#the shepherds sword

[renstrapp]

well, only one way to find out

[theshepherdssword]

The Shepherd’s Sword

Chapter 5 - Page 6

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[renstrapp]

Shep's POV

Harrow's POV

[sillyfairygarden]

traffic series designs of the world’s most beautiful man 🫶 (1/2)

[aroacecaduceus]

One wish I have for the Mighty Nein series is that Caduceus does not know how to fight at all.

Like not even a little bit. Like he’s completely useless in a bar fight.

Like, I want him in the fights, don’t get me wrong. I want them to show him cancelling crits somehow, like one of the Mighty Nein is about to be fucking destroyed and vines form around them and yank them back or something. I want them to show him casting holy weapon on Beau’s hands. Maybe he creates some fun shields when things attack.

But most of the time in battle, especially at the beginning, when he’s the new guy, I want him to be the most cringe-fail fighter to ever exist. I want them to get into a fight with pirates and just get knocked unconscious in one punch. I want them to rush out and accidentally steal that boat and realize they left Caduceus behind on the dock bc he didn’t know what was happening.

My man grew up as a healer and a graveyard attendant. If this boy threw a punch he’d break his hand on the other guy’s jaw. But don’t worry because he’d never think to throw a punch anyway.

In the game, he needed to do some fighting sometimes. But in the show, I think he should just hide away for nearly every battle. He should not cause a single drop of blood. Even when he’s angry. He’s the healer. Not because of the god he worships (she’s actually a freak) but because of a personal choice.

The only time he should attack is if they show the scene with sheep Caleb.

[s0fter-sin]

prince!ghost and lord in waiting!soap

ghost is a warrior prince, next in line after king price and it’s always been accepted he would be the lone ruler; never one for entertaining the courts or indulging foreign rulers trying to consolidate their power. he hardly acts like a prince at all, in name only when he spends more time as a pseudo captain of the guard. price has never begrudged him that, not when he himself has been a lone king since his inauguration

though he’s a warrior prince, he’s never lost the favour of the people; many see him as a guardian even if he doesn’t interact with the people as much as benevolent and stalwart king price. who he does interact with is the kingdom’s children; always ready to bend a knee and listen to bright voices, to praise stick swords and shields or hear the plight of a struggling family. it was a common belief that if he wasn’t out protecting, then he was with the protected; face covered, blonde curls shining in the sun

soap’s always loved ghost. as his lord in waiting, it’s been his job to attend him since they were young and even as a child, he’d idolised him; his skills in battle, his surety. he thought his life would be nothing but service, clothing a brat prince and making sure his shoes shined. but ghost has proven more than that; he treats him as an equal, consults him on strategy and court politics and over time that idolisation turned into love

and ghost has always felt the same. he’d begrudged the idea of a lord in waiting, not wanting someone always in his business but then came this spitfire who never missed an opportunity to push back on him; to make him dig deeper. johnny is more than some mere servant; he’s his confidant, his best friend, his… everything. he could be simon with him, not prince ghost

but simon figures that out too late

king price gets word from king shepherd, a kingdom they’ve only recently stopped feuding with and he’s offering up his son, prince graves, as a way to bond their kingdoms together and firmly put war behind them. price is ready to deny him, he doesn’t fear war from shepherd, when he sends some ancient laws that leave him unable to refuse. he hates it, hates that he’s ruining ghost’s happiness and feels like he’s betraying his adopted son but there’s nothing he can do

graves comes to their kingdom within the month and it’s clear from the moment he walks through their gates that he’s the opposite of ghost; arrogant and conceited, his ceremonial armour glossy and untouched by battle. he’s dismissive of their servants, of their ways, of their people and ghost hates him

graves insists that the wedding happen as soon as possible, pushing the craftsmen and cooks beyond their limits to prepare and every moment ghost spends with him, the more he dreads his wedding day. every evening he retreats to his room, exhausted, and it’s all johnny can do to keep him afloat; trying to keep him positive as ghost falls away and simon breaks in his arms. he wants to whisk him away like the old tales, the pain his oldest friend and love is in making his heart ache but all he can do is promise to be there with him

but it seems graves wants to take even him away

“soap’s been my lord in waiting since we were children,” ghost protests, voice barely clinging to civility. “i wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable worker.”

“there are plenty of decent servants in our kingdom; you’ll forget this one soon enough,” graves waves away, carding a possessive hand over his curls and it’s only bc he’s looking for it that soap sees ghost’s jaw twitch beneath his neck gaiter. “it’s custom for one marrying into our kingdom to embrace all that it has to offer, leaving who they were behind to become someone better. you’re entering a new life with me; you don’t need the baggage of this dreary place.”

soap feels sick as he walks behind them, his blank expression hiding all sign of his breaking heart.

“soap is beholden to me,” ghost declares. “we were sworn together by the old laws. i’m afraid a custom isn’t enough for me to break a vow to the gods.”

graves lets out a disgruntled noise, tugging harshly at one of ghost’s curls with only a thin veil of fondness; his conceding smile not reaching his eyes.

“i never made a vow to the gods,” johnny points out later. “price gave me to you because he was sick of me setting fire to the kitchens.”

simon hums and sets his freshly cleaned armour aside, turning to him with a twinkle in his eyes he’s barely seen since sheperd’s missive. “you pinkie swore that you would never leave me; that’s more powerful than any promise to the gods,” he says and soap’s thrown back fifteen years, to a willow tree big enough to touch the sky; to two boys from different stations who didn’t care that one was dressed in silk and the other in scraps.

johnny feels a lightness he hasn’t in a month as simon winks at him. “besides, do you really think graves is smart enough to figure it out?”

the days pass quickly, graves’ veneer of affection growing ever thinner, and before either of them are ready, it’s the eve of ghost’s wedding.

he’s said nothing, done nothing but stare at the wedding robes graves had tailored for him in the fashion of his kingdom and johnny doesn’t know how to break the silence. he draws out each second as he fusses with the cape piece and ensures the shoes shine in the fire light until he has no more excuses.

he sighs as he straightens up, brushing off polish onto his pants. “i suppose this is where i leave you,” he says with a weak smile but it quickly dies when simon still doesn’t look at him. “i’ll be here in the morning to help you get ready… good night, simon.”

johnny bows and makes for the door, trying to convince himself he didn’t just say goodbye.

but he’s stopped by simon’s hand loosely wrapping around his wrist.

he looks back as simon finally tears his eyes away from the robes, looking at him with such clear longing it almost brings him to his knees.

“i don’t want graves to be the first man to touch me, johnny,” he confesses and johnny’s breath hitches. “i don’t want to be married to another… not when the one i’m set to wed isn’t you. but if i have to do this… please let me feel loved one final time.”

simon’s thumb brushes the back of his hand; their kingdom’s greatest warrior caressing him with a touch light as silk. he doesn’t pull johnny in, doesn’t need to; johnny’s already sinking into his touch.

desperation and love tinge every movement; johnny dancing his fingers over simon’s neck gaiter until he all too happily removes it, baring his scarred cheeks and lips. johnny kisses each one, willing his love and his touch to linger above all others as they move together; sharing breath, sharing body, sharing soul the way they wish they always have.

when ghost makes his way down the aisle, it’s not in the fine embroidered robes graves had laid out for him. he’s in his battle armour; dark and weathered, the sign of the ghost, the warrior prince, going to battle. the only thing missing is his helm, tucked under his arm.

showing his hair; curls gone and shaved tight to his skin.

a thing done only in a time of great mourning.

graves looks irate and it’s the only spark of joy ghost feels as he stops before the altar; set beneath the willow tree where johnny promised himself to him. one final insult.

ghost is silent throughout the ceremony and in spirit and in grief, so is the entire gathered kingdom until the priestess reaches the final vows and suddenly, a great roar rises above the crowd as seemingly every child in the kingdom swarms the altar.

ghost is too shocked to do anything but let them push him away from graves, bullying their way between them like they’re preparing to protect him just as he’s always protected them.

graves is furious but the children stand firm in the face of his threats until he moves to strike one-

and freezes as soap’s blade finds his throat.

“you would dare hurt these children?” he growls, sword following graves as he stumbles back. “you’ve kept up your charade the entire time and here is where you show your true colours. i think it’s time i show mine.”

graves splutters as johnny turns to the priestess and king price, falling to one knee and offering up his blade. “your grace, i wish to challenge prince graves for the hand of prince simon!”

his voice rings clear and he feels the eyes of every person in the kingdom.

but he only cares for one man.

who is watching him with more love than he’s ever felt.

“who are you to challenge me?” graves sneers. “you’re nothing more than a servant; no better than the dirt on my boots.”

johnny doesn’t bother to look at him, too caught in the love in simon’s eyes and the grateful look on king price’s face. “then you should have nothing to worry about. you’ve been crowing your accolades from the rooftops since you got here; let’s see if you live up to the hype.”

because simon only ever introduced him as his lord in waiting.

never as sir soap- his second in command and one of the greatest swordsmen their kingdom has ever seen.

[renstrapp]

MICKIE I LOVE THEM! new desktop wallpaper <3

wayne and shep for my pal @renstrapp! go read her comic @theshepherdssword !! now!! go!! hot werewolf? butch4butch ?? rivals to lovers slowburn??? what more could u need

[the-nettle-knight]

Late to the party but did an English Miku

[khrushchevs-corn-farm]

Stiletto

Commissioned @creepingm0nster to draw Cybele Minte from @shepherds-of-haven

[yuuugay]

Death Tarot: Ner Wanless lineart :_(

[renstrapp]

Since it's Halloween, let's see if Tumblr will kill me for some nipples and bush.

Howl is a 12 page werewolf lesbian comic with fantasy werewolf t dick. The digital copy is 25% off right now (until Nov 4) and you can also get a print copy here.

These are characters from my webcomic The Shepherd's Sword which you can read on Tumblr @theshepherdssword or find other ways to read it here.

[theshepherdssword]

The Shepherd’s Sword

Chapter 5 - Page 12

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[regular-whump-sfx]

Weapons

[justavulcan]

Backgrounds With Class: Rakdos Cultist

I'll be honest: Ravnica has always fascinated me. I was a high schooler when the first set came out, and I was immediately consumed creating characters for the setting. Now that we've actually received my long-awaited crossover, I thought it would be nice to write a love letter to the setting in the form of another Backgrounds with Class series. After all: some guilds have natural class choices tied in, from a conceptual standpoint. Boros and Fighter, Izzet and Wizard, Selesnya and Druid. But guilds aren’t class-restricted, and so I wonder what it would look like if you paired every class with every guild background, even the ones that seem at odds, like Izzet and Barbarian, or Gruul and Artificer.  So I thought about it, and this is what I came up with.  Some character concepts for each class, and each Guildmaster's Guide to Ravnica background for each class.

Rakdos Cultist

The Rakdos Cultist Artificer is what you get when you cross a bartender with a stage pyrotechnician.  Not much of a talker, he’s pursued the mixture of dangerous liquids ever since his pa brought him to bring-your-child-to-work day with him in the Izzet lab he worked.  The fizz and spark of the fluids, the pop and bang of the explosives, and the screeches of dismay and inspiration sat heavy in his mind ever since, and he’s chased that high all the way from the top of a magister’s tower to the underground club where he makes sure the stage lights cast the best illumination and the pyro’s always on point.

The Rakdos Cultist Barbarian has been a fan of the circus his whole life.  From when his Orzhov parents first stood enthralled on the street by the carnival’s call to when his sister walked the razor-tightrope to her own end, he has always felt a burning for life and the fleeting performance that no cold coin can cool.  Now, roustabout in his free time and blade-juggler on stage, he chases his dream- to throw himself body and soul into the cult’s every move, be it stunts on stage, drinks in a dive, or a riot set to ruin neighborhoods.

The Rakdos Cultist Bard has skipped out on his parents’ legacy of kill-suiting in favor of better blades over more blades.  Born for the limelight like many of the cult of Rakdos, his small stature is as much a surprise to audiences as his opponents, as is the killer-slapstick routine he’s working on.  This routine, “The Bumbling Swordsman,” is an acrobatic marvel, integrating his natural athleticism and skill with the blade to make sure his co-performers meet various hilarious “accidental” ends throughout the performance and has, so far, even killed a member of the audience from sheer hilarity.

The Rakdos Cultist Cleric is walking proof that not every member of the Cult of Rakdos belongs on stage.  Painfully clumsy and gifted with a total lack of a sense of humor, he instead leverages his massive frame to roustabout for his troop.  Between shows, he studies tactics, convinced that Rakdos mobs shouldn’t limit themselves only to frenzied orgies of violence.  This unusual focus on warfare has started getting him some attention at parties- after all, every party needs a planner to blow it up.

The Rakdos Cultist Druid has an uncanny connection with the various beasts that make themselves at home in Rakdos clubs, fight-pits, and pitfight-clubs.  Capable of speaking to and guiding the many rats loyal to Rakdos himself in performance and defense of their buried territories, his ‘pets’ have earned him the honorary title of ratcatcher.  That this half-ogre is a runt for his kind and has a bad back to boot matters little when a chittering carpet of filthy fur and teeth can back him up in combat.

The Rakdos Cultist Fighter never could pick between fire-breathing or axe throwing. When his troop’s leader asked him drunkenly “why choose?,” the path became clear.  Now, he breathes fire without oil and blocks the other thrower’s axes with magic, the better to put death-defying stunts in his shows.  Part-time enforcer, part-time performer, and part-time miner, he’s operated on minimal sleep for years, claiming the sleep-dep hallucinations and irritability only sharpen his edge and heighten his performance.

The Rakdos Cultist Monk, like many in the Cult of Rakdos, is not one to miss a party.  Unlike most, though, his legendary constitution makes sobriety a daunting wall to climb- and not for lack of trying.  Despite a constitution given by his demonic grandfather, he can blackout with the best of them, and his appetite for new and stranger drinks and other intoxicants is insatiable.  And when the call goes out for entertainment, he’s always third to heed the call, bobbing, ducking, weaving, and knifing with the best bar brawlers in the Cult.

The Rakdos Cultist Paladin wasn’t always the proud middle-finger marauder he is today.  Once he was a Boros Legionnaire, training to serve as angelic honor guard.  Then everything changed when he was sent to Precinct Four for a month of border watch.  In that month, he saw Gruul raiders rip through disciplined troops like a ball through pins, izzet wierds level buildings, and his fellow legionnaires ignore noncombatants in danger.  It got to be that his nights unwinding at the local Rakdos clubs were the only thing that made sense, and when the rest of his squad pulled out, he stayed behind, forsaking his rank in favor of the mad hedonism of the club floor.

The Rakdos Cultist Ranger has a deceptively difficult job: taking care of the beasts for the cult’s performances.  Not so easy when the beasts include horses with nightmare sires, just-barely-not-hellhounds, and rats the size of cats with the temper of wolverines.  Still, she’s quick with a beastmaster’s blade and whip, and has an eye for training beasts to perform alongside her, so she might go far yet.  In the meantime, she also finds herself playing crowd control when the audience tries to escape to upstage the other cultists.

The Rakdos Cultist Rogue walks the path of the blade bravo, full of tall tales and braggadocio too grand to believe- almost.  In truth he is a talented swordsman, and an ambitious performer- his boasts are the show, and with a packed bar to play off of, he can claim greater and greater impossibilities- that he fought the sun, that Tin Street’s named after his family, that Isperia of the Azorious Senate is a casual ‘playmate’ of his.  Of course, making such boasts in mixed company has brought him trouble before, but that’s what a quick blade and a quicker step are for.

The Rakdos Cultist Sorcerer doesn’t really know where he came from or why.  Born in the Undercity and manifesting unusually scaly skin for a human, he aways assumed he was the runoff from a Simic experiment.  He spent a lot of his youth running with freaks and geeks from the Rakdos’s mining operations between his own stints in the mines.  It wasn’t until he was nearly an adult before the scale color came in and he realized he wasn’t a failed krasis or guardian project subject, but that he somehow ended up with high-octane dragon blood and the sorcery that came with it.

The Rakdos Cultist Warlock has always felt the thunder in her soul, like so many of her herd; unlike the rest, she is content to surround herself with drums and chase the pulse of the crowd. After lancing three of her roustabouts in a grim comedy routine Rakdos himself chuckled at, she swore to make the ringmaster laugh- and he pulled a lance from his own flesh to hand to her, mark of her promise.  Now she’s a rider after his own humor, aiming to plant her charge where it can hit the hardest- a striker fit to bust a gut.

The Rakdos Cultist Wizard puts a lot of effort into only burning the right things for his performances.  A fire-juggler by trade and a student of Evocation magic by fancy, he specializes in acts of pyrotechnic grace and complexity on the stage.  Currently he’s thrown his lot in with a handful of like-minded souls, and they lowkey compete to see who causes the most property damage at their venues.  To the winner go the nightly spoils- a new brand and a drink.  He’s got four brands already, but there’s always room for one more.

[carp-from-space]

The demon hunter. And by demon hunter I mean demon fucker.