event.

Artist: Jim Pavelec TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #11: Surrogate

“I don’t like this voidsent business,” the boatman muttered for what was certainly the hundredth time in two days.

Looking at the mouth of the sea cave as the skiff crawled forward, Locke was inclined to agree. It was tall enough to allow the skiff entrance, but only just, and thin enough that the boatman’s oars tapped the stone walls with each stroke. No sunlight found its way inside; their only sources of illumination were two dim fish oil lanterns. One hung from the front of the boat. Locke held the other, clammy, gloved fingers curled tightly around its handle.

“It’ll be easy,” Locke said, flashing a smile toward the boatman. Though he meant for it to be easygoing, he was certain it appeared strained. “Watch the boat. Let me do the scary stuff. I win, we leave, magician pays us. Simple.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” the boatman said drily.

Locke smiled wider and turned to look ahead again. Their conversation done, only the sound of the boatman’s rowing and water lapping against stone and wood reached his ears. If the voidsent had any of the magician’s tricks, like the whispering fog or the army of undead sentries, Locke couldn’t hear them.

The skiff drifted to a stop just shy of a rocky shore emerging from the dark.

Locke stood and traipsed his way to the bow of the boat. He set his lantern aside just long enough to brush his hands over his gear, ensuring he had everything: gunblade on his back, revolver and katana on his hips, the magician’s knife newly sheathed on his belt. His fingers traced the outline of the gemstone piercings in his ears, a silent prayer on his lips. “I’m off,” he told the boatman after a moment. “Remember. Do not leave without me. I’m coming back. Okay?”

“Of course.” The boatman made no effort to hide the skepticism written across his rough features.

Locke hopped from the boat, metal-lined boots clicking against the wet rock. He ventured forward without looking back, lantern held aloft to cast its weak light further. What he wouldn’t have given for his left arm to still be functioning. Useful as the lantern was, he wanted to feel the reassuring weight of a weapon, any weapon, in his hand. But there was nothing he could do about that. He shook his head and pushed onward, eyes narrowed to search the dark.

He’d been walking for a while, passing stalagmites and stalactites but otherwise seeing only smooth stone passages before him, when something struck his foot and rolled forward, clattering against the ground. A frown weighing at his lips, he followed the noise, lantern lowered to better aid his search. The light fell onto a long bone, picked clean, lined with teeth marks. Promising.

As he advanced, bones of different shapes and sizes became more common. Ribs, fingers, skulls. Runes started to appear on the walls, painted upon the stone in dull shades of rust. They slowly grew more complex, appearing in longer sequences and alien diagrams, surrounding them and filling the spaces between. Perhaps, Locke thought, Yiruru the little mage could make sense of them. But to him, they were merely a sign he was in the right place, as telling as a trail of wet crimson on Skatay snow.

“I smell a visitor,” voices sang, words carried to Locke by echoes. “Putrid death. Cloying blood. Mountain snow and cherry blossoms and road dirt. What has Father sent this time?” Locke lowered his head and pressed on.

“Does he approach with a bargain? Oh! I quiver! The anticipation is simply too much.” A frown weighed at the corners of Locke’s mouth. He itched to draw his sword, to silence the voices, but he kept his fingers on the handle of the lantern and his mouth shut. Swarmhas had insisted that the voidsent was not to be spoken to. Only killed as quickly as possible.

“I simply cannot bear to wait,” the voices crooned, hot breath ghosting across his ear. He whirled, lantern swinging, but he was alone. Teeth grinding, he continued on.

“Am I to wear you? Are you a surrogate for Father’s dear little seabird?” Laughter throughout the caverns, from every direction, as if the skulls scattered across the ground had joined in. “Were you deceived? Or mayhaps you were lured here by the promise of ending the tragedy he devised? Are you perhaps a noble soul, sacrificing yourself to reunite a poor old man and his sweet little girl?”

The passage opened up, and Locke found himself in a larger cavern, easily the size of an inn’s common room. Glyphs marked every ilm of the walls, the floor, the ceiling. They encircled the stalagmites and stalactites. They were carved into the gnawed bones piled high in one corner of the cave.

They stained the skin of the statuesque woman standing at the cavern’s heart.

“The hero is here! The damsel rejoices!” The Roegadyn woman mouthed the words, and a dozen voices spoke them. “She so desperately wishes for freedom, you see.”

The Roegadyn crossed twenty fulms with a single step. She paced around Locke, yellow eyes glittering in the lamplight as she examined him.

“Surely you wish to save her? To let me wear you in her stead?” Light fingers wandered across Locke’s shoulder, his upper back, coming to rest on his left arm, wrapped in dirty bandages. “Oh, but you’re no good. Poor, broken little—” Locke dipped low, lantern clattering against the stone at his feet, and swung his clawed hand upward in an uppercut. The voidsent returned to the center of the room in a heartbeat, glaring at him through a tangled mess of moss-colored hair and dark lashes. “Not interested in your rambling,” Locke spat, straightening and stepping around the lantern. “Not a sir-Roega-whatever or a hero. Not godsdamn broken. And you’re not gonna wear me.” His daughter is gone. She’s just a corpse on strings. A demon ghost puppet thing.

Locke drew the sword from the scabbard on his hip. Its familiar weight calmed him, slowing the frantic beating of his heart and easing the thoughts twisting in his head over and over like leaves atop a whirlpool.

The voidsent lifted a hand from its side. Mist coalesced, and a single-headed battle axe fell into the Roegadyn’s palm. It twirled the weapon once, haft dancing between its slender, callused fingers, as if it weighed no more than a stick.

“Steel yourself, little swordsman.” Locke scowled and took a middle-level stance. Viera and voidsent stepped forward and struck.

[ostensiblywhump]

For A Trident

Whumpuary day 1: sacrifice | headache | "this will hurt"

Word count: 583

Content warnings: blood, self-harm (for a ritual)

———(0)———

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

The smell of moss, wet rock. The stalactites, stalagmites, ones that cast strange shadows; the dim and darkness, where those pointed structures fade out of existence, outside the circumference of their single torch’s light. The damp, drip-drip-dripping, ever-present yet irregular noise. Her heart in her ears, her breath in her lungs. A shff, shff, shff, Aristaeus’ shoes gliding over stone as he paces. He really should’ve put on hiking boots.

She's delaying.

The circle, the runes, carved into the ground as if eroded into being.

“This will hurt,” Aris says, meaning: you can back out. Meaning: do you know the consequences? Meaning: don’t. (Please.)

“Now you’ve jinxed it,” Shingle doesn’t say, because Aristaeus widens his grin, bares his carnivore teeth in defense when he’s told that statements are a touch too close to divine proclamations if they come from his mouth.

“It will,” she agrees instead, because what can be done, in the face of too-godly decree? In the face of their translations, when they came across the runes for ‘mortal blood, willingly shed’? That disqualifies Aris outright—of the two of them, Shingle is the one more likely to die when killed, the one with crimson in her veins instead of copper. “It’ll be worth it.”

It will be. But again, delaying.

She doesn’t go for the holdout knife in her boot—that’s for any nasties later on, ones that can be stabbed. Instead, she grasps at empty air, and there, curved and single-edged, more cheese knife than combat blade, one rests in her loose grip. This one was taken from a bar brawler who didn’t deserve its quality, probably. It’s been a while, and the fight inconsequential.

Drawing blood from the palm is for people who don’t have to grip weapon handles later that are sweaty and possibly a little grimy. Shingle flicks a cut into the right side of her left forearm, fire searing up her arm into her brain, aims the welling red over the shallow indent in the center of the circle, like water sculpted out a dish instead of making yet another stalagmite.

She waits.

The first drop plipping down gleams in the torchlight—then glints, something grating or humming or both in the distance, and luminesces in its own right. By the second drop, the glow spreads, runes catching on that something is happening. The grating thrum gets louder. Something abruptly embeds a hook into her magic.

Third drop. She grits her teeth, as the hook drags, magic siphoning out of her. That isn’t out of the ordinary, and neither is the ache developing in her left temple. These things require a toll; she’s prepared to pay.

Fourth drop. The thrumming goes clunk; it shoves a spike into her eye and—and—

The sound isn’t loud enough to disguise the clatter, as her knife slips out of her hand.

“I messed up,” she doesn’t say. If she lets her bottom lip slip out from between her teeth to form words, the nausea will make her regret it. She can’t see the fifth drop landing, her eyes are scrunched shut and streaming tears, but it crackles through her whole body when it finds its home on the ground, the hook yanking harder, harder, her skull in a vice.

If the sounds Aris yells is a sentence, her name, anything, the pain turns it into torturous word salad as her balance finally fails her and her knees hit rock, her head following a split-second after.

[fatefulfaerie]

A Question Of Faith

“But Link, I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop him.”

Zelda had never not had faith in Link, which is why he looked at her the way he did now, at the way she spoke slowly and mournfully, cautiously and honestly.

Link laid down and turned over in his bedroll like a petulant child. Zelda, sitting upon her own bedroll, pursed her lips, green eyes sinking. On his side, he bent his knees, curling into himself. Zelda knew from experience that was not the way he slept, and the tense shoulder blades she was given a viewing of told her everything she needed to know.

“You’re only one person,” she continued. “I’m tired of pretending otherwise, like you’re some god, like you can handle all this without breaking a sweat. You need help, you need...”

Zelda hesitated.

“Well I don’t know what you need,” she continued. “But...what we saw today...I have the feeling the Master Sword just isn’t going to be enough this time.”

Zelda let her words echo in the cave as she pondered them herself, eventually deciding upon laying down on her back, staring up at the teeth-like stalactites. It was as if they were already in the maw of a beast.

Link’s silence spoke a quiet agreement. She knew him too well at this point to know that when he had an argument, he argued.

“I wouldn’t have chosen you,” she said.

It sounded terrible.

“Thanks,” Link mumbled.

Zelda’s chuckle was soft.

“No, that’s...that’s not quite what I meant,” Zelda said. “I know why the sword chose you, why Hylia chose you and I agree I just...choosing one person to save an entire kingdom...and someone so young at that. What happens to that person in the end? Do they dare to hope? Do they dare to love?” 

“What would you have done?” Link asked, to Zelda’s surprise. “Hyrule is doomed to face the threat of annihilation again and again until Hyrule is no more. You’re the goddess of these people that are in danger because of it. What do you do?”

His words hit hard and it wasn’t just the words, but the way he said them. Zelda twisted her lips, pondering upon what she would do.

“Cry,” she said eventually, so matter-of-factly that Link couldn’t help but smile in secret.

“Good answer,” Link said, turning in his bedroll to also look up at the jutting white stones. 

His fingers were clasped behind the back of his head and his unruly dirty blonde hair was out of the blue string. He preferred it that way when he was sleeping, even when mummified corpse of Ganondorf was through to tunnel to the left.

Link furrowed his brow when he saw that a certain divet in the midst of the stalactites was almost purposeful. He wasn’t sure, not being quite as much the linguist as his significant other, but he recognized it.

That’s what was odd.

“Did you say there’s no Hylian writings down here?”

“Yeah.”

“I found one.”

She was by his side faster than the magnesis rune recognized a metal sphere.

“Where?”

“Up there,” Link said pointing upwards, Zelda scooting down to lay next to him. “It's modern Hylian, too.”

“That’s impossible,” Zelda said. “This cave is thousands of years old.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

Link could hear the gears turning in her head, the blonde one that now brushed his. The word was two letters, coming together to make a word that perplexed Zelda, the simplicity of it.

“No?” she said. “Putting aside the question of how it got there, why just “no”? It doesn’t make sense.”

Zelda went to sleep that night convincing herself they were seeing more than was really there, like overanalyzing a fairytale or spouting into the skies that a cloud looked like a duck. Sure, if you squint it could be the word “no”, but it also could have been a coincidence.

Link, however, could not sleep that night. He silently stewed about the fact that the word was in his hand writing.

And how it might possibly be an answer to the question he had been asking in his head:

Can I stop him?

[rebockey]

Silly art full of dnd campaign references that only an audience of 10 will fully understand. If that, tbh. Even I don't fully understand what happened here.

--

Please don't make me do an image descriptio-

We're in the mancave of the Creature of the Deep, an Aboleth overlord of the passage of dead, aka Father or Dabby to the cool above-table kids. Reclined on a sofa that probably smells, Dabby plays the playstation with Sigrid, a monster hunter Ranger-turned-Fathomless Warlock who sports facial war paint, tribal tattoos and scars, and a t-shirt that reads Women Want Me, Fish Fear Me. She has lil pink sockies because she deserves pretty things. From Sigrid's outrage and the smug look exuding from the Aboleth's three eyes and huge toothy grin, it looks like Dabby's winning what is probably FIFA considering the green glare from the TV. Which is impressive, considering he's also smoking a joint, waving a cap that reads Kiss My Bass, spilling a bowl of crisps, dropping a Queen coin in Sigrid's drink, generally wiggling gleeful tentacles, and crushing a beer can over newly-employed Reika, a dark elf blood hunter who defends against the beer spillage while playing darts. She's looking great considering she's dead. And a werewolf. Around the room are references to the campaign including a wanted poster of everyone's favourite undead friend Qwyn, a Jaws poster (signed by Jaws of course), and a book written by Asmodeus on 'How to Win Conduits and Influence Mortals' resting on a stone table that's inscribed Property of Bardh Museum. How are you doing, listener? Had enough yet? Sit tight, about 40% more to come. A bonsai tree provides the only semblance of life in this room while a model ship with golden sails brightens up the place under an equally bright neon sign that reads 'My Cave My Rules'. Stalactites drip into buckets and make you realise just how smoky the room is and how dank and damp the walls and floor are - and is that a black humanoid cat creature peeping through a crack in the wall? Why yes it is! That's Moonlight-Through-Rain who explored some faint archway runes the last time she was having a near death experience. And by exploring I absolutely mean chipping through a wall out of curiosity rich on the hubris scale. But it's fine, since Dabby has since installed a bolt on the runic arch so there's no letting that curious kitty into the eclectic scene. There's also a rug here. Ocean colours. It doesn't have a joke, I just wanted to fill a space.

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever, once again <3

Hi Friends!!!

I'm swamped with holiday stuff, work for Skywind, fic, and also a significant novel collab I'm working on with a very dear friend of mine! Original, too! We're in the prewriting stages and I'm HYPED.

(This is why I am not tagging anyone on these, I have vanishingly few minutes for Tumblr.)

But back on the fic wagon, I have been working on both World Chapter 32 and an Untitled Ghost Story set in Morrowind-times, speaking of Skywind.

My same very dear friend and I have adopted these OCs from cut content in another project and I've decided to write him a fanfiction.

Veru Bavani belongs to Indoril Jinumon. Ulpar Enakul is, technically, both of ours. (:

The palindrome verse was Indoril Jinumon's work, originally, written for this character's dialogue.

The Ald Chimeris below was written originally by Strager (on AO3) and means: "You dare come here!?"

CW for canon typical violence and general spookiness!

Without further ado, under the cut, today's selection is from Untitled Ghost Story! 798 words.

Veru’s heart sank. Enemies from all directions, and this was how they treated their captives. She closed her eyes and bowed her head in a silent prayer, just in case nobody had bothered to remember this one when they were alive.

As she was recounting her verse, she could have sworn she heard murmuring and then movement in the air, as if someone had walked past. She opened her eyes and whipped around to check, but the corpse was exactly as she left it. Everything remained as unchanged as it had been when she’d discovered this place. A chill ran down her spine, air going cold—or so she thought. Was that her breath fogging? Of course not—it was as dry and overly warm as it had been for a while now. She exhaled through her nose and turned on her heel. It was a dead end, anyway. She would have to climb back out to the main chamber and try again. As she began her ascent, she turned and looked over her shoulder one last time. Wait—had the skull shifted? No. No. Don’t be stupid. Let the dead rest.

Back at the main chamber, she chose the middle path next, marking another Vehk rune before she moved on. This one was pristine in a strange way, the rocks beneath her feet smoothed over as if, long ago, it had once been a kind of road. Now nothing remained, not even an echo of the civilization which had made their last stand here. Nothing except ashes, if even that.

Veru walked for what seemed like hours, the gloom crushing in around her as she descended further into the depths. She stopped only to carve more Vehk runes, the first ever. This could have been below the citadel—the way seemed correct, the last she was able to determine. As she made her way, the stalactites thinned, replaced instead with high ceilings of twisted, once-molten rock, sharp and curled like the spiked armor on a dremora. The light of her torch did nothing to alleviate the oppressive vastness into which she could not see. Anything could be up ahead. Her throat felt like it would close in the silence, but it would not do to risk her voice now, when anything could be out there and so much was at stake. Gritting her teeth, she stepped carefully in time with the verse in her head. She drew her sword and adjusted her grip on the torch. The flame flickered, her shadow like a monster merging with the greater darkness. She inhaled deeply, eyes wide and watchful for any hint of movement. 

Swords, like words said with pride, cutting pride with said words, like swords.

Between one inhale and the next, something screeched out of nowhere in a rush of freezing wind which smothered the flame of her torch. Though blinded, she was prepared for something like this—some nefarious Dwemer abomination. There was another screech to her right, and with a yell, she struck out with her sword. She was met with the pale green-blue glow of a revenant, its sword locked with hers, ice crystals crawling along the blade of hers. His face was twisted in an ugly snarl, eyes not inches from hers as he advanced with all his strength.

“Ni kana shanta sino?!”

The voice sounded myriad, like a thousand-thousand souls had been woken from their slumber to scream the words. She didn’t know this language, and in her inability to respond, the spectre was thrown off guard, just so. It was enough. She parried, the sharp screech of ethereal metal against glass echoing out into the void around them. The ghost charged at her again, sword raised, leaving him wide open. Veru stepped left, dodging his strike only to stab into his ectoplasmic form from the side. A shriek unlike anything she’d ever heard before pierced her skull. She cried out and tried to block out the noise with her hands. The ghost disappeared and reformed feet in front of her, the noise of its scream still disarming her as it reverberated.

He raised his sword, and in a flash that stung her eyes to tears, flames sprung up around the perimeter of the room from sconces in the wall. Veru wiped the sweat from her eyes and rushed in for another hit. The ghost was faster than she anticipated, and struck out with the pommel of his sword, uttering another sharp shriek that seemed to come from everywhere all at once. The pommel connected with the side of her head, sending another explosion of pain through her skull, enough to pull the darkness back into the edges of her vision. She screamed and, though dizzy, moved in for another stab in the opening his ill-advised blow left.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

«SPELL-BOUND»   for the sender to use a spell to entrap the receiver.

"Oh, what a sweet, noble little thing you are." It's easy enough to make Butch move with the cuffs on his arms, a magical binding shackling him to the ones on his own wrists. The rest of Butch is bound in emerald thread, so he's restrained for the moment with glittering patterns across his form. The person dragging him along looks like Artair if he was rolled in dirt, had shoulder-length hair, and it lacked the usual gradient for just his yellow, with a few streaks of brown. That, and this body was healthy, filled out like he ate regular meals. But already, scales in a myriad of greens were beginning to grow in patches ion his skin, becoming more and more visible as his magical alterations began to fade and weaken. If anything he seemed stronger now, as he dragged Butch through a cavern opening.

"Your friend calls, and you come running. How...endearing." The saccharine voice pairs well with the too-wide smile, as they drag him further into the first chamber of the cavern. There's a bifurcation, and they turn right. "It's too bad. Really, you ought to have been more cautious, you are truly much too pretty to be dying this young."

The tunnel opens up from their downwards trek to a large open area, studded with countless stalagmites. Stalactites hang far above too, near the roof of the cavern. A circle of runes on the floor light an acidic green, ringing the perimeter of this large amphitheater. With a tingling thrum, the threads binding Butch are gone. Resonance yanks him a few feet further by the manacles before he can find his feet, letting out a laugh that's almost familiar as he forces him that last stumble. "But don't worry, I'm sure if you try so very hard you can make your escape. Go on, little cowboy, feel free to try."

CAPTURE MY MUSE! // @townofcadence

«SPELL-BOUND»   for the sender to use a spell to entrap the receiver.

Butch felt stupid, to say the least, for falling for such an obvious trap. The moment he thought he heard his friend in danger, he had sprung into action—only to find that it wasn’t his friend at all. In fact, he’s not sure what this thing was… but it sure resembled Artair in a few ways, albeit with a few notable differences that weren’t quite obvious from afar in the dimness of the night.

This wasn’t the first time he had been bound by magic and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, so he’s far from fearful—more so AGITATED by this unfortunate turn of events and even more so when the thing begins to taunt him as he’s dragged along off to god knows where. “Shut up.” Butch growls, struggling in his confines yet again despite knowing his attempts are futile.

Whatever this thing was, it had some sort of dark aura surrounding it—god, if only his senses were a bit sharper. Perhaps he could recognize what sort of magic this was, or what this being was in general and then he could ponder his escape with what advantages he might have had. Sadly, that had always been his old partners area of expertise. Fuck.

The cowboy makes sure to keep an eye on their surroundings, hoping that remembering the location in which they had traversed so far will assist him in some way when making his escape. If he even gets the chance, that is. He’s determined to free himself, he had been in rougher patches before—he’s sure of it! So there was really no need to panic, and he doesn’t… not until dying is mentioned, anyway.

His eyes go a little wide and a nervous laugh escapes him, and suddenly he’s much friendlier than he had been on the entire trek here. “Heyyyy now—let’s not talk like that! Heh—“ Butch swallows his disgust before continuing, “U-Uh… this… pretty lil’ thing can do other stuff too, y’know… y’don’t have t’kill me.” He tries, looking from his captor and then around himself as they enter a peculiar tunnel. What the…?

Then, he stops and Butch feels the threads binding him dissipate just before being thrown forcefully forward which indeed causes him to stumble, his tail whipping around as he tries to maintain some balance. He nearly trips but manages to catch his footing just in time, shooting a glare at the thing that had nearly knocked him over. That laugh is what really pisses him off… the fact that it sounded like Artair, it disgusted him. Among other feelings, he’s confused as to how and why exactly this is happening. Surely this guy knew Artair, right? It was no coincidence they shared scarily similar physical attributes, right? There was no telling at this point.

A growl rumbles in the back of his throat but he has to stop himself from saying anything he’ll regret; he’s in an awfully compromising situation after all. Maybe playing nice was the best course of action. It had gotten him out of many scrapes before. Gritting his teeth, he has to force a smile, scoffing loudly in response to the others mocking,

“Tch! Escape? Th’ fun’s jus’ gettin’ started, ain’t it? Y’brought me alllll th’ way out here,” He gestures around himself with his bound wrists, looking around as well before his eyes land back on Resonance, “…an’ y’want me t’ escape? Let’s have a lil’ fun first! Or ‘least make a game out’f it? C’mon, what d’ya say~?” His tone is playful now, free of any worry. He could put on a little show if it meant waiting for an open opportunity to escape.

[the-faramir]

Extinction Curse Session 2024/06/19 (part 1)

The Siege of Willowside

Day 3 (Part 3)

Midori sang:

🎶🎶🎶 You've run up to me to make an attack But I won't just take it, I'll strike you back! A pound of cure's worth an ounce of prevention So I'll slide over here to split your attention! 🎶🎶🎶

She moved to put herself on the opposite side of the sodden sentinel from Galon and stabbed at it from behind with her rapier, running the blade clear through its torso. It tried to swing its arm backward to hit her but missed. The creature collapsed onto the floor, blasting out its entrails. Midori narrowly dodged the fetid deluge.

Lysander followed up with a soothing spell on Midori and Buffy gave her a life boost while Galon shot a ki blast between the force cage's bars at the foes inside.

Angered even more, the undead pounded at the cage, breaking through the bars and escaping.

Midori sang:

🎶🎶🎶 Oh, undead with your fists of rage You've pummeled and pounded and broke through your cage We'll just have to secure you with stronger locks But until then, GO EAT SOME ROCKS! 🎶🎶🎶

She launched a telekinetic projectile at one of the zombies, killing it. "Ha ha! Yeah, that's right! Take it all, bitch!" The zombie exploded in a shower of guts.

Lysander sighted his hex blaster gun on another foe. He fired a direct hit, splashing flames onto the adjacent foe as well. He reloaded and fired once more, but missed.

Ignoring the damage, the two sentinels shambled over to Midori. One struck her, knocking her to the ground just in time to be missed by the second's swing. "Gah! They're swarmin' me! Help! Buffy!"

Buffy launched a rock at one of the foes, killing it instantly. "ONE FOE REMAINING!" she stated. Midori rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the awful shower of offal, stood up, and retreated to a safe distance.

Galon launched himself at the solitary sentinel, pummeling it with a flurry of blows. Lysander assisted with a shot from his gun. Still going, however, the zombie turned on Galon with a strong, sweeping left hook which knocked the monk to the ground.

Buffy finished off the foe with another rock. Galon was able to dodge the burst of organs.

"Wow!" Midori exclaimed, "that took a lot longer than I'd have thought. Well, line up an' I'll get to patchin' everyone up." She took out her healer's tools and healed the party's wounds.

The party searched the area, finding a cloak decorated with lizard scales. Examining it, Midori informed the party, "Hey it's like my clandestine cloak, but better! Anyone want it? Lysander? Wanna be less noticeable?"

Lysander replied, "You're our scout. It should probably go to you."

"Well," Midori thought for a moment, "I did just claim the rune from upstairs. Don't wanna be a treasure hog. But tell ya what: I'll give you my old cloak an' take this one in trade. Deal?"

Lysander nodded and took Midori's old cloak as she put the new one on.

"All right, let's move on," Galon advised.

"Yeah," Midori agreed, "maybe we missed somethin' in that cavern we passed. The one that worried you, Zookdar." Midori looked around, not seeing their gnome champion. "Zookdar? Where'd ya go?"

Hearing no reply, the party doubled back to the previous cavern. Peering cautiously through the entryway, each hero tried to find the safest way inside.

"There's a pile of bones by the inlet from the sea," Midori noted. "I could sneak into the cavern, go from stalagmite to stalagmite to the other side, an' see if anything's lying in wait."

Galon suggested, "We could just run right in and take on any enemy head-to-head."

Lysander shook his head. "I still don't trust this place. Hey Buffy, send out McBuffington to scout for us!"

Buffy opened one of her compartments, letting out McBuffington, her fae dragon companion, who fluttered quietly into the cavern. As she rounded one of the stalactites hanging from the cavern ceiling, a sharp-toothed maw appeared in the very stone itself, grabbing the diminutive dragon and crunching noisily.

Midori shrieked, "AAAAAH! HOLY SHIT! THE STALACTITE ATE MCBUFFINGTON!"

Another mouth appeared in the nearby rock, attempting to grab Buffy. The automaton moved out of the way just in the nick of time.

"Okay," Lysander nodded his head, "let's get the fuck outta here!" Before he could move, another mouth appeared in the stone beneath his feet, trapping him briefly until he was able to pull his foot out and take a few steps back.

Galon shook his head. "I dunno, guys, I'll fight a lot of things, but fighting the ground isn't high on my list of things to do." Another mouth formed at Galon's feet, biting him. He stomped at the mouth, but appeared to do no damage. Yet another mouth came out of the stone and grabbed Lysander. "Perhaps," Galon continued, "a strategic retreat!"

Still another mouth materialized, grabbing Midori and preventing her escape. She screeched in pain and shouted in panic, "THE FLOORS HAVE MOUTHS! THE FLOORS HAVE MOUTHS! We can't escape! That's it, man! Game over, man! Game over!" She attempted to escape but failed. She tried to strike at the mouth but it would not release her. She took a big, calming breath, and sang a verse to inspire courage:

🎶🎶🎶 Courage, my friends, find a way to get us out Their grasp on us is way too secure Then I say we take off an' torch the caves from above It's the only way to be sure 🎶🎶🎶

"Let's try this," Lysander suggested. He cast Symphony of the Unfettered Heart, allowing Midori to escape.

Stepping away from the mouth a grateful Midori thanked the skeleton. Buffy followed up with a spell to link Midori's steps with Galon's in the hopes that his greater strides could pull her away. "Okay, go, Galon, go!" Before Galon could move, however, another mouth grabbed Midori, immobilizing her once more. She choked out the words, "GAHH DAHH SONOVA BITCH!"

Galon sighed, turned around to run up to Midori, ripped her out of the stone mouth (fortunately not tearing off her legs in the process), and retreated down the hallway with Midori in lockstep.

The mouth holding onto Lysander gnawed on him a bit more. Midori shouted, "I'll save ya, Sander!"

🎶🎶🎶 Though the floors have mouths And, oh, nothing rhymes with 'mouths' But no matter how that may be We'll have courage to come set you free! 🎶🎶🎶

She attemted to hit the mouth with a telekinetic projectile, but missed. Sick of waiting, Lysander shot his way out and retreated.

Galon attempted to rescue Buffy in the same way he rescued Midori, but could not get the automaton loose.

Midori sang once more:

🎶🎶🎶 How do you fight a cavern with teeth? The mouths just come out above and beneath! But though you've trapped my friend as if with locks I'll smash your fucking smile in with rocks! 🎶🎶🎶

She launched another telekinetic projectile, loosening the grasp on Buffy and allowing her to flee.

The party gathered in the alcove at the far end of the hallway and Midori treated everybody's wounds.

[brightshaw-shipper]

Jack cautiously edges down the steep passage after Elias, flashlight clutched in his trembling hands as if to ward off an invisible enemy. 

“Are we almost there?” he asks. “I’m not good with tight spaces, or dark spaces, or-”

Something squeaks, probably a bat. Jack shrieks and fumbles his flashlight with an echoing clatter. “How much longer?” he asks, his voice a frightened whisper.

“Here it is,” Elias says, shining his flashlight into a wide-open cavern. “Check it out.”

His footsteps bounce off the cavern walls, making a sound not unlike the dripping of the stalactites on the ceiling. “Careful, it’s slippery.”

Jack enters the cavern, his own flashlight illuminating some sort of deep red crystal criss-crossing the stone in shining veins, embellished by indecipherable runes written on the walls in long-dried blood.

Wait a second.

“Eli?” he breathes, even the tiniest noise he makes magnified by the acoustics of the cavern. “When did you say this place was last opened?”

Elias, examining an altar shot through with the same red crystal, looks up at the question. “Um… roughly five hundred years ago, why?”

Jack approaches the altar, running his fingers across the bloodstained, rune-engraved surface like he’s touched it a thousand times. “Because I feel like I’ve been here before.”

(rb if you want a part 2)

Person A: “…When did you say this place was last opened?”

Person B: “Uh… Roughly five hundred years ago, why?”

Person A: “…Because I feel like I’ve been here before.”

[earthvitalsignimpact]

**Indiana Jones and the Shimmering Veil**

The icy wind bit at Indiana Jones’ cheeks as he adjusted his fedora and tightened his leather jacket. Standing at the base of a towering glacier in Iceland, he could see the faint glow of the aurora borealis dancing in the twilight sky. But this was no leisurely excursion. Dr. Heinrich Kroll, an old rival with a reputation for plundering sacred artifacts, had beaten him to a discovery—the Shimmering Veil, a mythical relic said to grant the ability to glimpse into other realms. Yet, this time, the stakes were higher. The melting glaciers threatened to expose ancient secrets—and destroy them.

Indy’s guide, Sigrún, a fiery Icelandic glaciologist and archaeologist, stood beside him, scanning the horizon. “The legends say the Shimmering Veil can only be found during the longest night of the year, deep inside the Ice Caves of Vatnajökull. But the caves are changing. The ice is thinning, collapsing in places due to rising temperatures. If Kroll’s here, we’re running out of time—for more reasons than one.”

“Then let’s make sure he doesn’t get his hands on it,” Indy said, slinging his whip over his shoulder.

---

### The Ice Caves

The pair descended into the glittering caverns, where walls of translucent blue ice glowed faintly in the light of their torches. The air grew colder with every step. Indy’s boots crunched on the frozen ground as he kept an eye out for traps—or worse, Kroll’s henchmen.

“Look,” Sigrún whispered, pointing to a series of runes carved into the ice. “This tells of a guardian that protects the Veil. Only the worthy may pass.”

“Worthy, huh?” Indy muttered. “Let’s hope it’s not picky.”

As they pressed on, the faint hum of the northern lights grew louder, reverberating through the icy tunnels. The sound was ethereal, almost hypnotic, and Indy shook his head to stay focused. Along the walls, carvings hinted at the Veil’s deeper purpose. Celestial beings were depicted mourning as their connection to the earth waned.

“This isn’t just a gateway artifact,” Sigrún murmured, tracing the carvings. “The legends suggest it’s a warning. If the balance between realms is disrupted, catastrophic changes could follow. And with the ice melting faster than it has in millennia, it’s a warning we can’t ignore.”

Indy frowned. “Glaciers retreating, sea levels rising, weather patterns going haywire—all signs of trouble. Makes you wonder what we’ve set in motion.”

Sigrún nodded grimly. “Average global temperatures have already risen by 1.1°C since pre-industrial levels, with Arctic regions warming up to four times faster. Iceland’s glaciers are losing nearly 11 billion tons of ice per year. At this rate, they could vanish entirely in 200 years.”

Dr. Astrid Einarsson, a renowned Icelandic climate scientist and historian, joined their group at this point. Her expertise added another dimension to their quest. “This artifact isn’t just about mythology,” Astrid said. “It’s deeply tied to Earth’s magnetic fields and the aurora. If Kroll disturbs it, the disruption could have unforeseen consequences.”

Suddenly, they heard voices ahead. Kroll.

---

### A Race Against Time

Indy, Sigrún, and Astrid crouched behind an icy pillar, watching Kroll and his team decipher another set of runes. The rival archaeologist was holding a strange amulet, its surface glowing faintly. The amulet seemed to resonate with the hum of the lights, creating a low vibration that reverberated in their chests.

“He must have found part of the key,” Astrid whispered.

“Then we’ll take it back,” Indy said.

In a flash, he cracked his whip, snatching the amulet from Kroll’s hand. Chaos erupted. Kroll’s henchmen lunged forward, but Indy, Sigrún, and Astrid moved swiftly, using the narrow passages of the ice caves to their advantage. Frozen stalactites shattered as bullets ricocheted, and the air was filled with the cacophony of shouts and gunfire.

They slipped away, clutching the amulet and racing deeper into the caves. The artifact’s glow began to pulse faster, guiding them like a beacon toward their destination.

---

### The Guardian

The hum grew louder until the trio emerged into a vast chamber. The aurora borealis streamed through a fissure in the ceiling, illuminating a crystalline altar at the center. Upon it rested the Shimmering Veil, a shimmering, translucent sheet that seemed to ripple like water despite being solid. The altar was surrounded by intricate carvings of celestial symbols and constellations, glowing faintly in the aurora’s light.

Before they could approach, the ice beneath them trembled. A figure emerged from the shadows—a towering guardian made of ice and light, its form shifting and ethereal. It raised an arm, and a cascade of ice shards shot toward them. Indy rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack. The guardian’s body glowed with the colors of the aurora, and its movements were both graceful and menacing.

“The runes!” Sigrún shouted, pointing to the walls. “They’re instructions!”

Indy and Astrid squinted, trying to decipher the ancient script while dodging the guardian’s attacks.

“Only one with a pure heart and the courage to embrace the unknown may claim the Veil,” Astrid translated aloud.

Sigrún stepped forward, raising her arms. “We’re here to protect it, not exploit it!” she called out. The guardian paused, its glowing eyes studying her. The chamber fell silent, the tension palpable as the creature slowly lowered its arm.

Kroll burst into the chamber, flanked by his remaining henchmen. “The Veil is mine!” he bellowed, aiming a pistol at Indy, Sigrún, and Astrid. But as he stepped toward the altar, the guardian roared, unleashing a blinding flash of light. The ground cracked beneath Kroll, and he and his men plummeted into the icy depths below, their screams echoing into silence.

---

### The Shimmering Veil

As the guardian turned back to Indy, Sigrún, and Astrid, its form softened. It gestured toward the altar. Indy approached cautiously, his hand hovering over the Veil.

“Careful,” Astrid warned. “No one knows what happens if you touch it.”

With a deep breath, Indy grasped the Veil. Visions exploded in his mind—glimpses of other worlds, ancient civilizations, and the threads connecting all life. He saw the accelerating retreat of glaciers, the release of ancient methane trapped in permafrost, and rising global temperatures driving extreme weather events. The Veil’s message was clear: the earth’s changing climate was not just a human crisis but a cosmic one, disrupting the delicate balance that had allowed life to flourish.

He also saw the scientific phenomenon of the aurora borealis itself, caused by charged particles from the sun colliding with Earth’s magnetic field and atmosphere. These particles, primarily electrons, are guided by the planet’s magnetic field to the polar regions, where they collide with atmospheric gases. The altitude of these collisions determines the colors seen. At altitudes of around 100-300 kilometers, oxygen produces green and red hues, while nitrogen at lower altitudes creates blue and purple tones. It wasn’t just a beautiful display—it was a testament to Earth’s magnetic shield, which protects the planet from harmful solar winds. This shield, much like the balance the Veil represented, was crucial to life’s survival.

In the vision, facts about climate change became more apparent. Methane released from thawing permafrost could amplify global warming by as much as 0.4°C by 2100. Sea levels have risen over 8 inches (20 cm) since 1880, threatening coastal cities and ecosystems. The frequency of extreme weather events, like hurricanes and wildfires, has doubled since the 1980s due to the warming climate.

He staggered back, letting the Veil fall back onto the altar. The sensation was overwhelming yet humbling, as if he had momentarily become part of the universe’s grand design.

The guardian bowed its head, then dissolved into the ice. The hum of the aurora faded, leaving the chamber in silence. The Veil shimmered briefly, then settled into stillness.

---

### Epilogue

Indy, Sigrún, and Astrid emerged from the caves just as the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon.

“What did you see?” Sigrún asked, her breath visible in the frosty air.

Indy adjusted his hat, a faint smile on his lips. “Enough to know some things are better left a mystery.”

They watched the northern lights fade into the morning sky, knowing the Shimmering Veil would remain hidden, protected, and a warning to humanity to restore balance before it was too late.

---

### References

1. IPCC, 2021: Sixth Assessment Report

2. Nature Climate Change, 2019: Glacier Loss in Iceland

3. NASA, 2023: Auroras Explained

4. Nature Communications, 2019: Methane Feedback from Permafrost

5. NOAA, 2023: Sea Level Rise Facts

**How Indy learned about the shimmering veil**

Indiana Jones learned about the Shimmering Veil through a cryptic letter delivered to him at the university where he was teaching. The letter, written in Old Norse runes, came with a tattered map and references to Icelandic sagas describing a "veil of worlds" hidden deep within Vatnajökull’s ice caves. The sagas hinted that the artifact held cosmic significance, connected to Earth’s magnetic fields and the aurora borealis.

The letter’s origin was unknown, but the handwriting bore a striking resemblance to that of his late mentor, Professor Reginald Mitchell, who had disappeared years earlier during an expedition in the Arctic. Intrigued and suspecting foul play, Indy delved into the sagas and geological records, eventually uncovering a historical trail of explorers and scientists who had sought the Veil but never returned.

When news reached him of Dr. Heinrich Kroll’s recent activity in Iceland, Indy knew he had to act quickly. Kroll's reputation for exploiting sacred artifacts for profit and power made it clear: if Kroll found the Veil, its secrets—and its potential dangers—would fall into the wrong hands.

**Exclusive Interview with Indiana Jones: "The Adventure Beneath the Northern Lights"**

*Reporter*: Dr. Jones, thank you for joining us. Your recent journey to Iceland’s glaciers has sparked worldwide intrigue. Can you tell us more about this adventure?

*Indiana Jones*: Always a pleasure. This wasn’t your usual treasure hunt. It was about more than just relics. The Shimmering Veil—an artifact tied to ancient mythology—was at the heart of it, but what we found was much larger than any single object.

*Reporter*: The Shimmering Veil is already becoming the stuff of legend. What exactly is it?

*Indiana Jones*: Imagine a relic so unique it feels alive. The Veil isn’t just a physical object; it’s a conduit, connecting realms, times, and worlds. Touching it was like seeing the threads that hold the universe together. It was beautiful and terrifying.

*Reporter*: There are reports that this adventure highlighted pressing environmental issues. Can you elaborate?

*Indiana Jones*: The Veil didn’t just reveal the past; it showed the future. The melting glaciers, the rising seas, the imbalance in nature—they’re all connected. Iceland’s glaciers are retreating at an alarming rate due to climate change. This isn’t just a local problem; it’s global. The Veil’s message was clear: if we keep disturbing the planet’s balance, there’s a price to pay.

*Reporter*: What role did your companions play in this journey?

*Indiana Jones*: I couldn’t have done it without Sigrún and Dr. Astrid Einarsson. Sigrún’s knowledge of the glaciers was invaluable, and Astrid brought a perspective that bridged science and mythology. Together, they reminded me that teamwork isn’t just helpful—it’s essential.

*Reporter*: Dr. Heinrich Kroll, your rival, was reportedly involved. How did that confrontation unfold?

*Indiana Jones*: Kroll never learns. He sees artifacts as trophies, not as the cultural and scientific treasures they are. He tried to claim the Veil for himself, but let’s just say the ice had other plans for him.

*Reporter*: The Veil is said to interact with the aurora borealis. What was the scientific connection there?

*Indiana Jones*: The auroras are created when charged particles from the sun collide with Earth’s magnetic field, funneling toward the poles and interacting with atmospheric gases. These interactions release energy in the form of light—greens, reds, and purples, depending on the altitude and the gas. The Veil seemed to amplify this natural phenomenon, making it both a scientific marvel and a mythological wonder.

*Reporter*: What did the Veil ultimately teach you?

*Indiana Jones*: That humanity has a responsibility—not just to history, but to the planet. The glaciers, the auroras, the ecosystems—they’re all part of a delicate balance. Ignoring that balance for greed or negligence could lead to consequences we can’t even imagine.

*Reporter*: Will the Shimmering Veil ever be studied by scientists?

*Indiana Jones*: It’s staying where it belongs—in the heart of the glacier, protected by forces we can’t fully understand. Some mysteries are better left untouched.

*Reporter*: Any final thoughts for readers?

*Indiana Jones*: Just this: adventure isn’t always about what you find. Sometimes, it’s about what you learn—and this time, the lesson was clear. Take care of the world we’ve got, or we’ll lose more than just artifacts.

---

*Reporter’s Note*: Indiana Jones reminds us that exploration is about respect—for the past, the present, and the future. The Shimmering Veil may remain hidden, but its message shines brightly for all of us.

[senkothewarlock]

DWC #7 (November '24 Ed.)

So, I kinda couldn't fit the prompt of peculiar or theory directly in to this one so oopsie :3c

Senko slid her hand into the robe’s breast pocket, located on the inside of her tunic, and just as swiftly pulled out a wallet like object, she opened it and retrieved four, roughly carved stones. She handed two to Abura, and then two to Zarester. The stones were a dull amber, reminiscent of items blessed by the Light, yet it lacked any potency or warmth the ascribed to said objects. Wordlessly, Senko gestured to her ears. A sign that prompted the two to slot the stones in their own ears. The stones flared with a yellow light as they sat neatly, blocking any sound from penetrating their ears. Senko ran a claw over her ring, the dial of runes turning.

“Until the ritual is done, you will hear only my voice. I apologise for the lack of warning; however, the sounds can be quite harrowing. Even for you, Zarester.” She said, dipping her head after she spoke. “I would hate for either of you to experience the pain our fuel will soon feel.”

Senko raised both hands, more in a theatrical gesture as opposed to needing the full span of her arms as the crystal rose up into the air. The wretched soul of the Viceroy still writhing in agony before its sight fell on Senko once more. Palpable fear supressed the pain in the Sethrak’s soul as the litany began.

The demoness’s song began. A shriek tone to start the supplication rang out across the cavern. The cave’s natural acoustics causing each syllable to crash into the ‘workers’ as whatever methods Aburasozo used to keep them placid begun to break. Chains of fel and bindings of shadow would squeeze and crack as they tried to use their last ounce of strength, having been worked to the bone, to break free. It was not enough. No where near enough.

The turbines beneath the platform sped up, the sounds of the machines adjusting. The signature ‘thwoomp’ of thick, heavy blades began to form a drumbeat to Shahrathal’s sick symphony. Her eyes wide with a level of fervour seen only in the most militant preachers the Draenei could dream of; her upper two hands began to direct the flow of her words and magic up and down, flashes of fel energy would flash out as souls slammed into the turbine blades, only to be spat out.

With each batch of souls the turbines processed, an upward flick of the Shivarra’s wrist sent them spiralling into the stalactites, which burned with malignant magic. Whatever energy wasn’t channelled into the ceiling instead snaked along the floor’s runes, crept up the rocky promontory, and coiled around the base of Senko’s staff. The whirr of the blades began to deafen out the screams that still remained, until there was none.

Senko reached up, detaching her faceplate as she brought the crystal prison of Ts’kon closer. Her tone reflecting a cruel satisfaction as she wore a twisted smile and spoke: “I am a lady of my word, this is goodbye. A pity, isn’t it? You sought to rule an empire, yet here you are, the cornerstone for my own.”

Her hands began to burn with green fire as she gazed once more, for the last time, on the crystal. She clenched, burning the soul in the fel as the raw energy from the caverns began to direct themselves into the prison. The agonising howl of what was once a myriad of Sethrak began to slam into the soul of Ts’kon. His people, his failures, merging into one as the tormenting ritual continued.

As Aburasozo and Zarester watched on, shuffling closer to each other in some sort of primal desire to protect each other, the crystal began to glow with the intensity of a hundred fires. Senko directed it down towards the door that split the necropolis from the caverns. The raw energy contained within would soon spurt out, causing crackles of green lightning to scorch the floor, a sign that Senko was thankful for as she sped up the proceedings.

With a hand, she began to spool out the potent magic and directed it into the emerald throne. She gestured for the witnesses to follow her, leaving the priestess to perform her rituals undisturbed. The throne shook with energy and wisps of faint fel wafted off the polished surface. Senko, turning on her heels to smile at the duo, reached into her other breast pocket and pulled out a strange cylinder – no bigger or wider than a can, and placed it beneath the large hole in the ceilings above.

A groan, growling from the throne was heard. Several sparks of magic became animate from the Bat'azul's side-rooms of crypts and magician closets. Traces of arcane, of necromancy, of shadow and the elements began to cluster up into a congealed stream of confliction at the base of the object Senko had thrown. Still wearing a smirk, Senko took in a deep breath of relief that everything was going as she had planned.

Enraptured by her marvellous might, Senko did the last stroke of her plan. Every soul of the snake-men had been drained, processed and torn through a combination of dark magic, black litanies and technological horrors. Processed through runic circuits and stalactites to build up the speed of the spell. Merging with the soul of a broken man with imperial ambitions and burnt into the throne made of the crystalised blood of her mentor. For a brief moment, a self-indulging thought of dark temptation whispered into her mind: The world was lucky she had no hate towards it.

“Aburasozo,” She began to speak, finally addressing her guests. “I promised you a return on your investment, did I not? The talents of gold you so desire?”

Before any further words were spoken, Senko reached out a hand, gently pushing one final strand of fel into the cylinder. In an explosion of colour and warmth, a shard burst out the top, suspending itself by sheer will. The magic in the room began to flood into the shard, acting as a beacon towards all magic as Senko took a few measured steps back. The room shook slightly, as the shard vibrated with chaotic power before firing a beam of fel and soul up into the highest ceiling. Each layer it zipped past, the sound of screeching magic got louder until…

It hit the top. In a burst of chaos and fire, soul and spirit, the blackness of space revealed itself. Reforming the vista, like a pond of water that had recently been disturbed. The flash of green illuminated the entire necropolis as the trio gazed up, two in awe, the last in grim joy. As if being pulled back by some unseen force, the view of a large rock became the focal point of what the rift was showing before the cold air of space rushed into the necropolis.

“There is more gold in the stars than dreamt of on Azeroth. By my word, I have led you, by my spells I have shown you. By your Sethrak, I shall make you fortunate.” Senko said, her eyes shimmering with the faintest flicker of green that went so far as to dance on her scars. “Submit the workers I have asked for, and in three years you’ll have more money than a Kezani cartel.”

Aburasozo gazed up at the stars for a few moments. Counting the flickering lights and rocks that swam past the portal. She took a few breaths, consolidating her thoughts and feelings. It was a tumultuous mind she now carried. On the one paw, she felt guilt. Her carefully disguised and well-maintained thoughts on ‘re-education’ had shattered and she now fully had to accept the fact she was now a slaver of slavers.

On the other paw, however, Senko was right. Did the Sethrak truly deserve such mindless slaughter? Faithless and devoted alike? She did not know, but she did know and now had seen the horrors they inflicted, and the lack of action the world took. Senko was no saint, she was a devil in butterscotch fur that all in the room had made pacts with, but not once did she lie. Not once did she mask her intensions.

Perhaps in the presence of someone so readily willing to commit evil had swayed her, or perhaps it was simply seeing the honesty of her kin that made her realise what she was, what she truly was: an exploitative magnate, seeking nought but gold.

“You name it, Senko, you get it…” Abura said, her eyes narrowing on the spectacle of space, her paw offered to shake the Warlock's. A paw that was quickly taken and shaken.

However, in the background, Zarester had hidden herself in the shadows. She had seen and heard of the exploits of her boss, but to have the images flashed into her mind, to see first hand she is capable of, and took pleasure in doing such acts churned her gut. Perhaps it was time for a new job.

"Now! Go forth, my demons. Take the rock. Cleave any who stand in your way for me!" Senko’s words rang with unrelenting power, her command echoing like a battle cry. Felguard after felguard leapt into the beam of fel, riding upwards through the portal…

The End.

[sylverra]

Rolling right along with another update!

A couple points of news first:

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Amethyst stalactite slice necklaces

1.25" Angelite pyramids

Poplar wood runes with carrying bag

Tumbled nuummite

Hematite worry stones

Polychrome (desert) jasper palm stones

Zebra amber hearts

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[snarksideoftheloon]

E.g. Runed Stalactite already in Lorwyn block.

If/when - cards that grant the changeling ability?

When. Note we’ve already made some.

[reubenyeoart]

Changelings of Littjara

So I really love Kaldheim and the stuff associated with the Magic: the Gathering expansion, Kaldheim.

That being said, there's a bunch of changelings in Magic that aren't flavoured with Kaldheim's brand of changelings and I wanted to try my hand at changing that, so this post will collect a series of doodles that I did over the past 5 days, that involve these changelings from Lorwyn and Modern Horizons reflavoured to match the Changelings of Littjara.

Ameboid Changeling

Ego Erasure

Mothdust Changeling

Shapesharer

Turtleshell Changeling

WIngs of Velis Vel

Chameleon Colossus

Changeling Titan

Game-Trail Changeling

Webweaver Changeling

Woodland Changeling

Amorphous Axe

Birthing Boughs

Runed Stalactite

Mutavault

Which one should I paint to completion, and would you like to see me tackle the changelings in the other colours (white, black, red, and the multicolour ones)?

[driftward]

Title: Pain and Scouting in La Noscea Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Klynt Gohtawyn Rating: Teen Summary: If Zoissette will not take care of herself, she has no shortage of people in her life who will at least try to make her feel bad about that. Notes: Not sure if I will consider this canon or not. Testing some feelings I have about gunblades and the fairy familiar, and trying to find a voice for the latter.

Zoissette and Klynt stayed low and out of sight behind a rock. Neither knew for sure how many hundreds of yalms the cave system stretched under La Noscea, but they could be reasonably certain no patrols would be coming by where they were. Zoissette was sitting down, leaning her back against the rock, legs bunched up close to her as she drew diagrams in her codex. Klynt, for her part, stayed crouched, sneaking a peek out every once in a while to check the area.

Zoissette shifted her weight, and winced as she did so, regretting the motion. A moment later she doubly regretted it, for she happened to do so just as Klynt was stealing one of the many glances she had been aiming in her direction since they had entered the caves. Zoissette tried to adjust her grimace into a grin as she turned her face to Klynt, but Klynt just shook her head and stuck her head out for another glance around.

"How long is she gonna take," grumbled Klynt as quiet as Zoissette knew she knew how.

"Patience," chided Zoissette, as she reached up to tap the side of her glasses. A little number, rapidly dropping, appeared in her field of view. "...she is coming back to us now."

A moment later her fairy familiar, Lavender, zipped in, moving from high along the cavern ceiling where the pirates that were in the caverns were unlikely to look up to see, weaving between stalactites before dropping down from right above Zoissette and Klynt. Klynt barely spared her a glance, while Zoissette held her codex flat and open in front of her. The fairy landed on the pages, and placed her palms against them as she did so. Immediately runes began to appear above the page, taking the shape of the caverns, and showing the positions of the various pirates and others that Lavender had seen on her travels.

Zoissette frowned, carefully scanning the simulacrum as it formed. She gestured to Klynt, who shifted to crouch nearby and take a look.

"Looks like we got two paths," said Klynt.

"Concur," said Zoissette. She traced her finger along one, and it glowed a faint orange as her finger passed through the image. "This route is shorter, by a fair amount. We should be able to traverse it faster."

Klynt looked meaningfully at Zoissette for a long moment. "More patrols, though. Yer still getting used to that gunblade. And only just barely got cleared for fightin' again. We should take the longer path. Almost nobody that way, and it'll be easier for you to take better care of yourself."

"I apologise," said Zoissette. "I seem to have forgot. What manner of tart was it you wanted brought back for you from the Bismarck?"

Zoissette looked cooly at Klynt, and tried not to wince when another pain shot up her side. Klynt, for her part, frowned.

"I can get my -own- stuff when we stop by the Bismarck. Iffen we can even spare a moment after we get done here, the way yer pushin' yerself. And why the bloody hell would I get a - oh."

Klynt huffed while Zoissette put on her best innocent face.

"My mistake, Klynt. For a moment there, I thought I was speaking with Archon Y'shtola. You sounded just like her."

"Fine. See if I care," groused Klynt, sticking her head up again to look for patrols. Zoissette nodded, and looked to Lavender.

"Alright. You will stay with Klynt as we make our way through here. I can use the conjury cartridges and the two mana shield cartridges to keep myself well and hale while you tend to any injuries Klynt sustains. We should be able to surprise the first patrol here, and -"

As she went along, she could feel the slight undercurrent of emotions from the connection she shared with Lavender. She felt the familiar's concern, as well as annoyance and more than a bit of recalcitrance. She looked up and frowned at her, just as the fairy crossed her arms and frowned right back.

"What? I have not even gone through the entirety of my planned strategy."

Lavender flitted down to the book, and looked back at Zoissette sternly as she pointed at the other, longer path.

"That will take longer," said Zoissette. "My plan has us moving faster, getting to the tidespear faster, and most importantly, getting us out faster."

The fairy crossed her arms once more, and stuck her chin up in the air at Zoissette. Rather like Archon Y'shtola, really, but she had made that comparison once already.

She did not glance up as she noticed Klynt move off, figuring that her friend had simply spotted something of interest and would be back shortly. On the image that still hovered above the codex pages, the fairy swiped her hand through the orange path that Zoissette had highlighted, dispelling the color, before walking along the longer path, turning it orange instead.

Zoissette waved her hand through the image, dispelling the highlight on the longer path, and once more highlighting the shorter path.

"We must be quick about our work in here. We simply must consider that they have patrols outside as well who are like to return while we waste time in here."

The fairy frowned and shook her head.

"... okay, it is unlikely, but still not outside the realm of possibility. I cannot fathom why you are so insistent on the longer path."

The fairy tilted her head, and then pointed meaningfully at her arm, then to the left side of her navel, then to her opposite leg, then to her hand, then to her - all locations where Zoissette had, not so long ago, had to be stitched back together. Bones set, muscles reknitted, and other attentions she was still feeling the effects of.

Zoissette wanted to cross her arms right back, but she had to hold the codex open, so she settled for mimicking Archon Y'shtola and jutting her chin out at the fairy.

"Oh, so I see I have also brought Archon Urianger with us," she said. "Less admonishments and pointed words, more sighs and long looks and crossed arms and attempts at meaningful looks and gestures from across the room. I am fine."

Putting off Klynt was one thing, Zoissette knew. Klynt would let her, for one. Trying to do so with Lavender was quite another, and the fairy put her hands on her hips and shook her head vigorously at her.

"Fine then," said Zoissette, looking at the paths again. "Compromise. We go this way," she said, marking a path that was a light grey. That meant Lavender had seen down it, but had not actually traveled it. "How many did you see when you looked down this path?"

The fairy held up three fingers. Zoissette nodded.

"Klynt and I can handle that."

The fairy clenched her fists at her side and looked annoyed.

"What? It is a little longer than the path I would like, but three instead of a dozen seems like an improvement to me, do you not agree?"

"Actually, there's four down thataway."

"Ah. Thank you, Klynt, for scouting that out during my lovey discussion with Lavender. Let me just update the map, and -"

Zoissette paused. Something was wrong. That voice sounded very off. She slowly turned her head upward to see a Roegadyn woman standing over the rock, looking down at her and Lavender with an distantly interested expression on her face.

"...You are not Klynt," said Zoissette.

"I am not Klynt," the woman agreed.

Zoissette's hand went slowly for her gunblade. "I do not imagine I could convince you to surrender?" she said, grinning nervously. Lavender took to the air, beginning to pull aether to herself.

The woman glanced up, and then suddenly ducked down behind the rock.

"Might could. Maybe call off Klynny though before she turns me into a Miq'abob, aye?"

Zoissette looked around, and saw Klynt had tucked herself further back into the caves. But not so far back that she did not have space to be able to throw her spear, which she was now holding in her hand, held back and ready to absolutely murder someone with.

"Lavender, go see if you can get Klynt to stand down before she stabs our new friend," said Zoissette. Lavender nodded and flitted off to Klynt.

Zoissette glanced around the edge of the rock she had been hiding behind, holding her side as a pain shot up while she did so. She resolved to continue to ignore that.

"Friend of hers?" asked Zoissette.

"Aye. We served together under a real cuss," said the Roegadyn woman. To her credit, she kept her weapons out of her hands, but seemed content to keep the rock between her and Klynt. "How's she these days?" the Roegadyn asked, conversationally.

"Oh, well. Fussing at me in place of - well. Never mind that. She is well, anyroad," said Zoissette.

"Mmm," the other woman said.

Klynt ambled over, spear still in her hand, ready to strike.

"Best come out slow," said Klynt. The other woman did so, moving slowly, keeping her hands out where Klynt could see them.

"...Rhysgeim?" said Klynt.

"Aw, thank the navigator, I was hopin' ye'd remember me," said the other woman. Rhysgeim. Zoissette made a mental note. And then she wrote down an actual note.

"The bloody hell are you doing down here with these third-rate pirates!" Said Klynt, grinning. "I thought ye'd do better than this. Hells, you had the good sense to get out 'fore I did. Part of why I eventually got the stones to leave."

"Aw, well, you know how it is. Hard to find your fortune when you've a reputation as a turncoat and a coward. But look at you, palling around with the Warrior of Light!"

Zoissette relaxed as the two conversed, sighing, and resting her back against the rock they were supposed to be using for cover once more. She looked over at Lavender flitted down, and landed on her knee, sitting primly.

The two glared at one another, but Zoissette winced as another chorus of pain shot up her side, and she grumbled.

"We are going to talk later," said Zoissette. She sighed. "...but maybe you are right. Klynt, ask your friend about what we were talking about with which path to choose, maybe we can get out of this without too much fighting or trouble."

"Sure," said Klynt, barely interrupting her conversation to do so.

Zoissette just closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Her friends and even her familiar sure were a pain sometimes. But, perhaps, that was for the best.

[novantinuum]

Wip Wednesday, 9/14

It’s been a hot minute! Today I have a snippet from a short something I’ve just started- which will be related to my personal theories about the set-up of Tears of the Kingdom. Enjoy!

___

Head pounding.

Crisp winds biting.

His whole body, immobilized and pierced by thin needles of burning pain.

Link’s eyes snap open, heaving for breath amidst the throes of disorienting panic. His bare shoulders begin to quiver from the stagnant cold. H-he’s… he’s been stripped to his undergarments, it seems. But by who? And for what purpose? It all seems… unsettlingly familiar…

 (Unwanted fragments of memory swirl within the boundless cauldron of his mind… flashes of blinding light, of stabbing agony, of a darkness so consuming it held him prisoner for well over one hundred years… Link. LINK. Open your eyes—)

A stray bolt of discomfort rushes up the length of his right arm, drawing a hoarse and shaky gasp from his raw throat.

“Zelda?” he croaks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

But there’s no response, true to his fears. No evidence of any life ever existing within this damned cave beyond the faint glow of chiseled luminous stone inset at strategic points across the vaulted, splintered ceiling, and the sonorous echoes of water droplets falling from the stalactites above.

He’s completely and utterly alone.

Fat, hot tears begin to brim at the corner of his eyes, which he swiftly  blinks away. No, no, no. Not now. Stars, not now. This is not the time. Groaning with the effort, he manages to roll himself over on his side, preparing to push himself to his knees. There’s so much work to be done. H-he needs to take inventory, to retrieve his sword, to gather what remaining supplies he can find, to somehow stake his way out of here—

Link freezes, only his right arm propped up under him. His features distort into a horrified grimace. This arm… what on—? What happened to his arm??? His heart pounding in fervent oblivion, he reaches a shaking hand to investigate the alien protrusions and recesses of this transformed limb. His skin has become stone-like, blackened like coal. Starting mid-bicep, thick bands of gilded gold spiral down across his arm, the thin wiring inlaid at their core— almost like some sort of ancient circuitry— pulsing a faint green. His nails jut out into sharpened, deadly points. Experimentally, he flexes these fingers, the broad rings separating each digit delicately clinking together upon contact. On the back of his hand is an illuminated rune, inlaid in a thick circle of metal. His vision grows faint. What few thoughts still remain fluid within his mind pirouette in dizzy circles like he’s just gotten clobbered by a bokoblin’s bat.

What is this— why is he—?? His arm, i-it… it looks ominously like that mysterious glowing hand that was holding that gruesome, skeletal man in place, right before the malice swarmed into this chamber like some cursed tidal wave and the monster finally broke free of his—

“Link…” a faint, almost hissing voice intones from somewhere above.

His shoulders seize, the hairs at the back of his neck rising. So he’s not alone after all, then.