#space ace dexter

[head-vampire]

Space Ace (1984) model sheet

Source

[kabishkat19]

Non/Disney NextGen

(Don Bluth : Space Ace🪐)

Austin (16) Golden child/Born leader

Max (13) Rambunctious dreamer

[lgspears]

I nominated Wolfgang Novogratz as Ace, Maude Apatow as Kimberly, John C. Reilly as Commander Borf and Tyler Wladis as Dexter in the Space Ace movie.

[pembrokewkorgi]

Cartoon Commentary - Circus Gnarly

In the newest installment of Cartoon Commentary @KrunchyLex and I go to the circus. THE SPACE CIRCUS! https://youtu.be/x_FwjA76Iw8

Posted using PostyBirb

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Hailstorm Bow
Weapon (longbow), legendary (requires attunement) ___ This bow is made of pure ice, which only becomes pliable in your hands once you attune to it. While the bow is on your person, your skin becomes covered in a thin layer of protective frost, granting you a +1 bonus to AC and immunity to cold damage. An arrow that’s fired from the bow becomes covered in ice, which deals an extra 1d6 cold damage to any target it hits. If you hit a target within 5 feet of you using the bow on your turn, the target also has disadvantage on any attack rolls it makes until the end of your current turn. The bow has 7 charges and regains 1d6 + 1 expended charges daily at dawn. While holding the bow, you can use an action to expend 1 or more of its charges to use either of the following properties. 𝙃𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢 𝙑𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙮. For each charge you expend, you fire a magical arrow of pure ice from the bow into the sky centered directly above a point that you can see within 120 feet of you. Sharp hail then falls from the sky in a 20-foot-radius, 40-foot-high cylinder centered on the point. Each creature in the area must make a DC 17 Dexterity saving throw. On a failed save, a creature takes 2d8 cold damage, plus 1d8 cold damage for each expended charge after the first. On a successful save, a creature takes half as much cold damage. The hailstones then turn the area into difficult terrain until the end of your next turn. 𝙄𝙘𝙚 𝙒𝙖𝙡𝙡. For each charge you expend, you fire a magical arrow of pure ice from the bow at a different point on the ground that you can see within 120 feet of you. Each arrow then grows into a 10-foot-square panel that’s 1 foot thick and perpendicular to the ground. Each panel has AC 12, 30 hit points, and is vulnerable to fire damage. If the wall cuts through a creature’s space when it appears, the creature is pushed to one side of the wall (your choice which side) and must make a DC 17 Dexterity saving throw. A creature takes 3d8 cold damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. Each panel remains for 1 minute or until it’s reduced to 0 hit points. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[gameraboy2]

Dexter and Kimberly production cel from Space Ace (1983)

[lair-master]

6 Magic Items for D&D

I wrote these as presents for PCs in my weekly D&D campaign (text versions under the cut).

*** Dancing Boots Wondrous item, uncommon These boots have 4 charges and regain 1d4 expended charges daily at dawn. While you wear these boots, you can use a bonus action to expend 1 charge and move up to half your speed. Until you stop moving, you have a +2 bonus to AC and Dexterity saving throws. For every 5 feet you move, you restore 2 hit points to yourself or another creature of your choice within 30 feet of you. Minor Property: Graceful. The bearer has advantage on ability checks to dance. *** Dragonfire Bow Weapon (longbow), uncommon When you attack with this magic weapon and speak its command word, the ammunition creates a streak of fire in a line between you and the target that is 5 feet wide. Each creature in the line except the target must make a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw, taking 3d8 fire damage on a failed save, and half as much damage on a successful one. The attack deals an extra 3d8 fire damage to the target on a hit, or half that on a miss. This property can't be used again until the next dawn. Creator: Dracolich. The item is made of dragon bone. A special gemstone on it contains the spirit of a dragon. *** Knightbreaker Weapon (warhammer), uncommon You gain a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon.  Creator: Necromancer. Death magic burns an ill mark into this shadow-veiled weapon whenever it deals a killing blow. History: Disgraced. A fallen crusader wielded this weapon against a pious chivalric order. Minor Property: Scary. When its bearer makes a Charisma (Intimidation) check, the bearer can expend one ill mark to add 3 to the roll. Quirk: Incendiary. The item’s bearer feels compelled to play with fire. *** Orb of Twofold Vigor Wondrous item, uncommon Two fiendish eyes smolder from within this arcane focus. The orb has 2 charges, and regains all expended charges daily at dawn. Whenever you gain temporary hit points, you can expend 1 charge to regain the same number of actual hit points, or grant a creature within 30 feet of you the same number of temporary hit points. Quirk: Unblinking. The item doesn't allow its bearer to blink. *** Shell of Sliding Armor (shield), uncommon (requires attunement by a tortle) This magic shield is made from a turtle shell. When you use your shell defense trait, you can move 40 feet in a straight line as part of the same action. You move through the space of any creature in the line, ignoring difficult terrain, without provoking opportunity attacks. When you enter a creature’s space, it must succeed on a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw or take 2d8 bludgeoning damage. A creature takes this damage only once per turn. If you hit a wall, you bounce off it in a random direction. Until you emerge from your shell, you repeat this movement on each of your turns. *** Very Big Fork Weapon (trident), uncommon Using this magic fork, you can eat any nonmagical object that fits in your mouth. You can use a bonus action to speak the fork’s command word and become very big. For 1 minute, you are Large, and you add 1d4 to Strength checks, Strength saving throws, and Strength-based damage rolls. This property can’t be used again until the next dawn. History: Notorious. This item was used to both eat and kill at the infamous Backstabbers Feast, where it inspired the goblin proverb, “The bigger they are, the bigger their fork.”

[nerdknowledgepool]

Say what you will, Kurt's a BAMF.

Nightcrawler’s Cutlass

Melee Weapon, Cutlass, Legendary

(Requires Attunement)

“Every so often, liebchen, since I look like a demon... I have this irresistible urge to play the part.”

Damage: 2d4

Damage Type: Slashing

Modifiers: Attacks +3, Damage +3

Properties: Light, Finesse

Uncanny Agility: While attuned to this sword, you gain +3 to your Dexterity Score to a maximum of 24. If you become the target of an attack, as a reaction you may raise your AC by an amount equal to your Dexterity bonus.

Spatial Cognition: While attuned to this sword, you have a limited awareness of the topography of your surroundings, even if you can’t see them. You are aware of any open or empty spaces, as well as the positions of walls, floors, and ceilings within 30 feet. You cannot sense creatures, or more complex structures, such as traps.

Brimstone Step: While attuned to this sword, you know the Misty Step spell and may cast it without expending a spell slot. When cast this way, you do not need to be able to see your destination, and the spell’s teleportation range is increased by an amount of feet equal to 5 times your Dexterity Modifier.

[soylent-crocodile]

Myr (Monsters)

(Silver Myr by Kev Walker)

(I FUCKING LOVE MYR! They're cute, they're iconic, they're interesting bits of worldbuilding... I HAD to make 'em! Mercifully, I've separated Mirrodin from New Phyrexia, and created the Plane of Steel, a fun little plot hook roughly referencing Mirrodin's creation. If you want to make these native to the Plane of Metal- new to PF2- or simply old machines of a dead culture, feel free.

Also, this will contain rules for Mana Myr, which I spiraled off the five colors of Magic, but expect more myr in the future!)

Myr are mysterious creatures native to the Plane of Steel, an artificial plane ripped from the Plane of Earth and turned into a vast network of self-sustaining machines. Myr themselves are the most common denizens of the plane, servitors to an unknown master and performing upkeep on their more complicated cohabitants.

Myr have been imported from the Plane of Steel in rare quantities, and serve as a rare treasure on the Material Plane, loyal servants infused with magical energy. Some, however, fear inviting such mysterious creatures into their homes, especially paranoid wizards and watchful politicians, as it's a known fact that myr are vulnerable to scrying- and it's a distinct possibility that their master is still watching.

Myr are unique among constructs in being easily repairable once slain. Upon reaching 0 health, a construct with the Myr subtype is not destroyed; rather, it turns inactive, and will reactivate upon being returned to positive hit points. However, a myr that reaches -20hp is destroyed as usual. Additionally, the knowledge of how to create myr has been lost or well-hidden, and they lack rules for construction. Fortunately for myr, they are capable of reproducing themselves, although attempts to study how they do so have not succeeded in creating animate constructs.

There are thousands of different kinds of myr, most being only slight modifications on a basic design; what is presented are some common archetypes and a few notable variations.

Mana Myr

(Myr Moonvessel by Danny Orizio)

Among the most common servitor myr, mana myr work on the machinery that makes up the bulk of the Plane of Metal, and these servitors are attuned to one of the eight schools of magic. Of the myr of the plane, it is the mana myr who are most desired, and those who find themselves in possession of multiple, or let them reproduce, sell them for exorbitant prices.

Each school of magic produces a myr of a different color. Even though they are all made of the same substance, the magic forged into their bodies makes them appear as one of a variety of colors; the mana myr of each school of magic is named after a metal or mineral it resembles.

This small humanoid construct has a strange head shaped like a heavy beak. It resonates with magical energy.

Misc- CR1 LN Small Construct (Myr) HD2 Init:+2 Senses: Perception:+3 Stats- Str:8(-1) Dex:15(+2) Con:- Int:4(-3) Wis:14(+2) Cha:14(+2) BAB:+2 Space:2.5ft Reach:0ft Defense- HP:21(2d10+10) AC:13(+1 Size, +2 Dexterity) Fort:- Ref:+4 Will:+2 CMD:13 Special Defenses: Construct traits Offense- Slam +2(1d3-1) CMB:+0 Speed:25ft Special Attacks:  Feats- Lightning Reflexes Skills- Perception +3, Spellcraft +0 Spell-like Abilities-  Share Memory /at-will Make Whole 1/day Special Qualities- Mana Servant, Scrying Focus Ecology- Environment- Any Languages- Common (Can’t speak) Organization- Solitary Treasure- None Special Abilities- Mana Servant- A mana myr is designed as a vessel for magic. When created, it is infused with magic from one of the eight schools of magic. When used as a focus to cast a spell of that school, the spell is cast at a +1 caster level and with a +1 DC. A mana myr registers as strong magic of its school when viewed through Detect Magic or similar spells. Scrying Focus- Myr are perfect vessels for scrying on. They get a -5 penalty to saves against spells with the Scrying descriptor, and magical sensors made to scry on a myr and its surroundings get a +5 bonus against rolls to perceive it. Additionally, myr- and any object or creature they are in contact with- are not protected by spells such as Nondetection and Screen.

[inglorionamy-ammy]

Of Home and Haven (Ch6/6) The end

Chapter snippet:

Gale is sitting beneath the elevated spectator stand, together with the emergency cleric team that is set up next to the ground entrance. He gives you a small smile of reassurance, though his posture is tense. Tara leans on his shoulder, her twitching tail betraying her anticipation.

The finale.

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale Mature

Word count: 3k

@senualothbrok My beta, my reader, my friend. She aced all roles.

AO3 link: here

Chapter Five: here

[This chapter's illustration hides at the end ;)]

The first thing you see across the circular field is a gigantic steel sentinel.

It is similar to the ones that guarded the school entrance, only this time bigger, almost the height of a two-storey house. On top of its shoulder is an average build humanoid man in a wizard’s robe, seeking whatever high ground there is in this vast empty space. His eyes are glowing slightly, their color matching his steel companion, controlling it in concentration.

The second thing you notice is, in fact, your husband, behind your opponents. Gale is sitting beneath the elevated spectator stand, together with the emergency cleric team that is set up next to the ground entrance. He gives you a small smile of reassurance, though his posture is tense. Tara leans on his shoulder, her twitching tail betraying her anticipation. Your gazes lock for a second.

Technically, the battle should be non-lethal, but both of you know that only melee attacks can be controlled with such precision. In addition, to prevent the fight from over-stretching, you and your opponent are only allowed to bring one healing potion, unfavorable to a typical barbarian’s reckless fighting style. To test how much room for error you have, you close the distance with a small leap before throwing the trident, aiming for the man’s face.

Clang!

With a whoosh of the sentinel’s arm the trident is sent flying right to the ground, the amour untouched by the small thunder explosion it caused. For a construct of this size, its attack is strong and unexpectedly fast. A small cheer comes from the crowd. You frown.

The Nyrulna returns to your hand. You and your enemies start stalking around each other like a pair of beasts waiting for the other to strike first. You must think of something to break the stalemate.

The sun is now behind you. Shrouded in shadow, you discreetly produce a small gadget from your pack, sending it to the man’s head again. A contemptuous smirk crosses his face as the sentinel swats it like he is dismissing a fly, but this time it explodes inwards.

The void bulb. It was one of your best discoveries from the Nautiloid, lovingly reproduced by the skillful deep gnome craftsman Barcus Wroot. When he had sent a box of these as your wedding gift, Gale had had a good laugh.

In an instant the man is pulled off the sentinel. He falls, with a yelp, unceremoniously towards the ground.

You are just about to strike when he mutters a quick incantation in midair. Misty step. You watch as he appears far behind his companion, another flick of his hand renders him invisible. You huff. His dexterity is annoying, but rather impressive.

The sentinel now sprints towards you. You narrowly dodge the first swinging fist and roll forward to escape the second. Any one of these would send you prone, and without lightning spells it seems indestructible. It’s time for some distance. You jump, striking your trident to the ground, and ride its force for a great leap forward and over, landing somewhere far behind it. This should buy you some time —

A snap of magic. You are hit, full force, by a lightning bolt.

Cheers erupt from the audience. Gale, now only tens of meters from you, is white as a sheet.

Suddenly you are overwhelmed by the need to reassure him. You bite your tongue to sharpen your half-burnt mind, pulling yourself together. With a fast gulp of a healing potion, you let out an exaggerated sigh.

“’S that all you got?” You raise a challenging eyebrow. Sometimes it is the attitude that matters.

The man is having none of it. He remains careful, guarded, and with another misty step lands right back onto his metal companion.

A grunt of frustration threatens to escape your throat, but you force it down. Instead, you try your luck. For the third time in a row, you throw the gadget in your hand at him.

Now cautious with the trick, he pauses for a split second. That is all the opening you need.

He realizes too late that it is only an empty healing flask. At the same time, your reinvigorated surge of action powers your great leap and you jam your trident into the armor’s elbow gap with a loud clang. He tries to shake you off, grab you by his other fist, but you are fast as you crawl and grab and push yourself up to where he is. Your grin is manic as you sense his panic building up. He is, after all, a fragile human against a frenzied half-orc. His control starts to slip, the sentinel’s movement imprecise. In desperation he escapes right before you strike him, abandoning the construct with another misty step, landing far back where he hits you with that damn lightning.

You now occupy high ground. The Nyrulna strikes into the neck of the sentinel — a bit deeper than necessary — as you balance yourself. It is after all much easier to dodge someone’s attack when you are on top of them. Looking down on him, you mock his disheveled state in a booming volume, “helpless without your toys, little wizard?”

At that, something snaps. You frown as you realize his concentration with the sentinel is severed.

Then, a sharp, invasive pain penetrates your brain. You gasp as you realize he wants to make you his toy. You only have the time to draw out one last item before he has taken total control, and that tiny pack slips from your hand and falls, its content spilling over the ground. You pray that it’s enough.

The arena is now silent, breaths held back for this battle of wit.

On the first round, you mind is hazy as you slowly climb down from the unmoving sentinel, your movements precise, almost polite, for they are not yours. Your Nyrulna lies forgotten behind you.

On the second round, you are made to do a little twirl. It should be insulting, but the mist in your brain is shrouding any coherent thoughts. For a moment you think you see Gale, knuckles white as he grips so hard he almost tears his robe. It somehow pains you too, but the sensation is fleeting, and soon fades to oblivion.

On the third round, you walk towards him, as he tries to position you within his attack range. You take one step, and another, then step on something.

One of the spiked bulbs you spilled explodes.

The small scratch is all you need. In an instant your wisdom is back. You leap across the field and tackle the surprised man down, his head hitting the floor with a concussing force. A quick flick of your hidden dagger makes him hiss. But he is relentless. Even pinned under you, he attempts an incantation, a dance of his hand — but there is nothing.

He has been silenced.

His eyes slowly widen in shock, finally catching on the blue glowing blade in your hand—a sussur dagger. He begins to shiver.

“DO YOU YIELD?” you demand with a growl, pressing the dagger against his throat.

Carefully, the man nods. Gasps echo in the arena.

You rise. Your gaze falls upon each and every person in the spectator stand, before returning to the man at your feet. When you extend your hand out to him, he turns away in defiance.

You sigh. Might as well take a chance.

“…The first time I lost a fight to my father, who trained me, I hid in the toilet and cried for three hours,” Your voice projects in the amphitheater. As he tentatively turns towards you, eyes full of suspicion, you continue with a nod.

“At first, Ma and Da were worried, especially Ma, and she knocked and cooed relentlessly. But then Da wanted to pee, and he kicked open the door so hard he broke it. We didn’t have a proper toilet door for three months.”

A snort. The man shakes his head and slowly stands up. He still doesn’t take your hand, but as he wipes the dust off his butt, he says, “We have spells for that. If only he knew Knock.”

Suddenly, you recognize his voice — a solid version of that hollow echo shared between the two Academy entrance guards, who barred your entry a year ago, believing that you had lied about your relationship with Gale. It still has the same pinched haughtiness, far from welcoming, but much less condescending now.

“Yeah,” you smile, “if only.”

--

The fight is over, but there are no cheers, no boos. The audience is stunted. For a while, the only motion in the field is the cleric team, who dutifully approaches and checks on the pair of you.

Then there is Gale and Tara. Gale, who has been hanging on the edge of his seat for so long, is now splinting towards you, his face flushed with elation. As he crushes into your waiting arms, Tara elegantly glides through the air, landing gracefully before you.

“A wonderful display of strength and tactics, young Mrs. Dekarios,” she appraises calmly, as if she had always predicted your victory, though her tail, still a bit puffed, betrayed her dread just a moment ago. She looks past you cautiously.

You turn and find your match — Endorick, the clerics called him — a senior apprentice in charge of security matters. He seems to have the talent of maintaining a straight face and a puffed chest despite looking absolutely disheveled. As he raises an eyebrow at you, you find yourself more amused than annoyed.

“My husband.” You stifle a smirk as you purposefully flash him your matching wedding earrings, and he rolls his eyes. In defeat, you assume.

Gale is drenched in cold sweat, but as he pulls back and looks up at you, his voice swells with warmth.

“My love, my heart, my beautiful wife.” He punctuates every declaration with a kiss on your bruised knuckles, never letting your hand go. “What a fight that was. What a sight you are!”

You suspect Endorick has had enough of whatever this is, as he turns to pace away with a sigh, limping slightly.

You look back at Gale. His bright brown eyes are shimmering, his body quivering with giddy excitement. The smile on his face is so eager, so tender, it makes your heart so full it could burst. You simply must do something about it.

So, you scoop Gale up and twirl him in midair, silencing his surprised yelp by crushing your lips to his. His legs immediately wrap around your waist to pull you closer, deepening the kiss. Finally, there is some proper cheering.

--

It is winter again, and this year, you receive an invitation to the annual Blackstaff Winter Ball as part of their faculty.

To be fair, you are more an adjunct part-time lecturer on temporary contract, managing an elective combat-based course that students either love or hate, but still.

In this past academic year, you encountered some conservatives who insisted that Blackstaff is a serious arcane research institute and should not provide such extra curriculum activities. Yet there were also enthusiasts who sought your help in developing magic-infused melee weapons and testing their combat skills, sometimes in very passionate ways.

Endorick, surprisingly, was the latter. He still carries an air of arrogant nonchalance, but somehow, he would mysteriously appear by your table every first-day lunch break, yapping about the lack of funding for security, the declining manpower and resources, so on and so forth. Recently he had even allowed you to visit his sentinel workshop, and as you have learnt to deal with wizards, you dutifully allowed him to impress you. This has become a fun little experiment, and you are rather curious to see how far this strange relationship can go.

There were days when your teaching left you covered in bruises. It earned you a very stern warning from Professor Dekarios, albeit those often ended up delivered in bed or in the baths he insisted to draw you. In any case, you enjoyed the thrill of battle too much to truly walk away, not to mention that you had caught glimpses of him multiple times when you fought in your class, eyes blown wide and lips parted, his own duties temporarily forgotten.

As you have predicted, students who dreamed of being adventurers enjoyed your lessons the most. One of them even decided that the arcane arts were, after all, not their true calling, and consulted you on taking melee trainings instead.

What you didn’t expect were those who took an academic interest in half-orc matters. From what you have heard, there hasn’t been a half-orc associated with Blackstaff for a long time. You received some interesting invitations to record what they call "oral history", which basically boiled down to you telling stories of your life. You humored them with snippets from your childhood, both the epic and the mundane, and the students listened in bated breath as they relived the memories with you.

You told them about mud wrestling, how Da saw it almost as a sacred ritual when he taught you how to cultivate the soil before stepping into the ring. Their eyes sparkled in curiosity, and that evening ended in an impromptu wrestling workshop, drawing confused gazes from other mages.

You told them about the collection Da built for Ma to honor her noble past, and the more sentimental students swooned. But when Gale joined in to supply his anecdotal observations of your parents’ relationship with great enthusiasm, by the end of the session, you were the one who swooned.

When Ma learned of the project, she earnestly invited the group to her rooftop greenhouse for a chat over tea. That was when you realized there was so much more about your parents that you didn’t know. You sat there, thoughtful, as the students laughed roaringly at Ma’s retelling of how she convinced Da to try the bizarre etiquette trainings she went through as a child.

At the end of the day, you find yourself smiling more often, the stillness that once trapped you receding further. It makes you feel hopeful, knowing that in a way, Da will live on in these bright, eager minds.

Tonight, however, your task is more demanding. Being presentable and sociable in a formal setting still drains you. Associating with the title of Blackstaff, even just slightly, has allowed you to access a degree of comfort and respect that used to be out of reach. It is somewhat ironic that the work you do is essentially the same — combat — but suddenly you are allowed among polite society, among people whose acceptance you used to crave, particularly when you were desperate for an anchor in a new life.

You are learning a foreign language, of nods and bows, of feasts and fashions, and of titles and status. In these social events, you are usually content with observing from the sidelines.

Of course, there is one person you particularly enjoy observing. Gale is charming and witty, true, but most recently you realize something else — he has newly acquired the magical ability to turn an intoxicating status fight into a mutual appreciation of the arcane arts, his sincere passion sometimes capable of winning over the most skeptical hearts. It is truly a beautiful sight to watch: Your husband’s eyes keen and bright, his communicative hands assisting his presentation as usual, as the colleagues around him listen intently with set brows and occasional nods.

You are sampling the delicate little cakes when you catch his gaze across the hall, amusement evident on his face as he sees how full your plate is. You frown, then wipe some cream off the corner of your mouth. His smile breaks into a teasing grin.

In return, you lift the long table in one swift motion, allowing the poor waiter to clean up a glass of spilled champagne beneath. You know how your muscles look when you flex them. You barely suppress the smugness on your face when he turns away with a cough, his ear flushing red. Perhaps it’s time for a more private conversation.

"Ta'V?" An exhausted voice calls you from behind. You huff.

Endorick strides towards you, unwillingly caught between you and Gale again. He gestures to a pair of figures behind him. "A guest would like to meet you,” he mouths, “a funder.”

“And isn’t that our newest edition, the talk of the Academy?”

The man’s voice drips with feigned familiarity. You recognize him as Fenris Goldsinger, one of the closest apprentices to the Blackstaff herself. You know this because he never stops flaunting this fact.

As you give him and the elderly lady by his side a stiff bow, he continues to turn between you and the lady. “A true rarity, she is. Not only a half-orc but a non-magic user, who has, against all odds, fought her way into the heart of our institution!”

The lady tilts her head as she appraises you. She has the regal air of an ancient elf. Only her ears betray her human race. Despite her age she stands tall, silvery hair braided into a tight and elaborate bun. Her attention is piercing, and it lands straight at your golden necklace, the gift from your mother.

“Ta’V, you must meet —”

The lady stops Fenris with a rise of her palm. Her emerald eyes now languidly measure you.

“Lady Riversong,” she lets the words hang for a few moments and observes your reaction, before she continues, “a patron of the arcane arts.”

She raises an eyebrow as if expecting an answer, but you are too stunned by her first words. Your gazes lock silently, and she gives you a half-smile.

“Now forgive me, for I’ll have to leave for a meeting soon. But I am most eager to meet you, and your husband, somewhere, sometime.”

You thought she would just turn away, but she is in fact waiting for your answer. So, you agree, mind still whirling. With a satisfied smile from Lady Riversong and an awkward shoulder pat from Fenris, the pair turn and disappear into the night.

Endorick is visibly relieved. “For the love of Mystra, what have you done?” he exclaims in a hushed tone, but you aren’t paying attention.

You can’t wait to tell Ma what happened.

The end

Dear all, thank you for embarking on this journey with me. I am beyond honored that you read through Ta'V and Gale's adventure, or even more so, be touched by it. Even with tears, I think this story is ultimately rather hopeful, rather optimistic. I am particularly thrilled with how many liked the original characters, with Ta'V, and especially Da! I did not expect him to be a reader's favorite (the quiet loving dad and husband who speaks with action eh?), and how it makes me smile to read all of your comments and learn your thoughts.

I think I will do a celebratory drawing giveaway in these two weeks. If you're interested in that, stay tuned!

More of my works: here

[strawberrylemonadeswagtourney]

please give a warm welcome to the 64 contestants of the strawberry lemonade swag tourney, part two !!

we have 23 returning competitors and 41 brand new contenders vying for the crown ! starting on 07/05/2023, we'll start voting to determine which of these pink and yellow characters is the swaggiest of all time !!!

ROUND ONE MATCHUPS

PART ONE - 07/05 Phoenica Fleecity - Epithet Erased VS Yoomtah Zing - Epithet Erased Lickilicky - Pokemon VS Galarian Slowpoke - Pokemon Cherrim - Pokemon VS Shiny Weavile - Pokemon Dakota - Total Drama VS Sugar - Total Drama Geoff - Total Drama VS Jacques - Total Drama Princess Carolyn - Bojack Horseman VS Francine Smith - American Dad Kouign-Amann Cookie - Cookie Run VS Birthday Cake Cookie - Cookie Run Pastel Meringue Cookie - Cookie Run VS Butterbear Cookie - Cookie Run

PART TWO - 07/06 Dee Dee - Dexter’s Laboratory VS Helga G. Pataki - Hey Arnold! Amitie - Puyo Puyo VS Harpy - Puyo Puyo Ulala - Space Channel 5 VS Schall - Pop’n Music Iris - Pokemon VS Ortega - Pokemon Bonita Femur - Monster High VS Gooliope Jellington - Monster High Viperine Gorgon - Monster High VS Gigi Grant - Monster High Love Momozono - Fresh Pretty Cure! VS Ageha Hijiri - Soaring Sky! Pretty Cure Sayla Mass - Mobile Suit Gundam VS Satoko Hojo - When They Cry

PART THREE - 07/07 Pasca Kanonno - Tales of the World: Radiant Mythology VS Lilith Aileron - Tales of Destiny Poppy Pipopapo - Kamen Rider VS Regina George - Mean Girls Utena Tenjou - Revolutionary Girl Utena (Manga) VS Giorno Giovanni - Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Nui Harime - Kill la Kill VS Shirahoshi - One Piece Princess Peach - Mario Series VS Lucia Nanami - Mermaid Melody Ami Onuki - Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi VS Umbrella Renoir - Skullgirls Foxy - Ace Attorney VS Regina Berry - Ace Attorney Isabelle - Animal Crossing VS Pearl - Splatoon

PART FOUR - 07/08 Giovanni Potage - Epithet Erased VS Kazuichi Souda - Danganronpa Elise - Story of Seasons VS Miu Iruma - Danganronpa Kaede Akamatsu - Danganronpa VS Maribelle - Fire Emblem Awakening Effie - Fire Emblem Fates VS Forrest - Fire Emblem Fates Princess Eilonwy - The Black Cauldron VS Charlotte La Bouff - The Princess and the Frog Saki Tenma - Project Sekai VS Princess Zelda - The Legend of Zelda Hikaru Hoshina - Star Twinkle Pretty Cure! VS Mana Aida - Doki Doki! Pretty Cure Wanda - The Fairly Odd Parents VS Barbie - Barbie Franchise

[head-vampire]

Space Ace (1983) model sheet

Art by Don Bluth

Source

[audhdsonic]

🌭 ꒰ rena || 25 || nb bi ace || he/they || audhd ꒱

💎 ꒰ a bit more about me: black. afab. chronically ill. 5’3 (160cm). collector. gamer. ꒱

🎧 ꒰ video games/interests: god of war, sonic, crash bandicoot, tenchu, super mario, animal crossing, mortal kombat, naruto (video games), anything retro (specifically the 90’s) etc. ꒱

⚡️ ꒰ comfort tv shows: the amazing world of gumball, the simpsons, spongebob, teen titans go!, dexter’s laboratory, the powerpuff girls, ed, edd n eddy, courage the cowardly dog, etc. basically any nickelodeon/cartoon network show is a comfort show ♡ ꒱

🛹 ꒰ comfort items: my shadow plushie. that’s it. i’m starting to gain the courage to take it with me everywhere i go. ꒱

🌱 ꒰ DNI: racists, zionists, homophobes/transphobes, TERFS/SWERFS, fatphobes, ableists, etc. you will be blocked on f-cking sight, and i block LIBERALLY. do not reblog from my account. try me. this is a safe space for me, and i don’t want ANY bigots interacting with me or my blog. ꒱

🦔 extra info:

• anyone under 18 can interact, just keep in mind that i am an adult !!

• i won’t be posting anything NSFW here !!

and with that, i hope you enjoy my blog !! pls interact, i need moots :((

[khalixvitae]

★Under The Skin ★

Rook Hunt x Reader | ~3k words

Warnings: mentions of death and dying (not descriptive), a smattering of angst but we don’t have time to unpack all that; semi suggestive at points because I cannot seem to help myself; mentions of book 6 but nothing too descriptive! Reader is also implied to know Floyd. Vaguely canon compliant, takes place ambiguously after book 6

Info: I’ve been obsessed w the idea of Rook w an implied goth reader who collects bones and makes bone jewelry. Entirely self indulgent (i am goth and I collect bones and make jewelry Lmao). GN reader, no physical descriptors used other than that the reader wears jewelry.

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Rook Hunt was an odd duck, you’d always known that much for certain. He was hyper observant and yet seemingly unaware of social norms, constantly invading the personal space of those around him. Ever the chatterbox, he’d seamlessly suck any passersby into a whirlwind of a conversation, gleaning whatever information or entertainment he’d sought out before discarding his still confused target with a friendly adieu. He would regularly monologue, lyricize, and wax poetic about even the most mundane of things. Frankly it was difficult not to notice such glaring personality traits- he had a habit of making his eccentricities everyone’s business.

Even so, his outlandish tendencies and flowery language only further obscured what kind of person he was hiding beneath the surface (and beneath that bizarre hat). He was in Pomefiore, after all- and a Vice housewarden no less. It only made sense that his public persona, as bewildering as it may have seemed, was carefully crafted by his dexterous hands. Always guiding the conversation away from himself with a practiced ease, it was obvious he sought to keep any clear image of his character permanently out of focus. He was like a mirage- not quite tangible, his perimeter fuzzy and constructed only of contradictory statements or nearly mythological anecdotes. No matter how hard you tried to get a peek behind the veil, he was always just out of sight. You had always been certain that the trajectory of any arrow fired by those same hands would be far straighter, cleaner, than any conversation you could ever hope to have with the huntsman.

Which is what made your current situation all the more unexpected.

“And this one?” His eyes darted to another one of the many trinkets you’d scattered across your bed. Lithe fingers hesitated over the pendant he’d zeroed in on, an owlish gaze flickering up to meet your own. He wanted permission. How very unlike himself, you thought. Or perhaps it was more like him than he’d ever been in your presence- you had no way of knowing, of course. You pushed the thought away and instead nodded affirmatively. He plucked the necklace from the duvet, its weight remembered by an indentation in the plush down.

“Yeah, I found that amber while digging around on the beach with Ace and Deuce. I’d never seen inclusions like that before. It just needed a little polishing up and it made for a really nice piece. The other stones are tigers eye- I got those online.” He held the petrified resin up to the sunbeams streaming through your bedroom window, nodding affirmatively as you spoke.

“Magnifique! How lucky you are, mon Trickster.” He rolled the stones between his fingers, a musical lilt coloring his speech. “You have quite the collection- a proper Cabinet des Merveilles.”

You shrugged at that, glancing down at the innumerable treasures you’d accumulated. Well, treasures was a subjective title to say the least. Bones or teeth belonging to unknown animals, each fragment you’d found in the woods and painstakingly cleaned to later preserve. Carefully dried flowers from plants you’d never seen prior to your arrival in Twisted Wonderland, as well as some familiar varieties you’d taken comfort in coming across. Sea glass, petrified coral, and iridescent shells you’d collected on trips to the coast with your friends. A shadow box of butterfly specimens found around the school’s botanical gardens, each one you’d mounted with care. Evidence of your time there, proof of your experiences and your memories and your love for a foreign place you’d slowly made home.

When you managed to untangle yourself from your own sentimentality, you realized he was watching you. He was waiting. His vibrant green eyes were too green in the early evening light, shining like pools of opaque, still wet oil paint.

“I’m glad you like them,” you answered simply, your voice far more hoarse than you’d anticipated. The bizarre nature of your situation only hit you further when he shifted his weight, his attention now focused solely on you- as if you were a specimen in your own collection.

All of this because he’d inquired about your earrings in homeroom.

They were simple things, really. Pretty green glass beads strung together with tiny bones you’d unearthed on one of your many hikes. They had belonged to something small, and you were certain the delicate pieces were vertebrae. It was a wonder they were so intact- however despite their relatively pristine condition, you had no idea what creature they’d belonged to.

You figured they’d caught the light just right, or maybe you’d tilted your head just so- it didn’t take much to catch the hunter’s attention, after all. Whatever the case, halfway through the lesson you’d noticed his keen eyes on you. Your recognition did nothing to deter his blatant staring; in fact, he’d waved at you. As strange as it may have been, you didn’t pay it much mind. Rook was odd, sure, but he’d never done anything outright malicious. Well, not towards you. This kind of behavior was well within his usual repertoire and therefore easy enough to ignore.

In much the same way, it wasn’t totally unexpected for him to descend upon you as soon as the bell rang for dismissal. Rook wasn’t an especially large guy, at least not compared to some of your other classmates. He was broad shouldered and sturdily built, sure, but he wasn’t a notable giant like Jack Howl. And yet something about Rook made him loom, an imposing presence despite his cheerful cadence and charismatic smile. He always toed a fine line, giving the impression that he was all over you without ever once making physical contact. Your encounter that day had been no different; he’d spouted off a laundry list of greetings and praises, only half of which you’d managed to catch, before dipping in closer to view your handiwork.

“Oh! Beau savoir-faire! Did you make these yourself, Trickster?” The way he’d honed in on the dangling vertebrae made you keenly aware of how they framed the vulnerable column of your throat; the equivalent to a neon sign for any apex predator, Rook himself included. Feeling ever more exposed, the rest of the conversation passed with a quickness you had grown to expect from the hunter. Before you knew it, you’d invited him to come by Ramshackle so he could view the rest of your collection. After all, it wasn’t often that someone took vested interest in your little hobby. Ace thought it was outright creepy. Shells were fine, and he could almost (almost) give the butterfly thing a pass, but bones were where he drew the line and made a point to tell you so. And tell you he did. Frequently. Deuce was less outright rude about his discomfort- he wasn’t Ace, after all- but the squeamish look on his face was enough to deter you from showing him any unusual specimens.

When you’d arrived home from classes that day, Rook was already on your doorstep. He looked excited, nearly childlike in his enthusiasm. You’d resolved to yourself then that letting him into Ramshackle would do no harm- Rook was strange, yes, but he was only as dangerous as the rest of your peers. He’d never been remotely unkind to you; in fact, he’d been extraordinarily helpful on more than one occasion. Besides, he was already there, patiently waiting for you on your own stoop. Turning him away now would be just plain rude, not to mention he often made pleasant company.

And so there you were, settled across from Rook Hunt of all people. Alone, in your otherwise desolate dorm- the Great Seven only knew where Grim had slinked off to when your guest arrived. Even the ghosts had made themselves scarce since you’d guided Rook to your bedroom. That being several hours prior, you were astonished that not a solitary soul had intruded upon your peace. Normally something or someone would’ve stirred up trouble for you by then, but the dormitory was silent. He was still silently observing you, and that exposed feeling from earlier in the day seeped back into your bones.

“The ones you’re wearing. May I look at them again? The lighting here is much better, no?” As always he sounded so sublimely agreeable, and it would’ve felt even more revealing to tell him no. Not that you wanted to tell him no, necessarily. If anything, you didn’t mind the thought of him getting closer. That was a damning thought you forced down immediately as you gave him the go ahead. He removed his hat and placed it somewhere beside him- you didn’t keep track of where, far too focused on his reasoning for doing so. He leaned in closer, so close in fact that the brim of his trademark accessory would’ve prevented him from achieving the proximity.

“Snake vertebrae,” he murmured, as if identifying them didn’t take a moment’s thought. “And my, how wonderfully preserved! You’re quite talented, mon Trickster.” His breath grazed your cheek as he spoke, words ringing impossibly close to your ear. The sudden thought that he smelled nice passed over you, only serving to grow your list of absolutely damning thoughts about Rook Hunt. The subsequent realization that there was a list to begin with would have made your blood run cold had the heat of your embarrassment not warmed you down to your bones.

You briefly recalled one of Floyd Leech’s many complaints he’d voiced to you on your living room floor. He’d dropped in uninvited, if memory served you right, but you’d digress for the moment. You weren’t sure of the full context- you didn’t make point to pay that much attention when Floyd was in one of his moods- but what you did remember was a rather innocuous detail he’d given you about the hunter sitting on your bed. That he only wore perfumes when he wanted to be noticed. Of course Floyd’s delivery had been much more coarse and insulting, but nonetheless. And the herbal, nearly floral scent you’d caught was definitely cosmetic, you were sure of that. So he wanted to be noticed by you, then? Another idea to add to your ever growing list.

The soft shuffling of leather brought your senses back into sharp focus. He’d removed one of his gloves, brandishing his bare hand in your line of sight. “May I?”

You nodded silently, watching it for as long as you could. A gentle tug on your earring let you know he was turning the charms around, looking it over carefully with those unnerving eyes of his. Wheatgrass strands of his cropped hair tickled your skin, but you held as still as one of the courtyard statues.

When he finally sat back he looked more than pleased. “Your finds are most impressive,” he chittered, tapping his bare fingers against his gloved ones. You watched them for a moment, taking note of the practiced calluses on each exposed fingertip- marks of his upbringing that even Vil’s carefully coordinated skincare routines couldn’t fully erase.

“But why do you collect them?”

The question wasn’t entirely unexpected- it was quite common for people to be curious about what motivated such a strange hobby. What was unexpected though was the glint in his eye. Something hopeful and genuine brewed behind his placid expression, something you couldn’t quite place but intended to figure out.

“Because they’re beautiful,” you replied, far surer and more steadfast than you’d been moments before.

“Even though they’re dead?” He raised a manicured eyebrow at you expectantly, the shine of his eyes catching the sun’s last bright rays.

“Of course. I mean why wouldn’t they be? It’s not like death itself is innately ugly. And dead things aren’t either.” It was your turn to lean forward, soaking up his expression that wasn’t all that unlike surprise.

A quiet laugh bubbled up past his lips. “So you do not fear death, then?”

You shook your head, matching the soft smile he offered you in exchange for your thoughts. “Death, no. Dying? Absolutely. Dying has a sensation- well, probably, its not like I’ve done it before- and that’s what I’m afraid of. What it feels like. I’m way more impartial when it comes to death itself. Mostly because it’s also impartial. It just is. It’s not malicious, or calculating. It’s just there.”

You brushed a hand over your trinkets, choosing your next words carefully. “I guess the only scary part about death is that when you’re dead, you run the risk of being forgotten. I mean, that’s why stuff like ruins and run down cemeteries are a thing. It’s not that those things don’t matter anymore because they’re dead, but because they’ve been forgotten about. Bones are a lot like that. Just because they aren’t up and moving anymore doesn’t mean they just cease to exist. The thought of dead things being forgotten about… bothers me? I guess? Especially when they’re beautiful things. Because all beautiful things were loved at some point, even in passing.” Perhaps this was all getting a little too introspective. Part of you wondered if you were a forgotten thing back in your own world; what had your loved ones done? Sometimes you felt like a dead thing with no body, no grave for them to visit. Something that had truly ceased to exist outside the memory of those around you. You worried you were revealing far too much, however his wide eyes and parted lips were all the encouragement you’d needed to continue forward.

“So I like to find them and clean them up. Yeah they’re inanimate now, but they deserve to be remembered and loved, even if they’ve changed. And I do love them. They’re special to me, just like the times and places I found them.”

Rook was wound taut like a bowstring, his posture rigid and features affixed in an expression of unmistakable awe. And there he was. Suddenly his usual shifting demeanor was frozen in time. The smoke and mirrors he usually deployed were no longer in effect, and you were absolutely sure that you were getting an honest look at him. Staring at him like that, you could recall a few instances where you’d seen him in momentary clarity. When he’d jump to protect his juniors, or when he nearly took off alone during the STYX debacle, and when something would catch him so off guard he’d throw his head back in unpracticed laughter. This was that Rook. The prolonged sight made it hard to breathe.

The final fiery glows of the setting sun illuminated him, now uninterrupted by the wide brim of his hat that still lay discarded on your bed. In the warm evening light you could faintly see the ghosts of freckles along his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, faded but still a part of him. His soft woodsy perfumes, the bare hand laid flat against your duvet and the hopeful way he stared at you, as if begging you to accept some sort of invitation you’d never consciously received.

For the first time you could recall, he looked weak.

And just as quickly, he began to slip away. His long lashes fluttered and he forced a quiet laugh- he was beginning to recompose his facade piece by piece. He went to work slipping on his missing glove, beginning one of his typical monologues- he was running. Whatever silent offer he’d given you, you’d sorely missed your chance. If you didn’t think of something, anything to stop him, you were sure this wouldn’t happen again. “Magnifique! Another devoted to the pursuit of love, much like myself! How dreadful it is that the evening is drawing to a close-“

“You’re so beautiful.”

Whatever door he’d tried to close was promptly blown off its hinges. There was a heavy silence that settled over the two of you as his already wide eyes grew to the size of saucers. The sun had fully dipped below the horizon, and now the fluorescent street lamp by your window illuminated his visage in new shades of blue.

“Excusez-moi?” His honey colored lashes fluttered as he once again met your gaze. You may as well have punched him in the gut.

“I said you’re beautiful, Rook.” By lightly nudging his hand away from his hat you only further disarmed him. Something in his posture went lax; the bowstring had finally snapped, leaving him boneless, powerless beneath your intense gaze. He looked relieved. Being so exposed was exhausting, yet set a visible shiver down his spine.

All at once you placed that glint in his eyes from before, his silent request coming into vivid focus. An aching desire to be a part of your larger collection- something to be coveted, something to be loved regardless of form. You supposed one devoted to the pursuit of love would crave it the most. Had that been what this was from the start? His benevolent assistance, his endless compliments, his unwavering attention? You’d written it off as his usual eccentricities, but had he been subtly peacocking this whole time? The way he allowed you to ever so gently remove both gloves and press your skin against his gave you all the confirmation you needed. When you trailed your fingertips along his forearms before encircling his wrists, he all but pushed them into your grip. There was something else in his verdant gaze, something that told you he’d ask you to maim him and enthusiastically thank you after the fact. Not that you’d ever want to harm him at all; no, seeing him in such a state gave you an abrupt and thorough understanding of his desire to protect all things beautiful.

However, Rook would, in fact, leave shortly after. Your time had drawn to a close, and he did have duties to tend to at his own dormitory. Part of you worried he wouldn’t come back- that the moment of weakness the huntsman shared would be regretted as soon as he slipped away.

How foolish of you.

A few days afterward on your way to class, you noticed something glinting in the morning light. An arrow, cleanly wedged into the clapboard by your front door. A little bag of trinkets had been secured to it, along with a note.

“Pour le Cabinet des Merveilles de mon amour” - R.

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Tag list for those of y’all who were on the same wavelength over the last few days! Feel free to DM to be added! A Vil fic is probably gonna be next bc I have Pomefiore brainworms alsjdkdj (and dm if you wish to be removed ofc! <3)

@v-anrouge @vtoriacore @phoneymedic @gum-gum-time

[pathfinderunlocked]

Werewitch - CR4 Humanoid

She has claws. Twice.

Artwork by andrewkmar on Tumblr and Artstation. Original post seemingly now deleted.

This witch uses a modified (nerfed) version of the Protective Luck hex. Fun fact, the author of the hex admitted on the Paizo forums that they didn't realize other similar hexes like Fortune and Misfortune were limited. Fortune only works on a single roll, Misfortune has a save to negate it, and both of them can only be cast on the same target once per day. I modified Protective Luck (both in this creature, and for players in my games who use it) to have similar restrictions to Misfortune.

Anyway, I saw this art and was instantly like, "That's a skinwalker tatterdemalion witch that uses Dancing Strings on the animal skins she wears to make them claw people." And then I had to make a stat block for it.

Werewitch - CR 4

Draped in ragged animal hides, this woman's form resembles a wolf, but she doesn't appear to be a true werewolf. The animal hide seems to be moving on its own, trying to claw at you.

XP 1,200 Skinwalker (werewolf-kin) witch (bouda, tatterdemalion) 4, shifter 1 CE Medium humanoid (shapechanger, skinwalker) Init +3 Senses Darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +8

DEFENSE

AC 15, touch 14, flat-footed 11 (+3 Dex, +1 dodge, +1 natural) hp 29 (1d10+4d6+5) Fort +5, Ref +7, Will +5

OFFENSE

Speed 30 ft. Melee 2 claws +6 (1d4+1) and bite +7 (1d6+2) and dancing strings +1 (1d3+1) or Melee mwk dagger +7 (1d4+1/19-20) and bite +1 (1d6) and dancing strings +1 (1d3+1) Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with dancing strings) Special Attacks dancing strings, hexes (bouda's eye [–2, 6 rounds], moth-eaten, protective luck), shifter aspect (wolf), shifter's claws (alternate natural attack: bite)

Skinwalker Spell-like Abilities (CL 5th; concentration +3)     1/day—magic fang (already cast on bite)

Witch Spells Prepared (CL 4th; concentration +7)     2nd—cat's grace (already cast), lipstitch (DC 15)     1st—animate rope, cause fear (DC 14), cheetah's sprint, jump (already cast)     0 (at will)—detect magic, mage hand, open/close, prestidigitation

Patron Agility

BASE STATISTICS

Without cat's grace, jump, and magic fang, the werewitch's statistics are: Init +1; AC 13, touch 12, flat-footed 11; Ref +4; Melee 2 claws +4 (1d4+1) and bite +4 (1d6+1); or Melee dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20) and bite -1 (1d6); CMD 16; Skills Acrobatics +7, Ride +5

STATISTICS

Str 12, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 7 Base Atk +3; CMB +4; CMD 18 Feats Combat Casting, Dodge, Weapon Finesse Skills Acrobatics +9 (+19 to jump), Climb +8, Handle Animal +4, Intimidate +4, Knowledge (arcana) +7, Knowledge (nature) +11, Perception +8, Ride +7, Spellcraft +11, Survival +4; Racial Modifiers +2 on wild empathy checks Languages Common, Druidic, Gnoll, Orc, Sylvan SQ fetish, wild empathy Gear mwk dagger, cloak of resistance +1

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Bouda’s Eye (Su) A werewitch's gaze can bestow ill fortune on her enemies. This hex can affect a creature within 30 feet that the werewitch can see. The target takes a –2 penalty on one of the following (werewitch's choice): AC, ability checks, attack rolls, saving throws, or skill checks. The hex lasts for 6 rounds. A successful DC 15 Will saving throw reduces the duration of the hex to 1 round. Once per day when the werewitch uses this hex, she can impose two different penalties on the target instead of just one. This is a mind-affecting effect.

Dancing Strings (Su) A werewitch can control her clothing (including furs) and cloth, rope, or woven fabric she wears, causing it to grow up to 10 feet long or to shrink to its normal length, and can manipulate such materials as if they were a limb with a Strength score equal to her Intelligence score (usually +3). Her dancing strings have a reach of 10 feet, and she can use them as a secondary natural attack that deals 1d3 points of damage. Her dancing strings can manipulate objects (but not weapons) as dexterously as a human hand.

The dancing strings cannot be sundered or attacked as a separate creature. Pieces cut from the werewitch's dancing strings shrink away to nothing. The werewitch can manipulate her dancing strings for 4 minutes each day; these minutes do not need to be consecutive, but must be spent in 1-minute increments.

Fetish (Su) In place of a familiar, a werewitch has a fetish which contains her known spells. Once per day, she can use her fetish to deliver a touch spell, changing it into a ranged touch spell within a range of 30 feet.

Moth-Eaten (Sp) As a standard action, 4 times per day, a werewitch can make a touch attack that damages leather, rope, or cloth like rusting grasp damages metal.

Protective Luck (Su) The werewitch can cause fate to twist so that it benefits a creature other than herself within 30 feet for 1 round. Whenever that creature is targeted by an effect that requires an attack roll, including weapon attacks, the attacker must roll twice and take the worse result. The first time an attacker makes an attack roll against a target with Protective Luck, the attacker can make a will save to ignore the werewitch's Protective Luck for the rest of the day.

Shifter Aspect (Su) A werewitch can gain scent to a range of 10 ft. for 4 minutes per day. The duration need not be consecutive but must be spent in 1-minute increments. Shifting into a minor form is a swift action, while ending the effect is a free action.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

🛡 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Blowfish Armor
Armor (padded), uncommon ___ This padded armor is adorned with spiked, leathery shoulder guards. At the center of each patch of armor is a darkened spot, which feels slightly firmer than the rest of the armor. While wearing this armor, you can use an action to magically inflate and transform into a padded, 10-foot-diameter sphere. You remain in this form for 10 minutes or until you end the effect (no action required). Your body and other equipment are engulfed by the sphere for the duration. You can’t see what occurs outside the sphere, and any Wisdom (Perception) checks you make to hear sounds outside it are made with disadvantage. You can speak, but your voice is muffled by the padded sphere. Your speed is reduced to 0, although another creature can carefully push the sphere to roll it; doing so requires the creature to spend 2 feet of movement for every 1 foot it moves while rolling the sphere. While inflated in this way, spikes extrude from the sphere. Any creature within 5 feet of the sphere that hits it with a melee attack or grapples it takes 1d6 piercing damage from the spikes. The sphere has 15 hit points, AC 10, resistance to all damage (except for piercing and slashing), and immunity to bludgeoning, poison, and psychic damage. When the sphere is reduced to 0 hit points, it deflates, and you return to your normal form. Any damage dealt to the sphere is not carried over to you. This property of the armor can't be used again until the next dawn. Any creature within 5 feet of you when you transform must succeed on a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw or take 3d6 piercing damage from the sudden spikes. Regardless, any creature within the sphere's new space is pushed into the nearest unoccupied one. If there isn't enough room for the transformation, the sphere attains the maximum possible size in the space available. If you transform into the sphere while underwater, you immediately rise 60 feet toward the surface. While you remain transformed, you rise 60 feet toward the surface again at the start of each of your turns. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!