#zeno stokes

[izzystrawhat]

Anime Characters who wear white briefs in my opinion

[chifuya]

The Marginal Service ✥ ep 1

[faline-cat444]

Learned that Marginal Service Character Birthdays are a thing

So far only these three have been done.Robin's probably next in line whenever that gets dropped.

[favficbirthdays]

Happy Birthday

Zeno Stokes (24th October)

The Marginal Service

[animemakeblog]

“The Marginal Service” The Original TV Anime For Announced for 2023

The Marginal Service, a new original television anime series, was announced on Thursday by the video game firm Cygames, which also unveiled the primary cast, teaser graphic, and teaser promotional video. In 2023, the anime is expected to make its debut.

[ecargmura]

The Marginal Service Episode 12 + Final Thoughts: Marginal Explosion

The final episode felt like it had too much to fit in. At least the ending is happy. I think the best thing about this episode is the happy ending.

Why I think it feels like too much is the fact that we get actual aliens and the reveal that the UN are the true enemies. Then, the Marginal Service come in. Then, the Borderlanders come in. Zeno finally reunites with his son and then Brian and Zeno go fight the mothership. See? Sounds crazy, right?

Like I mentioned in my review for the previous episode, the UN are the true villains. It also turns out that the guy with the mustache has been doing this because he’s afraid of aliens. He was the guy in the movie that Brian saw back in Episode 2; what a surprise. While what he did is bad, I don’t like the fact that he gets brushed off to the side as the real aliens come in as threats. Fortunately, he still gets punished.

The aliens feel like last-minute additions because they’re here to give Borderlanders some purpose and to be seen as good people. It turns out that everything the Marginal Service has been trying to uncover regarding Rubber’s organization has been to fight aliens. The main Borderlanders featured throughout the show come in to fight. I’m glad that Isabella is back. She’s so hot. Also, Rubber’s guitar is also a gun. HE HAS A GUITAR GUN!

The reunion between Zeno and his son Noah was heartwarming. I was surprised Noah was still able to recognize his father even after ten years. I’m also glad that the kidnapped kids actually aged, but Noah looks rather tiny for a fifteen year old. I’m assuming he didn’t get enough nutrients being stuck in there.

The battle between Brian and Zeno against the mothership was kind of weird. Like, how did Zeno managed to get changed and jump onto the top of that UFO? Like, how is Brian able to control the freaking UFO and knows where to shoot? I also kind of knew these two weren’t going to die because they’re the main characters. It’d also be a waste to have Zeno and Noah reunite and then have Zeno die.

At least everyone’s happy in the end. Immigrants are getting equal rights. The Marginal Service members are back to their daily lives. Theodore got his occult goods back. Zeno and Noah finally become family again with Brian occasionally visiting and making Zeno jealous because he’s an overprotective dad. The Borderlanders are also happy with Rubber Suit having a small concert in prison and the other Borderlander prison mates are having a good time with his performance.

All is happy, I guess. This anime was okay at best. It’s something I wouldn’t ever recommend. I’d only suggest this if you are a seiyuu fan. The voice actors all deserve a raise to being the only reason this anime managed to stay afloat.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I’ll be honest. This anime’s not that great. It’s only saving grace is the voice cast. Why cast such high quality voice actors for a show like this? The voice actors did the very best to make this anime stay afloat.

If there are good qualities, it’s that the anime was creative with how they used Borderlanders and Aliens for the sci-fi aspects. I did like how Borderlanders and such were a bit of a mystery that eventually got resolved in the end.

I also liked some of the characters. I liked Cyrus, Lyra, Rubber Suit and Isabella. The rest feels too one note. Brian’s okay since he got some development. Robin and Bolts also feel too one-note. The only character I dislike is Zeno. Others are just there or kind of forgettable.

The opening and ending songs are another saving grace. Mamoru Miyano and Yuma Uchida’s vocals are top notch. The opening and ending songs are the some of the few I never skip. Uchida’s rapping skills are great too.

I will repeat: the only good thing about this anime is the voice cast. That’s all. I only watched this because of the voice cast. They’re so good for such a bad anime. Like, when are you ever going to hear Kouki Uchiyama, the king of stoic anime men, use a gremlin voice again? When are you ever going to hear Mamoru Miyano click his tongue constantly again?

I wanted to like this anime and I did sometimes. All I can say is that no one should watch this unless they’re bored or watch anime for voice actors. That’s it. This anime gets a 3/10 for me. It’s a three because the voice actors saved this explosion of a show.

Marginal Explosion, everybody!

[fatedroses]

That one teacher/mentor moment and Zenos feeling embarrassed for the first time in years (and reacting just about as well as you'd expect him to).

[crehador]

he really said “seek help”

[coldshrugs]

in this state

characters: io laithe / estinien varlineau, alisaie leveilleur word count: 1400 rating: M; descriptions of injuries, language. note: very vague endwalker spoilers. io's friends wait by her side while she's unconscious.

She looks like shit, their Champion.

Battered and bruised, Io lays on a cot in front of where Estinien sits. Her bottom lip is torn, and shallow cuts weave across her bare shoulders and chest. Crusts of dark blood peek through the stitching, and her flesh swells around the wounds.

There is blood in her hair, in the wisps around her face, in the long strands that drape over the cot’s edge. Blood under her nails, too, grotesque in the stark fluorescent light of this room, against the crisp white sheet where someone has neatly folded her arms in feigned comfort.

Her breathing comes slow and shallow, aided by a machine the likes of which he has never seen. It whirs and some mechanism inside pumps, pulling air from the ship's interior and delivering it to her lungs via clear tubes entering her nose. Another contrivance beeps, counting each pulse. Estinien counts too. The starship Ragnarok offers little in the way of distraction, so he keeps track of each feeble breath and endures the pauses that stretch like infinity between the beeping.

They say she will wake soon. That it is only a matter of time. They say she will make a full recovery once her aether has time to replenish and she’s rested…

Not even the Fury herself could grant him enough patience for this.

Alisaie sits across from him, eyes ringed red, gripping the metal cot in place of Io’s swollen hand. She has been here longer than he has, staring down at Io, greeted only by her still face. Occasionally a tear falls between the beeps and whirs, sounding sharp against metal or solid against skin.

Does she realize he stayed behind when the others could no longer bear looking at Io in this state? Does she care that he watches them in silence?

He wishes she would go, just for a few moments. What he would say or do is a mystery–it is not in his nature to plan for something like this. Still, he needs the opportunity to be alone with Io. The girl, however, will not be moved.

“Wake up, damn you,” Alisaie whispers. She inches that much closer, hovering. Aching in a way Estinien feels, too, for her friend to show any sign of progress. “Wake up and tell me what happened to you.”

Estinien lets his head roll back, and it meets the wall with a soft thud. An engine thrums somewhere far off, vibrating softly through the cold metal. He closes his eyes and exhales. It is almost enough to distract him from the repetitive sounds, the nauseating light.

Almost.

“You’re still here.”

He opens an eye. Alisaie looks up at him with the threat of fresh tears. She sniffles.

“Aye.” He crosses his arms. For one brief moment, he considers asking her permission to stay, but he glances down at the still figure between them, and his heart lurches in his chest. No, he will remain at Io’s side until she wakes.

“You care for her, don’t you?” Alisaie asks.

Estinien scowls at the very specific emphasis in the question. He cares about a great many people, Alisaie not least among them. He cares for their causes and their well-being. But that is not what she is asking.

It hasn’t needed a name before now, this feeling. Most often, it is in his chest, unfurling softly each time Io smiles, or rests her head against his shoulder, or speaks kindness to a stranger, until he can feel nothing but her warmth. Other times it shoots up his spine, a radiant pride that strengthens his arm and steadies his aim. It is the knowledge he would follow her anywhere because there is no one he trusts more.

And now it lodges between his ribs, sharp and stinging.

He answers after a long moment.

“Aye.”

Alisaie’s eyes grow wide as if she didn’t expect his frankness. She wipes her tears and sits back. “You could’ve cleared your throat or something instead of letting me blubber all over her like a fool. It goes without saying that this better stay between us, or so help me–”

“I won’t say a thing,” he chuckles quietly. “But I’m not leaving.”

She nods and stands. “Fine. I’ll go see how the others fare. Perhaps there’s some coffee on this godsforsaken ship.” Her steps toward the door are hesitant, eyes sliding between Io on the cot and Estinien seated next to her. “If she wakes…”

“You’ll have returned before then.”

She forces a tight smile and leaves looking a fraction more hopeful.

With the room clear at last, Estinien’s focus returns to Io. Her ragged breathing, her lacerated skin.

He leans over her, a forearm on the cot, and lifts his other hand to her head. His thumb sweeps across her forehead in a delicate arc, careful to avoid the cut near her hairline. He soaks in the warmth of her skin under his hand, the softness of her hair. His fingertips trail down her face, tracing the ridge of her tattooed nose, the curve of her cheek. He burns all of it into his memory, in case–

In case.

“Come back, Io,” he says, too quiet to be heard over the machines. “Don't you want to laugh at me baring my heart to you? We are both in a state.”

And finally, finally, she moves.

Her head turns, settling into the cradle of his palm. Her mouth pulls into a pained grimace and she inhales sharply, a near-silent hiss. The machine counting her pulse speeds up. Estinien's heart beats in his throat, waiting for her eyes to open, but Io stills again.

Except for one word.

One name, scratching its way out of her parched throat.

“Zenos.”

His love, honed to a sharpened point, twists in his ribcage. He fights the urge to recoil lest he worsen her pain. Why, after all this time, after all they’ve been through and the bond he knows they share, is that name the first thing to break her silence?

Estinien hangs his head. “Not what I had in mind."

Perhaps he got ahead of himself, saw more between them than was actually there. Aymeric has, fondly, called him impulsive more than once over the years, and he is not blind to his own recklessness. Perhaps...

No. His instincts have always been strong. His feelings for Io, the signs she reciprocated them, have grown around them for the better part of a year. He is too deeply entangled to let one mention of that bastard make him second-guess what he knows to be true.

Io will have an explanation when she wakes. He is sure of it.

And he will give her time.

“Knock knock.”

He turns to the door, where Alisaie stands, a white ceramic cup in each hand. Her expression is soft as she enters, her eyes locked on the point where Estinien’s hand meets Io’s cheek. He moves away as delicately as he can and leans against the wall.

“Thought you could do with a warm drink. I forgot to ask how you take your coffee, so I just made what I like. Apologies if it's shit.” She presses the cup into his hands. “Did anything happen while I was away? Did she–”

Estinien is not a skilled liar, but Alisaie would worry more than she already does. And for Io, he can keep this secret. He shakes his head. “No. We’re still waiting.”

Maybe it's the coffee or the company, but Alisaie is in higher spirits as she returns to her vigil at Io's side. She sips her drink with a little smile, eying Estinien from behind her cup.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing...” She trails off with a smile and looks away. It is only a second or two before she turns back to him. “You will tell her how you feel, won't you?–” He groans– “She’d be absolutely thrilled, you imbecile. For reasons beyond my understanding, she thinks the world of you.”

She’s pleading now. Eager to be part of something happier than the sight between them. Even with the quiet rasp of Io’s last word ringing in his mind, Estinien cannot help but smile. Intrusive as it is, her brand of encouragement is endearing, and he can but hope she speaks the truth. 

“One day,” he says, and means it. When Io is well again, when things back home have settled, when the last traces of him have been dredged from her heart. “When the time is right.”

He takes a long drink of coffee, hums a noise of surprise at how similarly it matches his own tastes. Not bad.

Alisaie shoots him a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 7 Morsel

Zenos trekked across the snowy fields, not trying to rush, but unable to take as much time as he would have liked.

His friend’s body was so different from his own, slim and fine-boned, yet possessing its own strength. There was well-honed grace in her trained movements, the dancer’s skill of Aeryn’s homeland ingrained in every ilm.

He wanted to study her scars—he knew he had left a few upon her at least—and see how she had survived, how such a small, delicate-seeming frame could be so enduring.

Magic sizzled and writhed beneath her surface, a feast for his avatar, and no longer as alien to him as it had once been. Not since mal Asina’s experiments, granting him his birthright. But what Aeryn had access to was so much more, deeper and broader, an ocean compared to his lake.

If only this game could last longer.

He doled out a few more morsels of her plentiful aether to his ravenous avatar. It would need to be ready, after all, once they reached the camp. Then it could devour the living aether of Aeryn’s comrades, the distractions and competition for her attentions.

Assuming she did not manage to stop him first. Would she gain control of that body in time? Her will was possibly even stronger than her form, and her passions burned to protect those dear to her.

If she made it, it would be a victory. If she did not, he would remove some troublesome pieces from their playing field and stoke her rage—also a victory. He smiled, the motion easy enough on her lips.

The avatar sulked at the back of his mind, demanding more. He preferred it a little desperate, cowing it into doing as he needed. It tried not to slaver over the abundance of aether he kept just out of reach.

“Soon,” he murmured, fascinated by the difference in how the word sounded in Aeryn’s voice, how it felt in her throat and mouth, passing her lips. Simple motions he had taken for granted until he had himself shifted from one body to the next.

But her body was just as welcome as his own, perhaps because it was so much more fascinating in its differences, as he tried to find the similarities that made them equals.

Laterum was in sight, and her allies saw him coming. There were cries of relief and joy, and he smiled again. They would not realize until it was too late.

The avatar rumbled once more, sensing his excitement and the richness of aether rushing toward them. Speaking of insignificant morsels. The trio hurrying forward would barely sate the voidsent’s blade. Still, it had been promised a feast, and he had a goal and only so much time, as he let his avatar loose upon them—

“Enough, Zenos!” a rough, masculine voice shouted as a thrown blade struck and scattered the avatar.

She was just in time, ever the hero.

He had still won.

[fisherrprince]

“Ch’ari. What are you doing.”

The aetheric silhouette that is the Warrior of Light freezes in the middle of hobbling across the hallway. “I am… getting… a drink?” He says. 

“Oh?” Y’shtola raises an eyebrow. 

His aether flickers. The shape inches forward slowly, as if she were a dinosaur and couldn’t see him if he moved really slow. “I am… getting a very specific drink. From… Othard.”

“Are you now.” 

“…You are getting me a very specific drink from Othard?” Ch’ari tries. 

Y’shtola reaches behind her for her staff, and Ch’ari turns and scuttles as fast as his body will take him back into his room where he’s supposed to be. 

-

Alisaie scowls. “I am bored.”

“No kidding,” Ch’ari whines. “When are we allowed to leave?!”

“I am allowed to leave tomorrow. You will be staying here until you have resolved not to be a fool and throw your life away for a victory lap,” Alisaie snaps, and then her expression turns down. “Or at least until you can walk again.”

“Seems hypocritical to me. They’re letting you out early.”

“I’m almost healed!”

“By the loosest definition.”

“It wasn’t even a wound, Ari.”

“Hm.”

“Look—“ Alisaie says, pride in being Not Bedridden stoked by his dismissals, and pushes her way out of her bed at Dawn’s Respite to march over to Ch’ari’s bed, indignant. And still, notably, a bit shaky, after concentrated lightning magic left her too hurt to stand. Ch’ari still thinks they’re all stupid, every Scion, right back at them, for not tending to their own injuries well enough to heal themselves before pouring almost the entire Ragnarok’s worth of aether into him. Stupid, dumb, idiots. They’d already saved the universe at that point. We don’t need eight incapacitated scions when we could have had just the one. 

“You look like a baby amaro,” Ch’ari says, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. “Like a newborn foal. Damnation, looks like you’ll have to stay here and keep me company.”

Alisaie flicks him — gently, even though he’s not even got a head wound. “Ari. I promise we’re not going anywhere. And you know if you asked him to, Alphinaud would stay with you for days reading fantasy novels or textbooks at you for entertainment.”

His ears droop. “I know. But he needs to sleep.”

“And so do you.”

“And so do I,” Ch’ari grumbles in concession. “I am just not used to not moving. I want to kill something.”

Alisaie coughs out a startled laugh, and Ch’ari grins. “Gods, as do I, but we have our orders! Two weeks. No travel, no fights.”

“Sneak a coblin in here when you get out of this joint and I’ll pay for your sweets for a month.”

“Not a chance.”

-

“Not that I doubt your s-sSS-killed hands, Krile, I would never. But do bandages need changing thisoften?”

“In this specific case, yes,” Krile says, clearly not willing to entertain him while he chatters distractingly. “Might I remind you you were falling apart before we got to you with healing magics, and therefore you will be suffering the consequences for as long as a normal wound takes to heal naturally.”

“Peachy,” Ch’ari groans. He should have been better at avoiding that dumb voidsent Zenos summoned, but it always hid right out of his line of sight until it pounced. Clearly, a cheater, even if its master wouldn’t do a thing like that. Nah, he’d challenge him head-on, evening the playing ground until it was just strength against strength, no tricks, no unfair advantage. Pure, untouched adrenaline, bloodlust, the hunger for feeling alive. 

… Ch’ari will not miss him. But he will think of their encounters as long as it takes him to find something like it, if he ever does. Which is exactly what the prince wanted, drat. He should have taken Zenos to the Gold Saucer. Maybe he’d get really into chocobo racing instead of death matches. 

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a sharp tug in his ribs. “Ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Krile says, already casting a light soothing glow over the sticky mess there. Ch’ari buries his head further into the pillow with a groan. 

The door creaks. “My, someone sounds grumpy they’re being tended to,” comes a voice, and Tataru trots in with a small box in her hands. Ch’ari’s ears perk up. 

“Am not grumpy, I’m injured. What’s that?”

“Medicine,” Tataru says bluntly, and then gets a sly grin. “And a handful of pastry fish, fresh from the oven.”

“Tataru you’re my favorite. Have I ever told you you’re my favorite? You are. Hands down,” Ch’ari says, already sniffing the air to catch the smell, his tail whacking the edge of the bed. “I don’t even care that it’s bribery to get me to drink that foul tincture, I love you.”

Tataru laughs, bright and open, and even Krile huffs a bit in amusement. 

-

Alphinaud is asleep when he wanders into the main rooms, and Ch’ari considers dropping something onto the table to wake him up, but decides against it. He’s not all that sure how mana works — or mana overexertion, or… well, Lyse called it a chakra, but Ari isn’t a monk, and he’s not sure what straining or breaking one of them entails. He just knows the kid needs to sleep a bunch to get his aether back, and Ari shouldn’t be startling him so bad he breaks something again. If that’s how that works. He’d rather not risk it. 

Instead, he wanders over to Estinien, who is brooding in his Dragoon Corner. Also seemingly asleep until one eye cracks open, trained on his approach. 

“Dragoon,” Ch’ari says.

“…Cat,” Estinien replies in greeting. Ari snorts, the joke he made about having nine lives clearly amusing or at least annoying the Elezen to this day. 

“Guarding your nest, are we? I didn’t think we’d see you stick around this long.”

Estinien grunts. “Aye. Under normal circumstances I’d rather be off by now. But as long as…” he frowns. It’s always difficult for him to differentiate between draconic instincts and his own, and then subsequently translate them into human words, something he and Ch’ari have only spoken of briefly when Nidhogg’s lingering presence wanted to clash with what was left of Hraesvelgr in Ch’ari’s body. Simultaneously feral and overtly made of higher thought, the presence of the dragon is as long-lived as the beasts themselves. “As long as my ward is in need of protection, I will stay,” he settles on. And then his expression squishes, pained. “And… the pink one threatened me if I were to leave without a clean bill of health.”

Ch’ari laughs, then covers his mouth quickly to muffle it. “Ah, the jailer. No escaping that.” 

“Indeed.”

-

“Raha, you need any help with anything?”

G’raha looks up from his books, surprised. The Warrior is standing over his shoulder, swath in bandages and a simple shirt and slacks, his tail swishing. “Do I need any help with anything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, no, I don’t think so… resigned to being monitored as we are, I have no new tasks which require my attention, and so…”

“Let me rephrase,” Ch’ari interrupts. “Please do you need help with anything.”

G’raha blinks. And then splits into a smile, ears giving a quick one-two wiggle. “My friend, I am quite sure we can find something to do. Something very calm and stressless, but something nonetheless. What is your opinion on magic circles?”

[izzystrawhat]

Brian and Zeno are totally a couple, The Marginal Service

[headcanons-n-shit]

It is a wager, he will admit, but Zenos has not made it this far in life by taking the safest of bests.

He steps out of the last of his armor, his greaves falling over in a clatter so terribly loud in the quiet. In the distance Kugane is a bright light on the horizon. Yotsuyu thinks him gone, to return to Ala Mhigo and the warfront, and in the morning he will be. But right now he has placed his cards and made his wager, and for the next hours there is naught to do but savor the payoff. 

Doman nights are warm, this close to the coast, but without the weight and heat of his armor Zenos feels gooseflesh prickle beneath the thin lingering layer of sweat. He tugs uncomfortably at his shirt and wonders, should he build a fire? The sun has only just set. 

And then all thought is gone, as Tehpe steps out of the shadows at the edge of the clearing. They have chosen to garb themselves in the local fashion, it seems, a dark grey kimono tunic and loose pants. Like a shadow themselves, or one of the spirits that the Doman so revere. 

Perhaps even a kami, considering their strength. Zenos has an image in his mind, and it lodges deep in his breast, Tehpe in Garlean colors, black and red and gold, and a nation of worshipers at their feet, and his lips curl into a private, indulgent smile.

“You came.”

Tehpe hums as they slowly begin to pace around the border of the clearing. “I did.”

“Why?”

The fabric of their robes whisper as they move. Shrug. They tuck their hands into the wide sleeves of their robes. A nervous habit, Zenos thinks, to hide their hands, and Tehpe says, “If you wanted me dead, you would have killed me already.”

And that there is the crux of the issue, isn’t it. Twice now, Zenos has had the Warrior of Light at his mercy. Twice now, Zenos could have struck down the greatest enemy to the Garlean Empire. 

And twice now, Zenos has stayed his hand.

Tehpe stills as Zenos approaches them, and the differences in their size has always been dramatic, but before shedding his armor Zenos has never paid it much mind. To the breadth of his shoulders, or the way he looms over Tehpe, his shadow in the moonlight consuming the Viera quite completely.

“I believe–” Zenos says, slowly, carefully, catching Tehpe’s wrist and drawing it up to his mouth. The sleeve falls back with the angle, that he might press his lips to the thin strip of skin between that hem and the silk of their gloves. A hunger lurks and twists beneath his skin, to rip and consume, but, softly. “–that I also told you to run.”

With a huff and a toss of his head, Tehpe looks every bit as impetuous as Zenos has come to expect from these Eorzeans. “And yet, it is you who extends the invitation to me. In what direction did you expect me to run?”

That, Zenos has no proper answer to. His teeth ache to taste as he walks his fingers delicately up Tehpe’s arm, savoring the velveteen skin, the shifting muscle as Tehpe struggles to stay perfectly still. Like prey beneath a predator’s gaze. Like a predator with prey in its sights. Zenos hums low and contemplative against the fragile bones of Tehpe’s wrist. 

“Would you run for me?” Zenos asks, and he tries for flat, for boredly curious, but he could not sound more affected. Tehpe’s eyes widen infinitesimally, nostrils flared, chest heaving, and Zenos tightens his grip, just in warning, just short of bruising.

“Would you run so that I might give chase?” Zenos continues, and every breath stokes the flames in his chest, higher and hotter, ‘til he wonders if he might scorch the very air around him. “Run for me. Be my light in this foul world. My one jewel in this mound of filth.”

Wine-red eyes glance away– at the ground, at the undergrowth, into the trees. Anywhere but Zenos, and he growls, further closing the small distance between them.

“Be my beast,” Zenos demands.

Be mine, he almost says, and bites his tongue just in time.

Tehpe’s breathing is measured, long and slow and even, as the seconds stretch endlessly long with anticipation. Impatience rears its ugly head, but Zenos squashes it down mercilessly. The stakes here are higher than that of any battle, the reward more valuable than any treasure or city or stretch of land, and he does not pick battles he knows he will lose. Sometimes, the best strategy is only to wait, with a patience he has had no choice but to learn.

Wait, for Tehpe’s shoulders to unwind, slowly slowly slowly. “You don’t understand what you ask of me,” Tehpe says, but they lean into every point of contact nonetheless.

“I don’t,” Zenos admits. “I understand only that there is you. Only you are worthy. Only you make each day worth enduring, but for the chance to chase you once more. I want only you.”

Only you, Zenos mouths against silvery veins. Only me and only you.

A hand comes up to grab Zenos beneath the chin, so small, with nails so sharp as they dig into the bones of his jaw. Tehpe glares, so beautiful, so baleful, so fiery, up at him, and Zenos feels that flame within him rise into an inferno.

Tehpe smiles, small and secret and sly as they lean up, pulling Zenos down to meet him, and Zenos can hear the soft pop pop pop as his skin gives beneath Tehpe’s claws, blood welling hot and thick.

“If you can catch me,” Tehpe offers, promises, warns.

And Zenos grins.

[zenosinavernus]

"Ah, you, at least, seem like a somewhat capable sort. The refugee crisis has stoked fears that Baldur's Gate might suffer the same fate as Elturel, of which nothing remains but a hole in the ground, or so they say. Our grand duke, Ulder Ravengard, was visiting Elturel on a diplomatic mission when the city was destroyed. T'was no simple coincidence; of that, I am sure. The knights of Elturel call themselves Hellriders. Some were lucky enough to escape the destruction, and somehow believe we're to blame for Elturel's downfall. How pathetic, baring their fangs at us like rabid beasts instead of putting their energy into solving the problem and fixing what's in front of them. My men chose to occupy themselves by arresting these miserable dogs on sight. I, however, have my eyes set on bigger, more violent prey.

Baldur’s Gate has long been plagued by followers of the Dead Three — the gods Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul. These savage purveyors of fear and death are taking advantage of the current crisis to commit murder sprees throughout the city. Under my authority, you’ll have license to kill these wretches on sight. Together, we shall find their lair, and wipe it out. Hunt down and eliminate anyone who gets in your way, and don’t worry about collateral damage. If you come with me, I shall see to it that you are each generously rewarded for your deeds."

--

(Context: This is 99% dialogue straight from the book. Since the quest is given by an authority figure among the Flaming Fists, the DM forwarded some sample text to me ahead of the session for inspiration purposes and told me he's electing Zenos as the initial quest-giver. And thanks to the NPC in the book sounding hilariously Zenos-y to begin with, all I had to do was throw in a reference or two to hunts and beasts and it was perfect.)

[favficbirthdays]

Happy Birthday

Zeno Stokes (24th October)

The Marginal Service

[animemakeblog]

“The Marginal Service” The Second Promo

The Marginal Service's official website unveiled a second promotional video, extra staff, and a key visual (shown above). On April 12 at 1:29 a.m., NTV, Sun TV, KBS Kyoto, and TV Aichi will air the cartoon, followed by BS-NTV and TVQ Kyushu Broadcasting.