#translocation shroud

[magistralucis]

Oh that's a Fancy Man (x)

[titanomancy]

Sarcophagus pose to assert dominance.

[paint-pot-pete]

A fun new command unit added to the Necron army; Overlord with Translocation Shroud. Interesting design that has “missing” chunks of the unit as they teleport in - a really fun attempt at a more kinetic design (as most Overlords are just dramatically posing 🤣)

What do you guys think?

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

Necron Overlord with Translocation Shroud

[farsight-the-char]

And Yes, this fucker is that years old rumour engine.

[paperanddice]

Ia'Affrat is a towering smoky silhouette of a humanoid containing thousands of thumb sized wasps, all of which glow with the low light and heat of a smouldering coal. Created by Arbeyach to act as herald, Ia'Affrat has begun making plans to be his creator's successor as well. As Arbeyach's star falls, Ia'Affrat performs his duties as diplomat, spy, and assassin with increasing attentiveness, using these actions to increase his connection with other devilish powers. He has betrayed his master in a thousand small ways, not the least of which is his delight in decadence and gluttony. Unlike his strict, repressed master, Ia'Affrat indulges in comedy, drink, food, dance, torture and public humiliations. He devours, greedily and endlessly upon transient pleasures, seeking out new ones constantly, unlike the traditional and rigid Arbeyach. The lure of these pleasures, not found within Arbeyach's hive, may be what finally drives Ia'Affrat to make his ultimate betrayal, attempting to overthrow the Prince of Swarms to create a new, hedonistic hive to dwell at the center of.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Ia'Affrat Creature 15 Unique, Large, Devil, Fiend, Swarm, Unholy Perception +25; greater darkvision Languages Abyssal, Common, Draconic, Infernal, telepathy 100 feet Skills Acrobatics +26, Arcana +26, Deception +27, Diplomacy +27, Intimidation +27, Religion +25, Stealth +28 Str -4, Dex +5, Con +3, Int +5, Wis +4, Cha +6 AC 36; Fort +24, Ref +28, Will +27; +1 status to all saves vs. magic HP 215; Immunities fire, poison, precision, swarm mind; Resistances bludgeoning 10, piercing 15, slashing 15; Weaknesses area damage 15, cold 15, 15 holy, splash damage 15 Smoke Shroud (aura) 5 feet. Ia'Affrat is shrouded in a cloud of dark smoke that creates concealment in the aura around him. He can see through this smoke. A creature that begins its turn in the aura becomes sickened 2 (DC 34 Fortitude negates). A creature holding its breath (or that doesn't need to breathe), and any creature immune to poison is immune to the aura's sickened effect, but not the concealment. Speed 20 feet, fly 40 feet Divine Innate Spells DC 37, attack +29 ; 8th fireball, toxic cloud; 5th translocate; 4th breathe fire (at will), translocate (at will); 2nd invisibility (self only, at will); 1st enfeeble (at will); Divine Rituals DC 37; diabolic pact Abandon Body [1 action] Requirement Ia'Affrat is controlling a body with Infest; Effect Ia'Affrat leaves his host body, which dies instantly if it was a corpse, or is freed if it was alive. Ia'Affrat expands out from that space to his normal size. Ia'Affrat's Venom (fire, poison); Saving Throw DC 34 Fortitude; Maximum Duration 6 rounds; Stage 1 1d8 poison and 1d8 fire and clumsy 2 (1 round); Stage 2 2d8 poison and 2d8 fire and clumsy 4 (1 round) Infest [2 actions] (manipulate) Ia'Affrat animates the corpse of a Small, Medium, or Large humanoid that's not protected by gentle repose or similar magic, crawling into its mouth and other orifices. His size changes to that of the corpse and he loses his piercing and slashing resistances, fly Speed, Smoke Shroud, and Wasp Stings. He gains a fist melee Strike with a +28 attack modifier that deals 3d8 bludgeoning damage plus 3d8 piercing damage plus 2d8 fire damage and Ia'Affrat's venom. Ia'Affrat gains 80 temporary Hit Points when he Infests a corpse; when these temporary HP are depleted, the corpse falls apart and he Abandons the Body automatically. Alternately, Ia'Affrat can attempt to infest the body of an unconscious Small, Medium, or Large humanoid. The creature is affected as if by a possession spell, except it must attempt a DC 36 Fortitude save instead of a Will save. Since Ia'Affrat's body enters the targets, he is unaffected by the restrictions. When the possessed creature takes damage (except mental damage), Ia'Affrat takes damage equal to half that amount, but his immunities, resistances, and weaknesses still apply to the damage. Wasp Stings (fire, unholy) [1 action] Each creature in Ia'Affrat's space takes 6d8 piercing damage and 2d8 fire damage (DC 36 basic Reflex save). Any creature that fails its save is exposed to Ia'Affrat's Venom.

13th Age

Ia’Affrat Large 8th level spoiler [devil] Initiative: +14 Burning Stings +13 vs. PD (all engaged enemies) – 20 fire damage. Natural Even Hit: The target is also dazed and takes 15 ongoing poison damage (save ends both). First Failed Save: The target is weakened and takes 15 ongoing poison damage (save ends both). C: Whirlwind +13 vs. PD (1d4 nearby enemies) – 20 damage plus 20 fire damage. Natural Even Hit: The target is hampered until the end of Ia’Affrat’s next turn and loses its next move action. Limited Use: 1/battle, recharges when the escalation die first reaches 5. Flying. Inhabit Corpse: As a standard action, Ia’Affrat crawls into the body of a dead creature adjacent to him. He gains 70 temporary hit points, loses flying and weapon resistance, and can’t make burning stings or whirlwind attacks. He can make fists attacks as a standard action. When he loses all his temporary hit points, the body falls apart and he regains his normal stats. [Special Trigger] Fists +13 vs. AC (2 attacks) – 20 damage plus 15 fire damage. Natural Even Hit: The target is also dazed and takes 15 ongoing poison damage (save ends both). First Failed Save: The target is weakened and takes 15 ongoing poison damage (save ends both). Fire Resistance 13+. Weapon Resistance 16+: When a weapon attack targets Ia’Affrat, the attacker must roll a natural 16+ on the attack roll or it only deals half damage. AC 22 PD 22 MD 20 HP 220

[kharrisdawndancer]

Tinnaire - The Summoning

She didn’t regret, not usually. Tinnaire was not the kind of person to dwell. Mistakes--many mistakes--had been made, but you learned, you did better, and didn’t make the same mistake again. Wallowing wasn’t likely to improve anything, so she tried not to sink into the emotional muck. Still, it was an important day. No matter what ended up happening, she was confident that tomorrow could only be better.

Tinnaire smiled down on the streets of Silvermoon from her apartment. Late afternoon pooled warm sunshine on the wide avenue beneath her apartment. A cloud of butterflies fluttered peacefully on an ornamental bush in the small park near her home. She loved that park.

She loved so much. And she had lost. But there were still so many wonderful things in her life. Her heart swelled in her chest. She’d had the sweetest tastes and been able to move past the bitter. Today was likely to be a mix of both.

Her walk to Fiorenze’s home was quiet and she took her time. Supplies hung from her shoulder and her hair was pulled out of her face--you never let hair get in the way when you might be fighting, she’d learned that as a very young woman. Practically but still stylishly dressed, Tinnaire stood out in the deeply posh home her friend kept.

It had been a generous offer from Fiorenze. The translocation into the alchemy lab tingled. Good, there was no room for drowsiness here. The exits were long blocked and the room had been prepared.

The Illidari was tall and uninterested in small talk, as he had been in their previous meeting. He was polite but nothing more. There was a sharpness about him today, though; perhaps the anticipation. Hunger. Yes. Hunger and purpose shrouded him like a cloak over his hardened skin.

Today, he would be the death of Tinnaire’s regret.

Tinnaire was focused and professional, but on the walk over she had given herself over to weighing the situation. It was her, or the succubus. The succubus Nimneth was unlikely to ever stop pursuing Tinnaire. Nimneth’s powerful emotions had pushed her to this passion. And the obsession (was it a sick sort of love?) could end no other way than in one of their deaths.

Tinnaire meant to live.

She nodded to the demon hunter and Dajjalen nodded back. They were ready to activate the summoning circle.

@daily-writing-challenge mentions: @dajjalen @fio-renze

[teratoscope]

Occulter

They don’t bleed. It all just slops out at once, colorless sludge shot through with fibrous chunks. The body falls apart, deliquescing like an ink-cap mushroom. Something vital has left it. They’re made things, you realize. Imagined and assembled from available materials. It’s most obvious as the flesh parts from the framework. Here a flowerlike cluster of femurs held together with intricate assemblages of cartilage massaged into shape; there the slim, transparent rib-bones of a fish. Several fish. And there, the ancient wreck of a bicycle frame, musculature and nerve tissues strung from gleaming aluminum. You nudge the collapsing cadaver to one side with the end of your rifle, trying to momentarily angle it back into a state where you can see how it all came together into a living, thinking thing. You imagine it like one of those lenticular cards, tilting it this way and that to catch it in the strange perceptual middle ground where it’s not either picture. HD 3 MV 120’ AC 13 AT by weapon, mind-searing stare (gaze attack, d12 psychic) Special merely a shell

Merely a shell—if an Occulter is brought below 0 hp from conventional physical harm, its outer body is ruined, but the larva operating it persists. Provided sufficient HD worth of dead or otherwise inert biomass, it will reconstruct itself in 2d3 days.

1d8 Occulter devices that may or may not be weapons

Rattle made of irregular strips of scarlet metal hung from a length of bone. So long as it is being vigorously shaken (the wielder may take no other action), all language within earshot manifests as sharp metallic fragments underneath the skin of the intended recipient (d4 damage/word, target makes a Wisdom check—on a failure they take half damage, but do not understand what was said).

Revolving black cylinder riddled with holes that hovers within arm’s length of the operator. Activates when gently stroked, making a thin piping noise that elevates into an ear-splitting, stepped-on-the-cat yowl when anyone moves 30’ or more towards the operator within a round, followed swiftly by lacerations from an invisible source (3d6 kinetic, Strength check for half).

Like a mummified shark egg case the size of a small poodle, carried like a duffel. So long as you hold something of personal significance to the target or that came directly off their body and sustain line of sight on that target with this in your arms, they make a Con check each round or take 1d4 damage to a single physical stat (determined randomly each time) as their body is ravaged by unnatural dehydration. Device becomes gradually slicker, heavier, and livelier as it saps lifeforce; upon consuming 20 points from physical ability scores, it bursts, releasing a plasmiform organism with HD 2, no attacks, immunity to kinetic damage, MV 240’ flying, and the ability to pass through walls and share sensory data with a touch. The organism is loyal to its original operator but struggles with complex instructions.

Asymmetrical sheet of immaculately polished blue glass with a heavy shroud. Anyone to whom it is bare and visible perceives all weapons as having transmuted into temperamental, bloodthirsty animals, and their attack rolls must also exceed their Charisma score to avoid 1d4 psychic damage per die of damage possible with the weapon used.

Skein of gappy, cobwebby material. Gradually regenerates damage. When wrung, torn, or otherwise abused, creates a localized spacial distortion, dealing 2d4 exotic damage within a 60’ sphere that the user has line of sight on and translocating everything within the sphere to a space within 300’ of the user (Dex check at disadvantage resists). Working a physical artifact or fragment of a person or thing into the skein allows for more precise, less lethal manipulation, as well as more complex maneuvers, such as swapping two targets with sympathetic objects in the skein.

Resembles a pale, half-wilted sunflower. Bulb remains closed in the dark, but upon exposure to any light at all it opens and releases a bilious cloud of smoke in a 300’ cone. The area within the cone is impenetrable to light, and everything inside it must make a Constitution check each round or take 1d12 cold damage. Within the cloud, living beings feel each other’s physical and emotional state bleed through into their own uncontrollably.

Insect exuvia the size of an infant. Gap in the chitin plugged with a metal stopper; if the stopper is removed, the interior of the exuvia sheds a beam of eye-searing light in a 480’ line (roll to hit once, 4d4 heat damage, if roll exceeds target’s Wisdom, target is blinded for 1d3 rounds).

Square canister of fine black powder decorated with nesting blue and black geometric figures of increasing complexity the further in they’re nested. Taking up a handful of powder and flinging it will result in the powder animating and pursuing 1d4 randomly-determined hostiles within a 120’ radius, forming a thin but potent corrosive film (single attack roll, ignore armor, d10 corrosive). For the following 2d3 days, targets damaged by the powder cannot sleep.

 You do not yet understand how badly you need this.

It took me one lifetime to realize the full extent of what was possible, and another to know what that really meant. This is my third, and fate dictates there will be many more. For both of us.

This leaves us with very few options. When you really start to grasp that, you will forgive me. Morality, consent, liberty—these are things that fall apart on a long enough time scale. There is only one choice that really matters, and to make it you have to see as we see. Not everyone can; be honored we invited you.

You will learn how we live and where our power comes from, and when we are certain you understand we will let you choose: preserve our holy silence or reject it and become our enemy.

We will not blame you if you choose to reject us. We will kill you, bind you, bury you deep, but we will not blame you. Our enemy is mighty and gives many gifts. We should know; we built so much upon them. It was a mistake, but not one we can take back.

We will run from him for as long as there is still time, and he will follow. It is not so comfortable, but it is safer than anything else there will ever be. Even in death, even with your essence dispersed as thinly as it will go, you are not safe from him. Be joyful! He has not seen you today, and that way it will remain so long as his name is not spoken.

Understand now: we do not make war. All we do, we do to ensure his name is not spoken, and so we test you. Can you understand the nature of our struggle? Can you be made to? And if not, can we blind you, poison your voice so that you never attain the knowledge of his name or chance upon uttering it? These are not comfortable questions, but they are necessary. If we were only asked these things when we were young, all of this could be avoided, at least for a while longer.

Sleep now. Metabolize. We will begin again in the morning, when your new eyes are ready.

[usfwspacific]

Saving Endangered Hawaiian Seabirds on Kauai

In 2018, conservation partners again provided a new home, safe from invasive predators, for some of Hawaiʻi’s most imperiled seabirds. A total of 39 chicks, including 20 Endangered Uaʻu (Hawaiian Petrel) and 19 Threatened ʻAʻo (Newell’s Shearwater), were moved from colonies in the mountains to the translocation site, called Nihokū, at Kīlauea Point National Wildlife Refuge. In this location, they are protected by a predator-proof fence surrounding the Nihokū restoration site.

Over the course of several weeks, the chicks are fed and cared for by a dedicated team of biologists and volunteers until they fledge – finish molting into adult plumage and fly off. Over the last four years, 112 chicks have successfully fledged from the site. The chicks will spend a few years at sea before returning to the exact area where they were raised, hopefully establishing a new seabird colony at Nihokū.

Some of the mountainous habitat the seabirds nest in - though rugged, cats, rats, and pigs are still present and pose a threat to the birds. Photo credit: Hannah Nevins/ABC

All of the translocated chicks were collected from colonies located in Kauaʻi’s rugged, mountainous interior, where the birds are under threat from introduced predators, including feral cats, rats, and pigs, as well as loss of breeding habitat. These dangers, coupled with collisions with power lines and attraction to artificial lights, have dramatically reduced populations of the Uaʻu and ʻAʻo on Kauaʻi. The effort to create a new, fully protected colony of these birds at Nihokū is part of a larger effort to protect the two species and help their populations recover.

The future site of a new seabird colony at  Kīlauea Point National Wildlife Refuge. Photo credit: Andrew Raine/KESRP

The 7.8-acre translocation site is protected within a predator-proof fence. Made with very small, woven, stainless steel mesh, buried three feet underground, and with an upper hood that prevents the incursion of predators, this is one of the best tools available for conservation of seabird colonies. Such fences now are more frequently used as a hedge against introduced predators plaguing native birds, plants, and even small endangered tree snails in Hawaiʻi.

The project has not been without its challenges. This year a record-breaking rain event in mid-April swept across the island, flooding the nearby Hanalei Valley and part of the refuge. An estimated 49.6 inches of rain fell in 24 hours, nearly blowing out a drainage culvert under the protective predator-proof fence. In addition, Hurricane Lane drove in more rains in mid-August.

Moving the birds into their new home, safe from invasive predators. Photo credit: Hanna Nevins/ABC 

“We experienced a difficult year with many close-calls due to unanticipated weather events, but despite these challenges, we are very pleased to have completed another successful year of this important seabird recovery project,” said Heather Tonneson, Refuge Complex Manager at the Kaua‘i National Wildlife Refuge Complex. “Quick response from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service staff and volunteers resulted in clearing the damaged culvert and preventing further damage and erosion under the fence.”Lindsay Young, Executive Director for Pacific Rim Conservation, who led the project to build the fence, attributes this to good design, "The record rainfall this year had minimal impacts on the fence as a result of design features that allowed water to exit the fenced area.” 

Chicks are transported from high in the mountains of Kauai by helicopter. Photo credit: Andre Raine/KESRP

Lindsay Young, Executive Director for Pacific Rim Conservation, who led the project to build the fence, attributes part of the success to good design: "The record rainfall this year had minimal impacts on the fence as a result of design features that allowed water to exit the fenced area.” All partners are grateful for the help of dedicated volunteers, who helped to keep debris away from the drainage culverts, keeping Nihokū predator free.

Other challenges came from the birds themselves. “Each chick has its own personality, and more often than not, they are just plain feisty, which makes daily care a challenge,” says Outreach Coordinator for Pacific Rim Conservation Leilani Fowlke.  

Another potential stumbling block: traveling in and out of the rugged, mist-shrouded mountains to recover chicks for translocation and bring them to Nihokū for care until they fledge. André Raine, Project Lead for the Kaua‘i Endangered Seabird Recovery Project, explained: “After monitoring the chicks in all seasons, we move them during a narrow window, a few weeks before fledging. Chicks are transferred from underground nests to a special transport box, and delivered via a short helicopter ride to their new home at Nihokū. The weather is always an unpredictable factor each year, as it is often raining and misty in their mountain homes, but despite this, the translocations all went well this year!”

Andre Raine carefully removing a Newell’s shearwater chick from its burrow to prep it for translocation. Photo credit: Erin Pickett/KESRP

By December 2018, all 19 Newell’s Shearwater chicks and 19 of the 20 Hawaiian Petrel chicks had fledged. “We are doing our best to give them a good start here so they are best prepared to thrive once they fly out to sea,” says Hannah Nevins, American Bird Conservancy’s Seabird Program Director. “The healthier they are when they depart their nest to fly out to sea, the better the chances they will return to breed.” 

A Newell’s shearwater in the midst of fledging. Photo credit: Leilani Fowlke/Pacific Rim Conservation

These seabirds spend their first four to five years at sea and the partners are anxiously waiting for the first translocated birds to return to the site to breed — the ultimate measure of success for the project. In spring 2019, the first cohort of petrel chicks -- nine birds that fledged in 2015 -- is expected to return. 

The partners hope that they will establish Nihokū as a breeding site and create the next generation of seabirds for this area. 

The effort to establish this new colony is a collaboration among the Kaua‘i Endangered Seabird Recovery Project (KESRP), Pacific Rim Conservation (PRC), American Bird Conservancy (ABC), the Hawaiʻi Department of Land and Natural Resources’ Division of Forestry and Wildlife (DOFAW), and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS). KESRP is a DOFAW/Pacific Cooperative Studies Unit project. Other partners also provided much-needed assistance for the project. The Kauaʻi Island Utility Cooperative provided critical support for predator control in collaboration with DOFAW at montane nesting areas within the Hono O Na Pali Natural Area Reserve and the National Tropical Botanical Garden (NTBG) at Upper Limahuli Preserve. NTBG also conducted vegetation restoration at Nihokū. The National Fish and Wildlife Foundation (NFWF) provided critical funding support. The Kaua‘i DOFAW Natural Area Reserve team also provided on-the-ground support.

For more information on the project, please visit: www.Nihoku.org  

Partners celebrating the successful translocation work. Photo credit: Andrew Raine/KESRP

About The Partners

The Kauaʻi Endangered Seabird Recovery Project is a DOFAW project, administered through the Pacific Cooperative Studies Unit of the University of Hawaiʻi. The project focuses primarily on Kauaʻi's three endangered seabirds– Newell's Shearwater, Hawaiian Petrel and Band-rumped Storm-Petrel. KESRP identifies the breeding distribution of these rare and enigmatic seabirds, monitors their breeding colonies, undertakes research projects to better understand their life histories and the various threats which they face, and works with partners to ensure their long-term conservation.

 The Hawaiʻi Department of Land and Natural Resources (DLNR) mission to enhance, protect, conserve and manage Hawaii's unique and limited natural, cultural and historic resources held in public trust for current and future generations of the people of Hawaii nei, and its visitors, in partnership with others from the public and private sectors.

 The mission of DLNR's Division of Forestry and Wildlife(DOFAW) is to responsibly manage and protect watersheds, native ecosystems, and cultural resources and provide outdoor recreation and sustainable forest products opportunities, while facilitating partnerships, community involvement and education. Malama i ka ‘aina.

Pacific Rim Conservation (PRC) is a non-profit organization dedicated to studying and conserving the biota of the Pacific region. PRC provides biological research and management services to government agencies, non-profit organizations, landowners, and other groups throughout the Hawaiian Islands and the Pacific region. PRC's goal is to maintain and restore native species and ecosystems through habitat protection and management, threat control, public education, and scientific research to develop and improve conservation methods.

 The Kīlauea Point National Wildlife Refuge was established in 1985 to preserve and enhance migratory bird nesting colonies, federally listed species, and native coastal strand, riparian, and aquatic biological diversity, as well as to support incidental fish and wildlife-oriented recreation. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service works with others to conserve, protect, and enhance fish, wildlife, plants, and their habitats for the continuing benefit of the American people. For more information, visit www.fws.gov/pacific, or connect with us through any of these social media channels at www.facebook.com/PacificIslandsFWS, www.flickr.com/photos/usfwspacific/,  www.tumblr.com/blog/usfwspacific or www.twitter.com/USFWSPacific.

American Bird Conservancy is the Western Hemisphere's bird conservation specialist—the only organization with a single and steadfast commitment to achieving conservation results for native birds and their habitats throughout the Americas. With a focus on efficiency and working in partnership, we take on the toughest problems facing birds today, innovating and building on sound science to halt extinctions, protect habitats, eliminate threats, and build capacity for bird conservation.

Chartered by Congress in 1984, the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation (NFWF) protects and restores the nation's fish, wildlife, plants and habitats. Working with federal, corporate and individual partners, NFWF has funded more than 4,000 organizations and committed more than $2.9 billion to conservation projects.

[verrottweil]

naked, clean, bloodless and mine

WidowReaper Week Day 3. Intimacy:  a touch, a word, a look, a kiss, or even more.

ao3 | series | day 1 | day 2

.

"‘I’m your girl,’ she said in the dark. ‘Your girl. No matter what I’m always your girl.’"

Ernest Hemingway, The Garden Of Eden

.

Since the mission went awry, Reaper’s been in a downright foul mood, skulking off the moment he got out of the getaway car. Sombra made a comment about his duel with McCree and the rebuke she got in return was curt and crude enough to stupefy her into silence. The rest of the drive continued in that same silence, so thick even a knife couldn’t slice through it.

Widowmaker observed him through the rearview mirror, tense and taut like a snare wound too tight, and promptly stalked after him when he left.

While Reaper usually moves with the grace of a big cat on the prowl, his movements were erratic, punctuated by sudden pauses, the clenching of fists and muscles – teeth too, probably – and low growls. She learned to tell when he was frustrated, annoyed or angry. And right then, when Reaper turned to her in the sparsely-furnished living room of the safe house, with its peeling wallpaper, dusty chandelier and worn skirting boards from years ago, she knew beyond a doubt that he was furious.

He pulled off his mask, holding it with both -shaking- hands, head bowed.

“I couldn’t finish the ingrate off.” His voice was raspy, smoked-out. His brows furrowed. Anger tore the rigid lines of his body into shadowy shreds. “I should’ve…” He swallowed down the rest of the sentence and gripped his mask tighter. Widowmaker could only guess the rest.

She assessed him, from the grayish quality of his skin to the patches of exposed bone – along his jaw and the gaunt of his right cheek, showing off his gritty teeth and reddish gums – to his narrowed eyes, like a viper’s. Reaper moved over to the hearth and leaned his shoulder against the mantelpiece. His hands were still shaking. There was a pile of ash in the fireplace and the stone to the back was covered with a thick layer of soot. What a dreary place.

“He couldn’t finish you off either,” Widowmaker remarked impassively, coming further into the room.

Reaper glared at her, growling out a demand, “What do you want, Widowmaker?”

She didn’t flinch at his harsh tone and carried the full weight of his glower as she encroached on his personal space. Could hear the birdsong of the nanobot particles whisking around her ears when they were almost body to body. Calmly took the mask from his shaking hands.

“You need to cool off, Gabriel.” His named sounded soft, sanctimonious even when she pronounced it – messenger of god, the thought came and went in a flash – and his exhale was curt, clipped.

“I’ve been stationed here before,” Widowmaker continued, glancing at the inside of the living room. He didn’t respond. “There’s a bathroom on the second floor. With a bathtub.” Her tone of voice was detached, but she bumped her knee against his, a suggestion.

“So, what? I take a long hot bath and suddenly, fucking… poof! You think my… problems are gonna be gone?” His voice dropped an octave when he emphasized certain words, but the wedge between his brows and the grimace on his mouth added even more skepticism to his statement.

Widowmaker leaned in, clarified, “We are going to take a bath.”

Reaper huffed, propped his elbow on the mantelpiece and leaned his head against the palm of his hand, away from her. He was apprehensive still, drumming the sharp claw tips of his other hand onto the granite, and pointed out, “Sombra could walk in.”

“Her translocator was damaged during the mission. Repairing it…” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. Looked at him with half-hooded eyes, whispered persuasively, “Ça prend du temps, non?”

The expression on his face wavered, his eyes narrowed angrily again. He pressed his palm flatly onto the surface of the mantelpiece and the loud sound echoed onwards, caught between the high walls and the ceiling. The living room had decent acoustics and must’ve housed a piano once, maybe. Widowmaker took a step back, and another one, away from the fireplace, away from him. Turned towards the open doorway, framed in polished oak-wood.

And with a casual look thrown over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you coming or not?”

.

They undress under the flickering light of a lightbulb, dangling from the ceiling by twined red and blue wires. He slings his coat around the backrest of the single chair. She carefully peels the neckline of her bodysuit from her skin, baring her torso to the room. The sound of rushing water underscores the soft rustle of their uniforms, the clang of his gauntlets, the thuds of their boots, his belts, her helmet being discarded.

She unties her ponytail and he watches the long strands of hair fall along her shoulders.

Reaper catches his reflection in the grimy mirror above the sink behind her. He inhales sharply through his nose at the sight of his naked body: slabs of skin are missing -he can see his ribs moving as he breathes – and the wound, where McCree’s bullet grazed him, is shrouded in a mist of particles; the sclera of his eyes a sickly, grayish color. Something ugly—but familiar rises in him, from the cavity of his chest to the roof of his mouth.

“I’m not even going to fit in the fucking tub,” he growls out, with renewed anger, turning away from his own dirt-specked reflection, from her bright-eyed gaze.

She comes to stand behind him, presses a cold hand against his flank, solid underneath the shroud of nanobots, and states, “I don’t care.”

“I don’t care,” she repeats herself firmly as she bumps into him, pushing him towards the bathtub with its discolored bronze taps and paws. “You know I don’t.”

Reaper shudders—you could hook your thumb under my ribs for fuck’s sake, he wants to say, what more proof of me being a monster do you want—Reaper relents, turns off the tap and settles down into the tub. It’s quiet in the room. The bathwater’s lukewarm, probably because the boiler didn’t have enough time to heat up, but at least it’s clean, not yellowish in color from rust or too much calcium in the drains. He’s a sprawl of limbs, one knee over the edge of the tub, the other bent so there’s still room for her. The water level barely rises above his abdomen.

Widowmaker fits into his negative space; her body flush against his, her nose against his throat. He breathes in—and out, and hesitantly wraps his arms around her, sensitive to her cold skin under his. She puts the palm of her hand over his heart.

Staring up at the stucco ceiling overhead, Reaper feels the tension bleed out of his body and heaves a sigh.

It’s the white noise of her slow, shallow breathing that makes him sag, scuffing his shoulders against the inside of the bathtub. Widowmaker quietly drags her hand down to his wounded flank and rubs the grayish skin there clean of blood. His breath hitches when she settles her palm on his hip and presses a featherlight kiss to the junction of his neck. She brings both of her knees in the crook of his leg, soles of her feet flat against the tub, and curls into him.

Reaper breathes in the scent of her hair and closes his eyes.

.

[titanomancy]

Notwithstanding the fact that the Royal Warden is a holdover from 9th, this is actually a pretty spectacular lineup of models for the new Necron codex - especially since, unless you're ride-or-die for the Nightbringer, there's nothing in the Necron lineup that desperately needs a new kit following their big Indomitus update.

Although the Tesseract Vault remains awful.

[ithise]

“In the banks of Silvermoon, I have a longbow and a quiver stowed away. Could you retrieve them for me?”

It was an easy request. It should have been, anyway. Instead, Ithise turned the task over in her head as she half-listened to the play put on by the Troupe. Admiral Rustcleaver offered her booze and, made thirsty by Ki’lani’s promise that she was saving her a special bottle in Ratchet, she gladly accepted.

But drinking hadn’t made the promise she’d made go away; it merely made it float. Feeling her mood plummeting, she excused herself quietly from the others and slipped through the crowds, confused and somewhat surprised at the respectful nods that sometimes got sent in her direction. The bow on her back felt heavier than usual by the time she reached the Translocation Orb.

She stared at the glossy red surface for a long time.

I can do it, she told herself, though there was no conviction in it. I’ll be safe. People go to Silvermoon every day - live there, even - and don’t get assassinated.

But she couldn’t make herself place her palm on the glowing red orb that pulsed with magic. Every time she tried to, she pictured the dark streets of the aptly named Murder Row, felt the hot sting of a blade across her throat, the warm rush of her blood dripping down her chest.

The ring Iriari had given her felt like a brick in her pocket.

She whistled for Gnasher instead.

It was far, far too late for her to be flying around by the time the gangly wyvern landed at Golden Hollow, but she didn’t want to worry herself with that for the moment. She tied him to the fence, ignoring the confused and concerned whinnies rising from the barn full of slumbering Chargers, and slid into the house.

As soon as she entered, she was attacked.

It was a familiar weight that shoved her to the floor. She laughed, running her fingers through Peladine’s fur. The lynx gave a mix of a growl and a purr from where he perched on her chest, huge paws pinning her to the hardwood. A greeting as a well as a warning.

The stairs creaked as light feet descended them, an arcane lamp held aloft in the darkness. “The fuck?” came the bewildered voice of the woman of the house.

“Sorry Vis,” Ithise croaked in response, getting the air back into her lungs as Peladine moved lithely off of her as his mistress approached. “I know I should knock.”

Vistara rolled her eyes, helping Ithise off the floor with her free hand. “Can’t say I don’t warn people that they could be ripped to shreds by sneaking around like that,” she said quietly as Ithise straightened, towering over her. “Between my animals and Ell’s, that is.”

Ithise gave her a grin and glanced toward the stairs. Vistara followed her gaze before looking back to her.

“They’ve gotten your letters, you know,” she said. “Even Tal has stopped rolling his eyes when we bring you up now.”

Ithise swallowed some of her trepidation. At least Eronais wasn’t making them hate her even more. She moved wordlessly past Vistara and up the stairs, swerving into the room her niece and nephew shared. Talisien was snoring, an arm thrown over his eyes, and Arienne had her whole head shoved under her pillow.

They sleep just like me and Ero.

Tal was most likely to hear her, so Ithise knelt by his pillow and gave him a poke. The teenager twitched, but failed to come awake. She resisted the urge to roll her eye. He’d had been dead by now if he were in the military.

“Tal,” she whispered near his ear, which flicked at her voice. “Wake up. I have something for you to do.”

“Mmnh?” An eye came half open, fluttered shut, slowly pried itself open again. He shifted, trying to prop himself up on his elbow, but his arm missed the edge of the bed and he ended up slumped over the side of the mattress instead. Ithise sighed.

“Tal, wake up,” she said, sterner this time, and his head bobbed up and his eyes finally opened fully to focus on her shrouded features.

“Aun’ ‘Thise?” he mumbled, pushing hair out of his face. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“I need you and your sister to do something for me.” Ithise fished the ring from her pocket, hunting down his hand in the darkness and planting it in his palm. “In the Silvermoon there’s a longbow and a quiver that belong to an Iriari Danishi. I need you to get them and send them to me. This ring will get you in to get them.”

The gears were turning slowly in his sleep-addled mind, but Tal finally gave a grunt of understanding. His hand closed around the ring and he set it on the table beside his bed, where he’d see it in the morning.

He didn’t ask her why she couldn’t just do it herself.

Eronais had at least had the heart to try to get them to see things from Ithise’s point of view at one point.

“Good kid,” she said, giving his hair a ruffle. “Don’t drag your asses about it. Go first thing in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tal sat up straight, felfire eyes regarding his aunt in the darkness. He looked like he was going to say something else, but decided against it.

Ithise was glad, regardless of what it was going to be. She turned and left the room without another word.

Vistara was at the table with a single candle and a mug of tea when Ithise got downstairs. She peered over the edge of her mug as Ithise prowled before her on the other side of the table, anxious to be moving on but reluctant to leave.

She always got like that when she was here, this place that was the closest thing she had to a home that wasn’t a raging battlefield. As much as she wanted to stay, she couldn’t wait to leave.

She made herself come to a halt, looking Vistara in the eye. “Do you have any bottles of Eversong Red laying around?”

Vis raised a brow, but didn’t inquire further. “I don’t,” she replied, “but I’m sure Zosine’s got more than enough in his personal winerack.”

Her cheeks filled with the grin she was hiding behind her mug. Ithise gave her snarling version of one in return as she slunk off to the study where the Magister hid his wine.

The question of culture came to her as she pondered Zosine’s extensive wine selection. (If she ever feared she had a drinking problem, she’d remember this and feel better about herself.) The festival had been focused on that, blending all the unique cultures of the Horde into one identity.

The only part of her culture that Ithise felt tied to was, predictably, their tendings to excess. But the structure, the luxury, the magical might of her kingdom was lost on her. There had been a time when she had appreciated it, had fought to defend it and only it, had revered it in her own way, but those days ended back on a crumbling rock in the Twisting Nether.

Is it any wonder I don’t belong anywhere but a battlefield? she asked herself as she selected a bottle with decorative gold filigree around the mouth and neck. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not even meant to be alive.

Dead or alive, though, she owed someone else a favor.

Gnasher had dozed off while she was in the house, but he shook himself awake as she carefully packed the bottle of wine into her saddlebag. She mounted, secured herself for flying in the dark, and kicked the beast back into the night sky.

It was silent once more when she slipped into the house in the Fold, but no huge beasts jumped on her and pinned her to the floor this time (though she did a double take as she passed Raz’aghar, curled up on the floor asleep.) She made her way upstairs to the infirmary uninhibited.

Essalie was asleep in a chair, a medical bag open at her feet, a bundle of gauze unrolled from her limp palm. Ithise quietly picked everything up, rolled up the gauze, and replaced it in the bag. She set the bottle of wine on top of everything and rested it where Essalie would see it first thing. She tied a note to the bottle before she left, the early rays of morning bleeding over the horizon.

Anar’alah belore.

- Fleetfoot

[goaprose]

.14: Bitter | SG SW 7.2016

14th: The way a person handles disappointment reveals a great deal about their values. Describe a time your character faced disappointment and how they handled it.

"But I thought- You said I was getting better! I can do better! I promise!"

"No! No, you clearly cannot." V'liyidan Sunshard gestured with a hand, slashing the air between himself and his youngest son. "I see now this is a fruitless endeavor. You have neither the talent or skill necessary to master this-"

"Ann'da-!"

"And I lack the patience to try further."

"But..." Breathing hard and biting back tears, Iiloridan attempted to step forward, only to quail under the intensity of his father's stare.

"Go back to your mother, for now. I'm sure you'll be able to learn all you need to from her side of the family. Magic is clearly not for you."

Taking one last look at his father's expression, which refused to soften even in the face of his son's tears, Iiloridan ran. He ran and he ran and ran, despite the fact that the translocation portal back to Silvermoon and his mother was back the opposite way. The unending, empty forests of Sunbreaker Coast stretched all around him, auburn trees swallowing him up. But that was fine. More than fine. At least there would be no one to see or hear his crying.

But it didn't take long for tears to turn to yells; and for cries to turn to stubborn, bitter anger.

If it was the last straw for his father, then it was the last straw for Iiloridan, as well. It had been a long, long time coming. He'd tried so very hard, just to make his dad proud, even with his older siblings getting the lion's share of the attention. If Ann'da refused to just try...

Lori clenched a fist, the enchanting crystals he'd accidentally taken still clutched in his hand; they ground together until they burst into dust with an errant surge of adolescent mana.

He'd just wanted to do something with his dad. Something they could do together. But- Unfortunately, they were more alike than either acknowledged. Just like his ann'da, he could only take so much disappointment.

"Fine. Fine!"

Scrubbing away his tears, Iiloridan drew on his anger and disappointment like a cloak, shrouding himself in it before stomping stubbornly back.

If his Ann'da refused to try, neither would he. And their relationship would never recover.

unedited