#tusks and wool

[blueeyeddarkknight]

The gnarly (but hilarious) pig transformation that used to give me nightmares as a kid 😳 🙆🧙 🐗

From the making of Willow documentary

The pig/human hybrid reference prop from the movie

Imma end it on a sweet note ⚔️ 💋 🔥

[risingsunresistance]

i've always drawn him with his ears flopped over like the old spot

but i am also a big fan of pigs whose ears are just ^ ^

[peachessndreamss]

Wolfswood

Summery : Cregan receives an injury while out hunting, his wife cares for him

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Cannon typical injury and first aid/wound care, cannon typical hunting

Word count : 4k

A/N : Cregan Stark I love yooou. Also, apologies in advance if this is the most boring thing you've ever read.

Winter had arrived with devastating speed and brutality in the North. The first heavy snowfall had destroyed the last remaining crops left out in the fields and the woodpiles stacked as high as two men and just as wide had looked like enough to see them through two winters but soon began to deplete at an alarming rate. 

And when a great boar had been sighted at the edge of the Wolfswood, Lord Cregan Stark quickly called the men of his house to a hunt, knowing it was better to find the creature now and make use of it rather than let it be starved by the winter. 

They had set out in the pre-dawn, 10 men of House Stark, wrapped in layers of leather, wool and fur, mounted on the most surefooted horses the Winterfell stables had to offer. Lord Stark rode at the front of the group, his steward and close friend Martyn Snow riding beside him, the two of them talking as they disappeared from sight. 

Once in the Wolfswood Lord Stark had led the hunt, first on horseback as they tracked the creature deeper into the cover of the dense wood and then on foot, when the terrain had become too dangerous for the horses and the boar needed to be harried out of its hiding place.

Cregan had been moving slowly north, stepping over tangles of brambles and avoiding tree roots thicker than his thighs, the men of the group formed a large crescent shape as they moved slowly, hopefully driving the animal toward a clearing. One of the men at the end of the line gave a sharp whistle to indicate the group should stop, instinctively his head moved toward the sound and in that split second of distraction Cregan missed the rustling of dead leaves and the heavy breathing of an animal charging. 

The great tusk of the boar gored his left thigh. Cutting deeply through the skin to the muscle beneath, bright red blood immediately falling to the leaves at his feet. The power of the blow from the animal knocked him off his feet and sent him slamming into the cold ground, the back of his head knocking hard against a tree root. The metallic stink of blood filled his nose as shouts went up from the men of the household, they abandoned the hunt and gathered around their injured lord. 

“Get the beast,” was all he managed to say before the wintery sunlight faded from his view and he wasn't aware of pain or cold anymore. 

Lady Stark watched the hunting party return from the covered walkway between the Great Keep and the Armory. She expected to see Cregan leading the party, a triumphant smile on his cold reddened face with the great beast slung over the back of his stallion. 

Instead it was Cregan's steward, Martyn, who galloped in at the front of the procession, his horse wet with sweat, its nostrils flaring as it snorted. The animals rider didn’t look much better, the steward’s face was fearful and the same colour as the bark of the weirwood tree, his pale brown leather jerkin was darkened with blood. 

“My lady,” he called when he saw her watching, “Lord Stark’s been hur’, cut by the boar. Please send for the maester,” 

His words caused a lump of ice to form in her stomach, chilling her from her heart outward. There was always a risk when the men went hunting, and more often than not her husband returned home with some small injury or another but this had to have been serious. As she dashed into the Great Keep she caught sight of a wagon being drawn by two great horses, on the bed of the wagon a tangle of fur and blood, she fought a wave of nausea at the sight and ducked inside the keep. 

Her feet were light and silent as she reached the maester’s chambers, not bothering to knock on the old man’s door she threw it open with a crash. 

The maester was startled by her sudden interruption, jumping up from his stool at the desk with surprising speed and agility for a man who was nearing 70. He opened his mouth, ready to scold whoever had so rudely burst into his rooms, but his words died on his lips. 

“Lord Stark’s been injured in the hunt,” she said, praying her voice didn't waver and give away the fear that was gripping her throat like a claw. 

“Injured how?” The maester replied, moving toward the large wooden sideboard that dominated the room. On the shelves were jars, bottles and boxes containing every substance needed by a maester, and probably a few they didn’t need as well. 

“Gored, I don't know where, they've just arrived back, please come now,” she said firmly, not willing to keep Cregan waiting. 

The maester nodded and gathered his heavy leather case from the side, the bag was filled with sharp tools and simple herbs and mixtures for most every day healing.  He followed behind Lady Stark as she led them to the undercroft of the Great Keep, where there was a great deal of noise and disruption. 

The undercroft was a dark, cool, enclosed space usually used for storage, most days it would only see one or two visitors but now it was alive as men lit torches around the walls while others heaved Cregan’s limp form onto the huge oak table that sat in the centre of the space. They stripped him out of his blood soaked outer clothes and left him lying in his linen shirt and woollen trousers. 

The left leg of his trousers was ripped open at the mid thigh, revealing a 5 inch gash, skin and muscle had been torn apart and glistened dark red. A tourniquet above the wound had stopped most of the bleeding but his face was ghostly pale and his lips an unhealthy shade of blue. 

Lady Stark moved slowly toward the head of the table where Cregan’s closed eyes made him look almost peaceful, the maester went straight to the wound and began cutting away at his trousers. 

“Has he been talking?” he asked as he began to inspect the wound more closely. 

“A little, but he was unconscious for a minute or so after it happened,” the steward replied, standing by Cregran’s right hip, wringing his hands together. 

“Hello my love,” Lady Stark said softly, brushing her hand over his forehead, willing herself not to fall to her knees and weep when she felt how cold his skin was. 

His grey eyes fluttered open and blinked slowly, trying to bring his wife’s face into focus, the world around him seemed to shift violently, left and right, up and down but her warm hand on top of his head held him steady. 

“Now, what have you been up to?” she asked softly, as if addressing one of their children. 

Cregan’s whole left leg throbbed painfully and his stomach roiled with nausea, he swallowed once, finding his mouth and throat dry. 

“It's barely a scratch,” he croaked. Lady Stark gave a small huff that might have been out of amusement and stroked her fingers over the crown of his head. 

“‘Tis a dreadful looking scratch,” she replied, “still, the maester’s here now,”. 

Cregan hissed with the pain as the maester applied a green tinged ointment to the wound. Sweat broke out all over his body and he felt his hands start to tremble. 

“Did they get the beast?” Cregan asked, once the initial wave of pain had passed and faded back into a constant throb. 

Lady Stark glanced at Martyn who gave a small nod of his head. 

“Of course, and you shall have the beast's head for your chambers if you want”. 

He gave what appeared to be a weak nod before closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. Cregan had known pain before but dislocated shoulders, broken bones and the sharp bite of Valyrian steel were nothing compared to this. 

At his thigh the maester had soaked a small piece of linen in a clear, strong smelling substance that he placed over the wound before tightly wrapping a clean bandage before removing the tourniquet tied high up his thigh. As the blood was allowed to flow back into the lower leg the colour returned to the skin but there were no signs of excessive bleeding at the wound. The maeester turned his attention to Lady Stark. 

“It’s as clean a cut as we can expect from a tusk, most importantly there’s no sign of dirt within, I have great faith that it will heal well,” the maester explained, wiping his hands on a clean piece of linen that was tucked into the belt at his waist. 

“I'll go to my rooms now and make a poultice to fight infection and in the meantime he can be moved to his rooms to ensure he's comfortable,” he added. 

With a small nod from Lady Stark the men still standing around the room went into action, they brought a stretcher and carefully moved Cregan from the table to the stretcher. He was then carried slowly through the Keep and up to his rooms. The masters chambers were the largest but the least used within the Great Keep, Cregan and his wife favoured the smaller but warmer Lady’s chambers, especially as they were the closest rooms to the children’s rooms. 

Once he was settled on the bed she sent for two bowls of water and a cloth before stripping him of the last remaining pieces of clothing. Unable to lift him from the bed to get his shirt over his head she cut the fabric straight up the middle with a small knife, pushing the two halves over his chest and cutting the sleeves apart to expose his arms. She also had to cut away what was left of his trousers, finding some of the material stuck to his skin with blood. 

Once he was as bare as the day he’d been born she soaked the cloth in warm water and set about washing him. Somehow the blood had managed to get up to his neck and down to the bottom of his left foot. She started at his neck, watching as droplets of reddened water ran down onto his chest and collected in the dark mess of curls that started at his collar bone, completely covered his chest and then funnelled into a thick strip that ran all the way down his stomach to the apex of his thighs.  

“I swear you're more beast than man sometimes,” she said softly as she dabbed at his chest, lifting the blood from his skin and hair. 

“It's the wolf in me,” he replied softly. 

Her head snapped towards his face, she’d had no idea he was awake and seeing his soft gaze on her face brought a wave of emotion flooding through her body. The usual surge of love she felt whenever she looked at him, intense relief at seeing his cheeks a healthy flushed colour after how deathly pale he’d looked before and bubbling anger brought on by the extreme fear that still sat in her stomach like a block of ice. 

“The wolf couldn't smell the boar sneaking up on you?” She asked as she felt tears burn her eyes. Cregan offered her a small, reassuring smile. 

“The wolf is more,” he paused a second while he thought, “passive...”. 

Unable to resist him, Lady Stark felt herself smiling and the two of them shared a laugh before she continued to wash him, revealing the pale skin under the dark curls and dried blood. 

“You're lucky it wasn’t more serious,” she said softly as she wrung the red water out of the cloth into a mostly empty bowl before dipping the cloth back into clean water, “if it’d caught on the inside of your leg you'd have been dead before they got you home,” she added, an icy edge to her voice as the fear that had gripped her throat now throbbed behind her eyes. 

“But I wasn't,” he placated gently, reaching out and taking hold of her wrist as she dabbed at his stomach.

“I'm fine,” he added when he noticed the tears gathering in her eyes and the angry wobble of her bottom lip. 

She snatched the hand from his, throwing the cloth into the bowl of clean water at her feet. The water splashed up, catching the skirt of her dress. 

“And what if you weren't? What if you weren’t fine?  Your son is barely 9 months old Cregan, do you expect me to hold the entire North until he comes of age? Fighting off every grasping lord from The Wall to Dorne trying to get to him and steal his birthright?” An angry tear tracked down her cheek.

“I cannot be regent, Cregan, I cannot be here without you,”. 

He reached out again and took hold of her balled first at the wrist, bringing her hand towards his face, pressing a soft kiss to her curled fingers. 

“And nor will you be,” he said softly, his lips still touching her fingers, “you and I are going to grow very old together, so old they write songs about us when we're all but turned to dust,”. 

She gave a small, watery laugh through her tears and pulled her hand out of his again. 

“Now you're just placating me,” she said, reaching into the bowl for the cloth and ringing it out. 

“Of course I am,” he replied with a smile, stretching his right arm up and settling it behind his head, the bend in his arm causing his muscle to flex and bulge under his skin. Were it not for the bandage around his leg he would have looked as if he was just relaxing for the evening. 

“I understand well that my most important duty is keeping you happy,”. 

Lady Stark scoffed at him and returned to the gentle washing of his stomach. A small smile tugging up the corners of his lips as he watched her tending to him so carefully. He'd been in a fair few scrapes before this one and was always happy to be tended to by his wife, the mixture of her gentle hand and sharp words always made him feel better. 

“Am I permitted to say how I'm enjoying your undivided attention?” He asked. 

“You may not say it” she replied, flicking her eyes to his face and catching him grinning at her. 

“I shall just think it then,”. 

They both fell into a tense silence as her cloth inched closer to the bandaged wound. The maester had said he would come by later that day to stitch the wound closed once it had time to dry and he could be certain there was no rot. Sweat broke out across his body as her gentle touch began to feel like needles piercing his skin, he kept his jaw firmly shut, unwilling to let a single sound of pain pass his lips.

“Would you take something for the pain?” She asked, not needing to hear him cry out to know he was in great discomfort, she wrang the cloth out again wetted it with clean water again. 

“I would rather keep my wits,” he replied, his voice strained. 

“Then perhaps a little when we’re finished and you can rest?” She pressed. She knew he disliked the effects of milk of the poppy but seeing him in such pain made her heart ache. 

“Perhaps,” he nodded before pressing his lips tightly closed, redoubling his efforts to stay silent.

She finished his bed bath at his left foot, cleaning the dried blood from the bottom of his toes and the ball of his foot. And all the pain that had passed before paled in comparison to the agony he felt as her hands gently tended the most ticklish part of his body. He fought with every ounce of willpower to stay still and not curl his toes and kick his foot out of her hands. 

Once finished she rung the cloth out one final time before standing and carrying the two bowls of water across the room and setting them aside to be cleared away later. 

“Will you sleep for a while? She asked him, moving back toward him and running her hand over his forehead before drawing a soft woollen blanket over his nakedness. 

Cregan nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted and wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep until the dawn of the summer. 

“Alright, will you take a little milk of the poppy?” she asked.

He nodded again, opening one of his eyes to peek at her face. 

“And a kiss to sweeten it?” He asked, letting the corners of his lips quirk up just a touch. 

She laughed softly, taking the small bottle of white milky liquid from the table beside their bed. She unstopped it and helped him lift his head off the pillow, she held the bottle to his lips while he took a small swallow before dropping his head back onto the pillow with his eyes closed. 

“And to make it sweet,” she said, bending and pressing her lips to his. 

As she stood he opened his eyes again although she could already see he was fighting the effects of the milk of the poppy. 

“Kiss the babies for me as well?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she replied, stroking his forehead again and watching his eyes close as he finally gave in and allowed himself to be dragged into a dreamless sleep. 

She watched him for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the steady ride and fall of his broad chest. In sleep he always appeared to be younger, his features softened as sleep took away the worries and the duties he carried on his shoulders every day. 

Once she was happy he would sleep for a while and there was nothing else she could do for him, Lady Stark went in search of Martyn the steward, she knew he would be worried and was waiting for news of his lord and friend. 

She found him outside the stables, running a brush over Cregan’s stallion. 

“Is he alright?” Martyn asked as she approached him. There was a panicked edge to his voice and his face betrayed his worries. 

“He'll be fine,” she soothed with a nod, “he's made of strong stuff,” she added as she placed a comforting hand on his forearm. 

“I'm sorry he was hurt, my lady,” he said, already looking lighter knowing Cregan was alright. 

“You've nothing to be sorry for, he's a man grown and it's his own fault if he doesn't hear a boar sneaking up on him,” she said, making her voice playful and teasing. 

“I'll pray for him,” the steward said, returning to brushing the huge grey horse that stood patiently in front of him.

“Thank you, I know he'll appreciate that,”. 

She stayed talking to the steward a little longer, the two of them discussing how to make the best of the creature that’d been killed that morning. The sky was quickly darkening and the air turning colder by the minute, although no new snow had fallen that day there was a crisp smell of it on the air and dark, heavy clouds covered the sky, threatening a heavy snowfall that night. 

She left Martyn to his final tasks for the day and returned to The Great Keep, she went first to the nursery to look in on their children. The eldest, Aly, was playing on the floor with her nurse, the two of them racing carved wooden animals across the floor. She paid no attention to her mother when she entered the room, too caught up in her game, while their son slept in his cradle. 

She lifted the boy from his crib and carried him to a chair beside the fire where she sat, focusing on nothing other than the small sound of his breathing and the tiny movements as his chest expanded and contracted with every breath. 

After a few minutes Aly got up from her spot on the carpet, her wooden horse still clutched tightly in her small hand as she walked toward her mother. 

“Where's papa?” She asked, coming to stand beside the chair, reaching out her own empty hand to take her mothers. 

“Resting, the men went hunting this morning, do you remember?”. 

“Will he put me to bed?” Aly asked, letting the toy horse drop from her hand with a small thud. 

“Not tonight, I can do it tonight,” Lady Stark replied. 

The girl sighed heavily, like she'd received some truly dreadful news, her small shoulders slumping. 

“But Papa tells the best bedtime stories,”. 

“I know he does, and I’m sure he’ll have a very special one for you tomorrow night,”. 

After another heavy sigh Aly climbed up into the chair with her mother and younger brother, curling into Lady Starks chest and closing her eyes. The girl found a loose thread on the bodice of her mothers dress and begin to twist it around her finger, in a few minutes she too has slipped off to sleep. 

The warm weight of her children soothed the Lady’s fractured nerves, this wasn't the first time her husband had returned home injured, his body was a tapestry of scars, each one she'd lovingly touched and kissed in turn, learning his scars as closely as a traveller learns a map. 

When she heard the first spatterings of wet snow from the nursery window Lady Stark decided it was time for her to look in on her patient. Calling the nurse over and letting the young woman take the sleeping girl from her lap. 

“Let her sleep a few more minutes, then wake her or she’ll never sleep tonight,” Lady Stark instructed as she stood and carried her small son back to his crib. 

“And I'll be back to feed this one once I've looked in on Lord Stark,” she added, lowering him into the cradle and watching as he settled. 

The nurse nodded and smiled softly as she lowered Aly onto her day bed, covering the girl with a soft embroidered blanket. 

Cregan didn’t stir when the heavy oak doors of his chambers were opened and his lady wife stepped inside, she paused, watching him for a few moments to see that his condition was unchanged, the only difference was that he’d thrown the blanket off his body and was now lying naked, his whole body exposed to the cool air. Moving toward him she noticed his breathing was still easy and his cheeks were a healthy colour. She touched the back of her hand to his cheek and then his forehead. 

At her touch his eyes flicked open and he blinked slowly as the world around him came into focus. He made a small sound of approval that rumbled up deep from his chest as his eyes focused on his wife. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked softly. 

“Better for seeing you,” he replied, his voice gravelly. 

“You're a dreadful flirt Cregen,” she replied with a smile, knowing his ability to flirt was a far better indication he was on the mend than anything else would be. 

“Come lie with me,” he said, choosing to ignore his wife's chastisement.

“Only for a few minutes,” she replied, moving to the other side of the bed and climbing on it, settling herself beside him and placing her head on his shoulder. 

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to roll onto her side, tightening her body to his in a familiar and comfortable way and she sighed contentedly. Her hand rested on his chest, her fingers pushing and playing with the dark curls of hair. Cregan turned his head and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, feeling the warmth of her body sink into his own flesh and bones. 

“I should ban you from future hunts,” she said, her voice muffled by having her face squashed on his shoulder, “make you take an oath never to put yourself in such danger again,”

“Even for you, I could not swear such an oath,” he replied, kissing her forehead again and keeping his lips pressed to her skin, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent from her hair. 

The two lay in silence for several minutes, Lady Stark listening to the steady and deep drum beat of his heart, the thumping sound reminding her that he was still alive, injured but alive and home with her and in their private moment it was easy for her to believe that was the only thing that mattered in all the known world. 

“But I can swear, it will only be death that keeps me from you,”.

[hedgehog-moss]

Look, friends.

Do you think this is a post about my adorable baby succulents? No. Look harder.

It's about the GIANT HOLE IN MY FENCE that I had to patch up with cardboard.

I can't blame Pampérigouste for this one; the brutish nature of the damage is not consistent with her usual modus operandi. Pampe outsmarts locks like Arsène Lupin; she doesn't charge at fences like a bull who saw a red cloth. This is Pampe Pondering A Fence Problem:

No, the damage to my fence looked a lot more mindless this time. Boorish. Boar-ish. I'm blaming a boar. A deer would have destroyed the whole thing rather than just the lower half. Note that there is not a single tuft of llama wool on the damaged wire mesh.

(Note no.2: the boar's smile was originally meant to be a tusk but it really just looks like a sardonic smile)

I brought some chicken wire to patch up the hole—but there wasn't enough of it. Then it started raining and I felt persecuted and decided to just cover the hole with cardboard and go have my morning coffee and get back to this later.

This is not an Innocent Pampe post; there is no such thing. My temporary cardboard solution lasted 8 to 10 minutes. I'm not sure exactly when she got out, but by the time I went back outside to repair the fence there was a Pampe-shaped hole in the cardboard.

(Not really; she just kind of lifted or ate a corner then wormed her way through the very small opening. I think.) (See, this is how you recognise a Pampe escape: you're not entirely clear on what went down, you just know there was a llama inside and now there is a llama outside.)

It was still raining and I didn't feel like going after her, plus it felt pointless to bring her back in her pasture before the fence was repaired, so I went in the barn to look for my tools and rummage through leftover pieces of previously-destroyed fences, hoping to find something the right size.

Then I heard Pampelune's hyena shriek, aka the llama alarm call. It was followed by:

horrified chicken screams and frantic feather noises; the soundtrack of a violent fox attack

infuriated barking from Pandolf

very loud panicked braying from Pirlouit

basically, chaos.

I ran outside just in time to see Pampe emerging from the woods at a full gallop, pursued by a bear. I didn't immediately identify the animal that was chasing her as the giant dog that he was, because he was running with a weird gait, with his legs going everywhere like he was frolicking at top speed (I now know that this dog is a puppy that has learnt to run just a few months ago, but that didn't occur to me at the time because this puppy is the size of a calf.)

Pampe was running towards the cardboard through which she had escaped and she managed to squeeze through her small corner hole again (I assume—there were trees blocking my line of sight and I only saw her again once she was in the pasture, running for her life along with the other 2 llamas + donkey.) Meanwhile, the dog didn't see the corner hole and tried to power through the cardboard much like a boar, or was carried away by his momentum and didn't brake in time; I don't know. In any case, when I reached him, he was stuck.

My large piece of cardboard was tied to the fence posts and still holding strong, but the middle was a bit soggy with rain and not too solid, so the dog's head went right through it. The rest of his body didn't.

He could have probably finished breaking the cardboard quite easily, but for some reason he instantly gave up. On life. By the time I got there the dog was half-in and half-out of the pasture and he looked defeated. Which made my piece of cardboard look like a mediaeval beheading apparatus with just a hole for the head.

I went to lock an angry Pandolf in the barn and checked on the chickens along the way (ruffled & offended but fine); I was hoping the dog would figure out how to extricate his head from the cardboard in the meantime. He did not. I tried to call him in a friendly tone (from behind) to encourage him to free his head by stepping back, but the concept of taking a couple of steps backwards in order to extract his head from the hole might as well have been advanced engineering. He clearly had no idea where his head was, where his body was, how to make the two a coherent whole again, and he started whining pitifully.

I untied the rope I had used to attach the cardboard to the fence posts, then wriggled the piece of cardboard a bit to try and free the dog's head. The dog was alarmed by the wriggling and took several steps back—but I didn't manage to hold on to the cardboard so it just moved with the dog. He clumsily ran away, taking the cardboard with him, wearing it around his neck like the world's largest cone of shame.

He immediately got stuck between two trees.

I was starting to find the situation hilarious, but the poor dog did not—he lay down and started making sad broken noises like a malfunctioning dog-robot. He didn't look very threatening but he was still a very big (and stressed) dog so I felt a bit wary of touching his head to help him, and decided to run home to get a box cutter. I figured I could easily rid him of most of the cardboard and leave him with just a soggy cardboard collar that would soon fall apart. I heard my landline phone ringing from afar and ran faster, and it was one of my nearest neighbours, the retired lady who lives on the plateau.

"I've been trying to reach you!! I saw your llama in my garden earlier, I was going to give her a little treat—" (she loves Pampe, for some reason) "—but then my dog saw her too."

I know this woman's dog—he's a tiny thing with fragile nerves who thinks the whole world is out to get him, so I asked anxiously, "Did Pampe scare your dog?" and she said "Oh no! Domino is here with me; but I have a new dog. His name is Texas."

I thought of the gigantic puppy currently sobbing in my woods, held prisoner by two trees, a self-inflicted cone of shame and his total lack of reasoning skills.

"Yes", I said. "I've met Texas."

The old lady asked worriedly if he'd scared Pampe ("Il est un peu zinzin" she said—he's a bit crazy. "I wanted to call him Rex, but then I met him and thought—Texas!!") I told her I was pleased with her dog for scaring Pampe, because she needs to learn that her pasture is her only hope for safety in this cold uncaring world and as soon as she steps out of it she returns to her lowly status as a prey animal. Then I ended the phone call because I was worried both about Texas and about the large hole in my fence. Thankfully all my animals were still terrified and hiding far, far away from Texas.

Texas actually managed to free himself before I attempted to cut the cardboard, but he still thought of me as his saviour and was very happy to follow me through the woods back to his owner's place. Before we left I propped up the cardboard against the damaged fence, and despite the hole in the middle no llamas escaped in my absence; I think the whole area still smelled like Texas and fear.

I'll admit I was initially tempted to leave Texas with his head stuck in the cardboard in a more permanent capacity in order to patch the hole in my fence with this amazing anti-Pampe Cerberus. Like this

(I know this artistic rendering makes my llamas look like frightened carrots and my donkey like a bunny but I will not be taking constructive criticism at this time)

[gorgugplushie]

I've been trying to lay my head down..

[ID: A Digital drawing of Lucy Frostblade. Lucy is a frost genasi with greyish blue skin and patches of light blue vitiligo, dark purple eyes, long pointed ears, dark blue scales on her hands, nose, and ears, sharp yellow fangs and tusks, and dark greying blue hair tied in short braids. She is wearing a cream colored wool sweater, an earring of a red star, a black spiked wristband, a red and black bracelet, and dark purple arm coverings. Lucy gives a shy smile while looking towards the left. The background is a off white color, with small purple sparkles, and the words "I don't know what to do without you, I don't know where to put my hands." Written in bright blue around Lucy. /end ID]

[experiment-dsmp]

Extremely, like you've actually lived it

There's a small pause where you debate on how honest to be. But the moment you open your mouth to speak, the truth floods out.

"It's insanely clear." You say as you start shaking. "It's as if I've actually lived it. I still feel the tusk impaling my body. The isolation. The squirming vines under my skin. Even the beak tearing off chunks of my flesh." You start to tear up as you speak.

You didn't get it. Why werr they so clear? Why did it feel as if you've actually lived through those? Would anyone else remember? How would they act?

Before you can voice your worries Puffy's hugging you tight. Her fur… no, her wool was incredibly soft. You don’t even think twice on returning the hug best you can without irritating your broken leg.

“How would you like to live with me?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

She laughs a bit. “You know, join me in my tunnels, learn their layout, have that your home.” She pulls back to move your hair out of your face. “Maybe we could even be a family.”

This came at a weirdly pleasant surprise. But..: was it what you wanted? Sure, a family sounds nice, but living in an underground tunnel system didn’t.

(Poll length increased to a week to reflect how long between updates its been better. Also increases the amount of answers I may get)

[nerdintheforest]

My wife and I are having a debate about my early medieval norse garb for winter ren faire/Yule.

She thinks adding the tablet weave belt on this wool tunic as matching lower trim will be too much, too garish. That I should keep it as a belt and be done.

I think I should add it as trim, with green/blue braids, maybe some embroidery on the brown panels, and use a second woven belt in a brighter color.

A tropey furry hat of questionable historical accuracy. Be the type of chubby bastard you'd expect to see in a movie crawling out of a hut with a bag of hallucinogenic mushrooms.

Maybe some Hogfather tusks.

[silverhart-makes-art]

I think this week's Bestiary Posting is pretty fascinating. I especially like the animal being described as having 'mercy', as I feel like many people would consider that a distinctly human trait. I kind of assumed this idea of animals being like machines incapable of emotions was an old idea, but this and other bestiary entries really seem to humanize the animals listed in them more then I expected.

Anyway, I think what the Zomargon actually is, is pretty obvious, but the bit that stood out to me the most was: "it strikes fear into bulls, yet fears the mouse", and my mind immediately went to my dog. He likes to put on a lot of bluster when confronted with larger dogs or animals, but show him a bug and he runs behind the couch and cries until someone comes to save him.

So, it had to be a poodle. There's no other animal it could possibly be. Lively intelligence, scared of mice, works with people, if one of them falls over they have to gather around and make a big drama about it - that's a poodle for sure.

So this description lists a lot of different traits, so I'm just gonna go down them all and explain my thoughts.

"His nose is called a trunk because he uses it to put food in his mouth."

At first I went with an elephant shrew-type nose, but that's not so great for grabbing, but you know what would be? A hand. And what has a hand on the end of it's nose? That's right, a star-nosed mole. So combination trunk/star nose situation.

"The Persians and Indians, carried in wooden towers on their backs..."

So we know it's a big critter, to able to carry people on it's back.

"...lively intelligence and a long memory..."

Gave them a bit of a big skull to accommodate those big brains. I can also confirm that poodles never forget and hold onto to grudges for years.

"...she goes out into a pool, until the water comes up to her udders."

For sure a mammal this time, so good to know.

"If the Zomargon finds a snake, it kills it..."

This explains why my dog's favorite toys are the ones made to look like snakes and why they are the first to get torn to shreds.

"if it falls down, it cannot rise."

For this I was thinking about how this happens to sheep quite often, when they're pregnant or their wool is too heavy, so I gave my Zomargon a broad back and thick woolly fur that can grow out into a big poof-ball (as I doodled in the bottom).

"...it has no joints in its knees."

This one was tricky to figure out. The knee is a joint, so how can a joint not be a joint? I had to sketch up a couple of legs off to the side just to try out some ideas. Ended up going with the middle one, and just adding a big fleshy pad on the back of the foot to support it, since there's no mention of hooves. It looks weird, but I guess they make it work?

"They possess the quality of mercy."

If a creature possesses mercy, it of course must have soft, gentle eyes, so I tried to give them a sweet dog-like expression. This is a beastie made for cuddling.

"...they make their way carefully and peaceably lest their tusks kill any animal in their way."

Just throwing in tusks in at the last second, huh? I honestly almost forgot to include them, they seem like such an afterthought in the description. And if Zomargons don't fight each other, the tusks must be used for something else. I decided to give them something like a Thylacosmilus fang situation, where these big saber teeth are supported by this crazy lower jaw. Seems to be some debate about whether these teeth were used for scavenging carcasses or killing prey. The Zomargon also eats fruits according to the description, so maybe these tusks are in fact just for opening coconuts.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Zaunite girls are forever Silco's favorite types ♥

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

His first order of business was a visit to the drygoods store.  The proprietress was young. That's to say: younger than him. Thirty-six or seven, if Silco was a betting man, which he was, because the odds never failed him when it came to a woman's age. It's how he divvied up his tarts: the fresh, the seasoned, and the salted.

The salted could be had for a song. The seasoned, for a good deal. But the fresh always cost more than a man's dignity ought to permit.

He'd gotten damn sick of tarts.

The bint behind the counter was no tart. No beauty, either—not in the usual sense. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe braid from a face so angular, it'd cut glass. The eyes, close-set and the color of wet mud, were rimmed by lavender circles. A smattering of freckles, like a dusting of soot, coated the crests of her cheekbones.

But her body was a fine one beneath her patched wool skirt and shapeless jumper—rippling with the lean muscle that attested to a lifetime of hard labor.

Silco would bet folding money she was of old Oshra Va’Zaun stock. They were a breed apart. Most had dwelt on the edge of the Deadlands for decades. Families after families dedicating their days to backbreaking labor, only to end them at the bottom of a whiskey bottle and a coffin-shaped hole in the ground.

Most still had a touch of the ancient magic about them: a fire in the eyes, and a steel in the soul.

These folk, Silco knew.

The bell jingled as he strolled inside. She looked up from the ledger she'd been scratching away at. A frown dug between her brows.

Silco knew he must look a sight: dressed in dust and fit for gravedirt. And the smell—that pungent odor of wild beast and wild man—was enough to knock a Piltovan right on his pampered arse. Medarda would've summoned her guard, or set the hounds on him. Sevika would've taken one glance and drawn steel. Even Vander, his brother-in-arms, would've backed the hell away.

Only Jinx—sweet Jinx—would've kissed him, right on the scarred ruin of his cheek, and whispered: Silly, you stink. 

I love you, anyway.

"Help ya?" The proprietress said, in that drawl endemic to the Deadlands. "If yer looking for the bathhouse, it's a mile yonder."

Silco let the grime of street life soil his own tongue. He, who'd once inhabited a glossy world where the smallest slip in intonation served to reveal the most intimate secrets, now spoke with the accent of the slums.

No sense broadcasting his identity. Not before he'd gathered the lay of the land—or had a decent wash. 

"No bath," he said, in a low rasping timbre. "Lookin' to trade."

"Got no need for vermin. I don't care if they're skinned."

"Not fond of rats, I take it." 

"Not fond of vermin in general. Or what they drag in. If it's not plagues, it's fleas."

"I'm clean."

Her nostrils twitched. "You sure as hell don't smell it."

Silco tricked out a slow smile: his calling card. It'd greased his way into plenty of deals. Plenty of beds, too: usually of the saltier variety. Not this bint, though. Her face remained a stone-cold blank.

A Trencher, through and through.

"I'd buy a bar of soap," he offered, "if you'll buy a boar."

"Boar?" Her eyes cut to the bulging sack on his shoulder. "You got yourself a boar?"

"Big one. Fresh kill."

"Fresh?"

"An hour past. Still warm."

"Let me see."

"Will I get my soap?"

"One bar. And you'll get to watch."

"Watch what?"

"Me inspect the boar." No flirtation; just plain fact. "I don't have patience for charlatans."

"That makes two of us, sweetheart."

"Call me that again, and you'll get to watch me bury you."

Silco bit down a smile. She had a tongue sharp enough to slice. And Silco was a man who appreciated a sharp knife. Especially when it was pointed in the right direction.

He unslung the sack, and dumped the barrow on the counter. Its tusks gleamed a dirty ivory. The hide, mottled gray and white, was thick as a Shuriman rug. The proprietress, impressed despite her best efforts, gave a low whistle.

Demonstrating a cool eye and a meticulous manner, she probed the flesh: measuring the breadth of the shoulders, palpating the belly, checking the legs for signs of disease.

"You're a hunter," Silco noted.

She didn't bother looking up. "Worked the big game with my old man. Now, I stick to small."

"What happened?"

"To my old man? Same thing that happens to everybody. He died."

"I meant to your big game."

"Lost the taste. Lost my family's hunting license, too."

"How?"

"The Council revoked it. Right around the time the riots started after Bloody Sunday. No more Fissurefolk allowed to bear arms. 'Specially not within a hundred miles of the Bridge." She gave a flat scoff. "A hundred miles. As if they'd let the likes of us even sneeze its way."

"Rules is rules," Silco said, with a mocking lilt.

She didn't smile. But the upward flick of her eyes was a near thing. "You sound like a Bonscuttler."

"Born and bred in the Pump Station. You?"

"Born, at least. Raised in the Deadlands. My folk up and left when the Enforcers burned down the gunsmiths' shops. Maybe they reckoned they'd have better luck diggin' their own graves than the ones they were livin' in." She gave a brusque shrug: the quintessential Trencher, unburdened by nostalgia. "Maybe they did."

"Did the mines take 'em?"

"Took my Ma. The old man, he stuck around. Worked with the unions. 'Til he crossed the wrong man." Her mouth—a lip-bitten red beesting—pinched. "Bastard made an example of him."

"A chem-baron, I'm guessing."

Again, the eyes flickered his way. "You do a lot of guesswork in your line of work?"

"My fair share. Shall I guess what the boar's worth?"

"We already know it's prime. Top cog."

"I'm in the mood for top, all right."

The glint became a hidden twinkle. When he'd first walked in, she'd taken one gander and pegged him for a pitiable vagrant—and she wasn't the type to dole out pity for free. Now she was seeing past his sordid shell into something she could work with. Something that could turn her a profit.

Question was: how deep did this stranger's bucket of coin run?

"It's a fine piece," she said. "Top-notch. I'd give you ninety silvers for it. Maybe ninety-five."

"Not on your life."

"Not on yours, neither." The twinkle hardened. "Hundred. That's my last offer."

"Thirty gold Hexes. Or we're both wasting our time."

"Thought you wanted soap?"

"I'll take it off the thirty."

"You'll take exactly what I say. Which is a hundred for the boar. And two bars of soap. The finest grade."

"Finest grade of what? Lye and vole-fat? You'll be sorry if I drop dead."

"You'll be sorrier if you try to cheat me."

"Thirty, or nowt."

"Twenty-five."

"You're one hardhearted Hannah."

"You got no idea."

"Twenty. And you throw in a change of clothes, smokes, and jerky."

"I ain't hagglin' with the likes of you."

"Sweetheart, we've already started."

And they had.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

I have a question.

I’m drawing an orc woman, and here are the animals I drew inspiration from for her design:

I was wondering how I could blend these animals into a humanoid design.

(image description: photos of several animals. these include a highland cow, a large horse, some sort of wooly sheep or goat, a donkey, a hippo, and a warthog. end description)

the first step is figuring out which distinct traits of each animal you want to utilize, and what they might have in common. I've made a messy little thought map here about it:

(image description: the same photos as above, arranged in a collage with added photos of hippo teeth and feet. the photos are faded and dark blue lines are drawn over them to trace the main shapes of each animal, alongside connecting arrows and notes pointing out the similarities between some of the animals. end description.)

The highland cow and the sheep both have fluffy hair or wool, and a pair of horns. They are also even-toed hoofed animals, as are the hippo and warthog. the horse and donkey are odd-toed hoofed animals. The hippo and warthog both have really big teeth. All of these animals are ungulates, most of them have large ears and a lot of muscle, and all of them have a long face.

Orcs are usually drawn big and muscular and fat, with big tusks, so the most obvious route here is combining the warthog and hippo teeth somehow. I think the hippo feet are the best bet for orc feet, as they're more flat and soft, easier to adapt to a bipedal design.

an orc that takes features from all these animals will probably have a pretty hairy body, maybe curly hair to reflect the sheep wool. it would also be interesting to see an orc with horns, as that's not super common in most depictions of orcs. I would also suggest leaving the longer face shape rather than trying to make it very short and humanoid.

I've made a couple of test sketches as a visual aid. this is just my concept based on your idea, so your final design will probably look different as you work out what you really want the character to look like.

(image description: a simple sketch page of an orc woman using features from the animals above. She is large and hairy, with extra hair on her wrists and ankles like the horse's fluffy feet. She is wearing her hair in braids and she has a small pair of horns on her forehead. Her nose is long and round with large nostrils. She has long ears. Her teeth are visible as a pair of warthog-like tusks and two big teeth coming out of the front of her lower jaw. A small eye sketch shows horizontal pupils. end description.)

[somethingclevermahogony]

Happy WBW! Does your setting have any unique in-world symbolism? Like, are roses considered romantic there, or a different flower? Is there a popular symbol for death besides a skull?

I forgot this was in my drafts! Sorry this is so late! If you have questions about why any of the symbols apply to a certain concept let me know! I might do more posts like this in future, not sure yet.

I'm going to stick to Kishetal for this one, and I'm going to keep this one on the short side (For me). I'm keeping this one to just Love and Death, Hope that's okay.

Love

The Kishite understanding of love is quite a complicated one, in that there is no singular definition of love, and as such no singular word for it. The word Pati means desire or want for, this acts as a suffix for terms relating to types of love. Broadly love can be divided into ten categories, Ulipati (Romantic love), Kipati (Maternal or Paternal love), Kurapati (The love of a pet or animal), Lupati (The love between friends, Platonic Love), Seshpati (Lust, physical love), Impati (Love of an inanimate object or place), Jalimpati (Greed), Ushpati (Love of food and drink), Irpati (Love of Beauty, "Wonder"), and Naholpati (The love of deceased person, grief). 

Ulipati (Romantic Love)

Associated Animals and Creatures: Songbirds, Hoopoes, Dragonflies, Cranes, and Doves

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Cherry Blossoms, Lilies, Tulips, Hazelnut, Mint, and Artichokes.

Associated Colors: Purple and Dark Blue

Other Associations: The Sunset, Silk, Hoopoe feather crowns, The Heart, Coral, Jasper, and Bells.

Associated Deities: Uniki "The Great Matron"

Kipati (Maternal/Paternal Love)

Associated Animals: Bears, Lionesses, The Durasi, Owls, and Octopi.

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Barley, Opium Poppy, Dates, Sesame seeds, Fir cones, and Olives and Olive Trees

Associated Colors: Orange, Brown, "Earthy colors"

Other Associations: Mud, Mudbrick, Kipsha (Barley cakes), Date syrup, Eggshells, Bird nests, The Stomach, and Owl feathers.

Associated Deities: Olhasuma "Goddess of the Life Giving Sky, Giver of Fertile Rains", Jalpaha "The Great Father"

Kurapati (Love of a Pet or Animal)

Associated Animals: Dogs, Cats, Cattle, Weasels, Sheep, Horned-Rabbits, and Mice.

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Carnations, Oak Trees, Acorns, Oats, the Black Pine, and Thistles.

Associated Colors: Green

Other Associations: Collars, Shepherd's crook, Wool, Boar Tusks, and Leopard Skin.

Associated Deities: Unlakachi "The Wild God/ The Howling Lord", Jaramuha "The Horned God, God of the Shepherd"

Lupati (The Love Between Friends, Platonic Love)

Associated Animals/ Creatures: Wolves, Deer, Ibex, Hawks, and Taruni

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Walnuts, Poplars, Roses, Beans, Onions, and Garlic.

Associated Colors: Yellow and Blue

Other Associations: Ships, Shields, Ladders, the Sun, Wrestling, Foot races, Amber, The Liver, The Throat, and Bow and Quiver (Not arrows)

Associated Deities: Fepaha "The Drunken God", Jalri "The Great Sun"

Seshpati (Lust, Physical Love)

Associated Animals: Giant Minks, Oysters, Peacocks, Stags, Donkeys, Goats, and Serpents

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Asparagus, Cumin, Irises, Sycamore, Figs, Fennel, Lisjir, Cherries, Sweetgum,Pomegranates, and Lotuses

Associated Colors: Light Green and Pink

Other Associations: Honey, Spears, Perfume, Lapis Lazuli, Phalluses, Breasts, Lips, Flutes, Dancing, and Drums.

Associated Deities: Shibachi "The Pleasure Giver", Jaramuha "The Horned God"

Impati (Love of an Inanimate Object or Place)

Associated Animals: Spiders, Rodents, Dragons (Tulininya), and Corvids.

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Chickpeas, Crocuses, Fumewart, Rosemary, Sage, Reeds, and Almonds

Associated Colors: Silver and Orange

Other Associations: Houses, Lyres, Bread, Fire, Hearths, the Oxhide ingot, Needles, Linen, Bronze, Iron, Anvils, The Arms, and "House spirits"

Associated Deities: Girmaha "God of Golden Fields", Hasunku "The God of the Flaming Stone", Kimaba "Goddess of the Oven"

Jalimpata (Greed)

Associated Animals: Hermit Crabs, Kiriki, Foxes, and Bisku

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Saffron, Cinnamon, Peaches, Lentils, Heliotropes, Rice, and Pistachios

Associated Colors: Gold, Red, and Yellow

Other Associations: Gold, Ostrich Feathers, Frankincense, Pearls, Salt, Ivory, Silk, Apuna, The Eye, and Rakashim

Associated Deities: Ikeshpaha "The Golden God"

Ushpati (Love of Food and Drink)

Associated Animals: Pigs, Boars, Ducks, Bees, Fish, Seagulls, Frogs, Sheep, Wild Game, Snails, and Lamalaru.

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Apples, Figs, Carrots, Beets, Mushrooms, Garlic Flowers, Parsely, Juniper, Grapes, and Violets

Associated Colors: Red, Yellow, and Purple

Other Associations: Beer, Wine, Food (Duh), Pans, Cups, Amphora, The Stomach, The Hand and Fingers, and The Mouth.

Associated Deities: Kimaba "Goddess of the Oven", Fepaha "The Drunken God", Jalchibiku "God of the Vast Waters"

Irpati (Love of Beauty, Wonder)

Associated Animals and Creatures: Spirits, Disuruku, Tigers, Falcons, Tiamawa, Parrots, Oceanic Fish, Whales, Butterflies, Lizards, and Exotic Bird Species (Mostly from the east and south)

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Hasir Flower, Cypress Tree, Apunian Lotus, Cornflowers, Palm Trees, Cedar, Regalu, Botagalu, and Ivy

Associated Colors: Blue, Orange, and Most Bright Colors

Other Associations: Magic, Ruins, Art, Marble, Gemstones, The Moon, Virginity, Clouds, Birds, Ice, Snow, Mountains, and Giants.

Associated Deities: Sonma "The Dream Giver", Silima "Goddess of the Roaring Snow", Humbalima "The Stonebreaker"

Nahulpati (Love of the Dead, Grief)

Associated Animals: Swans, Dogs, Vultures, Foxes, Jackals, Hyenas, Crows, Boruku, Crabs, and Dolphins.

Associated Plants/Fruits/Vegetables: Jasmine, Dried Flowers, Myrrh, Gladiolus, Grasses, Dandelions, and Clover

Associated Colors: White, Black, and Green

Other Associations: Burial Stones, Skeletons, The Elderly, Hills (not mountains), Singing, Mirrors, Calm Water, and Time

Associated Deities: Nahulpaha "The Judge", Shashuma "The Great Scribe"

Death

Death is a complicated topic in Kishite culture, and ultimately can be divided among its two patron deities, Nahulpaha and Dualik. I wil address the differences between each of these aspects of death and their symbolism.

Nahulpaha (Nahul= Death, Paha= Father/Dad)

An important aspect of the Kishite understanding of death, its inherent impermanence. Nothing that dies, will stay dead. All living things reincarnate; mortals, animals, plants, and even some non-living items like mountains, forests, houses, and ships. The only difference being that mortals, those who are among The Awakened, have the potential to eventually, after many mortal lives, enter the Divine Realm, something that Animals, Plants, and even Spirits, cannot do. The Cycle defines the boundary between spirit and mortal; where the former exists exclusively as a spiritual being with an indefinite and/or malleable form, the latter exists as a soul inhabiting a defined, physical body. When a mortal body dies, the soul receives judgment, a process by which they decide if they should be reborn again on the same world, or continue on to be reborn in the next, each life coming closer to divinity. if reborn on the same world, the soul will not be burdened with the memory of the rejected life; while they are reborn as a clean slate in each new mortal world, and again into the spirit realm, if they reach the realm of the gods, they regain the memories of all of their satisfactory lives and attain the capacity to all of those people at once. A life may be rejected for any number of reasons: most commonly, the soul was too young to move on in the cycle, the soul was not satisfied or happy with that life, or the soul believes they did more harm than good during that life.

There is no concept of ghosts or the undead in Kishite folklore, however it is possible for souls that reject judgment to become trapped between lives, there they may attack or threaten the souls of the dead on their journey to judgment. There are a number of rituals and ceremonies meant to counteract this threat.

It is the duty of the deity, Nahulpaha, to guide the dead soul, to help them with judgment, to act as a mediator between the different aspects of the self. While called the Judge, Nahulpaha does not actually provide a sentence. It is thought to be impossible to lie to Naholpaha, as the god knows the mind of the soul.

The god is typically depicted as a dark or cloaked figure, who carries in his hand a torch, some say that this torch is some small piece of the sun given to him by the other gods. This may lead to a false impression by outsiders that Nahulpaha is meant to be a scary or wicked figure. However in the Kishite understanding he is quite the opposite. Nahulpaha is shown as kind, he comforts the dead so that they may judge themselves without fear or anger, he guides the souls to their next life, he sings and dances to comfort the lost children, he howls to welcome the faithful hounds, he pounds the drums to invigorate the fallen soldiers, and it is he who weaves the blankets for the worn mothers. Though he is initially believed to appear in his shadowy form, it is believed that he takes the form of the soul he is addressing, thus to speak with Nahulpaha is to speak with oneself.

Though it is his duty to usher mortal souls to the Divine Realm, he is alone among the gods in that he may not enter there. This arrangement is his choice, one made when mortal souls were first created. It is not unusual for the dead to be placed in their burial stones with food and drink, not for themselves but as gifts for Nahulpaha.

Symbols

Dogs

Foxes

Crows

Cloves

Dried Flowers

Burial Stones/Cairns

Dandelions

A Torch

A Black Cloak

Mirrors

Dualik (The Destruction, The etymology of the name dates back to before the age of the Calamity, preceeding the Kishite Language by thousands of years)

Dualik (Destruction and Time) is one of the three Primordial Beings, alongside Shobiash (The River of Creation) and Shuam (Law). They are the eternal embodiment of time and of destruction, the ferryman of the Shobiash. Both Dualik and Shuam are believed to be born of the river and the primordial nothing. It is the role of Dualik to destroy the universe at its proper time, known as the Nalbani, and to subsequently usher in the birth of a new universe. Dualik has very little to do with mortals or with the events of Kobani, and is thought of as either indifferent to or ignorant of the struggles and fates of the worlds that they oversee. This does not mean that "The Destruction'' is evil, rather it is viewed as a necessary mechanism of reality, one which all beings must heed, though one that few if any will ever see face to face.

And though Dualik is seen as time, decay, and errosion, they are also responsible for rebirth and recreation on a cosmic level. Only Dualik knows when it is the proper time for the universe to be brought to its end, and when the next should be created.

Dualik is rarely referred to in myth or ritual, when they do appear they are depicted as a many armed figure atop a barge or as 3 black circles each inside of each other.

Symbols

A Ferry Boat

Three Circles

A Many Armed Figure

The Tide

The Cycle of the Moon

[jiubilant]

we need to hear about baby mammoths please

most importantly: a baby mammoth is a three-hundred-pound ball of fluff that loves you

other facts about mammoth calves and mammoth husbandry

when a baby mammoth is born its mother kicks it around a bit. this looks scary but it helps the newborn calf catch its breath and extricate itself from the placenta. giants don't interfere during this process as new mothers can be skittish and overprotective (but they will step in to assist if there are any problems with the birth)

the calf's "baby tusks" fall out when the mammoth is about a year old; at two years its permanent tusks (which will later help the mammoth carry things, fell trees for food, and defend itself) start growing in. giants often keep their mammoths' baby tusks and whittle them into small tools or decorative scrimshaws

giants begin training calves to heed them at a young age. it's crucial to teach the calf—which will someday grow very large—to respond to certain vocal and gestural cues that will keep it calm, comfortable, and predictable whenever the giant needs to examine it for illness or injury. teaching the calf to come when called, to curl its trunk over its head, to show its teeth, to lift each of its feet on command, and to sit still while being combed (combing being the way that giants collect mammoth "wool" for textiles) are a few of the essentials

the calf gets lots of treats during this process

it takes the calf awhile to learn how to use its trunk. cue amusing baby antics

calves are playful with just about anyone. when they want to play they'll headbutt you hard enough to knock you over (assuming you aren't a giant)

[countessofbiscuit]

The State Portrait of the Hon. Riyo Chuchi

Finally colored some two-year-old line art.

Description below the cut, or on Ao3 📜

A state portrait of the Honorable Riyo Chuchi, painted by students of the National Academy on the occasion of her accession to the post of Sujimis Senator to the Galactic Republic. This copy was done for the Pantoran Embassy on Coruscant, while the original hangs in the Speaker’s Chambers within the National Assembly on Pantora.

Chuchi’s sarafan is of the enikäi style, traditionally made of banthak wool and worn by noblewomen of the north. Above it she wears the Robe of State, a historic garment of Pantoran plum velvet trimmed with mummok fur. Made for the coronation of King Cho the Half-Foot, the first king to unite Pantora’s disparate tribes, it is now donned by all elected and nominated representatives of Pantora upon taking the Oath of Service.

The Robe of State remains the most costly textile ever produced on Pantora. It is estimated that over a million pukku — a species of hydrothermal mollusk found in Pantora’s ancient wetlands and polar seas — were crushed to produce the coveted dye. Until the Reformist age, pukku populations belonged entirely to the monarch; they are now protected by law and farmed sustainably by rival fashion houses. Although the sumptuary laws which once governed use of the color are long gone, true Pantoran plum fabric is so expensive to make that it remains limited to all but the wealthy and those in state positions with stipends for the necessary garments.

On Chuchi’s head is a Crescent of Sirkku, which also charges the planetary flag. A Crescent is always made of one of Pantora’s golden metals — aurodium, orichalc, and pyrite — and studded with native pearls representing Pantora, Plutonia, and the Lights (auroras), with Sirkku the sun god represented by the star in the center. The aurodium in Chuchi’s family ink entitles her to wear one of pure aurodium. Traditionally the Crescent is worn on the heads of female Pantorans and hung from the belt of males.

In her left hand Chuchi holds the Great Tusk, believed to be the spearhead of Voldsar, a legendary Pantoran hero who rode a giant torsk into the sky as offering to warring cosmic deities. His blood is said to shroud the planet, his throbbing wounds coloring the Lights of Pantora’s night skies. For all of recorded Pantoran history, Voldsar’s spear has symbolized the planetary ruler’s temporal power and a commitment to defending Pantora’s people to the death. Centuries ago, in the Iggorian Age, to mark the Abolition of the Torsk Hunt — an annual slaying of the largest bull, meant to prevent Voldsar from riding back down — the tusk was removed from the ancient shaft and mounted on a repulsor. Regrettably, at the same time it was also inscribed with a flowery caption in lampblack, forever altering the relic.

In lieu of Voldsar’s spear, in the right hand is now held a personal token. In Chuchi’s case, she offers a waxed lilium from her family’s greenhouse, symbolizing her innocence as Pantora’s youngest Galactic Senator, and her commitment to preserving peace.

[dorylinae-supremacy]

Fuck it you guys can get a Henchman AU snippet its 3am and my mood is all over the place. No clue when it'll get done since I have over 1.5K in plot bullet points but fuck it we ball.

Tags: Dark Sleepy Bois Inc, Alternate Universe - Heroes and Villains, Alternate Universe - Hybrids, dark!Techno, villain!Techno, technically, references to crime, he's a little criminal dude, its mostly just world building for now, ~310 words.

He tugged the red beanie he wore lower on his head as he made his way to the warehouse. Right now he was on a job for Mad Ram and he couldn't afford to be late. 

Literally and figuratively.

A sigh heaved its way through him before he could stop it, hot breath trapped by the neck gaiter he wore. His work clothes always felt infinitely heavy before big jobs like this. 

The bulky coat he wore hid his size as well as the length of his hair, the beanie concealed the colour of the curls as best it could while hiding away the pointed ears he had and the neck gaiter he donned covered his face and tusks.

All that anyone would be able to identify him with were his eyes, a deep ruby in shade. He was always careful to keep his hybrid traits hidden, thankful for a stubbier tail and non hooved feet thanks to stronger human genetics.

Hybrids weren’t rare, about one in five citizens were one. What was rare were the subspecies. Some were more common than others and he got the short end of the stick when it came to that. 

He was a piglin hybrid and it only served to make his life infinitely harder.

It made him scarily easy to identify and it cost him a fortune in hair dye. Concealing it was his top priority because if he ever got found out, if he ever got caught, that would be it for him. It’d all be over and he’d be in prison.

The wool gloves he found encased his hands in an uncomfortable heat as he picked at the fabric. They were what he hated the most about his work clothes. They never failed to get splinters stuck in the thread after catching on the crates he always hauled.

[lemonisntreal]

Hello! I just wanna say that love your content!

I was also wondering what's your favourite thing to incorporate into your designs of the characters detail wise? (ie. jewelry, patterns, accessories etc)

Have an amazing day!!

Oh man- I love everything about character redesigning tbh. The most obvious thing for me to say is my favorite would be scars- not only are they fun to draw and add a little flavor to the character design, but I feel like they can kinda tell a story without words. You don't need a backstory to be spelled out for you if you're given enough context clues + the character has scars.

They can also make the viewer have a lot of like "oh damn how did that happen" kind of thinking, and it creates a lot of intrigue, despite how cliche they can be [I refuse to do eye-scars hehe]. So they're extremely fun.

I also like doing jewelry and accessories- but more broadly, I just LOVE changing up a character's outfit in general :D

Not anything obnoxious [unless you're Nooshy, which in that case-] or anything that would be out of character for them to wear ofc. But I think things like having Charley's jacket look more full and cozy and give him a necklace, or have Buster's blazer get turned into a tailcoat [scrungly], or making Eddie's bright jacket be more of like a raincoat [also because it sucks when wool gets wet in the rain lol] or- Ash specifically has like a million outfits I like to draw her in. The list could continue forever.

But I think the most clear and obvious thing I like to do to characters is- for lack of a better way of putting it- completely change up how they look physically to either be more in line with how their irl animal counterpart looks, or to better fit their personality that may or may also have been changed by a plethora of headcanons I have. One of my friends described it as a character being "Lemified" and now the word "Lemification" has permanently been branded into my vocabulary.

Uh- the most obvious example of this is Judith. A character that's been changed so much for Tone Deaf that they're barely recognizable anymore past their name. I turned them into an enby capable of ripping your soul out of your body- 7'4" with a hat and peacoat and sharp teeth. And, most importantly, screentime. Mwahaha-

Another thing is the horns I gave Eddie- like they're such a crucial part of how I draw him now. Same goes for Meena's tusks, which you may not even know they have, because I don't draw her enough, but yeah. They have tusks lmao.

And what I think is my best change, Charley and Buster's double thumbs. I used to hate them but now I love them. Like they're one of my favorite parts about drawing Buster now- I always put a huge focus on his big paws and extra thumbs and the claws too. Omfg. I give a bunch of characters claws that they didn't have before, I fucking love claws >:D

...I'm reading back and starting to realize that between the scars I give characters and the claws that I draw them with, I might just like anything that can make a story possibly darker o_o

Uh, TLDR; I like violence :/ [mostly a joke lol]

[doodlefoxart]

I posted my redesigns for the schmooly and wooly king a year ago (now privated that art was old lol), so i gave them an update both looks wise and lore wise!!

- small and hardy, schmoolys are the toughest in the wooly family; capable of surviving unlivable and sweltering conditions, its been labeled as an extremophile much like the other species that roam the kelve lava caves. Schmoolys use their large tusks to break apart rocks and stones in order to get to any hidden vegetation hiding in the cracks, as well as using them for defense from attackers looking to make a meal out of them. Schmoolys, unlike the other members of its species, don’t have wool, rather they have hair that has evolved to become heat and flame resistant; as the many flame geysers or stray embers could threaten to burn it otherwise. Monster hunters utilize schmooly pelts for heat protective clothes and leather, whether its for firemen or blacksmiths its fire resistance properties are incredibly useful. Schmoolys typically herd together in groups of around 15 members, as their small size could make them an easy target for larger predators like croakitees or griffins. Schmoolys, as such, have also developed feisty personalities and are always on the defense, willing to sacrifice their very lives for the sake of the safety of their heard. It is not uncommon for travelers to assume that schmoolys have dark grey coats rather than white ones, as the soot and ash that surrounds them sticks to them; they use this to their advantage, however, using it as a form of camouflage to blend in with the similarly colored stone walls of the lava cave system.

- wooly “kings” are a natural marvel; being incomprehensibly large for a typically small species. They typically walk on all fours in order to get around and stand on their hind legs to either scan their environment or to intimidate foes. Researchers had found that things like an abundance of food, genetic mutations and age all correspond to the massive size a wooly king can gain, with some wooly kings reaching as tall as 20 ft tall on their hind legs alone. Because of their massive size regular woolys instinctively follow them and look to them for protection, hence the name wooly “kings” as they act much in the way a king would protect his people. Occasionally spats between opposing kings from different herds can break out; luckily since wooly kings in of themselves are a very rare phenomenon and most herds avoid each other to begin with fights like that are rare. However its still a terrifying sight to see and adventurers avoid those conflicts at all costs, not just because of the kings but because the members of the opposing herds could end up fighting as well, like a king leading soldiers to war.