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emberkeelty · 8 months

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I'm currently playing a new and somehow even more awful Fatebinder to try to see some things that most people probably don't see, and I'll post them here a bit later. But first, who wants to see the rare atrocity Fireweed committed at the end of her story?

Actually, you probably don't want to be sober for this!

"You need allies more than you need friends. We can be both to you." You sure can, Voices! You sure can.

Lantry, it's time.

He's trying so hard. It really does make sense! Unfortunately, you can't just logic away the horror.

Lantry can be pretty great. For the most part he's an amoral craven, but his ethics when it comes to the preservation of knowledge are even more ahead of his time than his trigonometry theories. Mentally he's kind of an alien in Terratus, and he's about to become even more of one!

Also, he's stealthily doing some last-minute drugs there. I did say he wouldn't want to be sober.

You know what happens next.

And it works!

Hilariously, Kills-in-Shadow was casually scratching her armpit while watching Lantry's execution and got stuck mid-animation when he started talking again, like she's distracted by the surprise. Can't say it's out of character!

I wonder if it's normal for Archons to be able to detect each other even before they start glowing enough for normal people to see, or if it's a Secrets power specifically. For that matter, does he get tooltips highlights for significant characters in general, or is the Archon of the Tiers just that special? I'm also reminded of Bleden Mark's death line about the brightness.

One of the many reasons he was a good pick for this! He's a skilled archivist!

The line that inspired this.

According to the end card, he eventually chooses to focus on recording all his knowledge:

The Voices of Lantry adapts to his new role with surprising ease. He surrounds himself with countless scribes and spends his days spouting off the knowledge from every personality trapped inside his new body. He also requests a dedicated apothecary and instructs him to begin creating. You're not quite sure what concoctions the Voices of Lantry has his assistant brew - and you're not sure you want to know - but you do notice one day that all his Sages are using a brand new emerald ink.

And inventing new drugs, I guess!

Voice acting note: he laughs about not having lips!

So yeah, Nerat was planning to betray her even after this. And that he wanted to use her to placate Kyros explains why he didn't try to eat her: it's not much of a sacrifice to the Overlord if he's benefiting from it, now is it? The best you can say for him is that he didn't really seem happy about it, hence all his telepathic muttering about what a shame something is.

Anyway, Lantry popping in and out to explain things to confused captive souls is both disturbing and hilarious. As always, he is genial and polite even in the face of unspeakable horrors.

That's your cue to go drop a nuke! But you can also talk to him again before you leave.

There's a lot to unpack here. He really does seem to be happy like this... mostly. But the implication here that that's partly because he's maybe not entirely the same person he was, the implication in the end card that he's still messed up enough to want to do all of the drugs all of the time even if he has to invent new ones that will work on him, and him saying he still wishes you'd picked someone else all points to this still being a really fucked up thing for Fireweed to have done to him, even before you take into account that she wasn't 100% sure it would work.

I wish I could tell him that it wasn't because he was the most expendable as a serf, but because he seemed like he'd be the most likely to thrive as a spymaster.

Still, all in all, this really doesn't seem like the worst ending for him, especially considering his normal good ending makes a point that he's declining and probably near the end of his life. (Note that thanks to the path Fireweed took to get here, he also has a copy of the actual Silent Archive in the form of the Censor! That must make him happy too.)

But then, as with pretty much every aspect of all Tyranny's endings, it's an open question just how well this will work out in the long run...

Some bonus reactions around camp!

The Blood Chanters like the new Voices! The Beastmen, not so much. Hey, Lantry is plenty cunning! You'll see.

#tyranny

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oc-am-i-ta · 2 months

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AITA for attempting to assassinate a foreign head of state?

I (25F human), am a Republic citizen currently in the country of Skysheer following a lead on fixing a complex magical situation my friend (25M robot?, we'll call him M) has found himself in. In order to do this, I applied for and got a job as a palace seamstress in order to gain easier access to the library at the Spearsong palace - the Spearsongs being the ruling family of the city I'm in. I am actually a great seamstress and do my work well, I've just been sneaking into the library on the side to research a way to help my friend M.

After a few days of working for the Spearsong heir (235NB elf, we'll call them A), I decided to end my night with some research and snuck into the library. Only, when M wandered off to find a book for me, I suddenly felt a cloth over my mouth and nose, and that's the last thing I remembered.

I woke up tied to a chair in an unfamiliar location, no M in sight. I managed to break out, set a fire (don't worry about it), and took a guard hostage (don't worry about him either, he's fine). I demanded to talk to the leadership of whoever had kidnapped me and ended up face to face with a pair of scruffy-looking locals (I and T, 189F and 466M elves, respectively). They told me that they were the leaders of the Salis Legion of the People, and that they had kidnapped me so they could put their disguised agent in my place to get close enough to assassinate the Archduke Spearsong, ruler of Salis.

They explained to me that the serfs of Salis have experienced many hardships (no child labor regulations, price gouging, feudalism, etc) and after many attempts at a peaceful solution, they had decided that assassinating the Archduke was the only way. They also apparently have a plan for keeping the city's population safe, which involves holding the rest of the nobility hostage until the Queen of Skysheer either agrees to their demands or doesn't, in which case they will declare independence and form their own city state.

By this point, they were making some good sense to me. The people of Skysheer are treated poorly. I grew up on a Republic debtor farm, so I understand where they're coming from. I and T promised that if I helped them (I'm a skilled rune scribe on top of my lovely embroidery work), they would get M out of the palace before the assassination is carried out by a spy disguised as me. I ended up agreeing to their terms.

Anyways, am I the asshole? They said no nobles would be hurt, but I think we're robbing a weapons depot tomorrow, so who knows if that's going to hold. The Archduke doesn't seem personally like a bad guy, and neither does his heir (A is pretty cool, honestly), but he has been permitting his people to starve in the street. This isn't even my country, but maybe if we succeed in this, the nobles down in my homeland will be scared into straightening up their act?

I don't know, what do you guys think? Is this the only way?

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boydykedevo · 4 months

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ive been meaning to do a bit of an overhaul so all of this is subject to change but speaking of laeja/jisa. lemme infodump about conworld

k so i talked about the Lagae last time i infodumped about Rohitan, and Laeja/Jisa and their sister are from a middle/northern-ish Lagae clan. Also keep in mind i've had this world for like six years and not all the worldbuilding holds up, hence the impeding overhaul lol

Their birthname is (Jiki) Laeja Riha Geno, and their sister is (Jiki) Lerati Riha Geno. While a warrior, they go by (Hakta) Jisa Laesa Geno. The components are, in order: title, given name, patronym, clan name.

The titles are derived from the caste system. There's three castes: the nago, the jiki, the lori, and an extra subgroup of lori called the gek. The nago are essentially serfs who farm/herd, (some may be slaves, depending on the clan). The jiki are a middle class who are largely craftsman. (Lerati, like her father before her, is a scribe.) The lori are overseers and traders, and are essentially nobility. The gek is basically just the clan leader and his immediate male family.

There are other titles too, mostly for warriors (hakta). Any jiki or lori (and occasionally nago) man can fight when war erupts, but true hakta maintain their rank at all times and are properly trained for battle. In peacetime they serve as guards for lori traveling to other clans, act as police, that sort of thing. They can be jiki or lori, but it's usually jiki in search of a better life. Jisa became a hakta after their father became sick before Lerati's scribe training could be completed.

The given names are pretty straightforward. The second name is the female version of your father's name for girls, or the regular version for boys. And the clan name is just the name of the clan. Jisa's pseudonym is the male version of their mother's name, and Laesa is the male version of their own birthname. Traditionally, when one adopts a pseudonym, they go with their second name. Using their mother's name instead was very intentional on Jisa's part.

#icarus is talking

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katatonicimpression · 2 years

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I'm from the MENA: Exodus being from there doesn't work as a concept and it's not because he "doesn't look the part", we've always been pretty diverse so he could totally originate from here on that criteria alone: His name is 100% old French and Paris is in northern France, nowhere near the spot a MENA scholar (parent) would go to at the time (Andalos) and a religiously reconverted child wouldn't require to be taken to Paris of all places to do the thing: Being a French grand duke just fits

So, I wasn't suggesting he was brought to France for religious purposes. I definitely think that he was born there. He's literally called "some guy from paris". During this period, there are records of "Moors" outside of Iberia, especially in bigger cities and ports. Even further north, like Paris (and, a little later, London). People trade, people travel. These cities were less racially diverse than they would become, but they were far from 100% white, and people travelling up from Spain and North Africa to trade was a big part of that. And again, like I said in the comment, I'm not convinced of this as his actual backstory. But it is plausible.

I will say I don't agree that he's a grand duke. That doesn't fit at all to me. Granted, I know nothing about what titles meant what in this period. But this is feudalism, right? A duke is a nobleman, a land owner, a guy with serfs to subjugate. A grand duke has a grand duchy. I don't think that's Exodus.

He doesn't have a single servant or attendant. He's clearly not massively wealthy. He treats Eobar as his superior. I can't see this guy as the grand duke of Paris. He doesn't really come across as high status at all. If anything, he screams "inferiority complex".

He can read, which is unusual. But there were two main types of people who read in this time and place: monks, some of the super wealthy (and I guess the odd herald/scribe).

I've seen it suggested that he was raised in an Abbey or something like that. That would explain his education and his religiosity. And you'd expect him to have a pretty sequestered life so that fits.

That's not the only option obviously, but I definitely don't think he's landed gentry. Maybe a low ranking Knight.

#or maybe marvel writers have no clue #which is always an option

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ebficnotes · 3 years

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Arkay's "blessed neutrality" is full of shit. Maybe.

https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2cowhz/eso_guild_memo_on_soul_trapping_describes_the/cjhqi0p/?context=8&depth=9

https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/1viqa9/why_are_briar_hearts_souls_black_while_hagravens/cesttbz/

https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Order_of_Arkay

My first ever (pre-eso) take on both Arkay and Mannimarco was that Arkay was some kind of Empire shill who determined, by Imperial consensus and general sentiment of his worshippers, who was and was not a real person, and thus gave them the soul-trap advantage over anyone who was not Imperial-aligned, and/or possibly Aedra-aligned in general. All the races of TES where the being in question is a white soul despite having observable sapient-like intelligence are only trappable because Arkay just doesn’t care about them. And he has the power too, if you believe the ancient Nordic tales of how he is responsible for shortening the lives of Nords and possibly all men.

Arkay's race is never stated I don’t think, but if he was originally elven, it would also explain why the present-day Thalmor don’t hate him but do hate Talos, despite them both being ascended mortals. Talos was a man, Arkay may have been elven. They aren't butthurt over elves ascending, just human-humans. Also, several sources link or equate Xarses and Arkay, Xarses being definetly an elven god. When Allessia integrated Xarses/Arkay into the 8 divines, he became an empire-man, but his influence over life and death didn’t change, it just became empire-attuned. So Arkay is ruling-party biased by definition, whether he's with the men or the elves.

Mannimarco in contrast, was/is a heretic who seeks to level the playing field in typical TES overkill by usurping Arkay and thus offering those oppressed races, and anyone else who wants in, the opportunity for true moral-neutrality in matters of death. Instead of a privileged few getting away with not getting soul trapped because Arkay (and the empire of the day) says so, he's making it so everyone can be trapped, npc race or not. He can't usurp him entirely as we see in Oblivion, but he can do a little, through the infamous black gems.

He gets his cut of course, but in this world, where selling your soul to some eldrich horror divine or another is a normal everyday thing, who doesn’t? That’s why he sounds so angry in his oblivion books. Arkay really gets his goat for some reason, and this is a not-stupid reason. Heck, maybe in Daggerfall he had an orc girlfriend. Or maybe he's just really really pissed off by double standards. I know I am...

Another interesting thought: Vanus might hate the idea of soul trap because his kind, or former kind, were denied Arkay's blessing because of their status. This Morrrowind book talks about slaves being used in necro experiments, and even though serfs aren't technically slaves, I can see some asshole noble using his charges as fodder in some of those experiments in "extending Altmer lifespans".

Vanus wasn't allowed to learn to read as a kid, which is insane because Xarxe's charge to every Altmer is to keep a record of their achievements for posterity, and if you can't read, then how are you gonna write? But maybe that commandment only applies to those born closer to the top, yeah?

Though for some reason, Mannimarco's "well lets make it so EVERYONE can be soultrapped then, including your asshole kinlord!" doesn’t go over so well with him *shrug*.

As for why the talking dremora in Skyrim need a black gem despite presumably not being Arkay's'/Xarxes faves? Idfk. Xarxes is Auri-el's/akatosh's scribe and presumably right-hand-man, so maybe it's a deal regarding the liminal barrier? So Convention itself is class-discrimination for both daedra and mortals. Because why not?

#mannimarco #vanus galerion #arkay #speculation #black souls #tes #eboriginal

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fan-clan-fun · 4 years

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Disclaimer: This is a trio of clans based very loosely upon England’s medieval structure, meaning these clans are not the most realistic, and the map may look ‘screwed’ towards the 'higher clan’.

Well the map certainly looks unique! Im curious to hear more about this, there are plenty of different ways you can take a feudal structure.

-Map according to CastleClan Scribe Robinpaw

CASTLECLAN

Monarch Sunnystar - russet colored tom

Deputy Shellsong - blue-gray tabby tom with a scar across the shoulder -Oakpaw

Medicine Cat Pikewatcher - dark gray and white tom with dark amber eyes and a thick, bushy tail

Medicine Cat Apprentice (Scribe) Robinpaw - broad-shouldered, wiry very pale tortoiseshell tabby she-cat

Warriors Darkcreek - very dark tortoiseshell tom Runningflower - yellow tabby tom -Onepaw Shortbranch - dark brown she-cat Larkfisher - yellow-and-golden she-cat with dark amber eyes -Rabbitpaw Sweetmask - white she-cat Blackclaw - dark gray tabby tom with valued hunting skills -Leopardpaw

Apprentices Onepaw - white she-cat with one golden eye Oakpaw - very pale gray tabby she-cat Rabbitpaw - tawny-and-fawn tom with pale yellow eyes, Leopardpaw - small black-and-golden she-cat with yellow eyes

Dams Deadtree - fawn-and-cream queen with big dark paws Patchclaw - gray tom with white splashes

Kits Rapidkit - big, short dark sandy she-kit Goosekit - cream-and-fawn tomkit Foxkit - ginger she-kit Halfkit - gray tabby she-kit with a 'half and half’ face

Elders Stormtuft - creamy brown tom Beetlethorn - tortoiseshell tabby tom with blue eyes and petal-shaped white patches Silenttree - very old orange tom with amber eyes and two dark paws

I appreciate the allegiances! Looks like its pretty basic ranks, other than the scribe.

CastleClan prides themselves on the castle within which they stay and are named after; they consider themselves closest to Great Star due to the height of Sunnystar’s den/throne. They are 'the highest clan’ of this trio, meaning that they are the most prevalent or strongest clan, and would be the one to war against other High Clans attempting to invade.

Ooo I love clans based in old ruins, its one of my favorite things. I’ve had a few of them myself. That explains the name!

CastleClan is unique, with being the only clan in this specific trio to have a scribe; the medicine cat’s apprentice. Additionally, cats from other clans can 'advance’ into this clan by having kits with a member of CastleClan. They find darker, tabby pelts attractive, with eyes that should be 'the centrepiece’ of the face (ideally, a black 'ghost’ tabby with bright amber eyes). In terms of physicality, larger paws on a leaner body is considered attractive.

However, I need help with what other information I will need for a quick rundown.

Well, you’ve actually hinted at a lot of really interesting things. You mentioned it’s loosely based off a medieval structure, did you mean mostly just the monarch, or other ranks as well? Are there any other aspects you are taking from a medieval standpoint? Im assuming that Castleclan is considered sort of the “nobility” of the clans, so would the two “lower” clans be more soldiers, or serfs? Does Castleclan’s authority come from a religious standpoint (you mentioned the Great Star)?

As for what I look for in a rundown, its actually more helpful to hear about what about your clans is different or new compared to canon clans, and while allegiances are nice, its easier to be invested in them if they directly connect to characters and storylines (so for example, the only cat im really currently curious about is Robinpaw whom you have indicated as the unique one, the scribe, and therefore given me a connection to work with).

I like what you have so far, and it has me itching to hear more!

#warrior cats #non-canon clans #clan culture #submission

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deadendtabletop · 4 years

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(another) SYSTEM AGNOSTIC MAGIC ITEMS POST

Source Bow of the Tempest: A ships' prow repurposed into a bow by a storm giant craftsman, the Bow of the Tempest's string has been created from the cured hamstring of a Roc, requiring immense strength to pull back, never mind use in battle. The true purpose of the Bow of the Tempest is to instead allow wielders to 'wound' storms, squalls and other weather phenomena, allowing them to be hunted like living beings for sport or redirected in the path of an enemy fleet. However, these phenomena have their own familys tructures and their own strange relations and intelligence and may very well seek revenge from the Bow's wielder, if they abuse their power.

The Archmage's Thumb: The severed backup thumb of the legendary sorcerer-king Ostrog the Omnipotent, the Thumb retains part of its owner’s power and toxic personality. The Thumb will not deign to suffer the touch of a user that is not fully dedicated to the arcane arts and will often strike back at the unworthy, when its powers are called upon. If a wizard of satisfactory skill and renown takes the Thumb, it will still allow them to use its powers but will often turn against them, if they prove lacking in ambition or cruelty. When calling upon the powers of the Thumb, a wizard can call down a gigantic digit which will attempt to crush its enemies. The Thumb can also be used to augment any sorcerous workings but it will often attempt to overextend the effects, just to show off (for example, summoning an archfiend instead of a run of a lesser demonic servitor). If a wizard begins to rely on the Thumb, then it will inevitably attempt to fuse with their flesh, rooting into their nervous system and imprinting its own half remembered version of Ostrog on the user, with catastrophic results.

12th Eye of the Beholder: A preserved eye taken from the backside of a rare, mutated beholder, the 12th Eye grants its user preternatural powers of hindsight. After becoming attuned to a user, the Eye will always hover behind the user’s head and will instantly fill their mind with a flood of advice after a failure. While this does give an edge to the user on their next attempt toward a similar feat, the Eye never really stops. Instead, it will become a permanent backseat driver to every action the user performs, eventually driving them insane. Beholders consider this item to be highly offensive and will go to great lengths to destroy both the user and the eye at all costs. The Darkroot Rod:

The last remaining mote of the blighted World Tree, the Darkroot Rod must never be allowed to touch unconcecrated ground. As soon as the Rod does so, it wil shoot roots that will drive themselves deeply into the earth, siphoning any groundwater sources. It will use this sustenance to explosively grow into a great and blighted tree, much like a baobab, that will bear fruit infested with deadly stinging insects, within the following days. It will use these fruit to harrass and drive away all that attempt to cut it down. If left unchecked, the Darkroot will then begin to shed its seeds, choking out nearby vegetation with copies of itself. It will even take root in the sea, darining the oceans to power its growth. Only fire, natural magic or destroying the original tree can prevent this apocalyptic spread. Destroying the original tree will result in another instance of the Darkroot Rod.

Skull Tumbler:

A drink tumbler fashioned from the skull of a cyclops seer, the Tumbler will transform any liquid poured into it, depending which socket the user decides to drink from. Users that drink from its eye socket will get a mouthful of blood, which will fill them with blinding rage, making them immune to pain for a brief period of time. Users that drink from the top of the skill will get a mouthful of thickened brain juice, granting them perfect clarity but making them susceptible to mind altering effects. Users drinking from the nasal conch will taste mouthful of thinned out snot and will not require to breathe and survive in even the harshest environments for a short window of time. Users drinking from the foramen magnum will taste the metallic taste of spinal fluid, increasing their reaction time and speed but making it impossible for them to perform any tasks that require any amount of concentration for the duration of the effect.

Crown of the Pu’raht:

The last symbol of office of a lost bloodline of rulers from a long forgotten empire, Crown of the Ru’raht grants the wearer the ability to implant suggestions or attempt to command any person descended from the empire itself. Given that the empire has disappeared millennia ago, this makes the item’s effect largely unreliable or seemingly random. The extent of the effects of the Crown depend on the person’s lineage to the Empire and the position that their ancestor held in its social order. Serfs: Descendants of serfs can be commanded by the wearer of the crown and have a diminished ability to resist. The commands must have to with menial work or military service. In the event that a serf’s descendant dies, they can be commanded to rise as mindless undead. Craftsmen: Descendants of craftsmen can be commanded to perform tasks related to their ancestor’s profession and have suggestions implanted to them, with a diminished ability to resist. They also have a smaller chance of being successfully raised as unded with limited intelligence. Merchants: Descendants of merchants cannot be commanded, but can have suggestions implanted to them. In the presence of the crown, their powers of glibness and diplomatic capability are augmented. After death, merchant descendants have a small chance of being raised as ghosts or spectral undead. Scribes: Descendants of scribes can be suggested and given the ability to temporarily implant suggestions to others via the written words. In the presence of the crown, scribes can also perfectly read any language but none that went extinct prior to the time of the Pu’raht. After death, descendant of scribes have a miniscule chance to rise as sorcerous undead that are bound to the crown’s wearer.

Soldiers: Descendants of soldiers can be commanded to fight for the crown wearer or suggested to be spurred to violence. In the presence of the crown, Soldier descendants become more adept at fighting. If soldier descendants die in battle, they immediately rise as powerful undead for a brief period of time before collapsing into dust. Nobles and Priests: Descendants of the upper castes cannot be commanded but be implanted with suggestions relating to leadership of command. In the presence of the crown, they are more adept at commanding others can attempt to affect any member of the previous classes. In the event of their death, they rise as sentient undead bound to the crown and may attempt to destroy themselves or the wearer to gain their freedom. Pu’raht: The Descenants of the Pu’raht are not affected by the crown and can command any of the affected individuals at will. In the presence of the crown, they can command the wearer to do anything (up to and including perishing on the spot). If a descendent of the ruler of Pu’raht dies while wearing the crown and their body is properly attended, they will rise as a powerful mummy within the next year.

Sword of Angst: Appropriately enough, the sword of angst is made from a pitch black length of starmetal, its pommel fashioned in the shape of a gaunt, haunted face. Victims wounded by the sword will experience a sense of dread that will only grow until it consumes the victim with pure despair. Magic can suppress this effect but the only way to dispel it is by acquiring the sword and wounding another. Victims that die before having done so will almost always return as a form of undead or seek undeath before their demise.

The Khagrin's daughters: Contained inside a small filigreed box with 8 places, only 6 of the Khagrin’s Daughters now remain, with two lost to time and obscurity. Each of the small figurines, hewn from semiprecious stones, can be activated upon being removed from the box and can perform a specific function. Amethyst: A healer figurine, the Amethyst daughter can create unguents and balms, assist with minor healing magic or perform basic surgery if given an appropriately sized set of tools. It will not produce poisons or harm an injured individual it is attending to and will willingly cease its function if it witnesses or is forced to participate in any form of torture. Malachite: A warrior figurine, the Malachite daughter is armed with a bow and greatsword and fights with magically augmented strength and speed, despite its tiny frame. The Malachite daughter will always fight valiantly and uphold a code of honor and will willingly cease its own function if ordered to backstab a retreating foe or finish off one that has surrendered.

Onyx: An artist figurine, the Onyx daughter carries a tiny ocarina and can play any appropriately sized instrument perfectly and can assess and adapt to any social situation, assisting its owner. The Onyx daughter’s music soothes any mental distress in any intelligent being and can even undo magical effects that attack one’s mind. It will willingly cease its function if it discovers it is being used in an underhanded or manipulative manner.

Turqoise: A mystic figurine, the Turqoise daughter is dressed in long, flowing robes and has the ability to read and comprehend any magical writing or assist in identifying any magical items on behalf of its wearer. It can also provide assistance in workings but will willingly cease its function if it discovers that the spell or the user intend to apply these working to cause innocents to suffer.

Lapis: A priest figurine, the Lapis daughter wears vestments of an unknown faith and is able to parse any religious ritual that it has witnessed at least once and assist it. It can also commune with the servants of the gods, appearing as a fellow immortal to them. It will cease function if the user attempts to consolidate with evil entities or work toward the service of a dark god.

Citrine: A sly figurine, the Citrine daughter is dressed in simple clothing and can be used to spy or sneak on a person, in the interest of gathering information. It can also help its owner to more proficiently hide in shadows but will cease its function if it discovers it is used for sabotage or toward an assassination.

The Book of Turmoil:

Penned by member sof a cult to a forgotten god of Chaos, the Book of Turmoil is intended for long-term destabilization of an enemy, by destorying their knowledge base. When placed in the presence of books, scrolls, or other items containign wirtten words, the contents of the book of Turmoil will spill out, annihilating the contents of those written words, twisting them into scribbles which readers interpret as anything that confirms their biases or worst possible fears. Appropriately powerful magic will reveal them as nonsense chicken scratches or whorls. If allowed to continue its effect, the Book of Turmoil will continue its effect, destroying every written word in its immediate vicinity. Readers that have been exposed to its effects will also find that their spoken language also suffers a similar fate. It is theorized that the Book of Turmoil could have been behind the annihilation of other languages and if its effects should spread to any Common tongue, the results could be apocalyptic. Destroying the Book of Tumoil and all affected books will stop its effect. However, A new Book of Turmoil will assemble itself from even the finest ashes of the affected books, a few weeks later.

Vigilant Hoard:

A moving, animate vault, Vigilant Hoards are usually chest-sized constructs containing a hyper-dimensional space where a powerful being can store their valuables. Vigilant Hoards will usually attack unsuspecting thieves in an attempt to subdue them, attempt to ‘swallow’ intruders by trapping them in the stasis field inside them or disgorge a portion of their payload at high speed as an area attack. Higher end Vigilant Hoards usually come with complimentary construct guards for additional muscle, planar jaunt capabilities and, in rare cases, the ability to self destruct, consuming their contents in the process, an option for the excessively petty connoisseur.

Torturous crown:

Fashioned as a heavy, jeweled ladened crown, the Torturous crown was created as a cursed gift to a past tyrant. Once worn, the crown locks onto the despot’s head, becoming increasingly heavier with every unjust decree the tyrant makes, until it becomes so heavy, it crushed the despot under its own weight.

While kind-hearted acts will release the load, the victim is usually too far gone and deserving of a torturous death to realize it.

Ethereal Scarab:

A tiny creature with the capability to flit between dimensions, the Ethereal Scarab is a magical messenger, mostly used by accomplished arcanists. It can also act as a courier, as it has a limited ability to adjust its size. However, the Scarab is cowardly by nature and cannot carry out complex commands. If threatened, it will drop its payload and if given a very complex command or asked to pass along a very elaborate message, there is a chance that it will fail to do either and instead wander off, only to return to its master, its mission botched.

Aelforth's Long Fang:

The last unbroken fang of the first Wolf, Aelforth’s Long Fang has been fashioned into a spear, which causes those wounded by it to be infected by a lesser form of lycanthropy, in service to the bearer of the fang. The fang is capable of permanently killing lycanthropes and other shapeshifters without further magical assistance and allows its wielder to dominate wolves and, to a lesser extent, all breeds of dog. The Fang however, is prized by the gods of the Hunt, who will harass its owner every other full moon, seeking possession of the item

The twin blades of twilight:

Shaped from the light of waning twin suns, the blades of twilight exist concurrently to each other, allowing their respective wielders to communicate even across realities as long as the swords are in their possession. Owners of the blades can also trade places or exchange effects (beneficial or otherwise) on command but the blades cannot coexist in the same space. In the event that either owner dies, this effect cannot be evoked until either blade finds a new wielder.

Wargod’s mannequin:

A magically powered sparring partner, the Wargod’s mannequin is proficient with every weapon and martial style that its owner uses or wishes to train in. While the mannequin cannot teach a technique directly, it can reproduce it on request. Any damage done to a mannequin ‘heals’ in the same manner as a living being and any damage it inflicts is nonlethal. There is however, a 1 in 6 chance, if the mannequin becomes damage or if a bout drags on too long, that it will enter a ‘self-preservation’ mode and attempt to kills its attacker with any manner of weaponry before it powers down, after they are either killed or subdued.

Bone Caltrops:

Named such for their bleach white color, Bone Caltrops are actually a form of predatory plant species that reproduce by shedding rom their parent plant, drifting in the wind. They use their limited ability of locomotion to tumble in the middle of a road, where they wait for a hapless living being to step on them. As soon as this happens, the Bone Caltrops sink into the unprotected skin of the bein and immediately shoot their roots into the ground, fastening them into place. The Bone Caltriop then shoots its seeds into the victim's bloodstream. This causes immense pain to the victim, which often draws nearby predators (supernatural or otherwise) that consume it. This process infests the predators with the Bone Caltrop seedlings, which are then deposited elsewhere, allowing the cycle to begin again.

Troubleweed:

A disastrous form of tumbleweed summoned from a reality inhabited by colossal, predatory plant life, the Troubleweed rolls down its path, consuming anything it can find, attaching them to its mass. Larger instances of Troubleweed also contain larvae of pitch-black assassin wasp creatures, which grow in tandem with the host plant and will attack any that try to stop it. Used by particularly evil nature arcanists with no moral compass or care for collateral damage. Once the Troubleweed reaches a ‘mature’ size, it will then explode violently in every direction, showering the nearby area with its sprouts, which will inevitably result in more instances of Troubleweed. This also releases the assassin wasps.

Snarglaphite:

Lesser elemental beings with animal-like intelligence, Snarglaphites tend to nest and hunt in places of geomagical importance, in service to local nature wizards or lesser forest deities. Snarglaphite pups can be chipped away from a female adult and trained to operate as sorcerous familiars or elemental animal companions. Their natural ability to move through rock unimpeded, coupled with their powerful melding attack (which lets them fuse into the unprotected flesh of their target) makes them excellent for taking down quarry. However, Snarglaphites are not very intelligent and will take almost all commands literally. Furthermore, Snarglaphites that grow too large will bury themselves in place and rfuse to move, until the time of their shedding, requiring their owner to retrain a pup from the ground up.

Ring of Directed Fortitude:

Used by devious nobles in proxy duels, Rings of Directed Fortitude imbue the creature they are pointed at with augmented endurance and prowess in battle but only as long direct line of sight with the ring is maintained. If broken, the effects are rescinded, often with very unfortunate results. Nobles found to be using such rings are often punished severely for their trickery.

Vestments of the far seer:

Sewn from the cured hide of an alien creature, the interior of the Vestments of the Far Seer is covered in tiny, sucking mouths which attach themselves to the flesh of the wearer. These mouths then hum strange hymns into the body of the wearer, their vibrations translating into strange visions. At the dawn of each day, the wearer must roll a 6 sided die, after specifying a number. On an even result, the Vestments fill the wearer's mind with visions of pure bliss, brought forth by the Outer Presences communing through the Vestments, which grant him resistances to mind-altering effects (both beneficial and harmful) and the ability to speak in tongues with any sentient creature and instantly perceive the nature of any magical item after a few hours of uninterrupted inspection. On an odd result, the wearer's presence becomes known to the Adiphagoi, world-devouring intelligences, which home in to their position at a geological pace. This grants the wearer the ability to devour and digest anything (whether vegetable, animal or mineral though magical items may prove chewier than most), exposes anyone reading their mind to the horrific presence of the Adiphagoi and grants them the ability to command lesser abominations (abominations are entitled to resist this effect). If the wearer rolls their exact specified number, then they are brought before the Council of Worlds, a congress made up of unknowably powerful alien entities and are granted audience with them for exactly sixteen seconds. The Council of Worlds can respond to any questions posed to them (they are knowledgable but not all-knowing), grant any reasonable request (but will never provide overwhelming power to the supplicant) or perform a single deed (applicable once and within reason; wearers that attempt to abuse this are instantly turned down). Wearers that waste the Council's time or fail to adress it with the proper form of respect or attempt to disrupt its function may find themselves turned inside out, their own skins converted to a set of Vestments which will then be deposited to another reality, to be used by a more respectful wearer.

Pocket Azoth: The seedling of a pocket plane, an Azoth can cause a miniature world, roughly the size of a small town, to begin expanding inside any space without matter. If given enough magical sustenance and room to grow, this pocket plane could grow to the size of a world, after a few millennia. If a pocket Azoth is released inside an existing plane, it instead causes an absence, as a result of its expansion, annihilating anything in its path. This does not kill any organic life, but it can disrupt the barrier between dimensions, causing unwanted visitors or phenomena to break in with disastrous results.

Mirror of Blame:

Used by underhanded magistrates to place blame on wrongly accused victims, Mirrors of Blame generate a magically twisted reflection of their victim, which reinforces their guilt of a crime they have been accused of. This can be undone by powerful magic, but destroying the Mirror of blame is not recommended, as its individual shards can have the same, if diminished effect toward anyone exposed.

Ring of the Grey One:

A ring once world by an otherworldly cast away, the ring makes its wearer immediately appear as unfamiliar and alien to any that look upon them. While this helps them interact with any alien technology or beings hostile to life, it will make it impossible for them to interact with anyone in their home world, if worn for too long. If the ring’s wielder dies while wearing the ring, then their soul is consigned to the alien afterlife of the original wearer and will have to find their way back home or linger in the strange mercurial metropolises of the Grey ones for eternity.

Ominous Node:

The Ominous mostly just stands there, causing users that look at it a sense of foreboding. prolonged exposure to the node increases a feeling of paranoia and may cause sensitive or magically attuned individuals to exhibit strange effects during their workings. The effect is nullified by simply moving the node to another location.

#magic items #d&d #rpg #tabletop #ttrpg #system agnostic #ideas

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wingerworthwritersassociation · 3 months

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Clones, Dates and the Transient Mind

Random Thoughts in a week of a discombobulated mind Random One Gimmie, Gimmie, Gimmie Start burning stars Envious of alien worlds The finality gulped by a black hole. People have always been a little strange. Ploughing the fields of expectation. Wondering through streets seeking a desire to desire. Only to end back where we start, more confused more oblique. When our fantasy is buried under…

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prettykikimora · 5 years

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fallout ideas

i’ve been drawing some more fallout stuff tonight and had alot of thoughts about how different i want my own story to be. Like i’ll make my detroit a judge dredd esque super city with bustling markets and streets hawking wares and trading in brotherhood battery currency, and bottlecaps when you don’t have any to barter. small energy cells are universal to pre-war technology, powering cordless radios, tvs, different portable devices in that pseudo 60s-70s era tech. Like a medieval city but futuristic, monastic scribes traveling in prayer groups releasing mood enhancing chemical incense from dangling gold chains. There’s always a sense of despair in the air. A decade ago the city wasn’t under occupation, production centers were publicly owned by the predominant faction, some faction’s lands are still held under different non-aggression pacts but war continues with the vault 31 revolutionary government, who still own a major steel production plant, and 2 auto manufacturers that were formally used for public transit, now the nuclear/solar powered bus fleet is armored up and used to fight brotherhood knights. The brotherhood imposes a feudal caste system and enforces it through pure hard power. It takes slaves and serfs and robots to rebuild factories and produce for their war machine. 2 great airships are docked with a major skyscraper downtown, 1 more still patrol the skies at all times broadcasting messages encouraging the forfeiture of advanced weaponry and dropping knights from above to enforce.

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lupitovi · 5 years

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Se pencher sur le vécu des femmes, de tout temps et en tout lieu, c’est se confronter à une absence criante de sources, à des silences lourds de signification. Mais les femmes ne sont pas les seules concernées. Toutes les populations considérées par ceux détenant le pouvoir comme étant « subalternes » — les serfs, les esclaves et les femmes, donc — n’apparaissent pas dans les documents officiels, qui ont longtemps été les sources privilégiées pour écrire l’Histoire. Cette invisibilisation des femmes s’explique en partie par une écriture genrée des événements. Les archives sont majoritairement masculines, c’est-à-dire produites par des hommes, sur des hommes et conservées puis analysées par des hommes. La question d’une Histoire toujours racontée au masculin relève bien évidemment du fait que ce sont les hommes qui ont toujours eu la parole. Redonner cette parole aux femmes, a posteriori, est donc un réel défi. Le processus d’écriture genrée des faits contribue à dénier aux femmes toute capacité d’action politique. Leur absence des sources est aussi due à un refus des scribes de l’Histoire de prendre en considération leurs possibles engagements au sein des luttes, qui plus est lorsque ces dernières sont violentes. On peut alors parler dans ces cas-là de violence « hors-cadre », pour citer Erving Goffman, c’est-à-dire d’une violence qui est déniée, non-reconnue, et n’est donc pas renseignée. Car les femmes sont le plus souvent considérées au sein de la société comme de potentielles victimes de violence : elles ne seraient pas elles-mêmes en mesure d’y avoir recours. Il y a donc un « non-récit » de ces actions violentes puisqu’elles viennent rompre le cadre normatif et patriarcal dans lequel la société a l’habitude de voir les femmes évoluer. L’ouvrage de deux sociologues, Coline Cardi et Geneviève Pruvost, Penser la violence des femmes, aborde très bien ce phénomène de refoulement, d’invisibilisation de la violence au féminin. L’expérience des miliciennes espagnoles (et d’autres nationalités) sur le front pendant la guerre d’Espagne est un bon exemple de la possibilité pour les femmes d’avoir recours à la violence mais aussi de la permanence d’une reprise en main masculine et autoritaire. Ces images de miliciennes armées ont marqué les consciences car elles laissaient entendre une possible subversion des rôles traditionnels au sein de la société espagnole. Toutefois, comme les munitionnettes en France qui travaillaient dans les usines d’armement lors de la Première Guerre mondiale, cette transgression des normes de genre a été rapidement circonscrite, les femmes ayant été appelées à réintégrer les espaces privés qui leur sont habituellement dévolus. Ce retour aux valeurs traditionnelles de genre étant nécessaire pour le pouvoir masculin, même progressiste, même révolutionnaire, afin de contenir les velléités d’émancipation que les femmes étaient susceptibles de revendiquer. L’usage des armes par des femmes, dans quelque conflit que ce soit, soulève donc de très fortes réticences. Le monopole de la violence est habituellement réservé aux hommes et à l’État, et lorsque des femmes bouleversent la distribution sexuée des armes, cela revient dès lors à transgresser un interdit social majeur. Ces femmes représentent de fait une menace et sont considérées comme déviantes car participant au désordre des sexes qui sape l’organisation morale de la société. Plus encore que l’usage des armes, c’est l’implication politique des femmes à l’origine de leur engagement militaire aux côtés de leurs compagnons masculins qui est niée ou bien critiquée. Une bonne manière d’invisibiliser cette violence féminine, c’est de la taire, de ne pas la documenter, pour ne pas qu’elle se diffuse à d’autres. Car le silence est performatif : moins on raconte les actions des femmes, leurs modalités de mobilisation, moins le champ des possibles est étendu pour les générations suivantes.

Susana Arbizu et Maëlle Maugendre - entretien Ballast

#maëlle maugendre #susana arbizu

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leora-strauss · 5 years

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A Winter in Uldum

[After a good few months away, I’m back! I have a bit more time and can start RPing again, so I thought I’d try and write something up to at least show what Leora’s been up to over the past few months!]

“I swear we’re almost done. Just a few more lines and I’ll let you go for the day.”

February in Uldum was always cool and crisp. Fresh air would come down from the mountain ranges in the north and sweep across the sunbaked deserts; making the late-winter months almost cool enough to feel comfortable wearing a light coat. Some days, even, the winds would bring with it a cool rain that would leave Ramkahen glittering with wet—it’s foliage brighter and more vibrant than before. The rainy, early months would also bring the spring much earlier than other parts of the world—the scent of spice and flowers filled the air like you’d just popped into the flower shop along the Stormwind canals. Each breath filled with the scent of freshly blooming dahlias and saffron.

Leora hated to admit it, but she was starting to prefer Uldum over Kul Tiras. At least in the winter—she’d be singing another tune by the time summer rolled around, she was sure.

You said a few more lines a few more lines ago though! Please, I swear we’ll be extra attentive next lesson if you let us go early this time!”

Above the gentle din of merchants and adventurers in the Ramkahen square, Leora sat amongst a pile of pillows and silks in a large, spacious chamber. She adjusted the chalkboard in her lap as she leaned back into the couch. She looked down at her two students; two wide-eyed tol’vir children—one speckled and constantly fidgeting and the other a golden tawny colour, with gaps in between her fangs. “Hmm...I don’t know,” Leora began softly. She danced the piece of chalk across the backs of her fingers as she flashed a grin, “Your father did say I ought to be stricter with you. Perhaps a few lines will keep you inside and out of trouble. I’m sure the merchants could use a few more hours of peace and quiet before I loosed you to on the city.”

The speckled Tol’vir groaned loudly as he fell backward onto the pillows. “It’s not our fault people don’t know how to stack crates—how were we supposed to know that they were going to fall over?”

“You weren’t! You’re just supposed to not climb on other people’s things, usually.”

“Well what were we supposed to do?!” The tawny one said, “Hespu and me were playing. If they didn’t want their crates climbed on then they shouldn’t have had them out! Weren’t we good today though?”

Leora laughed loudly, “You’re not helping your case, Mehi.” She sat back up and placed the chalkboard down on the pillows beside her. The tol’vir leaned in closely, eyes up at her—anxious for her answer as she rubbed her chin. “So…” she mulled loudly, humming dramatically, “If I let you out then you’d be behind on your lessons, go and probably rile up the poor Quartermaster Abasi and Tidemother knows who else, or...I could make you do more Common exercises and Abasi won’t march up here and chew me out...decisions, decisions.” She couldn’t help but grin as her two students squirmed and groaned. However, just as she was about to answer, she noticed a figure who stood in the door behind her students—a dark pelted, looming figure of a tol’vir who was dressed in glittering plate and armed with a vicious looking sword.

The man was Shakir, Medjay of the Northern Frontier. More importantly, Leora’s employer. He was a tall, imposing man—which fit the needs of his post like a glove, though even Leora found herself sputtering in his presence. The man was remarkable rigid at times, it still caught Leora off guard from time to time.

“I’m sure Abasi could use something to liven up his day,” rumbled Shakir. The two children brightened as they turned to the figure.

“Can we, papa?” Hespu leapt to his little paws, putting out his speckled hand for Mehi to take. “Me and Mehi were extra good today! We did all of the boring things today too, so you should be extra impressed!”

Leora stuck out her tongue, “Rhetoric isn’t boring. Neither is mathematics if you pay attention.”

“You said they were boring yourself!”

Leora waved a hand, “Details, details! I’m just making you do all the boring things now so you can have fun with it later.” She rose to her feet and gently dipped her head toward the figure, “Good afternoon, Medjay.”

Mehi rolled her eyes, “It’s still boring now though!” Her little head snapped back to her father, “So can we? Please, please, please!”

Shakir chuckled and waved his hand, “Lucky for you, I have to speak with your tutor. Stay out of trouble.” He stepped out of the doorway and let his squealing children thump loudly down the hall and toward the stone stairs, “Or at least don’t let me catch you!” The Medjay turned back to Leora, “I hope I didn’t just dismiss them from anything important.”

“Nothing I can’t teach them tomorrow, sir,” Leora said. She rose to her feet and began to slip her things into her bag. “I do hope that you’ve been pleased with my work so far—they might be loud and a bit energetic but they’re fabulous students.”

“I’m sure,” Shakir nodded. “I always thought a foreign-born tutor would work effectively with them. More so than a local scribe. It seems I was right. I want them ready for the outside world. That, and I think knowing that you’ve been on adventures makes them more likely to listen to you.”

Leora nodded, “I appreciate it, sir. It certainly keeps their attention when I can tell stories in between boring lessons. Keeps their attention a bit longer,” she chuckled as she slipped the textbooks back into her satchel. “Though thank you for being so open to letting me teach. I understand that you were...apprehensive about having someone with a...less than fully legal history—”

“I was worried about a criminal teaching my children, yes.”

His words hit hard. They made her wince. It was still difficult to hear the word; a criminal. An ex-criminal, at least. As much as they hurt, it didn’t make it any less true, as far as Kul Tiras was concerned. All she had to do was look down at her wrist; the stenciled letters SC-538 would look back up at her. S for “Saboteur” and C for “Conspirator”

“How do you plead, Citizen Strauss?”

It had been in a cold, dark room—up in the mountains where the air felt dank and stagnant like it’d begun to rot as it sat in the lowlands. The air always felt sticky and noxious in Boralus, industry mixed with the salt and blood of fish being sent to market. But that day it’d felt even stickier...purely toxic.

The trial had been held in a small courtroom near the dockyard. Pale morning light shone in through the large windows, still creased with frost and snow greyed by the smog from the night before. The light sent the judge’s—a portly man with a stern, weather-worn, face—silhouette across the floor in front of her. On either side, two others—a twitchy, nervous-looking woman with straw hair and freckles and a heavy-set man. The air felt as stiff as the judge’s movements. Across the far wall, Leora noted the Kul Tiran flag had been pulled down and replaced with the Alliance coat of arms.

“All three of you are accused of the sabotage of noble farms, the theft of property, and the conspiracy to smuggle serfs off of the land in which they are bound to. How do you plead?”

Leora had kept her head high, she remembered that. The two other, twitching and their breath short and nervous, needed the support. “I deny all of them,” she’d barked back to the judge, her hands clutching at the other behind her back. “People are not property and no person can be tied to the land against their whim. It’s an abomination!”

“Your opinions don’t change the law,” The judge had hissed back. “You have countrymen who are willing to testify that you’d offered your home to runaway slaves and serfs as a place of safe harbour even when you were away...running an illegal mercenary ring in Alliance lands, mind you.” he sneered at her. “Those we captured in your basement only weeks ago are now willing to testify in return for us stopping…” he’d licked his lips as he’d stumbled for the better term, “interrogation techniques deemed necessary.” Torture. He’d meant torture. “In a time of war, you would help rob and sabotage the nation by stealing the very labour it needs to function. You’re a traitor!”

“A traitor? I’m a patriot!” Leora had snarled back, “These people are Kul Tirans; born or brought here, and they deserve the dignity of a free life! War or no war, it doesn’t excuse bonded labour and serfdom!” She swallowed, “I had to do what was right...is that truly a crime?”

“A litany, yes. Crimes that you just confessed to.”

The air felt like mud in her lungs. Her spit had turned to syrup in her mouth; hard to swallow as the judge had shifted his weight around in his chair. “Seeing, however, your connection to certain...noble families...you will be spared execution,” he’d blustered. “But I assure you, that you will make up for the trouble you caused for Kul Tiras and, more so, for the Alliance by sabotaging a perfectly legal matter.” He adjusted his glasses, his lip pulled back into a sneer. “A few months in the penal battalions shall do. Afterward...exile. If you survive, of course.”

The last words stuck with her. The judge had leaned forward, as the other two had stayed mousey and quiet—shrinking into the background of her memories. “I pray you don’t,” he’d growled softly, a threat and a prayer mixed into one. Then, the sharp clack of the gavel and cold shackles digging into her skin.

“I understand the worry,” Leora said with a nod, “But I assure that my crimes were nothing violent. I did what I thought was right and that was something that the Kul Tiran authority was less than pleased with. I have paid my time, as well, nevertheless.”

“Well whatever it is, it’s certainly made you take to writing,” Shakir remarked. He pointed a thick, sausage-y finger over toward her desk in the corner. Atop itwase piles of pages; manuscripts that had yet to be sent off, mixed with the books that had already been printed.

“I took to writing, seeing how I’m away from home. It’s better to have something to do, yeah?.”

Essay after essay, manuscript after manuscript. Life in exile had given Leora a lot of time. With the Adventurer Society collapsed nearly five months and her having been free for a forty days, life had been slower than she’d been used to. It was nice to be able to write, more so without the censors and the threat of SI:7 or some local secret police looming over her. Every thought she had about slavery, every argument she could think of against the evils of serfdom, they’d all been written amongst poems and songs. In a way, it was a nice change of pace. Being exiled made her feel...free, in a strange way!

“Oh, I’m sure. Though speaking off…” Shakir moved for something at his side. “I read some of your writing and—coincidentally—something came across my desk this morning. Something I thought you’d be interested in.” He slipped out a folded map and a few pages tucked inside the fold. He handed them to Leora, who opened the wax seal.

A small marker had been placed somewhere in Tanaris. “I received word that some slavers have been travelling along the frontier toward Gadgetzan for the markets there,” Shakir said. His hand gently rested on the dagger that rested at his side, “Now, I understand, my duty as Medjay keeps me from doing anything myself—no matter how vile and evil the things they do, I am vowed to think of Uldum first.” A soft glint twinkled in the Medjay’s eye. “But..it certainly would be a shame if something to them, wouldn’t it?”

Leora glanced down to the page and furrowed her brow. Was this...was this him offering. “I…” She glanced back up to him, “I don’t know what to—”

“Say nothing then,” Shakir remarked. He moved for the door, lumbering across the room. “However, if you happen to go on a...hunting trip, of sorts. I’d be happy give you the time off,”

Leora flipped the small map in her hands for a few moments. She glanced back to the Medjay and smirked, “I’ll be sure to leave a lesson plan for the substitute then.”

It seems like she was about to have something to do with all her new “free time”.

#Leora Strauss #Like the addict I am #I RETURN #With my girl out bein' in ULDUM

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noctischaplain · 6 years

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The 144th’s Embark: Board Action

They came so quick. The derelict ship’s spirit could have warned them, not with the sections of it already occupied and still wared in the days since the first encounter. They could have known invaders would come, sitting out here vulnerable in the void. Executioner Tuili was honestly, disappointed.

As his execution-sword swung with the crackling sheath of its power-edge, cleaving two of the black-armoured stormtroopers in bits by a casual flick before burning the rest into crackling meat and piles of pressure-blasted cinders with his combi-flamer, the Atramentar veteran expected a better defense from the thralls of this forsaken Imperium. The genestealers weren’t an enemy to handle in squandered quarters. They delivered a fierce cunning and unexpected affinity in killing even astartes, as annoying as it were.

At his flank, the others were slicing and crushing their prey with lightning-claws and thunder hammer. The armsmen preserved their ammunition by Tuili’s order. They required it in this mission, nothing can go wrong or the wrath of the Chaplain will be true.

The Terminators of the 144th were all veterans, as expected of legiones astartes formation and law, from Tuili - once one of the Primarch’s own personal guard and killers - to young Sebastian, who claimed the honour of his war-plate by the death of Hudilf in honourable combat after suffering the Warp’s mutations. Vigorous cleansing by Helbane and the Nostraman techpriests restored the ancient armour to use, at least it wasn’t corrupted to the spirit within. By Tuili’s command, they were the Spectral Sabertooth in honour of the cannibalistic saber-tooths that once hunted from the black-iceland of Nostramo’s far northern artics. They were the hunters of the selfish, warped, and forsaken. The purification of Curze’s poisoned legion and by their Executioner’s aim, they ensured the Chaplain’s success.

Lumbering through the claustophic halls, the Spectres killed everything in their way. The Inquisitors were no friends of the 144th, they were nothing but over-bloated weapons of a deluded house to the Nostramen and by Curze’s law, they were more than happy to end one of bothersome numbers. A complete cleanse. By the time that the Executioner sawed through one of the cruiser’s bulkheads after a disagreement to the Machine Spirit in keeping them from entering, a Tyranid took the opportunity to jump from the shadows when their backs were temporarily turned.

The reptilian xeno, a genestealer, shrieked and was fully intend to claw its talons into ancient Terminator plating for the body underneath. However, this isn’t the first time that the Night Lords met with the aliens beyond this space. Ru’man spun around while puncturing through shoulder bone and bicep muscle with two of his lightning claws’ digits, exposing the squealing thing to his immediate brother’s power fist. Like an oversized bug, Sebastian crushed it into the crackled fist and hurled it into another genestealer squirming from a tight vent. “Disgusting…” His tusked helm growl, slamming his combi-flamer’s muzzle into the plugged entrance before blasting. The screaming of the caught creature music to the Terminator-operator’s ears and the stench of it untouched by the optimized filters.

The squad acted close-knit and coordination was key in these missions, the genestealers were cunning and to sacrifice their numbers weren’t as mindless as their more swarmling kin. It was a test...and Tuili was intending of passing. “Keep in colonial march. The xeno-scum know of our presence.” He spoke in the privacy of vox-trading, his snarling helmet crackling electricity between its scimitar-fangs. When acknowledgment confirmed to full understanding, they entered to meet a garrison aiming lasguns behind makeshift barricade.

Much better.

In the violent distraction, a dreadclaw speared its way into the vessel’s flesh and drilled like a syringe to find a vein. One that will lead to the heart, soon finding such an artery via the undercroft for serfs and slaves to react accordingly to immediate evac. An artery infested of crawling beasts, their surprise filling the passage of shrieks and spats of animalistic hate. Something the dreadclaw’s spirit wanted silent. Now.

The battering music of hurling frag grenades peppered either side of its infiltrated tunnel, tearing xenos apart and away from its vicious appearance. Gore and charred bits flinging until nothing currently were caught in its heaving sensors. The offense of xeno-infestation no longer immediate, opening its jaws to allow a full capacity to spill to the killing-field.

Figures clad in midnight black, the grisly trophies of many battles in their existence from screaming skulls to flayed flesh made to tethers and grimly-etched litanies in blessing of Nostramo script. The crackling link of electricity dancing between their artificer gear, bolters, and personal weapons from chain to power blades. Preysight flashing to enjoy the smothering piles of dead, weapons primed and making defensive positions like a predatory pride. Their champion snarled through his vox-grilles, the studded helm splaying its red wings out from scalp to back. Striking Scorpion Exarch’s biting blade in clawed hand with rags of eldar-flesh and soulstones from its hilt and pommel, armour appearing like a flayed man’s muscles lining with studs and hooks to hold a void-violet war-cape. Leather tassels hanging of nostramo-gang fetishes in honour of the chapter he was apart of being joining the 144th.

Nicolae moved, shoulders never relaxing and senses honed for the slightest chance to kill something worth of his blade.

Their Chaplain pried through his retinue, fully in the grace of his wargear. From the arching wings of his personal iron halo to the crackling hate of his skeletal crozius and lightning claws to the skeleton of the Fallen Wolf wrapped at his chest, gorget and sides with the scribed chains of the Emperor’s Justice keeping the blood-baptized relic to his plating. Weeping of gilt tears from the Chaplain’s torture in the Everblack Chambers, the Chaos-twisted Space Wolf howled every sin that he committed against the legions and his soul forever trapped in his Rubric-dusted bones to suffer and serve his interrogator to find some relief of guilt. Such a thing to feed into the dark spirit that housed Helbane’s armour to sate its hunger of bloodlust, the price of being the equipment of a Night Lord of any kind.

His xeno death-mask rattled through the vox, sending an echo through the tunnel before leading the way to the Inquisitor’s inner works.

#night lords #viii legion #narrative writing #story advancement #tyranids #imperial guard

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