lilou-and-stiches

[lilou-and-stiches]

Ivan

WhOah yet another little story used to think about DND characters. This one is from the perspective of what would be an NPC.

"The Stork" is a bounty hunter and mercenary with a strange way of accepting her payment.

Soft skin lies stark against the barrel of the gun. Dusky gunmetal brings out the Bounty Hunter's veins as she lounges in my library, feet on the expensive mahogany coffee table. Her posture is nonchalant but with her face covered her intent is unclear, though I'm sure I know why she is here. This isn't my first time working with her but it's the first time I've ever seen her remove even one of those black gloves, whose red stains show only under the odd light of a lantern. The untainted porcelain hand doesn't fit with the dark and knowing layers the rest of her body is covered in.

Click. Click. Click.

The revolver spins, a slow and rythymic sound fills the room. I have the impression the woman is slight under the large cloak, yet somehow amidst the superfluous decor crammed in my library she looms large and I feel like a guest in my own home. Methodical tick-tocking continues as pale, delicate fingers relax against the trigger. My heart beats wildly out of sync from her steady movement as I try to gauge where her eyes are fixated behind the birdlike mask.

Her. I guess I don't know if it is a her. It is a much more proper term. Predatory and in control, primal and practical. The Stork, as she is called, lives a life outside of human reason. I've certainly never met a woman with such a skewed moral compass. Yet, she remains a symbol for maternity and motherhood in the right circles. Those circles stay in the tops and bottoms of society, where those with high enough stakes can afford her high price. The first time I heard of her it was through an unfortunate journey through the slums where beagars grabbed at my laces like dogs, and tainted my fine silks with mangey fingers. Her image was spoken by families either in fear, or in threat. Mother's tell her take to keep children close or to warn other nobility of the risks in making deals. That night I thought her a fairytale, a sick twist on the old story about the stork who delivered children to their families. Even now I have no idea if this is true, or where the children she takes end up. It's none of my business really, they aren't my children. I should have known better to get mixed up with her, but she was willing to do more than any other mercenary on the market. Unfortunately that talent has a ruthless price.

Crying from another room.

Click. Click… Click?

The bounty hunter's rythym slows and stops, turning face towards the door and then to me. I'm sweating now. My crown is leaving a ring of sweat on my forehead, and to me it feels painfully like a target.

Another cry. I choke down the urge to cry myself. My baby, –my heir, my son–is laying in a cradle a room over. I had just finished sending him off to sleep when this freak turned up in my manor. There's a soft clinking as the monster in my library stands up, belts and bullets falling into place against her hips. A step is made towards the nursery. She says nothing, I know it is unwise to show my hand but my fear is tangible now. She could kill me if she knows I lied about not having any way to pay her.

Click. Click. Click.

Her rythm is back and I see her breathing heavy, spinning the barrel every step she takes forward. There's an intense sturdiness to her step that differs from her usual quiet gliding along the floor and I'm sure she's angry with me now. Ghosts whisper about the times they themselves tried to avoid the steep cost of what they asked for, and they shake lifeless heads at me for not heeding their warnings. The clicking gets faster.

ClickClickClickClick

"Please-" I begin to protest but before i can there's a bang and a shattering of glass as her revolver spins in my direction, sending a round into the wall and vase behind me. The pattern of the bullets let me know that those were warning shots. It's a warning I do heed this time as she expertly loads another round into the chambers.

The baby cries louder, disturbed and unhappy with the sudden crashing. I can only watch frozen, as she walks into the child's room. The gun keeps clicking and I swear I can hear that bitch humming as she enters. I had never paid much mind to how she received her payments before now. In this moment I replay the way she gains a youthful and horridly joyous aura every time I pay her. I snap back out of my thoughts as I hear commotion from inside the nursery.

Soft cooing, a baby giggling, and footsteps again. I know somehow she's smiling behind the mask as she emerges. I never thought my library was gaudy until the Stork was standing in the middle of it with my son in her arms, tucked against her chest, swaddled snug. My eyes blocked out the ornate decor and trinkets for the first time and focused on on my son. I was never able to swaddle his blanket like that. He looks so peaceful nestled against the Shadowy figure.

Ivan. His name is Ivan. My wife wanted him to be named after me but I said it would bring him bad luck growing up. I always dreamed of his first horse, his first training sword, the day his crown would now longer be too big and sit comfortably on his head without slipping into his eyes. Now, my own circlet presses heavy on my forehead with the weight of responsibilities ignored. My jaw clenches as I began to miss memories not yet made with the boy.

Click. Click. Click.

The revolver was held so near my son, a fragile thing too close to the jaws of death. Ivan laughed. He didn't understand her weapon to be more than a shiny, ornate, spinning toy. Anxiety clutched at my heart seeing the weapon so close to an innocent child. Young eyes fixed on the weapon, star struck and curious. I was half tempted to laugh, he never enjoyed the toy calvary and little animals I bought him as much as this. He reached up a tiny, clean, hand for it and the woman laughed. It was half a laugh, half a retch. Two voices seemed to emanate from behind the mask like a twin headed snake. I couldn't stop the tears this time. A broken sob escaped my lips and I lunged forward for my son. I was moved by an unfamiliar collision of hope and hopelessness within me seeing my boy falling into the hunters' lair. A lair just like I had sent other children to before.

Click. Click. BANG.

So close yet so far. I fell to the floor in rhythm. The laughing stopped and I heard my baby cry out again at the noise. Blinding pain resounded from my skull with a burning sensation. I choked, falling forward feeling a hot, slimy, mass slip from my face. My own eye stared at me, obliterated through the iris by a bullet. Impeccable aim. She was showing off. I stumbled in an attempt to catch myself as I gripped my skull. Another loud BANG resounded as the eye smashed into disgusting bits. The way I fell to my knees unable to hold myself up any longer. Blood poured from the right side of my head. Two black leather boots stepped into view, followed by a soft plop as a mask fell to the ground.

My heart was weak but still managed a skip as I forced my head upwards my son sat in the arms of a monster. For the first time I laid my remaining eye on her face. One side of it was sallow–yet clean–with a mole near her nose. Somehow amongst rather sallow features the round shape of it remained. Lilac eyes pierced me intently. This left side of her face was clearly human, and it was my first time noticing I had never known her race. Her mouth sat in a stern line but was met by a tortured skeleton grin on the other side of her face. The right side met living flesh in a grotesque display of decay. Eye pale and drooping, the remaining bits of skin stitched together, bone like moonstone underneath. The rot continued down her neck and towards her shoulder giving her whole body a border between life and death. Ivan cried louder, and the monstrous face frowned, wiping his tears.

I wanted to tell her to lay off my son but all that came from my through was raged breathing and metallic tasting blood. The Stork kneeled reaching her pristine hand out and holding my cheek gently. When she pulled it away it was scarlet and dripping and I watched in useless horror as her tongue undulated behind that skeletal jaw and her mouther opened, tasting my blood. She hummed and wiped it on the fur rug beneath us, already matted and red.

"If he truly does share your blood, this boy will do just fine." She hissed. Again twin voices, half soft and half raspy emerged. The horrid half moon features and the cries of my son were the last thing I witnessed as I slipped from the world.

#fuck. #dnd

[lilou-and-stiches]

Romeo's Wine Glass

OK so whenever I'm having trouble characterizing a DND character, I write a little bit about them from their perspective to practice being their character.

This one is about Romeo, a Triton who grew up a thief and turned musician after stealing a violin.

Have you ever noticed the rhythm to the way a crowd walks? Going about your day it might seem like mundane noise but if you stop and listen each foot fall, cough, and squeaking chair line up. As I count rhythms in my head, I pinpoint the familiar sounds of thieves counting gold, and adventurers settling down for the night. The room is full of a colorful collection of patrons, with no tying similarity between them. Each group's own tune meshes with the other's in either harmony or cacaphony. The bartender of Middle Hell–a rough and tumble tavern–rubs a glass with an embroidered handkerchief, back and forth it moves in the same time as the swaying of drunkards singing tavern tunes, and the sliding of chips and cards as gamblers sell themselves to the song.

I learned the notes to this song early in life. I've always been able to slip in and out of society's rings like an eel in the reef. This meant if I needed to hide I could shelter myself in a crowd and parade like any other person. Growing up undersea with my people, being able to float with them proved to be a useful skill. Though I contributed enough to my family I was a bit of an oddball. I snuck away and got up to all kinds of mischief, letting my personal desire get in the way of everyone's stealth and efficiency. I never liked hiding it though, which is why I ended up here, away from the ocean. Well that and I died.

It's a long story but not wanting to sneak around and being what some would call "a heinous criminal" (the drama I tell you) don't mix well. The best way to escape and uphold my reputation was through throwing a party and faking my own death. In my opinion, it was a glorious display of everything Juliet was. Past tense by the way- Juliet is dead. I decided to go by Romeo. I had chosen the name Juliet after sneaking Ashlee to see a play when I was younger, the same play in which Romeo is a character. It was the performance that sparked my interest in the arts, so I didn't want to abandon Juliet's meaning entirely. I'm on the mainland now and enjoying the diversity of land life. People are so strange and yet I still am considered the black sheep up here. Maybe it's not rude to stare on land. Not that I mind, an artist needs an audience, and I found I have quite the love talent for music. Especially the violin.

Playing a violin is like planning a master heist. Each movement of a song manipulates the audience, and as long as they are captivated they are completely at your disposal. Like I said, the world runs more like a song than anyone ever knows. They're too stupid to listen, even for a minute. Now me, on the other hand, I hear it. I can let other people hear it for the price of a stage and a few gold, and with the starry eyed looks and rhythmic tapping and clapping in the audience you'd think they'd try harder to hear it in the future. But no, it's always up to somebody else to do the work for them. They should know it's dangerous to trust somebody like that. Listeners are the most vulnerable type of people among us. The performer holds them like a delicate, delicious glass of wine, swishing them around free to take a drink or send the glass shattering to the ground whenever they please.

The tavern is filled with the sweet and musty scent of all kinds of alcohol as the environment gets lively. I adjust my hat, so none of my hair is pulled back at an odd angle. I hold my own wine glass up close to my eyes. Tilting my head I can't help but laugh as from this angle, it appears that the patrons of the bar are swimming, ignorantly, in the dark red liquid. I let the cup slip from my finger for but a second, grinning, as I prepare to shatter the night.

#do i even want to tag this? #no. #dnd

[lilou-and-stiches]

I did not kill Granger!

Or did I.

FIND OUT NEXT WEEK!

Wren there are a certain group of nerds waiting for you to answer a certain group chat and unfortunately any further delay will end in you being single again.

…. are you threatening me or my girlfriend

[lilou-and-stiches]

Need an idea for a wacky DND character? I got you covered!

Druid artificer multi class - wild shape and pilot a Mecha as a squirrel!

A lawful evil confectioner who survives off of exploiting children

A party MILF who is a rogue and does that thing where you can't find something but your mom finds it and it's not because she wants to find it she stole and it was "just holding it for you"

A matching set where you play a warlock and one of your table mates plays your patron.

A fighter with powerful arcane gifts who simply refuses to use it because they wants to give their enemies a chance.

A firbolg that does that thing that dandelions do where they turn into seeds and blow all over the place so they are in a cycle of growing up and then being reborn as a little seed.

Any spellcaster multiclassed with bard who uses a wand as an arcane focus and moves like an orchestra conductor when casting spells.

A bard who plays the violin but the bow is used as a sword

A paladin who is still a good guy tm but he's just a massive asshole and doesn't know why he helps people.

An undead who's soul is tied to one body part and as long as that part of them is attached to any vessel they can pilot it. (The hand from Adams family goes rogue!)

A rogue bard multiclass who plays suspenseful music while sneak attacking. (Jaws theme here.)

An Aarakocra (parrot) who doesn't know how to speak at the beginning of the campaign and you can only repeat things other players have said until you build a vocabulary.

Crow Aarakocra theif/rogue. See shiny, take it.

A wild sorcerer who's wild magic only manifests in permanent physical changes that can affect your stats making your playstyle change as you go.

A healer who dreamed of being a fighter but is really shit at it and still tries to be the big strong fighter whilst giving you a bandaid.

A monk/cleric/paladin that joined with the divine to be good but now must fulfill a bloody vengeance for a god they once thought was righteous.

#dnd #dungeons and dungeons #give me dnd mutuals now because this account is brsnd new and my old moots died.

[lilou-and-stiches]

I wish you were fucking dead let me have one thing

Wishing I was taller.

[lilou-and-stiches]

Wishing I was taller.

[lilou-and-stiches]

pokes you . what are your pronouns

You shall address me as such

My lord, your highness, sir, sire, my prince, your princiliness, or my shmumpkin bumpkin

#she/he is fine. #people dont use he enough.

[lilou-and-stiches]

actually yes me . i have one personality trait at the moment and its being obnoxious about homestuck i have no shame

That's bit obnoxious there's nothing more fun they hearing somebody talk about something they love which is why I asked for headcannons. :)

#they love jade harley

[lilou-and-stiches]

jade harley she/they/he soooooo true...................... they occupy so much brain space

AH YESSS that is the gender I enjoy that very much 💝

[lilou-and-stiches]

but you recognized jade harley as homestuck...... raises eyebrows

*Sweats violently*

Uhm.. no you??? 😳

[lilou-and-stiches]

i think bears should be our friends . bc they are warm and friendshaped and fluffy . this is important to the survival of our species

Here's more of my bears. These ones include two statues and a pin cushion who sit on my desk. <3

[lilou-and-stiches]

if bears not friend then why friend shaped and fluffy.... answer THAT

THE ANSWER? THEY ARE FRIENDS!

I'm so happy you brought this up I actually collect bears.

Here's part of my bed room.

[lilou-and-stiches]

🦎

lizrd

That's so groovy! I like lizards. Thank you for sharing jade Harley luvr!

[lilou-and-stiches]

if jade harley has a million fans i am one of them if jade harley has a hundred fans i am one of them if jade harley has no fans i am no longer on this earth if the world is against jade harley then i am against the world etc etc

Im glad do you have any headcannons you wish to share with me I am a collector. I would love to hear.

#they love jade harley

[lilou-and-stiches]

are you aware of. jade harley

To answer your question no I'm not a virgin.

[lilou-and-stiches]

Rather phallic, Richard.

Penis

i think he goes by richard

#dead girls

[lilou-and-stiches]

🛸✨