#armblade
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So did their teacher see Truth? Did Al not cause he doesn't have his body? But if Ed seeing it cost him his leg, why didn't al get more info for his whole body? How do tolls work?
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Also I'm most of the way through Doom eternal rn
I joked with a friend on call "oh the Doom Slayer would DESTROY Aamon" but now...
I think they'd be friends.
Armblade buddies c:
#well not friends i don't think the Slayer is capable of that#but once aamon sees how demons are acting in THAT universe? he would absolutely rip and tear#and i think the slayer would be... apprehensive about that. but anyone who slays demons is cool by him#also i like how in most verses aamon is just super worried about killing and like “only as a last resort!” but#Doom verse demons are actual literal evil with no good in them and are way closer to animals than people so#rip and tear until it is done - but with a cool armblade
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@askingkyborg's main here to being you another emo chip mini fic! Spoilers for 33-36 and SHHH i know it doesnt make sense timeline wise because they go straight to the vampspire from town but shut up no they dont
this will be posted on ao3 when i fix my account btws!!
also also heavilyly implied OCD chip because yes <3
TW: Suicidal actions, ideation, etc. also minor disordered eating talk.
‘Care to spar with me, mon ami?” Chip looks up from the campfire at that point, maybe for the first time all day. His eyes focused up on Mathilde, the bird's eyes glinting softly. Of course, if Chip was honest with himself, that was a flat out no. Chip wasn't in the mood for being tactical, which is normally his thing. The only thing he wanted was for everyone to leave him alone. His brain has been on autopilot for the past two days and all he's done is sleep, eat and walk.
Chip isn't dumb. He knows mathilde is just trying to get him to do something, but what's even the point any more?
“Sure. I’ll spar, but we both know I'll lose.” The forced smile on his face wavers a bit.
Chip stands up, popping his back with a deep crackle. He sighs gingerly, and unlatches his arm blade. He knows I'd be smarter to use his crossbow if mathilde is going to fly, but it's not like he was intending to win. Chip is not a bad fighter, of course. No, he's actually quite good. It's just hard to think about when your mind is static and ocean foam.
Absently he loosens his neck, one of his habits that never ceased to leave him from years of assassin work. He always seems to have a crick in his neck, but it’s not really surprising. Chip had found himself in and out of jails, hostage situations, and attempted murder more times than he could shake a stick at. His body was a wheat maze of scars and old wounds, of torture and strain. But it was all part of the job, or at least that's the half assed excuse he gave himself.
The other part of Chip's fight ritual was coming into his surroundings. He followed mathildes movements in the clearing with lidded eyes, focusing in on the world for the first time since-...
Mathilde was moving cockily, as they almost always do. Slowly and elegant, feathers smoothed and freshly preened, it looks like. Chip raises his heels up off the ground, eyes narrowing in, trying to get lighter on his feet. His own body is different, and he feels less familiar with it. He's lost weight recently- not having eaten in a few days- too sick to his stomach from the previous weeks to even think about it. It wasn't a lot, but his shouldie hung off him in a different way. It made him wish he still had his D.A.G.A.R suit for training. His hand smelt like wild onions, and the rest of him like ash. He's been lighting the campfires with his tiefling abilities lately, instead of using his boy scout training from his childhood. Using that fire always drained him, but he can't help but be glad it helps him pass out at night rather than lie awake. He needed to sleep, to sleep, to dream and fight it off for a while. It's been his only time of peace for quite some time.
A few more seconds till the battle begins, mathilde is counting down, but he doesn't dare let the sound get into his ears. You focus on your target and your target alone when you fight. He’ll read their beaks movements for days instead of breaking his focus if he needs to.
Chip repositions, moving his left side forward. Not only is it the hand he's got his armblade on, but it helps hide his weak spot- the crossbow wounds still healing from the previous night. Barney had given him some healing in between, but in the night he'd gently picked at it. The red stains have always calmed him down, and on himself no different. Red meant alive still, red was the enemy, but red meant weakened and ready to die. To embrace the people they miss… so…so…bad.
Mathilde moves, battle begins. He knows they're saying something snarky but he's too tuned out to regard it. He's watching and commanding from third person, and that's just how he wants it. Bob down, weave right. Mathilde lands a firm noncorporeal blow to his face, and he gasps out a little, breaking part of his concentration. A smooth trickle of blood drips from a now busted lip, and chip can't help but smile.
The chipper killer. That's what people used to call him, back in the day. Always had a smile when he killed, made jokes and jabs. This was basically the same, just less lethal. A laugh busts through chips teeth, and he smiles. Mathilde obviously looks a little shocked by his reaction.
Chip plants his left foot, pressing all of his weight on his toes and not his heels to keep him flighty. He takes a slash with his arm blade. His eyes shut, but fly back open in seconds. Mathilde has a sting of blood dripping from the cut over his chest, red plumage soaking even redder. Chip laughs, and he sounds wild. A snarky insult comes to his lips but he presses it down.He can't cause hesitation, you hesitate you die. He needs to get his target.
Chips' eyes are blurry, and he can hardly make out the figure in front of him. He's used to shots in the dark though. The blurriness backs up, and a sneer falls into his face. Kill. His ears flicker down a bit, and he moves forward. The kill drive of his nature was seizing him, hands steady and brain calculated. A stab at the shadows, voice howling in his own skull. “DIE!”
Blood was splattered onto his hands, and it didn't matter whos it was. There's shouting all around him. He wants his target dead. He wants everything to die. He wants to die-
“CHIIIPPP!” a high pitched squeak breaks his brain, and the haze fades. The dark shadows reform, and suddenly he sees mathilde, blood dripping down their front and hands in front of their face, not in cowardice but in preparation for attack. An attack from him.
Chips eyes shoot down at ellga, who was the one who snapped him out of it. His arm blade glistened in the draining sun, wet blood still on it. He looks up at mathilde, and the bird gives a sympathetic look at the absolute horror streaked across Chip's face.
“Mathilde i am so-’
“Don't be sorry, we were sparing, you just got a little into it is all. im fine, barney can heal me right up-”
“Already on it” the old man blurts, but looks at Chip with a spike of fear that makes the tiefling want to dry heave.
“I-I-”
Chip runs a hand through his hair, unable to talk. He knew his killing nature was catching back up to him with carol dying, but now he's going back to how he was.
Chip stumbles a little, back into ellga. He jumps forward and turns, pulling his hands all the way away. Sweat beads down in a streak off his chin.
‘IM- i- I'm gonna go forage-!” Chip announces with his most normal smile, his fakest smile, and turns on his heel. Mathilde makes a noise like they're going to talk, but just sighs, and it wills Chip into walking even faster in the opposite direction. He stumbles his way down the hill, moving away from the patch of grass they'd been at and into the main town of vania. He bumps into every person there, and several ask him if hes alright from the blood on his hands and his face. They don't know him, they don't know he's a monster. They don't know he's a friend hurter, or that he's the reason his wife is dead. They don't know anything, so Chip doesn't say anything. He just walks.
By the time the sun starts setting, Chip doesn't even know where he is. Vania isn't huge by any stretch of the imagination, but chip is already lost enough in his own mind to know where exactly he is in this unfamiliar place. After a while, he settles, tucked behind a building and hidden, breathing heavily.
He stares at the blood on his hands, and he twitches. Chip has never been a messy killer. Blood makes his hands itch, too wet then too dry. Dirty and disgusting. As much as he hates the smell of bleach, he always uses it for crime scenes. Blood was too dirty. Filthy, nasty, and wrong. He's been nervously rubbing his hands for hours, the blood mainly off, but still feeling like it's on there. He rubs some more at it, and curses under his breath.
He hurt his friend.
He's a bad omen. An omen of death.
He's killed hundreds.
He's a bad person. An omen of death.
He's the reason his wife is dead.
He's a bad husband. An omen of death.
He's the real problem.
A monster. An omen of death.
Why does he even bother being ALIVE?
Chip sighs, running a hand through his hair and then wincing. Now that's contaminated too. Everything about him is dirty and wrong. Tears threaten his eyes, pushing into the corners and making a soft noise as they roll over his cheeks.Days of lapsing suicidal urges and injuries have snapped him into a terrible, terrible place. Softly he presses his forehead onto his knees, feeling the cool scared up skin over his hot face.
He's not sure how long he rests but his dreams are uncomfortable. Swirling memories of killings past. Bad bad memories. They never bothered him before, but now he knows what it's like to lose somebody. Now he knows how much of a monster he really is.
He's only ever startled awake by voices. Mushing noises of high and low pitches. He opened his eyes, and they flooded over with brightness. He stifled a groan, headache and ready airdropping into his skull and ears ringing like a kenku scream. His eyes focus, and he sees several balls of gleaming light, and his party in front of them.
“What is tarnation…?” he grumbles, and the light speckles vanish, the sun's last entrails covered by mathilde spreading their wings. His eyes go up to his team mates who are staring at him with worry in their eyes. He winces distantly, feeling a spike of guilt as he sees mathildes feathers pushed out of place and puffed up.
‘Oh.. uh… hey guys..” He rubs the back of his now sore neck.
“Chip crétin! Je devrais avoir ton visage pour ça, pourquoi diable m'enfuirais-tu comme ça, Ellga était inquiète, Barney était inquiet, j'étais inquiet d'avoir crié à haute voix ! Ce n'est pas si mal, je vais bien, c'est bien!” mathilde scolds in panicked sounding French, grabbing Chip by the collar of his hoodie and yanking him up.
Ellga huffs. “Why’d you run off? It's fine! You two were having fun! It was a play fight. It's not real! Mathildes is not dead- well, they are, but it's unrelated!”
“I-” chip sighs heavily, shutting his eyes a bit. “You're right. Sorry. I guess…” chip searches for the words in his head, scrambling to think of what to say. Tiredness flushes over him in a wave, and he lets out a sigh, throwing his hands up. He lets his head embrace the wall behind him, and his horns click on it.
‘I'm just.. I'm just so..so..tired.” he gives. “I didn't mean to hurtcha’ mathilde, I just got lost in my own head. Guess my…killer ways are catching up with me…”
“Well you’d never intentionally hurt any of us. You told me coming into town that you're a good assassin.” Barney tries to encourage, but chips heart falls. “Yeah, well…is there really such a thing?I'm still a murderer” he chokes, and his body tingles with the feeling of blood splats from past kills all surging up and bubbling under his purple skin.
“Nonsense. Words are all made up, mon ami. One isn't worse than another. An assassin is a profession, and a murderer is apparently a death sentence to ‘za living. It dos’ant matt’ar! Those titles don't dictate who you a’hre, the people who love you do. And I say you're perfectly fine. We all do bad t’ings sometimes.”
Chip sighs at mathildes word, ever wise in their later later years. “I suppose.” he says, not at all convinced. Ellga frowns, and it makes Chip want to bury his head in the vanian dirt. She turns to the alchemist, who Chip had almost forgotten about.
“Mr alchemist, do you have any cures for sadness?”
“Not…quite, ellga, but i have somethings that may help, if chip here is willing.”
The room pauses, and all eyes form onto Chip. “Awh, what da heck..?”
“Give me your arm blade.”
“What?” Chip stares at Robert like he's crazy. “Just hand it to me.”
Chip sighs, and unties the arm band to it and tosses it over to the alchemist, who catches deftly. He looks at it for a moment, and then tucks it into his bag.
“How's that supposed to help? That's my best stealth weapon.'' Chip finds himself grumbling.
“Exactly. That way if you try to hurt yourself, you don't have anything silent to do it with.”
“Oh.” He momentarily wants to fight off the claim, but the arrow wounds in his foot and his lower neck burn with a shot of pain to remind him.
“Okay.”
“Besides that-” Robert continues momentarily, digging around in his bag, tophat sliding down his head, “I've got a potion I want you to try. It should help.”
He extends out a vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Chip extends a gloved hand, and takes it. He removes the cap with a pop, and tips it back. He drains the liquid in a quick motion, and wipes the corner of his mouth.
“I don't feel any different. I just feel really tired and useless, mainly.” He says, and his head flinches back at his own words. Robert smiles, and taps the vile.
“Truth telling serum. Now you can't hide anything from us.” he pats his shoulder as he chuckles.
Chip goes to scold, but realises everything would get turned on its head when he says it.
Mathilde snickers. "There isn't any way to heal depression with a potion, but now our too clever rogue cant hide anything from us.”
“You guys are my favourite people.” chip sighs, exasperatedly. Ellga squeezes his hand.
“Come on, let's go to the vampspire. Maybe seeing my home will cheer you up.”
“Yeah… maybe it will.”
#tales from the stinky dragon#stinky dragon pod#chip haney#barney farney#mathilde confiseuse#ellga von brath#mini fic
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@5mind // starter call.
when it came to beings of the mechanical kind, eve always
found herself utterly fascinated. funnily enough, red was not
the first she had encountered recently! she did hope they were
a bit more. nice?
❛ your armblade looks LOVELY! i am a bit biased though.
bladed weapons always appealed to me most. ❜
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Can I request: Havik(mk1) x Fem s/o Orderrealmer who is a slave like him and that she has vast telepathy, telekinesis, and probability manipulation to which she uses these powers to help Havik and herself escape together only she that Havik will allow her to call him by his real name Dairou; for personality wise she is serene, meek, yet the dangerous and silent type she is his wife and both wanted Seido destroyed so they along with other villains join forces with Shang Tsung and Quan Chi into taking over the timeline in exchange that Orderrealm be brought down please!!!
Hi so, I took this idea and now have decided to make a full fic out of it. Might have chapters. Like I said before I'm new to this. but I will show you what I got for the prologue. Also sorry I'm saying a lot, just want you to know that this is a cool idea.
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In all the 7 realms, Seido, humans are a rare to come by. Any who survived Mortal Kombat are in hiding. Now, years after the tournament started, your little brother has gone missing. The elders forbid you from searching for him, claiming it is too dangerous, too volatile.
You leave anyway, only to run face first into a handsome person, with his armblade in hand and death in his eyes.
"I am so sorry." You apologized
"Watch where you're going…Oh.." The man stops mid sentence, "Are you alright?" He then asked, seeing tears in your eyes.
"No…I'm not." You start crying. After a few minutes, collecting yourself you then tell the cleric, "My brother…He went missing. He's not old enough to be out on his own. I'm worried."
He sees your desperation, your humanity,something he hasn't really seen in the past years. Not since everything that has happened after the tournament. He made the decision and promises you one thing: He will help you on your journey or die trying.
"You don't have to…I've only just met you. Why are you so willing to help me?"
"I have nothing else better to do, also I understand. I will help you. Would you be able to help me too?"
You look at the man, He is so different from all you have met. You start feeling something….it may be a sense of fear. why would he be willing to throw away his life to help you? What help did he need from you. Your mind wondered for a bit before you heared his voice again.
"Help me free my people and I'll help look for your brother. Do we have a deal?
You snapped out of it and registered what he just asked. "Yes but how. And what's your name?"
He smiled, "I go by Havik and I will show you how we can do both."
With your brother missing and Seidans being sold to the highest supernatural bidder, you don't have time to be wary.
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please let me know if you want more........
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Why you should vote for each of them and full art below!
Anya KA1 (by @syssyadmin for Beam Saber)
The Anya PA4.3 (Animosity Neutralizer, Yoke Applicator - Patrol Associate) Unit was originally designed by the Public Enterprise as a sleek titanium civic service droid, blending organic and synthetic elements to create a personable entity with human tone, inflection, and mannerisms to offset its cold, lifeless exterior that could act as an unwavering voice of the PE as an HR assistant, or even to help peacefully quell civil unrest. When the Darling Empire's EMP blast shattered electronics across nearly half of the entire planet of Go-Vah, this Anya's electronic systems failed but in a freak miracle, her organic systems managed to survive and in fact restore functionality to some failing parts. After recovering the unit and amidst growing conflict, the PE decided to completely rekit her as a combat specialist - the Anya KILLINGASSAULTING1, complete with retractable armblades and a motorcycle mech.
As an Empath in Beam Saber, Anya has unique abilities based around precognition, telepathy, and social poise. She started with the ability BROADCAST, which lets her instill a powerful, undirected emotion in others, or paralyze a person with her mind or voice. She also carries around Prognostication Tools in the form of a deck of completely ordinary tarot cards, which she reads for people as a means to dig deeper into their psyche and discover what they're really after, whether they know it or not.
Additionally, this new awakening for Anya ignited something else in her beyond just combat aptitude: the ability to feel PAIN. When she was discovered in the Dark Zone, she was found SCREAMING in an inhuman tone, loud enough to require ear protection. When she harms an opponent, her body involuntarily reacts with the same pain; when she KILLS them, her neurons are set aflame with the seizing grip of DEATH as she screams - Over, and over, and over again, until the battle is won. But when Anya kills her rival TK-S, she feels…. Nothing. Nothing, that is, until she sees the same combat drone - rebuilt, consciousness reuploaded - in battle once again, this time prepared with a routine to dismantle her. She suffers a Scar, DisSOnaNce, upon the realization that unlike the other drones she's been shredding through, there is no backup, no model, no plan to rebuild her when she is eventually eviscerated in battle.
In Beam Saber, each Pilot has a Drive. Anya's Primary Directive, as instituted by the Public Enterprise, is to infiltrate the dangerous but utterly aimless Gang of Four logistics squad, and rally them to victory over the Darling Empire.
Marvas Vasilius Fenthwick Horse (by @the-sneep-snoop for D&D)
You never noticed the horse traveling alongside the party of adventurers - but, of course, that would be a grave mistake. He is no ordinary horse, but once the loyal steed of the esteemed wizard Marvas Vasilius Fenthwick, founder and only surviving member of the School of Shalahan. Well, he was, before he died fleeing those who destroyed his School and annihilated his followers. In his last breath, he cast his memories, magical ability and consciousness onto his horse - they are one and the same, yet now distinctly one: Fenthwick Horse. This ordinary horse, lacking in humanoid limbs, was also granted a permanent Mage Hand spell so he may fulfill his mission of reestablishing the School of Shalahan and ensuring his own death was not in vain.
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That one image
(They’re missing 2 of their armblades :( )
#mantis kat#mantis spades#Kat x spades#mantis#mantis oc#bug#bug oc#oc#oc art#lesbian#insect#insect oc
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Phytoi
Image © @chimeride
[The Alexandrian Romances are a genre of medieval fiction we’ve seen before on the Codex, with the skolex and the odontotyrannus. A staple of the genre is Alexander’s army encountering one or more of the “monstrous races”, the various humanoids said to live outside the boundaries of civilization. Some of these, like the blemmyae and the sciapods, are found in Pliny, but others, like the phytoi, are unique to specific versions of the Romances (and the ones that later plagiarized them). ]
Phytoi
CR 9 CN Monstrous Humanoid
This enormous humanoid giant is taller than a building. It has long, thin horns and long craggy feet, and serrated blades grow along its arms from wrist to elbow.
The phytoi are enormous giant-like humanoids that dwell in forested hills. They are renowned for their skill at woodcraft, using their immense bladed arms to cut down trees and process lumber. They tend to dwell in small villages in rough terrain, surrounded by a palisade for extra defense. Phytoi are omnivorous with a taste for nuts and fruit, and their villages are surrounded by food forests that provide their staples and attract game.
A phytoi is not necessarily hostile to all comers, but they expect others to respect their boundaries and leave their territory alone. Phytoi are very large and intimidating, and usually try to stop fights before they occur with their size and threats. If combat ensues, they prefer to use their natural weapons rather than manufactured ones, although they will hurl trees as missiles if enemies keep their distance. They are sure-footed, and attempt to flee over cliffs or crags in order to slow pursuers.
A phytoi stands about 35 feet tall. Male phytoi have horns growing from their crown, but these are delicate and more useful for display and ritual sparring than for lethal violence.
Phytoi CR 9
XP 6,400
CN Gargantuan monstrous humanoid
Init +1; Senses darkvision 120 ft., low-light vision, Perception +14
Defense
AC 22, touch 7, flat-footed 21 (-4 size, +1 Dex, +15 natural)
hp 114 (12d10+48)
Fort +10, Ref +9, Will +11
DR 3/-
Offense
Speed 40 ft.
Melee 2 armblades +17 (3d6+8)
Space 20 ft.; Reach 20 ft.
Special Attacks deadfall burst, trample (3d6+12, DC 24)
Statistics
Str 26, Dex 13, Con 19, Int 11, Wis 16, Cha 12
Base Atk +12; CMB +24 (+26 sunder); CMD 35 (37 vs. sunder)
Feats Dazzling Display, Great Fortitude, Improved Sunder, Intimidating Prowess, Power Attack, Weapon Focus (armblade)
Skills Acrobatics +12 (+16 jumping), Climb +23, Craft (carpentry) +11, Intimidate +21, Perception +14, Survival +14; Racial Modifiers +4 Acrobatics, +4 Climb
Languages Common, Giant
SQ sure-footed
Ecology
Environment temperate hills
Organization solitary, pair, party (3-8) or clan (4-40)
Treasure standard
Special Abilities
Armblades (Ex) The armblade of a phytoi is a primary natural weapon that deals slashing damage. Attacks made with an armblade ignore the first 5 points of hardness of a wooden creature or object.
Deadfall Burst (Ex) As a standard action, a phytoi can throw a log or tree 100 feet. It bursts in a 5 foot radius, dealing 2d8+8 points of bludgeoning and piercing damage to all creatures in the area (Reflex DC 24 halves). The save DC is Strength based.
Sure Footed (Ex) A phytoi gains a +4 racial bonus on Acrobatics and Climb checks, and is not considered flat-footed while balancing or climbing.
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While burning juniper also followed him in. During shock just questioning what happen the NeoCat would attack.....only for a barrier to stop them out of the flames is Juniper eyes glowing and riding her is a younger jaune (about 21)
Jaune: Not this time...
In a flash both Juniper and Jaune were changed. Juniper becoming more beastial and jaune clading black armor with a blade coming from his hand
(Upside armor pieces can appear and disappear on will....including the armblades)
Metal
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In previous Mortal Kombat games, Baraka was basically just a chaotic evil monster. I like him, but like he's a total asshole whose main motivation as chief of the Tarkatans is to secure enough meat to feed his tribe - meaning a lot of slavery and murder.
In MK1 - because it's a total reboot of the MK universe - he's actually just a dude who's afflicted by a disease called Tarkat which will inevitably claim his mind and turn him into a mindless bloodthirsty monster, meaning that the character is a lot more noble and willing to help the protagonists out.
I'm cool as long as he has a fucked up mouth and armblades, but I like that the new game actually finds a way to have Baraka be one of the good guys. Baraka fucking rules.
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Hello! Welcome to my small little side blog where things actually get tagged for sorting!
Campaign stories tags:
#continental - I'm playing as Kiso, a sentient swarm of birds that was created as a result of an experiment and is currently on the run from their creator. Kiso is a level 10 Swarmkeeper Ranger speced for melee fighting and utility/combat spells.
#adventure time - I'm playing as Žano Merlin, a tiefling ex-military who lost an eye and an arm during the war. He's currently working as a mercenary, having had a functional armblade prosthetic be made for him. Žano is a level 3 Kensei Monk and level 2 War Magic Wizard multiclass speced for fancy spell and melee combat.
#frosted earth - I'm playing as Kyuri Timun, a harengon academic with a doctorate in botany. He's travelling an everwinter land in search of exotic flora. Kyuri is a level 6 Ranger with a homebrewed Botany subclass, speced for support and healing ability.
Other tags:
#dm - stories from campaigns ran by me as the Dungeon Master.
#homebrew - My various homebrewed creations (Choking hazard. Includes small parts. Not suitable for children age 3 or younger. Balance and fairness may be not included. Consult your DM before using.)
#reblog - D&D related stuff reblogged for amusement.
This list will probably be updated as stuff evolves.
Main blog: @igotstuckinthevoidhelp
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3-5 Things Your Muse Can Easily Be Identified By.
colours
Blue: most of Talon's outerwear layers are deep shades of blue.
Brown: hardware straps, belting, and boots made to help with scaling different materials.
Silver: fabric lining for cloak, boot decals, armour, and weaponry.
Black: the cloak over their blade cape, and leather armour over limbs.
scents
Dust: something always comes back with them from the dark corners and hideaways they crawl into.
Sweat: from living in the same clothes and wearing many, many layers despite the weather.
Iron: from the clothing, armour, blood on their hands, and the occasional healing scabs.
Leather conditioner: upkeep of equipment from overuse is important.
fashion
Blade cape: their signature wardrobe piece, used for both offense and defense.
Armour: combination of metal and leather with strategic placement, brutalist in shape.
High collars: neck and identity protection. also helps buffer wind.
Leather: gloves, boots, belts. they're cloaked in dead skin.
Hoods: the less seen the better.
objects
Knives: an extension of themself. always has multiple of the weapon somewhere on their person.
Armblade: custom built and cruel, it can carve through flesh and bones all the same. it also acts as deflection.
Secret code notes: incomprehensible scratches and symbols, holding information only Talon can decipher.
body language
Hunched frame: bending at the neck, back, and even knees. gives the illusion they stand shorter, and can make their upright posture a little surprising.
On edge: quick flittering movements, turning with a snap, eyes never resting.
Low pulse: after years of endurance training, their resting heartbeat would be considered unhealthy if their background was unknown.
Scowl: Talon's resting expression, though it also usually matches their current emotion.
aesthetics
dungeon crawling
battlements and rooftop running
dark alleyways
secret rooms
candlelit paperwork
tagged by: @dolls-runeterran-dollhouse
tagging: @umbane, @poisonflowrs, @lightshielded and you, if you'd like
#‡ dash games#‡ arm me to the teeth | headcanons#once again leaving memes until ages pass so ive no idea who has filled it out#long post /
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[takes a shot] humanize the nobles. but not all the way. make them human bloodlines that were blessed by almighty sinnoh to be just, really weird. the kleavor family has extendable armblades. the braviary family have wings and psychic explosion powers. sneasler is still toxic.
#the nemesis speaks#pokefic pitch#idk i like the idea of those fics where ingo finds sneasler as a baby sneasel#but what if she was just. a mostly-human kid tho#she's picky and won't listen to anyone except she's decided she likes ingo so he Has to stay
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sketchdump ft. vfp!Casey's armblade and also my cat
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#tumblr poll#edgelord#edgy#look i made a comment on another weapon poll about my fav weapon being edgy#but i have to know what other people think
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reaper's early childhood memories (closed until I get through some in my inbox)
He's been waiting for what feels like ages, but the guards finally change, and Reaper is able to dash from his hiding spot to the armory where the outpost keeps their weapons. Noxus makes no secret of how it takes the best parts — the strongest parts — of every place it conquers, so their selection is incredible, even for a smaller military branch like this one. The weapons glitter in the light of the candles in the room, the weapons remodelled to look Noxian, even if their shape speaks of a different origin. Reaper can tell which swords are from Shurima, the Freljordian bows, the Demacian shields — but there are some that even his studious research can't identify. All of them are silver and black, gilt with ruby embellishments so that every soldier may proudly display their allegiance.
Needless to say, Reaper wants one. He wants all of them, really, but he has to stick with what he can carry. When he's old enough to join the military he'll practise with all of them, climb the ranks and teach others to use them, but for now ...
Though he doesn't admit it to himself, for now he is a child, barely the same height as some of the swords, and the abandoned nook he calls home doesn't have room for all the weapons he'd like to keep and admire.
Running his fingers over the smooth metal, Reaper marvels at how cool they are to the touch, and how much heavier they are when they're right in front of him and not attached to the belt of a passing guard. Though there are countless weapons that he can choose from, there's one in particular that catches his eye. A battleaxe, taller than him with a blade nearly as wide (or perhaps slightly wider, depending on who you ask) than his shoulders. With glittering eyes, Reaper reaches towards where it leans against the wall, blade down, obviously just set aside for the moment rather than hung nicely, and grabs onto the handle near the blade, giving it a tug.
It doesn't budge. Reaper gives it another tug, then yanks hard, and still the weapon barely scratches the floor as it edges towards him. He wraps his hand a little higher around the weapon's shaft and throws his back into pulling it, but all that does is make the handle swing down, barely avoiding his head before it clunks heavily onto the floor. Reaper freezes, ears pricked for danger as the sound reverberates through the room, and decides he can come back for the battleaxe. It's not hard to sneak in, and here's plenty of weapons in the meantime to keep him occupied. So he grabs a handaxe off the wall, attaching it to his belt the way he sees the soldiers do, along with a box of throwing knives and a small Shuriman blade. The brass knuckles are too large for his hands still, and he ends up dropping an armblade on the ground in his haste, so he leaves those for now — he'll be bigger next time, after all, so he'll be able to carry all three that he left behind today.
He turns to leave, and at the last second darts back for the brass knuckles, tucking them in his pocket. He likes the way the rubies glint like blood along the knuckles, and figures he'll be able to use them soon enough anyways. Then, with a final glance at the wall of weapons, Reaper turns and peeks his head out of the door, checking for guards before he darts away, out of the outpost and back home to admire his haul.
#what was written in shadow — now in flesh / answered.#witchcraftandburialdirt#he was always like this actually
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