#with leaning towards rock or deep gnome

[fakesmade]

𝗤 .         Which DND culture suits you?

Gnome. You’re excitable, enthusiastic, and there never seem to be enough hours in the day to do everything that you want to do. You either have a ton of wildly different interests, or a select few interests that you devote unreasonable amounts of time to. Either way, you do what you can to make sure that you’re never bored. When you get started talking about something that excites you, you find it hard to stop. You have a great sense of humor and you don’t mind laughing at yourself as well. You’re a risk-taker who is sometimes on the impulsive side, and the risks you take might not always work out for you, but you don’t mind because it’s a great learning experience. You’re a curious and creative person who loves trying new things and may be into technology or the arts. If you feel like you’re more of a mischievous or stealthy person, or if you feel drawn to the forest, you may relate to Forest Gnomes. If you feel more connected to your creative or stubborn side, you may relate to Rock Gnomes. If you feel like you’re a more reserved person who takes a while to get comfortable enough to share your enthusiastic side, you may relate to Deep Gnomes.

𝗤 .         Which DND class suits your personality?

Bard. You’re a storyteller at heart and you may have a bit of a Thing about attention and validation. You’re a natural improviser and you’re great at adapting to situations at a moment’s notice using whatever resources you have at your disposal. You can’t stand being bored. You’re very creative and you probably have a great sense of style. You’re honestly just here for a good time, and you live for drama.

𝗤 .         What's your bard college?

Creation. Bards believe the cosmos is a work of art - the creation of the first dragons and gods. That creative work included harmonies that continue to resound through existence today, a power known as the Song of Creation. The bards of the College of Creation draw on that primeval song through dance, music, and poetry. You’re a thoughtful and imaginative person who feels best when you’re making something new. You appreciate creativity for its own sake and you love being able to look back on something you’ve done and think about how you made it out of nothing. You may have a bit of a philosophical streak or be interested in thinking about life’s big questions. You see potential in the world all around you, life like a blank slate waiting to be filled in or a lump of clay just waiting to be shaped.

[austinswhitewolf]

One of the last Morrigan

This one is one I've been thinking about for a while. Let me know what you think. Love shifter stories.

You were a Morrigan, one of the last. When you were little, your parents would tell you stories of druids and elves working with your people centuries ago, Of a bloodline Shannara and how they always were defenders of your kind. Over time though, they were hunted down and killed. Only a handful were left alive and they hid, constantly moving from place to place. You were twelve when you and your parents were found. They had given up their lives to save you, give you time to escape. From that moment, you never stopped moving, never trusted any race. Most of the time, you stayed in your horse form. With a coat so black it was almost blue, long wavy mane and tail, you were tall and built like an Andulusian. Though your speed and endurance was unmatched by any other horse. The only mark that stood out was a pure silver/white crescent moon near your ear on your forehead. Through the next ten years, you would spend time with small herds of wild horses for a small time before moving on again. You had constant wanderlust, always getting twitchy and antsy if you stayed in one area too long. 

You had just recently found your way to a large forest that you spent time exploring. There was a small beautiful meadow that you were grazing in when you heard a snap. Your head shot up, ears shifting towards the noise, eyes alert. Taking deep breaths, trying to smell anything on the breeze. 

There was movement out of the corner of your eye to the right, flicking your tail as you quickly shifted to look. A young looking man, tall and thin was wandering through the woods, leading a chestnut horse behind him. You slowly and as quietly as you could, moved towards the edge of the meadow, trying to get out of site. The young man stopped and looked over when your hoof hit a small rock, clacking against it. Bright clear blue eyes connected with yours before glancing over you and then the area around you. When he didn’t see any sign of a person around he slowly took a few steps towards you. Snorting loudly, stomping your hoof in warning, he stopped. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was deep and smooth. Something about it calmed some of your frayed nerves though you weren’t sure why. Wil watched you for a few moments before he slowly went back to his collecting of healing plants and herbs. He kept an eye on you the entire time. This man was not trying to outright catch you or hurt you. So you decided to just stay along the edge of the meadow and watch him. You wickered a hello to his horse who responded happily. She was relaxed and calm. Over the next hour, Wil continued his gathering while you very slowly inched closer to him, trying to find out whatever you could about him. The few times you caught his scent, it was unique, nothing you had ever smelled before. Most beings had a general scent. Rovers always had a slightly sweaty smell to them. Trolls were sour and the few gnomes you came across smelled like soil. This man smelled like pine and rain with something you couldn’t identify. By the time Wil was just about done gathering what he needed, you were maybe fifteen feet away from him, ears and eyes locked on him. A small smile filled his face as he put the last of the plants in his saddlebag before pulling out some bread, dried meat and an apple. He sat down on the edge of the meadow, leaning against a tree while letting his horse graze. When he finished his bread and meat, he grabbed the apple off his lap and took a bite. Your eyes shot to the apple when you smelled the sweet scent on the soft breeze. You could feel your mouth water some, lips twitching some. He held the apple out to you, eyes soft. A small sound left you as you tossed your head up. Take the apple from him? He was out of his mind. You would never get that close to anyone. Stomping a hoof, you turned so your side was to him, leaning your head down and taking a mouthful of sweet grass. Flicking your tail while chewing, you watched him out of the corner of your eye. When the man stood, you took a few steps away from him. Wil moved to his horse, pulled another apple out of his bag. He gently tossed it to you before taking another few bites of his apple before letting Cricket eat the rest. She chomped happily on it. Taking the few steps to the apple on the ground, you sniffed it before deciding to take a bite. Within moments the apple was mostly gone, mouth watering from how tasty and sweet it was. It had been a long time since you had an apple. Once Cricket had finished her apple, he started to guide her back the way they had come from. He didn’t even glance back, that was what had you following at a distance. No one had done this, they had all tried to catch and tame you, cage you or chase you off. When he reached the edge of the forest, he mounted Cricket and when he saw you, a smile formed. “What a beauty you are Ebony.” He said, “I hope to see you again soon.” With that, he turned Cricket and started off.

The further off he rode, you felt a clench in your gut. It wasn’t until he was just a dot on the horizon that you made a reckless decision. You took off after, mane and tail flowing in the wind as you covered ground quickly. When you came to the top of the hill you had last seen him on, you slowed to a stop. Off in the distance you could make out a small house/hut, and this strange young man was riding towards it. You moved down the hill towards a stream you could hear, deciding to wait to get any closer. You watched when he slid off his horse, took the saddle and bridle off before brushing her. Then when he turned her out into her pasture, he moved into the house.

Over the next few days you watched while he worked around the land, making trips on Cricket. Everything was done with care and patience. On the evening of the third day, you made your way towards the pasture Cricket was in. When she saw you she whinnied out to you. Wil poked his head outside when he heard her. His eyes caught movement in the darkness, he could see your shape, your coat darker than the night. ‘Well looks like someone made a friend,’ Wil thought, happy to see both of you interacting. The next day, when Wil was feeding Cricket, he left out a small amount of grain and a pail of water for you. When you stumbled upon them, you tipped the water over, not trusting it. Also barely nibbling on the grain. Always staying a distance from him whenever he was outside. When he would see the knocked over pail he would just smile and refill it. Finally on the fifth day, you started to drink the water he left, eating all the grain. There were times he would just sit outside under the tree by the house and read. One time he had dozed off, you decided to be gutsy. Silently as possible, you moved over towards him. When you did reach him, you just looked him over. His face was so innocent and young looking. It was then that you decided to give him the smallest of chances. You gently nipped the book off his chest and backed up a few steps before dropping it, flicking your tail before nickering at him. Blue eyes shot open and he leaned up on his elbows, not sure what was going on. Rubbing his eyes, he reached for his book. When he didn’t feel it, he looked around, eyes catching you standing a few feet from him, his book at your feet. 

“Trouble maker huh?” He asked with a soft laugh, his voice gravely with sleep. When he reached out for his book, you pranced back away from him and swished your tail again. This became something you loved to do, whenever he would nap under the tree, you would nab his book and drop it a few feet away from him. The one time he didn’t have a book, you got a mischievous glint in your eye. You gently, and very slowly, nibbled his hat off his head, blond hair sticking out as you backed up with it. With a soft nicker, he was soon awake. When he sat up, you finally noticed his ears. He was an elf! No wonder he was kind, maybe that is why he smelled the way he did. Is that what elves smelled like? Before he could move, you slowly, tentatively moved towards him. Your ears were twitching, muscles tensed ready to bolt if need be. When you got close enough, you dropped the hat by his side. Wil watched, pleasantly surprised at the courage you were showing. Slowly, he turned his hand over in his lap, so it was palm up then just waited. It took a few minutes before you slowly lowered your head, pressing your nose into his hand. It was that day that you began to slowly trust him more and more, letting him get closer to you and having small strokes on your neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later you noticed that he wasn’t outside as much, and when he was, it was to do the chores quickly. Here and there he would take off on cricket and return hours later, rushing inside with some pouch of something or another. One day, he took off on Cricket and when he finally returned, she had barely stopped before he was running into the house. It was a few hours later that he slowly emerged and put Cricket back in her pasture for the night. His eyes were puffy and red. A sniffle would leave him every now and then. Once he finished, he moved to the tree, sinking to the ground, arms curling around his legs and burying his face in his knees. Moving over to him slowly, you gently lip some of his hair before touching your nose to his shoulder. Within moments, his arms were up around your neck, crying into you. You carefully curled your front leg under and laid down, wanting to comfort him any way you could. The rest of that day, you were never too far from him. 

[s1ater]

missing shoes.

pairings. frat!adam banks x fem!reader

about. fulton’s shoes have been missing for weeks now and the ducks unintentionally find them in the strangest place

warnings. swearing, alcohol, tipsy!adam

ricky rocks. aye adam!

you heard the horrid screams all the way out in the garage where you and dean sat, analyzing old rhonda. the ‘88 red suburban passed down to fulton from his father. the old automobile had a long run, one that seemed to be coming to an end by the way you and dean not being able to find the true problem of why it wouldn’t start up.

the screams soon turned into straight loud yelling that made you clench your jaw, sharing a look with dean. the two of you soon raced out of the garage rather fast toward the entertainment area where the commotion seemed to have been resonating from.

you immediately frowned to see fulton scouting around the room, his hands in his hair, tugging at it roughly. you once again shared a look with dean who looked just as lost as you. in this situation, you were expecting blood, maybe even a stab wound, something that represented physical pain. but instead, you saw fulton, someone who hadn’t been off the couch in days, someone with no stab wounds nor blood on him, causing you to roll your eyes.

“where the hell is my beer?”

“what?”

“my beer,” his hands released his hair, lifting in the air aggressively, “i got up to go to the bathroom and when i came back.. it was gone!”

you squinted at him, trying to find the relevance and need to scream over a missing beer, “maybe you drank it all,” you tried to reason, shrugging lightly.

“i did not drink it all,” he gave you a pointed look, making sure you understood, “the can would still be here anyways, i haven’t cleaned up my pile in weeks.”

that’s when you cringed once he motioned to the pile of beer bottles collecting dust by the side of the couch. he was making use of his spring break.

“maybe they’re where your shoes are,” dean suggested, shrugging innocently but deep down suppressing a smile.

the comment made you laugh while fulton fully glared at his friend, his shoulders going slack from being reminded, “that’s not even funny, man.”

you laughed again. fulton had lost his shoes about two months ago, causing quite a problem since they seemed to be his only pair of shoes. when asked why they were his only pair, he reasoned they were lucky and he found no reason to buy another pair.

you all looked at him like he was crazy.

he had practically turned the frat house upside down in search of these lucky old sneakers, but never found anything except a couple of fives and a lawn gnome hidden under his bed.

“god, fulton, no wonder you lost your shoes,” connie had cringed, her face wrinkling up as she stared into the boys room. “your room is an absolute pig sty.”

after a week he had given up and bought a new pair of sneakers, leaving the lucky ones in the past. but it was still a burden on his mind.

“what’re you laughing at?”

“nothing, fulton,” you shrugged helplessly, a snide smile on your face. “i just think you got a problem.”

“i’ll fucking kick your ass.”

“hey, don’t be talking to my girlfriend like that,” adam appeared out of nowhere with a slight smile on his face while he drunk from a glass beer bottle. “not nice, man.”

fulton glared before coming to realization, “hey, is that my beer?”

“is it?” adam raised the beer as it closely examining it after slinging an arm around your shoulders. “i could’ve sworn this was mine.”

“do you have my shoes too?”

you rolled your eyes while leaning closer into adam’s warm body. he held you closer despite bickering with fulton some more.

the four of you were the only ones home due to julie dragging part of the team out for a hike since everyone had been sitting in on their asses most of spring break.

you and dean denied due to needing to fix rhonda, adam stayed because you stayed, and fulton… fulton wouldn’t have lasted on the hike for five minutes due to his diet now only consisting of beer and eight day old fried chicken. he was a couch potato.

the phone suddenly rang, drowning out part of adam and fulton’s arguing, but they still continued, having no reason to stop.

“y/n,” dean yelled after you, “it’s for you.”

you unhinged from adam, heading towards the crappy green home phone that was probably as old as the house. you nodded to dean before taking the phone, “hello?”

“y/n, you’ll never guess what.”

“julie?”

“you have to come down here,” the girl rambled on, an obvious grin on her face despite you having no ability to see her. “everyone’s losing their shit, you have to come.”

“where are you calling me from?”

“a pay phone outside of west river.”

“is charlie still with you?”

“yeah,” julie bit her nail, “he’s the one who found it,” she pauses, you can hear her breathing lightly before a cautious sigh sounds, “we also need you guys to come out here anyways.”

“why?”

“we kinda ran out of gas..”

you sigh, scratching your forehead, “hand the phone to charlie.”

you felt arms go around your shoulders as you waited silently for julie to hand the phone to your praised captain charlie. your lips were pressed tightly together as adam sunk his head into the crook of your neck, but you smiled as he begun to sway the two of you back in forth in his patient tick.

you could tell he was slightly tipsy and probably had more than one of fulton’s beers by the way the smell of booze curled up in the curve of your neck from his breath. you leaned into him while your one arm that wasn’t holding the phone reached up and held his arm sweetly.

“hey, y/n/n!”

“hi charlie,” you hummed, continuing to sway with adam.

“you need to get down here right now,” charlie yelled, “fulton will love this. plus our cars out of gas, so we kinda need you to pick us all up.”

you sighed but nodded, “alright charlie, but rhonda’s not exactly working right now..”

“that’s fine!”

you weren’t exactly sure if charlie had heard you correctly but you shrugged, mumbling an ‘alright’ before hanging up the phone, trying to process why exactly charlie was so excited.

°•

you were finally on the road after twenty minutes of trying to get rhonda up running. twenty minutes of dean raging, twenty minutes of adam acting as if he were some car expert, and twenty minutes of you smacking at the both of them.

it wasn’t until fulton decided to make an appearance explaining everything you all were doing was wrong and then rhonda finally worked. and it was the stupidest thing ever. he had smacked the hood of the car five times before it finally started.

it pissed you off.

“where are they again?” adam was leaned and stretched out against you in the middle row, another beer in his hand, drinking the day away faster than fulton was. your hand were in his hair, soothing and making him relax even more than he already was.

“outside of west river… somewhere.”

“great,” he mumbled, taking another sip of his beer, “that could be anywhere.”

“we’ll find em,” fulton mumbled surely before his hope sunk down once they passed the ‘now leaving west river’ sign, seeing no broken down car on the side of the road. “eventually.”

about ten minutes passed before adam’s back straightened, his finger tip knocking against the window lightly, catching all of your attention, “julie’s car. that’s julie’s car, right?”

fulton hit the breaks fast sending you all forward in your seats, “it is!” the boy pulled to the side of the road in front of julie’s red subaru; a shit car she could barely afford. you all got out rather quickly before the inspecting begun.

her car was completely empty besides the small wrappers and pieces of trash that cluttered the floor and the air freshener hung from her rear view mirror. adam tried the handle of the drivers side door, discovering it was locked. he shrugged before all four of you decided silently to head into the woods, calling out your teammates names.

“how do you think they even called us,” fulton’s eyes wandered and analyzed that anywhere he looked there was a tree. “there couldn’t possibly be a phone booth this far out in the woods.”

“with things we’ve seen, i wouldn’t be surprised,” dean mumbled. “let’s just hurry this up, the sky’s starting to get dark.”

“what, you scared?” adam smirked as he tipped back the can of busch light he held.

“no, i just don’t want to be out here any longer than i have to.”

you had to agree with dean. the darker it got outside the colder it would get and the four of you had no idea where you were going, for all you knew, the rest of the team wasn’t even within the woods but maybe farther up the street trying to hitch hike.

“you know what this reminds me of,” adam hiccuped, interrupting the five minutes of silence that had slowly taken over you all. “that one time we went scouting for an alien up at oregon.”

you smiled, thinking of how you had all piled into adam’s parents rv and drove 33 hours for a stupid museum that supposedly had actual alien bones goldberg had heard of but ended up being a hoax. the weather was horrible, preventing you all from doing any other planned activities and you ended up renting a motel room due to connie locking everyone out.

the trip would have overall sucked if it weren’t for the front desk man informing you all of the old abandon mining site that used to be an active alien spotting area. everyone’s cheer had been restored after that and not even the rain could stop all of you once you all had your galoshes and rain coats on.

you hadn’t found anything, but the rest of the night spent in the motel room with adam didn’t have you disappointed.

“you guys finally made it,” charlie appeared out of no where with his hiking pack on and his face sunburned. “you guys need to see this.”

you shared a look with adam before following charlie who trekked in what seemed to be a memorized path by the way he glided around the trees so easily and found the rest of your friends without a sweat. they were all camped out by a rundown looking telephone booth making you frown as you tipped your head slightly.

“does it work?”

“who cares, this is what you all made a big deal about?” dean scowled at charlie and julie who was leaned against the pealing red painted wood of the booth. “let’s get out of here man, my legs are aching.”

julie rolled her eyes before pushing herself off of it, “just look,” her finger raised toward the sky where all your eyes followed to what you assumed was where their actual surprise was; a long line of brass hung from tree to tree, decorated with multiple pairs of shoes, something you were surprised you hadn’t noticed.

your eyebrows lifted in surprise as you examined the multiple kinds of shoes that varied from condition to color to style to brand.

and then- “no fucking way.”

your eyes landed on a ratty pair of sneakers that looked familiar and your guess was proved right when you heard fulton’s gasp.

his long lossed sneakers were finally found.

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[tinyyoungblood]

romance, eh? | peter parker

summary: it’s the broken main characters typeshi where they don’t think they deserve love, but over the course of the movie, they help each other and fall in love. football fields and late night drives. it’s kinda cute

pairing: peter parker x reader

trope: best friends to lovers

warning: language, very fluffy

a/n: i’ve resurrected from the dead, waddup <3

* * *

You were sat at the porch of your house, tossing rocks down the driveway and watching them skip toward a puddle. The sound of splashing water was the only source of entertainment as you were seemingly the only person alive in this town. When you realized that you had finally run out of stones to throw, you considered hurling the gnome down the driveway but decided against it and instead, patted your pockets in an attempt to locate your phone. To your surprise, it started ringing the second you held it in your palm. Peter’s name flashed boldly across the screen, illuminating your face. You answered the call and stood up.

“Where the hell are you?”

Loud rustling was on the other side of the line, and you squinted down the road in search of any approaching cars.

Finally, his familiar voice rang through the phone’s speakers. “Y/N, fuck, I’m—ow.” You heard a car door shut, and a string of curse words lingered at the tip of your tongue.

“Oh God, you’re not telling me you’re still at home, are you? Please tell me, you just closed the door to get out of your car and not in.” Absolute silence followed, and you could practically see him sit still like a deer caught in headlights. A beat followed before he replied carefully.

“What if I tell you I just entered a very sketchy dance battle in the middle of the forest and now it takes me 10 to 15, maybe even 20 minutes, to kick ass and get out of here?”

You took a deep breath and dragged your feet back to the porch, shunning it with a glare. “Parker, I swear to God, if I hear you turn on the engine right now, I’m going to set your Star Wars collection on fire.”

You heard him mumble something on the other side of the line, but were only able to pick out a soft “not cool”. The clanking of keys occurred next and before you knew it, the engine was yanked to life, making you groan loudly. “I hate you.”

You heard him set the phone down with a chuckle, switching to speaker. “I’ll get over it. Just don’t touch my Star Wars.”

You slumped back on the porch and grimaced at the spider web hanging above your head. Scooting away from it, you let your back hit the wooden ground, phone still pressed against your ear. “Just hurry up,” You murmured, defeat and exhaustion instilling a softness in your voice. He cooed at you.

“Don’t worry, I know there’s never any parking space on Thursdays, but I’ll run all the way from the parking lot to your house. Actually, I’ll start running the second this car is parked—no, wait, I’ll start running while I’m still in the car—”

“Peter,” you cut him off, knowing he could go on forever but still somehow end up not coming at all. “Just drive safely, okay? I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Fine,” he replied, “but I’ll have you know that I have now stomped two holes into the car’s floor to get to you Flintstone style. That’s the dedication we’re working with here.” A subtle click followed, signaling that he had ended the call.

Light laughter bubbled over your lips, and you shook your head at your best friend’s words. He was a dumbass, but at least he could make you laugh. One of the many reasons, you adored him. The rest of your life could be spent listing off the other reasons, but even in the afterlife, you wouldn’t be halfway done. You didn’t bother to sit up, opting to just lay on your back until either he would arrive or a passer-by would mistake you for a corpse and call the police. Whatever came first.

The next few minutes were waste of time. Now and then, a glance would be cast at the display of your phone, but that was really how far it went with the physical activity. For all Peter knew, you could’ve been dead when he finally arrived, dashing toward you like a maniac chased by the Holy Spirit. “Y/N?” He skidded to a halt and breathed hard. “You alive?” You felt him poke your side with his finger. Too drowsy to react, you simply lifted your hand and gave him a thumbs up. A grin swept over his lips, and he bent down to scoop you up, coaxing a sign of life out of you as you squealed but almost immediately after melted into his chest.

He chuckled and carried you to his car. “Hello to you too, baby.”

You forced an eye open. “Took you long enough.”

Shrugging, he cocked his head to the side and lifted the corner of his mouth. “Oh, you know, some girl was babbling my ear off while I was on my way here. Really messed up my schedule.” He pretended to scowl at you, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Seems like she didn’t do her job right.” You tucked at his earlobe, and he grimaced. “Such a bummer. You could’ve totally pulled off the Van Gogh look.”

He let you down into the passenger seat, shutting the door for you and setting his crossed arms on the rolled-down car window. “Oh yeah? You got a thing for dead artists now?” His face was in a twist, and you found yourself rolling your eyes again.

“I got a thing for guys who value punctuality,” you replied pointedly, and Peter let out a loud laugh. Leaning down, he came to an eye-level with you.

“Good thing, that’s not me then, am I right.” He winked and walked over to the driver’s side. In a second, he was seated next to you and reversing out of the parking lot, head turned to look behind him while his arm was holding onto the back of your seat. You took the second of concentration to take in his features. When he caught you staring, a smug smile raised to his lips, but you were quick to smack his chest with the back of your hand.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just checking if you had a black eye or at least a broken nose,” you said and ignored the way he cocked his brow.

“Thanks?” His eyes flickered between you and the road. “I gotta tell you, that’s a very sadistic love language you speak, but I’ll take it.”

You shot him a glare. “How else do you want to explain being 40 minutes late if it wasn’t being robbed by a biker gang and left in a ditch?”

“My answer was lack of time management by birth, but your excuse does sound far cooler.”

“Well, sadly, there’s no biker gang.” You heaved a sigh of exhaustion. “Otherwise, I would’ve gladly let them de-ball you.”

Peter cackled at your words, shaking his head before reaching over to pat your knee. “And they say romance is dead. I bet they’ve never met a total sweetheart like you.”

You broke out into a grin and swiftly whipped around to stare outside the window. Deciding to roll it up to stop the fidgeting of your hands, Peter made it his mission to choose the perfect song for your little drive. When the song “Midnight City” came up, he stopped and turned to you while wigging his brows obnoxiously. Pointing to the time on the upper corner of the car’s display, he awaited your reaction. It was five minutes past midnight.

You sighed. “Peter…”

“Oh, shut it, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, morphing the pout on his face into a matching smirk. “You know,” he spoke up, still staring ahead, “Sometimes I wonder why I’m even friends with you if you never appreciate my genius.” He gestured to his face, and you snorted.

Your eyes caught a brown bag that was sitting at your feet. “I’m here to keep your ego from exploding, I thought we’ve already gone over this—hey, what’s this?”

Peter glanced at you. “Booze.” He said it so casually you barely wondered how he got a hold of it. “You told me to get the good stuff, remember?”

Frowning, you leaned forward and tried to catch his gaze. His eyes flickered to yours. “What?”

“Since when is the good stuff not chocolate?”

He contemplated your words for a second before pulling a face. “Oh. Well, you wanted to bitch about our sucky love lives, so I assumed that involved liquor.” He shrugged. “To make it less excruciatingly painful, you know.” Eyeing the bottle in your hand, you pursed your lips, oblivious to Peter’s pleading look to just go with it. You hadn’t an idea what he had to go through just to swipe that bottle.

“I guess,” you finally replied and screwed off the cap to take a big gulp, feeling the liquid burn down your throat. Raising the bag, you flashed him a big smile. “Off to our voyage!”

He mirrored it, also raising his fist in the air. “Off to the deserted island named football field.”

- - - - -

“So what’s got your love life in a twist?” Peter asked casually while biting a piece off his sour belt. Within the past hour, the two of you had consumed a considerate amount of alcohol but had yet to experience feeling fatally wasted. A slight haze had infiltrated your senses, but that was really it. You both were still perfectly capable of having a proper conversation.

“You mean my panties?”

“Huh?” He narrowed his eyes in deep thought. “Oh, you want to talk about your underwear. Yeah, I guess that’s fine too.”

“No, you meant my panties are in a twist.” He turned to look at you.

“Why would your panties be in a twist? Do you want me to untwist them?” Slowly, the corner of his mouth curved into a not-so-subtle smirk, and you fought hard to keep a straight face.

“I really do hate you, Parker.”

He grinned back at you. “Means I must be doing something right, huh.”

Choosing to ignore his words, your gaze traveled the dark night sky above, littered with endless sparkling white dots. Peter mirrored your action, letting comfortable silence settle in, as the two of you continued to lay next to each other on top of the roof of his car.

“I don’t know,” you responded after a while. You felt him look the side of your face, but you forced yourself to fix your gaze on anything other than your best friend beside you, your fingers fiddled with one another in your lap. “I guess I just haven’t caught anybody’s eyes yet. No one really likes me, you know.”

“I like you.”

“You know what I mean, Peter.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you sighed and took up the courage to meet his eyes. They weren’t holding any trails of pity like excepted. Instead, you gazed into nothing but a loving pool of honey that ignited clouds of warmth to swirl in your stomach. He looked at you in a way you couldn’t quite place, and you had to force yourself to look away, just barely missing the glint of disappointment as you broke the eye contact. You shrugged, an unsure smile gracing your lips. “Somebody will come along, I’m sure. Maybe at a hot dog stand. Hot dog stands are reliable, right?”

The tone in your voice, lacing your words like grapevine, was poisonous, making the boy beside you sit up and pull you right along. Your poor attempt of self-assurance didn’t sit right with Peter, but you didn’t feel like confronting it just yet, and he knew that. So, he tried to catch your gaze, and given that you had no other choice but to look at one of the most important people in your life, you dropped your shoulders and gave in. You simply stared at each other in silence, seemingly waiting for the other one to crack first. The serious situation quickly shifted into a comedic but intense stare battle and before you knew it, you were pulling faces at each other.

You were pretty certain, the alcohol in your system did not contribute a thing to it, but eventually, even the two of you would fall victim to it as you already felt it tuck at some loose strings. And Peter being Peter, he spoke up first.

“If neither of us cracks any time soon, we will both look like fools who escaped a mental institution and are roleplaying as Harley Quinn and the Joker.”

And just like that, laughter bubbled over your lips, prompting a face-splitting smile to dance on his lips while his eyes were staring at you like you had created all good in the world. It quickly turned into heartfelt laughter and once he joined in, it only made you laugh harder.

Your eyes drifted until they met those familiar honey ones again. The ones you have known since childhood, and the ones you had stared into one too many times tonight. And suddenly the entire world was encased into an incredulously large pool of amber that you never wanted to leave. It made sense. It just clicked, and suddenly the riddle was complete.

And the best part about it all was that you knew he felt the same way. He had never been an easy book to read, not even when you were children, but that night, in the middle of the football field, you could read him like he was your favorite poem. Each line and metaphor were as clear as the sky. Without having acknowledged it much, your face had grown closer in proximity with his. So, when he decided to speak, his voice was a hushed whisper. The alcohol easily fanning over your lips in waves.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” He inched closer, nose bumping against yours while his gaze danced between your lips and your eyes. “To find out how your lips feel on mine.”

His words caused newfound confidence to surge through your veins. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk, and you leaned forward. Lips brushing against his when you spoke. “I can put it on my to-do list if you want to know so badly.”

He chuckled, hand reaching up to cup your cheek while the other slid across your back. “Baby, you don’t understand how badly I want to know.”

He pressed his lips against yours, and immediately you sunk into the pool of amber. But you could taste more than just alcohol. There were honey and warmth. The way he made you feel—the way he had always made you feel all along, even in the most platonic ways. When cracking jokes or during shared detention. There had always been clouds of sweetness and joy surrounding you whenever he was near, but now that you had finally acquired the taste, you were addicted. You were making out with your best friend, and you loved everything about it. His arms tightened around you as you caressed his heated cheeks. They traveled to the back of his neck, threading through the curls of his hair, and pressing him closer to you.

When it was time to break away, you nibbled on his bottom lips, reluctantly parting, but still remaining close as his forehead rested against yours. He stared into your eyes with a whimsical smile while he tried to catch his breath. “Do you still hate me?”

You chuckled. “You know what, Parker?” Shaking your head, you tried to catch the train of thought you were losing just by gazing into his eyes. “Just a little bit.”

* * *

it’s 4 am here, and i’m pretty sure i’m sleeping as i’m typing this lol i had way too much fun with the dialogue. let me know what you think! as always, thank you so much for reading 💞 have a sweet one, guys x

masterlist

taglist: @honeypie-holland @himarisolace @duskholland @insidiousslut @siriuslyslyslytherin @quaksonhehe @geminiparkers @writertoo18 @fl0ating @luwloki @missnxthingg @hufflepuffhollander @dummiesshort @itstaskeen @nerdyandproudofitsstuff @totallyfangirling7177 @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @starlight-starks @fire1ordzuzu @parkerlovebot @parkerlovebot @ethereal-beauty-p​ @theweekendss @tom-hlover @peterspideysstuff @miraclesoflove @prettysbliss @fancyxparker @tom-hlover @blossomparkers 

[peach-the-owl]

Tainted Innocence

Percy & Younger Sibling!Reader

You let out a fit of coughs, being sick sucked, you couldn’t move without getting dizzy, you couldn’t join the family for dinner or else you might get someone else sick, and worst of all you couldn’t leave your room to play. So here you lay on your bed wishing to get better soon so you could play outside under the sun. A sudden commotion could be heard outside your door, shouts and screams ringing down the halls, you ever curious would’ve loved to investigate if it wasn’t for the fact that your dizzy head would make you nauseous the second you got up. The sounds only got louder until they were right outside your room, you throw the covers over your head in an attempt to hide from whatever the scary noise was. You hear your door open and try to stay as still and quiet as possible, unfortunately your hit with another fit of coughs making your presence known to whoever had entered.

"My my, what have we here?" The woman’s voice was vaguely familiar, making you peek out from under the covers to see only the darkened outline of a feminine figure. "Poor, sweet little (y/n), caught a fever have we?" The more they spoke the more you could recognize the voice as Delilah Briarwood's, you’d met her a once before and she seemed nice but now her tone sounded almost sinister for some reason.

"Yeah, I’m not feeling very well. You probably shouldn’t be here, I don’t want you to get sick too." You say innocently, before going into yet another fit of coughs. She lets out a chuckle, by now it seemed the sounds from outside your room had faded into nothing.

"How considerate of you to think of my well being. What if I were to tell you I knew a way that could… cure you of your ailments." The ominous undertones she had went right over your head.

"Really?! You can do that!?" You bounce excitedly in place, quickly stopping from the dizziness in your head.

"Not only that, but you'll never have to worry about getting sick ever again." The offer almost sounded too good to be true.

"That sounds awesome! Let’s do it!" You were brimming with excitement at the thought of never having to worry about sickness again.

"Calm down now, all will be well in due time. For now you should rest, my husband and I shall handle everything and I guarantee you’ll wake up like a brand new person." You give her a nod and are hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion. "Sleep now… my child." You don’t have time think about why she referred to you like that before your vision goes dark and your mind goes blank…

Lady Delilah was right, when you awoke again you no longer had your fever and felt completely different, but even though you did feel all better now you still weren’t allowed to leave the castle. You were only allowed to wander the wing where your room was or explore the catacombs, even then there wasn’t much you could do but that's what you were told you were allowed so you had to follow the rules. It was strange though to be told all this by the Briarwoods, wondering why it was them instead of your parents to tell you all these new rules and why one of the rules was you couldn’t see anyone else in your family. You had asked about this once but Delilah only told you that once you were ready they’d tell you everything, so time went by and you stayed alone, forced to play inside away from any sunlight, almost completely isolated from social contact. You don’t know how long it’s been, no longer having a way to tell day from night made it really hard to know how many hours or days had passed, everything just blurring together. There was one other thing that really bothered you and that was this strange sensation you’d get from time to time, it was almost like you were hungry but also not because you’d eat like normal and the feeling wouldn’t go away. You told the Briarwood's about this but Lord Sylas just told you that if you’d ignore it then it would go away by itself, what he didn’t tell you is that you’d pass out and wake up with a strange metallic-y taste in your mouth, at least the feeling went away though, right?

Another day, or what you thought might be a day, goes by as you wander the tunnels having mapped them out to memory by now. You brought some toys with you to play around with for some entertainment and hoping deep down that one day something new or different might finally happen, then you heard something faint hit your ears. It was different but at the same time it could’ve just been another rat scurrying around with how faint it was so you ignore it. There's another sound like quick footsteps approaching getting louder until it comes to a halt close to where you were playing making you glance over your shoulder at the man staring at you. He looked very familiar you just couldn’t place why right away, you turn to fully face them and have a better look.

"Hi there mister. You look familiar, do I know you?" You ask them with a slight tilt to your head. They just stare at you in silence their eyes wide in horror, you look behind you to see if they were looking at something behind you but find nothing and look back at them in confusion. "Is something wrong?" You step towards them and they step away in retaliation furthering your confusion.

"No no nononono. This isn’t real, you can’t be real." He presses his hands to his head, his voice also sounded familiar, who was he?

"You’re really weird." You then poke your arm to as a way to show you were really there, then let out a giggle. "See, I’m real, if I was fake I couldn’t poke my arm." You place your hands triumphantly on your waist but the man didn’t look impressed, instead he looked like he was going to vomit. "Are you okay? You don’t look well." You take another step towards him out of concern.

"Don’t come any closer!" He holds up a strange item you’ve never seen before, there’s a slight shake to his hand. You stop and stare interested in the strange item, it had fancy engravings on it, six hollow slots and some odd mechanism the man warily held a finger over.

"What’s that? It’s so cool and fancy, what does it do?" You lean in closer to it curiously.

"This isn’t real, you’re just an illusion to mess with my head." He sounded hesitant, like he was trying to convince himself of something. Having been able to look at the man this long it finally clicked in your head why he was so familiar.

"Wait a second… Percy?" This fully draws his attention back onto you. "It is you! What happened? How did you get so big and why's your hair all white?" He looked so different, no wonder you didn’t recognize your own brother right away. He doesn’t answer you, just stares with a look of conflict in his eyes and continues to hold the strange object in his hand towards you, you paying no mind to it. "This is great! Lord and Lady Briarwood said I wasn't allowed talk to anyone, I don’t know why though, but you’re here now so who cares! I miss talking to people, the guards are no fun and there’s hardly anything to do anymore…" You start to ramble on about how boring things have gotten and how you made due, still wondering why or how Percy got so tall and looked so much older. "Where is everyone else? I want to ask mother and father why the Briarwoods seem to be in charge." This statement really got to Percy, making his eyes go wide in realization.

"You… you don’t know?" You tilt your head in confusion, what where you supposed to know. There’s a strange wispy or smoky substance that trails up Percy's arm, then the sound of a loud bang followed by ringing fills your ears, something grazed past your cheek, cutting into it a little and leaving a lingering stinging sensation behind. You quickly place a hand on your cheek where it hurt, recoiling away only hearing a clattering and soft thud after a moment of silence. You slowly turn back and see your brother had dropped the item from his hand and was on his knees, holding his face in both his free hands now, his entire body physically shaking and he lets out a series of coughs.

"P-Percy? Are you okay?" You approach with much more caution this time, trying to ignore the throbbing pain still in your cheek. More footsteps can be heard hurrying towards your location.

"We heard gunfire and came as fast as we could." A half-elven man was the first to reach your location, he looks over seeing you and takes a step back in surprise.

"Hi there, are you a friend of Percy's?" You ask, rocking back and forth on your feet.

"I am. Did you do this to him?" There was a threatening tone to his voice that made you feel scared and uncomfortable.

"I don’t know, I was just playing because I was bored, then he showed up and I didn’t recognize him at first, then I did and got really excited because I haven’t seen anyone in what feels like forever, then there was a loud bang and now my cheek hurts and he was just like this." You try to explain as best as you could. By now others who were most likely with the half-elf showed up, having heard at least some of your explanation, they looked at you with wide eyes. "And why does everyone look at me like that, is there something wrong with my face or something?"

"That’s one way to put it." A half-elven woman who looked very similar to the male one talks slowly. "Do you mind telling us your name little one?"

"Of course! I’m (y/n) de Rolo." You reply proudly.

"You’re a de Rolo?" The glowing gnome sounded sad for some reason, why was everyone sad? Shouldn’t this be a good thing?

"Yeah… why are you all acting so weird? What’s going on? Who are you?" You cross your arms, getting a little frustrated from your lack of answers, just wanting to be in the know. They whisper among themselves, you barely catchy anything coherent before they turn back to face you.

"Do you mind giving us a minute alone, please." Percy having finally gotten a better hold of himself asks, you give a small nod and step away, picking up your discarded toys to mindlessly play with. You discovered if your really focused you could hear what they were whispering about, though it was hard to decipher who’s voice belonged to who.

"Is it true? Are they really your…"

"I-I’m not sure anymore." You were able to at least tell your brothers voice apart from the others.

"How could you not know!?"

"They seem pretty clueless themselves, it’s like they not only still have the body of a child but also the mentality of one too."

"Perhaps that’s from the lack of social contact, they did say they’ve been alone for a long time."

"Percy… this changes everything we know."

"No, this changes nothing, it only makes it more complicated."

"How can you say something like that, they’re your family!"

"They’ve been turned into a monster, whether they’re aware of it or not!" You frown when you hear this tuning out the rest of their conversation, that couldn’t be right you’re not a monster, sure things were weird and you’ve felt different since your illness was cured but that didn’t make you a monster… did it? You sit aback and look yourself over, holding out your arms in the dim lighting which you now realized you could see rather well in, you always thought that was just because you were so used to coming down here that your eyes adjusted quickly, but now you didn’t know anymore. Focusing back on your arms you also notice that your skin was extremely pale then what it normally was. When was the last time you’d seen yourself in a mirror? You’ve passed some in the halls of the castle but never payed much mind to them, and now that you thought about it when was the last time you’d seen the sunshine? You really missed playing outside but always just followed the rules the Briarwood's gave you because they were the grownups and they knew what was best, right? The sound of footsteps coming back your way slightly pull you from your thoughts, but you don’t bother looking up and just stare at the ground in front of you. You hear a shaky sigh but before they can speak you beat them to it.

"There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there." Your blissful joy was gone, replaced with doubt and sadness.

"I-how much did you hear?" Percy's voice wasn’t as angry sounding as it was earlier but there was still tension in it.

"I don’t know, you said something about me being a monster. I thought you were just saying that because you were angry for some reason, but I don’t know anymore. Am-am I really a monster?" You turn and look up at him seeing him flinch slightly, but not quite intentionally. Your lip quivers as you shrink more into yourself. "When we used to play pretend the monsters were always the bad guys… I don’t want to be a bad guy." You whimper and tears start trailing down your face as you try to hide in your arms.

"I didn’t… you’re not… it’s just…" He lets out a long breath followed by a cough and a longer pause. "(Y/n) look at me…" another pause, you don’t move. "Hey, look at me." You feel warm hands pry your face up to make you look at your brother, now you were the one to slightly flinch from the slight sting that was still on your cheek. The two of you have a small staring contest before he speaks up again. "Listen carefully, things are no longer the way you remember them to be, a lot has changed for the worst and for some reason or another you’ve been left to be blissfully unaware of all of it. I don’t know why they decided to do this to you, but I swear we'll figure this out together one step at a time."

"We will?" You give him a hopeful look, he nods slowly

"I hope so… I don’t know who I can all trust here anymore. Things are stressful right now, but if you don’t want to be a part of the bad guys, as you put it, my friends and I are going to need your help. Can you do that, can I really trust you?"

"Yes! I want to help my brother stop the bad guys." You put on your most serious look, Percy then releases his hold on you and you stand up. "Hey Percy?" He lets out a slight hum of acknowledgement. "When we're all done, does that mean I’ll be able to play outside in the sun again?"

"One step at time…" He trails off with a somber sigh. The two of you now heading over to rejoin Percy's group so you could be properly introduced.

Should I continue something with this for a part 2?… or just leave it as is…? Idk, you tell me

[theriverpersonshadow]

Lamia Drama Part 10

DND PLANNING IS HERE AT LAST. >:D

I don’t think there’s anything impenetrable to non-DnD fans here... But here’s some basics on the classes anyways:

Monks are fast and good at fist to fist fighting, barbarians are tanky berserkers, sorcerers have inborn magic, druids have nature magic, clerics have god-granted magic, warlocks make pacts with patrons, fighters just got good with weapons and standard melee fighting.

Again, I’ll tag and link properly later, gotta go get foooood. But nothing majorly angsty anyways.

Previous Beginning Next

           Keith took a deep breath as everyone settled around the table, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. A mixture of excitement and nerves were bunched up inside his soul and he hoped Alex couldn’t feel it, though she seemed genuinely clueless so far. Either that, or a far better roleplayer than he anticipated. The tip of his tail was sweeping back and forth on the floor as he scratched lightly at the insides of his pockets, desperate to find some way to dissipate some of his energy. Still, he wasn’t going to start until everyone was settled in.

           It was a round table, easy to see everyone. Keith had offered Alex a spot on his left. Oozy was sitting on her left, then Nikolai, then Liam, then Hux, then Keith. Trousle had claimed the middle of the table.  

Most had already gotten their drinks ready, but Hux was buying some chips from the vending machine… Or rather, he was convincing Nikolai to buy him chips from the vending machine, given that he was the one who actually had a paycheck. Alex had bought herself a tea from the vending machine and Liam had prepared his “Health Potion” which was really just an extra-sour red cherry slushy. Also…

“I’ve brought you all some snacks, no need to thank me,” Liam said, plopping a Tupperware full of chocolate and peanut butter no-bake cookies on the table. He crossed his arms and smirked, head held high.

Alex did a double-take, looking at her bag, “When did you…?!”

Keith stifled a laugh, “Liam, no.” He was pretty sure Alex intended to share those anyways, and his own mouth was already watering, but still.

           “Liam yes!” Liam said, cackling dramatically.

           Hux already had a cookie in his mouth.

           Nikolai lightly swatted him, “Ask first…”

           “What,” Hux said through a mouthful of cookie. “They’re to share.”

           “I mean, yes… Go ahead, but not gonna lie, I’ll probably eat way too many by myself,” Alex said, grabbing a cookie.

           “See?” Hux said.

           Nikolai rolled his eyes and politely took one – he didn’t care much for sweets, but wouldn’t turn it down. He gave one of the smaller globs to Trousle, and Keith took that as a go-ahead. It practically melted in his mouth, cocoa and peanut butter melting into a sweet cream as the oats gave it just enough weight to count as solid matter. It was deliciously rich, not over-sweet, but still very much a dessert. He was tempted to reach for another, but maybe he should hold back…

           Well Alex has already gotten a plate and taken four, so no reason he can’t have another…

           “How did you do that by the way? I didn’t even hear the zipper,” Alex said, looking to Liam.

           “A great hunter never reveals his secrets~”    

           “He’s sneaky, you have to watch out for him,” Nikolai said. “But speaking of which, I was actually thinking of trying out a rogue…”

           “Daaaang. Playing against type?” Hux said. “Ain’t like you to be anything but a healer.”

           Nikolai shrugged, “I figured I’d give it a try.”

           “Respect,” Hux said. “That said, I’m making a Totem Barbarian.”

           Trousle rolled his eyes, “You never play anything else!”

           “It works, don’t it?”

           “It’s boring!”

           “I have to agree,” Liam said. “It’s like you’re just playing the same person every time…”

           Keith decided to cut in before this could get ugly, “Let him play what he wants.” If Hux wanted to play the same character with a name change, then let him. It’s a game, might as well have fun with it.

           “Thank you,” Hux said.

           “Alex, what’re you thinking?” Keith said.

           “I mean, I’ve got a lot of characters I could maybe use? Do you have a setting in mind, or…?”

           “Go nuts dude,” Keith said. “As long as it ain’t completely broken, I’m down for most things.”

           Alex’s face lit up. “In that case… Gimme a minute here.” She pulled a notebook from her bag and started scribbling furiously, making little bullet points, rambling in words, all sorts of things. It was a chaotic, disorganized mess, and Keith could absolutely feel the excitement pouring off of her, making it even harder to sit still. Apparently she felt the same, her foot was shaking a mile a minute, and any time she wasn’t writing, her pencil tapped against the page.

           Trousle slithered over, peaking at her notes, and Liam leaned over smiling like a cat with a canary. They were probably happy to have another roleplayer at the table.

           Hux, however, was glaring at Alex’s foot, “Can… can you not? Like, that’s kinda distracting.”

           “Hmm?” Alex said. “Ah… sorry. Which part?”

           “Stop shaking your damn foot.”

           Alex nodded, crossing her legs. Keith bit his tongue – it was a reasonable request, but he was tempted to hiss at Hux. He dug his claws into the insides of his hoodie instead, feeing the fabric catch and finding the little hole he’d worn in his left pocket. It didn’t feel like enough, he wanted to move, wanted to do something to let out some of this pent up energy – since when did he have this much anyways?

           Alex started rocking in her chair, making it clack as it hit the floor – it was off balance – and some of his anxiousness subsided as he listened to the steady rhythm of clacking.

           “… dude,” Hux said. “That’s not any better! That’s actively worse!”

           Keith was tempted to tell him to shove it up his ass, but thankfully Nikolai spoke first, “Just let her. No one else is bothered, are you?”

           “Nope,” Keith said.

           Trousle and Liam shook their heads.

           “Fine…”

           “Do you want me to do this somewhere else?” Alex said.

           “Yer fine,” Keith said. “Whatcha thinking about anyways?” Change the topic…

           She perked up a little at that, looking over her notes, “I was thinking maybe a warlock contracted out by the Fey? That seems kinda obvious though, so I figured, why does it have to be a warlock? I’ve already made a lot of those anyways.

           “So, like… Here’s another idea. Maybe my character got traded away as a kid? Like a changeling sort of thing! They’ve lived with the fey for a lot of their life, but didn’t have the magic they did since they’re just a normal human. But they’ve had some opportunity to learn since, y’know, they’ve lived in fae realms. I’m thinking maybe the magic infected them somehow and they ended up a wild magic sorcerer? Or maybe got CURSED and ended up a sorcerer! And maybe they’ll meet the person who replaced them one day, and they’re used to contracts and stuff, and, uh…

           “It’s still kind of rough. I put this together in, like, five minutes guys.”

           “I think I can work with this…” Liam purred. “I want to play the changeling that replaced her character in the mortal realm.”

           “OH THAT’S REALLY COOL!” Alex squealed, bouncing in her seat.

           “Dude, you can’t have all the fae abilities, y’know that, right?” Keith said. He tended towards rule of fun, but there still had to be SOME boundaries…

           “I’d be disappointed if you did! At least, not right off the bat. My character’s been raised as human and only knows of the mortal realm. Perhaps a fighter… With shades of sorcerer. We can work it out.”

           “I like it! I might change my class though, is that okay?” Alex said. “I’m not really sure which to use for this…”

           “Can I be a fairy companion? Maybe I was sent to watch over Liam’s character and that’s how he started finding out about his heritage? Or to protect him? Maybe he’s important!” Trousle said. “I can take healer and support! Maybe a cleric? Or a druid! Yeah! A druid!”

           Keith grinned, these guys were putting it all together themselves! “Y’know what, go for it!” This was practically writing itself…

           “In this case… I think I’ll play a rogue who specializes in shady political dealings. Particularly fey contracts,” Nikolai said.

           “Sounds perfect to me.”

           “I, uh… I work for Nikolai’s dude. Contracted barbarian, I guess,” Hux said. Roleplay was never his strong suit.

           Keith nodded, “I’ll get to drafting stuff…. And Oozy?”

           … Oozy yawned, waking up from a half-doze. “Hmm? Oh… sorry. Yeah, I made one while you guys were talking.” He slid a character sheet over.

           Keith raised the ridge of his eye-socket, “A gnome monk?”

           “Yep. It’s gonna be terrible.” He grinned, a twinkle in his eyes. “Or more accurately… A G’nome G’ninja.”

           “Pffft. Perfect,” Keith said.

           Looks like they had a campaign.

[lailoken]

The Coblynau

“Under the general title of Coblynau I class the fairies which haunt the mines, quarries and under- ground regions of Wales, corresponding to the cabalistic Gnomes. The word coblyn has the double meaning of knocker or thumper and sprite or fiend; and may it not be the original of goblin? It is applied by Welsh miners to pigmy fairies which dwell in the mines, and point out, by a peculiar knocking or rapping, rich veins of ore. The faith is extended, in some parts, so as to cover the indication of subterranean treasures generally, in caves and secret places of the mountains. The coblynau are described as being about half a yard in height and very ugly to look upon, but extremely good- natured, and warm friends of the miner. Their dress is a grotesque imitation of the miner's garb, and they carry tiny hammers, picks and lamps.

They work busily, loading ore in buckets, flitting about the shafts, turning tiny windlasses, and pounding away like madmen, but really accomplishing nothing whatever. throw stones at the miners, when enraged at being lightly spoken of; but the stones are harmless. Nevertheless, all miners of a proper spirit refrain from provoking them, because their presence brings good luck. They have been known to

Miners are possibly no more superstitious than other men of equal intelligence; I have heard some of their number repel indignantly the idea that they are superstitious at all; but this would simply be to raise them above the level of our common humanity. There is testimony enough, besides, to support my own conclusions, which accredit a liberal share of credulity to the mining class. The Oswestry Advertiser, a short time ago, recorded the fact that, at Cefn, 'a woman is employed as messenger at one of the collieries, and as she commences her duty early each morning she meets great numbers of colliers going to their work. Some of them, we are gravely assured, consider it a bad omen to meet a woman first thing in the morning; and not having succeeded in deterring her from her work by other means, they waited upon the manager and declared that they should remain at home unless the woman was dismissed.' This was in 1874. In June, 1878, the South Wales Daily News recorded a superstition of the quarrymen at Penrhyn, where some thousands of men refused to work on Ascension Day. This refusal did not arise out of any reverential feeling, but from an old and wide-spread superstition, which has lingered in that district for years, that if work is continued on Ascension Day an accident will certainly follow. A few years ago the agents persuaded the men to break through the superstition, and there were accidents each year-a not unlikely occurrence, seeing the extent of works carried on, and the dangerous nature of the occupation of the men. This year, however, the men, one and all, refused to work.' dealing with considerable numbers of the mining class, and are quoted in this instance as being more significant than individual cases would be. Of these last I have encountered many. Yet I should be sorry if any reader were to conclude from all this that Welsh miners are not in the main intelligent, church-going, newspaper-reading men. so, I think, even beyond the common. Their superstitions, therefore, like those of the rest of us, must be judged as 'a thing apart,' not to be reconciled with intelligence and education, but co-existing with them. Absolute freedom from superstition can come only with a degree of scientific culture not yet reached by mortal man.

It can hardly be cause for wonder that the miner should be superstitious. His life is passed in a dark and gloomy region, fathoms below the earth's green surface, surrounded by walls on which dim lamps shed a fitful light. It is not surprising that imagination (and the Welsh imagination is peculiarly vivid) should conjure up the faces and forms of gnomes and coblynau, of phantoms and fairy men. When they hear the mysterious thumping which they know is not produced by any human being, and when in examining the place where the noise was heard they find there are really valuable indications of ore, the sturdiest incredulity must sometimes be shaken. Science points out that the noise may be produced by the action of water upon the loose stones in fissures and pot-holes of the mountain limestone, and does actually suggest the presence of metals.

In the days before a Priestley had caught and bottled that demon which exists in the shape of carbonic acid gas, when the miner was smitten dead by an invisible foe in the deep bowels of the earth it was natural his awe-struck companions should ascribe the mysterious blow to a supernatural enemy. When the workman was assailed suddenly by what we now call fire-damp, which hurled him and his companions right and left upon the dark rocks, scorching, burning, and killing, those who survived were not likely to question the existence of the mine fiend. Hence arose the superstition—now probably quite extinct—of basilisks in the mines, which destroyed with their terrible gaze. When the explanation came, that the thing which killed the miner was what he breathed, not what he saw; and when chemistry took the fire-damp from the domain of faerie, the basilisk and the fire fiend had not a leg to stand on. The explanation of the Knockers is more recent, and less palpable and convincing.

The Coblynau are always given the form of dwarfs, in the popular fancy; wherever seen or heard, they are believed to have escaped from the mines or the secret regions of the mountains. Their homes are hidden from mortal vision. When encountered, either in the mines or on the mountains, they have strayed from their special abodes, which are as spectral as themselves. There is at least one account extant of their secret territory having been revealed to mortal eyes. I find it in a quaint volume (of which I shall have more to say), printed at Newport, Monmouthshire, in 1813. It relates that one William Evans, of Hafodafel, while crossing the Beacon Mountain very early in the morning, passed a fairy coal mine, where fairies were busily at work. Some were cutting the coal, some carrying it to fill the sacks, some raising the loads upon the horses' backs, and so on; but all in the completest silence. He thought this 'a wonderful extra natural thing,' and was considerably impressed by it, for well he knew that there really was no coal mine at that place. He was a person of undoubted veracity,' and what is more, 'a great man in the world-above telling an untruth.'

That the Coblynau sometimes wandered far from home, the same chronicler testifies; but on these occasions they were taking a holiday. Egbert Williams, 'a pious young gentleman of Denbigh- shire, then at school,' was one day playing in a field called Cae Caled, in the parish of Bodfari, with three girls, one of whom was his sister. Near the stile beyond Lanelwyd House they saw a company of fifteen or sixteen coblynau engaged in dancing madly. They were in the middle of the field, about seventy yards from the spectators, and they danced something after the manner of Morris-dancers, but with a wildness and swiftness in their motions. They were clothed in red like British soldiers, and wore red handkerchiefs spotted with yellow wound round their heads. And a strange circumstance about them was that although they were almost as big as ordinary men, yet they had unmistakably the appearance of dwarfs, and one could call them nothing but dwarfs. Presently one of them left the company and ran towards the group near the stile, who were direfully scared thereby, and scrambled in great fright to go over the stile. Barbara Jones got over first, then her sister, and as Egbert Williams was helping his sister over they saw the coblyn close upon them, and barely got over when his hairy hand was laid on the stile. He stood leaning on it, gazing after them as they ran, with a grim copper-coloured countenance and a fierce look. The young people ran to Lanelwyd House and called the elders out, but though they hurried quickly to the field the dwarfs had already disappeared.

The counterparts of the Coblynau are found in most mining countries. In Germany, the Wichtlein (little Wights) are little old long-bearded men, about three-quarters of an ell high, which haunt the mines of the southern land. The Bohemians call the Wichtlein by the name of Haus-schmiedlein, little House-smiths, from their sometimes making a noise as if labouring hard at the anvil. They are not so popular as in Wales, however, as they predict misfortune or death. They announce the doom of a miner by knocking three times distinctly, and when any lesser evil is about to befall him they are heard digging, pounding, and imitating other kinds of work. In Germany also the kobolds are rather troublesome than otherwise, to the miners, taking pleasure in frustrating their objects, and rendering their toil unfruitful. Sometimes they are down- right malignant, especially if neglected or insulted, but sometimes also they are indulgent to individuals whom they take under their protection. ‘When a miner therefore hit upon a rich vein of ore, the inference commonly was not that he possessed more skill, industry, or even luck than his fellow-workmen, but that the spirits of the mine had directed him to the treasure.'

The intimate connection between mine fairies and the whole race of dwarfs is constantly met through- out the fairy mythology; and the connection of the dwarfs with the mountains is equally universal. God,' says the preface to the Heldenbuch, 'gave the dwarfs being, because the land and the mountains were altogether waste and uncultivated, and there was much store of silver and gold and precious stones and pearls still in the mountains.' From the most ancient times, and in the oldest countries, down to our own time and the new world of America, the traditions are the same. The old Norse belief which made the dwarfs the current machinery of the northern Sagas is echoed in the Catskill Mountains with the rolling of the thunder among the crags where Hendrik Hudson's dwarfs are playing ninepins.”

-

British Goblins

Wirt Sikes, 1880

[drowning-in-dennor]

In The Moonlit Garden

Maren and Linnea go on their first-ever date. [Written for day two of @dennorweek with the prompt of “first kiss”. I was projecting hard, so prepare for some useless teenaged Sapphics.]

  "How do I look?" Linnea asks for what feels like the millionth time.

  "Oh my gosh, you look fine." Otilia waves her hand dismissively. "You don't have to freak out over your hair and your dress and your face and who knows what else. Seriously, you're probably going to pass out from worrying before Maren even gets here."

  She pats down her hair again and looks in the mirror, at the blemishes she's not allowed to hide yet. "Are you sure I shouldn't put on makeup? I heard that Fleur Bonnefoy put makeup on for her first date."

  "The last thing you should do in preparation for your date is take Fleur's example." Elizabeth grabs her friend's shoulders and sits her down firmly. "She practically cleaned her partner’s mouth with her tongue on her first date, are you going to do that, too?"

  Otilia mimes gagging. "You didn't have to describe it like that."

  "I'm bringing my phone, both wet and dry tissues and a pocket mirror," Linnea says, looking into her purse. "Is that enough? Should I bring along some alcohol wipes, or - "

  "Why would you need alcohol wipes!?"

  "In case one of us gets hurt, Liza. You never know what will happen."

  Elizabeth pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Linn, for goodness' sake, it's a first date. You're not going to go rock-climbing or something. Maybe Maren will just take you out for dinner, then to the park, then you'll go home without a scratch."

  She wrings her hands. "Maybe you're right."

  "She is right." Otilia places her hands on her hips. "You're going to be fine. Just be yourself, have fun and don't come back with STIs."

  "Lia!"

  "All right, all right. Good luck," Otilia laughs. "Tomorrow morning, you have to tell us all about it. You're the first girl in the entire year who's in a relationship, after all. I think our whole class will be dying to know what happened."

  Linnea takes a deep breath and checks her phone. Maren will be due to arrive in two minutes. She grabs the present she prepared for her, smooths her skirt down one last time and stands up to wait by the door.

  The doorbell rings a minute later, and Otilia gives her a thumbs-up from the sofa. "She's punctual. That's a good thing."

  She opens the door and is faced with Maren, breathtaking in a deep crimson strapless dress. She's not wearing any makeup either, which relieves Linnea, and her hands are clasped behind her back. "Hey!" She greets.

  For a moment, while looking into her best friend's - no, now her girlfriend's - eyes, Linnea forgets how to talk. She finds her voice a few seconds later, and squeezing her purse like a lifeline, murmurs, "hi." Her voice cracks a little.

  "You look great!" Maren smiles, the same smile that's both infuriated and enchanted her for as long as she can remember, and her nerves melt away. "Do you need a few more minutes, or...?"

  Oh, goodness, she's perfect. Linnea resists the urge to fan her cheeks and shakes her head, stepping out of Elizabeth's house and onto the porch. Her legs are shaking so bad the vibrations alone can probably knock over all the creepy gnomes the Kirklands keep on their porch. She closes the door behind her hand hands Maren the box in her hands. "I made you cookies." Her voice cracks again. 

  Maren takes the box. "Aww, thanks! The stuff you bake is always the best." She brings her hands to the front, revealing a small bouquet of heathers - one of her favourite flowers. "I got you something, too."

  She takes the bouquet and touches the soft blue petals. Linnea inhales their scent, letting herself enjoy it for a moment before Maren shrieks. She nearly drops the bundle. "What is it?"

  "Wasp!" Former confidence all but gone, Maren jumps off the porch (it's an impressive leap) and bats at the air. "Watch out, don't let it sting you!"

  Once the offending wasp has been chased away, Linnea, holding the bouquet, follows Maren away from the house and to their destination. In the middle of their journey, she jolts at the feeling of Maren's hand brushing hers, and, at the invitation, takes her hand.  

  A few minutes later, they reach a garden away from the city, its worn iron gates open and revealing a paradise of glossy-leafed trees, perfectly-trimmed bushes and a rainbow of flowers. The two of them walk in hand in hand, and Maren leads her over to a bench, its legs half-hidden by a thick patch of twinflowers. She pulls a small basket out from under the bench with a smile. "I'm nowhere near as good as you when it comes to cooking, but I hope it's fine."

  The basket holds an assortment of buns, a salad and two dainty cups of chocolate mousse. Linnea lets Maren lay out the food on the bench before remarking, "that looks amazing." Her heart's no longer pounding with nerves, but for some stupid reason she wants to smile widely. She pinches herself to try and keep her emotions under control as she picks up a bun and starts to eat.

  The simple dinner is gone quickly, and her date quickly stows the empty plates and cutlery back into the basket. "I've always wondered," she muses, "if we'll do anything crazy in the future, so crazy that one day people will be all like, 'hey, remember those two girls who burned down a whole garden?'. Then they'll think about all the things we did."

  Linnea blinks. "Are we going to commit arson for our first date?"

  Maren's eyes widen. "No! No, we're not going to burn this place down. That wasn't what I meant. I was thinking that maybe we could leave our mark here, so people will see it and remember us. But we'll leave our mark in a way that ,uh, doesn't involve arson, of course."

  It's actually a really good idea. Linnea takes the chance to be bold and shift a little closer to Maren. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Well, some couples like carving their names into trees." Maren pulls a pocketknife out of the basket. "But that's bad for the environment, so I was thinking that maybe we could carve them into this bench instead."

  She's having trouble finding the words to reply. Linnea finally decides on saying, "but I don't know how to carve stuff."

  "I do!" Maren jumps off the bench and bends down in front of the bench, pressing the tip of her knife against the stone. "We don't have to write our full names, maybe just our initials. And the date, too."

  Linnea watches as Maren carves away, digging her pocketknife into the bench and etching out rough and shallow letters. A while later, she catches the letters: "M.D. x L.D." and the date, "28/3" next to it. "I think that'll last for a long time," she says.

  "Long enough that people who come to this garden a hundred years later will know who we are." Maren picks up the remains of her pocketknife, the tip of which has broken off, and sits back down. She takes Linnea's hand and entwines their fingers together. The sky is fully dark now, and the sound of crickets fills the air. The garden is lit by a solitary lamp, its light casting an eerie glow around the plants. 

  All of a sudden, Maren bends down. Linnea prods her, asking, "what are you doing?"

  She comes up with a handful of twinflowers, their delicate pink petals awash in gold from the lamplight. "I know you like these flowers, so I was wondering if, uh..."

  "If what?" Linnea's heart skips a beat.

  "IfIcouldweavethemintoyourhair," Maren blurts out, so quickly that she can barely hear what she said. "But only if you want to."

  Gah, she's definitely blushing now. Linnea turns around so that her back is facing her date and nods. Soft fingers run through her hair and weave the delicate flowers into her locks, working quickly. Linnea can't help closing her eyes; she's always loved it when Maren played with her hair. 

  Maren prompts her to turn around, and she takes out the pocket mirror from her purse to take a look. A chain of twinflowers is woven across her head like a flower crown. This time she doesn't stop herself from smiling. "Thank you, Maren."

  "It's the least I could do." She stands up checks her phone. Linnea does the same; it's getting late. "Should we head home now?"

  She stands up, too, their entwined hands swinging between them. "We've got class tomorrow, after all."

  The walk back home is tranquil, there being only a few people on the streets apart from them, and the city lights blinking at them in place of stars. Maren holds Linnea's hand all the way until they reach her apartment complex. "I had fun," she says, squeezing her hand. "And I wouldn't mind going on another date with you."

  "That sounds great." She risks another step towards her. They're close; so close their noses are almost touching.

  "I hope you enjoyed it, too." Maren shifts closer, too, and presses their foreheads together. The action feels so strangely grown-up. 

  "I did." Her voice has stopped cracking, thank goodness. Linnea stands on tiptoes, so she's almost her date's height, and sways a little. "I can't wait for our next date."

  Then it happens. Maren leans forward, just a little, and presses her lips against Linnea's, squeezing her hand again as she does so. Linnea kisses back, or she tries to - she hasn't the faintest clue how kissing people works. Maren's lips taste like the chocolate mousse they had in the garden.

  When they pull away, Maren is blushing. She tries for a smile. "Goodnight."

  "Goodnight," Linnea echoes.

  "I - I love you." 

  Linnea, feeling a sudden burst of confidence, leans in to peck Maren on the cheek. "I love you too." She smiles again, feeling butterflies in her stomach, and lets go of her hand. "I'll be going, now."

  Maren holds the door as she walks in. As she ascends the lift to her apartment, Linnea whispers those four words again. 

  "I love you too."

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

in too deep (part 2) - jules

jules x reader

warnings: drug use, very very slight violence, that’s pretty much it

notes: this is LOOOONNNGG probably the longest thing i’ve written,, ever and i apologize!! there was nowhere satisfying to stop in between the markers i’ve set in my mind for these chapters without creating two unsatisfyingly short chapters instead of one satisfying long one

***********

“fuckin’ score!” you squealed as jules let you down from the garage window. “now we just gotta get in there.”

you walked along the path towards the front door, rolling your eyes at the stereotypical garden gnomes with their happy painted faces.

jules held the crowbar towards you. “need this?”

“babe, please. we’re not barbarians,” you pulled out a paper clip from your jacket pocket, unfolding it and maneuvering it into the lock. you heard a familiar metallic tapping noise, prompting you to scold your girlfriend. “jules, please stop fucking with that, it’s gonna wreck your enamel.”

she mumbled an apology and you heard the lock click successfully. “yes! yes, i fucking got it!”

“you did it baby! you’re so fucking good!” jules kisses all over your cheek and jaw, pulling you in for a smooch on the lips. you wanted to lose yourself in her touch, but you remembered time was of the essence if you wanted to get the fuck out of here.

you yanked on the handle, but to your surprise, the door remained shut. “what the- it’s fucking dead bolted. who the fuck deadbolts their door? this is a great neighborhood!”

“take this,” jules thrusted the crowbar into your hands, watching as you pried the thing open, the wood splintering to the ground.

the both of you entered the home cautiously, peeking around corners as you held the gun up in self defense. jules headed into the kitchen, searching for a likely spot for some car keys. you surveyed the dining room, finding that nothing particularly stuck out to you during your search. 

  “find anything?” you asked your girlfriend. she shook her head no, eyeing around suspiciously before casting her gaze on the bowl of fruit perched perfectly on the countertop. 

  “it’s fake.” she stated seriously. you fought the urge to smile at her goofiness, choosing to nod affirmingly before heading upstairs. you rifled through countless dresser drawers, hoping to come across a set of goddamn keys. you came across an old video camera that appeared to be from 2004, but upon further inspection, the battery seemed to be dead. you tossed it over your shoulder, hearing the equipment land with a thud on the carpeting behind you. 

you unceremoniously plopped down on the couch next to jules, leaning back with a heavy sigh. “nothing?”

  “yo tengo nada.” she mumbled before stuffing a heaping spoonful of cereal into her mouth. you glanced down at her sour expression. 

  “stale?” you queried. “stale.” she affirmed, spitting the sugary wheat back into the bowl and tossing it over her shoulder. 

  “okay, time to think. no keys, so we gotta come up with something else.” you suggested, slinging an arm over her shoulders. 

  “it might help if we have a creative boost, you know?” she smirked, placing the bag onto your lap. a devilish grin made its way onto your face as you kissed the corner of her mouth.

  “mmm, i like the way you think, babygirl,” you took out a vial of coke and a credit card, dividing the substance up into lines on the back of some travel guide on the coffee table that looked like it was from the 70s. jules ripped a page out of another magazine and rolled it up into a tube. she went first and you followed, snorting a line as an idea popped into your head. 

  “gas! we’ll siphon the gas!” you shouted, turning towards your girlfriend to see what she thought. 

  “what? oh, that’s great, baby!” she leaned in for another kiss, but you were already up and pacing the living room floor. 

  “yeah, yeah, that’ll work. we just need, like, a gas can or something to put it in, and then we can put it back in the car!” you grinned, looking to jules for some input. 

  “yes! we don’t even need that much, we can just- fuck, you’re so fuckin’ smart, baby!” she slammed you into the wall, furiously smashing her lips to yours as she reached into your back pocket to grope your ass. 

  “mmmph! wait, baby- wai- we c-can’t do this now,” you managed between moans.

“what, you don’t want it?” she pouted, pulling away from you.

“no! fuck no! you know i want it, you know i fuckin’ wanna fuck all over this place, but we have to get back to the car before it gets towed or something.” you reasoned, pulling her hands back into yours.

“you’re right, i’m so sorry, baby.” she averted her gaze towards the ground, picking at her nails nervously.

“don’t ever apologize for that shit. that’s love.” you smiled, cheeks turning pink when she smiled back at you. you pressed your lips to hers, savoring her taste as you kissed her slowly.

you decided to head into the basement to find a hose and, after a debate over who should go down first, jules bravely headed down into the darkness. the two of you split up, figuring you could cover more ground separately. she crept up behind you, groaning when you jolted and shifted the beam of your flashlight into her eyes.

“there’s nothing down here. come on, babe,” she moved from your field of vision, the flashlight suddenly casting on a little girl chained to a pipe, her sudden presence making you scream.

“what?” jules turned around, practically jumping out of her skin when she saw the child.

“w-what the fuck?” you exclaimed. “what the fuck?” you asked her if she was alright, but she stayed silent, looking at the two of you as if she’d just seen you flush her pet fish down the toilet.

“y/n, we have to get her out of here,” jules stated firmly. “look at the lock, can you pick it?”

“can i pick it? baby, that fucker’s industrial. not gonna happen.” you crossed your arms. “and besides, we don’t know where her parents are, or why she’s chained up in the fucking basement! that’s a huge fucking red flag, julie! i mean, this- this is practically a red flag factory!”

“baby, i love you, but there’s no fucking way i’m leaving if that little girl isn’t coming with us. can you figure out some way to get the chain off her? pretty please?” she begged.

you tapped your foot anxiously, eyes darting around the open space in the basement. you sighed, looking back at her pleading expression. “fuck you, and fuck those goddamn puppy eyes of yours.”

her face brightened, clinging to your side and pressing kisses to your cheeks lovingly.

“okay, the chain is connected to the pipe, so we don’t have to pick the lock, we can just cut the pipe. we just need a saw of some kind.” you looked over to her.

  “that’s my girl,” she grinned widely. “it doesn’t really look like there’s any tools down here. maybe a knife would work?”

you headed up to the kitchen, rifling through drawers and drawers of utensils. you quickly grew frustrated with the lack of anything sharp in this seemingly childproof home. “butter knives! just fucking butter knives! what, do these people not eat steak?” you growled in irritation. you looked over to jules who had a shocked expression on her face as she stared at something behind you. you spun around to see a couple standing there, a baby in the woman’s arms. 

you grabbed the nearest object, which turned out to be a meat tenderizer and held it threateningly towards the intruders. the man took a step forwards, triggering your protective instinct as you aimed the gun at him. 

he held his hands up in defense, backing away from you. “alright, easy now. we don’t want any trouble. take what you want; money, jewelry, whatever you’re looking for just take and go on your way.”

  “we don’t want your money.” you stepped towards them, standing in front of jules and trying to assert your dominance. 

  “you can have the mallet if you’re keen on it.” the man assured. you shook your head, tossing it to the floor with a metallic clang. “is this your house?” the man nodded. “you live here full time? this isn’t a rental situation?”

  “no it is not. what exactly is going on here?” he asked curiously. against her better judgement, jules stepped out from behind me, her brows furrowed. 

  “okay then. we wanna know why the fuck you have a little girl chained up in your basement, that’s what we wanna know.” she shouted, crossing her arms aggressively. “tell em’, babe.”

  “y-yeah, what the fuck?” you gestured towards them with the gun in confusion. you wanted to look over to your girlfriend, but you didn’t want to take your eyes off the suspicious couple. 

  “oh lord, and here i thought you were gonna rob us,” the man laughed in relief. “that’s just sweetiepie. she’s been acting out at school, that’s just what we do to discipline he-”

  “chaining a child to the floor is no way of disciplining her! we’re getting her the fuck out of here and taking her somewhere safe!” jules cut in, fiery with passion. 

the man’s wife joined the conversation, shouting something about coming in uninvited and kidnapping her daughter before her husband calmed her down. “no! don’t you dare take her away from us! i won’t have that poor girl subjected to your sinful lifestyle!”

“watch your fuckin’ mouth, lady!” jules pointed at her angrily.

you and george pulled your partners away from each other, calming them down before continuing to speak. “listen, we have a second car in the garage. and if for one reason or another, that second car were to go missing, we might not report that incident for some time. but if you were to take my daughter with you, you’d be forcing my hand to call the police in a much more timely manner.”

your shoulders sagged, looking over to jules as she stood strong. you admired her for her ability to never take shit from anyone. 

  “you can’t stand here and tell me you don’t wish you never went down those stairs.” he was right and he knew it. you were stuck between a rock and a hard place, so you decided to do what you did best: break the tension.

  “i just realized nobody knows each other’s names here. i’ll start. i’m y/n, and this beautiful thing is my girl jules.” you exhaled through your nose. you turned to see jules looking pissed off, whether at you for opening your mouth or the situation. 

  “i’m sorry, i can’t believe we haven’t introduced ourselves! i’m george, and this here’s my wife, gloria.” george proudly announced, tossing an arm over gloria’s shoulder. 

  “nice to meet you, george and gloria. now that we all know each other, let me tell you something.” your face fell serious. “we’re taking that girl and you’re not saying shit to the police. you wanna know why you won’t say shit? because you’re fucking psychopaths with a little girl chained up in your basement! and there’s no way you can call the police without risking them finding out about the fact that you’re fucking psychopaths with a little girl chained up in their basement!”

you watched as they shifted uncomfortably, feeling pride in your words against them. you spared a glance towards jules, grinning inside when you saw the proud look on her face. 

  “get the fucking keys, george.”

you found yourselves in the basement, watching george’s every move as he unlocked the girl. jules stood a few feet behind you, pinning gloria’s arms to her back.

  “you’re free, come here!” she didn’t move. “chains are off dude, let’s get the fuck outta here!” 

the girl clung to george’s leg in fear, causing a prideful grin to appear on the man’s face. 

  “you can come with us now! we’ll have fun, we can find you a great family. hey, we could even get burgers and ice cream, how does that sound? have you ever even had a burger?” you joked. 

you placed a hand on her shoulder but she turned and bit it, making you squeal and jump back from her. george took this opportunity to slam his head into yours with such brute force that you blacked out on impact as you fell to the ground, the gun clattering out of your grasp. 

jules’ muffled voice frantically screaming your name was the last thing you heard before you fell completely unconscious. 

**************

i had to make a few changes, some for creative purposes, some just bc i felt like it

and yES i CUT OUT THE SCENE WHERE THEY READ EACH OTHER IM SORRY IT WAS GETTING LONGER AND LONGER AND STRESSING ME TF OUT

also i don’t like how long this is writing things this long stresses me out and as i’m typing this at 7:24 i realize this was supposed to be out 8 hours ago

also also for my taglist, i’m adding people who either liked or reblogged, but feel free to message me if you do/don’t want to be tagged!!

tags: @emmyrosee @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @willyourecognisemee​

[ectoplasmicbutton]

Ghostly Mysteries- Chapter 1

The sun shines down upon the forest of a small town, the birds sing happily and peaceful silence ruffles through the air. Soft footsteps of creatures known and unknown press through the grass and undergrowth, happily hidden away from curious eyes.

A loud groan interrupts the peace of the forest, followed by stomping feet as a set of twins push their way through the shrubbery.

“Blenngggghhhh... Dipper! How much longer do we have to stay out here? It’s hot!” The girl, Mable, complained to her brother, her pink dolphin sweater drenched in sweat.

Her brother, known as Dipper, didn’t even look up from the journal he was holding, “Well, maybe if you didn’t wear three-inch thick sweaters everyday in the middle of summer, you wouldn’t be so hot.”

Mable glared at the back of his head, “They’re not three inches! They’re 2.67, thank you very much. Besides, these are my summer edition sweaters! My sumweaters, if you will.”

“Your sumweaters are going to give you heat stroke.”

“Well, if you keep that attitude up it might just happen!”

“It won’t be a karma thing, Mabel,” Dipper retorts, finally looking from the journal to his sister, “Besides, I know theres something out here. I saw it!”

Mabel rolls her eyes, “I’m not sayin’ you didn’t see anything, but we see something everyday! It’s probably just gnomes or somethin’.” Nevertheless, she takes off her sweater and ties it around her waist, knowing they’re not going to be leaving the heat anytime soon.

Dipper turns back to his journal and ducks under a fallen tree, “Yeah but... I know this is different. I can feel it.” He flips slowly through the old pages of the book as Mable opts to go over the log instead of following her brother’s steps of going underneath.

Dipper heads deeper into the forest, pushing away more branches and leaves as he does so. He’s so focused on his journal that he fails to process Mable’s sharp gasp and small tap. It’s only when she starts furiously poking his arm that he looks up and glares.

“Wha-?!” His mouth is covered and he notices the look on his sisters face, expression softening and following the line her finger made towards a lump of... something next to a tree. Mable removes her hand as the twins slowly approach.

The closer they get, the more they can see. A head of black hair, blue jeans, a white t-shirt, pale skin... but something isn’t right. Dipper strains his eyes until the figure shifts, visibly contorting in pain even as it seems asleep. That’s when Dipper and Mable get a proper look at him.

The figure is a human boy, probably a teenager, and he was covered in blood.

————————————

Needless to say, Danny Fenton was absolutely not having a good week so far.

Sure, it started fine; school was out and he was spending time with his friends at the mall before, naturally, his ghost sense went off. It turned out to just be the box ghost, so he told his friends to keep going, that he‘s going to be fine, that they should have fun and he’ll join them in a bit.

That was two days ago.

Now, he was helping his giant, on-the-run-from-the-ghost-police dog friend, Wulf, with being on the run from the ghost police. Wulf had met up with him after he had trapped the box ghost in his “cruel cylindrical container”, explaining (rather slowly so Danny could understand) that Walker had found them. Of course, what Wulf had failed to explain was that Walker and his endless army of guards were two minutes behind Wulf, and had appeared through the last portal that he had opened.

Without the time to tell his friends, Danny climbed onto Wulf’s back as he sliced a new portal to the Ghost Zone into existence. They leaped through, followed by the Warden and a handful of the guards. They’d been jumping in and out of portals to get away, but around the seventh one, a guard had gotten lucky and thrown a spear, which had landed its mark.

Into Danny’s side.

White, blinding pain hit Danny as the spear sunk into his skin. Ectoplasm, with a tint of blood, erupted from the wound and soaked through the rubbery material of his hazmat suit. Wulf, who had seen what happened, slashed a portal into existence and quickly dived through. Danny’s vision was gaining spots, but he fought to stay awake. Wulf was landing in a forest, speaking in fast Esperanto with only a few words that Danny had heard and understood. He blinked for what he thought was a moment, but when he opened his eyes again he was on the floor and surrounded by grass. Wulf was leaning over him, ghostly black fur blocking out the blinding sun. He looked concerned, speaking in the few English he knew, “Stay here, be back. Stay quiet.”

It took everything Danny had to not let out a scream when Wulf tried, and failed, to take the spear out carefully. The dog-like ghost had then set Danny against a nearby tree, telling him again to “stay here” before launching off into the sky and opening a portal to lure the guards away from Danny.

The last thing Danny saw was the portal closing.

The last thing Danny felt was dread.

—————————

Dipper didn’t know what to make of the bloodied teenager they had decided to drag back to their home. It was questionable, sure, and sketchy, no doubt, but he looked like he needed help! Besides, questioning him when he woke up probably wouldn’t hurt, right?

They had found that the blood came from a wound on his right side, which was deep and, judging from the clean edges, looked like it was cut by some sort of blade (all thanks to the hours Dipper spent reading mystery novels). Mabel didn’t see a problem with using her sweater as something to help stop the bleeding, so thats what they did. Dipper grabbed his left arm, Mabel on his right, and they started their trek back to the Mystery Shack carrying a stabbed stranger they found in the woods with a pink dolphin sweater tied on his waist.

When they finally arrived (Mabel kicking the door open and shouting “medic!”), Soos took one look at them before dropping his broom and making all three of the current tourists leave the building. Wendy, who was definitely NOT napping by the register, leapt into action, “What happened?!” She asked, alarmed by the sight of the body.

“We don’t know!”

“It wasn’t us, I swear!”

Wendy disappeared into the kitchen to get the first aid kit while the twins set the teen on the table Soos had cleared off. The movement must’ve finally jostled the teen into stirring awake, because thats exactly what happened. His eyes fluttered open, slowly and squinting at the light, but they were open nonetheless.

Suddenly, he shot up. No one in the room expected any movement from him in his current state, so they all leaped away. It appeared that he also regretted the movement, seeing as the teens whole body contorted and he let out a silent yell. He fell back to the table, glaring at everyone in the room.

“Where am I?” He questioned, a hand on his wound.

Dipper stepped up, “You’re in the Mystery Shack. We brought you back because you were hurt in the woods! Well, I mean you’re still hurt and not much has changed but you’re awake now so-“

He was interrupted by Wendy entering the room again with a large first aid kit. She saw that the boy was awake, so she tried to appear as calm as possible as to not startle him, “Hey, so like you’re hurt and we can try to answer all your questions while I clean you up. What’s your name?”

The teen glanced at everyone in the room,

“You tell me all of yours first.” His voice was raspy, but light.

The redhead nodded, “Fair enough. I’m Wendy, this is Soos-“ The janitor waved, looking slightly pale from the sight of blood but still trying to appear as friendly as possible. “-Mable-“ “Hi! You’re wearing my sumweater!” “-and Dipper.”

The younger boy tipped his hat with what he hoped was a friendly manner, but one could never be sure.

“If you see an old man around here demanding for money, thats Grunkle Stan,” Wendy explained, gathering things from the first aid kit, “I’m going to lift up your shirt a bit to clean out your wound, if thats alright?”

When the teen gave a small nod, Wendy immediately got to work. He sat calmly, wincing only once or twice even when Wendy put the rubbing alcohol on to clean it.

“Wow Wendy,” Mable exclaimed, “I didn’t know you were a doctor!”

“My mom taught me this kinda stuff when I was little. We were always active little kids, y’know?”

“Hey,” Dipper cut in, “you never gave us your name.”

The teen looked away from the ceiling and to the group he saw around the table, “Uh-Danny. My name is Danny Fenton. Do you mind telling me where I am again?”

“The Mystery Shack,” Dipper responded, “It’s in Gravity Falls, Oregon.

The boy-Danny-bit his lip. He seemed stressed.

“Where are you from, Danny?” Mable asked.

If there was one thing Danny could do, it was string up a lie on the spot, “I’m from Amity Park, Illinois. We decided to take a road trip, we must’ve passed through here.” Technically, it wasn’t ALL a lie. They (being Danny and Wulf) decide to go on a trip through multiple places, it just wasn’t by choice.

“Okay, and how did you get that?” Dipper asked, pointing to the wound that Wendy was now bandaging up.

Danny glanced at him, then to the bandages, “I fell. Hit a sharp rock, then hit my head on something... next thing I know, I’m here.”

Even as Mable, Soos, and Wendy continued making small conversation with the teenager on the table, Dipper could tell something wasn’t right. He was lying. He was hiding something, and Dipper was going to get to the bottom of it.————————

end chapt 1!

[rollforpersuasion]

The idiots go to Saltmarsh

Three idiots and their only sane friend have begun the Ghosts of Saltmarsh campaign. This blog will share the results of that fateful journey. 

Sept. 16

Cleis Elwing, a half-elf sorcerer, was on the run. And she’s broke. Worse than that, she’s sober. 

When she walked into this shoddy port town fingering the meager handful of gold pieces that jingled in her pouch her only thought was to quench her thirst with a frothy ale at the local tavern. The ale was dark and sweet and for a moment Cleis was at peace. 

A lilting voice, slightly slurred, called her name from the shadows. 

Shit.

Immediately Cleis’ left hand lifted to smooth the back of her hair down over her neck. It hung in a thick wall over her back, not an inch of skin was visible. 

Feeling the tension in her shoulders incrementally drop upon discovering it was still firmly in place Cleis turned and peered into the corner. She was greeted not by a Bloodsworn, but rather a smiling face. And a honk. Len waved the brooding pirate over to her table and ordered them both another pint. Her pet feral goose nipped at her boots in greeting and then turned to rest her neck across Len’s feet. As the hours passed they regaled each other with old stories of conquests and adventures before Len leaned in and whispered that she was headed on another voyage that was sure to fill her pockets with gold. 

There was a ship headed to Saltmarsh. From there there was work, though the exact details of said work remained undescribed. She invited her along. Cleis trusted no one, but the temptation of refilling her near empty pouch was one she was too desperate to resist.

The next morning she was strolling toward the lowered gangplank of the Sharkfin when a heavy burst of wind whipped her hair into her face. There was a thud and when she glanced toward the noise she saw an elven woman with auburn skin and copper leaves dangling from vines in her bright orange hair. At her feet was a large sack that had obviously fallen from her grasp. But she wasn’t interested in the least in her dropped luggage. Instead her eyes were fixed firmly on Cleis, a gleeful gleam in them that set the pirate on edge. 

Muttering under her breath Cleis quickly ran her fingers through her wild hair, putting it in place once more before sauntering onto the waiting ship. 

Len was chatting with another human warlock, Talia, below deck and smiled when she saw Cleis toss her satchel onto a bunk. Len’s goose was picking at its feathers at her feet and honked when Cleis settled in. Calls from above indicated the crew was preparing to sail when suddenly the door was thrown open once more. There, panting and clutching a notebook, was the mysterious elf. 

“Ah ha!” she exclaimed. “I’d worried I’d lost you.”

Glancing around the elf, who upon closer inspection Cleis realized with surprise was an Eladrin, assessed the cabin before striding forward and tossing her bag onto the bunk directly beside where Cleis was sitting. 

“Do you know her?” Len asked, eyeing the newcomer with barely concealed suspicion. 

“Not at all,” Cleis replied before rummaging around in her satchel for a half empty bottle of wine. 

When she pried the cork off with her teeth she heard the rapid scratching of a quill on paper. The Eladrin was enthusiastically writing something down in its notebook and Cleis had the uncomfortable suspicion it was about her. 

“Well? Who are you then?” Len asked. 

The woman continued to write, though the jagged strokes implied perhaps she was now sketching something instead. 

After an uncomfortable silence she glanced up, brow furrowed to find the trio all staring in annoyance. 

“Oh! Were you speaking to me? How interesting. I am Illyria. And who, might I ask, are you?”

“The name’s Len, this is Talia and we —”

“Yes, yes, wonderful,” Illyria interrupted. Her gaze was once more firmly fixed on Cleis. “And you strange half-elf?”

Len scoffed in annoyance at being interrupted and turned a mocking gaze on Cleis as if also eagerly awaiting a response. 

“Cleis.”

“Fascinating, yes fascinating.” Illyria scribbled a few more notes.

Len raised a brow before turning and continuing her conversation with Talia. The wine slowly drained and the gentle rocking of the ship in the waves began to lull her to sleep. With a sigh she stopped the bottle once more and turned lay on the rough cot.

“Wake me when we’re close will you Len?”

Len waved her hand in agreement as she stretched to get herself ready for a quick slumber. 

“Close to where?” Illyria asked. She’d silently been watching the trio for the past few hours, only speaking to ask Cleis several far too personal questions that the pirate repeatedly ignored. The new inquiry caused them all to freeze. 

“Saltmarsh,” Talia carefully replied. “As in the port this vessel is headed?”

“Oh,” Illyria said. “I was wondering where we were going. How intriguing.”

Cleis frowned, but rolled over, choosing to not offer the elf any other barbs she could write in her mysterious notepad. In moments she had drifted off into a fitful slumber. 

Hours later, long after the moon had climbed into the heavens Talia tossed in her sleep, a frown carved into her no longer peaceful face. She dreamt that she was walking on the ocean in the pitch darkness of night. In the distance there was a flashing light and a low rumble of thunder echoed in her ears. The noise grew louder and louder as the storm approached. A deep voice echoed across the now writhing water, “Arise.” Her frown deepened. 

“Arise!” the voice rang out again. The storm was surrounding her. A cloud rose in the distance, stretching far above the surface of the wrathful sea. Lightning flashed again. No, it wasn’t a cloud, but a creature seemingly built from the depths of the ocean itself. 

“Wake up,” the voice demanded once more. 

A gnome bursts into the cabin, screaming at the passengers to wake.

TBC.

[harrisonstories]

Above and below: George Harrison and Sir Jackie Stewart at the Gunnar Nilsson Memorial Trophy meeting in Donington Park, England, Middle: George driving the Lotus 18 at the same event (3 June 1979)

NOTE: This is a rather long but refreshing read about a side of George’s life which doesn’t get talked about much. Here is an interview George and Jackie did at the Gunnar Nilsson Memorial Trophy. 

A Beatle’s new mania

George Harrison, former lead guitarist with the legendary Beatles pop music group, talks to Chris Hockley about his passion for Formula 1, fast cars and a private life

IT’S PUZZLING in a way why George Harrison has such a fervent passion for fast cars and motor racing. For since the mind-boggling days of the Swinging ‘Sixties, when as one of The Beatles he was swept towards super-stardom and super-richness on a tidal wave of hysteria, the pace of his life has slowed to a virtual crawl.

Gone are the days when he had to make a run for it through thousands of screaming pop fans. Today, you are more likely to find him in his wellies, gently pushing a wheelbarrow towards carefully-tended flower beds in the vast grounds of his palatial country mansion.

Gone are the days when he lived out of a suitcase and wasn’t sure if he was in London, New York, Tokyo or Cloud Cuckoo Land. Today, he meditates silently for hours in his own temple.

Gone are the days when girls scratched each other’s eyes out as they fought to touch a fragment of his clothing. Today, he is happier to stay at home with his wife Olivia and their 10 month-old son, Dhani.

Yet there is still one public side to the private Mr. Harrison. For as well as being one of the world’s most famous pop stars, he has gradually become the world’s most famous motor racing fan.

“I’m getting too well known at motor races now,” he grins – as he is beseiged by a swarm of autograph hunters who have just rushed past Mario Andretti. “It was my hobby, now it’s getting like work again.”

George’s lean and craggy features are a frequent sight at Grand Prix meetings around the globe. His name is enough to ensure him VIP treatment, but he reckons he repays all the behind-the-scenes privileges he enjoys by attracting publicity for the sport.

Though he is often to be seen in the midst of a cluster of photographers, he does not go out of his way to court glamour. Harrison goes motor racing to see and not be seen.

He has been a genuine enthusiast since the days when he was just another poor kid from the streets of Liverpool, digging deep into his pocket to get into the city’s Aintree circuit during its heydey in the ‘Fifties.

He loves talking about racing. To him it represents a refuge from never-ending questions like: “Are the Beatles ever going to get together again, George?” Or, “Is it true that Paul McCartney once had a bunion on his right foot?”

In his slow, deliberate – and knowledgeable – Scouse drawl, George will tell you about oversteer, understeer, gear ratios and why he hopes Jody Scheckter will be world champion this year.

And he will rave about Fangio with the same 12-year-old’s wide eyes that watched the great Argentinian dominate the 1955 British Grand Prix at Aintree with Mercedes team-mate Stirling Moss.

“I can’t remember why I started going to Aintree – I think I just saw a poster advertising a race,” he says. “Anyway, I used to go there whether it was a big or small meeting, take my butties and sit on the Railway Straight embankment to watch the race. I went to a lot of bike meetings as well – I was a big fan of Geoff Duke!

“I had a box camera and went round taking pictures of all the cars. If I could find an address I wrote away to the car factories, and somewhere at home I’ve got pictures of all the old Vanwalls, Connaughts and BRMS. All that stuff got lost when I went on the road with The Beatles, but I’m sure it’s still in my dad’s attic.”

Such was his enthusiasm that it was a question of whether cars or guitars would dominate his life. He couldn’t afford both…he couldn’t afford either, really. because he had to borrow the £2 10 shillings he needed to buy his first guitar. Luckily for him, he opted for pop.

“By the time I got any money at all I was 17 or 18, getting a couple of quid a week from a few concerts in Liverpool. But I got so involved with rock ‘n’ roll and The Beatles – we were on our way to making records and all that – that to tell you the truth I completely lost touch with motor racing apart from watching the odd bit on TV or reading magazines.”

As the Fab Four became the world’s top pop stars, so they were able to call the tune and ease up on their stamina-sapping schedule. George found himself free to head back to the tracks once more…and in true showbiz style aimed straight for Monaco.

It was there that he met the man who helped him to step backstage of big-time motor racing – Jackie Stewart. George found an instant affinity with Stewart, not least because Jackie wore his hair long and was an outspoken critic of the established order, two keystones of the “rock revolution” of the late ‘Sixties and early ‘Seventies of which Harrison was so much a part.

George said: “Jackie did such a lot for the sport and was criticised for it. People moaned and groaned when he wore fireproof suits and talked about safety – things which are so obvious and practical now but at that time were being put down.

“Another thing was that he always projected the sport beyond just the racing enthusiasts which I think is very important.”

It is Stewart, always a big Beatles fan, who has given George an appreciation of the finer points of the racing art, often driving him around circuits – he scared the pants off Harrison at Interlagos this year – or showing him the best places to watch from “inside” of the track.

“I always enjoy the last session of the qualifying best,” says George. “Jackie taught me how to get the most from it by wandering around the circuit to watch from different places. That way you really get into how cars are handling gear ratios, the whole thing.”

The rapport between the two was vividly illustrated at the recent Gunnar Nilsson Campaign meeting at Donington, where both took part in a demonstration of classic Grand Prix cars. Afterwards, Harrison changed into jeans and sweater, while Stewart stayed in his racing overalls plus the mandatory black corduroy cap. As they walked into the royal enclosure to watch the afternoon’s racing, Stewart turned to Harrison and said: “I don’t know why I am dressed like this.” “Because you’re a twit,” came the reply.

Friends say that of the four ex-Beatles, Harrison is the one who has kept his feet closest to the ground. He seems to have retained the “love and peace” message of the flower power era and has refused to be swayed by the cynicism of the ‘Seventies.

His easy-going manner has made him a popular figure among the Formula One drivers, and he has become friendly with many of them.

“It’s obviously an advantage for me to be sort of independent,” he says. “I’m not like a spy from Ferrari or Lotus or anything like that. It’s a very nice position to be in – I am no threat to anyone so they are friendly towards me.”

His close contact with the drivers has also changed his attitude to them. Like most race fans, he has had his idols – Fangio because he was top dog in his childhood. Graham Hill because he was “a very English gentleman,” Jackie because he was Jackie and so on.

Now, there are no more heroes. “It’s difficult to single anyone out because I’m much closer to them. I mean, there’s people like Jochen Mass who might never be world champion but is such a nice person.

“But I want Jody Scheckter to be world champion this year. It would be good if Grand Prix racing was like the music business, where you can have a No. 1 hit and then get knocked off by your mate for his turn at No. 1. But unfortunately it isn’t like that. There is a point where you are just ‘ready’ to be a world champion, and if it doesn’t happen, it could be all downhill from there.

“Jody is ready – he’s got the car and the team, and mentally he’s right there. To get in the right team at the right time is almost impossible. It happens, like Mario last year – he was very fortunate in having that car.

Take Villeneuve. He’s very good but he’s still a bit young and more prone to making mistakes than Jody. He’s got a lot of years ahead of him, though. That’s why I’d like to see Jody get it now.

“Alan Jones is another one who’s ready. He’s great, he’s mature and he’s ready to win. And now he has got a really good competitive car. Maybe next year Alan Jones will be right at the head of the championship.”

Harrison is no sluggard himself. He drives a Porsche Turbo and what he calls an “old” Ferrari Dino Spyder. There are whispers about 140 mph tyre-squealing burn-ups on a 10-mile “circuit” around his incredible home – Friar Park, near Henley-on-Thames.

Certainly it is not difficult to imagine a glorious road circuit winding through the 33-acre wooded grounds. Nothing would come as a surprise after the mansion itself – a £2 million fairy palace that would do credit to Disneyland – and other amazing features of the grounds like three lakes built on different levels, a series of caves filled with distorting mirrors, model skeletons, glass grapes and hundreds of the proverbial garden gnomes…and an Alpine rock garden including a 100ft high replica of the Matterhorn!

But George though he admits he sometimes has “a spin through the woods,” insists that the burn-up stories are exaggerated: “It’s all very slow speed around the garden – you know tractors and wheelbarrows and things like that…”

He has, however, had a go at the real thing. He took his turn at the wheel of a Porsche 924 in a 24-hour run for the Nilsson campaign at Silverstone, organised by his local sports car specialists, Maltin’s of Henley.

He drove Stirling Moss’s famous Rob Walker Lotus 18 at the Nilsson’s day at Donington, where Jackie Stewart managed to frighten him yet again by blasting his Tyrrell around at full pelt at the same time.

And he has even managed to get his hands on a modern generation Formula One car. It was at Brands Hatch two years ago, the time when former world motorbike champ Barry Sheene, another good friend, was thinking of moving into car racing. Sheene took George with him when he tried out a Surtees TS19 with a view to having a crack at the British Aurora Formula One series.

It was an occasion which George remembers with more than a slight grin…

“Barry persuaded John Surtees to let me have a go. But John said: ‘He’s got no gear.’ So Barry rips off his fireproof vest and says to me ‘Here y’are, you can wear this.’ I just slipped on this sweaty old thing and borrowed John Surtee’s crash helmet. I got in the car and said: ‘I’m not going to go fast because I haven’t even walked around Brands Hatch, let alone driven round.’ So he said: ‘Oh shit, you had better get in my road car.’

“Well, we went bombing off round the track in his Mercedes and he was saying things like: ‘Keep it over to the left here, make sure the tail doesn’t flick out too much here, and so on. I was just hanging on for dear life.

“I got in the F1 car and thought ‘Now, what did he say?’ Then, while I was pulling away in the pit lane, trying not to stall it, I was thinking ‘God, it’s windy in this car.’ I hadn’t even remembered to close my visor!

“Still, it was a great feeling. Although some people have told me it wasn’t a very good Grand Prix car, believe me if you hadn’t driven one before it was fantastic. It was like, wow…those wheels just dig in round the corners.

“I didn’t go very fast. I just signed the chitty saying that if I killed myself it wasn’t John’s fault!”

George, now 36 years old, is unlikely to do a Paul Newman and turn his hand to serious racing. He is honest enough to admit he is apprehensive of the dangers.

Neither is he likely to become involved in large-scale sponsorship, despite a reputation for generosity (it is said that he once gave the landlady of his local pub three rubies for her birthday).

He has dabbled in a small way with bike racing – last year he backed Steve Parrish, who he knew through Barry Sheene, when Steve lost his works Suzuki ride. But this year he has turned down an approach for £185,000 to run a BMW M1 in the Procar series – and has no intention of following in the footsteps of Walter Wolf or Lord Hesketh by setting up his own Grand Prix team.

“What with living in England and the tax I pay, it takes a long time to get some cash anyway, and the last thing you need is just to give it away. You need too much money to do the job properly in Formula One. If I had £3 million to give away, which I haven’t, there’s probably better things to give it to than motor racing. Like the starving, for example.”

The last comment reflects Harrison’s continued commitment to the impoverished parts of countries like Bangladesh and India. All the royalties from one of his albums go into a foundation, and from there the cash is handed out to various charities.

There is a chance that in the years to come, George’s enthusiasm may rub off on his son, and we may yet see a Harrison out there on the track. After the usual parental head-scratching, George concedes that he would not stand in the way if Harrison Junior opted for cars instead of guitars – “though by that time they’ll probably be driving missiles or something.”

But for the time being at least, George will stay on the outside looking in. A weekend at the races will go on being the noisy, urgent, smelly and exciting contrast to the gardening and the meditation.

And a brief glimpse of the one public side to the private Mr. Harrison.

-  MOTOR magazine (28 July 1979)

[chille-tid-universe]

Bridges, Taverns, and Caves

Later that morning, after at least some amount of rest, the party reconvened to discuss the next leg of their journey. To catch up those who had other errands to run the previous day, they recited the lore Elminster had gleaned from Brienne’s armor:

“Deep within a mountain spine

Where fire and stone become entwined

Dwelled a skilled but vengeful smith

Who made armor to mete justice with.

And for that act, who must atone?

The Hidden Forge, left all alone.

Find Xanderos and search his lair.

Your journey will begin there.”

Over breakfast, they argued about the significance of the lore. They were able to easily glean that their path must take them to the Spine of the World, far to the north but not impossibly out of the way. Presumably, they were searching for the location the armor had been created, some “Hidden Forge,” where they could discover some further clues. The location of the forge seemed tied to this Xanderos, of whom Elmister had admitted to having no knowledge.

The name sounded draconic, though it was short for a dragon. Elminster had explained that, as dragons grew and their renown increased, they would affix syllables to their names; the longer a dragon’s name, the more pride and history they would have. For such a short name, they might be looking for a particularly young dragon (or, as Elminster cautioned, a particularly secretive dragon who preferred anonymity to haughtiness - a foreboding sign, if it were the case).

Now, they debated over what kind of dragon it could be. Unable to come to a consensus, they asked Durnan for directions to the nearest library. As they left the Yawning Portal, there was a rumbling from the pit, and cries of “TROLL!” could be heard as the door shut. In the library, they spent an hour or two researching. They were unable to find any mention of Xanderos, but gathered what information on dragons they could find.

If it was a young dragon, it was possible it could be any kind - its short life would explain the length of its name. If it were a fully grown adult, then it was likely it could be a green or copper dragon, as they were cunning and placed more emphasis on intelligence than their brethren. It was possible a copper or green dragon might forgo adding to their name to remain innocuous. Likewise, it was unlikely to be a red, white, or gold dragon, as those appeared to be the most proud or territorial, and would not fail to improve their name as a testament to their own prowess or to cement their hold on their corner of the world.

It wasn’t much, but some preparation was better than none, and the party decided to head north for the Spine. Leaving the city of Waterdeep behind, they began their journey up the Long Road. Along the way, they fought bandits, assisted small hamlets, rescued cats, but at this point in their heroic careers these deeds were commonplace. The first item of interest on their journey occurred at a bridge.

~~

The party came upon a sturdy bridge spanning a crevasse. As they made to cross it, a booming voice rang out: “To cross bridge, must pay toll.” They glanced around, but could find no one. Nissa picked up a pebble from the ground and tossed it onto the bridge. “Try again,” the voice rumbled. Nissa shrugged.

She called out, “What’s the toll?”

A moment later, the voice replied, “Shinies - big shinies!”

The others began quietly discussing among themselves, but Nissa pulled one of her golden buttons from her pouch and tossed it next to the pebble. As it rolled to a stop, an enormous, hairy hand reached up from beneath the planks and slapped down on the button. It dragged it - and the pebble - over the side of the bridge. There was an appreciative “ooh!” followed by, “Good shiny, need more.”

“How many?” Nissa called out as Brienne and Ravain tried to shush her.

“Lotses!” the voice said. There was a pause, in which Ravain tilted his head, concentrating.

“There’s another voice,” he murmured, describing a light, high pitched voice whispering to the booming creature. As he finished, an open palm came up from the crevasse.

“This many bundreds!” There was a moment’s pause before the voice corrected itself, presumably at the quieter voice’s insistence.  “Hundreds! Don’t be tricks-isy!”

“How ‘bout you talk to us face to face?” Nissa offered, trying to find a rock from which she could peer down into the crevasse safely.

“Face to face good. Come down under the bridge. It’s nice down here,” the voice said eagerly.

“Oh, do you have accommodations down there?” Melpomene asked, rolling her eyes.

“Many accolations,” the voice promised. The party glanced at each other exasperatedly. “Five hundred gold!” the voice demanded, proud of itself for stringing the words together properly.

“What if we don’t have gold?” Pock asked, hefting his hammer.

“Don’t have gold?” A smacking sound echoed from the crevasse as the beast presumably licked its lips.

“Hypothetically,” Pock clarified nervously.

Melpomene shook her head and wove a simple spell to create an auditory illusion of smacking lips back at the monster. At this, a crest of lichen began to rise from the depths of the crevasse atop a balding head, and the giant peeked up from behind the bridge. Melpomene responded by illusioning huge lips onto her face. The giant’s bush-like eyebrows rose as it cried, “Magic tricksies! Sneaky! I eat sneaky!”

Pock was ready. He held up his hammer, calling down a pillar of heavenly flame to collide with the creature’s wide head. It glanced off its brow, and the gnome darted forward, hefting his shield. Nissa had found her rock, and aimed around the edge of it to shoot at the huge form. Wun Way gestured at the large head and spoke a spell, creating a concussive blast at its temple.

The giant blinked away the debris that fell from its eyebrows and dropped its tree trunk of a club on Pock. The gnome jumped away at the last second, but the giant swept the tree into his body, knocking him down. It then reached out with its other hand and grasped Pock between its stubby fingers.

As it began to pull Pock towards itself, there was movement by its ear. A winged fairy fluttered into view and flew in circles as it squeaked a chant. A violet haze settled over Wun Way and Brienne, and their limbs grew slack, weapons falling to their sides. Stupefied gazes drifted over the battlefield. The fairy giggled and began to fly away.

Brienne’s glazed eyes began to focus, though it was a few seconds before she shook her head and gripped Mjolnir more tightly. In the meantime, Melpomene gathered her magic and shouted out, “Your lips look a bit chapped, love!” The words cut through the giant’s mind, and it raised its club-wielding hand to cover its mouth, clearly hurt. As it did so, Pock freed an arm and smashed his warhammer down on the giant’s thumb, drawing a grunt of pain from the giant as it swatted at Nissa’s bolts.

Wun Way shook off the haze of confusion almost immediately and focused her attention on the fleeing fairy. She drew power from her well of magic and spoke words of power in a singsong voice. Five bolts of magic curved out of her outstretched hand and honed in on the winged beast. As the first struck, though, the fairy fell from the sky, dead.

The giant was too preoccupied by the smashing treat in its hand to notice. Pock was still bashing on its thumb as the giant lifted him to its mouth, and the party let out a collective exclamation as it opened wide and popped the gnome between its teeth. As it tried to crunch down on the squirmy and tough shelled morsel, it leaned out from the crevasse to grab at Wun Way.

Unwilling to see another friend eaten, Brienne gripped her warhammer and dashed for the giant, pulling the thunderous might of Thor into her strike. A loud clap boomed and echoed in the crevasse as she hit the giant, but it stood its ground. As everyone regained their hearing, Melpomene called out to the giant again, this time with persuasive magic layered in her voice.

“That pixie mentioned a pile of golden buttons-” She pointed down along the length of the crevasse. “-down that-a-way! She said she was hiding it from you!” The giant became visibly angry and tried to talk with a mouth full of Pock. “But if you want to catch up to her, you’ll need to drop our friends! They’ll only slow you down.” The giant’s eyes were glazed over from the power of the suggestion spell, and he thought for a long moment before spitting the gnome onto his hand and dropping both people onto the ground. He spared the lost meals a final glance before turning and stomping off in the direction of Melpomene’s pointing finger.

Wun Way was a little bruised, but otherwise fine. Pock, however, was coated with giant spit and struggling not to retch. As they grabbed rags from their packs to help clean him off, Nissa grinned and came as close as her nose would allow. “What was it like in there?”

Pock stopped mid retch and calmly recalled, “Dark. And smelly.”

~~

The next few days passed much as the days before had, though it was some time before the stench left Pock’s skin, and the first chance he got he bought a new set of clothing from a passing caravan. 

One evening, the group was searching for a dry spot to camp (it had rained during the day) when they came upon a modest tavern. It touted itself as the Lusty Pixie, and seemed well funded and well visited, given how far it was from any major city or town. Within, a group of patrons ate and drank and relaxed after a long day of working the rocky soil of their farms. The largest concentration of people was in one corner, where some sort of a street performer had drawn the attention of a third of the patrons. The party ordered meals and drinks and settled in to watch.

The performer appeared to be playing a shell game with his audience. He would sweet talk one person into playing, then hide a pebble beneath one of three overturned cups. Some fancy sleight of hand later, the audience member would pick one of the cups, usually with much input from the rest of the audience. Occasionally one of the audience members would win, but the performer was definitely benefitting from the game.

As the most recent patron walked away, smiling and cupping a handful of coins, the man called out to the tavern, “Step up and play! Four gold maximum, and I’ll double your bet!” Melpomene glanced around, downed the last of her ale, and sauntered over to the gathered crowd. As she pressed her way to the front, the man caught her eye. “Would you like to play, sir? Er, ma’am?”

Melpomene grinned and prestidigitated a mustache. “Gladly. I’ll put down four gold.” The man graciously accepted her coin and, after showing her the pebble, began shifting the cups on his table. A few seconds later, he presented the trio in a new order and gestured for Melpomene to pick. She stared hard at each cup, then pointed at the middle one. The man shrugged apologetically and lifted each cup - the pebble was to the left. Melpomene groaned with the rest of the crowd.

“Chance to win back your gold?” he suggested, laying out a dozen coins to add to Melpomene’s lost bet. Melpomene grinned and nodded. As the man began shuffling the cups once more, Wun Way wandered over to the crowd. As Melpomene pointed to a cup, Wun Way smirked and muttered under her breath.

The man grimaced good-naturedly as he lifted the cup - only to reveal two pebbles. There was a moment of silence, in which Wun Way’s eyes grew wide as saucers, and then the crowd erupted with noise. Melpomene, looking just as surprised as the performer, prestidigitated a magnifying glass and bent to examine the pebbles. As she looked, she muttered under her breath to the performer, “This wasn’t me, but if you’d like I can help rope in a few from the crowd.” The man’s stunned face morphed into a smile and he gave a slight nod. Melpomene straightened up and raised her voice.

“That pebble wasn’t my doing! But you need to give me a chance to win back my gold!” She turned to the crowd. “Does anyone else want to get in on this? I can wager eight, no, twelve gold!” She managed to pull up an older man, who looked as surprised as the rest of the crowd as he slammed a dozen golden coins on the table. He could barely remember the last time he had this much wealth, and his nervous grin became a look of terror as the cups were shuffled. His relief was palpable as the cup was lifted, and a dozen pebbles spilled out onto the table.

As the lucky farmer walked away, fingers overflowing with coin, the street performer, shot Melpomene a worried look. She placated him with a wink and shouted, “It’s a sign! Who else wants to benefit from this?” At this point, nervous patrons began to avert their gazes and return to their suppers, but Melpomene was still able to bring up a handful of watchers who began digging in their purses, hoping to walk away rich. After a pile of coins was placed in front of the cups, the performer began shuffling. His hands were a blur over the table, and after a minute of furious motion, the cups sat still.

A hush passed over the crowd as Melpomene examined the cups with her magnifying glass. The dozen patrons whose money was on the line bunched up behind the aasimar, some of them clutching her coat in excited nervousness. As she pointed to a cup, Wun Way made a motion with her hand. The man braced himself as he lifted the cup, then saw that it was somehow empty. There was an exclamation from what remained of the crowd, followed by loud complaining from the people who had just lost their livelihood. The performer managed to sweep the contents of the table into a satchel, quick as a flash, hurriedly talking as he did so. “Oh, quite a shame, better luck next time, folks! A reminder that all purchases are indeed final. Tip your waiters! I’ll be back around these parts in the next, well, never. Good bye!”

With that, he was out the front door. Nissa was chuckling while Brienne frowned slightly at Wun Way. As they made their way back over, Pock tugged on Brienne’s sleeve. “Where’s the bag of holding?” Brienne’s heart leapt into her throat as she reached for the spot on her belt where the bag normally hung. The rope had been cut - the bag was gone. Nissa’s chuckling became an open laugh, until she realized her purse was also gone. Wun Way and Pock’s purses had disappeared as well, and they turned to the door to see a halfling running outside. The four jumped from their seats and darted for the door. Melpomene followed, laughing.

In the gathering dark, the group could make out the two figures running down the road. The party broke into a run. Wun Way tossed a spell ahead, and a series of hypnotic runes flashed around the pair. The halfling stumbled to a halt, seemingly enthralled by the patterns. The human continued to run, arm raised to cover his face. This slowed him down slightly, though, and Nissa pulled out her crossbow, crying “Give it back, you little shit!” Brienne had been sprinting after the two, and was only a few feet behind the man when the crossbow bolt whizzed past her head and thudded into the man’s back. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Brienne skidded to a halt over the man’s body, chest heaving as she caught her breath. A moment later, Melpomene arrived, preceded by her laughter. Brienne caught a devilish look in her eyes as the aasimar reached a hand out. A spectral shade tore itself from the corpse, flying out to Melpomene’s hand, where it washed over her body like a dark suit. Before Brienne’s eyes, the aasimar began to shift, and a few seconds later, the living body of the thief was standing before her. Melpomene smiled with the man’s lips and began walking to the stupefied halfling. Brienne shot her a dark look and followed her.

Nissa was gently removing the purses from the halfling’s limp grasp. She tossed the bag of holding to Brienne as she approached. “What should we do with him?” Pock asked as he accepted his purse from Nissa.

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted. “We have some fun,” Melpomene said, a hunger in the deeper voice.

Brienne looked disgusted, and merely shook her head. She turned to Pock, a question in her eyes, but the gnome shook his head. “Someone should stand witness to the retribution of his crimes.” Brienne looked strangely at the gnome, but then turned and began to walk back to the tavern. At the door, she glanced back. She couldn’t make out more than a handful of shadowy figures standing in the middle of the road. She heaved a heavy sigh and walked back into the light.

Wun Way walked around the halfling, concentrating on maintaining the spell. “So, what did you have in mind?” she asked.

~~

The halfling came to and was very surprised to find he was bound to a tree. He struggled for a moment, but was unable to free himself. He glanced around nervously, heart rate rising. In the early dark, he made out a hunched over form against the tree in front of him. “Gibbs! Is that you? Wake up!” There was a grunt, and then his partner’s voice burst out, a hissing whisper.

“Chaff! What happened?”

Chaff shook his head, then realized Gibbs wouldn’t be able to see it. “We were running the grift, smooth as ever, then that angel lady started helping you. I was able to lift a bunch of purses, then we made it out.” He paused as his scrambled memories fell into place. “We were running… Then there were shouts from behind us.” He stopped. “Then I woke up here.” He glanced around the darkened forest uneasily. “Should we call for help?”

“Who would help us?” Gibbs snapped, and Chaff was taken aback by the coldness in his voice. “We just swindled the whole tavern!”

“How did we get here?” Chaff lamented, struggling uselessly against the restraints. “Could it have been that angel lady? I thought she seemed a little suspicious. What happened to the knife you keep on you?”

“They obviously took it, you idiot,” Gibbs said. “I have half a mind to punish you myself.”

Chaff strained to see his partner in the dark. “What?”

“You were supposed to get us away safe!” Gibbs’s voice was filled with venom.”

Chaff’s lower lip wobbled. “We were on the road! I lifted the purses and we got away clean!” He pulled against the knots again. “Well, not exactly clean…”

A dark laugh burst from the shadowy figure. “Not exactly clean indeed.” The figure stood, obviously not bound by anything. “Do you know what happened to the last guy who crossed me?” An unearthly light seemed to be coming from Gibbs’s body; Chaff could see him now, but he looked different, somehow. Maybe it was just the bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

Chaff tried to swallow in a dry throat. “Ah, you n-never told me,” he stuttered.

Gibbs walked right up to his bound partner and leaned down. When he spoke, barely a whisper, a trill of fear slithered down the halfling’s spine. “Would you like to find out?”

Chaff began hyperventilating. “You, you wouldn’t do, do that to me! We’ve been through so much together!”

Gibbs seemed to consider this, tilting his eerily glowing head to the side. “You’re right.” Chaff’s heart skipped a beat. “I wouldn’t get my hands dirty.”

It was too much for Chaff. “Help!” he cried, once, before he felt a strangling sensation in his throat. Against his will, a laughing fit took him, and his exclamations were buried in frantic laughter.

“What’s so funny, dearest?” Gibbs’s eyes glowed as he placed a hand against the tree beside the halfling’s head. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

There was the sound of a snapping twig, and then a gnome emerged from the nearby bushes, wielding a crossbow and glancing between the two thieves.

Gibbs jerked his head at the approaching woman. “Oh, look at the halfling girl. Would you like her to help you?”

Nissa bristled. “I’m a gnome, Melpomene!”

Gibbs wasn’t listening, however. He drew himself up to his full height - Chaff didn’t remember Gibbs being quite so tall - and then he began to change. His eyes sunk into his skull, and the eerie light around his body solidified into a shattered halo. Skeletal wings shimmered into view, piercing his horrific body. As he reached out with a clawed hand for the halfling, Chaff gave a mangled yelp, then his eyes rolled back into his head.

~~

Wun Way dropped from the tree she had been watching from. She hurried over to the halfling as Melpomene shed the shadow like a snake’s skin. The aasimar looked pleased with herself. Wun Way felt the halfling’s neck to confirm what she assumed. “Dead,” she said, voice deadpan. “Heart attack, looks like.”

Nissa was frozen, crossbow pointed to the halfling’s head. She had been unable to fire, unable to stop the madness and end the poor thing’s misery. Melpomene was rifling through Chaff’s purse, and raised a small ring, examining it before tossing it to the gnome woman. “Catch. Looks like a ring of invisibility. Silly dear should have kept it a little handier.”

Nissa caught it on pure instinct, blinking at it for a few seconds before she wordlessly began walking back to the tavern. Wun Way, seeing herself left with Melpomene and Pock, cleared her throat. “You ok, Pock?”

The gnome glanced up, as if confused by the question. When the half-elf nodded to the dead halfling, realization reached the gnome’s eyes. “He had it coming,” he said simply.

~~

In the tavern, Brienne was finishing the last of her drink - a strong wine in a tall pewter mug. She nodded to Nissa as the gnome hopped up onto the stool beside her. Nissa waved down the barkeep and pointed at Brienne’s mug. Brienne raised an eyebrow as a new mug was placed before the gnome. Nissa drank long and deep before she spoke. “That wasn’t as funny as I thought it would be,” she said finally, as the mug thudded to the polished bartop, half empty.

Suddenly, the door banged open, and Melpomene and Pock strutted into the tavern. Melpomene walked straight to the bar and laid down a handful of coins. “A round on me!” she called, to cheers from the remainder of the patrons at the bar. Nissa frowned at the coins, and Brienne excused herself and made arrangements for a room.

~~

The energy about the group was slightly different in the morning.

As they set out from the tavern, Wun Way was saying, “...and maybe next time we’re shaking someone down, we don’t kill them?”

“Or we kill them quickly,” Nissa offered.

“They stole over three hundred gold,” Pock stated. “That’s several death sentences right there.” Nissa stepped to the other side of Brienne to place the fighter between her and the other gnome.

Melpomene yawned and rubbed at her eye. She had bought several rounds for the patrons of the Lusty Pixie last night - “Returning their gold to them,” she had explained to Pock. “That’s the last time I help a con artist,” she mumbled, squinting at the weak sunlight filtering through the clouds.

“Well, I’m glad someone learned something from this,” Brienne said, frowning at the aasimar. 

~~

In the following days, the party passed through the Evermoor and the Lurking Wood with little to no incidents - certainly no more interacting with performers at taverns. Before long, they reached the foothills of the Spine of the World.The atmosphere about the group slowly changed, if not back to normal, then at least to be less antagonistic.

One day, Ravain hastily led the group under a copse of trees and pointed skyward. They were able to make out the small figure of a black dragon flying amongst the clouds. “So tiny! Looks like it’s a youngling,” Pock said cheerfully. Ravain scowled at the gnome and shook his head.

“Looks to be a full grown adult. At least it seems likely we’re searching for a dragon’s lair.” When the dragon had passed beyond their sight, the ranger allowed them to continue up the road.

It had been many miles since they had passed any sort of settlements. Ravain explained that any people who lived this far north would likely be living underground. “I’ve heard there are dwarven communities in the Spine.”

They made their way to the base of the Spine without further sightings of the dragon. It was slow going, but Ravain was able to track their way to the dragon’s lair. Getting there was not quite so easy. Ascending mountainous terrain was never simple, and was even less so here. It was cold, wet, slippery, and monotonously uncomfortable, but it was in one piece that the group arrived at the mouth of the dragon’s lair. Ravain regarded the party and nodded appreciatively. “You’ve all gotten better at this.”

They stood before a large mountain cave. Wind howled across the entrance, filling the air with a foreboding whine. Although it was quite cold outside, they lingered at the entrance, peering inside. Within, the mouth of the cave appeared to have been formed by melting the rock around it; rivulets of molten rock were frozen in time as they had dribbled down to the cavern’s floor. Further along, the walls of the cave were pockmarked.

Deeper in, those of the party with darkvision could see a makeshift nest of hay bales, straw, down feathers, and blankets. Ravain explained that black dragons generally preferred swampy, humid climates; this one apparently had adopted to the frigid weather.

“Well,” Pock said, leaning into the cave, “the good news is, no one is home. Oh, look!” Pock directed their attention to the cave walls beyond the nest. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they could make out carvings all along the wall. There were lines of runes and several murals that appeared to be dwarven in origin.

After a quick discussion, it was decided that Nissa would examine the cave and see what the writing on the wall said. So the gnome donned her newly acquired ring of invisibility and vanished from view. Nissa walked along slowly, checking for traps in the piles of hay and keeping an eye on the shadowy corners of the cavern. Finally, she arrived at an important looking segment of wall with a line of shimmering text. The runes were not in common, however.

The rest of the group watched nothing happen, until a scrap of paper and a pen appeared out of thin air. The pen scribbled on the paper for a minute before they both disappeared again. A few seconds later, Nissa reappeared in front of them and pocketed her ring. She held out the scrap of paper where she had transcribed the dwarvish runes. Her handwriting was not particularly well suited for dwarvish, but Brienne was able to translate:

“What can run but not walk

Has a mouth but never talks

Has a head but never weeps

Has a bed but never sleeps?”

“A shoelace?” Pock offered, receiving glares from Ciri and Nissa.

“A river,” the rest of the party said at once. Nissa nodded and added, “And what is ‘river’ in dwarvish?”

After they had taught her the dwarvish word for river, she slipped her ring back on (just to be safe) and made her way back to the gently pulsating riddle. The gnome spoke the word, causing those who spoke dwarvish to wince at her pronunciation and accent, but the words began to glow. A low pulse of energy filled the cavern, and the script shone more brightly in a harsh orange-red color. Nissa yelped in surprise as the murals to either side of her shifted and began to rise, revealing a space behind them.

“Those aren’t rivers,” Melpomene stated as the group ran in to defend the gnome.

[magic-and-myths]

Intro to Old Pepper Place

Hello all! I did some backtracking recently and wrote an introduction to Old Pepper Place starring Chloe Pepper, the person who sells the house to my girl Maya. I hope you like it!

The sun was at its midday zenith when Chloe Pepper stepped off the train. Not that she could see it. It was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds and had resigned itself to showering the ground with weak, watery rays. Her weathered hiking boots crunched on the gravel, wet from the rain that had peppered the windows of the Emerald Express for her entire ride. It was a passive, ambient sort of rain, best described by the phrase ‘there was rain’ because ‘it was raining’ sounds much too noticeable.

As the brilliant green and gold train chugged off behind her, Chloe began trudging toward the house. The path was slightly overgrown, and Chloe had to push past overhanging honeysuckle boughs to get through. After thoroughly soaking herself on the waterlogged branches, she took the last few steps and emerged in the front yard. The yard was even more overgrown than the path, but the house seemed just as it had on the many times Chloe had visited as a child. It was the same peeling paint, same haphazard layout, and same rickety front steps. But that’s not why she came.

Turning away from the house, Chloe set off into the woods. She’d walked these paths thousands of times before, and no longer needed the glow of stardust and the blanket of night to guide her way. The earth was soft underfoot, and her hiking boots left distinct boot-shaped imprints in the forest floor that quickly filled with water. Looking at the trail of puddles she was leaving behind, Chloe sighed, and thanked the stars that she didn’t care about being followed.

By now there was no doubt that her presence had been noticed. The rustlings in the trees and ferns behind her were undoubtedly dozens of creatures, curious as to where she was going, and why she’d returned after so many years. Reaching the Heart of the Forest, Chloe slowed her pace. She stood on the edge of the clearing for a second, drinking the place in. Oh, how she’d missed it. It was a clearing at the center of the forest, where the trees around the edges grew tallest and the moss on the ground grew thickest. In the clearing, moss mixed with grass and ferns to create a soft, intricate tapestry of greenery that made an almost perfect circle. Spring’s first flowers were beginning to sprout up around the Heart, snowdrops and crocuses adding bright pops of color to the otherwise emerald carpet. At the center of the clearing lay the Heart of the Forest, a hulking granite monolith, plopped in the middle of the woods by some long gone glacier. It was covered in moss and lichen, and worn smooth by years of weathering and tiny feet. A bell was nestled snugly into a nook on the side of the Heart, almost hidden by its moss bed.

Chloe took a deep breath and stepped into the clearing. She strode calmly and confidently, trying her best to hide her anxiety. Upon reaching the Heart, she grabbed the bell and clambered up the side of the rock. It was a feat she’d seen done many times, but one she herself had done only once before. Standing on the Heart of the Forest was a real experience. The sense of history that flowed through the rock was incredible. Chloe was overwhelmed just thinking about how many creatures had stood on this exact spot over the hundreds of years the forest had been here. She closed her eyes, breathed in the breeze as it played with her hair, and rang the bell.

The sound was just as Chloe remembered it. It was deeper than the size of the bell would make you believe, and it rang with an ancient tone that reverberated through the damp trunks and quivering leaves. The forest instantly sprang to life.

The rustling noises that had followed Chloe from the house stepped into the clearing, confirming her suspicions. But more creatures also came forth, scurrying, running, lumbering, and flying in from every direction. Grumpy owls blinked sleep from their eyes, perched on the highest branches of the surrounding trees. Squirrels leapt through the trees, stopping in the boughs of a particularly old maple to Chloe’s left. On the exact opposite side of the clearing stood the chipmunks, angrily tittering amongst themselves. Fairies flitted into the clearing on glowing wings, carefully settling down in the flowers and fiddleheads of the clearing. At this point in the year they were spring fairies, dressed in pastel greens, pinks, and blues. Out of the forest trundled their seasonal brethren, the hardy flower gnomes proudly showing off their trademark conical hats, wreathed in all the flowers they could find this early in the season. More and more creatures came, piling into clearing or standing halfheartedly at the forest’s edge. Chloe spotted a few trolls amongst the trees, and two forest guardians had also bothered to make an appearance. A number of spirits materialized from the morning steam and forest shadows, floating and gliding noiselessly among the gathered creatures. For a second, she could have sworn she saw the bark coated tail of a woad dragon swishing about in the rainy gloom.

When the majority of the forest’s residents had jostled their way into the clearing, Chloe began her speech.

“Hi everyone, long time no see.”

Dead silence.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

Dead silence.

“Ok, maybe not then. I’m going to tell you anyway.” A squirrel tittered. Chloe glared at it. “I’m here because we sold the house.”

The crowd erupted into noise. The trolls grumbled, the fairies chirped, the gnomes yelled, the spirits stayed silent, and one of the forest guardians walked away.

Not entirely sure of what to do, Chloe waved her arms about wildly and yelled “Settle down, settle down. You all knew this was coming. My grandparents have been gone for over a year now. This was inevitable.”

A particularly snotty gnome piped up. “Why does anyone have to live in the house at all?”

Chloe gave him a look that could have shattered glass. “You know just as well as I do that someone always needs to be in Old Pepper Place. There’s far too many secrets lying in that house to let it fall to ruin. And besides, the forest needs a problem solver.”

“But why does it have to be a human?” This time it was a rock golem, calling in its gravelly voice from beneath a poplar tree.

Chloe bit her lip. “Humans are the best at problem solving. We may not be the best at…other things-”

“Like caring about anything but yourselves.” The remaining forest guardian had spoken up, always happy to guard the forest with the power of snark.

Chloe shot it another glare and continued with a new edge to her voice. “Look, you all know me. And you’ve known my family for centuries. We’ve always helped the forest. We’ve always helped all of you. And the new person will do the same. But you will have to treat her kindly, and maybe help her out a little if she needs it. It’s going to be a steep learning curve.”

There was mixed grumbling from the audience, but nobody seemed to have a real problem with anything Chloe had said. She began to climb off the Heart. As she jumped onto the springy ground, a troll rumbled off a question. “So who is this new person?”

Chloe grimaced, and sped up her walk off into the woods. Over her shoulder she called “I’m not entirely sure, someone I sold it to online. She seems nice enough.”

The crowd was immediately riled up again, and the cacophony of voices rose up out of the clearing. Chloe, however, was already gone. She slipped off into the woods, but instead of heading back to the house or the train tracks, she found her way to what was usually a dried up creek bed. Today though, a thin stream of water trickled through, birthed by the morning’s rain. She followed the creek bed through the forest, the damp stones clacking under her feet all the way.

After about half an hour of walking beneath the sunlit treetops and towering ferns that grew from the dusty banks, the vegetation opened up to reveal Chloe’s destination. It was a lake, grey as the sky. Birches and poplars crowded its banks, their leaves shimmering in the stiff breeze that swept over the valley’s leafy ceiling. A dozen yards to Chloe’s left stood a wooden dock, its planks sun bleached but sturdy, and its pilings coated in algae but still standing. As she stepped onto the dock the boards creaked, but held fast. Stepping gracefully as to not make too much noise, she made her way to the end of the dock.

She dipped her hand in, the freshly melted frost giving the calm water a bit of a bite. Why am I so nervous, she thought to herself. I’ve done this dozens of times. Taking a deep breath, she called out, “Hey. It’s me. Can I come in?”

A lone bubble rose to the surface, letting out a loud “glorp” sound as it burst against the still air. Chloe smiled, leaned forward, and fell in.

While the water had sufficiently chilled her hand, the sensation was intensified a hundred fold over her entire body. It felt like she was entering the home of a snow spirit, or diving into the maw of an alpine dragon. She floated suspended in the frigid water for a few seconds, briefly wondering if the bubble had been a coincidence and she wasn’t coming.

But in a rush of water and fins Chloe’s fears evaporated, and she was hurled to the surface of the lake. Her legs were straddling the thick, slippery body of a lacus, or lake serpent. Lake serpent wasn’t a very accurate name, as while the creature had the long rope-like body structure found in snakes, it had smooth skin closer to that of a dolphin than the scales of a snake. Its long, horse-like face gazed down at her with enormous watery brown eyes, and two tendrils which sprouted from the area just behind its nostrils tasted the air around Chloe. The lake serpent was a deep greenish-brown color, with hints of grey and blue sprinkled in, especially on its head and the tip of its tail. Six leathery fins grew at even increments along the lacus’ body, making it look almost as if three different whales had been fused together to create it. After wiping away the water on her face, Chloe looked up at the enormous creature and screamed.

“Ronia! It’s so good to see you, it’s been too long!”

The lacus responded by nuzzling her with its large head, almost throwing her off with the force of the gesture.

Chloe laughed, and said, “Easy girl, easy. I know, I’m happy to see you too.”

Ronia pulled her head away, and gave Chloe a playful poke with one of her slender tendrils.

“Oh so that’s how you want to play it, huh? Well take that!” With this cry, Chloe reached down and threw a handful of water at the lake serpent.

Barely fazed by this attack, Ronia slapped one of her six fins against the grey surface of the lake, sending a deluge of water flying in Chloe’s direction. She had already been incredibly wet from the rain and her dive into the lake, but this splash really added insult to injury. After she recovered from her sputtering, the lacus gestured towards its neck.

“You really think I’m going to play with you after you did that? Really?”

Ronia gave Chloe a long, sad look with her giant brown eyes.

“Okay fine, but I’m not going to be happy about it.” Chloe locked her arms around the creature’s neck. It was the only place on its body skinny enough for her to fit her arms around, aside from the tip of its tail.

As soon as her hands locked together, Ronia was off. Fast as lightning, she leapt beneath the lake’s surface, dragging Chloe with her. The lake serpent’s six fins and large paddle-shaped tail worked in unison to propel the duo through the water at an incredible speed. After doing a lap around the bottom of the lake in a matter of seconds, Ronia raced towards the surface and leapt into the air, a jump high enough for her entire body to leave the water and for Chloe to make a water-logged scream before being plunged beneath the surface once again. This went on for quite a few minutes, with Ronia whipping through the depths of the lake while Chloe clung on for dear life and was swept through patches of lakeweed and clouds of mud, only for Ronia to jump out of the water long enough for Chloe to catch a ragged breath, and then the cycle would begin again.

Eventually Ronia grew tired, and she slowed her pace, coming to a stop in front of the wooden dock. A shaken, drenched Chloe dragged herself onto the dock, and lay there gasping for breath.

“Wow, you never get used to that,” she said, laughing and coughing up water at the same time. Chloe had been riding Ronia since her arms had been long enough to reach around the creature’s neck, but the heart pounding, water inhaling ride never got old.

Ronia paddled over slowly, arching her neck to look down on Chloe. She wiped a wet tendril across the girl’s face in concern.

Chloe giggled. “I’m alright girl, don’t worry. That ride was incredible, I just need some time to recover. You really pulled out all the stops for our last run.”

At the mention of last run, Ronia’s eyes grew big, and she drew back her head.

Seeing this, Chloe sighed. “Oh. You thought I was back.”

Ronia let out a noise that sounded like a bubble popping mixed with a horse’s whinny.

Chloe bit her lip. “No, I’m not back. I just came for a really quick visit to tell everyone about the new girl. I didn’t even have time to tidy up the house. Gosh, I hope it’s not too dusty in there. Anyways, I came to say goodbye. I’ll try to come back sometimes, but it’s a really long drive and I don’t have much vacation time and I have Tess and we don’t even own the property anymore and I have to take care of grandma and grandpa and …” She sniffed. “I’m going to miss you so much. I already did, when I was away.”

Ronia whinnied again, and swung her head around so it was resting on Chloe’s stomach.

“Promise me that you’ll be good to the new girl, okay? She’s going to have a really hard job, and I don’t think anybody up there,” she gestured to the forest with the arm that wasn’t pinned down by Ronia’s massive head, “is going to help much. Promise?”

Chloe held up her hand, with pinky extended. Ronia carefully wrapped a tendril around the finger, and they shook. Chloe beamed, then sighed.

“I have a train to catch. I’m sorry.” Ronia lifted her head, and Chloe stood up. “Come here.” She hugged the lake serpent’s great big head and sniffled. “I love you so much. Stay safe. Stay smart.” She began walking back along the dock, and toward the trail. Looking backward, she saw that Ronia was still watching. “And remember to help Maya!” she called over her shoulder, before walking into the forest once again, pretending that the wetness in her cheeks was from the rain.

[onesparrow]

I love your writing and am really curious to see what you'd do with “How many elves are you trying to fit in this room?” for Hartwin

Aw thank you~ I’m a bit rusty, but this was still fun to write. Here’s a brief glimpse into my very much unestablished Hartwin magic!au.

-

The door to the locker room has barely shut behind him when Eggsy hears a large crack from the training room, followed by a wobbly, shuddering wave that often accompanies unstable magic. For a moment, Eggsy considers ignoring it, but when the cursing starts his curiosity gets the better of him and he heads down the hall.

“Everybody out,” Harry commands, “And for gods sake Michael, stop kicking them, you’re making it worse.”

The door opens wider as the five remaining trainees do their best not to shove each other on their hectic exit. Sebastian is last, wringing his hands and still mumbling apologies when he backs into Eggsy.

“Agent Galahad- I’m so sorry-“ he starts again, but is interrupted by a thunk and a sharp shriek.

“Easy there, Sebastian. What’s happening in there?” Eggsy asks, trying to see what’s happening in the room.

“We were practicing summoning spells,” Sebastian mumbles. “But I seem to have made a mistake.”

Eggsy raises an eyebrow at him, and gestures for Sebastion to follow the others so he can peer through the doorway. Out of everything he was expecting, it wasn’t Harry, ankle deep in small, bearded creatures with pointy ears. One of them is making a break toward the door, and Eggsy throws up a ward with a quick flick of his wrist. The bearded creature bounces backwards off of it, and takes a moment to level a glare at Eggsy and bare its tiny, pointed teeth at him, ears pinned back to its head. They’re profoundly ugly, and he has to repress the urge to scowl back at it.

“How many elves were you trying to fit in this room?” Eggsy asks, and Harry takes a moment to level a less than amused look at him.

“Eggsy, don’t be ridiculous. Elves aren’t real,” he chastises, shaking his leg to dislodge one that had been trying to sink its teeth into his calf. “These are gnomes.”

“Then how many gnomes were you trying to fit into this room? It looks like you’re starting to reach capacity.”

There’s another small pop and another two more startled gnomes appear a few feet off the ground and fall into the pile.

“You don’t say,” Harry snarks, clearing a path through the small angry creatures with a wave of his hand, sending the ones in the way tumbling backwards into their brethren.

There’s still one clinging to Harry’s shoe, tiny hands wrapped around the laces as it attempts to chew through them. He gives it a brief zap, forcing it to let go and allowing Harry to step through the nearly invisible ward.

“Nasty little ankle biters,” Harry mutters as he straightens his sleeves, scowling at them as a wave of them collide with Eggsy’s barrier.

“So, we gonna dress em up in little fishing outfits and hats, sell em at the farmers market, or are we just going to lob a grenade in there and shut the door?” Eggsy asks as a few more appear out of thin air.

“No, we’re going to wait for them to disappear,” Harry says. “Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Eggsy peers around Harry’s shoulder, fascinated. “Where’d they come from?”

“Sebastian was meant to summon a single gnome, but he got the intonation wrong and summoned ‘the gnomes’ instead.”

Eggsy snickers, and Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Do I need to remind you of some of your first forays into magic?”

“Oi, I blew up a few tablets and set a bit of furniture on fire. At least I never opened up a box of infinite gnomes,” he points to where the gnomes are nearly a foot deep, roiling like the sea as they try to climb over each other. “’sides, Merlin’s told me about your first forays into magic.”

“Has he now,” Harry says blandly.

“I know all about the butterfly incident,” Eggsy grins, and he sees Harry struggle to keep the neutral look on his face. “And that one time in Malaysia.”

Harry’s eye twitches, but before he can storm off Eggsy laughs and steps forward under the guise of straightening Harry’s tie.

“You saw most of my magical mishaps while I was training, it’s only fair Merlin fills me in on a few of yours,” Eggsy teases, rocking forwards onto his toes so he can reach up to give Harry a quick kiss. He’s stopped scowling when Eggsy leans back, but before he has a chance to comment on it Eggsy realises that the gnomes are now at eye level.

“…how long did you say it’d be before the gnomes started vanishing again?” Eggsy asks.

“Oh, about another fifteen minutes or so.”

“And if the room is now three quarters of the way full with gnomes?”

At this Harry turns around, and the pair of them stare at the little gnome faces shoved up against the ward, angrier than ever.

“What was that you were saying earlier about the hand grenade?”

[bengiyo]

D&D: “Pitch The Scene”

“Pitch the Scene”

This phrase encapsulates most of my guidelines on building a fun interaction inside of Dungeons & Dragons. Players without strong improvisational skills may sometimes flounder in interactions with NPCs and other characters when they lose track of the thread of the scene. Building a strong setting and stating clearly the intent of the scene can build engaging, evocative interactions.  Particularly through Discord or instances where people cannot rely on body language or suffer a lag delay, pitching a situation that invites your scene partner(s) to collaborate leads to higher quality interactions.

When you “pitch the scene” you give the other scene partner(s) time to get into the right mindset for their character(s) and let them know the tone of the scene. A good pitch leaves the other players empowered to participate in the scene, whether it be a casual conversation, a potential fight about a decision previously made, or a declaration of love. The goal of a pitch is to remove surprise and uncertainty from the players involved and maintains trust in the other player.

In this essay, we will walk through a sample scene and explore what exactly a scene entails, how to manage information delivery within, how to pitch a scene, and how to end a scene.

Throughout this essay, I will use these four members of a traditional party. They are preparing to leave for their next adventure.

Susan – Human Fighter Joe – Wood Elf Ranger Jordan – Half Elf Paladin Mark – Rock Gnome Wizard

The Scene

A scene is a section of continuous play in a piece of fiction. Within a session, players will complete any number of scenes over the course of play. An effective scene establishes its stakes quickly, allows the characters to engage in a few ways that represent their response to the stake, and then leaves them with new possibilities leading to new scenes.

The Dungeon Master usually opens the scenes and then the players go on to play out the interactions. However, players should absolutely feel empowered to build and engage in their own scenes at the table.

A sample scene might proceed: DM: “We return to the town of Franklin and find our players returning to the inn to discuss their plans for the future. The snow has finally reached Franklin and it stands about two feet deep outside. The dark skies send a shiver down your spine as you think of the night you almost spent out there before deciding to risk a forced march. We pick up in the Rocking Chair Inn where the Fighter and Ranger await the return of the Paladin and Wizard. “So, what would you like to do?” -scene break- At this point, the players usually take over and begin to interact with each other. As a scene, this establishes minimal stakes for the party: planning. The players have a chance to take stock of each other and otherwise pursue social interaction. The future possibilities might evolve over the course of the player discussion.

We’ll talk about perspective and the power perspective in information delivery.

Using Perspective

First person (“I” statements), second person (“you” statements), and third person (“they” statements) empower our ability to relay subtle information in a session. First person works best for descriptions and dialogue said in the character’s voice. Second person works best for relaying information quickly to your scene partner and advances the isolated scene. Third person works best for blocking and invites players into a scene. Each can be used exclusively but work best when applied effectively throughout a scene. Here is a sample of various perspectives used in an exchange:

Susan says: “I walk up to Joe. “Hey, did you buy the potions we needed?””

Joe says: “You notice a surprised look come across Joe’s face and you see him pull out the potions with a quizzical look on his face.”  

Susan says: “I nod approvingly and turn to the Paladin, “What’s our next move?””

Jordan says: “Jordan had just entered the common room of the tavern at this point. She brushes a bit of snow off her shoulders and—after looking over the Fighter and Ranger—says that she’s received a new quest from the townmaster to seek out the missing party of hunters that went out a week ago.”

Mark says: “Mark walks up behind Jordan and pulls his own hood off. He smiles broadly at the party even though you see he’s shivering from the wind. “Would you mind getting out of the door, Jordan? I’m freezing here!” He pushes past the Paladin and walks over to the nearby fireplace and holds out his hands for warmth before turning back to face you all. “I’ve got all the spell components I need, so I’m ready when you are!””

Susan says: “I say to the wizard, “I take it the snow hasn’t let up? Is that going to delay out plans?” I then take out my extra gloves I purchased and hand them to the wizard.” -scene break-

Susan’s opening use of first person establishes that the Fighter wants to talk to the Ranger and conveys the intent immediately. However, the abrupt opening may lead to tonal dissonance between Susan’s and Joe’s players about whether this is a simple query or an accusation. Her next response brings someone else into the scene.

Joe’s response in second person conveys information quickly to Susan about the way she opened the scene and lets her see how Joe is responding to her question. It also establishes that he currently only knows that Susan is in the scene.

Jordan’s usage of third person paints an image of the world around the character and relays complex information quickly in a narrative shorthand for the party to proceed forward.

Mark’s combination of all perspectives here to involves him in the scene in complex ways. He opens with third person to block himself in the scene and respect the positioning of other actors. He then uses second person dialogue to relay information the characters can use to talk with him about his character by describing his physical state. He switches next to first person dialogue to invite the third person-using Paladin to engage directly into the scene, and then switches back to third person to narrate his character past an obstacle before returning to first person as an opt-in for dialogue.

There’s nothing wrong with the ways people use the various perspectives here. Though I’ve framed this exchange in a way that makes first person look the most inefficient, this is mostly a limitation of discord and voice chat and a party sitting at the table likely wouldn’t have trouble with someone speaking in primarily first person as they would see the nuance in their physicality the second and third person usage assists over purely voice chat.

I recommend combining your perspectives in a scene to relay information in ways that continue the momentum of a scene.  

Delivering the Pitch

An effective pitch invites the other player(s) into the scene and turns the engagement into a collaborative experience. A good pitch includes three things: setting, participants, and a clear goal. The pitch should block out the physical space of the scene. It should let the players know who is involved in the scene, so players know when to sit back and be audience members. Lastly, all participants should understand what each other wants out of the scene so it can reach a constructive end.

As the players build their own scenes, they can continue the momentum of the scene the DM set up and break it up into smaller scenes. Here are some examples of the players from before breaking into smaller scenes:

Susan: “I walk over to Mark and hand him the gloves. “Here, you may be pretty hardy, but I’ve lived in this cold for years.” I smile warmly and sit in one of the rocking chairs by the fireplace, nodding my head to the other chair in front of the fire.” -scene break-

Jordan: “Jordan sits down at one of the tables and waves Joe over. She holds out her hand toward him, “Grab a seat. We’re not going anywhere else in this weather. Could I have one of the potions? I used up my last one in the fight.” She leans over to get a closer look at him, looking for any lingering symptoms from the last encounter. -scene break-

In both pitches, Susan and Jordan pick up on details the other player introduced from before and continue the momentum of the scene.

Susan indicates to Mark that she wants to give him a useful item and perhaps share a bit of warmth and comfort for the moment. Mark could expand this scene into a relationship-building conversation if he takes the gloves and discusses snow with Susan for a bit. He could be shy about taking the gloves and respond timidly to her responses if he finds her intimidating or has other feelings. He could be indignant at her acknowledging his weakness and change the tone of the scene. In any outcome, he can take the lead she’s given and make something out of it with her.

Jordan indicates to Joe that she noted his completed task and wants one of the items and that she wants to follow-up on his status after a previous scene. Joe could pick up this lead and deliver or withhold the potion. He could rebuff the Paladin’s worries or share his symptoms.

However long the scenes run, the scene must end and lead to the next scene.

Ending the Scene

A scene should end when the participants have attempted to pursue the original goal of the pitch and gained something new to pursue later. For the sake of the other players at the table, I think evocative scenes should run for two to six minutes before passing the baton to other players in another scene. However, scenes can be as simple as a terse acknowledgment between the players as they agree on the outcome of the scenes.

Let’s return to the scene with Susan and Mark after she offers him the gloves.

Mark: Mark happily accepts the gloves and pulls them onto his hands. He rubs his hands together for a few moments and makes an appreciative sigh as the warmth begins to spread. “Thank you so much, Susan! We never get this much snow in my hometown. I can’t even tell when this is going to stop!” He begins to rock happily in the chair as, if you listen, regale you with stories about the rainstorms of his childhood.

Susan: “I listen to one of his stories before I interrupt him and I say, “I’m glad you like the gloves. Looks like the weather hasn’t broken your spirit yet. Good. The snow will slowly sap the energy you have. Let’s rejoin the others and figure out what we’re doing tomorrow? Jordan said she’s got a possible mission for us.”

Mark: “Of course!” I’m a bit embarrassed and quickly jump out of the chair. “I could go on for days about Riverbend. Thanks for humoring me, Susan.” Mark will pat her leg appreciatively before walking back to the other table.

Susan: I smile warmly, “After we make a plan, I’d be happy to tell you about the time I almost broke my leg on a sled.” I rise from the chair and join the others. -scene break-

Here we get a quick scene that keeps the interactions going. Susan got to complete her delivery and check in with the wizard and shared a bonding moment by a fire that might lead to more casual conversations between them. With that accomplished, they end the scene by reorienting back into the original goal of the scene pitched to plan.

The scene with Joe and Jordan could proceed in a less evocative way:

Joe: “Joe sits down at the table with you. He’ll hand you the potion and, when he sees you looking over him, he’ll pull his sleeve up and show you the healing scar on his arm. He’ll tell you he’s fine and that he’s not feeling much pain anymore after the healing from earlier.

Jordan: “Jordan thanks Joe and she will stash the potion in her pack. She’ll probably be overly stern with Joe and tell him to clean it twice a day and tell her if he’s feeling weird to come back for more healing. She’ll pat his hand and assure him that she’s glad he made it with them all this way.

Joe: Joe will blush a deep crimson and quickly look to the Wizard and Fighter to save him. “You said we have a job from the townmaster?”

Jordan: Jordan will remove her hand when Joe begins to blush. She smirks and shakes her head before clearing her throat and sliding her chair over to make room for the Wizard and Fighter. With everyone seated, she’ll give you the details she got from the townmaster earlier. “So, what do you guys think? Should we take the job?” -scene break-

In similar fashion, Jordan gets the chance to check up on Joe and get the potion and gets a new potential interaction with Joe about his shy responses to open displays of affection. With that thread opened (or continued), she transitions the party back into a conversation about what they may do next.

Both pairs experienced a player-generated scene that allowed for some shifts in the party dynamic and some potential worldbuilding. Mark and Susan are more dialogue-oriented than Joe and Jordan, but both pairs advanced the dynamic between their characters and had an interesting moment. With that bit of fun accomplished, they continued down the path the DM set originally.

Conclusion

Player-created scenes expand the game and breathe life into a few scant details provided by the people at the table. The dungeon master controls the pace of the game and the major descriptions of the world and the movement and behaviors of NPCs, but the players have just as much (and sometimes more) control over the course of the game and the scenes as the DM.

When you’re at the table and the DM paints a broad scene for the players, step forward and build a scene within the other players at the table. These can be dialogue-heavy exchanges where players talk at length about their feelings or information they’ve gathered, or they can be description-heavy exchanges where the players agree on the responses each brings to the scene. Either approach leads to a good scene if the players establish the setting, participants, and goal of the interaction. If the players accomplish that and leave seeds for future scenes, that’s a good scene.

Finally, consider the way you use I-, you-, and they- statements at the table when you’re delivering information to other players and characters. Use them tactfully to keep from breaking out of the scene. I tend to like a healthy mix of first-and-third or second-and-third to keep a scene moving. First-person works well with dialogue. Third works well with the narration.

Remember: players are simultaneously narrators and characters at the table, so use these tools to pitch more scenes at the table and invite others into the scene.

Let’s close out the scene: “DM: After discussing their job offer and checking up on each other. The party resolves to get some sleep for the evening and set out on the path tomorrow. Despite the cold snow falling outside for most of the night, the innkeeper maintains the warmth inside and you all get a long rest.

“In the morning as the snow begins to break, you all rise from your slumber and look around and notice that only three of you are still here. Joe doesn’t appear to be in his bedroll! “…That’s where we’ll pick up next week!”