#succulent elf flesh

[timelyenigma]

i need succulent elf flesh or i will die please give me succulent elf flesh

[standalone-manga-panels]

Source:

Maou no Ore ga Dorei Elf wo Yome ni Shitanda ga Dou Medereba ii?

[rinwellisathing]

Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh: Part 21

Sentry and Orin knelt together in the alleyway behind the cobbler shop, their hands, Sentry's the larger hands of a gawkish teenager, Orin's the small hands of a young preteen, smeared red across the walls into the shapes of elegant monsters of myth, birds and beasts. The two giggled and grinned at their work as they painted, taking their turns dipping their hands into the open chest of a human merchant who had shouted at them earlier. “Oh Slaughter-kin, it's beautiful! We shall cover the city in these murals if we keep this up!” Orin breathed, standing up to admire her work, long blonde pigtails trailing in the blood on the ground as she did. “Sorcerous Sundries next, then?” Sentry had grinned eagerly, rising to his feet. “Not yet!” Orin had gasped. “We must complete the flesh-offering for father!” She insisted, kneeling down and beginning to draw the circle around the body. Sentry had knelt down again and begun adding the motes of blood expertly to the edges, the two siblings working fastidiously, Sentry ever watchful to ensure nasty old Mrs. Flymm wasn't about to chase them off or, he supposed in this case, call for the fist. “And the last little piece.” Orin grinned, dropping a small sheet of parchment written in slow, steady, but messy handwriting, a child's handwriting, with a passage from a Bhaalist prophecy written on it. “Now it is perfect!” Sentry nodded, standing with his hands on his hips to admire the work. “It certainly is...and you're really doing well with those new stilettos I found for you.” He extended his hand. “Shall we? And maybe a snack on the way? We could probably palm some pastries from one of the carts once someone notices the body and starts screaming.” A quick cast of prestidigitation would ensure he and Orin weren't blamed, merely two sweet young siblings on a stroll through town enjoying a beautiful day. A loving and dutiful older brother taking an excited little girl off mother and father's hands for the day, such a sweet boy. He only half realized that he was again, standing on the sunlit street outside the shop they'd entered through and Scratch was nuzzling against him gently.

“I kept watch, friend. Made sure no one followed you.” The dog leapt up on his hind legs, front paws pressed to Sentry's chest as he sniffed at him and gave a look of concern. “Are you well? You seem troubled.” Sentry absently rubbed Scratch's ears and frowned. “It's just...it's been a lot, Scratch my boy...” He murmured. “Anyway, Halsin wasn't down there, can you pick up his trail again?” Scratch gave Sentry's face a reassuring lick and leapt down, pressing his nose to the pavement and leading on. ---- “Brother dear is on his way.” Tomi chirped as she fished a stack of sketchbooks from under Sentry's bed and lay them out of his old desk. “I do wish Orin hadn't changed his bedroom so much. It's such a chore to remember where everything went...” “No trouble, Lady Kisaragi, the far wall was Bhaalist history, opposite it was religious art. Although I do feel we should perhaps...replace the painting he kept behind the bed. Bad influences and all that.” Fel frowned at the portrait of Evagria Ojeda that lay stacked with the other paintings waiting to be re-mounted. Meanwhile, outside the room, Orin paced around the altar where Halsin's prone body lay, his eyes closed and his hands folded on his chest. She ran the flat of her blade absently over his skin, not cutting, not even pricking, but in eager anticipation nonetheless. Her eyes never left the doors of the temple as she knew that very soon, her slaughter-kin would walk through those doors to challenge her. The underlings where abuzz with conversation. Some dismissive, certainly if Orin had bested Sentry once, she could do it again. Others excited, awaiting with bated breath the moment feasts of roast dwarf and succulent spiced elf meat would be back on the menu. But the most popular opinion among the faithful was that no matter which way the fight went, there would be bloodshed and it would be glorious. Bhaal's children were powerful and it was a rare event to see their flesh spilled on the sacred altar, an auspicious and holy event. -----

Sentry and his party followed Scratch down into the sewers beneath the city, an entrance was not far from the shop and soon they found themselves in the cisterns far below the streets, muck and grime coating the stones as filthy water lapped the sides of the walkways. Sentry followed after Scratch, but it soon became clear to him he could have made his way blindfolded. The twists and turns were as normal to him as finding a companion's tent at camp. In almost no time, they found themselves facing a large door with no apparent handle or lock. “The spill of murderous seed returns.” The door intoned. “Yeah, yeah...I'm home....what of it?” Sentry grumbled, turning his head back towards Kroger. “I remember I need the talisman for this, that pendant you found on Sarevok's body...” The Githyanki nodded, rummaging in his pack and producing the pendant, placing it in Sentry's hand. The tiefling inclined his head in thanks and reached up behind him, slitting his palm on the blade of his halberd and bloodying the trinket before pressing it to the door, which groaned open before him, revealing a path through a long abandoned town. The party paused outside of a badly burnt out hovel, corpses expertly sewn together into terrible creatures and freakish monstrosities decorated the place and from the ceiling hung two perfectly preserved tieflings of similar coloration and horn shape as Sentry. Scratch growled at the macabre chandelier as the others looked from the display to Sentry. “Yeah...I remember it...this was my home....This is where I was before I found Commander Ojeda...Before she saved me...” He explained, his tone quiet and somewhat disconnected. “Then when she died, when I rose as Chosen...this was my sculpture garden....” He allowed himself a moment of distraction, stepping into the ruined building, allowing his hands to travel over some of his past works. Even now they were still so beautiful and as he passed them, he remembered every one of them. Each kill and each subsequent week locked away in his chambers laboring intently on his creations. The Divorce, a bitter human couple he'd murdered when they'd made the mistake of stopping to argue on their way home from the tavern one night. Each body split in half and then sewn to the other, separating at the top as though desperately clawing away from eachother.

The Miracle of life, a young elven mother, pregnant, and with her belly split open, infant corpses bursting from within. Kroger went pale and nearly vomited at the sight of this one. The Great Slayer, hundreds of bodies of all ages, races, and sizes cut apart and repurposed into the wicked nightmare beast of legend with four arms and a lashing tail, a round and lumpy head protruding with cruel spines and tusks. Jaheira examined the piece intently. Finally, one of the last pieces he made stood before him. The Tyrant On His Throne. Sentry slowly approached the piece, climbing the small mountain of reinforced skulls beneath the throne of once living parts. The stitched together corpse that sat atop it had his hands painted black with high quality ink and he wore a crown of ink blackened hands dipped in liquid gold atop his bare skull. Sentry reached out a hand to touch the sculpture and memories flooded his mind. Standing naked for the first time in front of Enver, pouncing atop him so eagerly, nipping and biting at his flesh, the two rutting on the floor of this very room before this very sculpture, Sentry's sharp nails digging long crevices of red into Enver's warm flesh. They had spent hours together, he could almost see the bloodstains from their tryst still dried on the floor at the base of the skulls. A smile flickered across his face and he gave a little moan. “Ah....Mr. Ojeda....?” Kroger's voice broke through his reverie, and Sentry very quickly realized he was sitting fully clothed on the lap of the sculpture, legs on either side of the throne. “Sorry...” Sentry blushed sheepishly, dismounting and scurrying back down to join the others. “I....I worked particularly hard on that one...” ---- The gentle, lilting music that had once filled Malta's life danced and cavorted through his pointy ears as he wandered the alleys near Sorcerous Sundries. Those soft orange ears twitched at the sound. He paused a moment to gain his bearings and figure out where the sound was coming from. “I was jolted from my usual beat that day by the sound of skilled fingers plucking a lute in the distance. Hadn't heard it played like that in a couple of years, not since the poor fellow went missing.” The cat narrated as he began to pad in the direction of the sound, tail raised and alert. “I'd been rooming with his friend, the poor dope hadn't quite gotten the message the unfortunate bard had left him...hadn't seen him in a while either, I was starting to think he'd paid the same steep price.”

He made his way through the twisting streets of the city, following the music as he wove between hurrying feet and discarded trash. “It was easy to get lost in this city, a cat could all too quickly find himself crushed under the heel of one of those tin can soldiers or snapped up by a stray dog. It's a hard town, unforgiving. But the smell of fish hit my nose like a sign from the gods and that music was louder than before in my ears.” He came upon a small encampment by the docks, padding up to it and crouching down, making his way towards a simple, shabby tent and peeking his head inside. An elaborate sword caught his eye, one with marking he recognized from Wysp's things back when he'd lived at Sharess' Caress with his unfortunate friend. “The signs of that poor kid's goddess were all over that sword. Some sacred blade, maybe from the place he came from. I decided to investigate further...” Malta leapt into one of the packs in the corner of the tent, pawing through it and sniffing curiously. “The smell of death permeated the whole place, but it was familiar, almost friendly. The scent of another missing friend. And like a bolt of lightning, there was a drawing book, all those lines on the paper familiar as the streets themselves. Sonuvabitch, I'd found him. My old associate, one: Mr. Sentry Ojeda. And yet even among his things, he was nowhere to be seen. I decided to wait here for the kid.” ---- The abandoned town proved less than hospitable, but still the party passed through relatively unscathed. The temple of Bhaal was within sight and Sentry felt a strange sense of ease and familiarity here. As Astarion carefully disarmed the traps that had been laid across the bridge, Sentry stared up at his former home like the first day he'd arrived, cloaked in a simple black wool hooded cape and covered in the blood of his fellow paladin trainees, the dirt from Commander Mum's grave still staining the knees of his simple black pants. “Oh my pernicious princeling, you are going to love your new home.” Sceleritas had gushed. “Your family has been anxiously awaiting your return! And don't fret, I have arranged a wonderful little home coming gift! My artistic skills are no where near yours, naturally, but I think you'll find my work acceptable, if I do say so myself.” Fel grinned wickedly. The disoriented teen had looked up to see the bodies of older male cultists flayed and exsanguinated hanging upside down from the entry way, a banner of lovingly stitched flesh above the door read 'Welcome Home, Chosen'. “Your wicked father does love you so, my boy. He bade me find each of your remaining childhood tormentors and make a gift of them.”

Sentry had frowned a bit. Sarevok was not hanging there, and that was enough for him to take caution and leave a seed of doubt about how important he really was to this mysterious father of his. But he had nodded and entered the temple back then. “Hither! Oh hither, my hot shot champion!” A call from the temple steps pulled Sentry from his memories and he looked up to see Fel standing there waiting for him. “And here I was ready to diagnose this 'butler' you mentioned as a stress hallucination.” Kroger raised a brow, staring in disbelief at Fel. The Githyanki stayed back a bit from the temple proper, wrinkling his nose at the blood and viscera staining the place. Gore he could handle, the infection risk of such poor upkeep, however, gave him pause. “Orin's in there...” Sentry frowned as he stood in front of the doors. His mind raced with so many conflicting thoughts. Kill her for harming Halsin, kill her for ruining his life, kill her for presuming to attempt to usurp him...But then the memories of his little sister, the knowledge that she was as much a victim of Sarevok's madness and cruelty as he was, the knowledge that Bhaal would never truly love either of them and merely reveled in pitting them against one another until it came to slaughter and violence. She was his sister, no matter who her father was. If he got a second chance, why not her? “Yes, my loathesome liege! Now do be careful not to slip, there is a bit of blood on the floor as you enter! I do so look forward to seeing your moment of triumph!” Fel giggled with excitement. Sentry nodded softly. “Look....I know you're disappointed, actually, with everything that happened at Last Light...I know I'm not who I was when we first met, but still...I remember so many things now...You did a lot for me Fel, thank you.” “Oh Master, you needn't waste your time on a lowly butler such as myself.” Fel sniffed, though his expression was clearly taken aback. “Now go! Go on to your destiny!”

As Sentry stepped into the temple followed by his party, he felt a wave of familiarity. His home, his realm. The eyes of the cultists focused on him, wide with disbelief, some gleaming with excitement. An elegant elvish woman with long black hair pinned back with an ornate hairpin designed to look like a golden skull with ruby eyes, rivulets of blood streaming from its mouth, approached with a warm, happy smile, throwing her arms around him.

“Welcome home, dear brother!” She giggled. “We thought we had lost you for good! I am so pleased to see that you endured.” She stepped back, gesturing down the stairs to the platform where an altar of stone sat, Sentry's heart leapt as he could see Halsin's prone form laying across it. “Sister Orin still believes she can best you, unfortunately...so I'm afraid things being as they are, you must face her in single combat after all. It really can't be helped.” the woman folded her hands and sighed dramatically. “Do try and grant her an honorable death. She's such a dear, misguided thing.” Sentry inhaled deeply and made his way down the steps, the heads of the cultists turning as he made his way down the steps. His eyes remained forward, focused on Halsin's body and Orin bent over him, smirking as she ran the flat of the blade along his skin before gazing up at Sentry with a wide smirk. Sentry's eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Slaughter-kin, you return.” Orin grinned as she rose to her feet and slowly walked towards Sentry. She slowly snapped and cracked her neck, transforming into a perfect image of Sentry, smirking wickedly as she did. “You return in shame after my murder-blades bested you.” Her expression was manic by now, the expression looking strange on Sentry's face. “My grandfather ruled this city, a slaughterhouse ripened for my blades...” She pointed her dagger towards him. “And YOU stole it. You, who was an upjumped breed-sow.” Her expression slipped into one of fury. Sentry's expression darkened at her words. “Let Halsin go and I'll fight you, Orin. Just like we agreed.” He glared, taking a step towards her. “Vereena the breed-spawn...” She cracked her neck again, turning back into her natural form. “I will reclaim my place as Chosen, you will not survive this time.” Sentry bristled at the name, trying to force down the anger he felt. “Orin...” He glared. “I know that Sarevok lied to you....I know the things he did to you....It doesn't have to be this way...” Sentry felt his fingers twitch, itching to grab at his halberd and just get through the fight. But he knew deep down that she was as much a victim of Sarevok, of Bhaal, as he was. “You don't have to do what they say...Sarevok is dead, he can't hurt you anymore.” Orin's white eyes widened and her expression became a look of terrible surprise that twisted into rage. “No!” She screeched, clenching her fists, nails digging into her palms. She was shaking and trembling as her body twitched and cracked, her body transforming agonizingly into a massive creature that resembled Sentry's statue of the slayer. The creature roared and spread its claws. “Oh my poor master, you should have trained harder...” Fel shook his head from the sidelines as Sentry faced down the massive creature.

He drew his halberd and inhaled deeply, taking a combat stance. The creature was many times his size and between the tusks, fangs, claws, and horns, it had several times as many weapons as well. Sentry looked to Halsin's unconscious body, and knew he couldn't back down. His bright eyes shifted from The Slayer to Halsin's body and back. Sentry dodged and feinted away from the swiping claws, waiting for an opening to aim a heavy swipe with his halberd, only to take the heavy spiked tail to his stomach, sending him sprawling. He winced in pain, scrambling quickly to his feet, pain coursing through him. Blow for blow, the battle went on. The creature was bleeding, injured, but undeterred from its constant assault. Sentry was far worse for wear. Bruised, bleeding, his ribs felt broken and he was swaying on his feet. He breathed heavily and stayed standing, knowing he couldn't lose, it was not an option. Blood obscured his vision and he felt dizzy, but he simply squeezed his eyes shut tightly and prayed for strength. He called out to the only being he had ever truly believed in. 'Help me, Mum.' A surge of strength passed through his body, warmth and love. He could practically feel those warm, papery skinned fingers, delicate but strong, guiding his blade as he sent that surge of strength down through his legs and an arc of light through his blade, leaping into the air and bringing down the halberd on the creature's head. He could practically feel golden wings extending from his back like Aylin and he smiled at the fantasy. As the creature's head split open, it burst into a fountain of blood, leaving Orin lying prone on the ground, breathing heavily, light beginning to fade from her eyes. Sentry collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily, his eyes landed sadly on his sister, struggling to crawl towards him, reaching out with her last breath. He reached back, taking her hand in his, crawling closer to her and kneeling there, gently pulling her body into his lap and brushing a strand of pale blonde hair from her face. He held her there and time seemed to stand still a moment, the victory so, so hollow as he felt the life leave her. He felt her fingers grip his wrist as though begging him not to go, not to leave her alone, and he obliged, still holding her hand. “I'm so...so sorry....” He whispered.

He did not have long to mourn, though. Halsin began to stir on the altar and he gently laid Orin down and closed her eyes, slowly rising to his feet and going to Halsin. “You're alright.” Sentry smiled with relief as he knelt beside Halsin. “Sentry...You came for me.” Halsin whispered in surprise, gently reaching out to touch Sentry's cheek as though afraid he would fade away, a desperate illusion to protect his mind from some horrible torture. “Of course I did.” Sentry replied, cupping Halsin's chin in his hands and looking him over for injuries, surprised to find that he was unharmed, at least Orin kept her word. “I'd never leave you behind.” The moment did not last, however, as enthusiastic clapping echoed off the walls of the temple. “Oh my rotted master! I knew you would succeed! You are indeed your father's chosen!” Sceleritas cried out enthusiastically. He stood on the edge of the platform, smiling manically. Within seconds, cruel blades manifested in the air, digging into Fel's skin, skewering him through. His ruined body rose into the air and glowed bright red as quite a different voice echoed from his lips. “Child of slaughter, my chosen....I come bearing a gift for you...” The eerie voice spoke as the grinning corpse gazed at Sentry. “One you will use to lacerate this world.” Sentry stood up, facing Fel's lacerated corpse and glaring. “A gift from you, father? Yeah, I'll pass. I think I've had enough of those.” Sentry glared, lips curling back in disgust. “The body I was born with? Shitty gift. The urge to kill, even when it's people I don't want to? Shitty gift. My original parents? Shitty gift. You're three for three, father.”

The corpse glared, drawing back slightly with anger. “If you refuse this gift, then I have no use for you, foolish child.”

Sentry winced but stood his ground, his fists clenched as he looked back to Orin's body and tensed, turning his furious gaze back on the puppet his father spoke through. “Then I guess you have no use for me, do what you will. You can't put me through worse than you already have.” He spat his defiance. “Very well, insolent boy....” Bhaal growled. Sentry's vision spun, pain wracked his body. He stumbled and staggered, his brain desperately firing off commands, but none his body understood, his blood boiled in his veins and his body twitched and trembled as his party watched in horror. His vision clouded red and he coughed heavily, a torrent of blood issuing from his lips and staining from his chin to his chest. He shakily sank down to his knees and stared blankly ahead, eyes empty, head twitching and body spasming before finally he went still, and like a puppet with his strings cut, his body fell limp on the stone floor of the temple. The last thing he was vaguely aware of was the dim, flickering image of Halsin and Astarion rushing to his side, Scratch not far behind them, and then the sad, desperate tapping of Scratch's paw on his shoulder before his life was snuffed out like a guttering candle.

[writer59january13]

Temporal incarnation of Aphrodite...

induces idyllic reverie delight evoking similar surge, when skirting, and eluding fidelity defining the marital law on par with courting in flagrante delicto.

After reading about

Greek goddess of love

fancy notion woke whereof warmth suffused me snug as fingers fitted into glove

subsequent laissez faire attitude

welcomed salvation, overstimulation, labialization, impenetration, fornication, and consummation from above.

Hands folded prayer

like to beseech thee to abduct me with

no cause to up braid

natural temptation found

feral, gonadal, and hormonal paroxysm commanding, fueling, inducing longing from divinely devoted dada sacred marital covenant he twice blithely disobeyed

willingly surrendering quintessential orgasmic manifestation to nymph.

Earthbound Olympian of love, now dwells amidst thee willing submissive subject

teasingly surrendering himself,

whose psyche frayed

mossy secluded glade,

a natural bed of soft earthy, downy

canopied bride awaiting

me with said lovely paramour to get laid,

and maybe nine months later,

a baby will resemble

thee dear milkmaid,

then whence we return

to our Land O’ Lakes chalet

homage will be paid

in which human guise undressed as barenaked lady inamorato

doles secrets regarding

amorous Lumineers trade witnessed libidinal upgrade

into erotic dreamland such

heartfelt desire impossible mission for amorousness to be weighed.

Victuals to satiate

pleasures of flesh, especially erogenous zone

administered courtesy female

I wanna name Yvonne

this imaginary mistress singing seductive tone

thru this private line,

but no other phone

triggering mine little rolling stone

to generate primal sounds

vis a vis masturbatory moan

inducing groin seams

of pants extreme groan

toward pocketing sixty-nine

without any lovely bone.

A copious amount of adoration

suffuses entire body of this man

her, whose gentle and kind embrace

promises to be eternal plan

as made mention in the Bible,

Quran, or Torah millennia ago rattan,

whose healthy libido

will probably outlive me life span.

Royal carpet treatment awaits me

each and every day

as the differences between myself

and august dweller on high

establish a bounty and glory

of compassion to roll in the hay

atop bodacious, delicious, felicitous

fantasy asks me to lie

imbibing succulent bosom O zone hemisphere erupts highly charged atmosphere

akin to an eternal month o May

taking spirit soaring thousands

of miles of feet in the sky.

Upon hearing sweet nothings

nobody else can hear affecting heavy breathing

indicated by nostril that imperceptibly flare

a sheer grin of joy lights up

my countenance ear to ear

despite the impish quarks

of this divine being so dear

as journey to inxs of nirvana

induced ejaculated (er...

prematurely) whispered clear from being buck-naked bare.

while playboy hallucination

at my male member does yank

key mud hood dill,

where reality doth usually tank with muss elf feeling prick sans figurative or real shaft shank quite the opposite

with a wife acidly rank

she frequently pulls

my hair as a childish prank

knowing full well that action

turns my mood sour as a crank

I would escape, but no amount of money

can equal priceless prostatic fluid in the seminal piggy bank.

Other times, her karma roars

into a tempest with a rage

lashing out like a half-crazed maniac

loosed upon global stage

on account of silent battles

we regularly wage.

I admit my own fair share

of peculiar traits

which only to private confidences

t'will now relate

keep on the q-t (i.e. quiet)

lest spouse doth berate.

Chief among these oddities comprise

lower gastrointestinal perturbations

issuing from the a$$

which prompt innumerable outbursts of gas

ranging from quiet puff to a noisy, windy pass.

After usage of toilet

with a bowel movement large enough to sink a sub

wash rectal residue from my behind with a hose attached to the tub.

This couple resembles Frankenstein and his bride – argh what a pair

she taunts when I shower,

clean the rest of my body including hair

dry follicles shaking head after applying hair dryer

back & forth side-to-side

through the air.

There you now know foibles

and unusual personal ways

uttering that such antics how she plays

like netted in a one-man fraternity

undergoing constant haze

pelting this poor soul

with scraps of food, she flays

until these covered with

thick pasty gloppy glaze

as verboten entrees

now laugh till you fall over

and remain in stitches for days.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: New Glory from Old Roots

“Hear me well students and I will teach you a secret known only to only the most peerless and truest of bards: Greatness is never created for oneself. It is earned, bestowed, defended, seized, inherited, or in the rarest cases: found through sheer dumb luck.  Glories we make for ourselves are but fleeting embers, but those we pass on, and those passed down onto us, those are the ones that make kingdoms and outlive empires”. 

Jiirsen Larksong, master troubadour 

Setup: The Old Roots are a dungeon located on the edge of a dense and ancient forest, the remnants of a dawn-age settlement that have long been subsumed by the great trees that grow there, repeatedly buried and unearthed by millennia of growth and decay. The location has been home to many a bandit lair, monstrous den, or druidic enclave during its existence, and each have left their mark as successive generations of adventurers have been drawn to explore the structure. 

Adventure Hooks: 

While traveling to the city to make their debut in the annual grand tourney, the party stays overnight in a small country inn and gets to talking with the other patrons. Among their number is a profit minded goblin merchant by the name of Savvy Klink. Mr. Klink is a big fan of the tourneys, and is as encouraging as any of the locals, but points out a critical flaw in the party entering the lists as virtual unknowns. Without fame at their back or coin to wager on their success, they’ll just be another lot of disposable extras for the experienced champions to climb over on their way to the title. Having been looking for a new venture and with plenty of contacts in the scene, the goblin offers his services as promoter, manager, and bookie.  First on their new manager’s checklist: get the party to raid a small dungeon on the way to their goal to get some startup capital, and to show Mr. Klink just what they can do in a fight 

If the party is further along in their journey they may be asked to go delving the Old Roots by D’Toaire, a noble family looking on reclaiming a fragment of their lost legacy. For generations the armor of their famed patriarch, the paladin Ser D’Toaire, presided in a place of honor over their ancestral estate, brining the family the same luck and divine protection exhibited by their ancestor in the past. The armor was lost after a group of thieves captured it, then fled so deep into the old roots that neither they, the armor, or the many search parties the D’Toaire family sent over the years were ever seen again. 

Challenges & Complications: 

Skittering things live within the crumbling stone and hardpacked earth of the Old Roots, ranging from giant centipedes to oversized, carnivorous toads. Such creatures fear the light brought by explorers, but will fiercely defend their warrens if pressed... such as if the unsteady floor gives out beneath one or two of the party members, and the group is suddenly facing attack on two different dungeon levels. 

While blundering through the dark and disorienting chambers of the dungeon, the party may occasionally hear a brusque woman’s voice giving running color commentary on their choices. “ Well that was the wrong hallway”, or “ do you think the elf knows he’s got dirt in his ears?”. This  heckling voice belongs to Mathilde, a fey badger who’s made her home in the roots for ages upon ages. While content to play the heckler, the badger may be bribed with food for information about the dungeon, and offers to lead the party to a hidden stash of treasure should they manage to slay the vicious dire worm on one of the lower levels. Mathilde has LONG coveted its succulent pink flesh, and is willing to trade quite a bit of her hard-won knowledge for the chance to sample it.  

The thieves who made off with Ser D’Toaire’s armor were anything but professional, and fell to arguing over their prize as soon as they were safe in their hidden den. This squabble turned violent, and the thieves slew each other, inadvertently causing the entrance to their lair to cave in and conceal it from the search parties that came after them.  Should the players stumble across this hidden cave (either by noticing the signs of collapse, or by befriending the local wildlife), they’ll find the thieves much abused bodies scattered about their den, each clutching a bit of the armor. Attempting to remove the armor causes the bodies to reanimate and attack,  with the additional wrinkle that in the echoes of their malice, the undead will begin to attack EACHOTHER.  If the party is smart, they can let the thieves’ undying greed do much of their work for them, then wrest  the armor from the scattered bones before the haunts have a chance to reconstitute. 

Further Adventures: 

That evening at camp, after recovering D’Toaire’s armor, the party receives an unexpected visit from the paladin himself, a ghostly visitation visible only to those who are directly in contact with the raiment. Ser D’Toaire is relieved that his raiment is finally out of the hands of the vagabonds that took it, but wishes to know the party’s intention. If he finds them wanting, he asks that they return the armor to his family in exchange for a reward, and go about their business. If they pass his muster, he will instead encourage them to find a blacksmith to make what repairs to the armor they can afford, then elect one of their band to wear him in battle at the local tourney. it has been long since D’Toaire tasted real, honorable conflict, and would lend his righteous strength to any of the party who’d let him experience it once again.  

Savvy Klink makes for an interesting traveling companion, happy to share his business acumen and use his extensive range of trade contacts for the party’s mutual enrichment. He’ll find jobs for the party they never would have known about, and offer off the wall insights about how the party might turn a profit in an otherwise straightforward situation. After the tourney is over and both groups have been enriched by their collaboration, he’ll offer to stay on as the party’s accountant and financier, ensuring that whatever money they leave with him between adventures is smartly invested and always makes a return.  This will of course bring the party into numerous situations where they need to act to “protect” their investment, but surely this high-risk banking is worth the reward, right? 

[rylandfalkov]

Ryland’s Dark & Light Show

Performed at Succulent Tart’s Dark & Light Show on May 15th, 2021

Near the back of the platform, a few, large practice mirrors shimmer into existence facing out towards the crowd. Ryland enters from one side: tight white shirt, tight black pants, towel draped about his neck, and a sheen of sweat covering bare flesh as if he had just finished a performance and is now headed onto this makeshift ‘backstage’. A cheeky smirk graces his lips and he looks to be in good spirits as he offers a final wave towards the audience from whom he had just departed. Now ‘backstage’ and alone, the expression dims into something more melancholic in nature. With a silent sigh, he removes the towel to wipe his face clean.

The first inconsistent movement of Ryland’s reflection is barely noticeable, but it’s just enough to make one consider that their mind is playing tricks on them. A sudden tensing of the reflection’s biceps, as if it’s trying to fight against this gesture. With his back to the mirror, it goes unnoticed by the performer.

The following discrepancy is much more obvious. Ryland tosses his towel off to the side, but his reflection halts mid-throw and the towel slips to the ground by its feet. It then clenches its jittery hand into a fist, resisting the urge to mimic its real world counterpart. With a snap of its fingers, the backstage lights flicker just enough to completely engulf both Ryland and reflection in absolute darkness for a split second. When the flickering light ceases, Ryland’s reflection has resumed his mirror image but is now donning a black shirt.

Ryland whirls around to face the mirror and freezes in place, the confusion on his face is perfectly imitated by the reflection’s. There’s a moment of hesitation, but soon the confusion gives way to curiosity and he approaches. He extends a hand and presses it flush against the smooth surface as his gaze shifts between his own white shirt and the reflection’s black shirt. With Ryland’s focus elsewhere, the reflection raises its glare to peer out towards the audience, an ominous grin spreading over pouty lips.

The reflection’s fingers nimbly press through the glass, as if they are penetrating the surface of still water. Before Ryland has a chance to react, the reflection already has their hands clamped and fingers tightly laced together, now attempting to YANK Ryland inside with them. 

He is pulled in up to his shoulder before the remainder of his body slams into the mirror’s surface with a dull thud. In retaliation, Ryland jerks his arm back with all of his might, using the mirror as leverage. With both hands clasped around Ryland’s, the reflection is forcefully torn free from the confines of its glass prison, leapfrogging over his head in a high-flying straddle split as it releases the half-elf’s hands. Upon landing, the reflection crumples down into a forward roll after which it sprawls into a heap at the front of the stage.

Ryland stares in apprehension as his escaped reflection now writhes on the floor. With shoulders hunched and fingers curled like claws, its movements are disjointed and shaky as it contorts itself into a tense crouch. There’s an eerie, yet menacing feel to not only its body language, but to the slightly maniacal expression as well while eyeballing the audience.

He cautiously approaches from behind and delicately slips a hand overtop of the reflection’s shoulders. Baring its teeth in a subdued snarl, the reflection quickly snatches Ryland’s wrist and tries to drag him down. Bracing his free palm against the reflection’s opposite shoulder, Ryland kicks up into a handstand before arching his back and effortlessly lowering one pointed foot down towards the ground in front of the reflection all while still trying to twist his arm free. His foot touches the stage, leaving Ryland in an over-extended front split and back bridged to the extreme, showcasing the full control he has over both flexibility and strength.

With an abrupt wrench to his captured wrist, Ryland collapses and is laid out onto his back as the reflection skitters away. Swinging his legs back, a no-handed kip-up gets Ryland to his feet where he is immediately met with his reflection’s hands creeping inwards from around the sides of his mouth in an attempt to silence him. There’s a grit in his teeth as Ryland seizes the wrists of his assailant and slides to one side to tear himself free from its weak grip. With a swift, downwards tug to one of its arms, the reflection flips over and stiffly lands smack on its back.

Ryland’s reflection mimics his earlier motions and performs the same, if not slightly less elegant, kip-up. At the same time, Ryland retreats across the stage, vaulting himself into a triple tour en l’air; gracefully spinning three times midair before landing on both feet. His reflection trails in his wake; the sporadic movements unnatural and unsettling as it crawls across the stage. Meanwhile, Ryland’s balletic dance flows continuously with flawless ease and finesse as one move transitions fluidly into the next. The disparity between the two is now all the more prevalent when separated.

Now face to face with their profiles to the audience, the two regard each other from a brief distance. In a moment of insight, Ryland pinches his own arm, causing the reflection to flinch and hiss, but also straighten its posture. Another pinch is delivered to his opposite arm and again the reflection flinches, but this time it falls in line with Ryland’s gestures and resumes imitating him as if placed back within the mirror. 

The two watch each other intensely and extend hands to touch palms; turning their heads one way and then another, still in unison. They push up onto their toes, lifting and bending their knees closest to the audience before raising those bent legs. Toes point up towards the sky until both are in a perfect, full vertical split. The stance is held for a few seconds before the two tilt their torsos to the side and turn to break away from one another. A few large steps are taken as prep before both leap into a soaring 540 jump, sweeping the take-off leg in a wide arc through the air while rotating around before landing on that same leg.

Before Ryland even has a chance to catch his breath, the reflection whips around with a growl and sprints towards its counterpart. It leaps high into the air, high enough to easily clear their own height: arms raised with hands shaped into claws and legs tucked into a diamond position. Ryland turns to notice at the last moment and stumbles, falling backwards just as the reflection’s feet land with a loud SLAM on either side of Ryland’s supine state.

The reflection hunches over Ryland, fingers plucking at the man’s cheeks and bare arms while he struggles to escape, but the half-elf appears to be growing weary. With teeth bared and eyes wild, the reflection silently screams in Ryland’s face before it hoists him into a fireman’s carry and hauls him over to the mirror.

Ryland continues to put up a fight, although it appears to be a losing battle. He’s set on his feet with his back to the mirror, and the moment he tries to break free, the reflection pinches its own arm just as Ryland had done earlier. He immediately recoils and is stopped in his tracks, seemingly unable to move. The reflection slams a fist against its own chest and Ryland’s body convulses with the pain. With two extended fingers pressed to Ryland’s forehead, the reflection gives him a nudge, causing the man to waver on his feet then totter back and through the mirror. 

He immediately panics and begins pounding on the inside of the mirror, his shouting completely inaudible to those outside of it. The freed reflection clenches its fist and snaps its fingers, causing the lights to flicker once more and engulf the duo in darkness for a split second. When the flickering ceases, Ryland’s once white shirt is now black to match that of his reflection’s, and also appears to now be the one mirroring movements. The two stare at each other through the mirror, grin that sinister grin, and bow. In perfect unison.

[dicenne]

Dicenne’s performance for Succulent Tart’s Hallow’s End Show!

A creeping, white fog covers the stage in rolling waves as the ambient light dims until it becomes nearly impossible to see more than a couple yards in front of one’s face.  It’s quiet at first, but gradually the sound of rattling chains, accompanied by a guttural growl slices through the silence. 

Two piano notes begin to repeat as the fog begins to clear away, and two cauldrons of flame on either side of the stage brighten enough to reveal a large, person-shaped form laying on its side and facing the audience. A mass of black, matted hair obscures the visage, but with the fog now clear, it was easy enough to see this was an elf.  Or was once an elf, now something seemingly inhuman.

Stained, tattered shorts cling to the body; all other flesh seems to be bare, but covered in dirt and oil.  Some of the extremities appear to be bent at grotesque angles; a knee turned in a way it should never bend, an arm twisted around that appears to be nearly dislocated. Even the neck of the ‘thing’ seems to be bent and contorted around, face pressing into the pavement. It then becomes obvious that both wrists and both ankles are cuffed, with long chains securely connected to the metal loops attached to the ground outlining the body.

Another raspy growl comes from the thing. Its arms shift, the movements jerky and isolated with joints cracking as they snap back in place. Next come the legs, the twisted knee jolting back in place with a sickening ~crunch~ and the neck abruptly wrenching the opposite direction to right itself. Now on all fours, milky eyes peer at the audience through the disheveled mane of hair. It begins to creep forwards on palms and toes, hunkering low to the ground in an unnatural and disjointed prowl as all four chains scrape against the hard ground.  Not once do those partially hidden milky eyes blink or shift away from the crowd, staring lifelessly ahead.

Without warning nor prep, it leaps forwards; arms extended with bloodied hands in the shape of claws trying to tear at whatever is in its path.  With the face now visible, it’s easy to make out the murky, sunken eyes, pale flesh, and bloodstained teeth and lips. Just before he’s able to rip into the front row, the slack in the chains is depleted and the creature is yanked violently backwards. Bouncing off the balls of his feet, he springs up into a backflip, both legs and arms spreading into a ‘V’ at the flip’s peak to fan out the chains before landing in a crouch.

It slinks backwards, never once altering the menacing stare forwards.  Wrapping the length of chain connected to his right wrist around the same arm, he finally turns his attention towards the bolted down shackle. Muscles flex and tense up with effort as he strains against his restraint until it creaks and cracks. With the force of the yank, the thick, metal chain flies free, snapping back towards the creature before the momentum is quickly redirected to the ground behind him. The impact of chain and broken clasp hitting ground creates a shower of sparks as it screeches across the cement.

Intrigued and almost hypnotized, he raises his arm and swings the chain, still attached to his wrist, over his head faster and faster; the heavier weight of the clasp on the end allowing better maneuverability.  He angles his wrist until the clasp just barely scrapes the ground with each rotation, kicking up a myriad of sparks in its wake. His movements become more fluid as he swings the chain freely; manipulating the path and rotation with parts of his own body in smooth, limber movement: under his arm and legs, around his torso, even encircling his neck. His hips swivel and back arches, chain and creature in harmony with one another, all while oily, contoured muscles are put on full display in the flickering light of the cauldrons.

 It‘s arm goes slack, all previous finesse quashed.  He allows the chain to clatter to the ground next to him, posture going slack as shoulders hunch and head twists to one side. His empty gaze shifts towards the other chained wrist, looping the length around his free arm as he shambles with convulsive movements towards the clasped base. With a glottal snarl and a vigorous yank, the clasp snaps and the chain is launched behind him, sparking against the ground where it lands as the dissonant music continues to intensify.

The two freed chains are swiftly taken in hand, and the creature circles them overhead until enough momentum has been obtained.  Wrists rotate and both weapons smack against the ground simultaneously, producing a shower of sparks.  The process is repeated while the pace accelerates: both chains swivel overhead for one rotation in and then THWACK down against the ground for the next; all in a synchronal display of flickering sparkles that fan out towards the crowd.

At one point when the chains grate against the ground, the sparks ignite a small flame at the base of both weapons, gradually spreading upwards as their rotations progress into more convoluted movements. Once more the creature manipulates his props with graceful ease: around his muscular form, behind his back, and over his head.  The fiery chains become blurs of orange and yellow against the darkened sky as dexterous hands expertly wield his once restraints.

The music continues to escalate, feeling more frenetic and spurring the thing into a rabid frenzy.  Legs pull and kick against his ankle restraints in an attempt to break those free, but to no avail. His two fiery chain whips unceremoniously clatter to the ground, the flames dwindling naturally as he hunches down and sets his lifeless glare on the audience. 

His nostril’s flare as the creature sniffs and then begins to slink towards the front of the stage once more; body unnaturally twitching with brief spasmodic fits. Blood drips from one corner of its mouth, dribbling down the chin, the neck, and onto the chest to mix with the grime already present. It pauses, ears flicking while listening.

The ominous music heightens, now even more frantic and harrowing while reverberating around the open space. In one swift motion, the creature dips its head as if it were going to do a forward roll, instead the moment his head touches the ground he does a front headspring, followed immediately by front handspring.  When bare feet touch ground, he pounces towards the audience with bloodied teeth bared, like a predator going in for the kill. 

Once again, his chained ankles impede his plan and jolts him backwards just before he’s able to reach his prey. He springs into a back handspring and then launches himself into a high-flying back layout; his body remaining stiff and straight as a board as he rotates through the air before landing skillfully on both feet.  Kicking one leg back, he does a ‘suicide flip’ in place, where upon completion of his rotation around, he lands on his back and slams his opposite leg down hard against the ground, resulting in a loud, metallic *CRACK*.

He victoriously pulls his right ankle free from the broken restraint and focuses his attention onto the remaining chained ankle. The anticipation of liberation puts the creature into an intensified craze, now attempting everything within its power to break free. Arms yank at the chain as he twists and thrashes his bound ankle.  Kicking up into a handstand, the chain pulls tight, hindering his ability to straighten his left leg. Gradually he starts to lower his right leg in the opposite direction until legs are in a full split, back leg still bent and straining vigorously against the final binding, while only deepening the split. The clasp chained to the ground groans with the effort, but lucky for the audience, it remains intact.

He inelegantly crumples to the ground just as the music returns to the subdued, repeating piano notes.  Its limbs splay out in all directions and neck contorts awkwardly to stare blankly at those gathered. Defeatedly, it pulls itself into a hunched, seated position, still pushing at the final restraint in a flimsy attempt to get it over the heel. The fire cauldrons flicker and dim, threatening to snuff themselves out.

Then, an idea. He grabs his heel and toes and begins wrenching his foot back and forth and up and down, more and more forcefully; apparently attempting to dislocate or break its ankle. One of the cauldron’s flames extinguishes, now mostly obscuring the actions of the creature with shadows.  A horrific CRACK echoes around the stage, followed by the sound of a chain hitting the ground.

The other flame dies, shrouding the stage and the audience in complete darkness once more. Only the sound of metal scraping against the ground and hoarse groans could be heard in the pitch black.  There’s a brief pause, and then suddenly there’s a cacophony of jangling chains and bloodthirsty snarls rushing towards the audience! Just before it reaches the front row, the main stage lights blink on, and the creature is nowhere to be found.

@succulent-tart​

[voyager-into-the-unknown]

My December 30 contribution to the 2019 Pikelavar Winter Event

Chapter 5: Fireplace 🔥

Pike and Meklavar returned to their room and discovered that a servant had brought up their scrubbed and polished boots and had also cleaned Meklavar’s armor as well. “Your clothing has been washed and will be dry by morning,” the serving man told them, and they thanked him as he exited.

They sat at the little table for two by the fireplace, and awaited their supper.

“Mek, are their anymore rituals that I should know about?”

“Well, the bath of purification was perfectly done. You passed the first test.”

“Test?”

“Normally the ritual bath takes place with all of the warriors of maiden’s clan standing guard outside the bathing room, and if she desires it, a female chaperone may be present in the bathhouse with her.”

“Why? It seems a lot less romantic that way.”

“Yes, but such precautions are often necessary to protect the maiden’s honor and reputation. Not all dwarf maidens are warriors, and unfortunately, not all males are honorable.”

Pike was silent a moment, eyes downcast, thinking about what Meklavar was implying. He looked up at her. “I would never take advantage of a female that way. My mother and sisters taught me to respect women and girls, and my father and brothers always gave good examples of exactly how that should be done.”

Meklavar smiled at him, her eyes shining, and Pike realized that he was looking into the eyes of a young woman whose heart belonged to him completely. He would guard it then, as the most priceless of treasures, one that could never be stolen. He knew that love was a gift that could only be given freely.

“Pike, I made the choice to enter the bathing room with you without a chaperone or guards because I trust you. I trust you with my life, my reputation, and my honor.”

Pike’s eyes watered a little at Mek’s deeply personal admission. He moved from his chair to kneel before her. He took her small hands into his larger ones and gazed up at her. “I love you, more than anything or anyone in all the world, Mek. I would be honored if—“

Just then there was a knock on the door. They froze. “Go, on,” she whispered, “answer the door. We can continue our private discussion later.”

Pike stood up to answer the door, mumbling something about “ruining the moment,” but his attitude suddenly changed when his stomach rumbled at the smell of the delicious meal that the servingman had brought through the open door on a large tray. There were hot mugs of tea, and glasses of cool water, a selection of grilled meats, cooked vegetables, baked and seasoned tubers, hot buttery bread, and succulent little pies for dessert.

The servant exited promptly once the meal had been served, instructing them to put their empty mugs and dishes back on the tray and leave it outside of their door when they were finished with their meal.

“Everything smells delicious,” said Meklavar with delight.

“I am so hungry, I would think a plain bowl of stew and stale bread would be a feast right now, but this is a meal fit for royalty!”

They ate slowly, savoring each bite, and spoke of private matters once more.

“This is the next part of the ritual, the private sharing of a meal.”

“We’ve done that lots of times.”

“After that, we share a bed.”

“Which we have also done these last few nights. What’s different about it this time?”

“Well, normally a maiden would have her chaperone with her—“

“And a dwarf army outside of the door.”

“Yes,” she grinned at him, “But you’ve already proven that it isn’t necessary for me to take such precautions.”

“But all of this is how you bond with your Intended. You get to know each other better, see if your lives together will be compatible, find out if the other one snores or has horrible morning breath—“

She giggled. “Yes, you’ve got the idea.”

“Mek, don’t we have more important things to consider, like where we will live, or how many children we will have, or what sort of settled down life we will have once we retire from questing?”

“I am good with metalworking, and crafting clever devices.”

“I am a good salesman.”

“We should open a shop, then.”

“Block’s village isn’t far from where my extended family lives,” he mused.

“My parent’s manor is only a day’s journey in the other direction.”

“And we could be near our friends if we lived in Block’s town, where we know we will always be welcomed since we helped him save them from the spell that turned them all to stone.”

“Then there’s the question of children. I assume you want a little family of our own.”

He reached across the table to hold her hand. “As many of or as few of the little ones as you like. However many the Maker blesses us with. I just hope that they are as beautiful and clever as their mother.”

She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “I hope that they are as brave and kind as their father.” He beamed at her.

“Then, it is decided, Mek. We both want this. What’s stopping us from going to the temple and pledging our vows?”

“I have to get my family’s blessing. And there is the exchange of tokens.”

“Does Midwinter gift giving count? I spent most of my money on your present. And don’t say that I shouldn’t have. I bought you something that I know you will love.”

“Well, I went to the metal shop in Talarian City and helped the master craftsman make your gift myself.”

“We have to wait two more days,” he sighed. “I suppose I was being impulsive earlier,” he said to himself, and Mek looked at him in puzzlement. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Mek.”

They finished their meal, washed their hands and faces, and brushed their teeth. Mek asked him to help her push the little table and chairs aside to make more room in front of the fireplace. After they had rearranged the room to her liking, Pike gathered their used mugs, plates, and utensils onto the tray and left it outside their door. When he locked it for the evening, he turned to see his future bride standing on the thick rug in front of the fireplace. She had removed her robe and sat down with the green jar of fragrant lotion. She rolled up one sleeve of her white night shirt and then the other to rub the sweet-smelling stuff upon her arms, then grinned at him. “Are you just going to watch, or would you like to join me?”

Pike took off his robe and his tunic, then sat beside her, clad in his loose-fitting sleeping trousers, watching as she raised her pale night tunic to reveal her calves, knees, and thighs. “Do you want to help with this?” He gave a low purr that sounded almost like a growl in response.

“Sorry,” he said, a bit embarrassed at his own enthusiasm. He took a bit of the lotion and massaged her feet and calves with it as she applied it to her own knees and thighs. And as her nightdress slid higher, Pike was thankful for the fact that Mek wore modest underpants. The heat from the fireplace wasn’t the only reason why his face was warm.

She undid the upper fastenings of her tunic to bare her shoulders, being very careful to keep her bosom covered. Pike massaged her neck and shoulders with the fragrant lotion, and when he was done he gathered the cloth of her tunic to cover up the places he had just touched. She hastily fastened up the neckline of her sleeping garment while he watched, the firelight behind her creating a nimbus of light behind her that made her appear as breathtaking as any elf queen out of legend. “I can’t stop being amazed by how beautiful you are,” he said in a low voice.

Smiling, she cupped his cheek, and he looked up at her with the eyes of a man who was utterly, completely, and totally in love with her. At this moment he would have done absolutely anything she asked him to do. She kissed him softly, then said, “Let me rub some of this on you.” Pike nodded and was as gentle as a kitten when she massaged the fragrant lotion into his shoulders, biceps, and forearms. He closed his eyes and took deep, calming breaths as she massaged his back, kneading the creamy stuff into his muscles. Her touch was soft, but strong, and every caress was like a promise of more intimate and passionate nights ahead of them, even if, for the present time of their courtship, they would practice restraint. She rubbed the lotion into the skin of his belly and chest as he opened his eyes once more to watch her every move.

When she was done, she stood up, turned her back to him, and removed her night tunic altogether. Pike gave a little gasp of surprise at her sudden revelation of so much bare skin. Mek held the garment to her bosom modestly, covering her bare chest. “You can rub this on my back,” she said as she sat back down. He rubbed the sweet-smelling stuff onto her back with gentle caresses, marveling at how smooth her skin already was. When he was finished, he kissed her cheek, and then her neck in the precise spot that he knew would get a response from her. She giggled. “That tickles!”

“I know. That’s why I did it.”

“Bad kitty!” She giggled as he kept trying to kiss her there again and again. The tunic that she held against her bosom began to reveal more flesh than she intended. They both blushed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I just wanted to make you laugh.”

“Close your eyes.” He obeyed.

“I love the sound of your laughter. You have a really cute laugh.”

“No peeking.”

He heard the rustle of cloth and the barely audible sound of her hands rubbing across soft, supple skin. Was she putting that stuff on her chest? He peeked. Her back was to him, and for a brief moment he caught a glimpse of the side of one of her plump little breasts. He didn’t see much, but it was enough to make his imagination run wild. She pulled her sleeping tunic over her head. “You can open your eyes now.”

Pike felt such heat upon his face that he wondered if he was sitting too close to the fireplace. She had risen from her seated position by the fire and was putting on her robe. He sat there, lost in thoughts of how she didn’t wear one of those bandeau things around her bosom to sleep at night, just underpants and a nightgown. Interesting. He imagined that was typical for most females, but as he got to know Meklavar’s habits better, he realized that there was a lot he didn’t know about women but was eager to learn. He scrambled into his own sleep shirt to hide his blushing. “Um, I need to use the chamber pot,” he said awkwardly and disappeared behind the privacy screen. He did what he had to do as quietly as he could, hoping that Meklavar couldn’t hear what was really going on. He imagined that there were some things about males that she didn’t understand yet, and perhaps that was for the best right now. He washed his hands thoroughly after he had taken care of what he needed to do, then sighed.

When he moved from behind the screen, he saw that Mek had already climbed in bed and was nestled comfortably under the covers. Her slippers were next to the bed and her robe hung up on one of the bedposts. He blew out the remaining candles and knew the fireplace’s light would be enough for them on this dark, cold winter night. He hung up his robe and aligned his own slippers beside hers, thinking how perfect they looked side by side that way. He climbed in bed next to her, and when he lay comfortably on his back, she rolled over to look at him.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said softly. As she lay upon his chest he stroked her soft, fluffy hair, inhaling the sweet scent of the conditioning oil that he had rubbed into it when they had bathed together earlier. She was perfect in every way, and she was his. What had he ever done to deserve someone so amazing in his life? “I love you, Mek. More than words can say.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered back to him. When he felt her breathing slowing as she drifted off to sleep, he shut his eyes at last, smiling at the pleasant thought of falling asleep with her in his arms every night for a lifetime.

[mymindsmadness]

Mermaid Draco Part 2

Just to be clear, I had never planned on writing the first part of this. I’m not even sure how I got here XD. It started with an idea, and now I’ve gone and played myself. I suppose I can’t stop now. For every part I write, more and more ideas come to me. I’m not sure if this will be a fully fleshed out story. More of little scenes here and there that would make up part of a story, if that makes sense?

I blame @imadumbbinch @pretty-in-pink007 and @captainchanglingkhat for talking me into it ;D

Once again, I am not a writer. I do this for fun and because I have no life. I’m American, so I’m sorry for any terminology that doesn’t quite mesh well! Also, I’m sorry for typos. It’s just me sitting at a computer, probably with insomnia. 

Read PART ONE 

Harry couldn’t help the way his lips pursed as he watched the bright pink tail breeah the water and smack back down. He knew it was Malfoy’s way of messing with him. Because Harry had been the one to reach out and try to help (again). Why wouldn’t Malfoy want to get under his skin?

“Tell me why he has to stay here again?” He looked to Hermione who mirrored his expression, though he was sure hers had more to do with the paperwork she’d be buried under.

“We’ve never seen a curse like this, Harry. The unspeakable are beside themselves. Ron spoke with Bill and got the names of a few curse breakers, but they’ve never heard of anything like this. Rolf Scamander is on holiday with Luna, so we haven’t heard back from him yet.”

“Are you sure it was a good idea to call him? We don’t want Malfoy on the front page of the Quibbler.”

“You know Luna would never.” She smacked his chest lightly. “Besides, you never use this room anyway.”

That was true. It had been Walburga Black’s old room. Although there was no screaming portrait in here, the room felt dark. It still smelled of stale perfume and tobacco despite the charms that reshaped it into a small pond. It was only about the size of a swimming pool, but it was deep enough for Draco to stretch his – uh… fins? It was all so bizarre to Harry.

“That’s odd…” Hermione mumbled as she watched Malfoy pop out of the water. “His tail… it’s gone white.”

Harry looked over to where Malfoy was leaning on the edge of the ‘pond’, his head resting on his arms as the faux sunlight warmed the room and caused it to grow humid. The scales that lined his sharp cheekbones seemed to shimmer under long blonde lashes. Harry couldn’t help but notice how serene Malfoy looked. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen the other man quite this way. No scowl. No sneer. Just a soft expression. Even his thin lips seemed delicate and plumper under the lack of tension. He cleared his throat and remembered that he was supposed to be looking at Malfoy’s tail. For some reason, that seemed far more intimate. Hermione was right (as she so often was). His tail had turned an iridescent white. It reminded him of Aunt Petunia’s mother of pearl broach.

“What have I told you about my eyes, Potter?” The tone wasn’t as cross as Harry would have expected. When his eyes flickered to Malfoy’s face, he paused. Instead of a sneer, he was met with a small smirk and an assessing gaze. The short twelve hours at Harry’s house had done wonders for him. His skin was no longer translucent, but a creamy white dotted with scales here and there. His cloudy eyes had sharpened and darkened into the familiar mercury color Harry had come to know over the years. And his tail… well, that was still a tail, wasn’t it? Apparently, the folks at the aquarium had put him in the wrong sort of water. Maloy had tried to tell them, but they didn’t understand a word he spoke. 

“Your tail’s gone white.” He said dumbly, not enjoying the way his stomach rolled as Malfoy scoffed.

“I must say, Potter, your skills of deduction speak volumes about our ministry’s auror training programme.” His face had gone flat again; a mask of neutrality. “It changes sometimes.” He shrugged one scaled shoulder.

“What causes that?” Hermione whipped out a pad to write on, nearly scaring Harry out of his skin. He had forgotten she was still there.

Harry watched in amazement as the scales along Draco’s cheekbones started to shift from a pearly white to a light pink, darkening as the color stretched to his shoulders. “I don’t know, Granger. Isn’t this your department?”

“Cursed mermaid gits? Wasn’t on the NEWTS.” Hermione mumbled under her breath, causing Harry to smile fondly down at her. “Given the timing…” She hummed as Malfoy’s eyes darted away. “You know your father’s still locked in Azkaban.”  

“Hermione...“ Harry tried to interject. There was no reason to bring up their pasts now.

“Last I heard, he’s gone a bit mad. They say your mother has taken a lover though. Some muggle barista from what I hear.” Harry’s brows knit as she ignored him and pressed on. Was this even Hermione? Since when did she speak like this? It was almost callous.

“My mother would never!” Harry turned back to Malfoy just in time to see the scarlet red of his scales reaching his tail. “And if you think-“

“Ah.” Hermione smiled and jotted down a few notes. “It is provoked by emotion then.”

“That was a dangerous game.” Harry sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets. He figured he wouldn’t have intervene since the color of Malfoy’s tail was slowly receding. Though, the pouty frown kept its place.

“That’s all I need for now.” Hermione pocked her book and leaned up to press a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek. “We’ll see you at dinner tonight?”

“Yeah.” He would rather sleep off this nightmare of a day, but Hermione enjoyed cooking for him and Ron. It was a shame she wasn’t very good at it. Neither man had the heart to tell her as much, however. Typically, they would take turned shoveling their food into the carnivorous succulent Neville had gifted them. Hermione always commented on how much it’s grown, but could never figure out why. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

When she left, there was a heavy tension in the room that had nothing to do with the newfound humidity. It was only then that Harry realized Hermione had never answered his question about why Draco Malfoy had to stay in his house. Unbuttoning the neck of his auror robes, Harry sank into one of the folding chairs he had brought inside. He pretended to not know that Malfoy watched his every move, once again lounging on the edge of the pond. When Harry forced himself to look in the other man’s direction, only the smallest hints of red remained on his cheekbones. The rest had gone a light pink. His eyes traveled from the iridescent scales to the equally bright eyes. It had been years, years, since Harry had felt that familiar churn in his stomach. At Hogwarts, he couldn’t quite place it. He knew it happened whenever he looked at Malfoy, and figured it was due to apprehension. He was always up to something, after all. After he broke things off with Ginny, he was able to assess it further. It was only after Malfoy disappeared and Harry grew into his own that he realized it was blatant attraction. Even now, as a sodding mermaid, Draco Malfoy was ethereal. And he was still watching Harry.    

That was it though, wasn’t it? They were always watching each other, then and now. Harry never told Hermione or Ron, but when Malfoy went missing, Harry pleaded with Robards to be put on the case. If Malfoy had pissed off to France or whatever, that was fine, but Harry wanted to be sure. There were a lot of people – there were still a lot of people – that wanted the Malfoy’s dead. Harry just wanted to make sure that wasn’t the case. Robards had refused, telling Harry it would be a conflict of interests. When Harry had asked again, Robards threatened to send him back to academy. Slowly, Harry had let the case and Malfoy slip from his mind. But now that he was back, that piece of Harry, the piece that had always been owned by Draco, had awoken again.

“Maybe I should sell you admission like that bloody muggle. If you’re going to stare, I might as well get something out of it.” His words were cross, but his tone was lazy. He had even gone back to resting his chin on his folded arms.

“You’re living in my house, so I think that ought to make us even.” Harry shrugged.

“Technically, it’s my family’s house. But if you’re so desperate to not owe me anything, I suppose I’ll take pity on you and call it even.” Even as a mermaid forced to live in a charmed pond, Draco Malfoy managed to sound superior.

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing them and pushing up his glasses with one movement. “I’m going to leave for dinner soon. Shall I leave you a bucket of kippers, or would that make you feel the need to preform tricks before eating?”

No harsh curses or snarls came after his words. He had just settled his glasses on the bridge of his nose when Malfoy spoke again. “… Harry?” His breath caught and his chest was far too tight as he met steely eyes again. Had Malfoy ever used his first name without insult? But hearing it from Malfoy’s lips wasn’t as good as Harry had hoped. It was small and timid. Maybe under all that bravado, he really was scared. Maybe - “My mother isn’t really dating a muggle, is she?” Harry felt himself deflate with a light laugh and a shake of his head.

“No, Malfoy. She’s not dating a muggle.” It seemed like he deflated too, a small smile on his lips. “Last I heard, it was a house elf.”

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Black Horse

Three times Elves engaged in cannibalism. (300 words)

Warnings: Cannibalism, character death, implied torture, overall very disturbing. Proceed with caution.

Written for Back to Middle Earth Month.

Horror Card O66: Cannibalism

(There’s cannibalism in this story, I cannot stress it enough)

On AO3

Helcaraxë

They said it had started with the groups in the back, where the weak and wounded walked. Then it had spread forward, and now near half of the host knew how elven flesh tasted. Disgusted, troubled and hungry, Fingon reported the news to his father.

Fingolfin looked at the gaunt, fleshless face of his firstborn child and imagined Fëanor’s sons feasting on the rich game of Middle-earth.

“I will investigate,” he said, “Look after your brother.”

He returned later, carrying buckets of meat.

“They have only found a new type of seal,” he said, “Try it.”

Fingon didn’t question him.

Doriath

The Elf was still alive but dying. There was blood on his clothes, warm blood. He was a Doriathrim warrior. The children didn’t know him and felt a little comforted.

Eluréd looked at his brother with tears in his eyes. Elurín was shaking from both cold and horror, but he nodded. The wounded warrior moaned.

Eluréd put his palm on the Elf’s nose and mouth, while Elurín hit him on the head with a stone. The Elf jerked twice and stopped moving. The children took his dagger and bared his thigh. Winters in Doriath were cruel, and they were hungry.

Ost-in-Edhil

He had enough presence of mind to realize that there was a trick. He didn’t have enough presence of mind to care about it. Pain and hunger were the greatest moving forces in his life. He was not going to miss this chance. He sank his broken teeth into the succulent meat.

“Do you like it?” asked Annatar, “I thought you would.” Celebrimbor heard his smirk in the pause. “It is one of your mírdain.”

Nauseated, Celebrimbor gagged. Tears filled his eyes. He kept eating.

Annatar leaned down. “If you tell me your secret,” he whispered, “You will have more.”

[authorellenmint]

Solas is surprised by the Inquisitor a few years after he's left her.

Solas' eyes fluttered open, his body rising from the desolate ground while the impossible happened. Even as his mind denied it, his heart recognized the silhouette tugging away his tent's door and sliding inside.

"Inquisitor," he gasped, shaken from his errant slumber as she...how could she be here after all this time?

"Shh," her gracious hand reached through the air, barely glancing against his lips, "Vhenan."

He had much to explain, to confess to her -- his heart heavy with the full truth. It almost slipped his lips in the grove, his old world nearly physical around them. But to watch her eyes turn cold to him, to lose all respect from her. He, of all people, could not go on without that. So he chose anger instead. Loss. Hate over the far more debilitating fear his past would uncover.

How was she here after his betrayal? How was this possible?

The night shifted around her, fading to reveal her perfect skin freed of the marks of bondage. Her hand pierced through the lonely air, warm fingers curling to his cold jaw. Solas' ever watching eyes closed tight, his very being leaning into that one touch. "Ir abelas, ma vhenan," he whispered the words forever locked upon his tongue. It was he who walked away, he who could not own his mistakes while in the corona of her being.

"I know," she said. Solas whipped his head up in surprise only to fall into her unending eyes. Perfect. There is no gemstone in this thedas that could compare. She crossed the space between them, her arms entwining around his chest as she pressed her lips to his ear. "Be with me, Solas."

"You do not know what you ask," he shook his head even as a thrill took control of his spine. Even as the coward inside the Dread Wolf tried to scamper away, his hands enveloped around her lithe body -- fulfilling every dream he dared have since Haven.

Her teeth grazed against his earlobe, Solas tipping his head back in exquisite agony. He hungered for her, for all of her in every way she'd give, but he didn't deserve her either. It wasn't right of him to ask.

A warm breath twirled through his ear, her words pregnant with need, "I know you."

Their lips locked in a kiss of more hunger than he'd ever known in his lifetime. She tasted of honeysuckle and clover, of a spring meadow by a crystal lake. Of his long held denial dripping through his fingers, freeing him from his imposed shackles. With each thrum of her hot tongue, he forgot himself. Why did he hold himself apart from her? From this?

Solas' hands, no longer bound by the chasteness he chose, ripped apart her leathers. The human garments she wore day in and day out while trying to correct his mistake tumbled to the ground. By the glow of an impossible light, Solas stared at what he could only picture in his mind's eye.

"You are," he brushed his forehead to hers, "more beautiful than I ever imagined."

Her lips, glistening from his kisses, lifted at the edge. It was a smile all her own, one of accomplishment, of prestige, of surprising a jaded man into believing beauty was still possible in this dead world. He would have confessed the truth, all of it for her smile, dropped to his knees and begged for her forgiveness.

"Be with me, Solas," her words echoed themselves. She was beautiful the way the moonlight off an assassin's blade is beautiful. More striking than the glint of sun rays through the forest glenn landing thrush upon a halla's wintery coat. Powerful. Strong. Dangerous.

And not only to her enemies.

"I can deny it no longer," he gasped, his hands cupping the pert breasts he tried to put from his mind. Her lips claimed his, his Vhenan's hands stripping away every fur he decorated over his body. He treated them like mantles of war, trophies to declare himself worthy of this coming fight. But in his love's hands they were proven for the truth -- childish ribbons worn by a man who believed he had nothing to lose.

She paused, her palms parting over the ivory sweater. Each caress sparked his skin, the fire emanating from the very center of his being. This was how she met him, how she saw him. A lone elf wandering the woods, a scholar, a quiet man who could not keep his eyes off of her.

It was how she knew him.

It was how he wanted her to always know him.

"Emma sa lath," his tongue was freed along with his mind. With eyes closed and heart open, Solas brushed his forehead to hers while whispering, "Know me, Vhenan. Know all of me."

"Gladly," she smiled.

He feared to be naked around her, that she'd read upon his stripped flesh all the buried secrets. But his Vhenan drew her succulent lips to each battle scar fought in a war millennia past. Her fingers kneaded into muscles forged in the fights of her ancient ancestors. Not once did she blink, not once did she ask.

Solas prided himself on being patient when called for, slow to act in all matters. But, in that moment -- after years of denial -- he could hold no more back. Greedily ripping the last of her clothes off, he paused for a breath above her pristine body. There were no scars of war, no blemishes from fire or ice. No burns of lightning to deform her flesh.

She was perfect.

Drawing her legs against his waist, her taut thighs gliding against his sinewy hips, he entered her. The first thrust caused a gasp to escape from her throat -- the same sound she made when he stepped away in the grove. When he proved to be too much of a coward to live up to what she deserved.

He would not make the same mistake twice.

Fingers digging into her glorious backside, Solas increased his tempo. The gasps in his love's throat changed, panting not in pain but ecstasy. She drew her hands to his cheeks, pulling herself to him for a kiss. He tried to return it, to focus on anything but the fire threatening to consume him whole, but her lips kept slipping away. His love's pants of pleasure dashed down his throat, warming his soul.

Aching for both release and connection, Solas tipped her down upon the bed of his wolf pelts. Her hair spilled out like a halo, every thrust of his body into hers causing her breasts to bounce, her skin to glisten like the fade was once again inside them all.

"My love," he gasped, feeling himself step to the edge. "I'm sorry."

"I know," her moans entwined with his, both rocking back and forth to the pleasure of their bodies. "And," tears burst in her perfect eyes, "I forgive you."

His crescendo tipped into an explosion, Solas' head bowed in recompense even as he filled her. She forgave him. She shouldn't, there was none in this world who would. But...she did. She could.

Rising from the bed, her arms enveloped Solas' weary brow. How long did he carry it bent with the souls of elves he tried to free and even more that he damned? The crown of bricks was going to crush him one day.

"Be with me," she repeated a third time. Her hot lips pressed to his head, palms raising his stricken face. She had to see the truth now. There was nothing left for Solas to hide behind, no half lies and subterfuge. It was all of him before her: the young elf and scholar who talked to spirits. The warrior who stood up against the gods themselves. The traitor that destroyed Arlathan.

"Come back with me." She didn't run from him, didn't hurl him aside in hatred and fear. She wanted him.

She forgave him.

"Solas..."

Abandon his plan, live with her. Love her. Why was he destined to carry the souls of the dead in his heart? He tried to save them, he did what he could. Let someone else carry the flame. Let the burden fall elsewhere.

Lifting his head, his eyes staring directly into her unending depths, he said, "I..."

Solas' eyes fluttered open and he rose alone inside of his tent. There was no one else, there would never be anyone else. His arms enveloped himself, trying to preserve the vanishing heat of her body. Her taste drifted on his tongue, her meadowy scent clinging to the cold wind. He could have had her, in both the physical and emotional sense. And it would have been...

"Thank you, Cole," he whispered to the wind. The spirit was lurking, watching, but unable to appear here. Solas feared what Cole, in his need to heal, might reveal to those in Skyhold. To one in particular.

Did it help? floated through Solas' mind.

Even with his path set, his steps shored, the question would not leave him. What if he returned to her arms? What if he had not left at all? What if there was still a chance to be with her?

He had to know the answer.

"Yes," Solas spoke aloud. His fingers glanced over his lip, a glisten upon the tip, as if it was wet from her kiss. "I have my answer."

 She doesn't.

"She will soon," Solas promised to his old friend. Rising from his tent, Solas gazed across the small army at his disposal, eluvian glittering in preparation of what was to come.

"Fen'Harel," a blonde woman leapt to her feet, summoning the others. "What are your orders?"

She'd take him back. As foolish as it sounded, as dangerous as it could be, she'd let him toss off his mantle. Disrobe the title of god and become what he always ached to be -- a man in love with a woman.

In truth, Solas always knew the answer. He merely hoped, for her sake, that he was wrong.

"Lieutenant, we attack the Qunari at dawn." Solas was dead, he died when his orb cracked in half. When the weak fool ran from the only chance at happiness he could have ever had. Fen'Harel gazed over his followers, "It's time to put our plan into motion."

[standalone-manga-panels]

Source:

Maou no Ore ga Dorei Elf wo Yome ni Shitanda ga Dou Medereba ii?

[pixelproductions]

DIY Marketing On A Dime: 7 Low-Budget Marketing Hacks To Attract New Customers

No budget for a marketing agency? Check out these 7 Low-budget DIY marketing hacks to bring in new customers starting today.

DIY marketing hacks that you can implement today if you don’t have the budget to hire that website marketing agency.

Launching a business startup requires time, money, and resources.

Without them, how will new customers find your business?

Looking at the big picture, it’s crucial to build a recognizable brand people value and trust. Fortunately, you won’t need a huge budget to do that. Here are seven low-budget DIY marketing hacks that’ll chime the lovely cha-ching of success without purging your wallet.

1. Join Conversations On Social Media

Social media is kind of like a nightclub for consumers with no entry fee. They can effortlessly scroll Instagram or Facebook and engage with their favorite accounts and businesses. That’s likely why 66% of consumers follow or like their favorite brands on Facebook.

And Twitter? There’s no better place to jump in on second-to-second dialogue than hopping on a popular Twitter hashtag or thread. You can also pop over to the “Trending” section to see what hot topics are flaring up.

Engaging with online communities centered around your niche is a cheap DIY marketing hack that requires zero output. There are a few cardinal rules for joining conversations on social media. The ultimate goal is to be real and transparent with your audience and impress them with your helpfulness and industry expertise.

If you’re starting out and don’t have an audience yet, here’s some social media etiquette 101 as a springboard:

Respond to all DMs and comments you receive to show that you’re active and relevant.

Find related Facebook groups, join, and start engaging with the community.

Find out which hashtags thread into your niche and start engaging. Say you own a craft business; follow hashtags like #DIY and #MakersMovement and leave genuine comments on posts, offer advice, and get involved.

When it comes to DIY marketing hacks, joining the conversation is a great way to build exposure, form genuine connections, and grow your network!

As a bonus, check out these 10 social media tools to help juice up your DIY marketing hack campaign.

2. Curate Content On Pinterest

What is Pinterest, and why is it one of the best low-budget DIY marketing hacks on our list?

Think about it: When you don’t know something, you Google it. Well… when you want something, you Pin it!

What is it?

Pinterest is an inspirational, visual search platform people use to discover recipes, DIY projects, shop for clothing and accessories, and find information.

Why should you use it?

First of all, Pinterest is completely free. There are 300 million global users, and 98% of users actively “try” pins. Trying a pin means someone followed the pin to a website’s product page, blog post, video, or website.

Pinterest is a notoriously active visual search platform. Plus, it has a sustainable, compounding effect. When you actively pin, people repin your content, and there’s no expiration date or limit to the amount of engagement a pin can get.

Long story short: Pinterest is effective, and if you follow a strategy, you can see results quickly.

Use these Pinterest tips to create content, drive traffic, and get sales without spending a dime:

Make 3-6 original pins for each of your products, services, how-tos, recipe cards, blog posts, and videos.

Create rich pins by fleshing out the pin’s title and description, and don’t forget to link to your product!

Use free graphic design software like PosterMyWall to create unique, branded pins easily. You’ll find hundreds of Pinterest templates to customize, or you can build your own from scratch, just be sure they’re formatted to the standard 2:3 aspect ratio or

Create Boards for your pin categories like blog posts or recipes. For example, devote one board to “Highlights” and pin best-selling products or in-depth blog guides there.

Actively pin original content and shared content every day. Use the popular “Original-Repin-Ratio,” by posting about 80% original pins and 20% repins.

3. Repurpose Content For Multiple Mediums

Do you want to save time and produce more content? Then it’s time to get savvy on repurposing and recycling existing content into new, fresh media.

It’s one of the best affordable DIY marketing hacks because you’re squeezing more life out of the content you already created. In other words: you’re just repackaging it.

Source: PosterMyWall

Here are some concepts to help you dive through the archives and throw a fresh spin on existing content:

First, go through your blog or social media content and think about how you can throw a new spin on it.

Find informational guides and transition them to a new medium. For example, if you wrote a blog post about the best techniques for planting succulents, why not convert it into a quick video for social media?

Take the same blog post and turn the highlights into a visually compelling infographic.

Now fire out that infographic out to your newsletter and post it to your social accounts.

The key here is to take comprehensive, informational content and section it into bite-sized, digestible pieces that help your audience.

Better yet? Put content into motion with engaging videos!

4. Create Engaging Video Content On The Cheap

Video marketing in 2020 is vital. The stakes are increasingly higher as people batten down the hatches and tune into their devices.

What do they want to see? Video content from their go-to brands, of course!

Think about it: Do you think a consumer would rather read a vivid description of a new product or see an unboxing video?

Chances are they’re going to watch the video.

The truth is that people are visual. If you have the choice to include product or service videos for your business, why pass it up? Especially considering what you have to gain — a 64-85% boost in conversion rates!

Videos are compelling, engaging, helpful, and interactive. A video pulls us in far more than an image because it crystallizes a product into a tangible thing — not just some over-edited, glossy picture.

But isn’t video production expensive? Not today!

You’ve got a smartphone and WiFi, right? Then all you need is free video editing software and professionally designed templates from PosterMyWall make the perfect DIY marketing hack to get you started.

Here are some easy-to-create video marketing ideas:

Instructional videos or how-to content: For example, food industry brands can craft 60-second recipes like this Best-Ever Guacamole video. It’s interactive, it’s delicious, and it’s tied in with a blog post — a great example of repurposing content!

Product videos for each item in your collection, like this gallery from organic clothing brand, Pact.

Behind the scenes of your business operations or production process: Peel the curtain back and show your audience exactly what goes on day-to-day, like this behind the scenes look at Starbucks.

Q&A/interview with owners or team members: Humanize your brand by putting its story in front of the camera. Ask your followers to chime in with their questions and answer them in a Facebook Live or Instagram Stories segment, like this “Ask Canon” Q&A sequence from Canon USA.

Tease an upcoming launch: Tease new products by posting short video snippets highlighting the product features, like this sequence of the new GoPro Hero8. If this doesn’t make consumers want to buy the GoPro, skateboard down a mountain, or take a selfie with a tiger, I don’t know what will.

5. Host A Contest or Giveaway

Want to get people pumped about your brand? There isn’t a more effective DIY marketing hack to get people excited than giving away free stuff.

The appeal of a giveaway is that you don’t technically have to cough up any major expenses. Sure, you’ll need to offer something worth playing for, but you likely already have it in your product collection.

Check out this giveaway from Elf Cosmetics. The brand offers a $100 gift card to two participants who like the post, follow the page, and tag their friends in the comments.

Source: Elf Cosmetics

You’ll gain an influx of new followers for minimal funds, drive people to your website, and build excitement about your brand.

6. Cross-Promote With Other Small Businesses

Partnering with other small businesses is a potentially great low-budget DIY marketing hack because all you have to do is join forces to tap into a broader audience.

Start by finding small businesses in your niche that align with your mission and values. For example, an ocean conservancy nonprofit could join forces with a local swimwear brand. The goal is to access audiences that fit your target demographic.

Incentivize buyers to shop by offering discounts at each store. Both parties can cross-promote to their collective audience.

Taking this tactic requires zero funds, and the gains are sizable.

Need proof? Leave it to Apple and MasterCard’s genius conception of Apple Pay, the pay from your phone partnership brilliance that literally changed the way we make purchases.

7. Implement A Customer Referral Program

Did you know that 92% of consumers trust recommendations from reviews or their peers over advertisements? That’s because referrals offer buyer assurance that your offerings have been tried, tested, and trusted.

An affordable way to bring in new customers and endorse your brand is to implement a customer referral program.

The process is straightforward and boils down to a few easy steps:

Offer existing customers discounts once they reach a specific amount of referrals

Once their referrals make a purchase, reward the referrer with a free product, major discount, or complimentary gift on their next purchase

Enroll the new customers into the program as well to capitalize on your momentum

Encourage referrals by offering giveaways or free products to those who refer the most amount of new customers

A referral program is a low-budget DIY marketing that that will bring in more leads, build trust with your existing clientele, and skillfully persuade your customers to promote your brand.

DIY Marketing Hacks Made Easy

You don’t need a massive budget to market effectively. Chances are, you already have content and products to work with, and now you have some great affordable DIY marketing hacks to attract new customers on a dime.

Here are 10 more must have tools to help your DIY marketing hack progress.

Follow the steps in this guide to build hype, bring in new customers, increase sales conversions, and grow your business!