#runes made of clay

[rosethewitch]

Make elder futhark runes with me! It's super fun and easy.

You'll need:

1. Half marble gems

2. Oven dry clay

3. A paint pen, or permanent marker in a color of your choosing.

Choose a small clump of clay, use your intuition about how much of it you need. I like to roll the clay into a ball first. The only thing about this is you need enough of it to form neatly around the half marble.

Go ahead and do that, into a coin shape.

Repeat till you have 24!

It's oven bake, so pop these bad boys onto a baking sheet covered in aluminum foil, and preheat your oven to 270° and stick them in for about 15 minutes.

After, don't worry about if they're still a little soft. Give them time to set and cool off and they should be good and done by the time they are completely cooled.

Here's a picture of the elder futhark alphabet I found on google.

Proceed using your paint pen, or marker, or whatever inspires you to get it down. Don't worry about perfection! Just have fun.

Let that paint dry, and bless them/cleanse them as you see fit. Have fun with your new runes!

[teddydeer]

♡ds game clay magnets♡

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Between A Rock And A Hard Place

Male Yandere Human-like Golem x Gender Neutral Human Reader (CW: Noncon, huge dick, golem man, magic, fatal violence towards bandits, spit used as lube, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 1.8k (Sorry this took forever, was originally going to be a drabble and then kinda got away from me, hope you all enjoy huge dick golem man.)

The small town that you lived in, Somnheim, had been victim to a swathe of horrible luck. Raided by bandits, packs of beasts killing livestock, and enemy soldiers scavenging what they could. Finally the town had enough and sent for a practitioner of the magic arts to aid them in the defense of their village.

This was you.

They didn’t have much but they offered a home and food for your services. You figured you could help them and have a quiet place to conduct your research away from the prying eyes of the council, who liked to hold newer mages under their thumb. It would also just be something nice you could do for your fellow humans, and these folks clearly needed the help.

You didn’t want to stay in this place forever though, so your solution would have to be one that would last long after you were gone.

Given your expertise in summoning and animating the logical choice was a good, old fashioned, golem. A pentagram, some select incense, clay flesh molded to a slate skeleton and imbued with an amethyst heart carrying an artificial soul, some runes carved in, and a scroll inserted that would have him follow his purpose and give him personality.

Then just add in a spell that turned the humanoid clay man into something more human so as not to frighten the villagers too badly and make him able to experience a near human existence.

The ritual was a complete success. Of course it was. You were you after all, young but talented and more importantly utterly dedicated to your craft.

Somnheim now had a mighty protector. An artificial man over 9 feet tall, with huge bulging muscles, shaggy brown hair, stoic brown eyes that gave nothing away, and glowing green runes on his arms and legs. The spell that made him human-like was more than just visual, it gave him nearly all the functions of a human male, he’d be as durable and strong as the hardest metal, never age, and of course he was certainly infertile.

Not one for creative names, you named him Slate.

Eventually bandits came by and decided they would stock up in Somnheim before going on to bigger and better loot.

They did not live to regret that decision.

Slate simply rolled a massive boulder down the hill they approached from and flattened all but a couple. Those he took care of quickly with magically precise throws of average sized stones.

Over the months any threat he couldn’t flatten with a boulder or smack with a stone he would pop open with his mighty fists.

By the end of his first year as the village’s guardian he was beloved by every single townsperson. Even the tiny children, who would climb on him and put flowers in his shaggy hair as he smiled and watched, had no fear of him.

You had enjoyed your time there, but eventually it was time for a change of scenery. You wanted to do more field research and you had saved enough money up with side projects to be able to fund a trip to the other side of the country near The Great Forest.

The villagers were grateful and sad to see you go, but they were much more interested in Slate than you.

But when you packed your bags to leave behind your wattle and daub dwelling once and for all you found yourself blocked by Slate.

He uttered one word in that deep, almost monotone, voice of his.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I have to leave.” You tried to squeeze past him but he was not having it.

“I must protect the village… Your presence here makes the village safer… I might need repairs… or reinforcements… And you also tasked me with keeping you safe…”

You fudged the wording. You, breather of life into stone, weaver of clay, and creator of souls, messed up the wording.

He picked you up like a box of luggage and sat you on a chair in your makeshift study before going over to the heaviest bookshelf, picking it up, and placing it in front of the only door so you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll move it when I need to leave… then I will put a rock outside to keep you here…”

And that became your life. A literal prisoner in your own home.

Your magical abilities were useless in this situation, you were not a battlemage that could explode a wall, you couldn’t teleport, you bent earth.

Of course you tried to tunnel your way out by making a hole under your bed, but Slate had walked in and caught you red handed. He had confiscated and locked away all your magical supplies and texts unless you needed them to repair him you were not getting them back.

Slate was tentative enough of your physical needs, bringing you food and water and taking you outside like some sort of pet for sunlight, fresh air, and exercise. You had tried to run away but of course he had inhuman speed. And the villagers refused to help. What if Slate refused to save them if they did that?

It was a fair concern, he was made to protect the village and not villagers, he may even see them as a threat if they assisted you. You were on your own.

Though you were healthy enough physically your mental condition was deteriorating rapidly. How could you not be? Being trapped in the same building, even with trips outside, was awful. The villagers only looked at you with pity if they looked at you at all, and no one would even talk to you anymore.

It got to the point where you barely eat, refused to go outside, and spent all your time laying in bed.

Slate was failing the magical directives that governed his personality and behavior. You were clearly not safe, he was convinced that you would die if this continued, and honestly you likely would… eventually…

But the golem was not incapable of learning. He observed the other humans to find out what he could add to your life to bring you back to your usual self.

One night, when he was sitting in front of the house watching the humans passing by and holding hands, he came to the conclusion that humans had families, they lived together in their dwellings and they loved each other. They coupled together and mated.

Up until this point Slate had only been directed by simple emotion and the unyielding parchment that had imbued him with his goals. But now his task demanded something more of him, it demanded a much more complex emotion. The magic in him allowed this evolution, and now he was much more dangerous because he loved you. But it wasn’t just love he felt for the first time, it was lust.

Slate’s expression became one of someone thinking about the one who they adored infinitely, an expression of a man thinking about the person he wanted to have writhing in pleasure beneath him, even his normally green runes and brown eyes took on an amorous pink glow.

When you heard the boulder blocking the door shift and then heard the bookshelf take its place as what was blocking your way out as Slate came lumbering in with his heavy steps you didn’t even glance up.

Not until he stood in front of you and you noticed his strange pink glow replacing his green one did you stir.

You sat up in bed and when you saw the strange way his normally near emotionless eyes were staring at you, and glowing, you scooted away.

“I know what you need now! I am so sorry for not realizing sooner…” He said in a surprisingly soothing tone, a stark departure from his normally deep monotone.

“What do yo-”

Your words were forgotten as he took off his shirt and pants revealing a sweaty body and a frighteningly large cock.

“You need a partner to be happy, like the other humans, and you need to mate!”

He sounded very eager.

“No! Uh… I don’t need to… mate. I need to lea-” he put a large finger over your lips and shushed you before gripping your pants and peeling them and your underwear away from you carefully.

There was no dissuading him from his chosen course of action, he would make you happy and keep you safe no matter what!

It’s what you needed.

Slate leaned forward and spit all over your hole, thoroughly lubing it with his spit, before pressing his big cock into your hole.

It was so large that you let out a whimper of pain at first, but he was somehow knowledgeable enough about sex to know he needed to let you adjust to the size rather than just ramming himself in.

You gasped and writhed but he held you still with his massive hands running up and down your sides as he slowly pulled you down on his prick.

Slate was in complete heaven, he had never really known much pleasure of any kind, let alone the type that came with burying his cock in someone he was now completely obsessed with.

He had no idea his dick could be used for this at all, but now that he did he would certainly be doing this everyday, maybe even a couple times a day! The perfect blend of heat and softness was amazing.

As he began to thrust slowly, with a blissed out expression as he stared up at nothing with drool coming out of his mouth, you couldn’t help but moan in pleasure as his cock caressed your depths perfectly.

Hearing your breathy moans snapped him back to reality. You were finally happy again~

The treatment was working! That settled it, he would do this every single day no matter what!

Carefully gripping your sides a bit more firmly he moved your entire body back and forth on his cock. You couldn’t help it, your whole body twitched with the force of a massive orgasm. The sensation of your body spasming around his previously virgin dick caused him to slam in deep and cum hard.

He pulled you close, holding your head into his muscular chest as he panted, his dick still firmly impaling your limp body. You hadn’t been eating much and this serious fucking had taken a lot out of you.

Slate cleaned the two of you up, bathing you gently before taking advantage of your compliant state by spoon feeding you some dinner he had brought from a town person.

Mating with you made you so pleasured and too tired to resist him when he took care of you, he almost couldn’t wait until you had enough energy to do it again, his cock strained in his pants with anticipation.

[fritzes]

alright... by popular demand (literally just @advantage-sinner) here is my... *long sigh* paris bercy draw analysis 🤢 (this is much more unserious than my usual analysis lmao)

literally everyone jannik sinner has traumatized this year (with the notable exceptions of tallon griekspoor and daniil medvedev thank god) is in his quarter of the draw. taylor fritz, who he beat in the uso final? yep. alex de minaur, aka the #1 pigeon of jannik? yep. ben shelton, who he has beaten like four times? yep. holger rune, who jannik got monte carlo revenge on this year? yep. jack draper, who went through that puke-filled uso semi against jannik? yep. oh and there's also faa, bublik, matteo arnaldi, and jiri lehecka. this quarter could literally be its own tournament draw, it's so stacked. that said, even with all these extremely talented players, jannik is still probably gonna sweep. he has made the qfs of every literally every tournament he's played this year. but if there's one where he's gonna get upset before the qfs... it's holger in paris bercy (or even indoor felix if he gets past ben). plus we haven't experienced the taylor fritz blond era tennis yet, so who knows, maybe he'll sweep

the second quarter is just so weird. seriously, who was like yeah let's put zverev, tsitsipas, and rublev in the same quarter. there's a lot of clay courters in this quarter, which is the opposite of the first one that is full of hard court players. something interesting here is that lorenzo musetti could play zverev again after beating him in vienna and can hopefully repeat the result. a tsitsipas/rublev flop off could also be very interesting, I think andrey would be able to flop less and win but I definitely don't think he's defending his semifinal points. arthur fils is also in this quarter and has been in the form of his life, so he can for sure do some damage. can tallon griekspoor take advantage of being free of sincaraz for once? probably not

the third quarter should actually be kinda fun. hubi is back apparently, and we've got grigor, frances, and daniil. I do spy machac lurking near grigor (because apparently we're just repeating this week's draws) and their vienna match was an absolute banger. mpetshi is also in this quarter and has proven how good he is on indoor hc by pulling off the mythical task of beating felix in basel. karen is in good form too, but I could see him being tired from his run this week and losing to frances or mpetshi in the second round. oh and then daniil. I don't even know what's going on with him, he might make the semis or he might lose to matteo second round

and finally, the easiest draw ever for carlos alcaraz. casper ruud as your 5-8 seed is what you want to see when you're a 1-4 seed, and tommy paul wasn't in great form in his lost to nakashima. speaking of nakashima, he's here too, and who knows how he's gonna play. he's so good at tennis except random matches (or even just sections of matches) where he forgets how to hit the ball. if carlos doesn't make the semis, it's on him, this draw is so easy

in short, the tournament is as cursed as always. I hope someone super random wins

[ualthum]

"HERVAKON AV AFN"

Talisman of Av.

A wearable artwork made from stone clay. Depicted is the Sul'voth rune Av, sacred symbol of darkness, the unseen, and destruction.

[cads-the-cat]

I finished the mask (I think??? I won't make any major changes anymore but might change tiny details but for now I'm done) @copper-sands

Did it almost cost my sanity? Yes

But I was already insane before that so it's fine

For the base I bought a plain white one at an art supply store and then cut it onto shape so it somewhat fits my face shape while also resembling ivy's mask. I coated it in paper mache, especially the mouth area so it's flat (not so great for singing purposes but since I can't sing that's not a major problem). Sketched the white runes on it and painted the base layer of the mask in black and then did the white stripes and red logo.

I used modelling clay for the big golden parts and painted the smaller ones on the top of the mask because I couldn't be bothered and the clay shapes I originally made for it looked shit. Used wire for the swirls and for the uneven surface I just kind of made scratches into the clay. Covered it in paint (it's not the exact same shade of gold which bothers me a bit and on paper the paint is a bit sparkly but so far it doesn't look sparkly on the clay - if it does end up glittering I guess I'll be some kind of Edward Cullen Version of ivy)

Anyway, I need a break for my sanity and my back and organise some black body paint so I can actually cosplay iv with the jacket that is a halfway replica of his. And maybe I need to wait until it cools down because I won't be wearing several layers of heavy black fabric in 35°C

[shady-tavern]

Preview for "Woven Magic" the Patreon January Short Story

(warnings ahead for implied child abuse, please take care of yourselves!)

*.*.*

"Don't bother with weaving magic, my dear," Gwen's trusted, beloved teacher said, apologetic and soothing all at once. "It is weak magic and barely sought after, you'll do better focusing your efforts on brewing, like your grandmother, or enchanting items if you'd like to make things magical."

Her teacher's hands reached out, overlapping the clumsy attempt at weaving a friendship bracelet, gently taking it away. Her teacher cooed when Gwen started to tear up, giving her back a soothing pat. Gwen's best friend had gotten sick and Gwen just wanted to give her something that turned all misfortune away and that kept her healthy and happy.

"You'll thank me one day," her teacher said, pressing a quill into her hands instead. "Focus on your studies and you'll do well."

Gwen sniffled and wiped her tears away and put on a brave face, but deep down she felt like big hands had crumpled her soul together and now tried to smooth it back out to how it had been. There were bends and crinkles where none had been before, a child's hope crushed by soft and certain words.

The moment school was out, she hurried home, breaking out into tears once she saw her mother's kind face.

"Oh, my sweet child," her mother whispered, hugging her close. "You'll be a great witch one day, never doubt that. Come on, we'll make this bracelet for your friend and then we'll brew her a health tonic, alright? That will take care of the problem."

Gwen needed some coaxing to make a second attempt at a bracelet and she hesitantly weaved magic into it, hoping it would do as much good as possible.

Gwen's friend recovered well with the tonic and she loved the bracelet and they played together like always. Gwen smiled and laughed and while her friend had soon forgotten the time she had been so very sick, Gwen kept remembering her teacher's words.

And all throughout her time growing up, from the lessons she got from her mother and father and grandmother, all the way to the schools she visited for witch classes, one thing remained the same.

Everyone told her that she should not bother with weaving magic. That it created weak magical effects and no one wanted that. People wanted spells and potions and enchantments.

Magic could do a great many things. If one knew the right runes, one could pin spells in place for a time, creating enchanted items to keep people warm or their clothes clean. Magic brought people back from the brink of death, helped communities rebuild after a great tragedy and it allowed many a young sorcerer to cheat at dice.

Gwen never told anyone but her mother that magic felt different to her. That sometimes she just wanted to pick up a needle and use a strand of magic instead of actual thread so she could weave it into the shirt she was mending. She didn't want to make a spell and stick it to a surface, especially since she wasn't good at spellcraft in the first place.

Her mother did her best to support her, but she could not drown out the voices of everyone else. Gwen learned to keep quiet about her love for weaving magic and she tried to soothe her crinkled soul by taking crafting lessons after school instead.

She learned how to sew and knit and crochet and whittle and carve and mold clay. Those lessons were more fun than her actual magic lessons, because Gwen was, quite honestly, a terrible witch.

While her classmates made coin by selling cloaks lined with weak fire spells for warmth, others performing in taverns by making sparkling illusions and some talented students already got apprenticeships with powerful mages, she was struggling.

In all honesty, it was a minor miracle that, once graduation was upon her, she managed to pass at all. Barely, mind you, but she did pass. With grades so shoddy she knew no one would want to hire her.

"You'll figure it out," her teachers had told her, giving her awkward smiles as they sent her off. "Some people find their talents later in life."

"Maybe you should help your grandmother for a while," her father suggested when Gwen came home, exhausted and feeling kind of hopeless. "She's been talking about retiring for a while now, you know?"

Potions were about the only thing Gwen was somewhat decent at and even that only because she had grown up being taught by one of the greatest potion makers of their coast.

So she packed her bags since her grandmother more than happy to welcome her and she left. Her grandma really was intending to retire and she showed Gwen the ropes, spending months teaching her the fine details of potion brewing and little tips and tricks her teachers hadn't.

"You're good enough now," Grandma proclaimed one day two years later. "I'll leave the shop in your hands, I'm sure you'll do fine. And if you ever need one of the really dangerous and complicated potions, call for me and I'll swing right by."

Gwen made sure to smile at her grandmother and bite back the soul-deep doubt that she'd be good at this. She just hoped she'd be reliable enough that she'd keep the shop up and running.

Her grandmother swiftly left to travel and visit friends and bicker with an old rival of hers that Gwen was willing to bet would end up being her lover once both of them got their heads out of their asses. Seriously, the tension between them was ridiculous.

Gwen, meanwhile, tended to the shop by herself, days passing by until they all ran together. She kept making things outside of potions, knitting cute little hats she ended up selling in the shop as well, along with mittens and wooden pendants that she had carved into various animal shapes with great care.

It was a quiet life. Not necessarily a happy life, but Gwen was alright with that. She was willing to settle for the fact that she was content enough most days and that her crinkled soul didn't bother her too much.

Sometimes though she did get annoyed at that feeling within her chest, frustrated that something a trusted and beloved teacher had said to her when she had been but seven years old still haunted her so vividly to this day.

It was, quite frankly, stupid to still be upset about the fact that the world had no need for woven magic. The thing she was actually good at was the one thing no one wanted. She told herself that being sad didn't make things better and she'd do her best to try and find joy where she could.

Gwen's life was so mediocre and predictable in its steadiness that the day the sky exploded into violently flung spells, she nearly fell of the stool behind the counter. Hurrying outside, she stared up at the sky with wide eyes as two mages battled it out with such intensity that the air itself grew thick with power.

One mage was dressed in the colors of the Bone Cult, an organization that had devoted itself into cutting people open and making them into mindless servants. Puppets they used to build them an empire.

She had no idea who the other mage was, but the lad had bright red hair and was easily one of the most powerful mages Gwen had ever come across. The battle was fierce and halfway through, Gwen was forced to toss up some wobbly shielding spells to keep the shop safe.

A couple of scared residents hurriedly sought shelter within the potion shop, while Gwen stayed outside, watching nervously.

At long last, after a heaving, powerful wave of magic as large as a mountain rolled through the air, briefly making Gwen fell as though she had suddenly gotten crushed to the bottom of the ocean, the evil mage was defeated.

People cheered and crowded around the lad when he floated down, only for him to collapse the second his feet touched the ground. Gwen hurriedly got some potions when some called for her and the lad was ushered away to rest up. She watched as the proper authorities came to claim the unconscious but not killed evil mage.

To her surprise, the guy was the very leader of the Bone Cult, one of the greatest monsters to ever live and he had been undefeated for nearly seventy years.

Frowning, Gwen hesitantly returned to her shop and for days the magic of the fight lingered in the air, slowly dissipating. A couple of sorcerers and witches passed through to ensure the lingering energy would do no harm and life returned to it's steady, old rhythm.

At some point she put up a few flyers around town, letting people know she was looking for some help in the shop. Money was coming in reliably, but Gwen held no love or passion for potion making and she would love to have an extra set of hands around to make things easier.

To her surprise, when she emerged from the back of the shop a few days later, the young, powerful mage stood in her shop. He looked exhausted, she thought, dark shadows under his eyes and his red hair was limp and without shine and had grown long enough that he was trying to hide behind it.

There was a grim downturn to his mouth and as she looked at him, she was startled to realize that he was far younger than she had thought at first. Tall and lanky, his eyes more troubled than most adults, the boy was no older than fifteen at most.

"Are you still hiring?" he asked and his voice was quiet and a little rough. He sounded like he was expecting to be told no, a tense wariness to his shoulders.

"I am," Gwen answered, coming to a stop at her usual spot behind the counter. "I could use someone to dust the shelves and help with gathering herbs and otherwise lending a hand with the upkeep and care of this place. Does that sound like something you want to do?"

If he proved himself adept, she was even willing to let him take care of the simpler potions and salves and tonics.

The boy blinked in surprise and now he looked so hesitantly, achingly hopeful that Gwen got the sudden urge to stomp outside and find someone to punch in the face. His parents maybe or his teachers. A kid that young, hell no person ever, should look like this when offered the barest courtesy.

Gwen wasn't even being particularly kind, he was just the first person who had shown up who seemed to be genuinely interested in the position.

"It does," he said quietly and she noticed the way he had pulled the hems of his sleeves over his fingers, worrying at the fabric with his nails. A nervous habit, quiet and hidden.

When she told him what she'd pay him, he didn't even argue or haggle or anything, just nodded hurriedly as though he feared she'd change her mind.

And just like that, in the span of two minutes, Gwen had gained an aid for the shop. The boy's name was Herald and he struggled with looking her in the eye even as they shook on it. Gwen didn't mind that he kept his sleeve pulled over his hand when he reached out, especially not once she noticed the still healing pink scars on his fingers when he pulled back.

Over the next couple of weeks, as Herald came by to help, Gwen realized a couple of things. Herald never spoke loudly and it took him a while to relax enough that his shoulders weren't constantly knotted with tension. He was very thorough with his tasks and did everything exactly as asked.

He never smiled and flinched whenever someone came up behind him without him noticing them beforehand, so Gwen made sure to walk with a bit of a stomp whenever he seemed preoccupied or distracted.

And most of all, he never wanted to go home.

Gwen had no idea how it happened – only no, she knew exactly how. All it had taken was one look at that grim, exhausted face, shadows still under his eyes and his great reluctance to leave when she locked the shop up early due to a heavy, continuous downpour, for her to fold like wet paper.

*.*.*

Would you like to read the full story? You can find it on Patreon on the first of January! There are already other stories available you can check out in the meantime!

[wings-of-ink]

hello! sorry for the incoming macabre ask:

you said you liked ghosts, which made me think 👻... do spirits of the dead exist in the GC universe? what’s ROs’ stance on ghosts? (who’s going to get outed as a scaredy cat?) also, if it isn’t something we’ll get to see in the story, what do funerals look like? do people usually get buried or cremated? are there any special ceremonies?

i’ve read whatever i could find of your (delicious) worldbuilding but i need more; i’m hungry!!

I wouldn't say that's so macabre, as long as we're not killing off the ROs or the MC, we're good! 

This is a fun subject, really!

The people of the GC universe have varying ideas of what happens after death - sort of how we do irl - but the most prevalent belief is in reincarnation. They don't necessarily ascribe to remembering past lives or anything, but they don't think the soul of a person just vanishes after, and that it's sort of "recycled" back into the world. There are some that think the souls of the dead return to the gods they served - sort of powering them up and becoming a part of them.

Funerals in the world can be big events depending on the person - whole towns may be involved. Most people are cremated in pyres. Loved ones stand watch and speak to the departed one last time. They say goodbye or even air grievances - and it is firmly believed that the dead actually hear or understand everything that is said at their funeral. The smoke is sacred - a representation of the soul departing.

Families usually handle the body of their loved ones with any traditions passed down from within. Otherwise, you may see healers or midwives assisting. Since some are still followers of the gods, there may be something specific to those practices that they'd want done. For example, if they follow the Deities of the Stars - their service would be held at night. If they worshiped Casimir, they'd have a really really big pyre and likely be burned with a weapon. Some families simply bury any ashes or bone that remain, keep them in urns, or actually use them - mixing into a clay to make a memorial pottery of some sort. There are a few regional traditions as well. Those in the north may leave ashes at the tops of mountains. Those in the south sometimes take ashes out to sea. The middle province doesn't really have anything quite like that - burying ashes is the favored tradition.

MC's mother was burned on a pyre according to Dov's family tradition. He's from a nomadic people that burned the dead after placing a loaf of bread in their hands (often the departed's favorite kind) - sort of like a last meal. The pyre itself would have the departed's name etched in it and sometimes mourners would write sentiments to burn with them. Kip and Dov made promises to see that MC was cared for. They buried her ashes among the roots of the tree where she was found with her baby.

Spirits exist - more so known as demons - but they are not believed to be the spirits of the dead. They are their own entities but instead of being corporeal, they're magic. Demons can take possession of the living, but in the current world, this is quite rare. Gods nearly eradicated demons (at least the ones most dangerous to people), so they're a rarer find, and are drawn to strong magic and even emotion. This is why the Fields of Desolation are not pleasant. 😁 (Guess where you're headed later, teehee)

Since ghosts as we know them aren't really a thing they would know about, the ROs attitude towards demons:

Oswin–unnerved

Zahn–scared shitless

Duri–fearless (and dumb)

Rune–trying really fucking hard to not look scared

???--annoyed

Thank you for the fun question Anon! I love that you're interested in the fabric of the world. I'll try to pop this in the codex as well. ^_^

[alan-in-the-outernet]

So! Spoilers for The Dragon Prince show... but this is a casual AvA/AvM x Dragon Prince Crossover x3

So! The ramble... Alan is a Startouch Elf, which are basically... well. They can be hecking giant, and very powerful... and he uses what power he has, to create life to play with... although he doesn't think of the things he's made as alive...

They're unnatural... so they're not really ALIVE... right...?

He created Victim first... and recreated him. Molded him him bark and clay and made him alive again and again... something to play with.. a stress reliever... a way to get out some anger with out ACTUALLY hurting something- Right?

Until Victim escaped his little... 'island'. Escaped the construct he uses(which is not a cursor, but a construct that can shift between the six main elements, Moon, Sun, Star, Water, Earth, Sky and interact with things)... and he made Chosen. A CHALLENGE... and Chosen was... until he managed to get a manacle on Chosen.. that basically made him unable to attack Alan.

So.. onwards to when Chosen escapes that and attacks Alan.. and then Alan makes Dark... and the two destroy the Island before escaping through a portal- now.

HEAVY spoilers for The Dragon Prince lore here. So- last checkpoint x3

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Alan WAS the island. The thing about his kind of Elves, Startouch Elves, is that they are titans. As big as dragons, bigger sometimes... and he basically grew plants and stuff over himself as a disguise.. and used the construct as a way to interact with his creations on top of him.. and when destroyed, it killed him- causing a huge explosion.

But Startouch elves can also come back, when their stars align in the sky... so a few years later, he was back... and decided.. NOT to do that again...

..Second was an accident.. something he made absentmindedly.. and hiding as an island again.. it'd been when Red, Blue, Green and Yellow were exploring together and found his little island form... and wanted to explore that- he didn't kill them like canon, but imprisoned them- looked like he killed them though to Second...

Although here.. instead of drawing... Second was good at instinctively molding things and bringing them to life... drawing runes in the air and causing this.. and Alan.. thought Second could maybe help him get better at molding things OTHER then elves... and so the deal was struck...

..Alan also takes on a human form as a disguise sometimes- once he gets more used to the gang.. no the Nala thing is not him x3

But yeah! Jazz hands and all that.

Emma and Nala were more drawn for fun, I don't.. have things for them- but! What kind of elf or living thing the AvA/AvM crew are

Startouch Elf - Alan and DJ

Moonshadow Elf - Green and Victim

Sunfire Elf - Dark and King/Mango

Tidebound Elf - Chosen, Blue and Emma

Earthblood Elf - Red

Skywing Elf - Second(No Wings), Purple(No wings, gets handmade ones later), Yellow(Wings)

Human - Nala and Alan's Disguise

[froggiish]

kinda can’t see the symbol but i made an acceleration rune/jayces rune necklace. it’s made out of clay so it’s not yknow that accurate plus the paint is ALREADY peeling (maaaybe should’ve sanded the clay before painting) anyways yay!

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wips on Wedsdays

He kiddos, it's actually my Wednesday so imma post a few wips. tagging @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @kookaburra1701 @rhiannon1199 @viss-and-pinegar @saltymaplesyrup @rainpebble3 @throughtrialbyfire @rosette-dragonborn @mareenavee @snippetsrus @snowy-weather No pressure, this is all just for funs <3

We got art and a smidgen of writing:

Starting with a close-up of the tat details in the render I'm working on. This redo that isn't purely a redo is coming along well. Just gotta add three more tattoos and alllllllll of his scars. Full art and a writing snippet under the cut.

IDK I think it's going well so far ;) and a snippet from Sleepers Awake chapter 7

Teldryn hated tombs. He hated tombs, the undead, the fucking bleached ash that covered the floor after centuries of recycling the same old fucking urns! He hated the way the tombs would wind like a maze. These halls had turned him around to the point of utter confusion! Teldryn hated having to enter the halls of the Dunmeri dead. It creeped him out, to put it bluntly. He had complained about this assignment, of course. It was the last thing he expected when Cosades sent him to go meet with a Blades informant who studied over at the Balmora Mages Guild. The old sugar-tooth had been vague about what this might entail. Just telling him that the notes he got from his last mission weren’t fucking enough and he had to go bother some mage about a fucking myth! The Nerevarine, how fucking ridiculous! The expectation with these missions seemed to be something along the lines of ‘a favour for a favour’ and the mage he’d been sent to, an orc named Sham gra-Muzgob was asking one hell of a fucking favour! She was after the skull of some poor sod named Llevule Andrano. That meant he had to break into the Andrano Ancestral Tomb out on the Bitter Coast. Shit was pretty much a one-way ticket to an execution if he was caught. When he’d mentioned that, the woman merely replied- “Then don’t upset the natives when you do it.” Cosades had said this would be a ‘silly little errand’. How the fuck is desecrating the remains of a member of a fucking hugely influential family in House Redoran a silly little errand? Then there was the justification gra-Muzgob gave him for all of this shit. Something about his people’s death practices being primitive, superstitious nonsense. Teldryn had held his tongue as best as he could. The last thing he wanted was to be thrown in fucking Fort Moonmoth again. The shit they did there…he was glad they’d only pulled out his toenails. Teldryn sucked in a deep breath, trying his best to calm his nerves as he stepped into what he hoped was the chamber that this skull was being kept in. “Look for the one with the ritual markings,” he murmured under his breath as he pulled down the old, silk scarf he’d taken from Suran. A keepsake he allowed himself amongst the things of his that his mother managed to save after his grandfather had thrown most of his belongings into the fire. Llaro had really tried to erase his existence entirely. He wanted to shake the hand of the guy who killed the miserable old cunt! Teldryn tapped his fingers on the rough chitin of his pauldron as her scanned the small, sand-coloured room. Carved into the earth thousands of years ago, the clay walls were smooth and rounded around the edges. His eyes fell on what looked like a small altar at the lip of a pool of ashes. An enchanted chitin dagger and a skull with something carved into its forehead, Daedric runes by the looks of it. Red pigment coloured the thin grooves in the bone. It made him shudder as he knelt down by the altar and stared into Llevule Andrano’s hollow eye sockets. He wondered if he should say something before he went and just took the thing. He knew that there was some sermon that one would recite when they visited the dead. Something that eased the ancestor’s spirit of some shit like that. He had never actually listened to what was said in those sermons. Never listened to the shit spoken by the temple priests either. Honestly, he found it boring, preferring instead to disappear into his own head whenever they started to rattle on. Shit was way more entertaining…until his mind became the enemy of course. He longed for that simplicity. Shit was folly. Teldryn wracked his brain for something appropriate to say. Sure, he might not have cared much for the Tribunal’s teachings as a kid but fuck if he wasn’t bitterly fucking aware of how wrong this all seemed. Teldryn sighed as he took the skull into his shaking hands, opting to mutter a simple “Sorry,” to the spirit before he pulled his scarf from around his neck and wrapped the skull in it before he carefully placed it into his pack.

[differentwitchflower]

Celtic Ogham divination set ~ a work in progress

I've been wanting to make my own "runes" or stone divination method, I could not vibe with any I found in store, so I've made some in polymer clay.

Like tarot, each symbol has its own meaning I both researched historical and wrote myself in my Grimoire. I now have my own magic tool for self growth made by myself, and spirit. I feel connected even tho I have not used them yet.

Exploring my Celtic roots has been the most grounding experience with witchcraft I've had. I'm much more aware of my whole self and even my subtle body energy system.

I am magic. I am learning to love myself. I am learning to love the flow of life.

These ogham will help me grow to my highest self.

[ostensiblywhump]

Hands and Eyes, Hearts and Hurts

Whumpuary day 3: choice | storm | black eye

Word count: 1,041

Content warnings: minor injury

———(0)———

Thick-fingered hands tugged too hard on the knot of her bandages; Zoé cringed, flinching despite herself.

“Brier,” she breathed, less scolding and more pleading, nearly quiet enough to be lost in the rain.

Eyes looked up at her, poisonously bright green and casting strange light. Maybe it was the shadows that made Brier look otherworldly and striking, a wild thing aching to crack her human shell, starting from her slit pupils. Maybe it was just her expression, wide-eyed and empty, humanity fleeing what currently did not welcome it. Maybe it was just their general disarray, a haze of fatigue and pain settled over their senses, and only the dangerous stood out. Here this fey one crouched, clawed and fanged and all too ready to use that sharpness.

Brier simply looked down again, and her next tug at the knot was gentler.

Zoé’s exhale shuddered as it left her. “Brier,” she said again, and thunder rolled. “We need to ….”

Those hands left her bandaged arm. Zoé watched Brier’s fingers swipe into an opened container of salve; the antiseptic sting seared, as it was rubbed into the cuts all over her forearms and hands. Curse those bushes, and their spines.

“I know,” Brier said, low and stony.

“Karmic,” Zoé kept going, unable to stop. “Sor, Sim … those motherfu—”

“Don’ ge’ me in trouble with Bion,” Brier said, a dimple flickering into view as a corner of her lips twitched up. Her pupils dilated, just a bit, and it made the hair on the back of Zoé’s neck stop prickling.

“Ugh,” she mock-huffed. “I’ve been punched, cut, thrown into the bushes. I deserve sayin’ some bad words.”

The dimple fled into hiding; everything became eerily silent, even with the constant downpour. In hindsight, it was definitely the wrong thing to say, talking about the injuries dealt to her.

“So how will we do this?” Zoé said. “We saw … how many of them? Around thirty? Was hard to see, it was already gettin’ dark. We’ve gotten a few, Karmic and the others have captured some.” The sight of those thugs trapped against trees or muddy ground by webs of ice was hard to miss, and relieving to see, after they’d gotten split up. “We’ll have a nice chance of trackin’ the rest, with your ears an’ my vibration sense. If we use the cover of the trees an’ shado—mph!”

A hand, still sticky with salve, clapped over her mouth. Green eyes met hers, widening, too wide again, pupils paper-thin. Brier stared into her very being for a long moment, then her gaze flicked over to the right, unblinking. Zoé looked too, despite having no chance of hearing whatever Brier heard, and saw only the moist bark of the den under tree roots that Brier had carved out.

Ten seconds later, she heard it—a shorter interval than she expected, but the rain was probably dampening Brier’s ability to hear. Splashing, squelching footsteps, heavy and unsubtle but still a ways off. Coming closer—Brier had raised the dark clay of the dirt into walls high enough that they couldn’t be seen, but they weren’t the only people with heightened senses, and that wasn’t even mentioning magic sensing, or locator spells.

The dirt was wet enough to hold a rune well; slowly, Zoé’s hand lowered to the ground, ready to trace.

A long, deep groan threaded through her ears. Zoé sympathized. She was pretty displeased about trekking through a storm-damp forest, too. But then the groan got louder, went creaking; a cry rang out, and her eyes snapped over to the predator-still figure crouched before her.

Unbidden, her hand pressed flat to the ground, and she felt it: vibrations, the earth itself trembling as the trees woke up at the command of the one who asked them. The cry rose into a scream, then cut off at a muted boom that made her tremor in tandem with the clay and sent a chill down her spine.

The rain, alone in its concert once more. Light flickered; thunder rumbled in brief concerto.

The hand over her mouth finally unclasped its unyielding grip. Zoé sucked in air, hyperaware of the claw-tipped thumb skating over her cheek, her breaths ghosting over callused palm. Brier’s hand settled, careful, over the bone-deep ache surrounding Zoé’s eye, one that would be spectacularly purple-black when she next looked in a mirror, and with the softest pressure, rubbed over the developing bruise like her care and the remnant salve could help the blood dying under Zoé’s skin.

Zoé inhaled, unbearably loud in this hush. “You have issues with excessive force, even when you can see what you’re doin’ to your enemy,” she murmured. Warned.

Brier’s head slowly cocked to one side. Menacingly vivid, her eyes studied Zoé, all her hurts and her soul.

“I find it hard caring,” she said, ponderous, “about people that hurt my friends.”

Zoé’s breath left her in a hiss. “Well, start carin’,” she said, pressing forward into Brier’s grasp, no matter if it made her wince. “If we get someone killed—what are you doin’? Brier?”

Wood grated, as Brier’s hand left Zoé’s face, as she stood, looming over Zoé. The scent of petrichor and mud grew stronger; the walls rushed away to leave a gap large enough to walk through. One of Brier bare, dirty feet shuffled towards that gap, and Zoé lurched towards her.

“You can’t fight like that, Brier!” she said. “If you go out there, thinkin’ you don’ care if people die—!”

“Ward this place,” Brier said, stepping backwards. Raindrops pelted her, streaking dark spots over the last dry parts of her clothes. “Make it safe. I’ll bring Sor an’ Sim here. If anyone comes, an’ it’s not me or Karmic ….”

She didn’t smile. Brier didn’t know how to, when she was like this. She bared her teeth, all her canines on display, threatening and intent on what Zoé’s wards could do to someone that tripped them, and the pale gleam of those teeth was Zoé’s last glimpse of the outside world as the walls shot back up, sealing the way out.

Quiet. Brier’s footsteps didn’t make a sound. Zoé was alone with the rain and the roaring thunder.

[fritzes]

the curse of ATP Madrid 2024

remember toronto's chaos? yeah this one's crazier

(shoutout @rodlaveraryna for helping me find the toronto post when I totally lost it)

first of all, the World #1 Novak Djokovic has withdrawn from the tournament, making the fairly new #2 Jannik Sinner the top seed at a Masters 1000 for the first time.

In the first round, Félix Auger-Aliassime (who, keep in mind, took Nadal to five sets at Roland Garros) loses the first set to Nishioka. However, he comes back in the second and third sets to win the match 4-6 6-1 6-4. We'll be seeing a lot of him. In a Next Gen battle, young phenomenon João Fonseca loses the first set to the clay incompetent Alex Michelsen but proceeds to bagel him in the second set and then win the third with 4-6 6-0 6-2. Fabian Marozsan (of beating Alcaraz in Rome fame) saves eleven set points against Karatsev to win the first set and goes on to win the match 7-6 7-6. Moutet and Shang play an almost four hour match in which Moutet caused a massive delay by demanding the umpire give him coffee. And, most insane of all, teenager Darwin Blanch is drawn against Rafael Nadal for his second tour match ever. The scoreline is 6-1 6-0 (at least he got a game!)

Second round - here come the seeds. Jakub Menšík, yet another Next Gen wonder, upsets Dimitrov in three intense sets 6-2 6-7 6-3. Félix bagels known clay flop Mannarino. Fonseca loses quite brutally to Norrie. The ultimate clay hater himself, Daniil Medvedev, loses the first set to Matteo Arnaldi and looks absolutely done but comes back to win 2-6 6-4 6-4. Another known clay hater, Alexander Bublik, jokes his way through a win against Carballés Baena, who was so frustrated that he hit a serve directly at Bublik. Ben Shelton bagels Machac. Rafa manages to beat de Minaur, who he just lost to in Barcelona. Stefanos Tsitsipas, fresh off of two clay finals, is beaten by qualifier Monteiro 6-4 6-4.

In the third round, our top seed Jannik Sinner starts to show sign of discomfort, and his opponent Kotov is serving for the second set after Jannik won the first. Kotov has set point... and hits a questionable underarm serve that Jannik crushes down the line. Jannik goes on to break back and win the match 6-2 7-5. In the beginning of a long line of strange occurrences, Félix's opponent Menšik retires in the second set. Daniil loses the first set to Korda, yells at everyone, accuses the umpire of working for the Illuminati, but comes back to win the match 5-7 7-6 6-3. Bublik, the other resident clay hater, beats Ben Shelton 3-6 7-6 6-4, stetting up a match against who but Daniil. Holger Rune, who made two clay masters finals, loses to Griekspoor 6-4 4-6 6-3.

We start off the fourth round with another shaky Jannik match where he barely gets past Khachanov 5-7 6-3 6-3. At the exact same time - I kid you not, the exact same time - is a rematch of last year’s final. Carlos Alcaraz has match points over Struff at the very same minute as Jannik, but loses all three of them and extends the match another half hour or so, eventually winning it 6-3 6-7 7-6. Daniil comfortably wins the clay hater battle 7-6 6-4, and Bublik seems perfectly fine with it. In a strange occurrence of two varying levels of servebots on clay, Taylor Fritz beats Hurkacz 7-6 6-4 (including a very predictable tiebreak). Perhaps the strangest of all, Félix takes out Casper Ruud, the man who would marry clay if he could, 6-4 7-5.

And now to the quarterfinals. Think these matches have predictable outcomes? Wrong! Only Taylor manages to emerge as the favorite who wins, beating Cerundolo 6-1 3-6 6-3, an American servebot into clay masters semis. Meanwhile, Jannik withdraws entirely, giving Félix yet another walkover. In what may be the calmest match of his career, Andrey Rublev beats Carlos 4-6 6-3 6-2, ending his Madrid title streak. And, Daniil retires against Jiri Lehecka.

So, the semifinals no one expected. Andrey dispatches Fritz 6-4 6-3 after they traded breaks in the opening two games. And Félix receives yet another walkover when Lehecka retires a few games into the match. Yes, he received not one, not two, but three walkovers en route to the final.

In the end, though, Andrey wins it and claims a second masters title. So, that’s the end of the story, right? No, because in his interviews afterwards, Andrey reveals that he has been extremely sick for the entirety of the tournament and that he could barely sleep or eat. A bizarre yet fitting end to this strange tournament.

[paeliae-occasionally]

OC Profile tag.

Thanks @saturnine-saturneight for the tag!

I will answer for Xaeren because I have been writing him recently.

Name: Xaeren (Z-eye-ren)

Nickname: Xae, but only by the hidden king or maybe Kell.

Kind of being: Human. (Runic)

Age: For the majority of story he is 32-33 but he was held is stasis for quite a few years so his body is only like 25.

Gender: Male

Appearance: Light tan skin and a sparkle in his eyes when he is thinking. He wears a dark blue sailing coat with a strange number of pockets that seem to move and shift depending on his need. The buckles on the coat and all of his jewellery is engraved with runes so he can cast with them if he is ever in need. His hair is black matching his black boots made for running across Zaireli rooftops.

Occupation: Hand for the house of Hiresias then godkiller.

Family members: His parents were Saire and Morden Teyri and they were taken by Schaeres when they attempted a necromantic ritual. He was then raised by the runic cult: the Ponturesi.

Pets: He bound all of their souls to Schaeres’s realm in practice.

Best friend: The hidden king’s son Arlei.

Describe their room: He has a small wooden loft space in Zairel with a slanted roof and piles of books in tall piles on the one desk. In one corner is a small wooden slab covered in a thin blanket where he sleeps (when he can justify it) and he has a workbench with clay, carving knives and metal casting tools for making runes.

Way of speaking: He learnt Zaireli from criminals of a higher house so he speaks with a lower Zaireli accent but can easily fake nobility. He speaks Altic like a higher scholar becuase of the Ponturesi

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): He moves with a quiet grace as a trained runic and spy of the House, but he still finds himself standing straight with his hands behind his back when stressed from memories when he was with the Ponturesi. His hands move as fast as his mind crafting and writing while he talks.

Items in their back pocket/purse: With his many pockets in his coat, he carries more than most people. He has two full sets of runes and a knife to carve more if he needs to. He also carries a sharper knife for rituals or combat if he needs it. His pockets are full of notes and he always has at least 3 Hiresisian clocks used as a secret form of communication in the house.

Hobbies: He loves sailing. That was one of the main reasons he stayed in Zair to research for so long, because of the large port and sail boats he could travel on.

Favorite sports: Sailing and runic jumping.

Abilities/Talents/Powers: He is the most powerful mortal runic who has ever lived. He wrote 42 of the 47 runes during years of magical research.

Relationships (how they are with other people): It depends on how he views you. Before he returned from the Demi-plane, he would look for stories in people and travel the continent learning about the people there, but after he returned he had a debt to settle and all that mattered was if you were useful or not.

Fears: Faliure. He is running out of time as the goddess gets closer and he needs this plan to work or his life loses meaning.

Faults: He is incredibly focused which means he can ignore those around him while he is trapped in his work. This makes it hard to maintain relationships and means he often ignores his physical needs, forgetting to eat for days at a time.

Good points: Alternatively, that singular focus means he can achieve incredible things if he sets his mind to it, including writing 42 runes and killing a goddess.

What they want more than anything else: He would say he wants to kill Schaeres, but deeper than that he wants to fulfil a purpose. He latches to meaning with everything in his being, hoping to do something useful with all of his talents.

That was a lot. I really like Xaeren as a character, he is a fun figure to play with.

Tagging @tildeathiwillwrite, @somethingclevermahogony, @sunflowerrosy, @the-golden-comet, @kaylinalexanderbooks

and @drchenquill

[ualthum]

"HERVAKON ERZ AFN"

Talisman of Erz.

A wearable artwork made from stone clay. Depicted is the Sul'voth rune Erz, sacred symbol of light, knowledge, and creation.