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come-down-that-tree · 6 months

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Come Down That Tree! (an aftermare story)

Chapter 14: Mä muxsa jaljaw sañ munäna ukampis kunatix uka waynax llijullijumpiw ch’allt’ata, ukatw mä juk’a amuyux mayjt’ayañajax wakisïna.

Nightmare slept fairly well, as he often did on such stormy nights. It was on these special nights he could almost feel the gentle touch of his mother.

He didn't know if it was because he slept squished against the bark and his brother, feeling thrumming energy coming from both or if it was the capricious screams of the sky somehow helping him ignore the rest of the world… therefore making focusing on the thin feeling easier.

Regardless of the raison, he relinquished the feeling.

He knew he was safe and the tree was too. Nothing could pierce that warm bubble of safety.

He thought so at least.

Right in the middle of a peaceful lucid dream, the atmosphere changed.

He turns towards the dream version of the tree that stops its usual constant humming then, wordlessly asking what is the matter.

The only answer he has is a burst of wind that pushes him farther away rather suddenly. The light around dims and everything seems to try to make him leave.

Why, he does not have a clue.

But after grumpily resisting for a while, he hears the tiniest sob he ever heard, right outside his safe space.

And once he spots the source...

A small and crumpled red figure, shaking on a burned flower patch.

He awoke instantly.

What greeted him was a world not yet fully awake, sun barely noticeable. Traces of the violent storm that must have lived through a good part of the night itched in the very earth.

He was truthfully soaked, cold water dripping from his clothes and from the branches above his head. The only warm source left being his twin, still huddled against his side and very much sound asleep.

Sleep was still slugging his thoughts but it did not stop Nightmare to notice something rather quickly.

Something woke him up.

And it was not a good kind of thing.

There was a strange "tower" slicing up his sight in two not that far from here.

There was a burned smell cloaking the air.

As calmly as a half awake mess could, he let his eyes follow the white-ish line pouring down the sky.

Until he reached the bottom.

Laying in a burned grass circle was something.

Someone?

White and red.

Geno.

Time stopped and the daze vanished.

Nightmare sprang and ran to the other as fast as possible.

What happened? What happened? What happened ???

He skidded to a stop right next to the skeleton and confusedly stared at him.

The monster was unconscious, laying in a fetal position, all curled around his left arm.

Arm that seemed… damaged.

His fingers were sprawled open, slightly shaking. The tips were blackened and rough. A red liquid seeping out of tiny cracks littering his fore-arm.

What happened?

He carefully, oh so carefully, pushed him to rest on his back to assess the wounds better.

Ice screamed along his back when he saw the cracks go up all the way to his chest.

Nightmare took a moment to steady his hands, which were shaking almost uncontrollably now, before pulling up the other's shirt.

He was greeted by the same mess as the last time he had bear sight of the ribcage.

Looking at the holes made him feel near nauseous but he pushed past to observe if any new damage had been added when whatever happened happened.

The long crack line was barely here but it was here. Running along the thin ribs.

He quietly followed the path until it stopped right in the middle.

Nightmare sighed.

"It didn't reach his soul, that's good…"

His hands enclosed his skull for a second and a loud, loud, groan escaped him.

What exactly happened while he was sleeping…

A moment went by.

Full of hesitation and incertitude.

Until he decided against prodding Geno any further to try waking him up.

"Let's see how well it goes this time…"

He started by gently calling his name.

Then, when that didn't work, he carefully touched his good shoulder with the objective of shaking him awake, as gently as possible.

Now, that, that failed magistrally.

But not in the way he thought it would.

The grass was still wet and slippery.

And this whole situation made his movements a bit… hazardous.

His whole weight came to crush the poor injured man's rib cage, who, understandably, woke up screaming bloody murder.

Dream basically materialized right after, helping him sit back down on the ground and silently observing the situation.

They both stayed there, watching Geno curl up on himself and, for a lack of a better word, wimper.

They wasted a minute to see if the other was conscious enough to not turn them into skewers.

He seemed so.

In fact, by the time the minute ended, the skeleton had calmed himself and was now sitting in front of them…calmly studying his damaged arm.

"Geno?"

He looked up, a lone eyelight, more red than he remembered, stared.

"Yes."

His voice was firm but weak.

Nightmare lost his words.

Dream chimed in for the first time of the day, shifting slightly closer.

"Can you move your arm?"

Nightmare watched with owlish eyes Geno raising his good arm to rub against the burned one.

He didn't answer besides a too large smile and a tilt of the head.

"Are you in pain?"

To that, he snorted.

"I'm in Spain."

"Meaning?"

"Super pain."

The twins both winced before exchanging a glance.

"I know a guy downtown who could examine that if you would follow me there?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"It's noth' "

"Your arm is still shaking."

"Astute observer I see."

"Leaving it like that IS dangerous."

"I had worse and I'm still here."

"Do you actually have a good raison or are you going to continue wasting both of our time ?"

Even if the exchange had been full of calm and posed voices so far, Nightmare knew it wouldn't stay that way long with how it was going so he all but butted in rather ungracefully.

"Dream, brother, pal, do you remember that herb I chewed on that made me loopy for hours when we were kids?"

They had been exploring the neighboring forest at the wee age of 7 and found some "funny looking" herbs.

Nightmare decided it was his turn to taste test the new plant and he spent half a day feeling similar to the time he forgo sleeping for a week minus the tiredness and insensitive to most pains (they tested it).

Dream ignored him.

"I still remember where to find it and we both know our guest here won't go downtown without kicking, screaming and aggravating his wound."

If looks could kill…

His brother sighed before turning fully towards him.

"...fine. Go find some while I try to see what else we can do with what we have."

Nightmare glanced one time towards Geno, who showed no signs of interest in the current conversation and merely sat slumped on the ground, before breaking into a fast walk in the direction of the last known location of the loopy plant.

It didn't take him long to find some.

The blue gray herbs that liked to grow under the berry bushes of the southern marsh.

Thoughts noisily attempted to scritch at the back of his mind but he skillfully tuned them and focused on the mindless task of tearing the herbs out of the ground, one by one.

Once the pile in his arms was big enough to last a few days if needed, he let his feet carry him back home.

The trip was over in a jiff.

Under the tree, rested Geno, his arm wrapped in clean white fabric. He had his eye squeezed shut, looking bothered.

Dream nodded once in his direction at his return and left without a word, to do who knows what downtown.

Nightmare didn't try to stop him and wondered if he would come back in a better mood.

"Geno, I'm back."

The monster nodded in his direction but stayed silent.

Nightmare held out his herbs and Geno looked at his hand warily.

"Eat, it will lessen the pain, I can at least promise that."

He watched the other's dubitative face but in the end, he shrugged and took the herbs.

The munching that followed was accompanied by such a grimace he couldn't help but chuckled.

"Come on, you drama queen, it's not that bad !"

"IT TASTES LIKE DIRT."

"Well…I mean… I didn't wash them so…"

Geno stared at him incredulously.

What. He gobbled so many down when he was a kid and he was fine. Others and their need for everything to be perfectly clean to be consumable.

"You won't die from eating some dirt."

The injured guy just sighed and readjusted his position against the bark.

He sat beside him and let the other rest his head against his shoulder.

"It should start making effects fairly soon, bear with it for a moment.", he whispered.

A hum answered him but nothing more.

Geno was out like a light not even five minutes after.

end of chapter 14! Go to chapter 15?

@dragon-tamer-1 @shinechermont

Geno belongs to @/loverofpiggies Dreamtale, Dream and Nightmare belong to @/jokublog

#come down that tree!#chapter 14 #a bit longer than usual but by the end I was no longer feeling that inspired #pain is a good motivator XD #aftermare #Geno: has the weirdest trippy dreams ever #Night': enjoys his fluffy lucid dream #Dream: sleeps like a brick until he isn't #I now realize I'll have to write loopy Geno from Geno pov uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh #hope you enjoyed and have a good day!

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teejaystumbles · 3 months

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Talk to me about BtOM and/or its sequel? I've seen some of the webcomic and would love to know more

Hooo boy! Thank you so much for your interest! This is going to be a long post! BtoM is my original webcomic, set in the Aztec empire in the 15th century, before the arrival of the Spaniards. It's not trying to be historically accurate but I did quite a lot of research at the time to get cultural stuff and place settings right. It features, as main characters, Metztlitototl, a boy who fell from the sky; Mictlantecuhtli, god of death; Tezcatlipoca, god of, heh, a shitload of things LOL, and his highpriest Itztli, a human. They try to navigate their feelings for each other while finding out where Metz came from. It's a gay love fantasy drama. (while I and the characters often refer to Metz as a "boy", he is not underage) I came up with the basic story idea over twenty years ago and developed it over the years (with the help of a writer who is not part of it any more) into a fully fleshed out story. At the moment it spans six full chapters with about 30-40 pages each; the seventh and last chapter is still unfinished. I have taken huge breaks over the years, coming back to it again and again. I have always promised that I will one day finish it and I still intend to keep that promise. The shutdown of smackjeeves had me loose my main platform for hosting the comic and while I have plans to make my own website, at the moment it's hard to direct people to where to read it easily. That's why I set up a new tumblr for it, but editing all the pages and making the posts is also a huge effort I struggle with. (So sorry!!! I will try and be better!)

It's hard to share stuff because it's a comic script, not a novel, but I'd like to share something from chapter seven, Mic and Itztli trying to figure out who or what Metz actually is-

Itztli is sleepless, he roams the temple grounds restlessly, deep circles under his eyes. He coughs violently and spits but doesn't see the blood mixed with his spit. At dawn he comes upon a secluded area where a fire must have been burning not long ago, a qualming brazier and lots of footprints make him curious. He inspects the scene and finds almost but not completely erased drawings in the earth, depicting... Metztlitototl? What is the meaning of this? Is that... the boy? "It is as I thought." Itztli whirls around at the voice, and Mic stands before him (not the skeleton, but the "nice" Mic). Itztli squats down immediately, heart pounding. "Lord of Mictlan." Mic ignores him. He looks around, sees traces of burnt incense, and even a feather of a bird, hinting at a blood sacrifice. Without looking at Itztli, still studying the area, he says: "Tell me about the night you found him."

The sequel is a very indulgent PWP that has them figuring out their feelings even more and basically all four of them end up in a polyamorous relationship haha. It was my pleasure project to write when the mood struck and has reached the same length as the main story document (oops LOL)

My favourite is not the main character Metz but Itztli, my precious poor boy who'd do anything for his capricious master. He's probably the reason the sequel exists because they needed more space to flourish <3

The main characters, Metz and Mic, are soft and lovely and I love them to bits but they are also, well, easy. Also, Mic is obviously inspired by Dream. My teenage self had a type (and still has). xD

Feel free to ask me more detailed questions! I will endeavour to post more comic pages soon!

#teejaystumbles #btom #wip ask game #original character

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intj-greenwords · 11 months

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Two curious cross-overs this week with Moby Dick and Sherlock Holmes. The terms monomaniac and fuller’s-earth are not particularly common in regular conversation, yet this week BOTH these words appear in emails from BOTH Ishmael and Dr John Watson.

“You are probably aware that fuller's-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found in one or two places in England?” (Mr Victor Hatherley, in The Engineer’s Thumb, 17-19 May)

“As if the waves had been fullers, this craft was bleached like the skeleton of a stranded walrus.” (Ishmael, in Chapter 52 of Moby Dick, 21 May)

“This woman might, for all I knew, be a monomaniac.” (Mr Victor Hatherley, in The Engineer’s Thumb, 19 May)

“Though in the course of his continual voyagings Ahab must often before have noticed a similar sight, yet, to any monomaniac man, the veriest trifles capriciously carry meanings.” (Ishmael, in Chapter 52 of Moby Dick, 21 May)

#the engineer’s thumb #letters from watson #whale weekly #chapter 52

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headpatslut · 8 months

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My silly little skeleton With marrow sweet and delicious And though there's things that can be done We're of a breed that's capricious

If you decide to change your tune Right as my patience is ending Then I might love you to the moon Not back if you're condescending

Guess we see things from the same view I could never come to claim you Unless you freely give yourself

But could I give the same in turn? For I think in and of itself, If there are sparks this time, I'll burn.

Dee

#sonnet #polyamory #poetry #alternating meter #i can have a little bit of yearning. as a treat.

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leave-her-a-tome · 1 year

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Excerpt from chapter 36

Tw: mild cursing, description of a corpse, small injury (cut)

Rike kept clear of where the light fell, sticking close to the wall. No one was here, but he felt eyes on him, nonetheless. That was normal; the feeling never really went away no matter how many times Rike had gone where he shouldn't. As he reassured himself, a silhouette rose above a stepped platform. He came up short, unable to withhold a gasp as a corpse stared down at him from a throne. Its eyes were hollow, the skull tilted to the side, and a spear nearly bisected its torso.

Rike clenched his jaw to prevent himself from cursing, covering his mouth with a hand.

Why, in the name of Del-Turr, hadn't someone thought to get rid of the skeleton with a superiority complex!? Had Rike missed the trend of using bodies for home decor?

Rike wiped a drop of sweat from his temple and loosened the ties on his shirt, feeling a bit constricted all the sudden. He turned to continue but froze as something cold pressed against the side of his neck.

"Couldn't get enough of the party?" Irati deadpanned.

Well. Damn. Rike closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, not answering. The blade pressed closer, and he leaned away, stumbling on the steps. "Listen." He cleared his throat, scraping for his signature charm. "I understand there may be some hard feelings—"

"There's not."

Wetness trickled down to Rike's collar. He would have to disagree.

I'm redoing the taglist since some blogs have changed/deactivated, so if I tagged you let me know if you'd still like to be tagged in future Lifeblood posts!

Taglist:

@adenhamcreationsations @quillofthecloudsloftheclouds @the-writing-fandomm @zwergis-spilledinknk @capricious-writess @writingwithhotchocolateate @ownworldresidentent @dzthornee @bexminxx @mistressofmuseses @harrybpoetry @demigodishniss

#lifeblood excerpt #eris writes #oc: rike #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #writers on wattpad #writing #amwriting #fantasy #writeblr #eris updates #lifeblood

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metamelonisle · 10 months

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who is maschera

Maschera is one of my characters! He's part of a media universe I created known as Inkverse, and he's one of the guys who helps run the show!

Originally a man named Fortunato, Venezia's greatest gentleman thief, he would die tragically because of an error in fate, and as consolation, the god of his universe, a capricious but well-meaning adolescent deity called Inkblot, resurrected him as an angelic being, albeit without the flesh of his living body or his memories, as he did not die naturally.

As one of the four attendants of Inkblot, Maschera has three other colleagues. Two, Harlequin and Mercutio, are also humans-turned angels. The third, the crow, is the personification of Death, and tends to take the form of a crow or crows.

As time goes on, Maschera and Harlequin journey to recover their lost memories and bodies, eventually coming to learn that the two were lovers in life, and Mercutio was their mutual best friend, who didn't tell them ANYTHING despite having had his own memories and body to begin with because hes a got damn jackass (affectionate) who wanted them to figure it out together without him simply revealing the truth to them outright.

Along the road to regaining their memories, Maschera and Harlequin find their physical bodies restored from the mere masked winged skeletons they initially were, and later learn the full truth. I typically like to write Maschera during the period of time between having his body restored and his memories restored, as it allows me a lot of freedom with what I can do with him. Here's a design of what he looks like with his physical body restored!

His associated card is the King of Diamonds. He's largely a cynical-yet-kindhearted man with a soft spot for children (he was a father while alive), and a fondness for adventure, fancy clothes, and good food and drink. He's also transsexual and very proud of it! He and Harlequin are t4t : >

Out of perhaps all my characters, Maschera is the most well-known, and the most beloved. He is also the oldest of all my characters, and the first character ever designed for Inkverse, created in the winter of 2018!

#paint.txt #askbox #inkverse #maschera inkverse #maschera #hope this helps! there are a few running gags surrounding him but i dont remember them all #he inkblot and harlequin also all have askblogs here!#maschera's is @/a-night-at-the-masquerade #inkblot's is @/inkblotscourt #and harlequin's is @harlequintxt!#i haven't fully tagged them all up yet though so give me some time before they're ready for ya!

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senatushq · 1 year

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the amethyst ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3,000+ & UTP SPECIES. Demigod ( Spartoi ) ABILITIES. Accumulation + 1 Secondary Ability OCCUPATION. UTP

They called you Pelorus, they called you wise and regal, but you were aloof and paid little mind towards the conflicts that transpired between good and evil or right and wrong. Your compass was askew and it didn’t really matter to you what reasons a person had to fight. Capricious, some would say, a trait you undoubtedly inherited from your blood-soaked father. You were a warrior, just as your siblings were, sewn from the shadows you sprang from the earth and felt the divine blood of your cursed ancestry flow through your veins. Thebes was one of your legacies, alongside Cadmus and your siblings you founded the ancient city in the name of the false Gods. There you ruled for a time because you thought that it befitted you to do so. The five with a reputation that preceded them, invoked in the name of Ares and war, you regrettably left your post behind to join in the conflicts of the original vampire. You settled old scores, made sure blood debts were paid in full, but it was all so… Boring, trivial even. Just as the others you departed and took to taking on worship, it was said that you were a demigod, that someday one of the Great Old Ones would come to you and seek to possess you. Then you’d reach your truest form and truthfully that felt fitting, who better to become a God than you? Cthonius was killed by the original pretenders and this crime deserved an answer, so you and your siblings ended a conflict that would have no victors. From the field you wandered and to a cavern hidden beneath a lake you slumbered, protected by murky tides until darkness awoke you once more.

this skeleton is currently closed.

#takenskel #demigodskel #the amethyst

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bananastarion · 1 year

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I haven't really thought too much about my farmer as a character in her own right, I modeled her to basically look like me (except I could neeever rock that blue cowboy hat, purple boots and bikini top combo).

But it might be kinda fun to give her a personality based on my playstyle. She's a bit reckless, impulsive and disorganized, which basically means she winds up passed out in the mines on the regular, plants crops wherever the hell she feels like and has chests full of random shit all over the place. It looks like pure chaos but somehow, some way she knows where everything is this way. She certainly doesn't mind that Shane is a bit on the messy side too. She dotes on her husband and animals, is generally kind to everyone around town (but likes to hand her garbage to Morris whenever she runs into him late at night). Her BFF is Emily, because duh. Pretty much any oddball or weirdo is drawn to her... Linus, Pam and even Clint have become surprising allies. She also gets along great with Jas but they have more of a sisterly relationship than maternal. She has a childish side and her house is full of cute pink things and plushies.

She's hoping to be good friends with Krobus and the wizard some day too, as she likes all things occult and weird (yet hasnt broken much ground with Abigail, likely for reasons detailed at the end of this post).

She hoards cats and never goes a day without petting each and every one (thank you mods). She has a weird fascination with eels and blobfish and collects them in aquariums, with the hope of being a full blown eels n' blobfish farm one day. She just thinks they're neat.

She thought it'd be funny to fill her babies nursery with skeletons and weird fish. She gets the feeling he's gonna grow up to be a beast in the mines just like her mom, so might as well desensitize him.

Ironically she also loves booze and that is also a main focus in farm production in her big picture plans, but she keeps a close eye on Shane to make sure he's not tempted to sample too much of the wares. Pam is her drinking buddy instead, which is also a bit morally questionable but hey there aren't that many people in pelican town quite as willing to party down, and when this farmer isn't working hard she's partying hard.

She has a mischievous and capricious side, and isn't exaaaactly the most loyal wife all the time... don't hate me shane stans but I mightve slipped sebastian a bouquet just to spice up the game a little. 😅 Sebby is just a side piece though, my farmer would never divorce Shane. She gifts him home cooked meals every day and kisses him pretty much every chance she gets, and turns her whole summer farm into a pepper factory for him, so Shane doesn't complain too much, but occasionally he gets rightfully pissed off. Sebastian gets no such special treatment. But she couldn't resist a motorcycle ride, ok?? Plus that surplus of void eggs weren't going to appreciate themselves. All Shane has to do is put that goth/punk outfit back on, and Sebastian will be completely forgotten.

Basically, my farmer is chaotic neutral and a little bit of a hoe. Hey, she's a farmer after all. Geddit? Hoe? Dohoho... I'm gonna lose followers for this post aren't i

#alsooo i may have been drunk when my farmer had her baby and named him sebastian jr #im the worst shane fan ever please berate me

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capricioussun · 8 months

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Question for Void: Do you have any special talents?

*You feel like there is probably a better answer to that question.

*He is definitely not going to give it to you though.

#evil man. brat.#jail for void. jail for void for ten thousand years #tyy🌟🌷✨#capricious skeletons #snow and hail #vf void #vesselfell #vesselfell papyrus #why did I colour this? who knows. but now hand hurt </3 #fall vibes possessed me #canvas-madness-txc

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thequeendomhq · 24 days

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THE TEMPTATION ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Changeling FACTION. Merchant's Guild OCCUPATION. UTP

You saw something and you wanted it, was that really so bad? Everyone who’d studied significantly along the path of the elvhen and the blight knew what a changeling could do. Two faces for the price of one, but you had this thing about greed, this thing about desire. You were young the first time that capricious elvhen side of you slipped out, the first time you traced the lines of another’s face with your finger - envious of their freckles until they and every other bit of them was your own. They screamed, but who wouldn’t given the circumstances? You couldn’t let the world know your secret, every Iskaran knew what happened to elvhen within the borders. Mines or worse, death. They had a trip, a little stumble and a fall. Then they were gone, someone else’s problem, but their face was still yours until you found another that you enjoyed. From friends to lovers to shopkeepers and traders. They weren’t looking for a menace like you and time and time again you left the witchers duped and fooled. After all, your powers even worked on them. A little touch was all it took, and then you could have whatever you wanted. Money and power, someday a guild of your own. You had your sights set upon the throne but who wanted to be a mad King when there was a perfectly good heir right there - or perhaps a princess? That might have suited you for a while. You didn’t expect to be forced from your home, but you’d faced worse and survived for less, you could start again.

CONNECTS

N/A

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee ABILITY: Face Stealing: The ability to change the physical appearance to another humanoid creature through physical contact.

this skeleton is currently taken.

#changelingskel #the temptation #takenchangeling #takenskel

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nbheadhunterzs · 5 months

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In the celestial realm of Lumina, where gods weaved the fabric of reality, a deity named Calidus, known for his capricious nature, found himself in a moment of unchecked anger. During a cosmic dispute, he unleashed a torrent of destructive energy that inadvertently claimed the life of a mortal named Aric.

Overcome with remorse and a tinge of mischief, Calidus sought to rectify his mistake in an unorthodox manner. Instead of restoring Aric to his mortal form, Calidus chose to reincarnate him in an immortal skeletal body, untouched by the passage of time. Aric awoke in the desolate realm of Enduria, his bones adorned with a faint ethereal glow.

As the newly-formed skeleton, Aric discovered he possessed an innate connection to the darker energies of the cosmos. Shadows clung to him like a cloak, and he could channel necrotic forces with a mere thought. Unbeknownst to Calidus, the skeletal form granted Aric a unique advantage—immortality.

Embracing his newfound existence, Aric wandered through the desolate landscapes of Enduria, where shadows whispered secrets of forgotten power. Over time, Aric's skeletal form absorbed the essence of the realm, granting him unparalleled strength and mastery over death-infused magic. He forged alliances with other lost souls, forming a band of comrades who, like him, sought purpose beyond the veil of mortality.

Aric's comrades, each with their own unique abilities, rallied behind his leadership. They journeyed through the realms, challenging malevolent beings and aiding those oppressed by dark forces. As they ventured, Aric's power grew, and his skeletal form evolved into a spectral embodiment of death.

The celestial realms trembled as rumors of Aric's ascent reached the ears of the gods. Calidus, realizing the unintended consequence of his impulsive act, sought to contain the growing threat. Yet, Aric's band of comrades, bound by loyalty and shared purpose, proved formidable against divine intervention.

The climactic showdown unfolded in the heart of Lumina, where Aric faced Calidus in a battle of cosmic proportions. The skies crackled with arcane energy as Aric, now a spectral lord of death, confronted the deity who had once condemned him to an eternal existence. With the support of his comrades, Aric channeled the combined might of his allies, challenging the very fabric of divine authority.

In a surge of ethereal power, Aric overcame Calidus, casting him into a realm of cosmic exile. With the deity's influence waning, the realms embraced an era of peace. Aric, now revered as the Eternal Revenant, assumed a benevolent role, safeguarding the balance between life and death.

His journey from an accidental victim of divine wrath to a spectral champion of justice became a legend whispered across the realms. Aric's story served as a reminder that even in the face of gods, the indomitable spirit of mortals, and the undying loyalty of comrades, could reshape the very foundations of existence.

here is another one hope you like it

#D's story #challenging a god #fantasy

#fantasy #god #destruction #peace #diffrent realms #skeleton #power #overpowered

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lionroot · 7 months

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Ethan and the Scout Sentinels Ethan, a spirited youth, lived amidst the gentle bustle of Crestwood. He was an integral part of a remarkable troupe known as the Scout Sentinels, their name echoing the courage and vigilance they embodied. Every day was a quest for Ethan, fighting against playful nuisances that were as much a part of Crestwood as its white picket fences and manicured gardens. One such nuisance was the band of petite, childlike slimes that loved causing chaos. The small green creatures were more messy than malicious, their pranks often turning the neat gardens into wild jungles. Yet, even when tired from his endeavors, Ethan's victorious smile sparkled brighter than the midday sun. Just as unpredictable were the capricious skeletons, their mischief often directed towards the kind and patient Miss Agnes. While their pranks were endearing in their way, there were times when Ethan needed to intervene, ensuring that their antics didn't cross the line. On one such day, having managed to round up the skeletons and find Miss Agnes's hidden spectacles, Ethan was met with the old lady's gratitude. She extended her hand, offering him a few coins as a token of appreciation. He was tempted, his hand instinctively reaching out, but then he paused. His father's words resonated in his mind, an echo of lessons past, "A true Sentinel serves without expecting rewards. He must be brave, helpful, and kind." Guided by this wisdom, Ethan recited the motto of the Scout Sentinels with a polite decline of Miss Agnes's kind offer. At the end of another day of service and adventure, Ethan's spirit was undeterred. The tiredness that hung on him was overshadowed by the fulfillment he felt. His actions weren't for material rewards; it was the satisfaction of a good day's work, the smile on Miss Agnes's face, and the sense of harmony restored that were his true reward.

#midjourney #AIArt #whimsical

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rperboni · 7 months

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PATHFINDERS - The Sylph Necromancer

Necromancy is probably the most recognized school of magic in the most classic fantasy universes, but also the most ostracized and poorly seen, associated with villainous characters and the most recurrent elements among its practitioners, such as zombies, liches, skeletons and magical artifacts made from bones and tendons. However, necromancy, even though it is not much remembered for this, can also be linked to the cure of diseases and the journey of souls to the Great Beyond, including - at least in the setting of Pathfinder Second Edition, in which this entire series is based - divided precisely into three main disciplines: Vitalism, which seeks to purge and cure the evils of the flesh; Soul Magic, which manipulates spiritual energies, and Undeath, which is the classic stereotype of the wizard who commands the undead.

The blurred vision about this school of magic was what encouraged me to bring my friend as a Sylph Necromancer, probably more linked to Soul Magic, also taking into account the more free nature of a sylph, especially the one with heritage linked to a primal cloud dragon, a naturally mercurial being, who seeks to explore and discover new things, but who is also capricious in their actions. I tried to bring the colors linked to the school of necromancy - black, gray and white - in their clothes, and instead of a familiar, I brought an ancient and fossilized skull as the arcane link, so it can also deliver its magic, as well as the static touch of a stormsoul sylph.

As usual with friends who, like myself, are on different LGBTQIAPN+ spectrums, I brought two more flags linked to them, but this time not so hidden: Gender Fluid and Pansexuality. This time they're not so hard to find hehehe

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divineprank · 7 months

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Breath caught in her throat, heart thrumming against her ribcage like a war drum. The cloaked figure, so different from the usual residents of her people's former temple turned execution ground, froze her feet to sandstone. How many times had she ventured from their settlement to this forsaken place, clutching hope to her heart? She knew what she saw that day; he did not die and she could still feel his rage vibrating through the sand, the stone, echoing through the vast halls of Arbiter's Grounds. That rage, that lust for vengeance, saved him and rendered the sword thrust into his chest useless.

Still, hand rested at the hilt of one of the twin blades. " Who are you? " she demanded. " Why are you here in such a cursed place? "

The scorching desert sun beats down relentlessly upon the ruins of their once-majestic home, its fiery rays searing the endless ocean of sand. The blazing ball sits enthroned high in the center of the clear sky as though it is an impassive observer to the unforgiving landscape below; its watch only bathing the scene in its harsh, unrelenting light. The air, devoid of moisture, practically crackles with the arid heat, carrying with it the weight of the desert's unforgiving embrace. Each breath feels as if it draws in the essence of the desert itself; it is a dry and earthy taste that clings to the throat and offends the lungs. The desert to the west is a landscape of extremes, where the sun's touch scorches, the moon's gaze freezes, and the wind's whisper brings only the grim promise of more bleakness.

It is home to him.

The remnants of the Gerudo civilization stand within the desert sands with solemn grace, timeworn stones bear the scars carved by forgotten epochs. Crumbling sandstone walls are ruined and worn as though they are but guardians of a legacy that is slowly being erased by time. Each dying structure, once resolute with purpose, now stands scattered amongst the haunted desert, left to weather the ceaseless assault of the passing years and the relentless scouring of the wind-driven grains. The sun transforms the ruins into long, languid shadows that stretch like crooked, skeletal fingers across the sandy floor. A sun-bleached flag bellows in the moving air, trapped half-buried underneath a mound of sand. Tattered remnants of the desert marker flutters in the constant desert wind. Its once-bold colors are now faded and muted, offering a melancholy symbol that demonstrates exactly what was lost here.

It is best described as a scene of desolation: one that closely resembles the image his memory has captured of his home long before his desert was transformed into this practical graveyard. Maneuvering the abandoned desert outpost, he passes skeletons of many destroyed landmarks that he used to know, eventually wandering beyond a certain ruined and devastated structure that he is quick to recognize as the old fortress: the very heart of the desert that always pulsed with the unique life of Gerudo culture.

Many of the fallen fortress's battered doorways still stand; frames that once served as thresholds that welcomed everyone into the bustling center of the desert now stand as detached and crumbling archways, lonely portals to an empty, eerie stillness. Beholding a landscape of forgotten memories where the very air seems to hold its breath as if in reverence for the fallen grandeur. The earth itself, once shaped by the diligent hands of its inhabitants, now bears the imprint of solitude and neglect. His ears are met with a ghostly orchestra of voices, a tapestry of laughter from deep his memories. Of course, the only real sound that he can hear is the mournful sigh of the wind and the occasional shifting of sand grains under each heavy footfall.

With a heart laden by the weight of his memories of home, the cloaked king presses onward in his solitary pilgrimage. Each step sinks into the shifting sands, a silent dance with the desert's embrace. Yet, as if it shrouds his presence, the capricious wind sweeps forth, veiling his passage in a delicate cloud of fine grains.

The remnants of his once-thriving settlement now lie in a state of collapse: nature's inexorable reclaiming. Half-buried by the relentless march of time, it stands as a testament to the impermanence of even the most formidable of structures, the strongest and advanced civilizations. He wonders, in a hundred years hence, will there be any vestige of his people remaining at all? Or will the desert finally have swallowed it all, burying their memory beneath the dunes? Will anybody even remember that the Gerudo existed?

Carrying on, the somber swath of fabric envelops him in its embrace, the length of his cloak cascading in long, graceful folds that sway with each deliberate step in his journey. As he moves, the cloak's hem combs against the surface layer of the sand, catching and kicking up a cloud of minute grains that collect and imbed themselves into its material. The cowl he wears draped across his face acts as a shroud of mystery, meant to purposefully conceal his countenance; warping the man hidden underneath into a figure of enigmatic darkness against the backdrop of the sun-bleached sands, and with the harsh light of the desert filtering through the fabric, it imparts an almost otherworldly glow to the lone figure, as if he were but one of the haunted wasteland's many phantoms, a lost soul born of this empty, arid expanse.

The fabric of his long and sweeping cloak, dances with the whispering breath of the desert winds. Occasionally, it sweeps up handfuls of sand; a brief, ephemeral union before it is cast back to the earth.

Enshrouded in the billowing embrace of his dark garment, the cloaked Gerudo continues his stride towards the looming silhouette of the Arbiter's Grounds, abandoning the corpse of his home behind him. The sands beneath him seem to shift in hushed reverence and as he approaches his destination, his gait grows more deliberate. It's a subtle change in his demeaner; the memory of his last visit here, a visceral specter that haunts his every waking moment, begins to claw its way to the forefront of his mind.

It's the chill of steel, it's the intense, burning heat of that wretched claymore, the executioner's blade piercing his flesh, it is the tightening sensation of the chains that squeeze his wrists, it is even the anguished bellows and frightened howls of the Sages: all of it has converged in a sickening dance of recollection of that awful day. His hand instinctively reaches for the throbbing on his chest, gloved fingertips pressing against the festering scar hidden under his cloak; it's a wound that permanently weeps with an eerie white infection. With his hand pressed against his injury, he feels it pulse sickeningly, dancing in rhythm with his heartbeat. As the physicality of that day haunts him, it all nearly becomes real again, it is almost as if he has returned to those chains, and as if he can once again taste the metallic tang of his own blood filling his mouth. His stomach begins to churn, and beneath the cowl, lips pull into a disgusted frown as rage boils and heats up the blood coursing through his veins.

Some divine prank, indeed.

He stands before the forsaken temple with the weight of the past pressing down heavily upon him. It's as if the ghost of the Desert Colossus herself weighs him down, looking to him not with her usual, gentle expression, but instead he knows that if the sculpture of the Mother of the Desert that was once carved into the mountain face had survived Hyrule's appropriation of her sacred temple, there would be disdain present in her sandy features. She would expect her failed champion to stand tall when answering to her, but his knees would certainly buckle under the immense disappointment that he knows would be present in the sandstone eyes of the Colossus; 'wicked deserter,' is the judgement her lips would almost certainly whisper to him on the wind.

This was the hallowed ground in which Hyrule had sought to end his reign of terror, only to find themselves ensnared in their own machinations. The Sages, agents of Hyrule's divine will, had become unwitting pawns in the cruel game of fate, woven by the three sister-gods themselves. This was the place where, over a century ago, the Six Sages had loomed over him and had attempted to execute him. The remembers how that impressive sword poised to impale him and end his life lingered in front of him as if the holy group had savored that dark and bloody moment of history. The world around him had fallen silent once the sword had pierced his heart; he remembers how he couldn't even hear his own screams of rage and pain. His piece of the Triforce refused to let him die, however. His left hand glowed with a distracting, brilliant hue of gold and as fast as he felt his life begin to leave him, he was just as soon reinvigorated. The Triforce of Power surging his already-impressive strength and instead of succumbing, Ganondorf had inflicted a swift and brutal revenge. One of the Six Sages violently fell by his hand; his rage completely consuming him, permanently staining their surroundings and he refused to be put down before the Sages took to their final, desperate resort and banished him to the other world, the Twilight Realm. Removing him from this very plane before he would bring the entire execution chamber down around them all.

The presence of that horrific memory still lingers in the walls, his unchecked fury still very much clinging to the structures of the Temple's execution chamber like an enraged phantom still holding on to its anger and refusing to pass on. The weeping scar in his chest continues to ache in serious discomfort, he is haunted by this place, by the echoes of a time when Ganondorf still resembled who he once was; a time when the person he has since turned into was still an unrecognizable stranger: an unthinkable personality, purely hypothetical.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence and Ganondorf's head snaps up, his amber eyes narrowing dangerously as he turns to face the intruder. His hand, shrouded in the dark folds of his cloak, instinctively tightens around the hilt of the hidden blade tucked away at his side. The touch is familiar, it is a communion with a weapon that has witnessed both his triumphs and his tribulations: the sacred golden claymore that the Sages once attempted to use to take his life. Watching the hand at her side rest on the hilt of one of her twin blades, her actions registers as a clear warning to Ganondorf as her steady voice demands answers from the interloper in her sacred space. The fallen Gerudo King meets her sharp gaze, his own eyes holding the weight of centuries behind them. He knew this woman once, he knew this voice, he knew this presence. The years have changed them both, but he recognizes her still: she is the guardian of this once-spiritual place, she is the one who tends to its wounds inflicted by the neglect it has faced. While he, the intruder, is the ghost that lingers in its halls.

"You ask why I stand in this cursed place..." His voice is a gravelly timbre, heavy with the weight of his own history, his vocal chords stiff from a lack of use. "It is because this land is my curse to bear. It is my legacy of ashes, dust, and blood stains. I am here because these are the remains of my thriving kingdom, the home that I drove to ruin, reduced to shadows and echoes."

"I am here... Because I am its king."

#Shrouded in Darkness :: [TWILIGHT PRINCESS]#gerudospiriit #in which I respond to asks sent to me from way back in the beginning of august #and in which i write a fucking nOVEL

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