#rusty quill gaming
the fucking SPIRE SPECIAL /pos
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the state of pure hysterical terror Alex Newall has induced in his players at the start of rqg 116 is honestly inspirational
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Gonna Make My Rare Pair Everyone Else’s Problem
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ZOLF: Mr. MacGuffingham.
BERTIE: That’s Sir Bertrand to you, Mr. Smith --
ZOLF: No it’s not.
BERTIE: Yes it is.
ZOLF: I think I know what title to address you by.
BERTIE: It is Sir –
ZOLF: No, it’s MISTER.
BERTIE: It’s definitely Sir Bertrand –
ZOLF: MASTER MacGuffingham.
BERTIE: Look, it’s you versus Debretts on this, chum.
ZOLF: I don’t even know what that means.
ZOLF: I’m gonna have to dock your pay, Mr. MacGuffingham.
BERTIE: Oh really, Mr. Smith.
BERTIE: What possible justification could you have for doing that?
BERTIE: Damages, Mr. Smith?
ZOLF: Damages against a person.
BERTIE: Oh, really?
ZOLF: Specifically, traumatic and emotional stress.
BERTIE: Are these forthcoming injuries, Mr. Smith?
ZOLF: They are.
BERTIE: Are they really?
BERTIE: Oh, yes.
LYDIA: Sasha looks up from her drumstick “Now kiss!”.
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42 for some soft zoscar braiding mayhaps? (for the sake of the prompt i redefine beards as Also Hair)
👀 at the beard braiding… I hope you enjoy! (Also for anyone reading this, I am 100% still taking prompts!)
42. braiding the other’s hair
“I can’t believe you don’t know how to do this.”
“I- Zolf, what situation in my life would I ever have needed this knowledge in before now?”
The air on the deck is bracingly cold, and now that the sun has set the world has become a globe of deep dark night, speckled with stars, the distant, multicoloured glow of wild magic giving depth to a horizon they can’t properly see. They’re both a bit tipsy- Wilde definitely is- and the bow has emptied, the crew having mostly partied themselves out and headed either to their night posts or to bed. They’re alone on the deck, sitting together at one of the little tables Wilde had set up, chairs pulled close.
It’s almost like it was back before Japan, back when it was just the two of them, before their tiny bubble of protection had burst at the knife of an infected ex-Meritocratic agent. A tiny room in Budapest, or Dresden, or Copenhagen, or a tent pitched gods-know where in the countryside with the rain bucketing down on the roof. Sharing a bottle of some awful swill, trying to talk about absolutely anything but the mission. Back before the dread-filled week in a cell beneath a shady bar in Antwerp, before blood and stitches and blank, silent stares, and an emergency call to Curie; we need backup, please. It can’t just be the two of us anymore.
But right now it is just the two of them, and Zolf’s missed it. Crowds have become overwhelming, even when he’s surrounded by those he likes and trusts. It’s a feeling similar to that he always got being underground; a part of his brain yelling danger, danger, watch out, the threat of threat itself, a lurking claustrophobia.
“I don’t understand how it doesn’t get tangled,” Wilde complains, grimacing in concentration. “I’ve seen you do this, you make it look so easy.”
“It is easy.”
“Now you’re just being difficult.”
“Oh, does that annoy you? People bein’ difficult on purpose?” Wilde glances up from his work and narrows his eyes. They’re close enough that he has to go a little cross-eyed to do it, and it’s so utterly ridiculous-looking that Zolf has to work very hard to restrain his laugh. He doesn’t quite succeed, and Wilde bristles.
“Stop laughing at me!”
“I’m not, I’m not-“ He one hundred percent is, and the fact that Wilde looks so deeply offended only makes him laugh harder. Wilde sits back in his chair and watches with drunken haughtiness as Zolf bends in half and laughs like he hasn’t in a long time.
“You don’t need to insult me,” Wilde says.
“Sorry, sorry, I- sorry.” Zolf scoots his chair a little closer and holds out his hand. “Look, I’ll show you how to do it, alright?”
“I’ve got it,” Wilde says stubbornly, and leans in again, combing out the mangled half-plait in Zolf’s beard with his fingers.
At some point either he or Wilde is going to realize how very, very close they are, and what this will look like to anyone who happens to see. For now, though, the air is cold and the alcohol and company warming. Things are so rarely simple these days, especially pleasures. A drink, a good party. Cool night air. Careful fingers, close friends, unspoken trust made slightly silly by intoxication and the lateness of the hour.
“I can’t see what you’re doin’, but I can tell it’s wrong.”
Wilde groans. “Do you remember when I got kicked off this ship back in Paris?”
“I will do that to you now if you don’t shut up.”
Zolf bites down a giggle. “Alright, noted.”
Hope is Zolf’s purview, his guiding light; his soul is anchored to the idea of a future. But sometimes- very rarely- he gets moments like this. Moments where he doesn’t have to work so hard. Where the present gives him just as much magic.
He’s happy. If he’s hoping anything right now, it’s that the moment doesn’t end too soon. This is what he wants his future to be like. Simple pleasures, trust and friendship. Maybe someday Wilde will let him actually teach him to do a proper plait. His beard is going to be a knotted mess after this.
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my favorite thing about rqg is when alex says something along the lines of “you hear the distinct sounds of” and then something that DEFINITELY does not have a distinctive sound
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transmasc barnes with visable top surgery scars bc he wears his shirts Like That
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Hamid and Grizzop plushies are... finished? At least until I have another idea and change them. I really didn’t like Grizzop’s armor, so I switched it for a sash. Well, I tried other armor but it was still too bulky and then I did the sash.
Hamid is a little dragon boy. The cape is unnecessarily complicated, but that’s fine. :) I had to resist adding more try and beads to him.
Azu is next! I’m a little limited on my fabric choices, but I think I know what I can do for her. I might have to wait on the rest until I go back home (where I have a much better collection of cottons including specific ones for doll bases. And more yarn colors for hair.)
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[ID: A digital drawing of Hamid from RQG. He is an Egyptian Halfling, with brown skin and short curly dark brown hair. He is wearing a green blazer over a white undershirt with ruffled sleeves and a long purple skirt. He is also wearing gold yellow cuffs, ascot, and heels. He smiles widely, one hand grabbing part of his skirt, one leg popped up with his skirt flared out as if twirling around. The background is a light yellow gradient with small white stars scattered around. End ID]
If Hamid not genderqueer, then why green and purple?
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Sasha: I scare people a lot because I walk very softly and they don't hear me enter rooms. So when they turn around, I'm just kind of there and their fear fuels me
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have been listening to Rivals of Waterdeep and just noticed this weird parallel to RQG 👀
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I haven't been able to sleep so I'm drawing hazu memes to avoid thinking 😔
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meanwhile back on the bear...
sorry (not sorry)
Barnes was destroying initially but then, Carter recruited Sassraa to help frame him for cheating. They tied him up for good measure and then Carter won by cheating.
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have another wilde, season 1 style. love this beautiful bastard
(this one is a redraw of my very first piece of RQG fanart, which was posted almost exactly six months ago. half a year of drawing every single day has really helped me improve and find my style, so big thanks to fellow RQG fans for being lovely and keeping me motivated to draw <3)
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happy father's day to zolf smith
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39 or 49 for the ask meme if you're keen! for a qpr zoscar? 👀
Thank you for the prompt !! I went a little less fluff and more action-y for this one, I hope it’s still to your liking
39. leaning into the other’s side
“That was too close,” Wilde hisses, grabbing Zolf by the forearm and pulling him out of the alley, walking as quickly as he can down the street without breaking into a full run. Two blocks from the dock, and they’re already attracting attention. Fantastic. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”
“Not anymore,” Zolf bites back. “Ooh, whoa, hang on-“
“Did they get you?” Wilde asks hurriedly, bending down to catch Zolf as he stumbles.
“Not with the dagger, I- bloody hell.” Zolf blinks up at Wilde dazedly, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen you use a knife like that.”
“I did not come all this way to be killed by a mugger,” Wilde states, and continues pulling him along.
“You think it was just a mugger?”
“They were visibly tailing us since we disembarked and went for the pack with the food in it, not the documents. If they’re a spy, they’re a bad one, and if they’re infected, we’ve got bigger problems. From what I’ve heard it’s not spread this far yet, but who knows.”
“Think we’ll need to quarantine?”
“It can’t hurt, but we need a place to do it first. There’s a hostel not too far from here, Curie said we should be able to buy off the keeper for a night or two before heading to Okinoshima.” Zolf stumbles again, and Wilde catches him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’ll be fine.”
This time they stop properly, and Zolf closes his eyes and leans hard into Wilde’s side, holding his forehead and breathing heavily. “Oh, of course, you’ve just got minor head trauma from being punched in the face,” Wilde remarks drily. “How silly of me to ask. Could have sworn your skull was too thick for that. Here, hang on.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Wilde readjusts Zolf so that he’s leaning against him with an arm around Wilde’s waist, and Zolf, slightly stunned and his head pounding, simply lets him.
“Let’s go, come on.” They start off again, Zolf rocking unsteadily into his side.
“Didn’t know you knew how to do that,” he says vaguely.
“What, use a dagger? I’m a bard, not an idiot. I’m trained in hand-to-hand.” Wilde grimaces, and ducks them down a side street. “Admittedly it’s been a while, but I had to pass all kinds of tests to be a Meritocratic field agent. Really, you didn’t need to jump in front of me like that. They could have killed you.”
“No, the- the flippy thing. Thought you were just gonna stab ‘em.”
“I don’t really fancy leaving a trail of corpses,” Wilde says grimly. “No better way to ensure you’re followed. And I like this shirt, it’d be a pity to get blood on it.”
“It was cool.”
Wilde stops for half a second and looks down. Zolf is squinting slightly, just a little bit unfocused. “They really got you good, didn’t they?”
“It was. You did the- like-“ Zolf mimes- poorly- the complex disarming maneuver that Wilde had used on the would-be mugger. Wilde’s sure that if he wasn’t half-concussed, Zolf would have given a gruff thanks hidden in a comment about Wilde’s incredibly poor form and just left it at that, but as it is… Wilde almost starts laughing.
“If this is what it takes to get you to actually compliment me, Zolf, I’d have knocked you over the head long ago. Come on,” he guides Zolf gently back against his side and starts walking again, a hand on each shoulder, slowing down just a tad to make sure Zolf doesn’t trip. “We should have some healing potions left, take one when we get there.”
“Right-o,” Zolf says dreamily, clutching at the back of Wilde’s coat.
Right-o, thinks Wilde. Bloody hell, I’m really letting him grow on me.
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Stay and Rest Awhile
Summary: After it's all over, Wilde takes Zolf home. Recovery is harder than either of them expect.
Read it on AO3.
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rqg gang as avatars !! simple ids in alt text, more detailed ids under the cut (cuz this might get lengthy otherwise lol)
[image description: six digital drawings of rqg characters as tma entities, done in mostly black and white with some colour accents.
the first is of sasha rackett, as an avatar of the dark. she is outlined in white on a dark background. she is a thin woman with a mullet, wearing a studded leather jacket with a sun motif on the back. her body is turned away from the camera, with her face looking back to be in profile, with an angry expression. she is holding up two daggers. explosion shapes are behind her head and each dagger, and the background has a sharp transition into white halfway down the page with similar shapes to the explosions. "the dark" is written in scratchy capitals in the bottom right.
the second is of zolf smith, as an avatar of the end. he is a white silhouette on a dark background. he is a fat dwarf with short hair and a braided beard, wearing a collared jacket over a breastplate. he is holding up a hand, from which a black inky substance drips through the fingers and merges with the background. he is looking at it with a calmly resigned expression. a red skull is floating over his face, and red lines are in the ink as well. "the end" is written in the top left, also in red, and transitions into a vertical red line pattern.
the third is of cel sidebottom, as an avatar of the eye. they are a white silhouette on a dark background. they are a thin half-elf with tall white hair, wearing goggles and a high collared coat. most of their body lacks any detail. they are looking at the camera with a big smile, mostly in profile. green eyes are diagonally across their face. more eyes, in white, cross the canvas behind their head. "the eye" is written amongst these.
the fourth is of hamid al-tahan, as an avatar of the desolation. he is a mixture of white outline and white silhouette on a dark background. he is a small halfling wearing a suit and cape. he is standing in the middle of the canvas, posed as if casting a spell, an explosion shape around his feet that extends into sharp shapes that leave the edges of the canvas. orange flame shapes surround him, with more in the background. "the desolation" is written in orange on the explosion shape.
the fifth is of grizzop drik acht amsterdam, as an avatar of the hunt. he is a white silhouette on a dark background. he is a thin goblin wearing armour. he is sprinting across the canvas, face in profile, wearing a furious expression with his ears down flat. his eyes are bright red, and there is a red circle framing his head. "the hunt" is written in red in the top left.
the last is of azu, as an avatar of the vast. she is a white silhouette on a dark background. she is a fat orc, wearing armour. she is small on the canvas, seemingly floating in a relaxed position, looking up and to the side with a calm expression. white silhouetted clouds surround her, all pointing to her as the focal point. "the vast" is written amongst the clouds. end id]
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The best thing about Bertie’s side quest (other than giving us Ed and Tjelvar) is Ed being so dumb that Bertie (BERTIE) lost interest in him
And honestly, good for Ed
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help I can't decide between 1, 2 and 9 for zoscar in that prompt list!
1. touching foreheads
2. running fingers through hair
9. listening to the other’s heartbeat
Ok but what if, like… all three
CW for description of major character injury and death
Zolf wakes with a start, biting off the gasp as it comes- but Wilde is already awake, or perhaps still awake, lying on his back staring up at the roof of the tent, lit by an eerie blue glow despite how far they’ve camped from the Garden’s entrance. Zolf squeezes his hands in and out of fists and tries to even out his breathing. Wilde turns his head. “Zolf? You alright?”
Zolf swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “Fine,” he manages. “Sorry. Nightmare.”
Wilde shifts onto his side. “What did you dream about?”
Zolf and Wilde have a routine, when it comes to nightmares, and that’s never been part of it. When Zolf shudders awake with a jolt from dreams of Sasha’s organs and opening scars, when Wilde wakes screaming from- whatever the hell it is he dreams about- the other provides comfort, presence, but never asks why. It’s an unspoken rule that, so far, neither has been brave enough to broach from either side.
“You,” Zolf says quietly.
Little specks of blue light reflect in Wilde’s grave, worried eyes. “Oh.”
“I, er. I was the one who found you.”
Blood in the snow, blood staining the wood, the hull of the ship, cracked and splintered and deadly sharp, a body broken and twisted, a body he trusted, contorted in a way no human body should ever be, rib cage opened up like a horrible red flower, blood on the face, dripping from chapped, parted lips-
A hand slides into his, gently twitching his fingers apart and lacing them together, and Zolf takes another shaky breath. “Sorry.”
“Why are you apologising?” Wilde’s voice is gentle and fond. Zolf reaches out with his other hand, hovering an inch from Wilde’s face, wanting, needing, but not knowing how to ask.
Wilde shifts a little closer, and Zolf’s fingers make contact with his cheek and almost automatically brush back through his hair, and Wilde smiles, surprised. They’re so close Zolf can feel his breath, warm on his own face, and it’s hard to get stuck in the image of his battered, lifeless body when they’re lying like this, face to face.
He’s apologising because he shouldn’t need that to be okay. He’s not that fragile.
But his hand is still in Wilde’s hair, and there’s no blood matting it anymore, and he combs his fingers through it, just to make sure, because he’s still got one foot in the dream of cold white and warm red and he does need every sense to pull him out of it. Wilde shifts even closer and presses his forehead to Zolf’s, and he’s warm, warmer than humans usually are, and Zolf leans into the touch and tries as hard as he can to forget how cold his corpse had been.
“Are you cold?” Wilde asks, because he’s shaking.
Wilde chuckles breathily. “It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?” he jokes weakly.
“A bit, yeah,” Zolf manages, in the split second before all the composure he has disintegrates, and he gasps shakily and tucks himself into Wilde’s neck and clutches him like he is the only thing keeping Wilde’s body in one piece.
Wilde’s arms encircle him and squeeze, hard, like he’s thinking the same thing. “If you need to let it out, Zolf, you won’t get a better time than this,” Wilde says softly, and he’s right, damn the man. And so Zolf presses himself to Wilde’s chest, all the panic and fear he hadn’t let himself feel before lancing through his heart and out the other side, letting the entire world fill up with the steady pulse and overwhelming heat of a body that shouldn't be alive but is. Is. Arms around him, safe and comforting. Thud, thud, thud, goes that miraculous thing in Wilde’s chest. Alive, Zolf reminds himself, alive, alive, alive…
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