#thorn sorcerers

[nightmaresyrup]

Still salty about Thorn Sorcerers not dropping their headwear ever!

[artwins]

Elden Ring manuscript for @/LilChurchLore (twitter)

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 2 - Nobodies

[chaoticcomposition]

our five 1/2 year game is at its climax! I wanted to draw the endgame party to celebrate—the gilded thorns or the thorns for short. we're named such cuz we're a thorn in the side of cultists everywhere. hard to believe cihro started off as a level 2 rogue and got to where he is today!

back row: hope, tiefling gunslinger fighter/ranger middle row, left to right: aritian, aasimar paladin of pelor. elspeth, half-elf sorcerer/cleric of bahamut. caius, half-elf sorcerer, former warlock of graz'zt front row, left to right: cihro, my half-elf rogue/bard. dayereth, half-elf bard/cleric of sarenrae and cihro's half-brother. and lastly io, human divination wizard/cleric of the raven queen

[dragon-inc]

[upsettispaghettivulture]

his name is Thorn, and he took an arrow to the head at some point that awakened his ability to use magic, so he's learning and trying his best

[rahuratna]

Queen of Thorns (Part 1 of 2)

In light of certain recent manga events, the following idea was born. SPOILERS BELOW CUT!

Genre: Action, adventure, mystery

Characters: Adult! Sensei Nobara, OC (her student)

Summary: In the remote reaches of a Siberian peninsula, Kurosawa Akito, student of the legendary Nobara Kugisaki, learns a fundamental truth about his sensei's strength.

CW: canon-typical violence

In dreams, the world sometimes shudders, as if shaking its colossal shoulders to rid itself of an itch, a small irritation lodged in its fabric. Akito stumbles into wakefulness, the traces of that dream-quake lingering, disorienting. The darkness within the yurt is no longer inky black, traces of orange flickering on the edge of his vision.

It takes a moment for him to process that these aren't remnants of his sleeping consciousness, that something is happening outside and he needs to throw off these covers and slide uncoordinated feet into his boots and take a quick, gasping breath as the freezing night air strikes his chest like a gong, and the need to move, move, move -

He grabs his fleece-lined parka, arms slotting with trained regularity into the sleeves as he pushes out of the yurt, into the chaos of night. The quiet of the camp has been shattered, the conical yurts in the easternmost corner ablaze, the distant bellow of the reindeer herd making itself known over the cacophony of shouts and screams as people scurry to and fro.

The freezing air is helping him focus, a sharp slap to the cheeks as he blinks away the sting of the smoke. Akito takes a moment to zip up his jacket and tug the warm gloves from where they are stuffed within the pockets. As always, he has to battle every preservatory instinct he has in order to do what's necessary.

She always said that choosing to be a sorcerer requires a special brand of madness, and he often wonders when his own mind will break free of its shackles of normality, allowing him to charge head-first into the fray like she does.

And yet, here he is, doing exactly that. For him, it feels mechanical. Maybe he is mad. Maybe it has already taken his mind, this strange inability to consider the frailty of one's own body. After all, he chose to come out here, to this remote peninsula on the northern coast of Siberia, as he'd been instructed by mission requirements.

There was no more time for hesitation. He was running towards the burning yurts, shouting out to the others to move back, move away. He wasn't sure if they understood his words, but his wildly gesticulating arms certainly spoke a language all could comprehend. As he approached, he slowed his pace, threads of cursed energy spreading out in fine veins across the affected area.

Akito was no battle hound. His technique, dubbed 'Luciferin', was sensory. It relied on subtlety and heightened perception. He was able to send out a web of complex fibres that mapped out cursed energy flow, lighting up with phosphorescent glow a dearth of detail that rivalled a living being's neural network. And under the right circumstances, he could ... but not here. Not now. Too many factors, too many possible casualties. He couldn't risk it. That was a last resort after all.

He whispered into the frigid night air and motes of brilliant aquamarine light twisted away from his lips, tracing the lines left by a foreign energy signature. Something had attacked the camp, with malicious intent. These yurts normally housed nursing mothers and babies, monitored carefully by the head shaman, the Tadibya, and he uttered a silent thanks to the instincts that had warned the Nenets herders that something wasn't quite right in the air tonight.

The burning yurts unleashed pennants of thick, acrid smoke into the night sky, irritating his eyes as he came closer. The phosphorescent glow of his technique was now tracing out a fair-sized crater in the frozen ground, smoking slightly, the uppermost layer already turning cold. The yurts had been flung away from that central point of impact, scattered possessions and smouldering hides strewn in the wake of the outward force.

This attack would have ended in fatalities, if things had been a little different.

Skirting the edge of the destruction, Akito circled closer, body tense as a drawn bowstring, watchful. The metal of his cursed tool, the customized dart gun, was icy against his fingers as he drew it out and slipped a loaded vial into the chamber.

Something was here; still, watchful, waiting amidst the ruined tents. The distant shouts of people faded as his perception sharpened in other ways, guiding him forward. The blue-green traces leaped and scattered, re-forming at the edge of his ability to control them, sliding like a glowing map of energy over the ground.

And then, he saw it.

Caught in the web of his cursed light, something that looked like the familiar outline of a large reindeer, but with an element of otherness, an awareness that snagged on his senses. Not to mention the large amount of cursed energy threading through its body and emanating from its branching antlers.

A cursed spirit. Probably first grade. Powerul enough that Akito knew full well that he couldn't take it on by himself. And yet, here was the crucial issue faced by all sorcerers, multiple times in their career of choice. How does one back away from an overwhelming challenge when peoples' lives are at stake?

The spirit strode slowly through the smoke towards him, the leisurely pace menacing. The signature click of its hooves on the ground mimicked the stride of the reindeer he'd become so familiar with over the last few days. Akito gritted his teeth. The Nenets saw the reindeer as a vital part of their lives, interwoven into their faith and spirituality. From what he suspected of this case, this was ... an open mockery.

He readied the dart gun as the creature picked up pace, head lowering gradually. He recognized the gesture. It was charging him. The sickening amount of pressure gathering at the tips of its antlers warned him of exactly what was coming. He didn't have much of a defence against it, but if he didn't stand his ground ...

Glancing back at the herdsmen and their families, still disoriented and panicking from the attack, Akito knew what he had to do. He aimed the dart gun, the soft guidance of his energy nudging the dart as it left the barrel, spiralling towards the creature as its hooves dug into the ground and it propelled itself towards him.

The dart glanced off some kind of protective layer and Akito dived out of the way, skidding over the frozen ground. The spirit wheeled and faced him with unnatural stability, hooves barely gaining traction for its turn as it faced him once again. Sweat freezing on his skin, Akito loaded another dart, mind grasping at his sensei's last lessons on the sprawling grounds of Jujutsu Tech.

Focus. Channel. Pierce.

Those antlers shone with deadly purpose, with power, as the large head lowered once again. There was something almost impersonal about the attack, as if he was simply a pawn on a chessboard spanning the icy tundra, a piece to be removed.

Focus. Channel. Pierce.

Akito fired again, moving simultaneously. The dart, imbued with the honed light of his cursed energy, struck harder this time. It was probably what saved his skin, because the spirit's charge was slightly off-kilter. The energy from its antlers discharged into the wooden framework behind him, exploding with a force that sent shards of burning shrapnel rocketing through the air. Akito cried out as something burning hot lanced across his side, and another solid mass pierced his calf, lodging there.

Rolling over, hands still gripping his gun, ears ringing, he was vaguely aware of warmth seeping down his leg, and in a sluggish curtain across his ribs. The cold would soon do its job, and the pain hadn't hit yet. He had the advantage of a few minutes. Ragged pants loud in his own ears, audible over the pounding of his heart, Akito fingers slipped on the next dart, already slick with blood.

A second too late on the reload. A second that could cost him everything. He watches as it happens, with the slow march of the inevitable, as the pulsing energy coalesces around the spirit's antlers once again. This time, his hand is actually steadier.

Focus. Channel. Pierce.

The dart left the gun on his exhale, and this time, he didn't dodge. Self-preservation was no longer an option. He doesn't have the agility to move. The shard of wood piercing his calf was beginning to assert the first pangs of tearing agony. The missile struck the forelimb, striking through what he imagined could be sinew and the spirit's charge veered away, head tossing to keep the energy that had built up. Its leg came down awkwardly. He'd done some damage, at least.

The spirit seemed to regard him, faceless, calculating. He briefly wondered what kind of cursed spirit this was. How could it be so careful, so still? Almost ...

But now it was striking the ground with one hoof, cracks of that same spiralling energy seeping into the earth, racing towards him like a shoal of underwater predators. It was attacking from a distance now. Akito took in a deep, shuddering breath, readying his body for one supreme push, when -

A snowmobile burst through the smouldering ruins of the camp, the roar of the overtaxed engine loud over the ringing in his ears. The person seated astride it was momentarily airborne above the seat, the vehicle passing over the rise at speed, and he glimpsed something familiar in their hand, something that broke every taut muscle in his body down in relief, a sobbing breath escaping his lips.

A hammer.

Glowing with traces of cursed energy that was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat, the driver's other hand raised, fingers splaying as three gleaming projectiles launched from their palm. The hammer came arcing down as the snowmobile struck the ground with an alarmingly loud thud, the front tracks sending up a flurry of frozen earth. The flat side of the weapon struck true.

Powerful streaks of electric blue flew across the narrow space, the spirit letting out a colossal bellow as each of them punched through hide like a hot knife through butter. It staggered back, the energy that had been snaking through the ground towards Akito rapidly retracting. The snowmobile had not slowed down, heading straight for the spirit, forcing it to buck and leap backward, slowed by its injuries.

The treads narrowly skirting the creature's flailing hooves, the snowmobile swerved away, heading for Akito. The back end smeared soot across the ground as it slid to a screeching halt and the rider reached up, pulling away their helmet.

Gaze still directed at the reeling spirit, her profile was momentarily lit by the burning tents. Chestnut hair, flecked with steely grey, caught back in a low braid, amber eyes gleaming with lambent fervor, as they always did, when faced with a strong enough opponent. The fleece jacket did little to disguise the wiry strength of her build, corded scarring stretching from beneath the eyepatch over her left eye.

The spirit saw her and took pause, something vast and terrible exchanged in their glances, a promise of fatality against the backdrop of this blasted land, and it turned away. A strategic retreat. The sound of its hooves was like thunder over the flat plains as it took an unusually rational exit.

The fierce challenge leaves her gaze as she glances down at him, the faint crow's feet at the corner of her good eye crinkling briefly, before she swings her leg off the snowmobile and grabs her satchel, hands brisk and efficient as she places the first aid kit beside her and checks his injuries.

"All good, squirt?"

He nods shakily and her voice is a steady hum as she recounts her speedy passage here, first by flight and then by the cross-continental train, the slow fading of the fires around them and the frigid wind rapidly cooling the night air.

Once his wound had been given field treatment, along with a dose of her basic reverse curse technique, the wooden shard removed with a quick "Look away, breathe, breathe, ah! There we go," he is being hoisted up, one arm slung over those narrow, but powerful shoulders. Her strength had always surprised him in the beginning, but now, even as he's outstripped her in height, it comes as a reassuring constant.

She has always been by his side, cajoling, critiquing, refining. Condescending, yet kind, temperamental, yet always empathetic, brash and loud, yet always emphatically pushing past the concealing curtain of his own insecurities.

Even with her reputation as one of the best sorcerers in the business, one of the terrible trio who had taken on, and defeated, the King of Curses, Sukuna, she had chosen him as her student.

Kurosawa Akito, the slow and sullen boy who'd made no impression at all on anyone else during his time at Jujutsu Tech, other than his association with her. With a technique that didn't even brush the surface of straight combat power and a lack of confidence in the little ability he had, Akito had always wondered what she had seen in him, what she had latched onto with that characteristic tenacity of hers. He was now a competent grade 2 sorcerer, thanks solely to her training and his utility as a tracer and investigator, but he was nowhere near her level.

A sharp slap upside the head had him yelping in protest as she glared up at him.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Considering all the blood I've lost? How about no, sensei?"

"Keep up that sass and I'll make them feed you raw reindeer again."

"Hardly a punishment. I've gotten used to it, you know?"

"Have you now?"

She grunted disagreeably as they slowly moved across the perilous, flaking crust of broken and burned earth, back towards the rest of the camp. From his vantage point, however, he saw the small curve of her smile. Her grip on the waist of his jacket tightened briefly, almost imperceptibly.

There was no need to say more. She always understood his unspoken thoughts, as if by some strange radar of cursed energy that linked the wavelength of a mentor's mind inextricably to that of their student's.

Such was the nature of his sensei, Special Grade Sorcerer, Kugisaki Nobara. 

[soloavengers]

☄️🔥⚡️🌪️

[whatsnotinaname]

“You unmanageable, contrary creature. You have made me believe in something at last. It feels as wretched as I imagined.”

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

so solace and corentin are siblings? were they separated? if one is with wyll who is the other with?

They are! Solace barely survived Corentin attacking the family when their dark urge awakened, and was taken in by the Temple of the Open Hand because their mother had been going there regularly and the priests had been helping Tin try to keep things under control. Solace was 10, Tin was 15, and they had a 13 year old sister who didn't make it.

Corentin doesn't remember the attack because of a mixture of trauma and purposeful efforts by the Bhaalists, and I don't think they ever truly get the memories of their family back. They put the prices together eventually, though. Solace remembers the attack vividly and was conscious enough to see the direct aftermath when Corentin came to. They're actually the reason she survived: Tin threw one of the many healing potions placed around their house at her and screamed out the window for help before the Butler dragged them away. It's...complicated for Solace and I don't think he'd ever be able to forgive them (which Corentin never expected or asked for), but eventually they're able to move around each other to some degree. They're also working on elf time so by the time they settle into that pattern and make their peace very few people who saw the very beginning of all of that post-game are alive, so the way they interact around each other instead of directly is kinda just accepted as the Way Things Are among the folks in the city who notice.

I haven't decided who Solace is gonna go for yet. I was thinking about Gale but I'm not sure; they might be a no-romance run, honestly. I've got active playthroughs for all of the romances but Gale and Minthara at the moment. Wyll would actually be a good fit for them I think, but I'm not sure if the "both siblings survive" timeline will be the canon one in my head since durge dies if you're not playing as them, and the idea of Solace finding Tin's body after fighting Orin is intriguing to me. I'm not going to touch their playthrough much until I've finished Corentin's and/or gotten further in Candor and Luka's first though, so I have time to decide lol

[strixcattus]

It's a good thing this STPlay poll is so one-sided actually because this is the option that has me drawing three–four entire images. I'm still only starting them far later than I should though that's never going to change

[needynova]

nathaniel thorn being one of my fav characters and after reading the short novella my mind did NOT change. he's so supportive, funny, kind and GOOD to elisabeth.

[kenobihater]

AND WHO SAYS GRAVE ROBBING DOESN'T PAY?? THIS BITCH IS SERVING CUNT AND SLAYING ABSOLUTE PENIS!!!!!

[thedeadthree]

as i was about to be invested in something else ye olde w*itchering really said PULLING ME BACK IN *AHEM* WHERE DO U THINK YOUR GOING and im— 💀

[pigeonliker420]

kind of regret giving han sorc instead of war cos every time wyll levels up and gets a hadar spell im like H