#worldbuilding study

[jonahmagnus]

In world where there are two types of tower-dwellers, a Princess is locked in a tower.

There are two types of tower-people: A Princess, put there to remain pure until marriage or until rescued, and a Wizard, put there by choice to study and learn in isolation. Princesses are defined by their beautiful long hair, and Wizards are defined by their beards and impressive 'stache.

There is a Princess, and she lives in a tower. She was put there recently by her mother and father, to keep her pure and untouched until they can secure the marriage to another kingdom and a prince shes doesn't love. She has long, almost brown sandy-blonde hair, pale green eyes and a slim, tender build. She is not the fairest in the land, but she is tall and pretty. If compared to a rose, she would be the humble yet graceful willow tree, slender and long. She has wanted to be a wizard since a young age, but there is no way for a princess to become a wizard. Princesses are delicate girls to be protected and sold off until their either dead or Queens or have found True Love, unsuited to the life of experimentation and study of a wizard. That is what her mother tells her, in a quiet scolding that is far more forceful and cruel then it has any right to be. And the princess, terrified, believes her.

She used to run the castle halls, stick in hand, robe fashioned out of a delicate silk bedsheet, shouting fake spells at birds while her servants chased her. But as she grew older, her restraints became tighter, and more and more often, she was confined in her room to embroider in solitude with barely the comfort of a window or a maid. The life she is forced into makes her hang her head low, makes her hands be paper-soft, and demands her hair be long and beautiful and perfect like all other princesses. The world she longed to be a part of was a world of study and experimentation, and as the kingdoms princess and tool, she could not even dare to hint at her desires into adulthood. She could become a witch, she knew, flee the castle barefoot and sink into the loving embrace of the swamp. But witches don’t live in towers, and they make potions instead of spells, and they don’t grow the flowing whimsical beards that wizards do.

But that does not mean she has to be bored in her tower. Fascinated by magic as she always has been, she arranges with a long string of bribes for books on spells and forbidden potions to be smuggled along with her meals. She studies them while the clock ticks down for either a prince to arrive or her marriage to be finalized. Either one will doom her, and she wants to enjoy herself as much as possible until her marriage. She pours over the books long into the night by candlelight, and all day, she rests her pale, tired eyes. She experiments, and she reads, and she studies non-stop, barely stopping for meals and littering her books with an assortment of food stains. She cuts off her hair to use in bubbling gold potions, her skin becomes scarred with a rainbow of the consequences of failed experiments, and her dresses turn into makeshift cheesecloths and fire-fuel. She washes late into the night after she is done with her work for the day in the darkness, not glancing into the mirror that has become cracked and dusty. When her eyesight starts to fail from strain and working in darkness, she fashions for herself bottle-round glasses, blown by herself in the depths of her tower. Engrossed as she is in her studies, she does not notice the tower warp, and the meals stop rotting, and how she started out in one circular room but now has a loft and a second floor and the fact that the tower seems much much taller then it was originally.

What she DOES notice though, is when brushing crumbs from her face she feels facial hair on her upper lip.

She rushes to the bathroom and thrusts a candle into the holder as she looks at herself. In the dusty mirror, she sees the beginnings of a bushy mustache sit on her upper lip, much further along in growth then be logically possible without her noticing. It’s a pale blonde, like her hair, and she notices faintly that there are streaks of grey in it, a very familiar shade of classic wizard grey. She brings a trembling hand to her upper lip.

Much, much later, a prince rides up to the tower. It is tall, and warped, and very clearly belonging to a wizard, despite the royal family claiming their daughter lives here.

He shouts up, a bit nervous because of the thorny vines wrapping the beautiful stonework.

“Hey! Does a Princess live here?”

A young man with large bottle glasses and a rather impressive mustache leans out of the tower, his short, sandy-blonde hair spilling lightly in the wind. He starts to say something, then glances back into his house. A smile breaks out on his face as he seems to realize something.

“No!” He shouts back, after a moments hesitation. “But a wizard does!”

[jasper-the-menace]

I am returning now with more information dredged up from the Planeswalker's Guide to Streets of New Capenna. What else we know about Old Capenna:

The archangels and archdemons together fucking SCRAMBLED to set up New Capenna.

The last fight against the Phyrexians before New Capenna was sealed from Old Capenna happened on the elevator up.

The archdemons went to those who are now the demon family heads and got those five to do the dirty work. The first of these was Falco Spara, who is described as "a brilliant, uncompromising, utterly fanatical lawyer".

Jetmir's druid order wasn't always party-focused, but he was a prodigial son who turned into a druid leader and refused his order's asceticism.

Ziatora was once a bandit leader and berserker who still lives to fight and gain power. She's still the only surviving dragon of Old Capenna.

Raffine believed she was an instrument of prophecy and is outright called "controversial".

In addition to being part of an all-but-dead aristocratic house, we know Xander was jealous of the acclaim his younger peers received. We also know that he and Evelyn dated (and she became the second vampire of Capenna once his pact turned him into the first) and that Anhelo has always been his right-hand man.

Spara was the one who drafted up the agreement between the five families to keep the uneasy peace of the now-angel-less city, which the other four signed.

Because of the story The Contract Breaker, we know that one of the ways down to Old Capenna is along a support girder practically splits an Old Capennan castle in two. I also can't find which story it's in, but I believe it was mentioned that New Capenna was built on the "capital" of Old Capenna.

And thanks to March of the Machine episode 9, we can confirm exactly what I suspected: The devils served as the underlings of the archdemons before and during the transformation of the five demons, as the angels in that episode recognize the demons and devils as being kindred to each other. (At least, that was my reading of it.)

So...yeah, I was totally right with some of these. Though I still wonder how Spara took over the Brokers. Was he a paladin himself? Was he their lawyer? Did paladins serve as lawyers in Old Capenna? Hopefully we can get answers if we ever return to the plane.

MTG fan lore question, what was Old Capenna like? Do you have any ideas™️?

Hey Faust, my dear friend! I had to think on this one for a while, to be completely honest with ya.

Well, as we know, before the Phyrexians showed up and fucked everything, there was a Kingdom Era in the plane, where the five crime families started in different jobs than we see them in now. The Obscura were mystics, wizards, and advisors of the plane's angels; the Maestros were nobles and art aficionados; the Riveteers were artisans, blacksmiths, edificers, and architects; the Cabaretti were a popular druidic faith; the Brokers were paladins. It's even directly compared to the Bant shard of Alara.

We know that Old Capenna also had very few sphinxes, as they were very territorial and vain - they also had temples that they would draw the masses to, vying for worship through their visions and effectively only say the good stuff to keep the masses coming back. But we know Raffine didn't do this song and dance, instead crafting dark prophecies that were far more true and honest than the other sphinxes she knew - her mother, her rival, and her former lover, though she didn't care much for the first two and can't even remember the third at this point.

Xander is mentioned in canon to have been an ailing artist of an all-but-dead aristocratic house, showing that Capenna during the Kingdom Era was probably very, very similar to the romanticized idea of medieval Europe.

Ziatora is mentioned to be the last of the dragons who was able to survive through the power of her contract with an archdemon, so clearly Old Capenna had enough of them to go around and have a pretty sustainable "knight versus dragon" ecological dynamic. We also know that the rest of the dragons are now extinct, as seen in the lines "But where are the other dragons now? For all their righteousness, their gloating and purity, the great dragons of Old Capenna are dust."

The leonin druids that were the Cabaretti were founded by Jetmir, and they enjoyed the cycle of life, death, rebirth, and life eternal and were greatly connected to nature. They also served as entertainment to keep spirits up among settlers, who in turn would keep the druids fed and warm. This dynamic didn't change much when the druids moved into New Capenna and became a crime family.

But surprisingly, we don't actually know much about Falco Spara's past before becoming head of the Brokers, or even if he founded the order that would become them later. All we really know is that he has some of the clearest memories of the founding of New Capenna.

So that's all canon with a bit of speculation at the end of Xander's section. So let's address the elephant in the room: the angels and archdemons.

Given that the only demons with that creature type are the crime lords (and Ob Nixilis as an interloper), that means there were no minor demons left around the time of the Streets of New Capenna block. So either minor demons were wiped out by the Phyrexian invasion that led to New Capenna's construction, or they never existed and only the archdemons did. Personally, I'm leaning towards "normal demons never existed in the first place", because it's hard to believe they would have all been wiped out without a trace. Perhaps the Capennan devils used to serve in that function instead, given that other planes such as Innistrad have them as the "lesser evil" to a demon's "greater evil". There were archangels above the regular angels during the Phyrexian invasion, so it doesn't make sense that archdemons wouldn't have some kind of servant.

I'm particularly interested in what drove the Obscura broadly to join the archdemons, given their closeness to the angels, but I believe it just comes down to survival. The archdemons had the best deals for New Capenna and could even repurpose the angels into Halo, so it makes sense that even the Obscura would turn against their angelic masters.

Hopefully this gave ya something to think about, Faust!

~Jasper

[theprissythumbelina]

I can't tell if my dragon worldbuilding has gone too far when I start reading scientific papers on bat wig morphology and comparing them to bird morphology.

[wanderingokali]

Witch Hat Atelier artstyle study with Kalops and some elements from chapter 1. Mostly wanted to replicate the little chapter illustrations that usually feature one character and some nice visual elements and frames.

[keepers-art-n-craft]

Frankie's cereal commercial snapshots (not sure if there is a video, even if it's like a very short cut off version of it ingame)

[springypaws]

Tumblr scrambled the first time I tried writing/sending this post so uhmm… let’s see if two’s the lucky number?

Anyhow, finished drawing of the interisolary commercial liner, the Hanankur!! Not exactly sure how I feel about it considering it kinda looks like a mismatched quilt made up of different styles from the different days that I worked on it, but it exists anyways

I was actually hoping to draw Coalition Airship Archer, but there weren’t any official images of it that I could find 😔

Reference image and additional speed paint under the cut :]

Obviously this drawing was super heavily referenced off of this official art of a Disco Elysium in-world miniature of the aerostatic, even if a bunch of things aren’t perfect and my drawing’s quite a bit messier

Plus a speedpaint just for the fun of it

(TW: FLASHING (I hide and un-hide layers a bunch) and rabies?? With the most minuscule amount of blood maybe??? I snuck in a random tiny sketch in there somewhere that has poor quality stuff like that)

[kagooleo]

the zine’s officially out, so I can post my contribution for the @extraordinaryzine :D!

my piece is an interpretation of the caverns on Iron Island 🏝️ so I wanted to incorporate more of the water surrounding it by creating a sea cave to have light spill inside (akin to the modra špilja/blue grotto)

the focus of the zine was on the daily lives of trainers and their pokemon, so Riley uses a spot inside the caverns like this to meditate with his team, although any new Riolu he trains can’t resist wanting to jump into the water to play υ´˶ ･ﻌ･ ˶`υﾉ”

this piece alongside a ton of amazing artists can be found free to download digitally here! (and lastly some closeups bc I liked getting all the little deets down)

[causticgin]

writing sci-fi is actually a trap to make goofy trans women (me) do complex math. it's all mech pilots and sultry voiced AI until you start chasing a specific visual for your setting, and now you're trying to figure out if spinning a gas giant fast enough can counteract it's internal pressure, and raise the maximum size before it starts stellar fusion.

i just wanted the visual of spaceships flying through dense gas clouds. how did we get here

[leotheponderer]

I overcomplicated the sillies

[fangxin-guoshi]

My visceral reaction when I see the fandom recommending an incredibly complex piece of media to other people and summarize it as just "sad, traumatic, and gay" :

ughhh like stfu stfu stfu STFU SHUT THE ACTUAL FUCK UP PLEASE YOU IMBECILE NEVER RECOMMEND ANYTHING EVER AGAIN

[15-lizards]

Imo there is not enough Valyria content out there so I would LOVE to see your thoughts/headcanons on what the geography, city, fashion, etc. looked like

okay this ones a little difficult because even though Valyria is clearly inspired by Rome, I don't like roman (aka greek) architecture for them it just doesn't really fit to me. Honestly its hard to assign any real life inspo because the existence of dragons would have had some major impact on the society as a whole, architecture included

However, if I had to pick a type to ascribe to Old Valyria, my first choice would be a twist on Hindu architecture. I am absolutely obsessed with the sheer amount of details on the buildings (especially the Meenaskshi Temple at the bottom, everyone please go look at more pictures of it it's gorgeous). It's incredibly complex but also tends to be very symmetrical, the styles perfected over hundreds and hundreds of years. I also really love the idea of the spaces being open and well lit, it fits well.

Another alternative is traditional Chinese architecture, with the added bonus of dragon motifs that are already there :D Another type of architecture with an intense focus on details, symmetry, and how the design of a space affects a person. Architecture is a reflection of where a society is in their development, and I find that this could be a good inspiration for Valyria, an advanced culture with the excess time and resources to build things like these.

Woof okay clothing is all over the place I need to brainstorm and tighten my focus on different inspos (also I wish I could draw well so I can blend these styles properly but alas...anyways we ball). The main thing is mediterranean cultures I know that much. The Iberian Peninsula, Rome, Greece, the Minoans, Malta, Cyprus, etc etc all the ancient clothing and traditional costumes from around the Mediterranean Sea. Valyria was in a warmer, damper climate, meaning lots of loose fabric that could let air through but wouldn't weigh you down. Also doubling as shields from the sun. You get the gist I use this type of clothing all the time.

Okay Random Cultural Things Time

Art and literature? honestly really important because while yes this was a conquering civilization, they needed their exploits to live on in wall frescoes and written epics and dramatic pantomimes. I think they were literate, and probably spread written Valyrian to all the colonies, so that they were easily assimilated. People particularly fond of their dragons had pictures of them made and statues sculpted so that they would live on after their death.

Sports and entertainment also pretty big as well. Valyrians were a highly competitive people To Me so I think that riding, swimming, wrestling, racing, and other games were popular with the people, even those in the higher classes. Also fuck it I bet they raced their dragons. A really tall amphitheater where rich men lost money as they watched dragons circle around the ring. Or fight in midair, if the dragon riders were prisoners or sentenced to death.

As for religion, the Valyrians worshipped the gods that gave them dragons, but also tolerated the other faiths of the places the conquered, just in order to ease tensions (and because they had no dragons so why would they worship dragon gods). I like the idea of Roman household gods, with small altars in every home. Statues of the gods of the home, along with any gods a particular family might favor, along with ancestor veneration and dragon veneration. Dragon skulls and dragon masks on the walls baby!

[krakrac]

quick shitty study feat. random sorkish translation

Tímghay árdeğenfad ët-kógab ázar. "The sun ate the darkness of the night."

[elbiotipo]

I am actually writing a little "teens learning about magic" project thing because honestly it's a fun concept, but I think a "magic school" is perhaps the worst way to do it.

Historically, esoteric knowledge was usually passed down in extremely small groups, like a master-student relationship (my main character is an alchemist's apprentice, for example) or very closed groups. And it was never standarized like a school curriculum. Everyone kept their secrets and their truths close to them, that's where the "eccentric hermit wizard locked in his tower" trope comes from. A school or even college system goes against that, because it means that magical knowledge is open and standarized, like physics or biology, and thus no longer esoteric.

And to me at least, it's not that magical anymore. Sure you can do cool magical stuff, but the mystery that makes it magic is gone. It eventually becames that "game" magic that I fucking hate, the sort of dialogue that is like "I cast a Spell Of Cure Light Wounds To Restore 2d+4 HP XDXDDXDXDDXDX", that's fine on a D&D session but it sucks if you're writing a fantasy work. If magic is a science with standarized technological results, it's no longer magic.

In my opinion, it should be mysterious, it should be mystic, you shouldn't feel in control of it, and ESPECIALLY, you should feel that something magical is something beyond your natural understanding. This is one anthropological definition of the supernatural: things beyond our understanding, something so powerful and incomprehensible that we can only grasp it through supernatural thinking. If anyone can just summon fireballs in command and it costs "mana" like it's a machine that consumes fuel, that's just crap.

Someone who uses magic, in my opinion, should be someone who also accesses, by study, by being chosen, by accident, to something that is beyond terrenal understanding, with all that implies. A wizard, a shaman, a sorcerer, a witch, not a professor. So no, not the kind of thing you can teach at a standarized school system.

[ebitenpura]

Commander Stew

Theron cooks something for the Commander.

Odessen - The Kitchens

A young man sporting a dollop of white hair and refined features entered the communal kitchen of the Alliance carrying a large crate, wearing a plain burlap apron, rubber gloves, and waders over what usually would qualify as a stealth suit–a bit of an odd sight, but one Theron had gotten used to over time.

“Hey! You’re back early. Put ‘em down over there,” Theron glanced over his shoulder, nodding briefly at the young man, then motioning with his head at the kitchen island. Eight squeezed past him as he ran his hands under the faucet, careful not to bump into the other spy. They set down the box on the counter and patiently folded their hands, awaiting instructions.

Theron turned off the sink and flung the remnant droplets off his hands, drying them with a slightly stained checkerboard dish towel.

Even with his fearsome past, Theron found the quiet operative to be pleasant company most days, with Eight acting as his assistant in daily matters ranging from mundane chores to deadly missions. All at the behest of Lana, of course. She was the one who insisted on (see: forced) a pair of helping hands for him after he'd incorrectly assumed she’d wanted him to take on all her burdens.

Not that he was complaining about the extra hands. Certainly not today of all days–he was planning something special, and that required all of the help he could get.

Theron opened the flaps of the crate. Fresh from their gardening plot in the Odessen fields, the box was practically bursting with colorful root vegetables and leafy greens native to the planet. Purple, orange, striped yellows and swirls of blue–all packed with vitamins and the healthy color of a successful crop. Plain proof that their efforts to cultivate more organic food for the personnel had finally given fruit, after several long winters of withered stalks and exhausting meals of food chips.

Theron smiled wryly. He’d have to make a toast to Dr. Oggurrobb’s fertilizer and the Force Enclave’s agricultural knowledge later.

“Will this be enough?” Eight asked, mellow as ever. He watched him coolly through deep umber eyes.

“It’s more than enough,” Theron answered, a bit of uncertainty leaking into his tone as he stared at the foodstuffs. The vegetables taunted him from their comfy spot atop the counter next to the impressive array of knives and cooking utensils laid out side-by-side like an interrogation toolkit. “...I think.” He wiped the tip of his nose.

Theron hated to admit it, but he was no culinarian. Master Zho had never taught him (really, what could you teach a kid to cook in the wilderness besides canned goods and pre-packaged rations), and his stint as a SIS agent since his youth had left him with little time to prepare nor care. The extent of his cooking repertoire could quickly be summed up to sticking a frozen Orobird leg in the flash oven and waiting for two minutes, sadly.

So why was he making an effort now?

The image of the Commander’s tired face weary from battle and sleepless nights, aging lines etched deep into their skin with the carvings of a destiny too large for one person, flashed in Theron’s mind. He’d seen the way they’d fought–skipped meals, denied themselves sleep, hid the way their gaze turned vacant when they thought no one was looking, left their cafeteria plate practically untouched, compounded blackened bottoms of endless cups of caf, the stims—the Commander was burning themselves at both ends.

Hypocritical as it was, he couldn’t stand watching them drive themselves into the ground. The galaxy’s fate was important, but…not as important as they were to Theron. Yet he found himself at a loss; what words he wanted to tell them to eat better, to sleep more, to stop hurting themselves fell short whenever the Commander gave him that one look. That look of resignation, deep as the dull ache that would settle in his chest afterwards.

“I’m okay,” They’d tell him, smiling wan, “Thank you, Theron.” It’s alright. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.

Like hell he couldn’t. He–

“Theron…?”

Theron snapped out of his reverie, realizing he’d been wringing the dishcloth far too tightly for too long. Eight stared at him, puzzled. He released it. His knuckles returned to their previous pink.

“...Sorry. Just. Tired,” Theron shook his head, massaging his temples. Tired. Yeah. He was sure someone else was too, and he hadn’t asked Eight to come here to watch him have a breakdown. Pushing off from the counter, he clapped his hands together, mustering up a second wind. “Let’s get to work. Shall we?”

Commander Stew

Ingredients:

Young Makrin Legs

Orobird Soup Stock

Rootleaf, 1 Head

Imperial-issued Instant Glowblue Noodles, 1 Package

Republic Synth-Ham and Grophet Sausages

Odessen Wild Onions

Mandalorian Spice Sauce

Zakuulan Swamp Glowshrooms

Slice of Ration Cheese

Directions:

Prepare the young makrin legs by soaking them in water and shaving the fibrous exterior with a peeler.

Theron stared at the unassuming pile of…legs that resembled roots more than they did the limbs of any creature, and secretly shuddered. Makrins weren’t particularly uncommon on terrestrial worlds, but their crabby, tree-like appearance and tendency to wallow in loam didn't make them his first choice to eat. He wasn't exactly opposed to adventurous cuisine, but he wondered how exactly the legs of a chitinous creature equaled something that would make the Commander more appetized.

As if sensing his cause for pause, Eight peered over his shoulder where he stood frozen with peeler in hand. “The Jedi recommended them for use in medicinal dishes. When eaten boiled, it lowers blood pressure, and contains many nutrients.” He said thoughtfully, as if reading an entry from an encyclopedia.

“Is that so.” Theron inwardly balked at the mention of the Jedi–a little known fact was that Master Zho had raised him on Jedi cuisine, most of it vegetarian, but even then he hadn’t sampled every bit of agriculture the galaxy had to offer. Makrin legs were a bit out there, but seeing as they were native to Odessen, recommended by the enclave and another piece of stress relief on a plate for the Commander? His survival training told him the harmless limbs could only benefit, despite their gnarly appearance.

Remove the tips and fibrous base. When cleaned and processed, set aside.

He buckled down and began shaving the legs. Lack of proper nutrition was always a deciding factor in conflict–Theron had seen his fair share of soldiers who contracted disease from improper eating and lack of supplies– and he would feed the Commander any bit of ugly vegetables if it meant seeing a little more life restored to their pallid cheeks. His fingers found their rhythm as he removed the tough outer skin from the legs exposing their soft white core beneath the blade of the peeler, their texture reminding him oddly of Dantooinian tubers with an extra coat of slime.

Slice and dice half of a medium-sized onion.

Theron had to pretend he wasn't looking particularly emotional as he chopped the onion. Or maybe he was simply brought to tears at the thought that their food could have flavor for once, all thanks to the Alliance’s team of scouts who procured such supplies for them from the unmapped regions of Odessen’s wilds. Eight was among that team, hence Theron's willingness to let an Imp spy of all people join him in cooking. There was only a small handful of people he could use to conceal his efforts from the Commander, and Theron would make use of both his ability to obtain food in secret and his espionage skills to see this through, opposing factions be damned.

And if others worried about poisoning, well. He didn't pride himself on being Chief of Security for nothing. The safety of the Commander was his priority, as were the characters of those he chose to fight alongside them. They were his responsibility. His to trust with their most important fight and everything in-between. Theron couldn't afford to keep the old grudges that the Republic and Empire maintained in these desperate times, and he would not fall victim to their need to blind themselves with their unending war. He had to fight for what was important, and that was…people. Not sides.

Theron would always be a son of the Republic at his heart. But now his heart belonged to another, and those lines had long blurred.

Slice the glowshrooms length-wise, removing the head from the stems. Set aside.

Clean and cut the rootleaf in half, then the following halves into quarters; chop into smaller squares until you have about 1 cup’s worth of rootleaf. Store the rest in a cool, refrigerated place.

Unpackage the Synth-Ham, Republic Ration #0625, and slice to desired thickness.

Theron opened the can of mystery meat and upended it onto the chopping board. The green ham-like substance plopped onto it with gelatinous grace. He poked it with his cooking knife. It jiggled away from the tip.

Eight placed an empty pot next to him along with a can of opened grophet sausages and an unwrapped package of Imperial ration Glowblue Noodles, their signature color shining through the foil. Theron quickly thanked him out of the corner of his mouth.

Arrange the rootleaf, onion, makrin legs, and glowshrooms at the bottom of the pot in even layers.

Add a helping of Mandalorian Spiced Sauce on top.

Theron couldn't forget Torian and his people. They were the ones who suggested using their own spices for the hotpot, as “no other spice in the galaxy compares to that of a Mando’s.” Though he’d initially expressed some reservations at setting the Commander’s tongue aflame, this special mix had been made with their preference in mind; Shae had been so impressed by their valor that she presented several crates worth as a gift after the battle of Darvannis. Spices were a luxury if not a grand gesture in wartime, and not one Theron intended to use lightly.

Add the Synth-Ham, grophet sausages, and top with a slice of ration cheese over the previous ingredients.

Finally, add the Glowblue Noodles and 3 liters of Orobird stock.

Theron blinked at the finished product. “Wait a minute. This is…”

“Revanite stew?” Eight once again helpfully supplied.

It was Theron’s turn to ask the questions as he raised a suspicious brow towards his sous-chef. “They ate this during the coalition, when the camps combined. How did you get the same recipe?”

Eight smiled quietly to himself, in his mysterious and elusive way. “Our Commander was there. It was their idea to share food across factions. I still haven't forgotten its taste. If you ask any of the soldiers from that time, they will say the same.”

Theron stared at him, speechless. To think the same recipe he’d been making this entire time was a result of their union on Rishi…he recalled seeing Imperial and Republic soldiers bonding over a cookpot, but hadn't joined in, content to watch the proceedings from a distance. So much had happened during Revan’s rise that he’d failed to pay enough attention to something so innocuous as a moment of camaraderie between unlikely allies.

It had been their idea to eat something both Imperial and Republic that fateful night. To form the basis of their Alliance over a simple, warm bowl of soup.

Theron felt his heart swell.

He…he had to remind them of what they had built. What they meant to him. With this.

Set on top of a burner and deliver to recipients with bowls to share.

Theron held his breath as he wheeled the cart of foodstuffs to the Commander’s quarters, careful to avoid jostling the stew that balanced atop it as he reached his destination. He rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles.

A puff of pnematic air revealed the Commander, yawning wearily from yet another sleepless night of work and burdens. “Yes–” They stopped. “Theron? What are you doing here?” They eyed his cart. “And what's with all the food?”

Theron cracked a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought you could use some dinner, so…I brought you some. If you don't mind, that is.” He quickly added, feeling out of place in the deserted hallway.

The Commander smiled, a genuine one that reached their eyes, crinkling at the edges. “I’d love to try whatever you made. Come in, we can eat it together.” They stepped aside to allow Theron room to maneuver.

Enjoy with your intended party.

As expected, it was delicious.

Not as filling as seeing the Commander laugh to the point of tears at his explanations as to why he'd been so secretive all week trying to hide the fruits of his cooking from them, but filling nonetheless. He'd give it a 5/5, personally, as a true soup for the soul. (And a note to make it again with less sneaking around).

If the Commander was satisfied and satiated... so was he.

[camgoloud]

i’m pretty sure this was done on the tlt subreddit once before but i haven’t seen it here and i’m curious to know tumblr’s opinions on the topic! personally i like the second two much more than the first—gtn didn’t really grab me that much and i wouldn’t have even called myself part of the fandom until i decided i might as well give htn a go and immediately got sucked in—but i’m guessing that most people’s experience is different, since the first book seems like the most popular based on the impressions i’ve gotten. also feel free to put in tags where you’d rank the short stories (as yet unsent and doctor sex) relative to the books! i would have stuck those in the poll too but there are. 120 different ways to order 5 unique objects

[keepers-art-n-craft]

Boiling Isles Coven Sigil Symbols