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modern-inheritance · 1 year

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Modern Inheritance Cycle as Vines

Ignore the shitty quality. Have some Modern Inheritance Cycle as vines!

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magicandmundane · 1 year

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Eragon, through a mental link: All right, I’m here, open up.

Murtagh: …

Murtagh: As a child I was forced to eat dog food for dinner—

Eragon: Open the fucking door—

#in anticipation of the murtagh book #if something like this doesn’t happen i will be having words with christopher #yeah yeah eragon is a lot nicer than that but it’s funny because it’s from vine #the inheritance cycle #the inheritance cycle incorrect quotes #christopher paolini #the world of eragon #eragon shadeslayer #murtagh #source: vine

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dailyadventureprompts · 8 months

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Adventure: Through the Vine

Surrounded by some of the most coveted vineyards on the continent, your party sits in the shaded garden and listens to the old alchemist explaining why she needs your help getting drunk enough to see the face of god.

Every adventurer knows the name Ultani, at least those with coin and taste enough to order bottles of wine when they and their friends hit up a tavern after a delve. What an irony then for one of the Ultani family to ask for THEM at her table, and with a business proposition of all things.

Bent with age but bright of eye, Ivilia Ultani needs their help tracking down the location of an abandoned druid sanctum in the far wilderness and retrieving fruit sacred to the god of vintners and healers left over from a disastrous ritual. Her reasons? Apparently after decades perusing the alchemical mysteries Ivilia got her hands on a bottle blessed by the wine-god himself, and spent four days in a state of drunken revelation pencilling out her magnum opus. The bottle and her inspiration dry just before she finished, so rather than waiting years trying to trial and error the last piece or searching for another bottle she's decided to make some of her own.

Along the way the party will contend with family drama, the cutthroat politics of the wine trade, and the long echoing consequences of stealing from merciful gods. For their troubles they'll not only earn the thanks of a talented alchemist, but also potentially a new home should they hold true to their task.

Setup: Though she is the oldest of her of her merchant clan Ivilia is not the head of the Ultani winery. Her younger brother Valtar had the talent for cultivation and business while she veered towards eccentric scholarship, now Valtar's adult grandchildren run the business and the numerous sprawling vineyards associated with it while she lives in learned obscurity on the original family homestead.

While she occasionally helps out whit a new formulation of fertilizer or pest repellent, Ivilia is rather distant from the rest of the Ultani family who view her as a bit of a kook, who all to often uses her inherited share of the enterprise to buy obscure texts or finance futile experiments.

Challenges & Complications:

Actually finding the sanctum is going to be half the problem. Druidic orders are notoriously protective about the location of their secret clubhouses, and this order was scattered to the wind more than a century ago. Ivilia has tracked down the vague location where she thinks the sanctum might be, but unless the party wants to spend days combing the dangerous wilderness they're going to need to track down a more reliable source. Parsing through local rumours and records gives them three leads, an elf who still provides council to the local Count (goodluck getting an appointment), a vaguely helpful ditty that was recounted to a local bard (since dramatized in endless retelling), and an elder of the order who flew back to his home village in the shape of a falcon. Investigating the latter finds that the elder was apparently so scarred by what he'd seen at the sanctum that he transformed himself into a tree and has spent the intervening decades letting his mind and memory lignify.

The Sanctum itself and the landscape that surrounds it has been scarred by an act of divine wrath that still lingers in the form of dangerous fey and choking vines. Roots have undermined the walls and foundations, making chambers all to easy to collapse. In the centre of this ruin lays the undead corpse of Elmgrace , a once famed elven healer who sought the boon of the god Litirenn only to try and use that gift to reign the god towards his own purposes. Resentful at this deception Litirenn unleashed havoc on the sanctum, cursing Elmgrace never to die, never to rot, and never to rejoin the cycle of nature. Forever vinebound to the same altar he intended for the deity, Elmgrace's few last fanatical followers still tend to his broken body, attempting to brew up more potent poisons that will finally "free" their teacher from his torment.

Unfortunately, the fruit the party needs to pluck grows only from the plants impaling Elmgrace's body, which his followers are very protective of. Even after the party races through the wilderness and back to civilization with their prize they'll need to look over their shoulder for toxin obsessed cultists stalking their trail.

Further Adventures:

Milo Ultani has something to prove, the oldest of four siblings and a gaggle of cousins poised to inherit the winery he was raised to value hard work and loyalty to the family above all else. All his life it has irked him that his great aunt was allowed to dwell in their ancestral home, some of the nicest land his family owns, leaching off their enterprise like a withered limb. What finally drives him to act is Ivilia offhandedly mentioning that she intends to sign over her house and land to the party as a reward for helping her drink her way to enlightenment again. Resentment turns to rage in the young man's mind as a plan begins to form; A vine must be pruned in order to be fruitful after all.

When the party return with the godly fruit they're going to find Ivilia gone, her home broken into during the night her bed a mess of red that at first seems to be blood, but is infact wine. Surrounded by experts it doesn't take long for the vino in question to be identified as belonging to Jadash Hill, one of the Ultani's oldest rivals who are known for their unscrupulous business practices. It's at this point that Milo comes forward, reporting that some of their carters had gotten into brawls with those from Jadash Hill at a local tollhouse, sending the bastards packing and ignoring their threats of reprisal as idle boasting. This did indeed happen, but only because Milo is in charge of part of the family's delivery operation and instigated the fight himself.

The clock is ticking, the party has a bushel of miracle fruit that's going to rot and the alchemist they were supposed to deliver it to is nowhere to be seen. They can either find Ivilia quick, figure out a method of preserving the fruit, or read through her notes and attempt to concoct the divine wine themselves.

However badly he thinks of her, Milo would never kill his great aunt, having instead had his loyal carters drag her off to a small cottage on the edge of a property the family was keeping fallow for the year. In his reckoning the old woman won't live much longer, and while the emerging feud with Jadash hill keeps the family busy he can figure out a better place to keep his great aunt locked up. He wasn't delicate in his planning but he moves fast and the influence he has with the workforce as the presumptive heir cannot be overstated.

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#dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #adventure #dungeon #player home #Alchemy #mid level #low level #Litirenn #field #Forest #druid #patron merchant #dungeon forest #dungeon jungle

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churchobones · 2 months

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DWC Day 4: Vengeance

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“And then... I remember...”

Bruce looked down at his arm. His skin was pale as the waning moonlight, black veins writhing with every weakened pulse of his heart. His head swam, vision dim and distant.

Bruce looked up. “The Red Witch. What do you know of her?”

The little lord pursed his lips.

“The legend of E’Andusore… The whore told you, did she?” The shards of whispering shadow framing his head began to spin, building momentum. “It’s a tale lost to most of my people.

“She was a vicious crone who haunted a powerful magic circle; she and her nightmare hound, Narral’thix. The sacred site held the key to Life after Death; the natural cycle made manifest in mana. A power she used to butcher innocents and turn farmland fallow.

“As the story goes,” the lord smiled grimly. “She ate the dog’s heart to tap into the circle’s power, raising a mighty tree surrounded by a bramble thicket miles wide that only she could pass through unscathed.

“Until the Lady came with fire. A mother desperate to save her son.”

“Three times I've asked about that story now. The first time I heard it, She shared Her memory with me-- that old Oak Tree.”

Bruce's jaw set as the plaintive mew of a kitten long passed echoed in his mind. In that mansion, where Zelion’s family portraits lined the walls and an Oak Tree split the marble floors, he'd heard her cries.

Her coat was mottled brown with camouflage not yet shed. Milk teeth flashed in the darkness. Paws too big for her scrambled, begging purchase.

Emerald magicks flared outwards from his touch, along the grooves of the Oak’s bark, scrawling up and down the trunk. A whistling shimmer grew twice as loud from below, a tremor taking the ballroom floor felt up through the soles of his feet to his knees; enough to require bracing but not enough to steal his legs out from beneath him. The floor splintered beneath the kit’s paws, a desperate cry falling away into the darkness below until there was nothing left to be heard but the burgeoning hum of the awakened tree.

She regarded him with a tingle that remained in his fingertips and pricked at his thumbs. The Oak spoke only by willing a single word to the forefront of his mind: Vengeance.

Her bark served him as second eyes, racing down Her formidable length past the vine covered, stone walls of the cellars, deeper still past crypts, dirt, stone, bone until they reached where Her strongest roots anchored. She was framed by a circle of fallen trees, Her roots wrapped protectively over an ancient altar of jasper. The dead lynx cub’s broken back never made it to the stone.

And then the Oak stood silent.

“I was wondering if I’m no better off than that kitten when Kallarel--”

The smell of sulfur filled the worgen's lungs. Hellfire: the scent which lingered as the bramble brands crawled into skin; the scent which pierced the air with every lit cigarette. He focused on the sickening sweetness alone.

One by one, the arch over his heart gave way as Kallarel tore into the hallway, a manifested monster hot on her high heels with a blazing green gem alight in a chest once empty.

By the third spout of blighted blood, the witch was upon them; beauty, beast and burden all.

By the fourth, her hands were alight with a green fire to match the flame licking the demon’s panting tongue.

By the fifth, the lord’s prone figure was cloaked in cold shadow, absconded without a trace apart from the faintest flicker of rot against the nostrils before the witch could claim him.

And as the last of Zelion’s void crystals burst in Bruce’s chest, the haphazardly placed shard split in two with a deafening crack.

“I can’t... I can’t have died that night. I didn’t. But I dreamed. I dreamed... I was in a house-- the house in Gilneas. With my wife-- with my dead wife, Sophia.”

It was shamefully small, that old cabin in Gilneas. Sophia had given up everything for him-- lands, titles and inheritance. In exchange, Bruce had built a shack with leaky walls and slept with her on the far side of the kitchen for fourteen years.

Now they sat across from one another at the dinner table.

“I thought it might come to this.”

Bruce felt sick. There was a teacup in front of him, which rattled quietly.

“I miss you,” he said. Her face was just as he remembered it; prominent cheeks smattered with freckles and a button nose.

She rolled her eyes-- big, stormy and blue. The same ones he saw every time he looked at his daughter. “You’re doing fine without me.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be. I mean it. I'm proud of how Lizzie turned out. But if you want, you can join me now. You can rest.”

The knot in his stomach twisted.

“You don’t have to,” she went on. “Not everyone gets a choice, but you will.”

The tips of his fingers felt cold as ice. The table trembled below.

She smiled. It was warm and remarkably genuine-- like a candle in the night. “I know this is what you want, Bruce.”

The support beams above his head cracked. Dust fell in a plume, rippling his tea.

“Just know--” she hesitated, expression soft-- “you’re messing with powers you don’t understand. The Gods may never forgive you for this.”

His chest squeezed. He couldn’t breathe.

“But I'll help guide you home,” she said.

@daily-writing-challenge

#dwc2024 #comorbid-insomnia #suntwistscribbles

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grislyintentions · 4 months

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Aeon x Aeon Species Concept [1]

Abundance + Propagation (Emanators or otherwise)

-True Stings produced by their union possess significantly short lifespans but are able to spawn more copies of themselves at a faster rate -They will be blessed with stronger exoskeletons (greatly improving their resistance to damage) and a sweeter cloying scent that slowly poisons their prey on top of their own hallucination-inducing fibres.

Abundance + Elation -The greatest cosmic joke of the planetary cycle (for now) -Shapeless; a VIRAL disease that is spread through music and laughter (spores in lungs), resulting in the afflicted losing their identity in the throes of uncontrollable mania -The afflicted are always in constant motion, seeking sources of entertainment or making themselves a part of it, altogether forming ecstasy at a feverish pitch; reality distorting, they become part of a "faerie circle"

Abundance + Destruction

-Antimatter legion, if not properly destroyed, will fuse together into an amalgamation of their former shapes (creation, fusion, destruction > an endless cycle) and inherit the abilities accordingly -Self-destructive melting core that explodes into molten lava, from which golden vines spring forth to cage the closest person within, until they perish together

Abundance + Hunt

-Mara-stricken soldiers with enhanced resistance to damage and double the revival rate, bound to a single-minded pursuit. -Parasitic beasts and humans alike designed with the drive to endlessly seek and kill one another, further spreading the maddening disease through flesh, blood and breath. Abundance + Erudition

-Messy fusion of organic and non-organic materials (humanoid machines or humans with machine parts), leading to constant dissonance over identity and confusion/depressive existence -Adaptable, forever changing and finetuning abominations that could provide assistance in multiple fields of knowledge at the steep price of...something organic in return

#[just some...thoughts. i might come up with more when more info is gotten about the aeons. if there are ones youd like to see pls lmk :3]#body horror cw

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 7 months

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8th October >> Mass Readings (USA)

Twenty Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

(Liturgical Colour: Green: A (1))

First Reading Isaiah 5:1–7 The vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel.

Let me now sing of my friend, my friend’s song concerning his vineyard. My friend had a vineyard on a fertile hillside; he spaded it, cleared it of stones, and planted the choicest vines; within it he built a watchtower, and hewed out a wine press. Then he looked for the crop of grapes, but what it yielded was wild grapes.

Now, inhabitants of Jerusalem and people of Judah, judge between me and my vineyard: What more was there to do for my vineyard that I had not done? Why, when I looked for the crop of grapes, did it bring forth wild grapes? Now, I will let you know what I mean to do with my vineyard: take away its hedge, give it to grazing, break through its wall, let it be trampled! Yes, I will make it a ruin: it shall not be pruned or hoed, but overgrown with thorns and briers; I will command the clouds not to send rain upon it. The vineyard of the LORD of hosts is the house of Israel, and the people of Judah are his cherished plant; he looked for judgment, but see, bloodshed! for justice, but hark, the outcry!

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 80:9, 12, 13–14, 15–16, 19–20