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foundry-fabrications · 1 year

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Happy Halloween everyone! It's that time of the year again and that means it's spooky project time! Those who have been with me for a while know that every year for Halloween I put out some big thematic project for my favorite holiday. For this year, I wanted to keep the rework train going and rework a previous year's project. And that project is my Corpseweaver class!

Before we get started I just want to take a second to shout-out @dm-clockwork-dragon and his Necroficer class, which helped inspire many aspects of my own take on the "Frankenstein-ing" monsters together concept.

I also want to mention that I still have a huge GDrive folder of 100+ creepy creatures and malign monsters pulled from across the internet to inspire your own amalgams!

In a way I got lucky this year. I started reworking my corpseweaver MONTHS ago so I already had a lot of it done. I was hoping to have the basics done in time for a campaign I was going to be in but time got away from me and I ended up playing something else so I've just been slowly working on it over time. Before October even began the entire base class and one of the subclasses were mechanically done, which left only two more subclasses to finish and I needed to rewrite all the fluff text which was honestly pretty cringeworthy in my opinion.

So what are all the changes? IT'S A LOT! I reworked how the class collects resources and the amalgam creation system completely from the ground up. The old systems were overly complicated and REALLY bookkeepy so I simplified them. Now you get Flesh, Bone, and Exotic from creatures and you use those in specified amounts to make amalgams and make alterations. The system for doing so has been greatly streamlined. Now you have a dedicated stat block that all amalgams are based on and that gets modified throughout the creation process.

Another major change is that the base class is no longer a spellcaster, so all those features have been moved to a subclass of their own, the Skaab Scribe. I didn't like how based in normal magic the old class was as I always wanted it to be more focused on mad science, alchemical formulas, and occult ritual.

And one of the last huge changes is that the Soma Smith has been removed from the class completely and will likely never return, though the name does live on as the Fleshwarper has been renamed. As much as I liked the idea of the old soma smith, I felt that it didn't fit the class upon further examination. Its whole deal was about creating new life basically from scratch and that's not what I want this class to be about. That's actually a theme that I kept seeing in the flavor text throughout the class as I've been working on it, creating new life, and it's a goal of mine to remove it wherever possible. The class does not create life, it reanimates the dead, and in my mind those are very different things.

So yeah, on that note those are the biggest changes but obviously everything got touched in some way. As with many of my reworks, this one is an overhaul on a grand scale, and one I'm honestly quite proud of.

As for the updated aesthetics, however, I have mixed feelings. Overall I think they fit the class much better than the default theme I was using before but there's a lot of visual jank that I'm not a fan of. I also would have liked to use better artwork but I had so little time to finish this as it is. I was also forced into using GM Binder for this project instead of Homebrewery because the theme I chose doesn't work with HB very well so that was less than ideal. For smaller projects it's not a big deal but for something this huge all the weird little issues I have with GMB start to compound and get frustrating. It's not a system I like but it has its uses sometimes.

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rhythmantics · 7 months

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NPCs for a DND oneshot! The Death-Defying Undead Cursecus, the paladin GMPC, and the warden because the party all got arrested for petty crimes to start the session. Bonus:

#dnd #goblin #aasimar #circus #necromancer #necromancy #cw body horror #zombie

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coffeebanana · 10 months

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For the prompt game:

"How did we even get here?"

"Dunno, but maybe we should've read the instructions, huh?"

With Adrino

CW drug use. (well, kind of. they're sort of fantasy drugs that teleport you but may or may not have other effects. and if they ARE drugs they're like shrooms, so nothing addictive)

--- "How did we even get here?" Nino groaned, rubbing his forehead as he slowly pushed himself up off the floor.

Frankly, Adrien thought he was insane for attempting to sit up at all. Adrien didn't even have the energy to reach up and catch Nino's glasses before they slid from his face; instead he was fated to watch them bounce just out of Nino's reach. The world spun like a top, and the patterns on the rug scratching Adrien's cheek weaved together in front of his eyes in some sort of intricate dance--one that made him certain the threads were trying to seduce him.

(Or maybe he was high? Could magical ghost mushrooms get you high?)

Nino wanted to know how they'd gotten here. But Adrien wasn't even sure where here was.

"Dunno," he said shakily. "But maybe we should've read the instructions, huh?"

Nino's hand froze midway through fumbling for his glasses, eyes bugging out of his head. "There were instructions?"

"Uh...no." Adrien forced a laugh. "Just a joke."

Adrien looked away, stomach churning. Because nothing about this was funny. None of it made any sense at all.

He'd only wanted to bring his girlfriend back from the dead. So why did her ghost seem dead set--pun NOT intended--on setting him up with his best friend?

---

Thanks for the ask!! 💜

#this is some sort of random AU where marinette is dead and they're trying to solve her murder that's as far as i got in thinking about it #and adrien wants to attempt a little necromancy as a treat #miraculous ladybug #adrino #cw drug use #sort of?#it can be read with or without--in my mind the mushrooms teleported them someplace because they're trying to get clues #and ghost!marinette gave them ghost!shrooms to help with that #but CAN ghost shrooms get you high? hahaha #tbh this is me testing the waters okay because i'm actually slightly terrified about depicting drug use in this fandom #cause akjsdfbskj ppl are very judgy about smut and uh. yeah #this isn't that but it's definitely a sensitive topic so

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necrofleshgoat · 8 months

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Gentle reminder cause I've seen it float around more often than I'd like recently ‼️

Death work, death magic and/or necromancy are not a closed practice in itself.

I have no clue where people keep pulling this bs from but they do and as a death worker myself I'm tired of it. First of all, death is universal. Do you know a culture that doesn't have some form of belief and rituals surrounding death? Me neither. This simple fact makes death work open to anyone, because it's something EVERY SINGLE CULTURE HAS.

Of course, certain practices within death work are closed when they're tied directly to a closed culture/belief. But death work in itself is open.

People who claim otherwise often don't have any proper sources or arguments and it stems from a feeling of edgy superiority over other witches and practitioners that shouldn't be tolerated in our community. Not only that, but it also lowkey feels like a mockery towards actual closed practices.

Do research! Don't believe anything you see someone say without a second thought, folks!!

#witchblr #witchcraft #witchy things #spirituality #death work #necromancy #death magic #left hand path #death cw #witch discourse #misinformation

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ijiwaruuma · 5 months

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All the art you see on this blog now is inspired by the role-plays I had on one of the largest (if not the largest?) tes3mp servers.

This is a pack of illustrations for one of them:

Misfits vs Necromancers 😎

(Maybe monochrome gore is not that bad, especially for tes fans but viewer discretion is adviced anyway)

#cw: gore #the elder scrolls #tesblr #morrowind #dunmer #redoran #elder scrolls #necromancy #tes #tes3mp #tes fanart

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stories-by-an-anxious-ice-dragon · 3 days

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[Horror] Necromancer - 01

I've noticed a lot of memes saying that necromancy isn't as scary as it seems, and while I sometimes agree, I wished to try my hand at it.

CW: Gore, Bugs, Death

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The sound of the footsteps tells you that the floor is wood, though to you, it feels like long-since-dusted stone. Or perhaps, it feels like nothing at all. Perhaps it was the mantle, upon which you’d be judged by… whoever you were meant to face after their death.

Who… are you? It’s so hard to recall anything. There’s a buzzing noise in your head that reminds you too much of the printing machines you used to work with at Marigold’s shop, and it fills your prefrontal cortex with too much white and gray noise to focus on anything. When you do focus, the only thing that sticks out to you is the cavity in your chest, where you can feel specks of flesh dripping where your ribs should be. When you curl up, and put your head to the cavity, the smell is noxious and makes your eyes water. If you could open your eyes… would you want to know what’s happening down there?

Would you want to see the cockroaches and fat beetles skittering around inside of your stomach?

The footsteps are slow, and methodical. They arrive with the swing of a door whose hinges might not have been oiled in decades… or maybe centuries. The gust of wind causes the bugs to jump. And then the door closes. Something drags beside the footsteps, scratching and sliding over the floorboards, clinking off the nails embedded in them like it was meant to be some kind of demented musical instrument. Tapping closer and closer to the pile of grayed flesh that are your remains.

Whatever it is, it nudges you. The tip of it is glassy, and it chills your spine as it drags down it. Eventually, it forces itself into the fetal curl you’ve found yourself in, and forces you out of it. The rod gets under your chin and pushes it back, until the back of your head hits the skirting of the wall. The skirting’s just as rotted as… your stomach.

Who are you…? What are you doing here?

Wait, no… it starts to come back to you. The last moments that replayed in your mind, over and over like a broken record, before you woke up in this place. You remember the hospital bed, and the white - too white - walls all around you. You remember holding your wife’s hand, how soft and gentle it’d been, kissing her for the last time before the… doctors put you to sleep. You remember telling her that it’d be alright, that you’d always be with her.

Something of the stomach, it had been, right? You remember the pain being numb after a while… though with the way you’re feeling now, you would never guess that. You can barely feel your own heart. You don’t wanna look. You don’t wanna look. Where the hell are you?

The glass rod nudges you again. “Rise,” a voice rings through the small room. And then there’s heat, welling up inside the glass like it’s an electric stove. It seers into the dry flesh along your chin, and you open your mouth to scream, but you can’t even manage that. Just a pathetic squeak.

And then - gods, *how!?* - you sit up. As if an invisible force grabs your hind end, it drags up against the wall, much to the complaint of your insides, which drip even more sagging flesh as you lean upwards. You feel a centipede squirm up between two of your guts. The feeling is even worse when your arms push against the splintery wood, to force you as high as you can go.

Once you’re up, your torso lulls forward across your outstretched legs. Oh, you’re in it now. You can feel your cracked ribs, how a gust of air goes into your chest and whistles out the opposite side. Is it possible to want to wretch when… you aren’t sure if you have a stomach anymore?

“Come on, my thrall. I know that you can sit up better than that.” The rod is pushing at your chin again, and forces it up no matter how much your eyes and cheeks want to melt off your bones. They’re crusted up and dry, conceding to their death.

Eventually, you sit straight up, much to the dismay of your ribs. With your lips nearly stuck together, you find something creeping out of them, sneaking up a tightened throat from distended lungs. “Where… am… I…?”

“There you go. No more time to laze around, my thrall.” That voice… you’ve heard it before. It’s foggy, and snappy, but you remember it being softer than this. You remember hearing it… sometime before you made it to the hospital. “Gaze upon me.”

One of your eyes open, and that’s about all you can manage. You see the brown, dusty swirls of the room around you, and the pricks of the nails poking out of the floorboards. In the midst of it, there’s a bright red, glowing rod of glass that still threatens to seer your chin off. It shines so bright that it almost looks superimposed on top of the rest of the room, which is so dead-looking compared to it. With your pupils low and exhausted, your iris climbs the rim of the rod, up the ancient tree branch that it must have been made of, all the way to the smooth fingers gripping it at the other side.

A *staff*. That’s the word that comes to mind. You remember once reading about wizards and witches who dominated the world before the modern age, but you thought it was all… all… Christ, is any of this real? Does it really matter if any of that insane stuff is rooted in reality when you’re sitting there, feeling your guts *melted*? Feeling ants nibbling at your insides?

“I *said* to gaze upon me, thrall.” The voice snarls, and the staff gets hotter. Either as a tear, or condensation, a drop of water streams out of your crusted eye. You recognize the voice now. Oh god, you recognize it. Out of all the voices in the world to violate your ears when you’re meant to be sound asleep in your coffin, there are few that could be worse.

“Why… why am I…”

You, who must be the “thrall,” gaze upon her, as commanded.

You remember speaking with your wife, a few months before the extended hospital stay interrupted, about how the entire atmosphere around Marigold’s printing press was starting to scare you. It started as something small: Marigold, the royally-dressed woman who ran a printing business, had pushed you when you showed up late, and crossed her arms at you. “I didn’t buy you for $500 a week just for you to steal five minutes of my time,” she had said. You only brushed past her then, apologized, and clocked in, avoiding her fingers.

And then, it was the way that her hands glided down yours while you were working. As if the sound of the clunking printer was an invitation to her. The raw tension in her fingers, the sweat they sent down your spine and the way they made your then-existent stomach turn. She mentioned your wife, and how she must be a lucky woman. A lucky, lucky woman. “Is she fulfilling all your needs?” she asked. “Ever want someone else to suck your soul out?” That soft voice, like the surface of a Marigold flower.

And then, on the hospital bed, where you were writhing and trying to keep your composure in front of your wire, as she ran her fingers through her hair in the way that made you wish to sit up and kiss her, you thought that you saw Marigold again. She’d been outside the window of your room, but it was dark out at the time, and rainy, so you convinced yourself that it was just the flash of a tree branch. Just an ordinary tree branch. Or, when you were feeling superstitious, it was a ghost ready to guide you to the afterlife. You were ready, and quite honestly, of all the things in your life to reminisce on, your job was far down on the list.

You hadn’t thought of Marigold in days. You could’ve gone all of eternity without remembering the name of the boss who once leaned in to kiss you on a Thursday afternoon, leaving the remaining 2 hours of your shift an awkward ordeal for you to shimmy through. You could’ve left her as a footnote of your life. Would you even mention the printing place to the angel tasked with weighing your life?

“In the eye, thrall,” she says now, and you want to vomit. No - why her? Why is she here, when you can’t talk back to her?

“Wh…what… have you done…?”

You look her in the eyes, the shining green eyes that had been a dull blue before. You study her face all the way down to the grin. A few more scars have made the way across her face since you last saw her.

“I was dead,” you continue. “I kissed my wife goodbye and I heard the… the heartbeat monitor stop,” you grit your teeth, though your head still lulls. Out of ink, no more miracles, your free trial of life ended - you were dead, dead, dead!

“Oh, you are dead, my thrall…” she says, leaning close to you. You expect her to stop, but she doesn’t, and soon her chapstick is violating your mouth. She sucks out your rotted breath from your plaque-covered teeth, and you lack the strength to pull away. It’s only once she does, that you once again relish in the permission to breathe, through lungs filled with bugs. “Dead as dead can be… dead, dead, dead…”

“W…was happy… being dead…”

“That’s not your choice to make, my thrall. You’re but a corpse. Do corpses get to make choices about how their owners play with them? No. And you’re a corpse. A dull, smelly corpse for me to animate as I please.”

She puts her stuff into your chest… how big is the hole? How much of you is dripping away?

“Just, a fucking, corpse. And not even one of the more useful ones under my command.”

“...why?”

“You thought that you could skip out on work by taking an unannounced vacation to the afterlife? No, no, no my thrall… think again. I invested too much training time into you to let you go to waste. I expect you to be back to work in minutes, thrall. Rise…”

You feel the joints in your legs start to light up… and you move.

No, no, no, you whisper to yourself. Not like this. You remember joking about how necromancy isn’t as scary as it sounds, how all that talk of disrupting the sanctity of the dead was hogwash. And now the wind through your chest tickles the sides of your exposed organs, teasing them, causing a beetle to flicker its wings against a drooping artery. You think of the trillions of infections creeping their way into your vessel right now.

But you stand, head lulling, eyes sagging. Something flakes off your cheek. Your hair is full of blood and loose flesh. You fail to lift your arms.

“Necromancer…” you mumble under your breath.

“That’s right, my thrall,” she bats her hair, and sticks her staff under your shoulder. “And you’re now my dull, reanimated property. It’ll be a long, long, long time before I let you return to the ground.”

[TO BE CONTINUED]

#writing #writblr #horror #horror stories #necromancer #necromancy #short story #cw: gore #cw insects #cw bugs #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #female writers #second person pov #second person narration #ongoing #horror writing

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croziers-compass · 8 months

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Etiquette For Cemeteries and Hallowed Grounds of the Dead

(In somewhat chronological order) This is a general and very basic outline for things that I see people do and behaviour that I witness that should be made note of. Questions? Feel free to ask. I am more than happy to elaborate on them.

Be aware of the cultural or religious nuances that belong to the Grounds you will be visiting. Different cultures and faiths may have different etiquettes or concerns. Do not disregard these.

Try to be bathed/showered/cleansed before going

Only enter and exit from the “Gates” wherever they are and in whatever form they take.

Bring an offering to the Guardian. Check in with said Guardian. Offerings can be bread, coins, olive oil, grains, tobacco. Asking and knowing helps a lot as well.

Ensure that the Guardian accepts the offering or does not need/want anything from you.

Offerings for the dead can be coins, sure but again: grains, apples, oils, tobacco and anything that the individual had a fondness for. Don’t assume and just leave things assuming they'll like it or want it.

Don’t leave things in general without permission or proper permission from the spirits and/or the families that the graves belong to and/or the caretaker(s).

Don’t clean up the cemetery or pick anything up. Do not tidy anything or “right” anything. Do not fix up anything.

Do not pick up trash.

Do not take any direct action to make any changes to the environment at all unless explicitly requested. If your intuition and clair-senses are not up to snuff then it’s better safe than sorry. Don’t touch it.

If a place is told to be off-limits, don’t do it anyway. If the Guardian says that you cannot walk somewhere then do not.

Be mindful of where you walk. It’s actually not considered “bad” to “walk over someone’s grave”. That’s half of the point. Standing over where a body may be laying is not disrespectful. It’s how it’s set up.

When leaving, please thank the Guardian for their time and efforts as well as thank anyone that let you visit before you go. It’s simple etiquette.

Treat your visit like you walked into someone else’s home.

#witchcraft #demonolatry #bones #the necromancer speaks #necromancy #death work #cemetery #graveyard #the dead #cw: death #cw: dead #cw: discussions of death and the dead #trigger warnings #death #dead #funeral #necromancer

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lizardsfromspace · 1 year

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I know it's not POPULAR anymore to say it, but I don't CARE what the woke crowd says. I SUPPORT the Boneweavers. They EARNED their necromantic skill through hard work. I'm not ENTITLED to have consistent number of limbs every single day, or to have the same amount of skin. Kids these days are too thin-skinned to handle being thin-skinned, or thick-skinned, or no-skinned, or bein' gifted a carapace of pure bone. Why, God gave us bones for a reason: so we can have 'em shuffled around by the best Boneweavers, and the US OF A has the best, freest Boneweavers in the entire goshdarn freaking world. That used to make us proud, but not since Biden

#body horror #unreality cw #necromancy

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buildoblivionthenwewilltalk · 2 years

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To add onto your headcannon, we always wonder how Klaus helped out during missions since he didn't really use his powers. Maybe he got shafted with the "cleanup" a lot. His 'Are we burning or burying' line in S2 means either they had to deal with a lot of bodies themselves as kids, or he's had to dispose of quite a few as an adult. Probably both knowing the way Klaus's life has seemed to have gone.

yes I love this!!!!! the ‘burning or burying’ line in s2 lives rent free in my head too 😂

we just need more klaus being weirdly comfy with dead bodies tbh cos to him they really must feel more like meat sacks (especially as he realises he’s immortal and apparently can re manifest a whole ass flesh prison in an alternate dimension)

#I remember reading a really good fic where klaus’ powers were much more necromancy focused #it was pretty graphic and REALLY dark #but a big part of it was the others found him creepy because he could literally control dead bodies #so again I love the idea of having klaus be or become really comfortable with more morbid dead people stuff #embalming and undertaking and cemeteries (now he’s conquered his fear)#having him be ‘clean up crew’ is a such a cool concept tho cos again - reggie trying exposure therapy/ punishment #waving away the official authorities and getting poor number four to face the gorier practical aspects of dead people #and all it does is mean klaus spent a lot of his teens off his face but weirdly knowledgable about what rigor mortis feels like #either bickering with lingering ghosties over how he shifts their bodies about #or in la la land not bothered about how quickly bodies get cold #I really love this idea anon it’s gonna circle around my head now #cw// dead bodies #tua #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #lovely people 🥰🥰🥰

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cephalopodish · 2 years

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time and necromancy heals all wounds

#the untamed #lan wangji #lan zhan #wangxian #blood cw #scars #actually i think it was all the necromancy

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angryducktimemachine · 2 years

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Bees?

Dug up an older sketch and decided to turn it into a proper drawing.

[ID: a digital, fully colored drawing of Goose, the artists OC.

Goose has green skin and short, black hair. They are wearing a grey sweatshirt, a long dark coat as well as black trousers and boots.

They are in motion, with their right arm behind them as if they're about to throw something. Their left arm is held in front of them. Their left arm is covered in wasps with green light breaking through between the insects. Over their right palm hovers a green ball of light.

Their expression is focused with furrowed brows as they look to the right.

The background is a plain beige with the artists signature "ÄngryDuckTimeMachine" set in white next to them. /End ID]

#goose #art #dnd #wasps #insects #cw insects #y'know i thought in TM A they'd be an avatar of the end because necromancy #but they might actually be serving the corruption if they were in that universe

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shallowseeker · 2 years

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Harper Sayles's got a pretty messed up mindset, no?

Something bad happened to this girl, mark my words.

///

==Harper is fixated on her romanticized, idealized first love and she's scared==

Her love is the love of a child. It's immature, romanticized. She wants to stay in the symbolic nursery, where everything is easy and uncomplicated. Her journey in season 12 recalls the fragmentary Apple Pie Romanticization that Team Free Will struggled with with regards to friends/family members/career/romance/perfect war in season 8.

These include childlike assumptions about others that lead to ghostly mindsets of black-and-white thinking, of figments that "never let you down." It's a nonintegrated way of thinking. It's not real. (This is why so much meta exists on season 8's characters being illusory; that's the whole point of it.)

Here, Harper struggles with her own immaturity and flawed thinking. She never knew Vance as a complex, individuated person. He was painted in golden hues, as a perfect partner, a perfect friend, and even a perfect war companion. She killed him before he could disappoint her, (a dark, worst-self Dean mirror).

Harper shows signs of highly disorganized, unstable attachment. It's highly likely that Harper had an unstable, abusive parental figure that veered between hot and cold. It's highly likely that she killed other family members or even siblings in her past to deaden her morality and encourage killing-and-reviving as acceptable necromancer problem-solving.

(A family of necromancers would need to practice their skills, after all. Bodies are easy to come by, sure, but they might sadistically challenge gifted magicians by killing their loved ones to up the stakes. Anyway, I suspect some bad shit went down for Harper. She seems to be a necromancy specialist, meaning that's what she actively practiced.)

///

(From above:) HARPER: I'm sorry about this, Jack. I actually think I liked you. But you're obviously a Hunter and I come from a long line of necromancers. I mean, I can mostly only raise the dead, but that comes in handy. INT. LIBRARY - STACK - INTERCUT We're on Vance as he SLOWLY stalks all the way down the aisle... HARPER (from speakers): And I can't let you, or your friend, get in the way of the love Vance and I share. (then) What we had-- have-- it's first love, Jack. The best kind. Without baggage, or compromises. (then) Well, I did have to kill him to keep him here after college, but...every relationship has its stuff, right? ON VANCE. Past an aisle. Move down to reveal--

/// ==Jack keys into her FEAR of abandonment==

...and plays up his STRENGTH as a valuable PROTECTOR-type:

Jack, an astute emotional reader (like Dean and Cas) immediately clocks Harper's FEAR and diagnoses her problem. Then, he musters up the words that would best soothe her in the moment:

(From above:) ON HARPER-- confused. And BORDERLINE MANIC. HARPER: What? JACK: I'm not weak like those other guys. I'm not afraid to really love you. We see this land on Harper. Is Jack getting through to her? She's clearly bonkers, so this may be working. Jack steps out into the open. Harper inhales sharply. It's super melodramatic. JACK: What would it be like to be in love with someone alive? With someone you could walk down the aisle to in front of the whole town? And have a family with? With me? CUT TO-- DEAN. Prowling aisles-- shotgun up-- BACK TO JACK AND HARPER-- HARPER: But.. I tried to kill you. JACK: Every relationship has its stuff, right?

///

14x06 Optimism script

(Text Attributions// Supernatural scripts here via @spnscripthunt. Transcripts are located here via SPNWiki. Visit their Tumblr to donate.)

#some sad stuff here #spn optimism #harper sayles #jack stuff #jack kline #spn season 14 #spn 14x06 #spn steve yockey #jack relationships #harper/jack #harper + unstable attachment #cw abuse #harper + abuse #spn + necromancy #jack & dean #dark dean mirrors

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