#you have an entire world of fantastical creatures that naturally possess great power

[amoritasart]

Why is there no war or conflicts in the Boiling Isles before Philip came into the picture?? I’m so confused?? Like everyone in the past was so nice ?? You telling me humans back home were suffering poverty, war, famine, killing and accusing each other of witchcraft, committing genocide against natives, but the witches had a whole utopia? Why did Evelyn even take interest in such a place?? You telling me tween Philip single-handedly introduced evil to an entire civilization?? A random fatherless, motherless, brotherless man took over an entire world full of beings that naturally have immense power, no one else ever even tried to abuse this natural born power ever ??

[septembriseur]

Snippet of Zemo fic I’m working on as a change of scenery.

The Pashtuns have a story they tell, dating back to the nineteenth century— to the time of the Second Anglo-Afghan War. A girl walks onto a battlefield: not just any battlefield, but a small pass in the mountains. It is distinguished by no notable history, this pass, and with no notable history yet to come. Amidst this breach in the wall of individually-named mountains— Tabal Koh, Torah Shah, and Shah Maksud— two armies mingle. On one side, the turban-hatted tribesmen, barefoot perhaps in their shalwar kameez; and on the other, the empire in their red coats and khaki. 

(He has always enjoyed the way that the English say khaki, inventing an implicit r and in the process rendering it less a color than a state of being. In the Persian it was a color; to be khak-e was to be earth-genitive, dirt-affiliated. But the British: oh, they are so very much feeling khaki.)

The battle, as you might expect, is not exactly even-sided. The turban-wearers are being massacred. And yet onto the field this girl comes— this girl called Malala, this water-bearer, daughter of shepherds, and when she sees that the flag has fallen, she takes the scarf from about her head and waves it to her countrymen as a battle standard. In her own language, she sings a poem of war, a landay, saying: I will take the blood from my lover, who has died for our homeland, and I will wear it upon my forehead as a beauty-mark. 

And, as you might then expect, the Pashtuns won the battle.

Today the story is told with different morals, which we need not delve too deep into: the strength of women, the glory of Afghanistan. Ask a Pashtun, however, and he may tell you that you have misunderstood the story entirely. Only in Pashtu could Malala have made such a cry, and it was by the secret power of this language that she rallied the people of Maiwand. That power remains within the words now, though quiescent. You can feel it with each pronunciation, in the bones of your teeth. Try.

***

These days, Zemo speaks English, although he reads in French and German— sometimes Russian, if he’s feeling particularly full of vim. When James Barnes visited him in the prison, it had been four hundred and eighty-five days since he spoke the Sokovian language. He was surprised, following his escape from the prison, by how naturally it came to his lips, and then disturbed to find it recurring without his permission. He would search for a Russian word, and find the Sokovian word there instead. Phrases disarticulated themselves and reassembled in podge-hodge chunks of polyglottism. Dayte mi le knigu. Hast du li videl’ mokh ami?

He feels out of control, no longer practiced at wrangling the storm of undercurrents that run seething, awaiting the moment to reassert themselves again. 

***

It’s easier reassuming the role of baron. And when Zemo welcomes his new companions into his automotive collection, his personal jet, the Avenger (Wilson) looks at him with intermingled disgust and envy. Zemo wonders what Wilson knows about growing up in a place synonymous with war zone, a place that can be, with such indifference, wiped from the map. Perhaps: a bit. Perhaps he knows the precarity of the rat that strains against the limits of its rat-world; the alacrity with which it will climb atop the backs of other rats. Perhaps he knows enough to have some measure of admiration for the nimble and swift acrobatics involved in becoming the king rat. 

His family’s title has been meaningless since 1939. His grandparents and great-grandparents were shiftless and malcontent exiles before that, drifting about the upscale resorts of Europe, racking up some truly aristocratic bills on credit and mysteriously vanishing as part of their exotic-Ottoman act. Only after they’d been stripped of their status did they settle down to make some money: who better to sell you some exceptionally dodgy artifacts than an exceptionally dodgy artifact? He wonders sometimes how many of Sokovia’s Thracian tombs and medieval churches had their treasures pried loose at his grandfather’s hand.

Better, perhaps, that the art survived, he supposes. Given—

See, a man can justify anything. This is his great skill. Imagine the elaborate artifices, or perhaps edifices is the word he intended to have chosen, the high structures he constructs for himself to pretend that he has escaped the land of rats at last.

***

He likes Barnes, and not just with the noblesse oblige that his family, fantastically gifted at speaking in one way and acting in another, took care to drill into him. He likes Barnes because it’s instructive to observe his struggle: here is a man who was a men among men, and now he is not a man any longer, and he thinks this means he can no longer live in the land of men. You can see it on his face, a haunted look, as though the world has invented a new kind of pain just for him. 

Zemo knows him better, perhaps, than anyone has ever known him. Better than he perhaps knows himself. Every video, where video footage exists: Zemo has seen it. Every audio recording of a sound that the Winter Soldier made. 

(What Zemo would confess to an interviewer, if one asked: in all honesty, it becomes rather boring, consuming repeated acts of violence. One person dying looks much like another, and any honest soldier will say so. After a time, you find yourself skipping past the screams and gurgling. You are irritated with how long it takes them to die. With torture, the same: how many times can Barnes’s face achieve the same contortions? Must they use the electricity over and over? Haven’t they a creative bone between them? Zemo knows, of course, that the monotony itself is an aspect of the torture. And, too, it’s useful for the torturers: past a certain point, not only habit but an exhaustion of the empathy sets in. Still, something in him rebels, perhaps his last moral instinct. Yes, it’s true, his boredom is moral! He would like to believe so. Do what you’re going to do, he thinks, but for fuck’s sake don’t make it commonplace.)

He’s even watched the tapes of Barnes’s earliest therapy sessions— not his deprogramming, in Wakanda, where Zemo had failed, to his frustration, to find an in from his prison, but the psychotherapy that followed his return to the United States. The sessions made for quite compelling viewing; in his earliest days of isolation, they obsessed him. Barnes was a ragged, still-feral creature in them. He was prone to prolonged and uncomfortable bouts of silence. It took him a long time to find language. When asked to reflect on this, he sat for a long time without speaking. Zemo can picture him now: oddly soft-edged where he hunched in the oversized armchair, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his fingers. He had lost a dramatic amount of weight, and his face looked haunted, but he had not yet cut his hair.

“Maybe there are words for what I want to say,” Barnes said, “but don’t know ’em. I don’t know how you would learn ’em. So everything has to be translated. You know? Or— not even translated. It’s like I’m the first person who’s ever had to say it. I’ve got to find the right shape cookie cutter to show you. The right…sharpness.” His metal fingers twitched. Zemo liked to think that he was looking for a knife. 

A knife was a cookie cutter that was always the right shape cookie cutter.

In that moment, watching, Zemo had wished too for a knife. Not because he did not know the borders or form of his response, his reminiscence, but out of outrage at the very authenticity of Barnes’s speechlessness. How, Zemo thought, do you not know the words? 

He had thought that everyone possessed this secret language, though you did not reveal your fluency in it, at least not in polite company. No wonder Barnes is so unmade. He has passed the age when one acquires such skill through sudden immersion.

(He himself experienced, perhaps, the opposite form of immersion. His childhood between the wars was sheltered by privilege, he knew only that any persons could vanish without warning, and that you would hear, later, hushed whispers when their bodies were found: exegesis of the marks from a which a saga of pain could be inferred. Then came age nine, and the daring, unprecedented separatist attack on his prestigious lycée. The wet red flesh of a classmate; the smeared trajectory of a body sketched out where a child had collapsed against a wall. His parents said, This Is No Place For a Child. In a month’s time he was living comfortably in Switzerland, Hong Kong, Madripoor, places that were For a Child. He spoke French, German, and English. In time, he came to associate the Sokovian language with that other language of his childhood: fear and grief. He thought less of his classmates because they were ignorant of these languages, acquired a kind of hauteur about it— at the same time as he understood, on some childish level that resisted penetration, how his expertise was the source of a morbid, drenching shame. )

Perhaps there is a kinship that comes between two men who speak the same language. In Madripoor, he feels it, as he caresses Barnes’s body and detects no flinch. An almost sexual pull there, maybe. Dangerous; electric. 

Does Barnes know that Zemo plans to kill him at the conclusion of this escapade?

Difficult to guess. 

[52200bottlesofcoke]

Yintalis, the Beginning Bloodshed

This piece of text provides information about those events that set into motion the creation of the world of Aurius, the name given by the elven people to the bound plane that lay between the light and the dark. For context, Aion is the being of the light, while Avaerus is the place of the light, just as Azythys is the being of the darkness, while Erebeus is the place of the darkness. Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading!

Yintalis, the event mentioned of and known by our people in the many legends told, was the time that would birth the spirits of this realm of fused light and shadow, these spirits being reincarnated many, many times to form our people, the elven people of Arethayn, as the spirits held both the powers of change and creation, the twin aspects of the light and the dark, and thus, the ultimate combination of divinity. The uniting of those cosmic powers would allow for these spirits of mixed blood to reincarnate and form new bodies as they held both essences within themselves, having the vestigial properties of both the light and the dark, and thus, being able to incarnate and then reincarnate, birthing anew as though the dark were not present, but were of a physical matter unlike the raw mana of the light. Accordingly, those of the spirits who had found themselves as possessing those divine characteristics of both were those same who would become all aspects of this plane that lay between, though only some of these divinities would become our ancestors as, previously, there were those conscious that lacked the volition and will to wield and bend the powers themselves and, as such, belonging to the strata of a new kind of sapience that was entirely influenced by mortality and death. These beings would come to be known as humanity, a lesser echelon of soul and existence that were all short-lived yet more numerous, as our numbers remain affected by the infrequency of being gifted in those arts of magic and spirituality.

Yintalis was the cataclysm of a cosmic and universal nature which observed the war between the cosmic powers of those of the light and those of the darkness, with there residing a quintessential force that had catalyzed their existences, the forces being one of the light, and the other of the dark. These battles took place in all of the cosmic, eternal passages and rivers that flowed between the previously defined seven worlds of both Avaerus and Erebeus, the powers bleeding through and meeting to create the frame of the battleground where each war was fought and where each of the spirits that would come to be of this world would perish in the harshness of the cataclysm. This act of death would bind these spirits to the fusion that lay between Avaerus and Erebeus, though possessing both qualities of the eternal light and the vast darkness they did as in their deaths they had been infused with the blood of the opposite force. These spirits would be called Aurya, those same entities that were both the ancestors of the worlds that were of man and mundanity and our world of the divine and elven.

In the Aurya’s deeds of existence and proliferating, there would come to be many beings that were of the same fusion, the first of which having trapped the golden of the light within themselves and consummately incarnated as their prowess in spirituality and magic had allowed them to, these being the first of our hallowed race in addition to the other, semi-divine creatures which inhabit Arethayn alongside us as our companions. These beings were both extraordinary and fantastical, the golden that was trapped within them allowing a certain divinity and consequent power that was most reminiscent of the light’s great power and ability. These were the gifts of the light, having been favored and chosen apart from all other creatures of the world in the light’s will to create.

The seven parallel worlds of Erebeus and Avaerus had mingled within the void that lay between them, fabricating the seven worlds of Aurius out of their vestigial essences and many manifestations, and consequently, the shared grayness of between, this grayness being manifest throughout. The grayness would act as a frame that allowed the Aurya to prosper among themselves, the bound plane that is Aurius then producing many offspring as the evolutions of the Aurya were manifold and numerous, the augmented powers of the two, cosmic twins being omnipresent throughout.

This was the beginning phase of Yintalis, a time where the coalescence and union of the two powers of the light and the dark would first prove to grant new capabilities to all of the many worlds of Aurius, though being a time rife with a certain chaos as those shapes which would come to be both divine and mortal emerged from the light by the will of the darkness. As merely the genesis of the consuming bloodshed that was had between Aion of the light and Azythys of the dark, there was not a clear alpha between the two, each being equaled by the other in all regards of power and dominance, their presences warring, fusing, and then separating once again. It is theorized that the various phases of Yintalis which we have observed will never truly reach a complete resolution with one reigning supreme, Aion and Azythys belonging to an order of being that were those of the unconscious and yet, omnipotent, and as such were omnipresent throughout the grayness of Aurius. Even so, its composite nature had given rise to a wide array of Aurya that lingered throughout, their compositions rendering them capable of both the physicality granted by the dark and the spirituality granted by the light.

The event of Yintalis will only end upon the victory of one over the other, though presently, they are equally matched by the other and sparing no remorse for those entities which they rule over. Because of this circumstance of being balanced and even with the other, there is believed to be a third of the insentient forces that belongs to the grayness, though this entity is much more subtle and younger than its parents and thus, subordinate to their broad and overarching divinities. This force bears the same name as the process that occurs within it, Yintalis being the name of both the grayness itself and the beauteous hostilities that occur within it. Yintalis is concordantly believed to be a ravishing maiden, whose fertile and absorbing womb would produce all of the Aurya and their descendants, living under the grace of the goddess of both life and death’s will.

[abigailzimmer]

Favorite Reads of 2020

In this year of slowness, thank god for books to make the world a little larger again. I read several classics for the first time—Shelley’s Frankenstein and Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring and Bernadette Mayer’s Midwinter Day—all of which felt important to return to the source material, to see how these books shaped those that came after them. And I delved into new books from favorite authors whose words I will always seek out—like Kelly Schirmann’s The New World and Heather Christle’s The Crying Book—and I branched out into mystery and romance books because they kept pages turning and tidied everything up so neatly at the end, which if not my usual fare, was sorely needed in this strange year. But since I do love a list, here are the books that sung to me / inspired me / shaped me:

1. Exquisitely told and inventive in form, Women Talking by Miriam Toews centers on a group of Mennonite women in South America who discover they're being drugged and raped during the night by the men in their community. While the men are away, the women meet to decide whether they will stay and forgive their attackers, as their community’s religious leaders ask them to, or leave the colony and start anew. Their conversation over the course of two days questions the role of women, what freedom and forgiveness really mean, how to fulfill one’s calling as a woman, mother, and believer, whether one must choose one thing over another, and whether staying or leaving carries the greater risk. It’s a thoughtful and creative approach to hard questions and the complicated reasons why there’s never a right answer.

2. Ilya Kaminsky's collection, Dancing in Odessa, was one of the first books of contemporary poetry I ever read, lent to me by a friend in college, and I remember being stunned at what poetry could be and do. Deaf Republic stuns in the same way. The poems are incredibly cinematic, telling the story of an occupied town and its people and a couple who fall in love. When a young, deaf boy is shot by the soldiers, the entire town pretends deafness in rebellion, finding excuses to not understand the soldiers. They bear witness to the boy’s death and honor his life. Though a fictional town, the call to political action, to really see those who are being oppressed and stand for justice with them, is resonant for any time and place. Plus, Ilya writes the most beautiful love poems.

3. Another cinematically-inclined poetry book is GennaRose Nethercott’s The Lumberjack’s Dove. In this long poem/myth/fable, a lumberjack accidentally cuts off his hand, which turns into a dove, and then a story parts ways. The lumberjack is not just a lumberjack and the hand-turned-dove is not just a hand-turned-dove, and the story visits both an operating room and a witch, and the story, of course, is one you've heard before and one that brings surprise and wonder to the telling. I simply adored it.

"Living creatures believe they own something as soon as they love it. They refuse to believe otherwise, no matter how many times a beloved vanishes."

4. I fell in love—hard—with The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller and her exquisite, queer love story between Achilles and Patroclus. Miller’s writing is wonderful and after reading her novel Circe as well—another fantastic retelling of Greek myths—I spent the remainder of the year searching for a novel that compared.

5. Some books meet you in the right moment. The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey is a slow and attentive book on small things, which in 2020’s period of waiting and uprootedness was a gift. Due to chronic illness, Bailey finds herself confined to a bed with little to do. Her friend brings her a potted plant and a snail whose pace of life, matching her own, becomes a comfort and lessons her loneliness. As she watches, she learns intimately the snail's eating and sleeping habits, its daily adventures, and the conditions it best thrives in. Later she delves into the literature and science of gastropods and weaves her notes in with her own observations and stories of the snail. Her writing is light and funny and holds such tenderness for this very small creature.

"In the History of Animals, Aristotle noted that snail teeth are 'sharp, and small, and delicate.' My snail possessed around 2,640 teeth, so I'd add the word plentiful to Aristotle's description....With only thirty-two adult teeth, which had to last the rest of my life, I found myself experiencing tooth envy toward my gastropod companion. It seemed far more sensible to belong to a species that had evolved natural tooth replacement than to belong to one that had developed the dental profession. Nonetheless, dental appointments were one of my favorite adventures, as I could count on being recumbent. I could see myself settling into the dental chair, opening my mouth for my dentist, and surprising him with a human-sized radula."

6. Insecurity System by Sara Wainscott was one of my favorite books published in 2020. The poems in it make up four crowns—a series of sonnets in which the last line of each poem becomes the first line (or an echo of it) of the next. The playfulness of the form as well as the topics give the book an energy: Sara muses on time travel, levitation, memory, flowers ("people who read poems know a rose / is how the poet drags in genitalia"), motherhood, Mars, and mythical transformations (children tell their mothers they have turned to seals “and it is true”). Sara is funny and wry, and yet she also captures some difficult emotions of grief and depression, a struggle with complacency amid daily obligations “Sentences become drawn out affairs / but I am doing what I can / to answer one word each day.” The poems move from the mundane to a hard feeling and then onward to wonder and a bit of the fantastical, which I guess is just how life goes—I love how these emotions are all rolled together and always shifting.

7. Asiya Wadud’s powerful long poem Syncope is one I’ve returned to often throughout the year. She tells the story of 72 refugees who fled Tripoli in an inflatable boat in 2011 and were stranded for 14 days, despite the presence of 38 maritime vessels who could have rescued them, but didn’t. Instead, only 11 passengers survived. Syncope is both an indictment against those who did not act and a eulogy for the dead, returning humanity to people who were deemed not worth saving but who were “luminous in that / we were each born under the / fabled light of some star.”

“We began as 72 ascendants by that I mean we were a collective many each bound for greatness merely in the fact that we were each still living”

8. Eula Biss’s Having and Being Had is a thoughtful and exploratory conversation about capitalism and its effects on what we do and how we think. In a series of short vignettes, Eula picks apart what consumption, work, accounting, and investment mean on a personal and everyday level (albeit a white, middle class level). Who defines value among boys trading Pokemon cards and how did Monopoly's origins in economic injustice shift to pride in bankrupting players and if one of Eula's favorite things about being a new house owner is easy access to a laundry machine, is her house merely a $400,000 container for one washer and dryer? Her essays bounce from work that is valued, unseen or shamed; the perceptions and realities of being poor or rich; our approach to gift-giving and art-making and pleasure—weaving together research, observations, and conversations with friends.

9. In Grief Sequence, poet Prageeta Sharma’s grieves the loss of her husband in a kind of journal, tracing the memories of his diagnosis, the hard and normal days, the days before diagnosis, and the days after he is gone during which she tries to make sense of her new reality: “How gauche it is to be in this body being unseen by you now,” she writes. “You are not you anymore and I am trying to understand how a human with feelings has disappeared.” Her writing is excellent but it is hard to sit with and next to her pain, and it makes me wonder: when does one read such a book? When you’ve also lost a beloved to cancer? To be in conversation with someone who has, with Prageeta? Do you read for the sake of the living or to honor a body who was once here? Prageeta writes, “Poetry and grief are the same: you are taught to care about it when it happens to you.” I don’t know who to recommend this book to, but it spoke to me, and I’m glad she wrote it, as a monument, of sorts, to a specific togetherness and to a person.

10. The Lives of the Monster Dogs by Kirsten Bakis is a strange and sweet book about a race of genetically-engineered dogs, created initially to be soldiers, who move to New York in the ‘90s while still holding onto the customs and dress of nineteenth-century Prussia, which is to say: I don't know if I ever would have picked this book up had a friend not recommended it. Told through news clippings, letters, journal entries, an opera(!), and the first-person account of a human who befriends them, their story has echoes of Frankenstein as the monster dogs reflect on their creator and what it is to be human, to have purpose and hope, to wrestle with a clouded past and an uncertain future. "It's a terrible thing to be a dog and know it," writes one monster dog scholar after some of the dogs begin to revert back to their primal state. I loved the varied forms, the piecing together of the dog’s history, and the surreal mark they left in the book’s world and my world.

For more books throughout the year, follow along on Instagram at book.wreck.

[noblecrumpet-dorkvision]

Angel Week: Angels in the Game

Roleplaying Angels

Angels are profoundly different than mortal beings. How will you, as a GM, roleplay these embodiments of law and good? Here are some ways you can approach the mentality of such beings.

Planar Police. Angels are the self-described order of the planes. Law and goodness are the only true path. They meddle in affairs of other planes, leading to battles with fiends and disagreements with beings that slightly differ in alignment. Sometimes, this is beneficial and can help rid an area of fiendish activity. Other times, this gets in the way much like a fey's trickery or a fiend's corruption. The angel might demand absolute purity from an area and punish the slightest vices. They may possess evildoers and force them to change their ways. When conversing with mortals, angels will judge them and attempt to make them conform.

Loving Parents. Angels are compassionate guardians. Each angel has the comfort and unconditional support of a mother and the indomitable strength to protect as a father. It sees mortals not just as children, but their children. The angel provides for them and cares for them, and will die to protect them. When one of their perceived children is led astray by corruption or evil, they will stop at nothing to try and return them to the light. When interacting with mortals, they encourage and teach the ideals of good to those that will listen.

Celestial Aliens. Angels are creatures of another plane, just like fiends, elementals, and aberrations. They might have unsettling appearances, hiding their true terrifying forms from mortal eyes lest they be burned from their skulls. Such alien angels would likely not share familiarity of any mortal concepts. They would see the desires, treasures, and experiences of the Material Plane in an entirely different way. When they converse with mortals, they speak of ideas as things that can be interacted with, and see physical interactions as obscure or trivial ideas.

Silent Observers. Angels are righteous and lawful, but they understand that the mortal realm is not to be meddled with. Fiends are to be destroyed when discovered meddling in the affairs of mortals (breaking the law imposed as dictated by angels), but otherwise they stay silent. They wait and watch, expecting mortals that wish to arrive in heaven will be virtuous and good and obey their order. When they do speak to mortals, they are filled with conviction and rebuke any evil actions or intent they sense.

Knights of Heaven. Angels are the crusaders of heaven. They exist not to judge mortals, but to fight in the never-ending war against evil. Fiends greatly outnumber and outweigh celestials, and they need all of the forces they can muster just to beat back the tide of demons and devils from the lower planes. They are succinct in their speech and have an intense presence, like a hardened knight. Perhaps the corruption eventually gets to even angels after an eternity of battle.

Unseen Benefactors. Angels are rarely witnessed by mortals, but they often appear in stories. They will sometimes assist those in need or will reward those who are good and just. Those that gain their assistance usually see no signs of their presence. The angels will disguise their true forms or be invisible and intangible. Angels do good because they are compelled to, but try to keep mortals' intentions true by not showing themselves. When an angel does present itself to a mortal, it is always in a time of dire need.

image source: Piotr Dura

Visions of Heaven

There are many ways to imagine what the heavenly planes look like. Where do your angels live? What are their goals in relation to heaven? How do good-aligned creatures pass the time in their afterlife in heaven? Here are some examples.

Mountain of Heaven. Petitioners of heaven must prove themselves by climbing a great mountain. They arrive further down the mountain depending on the extent of their earthly vices. Once a soul reaches the pinnacle, they fully arrive in heaven and transform into a lesser angel. As they work their way through the angelic hierarchy, they climb to new heights in the clouds above.

Alien World. Heaven is completely strange and beyond mortal thought. Colors beyond description, spaces without logic, and beings with alien morality are the norm here. Mortals were not meant to behold it; they must be prepared for it through experiencing death and traversing a progressively alien purgatory.

Surreal World. Heaven is filled with strange, allegorical wonders. Fruits that look like gemstones, trees with leaves of dove wings, winds that sing sweet songs, and cities with bricks of downy fur. Its appearance is beyond the comprehension of mortal extraplanar visitors, but the angels and resident souls fully understand the allegorical meaning and beauty of their world.

Angelic Citadel. Heaven is a place for staging the battle against evil. There are training grounds for petitioning souls to strengthen themselves and ascend through the angelic hierarchy. There are great walls and towers to aid in their defense. Fiends batter at the outermost gates, and angels constantly are sent to dispatch them. Heaven holds the entire concept of good within its innermost sanctum, where the most powerful angels serve as its guardians.

Planar Utopia. Heaven is much like the Material Plane, filled with cities and communities and landscapes of its own. Unlike the Material Plane, there is only one governing force: the angels that reside in their fantastic white towers. No one contests this order and everyone lives in complete peace and harmony. Each is given a station in life where they can be happy, and no one has any needs unmet or wishes unfulfilled. Visiting mortals find the world astounding and peaceful, if a little unsettling at the complete lack of conflict.

Halls of Heaven. Heaven is a great and impossible cathedral that spans the entire plane. Angels fly among cloudy rafters that are miles above the ground. Within its halls are gardens that can often be mistaken of sprawling fields or forests. Libraries detail the stories and histories of many worlds. The plane is filled with glittering rainbows of light as if from colored glass. Mortals traversing the plane find it beautiful but difficult to navigate.

Angelic Traits

Angels are embodiments of law and good, but what else makes an angel? Consider these traits when creating angelic characters or entities in your setting.

Angelic Will. Do angels in your setting have free will, or are they given commands by a higher power that they must obey? Angels with free will are often more interesting as characters as it allows them to be flawed. It also supports the idea that law and good are choices based on the individual, and the angels believe in their order and purpose on faith alone. This also allows angels to fall from grace or, by extension, for fiends to repent.

Angelic Logistics. Consider the angelic hierarchy. Most lawful-aligned systems have one. Who is at the top? Who is at the bottom? What purposes do angels serve? There are likely different angels for different purposes. Some may be caretakers, others warriors, some lorekeepers, others item crafters. In a setting with multiple deities, some angels may be in service of different gods and serve those gods in different ways. What signifies the angelic rank of angel? Perhaps it is something mortals cannot see, but it might be more interesting if they could. Maybe angels of higher rank have larger or more wings, or a more elaborate costume, or more grandiose halos.

Angelic Ascension. How are angels created? Perhaps they are made by gods. If so, think of how a deity might create an angel. Maybe they are made with clouds or gemstones or forged from pure light. Maybe angels emerge from their celestial plane naturally, rising from blessed seas or coalescing from clouds. Can souls in heaven ascend to angelic status? What sort of process does it take? Perhaps souls spontaneously ascend when they realize a new virtuous truth, or maybe they must undertake a trial or take part in a ritual to ascend to the next level in the angelic hierarchy.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Dreamswap is by @onebizarrekai​

This is set in the same AU as this and this.

Characters and pairing: DS Dream, DS Dreammare

warnings: cursing, dark thoughts, self-loathing, vomiting, panic

word count: 3,393

Summary: Dream wakes up with a pounding headache and deep confusion. As certain realizations hit him, he freaks out.

tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi​ @therandomskelekey @capisnotonfire

Dream groaned softly as he turned on his eye lights, rubbing his temples with a couple of finger tips in the vain hope of being able to banish the massive headache he'd suddenly acquired. He frowned a little in utter confusion as he realized that he was in a ten by ten foot room with three walls made out of stone, the other wall made of stone and sporting a massive and beautiful stained-glass window. He'd apparently been sitting on a high backed chair at a huge wooden desk. There were papers everywhere and he'd realized that he'd dropped a quill pen when he'd rubbed his temples, the nib of the light brown feather stained black, but the ink was dry.

He stoppered the half-full bottle of ink, standing up as he reached out with his magic, trying to figure out where Nightmare was - who likely wouldn't be far. Unless he'd gone down to the village in order to prank some of the mortals who lived there for the slights and cruelties that they had visited upon him. Dream was fairly sure that things might improve if the other knocked that off - but he knew that Nightmare wasn't going to allow the villagers to walk all over him... Dream had tried to talk to them about their treatment of Nightmare, but it was a circular argument, as they protested that they only treated his other half that way because of his antisocial nature coupled with his (at times) cruel pranks... Which Nightmare said he only did in retaliation due to their insults and attempts to hurt him.

There was a distinct absence of his other half's magic. And not just that the other was trying to hide his signature from him, or had wandered far in their timeline. Dream couldn't sense Nightmare anywhere within the timeline. Panic clawed through his soul as he teleported to the tree, freezing in shock as in it's place was a massive stump, cut down and leveled. His trembling finger tips grazed against the outer bark, trying to process just what the hell he'd seen. The last thing he remembered was... Was -

Dream let out a quiet cry of pain as his knees buckled, clutching his head as decades worth of memories rushed through his mind all at once.

"I must do this in order to bring peace and justice to everyone, Nightmare. You'll understand soon." Dream called out as he pulled the first Positive Apple off of the tree, consuming it before his other half could do more than stare.

"Dream, what the fuck are you doing? We're supposed to protect the tree and the apples, not eat them!" Nightmare had sputtered in response, charging towards him and trying to drag him away.

He had shoved the other aside, quickly scrambling up the tree as he consumed apple after apple, He needed them all - in order to have the power necessary in order to protect everyone. To s a v e everyone.

That was the last clear memory he had. The too-sweet flesh of the golden fruit on his tongue, even as Nightmare begged him to stop, frozen in place as he watched him go against everything that the two of them had created for. But how had he somehow changed all of the negative apples to positive ones? It didn't make sense. Another memory hit him, causing Dream to whimper softly.

Power flowed through him, as fury filled his soul at the fact that Nightmare had dared to eat one of the turned-positive fruits. All of them were supposed to be his! For that betrayal - along with the fact that this dark creature created and caused Negativity wherever It went, it needed to d i e. He summoned his weapon - a huge, gleaming claymore "You create misery and cause suffering... For that you will die."

Shock, horror and hurt crash through Nightmare's aura and across his face "D-Dream... P-Please you don't... You d-don't need to do that..." The other's voice was a quivering whisper as tears streamed down the other's face. "I-I don't... I'm not..." Nightmare yelped and dodged as Dream swung the long and heavy sword at the other, the blow too slow due to the change in weight in his hands. Nightmare teleported away before Dream could try to attack the other a second time.

A snarl left Dream's lips a he slashed at the air where Nightmare had been moments before. He'd hunt the other down after he practiced with the new weapon he had in his possession. That and he suspected that his body would be changing as it fully absorbed the powers of the 198 apples that he had consumed. Two of them were missing. One dark apple was in that idiot chicken of Nightmare's, the other (it had been changed to a positive apple) his miserable traitor of a mate had stolen for himself. No matter, the other's power gain would be paltry in comparison to Dream's own.

Fantastic. While he had thought and wondered about what might happen if he consumed the positive apples - the information he'd been reading speculating that one would gain a great deal of magical power and insight into how other beings worked... Dream hadn't realized that he'd given into that particular impulse.

Worse yet, his very first act while drunk on the power of far too many positive apples than were ever meant to truly exist was to attack his other half while accusing Nightmare of something that was blatantly untrue. Dream could sense mortals approaching his location and cursed lowly, spinning around and nearly falling over, realizing that one of the things that had changed (in addition to the glowing magical wings he now possessed) was that he'd gained at least a foot in height - completely throwing off his center of balance.

How long has it been, since Dream had been in full command of himself? What the hell had he been doing in that time? Given... Given the fact that he had very firm memories of an entire stars-damned fortress being built on his orders... That would have taken at least two decades at minimum? Dream teleported back to the room he'd first found himself in, frantically rifling through the seemingly endless piles of paperwork, trying to piece together what the hell was going on, along with the foggy memories that hurt whenever he recognized the name of one of the mortals he'd recruited to do something, knees buckling as his world was repeatedly shattered at it's foundations.

Dream paused for a moment when he found the file on Nightmare. There were reports on what timelines the other had been in - blurry photographs and a supposed list of crimes that his other half had been accused of. On a list of mass-murderers and vile villains who had killed, maimed and tortured dozens if not hundreds of beings... Nightmare was number one. And the only reason that Dream could come up with why his other half was on that list was because he was hunting the other. He wanted to find Nightmare in order to... To... According to the report he was planning on having his scientists experiment on their soul bond, as well as to attempt to study the nature of the other's negative spirit...

Either in an attempt to figure out how to split the fate-bond that was entirely unique in the multiverse known to them all... Or to forcibly change Nightmare from a negative spirit into a positive one... Horror floods through Dream's soul and aura at the clinical notes that have already been taken on both of these potential ideas... From what he can tell, it's from studies done on Dream's own side of their bond and what makes up a positive spirit... But he can't tell for sure.

At this moment, at least, Nightmare isn't captured by Justice Reigns (which is the name of the organization that he leads, apparently. Because that doesn't scream dictatorial high-handedness at all). "Thank all the stars in the sky..." Dream whispers to himself at that, body shaking a little at the thought of Nightmare undergoing such torturous tests and knowing that it was by Dream's own command... One of the main reasons why he'd been tempted to eat the apples in the first place, was to make sure that the villagers would stop tormenting Nightmare.

Dream has to stop going through the file on Nightmare, his hands shaking, as the disgust, fear and pain in his soul is too much for him to bear. Thankfully, there is a smaller room off of this one, with a bed in it. The positive guardian activates the sound-proofing spells in this bedroom before he grabs one of the pillows and screamed into it until his voice gave out on him, noting absently that he'd also soaked the pillow in his tears of horror and self-revulsion at what he had done to Nightmare... What he had planned for his other half, who didn't deserve any of that.

He has no idea where in the multiverse his other half is... But he really hopes that Nightmare is safe and at least content, if not happy. Dream continues to sort through the files, re-learning a great deal of information. He freezes when he realizes that the favored method of dealing with criminals... What he personally decided and decreed to his loyal followers... Was that those who created negativity and suffering were to die. Executed publicly. Another shudder of horror runs through him and Dream is struck by a cold realization at what these notes imply. He turns off his eye lights, taking in and slowly letting out a couple of deep, calming breaths before he Checks himself.

{L̼o̴̳̥͔̝͈̯̖r̗̭̳d͉̯̣͚͈͢ Dream ͓̙̝̤̤̬V͙̗͝o̱̝̰͟n̷ ̜͎̤̺̲̪L̼̦̻̣͞i͇̝͎̠̪͉ͅc҉ẖ̵̮t̜̲͞, Guardian of positivity, C͚̜̠̦̥͖E̘̟͎̫̯̯̭͡O̼̻͙ ̯͍͚̘̘o͙̱͈͙̭̠͢f̬̺̪͍̘̣ ͈͍͕̱J̧u͔͎̦͈ͅs̼̗t̬̹͎͟i̦̩̝͔̬̥͢c̳̻͕̪̯̹̮e̱̜̯̬ ̞͝R̞̼̝͈̦̦̮͜e̩̝̥̟i̠͚͎͕̜̫̥g҉̣̰̙͈ͅn͓̪̤̠̬̭s̪͙͙̘͡.

ATK ??? DEF ???

*Confused and terrified of yourself

*What have I done?

LV: 1̢͎0͎?̼̣ͅ?̬͙̳́

*Filthy, hypocritical murderer}

Ten. He has an LV of ten. How many monsters and humans has he killed in order to even get an LV that high? How much blood and dust is on his hands? More horror and revulsion fills him and Dream rushes to the trash can, just barely managing to pull it close to him before he heaved up the contents of his stomach. Dream continued to heave long after there was nothing left, shuddering and gasping a little as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that he had killed dozens of people in order to get the LV he was currently at... From what he had read of the records of Justice Reigns, they had a no-tolerance policy when it came to certain kinds of criminals... Murderers being one such type. He did catch that there were some beings who had been rehabilitated somehow... Although Dream was, quite frankly, terrified at the thought of what constituted as rehabilitation by the draconian and ruthless organization that he lead. Not just lead, but had built from the ground up.

Dream suspected that some of the more stable murderers hadn't been killed... But recruited on the sly and either brainwashed or straight up offered a deal - service or death. Which was nauseating and he wondered how many of the people under his command were aware of this. The positive guardian genuinely couldn't guess and... He'd have to continue to go through personnel and intelligence files in his room, to gain some sort of insight as to just what sort of organization he was truly running - as well as have a guess as to just who might be aware of everything, and...  And what the hell he was going to do now.

If he could do whatever he wanted, Dream would immediately run after Nightmare, to desperately try to find the other and apologize for all of the shit he'd put the other through... The soul-deep betrayal that he had committed against his beloved and promise that he'd never hurt the other in such an awful way ever again. The positive spirit wanted to order an edict or proclaim or whatever the hell it was that he did when he wanted to inform his people to stop chasing down Nightmare... That they weren't going to immediately kill all criminals who did certain things but...

Such a deep and sudden reversal of policies would be seen as suspicious, and he suspected, wouldn't be taken well by the populace that he had a great deal of influence over... Or rather, that Justice Reigns had influence over. The people who reported directly and immediately to him might suspect that he had been blackmailed- or perhaps replaced entirely. Which wasn't true. But for the first time in...

For fuck's sake he'd been... He'd been out of his mind and drunk on power for... For over thirty years. How the hell had no one tried to stand up against him? Dream grimaced a little as flashes of memories of those foolish enough to oppose him crashed through his mind.

A stubborn-looking Toriel, her hands alight with fire as she attacked him with all that she had. The poor boss-monster had no idea how truly out-classed she was. Her dust stained his claymore three turns later. A regrettable loss, but as she had been the leader of her people, her falling to his blade was the tipping point.

A Sans who had snapped, slaughtering every monster who he could find in his timeline, in the desperate attempt to get strong enough to kill the human who had been destroying them over and over again, through countless timelines. The human's battered and black-stained red soul fluttered between the two of them weakly as Dream fought and dodged the mortal. He put up a good fight, but the other's soul cracked and crumbled in the positive spirit's fist six turns later.

A dozen royal guards-monsters from an Underfell timeline attack Dream and his team en-mass. The positive guardian stops and sends a pulse of pure magic their way, causing the startled and positivity-deprived monsters to collapse in the snow, shaking at the onslaught of false emotions. Their deaths were swift, a mercy that those guards would not have seen fit to give Dream or his people.

He whispered to himself, hiding his face in his hands, voice rough from the screaming earlier "What... What sort of demon of light have I become? And what should I do now?" He struggled with the despair and disgust that welled up in his soul at what he'd done - what he'd ordered others to do. Yes, there was a great deal of good that Justice Reigns was doing... But it was built on the blood and dust of dozens if not hundreds of sentient beings. That needed to change... But such a dramatic change needed to be gradual, and Dream would need to figure out who would stay loyal through this change, and who he would need to actually rehabilitate and put into therapy (including himself, quite frankly... As well as who might need more drastic measures.

Dream desperately wished that he had Nightmare at his side. He could only imagine what the other's reaction to how much work and effort this was going to take... His mate might roll on the floor laughing at the mess he'd gotten himself into... If it wasn't for the awful betrayal he'd committed against the other. No, best not to try to pursue Nightmare just yet - especially as he had no idea if he would be able to continue to keep his mind, or if... If whatever had taken hold of his mind might try to do so again.

Not that he was going to surrender to that sort of madness again. Not ever again, if he could at all help it. Small steps at first, and the first thing that he needed to do was to figure out what "he" had been planning to do for the day - whether or not anyone was going to be expecting him in any meetings, and if so where that might be (and perhaps in which timelines, as JR's reach apparently extended to quite a few timelines, from the information he was able to gather, along with what his scattered memories were telling him).

Dream shifted through the piles of paperwork - as he was pretty sure that he'd seen some sort of daily planner of sorts. At least his alternate ego or whatever the hell had been piloting his body and using his magic had been organized - as otherwise it would make this a lot harder, given the way that the paperwork and the files had been neatly arranged. If he wasn't so horrified by what he'd done, Dream would appreciate the meticulous way that all of this had been done.

He'd just found the damn thing, trying to figure out what day it might be, when there was a light knock on the door - and Dream could sense someone behind it. Shit. From what he could tell, his... He hadn't been too different from who he really was... Just considerably more ruthless than he truly was. He took a sip of water and used a bit of healing magic on his throat so that he could call out without his voice sounding hoarse or strained "Yes? Come in please."

A tall dog-monster walked in, nodding respectfully. The other was wearing a collar with a circular gold pin with the letters JR in the middle of the circle. His name was... C... Cha... Champion? A good and loyal supporter of his. Willing to fight, but not bloodthirsty. "You asked me to come and get you when the backers from timelines US-22 through USF 99 arrived? They've all arrived and have settled into the guest quarters."

Come on, Dream. Think! He thought to himself What was the plan for the day? Outwardly he nodded, standing up and stating calmly "Thank you for informing me of this, Champion. They traveled rather far, so I think I shall let them have a brief respite before speaking to them." That sounded reasonable... Right?

Champion didn't react outwardly, though there was a small twinge of surprise in the other's emotional aura. He nodded obediently "Yes sir, I'll inform them of that. The USF delegations in particular will be grateful for your generosity. If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave?"

Dream nodded, sending the other a small smile "That is all. Thank you."

"Yes boss." Champion acknowledged, the dog-monster's tail wagged a little, and his emotional aura perked up at the praise (which was adorable in the positive spirit's opinion), the other's ears pricking attentively towards him. The other was almost out of his office before he paused, and turned to look over one shoulder at him "How long should I tell them they have to rest before you'll meet with them, Lord Dream?"

That last moniker sent a spike of pain driving straight through the center of Dream's skull. he was very grateful that the other didn't seem to notice his ever so slight flinch. He hummed for a moment "Oh... Three hours? Tell me if they seem truly exhausted. I wouldn't wish to push them if they need more rest."

"Yes sir, understood." With that the dog monster left, not in the least bit suspicious that Dream had changed at all, if the other's emotional aura was anything to go off of.

Spectacular. He had just bought himself at least three hours to figure out what the hell that upcoming meeting was supposed to be about. Dream really hoped that he'd have enough of a clue not to tip off everyone around him that something had changed... They may not feel it is a good one and try to change him back.

And like hell was he going to let those torturous experiments happen to Nightmare - or for them to continue if his beloved ever really had been captured by his addled self.

No. He couldn't cry more. Not at the pain and misery he suspected he had put the love of his eternal life through. Not for the dozens of beings whose dust and blood permanently stained his hands and soul. All Dream could do was look to the future and try to make sure that Justice Reigns was a true source of positive change and true stability in the multiverse.

[silveranddittany]

LYCANTHROPY

“I'll ask of the berserks, you tasters of blood,

Those intrepid heroes, how are they treated,

Those who wade out into battle?

Wolf-skinned they are called.” 

- Haraldskvæði, by Thórbiörn Hornklofi

“He was straight transfourmed into the likenes of a greedy devouring wolf, strong and mighty, with eyes great and large, which in the night sparkeled like unto brandes of fire, a mouth great and wide, with most sharpe and cruell teeth, a huge body, and mightye pawes." 

- The Trial of Peter Stumpp, The Werewolf of Bedburg

The origins of the werewolf, one of the most maligned magical creatures of this or any time, remain a mystery. It has been proposed that, rather than merely a Dark Curse inflicted by some hateful warlock, lycanthropy is a relic of the Viking berserkergang - meaning that this frightful condition once had brutal purpose on the field of battle. These possibilities, while discussed over brandy at very particular clubs as a subject of historical curiosity, are wholly irrelevant. The popular perception of werewolves as mindless man-eaters has become so entrenched that there seems little likelihood of change. Between passed down prejudices, horrific depictions across magical and muggle media, and stacks of mis-informed, fantastical, and simply hateful so-called “academic” treatments of the subject, lycanthropy remains a thoroughly demonized affliction. 

The most insidious of the myths surrounding lycanthropy is that this curse progressively destroys the victim’s capacity for moral sense, leaving a werewolf thoroughly vicious, animalistic, and evil. Another is that they do, in fact, maintain their human minds while transformed - that their murderous behaviours under the full moon are genuinely their doing, the acting-out of grudges and sadistic urges. The “infectious” nature of the condition is also grossly exaggerated, confusing when and how the curse can be passed on. So is the power of werewolves - while they are certainly formidable creatures, they are not invincible, insensitive to pain, or unable to feel fear, as the legends often suggest. 

Tragically, some of the very worst of the stories are true. 

During the full moon, werewolves will preferentially hunt, kill, and even eat human beings, magical and muggle alike. They appear to be driven to attack any person they encounter, and are as likely to leave the corpse strewn meaninglessly across the countryside as to consume it. Their human understanding vanishes completely, from moonrise to moonset. There is no reason to appeal to. They do not recognize or respond to anyone they know or love, while human. Werewolves are unable to fully recall the events of the full moon, though many “authorities” insist that this is simply a ruse - you know werewolves. Those creatures surely aren’t above lying to escape proper judgment for their hideous crimes. Are they? 

It is extremely difficult to dissuade an attacking werewolf, barring substantial muggle firepower or excellent spell-casting. When transformed, werewolves are frighteningly resistant to many lower level spells, such as the Full Body-Bind Curse or Stinging Jinx. This is due, presumably, to the sinister magic of their being. They are also physically resilient, able to withstand a great deal of pain and injury in their frenzied attempts to slaughter anyone they come across. 

When contained, with no human prey, werewolves become incredibly agitated. Their tendency to bite and scratch themselves is often pointed to as evidence of their rabid nature - clearly, they are so senselessly devoted to destroying human beings that they can’t stand the fact that there remains even a shred of humanity inside them. More sympathetic views, largely belonging to wix who keep dogs, suggest that this is merely an expression of deep distress. This interpretation is largely ignored. 

THE BITE

While rumours persist that lycanthropy can be spread through scratches, or even through scratches and bites delivered while a werewolf is in human form, most magi-medical professionals know that only the bite of a transformed werewolf can transfer the affliction, although a milder “infection” from non-transformed bites does sometimes occur if the wounds are deep enough. 

One of the more unusual aspects of this curse is that a scratch or bite from a werewolf will not clot and stop bleeding unless properly cared for - meaning the victim will invariably bleed to death without magi-medical attention. A solution of ground silver and oil of dittany is the only potion known to seal wounds inflicted by a werewolf. Werewolves themselves are, of course, immune to this particular effect, and their wounds - inflicted by their own claws and fangs, or those of other werewolves - will clot and heal normally. With the benefit of time and magical treatment, these scars can disappear completely. 

However, the scars left by the bite which inflicts the curse will scar permanently; no magical means are known to be able to remove this curse-mark. Likewise, if an “uninfected” human is scratched by a transformed werewolf, these injuries will also leave irremediable curse-scars. 

While muggles have certainly been bitten by werewolves, no survivors are recorded. This is believed to be a reflection of the magical nature of lycanthropy; while the language of disease is commonly used to discuss the affliction, this vocabulary is inaccurate, absorbed from the muggle world. Werewolfry is a curse, and, apparently, an amount of innate magic is needed in order to survive it at all. 

There are no known cases of a wix surviving a werewolf’s bite without suffering the curse. There are tales of these unfortunate victims begging to be left to die, and many stories of mediwix simply refusing to treat them at all. In light of an unusual - but still small - uptick in werewolf bites in recent years, St. Mungo’s has had to establish and enforce a policy which requires their staff to provide treatment to these patients. This has sparked some controversy, but the hospital’s administration has quieted critics by clarifying that this is a matter of containing risk - and ensuring proper registration.

APPEARANCE

There’s no easy, sure way to tell an untransformed werewolf from anyone else, despite what the stories might say. At most, the only common feature is a tendency to age or grey prematurely; but “regular people” do that too, don’t they? While the scars left by a werewolf bite are quite striking, given their size and severity, there’s nothing so specifically unusual about them that would give away their origin. However - werewolves will carry scars and injuries across their shapes, meaning that these are, potentially, a means of identifying the local lycanthrope. 

Once transformed, you could mistake a werewolf for a wolf - if, at least, you were looking at one that was very still, from quite far away, in the dark, through some foliage, and had never in fact seen an actual wolf, ever. Werewolves are generally described as unsettling at an instinctive level, inspiring a particular and intense kind of fear due to their uncanny appearance. 

A changed werewolf is as unidentifiable to others as they are to it. They are gangling, unnatural looking creatures, and generally move about on all fours. Their heavily clawed forepaws remain eerily hand-like, but not so much as to be capable of grasping objects. The canine-like head is unusually proportioned, with a slightly shorter snout than a wolf might possess. The eyes of a werewolf feature largely in witness accounts, in which they tend to be described as profoundly disturbing, possessed of human-like murderous fury. From muzzle to tail, they are covered in thick fur, generally similar in colour to their human hair. 

When exposed to light, a werewolf demonstrates the eye-shine associated with a well-developed tapetum lucidum; their night vision is, unfortunately, excellent. While some experts state that werewolves are entirely red-green colour blind, much like dogs, even when in human shape, this is false. There is, however, reason to believe that a transformed werewolf experiences this effect to some extent. 

As one might expect, werewolves heal somewhat quicker than non-werewolves - from both magical and mundane injuries. This is simply a matter of survival, given the violence of their monthly transformations. Silver, despite the muggle myths, has no particular effect on werewolves in any shape. 

MAGICAL USE 

The fur, saliva, blood, organs, claws, and fangs of werewolves are known to have considerable magical value. However, given the difficulty in collecting such material, and the limited time frame for useful harvest, these ingredients are very rare; their usefulness to potion-makers and wand-crafters is not thoroughly tested, and mostly hypothetical, due to the infrequency of experiments and the questionable nature of historical records. 

Trade in werewolf parts, while inherently predatory, is very, very lucrative - and has never been regulated by the Ministry. 

NOTES

Lycanthropy is sometimes referred to as werewolfry, to avoid confusion with the psychological condition; that’s more an academic distinction than a common one, though.

[transcending-chaos]

I really enjoy your art and find your headcanons for the creatures both interesting and somehow fitting despite there not being a lot of information about them. But I am curious, do you have any headcanons for each tribe in general?

(I got this question a while ago; using it now because my hands hurt too much to draw right now. Thank you for your patience.)

UnderWorlders

Those that live in areas like UnderWorld City, the Lava Pond, or places where the air is largely filled with sulfur gas have less of a sense of smell and taste than most other UWs. Scent isn’t as viable in those regions because it’s largely masked by the gases that spout from the ground. However, because this means that those Creatures have stunted olfactory senses, this is why they typically spice the heck out of their food (and you can sort of smell it in the air once you get used to the sulfur). They can’t taste most things without it, especially sweet-things, so most of their cooking is often really strong -be it simple dishes, to feasts, to really hard alcohol. This lack of taste is especially true in the Creatures that breathe fire, as they have fewer nerves in their mouth and tongues as a whole due to the extreme temperatures their bodies have been made to withstand.

Related to that last point, it’s why their hygiene seems a little lacking in comparison to the other Tribes. While they can certainly feel grime, they don’t smell it as much, and besides, water is a very rare resource for them so they’re not going to waste it with superfluous bathing.

UnderWorlders are strangely possessive of their Humans. Though most don’t outwardly show it (because that broadcasts something that could be used against them), those that have ‘wards’ or connections to Players will absolutely destroy something in order to protect them. If given the opportunity, most UnderWorlders would leap at the chance to have someone study under them (kind of like how Grook did with Kaz), as training is usually a social behavior shared not only among students and teachers, but friendly sparing between family members is somewhat of a culturally sacred thing. However, most are aware that they’d likely kill a Player if this was attempted.

Von Bloot was never a respected leader; his army was made of conscripts and people forced into a situation where they had no other choice. That being said, most are also dissatisfied that Chaor took so long to do something about him, as well as the fact that he wasn’t the one who finally got Von Bloot in the end. There’s a bit of a power-vacuum in the southern UW after he’s gone. 

Some UnderWorlders would swear that they can feel Fire in a few Players. This is part of the reason Chaor has not outright wiped Tom from existence (the other part being that his human is too attached to him). 

Danians

Danians are surprisingly adept at playing music and making instruments. Because of their connection to each other, it’s easy for them to harmonize sounds together and create layered symphonies that are perfectly in time with one another. They specialize in percussion, be it stamping of the feet, steel drums, or humming to make a beat. Also, younger Danians have a tendency to chitter or hum without realizing it. It’s pretty common to find their designated part of the Hive thrumming with sound, even in the dead of night. It’s a calming noise for the soldiers who can’t sleep, as it sounds entirely of contentment, and those with insomnia have a small medical barracks next to it so that they can be lulled asleep.

While uncommon, some Danians crave physical affection. Most have a pretty steely demeanor, but those with softer sides are usually the ones you can find befriending Players. Their culture isn’t too big on affection as a whole, so when encountering Humans (who as a species are aggressively social), it was like striking gold. These Danians tend to favor younger Players, as they are commonly predisposed to protect those they know cannot help themselves. 

Most Battle-Masters have a (mostly) one-way connection to the Hive. They can send out orders, but it’s hard for them to receive messages unless it’s from the Queen or her personal entourage. This is because they often have to make choices that will end up costing lives, and they don’t have the sense of solidarity most other Danian classes do. While many Mandiblors will provide solace to one another because they feel the loss and rift that fallen left behind, Battle-Masters typically don’t. After all, who wants to mourn when you’re the reason that they’re gone? Instead, you need to focus on the next fight and prevent such a thing from happening again.

Needless to say, that last point is a huge contention between Muges in the Hive and the generals. One focusses mainly on how things are connected, while the other is fundamentally incapable of understanding it. 

They detest spiders. All of them. “Nothing holy would create something with that many eyes.”

Mipedians

Typically seen as the most wealthy of the Tribes, Mipedians are totally unmotivated by most commodities, but are very willing to trade for food. As they live in a literal desert, it’s hard for them to grow much of anything, even in the oasis areas. Cactuses are farmed in some places, but for the most part they rely solely on imports. The biggest provider is the OverWorld, and strangely enough, no matter how bad things get between the Tribes, this agreement is never threatened (Maxxor has never considered starving them, nor would he dare entertain the idea; he refuses to punish an entire nation because their leaders aren’t being reasonable) which is a contrast to how how the arrangements between the Mipedians and the other two Tribes. 

Wearing chimes is a very common practice among most ordinary citizens. Not only does the metal heat up nicely in the sun, but it’s a way for parents to hear where their kids are. Most families will have their chimes tuned to a certain chord. Markets and bazaars are not only an amazing experience for the eyes, as seeing glittering scales, silks, and fantastic wares, but also for the ears due to the pleasant clinking of jewelry.

Mipedians have community sunbathing sessions. Towns have them at different times and days from one another, but it’s usually the highlight of the week. Typically, it’s just after the highest point of sun in the sky until dusk (though officials and soldiers leave only after about an hour or two). After that there are campfires in the night and shared potluck styled banquets. It’s great for community morale, as well as a grounding measure for those working in their political structure to see their subjects as people and interact with them as such instead of just ‘subjects.’ If one’s in the desert at night and there’s no breeze, you might hear jovial laughter and smell food on the wind. 

This is also a way of helping guide lost travelers home. It has saved many poor wanderers of all Tribes, and is the one time outsiders won’t be taken into custody immediately. 

OverWorlders

They’re the only Tribe with multiple classes and schools of Muge: Naturalists, Hunes, Archivists, and war-Muges. Naturalists are typically those who rely on elemental abilities, study the connections of the natural world, and believe that everything has innate tethers to the Cothica (something that’s rejected by the other schools). Hunes are primarily scholars or political figures, often trying to find out the nature of Mugic itself, demystify it, as well as create their own sphere of influence in the public. Archivists are like Najarin, where they take a primarily historically and anthropological view of Mugic, the world, and how things have changed. War-Muges are just those who learn to cast in order to use it in battle.

They’re the only Tribe that has territory that has other sovereign nations within it. The Gherix, Zeorn, and a whole host of others all occupy pieces of land within the vast realm, and many have diplomats stationed in Kiru. Also, if the Frozen weren’t ever intended to be a Tribe, I think they were just a society of OW Creatures that lived up higher than Glacier Plains (however it seems like they were meant to be their own thing, but this is kind of what I default to when making AUs where there are other Tribes occupying the 6th and 7th spots).

The monarchy in the OverWorld isn’t a typical monarchy. When in times of war, the council will elect a monarch as a tie-breaking vote that can veto or agree to motions set before them by other groups. Maxxor didn’t get the position because of his father, and in fact, he’s a better politician and negotiator that his dad. His father was a better general and warrior though, and this is something older council members will use to needle him when unhappy with him. 

OverWorlders have a strange superstition when it comes to twins. Many see it as a single entity that was split in half because the whole was “too bright a light to burn on its own” meaning that it likely would have only led a brief life that, while prosperous and happy, would unravel rapidly and severely. Most consider twins a blessing because of this, as it’s seen as a way of sparing the family from having to bury a child earlier than expected. 

Most villages have ‘moon pendulums’, or a set of stones on chains that trace the orbit of the three moons over a huge pit of sand or gravel. It’s essentially a lunar calendar that helps them keep track of the holidays. Some have special stones of different colors or that glow in the dark, just as a way of making sure no one bumps into it at night. 

[doomedandstoned]

Swedish Sci-Fi Fuzz Freaks Skraeckoedlan Drop Third Single Ahead of ‘Earth’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Hot damn! This put me in a really good mood today. It's so good to hear new tunes from SKRAECKOEDLAN, the fuzz-drenched progressive stoner-doom outfit from Norrköping -- a city nestled in northeastern Sweden, about an hour-and-a-half's drive from Stockholm. Heavily rooted in the distinctives of their native soil, this three-piece sings entirely in Swedish, presenting a bit of a challenge to English-speakers, but no less an adventure in uncovering the backstory and interpretation of their songs...for nothing is at it seems.

A longtime favorite of Doomed & Stoned readers, the band has been wowing us with some of the most exciting songwriting on God's green earth since 2009. Now, a decade of dedication to anything is an accomplishment, but for a band with talents so laser-focused on their craft as Robert Lamu (guitar, vocals), Henrik Grüttner (guitars, vocals), and Martin Larsson (drums), it's a god damned milestone. The band, aptly named after an enormous prehistoric monster, has treated us to a pair of hefty long-plays already and now they brace for their third, 'Eorþe' (2019) on the esteemed Fuzzorama Records label.

The new record is a dense Lovecraftian tale by science fiction author Nils Håkansson, which he in fact wrote with the intention of having Skraeckoedlan bring to life over the course of these eight songs. It's a remarkable collaboration that is not only literary and musical, but visual, as well. The band worked once again with longtime artist Johan Leion to aid us in unlocking these mysteries of the faded past.

Today, Doomed & Stoned gives you a first listen to "Tentakler & Betar," which catches the narrative of Eorþe as it is nearing its end. The song is characterized by urgent beats, soaring vocal harmonies, weird effects, arpeggios that crawl like agitated spiders, and spirited riffs that fly and sing like the fowls of the air. Let me not fail to mention, too, that the sound is absolutely brilliant. The band tells us this about the number:

"This, the penultimate track of the album, takes us down into the darkness of the earth, as well as the mind. It explores what is left at journey's end and what to do when ambitions have been reached. Standing face to face with your obsessions, where do you go? As the cosmic clock relentlessly ticks, nothing will remain but tentacles and tusks."

February 15th is the date to watch for Skraeckoedlan's triumphant new album. It can be pre-ordered on some delicious looking vinyl variants here.

Give ear...

Some Buzz

Heavy riff power trio Skraeckoedlan are telling tales draped in metaphor. Fuzzy stories buried in melody are cloned into a one of a kind copy of an otherwise eradicated species. Previously found only in Sweden, this cold blooded lizard have once again started to walk the planet that we know as earth. The extinct is no longer a part of the past. Skraeckoedlan is the best living biological attraction, made so astounding that they capture the imagination of the entire planet.

The dinosaurs are believed to have made their first footprints on our earthen floor some 240 million years ago, during what is now known as the Triassic period. Indisputable behemoths and apex predators amongst them, they wandered freely and soared sovereign, ever evolving as the impending Jurassic and Cretaceous eras unfolded. Then, 65 million years ago, it stopped. Be it by asteroid or volcano, the dinosaurs’ fate became one shared with most species ever to inhabit our pale blue dot, extinction.

While Skraeckoedlan translates into something like dinosaur, an analogy better drawn is perhaps one to the great lizards’ descendants, the birds. In their flight there is a, quite literal, escapism to be found. A vital ingredient, encapsulating the bands very being. Although escape, it should be said, not necessarily in the sense of shying away but rather as a recipe for observation and introspection. A kind of fleeing of everyday worries in benefit of larger and hopefully more profound queries A bird’s-eye view, if you will.

"A prelude to the end. The moments of bliss before the imminent doom. We have journeyed to the place where it all unfolds, where the unseen rests and the secrets of the past lay buried. Here we too will become shrouded in mystery, riddles to be solved by those not yet granted a time and place in existence. Whatever the answers, one naked truth stands absolute. None shall leave the Ivory Halls."

Quite a few million years later than their reptilian namesakes, Skraeckoedlan is leaving their own footprints in earth’s soil, albeit not as physically grand. Their self-proclaimed fuzz-science fiction rock is an homage to the riff, vehemently echoing throughout the ages like that of a gargantuan Brachiosaurus striding freely. Equal in weight to the deafening heaviness of a Skraeckoedlan melody, these long-necked colossals further possess in their very defining feature the weapon needed for a complete experience of such melodies. Although strong neck or not, once in concert heads will, regardless of intent, be moving along.

Through their natively sung lyrics Skraeckoedlan invites us to partake in a world of cosmic awe inhabited by mythological beings and prehistoric beasts, like the immense havoc wreaking reptilian awakening from its slumber in the polar ice caps, featured on the debut full-length Äppelträdet (The Apple Tree), or the reclusive great ape Gigantos, solemnly wandering his mountain as one of several entities on the follow-up, Sagor (Tales). Against backdrops like these, underlying themes of the aforementioned big picture-nature are being explored, much in the spirit of, and hugely inspired by, great minds such as Alan Watts and Carl Sagan, fantastic creatures in their own respective rights.

"This song is, more than a part of the concept that is Eorþe, a story about life and the feelings of utter hopelessness our seeming oddity of an existence can often give rise to. It is a song about letting go and leaving behind. It’s about shattering the societal mirror and its reflection of illusionary demands and expectations, leaving your unhindered gaze looking ahead, to where your true calling lies. In short, it is a song about becoming truly free."

Formed in the city of Norrköping in 2009, Skraeckoedlan -- a reference to ‘Godzilla’ in Swedish -- are one of the most ambitious, original and multidimensional bands to emerge from Scandinavia in recent years.

Live shows with the likes of Orange Goblin, Kylesa, Greenleaf and other giants of the genre followed in the wake of Äppelträdet’s success and in 2015, with production underway on their follow-up album Sagor (Translated; ‘Tales’) Skraeckoedlan worked with a number of acclaimed producers including Niklas Berglöf (Ghost, Den Svenska Björnstammen) and Daniel Bergstrand (Meshuggah, In Flames, El Caco).

It wasn’t however until they met producer and technician Erik Berglund that they really found what was missing. Lifting the band to entirely new levels of musicianship, under his tutelage the creative process for Sagor not only left the band with an album they were immensely proud of, but one that sat deservedly at number two in the national Swedish vinyl sales chart in August of 2015.

"This song depicts the now submerged Doggerland as seen from the perspective of one of the mammoths who the continent used to house. In fact, we see through the eyes of Doggerland’s very last mammoth as its time amongst the living draws to a close. We occupy its head as thoughts of death and liberation mixes in a flurry of emotion and contemplation. Its destiny shared with the land upon which it walks, our traveler of tusk and wool journeys towards its final resting place while the North Sea rises ever higher, soon to swallow it all."

Like Galactus-in-reverse, their talent for constructing new worlds from the building blocks of heavy psychedelia and progressive rock is simply awe inspiring, and this February will see the release of their most accomplished vision yet: Eorþe (translated, "Earth").

In collaboration with sci-fi author Nils Håkansson who wrote the story behind the album specifically for Skraeckoedlan, Eorþe is set in the 1920s amid a mystery heavy with Lovecraftian influence and philosophical nuances. As the band explains, “This is by far our most ambitious work of art yet. It’s been a real challenge to do someone else’s story justice whilst making the songs cohesive as well as standing strong on their own. It took a lot of effort, but we’ve done just that.”

Having loyally served as heralds to Nordic folklore and science fiction since their inception, following the release of their early EPs in 2010 the band gained the kind of attention that could only lead on to the creation of a much-admired debut album in Äppelträdet (2011, translated; ‘The Apple Tree’) produced by Oskar Cedermalm from the legendary fuzz band Truckfighters.

Earth by Skraekoedlan

Heading into 2019 with the help of Fuzzorama Records, Skraeckoedlan steer a course to Eorþe, their first album in over three years and undoubtedly their most progressive. With the big metal riffs of ‘Kung Mammut’ riding shotgun alongside the more introspective and explorative moments of songs like ‘Mammutkungens Barn’ and ‘Angra Mainyu’, the trio have cut a definitive and spellbinding record of light and dark.

In addition to the CD and standard vinyl editions, Eorþe will also come in a limited-edition box set which sees the album split across two gatefold vinyl records: Earth: Above and Earth: Below. The set will come packed with pieces of merchandise that revolve around the story and feature alternative artwork.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[evanbaughmann]

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[randomnessunicorn-imagine]

Papy, Blueberry react to there's a fan group that worships this great/magnificent monster, the group place has all this decorations that has his face on it and this handmade big statute of him. Activities include chanting for the monster when he's training, occasionally makes and sells merchandise of him and all the money will goes to making more cool date outfits for him, solving every puzzles the monster made,etc. Doing all this while eating spaghetti/tacos that's better than the monster made.

{ What if the fans are not as nice as they seem…I wrote two long drabbles because I needed to write something different– }

〣 PAPPY 〣

After breaking the barrier, the monsters were free andintegrated into human society.

Some monsters were more loved than others. Just like thegreat Papyrus, a monster who was famous for his courage, strength and benevolence.He was the most adorable monster of the Undeground and everyone esteemed and adoredhim unconditionally.

He was a role model, the new hero of the surface, theone who would make this world a better place but this world was rotten. Athousand Charas were hidded behind their friendly and kind smiles, but Papyruswas pure and he believed that there was good in every heart.

Papyrus’ fans were nice, gentle and devoted to him.They also founded a real fan club dedicated to their favourite skeleton.

Could they be cuter than this?

He was proud of his audience, and he loved them all, everylast one of them. They filled his heart with joy and satisfaction and he didnot imagine that the world could be so beautiful and surprising.

Papyrus received a thousand letters from his fansevery day. They declared the love they felt towards him, the sentiment of esteemthey felt for him and the hope they had of meeting him in person.

His fans, the truth must be told, were not always polite,some of them possessed a little bit disturbing traits. In their letters, they wrotethings that the poor skeleton was not even able to pronounce in real life, like:

“Ilove you, great Papyrus, I want to make you mine. I wanna have you inside me, beingone with you. For the rest of eternity. ”

“Ihave always had a thing for skeletons and now that I have found you, I will beable to realize my dream. My parents have always considered me mad for my weirddesire to fuck a corpse, but I wonder… Are you alive or dead, great Papyrus?Our union will be even better than any experience I’ve ever practiced…” 

“OhI’m madly in love with you, Great Papyrus. Could you send me one of your bones?I will make a necklace with them, which I will always have with me, close to myheart. I want a part of you. I want you!”

All these letters maybe were just silly and eccentricjokes, he decided not to pay attention to them because fame included also this:crazy fans.

He never talked with his brother about these letters,Sans thought everything was fine because he saw his brother loved and desiredand this was enough to make Sans feeling comfortable and calm.

One day, an anonymous group of fans, after an event Papyrusorganized with all his fandom, kidnapped him with the excuse of bringing him ina fantastic place where they could have fun together. Papyrus could not say noto his fans. He followed them, walking into their trap.

The poor skeleton could not imagine that he was goingto become ashes, his fragments would have flown over the entire city.

“Where are we going?” the naive skeletonsaid.

“In a very special place, we want to introduceyou to a person,” said a boy with a calm but sinister voice.

Papyrus was blindfolded, and he was excited because heloved surprises, he expected so many wonderful gifts. He did not even realizethat they were going inside a dark and abandoned house.

Only the light of some candles illuminated the room, arancid smell invaded the air, then the fans positioned Papyrus inside a mystic circlemade drew on the floor, and they were around him.

“Can I take off my bandage?” he asked

“Yes, of course, dear.” an anonymous voiceanswered.

Papyrus did not understand where he was and everythingwas so mysterious and supernatural.

“What’s going on here?” he asked again buthe wanted believe. He wanted to believe until the end these people were trulynice and they did not want to hurt him but…

“Oh, don’t worry. This is a ritual, you know? Wehumans pay tribute to the people we love in this way. It’s a ritual dedicatedto your greatness.” said a friendly but disturbing voice.

Papyrus, not knowing human’s traditions, was verycurious and enthusiastic about it and maybe it was right, they were not so bad.He did not say a thing, waiting for the ritual to start.

Subsequently, the adepts began to say strange and darkverses. An occult and supernatural prayer that had the purpose of evoking a maleficcreature.

"Master, we invoke you. We executed our duties, here’sthe skeleton you wanted. The chosen one. The pure soul. And we give him to youso you can use him, becoming more powerful and fearsome. We donate his soul toyou. Come and prosper.” everyone said in chorus.

"Master? Who?” screamed the frightened skeletonand a mysterious force blocked him and he was unable to escape as if his boneswere paralyzed.

"Oh, my dear and naive Papyrus. You are a pureand innocent soul, the one our master craves and that will bring them to life. Now you’ll be sacrificedto them and there will be nothing left of you. Only dust. Be happy, you’ve bechosen for something so big” said the cult leader and then everyone laughed.

The skeleton began to scream, wriggling and tremblinguntil he fell to the ground, his monster soul came out of his body and then hefainted.

"Appear to us, our master. The Great Chara!” the samemale voice screamed with solemnly and then everyone shouted in unison"Hail Chara!”.

And then, Papyrus’s body disappeared, dissolving intothe air, and only ashes were left of him.

.

〣 BLUEBERRY 〣

He was so excited and happy to have all these fans.

This was his greatest dream: to be loved andappreciated for his own abilities.

The surface was the most beautiful place he couldimagine, he felt no nostalgia for the Underground because here he foundeverything he desired.

His fans organized events in his honour, they showeredhim with compliments, affectionate letters, photographs and sweet mails everyday.

Everyone was kind and nice to him, particularly a fanwith whom he built up a deep friendship.

He and this fan wrote every day, sending messages andemails to each other. This person was friendly and kind and loved the littleskeleton. They always asked him if he had eaten enough, how his job was, if hewas happy and if his brother was fine. Sans completely liked his fan, for them,he felt a feeling that went beyond normal friendship and so one day he decidedto meet them.

Sans asked them an true date because he was tired ofthis cold and distant communication, he wanted to look into his friend’s eyes,hear their voice and hug them tightly.

This was the most beautiful gift in the world, andthis was also his friend’s wish because they could not believe that thefantastic Sans had decided to meet them.

Sans had nothing to fear because they were hisgreatest friend.

The skeleton arrived to his friend’s address, an isolatedand peaceful place where nature shone and the birds sang in the sky. Aparadise, he thought.

His friend was so kind and welcomed the skeleton witha warm hug that he returned. After that, they came into the house, Sans did noteven notice that his cell phone got no signal and there was no reception herebut this fact did not seem so relevant.

The two friends talked, they has so many arguments todiscuss, drinking a good cup of tea. They had so much to say that time passedwithout Sans realized it.

And he was more and more tired, quite sleepy.

This was strange because he was never tired, and  he usually was so euphoric and it was weird.

“Oh, something wrong, Sans?” These were hisfriend’s words, and they smiled sweetly.

“No, it’s all right, I’m so tired …” theskeleton yawned.

“Oh, it was a long journey. Maybe you should restfor a while.” His friend said, worried.

"No… I-it would… not … b-be … polit—” and then Sans fainted.

“Leaving me would not be so polite neither,little Sans …”

Afterwards, the skeleton found himself tied up on abed, motionless and shocked.

Someone drugged his tea, but he realized it too late,and the person who drugged him was standing next to him now.

“What …?” He said, regainingconsciousness.

“Hi, dear. Have you slept well?” his friendasked, smiling.

"What did you do to me? Why am I tied?” Sansshouted.

"So you won’t run away, silly. It’s so simple!”their voice was calm.

"O, god! What do you want from me? Why?” Sans asked,desperate.

Sans realized he was not able to use his magic becausethat drug made him weak, he could not move a single bone.

"Calm down, honey. Stirring is useless.” theysaid, smiling as if everything was normal.

"You’re completely crazy!” he shouted withconcern.

“You are as crazy as me if you trust people soeasily. But that’s what I like about you, you’re so generous, brave and strong.I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.” They proclaimed, grinning.

"No, you’ll be in a lot of trouble, my brotherwill come to take me!” Sans said trying to be threatening even though hewas very afraid.

“He will also be part of my collection. I’m notso bad, I cannot separate two good brothers like you.” they paused themselves fora moment, "together to the death!” They said and laughed diabolically.

Sans’s head throbbed and hurt, he was not able toformulate concrete sentences because everything was too absurd. Horrible. Thiswas a nightmare.

"Collection? What are you talking about?” Sans askedeven if asking questions did not make sense.

"How curious you are, my love. I also like thisabout you.” they smiled in a sinister way.

“Don’t call me love, you’re a monster!” Sans said,crying.

“No, I’m not, but you are and you’re my first sample,my little pet. You have no choice, don’t make me angry, ok?” their voice was socold and tears of terror fell from Sans’ cheeks.

“Shut up!” Sans screamed but it was useless.

“Sweet dreams, babe. Tell the stars hello for me!” theysaid, hitting Sans head with a pan and then his vision blacked out.  

[kumulonimbus]

The trade

(Overwatch Halloween one-shot - A troubled ninja, a cursed woman and an eerie pact that seems too good to be true... )

“She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself; her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of her eyes and that is very frightening.”

Angela Carter ― The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories

Once upon a time, a young and troubled man forsook the woman he loved.

He said he needed time – perhaps, also, a little space.

He was a man at war with himself.

His own brother had struck him down but even so and even then, death remained elusive. He had seen the blood tainting his vision red back then; had felt the wrath of such violence taking over him and diminishing his body to a mess of sweat and broken limbs. But even when his heart stopped beating, even when his muscles produced the final spasm, death would not care to visit him.

When he opened his eyes again he couldn’t recognize himself anymore.

They tried to explain to him that they had done everything in their power to keep him alive. They told him about the countless procedures that were necessary, the many hydraulics and artificial mechanisms that were now fully functioning, replacing what used to be organic… but even though their voices were loud and clear he could only see their mouths moving as their words kept on flowing unceasingly.

He could have told them that none of that mattered, that their efforts were pointless; death was simply not interested in such a man like him – yet every time he would try to say those words out loud, her clear blue eyes would surprise him with renewed candor, as if she was able to see beyond the many layers of metal covering the one he was no more.

She, the object of his affection, had been there for him ever since he had opened his eyes.

Angela…

She was a doctor, but she had done so much more for him than just healing his broken body.

She had rescued him, then she had brought him back to life. Then she had stayed by his side, waiting for him to open his eyes to a body that was not his body and a rage that felt immensely foreign yet impossible to extinguish. The metal binding him now felt more like a prison than a solution. Each mechanism keeping him alive seemed to push him further towards a hatred he could not define with simple words.

Angela had done everything for him, she had given him everything: life, shape, love… yet the only thing she had never been able to give him was peace of mind.

So he set out, his determination intact, and sought out those who had turned him into a monster. He took them down, one by one, like a beggar in the night, sheltered by the blackest sky, trying to reclaim what had once been his.

He spared his brother – the one who had ultimately struck him down, the one who had really killed him. In the end, he knew, Hanzo would have to answer to the endless echoes of his own torturing ghosts. But when all was said and done, he was left with no choice but to acknowledge the fact that his revenge had led him nowhere. He still resented all that metal; he still hated the body that was keeping him alive even when she had done everything in her power to keep him by her side.

His many travels and journeys across the world started to breathe some life into the story. Rumor had it that, somewhere in France, far from curious eyes, there was a witch that would often offer interesting trades to wanderers seeking solace.

At first he thought it was just hearsay.

It seemed unlikely for such a creature to even exist.

But as cities begun to pile up upon his tired shoulders, he started to think about those trades – what would she demand in exchange? What could he offer?

It was unlike him to resort to such things. Occultism and witchcraft seemed dubious subjects, to say the least. He was not a man of faith nor did he have a defined personal credo – not anymore. Even when the blood of his ancestors had been spiced up by the mysticism of magic and fantastic creatures, he had never longed for such dark arts to come play with his mind; the occultism was simply too far-fetched for his incipient notions, it was just too contrived, too twisted to be trusted.

And still he went looking for her all the same.

Chateau Gillard was the place – an eerie mansion that had definitely seen better days. Now, sinking slowly into the tenebrous depths of oblivion and abandonment, the place looked as cold as a death specter that comes to pry on others’ lively present in the middle of the night.

The house seemed deprived of all color. The front door and many windows had been bricked up – perhaps they didn’t want any trespassers to come inside. Or maybe, just maybe, they didn’t want a given something, a given someone, to reach the outside.  

Taking a deep breath, the silent ninja climbed each vine and each fence until he reached the only window they had chosen not to seclude from the world outside. With just a few steps his vision adjusted to the complete lack of luminosity and color reigning inside the chateau – still the sight of a broken past constricted his throat as he moved inside the mansion: the symptoms of a fractured aristocracy, a type of aristocracy he knew too well to ignore, came to greet him as he stepped further into the misty corridors.

He heard her voice as soon as he reached the top floor.

“What do you have to offer?” The thick French accent was not enough to conceal the obvious: that mouth hadn’t spoken in years.

Still dubious of his surroundings, the ninja decided to follow the voice and so, he stepped inside the great room to his left. The first thing that caught his eye was the fact that the room, a giant chamber that seemed to stretch itself further away from him as he ventured the space, was completely empty. No windows to connect it to the world outside, no bed, no lamps.

Just an old armchair, completely covered in spider webs, crowded by spiders.

They came in all sizes and shapes – from tiny arachnids he could barely see in the darkness of the room to dangerous tarantulas crawling above the smaller ones. He motioned his body towards the darkness trying to pay no mind to the disgusting sound of countless tiny little legs moving all around the armchair but tried as he might to find the woman’s body waiting patiently for him somewhere inside that godforsaken room, his eyes only found the complete vacancy of her absence.

Our lady of spiders, just like the neighbors called her, was nowhere to be found.  

Retracing his own steps, the disturbed ninja left the room and went back to the corridor. He had heard her voice, he was sure of it, so perhaps he had checked the wrong chamber. Or maybe he had imagined it, the echo of his own desperate need taking the most ethereal form but only for a fleeting instant, like an incomplete figment of his imagination he couldn’t quite trust. At least, not yet.

Crawling slowly on his silver forearm, the green of his visor flickered when he saw the little red spider. He froze in place almost immediately but before he could even consider the spider’s particularly odd crimson tone the arachnid descended to the ground and stood before him.

When it finally moved, he could have sworn it was trying to guide him back to the room he had just walked out of. So he followed the petite red spider until he lost it in the sea of countless legs walking all over the armchair. Tilting his head to the side, he felt the air leaving his lungs at the sight of all those spiders coming together and emulating a human form. The red spider that had guided him before appeared again only this time, the ninja saw yet another spider, exactly like the one that had caught his attention only seconds ago, walking past the humanoid shape’s mid-section.

He took a step back, instinctively, unable to look away.

Still moving all around the humanoid shape, the countless tiny legs were busy; giving life to a macabre structure that tried and failed to resemble the beauty of the female anatomy.  But then all movement stopped all of a sudden, the shape was fully formed: the spiders had successfully conveyed the shape of a tall, lean woman, and the two little red spiders that had caught his attention were her eyes.

The lady of spiders moved closer to the ninja with a pace that was not human but not entirely animalistic either. Her arms, hanging loosely at the sides of her body, seemed to harbor the lazier arachnids but her hips, intrinsically more complex in their design, showed the relentless work of the most authoritarian tarantulas. The man flinched but didn’t walk away, a part of his brain briefly remembering that he had never actually feared spiders, even when the sight in front of him was more than simply difficult to take in.

“I asked you a simple question, stranger.” The creature’s lips moved as the spiders composing its mouth crawled minutely, mimicking the way human lips move to the sounds of words – “What do you have to offer?”

It was clear that the spiders didn’t care about his physical appearance. Robotic or human, the conglomerate of arachnids seemed unable to discern the ninja’s true nature – or perhaps, he pondered, they could sense his humanity hidden underneath all those layers of metal biding him to the body he hated so much.

The ninja put his hands up in a defensive stance and moved cautiously backwards. The more he thought about it, the less convinced he was with the idea of trading something of his with the spiders, for he had nothing more to offer than a part of himself. As his feet kept moving almost soundlessly, already headed for the door, the ninja debated briefly whether to attack the creature or not – it was true that, so far, it had been completely harmless but such an evil design could not be trusted either, but just as his artificial fingers began to toy with the handle of his sword he heard the spiders moving again, their legs louder than ever.

When he turned around he saw the arachnids breaking formation, the humanoid shape becoming undone as a tidal wave of tarantulas rushed its way towards him, pinning his feet to the ground and covering all the way up to his knees. Holding on to the weapon, the ninja realized his mistake but before he had any time to think about his next move, he finally saw her.

Her hand, stretched out and landing on his cold shoulder.

Those golden eyes of hers, like lifeless, bottomless pits he could not bring himself to fully explore.

Her skin was blue.

She was a curse, he thought, a godless anima inhabiting a world that was not hers. A witch, like they all said – or perhaps a demon. Maybe something even worse than a demon: maybe she was the mother of all nightmares.

It was intrinsically hard for the man not to look away as she opened her mouth and small spiders began to crawl their way out of it, hanging from her lips, clinging to her teeth as if holding on for dear life. Their legs like needles, pinching and piercing thought her frigid skin but still, one by one they fell to the ground and quickly pooled around her ankles, joining the countless spiders still covering her up from her shoulders to her feet.

The green light of his visor flickered once again, more violently than before, as he truly sensed the danger in the shape of those tarantulas keeping him captive in their collective type of strength.

“Please, don’t struggle.” The woman said peacefully, “They won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt them.”

If she could have seen his face she might have been surprised by his look of complete bewilderment. He was covered in metal; there was no way those spiders could cut through his armored body… but then, the distinctive sound of metallic plates being separated froze the blood running through his veins – the tarantulas were tearing him apart, slowly disassembling the plates that were now his ankles.

Drunker in stupor, the ninja watched soundlessly as the many spiders that were still covering her body began to abandon the woman, revealing the beautiful garment she was wearing – a long, sleeveless dress completely made of silky spider-web. Marveled at the sight of such eerie beauty, the man didn’t notice the spiders were now quickly moving towards him until it was much too late. As they climbed atop him, the ninja realized that their communion truly had a weight of its own – the conglomerate of spiders was crushing his body, keeping him in place, as if trapped inside the layers of metal that were meant to protect him.

“You are running out of time, stranger.” The mysterious woman said as she moved near him. “What do you have to offer?”

The ninja tried to break free but it was pointless – the spiders had successfully restricted his every move. So he just stood before the woman, resolute:

“I thought you said they wouldn’t hurt me.”

She contemplated him for a brief instant, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head to the side. She was no stranger to such sharp tongues, still she laughed quietly at herself before saying:

“They won’t – but they’re not fond of trespassers either.” A half-smile was adorning her face yet her eyes, distant and melancholic, seemed to be too busy remembering the events of another life. “If you’re here to trade, we’re all ears. If not…”

“I have nothing to give you!” The ninja yelled, fear and trepidation getting the best of him.

“Then why did you come?” The blue woman asked in all simplicity.

The ninja shook his head trying to figure out what was bothering him the most: the constant satire of her simple logics, or his own helplessness.

“They say you take away the dark feelings…” He stuttered, ashamed.

Rubbing her hands together in delightful anticipation, the woman stood before him and let her cold hands land on his silver shoulders – “What sort of dark feeling do you want to get rid of? Is it fear? Or hate? Perhaps jealousy…”

He could have named any of those feelings – the fear of a lifetime seeking revenge, the jealousy he would always feel towards any man who could offer Angela a better life than the life he had to offer, all the nightmares plaguing his dreams, the ambivalent nature of what he felt for his brother…

Still he chose hate.

He hated his body – the cage they had built to keep him alive.

“I hate what I’ve become.” He said. “I can’t find peace between this walls – all these metallic layers feel like a prison, keeping my here but forcing me out at the same time. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore. This thing I am now, it’s not what I really am.”

“I can make the feeling go away,” she offered, “You just have to surrender to me the source of such a dark feeling.”

He looked at his own body then back at her,

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The ninja said, almost at the verge of giving up. “This armor you see is not for protection. This is me.”

She moved her hands around his torso, taking in the view. If she had to be completely honest with herself, she had never seen someone so torn, so broken in his whole integrity. With a soft touch from the tip of her fingers, she began to trace a simple, spiraling pattern for the spiders to follow – in a matter of seconds he watched them in awe as the arachnids began to walk around in circles, right in the middle of his chest.

“What if I told you I can offer you life beyond this armor?” Her fingers were relentless, summoning all spiders and making them follow her frantic designs. “What if I told you that you don’t have to live like this?”

For the first time in ages, he felt the warmth of his own tears heating up his damage visage. It just seemed too good to be true, but still…

“And you are willing to accept this metallic body in return?” He asked shyly, knowing too well that the end of his bargain was nothing when compared to everything she was willing to wager: his armor for a second chance, for the body his own brother had mutilated – the chance to resume his life, the endless possibilities for the future that he had already discarded.

Angela… her oceanic eyes in the distance, calling him home.

The blue woman nodded her head, “I’ll take your armor – and your dark feeling.”

“Why would you want that?” He asked, a bit perplexed but still lost in the seducing images flashing right before his eyes.

“It’s not for me.” She said, looking at the spiders dancing across his artificial anatomy, “It’s for them. They feed on such dark emotions… Do we have ourselves a deal, then?”

She offered him one of her hands and he took it, ready to give up the man that he was in order to become the man he wanted to be. The spiders covered him completely as the spider-webs began to cocoon the metal that would no longer bind him. The last thing he saw was the hairy legs of a tarantula walking slowly across his visor.

“One last thing,” he heard her said, her voice becoming a distant echo, “You are giving up your hatred, in the shape of your armor – everything related to it will be gone from your mind, your heart and your soul as well.”

He took one last breath as he thought about the chance of forgetting Hanzo. Even if it was bittersweet, he was positive it was better that way – for the both of them.

He closed his eyes as his mind drifted away – the whole world went black, and he felt his own body fall down to the ground, as if deprived of all gravity.

It could have been hours, or maybe days. Perhaps, even weeks… When the light began to swirl its way through the complex designs in his cocoon the ninja opened his eyes to the image of his own flesh, the skin he had lost, the body he had missed so much – now returned to him.

He broke the cocoon with renewed excitement and searched for the woman but, to his surprise, she was nowhere to be found so he walked around the house, naked as he was, until he found an old red blanket on the floor, in what used to be the living room. He wrapped it up around his shoulders and motioned towards the door, stopping in his way out to take a look in the mirror: the spark in his eyes was back and sure, he was in need of a haircut but there would be time for that…

There would be time for such frivolous concerns, the playboy considered as he laughed quietly at himself.

He stopped once again by the threshold and looked over his shoulder – though he did remember the trade, he couldn’t remember what he had offered in return for such joy nor what had caused him to make a deal with such frightening creature in the first place.

He had it all and, after all, he didn’t need anything… except clothes, of course, but that wasn’t that bad either he thought, as he made his way back towards the city, causing every lady in his path to turn around, look at him and smile tenderly in his direction.

And he smiled back at them, at every single one of them… their naivety and their love had always represented the simplest of sins for him and, deep down, he was sure: the woman for him, the one who could chase him down and capture his heart, hadn’t been born yet.

[questwriter]

Black-Hat – Pathfinder Modern Template

The fractured and bleeding spirits of nature recoil as the technological zeitgeist of modern society rends humanity from the very fabric of the world that spawned it.  Diode-emitted light penetrates the sleep-deprived eyes of the weary masses, too enamored with their tiny glass windows into non-reality to notice the algorithms running in the background, scratching at the organic code inside their skulls.  Synthetic food treated with petrochemicals and wrapped in polymers and heat-stamped metal passes over laser-scanners of value determination and social stratification. Mathematical formulae meant to model distant space-time interactions are now man-twisted in effigy and used in dark computational rituals to peer inside the quivering cerebellum of the global financial system.  The ghosts of the ancients weep silently…and sometimes, their tears find ground to sprout in.  Amidst all this, the spirits that once laughed at man as he attempted to master fire, the lever, the wheel…they laugh again.  And just as man has grown, so too have they.

Black-hat is an inherited template that can be added to any living creature of small size or smaller with an Intelligence no less than 3 and a CR no greater than 6, though it is most commonly added to gremlins and other fey.  This template should only be added to creatures in a modern, near-modern, or post-modern setting with a large-scale power grid and/or information network. 

CR: Same as the base creature +1.

Alignment: Any chaotic or evil.  Black-hats tend strongly towards both chaos and evil, and are most often within one step of CE, though exceptions exist.

Type: If the creature is not already fey, it is treated as fey (as well as its original type and subtypes*, whichever is less beneficial in any given circumstance) for purposes such as bane weapons, a ranger’s favored enemy class feature, or (especially) a City-God Spirit’s Racial Hatred ability (a City-God Spirit treats a black-hat as if it had an overwhelming scent when using its scent ability to locate or track such a creature).  It is also considered to be a gremlin when determining its motivations and actions.

*If the base creature had the (lawful) or (good) subtype, it loses these, though its actual alignment might still be lawful evil or (rarely) chaotic good.

Original art by Jacob Blackmon, who has given me permission to use his work in this blog.  If you like his work, consider joining me in backing his Patreon.

Senses: A black-hat gains low light vision if it does not already possess this ability.

Defensive Abilities: The creature gains DR 5/cold iron.  If the creature possessed DR/evil or DR/chaotic, it loses these forms of damage reduction.  It also gains immunity to electricity damage, ferocity, and regeneration 1 (magic). (This regeneration is suppressed on any round in which the black-hat takes damage from a magical source, including spells, spell-like abilities, and supernatural abilities, not just from magic weapons.)

Special Qualities: A black-hat gains the following ability:

Data Form (Su): A black-hat can shed its physical form to become a creature of obscene information, defined by the square roots of negative numbers and recursive divisions by zero, cackling in the face of the supposed limits imposed by Shannon entropy.  Whenever the creature can interact with a device via its Machine Telepath ability (see bonus feats below), it can, as a standard action that does not provoke attacks of opportunity, merge with the object.  

While so merged, the black-hat is incorporeal and insubstantial, contained entirely within the device with which it merged, and can only interact with objects via its Machine Telepath ability.  It is only aware of its surroundings if the device or devices to which it is connected via Machine Telepath have some means of observation, such as a microphone or digital camera.

This ability is disrupted by almost any form of magic, and cannot be used when the black-hat’s regeneration is suppressed, or any time that it is in the area of a magical effect.  Even being within the area of a cantrip or a supernatural aura is sufficient to suppress this ability, though merely being within range of an active spell, such as prestidigitation, does not suppress this ability unless the black-hat is targeted by the spell.  If data form is suppressed while in use, the creature is shunted to the nearest available space that can accommodate it, taking 1d6 damage for each 5 feet so moved.  Magical effects created by black-hats do not suppress data form.

While merged with an object, the black-hat can move at its base speed along paths that carry energy or information, though it cannot perceive or interact with its surroundings unless it returns to its physical form or connects to a device with sensory abilities via Machine Telepath.

Divinity Affinity: A black-hat is aware whenever a creature that possesses the Small Divinity ability (such as a cityskin nymph or city-god spirit) is within 60 feet, though it does not know the exact location or nature of the creature.  Such creatures are similarly aware of the black-hat and may, as a free action even when not their turn, render the black-hat immune to the disruptive effects that their active spells, spell-like abilities, and supernatural abilities would otherwise have on the black-hat’s Data Form.  Black-hats tend to be obsessed with locating and serving singularity elementals, and can be carried by a willing singularity elemental when it uses its Ride the Net ability, despite this ability normally being limited to the singularity elemental itself; for their part, singularity elementals rarely see black-hats as more than pitiful manifestations of humanity’s failures, pawns to be used and discarded in pursuit of their inexplicable goals and online totems.  Black-hat are more cautiously enthusiastic regarding cityskin nymphs, as their fellow postmodern fey may have a variety of goals that may compliment or conflict with the black-hat’s own.  Of the Small Divinities, only non-singularity city-god spirits are generally anathema to black-hats, with most considering the destruction of such abominations to be an All-Consuming Goal.

Spell-Like Abilities: As a gremlin, a black-hat can use prestidigitation at will.

Abilities: A black-hat gains a +2 bonus to Dexterity and Intelligence.

Skills: A black-hat always has the maximum number of ranks allowed by its hit dice in Disable Device (if the base creature does not have ranks in this skill, the ranks are purchased using the granted increase to Intelligence), and this is always a class skill for the black-hat.  It receives a +8 racial bonus on Disable Device checks made to interact with technological devices relying on electricity (or post-electric energy), including checks made to use computers.

Feats: A black-hat gains Toughness, Skill Focus (Disable Device) and Machine Telepath as bonus feats.  If it already has Toughness, it may select a bonus feat from the following: Dodge, Great Fortitude, Iron Will, or Lightning Reflexes; if it already has Skill Focus in Disable Device, it may select another skill with which to gain this feat.

Languages A black-hat speaks sylvan and aklo, in addition to any languages spoken by the base creature, unless the base creature could not speak (in which case, it still understands these languages).

 Designer’s Note: This template is designed for use especially with Pathfinder Modern games, and with hugest of thanks to Clinton Boomer for the inspiration behind this idea, particularly his Eve of Dreams and the AWAKE setting for Pathfinder E6, and his comments on the reblog of a fantastically entertaining comic that The Eve of Dreams “needs more fey: threatening & whimsical, beautiful & weird, post-modern & powerful”…perhaps the sort of fey that could evade (or even eliminate) a S.W.A.T. team, but could be contained by a somewhat more eclectic approach to threat management.  This template is inspired primarily by the work of others, and I make no claim to any of the associated intellectual properties, nor do I guarantee compatibility with their work.  I do however claim a bit of pride in helping bring some of these ideas to fruition by supporting their creator on Patreon; if you ever find yourself inspired by the creations of others, I encourage you to support them as well.

[dracox-serdriel]

Lament of the Asphodels - Chapter 38: Hyperion's Shadow

Lament of the Asphodels

Title: Hyperion's Shadow Author: Dracox Serdriel Artist: @liamjcnes Artwork: Post 1 | Post 2 Word count: ~2,500 Rating: NC-17/Explicit (except on FF) Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, Graphic sexual content, Declaration/threats of sexual violence, Minor character death, Social stigmatization/abuse, Detailed descriptions of hopelessness/depression/inner turmoil, Descriptions of the effects of extreme phobias/social anxiety, including anthropophobia, thalassophobia/hydrophobia, and hylophobia/dendrophobia, Descriptions of shipwrecks and storms at sea

Read Lament of the Asphodels on FF, AO3, LJ, or start at the beginning on Tumblr. Written as part of @captainswanbigbang.

Chapter 38: Hyperion's Shadow

The next day came in so usual a fashion that Emma and Killian fell into a routine not unlike their mornings at Stagrock Light, albeit with many stops and starts for want of basic necessities. An impasse manifested when they realized that the only clothing they had in this realm had been tossed carelessly about the loft during their cascade of passion, leaving the fabrics woefully wrinkled and musky, and they had neither basin nor soap for remedy.

No doubt a salvage mission - given enough time - could provide some unsoiled garments, but despite Killian's playful banter to the contrary, neither was willing to scavenge in barely a stitch, no matter how deserted Storybrooke appeared. Lacking any other recourse, Emma called upon her in-born magic, which was distant and fraught, like a rabbit trembling at the sight of a hawk. When she drew upon it, it came in ungainly waves of thin and thick, sluggish and awkward. She could sense her magic's full potential lingering just out of reach, stuck behind a bottleneck, vying to burst free and answer her summons.

What could be holding it back? She hadn't encountered resistance of this kind before, not since she had first learned to control her abilities, and that was a very, very long time ago. Perhaps a Land without Magic had some kind of tithe on those who would use abilities that were - by virtue of the realm's name - not meant to exist.

Or perhaps returning to this realm to discover their home desolate and besieged by at least one monster had taken a greater toll on her than she knew. She expected Storybrooke to be different, yes, but not abandoned... never abandoned.

"Emma?" Killian asked. "Are you all right, love?"

He was at her elbow. She hadn't noticed his return from the bathroom, focused as she was on her magic. But no amount of stubborn determination could distract her from the deep undercurrent of true concern deftly shrouded in his charm, and her instincts clambered for her to quash his apprehensions by proving the voracity of her constitution.

And then the better part of her nature whispered a kindness. None knew her so well as Killian Jones. He could catalog her abilities and vulnerabilities alike, and beyond that, he possessed a faith in her that never wavered - not in fear, not in failure, not even in death.

Ignoring the urge to raise her walls, she melted into him as his arms enveloped her.

A rush of belonging and security washed over her... and her magic burst from her fingertips, whirling around the soiled garments and restoring them to the moment they first were crafted.

"I'm great," she finally replied to his question. "Looks like we have something to wear after all."

"A pity," he whispered before swooping down and capturing her lips.

The kiss deepened and quickly pulled them back to the night previous, but before either could so much as shift their weight back towards the bed, their stomachs roared in unison, calling after a hunger of a different kind.

-----

Emma summoned a hearty breakfast of fruits, cheese, and bread, yet no amount of concentration, strength, nor sensation brought forth axe, longsword, or gun, leaving her to disclose her failure over a variable feast from her success.

Killian took her hand in a show of support and reminded her of his cutlass and her magic, which had both slain more than one dangerous monster; indeed, which both had overcome beasts even in the Underworld itself.

"Besides," he continued. "We need only lay eyes on the creature today. Once we identify what manner of beast it is, we'll know its weaknesses."

"It's a dragon," she replied. "A giant flying thing that breathes fire? Definitely dragon."

"A dragon is as good a guess as any," he conceded.

They delighted in a debate about the identity of this monster, each voicing increasingly outlandish suggestions onto Killian's flying kraken and Emma's alien spaceship with an attached blow torch. When their meal was complete, they decided the best place to start was the south forest.

They departed on foot. Arm in arm, they traversed Main Street, not bothering with sidewalks to mark their way. Without a calendar, they could only guess as to the season, but the day possessed all the makings of a fine spring morn.

Not long after they set off, Pegasus appeared, dropping straight down from above without warning. He galloped around them, lapping them in playful, ever-widening circles before cantering hither and tither and back again, his buoyant joy echoing with the clatter of his hooves, filling the thoroughfare with a wild thunder, rolling up, up, up into the clear blue sky, where soon followed the great stallion, vanishing as quickly as he emerged.

As they neared the library, memories surfaced like spawning fish, cascading over Killian and Emma alike. How oft had they sought wisdom - be it from Belle or her books - from this place? How many times had they taken shelter in this building or sought treasures (and whatever might guard them) in the catacombs beneath? Surely, their adventures here could not be numbered.

For a moment, Emma lived her old life, the one that she'd had before North Edge and the Midlands. She felt as if those days in Storybrooke were yet newly wrought; as if she had escorted Henry to this very spot for a school project - or had it been to best the Wicked Witch? - mere weeks previous.

Then the long, long shadow of the clock tower fell, cloaking the sun as it blotted out the fondness - the nearness - of those memories. Emma faltered in her step, weary and wary in equal measure.

"Swan?" Killian asked.

She spake not, but two souls with a singular heart have no true need of words passing between them, not for those matters that drum from deep within. Ergo, without a syllable uttered, Killian Jones understood that a dark and hollow dread held fast to Emma Swan, though he knew not why nor from whence it came so suddenly.

He tightened his grip on her arm and led her past the grand doors of the library, where the rays of the morning yet gathered in strength, and as if a spell abated, Emma became herself once more.

"Swan?" he repeated.

Something inside her flinched at the concern in his voice, and an old, bitter part of her rose up, thirsting for the fount of control she once trusted for nourishment, to stave off insecurity and heartbreak alike. What had started this morning as an act of curiosity and duty quickened into a dark need, a desperate desire to have power over something, to attain an uncontested victory.

She knew this feeling well; she'd drawn strength from her anger all her life. And today, she had more enough to slay a dragon.

"I'm fine," she replied with a calmness she didn't possess. "Really, I'm fine."

Killian wanted to inquire further, but she waited not for his next query. With newfound determination, she pressed toward the concealed pathway that would take them into the depths of the south forest.

And, as he would do for the rest of this life and all those ever after, he followed her.

-----

They spent the rest of the morning in amenable silence as they combed through the woods, searching for any sign of a magical beast. Since last they were here, the paths had overgrown, and the entire forest had changed - or, perhaps better to say returned - to something wilder, untouched by civilization, leaving some areas precarious to cross and others utterly impassable.

Their persistence led them to a clearing fashioned from crushed trees and brush, filled with enormous tracks, and adjacent to a freshly laid path of destruction.

"These tracks... they seem feline, but huge. Ten times the size of a house cat," Emma commented as she ran her fingers over one of the imprints, the dirt giving way with the gentlest touch. "But apparently whatever made them wasn't very heavy."

"Perhaps because the monster which imparted them is light enough to fly?" he suggested.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

They followed the trail of felled trees and crushed greenery thorough increasingly rocky terrain that ended at the mouth of a great cavern that would make the perfect abode for a part-cat, part-dragon to sleep out the daylight.

Before they set foot inside the cave, a bellowing whiney met their ears, drawing them to the next clearing, where Pegasus stood, his countenance all the more angelic for the rays of sunlight cascading around him.

"Glad you can join us, Old Boy!" Killian said with delight as he approached. "Thought you might be out exploring this new realm of yours."

Though Emma experienced his joy in the literal sense, she didn't share it. A giant, winged horse couldn't fit inside the cave, and even if he could, his hooves would announce their approach and rob them of whatever surprise they yet retained. If they were to glimpse the (hopefully sleeping) creature, Pegasus could not attend them, and they had lost enough daylight searching the beast's lair.

She made to voice her concerns only to find the world upturned. Something enormous, shaggy, and moving at a fantastic speed crashed into her and threw her to spinning to the ground. The wind deserted her lungs, as did her own senses, which surely deceived her.

A spiky stinger - its size rivaling her father's broadsword - whipped across the sky as its attached hulking mass - the color of pure molten gold - charged toward Killian, all fur and fury and leathered wings.

"Killian!" Emma shouted.

Pegasus stepped fast, knocking Killian away before wings met wings in a tumultuous crash.  

She stumbled on her hands and knees to where her True Love had fallen, surrounded by roots and rocks, bruised, perhaps, but otherwise unharmed.

"Bloody hell, Swan," he said as they embraced each other in mutual relief.

The single-hearted pair returned their focus to the ongoing fray betwixt Pegasus and the monster, who were head to head -

Nuzzling one another?

"Are they...?" Emma prompted.

"Quite friendly," Killian completed.

Killian shrugged as he clambered to his feet. He extended his hand to Emma, and she took hold to rise alongside him.

Together they looked over the creature that had been the sole focus of their second day in this realm.

It was a thing of incongruous parts, and all the more intimidating for it. Its dark wings were of taut membrane, like those of a bat, and a tufted mane of dark brown adorned its head like a crown, surrounding its somewhat human face.

"Not a dragon," Emma whispered.

"A manticore," Killian replied. "Though in all the stories I've heard, they neither flew nor expelled fire."

"Great, a super-manticore," she said.

Still, Emma could not bring herself to strike an animal - even a monster of mythic legend - that provoked no violence.

"What do we do?" she asked. "Just because Pegasus likes this manticore thing doesn't mean its not dangerous."

As if called by her question, the manticore approached them, its golden eyes fixed upon them and nothing else. They both went rigid, as if the slightest movement might incite its ferocity.

Then it breathed deeply, distinguish friend from foe by scent.

Emma's mind churned furiously with their options. She considered her magic - perhaps she could muster a blast powerful enough to throw it back and earn them a running start... but what if she couldn't draw enough power for such a spell? Then what?

Before either could rightly react, the manticore's head was next to hers, and its horrifying maw opened mere inches from Emma's face. She flinched away, but it did no good, for the sandpaper of its tongue connected with the side of her face, resulting in a long - and very wet - lick.

Her shock was only doubled by Killian's erupting laughter.

"I think it likes you, Swan."  

They returned to Storybrooke proper on the back of Pegasus, and - much to Emma's chagrin - the manticore followed closely behind, hardly allowing them a few paces of distance after they had landed on Main Street.

"So, it's just going to follow us around forever?" Emma inquired in a hushed yet grumpy voice.

"He," Killian corrected gently. "Going by the lion's mane, the manticore is male, love."

"Way to dodge my question," she quipped.

"He and Pegasus get on," he said. "How dangerous can he really be?"

"Well, there's one place that could tell us," Emma said as she nodded her head toward the library. "Assuming it hasn't been emptied... and that books are still things people use."

-----

Neither Emma Swan nor Killian Jones retained any recollection of events betwixt meeting the ferryman and awakening, alive and whole, in Storybrooke; thus, neither possessed any memories by which to gauge the passage of time or to supply even the most tenuous of guesses as to its duration. Truth be told, such knowledge would've proven quite useless, for Time has always been a wily, unpredictable thing, diverging from realm to realm and, within each realm, even movement to moment. Every realm has conjured myriad methodologies and mechanisms by which to measure Time's presence and passage, with exceptions, of course, for those realms where Time existed only as a thing of fairy stories.

This was why Emma and Killian were blissfully unaware that their return took far longer than a blink of an eye or a tense and turbulent boat ride. It was also why neither knew that heralds of nature had gone before their arrival like riders trumpeting their pronouncements for those who knew the composition and circumstances of such signs.

To the present day, there persists a quite unfortunate - albeit, entirely natural - tendency wherein the most dangerous and precious knowledge becomes vaulted in the minds of those individuals with the most ill of intensions.

So, while the recent residents of Storybrooke failed to see hope in the raging tempests that threatened every living thing and standing structure, many an unsavory eye turned to the small town with malicious curiosity.

Likewise, the abrupt appearance of a monstrous hybrid like the manticore gave no insight to the townsfolk that the arrival of a gift was in the offing. Neither did the outbreak of foxfires nor the new - and universally unsettling - vocalizations of the wind.

As the town banded together to outlast the chaos, they sought unlikely accidents, vile perpetrators, and colossal curses alike for a cause. Not one person suspected that a blessing was responsible for these calamities and many more besides.

Well, exactly one person suspected, but life had so jaded him that he dismissed even the faintest whisper of hope, which let his suspicions fade long before confiding them in another living soul.

Thus, the town of Storybrooke took drastic measures against an unknown and formidable foe rather than a grand welcoming party.

-----

Killian and Emma approached the library, and, as it happened that morning, its shadow inspired a numbing dread of a life lost long ago. Unlike earlier, however, the darkness only reached a few inches beyond the front door, leaving her in close quarter of to the door.

"It's you?" spoke the door.

No, not the door. Someone - a woman - behind it. A woman with a familiar voice.

A rush of sounds - nearly inaudible to Killian and Emma - fluttered just beyond their reach, though an occasional phase made itself known, it wasn't enough to make sense of the commotion.

"It's them!"

"No, them!"

" - the barrier, go - "

"Sure? It could be - "

"Hurry!"

Suddenly, a radiating pulse echoed out from the library, rippling out across the town.

"That was magic," Emma mumbled as the shadow's spell abated yet gain. "That - "

She reached for the handle, but the door burst open from within, revealing a handful people who'd gathered behind it, waiting for the barrier spell to fall.

And every single face was achingly familiar.

"Emma?!"

"Mom? Dad?"

"Mom? Hook?"

"Henry!"

The young man - and he had grown a few inches, but he couldn't be more than a year older, surely - grabbed hold of Emma and Killian alike, pulling them into a three-way hug.

Everyone else vied to join him, resulting in a slow trickle of new arms encasing the ever-growing hug accompanied by the cacophony of celebration falling from their lips.

Yet somehow everyone heard David when he said, "I don't know if anyone else noticed the giant winged lion, but..."

"Oh, uh, yeah," Emma replied.

Killian turned toward the manticore ready to make a formal introduction, but as soon as he exposed his cheek, the manticore leaned down and licked, leaving a laughing Emma and a fair amount of slobber in its wake.

"He's okay," Emma continued.

"What is he?" Henry asked.

"Ugh, manticore slobber," Killian mumbled as he tried to wipe his face. "Henry, meet the manticore. He's taken a shine to your mother."

"Apparently, I'm not the only one," Emma said.

Henry, both relieved and amused, added, "Cool! Pet manticore!"

Snow and Charming pulled their daughter closer, desperate for a few moments to reconnect.

"You found him," Snow whispered to Emma. "We knew you would find him."

"And we knew you'd be back," David said. "Maybe we didn't know you'd have a flying lion with you, but we knew."

"Aye," Killian said. "This family always finds one another."

End-of-chapter notes: Hyperion was the Titan of wisdom, watchfulness, and heavenly light in Greek mythology. His children were the lights of heaven: Selene, the moon; Eos, the dawn; and Helios, the sun.

For next and previous chapters, proceed to the Lament of the Asphodels main Tumblr page.

[noblecrumpet-dorkvision]

Cleric Week: Obscure D&D Deities

image source: The Birth of the Sun and the Triumph of Bacchus (detail), Corrado Giaquinto (1762)

Anyone can Google D&D deities and pick one that they want for their cleric, but great roleplayers really delve into their deities. Here I have compiled a list of over 60 of 3.5e's more obscure gods and goddesses (so excluding the core D&D pantheon because those have been written to death about). 

In each entry, I noted their holy symbol and some words associated with their portfolio. Then I went into what a cleric or priest of the deity might wear and what sorts of rituals and rites they might perform. I also noted a sort of phrase that such priests might use as a mantra or just a one-sentence summary of their beliefs. Then I went further and gave an example of how a cleric of that deity might use their Thaumaturgy spell to demonstrate their deity’s power, usually in some way that doesn’t replicate a useful game mechanic, but more in a way that might intimidate someone or demonstrate your divine might. 

Most of this is homebrewed, while the deities themselves, symbols, and some rituals were taken from the books where they originated, so feel free to tweak these how you see fit! This is not a full list. I am missing some even more obscure gods like from the Lords of Madness book, as well as powerful nondeities like archdevils and archangels and whatnot, and with the length of this list I am sure it is riddled with typos or mistakes which I will try and correct when I find them. But I hope this list inspires you to explore further into these deities or invent some of your own! Feel free to add to the list when you reblog it if you have ideas for a deity I missed.

Aengrist

Symbol: Keep with 2 towers on a gray glacier. 

Portfolio: cold, order, protection, good.

Garb: Paladin’s armor and practical furs for patrolling the Frostfell. Colors are usually gray or white, featured largely on a flowing cape.

Rites: Ritualistically carving hunks of ice into perfect cubes, symbolically bestowing order upon it. Sheltering/defending travelers, or building fortified citadels to bring order to the Frostfell.

Phrase: “I offer you my blade in the name of Aengrist.”

Thaumaturgy: A platform of ice rises from the ground for you to tower over others to offer leadership with your booming voice.

Afflux

Symbol: Drop of blood

Portfolio: inquiry, necromancy, death

Garb: Blood-soaked cloaks and bronze armor on the arms and legs.

Rites: A prolonged mantra of screaming, hallowing torture chambers, torturing and interrogating creatures, harming oneself if a creature dies before its secrets are spilled.

Phrase: “Every creature holds a secret that is spilled with blood.”

Thaumaturgy: Your entire body drips as if drenched in fresh blood.

Al-Ishtus

Symbol: Scorpion with raised tail

Portfolio: vermin, scorpions, venom, poison, desert raiders

Garb: Rags or padded armor. Black or green body paint or tattoos detailing the priest’s blood vessels.

Rites: Offerings of bloody gems and jewels. Drinking of poison and poisoning of others.

Phrase: “Let his hallowed blood course through you”

Thaumaturgy: Spectral green scorpions crawl all over you.

Altua

Symbol: Scroll

Portfolio: honor, nobility, war

Garb: Rich finery and ornamental armor featuring scroll motifs as if for a coronation.

Rites: Preaching the rules of warfare to others. Praying at dawn by reciting the tenets of warfare and chivalry.

Phrase: “Altua guide our judgment in the coming battle.”

Thaumaturgy: Sacred text of the rules of warfare appear written in gold floating before you.

Aurifar

Symbol: Polished golden disk

Portfolio: midday, life, judgement

Garb: Bald and unadorned head, polished brass armor, white tunic

Rites: Prayers at morning and evening, offerings at midday.

Phrase: “Aurifar passes judgment from the highest throne”

Thaumaturgy: You glow with Aurifar’s light, giving off heat.

Auril

Symbol: White snowflake on gray diamond

Portfolio: cold, winter, ice, evil

Garb: Though most worship her out of fear, true priests will wear revealing clothing, exposing themselves to the elements through snowflake/diamond patterned leather trappings.

Rites: Leaving offerings or sacrifices to freeze in the elements, praying for snowstorms to bless an area, or casting Control Weather or Sleet Storm over a ritual.

Phrase: “Let Auril’s cold embrace one day bless the world with winter!”

Thaumaturgy: Your touch is freezing cold, dealing 1 damage to creatures or freezing 1 cubic foot of water. Only one cubic foot of water can be frozen at a time without more powerful magic.

Ayailla

Symbol: Phoenix

Portfolio: light, good-aligned sky creatures, glory

Garb: Red and white robes with flame and feather motifs. The robes usually have very wide cuffs or have red feathers hanging from their sleeves.

Rites: Burning offerings of wealth and old possessions in a ritual of rebirth, praying in the presence of magical birds and sky-dwelling creatures, teaching (”illuminating”) the uneducated, slaying undead, meditating near lit fires in dark chambers.

Phrase: “Ayailla sheds light in the darkest regions.”

Thaumaturgy: You burst into flames and reform a new body from the ashes.

Bahamut

Symbol: Star above milky nebula

Portfolio: metallic dragons, wisdom, wind

Garb: White or silver garments with diamond-studded stars.

Rites: Train under the teachings of a good dragon. Speak in short proverbs about virtues to live by and bad actions to avoid. Stamp out evil and train others to become strong enough to overcome evil themselves.

Phrase: “Evil is strong. We must be stronger.”

Thaumaturgy: Platinum dragon wings unfold from your shoulders and your breath is a beam of cold.

Beltar

Symbol: Half-open fangs

Portfolio: malice, caves, pits

Garb: Dark black, brown, or white rags. Necklaces and jewelry made of animal fangs.

Rites: Cursing Moradin and Garl Glittergold for supplanting her rule, tossing offerings and animal sacrifices into caves and pits, meditating in darkness about evils you wish to commit.

Phrase: “Beltar rules the darkness.”

Thaumaturgy: You cloud a creature’s vision and haunt them with paranoia of unseen horrors.

Bralm

Symbol: Giant wasp in front of insect swarm

Portfolio: insects, industry, law

Garb: Intricate, geometric patterns on cloth or armor.

Rites: Teach that a just ruler should be obeyed happily and without question through cautionary fables involving insects in a hive. Give offerings of food to hives of insects. Build tiny shrines to praise Bralm.

Phrase: “We work for the good of all.”

Thaumaturgy: Insects swarm to aid you performing minor tasks.

Cas

Symbol: Rack of blood-tipped antlers

Portfolio: spite, hatred, strength

Garb: Clerics of Cas are not showy, but those radical congregations that openly worship him wear black and adorn themselves with bloody antlers of animals they have killed out of rage.

Rites: silently repressing anger and hate to near-hysteria, praying by screaming orgiastic diatribes in Cas’s name (that’s a fantastic description from the Heroes of Horror book), righting a festering unanswered wrong, building small personal shrines to Cas.

Phrase: “Cas will sate my unquenched hate.”

Thaumaturgy: Billows of red steam are emitted from your body as you seethe with anger

Celestian

Symbol: Brooch with seven assorted gemstones

Portfolio: stars, space, wanderers

Garb: Jeweled robes. The color of the robes and type of gems studding them denote your rank in the church.

Rites: Studying, mapping, and teaching the position of stars and constellations, travelling to parts unknown and mapping them (especially across the planes). Seeking out planar gateways. Praying under a starry sky. Visiting the same place twice is not forbidden but is taboo among Celestian’s followers. 

Phrase: “There’s always someplace new to go.”

Thaumaturgy: A field of stars flies forth from your holy symbol and orbits your head.

Chaav

Symbol: Wild flowers

Portfolio: delight, laughter, good, joy

Garb: Country or travelling clothes with some freshly picked wildflowers tied to their bag, belt, shoulder, or breast.

Rites: Spreading the teachings of the smiling god by bringing joy to others, encouraging others not to make jokes at the expense of others, and picking wildflowers daily when you can to encourage you to enjoy the rural countryside.

Phrase: “Chaav smiles upon the good.”

Thaumaturgy: Wildflowers spring up around you and sunlight beams from somewhere behind you.

Cyndor

Symbol: Rounded hourglass of black and white turned sideways

Portfolio: time, infinity, continuity

Garb: Circular patterns with simple black and white.

Rites: Bury time capsules with holy symbols in them. Meditate on the nature of space and time following a very particular schedule understood only by you and other followers of Cyndor.

Phrase: “A consequence for every act.”

Thaumaturgy: Cyndor’s holy symbol traced in floating arcane glyphs floats before you.

Delleb

Symbol: White book

Portfolio: reason, intellect, study, scribes, historians

Garb: Noble garb and carrying a large white book of their research and studies.

Rites: Asking questions of strangers, engaging in debates, helping others with their knowledge, inscribing magical runes on pieces of paper and hiding them in books to give the knowledge therein to Delleb.

Phrase: “The accumulation of knowledge is the purpose of existence.”

Thaumaturgy: Quills and paper float around you, taking notes on everything going on around you.

Dorsain

Symbol: Rotting skull with bones behind it

Portfolio: necromancy, hunger, ghouls

Garb: Leather armor studded with metal skulls, pure white robes.

Rites: Sacrifice through eating a creature alive, burning of chunks of flesh, feeding living creatures to ghouls, feasting in general. The most devout raise entire underground cities of ghouls.

Phrase: “To exist is to consume.”

Thaumaturgy: Your mouth stretches and your teeth grow large as you feast on something.

Estanna

Symbol: A hearth

Portfolio: hearth, home, family, community

Garb: Orange vestments with white trim.

Rites: Lighting and blessing a hearth, curing the sick and acting as a midwife, visiting families at their homes.

Phrase: “We are all family, and family helps each other.”

Thaumaturgy: You glow with a warm radiance like a small fire.

Evening Glory

Symbol: Open palm with heart-shaped hole

Portfolio: love, beauty, immortality through undeath

Garb: Robes with beautiful patterns and embroidery, with highlights of baby blue. Some clerics might wear blue lipstick and paint their nails blue

Rites: Secret rites cloaked in love and affection, proselytizing about love’s continuity, praying to the goddess’s unchanging perfection, reading of love poems inspired by the deity.

Phrase: “Love will never die.”

Thaumaturgy: The palms of your hands open up with heart-shaped holes.

Geshtai

Symbol: Waterspout

Portfolio: lakes, rivers, wells, and streams

Garb: Long flowing green robes with a wavy light blue stole

Rites: Sinking offerings into small bodies of fresh water, praying for the safety of travelers and fresh water for the thirsty

Phrase: ”Geshtai quenches flames of thirst and need”

Thaumaturgy: A spout of water shoots out of the ground before you, spawning a short-lived fresh water source

Halmyr

Symbol: Full helm in front of a white orb.

Portfolio: strategy/skill in warfare

Garb: Full plate armor. Helm with circular metal headdress. Tunic with holy symbol of Halmyr.

Rites: Praying on the eve of battle or before planning a battle. Telling stories of great battles throughout history as parables.

Phrase: “Halmyr guide us with your wisdom.”

Thaumaturgy: You gain a glowing white helm and a booming voice.

Hleid

Symbol: Jagged triangle surrounding a vortex of blue fire

Portfolio: winter animals, magic, healing, good

Garb: Rustic clothing with blue and white ornamentation. Natural elements like plants and discarded fur, bones, or antlers sometimes adorn the clothing of Hleid’s clerics.

Rites: Mentioning her as you cast spells, caring for woodland creatures, healing those who are kind and damning those who are cruel.

Phrase: “Hleid bestows me her magic for the forces of good.”

Thaumaturgy: You trace Hleid’s symbol in midair with rimefire.

Iborighu

Symbol: Icy scythe rising from blood-stained snowdrift

Portfolio: winter hazards, eternal winter, icy death, necromancy

Garb: Body covered in blue tattoos, white clothing with a few bright red embellishments.

Rites: Sacrifice involving the gouging of the victim’s eyes to be more like Iborighu’s. Spilling blood ritualistically on undisturbed snow. Raising the frozen dead of the conquered as undead.

Phrase: “Iborighu rewards me his magic for the death I sow.”

Thaumaturgy: You stir up a contained snowstorm with wind that howls like the souls of the lost.

Incabulos

Symbol: Stylized eye

Portfolio: plague, famine, drought, nightmares, disasters

Garb: Black robes lined with orange and green

Rites: Spreading disease, torturing others, blighting plantlife, constantly travelling to escape those who would persecute them.

Phrase: “The suffering of the world is meat and bread to Incabulos.”

Thaumaturgy: You cause frightful illusions of disasters, death, and disease to haunt a creature looking into your eyes, or give someone you touch horrible yet vague nightmares.

Istus

Symbol: Gold spindle

Portfolio: fate, destiny, divination, future

Garb: Gray or black robes or vestments with weblike patterns. They grow their hair long and display their holy symbols openly.

Rites: Weaving blankets of gold thread.

Phrase: “Everything is connected by the threads of fate.”

Thaumaturgy: Golden threads spin and weave around you and everyone nearby, connecting you all together.

Iuz

Symbol: Grinning skull with red eyes

Portfolio: deceit, pain, oppression, evil

Garb: Rusty black or white-streaked robes with rust red blood stains, adorned with bones.

Rites: Burning dung and other noxious substances, beating of drums and clanging of bells, blood sacrifice in painful and horrific manner.

Phrase: “It is the right of the strong and cunning to exploit the weak.”

Thaumaturgy: Your eyes glow red and your skull shows through your skin as you emit a foul stench like death.

Joramy

Symbol: Volcano

Portfolio: fire, volcanoes, fervor, anger, quarrels

Garb: Orange robes and iron armor embossed with fire patterns.

Rites: Arguing with others, volcanic sacrifice, burnt offerings to appease Joramy’s anger.

Phrase: “Joramy fills us with passion and fury until we erupt”

Thaumaturgy: a cartoon-like eruption of lava from your head at the height of an impassioned speech or argument

Karaan

Symbol: Gnawed, broken bones and bloody teeth

Portfolio: lycanthropes, cannibalism, savagery, urban decay

Garb: Wild, unkempt hair and wearing furs or hides. They often file their teeth to points and scar their bodies.

Rites: Ritualistic scarification, destruction of man-made objects, cannibalism, hunting and killing.

Phrase: "GRRARGH"

Thaumaturgy: You glow as if by moonlight and take on a primal appearance, with fur and claws and wolf-like eyes.

Konkresh

Symbol: A shield shattered into a web of pieces.

Portfolio: brute force, rash behavior

Garb: Konkresh’s symbol drawn into armor or tattooed on skin, a fighting girdle, and sometimes leather armor but nothing too protective.

Rites: Loud requests of Konkresh for strength in the moment. Sometimes short prayers before a known battle to guide their instincts.

Phrase: “Konkresh breaks all shields!”

Thaumaturgy: Muscles bulge and you grow in size slightly.

Kurtulmak

Symbol: A gnome skull

Portfolio: Traps, kobolds

Garb: Black and green colors, leather and scaled armor with animal horn spikes.

Rites: Rituals involve traps, either setting a trap for others or using the trap as a gauntlet for the cleric. Coordinating complex ambushes or defense maneuvers. Killing gnomes is always encouraged.

Phrase: “Kurtulmak urges us to defend ourselves.”

Thaumaturgy: You gain scales or your scales change color as illusionary darts fly in several directions with unknown origins.

Kyuss

Symbol: Skull erupting with green worms

Portfolio: undeath, evil, worms

Garb: An obscuring cloak with a pattern like a swarm of green maggots and an emotionless porcelain mask. Clerics’ bodies are normally disease-ridden and ugly.

Rites: Creating undead and acquiring undead followers, spreading the word of Kyuss and gathering new cultists, sacrificing of said cultists, and the ritual devouring of worms.

Phrase: “Kyuss will return one day, and death will embrace the world”

Thaumaturgy: Your form collapses into a pile of worms and reforms a few feet away.

Lastai

Symbol: A peach

Portfolio: pleasure, love, passion, equality

Garb: Comfortable pink or red clothing or sometimes nothing at all during rituals and prayers. Beautifully textured jewlery of gold inlaid with rubies.

Rites: Enjoying life’s pleasures of food, drink, sex, rest, and luxury without excess, helping and counseling others to find such pleasures

Phrase: “Life is a treasure and we should enjoy our time with it.”

Thaumaturgy: Your touch brings supernatural comfort, warmth and pleasure.

Lirr

Symbol: An illustrated book

Portfolio: poetry, literature, art

Garb: Colorful flowing robes or gown and a bookbag with Lirr’s symbol upon it.

Rites: Seek out and protect works of written knowledge or art, making illuminated copies of written text, paint small pictures, compose short poems or songs.

Phrase: “Preserve the knowledge of the past for the eyes of the future”

Thaumaturgy: The characters and words from a book you hold fly off of the pages and fly around you creating a halo of glowing text.

Llerg

Symbol: a bear, snake, or alligator

Portfolio: beasts, strength, chaos

Garb: Furs or skins and a fighting girdle. They have tattoos of one or more of Llerg’s holy symbols.

Rites: Wrestling large animals, blessing weapons/warriors/battle sites, burn nature objects or valuables and grind the ashes into the ground.

Phrase: “Be strong so that others respect you”

Thaumaturgy: A fiery spectral image of your spirit or totem animal spirals around you.

Lolth

Symbol: Black spider with the head of a female drow.

Portfolio: spiders, evil, darkness, chaos, assassins, drow

Garb: Clothing or leather armor with spider motifs, but sometimes nothing at all during rituals.

Rites: Sacrificing living creatures or treasure to her glory and speaking prayers in Abyssal.

Phrase: “Mother of the dark, grant me my enemies’ blood for drink and their hearts for meat.”

Thaumaturgy: Thousands of spiders swarm harmlessly over your body.

Lyris

Symbol: A hand balacing a dagger’s point on its finger

Portfolio: victory, fate

Garb: Patterns of lines branching into several paths etched into armor.

Rites: Praying to Lyris before a battle to ask for victory. 

Phrase: “Lyris is found at the turning point of every battle.”

Thaumaturgy: Balance your weapon perfectly on your finger.

The Mockery

Symbol: A dragon turtle

Portfolio: the ocean, sahuagin, evil, destruction

Garb: Seaweed tangled onto body. Robes are blue-green and cut to seem like barbed fins.

Rites: Celebrating the storms and ferocity of the ocean, or else praying for safe passage across the sea out of fear.

Phrase: “May the Mockery deliver us from their legendary anger”

Thaumaturgy: You create a miniature storm spinning around you and illusory ocean waves at waist height

Mouqol

Symbol: a coin or a merchant’s tent-wagon

Portfolio: merchants, bargaining, rare treasure

Garb: Brightly colored clothes and rich jewelry to show how successful at trade you are.

Rites: Praying before and after business hours, identifying and appraising objects, making pilgrimages in merchant caravans to visit many bazaars blessed by Mouqol.

Phrase: “All life is a matter of exchange, and reward is not gained without risk.”

Thaumaturgy: Coins dance over your fingers, at first sleight of hand but soon obviously magically influenced.

Nadirech

Symbol: A golden band inlaid with jewels

Portfolio: trickery, cowardice, luck

Garb: Yellow embellishments, a single golden bracelet, and simple brown garments.

Rites: Praying in secrecy to Nadirech for protection, in whatever underhanded way he chooses to give it.

Phrase: “Nadirech will help me out of any tight spot.”

Thaumaturgy: Your form becomes blurry and faded or misleading.

Osprem

Symbol: a barracuda, dolphin, or sperm whale

Portfolio: protection, water, weather, navigation, voyages

Garb: A ring carved from a sea creature’s bone, brass armor decorated with symbols of ships and Osprem’s holy symbols.

Rites: blessing voyages, holding sermons on ships, praying over fishnets for Osprem’s forgiveness as they borrow the bounty of her sea.

Phrase: “May Osprem bring you safely home”

Thaumaturgy: You stand in the ocean and can call a few nearby sea creatures to you, but not influence them in any other way.

Phieran

Symbol: A broken chain or a shattered rack

Portfolio: suffering, endurance, perseverance

Garb: Simple rags like those of the tortured and the poor. Some have stigmata or scars from self-punishment.

Rites: Taking on the burdens of others, preaching to those in pain, the poor, and those in prison.

Phrase: “May Phieran ease your pain”

Thaumaturgy: Rattling, broken chains appear on your limbs to show how Phieran set you free.

Pholtus

Symbol: A silvery sun with a crescent moon in the lower right quadrant.

Portfolio: light, resolution, law, order, inflexibility, sun, moon.

Garb: White, silver, and gold are the colors of Pholtus and his priests adorn their garb with it.

Rites: Bring his word to nonbelievers, hanging suncatchers from buildings and trees, marking your brow with five white stripes.

Phrase: “The one true way is a strict path, but guarantees greatness”

Thaumaturgy: You shed silver light as fire burns in your eyes.

Procan

Symbol: gold and coral trident and a cresting wave

Portfolio: seas, sea life, salt, sea weather

Garb: Bluish green clothing, golden embellishments and jewelry. Sometimes priests will wear netting or shells. Sea-dwelling clerics often adorn themselves with mollusks that they care for.

Rites: Sinking offerings into the ocean, especially gold and pearls, praying for safety and food, sharing of fish. 

Phrase: “Procan saves us from the fickle seas, and helps us reap their bounty”

Thaumaturgy: Your eyes become pearly white and your skin becomes gold as a spray of seawater carried on the wind whisps around you.

Pyremius

Symbol: demonic face with ears like bat wings

Portfolio: fire, poison, murder, assassins

Garb: Brass bracers featuring Pyremius’ face, wavy dark red cloth for his clerics and essential assassin’s gear for the rogues that worship him.

Rites: whipping initiates with a flaming whip and a weakly poisoned whip to toughen them up, murdering people in their sleep, and submerging offerings in bowls of special poison and igniting the liquid.

Phrase: “Those chosen by Pyremius will never live to hear it.”

Thaumaturgy: Your face takes on Pyremius’ demonic appearance in a blast of fire.

Rallaster

Symbol: Teeth biting down on a razorblade

Portfolio: razorblades, evil, murder, torture, psychosis

Garb: Priests of Rallaster hide their identities and so often will appear like a commoner or regular merchant. Insane priests will wear leather outfits with razors and spikes sewn into it, hiding their identity with a hood or mask.

Rites: Murder or torture, pouring blood from each victim on a small altar made of razorblades. Ranting psychotically in prayer.

Phrase: "Rallaster has opened my eyes to the truth!"

Thaumaturgy: You can spawn a handful of razorblades which emerge from either your skin or the skin of a victim.

Rao

Symbol: Heart-shaped white mask

Portfolio: peace, reason, serenity

Garb: White robes and long beards/long hair, as well as a hand-carved crook. Anything that demonstrates admirable patience. High priests wear a mask that looks like Rao’s holy symbol.

Rites: Quiet, long prayer and lamentation over the many evils of the world.

Phrase: “There is a time to think and rarely a time to act, but in that time, action is wisdom.”

Thaumaturgy: Wind rushes past you and the sound of wind chimes rings from nowhere.

Scahrossar

Symbol: None mentioned; but I would say an iron maiden or spiked whip would be suitable holy symbols.

Portfolio: torture, sadism, masochism, evil

Garb: Tight, studded black leather with plenty of whips, hooks, knives, and needles. Priests hide their identity with leather or iron masks.

Rites: Sacrifices through torture on an altar of spikes and chains. A sacrifice isn't worth it unless it takes days for the victim to die. Self mutilation or even torturing other priests is another common form of worship.

Phrase: "Scahrossar hears your pain and delights in it"

Thaumaturgy: Your touch causes extreme pain and leaves a blemish not unlike an insect bite.

Solanil

Symbol: Pool of water at the base of a date tree

Portfolio: oases, protection, travel, water, good

Garb: Gear and robes of a desert traveler. Always with spare food and water on hand. Dried palms and other plant life adorns your shoulders.

Rites: Plant seeds of fruit-bearing trees in oases. Make pilgrimages across the wastes.

Phrase: “Solanil smiles on us in our times of need” 

Thaumaturgy: You spill water from a clay pot and plantlife springs forth from its path. 

Sulerain

Symbol: An eye crying a drop of blood. (pretty much every drawing in a high schooler’s sketchbook)

Portfolio: death, slaughter, evil

Garb: Subtle black clothing tied tight for efficient deal-dealing. Daggers are tied in patterns over clothing as both an efficient form of storage and an eccentric form of fashion.

Rites: Sulerain delights in killing, the more the better. Priests will dedicate each kill to her. Prayers involve sharing the feelings they felt as they killed their victims, and they pray at dusk.

Phrase: “This kill is given freely to the Grim Lady.”

Thaumaturgy: Dark tendrils of shadow grope your body as blood runs from your tear ducts.

Syreth

Symbol: A three-pointed shield with an arrow in each point.

Portfolio: protection

Garb: Blue and purple gambeson. Heavy armor. Holy symbol either painted on shield or armor. 

Rites: Praying at dusk for those who are undefended.

Phrase: “By Syreth’s might I will defend you!”

Thaumaturgy: Illusionary holy shields of Syreth spin idly around you.

Telchur

Symbol: Lone, leafless tree on a snowy hill.

Portfolio: cold, strength, gloom

Garb: Simple layers of clothes with neutral colors. Men are usually bearded.

Rites: Brooding in silence in the snow near solitary trees. Presiding over funerals. Spreading Telchur’s message of gloom, solitude, and exile.

Phrase: “We are cast out. We go as Telchur went.”

Thaumaturgy: You have an aura of cold and melancholy that surrounds you as a light snow falls around you.

Tem-Et-Nu

Symbol: Shapely woman with the head of a hippopotomus.

Portfolio: magic, travel, rivers, life, knowledge, nobility

Garb: Fine blue and purple robes with rare dyes and a decorated breastplate.

Rites: Place offerings in tiny boats and send them downriver. Respect hippopotomi.

Phrase: “Tem-Et-Nu is the blood of the land. She brings us life, prosperity, and victory”

Thaumaturgy: A spectral rushing river surges past you

Tharizdun

Symbol: A dark spiral rune

Portfolio: eternal darkness, decay, entropy, malign knowledge, insanity, cold.

Garb: Red cloaks with a silk black lining. Spiral runes of insanity are tattooed on their skin.

Rites: destroying all and everything, keeping in contact with an object or place relating to Tharizdun’s eternal imprisonment, foul sacrifices.

Phrase: “Tharizdun will escape and devour the world”

Thaumaturgy: A vortex of shadows appears to envelop a creature you are intimidating

Tiamat

Symbol: five dragon heads making a five-pointed star

Portfolio: conquest, chromatic dragons

Garb: Masks of chromatic dragons and robes of red, white, black, green, and blue. Sometimes clerics will choose one dragon’s color to worship, while others adorn themselves with all five colors, but always in a darker shade.

Rites: Sacrifices made to a dragon to pray for successful conquest. Groveling prayers speaking of nondragon races as inferior.

Phrase: “Tiamat, conquer our weakness that we may conquer in your name”

Thaumaturgy: Jets of five chromatic dragon breath weapons stream in a halo around your head.

Trithereon

Symbol: A triskelion

Portfolio: individuality, freedom, liberty

Garb: Holy symbol hidden beneath travelling clothes. High priests wear a three-pointed shawl.

Rites: Freeing those in slavery, spreading Trithereon’s word secretly among the oppressed.

Phrase: “All deserve to be free.”

Thaumaturgy: A dozen shadowy chains appear around you only to break apart and crumble under Trithereon’s light as you point to each in turn.

Typhos

Symbol: A hand holding a spiraling whip.

Portfolio: tyranny, subjugation

Garb: Prominent displays of Typhos’ holy symbol; chain and spike motifs everywhere. Armor sometimes molded to resemble tightly bound cord.

Rites: Punishing those beneath you. Blessing a whip to bring your subjects to their knees. Rattling a chain during your prayers. Forcing your subjects to recite prayers to Typhos.

Phrase: “Rule through fear”

Thaumaturgy: A black crown manifests upon your head, and a shadowy cloak unfurls from your shoulders.

Umberlee

Symbol: A green-blue crashing wave

Portfolio: anger, wrath, storms, tidal waves

Garb: Seaweed covering ragged robes and long hair. Fingernails are cut/sharpened into points.

Rites: Dumping offerings into the sea to quell Umberlee’s rage, braving ocean storms in small boats, dancing in fits of anger.

Phrase: “The power of the waves will crush the weak.”

Thaumaturgy: You gesture your arms to the skies and a giant wave of water rises up behind you.

Urbanus

Symbol: An empty green helm

Portfolio: cities, industry, growth

Garb: Simple city garb, but featuring Urbanus’ holy symbol and their home city’s standard/symbol/colors. Clerics that dedicate the majority of their worship to Urbanus wear green helmets with crown sculpted to look like the roof of a building.

Rites: Blessing new buildings and roads, exalting in the beauty of the city, expanding a city’s territory/claim/area.

Phrase: “Urbanus shines upon this city”

Thaumaturgy: Tall, illusory buildings and cobbled streets spring up around you, surrounding those nearby with a short-lived splendid city.

Valarian

Symbol: Unicorn silhouette in front of a full moon

Portfolio: good-aligned beasts, forests, forest creatures

Garb: Silver robes with his holy symbol on the back. High priests wear a crown of white metal shaped like unicorn horns.

Rites: Paying homage and making offerings to blink dogs, unicorns, and pegasi, prayers at midnight especially during full moons, slaying evil beasts in his name.

Phrase: “We should respect our forest allies.”

Thaumaturgy: Your shadow takes the shape of a rearing unicorn for a few seconds and everyone near you hears a distant whinny.

Valkar

Symbol: A red hand behind a swinging sword.

Portfolio: courage

Garb: Pieces of red fabric tied to battle-worn armor.

Rites: Praying to Valkar before battle, inspiring others to immediate action, offering a spoil from your last battle to Valkar for protecting you and giving you courage. 

Phrase: “Valkar sends me forth into battle!”

Thaumaturgy: You hold your sword before you as a hand of red, fiery energy burns in front of it.

Valkur

Symbol: Shield adorned with black cloud and three lightning bolts

Portfolio: favorable winds, naval combat, ships

Garb: A tabard with Valkur’s holy symbol on the chest, and white clothes with a dark trim. Angular lightning patterns on clothes.

Rites: Praying before a voyage or a naval battle and blessing ships, calling to the winds for their favor

Phrase: “Valkur steer our ships to victory!”

Thaumaturgy: Winds rush by you as a thunder crack inspires others to glory.

Vatun

Symbol: A sun setting over snow

Portfolio: winter, barbarians, snow, courage

Garb: Bear skins and warm-colored clothes. Yellow feathers representing the sun’s rays are worn around their collar.

Rites: Telling stories of heroes and courageous people over a fire, praying by a torch’s guiding fire, imagining inner warmth and passion while braving the winter storms.

Phrase: “Vatun fuels my fire to warm my stride”

Thaumaturgy: Your eyes glow a warm yellow and steam streams from your mouth with each breath.

The Xammux

Symbol: razor-sharp steel calipers

Portfolio: evil, forbidden knowledge, experimentation, indifference

Garb: Clean, plain white clothes. They are practical, but sometimes have their holy symbol or six dots somewhere prominent on their person. They are sometimes stained with blood splatters.

Rites: Torturing and dissecting creatures on polished steel altars, praying to the Xammux for guidance in their quest for forbidden knowledge.

Phrase: "The Xammux reveals their secrets to me."

Thaumaturgy: Dampen noise in a small radius. Your gaze causes painful sensations inching across creatures' skin.

Xan Yae

Symbol: Black lotus blossom

Portfolio: twilight, shadows, stealth

Garb: Black vestments for services or a black karategi ideal for stalking in the shadows.

Rites: Praying in shadows, unseen by anyone, honing your skills at stealth, meditating to a lotus as it slowly blooms.

Phrase: “Perfection is never seen. Balance is never heard.”

Thaumaturgy: You turn an object in your hand invisible or shroud it in darkness for a few seconds.

Yeathan

Symbol: Dark blue-green spiral with a black center

Portfolio: drowning, darkness, oceanic abyss, evil

Garb: Black robes with a slick outer layer, always with a hood and a something covering the mouth

Rites: Visiting his submerged, dark temples and surviving, ritualistically drowning yourself near to death, sacrificing innocent creatures to deep-sea terrors

Phrase: "Truth lies in the darkest depths!"

Thaumaturgy: Dark tentacles grasp at everyone nearby as your envelop your form in shadows.

Zagyg

Symbol: Spiral

Portfolio: humor, eccentricity, occult lore, spontaneity

Garb: Blue and silver robes covered in trinkets you have collected.

Rites: Play practical jokes on others, create or solve puzzles.

Phrase: “Come laugh with Zagyg and me.”

Thaumaturgy: Bright rainbows of color spiral around you and soap bubbles appear in the air.

Zarus

Symbol: Golden ideal human male face on a starburst

Portfolio: slavery, humankind, domination, perfection, evil

Garb: Priests typically wear very little clothing to show off their perfect physique.

Rites: Exercise or shows of strength, painting your body with gold paint or gold leaf, praying before entering a non-human area, enslaving other species in Zarus’ name, being a racist asshole.

Phrase: “Humans are the pinnacle of creation. We are the beginning and the end”

Thaumaturgy: Your body shines a golden, overpowering aura.

Zoser

Symbol: Stylized tornado

Portfolio: desert whirlwinds, storms, desert hazards

Garb: Sand-colored robes with many long scraps of cloth to represent the winds.

Rites: Wild dancing and scattering incense/colored dust from tall spires. Praying for safe passage.

Phrase: “Zoser dances and we persevere”

Thaumaturgy: Wild, dusty wind surrounds you in a whirlwind

Zuoken

Symbol: A striking fist

Portfolio: monks, physical and mental balance

Garb: Simple white or brown monk’s outfit. Priests of Zuoken are not showy 

Rites: Meditating every full moon. Strength, endurance, and mental training.

Phrase: “Through Zuoken we can find harmony”

Thaumaturgy: The sound of a distant bell chimes in the distance. You float a few inches off of the ground.

[blog-doggypages-world-blog]

Top 10 Most Dangerous, Expensive, Loyal, & Fascinating Dog Breeds

Inform them"man's best friend" could be a cliche, however, no explanation is more inclined to describe the relationship of people with those intriguing creatures. Loyal, intelligent, protective, enjoyable and lively, dogs have served as man's ultimate companion since time immemorial.

But did you know that a dog's devotion to his master could attain enormous, interesting levels? Yes, you will find dog breeds that are amazingly faithful to their owners.

What additional"mosts" are there when it comes to those canines which guy has regarded as his very best buddy since time immemorial? What about the world's priciest dog breed? Or most dangerous? Or you likely are expecting to have a puppy breed that's regarded as among the most intriguing.

Here, we'll have a peek at the planet's most wonderful dog breeds - and - explain what is it exactly that makes them outstanding.

Counting Down the Top 10 Most Amazing Dog Breeds

If you are considering a breed of dog to look after, it's very good to be aware about what its character is, its own characteristic and also what makes it exceptional. [Owning a Dog]

To give you a hand, we'll have a countdown of the top 10 most wonderful dog breeds - which range from the very hazardous, faithful, intriguing, popular and costly breeds which you are able to purchase.

1. Doberman Pinscher

Distinction: One of the very dangerous dog breeds on earth.

With their compact and tall bodies, dark colour and attentive ears, it's not hard to see why the Doberman Pinscher as a puppy breed is regarded as among the very dangerous dog breeds on earth. Simply known as Doberman, this puppy breed originated from Germany.

Usually, a domesticated Doberman is faithful, alert and intelligent. If you have this dog breed, then they'll be especially faithful to you and aggressive towards strangers. They also don't like competition with different puppies.

Why is caring for a Doberman pinscher especially dangerous is when the owners lack advice, subject them to misuse or when insufficient care is devoted to them - upon which they may become harmful, dominant and incredibly competitive. [Dog Behavior]

2. German Shepherd

Distinction: One of the very dangerous dog breeds on earth.

Another German breed of dog that's regarded as among the most dangerous on earth is that the German Shepherd. Contrary to the Dobermans, this strain of puppy doesn't have a particularly menacing appearance since they have a long coat and a normally mild-looking face.

But they are really smart, powerful and obedient, which is most likely the main reason why the majority of military and police institutions employ them as guard dogs. Another feature of this German Shepherds making them especially dangerous is that their aggression towards smaller dog breeds.

3. Rottweiler

Distinction: One of the most dangerous dogs on earth.

Were you aware that Rottweiler can also be referred to as Butcher puppy? This puppy breed ranks third in our listing of the most dangerous dog breeds on earth. They're lively, bright and hardy creatures.

The thing that makes Rottweiler - and some other dog breed for that thing - become harmful is if they're subject to neglect and abuse. Additionally they come to be a danger to the neighborhood if they don't have enough instruction in regards to mingling with people or other creatures.

Additionally, Rottweilers are aggressive towards other dogs of the identical sex. In case you have birds and cats at the home, they may also exhibit aggressive behaviour towards them.

4. Dog Breed: Samoyed

Distinction: One of the priciest dogs on earth.

Next, we'll have a peek at some of the most expensive dog breeds on earth. This'luxury' pet breed includes a cost ranging from approximately $3,000 to $8,000.

Why is the Samoyed breed especially expensive is the simple fact they are one of the early dog breeds which have existed for the past 3 centuries.

Additionally, there are a dwindling amount of Samoyed puppy breeders that is just another reason why an owner should pay a arm and a leg to phone this puppy breed their very best buddy.

5. English Bulldog or British Bulldog

Distinction: One of the priciest dogs on earth.

How would you consider having a dog breed that is also possessed by the British royals? At the United States specifically, English or British bulldogs are equally popular and expensive. This breed of dog can be preferred by plenty of guys who see the strain as being a sign of masculinity and tenacity.

If you are considering a breed of dog to purchase and you're prepared to shell out the cash for this, then you may too go with a few of the very popular and expensive dog breeds in the world - the British or English bulldog. A normal English bulldog puppy could cost you anywhere from $2,000 to $5,000.

6. Cavalier King Charles Spaniel

Distinction: One of the priciest dogs on earth.

To cap off our listing of the most expensive dog breeds, there's the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel that may cost anywhere from $800 to about $3,500 to get a puppy. Why is the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel pricey and unique is they are the best definition of a guy's companion.

When you have a look in their puppy-dog eyes, their own wealthy coats and their little, compact bodies, so it's simple to see why anyone would want to devote a substantial quantity of money simply to have the ability to get a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy.

7. Labrador Retriever

Distinction: One of the most well-known dogs in the entire world.

Ultimately, we will move on to a number of the most popular dog breeds in the world. First, there is the Labrador Retriever. They're one of the planet's most popular dog breeds based on the American Kennel Club due to their friendly demeanor.

If you'd like to obtain a puppies that's great with children and functions as a fantastic solo companion also, then you can't ever go wrong by choosing to take care of a Labrador Retriever.

8. Golden Retriever

Distinction: One of the most popular dog breeds from the worlds.

Golden Retrievers rank near the Labrador Retriever as the very Well-known dogs on earth. This cousin strain is all but interchangeable with the puppy that virtually every typical American household has.

What is so good about this strain of puppy is they are gentle by nature and their character is acceptable for children and most members of their family to play .

Despite their size, they really do have a way with children which make for your great pet buddy. Just ensure you have sufficient space for them to develop, since they can weigh up to 90 lbs.

9. Yorkshire Terrier

Distinction: One of the most popular dog breeds in the world.

Yorkshire Terrier puppies are little pooches that are also an perfect pet. Let us say that you are living in an apartment that allows pets but there is not much space for the puppies to maneuver around. Of course, you'd be choosing a strain that's small in character - and the Yorkshire Terrier is ideal for such an installation.

10. Dachshunds

Distinction: One of the most well-known dogs in the entire world.

This dogs using a exceptional title, Dachshund, can also be called wiener dogs. They have a special body form and they're famous for their lively and at times ferocious character.

There are various sorts of Dachshunds which it is possible to own - like the long-haired, regular Dachshunds that has a calm demeanor, or even the wire-haired Dachshund that has a character more like the terrier's. Lets click for the latest posts