#spectral guardian

[magicwithclass]

Spectral Guardian

[rikimaru725]

[mahoganyrust]

“Dreams of the Empire”

My boyyyyyyy. My sonnnnnnnn.

(Comms open btw <3)

[puffballwarrior-blog]

I think it would be silly if you could see Angelor with a yokai watch

[twinterrors29]

Lovecraftian AU

Victorian businessman Sheev Palpatine wishes to retire peacefully to the countryside, and his former colleague Count Dooku is able to facilitate his purchase of a large estate, containing many individual farms, a small village, and a large manor house that had been converted from an old monastery

(whether Palpatine is 'retiring' or 'being chased out of Coruscant due to his dubious business practices by an angry mob' is a matter of debate among the local newspapers)

(and maybe, if he hadn't been so flustered by the angry mobs, he would have remembered that the Count was one of the many colleagues he'd screwed over in his pursuit of wealth and power, and one who was particularly known to hold a grudge)

to his dismay, the Kaminoan locals are not using the most modern Coruscanti farming practices, and in fact, many of them seem inclined to pursue other, less profitable vocations

(or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, his dismay was amplified; after all, the Count had not warned him that the villages were filled with foreigners, whose brown skin and dark hair and eyes were effectively indistinguishable to his (cough racist cough) noble sensibilities. why, they even spoke a language other than Basic amongst themselves!)

as he attempts to enforce order among his new tenants, graciously shepherding them into modernity and proper society (cough attempting to enforce assimilation and maximize his extraction of personal profits off their labor and natural resources cough), he starts to notice some...oddities

at first he dismisses the apparitions as the locals' superstitions getting into his head, but as some of the phantasms become more active, he begins to doubt himself

the expensive new farming equipment he bought, laid to waste by a rusty blight carried before his eyes by a masked, taloned specter

the industrial suppliers and purchasers refusing to do further business with him after dreams of speaking with a spectral gentleman who recounted many of Palpatine's crimes to them the night before they were due to sign contracts with him

the new glass in his windows shattering at the hands of a dark-skinned man in broad daylight

the seeds he had the locals plant mysteriously sprouting as the crops the locals had been planning to cultivate rather than his own planned cash crop after a flash flood from the local river, when he could have sworn that he saw the blue face of a woman just below the surface of the water

he starts setting traps for the phantasms, but none of them ever seem to catch anything

his sleep is increasingly disturbed by nightmares of being hunted through the plains by something (or someone) with sharp teeth, close at his heels

he stops sleeping

and, in his exhaustion, he forgets keep covering his tracks in his dirtier dealings, and the angry mobs from Coruscant find him raving wildly about the ungodly beings living in the shadows of his new community

they chalk it up to the guilt catching up with him, and leave the local farmers and artisans to take back up their former occupations in peace as they haul Palpatine away

[redshift-art]

Destiny 2 Void Hunter. I tried to make this version darker, tone down the saturation, and focus more deliberately on shapes and composition. Hope you like it

This piece is available as a print: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1473111783/destiny-2-void-hunter-art-print

Also I'm open for commissions: https://redshift-art.carrd.co

[cringywhitedragon]

PMD SlSpG Lore: The Thieves Guild

”Say you were unjustly accused of being a thief by those Kleceon because a Voltorb decided to blow up their wares and stole your items or there’s some wanted criminal out there.

That where we come in. We’ll enact some karmic justice and get your items back and we’ll put away the bad guys. All for a price though. And we take regular guild missions.

We may have the name “Thieves” in our name but we’d never steal from the innocent. Think of us as more of a group of organized bounty hunters.

Also I’m one who believes in fair shares here. Bounties are split 50/50. Fifty to the ones who clear it and the other fifty goes back to the guild itself.”

-Guildmaster Gamblar

The main group who the protagonist and their partner will be working with during the story of Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Starlight/Spectral Guardian.

Despite the organization’s name, The Thieves Guild isn’t just a group of petty crooks and bandits but more akin to bounty hunters who do various jobs for anyone who’s willing to pay (With limitations though as they do have a code of honor.)

The guild is headed by Guildmaster Gamblar. A rather suave and kind Grass/Dark type with a mischievous streak and a former bandit/Robin Hood archetype. He formed the group along with another Pokémon initially as a way to “stand up for the people” but later expanded beyond that to start taking other guild related work all across Edenia with the help of an old friend: The other founder, Elder Kleceon. The eldest brother of the Kleceon brothers before he went missing (Though he can be brought back via a Sidequest where he will open a special shop where you can get items at a heavily discounted price)

“Greedy!!! That’s what you and all of the others are. Don’t act you were trying to defend your wares when you steal stuff belonging to innocent Pokémon! All because of a Voltorb blowing up somebody’s wares. A VOLTORB!! That two innocent adventurers were badly hurt.

And what did the other Kleceon do? Robbed them blind! Took that team’s items and replaced them with Plain Seeds if I didn’t step in to return their items.

I’m tired of this business… You and all the others are all alike as I have finally come to see. Overcharging for items… Stealing others belongings… All of it that you hide behind your plastered smiles.

Goodbye you two, I hope I never see your faces again as I’m ashamed to consider you family.”

-The second founder/Elder Brother Kleceon (Cutscene that plays post-Shadow Blight fight)

The group is well respected around Edenia and is known to collaborate with other groups, through there is some history of tension.

Members of the Thevies Guild gain access to a few new job types alongside just the standard guild quests: Namely the introduction of Thief Quests (stealth focused with new gameplay), Bounty Jobs (Normal gameplay, replaces challenge letters and serve as a boss fight. Pay higher than most normal quests), Challenge Jobs (Harder missions with specific restrictions, these jobs pay the highest of all but are much harder).

As mentioned above, the Thieves Guild does take a 50 commission on Poke from any jobs done. Poke taken by the guild can be used to upgrade the main Headquarters as part of a system called Guild Projects. Guild Projects are unlocked through various means (Progressing the Main Story, Sidequests, etc) and once completed, unlock new facilities, lodging (Recruitment space), customization (Both HQ and the Player’s room), floors, and much more within the Thieves Guild HQ.

Throughout the main story, The Thieves Guild end up as the Pokémon on the front line in their fight against the Will and the Shadow Blight.

[spectral-ace]

[thalwhore]

Hey d,,,does anyone know if there's a marking set in eso that I can use for one of the khajiit furstocks that have little to no body hair? I wanna make one SO bad.

I've already decided Ahjara-Ma is a Dagi khajiit, Ji is a Cathay, The woman I WILL make eventually who bore Ahjara had a child before (who sadly died shortly after) who was an Alfiq, and Ji's parents were both Senche.

And I REALLY wanna make Ahjara's mother an Ohmes, really tryna diversify the fam yanno?

[sunvylovebug]

Whispers of the heart

↬Warnings: No warnings …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

↬ Gender Neutral!Reader, they/them pronouns and third person narration (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

↬Author Note: I'm in love with this man. I need to keep playing so I can know more about the other characters (and hopefully I could write about them) but man, I love Mr. Crawling so much, I just want to write more and more about him, even though I'm a bit rusty lol

↬Summary: Y/N left that mysterious world full of curious entities... But they weren't alone. What was life like living with one of these entities?

↬ Word Count: 1,200 Words

Masterlist

Y/N had once been a wanderer in a world that wasn't their own; a strange ghostly dimension. Time had little meaning there. It was a place of shadows, whispers, and spectral beings who spoke in a language as foreign as the world itself. Y/N couldn't understand them, and they never seemed to understand Y/N either.

Lost, adrift in a sea of incomprehensible murmurs, at least until Y/N met him. Mr. Crawling had appeared from the dark, like a sliver of the abyss, a scary crawling being but one extremely sweet and caring. He had long hair that cascaded like a waterfall of ink, and, when he wasn't crawling, a tall, lean form that loomed over them like a silent guardian. His voice was strange, in a good way, almost gentle, But there was something about her that they couldn't quite distinguish: it was different. He didn’t speak in words they understood, but his actions were clear, he was there to protect them.

In the beginning, Y/N had been frightened. They didn’t know who or what Mr. Crawling was, only that he moved with an unsettling grace, always following them like a puppy, never leaving their side. But soon, they realized that he wasn’t a threat. He had a need, an overwhelming desire to be close, to offer comfort in a place that was foreign and frightening to Y/N. He was clingy, too clingy at times, always hovering near them, offering small gestures of affection they didn’t understand at first. A headpat here, a gentle nuzzle there, an embrace that felt strangely warm despite his ethereal nature and cold body.

The more time they spent together, the more Y/N realized that Mr. Crawling was different from the other entities in the ghostly world. Where others were distant and cold, he was compassionate and strangely affectionate. He didn’t speak the language of this world, but neither did Y/N. Yet, somehow, they communicated. Through some little words. Through silence. Through touch. Through the small, tender moments they shared in their strange, shared isolation.

It was Mr. Crawling who helped them escape the ghostly world. They had been lost, and he had guided them with soft whispers and a metaphorical hand that never let go, pulling them out of the abyss and back to their world.

Now, the two of them lived in a modest house at the edge of a sleepy town, far from the shadows of the world he'd once known. The house was small but cozy, tucked away beneath the embrace of towering trees and the endless sky. The walls were lined with books, books that Y/N had bought, books that Mr. Crawling didn't quite understand yet, but was fascinated by nonetheless (he especially liked the ones with cute pictures). The furniture was simple, the windows large, letting in sunlight that warmed their new home.

Y/N had found a quiet life for them. They were still adjusting, still processing everything that had happened, but there was peace now. There was a routine. And with that routine, Mr. Crawling adapted too.

At first, Y/N wasn’t sure how to teach him the human language. He didn’t speak it, after all he never needed to, but his curiosity had grown. Sometimes he'd watch them speak, listened intently, and began to mimic the sounds they made. His voice was soft at first, a murmur that seemed foreign, but with every passing day, it grew more confident. Slowly, Y/N began to understand his language too, a delicate, melodic series of his words, his clicks and hums, like a song that had been lost to time.

They both had so much to teach each other.

There were nights when Y/N would sit with him, books open between them, and they would practice together. Y/N would point to objects around the room, saying their names, and Mr. Crawling would repeat them in his hauntingly beautiful tone, he was adorable when he was focused, lips curling slightly as if savoring each new word. His progress was slow, but his dedication was unwavering. And in return, Y/N learned to understand his quiet language, his words of affection, his quiet murmurs of concern when he thought they were upset, his soft sounds that resonated like the wind brushing through the trees.

But it wasn’t just the language they shared, it was the quiet companionship. Mr. Crawling, despite his ghostly form, was very much alive in the ways that mattered. He was there in the mornings, wrapping them in soft, clingy hugs that kept them grounded, pulling them close as if afraid they might slip away. His physical affection was constant, sometimes in a bit of a suffocating way, but in a way that made Y/N feel safe, loved, and never alone. His headpats were his way of saying "I'm here and I love you", his nuzzles a wordless declaration of devotion.

There were moments when Y/N would catch him staring at them, just watching, inspecting their features, his face full of something unreadable, almost sorrowful. But then he would smile and nudge them gently as if to remind himself that they were here, together.

Life with Mr. Crawling wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. They made it work. On quiet afternoons, they would sit by the window, Y/N with a book in their lap, and Mr. Crawling curled up beside them, his head resting on their shoulder. He would often fall asleep that way, his dark hair cascading over their arm like a curtain of dark silk. Y/N had come to treasure these small moments, the way the light filtered through the trees, the way his presence felt like a constant comfort, the way his hands would sometimes gently clasp theirs as if he feared letting go, as if he feared losing them.

And when the days grew long, and the silence of night enveloped them, Y/N would speak in their language he was still learning, telling him little things he loved to hear and understood a little, praising him, loving him, just telling him stories about their life, little experiences and moments, memories. And he would listen, his expression softening, his touch a gentle reminder that he was there, always, beside them forever.

Mr. Crawling would share his own stories, stories of his world, of the ghostly land from which he came. He spoke in his own language, a soft hum that filled the space between them, and though Y/N couldn’t understand all of it, they could feel the weight of his memories, the depth of his existence. He had been a part of that world, a lingering echo in a place they could never return to. But now, he was with them. And he was happy.

They had created their own little world, away from the shadows, away from the haunting whispers. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs, full of quiet mornings, warm nights, and a love that transcended the space between words. Together, they had learned to speak a language of their own, one not of words, but of presence, of touch and of the quiet understanding that sometimes, the most important thing isn’t to speak, but to simply be together.

And with that, more was conveyed than all the words in the world could.

[magicwithclass]

Spectral Guardian

Spectral Guardian received attention as early as the year 2018. Back then, this card almost reached the ten dollar mark. At the time people were unsure if there was genuine demand for the card or if this was just a buyout. Perhaps someone saw something in this creature and tried to obtain as many copies of possible for the future. I can kind of see why. The card is decent even in today's game. I would not be surprised to see this in a commander deck and in casual play no one will really question a spectral guardian in your artifact deck. 4 mana is a reasonable price to pay to give all your noncreature artifacts shroud. That is an amazing form of protection and 4 mana is a very efficient cost for that effect. Today, the card would most likely have given hexproof or ward but shroud is reasonable. You will not be to target your own artifacts but you wouldn't be playing the guardian in a deck that wants you to target your own artifacts. This card reminds me a lot of padeem consul of innivation. Padeem is the stronger card but you may not always be playing blue and I like that my boros artifact deck can have blanket protection at an acceptable cost. Spectral Guardian does need to remain untapped but your opponent is just as likely to get rid of the guardian than tap it down. Of course, spectral guardian did receive another buyout in 2021. At the time it went up to 13 dollars. Thus, there were two times in modern history that this card was above bulk before plummeting back down to about a dollar or less. Is the third time a charm? Will the next spike finally allow spectral guardian to keep a more expensive price tag? Well, people are looking at this card. Not many reserved list cards have spiked twice only to go back to bulk. This card is playable in commander despite seeing play in less than 70 decks. People should really give this a try. Perhaps a commander will come along that really wants this protection in mono white. Out of the many bulk reserved list cards, spectral guardian has one of the highest generic power levels. I assume that is why there has been market speculation on this card in the past. Strangely, edhrec shows a bunch of older, reserved list cards as cards with high synergy or top cards. In reality, the decks that this card can fit in are not located on edhrec because not enough players are using this card in decks it fits. What a shame. I think this card would be much more expensive if one prominent commander started using this a lot on edhrec. Exposure is sometimes all a card needs to reach the limelight. I would keep my eye on this card and I have at least a playset. One day, I know I will find a home for this spirit in my commander decks. Until then, I will hold onto my copies as this is one card that I do not think will remain bulk. If there is ever another reserved list spike or a series of buyouts, I would target this card especially as white is getting more artifact support. Lets try to get spectral guardian some more playtime. Put this guy in your artifact decks! If you are running gandalf the white, oswald fiddlebender, teshar apostle, losheel, lita mechanical engineer, or ratchet field medic, then try spectral guardian in thos decks. You may be pleasantly surprised. Also, shorikai genesis engine is a noncreature artifact. Spectral guardian can protect your vehicles as long as you do not crew them. In fact, as more and more commanders are released that are noncreatures, maybe spectral guardian gets better and better.

[astra-ravana]

A Dive Into The Dark Feminine

The Dark Feminine is not the same as the Wounded or Shadow Feminine energy. No. She is deeply misunderstood because society represses her into shadow. She is liberation, rage, pleasure, and intuition. She is not a manipulation or a repackaging of the male gaze.

She is fierce grace, wild liberation, the sword of truth. She is blood, sex, and earth. The Lover and the Whore. She shakes the cage of "Good Girl" conditioning to unleash the full spectrum expression of woman.

She is Hekate, Kali, Lilith. The Creatrix and the Destroyer. She is the Shamaness, the Wild Woman, and the Wise Crone. Once a woman awakens to her there is no going back.

"Your rage is sacred.

Your grief is a holy gift.

Your full-spectrum depths,

hold your greatest power."

Dark Feminine Energy is:

Self sourced power, sensuality, chaos, devotion, magick, passion, rage, transformation, internal safety, fearlessness, sexual liberation, the unknown, regeneration, wholeness, sisterhood, authenticity, death

Checklist

• Cut off toxic people.

• Practice shadow work.

• Prioritize self-care.

• Healthy communication with loved ones.

• Practice manifestation.

• Try things out of your comfort zone.

Essential Dark Goddesses

• Lilith

• Hekate

• Morrigan

• Nyx

• Persephone

• Morgan le Fay

• Erish Kigal

• Baba Yaga

• Sekhmet

• Freya

• Circe

• Oya

• Hel

• Medusa

• Eris

• Kali

• Melinoe

• Angrboda

• Tiamat

"And in the death of her reputation,

She felt truly alive."

Pre and Post Patriarchy Views of Women and Sex

Pre-Patriarchy

• Sexuality and divinity were one; sex was seen as divine.

• The more sexual a woman, the more holy.

• Priestesses that were initiated into the highest Mystery (womb magick) were seen as livinf goddesses.

• The worth of a woman was inherent.

• Sacred priestesses in tune with their sexuality, having mastered the power of their bodies (Kundalini) were revered as a direct portal to spirit and the Gods/Energies of the Universe.

Post-Patriarchy

• Sexuality being taboo, seen as profane, filthy, even evil.

• The more sexual a woman, the more vulgar and profane.

• Priestesses turned to sex slaves, "prostitutes" for men to release upon their repressed sexualities and sexual tension.

• The worth of a woman is now in relation to a man; her value is in her chastity. The more lovers she has, the more worthless she becomes.

• The word "whore" is used as an insult for women who were comfortable with sexuality.

• The more a woman is sexual, associated with the taboos and repressed instincts of the collective, the less she is respected, seen as "not respecting herself", "being cheap", "easy", or "giving her most sacred possession away".

• Women with high sex drives said to have "fornicated with the Devil".

Someone who has a lot of sexual energy can also possess a powerful healing energy. This is because sexual energy IS healing energy at a spiritual level. The best healers have big sexual energy.

VINDICA TE TIBI - "Claim yourself"

The Secret Power of Friday the 13th

Friday the 13th is actually good luck as it is associated with the 13 cycles of the moon in a lunar year, this is why a woman has 13 cycles a year, and ovulates on the 13th day. In 1487 free thinking and Divine Female Energy was suppressed and labeled witchcraft by Heinrich Kramer, who went forth to burn many healers on the stake due to forced ignorance and hatred for powerful female leaders. This is why Friday the 13th is actually a spiritual day of enlightenment, divine/dark feminine energy, and healing that should be sacred instead of hated.

Black Moon Lilith

In astrology, Black Moon Lilith plays the role of 'Guardian of the Threshold'. The term indicates a spectral image which manifests itself as soon as the student of the spirit ascends upon the path into the higher worlds of knowledge. Lilith, representing the testing of the feminine oracle, comes with temptations and promises for the ego, forcing the seeker to meet their own shadow.

"Darkness is the fertile soil of the feminine. Discomfort is the birth place of our shadows. Wild chaos catalyses true leadership. Raw emotions teach us how to feel. The deep void of our sex holds our primal hunger. So, what powerful darkness do you feel is wrong? "

[yanderemisery]

Yandere Gojo Satoru

TW: non-con, stalking, obsession, out of character Gojo, rushed fic.

In the labyrinthine sprawl of Tokyo, where the city breathed in neon and exhaled shadows, there was a girl named Darling.

Her name, though simple, carried with it a resonance of warmth and affection—a name that mirrored the essence of her spirit. Darling was a young woman of unassuming charm, a tender blossom amidst the concrete jungle, oblivious to the darker currents that surged beneath the city's vibrant facade.

She had come to Tokyo in search of knowledge, her heart brimming with dreams and aspirations. Yet, in her naivety, she remained unaware that her every step was being traced, her every movement observed by a pair of eyes as blue as the boundless sky. These were the eyes of Satoru Gojo, the most formidable sorcerer of his time, a man whose power transcended mortal comprehension. But power alone had never captivated him— until he saw her.

It was a chance encounter in Shibuya, or so it seemed. Darling, with her soft smile and gentle demeanor, had been perusing a flower stall, her fingers brushing against the delicate petals of lilies and roses. In that moment, she had unknowingly ensnared the attention of a man who could bend reality to his will, yet found himself powerless in the face of her innocence.

For Gojo, it began as a curiosity—a fleeting intrigue. He had seen countless people, their lives mere blips in the vast expanse of time, but Darling was different. There was an ethereal quality to her, a purity that stood in stark contrast to the corruption he had witnessed in the world. Her very existence seemed to beckon to something primal within him, something possessive.

As days passed, Gojo found himself gravitating towards her, orchestrating

"coincidental" meetings with a precision that only he could master. He engineered moments where their paths would cross: a shared ride in an elevator, a brief conversation at a café. Each interaction was a thread in the intricate web he wove around her, binding her to him ever so subtly. And Darling, in her trusting nature, saw nothing but serendipity in these encounters. She laughed at his jokes, blushed at his compliments, and began to think of him as a guardian of sorts-an enigmatic figure who appeared whenever she felt the slightest bit lost.

Yet, for all her innocence, Darling was not a fool. There were moments when she felt a strange disquiet, a sense of being watched even when she was alone. But whenever she tried to voice these feelings, she found herself silenced by Gojo's reassuring presence. His charm was undeniable, his concern for her genuine-or so she thought. What Darling couldn't perceive was the darkness festering behind those cerulean eyes, the way his affection had curdled into something far more dangerous.

Gojo's desire for Darling had grown into an obsession, a consuming need to possess her wholly. The idea of her with anyone else, even in the most innocuous of interactions, filled him with a rage that he struggled to contain. He began to view the world through a distorted lens, seeing threats where there were none, and enemies in those who merely existed near her. In his mind, Darling was his, and his alone.

One evening, after a late lecture, Darling found herself walking through the dimly lit streets, the city's usual hum subdued by the encroaching night. The air was heavy with a sense of foreboding, though Darling, lost in thought, barely noticed. Her mind wandered to Gojo, to the strange magnetism he seemed to exude, and the inexplicable comfort she felt in his presence. Yet, beneath that comfort was a growing unease, a flicker of something she couldn't quite name.

As she turned down a quiet alley—a shortcut she had taken many times before

-Darling froze. There, standing beneath the weak glow of a streetlamp, was Gojo.

His tall figure cast an elongated shadow that seemed to stretch out towards her like a spectral hand. His face, usually lit with a disarming smile, was now a mask of inscrutable intent.

"Darling," he murmured, his voice a soft caress that sent shivers down her spine.

"I've been waiting for you."

There was something in his tone that unsettled her, a possessiveness that she had never noticed before. It was as though the gentle flirtations and casual conversations they had shared were stripped away, leaving behind only the raw, unfiltered truth. She hesitated, taking a small step back, but Gojo was already moving towards her, his presence overwhelming in the narrow space.

"Gojo-san," she began, her voice faltering. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to protect you," he said, his words laden with a weight she didn't understand. "You don't know how dangerous this world can be, Darling. You need someone like me to keep you safe."

The intensity in his gaze, the fervor in his voice, struck her like a physical blow. This was not the man she thought she knew.

This was someone else entirely, someone whose affection had twisted into something dark and suffocating. Panic began to rise in her chest as she tried to take another step back, but Gojo was faster, his hand reaching out to gently-but firmly-grasp her wrist.

"You don't need to be afraid," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear as he leaned in. "I won't let anything happen to you. I'll always be here, Darling. Forever."

Darling's heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and fear.

She had no idea how deeply Gojo's obsession ran, how far he was willing to go to keep her by his side. To him, she was no longer just a person-she was his, a possession he would guard jealously, even against her will.

As the night closed in around them, Darling realized too late that she had become ensnared in a web.

[vampiriiiia]

Waiting. Seething. Blooming

(Ch.2)

Summary: An orphaned bastard of House Tyrell is welcomed in Kings Landing as Princess Healanas lady in waiting. In her attempts to navigate the ways of court and gain the favour of powerful men she manages to involve herself with the web of the royal family’s affairs.

word count: 3.8k

Since the day where you shared with the princess your knowledge of flowers,

and in extension, insects and such, your walks in the garden became a daily occurrence. Everyday, a bit before midday, and during the evenings as well, you and Princess Helaena would stroll around the gardens, deep in conversation. On some days, such as this, hers and Prince Aegon’s children, Prince Jaegerys and sweet Princess Jaehera would come with you. On such evenings, you sit in a marble bench that was adorned with ivys.

In front of you lied a moss covered path, amidst the enchanting whispers of the Keeps garden, where the gnarled limbs of towering oaks twist and turn like vigilant sentinels. This path, gently beckons you towards the heart of the grove. Here, in this secluded haven, stands a statue carved in alabaster. For a moment, it seemed to glow with a light all its own. The statue is poised gracefully upon a pedestal entwined with ivy. Surrounding this spectral guardian are blooms of purple and pink hydrangeas, their petals nodding in the breeze like petals like the paintings for a book your mother had showed you, a time long ago. Shadows of children dance under the enchanting boughs, where light seldom intrudes, adding to the mystique of this sanctuary. It is a place where the divide between past and present blurs, and where the whispers of history seem louder than the songs of birds around you and your unusually quiet company.

You carefully watched the children for a while, before turning your attention to the Princess, who despite her earlier excitement to visit the gardens, now stood silent and stoic, like the elegant statue in front of you, examining a dark creature perched upon her hand. Its eight legs, sharp and angled like blades, moved with a dreadful grace. Its body, a shadowy armour of intricate patterns. It’s eyes almost looked a bit sinister as they seemed to pierce through the very essence of your facade, as though the spider itself held dominion over fear and shadows. You had no problem with insects and such, even holding some of them when the Princesses hands had been too full, but you dreaded spiders. You dreaded them more than anything. As you watched her handle the creature with grace, a sense of numbing terror spread across your chest, and despite being seated, you felt your legs crumble also. It wasn’t the spiders appearance that frightened you per se, more the fact that they could be anywhere, and you wouldn’t know. They seemed to know every whisper that had been whispered in the Keep, maybe even the realm, maybe even Highgarden. Most likely Highgarden. They knew too many things, they could weave the most appropriate net for you, trapping you for as long as they pleased, and you wouldn't even see it. Thankfully, your size did not allow that but unfortunately, you were not as big as you’d like, for you were far smaller than the nets life sized spiders created.

Eventually you turned your attention back to the children running around each other, seemingly playing a game of tag. You sat there, quietly with the Princess for a while, till a sudden appearance had the both of you jolting.

Queen Alicent Hightower has always been a politely imposing figure. She had lengthy copper curls and big brown eyes that seemed to be aware of your every move. She had been wearing an emerald green dress, perched with the symbol of the seven on her waist, creating a belt like necklace around her lower waist. Other than the softness of the fabric with a few golden details, she had been dressed simply for the day, as the Princess had told you, no court meeting for the day was to be held. She inspected you closely, carefully, the way you sat and how straight your back was, where you put your hands, and when she was seemingly satisfied, she turned her attention to her daughter. Her eyes softened as she said “ Helaena, would you happen to know where your grandsire would be?” “No mother, I do not. (Y/N) and I have been here for some time, he has not appeared around these parts of the garden”. The Princess had gained a habit of referring to you by your first name as of late, she never corrected herself, but you never took the liberty of using her first name as well.

The Queen looked perplexed at that, “He had told me he’d be with you today.” “Well, he is not”. She sighted, letting out a long batted breath, obviously not very pleased with the outcome of her search. She seemed to be searching for him quite often these days, surely the castle couldn’t be so big. Besides, Lord Otto Hightower was of old age, he couldn’t be running around the castle, avoiding his daughter of all people. That thought seemed amusing, but it was certainly untrue, since most days Queen Alicent was the one doing the running. She rigidly sat down, in the middle of you and Helaena on the bench, “I suppose I’ll wait here then. Your grandsire is most likely to appear at these parts of the garden”. That was not true, this wing of the garden has always been quiet, so quiet you could hear the rose petals flowing under the evening breeze. You highly doubted the Hand had been one for romantic adventures through quiet parts of the castle such as this.

Queen Alicents presence stiffened the atmosphere. While before her arrival there was a silent air of understanding surrounding you and Princess Helaena, now it was filled with awkward small conversation about court matters such as the starvation of smallfolk in the southern part of Kings Landing. That was the one thing that stuck to you the most “And what is the next move to solve that matter? Have you reached a conclusion yet?” you surprised yourself by speaking but the Queen’s response is what truly caught you off guard “It’s truly unfortunate but we have not yet began to attend to that matter, in the city of Braavos, the Iron Bank, not half a year ago had lended a large amount of money to the throne to built that large well down in Rivers Row and unfortunately it has not been finished and they’re demanding that number of money back” did a well really take so much money to be built? why couldn’t they use the saving of the throne itself? “We of course will tend as soon as we can to the starving smallfolk but there’s other matters to be tended to first. You see Lady Flower, the throne is always busy and filled with responsibilities” the Queen added hastily, sensing your scepticism about her response, diverting the conversation to other matters the throne had to quickly attend to. You tried your best to keep your back straight, never slouching and your hands never leaving your lap.

——

“They want to make my brother king” the Princess abruptly broke the silence after arriving to her chambers. The uncomfortable conversation with Queen Alicent had thankfully ended as it began to darken outside. Now at the comfort of her quarters, soundly rocking Jaeherys crib while you did the same for Jaehera, her commnet caught you by suprise. “Why would you think that Helaena?” you knew exactly why. Since the moment you arrived in the castle you quickly understood what opinions Queen Alicents side of the family held for Princess Rhaenyra. Prince Aegon made jokes about the legitimacy of her sons, The hand liked to act like she did not exist but was in fact a distant family member at best, and not the actual heir to the throne. Princess Helaena never spoke of her, but also never participated in debates about her with the rest of her family. You were not sure if the latter one was a direct request from the Queen. You only heard Prince Aemond speak of her once, and the causality which he spoke so hatefully about her had you momentarily freeze in your place.

On the other hand, you heard Queen Alicent speak so often about her step-daughter that you were not sure if it sounded more like envy or like something else. Or both.

Queen Alicent spoke of Rhaenyra in public with a veneer of civility and disdain. She would often criticize the Princesses rebellions and lack of propriety. The Queen made a show of disapproving of her behaviour, playing up the role of a concerned stepmother trying to rein in a wayward daughter.

"She is willful and defiant," Alicent would say, her voice laced with irritation. "Ignoring her duties and causing trouble at every turn. It’s a shame, really. She could be so much more if she would just learn to act like a proper princess." the Queen would continue in a frenzy. It took you by suprise how often you’d catch her in such position, speaking in such way, to Ser Criston Cole, of all people. Although, he never once opened his mouth to agree or disagree with her, displaying a serious and nonchalant stance to what the Queen was saying. It was a smart move on his part, but at the same time it made it look like it happened more often than not.

Queen Alicent reminded you of how you spoke of the gods when you were younger, innocent and more hopeful. When your mother was still alive, albeit sick, and you still belivied. You’d speak in an irritated manner about them, when despite your prayers, they didn’t bend to your will. You’d never stop believing and praying though, always secretly hoping that they’d see your devotion and finally grand you one wish. In your case, you asked for your mothers health. You did not know, not truly, what Queen Alicent wanted from Princess Rhaenyra. You weren’t sure if she quite knew herself.

Your inner turmoil was put at pause when Princess Jaehera whined a little, then went back to her sleep. You looked at the Princess, who had now placed her son in his crib, rocking him gently, with a faraway look in her lavender blue eyes. Princess Helena’s wasn’t much older than you, yet she had her twins at the same age you lost your mother. You knew that at that age, you weren’t mentally or physically prepared to host another person inside you, much less twins. The Princess helped feed them, bath them, made sure they went to their high Valyrian lessons, rocked them to sleep every night and was always with them, day and night, overlooking their other activities with your help. But as you watched her tend to them, you weren’t really sure if she quite realised they were hers. You once heard some maids comment about the Princesses standoffishness, which increased after she got married to her brother and had children.

You reached the conclusion that despite those day dreams always being a part of the Princess, their increase is both a form of escapism. Deep down, she knew that the children were hers. But the weight of motherhood, its duties, it must be very overwhelming. In her mind, they were not her children, they were her siblings. It must be more comfortable pretending she was their older sister, which wasn’t a stretch considering how young the queen was when she had Prince Aegon. Retreating into her mind was easier than truly grasping the fact that she birthed those children when she was one herself.

The Princess didn’t reply to your question, she tucked her son in, as you did for her daughter, and asked for your help with undoing her hair and gown. When she got in her night wear, you started unbraiding her hair. “Has Prince Aegon yet to return?” you asked “As usual he has not. I don't except him to. He himself must prefer where his currently sleeping, or rather who” you learned quickly enough that the Princess preferred much more as well that he did not return to their shared chambers. Her relationship with her brother, despite being married and having twins, never really changed, no romantic love blossomed between them as it had for their great-grandsire and his sister wife, the good Queen Alyssane.

——

Sleep for once had come easy last night, which was unusual. You quickly dressed yourself in a light blue dress with puffy sleeves and fixed your hair accordingly. You walked to the sept, not too fast and not too slow, as you smiled carefully and politely greeted other members of court. The sept was cold, filled with the chilly air of the morning, but the candles as you lit them quickly warmed you up. One for your mother, your father, your grandparents. You sat on your knees and silently moved your lips as you recited the correct prayers. You felt a heavy presence move next to you and start praying as well. You did not feel particularly happy about that, knowing you couldn’t sit in the sept as long as you usually do with another observing you. You prayed for a few more minutes, then started to recite all the other prayers you knew, eager to wait out the presences departure. It did not come, you felt the person move and stand up, giving you a brief moment of hope, till you realised they weren’t leaving, seemingly waiting for you to finish. You finished your last known prayer and blowed out the candles you previously lit, carefully standing up and dusting off nonexistent filth. You turned around to be met face to face with Prince Aemond. It was for the best really, you reasoned, Prince Aemond was unmarried still, you could attempt to secure a match for yourself with a second son, bastard or not, you were still the oldest and one of the only surviving members of House Tyrell. Although, Prince Aemond never wanted you to forget your illegitimacy, “Lady Flower” he started, always putting an emphasis on your last name. “I was beginning to wonder you were avoiding me with how much you were praying” he continued. He was easily dislikable. You smiled politely “Of course not, my Prince, House Tyrell sadly has lots of deceased members” a half truth. The l Prince examined you with his icy gaze, it was clear he did not like you at all, nor made an attempt to hide his disdain for bastards, even if their standing was in Highgarden, the same House his mothers family had sworn to.

“I have a personal request for you” he spoke after a beat of silence.

You held your breath, hoping it was something that was easily completed and would not question your honour, more than it already was since your birth. “Ser Criston, my mothers and your Queens, royal guard has been sent for business on my grandfathers command down in Kings Landing, the western part. I was ought to come with him but my duties do not allow me time to do so. I was hoping you’d be of help.” “But the Princess—” “The Princess has already been informed that you have matters to attend to for today. You post will be filled with some other lady.” He has already planned this out. His words gave you little room to think of anything else. “Of course my Prince” he did not smile or thank you, just started to walk. You took that as your cue to follow him.

After a few, albeit long and nerve filled minutes, you found yourself in the company of Ser Criston and Prince Aemond. Ser Criston was not wearing his usual armour, but instead he wore a dark grey cloak and a hat to match it, trying to cover his appearance. He handed you a dark blue and dusty cloak and despite your initial disgust, you wore it with not one complain and put on the attached hood. They spoke quietly amongst themselves, then looked back at you, then back at each other. You smiled politely, but not for two long, so they wouldn’t deem you as stupid. You were pretty sure the Prince would think so anyway, despite your best efforts.

After a few minutes of exchanging quiet conversation and a few hissed whispers at each other, Ser Criston started to walk outside, nodding for you to follow him. Prince Aemond send you a warning glance before you left. You quickly followed Ser Criston outside, it had been your first time outside the walls of the castle, so you didn’t know how dangerous it could be. But it must have been dangerous enough, for he still kept his sword on him, gripping it as you walked side by side. After a while, you found the courage to ask “Is there a specific reason why I was asked to join you today?” Ser Criston replied without looking at you, with a stern expression staring ahead “You will see for yourself soon enough.” It was unfair to drag you out of your daily responsibilities and to not even inform you why, withholding information from the quest they sent you to, you thought in bitter annoyance.

“Whatever you see today, I do not want you to inform the Queen.”

What. “What?”

“I have been given stern instructions not to inform her by the Hand himself. You will follow them as well. Is that understood?”

You spoke after a moment, unable to move from your suprise at his words “….Yes.”

You walked in silence for some time, passing men, women and children alike most of them skinny, thin, bony actually. So thin you could reach and touch them and you’d feel their bones more than their skin. They looked as if the only thing separating their bones from the outside world was a thin dirty sheet, that hugged their body tightly. A few were laying on the cold dirt ground, most likely dead, judging by the smell. You hoped you’d leave that smell in the past. The stench of death hung heavy in the air. Rotting flesh mingled with the acrid smoke of burning bodies, creating a nauseating odor that clawed at the senses. The sickly sweet smell of decay was like a miasma, shrouding everything in a pall of despair. The back gate of the castle had been at the southeast part of the city, which meant you were seeing first hand the consequences of starvation. There were so many dead bodies, rotting unattended to, that the risk of a disease breaking out pretty soon seemed the only logical outcome. They weren’t burning fast enough, there were more dead laying on the ground than healthy men that were able to stand on their feet to continue this task.

Some were cussing King Viserys, who having been so many years bedridden had cast his curse on the city, to have everyone slowly die like he was. Others cussed Princess Rhaenyra for leaving and not taking the throne to protect the realm. Others cussed Queen Alicent and her court of men, who chose to cut the food supply from Highgarden for whatever reason. To you horror, as you walked to the western part of the city, you realised the wave of starvation had affected not only the south, but the east and a part of the west as well. You speculated the north was also highly affected too. As you thought some more, you finally began to l piece a few things together. The amount of money the Iron Bank lended to the throne had not been just for that damn well, as you were pretty sure the court wouldn’t sacrifice the entire population of Kings Landing just for that. Who would pay taxes in that case? You also knew that the castle had more than enough money to never need a loan from the Iron Bank, but they didn’t want to use the money from there for whatever they were truly using the loan for. If they used the thrones savings for anything, they always had to keep it in account and they didn’t want any physical evidence. The well was being used as a means to launder off money in a way. Your father had explained you long ago what that meant. You didn't want to think of him now.

Instead, you wondered if the Queen actually knew. You weren’t sure if she knew truly what the loan was used for, or the true state Kings Landing was in, judging at least from the instructions Ser Criston was given from the Hand. Oh. The Hand. You should’ve realised so sooner. It seems the Queen was kept in the dark for some time regarding matters such as this. As the Queen you weren’t sure how much she knew and how much she chose to believe certain things were true. How she believed her fathers word on a scale. It must be a combination of trust and of wanting her consciousness at peace. What you knew became your responsibility as well, after all. You couldn’t judge the Hand for doing so, after all the reason you were here was because you acted in a similar manner towards your younger brother. Although you’d never put at risk so many innocent people to keep a lie believable. You liked to think a certain amount of the self-sacrifice they taught ladies like you was still left, or at least some morality.

You looked at Ser Criston, his eyes betrayed no disgust, sadness or anger at the image in front of him. His brows were slightly forrowed but that could be from the smell. Out of all the people in court, except a few middle born ladies, you shared the most similarities with Ser Criston. You both came from low-born mothers after all and knew the struggles that came with. He seemed to forget his roots, though. You walked and walked till you stopped in front of a whore house, deep in the centre of Kings Landing, far away from sickness, pain and grief, here the people still danced and drank despite it only being mid-day. Ser Criston turned to you “I’ll need to you to go inside, and fetch Prince Aegon in the calmest manner you can master. Don’t attract much attention. Quickly.” Before you could answer, Ser Criston knocked on the door and a woman in frizzy blonde curls and pink underwear opened the door and looked at both of you expectingly. She seemed annoyed you noted. Ser Criston looked at you, motioning for you to speak.

“We have direct orders from the castle to bring Prince Aegon back. There are urgent matters he needs to attend to.” You looked at yo it partner for a moment, wanting to see if your words were up to his expectations. He nodded at you silently and you looked back at the woman you with a grunt showed you the way inside. Ser Criston stayed outside and the door close with a loud thud. You were glad for once that the cloak that had been given to you had a hood and that the whore house had colourful curtains covering the windows.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for @qwertynerd97 behind the cut. If I had a nickel for every time an unethical billionaire cloned the superhero archnemesis he's obsessed with, I'd have two nickels. Which is not a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

They really do get to Amity in, like, surprisingly good time, all things considered? At least Tucker’s surprised, anyway. If nothing else he would’ve expected a random ghost attack he’d have to teach Superboy how to fight ghosts really quickly during to happen, given . . . literally everything about his entire life since the age of fourteen, pretty much. Or maybe a supervillain or something, since Superboy’s in the mix right now and all. 

Mind, Tucker definitely did go over how ghosts work and all on the flight over and also during they two convenience store snack/pee/walk breaks they took, since he would personally like to avoid the demi-Kryptonian whose DNA he desperately needs free access to getting overshadowed. And also, like, it’s just a dick move to take anybody to Amity Park without mentioning the ghosts and how to deal with them. 

There are just . . . so many ghosts. So many. 

So, so many.

Superboy hopefully actually listened to at least most of the “Amity Park: Ghosts, Spirits, & Not Getting Your Ass Spectrally Kicked By Either 101” speech and didn’t just tune him the frick out for infodumping on him too hard and talking his ear off, but it at least seemed like he was listening? Like, he asked some questions and stuff and seemed to be following along okay, more or less? Mostly? 

Tucker really, really hopes Superboy listened to the ghost speech. 

“Okay, so like, avoid anybody too glowy for right now, maybe?” Tucker says as Superboy lets him down on the sidewalk just down the block from FentonWorks, which Superboy is currently squinting through his sunglasses at. Which, like–fair, Tucker figures. Definitely fair. “As in let me deal with anybody too glowy for right now, that’s probably just for the best right now. Like I’ll tell you who’s cool and who I’m gonna have to soup and who we need to flee from in a blind panic, yeah?” 

“‘Soup’?” Superboy repeats skeptically. 

“Thermos thing,” Tucker clarifies. “Remember the Thermos thing? We call it souping, sometimes. Also I mentioned we need to not say anything whatsoever to Danny’s parents, right, like I definitely mentioned that being a thing?” 

“Seven times,” Superboy says. “One of which was a seventeen-minute rant about their shitty tech skills.” 

“They don’t test! They don’t even have any basic safety protocols in place!” Tucker hisses. “Literally they got one of their kids literally killed via a portal to the Infinite Realms with no safety locks on it and didn’t even notice! Like I’m not this liminal because the Fentons have safety locks or literally any basic shielding or food safety knowledge! Which, on that note, don’t eat anything they offer you, if they offer you anything. Probably they won’t, they’re not really the type to think about basic human needs or general human politeness, but yeah.” 

“Yeah, I’m still not clear on the whole ‘liminal’ thing,” Superboy says. “The liminal thing is confusing.” 

“So are literally our entire lives,” Tucker replies frankly, making a mental note to get him a mini-primer or something. Maybe some notes or a spreadsheet. Like just whatever Superboy can brush up on while they’re poking at his DNA or whatever, basically. There is no such thing as knowing too much about ghosts, as far as he’s concerned. “So anyway, yeah, just lemme take the lead with the Fentons. Actually any Fentons? Just–let me take the lead in general, for right now. Like–uh. Please?” 

Probably Superboy is not gonna be down with that, actually, because he’s–actually Tucker’s not sure, is he an emancipated minor, or . . . ? Like, dude makes his own money, obviously, and he does his hero work solo, plus it’s not like he called any parent/guardian about leaving Hawaii on basically a whim, so . . . yeahhhhh. 

“I’m down with that,” Superboy says with an easy shrug, spreading his hands. “Your stomping grounds, man, not mine.” 

Tucker stares blankly at him for a moment, then decides not to look that gift poltergeist in the mouth. 

“Cool,” he says. “Uh–thanks. Uh–this way?” 

“Oh yeah?” Superboy asks, cocking an eyebrow at Fentonworks’ whole . . . Fentonworks-ness as he looks at it over the top of his sunglasses. Tucker boils in embarrassment, and also boils in renewed bewilderment about how pretty this dude’s eyes are. Just–pretty. So pretty. Tucker just came out to rescue Danny’s clone-sister/daughter/cousin and he is honestly feeling so attacked right now? “Good thing I sprung for the local tour guide.” 

“In my defense, this town is so much weirder than you know,” Tucker says. “Just–so much weirder.” 

“There’s this eternal party in space I just go to whenever I’m bored,” Superboy says. “Got a teleport thing that takes me, it’s kinda sick.” 

“. . . okay so your opinion of ‘weird’ is not universal, is what I’m hearing here,” Tucker says after a moment. Danny would friggin’ love that, if they weren’t all freaking out about Dani right now. 

“That’s what they tell me,” Superboy replies with another easy shrug. 

“I’m definitely making the mistake of assuming you’re a normie, yeah,” Tucker says, which is definitely a mistake he keeps making, for whatever reason. Probably, like, habit from interacting with literally every other living being he’s encountered in his life up until two years ago, he guesses. “Alright, yeah anyway, Fenton parents, threat level . . . orange, I’d say? Like not full red, but we’re getting there. So, uh–follow my lead, and please don’t maim them if they try to net you. Or shoot you. Or shoot you with a net, that’s also a–uh. Yeah.” 

He spares a moment to suffer in mortification over the way Superboy’s pushed his glasses up into his hair to squint at him, then flees–strategically retreats–towards FentonWorks. 

It is just very clearly time to strategically retreat, is all. 

Or, uh, time to figure out how to handle Danny’s parents, Tucker mentally amends with a wince as he gets close enough to see their stupid van haphazardly “parked” more on the sidewalk than the street. Parts of it are actively smoking; the rest is dripping bubbling ecto. 

“Trippy,” Superboy muses, floating up a few feet to peer over the top of his sunglasses at the top of the van. Tucker dives forward and automatically grabbing the guy in an attempt to yank him down out of the air before anyone mistakes him for a ghost. They very much do not have time for that right now, especially right outside the Fentons’ place. 

Unfortunately, his yank less yanks Superboy down than it yanks himself up, which is officially the closest he’s ever gotten to doing a pull-up, so he guesses that’s cool or whatever, but also not helpful. 

“Did I mention how you shouldn’t fly around here?” Tucker asks, maybe a little bit dangling off Superboy’s waist right now. Like, just a tiny little sort-of bit. “Because if I did not, that was a serious oversight on my part. So, uh, please come back down here, dude.” 

“Says the dude who’s climbed up here,” Superboy snorts, but does, mercifully, actually settle back down on the sidewalk. 

“I would not describe that as ‘climbing’ so much as ‘failing’, but you do you,” Tucker says. “C’mon, we’re going in. Try to look, uh . . . less like a superhero.” 

“I am literally incapable of that one, buddy,” Superboy says dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. “On account of how they made me in the literal exact image of the superhero.” 

“. . . yeah alright, that wasn’t a fair ask,” Tucker admits with another wince. Well–Danny’s parents aren’t that observant when they’ve got a distraction distracting them, and obviously they need distracted, so . . . it’ll probably be fine? Probably? 

. . . . . . maybe they should just sneak in Danny’s bedroom window, actually. Maybe that would be the smarter play right now.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Mastering the Art of Necromancy in Your Fantasy Novel

Hello fellow writers and conjurers of fantastical worlds,

In the tapestry of fantasy literature, few elements hold the allure and enigmatic charm of necromancy. The art of communing with the spirits of the departed, wielding the powers of death and undeath, and delving into the mysteries of the afterlife conjures a rich and eerie tapestry that captivates readers and writers alike. In this comprehensive guide, I shall help you embark on an odyssey into the realm of necromancy, unraveling its nuances, and harnessing its potent essence to enrich the worlds and characters within your fantasy novel.

Embracing the Essence of Necromancy

Necromancy is a mystical strand woven into the very fabric of fantasy literature, offering writers a gateway to explore themes of mortality, forbidden knowledge, and the uncharted territories beyond death. The art of necromancy beckons us to navigate the delicate balance between life and death, weaving a narrative tapestry that shimmers with eerie allure and spine-tingling intrigue.

Understanding the Arcane Threads of Necromancy

1. Unraveling the Nature of Necromantic Magic:

Necromancy encompasses a vast array of mystical practices, ranging from communing with spirits and animating the dead to harnessing the energies of the afterlife. Understanding the scope of necromantic magic is crucial when integrating it into your fantasy world.

2. Delving into Ethical Quandaries:

The art of necromancy often delves into moral ambiguity and ethical quandaries. As a writer, explore the complex interplay between wielding power over life and death, and the consequences it imposes on both wielder and world.

3. Crafting Necromantic Characters:

Characters draped in the shroud of necromancy carry an undeniably enigmatic allure. Whether they are enigmatic necromancers, vengeful revenants, or tormented spirits, imbue them with layers of depth, conflict, and the allure of forbidden knowledge.

4. Cultivating the Atmosphere of the Necromantic World:

Infuse your narrative with an eerie and otherworldly ambiance that resonates with the essence of necromancy. From desolate graveyards to spectral realms, let the setting itself exude an aura of haunting allure and metaphysical mystery.

5. Unraveling the Consequences:

The tendrils of necromantic magic often carry unforeseen consequences. Delve into the ripple effects of wielding such potent powers, shaping the fate of both the user and the world they inhabit.

Enchanting Your Narrative with Necromantic Flourishes

1. Rich Lore and Mythos:

Weave an intricate tapestry of lore and mythos surrounding necromancy, invoking ancient rituals, mysterious tomes, and the whispers of spirits to deepen the mystique of this arcane art.

2. Enigmatic Rituals and Spells:

Craft spells and rituals that exude an otherworldly aura, invoking the presence of specters and the echoes of forgotten souls to imbue your narrative with the esoteric essence of necromantic magic.

3. Ethereal Companions and Servants:

Bring forth spectral allies, reanimated guardians, and enigmatic spectral entities that serve as both catalysts and enigmas within the narrative.

4. Narrative Pivots and Twists:

Infuse your story with unforeseen twists and narrative pivots that stem from the tendrils of necromantic magic, shaping the destiny of characters and worlds with its potent influence.

Mastering the Art of Responsible Representation

1. Portraying the Nuances of Necromancy:

Embrace the multifaceted nature of necromancy, delving into its allure and peril, and steering clear of reductionistic portrayals that fail to capture the complexity of this enigmatic art.

2. Navigating Sensitive Themes:

Acknowledge the sensitive themes surrounding necromancy, portraying its enigmatic allure while respecting the boundaries of respectful representation and narrative integrity.

Navigating Ethical Quandaries and Moral Ambiguity

1. Delving into the Temptation and Consequences:

Illuminating the temptations and consequences inherent in wielding necromantic powers, delving into the moral turbulence and ethical crossroads that define the narrative and its characters.

2. Shaping Characters' Moral Journeys:

Embrace the moral odysseys of characters enmeshed in the tendrils of necromancy, illuminating their struggles, choices, and the transformative impact of their interactions with the enigmatic art.

Embracing the Mystique of Necromancy

The enigmatic tapestry of necromancy holds the potent key to unraveling the mysteries of death, whispered secrets of the afterlife, and the spellbinding allure of enigmatic power. Embrace its allure, wield its essence responsibly, and watch as your narrative flourishes with a haunting, spine-tingling allure that captivates readers far and wide.

Warm regards and unwavering encouragement on your enigmatic odyssey, Ren T.