#gourmand sweep

[puphoods]

i love this fat ass animal he is so me

#et cetera #GOURMAND SWEEP ‼️

[ikilledamanforthisurl]

i wonder why Spearmaster has no strong connections with violence or the violence karma despite being only able to feed when impaling other creatures

#ikildaman shut the fuck up #downpour #ugh spoilers tag rant #ok i did a basic sweep of the wiki and it seems SM was designed to try and minimise animalistic tendencies to further encourage its purpose #as yknow a purposed organism #but i still dont get how in The Great Scheme Of Everything this doesnt reflect on them #if Artificer can get traumatised into a violence machine and thus be Damned by the Way The World/Ascension Works #then why is it different for Spearmaster. because they're not angry when they stab shit? because they have no other way to sustain themself #as if it is mere anger that drives Arti mind you. that is an animal. #the sophontness of the slugcats r debatable and i find it weirdly cruel how Arti gets locked out of ascension #even though we have the option to not genocide a bunch of scavs. even though we are Forced to use violence to progress in game #idk man i will always find issues with the logic of ascension and the 'morality' applied to it honestly this shits nonsense #gourmand doesnt get dissolved out of an ascending ending despite his attachment to TWO worldly 'sins' !!!!! #gourmand got a real wank off of an ascension ending literally just a recolour of survivors ending. shake my fuckig head #yknow i really liked the approach to gourmand i had extremely abysmal expectations for him #but the lazy ascension ending really kind of just ruins it a little bit 2 me..... idk........ #at least be consistent in locking slugcats who are anchored to the world via the games five 'sins' out of ascension. please #same with spearmaster i feel like their ascension might be a copout. they have such a nothing story HDSHDSGGHGSHGS #theres lots of good stuff here but in the background. shit we dont get to live thru. SM was a suicide aid at one point. can you believe tha #though i suppose Survivor is kind of inherently tied to one of the anchoring sins yknow. but their whole deal is journeying past that #so. in the end we just hate Arti i guess even though the gameplay does not let us grow past that!! yayyy rainworld !!!! #im literally only ranting about this because im trying to assign each cat a karma symbol lord help me #Survivor can grow past their anchor to the world being survival + Spearmaster can grow past their anchor potentially being violence and #companionship. Gourmand heavily tied with gluttony and companionship but can ascend + who gives a fuck about him am i right guys #Hunter can grow past its tie to the anchor of violence and survival + i dont think Rivulet even has any strong ties beyond companionship #so of course Riv can ascend Riv can do whatever it wants + Saints anchor to the world is existence itself or maybe ascension violence #dont ask me what the fuck is going on with Saint because then it brings Echoes into the process and that further fucks everything up #obviously Monk can follow in Survivor's footsteps but has even less sins anchoring him to the world + Paincat isnt canon #Artificer cannot do any of these things though because ? fuck you is why. i dont know. Artificer cannot have shit #maybe Arti became an echo. i assume she did

[pansear-doodles]

[Rain World Anthro AU] The Gourmand's Bedtime Story

As the rain fell overhead the Outer Expanse, wildlife has already retreated to their living abodes, sheltering them from the density of the water’s great push. It was quite late at night, but life still thrives energetically in a peculiar home as the chittering of small noises echo softly in the narrow halls and loud footsteps can be heard as well, running about.

The Diffuser, a small blue pup with a skittish side to them, eagerly pounces away from their twin sibling, The Corroder, a green mischievous one, who hastily chases after them. Within their stir they cause slight rug pulls and tipped objects that don’t shatter.

As The Corroder corners their sibling to a place where they can no longer hide away from, large arms suddenly grasp them from behind- it was their godmother- The Gourmand. They gently sweep away the small pup off the floor, playfully rocking them before tickling them. He carries the blue pup as well, doing the same. Both of their reactions: giggling and affectionate.

As The Gourmand hobbles away with the now calmed pups, she hushes them. “It’s pretty late you two! I know I said 15 more minutes, but this is already a lot!”

They groaned. The Corroder was the first to speak before their sibling: “Come on… I want to play more!”

“Yeah! I’m not tired!” the other sibling followed, as both let out a big yawn.

The Gourmand chuckled. “Your mother is not going to like sleepy pups in the morning!” They enter a room dimmer than the halls, adorned with various child-safe objects but more importantly- a large comfortable bed for the two pups to sleep in. The Gourmand sets them down as they pull up the large quilted blanket, waving it up and settling it down over the pups as they lay their heads to the fluffed up pillows.

Although a bit tired, the pups stared at him, as if pleading. The blue one was the first to speak: “Tell us a bedtime story!”

“Yeah! Tell us!” The other followed.

The Gourmand looked at them with softened eyes and a reassuring smile that any of her friends can recognize is a treat that awaits delivery from them. “Of course! I can tell you about one of my first scouting missions!”

The pups’ eyes widened with curiosity and intrigue as they snuggled up more comfortably, eagerly awaiting to hear the story from their most favorite uncle. The Gourmand walked towards the bedding and sat down gently, facing towards the pups.

“Would you believe that I wasn’t the best scout in the colony back in the day?”

The pups were in utter disbelief, gasping even. “But you ARE the best scout!” The green one argued.

The Gourmand let out a small laugh. “Not always. You see, I was really clumsy and I didn’t know my sense of direction very well!”

“You didn’t know where to go?” The blue one asked.

“I did have a map! It was given to me by the chieftain. He asked me if I could collect some Eggbug eggs for the colony, as we were running low on food and the next rain cycle was about to come. He didn’t have much confidence in me, after seeing that I messed up my previous missions before, but he trusted me anyway as all the other scouts were too busy. I was really the only one left as nobody wishes to partner up with me.”

“Didn’t you have friends?”

“Oh Diffy, no I didn’t! They… Didn’t like me for some reason. Something about… Looking different. I didn’t know why at the time but I was certainly trying to make a good name for myself. Really I did!”

“Oh those jerks!” The Corroder remarked.

Gourmand hushes them as they pat their head. “Now, now, language. I know your mothers say that all the time accidentally but I’m sure they don’t want YOU to say that. They want you to grow up to be nice slugcats.”

“Alright fine… But it's the truth!”

Gourmand chuckled before moving on. “Now where was I… Ah yes! So I set out on my journey to find eggbugs. The map points to me the usual place where they can be found. I traversed through the highest walls, avoided the most dangerous lizards and walked past the steepest and narrowest passages my young eyes ever witnessed! I went through all of that until I reached my destination. I searched high and low for any eggbug at all but… I couldn’t find any! I felt like my journey was all for nothing… Until I heard some tapping noises. I followed the direction of the noise, feeling that it’s a lone eggbug scattering about. But something bad happened! I almost fell off a cliff and I didn’t notice it!”

The pups gasped as The Gourmand takes a break, allowing them to breathe in the story. “Thankfully I held onto the ledge, but the blustering wind forced me to lose my map as I climbed back up! I couldn’t get it anymore. I was now lost and didn’t know where to go and what to do.”

“But what DID you do?” The blue one asked so impatiently, clenching the ends of the blanket tightly as their body and their sibling’s inch outwards in excitement.

“I took a deep breath and tried to not panic… Well I did panic in the end. Haha! But my panicking stopped when I heard the sounds again- only this time I spotted it- the eggbug! I hurriedly chased after it, ignoring any minor object that blocked my path but very quickly I ran out of breath, and it got away. I was upset but I remember what my own mother told me: work smarter, not harder.”

“What does that mean?” Questioned the green one.

“It means I need to plan my moves! I climbed up a tall pole and waited for the eggbug to come, hoping that it wouldn't see me from up there. I waited… And waited… And waited… Until…Tap. Tap. Tap.”

“The eggbug?!” The two cried out in unison.

“Mhm! Right underneath me the eggbug stood. I knew what I had to do. I jumped and fell on its back! Crushing it down with my weight. The eggs bounced all over the place and I had a workout collecting each one. I took one bite and it was delicious! Satisfying!”

The pups cheered as The Gourmand took a break once more from the talking.

“But there was just one problem.”

The pups were confused, tilting their heads. “What is it?” Asked the blue one.

“I was lost, remember? I did not have the map anymore. So what did I do? Well I could try retracing my steps. That’s exactly what I did. After collecting all the eggs, I had more thinking than trying to actively find a way. I remembered the steep passages, the dangerous lizards, and the high walls. But in between this journey of recalling what I passed, I heard a call for help. I recognize that it was from another slugcat from my colony! I raced to the direction of the call and discovered that it was a mother slugcat surrounded by orange lizards! She was clutching her two pups tightly. There was nobody else but me who was there to witness it. I didn’t know what to do as I never tried fighting off lizards before, let alone even protect someone! I looked at my bag of eggbug eggs as I stared back at the mother slugcat… Then I had an idea. I shouted very loudly, grabbing the attention of every orange lizard and held the bag up high, waving it around to make it tempting. I threw it as far as I could as the lizards chased after it, completely ignoring myself and the mother slugcat.”

“No! The eggbug eggs!” The green pup yelled.

“But! But they were for the colony!” The blue one followed.

“They were! But little me thought safety first before food. I went up to the mother slugcat, who was still shivering from the incident. She was very grateful for my heroic act and so were her pups. Funny enough… Do you want to know who these two pups were?”

“Who who?” They asked in unison.

“Why… It's your aunts! Survivor and Monk!”

The two pups were dazzled. “Woah!”

“This was my first time seeing them eye to eye and I’m very glad I gave them a positive impression. The family and I went back to the Outer Expanse. I was ready to be met with angry responses for not bringing anything back but what I was met with in reality were cheering and praise by the other slugcats. They recognized that I had saved the chieftain’s wife and pups, and hailed me as a hero. If it weren’t for me, Survivor and Monk would probably have larger scars. It was the happiest moment for me back in the day and from then on I was more respected, especially with my smart thinking and craftsmanship. ”

The two pups cheered for the happy ending, but their excitement was quickly overtaken by their sleepiness and louder yawns. The Gourmand smiled, knowing that she had successfully convinced them to rest, witnessing their eyes open and shut until they completely closed. Their breathing became more softened and peaceful.

They whisper their goodnights to their beloved uncle as they falter to their slumber, and he replies back. The Gourmand stands up slowly and quietly leaves the room. He smiles to himself with the thought: “Another successful night! Can’t wait to see how they’ll react to breakfast!”. She walks to the living room and sits down on the lone couch chair. They grab a book on the side and continue off their night reading the adventure within- that someone else has written for them to witness, as the sounds of the rain from the outside tap the exteriors harshly yet so thoughtfully.

The End.

#i actually made this a while back so now tumblr gets to enjoy it too #im not the best at writing but here #enjoy! #writing #rain world #rainworld #dp spoilers #downpour spoilers #anthro au #my anthro au #gourmand #artificer #artihunter

[funeralmourners]

Understanding is a predator’s tool

… but love is also predation.

[Spoilers for Nightmare Alley by William Lindsay Gresham, the Hannibal series by Thomas Harris, adapted for NBC by Bryan Fuller, and AMC’s Interview with the Vampire].

Who dares to understand us? Certainly, only someone who loves us would make that terrible effort. But what if love wasn’t the motive–or at least, not the only motive? What if understanding was a weapon? And what if it was a weapon pointed at both ends?

Monsters in horror or horrific tales have various tools at their disposal. Understanding is one of them. They use what they understand of you to manipulate, influence, or otherwise hurt you. This can feel like both a loving gesture and a violation. First, this monster is intimate with you; they have knowledge of you that you believed you’d hidden well, knowledge reserved for someone devoted enough to discover it. Second, this monster shows no kindness to you when they draw out this knowledge and use it to their advantage. The victim feels like their heart has been turned out to the air. It is an attack that is cruel because it is intimate. 

What is the effect of this attack? Here’s how the victim of understanding experiences it in William Lindsay Gresham’s “Nightmare Alley,” as he’s being probed by the diabolical psychologist Dr. Lilith Ritter.

When she hounds him to reveal secrets he’s never given up to anyone, including himself, he feels hunted.

“Did he have a deep voice?” [Lilith asks.]

“Yes. How did you know?” 

“Never mind. What was he to you?”

“Nothing. That is–”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Damn it, quit deviling me.”

When he threatens her out of weakness, saying he’ll sic gangsters on her, she gives him no face and continues to disarm him.

“I’ve been shouted at before, Mr. Carlisle. But you don’t really know any gangsters. You’d be afraid of them. Just as you’re afraid of me. You’re full of rage, aren’t you? You feel you hate me, don’t you? You’d like to come off that couch and strike me, wouldn’t you?–but you can’t. You’re quite helpless with me. [...].”

A young, handsome grifter who finds pleasure in duping others out of their money, he’s reduced to crawling blindly under her psychological assaults.

He was on his knees, one hand beating at his eyes. He crawled to her and threw his head in her lap. Dr. Lilith Ritter, gazing down at the disheveled corn-colored hair, smiled slightly. She let one hand rest on his head, running her fingers gently over his hair [...].

He worships her despite, or because of, the weakness she strikes into him.

[...] he felt the helpless wonder sweep over him again, the impotence at touching her, the supplication. Twice she had given it to him. She had given it as she might give him a glass of brandy, watching his reactions.

She, of course, enjoys all this immensely.

Dr. Lilith Ritter, at the moment in a very unethical but satisfying position in relation to one of her patients, laughed deep in her throat.

Throughout her manipulations, she refers to her victim as “lover.” But crucially, Lilith is not a lover. She is a “master of herself,” as Anne Carson refers to non-lovers in Eros the Bittersweet; untouched by the madness of love, she is cold, stingy, and eminent. She uses understanding perfectly, as a weapon only, to prey on her patient Stanton Carlisle. Nonetheless, he experiences it as maddening attention and intimacy, because understanding feels the same regardless of intention–it feels like love. It breaks down the desperate, lonely victim who craves even false gestures. It’s perverse because it’s a bastardized act of love, and it hurts because even when it’s bastardized, it feels good.

But let’s look now at monsters who are also lovers.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, gourmand cannibal, also enjoys the rewards of being a diabolical psychiatrist. 

I’ll start with the show by NBC. In Hannibal’s first conversation with Will Graham, the man who would eventually put Hannibal in prison, he speaks to him in words taken straight from Will Graham’s internal narration in the book series, specifically Red Dragon by Thomas Harris. 

[Will’s] learned values of decency and propriety tagged along, shocked at his associations, appalled at his dreams; sorry that in the bone arena of his skull there were no forts for what he loved. 

Compare this to Hannibal’s observation from 1.01, Aperitif.

HANNIBAL: I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.

The dialogue emerges as prose, a fully formed and massaged thought, and perfectly accurate to Will’s mindset—perhaps it felt like a person you’d just met repeating a line word for word from your diary. It’s a particularly effective attack because Will Graham is oversensitive toward the thought of people getting “inside his head.” As it turns out, there are many things in there he’s fearful of others seeing; dissection frightens and weakens him. At that moment, he’s thoroughly disarmed. This is purposeful from Hannibal Lecter’s end, who makes a habit of this attack.

In Hannibal by Thomas Harris, Clarice Starling puts this habit of his this way, when asked how Hannibal Lecter feels about her: 

“I think it’s easy to mistake understanding for empathy–we want empathy so badly. [...] It’s hard and ugly to know somebody can understand you without even liking you. When you see understanding just used as a predator’s tool, that’s the worst. I…I have no idea how Dr. Lecter feels about me.”

Again, despite this ugly, predatory use of a human tool, it still feels like empathy and love. As another character, Barney, says of Hannibal Lecter’s elegant courteousness alongside his monstrosity:

“That didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill me any second if he got the chance–one quality in a person doesn’t rule out any other quality. They can exist side by side, good and terrible.”

The predatory quality of understanding exists alongside the tender quality, and this dual principle is demonstrated throughout Hannibal.

Hannibal Lecter, using his psychiatrist’s understanding, has influenced many of his patients toward his own aims–his own aims being chaos. In short, he lures out the chaotic, murderous urges in his patients, coaxes them to the surface, and allows his victims to destroy themselves or others, all in the service of terror and beauty. He continues this habit with Will, who he finds attractive because of his enhanced empathy and hidden urges. 

Before Hannibal is revealed to be who he is, Hannibal and Will’s interactions operate on two threads. On the first strand, Hannibal is Will’s ideal intellectual and verbal companion. They are fond of each other’s company; they discuss horrific murder cases, enjoying the debate as if they were playing moves in chess; they are each other’s accomplices, making one other the fathers of a girl orphaned by their collective efforts. On the face, it’s the most profound intimacy: two men growing closer despite, or maybe because of, the horror they’re immersed in. 

On the second strand, Hannibal Lecter is–at every turn–lying to and manipulating Will, destroying his ties to others, and planting evidence that will cause everybody Will knows to abandon him. Their friendship is a deliberate trickery and seduction which Hannibal has employed based on his understanding of Will, and it is successful because he knows Will so well. Beneath it, the violation is profound, whole, and entire; he even makes Will swallow the piece of evidence that will damn him, their surrogate daughter’s severed ear. Nothing he has done to court Will’s friendship has been without motive. In this way, he has used his understanding, which Will experienced as purest, greatest companionship, to victimize Will.

Perhaps he’s even pulled off this predation without attaching himself over much. But notice what happens throughout the story, and is even starting to happen here. Because Hannibal Lecter’s ultimate aim is not sadism–it is, as said, chaos. Will Graham wasn’t a plaything he’d decided to torment just to torment him. Will Graham had a quality that Hannibal wanted to expose in him no matter what, because he found it amusing or exciting: Will’s own monstrosity. Recognizing that Will’s defensiveness hid something Will found unspeakable, he set about ruthlessly exposing it–so that he could love it.

It’s not that he knew he would love it or Will. It began as his habitual whimsy to peel back people’s skin, dissecting them mentally and physically. But then Will exceeds his expectations in this respect. Every layer he exposes in Will, he experiences to be the most amusing, interesting, admirable thing he’s seen in another person. He begins to see a true companion in Will, just as Will falsely saw companionship in Hannibal before Hannibal revealed himself.

So the monster’s aims are complicated by love. He is fascinated beyond professional curiosity, and this blinds him to Will’s next act, who now employs “understanding” to harm Hannibal just as Hannibal harmed him.

This he accomplishes with aplomb. Like Clarice Starling in the book series, he uses his understanding to lure or catch Hannibal Lecter. Clarice does it by knowing him “better than anyone in the world knew him” (Hannibal, Thomas Harris), tracking him by his taste in fine wines and foods. On the other hand, Will does this by giving Hannibal his heart’s desire: the cultivation of Will’s horrific urges as “the inspirations they are,” and his transformation into a killer. Will baits the hook with himself; knowing precisely what Hannibal Lecter wants, he engineers it, pretending to be Hannibal’s heart’s companion in order to entrap him.

But the maddening influence of love makes this strategy imperfect. Will’s retributive manipulation should be cold and effective, even if it’s rageful. But in his plan there is a touch of irrationality, a lack of sensibility; he can’t master his own feelings well enough to use his “understanding” cold-bloodedly. 

Nowhere is this lack of mastery clearer than when Will, having spent his efforts maneuvering Hannibal into a trap, frees Hannibal from the snare at the last moment. For example, when he cuts Hannibal down from the machine at the Verger estate before his enemy can be fed to man-eating pigs; or when he calls Hannibal before their “last supper,” during which he planned to arrest and imprison Hannibal, to warn him that the FBI “knows.” Just as Hannibal is compromised by love, which blinds him to evidence of Will’s manipulation, Will is also compromised, unable to entrap Hannibal despite the advantage of his intimate weaponry. Love interferes with predation but also feeds on it; they are only possible together.

Let’s look at one more example: vampires. 

The vampire in fiction is a master of others’ desires, and Lestat de Lioncourt is no exception. His preternatural gift for reading the minds of humans makes it easy to understand them; understanding them makes preying on them effortless. Humans are reduced to their desires, which the vampire can easily appeal to or manipulate, often without the victim's knowledge. The tool is perfect. But again, there is the imperfection of love…

When Louis du Pointe du Lac, still human, was understood by Lestat de Lioncourt, it completely disarmed him. Louis was seen, appealed to, and seduced. He was loved so completely and tempted so successfully that he felt it as predation, as he describes it in 1.01, In Throes of Increasing Wonder.

LOUIS: I was being hunted. And I was completely unaware.

Because he feels himself to be prey, metaphors of hunting describe Lestat’s courtship well: pursuit, luring, stalking, hounding. But because he is being understood, and because everybody wants to be understood, it still feels like what it is: seduction. Lestat’s tender attention to Louis’ mysteries unravels him, and he can’t help it. It’s a weakness of humans and even monsters to feel “being seen” as “being loved.” 

The metaphors of hunting are often divided, as they are in NBC’s Hannibal, into either “stalking” (as in stag-hunting) or “luring” (as in fishing). There, the distinction is made because Will’s methods are more “lure” than “stalk”: he is the bait, he wants to hook Hannibal. But it’s appropriate to say that every lover in these examples does both; it’s all part of romance, after all.

Lestat, for example, “stalks” by hounding Louis, giving him no peace at his brother’s funeral, filling his mind with enticements, and even pursuing him to a church of God, his last refuge. He is intent on flushing Louis out. He “lures,” however, with softer techniques. In one scene, all he needs to do is walk backward for Louis to follow him. He dangles Miss Lily in front of him in a humiliation and enticement that remains on Louis’ mind long afterward. He offers him gifts: the winning hand, true understanding, a dark gift—chosen at each moment to appeal to what he understands is Louis’ heart’s desire.

These pursuits and lures are effective in each instance because Lestat understands Louis’s plight. His understanding of Louis ensures his words and gestures are exactly right. But it goes beyond manipulation; it is, in fact, love. His ultimate aim when utilizing this vampiric tool isn’t Louis’ destruction, it is his companionship. He disarms Louis out of vampiric habit but is more tender with the vulnerability he exposes than he is with that of the humans he feeds on. He hounds Louis to the edge of his wits, then offers him a gift born of love. He taunts him with Miss Lily, then invites him up to share a night of intimacy together. He pursues Louis in his grief to the church, brutalizes his last resorts, then offers him exaltation and freedom in the form of vampirism. 

If he disregarded him, this predator’s tool of his would be both more devastating and less hurtful. If he loved him less, he would hound Louis to the edge of his wits and beyond, leaving him no recourse whatsoever and devastating him completely—but here he pursues Louis to the point and no more. If he was a monster who only wanted to feed on Louis, he would betray him only once, kill him, and be done with it—here he hurts Louis often with his love. This push and pull is a torture that only a lover could invent.

Again, in the hands of the lover this understanding is a double-edged tool; in turn, the vampire Lestat is flayed by his own weakness, perhaps even more than Louis is. Having understood Louis’ heart, Lestat selects him as worthy of his love. If the goal is to hurt Louis without being hurt, this is a mistake. As a lover, Lestat has now put himself in the position of prey, and willingly. He wants nothing more than for Louis to understand and love him as he understands and loves Louis. He is inviting Louis to see him, which will arm Louis against him if Louis ever chooses to hurt him. He puts his habitual weapon, the weapon of understanding, in Louis’ hands. This willful disarming of himself is his only option; vampirism has made him lonely beyond words. He is backed into a corner by love, just as Louis is.

Loneliness makes being understood devastating, but it’s a loneliness that can’t be escaped, that both monsters and humans share. Even Hannibal Lecter and Lestat de Lioncourt are willing to weaken themselves, make themselves mortal for love.

The monster who is also a lover flays their victim out of tenderness, wanting to prey on them, but also desiring to better love and appeal to them. This love, then, ruins them. Even as they inflict understanding on their lovers, they are, in turn, betrayed and victimized themselves.

#iwtv #hannibal #loustat #hannigram #interview with the vampire #nightmare alley #meta #analysis #mine #i really should have worked on actual things today but this kind of consumed me tbh #... #bonafide

[pyrrhesia]

XIVWrite '23 - Stirring

Part 1/3.

Apologies for the inopportune line breaks, the post would otherwise not post (or even save). Tumblr is a state of mind.

It is quiet, in the brush. The wind rustles through the leaves, and a soft hum echoes through the clearing, a harmony carried from a land far from this place. At the source, a tall, elegant woman dressed in soft teals, sifting through plants with the same languid grace she carries herself with in every motion. She runs to stoutness, by the standards of her lithe kind, and there is a pleasantly plush quality to her hips and thighs, by any measure. But there is a strength beneath the signs of a gourmand's taste; firm calves, a tight back. She takes her pleasures where she can, but it has not been an easy, sedentary life. She is Ysabet Sable, once Mrdja Camoa, known best for her journals detailing the Crystal War, written from its epicentre. And she is being studied. An ear flicks. Ysabet can sense the eyes on her, and it galls her that someone out there thinks they could sneak on her. Do they have such little regard for her senses? Leave aside her undoubted puissance as a sorceress, which must surely precede her - she thinks - but she is Viera, of the Camoa people. Her natural senses alone are more than enough to alert her to the crackle of leaves underfoot, the steady breathing in the bushes, the very sensation of sight fixed on her back. She does not want to give its source the satisfaction of thinking it has the advantage on her. Nonetheless, she shows no other sign of her irritation. It is prudent to sit, and clip leaves, completely dead to the world in all other regards. She lies in wait. Go on. Commit…

"You're sure that's her?" "Sure I'm sure." "Well, what are we waiting for?" "Is now the--" "Her back's turned! She's literally humming! You waiting for a signed bloody invitation?" "Well, then we can--" "On three, then? One, t--" "Go, go!" "What?" "Just--" One jumps the gun; cursing, others follow, and Ysabet turns -- sees all manner of weapons, purses her lips -- and in a single fluid motion sweeps the staff up and across, poleaxes the first man, follows through into the second, taking the wind out of him. She kicks him into his fellows, delaying and scattering them as she turns her momentum into another swordsman -- a pain, a sharp pain, but she blocks it out for now -- covers her half-stagger with a sweeping blow, knocks the man's sword from his hand and brains him on the follow-through. She turns, plants her stance, heels digging into the wet soil, siphoning the flow of generations of carrion up through her body and concentrating it into one fingertip, releasing it with a single word as the remaining thugs rush her, catching a surge of brilliant light full in their wide eyes, reducing them to staggering, quavering wrecks, stumbling about and groaning.

She considers the situation. Any number of ways to disable them, from here, but she decides hitting them is the most cathartic way to bring them down-- A click and another sharp flash of pain from the brush. "Would you stop doing that?" she snaps, without turning, and clicks her fingers. She is rewarded with a scream, as the tree the man hides in springs vines that clamp down and trap him in his vantage. His crossbow falls to the plashy floor. "Irritant." And another irritant: the poison coursing through her blood. She closes her eyes and concentrates, master of her own form, redirects it up through her gullet and spits it out onto the floor. She frowns. It tastes of weeks-old lemon. The business tires her. She glances over the blinded mercenaries, taking some measure of pity on a woman she deems moderately comely, and sees fit to dispel her curse. She blinks, shivering, as definition returns to her sight, and feels the long, deft hand tighten around her jawline, claws digging ever-so-softly into her flesh, and tilting her head up. "A… aahhh," she says. It feels like the thing to say. "Feeling regrets, are we?" Ysabet's smile does not reach her eyes. And, because she cannot resist setting the record straight, adds, "You and your idiot companions breathe like working bellows, to say nothing of the way you stomp through the woods. Idyllshire is not sending its best, is it?" Defeated, the mercenary shakes her head. "Your name, girl?" A hesitation, as though she worried this would give the sorceress some greater power over her. At last, "Aedelle. And you're right, we are mercenaries." "Mm." "Our employer… told us we had to make right a great wrong. There was a deal, made with her grandfather…" Ysabet raised an eyebrow. She had not been in these lands long enough to be making deals with grandfathers. "Please, Master Matoya!" Aedelle wailed, her courage failing at last. "Forgive us!" Ysabet's grasp of composure slipped. "You thought I was Matoya?!" Inadvertently, her claws tighten and dig into the mercenary's throat. "Ah-- ! Are you not… ?" "A sorceress of around as many years, perhaps, though I daresay I wear them more gracefully. I am twice her bloody height, for a start." Aedelle's eyes brighten. "So you know her?" "I know everyone worth knowing," sniffs Ysabet, a trifle generously. "So, do you think you could--" "And I would not be so cruel as to send you on her path, unless you have always harboured an affinity for eating flies and sitting on lilypads." "… Huh?" Ysabet rolls her eyes, and releases the sellsword's throat. Aedelle staggers back, hand to her neck, wincing as she feels the slick blood on her finger. "Just give me the name of whatever idiot sent the rest of you idiots after me." She does. "Now, get out of my sight." She does that, too. And as Ysabet turns away, shaking her head at the folly of man, she plucks the bolts from her thigh and flank and curses, more at the holes in her clothing than the holes in her body. One could be mended easier than the other.

"You can come out now," she declares without turning. "Unless you also plan to stick a knife in me, in which case you are very, very stupid." "Er…" The final man steps forward, wringing his hands. Ysabet at last turns, eyes him over. Unimpressive, and her lip curls. Still, he forges on; "My name is Jylael, erstwhile of Gridania -- like you, an exile," he hastens to add, "come far to try and make a life for myself. I feared these mercenaries had come for me; while it's clear now that isn't the case, still, I thank you for handling them." "Mm." Ysabet steps over one of the groaning bodies. "Far indeed, but why here?" He hesitates, and dithers, and only just begins to open his mouth when a new figure vaults from the trees, and Ysabet starts back; this one, she had not sensed. And the reason becomes clear enough as she looks her over, from tip to pointed, clawed toe, as the viera newcomer says, "I had better take over, Jy." "Of… of course." "Rysha!" Ysabet gasps out the name as soon as it comes to her. A face known to her, true, but… in a specific place, and so a specific time. To see her here… "Just so." Rysha's smile is small, crooked. "Your past is beginning to catch up to you at last, Mrdja."

Offering hospitality was the very least Ysabet could do, and did. And so now they walk through the Dravanian wilds, distant howls attesting to the danger that could befall the careless in such a land, but the confidence with which Ysabet strides is more telling still. There is no danger here for those who know the woods, know the safe paths… and have potent sorcery to fall back on, should knowledge fail in the face of dumb chance. Rysha and Jylael eye one other, behind the sorceress' back. The insistence has been made that serious talk must wait for the table, and that is amenable enough to them; they have gone a while between hot meals. But though Ysabet's manner is, thus far, cordial, will that survive their request for shelter? The three weave through the woods, finding their way to the foot of the great library at its heart. But it is already a place changed greatly in the past few years, and indeed from Ysabet's own recollections. She had tended to it diligently in the rare moments of peace, in recent years; now it looks almost inviting, were it not for its savage surroundings. It has been scrubbed clean, stripped of the vines that had choked it. Age has robbed the marble of much of its lustre, but it still has some glimmer of majesty to it.

They enter, and Rysha hesitates. Jylael throws her a questioning glance, but she addresses Ysabet with something almost framed as an accusation. "It feels… it feels almost like…" "Almost home." Ysabet's words drip with melancholy. She turns, and manages half a smile. "Rehabilitating the Great Library is but one half of my work, here. The easier half, at that. … You feel it, too, then?" A terse nod. "The Green Word speaks, here." Rysha could feel its thrum through her feet, though it was… faint. A mere shadow of its presence in Camoa, in any of the viera groves. "More of a Green Whisper, at present." Ysabet gestures at the centre of the room, where sunbeams flicker between the branches of a tree caught in awkward adolescence, one with aspirations of magnificence but not, yet, a true forest heart. "My student, or perhaps patient, these past years." Jylael cocks his head, and falls back on his own peoples' ways. "Like the Guardian Tree?" "Tch. Does it look dead to you?" Ysabet chuckles softly. "No, we shall not make ourselves beholden to the oak, here." "I see. So your efforts to share tea with us were in service of showing this off," says Jylael drily. Ysabet does not deny it. Besides, the gravity is not lost on Rysha, who looks on Ysabet with a new respect. "I had… worried that you were mad." "Some still say I am." "Perhaps, but… you have not fully lost sight of the old ways, either. I confess, when I had heard of your destruction of the Guardian Tree, I feared you were casting aside all tradition…" "Mm. Their traditions were strangling them. A solid foundation is a wonderful thing, but… in need of an interpreter, I find." Ysabet smiles. "You know I trained for this, Rysha." "For something like it. But I scarcely thought… I scarcely…" "Rysha?" Jylael looks up, alert and alarmed, as Rysha walks over to the forest heart, dazed. She has been his constant companion, his source of strength, ever-focused and demanding focus from him, too, by no means a daydreamer. Ysabet watches closely, intently. One hesitant step, a second… … before she collapses by the foot of the tree, head bowed, and lets out the tears. "I just wanted to hear it again," she whispers through shuddering sobs. "I needed… I needed to hear it. Or else…" To return or to die. Ysabet closed her eyes. The Green Word had been as a second heartbeat, for close to a century. Its emptiness was cavernous within her, and though it had been easy enough to push aside for a time, once she had grown used to the rhythms of life in Eorzea, before the constant novelty had worn thin, but the pressing, primal need to hear once again had overwhelmed her. And return was not an option. She had tried, in the face of all evidence of a welcome, against all tradition. Shameful memories of being outcast still dogged her. And so she had worked, tirelessly, to form a grove of her own. Retiring from active service in Eorzea's defence, slipping away from society, weaving the sorceries great and small she had learned from her travels, all to spin together those she had worked before embarking in the first place. The final synthesis was no true copy, but it could never be, should never be; it was a different place, a different time, the land's heartbeat a continent away. And at last, with Rysha's tears, she knew this was no delusion. It did, truly, beat once again. She was, once more, Viera.

Thirty years pass. Old heroes waste away, new ones rise to meet new threats. Ysabet watches them, body unbent but weary. Even a body that shrugs off the ravages of time is still subject to the scars of battle, and she has seen far, far more than anyone should have. Her aid is still sought, and from time to time she musters her sorcery, storms out into the wastes and claims another trophy, grumbling all the while. She declares a dozen times that it is the end of enough, and eventually, it is. She puts the final, definitive strokes to the last of her Annals. She signs it with a new name; Ysabet Mrdja Tulque. Tulque is the name of her grove, though it has taken on the name 'Ashleaf' among some. It has flourished, in the adjoining years, and its reputation has spread. Pilgrims arrive for the library, knowing honest scholars are never turned aside, and some settle to learn. Others arrive because there is nowhere left to go. And, increasingly, viera drift in from all parts of Eorzea. Whether dissatisfied with life outside their homes, or in need of temporary spiritual relief, they find their way to Tulque, the closest thing they have. The Green Word does not quite, yet, speak above a murmur. Perhaps it never will. But word of the grove has reached one viera, only recently departed from Camoa. She has attracted attention. Clearly ancient, though by no means decrepit, raw-boned with frail white hair. She has come a long way, following the siren call of the Word, though not because it has been a stranger to her. Her lip curls. She feels it beneath her, stepping into the clearing that marks the border of the grove. It feels a pale, fragile thing, to her. Only one who has fell far from home might consider this thin gruel a true reflection of the Word. Only one corrupted by the influence of worlds far off-country, and who cannot see that corruption for what it is. She closes her eyes, and sighs. It brings her no pleasure, but she knows now what she must do. … No, she has always known. All through the long road, she has known her solemn duty. It is the only thing that took her from her lands, once they could be left in a capable successor's safe hands. But it is only now that she finds the resolve within herself. Her former student must die. It will be a mercy.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023

[head-full-pokemon-thoughts]

Part one of Wallace's journey (documenting my water-mono type run). This is his story up until he gets to roam free. Since there's a lot happening at the start, this part is LONG lol, other parts will probably be shorter and more focused on the battles

So we start off saying hi to Wallace, a semi-anxious reserved soon-to-be water trainer.

After director Clavell said hi to him, he suggested Wallace go outside with him. He's admittedly anxious about this all

But what's that? He's giving the chance at getting a starter Pokemon? Well, Wallace has never had one before. But then he sees it, a duck. Clearly a water type. Maybe moving to Paldea won't be as bad as he thought. He has named him Quacky.

After meeting and winning a battle against Nemona, the high energy trainer living across from him, she shows him around. And after almost falling to his death and helping Miraidon out, the other student he just met, Arven, gives it to him. Wallace isn't the hapliest about this, sure Miraidon is nice but also it's an electric type.

Now Wallace gets to walk to the school himself. BUT important detour first. You see, Los Platos has a tiny stream of water leading to a small beach front. And Wallace was having the time of his life, catching quite a few water type Pokemon. And while it's not water type just yet, he also got himself an Azurill named Hoppy.

Finally he reaches the gates of Mesagoza, where Nemona asks for a battle. Sure, Wallace thinks. I mean, he has a full team while Nemona has two. But... Nemona has a Pawmi. A terastallized one. And it manages to sweep his entire team, Wallace barely getting a single hit in.

Getting inside of Mesagoza, she asks him what he'll do first. And Wallace has 1 thing on his mind. Lunch. Nemona was not expecting this. Wallace also finds out his Quaxly has the Gourmand mark, I guess a pokemon truly looks like its trainer.

Of course he also bought the essentials with the small amount of pocket money he had. A mystic water for Quacky, a Quaxly phone case, and some clothing. He also received a soothe bell which was given to Hoppy. He had a bit more fun in town till he saw his worst nightmare. Seafood restaurants. He should go to the school to forget about what he saw.

Before he could get into the school, two people were bothering a... student? He was thinking about not getting involved, but ultimately decided to fight his anxiety and tell them to stop. These mean people calling themselves team Star. After beating one with no trouble, Nemona came to give him a tera orb. While Wallace wasn't sure about this Paldean thing, he uses it to terastallize Quacky and win against the second team Star member.

Finally getting to the School, he makes his way to class where everyone is excited about a new student. From here a lot of things happen, since after getting to the cafeteria he meets Arven again. Who asks Wallace to help him find... ingredients? And he'll make sandwiches in return? Hell yeah. And then someone just hacks into his phone which is one of the rare times we'll see Wallace angry.

After a few days at the academy, it's finally time to set up on his adventure. The treasure hunt officially starting, though he's unsure what to do.

Talking to Nemona makes him think about maybe challenging the gyms. He has pokemon now, after all. Though it will be difficult with his water team. And Arven and Cassiopeia chime in to get him to help them too.

It's gonna be a long adventure. but he's determined to do it all and discover what he wants to do. First stop, Katy's gym.

Current team Quacky the Quaxly Hoppy the Azurill Sneaky the Wiglett Gully the Wingull Buoy the Buizel Bluey the Psyduck

#pokemon #pokemon challenge run #pokemon mono run #pokemon mono type run #sunny's mono run #sunny's mono run wallace #pokemon sv #scarlet and violet #pokemon scarvio

[parfumerievn]

Top 05 Sweet and Enchanting Women's Perfumes

Discover the top 05 women's fragrances with sweet and captivating scents that will mesmerize others and evoke unforgettable emotions. Let's step into the magical world of these sweet and alluring aromas:

Maison Francis Kurkdjian Baccarat Rouge 540 Unforgettable Baccarat Rouge 540 from Maison Francis Kurkdjian is a truly unique Oriental woody floral masterpiece. The bitter almond and saffron in the opening create a stimulating and lingering bitterness. Then, Egyptian jasmine and cedarwood elevate the fragrance with richness and sophistication. Finally, the irresistible notes of amberwood and olibanum add an alluring allure. Baccarat Rouge 540 is an icon of allure and classy style.

Jean Paul Gaultier Scandal Bold and daring, Scandal by Jean Paul Gaultier offers a sweet, seductive, and enticing aroma. The unique blend of honey, orange blossom, and black cherry in the top notes exudes freshness and sweetness, celebrating the natural beauty of women. The feminine gardenia and gentle orange blossom in the heart notes evoke warmth and familiarity. The captivating honey and alluring tonka bean in the base notes leave a beautiful lingering trail.

Lancôme La Vie Est Belle La Vie Est Belle from Lancôme is a perfect blend of fruity and floral fragrances. Sweet pear and fresh coconut offer a bright opening. The delicate iris blends with South African orange blossom and jasmine, creating an enchanting and feminine floral scent. The warm base notes of gourmand vanilla and cozy patchouli highlight the beauty and elegance of modern women.

Thomas Kosmala No 4 Après L'Amour No 4 Après L'Amour by Thomas Kosmala emanates a strong sense of femininity and romance. The captivating peach and caramel, along with the romantic rose, form an attractive top layer. The feminine Bulgarian rose and fresh peony gracefully sweep hearts away. The enchanting tonka bean and white musk conclude the journey of passion.

These sweet fragrances will be the perfect accent to your style and create a unique impression. Visit Parfumerie to explore and choose the sweet fragrances that suit your personality. Experience the sweet allure, spreading the scent of emotions and endless love.

Jo Malone Peony & Blush Suede Peony & Blush Suede by Jo Malone offers the natural and sophisticated beauty of peony combined with the luxury of suede. The fresh peony and sweet red apple create a refreshing and feminine top note. The innocent damask rose and warm tonka bean highlight the charm and grace. The luxurious suede wraps up the journey with a gentle and alluring touch.

Carefully selected sweet fragrances from Parfumerie not only create a unique beauty but also spread captivating scents that make you the center of attention and praise. Showcase your distinctive style and characteristic charm through each alluring scent.

Discover more:

#parfum #aroma #fragrance

[my-decade]

AOT Characters & What Perfume They Smell Like 🎀🌸

...aka I was boreddddd and smelling the insane variety of perfumes my sister owns, which is what inspired me to do this! Let me know your thoughts all! I’ve included pictures as well as a description of each scent (as written by the company that makes it) and the fragrance’s key notes! Please note this is all my opinion but I did take a lot of time matching them and picking ones I felt suited each character so please be nice to me lol. Thank u!

Included: Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Connie, Jean, Sasha, Historia, Ymir, Levi, Hange, Erwin, Annie, Bertholdt, Reiner, Zeke, Porco, & Pieck

EREN - Paco Robanne Invictus Desc: Fresh, heroic fragrance; a clash of forces no one can resist. Key notes: Grapefruit, Guaïac Wood, Patchouli, Marine Note

ARMIN - Versace Man Eau Fraiche Desc: subtly sexy; a scent for today's introspective man. Key notes: white lemon, rosewood, sycamore wood

MIKASA - Tom Ford Rose Prick Desc: Sharp and pristine; so lovely it hurts. Key notes: Rose de Mai, Bulgarian Rose, Sichuan Pepper

CONNIE - Dolce&Gabbana Light Blue Eau Intense Pour Homme Desc: Fresh, irresistible and unique Key notes: Grapefruit, Juniper, Musk

JEAN - Chanel Platinum Egoiste Desc: ”Qui a de la platine" (literally, he "who has platinum"); one who isn't afraid of making himself known. Key notes: Cedarwood, Lavender, Petitgrain, Vetiver

SASHA - Viktor&Rolf Bonbon Desc: Gourmand, sweet and spirited; empowerment and independence. The essence of a woman creating her own story. Key notes: Blackcurrant, Peach, Caramel

HISTORIA - Dolce&Gabbana L'Imperatrice Desc: Soft hearted, pure and simple; irresistible and fresh. Key notes: Watermelon accord, Kiwi, Pink Cyclamen

YMIR - Kilian Paris Black Phantom Desc: Seductive, intense; a deadly bite. "Like a smile from death itself." Key notes: Rum, Coffee, Vetiver

HANGE - Chanel Chance Eau Fraiche Desc: a surge of energy that sweeps you into a whirlwind of happiness and fantasy. Key notes: Citron, Jasmine, Teakwood

ERWIN - Dior Sauvage Eau de Toilette Desc: Raw and noble, a strong and unmistakable masculinity. Key notes: Bergamot, Pepper, Amberwood

LEVI - Versace Eros Desc: intensity and power; cleanliness and strength. Key notes: Mint Leaves, Orange Blossom, Vanilla Madagascar

ANNIE - Tom Ford Lost Cherry Desc: Powerful and insatiable, sweet and dark with a candy-like gleam. Key notes: Black Cherry, Tonka Bean, Almond

BERTHOLDT - Tom Ford Beau de Jour Desc: sublime intensity beneath the surface. Key notes: Lavender, Geranium, Moss

ZEKE - Viktor&Rolf Spice Bomb Desc: aged leather & smooth tobacco; exudes power and raw sensuality. Key notes: Sage, Triple Black Spice Complex, Roasted almonds

REINER - Yves Saint Laurent L'Homme Desc: sensual and modern; contrasting notes to exude timeless elegance. Key notes: Vetiver, Ginger, Bergamot

PORCO - Versace Eros Flame Desc: Strong, passionate, self-confident; strikes you right through the heart. Key notes: Italian Lemon, Pepperwood, Vetiver

PIECK - Chloe Naturelle Desc: Effortlessly authentic, free-spirited, elegant strength and femininity. Key notes: Cedrat Essence, Organic Rose Essence, Mimosa Absolute

#aot headcanons #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman

[jonnyparable]

Cottage Hills : A Winter Tale, Part V

Unlikely Inn Mates

Just as Gotz had predicted, the blizzard will soon sweep into town. The town slowly turns white, and the sky takes on a gloomy hue. The snow covered Hollyhock Inn stands proudly amidst the flurry of white. A Cottage Hills landmark, and one of the largest buildings in the village, the Inn looks like a giant iced gingerbread house in the powdery snow.

At it's entrance, Greg the fisherman is coming by to drop off the Inn's weekly order. He hears snow crunching behind him and turns to see Wally running past, huffing and puffing .

Greg:

"Morning, Wally! Well, where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Wally:

"Hello Greg! I'm running back to my farm to put the animals away! A blizzard is coming, you better get indoors quick!"

Greg, an old seadog, looks up and recognises the tell-tale signs of a coming storm. He quickly heads inside, and the fire is roaring. Ann comes out from behind the counter and greets him.

Ann:

"Morning Greg! I was just about to go lend you a hand with those crates. What do you have for us today?"

Greg:

"I got some lobsters for ya today! Mineral Lake Blue Lobsters are the best for making Lobster Thermidor. Doug's specialty! Where is he anyway, looks like a storm's coming."

Ann:

"Dad went to the train station to send Louis off, I think he should be back soon... Wow you're right.... Would you look at this weather! Greg you better get going!"

Just as Greg is about to leave, Gourmand and Contestina arrive at the inn, standing in the doorway, blocking Greg's way and noisily brushing the snow off themselves, and loudly commiserating about the dreadful weather.

Contestina :

"Oh Miseria!! Gourmando, what a terrible weather to be driving with the top down! I am so 🎶CooOoolldd🎶. Ah! But this charming inn has such a lovely fire! 🎶Fuegora simpi adoramissimo!!! Like de Firrre within my heeaaarrt!! 🎶"

Gourmand :

"I am so sorry, Madame! How quickly the weather changed! Hello! I say! Hello there! Where is the innkeeper?"

Ann:

"Hello Madam, Mr Swindleton! Can I help you?"

Contestina :

"Hello, there you are! Are you the owner of this lovely little inn? Surely you have all my luggage prepared, and your best suite warmed and ready? I would like a room with a balcony, overlooking the fields, and shall want to change into my mid-morning outfit right away! Followed by your best breakfast!"

Ann:

"Umm... Yes.. Luggage? Will you be staying with us then? Our beds are all taken at the moment... If you would like to share a room, however..."

Gourmand:

"Good heavens! My dear girl! This is the famous Contestina Divadonna! Share a room? What a scandal that will be! We insist that she have a room all to herself! Go make the arrangements immediately! And where is her blasted luggage?"

Contestina :

"My dresses! My jewels! I can hear them calling to me! Where are my beautiful babies?? GOURMANDO! Hold me, I feel faint!"

Outside, as the sky darkens even more, and as the snow is whipped up into a frenzy of white, the sound of tyres crunching snow in the driveway can be heard through the howl of the wind. Doug has returned with Contestina's suitcases, having helped Stu to carry it all onto his truck.

Doug :

"Its a good thing we were both there, thanks Stu for the help, looks like the weather is getting worse, you better stay at the inn for today and have some hot meals, on the house!"

Stu:

"Happy to help, Mr H! Come on, let's get these inside!"

Meanwhile, inside, Cliff, one of the inn's tenants, who was just on his way down for coffee, hears the commotion and thinking on the spot, runs over to try and help the hapless Ann as she struggles to understand what is going on.

Cliff:

"Ah! Madame, I have just finished cleaning your room, and will have it ready for you soon, after we bring up your luggage for you! Why don't you... Uh... have a seat and Ill get you some... Some... coffee!"

Ann:

"Coffee, for our two esteemed guests, coming right up!

Ann pulls Cliff to one side.

Ann:

"Cliff! What do you think you're doing??"

Cliff:

"You looked like you needed help... Anyway she can just have my room, Ann, don't worry!"

Ann:

"Cliff! What? No, what about-"

Just then, Doug and Stu burst through the front door, and heap the luggage in as snow rushes in through the open door. Cliff rushes over to give them a hand.

Contestina :

"Ahh my beautiful luggage! Adora! Thank you, gentlemen, my heroes! Saviors! My knights that are in the shiny armours!"

Suddenly the room darkens, as if its night, and they rush to the windows to see that the blizzard has fully descended upon the town. It'll be too dangerous for any of them to leave now, so it looks like they will be staying together for some time. Possibly a few days.

Doug:

"Well, looks like the blizzard is in full swing now. This is the worst blizzard we've seen in decades! There's no going out now! Come on Stu, I'll get you that meal. Ah Greg, you're here too! Why don't you go sit with Duke over the at the bar. He's been here since last night.... again. You know what to do."

Doug cocks his head over to the bar, where Duke has been sleeping all this time, on the counter. Greg shakes his head and walks over. Suddenly, a blood curdling shriek rocks the inn, stunning everyone.

Contestina :

"Le BLIZZARRRRO!?!? A BLIZZARD!? NO! OHHHH 🎶SOMEBODY CATCHA ME!"

Contestina dramatically falls backwards but Cliff leaps over her luggage to catch her just in time.

Cliff:

"I've got you madame! Ooof! Somebody, help??"

#the sims 2 #ts2 pictures #ts2 screenshots #ts2 neighborhood #ts2 scenery #sims 2 #cottage hills #sims 2 simblr #harvest moon tree of life

[alittlextrathatway]

Penelope/Colin: “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”

YAY SOMETHING BESIDES BRETTSEY. (Not that I don’t love them.) I’ve never written Polin before! I’m excited to play! 🙌🏻 Thank you!

How about a modern AU for this one? Just cause.

******

It all started because of the pandemic.

He’d been perfectly happy traveling. It’s not like he had anything else to occupy his time. He wasn’t particularly talented and he didn’t have any hobbies or interests. Aside from eating but he doubted his mother would approve of him becoming one of those professional hot dog eaters and he didn’t care enough for the piddly portions of fine dining to become a food critic.

The only thing that truly distracts him from his lack of drive or ambition is traveling — learning about the world and it’s many cultures.

He has journal after journal full of his discoveries and experiences. Travel is really his only love.

Which is why he’d stopped and started his studies so many times. He took a year between high school and college to backpack through Europe. Then another year after freshman year to “study abroad”, not that he actually studied. Which is why his mother forced him to come back and finish his third year stateside. After that, he’d set off traveling again. Every year he found another excuse not to come home for any longer than a month or two, allowing him to put off his final year.

It’s not as if he’s getting a degree in anything useful. He’s an English major. And it’s not as if his career isn’t already decided for him. Upon graduation he’ll be given an office at Bridgerton Family Publishing. Doing what? Well, no one knows. Not even him.

So, what’s the rush?

He’d still be gone abroad right now if not for COVID forcing him to return home. God, he hates 2020. What a waste of a year. He came home too late for the spring 2020 term so he’s spent the last several months going absolutely crazy.

He’s a man of the world who is not being allowed to go out and see it. He can’t imagine anything more cruel.

Actually, no, he takes that back. There’s one thing:

Using the time he’s forced to stay in Mayfair to discover he’s completely and stupidly in love with his little sister’s best friend.

The friend who overheard him, last time he was home for any considerable length of time, declaring to his brothers that he would never be interested in her.

Because, of course, Colin Bridgerton is a colossal jackass who doesn’t know a good thing when it’s been staring him in the face his entire life.

There’s laughter coming from the direction of the foyer. Very distinctive laughing. One high and tinkling like a pretty little bell and the other deeper and hoarser. The alto to the other’s soprano. The alto in this case is his younger sister, Eloise, and the soprano is Penelope.

The woman he should have noticed long before now.

He gets up from where he’s lounging on the sofa, mournfully watching the Travel Channel, and takes his plate full of sandwiches with him.

He finds them giggling and applying lipstick in the mirror by the front door. They look dressed to go out. Eloise in her slick tailored pant suit and intricately adorned lace top, in monochromatic lavender. And Penelope in…

Holy shit, what is that?

Apparently, it’s the instrument of his imminent death if the erratic beating of his heart is any indication. He’s going to have some sort of attack and go into cardiac arrest right here in the foyer of his childhood home.

It’s a tight forest green dress that has an off the shoulder neckline. It hugs her curves so perfectly that he thinks someone must have sewn it onto her. It shows the perfect amount of skin along her neck and shoulders, giving just a tiny glimpse of cleavage.

And she’s had a haircut since she was here yesterday. Her ginger locks now rest against her cheeks in a wavy stylish bob. She was beautiful before. He was never blind to that as some other people around Pen have proven to be, but now...

She’s absolutely stunning.

So stunning that other people will surely see what he sees. And he’s grateful for that, truly. She deserves to be seen as she is — brilliant and beautiful — but that means he’s about to have competition while trying to win her over. And he is not grateful for that.

He’s been trying to be more forward with her when they’re alone but that doesn’t happen often and he’s not sure Penelope takes him very seriously. (No one does.) She seems to always be in disbelief when he flirts with her.

“Where are you two off to?” He asks, leaning against the wall opposite the mirror.

“Double date,” Eloise says, fluffing her hair in the mirror. “Pen arranged it. She met someone extremely gorgeous at the library today.”

Penelope blushes and grins demurely. “It’s the magic of a fresh cut,” she says motioning to her new hair. “He was there with his friend and we were all scrambling for resources for our bibliographies together and he asked if I wanted to get dinner and I asked if Eloise could come. No big deal.”

“It doesn’t look as if it’s not a big deal,” Colin observes, his gaze sweeping over Penelope from head to toe.

“His father owns that new super exclusive restaurant Kate’s been begging Anthony to take her too. You know, La Table Gourmande?” Eloise explains.

“The one that told Anthony the next available reservation was in two months? That restaurant?” Colin asks, trying not to scowl.

Really, there was no need for this guy to show off. He seems a bit full of himself.

“That’s the one,” Penelope replies with a nod. “He says he can get us the Chef’s table tonight. I’ve never done anything like that before. It sounds exciting. Might be the closest I ever get to authentic French cuisine. For a while anyway.”

Okay, so now he feels like a heel for wanting to keep her from going out. He knows he’s lucky his family is so well off. It allows him to travel. Penelope’s family, while not destitute, has spent most of their surplus funds putting three daughters, soon to be a fourth, through school. In fact, if not for a distant rich aunt who died they wouldn’t even have been able to afford that.

Any money Penelope used to travel would have to be her own, and he isn’t sure how much of that she has.

“Pen,” Eloise calls, interrupting Colin’s thoughts. “Have you seen my clutch? Did I bring it down?”

“I don’t see it anywhere,” Penelope says with a shake of her head. “Did you leave it on your dresser?”

Eloise groans in irritation, turning toward the main staircase of their massive house. “I guess I did. I’ll be right back.”

Finally, they’re alone. Colin clears his throat and sets the plate of sandwiches he’d been snacking on down on the hall table. He crosses the space until he’s standing mere inches away from her.

“Don’t go out tonight. I can take you somewhere else. Somewhere better,” Colin suggests.

“Better?” Penelope asks skeptically.

He nods. “I have a friend who opened a restaurant here that I met while I was in Nice. It’s smaller than that La Table Gourmand monstrosity and not quite considered fine dining but it’s real. It’s better. It’ll be closer to actually being in France than anything in that obnoxious place.”

“I don’t see why I can’t go with Marcus tonight and then you some other time,” she tells him, lifting one perfect brow and pursing her lips.

“This guy sounds like a prick,” Colin says with a scoff. “Bragging about his father’s connections on the first date? That’s not a good sign, Pen. Trust me, I know these things. I’m a guy.”

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, a small knowing grin on her lips. “But I think I should decide that for myself. Don’t you?”

That grin…

She knows exactly what he’s trying to do.

She’s being difficult on purpose.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave,” she challenges him, continuing to grin smugly.

Well, if that’s the game she wants to play then so be it.

“Why waste a night figuring out what I already know when you could just let me take you out instead for what, we both know, would be a better time?” Colin asks, caressing the length of Penelope’s arm with a light tender touch.

She sucks in a breath at the contact, but doesn’t show any weakness in her expression. “Yes, but going out with Marcus would be a date that might actually lead to something. What would be the purpose of ditching a real date for you instead?”

“Oh, you want it to lead to something?” He asks, a smirk growing on his face as he backs her up toward the wall.

“Y—yes,” she stammers, her grin slipping as nerves shine in her eyes.

Her back hits the wall and he brings one hand to her cheek, cupping her face and trailing his thumb along her cheekbone.

He leans down, nearly closing the distance between them but stops just short of kissing her. “Come out with me, Pen, and you can choose where it leads. I’ll give you whatever future I have, even if I have no idea what it is. You set the terms, you call the shots.”

Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush but she instinctively leans into his hand. Call him a cocky bastard, but that’s the moment he knows he’s won. The moment he knows she’ll choose him.

“I set the terms?” She asks, biting her bottom lip while she stares at his.

He nods, waiting for the moment she leans up and kisses him.

“Well, then you know what I think?” She asks, rhetorically while she rests a hand on his chest.

“Tell me,” he pleads.

She smiles wickedly and pushes him away by one step. “I think you could do with some healthy competition.”

She sidesteps him and saunters off to the front door, leaving him gaping at her like a fool.

Like a besotted, astonished, completely smitten fool.

Eloise reappears, patting Colin’s shoulder as she follows after Penelope. “Tell mom we’ll be back late.”

They leave, the door shuts, and all he can think is…

Well played, Penelope Featherington.

But the Bridgertons are famously competitive and this game is only just beginning. He’ll win her over yet.

Wait and see.

#bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #polin #fanfiction #my fic #angellwings writes #fanfiction prompt game #ask prompt #long post #SORRY THIS IS LONG FOR A TUMBLR PROMPT 😬 #new ship for me so be gentle 🙏🏻

[celsidebottom]

I decided that it’s time for me to come up with a self-insert oc for rqg since I’ve already made one for tma SO

It’s all very vague at this point but what I have is this

Their name is Smidge, they’re half gnome, half dwarf, who lived in Eiffel’s Folly for pretty much their entire life.  They tinkered and worked on repairing the latest technology sweeping Paris but they didn’t just want to fix things, they wanted to make new things, so they got a job working on airships.  It’s a lot of hauling cargo and checking over manifests, but when it comes to repairs?  There aren’t many rules to be followed so long as the ship gets off the ground, giving them the freedom to tinker and invent. 

Earhart obviously noticed this when she docked in Paris and almost instantly offered Smidge a job, but Smidge turned her down on account of ‘responsibilities that keep them there.’  But when Mr. Ceiling is destroyed, Paris falls into chaos, and eyes turn to Eiffel’s Folly and the Gourmand, Smidge decides that it’s time to get out. 

They flee to the airport and wind up on the same craft that carries the London Rangers (we’re still working on the name) out of Paris, but they don’t interact with them much.  After seeing Eiffel’s Folly destroyed, they hide out in a cabin and refuse to leave.  Earhart starts bringing them meals when she notices that Smidge isn’t moving around or eating, giving them someone to talk to if they so desire.  For a few days, Smidge doesn’t talk to her and barely touches the food, but they start to open up after a while.  They tell Earhart that they’ve never left Paris and the only responsibilities keeping them from leaving were the fear of the unknown and abandoning the only home they’ve ever had.  Not as if it matters much now that the city is on fire, of course.

Earhart in turn gives Smidge time to talk and to think but then offers them a job again, working on her ship as a mechanic, along with a full explanation that they are smugglers and Harlequins.  Smidge didn’t have much interest in politics - the only real leader they had to worry about was the Gourmand - but after seeing a meritocrat destroy their home?  They may not be out for vengeance, but they’re not opposed to the idea either.  (SPOILERS for the latest eps: they’re not quite Earhart levels of “I want to kill all the meritocrats and anything even related to a dragon” but they’re also suddenly very interested in a world that doesn’t give them the carte blanche to do as they wish.) 

Smidge has no idea where to go, no family elsewhere, so they accept the job and start working on Earhart’s crew, making the sort of iffy yet dramatic tweaks to the system that let them fit right in.  They’re a bit larger than the entirely gnome crew, but they speak gnomish, so they manage.  They also start teaching Earhart French (don’t remember if she knows it in canon but shh it’s fine) and Earhart teaches them English. 

Now that Smidge has left Paris, they are mesmerized by all of the cities to which they get to travel.  The floating university in Prague is the moment they realize that they know nothing of the world and it’s time to see it.  Sure, they won’t have too much opportunity while working, but even the smallest glimpse will be worth it. 

I don’t have much more than this yet, but I do know that the crew ends up in Hiroshima (long before the setting of the current eps and the blue veins) and Smidge gets a photo taken with Earhart, like a magic polaroid, and they each keep a copy and (More Spoilers!!) Earhart has hers on her when she’s mourning the loss of her ship and her crew because they weren’t just her crew they were her friends, they were her family and it’s her fault that they’re gone. 

(Depending on how attached to Smidge I get they may or may not have survived that attack and they’re just kind of wandering around trying to figure out where to go next.  I had an idea that the first time they lose their footing and fall overboard from the airship, even with the harness, they decide that that is HORRIBLE, so the next time they get a break, they take some of their hefty savings - including some white gold sewn into their clothes - and buy some boots of feather fall or something of the like.  I don’t think those necessarily exist in Pathfinder but they do now because I make the rules.  Anyway, that means that they could potentially survive the explosion and the attack, but they are lost in the wilderness without a ship and without a crew and without an Earhart and they’re back to being alone and homeless, unsure of where to go next.)

#rqg #combat skirt out #rambling about my ocs #I need a last name for them but I love them #they are sad but so in awe of everything #and ready to punch a dragon so #they fit right in lol #my oc: Smidge #I also know zero French so we're kind of winging it but you know #they're on an airship it's fine

[liaswritesrobots]

Lias stared out the window, enjoying the view of Thra as they passed by. The planet had such strange and beautiful plants, and the animals that ran about were equally strange and so cute.

Across from them The Emperor sat still, looking them over with his icy stare, before finally speaking, "Do you know why I asked you to accompany me on my travel?"

Lias pulled their attention to SkekSo, "Because I'm something completely new to you and you're curious?" They say guessing.

The Emperor gives a small smile, "You are correct in that. But there is more to it. I am curious, certainly, and while I am curious about you and your kind... I'm far more curious as to how you've seemed to enchant my entire court," he says moving his clawed hand in a sweeping motion, "It is no surprise that you and The Chamberlain are close as you two were trapped together for some time. I haven't gotten the chance to properly thank you for returning him to me by the way, he is one of my most trusted advisors and losing him would prove to be...unsuitable. You deserve a reward for that."

"Oh, you don't have to, I wasn't going to just leave him there."

"I will arrange a banquet for you for returning him to the castle."

"Really it's ok I-"

"I insist." The look in his eyes says he won't back down and take no for an answer in this matter so Lias just gives a nod of thanks to him.

"Now back to the matter at hand. I've noticed you've become quite close with The Scientist as well. The Scroll Keeper, The Gourmand, and The Ornamentalist are quite fond of you too, as is The Collector, surprisingly." He taps his fingers on his scepter, "Even The Ritual Master and The General have a respect for you, that is a hard task to accomplish, especially if you are not a skeksis."

Lias can feel the tension in the air as every word rolls off his tongue and they look down at their hands resting on their knees.

"So I have to wonder," he starts, placing his scepter under their chin and tilting their head up to meet his icy blue eyes, "Just what is so interesting about you that has my court so charmed, hm?"

"I... I don't know? I guess I've just always been rather easy to get along with. Most people I meet tend to like something about me."

He smirks, letting out a soft chuckle that's barely audible. He removes his scepter but Lias' attention lingers on him for several moments before they avert their eyes elsewhere. The rest of the carriage ride back to the palace is rather silent. Lias assumes their answer must have been enough because he doesn't bring it back up, not even when they arrive back at The Castle of the Crystal.

They do wonder why it was brought up though. Is it really so odd for the skeksis to get along with someone? Or maybe he just found it odd that they'd all get along with one person when each of their personalities were so different. Still, it was a bit odd to them, but they'll try not to think too much of it.

#The Dark Crystal #SkekSo #SkekSo The Emperor #TDCAOR #the dark crystal age of resistance #self insert #self ship #my writing

[crimedesert2-blog]

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[skekiss]

for anyone interested here’s the first little (unfinished) opening segment of the first chapter of a wip fanfic. warning: many skeksis under the cut

'Another! ANOTHER! Tell me another one!'

The Emperor roared. Raucous laughter followed, echoed in the near empty open chamber of the high banqueting hall. Cruel and mocking, wicked pleasure rang off the stony tarnished walls, over and over, filling the candlelit chasm with a cacophony of snarling, snapping, cawing, clawing. Barking, biting, sneering. The Skeksis Lords were gathered together at their long table, settling into their spaces, ready to dine. 

It was SkekLi at the Emperor's ear during the starting course, the Satirist reciting a story of his own imaginings, peppered with mention of the Emperor's impressive eternal rule, he wielded his long, scaly arms, with grand and sweeping gestures, ruffled sleeves dragged through cold and acrid soup. The beady, gleaming eyes of the Emperor, far too enraptured to notice his meal had been soiled. As SkekLi, the Satirist, graciously appealed to SkekSo's dark and wicked sense of humour, and to his ego, in unrivalled manner. Silver tongued and skillful, SkekLi had taken it upon himself as the entertainment of tonight’s dinner. 

Clawed fists curled tightly, they beat their bony knuckles against the table, as the Skeksis erupted in a bout of cackles again at SkekLi's woven tale. Silverware trembled, liquid sloshed and spattered from their metal goblets. Those seated closest to the Emperor, and to SkekLi, erupted into another violent chorus of sniggers and howls. The Ritual Master, the Treasurer, the Scroll-Keeper, the Ornamentalist, the General -- even the Gourmand, all crowing and screeching, flailing and falling into one another. 

SkekKa's maroon eyes narrowed enviously. From his seat at the very far end of the banquet, he just wasn't in on the joke. Unable to hear the story over the excitement of the others, he was left only to his imaginings of what could possibly be this funny. To make matters worse, with all of the rumbling, the stomping and stamping surrounding the Emperor, SkekKa's goblet tipped over and flooded his plate, it bled into his viscous soup and rolled with a clink, clink, clink onto to the floor. He groaned. He was thirsty and famished. His skull ached from the racket, his belly bloated by hunger, his throat hoarse with thirst. 

Unlike the other Skeksis at the table, pouring their soup down into their gullets, overspill running from their open snapping maws staining their collars, gowns and furs, SkekKa at the very end of the table would now instead have to wait for mains to be served, stomach whining. He sighed, glared, shifted with impatience and irritability. After all, it wasn't just his seat at the table nor his lack of food that segregated him from the other Lords at the banquet. 

SkekKa, though taller and spine straighter than the other Skeksis, and appearing stern and somewhat respectable at a glance, he had been unable to hide his frailty, nor his glaring differences from the rest. And so, SkekKa was often ignored or avoided, as though his difference was some disease they could catch, as though his weakness contagious, the other Skeksis refused to to take their chances with him. Often left to his own devices, his own sole company.

SkekKa wasn’t diseased, though he was very thin and with very little strength in his spiny limbs, he avoided violence and conflict, much to the disgust and shame of the other Lords, whenever he was cornered and confronted.

He equally just wasn't as crass, his voice carried a quieter, gentler tone -- of which the others loathed and mocked with much delight. SkekKa had soon realised he made a far better listener, only by staying so quiet and withdrawing from conversation, his presence became less and less noticeable amongst the noisy, obscene Skeksis. Unable to compete with them, SkekKa was often forgotten.

Even his dress was muted, compared to the others. He carried less layers, due to struggling under the weight of the cloaks, ruffled, metals and jewels. SkekKa donned only rags, having scavenged for scraps, discarded materials from the Ornamentalist’s extensive dresser. Though this was not so much by choice of his, that didn't matter at all to the other Skeksis, they found his ravaged appearance to be insulting to their fine, ornate species. 

Then, impossible for SkekKa to change, was his shuffling gait. Having to walk with a cane ever since the early days hadn't helped in his appeal - - as he suffered not through gnarly injury or battle or any other bold and bloody claim - - his cane he’d carved for himself was just to steady and ease his awkward limp of which he’d been borne with. A weakness the Skeksis found entirely insufferable.

They called him soft, a runt, among other far worse things. ‘I’m not quite certain you’re even really a Skeksis!’ SkekTek had claimed once, when examining SkekKa’s withered leg and chuckling coldly. Others too, considered this. It was only SkekKa that doubted the Scientist’s credibility. 

SkekKa eyed the cavernous corridor that led down to the kitchens anticipating the next round of food, his belly cramping with insatiable hunger. Usually the Emperor would have barked for the next course by now, but so engaged were they all with SkekLi’s jokes, SkekSo had yet to call for more. Again SkekKa stared down the length of the table, hungry, thirsty and furiously jealous.

Between SkekKa and thoroughly entertained gathering, there were a few Skeksis that appeared to be skipping tonight’s mealtime, he noted, from the spaces left, their silver plates shining and empty. The Scientist, for one, was thankfully absent, most likely tinkering down in the bowels of the Castle with his metals, his potions, his flurry of frightened caged creatures. SkekNa would be down in the kitchen threatening his slaves, and SkekSa’s seat was always empty. She preferred the salted wind and sea to the confines of their Castle keep. So, where was the…

‘Hmmmmmmmmmm?’

The Chamberlain.

His whine, high and tuneless split the laughter, as SkekSil shuffled into the hall dragging all of his layers and layers of crimson, of black, frills, ruffs, almost suffocatingly covered and crippled by the mass of them. Silence, finally, descended upon the banquet at his entrance.

‘Ugh,’ the Emperor grunted, ‘that noise.’ 

The other Skeksis too looked towards him with disdain, but the Chamberlain didn’t respond nor appear to even care for their unpleasant reactions, his simper steadfast, bowing his head -- the slightest shift before the Emperor -- he ambled towards a seat for himself at the table, the seat that was spare next to SkekKa.

‘Many missing. Wonder where SkekUng might be,’ the Chamberlain said, sliding in next to SkekKa and somewhat pushing him aside. SkekKa then realised, SkekUng too had not yet made an appearance, his great hulking form and bellowing voice was not present at all in the chamber.

‘Very curious,’ the Chamberlain continued. 

SkekKa hadn’t thought much of it -- and rarely ever was he included in gossip, save for what he overheard. Left out, outcast, SkekKa knew very little of the happenings in the castle, much unlike the Chamberlain, who made sure to make such things his business, as was his nature. 

‘I hear SkekUng has found breakthrough with making a beast.’

‘A beast?’ SkekKa’s muddy red eyes flitted to SkekSil for the first time.

‘Hmmmmmm.’ The Chamberlain nodded fervently as he whined.

‘A beast? What for?’

‘MORE!’ Cried the Emperor. This time, it wasn’t for another of SkekLi’s stories, but for food. ‘Bring me my main course!’ Main course, main course, main course, came the giggling chants of the other Lords.

‘SkekSil --’ SkekKa pressed, but the Chamberlain’s attention was drawn to the cavern at the sound of their chanting, the clunking of metal on stone. A deliberate, slow dragging sound, closer and closer. Thurump - thurump - thurump.

Finally, SkekNa, the Slave-master, appeared at the mouth with his hoard, dragging his many gelfling along in tow, linked by chain, they stumbled, single file, slumped, sweaty and tired, each carrying a bowl, a plate or cloche, covering all manner of cooked foods to the table. A Skeksis of little words, his features severe, his expression solely unforgiving.

Exhausted from the torturous heat of the kitchens, the gelfling train couldn’t keep time with their master. SkekNa hissed at them loudly, mouth wide and baring all of his teeth, snapping viciously at another who squeaked at his rage. With all their flinching and dodging, the last in the long line of gelfling fell to his face. Everyone laughed, save for SkekSil and SkekKa -- watching as the captured creatures, small and fuzzy like soot, bounced from their crashing container and scattered the floor. The Chamberlain’s gaze followed one, right out the door and away.

SkekLi’s evening entertainment had meant the Skeksis were in an unusually good mood and so even when faced with the wastefulness of the fallen gelfling they barked with malicious laughter. Even SkekNa, who had screamed murderously at his gelfling slave’s mistake, snorted at it struggling back to its feet. Yanking the chains again roughly so that all of them were jerked around, whiplashed and desperate not to lose their footing.

The gelfling male was emaciated and could barely stand, breathing hard. His sunken cheeks and frightened, dark and wild eyes were ringed by deep shadow. His features mostly hidden behind ratty dark hair, uneveningly hacked at. His pale flesh spattered with shining scars. He was trembling, arms wrapped at his waist, bare arms bandaged from his hands to his elbows, crusted with old, brown blood, and blossoming with bright red anew. Burns.

‘I… I’m sorry, m’Lord,’ the gelfling bowed low as he could, smarting and panting.

‘Silence!’ Hissed SkekNa.

‘Oh, you are forgiven.’ The Emperor said, his cold eyes glinting in the flickering candle-light.

The gelfling bowed again, brought to tears. ‘My Lord.’

‘Take that one down to SkekTek.’ The Emperor pointed viciously, an order to SkekNa.‘See that this one’s ailments are seen to.’ A joke of his own, the Skeksis cackled again, clutching their sides and clawing the table.

The gelfing’s eyes grew wide as the Slave-master swept towards him, unhooking him from the link of his kind.

‘No -- wait -- I --’

SkekNa dragged the gelfling viciously by the chain. 

‘It won’t happen again I --’

Taking a clawful of the gelfling’s tattered hair, SkekNa heaved him across the stone. The other slaves looked on with fear as their master separated himself from them, unfastening their metal leash from his belt, forcibly pulling their fallen comrade from the hall. Nails scraped and the gelfling cried out in pain, choking and spluttering still that he was sorry -- it won’t happen again -- drowned out by the jeering and cheering of the Skeksis, tongues lolling and clapping and peeling with laughter.

‘That it won’t!’ The Emperor roared. ‘Now let’s eat!’

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[greysfic]

A Traveller’s Guide to Hell

A TRAVELLER'S GUIDE TO HELL by various authors Preface by the editor, Ronaldo the White Mage

When my benefactor, who has requested not to be named, asked me to write a travelogue of the Demon Realm, I was at once flattered and intimidated. Indeed, for a master of the arcane such as myself, there could be no more logical choice - and yet how is a mortal man to map the sweeping grandeur of Hell's vast surface?

As the truest of sorcery lies in the commingling of Magics, so it would have to be that such a priceless grimoire be assembled by the finest minds and most well-travelled personages to be found in Pandemonium. While one cannot know everything of this vast plane, and indeed attempting to do so is guaranteed to offend some among the Nobility, it is my sincere belief that this document will be sufficient to apprise the reader of what to expect should they find themselves free and living in the Eternal.

Herein you will find; guides to Hell's finest cities penned by renowned gourmand Brenal the Tumescent; a useful glossary of religious orders and martial philosophies from the hand of Taina Onestrike; political insights offered by noted journalist and wanted fugitive Eight-Eyed Salaam; reviews of the best public houses in the Ur-City; and of course, a humble treatise on the ecologies of the Demon Realm painstakingly assembled by yours truly.

Take heart, dear reader, for though the wonders of the Eternal might seem frightening now, with this book in hand you will soon learn to find - and love - your place in the Infernal Hierarchy.

I wish you safe travels and the Trickster's own luck,

Professor Ronaldo the White, B.Th, Archmage, Dean of Malevolent Geography, University of Spinward Doldrum (GO COELACANTHS)

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